{"text": "Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN SCIENCE\n\nby Mark Twain\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nBook I of this volume occupies a quarter or a third of the volume,\nand consists of matter written about four years ago, but not hitherto\npublished in book form. It contained errors of judgment and of fact. I\nhave now corrected these to the best of my ability and later knowledge.\n\n\nBook II was written at the beginning of 1903, and has not until\nnow appeared in any form. In it my purpose has been to present a\ncharacter-portrait of Mrs. Eddy, drawn from her own acts and words\nsolely, not from hearsay and rumor; and to explain the nature and scope\nof her Monarchy, as revealed in the Laws by which she governs it, and\nwhich she wrote herself.\n\nMARK TWAIN\n\nNEW YORK. January, 1907.\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I CHRISTIAN SCIENCE\n\n     “It is the first time since the dawn-days of Creation that\n     a Voice has gone crashing through space with such\n     placid and complacent confidence and command.”\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nVIENNA 1899.\n\nThis last summer, when I was on my way back to Vienna from the\nAppetite-Cure in the mountains, I fell over a cliff in the twilight, and\nbroke some arms and legs and one thing or another, and by good luck was\nfound by some peasants who had lost an ass, and they carried me to the\nnearest habitation, which was one of those large, low, thatch-roofed\nfarm-houses, with apartments in the garret for the family, and a cunning\nlittle porch under the deep gable decorated with boxes of bright colored\nflowers and cats; on the ground floor a large and light sitting-room,\nseparated from the milch-cattle apartment by a partition; and in the\nfront yard rose stately and fine the wealth and pride of the house, the\nmanure-pile. That sentence is Germanic, and shows that I am acquiring\nthat sort of mastery of the art and spirit of the language which enables\na man to travel all day in one sentence without changing cars.\n\nThere was a village a mile away, and a horse doctor lived there, but\nthere was no surgeon. It seemed a bad outlook; mine was distinctly\na surgery case. Then it was remembered that a lady from Boston was\nsummering in that village, and she was a Christian Science doctor and\ncould cure anything. So she was sent for. It was night by this time, and\nshe could not conveniently come, but sent word that it was no matter,\nthere was no hurry, she would give me “absent treatment” now, and come\nin the morning; meantime she begged me to make myself tranquil and\ncomfortable and remember that there was nothing the matter with me. I\nthought there must be some mistake.\n\n“Did you tell her I walked off a cliff seventy-five feet high?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“And struck a boulder at the bottom and bounced?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“And struck another one and bounced again?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“And struck another one and bounced yet again?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“And broke the boulders?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“That accounts for it; she is thinking of the boulders. Why didn't you\ntell her I got hurt, too?”\n\n“I did. I told her what you told me to tell her: that you were now\nbut an incoherent series of compound fractures extending from your\nscalp-lock to your heels, and that the comminuted projections caused you\nto look like a hat-rack.”\n\n“And it was after this that she wished me to remember that there was\nnothing the matter with me?”\n\n“Those were her words.”\n\n“I do not understand it. I believe she has not diagnosed the case with\nsufficient care. Did she look like a person who was theorizing, or did\nshe look like one who has fallen off precipices herself and brings to\nthe aid of abstract science the confirmations of personal experience?”\n\n“Bitte?”\n\nIt was too large a contract for the Stubenmadchen's vocabulary; she\ncouldn't call the hand. I allowed the subject to rest there, and asked\nfor something to eat and smoke, and something hot to drink, and a basket\nto pile my legs in; but I could not have any of these things.\n\n“Why?”\n\n“She said you would need nothing at all.”\n\n“But I am hungry and thirsty, and in desperate pain.”\n\n“She said you would have these delusions, but must pay no attention\nto them. She wants you to particularly remember that there are no such\nthings as hunger and thirst and pain.''\n\n“She does does she?”\n\n“It is what she said.”\n\n“Does she seem to be in full and functionable possession of her\nintellectual plant, such as it is?”\n\n“Bitte?”\n\n“Do they let her run at large, or do they tie her up?”\n\n“Tie her up?”\n\n“There, good-night, run along, you are a good girl, but your mental\nGeschirr is not arranged for light and airy conversation. Leave me to my\ndelusions.”\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nIt was a night of anguish, of course--at least, I supposed it was, for\nit had all the symptoms of it--but it passed at last, and the Christian\nScientist came, and I was glad She was middle-aged, and large and bony,\nand erect, and had an austere face and a resolute jaw and a Roman beak\nand was a widow in the third degree, and her name was Fuller. I was\neager to get to business and find relief, but she was distressingly\ndeliberate. She unpinned and unhooked and uncoupled her upholsteries one\nby one, abolished the wrinkles with a flirt of her hand, and hung the\narticles up; peeled off her gloves and disposed of them, got a book out\nof her hand-bag, then drew a chair to the bedside, descended into it\nwithout hurry, and I hung out my tongue. She said, with pity but without\npassion:\n\n“Return it to its receptacle. We deal with the mind only, not with its\ndumb servants.”\n\nI could not offer my pulse, because the connection was broken; but she\ndetected the apology before I could word it, and indicated by a negative\ntilt of her head that the pulse was another dumb servant that she had no\nuse for. Then I thought I would tell her my symptoms and how I felt, so\nthat she would understand the case; but that was another inconsequence,\nshe did not need to know those things; moreover, my remark about how I\nfelt was an abuse of language, a misapplication of terms.\n\n“One does not feel,” she explained; “there is no such thing as\nfeeling: therefore, to speak of a non-existent thing as existent is a\ncontradiction. Matter has no existence; nothing exists but mind; the\nmind cannot feel pain, it can only imagine it.”\n\n“But if it hurts, just the same--”\n\n“It doesn't. A thing which is unreal cannot exercise the functions of\nreality. Pain is unreal; hence, pain cannot hurt.”\n\nIn making a sweeping gesture to indicate the act of shooing the illusion\nof pain out of the mind, she raked her hand on a pin in her dress, said\n“Ouch!” and went tranquilly on with her talk. “You should never allow\nyourself to speak of how you feel, nor permit others to ask you how\nyou are feeling; you should never concede that you are ill, nor permit\nothers to talk about disease or pain or death or similar nonexistences\nin your presence. Such talk only encourages the mind to continue its\nempty imaginings.” Just at that point the Stuben-madchen trod on the\ncat's tail, and the cat let fly a frenzy of cat-profanity. I asked, with\ncaution:\n\n“Is a cat's opinion about pain valuable?”\n\n“A cat has no opinion; opinions proceed from mind only; the lower\nanimals, being eternally perishable, have not been granted mind; without\nmind, opinion is impossible.”\n\n“She merely imagined she felt a pain--the cat?”\n\n“She cannot imagine a pain, for imagining is an effect of mind; without\nmind, there is no imagination. A cat has no imagination.”\n\n“Then she had a real pain?”\n\n“I have already told you there is no such thing as real pain.”\n\n“It is strange and interesting. I do wonder what was the matter with\nthe cat. Because, there being no such thing as a real pain, and she not\nbeing able to imagine an imaginary one, it would seem that God in His\npity has compensated the cat with some kind of a mysterious emotion\nusable when her tail is trodden on which, for the moment, joins cat and\nChristian in one common brotherhood of--”\n\nShe broke in with an irritated--\n\n“Peace! The cat feels nothing, the Christian feels nothing. Your empty\nand foolish imaginings are profanation and blasphemy, and can do you an\ninjury. It is wiser and better and holier to recognize and confess that\nthere is no such thing as disease or pain or death.”\n\n“I am full of imaginary tortures,” I said, “but I do not think I could\nbe any more uncomfortable if they were real ones. What must I do to get\nrid of them?”\n\n“There is no occasion to get rid of them since they do not exist. They\nare illusions propagated by matter, and matter has no existence; there\nis no such thing as matter.”\n\n“It sounds right and clear, but yet it seems in a degree elusive; it\nseems to slip through, just when you think you are getting a grip on\nit.”\n\n“Explain.”\n\n“Well, for instance: if there is no such thing as matter, how can matter\npropagate things?”\n\nIn her compassion she almost smiled. She would have smiled if there were\nany such thing as a smile.\n\n“It is quite simple,” she said; “the fundamental propositions of\nChristian Science explain it, and they are summarized in the four\nfollowing self-evident propositions: 1. God is All in all. 2. God is\ngood. Good is Mind 3. God, Spirit, being all, nothing is matter 4. Life,\nGod, omnipotent Good, deny death, evil, sin, disease.\n\n“There--now you see.”\n\nIt seemed nebulous; it did not seem to say anything about the difficulty\nin hand--how non-existent matter can propagate illusions I said, with\nsome hesitancy:\n\n“Does--does it explain?”\n\n“Doesn't it? Even if read backward it will do it.”\n\nWith a budding hope, I asked her to do it backwards.\n\n“Very well. Disease sin evil death deny Good omnipotent God life matter\nis nothing all being Spirit God Mind is Good good is God all in All is\nGod. There do you understand now?\n\n“It--it--well, it is plainer than it was before; still--”\n\n“Well?”\n\n“Could you try it some more ways?”\n\n“As many as you like; it always means the same. Interchanged in any way\nyou please it cannot be made to mean anything different from what it\nmeans when put in any other way. Because it is perfect. You can jumble\nit all up, and it makes no difference: it always comes out the way it\nwas before. It was a marvelous mind that produced it. As a mental tour\nde force it is without a mate, it defies alike the simple, the concrete,\nand the occult.”\n\n“It seems to be a corker.”\n\nI blushed for the word, but it was out before I could stop it.\n\n“A what?”\n\n“A--wonderful structure--combination, so to speak, of profound\nthoughts--unthinkable ones--um--”\n\n“It is true. Read backward, or forward, or perpendicularly, or at any\ngiven angle, these four propositions will always be found to agree in\nstatement and proof.”\n\n“Ah--proof. Now we are coming at it. The statements agree; they agree\nwith--with--anyway, they agree; I noticed that; but what is it they\nprove I mean, in particular?”\n\n“Why, nothing could be clearer. They prove:\n\n“1. GOD--Principle, Life, Truth, Love, Soul, Spirit, Mind. Do you get\nthat?”\n\n“I--well, I seem to. Go on, please.”\n\n“2. MAN--God's universal idea, individual, perfect, eternal. Is it\nclear?”\n\n“It--I think so. Continue.”\n\n“3. IDEA--An image in Mind; the immediate object of understanding. There\nit is--the whole sublime Arcana of Christian Science in a nutshell. Do\nyou find a weak place in it anywhere?”\n\n“Well--no; it seems strong.”\n\n“Very well There is more. Those three constitute the Scientific\nDefinition of Immortal Mind. Next, we have the Scientific Definition\nof Mortal Mind. Thus. FIRST DEGREE: Depravity I. Physical-Passions and\nappetites, fear, depraved will, pride, envy, deceit, hatred, revenge,\nsin, disease, death.”\n\n“Phantasms, madam--unrealities, as I understand it.”\n\n“Every one. SECOND DEGREE: Evil Disappearing. I. Moral-Honesty,\naffection, compassion, hope, faith, meekness, temperance. Is it clear?”\n\n“Crystal.”\n\n“THIRD DEGREE: Spiritual Salvation. I. Spiritual-Faith, wisdom, power,\npurity, understanding, health, love. You see how searchingly and\nco-ordinately interdependent and anthropomorphous it all is. In this\nThird Degree, as we know by the revelations of Christian Science, mortal\nmind disappears.”\n\n“Not earlier?”\n\n“No, not until the teaching and preparation for the Third Degree are\ncompleted.”\n\n“It is not until then that one is enabled to take hold of Christian\nScience effectively, and with the right sense of sympathy and kinship,\nas I understand you. That is to say, it could not succeed during the\nprocesses of the Second Degree, because there would still be remains\nof mind left; and therefore--but I interrupted you. You were about\nto further explain the good results proceeding from the erosions and\ndisintegrations effected by the Third Degree. It is very interesting; go\non, please.”\n\n“Yes, as I was saying, in this Third Degree mortal mind disappears.\nScience so reverses the evidence before the corporeal human senses as\nto make this scriptural testimony true in our hearts, 'the last shall\nbe first and the first shall be last,' that God and His idea may be to\nus--what divinity really is, and must of necessity be all-inclusive.”\n\n“It is beautiful. And with what exhaustive exactness your choice and\narrangement of words confirm and establish what you have claimed for\nthe powers and functions of the Third Degree. The Second could probably\nproduce only temporary absence of mind; it is reserved to the Third to\nmake it permanent. A sentence framed under the auspices of the\nSecond could have a kind of meaning--a sort of deceptive semblance of\nit--whereas it is only under the magic of the Third that that defect\nwould disappear. Also, without doubt, it is the Third Degree that\ncontributes another remarkable specialty to Christian Science--viz.,\nease and flow and lavishness of words, and rhythm and swing and\nsmoothness. There must be a special reason for this?”\n\n“Yes--God--all, all--God, good God, non-Matter, Matteration, Spirit,\nBones, Truth.”\n\n“That explains it.”\n\n“There is nothing in Christian Science that is not explicable; for God\nis one, Time is one, Individuality is one, and may be one of a series,\none of many, as an individual man, individual horse; whereas God is one,\nnot one of a series, but one alone and without an equal.”\n\n“These are noble thoughts. They make one burn to know more. How does\nChristian Science explain the spiritual relation of systematic duality\nto incidental deflection?”\n\n“Christian Science reverses the seeming relation of Soul and body--as\nastronomy reverses the human perception of the movement of the solar\nsystem--and makes body tributary to the Mind. As it is the earth which\nis in motion, While the sun is at rest, though in viewing the sun rise\none finds it impossible to believe the sun not to be really rising, so\nthe body is but the humble servant of the restful Mind, though it seems\notherwise to finite sense; but we shall never understand this while we\nadmit that soul is in body, or mind in matter, and that man is included\nin non-intelligence. Soul is God, unchangeable and eternal; and man\ncoexists with and reflects Soul, for the All-in-all is the Altogether,\nand the Altogether embraces the All-one, Soul-Mind, Mind-Soul, Love,\nSpirit, Bones, Liver, one of a series, alone and without an equal.”\n\n“What is the origin of Christian Science? Is it a gift of God, or did it\njust happen?”\n\n“In a sense, it is a gift of God. That is to say, its powers are from\nHim, but the credit of the discovery of the powers and what they are for\nis due to an American lady.”\n\n“Indeed? When did this occur?”\n\n“In 1866. That is the immortal date when pain and disease and death\ndisappeared from the earth to return no more forever. That is, the\nfancies for which those terms stand disappeared. The things themselves\nhad never existed; therefore, as soon as it was perceived that there\nwere no such things, they were easily banished. The history and nature\nof the great discovery are set down in the book here, and--”\n\n“Did the lady write the book?”\n\n“Yes, she wrote it all, herself. The title is Science and Health, with\nKey to the Scriptures--for she explains the Scriptures; they were not\nunderstood before. Not even by the twelve Disciples. She begins thus--I\nwill read it to you.”\n\nBut she had forgotten to bring her glasses.\n\n“Well, it is no matter,” she said. “I remember the words--indeed, all\nChristian Scientists know the book by heart; it is necessary in our\npractice. We should otherwise make mistakes and do harm. She begins\nthus: 'In the year 1866 I discovered the Science of Metaphysical\nHealing, and named it Christian Science.' And She says quite\nbeautifully, I think--'Through Christian Science, religion and medicine\nare inspired with a diviner nature and essence, fresh pinions are\ngiven to faith and understanding, and thoughts acquaint themselves\nintelligently with God.' Her very words.”\n\n“It is elegant. And it is a fine thought, too--marrying religion to\nmedicine, instead of medicine to the undertaker in the old way; for\nreligion and medicine properly belong together, they being the basis of\nall spiritual and physical health. What kind of medicine do you give for\nthe ordinary diseases, such as--”\n\n“We never give medicine in any circumstances whatever! We--”\n\n“But, madam, it says--”\n\n“I don't care what it says, and I don't wish to talk about it.”\n\n“I am sorry if I have offended, but you see the mention seemed in some\nway inconsistent, and--”\n\n“There are no inconsistencies in Christian Science. The thing is\nimpossible, for the Science is absolute. It cannot be otherwise, since\nit proceeds directly from the All-in-all and the Everything-in-Which,\nalso Soul, Bones, Truth, one of a series, alone and without equal. It is\nMathematics purified from material dross and made spiritual.”\n\n“I can see that, but--”\n\n“It rests upon the immovable basis of an Apodictical Principle.”\n\nThe word flattened itself against my mind in trying to get in, and\ndisordered me a little, and before I could inquire into its pertinency,\nshe was already throwing the needed light:\n\n“This Apodictical Principle is the absolute Principle of Scientific\nMind-healing, the sovereign Omnipotence which delivers the children of\nmen from pain, disease, decay, and every ill that flesh is heir to.”\n\n“Surely not every ill, every decay?”\n\n“Every one; there are no exceptions; there is no such thing as decay--it\nis an unreality, it has no existence.”\n\n“But without your glasses your failing eyesight does not permit you\nto--”\n\n“My eyesight cannot fail; nothing can fail; the Mind is master, and the\nMind permits no retrogression.”\n\nShe was under the inspiration of the Third Degree, therefore there could\nbe no profit in continuing this part of the subject. I shifted to other\nground and inquired further concerning the Discoverer of the Science.\n\n“Did the discovery come suddenly, like Klondike, or after long study and\ncalculation, like America?”\n\n“The comparisons are not respectful, since they refer to\ntrivialities--but let it pass. I will answer in the Discoverer's own\nwords: 'God had been graciously fitting me, during many years, for the\nreception of a final revelation of the absolute Principle of Scientific\nMind-healing.'”\n\n“Many years. How many?”\n\n“Eighteen centuries!”\n\n“All--God, God--good, good--God, Truth, Bones, Liver, one of a series,\nalone and without equal--it is amazing!”\n\n“You may well say it, sir. Yet it is but the truth This American lady,\nour revered and sacred Founder, is distinctly referred to, and her\ncoming prophesied, in the twelfth chapter of the Apocalypse; she could\nnot have been more plainly indicated by St. John without actually\nmentioning her name.”\n\n“How strange, how wonderful!”\n\n“I will quote her own words, from her Key to the Scriptures: 'The\ntwelfth chapter of the Apocalypse has a special suggestiveness in\nconnection with this nineteenth century.' There--do you note that?\nThink--note it well.”\n\n\n“But--what does it mean?”\n\n“Listen, and you will know. I quote her inspired words again: 'In the\nopening of the Sixth Seal, typical of six thousand years since Adam,\nthere is one distinctive feature which has special reference to the\npresent age. Thus:\n\n“'Revelation xii. I. And there appeared a great wonder in heaven--a\nwoman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her\nhead a crown of twelve stars.'\n\n“That is our Head, our Chief, our Discoverer of Christian\nScience--nothing can be plainer, nothing surer. And note this:\n\n“'Revelation xii. 6. And the woman fled into the wilderness, where she\nhad a place prepared of God.'\n\n“That is Boston. I recognize it, madam. These are sublime things, and\nimpressive; I never understood these passages before; please go on with\nthe--with the--proofs.”\n\n“Very well. Listen:\n\n“'And I saw another mighty angel come down from heaven, clothed with a\ncloud; and a rainbow was upon his head, and his face was as it were the\nsun, and his feet as pillars of fire. And he held in his hand a little\nbook.'\n\n“A little book, merely a little book--could words be modester? Yet how\nstupendous its importance! Do you know what book that was?”\n\n“Was it--”\n\n“I hold it in my hand--Christian Science!”\n\n“Love, Livers, Lights, Bones, Truth, Kidneys, one of a series, alone and\nwithout equal--it is beyond imagination for wonder!”\n\n“Hear our Founder's eloquent words: 'Then will a voice from harmony cry,\n“Go and take the little book: take it and eat it up, and it shall make\nthy belly bitter; but it shall be in thy mouth sweet as honey.”\n Mortal, obey the heavenly evangel. Take up Divine Science. Read it from\nbeginning to end. Study it, ponder it. It will be, indeed, sweet at its\nfirst taste, when it heals you; but murmur not over Truth, if you find\nits digestion bitter.' You now know the history of our dear and holy\nScience, sir, and that its origin is not of this earth, but only its\ndiscovery. I will leave the book with you and will go, now; but give\nyourself no uneasiness--I will give you absent treatment from now till I\ngo to bed.”\n\n\n\n\n\nUnder the powerful influence of the near treatment and the absent\ntreatment together, my bones were gradually retreating inward and\ndisappearing from view. The good work took a brisk start, now, and went\non swiftly. My body was diligently straining and stretching, this way\nand that, to accommodate the processes of restoration, and every minute\nor two I heard a dull click inside and knew that the two ends of\na fracture had been successfully joined. This muffled clicking and\ngritting and grinding and rasping continued during the next three\nhours, and then stopped--the connections had all been made. All except\ndislocations; there were only seven of these: hips, shoulders, knees,\nneck; so that was soon over; one after another they slipped into their\nsockets with a sound like pulling a distant cork, and I jumped up as\ngood as new, as to framework, and sent for the horse-doctor.\n\nI was obliged to do this because I had a stomach-ache and a cold in\nthe head, and I was not willing to trust these things any longer in the\nhands of a woman whom I did not know, and whose ability to successfully\ntreat mere disease I had lost all confidence. My position was justified\nby the fact that the cold and the ache had been in her charge from the\nfirst, along with the fractures, but had experienced not a shade of\nrelief; and, indeed, the ache was even growing worse and worse, and more\nand more bitter, now, probably on account of the protracted abstention\nfrom food and drink.\n\nThe horse-doctor came, a pleasant man and full of hope and professional\ninterest in the case. In the matter of smell he was pretty aromatic--in\nfact, quite horsy--and I tried to arrange with him for absent treatment,\nbut it was not in his line, so, out of delicacy, I did not press it.\nHe looked at my teeth and examined my hock, and said my age and general\ncondition were favorable to energetic measures; therefore he would give\nme something to turn the stomach-ache into the botts and the cold in\nthe head into the blind staggers; then he should be on his own beat\nand would know what to do. He made up a bucket of bran-mash, and said\na dipperful of it every two hours, alternated with a drench with\nturpentine and axle-grease in it, would either knock my ailments out of\nme in twenty-four hours, or so interest me in other ways as to make me\nforget they were on the premises. He administered my first dose himself,\nthen took his leave, saying I was free to eat and drink anything I\npleased and in any quantity I liked. But I was not hungry any more, and\ndid not care for food.\n\nI took up the Christian Science book and read half of it, then took a\ndipperful of drench and read the other half. The resulting experiences\nwere full of interest and adventure. All through the rumblings and\ngrindings and quakings and effervescings accompanying the evolution of\nthe ache into the botts and the cold into the blind staggers I could\nnote the generous struggle for mastery going on between the mash and the\ndrench and the literature; and often I could tell which was ahead, and\ncould easily distinguish the literature from the others when the others\nwere separate, though not when they were mixed; for when a bran-mash\nand an eclectic drench are mixed together they look just like the\nApodictical Principle out on a lark, and no one can tell it from that.\nThe finish was reached at last, the evolutions were complete, and a\nfine success, but I think that this result could have been achieved with\nfewer materials. I believe the mash was necessary to the conversion of\nthe stomach-ache into the botts, but I think one could develop the blind\nstaggers out of the literature by itself; also, that blind staggers\nproduced in this way would be of a better quality and more lasting than\nany produced by the artificial processes of the horse-doctor.\n\nFor of all the strange and frantic and incomprehensible and\nuninterpretable books which the imagination of man has created, surely\nthis one is the prize sample. It is written with a limitless confidence\nand complacency, and with a dash and stir and earnestness which often\ncompel the effects of eloquence, even when the words do not seem to\nhave any traceable meaning. There are plenty of people who imagine they\nunderstand the book; I know this, for I have talked with them; but in\nall cases they were people who also imagined that there were no such\nthings as pain, sickness, and death, and no realities in the world;\nnothing actually existent but Mind. It seems to me to modify the value\nof their testimony. When these people talk about Christian Science\nthey do as Mrs. Fuller did: they do not use their own language, but the\nbook's; they pour out the book's showy incoherences, and leave you to\nfind out later that they were not originating, but merely quoting;\nthey seem to know the volume by heart, and to revere it as they would\na Bible--another Bible, perhaps I ought to say. Plainly the book was\nwritten under the mental desolations of the Third Degree, and I feel\nsure that none but the membership of that Degree can discover meanings\nin it. When you read it you seem to be listening to a lively and\naggressive and oracular speech delivered in an unknown tongue, a speech\nwhose spirit you get but not the particulars; or, to change the figure,\nyou seem to be listening to a vigorous instrument which is making a\nnoise which it thinks is a tune, but which, to persons not members of\nthe band, is only the martial tooting of a trombone, and merrily stirs\nthe soul through the noise, but does not convey a meaning.\n\nThe book's serenities of self-satisfaction do almost seem to smack of\na heavenly origin--they have no blood-kin in the earth. It is more than\nhuman to be so placidly certain about things, and so finely superior,\nand so airily content with one's performance. Without ever presenting\nanything which may rightfully be called by the strong name of Evidence,\nand sometimes without even mentioning a reason for a deduction at all,\nit thunders out the startling words, “I have Proved” so and so. It takes\nthe Pope and all the great guns of his Church in battery assembled to\nauthoritatively settle and establish the meaning of a sole and single\nunclarified passage of Scripture, and this at vast cost of time and\nstudy and reflection, but the author of this work is superior to all\nthat: she finds the whole Bible in an unclarified audition, and at small\nexpense of time and no expense of mental effort she clarifies it from\nlid to lid, reorganizes and improves the meanings, then authoritatively\nsettles and establishes them with formulas which you cannot tell from\n“Let there be light!” and “Here you have it!” It is the first time since\nthe dawn-days of Creation that a Voice has gone crashing through space\nwith such placid and complacent confidence and command.\n\n[January, 1903. The first reading of any book whose terminology is\nnew and strange is nearly sure to leave the reader in a bewildered and\nsarcastic state of mind. But now that, during the past two months,\nI have, by diligence gained a fair acquaintanceship with Science and\nHealth technicalities, I no longer find the bulk of that work hard to\nunderstand.--M. T.]\n\nP.S. The wisdom harvested from the foregoing thoughts has already done\nme a service and saved me a sorrow. Nearly a month ago there came to me\nfrom one of the universities a tract by Dr. Edward Anthony Spitzka on\nthe “Encephalic Anatomy of the Races.” I judged that my opinion was\ndesired by the university, and I was greatly pleased with this attention\nand wrote and said I would furnish it as soon as I could. That night\nI put my plodding and disheartening Christian Science mining aside and\ntook hold of the matter. I wrote an eager chapter, and was expecting to\nfinish my opinion the next day, but was called away for a week, and my\nmind was soon charged with other interests. It was not until to-day,\nafter the lapse of nearly a month, that I happened upon my Encephalic\nchapter again. Meantime, the new wisdom had come to me, and I read it\nwith shame. I recognized that I had entered upon that work in far from\nthe right temper--far from the respectful and judicial spirit which was\nits due of reverence. I had begun upon it with the following paragraph\nfor fuel:\n\n“FISSURES OF THE PARIETAL AND OCCIPITAL LOBES (LATERAL SURFACE).--The\nPostcentral Fissural Complex--In this hemicerebrum, the postcentral and\nsubcentral are combined to form a continuous fissure, attaining a length\nof 8.5 cm. Dorsally, the fissure bifurcates, embracing the gyre\nindented by the caudal limb of the paracentral. The caudal limb of the\npostcentral is joined by a transparietal piece. In all, five additional\nrami spring from the combined fissure. A vadum separates it from the\nparietal; another from the central.”\n\nIt humiliates me, now, to see how angry I got over that; and how\nscornful. I said that the style was disgraceful; that it was labored and\ntumultuous, and in places violent, that the treatment was involved and\nerratic, and almost, as a rule, bewildering; that to lack of simplicity\nwas added a lack of vocabulary; that there was quite too much feeling\nshown; that if I had a dog that would get so excited and incoherent over\na tranquil subject like Encephalic Anatomy I would not pay his tax; and\nat that point I got excited myself and spoke bitterly of these mongrel\ninsanities, and said a person might as well try to understand Science\nand Health.\n\n[I know, now, where the trouble was, and am glad of the interruption\nthat saved me from sending my verdict to the university. It makes me\ncold to think what those people might have thought of me.--M. T.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nNo one doubts--certainly not I--that the mind exercises a powerful\ninfluence over the body. From the beginning of time, the sorcerer, the\ninterpreter of dreams, the fortune-teller, the charlatan, the quack,\nthe wild medicine-man, the educated physician, the mesmerist, and the\nhypnotist have made use of the client's imagination to help them in\ntheir work. They have all recognized the potency and availability of\nthat force. Physicians cure many patients with a bread pill; they know\nthat where the disease is only a fancy, the patient's confidence in the\ndoctor will make the bread pill effective.\n\nFaith in the doctor. Perhaps that is the entire thing. It seems to look\nlike it. In old times the King cured the king's evil by the touch of the\nroyal hand. He frequently made extraordinary cures. Could his footman\nhave done it? No--not in his own clothes. Disguised as the King, could\nhe have done it? I think we may not doubt it. I think we may feel sure\nthat it was not the King's touch that made the cure in any instance,\nbut the patient's faith in the efficacy of a King's touch. Genuine and\nremarkable cures have been achieved through contact with the relics of a\nsaint. Is it not likely that any other bones would have done as well if\nthe substitution had been concealed from the patient? When I was a boy a\nfarmer's wife who lived five miles from our village had great fame as\na faith-doctor--that was what she called herself. Sufferers came to\nher from all around, and she laid her hand upon them and said, “Have\nfaith--it is all that is necessary,” and they went away well of their\nailments. She was not a religious woman, and pretended to no occult\npowers. She said that the patient's faith in her did the work. Several\ntimes I saw her make immediate cures of severe toothaches. My mother was\nthe patient. In Austria there is a peasant who drives a great trade in\nthis sort of industry, and has both the high and the low for patients.\nHe gets into prison every now and then for practising without a diploma,\nbut his business is as brisk as ever when he gets out, for his work\nis unquestionably successful and keeps his reputation high. In Bavaria\nthere is a man who performed so many great cures that he had to retire\nfrom his profession of stage-carpentering in order to meet the demand\nof his constantly increasing body of customers. He goes on from year\nto year doing his miracles, and has become very rich. He pretends to no\nreligious helps, no supernatural aids, but thinks there is something in\nhis make-up which inspires the confidence of his patients, and that it\nis this confidence which does the work, and not some mysterious power\nissuing from himself.\n\nWithin the last quarter of a century, in America, several sects of\ncurers have appeared under various names and have done notable things in\nthe way of healing ailments without the use of medicines. There are the\nMind Cure the Faith Cure, the Prayer Cure, the Mental Science Cure, and\nthe Christian-Science Cure; and apparently they all do their miracles\nwith the same old, powerful instrument--the patient's imagination.\nDiffering names, but no difference in the process. But they do not give\nthat instrument the credit; each sect claims that its way differs from\nthe ways of the others.\n\nThey all achieve some cures, there is no question about it; and the\nFaith Cure and the Prayer Cure probably do no harm when they do no good,\nsince they do not forbid the patient to help out the cure with medicines\nif he wants to; but the others bar medicines, and claim ability to cure\nevery conceivable human ailment through the application of their mental\nforces alone. There would seem to be an element of danger here. It has\nthe look of claiming too much, I think. Public confidence would probably\nbe increased if less were claimed.\n\nThe Christian Scientist was not able to cure my stomach-ache and my\ncold; but the horse-doctor did it. This convinces me that Christian\nScience claims too much. In my opinion it ought to let diseases alone\nand confine itself to surgery. There it would have everything its own\nway.\n\nThe horse-doctor charged me thirty kreutzers, and I paid him; in fact,\nI doubled it and gave him a shilling. Mrs. Fuller brought in an itemized\nbill for a crate of broken bones mended in two hundred and thirty-four\nplaces--one dollar per fracture.\n\n“Nothing exists but Mind?”\n\n“Nothing,” she answered. “All else is substanceless, all else is\nimaginary.”\n\nI gave her an imaginary check, and now she is suing me for substantial\ndollars. It looks inconsistent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nLet us consider that we are all partially insane. It will explain us to\neach other; it will unriddle many riddles; it will make clear and simple\nmany things which are involved in haunting and harassing difficulties\nand obscurities now.\n\nThose of us who are not in the asylum, and not demonstrably due there,\nare nevertheless, no doubt, insane in one or two particulars. I think\nwe must admit this; but I think that we are otherwise healthy-minded.\nI think that when we all see one thing alike, it is evidence that, as\nregards that one thing, our minds are perfectly sound. Now there are\nreally several things which we do all see alike; things which we all\naccept, and about which we do not dispute. For instance, we who are\noutside of the asylum all agree that water seeks its level; that the\nsun gives light and heat; that fire consumes; that fog is damp; that six\ntimes six are thirty-six, that two from ten leaves eight; that eight\nand seven are fifteen. These are, perhaps, the only things we are agreed\nabout; but, although they are so few, they are of inestimable value,\nbecause they make an infallible standard of sanity. Whosoever accepts\nthem him we know to be substantially sane; sufficiently sane; in the\nworking essentials, sane. Whoever disputes a single one of them him we\nknow to be wholly insane, and qualified for the asylum.\n\nVery well, the man who disputes none of them we concede to be entitled\nto go at large. But that is concession enough. We cannot go any further\nthan that; for we know that in all matters of mere opinion that same man\nis insane--just as insane as we are; just as insane as Shakespeare was.\nWe know exactly where to put our finger upon his insanity: it is where\nhis opinion differs from ours.\n\nThat is a simple rule, and easy to remember. When I, a thoughtful\nand unblessed Presbyterian, examine the Koran, I know that beyond any\nquestion every Mohammedan is insane; not in all things, but in religious\nmatters. When a thoughtful and unblessed Mohammedan examines the\nWestminster Catechism, he knows that beyond any question I am\nspiritually insane. I cannot prove to him that he is insane, because\nyou never can prove anything to a lunatic--for that is a part of his\ninsanity and the evidence of it. He cannot prove to me that I am insane,\nfor my mind has the same defect that afflicts his. All Democrats are\ninsane, but not one of them knows it; none but the Republicans and\nMugwumps know it. All the Republicans are insane, but only the Democrats\nand Mugwumps can perceive it. The rule is perfect: in all matters of\nopinion our adversaries are insane. When I look around me, I am often\ntroubled to see how many people are mad. To mention only a few:\n\nThe Atheist, The Theosophists, The Infidel, The Swedenborgians, The\nAgnostic, The Shakers, The Baptist, The Millerites, The Methodist, The\nMormons, The Christian Scientist, The Laurence Oliphant Harrisites, The\nCatholic, and the 115 Christian sects, the Presbyterian excepted,\nThe Grand Lama's people, The Monarchists, The Imperialists, The 72\nMohammedan sects, The Democrats, The Republicans (but not the\nMugwumps), The Buddhist, The Blavatsky-Buddhist, The Mind-Curists, The\nFaith-Curists, The Nationalist, The Mental Scientists, The Confucian,\nThe Spiritualist, The Allopaths, The 2000 East Indian sects, The\nHomeopaths, The Electropaths, The Peculiar People, The--\n\nBut there's no end to the list; there are millions of them! And all\ninsane; each in his own way; insane as to his pet fad or opinion,\nbut otherwise sane and rational. This should move us to be charitable\ntowards one another's lunacies. I recognize that in his special belief\nthe Christian Scientist is insane, because he does not believe as I\ndo; but I hail him as my mate and fellow, because I am as insane as he\ninsane from his point of view, and his point of view is as authoritative\nas mine and worth as much. That is to say, worth a brass farthing. Upon\na great religious or political question, the opinion of the dullest head\nin the world is worth the same as the opinion of the brightest head in\nthe world--a brass farthing. How do we arrive at this? It is simple.\nThe affirmative opinion of a stupid man is neutralized by the negative\nopinion of his stupid neighbor no decision is reached; the affirmative\nopinion of the intellectual giant Gladstone is neutralized by the\nnegative opinion of the intellectual giant Newman--no decision is\nreached. Opinions that prove nothing are, of course, without value any\nbut a dead person knows that much. This obliges us to admit the truth\nof the unpalatable proposition just mentioned above--that, in disputed\nmatters political and religious, one man's opinion is worth no more than\nhis peer's, and hence it followers that no man's opinion possesses any\nreal value. It is a humbling thought, but there is no way to get around\nit: all opinions upon these great subjects are brass-farthing opinions.\n\nIt is a mere plain, simple fact--as clear and as certain as that eight\nand seven make fifteen. And by it we recognize that we are all insane,\nas concerns those matters. If we were sane, we should all see a\npolitical or religious doctrine alike; there would be no dispute: it\nwould be a case of eight and seven--just as it is in heaven, where all\nare sane and none insane. There there is but one religion, one belief;\nthe harmony is perfect; there is never a discordant note.\n\nUnder protection of these preliminaries, I suppose I may now repeat\nwithout offence that the Christian Scientist is insane. I mean him\nno discourtesy, and I am not charging--nor even imagining--that he\nis insaner than the rest of the human race. I think he is more\npicturesquely insane than some of us. At the same time, I am quite sure\nthat in one important and splendid particular he is much saner than is\nthe vast bulk of the race.\n\nWhy is he insane? I told you before: it is because his opinions are not\nours. I know of no other reason, and I do not need any other; it is the\nonly way we have of discovering insanity when it is not violent. It\nis merely the picturesqueness of his insanity that makes it more\ninteresting than my kind or yours. For instance, consider his “little\nbook”; the “little book” exposed in the sky eighteen centuries ago by\nthe flaming angel of the Apocalypse, and handed down in our day to Mrs.\nMary Baker G. Eddy, of New Hampshire, and translated by her, word for\nword, into English (with help of a polisher), and now published and\ndistributed in hundreds of editions by her at a clear profit per volume,\nabove cost, of seven hundred per cent.!--a profit which distinctly\nbelongs to the angel of the Apocalypse, and let him collect it if he\ncan; a “little book” which the C.S. very frequently calls by just that\nname, and always enclosed in quotation-marks to keep its high origin\nexultantly in mind; a “little book” which “explains” and reconstructs\nand new-paints and decorates the Bible, and puts a mansard roof on it\nand a lightning-rod and all the other modern improvements; a “little\nbook” which for the present affects to travel in yoke with the Bible and\nbe friendly to it, and within half a century will hitch the Bible in the\nrear and thenceforth travel tandem, itself in the lead, in the coming\ngreat march of Christian Scientism through the Protestant dominions of\nthe planet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n“Hungry ones throng to hear the Bible read in connection with the\ntext-book of Christian Science, Science and Health, with Key to the\nScriptures, by Mary Baker G. Eddy. These are our only preachers. They\nare the word of God.” “Christian Science Journal”, October, 1898.\n\nIs that picturesque? A lady has told me that in a chapel of the Mosque\nin Boston there is a picture or image of Mrs. Eddy, and that before it\nburns a never-extinguished light. Is that picturesque? How long do you\nthink it will be before the Christian Scientist will be worshipping that\npicture or image and praying to it? How long do you think it will\nbe before it is claimed that Mrs. Eddy is a Redeemer, a Christ, and\nChrist's equal? Already her army of disciples speak of her reverently as\n“Our Mother.”\n\nHow long will it be before they place her on the steps of the Throne\nbeside the Virgin--and, later, a step higher? First, Mary the Virgin and\nMary the Matron; later, with a change of precedence, Mary the Matron\nand Mary the Virgin. Let the artist get ready with his canvas and his\nbrushes; the new Renaissance is on its way, and there will be money in\naltar-canvases--a thousand times as much as the Popes and their Church\never spent on the Old Masters; for their riches were poverty as\ncompared with what is going to pour into the treasure-chest of the\nChristian-Scientist Papacy by-and-by, let us not doubt it. We will\nexamine the financial outlook presently and see what it promises. A\nfavorite subject of the new Old Master will be the first verse of the\ntwelfth chapter of Revelation--a verse which Mrs. Eddy says (in her\nAnnex to the Scriptures) has “one distinctive feature which has special\nreference to the present age”--and to her, as is rather pointedly\nindicated:\n\n“And there appeared a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the\nsun, and the moon under her feet,” etc.\n\nThe woman clothed with the sun will be a portrait of Mrs. Eddy.\n\nIs it insanity to believe that Christian-Scientism is destined to make\nthe most formidable show that any new religion has made in the world\nsince the birth and spread of Mohammedanism, and that within a century\nfrom now it may stand second to Rome only, in numbers and power in\nChristendom?\n\nIf this is a wild dream it will not be easy to prove it so just yet, I\nthink. There seems argument that it may come true. The Christian-Science\n“boom,” proper, is not yet five years old; yet already it has two\nhundred and fifty churches.\n\nIt has its start, you see, and it is a phenomenally good one. Moreover,\nit is latterly spreading with a constantly accelerating swiftness. It\nhas a better chance to grow and prosper and achieve permanency than any\nother existing “ism”; for it has more to offer than any other. The past\nteaches us that in order to succeed, a movement like this must not be\na mere philosophy, it must be a religion; also, that it must not claim\nentire originality, but content itself with passing for an improvement\non an existing religion, and show its hand later, when strong and\nprosperous--like Mohammedanism.\n\nNext, there must be money--and plenty of it.\n\nNext, the power and authority and capital must be concentrated in the\ngrip of a small and irresponsible clique, with nobody outside privileged\nto ask questions or find fault.\n\nNext, as before remarked, it must bait its hook with some new and\nattractive advantages over the baits offered by its competitors. A new\nmovement equipped with some of these endowments--like spiritualism, for\ninstance may count upon a considerable success; a new movement equipped\nwith the bulk of them--like Mohammedanism, for instance--may count upon\na widely extended conquest. Mormonism had all the requisites but one it\nhad nothing new and nothing valuable to bait with. Spiritualism lacked\nthe important detail of concentration of money and authority in the\nhands of an irresponsible clique.\n\nThe above equipment is excellent, admirable, powerful, but not perfect.\nThere is yet another detail which is worth the whole of it put together\nand more; a detail which has never been joined (in the beginning of\na religious movement) to a supremely good working equipment since the\nworld began, until now: a new personage to worship. Christianity had\nthe Saviour, but at first and for generations it lacked money and\nconcentrated power. In Mrs. Eddy, Christian Science possesses the new\npersonage for worship, and in addition--here in the very beginning--a\nworking equipment that has not a flaw in it. In the beginning,\nMohammedanism had no money; and it has never had anything to offer its\nclient but heaven--nothing here below that was valuable. In addition to\nheaven hereafter, Christian Science has present health and a cheerful\nspirit to offer; and in comparison with this bribe all other this-world\nbribes are poor and cheap. You recognize that this estimate is\nadmissible, do you not?\n\nTo whom does Bellamy's “Nationalism” appeal? Necessarily to the few:\npeople who read and dream, and are compassionate, and troubled for the\npoor and the hard-driven. To whom does Spiritualism appeal? Necessarily\nto the few; its “boom” has lasted for half a century, and I believe it\nclaims short of four millions of adherents in America. Who are attracted\nby Swedenborgianism and some of the other fine and delicate “isms”? The\nfew again: educated people, sensitively organized, with superior mental\nendowments, who seek lofty planes of thought and find their contentment\nthere. And who are attracted by Christian Science? There is no limit;\nits field is horizonless; its appeal is as universal as is the appeal\nof Christianity itself. It appeals to the rich, the poor, the high, the\nlow, the cultured, the ignorant, the gifted, the stupid, the modest,\nthe vain, the wise, the silly, the soldier, the civilian, the hero, the\ncoward, the idler, the worker, the godly, the godless, the freeman, the\nslave, the adult, the child; they who are ailing in body or mind,\nthey who have friends that are ailing in body or mind. To mass it in a\nphrase, its clientage is the Human Race. Will it march? I think so.\n\nRemember its principal great offer: to rid the Race of pain and disease.\nCan it do so? In large measure, yes. How much of the pain and disease in\nthe world is created by the imaginations of the sufferers, and then kept\nalive by those same imaginations? Four-fifths? Not anything short of\nthat, I should think. Can Christian Science banish that four-fifths? I\nthink so. Can any other (organized) force do it? None that I know of.\nWould this be a new world when that was accomplished? And a pleasanter\none--for us well people, as well as for those fussy and fretting sick\nones? Would it seem as if there was not as much gloomy weather as there\nused to be? I think so.\n\nIn the mean time, would the Scientist kill off a good many patients? I\nthink so. More than get killed off now by the legalized methods? I will\ntake up that question presently.\n\nAt present, I wish to ask you to examine some of the Scientist's\nperformances, as registered in his magazine, The Christian Science\nJournal--October number, 1898. First, a Baptist clergyman gives us this\ntrue picture of “the average orthodox Christian”--and he could have\nadded that it is a true picture of the average (civilized) human being:\n\n“He is a worried and fretted and fearful man; afraid of himself and his\npropensities, afraid of colds and fevers, afraid of treading on serpents\nor drinking deadly things.”\n\nThen he gives us this contrast:\n\n“The average Christian Scientist has put all anxiety and fretting under\nhis feet. He does have a victory over fear and care that is not achieved\nby the average orthodox Christian.”\n\nHe has put all anxiety and fretting under his feet. What proportion of\nyour earnings or income would you be willing to pay for that frame of\nmind, year in, year out? It really outvalues any price that can be put\nupon it. Where can you purchase it, at any outlay of any sort, in any\nChurch or out of it, except the Scientist's?\n\nWell, it is the anxiety and fretting about colds, and fevers, and\ndraughts, and getting our feet wet, and about forbidden food eaten in\nterror of indigestion, that brings on the cold and the fever and the\nindigestion and the most of our other ailments; and so, if the Science\ncan banish that anxiety from the world I think it can reduce the world's\ndisease and pain about four-fifths.\n\nIn this October number many of the redeemed testify and give thanks;\nand not coldly, but with passionate gratitude. As a rule they seem\ndrunk with health, and with the surprise of it, the wonder of it, the\nunspeakable glory and splendor of it, after a long, sober spell spent in\ninventing imaginary diseases and concreting them with doctor-stuff.\nThe first witness testifies that when “this most beautiful Truth first\ndawned on him” he had “nearly all the ills that flesh is heir to”; that\nthose he did not have he thought he had--and this made the tale about\ncomplete. What was the natural result? Why, he was a dump-pit “for all\nthe doctors, druggists, and patent medicines of the country.” Christian\nScience came to his help, and “the old sick conditions passed away,” and\nalong with them the “dismal forebodings” which he had been accustomed\nto employ in conjuring up ailments. And so he was a healthy and cheerful\nman, now, and astonished.\n\nBut I am not astonished, for from other sources I know what must have\nbeen his method of applying Christian Science. If I am in the right, he\nwatchfully and diligently diverted his mind from unhealthy channels and\ncompelled it to travel in healthy ones. Nothing contrivable by human\ninvention could be more formidably effective than that, in banishing\nimaginary ailments and in closing the entrances against sub-sequent\napplicants of their breed. I think his method was to keep saying, “I\nam well! I am sound!--sound and well! well and sound! Perfectly sound,\nperfectly well! I have no pain; there's no such thing as pain! I have no\ndisease; there's no such thing as disease! Nothing is real but Mind; all\nis Mind, All-Good Good-Good, Life, Soul, Liver, Bones, one of a series,\nante and pass the buck!”\n\nI do not mean that that was exactly the formula used, but that it\ndoubtless contains the spirit of it. The Scientist would attach value to\nthe exact formula, no doubt, and to the religious spirit in which it was\nused. I should think that any formula that would divert the mind from\nunwholesome channels and force it into healthy ones would answer every\npurpose with some people, though not with all. I think it most likely\nthat a very religious man would find the addition of the religious\nspirit a powerful reinforcement in his case.\n\nThe second witness testifies that the Science banished “an old organic\ntrouble,” which the doctor and the surgeon had been nursing with drugs\nand the knife for seven years.\n\nHe calls it his “claim.” A surface-miner would think it was not\nhis claim at all, but the property of the doctor and his pal the\nsurgeon--for he would be misled by that word, which is Christian-Science\nslang for “ailment.” The Christian Scientist has no ailment; to him\nthere is no such thing, and he will not use the hateful word. All that\nhappens to him is that upon his attention an imaginary disturbance\nsometimes obtrudes itself which claims to be an ailment but isn't.\n\nThis witness offers testimony for a clergyman seventy years old who had\npreached forty years in a Christian church, and has now gone over to the\nnew sect. He was “almost blind and deaf.” He was treated by the C. S.\nmethod, and “when he heard the voice of Truth he saw spiritually.” Saw\nspiritually? It is a little indefinite; they had better treat him again.\nIndefinite testimonies might properly be waste-basketed, since there is\nevidently no lack of definite ones procurable; but this C. S. magazine\nis poorly edited, and so mistakes of this kind must be expected.\n\nThe next witness is a soldier of the Civil War. When Christian Science\nfound him, he had in stock the following claims:\n\nIndigestion, Rheumatism, Catarrh, Chalky deposits in Shoulder-joints,\nArm-joints, Hand-joints, Insomnia, Atrophy of the muscles of Arms.\nShoulders, Stiffness of all those joints, Excruciating pains most of the\ntime.\n\nThese claims have a very substantial sound. They came of exposure in the\ncampaigns. The doctors did all they could, but it was little. Prayers\nwere tried, but “I never realized any physical relief from that source.”\n After thirty years of torture, he went to a Christian Scientist and took\nan hour's treatment and went home painless. Two days later, he “began\nto eat like a well man.” Then “the claims vanished--some at once, others\nmore gradually”; finally, “they have almost entirely disappeared.”\n And--a thing which is of still greater value--he is now “contented and\nhappy.” That is a detail which, as earlier remarked, is a Scientist\nChurch specialty. And, indeed, one may go further and assert with\nlittle or no exaggeration that it is a Christian-Science monopoly. With\nthirty-one years' effort, the Methodist Church had not succeeded in\nfurnishing it to this harassed soldier.\n\nAnd so the tale goes on. Witness after witness bulletins his claims,\ndeclares their prompt abolishment, and gives Mrs. Eddy's Discovery the\npraise. Milk-leg is cured; nervous prostration is cured; consumption is\ncured; and St. Vitus's dance is made a pastime. Even without a fiddle.\nAnd now and then an interesting new addition to the Science slang\nappears on the page. We have “demonstrations over chilblains” and such\nthings. It seems to be a curtailed way of saying “demonstrations of\nthe power of Christian-Science Truth over the fiction which masquerades\nunder the name of Chilblains.” The children, as well as the adults,\nshare in the blessings of the Science. “Through the study of the 'little\nbook' they are learning how to be healthful, peaceful, and wise.”\n Sometimes they are cured of their little claims by the professional\nhealer, and sometimes more advanced children say over the formula and\ncure themselves.\n\nA little Far-Western girl of nine, equipped with an adult vocabulary,\nstates her age and says, “I thought I would write a demonstration to\nyou.” She had a claim, derived from getting flung over a pony's head and\nlanded on a rockpile. She saved herself from disaster by remembering to\nsay “God is All” while she was in the air. I couldn't have done it.\nI shouldn't even have thought of it. I should have been too excited.\nNothing but Christian Science could have enabled that child to do that\ncalm and thoughtful and judicious thing in those circumstances. She came\ndown on her head, and by all the rules she should have broken it;\nbut the intervention of the formula prevented that, so the only claim\nresulting was a blackened eye. Monday morning it was still swollen and\nshut. At school “it hurt pretty badly--that is, it seemed to.” So “I was\nexcused, and went down to the basement and said, 'Now I am depending on\nmamma instead of God, and I will depend on God instead of mamma.'” No\ndoubt this would have answered; but, to make sure, she added Mrs. Eddy\nto the team and recited “the Scientific Statement of Being,” which\nis one of the principal incantations, I judge. Then “I felt my eye\nopening.” Why, dear, it would have opened an oyster. I think it is one\nof the touchingest things in child-history, that pious little rat down\ncellar pumping away at the Scientific Statement of Being.\n\nThere is a page about another good child--little Gordon. Little Gordon\n“came into the world without the assistance of surgery or anaesthetics.”\n He was a “demonstration.” A painless one; therefore, his coming evoked\n“joy and thankfulness to God and the Discoverer of Christian Science.”\n It is a noticeable feature of this literature--the so frequent linking\ntogether of the Two Beings in an equal bond; also of Their Two Bibles.\nWhen little Gordon was two years old, “he was playing horse on the bed,\nwhere I had left my 'little book.' I noticed him stop in his play, take\nthe book carefully in his little hands, kiss it softly, then look about\nfor the highest place of safety his arms could reach, and put it there.”\n This pious act filled the mother “with such a train of thought as I had\nnever experienced before. I thought of the sweet mother of long ago\nwho kept things in her heart,” etc. It is a bold comparison; however,\nunconscious profanations are about as common in the mouths of the lay\nmember ship of the new Church as are frank and open ones in the mouths\nof its consecrated chiefs.\n\nSome days later, the family library--Christian-Science books--was lying\nin a deep-seated window. This was another chance for the holy child to\nshow off. He left his play and went there and pushed all the books to\none side, except the Annex “It he took in both hands, slowly raised\nit to his lips, then removed it carefully, and seated himself in the\nwindow.” It had seemed to the mother too wonderful to be true, that\nfirst time; but now she was convinced that “neither imagination nor\naccident had anything to do with it.” Later, little Gordon let the\nauthor of his being see him do it. After that he did it frequently;\nprobably every time anybody was looking. I would rather have that child\nthan a chromo. If this tale has any object, it is to intimate that the\ninspired book was supernaturally able to convey a sense of its sacred\nand awful character to this innocent little creature, without\nthe intervention of outside aids. The magazine is not edited with\nhigh-priced discretion. The editor has a “claim,” and he ought to get it\ntreated.\n\nAmong other witnesses there is one who had a “jumping toothache,”\n which several times tempted her to “believe that there was sensation in\nmatter, but each time it was overcome by the power of Truth.” She would\nnot allow the dentist to use cocaine, but sat there and let him\npunch and drill and split and crush the tooth, and tear and slash its\nulcerations, and pull out the nerve, and dig out fragments of bone; and\nshe wouldn't once confess that it hurt. And to this day she thinks it\ndidn't, and I have not a doubt that she is nine-tenths right, and that\nher Christian Science faith did her better service than she could have\ngotten out of cocaine.\n\nThere is an account of a boy who got broken all up into small bits by\nan accident, but said over the Scientific Statement of Being, or some of\nthe other incantations, and got well and sound without having suffered\nany real pain and without the intrusion of a surgeon.\n\nAlso, there is an account of the restoration to perfect health, in\na single night, of a fatally injured horse, by the application of\nChristian Science. I can stand a good deal, but I recognize that the ice\nis getting thin, here. That horse had as many as fifty claims; how\ncould he demonstrate over them? Could he do the All-Good, Good-Good,\nGood-Gracious, Liver, Bones, Truth, All down but Nine, Set them up on\nthe Other Alley? Could he intone the Scientific Statement of Being?\nNow, could he? Wouldn't it give him a relapse? Let us draw the line at\nhorses. Horses and furniture.\n\nThere is plenty of other testimonies in the magazine, but these quoted\nsamples will answer. They show the kind of trade the Science is driving.\nNow we come back to the question, Does the Science kill a patient here\nand there and now and then? We must concede it. Does it compensate\nfor this? I am persuaded that it can make a plausible showing in that\ndirection. For instance: when it lays its hand upon a soldier who has\nsuffered thirty years of helpless torture and makes him whole in body\nand mind, what is the actual sum of that achievement? This, I think:\nthat it has restored to life a subject who had essentially died ten\ndeaths a year for thirty years, and each of them a long and painful one.\nBut for its interference that man in the three years which have since\nelapsed, would have essentially died thirty times more. There are\nthousands of young people in the land who are now ready to enter upon a\nlife-long death similar to that man's. Every time the Science\ncaptures one of these and secures to him life-long immunity from\nimagination-manufactured disease, it may plausibly claim that in his\nperson it has saved three hundred lives. Meantime, it will kill a man\nevery now and then. But no matter, it will still be ahead on the credit\nside.\n\n[NOTE.--I have received several letters (two from educated and\nostensibly intelligent persons), which contained, in substance, this\nprotest: “I don't object to men and women chancing their lives with\nthese people, but it is a burning shame that the law should allow them\nto trust their helpless little children in their deadly hands.” Isn't it\ntouching? Isn't it deep? Isn't it modest? It is as if the person said:\n“I know that to a parent his child is the core of his heart, the apple\nof his eye, a possession so dear, so precious that he will trust its\nlife in no hands but those which he believes, with all his soul, to be\nthe very best and the very safest, but it is a burning shame that the\nlaw does not require him to come to me to ask what kind of healer I will\nallow him to call.” The public is merely a multiplied “me.”--M.T.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n“We consciously declare that Science and Health, with Key to the\nScriptures, was foretold, as well as its author, Mary Baker Eddy, in\nRevelation x. She is the 'mighty angel,' or God's highest thought to\nthis age (verse 1), giving us the spiritual interpretation of the\nBible in the 'little book open' (verse 2). Thus we prove that Christian\nScience is the second coming of Christ-Truth-Spirit.”--Lecture by Dr.\nGeorge Tomkins, D.D. C.S.\n\nThere you have it in plain speech. She is the mighty angel; she is the\ndivinely and officially sent bearer of God's highest thought. For the\npresent, she brings the Second Advent. We must expect that before she\nhas been in her grave fifty years she will be regarded by her following\nas having been herself the Second Advent. She is already worshiped, and\nwe must expect this feeling to spread, territorially, and also to deepen\nin intensity.\n\nParticularly after her death; for then, as any one can foresee,\nEddy-Worship will be taught in the Sunday-schools and pulpits of the\ncult. Already whatever she puts her trade-mark on, though it be only\na memorial-spoon, is holy and is eagerly and gratefully bought by the\ndisciple, and becomes a fetish in his house. I say bought, for the\nBoston Christian-Science Trust gives nothing away; everything it has\nis for sale. And the terms are cash; and not only cash, but cash in\nadvance. Its god is Mrs. Eddy first, then the Dollar. Not a spiritual\nDollar, but a real one. From end to end of the Christian Science\nliterature not a single (material) thing in the world is conceded to be\nreal, except the Dollar. But all through and through its advertisements\nthat reality is eagerly and persistently recognized.\n\nThe Dollar is hunted down in all sorts of ways; the Christian-Science\nMother-Church and Bargain-Counter in Boston peddles all kinds of\nspiritual wares to the faithful, and always on the one condition--cash,\ncash in advance. The Angel of the Apocalypse could not go there and get\na copy of his own pirated book on credit. Many, many precious Christian\nScience things are to be had there for cash: Bible Lessons; Church\nManual; C. S. Hymnal; History of the building of the Mother-Church; lot\nof Sermons; Communion Hymn, “Saw Ye My Saviour,” by Mrs. Eddy, half a\ndollar a copy, “words used by special permission of Mrs. Eddy.” Also we\nhave Mrs. Eddy's and the Angel's little Blue-Annex in eight styles\nof binding at eight kinds of war-prices; among these a sweet thing in\n“levant, divinity circuit, leather lined to edge, round corners, gold\nedge, silk sewed, each, prepaid, $6,” and if you take a million you get\nthem a shilling cheaper--that is to say, “prepaid, $5.75.” Also we\nhave Mrs. Eddy's Miscellaneous Writings, at 'andsome big prices, the\ndivinity-circuit style heading the exertions, shilling discount where\nyou take an edition Next comes Christ and Christmas, by the fertile Mrs.\nEddy--a poem--would God I could see it!--price $3, cash in advance. Then\nfollow five more books by Mrs. Eddy, at highwayman's rates, some of\nthem in “leatherette covers,” some of them in “pebble cloth,” with\ndivinity-circuit, compensation-balance, twin-screw, and the other modern\nimprovements; and at the same bargain-counter can be had The Christian\nScience Journal.\n\nChristian-Science literary discharges are a monopoly of the\nMother-Church Headquarters Factory in Boston; none genuine without the\ntrade-mark of the Trust. You must apply there and not elsewhere.\n\nOne hundred dollars for it. And I have a case among my statistics where\nthe student had a three weeks' course and paid three hundred for it.\n\nThe Trust does love the Dollar, when it isn't a spiritual one.\n\nIn order to force the sale of Mrs Eddy's Bible-Annex, no healer,\nMetaphysical-College-bred or other, is allowed to practice the game\nunless he possesses a copy of that book. That means a large and\nconstantly augmenting income for the Trust. No C.S. family would\nconsider itself loyal or pious or pain-proof without an Annex or two in\nthe house. That means an income for the Trust, in the near future, of\nmillions; not thousands-millions a year.\n\nNo member, young or old, of a branch Christian-Scientist church can\nacquire and retain membership in the Mother-Church unless he pay\n“capitation tax” (of “not less than a dollar,” say the By-Laws) to the\nBoston Trust every year. That means an income for the Trust, in the near\nfuture, of--let us venture to say--millions more per year.\n\nIt is a reasonably safe guess that in America in 1920 there will be ten\nmillion Christian Scientists, and three millions in Great Britain;\nthat these figures will be trebled in 1930; that in America in 1920\nthe Christian Scientists will be a political force, in 1930 politically\nformidable, and in 1940 the governing power in the Republic--to remain\nthat, permanently. And I think it a reasonable guess that the Trust\n(which is already in our day pretty brusque in its ways) will then be\nthe most insolent and unscrupulous and tyrannical politico-religious\nmaster that has dominated a people since the palmy days of the\nInquisition. And a stronger master than the strongest of bygone times,\nbecause this one will have a financial strength not dreamed of by any\npredecessor; as effective a concentration of irresponsible power as any\npredecessor has had; in the railway, the telegraph, and the subsidized\nnewspaper, better facilities for watching and managing his empire\nthan any predecessor has had; and, after a generation or two, he will\nprobably divide Christendom with the Catholic Church.\n\nThe Roman Church has a perfect organization, and it has an effective\ncentralization of power--but not of its cash. Its multitude of Bishops\nare rich, but their riches remain in large measure in their own hands.\nThey collect from two hundred millions of people, but they keep the\nbulk of the result at home. The Boston Pope of by-and-by will draw his\ndollar-a-head capitation-tax from three hundred millions of the human\nrace, and the Annex and the rest of his book-shop stock will fetch in as\nmuch more; and his Metaphysical Colleges, the annual Pilgrimage to Mrs.\nEddy's tomb, from all over the world-admission, the Christian-Science\nDollar (payable in advance)--purchases of consecrated glass beads,\ncandles, memorial spoons, aureoled chrome-portraits and bogus autographs\nof Mrs. Eddy; cash offerings at her shrine no crutches of cured cripples\nreceived, and no imitations of miraculously restored broken legs and\nnecks allowed to be hung up except when made out of the Holy Metal\nand proved by fire-assay; cash for miracles worked at the tomb: these\nmoney-sources, with a thousand to be yet invented and ambushed upon the\ndevotee, will bring the annual increment well up above a billion. And\nnobody but the Trust will have the handling of it. In that day, the\nTrust will monopolize the manufacture and sale of the Old and New\nTestaments as well as the Annex, and raise their price to Annex rates,\nand compel the devotee to buy (for even to-day a healer has to have the\nAnnex and the Scriptures or he is not allowed to work the game), and\nthat will bring several hundred million dollars more. In those days, the\nTrust will have an income approaching five million dollars a day, and\nno expenses to be taken out of it; no taxes to pay, and no charities\nto support. That last detail should not be lightly passed over by the\nreader; it is well entitled to attention.\n\nNo charities to support. No, nor even to contribute to. One searches in\nvain the Trust's advertisements and the utterances of its organs for\nany suggestion that it spends a penny on orphans, widows, discharged\nprisoners, hospitals, ragged schools, night missions, city missions,\nlibraries, old people's homes, or any other object that appeals to a\nhuman being's purse through his heart.\n\nI have hunted, hunted, and hunted, by correspondence and otherwise, and\nhave not yet got upon the track of a farthing that the Trust has spent\nupon any worthy object. Nothing makes a Scientist so uncomfortable as to\nask him if he knows of a case where Christian Science has spent money\non a benevolence, either among its own adherents or elsewhere. He is\nobliged to say “No” And then one discovers that the person questioned\nhas been asked the question many times before, and that it is getting to\nbe a sore subject with him. Why a sore subject? Because he has written\nhis chiefs and asked with high confidence for an answer that will\nconfound these questioners--and the chiefs did not reply. He has written\nagain, and then again--not with confidence, but humbly, now--and has\nbegged for defensive ammunition in the voice of supplication. A reply\ndoes at last come to this effect: “We must have faith in Our Mother, and\nrest content in the conviction that whatever She does with the money\nit is in accordance with orders from Heaven, for She does no act of any\nkind without first 'demonstrating over' it.”\n\nThat settles it--as far as the disciple is concerned. His mind\nis satisfied with that answer; he gets down his Annex and does an\nincantation or two, and that mesmerizes his spirit and puts that to\nsleep--brings it peace. Peace and comfort and joy, until some inquirer\npunctures the old sore again.\n\nThrough friends in America I asked some questions, and in some cases\ngot definite and informing answers; in other cases the answers were not\ndefinite and not valuable. To the question, “Does any of the money go to\ncharities?” the answer from an authoritative source was: “No, not in\nthe sense usually conveyed by this word.” (The italics are mine.) That\nanswer is cautious. But definite, I think--utterly and unassailably\ndefinite--although quite Christian-Scientifically foggy in its phrasing.\nChristian-Science testimony is generally foggy, generally diffuse,\ngenerally garrulous. The writer was aware that the first word in his\nphrase answered the question which I was asking, but he could not help\nadding nine dark words. Meaningless ones, unless explained by him. It is\nquite likely, as intimated by him, that Christian Science has invented\na new class of objects to apply the word “charity” to, but without an\nexplanation we cannot know what they are. We quite easily and naturally\nand confidently guess that they are in all cases objects which will\nreturn five hundred per cent. on the Trust's investment in them,\nbut guessing is not knowledge; it is merely, in this case, a sort\nof nine-tenths certainty deducible from what we think we know of the\nTrust's trade principles and its sly and furtive and shifty ways.\n\nSly? Deep? Judicious? The Trust understands its business. The Trust does\nnot give itself away. It defeats all the attempts of us impertinents to\nget at its trade secrets. To this day, after all our diligence, we have\nnot been able to get it to confess what it does with the money. It does\nnot even let its own disciples find out. All it says is, that the matter\nhas been “demonstrated over.” Now and then a lay Scientist says, with\na grateful exultation, that Mrs. Eddy is enormously rich, but he stops\nthere; as to whether any of the money goes to other charities or not,\nhe is obliged to admit that he does not know. However, the Trust is\ncomposed of human beings; and this justifies the conjecture that if it\nhad a charity on its list which it was proud of, we should soon hear of\nit.\n\n“Without money and without price.” Those used to be the terms. Mrs.\nEddy's Annex cancels them. The motto of Christian Science is, “The\nlaborer is worthy of his hire.” And now that it has been “demonstrated\nover,” we find its spiritual meaning to be, “Do anything and everything\nyour hand may find to do; and charge cash for it, and collect the money\nin advance.” The Scientist has on his tongue's end a cut-and-dried,\nBoston-supplied set of rather lean arguments, whose function is to show\nthat it is a Heaven-commanded duty to do this, and that the croupiers of\nthe game have no choice but to obey.\n\nThe Trust seems to be a reincarnation. Exodus xxxii. 4.\n\nI have no reverence for the Trust, but I am not lacking in reverence for\nthe sincerities of the lay membership of the new Church. There is every\nevidence that the lay members are entirely sincere in their faith, and\nI think sincerity is always entitled to honor and respect, let the\ninspiration of the sincerity be what it may. Zeal and sincerity can\ncarry a new religion further than any other missionary except fire and\nsword, and I believe that the new religion will conquer the half of\nChristendom in a hundred years. I am not intending this as a compliment\nto the human race; I am merely stating an opinion. And yet I think that\nperhaps it is a compliment to the race. I keep in mind that saying of\nan orthodox preacher--quoted further back. He conceded that this new\nChristianity frees its possessor's life from frets, fears, vexations,\nbitterness, and all sorts of imagination-propagated maladies and pains,\nand fills his world with sunshine and his heart with gladness. If\nChristian Science, with this stupendous equipment--and final salvation\nadded--cannot win half the Christian globe, I must be badly mistaken in\nthe make-up of the human race.\n\nI think the Trust will be handed down like the other Papacy, and will\nalways know how to handle its limitless cash. It will press the button;\nthe zeal, the energy, the sincerity, the enthusiasm of its countless\nvassals will do the rest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nThe power which a man's imagination has over his body to heal it or make\nit sick is a force which none of us is born without. The first man had\nit, the last one will possess it. If left to himself, a man is most\nlikely to use only the mischievous half of the force--the half which\ninvents imaginary ailments for him and cultivates them; and if he is\none of these--very wise people, he is quite likely to scoff at the\nbeneficent half of the force and deny its existence. And so, to heal\nor help that man, two imaginations are required: his own and some\noutsider's. The outsider, B, must imagine that his incantations are the\nhealing-power that is curing A, and A must imagine that this is so. I\nthink it is not so, at all; but no matter, the cure is effected, and\nthat is the main thing. The outsider's work is unquestionably valuable;\nso valuable that it may fairly be likened to the essential work\nperformed by the engineer when he handles the throttle and turns on the\nsteam; the actual power is lodged exclusively in the engine, but if\nthe engine were left alone it would never start of itself. Whether the\nengineer be named Jim, or Bob, or Tom, it is all one--his services are\nnecessary, and he is entitled to such wage as he can get you to pay.\nWhether he be named Christian Scientist, or Mental Scientist, or Mind\nCurist, or King's-Evil Expert, or Hypnotist, it is all one; he is merely\nthe Engineer; he simply turns on the same old steam and the engine does\nthe whole work.\n\nThe Christian-Scientist engineer drives exactly the same trade as the\nother engineers, yet he out-prospers the whole of them put together.\n\nIs it because he has captured the takingest name? I think that that is\nonly a small part of it. I think that the secret of his high prosperity\nlies elsewhere.\n\nThe Christian Scientist has organized the business. Now that was\ncertainly a gigantic idea. Electricity, in limitless volume, has\nexisted in the air and the rocks and the earth and everywhere since\ntime began--and was going to waste all the while. In our time we have\norganized that scattered and wandering force and set it to work,\nand backed the business with capital, and concentrated it in few and\ncompetent hands, and the results are as we see.\n\nThe Christian Scientist has taken a force which has been lying idle in\nevery member of the human race since time began, and has organized it,\nand backed the business with capital, and concentrated it at Boston\nheadquarters in the hands of a small and very competent Trust, and there\nare results.\n\nTherein lies the promise that this monopoly is going to extend its\ncommerce wide in the earth. I think that if the business were conducted\nin the loose and disconnected fashion customary with such things, it\nwould achieve but little more than the modest prosperity usually secured\nby unorganized great moral and commercial ventures; but I believe that\nso long as this one remains compactly organized and closely concentrated\nin a Trust, the spread of its dominion will continue.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nFour years ago I wrote the preceding chapters. I was assured by the wise\nthat Christian Science was a fleeting craze and would soon perish. This\nprompt and all-competent stripe of prophet is always to be had in the\nmarket at ground-floor rates. He does not stop to load, or consider, or\ntake aim, but lets fly just as he stands. Facts are nothing to him, he\nhas no use for such things; he works wholly by inspiration. And so, when\nhe is asked why he considers a new movement a passing fad and quickly\nperishable, he finds himself unprepared with a reason and is more or\nless embarrassed. For a moment. Only for a moment. Then he waylays the\nfirst spectre of a reason that goes flitting through the desert places\nof his mind, and is at once serene again and ready for conflict. Serene\nand confident. Yet he should not be so, since he has had no chance\nto examine his catch, and cannot know whether it is going to help his\ncontention or damage it.\n\nThe impromptu reason furnished by the early prophets of whom I have\nspoken was this:\n\n“There is nothing to Christian Science; there is nothing about it\nthat appeals to the intellect; its market will be restricted to the\nunintelligent, the mentally inferior, the people who do not think.”\n\nThey called that a reason why the cult would not flourish and endure. It\nseems the equivalent of saying:\n\n“There is no money in tinware; there is nothing about it that appeals to\nthe rich; its market will be restricted to the poor.”\n\nIt is like bringing forward the best reason in the world why Christian\nScience should flourish and live, and then blandly offering it as a\nreason why it should sicken and die.\n\nThat reason was furnished me by the complacent and unfrightened\nprophets four years ago, and it has been furnished me again to-day. If\nconversions to new religions or to old ones were in any considerable\ndegree achieved through the intellect, the aforesaid reason would be\nsound and sufficient, no doubt; the inquirer into Christian Science\nmight go away unconvinced and unconverted. But we all know that\nconversions are seldom made in that way; that such a thing as a serious\nand painstaking and fairly competent inquiry into the claims of a\nreligion or of a political dogma is a rare occurrence; and that the\nvast mass of men and women are far from being capable of making such\nan examination. They are not capable, for the reason that their minds,\nhowsoever good they may be, are not trained for such examinations. The\nmind not trained for that work is no more competent to do it than\nare lawyers and farmers competent to make successful clothes without\nlearning the tailor's trade. There are seventy-five million men and\nwomen among us who do not know how to cut out and make a dress-suit, and\nthey would not think of trying; yet they all think they can competently\nthink out a political or religious scheme without any apprenticeship to\nthe business, and many of them believe they have actually worked that\nmiracle. But, indeed, the truth is, almost all the men and women of our\nnation or of any other get their religion and their politics where they\nget their astronomy--entirely at second hand. Being untrained, they are\nno more able to intelligently examine a dogma or a policy than they are\nto calculate an eclipse.\n\nMen are usually competent thinkers along the lines of their specialized\ntraining only. Within these limits alone are their opinions and\njudgments valuable; outside of these limits they grope and are\nlost--usually without knowing it. In a church assemblage of five hundred\npersons, there will be a man or two whose trained minds can seize upon\neach detail of a great manufacturing scheme and recognize its value\nor its lack of value promptly; and can pass the details in intelligent\nreview, section by section, and finally as a whole, and then deliver a\nverdict upon the scheme which cannot be flippantly set aside nor easily\nanswered. And there will be one or two other men there who can do the\nsame thing with a great and complicated educational project; and one\nor two others who can do the like with a large scheme for applying\nelectricity in a new and unheard-of way; and one or two others who can\ndo it with a showy scheme for revolutionizing the scientific world's\naccepted notions regarding geology. And so on, and so on. But the\nmanufacturing experts will not be competent to examine the educational\nscheme intelligently, and their opinion about it would not be valuable;\nneither of these two groups will be able to understand and pass upon the\nelectrical scheme; none of these three batches of experts will be able\nto understand and pass upon the geological revolution; and probably not\none man in the entire lot will be competent to examine, capably, the\nintricacies of a political or religious scheme, new or old, and deliver\na judgment upon it which any one need regard as precious.\n\nThere you have the top crust. There will be four hundred and\nseventy-five men and women present who can draw upon their training and\ndeliver incontrovertible judgments concerning cheese, and leather,\nand cattle, and hardware, and soap, and tar, and candles, and patent\nmedicines, and dreams, and apparitions, and garden trucks, and cats, and\nbaby food, and warts, and hymns, and time-tables, and freight-rates, and\nsummer resorts, and whiskey, and law, and surgery, and dentistry, and\nblacksmithing, and shoemaking, and dancing, and Huyler's candy, and\nmathematics, and dog fights, and obstetrics, and music, and sausages,\nand dry goods, and molasses, and railroad stocks, and horses, and\nliterature, and labor unions, and vegetables, and morals, and lamb's\nfries, and etiquette, and agriculture. And not ten among the five\nhundred--let their minds be ever so good and bright--will be competent,\nby grace of the requisite specialized mental training, to take hold of a\ncomplex abstraction of any kind and make head or tail of it.\n\nThe whole five hundred are thinkers, and they are all capable\nthinkers--but only within the narrow limits of their specialized\ntrainings. Four hundred and ninety of them cannot competently examine\neither a religious plan or a political one. A scattering few of them do\nexamine both--that is, they think they do. With results as precious as\nwhen I examine the nebular theory and explain it to myself.\n\nIf the four hundred and ninety got their religion through their minds,\nand by weighed and measured detail, Christian Science would not be a\nscary apparition. But they don't; they get a little of it through their\nminds, more of it through their feelings, and the overwhelming bulk of\nit through their environment.\n\nEnvironment is the chief thing to be considered when one is proposing to\npredict the future of Christian Science. It is not the ability to reason\nthat makes the Presbyterian, or the Baptist, or the Methodist, or the\nCatholic, or the Mohammedan, or the Buddhist, or the Mormon; it is\nenvironment. If religions were got by reasoning, we should have the\nextraordinary spectacle of an American family with a Presbyterian in it,\nand a Baptist, a Methodist, a Catholic, a Mohammedan, a Buddhist, and\na Mormon. A Presbyterian family does not produce Catholic families\nor other religious brands, it produces its own kind; and not\nby intellectual processes, but by association. And so also with\nMohammedanism, the cult which in our day is spreading with the sweep of\na world-conflagration through the Orient, that native home of profound\nthought and of subtle intellectual fence, that fertile womb whence has\nsprung every great religion that exists. Including our own; for with all\nour brains we cannot invent a religion and market it.\n\nThe language of my quoted prophets recurs to us now, and we wonder to\nthink how small a space in the world the mighty Mohammedan Church would\nbe occupying now, if a successful trade in its line of goods had been\nconditioned upon an exhibit that would “appeal to the intellect” instead\nof to “the unintelligent, the mentally inferior, the people who do not\nthink.”\n\nThe Christian Science Church, like the Mohammedan Church, makes no\nembarrassing appeal to the intellect, has no occasion to do it, and can\nget along quite well without it.\n\nProvided. Provided what? That it can secure that thing which is\nworth two or three hundred thousand times more than an “appeal to the\nintellect”--an environment. Can it get that? Will it be a menace\nto regular Christianity if it gets that? Is it time for regular\nChristianity to get alarmed? Or shall regular Christianity smile a smile\nand turn over and take another nap? Won't it be wise and proper for\nregular Christianity to do the old way, Me customary way, the historical\nway--lock the stable-door after the horse is gone? Just as Protestantism\nhas smiled and nodded this long time (while the alert and diligent\nCatholic was slipping in and capturing the public schools), and is now\nbeginning to hunt around for the key when it is too late?\n\nWill Christian Science get a chance to show its wares? It has already\nsecured that chance. Will it flourish and spread and prosper if it\nshall create for itself the one thing essential to those conditions--an\nenvironment? It has already created an environment. There are families\nof Christian Scientists in every community in America, and each family\nis a factory; each family turns out a Christian Science product at the\ncustomary intervals, and contributes it to the Cause in the only way\nin which contributions of recruits to Churches are ever made on a large\nscale--by the puissant forces of personal contact and association.\nEach family is an agency for the Cause, and makes converts among the\nneighbors, and starts some more factories.\n\nFour years ago there were six Christian Scientists in a certain town\nthat I am acquainted with; a year ago there were two hundred and fifty\nthere; they have built a church, and its membership now numbers four\nhundred. This has all been quietly done; done without frenzied revivals,\nwithout uniforms, brass bands, street parades, corner oratory, or any of\nthe other customary persuasions to a godly life. Christian Science, like\nMohammedanism, is “restricted” to the “unintelligent, the people who\ndo not think.” There lies the danger. It makes Christian Science\nformidable. It is “restricted” to ninety-nine one-hundredths of the\nhuman race, and must be reckoned with by regular Christianity. And will\nbe, as soon as it is too late.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II\n\n“There were remarkable things about the stranger called the\nMan--Mystery-things so very extraordinary that they monopolized\nattention and made all of him seem extraordinary; but this was not so,\nthe most of his qualities being of the common, every-day size and like\nanybody else's. It was curious. He was of the ordinary stature, and had\nthe ordinary aspects; yet in him were hidden such strange contradictions\nand disproportions! He was majestically fearless and heroic; he had\nthe strength of thirty men and the daring of thirty thousand; handling\narmies, organizing states, administering governments--these were\npastimes to him; he publicly and ostentatiously accepted the human race\nat its own valuation--as demigods--and privately and successfully dealt\nwith it at quite another and juster valuation--as children and slaves;\nhis ambitions were stupendous, and his dreams had no commerce with the\nhumble plain, but moved with the cloud-rack among the snow-summits.\nThese features of him were, indeed, extraordinary, but the rest of\nhim was ordinary and usual. He was so mean-minded, in the matter of\njealousy, that it was thought he was descended from a god; he was vain\nin little ways, and had a pride in trivialities; he doted on ballads\nabout moonshine and bruised hearts; in education he was deficient, he\nwas indifferent to literature, and knew nothing of art; he was dumb upon\nall subjects but one, indifferent to all except that one--the Nebular\nTheory. Upon that one his flow of words was full and free, he was a\ngeyser. The official astronomers disputed his facts and deeded his\nviews, and said that he had invented both, they not being findable in\nany of the books. But many of the laity, who wanted their nebulosities\nfresh, admired his doctrine and adopted it, and it attained to great\nprosperity in spite of the hostility of the experts.”--The Legend of the\nMan-Mystery, ch. i.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nJANUARY, 1903. When we do not know a public man personally, we guess him\nout by the facts of his career. When it is Washington, we all arrive\nat about one and the same result. We agree that his words and his acts\nclearly interpret his character to us, and that they never leave us in\ndoubt as to the motives whence the words and acts proceeded. It is the\nsame with Joan of Arc, it is the same with two or three or five or six\nothers among the immortals. But in the matter of motives and of a few\ndetails of character we agree to disagree upon Napoleon, Cromwell, and\nall the rest; and to this list we must add Mrs. Eddy. I think we can\npeacefully agree as to two or three extraordinary features of her\nmake-up, but not upon the other features of it. We cannot peacefully\nagree as to her motives, therefore her character must remain crooked to\nsome of us and straight to the others.\n\nNo matter, she is interesting enough without an amicable agreement. In\nseveral ways she is the most interesting woman that ever lived, and the\nmost extraordinary. The same may be said of her career, and the same\nmay be said of its chief result. She started from nothing. Her enemies\ncharge that she surreptitiously took from Quimby a peculiar system of\nhealing which was mind-cure with a Biblical basis. She and her friends\ndeny that she took anything from him. This is a matter which we\ncan discuss by-and-by. Whether she took it or invented it, it\nwas--materially--a sawdust mine when she got it, and she has turned it\ninto a Klondike; its spiritual dock had next to no custom, if any at\nall: from it she has launched a world-religion which has now six hundred\nand sixty-three churches, and she charters a new one every four days.\nWhen we do not know a person--and also when we do--we have to judge his\nsize by the size and nature of his achievements, as compared with the\nachievements of others in his special line of business--there is no\nother way. Measured by this standard, it is thirteen hundred years\nsince the world has produced any one who could reach up to Mrs. Eddy's\nwaistbelt.\n\nFiguratively speaking, Mrs. Eddy is already as tall as the Eiffel tower.\nShe is adding surprisingly to her stature every day. It is quite within\nthe probabilities that a century hence she will be the most imposing\nfigure that has cast its shadow across the globe since the inauguration\nof our era. I grant that after saying these strong things, it is\nnecessary that I offer some details calculated to satisfactorily\ndemonstrate the proportions which I have claimed for her. I will do that\npresently; but before exhibiting the matured sequoia gigantea, I believe\nit will be best to exhibit the sprout from which it sprang. It may save\nthe reader from making miscalculations. The person who imagines that a\nBig Tree sprout is bigger than other kinds of sprouts is quite mistaken.\nIt is the ordinary thing; it makes no show, it compels no notice, it\nhasn't a detectible quality in it that entitles it to attention, or\nsuggests the future giant its sap is suckling. That is the kind of\nsprout Mrs. Eddy was.\n\nFrom her childhood days up to where she was running a half-century a\nclose race and gaining on it, she was most humanly commonplace.\n\nShe is the witness I am drawing this from. She has revealed it in her\nautobiography not intentionally, of course--I am not claiming that. An\nautobiography is the most treacherous thing there is. It lets out\nevery secret its author is trying to keep; it lets the truth shine\nunobstructed through every harmless little deception he tries to play;\nit pitilessly exposes him as a tin hero worshipping himself as Big Metal\nevery time he tries to do the modest-unconsciousness act before the\nreader. This is not guessing; I am speaking from autobiographical\npersonal experience; I was never able to refrain from mentioning, with\na studied casualness that could deceive none but the most incautious\nreader, that an ancestor of mine was sent ambassador to Spain by Charles\nI., nor that in a remote branch of my family there exists a claimant\nto an earldom, nor that an uncle of mine used to own a dog that was\ndescended from the dog that was in the Ark; and at the same time I was\nnever able to persuade myself to call a gibbet by its right name when\naccounting for other ancestors of mine, but always spoke of it as the\n“platform”--puerilely intimating that they were out lecturing when it\nhappened.\n\nIt is Mrs. Eddy over again. As regards her minor half, she is as\ncommonplace as the rest of us. Vain of trivial things all the first half\nof her life, and still vain of them at seventy and recording them with\nnaive satisfaction--even rescuing some early rhymes of hers of the sort\nthat we all scribble in the innocent days of our youth--rescuing them\nand printing them without pity or apology, just as the weakest and\ncommonest of us do in our gray age. More--she still frankly admires\nthem; and in her introduction of them profanely confers upon them the\nholy name of “poetry.” Sample:\n\n     “And laud the land whose talents rock\n     The cradle of her power,\n     And wreaths are twined round Plymouth Rock\n     From erudition's bower.”\n\n     “Minerva's silver sandals still\n     Are loosed and not effete.”\n\nYou note it is not a shade above the thing which all human beings churn\nout in their youth.\n\nYou would not think that in a little wee primer--for that is what the\nAutobiography is--a person with a tumultuous career of seventy years\nbehind her could find room for two or three pages of padding of this\nkind, but such is the case. She evidently puts narrative together with\ndifficulty and is not at home in it, and is glad to have something\nready-made to fill in with. Another sample:\n\n     “Here fame-honored Hickory rears his bold form,\n     And bears a brave breast to the lightning and storm,\n     While Palm, Bay, and Laurel in classical glee,\n     Chase Tulip, Magnolia, and fragrant Fringe-tree.”\n\nVivid? You can fairly see those trees galloping around. That she\ncould still treasure up, and print, and manifestly admire those Poems,\nindicates that the most daring and masculine and masterful woman that\nhas appeared in the earth in centuries has the same soft, girly-girly\nplaces in her that the rest of us have.\n\nWhen it comes to selecting her ancestors she is still human, natural,\nvain, commonplace--as commonplace as I am myself when I am sorting\nancestors for my autobiography. She combs out some creditable Scots, and\nlabels them and sets them aside for use, not overlooking the one to whom\nSir William Wallace gave “a heavy sword encased in a brass scabbard,”\n and naively explaining which Sir William Wallace it was, lest we get\nthe wrong one by the hassock; this is the one “from whose patriotism\nand bravery comes that heart-stirring air, 'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace\nbled.'” Hannah More was related to her ancestors. She explains who\nHannah More was.\n\nWhenever a person informs us who Sir William Wallace was, or who wrote\n“Hamlet,” or where the Declaration of Independence was fought, it fills\nus with a suspicion wellnigh amounting to conviction, that that person\nwould not suspect us of being so empty of knowledge if he wasn't\nsuffering from the same “claim” himself. Then we turn to page 20 of the\nAutobiography and happen upon this passage, and that hasty suspicion\nstands rebuked:\n\n“I gained book-knowledge with far less labor than is usually requisite.\nAt ten years of age I was as familiar with Lindley Murray's Grammar as\nwith the Westminster Catechism; and the latter I had to repeat every\nSunday. My favorite studies were Natural Philosophy, Logic, and Moral\nScience. From my brother Albert I received lessons in the ancient\ntongues, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin.”\n\nYou catch your breath in astonishment, and feel again and still again\nthe pang of that rebuke. But then your eye falls upon the next sentence\nbut one, and the pain passes away and you set up the suspicion again\nwith evil satisfaction:\n\n“After my discovery of Christian Science, most of the knowledge I had\ngleaned from school-books vanished like a dream.”\n\nThat disappearance accounts for much in her miscellaneous writings. As I\nwas saying, she handles her “ancestral shadows,” as she calls them, just\nas I do mine. It is remarkable. When she runs across “a relative of my\nGrandfather Baker, General Henry Knox, of Revolutionary fame,” she sets\nhim down; when she finds another good one, “the late Sir John Macneill,\nin the line of my Grandfather Baker's family,” she sets him down, and\nremembers that he “was prominent in British politics, and at one time\nheld the position of ambassador to Persia”; when she discovers that her\ngrandparents “were likewise connected with Captain John Lovewell, whose\ngallant leadership and death in the Indian troubles of 1722-25 caused\nthat prolonged contest to be known historically as Lovewell's War,”\n she sets the Captain down; when it turns out that a cousin of her\ngrandmother “was John Macneill, the New Hampshire general, who fought at\nLundy's Lane and won distinction in 1814 at the battle of Chippewa,”\n she catalogues the General. (And tells where Chippewa was.) And then she\nskips all her platform people; never mentions one of them. It shows that\nshe is just as human as any of us.\n\nYet, after all, there is something very touching in her pride in these\nworthy small-fry, and something large and fine in her modesty in not\ncaring to remember that their kinship to her can confer no distinction\nupon her, whereas her mere mention of their names has conferred upon\nthem a faceless earthly immortality.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nWhen she wrote this little biography her great life-work had already\nbeen achieved, she was become renowned; to multitudes of reverent\ndisciples she was a sacred personage, a familiar of God, and His\ninspired channel of communication with the human race. Also, to them\nthese following things were facts, and not doubted:\n\nShe had written a Bible in middle age, and had published it; she had\nrecast it, enlarged it, and published it again; she had not stopped\nthere, but had enlarged it further, polished its phrasing, improved\nits form, and published it yet again. It was at last become a compact,\ngrammatical, dignified, and workman-like body of literature. This was\ngood training, persistent training; and in all arts it is training that\nbrings the art to perfection. We are now confronted with one of the most\nteasing and baffling riddles of Mrs. Eddy's history--a riddle which may\nbe formulated thus:\n\nHow is it that a primitive literary gun which began as a hundred-yard\nflint-lock smooth-bore muzzle-loader, and in the course of forty years\nhas acquired one notable improvement after another--percussion cap;\nfixed cartridge; rifled barrel; efficiency at half a mile how is it that\nsuch a gun, sufficiently good on an elephant hunt (Christian Science)\nfrom the beginning, and growing better and better all the time during\nforty years, has always collapsed back to its original flint-lock\nestate the moment the huntress trained it on any other creature than an\nelephant?\n\nSomething more than a generation ago Mrs. Eddy went out with her\nflint-lock on the rabbit range; and this was a part of the result:\n\n“After his decease, and a severe casualty deemed fatal by skilful\nphysicians, we discovered that the Principle of all healing and the law\nthat governs it is God, a divine Principle, and a spiritual not material\nlaw, and regained health.”--Preface to Science and Health, first\nrevision, 1883.\n\nN.B. Not from the book itself; from the Preface.\n\nYou will notice the awkwardness of that English. If you should carry\nthat paragraph up to the Supreme Court of the United States in order\nto find out for good and all whether the fatal casualty happened to the\ndead man--as the paragraph almost asserts--or to some person or persons\nnot even hinted at in the paragraph, the Supreme Court would be obliged\nto say that the evidence established nothing with certainty except that\nthere had been a casualty--victim not known.\n\nThe context thinks it explains who the victim was, but it does nothing\nof the kind. It furnishes some guessing-material of a sort which enables\nyou to infer that it was “we” that suffered the mentioned injury, but if\nyou should carry the language to a court you would not be able to prove\nthat it necessarily meant that. “We” are Mrs. Eddy; a funny little\naffectation. She replaced it later with the more dignified third person.\n\nThe quoted paragraph is from Mrs. Eddy's preface to the first revision\nof Science and Health (1883). Sixty-four pages further along--in the\nbody of the book (the elephant-range), she went out with that same\nflint-lock and got this following result. Its English is very nearly\nas straight and clean and competent as is the English of the latest\nrevision of Science and Health after the gun has been improved from\nsmooth-bore musket up to globe-sighted, long distance rifle:\n\n“Man controlled by his Maker has no physical suffering. His body is\nharmonious, his days are multiplying instead of diminishing, he is\njourneying towards Life instead of death, and bringing out the new man\nand crucifying the old affections, cutting them off in every material\ndirection until he learns the utter supremacy of Spirit and yields\nobedience thereto.”\n\nIn the latest revision of Science and Health (1902), the perfected\ngun furnishes the following. The English is clean, compact, dignified,\nalmost perfect. But it is observable that it is not prominently better\nthan it is in the above paragraph, which was a product of the primitive\nflint-lock:\n\n“How unreasonable is the belief that we are wearing out life and\nhastening to death, and at the same time we are communing with\nimmortality? If the departed are in rapport with mortality, or matter,\nthey are not spiritual, but must still be mortal, sinful, suffering,\nand dying. Then wherefore look to them--even were communication\npossible--for proofs of immortality and accept them as oracles?”\n --Edition of 1902, page 78.\n\nWith the above paragraphs compare these that follow. It is Mrs. Eddy\nwriting--after a good long twenty years of pen-practice. Compare also\nwith the alleged Poems already quoted. The prominent characteristic of\nthe Poems is affectation, artificiality; their makeup is a complacent\nand pretentious outpour of false figures and fine writing, in the\nsophomoric style. The same qualities and the same style will be found,\nunchanged, unbettered, in these following paragraphs--after a lapse of\nmore than fifty years, and after--as aforesaid--long literary training.\nThe italics are mine:\n\n1. “What plague spot or bacilli were [sic] gnawing [sic] at the heart of\nthis metropolis... and bringing it [the heart] on bended knee? Why, it\nwas an institute that had entered its vitals--that, among other things,\ntaught games,” et cetera.--C.S. Journal, p. 670, article entitled “A\nNarrative--by Mary Baker G. Eddy.”\n\n2. “Parks sprang up [sic]... electric-cars run [sic] merrily through\nseveral streets, concrete sidewalks and macadamized roads dotted [sic]\nthe place,” et cetera.--Ibid.\n\n3. “Shorn [sic] of its suburbs it had indeed little left to admire, save\nto [sic] such as fancy a skeleton above ground breathing [sic] slowly\nthrough a barren [sic] breast.”--Ibid.\n\nThis is not English--I mean, grown-up English. But it is\nfifteen-year-old English, and has not grown a month since the same\nmind produced the Poems. The standard of the Poems and of the\nplague-spot-and-bacilli effort is exactly the same. It is most strange\nthat the same intellect that worded the simple and self-contained and\nclean-cut paragraph beginning with “How unreasonable is the belief,”\n should in the very same lustrum discharge upon the world such a verbal\nchaos as the utterance concerning that plague-spot or bacilli which\nwere gnawing at the insides of the metropolis and bringing its heart on\nbended knee, thus exposing to the eye the rest of the skeleton breathing\nslowly through a barren breast.\n\nThe immense contrast between the legitimate English of Science and\nHealth and the bastard English of Mrs. Eddy's miscellaneous work, and\nbetween the maturity of the one diction and the juvenility of the other,\nsuggests--compels--the question, Are there two guns? It would seem so.\nIs there a poor, foolish, old, scattering flint-lock for rabbit, and a\nlong-range, centre-driving, up-to-date Mauser-magazine for elephant?\nIt looks like it. For it is observable that in Science and Health (the\nelephant-ground) the practice was good at the start and has remained so,\nand that the practice in the miscellaneous, outside, small-game field\nwas very bad at the start and was never less bad at any later time.\n\nI wish to say that of Mrs. Eddy I am not requiring perfect English,\nbut only good English. No one can write perfect English and keep it\nup through a stretch of ten chapters. It has never been done. It was\napproached in the “well of English undefiled”; it has been approached\nin Mrs. Eddy's Annex to that Book; it has been approached in several\nEnglish grammars; I have even approached it myself; but none of us has\nmade port.\n\nNow, the English of Science and Health is good. In passages to be found\nin Mrs. Eddy's Autobiography (on pages 53, 57, 101, and 113), and on\npage 6 of her squalid preface to Science and Health, first revision, she\nseems to me to claim the whole and sole authorship of the book. That\nshe wrote the Autobiography, and that preface, and the Poems, and the\nPlague-spot-Bacilli, we are not permitted to doubt. Indeed, we know she\nwrote them. But the very certainty that she wrote these things compels\na doubt that she wrote Science and Health. She is guilty of little\nawkwardnesses of expression in the Autobiography which a practiced pen\nwould hardly allow to go uncorrected in even a hasty private letter,\nand could not dream of passing by uncorrected in passages intended for\nprint. But she passes them placidly by; as placidly as if she did not\nsuspect that they were offenses against third-class English. I think\nthat that placidity was born of that very unawareness, so to speak. I\nwill cite a few instances from the Autobiography. The italics are mine:\n\n“I remember reading in my childhood certain manuscripts containing\nScriptural Sonnets, besides other verses and enigmas,” etc. Page 7.\n\n[On page 27.] “Many pale cripples went into the Church leaning on\ncrutches who came out carrying them on their shoulders.”\n\nIt is awkward, because at the first glance it seems to say that the\ncripples went in leaning on crutches which went out carrying the\ncripples on their shoulders. It would have cost her no trouble to\nput her “who” after her “cripples.” I blame her a little; I think her\nproof-reader should have been shot. We may let her capital C pass, but\nit is another awkwardness, for she is talking about a building, not\nabout a religious society.\n\n“Marriage and Parentage” [Chapter-heading. Page 30]. You imagine that\nshe is going to begin a talk about her marriage and finish with\nsome account of her father and mother. And so you will be deceived.\n“Marriage” was right, but “Parentage” was not the best word for the rest\nof the record. It refers to the birth of her own child. After a certain\nperiod of time “my babe was born.” Marriage and Motherhood--Marriage and\nMaternity--Marriage and Product--Marriage and Dividend--either of these\nwould have fitted the facts and made the matter clear.\n\n“Without my knowledge he was appointed a guardian.” Page 32.\n\nShe is speaking of her child. She means that a guardian for her child\nwas appointed, but that isn't what she says.\n\n“If spiritual conclusions are separated from their premises, the\nnexus is lost, and the argument with its rightful conclusions, becomes\ncorrespondingly obscure.” Page 34.\n\nWe shall never know why she put the word “correspondingly” in\nthere. Any fine, large word would have answered just as well:\npsychosuperintangibly--electroincandescently--oligarcheologically--\nsanchrosynchro-stereoptically--any of these would have answered,\nany of these would have filled the void.\n\n“His spiritual noumenon and phenomenon silenced portraiture.” Page 34.\n\nYet she says she forgot everything she knew, when she discovered\nChristian Science. I realize that noumenon is a daisy; and I will not\ndeny that I shall use it whenever I am in a company which I think I can\nembarrass with it; but, at the same time, I think it is out of place\namong friends in an autobiography. There, I think a person ought not\nto have anything up his sleeve. It undermines confidence. But my\ndissatisfaction with the quoted passage is not on account of noumenon;\nit is on account of the misuse of the word “silenced.” You cannot\nsilence portraiture with a noumenon; if portraiture should make a noise,\na way could be found to silence it, but even then it could not be done\nwith a noumenon. Not even with a brick, some authorities think.\n\n“It may be that the mortal life-battle still wages,” etc. Page 35.\n\nThat is clumsy. Battles do not wage, battles are waged. Mrs. Eddy has\none very curious and interesting peculiarity: whenever she notices that\nshe is chortling along without saying anything, she pulls up with a\nsudden “God is over us all,” or some other sounding irrelevancy, and for\nthe moment it seems to light up the whole district; then, before you can\nrecover from the shock, she goes flitting pleasantly and meaninglessly\nalong again, and you hurry hopefully after her, thinking you are going\nto get something this time; but as soon as she has led you far enough\naway from her turkey lot she takes to a tree. Whenever she discovers\nthat she is getting pretty disconnected, she couples-up with an\nostentatious “But” which has nothing to do with anything that went\nbefore or is to come after, then she hitches some empties to the\ntrain-unrelated verses from the Bible, usually--and steams out of sight\nand leaves you wondering how she did that clever thing. For striking\ninstances, see bottom paragraph on page 34 and the paragraph on page\n35 of her Autobiography. She has a purpose--a deep and dark and artful\npurpose--in what she is saying in the first paragraph, and you guess\nwhat it is, but that is due to your own talent, not hers; she has\nmade it as obscure as language could do it. The other paragraph has\nno meaning and no discoverable intention. It is merely one of her\nGod-over-alls. I cannot spare room for it in this place.\n\n“I beheld with ineffable awe our great Master's marvelous skill in\ndemanding neither obedience to hygienic laws nor,” etc. Page 41.\n\nThe word is loosely chosen-skill. She probably meant judgment,\nintuition, penetration, or wisdom.\n\n“Naturally, my first jottings were but efforts to express in feeble\ndiction Truth's ultimate.” Page 42.\n\nOne understands what she means, but she should have been able to say\nwhat she meant--at any time before she discovered Christian Science and\nforgot everything she knew--and after it, too. If she had put “feeble”\n in front of “efforts” and then left out “in” and “diction,” she would\nhave scored.\n\n“... its written expression increases in perfection under the guidance\nof the great Master.” Page 43.\n\nIt is an error. Not even in those advantageous circumstances can\nincrease be added to perfection.\n\n“Evil is not mastered by evil; it can only be overcome with Good.\nThis brings out the nothingness of evil, and the eternal Somethingness\nvindicates the Divine Principle and improves the race of Adam.” Page 76.\n\nThis is too extraneous for me. That is the trouble with Mrs. Eddy when\nshe sets out to explain an over-large exhibit: the minute you think the\nlight is bursting upon you the candle goes out and your mind begins to\nwander.\n\n“No one else can drain the cup which I have drunk to the dregs, as the\ndiscoverer and teacher of Christian Science” Page 47.\n\nThat is saying we cannot empty an empty cup. We knew it before; and we\nknow she meant to tell us that that particular cup is going to remain\nempty. That is, we think that that was the idea, but we cannot be sure.\nShe has a perfectly astonishing talent for putting words together\nin such a way as to make successful inquiry into their intention\nimpossible.\n\nShe generally makes us uneasy when she begins to tune up on her\nfine-writing timbrel. It carries me back to her Plague-Spot and Poetry\ndays, and I just dread those:\n\n“Into mortal mind's material obliquity I gazed and stood abashed.\nBlanched was the cheek of pride. My heart bent low before the\nomnipotence of Spirit, and a tint of humility soft as the heart of\na moonbeam mantled the earth. Bethlehem and Bethany, Gethsemane and\nCalvary, spoke to my chastened sense as by the tearful lips of a babe.”\n Page 48.\n\nThe heart of a moonbeam is a pretty enough Friendship's-Album\nexpression--let it pass, though I do think the figure a little strained;\nbut humility has no tint, humility has no complexion, and if it had it\ncould not mantle the earth. A moonbeam might--I do not know--but she\ndid not say it was the moonbeam. But let it go, I cannot decide it, she\nmixes me up so. A babe hasn't “tearful lips,” it's its eyes. You find\nnone of Mrs. Eddy's kind of English in Science and Health--not a line of\nit.\n\n\n\n\n\nSetting aside title-page, index, etc., the little Autobiography begins\non page 7 and ends on page 130. My quotations are from the first forty\npages. They seem to me to prove the presence of the 'prentice hand. The\nstyle of the forty pages is loose and feeble and 'prentice-like. The\nmovement of the narrative is not orderly and sequential, but rambles\naround, and skips forward and back and here and there and yonder,\n'prentice-fashion. Many a journeyman has broken up his narrative and\nskipped about and rambled around, but he did it for a purpose, for\nan advantage; there was art in it, and points to be scored by it; the\nobservant reader perceived the game, and enjoyed it and respected it, if\nit was well played. But Mrs. Eddy's performance was without intention,\nand destitute of art. She could score no points by it on those terms,\nand almost any reader can see that her work was the uncalculated\nputtering of a novice.\n\nIn the above paragraph I have described the first third of the booklet.\nThat third being completed, Mrs. Eddy leaves the rabbit-range,\ncrosses the frontier, and steps out upon her far-spreading big-game\nterritory--Christian Science and there is an instant change! The style\nsmartly improves; and the clumsy little technical offenses disappear. In\nthese two-thirds of the booklet I find only one such offence, and it has\nthe look of being a printer's error.\n\nI leave the riddle with the reader. Perhaps he can explain how it is\nthat a person-trained or untrained--who on the one day can write nothing\nbetter than Plague-Spot-Bacilli and feeble and stumbling and wandering\npersonal history littered with false figures and obscurities and\ntechnical blunders, can on the next day sit down and write fluently,\nsmoothly, compactly, capably, and confidently on a great big thundering\nsubject, and do it as easily and comfortably as a whale paddles around\nthe globe.\n\nAs for me, I have scribbled so much in fifty years that I have become\nsaturated with convictions of one sort and another concerning a\nscribbler's limitations; and these are so strong that when I am familiar\nwith a literary person's work I feel perfectly sure that I know enough\nabout his limitations to know what he can not do. If Mr. Howells should\npretend to me that he wrote the Plague-Spot Bacilli rhapsody, I should\nreceive the statement courteously; but I should know it for a--well, for\na perversion. If the late Josh Billings should rise up and tell me that\nhe wrote Herbert Spencer's philosophies; I should answer and say that\nthe spelling casts a doubt upon his claim. If the late Jonathan Edwards\nshould rise up and tell me he wrote Mr. Dooley's books, I should answer\nand say that the marked difference between his style and Dooley's is\nargument against the soundness of his statement. You see how much I\nthink of circumstantial evidence. In literary matters--in my belief--it\nis often better than any person's word, better than any shady\ncharacter's oath. It is difficult for me to believe that the same hand\nthat wrote the Plague-Spot-Bacilli and the first third of the little\nEddy biography wrote also Science and Health. Indeed, it is more than\ndifficult, it is impossible.\n\nLargely speaking, I have read acres of what purported to be Mrs. Eddy's\nwritings, in the past two months. I cannot know, but I am convinced,\nthat the circumstantial evidence shows that her actual share in the\nwork of composing and phrasing these things was so slight as to be\ninconsequential. Where she puts her literary foot down, her trail\nacross her paid polisher's page is as plain as the elephant's in a\nSunday-school procession. Her verbal output, when left undoctored by\nher clerks, is quite unmistakable It always exhibits the strongly\ndistinctive features observable in the virgin passages from her pen\nalready quoted by me:\n\nDesert vacancy, as regards thought. Self-complacency. Puerility.\nSentimentality. Affectations of scholarly learning. Lust after eloquent\nand flowery expression. Repetition of pet poetic picturesquenesses.\nConfused and wandering statement. Metaphor gone insane. Meaningless\nwords, used because they are pretty, or showy, or unusual. Sorrowful\nattempts at the epigrammatic. Destitution of originality.\n\nThe fat volume called Miscellaneous Writings of Mrs. Eddy contains\nseveral hundred pages. Of the five hundred and fifty-four pages of prose\nin it I find ten lines, on page 319, to be Mrs. Eddy's; also about a\npage of the preface or “Prospectus”; also about fifteen pages scattered\nalong through the book. If she wrote any of the rest of the prose, it\nwas rewritten after her by another hand. Here I will insert two-thirds\nof her page of the prospectus. It is evident that whenever, under the\ninspiration of the Deity, she turns out a book, she is always allowed to\ndo some of the preface. I wonder why that is? It always mars the work.\nI think it is done in humorous malice I think the clerks like to see\nher give herself away. They know she will, her stock of usable materials\nbeing limited and her procedure in employing them always the same,\nsubstantially. They know that when the initiated come upon her first\nerudite allusion, or upon any one of her other stage-properties, they\ncan shut their eyes and tell what will follow. She usually throws off\nan easy remark all sodden with Greek or Hebrew or Latin learning; she\nusually has a person watching for a star--she can seldom get away\nfrom that poetic idea--sometimes it is a Chaldee, sometimes a Walking\nDelegate, sometimes an entire stranger, but be he what he may, he is\ngenerally there when the train is ready to move, and has his pass in his\nhat-band; she generally has a Being with a Dome on him, or some other\ncover that is unusual and out of the fashion; she likes to fire off a\nScripture-verse where it will make the handsomest noise and come nearest\nto breaking the connection; she often throws out a Forefelt, or a\nForesplendor, or a Foreslander where it will have a fine nautical\nforeto'gallant sound and make the sentence sing; after which she is\nnearly sure to throw discretion away and take to her deadly passion,\nIntoxicated Metaphor. At such a time the Mrs. Eddy that does not\nhesitate is lost:\n\n“The ancient Greek looked longingly for the Olympiad. The Chaldee\nwatched the appearing of a star; to him no higher destiny dawned on the\ndome of being than that foreshadowed by signs in the heavens. The meek\nNazarene, the scoffed of all scoffers, said, 'Ye can discern the face\nof the sky; but can ye not discern the signs of the times?'--for He\nforefelt and foresaw the ordeal of a perfect Christianity, hated by\nsinners.\n\n“To kindle all minds with a gleam of gratitude, the new idea that comes\nwelling up from infinite Truth needs to be understood. The seer of this\nage should be a sage.\n\n“Humility is the stepping-stone to a higher recognition of Deity. The\nmounting sense gathers fresh forms and strange fire from the ashes\nof dissolving self, and drops the world. Meekness heightens immortal\nattributes, only by removing the dust that dims them. Goodness reveals\nanother scene and another self seemingly rolled up in shades, but\nbrought to light by the evolutions of advancing thought, whereby we\ndiscern the power of Truth and Love to heal the sick.\n\n“Pride is ignorance; those assume most who have the least wisdom or\nexperience; and they steal from their neighbor, because they have so\nlittle of their own.”--Miscellaneous Writings, page 1, and six lines at\ntop of page 2.\n\nIt is not believable that the hand that wrote those clumsy and affected\nsentences wrote the smooth English of Science and Health.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nIt is often said in print that Mrs. Eddy claims that God was the Author\nof Science and Health. Mr. Peabody states in his pamphlet that “she says\nnot she but God was the Author.” I cannot find that in her autobiography\nshe makes this transference of the authorship, but I think that in\nit she definitely claims that she did her work under His\ninspiration--definitely for her; for as a rule she is not a very\ndefinite person, even when she seems to be trying her best to be clear\nand positive. Speaking of the early days when her Science was beginning\nto unfold itself and gather form in her mind, she says (Autobiography,\npage 43):\n\n“The divine hand led me into a new world of light and Life, a fresh\nuniverse--old to God, but new to His 'little one.'”\n\nShe being His little one, as I understand it.\n\nThe divine hand led her. It seems to mean “God inspired me”; but when\na person uses metaphors instead of statistics--and that is Mrs. Eddy's\ncommon fashion--one cannot always feel sure about the intention.\n\n[Page 56.] “Even the Scripture gave no direct interpretation of the\nScientific basis for demonstrating the spiritual Principle of healing,\nuntil our Heavenly Father saw fit, through the Key to the Scriptures, in\nScience and Health, to unlock this 'mystery of godliness.'”\n\nAnother baffling metaphor. If she had used plain forecastle English,\nand said “God wrote the Key and I put it in my book”; or if she had said\n“God furnished me the solution of the mystery and I put it on paper”;\nor if she had said “God did it all,” then we should understand; but her\nphrase is open to any and all of those translations, and is a Key\nwhich unlocks nothing--for us. However, it seems to at least mean “God\ninspired me,” if nothing more.\n\nThere was personal and intimate communion, at any rate we get that\nmuch out of the riddles. The connection extended to business, after the\nestablishment of the teaching and healing industry.\n\n[Page 71.] “When God impelled me to set a price on my instruction,” etc.\nFurther down: “God has since shown me, in multitudinous ways, the wisdom\nof this decision.”\n\nShe was not able to think of a “financial equivalent”--meaning a\npecuniary equivalent--for her “instruction in Christian Science\nMind-healing.” In this emergency she was “led” to charge three hundred\ndollars for a term of “twelve half-days.” She does not say who led her,\nshe only says that the amount greatly troubled her. I think it means\nthat the price was suggested from above, “led” being a theological term\nidentical with our commercial phrase “personally conducted.” She “shrank\nfrom asking it, but was finally led, by a strange providence, to accept\nthis fee.” “Providence” is another theological term. Two leds and\na providence, taken together, make a pretty strong argument for\ninspiration. I think that these statistics make it clear that the price\nwas arranged above. This view is constructively supported by the fact,\nalready quoted, that God afterwards approved, “in multitudinous\nways,” her wisdom in accepting the mentioned fee. “Multitudinous\nways”--multitudinous encoring--suggests enthusiasm. Business enthusiasm.\nAnd it suggests nearness. God's nearness to his “little one.” Nearness,\nand a watchful personal interest. A warm, palpitating, Standard-Oil\ninterest, so to speak. All this indicates inspiration. We may assume,\nthen, two inspirations: one for the book, the other for the business.\n\nThe evidence for inspiration is further augmented by the testimony of\nRev. George Tomkins, D.D., already quoted, that Mrs. Eddy and her book\nwere foretold in Revelation, and that Mrs. Eddy “is God's brightest\nthought to this age, giving us the spiritual interpretation of the Bible\nin the 'little book'” of the Angel.\n\nI am aware that it is not Mr. Tomkins that is speaking, but Mrs. Eddy.\nThe commissioned lecturers of the Christian Science Church have to be\nmembers of the Board of Lectureship. (By-laws Sec. 2, p. 70.) The Board\nof Lectureship is selected by the Board of Directors of the Church.\n(By-laws, Sec. 3, p. 70.) The Board of Directors of the Church is the\nproperty of Mrs. Eddy. (By-laws, p. 22.) Mr. Tomkins did not make that\nstatement without authorization from headquarters. He necessarily got it\nfrom the Board of Directors, the Board of Directors from Mrs. Eddy, Mrs.\nEddy from the Deity. Mr. Tomkins would have been turned down by that\nprocession if his remarks had been unsatisfactory to it.\n\nIt may be that there is evidence somewhere--as has been claimed--that\nMrs. Eddy has charged upon the Deity the verbal authorship of Science\nand Health. But if she ever made the charge, she has withdrawn it (as it\nseems to me), and in the most formal and unqualified; of all ways. See\nAutobiography, page 57:\n\n“When the demand for this book increased... the copyright was infringed.\nI entered a suit at Law, and my copyright was protected.”\n\nThus it is plain that she did not plead that the Deity was the (verbal)\nAuthor; for if she had done that, she would have lost her case--and with\nrude promptness. It was in the old days before the Berne Convention and\nbefore the passage of our amended law of 1891, and the court would have\nquoted the following stern clause from the existing statute and frowned\nher out of the place:\n\n“No Foreigner can acquire copyright in the United States.”\n\nTo sum up. The evidence before me indicates three things:\n\n1. That Mrs. Eddy claims the verbal author ship for herself. 2. That she\ndenies it to the Deity. 3. That--in her belief--she wrote the book under\nthe inspiration of the Deity, but furnished the language herself.\n\nIn one place in the Autobiography she claims both the language and\nthe ideas; but when this witness is testifying, one must draw the line\nsomewhere, or she will prove both sides of her case-nine sides, if\ndesired.\n\nIt is too true. Much too true. Many, many times too true. She is a most\ntrying witness--the most trying witness that ever kissed the Book, I am\nsure. There is no keeping up with her erratic testimony. As soon as you\nhave got her share of the authorship nailed where you half hope and half\nbelieve it will stay and cannot be joggled loose any more, she joggles\nit loose again--or seems to; you cannot be sure, for her habit of\ndealing in meaningless metaphors instead of in plain, straightforward\nstatistics, makes it nearly always impossible to tell just what it\nis she is trying to say. She was definite when she claimed both the\nlanguage and the ideas of the book. That seemed to settle the matter.\nIt seemed to distribute the percentages of credit with precision between\nthe collaborators: ninety-two per cent. to Mrs. Eddy, who did all the\nwork, and eight per cent. to the Deity, who furnished the inspiration\nnot enough of it to damage the copyright in a country closed against\nForeigners, and yet plenty to advertise the book and market it at famine\nrates. Then Mrs. Eddy does not keep still, but fetches around and comes\nforward and testifies again. It is most injudicious. For she resorts to\nmetaphor this time, and it makes trouble, for she seems to reverse the\npercentages and claim only the eight per cent. for her self. I quote\nfrom Mr. Peabody's book (Eddyism, or Christian Science. Boston: 15 Court\nSquare, price twenty-five cents):\n\n“Speaking of this book, Mrs. Eddy, in January last (1901) said: 'I\nshould blush to write of Science and Health, with Key to the Scriptures,\nas I have, were it of human origin, and I, apart from God, its author;\nbut as I was only a scribe echoing the harmonies of Heaven in\ndivine metaphysics, I cannot be supermodest of the Christian Science\ntext-book.”'\n\nMr. Peabody's comment:\n\n“Nothing could be plainer than that. Here is a distinct avowal that the\nbook entitled Science and Health was the work of Almighty God.”\n\nIt does seem to amount to that. She was only a “scribe.” Confound the\nword, it is just a confusion, it has no determinable meaning there, it\nleaves us in the air. A scribe is merely a person who writes. He may be\na copyist, he may be an amanuensis, he may be a writer of originals, and\nfurnish both the language and the ideas. As usual with Mrs. Eddy, the\nconnection affords no help--“echoing” throws no light upon “scribe.” A\nrock can reflect an echo, a wall can do it, a mountain can do it, many\nthings can do it, but a scribe can't. A scribe that could reflect\nan echo could get over thirty dollars a week in a side-show. Many\nimpresarios would rather have him than a cow with four tails. If we\nallow that this present scribe was setting down the “harmonies of\nHeaven”--and certainly that seems to have been the case then there was\nonly one way to do it that I can think of: listen to the music and put\ndown the notes one after another as they fell. In that case Mrs.\nEddy did not invent the tune, she only entered it on paper. Therefore\ndropping the metaphor--she was merely an amanuensis, and furnished\nneither the language of Science and Health nor the ideas. It reduces her\nto eight per cent. (and the dividends on that and the rest).\n\nIs that it? We shall never know. For Mrs. Eddy is liable to testify\nagain at any time. But until she does it, I think we must conclude\nthat the Deity was Author of the whole book, and Mrs. Eddy merely His\ntelephone and stenographer. Granting this, her claim as the Voice of God\nstands-for the present--justified and established.\n\n\n\n\nPOSTSCRIPT\n\nI overlooked something. It appears that there was more of that utterance\nthan Mr. Peabody has quoted in the above paragraph. It will be found\nin Mrs. Eddy's organ, the Christian Science Journal (January, 1901) and\nreads as follows:\n\n“It was not myself... which dictated Science and Health, with Key to the\nScriptures.”\n\nThat is certainly clear enough. The words which I have removed from that\nimportant sentence explain Who it was that did the dictating. It was\ndone by\n\n“the divine power of Truth and Love, infinitely above me.”\n\nCertainly that is definite. At last, through her personal testimony,\nwe have a sure grip upon the following vital facts, and they settle the\nauthorship of Science and Health beyond peradventure:\n\n1. Mrs. Eddy furnished “the ideas and the language.” 2. God furnished\nthe ideas and the language.\n\nIt is a great comfort to have the matter authoritatively settled.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nIt is hard to locate her, she shifts about so much. She is a shining\ndrop of quicksilver which you put your finger on and it isn't there.\nThere is a paragraph in the Autobiography (page 96) which places in\nseemingly darkly significant procession three Personages:\n\n1. The Virgin Mary 2. Jesus of Nazareth. 3. Mrs. Eddy.\n\nThis is the paragraph referred to:\n\n“No person can take the individual place of the Virgin Mary. No person\ncan compass or fulfil the individual mission of Jesus of Nazareth.\nNo person can take the place of the author of Science and Health, the\ndiscoverer and founder of Christian Science. Each individual must fill\nhis own niche in time and eternity.”\n\nI have read it many times, but I still cannot be sure that I rightly\nunderstand it. If the Saviour's name had been placed first and the\nVirgin Mary's second and Mrs. Eddy's third, I should draw the inference\nthat a descending scale from First Importance to Second Importance and\nthen to Small Importance was indicated; but to place the Virgin first,\nthe Saviour second, and Mrs. Eddy third, seems to turn the scale the\nother way and make it an ascending scale of Importances, with Mrs. Eddy\nranking the other two and holding first place.\n\nI think that that was perhaps the intention, but none but a seasoned\nChristian Scientist can examine a literary animal of Mrs. Eddy's\ncreation and tell which end of it the tail is on. She is easily the most\nbaffling and bewildering writer in the literary trade.\n\nEddy is a commonplace name, and would have an unimpressive aspect in the\nlist of the reformed Holy Family. She has thought of that. In the book\nof By-laws written by her--“impelled by a power not one's own”--there is\na paragraph which explains how and when her disciples came to confer a\ntitle upon her; and this explanation is followed by a warning as to what\nwill happen to any female Scientist who shall desecrate it:\n\n“The title of Mother. Therefore if a student of Christian Science shall\napply this title, either to herself or to others, except as the term for\nkinship according to the flesh, it shall be regarded by the Church as an\nindication of disrespect for their Pastor Emeritus, and unfitness to be\na member of the Mother-Church.”\n\nShe is the Pastor Emeritus.\n\nWhile the quoted paragraph about the Procession seems to indicate that\nMrs. Eddy is expecting to occupy the First Place in it, that expectation\nis not definitely avowed. In an earlier utterance of hers she is\nclearer--clearer, and does not claim the first place all to herself, but\nonly the half of it. I quote from Mr. Peabody's book again:\n\n“In the Christian Science Journal for April, 1889, when it was her\nproperty, and published by her, it was claimed for her, and with her\nsanction, that she was equal with Jesus, and elaborate effort was made\nto establish the claim.\n\n“Mrs. Eddy has distinctly authorized the claim in her behalf that she\nherself was the chosen successor to and equal of Jesus.”\n\nIn her Miscellaneous Writings (using her once favorite “We” for “I”) she\nsays that “While we entertain decided views... and shall express them as\nduty demands, we shall claim no especial gift from our divine origin,”\n etc.\n\nOur divine origin. It suggests Equal again. It is inferable, then,\nthat in the near by-and-by the new Church will officially rank the Holy\nFamily in the following order:\n\n1. Jesus of Nazareth.--1. Our Mother. 2. The Virgin Mary.\n\n\n\n\nSUMMARY\n\nI am not playing with Christian Science and its founder, I am examining\nthem; and I am doing it because of the interest I feel in the inquiry.\nMy results may seem inadequate to the reader, but they have for me\nclarified a muddle and brought a sort of order out of a chaos, and so I\nvalue them.\n\nMy readings of Mrs. Eddy's uninspired miscellaneous literary efforts\nhave convinced me of several things:\n\n1. That she did not write Science and Health. 2. That the Deity did (or\ndid not) write it. 3. That She thinks She wrote it. 4. That She believes\nShe wrote it under the Deity's inspiration. 5. That She believes She is\na Member of the Holy Family. 6. That She believes She is the equal of\nthe Head of it.\n\nFinally, I think She is now entitled to the capital S--on her own\nevidence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThus far we have a part of Mrs. Eddy's portrait. Not made of fictions,\nsurmises, reports, rumors, innuendoes, dropped by her enemies; no, she\nhas furnished all of the materials herself, and laid them on the canvas,\nunder my general superintendence and direction. As far as she has gone\nwith it, it is the presentation of a complacent, commonplace, illiterate\nNew England woman who “forgot everything she knew” when she discovered\nher discovery, then wrote a Bible in good English under the inspiration\nof God, and climbed up it to the supremest summit of earthly grandeur\nattainable by man--where she sits serene to-day, beloved and worshiped\nby a multitude of human beings of as good average intelligence as is\npossessed by those that march under the banner of any competing cult.\nThis is not intended to flatter the competing cults, it is merely a\nstatement of cold fact.\n\nThat a commonplace person should go climbing aloft and become a god or\na half-god or a quarter-god and be worshiped by men and women of average\nintelligence, is nothing. It has happened a million times, it will\nhappen a hundred million more. It has been millions of years since the\nfirst of these supernaturals appeared, and by the time the last one in\nthat inconceivably remote future shall have performed his solemn little\nhigh-jinks on the stage and closed the business, there will be enough\nof them accumulated in the museum on the Other Side to start a heaven of\ntheir own-and jam it.\n\nEach in his turn those little supernaturals of our by-gone ages and\naeons joined the monster procession of his predecessors and marched\nhorizonward, disappeared, and was forgotten. They changed nothing,\nthey built nothing, they left nothing behind them to remember them by,\nnothing to hold their disciples together, nothing to solidify their work\nand enable it to defy the assaults of time and the weather. They passed,\nand left a vacancy. They made one fatal mistake; they all made it,\neach in his turn: they failed to organize their forces, they failed to\ncentralize their strength, they failed to provide a fresh Bible and a\nsure and perpetual cash income for business, and often they failed to\nprovide a new and accepted Divine Personage to worship.\n\nMrs. Eddy is not of that small fry. The materials that go to the\nmaking of the rest of her portrait will prove it. She will furnish them\nherself:\n\nShe published her book. She copyrighted it. She copyrights everything.\nIf she should say, “Good-morning; how do you do?” she would copyright\nit; for she is a careful person, and knows the value of small things.\n\nShe began to teach her Science, she began to heal, she began to gather\nconverts to her new religion--fervent, sincere, devoted, grateful\npeople. A year or two later she organized her first Christian Science\n“Association,” with six of her disciples on the roster.\n\nShe continued to teach and heal. She was charging nothing, she says,\nalthough she was very poor. She taught and healed gratis four years\naltogether, she says.\n\nThen, in 1879-81 she was become strong enough, and well enough\nestablished, to venture a couple of impressively important moves. The\nfirst of these moves was to aggrandize the “Association” to a “Church.”\n Brave? It is the right name for it, I think. The former name suggests\nnothing, invited no remark, no criticism, no inquiry, no hostility; the\nnew name invited them all. She must have made this intrepid venture on\nher own motion. She could have had no important advisers at that early\nday. If we accept it as her own idea and her own act--and I think we\nmust--we have one key to her character. And it will explain subsequent\nacts of hers that would merely stun us and stupefy us without it. Shall\nwe call it courage? Or shall we call it recklessness? Courage observes;\nreflects; calculates; surveys the whole situation; counts the cost,\nestimates the odds, makes up its mind; then goes at the enterprise\nresolute to win or perish. Recklessness does not reflect, it plunges\nfearlessly in with a hurrah, and takes the risks, whatever they may be,\nregardless of expense. Recklessness often fails, Mrs. Eddy has never\nfailed--from the point of view of her followers. The point of view of\nother people is naturally not a matter of weighty importance to her.\n\nThe new Church was not born loose-jointed and featureless, but had a\ndefined plan, a definite character, definite aims, and a name which was\na challenge, and defied all comers. It was “a Mind-healing Church.” It\nwas “without a creed.” Its name, “The Church of Christ, Scientist.”\n\nMrs. Eddy could not copyright her Church, but she chartered it, which\nwas the same thing and relieved the pain. It had twenty-six charter\nmembers. Mrs. Eddy was at once installed as its pastor.\n\nThe other venture, above referred to, was Mrs. Eddy's Massachusetts\nMetaphysical College, in which was taught “the pathology of spiritual\npower.” She could not copyright it, but she got it chartered. For\nfaculty it had herself, her husband of the period (Dr. Eddy), and her\nadopted son, Dr. Foster-Eddy. The college term was “barely three\nweeks,” she says. Again she was bold, brave, rash, reckless--choose for\nyourself--for she not only began to charge the student, but charged him\na hundred dollars a week for the enlightenments. And got it? some may\nask. Easily. Pupils flocked from far and near. They came by the hundred.\nPresently the term was cut down nearly half, but the price remained as\nbefore. To be exact, the term-cut was to seven lessons--price,\nthree hundred dollars. The college “yielded a large income.” This is\nbelievable. In seven years Mrs. Eddy taught, as she avers, over four\nthousand students in it. (Preface to 1902 edition of Science and\nHealth.) Three hundred times four thousand is--but perhaps you can\ncipher it yourself. I could do it ordinarily, but I fell down yesterday\nand hurt my leg. Cipher it; you will see that it is a grand sum for a\nwoman to earn in seven years. Yet that was not all she got out of her\ncollege in the seven.\n\nAt the time that she was charging the primary student three hundred\ndollars for twelve lessons she was not content with this tidy\nassessment, but had other ways of plundering him. By advertisement she\noffered him privileges whereby he could add eighteen lessons to his\nstore for five hundred dollars more. That is to say, he could get a\ntotal of thirty lessons in her college for eight hundred dollars.\n\nFour thousand times eight hundred is--but it is a difficult sum for a\ncripple who has not been “demonstrated over” to cipher; let it go.\nShe taught “over” four thousand students in seven years. “Over” is not\ndefinite, but it probably represents a non-paying surplus of learners\nover and above the paying four thousand. Charity students, doubtless. I\nthink that as interesting an advertisement as has been printed since the\nromantic old days of the other buccaneers is this one from the Christian\nScience Journal for September, 1886:\n\n\n“MASSACHUSETTS METAPHYSICAL COLLEGE\n\n“Rev. MARY BAKER G. EDDY, PRESIDENT\n\n“571 Columbus Avenue, Boston\n\n“The collegiate course in Christian Science metaphysical healing\nincludes twelve lessons. Tuition, three hundred dollars.\n\n“Course in metaphysical obstetrics includes six daily lectures, and is\nopen only to students from this college. Tuition, one hundred dollars.\n\n“Class in theology, open (like the above) to graduates, receives six\nadditional lectures on the Scriptures, and summary of the principle and\npractice of Christian Science, two hundred dollars.\n\n“Normal class is open to those who have taken the first course at this\ncollege; six daily lectures complete the Normal course. Tuition, two\nhundred dollars.\n\n“No invalids, and only persons of good moral character, are accepted\nas students. All students are subject to examination and rejection; and\nthey are liable to leave the class if found unfit to remain in it.\n\n“A limited number of clergymen received free of charge.\n\n“Largest discount to indigent students, one hundred dollars on the first\ncourse.\n\n“No deduction on the others.\n\n“Husband and wife, entered together, three hundred dollars.\n\n“Tuition for all strictly in advance.”\n\nThere it is--the horse-leech's daughter alive again, after a\nthree-century vacation. Fifty or sixty hours' lecturing for eight\nhundred dollars.\n\nI was in error as to one matter: there are no charity students.\nGratis-taught clergymen must not be placed under that head; they are\nmerely an advertisement. Pauper students can get into the infant class\non a two-third rate (cash in advance), but not even an archangel can get\ninto the rest of the game at anything short of par, cash down. For it is\n“in the spirit of Christ's charity, as one who is joyful to hear healing\nto the sick” that Mrs. Eddy is working the game. She sends the healing\nto them outside. She cannot bear it to them inside the college, for the\nreason that she does not allow a sick candidate to get in. It is true\nthat this smells of inconsistency, but that is nothing; Mrs. Eddy\nwould not be Mrs. Eddy if she should ever chance to be consistent about\nanything two days running.\n\nExcept in the matter of the Dollar. The Dollar, and appetite for power\nand notoriety. English must also be added; she is always consistent,\nshe is always Mrs. Eddy, in her English: it is always and consistently\nconfused and crippled and poor. She wrote the Advertisement; her\nliterary trade-marks are there. When she says all “students” are subject\nto examination, she does not mean students, she means candidates for\nthat lofty place When she says students are “liable” to leave the class\nif found unfit to remain in it, she does not mean that if they find\nthemselves unfit, or be found unfit by others, they will be likely to\nask permission to leave the class; she means that if she finds them\nunfit she will be “liable” to fire them out. When she nobly offers\n“tuition for all strictly in advance,” she does not mean “instruction\nfor all in advance-payment for it later.” No, that is only what she\nsays, it is not what she means. If she had written Science and Health,\nthe oldest man in the world would not be able to tell with certainty\nwhat any passage in it was intended to mean.\n\nHer Church was on its legs.\n\nShe was its pastor. It was prospering.\n\nShe was appointed one of a committee to draught By-laws for its\ngovernment. It may be observed, without overplus of irreverence, that\nthis was larks for her. She did all of the draughting herself. From the\nvery beginning she was always in the front seat when there was business\nto be done; in the front seat, with both eyes open, and looking sharply\nout for Number One; in the front seat, working Mortal Mind with fine\neffectiveness and giving Immortal Mind a rest for Sunday. When her\nChurch was reorganized, by-and-by, the By-laws were retained. She saw\nto that. In these Laws for the government of her Church, her empire, her\ndespotism, Mrs. Eddy's character is embalmed for good and all. I think\na particularized examination of these Church-laws will be found\ninteresting. And not the less so if we keep in mind that they were\n“impelled by a power not one's own,” as she says--Anglice--the\ninspiration of God.\n\nIt is a Church “without a creed.” Still, it has one. Mrs. Eddy draughted\nit--and copyrighted it. In her own name. You cannot become a member of\nthe Mother-Church (nor of any Christian Science Church) without signing\nit. It forms the first chapter of the By-laws, and is called “Tenets.”\n “Tenets of The Mother Church, The First Church of Christ, Scientist.” It\nhas no hell in it--it throws it overboard.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PASTOR EMERITUS\n\nAbout the time of the reorganization, Mrs. Eddy retired from her\nposition of pastor of her Church, abolished the office of pastor in\nall branch Churches, and appointed her book, Science and Health, to be\npastor-universal. Mrs. Eddy did not disconnect herself from the office\nentirely, when she retired, but appointed herself Pastor Emeritus. It is\na misleading title, and belongs to the family of that phrase “without\na creed.” It advertises her as being a merely honorary official, with\nnothing to do, and no authority. The Czar of Russia is Emperor Emeritus\non the same terms. Mrs. Eddy was Autocrat of the Church before, with\nlimitless authority, and she kept her grip on that limitless authority\nwhen she took that fictitious title.\n\nIt is curious and interesting to note with what an unerring instinct the\nPastor Emeritus has thought out and forecast all possible encroachments\nupon her planned autocracy, and barred the way against them, in the\nBy-laws which she framed and copyrighted--under the guidance of the\nSupreme Being.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOARD OF DIRECTORS\n\nFor instance, when Article I. speaks of a President and Board of\nDirectors, you think you have discovered a formidable check upon the\npowers and ambitions of the honorary pastor, the ornamental pastor, the\nfunctionless pastor, the Pastor Emeritus, but it is a mistake. These\ngreat officials are of the phrase--family of the Church-Without-a-Creed\nand the Pastor-With-Nothing-to-Do; that is to say, of the family of\nLarge-Names-Which-Mean-Nothing. The Board is of so little consequence\nthat the By-laws do not state how it is chosen, nor who does it; but\nthey do state, most definitely, that the Board cannot fill a vacancy in\nits number “except the candidate is approved by the Pastor Emeritus.”\n\nThe “candidate.” The Board cannot even proceed to an election until the\nPastor Emeritus has examined the list and squelched such candidates as\nare not satisfactory to her.\n\nWhether the original first Board began as the personal property of Mrs.\nEddy or not, it is foreseeable that in time, under this By-law, she\nwould own it. Such a first Board might chafe under such a rule as that,\nand try to legislate it out of existence some day. But Mrs. Eddy was\nawake. She foresaw that danger, and added this ingenious and effective\nclause:\n\n“This By-law can neither be amended nor annulled, except by consent of\nMrs. Eddy, the Pastor Emeritus.”\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRESIDENT\n\nThe Board of Directors, or Serfs, or Ciphers, elects the President.\n\nOn these clearly worded terms: “Subject to the approval of the Pastor\nEmeritus.”\n\nTherefore She elects him.\n\nA long term can invest a high official with influence and power, and\nmake him dangerous. Mrs. Eddy reflected upon that; so she limits the\nPresident's term to a year. She has a capable commercial head, an\norganizing head, a head for government.\n\n\n\n\nTREASURER AND CLERK\n\nThere are a Treasurer and a Clerk. They are elected by the Board of\nDirectors. That is to say, by Mrs. Eddy.\n\nTheir terms of office expire on the first Tuesday in June of each year,\n“or upon the election of their successors.” They must be watchfully\nobedient and satisfactory to her, or she will elect and install their\nsuccessors with a suddenness that can be unpleasant to them. It goes\nwithout saying that the Treasurer manages the Treasury to suit Mrs.\nEddy, and is in fact merely Temporary Deputy Treasurer.\n\nApparently the Clerk has but two duties to perform: to read messages\nfrom Mrs. Eddy to First Members assembled in solemn Council, and provide\nlists of candidates for Church membership. The select body entitled\nFirst Members are the aristocracy of the Mother-Church, the Charter\nMembers, the Aborigines, a sort of stylish but unsalaried little\nCollege of Cardinals, good for show, but not indispensable. Nobody is\nindispensable in Mrs. Eddy's empire; she sees to that.\n\nWhen the Pastor Emeritus sends a letter or message to that little\nSanhedrin, it is the Clerk's “imperative duty” to read it “at the place\nand time specified.” Otherwise, the world might come to an end. These\nare fine, large frills, and remind us of the ways of emperors and such.\nSuch do not use the penny-post, they send a gilded and painted special\nmessenger, and he strides into the Parliament, and business comes to\na sudden and solemn and awful stop; and in the impressive hush that\nfollows, the Chief Clerk reads the document. It is his “imperative\nduty.” If he should neglect it, his official life would end. It is\nthe same with this Mother-Church Clerk; “if he fail to perform this\nimportant function of his office,” certain majestic and unshirkable\nsolemnities must follow: a special meeting “shall” be called; a member\nof the Church “shall” make formal complaint; then the Clerk “shall” be\n“removed from office.” Complaint is sufficient, no trial is necessary.\n\nThere is something very sweet and juvenile and innocent and pretty about\nthese little tinsel vanities, these grave apings of monarchical fuss and\nfeathers and ceremony, here on our ostentatiously democratic soil. She\nis the same lady that we found in the Autobiography, who was so naively\nvain of all that little ancestral military riffraff that she had dug up\nand annexed. A person's nature never changes. What it is in childhood,\nit remains. Under pressure, or a change of interest, it can partially or\nwholly disappear from sight, and for considerable stretches of time, but\nnothing can ever permanently modify it, nothing can ever remove it.\n\n\n\n\nBOARD OF TRUSTEES\n\nThere isn't any--now. But with power and money piling up higher and\nhigher every day and the Church's dominion spreading daily wider and\nfarther, a time could come when the envious and ambitious could start\nthe idea that it would be wise and well to put a watch upon these\nassets--a watch equipped with properly large authority. By custom, a\nBoard of Trustees. Mrs. Eddy has foreseen that probability--for she is\na woman with a long, long look ahead, the longest look ahead that ever a\nwoman had--and she has provided for that emergency. In Art. I., Sec.\n5, she has decreed that no Board of Trustees shall ever exist in the\nMother-Church “except it be constituted by the Pastor Emeritus.”\n\nThe magnificence of it, the daring of it! Thus far, she is:\n\nThe Massachusetts Metaphysical College; Pastor Emeritus; President;\nBoard of Directors; Treasurer; Clerk; and future Board of Trustees;\n\nand is still moving onward, ever onward. When I contemplate her from\na commercial point of view, there are no words that can convey my\nadmiration of her.\n\n\n\n\nREADERS\n\nThese are a feature of first importance in the church-machinery of\nChristian Science. For they occupy the pulpit. They hold the place\nthat the preacher holds in the other Christian Churches. They hold that\nplace, but they do not preach. Two of them are on duty at a time--a man\nand a woman. One reads a passage from the Bible, the other reads\nthe explanation of it from Science and Health--and so they go on\nalternating. This constitutes the service--this, with choir-music. They\nutter no word of their own. Art. IV., Sec. 6, closes their mouths with\nthis uncompromising gag:\n\n“They shall make no remarks explanatory of the Lesson-Sermon at any time\nduring the service.”\n\nIt seems a simple little thing. One is not startled by it at a first\nreading of it; nor at the second, nor the third. One may have to read it\na dozen times before the whole magnitude of it rises before the mind.\nIt far and away oversizes and outclasses the best business-idea yet\ninvented for the safe-guarding and perpetuating of a religion. If it had\nbeen thought of and put in force eighteen hundred and seventy years ago,\nthere would be but one Christian sect in the world now, instead of ten\ndozens of them.\n\nThere are many varieties of men in the world, consequently there are\nmany varieties of minds in its pulpits. This insures many differing\ninterpretations of important Scripture texts, and this in turn insures\nthe splitting up of a religion into many sects. It is what has happened;\nit was sure to happen.\n\nMrs. Eddy has noted this disastrous result of preaching, and has put up\nthe bars. She will have no preaching in her Church. She has explained\nall essential Scriptures, and set the explanations down in her book. In\nher belief her underlings cannot improve upon those explanations, and\nin that stern sentence “they shall make no explanatory remarks” she has\nbarred them for all time from trying. She will be obeyed; there is no\nquestion about that.\n\nIn arranging her government she has borrowed ideas from various\nsources--not poor ones, but the best in the governmental market--but\nthis one is new, this one came out of no ordinary business-head, this\none must have come out of her own, there has been no other commercial\nskull in a thousand centuries that was equal to it. She has borrowed\nfreely and wisely, but I am sure that this idea is many times\nlarger than all her borrowings bulked together. One must respect the\nbusiness-brain that produced it--the splendid pluck and impudence that\nventured to promulgate it, anyway.\n\n\n\n\nELECTION OF READERS\n\nReaders are not taken at hap-hazard, any more than preachers are taken\nat hap-hazard for the pulpits of other sects. No, Readers are elected by\nthe Board of Directors. But--\n\n“Section 3. The Board shall inform the Pas. for Emeritus of the names\nof candidates for Readers before they are elected, and if she objects to\nthe nomination, said candidates shall not be chosen.”\n\nIs that an election--by the Board? Thus far I have not been able to\nfind out what that Board of Spectres is for. It certainly has no real\nfunction, no duty which the hired girl could not perform, no office\nbeyond the mere recording of the autocrat's decrees.\n\nThere are no dangerously long office-terms in Mrs. Eddy's government.\nThe Readers are elected for but one year. This insures their\nsubserviency to their proprietor.\n\nReaders are not allowed to copy out passages and read them from the\nmanuscript in the pulpit; they must read from Mrs. Eddy's book itself.\nShe is right. Slight changes could be slyly made, repeated, and in time\nget acceptance with congregations. Branch sects could grow out of these\npractices. Mrs. Eddy knows the human race, and how far to trust it. Her\nlimit is not over a quarter of an inch. It is all that a wise person\nwill risk.\n\nMrs. Eddy's inborn disposition to copyright everything, charter\neverything, secure the rightful and proper credit to herself for\neverything she does, and everything she thinks she does, and everything\nshe thinks, and everything she thinks she thinks or has thought or\nintends to think, is illustrated in Sec. 5 of Art. IV., defining the\nduties of official Readers--in church:\n\n“Naming Book and Author. The Reader of Science and Health, with Key\nto the Scriptures, before commencing to read from this book, shall\ndistinctly announce its full title and give the author's name.”\n\nOtherwise the congregation might get the habit of forgetting who\n(ostensibly) wrote the book.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ARISTOCRACY\n\nThis consists of First Members and their apostolic succession. It is a\nclose corporation, and its membership limit is one hundred. Forty will\nanswer, but if the number fall below that, there must be an election, to\nfill the grand quorum.\n\nThis Sanhedrin can't do anything of the slightest importance, but it\ncan talk. It can “discuss.” That is, it can discuss “important questions\nrelative to Church members”, evidently persons who are already Church\nmembers. This affords it amusement, and does no harm.\n\nIt can “fix the salaries of the Readers.”\n\nTwice a year it “votes on” admitting candidates. That is, for Church\nmembership. But its work is cut out for it beforehand, by Art. IX.:\n\n“Every recommendation for membership In the Church 'shall be\ncountersigned by a loyal student of Mrs. Eddy's, by a Director of this\nChurch, or by a First Member.'”\n\nAll these three classes of beings are the personal property of Mrs.\nEddy. She has absolute control of the elections.\n\nAlso it must “transact any Church business that may properly come before\nit.”\n\n“Properly” is a thoughtful word. No important business can come before\nit. The By laws have attended to that. No important business goes before\nany one for the final word except Mrs. Eddy. She has looked to that.\n\nThe Sanhedrin “votes on” candidates for admission to its own body. But\nis its vote worth any more than mine would be? No, it isn't. Sec. 4, of\nArt. V.--Election of First Members--makes this quite plain:\n\n“Before being elected, the candidates for First Members shall be\napproved by the Pastor Emeritus over her own signature.”\n\nThus the Sanhedrin is the personal property of Mrs. Eddy. She owns it.\nIt has no functions, no authority, no real existence. It is another\nBoard of Shadows. Mrs. Eddy is the Sanhedrin herself.\n\nBut it is time to foot up again and “see where we are at.” Thus far,\nMrs. Eddy is:\n\nThe Massachusetts Metaphysical College; Pastor Emeritus, President;\nBoard of Directors; Treasurer; Clerk; Future Board of Trustees;\nProprietor of the Priesthood: Dictator of the Services; Proprietor of\nthe Sanhedrin. She has come far, and is still on her way.\n\n\n\n\nCHURCH MEMBERSHIP\n\nIn this Article there is another exhibition of a couple of the large\nfeatures of Mrs. Eddy's remarkable make-up: her business-talent and her\nknowledge of human nature.\n\nShe does not beseech and implore people to join her Church. She knows\nthe human race better than that. She gravely goes through the motions of\nreluctantly granting admission to the applicant as a favor to him. The\nidea is worth untold shekels. She does not stand at the gate of the fold\nwith welcoming arms spread, and receive the lost sheep with glad emotion\nand set up the fatted calf and invite the neighbor and have a time. No,\nshe looks upon him coldly, she snubs him, she says:\n\n“Who are you? Who is your sponsor? Who asked you to come here? Go away,\nand don't come again until you are invited.”\n\nIt is calculated to strikingly impress a person accustomed to Moody and\nSankey and Sam Jones revivals; accustomed to brain-turning appeals to\nthe unknown and unendorsed sinner to come forward and enter into the\njoy, etc.--“just as he is”; accustomed to seeing him do it; accustomed\nto seeing him pass up the aisle through sobbing seas of welcome, and\nlove, and congratulation, and arrive at the mourner's bench and be\nreceived like a long-lost government bond.\n\nNo, there is nothing of that kind in Mrs. Eddy's system. She knows that\nif you wish to confer upon a human being something which he is not sure\nhe wants, the best way is to make it apparently difficult for him to get\nit--then he is no son of Adam if that apple does not assume an interest\nin his eyes which it lacked before. In time this interest can grow into\ndesire. Mrs. Eddy knows that when you cannot get a man to try--free of\ncost--a new and effective remedy for a disease he is afflicted with, you\ncan generally sell it to him if you will put a price upon it which he\ncannot afford. When, in the beginning, she taught Christian Science\ngratis (for good reasons), pupils were few and reluctant, and required\npersuasion; it was when she raised the limit to three hundred dollars\nfor a dollar's worth that she could not find standing room for the\ninvasion of pupils that followed.\n\nWith fine astuteness she goes through the motions of making it difficult\nto get membership in her Church. There is a twofold value in this\nsystem: it gives membership a high value in the eyes of the applicant;\nand at the same time the requirements exacted enable Mrs. Eddy to keep\nhim out if she has doubts about his value to her. A word further as to\napplications for membership:\n\n“Applications of students of the Metaphysical College must be signed by\nthe Board of Directors.”\n\nThat is safe. Mrs. Eddy is proprietor of that Board.\n\nChildren of twelve may be admitted if invited by “one of Mrs. Eddy's\nloyal students, or by a First Member, or by a Director.”\n\nThese sponsors are the property of Mrs. Eddy, therefore her Church is\nsafeguarded from the intrusion of undesirable children.\n\nOther Students. Applicants who have not studied with Mrs. Eddy can get\nin only “by invitation and recommendation from students of Mrs. Eddy....\nor from members of the Mother-Church.”\n\nOther paragraphs explain how two or three other varieties of applicants\nare to be challenged and obstructed, and tell us who is authorized to\ninvite them, recommend them endorse them, and all that.\n\nThe safeguards are definite, and would seem to be sufficiently\nstrenuous--to Mr. Sam Jones, at any rate. Not for Mrs. Eddy. She adds\nthis clincher:\n\n“The candidates be elected by a majority vote of the First Members\npresent.”\n\nThat is the aristocracy, the aborigines, the Sanhedrin. It is Mrs.\nEddy's property. She herself is the Sanhedrin. No one can get into the\nChurch if she wishes to keep him out.\n\nThis veto power could some time or other have a large value for her,\ntherefore she was wise to reserve it.\n\nIt is likely that it is not frequently used. It is also probable that\nthe difficulties attendant upon getting admission to membership have\nbeen instituted more to invite than to deter, more to enhance the\nvalue of membership and make people long for it than to make it really\ndifficult to get. I think so, because the Mother. Church has many\nthousands of members more than its building can accommodate.\n\n\n\n\nAND SOME ENGLISH REQUIRED\n\nMrs. Eddy is very particular as regards one detail curiously so, for\nher, all things considered. The Church Readers must be “good English\nscholars”; they must be “thorough English scholars.”\n\nShe is thus sensitive about the English of her subordinates for cause,\npossibly. In her chapter defining the duties of the Clerk there is an\nindication that she harbors resentful memories of an occasion when the\nhazy quality of her own English made unforeseen and mortifying trouble:\n\n“Understanding Communications. Sec. 2. If the Clerk of this Church shall\nreceive a communication from the Pastor Emeritus which he does not fully\nunderstand, he shall inform her of this fact before presenting it to\nthe Church, and obtain a clear understanding of the matter--then act in\naccordance therewith.”\n\nShe should have waited to calm down, then, but instead she added this,\nwhich lacks sugar:\n\n“Failing to adhere to this By-law, the Clerk must resign.”\n\nI wish I could see that communication that broke the camel's back.\nIt was probably the one beginning: “What plague spot or bacilli were\ngnawing at the heart of this metropolis and bringing it on bended knee?”\n and I think it likely that the kindly disposed Clerk tried to translate\nit into English and lost his mind and had to go to the hospital.\nThat Bylaw was not the offspring of a forecast, an intuition, it was\ncertainly born of a sorrowful experience. Its temper gives the fact\naway.\n\nThe little book of By-laws has manifestly been tinkered by one of Mrs.\nEddy's “thorough English scholars,” for in the majority of cases its\nmeanings are clear. The book is not even marred by Mrs. Eddy's peculiar\nspecialty--lumbering clumsinesses of speech. I believe the salaried\npolisher has weeded them all out but one. In one place, after referring\nto Science and Health, Mrs. Eddy goes on to say “the Bible and the\nabove-named book, with other works by the same author,” etc.\n\nIt is an unfortunate sentence, for it could mislead a hasty or careless\nreader for a moment. Mrs. Eddy framed it--it is her very own--it bears\nher trade-mark. “The Bible and Science and Health, with other works by\nthe same author,” could have come from no literary vacuum but the one\nwhich produced the remark (in the Autobiography): “I remember reading,\nin my childhood, certain manuscripts containing Scriptural Sonnets,\nbesides other verses and enigmas.”\n\nWe know what she means, in both instances, but a low-priced Clerk would\nnot necessarily know, and on a salary like his he could quite excusably\naver that the Pastor Emeritus had commanded him to come and make\nproclamation that she was author of the Bible, and that she was thinking\nof discharging some Scriptural sonnets and other enigmas upon the\ncongregation. It could lose him his place, but it would not be fair, if\nit happened before the edict about “Understanding Communications” was\npromulgated.\n\n\n\n\n“READERS” AGAIN\n\nThe By-law book makes a showy pretence of orderliness and system, but it\nis only a pretence. I will not go so far as to say it is a harum-scarum\njumble, for it is not that, but I think it fair to say it is at least\njumbulacious in places. For instance, Articles III. and IV. set forth\nin much detail the qualifications and duties of Readers, she then\nskips some thirty pages and takes up the subject again. It looks\nlike slovenliness, but it may be only art. The belated By-law has a\nsufficiently quiet look, but it has a ton of dynamite in it. It makes\nall the Christian Science Church Readers on the globe the personal\nchattels of Mrs. Eddy. Whenever she chooses, she can stretch her long\narm around the world's fat belly and flirt a Reader out of his pulpit,\nthough he be tucked away in seeming safety and obscurity in a lost\nvillage in the middle of China:\n\n“In any Church. Sec. 2. The Pastor Emeritus of the Mother-Church shall\nhave the right (through a letter addressed to the individual and Church\nof which he is the Reader) to remove a Reader from this office in any\nChurch of Christ, Scientist, both in America and in foreign nations;\nor to appoint the Reader to fill any office belonging to the Christian\nScience denomination.”\n\nShe does not have to prefer charges against him, she does not have to\nfind him lazy, careless, incompetent, untidy, ill-mannered, unholy,\ndishonest, she does not have to discover a fault of any kind in him,\nshe does not have to tell him nor his congregation why she dismisses and\ndisgraces him and insults his meek flock, she does not have to explain\nto his family why she takes the bread out of their mouths and turns them\nout-of-doors homeless and ashamed in a strange land; she does not have\nto do anything but send a letter and say: “Pack!--and ask no questions!”\n\nHas the Pope this power?--the other Pope--the one in Rome. Has he\nanything approaching it? Can he turn a priest out of his pulpit and\nstrip him of his office and his livelihood just upon a whim, a caprice,\nand meanwhile furnishing no reasons to the parish? Not in America. And\nnot elsewhere, we may believe.\n\nIt is odd and strange, to see intelligent and educated people among\nus worshipping this self-seeking and remorseless tyrant as a God. This\nworship is denied--by persons who are themselves worshippers of Mrs.\nEddy. I feel quite sure that it is a worship which will continue during\nages.\n\nThat Mrs. Eddy wrote that amazing By-law with her own hand we have much\nbetter evidence than her word. We have her English. It is there. It\ncannot be imitated. She ought never to go to the expense of copyrighting\nher verbal discharges. When any one tries to claim them she should call\nme; I can always tell them from any other literary apprentice's at a\nglance. It was like her to call America a “nation”; she would call a\nsand-bar a nation if it should fall into a sentence in which she was\nspeaking of peoples, for she would not know how to untangle it and get\nit out and classify it by itself. And the closing arrangement of that\nBy-law is in true Eddysonian form, too. In it she reserves authority to\nmake a Reader fill any office connected with a Science church-sexton,\ngrave-digger, advertising-agent, Annex-polisher, leader of the choir,\nPresident, Director, Treasurer, Clerk, etc. She did not mean that.\nShe already possessed that authority. She meant to clothe herself with\npower, despotic and unchallengeable, to appoint all Science Readers to\ntheir offices, both at home and abroad. The phrase “or to appoint”\n is another miscarriage of intention; she did not mean “or,” she meant\n“and.”\n\n\nThat By-law puts into Mrs. Eddy's hands absolute command over the most\nformidable force and influence existent in the Christian Science kingdom\noutside of herself, and it does this unconditionally and (by auxiliary\nforce of Laws already quoted) irrevocably. Still, she is not quite\nsatisfied. Something might happen, she doesn't know what. Therefore she\ndrives in one more nail, to make sure, and drives it deep:\n\n“This By-law can neither be amended nor annulled, except by consent of\nthe Pastor Emeritus.”\n\nLet some one with a wild and delirious fancy try and see if he can\nimagine her furnishing that consent.\n\n\n\n\nMONOPOLY OF SPIRITUAL BREAD\n\nVery properly, the first qualification for membership in the\nMother-Church is belief in the doctrines of Christian Science.\n\nBut these doctrines must not be gathered from secondary sources. There\nis but one recognized source. The candidate must be a believer in the\ndoctrines of Christian Science “according to the platform and teaching\ncontained in the Christian Science text-book, 'Science and Health, with\nKey to the Scriptures,' by Rev. Mary Baker G. Eddy.”\n\nThat is definite, and is final. There are to be no commentaries, no\nlabored volumes of exposition and explanation by anybody except Mrs.\nEddy. Because such things could sow error, create warring opinions,\nsplit the religion into sects, and disastrously cripple its power. Mrs.\nEddy will do the whole of the explaining, Herself--has done it, in fact.\nShe has written several books. They are to be had (for cash in advance),\nthey are all sacred; additions to them can never be needed and will\nnever be permitted. They tell the candidate how to instruct himself,\nhow to teach others, how to do all things comprised in the business--and\nthey close the door against all would-be competitors, and monopolize the\ntrade:\n\n“The Bible and the above--named book [Science and Health], with\nother works by the same author,” must be his only text-books for the\ncommerce--he cannot forage outside.\n\nMrs. Eddy's words are to be the sole elucidators of the Bible and\nScience and Health--forever. Throughout the ages, whenever there is\ndoubt as to the meaning of a passage in either of these books the\ninquirer will not dream of trying to explain it to himself; he would\nshudder at the thought of such temerity, such profanity, he would be\nhaled to the Inquisition and thence to the public square and the stake\nif he should be caught studying into text-meanings on his own hook; he\nwill be prudent and seek the meanings at the only permitted source, Mrs.\nEddy's commentaries.\n\nValue of this Strait-jacket. One must not underrate the magnificence\nof this long-headed idea, one must not underestimate its giant\npossibilities in the matter of trooping the Church solidly together and\nkeeping it so. It squelches independent inquiry, and makes such a thing\nimpossible, profane, criminal, it authoritatively settles every dispute\nthat can arise. It starts with finality--a point which the Roman Church\nhas travelled towards fifteen or sixteen centuries, stage by stage,\nand has not yet reached. The matter of the Immaculate Conception of\nthe Virgin Mary was not authoritatively settled until the days of Pius\nIX.--yesterday, so to speak.\n\nAs already noticed, the Protestants are broken up into a long array of\nsects, a result of disputes about the meanings of texts, disputes made\nunavoidable by the absence of an infallible authority to submit doubtful\npassages to. A week or two ago (I am writing in the middle of January,\n1903), the clergy and others hereabouts had a warm dispute in the papers\nover this question: Did Jesus anywhere claim to be God? It seemed an\neasy question, but it turned out to be a hard one. It was ably and\nelaborately discussed, by learned men of several denominations, but in\nthe end it remained unsettled.\n\nA week ago, another discussion broke out. It was over this text:\n\n“Sell all that thou hast and distribute unto the poor.”\n\nOne verdict was worded as follows:\n\n“When Christ answered the rich young man and said for him to give to the\npoor all he possessed or he could not gain everlasting life, He did not\nmean it in the literal sense. My interpretation of His words is that we\nshould part with what comes between us and Christ.\n\n“There is no doubt that Jesus believed that the rich young man thought\nmore of his wealth than he did of his soul, and, such being the case, it\nwas his duty to give up the wealth.\n\n“Every one of us knows that there is something we should give up for\nChrist. Those who are true believers and followers know what they have\ngiven up, and those who are not yet followers know down in their hearts\nwhat they must give up.”\n\nTen clergymen of various denominations were interviewed, and nine of\nthem agreed with that verdict. That did not settle the matter, because\nthe tenth said the language of Jesus was so strait and definite that it\nexplained itself: “Sell all,” not a percentage.\n\nThere is a most unusual feature about that dispute: the nine persons\nwho decided alike, quoted not a single authority in support of their\nposition. I do not know when I have seen trained disputants do the like\nof that before. The nine merely furnished their own opinions, founded\nupon--nothing at all. In the other dispute (“Did Jesus anywhere claim to\nbe God?”) the same kind of men--trained and learned clergymen--backed up\ntheir arguments with chapter and verse. On both sides. Plenty of verses.\nWere no reinforcing verses to be found in the present case? It looks\nthat way.\n\nThe opinion of the nine seems strange to me, for it is unsupported\nby authority, while there was at least constructive authority for the\nopposite view.\n\nIt is hair-splitting differences of opinion over disputed text-meanings\nthat have divided into many sects a once united Church. One may\ninfer from some of the names in the following list that some of\nthe differences are very slight--so slight as to be not distinctly\nimportant, perhaps--yet they have moved groups to withdraw from\ncommunions to which they belonged and set up a sect of their own. The\nlist--accompanied by various Church statistics for 1902, compiled by\nRev. Dr. H. K. Carroll--was published, January 8, 1903, in the New York\nChristian Advocate:\n\nAdventists (6 bodies), Baptists (13 bodies), Brethren (Plymouth) (4\nbodies), Brethren (River) (3 bodies), Catholics (8 bodies), Catholic\nApostolic, Christadelphians, Christian Connection, Christian Catholics,\nChristian Missionary Association, Christian Scientists, Church of God\n(Wine-brennarian), Church of the New Jerusalem, Congregationalists,\nDisciples of Christ, Dunkards (4 bodies), Evangelical (2 bodies),\nFriends (4 bodies), Friends of the Temple, German Evangelical\nProtestant, German Evangelical Synod, Independent congregations, Jews (2\nbodies), Latter-day Saints (2 bodies), Lutherans (22 bodies), Mennonites\n(12 bodies), Methodists (17 bodies), Moravians, Presbyterians (12\nbodies), Protestant Episcopal (2 bodies), Reformed (3 bodies),\nSchwenkfeldians, Social Brethren, Spiritualists, Swedish Evangelical\nMiss. Covenant (Waldenstromians), Unitarians, United Brethren (2\nbodies), Universalists.\n\nTotal of sects and splits--139.\n\nIn the present month (February), Mr. E. I. Lindh, A.M., has communicated\nto the Boston Transcript a hopeful article on the solution of the\nproblem of the “divided church.” Divided is not too violent a term.\nSubdivided could have been permitted if he had thought of it. He came\nnear thinking of it, for he mentions some of the subdivisions himself:\n“the 12 kinds of Presbyterians, the 17 kinds of Methodists, the 13 kinds\nof Baptists, etc.” He overlooked the 12 kinds of Mennonites and the 22\nkinds of Lutherans, but they are in Rev. Mr. Carroll's list. Altogether,\n76 splits under 5 flags. The Literary Digest (February 14th) is pleased\nwith Mr. Lindh's optimistic article, and also with the signs of the\ntimes, and perceives that “the idea of Church unity is in the air.”\n\nNow, then, is not Mrs. Eddy profoundly wise in forbidding, for all time,\nall explanations of her religion except such as she shall let on to be\nher own?\n\nI think so. I think there can be no doubt of it. In a way, they will be\nher own; for, no matter which member of her clerical staff shall furnish\nthe explanations, not a line of them will she ever allow to be printed\nuntil she shall have approved it, accepted it, copyrighted it, cabbaged\nit. We may depend on that with a four-ace confidence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW INFALLIBILITY\n\nAll in proper time Mrs. Eddy's factory will take hold of that\nCommandment, and explain it for good and all. It may be that one member\nof the shift will vote that the word “all” means all; it may be that ten\nmembers of the shift will vote that “all” means only a percentage; but\nit is Mrs. Eddy, not the eleven, who will do the deciding. And if she\nsays it is percentage, then percentage it is, forevermore--and that\nis what I am expecting, for she doesn't sell all herself, nor any\nconsiderable part of it, and as regards the poor, she doesn't declare\nany dividend; but if she says “all” means all, then all it is, to the\nend of time, and no follower of hers will ever be allowed to reconstruct\nthat text, or shrink it, or inflate it, or meddle with it in any way at\nall. Even to-day--right here in the beginning--she is the sole person\nwho, in the matter of Christian Science exegesis, is privileged to\nexploit the Spiral Twist. The Christian world has two Infallibles now.\n\nOf equal power? For the present only. When Leo XIII. passes to his rest\nanother Infallible will ascend his throne; others, and yet others, and\nstill others will follow him, and be as infallible as he, and decide\nquestions of doctrine as long as they may come up, all down the far\nfuture; but Mary Baker G. Eddy is the only Infallible that will ever\noccupy the Science throne. Many a Science Pope will succeed her, but\nshe has closed their mouths; they will repeat and reverently praise and\nadore her infallibilities, but venture none themselves. In her grave she\nwill still outrank all other Popes, be they of what Church they may.\nShe will hold the supremest of earthly titles, The Infallible--with\na capital T. Many in the world's history have had a hunger for such\nnuggets and slices of power as they might reasonably hope to grab out\nof an empire's or a religion's assets, but Mrs. Eddy is the only person\nalive or dead who has ever struck for the whole of them. For small\nthings she has the eye of a microscope, for large ones the eye of a\ntelescope, and whatever she sees, she wants. Wants it all.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SACRED POEMS\n\nWhen Mrs. Eddy's “sacred revelations” (that is the language of the\nBy-laws) are read in public, their authorship must be named. The By-laws\ntwice command this, therefore we mention it twice, to be fair.\n\nBut it is also commanded that when a member publicly quotes “from the\npoems of our Pastor Emeritus” the authorship shall be named. For these\nare sacred, too. There are kindly people who may suspect a hidden\ngenerosity in that By-law; they may think it is there to protect the\nOfficial Reader from the suspicion of having written the poems himself.\nSuch do not know Mrs. Eddy. She does an inordinate deal of protecting,\nbut in no distinctly named and specified case in her history has Number\nTwo been the object of it. Instances have been claimed, but they have\nfailed of proof, and even of plausibility.\n\n“Members shall also instruct their students” to look out and advertise\nthe authorship when they read those poems and things. Not on Mrs. Eddy's\naccount, but “for the good of our Cause.”\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHURCH EDIFICE\n\n1. Mrs. Eddy gave the land. It was not of much value at the time, but it\nis very valuable now. 2. Her people built the Mother-Church edifice on\nit, at a cost of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. 3. Then they\ngave the whole property to her. 4. Then she gave it to the Board of\nDirectors. She is the Board of Directors. She took it out of one pocket\nand put it in the other. 5. Sec. 10 (of the deed). “Whenever said\nDirectors shall determine that it is inexpedient to maintain preaching,\nreading, or speaking in said church in accordance with the terms of this\ndeed, they are authorized and required to reconvey forthwith said lot\nof land with the building thereon to Mary Baker G. Eddy, her heirs and\nassigns forever, by a proper deed of conveyance.”\n\nShe is never careless, never slipshod, about a matter of business.\nOwning the property through her Board of Waxworks was safe enough, still\nit was sound business to set another grip on it to cover accidents,\nand she did it. Her barkers (what a curious name; I wonder if it is\ncopyrighted); her barkers persistently advertise to the public her\ngenerosity in giving away a piece of land which cost her a trifle, and\na two--hundred--and--fifty--thousand--dollar church which cost her\nnothing; and they can hardly speak of the unselfishness of it without\nbreaking down and crying; yet they know she gave nothing away, and never\nintended to. However, such is the human race. Often it does seem such a\npity that Noah and his party did not miss the boat.\n\nSome of the hostiles think that Mrs. Eddy's idea in protecting this\nproperty in the interest of her heirs, and in accumulating a great money\nfortune, is, that she may leave her natural heirs well provided for when\nshe goes. I think it is a mistake. I think she is of late years giving\nherself large concern about only one interest-her power and glory, and\nthe perpetuation and worship of her Name--with a capital N. Her Church\nis her pet heir, and I think it will get her wealth. It is the torch\nwhich is to light the world and the ages with her glory.\n\nI think she once prized money for the ease and comfort it could bring,\nthe showy vanities it could furnish, and the social promotion it could\ncommand; for we have seen that she was born into the world with little\nways and instincts and aspirations and affectations that are duplicates\nof our own. I do not think her money-passion has ever diminished in\nferocity, I do not think that she has ever allowed a dollar that had no\nfriends to get by her alive, but I think her reason for wanting it\nhas changed. I think she wants it now to increase and establish and\nperpetuate her power and glory with, not to add to her comforts and\nluxuries, not to furnish paint and fuss and feathers for vain display.\nI think her ambitions have soared away above the fuss-and-feather stage.\nShe still likes the little shows and vanities--a fact which she\nexposed in a public utterance two or three days ago when she was not\nnoticing--but I think she does not place a large value upon them now.\nShe could build a mighty and far-shining brass-mounted palace if she\nwanted to, but she does not do it. She would have had that kind of an\nambition in the early scrabbling times. She could go to England to-day\nand be worshiped by earls, and get a comet's attention from the\nmillion, if she cared for such things. She would have gone in the early\nscrabbling days for much less than an earl, and been vain of it, and\nglad to show off before the remains of the Scotch kin. But those things\nare very small to her now--next to invisible, observed through the\ncloud-rack from the dizzy summit where she perches in these great days.\nShe does not want that church property for herself. It is worth but a\nquarter of a million--a sum she could call in from her far-spread flocks\nto-morrow with a lift of her hand. Not a squeeze of it, just a lift. It\nwould come without a murmur; come gratefully, come gladly. And if her\nglory stood in more need of the money in Boston than it does where her\nflocks are propagating it, she would lift the hand, I think.\n\nShe is still reaching for the Dollar, she will continue to reach for it;\nbut not that she may spend it upon herself; not that she may spend it\nupon charities; not that she may indemnify an early deprivation and\nclothe herself in a blaze of North Adams gauds; not that she may have\nnine breeds of pie for breakfast, as only the rich New-Englander can;\nnot that she may indulge any petty material vanity or appetite that once\nwas hers and prized and nursed, but that she may apply that Dollar to\nstatelier uses, and place it where it may cast the metallic sheen of her\nglory farthest across the receding expanses of the globe.\n\n\n\n\nPRAYER\n\nA brief and good one is furnished in the book of By-laws. The Scientist\nis required to pray it every day.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LORD'S PRAYER-AMENDED\n\nThis is not in the By-laws, it is in the first chapter of Science and\nHealth, edition of 1902. I do not find it in the edition of 1884. It\nis probable that it had not at that time been handed down. Science and\nHealth's (latest) rendering of its “spiritual sense” is as follows:\n\n“Our Father-Mother God' all-harmonious, adorable One. Thy kingdom is\nwithin us, Thou art ever-present. Enable us to know--as in heaven, so\non earth--God is supreme. Give us grace for to-day; feed the famished\naffections. And infinite Love is reflected in love. And Love leadeth us\nnot into temptation, but delivereth from sin, disease, and death. For\nGod is now and forever all Life, Truth, and Love.”\n\nIf I thought my opinion was desired and would be properly revered, I\nshould say that in my judgment that is as good a piece of carpentering\nas any of those eleven Commandment--experts could do with the material\nafter all their practice. I notice only one doubtful place. “Lead us not\ninto temptation” seems to me to be a very definite request, and that the\nnew rendering turns the definite request into a definite assertion. I\nshall be glad to have that turned back to the old way and the marks of\nthe Spiral Twist removed, or varnished over; then I shall be satisfied,\nand will do the best I can with what is left. At the same time, I do\nfeel that the shrinkage in our spiritual assets is getting serious.\nFirst the Commandments, now the Prayer. I never expected to see these\nsteady old reliable securities watered down to this. And this is not\nthe whole of it. Last summer the Presbyterians extended the Calling and\nElection suffrage to nearly everybody entitled to salvation. They did\nnot even stop there, but let out all the unbaptized American infants\nwe had been accumulating for two hundred years and more. There are some\nthat believe they would have let the Scotch ones out, too, if they could\nhave done it. Everything is going to ruin; in no long time we shall have\nnothing left but the love of God.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW UNPARDONABLE SIN\n\n“Working Against the Cause. Sec. 2. If a member of this Church shall\nwork against the accomplishment of what the Discoverer and Founder of\nChristian Science understands is advantageous to the individual, to this\nChurch, and to the Cause of Christian Science”--out he goes. Forever.\n\nThe member may think that what he is doing will advance the Cause,\nbut he is not invited to do any thinking. More than that, he is not\npermitted to do any--as he will clearly gather from this By-law. When a\nperson joins Mrs. Eddy's Church he must leave his thinker at home. Leave\nit permanently. To make sure that it will not go off some time or other\nwhen he is not watching, it will be safest for him to spike it. If he\nshould forget himself and think just once, the By-law provides that he\nshall be fired out-instantly-forever-no return.\n\n“It shall be the duty of this Church immediately to call a meeting, and\ndrop forever the name of this member from its records.”\n\nMy, but it breathes a towering indignation!\n\nThere are forgivable offenses, but this is not one of them; there are\nadmonitions, probations, suspensions, in several minor cases; mercy is\nshown the derelict, in those cases he is gently used, and in time he can\nget back into the fold--even when he has repeated his offence. But let\nhim think, just once, without getting his thinker set to Eddy time,\nand that is enough; his head comes off. There is no second offence, and\nthere is no gate open to that lost sheep, ever again.\n\n“This rule cannot be changed, amended, or annulled, except by unanimous\nvote of all the First Members.”\n\nThe same being Mrs. Eddy. It is naively sly and pretty to see her keep\nputting forward First Members, and Boards of This and That, and other\nbroideries and ruffles of her raiment, as if they were independent\nentities, instead of a part of her clothes, and could do things all by\nthemselves when she was outside of them.\n\nMrs. Eddy did not need to copyright the sentence just quoted, its\nEnglish would protect it. None but she would have shovelled that\ncomically superfluous “all” in there.\n\nThe former Unpardonable Sin has gone out of service. We may frame the\nnew Christian Science one thus:\n\n“Whatsoever Member shall think, and without Our Mother's permission act\nupon his think, the same shall be cut off from the Church forever.”\n\nIt has been said that I make many mistakes about Christian Science\nthrough being ignorant of the spiritual meanings of its terminology.\nI believe it is true. I have been misled all this time by that word\nMember, because there was no one to tell me that its spiritual meaning\nwas Slave.\n\n\n\n\nAXE AND BLOCK\n\nThere is a By-law which forbids Members to practice hypnotism; the\npenalty is excommunication.\n\n1. If a member is found to be a mental practitioner--2. Complaint is to\nbe entered against him--3. By the Pastor Emeritus, and by none else;\n4. No member is allowed to make complaint to her in the matter; 5. Upon\nMrs. Eddy's mere “complaint”--unbacked by evidence or proof, and without\ngiving the accused a chance to be heard--his name shall be dropped from\nthis Church.\n\nMrs. Eddy has only to say a member is guilty--that is all. That ends\nit. It is not a case of he “may” be cut off from Christian Science\nsalvation, it is a case of he “shall” be. Her serfs must see to it, and\nnot say a word.\n\nDoes the other Pope possess this prodigious and irresponsible power?\nCertainly not in our day.\n\nSome may be curious to know how Mrs. Eddy finds out that a member is\npracticing hypnotism, since no one is allowed to come before her throne\nand accuse him. She has explained this in Christian Science History,\nfirst and second editions, page 16:\n\n“I possess a spiritual sense of what the malicious mental practitioner\nis mentally arguing which cannot be deceived; I can discern in the human\nmind thoughts, motives, and purposes, and neither mental arguments nor\npsychic power can affect this spiritual insight.”\n\nA marvelous woman; with a hunger for power such as has never been seen\nin the world before. No thing, little or big, that contains any seed or\nsuggestion of power escapes her avaricious eye; and when once she gets\nthat eye on it, her remorseless grip follows. There isn't a Christian\nScientist who isn't ecclesiastically as much her property as if she had\nbought him and paid for him, and copyrighted him and got a charter.\nShe cannot be satisfied when she has handcuffed a member, and put a\nleg-chain and ball on him and plugged his ears and removed his thinker,\nshe goes on wrapping needless chains round and round him, just as a\nspider would. For she trusts no one, believes in no one's honesty,\njudges every one by herself. Although we have seen that she has absolute\nand irresponsible command over her spectral Boards and over every\nofficial and servant of her Church, at home and abroad, over every\nminute detail of her Church's government, present and future, and can\npurge her membership of guilty or suspected persons by various plausible\nformalities and whenever she will, she is still not content, but must\nset her queer mind to work and invent a way by which she can take a\nmember--any member--by neck and crop and fling him out without anything\nresembling a formality at all.\n\nShe is sole accuser and sole witness, and her testimony is final and\ncarries uncompromising and irremediable doom with it.\n\nThe Sole-Witness Court! It should make the Council of Ten and the\nCouncil of Three turn in their graves for shame, to see how little they\nknew about satanic concentrations of irresponsible power. Here we have\none Accuser, one Witness, one Judge, one Headsman--and all four bunched\ntogether in Mrs. Eddy, the Inspired of God, His Latest Thought to His\nPeople, New Member of the Holy Family, the Equal of Jesus.\n\nWhen a Member is not satisfactory to Mrs. Eddy, and yet is blameless in\nhis life and faultless in his membership and in his Christian Science\nwalk and conversation, shall he hold up his head and tilt his hat over\none ear and imagine himself safe because of these perfections? Why,\nin that very moment Mrs. Eddy will cast that spiritual X-ray of hers\nthrough his dungarees and say:\n\n“I see his hypnotism working, among his insides--remove him to the\nblock!”\n\nWhat shall it profit him to know it isn't so? Nothing. His testimony is\nof no value. No one wants it, no one will ask for it. He is not present\nto offer it (he does not know he has been accused), and if he were there\nto offer it, it would not be listened to.\n\nIt was out of powers approaching Mrs. Eddy's--though not equalling\nthem--that the Inquisition and the devastations of the Interdict grew.\nShe will transmit hers. The man born two centuries from now will think\nhe has arrived in hell; and all in good time he will think he knows it.\nVast concentrations of irresponsible power have never in any age been\nused mercifully, and there is nothing to suggest that the Christian\nScience Papacy is going to spend money on novelties.\n\nSeveral Christian Scientists have asked me to refrain from prophecy.\nThere is no prophecy in our day but history. But history is a\ntrustworthy prophet. History is always repeating itself, because\nconditions are always repeating themselves. Out of duplicated conditions\nhistory always gets a duplicate product.\n\n\n\n\nREADING LETTERS AT MEETINGS\n\nI wonder if there is anything a Member can do that will not raise Mrs.\nEddy's jealousy? The By-laws seem to hunt him from pillar to post all\nthe time, and turn all his thoughts and acts and words into sins against\nthe meek and lowly new deity of his worship. Apparently her jealousy\nnever sleeps. Apparently any trifle can offend it, and but one penalty\nappease it--excommunication. The By-laws might properly and reasonably\nbe entitled Laws for the Coddling and Comforting of Our Mother's Petty\nJealousies. The By-law named at the head of this paragraph reads its\ntransgressor out of the Church if he shall carry a letter from Mrs. Eddy\nto the congregation and forget to read it or fail to read the whole of\nit.\n\n\n\n\nHONESTY REQUISITE\n\nDishonest members are to be admonished; if they continue in dishonest\npractices, excommunication follows. Considering who it is that draughted\nthis law, there is a certain amount of humor in it.\n\n\n\n\nFURTHER APPLICATIONS OF THE AXE\n\nHere follow the titles of some more By-laws whose infringement is\npunishable by excommunication:\n\n\nSilence Enjoined. Misteaching. Departure from Tenets. Violation of\nChristian Fellowship. Moral Offences. Illegal Adoption. Broken By-laws.\nViolation of By-laws. (What is the difference?) Formulas Forbidden.\nOfficial Advice. (Forbids Tom, Dick, and Harry's clack.) Unworthy of\nMembership. Final Excommunication. Organizing Churches.\n\nThis looks as if Mrs. Eddy had devoted a large share of her time and\ntalent to inventing ways to get rid of her Church members. Yet in\nanother place she seems to invite membership. Not in any urgent way,\nit is true, still she throws out a bait to such as like notice and\ndistinction (in other words, the Human Race). Page 82:\n\n“It is important that these seemingly strict conditions be complied\nwith, as the names of the Members of the Mother-Church will be recorded\nin the history of the Church and become a part thereof.”\n\nWe all want to be historical.\n\n\n\n\nMORE SELF-PROTECTIONS\n\nThe Hymnal. There is a Christian Science Hymnal. Entrance to it was\nclosed in 1898. Christian Science students who make hymns nowadays may\npossibly get them sung in the Mother-Church, “but not unless approved by\nthe Pastor Emeritus.” Art. XXVII, Sec. 2.\n\nSolo Singers. Mrs. Eddy has contributed the words of three of the hymns\nin the Hymnal. Two of them appear in it six times altogether, each of\nthem being set to three original forms of musical anguish. Mrs. Eddy,\nalways thoughtful, has promulgated a By-law requiring the singing of one\nof her three hymns in the Mother Church “as often as once each month.”\n It is a good idea. A congregation could get tired of even Mrs. Eddy's\nmuse in the course of time, without the cordializing incentive of\ncompulsion. We all know how wearisome the sweetest and touchingest\nthings can become, through rep-rep-repetition, and still\nrep-rep-repetition, and more rep-rep-repetition-like “the sweet\nby-and-by, in the sweet by-and-by,” for instance, and “Tah-rah-rah\nboom-de-aye”; and surely it is not likely that Mrs. Eddy's machine has\nturned out goods that could outwear those great heart-stirrers, without\nthe assistance of the lash. “O'er Waiting Harpstrings of the Mind” is\npretty good, quite fair to middling--the whole seven of the stanzas--but\nrepetition would be certain to take the excitement out of it in the\ncourse of time, even if there were fourteen, and then it would sound\nlike the multiplication table, and would cease to save. The congregation\nwould be perfectly sure to get tired; in fact, did get tired--hence the\ncompulsory By-law. It is a measure born of experience, not foresight.\n\nThe By-laws say that “if a solo singer shall neglect or refuse to sing\nalone” one of those three hymns as often as once a month, and oftener if\nso directed by the Board of Directors--which is Mrs. Eddy--the singer's\nsalary shall be stopped. It is circumstantial evidence that some\nsoloists neglected this sacrament and others refused it. At least that\nis the charitable view to take of it. There is only one other view to\ntake: that Mrs. Eddy did really foresee that there would be singers\nwho would some day get tired of doing her hymns and proclaiming the\nauthorship, unless persuaded by a Bylaw, with a penalty attached. The\nidea could of course occur to her wise head, for she would know that a\nseven-stanza break might well be a calamitous strain upon a soloist, and\nthat he might therefore avoid it if unwatched. He could not curtail it,\nfor the whole of anything that Mrs. Eddy does is sacred, and cannot be\ncut.\n\n\n\n\nBOARD OF EDUCATION\n\nIt consists of four members, one of whom is President of it. Its members\nare elected annually. Subject to Mrs. Eddy's approval. Art. XXX., Sec.\n2.\n\nShe owns the Board--is the Board.\n\nMrs. Eddy is President of the Metaphysical College. If at any time she\nshall vacate that office, the Directors of the College (that is to say,\nMrs. Eddy) “shall” elect to the vacancy the President of the Board of\nEducation (which is merely re-electing herself).\n\nIt is another case of “Pastor Emeritus.” She gives up the shadow of\nauthority, but keeps a good firm hold on the substance.\n\n\n\n\nPUBLIC TEACHERS\n\nApplicants for admission to this industry must pass a thorough three\ndays' examination before the Board of Education “in Science and Health,\nchapter on 'Recapitulation'; the Platform of Christian Science; page 403\nof Christian Science Practice, from line second to the second paragraph\nof page 405; and page 488, second and third paragraphs.”\n\n\n\n\nBOARD OF LECTURESHIP\n\nThe lecturers are exceedingly important servants of Mrs. Eddy, and she\nchooses them with great care. Each of them has an appointed territory\nin which to perform his duties--in the North, the South, the East, the\nWest, in Canada, in Great Britain, and so on--and each must stick to\nhis own territory and not forage beyond its boundaries. I think it goes\nwithout saying--from what we have seen of Mrs. Eddy--that no lecture is\ndelivered until she has examined and approved it, and that the lecturer\nis not allowed to change it afterwards.\n\nThe members of the Board of Lectureship are elected annually--\n\n“Subject to the approval of Rev. Mary Baker G. Eddy.”\n\n\n\n\nMISSIONARIES\n\nThere are but four. They are elected--like the rest of the\ndomestics--annually. So far as I can discover, not a single servant of\nthe Sacred Household has a steady job except Mrs. Eddy. It is plain that\nshe trusts no human being but herself.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BY-LAWS\n\nThe branch Churches are strictly forbidden to use them.\n\nSo far as I can see, they could not do it if they wanted to. The By-laws\nare merely the voice of the master issuing commands to the servants.\nThere is nothing and nobody for the servants to re-utter them to.\n\nThat useless edict is repeated in the little book, a few pages farther\non. There are several other repetitions of prohibitions in the book that\ncould be spared-they only take up room for nothing.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CREED It is copyrighted. I do not know why, but I suppose it is to\nkeep adventurers from some day claiming that they invented it, and\nnot Mrs. Eddy and that “strange Providence” that has suggested so many\nclever things to her.\n\nNo Change. It is forbidden to change the Creed. That is important, at\nany rate.\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT\n\nI can understand why Mrs. Eddy copyrighted the early editions\nand revisions of Science and Health, and why she had a mania for\ncopyrighting every scrap of every sort that came from her pen in those\njejune days when to be in print probably seemed a wonderful distinction\nto her in her provincial obscurity, but why she should continue this\ndelirium in these days of her godship and her far-spread fame, I cannot\nexplain to myself. And particularly as regards Science and Health. She\nknows, now, that that Annex is going to live for many centuries; and so,\nwhat good is a fleeting forty-two-year copyright going to do it?\n\nNow a perpetual copyright would be quite another matter. I would like to\ngive her a hint. Let her strike for a perpetual copyright on that book.\nThere is precedent for it. There is one book in the world which bears\nthe charmed life of perpetual copyright (a fact not known to twenty\npeople in the world). By a hardy perversion of privilege on the part of\nthe lawmaking power the Bible has perpetual copyright in Great Britain.\nThere is no justification for it in fairness, and no explanation of it\nexcept that the Church is strong enough there to have its way, right\nor wrong. The recent Revised Version enjoys perpetual copyright, too--a\nstronger precedent, even, than the other one.\n\nNow, then, what is the Annex but a Revised Version itself? Which of\ncourse it is--Lord's Prayer and all. With that pair of formidable\nBritish precedents to proceed upon, what Congress of ours--\n\nBut how short-sighted I am. Mrs. Eddy has thought of it long ago. She\nthinks of everything. She knows she has only to keep her copyright of\n1902 alive through its first stage of twenty-eight years, and perpetuity\nis assured. A Christian Science Congress will reign in the Capitol then.\nShe probably attaches small value to the first edition (1875). Although\nit was a Revelation from on high, it was slim, lank, incomplete, padded\nwith bales of refuse rags, and puffs from lassoed celebrities to fill\nit out, an uncreditable book, a book easily sparable, a book not to\nbe mentioned in the same year with the sleek, fat, concise, compact,\ncompressed, and competent Annex of to-day, in its dainty flexible\ncovers, gilt--edges, rounded corners, twin screw, spiral twist,\ncompensation balance, Testament-counterfeit, and all that; a book just\nborn to curl up on the hymn-book-shelf in church and look just too sweet\nand holy for anything. Yes, I see now what she was copyrighting that\nchild for.\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIAN SCIENCE PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION\n\nIt is true in matters of business Mrs. Eddy thinks of everything. She\nthought of an organ, to disseminate the Truth as it was in Mrs. Eddy.\nStraightway she started one--the Christian Science Journal.\n\nIt is true--in matters of business Mrs. Eddy thinks of everything. As\nsoon as she had got the Christian Science Journal sufficiently in debt\nto make its presence on the premises disagreeable to her, it occurred\nto her to make somebody a present of it. Which she did, along with\nits debts. It was in the summer of 1889. The victim selected was\nher Church--called, in those days, The National Christian Scientist\nAssociation.\n\nShe delivered this sorrow to those lambs as a “gift” in consideration of\ntheir “loyalty to our great cause.”\n\nAlso--still thinking of everything--she told them to retain Mr. Bailey\nin the editorship and make Mr. Nixon publisher. We do not know what it\nwas she had against those men; neither do we know whether she scored on\nBailey or not, we only know that God protected Nixon, and for that I am\nsincerely glad, although I do not know Nixon and have never even seen\nhim.\n\nNixon took the Journal and the rest of the Publishing Society's\nliabilities, and demonstrated over them during three years, then brought\nin his report:\n\n“On assuming my duties as publisher, there was not a dollar in the\ntreasury; but on the contrary the Society owed unpaid printing and\npaper bills to the amount of several hundred dollars, not to mention\na contingent liability of many more hundreds”--represented by\nadvance--subscriptions paid for the Journal and the “Series,” the which\ngoods Mrs. Eddy had not delivered. And couldn't, very well, perhaps, on\na Metaphysical College income of but a few thousand dollars a day, or a\nweek, or whatever it was in those magnificently flourishing times. The\nstruggling Journal had swallowed up those advance-payments, but its\n“claim” was a severe one and they had failed to cure it. But Nixon cured\nit in his diligent three years, and joyously reported the news that he\nhad cleared off all the debts and now had a fat six thousand dollars in\nthe bank.\n\nIt made Mrs. Eddy's mouth water.\n\nAt the time that Mrs. Eddy had unloaded that dismal gift on to her\nNational Association, she had followed her inveterate custom: she had\ntied a string to its hind leg, and kept one end of it hitched to her\nbelt. We have seen her do that in the case of the Boston Mosque. When\nshe deeds property, she puts in that string-clause. It provides that\nunder certain conditions she can pull the string and land the property\nin the cherished home of its happy youth. In the present case she\nbelieved that she had made provision that if at any time the National\nChristian Science Association should dissolve itself by a formal vote,\nshe could pull.\n\nA year after Nixon's handsome report, she writes the Association that\nshe has a “unique request to lay before it.” It has dissolved, and she\nis not quite sure that the Christian Science Journal has “already fallen\ninto her hands” by that act, though it “seems” to her to have met with\nthat accident; so she would like to have the matter decided by a formal\nvote. But whether there is a doubt or not, “I see the wisdom,” she says,\n“of again owning this Christian Science waif.”\n\nI think that that is unassailable evidence that the waif was making\nmoney, hands down.\n\nShe pulled her gift in. A few years later she donated the Publishing\nSociety, along with its real estate, its buildings, its plant, its\npublications, and its money--the whole worth twenty--two thousand\ndollars, and free of debt--to--Well, to the Mother-Church!\n\nThat is to say, to herself. There is an account of it in the Christian\nScience Journal, and of how she had already made some other handsome\ngifts--to her Church--and others to--to her Cause besides “an almost\ncountless number of private charities” of cloudy amount and otherwise\nindefinite. This landslide of generosities overwhelmed one of her\nliterary domestics. While he was in that condition he tried to express\nwhat he felt:\n\n“Let us endeavor to lift up our hearts in thankfulness to... our Mother\nin Israel for these evidences of generosity and self-sacrifice that\nappeal to our deepest sense of gratitude, even while surpassing our\ncomprehension.”\n\nA year or two later, Mrs. Eddy promulgated some By-laws of a\nself-sacrificing sort which assuaged him, perhaps, and perhaps enabled\nhis surpassed comprehension to make a sprint and catch up. These are to\nbe found in Art. XII., entitled.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN SCIENCE PUBLISHING SOCIETY\n\nThis Article puts the whole publishing business into the hands of a\npublishing Board--special. Mrs. Eddy appoints to its vacancies.\n\nThe profits go semi-annually to the Treasurer of the Mother-Church. Mrs.\nEddy owns the Treasurer.\n\nEditors and publishers of the Christian Science Journal cannot be\nelected or removed without Mrs. Eddy's knowledge and consent.\n\nEvery candidate for employment in a high capacity or a low one, on the\nother periodicals or in the publishing house, must first be “accepted\nby Mrs. Eddy as suitable.” And “by the Board of Directors”--which is\nsurplusage, since Mrs. Eddy owns the Board.\n\nIf at any time a weekly shall be started, “it shall be owned by The\nFirst Church of Christ, Scientist”--which is Mrs. Eddy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nI think that any one who will carefully examine the By-laws (I have\nplaced all of the important ones before the reader), will arrive at the\nconclusion that of late years the master-passion in Mrs. Eddy's heart is\na hunger for power and glory; and that while her hunger for money still\nremains, she wants it now for the expansion and extension it can furnish\nto that power and glory, rather than what it can do for her towards\nsatisfying minor and meaner ambitions.\n\nI wish to enlarge a little upon this matter. I think it is quite clear\nthat the reason why Mrs. Eddy has concentrated in herself all powers,\nall distinctions, all revenues that are within the command of the\nChristian Science Church Universal is that she desires and intends\nto devote them to the purpose just suggested--the upbuilding of her\npersonal glory--hers, and no one else's; that, and the continuing of her\nname's glory after she shall have passed away. If she has overlooked a\nsingle power, howsoever minute, I cannot discover it. If she has found\none, large or small, which she has not seized and made her own, there is\nno record of it, no trace of it. In her foragings and depredations she\nusually puts forward the Mother-Church--a lay figure--and hides behind\nit. Whereas, she is in manifest reality the Mother-Church herself. It\nhas an impressive array of officials, and committees, and Boards of\nDirection, of Education, of Lectureship, and so on--geldings, every one,\nshadows, spectres, apparitions, wax-figures: she is supreme over them\nall, she can abolish them when she will; blow them out as she would a\ncandle. She is herself the Mother-Church. Now there is one By-law which\nsays that the Mother-Church:\n\n“shall be officially controlled by no other church.”\n\nThat does not surprise us--we know by the rest of the By-laws that that\nis a quite irrelevant remark. Yet we do vaguely and hazily wonder why\nshe takes the trouble to say it; why she wastes the words; what her\nobject can be--seeing that that emergency has been in so many, many\nways, and so effectively and drastically barred off and made impossible.\nThen presently the object begins to dawn upon us. That is, it does after\nwe have read the rest of the By-law three or four times, wondering\nand admiring to see Mrs. Eddy--Mrs. Eddy--Mrs. Eddy, of all\npersons--throwing away power!--making a fair exchange--doing a fair\nthing for once more, an almost generous thing! Then we look it through\nyet once more unsatisfied, a little suspicious--and find that it is\nnothing but a sly, thin make-believe, and that even the very title of it\nis a sarcasm and embodies a falsehood--“self” government:\n\n“Local Self-Government. The First Church of Christ, Scientist, in\nBoston, Massachusetts, shall assume no official control of other\nchurches of this denomination. It shall be officially controlled by no\nother church.”\n\nIt has a most pious and deceptive give-and-take air of perfect fairness,\nunselfishness, magnanimity--almost godliness, indeed. But it is all art.\n\n\nIn the By-laws, Mrs. Eddy, speaking by the mouth of her other self, the\nMother-Church, proclaims that she will assume no official control of\nother churches-branch churches. We examine the other By-laws, and they\nanswer some important questions for us:\n\n1. What is a branch Church? It is a body of Christian Scientists,\norganized in the one and only permissible way--by a member, in good\nstanding, of the Mother-Church, and who is also a pupil of one of Mrs.\nEddy's accredited students. That is to say, one of her properties. No\nother can do it. There are other indispensable requisites; what are\nthey?\n\n2. The new Church cannot enter upon its functions until its members have\nindividually signed, and pledged allegiance to, a Creed furnished by\nMrs. Eddy.\n\n3. They are obliged to study her books, and order their lives by them.\nAnd they must read no outside religious works.\n\n4. They must sing the hymns and pray the prayers provided by her, and\nuse no others in the services, except by her permission.\n\n5. They cannot have preachers and pastors. Her law.\n\n6. In their Church they must have two Readers--a man and a woman.\n\n7. They must read the services framed and appointed by her.\n\n8. She--not the branch Church--appoints those Readers.\n\n9. She--not the branch Church--dismisses them and fills the vacancies.\n\n10. She can do this without consulting the branch Church, and without\nexplaining.\n\n11. The branch Church can have a religious lecture from time to time. By\napplying to Mrs. Eddy. There is no other way.\n\n12. But the branch Church cannot select the lecturer. Mrs. Eddy does it.\n\n13. The branch Church pays his fee.\n\n14. The harnessing of all Christian Science wedding-teams, members\nof the branch Church, must be done by duly authorized and consecrated\nChristian Science functionaries. Her factory is the only one that makes\nand licenses them.\n\n[15. Nothing is said about christenings. It is inferable from this that\na Christian Science child is born a Christian Scientist and requires no\ntinkering.]\n\n[16. Nothing is said about funerals. It is inferable, then, that a\nbranch Church is privileged to do in that matter as it may choose.]\n\nTo sum up. Are any important Church-functions absent from the list? I\ncannot call any to mind. Are there any lacking ones whose exercise\ncould make the branch in any noticeable way independent of the Mother.\nChurch?--even in any trifling degree? I think of none. If the named\nfunctions were abolished would there still be a Church left? Would there\nbe even a shadow of a Church left? Would there be anything at all left?\neven the bare name?\n\nManifestly not. There isn't a single vital and essential Church-function\nof any kind, that is not named in the list. And over every one of them\nthe Mother-Church has permanent and unchallengeable control, upon\nevery one of them Mrs. Eddy has set her irremovable grip. She holds,\nin perpetuity, autocratic and indisputable sovereignty and control over\nevery branch Church in the earth; and yet says, in that sugary, naive,\nangel-beguiling way of hers, that the Mother-Church:\n\n“shall assume no official control of other churches of this\ndenomination.”\n\nWhereas in truth the unmeddled-with liberties of a branch Christian\nScience Church are but very, very few in number, and are these:\n\n1. It can appoint its own furnace-stoker, winters. 2. It can appoint\nits own fan-distributors, summers. 3. It can, in accordance with its own\nchoice in the matter, burn, bury, or preserve members who are pretending\nto be dead--whereas there is no such thing as death. 4. It can take up a\ncollection.\n\nThe branch Churches have no important liberties, none that give them an\nimportant voice in their own affairs. Those are all locked up, and Mrs.\nEddy has the key. “Local Self-Government” is a large name and sounds\nwell; but the branch Churches have no more of it than have the privates\nin the King of Dahomey's army.\n\n\n\n\n“MOTHER-CHURCH UNIQUE”\n\nMrs. Eddy, with an envious and admiring eye upon the solitary and\nrivalless and world-shadowing majesty of St. Peter's, reveals in her\nBy-laws her purpose to set the Mother-Church apart by itself in a\nstately seclusion and make it duplicate that lone sublimity under the\nWestern sky. The By-law headed “Mother-Church Unique” says--\n\n“In its relation to other Christian Science churches, the Mother-Church\nstands alone.\n\n“It occupies a position that no other Church can fill.\n\n“Then for a branch Church to assume such position would be disastrous to\nChristian Science,\n\n“Therefore--”\n\nTherefore no branch Church is allowed to have branches. There shall\nbe no Christian Science St. Peter's in the earth but just one--the\nMother-Church in Boston.\n\n\n\n\n“NO FIRST MEMBERS”\n\nBut for the thoughtful By-law thus entitled, every Science branch in the\nearth would imitate the Mother-Church and set up an aristocracy. Every\nlittle group of ground-floor Smiths and Furgusons and Shadwells and\nSimpsons that organized a branch would assume that great title, of\n“First Members,” along with its vast privileges of “discussing” the\nweather and casting blank ballots, and soon there would be such a\nlocust-plague of them burdening the globe that the title would lose its\nvalue and have to be abolished.\n\nBut where business and glory are concerned, Mrs. Eddy thinks of\neverything, and so she did not fail to take care of her Aborigines,\nher stately and exclusive One Hundred, her college of functionless\ncardinals, her Sanhedrin of Privileged Talkers (Limited). After taking\naway all the liberties of the branch Churches, and in the same breath\ndisclaiming all official control over their affairs, she smites them on\nthe mouth with this--the very mouth that was watering for those nobby\nground-floor honors--\n\n“No First Members. Branch Churches shall not organize with First\nMembers, that special method of organization being adapted to the\nMother-Church alone.”\n\nAnd so, first members being prohibited, we pierce through the cloud\nof Mrs. Eddy's English and perceive that they must then necessarily\norganize with Subsequent Members. There is no other way. It will occur\nto them by-and-by to found an aristocracy of Early Subsequent Members.\nThere is no By-law against it.\n\n\n\n\n“THE”\n\nI uncover to that imperial word. And to the mind, too, that conceived\nthe idea of seizing and monopolizing it as a title. I believe it is Mrs.\nEddy's dazzlingest invention. For show, and style, and grandeur, and\nthunder and lightning and fireworks it outclasses all the previous\ninventions of man, and raises the limit on the Pope. He can never put\nhis avid hand on that word of words--it is pre-empted. And copyrighted,\nof course. It lifts the Mother-Church away up in the sky, and\nfellowships it with the rare and select and exclusive little company of\nthe THE's of deathless glory--persons and things whereof history and\nthe ages could furnish only single examples, not two: the Saviour, the\nVirgin, the Milky Way, the Bible, the Earth, the Equator, the Devil,\nthe Missing Link--and now The First Church, Scientist. And by clamor of\nedict and By-law Mrs. Eddy gives personal notice to all branch Scientist\nChurches on this planet to leave that THE alone.\n\nShe has demonstrated over it and made it sacred to the Mother-Church:\n\n“The article 'The' must not be used before the titles of branch\nChurches--\n\n“Nor written on applications for membership in naming such churches.”\n\nThose are the terms. There can and will be a million First Churches\nof Christ, Scientist, scattered over the world, in a million towns and\nvillages and hamlets and cities, and each may call itself (suppressing\nthe article), “First Church of Christ. Scientist”--it is permissible,\nand no harm; but there is only one The Church of Christ, Scientist, and\nthere will never be another. And whether that great word fall in the\nmiddle of a sentence or at the beginning of it, it must always have its\ncapital T.\n\nI do not suppose that a juvenile passion for fussy little worldly shows\nand vanities can furnish a match to this, anywhere in the history of\nthe nursery. Mrs. Eddy does seem to be a shade fonder of little special\ndistinctions and pomps than is usual with human beings.\n\nShe instituted that immodest “The” with her own hand; she did not wait\nfor somebody else to think of it.\n\n\n\n\nA LIFE-TERM MONOPOLY\n\nThere is but one human Pastor in the whole Christian Science world; she\nreserves that exalted place to herself.\n\n\n\n\nA PERPETUAL ONE\n\nThere is but one other object in the whole Christian Science world\nhonored with that title and holding that office: it is her book, the\nAnnex--permanent Pastor of The First Church, and of all branch Churches.\n\nWith her own hand she draughted the By-laws which make her the only\nreally absolute sovereign that lives to-day in Christendom.\n\nShe does not allow any objectionable pictures to be exhibited in the\nroom where her book is sold, nor any indulgence in idle gossip there;\nand from the general look of that By-law I judge that a lightsome and\nimproper person can be as uncomfortable in that place as he could be in\nheaven.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SANCTUM SANCTORUM AND SACRED CHAIR\n\nIn a room in The First Church of Christ, Scientist, there is a museum\nof objects which have attained to holiness through contact with Mrs.\nEddy--among them an electrically lighted oil-picture of a chair which\nshe used to sit in--and disciples from all about the world go softly\nin there, in restricted groups, under proper guard, and reverently gaze\nupon those relics. It is worship. Mrs. Eddy could stop it if she was not\nfond of it, for her sovereignty over that temple is supreme.\n\nThe fitting-up of that place as a shrine is not an accident, nor a\ncasual, unweighed idea; it is imitated from age--old religious custom.\nIn Treves the pilgrim reverently gazes upon the Seamless Robe, and\nhumbly worships; and does the same in that other continental church\nwhere they keep a duplicate; and does likewise in the Church of the\nHoly Sepulchre, in Jerusalem, where memorials of the Crucifixion are\npreserved; and now, by good fortune we have our Holy Chair and things,\nand a market for our adorations nearer home.\n\nBut is there not a detail that is new, fresh, original? Yes, whatever\nold thing Mrs. Eddy touches gets something new by the contact--something\nnot thought of before by any one--something original, all her own, and\ncopyrightable. The new feature is self worship--exhibited in permitting\nthis shrine to be installed during her lifetime, and winking her sacred\neye at it.\n\nA prominent Christian Scientist has assured me that the Scientists do\nnot worship Mrs. Eddy, and I think it likely that there may be five or\nsix of the cult in the world who do not worship her, but she herself\nis certainly not of that company. Any healthy-minded person who will\nexamine Mrs. Eddy's little Autobiography and the Manual of By-laws\nwritten by her will be convinced that she worships herself; and that she\nbrings to this service a fervor of devotion surpassing even that which\nshe formerly laid at the feet of the Dollar, and equalling any which\nrises to the Throne of Grace from any quarter.\n\nI think this is as good a place as any to salve a hurt which I was the\nmeans of inflicting upon a Christian Scientist lately. The first third\nof this book was written in 1899 in Vienna. Until last summer I had\nsupposed that that third had been printed in a book which I published\nabout a year later--a hap which had not happened. I then sent the\nchapters composing it to the North American Review, but failed in one\ninstance, to date them. And so, in an undated chapter I said a lady told\nme “last night” so and so. There was nothing to indicate to the reader\nthat that “last night” was several years old, therefore the phrase\nseemed to refer to a night of very recent date. What the lady had told\nme was, that in a part of the Mother-Church in Boston she had seen\nScientists worshipping a portrait of Mrs. Eddy before which a light was\nkept constantly burning.\n\nA Scientist came to me and wished me to retract that “untruth.” He said\nthere was no such portrait, and that if I wanted to be sure of it I\ncould go to Boston and see for myself. I explained that my “last night”\n meant a good while ago; that I did not doubt his assertion that there\nwas no such portrait there now, but that I should continue to believe it\nhad been there at the time of the lady's visit until she should retract\nher statement herself. I was at no time vouching for the truth of the\nremark, nevertheless I considered it worth par.\n\nAnd yet I am sorry the lady told me, since a wound which brings me no\nhappiness has resulted. I am most willing to apply such salve as I can.\nThe best way to set the matter right and make everything pleasant and\nagreeable all around will be to print in this place a description of the\nshrine as it appeared to a recent visitor, Mr. Frederick W. Peabody, of\nBoston. I will copy his newspaper account, and the reader will see that\nMrs. Eddy's portrait is not there now:\n\n“We lately stood on the threshold of the Holy of Holies of the\nMother-Church, and with a crowd of worshippers patiently waited for\nadmittance to the hallowed precincts of the 'Mother's Room.' Over the\ndoorway was a sign informing us that but four persons at a time would be\nadmitted; that they would be permitted to remain but five minutes only,\nand would please retire from the 'Mother's Room' at the ringing of the\nbell. Entering with three of the faithful, we looked with profane\neyes upon the consecrated furnishings. A show-woman in attendance\nmonotonously announced the character of the different appointments.\nSet in a recess of the wall and illumined with electric light was an\noil-painting the show-woman seriously declared to be a lifelike and\nrealistic picture of the Chair in which the Mother sat when she composed\nher 'inspired' work. It was a picture of an old-fashioned? country, hair\ncloth rocking-chair, and an exceedingly commonplace-looking table with a\npile of manuscript, an ink-bottle, and pen conspicuously upon it. On\nthe floor were sheets of manuscript. 'The mantel-piece is of pure onyx,'\ncontinued the show-woman, 'and the beehive upon the window-sill is made\nfrom one solid block of onyx; the rug is made of a hundred breasts of\neider-down ducks, and the toilet-room you see in the corner is of the\nlatest design, with gold-plated drain-pipes; the painted windows are\nfrom the Mother's poem, “Christ and Christmas,” and that case contains\ncomplete copies of all the Mother's books.' The chairs upon which the\nsacred person of the Mother had reposed were protected from sacrilegious\ntouch by a broad band of satin ribbon. My companions expressed their\nadmiration in subdued and reverent tones, and at the tinkling of the\nbell we reverently tiptoed out of the room to admit another delegation\nof the patient waiters at the door.”\n\nNow, then, I hope the wound is healed. I am willing to relinquish the\nportrait, and compromise on the Chair. At the same time, if I were going\nto worship either, I should not choose the Chair.\n\nAs a picturesquely and persistently interesting personage, there is no\nmate to Mrs. Eddy, the accepted Equal of the Saviour. But some of her\ntastes are so different from His! I find it quite impossible to imagine\nHim, in life, standing sponsor for that museum there, and taking\npleasure in its sumptuous shows. I believe He would put that Chair in\nthe fire, and the bell along with it; and I think He would make the\nshow-woman go away. I think He would break those electric bulbs, and the\n“mantel-piece of pure onyx,” and say reproachful things about the golden\ndrain-pipes of the lavatory, and give the costly rug of duck-breasts to\nthe poor, and sever the satin ribbon and invite the weary to rest and\nease their aches in the consecrated chairs. What He would do with the\npainted windows we can better conjecture when we come presently to\nexamine their peculiarities.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN SCIENCE PASTOR-UNIVERSAL\n\nWhen Mrs. Eddy turned the pastors out of all the Christian Science\nchurches and abolished the office for all time as far as human occupancy\nis concerned--she appointed the Holy Ghost to fill their place. If this\nlanguage be blasphemous, I did not invent the blasphemy, I am merely\nstating a fact. I will quote from page 227 of Science and Health\n(edition 1899), as a first step towards an explanation of this startling\nmatter--a passage which sets forth and classifies the Christian Science\nTrinity:\n\n“Life, Truth, and Love constitute the triune God, or triply divine\nPrinciple. They represent a trinity in unity, three in one--the same in\nessence, though multiform in office: God the Father; Christ the type of\nSonship; Divine Science, or the Holy Comforter....\n\n“The Holy Ghost, or Spirit, reveals this triune Principle, and (the Holy\nGhost) is expressed in Divine Science, which is the Comforter,\nleading into all Truth, and revealing the divine Principle of the\nuniverse--universal and perpetual harmony.”\n\nI will cite another passage. Speaking of Jesus--\n\n“His students then received the Holy Ghost. By this is meant, that by\nall they had witnessed and suffered they were roused to an enlarged\nunderstanding of Divine Science, even to the spiritual interpretation..\n... of His teachings,” etc.\n\nAlso, page 579, in the chapter called the Glossary:\n\n“HOLY GHOST. Divine Science; the developments of Life, Truth, and Love.”\n\nThe Holy Ghost reveals the massed spirit of the fused trinity; this\nmassed spirit is expressed in Divine Science, and is the Comforter;\nDivine Science conveys to men the “spiritual interpretation” of\nthe Saviour's teachings. That seems to be the meaning of the quoted\npassages.\n\nDivine Science is Christian Science; the book “Science and Health” is a\n“revelation” of the whole spirit of the Trinity, and is therefore “The\nHoly Ghost”; it conveys to men the “spiritual interpretation” of the\nBible's teachings and therefore is “the Comforter.”\n\nI do not find this analyzing work easy, I would rather saw wood; and a\nperson can never tell whether he has added up a Science and Health sum\nright or not, anyway, after all his trouble. Neither can he easily find\nout whether the texts are still on the market or have been discarded\nfrom the Book; for two hundred and fifty-eight editions of it have been\nissued, and no two editions seem to be alike. The annual changes--in\ntechnical terminology; in matter and wording; in transpositions of\nchapters and verses; in leaving out old chapters and verses and putting\nin new ones--seem to be next to innumerable, and as there is no index,\nthere is no way to find a thing one wants without reading the book\nthrough. If ever I inspire a Bible-Annex I will not rush at it in a\nhalf-digested, helter-skelter way and have to put in thirty-eight years\ntrying to get some of it the way I want it, I will sit down and think it\nout and know what it is I want to say before I begin. An inspirer cannot\ninspire for Mrs. Eddy and keep his reputation. I have never seen such\nslipshod work, bar the ten that interpreted for the home market the\n“sell all thou hast.” I have quoted one “spiritual” rendering of the\nLord's Prayer, I have seen one other one, and am told there are\nfive more. Yet the inspirer of Mrs. Eddy the new Infallible casts a\ncomplacent critical stone at the other Infallible for being unable to\nmake up its mind about such things. Science and Health, edition 1899,\npage 33:\n\n“The decisions, by vote of Church Councils, as to what should and\nshould not be considered Holy Writ, the manifest mistakes in the ancient\nversions: the thirty thousand different readings in the Old Testament\nand the three hundred thousand in the New--these facts show how a mortal\nand material sense stole into the divine record, darkening, to some\nextent, the inspired pages with its own hue.”\n\nTo some extent, yes--speaking cautiously. But it is nothing, really\nnothing; Mrs. Eddy is only a little way behind, and if her inspirer\nlives to get her Annex to suit him that Catholic record will have to “go\n'way back and set down,” as the ballad says. Listen to the boastful song\nof Mrs. Eddy's organ, the Christian Science Journal for March, 1902,\nabout that year's revamping and half-soling of Science and Health,\nwhose official name is the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, and who is now\nthe Official Pastor and Infallible and Unerring Guide of every Christian\nScience church in the two hemispheres, hear Simple Simon that met the\npieman brag of the Infallible's fallibility:\n\n“Throughout the entire book the verbal changes are so numerous as to\nindicate the vast amount of time and labor Mrs. Eddy has devoted to this\nrevision. The time and labor thus bestowed is relatively as great as\nthat of--the committee who revised the Bible.... Thus we have additional\nevidence of the herculean efforts our beloved Leader has made and is\nconstantly making for the promulgation of Truth and the furtherance of\nher divinely bestowed mission,” etc.\n\nIt is a steady job. I could help inspire if desired; I am not doing\nmuch now, and would work for half-price, and should not object to the\ncountry.\n\n\n\n\nPRICE OF THE PASTOR-UNIVERSAL\n\nThe price of the Pastor-Universal, Science and Health, called in Science\nliterature the Comforter--and by that other sacred Name--is three\ndollars in cloth, as heretofore, six when it is finely bound, and shaped\nto imitate the Testament, and is broken into verses. Margin of profit\nabove cost of manufacture, from five hundred to seven hundred per\ncent., as already noted In the profane subscription-trade, it costs\nthe publisher heavily to canvass a three-dollar book; he must pay the\ngeneral agent sixty per cent. commission--that is to say, one dollar and\neighty-cents. Mrs. Eddy escapes this blistering tax, because she owns\nthe Christian Science canvasser, and can compel him to work for nothing.\nRead the following command--not request--fulminated by Mrs. Eddy, over\nher signature, in the Christian Science Journal for March, 1897, and\nquoted by Mr. Peabody in his book. The book referred to is Science and\nHealth:\n\n“It shall be the duty of all Christian Scientists to circulate and to\nsell as many of these books as they can.”\n\nThat is flung at all the elect, everywhere that the sun shines, but no\npenalty is shaken over their heads to scare them. The same command was\nissued to the members (numbering to-day twenty-five thousand) of The\nMother-Church, also, but with it went a threat, of the infliction, in\ncase of disobedience, of the most dreaded punishment that has a place\nin the Church's list of penalties for transgressions of Mrs. Eddy's\nedicts--excommunication:\n\n“If a member of The First Church of Christ, Scientist, shall fail to\nobey this injunction, it will render him liable to lose his membership\nin this Church. MARY BAKER EDDY.”\n\nIt is the spirit of the Spanish Inquisition.\n\nNone but accepted and well established gods can venture an affront like\nthat and do it with confidence. But the human race will take anything\nfrom that class. Mrs. Eddy knows the human race; knows it better than\nany mere human being has known it in a thousand centuries. My confidence\nin her human-beingship is getting shaken, my confidence in her godship\nis stiffening.\n\n\n\n\nSEVEN HUNDRED PER CENT.\n\nA Scientist out West has visited a bookseller--with intent to find fault\nwith me--and has brought away the information that the price at which\nMrs. Eddy sells Science and Health is not an unusually high one for the\nsize and make of the book. That is true. But in the book-trade--that\nprofit-devourer unknown to Mrs. Eddy's book--a three-dollar book that\nis made for thirty-five or forty cents in large editions is put at\nthree dollars because the publisher has to pay author, middleman, and\nadvertising, and if the price were much below three the profit accruing\nwould not pay him fairly for his time and labor. At the same time, if\nhe could get ten dollars for the book he would take it, and his morals\nwould not fall under criticism.\n\nBut if he were an inspired person commissioned by the Deity to receive\nand print and spread broadcast among sorrowing and suffering and poor\nmen a precious message of healing and cheer and salvation, he would have\nto do as Bible Societies do--sell the book at a pinched margin above\ncost to such as could pay, and give it free to all that couldn't; and\nhis name would be praised. But if he sold it at seven hundred per cent.\nprofit and put the money in his pocket, his name would be mocked and\nderided. Just as Mrs. Eddy's is. And most justifiably, as it seems to\nme.\n\nThe complete Bible contains one million words. The New Testament by\nitself contains two hundred and forty thousand words.\n\nMy '84 edition of Science and Health contains one hundred and twenty\nthousand words--just half as many as the New Testament.\n\nScience and Health has since been so inflated by later inspirations that\nthe 1902 edition contains one hundred and eighty thousand words--not\ncounting the thirty thousand at the back, devoted by Mrs. Eddy to\nadvertising the book's healing abilities--and the inspiring continues\nright along.\n\nIf you have a book whose market is so sure and so great that you\ncan give a printer an everlasting order for thirty or forty or fifty\nthousand copies a year he will furnish them at a cheap rate, because\nwhenever there is a slack time in his press-room and bindery he can\nfill the idle intervals on your book and be making something instead\nof losing. That is the kind of contract that can be let on Science and\nHealth every year. I am obliged to doubt that the three-dollar Science\nand Health costs Mrs. Eddy above fifteen cents, or that the six dollar\ncopy costs her above eighty cents. I feel quite sure that the average\nprofit to her on these books, above cost of manufacture, is all of seven\nhundred per cent.\n\nEvery proper Christian Scientist has to buy and own (and canvass for)\nScience and Health (one hundred and eighty thousand words), and he must\nalso own a Bible (one million words). He can buy the one for from three\nto six dollars, and the other for fifteen cents. Or, if three dollars is\nall the money he has, he can get his Bible for nothing. When the Supreme\nBeing disseminates a saving Message through uninspired agents--the New\nTestament, for instance--it can be done for five cents a copy, but when\nHe sends one containing only two-thirds as many words through the shop\nof a Divine Personage, it costs sixty times as much. I think that\nin matters of such importance it is bad economy to employ a wild-cat\nagency.\n\nHere are some figures which are perfectly authentic, and which seem to\njustify my opinion.\n\n“These [Bible] societies, inspired only by a sense of religious duty,\nare issuing the Bible at a price so small that they have made it the\ncheapest book printed. For example, the American Bible Society offers an\nedition of the whole Bible as low as fifteen cents and the New Testament\nat five cents, and the British Society at sixpence and one penny,\nrespectively. These low prices, made possible by their policy of selling\nthe books at cost or below cost,” etc.--New York Sun, February 25, 1903.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nWe may now make a final footing-up of Mrs. Eddy, and see what she is, in\nthe fulness of her powers. She is:\n\nThe Massachusetts Metaphysical College Pastor Emeritus; President; Board\nof Directors; Board of Education; Board of Lectureships; Future Board of\nTrustees, Proprietor of the Publishing-House and Periodicals; Treasurer;\nClerk; Proprietor of the Teachers; Proprietor of the Lecturers;\nProprietor of the Missionaries; Proprietor of the Readers; Dictator of\nthe Services; sole Voice of the Pulpit; Proprietor of the Sanhedrin;\nSole Proprietor of the Creed. (Copyrighted.); Indisputable Autocrat\nof the Branch Churches, with their life and death in her hands; Sole\nThinker for The First Church (and the others); Sole and Infallible\nExpounder of Doctrine, in life and in death; Sole permissible\nDiscoverer, Denouncer, Judge, and Executioner of Ostensible Hypnotists;\nFifty-handed God of Excommunication--with a thunderbolt in every hand;\nAppointer and Installer of the Pastor of all the Churches--the Perpetual\nPastor-Universal, Science and Health, “the Comforter.”\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nThere she stands-painted by herself. No witness but herself has been\nallowed to testify. She stands there painted by her acts, and decorated\nby her words. When she talks, she has only a decorative value as\na witness, either for or against herself, for she deals mainly in\nunsupported assertion; and in the rare cases where she puts forward a\nverifiable fact she gets out of it a meaning which it refuses to furnish\nto anybody else. Also, when she talks, she is unstable, she wanders,\nshe is incurably inconsistent; what she says to-day she contradicts\ntomorrow.\n\nBut her acts are consistent. They are always faithful to her, they never\nmisinterpret her, they are a mirror which always reflects her exactly,\nprecisely, minutely, unerringly, and always the same, to date, with only\nthose progressive little natural changes in stature, dress, complexion,\nmood, and carriage that mark--exteriorly--the march of the years and\nrecord the accumulations of experience, while--interiorly--through all\nthis steady drift of evolution the one essential detail, the commanding\ndetail, the master detail of the make-up remains as it was in the\nbeginning, suffers no change and can suffer none; the basis of the\ncharacter; the temperament, the disposition, that indestructible iron\nframework upon which the character is built, and whose shape it must\ntake, and keep, throughout life. We call it a person's nature.\n\nThe man who is born stingy can be taught to give liberally--with his\nhands; but not with his heart. The man born kind and compassionate\ncan have that disposition crushed down out of sight by embittering\nexperience; but if it were an organ the post-mortem would find it still\nin his corpse. The man born ambitious of power and glory may live long\nwithout finding it out, but when the opportunity comes he will know,\nwill strike for the largest thing within the limit of his chances at the\ntime-constable, perhaps--and will be glad and proud when he gets it,\nand will write home about it. But he will not stop with that start; his\nappetite will come again; and by-and-by again, and yet again; and when\nhe has climbed to police commissioner it will at last begin to dawn upon\nhim that what his Napoleon soul wants and was born for is something away\nhigher up--he does not quite know what, but Circumstance and Opportunity\nwill indicate the direction and he will cut a road through and find out.\n\nI think Mrs. Eddy was born with a far-seeing business-eye, but did not\nknow it; and with a great organizing and executive talent, and did not\nknow it; and with a large appetite for power and distinction, and did\nnot know it. I think the reason that her make did not show up until\nmiddle life was that she had General Grant's luck--Circumstance and\nOpportunity did not come her way when she was younger. The qualities\nthat were born in her had to wait for circumstance and opportunity--but\nthey were there: they were there to stay, whether they ever got a chance\nto fructify or not. If they had come early, they would have found her\nready and competent. And they--not she--would have determined what they\nwould set her at and what they would make of her. If they had elected to\ncommission her as second-assistant cook in a bankrupt boarding-house,\nI know the rest of it--I know what would have happened. She would have\nowned the boarding-house within six months; she would have had the late\nproprietor on salary and humping himself, as the worldly say; she would\nhave had that boarding-house spewing money like a mint; she would have\nworked the servants and the late landlord up to the limit; she would\nhave squeezed the boarders till they wailed, and by some mysterious\nquality born in her she would have kept the affections of certain of the\nlot whose love and esteem she valued, and flung the others down the back\narea; in two years she would own all the boarding-houses in the town, in\nfive all the boarding-houses in the State, in twenty all the hotels in\nAmerica, in forty all the hotels on the planet, and would sit at home\nwith her finger on a button and govern the whole combination as easily\nas a bench-manager governs a dog-show.\n\nIt would be a grand thing to see, and I feel a kind of\ndisappointment--but never mind, a religion is better and larger; and\nthere is more to it. And I have not been steeping myself in Christian\nScience all these weeks without finding out that the one sensible thing\nto do with a disappointment is to put it out of your mind and think of\nsomething cheerfuler.\n\nWe outsiders cannot conceive of Mrs. Eddy's Christian Science Religion\nas being a sudden and miraculous birth, but only as a growth from a seed\nplanted by circumstances, and developed stage by stage by command and\ncompulsion of the same force. What the stages were we cannot know, but\nare privileged to guess. She may have gotten the mental-healing idea\nfrom Quimby--it had been experimented with for ages, and was no one's\nspecial property. [For the present, for convenience' sake, let us\nproceed upon the hypothesis that that was all she got of him, and that\nshe put up the rest of the assets herself. This will strain us, but\nlet us try it.] In each and all its forms and under all its many names,\nmental healing had had limits, always, and they were rather narrow\nones--Mrs. Eddy, let us imagine, removed the fence, abolished the\nfrontiers. Not by expanding mental-healing, but by absorbing its small\nbulk into the vaster bulk of Christian Science--Divine Science, The Holy\nGhost, the Comforter--which was a quite different and sublimer force,\nand one which had long lain dormant and unemployed.\n\nThe Christian Scientist believes that the Spirit of God (life and love)\npervades the universe like an atmosphere; that whoso will study Science\nand Health can get from it the secret of how to inhale that transforming\nair; that to breathe it is to be made new; that from the new man all\nsorrow, all care, all miseries of the mind vanish away, for that only\npeace, contentment and measureless joy can live in that divine fluid;\nthat it purifies the body from disease, which is a vicious creation of\nthe gross human mind, and cannot continue to exist in the presence of\nthe Immortal Mind, the renewing Spirit of God.\n\nThe Scientist finds this reasonable, natural, and not harder to believe\nthan that the disease germ, a creature of darkness, perishes when\nexposed to the light of the great sun--a new revelation of profane\nscience which no one doubts. He reminds us that the actinic ray, shining\nupon lupus, cures it--a horrible disease which was incurable fifteen\nyears ago, and had been incurable for ten million years before; that\nthis wonder, unbelievable by the physicians at first, is believed by\nthem now; and so he is tranquilly confident that the time is coming when\nthe world will be educated up to a point where it will comprehend and\ngrant that the light of the Spirit of God, shining unobstructed upon the\nsoul, is an actinic ray which can purge both mind and body from disease\nand set them free and make them whole.\n\nIt is apparent, then, that in Christian Science it is not one man's mind\nacting upon another man's mind that heals; that it is solely the Spirit\nof God that heals; that the healer's mind performs no office but to\nconvey that force to the patient; that it is merely the wire which\ncarries the electric fluid, so to speak, and delivers the message.\nTherefore, if these things be true, mental-healing and Science-healing\nare separate and distinct processes, and no kinship exists between them.\n\nTo heal the body of its ills and pains is a mighty benefaction, but in\nour day our physicians and surgeons work a thousand miracles--prodigies\nwhich would have ranked as miracles fifty years ago--and they have so\ngreatly extended their domination over disease that we feel so well\nprotected that we are able to look with a good deal of composure and\nabsence of hysterics upon the claims of new competitors in that field.\n\nBut there is a mightier benefaction than the healing of the body, and\nthat is the healing of the spirit--which is Christian Science's other\nclaim. So far as I know, so far as I can find out, it makes it good.\nPersonally I have not known a Scientist who did not seem serene,\ncontented, unharassed. I have not found an outsider whose observation\nof Scientists furnished him a view that differed from my own. Buoyant\nspirits, comfort of mind, freedom from care these happinesses we all\nhave, at intervals; but in the spaces between, dear me, the black hours!\nThey have put a curse upon the life of every human being I have ever\nknown, young or old. I concede not a single exception. Unless it might\nbe those Scientists just referred to. They may have been playing a part\nwith me; I hope they were not, and I believe they were not.\n\nTime will test the Science's claim. If time shall make it good; if time\nshall prove that the Science can heal the persecuted spirit of man and\nbanish its troubles and keep it serene and sunny and content--why, then\nMrs. Eddy will have a monument that will reach above the clouds. For if\nshe did not hit upon that imperial idea and evolve it and deliver it,\nits discoverer can never be identified with certainty, now, I think.\nIt is the giant feature, it is the sun that rides in the zenith of\nChristian Science, the auxiliary features are of minor consequence [Let\nus still leave the large “if” aside, for the present, and proceed as if\nit had no existence.]\n\nIt is not supposable that Mrs. Eddy realized, at first, the size of her\nplunder. (No, find--that is the word; she did not realize the size of\nher find, at first.) It had to grow upon her, by degrees, in accordance\nwith the inalterable custom of Circumstance, which works by stages, and\nby stages only, and never furnishes any mind with all the materials for\na large idea at one time.\n\nIn the beginning, Mrs. Eddy was probably interested merely in the\nmental-healing detail, and perhaps mainly interested in it pecuniary,\nfor she was poor.\n\nShe would succeed in anything she undertook. She would attract pupils,\nand her commerce would grow. She would inspire in patient and pupil\nconfidence in her earnestness, her history is evidence that she would\nnot fail of that.\n\nThere probably came a time, in due course, when her students began to\nthink there was something deeper in her teachings than they had\nbeen suspecting--a mystery beyond mental-healing, and higher. It is\nconceivable that by consequence their manner towards her changed little\nby little, and from respectful became reverent. It is conceivable that\nthis would have an influence upon her; that it would incline her to\nwonder if their secret thought--that she was inspired--might not be a\nwell-grounded guess. It is conceivable that as time went on the\nthought in their minds and its reflection in hers might solidify into\nconviction.\n\nShe would remember, then, that as a child she had been called, more\nthan once, by a mysterious voice--just as had happened to little Samuel.\n(Mentioned in her Autobiography.) She would be impressed by that ancient\nreminiscence, now, and it could have a prophetic meaning for her.\n\nIt is conceivable that the persuasive influences around her and within\nher would give a new and powerful impulse to her philosophizings, and\nthat from this, in time, would result that great birth, the healing of\nbody and mind by the inpouring of the Spirit of God--the central and\ndominant idea of Christian Science--and that when this idea came she\nwould not doubt that it was an inspiration direct from Heaven.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n[I must rest a little, now. To sit here and painstakingly spin out a\nscheme which imagines Mrs. Eddy, of all people, working her mind on\na plane above commercialism; imagines her thinking, philosophizing,\ndiscovering majestic things; and even imagines her dealing in\nsincerities--to be frank, I find it a large contract But I have begun\nit, and I will go through with it.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nIt is evident that she made disciples fast, and that their belief in her\nand in the authenticity of her heavenly ambassadorship was not of the\nlukewarm and half-way sort, but was profoundly earnest and sincere.\nHer book was issued from the press in 1875, it began its work of\nconvert-making, and within six years she had successfully launched a new\nReligion and a new system of healing, and was teaching them to crowds of\neager students in a College of her own, at prices so extraordinary\nthat we are almost compelled to accept her statement (no, her guarded\nintimation) that the rates were arranged on high, since a mere human\nbeing unacquainted with commerce and accustomed to think in pennies\ncould hardly put up such a hand as that without supernatural help.\n\nFrom this stage onward--Mrs. Eddy being what she was--the rest of the\ndevelopment--stages would follow naturally and inevitably.\n\nBut if she had been anybody else, there would have been a different\narrangement of them, with different results. Being the extraordinary\nperson she was, she realized her position and its possibilities;\nrealized the possibilities, and had the daring to use them for all they\nwere worth.\n\nWe have seen what her methods were after she passed the stage where her\ndivine ambassadorship was granted its executer in the hearts and minds\nof her followers; we have seen how steady and fearless and calculated\nand orderly was her march thenceforth from conquest to conquest; we have\nseen her strike dead, without hesitancy, any hostile or questionable\nforce that rose in her path: first, the horde of pretenders that sprang\nup and tried to take her Science and its market away from her--she\ncrushed them, she obliterated them; when her own National Christian\nScience Association became great in numbers and influence, and loosely\nand dangerously garrulous, and began to expound the doctrines according\nto its own uninspired notions, she took up her sponge without a tremor\nof fear and wiped that Association out; when she perceived that\nthe preachers in her pulpits were becoming afflicted with\ndoctrine-tinkering, she recognized the danger of it, and did not\nhesitate nor temporize, but promptly dismissed the whole of them in a\nday, and abolished their office permanently; we have seen that, as fast\nas her power grew, she was competent to take the measure of it, and that\nas fast as its expansion suggested to her gradually awakening native\nambition a higher step she took it; and so, by this evolutionary\nprocess, we have seen the gross money-lust relegated to second place,\nand the lust of empire and glory rise above it. A splendid dream; and by\nforce of the qualities born in her she is making it come true.\n\nThese qualities--and the capacities growing out of them by the nurturing\ninfluences of training, observation, and experience seem to be clearly\nindicated by the character of her career and its achievements. They seem\nto be:\n\nA clear head for business, and a phenomenally long one; Clear\nunderstanding of business situations; Accuracy in estimating the\nopportunities they offer; Intelligence in planning a business move;\nFirmness in sticking to it after it has been decided upon; Extraordinary\ndaring; Indestructible persistency; Devouring ambition; Limitless\nselfishness; A knowledge of the weaknesses and poverties and docilities\nof human nature and how to turn them to account which has never been\nsurpassed, if ever equalled.\n\nAnd--necessarily--the foundation-stone of Mrs. Eddy's character is a\nnever-wavering confidence in herself.\n\nIt is a granite character. And--quite naturally--a measure of the talc\nof smallnesses common to human nature is mixed up in it and distributed\nthrough it. When Mrs. Eddy is not dictating servilities from her throne\nin the clouds to her official domestics in Boston or to her far-spread\nsubjects round about the planet, but is down on the ground, she is kin\nto us and one of us: sentimental as a girl, garrulous, ungrammatical,\nincomprehensible, affected, vain of her little human ancestry, unstable,\ninconsistent, unreliable in statement, and naively and everlastingly\nself-contradictory-oh, trivial and common and commonplace as the\ncommonest of us! just a Napoleon as Madame de Remusat saw him, a brass\ngod with clay legs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nIn drawing Mrs. Eddy's portrait it has been my purpose to restrict\nmyself to materials furnished by herself, and I believe I have done\nthat. If I have misinterpreted any of her acts, it was not done\nintentionally.\n\nIt will be noticed that in skeletonizing a list of the qualities which\nhave carried her to the dizzy summit which she occupies, I have not\nmentioned the power which was the commanding force employed in achieving\nthat lofty flight. It did not belong in that list; it was a force that\nwas not a detail of her character, but was an outside one. It was\nthe power which proceeded from her people's recognition of her as\na supernatural personage, conveyer of the Latest Word, and divinely\ncommissioned to deliver it to the world. The form which such a\nrecognition takes, consciously or unconsciously, is worship; and worship\ndoes not question nor criticize, it obeys. The object of it does not\nneed to coddle it, bribe it, beguile it, reason with it, convince\nit--it commands it; that is sufficient; the obedience rendered is not\nreluctant, but prompt and whole-hearted. Admiration for a Napoleon,\nconfidence in him, pride in him, affection for him, can lift him high\nand carry him far; and these are forms of worship, and are strong\nforces, but they are worship of a mere human being, after all, and are\ninfinitely feeble, as compared with those that are generated by that\nother worship, the worship of a divine personage. Mrs. Eddy has this\nefficient worship, this massed and centralized force, this force which\nis indifferent to opposition, untroubled by fear, and goes to battle\nsinging, like Cromwell's soldiers; and while she has it she can command\nand it will obey, and maintain her on her throne, and extend her empire.\n\nShe will have it until she dies; and then we shall see a curious and\ninteresting further development of her revolutionary work begin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nThe President and Board of Directors will succeed her, and the\ngovernment will go on without a hitch. The By-laws will bear that\ninterpretation. All the Mother-Church's vast powers are concentrated in\nthat Board. Mrs. Eddy's unlimited personal reservations make the Board's\nostensible supremacy, during her life, a sham, and the Board itself a\nshadow. But Mrs. Eddy has not made those reservations for any one but\nherself--they are distinctly personal, they bear her name, they are not\nusable by another individual. When she dies her reservations die, and\nthe Board's shadow-powers become real powers, without the change of\nany important By-law, and the Board sits in her place as absolute and\nirresponsible a sovereign as she was.\n\nIt consists of but five persons, a much more manageable Cardinalate than\nthe Roman Pope's. I think it will elect its Pope from its own body, and\nthat it will fill its own vacancies. An elective Papacy is a safe and\nwise system, and a long-liver.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nWe may take that up now.\n\nIt is not a single if, but a several-jointed one; not an oyster, but a\nvertebrate.\n\n1. Did Mrs. Eddy borrow from Quimby the Great Idea, or only the little\none, the old-timer, the ordinary mental-healing-healing by “mortal”\n mind?\n\n2. If she borrowed the Great Idea, did she carry it away in her head, or\nin manuscript?\n\n3. Did she hit upon the Great Idea herself? By the Great Idea I mean, of\ncourse, the conviction that the Force involved was still existent, and\ncould be applied now just as it was applied by Christ's Disciples and\ntheir converts, and as successfully.\n\n4. Did she philosophize it, systematize it, and write it down in a book?\n\n5. Was it she, and not another, that built a new Religion upon the book\nand organized it?\n\nI think No. 5 can be answered with a Yes, and dismissed from the\ncontroversy. And I think that the Great Idea, great as it was, would\nhave enjoyed but a brief activity, and would then have gone to sleep\nagain for some more centuries, but for the perpetuating impulse it got\nfrom that organized and tremendous force.\n\nAs for Nos. 1, 2, and 4, the hostiles contend that Mrs. Eddy got the\nGreat Idea from Quimby and carried it off in manuscript. But their\ntestimony, while of consequence, lacks the most important detail; so far\nas my information goes, the Quimby manuscript has not been produced. I\nthink we cannot discuss No. 1 and No. 2 profitably. Let them go.\n\nFor me, No. 3 has a mild interest, and No. 4 a violent one.\n\nAs regards No. 3, Mrs. Eddy was brought up, from the cradle, an\nold-time, boiler-iron, Westminster-Catechism Christian, and knew\nher Bible as well as Captain Kydd knew his, “when he sailed, when he\nsailed,” and perhaps as sympathetically. The Great Idea had struck a\nmillion Bible-readers before her as being possible of resurrection and\napplication--it must have struck as many as that, and been cogitated,\nindolently, doubtingly, then dropped and forgotten--and it could have\nstruck her, in due course. But how it could interest her, how it\ncould appeal to her--with her make this a thing that is difficult to\nunderstand.\n\nFor the thing back of it is wholly gracious and beautiful: the power,\nthrough loving mercifulness and compassion, to heal fleshly ills and\npains and grief--all--with a word, with a touch of the hand! This power\nwas given by the Saviour to the Disciples, and to all the converted.\nAll--every one. It was exercised for generations afterwards.\nAny Christian who was in earnest and not a make-believe, not a\npolicy--Christian, not a Christian for revenue only, had that healing\npower, and could cure with it any disease or any hurt or damage possible\nto human flesh and bone. These things are true, or they are not. If they\nwere true seventeen and eighteen and nineteen centuries ago it would be\ndifficult to satisfactorily explain why or how or by what argument that\npower should be nonexistent in Christians now.\n\nTo wish to exercise it could occur to Mrs. Eddy--but would it?\n\nGrasping, sordid, penurious, famishing for everything she sees--money,\npower, glory--vain, untruthful, jealous, despotic, arrogant, insolent,\npitiless where thinkers and hypnotists are concerned, illiterate,\nshallow, incapable of reasoning outside of commercial lines,\nimmeasurably selfish--\n\nOf course the Great Idea could strike her, we have to grant that, but\nwhy it should interest her is a question which can easily overstrain the\nimagination and bring on nervous prostration, or something like that,\nand is better left alone by the judicious, it seems to me--\n\nUnless we call to our help the alleged other side of Mrs. Eddy's\nmake and character the side which her multitude of followers see, and\nsincerely believe in. Fairness requires that their view be stated\nhere. It is the opposite of the one which I have drawn from Mrs. Eddy's\nhistory and from her By-laws. To her followers she is this:\n\nPatient, gentle, loving, compassionate, noble hearted, unselfish,\nsinless, widely cultured, splendidly equipped mentally, a profound\nthinker, an able writer, a divine personage, an inspired messenger whose\nacts are dictated from the Throne, and whose every utterance is the\nVoice of God.\n\nShe has delivered to them a religion which has revolutionized their\nlives, banished the glooms that shadowed them, and filled them and\nflooded them with sunshine and gladness and peace; a religion which has\nno hell; a religion whose heaven is not put off to another time, with\na break and a gulf between, but begins here and now, and melts into\neternity as fancies of the waking day melt into the dreams of sleep.\n\nThey believe it is a Christianity that is in the New Testament; that\nit has always been there, that in the drift of ages it was lost through\ndisuse and neglect, and that this benefactor has found it and given it\nback to men, turning the night of life into day, its terrors into myths,\nits lamentations into songs of emancipation and rejoicing.\n\nThere we have Mrs. Eddy as her followers see her. She has lifted\nthem out of grief and care and doubt and fear, and made their lives\nbeautiful; she found them wandering forlorn in a wintry wilderness, and\nhas led them to a tropic paradise like that of which the poet sings:\n\n     “O, islands there are on the face of the deep\n     Where the leaves never fade and the skies never weep.”\n\nTo ask them to examine with a microscope the character of such a\nbenefactor; to ask them to examine it at all; to ask them to look at a\nblemish which another person believes he has found in it--well, in their\nplace could you do it? Would you do it? Wouldn't you be ashamed to do\nit? If a tramp had rescued your child from fire and death, and saved its\nmother's heart from breaking, could you see his rags? Could you smell\nhis breath? Mrs. Eddy has done more than that for these people.\n\nThey are prejudiced witnesses. To the credit of human nature it is not\npossible that they should be otherwise. They sincerely believe that\nMrs. Eddy's character is pure and perfect and beautiful, and her history\nwithout stain or blot or blemish. But that does not settle it. They\nsincerely believe she did not borrow the Great Idea from Quimby, but hit\nupon it herself. It may be so, and it could be so. Let it go--there\nis no way to settle it. They believe she carried away no Quimby\nmanuscripts. Let that go, too--there is no way to settle it. They\nbelieve that she, and not another, built the Religion upon the book, and\norganized it. I believe it, too.\n\nFinally, they believe that she philosophized Christian Science,\nexplained it, systematized it, and wrote it all out with her own hand in\nthe book Science and Health.\n\nI am not able to believe that. Let us draw the line there. The known\nand undisputed products of her pen are a formidable witness against\nher. They do seem to me to prove, quite clearly and conclusively, that\nwriting, upon even simple subjects, is a difficult labor for her: that\nshe has never been able to write anything above third-rate English; that\nshe is weak in the matter of grammar; that she has but a rude and\ndull sense of the values of words; that she so lacks in the matter of\nliterary precision that she can seldom put a thought into words that\nexpress it lucidly to the reader and leave no doubts in his mind as to\nwhether he has rightly understood or not; that she cannot even draught a\nPreface that a person can fully comprehend, nor one which can by any\nart be translated into a fully understandable form; that she can\nseldom inject into a Preface even single sentences whose meaning is\nuncompromisingly clear--yet Prefaces are her specialty, if she has one.\n\nMrs. Eddy's known and undisputed writings are very limited in bulk;\nthey exhibit no depth, no analytical quality, no thought above school\ncomposition size, and but juvenile ability in handling thoughts of even\nthat modest magnitude. She has a fine commercial ability, and could\ngovern a vast railway system in great style; she could draught a set\nof rules that Satan himself would say could not be improved on--for\ndevilish effectiveness--by his staff; but we know, by our excursions\namong the Mother-Church's By-laws, that their English would discredit\nthe deputy baggage-smasher. I am quite sure that Mrs. Eddy cannot write\nwell upon any subject, even a commercial one.\n\nIn the very first revision of Science and Health (1883), Mrs. Eddy wrote\na Preface which is an unimpeachable witness that the rest of the book\nwas written by somebody else. I have put it in the Appendix along with a\npage or two taken from the body of the book, and will ask the reader to\ncompare the labored and lumbering and confused gropings of this Preface\nwith the easy and flowing and direct English of the other exhibit, and\nsee if he can believe that the one hand and brain produced both.\n\nAnd let him take the Preface apart, sentence by sentence, and\nsearchingly examine each sentence word by word, and see if he can find\nhalf a dozen sentences whose meanings he is so sure of that he can\nrephrase them--in words of his own--and reproduce what he takes to be\nthose meanings. Money can be lost on this game. I know, for I am the one\nthat lost it.\n\nNow let the reader turn to the excerpt which I have made from the\nchapter on “Prayer” (last year's edition of Science and Health), and\ncompare that wise and sane and elevated and lucid and compact piece of\nwork with the aforesaid Preface, and with Mrs. Eddy's poetry concerning\nthe gymnastic trees, and Minerva's not yet effete sandals, and the\nwreaths imported from Erudition's bower for the decoration of Plymouth\nRock, and the Plague-spot and Bacilli, and my other exhibits (turn back\nto my Chapters I. and II.) from the Autobiography, and finally with\nthe late Communication concerning me, and see if he thinks anybody's\naffirmation, or anybody's sworn testimony, or any other testimony of\nany imaginable kind would ever be likely to convince him that Mrs. Eddy\nwrote that chapter on Prayer.\n\nI do not wish to impose my opinion on any one who will not permit\nit, but such as it is I offer it here for what it is worth. I cannot\nbelieve, and I do not believe, that Mrs. Eddy originated any of the\nthoughts and reasonings out of which the book Science and Health is\nconstructed; and I cannot believe, and do not believe that she ever\nwrote any part of that book.\n\nI think that if anything in the world stands proven, and well and\nsolidly proven, by unimpeachable testimony--the treacherous testimony of\nher own pen in her known and undisputed literary productions--it is that\nMrs. Eddy is not capable of thinking upon high planes, nor of reasoning\nclearly nor writing intelligently upon low ones.\n\nInasmuch as--in my belief--the very first editions of the book Science\nand Health were far above the reach of Mrs. Eddy's mental and literary\nabilities, I think she has from the very beginning been claiming as\nher own another person's book, and wearing as her own property laurels\nrightfully belonging to that person--the real author of Science and\nHealth. And I think the reason--and the only reason--that he has not\nprotested is because his work was not exposed to print until after he\nwas safely dead.\n\nThat with an eye to business, and by grace of her business talent,\nshe has restored to the world neglected and abandoned features of the\nChristian religion which her thousands of followers find gracious and\nblessed and contenting, I recognize and confess; but I am convinced that\nevery single detail of the work except just that one--the delivery of\nthe Product to the world--was conceived and performed by another.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX A\n\nORIGINAL FIRST PREFACE TO SCIENCE AND HEALTH\n\nThere seems a Christian necessity of learning God's power and purpose to\nheal both mind and body. This thought grew out of our early seeking\nHim in all our ways, and a hopeless as singular invalidism that drugs\nincreased instead of diminished, and hygiene benefited only for a\nseason. By degrees we have drifted into more spiritual latitudes of\nthought, and experimented as we advanced until demonstrating fully the\npower of mind over the body. About the year 1862, having heard of a\nmesmerist in Portland who was treating the sick by manipulation, we\nvisited him; he helped us for a time, then we relapsed somewhat. After\nhis decease, and a severe casualty deemed fatal by skilful physicians,\nwe discovered that the Principle of all healing and the law that governs\nit is God, a divine Principle, and a spiritual not material law, and\nregained health.\n\nIt was not an individual or mortal mind acting upon another so-called\nmind that healed us. It was the glorious truths of Christian Science\nthat we discovered as we neared that verge of so-called material life\nnamed death; yea, it was the great Shekinah, the spirit of Life, Truth,\nand Love illuminating our understanding of the action and might of\nOmnipotence! The old gentleman to whom we have referred had some very\nadvanced views on healing, but he was not avowedly religious neither\nscholarly. We interchanged thoughts on the subject of healing the sick.\nI restored some patients of his that he failed to heal, and left in\nhis possession some manuscripts of mine containing corrections of his\ndesultory pennings, which I am informed at his decease passed into the\nhands of a patient of his, now residing in Scotland. He died in 1865 and\nleft no published works. The only manuscript that we ever held of his,\nlonger than to correct it, was one of perhaps a dozen pages, most of\nwhich we had composed. He manipulated the sick; hence his ostensible\nmethod of healing was physical instead of mental.\n\nWe helped him in the esteem of the public by our writings, but never\nknew of his stating orally or in writing that he treated his patients\nmentally; never heard him give any directions to that effect; and have\nit from one of his patients, who now asserts that he was the founder of\nmental healing, that he never revealed to anyone his method. We refer\nto these facts simply to refute the calumnies and false claims of our\nenemies, that we are preferring dishonest claims to the discovery and\nfounding at this period of Metaphysical Healing or Christian Science.\n\nThe Science and laws of a purely mental healing and their method of\napplication through spiritual power alone, else a mental argument\nagainst disease, are our own discovery at this date. True, the Principle\nis divine and eternal, but the application of it to heal the sick had\nbeen lost sight of, and required to be again spiritually discerned\nand its science discovered, that man might retain it through the\nunderstanding. Since our discovery in 1866 of the divine science of\nChristian Healing, we have labored with tongue and pen to found this\nsystem. In this endeavor every obstacle has been thrown in our path that\nthe envy and revenge of a few disaffected students could devise. The\nsuperstition and ignorance of even this period have not failed to\ncontribute their mite towards misjudging us, while its Christian\nadvancement and scientific research have helped sustain our feeble\nefforts.\n\nSince our first Edition of Science and Health, published in 1875, two\nof the aforesaid students have plagiarized and pirated our works. In the\nissues of E. J. A., almost exclusively ours, were thirteen paragraphs,\nwithout credit, taken verbatim from our books.\n\nNot one of our printed works was ever copied or abstracted from the\npublished or from the unpublished writings of anyone. Throughout our\npublications of Metaphysical Healing or Christian Science, when writing\nor dictating them, we have given ourselves to contemplation wholly apart\nfrom the observation of the material senses: to look upon a copy would\nhave distracted our thoughts from the subject before us. We were seldom\nable to copy our own compositions, and have employed an amanuensis\nfor the last six years. Every work that we have had published has been\nextemporaneously written; and out of fifty lectures and sermons that we\nhave delivered the last year, forty-four have been extemporaneous. We\nhave distributed many of our unpublished manuscripts; loaned to one of\nour youngest students, R. K--------y, between three and four hundred\npages, of which we were sole author--giving him liberty to copy but not\nto publish them.\n\nLeaning on the sustaining Infinite with loving trust, the trials of\nto-day grow brief, and to-morrow is big with blessings.\n\nThe wakeful shepherd, tending his flocks, beholds from the mountain's\ntop the first faint morning beam ere cometh the risen day. So from\nSoul's loftier summits shines the pale star to prophet-shepherd, and\nit traverses night, over to where the young child lies, in cradled\nobscurity, that shall waken a world. Over the night of error dawn the\nmorning beams and guiding star of Truth, and “the wise men” are led by\nit to Science, which repeats the eternal harmony that it reproduced, in\nproof of immortality. The time for thinkers has come; and the time for\nrevolutions, ecclesiastical and civil, must come. Truth, independent of\ndoctrines or time-honored systems, stands at the threshold of history.\nContentment with the past, or the cold conventionality of custom, may no\nlonger shut the door on science; though empires fall, “He whose right it\nis shall reign.” Ignorance of God should no longer be the stepping-stone\nto faith; understanding Him, “whom to know aright is Life eternal,” is\nthe only guaranty of obedience.\n\nThis volume may not open a new thought, and make it at once familiar. It\nhas the sturdy task of a pioneer, to hack away at the tall oaks and cut\nthe rough granite, leaving future ages to declare what it has done.\nWe made our first discovery of the adaptation of metaphysics to the\ntreatment of disease in the winter of 1866; since then we have tested\nthe Principle on ourselves and others, and never found it to fail to\nprove the statements herein made of it. We must learn the science of\nLife, to reach the perfection of man. To understand God as the Principle\nof all being, and to live in accordance with this Principle, is the\nScience of Life. But to reproduce this harmony of being, the error\nof personal sense must yield to science, even as the science of music\ncorrects tones caught from the ear, and gives the sweet concord of\nsound. There are many theories of physic and theology, and many calls in\neach of their directions for the right way; but we propose to settle the\nquestion of “What is Truth?” on the ground of proof, and let that method\nof healing the sick and establishing Christianity be adopted that is\nfound to give the most health and to make the best Christians; science\nwill then have a fair field, in which case we are assured of its triumph\nover all opinions and beliefs. Sickness and sin have ever had their\ndoctors; but the question is, Have they become less because of them? The\nlongevity of our antediluvians would say, No! and the criminal records\nof today utter their voices little in favor of such a conclusion. Not\nthat we would deny to Caesar the things that are his, but that we\nask for the things that belong to Truth; and safely affirm, from the\ndemonstrations we have been able to make, that the science of man\nunderstood would have eradicated sin, sickness, and death, in a less\nperiod than six thousand years. We find great difficulties in starting\nthis work right. Some shockingly false claims are already made to a\nmetaphysical practice; mesmerism, its very antipodes, is one of them.\nHitherto we have never, in a single instance of our discovery, found\nthe slightest resemblance between mesmerism and metaphysics. No especial\nidiosyncrasy is requisite to acquire a knowledge of metaphysical\nhealing; spiritual sense is more important to its discernment than the\nintellect; and those who would learn this science without a high moral\nstandard of thought and action, will fail to understand it until they\ngo up higher. Owing to our explanations constantly vibrating between the\nsame points, an irksome repetition of words must occur; also the use of\ncapital letters, genders, and technicalities peculiar to the science.\nVariety of language, or beauty of diction, must give place to close\nanalysis and unembellished thought. “Hoping all things, enduring all\nthings,” to do good to our enemies, to bless them that curse us, and to\nbear to the sorrowing and the sick consolation and healing, we commit\nthese pages to posterity.\n\nMARY BAKER G. EDDY.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX B\n\nThe Gospel narratives bear brief testimony even to the life of our great\nMaster. His spiritual noumenon and phenomenon, silenced portraiture.\nWriters, less wise than the Apostles, essayed in the Apocryphal New\nTestament, a legendary and traditional history of the early life of\nJesus. But Saint Paul summarized the character of Jesus as the model\nof Christianity, in these words: “Consider Him who endured such\ncontradictions of sinners against Himself. Who for the joy that was set\nbefore Him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at\nthe right hand of the throne of God.”\n\nIt may be that the mortal life battle still wages, and must continue\ntill its involved errors are vanquished by victory-bringing Science; but\nthis triumph will come! God is over all. He alone is our origin, aim,\nand Being. The real man is not of the dust, nor is he ever created\nthrough the flesh; for his father and mother are the one Spirit, and his\nbrethren are all the children of one parent, the eternal Good.\n\nAny kind of literary composition was excessively difficult for Mrs.\nEddy. She found it grinding hard work to dig out anything to say. She\nrealized, at the above stage in her life, that with all her trouble she\nhad not been able to scratch together even material enough for a child's\nAutobiography, and also that what she had secured was in the main not\nvaluable, not important, considering the age and the fame of the person\nshe was writing about; and so it occurred to her to attempt, in that\nparagraph, to excuse the meagreness and poor quality of the feast she\nwas spreading, by letting on that she could do ever so much better if\nshe wanted to, but was under constraint of Divine etiquette. To feed\nwith more than a few indifferent crumbs a plebeian appetite for personal\ndetails about Personages in her class was not the correct thing, and she\nblandly points out that there is Precedent for this reserve. When Mrs.\nEddy tries to be artful--in literature--it is generally after the manner\nof the ostrich; and with the ostrich's luck. Please try to find the\nconnection between the two paragraphs.--M. T.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX C\n\nThe following is the spiritual signification of the Lord's Prayer:\n\nPrinciple, eternal and harmonious, Nameless and adorable Intelligence,\nThou art ever present and supreme. And when this supremacy of\nSpirit shall appear, the dream of matter will disappear. Give us the\nunderstanding of Truth and Love. And loving we shall learn God, and\nTruth will destroy all error. And lead us unto the Life that is Soul,\nand deliver us from the errors of sense, sin, sickness, and death, For\nGod is Life, Truth, and Love for ever.--Science and Health, edition of\n1881.\n\nIt seems to me that this one is distinctly superior to the one that was\ninspired for last year's edition. It is strange, but to my mind plain,\nthat inspiring is an art which does not improve with practice.--M. T.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX D\n\n“For verily I say unto you, That whosoever shall say unto this mountain,\nBe thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in\nhis heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come\nto pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith. Therefore I say unto you,\nWhat things soever ye desire when ye pray, believe that ye receive them,\nand ye shall have them.\n\n“Your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask\nHim.”--CHRIST JESUS.\n\nThe prayer that reclaims the sinner and heals the sick, is an absolute\nfaith that all things are possible to God--a spiritual understanding of\nHim--an unselfed love. Regardless of what another may say or think\non this subject, I speak from experience. This prayer, combined with\nself-sacrifice and toil, is the means whereby God has enabled me to do\nwhat I have done for the religion and health of mankind.\n\nThoughts unspoken are not unknown to the divine Mind. Desire is prayer;\nand no less can occur from trusting God with our desires, that they may\nbe moulded and exalted before they take form in audible word, and in\ndeeds.\n\nWhat are the motives for prayer? Do we pray to make ourselves better, or\nto benefit those that hear us; to enlighten the Infinite, or to be heard\nof men? Are we benefited by praying? Yes, the desire which goes forth\nhungering after righteousness is blessed of our Father, and it does not\nreturn unto us void.\n\nGod is not moved by the breath of praise to do more than He has already\ndone; nor can the Infinite do less than bestow all good, since He is\nunchanging Wisdom and Love. We can do more for ourselves by humble\nfervent petitions; but the All-loving does not grant them simply on the\nground of lip-service, for He already knows all.\n\nPrayer cannot change the Science of Being, but it does bring us into\nharmony with it. Goodness reaches the demonstration of Truth. A request\nthat another may work for us never does our work. The habit of pleading\nwith the divine Mind, as one pleads with a human being, perpetuates the\nbelief in God as humanly circumscribed--an error which impedes spiritual\ngrowth.\n\nGod is Love. Can we ask Him to be more? God is Intelligence. Can we\ninform the infinite Mind, or tell Him anything He does not already\ncomprehend? Do we hope to change perfection? Shall we plead for more\nat the open fount, which always pours forth more than we receive? The\nunspoken prayer does bring us nearer the Source of all existence and\nblessedness.\n\nAsking God to be God is a “vain repetition.” God is “the same yesterday,\nand to-day, and forever”; and He who is immutably right will do right,\nwithout being reminded of His province. The wisdom of man is not\nsufficient to warrant him in advising God.\n\nWho would stand before a blackboard, and pray the principle of\nmathematics to work out the problem? The rule is already established,\nand it is our task to work out the solution. Shall we ask the divine\nPrinciple of all goodness to do His own work? His work is done; and\nwe have only to avail ourselves of God's rule, in order to receive the\nblessing thereof.\n\nThe divine Being must be reflected by man--else man is not the image and\nlikeness of the patient, tender, and true, the one “altogether lovely”;\nbut to understand God is the work of eternity, and demands absolute\nconcentration of thought and energy.\n\nHow empty are our conceptions of Deity! We admit theoretically that\nGod is good, omnipotent, omnipresent, infinite, and then we try to give\ninformation to this infinite Mind; and plead for unmerited pardon, and a\nliberal outpouring of benefactions. Are we really grateful for the good\nalready received? Then we shall avail ourselves of the blessings we\nhave, and thus be fitted to receive more. Gratitude is much more than a\nverbal expression of thanks. Action expresses more gratitude than speech.\n\nIf we are ungrateful for Life, Truth, and Love, and yet return thanks to\nGod for all blessings, we are insincere; and incur the sharp censure\nour Master pronounces on hypocrites. In such a case the only acceptable\nprayer is to put the finger on the lips and remember our blessings.\nWhile the heart is far from divine Truth and Love, we cannot conceal the\ningratitude of barren lives, for God knoweth all things.\n\nWhat we most need is the prayer of fervent desire for growth in grace,\nexpressed in patience, meekness, love, and good deeds. To keep the\ncommandments of our Master and follow his example, is our proper debt to\nHim, and the only worthy evidence of our gratitude for all He has\ndone. Outward worship is not of itself sufficient to express loyal\nand heartfelt gratitude, since He has said: “If ye love Me, keep My\nCommandments.”\n\nThe habitual struggle to be always good, is unceasing prayer. Its\nmotives are made manifest in the blessings they bring--which, if\nnot acknowledged in audible words, attest our worthiness to be made\npartakers of Love.\n\nSimply asking that we may love God will never make us love Him; but the\nlonging to be better and holier--expressed in daily watchfulness, and in\nstriving to assimilate more of the divine character--this will mould and\nfashion us anew, until we awake in His likeness. We reach the Science\nof Christianity through demonstration of the divine nature; but in this\nwicked world goodness will “be evil spoken of,” and patience must work\nexperience.\n\nAudible prayer can never do the works of spiritual understanding, which\nregenerates; but silent prayer, watchfulness, and devout obedience,\nenable us to follow Jesus' example. Long prayers, ecclesiasticism, and\ncreeds, have clipped the divine pinions of Love, and clad religion in\nhuman robes. They materialize worship, hinder the Spirit, and keep man\nfrom demonstrating his power over error.\n\nSorrow for wrong-doing is but one step towards reform, and the very\neasiest step. The next and great step required by Wisdom is the test of\nour sincerity--namely, reformation. To this end we are placed under the\nstress of circumstances. Temptation bids us repeat the offence, and woe\ncomes in return for what is done. So it will ever be, till we learn that\nthere is no discount in the law of justice, and that we must pay “the\nuttermost farthing.” The measure ye mete “shall be measured to you\nagain,” and it will be full “and running over.”\n\nSaints and sinners get their full award, but not always in this world.\nThe followers of Christ drank His cup. Ingratitude and persecution\nfilled it to the brim; but God pours the riches of His love into the\nunderstanding and affections, giving us strength according to our day.\nSinners flourish “like a green bay-tree”; but, looking farther, the\nPsalmist could see their end--namely, the destruction of sin through\nsuffering.\n\nPrayer is sometimes used, as a confessional to cancel sin. This error\nimpedes true religion. Sin is forgiven, only as it is destroyed by\nChrist-Truth and Life. If prayer nourishes the belief that sin is\ncancelled, and that man is made better by merely praying, it is an evil.\nHe grows worse who continues in sin because he thinks himself forgiven.\n\nAn apostle says that the Son of God (Christ) came to “destroy the\nworks of the devil.” We should follow our divine Exemplar, and seek the\ndestruction of all evil works, error and disease included. We cannot\nescape the penalty due for sin. The Scriptures say, that if we deny\nChrist, “He also will deny us.”\n\nThe divine Love corrects and governs man. Men may pardon, but this\ndivine Principle alone reforms the sinner. God is not separate from the\nwisdom He bestows. The talents He gives we must improve. Calling on\nHim to forgive our work, badly done or left undone, implies the vain\nsupposition that we have nothing to do but to ask pardon, and that\nafterwards we shall be free to repeat the offence.\n\nTo cause suffering, as the result of sin, is the means of destroying\nsin. Every supposed pleasure in sin will furnish more than its\nequivalent of pain, until belief in material life and sin is destroyed.\nTo reach heaven, the harmony of Being, we must understand the divine\nPrinciple of Being.\n\n“God is Love.” More than this we cannot ask; higher we cannot look;\nfarther we cannot go. To suppose that God forgives or punishes sin,\naccording as His mercy is sought or unsought, is to misunderstand Love\nand make prayer the safety-valve for wrong-doing.\n\nJesus uncovered and rebuked sin before He cast it out. Of a sick woman\nHe said that Satan had bound her; and to Peter He said, “Thou art an\noffense unto me.” He came teaching and showing men how to destroy sin,\nsickness, and death. He said of the fruitless tree, “It is hewn down.”\n\nIt is believed by many that a certain magistrate, who lived in the time\nof Jesus, left this record: “His rebuke is fearful.” The strong language\nof our Master confirms this description.\n\nThe only civil sentence which He had for error was, “Get thee behind\nMe, Satan.” Still stronger evidence that Jesus' reproof was pointed and\npungent is in His own words--showing the necessity for such forcible\nutterance, when He cast out devils and healed the sick and sinful. The\nrelinquishment of error deprives material sense of its false claims.\n\nAudible prayer is impressive; it gives momentary solemnity and elevation\nto thought; but does it produce any lasting benefit? Looking deeply into\nthese things, we find that “a zeal... not according to knowledge,” gives\noccasion for reaction unfavorable to spiritual growth, sober resolve,\nand wholesome perception of God's requirements. The motives for verbal\nprayer may embrace too much love of applause to induce or encourage\nChristian sentiment.\n\nPhysical sensation, not Soul, produces material ecstasy, and emotions.\nIf spiritual sense always guided men at such times, there would grow out\nof those ecstatic moments a higher experience and a better life, with\nmore devout self-abnegation, and purity. A self-satisfied ventilation\nof fervent sentiments never makes a Christian. God is not influenced by\nman. The “divine ear” is not an auditorial nerve. It is the all-hearing\nand all-knowing Mind, to whom each want of man is always known, and by\nwhom it will be supplied.\n\nThe danger from audible prayer is, that it may lead us into temptation.\nBy it we may become involuntary hypocrites, uttering desires which\nare not real, and consoling ourselves in the midst of sin, with the\nrecollection that we have prayed over it--or mean to ask forgiveness at\nsome later day. Hypocrisy is fatal to religion.\n\nA wordy prayer may afford a quiet sense of self-justification, though it\nmakes the sinner a hypocrite. We never need despair of an honest heart,\nbut there is little hope for those who only come spasmodically face to\nface with their wickedness, and then seek to hide it. Their prayers are\nindexes which do not correspond with their character. They hold secret\nfellowship with sin; and such externals are spoken of by Jesus as “like\nunto whited sepulchres... full of all uncleanness.”\n\nIf a man, though apparently fervent and prayerful, is impure, and\ntherefore insincere, what must be the comment upon him? If he had\nreached the loftiness of his prayer, there would be no occasion for such\ncomment. If we feel the aspiration, humility, gratitude, and love\nwhich our words express--this God accepts; and it is wise not to try to\ndeceive ourselves or others, for “there is nothing covered that shall\nnot be revealed.” Professions and audible prayers are like charity in\none respect--they “cover a multitude of sins.” Praying for humility,\nwith whatever fervency of expression, does not always mean a desire\nfor it. If we turn away from the poor, we are not ready to receive the\nreward of Him who blesses the poor. We confess to having a very wicked\nheart, and ask that it may be laid bare before us; but do we not already\nknow more of this heart than we are willing to have our neighbor see?\n\nWe ought to examine ourselves, and learn what is the affection and\npurpose of the heart; for this alone can show us what we honestly are.\nIf a friend informs us of a fault, do we listen to the rebuke patiently,\nand credit what is said? Do we not rather give thanks that we are “not\nas other men?” During many years the author has been most grateful for\nmerited rebuke. The sting lies in unmerited censure--in the falsehood\nwhich does no one any good.\n\nThe test of all prayer lies in the answer to these questions: Do we\nlove our neighbor better because of this asking? Do we pursue the old\nselfishness, satisfied with having prayed for something better,\nthough we give no evidence of the sincerity of our requests by living\nconsistently with our prayer? If selfishness has given place to\nkindness, we shall regard our neighbor unselfishly, and bless them that\ncurse us; but we shall never meet this great duty by simply asking that\nit may be done. There is a cross to be taken up, before we can enjoy the\nfruition of our hope and faith.\n\nDost thou “love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy\nsoul, and with all thy mind?” This command includes much--even the\nsurrender of all merely material sensation, affection, and worship. This\nis the El Dorado of Christianity. It involves the Science of Life,\nand recognizes only the divine control of Spirit, wherein Soul is our\nmaster, and material sense and human will have no place.\n\nAre you willing to leave all for Christ, for Truth, and so be counted\namong sinners? No! Do you really desire to attain this point? No! Then\nwhy make long prayers about it, and ask to be Christians, since you care\nnot to tread in the footsteps of our dear Master? If unwilling to follow\nHis example, wherefore pray with the lips that you may be partakers of\nHis nature? Consistent prayer is the desire to do right. Prayer means\nthat we desire to, and will, walk in the light so far as we receive it,\neven though with bleeding footsteps, and waiting patiently on the Lord,\nwill leave our real desires to be rewarded by Him.\n\nThe world must grow to the spiritual understanding of prayer. If good\nenough to profit by Jesus' cup of earthly sorrows, God will sustain us\nunder these sorrows. Until we are thus divinely qualified, and willing\nto drink His cup, millions of vain repetitions will never pour into\nprayer the unction of Spirit, in demonstration of power, and “with signs\nfollowing.” Christian Science reveals a necessity for overcoming the\nworld, the flesh and evil, and thus destroying all error.\n\nSeeking is not sufficient. It is striving which enables us to enter.\nSpiritual attainments open the door to a higher understanding of the\ndivine Life.\n\nOne of the forms of worship in Thibet is to carry a praying-machine\nthrough the streets, and stop at the doors to earn a penny by grinding\nout a prayer; whereas civilization pays for clerical prayers, in lofty\nedifices. Is the difference very great, after all?\n\nExperience teaches us that we do not always receive the blessings we ask\nfor in prayer.\n\nThere is some misapprehension of the source and means of all goodness\nand blessedness, or we should certainly receive what we ask for. The\nScriptures say: “Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye\nmay consume it upon your lusts.” What we desire and ask for it is not\nalways best for us to receive. In this case infinite Love will not grant\nthe request. Do you ask Wisdom to be merciful and not punish sin? Then\n“ye ask amiss.” Without punishment, sin would multiply. Jesus' prayer,\n“forgive us our debts,” specified also the terms of forgiveness. When\nforgiving the adulterous woman He said, “Go, and sin no more.”\n\nA magistrate sometimes remits the penalty, but this may be no moral\nbenefit to the criminal; and at best, it only saves him from one form\nof punishment. The moral law, which has the right to acquit or condemn,\nalways demands restitution, before mortals can “go up higher.” Broken\nlaw brings penalty, in order to compel this progress.\n\nMere legal pardon (and there is no other, for divine Principle never\npardons our sins or mistakes till they are corrected) leaves the\noffender free to repeat the offense; if, indeed, he has not already\nsuffered sufficiently from vice to make him turn from it with loathing.\nTruth bestows no pardon upon error, but wipes it out in the most\neffectual manner. Jesus suffered for our sins, not to annul the divine\nsentence against an individual's sin, but to show that sin must bring\ninevitable suffering.\n\nPetitions only bring to mortals the results of their own faith. We know\nthat a desire for holiness is requisite in order to gain it; but if we\ndesire holiness above all else, we shall sacrifice everything for it.\nWe must be willing to do this, that we may walk securely in the only\npractical road to holiness. Prayer alone cannot change the unalterable\nTruth, or give us an understanding of it; but prayer coupled with a\nfervent habitual desire to know and do the will of God will bring us\ninto all Truth. Such a desire has little need of audible expression. It\nis best expressed in thought and life.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX E\n\nReverend Heber Newton on Christian Science:\n\nTo begin, then, at the beginning, Christian Science accepts the work\nof healing sickness as an integral part of the discipleship of Jesus\nChrist. In Christ it finds, what the Church has always recognized,\ntheoretically, though it has practically ignored the fact--the Great\nPhysician. That Christ healed the sick, we none of us question. It\nstands plainly upon the record. This ministry of healing was too large\na part of His work to be left out from any picture of that life. Such\nservice was not an incident of His career--it was an essential\nelement of that career. It was an integral factor in His mission. The\nEvangelists leave us no possibility of confusion on this point. Co-equal\nwith his work of instruction and inspiration was His work of healing.\n\nThe records make it equally clear that the Master laid His charge upon\nHis disciples to do as He had done. “When He had called unto Him His\ntwelve disciples, He gave them power over unclean spirits, to cast them\nout, and to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease.” In\nsending them forth, “He commanded them, saying,... As ye go, preach,\nsaying, The kingdom of heaven is at hand. Heal the sick, cleanse the\nlepers, raise the dead, cast out demons.”\n\nThat the twelve disciples undertook to do the Master's work of healing,\nand that they, in their measure, succeeded, seems beyond question. They\nfound in themselves the same power that the Master found in Himself,\nand they used it as He had used His power. The record of The Acts of the\nApostles, if at all trustworthy history, shows that they, too, healed\nthe sick.\n\nBeyond the circle of the original twelve, it is equally clear that the\nearly disciples believed themselves charged with the same mission, and\nthat they sought to fulfil it. The records of the early Church make it\nindisputable that powers of healing were recognized as among the gifts\nof the Spirit. St. Paul's letters render it certain that these gifts\nwere not a privilege of the original twelve, merely, but that they were\nthe heritage into which all the disciples entered.\n\nBeyond the era of the primitive Church, through several generations, the\nearly Christians felt themselves called to the same ministry of healing,\nand enabled with the same secret of power. Through wellnigh three\ncenturies, the gifts of healing appear to have been, more or less,\nrecognized and exercised in the Church. Through those generations,\nhowever, there was a gradual disuse of this power, following upon a\nfailing recognition of its possession. That which was originally the\nrule became the exception. By degrees, the sense of authority and power\nto heal passed out from the consciousness of the Church. It ceased to be\na sign of the indwelling Spirit. For fifteen centuries, the recognition\nof this authority and power has been altogether exceptional. Here and\nthere, through the history of these centuries, there have been those who\nhave entered into this belief of their own privilege and duty, and have\nused the gift which they recognized. The Church has never been left\nwithout a line of witnesses to this aspect of the discipleship of\nChrist. But she has come to accept it as the normal order of things that\nwhat was once the rule in the Christian Church should be now only\nthe exception. Orthodoxy has framed a theory of the words of Jesus to\naccount for this strange departure of His Church from them. It teaches\nus to believe that His example was not meant to be followed, in this\nrespect, by all His disciples. The power of healing which was in Him\nwas a purely exceptional power. It was used as an evidence of His divine\nmission. It was a miraculous gift. The gift of working miracles was not\nbestowed upon His Church at large. His original disciples, the twelve\napostles, received this gift, as a necessity of the critical epoch of\nChristianity--the founding of the Church. Traces of the power lingered\non, in weakening activity, until they gradually ceased, and the normal\ncondition of the Church was entered upon, in which miracles are no\nlonger possible.\n\n\nWe accept this, unconsciously, as the true state of things in\nChristianity. But it is a conception which will not bear a moment's\nexamination. There is not the slightest suggestion upon record that\nChrist set any limit to this charge which He gave His disciples. On the\ncontrary, there are not lacking hints that He looked for the possession\nand exercise of this power wherever His spirit breathed in men.\n\nEven if the concluding paragraph of St. Mark's Gospel were a later\nappendix, it may none the less have been a faithful echo of words of\nthe Master, as it certainly is a trustworthy record of the belief of the\nearly Christians as to the thought of Jesus concerning His followers.\nIn that interesting passage, Jesus, after His death, appeared to the\neleven, and formally commissioned them, again, to take up His work in\nthe world; bidding them, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel\nto every creature.” “And these signs,” He tells them, “shall follow them\nthat believe”--not the apostles only, but “them that believe,” without\nlimit of time; “in My name they shall cast out devils... they shall lay\nhands on the sick and they shall recover.” The concluding discourse to\nthe disciples, recorded in the Gospel according to St. John, affirms the\nsame expectation on the part of Jesus; emphasizing it in His solemn way:\n“Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on Me, the works that\nI do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do.”\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX F\n\nFew will deny that an intelligence apart from man formed and governs the\nspiritual universe and man; and this intelligence is the eternal\nMind, and neither matter nor man created this intelligence and divine\nPrinciple; nor can this Principle produce aught unlike itself. All that\nwe term sin, sickness, and death is comprised in the belief of matter.\nThe realm of the real is spiritual; the opposite of Spirit is matter;\nand the opposite of the real is unreal or material. Matter is an error\nof statement, for there is no matter. This error of premises leads to\nerror of conclusion in every statement of matter as a basis. Nothing\nwe can say or believe regarding matter is true, except that matter is\nunreal, simply a belief that has its beginning and ending.\n\nThe conservative firm called matter and mind God never formed. The\nunerring and eternal Mind destroys this imaginary copartnership,\nformed only to be dissolved in a manner and at a period unknown. This\ncopartnership is obsolete. Placed under the microscope of metaphysics\nmatter disappears. Only by understanding there are not two, matter\nand mind, is a logical and correct conclusion obtained by either one.\nScience gathers not grapes of thorns or figs of thistles. Intelligence\nnever produced non-intelligence, such as matter: the immortal never\nproduced mortality, good never resulted in evil. The science of Mind\nshows conclusively that matter is a myth. Metaphysics are above physics,\nand drag not matter, or what is termed that, into one of its premises\nor conclusions. Metaphysics resolves things into thoughts, and exchanges\nthe objects of sense for the ideas of Soul. These ideas are perfectly\ntangible and real to consciousness, and they have this advantage--they\nare eternal. Mind and its thoughts comprise the whole of God, the\nuniverse, and of man. Reason and revelation coincide with this\nstatement, and support its proof every hour, for nothing is harmonious\nor eternal that is not spiritual: the realization of this will bring\nout objects from a higher source of thought; hence more beautiful and\nimmortal.\n\nThe fact of spiritualization produces results in striking contrast to\nthe farce of materialization: the one produces the results of chastity\nand purity, the other the downward tendencies and earthward gravitation\nof sensualism and impurity.\n\nThe exalting and healing effects of metaphysics show their fountain.\nNothing in pathology has exceeded the application of metaphysics.\nThrough mind alone we have prevented disease and preserved health. In\ncases of chronic and acute diseases, in their severest forms, we have\nchanged the secretions, renewed structure, and restored health; have\nelongated shortened limbs, relaxed rigid muscles, made cicatrized joints\nsupple; restored carious bones to healthy conditions, renewed that\nwhich is termed the lost substance of the lungs; and restored healthy\norganizations where disease was organic instead of functional.\n\n\n\n\nMRS. EDDY IN ERROR\n\nI feel almost sure that Mrs. Eddy's inspiration--works are getting out\nof repair. I think so because they made some errors in a statement which\nshe uttered through the press on the 17th of January. Not large ones,\nperhaps, still it is a friend's duty to straighten such things out and\nget them right when he can. Therefore I will put my other duties aside\nfor a moment and undertake this helpful service. She said as follows:\n\n“In view of the circulation of certain criticisms from the pen of Mark\nTwain, I submit the following statement:\n\n“It is a fact, well understood, that I begged the students who first\ngave me the endearing appellative 'mother' not to name me thus. But,\nwithout my consent, that word spread like wildfire. I still must think\nthe name is not applicable to me. I stand in relation to this century as\na Christian discoverer, founder, and leader. I regard self-deification\nas blasphemous; I may be more loved, but I am less lauded, pampered,\nprovided for, and cheered than others before me--and wherefore? Because\nChristian Science is not yet popular, and I refuse adulation.\n\n“My visit to the Mother-Church after it was built and dedicated pleased\nme, and the situation was satisfactory. The dear members wanted to greet\nme with escort and the ringing of bells, but I declined, and went alone\nin my carriage to the church, entered it, and knelt in thanks upon the\nsteps of its altar. There the foresplendor of the beginnings of truth\nfell mysteriously upon my spirit. I believe in one Christ, teach one\nChrist, know of but one Christ. I believe in but one incarnation, one\nMother Mary, and know I am not that one, and never claimed to be. It\nsuffices me to learn the Science of the Scriptures relative to this\nsubject.\n\n“Christian Scientists have no quarrel with Protestants, Catholics,\nor any other sect. They need to be understood as following the divine\nPrinciple God, Love and not imagined to be unscientific worshippers of a\nhuman being.\n\n“In the aforesaid article, of which I have seen only extracts, Mark\nTwain's wit was not wasted In certain directions. Christian Science\neschews divine rights in human beings. If the individual governed human\nconsciousness, my statement of Christian Science would be disproved, but\nto understand the spiritual idea is essential to demonstrate Science\nand its pure monotheism--one God, one Christ, no idolatry, no human\npropaganda. Jesus taught and proved that what feeds a few feeds all. His\nlife-work subordinated the material to the spiritual, and He left\nthis legacy of truth to mankind. His metaphysics is not the sport of\nphilosophy, religion, or Science; rather it is the pith and finale of\nthem all.\n\n“I have not the inspiration or aspiration to be a first or second\nVirgin-Mother--her duplicate, antecedent, or subsequent. What I am\nremains to be proved by the good I do. We need much humility, wisdom,\nand love to perform the functions of foreshadowing and foretasting\nheaven within us. This glory is molten in the furnace of affliction.”\n\nShe still thinks the name of Our Mother not applicable to her; and she\nis also able to remember that it distressed her when it was conferred\nupon her, and that she begged to have it suppressed. Her memory is at\nfault here. If she will take her By-laws, and refer to Section 1 of\nArticle XXII., written with her own hand--she will find that she has\nreserved that title to herself, and is so pleased with it, and so--may\nwe say jealous?--about it, that she threatens with excommunication any\nsister Scientist who shall call herself by it. This is that Section 1:\n\n“The Title of Mother. In the year 1895 loyal Christian Scientists\nhad given to the author of their text-book, the Founder of Christian\nScience, the individual, endearing term of Mother. Therefore, if a\nstudent of Christian Science shall apply this title, either to herself\nor to others, except as the term for kinship according to the flesh, it\nshall be regarded by the Church as an indication of disrespect for their\nPastor Emeritus, and unfitness to be a member of the Mother-Church.”\n\nMrs. Eddy is herself the Mother-Church--its powers and authorities are\nin her possession solely--and she can abolish that title whenever it may\nplease her to do so. She has only to command her people, wherever they\nmay be in the earth, to use it no more, and it will never be uttered\nagain. She is aware of this.\n\nIt may be that she “refuses adulation” when she is not awake, but when\nshe is awake she encourages it and propagates it in that museum called\n“Our Mother's Room,” in her Church in Boston. She could abolish that\ninstitution with a word, if she wanted to. She is aware of that. I will\nsay a further word about the museum presently.\n\nFurther down the column, her memory is unfaithful again:\n\n“I believe in... but one Mother Mary, and know I am not that one, and\nnever claimed to be.”\n\nAt a session of the National Christian Science Association, held in the\ncity of New York on the 27th of May, 1890, the secretary was “instructed\nto send to our Mother greetings and words of affection from her\nassembled children.”\n\nHer telegraphic response was read to the Association at next day's\nmeeting:\n\n“All hail! He hath filled the hungry with good things and the sick hath\nHe not sent empty away.--MOTHER MARY.”\n\nWhich Mother Mary is this one? Are there two? If so, she is both\nof them; for, when she signed this telegram in this satisfied and\nunprotesting way, the Mother-title which she was going to so strenuously\nobject to, and put from her with humility, and seize with both hands,\nand reserve as her sole property, and protect her monopoly of it with\na stern By-law, while recognizing with diffidence that it was “not\napplicable” to her (then and to-day)--that Mother--title was not yet\nborn, and would not be offered to her until five years later. The date\nof the above “Mother Mary” is 1890; the “individual, endearing title of\nMother” was given her “in 1895”--according to her own testimony. See her\nBy-law quoted above.\n\nIn his opening Address to that Convention of 1890, the President\nrecognized this Mary--our Mary-and abolished all previous ones. He said:\n\n“There is but one Moses, one Jesus; and there is but one Mary.”\n\nThe confusions being now dispersed, we have this clarified result:\n\nThere had been a Moses at one time, and only one; there had been a Jesus\nat one time, and only one; there is a Mary and “only one.” She is not a\nHas Been, she is an Is--the “Author of Science and Health; and we cannot\nignore her.”\n\n1. In 1890, there was but one Mother Mary. The President said so. 2.\nMrs. Eddy was that one. She said so, in signing the telegram. 3. Mrs.\nEddy was not that one for she says so, in her Associated Press utterance\nof January 17th. 4. And has “never claimed to be that one”--unless the\nsignature to the telegram is a claim.\n\nThus it stands proven and established that she is that Mary and isn't,\nand thought she was and knows she wasn't. That much is clear.\n\nShe is also “The Mother,” by the election of 1895, and did not want the\ntitle, and thinks it is not applicable to her, and will excommunicate\nany one that tries to take it away from her. So that is clear.\n\nI think that the only really troublesome confusion connected with these\nparticular matters has arisen from the name Mary. Much vexation, much\nmisunderstanding, could have been avoided if Mrs. Eddy had used some of\nher other names in place of that one. “Mother Mary” was certain to stir\nup discussion. It would have been much better if she had signed\nthe telegram “Mother Baker”; then there would have been no Biblical\ncompetition, and, of course, that is a thing to avoid. But it is not too\nlate, yet.\n\nI wish to break in here with a parenthesis, and then take up this\nexamination of Mrs. Eddy's Claim of January 17th again.\n\nThe history of her “Mother Mary” telegram--as told to me by one who\nought to be a very good authority--is curious and interesting. The\ntelegram ostensibly quotes verse 53 from the “Magnificat,” but really\nmakes some pretty formidable changes in it. This is St. Luke's version:\n\n“He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He hath sent\nempty away.”\n\nThis is “Mother Mary's” telegraphed version:\n\n“He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the sick hath He not\nsent empty away.”\n\nTo judge by the Official Report, the bursting of this bombshell in that\nmassed convention of trained Christians created no astonishment, since\nit caused no remark, and the business of the convention went tranquilly\non, thereafter, as if nothing had happened.\n\nDid those people detect those changes? We cannot know. I think they must\nhave noticed them, the wording of St. Luke's verse being as familiar to\nall Christians as is the wording of the Beatitudes; and I think that the\nreason the new version provoked no surprise and no comment was, that the\nassemblage took it for a “Key”--a spiritualized explanation of verse 53,\nnewly sent down from heaven through Mrs. Eddy. For all Scientists study\ntheir Bibles diligently, and they know their Magnificat. I believe that\ntheir confidence in the authenticity of Mrs. Eddy's inspirations is so\nlimitless and so firmly established that no change, however violent,\nwhich she might make in a Bible text could disturb their composure or\nprovoke from them a protest.\n\nHer improved rendition of verse 53 went into the convention's report and\nappeared in a New York paper the next day. The (at that time) Scientist\nwhom I mentioned a minute ago, and who had not been present at the\nconvention, saw it and marvelled; marvelled and was indignant--indignant\nwith the printer or the telegrapher, for making so careless and so\ndreadful an error. And greatly distressed, too; for, of course, the\nnewspaper people would fall foul of it, and be sarcastic, and make fun\nof it, and have a blithe time over it, and be properly thankful for the\nchance. It shows how innocent he was; it shows that he did not know the\nlimitations of newspaper men in the matter of Biblical knowledge. The\nnew verse 53 raised no insurrection in the press; in fact, it was not\neven remarked upon; I could have told him the boys would not know there\nwas anything the matter with it. I have been a newspaper man myself, and\nin those days I had my limitations like the others.\n\nThe Scientist hastened to Concord and told Mrs. Eddy what a disastrous\nmistake had been made, but he found to his bewilderment that she was\ntranquil about it, and was not proposing to correct it. He was not able\nto get her to promise to make a correction. He asked her secretary if\nhe had heard aright when the telegram was dictated to him; the secretary\nsaid he had, and took the filed copy of it and verified its authenticity\nby comparing it with the stenographic notes.\n\nMrs. Eddy did make the correction, two months later, in her official\norgan. It attracted no attention among the Scientists; and, naturally,\nnone elsewhere, for that periodical's circulation was practically\nconfined to disciples of the cult.\n\nThat is the tale as it was told to me by an ex-Scientist. Verse\n53--renovated and spiritualized--had a narrow escape from a tremendous\ncelebrity. The newspaper men would have made it as famous as the\nassassination of Caesar, but for their limitations.\n\nTo return to the Claim. I find myself greatly embarrassed by Mrs. Eddy's\nremark: “I regard self-deification as blasphemous.” If she is right\nabout that, I have written a half-ream of manuscript this past week\nwhich I must not print, either in the book which I am writing, or\nelsewhere: for it goes into that very matter with extensive elaboration,\nciting, in detail, words and acts of Mrs. Eddy's which seem to me to\nprove that she is a faithful and untiring worshipper of herself, and has\ncarried self-deification to a length which has not been before ventured\nin ages. If ever. There is not room enough in this chapter for that\nSurvey, but I can epitomize a portion of it here.\n\nWith her own untaught and untrained mind, and without outside help,\nshe has erected upon a firm and lasting foundation the most minutely\nperfect, and wonderful, and smoothly and exactly working, and best\nsafe-guarded system of government that has yet been devised in the\nworld, as I believe, and as I am sure I could prove if I had room for my\ndocumentary evidences here.\n\nIt is a despotism (on this democratic soil); a sovereignty more absolute\nthan the Roman Papacy, more absolute than the Russian Czarship; it has\nnot a single power, not a shred of authority, legislative or executive,\nwhich is not lodged solely in the sovereign; all its dreams, its\nfunctions, its energies, have a single object, a single reason for\nexisting, and only the one--to build to the sky the glory of the\nsovereign, and keep it bright to the end of time.\n\nMrs. Eddy is the sovereign; she devised that great place for herself,\nshe occupies that throne.\n\nIn 1895, she wrote a little primer, a little body of autocratic laws,\ncalled the Manual of The First Church of Christ, Scientist, and put\nthose laws in force, in permanence. Her government is all there; all\nin that deceptively innocent-looking little book, that cunning little\ndevilish book, that slumbering little brown volcano, with hell in its\nbowels. In that book she has planned out her system, and classified and\ndefined its purposes and powers.\n\n\n\n\nMAIN PARTS OF THE MACHINE\n\nA Supreme Church. At Boston. Branch Churches. All over the world One\nPastor for the whole of them: to wit, her book, Science and Health. Term\nof the book's office--forever.\n\nIn every C.S. pulpit, two “Readers,” a man and a woman. No talkers,\nno preachers, in any Church-readers only. Readers of the Bible and her\nbooks--no others. No commentators allowed to write or print.\n\nA Church Service. She has framed it--for all the C.S. Churches--selected\nits readings, its prayers, and the hymns to be used, and has appointed\nthe order of procedure. No changes permitted.\n\nA Creed. She wrote it. All C.S. Churches must subscribe to it. No other\npermitted.\n\nA Treasury. At Boston. She carries the key.\n\nA C.S. Book--Publishing House. For books approved by her. No others\npermitted.\n\nJournals and Magazines. These are organs of hers, and are controlled by\nher.\n\nA College. For teaching C.S.\n\n\n\n\nDISTRIBUTION OF THE MACHINE'S POWERS AND DIGNITIES\n\nSupreme Church. Pastor Emeritus--Mrs. Eddy. Board of Directors. Board\nof Education. Board of Finance. College Faculty. Various Committees.\nTreasurer. Clerk. First Members (of the Supreme Church). Members of the\nSupreme Church.\n\nIt looks fair, it looks real, but it is all a fiction.\n\nEven the little “Pastor Emeritus” is a fiction. Instead of being merely\nan honorary and ornamental official, Mrs. Eddy is the only official in\nthe entire body that has the slightest power. In her Manual, she has\nprovided a prodigality of ways and forms whereby she can rid herself of\nany functionary in the government whenever she wants to. The officials\nare all shadows, save herself; she is the only reality. She allows no\none to hold office more than a year--no one gets a chance to become\nover-popular or over-useful, and dangerous. “Excommunication” is the\nfavorite penalty-it is threatened at every turn. It is evidently the pet\ndread and terror of the Church's membership.\n\nThe member who thinks, without getting his thought from Mrs. Eddy before\nuttering it, is banished permanently. One or two kinds of sinners can\nplead their way back into the fold, but this one, never. To think--in\nthe Supreme Church--is the New Unpardonable Sin.\n\nTo nearly every severe and fierce rule, Mrs. Eddy adds this rivet: “This\nBy-law shall not be changed without the consent of the Pastor Emeritus.”\n\nMrs. Eddy is the entire Supreme Church, in her own person, in the matter\nof powers and authorities.\n\nAlthough she has provided so many ways of getting rid of unsatisfactory\nmembers and officials, she was still afraid she might have left a\nlife-preserver lying around somewhere, therefore she devised a rule to\ncover that defect. By applying it, she can excommunicate (and this is\nperpetual again) every functionary connected with the Supreme Church,\nand every one of the twenty-five thousand members of that Church, at an\nhour's notice--and do it all by herself without anybody's help.\n\nBy authority of this astonishing By-law, she has only to say a\nperson connected with that Church is secretly practicing hypnotism or\nmesmerism; whereupon, immediate excommunication, without a hearing,\nis his portion! She does not have to order a trial and produce\nevidence--her accusation is all that is necessary.\n\nWhere is the Pope? and where the Czar? As the ballad says:\n\n     “Ask of the winds that far away\n     With fragments strewed the sea!”\n\nThe Branch Church's pulpit is occupied by two “Readers.” Without them\nthe Branch Church is as dead as if its throat had been cut. To have\ncontrol, then, of the Readers, is to have control of the Branch\nChurches. Mrs. Eddy has that control--a control wholly without limit, a\ncontrol shared with no one.\n\n1. No Reader can be appointed to any Church in the Christian Science\nworld without her express approval.\n\n2. She can summarily expel from his or her place any Reader, at home or\nabroad, by a mere letter of dismissal, over her signature, and without\nfurnishing any reason for it, to either the congregation or the Reader.\n\nThus she has as absolute control over all Branch Churches as she has\nover the Supreme Church. This power exceeds the Pope's.\n\nIn simple truth, she is the only absolute sovereign in all Christendom.\nThe authority of the other sovereigns has limits, hers has none, none\nwhatever. And her yoke does not fret, does not offend. Many of the\nsubjects of the other monarchs feel their yoke, and are restive under\nit; their loyalty is insincere. It is not so with this one's human\nproperty; their loyalty is genuine, earnest, sincere, enthusiastic.\nThe sentiment which they feel for her is one which goes out in sheer\nperfection to no other occupant of a throne; for it is love, pure from\ndoubt, envy, exaction, fault-seeking, a love whose sun has no\nspot--that form of love, strong, great, uplifting, limitless, whose vast\nproportions are compassable by no word but one, the prodigious word,\nWorship. And it is not as a human being that her subjects worship her,\nbut as a supernatural one, a divine one, one who has comradeship with\nGod, and speaks by His voice.\n\nMrs. Eddy has herself created all these personal grandeurs and\nautocracies--with others which I have not (in this article) mentioned.\nThey place her upon an Alpine solitude and supremacy of power and\nspectacular show not hitherto attained by any other self-seeking\nenslaver disguised in the Christian name, and they persuade me that,\nalthough she may regard “self-deification as blasphemous,” she is as\nfond of it as I am of pie.\n\nShe knows about “Our Mother's Room” in the Supreme Church in\nBoston--above referred to--for she has been in it. In a recently\npublished North American Review article, I quoted a lady as saying Mrs.\nEddy's portrait could be seen there in a shrine, lit by always-burning\nlights, and that C.S. disciples came and worshiped it. That remark hurt\nthe feelings of more than one Scientist. They said it was not true, and\nasked me to correct it. I comply with pleasure. Whether the portrait was\nthere four years ago or not, it is not there now, for I have\ninquired. The only object in the shrine now, and lit by electrics--and\nworshiped--is an oil-portrait of the horse-hair chair Mrs. Eddy used\nto sit in when she was writing Science and Health! It seems to me that\nadulation has struck bottom, here.\n\nMrs. Eddy knows about that. She has been there, she has seen it, she has\nseen the worshippers. She could abolish that sarcasm with a word. She\nwithholds the word. Once more I seem to recognize in her exactly the\nsame appetite for self-deification that I have for pie. We seem to be\ncuriously alike; for the love of self-deification is really only the\nspiritual form of the material appetite for pie, and nothing could be\nmore strikingly Christian-Scientifically “harmonious.”\n\nI note this phrase:\n\n“Christian Science eschews divine rights in human beings.”\n\n“Rights” is vague; I do not know what it means there. Mrs. Eddy is not\nwell acquainted with the English language, and she is seldom able to say\nin it what she is trying to say. She has no ear for the exact word, and\ndoes not often get it. “Rights.” Does it mean “honors?” “attributes?”\n\n“Eschews.” This is another umbrella where there should be a torch; it\ndoes not illumine the sentence, it only deepens the shadows. Does she\nmean “denies?” “refuses?” “forbids?” or something in that line? Does she\nmean:\n\n“Christian Science denies divine honors to human beings?” Or:\n\n“Christian Science refuses to recognize divine attributes in human\nbeings?” Or:\n\n“Christian Science forbids the worship of human beings?”\n\nThe bulk of the succeeding sentence is to me a tunnel, but, when I\nemerge at this end of it, I seem to come into daylight. Then I seem to\nunderstand both sentences--with this result:\n\n“Christian Science recognizes but one God, forbids the worship of human\nbeings, and refuses to recognize the possession of divine attributes by\nany member of the race.”\n\nI am subject to correction, but I think that that is about what Mrs.\nEddy was intending to convey. Has her English--which is always difficult\nto me--beguiled me into misunderstanding the following remark, which she\nmakes (calling herself “we,” after an old regal fashion of hers) in her\npreface to her Miscellaneous Writings?\n\n“While we entertain decided views as to the best method for elevating\nthe race physically, morally, and spiritually, and shall express these\nviews as duty demands, we shall claim no especial gift from our divine\norgan, no supernatural power.”\n\nWas she meaning to say:\n\n“Although I am of divine origin and gifted with supernatural power, I\nshall not draw upon these resources in determining the best method of\nelevating the race?”\n\nIf she had left out the word “our,” she might then seem to say:\n\n“I claim no especial or unusual degree of divine origin--”\n\nWhich is awkward--most awkward; for one either has a divine origin or\nhasn't; shares in it, degrees of it, are surely impossible. The idea of\ncrossed breeds in cattle is a thing we can entertain, for we are used to\nit, and it is possible; but the idea of a divine mongrel is unthinkable.\n\nWell, then, what does she mean? I am sure I do not know, for certain. It\nis the word “our” that makes all the trouble. With the “our” in, she is\nplainly saying “my divine origin.” The word “from” seems to be intended\nto mean “on account of.” It has to mean that or nothing, if “our” is\nallowed to stay. The clause then says:\n\n“I shall claim no especial gift on account of my divine origin.”\n\nAnd I think that the full sentence was intended to mean what I have\nalready suggested:\n\n“Although I am of divine origin, and gifted with supernatural power, I\nshall not draw upon these resources in determining the best method of\nelevating the race.”\n\nWhen Mrs. Eddy copyrighted that Preface seven years ago, she had long\nbeen used to regarding herself as a divine personage. I quote from Mr.\nF. W. Peabody's book:\n\n“In the Christian Science Journal for April, 1889, when it was her\nproperty, and published by her, it was claimed for her, and with her\nsanction, that she was equal with Jesus, and elaborate effort was made\nto establish the claim.”\n\n“Mrs. Eddy has distinctly authorized the claim in her behalf, that she\nherself was the chosen successor to and equal of Jesus.”\n\nThe following remark in that April number, quoted by Mr. Peabody,\nindicates that her claim had been previously made, and had excited\n“horror” among some “good people”:\n\n“Now, a word about the horror many good people have of our making the\nAuthor of Science and Health 'equal with Jesus.'”\n\nSurely, if it had excited horror in Mrs. Eddy also, she would have\npublished a disclaimer. She owned the paper; she could say what she\npleased in its columns. Instead of rebuking her editor, she lets him\nrebuke those “good people” for objecting to the claim.\n\nThese things seem to throw light upon those words, “our [my] divine\norigin.”\n\nIt may be that “Christian Science eschews divine rights in human\nbeings,” and forbids worship of any but “one God, one Christ”; but, if\nthat is the case, it looks as if Mrs. Eddy is a very unsound Christian\nScientist, and needs disciplining. I believe she has a serious\nmalady--“self-deification”; and that it will be well to have one of the\nexperts demonstrate over it.\n\nMeantime, let her go on living--for my sake. Closely examined,\npainstakingly studied, she is easily the most interesting person on the\nplanet, and, in several ways, as easily the most extraordinary woman\nthat was ever born upon it.\n\n\nP.S.--Since I wrote the foregoing, Mr. McCrackan's article appeared\n(in the March number of the North American Review). Before his article\nappeared--that is to say, during December, January, and February--I had\nwritten a new book, a character-portrait of Mrs. Eddy, drawn from her\nown acts and words, and it was then--together with the three brief\narticles previously published in the North American Review--ready to\nbe delivered to the printer for issue in book form. In that book, by\naccident and good luck, I have answered the objections made by Mr.\nMcCrackan to my views, and therefore do not need to add an answer here.\nAlso, in it I have corrected certain misstatements of mine which he has\nnoticed, and several others which he has not referred to. There are\none or two important matters of opinion upon which he and I are not\nin disagreement; but there are others upon which we must continue to\ndisagree, I suppose; indeed, I know we must; for instance, he believes\nMrs. Eddy wrote Science and Health, whereas I am quite sure I can\nconvince a person unhampered by predilections that she did not.\n\nAs concerns one considerable matter I hope to convert him. He believes\nMrs. Eddy's word; in his article he cites her as a witness, and takes\nher testimony at par; but if he will make an excursion through my book\nwhen it comes out, and will dispassionately examine her testimonies as\nthere accumulated, I think he will in candor concede that she is by a\nlarge percentage the most erratic and contradictory and untrustworthy\nwitness that has occupied the stand since the days of the lamented\nAnanias.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\nBroadly speaking, the hostiles reject and repudiate all the pretensions\nof Christian Science Christianity. They affirm that it has added nothing\nnew to Christianity; that it can do nothing that Christianity could not\ndo and was not doing before Christian Science was born.\n\nIn that case is there no field for the new Christianity, no opportunity\nfor usefulness, precious usefulness, great and distinguished usefulness?\nI think there is. I am far from being confident that it can fill it,\nbut I will indicate that unoccupied field--without charge--and if it can\nconquer it, it will deserve the praise and gratitude of the Christian\nworld, and will get it, I am sure.\n\nThe present Christianity makes an excellent private Christian, but its\nendeavors to make an excellent public one go for nothing, substantially.\n\nThis is an honest nation--in private life. The American Christian is a\nstraight and clean and honest man, and in his private commerce with his\nfellows can be trusted to stand faithfully by the principles of honor\nand honesty imposed upon him by his religion. But the moment he comes\nforward to exercise a public trust he can be confidently counted upon\nto betray that trust in nine cases out of ten, if “party loyalty” shall\nrequire it.\n\nIf there are two tickets in the field in his city, one composed of\nhonest men and the other of notorious blatherskites and criminals, he\nwill not hesitate to lay his private Christian honor aside and vote for\nthe blatherskites if his “party honor” shall exact it. His Christianity\nis of no use to him and has no influence upon him when he is acting in\na public capacity. He has sound and sturdy private morals, but he has no\npublic ones. In the last great municipal election in New York, almost\na complete one-half of the votes representing 3,500,000 Christians were\ncast for a ticket that had hardly a man on it whose earned and proper\nplace was outside of a jail. But that vote was present at church next\nSunday the same as ever, and as unconscious of its perfidy as if nothing\nhad happened.\n\nOur Congresses consist of Christians. In their private life they are\ntrue to every obligation of honor; yet in every session they violate\nthem all, and do it without shame; because honor to party is above honor\nto themselves. It is an accepted law of public life that in it a man\nmay soil his honor in the interest of party expediency--must do it when\nparty expediency requires it. In private life those men would bitterly\nresent--and justly--any insinuation that it would not be safe to leave\nunwatched money within their reach; yet you could not wound their\nfeelings by reminding them that every time they vote ten dollars to the\npension appropriation nine of it is stolen money and they the marauders.\nThey have filched the money to take care of the party; they believe it\nwas right to do it; they do not see how their private honor is affected;\ntherefore their consciences are clear and at rest. By vote they do\nwrongful things every day, in the party interest, which they could not\nbe persuaded to do in private life. In the interest of party expediency\nthey give solemn pledges, they make solemn compacts; in the interest\nof party expediency they repudiate them without a blush. They would not\ndream of committing these strange crimes in private life.\n\nNow then, can Christian Science introduce the Congressional Blush? There\nare Christian Private Morals, but there are no Christian Public Morals,\nat the polls, or in Congress or anywhere else--except here and there\nand scattered around like lost comets in the solar system. Can Christian\nScience persuade the nation and Congress to throw away their public\nmorals and use none but their private ones henceforth in all their\nactivities, both public and private?\n\nI do not think so; but no matter about me: there is the field--a grand\none, a splendid one, a sublime one, and absolutely unoccupied. Has\nChristian Science confidence enough in itself to undertake to enter in\nand try to possess it?\n\nMake the effort, Christian Science; it is a most noble cause, and it\nmight succeed. It could succeed. Then we should have a new literature,\nwith romances entitled, How To Be an Honest Congressman Though a\nChristian; How To Be a Creditable Citizen Though a Christian.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Christian Science, by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "3187", "title": "Christian Science", "author": "", "publication_year": 1907, "metadata_title": "Christian Science", "metadata_author": "Mark Twain", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:13.820316", "source_chars": 346580, "chars": 346580, "talkie_tokens": 80143}}
{"text": "Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH IN THESE\n  ISLANDS BEFORE THE COMING\n  OF AUGUSTINE.\n\n  _Three Lectures delivered at St. Paul's in\n  January 1894_\n\n\n  BY THE\n  REV. G. F. BROWNE, B.D., D.C.L.,\n\n  CANON OF ST. PAUL'S,\n  AND FORMERLY DISNEY PROFESSOR OF ARCHÆOLOGY IN THE\n  UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE.\n\n\n  PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF THE TRACT COMMITTEE.\n\n\n  LONDON:\n  SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,\n  NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.; 43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C.\n  NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO.\n  1894.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nLECTURE I.\n\n                                                            PAGE\n\nImportance of the anniversaries connected with the years\n1894-1897.--Christianity in Kent immediately before\nAugustine.--Dates of Bishop Luidhard and Queen Bertha.--\nRomano-British Churches in Canterbury.--Who were the\nBritons.--Traditional origin of British Christianity.--\nSt. Paul.--Joseph of Arimathea.--Glastonbury.--Roman\nreferences to Britain                                          5\n\n\nLECTURE II.\n\nEarly mentions of Christianity in Britain.--King\nLucius.--Origin and spread of Christianity in Gaul.--\nBritish Bishops at Councils.--Pelagianism.--British\nBishops of London.--Fastidius                                 54\n\n\nLECTURE III.\n\nEarly Christianity in other parts of these islands.--\nNinian in the south-west of Scotland.--Palladius and\nPatrick in Ireland.--Columba in Scotland.--Kentigern\nin Cumbria.--Wales--Cornwall.--The fate of the several\nChurches.--Special rites &c. of the British Church.--\nGeneral conclusion                                          107\n\n\n\n\n_The Christian Church in these Islands before the coming of Augustine._\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE I.\n\n     Importance of the anniversaries connected with the years\n     1894-1897.--Christianity in Kent immediately before Augustine.--Dates\n     of Bishop Luidhard and Queen Bertha.--Romano-British Churches in\n     Canterbury.--Who were the Britons.--Traditional origin of British\n     Christianity.--St. Paul.--Joseph of Arimathea.--Glastonbury.--Roman\n     references to Britain.\n\n\nWe are approaching an anniversary of the highest interest to all English\npeople: to English Churchmen first, for it is the thirteen-hundredth\nanniversary of the planting of the Church of England; but also to all who\nare proud of English civilisation, for the planting of a Christian Church\nis the surest means of civilisation, and English civilisation owes\neverything to the English Church. In 1897 those who are still here will\ncelebrate the thirteen-hundredth anniversary of the conversion of\nEthelbert, king of the Kentish people, by Augustine and the band of\nmissionaries sent by our great benefactor Gregory, the sixty-fourth bishop\nof Rome. I am sorry that the limitation of my present subject prevents me\nfrom enlarging upon the merits of that great man, and upon our debt to\nhim. Englishmen must always remember that it was Gregory who gave to the\nItalian Mission whatever force it had; it was Gregory who gave it courage,\nwhen the dangers of a journey through France were sufficient to keep it\nfor months shivering with fear under the shadow of the Alps; it was\nGregory who gave it such measure of wisdom and common sense as it had,\nqualities which its leader sadly lacked. Coming nearer to the present\nyear, there will be in 1896 the final departure of Augustine from Rome to\ncommemorate, on July 23, and his arrival here in the late autumn. In 1895\nthere will be to commemorate the first departure from Rome of Augustine\nand his Mission, by way of Lérins and Marseilles to Aix, and the return of\nAugustine to Rome, when his companions, in fear of the dangers of the way,\nrefused to go further. An ill-omened beginning, prophetic and prolific of\nlike results. The history of the Italian Mission is a history of failure\nto face danger. Mellitus fled from London, and got himself safe to Gaul;\nJustus fled from Rochester, and got himself safe to Gaul; Laurentius was\npacked up to fly from Canterbury and follow them[1]; Paulinus fled from\nYork. In 1894 we have, as I believe, to commemorate the final abandonment\nof earlier and independent plans for the conversion of the English in\nKent, from which abandonment the Mission of Augustine came to be.\n\nIt is a very interesting fact that just when we are preparing to\ncommemorate the thirteen-hundredth anniversary of the introduction of\nChristianity into England, and are drawing special attention to the fact\nthat Christianity had existed in this island, among the Britons, for at\nleast four hundred years before its introduction to the English, our\nneighbours in France are similarly engaged. They are preparing to\ncelebrate in 1896 the fourteen-hundredth anniversary of \"the introduction\nof Christianity into France,\" as the newspapers put it. This means that\nin 496, Clovis, king of the Franks, became a Christian; as, in 597,\nEthelbert, king of the Kentish-men, became a Christian[2]. As we have to\nkeep very clear in our minds the distinction between the introduction of\nChristianity among the English, from whom the country is called England,\nand its introduction long before into Britain; so our continental\nneighbours have to keep very clear the difference between the introduction\nof Christianity among the Franks, from whom the country is called France,\nand its introduction long before into Gaul. The Archbishop of Rheims,\nwhose predecessor Remigius baptized Clovis in 496, is arranging a solemn\ncelebration of their great anniversary; and the Pope has accorded a six\nmonths' jubilee in honour of the occasion. No doubt the Archbishop of\nCanterbury, whose predecessor Augustine baptized Ethelbert, will in like\nmanner make arrangements for a solemn celebration of our great\nanniversary. It would be an interesting and fitting thing, to hold a\nthanksgiving service within the walls of Richborough, which is generally\naccepted as the scene of Augustine's first interview with King Ethelbert,\nand has now been secured and put into the hands of trustees[3]. The two\ncommemorations, at Rheims and at Canterbury, are linked together in a\nspecial way by the fact that Clotilde, the Christian wife of Clovis, was\nthe great-grandmother of Bertha, the Christian wife of Ethelbert.\n\nIn the year 594, two years before the arrival of Augustine, there was, and\nI believe had long been, a Christian queen in pagan Kent; there was, and I\nbelieve had long been, a Christian bishop in pagan Canterbury, sent there\nto minister to the Christian queen. An excellent opening this for the\nconversion of the king and people, an opening intentionally created by\nthose who made the marriage on the queen's side. But, however hopeful the\nopening, the immediate result was disappointing. If more of missionary\nhelp had been sent from Gaul, from whence this bishop came, the conversion\nof the king and people might have come in the natural way, by an inflow of\nChristianity from the neighbouring country. But such help, though\npressingly asked for, was not given; and as I read such signs as there\nare, this year 594, of which we now inaugurate the thirteen-hundredth\nanniversary, was the year in which it came home to those chiefly concerned\nthat the conversion was not to be effected by the means adopted. Beyond\nsome very limited area of Christianity, only the queen and some few of her\npeople, and the religious services maintained for them, the bishop's work\nwas to be barren. The limited work which he did was that for which\nostensibly he had come; but I think we are meant to understand that his\nChristian ambition was larger than this, his Christian hope higher. I\nshall make no apology for dwelling a little upon the circumstances of this\nChristian work, immediately before the coming of Augustine. It may seem a\nlittle discursive; but it forms, I think, a convenient introduction to our\ngeneral subject.\n\nWho Bishop Luidhard was, is a difficult question. That he came from Gaul\nis certain, but his name is clearly Teutonic; whence, perhaps, his\nacceptability as a visitor to the English. He has been described as Bishop\nof Soissons; but the lists of bishops there make no mention of him, nor do\nthe learned authors and compilers of _Gallia Christiana_. This assignment\nof Luidhard to the bishopric of Soissons may perhaps be explained by an\ninteresting story.\n\nThe Bishop of Soissons, a full generation earlier than the time of which\nwe are speaking, was Bandaridus. He was charged before King Clotaire, that\none of the four sons of the first Clovis who succeeded to the kingdom\ncalled \"of Soissons,\" with many offences of many kinds; and he was\nbanished. He crossed over to England--for so Britain is described in the\nold account--and there lived in a monastery for seven years, performing\nthe humble functions of a kitchen-gardener. Whether the story is\nsufficiently historical to enable us to claim the continuance of Christian\nmonasteries of the British among the barbarian Saxons so late as 540, I am\nnot clear. There was a little Irish monastery at Bosham, among the pagan\nSouth-Saxons, a hundred and forty years later. It is easy, I think, to\noverrate the hostility of the early English to Christianity. Penda of\nMercia has the character of being murderously hostile; but it was land,\nnot creed, that he cared for. He was quite broad and undenominational in\nhis slaughters.\n\nAbout A. D. 545, a great plague raged at Soissons, and the people begged\nfor the return of their bishop. He went back to his old charge, and there\nis no suggestion that he ever left it again. This legend of a Bishop of\nSoissons coming to our island, may well have given rise to the tradition\nthat Bishop Luidhard, who certainly was living in the time of Bandaridus,\nhad been Bishop of Soissons. In any case, the incidental hint the story\ngives us of the skill of our neighbours on the continent in the\ncultivation of vegetables, even at that early time, makes the story worth\nreproduction. The Bishop of Soissons, at the time of which we are\nspeaking, was Droctigisilus (variously spelled, as might perhaps be\nexpected). Of him Gregory of Tours tells that he lost his senses through\nover-drinking. Gregory adds a moral reflection--if we can so describe\nit--which does not give us a very high idea of the practical Christianity\nof the times. It is this:--\"Though he was a voracious eater, and drank\nimmoderately, exceeding the bounds which priestly caution should impose,\nno one ever accused him of adultery[4].\" If we must choose a bishop of\nSoissons to be represented by Luidhard, we may fairly prefer the\nvegetable-gardener to the immoderate drinker.\n\nWe read, again, in fairly early times, that our first Christian bishop in\nEngland had been bishop of Senlis. The authors and compilers of _Gallia\nChristiana_ insert the name of Lethardus, or Letaldus, among the bishops\nof Senlis, quoting Sprot and Thorn. He was said to have come over with\nBertha as early as 566, and they insert him accordingly after a bishop who\nsubscribed at the third Council of Paris in 557. Jacques du Perron, bishop\nof Angoulême, almoner to Queen Henrietta Maria, took this view of his\npredecessor, the almoner of Queen Bertha, that he had been Bishop of\nSenlis. The parallel which he drew between the two cases of the first\nChristian queen and her almoner, and the first Romanist queen after the\nfinal rupture and her almoner, was much in point. \"Gaul it was that sent\nto the English their first Christian queen. The clergy of Gaul it was that\nsent them their first bishop, her almoner.\" But the sacramentary of\nSenlis, the calendar of commemorations, and the list of bishops, all are\nsilent as to this Bishop Lethardus. Let me note for future use that these\nplaces, Soissons and Senlis, were in Belgic Gaul, that part of the\ncontinent which was directly opposite to the south-eastern parts of\nBritain.\n\nI have said more about the diocese to which Luidhard may have belonged\nthan I think the question deserves. This is done out of respect to my\npredecessors in the enquiry. The idea that a bishop must have had a see is\nnatural enough to us, but is not according to knowledge. A hundred and\nfifty years later than this, there were so many wandering bishops in Gaul,\nthat a synod held in this very diocese of Soissons declared that wandering\nbishops must not ordain priests; but that if any priests thus ordained\nwere good priests, they should be reordained. And a great Council of all\nthe bishops of Gaul, held at Verneuil in 755, declared that wandering\nbishops, who had not dioceses, should be incapable of performing any\nfunction without permission of the diocesan bishop. There is no suggestion\nthat these were foreign bishops; and it was before the time when the\ninvasions of Ireland by the Danes drove into England and on to the\ncontinent a perfect plague of Irish ecclesiastics calling themselves\nbishops. I think it is on the whole fair to say that the more you study\nthe early history of episcopacy in these parts of Europe, the less need\nyou feel to find a see for Bishop Luidhard.\n\nThere is one very interesting fact, which deserves to be noted in\nconnection with this mysterious Gallican bishop. The Italian Mission paid\nvery special honour to his memory and his remains. There is in the first\nvolume of Dugdale's _Monasticon_[5] a copy of an ancient drawing of St.\nAugustine's, Canterbury. This is not, of course, the Cathedral Church,\nwhich was an old church of the British times restored by Augustine and\ndedicated to the Saviour; \"Christ Church\" it still remains. St.\nAugustine's was the church and monastery begun in Augustine's lifetime,\nand dedicated soon after his death to St. Peter and St. Paul, as Bede (i.\n33) and various documents tell us precisely. This fact, that the church\nwas dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, was represented last June, when\n\"the renewal of the dedication of England to St. Mary and St. Peter\" took\nplace[6], by the statement that \"the first great abbey church of\nCanterbury was dedicated to St. Peter.\" In the preparatory pastoral,\nsigned by Cardinal Vaughan and fourteen other Roman Catholic Bishops,\ndated May 20, 1893, the statement took this form[7]:--\"The second\nmonastery of Canterbury was dedicated to St. Peter himself.\" Not only is\nthat not so, but I cannot find evidence that Augustine dedicated any\nchurch anywhere \"to St. Peter himself.\" Of the two Apostles, St. Peter and\nSt. Paul, who were united in the earliest of all Saints' days, and still\nare so united in the Calendar of the Roman Church, though we have given to\nthem two separate days, of the two, if we must choose one of them, St.\nPaul, not St. Peter, was made by Augustine the Apostle of England. To St.\nPaul was dedicated the first church in England dedicated to either of the\ntwo \"himself,\" that is, alone; and that, too, this church, the first and\ncathedral church of the greater of the two places assigned by Gregory as\nthe two Metropolitical sees of England, London and York.\n\nThe \"dedication of England to St. Mary\" has a similar difficulty to face.\nThere is no evidence that Augustine assigned any dedication to the Blessed\nVirgin. The first church mentioned with that dedication was built by\nLaurentius and dedicated by Mellitus. But if twenty churches had been\ndedicated by Augustine to the Virgin and to St. Peter, England would have\nbeen the richer by twenty churches, and that would have been all.\n\nThe ancient drawing to which I am referring was made after 1325, when St.\nEthelbert was added to the Apostles Peter and Paul and St. Augustine in\nthe dedication of the high altar. It was copied for Sir William Dugdale's\npurposes in 1652, at which time it had passed into the safe hands of one\nof the Cambridge Colleges, Trinity Hall. The altar is shewn as deeply\nrecessed into a structural reredos. A large number of shrines are shewn,\nranged in semi-circles behind the reredos. On either side of the altar\nthere is a door, as in our reredos at St. Paul's. They are marked \"north\ndoor\" and \"south door,\" \"to the bodies of the saints.\" On the shrines,\nshewn in the apse to which these doors lead, are written the names of\nthose whose relics they contained, and the roll of names is illustrious.\nIn the centre, at the extreme east, is Augustine, with Laurentius and\nMellitus north and south of him: then, on the north, Justus, Deusdedit,\nMildred, Nothelm, and Lambert; on the south, Honorius, Theodore, Abbat\nHadrian, Berhtwald, and Tatwin. Besides these shrines in the apse, behind\nthe reredos, there is shewn immediately above the altar itself a\nprominent shrine, marked Scs. Ethelbertus, the relics of the first\nChristian king. Then, behind that, a number of books--manuscripts, of\ncourse--with a Latin description stating that they are \"books sent by\nGregory to Augustine\"--one or two of which are still in existence. Above\nthese, on either side of a great vesica enclosing a representation of our\nLord, are two shrines, one marked \"Relics,\" the other, which stands on the\nside of greater honour, is marked Scs. Letald(us). Thus the Canterbury\nmonks at St. Augustine's, the great treasure-house of early Canterbury\nsaints, put in the places of highest honour the relics of Bertha's husband\nand of Bertha's Gallican bishop. It is a pleasant thought in these days of\necclesiastical jealousies--and when were there days, before Christ or\nsince, without ecclesiastical jealousies?--it is a very pleasant thought\nthat the successors of Augustine paid such honour to Augustine's Gallican\nprecursor, whose work they might almost have been expected, considering\nthe temper of the times, to be inclined to ignore. The shrine with\nLuidhard's relics no doubt represents the golden chest in which--as we\nknow--they used to carry his relics round Canterbury on Rogation Days.\n\nIt is not easy, indeed it is not possible, to make sure of the dates\nconnected with Luidhard's work among the English at Canterbury--to give\nthem the general name of \"English.\" It is of some importance to make the\nattempt. The indications seem to me to point to a ministry of some\nconsiderable duration; but I am aware that among the many views expressed\nincidentally in the books, some names of great weight appear on the other\nside. When Ethelbert died in 616, Bede tells us that he had reigned\ngloriously for fifty-six years; that is, he began to reign in 560, a date\nearlier than that assigned by the Chronicle. Matthew of Westminster thinks\nBede and the rest were wrong. With the Chronicle, he puts Ethelbert's\naccession later, as late as 566; but he keeps to Bede's fifty-six years'\nreign, and so makes him die in 622, much too late. If, as is said[8], he\nwas born in 552, he was eight years old at his accession--rather an early\nage for an English sovereign in those times--and sixty-four at his death.\nHis wife Bertha, whose marriage dates the arrival of Luidhard, was the\ndaughter of Charibert, king of that part of the domains of his grandfather\nClovis which gave to its sovereign the title of King of Paris. Her mother\nwas Ingoberga; and if the statement of Gregory of Tours, that king\nCharibert married Ingoberga, is to be taken strictly, i.e. if he married\nher after his accession, Bertha was born about 561. But I much doubt\nwhether Charibert had time for all his many marital wickednesses in his\nshort reign, and I am inclined to think that he married a good deal\nearlier. He was the eldest son of his father Clotaire, who died in 561,\nand the known dates of Clovis make it probable that Charibert was of\nmarriageable age a good many years before he succeeded his father.\n\nSo far as these considerations go, Bertha may have been of much the same\nage as her husband Ethelbert, and their marriage may have taken place\nabout the year 575. I find nothing in the notices of Gregory of Tours\ninconsistent with this. Indeed, it may fairly be said that Gregory's facts\nindicate a date quite as early as that I have suggested. Ingoberga put\nherself under Gregory's own special charge. He describes her admirable\nmanner of life in her widowhood, passed in a religious life, without any\nhint that her daughter was with her; and when she died in 589, Gregory\nguessed her age at seventy.\n\nThe chief reason for assigning a later date to the marriage is that King\nEdwin of Northumbria married Ethelberga, Bertha's daughter, in 625. Edwin\nwas then a middle-aged widower, but that does not quite decide for us what\nsort of age he was likely to look for in a second wife. If Ethelberga was\nthirty when she married Edwin, Bertha would be about forty, or a little\nmore, when her daughter was born.\n\nThere is one argument in favour of Bertha's marriage having been long\nbefore the coming of Augustine, which has, I think, generally escaped\nnotice. In the letter which Gregory sent from Rome to Bertha,\ncongratulating her on the conversion of her husband, Gregory urges her,\nnow that, the time is fit, to repair what has been neglected; he remarks\nthat she ought some time ago, or long ago, to have bent her husband's mind\nin this direction; and he tells her that the Romans have earnestly prayed\nfor her life. All this, especially the \"some time ago,\" or \"long ago,\"\nlooks unlike a recent marriage. It is interesting to notice, in view of\nrecent assertions and claims, that Gregory does not make reference to St.\nPeter in this letter, as Boniface did in writing to Bertha's daughter. In\nhis letter to Ethelbert, Gregory remarks at the end that he is sending him\nsome small presents, which will not be small to him, as they come from the\nbenediction of the blessed Peter the Apostle. Boniface, his fifth\nsuccessor, considerably developed the Petrine position. Writing to Edwin\nof Northumbria, curiously enough while he was still a pagan, he says:--\"We\nhave sent to you a benediction of your protector the blessed Peter, prince\nof the Apostles, that is to say, a chemise embroidered with gold, and a\ngarment of Ancyra.\" Probably Boniface did not know how nearly related the\nGalatian workers of the garment of Ancyra were to the Gallo-Britons whom\nEdwin's ancestors had expelled. And his letter to Ethelberga ended in the\nsame way:--\"We have sent to you a blessing of your protector the blessed\nPeter, prince of the Apostles, that is to say, a silver mirror and an\nivory comb inlaid with gold.\" It is a significant note on this difference\nof language, that in the ordinary lists, where a distinction, more or less\narbitrary, is made between bishops and popes, the break comes between\nGregory and Boniface.\n\nOn the whole, then, I believe that Ethelbert and Bertha had been married\nmany years when Augustine came, and, by consequence, that Luidhard had\nbeen living among the English many years. Though his work was in the end\nbarren, there had been times when it was distinctly promising. His\nexperiment had so far succeeded, that only more help was wanted to bring\nthe heathen people to Christ. That help he had sought; perhaps especially\nwhen he felt old age coming upon him. Gregory distinctly states, in more\nthan one of his letters, that the English people were very ready, were\ndesirous, to be converted, and that applications for missionary help had\nbeen made, but made in vain, to the neighbouring priests. The tone and\naddress of the letters imply that this meant the clergy of the\nneighbouring parts of Gaul. There certainly would be no response if they\napplied to the very nearest part they could reach by the ordinary route,\nnamely, their landing-place, Boulogne. We Londoners are accustomed to say,\nno doubt with due contrition, but at the same time with some lurking sense\nof consequence, as having been actors in a striking episode, that after a\nfew years of Christianity we went off into paganism again in a not\nundramatic manner, and from 616 to 654 repudiated Christianity. This fact\nis indicated by an eloquent void on our alabaster tablets of bishops of\nLondon in the south aisle of this church. At the time of which I am\nspeaking, 594 or thereabouts, the Gauls of Boulogne were having the\nexperience which the English of London were so soon to have. In London we\nturned out our first Italian bishop, our first bishop, that is, of the\nsecond series of bishops of London, after the restoration of Christianity\non this site. In Boulogne and Terouenne, where the first bishop they ever\nhad was sent to them after the year 500, they relapsed into paganism in\nabout fifty years' time, and in 594 they had been pagans for many years.\nPagans they remained till 630, when Dagobert got St. Omer to win them\nback. St. Omer died in 667, the year after Cedd died, who won us back. It\nis clear, then, that the appeals from the English to the Gauls for\nconversion, at any date consistent with the facts, must have gone beyond\nBoulogne.\n\nIt has been thought that the appeal was made to the British priests, who\nhad retired to the mountainous parts of the island, beyond the reach of\nthe slaying Saxon; but there would be no point in Gregory's remarks to his\nGallican correspondents if that were so. And how Gregory was to know that\nappeals had been made by the English to the Britons for instruction in\nChristianity, appeals most improbable from the nature of the case, no one\ncan say. On the other hand, he was distinctly in a position to know of\nsuch application to the Gauls, for his presbyter Candidus had gone to\nGaul, and there was to purchase some pagan English boys of seventeen or\neighteen to be brought up in monasteries. This had taken place a very\nshort time before the mission set out, as is clear from Gregory's letter\nto the Patrician of Gaul.\n\nThe facts suggest that Luidhard was now quite an old man, and had failed\nto get any Gallican bishop to take up the work he could no longer carry\non. And accordingly, tradition makes him die a month or two after\nAugustine's arrival. If we look to the language of Bede, we shall see, I\nthink, that Luidhard had become incapable of carrying on his work when\nAugustine and his companions arrived. For they at once entered upon the\nuse of his church. \"There was on the east side of the city a church\nerected of old in honour of St. Martin[9], when the Romans were still\ninhabiting Britain, where the queen used to pray. In this church they met\nat first, to sing, pray, celebrate masses, preach, and baptise; till the\nking, on his conversion, gave them larger licence, to preach anywhere, and\nto build and restore churches.\"\n\nNow, quite apart from Luidhard's long and faithful work, we have seen that\nthere was in Canterbury the fabric of a Christian church remaining from\nthe time before the English came; and that there was in Canterbury the\nfabric of another church, out of which they made their Cathedral church.\n\nThere was a church in existence at Canterbury when our bishop Mellitus was\narchbishop there, between 619 and 624, dedicated to the Four Crowned\nMartyrs of Diocletian's persecution, the Quattro Santi Incoronati, whose\nchurch is one of the most interesting in Rome. But this Canterbury church\nmay have been built by the Italians.\n\nAgain, there is very unmistakable and interesting Roman work at St.\nPancras, in Canterbury; and this was, according to tradition, the temple\nwhich Ethelbert had appropriated for the worship of his idols, and now\ngave for Christian purposes. The tradition further says that it had once\nbeen a Christian church, before the pagan English came; and the remains of\nthe Roman building still visible are believed to point in that direction.\nThe church of St. Pancras at Rome was built about 500. In connection with\nthis idea of a pagan temple being used by the Christian clergy for a\nchurch, we may remember that the Pantheon at Rome was turned into a church\nseven or eight years after this, the dedication being changed from \"all\nthe Gods\" to \"St. Mary of the Martyrs,\" and this was the origin of the\nFestival of All Saints[10]. Bede adds an important fact, that Ethelbert\ngave the Italians a general licence to restore churches.\n\nHow did it come about that when the Italians came to heathen England, they\nfound here these remains of Christian churches, needing only repair? Who\nbuilt them? Was it an accidental colony of Christians, that had been\nsettled in Canterbury, or had there been what we may call a British\nChurch, a Christian church in Britain, long before the Saxons came, longer\nstill by far before the Italians? The answer to those questions is not a\nshort or a simple one, when we once get beyond the bare \"yes\" and \"no.\"\nMany other questions rise up on all sides, when we are looking for an\nanswer to the original questions. It is my aim to take those who care to\ncome with me over some parts of the field of inquiry; rather courting than\navoiding incidental illustrations and digressions; for I think that in\nthat informal way we pick up a good deal of interesting information, and\nget perhaps to feel more at home in a period than by pursuing a more\nformal and stilted course. Indeed a good deal of what I have said already\nhas evidently been said with that object.\n\nThe first question I propose for our consideration is this:--Who were the\npeople who built the churches? It is not a very explanatory answer, to\nsay \"The Britons.\" There is a good deal left to the imagination in that\nanswer, with most of us. With the help of the best qualified students, but\nwithout any hope that we could harmonise all the diverse views if we went\nfar into detail, let us look into the matter a little. It may be well for\nall of us to remember in this enquiry that our foundations are not very\nsolid; we are on thin ice. Nor is the way very smooth; it is easy to trip.\n\nWe need not go back to the time of the cavemen, interesting and indeed\nartistic as the evidence of their remains shews them to have been. Their\nreign was over before Britain became an island, before a channel separated\nit from the continent. It is enough for our present purpose to realise,\nthat when the great geological changes had taken place which produced\nsomething like the present geographical arrangements, but still in\nprehistoric times, times long before the beginning of history so far as\nthese islands are concerned, our islands were occupied by a race which\nexisted also in the north-west and extreme west of Europe. Herodotus knew\nnothing of the existence of our islands; but he tells us that in his time\nthe people furthest to the west, nearer to the setting sun than even the\nCeltae, were called Kynesii, or Kynetes. Archaeological investigations\nshew that, though he did not know it, his statement covered our islands.\nThe people of whom he wrote were certainly here as well as on the western\nparts of the continent. As some of us may have some of their blood in our\nveins, we may leave others to discuss the question whether the names\nKynesii, Kynetes, mean \"dog-men,\" and if so, what that implies. St. Jerome\nin the course of his travels, say about 370 years after Christ, saw a body\nof savage soldiers in the Roman army, brought from a part of what is now\nScotland--if an Englishman dare say such a thing; they were fed, he tells\nus, on human flesh. The locality from which they came indicates that they\nwere possibly representatives of these earlier \"dog-men,\" if that is the\nmeaning of Kynetes. Secular historians, long before Jerome, have an\nuncomfortable way of saying that the inhabitants of the interior of\nBritain were cannibals, and their matrimonial arrangements resembled those\nof herds of cattle. As we in London had relations with the centre of the\ncountry, we may argue--and I think rightly--that by \"the interior\" the\nhistorians did not mean what we call the Midlands, but meant the parts\nfurthest removed from the ports of access in the south-east, that is, the\nfar west and the far north.\n\nNext, and again before the history of our islands begins, an immigration\nof Celts[11] took place, a people belonging--unlike the earlier race of\nwhom I have spoken--to the same Indo-European family of nations to which\nthe Latins, and the Teutons, and the Greeks, and the speakers of Sanskrit,\nbelonged. Of their various cousin-nations, these Celts were nearest in\nlanguage to the Latins, we are told, and, after the Latins, to the\nTeutons. They came to this island, it is understood, from the country\nwhich we call France.\n\nThirdly, the Gauls, who on the continent had both that name and the name\nof the older Celts[12], and must be regarded as the dominant sub-division\nof their race, impelled in their turn by pressure from the south and east,\ncame over into these islands, and here were called Britons[13]. They\nsqueezed out the earlier occupants from most part of the larger island,\ndriving them north and west and south-west, as the Celtic inhabitants\nlong before had driven the earlier race. When the Romans came, fifty years\nbefore Christ, these Britons occupied the land practically from the south\ncoast to the further side of the Firth of Forth. There had been for some\ntime before Caesar's arrival a steady inflow of Belgic Gauls, people from\nthe eastward parts of what we call France; and these people, the most\nrecent comers among the Britons, were found chiefly on the coasts, but in\nparts had extended to considerable distances inland. The Celts, to\ndistinguish the preceding immigrants by that name, though in fact it does\nnot properly convey the distinction, occupied Devon and Cornwall, South\nWales, the north-west corner of North Wales, Cumberland, and the\nsouth-west of what we now call Scotland, that is, Wigton, Kirkcudbright,\nDumfries, and part of Ayr. They occupied also a belt of Caledonia north of\nStirling. They occupied at least the eastern parts of Ireland. Anglesey\nand Man were in their hands. The parts of Scotland north of Perthshire and\nForfar may be regarded as the principal refuge of the remnant of the\npeople whom we have described as the earlier race, before the Celts; and\nthere were traces of them left in almost all the parts occupied by their\nimmediate successors the Celts. The name by which we ought probably to\ncall these latter, the Celts, in whatever part of the islands they might\nbe, has been familiarly used in a sense so limited that it might cause\nconfusion to use it now in its larger sense. I mean Gael, and Gaelic.\n\nNow we gather from the records that before the Jutes and the Angles and\nthe Saxons came, and in their turn drove the Britons north and west, the\nreligion of Christ had spread to all parts of the territory occupied by\nthe Britons, that is, to the towns in all parts. It may very well have\nbeen that in the country parts there were many pagans left even to the\nlast, perhaps in towns too. Putting the commencement of the driving out of\nthe Britons at about the year 450 after Christ, we know that less than a\nhundred years before that time the pagans were so numerous in Gaul, that\nwhen Martin became Bishop of Tours, the pagans were everywhere, and to\nwork for their conversion would have been sufficient work for him. As for\nthe towns in Gaul, Hilary, the Bishop of Poitiers, was a leading official\nin that town, and only became a Christian in the year 350, when he was\nabout thirty-five years of age. Martin of Tours, too, was born a heathen.\nWe may be sure that in Britain, so remote from the centres of influence,\nand so inaccessible by reason of its insular position, that state of\nthings continued to prevail a good deal longer than in the civilised parts\nof Gaul. We must not credit our British predecessors with anything like a\nuniversal knowledge and acceptance of Christianity.\n\nIt is not necessary to dwell on the familiar fact of the intermixture of\nthe Romans and the Britons. In the more important towns there was much\nblending of the two races, and the luxurious arts of Rome produced their\neffect in softening the British spirit. The Briton gave up more than he\ngained in the mixed marriages, and it seems clear that the Romano-Britons\nwho were left to face the barbarous Picts and Scots, and the hardy Angles\nand Saxons, were by comparison an enervated race. In the parts further\nremote from commercial and municipal centres, and from the military lines,\nit is probable that the invaders found much tougher work. It is only fair\nto the later Romano-Britons, to remember that all the flower of the youth\nof Britain had been carried away by one general and emperor after another,\nto fight the battles of Rome, or to support the claims of a usurper of the\nimperial purple, in Gaul and Spain and Italy; and when the imperial\ntroops were finally withdrawn, the older men and the less hardy of the\nyouths of Britain were left to cope with enemies who had baffled the Roman\narms.\n\nSo much for the Britons. As for the Celts, we have sufficient evidence\nthat the message of Christ was taken to them and welcomed by them in the\nlater parts of the period ending with 450. During the years of the\nstruggle between the Britons and their Teutonic invaders, say from 450 to\n590, this Christianising went on among the Celts. About the end of that\nperiod it reached even to the furthest parts of the north, the parts\nwhich, in the early times of the Roman occupation, were probably held by\ndescendants of the earlier race, and it more or less covered Ireland.\n\nThus the knowledge of the Christian faith had, before the English came,\nextended over the whole of that part of this island which the English\ninvaders in their furthest reach ever occupied. It had covered--and it\ncontinued to cover, and has never ceased to cover--very much that they\nnever even touched. To convert the early English to Christ, which was the\ntask undertaken by Augustine, a very small part of it being accomplished\nby him or his mission from first to last, was to restore Christianity to\nthose parts from which the English had driven it out. It was to remove\nthe barrier of heathendom which the English invaders had formed between\nthe Church universal and the Celtic and British church or churches. It\nproved in the end that the undertaking was much beyond the powers of the\nItalian missionaries; and then the earlier church stepped in from its\nconfines in the West and did the work. It was so that the great English\nprovince of Northumbria--meaning vastly more than Northumberland, even all\nthe land from Humber to Forth--was evangelized. It was so that the great\nEnglish province of Mercia--the whole of the middle of the\nisland--received the message of Christ. It was so that Christianity was\ngiven back to Essex and to us in London, by the labours of our Bishop\nCedd, consecrated, as the crown of his long and faithful labours among our\nheathen predecessors, by the Celtic Bishop Finan of Lindisfarne. Cedd is\nan admirable example of the careful methods of the Celtic Church. He was\nnot a Celt himself, he was an Angle. When the English branch of the Celtic\nChurch, settled at Lindisfarne and evangelizing Northumbria, had succeeded\nin converting the son of the Mercian king, they sent him four priests as\nmissionaries to his people, a people who were in large part Angles. Of\nthese four priests, trained and sent by the Celtic Church for the\nconversion of the English, only one was a Celt; the other three, including\nCedd, were themselves Angles. To send Anglian priests to convert Anglian\npeople was indeed a wise and broad policy; and it was, as it deserved to\nbe, eminently successful. It is a striking contradiction of the prevalent\nidea that the Celtic Church was isolated, narrow, bigoted; unable and\nunwilling to work with any but those of its own blood.\n\nThere are, then, these two main divisions before us, of the people who\noccupied these islands when the Romans came, and still occupied them when\nthe English came, the Britons and the Celts[14]. We are not to suppose\nthat this is nothing more than a mere dead piece of archaeology. It is a\nvery living fact. A large proportion of those who are here to-day have\nto-day--possibly some of them not knowing it--kept alive the distinction\nbetween Briton and Celt. Every one who has spoken the name Mackenzie, or\nMacpherson, or any other Mac, has used the Celtic speech in its most\ncharacteristic feature. Every one who has spoken the name Price, that is,\nap Rhys, or any other name formed with ap[15], has taken the Briton's side\non this characteristic point. When you speak of Pen(maen)maur and the king\nMalcolm Ceanmor you are saying the same words; but in Penmaenmaur you take\nthe Briton's side, in speaking of Ceanmor you take the Celt's. You will\nnot find a better example than that which we owe to our dear Bede. The\nwall of Antonine abuts on the river Forth at Kinnell, a name which does\nnot seem to have much to do with the end of a wall. But Bede tells us that\nthe Picts of his day called it Penfahel, that is, head of the wall,\n\"fahel\" being only \"wall\" pronounced as some of our northern neighbours\nwould pronounce it, the interesting people who say \"fat\" for \"what.\" He\nadds that the English, his own people, called it Penel, cutting the\nPenfahel short. The Britons called it Penguaul. The modern name Kinnell is\nthe Celtic form of Penel.\n\nThose being the people, and that the extent to which Christianity had in\nthe end spread among them, how did Christianity find its way here?\n\nThe various suggestions that have from time to time been made, in the\ncourse of the early centuries, as to the introduction of Christianity to\nthis island, were collected and commented on in a searching manner\ntwenty-five years ago by two men of great learning and judgement. One of\nthem was taken away from historical investigations, and from his canonry\nof St. Paul's, to the laborious and absorbing work of a bishop. The other\nwas lost to historical study by death. I need scarcely name Dr. Stubbs and\nMr. Haddan. Their work has made darkness almost light.\n\nWe cannot wonder that the marvellous apostolic journeys and missionary\nwork of St. Paul so vividly impressed the minds of the early Christian\nwriters, that they attributed to him even more than he actually performed.\nClement of Rome, of whom I suppose the great majority of students of the\nScripture and of Church History believe that he actually knew St. Paul,\nsays that Paul preached both in the West and in the East, and taught the\nwhole world, even to the limits of the West. Chrysostom says that from\nIllyricum Paul went to the very ends of the earth. These are the strongest\nstatements which can be advanced by those who think that St. Paul himself\nmay have visited Britain. He may have reached Spain. There does not\nappear to be any evidence that he ever reached Gaul; still less Britain.\nOne of the Greek historians, Eusebius, writing about 315, appears to say\nthat Britain was Christianised by some of the disciples; and another,\nTheodoret, about 423, names the Britons among those who were persuaded to\nreceive the laws of the Crucified, by \"our fishermen and publicans.\" This\nis evidence, and very interesting evidence, of the general belief that\nBritain was Christianised early in the history of Christianity, but it\npractically amounts to nothing more definite than that[16].\n\nBut a very curious connection may be made out, between the Britons and the\ngreat apostle of the Gentiles.\n\nIn speaking of the relations, real or fairly imaginable, between Soissons\nor Senlis and the English in the parts of the island which lie opposite to\nthat part of Gaul, I asked you to note that this was Belgic Gaul. We have\nseen that for some time before Julius Caesar's invasion a change had been\ngoing on in the population of those parts of Britain to which I now refer.\nThe Belgae had been crossing the narrow sea and settling here, presumably\ndriving away the inhabitants whom they found. They so specially occupied\nthe parts where now Hampshire is, that the capital city, Went, was named\nfrom them by the Latins Venta Belgarum, Belgian Venta; to return in later\ntimes to its old name of Caer Went, this is, Went Castle, Winchester.\nIndeed, the Belgae are credited with the occupation of territory up to the\nborders of Devon. The British tribe of the Atrebates, again, were the\nsame people as the Gauls in the district of Arras; and they occupied a\nlarge tract of country stretching away from the immediate west of London.\nCaesar remarks on this fact that the immigrant Gauls retained the names of\ntheir continental districts and cities. The Parisii on the east coast,\nnorth of the Humber, afford another illustration.\n\nNow when Jerome, about the year 367, was at Trèves, the capital of Gaul,\nsituate in Belgic Gaul, he learned the native tongue of the Belgic Gauls;\nand when later in his life he travelled through Galatia, in Asia Minor, he\nfound the people there speaking practically the same language as the Gauls\nabout Trèves. Thus we are entitled to claim the Galatians as of kin to the\nBelgic division of the Gauls, and therefore as the same people with those\nwho from before Caesar's time flowed steadily over from Belgic Gaul to\nBritain. That the Galatians were Gauls is of course a well-known fact in\nhistory; the point I wish to note is that they were Belgic Gauls. We may\ntherefore see in St. Paul's epistle to the Galatian churches a description\nof the national character of the Britons of these parts of the island.\nFickleness, superstition, and quarrelsomeness, are the characteristics on\nwhich he remarks. The very first words of the Epistle, after the preface,\nstrike a clear and forcible note:--\"I marvel that ye are so quickly moved\nto abandon the gospel of him that called you, for another gospel.\" Again,\n\"O foolish Galatians, who hath bewitched you!\" \"Ye were in bondage to them\nwhich are by nature no gods;... how turn ye back again to the weak and\nbeggarly rudiments, whereunto ye desire to be in bondage over again!\" \"If\nye bite and devour one another.\" Without at all saying that these national\ncharacteristics are traceable in any parts of our islands now, it is\nevident that they are in close accord with what we hear of the early\ninhabitants. As also is another remark made in early times, \"the Gauls\nbegin their fights with more than the strength of men, they finish them\nwith less than the strength of women.\"\n\nThe line taken by a recent writer, Professor W. M. Ramsay, in his most\ninteresting and able book, \"The Church in the Roman Empire,\" traverses\nthis argument about the Galatian Epistle. In opposition to the great\ndivine who for eight years spoke from this pulpit, and made this Epistle a\nspecial study for a great part of his life, Professor Ramsay maintains, by\narguments drawn from geographical and epigraphical facts not known thirty\nyears ago, when Dr. Lightfoot first wrote, that the Epistle was addressed\nto the people in the southern part of the Roman province called Galatia,\nwho were not Galatians at all; and was not addressed to those in the\nnorthern part, who were Galatians proper, and occupied the whole of the\ncountry named from them Galatia. But I use the illustration,\nnotwithstanding this. The controversy is not quite ended yet; and I do not\nfeel sure that the difficulties of the Epistle itself, from Professor\nRamsay's point of view, are very much less considerable than those which\nDr. Lightfoot's view undoubtedly has to face. In any case the Galatians\nproper were of close kin with the more civilised of our British\npredecessors--ancestors we may perhaps say--and this at least gives us a\npersonal interest in what at first sight would seem to be a very far-off\ncontroversy.\n\nThe tradition which used to find most favour was that Joseph of Arimathea\ncame over with twelve companions, and received from a British king in the\nsouth-west a portion of land for each of his companions, and founded the\necclesiastical establishment of Glastonbury. There is certainly some very\nancient history connected with the \"twelve hides\" of Glastonbury. Go as\nfar back as we will in the records, we never come to the beginning of the\n\"xii. hidæ.\" The Domesday Survey tells us, eight hundred years ago, that\nthe twelve hides \"never have been taxed.\" Clearly they take us back to\nsome very early donation; and I see no reason--beyond the obvious\ndifficulty of its geographical remoteness--against the tradition that here\nwas the earliest Christian establishment in Britain. At the Council of\nBasle, in 1431, when the Western Church was holding councils with a view\nto reforming from within the enormous abuses of the Roman Court, a prelude\nto the \"Reformation\" into which we were driven a hundred years later, the\nprecedence of churches was determined by the date of their foundation. The\nEnglish Church claimed and received precedence as founded in Apostolic\ntimes by Joseph of Arimathea. Those were not very critical days, so far as\nhistorical evidence was concerned, and I should not have mentioned this\nlegend, or should only have mentioned it and passed on, but for a recent\nillustration of a part of the story. The more we look into early local\nlegends, the more disinclined we become to say that there is nothing\nsubstantial in them. The story has from early times gone, that the first\nBritish Christians erected at Glastonbury a church made of twigs, of\nwattle-work. This wattle church survived the violent changes which swept\nover the face of the land. Indeed, it is said, and with so much of\nprobability that Mr. Freeman was willing to accept it as a fact, that\nGlastonbury was the one place outside the fastnesses to which the British\nChristians fled, where Christian worship was not interrupted when the\nEnglish came. This wattle church survived till after the Norman invasion,\nwhen it was burned by accident[17]. Wattle-work is a very perishable\nmaterial; and of all things of the kind the least likely would seem to be,\nthat we, in this nineteenth century, should, in confirmation of the story,\ndiscover at Glastonbury an almost endless amount of British wattle-work.\nYet that is exactly what has happened. In the low ground, now occupying\nthe place of the impenetrable marshes which gave the name of the Isle of\nAvalon to the higher ground, the eye of a local antiquary had long marked\na mass of dome-shaped hillocks, some of them of very considerable\ndiameter, and about seventy in number, clustered together in what is now\na large field, a mile and a quarter from Glastonbury. The year before\nlast he began to dig. Peat had formed itself in the long course of time,\nand its preservative qualities had kept safe for our eyes that which it\nenclosed and covered. The hillocks proved to be the remains of British\nhouses burned with fire. They were set on ground made solid in the midst\nof waters, with causeways for approach from the land. The faces of the\nsolid ground and the sides of the causeways are revetted with wattle-work.\nThere is wattle-work all over, strong and very well made. It clearly was\nthe main stand-by of the Britons, whose fortress this was, and their skill\nin making it and applying it was great. The wattle when first uncovered is\nas good to all appearance as the day it was made. The huts are oval and\ncircular, and some are of large dimensions. The largest of all are not yet\nopened, but already a hut covering about 450 square feet has been found.\nAll have a circular area of white stones in the middle, carried from far,\nfor a hearth, &c., and all have been destroyed by fire. But though the\nfire has destroyed the huts completely, it has preserved for us the\naccount of the material of which they were made, as clearly as if it were\ninscribed on the brick cylinders of an Assyrian king. It has baked the\nclay with which the huts were covered, and the baked clay shews the\nimpress of wattle-work. The houses of the Britons at Glastonbury were, as\na matter of fact, as long tradition tells us their church was, made of\nwattles[18].\n\nJulius Caesar speaks more than once of the skill of the British in this\nrespect. He tells us of the plaiting together of the branches of growing\ntrees to form barriers in the woods, which his soldiers found unpleasantly\neffective. We read also of the wattle-work erections of various shapes in\nwhich human victims were enclosed to be burned. And, from a more peaceful\nside, we learn that the tables of ladies in Rome were not completely in\nthe fashion if they had no examples of British baskets. \"Basket,\" as you\nknow, is one of the best examples of the survival of a British word among\nus, a word used also by the Romans[19], their word _bascauda_ and our\n\"basket\" representing the Welsh _basgawd_ and _basget_.\n\nThere is abundance of evidence of the interest taken by the Romans in\nBritain and its people, and of the esteem in which Britons were held at\nRome. Martial, who settled in Rome in the year A. D. 66, perhaps one year\nor two years before St. Paul's death, speaks of a British lady in Rome,\nClaudia, the newly-married wife of Pudens. Of her he says[20], in terms as\nhe believed of the highest personal praise--\n\n  Though Claudia from the sea-green Britons came,\n  She wears the aspect of a Roman dame.\n\nAnd, again, he mentions, not without pride, that he was read in Britain:\n'Britain, too, is said to sing my verse.' It is a little difficult to\nresist the tendency to see in this Pudens and Claudia the Pudens and\nClaudia of the last sentence before the final blessing in the last letter\nof St. Paul, where their names are linked together by that of Linus, the\nfirst Bishop of Rome. We are told, however, that the severe historian\nought to resist this tendency of the natural man.\n\nAgain, Seneca, the brother of Gallio, whom we meet in the Acts, had a\ngreat deal of money invested in Britain. Juvenal brings a British king\ninto his verse, and Richborough oysters. Josephus[21] tells us that Titus\nmade use of the Britons, as a telling illustration in his final speech to\nthe desperate Jews:--\"Pray what greater obstacle is there than the wall of\nthe Ocean, with which the Britons are encompassed? And yet they bow before\nthe arms of the Romans.\"\n\nThose are probably sufficient indications of the kind of evidence we have.\nWe know, too, that the Roman troops came and went; and we may be sure that\nthey made Britain and the strange things they had seen here a frequent\nsubject of conversation. We cannot doubt that St. Paul, in his enforced\nintercourse with the soldiery at Rome, learned all he could about the\ndistant parts of the world, which only the Roman armies had visited. Nay,\nwe in London may go further than that. Seeing that Nero recalled from\nBritain the victorious Suetonius in 61, and that St. Paul lived with Roman\nsoldiers in all probability from 61 to 63, we may imagine that some\nsoldier or other described to St. Paul that terrible day on which\nSuetonius made up his mind that he must leave London to its fate. You\nremember the account of Tacitus[22], so telling in its studied brevity. It\nis, I think, the first definite appearance of London on the stage of\nhistory. The occasion was the revolt of Boadicea, to retain the familiar\nincorrectness of the name. Colchester had fallen, all the Romans there\nbeing slaughtered. The ninth legion had been attacked and routed by the\nBritons, and all the infantry killed. Many a gallant fight no doubt in the\nthick woods, like that which Wilson and his comrades fought last\nmonth[23]. The governor of the province fled to Gaul. Verulam fell, with\ngreat slaughter. There was no taking captive, no selling into slavery. The\nBritons made sure work; they burned, they tortured, they crucified. One\nman of the Romans kept his head, or all would have been massacred. With a\nconstancy which made men marvel, Suetonius marched through the midst of\nfoes to the relief of London--London not then illustrious as a colony, but\nmore famous than any other city in the land for the number of its\nmerchants and the abundance of its merchandise. Should he make London his\ncentre of defence? He looked at the small number of his soldiers: he\nthought of the destruction of the ninth legion. He determined to leave\nLondon to its fate. Tears and prayers could not move him. He gave the\nsignal to march. Those of the citizens who accompanied him his soldiers\nprotected. All who remained behind, unable or unwilling to leave their\nhomes, all were overwhelmed in one great slaughter. The Romans calculated\nthat at Colchester, Verulam, and London, from seventy to eighty thousand\nof Romans and their allies were slain by the enraged Britons[24]. We may\nimagine how St. Paul would listen to that tale of woe, then quite fresh,\nthe most tragic event of the time; and how he would long for an\nopportunity of softening the disposition of the Britons by the gentle\ndoctrines of Christ.\n\nTo no such source as that, however, are we to look for the beginnings of\nthe faith among us. There is no sign of any one great effort, by any one\ngreat man, to introduce Christianity into our land. It came, we cannot\ndoubt, in the natural way, simply and quietly, through the nearest\ncontinental neighbours of the Britons and their nearest kinsfolk, the\npeople of Gaul. That will form the main subject of my next lecture.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE II.\n\n     Early mentions of Christianity in Britain.--King Lucius.--Origin and\n     spread of Christianity in Gaul.--British Bishops at\n     Councils.--Pelagianism.--British Bishops of London.--Fastidius.\n\n\nWe are to consider this evening the Christian Church in Britain, from the\nearliest times at which we have any definite notice of it, to the time of\nits expulsion from what had become England. It may be well to take notice\nfirst of one or two statements of early writers about the existence of\nChristianity here, at dates precisely known.\n\nTertullian, writing in or about the year 208, at a time when a revolt\nagainst Severus in the north of this island gave special point to his\nremark, thus describes the wide spread of the Gospel. \"In all parts of\nSpain, among the various nations of Gaul, in districts of Britain\ninaccessible to the Romans but subdued to Christ, in all these the kingdom\nand name of Christ are venerated.\" Origen, in 239, speaking of\npolytheism, asks, \"When, before the coming of Christ, did the land of\nBritain hold the belief in the one God?\" And again:--\"The power of the\nSaviour is felt even among those who are divided from our world, in\nBritain.\" At the same time Origen gives us a timely warning against taking\nhis remarks to mean anything like the complete Christianisation of the\nisland; he tells us that among the Britons, and six other nations whom he\nnames, \"very many have not yet heard the word of the Gospel.\"\n\nThe Greek historian Sozomen speaks of Constantine living in Gaul and\nBritain, and there, as, he says, was universally admitted, becoming a\nChristian. Both Eusebius, writing about 320, and Sozomen, about 443, tell\nof an experiment made in the palace by Constantine's father Constantius,\nwhen he governed Gaul and Britain, which shews the spread of the gospel\nand the high places it had by that time reached. It has this special\ninterest for Britain, that York was one of the two cities at one of which\nit must have taken place, Trèves being the other; for those were the two\ncapitals and seats of government of the whole province of the Gauls, the\none for the continental the other for the insular department of the\nprovince. A persecution of the Christians was ordered by his three\ncolleagues in the empire, about the year 303. Constantius, though not\nhimself a Christian, did not allow much severity in his own government; a\ncontemporary writer, Lactantius, declares that from east to west three\nsavage beasts raged; everywhere but in the Gauls, that is, Gaul and\nBritain. The experiment was this. He told the officers of his court, who\nare spoken of as if all were Christians, though he himself was not, that\nthose of them who would sacrifice to demons should remain with him and\nenjoy their honours: those who would not, should be banished from his\npresence. He gave them time to think the matter over. They came to him\nagain, each with his mind made up; and some said they would sacrifice, and\nsome said they would not. When all had declared their intention, he told\nthose who would sacrifice, that if they were ready to be false to their\nGod, he did not see how he could trust them to be true to him. To the\nothers he said that such worthy servants of their God would be faithful to\ntheir king too. The story reminds us of the sturdy old pagan king of\nMercia, Penda, who said he was quite willing that the Lindisfarne\nmissionaries should convert his people to Christianity, if they could;\nbut he gave full warning that he would not have people calling themselves\nChristians and not living up to their high profession.\n\nThis story of Constantius, the father of Constantine, which I prefer to\nplace at York, the favourite residence of Constantius, introduces us of\ncourse to the one well-known result of the persecution, so far as Britain\nwas concerned, the death of Alban at Verulam, about 305. When you go to\nSt. Albans, you see the local truth of the traditional details. Standing\non the narrow bridge across the little stream, you realise the blocking of\nthe bridge by the crowd of spectators nearly 1,600 years ago: and you can\nsee Alban, in his eagerness to win his martyr's crown, pushing his way\nthrough the shallow water, rather than be delayed by the crowd on the\nbridge. There is an interesting coincidence, in connection with the story\nof St. Alban, which I have not seen noticed. The Gauls of Galatia, as we\nhave seen, were of kin to the Britons; and while the Britons were being\nalmost entirely saved from harm by Constantius, their Galatian cousins\nwere passing through a very fiery trial. The persecution of Diocletian\nraged furiously in Galatia. As St. Alban is, I believe, the earliest\nexample of a name attached to a Christian site in this island, so the\nearliest existing church in Ancyra, the capital of Gaulish Galatia, owes\nits name to St. Clement, the martyr bishop of Ancyra, St. Alban's\ncontemporary in martyrdom.\n\nIt is unnecessary to say more on the evidence of Christianity in our\nisland at least from 200 onwards. But, as I have said before, there is an\nentire dearth of information as to any special introduction of the new\nfaith. It came. It grew. How it came; who planted it; who watered it; all\nis blank.\n\nYou are, of course, familiar with the story that Lucius, a British king,\nrequested Eleutherus, or Eleutherius, Bishop of Rome 171 to 185, to send\nsome one to teach his people Christianity, of which he had himself some\nknowledge. The documents which profess to be the letters connected with\nthis request are unskilful forgeries. A note is appended to the name of\nEleutherus in the _Catalogue of Roman Pontiffs_ to the effect that \"he\nreceived a letter from Lucius, a British king, requesting that he might be\nmade a Christian.\" But this is a later addition, for it does not exist in\nthe earlier catalogue, which was itself written nearly 200 years after the\nsupposed event. It is an addition of the kind of which we have, alas! so\nmany examples at Rome and elsewhere, but especially and above all at Rome:\na statement inserted in later times for the sake of magnifying the claims\nto ecclesiastical authority, and affording evidence, in an uncritical age,\nof their recognition by former generations. The credit of this fallacious\ninsertion has rather unkindly, but perhaps not unjustly, been assigned to\nProsper of Aquitaine, of whom we shall hear again[25]. It is quite in his\nstyle.\n\nIt is natural to say, and many of us no doubt have said it, that there is\nno improbability in the statement that such an application was made. I\nused to think so, but each further investigation makes the improbability\nseem more real. Neither if we look to the Church of Rome, at the time, nor\nif we look to the state of Gaul, shall we find encouragement for a story,\nwhich in itself it would be very pleasant to believe of our British\npredecessors. It might be thought not unlikely that some Christian,\nescaping from the terrible persecutions just then enacted at Lyons and\nVienne, had fled northwards through lands all pagan, and had reached pagan\nBritain. But if that were so, he would scarcely tell Lucius to send to\nRome. There were Christians in Southern Gaul: send to them. The man's\nallegiance to a centre would be to Asia Minor, not to Rome. The Bishops of\nRome, too, were not particularly strong men in early times, nor men of\nmuch distinction. The really great men were in the East; were in Africa;\nanywhere but Rome. The secular world was still ruled from the pagan city\nof Rome; but ecclesiastical Rome was not in a large way as yet: it did not\nas yet live up to its natural position. Rome was marked out by its supreme\nsecular position to be the centre of the Western Church; and it had,\nbesides, the great ecclesiastical claim of its origin. It was the most\nancient of the Churches of the West. It alone could stand the test, stated\nso convincingly by Tertullian, of Apostolical foundation; for it, and it\nalone in the West, had a letter that could be read in its churches from\nthe Apostle who founded it. Rome, as Tertullian says, had a letter written\nby its founder, equal in this supreme respect, as he puts it, to Corinth,\nPhilippi, Thessalonica, Ephesus. It had also the exceptional happiness, as\nTertullian justly describes it, of being the scene of the martyrdom of its\nfounder, St. Paul; and of that other great Apostle who found a grave\nthere, St. Peter; to which Tertullian adds the miracle of St. John at the\nLatin gate. The force of the claim which its secular position gave to it\nwas fully and justly recognised by the Second General Council, in terms\nwhich are a permanent stumbling-block to the mediaeval claims of Rome. The\nFathers, assembled in 381, declared that the see of Constantinople should\nrank next in precedence to the see of Rome, on the ground that\nConstantinople, now the seat of empire, was 'new Rome;' taking\necclesiastical rank from its secular position, as Rome itself had done. In\nthe early times of which we are now speaking, we do not find even the\ngerm of the mediaeval theory of Roman supremacy; and the men who filled\nthe office of Bishop of Rome were not men of mark enough to work any\napproach to such a theory, or to fix upon them the eyes of a far-off\nbarbarian chief. It was either this Eleutherus, or his successor Victor,\nwho was all but taken in to recognise Montanism, as indeed Zosimus was\ntaken in, 250 years later, by the superior subtlety of our countryman, the\nBriton Pelagius. Eleutherus, or Victor, was only saved from this grave\nmistake by the advice of an Oriental heretic.\n\nBut apart from all such considerations, which I mention historically and\nnot polemically, I see no reason why Britons should go so far afield if\nthey wished to learn of Christ. With Gaul so close at hand, its people so\nnear of kin, its government so identical with theirs, the Britons would\nhear of Christianity, would learn Christianity, from and through Gaul, and\nwould look to Gaul, not Italy. But if we look to the state of Gaul in the\ntime to which this British king is assigned, we shall see that it was in\nthe very highest degree improbable that he should aim at making his people\nChristians. It was a time of terrible trial, with everything to be lost by\nbecoming Christian. What sort of Christian hero was this, in the year 175\nor 180, who desired to lead his nation to a change in their religion, that\nthey might court the barbarous tortures inflicted by their kinsfolk on all\nof the Christian name at this exact conjuncture?\n\nThe new faith was planted in the south of Gaul comparatively early, but it\nspread northwards very slowly. The first congregations, those of Lyons and\nVienne, were formed by Christians from Asia Minor, where some of them had\nknown Polycarp, who was a pupil of St. John. Soon after the foundation of\nthis infant Church, the great persecution of its members took place, about\nthe year 175, when Eleutherus was bishop of Rome. The details of the\npersecution are so well known, through the letter which the survivors\nwrote--not to Rome, but to their parent Church and personal friends in\nAsia and Phrygia,--a letter preserved to us by the Greek historian\nEusebius, that I think they have given a wrong impression as to the extent\nof the Christian Church in Gaul towards the end of the second century[26].\nThe Christians at Lyons and Vienne were a small and isolated flock, not\nhowever isolated as foreigners speaking a strange tongue, for Irenaeus,\nwho was one of them, mentions his daily use of the Gallic language. They\nseem to have been almost the only Christians known in Gaul. The ignorance\nof the practices of Christianity was so great among the Gauls, that they\nwere accused of crimes such as they did not believe any man\ncommitted,--banquets of Thyestes, incests of Oedipus. That was in the year\n175. Lyons was a wonderful water-centre. An examination of a good map will\nsurprise even those who know France fairly well. North, south, east, and\nwest, there were water-ways. Even Eusebius, writing far away in the East,\nremarked on this; and you know how tantalisingly silent early historians\nare as a rule about such things. And yet Christianity spread exceedingly\nslowly. Gregory of Tours, whose inclination would not be to make little of\nthe early Church in Gaul, seeing that he was a Gallo-Roman of lofty\nlineage, and not a newfangled Frank, quotes with complete assent the\nstatement that a great missionary effort had to be made in Gaul about the\nyear 250 to spread Christianity; and that so late as that, missionary\nbishops had to be sent--neither he nor his authority says by whom--to\nseven cities and districts, in most of which, we should otherwise have\nsupposed, Christianity in its full form had for many years existed. These\nwere Tours, Arles, Narbonne, Toulouse, Paris, Auvergne, and Limoges[27].\nWith the exception of Paris, that does not carry us very far towards\nBritain, even in the middle of the third century. There is not any\nevidence, and without evidence it would be unreasonable to imagine so\nimprobable a thing, that far-away Britain was in advance of Gaul by\ndecades of Christian years. Gregory of Tours, however, was not completely\ninformed. We may probably accept, as having some historical foundation,\nthe story that some of those who escaped from the persecution at Lyons did\npush up northwards and teach Christianity at Autun, Dijon, and Langres.\nThe last-named town was well up on one of the routes to Britain. It was\nthe death-place of Abbot Ceolfrid on his journey towards Rome in 716.\n\nIf we look to the traditional dates of the establishment of bishoprics in\nthe parts of Gaul which face the Britannic isles, we shall find that even\ntradition does not assign to them any very early origin. Beginning with\nthe archdiocese of Rouen, and bearing in mind that it is not the way of\necclesiastical traditions to err on the side of lateness, the first dated\nbishops in the several dioceses are as follows. The third bishop of Rouen,\nor, as some count, the second, was at Arles in 314. The third bishop of\nBayeux dates 458-65. The second bishop of Avranches, 511. The second\nbishop of Evreux, 450-90. The fifth bishop of Séez, 500. The first bishop\nof Lisieux whose name is recorded, 538. The first bishop of Coutances,\nabout 475. As three British bishops were at Arles in 314, when only one of\nthese seven bishoprics was in existence, the antiquity and completeness of\nour island Church compares very favourably with that of the archdiocese of\nRouen. Passing to the archdiocese of Cambray, the first bishop of Cambray\ndied in 540; the first bishop of Tournay is dated 297; the other\nbishoprics are late. In the archdiocese of Rheims, the two first bishops\nof Rheims, paired together, are assigned to 290; the two first bishops of\nSoissons were the same pair as those of Rheims; the first bishop of Lâon\nwas at Orleans in 549; Beauvais, 250; Châlons about 280; the second bishop\nof Amiens, 346; the ninth of Senlis, 511; the second of Boulogne, 552.\nHere, again, our three bishops at Arles in 314 compare favourably with\nthis great archdiocese, which was in the most accessible part of Gaul for\nthe insular Britons.\n\nUnless we are prepared to believe that our island was Christianised by\nsome influence apart from Gaul, and reaching us through some route other\nthan that of Gaul--and I do not see any evidence for anything of the\nkind--we must, I think, take it that our position was that of younger\nsister to the Church in Gaul. All the indications point in that direction.\nIt is most cruel that the British history has all been blotted out, by the\nseverity of the English conquest and the barbarity of the bordering\ntribes. In Gaul, the history was not blotted out by the successful\ninvasion of the Franks. Gregory of Tours died in the year 594, of which we\nhave said so much. He was a Gallo-Roman, one of the race overrun by the\nFranks; and yet he writes the history of the Franks, putting on record an\nimmense amount of information about the earlier Gaulish times--not very\ntrustworthy, it is true. But for the sack of London by the East Saxons, of\nwhich I shall have to speak later, we might have had a history that would\nsolve all our doubts, from a Brito-Roman Bishop of London, exactly\ncontemporary with Gregory of Tours. Failing all such record, we must read\nthe signs for ourselves, and they point in the direction I have described.\nThey make us a younger sister, not very much younger, of the Church of\nGaul--a Church founded from Ephesus--Oriental in its origin, not Western.\nI may, perhaps, have time to indicate in my concluding lecture some points\nwhich shew the non-Western connection of the British Church.\n\nThe probability is that from Tertullian's time onwards the faith spread\nand grew here quietly. The Christian Church certainly took to itself an\noutward form. Bishops were appointed in central places. By the year\n314--that is, in one century of growth--it appears that we had in Britain\na Christian Church as fully equipped as any corresponding area of the\nContinent at that time was. What is the evidence for this?\n\nAt the Council of Arles, A. D. 314, three British bishops were present.\nTwo of them are described as of the province of Britain; the third is not\nso described. All are included among the bishops of the Galliae, that is,\nof the province of the Roman Empire so called. Three may not sound a\nlarge number, but as a question of proportion it is in fact large[28].\nThirty-two or thirty-three bishops, in all, signed the decrees of the\nCouncil. Of these, seven were from Italy and the islands, ten from Africa,\neleven from what we call France, three from Britain, and two from\nelsewhere. The large number of bishops from Africa will surprise no one\nwho knows the prominence of the African Church in the early times, the\nlarge number of its bishoprics, the area which it covered. It was the\nbirthplace and home of Latin Christianity, while the Roman Church was\nstill practically a Greek Church. In Africa, not in Italy, the Latin\nversion of the Scriptures was first made.\n\nThe principal French bishoprics represented at Arles were Marseilles,\nVienne, Lyons, Bordeaux, Trèves, Rheims, and Rouen. In such company it is\nquite sufficient for us to find York and London, and a see which is\nunderstood to be Caerleon; the three bishops thus representing the whole\nof the island except Caledonia, and occupying what may well have been\nregarded as the three metropolitical sees, north, south, and west. This\ncoincided fairly well with the re-arrangement of the Roman province of\nBritain shortly before this time. I venture to suggest that the dates I\ngave just now, of the foundation of bishoprics in Belgic Gaul, appear to\nshew some considerable advance in the years about 280, and that from 260\nto 280 may have seen the commencement of British episcopacy.\n\nThe records of the signatures at the Council of Nicaea in 325 are, as is\nwell known, not in such a state as to enable us to say that British\nbishops were present. But considering their presence at Arles, the first\nof the Councils, and the interest of Constantine in Britain and his\nintimate local knowledge of its circumstances; considering, too, the very\nwide sweep of his invitations to the Council; it is practically certain\nthat we were represented there. At the Council of Sardica, in 347, only\nthe names of the bishops are given, not their sees. But fortunately the\nnames of the bishops are grouped in provinces. The province of the\nGauls--that is, Gaul and Britain--had thirty-three bishops present. I\nthink that any one who has studied the dates of the foundation of the\nFrench bishoprics will allow that to make up thirty-three bishops in 347,\nseveral British bishops must have been included. At the Council of Rimini,\nin 359, there were so many British bishops present that three were singled\nout from the rest of their countrymen as being so poor that they accepted\nthe Emperor's bounty for their daily support, declining a collection made\nfor their expenses among their brother bishops. The others, who could do\nwithout the Imperial allowance, refused it as unbecoming.\n\nIn the year 358 or 359, in preparation for this Council of Rimini, a\ntreatise of great importance was addressed to the bishops of the British\nprovinces, among others. This was the treatise of Hilary, bishop of\nPoitiers, on the Synods of the Catholic Faith and against the Arians. He\nwrote at a very anxious time, when he was himself in exile for the faith,\nand when he earnestly desired that his orthodox colleagues should take a\nbroad view, so as not to keep out of their communion any who could\nproperly be included. He addressed his treatise to the bishops of Germany,\nGaul, and the British provinces. He wrote as to men thoroughly familiar\nwith the very subtle heresy that was dividing the world, men who were\nthoroughly sound on the point in dispute, but inclined perhaps to be\nrather unflinching on a point on which he desired to make some\nconcession--concession in terms, not in substance. He specially urged them\nnot to press as vital one single phrase, not to reject as fatal another.\nFor, as he pointed out, each phrase could be used with a sound meaning,\neither could be used unsoundly. Again, he reminded them of the difficulty\ninherent in attempts to express exactly in one language a difficult\ntechnical phrase from another. Hilary, as the first person in Gaul to\nwrite ecclesiastical and religious treatises in Latin, instead of the then\nmore familiar Greek, felt this difficulty keenly; as our own Bede did when\nhe tried to put Caedmon's Creation song into Latin. And he warned them\nagainst misconceiving the views of others; pointing out that while they\nsuspected the Oriental bishops of doubting the coequality of the Son of\nGod with the Father, the Oriental bishops suspected them of doubting the\ndistinction between the Father and the Son. Hilary had been, before his\nconversion to Christianity, a highly-trained and cultured official of his\nGallo-Roman city, and he wrote this treatise with force and insight on\nvery difficult subjects. It was a compliment to the bishops of any church\nthat such a document should be addressed to them. We learn in the sequel\nthat Hilary's views of comprehension prevailed; but we have no means of\ndetermining what was the share of the British in this result. I need\nprobably not go further in the records of British connection with\necclesiastical events on the continent.\n\nIt may have seemed to you rather barren, this talk of Councils. But it is\nin reality far from being barren talk. It shews us the representatives of\nthe British Church in the full swim of ecclesiastical affairs; summoned as\na matter of course to the greatest councils; addressed as a matter of\ncourse by the greatest writer of their quarter of the world; taking their\nshare in the settlement of the most subtle and vital points of Christian\nfaith and practice. At Arles, they dealt with the question, so practical\nafter Diocletian's recent persecution, how men were to be re-admitted to\nthe Church, who in time of persecution had fallen away. They decided,\nfurther, one of the gravest questions they could have had to decide,\nwhether baptism in the name of the blessed Trinity was valid baptism, even\nthough a schismatic had administered the rite. Their decision was against\nre-baptism in such cases, a fact of which I may have time to remind you\nwhen I speak of some of the practices of the British Church; admission by\nthe laying on of hands was to suffice. They also determined that Easter\nmust be kept everywhere on one and the same day, again a fact which\nreappears very prominently in their later history. At Nicaea, they dealt\nwith the greatest question that ever stirred the Church of Christ, the\nquestion of the coequal deity, the oneness of nature, of the Son with the\nFather; and they laid down a rule for observing Easter, from which their\ndescendants 350 years later accused the Roman Church of having departed.\nAt Sardica they asserted the innocence of St. Athanasius; and gave\nauthority to Julius, Bishop of Rome, to receive appeals from a province,\nif a bishop was dissatisfied with a decision of his synod. Their\ndescendants were too busy with the inroads of barbarians and the\nsubtleties of heretics, to pay much heed to the amusing exposure by the\nAfrican Church of the Popes Zosimus, Boniface, and Celestine, 417-432, for\nquoting this Sardican Canon as a Canon of Nicaea, with \"Julius\" altered\nto \"Sylvester\" to make the name fit the forged date. The difference\nbetween calling it a Nicene Canon and calling it Sardican may seem little\nmore than a question of a right name and a wrong. But its effect was\ntremendous. It added the greater part of the known world to the sphere of\ninfluence of the Bishop of Rome. For the Sardican Canons were passed by\nthe Western bishops, after the Easterns had left Sardica, and could bind\nat most only the West. The Canons of Nicaea were binding on the whole of\nthe Christian world. The sarcastic comments of the African Church, in\ntheir letter to Celestine, at the close of the controversy, should have\nhad more effect in checking such proceedings than it had. At Rimini the\nBritish upheld the coequal deity of the Son; and when the Arian Emperor\ncompelled the signature of a heterodox creed, the bishops of the provinces\nof Gaul gathered themselves together on their way home, and re-asserted\ntheir Catholic belief. Time after time, from Constantine onwards, the\nunswerving orthodoxy of the British was the subject of special and\nfavourable comment. They were, as I began by saying, in the full swim of\necclesiastical affairs; and they held a position of recognised importance\nwith dignity and effect.\n\nNor was the journeying of British Christians limited to attending\nCouncils. A historian writing in 420, of the time before 410, says that\nfrom East and West people were flocking on pilgrimage to the Holy Land,\nfrom Persia and from Britain. And Theodoret, writing of the years about\n423, says that many went to the Holy Land from the extreme West,\nSpaniards, and Britons, and the Galatae who dwelled between them.\n\nWe now come to a time when two natives of these islands played a large\npart--one of them, a very large part, in the origin the principal part--in\nthe great theological controversy of the Western Church, a controversy\nwhich touched the East too, but less pointedly. Pelagius and Coelestius\nenunciated the views on the nature of man, and the operation of the grace\nof God, which were combated with vehemence by two of the leading men of\nthe West, Augustine and Jerome. From that day to this the controversy has\nnever died out. When the first beginnings of the theory of\ntransubstantiation were heard, this Pelagian controversy divided those who\nopposed the new idea. Duns Scotus and Thomas Aquinas, in their turn,\ndiffered on this point, as Pelagius and Augustine did. The Franciscans and\nthe Dominicans took respectively the views of those two great schoolmen.\nThe Jesuits and the Jansenists of Louis XV's time shewed a like cleavage.\nWherever you find Calvinistic views held and combated, there you have in\nfact the controversy which was started by our countrymen. Calvin declared\nthat every man is predestined to life or to death, from before the\nfoundation of the world. Pelagius maintained the freedom of will and\naction of every man; his power by nature to turn and come to God; his\nnatural independence, so to speak.\n\nOne of the two great opponents of Pelagius, Augustine of Hippo, says that\nPelagius was a Briton. The name is Greek, and means \"of the sea,\"\n\"belonging to the sea,\" and hence his native name has been supposed to be\nMorgan, sea-born: that, however, is only a guess. The other writers who\nwere his contemporaries call him a Briton. His second principal opponent,\nJerome, says that he was by birth one of the Scots, neighbours of the\nBritons. This meant in those times, and for some centuries after, a native\nof Ireland, whether living in Ireland or settled in the northern parts of\nBritain, if any Scots were settled there so early as 370, which was about\nthe date of his birth. It is, however, quite as likely that Jerome is\nspeaking not of Pelagius, but of his companion Coelestius, whom all allow\nto have been an Irishman. Whichever he means, he is not civil, as he\nseldom was in controversy. He describes his opponent as \"a huge fellow,\nstuffed to repletion with Scotch porridge,\" a most disrespectful way of\nspeaking of porridge. Pelagius was a layman, and a monk. About 400 he went\nto Rome, and he remained there till the shadow of Alaric's siege began to\nfall upon the city. In those eight years he lived an exemplary life. He\nurged upon others the necessity of so living, and the uselessness of\nreligious observance combined with laxity of life. It is easy to see how\nthis admirable line of teaching might be diverted, by the pressure of\ncontroversion, into a declaration that all men could, if they pleased, so\nlive; that it was a matter of will, not of grace, a man's turning to God\nand living as a believer should live. This was quite different from the\ncontroversy between faith and works, which some have believed to exist\nbetween St. Paul and St. James. It was the controversy between the\nnecessity of the grace of God for a man to live as he should, and the\ncomparative subordination of grace to the sufficient power of the will of\nman. Pelagius held that if the will was not free, man was a mere puppet:\nif the will was not free, man was not responsible. From this position,\nwhich is one side of a great truth, he passed to the denial of the need\nfor God's grace, that is, he denied the other side of the same great\ntruth; or he so defined grace as to make it a mere matter of suitable\ncircumstances.\n\nA great controversy on a great subject can scarcely stop short at its\nfirst limits. Other points rise, unexpected results follow. I venture to\nsay that it is impossible to go on pressing one side of this great and\nlasting controversy on the freedom of the will, to the disregard of the\nother side, without arriving at results which shock the reverent common\nsense of the devout Christian.\n\nIt is clear, for example, that when Pelagius asserted the freedom of man's\nwill to turn to God, he denied the Catholic doctrine of original sin, and\ndenying that, he denied so far the need for baptism. Indeed he taught\ndirectly, it was in fact the key of his position, that when man sinned he\nsinned after the example which Adam had set, not because he had received\nthe taint of sin by his descent from Adam. When pressed on this question\nof the need of baptism, he allowed that there was the need, but he put it\non a different basis from that which his opponents took. It was not\nnecessary for salvation, he maintained; but for those who desired to\nreach the full Christian heaven, a state different from that of ordinary\nsalvation, for them it was necessary. Entrance to that higher order of the\nheavenly life was not to be obtained without baptism. When pressed again,\non the question of the need for the operation of the grace of God, he\nallowed that there was that need. But he explained that when he said God's\ngrace must be given in order that a man might turn to God, he meant that\nthe man must be set in a position and under conditions and with\nsurroundings which rendered it natural and likely that he should so turn.\nIt seems clear, further, that the Pelagian view of the position and nature\nof man in respect to God is inconsistent with the doctrine of the\nRedemption wrought by Christ. That great sacrifice is rendered\nunnecessary, if the views of Pelagius are accepted. Men could, so to\nspeak, turn to God and be saved without the Atonement. It is only fair to\nsay that the extreme view on the opposite side seems to be equally\ninconsistent with this vital doctrine. If it be true that each man is\npredestined absolutely to life or to death, whether before the fall of\nAdam or as the immediate consequence of that fall, it would appear that\nnot all the Atonement of Christ can add one single soul to them that\nshall be saved.\n\nMy object is to speak of Church History, not of doctrine. But this\nPelagian question is the most important fact in the history of the British\nChurch; and unless these few words were said to bring out the extreme\ngravity of the matter in dispute, the episode would not appear to fill the\nimportant place it does in fact fill.\n\nWith Pelagius himself we have but little to do. He spent his life far from\nhis native shores; he propounded his views in Rome and Carthage and\nPalestine, not in London and York and Bangor. But the history of what\nhappened to him and his views in those distant parts is so curious--if one\nmay say so, so comical--and the evidence it affords of the importance of\nthe controversy is so great, that I must say a little about it. We shall\nfind in it, I think, an explanation of the course taken by the British\nChurch.\n\nAt Rome Pelagius met Coelestius, a Scot--that is, a native of Ireland--and\nCoelestius became a devoted champion of his views, publishing them in a\nmore definite form than Pelagius himself adopted. These views were\ncondemned at a Council held at Carthage in 412. A Council at Jerusalem in\n415 heard the explanations of Pelagius and did not condemn him. A Council\nat Lydda in the same year fully accepted his explanations, to the great\nwrath of Jerome. Carthage then took the matter up again, and requested\nthat Pelagius should be summoned to return to Rome, and the whole matter\nbe fully inquired into there, the controversy being one affecting the West\nand not the East. To enable the Bishop to form an opinion on the views of\nPelagius, they sent him a copy of one of his books, with the worst\npassages marked. Innocent, the Bishop of Rome, gladly received this\nrequest, treating it as a request for his authoritative verdict, which it\nwas not. He replied in three letters dated January 27, 417. He began each\nwith a strong assertion of the supreme authority of his see, and many\nexpressions of his satisfaction that the controversy had been referred to\nhim for final decision. The Bishop was clearly not to the manner born.\nThese were not the sayings of unconscious dignity, of unquestionable\nauthority. He did protest too much. The book of Pelagius forwarded to him\nhe pronounced unhesitatingly to be blasphemous and dangerous; and he gave\nhis judgement that Pelagius, Coelestius, and all abettors of their views,\nought to be excommunicated.\n\nNothing could be more clear. But, unfortunately for the consistency of\nofficial infallibility, Innocent died six weeks after writing these\nletters, and Zosimus succeeded him. Coelestius and Pelagius between them\nwere too much for Zosimus. Coelestius came to Rome. He argued with Zosimus\nthat the points in dispute lay outside the limits of necessary articles of\nfaith, and declared his adherence to the Catholic faith in all points.\nPelagius did not come, but he wrote to Zosimus. Zosimus declared the\nletter and creed of Pelagius to be thoroughly Catholic, and free from all\nambiguity; and the Pelagians to be men of unimpeachable faith, who had\nbeen wrongly defamed. Augustine appears to imply that in his opinion\nZosimus had allowed himself to be deceived by the specious and subtle\nadmissions of the heretics.\n\nZosimus did not rest satisfied with that. He wrote to the African bishops,\nvehemently upbraiding them with their readiness to condemn, and declaring\nthat Pelagius and his followers had never really been estranged from\nCatholic truth. Far from accepting his decision or his rebukes, the\nAfricans, who enjoyed a successful tussle with a Pope, sent a subdeacon\nwith a long reply. Zosimus, in acknowledging their letter, wrote in\nextravagant terms of the dignity of his own position as the supreme judge\nof religious appeals, and, quaintly enough, hinted at the possibility of\nreconsidering his decision. The Africans did not wait. They met in synod,\n214 bishops or more, and passed nine canons, anathematizing the Pelagian\nviews. The Emperors Honorius and Theodosius banished Pelagius and\nCoelestius from Rome. What was Pope Zosimus to do, under these singularly\ntrying circumstances? These men, thus banished from Rome, he had declared\nto be men of unimpeachable faith, wrongly defamed, never estranged from\nCatholic truth. He dealt with the matter in this way. He wrote a circular\nletter, declaring that the Popes inherit from St. Peter a divine authority\nequal to that of St. Peter, derived from the power which our Lord bestowed\non him; so that no one can question the Pope's decision. He then proceeded\nto censure, as contrary to the Catholic faith, the tenets of Pelagius and\nCoelestius, specially censuring some of Pelagius's comments on St. Paul\nwhich had been laid before him since his former decision. He ordered all\nbishops, in the churches acknowledging his authority, to subscribe to the\nterms of his letter on pain of deprivation. In Italy itself, Rome's own\nItaly, eighteen bishops protested against this change of front, and were\ndeprived of their sees under the authority of the civil power.\n\nOf course all men, however exalted their position, are liable to these\nsudden changes, whether pressed by external circumstances or impelled by\ninward conviction. And men who have themselves known what it is to be\ntried in any such way, on however humble a scale, are inclined rather to\nfeel with them than sharply to condemn them; especially when, as in this\ncase, their second thoughts are best. But if they are to be treated thus,\nwith kindly judgement not unmixed with sympathy, they must not herald\ntheir change of view with statements that they have a divine authority,\nequal to that of St. Peter, and that no one can question their\ncontradictory decisions.\n\nTo come nearer home after this long digression, which yet is not really a\ndigression from the British point of view. The views of Pelagius had\nconsiderable success in Gaul, and gave a good deal of trouble there. In\nBritain their success was alarmingly great. The bishops and clergy were\nunable to make head against the wave of heresy. Whether there was\nanything, in the independence of the position claimed by Pelagius for man,\nwhich specially appealed to the nature of the Britons and their Celtic\ncongeners; anything in the claim of each individual to be good enough in\nhimself, if he pleases to be good enough; which harmonised with the\nopinion those races had--dare I say have?--of themselves; these are\nquestions to which I cannot venture to give an answer. There the fact\nremains, that Pelagianism did appeal very strongly to the temperament of\nthose who then dwelt in our land. And coupled with this is the fact, that,\nhowever orthodox the clergy and bishops might be, and however well versed\nin the great controversy in which in the previous century they had played\ntheir part, the subtleties of this new controversy, initiated as it was by\none of their own or kindred race, springing up from their own nature and\nappealing to the nature of their people, were too much for them--as indeed\nthey had been for Pope Zosimus. Agricola was the name of the man who acted\nas the apostle of the Pelagians in the home regions, the son, we are told,\nof a bishop of Pelagian views.\n\nWhat our predecessors may have lacked in subtlety, they more than made up\nin practical common sense. If they could not grapple with the heresy\nthemselves, they sent for those who could. They applied to their nearest\necclesiastical neighbour, the Church of Gaul, to which no doubt they\nlooked partly as their mother and partly as their elder sister. The\naccount of their application and the response it met with comes to us from\na life of Germanus, Bishop of Auxerre, the person chiefly concerned,\nwritten by special request forty years after his death by an eminent\nperson, and published on the request of the then Bishop of Auxerre. When\nthe application reached the heads of the Gallican Church, a numerous synod\nwas called together, and Germanus, Bishop of Auxerre, and Lupus, Bishop of\nTroyes, were appointed to visit Britain. The manner of treating the heresy\nhad been forced upon the attention of the Gallican prelates by their own\nexperiences. At that very time semi-Pelagianism was rife in the south of\nGaul, about Marseilles, and it continued in force there for a long time,\nanother fellow-countryman of ours, Faustus the Briton, imbuing even the\nfamous monastery of Lérins with this modified form of the heresy. To\nconcert measures for dealing with the south of Gaul, Prosper of Aquitaine,\na monk and probably a layman, afterwards secretary to Pope Leo the Great,\nwent to Rome about two years after this to consult the Pope, and from\nCelestine he no doubt heard what he repeated or embellished twenty-five\nyears later. He tells us that the Pope took pains to keep the \"Roman\nisland\" Catholic, referring of course to the long occupation of Britain by\nthe Roman troops, at this time abandoned. In another passage, whose\ngenuineness has been questioned, Prosper says that Celestine sent Germanus\nin his own stead to Britain. Prosper was certainly in a position to\nreceive from the best-informed source an account of what was done; but the\nGallican Church appears to have known nothing of this sending of Germanus\nby Celestine. Prosper's inclination to magnify the importance of the Popes\nhas been referred to already[29]; and we may take it as certain that if\nsuch an unparalleled step as going himself or sending some one in his\nstead, a forecast of Gregory's action, had been attempted or taken by the\nPope, we should have heard of it in the records of Gaul or in the life of\nGermanus. The successor of Germanus would have known of it. That Celestine\nhad known at the time what was going on, and that he felt and probably\nexpressed warm approval, we may regard as certain too. I must defer, to an\nopportunity in my third lecture, remarks which I wish to make on what may\nseem an ungenerous questioning of these assertions of benefits conferred\nby Rome.\n\nIn 429, then, the Gallican prelates came to Britain. They had a very rough\ncrossing, and a story, rejected with scorn by quite modern writers, is\ntold of a miracle wrought by Germanus. He stilled the storm by pouring oil\nupon the sea in the name of the Trinity. We now know that if they had oil\non board, and knew how to use it, the stilling of the waves was done;\nwithout miracle, but with not the less earnest trust in the watchful care\nof God[30].\n\nIt was on this journey to Britain that Germanus and Lupus saw at Nanterre\na little girl aged seven, and prophesied great things of her. Her name was\nGenofeva, and she became the famous Ste. Geneviève. In these days when\npeople coquet with the principles of revolution and shut their eyes to its\nrealities, it may be well to add that her coffin of silver and gold was\nsold in 1793, and her body burned on the Place de Grève, by public decree.\n\nWhen they got to work in Britain, they proceeded on a definite plan. Some\nsixty or seventy years before, Hilary, the Bishop of Poitiers, dealing in\nGaul with the great heresy which preceded this, had found it of great\nservice to go about from place to place and collect in different parts\nsmall assemblies of the bishops, for free discussion and mutual\nexplanation. He found that misunderstandings were in this way, better than\nin any other, got rid of, and differences of opinion were reduced to a\nminimum. Germanus and Lupus dealt with the people of Britain as their\npredecessor had dealt with the bishops of Gaul. They went all over,\ndiscussing the great question with the people whom they found. They\npreached in the churches, they addressed the people on the highroads, they\nsought for them in the fields, and followed them up bypaths. It is clear\nthat the visitors from Gaul could speak to the people, both in town and in\ncountry, in their own tongue, or in a tongue well understood by them. No\ndoubt the native speech of Gaul and that of Britain were still so closely\nakin that no serious difficulty was felt in this respect. They met with\nsuccess so great that the leaders on the other side were forced to take\naction. They felt, so the biographer tells us, not that his is likely to\nbe convincing evidence as to their feelings, that they must run the risk\nof defeat rather than seem by silence to give up the cause. They\nundertook to dispute with the Gallicans in public. The biographer is not\nan impartial chronicler. The Pelagians came to the disputation with many\noutward signs of pomp and wealth, richly dressed, and attended by a crowd\nof supporters. Why should the biographer thus indicate that the Pelagian\nheresy was specially rife among great and wealthy and popular people?\nPerhaps it may be the case, that, with imperfectly civilised people, a\nposition of wealth and distinction tends to make men less humble in their\nview of the need of the grace of God. Besides the principals, we are told\nthat immense numbers of people came to hear the dispute, bringing with\nthem their wives and children; coming, in the important phrase of the\nbiographer, to play the part of spectator and judge. That is the first\nnote we have of the function of the laity in religious disputes in this\nland of ours. It is a pregnant hint. The disputants were now face to face.\nOn one side divine authority, on the other human presumption; on one side\nfaith, on the other perfidy; on one side Christ, on the other Pelagius.\nThe description is Constantius's, not mine. The bishops set the Pelagians\nto begin, and a weary business the Pelagians made of it. Then their turn\ncame. They poured forth torrents of eloquence, apostolical and evangelical\nthunders. They quoted the scriptures. The opponents had nothing to say.\nThe people, to whose arbitration it was put, scarce could keep their hands\noff them; the decision was given by acclamation, against the Pelagians.\n\nWhere did this take place? Certainly not far from Verulam, for Constantius\ngoes on to say that the bishops hastened to the shrine of St. Alban, which\nat the request of Germanus was opened, that he might deposit there some\nrelics which he had brought with him. He took away, in exchange, some\nearth from the actual spot of the martyrdom. Presumably the disputation\ntook place somewhere near London, on the road to St. Albans; perhaps at\nVerulam itself.\n\nThe British Church was thus saved from enemies within; but enemies without\nsoon had it by the throat. There were no Roman troops to guard the\nnorthern wall, to guard the Saxon shore. The Roman troops had gone, and\nwith them the flower of the British youth[31]. From north and east the\nbarbarians poured in upon the Britons, pell mell. Gildas, crying bitter\ntears, and using bitter ink, in his Welsh monastery, tells us of the\nweakness and the follies of the British and their kings, of the cruelties\nof the barbarous folk. We see in his pages the smoke of burned churches,\nthe blood of murdered Christians. Matthew of Westminster tells us that the\nchurches that were burned had the happier fate. In thirty cases churches\nwere saved and made into heathen temples, the altars polluted with pagan\nsacrifice. But the Saxons and Angles made way so slowly that it is\ncertain they met with a much sturdier opposition than Gildas credits his\ncountrymen with. Strive as they would, however, and did, the Britons\ngradually gave way. Thus, and thus only, can we fill the dreary void in\nBritish history, which we know as the first hundred and fifty years of the\nMaking of England.\n\nThis brings us very near to the end of our period. Not of our subject; for\nin my concluding lecture I have to deal--with sad scantness--with the\nChristian Church in other parts of these islands, before and at the coming\nof Augustine.\n\nIn the twenty years immediately preceding the arrival of Augustine, the\nlong line of British Bishops of London came to an end. It has been a\nsubject of remark, and of moralising, that Theonus, the last bishop, lost\nheart and fled just when the chance was coming for which it is presumed\nthat he had been waiting, the actual beginning of the conversion of the\nEnglish. But remarks of this character are misplaced; they disregard--or\nare ignorant of--the political facts of the time. Theonus of London was a\nBritish bishop in a British city. London had not fallen. Most difficult of\naccess in the then state of land and water, of marsh and mud, whether\nfrom north or south or east or west, it held out to the last. The earliest\ndate that can be assigned to its fall is about the year 568, and a date so\nearly as that is only given to account for Ethelbert's being able to take\nhis army from Kent to Wimbledon without interruption from London. But for\nthat, and there may be other explanations of it, it is quite possible to\nput the taking of London by the East Saxons a few years later. But it is\nnot necessary for our purpose. The date of the flight of Theonus has been\nsaid to be 586. It is probable that this is about the date of Ethelbert's\nvigorous action northwards, by which he made himself over-lord of his East\nSaxon neighbours and of London their most recent conquest, which they\nappear not to have occupied for some years after its fall. The political\nand administrative changes, due to this expansion of the power of Kent,\nmay well have made ruined London no longer a possible place of residence,\nand of work, for a Christian Briton so prominent in position and office as\nthe Bishop of London must always have been. It seems probable that Matthew\nof Westminster was not far wrong when he wrote that in 586 Theonus took\nwith him the relics of the saints, and such of the ordained clergy as had\nsurvived the perils, and retired to Wales. Others, he says, fled further,\nto the continental Britain. Thadioc of York, he adds, went at the same\ntime. In some parts, as for instance about Glastonbury, the British\nChristians remained undisturbed by the English for sixty or seventy years\nlonger[32].\n\nA year or two ago, when we set up the list of Bishops of London in the\nsouth aisle here, there was at first an inclination in some quarters to\ncriticise the decision at which we arrived as to the bishops of the\nBritish period. But the explanations kindly given by those who approved\nour action soon put a stop to that. There is a list of Archbishops of\nLondon before Augustine's time, beginning about the year 180 and ending\nwith Theonus, whose date may be put about 580. In those four centuries,\nsixteen names are given, a number clearly insufficient for 400 years. The\nnames are specially insufficient in the later part of the time, only four\nbeing given between 314 and 580. This is rather in favour of the four\nnames being real; for it is evident that if people were inventing names,\nthey might as well have invented twenty, while they were about it, instead\nof only four, for 260 years[33].\n\nThe traditions of York do not supply any long list of bishops, continuous\nor not. Eborius, at Arles in 314, is the first named. And there are only\nthree others, each of whom has a date with Matthew of Westminster, Sampson\n507, Piran 522, Thadioc 586. York probably fell as early as the date\nassigned to Sampson; who, by the way, was created Archbishop of York by\nthe forgers of the twelfth century, to back up an ecclesiastical claim on\nthe continent.\n\nThe decision at which we arrived in respect of the London list was to give\none name only, that of Restitutus, putting a row of dots above him and\nbelow him, to shew that there were British bishops before him, probably\nvery few, and British bishops after him, certainly many. Restitutus signed\nthe decrees of the Council of Arles, as Bishop of London, in the year 314.\nThat is sure ground; and in a list of bishops, set up officially in the\nCathedral Church, nothing less solid than sure ground should be taken.\n\nAs to the British Bishops of London being styled archbishops, there is no\nevidence for it. Our famous Dean Ralph (A. D. 1181), no mean historian,\nleft on record his view that there were three archbishoprics[34] in\nBritain--London, York, and Caerleon--which last, he said, corresponded to\nSt. David's. Whether Gregory had some information that has since been\nlost, respecting the ecclesiastical arrangements which had existed here,\nwe cannot say; but it is a curious coincidence, explicable perhaps by the\nmere importance of the two places, that he directed Augustine to make\narrangements for a metropolitan at London, with twelve suffragans, and a\nmetropolitan at York with twelve suffragans. The complete arrangements, as\nset out by Gregory when he sent an additional supply of missionaries to\nAugustine, of whom Mellitus was one, were as follows. Augustine was told\nto ordain in various places twelve bishops, to be subject to his control,\nso that London should for the future be a metropolitan see; and it appears\nthat Gregory contemplated Augustine's occupying as a matter of course the\nposition of Bishop of London[35]. He was to ordain and send to York a\nsuitable bishop, who should in like manner ordain twelve bishops and\nbecome the metropolitan. The northern metropolitan was to be under\nAugustine's jurisdiction; but after Augustine's death he was to be\nindependent of London, and for the future the metropolitan who was senior\nin consecration was to have precedence[36]. This takes no account of the\nbishops existing in what we call Wales and Cornwall. Gregory specially\ndeclared that those bishops, then at least seven in number, were subject\nto Augustine. It is impossible that these seven were to be included among\nthe twelve suffragans of London, for with Rochester and Canterbury that\nwould leave only three bishops for the whole of the rest of the south of\nEngland. That the tradition of British times, and a part of the scheme\nactually laid down by Gregory, should be carried out in our time, would be\nI think an excellent thing. An Archbishop of London, with some half-dozen\nsuffragans, with dioceses and diocesan rank, in districts of this great\nwilderness of houses, would be a solution of some very difficult problems.\n\nThere were two names in the traditional list which it was thought we might\nat least have included along with Restitutus. One was that of the last on\nthe list, Theonus. But the evidence for him, though quite sufficient for\nordinary purposes, was not of the highest order. The other was that of\nFastidius, the last but two on the list. His date--for he was a real and\nwell-known man--was much earlier than that position would indicate, for he\nwas described, among illustrious men, by a writer who lived a full\ncentury before Theonus, the last on the list. This writer, Gennadius of\nMarseilles, informs us that Fastidius was a British bishop. One important\nmanuscript has, in place of this, \"Fastidius a Briton,\" as if his being a\nbishop was not certain. In any case there is nothing to connect him with\nthe bishopric of London, or with London, beyond the natural assignment to\nthe most important position of a man not specially assigned by the\nearliest historian. His date is probably about 430 to 450.\n\nThis Fastidius is the only writer of the British Church, besides Pelagius\nif we can properly reckon him as one, whose work has come down to us. I do\nnot know that the early British Christians produced any writers other than\nFastidius and Pelagius. Had their records not been destroyed, it might\nwell have been that many a manuscript work of British bishops would have\nremained till the middle ages and been now in print. Fastidius and Gildas\nare sufficient evidence of the literary tendencies of the British mind.\nIndeed, we may credit the Britons of the time of Gildas with having been\nlaborious students, those, at least, who were settled in Wales. Their\nCeltic cousins had a passion for writing.\n\nWe find Gennadius of Marseilles testifying to the soundness of the\ndoctrine of Fastidius, and its worthiness of God. But who shall testify to\nthe soundness of Gennadius? He was a semi-Pelagian; and so it appears was\nFastidius, for whose soundness he vouches. Fastidius distinctly quotes\nfrom Pelagius, though without mentioning him by name. He uses the phrase\nwhich is the keynote of Pelagianism, man sinned \"after the example of\nAdam;\" and he describes the manner in which saints should pray, in words\nwhich cannot be independent of Pelagius's words on that subject.\n\nApart from their heretical tendency, the works or work of Fastidius may be\ntaken as containing excellent teaching. He naturally presses most the\npractical side, the necessity of a good life. \"Our Lord said,\" he shrewdly\nreminds the reader, \"If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments;\nHe did not say keep faith only. For if faith is all that is required, it\nis too much to say that the commandments must be kept. Far be it from me\nto suppose, that my Lord said too much on any point.\" One interesting\nallusion to the state of the country in his time, the Christian\nsettlements here and there in the midst of a heathen population, it may be\nthe Romano-Briton among the unmixed Britons, occurs in a passage full of\npractical teaching:--\"It is the will of God that His people should be\nholy, and free from all stain of unrighteousness; so righteous, so\nmerciful, so pure, so unspotted from the world, so single-hearted, that\nthe heathen should find in them no fault, but should say in wonder,\nBlessed is the nation whose God is the Lord, and the people whom He hath\nchosen for His own inheritance.\"\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE III.\n\n     Early Christianity in other parts of these islands.--Ninian in the\n     south-west of Scotland.--Palladius and Patrick in Ireland.--Columba\n     in Scotland--Kentigern in Cumbria.--Wales.--Cornwall.--The fate of\n     the several Churches.--Special rites &c. of the British\n     Church.--General conclusion.\n\n\nWe are to consider this evening the early existence of Christianity in\nother parts of these islands, in order that we may have some idea of the\nactual extent to which Christianity prevailed in England, Wales, Scotland,\nand Ireland, at the time when Augustine came to Kent.\n\nThe Italians appear to have blamed the British Church for its want of\nmissionary zeal. But that only applied to missions to the Angles and\nSaxons; and I have never quite been able to see how the Britons could be\nexpected to go to their sanguinary and conquering foes with any message,\nleast of all to tell them that their religion was hopelessly false. The\nexpulsion of the Britons from the land of their fathers was too recent for\nthat; the retort of the Saxons too apposite, that at least their gods had\nshewn themselves stronger than the God of the Britons.\n\nIt is a curious fact that we know more of the work of the British Church\nbeyond its borders than at home; and what we know of it is very much to\nits credit. Somewhere about the year 395, when the inroads of barbarians\nfrom the north had become a grave danger, and the territory between the\nwalls had been abandoned by the Romano-Britons, one of the British nation,\nwho had studied at Rome the doctrine and discipline of the Western Church,\nand had studied among the Gauls at Tours, established himself among the\nPicts of Galloway and built there a church of stone. The story is that he\nheard of the death of his friend Martin of Tours when he was building his\nchurch, and that he dedicated it to him. This, which after all is a late\nstory in its present form, but is, as I think, to be fully accepted, gives\nus the date 397; the only sure date in Ninian's history. From this\nsouth-west corner of Scotland he spread the faith, we are told, throughout\nthe southern Picts, that is, as far north as the Grampians.\n\nThis Christianising of the Picts may not have been very lasting. Patrick\nmore than once speaks of them[37] as the apostate Picts. It did not\nprevent their ravaging Christian Britain, denuded of the Roman troops. But\nit had a great influence in another way. The monastery of Whithorn, which\nNinian founded, was for some considerable time the training place of\nChristian priests and bishops and monks, both for Britain, and,\nespecially, for Ireland. The Irish traditions make Ninian retire from\nBritain and live the later part of his life in Ireland, where he is\ncertainly commemorated under the name Monenn,--\"Mo\" being the affectionate\nprefix \"my,\" and Monenn meaning \"my Ninian.\"\n\nNinian lived and worked, we are told, for many years, dying in 432, a date\nfor which there is no known authority. That period covers the second,\nthird, and fourth withdrawal of the Roman troops from the northern\nfrontier and from Britain[38]; a time when British Christians might well\nhave said they had more than enough to do at home. Ninian's work has left\nfor us memorials such as no other part of these islands can shew. There\nare three great upright stones, one at Whithorn itself, and two at\nKirkmadrine, that in all human certainty come from his time. They are in\ncomplete accordance with what we know of sepulchral monuments in Roman\nGaul. Each has a cross in a circle deeply incised, with the member of an R\nattached to one limb, so as to form the Chi Rho monogram. The Chi Rho is\nfound as early as 312 in Rome and 377 in Gaul, with Alpha and Omega, 355\nin Rome and 400 in Gaul. _Hic iacet_ is found in 365. The stone at\nWhithorn itself has _Petri Apustoli_ rather rudely carved on it. The two\nat Kirkmadrine have Latin inscriptions[39] well cut, running apparently\nfrom one to the other, as though they had stood at the head and foot of a\ngrave in which the four priests were buried:--\"here lie the chief\npriests\"--some say that at that time _sacerdotes_ meant bishops--\"that is,\nViventius and Mavorius\" \"[Piu]s and Florentius.\" One of these latter\nstones has at the top, above the circle, the Alpha and Omega[40]. I ought\nto say \"had,\" for some years ago a carriage was seen from a distance to\ndrive up to the end of the lane leading to the desolate burying-place, a\nman got out, went to the stone, knocked off with a hammer the corner\nwhich bore the Omega, and made off with it. They are since then scheduled\nas ancient monuments. There was formerly a third stone, which bore the\nvery unusual Latin equivalent of Alpha and Omega, _initium et finis_, \"the\nbeginning and the end.\" These remains in a solitary place may indicate the\nwealth of very early monuments we must once have had in this island, long\nago broken up by men who saw nothing in them but stones. Time would fail\nif I were to begin to tell of the recent exploration of the cave known by\nimmemorial tradition as Ninian's cave, and of the sculptured treasures of\nearly Christianity found there. There is in this same territory between\nthe walls, but nearer the northern wall, another memorial of the later\nBritish times. It is a huge stone a few miles north-west of Edinburgh,\nwith a rude Latin inscription[41], _In this tumulus lies Vetta, son of\nVictis_. It takes us to the time when, along with the Picts and Scots who\nravaged Britain, we hear for the first time of allies of the ravagers\ncalled Saxons. We are accustomed to think of the Saxons as coming first\nfrom the south-east and east; but we hear of them first in this region of\nwhich we are speaking. As Vetta and Victis correspond to the names of the\nfather and grandfather of Hengist and Horsa, it is difficult to resist the\nsuggestion that in this great Cat Stane, that is, Battle Stone, we have\nthe monument set up by the Romano-Britons, in triumph over the fallen\nchief of the Saxon marauders. If this is so, the sons of Vetta found the\nsouth of the island better quarters than their father found the north,\nthough Horsa, it is true, was killed soon. A great monument bearing his\nname was to be seen in Bede's time in Kent, and this fact serves to\nconfirm the assignment of the Cat Stane to another generation of his\nfamily.\n\nNinian affords one of the many evidences of a close connection between\nBritain and Gaul. We should have been surprised if there had not been this\nclose connection; but somehow or other it has been a good deal overlooked.\nHe dedicated his church to his friend St. Martin of Tours. In the\nRomano-British times a church at the other end of the island, in\nCanterbury, had a like dedication; and these are the only Romano-British\ndedications of which we are sure, so far as I know.\n\nIn these dedications we may find an interesting illustration of what took\nplace in Gaul, especially in the parts near Britain. There are eighty-six\ndioceses in modern France, and there are in all no less than 3,668\nchurches dedicated to St. Martin. There are eight of the eighty-six\ndioceses which have more than 100 churches thus dedicated, and all of\nthese eight are in the regions opposite to the shores of Britain. Amiens\nhas 148; Arras 157; Bayeux 107; Beauvais 110; Cambray 122; Coutances 103;\nRouen 112; Soissons 158. Here again is an instance which shows Soissons\nprominent in a British connection[42]. No other diocese has more than\neighty-four; and only five others have more than seventy. The Christian\npoet of the sixth century, writing at Poitiers of St. Martin, declares\nthat the Spaniard, the Moor, the Persian, the Briton, loved him. This\norder of countries is due only to the exigencies of metre. Gaul is not\nnamed, because it was the centre of the cult of St. Martin, and there\nFortunatus wrote.\n\nNext in order of time, we must turn to the main home of the Celtic or\nGaelic Church, the main centre of its many activities, Ireland. As is very\nwell known, Ireland never formed part of the Roman empire; never came\nunder that iron hand, which left such clear-cut traces of its fingers\nwherever it fastened its grip. Agricola used to talk of taking possession,\nabout the year 80 A. D., but he never went. He had looked into the\nquestion, and he thought the enterprise not at all a serious one, from a\nmilitary point of view; while, as a matter of policy, he was strongly\ninclined to it. His son-in-law Tacitus tells us this[43], in one of those\nlittle bursts of confidential talk which obliterate the eighteen centuries\nthat intervene, and make us hear rather than read what he says. \"I have\noften heard Agricola say that with one legion, and a fair amount of\nauxiliaries, Ireland could be conquered and held; and that it would be a\ngreat help, in governing Britain, if the Roman arms were seen in all\nparts, and freedom were put out of sight.\" If this means that Ireland\ncould be seen from the parts of Britain of which he was speaking, we must\nunderstand that he spoke of the Britons north of the Solway; and we know\nthat after his operations against Anglesey he passed on to subdue the\nparts of Wigton and Dumfries, and, two years later, Cantyre and Argyll.\nThose are the parts of this island from which Ireland is easily visible.\n\nOf course we all know that St. Patrick was the Apostle of Ireland. That\nputs the introduction of Christianity rather late; the date of Patrick's\ndeath, which best suits at once the national traditions and the arguments\nfrom contemporary events, being A. D. 493. Those who feel bound to give\nhim a mission from Pope Celestine put his death in 460, rather than face\nthe difficulty of making him live to be 120--or, as some say, 132.\n\nThe story of St. Patrick's life is told by many people in many different\nways, both in modern times and in ancient. In one of the accounts, known\nas the Tripartite Life, written in early Irish, we find mention of the\nexistence of Christianity in Ireland before his time. He and his\nattendants were about to perform divine service in the land of the Ui\nOiliolls, when it was found that the sacred vessels were wanting. Patrick,\nthereupon, divinely instructed, pointed out a cave in which they must dig\nwith great care, lest the glass vessels be broken. They dug up an altar,\nhaving at its corners four chalices of glass. Even in the Book of Armagh\nwe find that Patrick shewed to his presbyter a wonderful stone altar on a\nmountain in this region. This may seem a slight basis on which to found\nthe existence of Christianity before Patrick, but its incidental character\ngives it importance; and traditions of early times support the\nconclusion. The whole of an elaborate story of Patrick finding bishops in\nMunster, and coming to a compromise with them, is a late invention, forged\nfor an ecclesiastical purpose.\n\nThere is certainly evidence of an intention to preach Christianity in\nIreland before Patrick's time, and this evidence itself affords evidence\nof a still earlier teaching. In speaking of the visit of Germanus to\nBritain to put down Pelagianism, the first of two visits as tradition\nsays, I intentionally said nothing about the visit of Germanus's deacon\nPalladius to Rome. Some writers would not allow the phrases \"Germanus's\ndeacon,\" and \"visit to Rome.\" They say that Palladius was a deacon of\nRome; from that he is made archdeacon of the Pope; and from that again a\ncardinal and Nuncio apostolical. But I shall take him to be the deacon of\nGermanus, a Gaul by birth and education, though some believe that he must\nhave been himself an Irishman.\n\nThe Chronicle of Prosper of Aquitaine, of which we have heard before[44],\nhas in the less corrupt of the two editions the statement that in 431\n\"Palladius was consecrated by Pope Celestine, and sent to the Scots\nbelieving in Christ, as their first bishop.\" The Scots, of course, then\nand for some centuries later, were the Irish. It is interesting to us to\nfind Pope Leo XIII, in his Bull restoring the Scottish hierarchy in 1878,\ngravely taking Prosper to mean that Celestine sent Palladius as the\napostle of the Scots in the modern sense of the word, that is, the people\nof what we call Scotland. Fordun, the chronicler of Scotland, came upon\nthe same rock, and was driven by consequence into wild declarations about\nthe work of Palladius in North Britain. Fordun, however, had the\ndisadvantage of not being infallible.\n\nProsper of Aquitaine is not a person to be implicitly followed, when the\nsubject is the claims and the great deeds of bishops of Rome. There is a\nfair suspicion that it was he who credited Eleutherus with the mission to\nLucius[45]. His very title, Prosper of Aquitaine, reminds us that\nAquitaine includes Gascony. He is suspected of being a romancer. With him,\nas indeed with many of the evidences of the importance of the action of\nRome in early times, great caution is necessary.\n\nRemarks of this kind I do not make from choice; they are forced upon me.\nIt is a pleasure of a very real kind to feel grateful; but when people\nbase upon benefits conferred very large demands and claims, one's feelings\nof gratitude rapidly and permanently take a very different character. A\nproverb tells us not to look a gift horse in the mouth. But when there is\ngrave doubt whether the horse ever existed, and when an immense price is\nafterwards demanded for the gift, proverbs of that kind do not appeal to\nus very strongly. The claims upon us of mediaeval Rome, mischievous as\nthey were absurd, were based on evidence much of which was so fictitious,\nthat we are more than justified in scanning closely the beginnings of any\nof the evidence. Time after time one is reminded, in looking into these\nclaims, of the retort of a lay ruler, referring to the forged donation by\nthe first Christian Emperor to the bishops of Rome. Asked by the Pope for\nhis authority for the independent position he maintained, \"you will find\nit,\" he said, \"written on the back of the donation of Constantine.\"\n\nNor, again, would it disturb me in the least, if convincing evidence were\ndiscovered, in favour of much which I think at best doubtful on the\nevidence as now known. Benefits conferred lay the foundation of gratitude,\nnot of subservience. The descendants, and representatives, of those who\nconferred them, have in our eyes all the interest attaching to descendants\nof benefactors. But when the Popes--say of the Plantagenet times--on the\nstrength of the past or of the supposed past, lorded it over the English\npeople, and carried out of England, every year, to be spent in no very\nexcellent way in Italy, sums of money that would seem fabulous if it were\nnot that no one at the time contested their accuracy, the English people\nfound them, and frankly told them so, an intolerable nuisance. The demands\nof the Popes were so ludicrous in their shamelessness, that when one of\nthem was read to the assembled peers, the peers roared with laughter. We\nmight perhaps forget such episodes as these. We might forget the\nabominations which at times have steeped the Papacy and the infallible\nPopes in earth's vilest vilenesses. We might dream, some of us did dream,\nas young men, of drawing nearer to communion with the old centre of the\nWestern Church, while maintaining our doctrinal position. It was always\nthe fault of the Roman more than the Englishman that we had to part. And\nnow, late in time, in our own generation, the Roman has cut himself off\nfrom us by an impassable barrier, the declaration of the divine\ninfallibility of the man who is the head of his Church. It is to me one of\nthe saddest sights on the face of the earth, a thoroughly estimable and\nloveable old man, whom one cannot but venerate, made the mouthpiece of\necclesiastics who are pulling the wires of policy, and declared to be the\nmedium of divinely infallible judgement.\n\nIt may well have been that Palladius came to Britain with Germanus, and\nhere heard--probably from the Britons of the West--of sparse congregations\nof Christians scattered about in Ireland; and that he sought authority to\nvisit them, and confirm them in the faith, from some source which the\nIrish people would not suspect or regard with jealousy. That he had the\nassent of Germanus we may fairly suppose; that he had the consent and\nauthorisation of Pope Celestine I am quite ready to believe. Pope\nCelestine, we may remember, was one of the Popes who got into trouble with\nAfrica for persisting in quoting a Sardican Canon as a Canon of Nicaea. He\nwas not likely to hesitate on ecclesiastical grounds when action such as\nthis was proposed to him.\n\nPalladius went, then, about 432, to visit the scattered Irish Christians.\nThere is not a word of his mission being of the same character as that of\nGermanus to Britain, namely, to attack Pelagianism. He landed in Ireland;\nand then the several accounts proceed to contradict one another in a very\nCeltic manner. The two earliest accounts, dating probably not later than\n700, agree that the pagan people received him with much hostility. One of\nthe two accounts martyrs him in Ireland; the other says that he did not\nwish to spend time in a country not his own, and so crossed over to\nBritain to journey homewards by land, but died in the land of the Britons.\nAnother ancient Irish account says that he founded some churches in\nIreland, but was not well received and had to take to the sea; he was\ndriven to North Britain, where he founded the Church of Fordun, \"and Pledi\nis his name there.\" I found, when visiting Fordun to examine some curious\nremains there, that its name among the people was \"Paldy Parish.\"\n\nThe Scottish accounts make Palladius the founder of Christianity among the\nPicts in the east of Scotland, Forfarshire and Kincardineshire and\nthereabouts, Meigle being their capital for a long time. They are silent\nas to any connection with Ireland. They are without exception late and\nunauthentic, whatever may be the historical value of the matter which has\nbeen imported into them. But all, Scottish and Irish, agree in assigning\nto the work of Palladius in Ireland either no existence in fact, or at\nmost a short period and a small result. The way was thus left clear for\nanother mission. The man who took up the work made a very different mark\nupon it.\n\nI shall not discuss the asserted mission from Rome of St. Patrick, for we\nhave his own statements about himself. Palladius was called also Patrick,\nand to him, not to the greater Patrick, the story of the mission from Rome\napplies.\n\nSome time after the death of Celestine and the termination of Palladius's\nwork in Ireland, Patrick commenced his missionary labours; and when he\ndied in or about 493, he left Christianity permanently established over a\nconsiderable part of the island. That is the great fact for our present\npurpose, and I shall go into no details. It is a very interesting\ncoincidence that exactly at the period when Christianity was being\nobliterated in Britain, it was being planted in large areas of Ireland;\nand that, too, by a Briton. For after all has been said that can be said\nagainst the British origin of Patrick, the story remains practically\nundisturbed.\n\nIt is, I think, of great importance to note and bear in mind the fact that\nIreland was Christianised just at the time when it was cut off from\ncommunication with the civilised world and the Christian Church in Europe.\nBritain, become a mere arena of internecine strife, the Picts and Scots\nfrom the north, and the Jutes and Saxons and Angles from the east and\nsouth, obliterating civilisation and Christianity,--Britain, thus\nbarbarously tortured, was a complete barrier between the infant Church in\nIreland and the wholesome lessons and developments which intercourse with\nthe Church on the continent would have naturally given. Patrick, if we are\nto accept his own statements, was not a man of culture; he was probably\nvery provincial in his knowledge of Christian practices and rites; a rude\nform of Christian worship and order was likely to be the result of his\nmission. He was indeed the son of a member of the town council, who was\nalso a deacon,--it sounds very Scotch: he was the grandson of a priest;\nhis father had a small farm. But he was a native of a rude part of the\nisland. And his bringing up was rude. He was carried off captive to\nIreland at the age of sixteen, and kept sheep there for six years, when he\nescaped to Britain. After some years he determined to take the lessons of\nChristianity to the people who had made him their slave. The people whom\nhe Christianised were themselves rude; not likely to raise their\necclesiastical conceptions higher than the standard their apostle set;\nmore likely to fall short of that standard. In isolation the infant Church\npassed on towards fuller growth; developing itself on the lines laid down;\naccentuating the rudeness of its earliest years; with no example but its\nown.\n\nAnd not only was the Irish Church isolated as a Church, its several\nmembers were isolated one from another. It was a series of camps of\nChristianity in a pagan land, of centres of Christian morals in a land of\nthe wildest social disorder. The camps were centred each in itself, like a\ncity closely invested. The monastic life, in the extremest rigour of\nisolation, was the only life possible for the Christian, under the social\nand religious conditions of the time. And each monastic establishment must\nbe complete in itself, with its one chief ruler, its churches, its\npriests, and the means of keeping up its supply of priests. There was no\ndiocesan bishop, to whom men could be sent to be ordained, or who could be\nasked to come and ordain. They kept a bishop on the spot in each\nconsiderable establishment; to ordain as their circumstances might\nrequire; under the rule of the abbat, as all the members were. Very\nlikely in great establishments they had several bishops. The groups of\nbishops in sevens, named in the Annals, the groups of churches in sevens,\nas by the sweeping Shannon at Clonmacnois or in the lovely vale of\nGlendalough, these, we may surmise, matched one another. We read of\nhundreds of bishops in existence at one time in Ireland, and people put it\ndown to \"Irish exaggeration.\" But given this principle, that an Irish\nmonastery, in a land not as yet divided into dioceses, not possessing\ndistrict bishops, must have its own bishop, the not unnatural or unfounded\nexplanation of \"Irish exaggeration\" is not wanted. In some cases, no\ndoubt, a bishop did settle himself at the headquarters of a district, and\nhad a body of priests under his charge, living the monastic life with him\nunder his rule, and exercising ministrations in the district. But in the\nlarge number of cases the bishops were only necessary adjuncts to\nmonasteries over which they did not themselves rule. A presbyter or a\nlayman ruled the ordinary monastery, including the bishop or bishops whom\nthe monastery possessed.\n\nI have dwelt upon this because it is a point often lost sight of, and it\nexplains a good deal. And there is a good deal to explain. When\nColumbanus and his twelve companions from Ireland burst suddenly upon Gaul\nin the year 590, they formed a very strange apparition. Dressed in a\nstrange garb, tonsured in a strange manner, speaking a strange tongue, but\nable to converse fluently enough in Latin with those who knew that\nlanguage, it was found that some of their ecclesiastical customs were as\nstrange as their appearance and their tongue; so strange that the Franks\nand Burgundians had to call a council to consider how they should be\ntreated. Columbanus was characteristically sure that he was right on all\npoints. He wrote to Boniface IV, about the time when our first St. Paul's\nwas being built, to claim that he should be let alone, should be treated\nas if he were still in his own Ireland, and not be required to accept the\ncustoms of these Gauls. When Irish missionaries began to pass into this\nisland, on its emergence from the darkness that had settled upon it when\nthe pagan barbarians came, their work was of the most self-denying and\nlaborious character. But contact with the Christianity of the Italian\nmission, or with that of travelled individual churchmen such as Benedict\nand Wilfrid, revealed the existence of great differences between the\ninsular and the continental type. We rather gather from the ordinary\nbooks that these differences came to a head, so far as these islands were\nconcerned, at the synod of Whitby, and that the Irish church not long\nafter accepted the continental forms and practices, and the differences\ndisappeared. But that is not the effect produced by a more extended\nenquiry. In times a little later than the synod of Whitby, Irish\nbishops--I say it with great respect--were a standing nuisance. One\ncouncil after another had to take active steps to abate the nuisance. The\nDanish invasions of Ireland drove them out in swarms, without letters\ncommendatory, for there was no one to give due commendation. Ordination by\nsuch persons was time after time declared to be no ordination, on the\nground that no one knew whether they had been rightly consecrated. There\nwas in this feeling some misapprehension, it may be, arising from the fact\nof the government of bishops in a monastery by the presbyter abbat, but no\ndoubt the feeling had a good deal of solid substance to go upon. It was\nreciprocated, warmly, hotly. Indeed, if I may cast my thought into a form\nthat would be recognised by the people of whom I speak, the reciprocators\nwere the first to begin. Adamnan tells us that when Columba had to deal\nwith an unusually abominable fellow-countryman, he sent him off to do\npenance in tears and lamentations for twelve years among the Britons.\nThere is the curious--almost pathetic--letter of Laurentius and Mellitus,\nthe one Augustine's immediate successor, the other our first bishop of\nEnglish London, addressed to the bishops and abbats of all Scotia. \"They\nhad felt,\" they said, \"great respect for the Britons and the Scots, on\naccount of their sanctity. But,\" they pointedly remark, evidently smarting\nunder some rather trying recollections, \"when they came to know the\nBritons, they supposed the Scots must be superior. Unfortunately,\nexperience had dissipated that hope. Dagan in Britain, and Columban in\nGaul, had shewn them that the Scots did not differ from the Britons in\ntheir habits. Dagan, a Scotic bishop, had visited Canterbury, and not only\nwould he not take food with them, he would not even eat in the same\nhouse.\"\n\nIt is very interesting to find that we can, in these happy days of the\ncareful examination of ancient manuscripts, put a friendlier face upon the\nrelations between the two churches in times not much later than these, and\nin connection with the very persons here named. In the earliest missal of\nthe Irish church known to be in existence, the famous Stowe Missal,\nwritten probably eleven hundred years ago, and for the last eight hundred\nyears contained in the silver case made for it by order of a son of Brian\nBoroimhe, there is of course a list--it is a very long list--of those for\nwhom intercessory prayers were offered. In the earliest part of the list\nthere are entered the names of Laurentius, Mellitus, and Justus, the\nsecond, third, and fourth archbishops of Canterbury, and then, with only\none name between, comes Dagan. The presence of these Italian names in the\nlist does great credit to the kindliness of the Celtic monks, as the\nmarked absence of Augustine's name testifies to their appreciation of his\ncharacter. Many criticisms on his conduct have appeared; I do not know of\nany that can compare in first-hand interest, and discriminating severity,\nwith this omission of his name and inclusion of his successors' names in\nthe earliest Irish missal which we possess. It is so early that it\ncontains a prayer that the chieftain who had built them their church might\nbe converted from idolatry. Dagan, who had refused to sit at table with\nLaurentius and Mellitus, reposed along with them on the Holy Table for\nmany centuries in this forgiving list.\n\nOf a similar feeling on the part of the Britons, when isolated in Wales,\nAldhelm of Malmesbury had a piteous tale to tell, soon after 700. \"The\npeople on the other side the Severn had such a horror of communication\nwith the West Saxon Christians that they would not pray in the same church\nwith them or sit at the same table. If a Saxon left anything at a meal,\nthe Briton threw it to dogs and swine. Before a Briton would condescend to\nuse a dish or a bottle that had been used by a Saxon, it must be rubbed\nwith sand or purified with fire. The Briton would not give the Saxon the\nsalutation or the kiss of peace. If a Saxon went to live across the\nSevern, the Britons would hold no communication with him till he had been\nmade to endure a penance of forty days.\" There is quite a modern air about\nthis pitiful tale of love lost between the Celt and the Saxon[46]. Matthew\nof Westminster, writing in the fourteenth century, carries the hostility\ndown to his time, in words which leave us in no doubt as to their\nsincerity. \"Those who fled to Wales have never to this day ceased their\nhatred of the Angles. They sally forth from their mountains like mice from\ncaverns, and will take no ransom from a captive save his head.\"\n\nAnother result of the consideration, which I have suggested, of the date\nand manner of the Christianising of Ireland, is the probability that the\nIrish Church and the remains of the British Church had some not\ninconsiderable differences of practice. This is a point which it would be\nwell worth while to examine closely, but we cannot do it now. Laurentius\nand Mellitus at first supposed that the Britons and the Scots were the\nsame in their habits; then they supposed that they must be different; then\nthey found they were the same. But this was the habit of hostility to the\nItalian mission in England, and that can scarcely be classed among\nreligious practices. It is too much assumed that the British Church and\nthe Celtic Church were the same in their differences from the Church of\nthe continent. To take one most important point, while they differed from\nthe Church Catholic in their computation of Easter, they differed from\neach other in the basis of their computation. The British Church used the\ncycle of years[47] arranged by Sulpicius Severus, the disciple of Martin\nof Tours, about 410, no doubt introduced to Britain by Germanus; the Irish\nChurch used the earlier cycle of Anatolius, a Bishop of Laodicea in the\nthird century. The Council of Arles, in 314, had found that the West,\nBritain included, was unanimous in its computation of Easter, and Nicaea,\nin 325, settled the question in the same sense. Then came the cycle of\n410, of which the British were aware, and not the Irish. Then came\nanother, in this way. Hilary, Archdeacon and afterwards Bishop of Rome,\nwrote in 457 to Victorius of Aquitaine to consult him about the Paschal\ncycle. The result was the calculation of a new cycle, which was authorised\nby the Council of Orleans in 541. It was this newer cycle of which the\nBritish Church was found to be ignorant, and their ignorance of it is\neloquent proof of the isolation into which the ravages of the invading\nEnglish had driven them. One of the indications of difference between the\nIrish and the British Church is rather amusing. When the Irish had\nconformed to Roman customs, well on in the seventh century, they solemnly\nrebuked the Britons of Wales for cutting themselves off from the Western\nChurch.\n\nWe are not to suppose that the only intercourse with Ireland was through\nBritain by way of the English Channel. The south of Ireland, at least, was\nin direct communication with the north-western part of France by sea. When\na province of the Third Lyonese was formed, with Tours as its capital, in\n394, its area including Britany and the parts south of that, Martin was\nstill Bishop of Tours, and he became the metropolitan. He at once sent\ninto Britany the monasticism which he had founded in Gaul, and it passed\nthence direct to the south-west corner of Wales. Thence it passed to\nIreland. We hear of a ship at Nantes, ready to sail to Ireland. And in\nColumba's time, when the Saint was telling them of an accident that was at\nthat moment happening in Istria, he assured them that in the course of\ntime Gallican sailors would come and bring the news[48]. This double\ncontact must be kept in mind, when we find the south of Ireland different\nin Christian tone and temper from the north. It would seem that there were\nrace-differences too, but on that I must not enter.\n\nI am not clear that the Irish Church, as such, had anything to do with\nmissionary enterprise among our pagan English ancestors. Columbanus merely\npassed through Britain, on his way to do a much more widely-extended\nmissionary work in Gaul than Augustine, his contemporary, did in England.\nBut it is a very different matter when we come to the great off-shoot from\nthe Irish Church, the vigorous Church whose centre was the island of Hii,\nits moving spirit St. Columba. Iona--to adopt the familiar blunder which\nmakes a _u_ into an _n_ in a name all vowels--Iona did indeed pay back\nwith a generous hand all and more than all that Ireland had owed to\nBritain.\n\nIt was in 563 that St. Columba crossed over from Ireland to north Britain,\nwith the wonted twelve companions. He established himself in the island of\nHii, the Iouan island, now called Iona. In 565 he went to the mainland,\ncrossed the central ridge of mountains, and made his way to the residence\nof the king of the northern Picts, near \"the long lake of the river Ness,\"\nnot far from Inverness. Here he found much the same kind of paganism as\nPatrick had found in Ireland. The king's priests and wise men, here as in\nIreland, went by the name of Druids, _Magi_ in Latin, and professed to\nhave influence with the powers of nature. Here he worked for some nine or\nten years with great success, beginning with the defeat of the Druids in\ntheir attempt to prevent his coming, followed soon after by the baptism of\nthe king, who appears to have been a monarch of great power and wide rule.\nThen Columba devoted himself to his island monastery; and it grew under\nhis hands and those of his immediate successors, till its fame reached all\nlands. Columba died in 597, the very year in which Ethelbert was converted\nto Christianity. Thirty-seven years after Columba's death, his successors\ndid that for the Northumbrian Angles which the successors of Augustine had\nfailed to do.\n\nWe shall make a very great mistake if we ridicule or under-rate the power\nof the pagan priests, to whom these stories make reference. Classical\nmythology treats the gods of Greece and Rome as intensely important\nbeings: and their priests were dominant. We must assign a like position to\nthe gods and the priests of our pagan predecessors. When Apollo was\nconsulted in Diocletian's presence, an answer was given in a hollow\nvoice, not by the priest, but by Apollo himself, that the oracles were\nrestrained from answering truly; and the priests said this pointed to the\nChristians. And when the entrails of victims were examined in augury on\nanother of Diocletian's expeditions, and found not to present the wonted\nmarks, the chief soothsayer declared that the presence of Christians\ncaused the failure. Just such scenes were enacted, with at least as much\nof tragic earnestness, when Patrick worsted the Druid Lochra in the hall\nof Tara, or when Columba baffled the devices of Broichan, the arch-Druid\nof Brude, the Pictish king.\n\nWhile Columba was doing his great work, Christianity was re-established by\na British king in a part of Britain where it had been obliterated by pagan\nBritons, that is, in the territory called Cumbria, extending southwards\nfrom Dumbarton on the Clyde and including our Cumberland. The king was a\nChristian; and the question whether Cumbria should be Christian or pagan\nwas brought to the arbitration of battle. The great fight of Ardderyd, a\nfew miles north of Carlisle, gave it for Christianity in 573, twenty years\nbefore the period to which our attention is mainly drawn. Kentigern, a\nnative of the territory between the walls, became the apostle of Cumbria.\nHis mother was Teneu, or Tenoc, and in these railway days she has\nre-appeared in a strange guise. From St. Tenoc she has become St. Enoch,\nand has given that name to the great railway station in Glasgow, much to\nthe puzzlement of travellers, who ask when the Old Testament Enoch was\nsainted by the Scotch[49]. The establishment of Christianity in this\nkingdom of Cumbria is said by the Welsh records to have had a great\nresult. They claim that the first conversion of the northern section of\nthe Northumbrian Angles, before their relapse, was due to a missionary who\nwas of the royal family of Cumbria; indeed they appear to assert that\nEdwin of Northumbria himself was baptised by this missionary, Rum, or Run,\nson of Urbgen or Urien.\n\nIt seems probable that the districts of Britain which we call Wales had in\nRomano-British times only one bishopric, that of Caerleon-on-Usk, near\nNewport, in Monmouthshire. But as soon as light is seen in the country\nagain, after the darkness which followed the departure of the Romans, we\nfind a number of diocesan sees. The influx of bishops and their flocks\nfrom the east of the island no doubt had something to do with this, as had\nalso the territorial re-arrangements under British princes. The secular\ndivisions probably decided the ecclesiastical. Bangor, St. Asaph, St.\nDavid's, Llanbadarn, Llandaff, and Llanafanfawr, are the sees of which we\nhave mention, founded by Daniel, Asaph, David, Paternus, Dubricius, and\nAfan. The deaths of these founders date from 584 to 601, so far as the\ndates are known. Llanafanfawr was merged in Llanbadarn, and that again in\nSt. David's. These dates correspond well with the traditional dates of the\nfinal flight of Christian Britons to Wales, under the pressure of Saxon\nconquest. We may, I think, fairly regard this as the remodelling of the\nBritish Church, which once had covered the greater part of the island, in\nthe narrow corner into which it had now been driven. It is to Bangor, St.\nAsaph, St. David's, and Llandaff, that we are to look, if we wish to see\nthe ecclesiastical descendants of Restitutus and Eborius and Adelfius, who\nin 314 ruled the British Church in those parts of the island which we call\nEngland and Wales, with their seats or sees at London, York, and Caerleon.\n\nWhen we come to consider the flight of the Christian Britons before the\nSaxon invaders, it is worth while to consider how far Christianity really\nhad occupied the land generally, even at the date of its highest\ndevelopment. The Britons were rather sturdy in their paganism. Their\nGalatian kinsfolk were pagans still in the fourth century, to a large\nextent. Their kinsfolk in Gaul were pagans to a large extent as late as\n350. It seems to me not improbable that a good many of the Britons stayed\nbehind when the Christian Britons fled before the heathen Saxons; and that\nthe flocks whom British bishops led to places of safety, in Britany and\nthe mountains of Britain, may have been not very numerous. If on the whole\nthe fugitives were chiefly from the municipal centres, places so\ncompletely destroyed as their ruins prove them to have been, the few\nChristians left in the country places would easily relapse. But they would\nretain the Christian tradition; and from them or their children would come\nsuch information as that which enabled Wilfrid to identify, and recover\nfor Christ, the sacred places of British Christianity.\n\nWe should, I think, make a serious mistake if we supposed that the British\nChurch in Cornwall and Devon was originally formed by fugitives from other\nparts of the island. The monuments seem to shew that Christianity was\nestablished there as well as in other parts of Britain in Romano-British\ntimes. Such monuments as we find there and in Wales do not exist in other\nparts of the island where the British Church existed; and it is an\ninteresting and important question, is that because these parts were\nunlike the other parts, or is it because in other parts the processes of\nagriculture and building have broken up the old stones with their rude\ninscriptions? We now and then come across a warning that the total absence\nof monumental remains in a place may not mean that there never were any.\nMany of you would say with confidence that we certainly have not\nmonumental remains from the original cathedral church of St. Paul's, built\nin the first years of Christianity and burned after the Conquest. But we\nhave. They found some years ago a Danish headstone, with a runic\ninscription of the date of Canute, twenty feet below the present surface\nof the churchyard. You can see it in the Guildhall Library, or a cast of\nit in our library here. I have no doubt there are many such, if we could\ndig.\n\nBut it is of course impossible here to enter upon the evidence of the\nmonumental inscriptions. They deserve courses of lectures to themselves.\nI may say that the language of the inscriptions connected with the British\nChurch is Latin, while in Ireland the vernacular is used, quite simply at\nthe great monastic centres of Clonmacnois and Monasterboice; markedly\nLatinised at Lismore, the place of study of the south. In Cornwall the\ninscriptions are mostly very curt, just \"A, son of B,\" all in the genitive\ncase, meaning \"the monument of A, who was son of B.\" In Wales they are\nmany of them much longer, and some of them in exceedingly bad Latin,\ncertainly not ecclesiastical Latin, almost certainly Latin such as the\nRomano-Britons may have talked: \"Senacus the presbyter lies here, _cum\nmultitudinem fratrum_;\" \"Carausius lies here, _in hoc congeries lapidum_.\"\nOne of the British inscriptions in Wales is charmingly characteristic of\nthe modesty of the race: \"Cataman the king lies here, the wisest and most\nthought-of of all kings.\" Cataman, by the way, is identified with Cadfan,\nand Cadfan in his lifetime told the Abbat of Bangor his mind in very\nCeltic style as follows (evidently he made a point of living up to his\nepitaph): \"If the Cymry believe all that Rome believes, that is as strong\na reason for Rome obeying us, as for us obeying Rome.\"\n\nThe question of the inscriptions is complicated by a very remarkable\nphenomenon. There are in South Wales, at its western part, a large number\nof what are called Ogam inscriptions, and in Devon there are one or\ntwo[50]. In the south of Ireland there are large numbers. Outside these\nislands no such thing is known in the whole world. The language is early\nGaelic, that is, the monuments belong to the Celtic, not to the British\npeople[51]. The formula is \"(the monument) of A, son of B.\" In Wales the\nOgam is frequently accompanied by a boldly cut Latin inscription to the\nsame effect[52], with just such differences as help to shew us how the\nOgam cutters pronounced their letters. My own explanation of the Ogam\nsystem is that it represents the signs made with the fingers in cryptic\nspeech, used as very simple for cutting on stone when the need for mystery\nwas at an end, that is to say, in all probability, when Druidism was just\ndying out, and the practice of committing nothing to writing had ceased\nto be a religious observance. I merely mention these things to add another\nto the many varied and interesting problems which are forced upon us by a\nconsideration of our fore-elder, the British Church.\n\nIt is time to draw towards a conclusion of this hasty scramble over a full\nfield.\n\nIf any one asks, where is the old Irish Church now? Dr. Todd, in his Life\nof St. Patrick (1864), gives in effect the following answer: 'The Danish\nbishops of Waterford and Dublin in the eleventh century entirely ignored\nthe Irish Church and the successors of St. Patrick; they received\nconsecration from the see of Canterbury; and from that time there were two\nChurches in Ireland. Then, the Anglo-Norman settlers of the twelfth\ncentury ignored the native bishops, on very high authority. Pope Adrian\nthe Fourth, who was himself an Englishman, claimed possession of Ireland\nunder the supposed donation of Constantine, as being an island. He gave it\nto Henry the Second, charging him to convert to the true Christian faith\nthe ignorant and uncivilised tribes who inhabited it, and to exterminate\nthe nurseries of vices, and--with an eye to business--to pay to St. Peter\na penny in every year for every house in the country. It is clear that\nthere was to be no recognition of the old Irish Church. In 1367 the Irish\nParliament at Kilkenny enacted the famous Statute of Kilkenny. It was made\npenal to present any Irishman to an ecclesiastical benefice, and penal for\nany religious house within the English pale to receive any Irishman to\ntheir profession. Three archbishops and five bishops were to excommunicate\nall who violated the act. These prelates were all appointed by papal\nprovision; some were consecrated at Avignon; their names tell the old\nstory, Galatian biting Galatian, Celt devouring Celt. There were among the\nexcommunicators an O'Carroll, an O'Grada, and an O'Cormacan. And so it\ncame that when the Anglo-Irish Church accepted the Reformation, the old\nIrish Church was extinct.' My next sentence is quoted exactly from Dr.\nTodd. \"Missionary bishops and priests, therefore, ordained abroad, were\nsent into Ireland to support the interests of Rome; and from them is\nderived a third Church, in close communion with the see of Rome, which has\nnow assumed the forms and dimensions of a national established religion.\"\n\nIf any one asks, where is the old Scottish Church now? Dr. Skene in his\nCeltic Scotland gives in effect the following answer. 'The old Scottish\nChurch was a monastic system. It worked well as long as the ecclesiastical\ncharacter of the monasteries was preserved. But the assimilation to Rome\nintroduced secular clergy, side by side with the monastic clergy, and this\nended in the establishment of a parochial system and a diocesan\nepiscopacy, which still further isolated the old church in its\nmonasteries. Then the monasteries themselves fell into the hands of lay\nabbats, who held them as hereditary property, and they ceased to be\necclesiastical establishments. These changes occupied the earlier part of\nthe twelfth century. About the middle of that century the Culdees, the\nsole remaining representatives of the old order of clergy, were absorbed\ninto the cathedral chapters by being made regular canons; and thus the\nlast remains of the old Scottish Church disappeared.' This was chiefly\ndone in David's reign.\n\nThe old Cumbrian Church, that is, the Church of the Britons of\nStrathclyde, of which we have spoken under Ninian and Kentigern, had all\nbut disappeared in the times of confusion and revolution which began with\nthe Danish invasions. The same David who as king brought the old Scottish\nChurch to an end, as earl had reconstituted Kentigern's diocese. The\nCuldees who had once formed the chapter had quite disappeared, and\nabsorption was unnecessary. Glasgow had given to it in 1147 the decanal\nconstitution of Salisbury, by Bishop Herbert, consecrated by the Pope at\nAuxerre. About 1133 Whithorn was reconstituted a bishopric, as suffragan\nto York; and Carlisle was made a bishopric, as suffragan to York. Other\nparts had gone before. Thus all vestiges of the old British Church of\nCumbria had entirely disappeared before 1150.\n\nThe old British Church in Cornwall and Devon came to an end in this way.\nIn 884 King Alfred formed in Devonshire a West-Saxon see, and made Asser\nthe Saxon Bishop. Cornwall was made to undergo several changes, and at\nlast, in 1050, was merged in the see of Exeter. It is a matter of very\ngreat difficulty to approach to a determination as to where the British\nsee of Cornwall, or of Cornwall and Devon, really was,--or the sees, if\nthere were more than one. All record has perished.\n\nIf any one asks, where is the old British Church of what is now England?\nthe answer is very different. The old Church is living still. The Bishops\nof the four dioceses of Wales rule it still. There is a curious irony in\nthe historical contrast between 594 and 1894, in calling attention to\nwhich I make and mean no political remark. Political remarks in this\nplace, on this occasion, from one who could not if he would, and would not\nif he could, dissociate himself from membership of a corporate body, with\nthe reticence which that position sometimes enjoins, and who hopes that\nhis audience is very far from being composed of persons of one set of\npolitical views only, political remarks would be merely offensive. The\ncontrast is this. In 594, the Christian bishops of Britain had fled before\nthe pagan English and established themselves in Wales, where they\ngradually gathered endowments for their holy purposes. In 1894, it is a\nquestion of the day whether the Christian English will disestablish them\nand assign their endowments to purposes less holy.\n\nThe old British Church of what is now Wales of course exists still in\nWales, with a history quite unbroken from the earliest centuries. If we\nmust specially localise it, St. David's probably is its most direct\nrepresentative. But it is not possible to draw any clear line between the\nrepresentatives of the Church in Wales before the English occupation of\nBritain, and the present representatives of those who fled to Wales to\nescape from the pagan English.\n\nJust one or two remarks on peculiarities of the Church in Britain.\n\nI have spoken of the writings of Fastidius and Gildas, and have accepted\nas genuine the writings ascribed to St. Patrick. In all of these we find\nquotations from the Scripture, and they tell us what is very interesting\nabout the version from which they quote. A hundred or a thousand years\nhence it will be quite easy for those who read--say--the sermon delivered\nat St. Paul's last Sunday afternoon, to determine whether the preacher\nused the Authorised or the Revised Version. So we can tell with ease\nwhether a writer about 430, or 470, or 570, used Jerome's Vulgate Version,\nor the earlier and ruder Latin Version which preceded it. Of that ruder\nversion there were many differing editions--so to call them. Jerome got a\nnumber of copies of it, before setting to work, and he found almost as\nmany differing revisions as there were copies.\n\nNow Fastidius, writing about 430, in the time when intercourse with Gaul\nand Italy was still full, affords clear evidence that he knew, and on\noccasion used, the Vulgate. But the Vulgate was very new then, and he much\nmore frequently quoted from the older version. Patrick, fifty years later,\nhas indications that he had some slight knowledge of the Vulgate, if\nindeed these indications be not due to copyists. Instead of advance in\nknowledge, Patrick's writing shews isolation from the sources of new\nknowledge. Gildas, on the other hand, 100 years later, but while Britain\nwas all under the heel of the pagan Saxon, and cut off from the Christian\nworld, shews a very clear advance in the use of the newer version, as\nmight be expected from one of the leading men in the great seminary of\nSouth Wales. It seems to me that this strengthens the belief that from and\nafter the time of Martin of Tours, South Wales had means of access to\ncontinental scholarship by way of Britany, and not through Britain only.\n\nThe point of special interest that comes out in all this investigation of\nthe details of differences in quotations, is, that the edition, or\nrecension, of the Old Version, used by British writers, was unlike any now\nknown. It was, so far as we can ascertain, peculiar to themselves.\n\nWe learn from Gildas that the British Church had one rite at least\npeculiar to itself, that of anointing the hands at ordination. The lessons\nfrom Holy Scripture, too, used at ordination, were different both from the\nGallican and from the Roman use. In the early Anglo-Saxon Church this\nanointing the hands of deacons, priests, and bishops, was retained; hence\nit seems probable that other rites at ordination in the early Anglo-Saxon\nChurch, which we cannot trace to any other source, were British. Such\nwere, the prayer at giving the stole to deacons, the delivering the\nGospels to deacons, the investing the priests with the stole.\n\nAnd what of the administration of the Two Sacraments? To their manner of\nadministering the Holy Communion, Augustine did not raise objection. To\ntheir Baptism, he did. What, in detail, the objection was, we do not know.\nIt is a very curious fact that the actual words to be used in baptising\nare omitted in the Stowe Missal, where full directions as to various rites\nconnected with Baptism are given. If we may judge from some correspondence\nof Gregory at this date with Spain, it was probably a question between\nsingle immersion and immersion three times. Gregory, with a freedom of\nconcession in which he more than any one in like position allowed himself,\nadvised the retention of single immersion in Spain, because of the\npeculiar position of Spain with respect to Arianism. There was, curiously\nenough, a British bishopric in Spain at that very time.\n\nTo speak of the Holy Eucharist, a course of lectures, instead of a\nsentence in one lecture, might afford space not wholly inadequate.\nAugustine wrote to Gregory to ask what he was to do, as he found the\ncustom of Masses[53] in the Church of the Gauls (Galliarum) different\nfrom the Roman. Gregory replied that whatever seemed to Augustine the most\nsuitable, whether in the Roman use or in that of the Gauls, or in the use\nof any other Church, that he should adopt; and having thus made a\ncollection of all that seemed best, he should form it into one whole, and\nestablish that among the English. Gregory actually himself added words to\nthe Roman Canon of the Mass, so free did he feel himself to deal with such\npoints. Augustine went so far in this direction of recognising other\nliturgies, that he told the Britons if they would agree with him about\nEaster and Baptism, and help him to convert the English, he on his part\nwould tolerate all their other customs, though contrary to his own.\nGildas, thirty years before, stated directly that the Britons were\ncontrary to the whole world, and hostile to the Roman custom, both in the\nMass and in the tonsure. A very early Irish statement, usually accepted as\nhistorical, shews that the British custom of the Mass was different from\nthat which the Irish had from St. Patrick: that this British custom was\nintroduced into Ireland by Bishop David, Gildas, and Docus, the Britons,\nsay about 560; and that from that time till 666 there were different\nMasses used in Ireland.\n\nThe South of Ireland accepted the Roman Easter in 634, and the North in\n692; so this date 666 is not unlikely. But it was centuries before the old\nnational rites really died out in Ireland. Malachy, the great Romaniser,\nBishop of Armagh 1134-1148, was the first Irish bishop to wear the Roman\npallium. He established in all his churches the customs of the Roman\nChurch.\n\nIt may be as well to state approximately the dates at which differences of\npractice disappeared in the several parts of our own island.\n\nThe English of Northumbria abandoned the insular Easter in 664.\n\nThe Britons of Strathclyde conformed to the English usages in 688; the\nfirst British bishop to conform in that district was present at a Council\nat Rome in 721, where he signs himself \"Sedulius, a bishop of Britain, by\nrace a Scot.\"\n\nPictish Scotland, and also Iona, adopted the Catholic rites between 710\nand 717.\n\nThe Britons of North Wales did not conform to the usages adopted by the\nAnglo-Saxon Church till 768; those of South Wales till 777.\n\nMy object in these last cursory remarks has not been, I really need not\nsay, to convey information in detail on the difficult and intricate points\nto which I have referred[54]. It has been simply this, to shew how very\nreal, and substantial, and fully equipped, and independent, was the Church\nexisting in all parts of these islands, save only the parts of Britain\noccupied by the pagan Jutes and Saxons and Angles, at the time when\nAugustine came; came with his monks from Rome, his interpreters from Gaul.\nI do not say that there were no pagans left then in parts of Scotland and\nof Ireland and perhaps of Wales, but the knowledge of the Lord covered the\nearth, save where the English were.\n\nThe impression left on my mind by a study of the face of our islands in\nthe year 594, thirteen hundred years ago, is that of the pause, the hush,\nwhich precedes the launch of a great ship. The ship is the Church of\nEngland. In the providence of God, all was prepared; Christian forces all\naround were ready to play their part; unconsciously ready, but ready;\npassively ready, needing to be called into play. There were obstacles\nenough, but obstacles removable; obstacles that would be removed. The\nEnglish had been the first to act. They desired to move. They had called\nacross the narrow sea to the Gauls to come over and help them. But there\nwas no voice, nor any that answered. Once in motion, its own momentum\nwould soon carry the ship beyond the need of the aids that helped it move.\nWho should touch the spring, and give the initiation of motion?\n\nFar away, in Rome, there was a man with eagle eye, who saw that the moment\nhad come. In wretched health, tried continually by severe physical pain,\nhis own surroundings enough to break down the spirit of any but the\nstrongest of men; with all his sore trials, he was never weary of well\ndoing. He was called upon to rule the Church of Rome at one of the very\ndarkest of its many times of trial. Pestilence was rife; it had carried\noff his predecessor. Italy was overrun by enemies. The celibate life had\nfor long found so many adherents, that defenders of the country were few;\nchildren were not born to fill the gaps of pestilence and war. Husbandry\nwas abandoned. The distress was so great, so universal, that the\nconviction was held in the highest quarters that those were the fearful\nsights and great signs heralding the end of the world.\n\nAnd even more than by these secular troubles was he that then ruled the\nRoman Church tried by ecclesiastical difficulties. Arianism, so far from\nbeing at an end, dominant or threatening wherever the Goths and the\nLombards were; and where were they not? Donatism once again raising its\nhead in Africa, and lifting its hands of violence; controversies a hundred\nand fifty years old, about Nestorianism, breaking into fresh life,\nthreatening fresh divisions of the seamless robe of Christ. He thus\ndescribed the church he ruled:--\"an old and shattered ship; leaking on all\nsides; its timbers rotten; shaken by daily storms; sounding of wreck.\"\n\nHe it was that in the midst of trials much as these, his own ship on the\npoint of foundering, touched the spring that launched the English Church.\nMoving very slowly at first; seriously checked now and again; brought up\nshivering once and more than once; the forces round it not playing their\npart with a will; some of them even opposing; it still went on and\ngathered way. As time went on, it took on board one source of strength\nthat most had stood aloof; for many centuries the British Church has\nformed part of the ship's company. And still the ship goes gallantly on,\ngathering way; the Grace of God, we hopefully and humbly believe,\nsustaining and guiding it; guiding it, through unquiet seas, to the\ndestined haven of eternal peace and rest.\n\nThe man who in the providence of God touched the spring, was Gregory, the\nBishop of Rome. Let God be thanked for him.\n\n\nOXFORD: HORACE HART. PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY\n\n\n\n\nPUBLICATIONS\n\nOF THE\n\nSOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.\n\n\n_HISTORY OF INDIA._\n\nFrom the Earliest Times to the Present Day. By Captain L. J. TROTTER. With\neight full-page Woodcuts on toned paper, and numerous smaller Woodcuts.\nPost 8vo. Cloth boards, 10_s._ 6_d._\n\n\n_SCENES IN THE EAST._\n\nConsisting of twelve Coloured Photographic Views of Places mentioned in\nthe Bible, beautifully executed, with Descriptive Letterpress. 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Cloth boards, 3_s._\n6_d._\n\n\n_CHINA._\n\nBy Professor ROBERT K. DOUGLAS, of the British Museum. With Map, and eight\nfull-page Illustrations on toned paper, and several Vignettes. Post 8vo.\nCloth boards, 5_s._\n\n\n_RUSSIA: PAST AND PRESENT._\n\nAdapted from the German of Lankenau and Oelnitz. By Mrs. CHESTER. With\nMap, and three full-page Woodcuts and Vignettes. Post 8vo. Cloth boards,\n5_s._\n\n\n  Depositories:\n  LONDON: NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.\n  43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C.\n  BRIGHTON: 135, NORTH STREET.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] Laurentius, Mellitus, and Justus agreed that it was better for them to\ngo back to their own country, and there serve God with minds at rest, than\nto live fruitlessly among barbarians who had revolted from the faith\n(Bede, ii. 5). It was in pursuance of this resolution that Mellitus and\nJustus crossed the Channel, and Laurentius prepared to follow them.\n\n[2] The last decade of the century usually played an important part in the\nperiod which our present consideration covers. From 190 to 200,\nChristianity made such progress in Britain as to justify the remark of\nTertullian quoted on page 54. From 290 to 300, Constantius secured his\nposition. From 390 to 400, the last great stand against the barbarian\ninvaders on the north was made by the help of Roman arms. From 490 to 500,\nthe great victory of the Britons under Ambrosius Aurelianus over the\nSaxons rolled back for many years the English advance. From 590 to 600,\nthe Christianising of the English began to be a fact.\n\n[3] See page 96.\n\n[4] Ecclesiastical History of the Franks, ix. 37.\n\n[5] Page 120.\n\n[6] _Daily Chronicle_, June 30, 1893.\n\n[7] _Standard_, May 30, 1893.\n\n[8] _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_ (late Canterbury copy). Green, _Making of\nEngland_, p. 111.\n\n[9] There is a very interesting discussion in a recent book, _The History\nof St. Martin's Church, Canterbury_, by the Rev. C. F. Routledge, Honorary\nCanon of Canterbury, on the meaning of this statement (pages 120, &c.). It\nseems to me clear that Bede believed the church in question to have been\ndedicated to St. Martin while the Romans were still in the land. As Martin\nwas living up to 397, and the Roman empire in Britain ended in 407, there\nis not much time for a dedication to this particular Martin. But our ideas\nof dedications are very different from those which guided the nomenclature\nof churches in the earliest centuries of Christianity here. If Martin\nhimself ever lived at Canterbury, and had this church, the difficulty\nwould disappear.\n\n[10] The contradictory instructions given by Gregory on the question of\nusing heathen temples for Christian worship are rather puzzling. They are\nfound in a letter to Mellitus, dated June 15, 601, and in a letter to\nAugustine, dated June 22, 601. The surmise of Messrs. Haddan and Stubbs\nthat the former date is wrong, and that the letter to Mellitus was later\nthan that to Augustine, is reasonable, and solves the puzzle. On this\nview, Gregory wrote to Augustine, on June 22, 601, to the effect that the\nidol-temples must be destroyed. This letter, as we know, he gave to\nMellitus, who was in Rome, to be brought by him to England. Then, a few\ndays later, perhaps on June 27, he sent a short letter to Mellitus, to say\nthat he had carefully considered the matter, and had decided that if an\nidol-temple was well built, it should be cleansed, and consecrated to the\nservice of Christ. It is an interesting fact that the earliest historical\ntestimony to the existence and martyrdom of St. George, who was recognised\nfor so many centuries as the Patron of England, is found in an inscription\nin a church in southern Syria, dating from about the year 346, stating\nthat the church had been a heathen temple, and was dedicated as a church\nin honour of the \"great martyr\" St. George.\n\n[11] Known as the Goidelic branch of the Celtic race.\n\n[12] The names Galatae and Celtae are not improbably the same word, the\nlatter name being pronounced with a short vowel between the _l_ and the\n_t_, as though spelled Celătae or Celŭtae. It is in fact so\npronounced to this day in many parts of the island.\n\n[13] Known as the Brythonic branch of the race.\n\n[14] As has been already remarked, they are now generally described as the\nBrythonic and Goidelic branches of the Celtic race.\n\n[15] Or with ab, as Bevan and Baddam, that is, ab Evan and ab Adam. Map\nand mab, ap and ab, stand for \"son.\"\n\n[16] St. Peter is now being claimed as one of the Apostles of Britain; but\nit is impossible to deal seriously with such a proposition. A pamphlet\nwith this view was issued in 1893, by the Reverend W. Fleming, M. R.\nCardinal Baronius, holding the view that St. Peter lived long in Rome,\nfelt the difficulty which any one with the historic sense must feel, that\nSt. Paul in his Epistle to the Romans makes no mention of St. Peter as\nbeing then in Rome, nor does the history in the last chapters of the Acts.\nThe explanation given is that St. Peter, though permanently resident in\nRome, was away from home on these occasions. As there is no trace of him\nin any known country at the time, Britain is taken as the place of his\nsojourn during some of the later years of St. Paul, probably as the\ncountry where traces of his sojourn were least likely to be found on\nrecord. Mr. Fleming quotes a passage from a book written in 1609 by the\nsecond \"Vicar Apostolic of England and Scotland,\" which is only too\ntypical an example of a style of assertion and argument of which we might\nhave hoped that we had seen the last. \"I assure the indifferent reader,\nthat St. Peter's preaching to the ancient Britons, on the one side is\naffirmed both by Latins and Greeks, by ancient and modern, by foreign and\ndomestic, by Catholic writers..., by Protestant antiquaries...; and on the\nother side, denied by no one ancient writer, Greek or Latin, foreign or\ndomestic, Catholic or other.\"\n\n[17] Archdeacon Prescott informs me that in an early deed in the MS.\nRegister of Lanercost Priory there is mention made of a _capella de\nvirgis_, a chapel of wattle-work, at Treverman (Triermain). Divine Service\nwas celebrated there by consent of Egelwin, the last Anglo-Saxon Bishop of\nDurham.\n\n[18] Some writers, not aware of the extent to which wattle-work can be\nused and has been used, have said that _virgea_ must in this connection\nmean \"made of boards,\" not of wattle. There seems to be no sufficient\nreason for putting this interpretation upon a well-known word. And even if\nit had that meaning, we should find in the recently revealed British\nmarsh-fortress an equally good illustration of their skill in working\nboards. The principal causeway is faced with oak boards on its two\nvertical sides. These are kept in their place by carefully squared oak\nposts, driven deep into the ground below, so that their tops are level\nwith the surface of the causeway. The tops of the posts are morticed, and\na bar of oak, across the causeway, is let into the tops of the two posts\nopposite to one another, and is fastened there with oak pegs. Thus the\nboards which face the vertical sides of the causeway are clamped tight in\ntheir places. The work is done throughout with extreme neatness of fit and\nfinish.\n\n[19] Juvenal, _Satires_, xii. 46; Martial, _Epigrams_, xiv. 99.\n\n[20] _Ep._ xi. 53.\n\n[21] _Wars of the Jews_, vi. 6.\n\n[22] _Annals_, xiv. 32, 33.\n\n[23] That is, in December 1893, in the war with the Matabele.\n\n[24] It is added that in the eventual revenge of the Romans, some eighty\nthousand of the Britons were killed. These numbers seem at first sight\nvery large, too large to be historical. But we may bear in mind that\nCaesar a hundred years before had noted with surprise the populousness of\nBritain--_hominum infinita multitudo_, countless swarms of men.\n\n[25] See p. 117. As I have found myself obliged by historical\nconsiderations to abandon the interesting old tradition of King Lucius, I\nmay as well give in a note some details of the story which have special\ninterest for us in London. It may be mentioned as a preliminary, that\nGildas (about A. D. 560) makes no reference to the story. Bede, who\nusually follows Gildas, gets his information about Lucius from the Roman\nChronicle, as enlarged in the time of Prosper. But he gives two different\ndates, in one place (i. 4) A. D. 156, which is inconsistent with the names\nof the reigning emperors as given by him, and in another place (the\nsummary at the end of book v) after A. D. 167. The earliest British\ntestimony to the story is that of Nennius, in the ninth century. He tells\nus that Lucius was called Lleur maur, the great light, because of this\nevent.\n\nThe fully developed story is quoted by Dugdale (_History of St. Paul's_,\np. 2) from a MS. in the possession of the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's\nbefore the fire of 1666, as follows:--'In the year 185 Pope Eleutherius\nsent hither into Britain, at the instance of King Lucius, two eminent\ndoctors, Faganus and Damianus, to the end that they might instruct him and\nhis subjects in the principles of Christian religion, and consecrate such\nchurches as had been dedicated to divers false gods, unto the honour of\nthe true God: whereupon these holy men consecrated three metropolitical\nsees in the three chief cities of the island, unto which they subjected\ndivers bishopricks: the first at London, whereunto all England, from the\nbanks of Humber southwards, and Severn eastward, belonged: the second,\nYork, which contained all beyond Humber northwards, together with\nScotland: the third, Caerleon (upon Uske) whereunto all westward of\nSevern, with Wales totally, were subject. All which continued so till\nAugustine (who was sent by Pope Gregory) in the year 604 after the birth\nof our Saviour, having translated the primacy to Canterbury, constituted\nMellitus the first bishop of London.'\n\nThe Church of St. Peter upon Cornhill claims to have been the Cathedral\nChurch of London, as founded by Lucius. There was a brass plate hanging\n'in the revestrie of Saint Paules at London' (Hollinshed, A D. 1574), with\na statement to that effect, probably dating from the time of Edward IV.\nThe old brass plate, now preserved in the vestry of St. Peter's, Cornhill,\nis 'the old one revived': except in some of the details it agrees with the\nfollowing copy of the plate formerly in the vestry of St. Paul's as given\nby Weever before the fire (_Funeral Monuments_, A. D. 1631, p. 413).\n\n'Be hit known to al Men that the yeerys of owr Lord God An. clxxix,\nLucius, the fyrst christen king of this lond, then callyd Brytayne,\nfowndyd the fyrst Chyrch in London, that is to sey, the Chyrch of Sent\nPeter upon Cornhyl; and he fowndyd ther an Archbishoppys See, and made\nthat Chirch the Metropolitant and cheef Chirch of this Kindom, and so\nenduryd the space of cccc yeerys and more, unto the commyng of Sent\nAusten, an Apostyl of Englond, the whych was sent into the lond by Sent\nGregory, the Doctor of the Chirch, in the tym of King Ethelbert, and then\nwas the Archbyshoppys See and Pol removyd from the aforeseyd Chirch of\nSent Peters apon Cornhyl unto Derebernaum, that now ys callyd Canterbury,\nand ther yt remeynyth to this dey.\n\n'And Millet Monk, whych came into this lond wyth Sent Austen, was made the\nfyrst Bishop of London, and hys See was made in Powllys Chyrch. And this\nLucius, Kyng, was the fyrst Fowndyr of Peters Chyrch apon Cornhyl; and he\nregnyd King in this Ilond after Brut mccxlv yeerys. And the yeerys of owr\nLord God a cxxiiii Lucius was crownyd Kyng, and the yeerys of hys reygne\nlxxvii yeerys, and he was beryd aftyr sum cronekil at London, and aftyr\nsum cronekil he was beryd at Glowcester, at that plase wher the ordyr of\nSent Francys standyth.'\n\nThe records of the Corporation of London shew that in 1399 and 1417 the\nRector of St. Peter's, Cornhill, had precedence over all Rectors in the\nCity on this account. 'An apostolic contention oftentimes arose between\nthe Rectors of the churches of St. Peter, Cornhill, St. Magnus the Martyr,\nand St. Nicholas, Cold Abbey, which of them would seem to be the greater\nand by reason of such dignity should occupy the last place in the\nprocession in the week of Pentecost.' The Mayor and Aldermen decided that\nthe Rector of St. Peter's, 'of right, and for the honour of that most\nsacred Basilica of St. Peter (which was the first church founded in\nLondon, namely, in the year of our Lord 199, by King Lucius, and in which\nwas the metropolitan see for four hundred years and more) shall go alone\nafter all the other Rectors of the same City ... as being priors or abbots\nover them.' [From an account of the Church of St. Peter upon Cornhill, by\nthe Rev. R. Whittington, now Prebendary of St. Paul's, 1872.]\n\n[26] On this important point we may expect some detailed discussion before\nlong. The interesting publication, recently commenced, of the _Supplément\naux Bollandistes pour des vies de Saints de l'époque Mérovingienne_\n(Dupont, 4 Rue du Bouloi, Paris), will contain a treatise _sur\nl'évangélisation de l'Angleterre par les soins du roi Lucius_.\n\n[27] The French ecclesiastics claim the foundation of bishoprics at some\nof these places in the first century.\n\n[28] The language of the traditions would suggest that only the holders of\nthe principal sees went from Britain, there being other bishops who stayed\nat home, in smaller places. Bishoprics rapidly increased in number in the\nearly Anglo-Saxon Church; indeed, the number of bishoprics in England\nremained almost stationary from Bede's time to Henry VIII. In the time of\nArchbishop Tatwine, who was contemporary with the last years of Bede,\nthere were seventeen bishoprics, counting Whithorn, and at the beginning\nof Henry VIII's reign there were eighteen, counting Man; the Welsh\nbishoprics are not included in these numbers. Dunwich and Elmham,\nSherborne, Selsey, Lindisfarne, Lindsey, in Tatwine's time, were\nrepresented respectively by Norwich, Salisbury, Chichester, Durham,\nLincoln, in Henry VIII's time. Leicester, Hexham, Whithorn, had\ndisappeared, and Bath, Carlisle, Ely, Exeter, Man, had come into\nexistence.\n\n[29] See page 59.\n\n[30] Any one writing of these early times has to exercise great\nself-restraint, if he is not to overload his subject with interesting\nillustrations. I cannot refrain from quoting here two paragraphs from Bede\n(iii. 15) which shew that there was a curious knowledge of the property of\noil in England in the seventh century, about 651 A. D.\n\nA certain priest, whose name was Utta, a man of great gravity and\nsincerity, and on that account honoured by all men, even the princes of\nthe world, being ordered to Kent, to bring from thence, as wife for King\nOswy, Eanfleda, the daughter of King Edwin, who had been carried thither\nwhen her father was killed; and intending to go thither by land, but to\nreturn with the virgin by sea; repaired to Bishop Aldan, entreating him to\noffer up his prayers to our Lord for him and his company, who were then to\nset out on their journey. He, blessing and recommending them to our Lord,\nat the same time gave them some holy oil, saying, \"I know that when you go\naboard, you will meet with a storm and contrary wind; but do you remember\nto cast this oil I give you into the sea, and the wind shall cease\nimmediately, you will have pleasant calm weather, and return home safe.\"\n\nAll which fell out as the bishop had predicted. For in the first place,\nthe winds raging, the sailors endeavoured to ride it out at anchor, but\nall to no purpose; for the sea breaking in on all sides, and the ship\nbeginning to be filled with water, they all concluded that certain death\nwas at hand. The priest at last remembering the bishop's words, laid hold\nof the phial and cast some of the oil into the sea, which, as had been\nforetold, became presently calm. Thus it came to pass that the man of God,\nby the spirit of prophecy, foretold the storm that was to happen, and by\nvirtue of the same spirit, though absent, appeased the same. Which miracle\nwas not told me by a person of little credit, but by Cynemund, a most\nfaithful priest of our church, who declared that it was related to him by\nUtta, the priest, on and by whom the same was wrought.\n\n[31] The dates of the departures and restorations of the Roman troops may\nbe stated as follows:--\n\n     A. D. 387. Withdrawal of the Roman troops from Britain.\n\n     A. D. 396. A legion sent to guard the Wall.\n\n     A. D. 402. The legion withdrawn.\n\n     A. D. 406. The Roman army restored.\n\n     A. D. 407. Constantine the usurper again withdraws the army.\n\n     A. D. 409. Termination of the Roman empire in Britain.\n\nThe last troops no doubt sailed from Richborough, the massive Roman walls\nof which have defied the ravages of time. Since these lectures were\ndelivered, an interesting token of the presence of the Romans has been\nfound there, a gold coin of Honorius, who was emperor of the West at the\ntime of the final withdrawal. It has evidently not been in circulation for\nmore than at most a very short time. Richborough has now been purchased at\nthe instance of the Archbishop of Canterbury and placed under trustees,\nand all treasures found there will be carefully preserved. The great bulk\nof the coins and other relics found in recent years was acquired some time\nago for the Liverpool Museum.\n\n[32] Haddan and Stubbs, i. 121. The British were not driven from these\nparts much before 652-658. Hence, perhaps, the preservation of the old\nwattle church, the conquerors being now Christians.\n\n[33] The list of sixteen Archbishops is given by Sir T. D. Hardy in his\nedition (1854) of Le Neve's _Fasti Ecclesiae Anglicanae_, on the ground\nthat he did not wish to omit a list given by Godwin; he adds that Wharton\n(_de episcopis Londin_.) believed Restitutus and Fastidius to be the only\nnames of Bishops of London contained in the list. The names of the\nso-called Archbishops are:--1. Theanus; 2. Eluanus; 3. Cadar; 4. Obinus;\n5. Conanus; 6. Palladius; 7. Stephanus; 8. Iltutus; 9. Theodwinus, or\nDewynus; 10. Theodredus; 11. Hilarius; 12. Restitutus; 13. Guitelinus; 14.\nFastidius; 15. Vodinus; 16. Theonus. The first on the list is said to have\nbeen made archbishop by King Lucius. The date of the twelfth is of course\n314. The fifteenth is said to have been murdered by Hengist for protesting\nagainst the unlawful marriage of Vortigern with Hengist's daughter Rowena,\nabout 455; this date of the last but one on the list is consistent with a\nview held by some chroniclers that there were no bishops of London between\nthe beginning of the Saxon invasion and the coming of Augustine.\n\nIt is evident that when the masquerading dress of Latin is taken off the\nnames, some of them are British.\n\n[34] It is unnecessary to say that some writers in the past have assumed\nthat a metropolitan bishop in early times was of course an archbishop. It\nwas not so.\n\n[35] Augustine does not appear to have been called Archbishop of\nCanterbury in his lifetime. He was called Bishop of the English, and\nsometimes Archbishop. His epitaph, as given by Bede (ii. 3), described him\nas _dominus Augustinus Dorovernensis Archiepiscopus primus_, \"the Lord\nAugustine, first Archbishop of Dorovernium\" (Canterbury).\n\n[36] Bede, i. 29.\n\n[37] If, indeed, he is certainly speaking of the same Picts.\n\n[38] See page 96.\n\n[39] On one stone,--Α et Ω, hic iacent sancti et praecipui\nsacerdotes id est Viventius et Mavorius; on the other,--[Piu]s et\nFlorentius.\n\n[40] It has been said confidently that the Alpha and Omega is not found in\nIreland. I found, however, an early stone in the churchyard at Kells with\nthe Alpha and Omega, the Chi Rho, and the I H S. This is the only case in\nwhich I have seen all three on one monument.\n\n[41] In a field near the Almond, at Kirkliston. The inscription is In oc\ntumulo iacit Vetta f Victi ... If we take the form used by Bede (i. 15)\n_Victi_ would stand for Victigilsi.\n\n[42] See page 11.\n\n[43] Tacitus, _Life of Julius Agricola_, ch. 24.\n\n[44] See page 59.\n\n[45] See page 58.\n\n[46] Almost the same details, however, appear in the treatment of Wilfrid\nby his fellow-Anglians (Eddi, ch. 49). His opponents so entirely execrated\nhis fellowship, that if any abbat or priest of his party, bidden by a\nfaithful layman, made the sign of the cross over the meat, it was cast out\nas a thing offered to idols; and any vessel they used was washed before\none of the other side would touch it. Theological differences are a\ncompetent substitute for difference of race.\n\n[47] The general idea of the \"cycle of years\" is that after such-and-such\na number of years the sun and moon and earth return to the same relative\npositions. This is fairly true of nineteen years; more closely true of\nninety-five.\n\n[48] Adamnan, who tells us this, tells us also that the prophecy was\nfulfilled. Lugbe Mocummin was at Cantyre with the Saint some months after,\nand found there a ship whose captain told them of the destruction of the\ncity (now called Citta Nuova). _Life of Columba_, i. 22.\n\n[49] St. Oliver, formed from Santo Liverio (St. Liberius, the Swiss St.\nLivres), and San Todo, from St. Odo, are similar cases.\n\n[50] One has recently been found at Silchester, much further east than any\nother known example.\n\n[51] In modern phrase, the Goidelic, not the Brythonic branch of the\nCeltic race.\n\n[52] Thus on the famous stone at St. Dogmael's, near Cardigan, the first\nbilingual inscription of this kind found, the Ogam is _sagramni maqi\ncunatami_, the Latin, _sagrani fili cunotami_.\n\n[53] It is unnecessary to explain that _Missa_, the Latin equivalent of\nMass, was of course used in Augustine's time. It was not for centuries\nafter this that a narrow meaning came to be attached to the words Missa\nand Mass, by the introduction and prevalence of the doctrine of\nTransubstantiation.\n\n[54] Those who desire information on these points will find it in the Rev.\nF. E. Warren's _Liturgy and Ritual of the Celtic Church_.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _underscore_.\n\nThe original text includes Greek characters. For this text version these\nletters have been replaced with +transliterations+.\n\n\"Bythonic\" has been corrected to \"Brythonic\" in footnote 51.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31872", "title": "The Christian Church in These Islands before the Coming of Augustine\nThree Lectures Delivered at St. Paul's in January 1894", "author": "", "publication_year": 1894, "metadata_title": "The Christian Church in These Islands before the Coming of Augustine", "metadata_author": "Browne", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:13.951701", "source_chars": 199025, "chars": 199025, "talkie_tokens": 46547}}
{"text": "2. Hebrew words: krt   = kaf-resh-taf     = to cut;\n                 krty  = kaf-resh-taf-yod = to executioner.\n\n3. Greek word:   Krêtê = Kappa-rho-eta-tau-eta = Crete.\n\n4. diphthong oe=[oe]\n\n\n\n\n                         HENRY OF OFTERDINGEN:\n\n                               A ROMANCE.\n\n\n\n                           FROM THE GERMAN OF\n\n                                NOVALIS,\n\n                      (FRIEDRICH VON HARDENBERG.)\n\n\n\n\n                               CAMBRIDGE:\n                        PUBLISHED BY JOHN OWEN.\n\n                              M DCCC XLII.\n\n\n\n\n\n        Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1842,\n                              BY JOHN OWEN,\n     in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of\n                             Massachusetts.\n\n\n\n\n                            CAMBRIDGE PRESS:\n                      LYMAN THURSTON AND WILLIAM TORRY.\n\n\n\n\n                             ADVERTISEMENT.\n\n\nThe present translation is made from the edition of Tieck and Schlegel.\nThe life of the author is chiefly drawn from the one written by the\nformer. The completion of the second part is also by the same writer.\n\nRichter said, in a prophetic feeling of the fate of his own works, that\ntranslators were like wagoners who carry good wine to fairs--but most\nunaccountably water it before the end of the journey. Which allusion\nand semi-confession is meant to take the place of the usual apology;\nand the reader can proceed without farther preface.\n\n_Cambridge_, _June_, 1842.\n\n\n\n\n                                 ERRATA.\n\nPage xvi, line tenth from bottom, _for_ tion. He _read_ tion, he\n\nPage 22, line ninth from top, _for_ work _read_ woke\n\nPage 66, first word of the poetry, _for_ Though _read_ Through\n\n\n\n\n                          LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\nProbably some of the readers of this volume will feel an interest in\nthe author's life. Although there are but few works, in which the mind\nof the author is more clearly and purely reflected than in this; yet it\nis natural that the reader should feel some interest in the outward\ncircumstances of one, who has become dear to him; and those friends of\nNovalis, who have never known him personally, will be glad to hear all\nthat we can bring to light concerning him.\n\nThe Baron of Hardenberg, the father of the author, was director of the\nSaxonian salt works. He had been a soldier in his younger days, and\nretained even in his old age a predilection for a military life. He was\na robust, ever active man, frank and energetic;--a pure German. The\npious character of his mind led him to join the Moravian community; yet\nhe remained frank, decided, and upright. His mother, a type of elevated\npiety and Christian meekness, belonged to the same religious community.\nShe bore with lofty resignation the loss, within a few successive\nyears, of a blooming circle of hopeful and well educated children.\n\nFriedrich von Hardenberg (Novalis) was born on the second of May, in\nthe year 1772, on a family estate in the county of Mansfield. He was\nthe oldest of eleven children, with the exception of a sister who was\nborn a year earlier. The family consisted of seven sons and four\ndaughters, all distinguished for their wit and the lofty tone of their\nminds. Each possessed a peculiar disposition, while all were united by\na beautiful and generous affection to each other and to their parents.\nFriedrich von Hardenberg was weak in constitution from his earliest\nchildhood, without, however, suffering from any settled or dangerous\ndisease. He was somewhat of a day-dreamer, silent and of an inactive\ndisposition. He separated himself from the society of his playmates;\nbut his character was distinguished from that of other children, only\nby the ardor of his love for his master. He found his companions in his\nown family. His spirit seemed to be wakened from its slumber, by a\nsevere disease in his ninth year, and by the stimulants applied for his\nrecovery; and he suddenly appeared brighter, merrier, and more active.\nHis father, who was obliged by his business to be much of his time away\nfrom home, entrusted his education for the most part to his mother, and\nto family tutors. The gentleness, meekness, and the pure piety of his\nmother's character, as well as the religious habits of both parents,\nwhich naturally extended to the whole household, made the deepest\nimpression upon his mind; an impression which exerted the happiest\ninfluence upon him throughout his whole life. He now applied himself\ndiligently to his studies, so that in his twelfth year he had acquired\na pretty thorough knowledge of the Latin language, and some smattering\nof Greek. The reading of Poetry was the favorite occupation of his\nleisure hours. He was particularly pleased with the higher kind of\nfables, and amused himself by composing them and relating them to his\nbrothers. He was accustomed for several years to act, in concert with\nhis brothers Erasmus and Charles, a little poetical play, in which they\ntook the characters of spirits, one of the air, another of the water,\nand the other of the earth. On Sunday evenings, Novalis would explain\nto them the most wonderful and various appearances and phenomena of\nthese different realms. There are still in existence some of his poems\nwritten about this period.\n\nHe now applied himself too severely to study, especially to history, in\nwhich he took a deep interest. In the year 1789, he entered a\nGymnasium, and in the autumn went to Jena to pursue his studies there.\nHere he remained until 1792, and then with his brother Erasmus entered\nthe University at Leipzig; he left the following year for Wittenberg,\nand there finished his studies.\n\nAt this time the French war broke out, which not only interrupted his\nstudies greatly, but which also inspired him suddenly with so great a\ndesire to enter upon a military life, that the united prayers of his\nparents and relations were scarcely able to restrain his wishes.\n\nAbout this time he became acquainted with Frederick Schlegel, and soon\nbecame his warmest friend; he also gained the friendship of Fichte; and\nthese two great spirits exerted a powerful and lasting influence upon\nhis whole life. After applying himself with unwearied ardor to the\nsciences, he left Wittenberg for Arnstadt in Thuringia, in order to\naccustom himself to practical business with Just, the chief judiciary\nof the district. This excellent man soon became one of his nearest\nfriends. Shortly after his arrival at Arnstadt, he became acquainted\nwith Sophia von K., who resided at a neighboring country seat. The\nfirst sight of her beautiful and lovely form decided the fate of his\nwhole life; or rather the passion, which penetrated and inspired his\nsoul, became the contents of his whole life. Often even in the face of\nchildhood, there is an expression so sweet and spiritual, that we call\nit supernatural and heavenly; and the fear impresses itself on our\nhearts, that faces, so transfigured and transparent, are too tender and\ntoo finely woven for this life; that it is death or immortality that\ngazes through the glancing eye; and too often are our forebodings\nrealized by the rapid withering of such blossoms. Still more beautiful\nare such forms, when, childhood left behind, they have advanced to the\nfull bloom of youth. All who knew the betrothed of our author are\nagreed, that no description could do justice to her beauty, grace, and\nheavenly simplicity. She was in her fourteenth year when Novalis became\nacquainted with her; and the spring and summer of 1795 were indeed the\nblooming season of his life. Every hour he could spare from his\nbusiness was spent at Grüningen; and late in the fall of 1796, he was\nbetrothed to Sophia with the consent of her parents. Shortly after she\nwas taken severely sick with a fever, which, though it lasted but a few\nweeks, yet left her with a pain in the side, which by its intensity\nrendered unhappy many of her hours. Novalis was much alarmed, but was\nquieted by her physician, who pronounced this pain of no consequence.\n\nShortly after her recovery he departed for Weissenfels, where he was\nappointed auditor in the department of which his father was director.\nHe passed the winter of 1795-96 in business, hearing news from\nGrüningen of a quieting character. He journeyed thither in the spring,\nand found his betrothed to all appearance recovered. At this time his\nbrother Erasmus was taken sick, so that he left off his studies, and\ndevoted himself in a distant place to the chase and a forest life. His\nbrother Charles joined the army, and in the spring entered upon active\nservice. Thus Novalis lived quietly at home, his parents and sisters\nforming his chief society, the other children being yet quite young. In\nthe summer, while he was rejoicing in the prospect of being soon united\nto Sophia, he received information, that she was at Jena, and there on\naccount of ulceration of the liver, had undergone a severe operation.\nIt had been her wish, that he should not be informed of her sickness,\nnor of the dangerous operation, till it was over. He hastened to Jena,\nand found her in intense suffering. Her physician, one far famed for\nhis ability, could allow them to hope only for a very slow recovery, if\nindeed she should survive. He was obliged to repeat the operation, and\nfeared that she would want strength to support her through the healing\nprocess. With lofty courage and indescribable fortitude, Sophia bore up\nagainst all her sufferings. Novalis was there to console her; his\nparents offered up their sympathetic prayers; his two brothers had\nreturned and strove to be of service to the sorrowing one, as well as\nto the suffering. In December Sophia desired to visit Grüningen again.\nNovalis requested Erasmus to accompany her on her journey. He did so,\ntogether with her mother and sisters, who had attended her at Jena.\nAfter having accompanied her to her place of residence, he returned to\nhis residence in Franconia.\n\nNovalis was now by turns in Weissenfels and Grüningen. With great\ngrief, however, he was obliged to confess, that he found Sophia worse\nand worse at every visit. Towards the end of January, 1797, Erasmus\nalso returned to Weissenfels very sick, and the expected deaths of two\nbeings, so much beloved, filled the house with gloom.\n\nThe 17th of March was Sophia's fifteenth birthday, and on the 19th,\nabout noon, she fell asleep in the arms of her sisters, and faithful\ninstructress Mademoiselle Danscour, who loved her tenderly. No one\ndared bring the news to Novalis, until his brother Charles at last\nundertook the mournful office. For three days and nights, the mourner\nshut himself up from his friends, weeping away the hours, and then\nhastened to Arnstadt, that he might be with his truest friends, and\nnearer to the beloved place, which contained the remains of her who was\ndearest to him. On the 14th of April, he also lost his brother Erasmus.\nNovalis writing to his brother Charles, who had been obliged to travel\nto Lower Saxony, says, speaking of the death of Erasmus, \"Be consoled;\nErasmus has conquered; the flowers of the lovely wreath are dropping\noff, one by one, to be united more beautifully in Heaven.\"\n\nAt this time Novalis, living as he did only for suffering, naturally\nregarded the visible and the invisible world as one, and regarded life\nand death as distinguished only by our longing for the latter. At the\nsame time life was transfigured before him, and his whole being flowed\ntogether as in a clear conscious dream of a higher existence. His\nsensibilities, as well as his imagination, were very much decided from\nthe solemnity of his suffering, from his heartfelt love, and from the\npious longing for death, which he cherished. It is indeed very\npossible, that deep sorrow at this time planted the death-seed in him;\nunless perhaps it was his irrevocable destiny, to be so early torn\naway.\n\nHe remained many weeks in Thuringia, and returned consoled and truly\nexalted to his business, which he pursued more eagerly than ever,\nthough he regarded himself as a stranger upon earth. About this time,\nsome earlier, some later, but particularly during the fall of this\nyear, he composed most of those pieces, which have been published under\nthe title of \"Fragments,\" as also his \"Hymns to Night.\"\n\nIn December of this year, he went to Freiberg, where the acquaintance\nand instruction of the renowned Werner awoke anew his passion for\nphysical science, and especially for mining. Here he became acquainted\nwith Julia von Ch.; and, strange as it may appear to all but his\nintimate friends, he was betrothed to her, as early as the year 1798.\nSophia (as we may see from his works) remained the balancing point of\nhis thoughts; he honored her, absent as she was, even more than when\npresent with him; but yet he thought that loveliness and beauty could,\nto a certain degree, replace her loss. About this time he wrote \"Faith\nand Love,\" the \"Flower Dust,\" and some other fragments, as \"The Pupils\nat Sais.\" In the spring of 1799, Sophia's instructress died; which\nevent moved Novalis the more deeply, because he knew that sorrow for\nthe loss of her beloved pupil had chiefly contributed to hasten her\ndeath. Soon after this event he returned to the paternal estate, and\nwas appointed under his father Assessor and chief Judiciary of the\nThuringian district.\n\nHe now visited Jena often, and there became acquainted with A. W.\nSchlegel, and sought out the gifted Ritter, whom he particularly loved,\nand whose peculiar talent for experimenting he greatly admired. Ludwig\nTieck saw him this year for the first time, while on a visit to his\nfriend Wm. Schlegel. Their acquaintance soon ripened into a warm\nfriendship. These friends, in company with Schlegel, Schelling, and\nother strangers, passed many happy days in Jena. On his return, Tieck\nvisited Novalis at his father's house, became acquainted with his\nfamily, and for the first time listened to the reading of \"the Pupils\nat Sais,\" and many of his fragments. He then accompanied him to Halle,\nand many hours were peacefully passed in Reichardt's house. His first\nconception of Henry of Ofterdingen dates about this time. He had also\nalready written some of his spiritual songs; they were to make a part\nof a hymn book, which he intended to accompany with a volume of\nsermons. Besides these labors he was very industrious in the duties of\nhis office; all his duties were attended to with willingness, and\nnothing of however little importance was insignificant to him.\n\nWhen Tieck, in the autumn of 1799, took up his residence at Jena, and\nFrederick Schlegel also dwelt there, Novalis often visited them,\nsometimes for a short, and sometimes for a longer time. His eldest\nsister was married about this time, and the wedding was celebrated at a\ncountry seat near Jena. After this marriage Novalis lived for a long\ntime in a lonely place in the golden meadow of Thuringia, at the foot\nof the Kyffhauser mountain; and in this solitude he wrote a great part\nof Henry of Ofterdingen. His society this year was mostly confined to\nthat of two men; a brother-in-law of his betrothed, the present General\nvon Theilman, and the present General von Funk, to whom he had been\nintroduced by the former. The society of the last-mentioned person was\nvaluable to him in more than one respect. He made use of his library,\namong whose chronicles he, in the spring, first hit upon the traditions\nof Ofterdingen; and by means of the excellent biography of the emperor\nFrederick the Second, by General von Funk, he became entirely possessed\nwith lofty ideas concerning that ruler, and determined to represent him\nin his romance as a pattern for a king.\n\nIn the year 1800, Novalis was again at Weissenfels, whence, on the 23d\nof February, he wrote to Tieck,--\"My Romance is getting along finely.\nAbout twelve printed sheets are finished. The whole plan is pretty much\nlaid out in my mind. It will consist of two parts; the first, I hope,\nwill be finished in three weeks. It contains the basis and introduction\nto the second part. The whole may be called an Apotheosis of Poesy.\nHenry of Ofterdingen becomes in the first part ripe for a poet, and in\nthe second part is declared poet. It will in many respects be similar\nto Sternbald, except in lightness. However, this want will not probably\nbe unfavorable to the contents. In every point of view it is a first\nattempt, the print of that spirit of poesy, which your acquaintance has\nreawakened in me, and which gives to your friendship its chief value.\n\n\"There are some songs in it, which suit my taste. I am very much\npleased with the real romance,--my head is really dizzy with the\nmultitude of ideas I have gathered for romances and comedies. If I can\nvisit you soon, I will bring you a tale and a fable from my romance,\nand will subject them to your criticism.\" He visited his friends at\nJena the next spring, and soon repeated his visit, bringing the first\npart of Henry of Ofterdingen, in the same form as that of which this\nvolume is a translation.\n\nWhen Tieck, in the summer of 1800, left Jena, he visited his friend for\nsome time at his father's house. He was well and calm in his spirits;\nthough his family were somewhat alarmed about him, thinking that they\nnoticed, that he was continually growing paler and thinner. He himself\nwas more attentive than usual to his diet; he drank little or no wine,\nate scarcely any meat, living principally on milk and vegetables. \"We\ntook daily walks,\" says Tieck, \"and rides on horseback. In ascending a\nhill swiftly, or in any violent motion, I could observe neither\nweakness in his breast nor short breath, and therefore endeavored to\npersuade him to forsake his strict mode of life; because I thought his\nabstemiousness from wine and strengthening food not only irritating in\nitself, but also to proceed from a false anxiety on his part. He was\nfull of plans for the future; his house was already put in order, for\nin August he intended to celebrate his nuptials. He spake with great\npleasure of finishing Ofterdingen and other works. His life gave\npromise of the most useful activity and love. When I took leave of him,\nI never could have imagined that we were not to meet again.\"\n\nWhen in August he was about departing for Freiberg to celebrate his\nmarriage, he was seized with an emission of blood, which his physician\ndeclared to be mere hemorrhoidal and insignificant. Yet it shook his\nframe considerably, and still more when it began to return\nperiodically. His wedding was postponed, and, in the beginning of\nOctober, he travelled with his brother and parents to Dresden. Here\nthey left him, in order to visit their daughter in Upper Lausatia, his\nbrother Charles remaining with him in Dresden. He became apparently\nweaker; and when, in the beginning of November, he learned that a\nyounger brother, fourteen years of age, had been drowned through mere\ncarelessness, the sudden shock caused a violent bleeding at the lungs,\nupon which the physician immediately declared his disease incurable.\nSoon after this his betrothed came to Dresden.\n\nAs he grew weaker, he longed to change his residence to some warmer\nclimate. He thought of visiting his friend Herbert; but his physician\nadvised against such a change, perhaps considering him already too weak\nto make such a journey. Thus the year passed away; and, in January\n1801, he longed so eagerly to see his parents and be with them once\nmore, that at the end of the month he returned to Weissenfels. There\nthe ablest physicians from Leipzig and Jena were consulted, yet his\ncase grew rapidly worse, although he was perfectly free from pain, as\nwas the case through his whole illness. He still attended to the duties\nof his office, and wrote considerably in his private papers. He also\ncomposed some poems about this time, read the Bible diligently, and\nmuch from the works of Zinzendorf and Lavater. The nearer he approached\nhis end, the stronger was his hope of recovery; for his cough abated,\nand, with the exception of debility, he had none of the feelings of a\nsick man. With this hope and longing for life, fresh powers and new\ntalents seemed to awaken within him; he thought with renewed love of\nhis projected labors, and undertook to write Henry of Ofterdingen anew.\nOnce, shortly before his death, he said; \"I now begin, for the first\ntime, to see what true poetry is. Innumerable songs and poems far\ndifferent from those I have written awake within me.\" From the 19th of\nMarch, the day on which Sophia died, he became very perceptibly weaker;\nmany of his friends visited him, and he was particularly delighted\nwhen, on the 21st of March, his faithful and oldest friend Frederick\nSchlegel came to see him from Jena. He conversed much with him,\nparticularly concerning their mutual labors. During these days his\nspirits were good, his nights quiet, and he enjoyed tranquil sleep.\nAbout six o'clock on the morning of the 26th, he asked his brother to\nhand him some books, in order to look out certain passages, that he had\nin mind; he then ordered his breakfast, and conversed with his usual\nvivacity till eight. Towards nine he asked his brother to play for him\non the piano, and soon after fell asleep. Frederick Schlegel soon after\nentered the chamber, and found him sleeping quietly. This sleep lasted\ntill twelve o'clock, at which hour he expired without a struggle; and\nunchanged in death his countenance retained the same pleasant\nexpression, that it exhibited during life.\n\nThus died our author before he had finished his nine-and-twentieth\nyear. In him we may alike love and admire his extensive knowledge and\nhis philosophical genius, as well as his poetical talents. With a\nspirit much in advance of his times, his country might have promised\nitself great things of him, had not an untimely death cut him off. Yet\nhis unfinished writings have already had their influence; many of his\ngreat thoughts will yet inspire futurity; and noble minds and deep\nthinkers will be enlightened and set on fire by the sparks of his\nspirit.\n\nNovalis was slender and of fine proportions. He wore his light brown\nhair long, hanging over his shoulders in flowing locks, a style less\nsingular then than now; his brown eye was clear and brilliant, and his\ncomplexion, particularly his forehead, almost transparent. His hands\nand feet were rather too large, and had something awkward about them.\nHis countenance was always serene and benignant. To those, who judge\nmen by their forwardness, or by their affectation of fashion or\ndignity, Novalis was lost in the crowd; but to the practised eye he\nappeared beautiful. The outlines and expression of his face resembled\nvery much those of St. John, as he is represented in the magnificent\npicture of A. Dürer, preserved in Nuremberg and München.\n\nHis speech was clear and vivacious. \"I never saw him tired,\" says\nTieck, \"even when we continued together till late at night; he only\nstopped voluntarily to rest, and then read before he fell asleep.\" He\nknew not what it was to be tired, even in the wearisome companionship\nof vulgar minds; for he always found some one, who could impart some\ninformation to him, useful, though apparently insignificant. His\nurbanity and sympathy for all made him universally beloved. So skilful\nwas he in his intercourse with others, that lower minds never felt\ntheir inferiority. Although he preferred to veil the depths of his mind\nin conversation, speaking, however, as if inspired, of the invisible\nworld, he was yet merry, as a child, full of art and frolic, giving\nhimself wholly up to the jovial spirit prevailing in the company. Free\nfrom self-conceit or arrogance, a stranger to affectation or\ndissimulation, he was a pure, true man; the purest, loveliest spirit,\never tabernacled in the flesh.\n\nHis chief studies for many years were philosophy and physical science.\nIn the latter he discovered and foretold truths, of which his own age\nwas in ignorance. In philosophy he principally studied Spinoza and\nFichte; but soon marked out a new path, by aiming to unite philosophy\nwith religion; and thus what we possess of the writings of the new\nPlatonists, as well as of the mystics, became very important to him.\nHis knowledge of mathematics, as well as of the mechanic arts,\nespecially of mining, was very considerable. But in the fine arts he\ntook but little interest. Music he loved much, although he knew little\nabout its rules. He had scarcely turned his attention to painting and\nsculpture; still he could advance many original ideas about those arts,\nand pronounce skilful judgment upon them.\n\nTieck mentions an argument with him, concerning landscape painting, in\nwhich Novalis expressed views, which he could not comprehend; but which\nin part were realized, by the rich and poetical mind of the excellent\nlandscape painter, Friedrichs, of Dresden. In the land of Poetry he was\nin reality a stranger. He had read but few poets, and had not busied\nhimself with criticism, or paid much attention to the inherited system,\nto which the art of poetry had been reduced. Goethe was for a long\nwhile his study, and Wilhelm Meister his favorite work; although we\nshould scarcely suppose so, judging from his severe strictures upon it\nin his fragments. He demanded from poesy the most everyday knowledge\nand inspiration; and it was for this reason, that, as the chief\nmasterpieces of poetry were unknown to him, he was free from imitation\nand foreign rule. He also loved, for this very reason, many writings,\nwhich are not generally highly prized by scholars, because in them he\ndiscovered, though perhaps painted in weak colors, that very informing\nand significant knowledge, which he was chiefly striving after.\n\nThose tales, which we in later times call allegories[1] with their\npeculiar style, most resemble his stories; he saw their deepest\nmeaning, and endeavored to express it most clearly in some of his\npoems. It became natural for him to regard what was most usual and\nnearest to him, as full of marvels, and the strange and supernatural as\nthe usual and common-place. Thus everyday life surrounded him like a\nsupernatural story; and that region, which most men can only conceive\nas something distant and incomprehensible, seemed to him like a beloved\nhome. Thus uncorrupted by precedents, he discovered a new way of\ndrawing and exhibiting his pictures; and in the manifold variety of his\nrelation to the world, from his love and the faith in it, which at the\nsame time was his instructress, wisdom, and religion, since through\nthem a single great moment of life, and one deep grief and loss became\nthe essence of his poesy and of his contemplation, he resembles among\nlate writers the sublime Dante alone, and like him sings to us an\nunfathomable mystical song, very different from that of many imitators,\nwho think, that they can assume and lay aside mysticism as they could a\nmere ornament. Therefore his romance is both consciously and\nunconsciously the representation of his own mind and fate; as he makes\nHenry say, in the fragment of the second part, \"Fate and mind are but\nnames of one idea.\" Thus may his life justly appear wonderful to us. We\nshudder too, as though reading a work of fiction, when we learn, that\nof all his brothers and sisters only two brothers are now alive; and\nthat his noble mother, who for several years has also been mourning the\ndeath of her husband, is in solitude, devoting herself to her grief and\nto religion with silent resignation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                         HENRY OF OFTERDINGEN.\n\n\n\n\n                              PART FIRST.\n\n                            THE EXPECTATION.\n\n\n\n\n                              DEDICATION.\n\n\n\n      Thou didst to life my noble impulse warm,\n        Deep in the spirit of the world to look.\n        And with thy hand a trusting faith I took,\n      Securely bearing me through every storm,\n      With sweet forebodings thou the child didst bless,\n        To mystic meadows leading him away,\n       Stirring his bosom to its finest play,\n      Ideal, thou, of woman's tenderness.\n      Earth's vexing trifles shall I not refuse?\n        Thine is my heart and life eternally,--\n      Thy love my being constantly renews!\n        To art I dedicate myself for thee,\n      For thou, beloved, wilt become the Muse\n        And gentle Genius of my poesy.\n\n      In endless transmutation here below\n        The hidden might of song our land is greeting;\n        Now blesses us in form of Peace unfleeting,\n      And now encircles us with childhood's glow.\n      She pours an upper light upon the eye,\n        Defines the sentiment for every art,\n        And dwells within the glad or weary heart,\n      To comfort it with wondrous ecstasy.\n      Through her alone I woke to life the truest,\n        Drinking the proffered nectar of her breast,\n      And dared to lift my face with joy the newest.\n        Yet was my highest sense with sleep oppressed.\n      Till angel-like thou, loved one, near me flewest.\n        And, kindling in thy look, I found the rest.\n\n\n\n\n\n                            THE EXPECTATION.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I.\n\n\nThe parents had already retired to rest; the old clock ticked\nmonotonously from the wall; the windows rattled with the whistling\nwind, and the chamber was dimly lighted by the flickering glimmer of\nthe moon. The young man lay restless on his bed, thinking of the\nstranger and his tales. \"It is not the treasures,\" said he to himself,\n\"that have awakened in me such unutterable longings. Far from me is all\navarice; but I long to behold the blue flower. It is constantly in my\nmind, and I can think and compose of nothing else. I have never been in\nsuch a mood. It seems as if I had hitherto been dreaming, or slumbering\ninto another world; for in the world, in which hitherto I have lived,\nwho would trouble himself about a flower?--I never have heard of such a\nstrange passion for a flower here. I wonder, too, whence the stranger\ncomes? None of our people have ever seen his like; still I know not why\nI should be so fascinated by his conversation. Others have listened to\nit, but none are moved by it as I am. Would that I could explain my\nfeelings in words! I am often full of rapture, and it is only when the\nblue flower is out of my mind, that this deep, heart-felt longing\noverwhelms me. But no one can comprehend this but myself. I might think\nmyself mad, were not my perception and reasonings so clear; and this\nstate of mind appears to have brought with it superior knowledge on all\nsubjects. I have heard, that in ancient times beasts, and trees, and\nrocks conversed with men. As I gaze upon them, they appear every moment\nabout to speak to me; and I can almost tell by their looks what they\nwould say. There must yet be many words unknown to me. If I knew more,\nI could comprehend better. Formerly I loved to dance, now I think\nrather to the music.\"\n\nThe young man gradually lost himself in his sweet fancies, and feel\nasleep. Then he dreamed of regions far distant, and unknown to him. He\ncrossed the sea with wonderful ease; saw many strange monsters; lived\nwith all sorts of men, now in war, now in wild tumult, and now in\npeaceful cottages. Then he fell into captivity and degrading want. His\nfeelings had never been so excited. His life was an unending tissue, of\nthe brightest colors. Then came death, a return again to life; he\nloved, loved intensely, and was separated from the object of his\npassion. At length towards the break of day his soul became calmer, and\nthe images his fancy formed grew clearer, and more lasting. He dreamed\nthat he was walking alone in a dark forest, where the light broke only\nat intervals through the green net-work of the trees. He soon came to a\npassage through some rocks, which led to the top of a neighboring hill,\nand, to ascend which he was obliged to scramble over the mossy stones,\nwhich some stream in former times had torn down. The higher he climbed,\nthe more was the forest lit up, until at last he came to a small meadow\nsituated on the declivity of the mountain. Behind the meadow rose a\nlofty cliff, at whose foot an opening was visible, which seemed to be\nthe beginning of a path hewn in the rock. The path guided him gently\nalong, and ended in a wide expanse, from which at a distance a clear\nlight shone towards him. On entering this expanse, he beheld a mighty\nbeam of light, which, like the stream from a fountain, rose to the\noverhanging clouds, and spread out into innumerable sparks, which\ngathered themselves below into a great basin. The beam shone like\nburnished gold; not the least noise was audible; a holy silence reigned\naround the splendid spectacle. He approached the basin, which trembled\nand undulated with ever-varying colors. The sides of the cave were\ncoated with the golden liquid, which was cool to the touch, and which\ncast from the walls a weak, blue light. He dipped his hand in the\nbasin, and bedewed his lips. He felt as if a spiritual breath had\npierced through him, and he was sensibly strengthened and refreshed. A\nresistless desire to bathe himself made him undress and step into the\nbasin. Then a cloud tinged with the glow of evening appeared to\nsurround him; feelings as from Heaven flowed into his soul; thoughts\ninnumerable and full of rapture strove to mingle together within him;\nnew imaginings, such as never before had struck his fancy, arose before\nhim, which, flowing into each other, became visible beings about him.\nEach wave of the lovely element pressed to him like a soft bosom. The\nflood seemed like a solution of the elements of beauty, which\nconstantly became embodied in the forms of charming maidens around him.\nIntoxicated with rapture, yet conscious of every impression, he swam\ngently down the glittering stream. A sweeter slumber now overcame him.\nHe dreamed of many strange events, and a new vision appeared to him. He\ndreamed that he was sitting on the soft turf by the margin of a\nfountain, whose waters flowed into the air, and seemed to vanish in it.\nDark blue rocks with various colored veins rose in the distance. The\ndaylight around him was milder and clearer than usual; the sky was of a\nsombre blue, and free from clouds. But what most attracted his notice,\nwas a tall, light-blue flower, which stood nearest the fountain, and\ntouched it with its broad, glossy leaves. Around it grew numberless\nflowers of varied hue, filling the air with the richest perfume. But he\nsaw the blue flower alone, and gazed long upon it with inexpressible\ntenderness. He at length was about to approach it, when it began to\nmove, and change its form. The leaves increased their beauty, adorning\nthe growing stem. The flower bended towards him, and revealed among its\nleaves a blue, outspread collar, within which hovered a tender face.\nHis delightful astonishment was increasing with this singular change,\nwhen suddenly his mother's voice awoke him, and he found himself in his\nparents' room, already gilded by the morning sun. He was too happy to\nbe angry at the sudden disturbance of his sleep. He bade his mother a\nkind good morning, and returned her hearty embrace.\n\n\"You sleeper,\" said his father, \"how long have I been sitting here\nfiling? I have not dared to do any hammering on your account. Your\nmother would let her dear son sleep. I have been obliged to wait for my\nbreakfast too. You have done wisely in choosing to become one of the\nlearned, for whom we wake and work. But a real, thorough student, as I\nhave been told, is obliged to spend his nights in studying the works of\nour wise forefathers.\"\n\n\"Dear father,\" said Henry, \"let not my long sleep make you angry with\nme, for you are not accustomed to be so. I fell asleep late, and have\nbeen much disturbed by dreams. The last, however, was pleasant, and one\nwhich I shall not soon forget, and which seems to me to have been\nsomething more than a mere dream.\"\n\n\"Dear Henry,\" said his mother, \"you have certainly been lying on your\nback, or else your thoughts were wandering at evening prayers. Come,\neat your breakfast, and cheer up.\"\n\nHenry's mother went out. His father worked on industriously, and said;\n\"Dreams are froth, let the learned think what they will of them; and\nyou will do well to turn your attention from such useless and hurtful\nspeculations. The times when Heavenly visions were seen in dreams have\nlong past by, nor can we understand the state of mind, which those\nchosen men, of whom the Bible speaks, enjoyed. Dreams, as well as other\nhuman affairs, must have been of a different nature then. In the age in\nwhich we live, there is no direct intercourse with Heaven. Old\nhistories and writings are now the only fountains, from which we can\ndraw, as far as is needful, a knowledge of the spiritual world; and\ninstead of express revelations, the Holy Ghost now speaks to us\nimmediately through the understandings of wise and sensible men, and by\nthe lives and fate of those most distinguished for their piety. I have\nnever been much edified by the visions, which are now seen; nor do I\nplace much confidence in the wonders, which our divines relate about\nthem. Yet let every one, who can, be edified by them; I would not cause\nany one to err in his faith.\"\n\n\"But, dear father, upon what grounds are you so opposed to belief in\ndreams, when singular changes, and flighty, unstable nature, are at\nleast worthy of some reflection? Is not every dream, even the most\nconfused, a peculiar vision, which, though we do not call it sent from\nHeaven, yet makes an important rent in the mysterious curtain, which,\nwith a thousand folds, hides our inward natures from our view? We can\nfind accounts of many such dreams, coming from credible men, in the\nwisest books; and you need only call to mind, to support what I have\nsaid, the dream which our good pastor lately related to us, and which\nappeared to you so remarkable. But, without taking those writings into\naccount, if now for the first time you should have a dream, how would\nit overwhelm you, and how constantly would your thoughts be fixed upon\nthe miracle, which, from its very frequency, now appears such a simple\noccurrence. Dreams appear to me to break up the monotony and even tenor\nof life, to serve as a recreation to the chained fancy. They mingle\ntogether all the scenes and fancies of life, and change the continual\nearnestness of age, into the merry sports of childhood. Were it not for\ndreams, we should certainly grow older; and though they be not given us\nimmediately from above; yet they should be regarded as Heavenly gifts,\nas friendly guides, in our pilgrimage to the holy tomb. I am sure that\nthe dream, which I have had this night, has been no profitless\noccurrence in my life; for I feel that it has, like some vast wheel,\ncaught hold of my soul, and is hurrying me along with it in its mighty\nrevolutions.\"\n\nHenry's father smiled humorously, and said, looking to his wife, who\nhad just come in, \"Henry cannot deny the hour of his birth. His\nconversation boils with the fiery Italian wines, which I brought with\nme from Rome, and with which we celebrated our wedding eve. I was\nanother sort of man then. The southern breezes had thawed out my\nnorthern phlegm. I was overflowing with spirit and humor, and you also\nwere an ardent, charming girl. Everything was arranged at your father's\nin grand style; musicians and minstrels were collected from far and\nwide, and Augsburg had never seen a merrier marriage.\"\n\n\"You were just now speaking of dreams,\" said Henry's mother. \"Do you\nnot remember, that you then told me of one, which you had had at Rome,\nand which first put it into your head to come to Augsburg as my\nsuitor?\"\n\n\"You put me opportunely in mind of it,\" said the old man, \"for I had\nentirely forgotten that singular dream, which, at the time of its\noccurrence, occupied my thoughts not a little; but even that is only a\nproof of what I have been saying about dreams. It would be impossible\nto have one more clear and regular. Even now I remember every\ncircumstance in it, and yet, what did it signify? That I dreamed of\nyou, and soon after felt an irrepressible desire to possess you, was\nnot strange; for I already knew you. The agreeable and amiable traits\nof your character strongly affected me, when I first saw you; and I was\nprevented from making love to you, only by the desire of visiting\nforeign lands. At the time of the dream my curiosity was much abated;\nand hence my love for you more easily mastered me.\"\n\n\"Please to tell us about that curious dream,\" said Henry.\n\n\"One evening,\" said his father, \"I had been loitering about, enjoying\nthe beauty of the clear, blue sky, and of the moon, which clothed the\nold pillars and walls with its pale, awe-inspiring light. My companions\nhad gone to see the girls, and love and homesickness drove me into the\nopen air. During my walk, I felt thirsty, and went into the first\ndecent looking mansion I met with, to ask for a glass of wine, or milk.\nAn old man came to the door, who perhaps at first regarded me as a\nsuspicious visitor; but when I told him what I wished, and he learned\nthat I was a foreigner, and a German, he kindly asked me into the\nhouse, bade me sit down, brought out a bottle of wine, and asked me\nsome questions about my business. We began a desultory conversation,\nduring which he gave me some information about painters, poets,\nsculptors, and ancient times. I had scarce ever heard about such\nmatters; and it seemed as if I had landed in a new world. He showed me\nsome old seals and other works of art, and then read to me, with all\nthe fire of youth, some beautiful passages of poetry. Thus the hours\nfled as moments. Even now my heart warms with the recollection of the\nwonderful thoughts and emotions, which crowded upon me that evening. He\nseemed quite at home in the pagan ages, and longed, with incredible\nardor, to dwell in the times of grey antiquity. At last he showed me a\nchamber, where I could pass the night, for it was too late for me to\nreturn to the city. I soon fell asleep and dreamed.--I thought that I\nwas passing out of the gates of my native city. It seemed to me that I\nwas going to get something done, but where, and what, I did not know. I\ntook the road to Hartz, and walked quickly along, as merry as if going\nto a festival. I did not keep the road, but cut across through wood and\nvalley, till I came to a lofty mountain. From its top I gazed on the\ngolden fields around me, beheld Thuringia in the distance, and was so\nsituated, that no other mountain could obstruct my view. Opposite lay\nthe Hartz with its dusky hills. Castles, convents, and whole districts\nwere embraced in the prospect. My ideas were all clear and distinct. I\nthought of the old man, in whose house I was sleeping; and my visit\nseemed like some occurrence of past years. I soon saw an ascending path\nleading into the mountain, and I followed it. After some time I came to\na large cave; there sat a very old man in a long garment, before an\niron table, gazing incessantly upon a wondrously beautiful maiden, that\nstood before him hewn in marble. His beard had grown through the iron\ntable, and covered his feet. His features were serious, yet kind, and\nput me in mind of a head by one of the old masters, which my host had\nshown me in the evening. The cave was filled with glowing light. While\nI was looking at the old man, my host tapped me on the shoulder, took\nmy hand, and led me through many long paths, till we saw a mild light\nshining in the distance, like the dawn of day. I hastened to it, and\nsoon found myself in a green plain; but there was nothing about it to\nremind me of Thuringia. Giant trees, with their large, glossy leaves,\nspread their shade far and wide. The air was very hot, yet not\noppressive. Around me flowers and fountains were springing from the\nearth. Among the former there was one that particularly pleased me, and\nto which all the others seemed to do homage.\"\n\n\"Dear father,\" eagerly exclaimed Henry, \"do tell me its color.\"\n\n\"I cannot recollect it, though it was so fixed in my mind at the time.\"\n\n\"Was it not blue?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it was,\" continued the old man, without giving heed to the\npeculiar vehemence of his son. \"All I recollect is, that my feelings\nwere so wrought up, that for a time I forgot all about my guide. When\nat length I turned towards him, I noticed that he was looking at me\nattentively, and that he met me with a pleasant smile. I do not\nremember how I came from that place. I was again on the top of the\nmountain; my guide stood by my side and said, 'You have seen the wonder\nof the world. It lies in your power to become the happiest being in the\nworld, and, besides that, a celebrated man. Remember well what I tell\nyou. Come on St. John's day, towards evening, to this place, and when\nyou have devoutly prayed to God to interpret this vision, the highest\nearthly lot will be yours. Also take notice particularly of a little\nblue flower, which you will find above here; pluck it, and commit\nyourself humbly to heavenly guidance.' I then dreamed that I was among\nmost splendid scenes and noble men, ravished by the swift changing\nobjects that met my eyes. How fluent were my words! how free my tongue!\nHow music swelled its strains! Afterwards everything became dull and\ninsignificant as usual. I saw your mother standing before me, with a\nkind and modest look. A bright-looking child was in her arms. She\nreached it to me; it gradually grew brighter; at length it raised\nitself on its dazzling white wings, took us both in its arms, and\nsoared so high with us, that the earth appeared like a plate of gold,\ncovered with beautifully wrought carving. I only recollect, that, after\nthis vision, the flower, the old man, and the mountain appeared before\nme again. I awoke soon after, much agitated by vehement love. I bade\nfarewell to my hospitable friend, who urged me to repeat my visit\noften. I promised to do so, and should have kept my promise, had I not\nshortly after left Rome for Augsburg, my mind being much excited by the\nscenes I had witnessed.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n\n\nSt. John's day was past. Henry's mother had for a long time delayed\nmaking a journey to Augsburg, her paternal home, to present her son to\nhis grandfather, who had never yet seen him. Some merchants, trusty\nfriends of the elder Ofterdingen, were just about travelling to\nAugsburg on business. Henry's mother resolved to improve this good\nopportunity of fulfilling her wishes; and this more especially, because\nshe had observed that Henry had lately been more silent, and more taken\nup with his own gloomy fancies than usual. She saw that he was out of\nspirits, or sick; and thought that a long journey, the sight of strange\npeople and places, and, as she secretly anticipated, the charms of some\nyoung country girl would drive off the gloomy mood of her son, and make\nhim as affable and cheerful as was his wont. Her husband agreed with\nher in her plans, and Henry was delighted beyond all bounds with the\nidea of visiting a country, which, for a long time, he had looked upon\n(owing to the many things he had heard concerning it, from his mother\nand from travellers) as an earthly Paradise, and in which he had often\nwished himself.\n\nHenry was just twenty years old. He had never passed the environs of\nhis native city; the world was known to him only by report; only a few\nbooks had come within his reach. The course of life at the Landgrave\nwas simple and quiet, according to the customs of the times; and the\nsplendor and comfort of princely life, in those days, could but poorly\ncompare with the conveniences, which, in our times, a private man can\nobtain for himself and family, without extravagance. Yet by reason of\ntheir very scarcity, a regard, almost approaching tenderness, was felt,\nin those times, for household furniture, and the conveniences of life.\nThey were considered more valuable and curious. The secrets of nature,\nand the origin of its bodies, hardly attracted the notice of thinking\nminds, more than these scarce specimens of art and workmanship. This\nregard, too, for these silent companions of life was much heightened,\nby the distance from which they were brought, and by that charm of\nantiquity which gathered around furniture, often the property of\nsuccessive generations; an heir-loom from father to son. They were\noften raised to the rank of pledges of a peculiar blessing and destiny;\nand the weal of whole kingdoms and far-scattered families depended upon\ntheir preservation. A poverty, fair in its features, adorned that age\nwith a simplicity, full of significance and innocence. The treasures,\nso sparingly scattered in that dawn, shone the more brightly, and gave\nrise to many significant ideas in the thoughtful mind. If it is true\nthat a proper division of light, color, and shade reveals the hidden\nsplendor of the visible world, and opens for itself a new eye of a\nhigher character; such a division and splendor were to be seen then;\nwhile these newer and more prosperous times represent the monotonous\nand insignificant picture of a common day. In all transitions, as in an\ninterregnum, it appears as if a higher spiritual power were revealing\nitself; and as, upon the surface of our earth, the countries, richest\nboth in subterraneous and super-terraneous treasures, lie between\nwild, inhospitable, hoary rocks, and immense plains; so also a\ndeep-reflecting, romantic period made its appearance between the rough\nages of barbarism, and the cultivated, enlightened, and wealthy age,\nwhich under a coarse garb conceals a still more beautiful form. Who\ndoes not love to wander at twilight, when the light of day and the deep\nshades of night mingle together in deep coloring? On this principle, we\nare glad to carry ourselves, in imagination, back to the years when\nHenry lived, who now went to meet the new circumstances, which might\nencompass him, with a swelling heart. He took leave of his companions\nand his instructer, the old and wise preacher, who knew the fertility\nof Henry's genius, and who bade him farewell, with a feeling heart and\na silent prayer. The countess was his grandmother. He had often visited\nher at Wartburg. He now separated from his protectress, who gave him\ngood counsel, and a golden chain, and who took leave of him with\nexpressions of friendship. It was with a sad heart that Henry left his\nfather and his birthplace. He now experienced for the first time what\nseparation was. His imaginings as to the journey had not been\naccompanied with that peculiar feeling, which now filled his breast,\nwhen, for the first time, the scenes of his youth were snatched from\nhis view, and he was cast, as it were, upon a foreign shore. Great\nindeed is our youthful sorrow at this first experience of the\ninstability of earthly things, an experience necessary and\nindispensable to the inexperienced mind, firmly connected with and\ncertain as our own existence. Our first separation remains, like the\nfirst announcement of death, never to be forgotten, and becomes, after\nit has long terrified us like a nightly vision, when at last joy at the\nappearance of a new day decreases, and the longing after a fixed, safer\nworld increases, a friendly guide and a consoling and familiar idea. It\ncomforted the young man much, that his mother was with him. The world\nhe was leaving did not yet appear entirely lost, and he embraced her\nwith redoubled fondness. It was early in the day, when the travellers\nrode from the gates of Eisenach, and the fresh daybreak was favorable\nto Henry's excited mood. The clearer the day grew, the more remarkable\nseemed to him the new and unknown scenes which surrounded him; and when\nupon a hill, just as the landscape behind him was illuminated by the\nrays of the rising sun, there occurred to him in the gloomy change of\nhis thoughts some of the old melodies he knew by heart. He found\nhimself in the swell of the distance, towards which he had often gazed\nfrom the neighboring mountains, where he had often wished himself in\nvain, and which he had painted to himself with peculiar colors. He was\non the point of dipping himself in its blue flood. The wonderful flower\nstood before him, and he looked towards Thuringia, which he now left\nbehind him, with the strong idea, that he was returning to his\nfatherland, after long wanderings from the country, towards which they\nnow were travelling, and as if in reality he was journeying homewards.\n\nThe company, which at first had been silent from similar causes, began\nby degrees to wake up, and to shorten the time by various conversation\nand stories. Henry's mother felt it her duty to rouse him from the\ndreamings, in which she saw him sunken; and began to tell him of her\nfather's land, of her father's house, and of the pleasant life in\nSwabia. The merchants joined in, and confirmed what his mother said.\nThey praised the hospitality of the old man Swaning, and could not\nsufficiently extol the beauteous fair ones of the country of their\ntravelling companion.\n\n\"You do well,\" said they, \"in taking your son thither. The customs of\nyour native country are of the most refined and pleasing character.\nThey know how to attend to what is useful, without despising the\nagreeable. Every one endeavors to satisfy his wants in a social and\ncharming way. The merchant is well treated and respected. The arts and\nmechanics are increased and ennobled; work appears easier to the\nindustrious man, because it helps him to many pleasures, and because,\nas a reward for steady industry, he is sure to enjoy the manifold\nfruits of various and profitable employments. Money, industry, and\ngoods reciprocally produce each other, and float along in busy circles.\nThe country, as well as the cities, flourishes. The more industriously\nthe day is employed, the more exclusively is the evening devoted to the\ncharming pleasures drawn from the fine arts, and to social intercourse.\nThe mind seeks recreation and change; and where could it find it more\nproper or more attractive, than in those unchecked diversions, and in\nthose productions of its noblest power, the power of embodying its\nconceptions into realities. Nowhere can you have such sweet singers, or\nfind such excellent painters, or see in the dancing halls more graceful\nmovements or lovelier forms. The neighborhood of Switzerland is\ndistinguished for the ease of its manners and conversation. Your race\nadorns society; and without fear of being talked about, can excite by\ntheir charming behavior a lively emulation to chain the attention. The\nstern fortitude and the wild jovialty of the men make room for a mild\nvivacity and a tender and modest joy, and love in a thousand forms\nbecomes the leading spirit of their happy companies. Far is it from the\ntruth, that dissoluteness or unseemly principles are by this course of\nconduct developed. It seems as if the evil spirit shunned the approach\nof innocent or graceful amusements, and certainly there are in no part\nof Germany more irreproachable maidens, or more faithful wives, than in\nSwabia.\n\n\"Yes, my young friend, in the clear, warm air of southern Germany you\nwill soon lay aside your bashfulness; the youthful maidens will soon\nrender you easy and talkative. Your name alone, as a stranger and as a\nrelative of the old Swaning, who is the delight of every pleasant\ncompany, will attract the pleasant gaze of the maidens towards you; and\nif you follow the will of your grandfather, you will certainly bring to\nour native city, as did your father, an ornament in the form of a\nlovely woman.\"\n\nHenry's mother thanked them with a modest blush, for their\ndistinguished praise bestowed on her fatherland, and for their good\nopinion of her countrywomen. Henry, full of thought, could not help\nlistening attentively and with heart-felt pleasure to the description\nof the land, which he saw before him.\n\n\"Although you do not take up your father's trade,\" continued the\nmerchants, \"but rather, as we have been told, spend your time in the\npursuit of knowledge, yet you need not become one of the clergy, or\nrenounce the pleasantest enjoyments of this life. It is bad enough that\nall learning is in the hands of an order, so separated from worldly\nlife, and that the rulers are counselled by such unsociable and really\ninexperienced men. In solitude, where they have no share in worldly\naffairs, their thoughts must take a useless turn, and cannot be applied\nto everyday concerns. In Swabia you can find both wise and experienced\nmen among the laity, and you need only choose what branch of human\nknowledge you prefer; for you cannot want there good teachers and\nadvisers.\"\n\nAfter a while Henry, whose thoughts had been led by this conversation\nto the old court-preacher, said; \"Although ignorant as I am of the real\ncondition of the world, I do not exactly rebel against your opinion, as\nto the ability of the clergy to guide and judge of worldly affairs;\nyet I hope I may be permitted to put you in mind of our excellent\ncourt-preacher, who certainly is a pattern of a wise man, and whose\ninstructions and counsels I can never forget.\"\n\n\"We revere with our whole hearts,\" replied the merchants, \"that\nexcellent man; but we can agree with your opinion, only so far as you\nspeak of that wisdom, which concerns a life well pleasing to God. If\nyou consider him as wise in worldly affairs, as he is experienced and\nlearned in spiritual concerns, permit us to disagree with you. Yet we\ndo not believe that the holy man deserves any less praise, because by\nthe depth of his knowledge of the spiritual world, he is unable to gain\ninsight into and an understanding of earthly things.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Henry, \"is it not possible that that higher knowledge would\nfit you to guide impartially the reins of human affairs? May it not be\npossible that childlike and natural simplicity more safely travels the\nroad through the labyrinth of human affairs, than that wild, wandering,\nand partially restrained wisdom, which considers its own interest, and\nwhich is blinded by the unspeakable variety and perplexity of present\noccurrences? I do not know, but it seems to me, that there are two\nways, by which to arrive at a knowledge of the history of man; the one\nlaborious and boundless, the way of experience; the other apparently\nbut one leap, the way of internal reflection. The wanderer of the first\nmust find out one thing from another by wearisome reckoning; the\nwanderer of the second perceives the nature of everything and\noccurrence directly by their very essence, views all things in their\ncontinually varying connexions, and can easily compare one with\nanother, like figures on a slate. You will pardon me, that I address\nyou, as it were, from my childish dreams; nothing could have emboldened\nme to speak but my confidence in your kindness, and the remembrance of\nmy teacher, who for a long time has pointed the second way out to me as\nhis own.\"\n\n\"We willingly grant you,\" said the kind merchants, \"that we are not\nable to follow your train of thought; yet it pleases us that you so\nwarmly remember your excellent teacher, and treasure up so well his\nlessons. It seems to us that you have a talent for poetry, you speak\nyour fancies out so fluently, and you are so full of choice expressions\nand apt comparisons. You are also inclined to the wonderful,--the\npoet's element.\"\n\n\"I do not know whence it comes,\" said Henry; \"I have heard poets spoken\nof before now; but have never yet seen one. I cannot even form an idea\nof their curious art; but yet have a great desire to hear about it. I\nfeel that I wish to know many things, of which dark hints only are in\nmy mind. I have often heard people speak of poems, but I have never yet\nseen one, and my teacher never had occasion to learn the art. Nor have\nI been able to comprehend everything that he has told me concerning it.\nYet he always considered it a noble art, to which I would devote myself\nentirely, if I should become acquainted with it. In old times it was\nmuch more common than now, and every one had some knowledge of it,\nthough in different degrees; moreover it was the sister of other arts\nnow lost. He thought that divine favor had highly honored the\nminstrels, so that inspired by spiritual intercourse, they had been\nable to proclaim heavenly wisdom upon earth in entrancing tones.\"\n\nThe merchants then said; \"We have in truth not troubled ourselves much\nwith the secrets of the poets, though we have often listened with\npleasure to their songs. Perhaps it is true that no man is a poet,\nunless he is born under a particular star, for there is something\ncurious in this respect about this art. The other arts are very\ndifferent from it, and much easier to comprehend. The secrets of\npainters and musicians can much more easily be imagined; and both can\nbe learned with industry and patience. The sound lies already in the\nstrings, and ability is all that is wanting, in order to move them, and\nstir up each into a delightful harmony. In painting, nature is the best\ninstructress. She brings forth numberless beautiful and wonderful\nforms, gives to them color, light, and shade; and a practised hand, an\nexact eye, and a knowledge of the preparation and mixing of colors can\nimitate nature to the life. How natural for us then to comprehend the\neffect of these arts, and the pleasure derived from their productions.\nThe song of the nightingale, the whistling of the wind, and the\nsplendors of light, color, and form please us, because they strike our\nsenses agreeably; and as our senses are fitted for this by nature,\nwhich also has the same effect, so must the artful imitation of nature\nplease us also. Nature herself will also draw enjoyment from the power\nof art, and thence has she changed into man, and thus she now rejoices\nherself over her noble splendors, separates what is agreeable and\nlovely, and brings it forth by itself in such a way, that she can\npossess and enjoy it in all ways and at all times and places. In the\nart of poetry, on the contrary, there is nothing tangible to be met\nwith. It creates nothing with tools and hands. The eye and the ear\nperceive it not; for the mere hearing of the words has no real\ninfluence in this secret art. It is all internal; and as other artists\nfill the external senses with agreeable emotions, so in like manner the\npoet fills the internal sanctuary of the mind with new, wonderful, and\npleasing thoughts. He knows how to awaken at pleasure the secret powers\nwithin us, and by words gives us force to see into an unknown and\nglorious world. Ancient and future times, innumerable men, strange\ncountries, and the most singular events rise up within us, as from deep\nhiding places, and tear us away from the known present. We hear strange\nwords and know not their import. The language of the poet stirs, up a\nmagic power; even ordinary words flow forth in charming melody, and\nintoxicate the fast-bound listener.\"\n\n\"You change every curiosity into ardent impatience,\" said Henry. \"I\ncannot hear enough of these strange men. It seems to me all at once, as\nif I had heard them spoken of somewhere in my earliest youth; but I can\nremember nothing more about it. But what you have said to me is very\nclear and easy to comprehend, and you give me great pleasure by your\nbeautiful descriptions.\"\n\n\"It is with pleasure,\" continued the merchants, \"that we have looked\nback upon the many pleasant hours we have spent in Italy, France, and\nSwabia in the society of minstrels, and we are glad that you take so\nlively an interest in our discourse about them. In travelling through\nso many mountains, there is a double delight in conversation, and the\ntime passes pleasantly away. Perhaps you would be pleased to hear some\nof the pretty tales concerning poets, that we have learned in our\ntravels. Of the poems themselves, which we have heard, we can say but\nlittle, both because the pleasure and charm of the moment prevent the\nmemory from retaining much; and because our constant occupations in\nbusiness destroy many such recollections.\n\n\"In olden times, all nature must have been more animate and spiritual\nthan now. Operations, which now animals scarcely seem to notice, and\nwhich men alone in reality feel and enjoy, then put animate bodies into\nmotion; and it was thus possible for men of art to perform wonders and\nproduce appearances, which now seem wholly incredible and fabulous.\nThus it is said that there were poets in very ancient times, in the\nregions of the present Greek empire, (as travellers, who have\ndiscovered these things by traditions among the common people there,\nhave informed us,) who by the wonderful music of their instruments\nstirred up a secret life in the woods, those spirits hidden in their\ntrunks; who gave life to the dead seeds of plants in waste and desert\nregions, and called blooming gardens into existence; who tamed savage\nbeasts, and accustomed wild men to order and civilization; who brought\nforth the tender affections, and the arts of peace, changed raging\nfloods into mild waters, and even tore away the rocks in dancing\nmovements. They are said to have been at the same time soothsayers and\npriests, legislators and physicians, whilst even the spirits above were\ndrawn down by their bewitching song, and revealed to them the mysteries\nof futurity, the balance and natural arrangement of all things, the\ninner virtues and healing powers of numbers, of plants, and of all\ncreatures. Then first appeared the varied melody, the peculiar harmony\nand order, which breathe through all nature; while before all was in\nconfusion, wild and hostile. And here one thing is to be noticed; that\nalthough these beautiful traces for the recollection of these men\nremain, yet has their art, or their delicate sensibility to the\nbeauties of nature been lost. Among other occurrences, it once happened\nthat one of this peculiar class of poets or musicians,--although music\nand poetry may be considered as pretty much the same thing, like mouth\nand ear, of which the first is only a movable and answering ear,--that\nonce this poet wished to cross the sea to a foreign land. He had with\nhim many jewels and costly articles, which he had received as tributes\nof gratitude. He found a ship ready to sail, and easily agreed upon a\nprice for his passage. But the splendor and beauty of his treasures so\nexcited the avarice of the sailors, that they resolved among themselves\nto take him, throw him overboard, and afterwards to divide his goods\nwith each other. Accordingly, when they were far from land, they fell\nupon him, and told him that he must die, because they had resolved to\ncast him into the sea. He begged them to spare his life in the most\ntouching terms, offered them his treasures as a ransom, and prophesied\nthat great misfortunes would overtake them, should they take his life.\nBut they were not to be moved, being fearful lest he should sometime\nreveal their wickedness. When he saw at last that their resolution was\ntaken, he prayed them that at least they would suffer him to play his\nswan song, after which he would willingly plunge into the sea, with his\npoor, wooden instrument, before their eyes. They knew very well that,\nshould they once hear his magic song, their hearts would be softened\nand overwhelmed with repentance; therefore they granted his last\nrequest indeed, but stopped their ears, that not hearing his song, they\nmight abide by their resolution. Thus it happened. The minstrel began a\nbeautiful song, pathetic beyond conception. The whole ship accorded,\nthe waters resounded, the sun and the stars appeared at once in the\nsky, and the inhabitants of the deep issued from the green flood about\nthem, in dancing hosts. The people of the ship stood alone by\nthemselves, with hostile intent waiting impatiently for the end of his\nsong. It was soon finished. Then the minstrel plunged with serene brow\ndown the dark abyss, carrying with him his wonder-working instrument.\nScarcely had he touched the glittering wave, when a monster of the deep\nrose up beneath him, and quickly bore the astonished minstrel away. It\nswam directly to the shore whither he had been journeying, and landed\nhim gently among the rushes. The poet sang a song of gratitude to his\nsaviour, and joyfully went his way. Sometime after the occurrence of\nthese events, he again visited the seashore, and lamented in sweetest\ntones his lost treasures, which had been dear to him as remembrances of\nhappier hours, and as tokens of love and gratitude. While he was thus\nsinging, his old friend came swimming joyfully through the waves, and\nrolled from his back upon the sand the long-lost treasures. The\nboatmen, after the minstrel had leaped into the sea, began immediately\nto divide the spoil. During the division a murderous quarrel arose\nbetween them, which cost many of them their lives. The few that\nremained were not able to navigate the vessel; it struck the shore and\nfoundered. They with difficulty saved their lives, and reached the\nbeach with torn garments and empty hands. Thus by the aid of the\ngrateful sea-monster, who had gathered them up from the bottom of the\nsea, the treasures came into the hands of their original possessor.\"\n[See Note I. at the end.]\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III.\n\n\nThere is another story, continued the merchants after a pause,\ncertainly less wonderful and taken from later times, which yet may\nplease you and give you a clearer insight into the operations of that\nwonderful art. There was once an old king, whose court was the most\nsplendid of his age. People streamed thither from far and near, in\norder to share in the splendor of his mode of life. There was not\nwanting the greatest abundance of costly delicacies at his daily\nentertainments. There was music, splendid decorations, a thousand\ndifferent dramatic representations, with other amusements to pass away\nthe time. Nor did intellect fail to be represented there in the persons\nof sage, pleasant, and learned men, who added to the entertainment and\ninspiration of the conversation. Finally, there were added many chaste\nand beautiful youth of both sexes, who constituted the real soul of the\ncharming festivals. The old king, otherwise a strict and stern man,\nentertained two inclinations, which were the true causes of the\nsplendor of his court, and to which it owed its thanks for its\nbeautiful arrangement. The first of these inclinations was his love for\nhis daughter, who was infinitely dear to him, as a pledge of the love\nof his wife, who had died in her youth, and to whom, for her marvellous\nloveliness, he would have sacrificed all the treasures of nature, and\nall the powers of human minds, in order to create for her a heaven upon\nearth. The other was a real passion for poesy and her masters. He had\nfrom his youth read the works of the poets with heart-felt delight, and\nhad spent much labor and great sums of money in the collection of the\npoetical works of every tongue, and the society of minstrels was\nespecially dear to him. He invited them from all quarters to his court,\nand loaded them with honors. He never grew wearied with their songs,\nand for the sake of some new and splendid production often forgot the\nmost important business affairs, and even the necessaries of life.\nAmidst such strains had his daughter grown up, and her soul became, as\nit were, a tender song, the artless expression of longing and of\nsadness. The beneficent influence, which the protected and honored\npoets exerted, showed itself through the whole land, but particularly\nat the court. Life, like some precious potion, was enjoyed in lingering\nand gentle draughts, and in its purer pleasures; because all low and\nhateful passions were shunned, as jarring discords to the harmony which\nruled all minds. Peace of soul, and beautiful contemplations of a\nself-created happy world, had become the possession of this wonderful\ntime, and dissension appeared only in the old legends of the poets, as\na former enemy of man. It seemed as if the spirits of song could have\ngiven no lovelier token of their gratitude to their protector, than his\ndaughter, who possessed all that the sweetest imagination could unite\nin the tender form of a fair maiden. When you beheld her at the\nbeautiful festivals, amid a band of charming companions in glittering\nwhite dress, intensely listening to the rival songs of the inspired\nminstrels, and with blushes placing the fragrant garland around the\nlocks of the happy one, who had won the prize, you would have taken her\nfor the beautiful and embodied spirit of this art, conspiring with its\nmagic language; and you would cease to wonder at the ecstasies and\nmelodies of the poets.\n\nYet a mysterious fate seemed to be at work in the midst of this earthly\nparadise; The sole concern of the people of that country was about the\nmarriage of the blooming princess, upon which the continuation of their\nblissful times, and the fate of the whole land, depended. The king was\ngrowing old. This care lay heavy at his heart; and yet no opening for\nmarriage showed itself, that was agreeable to the wishes of all. A holy\nreverence for the royal family forbade any subject to harbor the idea\nof proposing for the hand of the princess. She was hardly regarded as a\ncreature of this earth, and all the princes, who had appeared at court\nwith proposals, seemed so inferior to her, that no one thought that the\nprincess or the king could fix their eye on any one of them. A sense of\ninferiority had by degrees deterred any suitors from visiting the\ncourt, and the wide-spread report of the excessive pride of the royal\nfamily seemed to take away from all others the desire to see themselves\nequally humbled. Nor was this report entirely without foundation. The\nking, with all his mildness of disposition, had almost unconsciously\nimbibed a feeling of lofty superiority, which rendered every thought of\na connexion of his daughter with a man of lower rank and obscurer\norigin unendurable and impossible to be entertained. Her high and\nunparalleled worth had heightened this feeling within him. He was\ndescended from a very old royal family of the East. His consort had\nbeen the last of the descendants of the renowned hero Rustan. His\nminstrels continually sang to him of his relationship to those\nsuperhuman beings, who formerly ruled the world. In the magic mirror of\ntheir art the difference between the origin of his family and that of\nother men, and the splendor of his descent, appeared yet clearer, so\nthat it seemed to him that he was connected with the rest of the human\nfamily through the nobler class of the poets alone. He looked around in\nvain for a second Rustan, whilst he felt that the heart of his blooming\ndaughter, the situation of his kingdom, and his increasing age rendered\nher marriage, in all points of view, most desirable. Not far from the\ncapital, there lived, upon a retired country-seat, an old man, who\noccupied himself exclusively with the education of his only son, except\nthat he occasionally assisted the country people by his advice in cases\nof dangerous sickness. The young man was of a serious disposition, and\ndevoted himself exclusively to the study of nature, in which his father\nhad instructed him from childhood. The old man many years before had\narrived from a distance at this peaceful and blooming region, and was\ncontent while enjoying the beneficent peace, which the king had spread\nabroad through this retreat. He took advantage of this peace to search\ninto the powers of nature, and impart the pleasing knowledge to his son,\nwho gave evidence of much talent for the pursuit, and to whose\npenetrating mind nature willingly confided her secrets. Without a lofty\npower of understanding, the secret expression of his noble face, and\nthe peculiar brilliancy of his eyes, you would have called the\nappearance of this youth ordinary and insignificant. But the longer you\ngazed upon him, the more attractive he became; and you could scarcely\ntear yourself from him, when you had once beard his soft impressive\nvoice, and the utterances which his glorious talents prompted. One day,\nthe princess, whose pleasure-garden adjoined the forest, which\nconcealed the country house of the old man in a little valley, had\nbetaken herself thither alone on horseback, that she might follow out\nher fancies undisturbed, and sing to herself her favorite songs. The\nfresh air of the lofty trees enticed her gradually deeper into their\nshade, until at last she came to the house where the old man lived with\nhis son. Happening to feel thirsty, she alighted, fastened the horse to\na tree, and stepped into the house, to ask for a glass of milk. The son\nwas present, and was well nigh confounded by the enchanting appearance\nof a majestic female form, which seemed almost immortal, adorned as it\nwas by all the charms of youth and beauty, and by that indescribable\nfascinating transparency, revealing the tender, innocent, and noble\nsoul. While he hastened to gratify her desire, the old man addressed\nher with modest respect, and invited her to be seated at their simple\nhearth, which was placed in the middle of the house, and on which there\nglimmered noiselessly a light blue flame. Immediately on entering, the\nprincess was struck with the varied ornaments of the room, the order\nand cleanliness of the whole, and the peculiar sanctity of the place;\nand her impression was heightened yet more by the venerable appearance\nof the old man, poorly clad as he was, and by the modest behavior of\nthe son. The former recognised her immediately as a lady of the court,\njudging this from her costly dress and noble carriage. While the son\nwas absent, the princess asked him about some curiosities which had\ncaught her eye, and especially concerning some old and singular\npictures, which stood at her side over the hearth, and which he kindly\nundertook to explain to her. The son soon returned with a pitcher of\nfresh milk, which he artlessly and respectfully handed her. After some\ninteresting conversation with the hosts, she gracefully thanked them\nfor their hospitality, and with blushes asked the old man's permission\nto visit his house again, that she might enjoy his instructive\nconversation concerning his wonderful curiosities. She then rode back\nwithout having divulged her rank, as she noticed that neither the\nfather nor the son knew her. Although the capital was situated thus\nnear, they were both so buried in their studies, that they strove to\nshun the busy world; and the young man had never been seized with the\ndesire of being present at the festivities of the court. He had never\nbeen accustomed to leave his father alone for more than an hour at the\nutmost, while roaming through the woods searching for insects and\nplants, and sharing the inspiration of the mute spirit of nature\nthrough the influence of its various outward charms. The simple\noccurrences of this day were equally important to the old man, the\nprincess, and the youth. The first easily perceived the novel and deep\nimpression, which the unknown lady had made upon his son. He knew his\ncharacter perfectly, and was fully aware that such a deep impression\nwould last as long as his life. His youth, and the nature of his heart,\nwould of necessity render the first feeling of this nature an\nunconquerable passion. The old man had for a long time looked forward\nto such an occurrence. The exceeding loveliness of the stranger excited\nan involuntary sympathy in the soul of his son, and his unsuspicious\nmind harbored no troublesome anxiety about the issue of this singular\nadventure. The princess had never been conscious of experiencing such\nemotions as arose in her mind, while riding slowly homeward. She could\nform no exact idea of the curiously mixed, wondrously stirring feelings\nof a new existence. A magical veil was spread in wide folds over her\nclear consciousness. It seemed to her that, when it should be\nwithdrawn, she would find herself in a more spiritual world than this.\nThe recollection of the art of poetry, which hitherto had occupied her\nwhole soul, seemed now like a far distant song, connecting her\npeculiarly delightful dream with the past. When she reached the palace,\nshe was almost frightened at its varied splendor, and yet more at the\nwelcome of her father, for whom for the first time in her life she\nexperienced a distant respect. She thought it impossible for her to\nmention her adventure to him. Her other companions were too much\naccustomed to her reveries, and her deep abstractions of thought and\nfancy, to notice anything extraordinary in her conduct. She seemed now\nto lose some of her affable sweetness of disposition. She felt as if\nshe were among strangers, and a peculiar anxiety harassed her until\nevening, when the joyful song of some minstrel, who chanted the praises\nof hope, and sang with magic inspiration of the wonders which follow\nfaith in the fulfilment of our wishes, filled her with consolation, and\nlulled her with the sweetest dreams.\n\nAs soon as the princess had taken leave, the youth plunged into the\nforest. He had followed her among the bushes as far as the garden gate,\nand then sought to return by the road. As he was walking along, he saw\nsome bright object shining before his feet. He stooped and picked up a\ndark red stone, one side of which was wonderfully brilliant, and the\nother was graved with ciphers. He knew it to be a costly carbuncle, and\nthought that he had observed it in the middle of the necklace which the\nunknown lady wore. He hastened with winged footsteps home, as if she\nwere yet there, and brought the stone to his father. They decided that\nthe son should return next morning to the road, and see whether any one\nwas sent to look for it; if not, they would keep it till they received\na second visit from the lady, and then return it to her. The young man\npassed much of the night gazing at the carbuncle, and felt towards\nmorning irresistibly inclined to write a few words upon the paper in\nwhich he wrapt it. He hardly knew himself the meaning of the words\nwhich he wrote:\n\n     A mystic token deeply graved is beaming\n     Within the glowing crimson of the stone,\n     Like to a heart, that, lost in pleasant dreaming,\n     Keepeth the image of the fair unknown.\n     A thousand sparks around the gem are streaming,\n     A softened radiance in the heart is thrown;\n     From that, the light's indwelling essence darts.\n     But ah, will this too have the heart of hearts?\n\nAs soon as the morning dawned, he took his way in haste to the garden\ngate.\n\nIn the mean while the princess in undressing on the previous evening,\nhad missed the jewel from her necklace. It was a memento from her\nmother, and moreover a talisman, the possession of which insured to her\nthe liberty of her person, since with it she could never fall into\nanother's power against her will.\n\nThis loss surprised more than it frightened her. She remembered that\nshe had it the day before when riding, and was quite certain that it\nwas lost, either in the house of the old man, or on the way back\nthrough the woods. She still remembered the exact road she had taken,\nand concluded to go in search of it as soon as the day should break.\nThis idea caused her so much joy, that it seemed as if she was not at\nall sorry for her loss, in the good pretence it gave to take the same\nroad once more. At daybreak she passed through the garden to the\nforest; as she walked with unwonted speed, it was natural that her\nbosom should feel oppressed, and her heart beat faster than usual. The\nsun was beginning to gild the tops of the old trees, which moved with a\ngentle whispering, as if they would waken each other from their drowsy\nnight-faces, in order to greet the sun together; when the princess,\nstartled by a rustling at some distance, looked down the road, and saw\nthe young man hastening towards her. He at the same time observed her.\n\nHe remained a while standing as if enchained, and gazed fixedly upon\nher, as if to assure himself that her appearance was real and no\nillusion. They greeted each other with subdued expressions of joy at\ntheir meeting, as if they had long known and loved each other. Before\nthe princess could explain to him the reason of her early walk, he\nhanded her with blushes and a beating heart the stone in the inscribed\nbillet. It seemed as if the princess anticipated the meaning of the\nlines. She took the billet silently and with a trembling hand, and\nalmost unconsciously hung a golden chain, which she wore about her\nneck, upon him, as a reward for his fortunate discovery. He knelt\nabashed before her, and could hardly find words to answer her inquiries\nabout his father. She told him in a half whisper, and with downcast\neyes, that she would with pleasure soon visit them again, and take\nadvantage of his father's promise to make her acquainted with his\ncuriosities.\n\nShe thanked the young man again with unusual feeling, and returned\nslowly on her way without once looking back. The youth was speechless.\nHe bowed respectfully and gazed after her for a long time, until she\nvanished behind the trees. In a few days she visited them again, and\nafter this her visits became frequent. The youth by degrees became the\ncompanion of her walks. He accompanied her from the garden at an\nappointed hour, and escorted her back again. She observed a strict\nsilence with respect to her rank, confiding as she otherwise was to her\nattendant, from whom no thought of her heavenly soul was ever hidden.\nThe loftiness of her descent seemed to pour a secret fear into her. The\nyoung man gave up to her likewise his whole soul. Both father and son\nconsidered her a maiden of quality from the court. She clung to the old\nman with the tenderness of a daughter. Her caresses lavished upon him\nwere the rapturous prophets of her tenderness towards his son. She was\nsoon perfectly at home in the wonderful house; and while she sang to\nher lute her charming song with an unearthly voice, the old man and the\nson sitting at her feet, the latter of whom she instructed in the\ndivine art; she learned on the other hand from his inspired lips the\nsolution of those riddles, which everywhere abound in the secrets of\nnature. He taught her how by a mysterious sympathy the world had\narisen, and the stars been united in their harmonious order. The\nhistory of the past became clear to her mind from his holy fables; and\nhow delightful it became, when in the height of his inspiration her\nscholar seized the lute, and broke out with incredible skill into the\nmost admirable songs. One day, when seized by a peculiar romance of\nfeeling, she was in his company, and her powerful, long-cherished love\novercame at returning her customary, maiden timidity; they both almost\nunconsciously sank into each other's arms, and the first glowing kiss\nmelted them into one forever. As the sun was setting, the roaring of\nthe trees gave notice of a mighty tempest. Threatening thunder-clouds\nwith their deep, night-like darkness gathered over them. The young man\nhastened to carry his charge in safety from the fearful hurricane and\nthe crashing branches. But through the darkness and his fear for his\nbeloved, he missed the road, and plunged deeper and deeper into the\nforest. His fear increased when he perceived his mistake. The princess\nthought of the terror of the king and of the court. An unutterable\nanxiety pierced at times like a consuming ray into her soul; and the\nvoice of her lover, who continually spoke consolation to her heart,\nalone restored courage and confidence, and eased her oppressed bosom.\n\nThe storm raged on; all endeavors to find the road were in vain, and\nthey both thought themselves fortunate, when, by a flash of lightning,\nthey discovered a cave near at hand on the declivity of a woody hill,\nwhere they hoped to find a safe refuge from the dangers of the tempest,\nand a resting place from their fatigue. Fortune realized their wishes.\nThe cave was dry and overgrown with clean moss. The young man quickly\nlighted a fire of brushwood and moss, by which they could dry their\ngarments; and the two lovers saw themselves thus strangely separated\nfrom the world, saved from a dangerous situation, and alone at each\nother's side in a warm and comfortable shelter.\n\nA wild almond branch, loaded with fruit, hung down into the cave; and a\nneighboring stream of trickling water quenched their thirst. The youth\nhad preserved his lute; and now they were entertained by its consoling\nand cheering music, as they sat by the crackling fire. A higher power\nseemed to have taken upon itself to loosen the knot more quickly, and\nto have brought them under peculiar circumstances into this romantic\nsituation. The innocence of their hearts, the magic harmony of their\nminds, the united, irresistible power of their sweet passion, and their\nyouth, soon made them forget the world and their relations to it, and\nlulled them, under the bridal song of the tempest and the nuptial\ntorches of the lightning, into the sweetest intoxication, by which a\nmortal couple ever has been blessed. The break of the light blue\nmorning was to them the awakening of a new, blissful world.\nNevertheless a stream of hot tears, which soon gushed forth from the\neyes of the princess, revealed to her lover the thousand-fold\nanxieties, which were awakening in her heart. In one night he had grown\nold in years, and had passed from youth to manhood. With an inspiring\nenthusiasm, he consoled his mistress, reminded her of the holiness of\ntrue love, and of the high faith which it inspired, and prayed her to\nlook forward with confidence from the good spirit of her heart to the\nbrightest future. The princess felt that his consolation was founded on\ntruth, revealed to him that she was the daughter of the king, and that\nshe feared only on account of the pride and anxiety of her father.\nAfter mature consideration, they concluded what course to pursue, and\nthe young man immediately started to seek his father, and to make him\nacquainted with their plan. He promised to be with her again soon, and\nleft her lost in sweet imaginings of what would be the issue of these\noccurrences. The youth soon reached the dwelling of his father, who was\nright glad to see his son return to him in safety. He listened to the\nstory and the plans of the lovers, and seemed willing to assist them.\nHis house was retired, and contained some subterraneous chambers, which\ncould not easily be discovered. Here the princess was to dwell. She was\nbrought thither at twilight, and received by the old man with deep\nemotion. She afterwards often wept in her solitude, when her thoughts\nreverted to her mourning father; yet she concealed her grief from her\nlover, and told it only to the old man, who consoled her kindly, and\npainted to her imagination her early return to her father.\n\nIn the mean time the court had fallen into the greatest alarm, when, at\nevening, the princess was missing. The king was entirely beside\nhimself, and sent people in every direction to seek her. No man could\nexplain her absence. No one mistrusted that she was entangled in a love\naffair, and therefore an elopement was not thought of. Moreover no\nother person of the court was missing, nor was there any cause for the\nremotest suspicion. The messengers returned without having accomplished\nanything, and the king sank into the deepest dejection. It was only at\nevening, when his minstrels came before him, bringing with them their\nbeautiful songs, that his former pleasure appeared renewed to him; his\ndaughter seemed near him, and he conceived the hope that he should soon\nbehold her again. But when he was again alone, his heart seemed like to\nbreak, and he wept aloud. Then he thought within himself; \"of what\nadvantage to me now is all this splendor and my high birth? Without\nher, even these songs are mere words and delusions. She was the charm\nthat gave them life and joy, power and form. Would rather that I were\nthe lowest of my subjects. Then my daughter would still be with me;\nperhaps also I should have a son-in-law, and my grandson would sit upon\nmy knees; then indeed I should be another king than I am now. It is not\nthe crown or the kingdom that makes the king; it is the full,\noverflowing feeling of happiness, the satiety of earthly possessions,\nthe consciousness of perfect satisfaction and content. In this way am I\nnow punished for my pride. The loss of my wife did not sufficiently\nhumble me; but now my misery is boundless.\" Thus complained the king in\nhis hours of ardent longing. Yet at times his old austerity and pride\nbroke forth. He was angry with his own complaints; he would endure and\nbe silent as becomes a king. He thought even then that he suffered more\nthan all others, and that royalty was burdened with heavy care; but\nwhen it became darker, and stepping into the chamber of his daughter he\nbeheld her clothes hanging there, and her little effects scattered\naround, as if she had but a moment before left the chamber; then he\nforgot his resolutions, exhibited all the gestures of sorrow, and\ncalled upon his lowest servant for sympathy. All the city and country\nwept and condoled with him, with their whole hearts. It is worthy of\nremark, that it was noised abroad that the princess yet lived, and\nwould soon return with a husband. No one knew whence this report arose;\nbut every one clung to it with joyous belief, and awaited her return\nwith impatient expectation. Thus several months passed on, until spring\nagain drew nigh. \"What will you wager,\" said some of sanguine\ndisposition, \"that the princess will not return also?\" Even the king\ngrew more serene and hopeful. The report seemed to him like a promise\nfrom some kind power. The accustomed festivals were again renewed, and\nnought seemed wanting but the princess to fill up the bloom of their\nformer splendor. One evening, exactly a year from the time when she\ndisappeared, the whole court was assembled in the garden. The air was\nwarm and serene; and no sound was heard but that of the gentle wind in\nthe tops of the old trees, announcing, as it were, the approach of some\nfar off joy. A mighty fountain, arising amid the torches, which with\ntheir innumerable lights relieved the duskiness of the sighing\ntree-tops, accompanied the varied songs with melodious murmurs sounding\nthrough the forest. The king sat upon a costly carpet, and the court in\nfestal dress was gathered around him. The multitude filled the garden,\nand encircled the splendid scene. The king at this moment was sitting\nplunged in profound thought. The image of his lost daughter appeared\nbefore him with unwonted clearness. He thought of the happy days, which\nended with the last year about that time. A burning desire overpowered\nhim, and the tears flowed fast down his venerable cheeks; yet he\nexperienced a hope, as clear as it was unusual. It seemed as if the\npast year of sorrow were but a heavy dream, and he raised his eyes as\nif seeking her lofty, holy, captivating form amidst the people and the\ntrees. The minstrel had just ended, and deep silence gave evidence of\ndeep emotion; for the poets had sung of the joys of meeting, of spring,\nand of the future, as hope is accustomed to adorn them.\n\nThe silence was suddenly interrupted by the low sound of an unknown but\nbeautiful voice, which seemed to proceed from an aged oak. All looks\nwere directed towards it, and a young man in simple, but peculiar\ndress, was seen standing with a lute upon his arm. He continued his\nsong, yet saluted the king, as he turned his eyes towards him, with a\nprofound, bow. His voice was remarkably fine, and the song of a nature\nstrange and wonderful. He sang the origin of the world, the stars,\nplants, animals, and men, the all-powerful sympathy of nature; the\nremote age of gold, and its rulers Love and Poesy; the appearance of\nhatred and barbarism, and their battles with these beneficient\ngoddesses; and finally, the future triumph of the latter, the end of\naffliction, the renovation of nature, and the return of an eternal\ngolden age. Even, the old minstrels, wrapped in ecstasy, drew nearer to\nthe singular stranger. A charm, they had never before felt, seized all\nlisteners, and the king was carried away in feeling, as upon a tide\nfrom Heaven. Such music had never before been heard. All thought that a\nheavenly being had appeared among them; and especially so, because the\nyoung man appeared, during his song, continually to grow more beautiful\nand resplendent, and his voice more powerful. The gentle wind played\nwith his golden locks. The lute in his hands seemed inspired, and\nit was as if his intoxicated gaze pierced into a secret world. The\nchild-like innocence and simplicity of his face appeared to all\ntranscendant. Now the glorious strain was finished. The elder poets\npressed the young man to their bosoms with tears of joy. A silent\ninward exultation shot through the whole assembly. The king, filled\nwith emotion, approached him. The young man threw himself reverently at\nhis feet. The king raised him up, embraced him, and bade him ask for\nany gift. Then, with glowing cheeks he prayed the king to listen to\nanother song, and to decide as to his request. The king stepped a few\npaces back, and the young stranger began:--\n\n   Through many a rugged, thorny pass,\n   With tattered robe, the minstrel wends;\n   He toils through flood and deep morass,\n   Yet none a helping hand extends.\n   Now lone and pathless, overflows\n   With bitter plaint his wearied heart;\n   Trembling beneath his lute he goes,\n   And vanquished by a deeper smart.\n\n   There is to me a mournful lot,\n   Deserted quite I wander here;--\n   Delight and peace to all I brought,\n   But yet to share them none are near.\n   To human life, and everything\n   That mortals have, I lent a bliss;\n   Yet all, with slender offering\n   My heart's becoming claim dismiss.\n\n   They calmly let me take my leave,\n   As spring is seen to wander on;\n   And none she gladdens, ever grieve\n   When quite dejected she hath gone.\n   For fruits they covetously long,\n   Nor wist she sows them in her seed;\n   I make a heaven for them in song,\n   Yet not a prayer enshrines the deed.\n\n   With joy I feel that from above\n   Weird spirits to these lips are bann'd,\n   O, that the magic tie of love\n   Were also knitted to my hand!\n   But none regard the pilgrim lone,\n   Who needy came from distant isles;\n   What heart will pity yet his own,\n   And quench his grief in winning smiles?\n\n   The lofty grass is waving, where\n   He sinks with tearful cheeks to rest;\n   But thither winnowing the air,\n   Song-spirits seek his aching breast;\n   Forgetting now thy former pain,\n   Its burden early cast behind,--\n   What thou in huts hast sought in vain,\n   Within the palace wilt thou find.\n\n   Awaiteth thee a high renown,\n   The troubled course is ending now;\n   The myrtle-wreath becomes a crown,\n   Hands truest place it on thy brow.\n   A tuneful heart by nature shares\n   The glory that surrounds a throne;\n   Up rugged steps the poet fares,\n   And straight becomes the monarch's son.\n\nSo far he had proceeded in his song, and wonder held the assembly\nspell-bound; when, during these stanzas, an old man with a veiled\nfemale of noble stature, carrying in her arms a child of wondrous\nbeauty, who playfully eyed the assembly, and smilingly outstretched its\nlittle hands after the diadem of the king, made their appearance and\nplaced themselves behind the minstrel. But the astonishment was\nincreased, when the king's favorite eagle, which was always about his\nperson, flew down from the tops of the trees with a golden headband,\nwhich he must have stolen from the king's chamber, and hovered over the\nhead of the young man, so that the band fastened itself around his\ntresses. The stranger was frightened for a moment; the eagle flew to\nthe side of the king, and left the band behind. The young man now\nhanded it to the child, who reached after it; and sinking upon one knee\ntowards the king, continued his song with agitated voice:--\n\n   From fairy dreams the minstrel flies\n   Abroad, impatient and elate;\n   Beneath the lofty trees he hies\n   Toward the stately palace-gate.\n   Like polished steel the walls oppose,\n   But over swiftly climb his strains;\n   And seized by love's delicious throes,\n   The monarch's child the singer gains.\n\n   They melt in passionate embrace,\n   But clang of armor bids them flee;\n   Within a nightly refuge place\n   They nurse the new-found ecstasy.\n   In covert timidly they stay,\n   Affrighted by the monarch's ire;\n   And wake with every dawning day\n   At once to grief and glad desire.\n\n   Hope is the minstrel's soft refrain,\n   To quell the youthful mother's tears;\n   When lo, attracted by the strain,\n   The king within the cave appears.\n   The daughter holds in mute appeal\n   The grandson with his golden hair;\n   Sorrowed and terrified they kneel,\n   And melts his stern resolve to air.\n\n   And yieldeth too upon the throne\n   To love and song a Father's breast;\n   With sweet constraint he changes soon\n   To ceaseless joy the deep unrest.\n   With rich requital love returns\n   The peace it lately would destroy,\n   And mid atoning kisses burns\n   And blossoms an Elysian joy.\n\n   Spirit of Song! oh, hither come,\n   And league with love again to bring\n   The exiled daughter to her home,\n   To find a father in the king!\n   To willing bosom may he press\n   The mother and her pleading one,\n   And yielding all to tenderness,\n   Embrace the minstrel as his son.\n\nThe young man, on uttering these words, which softly swelled through\nthe dark paths, raised with trembling hand the veil. The princess, her\neyes streaming with tears, fell at the feet of the king, and reached to\nhim the beauteous child. The minstrel knelt with bowed head at her\nside. An anxious silence seemed to hold the breath of every one\nsuspended. For a few moments the king remained grave and speechless;\nthen he took the princess to his bosom, pressed her to himself with a\nwarm embrace, and wept aloud. He also raised the young man, and\nembraced him with heart-felt tenderness. Exulting joy flew through the\nassembly, which began to crowd eagerly around them. Taking the child,\nthe king raised it towards Heaven with touching devotion; and then\nkindly greeted the old man. Countless tears of joy were shed. The poets\nburst forth in song, and the night became a sacred festive eve of\npromise to the whole land, where life henceforth was but one delightful\njubilee. No one can tell whither that land has fled. Tradition only\nwhispers us that mighty floods have snatched Atlantis from our eyes.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IV.\n\n\nSeveral days' journey was accomplished without the least interruption.\nThe road was hard and dry, the weather refreshing and serene, and the\ncountries, through which they passed, fertile, inhabited, and\ncontinually varied. The fertile Thuringian forest lay behind them. The\nmerchants, who had often travelled by the same road, were acquainted\nwith the people, and experienced everywhere the most hospitable\nreception. They avoided the retired regions, and such as were infested\nwith robbers, or took a sufficient escort for their protection, when\nobliged to travel through them. Many proprietors of the neighboring\ncastles were on good terms with the merchants. The latter visited them,\nseeking orders for Augsburg. Much friendly hospitality was shown them,\nand the old ladies with their daughters pressed around them with hearty\ncuriosity. Henry's mother immediately won their affection by her\ngood-natured complaisance and sympathy. They were rejoiced to see a\nlady from the capital, who was willing to tell them new fashions, and\nwho taught them the recipes for many pleasant dishes. The young\nOfterdingen was praised by knights and ladies, on account of his\nmodesty and artless, mild behavior. The ladies lingered, too, with\npleasure upon his captivating form, which resembled the simple word of\nsome Unknown, which perhaps one scarcely regards, until, long after he\nhas gone, it gradually opens its bud, and at length presents a\nbeautiful flower in all the colored splendor of deeply interwoven\nleaves, so that one never forgets it, nor is ever wearied of its\nremembrance, but finds in it an exhaustless and ever-present treasure.\nWe now begin to divine the Unknown more exactly; and our presages take\nform, till at once it becomes clear, that he was an inhabitant of a\nhigher world. The merchants received many orders, and parted from their\nhosts with mutual hearty wishes, that they might see each other soon\nagain. In one of these castles, where they arrived towards evening, the\npeople were enjoying themselves right jovially. The lord of the castle\nwas an old soldier, who celebrated and interrupted the leisure of\npeace, and the solitude of his situation, with frequent banquets; and\nwho, besides the tumult of war and the chase, knew no other means of\npastime, except the brimming beaker.\n\nHe received the new guests with brotherly heartiness, in the midst of\nhis noisy companions. The mother was conducted to the lady of the\ncastle. The merchants and Henry were obliged to seat themselves at the\nmerry table, where the beaker passed bravely around. Henry, after much\nintreaty, was, in consideration of his youth, excused from pledging\nevery time; the merchants, on the contrary, did not find it much\nagainst their tastes, and smacked the old Frank-wine with tolerable\ngusto. The conversation turned upon the adventures of past years. Henry\nlistened attentively to what was said. The knights spoke of the holy\nland, of the wonders of the sacred tomb, of the adventures of their\nenterprise and voyage, of the Saracens in whose power some of them had\nbeen, and of the joyous and wonderful life of field and camp. They\nexpressed with great animation their indignation, when they learned\nthat the heavenly birth-place of Christendom was in the power of the\nunbelieving heathen. They exalted those great heroes, who had earned\nfor themselves an immortal crown, by their persevering endeavors\nagainst this lawless people. The lord of the castle showed the rich\nsword, which he had taken from their leader with his own hand, after he\nhad conquered his castle, slain him, and made his wife and children\nprisoners, which deeds, by the permission of the emperor, were\nrepresented on his coat of arms. All examined the splendid sword. Henry\ntook it and felt suddenly inspired with warlike ardor. He kissed it\nwith fervent devotion. The knight rejoiced at his sympathy with their\nfeelings. The old man embraced him, and encouraged him to devote his\nhand also forever to the deliverance of the holy sepulchre, and to have\naffixed to his shoulder the marvel-working cross. He was enraptured,\nand seemed hardly able to release the sword. \"Think, my son,\" cried the\nold knight, \"a new crusade is on the point of departure. The emperor\nhimself will lead our forces into the land of the morning. Throughout\nall Europe the cry of the cross is sounding anew, and everywhere heroic\ndevotion is excited. Who knows that we may not, a year hence, be\nsitting at each other's side in the great and far renowned city of\nJerusalem, as joyful conquerors, and think of home over the wine of our\nfatherland? You will see here, at my house, a maiden from the holy\nland. Its maidens appear very charming to us of the West; and if you\nguide your sword skilfully, beauteous captives shall not be wanting.\"\nThe knights sang with a loud voice the Crusade-song, which at that time\nwas a favorite throughout Europe.\n\n   The grave in heathen hands remaineth;\n   The grave, wherein the Savior lay,\n   Their cruel mockery sustaineth,\n   And is unhallowed every day.\n   Its sorrow comes in stifled plea,--\n   Who saves me from this injury?\n\n   Where bides each valorous adorer?\n   The zeal of Christendom has gone!\n   Where is the ancient Faith's restorer?\n   Who lifts the cross and beckons on?\n   Who'll free the grave and rend in twain\n   The haughty foe's insulting chain?\n\n   A holy storm o'er earth and billow\n   Is rushing through the midnight hour;\n   To stir the sleeper from his pillow,\n   It roars round city, camp, and tower,\n   In wailful cry from battlements,--\n   Up, tardy Christian, get thee hence.\n\n   Lo, angels everywhere commanding\n   With solemn faces, voicelessly,--\n   And pilgrims at the gates are standing\n   With tearful cheeks, appealingly!\n   They sadly mourn, those holy men,\n   The fierceness of the Saracen.\n\n   There breaks a red and sullen morrow\n   O'er Christendom's extended field;\n   The grief, that springs from love and sorrow,\n   In every bosom is revealed;\n   The hearth is left in sudden zeal,\n   And each one grasps the cross and steel.\n\n   The armèd bands are chafing madly,\n   To rescue the Redeemer's grave;\n   Toward the sea they hasten gladly,\n   The holy ground to reach and save.\n   And children too obey the spell,\n   The consecrated mass to swell.\n\n   High waves the cross, its triumph flinging\n   On scarrèd hosts that rally there,\n   And Heaven, wide its portal swinging,\n   Is all revealed in upper air;\n   For Christ each warrior burns to pour\n   His blood upon the sacred shore.\n\n   To battle, Christians! God's own legion\n   Attends you to the promised land,\n   Nor long before the Paynim region\n   Will smoke beneath His terror-hand.\n   We soon shall drench in joyous mood\n   The sacred grave with heathen blood.\n\n   The Holy Virgin hovers, lying\n   On angel wings, above the plain.\n   Where all, by hostile weapon dying,\n   Upon her bosom wake again.\n   She bends with cheeks serenely bright\n   Amid the thunder of the fight.\n\n   Then over to the holy places!\n   That stifled plea is never dumb!\n   By prayer and conquest blot the traces,\n   That mark the guilt of Christendom!\n   If first the Savior's grave we gain,\n   No longer lasts the heathen reign.\n\nHenry's whole soul was in commotion. The tomb rose before him like a\nyouthful form, pale and stately, upon a massive stone in the midst of a\nsavage multitude, cruelly maltreated, and gazing with sad countenance\nupon a cross, which shone in the background with vivid outlines, and\nmultiplied itself in the tossing waves of the ocean.\n\nJust at this time, his mother sent for him to present him to the\nknight's lady. The knights were deep in the enjoyments of the banquet,\nand in their imaginations as to the impending crusade, and took no\nnotice of Henry's departure. He found his mother in close conversation\nwith the old, kindhearted lady of the castle, who welcomed him\npleasantly. The evening was serene, the sun began to decline, and\nHenry, who was longing after solitude and was enticed by the golden\ndistance, which stole through the narrow, deep-arched windows into the\ngloomy apartment, easily obtained permission to stroll beyond the\ncastle. He hastened, his whole soul in a state of excitement, into the\nfree air. He looked from the height of the old rock down into the woody\nvalley, through which a little rivulet brawled along, turning several\nmills, the noise of which was scarcely audible from the greatness of\nthe elevation. Then he gazed toward the immeasurable stretch of woods\nand mountain-passes, and his restlessness was calmed, the warlike\ntumult died away, and there remained behind only a clear, imaginative\nlonging; He felt the absence of a lute, little as he knew its nature\nand effects. The serene spectacle of the glorious evening soothed him\nto soft fancies; the blossom of his heart revealed itself momently like\nlightning-flashes. He rambled through the wild shrubbery, and clambered\nover fragments of rock; when suddenly there arose from a neighboring\nvalley a tender and impressive song, in a female voice accompanied by\nwonderful music. He was sure that it was a lute, and standing full of\nadmiration he heard the following song in broken German.\n\n   If the weary heart is living\n   Yet, beneath a foreign sky;\n   If a pallid Hope is giving\n   Fitful glimpses to the eye;\n   Can I still of home be dreaming?\n   Sorrow's tears adown are streaming,\n   Till my heart is like to die.\n\n   Could I myrtle-garlands braid thee,\n   And the cedar's sombre hair!\n   To the merry dances lead thee,\n   That the youths and maidens share!\n   Hadst thou seen in robes the fairest,\n   Glittering with gems the rarest,\n   Thy belov'd, so happy there!\n\n   Ardent looks my walk attended,\n   Suitors lowly bent the knee,\n   Songs of tenderness ascended\n   With the evening star to me.\n   In the cherished there confiding,--\n   Faith to woman, love abiding,\n   Was their burden ceaselessly.\n\n   There, around the crystal fountains\n   Heaven fondly sinks to rest,\n   Sighing through the wooded mountains\n   By its balmy waves caressed;\n   Where among the pleasure-bowers,\n   Hidden by the fruits and flowers,\n   Thousand motley songsters nest.\n\n   Wide those youthful dreams are scattered!\n   Fatherland lies far away!\n   Long ago those trees were shattered,\n   And consumed the castle gray.\n   Came a savage band in motion\n   Fearful like the waves of ocean,\n   And Elysium wasted lay.\n\n   Terribly the flames were gushing\n   Through the air with sullen roar,\n   And a brutal throng came rushing\n   Fiercely mounted to the door.\n   Sabres rang, and father, brother,\n   Ne'er again beheld each other,--\n   Us away they rudely tore.\n\n   Though my eyes with tears are thronging,\n   Still, thou distant motherland,\n   They are turned, how full of longing,\n   Full of love, toward thy strand!\n   Thou, O child, alone dost save me\n   From the thought that anguish gave me,\n   Life to quench with hardy hand.\n\nHenry heard the sobbing of a child and a soothing voice. He descended\ndeeper through the shrubbery, and discovered a pale, languishing girl\nsitting beneath an old oak tree. A beautiful child hung crying on her\nneck, and she herself was weeping; a lute lay at her side upon the\nturf. She seemed a little alarmed when she saw the young stranger, who\nwas drawing near with a saddened countenance.\n\n\"You have probably heard my song,\" said she kindly. \"Your face seems\nfamiliar to me; let me think. My memory fails me, but the sight of you\nawakens in me a strange recollection of joyous days. O! it appears as\nif you resembled my brother, who before our disasters was separated\nfrom us and travelled to Persia, to visit a renowned poet there.\nPerhaps he yet lives and sadly sings the misfortunes of his sisters.\nWould that I yet remembered some of the beautiful songs he left us! He\nwas noble and kind-hearted, and found his chief happiness in his lute.\"\n\nThe child, who was ten or twelve years old, looked at the strange youth\nattentively, and clung fast to the bosom of the unhappy Zulima. Henry's\nheart was penetrated with sympathy. He consoled the songstress with\nfriendly words, and prayed her to relate to him her history\ncircumstantially. She seemed not unwilling to do so. Henry seated\nhimself before her, and listened to her tale, interrupted as it was by\nfrequent tears. She dwelt principally upon the praises of her\ncountrymen and fatherland. She portrayed their loftiness of soul, and\ntheir pure, strong susceptibility of life's poetry, and the wonderfully\nmysterious charms of nature, She described the romantic beauties of the\nfertile regions of Arabia, which lay like happy islands in the midst of\nimpassable, sandy wastes, refuge places for the oppressed and weary,\nlike colonies of Paradise,--full of fresh wells, whose streams trilled\nover dense meadows and glittering stones, through venerable groves,\nfilled with every variety of singing birds; regions attractive also in\nnumerous monuments of memorable past time.\n\n\"You would look with wonder,\" she said, \"upon the many-colored,\ndistinct, and curious traces and images upon the old stone slabs. They\nseem to have been always well known; nor have they been preserved\nwithout a reason. You muse and muse, you conjecture single meanings,\nand become more and more curious to arrive at the deep coherence of\nthese old writings. Their unknown meaning excites unwonted meditation;\nand even though you depart without having solved the enigmas, you have\nyet made a thousand remarkable discoveries in yourself, which give to\nlife a new refulgence, and to the mind an ever profitable occupation.\nLife, on a soil inhabited in olden time, and once glorious in its\nindustry, activity, and attachment to noble pursuits, has a peculiar\ncharm. Nature seems to have become there more human, more rational; a\ndim remembrance throws back through the transparent present the images\nof the world in marked outline; and thus you enjoy a twofold world,\npurged by this very process from the rude and disagreeable, and made\nthe magic poetry and fable of the mind. Who knows whether also an\nindefinable influence of the former inhabitants, now departed, does not\nconspire to this end? And perhaps it is this hidden bias, that drives\nmen from new countries, at a certain period of their awakening, with\nsuch a restless longing for the old home of their race, and that\nemboldens them to risk their property and life, for the sake of\npossessing these lands.\"\n\nAfter a pause she continued.\n\n\"Believe not what you are told of the cruelties of my countrymen.\nNowhere are captives treated more magnanimously; and even your pilgrims\nto Jerusalem were received with hospitality; only they seldom deserved\nit. Most of them were worthless men, who distinguished their\npilgrimages by their evil deeds, and who, for that reason, often fell\ninto the hands of just revenge. How peacefully might the Christian have\nvisited the holy sepulchre, without being under the necessity of\ncommencing a terrible and useless war, which embitters everything,\nspreads abroad continued misery, and which has separated forever the\nland of the morning from Europe! What is there in the name of\npossessor? Our rulers reverentially honored the grave of your Holy One,\nwhom we also consider a divine person; and how beautifully might his\nsacred tomb become the cradle of a happy union, the source of an\nalliance blessing all forever!\"\n\nNight overtook them during this conversation, darkness approached, and\nthe moon rose in quiet light from the dark forest. They descended\nslowly towards the castle. Henry was full of thought, and his warlike\ninspiration had entirely vanished. He observed a strange confusion in\nthe world; the moon assumed the appearance of a sympathizing spectator,\nand raised him above the ruggedness of the earth's surface, which there\nseemed so inconsiderable, however wild and insurmountable it might\nappear to the wanderer below. Zulima walked silently by his side, hand\nin hand with the child. Henry carried the lute. He endeavored to revive\nthe sinking hope of his companion, to revisit once again her home,\nwhilst he felt within him an earnest prompting to be her deliverer,\nthough in what manner he knew not. A strange power seemed to lie in his\nsimple words, for Zulima felt an unwonted tranquillity, and thanked him\nin the most touching manner for his consolation.\n\nThe knights were yet in their cups, and the mother was engaged in\nhousehold gossip. Henry had no desire to return to the noisy hall. He\nfelt weary, and with his mother soon betook himself to the chamber,\nthat was set apart for them. He told her before he fell asleep, what\nhad happened, and soon sank into pleasant dreams. The merchants had\nalso retired betimes, and were early astir. The knights were in deep\nsleep, when they started on their journey; but the lady of the house\ntenderly took leave of them. Zulima had slept but little; an inward joy\nhad kept her awake; she made her appearance as they were departing, and\nhumbly but eagerly assisted the travellers. Before they started, she\nbrought with many tears her lute to Henry, and touchingly besought him\nto take it with him as a remembrance of Zulima.\n\n\"It was my brother's lute,\" she said, \"who gave it to me at our last\nparting; it is the only property I have saved. It seemed to please you\nyesterday, and you leave me an inestimable gift,--_sweet hope_. Take\nthis small token of my gratitude, and let it be a pledge, that you will\nremember the poor Zulima. We shall certainly see each other again, and\nthen perhaps I shall be much happier.\"\n\nHenry wept. He was unwilling to take the lute, so indispensable to her\nhappiness.\n\n\"Give me,\" said he, \"the golden hand in your hair ornamented with the\nstrange characters, unless it be memorial of your parents, sisters, or\nbrothers, and take in return a veil which my mother will gladly resign\nto you.\"\n\nShe finally yielded to his persuasions; and gave him the band, saying;\n\n\"It is my name in my mother tongue, which I myself in better times\nembroidered on this band. Let it be a pleasure for you to gaze upon it,\nand to think that it has bound up my hair during a long and sorrowful\nperiod, and has grown pale with its possessor.\" Henry's mother loosed\nthe veil and gave it to her, while she embraced her with tears.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V.\n\nAfter a few days' journey they arrived at a small village, situated at\nthe foot of some sharp hill-tops, interspersed with deep defiles. The\ncountry in other respects was fruitful and pleasant, though the hilly\nridge presented a dead, repulsive appearance. The inn was neat, the\npeople attentive; and a number of men, partly travellers, partly mere\ndrinking guests, sat in the room entertaining themselves with various\ncheer.\n\nOur travellers mingled with them, and joined in their conversation. The\nattention of the company was particularly directed to an old man\nstrangely dressed, who sat by a table and answered pleasantly whatever\nquestions of curiosity were put to him. He had come from foreign lands,\nand early that day had been examining the surrounding country. He was\nnow explaining his business, and the discoveries he had made during the\nday. The people here called him a treasure-digger. But he spoke very\nmodestly of his power and knowledge; yet what he said bore the impress\nof quaintness and novelty. He said that he was born in Bohemia. From\nhis youth he had been very curious to know what might be hidden in the\nmountains, whence water poured its visible springs, and where gold,\nsilver, and precious stones were found, so irresistibly attractive to\nman. He had often in the neighboring cloister-chapel beheld their solid\nlight appended to the pictures and relics, and only wished that they\nwould speak to him in explanation of their wonderful origin. He had\nindeed sometimes heard that they came from far distant regions; but had\nalways wondered why such treasures and jewels might not also be found\nin his own land. The mountains would not be so extensive and lofty, and\nso closely guarded, without some purpose; he also imagined that he had\nfound shining and glimmering stones upon them. He had climbed about\nindustriously among the clefts and caves, and had peered into their\nantiquated halls and arches with unspeakable pleasure.\n\nAt length he met a traveller who told him that he must become a miner\nin order to satisfy his curiosity. There were miners in Bohemia, and he\nneeded only descend the river for ten or twelve days, to Eula, where to\ngratify his desire he had only to mention it. He waited for no further\nconfirmation of this, but set off on the next day. After a fatiguing\njourney of several days he reached Eula.\n\n\"I cannot describe how gloriously I felt, when I saw from the hill the\npiles of rock overgrown with thickets, upon which stood the board huts,\nand watched the smoke-wreaths rising over the forest from the valley\nbelow. A distant murmur increased my eager anticipations. With\nincredible curiosity and full of silent reverence, I soon stood\nover a steep descent, which led precipitously down into the mountain,\nfrom among the huts. I hastened towards the valley, and soon met\nsome men dressed in black, with lamps in their hands, whom I not\nimproperly took to be miners, and to whom I told my desire with anxious\ntimidity. They listened to me kindly, and told me that I must go to the\nsmelting-houses and inquire for the overseer, who supplied the place of\ndirector and master, and who would tell me whether I could be admitted.\nThey thought my request would be granted, and told me that 'good luck'\nwas the customary form of greeting the overseer. Full of joyous\nexpectations I pursued my way, constantly repeating to myself the new\nand significant greeting. I found a venerable old man who received me\nwith kindness, and after telling him my history and my warm desire to\nbe instructed in his rare and mysterious art, he readily promised to\nfulfil my wishes. He seemed pleased with me, and entertained me in his\nown house. I could scarcely wait for the moment when I should descend\nthe pit, and behold myself in the long-coveted apparel. That very\nevening he brought me a mining-dress, and explained to me the use of\nsome tools which were kept in a chamber. At evening the miners came to\nhim, and not a word of their conversation did I lose, however foreign\nand unintelligible the chief part of their language appeared to me. The\nlittle, however, that I seemed to understand heightened the ardor of my\ncuriosity, and busied me at night with strange dreams. I awoke early,\nand found myself at the house of my new host, where the miners were\ngradually collecting to receive orders. A little side-room was fitted\nup as a chapel. A monk appeared and read mass, and afterwards\npronounced a solemn prayer, in which he invoked Heaven to give the\nminers its holy protection, to assist them in their dangerous labors,\nto defend them from the temptations and snares of evil spirits, and to\ngrant them abundant ore. I never prayed more fervently, and never\nrealized so vividly the deep significance of the mass. My companions\nappeared to me like heroes of the lower earth, who were obliged to\nencounter a thousand perils, but possessing an enviable fortune in\ntheir precious knowledge, and prepared, by grave and silent intercourse\nwith the primeval children of nature, in their sombre, mystic chambers,\nfor the reception of heavenly gifts, and for a blessed elevation above\nthe world and its troubles. When the service was concluded, the\noverseer, giving me a lamp and a small wooden crucifix, accompanied me\nto the shaft, as we are accustomed to call the steep entrance into the\nsubterraneous abodes. He taught me the method of descent, acquainted me\nwith the necessary precautions, as well as with the names of the\nvarious objects and divisions. He led the way, and slid down a round\nbeam, grasping with one hand a rope, which was knotted to a transverse\nbar, and with the other his lamp. I followed his example, and in this\nmanner we soon reached a considerable depth. I have seldom felt so\nsolemnly; and the distant light glimmered like a happy star, pointing\nout the path to the secret treasures of nature. We came below to a\nlabyrinth of paths. My kind master was ever ready to answer my\ninquisitive questions, and to teach me concerning his art. The roaring\nof the water, the distance from the inhabited surface, the darkness and\nintricacy of the paths, and the distant hum of the working miners,\ndelighted me extremely, and I joyfully felt myself in full possession\nof all that for which I had most ardently sighed. This complete\nsatisfaction of our innate taste, this wonderful delight in things\nwhich perhaps have an intimate relation to our secret being, and in\noccupations for which one is destined from the cradle, cannot be\nexplained or described. Perhaps they might appear to every one else\ncommon, insignificant, and unpleasant; but they seemed to me necessary\nas air to the lungs, or food to the stomach. My good master was pleased\nat my inward delight, and promised me that, with such zeal and\nattention, I should advance rapidly and become an able miner. With what\nreverence did I behold for the first time in my life, on the sixteenth\nof March, more than five-and-forty years ago, the king of metals in\nsmall, delicate leaves between the fissures of the rocks! It seemed as\nif, having been doomed here to close captivity, it glittered kindly\ntowards, the miner, who with so many dangers and labors breaks a way to\nit through its strong prison-walls, that he may remove it to the light\nof day, and exalt it to the honor of royal crowns, vessels, and holy\nrelics, and to dominion over the world in the shape of genuine coin,\nadorned with emblems, cherished by all. From that time I remained at\nEula, and advanced gradually from the business of removing the hewn\npieces of ore in baskets, to the degree of hewer, who is the real\nminer, and who performs the observations upon the stone.\"\n\nThe old man paused a moment in his narration, and drank, while the\nattentive listeners pledged his good luck, as they drained their cups.\nHenry was delighted with the old man's discourse, and was desirous to\nhear still more from him.\n\nHis listeners related descriptions of the dangers and strangeness of\nthe miner's life, and had many marvels to tell, at which the old man\noften smiled, and endeavored to correct their odd representations.\n\nAfter a while Henry said, \"you must have experienced much that is\nwonderful since then, I hope you have never repented your selection of\na mode of life. Be kind enough to tell us how you have employed\nyourself since, and why you are now travelling. You must have looked\nfarther into the world, and I am certain that you are now something\nmore than a common miner.\"\n\n\"I take great pleasure,\" said the old man, \"in the recollection of past\ntimes, in which I find cause to bless the divine mercy and goodness.\nFate has led me through a joyful and serene life, and not a day has\npassed, at the close of which I could not retire to rest with a\nthankful heart. I have always been fortunate in my undertakings, and\nour common Father in Heaven has guarded me from evil, and brought me to\na gray old age with honor. Next to him I must thank my old master for\nall these blessings, who long since was gathered to his fathers, and of\nwhom I never can think without tears. He was a man of the old school,\nafter God's own heart. He was gifted with deep penetration, yet\nchildlike and humble in every action. Through his means mining has\nbecome in high repute, and has helped the duke of Bohemia to immense\ntreasures. The whole region has become by its influence settled and\nprosperous, and is now a blooming land. All the miners honored him as a\nfather, and as long as Eula stands, his name will be mentioned with\nemotion and gratitude. His name was Werner, and he was a Lausatian by\nbirth. His only daughter was a mere child when I came to his house. My\nindustry, faithfulness, and devoted attachment daily won his affection.\nHe gave me his name and adopted me as his son. The little girl grew to\nbe an open-hearted, merry creature, whose countenance was as\nbeautifully clear and pure as her own mind. The old man, when he saw\nthat she was attached to me, that I loved to play with her, and that I\ncould never cease gazing at her eyes, which were as blue and open as\nheaven and glittering as crystal, often told me that when I became a\nworthy miner, he would not refuse her to me. He kept his word. The day\nI became hewer he laid his hands upon us, blessed us as bride and\nbridegroom, and a few weeks afterward I called her my wife. Early on\nthat day, although a mere apprentice, I struck upon a rich vein. The\nDuke sent me a golden chain, with his likeness engraven on a large\nmedallion, and promised me the office of my father-in-law. How happy\nwas I when on my marriage day I hung the chain around the neck of my\nbride, and the eyes of all were turned upon her. Our old father lived\nto see some merry grand-children, and his declining years were more\njoyous than he had ever anticipated. With joy could he finish his task,\nand fare forth from the dark mine of this world, to rest in peace, and\nawait the final day.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the old man, as he turned his gaze upon Henry, and wiped\nsome tears from his eyes, \"it must be that mining is blessed by God;\nfor there is no art, which renders those who are occupied in it happier\nand nobler, which awakens a deeper faith in divine wisdom and guidance,\nor which preserves the innocence and childlike simplicity of the heart\nmore freshly. Poor is the miner born, and poor he departs again. He is\nsatisfied with knowing where metallic riches are found, and with\nbringing them to light; but their dazzling glare has no power over his\nsimple heart. Untouched by the perilous delirium, he is more pleased in\nexamining their wonderful formation, and the peculiarities of their\norigin and primitive situation, than in calling himself their\npossessor. When changed into property, they have no longer any charm\nfor him, and he prefers to seek them amid a thousand dangers and\ntravails, in the fastnesses of the earth, rather than to follow their\nvocation in the world, or aspire after them on the earth's surface,\nwith cunning and deceitful arts. These severe labors keep his heart\nfresh and his mind strong; he enjoys his scanty pay with inward\nthankfulness, and comes forth every day from the dark tombs of his\ncalling, with new-born enjoyment of life. He now appreciates the\npleasure of light and of rest, the charms of the free air and prospect;\nhis food and drink are right refreshing to one, who enjoys them as\ndevoutly as if at the Lord's Supper; and with what a warm and tender\nheart he joins his friends, or embraces his wife and children, and\nthankfully shares the delights of heart-felt intercourse.\"\n\n\"His lonely occupation cuts off a great part of his life from day and\nthe society of man. Still he does not harden himself in dull\nindifference as to these deep-meaning matters of the upper world; and\nhe retains a childlike simplicity, which recognises the interior\nessence, and the manifold, primitive energies of all things. Nature\nwill never be the possession of any single individual. In the form of\nproperty it becomes a terrible poison, which destroys rest, excites the\nruinous desire of drawing everything within the reach of its possessor,\nand carries with it a train of wild passions and endless sorrows. Thus\nit undermines secretly the ground of the owner, buries him in the abyss\nwhich breaks beneath him, and so passes into the hands of another, thus\ngradually satisfying its tendency to belong to all.\n\n\"How quietly, on the contrary, the poor miner labors in his deep\nsolitudes, far from the restless turmoil of day, animated solely by a\nthirst for knowledge and a love of harmony. In his solitude he tenderly\nthinks of his friends and family, and his sense of their value and\nrelationship is continually renewed. His calling teaches indefatigable\npatience, and forbids his attention to be diverted by useless thoughts.\nHe deals with a strange, hard, and unwieldly power, which will yield\nonly to persevering industry and continual care. But what a glorious\nflower blooms for him in these awful depths,--a firm confidence in his\nheavenly Father, whose hand and care are every day visible to him in\nsigns not easily mistaken! How often have I sat down, and by the light\nof my lamp gazed upon the plain crucifix with the most heart-felt\ndevotion! Then for the first time I clearly understood the holy meaning\nof this mysterious image, and struck upon a heart-vein of the richest\ngolden ore, and which has yielded me an everlasting reward.\"\n\nAfter a pause the old man continued:--\n\n\"Truly must he have been divine, who first taught men the noble art of\nmining, and who has hidden in the bosom of the rock this sober emblem\nof human life. In one place the veins are large, easily broken, but\npoor; in another a wretched and insignificant cleft of rock confines\nit; and here the best ores are to be found. It often splits before the\nminer's face into a thousand atoms, but the patient one is not\nterrified; he quietly pursues his course, and soon sees his zeal\nrewarded, whilst working it open in a new and more promising direction.\n\n\"A specious lump often entices him from the true direction; but he soon\ndiscovers that the way is false, and breaks his way by main strength\nacross the grain of the rock, until he has found the true path that\nleads to the ore. How thoroughly acquainted does the miner here become\nwith all the humors of chance, and how assured that energy and\nconstancy are the only sure means of overcoming them and of raising the\nhidden treasure.\"\n\n\"Certainly you are not without cheering songs,\" said Henry. \"I should\nthink that your calling would involuntarily inspire you with music, and\nthat songs would be your welcome companions.\"\n\n\"There you have spoken the truth,\" said the old man. \"The song and the\nguitar belong to the miner's life, and no occupation can retain their\ncharm with more zest than ours. Music and dancing are the pleasures of\nthe miner; like a joyful prayer are they, and the remembrance and hope\nof them help to lighten weary labor and shorten long solitude.\n\n\"If you would like it now, I will give you a song for your\nentertainment, which was a favorite in my youth.\n\n           \"Who fathoms her recesses,\n            Is monarch of the sphere,--\n            Forgetting all distresses,\n            Within her bosom here.\n\n           \"Of all her granite piling\n            The secret make he knows,\n            And down amid her toiling\n            Unweariedly he goes.\n\n           \"He is unto her plighted,\n            And tenderly allied,--\n            Becomes by her delighted,\n            As if she were his bride.\n\n           \"New love each day is burning\n            For her within his breast,\n            No toil or trouble shunning,\n            She leaveth him no rest.\n\n           \"To him her voice is swelling\n            In solemn, friendly rhyme,\n            The mighty stories telling\n            Of long-evanished time.\n\n           \"The Fore-world's holy breezes\n            Around his temples play,\n            And caverned night releases\n            To him a quenchless ray.\n\n           \"On every side he greeteth\n            A long familiar land,\n            And willingly she meeteth\n            The labors of his hand.\n\n           \"For helpful waves are flowing\n            Along his mountain course,\n            And rocky holds are showing\n            Their treasures' secret source.\n\n           \"Toward his monarch's palace\n            He guides the golden stream,\n            And diadem and chalice\n            With noble jewels gleam.\n\n           \"Though faithfully his treasure\n            He renders to the king,\n            He liveth poor with pleasure,\n            And makes no questioning.\n\n           \"And though beneath him daily\n            They fight for gold and gain,\n            Above here let him gaily\n            The lord of earth remain.\"\n\nThe song pleased Henry exceedingly, and he begged the old man to sing\nanother. He was willing to gratify him, saying, \"I know one song that\nis very strange, and of whose origin we ourselves are ignorant. A\ntravelling miner, who came to us from a distance, and who was a curious\ndiviner with a wand, brought it with him. The song became a favorite\nbecause it was so peculiar,--nearly as dark and obscure as the music\nitself; but on that very account singularly attractive, and like a\ndream between sleeping and waking.\n\n           \"I know where is a castle strong,\n            With stately king in silence reigning,\n            Attended by a wondrous throng,\n            Yet deep within its walls remaining.\n            His pleasure-hall is far aloof,\n            With viewless warders round it gliding,\n            And only streams familiar sliding\n            Toward him from the sparry roof.\n\n           \"Of what they see with lustrous eyes,\n            Where all the stars in light are dwelling,\n            They faithfully the king apprize,\n            And never are they tired of telling.\n            He bathes himself within their flood,\n            So daintily his members washing,\n            And all his light again is flashing\n            Throughout his mother's[2] paly blood.\n\n           \"His castle old and marvellous,\n            From seas unfathomed o'er him closing,\n            Stood firm, and ever standeth thus,\n            Escape to upper air opposing;\n            An inner spell in secret thrall\n            The vassals of the realm is holding,\n            And clouds, like triumph-flags unfolding,\n            Are gathered round the rocky wall.\n\n           \"Lo, an innumerable race\n            Before the barred portals lying;\n            And each the trusty servant plays,\n            The ears of men so blandly plying.\n            So men are lured the king to gain,\n            Divining not that they are captured;\n            But thus by specious longing raptured,\n            Forget the hidden cause of pain.\n\n           \"But few are cunning and awake,\n            Nor ever for his treasures pining;\n            And these assiduous efforts make,\n            The ancient castle undermining.\n            The mighty spell's primeval tie\n            True insight's hand alone can sever;\n            If so the Inmost opens ever,\n            The dawn of freedom's day is nigh.\n\n           \"To toil the firmest wall is sand,\n            To courage no abyss unsounded;\n            Who trusteth in his heart and hand,\n            Seeks for the king with zeal unbounded.\n            He brings him from his secret hill,\n            The spirit foes by spirits quelling,\n            Masters the torrents madly swelling,\n            And makes them follow at his will.\n\n           \"The more the king appears in sight,\n            And freely round the earth is flowing,\n            The more diminishes his might,\n            The more the free in number growing.\n            At length dissolves that olden spell,--\n            And through the castle void careering,\n            Us homeward is the ocean bearing\n            Upon its gentle, azure swell.\"\n\nJust as the old man ended, it struck Henry that he had somewhere heard\nthat song. He asked him to repeat it and wrote it down. The old man\nthen departed, and the merchants conversed with the other guests on the\npleasures and hardships of mining. One said \"I don't believe the old\nman is here without some object. He has been climbing to-day among the\nhills, and has doubtless discovered good signs. We will ask him when he\ncomes in again.\"\n\n\"See here,\" said another, \"we might ask him to hunt up a well for our\nvillage. Good water is far off, and a well would be right welcome to\nus.\"\n\n\"It occurs to me,\" said a third, \"that I might ask him to take with him\none of my sons, who has already filled the house with stones. The\nyoungster would certainly make an able miner, and the old man seems\nhonest, and one who would bring him up in the way he should go.\"\n\nThe merchants were thinking whether they might not establish, by aid of\nthe miner, a profitable trade with Bohemia, and procure metals thence\nat low prices. The old man entered the room again, and all wished to\nmake use of his acquaintance, when he began to say:--\n\n\"How dull and depressing is this narrow room! The moon is without there\nin all her glory, and I have a great desire to take a walk. I saw\nto-day some remarkable caves in this neighborhood. Perhaps some of you\nwould like to go with me; and if we take lights, we shall be able to\nview them without any difficulty.\"\n\nThe inhabitants of the village were already acquainted with the\nexistence of these caves, but no one had as yet dared to enter them. On\nthe contrary they were deceived by frightful traditions of dragons and\nother monsters, which were said to dwell therein. Some went so far as\nto say that they had seen them, and insisted that the bones of men who\nhad been robbed, and of animals which had been devoured, were to be\nfound at the entrances of these caves. Others thought that a ghost\nhaunted them, for they had often seen from a distance a strange human\nform there, and songs had been heard thence at night.\n\nThe old man was rather incredulous upon the point, and laughingly\nassured them that they could visit the caves with safety under the\nprotection of a miner, since such monsters must shun him; and as for a\nsinging spirit, that must certainly be a beneficent one. Curiosity\nrendered many courageous enough to accept his proposition. Henry wished\nalso to accompany him, and his mother at length yielded to his\nentreaties, and the persuasion and promises of the old man, who agreed\nto have a special eye to his safety. The merchants promised to do the\nsame. Long sticks of pitch-pine were collected for torches; part of the\ncompany provided themselves plentifully with ladders, poles, ropes, and\nall sorts of defensive weapons, and thus finally they started for the\nneighboring hills. The old man led the way with Henry and the\nmerchants. The boor had brought that inquisitive son of his, who full\nof joy held a torch and pointed out the way to the caves. The evening\nwas clear and warm. The moon shone mildly over the hills, prompting\nstrange dreams in all creatures. Itself lay like a dream of the sun,\nabove the introverted world of visions, and restored nature, now living\nin its infinite phases, back to that fabulous olden time, when every\nbud yet slumbered by itself, lonely and unquickened, longing in vain to\nexpand the dark fulness of its immeasurable existence. The evening's\ntale mirrored itself in Henry's mind. It seemed as if the world lay\ndisclosed within him, showing him as a friendly visitor all her hidden\ntreasures and beauties. So clearly was the great yet simple apparition\nrevealed to him. Nature seemed incomprehensible, only because the near\nand the true loomed around man with such a manifold lavishment of\nexpression. The words of the old man had opened a secret door. He saw a\nlittle dwelling built close to a lofty minster, from whose stone\npavement arose the solemn foreworld, while the clear, joyous future, in\nthe form of golden cherubs, floated from the spire towards it with\nsongs. Loud swelled the notes in their silvery chanting, as all\ncreatures were entering at the wide gate, each audibly expressing in a\nsimple prayer and proper tongue their interior nature. How strange it\nseemed that this clear view, so necessary to his existence, had been so\nlong unknown to him. He now reviewed at a glance all his relations to\nthe wide world around him. He felt what he had become, and was to\nbecome, through its influence, and comprehended all the peculiar\nconceptions and presages, which he had already often stumbled upon in\ncontemplation. The story which the merchants had related of the young\nman, who studied nature so assiduously, and who became the son-in-law\nof the king, recurred to his mind, with a thousand other recollections\nof his past life, weaving themselves involuntarily on his part into a\nmagic thread. While Henry was thus occupied in his inward musings, the\ncompany had approached the cave. The entrance was low, and the old man\ntook a torch and first clambered over some fragments of rock. A\nperceptible current of air blew towards them, and the old man assured\nthem that they could follow with confidence. The most timorous brought\nup the rear, holding their weapons in readiness. Henry and the\nmerchants were behind the old man, and the boy walked merrily at his\nside. The path, at first narrow, emerged into a spacious and lofty\ncave, which the gleam of the torches could not fully illumine. Some\nopenings, however, were seen in the rocky wall opposite. The ground was\nsoft and quite even; the walls and ceiling were also neither rough nor\nirregular. But the innumerable bones and teeth which covered the\nground, chiefly attracted the attention of all. Many were in a full\nstate of preservation, some bore marks of decay, while some projecting\nhere and there from the walls seemed petrified. Most of them were of\nextraordinary size and strength. The old man was much gratified at\nseeing these relics of gray antiquity; they added little courage,\nhowever, to the farmers, who considered them downright evidence, that\nbeasts of prey were near at hand, although the old man pointed out the\nsigns upon them of a remote antiquity, and asked them whether they had\never heard of destruction among their flocks, or the seizure of men in\nthe neighborhood, and whether they thought these relics the bones of\nknown beasts or men. The old man wished to penetrate farther into the\ncave, but the farmers deemed it advisable to retreat to its mouth, and\nthere await his return. Henry, the merchants, and the boy remained with\nhim, having provided themselves with ropes and torches. They soon\nreached a second cave, where the old man did not forget to mark the\npath by which they entered, by a figure of bones which he erected\nbefore the mouth. This cave resembled the other, and was equally full\nof the remains of animals. Henry's mind was affected by wonder and\nawe; he felt as if passing through the outer-court of the central\nearth-palace. Heaven and earth lay at once far distant from him; these\ndark and vast halls seemed parts of some strange subterraneous kingdom.\n\"May it not be possible,\" thought he to himself, \"that beneath our feet\nthere moves by itself a world in mighty life, that strange productions\nderive their being from the bowels of the earth, which sends forth the\ninternal heat of its dark bosom into gigantic and preternatural shapes?\nMight not these awful strangers have been driven forth once by the\npiercing cold, and appeared amongst us, while perhaps at the same time\nheavenly guests, living, speaking energies of the stars, were visible\nabove our heads? Are these bones the remains of their wandering upon\nthe surface, or of their flight into the deep?\"\n\nSuddenly the old man called them to him, and showed them the fresh\ntrack of a human foot upon the ground. They could discover no more, so\nthat the old man concluded they might follow the track without fear of\nmeeting robbers. They were about to do this, when suddenly, as from a\ngreat depth beneath their feet, a distinct strain arose. They listened\nattentively, with not a little astonishment.\n\n           \"In the vale I gladly linger,\n            Smiling in the dusky night,\n            For to me with rosy finger\n            Proffers Love his cup of light.\n\n            \"With its dew my spirit sunken\n            Wafted is toward the skies,\n            And I stand in this life drunken\n            At the gate of paradise.\n\n            \"Lulled in blessed contemplation,\n            Vexes me no petty smart;\n            O, the queen of all creation\n            Gives to me her faithful heart.\n\n            \"Many years of tearful sorrows\n            Glorified this common clay,--\n            Thence a graven form it borrows,\n            Life securing it for aye.\n\n            \"Here the lapse of days evanished\n            But a moment seems to me;\n            Backward would I turn, if banished,\n            Gazing hither gratefully.\"\n\nAll were most agreeably surprised and eagerly wished to discover the\nsinger.\n\nAfter some search, they found in an angle of the right wall a deep\nsunken path, to which the footsteps seemed to lead them. Soon they\nthought they perceived a light, which became clearer as they\napproached. A new vault of greater extent than those they had yet\npassed opened before them, in the further extremity of which they saw a\nhuman form sitting by a lamp, with a great book before him upon a slab,\nin which he appeared to be reading.\n\nThe figure turned towards them, arose, and came forward. He was a man\nwhose age it were impossible to guess. He seemed neither old nor young,\nand no traces of time were discoverable, except in his smooth silvery\nhair, which was parted on his forehead. An indescribable air of\nserenity dwelt in his eyes, as if he were looking down from a clear\nmountain into an infinite spring.\n\nHe had sandals upon his feet, and wore no other dress except a large\nmantle cast around him, which added dignity to his noble form. He\nexpressed no surprise at their unexpected arrival, and greeted them as\nold acquaintances and expected guests.\n\n\"It is pleasant indeed,\" said he, \"that you have sought me. You are the\nfirst friends I have ever seen, though I have dwelt here a long season.\nIt seems that men are beginning to examine our spacious and wonderful\nmansion a little more closely.\"\n\nThe old man answered, \"We did not expect to find here so friendly a\nhost. We had been told of wild beasts and spectres, but we now find\nourselves most agreeably deceived. If we have disturbed your devotions\nor deep meditations, pardon it to our curiosity.\"\n\n\"Can any sight be more delightful,\" said the unknown, \"than the joyous\nand speaking countenance of man? Think not that I am a misanthrope,\nbecause you find me in this solitude. I have not shunned the world, but\nhave only sought a retirement, where I could apply myself to my\nmeditations undisturbed.\"\n\n\"Have you never grieved for your own desolation, and do not hours\nsometimes come, when you are fearful, and long to hear a human voice?\"\n\n\"Now, no more. There was a time in my youth, when a highly wrought\nimagination induced me to become a hermit. Dark forebodings busied my\nyouthful fancy. I thought to find in solitude full nourishment for my\nheart. The fountain of my inner life seemed inexhaustible. But I soon\nlearned that fulness of experience must be added to it, that a young\nheart cannot dwell alone; nay, that man, by manifold intercourse with\nhis race, reaches a certain self-subsisting independence.\"\n\n\"I myself believe,\" said the old man, \"that there is a certain natural\nimpulse to every mode of life; and that perhaps the experiences of\nincreasing age lead of themselves to a withdrawal from human society.\nIt then seems as if society were devoted to activity as much for gain\nas for maintenance. It is powerfully impelled by a great hope, by a\ncommon object, and children and the aged seem not at home. Helplessness\nand ignorance exclude the first from it, while the latter, with every\nhope fulfilled, every object attained, and new hopes and objects no\nlonger woven into their circle, turn back into themselves, and find\nenough employment in preparing for a higher existence. But more\npeculiar causes seem to have separated you entirely from men, and\ninfluenced you to resign all the comforts of society. Methinks that the\ntension of your mind must often relax, and give place to the most\ndisagreeable emotions.\"\n\n\"I have indeed felt that; but have learned to avoid it by a strict\nregularity in my mode of living. For this purpose I endeavor by\nexercise to preserve my health, and then there is no danger. Every day\nI walk for several hours and enjoy the light and air as much as\npossible; or I remain in these halls, and busy myself at certain times\nwith basket-braiding and carving. I exchange my ware at distant places\nfor provisions; I have brought many books with me, and thus time passes\nlike a moment. In these places I have acquaintances who know where I\nlive, and from whom I learn what is going on in the world. These will\nbury me when I die, and take away my books.\"\n\nHe led them nearer his seat, which was against the wall of the cave.\nThey noticed several books and a guitar lying upon the ground, and upon\nthe wall hung a complete suit of armor apparently quite costly. The\ntable consisted of five great stone slabs, put together in the form of\na box. Upon the upper one were two sculptured male and female figures\nlarge as life, holding a garland of lilies and roses. Upon the side was\ninscribed,\n\n\"Frederick and Mary of Hohenzollern here returned to their native\ndust.\"\n\nThe hermit inquired of his guests concerning their fatherland, and how\nthey had journeyed into these regions. He was kind and communicative,\nand displayed great knowledge of the world.\n\nThe old man said, \"I see you have been a warrior; the armor betrays\nyou.\"\n\n\"The dangers and vicissitudes of war, the deep, poetic spirit connected\nwith an armed host, tore me from my youthful solitude and determined\nthe destiny of my life. Perhaps the long tumult, the innumerable events\namong which I have dwelt, awakened in me a yet stronger inclination for\nsolitude, where numberless recollections make pleasant companions; and\nthis the more, in proportion as our view of them is varied; a view\nwhich now first discovers their true connexion, their significance, and\ntheir occult tendency. The peculiar sense for the study of man's\nhistory develops itself but tardily, and rather through the silent\ninfluence of memory than by the more forcible impressions of the\npresent. The nearest events seem but loosely connected, yet they\nsympathize so much the more curiously with the remote. And it is only\nwhen one is able to comprehend in one view a lengthened series, neither\ninterpreting too literally, nor confounding the proper method with\ncapricious fancies, that he detects the secret chain which binds the\npast to the future, and learns to rear the fabric of history from hope\nand memory. Yet only he can succeed in discovering the simple laws of\nhistory, to whom the whole past is present. We arrive only at\nincomplete and cumbrous formulas, and are well content to find for\nourselves an available prescription, that may sufficiently expound the\nriddle of our own short lives. But I can truly say that each rigorous\nview of the events of life causes us deep and inexhaustible pleasure,\nand raises us, of all speculations, the highest above earthly evils.\nYouth reads history only from curiosity, as it cons a story; to\nmaturity it becomes a divinely consoling and edifying companion,\npreparing it gently by its wise discourses for a higher and more\nembracing sphere of action, and acquainting it through intelligible\nimages with the unknown world. The church is the dwelling-house of\nhistory, the church-yard its symbolic flower-garden. History should\nonly be written by old and pious men, whose own is drawing to its\nclose, and who have nothing more to hope for, but transplantation to\nthe garden. Their descriptions will be neither obscure nor dull; on the\ncontrary a ray from the spire will exhibit everything in the most exact\nand beautiful light, and the Holy Spirit will hover above these rarely\nstirred waters.\"\n\n\"How true and obvious are your remarks,\" said the old man. \"We ought\ncertainly to spend more labor in faithfully recording the occurrences\nof our own times, and should leave our record as a devout bequest for\nposterity. There are a thousand remoter matters to which care and labor\nare devoted, while we trouble ourselves little with the nearer and\nweightier, the occurrences of our lives, and those of our relatives and\ngeneration, whose fleeting destiny we have comprehended in the idea of\na Providence. We heedlessly suffer all traces of these to escape from\nour memories. Like consecrated relics, all facts of the past will be\nsought for by a wiser future, not indifferent to the biography of the\nmost insignificant man, since in his life the lives of all his greater\ncontemporaries will be more or less reflected.\"\n\n\"It is also much to be regretted,\" said the count of Hohenzollern,\n\"that even the few, who have undertaken to report the deeds and events\nof their times, have not carried out their designs, nor striven to give\norder and completeness to their observations; but have proceeded almost\nwholly at random in the choice and collection of their facts. Any one\nmay easily see that he only can describe plainly and perfectly, that\nwhich he knows exactly, whose origin and consequences, object and use,\nare present to his mind; for otherwise there will be no description,\nbut a bewildering mixture of imperfect statements. Let a child describe\nan engine, or a farmer a ship, and no one can gain anything useful or\ninstructive from their words; and so is it with most historians, who\nare perhaps able enough even to be wearisome in relating and collecting\nfacts; but who forget what is most note-worthy, what first makes\nhistory historical, and connects so many varied events in an agreeable\nand instructive whole. If I understand all this rightly, it appears to\nme necessary that a historian should be also a poet; for poets alone\nknow the art of skilfully combining events. In their tales and fables I\nhave often noticed, with silent pleasure, a tender sympathy with the\nmysterious spirit of life. There is more truth in their romances than\nin learned chronicles. Though the heroes and their fates are\ninventions, yet the spirit in which they are composed is true and\nnatural. In some degree it matters not whether those persons, in whose\nfates we trace our own, ever did or did not exist. We seek to\ncontemplate the great and simple spirit of an age's phenomena; and if\nthis wish be gratified, we are not cumbered about the certainty of the\nexistence of their external forms.\"[See Note II.]\n\n\"I have also been much attached to the poets on that account,\" said the\nold man. \"Life and the world have become through them more clear and\nperceptible to me. It has appeared to me that they must be in alliance\nwith the acute spirits of light, which penetrate and divide all\nnatures, and spread over each a peculiar, softly tinted veil. By their\nsongs I felt my own nature gently developed, and it could move, as it\nwere, more freely, enjoy its social disposition and desires, poise with\nsilent pleasure its limbs against each other, and in various forms\nexcite delight a thousand-fold.\"\n\n\"Were you so happy in your country as to have some poets?\" asked the\nhermit.\n\n\"There have been a few with us at times; but travelling seemed their\nchief pleasure, and therefore they scarcely ever remained long with us.\nBut during my wanderings in Illyria, Saxony, and Sweden, I have met\nsome, the remembrance of whom is ever pleasant.\"\n\n\"You have, travelled far, and doubtless must have seen much during your\nlife, that is wonderful.\"\n\n\"Our art almost compels us to look industriously around the world, and\nit is as if the miner were driven by a subterraneous fire. One mountain\nsends him to another. He never ceases his scrutiny, and during his\nwhole life is gaining knowledge from that wonderful architecture, which\nhas so curiously floored and wainscotted the earth under our feet. Our\nart is very ancient and extended. It may indeed, like our race, have\nmigrated with the sun from the East toward the West, from the middle to\nthe extremities. It has been obliged everywhere to combat with other\ndifficulties; and as necessity continually urges the human spirit to\nwise inventions, so the miner can increase his knowledge and ability,\nand enrich his home with youthful experience.\"\n\n\"You are well nigh inverted astrologers,\" said the hermit; \"as they\nceaselessly regard the sky, wandering through its immeasurable spaces,\nso do you turn your gaze to the earth, exploring its construction.\nAstrologers study the forces and influences of the stars, while you are\ndiscovering the forces of rocks and mountains, and the manifold\nproperties of earth and stone strata. To them the higher world is a\nbook of futurity; to you the earth is a memorial of the primeval\nworld.\"\n\n\"This connexion is not without its meaning,\" said the old man; \"these\nshining prophets play perhaps a chief part in that old history of the\nwonderful creation. Men perhaps in the course of time will learn to\nunderstand them better, and to explain them by their operations, and\ninversely. Perhaps also the great mountain-chains exhibit the traces of\ntheir former ways, and perhaps they desired to support themselves\nwithout foreign aid, to take their own way to Heaven. Many raised\nthemselves boldly enough that they might become stars, and therefore\nmust now be deprived of the fair green vesture of the lower regions.\nThey have therefore gained nothing, except the power of influencing the\nweather for their fathers, and of becoming prophets for the lower\nworld, which now they protect, and now deluge with tempests.\"\n\n\"Since I have dwelt in this cave,\" the hermit answered, \"I have been\naccustomed to reflect more on ancient times. I cannot describe how\nattractive such meditations are, and I can imagine the love which a\nminer must cherish for his trade. When I look upon these strange old\nbones, which are collected in such great numbers here; when I picture\nto myself the savage period when those strange and monstrous beasts\ncrowded in dense bands into these caves, driven thither perhaps by fear\nand terror, and finding here their death; when again I go back to the\ntimes when these caves were formed, and wide-spread floods covered the\nland; then I seem to myself like a dream of futurity; like a child of\neternal peace. How quiet and peaceful, how mild and dear is out present\nnature, when compared with violent and gigantic times! The mightiest\ntempests, the most terrible earthquakes of our day, are but weak echoes\nof the throes of that first birth. Perhaps also the animal and\nvegetable kingdoms, and even the men who then existed, if any were\nfound on the different islands of the ocean, were of firmer and ruder\norganization; at least we should not then be obliged to accuse the\ntraditions of a giant race of being mere poetic fancies.\"\n\n\"It is pleasant,\" said the old man, \"to notice the gradual pacification\nof nature. A concord ever becoming deeper, a more friendly intercourse,\nreciprocal aid and encouragement, seem gradually to have been formed;\nand we can look forward continually to better times. It may perhaps be\npossible, that here and there a little of the old leaven is fermenting,\nand that still more violent convulsions are to follow; yet these mighty\nstruggles for a free and harmonious existence are visible; and in this\nspirit will every convulsion pass over and draw nearer to the great\ngoal. It may be that nature is no longer so fertile, that at present no\nmetals or precious stones, rocks or mountains are springing into\nexistence, that plants and animals do not increase to such an\nastonishing size and strength; but the more that physical powers are\nexhausted, the more have plastic, ennobling, and social powers\nincreased. The mind has become more susceptible and tender, the fancy\nmore varied and symbolical, the hand more free and artistic. Nature\napproaches man; and if she were once an uncouthly teeming rock, then is\nshe now a quietly thriving plant, a silent human artist. And of what\nservice would be the multiplication of these treasures, of which there\nare now enough for the most distant age? How small is the space I have\nsurveyed; and yet what mighty stores have I at a single glance\ndiscovered, the use of which is left for future generations! What\nriches are enclosed in the northern mountains, what favorable signs I\ndiscovered throughout my native land, in Hungary, at the foot of the\nCarpathian hills, and in the rocky vales of Tyrol, Austria, and\nBavaria. I might have been a rich man, if I had taken with me what I\nmight only have picked up and broken off. In many places I saw myself\nas in a magic garden. On every side costly and skilfully framed metals\nmet my sight. From the beautiful tresses and branches of silver hung\nglittering, ruby-red, transparent fruits; and the heavy-laden shrubs,\nstood upon crystal ground of inimitable workmanship. One can scarcely\ntrust his senses in these wonderful regions, and can never grow weary\nof rambling through these charming solitudes, or of gloating over their\njewels. I have seen much that is wonderful during my present journey,\nand certainly in other lands the earth is equally plentiful and\nfruitful.\"\n\n\"When,\" said the unknown, \"one remembers the treasures which are hidden\nin the East, he cannot doubt what you remark; and have not distant\nIndia, Africa, and Spain been distinguished even from antiquity, by the\nrichness of their soil? Though a soldier is not apt to take very exact\nnotice of the veins and the clefts of mountains, yet at times I have\nreflected upon these shining tracts of land, which, like rare birds,\nindicate an unexpected bloom and fruit. How little did I imagine, when\nI passed these dark dwellings joyously by the light of day, that I\nshould ever finish my life in the bosom of a mountain! My love carried\nme proudly above the surface of the earth, and I hoped in later years\nto fall asleep in her embrace. The war having ended, I returned home,\nfull of glad expectations of a refreshing harvest. But the spirit of\nthe war seemed to have become the spirit of my fortune. My Maria had\nborne me two children in the East. They were the joy of our existence.\nThe voyage and the rough air of the West destroyed their bloom; they\nwere buried a few days after my arrival in Europe. Sorrowfully I\ncarried my disconsolate wife to our home. A silent grief weakened the\nthread which bound her to life. During a journey which I was obliged to\ntake, and on which, as was her wont, she accompanied me, she gently but\nsuddenly expired in my arms. It was near this place, where her earthly\npilgrimage was finished. My resolution was taken in a moment; I found,\nwhat I had never expected; a heavenly illumination came over me; and\nfrom the day when I buried her here with my own hands, a divine hand\nfreed my heart from all sorrow. Since then I have caused this monument\nto be erected. An event often seems to be ending, when in fact it is\nbeginning; and thus has it been with my life. May God grant you an old\nage as happy, and a spirit as quiet as mine.\"\n\nHenry and the merchants had listened attentively to the conversation;\nand the first particularly was conscious of new developments in his\nprophetic soul. Many words, many thoughts, fell like quickening seeds\ninto his breast, and soon drew him from the narrow circle of his youth\nto the heights of the world. The hours just passed lay behind him like\nlong-revolving years; and it seemed as if he had always thought and\nfelt as now.\n\nThe hermit showed him his books. They consisted of old histories and\npoems. Henry turned over the leaves of these huge and beautifully\nilluminated works, and his curiosity was strongly excited by the short\nlines of the verses, the titles, some of the passages, and the\nbeautiful pictures which appeared here and there, like embodied words,\nto assist the imagination of the reader. The Hermit observed his inward\ngratification and explained these singular pictures. All the varied\nscenes of life were represented among them. Battles, funereal trains,\nmarriage ceremonies, shipwrecks, caves, and palaces, kings, heroes,\npriests, men in singular costume, strange beasts, were delineated in\ndifferent alternations and connexions. Henry could not sate himself\nwith gazing at them, and wished nothing more than to remain with the\nhermit, who irresistibly attracted him, and to be instructed by him in\nthese books. In the mean time the old man asked whether there were any\nmore caves; and the hermit told him, that there were some extensive\nones near, to which he would accompany him. The old man was ready; and\nthe hermit, who observed Henry's interest in the books, induced him to\nremain, and to examine them more closely during their absence. Henry\nwas glad to stay where the books were, and thanked the hermit heartily\nfor his permission to do so. He turned over their leaves with\nindescribable pleasure. At last a book fell into his hands, written in\na foreign tongue, which appeared to him somewhat like Latin or Italian.\nHe longed greatly to know the language, for the book pleased him\ngreatly, though he did not understand a syllable of it. It had no\ntitle; but after a little search he found some engravings. They seemed\nstrangely familiar to him; and on examination, he discovered his own\nform quite discernible among the figures. He was terrified, and thought\nthat he must be dreaming; but after having examined them again and\nagain, he could no longer doubt their perfect resemblance. He could\nhardly trust his senses, when in one of the pictures he discovered the\ncave, the hermit, and the old man by his side. By degrees he found\namong the pictures the girl from the holy land, his parents, the count\nand countess of Thuringia, his friend the court chaplain; and many\nothers of his acquaintance; yet their dress was changed, and seemed to\nbelong to another period. There were many forms he could not call by\nname, but which nevertheless seemed known to him. He saw the exact\nportraits of himself, in different situations. Towards the end he\nappeared larger and nobler. The guitar rested in his arms, and the\ncountess handed him a wreath. He saw himself at the imperial court, on\nshipboard, now in warm embrace with a beautifully formed and lovely\ngirl, now in battle with fierce-looking men, and again in friendly\nconversation with Saracens and Moors. He was frequently accompanied by\na man of grave aspect. He felt a deep reverence for this august form,\nand was glad to see himself arm in arm with him. The last pictures were\nobscure and incomprehensible; yet some of the shapes of his dream\nsurprised him with the most intense rapture. The conclusion of the book\nwas wanting. Henry was very sorrowful, and wished for nothing more\nearnestly than to be able to read and thoroughly understand the book.\nHe looked over the pictures repeatedly, and was almost abashed when the\ncompany returned. A strange sort of shame overcame him. He did not\nsuffer himself to make known his discovery, and merely asked the Hermit\ngenerally about its title and language. He learned that it was written\nin the Provence tongue.\n\n\"It is long since I have read it,\" said the Hermit; \"I do not now\nremember its contents very distinctly. As far as I recollect, it is a\nromance, relating the wonderful fortune of a poet's life, wherein the\nart of poesy is represented and extolled in all its various relations.\nThe conclusion is wanting to the manuscript, which I brought with me\nfrom Jerusalem, where I found it left with a friend, and took it, away,\nas a memorial of him.\"\n\nThey now took leave of each other. Henry was moved to tears; the cave\nhad become so remarkable and the hermit so dear to him.\n\nAll embraced the hermit heartily, and he himself seemed to have become\nattached to them. Henry thought that he noticed his kind and\npenetrating gaze fixed upon him. His farewell words to him were full of\nmeaning. He seemed to know of his discovery and to have reference to\nit. He followed them to the entrance of the cave, after having\nrequested them, and particularly the boy, not to tell the farmers\nconcerning him, as it would only expose him to their troublesome\nacquaintance.\n\nThey all promised this. As they separated from him, and commended\nthemselves to his prayers, he said,\n\n\"But a short time and we shall see each other again, to smile at the\nconversation of this day. A heavenly dawn will surround us, and we\nshall rejoice that we greeted each other kindly in this vale of\nprobation, and were inspired with like sentiments and anticipations.\nThere are angels who guide us here in safety. If your eye is fixed upon\nHeaven, you will never lose the way to your home.\"\n\nThey separated with a silent feeling of devotion, soon found their\ntimorous companions, and amid general conversation shortly reached the\nvillage, where Henry's mother, who had been somewhat anxious about him,\nreceived them with a thousand expressions of joy.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VI.\n\n\nMen, who are born for business, for action, cannot too soon contemplate\nfor themselves and animate all things. They must themselves grapple\nwith and pass through many relations, must harden their whole being\nagainst the influence of new situations, and the dissipation which a\nmultitude and variety of objects engenders; and they must accustom\nthemselves, even in the urgency of great occasions to hold fast to the\nthread of their object. They should not yield to the invitations of\ninactive contemplation. Their soul must not be gazing at self; it must\nbe ceaselessly directed to outward things, a handmaid to the\nunderstanding, active and prompt in discrimination. They are heroes;\nand events press about them which must be fulfilled, and their problems\nsolved. By their influence all occurrences of chance become history,\nand their life is an unbroken chain of remarkable and splendid,\nintricate and singular events.\n\nFar otherwise is it with those quiet, unknown men, whose world is their\nown mind, whose activity the action of the contemplative intellect, and\nwhose life a gentle development of their inner powers. No desquietude\ndrives them to outward things. A tranquil possession satisfies them;\nand the immense drama without does not entice them to engage in it\nthemselves; but they regard it as significant and wonderful, a source\nof contemplation for their leisure moments. Longings for the spirit\nhold them in the distance; and it is this spirit that destines them to\nact the mysterious part of the mind in this human world, while others\nrepresent the outer limbs and senses, the mind's projected powers. They\nwould be disturbed by great and various events. A simple life is their\nlot, and they become acquainted with the rich subject-matter and\ncountless phenomena of the world from relations and writings alone. But\nseldom in the course of their lives does any occurrence draw them along\nwith it in its sudden vortex, in order to acquaint them by a few\nexperiences more accurately with the situation and character of active\nmen. On the contrary, their susceptible minds are already sufficiently\nbusied with near and insignificant phenomena, which represent the great\nworld as it were renewed; and they will advance no step, without making\nthe most surprising discoveries in themselves, concerning the nature\nand significance of these phenomena. They are poets, those men of rare\ninspiration, who at times wander through our dwelling-place, and\neverywhere renew the ancient, venerable, service of humanity, and of\nits first gods,--the stars, spring, love, happiness, fertility, health,\nand the joyous heart; they, who are already here in possession of\nheavenly rest, and, driven about by no foolish desires, breathe only\nthe fragrance of earthly fruits, without devouring them, then to be\nirrevocably chained to the lower world. They are free guests whose\ngolden feet tread softly, and whose presence involuntarily outspreads\nits wings around. A poet may be known, like a good king, by cheerful\nand bright faces, and he alone justly bears the name of sage. If you\ncompare him with heroes, you will find that the songs of the poets\nfrequently awake heroic courage in youthful hearts; but heroic deeds\nhave probably never awakened the spirit of poesy in any mind whatever.\nHenry was a poet by nature. Many events seemed to conspire to aid his\ndevelopment, and as yet nothing had disturbed the elasticity of his\nsoul. All that he saw and heard seemed only to remove new bars within\nhim, and to open new windows for his spirit. The world, with its great\nand changing relations, lay before him. But as yet it was silent; and\nits soul, its language was not yet awakened. Soon did a poet approach,\nholding a lovely girl by the hand, that by the sound of the mother\ntongue, and by the movement of a sweet and tender mouth; the soft lips\nmight unlock and the simple harmony unfold in unending melodies.\n\nThe journey was now ended. It was towards evening when our travellers,\nin safety and good spirits, arrived at the far-famed city of Augsburg,\nand, full of expectation, rode through the high streets to the spacious\nmansion of the old Swaning.\n\nThe surrounding country had already appeared delightful to the eyes of\nHenry. The animated bustle of the city, and the great houses of stone\naffected him strangely, yet agreeably. He experienced a real pleasure\nin thinking of his future abode. His mother was very much pleased to\nsee herself in her native city after her wearisome journey, soon to\nembrace again her father and old acquaintances, to introduce Henry to\nthem, and for once be able quietly to forget all household cares in the\ncordial remembrances of her youth. The merchants hoped by the pleasures\nthere to indemnify themselves for the discomforts of their journey, and\nto do a profitable business.\n\nLights gleamed from the house of the old Swaning, and joyous music\nswelled towards them. \"What will you bet,\" said the merchants, \"that\nyour grandfather is not giving a merry party? We came as if invited.\nHow much his uninvited guests will astonish him. He is not dreaming\nthat now the true festivity is about to commence.\" Henry felt\nembarrassed, and his mother was only anxious about their dress. They\nalighted; the merchants remained with the horses, and Henry and his\nmother entered the splendid mansion. Not a soul belonging to the house\nwas to be seen below. They were obliged to ascend the lofty stairs.\nSome servants ran past them; they asked them to inform the old Swaning\nof the arrival of some strangers who wished to speak with him. The\nservants made some objection at first, for the travellers did not\nappear in very good condition as to dress, yet finally they announced\nthem to the master of the house. The old Swaning came out. He did not\nknow them at first, and asked them their names and business. Henry's\nmother wept and fell upon his neck.\n\n\"Do you not know your own daughter?\" she exclaimed weeping. \"I bring\nyou my son.\"\n\nThe aged father was extremely moved. He pressed her long to his bosom.\nHenry sank upon his knee and tenderly kissed his hand. He raised him to\nhimself and held both mother and son in his embrace.\n\n\"Come right in,\" said Swaning, \"I have only my friends and\nacquaintances here, who will rejoice with me.\" Henry's mother\nhesitated, but had no time to consider. The father led them both into\nthe lighted hall.\n\n\"Here I bring my daughter and grandson from Eisenach,\" cried Swaning,\nin the merry crowd of gaily dressed guests.\n\nAll eyes were turned towards the door; all ran to it; the music ceased,\nand the two travellers stood bewildered and dazzled in their dusty\ndresses, in the midst of the motley throng. A thousand joyful\nexclamations passed from mouth to mouth. All her acquaintances pressed\naround the mother. Innumerable were the questions which were asked.\nEach one wished to be recognised and welcomed first. Whilst the elder\npart of the company were attending to the mother, the attention of the\nyounger portion was directed to the strange youth, who was standing\nwith downcast eyes, not daring to look again upon the unknown faces.\nHis grandfather introduced him to the company, and inquired after his\nfather and about the occurrences of his journey.\n\nThe mother thought of the merchants, who out of politeness had remained\nbelow by the horses. She told her father, who sent down for them\nimmediately, and invited them to ascend. The horses were led into the\nstable, and the merchants appeared.\n\nSwaning thanked them heartily for the friendly escort they had afforded\nhis daughter. They were acquainted with many who were present, and\nexchanged friendly greetings. The mother asked permission to change her\ndress. Swaning led her to her chamber, and Henry followed for the same\npurpose.\n\nThe appearance of one man was very striking to Henry, who thought that\nhe had seen him in that book. His noble bearing distinguished him from\nall the rest. His face wore an expression of serene gravity, an open,\nfinely arched forehead, large, black, penetrating, and tranquil eyes, a\nhumorous expression about his pleasant mouth, and his full manly\nproportions, gave to him a meaning and fascinating appearance. He was\nstrongly built, his movements quiet and expressive, and where he stood\nhe seemed about to stay forever. Henry asked his grandfather about him.\n\n\"I am glad,\" said the old man, \"that you noticed him. It is my\nexcellent friend Klingsohr, the poet. You should be prouder of his\nacquaintance than of the emperor's. But how is your heart? He has a\nbeautiful daughter, who perhaps will surpass the father in your eyes.\nIt would be strange if you had not noticed her.\"\n\nHenry blushed; \"my mind has been distracted, dear grandfather. The\ncompany is numerous, and I was looking only at your friend.\"\n\n\"We see that you came from the North,\" replied Swaning; \"we shall soon\nthaw you out here. You shall learn soon to look after pretty faces.\"\n\nThey were now ready, and returned to the hall, where in the mean time\npreparations for supper had been made. The old Swaning led Henry to\nKlingsohr, and told him that Henry had noticed him particularly, and\nardently desired to become acquainted with him.\n\nHenry was confused. Klingsohr spoke kindly to him of his fatherland and\nof his journey. There was so much to inspire confidence in his voice,\nthat Henry soon gained courage and conversed with him freely. After a\nlittle while Swaning came to them again, bringing with him the\nbeautiful Matilda.\n\n\"You must receive my grandson kindly, and pardon him that he has\nnoticed your father before you. Your bright eyes will awaken his youth\nwithin him. In his native land Spring comes too late.\"\n\nHenry and Matilda blushed. They gazed admiringly upon each other. She\nasked him, with scarcely audible words, whether he was fond of dancing.\nWhile he was answering in the affirmative, the merry music struck up.\nHe silently offered her his hand; she accepted it, and they mingled\namong the rows of waltzers. Swaning and Klingsohr looked on. The mother\nand the merchants were delighted with Henry's grace and with his lovely\npartner. The mother had enough to converse about with the friends of\nher youth, who wished her much happiness from so well educated and\nhopeful a son.\n\nKlingsohr said to Swaning,--\"Your grandson has an attractive\ncountenance; it indicates a clear and comprehensive mind, and his voice\ncomes deep from his heart.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" replied Swaning, \"that he will become your docile pupil. It\nseems to me that he is born for a poet. May your spirit fall upon him.\nHe looks like his father, only he seems more ardent and excitable. The\nformer was a youth of superior talents. He was wanting, however, in a\ncertain liberality of mind. He might have become something more than an\nindustrious and able mechanic.\"\n\nHenry wished that the dance would never end. With heartfelt pleasure\nhis eyes rested on the roses of his partner. Her innocent eye did not\navoid his. She appeared like the spirit of her father in the most\nlovely disguise. Eternal youth spoke from her full and quiet eyes. Upon\na light blue ground lay the mild splendor of the brown stars. Her\nforehead and nose were beautifully formed. Her face was like a lily\ninclined towards the rising sun, and from her slender white neck, the\nblue veins clung round her tender cheeks in gentle curves. Her voice\nwas like a distant echo, and her small head with its brown tresses\nseemed but to hover over her airy form.\n\nRefreshments were brought in, and the dances closed. The elder people\nseated themselves on one side, the younger on the other.\n\nHenry remained with Matilda. A young relative seated herself at his\nleft, and Klingsohr sat opposite him. If Matilda said but little, his\nother neighbor, Veronika, was so much the more talkative. She\nimmediately played the familiar with him, and soon made him acquainted\nwith all present. Henry lost much of her conversation. He was still\nwith his partner, and wished to turn much oftener to the right.\nKlingsohr made an end to their talking. He asked about the band with\nthe strange devices, which Henry had fastened to his coat. He told him\nwith much emotion of the girl from the holy land. Matilda wept; and now\nHenry could scarcely hide his tears. For this reason he entered into\nconversation with her. All were enjoying themselves, and Veronika joked\nand laughed with her acquaintances. Matilda described Hungary, where\nher father often dwelt, and the mode of life in Augsburg. The enjoyment\nwas at its height. The music put all restraint to flight, and all the\naffections into a joyful play. Baskets of flowers in all their splendor\nexhaled their odors upon the table, and the wine danced about between\nthe dishes and the flowers, shook its golden wings, and formed many\nvaried pictures between the guests and the world. Henry now understood\nfor the first time what was meant by a festival. A thousand happy\nspirits seemed to gambol around the table, and to live in silent\nsympathy with the joys of the happy people, and to intoxicate\nthemselves with their pleasures. The enjoyment of life stood before\nhim, like a tinkling tree full of golden fruits. Pain had vanished, and\nit seemed impossible that ever human inclination should have turned\nfrom this tree to the dangerous fruit of knowledge, the tree of strife.\nHe now learned what were wine and food. They tasted very richly to him.\nA heavenly oil seasoned them for him, and from the beaker sparkled the\nsplendor of earthly life. Some of the maidens brought a fresh garland\nto the old Swaning. He put it on, and kissing them, said, \"You must\nbring one also to our friend Klingsohr, and for thanks he will teach\nyou a couple of new songs. You shall have mine immediately. He beckoned\nfor the music to commence, and sang with a clear voice:--\n\n           \"Surely life is most distressing,\n            And a mournful fate we meet!\n            Stress and need our only blessing,\n            Practised only in deceit;\n            And our bosoms never daring\n            To unfold their soft despairing.\n\n           \"What the elders all are telling,\n            To the youthful heart is waste;\n            Throes of longing are we feeling\n            The forbidden fruit to taste;\n            Would the gentle youths but deign us,\n            And believe that they could gain us!\n\n           \"Thinking so then are we sinning?\n            All our thoughts are duty-free.\n            What indeed to us remaining,\n            Wretched wights, but fantasy?\n            Do we strive our dreams to banish,\n            Never, never will they vanish.\n\n           \"When in prayer at even bending\n            Frightens us the loneliness,\n            Favor and desire are wending\n            Thitherward to our caress;\n            How disdain the fair offender,\n            Or resist the soft surrender?\n\n           \"Mothers stern our charms concealing,\n            Every day prescribe anew.\n            What availeth all our willing?\n            Spring they not again to view?\n            Warm desire is ever riving\n            Closest fetters with its striving.\n\n           \"Every impulse harshly spurning\n            Hard and cold to be as stone,\n            Never glances bright returning,\n            Close to be and all alone,\n            Heed to no entreaty giving,--\n            Call you that the flower of living?\n\n           \"Ah, how great a maid's annoyance,\n            Sick and chafed her bosom is,--\n            And to make her only joyance,\n            Withered lips bestow a kiss!\n            Will the leaf be turning never,\n            Elders' reign to end forever?\"\n\nBoth old and young laughed. The girls blushed and smiled aside. Amidst\na thousand railleries a second garland was brought and put upon\nKlingsohr. They begged him, however, very earnestly not to give them\nsuch a gay song. \"No,\" said Klingsohr, \"I will take good care not to\nspeak so lightly of your secrets; say yourselves what kind of a song\nyou would prefer.\"\n\n\"Anything but a love song,\" cried the girls; \"let it be a drinking song\nif you like.\" Klingsohr sang:--\n\n           \"On verdant mountain-side is growing\n            The god, who heaven to us brings;\n            The sun's own foster-child, and glowing\n            With all the fire its favor flings.\n\n           \"In Spring is he conceived with pleasure,\n            The bud unfolds in silent joy,\n            And mid the Autumn's harvest-treasure\n            Forth springs to life the golden boy.\n\n           \"Within his narrow cradle lying,\n            In vaulted rooms beneath the ground,\n            He dreams of feasts and banners flying\n            And airy castles all around.\n\n           \"Near to his dwelling none remaineth,\n            When chafeth he in restless strife,\n            And every hoop and fetter straineth\n            In all the pride of youthful life.\n\n           \"For viewless watchmen round are closing,\n            Until his lordly dreams are o'er,\n            With air-enveloped spears opposing\n            The loiterer near the sacred door.\n\n           \"So when unfold his sleeping pinions,\n            With sparkling eyes he greets the day,\n            Obeys in peace his priestly minions,\n            And forth he cometh when they pray.\n\n           \"From cradle's murky bosom faring,\n            He winketh through a crystal dress,\n            The rose of close alliance bearing,\n            Expressive in its ruddiness.\n\n           \"And everywhere around are pressing\n            His merry men in jubilee,\n            Their love find gratitude confessing\n            To him with jocund tongue and free.\n\n           \"He scatters o'er the fields and valleys\n            His innerlife in countless rays,\n            And Love is sipping from his chalice,\n            And pledged forever with him stays.\n\n           \"As spirit of the golden ages,\n            The Poet alway he beguiles,\n            Who everywhere in reeling pages\n            Doth celebrate his pleasant wiles.\n\n           \"He gave him, his allegiance sealing,\n            To every pretty mouth a right,\n            And this the god through him revealing,\n            That none the edict dare to slight.\"\n\n\"A fine prophet!\" exclaimed the girls. Swaning was heartily pleased.\nThey made some objections, but all to no purpose. They were obliged to\nreach out their sweet lips to him. Henry blushed only on account of his\nearnest neighbor; otherwise he would have loudly rejoiced in the\nprivilege of the poet. Veronika was among the garland bearers. She came\nsuddenly back and said to Henry, \"truly, is it not a fine thing to be a\npoet?\"\n\nHenry did not trust himself to take advantage of this question. Excess\nof joy and the earnestness of first love were contending in his breast.\nThe charming Veronika was joking with the others, and in the meanwhile\nhe found time somewhat to quench his joy. Matilda told him that she\nplayed the guitar. \"Ah!\" said he, \"how I should love to learn it from\nyou. I have for a long time desired it.\"\n\n\"My father instructed me; he plays it matchlessly,\" said she blushing.\n\n\"I believe, however,\" said Henry, \"that I can learn it more easily from\nyou. How delighted I should be to hear you sing.\"\n\n\"Do not expect too much.\"\n\n\"O!\" said Henry, \"what may I not expect, since your speech merely is\nsong, and your form is expressive of heavenly music.\"\n\nMatilda was silent. Her father commenced a conversation, in which Henry\nspoke with the most lively spirit. Those who were near wondered at the\nfluency of the young man's speech, and the richness of his imagery.\nMatilda gazed upon him with silent attention. She seemed to delight in\nhis words, which were still more clearly explained by his speaking\nfeatures. His eyes appeared unusually brilliant. He turned at times\ntowards Matilda, who was astonished by the expression of his face. In\nthe warmth of conversation, he involuntarily seized her hand, and she\ncould not but sanction much of what he said, with a gentle pressure.\nKlingsohr knew how to keep up his enthusiasm, and gradually drew his\nwhole soul from his lips. At last all rose. There was a general\nconfusion. Henry remained by the side of Matilda. They stood apart\nunobserved. He clasped her hand and kissed it tenderly. She suffered\nhim to hold it without opposition, and looked upon him with unspeakable\nkindness. He could not restrain himself, bent towards her, and kissed\nher lips. She was taken unawares and involuntarily returned his ardent\nkiss. \"Sweet Matilda,\"--\"Dear Henry,\"--this was all they could say to\neach other. She pressed his hand, and then mingled with her companions.\nHenry stood as if in Heaven. His mother came to him. He told her all\nconcerning his love.\n\n\"Is it not a good thing that we have visited Augsburg?\" said she. \"Does\nit not in truth please you?\"\n\n\"Dear mother,\" said Henry, \"I had not represented it to myself thus. It\nis most glorious.\"\n\nThe remainder of the evening passed away in infinite pleasure. The old\npeople played, talked, and observed the dancing. The music undulated\nthrough the hall like a pleasure-sea, and bore along the enraptured\nyouth upon its surface.\n\nHenry felt the rapturous presages of the first buoyancy of love.\nMatilda also willingly suffered herself to be carried away by the\nflattering waves, and only concealed from him her tender trust, her\nbudding inclination, behind a light flower veil. The old Swaning\nnoticed the growing intimacy between them, and teazed them both about\nit. Klingsohr had taken a liking to Henry, and was pleased with his\ntenderness towards his daughter.--The other young men and girls soon\nnoticed it. They brought the sober Matilda forward with the young\nThuringian, and did not conceal that they were glad no longer to be\nobliged to shun Matilda's observation of the secrets of their hearts.\n\nIt was late in the evening when the company separated. \"The first and\nonly feast of my life,\" said Henry, when he was alone, and his mother\nhad retired wearied to rest. \"Do I not feel as I felt in that dream\nabout the blue flower? What peculiar connexion is there between Matilda\nand that flower? That face, which bowed towards me from the petals, was\nMatilda's heavenly countenance, and I also now remember that I saw it\nin that book. But why did it not there thus move my heart? O! she is\nthe visible spirit of song, the worthy daughter of her father. She will\ndissolve me into music. She will become my inmost soul, the guardian\nspirit of my holy fire. What an eternity of faithful love do I feel\nwithin me? I was born only to revere her, to serve her forever, to\nthink of and to feel her. Does there not belong a peculiar, undivided\nexistence to her contemplation and worship? Am I the happy one, whose\nbeing may be the echo, the mirror of her's? It is not owing to chance\nthat I have seen her at the end of my journey, that a happy feast has\nencircled the highest moment of my life. It could not have been\notherwise; for does not her presence render every thing a feast?\"\n\nHe stepped to the window. The choir of the stars stood in the dusky\nsky, and in the east a white glimmer announced the coming day.\n\nFull of rapture, Henry exclaimed, \"Ye eternal stars, ye silent\nwanderers, I call upon you as witnesses of my sacred oath. For Matilda\nwill I live, and eternal constancy shall bind her to my heart. The\nmorning of eternal day is also opening for me. The night is past. I\nkindle myself to the rising sun, for an inextinguishable offering.\"\n\nHenry was heated, and only fell asleep late in the morning. The\nthoughts of his soul flowed together into a wonderful dream. A deep\nblue stream glimmered from the green plains. A boat was floating upon\nthe smooth surface. Matilda was sitting in it, and steering. She was\nadorned with garlands, singing a simple song, and looked over to him\nwith sweet sadness. His bosom was oppressed, he knew not why. The sky\nwas clear; the flood quiet. Her heavenly face was reflected in the\nwaves. Suddenly the boat began to whirl. He cried out to her earnestly.\nShe smiled and laid down the helm in the boat which continued its\nwhirling. He was seized with overwhelming fear. He plunged into the\nstream, but could not move, and was hurried along. She beckoned to him,\nas if she had something to tell him, and though the boat was fast\nfilling with water, yet she smiled with unspeakable tenderness, and\nlooked down serenely into the abyss. Suddenly it drew her in. A gentle\nbreath of air passed over the stream, which, flowed on as quiet and\nglittering as ever. His intense anxiety robbed Henry of all\nconsciousness. His heart no longer throbbed. On recovering, his senses,\nhe was on the dry land. He must have floated a long distance. It was a\nstrange country. He knew not what had happened to him. His mind had\nvanished. Thoughtlessly he plunged deeper and deeper into the country.\nHe was excessively weary. A little spring gushed from the side of a\nhill, sounding like the music of bells. In his hand he caught\na few drops, and with them wetted his parched lips. The terrible\noccurrence lay behind him like a fearful dream. He walked on farther\nand farther;--flowers and trees spoke to him.\n\nNow he felt in high spirits and at home. He heard that song again. He\nran to the place whence the sounds proceeded. Suddenly some one held\nhim by the clothes. \"Dear Henry,\" cried a well known voice. He looked\nround, and Matilda clasped him in her arms.\n\n\"Why did you run from me, dear heart,\" cried she panting. \"I could\nscarcely overtake you.\"\n\nHenry wept. He clasped her to himself, \"Where is the stream?\" cried he\nwith tears.\n\n\"Do you not see its blue waves above us?\"\n\nHe looked up, and the blue stream was flowing gently over his head.\n\n\"Where are we, dear Matilda?\"\n\n\"With our fathers.\"\n\n\"Shall we remain together?\"\n\n\"Forever,\" she replied, while she pressed her lips to his, and so\nembraced him that she could not tear herself from him. She put a\nwondrous, secret word into his mouth, and it rang through his whole\nbeing. He was about to repeat it, when his grandfather called, and he\nawoke. He would have given his life to remember that word.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII.\n\n\nKlingsohr stood before his bed and kindly bade him good morning. He was\nin high spirits, and fell upon Klingsohr's neck. \"That is not meant for\nyou,\" cried Swaning. Henry smiled, and hid his blushes on his mother's\ncheeks.\n\n\"Would you like to go with me,\" said Klingsohr, \"and breakfast on a\nbeautiful eminence just before the city? The fine morning would refresh\nyou. Dress yourself. Matilda is already waiting for us.\"\n\nHenry with a thousand joyful feelings thanked him for his welcome\ninvitation. In a moment he was ready, and kissed Klingsohr's hand with\nmuch fervor. They went to Matilda, who looked wonderfully lovely in her\nsimple morning dress, and who greeted him kindly. She had already\npacked her breakfast into a little basket which she hung upon one arm,\nand without ceremony gave the other to Henry. Klingsohr followed them,\nand thus they passed through the city, already full of animation, to a\nlittle hill by the river, where a wide and full prospect opened between\nsome lofty trees.\n\n\"Though I have often,\" said Henry, \"delighted in the unfolding of\nvaried nature in the peaceful neighborhood of her manifold possessions;\nyet never has such a creative and pure serenity filled me, as today.\nThose distant points seem so near to me, and the rich landscape is like\nan inward fantasy. How changeable is nature, however unchangeable\nappears its surface! How different is it when an angel, a spirit of\npower is at our side, than when a person in distress utters his\ncomplaints before us, or a farmer tells us how unfortunate the weather\nis for him, or how much he needs some rainy days for his crops. To you,\ndearest master, do I owe this bliss; yes, this bliss,--for there is no\nother word that can more truly express my heart's condition. Joy,\ndesire, transport, are merely the members of that bliss which inspires\nthem with a higher life.\" He pressed Matilda's hand to his heart, and\nhis ardent gaze sank deep into her mild and susceptible eyes.\n\n\"Nature,\" replied Klingsohr, \"is for our mind, what a body is for\nlight. It reflects it, separates it into its proper colors, kindles a\nlight on its surface or within it, when it equals its opacity: when it\nis superior, it rays forth in order to enlighten other bodies. But even\nthe darkest bodies can, by water, fire, and air, be made clear and\nbrilliant.\"\n\n\"I understand you, dear master. Men are crystals for our minds. They\nare the transparent nature. Dear Matilda, I might call you a pure and\ncostly sapphire. You are clear and transparent as the heavens; you beam\nwith the mildest light. But tell me, dear master, whether I am right;\nit seems to me that at the very point when one is most intimate with\nnature, he can and would say the least concerning her.\"\n\n\"That depends upon your view of her,\" said Klingsohr. \"Nature is one\nthing for our enjoyment and our disposition, but another for our\nintellect, the guiding faculty of our earthward powers. We must take\ngood care not to lose sight of one more than the other. There are many\nwho only know the one side, and think but little of the other. But we\ncan unite them both, and that too with profit. A great pity it is, that\nso few think of being able to move freely and fitly in their inner\nnatures, and to insure for themselves, by a necessary separation, the\nmost effectual and natural use of their faculties. Usually the one\nhinders the other; and thus a helpless sluggishness gradually arises,\nso that, if such men should ever arise with united powers, a great\nconfusion and contention would ensue, and all things would be tossed\nhere and there in an ungainly manner. I cannot sufficiently impress\nupon you, to endeavor with industry and care to be acquainted with your\nown intellect and natural bias. Nothing is more indispensable to the\npoet, than insight into the nature of every occupation, acquaintance\nwith the means by which every object may be attained, and the power of\nfitly regulating the presence of the spirit according to time and\ncircumstances. Inspiration without intellect is useless and dangerous;\nand the poet will be able to perform few wonders, when he is astonished\nby wonders.\"\n\n\"But is not an implicit faith in man's dominion over destiny\nindispensable to the poet?\"\n\n\"Certainly indispensable, because he cannot represent fate to himself\nin any other light, when he maturely reflects upon it. But how distant\nis this calm certainty from that anxious doubt, which proceeds from the\nblind fear of superstition! And thus also the steady, animating warmth\nof a poetic mind is exactly the reverse of the wild heat of a sickly\nheart. The one is poor, overwhelming, and transient; the other\nperfectly distinguishes all forms, favors the culture of the most\nmanifold relations, and is in itself eternal. The youthful poet cannot\nbe too cool and considerate. A far-reaching, attentive, and quiet\ndisposition belongs to the true, melodious ease of address. It becomes\na confused prattling, when a violent storm is raging in the breast; and\nthe attention is lost in a trembling emptiness of thought. Once more I\nrepeat it; the true mind is like the light; even as calm and sensitive,\nas elastic and penetrating, as powerful and as imperceptibly active, as\nthat costly element, which with its native regularity scatters itself\nupon all objects, and exhibits them in charming variety. The poet is\npure steel, as sensitive as a brittle thread of glass, as hard as the\nunyielding flint.\"\n\n\"I have indeed at times felt,\" said Henry, \"that in the moments when my\ninner nature was most awake, I was less excited than at other times,\nwhen I could run about freely and attend to all occupations with\npleasure. A spiritual, penetrative essence permeated me, and I could\nemploy every sense at pleasure, could revolve every thought like an\nactual body, and view it from all sides. I stood with silent sympathy\nin my father's work-shop, and rejoiced when I could help him to\naccomplish anything properly. Propriety has a peculiarly strengthening\ncharm, and it is true that the consciousness of it gives rise to a more\nlasting and distinct enjoyment, than that overflowing feeling of an\nincomprehensible, superfluous splendor.\"\n\n\"Believe not,\" said Klingsohr, \"that I disregard the latter; but it\nmust come of itself and not be bought. The rarity of its appearance is\nbeneficent; if more frequent, it would weary and weaken. One cannot\nquickly enough tear himself from the sweet rapture which it leaves\nbehind, and return to a regular and laborious occupation. It is as with\npleasant morning dreams, from whose sleepy vortex one must extricate\nhimself by force, if he would not fall into a lassitude, continually\nmore oppressive, and so struggle through the whole day in sickly\nexhaustion.\"\n\n\"Poetry,\" continued Klingsohr, \"will be cultivated strictly as an art.\nAs mere enjoyment it ceases to be poetry. The poet must not run about\nunoccupied the whole day in chase of figures and feelings. That is the\nvery reverse of the proper method. A pure, open mind, dexterity in\nreflection and contemplation, and ability to put forth all the\nfaculties in a mutually animating effort, and to keep them so,--these\nare the requisites of our art. If you will commit yourself to my care,\nno day shall pass in which you shall not add stores to your knowledge,\nand obtain some useful views. The city is rich in artists of all\ndescriptions. There are some experienced statesmen and educated\nmerchants here. One can get acquainted with all ranks without much\ndifficulty, with people of all pursuits, and with all social\ncircumstances and requirements. I will with pleasure instruct you in\nthe mechanical part of our art, and read its most remarkable\nproductions with you. You may share Matilda's hours of instruction, and\nshe will willingly teach you to play the guitar. Each occupation will\nusher in the rest; and when you have thus well spent the day, the\nconversation and pleasures of a social evening, and the views of the\nbeautiful landscapes around, will continually renew to you the calmest\nenjoyment.\"\n\n\"What a glorious life you here lay open to me, dear master. Under your\nguidance I shall for the first time understand what a noble mark is\nbefore me, and how by your counsel alone I can hope to attain it.\"\n\nKlingsohr embraced him tenderly. Matilda brought them the breakfast,\nand Henry asked her with a tender voice, whether she would be kind\nenough to receive him as fellow pupil, and her own scholar. \"I shall\nprobably be your scholar forever,\" said he, as Klingsohr turned away.\nShe nodded slightly towards him. He threw his arms around the blushing\nmaiden, and kissed her soft lips. Gently she retreated from him, yet\nhanded him with childish grace a rose which she wore in her bosom. She\nthen busied herself about her basket. Henry watched her with silent\nrapture, kissed the rose, fixed it on his breast, and walked to\nKlingsohr's side, who was gazing down at the city.\n\n\"By what road, did you come here,\" asked Klingsohr.\n\n\"Down over that hill,\" replied Henry, \"where the road loses itself in\nthe distance.\"\n\n\"You must have seen some fair landscapes.\"\n\n\"We travelled through an almost uninterrupted series of beautiful\nones.\"\n\n\"Perhaps your native town is pleasantly situated?\"\n\n\"The country is varied enough; it is rude, however, and a noble river\nis wanting. Streams are the eyes of a landscape.\"\n\n\"Your account of your journey,\" said Klingsohr, \"agreeably entertained\nme last evening. I have indeed observed that the spirit of poesy is\nyour kind companion. Your friends have unobservedly become its voices.\nWhere a poet is, poetry everywhere breaks out. The land of poetry,\nromantic Palestine, has greeted you with its sweet sadness; war has\naddressed you in its wild glory, and nature and history have met you in\nthe forms of a miner and a hermit.\"\n\n\"You forget the best, dear master, the heavenly appearance of love. It\ndepends upon you, whether this appearance shall forever remain with\nme.\"\n\n\"What do you think,\" cried Klingsohr as he turned to Matilda who was\njust approaching; \"would you like to become Henry's inseparable\ncompanion? Where you are, I remain also.\"\n\nMatilda was terrified. She flew into her father's arms. Henry trembled\nwith infinite joy. \"Shall he then be with me forever, dear father?\"\n\n\"Ask him for yourself,\" said Klingsohr with emotion.\n\nShe looked upon Henry with the most heart-felt tenderness.\n\n\"My eternity is indeed thy work,\" cried Henry, whilst the tears rolled\ndown his blooming cheeks.\n\nThey embraced each other. Klingsohr caught them in his arms. \"My\nchildren,\" he cried, \"be faithful to each other unto death! Love and\nconstancy will make your life eternal poesy.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nIn the afternoon Klingsohr led to his room his new son, in whose\nhappiness his mother and grandfather took the tenderest interest,\nhonoring Matilda as his protecting spirit, and made him acquainted with\nhis books. Afterward they spoke of poetry.\n\n\"I know not,\" said Klingsohr, \"why the representation of nature as a\npoet is commonly considered poetry. She is not so at all times. Dull\ndesire, stupid apathy and sluggishness, are in her, as in men, exposing\nqualities which wage a restless strife with poesy. This mighty battle\nwould be a fine subject for a poem. Many lands and ages seem, like the\nmajority of men, to stand entirely under the dominion of this enemy to\npoesy; in others, on the contrary, poesy is at home and everywhere\nvisible. The periods of this battle are very worthy of the historian's\nnotice, and its representation is a pleasant and profitable employment.\nIt is usually the season of the poet's birth. Nothing is more\ndisagreeable to its adversary than that she, herself being opposed to\npoesy, becomes a poetic personage, and often in the heat of the\nengagement changes weapons with poesy, and is violently struck by her\nown venomous darts; while, on the other hand, the wounds of poesy,\nwhich she receives from her own weapons, heal readily, and only serve\nto render her yet more charming and powerful.\"\n\n\"On the whole,\" said Henry, \"war seems to me poetical. People fancy\nthat they must fight for a possession no matter how miserable, and do\nnot observe that the spirit of romance excites them to annihilate all\nuseless baseness. They carry arms for the cause of poesy, and both\nhosts follow an invisible standard.\"\n\n\"In war,\" replied Klingsohr, \"the primeval fluid is stirred up. New\ncontinents are to arise, new races to spring forth from the great\ndissolution. The true war is the war of religion; its direct end is\ndestruction; and men's madness appears in its full dimensions. Many\nwars, particularly those which originate in national hate, belong to\nthis class, and are real poems. Here true heroes are at home, who,\nbeing the noblest antitypes of poesy, are but earthly powers\ninvoluntarily penetrated by poesy. A poet, who at the same time were a\nhero, would be indeed a heavenly messenger; but our poetry is not equal\nto the work of representing him.\"\n\n\"How am I to understand that, dear father,\" said Henry. \"Can any object\nbe too lofty for poesy?\"\n\n\"Certainly. We cannot on the whole speak for poesy itself, but only for\nher earthly means and instruments. If indeed there is for every single\npoet a proper district within which he must remain, in order not to\nlose all breath and vantage, then there is also for the whole sum of\nhuman powers a determinate boundary line to the capacity for\nrepresentation; beyond which representation cannot retain the necessary\nstrength or form, but loses itself in an empty, delusive nonentity.\nParticularly as a pupil, one cannot guard enough against these\nextravagances; since a lively fancy loves too well to fly to the\nextreme bounds, and arrogantly endeavors to seize upon and express the\nsupersensual and exuberant. Riper experience first teaches us to shun\nthis disproportion of objects, and to leave the investigation of what\nis simplest and loftiest to worldly wisdom. The older poet rises no\nhigher than is needful to arrange, his vast stock in a comprehensible\norder, and he is careful to omit the manifoldness, which afforded him\nthe requisite material, and also the necessary points of agreement. I\nmight almost say that in every line chaos should shine through the\nwell-clipped foliage of order. A graceful style merely renders the\nrichness of the thought more comprehensible and agreeable; regular\nsymmetry, on the contrary, has all the dryness of numbers. The best\npoesy lies very near us, and an ordinary matter is not seldom the\nobject of its most tender love. With the poet, poetry is confined to\nlimited instruments, and just so far becomes an art. Language\nespecially has its fixed sphere. The compass of one's native tongue is\nyet narrower. By practice and reflection the poet learns to understand\nhis own language. He knows exactly what he can accomplish by its aid,\nand will make no fruitless attempt to strain it beyond its powers.\nSeldom will he collect all its powers upon a single point; for\notherwise he becomes wearisome, and even destroys the rich effect of a\nwell applied exhibition of its strength. No poet, but a quack, aims at\nwonderful efforts.\"[See Note III.]\n\n\n\"Poets on the whole cannot learn too much from musicians and painters.\nIn these arts it is very striking, how necessary it is to take sparing\nadvantage of the auxiliary means of the art, and how much depends upon\nproper relations. Those artists, on the contrary, can certainty accept\nfrom us the poetic independence, and the inner spirit of each\ncomposition and invention; particularly of every genuine work. The\nexecution, not the material, is the object of the art. They should be\nmore poetical, we more musical and graphic; yet both according to the\nmanner and method of our art. You yourself will soon see in what songs\nyou can best succeed; they will certainly be those, the subjects of\nwhich are easiest and nearest at hand. Therefore it can be said that\npoetry rests entirely upon experience. I know that in my younger days\nan object could hardly seem too distant and too unknown, for such I\ndelighted most to sing. What was the result? An empty, meagre flash of\nwords, without a spark of true poetry. Thence the tale[3] is the most\ndifficult of tasks, and a young poet will seldom perform it correctly.\"\n\n\"I should like to hear one of yours,\" said Henry. \"The few I have\nheard, though insignificant, have delighted me exceedingly.\"\n\n\"I will satisfy your wish this evening. I remember one which I composed\nwhen quite young, which is sufficiently evident still; yet it will\nentertain you the more instructively, for it will recall much that I\nhave told you.\"\n\n\"Language,\" said Henry, \"is indeed a little world in signs and sounds.\nAs man rules over it, so would he rule the great world, and in it\nexpress himself freely. And in this very joy of expressing in the world\nwhat is without it, and of doing that which in reality was the primal\nobject of our existence, lies the origin of poetry.\"\n\n\"It is very unfortunate,\" said Klingsohr, \"that poetry has a particular\nname, and that poets constitute a particular class. It is not, however,\nstrange. It arises from the natural action of the human sprit. Does not\nevery man strive and compose at every moment?\"\n\nJust then Matilda entered the room. Klingsohr continued. \"Consider\nlove, for instance. In nothing is the necessity of poetry for the\ncontinuance of humanity so clear as in that. Love is silent; poesy\nalone can speak for it. Or rather love itself is nothing but the\nhighest poetry of nature. Yet I will not tell you of things, with which\nyou are better acquainted than I.\"\n\n\"Thou art indeed the father of love;\" cried Henry, as he threw his arms\naround Matilda, and they both kissed his hand.\n\nKlingsohr embraced them and went out.\n\n\"Dear Matilda,\" said Henry after a long kiss, \"it seems to me like a\ndream, that thou art mine; yet it seems still more wonderful, that thou\nhast not been so always.\"\n\n\"It seems to me,\" said Matilda, \"that I knew thee long, long ago.\"\n\n\"Canst thou then love me?\"\n\n\"I know not what love is; but this can I tell thee, that it is as if I\nnow first began to live, and that I am so devoted to thee that I would\nthis instant die for thee.\"\n\n\"My Matilda, now for the first time do I feel what it is to be\nimmortal.\"\n\n\"Dear Henry, how infinitely good thou art. What a glorious spirit\nspeaks from thee. I am a poor, insignificant girl.\"\n\n\"How thou dost make me blush! Indeed I am what I am only through thee.\nWithout thee I were nothing. What were a spirit without a heaven; and\nthou art the heaven that upbears and supports me.\"\n\n\"How divinely happy should I be, wert thou as faithful as my father. My\nmother died shortly after my birth; yet my father weeps for her every\nday.\"\n\n\"I deserve it not, yet may I be happier than he!\"\n\n\"I would joyfully live long by thy side, dear Henry. Certainly through\nthee I should become much better.\"\n\n\"O! Matilda, even death shall not separate us.\"\n\n\"No, Henry, where I am, wilt thou be.\"\n\n\"Yes, where thou art, Matilda, will I forever be.\"\n\n\"I comprehend not the meaning of eternity; yet I fancy that what I\nfeel, when I think of thee, must constitute eternity.\"\n\n\"Yes, Matilda, we are eternal, because we love each other.\"\n\n\"Thou canst not believe, dearest, how fervently, when we came home\nearly this morning, I knelt before the image of the holy mother, what\nunspeakable things I prayed to her. I thought that I should melt away\nin tears. It seemed as if she smiled upon me. I now for the first time\nknow what gratitude is.\"\n\n\"O beloved, Heaven has given me thee to adore. I worship thee. Thou art\nthe holy one that carriest my wishes to God, through whom He reveals\nhimself to me, through whom He makes known to me the fulness of His\nlove. What is religion but an infinite harmony, an eternal unison of\nloving hearts? Where two are gathered together, He is indeed among\nthem. Thou wilt be my breath eternally. My bosom will never cease to\ndraw thee to itself. Thou art divine majesty, eternal life in the\nloveliest of forms.\"\n\n\"Alas, Henry, thou knowest the fate of the roses. Wilt thou also press\nthe pale cheek, the withered lips, with tenderness to thy own? Will not\nthe traces of age be also the traces of bygone love?\"\n\n\"O that thou couldst see through my eyes into my spirit! But thou\nlovest me, and canst also believe me. I cannot comprehend what is said\nof the withering of charms. They are unfading! That which draws me so\ninseparably to thee, that has awakened in me such everlasting desire,\nis not of this world. Couldst thou but see how thou appearest to me,\nwhat a wonderful form penetrates thy shape, and everywhere is raying\ntowards me, thou wouldst not fear age. Thy earthly shape is but a\nshadow of this form. The earthly faculties strive and swell that they\nmay incarnate it; but nature is yet unripe; the form is only an eternal\narchetype, a fragment of the unknown holy world.\"\n\n\"I understand thee, dear Henry, for I see something similar when I look\nupon thee.\"\n\n\"Yes, Matilda, the higher world is nearer to us than we usually\nbelieve. Here already we live in it, and we see it closely interwoven\nwith our earthly nature.\"\n\n\"Thou wilt yet reveal much that is glorious to me, beloved?\"\n\n\"O! Matilda, from thee alone cometh the gift of divination. Everything\nthat I have is indeed thine. Thy love will lead me into the sanctuaries\nof life, and the most sacred recesses of the mind; thou wilt fill me\nwith enthusiasm, wilt excite me to the highest contemplation. Who knows\nthat our love will not change to wings of flame bearing us upward, and\ncarrying us to our heavenly home, ere old age and death reach us? Is it\nnot a miracle already that thou art mine, that I hold thee in my arms,\nthat thou lovest me, and that thou wilt be mine forever?\"\n\n\"To me also everything seems possible, and I plainly feel a gentle\nflame kindling within me. Who knows that it does not transfigure us,\nand gradually dissolve all earthly ties? Only tell me, Henry, whether\nthou hast that boundless confidence in me, that I have in thee. Yet I\nnever have felt towards any one as I do towards thee; not even to my\nfather, whom I love so dearly.\"\n\n\"Dear Matilda, it really torments me, that I cannot tell thee\neverything at once, that I cannot at once give my whole heart to thee.\nFor the first time in my life am I perfectly frank. No thought, no\nfeeling can I longer conceal from thee,--thou must know everything. My\nwhole being shall mingle itself with thine. A most boundless\nresignation to thee can alone satisfy my love. In that indeed it\nconsists. It is truly a most mysterious flowing together of our most\nsecret and personal existence.\"\n\n\"Henry, two beings can never thus have loved each other.\"\n\n\"I cannot believe it possible, for till now no Matilda has lived.\"\n\n\"And no Henry!\"\n\n\"Swear to me once more that thou art mine. Love is an endless\nrepetition.\"\n\n\"Yes, Henry, by the invisible presence of my good mother, I swear to be\nthine forever.\"\n\n\"I swear to be thine forever, Matilda, as surely as love, God's\npresence, is with us.\"\n\nA long embrace and countless kisses sealed the eternal alliance of the\nblessed pair.\n\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IX.\n\n\nAt evening some guests were present; the grandfather drank the health\nof the young bridal pair, and promised to give them soon a splendid\nmarriage feast. \"Of what use is long waiting?\" said the old man. \"Early\nmarriages make long love. I have always observed that marriages early\ncontracted were the happiest. In latter years there is no longer such a\ndevotion in the marriage relation as in youth. Youth, enjoyed in\ncommon, forms an inseparable tie. Memory is the safest ground of love.\"\n\nAfter the meal more people came in. Henry asked his new father to\nfulfil his promise. Klingsohr said to the company, \"I have promised\nHenry to-day to relate a tale. If it would please you I am ready to do\nso.\"\n\n\"That was a wise idea of Henry's,\" said Swaning. \"We have heard nothing\nfrom you for a long time.\"\n\nAll seated themselves by the fire, which was sparkling on the hearth.\nHenry sat by Matilda, and stole his arm around her. Klingsohr began.\n\n\"The long night had just set in. The old hero struck his shield, so\nthat it resounded far through the solitary streets of the city. Thrice\nhe repeated the signal. Then the lofty, many-colored windows of the\npalace began to shed abroad their light, and their figures were put in\nmotion. They moved the more quickly, as the ruddy stream which began to\nillumine the streets became stronger. Also by degrees the immense\npillars and walls began to shine. At length they stood in the purest\nmilk-blue glimmer, and flickered with the softest colors. The whole\nregion was now visible, and the reflection of the figures, the clashing\nof the spears, swords, shields, and helmets, which bowed from all sides\ntowards crowns appearing here and there, and finally closed round a\nsimple green garland in a wide circle, as the crowns vanished before\nit; all this was reflected from the frozen sea that surrounded the hill\non which the city stood,--and even the far distant mountain range,\nwhich girdled the sea, was half enwrapped with a mildly reflected\nsplendor. Nothing could be plainly distinguished; yet a strange sound\nwas heard, as if from an immense workshop in the distance. The city, on\nthe contrary, was light and clear. Its smooth transparent walls\nreflected the beautiful beams; and the perfect symmetry, the noble\nstyle, and fine arrangement of all the buildings were well defined.\nBefore every window stood earthern pots with ornaments, full of every\nvariety of ice and snow flowers, which sparkled most brilliantly.\n\n\"But fairest of all appeared the garden upon the great square in front\nof the palace, consisting of metal plants and crystal trees, hung with\nvaried jewel-blossoms and fruits. The manifold and delicate shapes, the\nlively lights and colors, formed a lordly spectacle, made still more\nmagnificent by a lofty fountain, frozen in the midst of the garden. The\nold hero walked slowly past the palace doors. A voice from within\ncalled his name. He turned towards the door, which opened with a gentle\nsound, and stepped into the hall. His shield was held before his eyes.\n\n\"'Hast thou yet discovered nothing,' plaintively cried the beautiful\ndaughter of Arcturus. She lay on silken cushions, upon a throne\nartfully fashioned from a huge pyrite-crystal, and some maidens were\nassiduously chafing her tender limbs, which seemed a rare union of milk\nand purple. On all sides streamed from beneath the hands of the maidens\nthat charming light, which so wondrously illuminated the palace. A\nperfumed breeze was waving through the hall. The hero was silent.\n\n\"'Let me touch thy shield,' said she softly.\n\n\"He approached the throne and stepped upon the costly carpet. She\nseized his hand, pressed it with tenderness to her heavenly bosom, and\ntouched his shield. His armor resounded, and a penetrating force\ninspired his frame. His eyes flashed, and the heart beat loudly against\nhis breastplate. The beautiful Freya appeared more serene, and the\nlight that streamed from her became more brilliant.\n\n\"'The king is coming,' cried a splendid bird that was perched behind\nthe throne. The attendants threw an azure veil over the princess, which\nconcealed her heaving bosom. The hero lowered his shield, and looked\nupward to the dome, whither two broad staircases wound from each side\nof the hall. Soft music preceded the king, who soon appeared in the\ndome, and descended with a numerous train.\n\n\"The beautiful bird unfolded its shining wings, and gently fluttering,\nsang to the king as with a thousand voices:\n\n           \"The stranger fair delay no longer maketh.\n            Warmth draweth near, Eternity begins.\n            From long and tedious dreams the Queen awaketh,\n            When land in eddying love with ocean spins.\n            Her farewell hence the chilly midnight taketh,\n            When Fable first the ancient title wins.\n            The world will kindle upon Freya's breast,\n            And every longing in its longing rest.\"\n\nThe King embraced his daughter with tenderness. The spirits of the\nstars surrounded the throne, and the hero took his place in the order.\nA numerous crowd of stars filled the hall in splendid groups. The\nattendants brought a table and a little casket, containing a heap of\nleaves, upon which were inscribed mystic figures of deep significance,\nconstructed of constellations. The king reverently kissed these leaves,\nmixed them carefully together, and handed some to his daughter; the\nrest he kept. The princess placed them in a row upon the table; then\nthe king closely examined his own, and chose with much reflection\nbefore he added one to them. At times he seemed forced to choose this\nor that leaf. But often his joy was evident, when he could complete by\na lucky leaf a beautiful harmony of signs and figures. As the play\ncommenced, tokens of the liveliest sympathy were visible among all the\nby-standers, accompanied by peculiar looks and gestures, as if each one\nhad an invisible instrument in his hands which he plied diligently. At\nthe same time a gentle but deeply moving music was heard in the air,\nseeming to arise from the stars gliding past each other in a wondrous\nmotion, and from the other movements so peculiar. The stars floated\nround, now slowly, now quickly, in continually changing lines, and\ncuriously imitated, to the swell of the music, the figures on the\nleaves. The music changed incessantly with the images upon the table;\nand though the transitions were often strange and intricate, yet a\nsimple theme seemed to unite the whole. With incredible adroitness the\nstars flew together according to the images. Now in great confusion,\nbut now again beautifully arranged in single clusters, and now the long\ntrain was suddenly scattered, like a ray, into innumerable sparks, but\nsoon came together, through smaller circles and patterns ever\nincreasing, into one great figure of surprising beauty. The varied\nshapes in the windows remained all this time at rest. The bird\nunceasingly ruffled its costly plumage in every variety of form.\nHitherto the old hero had also pursued an unseen occupation, when\nsuddenly the king full of joy exclaimed, \"all is well. Iron, throw thy\nsword into the world, that it may know where peace rests.\"\n\nThe hero snatched the sword from his thigh, raised it with the point to\nheaven, and hurled it from the window over the city and the icy sea. It\nflew through the air like a comet, and seemed to penetrate the mountain\nchain with a clear report, as it fell downward in brilliant flakes of\nfire.\n\nAt this time the beautiful child Eros lay in his cradle and slumbered\ngently, whilst Ginnistan his nurse rocked him, and held out her breast\nto his foster-sister Fable. She had spread her variegated wimple over\nthe cradle, so that the bright lamp which stood before the scribe might\nnot trouble the child. Busily he wrote, at times looking morosely at\nthe children, and gloomily towards the nurse, who smiled upon him\nkindly and kept silence.\n\nThe father of the children walked in and out continually, at each turn\ngazing upon them, and greeting Ginnistan kindly. He always had\nsomething to dictate to the scribe. The latter observed his words\nexactly, and when he had written, handed them to an aged and venerable\nwoman, who was leaning on an altar, where stood a dark bowl of clear\nwater, into which she looked with serene smiles. When she dipped the\nleaves in the water, and found on withdrawing them, that some of the\nwriting remained still glittering, she gave them to the scribe, who\nfastened them in a great book, and seemed much out of humor when his\nlabor had been in vain, and all the writing had been obliterated. The\nwoman turned at times towards Ginnistan and the children, and dipping\nher finger in the bowl, sprinkled some drops upon them, which, as soon\nas they touched the nurse, the child, or the cradle, dissolved into a\nblue vapor, exhibiting a thousand strange images, and floating and\nchanging constantly around them. If one of these by chance touched the\nscribe, many figures and geometrical diagrams fell down, which he\nstrung with much diligence upon a thread, and hung them for an ornament\naround his meagre neck. The child's mother, who was sweetness and\nloveliness itself, often came in. She seemed to be constantly occupied,\nalways carrying with her some domestic utensil. If the prying scribe\nobserved it, he began a long reproof, of which no one took any notice.\nAll seemed accustomed to his fruitless fault-finding. The mother\nsometimes gave the breast to little Fable, but was soon called away,\nand Ginnistan took the child back again, for it seemed to love her\nbest. Suddenly the father brought in a small slender rod of iron, which\nhe had found in the court. The scribe looked at it, twirled it round\nquickly, and soon discovered, that being suspended from the middle by a\nthread, it turned of itself to the north. Ginnistan also took it in her\nhand, bent it, pressed it, breathed upon it, and soon gave it the form\nof a serpent biting, its own tail. The scribe was soon weary of looking\nat it. He wrote down everything that had occurred, and was very diffuse\nabout the utility of such a discovery. But how vexed was he when all he\nhad written did not stand the proof, and when the paper came blank from\nthe bowl. The nurse continued to play with it. She chanced to touch\nwith it the cradle; the child awoke, threw off his covering, and\nholding one hand towards the light, reached after the serpent with the\nother. As soon as he received it, he leaped so quickly from the cradle\nthat Ginnistan was frightened, and the scribe fell nearly out of his\nchair from wonder; the child stood in the chamber, covered only by his\nlong golden hair, and gazed with speechless joy upon the prize, which\npointed in his hands, towards the North, and seemed to awake within him\ndeep emotion. He grew visibly.\n\n\"Sophia,\" said he with a touching voice to the woman, \"let me drink\nfrom the bowl.\"\n\nShe gave it him without delay, and he could not cease drinking; yet the\nbowl continued full. At last he returned it, while embracing the good\nwoman heartily. He pressed Ginnistan to his heart, and asked her for\nthe variegated cloth, which he bound becomingly around his thigh. He\ntook little Fable in his arms. She appeared greatly to delight in him,\nand began to prattle. Ginnistan devoted all her attention to him. She\nlooked exceedingly charming and gay, and pressed him to herself with\nthe tenderness of a bride. She led him with whispered words to the\nchamber door, but Sophia nodded earnestly and pointed to the serpent.\nJust then the mother entered, to whom he immediately flew, and with\nwarm tears welcomed her. The scribe had departed in anger. The father\nentered: and as he saw mother and son in silent embrace, he approached\nthe charming Ginnistan behind them and caressed her. Sophia ascended\nthe stairs. Little Fable took the scribe's pen and began to write.\nMother and son were deeply engaged in conversation. The father availed\nhimself of the opportunity, and lavished many a tender word and look\nupon Ginnistan, who returned them willingly; and in their sweet\ninterchange of love, both the presence or absence of any was forgotten.\nAfter some time Sophia returned, and the scribe entered. He drove\nlittle Fable with many rebukes from his seat, and took a long time to\nput his things in order. He handed to Sophia the leaves that Fable had\nwritten over, that they might be returned clean; but his displeasure\nwas extreme, when Sophia drew the writing brilliant and uneffaced from\nthe bowl, and laid it before him. Fable clang to her mother, who took\nher to her breast, and put the chamber in order, opened the windows for\nthe fresh air, and made preparations for a costly meal. A beautiful\nlandscape was visible from the windows, and a serene sky overarched the\nearth. The father was busily employed in the court. When he was weary,\nhe looked up towards the window, where Ginnistan stood and threw to him\nall sorts of sweetmeats. Mother and son went out in order to assist in\nany manner, and to prepare for the resolution they had taken. The\nscribe twitched his pen, and always made a wry face, when he was forced\nto ask any information of Ginnistan, who had a good memory and\nrecollected everything that transpired. Eros soon returned, clad in\nbeautiful armor, round which the varigated cloth was wound like a\nscarf. He asked Sophia's advice as to when and how he should commence\nhis journey. The scribe was very troublesome, and wanted to furnish him\nwith a complete traveller's guide, but his instructions were not\nregarded.\n\n\"You can commence your journey immediately,\" said Sophia, \"Ginnistan\ncan guide you. She knows the road and is acquainted everywhere. She\nwill take the form of your mother, that she may not lead you into\ntemptation. If you find the king, think of me; for then I shall soon\ncome to assist you.\"\n\nGinnistan exchanged forms with the mother, whereat the father seemed\nmuch pleased. The scribe was rejoiced that they were both going away;\nparticularly when Ginnistan on taking leave presented him with a\npocket-book, in which the chronicles of the house were circumstantially\nrecorded. Yet the little Fable remained a thorn in his eye, and he\ndesired nothing more for his peace and content, than that she might\nalso be among the number of the travellers. Sophia pronounced a\nblessing upon the two who knelt down before her, and gave them a vessel\nfull of water from the bowl. The mother was very sad. Little Fable,\nwould willingly have gone with them; the father was too much occupied\nout of doors, to concern himself much about it. It was night when they\nleft, and the moon stood high in the sky.\n\n\"Dear Eros,\" said Ginnistan, \"we must hasten, that we may come to my\nfather, who has not seen me for a long time, and has fought for me\nanxiously everywhere upon earth. Do you not see his emaciated face?\nYour testimony will cause him to recognise me in this strange form.\"\n\n            Love hies along in dusky ways,\n            The moon his only light;\n            The shadow-realm itself displays,\n            And all uncouthly dight.\n\n            An azure mist with golden rim\n            Around him floats in play,\n            And quickly Fancy hurries him\n            O'er stream and land away.\n\n            His teeming bosom beating is\n            In wondrous spirit-flow;\n            A presagement of future bliss\n            Bespeaks the ardent glow.\n\n            And Longing sat and wept aloud,\n            Nor knew that Love was near;\n            And deeper in her visage ploughed\n            The hopeless sorrow's tear.\n\n            The little snake remaineth true,\n            It pointeth to the North,\n            And both in trust and courage new\n            Their leader follow forth.\n\n            Love hieth through the hot Simoon,\n            And through the vapor-land,\n            Enters the halo of the moon,\n            The daughter in his hand.\n\n            He sat upon his silver throne,\n            Alone with his unrest;\n            When heareth he his daughter's tone,\n            And sinketh on her breast.\n\nEros stood deeply moved by their tender embrace. At length the\ntottering old man collected himself and bade his guest welcome. He\nseized his great horn and blew a mighty blast. The ringing echo\nvibrated through the ancient castle. The pointed towers with their\nshining balls, and the deep black roofs, trembled.\n\nThe castle stood firm, for it had settled upon the mountain from beyond\nthe deep sea.\n\nServants were gathering from every quarter; their peculiar forms and\ndresses delighted Ginnistan infinitely, and did not frighten the brave\nEros. They first greeted her old acquaintances, and all appeared before\nthem in new strength, and in all the glory of their natures. The\nimpetuous spirit of the flood followed the gentle ebb. The old\nhurricanes rested upon the beating breast of the hot, passionate\nearthquake. The gentle showers looked around for the many-colored bow\nwhich stood so pallid, far from the sun that most attracts it. The rude\nthunder resounded through the play of the lightning, behind the\ninnumerable clouds which stood in a thousand charms, and allured the\nfiery youth. The two sisters Morning and Evening were especially\ndelighted by their arrival. Tears of tenderness were mingled in their\nembraces. Indescribable was the appearance of this wonderful court. The\nold king could not gaze long enough upon his daughter. She was tenfold\nhappy in her father's castle, and could not grow weary of looking at\nthe well known wonders and rarities. Her joy was unspeakable, when the\nking gave her the key to the treasure-chamber, and permission to\narrange there a spectacle for Eros, which could entertain him until the\nsignal for breaking up. The treasure-place was a large garden, the\nvariety and richness of which surpassed all description. Between the\nimmense cloud-trees lay innumerable air-castles of surprising\narchitecture, each succeeding one more costly than the others. Large\nherds of little sheep with silver-white, golden, and rose-colored wool,\nwere wandering about, and the most singular animals enlivened the\ngrove. Remarkable pictures stood here and there, and the festive\nprocessions, the strange carriages which met the eye on every side,\ncontinually occupied the attention. The beds were filled with\nmany-colored flowers. The buildings were crowded with every species of\nweapon, and furnished with the most beautiful carpets, tapestry,\ncurtains, drinking-cups, and all kinds of furniture and utensils\narranged in an endless order. From the hill they saw a romantic region\noverspread with cities and castles, temples and sepulchres; every\ndelight of inhabited plains united to the fertile charms of the\nwilderness and the mountain steep. The fairest colors were most happily\nblended. The mountain peaks shone like pyramids of fire in their hoods\nof ice and snow. The plain lay smiling in the freshest green. The\ndistance was arrayed in every shade of blue, and from the sombre bosom\nof the sea waved countless pennons of varied hue from numerous fleets.\nIn the distance a shipwreck was to be seen; here in the foreground a\nrustic cheerful meal of country people; there the terribly grand\neruption of a volcano, the desolating earthquake; and in front beneath\nshady trees a loving couple in sweet caresses. Further on was a fearful\nbattle, and beyond it a theatre full of the most ludicrous masks. In\nanother spot of the foreground was a youthful corpse upon its bier, to\nwhich an inconsolable lover clung, and the weeping parents at its side;\nbeyond was seen a lovely mother with her child at her breast, and\nangels sitting at her feet, and gazing from the branches over head. The\nseries were continually shifting, and at last all flowed together into\none mysterious picture. Heaven and earth were in complete uproar. All\nterrors had broken loose. A mighty voice cried, \"to arms!\" A terrible\nhost of skeletons, with black standards, rushed like a tempest from the\ndark mountain, and attacked the life which was feasting merrily in\nyouthful bands among the open plains, anticipating no danger. Terrible\ntumults arose, the earth trembled, the tempest howled, fearful meteors\nlighted the gloom. With unheard of cruelty, the host of phantoms tore\nthe tender limbs of the living. A funeral pyre towered on high, and\namid shrieks which made the blood run cold, the children of life were\nconsumed by the flames. Suddenly a milk-blue stream broke on all sides\nfrom the dark heap of ashes. The phantoms hastened to fly, but the\nflood visibly swelled and swallowed up the detestable brood. Soon all\nfear was allayed. Heaven and earth flowed together in sweet music. A\nflower, wonderful in beauty, floated glittering upon the gentle\nbillows. A shining bow half circled the flood, and on both sides of it\nsat celestial shapes on splendid thrones. Sophia sat highest with the\nbowl in her hands, near a majestic man, whose locks were bound by a\ngarland of oak leaves, and who bore in his right hand a palm of peace\ninstead of a sceptre. A lily leaf bent over the chalice of the floating\nflower. The little Fable sat upon it, and sang to the harp the sweetest\nsong. In the chalice sat Eros himself, bending over a beautiful,\nslumbering maiden who held him fast embraced. A smaller blossom closed\naround them both, so that from the thighs they seemed changed to a\nflower.\n\nEros thanked Ginnistan with thousand fold rapture. He embraced her\ntenderly, and she returned his caresses. Wearied by the fatigues of the\njourney, and by the manifold objects he had seen, he longed for quiet\nand rest. Ginnistan, who felt deeply attracted by the beautiful youth,\ntook good care not to mention the draught which Sophia had given him.\nShe led him to a retired bath, and removed his armor. Eros dipped\nhimself in the dangerous waves, and came out again in rapture.\nGinnistan chafed dry his strong limbs knit with youthful vigor. He\nthought with ardent longing of his beloved, and embraced the charming\nGinnistan in sweet delusion. He surrendered himself carelessly to his\ntenderness, and fell asleep on the fair bosom of his guide.\n\nIn the mean time a sad change had taken place at home. The scribe had\ninvolved the domestics in a dangerous conspiracy. His fiendish mind had\nlong sought occasion to obtain possession of the government of the\nhouse, and to shake off his yoke. Such an occasion he had found. His\nparty first seized the mother and put her in irons. The father also was\ndeprived of everything but bread and water. The little Fable heard the\nnoise in the chamber. She hid herself behind the altar; and observing\nthat there was a concealed door on its farther side, she opened it\nquickly, and discovered a staircase leading from it. She closed the\ndoor behind her, and descended the stairs in the dark. The scribe\nrushed furiously into the chamber, in order to revenge himself on the\nlittle Fable, and to take Sophia captive. Neither of them was to be\nfound. The bowl was also missing, and in his wrath he broke the altar\ninto a thousand pieces, without, however, discovering the secret\nstaircase.\n\nFable continued to descend for a considerable time. At length she\nreached an open space adorned with splendid colonnades, and closed by a\ngreat door. All objects there were dark. The air was like one immense\nshadow; and a darkly beaming body stood in the sky. One could easily\ndistinguish objects, because each figure exhibited a peculiar shade of\nblack, and cast behind a pale glimmer; light and shade seemed to have\nchanged their respective offices. Fable rejoiced to find herself in a\nnew world. She regarded everything with childish curiosity. At length\nshe reached the door, before which upon a massive pedestal reclined a\nbeautiful Sphinx.\n\n\"What dost thou seek?\" said the Sphinx.\n\n\"My possession,\" replied Fable.\n\n\"Whence comest thou hither?\"\n\n\"From olden times.\"\n\n\"Thou art yet a child.\"\n\n\"And will be a child forever.\"\n\n\"Who wilt assist thee?\"\n\n\"I will assist myself. Where are my sisters?\" asked Fable.\n\n\"Everywhere, and yet nowhere,\" answered the Sphinx.\n\n\"Dost thou know me?\"\n\n\"Not as yet.\"\n\n\"Where is Love?\"\n\n\"In the imagination.\"\n\n\"And Sophia?\"\n\nThe Sphinx murmured inaudibly to itself, and rustled its wings.\n\n\"Sophia and Love!\" cried Fable triumphantly, and passed the door. She\nstepped into an immense cave, and joyfully reached the aged sisters,\nwho were pursuing their wonderful occupation, by the poor light of a\ndimly burning lamp. They seemed not to notice their little guest, who\nbusily hovered around them with artless caresses. At last one of them\nwith a crabbed face roughly rebuked her.\n\n\"What wouldst thou here, idler? Who has admitted thee? Thy childish\nsteps disturb the quiet flame. The oil is burning to waste. Canst thou\nnot be seated, and occupy thyself usefully?\"\n\n\"Beautiful aunt,\" said Fable, \"I am no idler. But I cannot help\nlaughing at your door-keeper. She would have taken me to her breast;\nbut seemed to have eaten too much to rise. Let me sit before the door,\nand give me something to spin. I cannot see well here; and when I am\nspinning I must be suffered to sing and talk, which might disturb your\nserious cogitations.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt not go outside; but through a cleft of the rock a beam from\nthe upper world pierces into a side-chamber, there thou mayest spin if\nthou knowest how. Here lie great heaps of old ends, spin them together.\nBut have a care; for if thou spin lazily or break the threads, they\nwill wind round and choke thee.\"\n\nThe old woman laughed maliciously and resumed her labor. Fable gathered\nup an armful of the threads, took distaff and spindle, and tripped\nsinging into the chamber. She looked out through the cleft, and saw the\nconstellation of Phoenix. Rejoicing at the happy omen, she began to\nspin industriously, leaving the chamber door ajar, and sang in subdued\ntones:--\n\n            Within your cells awaken,\n            Children of olden time;\n            Be every bed forsaken,\n            The morn begins to climb.\n\n            Your threadlets I am weaving\n            Into a single thread:\n            In _one_ life be ye cleaving,--\n            The times of strife are sped.\n\n            Each one in all is living,\n            And all in each beside;\n            _One_ heart its pulses giving.\n            From _one_ impelling tide.\n\n            Yet spirits only are ye.\n            But dream and witchery.\n            Into the cavern fare ye,\n            And vex the holy Three.\n\nThe spindle turned with incredible velocity between her little feet,\nwhile she twisted the thread with both her hands. During the song,\ninnumerable little lights became visible, which passed through the\nchink of the door, and spread through the cave in hideous masks. The\nelders continued spinning gloomily, and in expectation of the cries of\ndistress of little Fable. But how terrified were they when a horrible\nnose appeared over their shoulders, and when upon looking around they\nbeheld the whole cave filled with fearful forms, engaged in a thousand\nfantastic tricks. They shrunk together, howled with frightful voices,\nand would have turned to stone through fear, had not the scribe entered\nthe cave bearing with him a mandrake root. The lights concealed\nthemselves in the rocky cleft, and the cave became entirely\nilluminated, while the black lamp was extinguished, having been\noverturned in the confusion. The old hags were glad when they heard the\nscribe approaching; but were full of wrath against the little Fable.\nThey called her forth, rebuked her terribly, and forbade her spinning\nlonger. The scribe smiled grimly; because he supposed that now the\nlittle Fable was in his power, and said,\n\n\"It is good that thou art here, and art kept employed. I hope that thou\nreceivest thy share of punishment. Thy good spirit has guided me\nhither. I wish thee a long life and many pleasures.\"\n\n\"I thank thee for thy good will,\" said Fable; \"lo, what a good age is\napproaching thee. The hourglass and sickle only are wanting to make\nthee like in looks to the brother of my beautiful aunts. If thou\nneedest quills, only pluck a handful of soft down from their cheeks.\"\n\nThe scribe threatened to attack her. She smiled and said,\n\n\"If thy beautiful locks and spiritual eyes are dear to thee, beware!\nthink of my nails, thou hast not much more to loose.\"\n\nHe turned with stifled rage towards the old women, who were rubbing\ntheir eyes, and searching for their distaffs. They could not find them\nbecause the lamp was extinguished; but they vented their rage against\nFable.\n\n\"Do let her go,\" said he spitefully, \"that she may catch tarantulas to\nprepare your oil. I will tell you for your consolation that Eros is\nrestlessly on the wing, and by his industry will keep your scissors\nbusy. His mother, who has so often compelled you to spin the lengthened\nthreads, will become a prey to the flames to-morrow.\"\n\nHe laughed with joy, when he saw that Fable wept at this news, and\ngiving a piece of the root to the old people, departed chuckling. The\nsisters, though supplied with oil, angrily ordered Fable to go in\nsearch of tarantulas, and Fable hastened away. She pretended to open\nthe door, slammed it noisily, and crept stealthily to the back of the\ncave, where a ladder was hanging down. She ascended quickly, and soon\ncame to an aperture, which opened into the apartment of Arcturus.\n\nThe king sat surrounded by his counsellors when Fable appeared. The\nNorthern Crown adorned his head. He held the lily in his left hand, the\nbalance in his right. The eagle and the lion sat at his feet.\n\n\"Monarch,\" said Fable, bending reverently before him, \"Hail to thine\neternal throne! Joyful news for thy wounded heart! An early return of\nwisdom! Awakening to eternal peace! Rest to the restless love!\nGlorification of the heart! Life to antiquity and form to the future!\"\n\nThe king touched her open forehead with the lily, \"Whatever thou\ndemandest shall be granted thee.\"\n\n\"Three times shall I petition, and when I come the fourth time, Love\nwill be before the door. Now give me the lyre.\"\n\n\"Eridanus,\" cried the king, \"bring the lyre hither.\"\n\nEridanus streamed forth murmuring from his concealment, and Fable\nsnatched the lyre from his boiling flood.\n\nFable played a few prophetic strains. She sipped from the cup which the\nking ordered to be handed her, and hastened away with many thanks. She\nglided with a sweet, elastic motion over the icy sea, drawing joyful\nmusic from the strings.\n\nThe ice resounded melodiously beneath her step. She fancied the voices\nof the rocks of sorrow were the voices of her children seeking her, and\nshe answered in a thousand echoes.\n\nFable soon reached the shore. She met her mother who appeared wasted\nand pale; she had grown thin and sad, and her noble features revealed\nthe traces of a hopeless sorrow and of touching constancy.\n\n\"What has happened to thee, dear mother?\" asked Fable; \"thou seemest to\nme entirely changed; I should not know thee except by internal signs. I\nhoped once more to refresh myself at thy breast; I have pined after\nthee for a long time.\"\n\nGinnistan caressed her tenderly, and became calm and serene.\n\n\"I thought from the first,\" said she, \"that the scribe would not take\nthee captive. It refreshes me to see thee. Poor and pinched are my\naffairs now; but I console myself with hoping that it will soon end.\nPerhaps I am about to have a moment of rest. Eros is near; and when he\nsees thee and thou speakest with him, he may tarry some time. In the\nmean time come to my bosom. I will give thee what I have.\"\n\nShe took Fable upon her lap, proffered her breast, and while smiling\nupon the little one who was enjoying her feast, continued, \"I am myself\nthe cause that Eros has become so wild and inconstant. But yet I repent\nit not, for those hours have made me immortal. I believe that his fiery\ncaresses have strangely transformed him. Long, silver-white wings\ncovered his glittering shoulders, and the charming fulness of his form.\nThe strength, which swelling forth had so suddenly changed him from a\nyouth to a man, seemed entirely to have withdrawn into his wings, and\nhe had become again a boy. The silent glow of his face became like the\ndazzling fire of a will-o'-the-wisp, his holy seriousness had changed\nto dissembled roguishness, the significant calm to childish\nirresolution, the noble carriage to a droll agility. I felt\nirresistibly attracted to the wanton boy by an ardent passion, and\nsuffered with pain his sneering scorn, and his indifference to my most\ntouching prayers. I perceived that my form was changed. My careless\nserenity had fled, and its place filled with sorrowful anxiety and\nshrinking timidity. I would have hidden myself with Eros from all eyes.\nI had not the heart to meet his offending eye, and was overwhelmed with\nshame and humility. I had no thoughts but for him; and would have given\nmy life to free him from his wantonness. Deeply as he had hurt my\nfeelings, I was compelled to worship him.\n\n\"Since the time when he discovered himself and escaped me, I have\ncontinually been in pursuit of him, though I have conjured him\ntouchingly and with hot tears to remain with me. He seems really intent\non persecuting me. As often as I reach him, he flies away again. On\nevery side his bow deals destruction. I have nought to do but to\nconsole the unhappy, and yet I myself need consolation. The voices of\nthose who call me point out to me his path, and their mournful\ncomplaints, when I am compelled to leave them, deeply cut my heart. The\nscribe pursues us in a terrible rage, and revenges himself upon the\npoor wounded ones. The fruit of that mysterious night was a multitude\nof strange children, who look like their grandfather, and are named\nafter him. Being winged like their father, they ever accompany him, to\ntorment the poor ones whom his arrow wounds.  But there comes the\njoyous procession. I must away. Farewell, sweet child. His presence\nexcites my passion. Be happy in thy designs.\"\n\nEros passed on without Ginnistan, who hastened near him, beseeching but\none look of tenderness. But he turned kindly towards Fable, and his\nlittle companions danced joyously around her. Fable was glad to see her\nfoster-brother again, and sang a merry song to her lyre. Eros seemed as\nif desiring to recall some recollections of the past, and let fall his\nbow upon the ground. Ginnistan could now embrace him, and he suffered\nher tender caresses. At last Eros began to nod; he clung to Ginnistan's\nbosom and fell asleep, spreading over her his wings. The weary\nGinnistan full of rejoicing turned not her eye from the graceful\nsleeper. During the song, tarantulas came forth from all sides, which\ndrew a shining net over the blades of grass, and with sprightly\nmovements accompanied the music upon the threads. Fable now consoled\nher mother, and promised to her speedy assistance. From the rocks fell\nback the soft echo of the music, and lulled the sleeper. From the\ncarefully preserved vessel Ginnistan sprinkled some drops into the air,\nand the most delightful dreams descended upon them. Fable took the\nvessel and continued her journey. Her strings never were at rest, and\nthe tarantulas followed the enchanting sounds upon their fast-woven\nthreads.\n\nShe soon saw from afar the lofty flame of a funeral pile, which rose\nhigh above the green forest. Mournfully she gazed towards heaven; yet\nrejoiced when she saw Sophia's blue veil which was waving over the\nearth, forever covering the unsightly tomb. The sun stood in heaven,\nfiery-red with rage. The powerful flame imbibed its stolen light; and\nthe more fiercely the sun strove to preserve itself, ever more pale and\nspotted it became. The flame grew whiter and more intense, as the sun\nfaded. It attracted the light more and more strongly; the glory around\nthe star of day was soon consumed, and it stood there a pale,\nglimmering disk, every new agitation of spite and rage aiding the\nescape of the flying light-waves. Finally, nought of the sun remained\nbut a black, exhausted dross, which fell into the sea. The splendor of\nthe flame was beyond description. It slowly ascended, and bore towards\nthe North. Fable entered the court, which was desolate; the house had\nfallen. Briars were growing in the crevices of the window frames, and\nvermin of every kind were creeping about on the broken staircase. She\nheard a terrible noise in the chamber; the scribe and his associates\nhad been devoting her mother to the flames, but had been greatly\nterrified by the sudden destruction of the sun.\n\nThey had in vain struggled to extinguish the flame, and had not escaped\nunhurt. They vented their pain and anxiety in fearful curses and\nwailings. But more terrified were they, when Fable entered the chamber,\nand rushed upon them with a furious cry, letting her anger loose upon\nthem. She stepped behind the cradle, and her pursuers rushed madly into\nthe web of the tarantulas, which revenged themselves by a thousand\nwounds. The whole crowd commenced a frantic dance, to which Fable\nplayed a merry tune. With much laughter at their ludicrous\nperformances, she approached the fragments of the altar, and cleared\nthem away, in order to find the hidden staircase, which she descended\nwith her train of tarantulas.\n\nThe Sphinx asked, \"what comes more suddenly than the lightning?\"\n\n\"Revenge,\" said Fable.\n\n\"What is most transient?\"\n\n\"Wrongful possession.\"\n\n\"Who knows the world?\"\n\n\"He who knows himself.\"\n\n\"What is the eternal mystery?\"\n\n\"Love.\"\n\n\"With whom does it rest?\"\n\n\"With Sophia.\"\n\nThe Sphinx bowed herself mournfully, and Fable entered the cave.\n\n\"Here I bring you tarantulas,\" said she to the old sisters, who again\nhad lighted their lamp and were busily employed. They were overwhelmed\nwith fear, and one of them rushed upon her with the shears to murder\nher. Unwarily she stepped upon a tarantula, which stung her in the\nfoot. She cried piteously; the others came to her assistance, and were\nlikewise stung by the irritated reptiles. They could not now attack\nFable, and danced wildly about.\n\n\"Spin directly for us,\" cried they angrily to the little one, \"some\nlight dancing dresses. We cannot move in this stiff raiment, and are\nnearly melted with heat. Thou must soak the thread in spider's juice\nthat it may not break, and interweave flowers, which have grown in\nfire; otherwise thou shalt die.\"\n\n\"Right willingly,\" said Fable, and retired to the side-chamber.\n\n\"I will get you three fine large flies,\" said she to the spiders, which\nhad fixed their airy web about the ceiling and the walls; \"but you must\nspin for me immediately three beautiful light dresses. I will bring you\ndirectly the flowers which must be worked upon them.\"\n\nThe spiders were ready and began to weave busily. Fable glided up the\nladder, and proceeded to Arcturus.\n\n\"Monarch,\" said she, \"the wicked dance, the good rest. Has the flame\narrived?\"\n\n\"It has come,\" said the King. \"Night is passed and the ice melts. My\nspouse appears in the distance. My enemy is overwhelmed. All things\nbegin to exist. As yet I do not dare to show myself, for I am not alone\nKing. Ask what thou wilt.\"\n\n\"I need,\" said Fable, \"some flowers that have grown in fire. I know\nthou hast a skilful gardener, who understands rearing them.\"\n\n\"Zinc,\" cried the King, \"give us flowers.\"\n\nThe flower gardener stepped from the ranks, bringing at vessel full of\nfire, and sowed shining seeds therein. Soon flowers sprang up. Fable\ngathered them in her apron, and returned. The spiders had been\nindustrious, and nothing more was needed but to attach the flowers,\nwhich they immediately began to do with much taste and skill. Fable\ntook good care not to pull off the ends which were yet hanging to the\nweavers.\n\nShe carried the dresses to the wearied dancers, who had sunk down\ndripping with perspiration, and were taking a moment's breath after\ntheir unwonted exertions. She dextrously undressed the haggard\nbeauties, who were not backward in scolding their little servant, and\nput on the new dresses, which fitted excellently. While thus employed,\nshe praised the charms and lovely character of her mistresses, who\nseemed really pleased with her flatteries, and the splendor of their\nnew appearance. Having in the mean time rested themselves, they\nrecommenced their mazy whirl, whilst they deceitfully promised little\nFable a long life and great rewards. Fable returned to the chamber, and\nsaid to the spiders, \"you can now eat in peace the flies which I have\nbrought to your web.\"\n\nThe spiders were soon impatient at being pulled back and forth by the\ndistracted movements of the dancers, for the ends of the threads were\nstill in them. They therefore ran out and attacked the dancers, who\nwould have defended themselves with the shears, had not Fable quietly\nremoved them. They therefore submitted to their hungry companions; who\nfor a long time had not tasted so rich a feast, and who sucked them to\nthe marrow. Fable looked out from the cleft in the rock, and saw\nPerseus with his great shield of iron. The shears flew to it, and Fable\nasked him to trim with them the wings of Eros, and then with his shield\nto immortalize the sisters, and finish the great work.\n\nShe now left the subterraneous kingdom, and flew rejoicing to\nArcturus's palace.\n\n\"The flax is spun. The lifeless are again unsouled. The living will\ngovern, the dead will shape and use. The Inmost is revealed, and the\nOutermost is hidden. The curtain will soon be lifted, and the play\ncommence. Once more I petition thee; then will I spin days of\neternity.\"\n\n\"Happy child,\" cried the monarch with emotion, \"thou art our\ndeliverer.\"\n\n\"I am only Sophia's god-daughter,\" said the little one. \"Permit\nTurmaline, the flower gardener, and Gold to accompany me. I must gather\nup the ashes of my foster-mother; the old Bearer must again arise, that\nthe earth may not lie in chaos, but renew her motion.\"\n\nThe king called all three, and commanded them to accompany the little\nFable. The city was light, and in the streets was the bustle of\nbusiness. The sea broke roaring upon the high cliff, and Fable went\nover in the king's chariot with her companions. Turmaline carefully\ngathered the dispersing ashes. They traversed the earth till they came\nto the old giant, upon whose shoulders they descended. He seemed lamed\nby the touch, and could not move a limb. Gold placed a coin in his\nmouth, and the flower-gardener pushed a dish under his loins. Fable\ntouched his eyes and poured out her vessel upon his forehead. Soon as\nthe water flowed from his eyes into his mouth, and over his body into\nthe dish, a flash of life made all his muscles quiver. He opened his\neyes and rose vigorously. Fable jumped up to her companion on the\nswelling ground, and kindly bade him good morning.\n\n\"Art thou again here, dear child?\" said the old man, \"thou of whom I\nhave so continually dreamed? I always thought that thou wouldst appear\nbefore the earth and my eyes became too heavy. I have indeed been\nsleeping long.\"\n\n\"The earth is again light, as it always was for the good,\" said Fable.\n\"Old times are returning. Shortly thou wilt again be among thine old\nacquaintances. I will spin out for thee joyous days, nor shalt thou\nwant an help-meet. Where are our old guests, the Hesperides?\"\n\n\"With Sophia. Their garden will soon bloom again, its golden fruits\nsend forth their odor. They are now busy gathering together the fading\nplants.\"\n\nFable departed, and hastened to the house. It was entirely in ruins.\nIvy was winding round the walls. Tall bushes shaded the ancient court,\nand the soft moss enwrapt the old steps. She entered the chamber.\nSophia stood by the altar which had been rebuilt. Eros was lying at her\nfeet in full armor, more grave and noble than ever. A splendid lustre\nhung from the ceiling. The floor was paved with variegated stones,\ndescribing a great circle around the altar, which was graced with noble\nand significant figures. Ginnistan bent weeping over a couch, on which\nthe father appeared lying in deep slumber. Her blooming grace was\ninfinitely enhanced by an expression of devotion and love. Fable handed\nto the holy Sophia, who tenderly embraced her, the urn in which the\nashes were gathered.\n\n\"Lovely child,\" said she, \"thy faithfulness and assiduity have earned\nfor thee a place among the stars. Thou hast elected the immortal within\nthee. Ph[oe]nix is thine. Thou wilt be the soul of our life. Now arouse\nthe bridegroom. The herald calls, and Eros shall seek and awaken\nFreya.\"\n\nFable rejoiced unspeakably at these words. She called her companions\nGold and Zinc, and approached the couch. Ginnistan awaited full of\nexpectation the issue of her enterprise. Gold melted coin, and filled\nwith a glittering flood the space in which the father was lying. Zinc\nwound a chain around Ginnistan's bosom. The body floated upon the\ntrembling waves. \"Bow thyself, dear mother,\" said Fable, \"and lay thy\nhand upon the heart of thy beloved.\"\n\nGinnistan bowed. She saw her image many times reflected. The chain\ntouched the flood, her hand his heart; he awoke and drew the enraptured\nbride to his bosom. The metal became a clear and liquid mirror. The\nfather arose; his eyes flashed lightning; and though his shape was\nspeakingly beautiful, yet his whole frame appeared a highly susceptible\nfluid, which betrayed every affection in manifold and enchanting\nundulations.\n\nThe happy pair approached Sophia, who pronounced the words of\nconsecration upon them, and charged them faithfully to consult the\nmirror, which reflected everything, in its real shape, destroyed every\ndelusion, and ever retained the primeval type of things. She now took\nthe urn, and shook the ashes into a bowl upon the altar. A soft\nbubbling announced the dissolution, and a gentle wind waved the\ngarments and locks of the bystanders. Sophia handed the bowl to Eros,\nwho proffered it to the others. All tasted the divine draught, and\nreceived with unspeakable joy the Mother's friendly greeting in their\nsoul of souls. She appeared to each one of them, and her mysterious\npresence seemed to transfigure all.\n\nTheir expectations were fulfilled and surpassed. All perceived what\nthey had wanted, and the chamber became an abode of the blessed.\n\nSophia said, \"the great secret is revealed to all, and remains forever\nunfathomable. Out of pain is the new world born, and the ashes are\ndissolved into tears for a draught of eternal life. The heavenly mother\ndwells in all, that every child may be born immortal. Do you not feel\nthe sweet birth in the beating of your heart?\"\n\nShe poured from the bowl the remainder upon the altar. The earth\ntrembled to its centre. Sophia said, \"Eros, hasten with thy sister to\nthy beloved. Soon shall ye see me again.\"\n\nFable and Eros quickly departed with their train. Then was scattered\nover, the earth a mighty spring. Everything arose and stirred with\nlife. The earth floated farther beneath the veil. The moon and the\nclouds were trailing with joyous tumult towards the North. The king's\ncastle beamed with a lordly splendor over the sea, and upon its\nbattlements stood the king in full majesty with all his suite. On every\nside they saw dust-whirls, in which familiar shapes seemed represented.\nNumerous bands of young men and maidens appeared hastening to the\ncastle, whom they welcomed with exaltation. Upon many a hill sat happy\ncouples but just awakened, in long-lost embraces; and they thought the\nnew world was a dream, nor could they cease assuring themselves of its\nreality.\n\nFlowers and trees sprang up in verdant vigor. All things seemed\ninspired. All spoke and sang. Fable saluted on all sides her old\nacquaintances. With friendly greeting animals approached awakened men.\nThe plants welcomed them with fruits and odor, and arrayed themselves\nmost tastefully. No weight lay longer on any human bosom, and all\nburdens became the solid ground on which men trod. They came to the\nsea. A ship of polished steel lay fastened to the shore. They stepped\naboard, and cast off the rope. The prow turned to the north, and the\nship cleaved the amorous waves as if on pinions, The sighing sedge\nceased its murmur, as it glides gently to the shore. They hastened up\nthe broad stairs. Love admired the royal city and its opulence. In the\ncourt the living fountain was sparkling; the grove swayed to and fro in\nsweetest tones, and a wondrous life seemed to gush and thrive in its\nswelling foliage, its twinkling fruits and blossoms. The old hero\nreceived them at the door of the palace.\n\n\"Venerable man,\" said Fable, \"Eros needs thy sword. Gold has given him\na chain, one end of which reaches down to the sea, the other encircles\nhis breast. Take it in thy hand, and lead us to the hall where the\nprincess rests.\" Eros took the sword from the hand of the old man,\npressed the handle to his breast, and pointed the blade before him. The\nfolding doors of the hall flew open, and enraptured Eros approached the\nslumbering Freya. Suddenly a mighty shock was felt. A bright spark sped\nfrom the princess to the sword, the sword and the chain were illumined;\nthe hero supported the little Fable who was almost sinking. The crest\nof Eros waved on high. \"Throw away thy sword,\" exclaimed Fable, \"and\nawake thy beloved.\"\n\nEros dropped the sword, flew to the princess and kissed her sweet lips\nvehemently. She opened her full, dark eyes, and recognised the loved\none. A long kiss sealed their eternal alliance.\n\nThe king descended from the dome, hand in hand with Sophia. The stars\nand the spirits of nature followed in glittering ranks. A day\nunspeakably serene filled the hall, the palace, the city, and the sky.\nAn innumerable multitude poured into the spacious, royal hall, and with\nsilent devotion saw the lovers kneel before the king and the queen, who\nsolemnly blessed them. The king took the diadem from his head, and\nbound it round the golden locks of Eros, The old hero relieved him of\nhis armor, and the king threw his mantle around him. Then he gave him\nthe lily from his left hand, and Sophia fastened a costly bracelet\naround the clasped hands of the lovers, and placed her crown upon the\nbrown locks of Freya.\n\n\"Hail to our ancient rulers!\" exclaimed the people. \"They have always\ndwelt among us, and we have not known them! All hail! They will ever\nrule over us. Bless us also!\"\n\nSophia said to the new queen, \"Throw the bracelet of your alliance into\nthe air, that the people and world may remain devoted to you.\" The\nbracelet dissolved in the air, and light halos were soon seen around\nevery head; and a shining band encircled city, sea, and earth, which\nwere celebrating an eternal Spring-festival. Perseus entered, bearing a\nspindle and a little basket. He carried the latter to the new king.\n\n\"Here,\" said he, \"are the remains of thine enemies.\"\n\nA stone slab chequered with white and black squares lay in the basket,\nwith a number of figures of alabaster and black marble.\n\n\"It is the game of chess,\" said Sophia; \"all war is confined to this\nslab and to these figures. It is a memento of the olden, mournful\ntimes.\"\n\nPerseus turned to Fable and gave her the spindle. \"In thy hands shall\nthis spindle make us eternally rejoice, and out of thyself shalt thou\nspin an indissoluble, golden thread.\"\n\nPhoenix flew with melodious rustling to her feet, and spread his wings\nbefore her; she placed herself upon them, and hovered over the throne,\nwithout again descending. She sang a heavenly song and began to spin,\nwhilst the thread seemed to wind forth from her breast. The people fell\ninto new raptures, and all eyes were fastened on the lovely child. New\nshouts of exultation came from the door.\n\nThe old Moon entered with her wonderful court, and behind her the\npeople bore in triumph Ginnistan and her bridegroom. Garlands of\nflowers were wound around them; The royal family received them with the\nmost hearty tenderness, and the new royal pair proclaimed them their\nviceregents upon earth.\n\n\"Grant me,\" said the Moon, \"the Kingdom of the Fates, whose wondrous\nmansions have arisen from the earth, even in the court of the palace. I\nwill delight you therein with spectacles, in which the little Fable\nwill assist me.\"\n\nThe king granted the prayer; the little Fable nodded pleasantly, and\nthe people rejoiced at the novel and entertaining pastime. The\nHesperides congratulated them upon the new accession, and prayed that\ntheir garden might be protected. The king gave them welcome; and so\nfollowed joyful events in rapid succession. In the mean while, the\nthrone had imperceptibly changed to a splendid marriage-bed, over which\nPh[oe]nix and the little Fable were hovering in the air. Three\nCaryatides of dark porphyry supported the head, while its foot rested\nupon a Sphinx of basalt. The king embraced his blushing bride. The\npeople followed his example, and kissed each other. Nothing was heard\nbut tender names and a noise of kisses.\n\nAt length Sophia said, \"The Mother is among us. Her presence will\nrender us eternally happy. Follow us into our dwelling. In the temple\nwill we dwell forever, and treasure up the secret of the world.\"\n\nFable spun diligently, and sang with a clear voice:\n\n      Established is Eternity's domain,\n      In Love and Gladness melts the strifeful pain;\n      The tedious dream of grief returneth never;\n      Priestess of hearts Sophia is forever.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                         HENRY OF OFTERDINGEN.\n\n\n                              PART SECOND.\n                            THE FULFILMENT.\n\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FULFILLMENT.\n\n\n\n\n                      THE CLOISTER, OR FORE-COURT.\n\n\n                               ASTRALIS.\n\n      Upon a summer morning was I young;\n      Then felt I for the first my own life-pulse,\n      And while in deeper raptures Love dissolved,\n      My sense of life unfolded; and my longing\n      For more entire and inward dissolution,\n      Was every moment more importunate.\n      My being's plastic power is delight;\n      I am the central point, the holy source,\n      Whence every longing stormfully outflows,\n      And where again, though broken and dispersed,\n      Each longing calmly mingles into one.\n      Ye know me not, ye saw me not becoming.--\n      Who witnessed me upon that happy eve,\n      When, a night-wanderer yet, I found at length\n      For the first time myself? Then flowed there not\n      A shudder of sweet rapture over you?\n      Entirely hid in honey-cups I lay;\n      I breathed a fragrance, calmly waved the flowers\n      In golden morning air. An inner gushing\n      Was I, a gentle striving, all things flowed\n      Through me and over me, and light I rose.\n      Then sank the first dust-seed within the shell,--\n      That glowing kiss when risen from the feast!\n      Backward I ebbed upon my inmost life--\n      It was a flash,--my powers already swell,\n      And move the tender petals and the bell,\n      And swiftly, from beneath my being's spring,\n      To earthly senses thoughts were blossoming.\n      Yet was I blind, but stars began to sweep\n      In light across my being's wondrous deep;\n      Myself I found as of a distant clime,\n      Echo of olden as of future time.\n      From sadness, love and hopefulness created,\n      The growth of memory was but a flight,\n      And mid the dashing billows of delight,\n      Then too the deepest sorrow penetrated.--\n      The world in bloom around the hillock clings,--\n      The Prophet's words were changed to double wings;\n      Matilde and Henry were alone united\n      Into one form, into one rapture plighted;\n      New-born I rose, to Heaven gladly leaping,\n      For then the earthly destinies were blent\n      In one bright moment of transfigurement;\n      And Time, no more his ancient title keeping,\n      Again demanded what it once had lent.\n\n      Forth breaks the new creation here,\n      Eclipsing the glow of the brightest sphere.\n      Behold through ruins ivy-streaming\n      A new and wondrous future gleaming,\n      And what was common hitherto,\n      Appeareth marvellous and new.\n      Love's realm beginneth to reveal,\n      And busy Fable plies her wheel.\n      To its olden play each nature returns,\n      And a mighty spell in each one burns;\n      And so the Soul of the world doth hover\n      And move through all, and bloom forever.\n      For each other all must strive,\n      One through the other must ripen and thrive;\n      Each is shadowed forth in all,\n      While itself with them is blending,\n      And eagerly into their deeps doth fall,\n      Its own peculiar essence mending,\n      And myriad thoughts to life doth call.\n\n      The dream is World, the world is Dream,\n      And what already past may seem,\n      Itself is yet in distance moulding;\n      But Fancy first her court is holding,\n      Freely the threads at her pleasure weaving,\n      Much veiling here, much there unfolding,\n      And then in magical vapor leaving.\n      Life and death, rapture and sadness,\n      Are here in inmost sympathy,--\n      Who yieldeth himself to love's deep madness,\n      From its wounds is never free.\n      In pain must every bond be riven\n      That winds around the inner eye,\n      The orphaned heart with woe have striven,\n      Ere it the sullen world can fly.\n      The body melteth in its weeping,\n      Its bitter sighs the bosom burn;\n      The world a grave becometh, keeping\n      The heart, like ashes in an urn.\n\nIn deep thought a pilgrim was walking along a narrow foot-path which\nran up the mountain side. Noon had passed. A strong wind whistled\nthrough the blue air. Its dull and ever-changing sounds lost themselves\nas they came. Had it perhaps flown through the regions of childhood, or\nthrough other whispering lands? They were voices whose echo sounded in\nhis heart; yet the pilgrim did not appear to recognise them. He had now\nreached the mountain where he hoped to find a limit to his journey.\nHoped? No longer did he cherish hope. Terrible anxiety, the sterile\ncoldness of indifferent despair, urged him to seek the wild horrors of\nthe mountains; the most toilsome path soothed the tumult of his soul.\nHe was weary and silent. He noticed not the gradual accumulation of\nnature around him, as he sat upon a stone and cast his eye backward. It\nseemed as if he were or had been dreaming. A splendor whose limit he\ncould not define opened before him. His cheeks were soon wet with\ntears, as his feelings suddenly broke loose; he would have wept himself\naway in the distance, that no trace of his existence might remain. Amid\nhis deep-drawn sighs he seemed to recover; the soft, serene air\npenetrated him. The world was again present to his senses, and thoughts\nof other times began to speak to him consolation.\n\nIn the distance lay Augsburg with its towers; far on the horizon\nglimmered the mirror of the fearful, mysterious stream. The mighty\nforest bowed with grave sympathy towards the wanderer; the notched\nmountain rested meaningly upon the plain, and both seemed to say,\n\"Hasten on, O stream, thou dost not escape us. I will follow thee with\nwinged ships. I will break thee, restrain thee, and swallow thee up in\nmy bosom! O pilgrim, confide in us! Even he is our enemy whom we\nourselves begat; let him make haste with his booty, he escapes us not.\"\n\nThe poor pilgrim thought of olden times and their unspeakable delights;\nbut how heavily did those dear recollections pass through his mind. The\nbroad hat concealed a youthful face; it was pale as a night-flower. The\nbalmy sap of youthful life had changed to tears, his swelling breath to\ndeep sighs; an ashy paleness had usurped all color.\n\nOn one side upon the declivity of the hill, he thought he saw a monk\nkneeling under an old oak tree. \"Might not that possibly be the old\nchaplain?\" he conjectured, without much surprise at the idea. The monk\nappeared larger and more unshapely the nearer he approached. He now\ndiscovered his mistake. It was an isolated rock, over which a tree was\nbending. With silent emotion he clasped the stone in his arms, and with\nloud sobbing pressed it to his breast. \"O that yet your speech was\npreserved, and that the Holy Mother would give me some token! Am I then\nentirely miserable and abandoned? Dwells there then in this desert no\nholy one who would lend me his prayer? Dear father, at this time pray\nthou for me!\"\n\nAs he so thought to himself, the tree began to wave; the rock emitted a\nhollow sounds and as from a great depth beneath the earth, clear, sweet\nvoices were heard singing:--\n\n      Her heart was full of gladness,\n      For gladness knew she best;\n      She nothing knew of sadness,\n      With darling at her breast.\n      She showered him with kisses,\n      She kissed his cheek so warm,--\n      Encircled was with blisses\n      Through darling's fairy form.\n\nThe soft voices seemed to sing with infinite pleasure. They repeated\nthe verse several times. All was quiet again, when the astonished\npilgrim heard some one speaking to him from the tree:--\n\n\"If thou wilt play a song in honor of me upon thy lute, a little maiden\nwill come for it; take her with thee and leave her not. Think of me\nwhen thou comest to the emperor. I have chosen this abode, that I may\nremain with my little child; let a strong, warm dwelling be built for\nme here. My little one has conquered death; trouble not thyself, I am\nwith thee. Yet a while thou wilt remain upon earth, but the little girl\nwill console thee, until thou also diest and enterest into our joy.\"\n\n\"It is Matilda's voice!\" exclaimed the pilgrim, and fell upon his knees\nin prayer. Then pierced through the branches a lengthened ray unto his\neyes, and through it in the distance he beheld a small but wonderful\nsplendor, not to be described, only to be depicted with a skilful\npencil. It was composed of extremely delicate figures; and the most\nintense pleasure and joy, even a heavenly happiness, everywhere rayed\nforth from it, so that even the inanimate vessels, the chiselled\ncapitals, the drapery, the ornaments, everything visible, seemed not so\nmuch like works of art, as to have grown and sprung up together like\nthe full-juiced herb. Most beautiful human forms were passing to and\nfro, and appeared kind and gracious to each other beyond measure.\nBefore all was standing the pilgrim's beloved one, and it seemed as if\nshe would have spoken to him; yet nothing could be heard, and the\npilgrim only regarded with ardent longing her pleasant features, as she\nbeckoned to him so kindly and smilingly, and laid her hand upon her\nheart. The sight was infinitely consoling and refreshing, and the\npilgrim remained a long while steeped in holy rapture, until the vision\ndisappeared. The sacred beam had drawn up all pain and trouble from his\nheart, so that his mind was again clear and cheerful, his spirit free\nand buoyant as before. Nought remained but a silent, inward longing,\nand a sound of sadness in the spirit's depths; but the wild torments of\nsolitude, the sharp anguish of unspeakable loss, the terrible sense of\na mournful void, had passed away with all earthly faintness, and the\npilgrim again looked forth upon a world teeming with expression. Voice\nand language renewed their life within him, all things seemed more\nknown and prophetic than before, so that death appeared to him a high\nrevelation of life, and he viewed his own fleeting existence with\nchild-like and serene emotion. The future and the past had met within\nhim, and formed an eternal union. He stood far from the present, and\nthe world was now for the first time dear to him, when he had lost it,\nand was there only as a stranger, who would yet wander but a while\nthrough its diversified and spacious halls. It was now evening, and the\nearth lay before him like an old beloved dwelling, which he had found\nagain after long absence. A thousand recollections recurred to him;\nevery stone, every tree, every hillock, made itself recognised. Each\nwas the memorial of a former history.\n\nThe pilgrim snatched his lute, and sang:--\n\n      Love's tears, love's glowing,\n      Together flowing,\n      Hallow every place for me,\n      Where Elysium quenched my longing,\n      And in countless prayers are thronging,\n      Like the bees around this tree.\n\n      Gladly is it o'er them bending,\n      Thither wending,\n      Them protecting from the storm;\n      Gratefully its leaves bedewing,\n      And its tender life renewing,\n      Wonders will the prayers perform.\n\n      E'en the rugged rock is sunken,\n      Joy-drunken,\n      At the Holy Mother's feet.\n      Are the stones devotion keeping,\n      Should not man for her be weeping\n      Tears and blood in homage meet?\n\n      The afflicted hither stealing\n      Should be kneeling;\n      Here will all obtain relief.\n      Sorrow will no more be preying,\n      Joyfully will all be saying:\n      Long ago we were in grief.\n\n      On the mountain, walls commanding\n      Will be standing;\n      In the vales will voices cry,\n      When the bitter times are waking:\n      Let the heart of none be aching,\n      Thither to those places fly!\n\n      Oh, thou Holy Virgin Mother!\n      With another\n      Heart the sorrowing wanders hence.\n      Thou, Matilda, art revealing\n      Love eternal to my feeling,\n      Thou, the goal of every sense.\n\n      Thou, without my questions daring,\n      Art declaring\n      When I shall attain to thee.\n      Gaily in a thousand measures\n      Will I praise creation's treasures,\n      Till thou dost encircle me.\n\n      Things unwonted, wonders olden!\n      To you beholden,\n      Ever in my heart remain.\n      Memory her spell is flinging,\n      Where light's holy fountain springing\n      Washed away the dream of pain.\n\nDuring this song he had noticed nothing, but as he looked up, there\nappeared a young girl standing upon the rock, who kindly greeted him\nlike an old acquaintance, and invited him to go to her dwelling, where\nshe had already prepared an evening meal for him. Her whole behavior\nand carriage towards him were friendly. She asked him to tarry a few\nmoments, while she stepped under the tree, and looking up with an\nindescribable smile, shook many roses from her apron upon the grass.\nShe knelt silently by his side, but soon arose and led the pilgrim on.\n\n\"Who has told thee about me?\" asked the pilgrim.\n\n\"Our mother.\"\n\n\"Who is thy mother?\"\n\n\"The Mother of God.\"\n\n\"How long hast thou been here?\"\n\n\"Since I came from the tomb.\"\n\n\"Hast thou already been dead?\"\n\n\"How could I else be living?\"\n\n\"Livest thou entirely alone here?\"\n\n\"An old man is at home, yet I know many more who have lived.\"\n\n\"Wouldst thou like to remain with me?\"\n\n\"Indeed I love thee.\"\n\n\"How long hast thou known me?\"\n\n\"O! from olden times; my former mother, too, told me about thee.\"\n\n\"Hast thou yet a mother?\"\n\n\"Yes; but really the same.\"\n\n\"What is her name?\"\n\n\"Maria.\"\n\n\"Who was thy father?\"\n\n\"The Count of Hohenzollern.\"\n\n\"Him I also know.\"\n\n\"Thou shouldst know him well, for he is also thy father.\"\n\n\"My father is in Eisenach.\"\n\n\"Thou hast more parents.\"\n\n\"Whither are we going?\"\n\n\"Ever homewards.\"\n\nThey had now reached a roomy spot in the wood, where some decayed\ntowers were standing beyond deep ravines. Early shrubbery wound about\nthe old walls, like a youthful garland around the silvery head of an\nold man. While contemplating the gray stones, the tortuous clefts, and\nthe tall, ghastly, shapes of rock, one looked into immensity of time,\nand saw the most distant events, collected in short but brilliant\nminutes. So appears to us the infinite space of heaven, clad in dark\nblue; and like a milky glimmer, stainless as an infant's cheeks,\nappears the most distant array of its ponderous and mighty worlds. They\nwalked through an old doorway, and the pilgrim was not a little\nastonished when he found himself entirely surrounded by strange plants,\nand saw all the charms of the most beautiful garden hidden beneath the\nruins. A small stone house built in recent style, with large windows,\nlay in the rear. There stood an old man behind the broad-leafed\nshrubbery, employed in tying the drooping branches to some little\nprops. His female guide led the pilgrim to him, and said, \"Here is\nHenry, after whom you have inquired so often.\"\n\nAs the old man turned around, Henry fancied that he saw the miner\nbefore him.\n\n\"This is the physician Sylvester,\" said the little girl.\n\nSylvester was glad to see him, and said, \"it is a long time since I saw\nyour father. We were both young then. I was quite solicitous to teach\nhim the treasures of the Fore-time, the rich legacies bequeathed to us\nby a world too early separated from us. I noticed in him the tokens of\na great artist; his eye flashed with the desire to become a correct\neye, a creative instrument; his face indicated inward constancy and\npersevering industry. But the present world had already taken hold of\nhim too deeply; he would not listen to the call of his own nature. The\nstern hardihood of his native sky had blighted in him the tender buds\nof the noblest plants; he became an able mechanic, and inspiration\nseemed to him but foolishness.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Henry, \"I often observed a silent sadness within him. He\nalways labored from mere habit, and not for any pleasure. He seems to\nfeel a want, which the peaceful quiet and comfort of his life, the\npleasure of being honored and beloved by his townsmen, and consulted in\nall important affairs of the city, cannot satisfy. His friends consider\nhim very happy; but they know not how weary he is of life, how empty\nthe world appears to him, how he longs to depart from it; and that he\nworks so industriously not so much for the sake of gain, as to\ndissipate such moods.\"\n\n\"What I am most surprised at,\" replied Sylvester, \"is that he has\ncommitted your education entirely into the hands of your mother, and\nhas carefully abstained from taking any part in your development, nor\nhas ever held you to any fixed occupation. You can happily say that you\nhave been permitted to grow up free from all parental restraints; for\nmost men are but the relics of a feast which men of different appetites\nand tastes have plundered.\"\n\n\"I myself know not,\" replied Henry, \"what education is, except that\nderived from the life and disposition of my parents, or the instruction\nof my teacher, the chaplain. My father with all his cool and sturdy\nhabits of thought, which leads him to regard all relations like a piece\nof metal or a work of art, yet involuntarily and unconsciously exhibits\na silent reverence and godly fear before all incomprehensible and lofty\nphenomena, and therefore looks upon the blooming growth of the child\nwith humble self-denial. A spirit is busy here, playing fresh from the\ninfinite fountain; and this feeling of the superiority of a child in\nthe loftiest matters, the irresistible thought of an intimate guidance\nof the innocent being who is just entering on a course so critical, the\nimpress of a wondrous world, which no earthly currents have yet\nobliterated, and then too the sympathizing memory of that golden age\nwhen the world seemed to us clearer, kindlier, and more unwonted, and\nthe almost visible spirit of prophecy attended us,--all this has\ncertainly won my father to a system the most devout and discreet.\"\n\n\"Let us seat ourselves upon the grass among the flowers,\" said the old\nman interrupting him. \"Cyane will call us when our evening meal is\nready. I pray you continue your account of your early life. We old\npeople love much to hear of childhood's years, and it seems as if I\nwere drinking the odor of a flower, which I had not inhaled since my\ninfancy. Tell me first, however, how my solitude and garden please you,\nfor these flowers are my friends; my heart is in this garden. You see\nnothing that loves me not, that is not tenderly beloved. I am here in\nthe midst of my children, like an old tree from whose roots, has\nsprouted this merry youth.\"\n\n\"Happy father,\" said Henry, \"your garden is the world. The ruins are\nthe mothers of these blooming children; this manifold animate creation\ndraws its support from the fragments of past time. But must the mother\ndie, that the children may thrive? Does the father remain sitting alone\nat their tomb, in tears forever?\"\n\nSylvester gave his hand to the sighing youth, and then arose to pluck a\nfresh forget-me-not, which he tied to a cypress branch and brought to\nhim. The evening wind waved strangely in the tops of the pines which\nstood beyond the ruins, and sent over their hollow murmur. Henry hid\nhis face bedewed with tears upon the neck of the good Sylvester, and\nwhen he looked again, the evening star arose in full glory above the\nforest.\n\nAfter some silence, Sylvester began; \"You would probably like to be at\nEisenach among your friends. Your parents, the excellent countess, your\nfather's upright neighbors, and the old chaplain make a fair social\ncircle. Their conversation must have produced an early influence upon\nyou, particularly as you were the only child. I also imagine the\ncountry to be very striking and agreeable.\"\n\n\"I learn for the first time,\" said Henry, \"to esteem my native country\nproperly, since my absence, and the sight of many other lands. Every\nplant, every tree, every hill and mountain has its own horizon, its\npeculiar landscape, which belongs to it, and explains its whole\nstructure and nature. Only men and animals can visit all countries; all\ncountries are theirs. Thus together they form one great region, one\ninfinite horizon, whose influence upon men and animals is just as\nvisible, as that of a more narrow circuit upon the plant. Hence men who\nhave travelled, birds of passage, and beasts of prey, are distinguished\namong other faculties, for a remarkable intelligence. Yet they\ncertainly possess more or less susceptibility to the influence of these\ncircles, and of their varied contents and arrangement. The attention\nand composure necessary to contemplate properly the alternation and\nconnexion of things, and then to reflect upon and compare them, are in\nfact wanting to most men. I myself often feel how my native land has\nbreathed upon my earliest thoughts imperishable colors, and how its\nimage has become a peculiar feature of my mind, which I am ever better\nexplaining to myself, the deeper I perceive that fate and mind are but\nnames of one idea.\"\n\n\"Upon me,\" said Sylvester, \"living nature, the emotive outer-garment of\na landscape, has always produced a most powerful effect. Especially I\nam never tired of examining most carefully the different natures of\nplants. All productions of the earth are its primitive language; every\nnew leaf, every particular flower, is everywhere a mystery, which\npresses outward; and since it cannot move itself at love and joy, nor\ncome to words, becomes a mute, quiet plant. When we find such a flower\nin solitude, is it not as if everything about it were glorified, and as\nif the little feathered songsters loved most to linger near it? One\ncould weep for joy, and separated from the world, plant hand and foot\nin the earth, to give it root, and never abandon the happy\nneighborhood. Over all the sterile world is spread this green,\nmysterious carpet of love. Every Spring it is renewed, and its peculiar\nwriting is legible only to the loved one, like the nosegay of the\nEast; he will read forever, yet never enough, and will perceive daily\nnew meanings, new delightful revelations of loving nature. This\ninfinite enjoyment is the secret charm, which the survey of the earth's\nsurface has for me, while each region solves other riddles, and has\nalways led me to divine whence I came and whither I go.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Henry, \"we began to speak of childhood's years, and of\neducation, because we are in your garden; and the revelation of\nchildhood, the innocent world of flowers, imperceptibly brought to our\nthoughts and lips the recollection of old acquaintanceship. My father\nis also very fond of gardening, and spends the happiest hours of his\nlife among the flowers. This has certainly kept his heart open towards\nchildren, since flowers are their counterpart. The teeming opulence of\ninfinite life, the mighty powers of later times, the splendor of the\nend of the world, and the golden future which awaits all things, we\nhere see closely entwined, but still to be most plainly and clearly in\ntender youthfulness. All-powerful love is already working, but does not\nyet enflame; it is no devouring fire, but a melting vapor; and however\nintimate the union of the tenderest souls may be, yet it is accompanied\nby no intense excitement, no consuming madness, as in brutes. Thus is\nchildhood below here nearest to the earth; as on the other hand clouds\nare perhaps the types of the second, higher childhood, of the paradise\nregained; and hence they so beneficently shed their dew upon the\nfirst.\"\n\n\"There is indeed something very mysterious in the clouds,\" said\nSylvester, \"and certain overcloudings often have a wonderful influence\nupon us. Trailing over our heads, they would take us up and away in\ntheir cold shades; and when their form is lovely and varied, like an\noutbreathed wish of our soul, then the clearness and the splendid\nlight, which reigns upon earth, is like a presage of unknown, ineffable\nglory. But there are also dark, solemn, and fearful overcloudings, in\nwhich all the terrors of old night appear to threaten. The sky seems as\nif it never would be clear again; the serene blue is hidden; and a wan\ncopper hue upon the dark gray ground awakens fear and anxiety in every\nbosom. Then when the blasting beams shoot downwards, and with fiendish\nlaughter the crashing thunder-peals fall after them, we are struck to\nour souls; and unless there arises the lofty consciousness of our moral\nsuperiority, we fancy that we are delivered over to the terrors of hell\nand all the powers of darkness. They are echoes of the old, unhuman\nnature, but awakening voices too of the higher nature of divine\nconscience within us. The mortal totters to its base; the immortal\ngrows more serene and recognises itself.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Henry, \"when will there be no more terror or pain, want or\nevil in the universe?\"\n\n\"When there is but one power, the power of conscience; when nature\nbecomes chaste and pure. There is but one cause of evil,--common\nfrailty,--and this frailty is nothing but a weak moral susceptibility,\nand a deficiency in the attraction of freedom.\"\n\n\"Explain to me the nature of Conscience.\"\n\n\"I were God, could I do so; for when we comprehend it, Conscience\nexists. Can you explain to me the essence of poetry?\"\n\n\"A personality cannot be distinctly defined.\"\n\n\"How much less then the secret of the highest indivisibility. Can music\nbe explained to the deaf?\"\n\n\"If so, would the sense itself be part of the new world opened by it?\nDoes one understand facts only when one has them?\"\n\n\"The universe is separated into an infinite system of worlds, ever\nencompassed by greater worlds. All senses are in the end but one. One\nsense conducts, like one world, gradually to all worlds. But everything\nhas its time and its mode. Only the Person of the universe can detect\nthe relations sustained by our world. It is difficult to say, whether\nwe, within the sensuous limits of corporeity, could really augment our\nworld with new worlds, our sense with new senses, or whether every\nincrease of our knowledge, every newly acquired ability, is only to be\nconsidered as the development of our present organization.\"\n\n\"Perhaps both are one,\" said Henry. \"For my own part, I only know that\nFable is the collective instrument of my present world. Even\nConscience, that sense and world-creating power, that germ of all\nPersonality, appears to me like the spirit of the world-poem, like the\nevent of the eternal, romantic confluence of the infinitely mutable\ncommon life.\"\n\n\"Dear pilgrim,\" Sylvester replied, \"the Conscience appears in every\nserious perfection, in every fashioned truth. Every inclination and\nability transformed by reflection into a universal type becomes a\nphenomenon, a phase of Conscience. All formation tends to that which\ncan only be called Freedom; though by that is not meant an idea, but\nthe creative ground of all being. This freedom is that of a guild. The\nmaster exercises free power according to design, and in defined and\nwell digested method. The objects of his art are his, and he can do\nwith them as he pleases, nor is he fettered or circumscribed by them.\nTo speak accurately, this all-embracing freedom, this mastership of\ndominion, is the essence, the impulse of Conscience. In it is revealed\nthe sacred peculiarity, the immediate creation of Personality, and\nevery action of the master, is at once the announcement of the lofty,\nsimple, evident world--God's word.\"\n\n\"Then is that, which I remember was once called morality, only religion\nas Science, the so called theology in its proper sense? Is it but a\ncode of laws related to worship as nature is to God, a construction of\nwords, a train of thoughts, which indicates, represents the upper\nworld, and extends it to a certain point of progress--the religion for\nthe faculty of insight and judgment--the sentence, the law of the\nsolution and determination of all the possible relations which a\npersonal being sustains?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Sylvester, \"Conscience is the innate mediator of\nevery man. It takes the place of God upon earth, and is therefore to\nmany the highest and the final. But how far was the former science,\ncalled virtue or morality, from the pure shape of this lofty,\ncomprehensive, personal thought! Conscience is the peculiar essence of\nman fully glorified, the divine archetypal man (Urmensch.) It is not\nthis thing and that thing; it does not command in a common tongue, it\ndoes not consist of distinct virtues. There is but one virtue,--the\npure, solemn Will, which, at the moment of decision chooses, resolves\ninstantaneously. In living and peculiar oneness it dwells and inspires\nthat tender emblem, the human body, and can excite all the spiritual\nmembers to the truest activity.\"\n\n\"O excellent father!\" exclaimed Henry, \"with what joy fills me the\nlight which flows from your words! Thus the true spirit of Fable is the\nspirit of virtue in friendly disguise; and the proper spirit of the\nsubordinate art of poetry is the emotion of the loftiest, most personal\nexistence. There is a surprising selfness (Selbstheit) between a\ngenuine song and a noble action. The disfranchised conscience in a\nsmooth, unresisting world, becomes an enchaining conversation, an\nall-narrating fable. In the fields and halls of this old world lives\nthe poet, and virtue is the spirit of his earthly acts and influences;\nand as this is the indwelling divinity among men, the marvellous reflex\nof the higher world, so also is Fable. How safely can the poet now\nfollow the guidance of his inspiration, or if he possesses a lofty,\ntranscendent sense, follow higher essences, and submit to his calling\nwith child-like humility. The higher voice of the universe also speaks\nwithin him, and cries with enchanting words to kindlier and more\nfamiliar worlds. As religion is related to virtue, so is inspiration to\nmythology; and as the history of revelation is treasured in sacred\nwritings, so the life of a higher world expresses itself in mythology\nin manifold ways, in poems of wonderful origin. Fable and history\nsustain to each other the most intimate relations, through paths the\nmost intricate, and disguises the most extraordinary; and the Bible and\nmythology are constellations of one orbit.\"\n\n\"What you say is perfectly true,\" said Sylvester; \"and now you can\nprobably comprehend that all nature subsists by the spirit of virtue\nalone, and must ever become more permanent. It is the all-inflaming,\nthe all-quickening light in the embrace of earth. From the firmament,\nthat lofty dome of the starry realm, down to the ruffling carpet of the\nvaried meadow, all things will be sustained by it, united to us and\nmade comprehensible; and by it the unknown course of infinite nature's\nhistory will be conducted to its consummation.\"\n\n\"Yes; and you have often as beautifully shown, before now, the\nconnexion between virtue and religion. Everything, which experience and\nearthly activity embrace, forms the province of Conscience, which\nunites this world with higher worlds. With a loftier sense religion\nappears, and what formerly seemed an incomprehensible necessity of our\ninmost nature, a universal law without any definite intent, now becomes\na wonderful, domestic, infinitely varied, and satisfying world, an\ninconceivably interior communion of all the spiritual with God, and a\nperceptible, hallowing presence of the only One, or of his Will, of his\nLove in our deepest self.\"\n\n\"The innocence of your heart,\" Sylvester replied, \"makes you a prophet.\nAll things will be revealed to you, and for you the world and its\nhistory will be transformed into holy writ, just as the sacred writings\nevince how the universe can be revealed in simple words, or narratives,\nif not directly, yet mediately by hinting at and exciting higher\nsenses. My connexion with nature has led me to the point where the joy\nand inspiration of language have brought you. Art and history have made\nme acquainted with nature. My parents dwelt in Sicily, not far from the\nfamous Mount Ætna. Their dwelling was a comfortable house in the\nancient style, hidden by old chestnut trees near the rocky shore of the\nsea, and affording the attraction of a garden stocked with various\nplants. Near were many huts, in which dwelt fishermen, herdsmen, and\nvine-dressers. Our chambers and cellar were amply provided with\neverything that supports and gives enjoyment to life, and by well\nbestowed labor, our arrangements were agreeable to the most refined\nsenses. Moreover there was no lack of those manifold objects, whose\ncontemplation and use elevate the mind above ordinary life and its\nnecessities, preparing it for a more suitable condition, and seem to\npromise and procure for it the pure enjoyment of its full and proper\nnature. You might have seen there marble statues, storied vases, small\nstones with most distinct figures, and other articles of furniture, the\nrelics perhaps of other and happier times. Also many scrolls of\nparchment lay in folds upon each other, in which were treasured, in\ntheir long succession of letters, the knowledge, sentiments, histories,\nand poems of that past time, in most agreeable and polished\nexpressions. The calling of my father, who had by degrees become an\nable astrologer, attracted to him many inquiring visiters, even from\ndistant lands; and as the knowledge of the future seemed to men a rare\nand precious gift, they were led to remunerate him richly for his\ncommunication; so that he was enabled, by the gifts he received, to\ndefray the expenses of a comfortable and even luxurious style of life.\"\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nThe author advanced no farther in the composition of this second part,\nwhich he called \"The Fulfilment,\" as he had called the first \"The\nExpectation,\" because all that was left to anticipation in the latter\nwas explained and fulfilled in the former. It was the design of the\nauthor to write, after the completion of Ofterdingen, six romances for\nthe statement of his views of physical science, civil life, commerce,\nhistory, political science, and of love; as his views of poetry had\nbeen given in Ofterdingen. I need not remind the intelligent reader,\nthat the author in this poem has not adhered very closely to the time\nor the person of that well known Minnesinger, though every part brings\nhim and his time to remembrance. It is an irreparable loss, not only to\nthe friends of the author, but to the art itself, that he could not\nhave finished this romance, the originality and great design of which\nwould have been better developed in the second than in the first part.\nFor it was by no means his object to represent this or that occurrence,\nto embrace one side of poetry, and explain it by figures and narrative;\nbut it was his intention, as is plain from the last chapter of the\nfirst part, to express the real essence of poetry and explain its\ninmost aim.\n\nTo this end nature, history, war, and civil life, with their usual\nevents, are all transformed to poetry, as that is the spirit which\nanimates all things.\n\nI shall endeavor as far as possible, from my memory of conversations\nwith my friend, and from what I can discover in the papers he has left,\nto give the reader some idea of the plan and subject-matter of the\nsecond part of this work.\n\nTo the poet, who has apprehended the essence of his art at its central\npoint, nothing appears contradictory or strange; to him all riddles are\nsolved. By the magic of fancy he can unite all ages and all worlds;\nwonders vanish, and all things change to wonders. So is this book\nwritten; and the reader will find the boldest combinations,\nparticularly in the tale which closes the first part. Here are renewed\nall those differences by which ages seem separated, and hostile worlds\nmeet each other. The poet wished particularly to make this tale the\ntransition-point to the second part, in which the narrative soars from\nthe common to the marvellous, and both are mutually explained and\nrestored; the spirit of the prologue in verse should return at each\nchapter, and this state of mind, this wonderful view of things should\nbe permanent. By this means the invisible world remains in eternal\nconnexion with the visible. This speaking spirit is poetry itself; but\nat the same time the sidereal man who is born from the love of Henry\nand Matilda. In the following lines, which should have their place in\nOfterdingen, the author has expressed in the simplest manner the\ninterior spirit of his works:\n\n      When marks and figures cease to be\n      For every creature's thoughts the key,\n      When they will even kiss or sing\n      Beyond the sage's reckoning,\n      When life, to Freedom will attain,\n      And Freedom in creation reign,\n      When Light and Shade, no longer single,\n      In genuine splendor intermingle,\n      And one in tales and poems sees\n      The world's eternal histories,--\n      Then will our whole inverted being\n      Before a secret word be fleeing.\n\nThe gardener, who converses with Henry, is the same old man who had\nformerly entertained Ofterdingen's father. The young girl, whose name\nis Cyane, is not his child, but the daughter of the Count of\nHohenzollern. She came from the East; and though it was at an early\nage, yet she can recollect her home. She has long lived a strange life\nin the mountains, among which she was brought up by her deceased\nmother. She has lost in early life a brother, and has narrowly escaped\ndeath in a vaulted tomb; but an old physician rescued her in some\npeculiar way. She is gentle, and kind, and very familiar with the\nsupernatural. She tells the poet her history as she had heard it once\nfrom her mother. She sends him to a distant cloister, whose monks seem\nto be a kind of spirit-colony; everything is like a mystic, magic\nlodge. They are the priests of the holy fire in youthful minds. He\nhears the distant chant of the brothers; in the church itself, he has a\nvision. With an old monk Henry converses about death and magic, has\npresentiment of death--and of the philosopher's stone; visits the\ncloister-garden and the churchyard, concerning which latter I find the\nfollowing poem:--\n\n      Praise ye now our still carousals,\n      Gardens, chambers decked so gaily,\n      Household goods as for espousals,\n      Our possessions praise.\n      New guests are coming daily,\n      Some late, the others early;\n      On the spacious hearth forever\n      Glimmereth a new life-blaze.\n\n      Thousand vessels wrought with cunning,\n      Once bedewed with thousand tears,\n      Golden rings and spurs and sabres,\n      Are our treasury;\n      Many gems of costly mounting\n      Wist we of in dark recesses,\n      None can all our wealth be counting,\n      Counts he even ceaselessly.\n\n      Children of a time evanished,\n      Heroes from the hoary ages,\n      Starry spirits high excelling,\n      Wondrously combine,\n      Graceful women, solemn sages,\n      Life in all its motley stages,\n      In one circle here are dwelling,\n      In the olden world recline.\n\n      None is evermore molested;\n      None who joyously hath feasted,\n      At our sumptuous table seated,\n      Wisheth to be gone.\n      Hushed is sorrow's loud complaining,\n      Wonders are no longer greeted,\n      Bitter tears no longer raining,\n      Hour-glass ever floweth on.\n\n      Holy kindness deeply swelling,\n      In blest contemplation buried,\n      Heaven in the soul is dwelling\n      With a cloudless breast;\n      In our raiment long and flowing\n      Through spring-meadows are we carried,\n      Where rude winds are never blowing,\n      In this land of perfect rest.\n\n      Pleasing lure of midnight hours\n      Quiet sphere of hidden powers,\n      Rapture of mysterious pleasure,\n      These alone our prize;\n      Ours alone that highest measure,\n      Where ourselves in streamlets pouring,\n      Then in dew-drops upward soaring,\n      Drink we as we flow or rise.\n\n      First with us grew life from love;\n      Closely like the elements\n      Do we mangle Being's waves,\n      Foaming heart with heart.\n      Hotly separate the waves,\n      For the strife of elements\n      Is the highest life of love,\n      And the very heart of hearts.\n\n      Whispered talk of gentle wishes\n      Hear we only, we are gazing\n      Ever into eyes transfigured,\n      Tasting nought but mouth and kiss;\n      All that we are only touching,\n      Change to balmy fruits and glowing,\n      Change to bosoms soft and tender,\n      Offerings to daring bliss.\n\n      The desire is ever springing,\n      On the loved one to be clinging,\n      Round him all our spirit flinging,\n      One with him to be,--\n      Ardent impulse ever heeding\n      To consume in turn each other,\n      Only nourished, only feeding\n      On each other's ecstasy.\n\n      So in love and lofty rapture\n      Are we evermore abiding,\n      Since that lurid life subsiding,\n      In the day grew pale;\n      Since the pyre its sparkles scattered,\n      And the sod above us sinking,\n      From around the spirit shrinking\n      Melted then the earthly veil.\n\n      Spells around remembrance woven,\n      Holy sorrow's trembling gladness,\n      Tone-like have our spirits cloven,\n      Cooled their glowing blood.\n      Wounds there are, forever paining;\n      A profound, celestial sadness,\n      Within all our hearts remaining,\n      Us dissolveth in one flood.\n\n      And in flood we forth are gushing,\n      In a secret manner flowing\n      To the ocean of all living,\n      In the One profound;\n      And from out His heart while rushing,\n      To our circle backward going,\n      Spirit of the loftiest striving\n      Dips within our eddying round.\n\n      All your golden chains be shaking\n      Bright with emeralds and rubies,\n      Flash and clang together making,\n      Shake with joyous note.\n      From the damp recesses waking,\n      From the sepulchres and ruins,\n      On your cheeks the flush of heaven,\n      To the realm of Fable float.\n\n      O could men, who soon will follow\n      To the spirit-land, be dreaming\n      That we dwell in all their joyance,\n      All the bliss they taste,\n      They would burn with glad upbuoyance\n      To desert the life so hollow,--\n      O, the hours away are streaming,\n      Come, beloved, hither haste.\n\n      Aid to fetter the Earth-spirit,\n      Learn to know the sense of dying,\n      And the word of life discover;\n      Hither turn at last.\n      Soon will all thy power be over,\n      Borrowed light away be flying,\n      Soon art fettered, O Earth-spirit,\n      And thy time of empire past.\n\nThis poem was perhaps a prologue to a second chapter. Now an entirely\nnew period of the work would have opened; the highest life proceeding\nfrom the stillest death; he has lived among the dead and conversed with\nthem. Now the book would have become nearly dramatic, the epic tone, as\nit were, uniting together and simply explaining the single scenes.\nHenry suddenly finds himself in Italy, distracted, rent with wars; he\nsees himself the leader of an army. All the elements of war play in\npoetic colors. With an irregular band, he attacks a hostile city; here\nappears in episode the love of a noble of Pisa for a Florentine maiden.\nWar-songs--\"a great war, like a duel, noble, philosophical, human\nthroughout. Spirit of the old chivalry; the tournament. Spirit of\nbacchanalian sadness.[4] Men must fall by each other,--nobler than to\nfall by fate. They seek death.--Honor, fame, is the warrior's joy and\nlife. The warrior lives in death and like a shade. Desire for death is\nthe warrior-spirit. Upon the earth is war at home; it must be upon\nearth.\"--In Pisa Henry finds the Son of Frederick the Second, who\nbecomes his confidential friend. He also travels to Loretto. Several\nsongs were to follow here.\n\nThe poet is cast away on the shores of Greece by a tempest. The old\nworld with its heroes and treasures of art fills his mind. He converses\nwith a Grecian about morality. Everything from ancient times is present\nto him; he learns to understand the old pictures and histories.\nConversation upon Grecian polity and mythology.\n\nAfter becoming acquainted with the heroic age and with antiquity, he\nvisits the Holy Land, for which he had felt so great a longing from his\nyouth. He seeks Jerusalem, and acquaints himself with Oriental poetry.\nStrange events among the infidels detain him in desert regions; he\ndiscovers the family of the eastern girl (see Part I.): the manners and\nlife of nomadic tribes.--Persian tales, recollections of the remotest\nantiquity. The book during all these various events was to retain its\ncharacteristic hue, and recall to mind the blue flower: throughout, the\nmost distant and distinct traditions were to be knit together, Grecian,\nOriental, Biblical, Christian, with reminiscences of and references to\nboth the Indian and Northern mythology.--The Crusades.--Life at sea.--\nHenry visits Rome. Roman history.\n\nSated with his experiences, Henry at length returns to Germany. He\nfinds his grandfather, a profound character; Klingsohr is in his\nsociety. An evening's conversation with them.\n\nHenry joins the court of Frederick, and becomes personally acquainted\nwith the emperor. The court would have made a worthy appearance,\nportraying the best, greatest, and most remarkable men, collected from\nthe whole world, whose centre is the emperor himself. Here appears the\ngreatest splendor, and the truly great world. German character and\nGerman history are explained. Henry converses with the emperor\nconcerning government and the empire; obscure hints of America and the\nIndies. The sentiments of a prince,--the mystic emperor,--the book, \"De\ntribus impostoribus.\"\n\nHenry having now, in a new and higher method than in the Expectation,\nlived through and observed nature, life, and death, war, the East,\nhistory, and poetry, turns back into his mind as to an old home. From\nhis knowledge of the world and of himself arises the impulse for\nexpression; the wondrous world of fable now draws the nearest, because\nthe heart is fully open to its comprehension.\n\nIn the Manesian collection of Minnesingers, we find a rather obscure\nrival song of Henry of Ofterdingen and Klingsohr with other poets;\ninstead of this, jousting, the author would have represented another\npeculiar poetic contest, the war of the good and evil principles in\nsongs of religion and irreligion, the invisible world contrasted with\nthe visible. \"Out of Enthusiasm the poets in bacchanalian intoxication\ncontend for death.\" The sciences are poetized; mathematics also enters\nthe lists. The plants of India are commemorated in song; new\nglorification of Indian mythology.\n\nThis is Henry's last act upon the earth; the transition to his own\nglorification. This is the solution of the whole work, the _Fulfilment_\nof the allegory which concludes the First Part. Everything is explained\nand completed, supernaturally and yet most naturally. The partition\nbetween Fiction and Truth, between the Past and the Present has fallen\ndown. Faith, Fancy, and Poetry lay open the internal world.\n\nHenry reaches Sophia's land, in Nature, such as might be allegorically\npainted; after having conversed with Klingsohr concerning certain\nsingular signs and omens. These are mostly awakened by an old song\nwhich he hears by chance, and in which is described a deep water in a\nsecluded spot. The song excites within him long forgotten\nrecollections; he visits the water, and finds a small golden key, which\na raven had stolen from him some time before, and which he had never,\nexpected to find. An old man had given it to him soon after Matilda's\ndeath, with the injunction that he should carry it to the emperor, who\nwould tell him what to do with it. Henry seeks the emperor, who is\nhighly rejoiced and gives him an ancient manuscript, in which it is\nwritten that the emperor should give it to that man who ever brought\nhim a golden key; that this man would discover in a secret place an old\ntalisman, a carbuncle for his crown, in which a space was yet left for\nit. The place itself is also described in the parchment. After reading\nthe description, Henry takes the road to a mountain, and meets on the\nway the stranger who first told him and his parents concerning the blue\nflower; he converses with him about Revelation. He enters the mountain\nand Cyane trustingly follows him.\n\nHe soon reaches that wonderful land in which air and water, flowers and\nanimals, differ entirely from those of earthly nature. The poem at the\nsame time changes in many places to a play. \"Men, beasts, plants,\nstones and stars, the elements, sounds, colors, meet like one family,\nact and converse like one race. Flowers and brutes converge concerning\nmen. The world of fable is again visible; the real world is itself\nregarded as a fable.\" He finds the blue flower; it is Matilda, who\nsleeps and has the carbuncle. A little girl, their child, sits by a\ncoffin, and renews his youth. \"This child is the primeval world, the\nclose of the golden time.\" \"Here the Christian religion is reconciled\nwith the Heathen. The history of Orpheus, of Psyche, and others are\nsung.\"\n\nHenry plucks the blue flower, and delivers Matilda from her\nenchantment, but she is lost to him again; he becomes senseless through\npain, and changes to a stone. \"Edda (the blue flower, the Eastern\nMaiden, Matilda) sacrifices herself upon the stone; he is transformed\nto a melodious tree. Cyane hews down the tree and burns herself with\nhim. He becomes a golden ram. Edda, Matilda, is obliged to sacrifice\nit. He becomes a man again. During these metamorphoses he has the very\nstrangest conversations.\"\n\nHe is happy with Matilda, who is both the Eastern Maiden and Cyane. A\njoyous spirit-festival is celebrated. All that has past was Death, the\nlast dream and awakening. \"Klingsohr comes again as king of Atlantis.\nHenry's mother is Fancy, his father, Sense. Swaning is the Moon; the\nminer is the antiquary and at the same time Iron. The emperor Frederick\nis Arcturus. The Count of Hohenzollern and the merchants also return.\"\nEverything flows into an allegory. Cyane brings the stone to the\nemperor; but Henry is now himself the poet of the fabulous tale which\nthe merchants had formerly related to him.\n\nThe blissful land suffers yet again by enchantment, while subjected to\nthe changes of the Seasons. Henry destroys the realm of the Sun. The\nwhole work was to close with a long poem, only the beginning of which\nwas composed.\n\n\n\n\n                      THE NUPTIALS OF THE SEASONS.\n\n\n  Deep buried in thought stood the new monarch. He was recalling\n        Dreams of the midnight, and every wonderful tale,\n  Which gathered he first from the heavenly flower, when stricken\n    Gently by prophecy, love all-subduing he felt.\n  He thought still he heard the accents deeply impressive,\n    Just as the guest was deserting the circle of joy;\n  Fleeting gleams of the moon illumined the clattering window,\n    And in the breast of the youth there raged a passionate glow.\n  Edda, whispered the monarch, what is the innermost longing\n    In the bosom that loves? What his ineffable grief?\n  Say it, for him would we comfort, the power is ours, and noble\n    Be the time when thou art the joy of heaven again.--\n  \"Were the times not so cold and morose, if were united\n    Future with Present, and both with the holy Past time;\n  Were the Spring linked to Autumn, and the Summer to Winter,\n    Were into serious grace childhood with silver age fused;\n  Then, O spouse of my heart, would dry up the fountain of sorrow,\n    Every deep cherished wish would be secured to the soul.\"\n  Thus spake the queen, and gladsomely clasped her the radiant beloved:\n    Thou hast uttered in sooth to me a heavenly word,\n  Which long ago over the lips of the deep-feeling hovered,\n    But on thine alone first pure and in season did light.\n  Quickly drive here the chariot, ourselves we will summon\n    First the times of the year, then all the seasons of man.--\n\n\nThey ride to the sun, and first bring the Day, then the Night; then to\nthe North, for Winter, then to the South, to find Summer; from the East\nthey bring the Spring, from the West the Autumn. Then they hasten after\nYouth, next to Age, to the Past and to the Future.\n\nThis is all I have been able to give the reader from my own\nrecollection, and from scattered words and hints in the papers of my\nfriend. The accomplishment of this great task would have been a lasting\nmemorial of a new poesy. In this notice I have preferred to be short\nand dry, rather than expose myself to the danger of adding anything\nfrom my own fancy. Perhaps many a reader will be grieved at the\nfragmentary character of these verses and words, as well as myself, who\nwould not regard with any more devout sadness a piece of some ruined\npicture of Raphael or Corregio.\n\n                                                    L. TIECK.\n\n\n\n                                 NOTES.\n\n\n                                   I.\n\nThis _rifacimento_ of Arion's story is not mere mythological twaddle.\nAs allegories abound, and as in fact there is a suspicion that the\nwhole Romance may be only an allegory, an \"Apotheosis of Poetry,\"--the\nreader must keep open his internal eye.\n\nArion is the Spirit of Poetry as embodied in any age, whether in a\nsingle voice, or many. This the age always attempts to drown,--seldom\nwith applause. The sailors are the exponents of an age, or its\ncritics. In the case of Arion, they belonged to a certain tribe of\nPhilistines,--not yet extinct.[5] There is a deep significance in the\nfact, that they resolutely stopped their ears against the Poet's\nsong. The treasures of the Poet are his ideas of the good and the\nbeautiful, which he fetches from his far home; for he comes, \"not\nin entire forgetfulness.\" The fact, that Arion preferred jumping\noverboard to being converted into a heave-offering, is typical of the\nself-extinguishment and natural dissolution of the true soul, born into\na humanity which is not its counterpart, which cannot answer to it.\nThose providential dolphins are a grateful posterity, which preserve\nnot only the Poet's treasures, but his memory. The conflict among the\nsailors, too, has a deep meaning, hidden also in that old, wonderful\nmyth of the Kilkenny cats.\n\nBut an allegory has many sides, like a genuine symphony. Each reader\nwill interpret all of them best from his own point of view. Should\nHenry himself turn out to be Arion, the feat would only be one of\ninverted transmigration, and not more extraordinary than the regular\nmethod.\n\n\n                                   II.\n\nAn opportunity is taken to introduce some further remarks of the author\nconcerning History. They are found among a multitude of fragments,\narranged under the three heads of Philosophical, Critical, and Moral;\nan amorphous heap of sayings, generally of great beauty and power. The\npresent have little connexion with the text, but will be their own\nexcuse. The total of his remarks will be seen to hint at a theory of\nHistory, with which most school-histories and respectable annals are in\nno wise infected.\n\n'Luck or fate is talent for history. The sense for apprehending\noccurrences is the prophetic, and luck the divining instinct. (Hence\nthe ancients justly considered a man's luck one of his talents.) We\ntake delight in divination. Romance has arisen from the want of\nhistory.\n\n'History creates itself. It first arises through the connexion of the\npast with the future. Men treat their recollections much too negligently.\n\n'The historian organizes the historical Essence. The data of history\nare the mass, to which the historian gives form, while giving\nanimation. Consequently history always presupposes the principles of\nanimation and organization; and where they are not antecedent there can\nbe no genuine historical _chef d'[oe]uvre_, but only here and there the\ntraces of an accidental animation, where a capricious genius has ruled.\n\n'The demand, to consider this present world the best, is exactly\nanalogous to that which would consider my own wedded wife the best and\nonly woman, and life to be entirely for her and in her. Many similar\ndemands and pretensions are there, which he who dutifully acknowledges,\nwho has a discriminating respect for everything that has transpired, is\nhistorically religious, the absolute Believer and Mystic of history,\nthe genuine lover of Destiny. Fate is the mysticised history. Every\nvoluntary love, in the common signification, is a religion, which has\nand can have but one apostle, one evangelist and disciple, and can be,\nthough not necessarily, an extra-religion (Wechsel-religion.)\n\n'There is a series of ideal occurrences running parallel with reality.\nThey seldom coincide. Men and chances usually modify the ideal\noccurrence, so that it appears imperfect, and its results likewise.\nThus it was in the Reformation. Instead of Protestantism appeared\nLutheranism.\n\n'What fashions the man, but his _Life-History_? In like manner nothing\nfashions great men, but the _World's-History_.\n\n'Many men live better in the past and future time, than in the present.\n\n'The Present indeed is not at all comprehensible without the Past, and\nwithout a high degree of culture, an impregnation with the highest\nproducts, with the pure spirits of the present and of previous ages;\nall which assimilating guides and strengthens the human prophetic\nglance, which is more indispensable to the human historian, to the\nactive, ideal elaborator of historic facts, than to the grammatical and\nrhetorical annalist.'\n\n\n                                  III.\n\nNovalis seems here to rehearse his whole poetic creed; or rather, he\nseems to be reviewing his own poems. What he deprecates, are the faults\nhe most avoids. He is distinguished for extreme simplicity, both in\nstyle and language; and the thoughts, though lofty and sometimes vast,\nare yet fresh, chaste, and comprehensible. They have a domestic\nsublimity. They indicate simply an infinite expansion of the poet's\nheart, whose mild and primeval denizens are undisturbed by the forced,\nthe foreign, or the shadowy. They have a oneness of design, and are\nfinished and luminous to the most minute criticism. If we say that\nNovalis wrote as he was inspired, never attempting to superinduce what\nwas only galvanic upon the true life, and never daring to write when he\nwas not inspired, we both describe his genius and discover the secret\nof his beauty.\n\nWith one or two exceptions, the present romance is an unfavorable\nspecimen of his poetic powers. The subjects of most of the songs\nrequire only that luminous simplicity alluded to, and are only fine\nexamples of a lyrical style, with a few glimpses of his true genius.\n\"Astralis,\" the poem that introduces the second part, is unlike the\nrest of the volume, being an irregular, mystic embodyment of the hero's\ndestinies,--a recapitulation of the past and a presentiment of the\nfuture. The romance is unfavorable, excepting one or two prose passages\nof great sublimity, much resembling the \"Hymns to the Night,\" one or\ntwo of which are given below. The dream at the close of the sixth\nchapter may be particularly designated. \"The image of Death, and of the\nRiver being the Sky in that other and eternal Country, seems to us a\nfine and touching one: there is in it a trace of that simplicity, that\nsoft, still pathos, which are characteristics of Novalis, and doubtless\nthe highest of his specially poetic gifts.\" But it is in his Spiritual\nSongs that we gain a glimpse of his true genius. They are eminently\ndevotional, and indiscriminately addressed to the Father, the Son, and\nthe Holy Virgin. A translation of the mass of them would form a most\ndesirable hymn book for the Christian, though, to be sure, it would be\nvery graceless to supplant worthy old Dr. Watts. But they are very\nsweet and touching, and full of pious fervor. We have been struck with\nthe similarity of their tone to those of George Herbert, who stands\nwith the Father and the Son at the very door of his heart, with tearful\nand familiar supplication for them to enter.\n\n\n     \"Geusz, Vater, Ihn gewaltig aus,\n      Gib Ihn aus deinem Arm heraus:\n      _Nur Unschuld, Lieb' und süsze Scham_\n      _Hielt Ihn, dasz er nicht längst schon kam_.\n\n      \"Treib' Ihn von dir in unsern Arm,\n      _Dasz er von deinem Hauch noch warm_;\n      In schweren Wolken sammle ihn,\n      Und lasz Ihn so hernieder ziehn.\"\n\n\nAmong his promiscuous poems is a beautiful lyric, representing the\ntriumph of Faith over Sorrow, under the symbol of a beautiful child\nbringing to him a wand, beneath whose touch the Queen of Serpents\nyields to him the \"precious jewel.\"\n\nThe following is the first Hymn to the Night:\n\n\"What living, sense-endowed being loves not, before all the prodigies\nof the far extending space around him, the all-rejoicing light with its\ncolors, its beams and billows, its mild omnipresence, as waking day?\nThe restless giant-world of the stars, swimming with dancing motion in\nits azure flood. Inhales it as its life's inmost soul; the sparkling,\never-resting stone, the sensitive, imbibing plant, and the wild,\nburning, many-shaped animal, inhale it; but before all, the glorious\nstranger, with the speaking eyes, the uncertain gait, and the gently\nclosed, melodious lips. Like a king of earthly nature, it summons each\npower to countless transformations, ratifies and dissolves treaties in\ninfinite number, and suspends its heavenly image on every earthly\nbeing. Its presence alone reveals the wondrous splendor of creation's\nrealms.\n\n\"I turn aside to the holy, ineffable, mysterious Night. Far away lies\nthe world, sunk in a depth profound waste and lonely is its place. O'er\nthe chords of the bosom waveth deep sadness. I will dissolve into dew\ndrops, and mingle myself with the ashes. Distance of memory, wishes of\nyouth, dreams of childhood, the short joys and vain hopes of a whole\nlong life, flit by me in robes of gray, like evening clouds after\nsunset. In other spaces Light has pitched its merry tents. Will it\nnever return to its children, who are waiting for it with the trusting\nfaith of innocence?\n\n\"What swells now so forebodingly beneath the heart, and swallows up the\nsoft air of sadness? Hast thou also a pleasure in us, sombre Night?\nWhat bringest thou beneath thy mantle, that with viewless power winds\nits way to my soul? A costly balsam is dripping from thy hand, from thy\nbunch of poppy. The drooping pinions of the mind thou bearest upward.\nDimly and ineffably we feel ourselves moved; a solemn countenance do I\nsee, in pleasing terror, that gently and full of devotion bendeth\ntowards me, and showeth dear youth hid in the infinite locks of the\nmother. How poor and childish Light now appears to me! How welcome and\nblessed the farewell of day! Only for this, because Night alienates\nfrom thee thy servants, didst thou sow in the regions of space the\nluminous balls, to proclaim thy omnipotence, thy return, in the times\nof thy absence. More heavenly than yonder twinkling stars appear the\ninfinite eyes that Night opens in us. Their sight extends farther than\nthe palest of that numberless host; unbeholden to Light, they gaze\nthrough the depths of a loving spirit, which fills a loftier space with\nunspeakable rapture. Praised be the Queen of the world, the high\nannouncer of holy spheres, the nurse of blessed love! She sends me\nthee, O dearly beloved, lovely sun of the Night. Now I awake, for I am\nThine and Mine; thou hast announced to me Night as my life, thou hast\nmade me a man. Consume my body with a spirit-glow, that in ether I may\nmingle more closely with thee, and be thou my bridal night forever.\"\n\nThe Beloved was Sophia; concerning whom he writes as follows:--\n\n                                     \"Weissenfels, March 22d, 1797.\n\n\"It is for me a mournful duty to inform you that Sophia is no more.\nAfter unspeakable sufferings, borne with exemplary resignation, she\ndied on the 10th of March, at half past nine in the morning. She was\nborn on the 17th of March, 1783, and on the 15th of March, 1795, I\ngained from her the assurance, that she would be mine. She has suffered\nsince the 7th of November, 1795. Eight days before her death I left her\nwith the strongest conviction, that I should never see her again. I\ncould not have endured to look impotently upon the terrible struggle of\nblooming youth down-stricken, the fearful anguish of the heavenly\ncreature. Fate have I never feared. For three previous weeks I saw its\nmenaces. It has become evening about me, whilst I was yet gazing into\nthe morning-red. My sorrow is boundless, like my love. For three years\nhad she been my hourly thought. She alone has bound me to life, to my\ncountry, and to my occupations. With her loss I am separated from\neverything, for I scarcely have myself any longer. But it has become\nevening, and it seems to me, as if I soon were about to depart, and so\nwould I gladly be tranquil, and see around me only kind, friendly\nfaces, and live entirely in her spirit, gentle and kindhearted, as she\nwas.\n\n\"Cherished by me, as my own immortal Sophia, will be the friendship,\nthe assiduity with which you strove to render her last days serene.\nSophia still treasures your kindnesses with the warmest gratitude, and\nI have felt a silent impulse to express to you this gratitude, united\nwith my own. You will pardon it to my love, when I tell you, that your\nattention to Sophia's wishes, and that half year's residence with her,\nnow first has made you really dear to me.... I must cling to the past,\nas I have nothing more to expect from the future. Farewell, and be\nhappier than\n\n                                    Your friend,\n                                          HARDENBERG.\"\n\nBut how soon does his grief become holy, and therefore a joy! The\nletter is chiefly valuable as an introduction to the third Hymn to the\nNight:--\n\n\"Once as I shed bitter tears, when my hope dissolved into pain flowed\naway, and I stood alone by the barren hillock, which hid in a dark,\nnarrow space the form of my life; alone, as none had been before,\ndriven by unspeakable anguish, powerless, nothing left but a thought of\nmisery;--as I then looked about after aid, could neither move forward\nnor backward, but clung to a fleeting, extinguished life, with infinite\nlonging,--then came from the blue distance, from the heights of my old\nblessedness, a breath as of twilight, and at once the tie of birth, the\nchain of Light, was rent asunder. Away flew the glory of earth, and\nwith it my sorrow; the sadness rushed together into a new, unfathomable\nworld; thou, Night's-inspiration, slumber of heaven, camest over me.\nGently the scene rose aloft; above it floated my unfettered, new-born\nSpirit The hillock became a dust-cloud, and through it I saw the\ntransfigured features of my Beloved. Eternity lay in her eyes; I\ngrasped her hands, and the tears became a glittering, indissoluble tie.\nThousands of years flew away in the distance, like tempest-clouds. Upon\nher neck I wept enrapturing tears at the thought of this new life.--It\nwas the first and only dream, and since then do I feel an eternal,\nunchangeable faith in the heaven of Night, and its Sun my Beloved.\"\n\nSuch is the melting tenderness, which is a chief element of his poetry,\nsuch the cunning drug that embalms his genius!\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: Mährchen.]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Mutter_ or _Metallmutter_ is the gang or matrix that\ncontains the ore.]\n\n[Footnote 3: _Mährchen._]\n\n[Footnote 4: _Bacchischen Wehmuth_; the sadness that drives to\ndissipation, not the Elysium of the morning after.]\n\n[Footnote 5: The word _Critic_ is derived from the Hebrew word [Hebrew:\nkrty] _executioner_; collectively, _executioners and runners_, from the\nroot [Hebrew: krt], _to cut_. Thus it gradually came to mean, to cut\nand run. It is somewhat remarkable that the secondary meaning of the\nnoun is _Philistine_. See Gesenius in voc.; who also adds, \"the\nconjecture is not improbable that the Philistines sprang from Crete,\nand that _Caphtor_ signifies [Greek: Krêtê]. Comp. Michælis Spicil. J.\n1. p. 292-308. Supplemm. p. 1328.\" The proverbial character of the\nCretans is well known.\n\nThe Rabbi Ben Hillel, who was of the tribe of Onagrites, defended the\noral traditions of the Jews against certain persons, who were disposed\nto sniff somewhat. In his writings, the venerable Rabbi was accustomed\nto designate them as Philistines--_mais nous avons change tout\ncela_--and, in a felicitous allusion to the ancient narrative,\ninsinuated that the extraordinary discomfiture of so many Philistines\nby a certain jaw-bone was explained upon the well known principle in\nHom[oe]opathy, whereby any nuisance is abated by the application of\nhomogeneous substances. This was in the infancy of that science. But\nthe learned Rabbi in his strictures did not anticipate the retort of\nhis opponent Judas Haggadosh, who called Ben Hillel \"_the would-be\njaw-bone._\"]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                THE END.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31873", "title": "Henry of Ofterdingen: A Romance.", "author": "", "publication_year": 1842, "metadata_title": "Henry of Ofterdingen: A Romance.", "metadata_author": "Novalis", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:13.974359", "source_chars": 345795, "chars": 345795, "talkie_tokens": 78169}}
{"text": "Produced by Steven desJardins, Mary Meehan and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                             C[OE]LEBS\n\n                        IN SEARCH OF A WIFE.\n\n                        BY MRS. HANNAH MORE.\n\n\n    NEW YORK:\n    DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET.\n    1858.\n\n\n    \"Among unequals what society\n    Can sort, what harmony or true delight?\n    Of fellowship, I speak, fit to participate\n    All rational enjoyment.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nWhen I quitted home, on a little excursion in the spring of this present\nyear 1808, a thought struck me, which I began to put into immediate\nexecution. I determined to commit to paper any little circumstances that\nmight arise, and any conversations in which I might be engaged, when the\nsubject was at all important, though there might be nothing particularly\nnew or interesting in the discussion itself.\n\nI fulfilled my intention as occasions arose to furnish me with\nmaterials; and on my return to the North, in the autumn of this same\nyear, it was my amusement on my journey to look over and arrange these\npapers.\n\nAs soon as I arrived at my native place, I lent my manuscript to a\nconfidential friend, as the shortest way of imparting to him whatever\nhad occurred to me during our separation, together with my reflections\non those occurrences. I took care to keep his expectations low, by\napprizing him, that in a tour from my house in Westmoreland to the house\nof a friend in Hampshire, he must not look for adventures, but content\nhimself with the every-day details of common life, diversified only by\nthe different habits and tempers of the persons with whom I had\nconversed.\n\nHe brought back my manuscript in a few days, with an earnest wish that I\nwould consent to its publication, assuring me that he was of opinion\nthat it might not be altogether useless, not only to young men engaged\nin the same pursuit with myself, but to the general reader. He obviated\nall my objections arising from my want of leisure, during my present\ninteresting engagements, by offering to undertake the whole business\nhimself, and to release me from any further trouble, as he was just\nsetting out for London, where he proposed passing more time than the\nprinting would require.\n\nThus I am driven to the stale apology for publishing what perhaps it\nwould have been more prudent to have withheld--_the importunity of\nfriends_; an apology so commonly unfounded, and so repeatedly alleged,\nfrom the days of John Faustus to the publication of C[oe]lebs.\n\nBut whether my friend, or my vanity, had the largest share of influence,\nI am willing to indulge the hope that a better motive than either\nfriendship or vanity was an operating ingredient in my consent. Be that\nas it may--I sent him my copy \"_with all its imperfections on its\nhead_.\" It was accompanied by a letter of which the following extract\nshall conclude these short prefatory remarks:\n\n\"I here send you my manuscript, with permission to make what use of it\nyou please. By publishing it I fear you will draw on me the particular\ncensure of two classes of critics. The novel reader will reject it as\ndull. The religious may throw it aside as frivolous. The one will accuse\nit of excessive strictness; the other of censurable levity. Readers of\nthe former description must be satisfied with the following brief and\ngeneral answer:\n\n\"Had it been my leading object to have indulged in details that have\namusement only for their end, it might not have been difficult to have\nproduced a work more acceptable to the tastes accustomed to be gratified\nwith such compositions. But to entertain that description of readers\nmakes no part of my design.\n\n\"The persons with whom I have associated in my excursion were\nprincipally, though not exclusively, the family of a country gentleman,\nand a few of his friends--a narrow field, and unproductive of much\nvariety! The generality of these characters move in the quiet and\nregular course of domestic life. I found them placed in no difficult\nsituations. It was a scene rather favorable to reflection than\ndescription. Social intercourse, and not striking events, marked the\ndaily progress of my visit. I had little of pathetic scenes or trying\ncircumstances to work on my own feelings, or, by the relation of them,\nto work on the feelings of others. My friend's house resembled the\nreign of some pacific sovereigns. It was the pleasantest to live in, but\nits annals were not the most splendid to record. The periods which make\nlife happy do not always render history brilliant.\n\n\"Great passions, therefore, and great trials growing out of them as I\ndid not witness, I have not attempted to delineate. Love itself appears\nin these pages, not as an ungovernable impulse, but as a sentiment\narising out of qualities calculated to inspire attachment in persons\nunder the dominion of reason and religion, brought together by the\nordinary course of occurrences, in a private family party.\n\n\"The familiar conversations of this little society comprehend a\nconsiderable portion of this slender work. The texture of the narrative\nis so slight, that it barely serves for a ground into which to weave the\nsentiments and observations which it was designed to introduce.\n\n\"It may not be unnecessary to anticipate an objection to which these\nconversations may sometimes be thought liable. In a few instances, the\nspeeches may be charged with a degree of stiffness, and with a length\nnot altogether consistent with familiar dialogue. I must apologize for\nthis by observing, that when the subjects were serious, the dialogue\nwould not, in every instance, bend to such facilities, nor break into\nsuch small parcels, as may easily be effected in the discussion of\ntopics of gayer intercourse.\n\n\"But it is time to meet the objections of the more pious reader, if any\nsuch should condescend to peruse this little performance. If it be\nobjected, that religious characters have been too industriously brought\nforward, and their faults somewhat too severely treated, let it be\nremembered, that while it is one of the principal objects of the work to\nanimadvert on those very faults, it has never been done with the\ninsidious design of depreciating the religion, but with the view, by\nexposing the fault, to correct the practice. Grossly vicious characters\nhave seldom come in my way; but I had frequent occasion to observe the\ndifferent shapes and shades of error in various descriptions of society,\nnot only in those worldly persons who do not quite leave religion out of\ntheir scheme, but on the mistakes and inconsistencies of better\ncharacters, and even on the errors of some who would be astonished not\nto find themselves reckoned altogether religious. I have not so much\nanimadverted on the unavoidable faults and frailties inseparable from\nhumanity, even in the best characters, and which the best characters\nmost sensibly feel, and most feelingly deplore, as on those errors which\nare often tolerated, justified, and in some instances systematized.\n\n\"If I have been altogether deceived in the ambitious hope that these\npages may not be entirely useless; if I have failed in my endeavors to\nshow how religion may be brought to mix with the concerns of ordinary\nlife, without impairing its activity, lessening its cheerfulness, or\ndiminishing its usefulness; if I have erred in fancying that material\ndefects exist in fashionable education; if I have been wrong in\nsupposing that females of the higher class may combine more domestic\nknowledge with more intellectual acquirement, that they may be at the\nsame time more knowing and more useful, than has always been thought\nnecessary or compatible; in short, if I shall be found to have totally\ndisappointed you, my friend, in your too sanguine opinion that some\nlittle benefit might arise from the publication, I shall rest satisfied\nwith a low and negative merit. I must be content with the humble hope\nthat no part of these volumes will be found injurious to the important\ninterests which it was rather in my wish than in my ability to advance;\nthat where I failed in effecting good, little evil has been done; that\nif my book has answered no valuable purpose, it has, at least, not added\nto the number of those publications which, by impairing the virtue, have\ndiminished the happiness of mankind; that if I possessed not talents to\npromote the cause of Christian morals, I possessed an abhorrence of\nthose principles which lead to their contamination.\n\n\"C[OE]LEBS.\"\n\n\n\n\nC[OE]LEBS.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nI have been sometimes surprised when in conversation I have been\nexpressing my admiration of the character of Eve in her state of\ninnocence, as drawn by our immortal poet, to hear objections started by\nthose, from whom of all critics I should have least expected it--the\nladies. I confess that as the Sophia of Rousseau had her young\nimagination captivated by the character of Fenelon's Telemachus, so I\nearly became enamored of that of Milton's Eve. I never formed an idea of\nconjugal happiness, but my mind involuntarily adverted to the graces of\nthat finished picture.\n\nThe ladies, in order to justify their censure, assert that Milton, a\nharsh domestic tyrant, must needs be a very inadequate judge, and of\ncourse a very unfair delineator, of female accomplishments. These fair\ncavilers draw their inference from premises, from which I have always\nbeen accustomed to deduce a directly contrary conclusion. They insist\nthat it is highly derogatory from the dignity of the sex, that the poet\nshould affirm that it is the perfection of the character of a wife,\n\n              To study household good,\n    And good works in her husband to promote.\n\nNow according to my notion of \"household good,\" which does not include\none idea of drudgery or servility, but which involves a large and\ncomprehensive scheme of excellence, I will venture to affirm, that let a\nwoman know what she may, yet if she knows not this, she is ignorant of\nthe most indispensable, the most appropriate branch of female knowledge.\nWithout it, however she may inspire admiration abroad, she will never\nexcite esteem, nor of coarse, durable affection, at home, and will bring\nneither credit nor comfort to her ill-starred partner.\n\nThe domestic arrangements of such a woman as filled the capacious mind\nof the poet resemble, if I may say it without profaneness, those of\nProvidence, whose under-agent she is. Her wisdom is seen in its effects.\nIndeed it is rather felt than seen. It is sensibly acknowledged in the\npeace, the happiness, the virtue of the component parts; in the order,\nregularity and beauty of the whole system, of which she is the moving\nspring. The perfection of her character, as the divine poet intimates,\ndoes not arise from a prominent quality, or a showy talent, or a\nbrilliant accomplishment, but it is the beautiful combination and result\nof them all. Her excellencies consist not so much in acts as in habits,\nin\n\n    Those thousand decencies which daily flow\n    From all her words and actions.\n\nA description more calculated than any I ever met with to convey an idea\nof the purest conduct resulting from the best principles. It gives an\nimage of that tranquillity, smoothness, and quiet beauty, which is the\nvery essence of perfection in a wife; while the happily chosen verb\n_flow_ takes away any impression of dullness, or stagnant torpor, which\nthe _still_ idea might otherwise suggest.\n\nBut the offense taken by the ladies against the uncourtly bard is\nchiefly occasioned by his having presumed to intimate that conjugal\nobedience\n\n    Is woman's highest honor and her praise.\n\nThis is so nice a point that I, as a bachelor, dare only just hint, that\non this delicate question the poet has not gone an inch further than the\napostle. Nay, Paul is still more uncivilly explicit than Milton. If,\nhowever, I could hope to bring over to my side critics, who, being of\nthe party, are too apt to prejudge the cause, I would point out to them\nthat the supposed harshness of the observation is quite done away by the\nrecollection that this scrupled \"obedience\" is so far from implying\ndegradation, that it is connected with the injunction to the woman \"to\npromote good works\" in her husband; an injunction surely inferring a\ndegree of influence that raises her condition, and restores her to all\nthe dignity of equality; it makes her not only the associate but the\ninspirer of his virtues.\n\nBut to return to the economical part of the character of Eve. And here\nshe exhibits a consummate specimen and beautiful model of domestic skill\nand elegance. How exquisitely conceived is her reception and\nentertainment of Raphael! How modest and yet how dignified! I am afraid\nI know some husbands who would have had to encounter very ungracious\nlooks, not to say words, if they had brought home even an angel,\n_unexpectedly_ to dinner. Not so our general mother:\n\n                          Her dispatchful looks,\n    Her hospitable thoughts, * * * intent\n    What choice to choose for delicacy best,\n\nall indicate not only the \"prompt\" but the cheerful \"obedience.\" Though\nher repast consisted only of the fruits of Paradise,\n\n    Whatever earth, all bearing mother, yields;\n\nyet of these, with a liberal hospitality,\n\n    She gathers tribute large, and on the board\n    Heaps with unsparing hand.\n\nThe finest modern lady need not disdain the arrangement of her table,\nwhich was\n\n                                So contrived as not to mix\n    Tastes not well join'd, inelegant, but bring\n    Taste after taste, upheld by kindliest change.\n\nIt must, however, I fear, be conceded, by the way, that this \"taste\n_after_ taste\" rather holds out an encouragement to second courses.\n\nWhen this unmatched trio had finished their repast, which, let it be\nobserved, before they tasted, Adam acknowledged that\n\n    These bounties from our _Nourisher_ are given,\n    From whom all perfect good descends,\n\nMilton, with great liberality to that sex against which he is accused of\nso much severity, obligingly permitted Eve to sit much longer after\ndinner, than most modern husbands would allow. She had attentively\nlistened to all the historical and moral subjects so divinely discussed\nbetween the first Angel and the first Man; and perhaps there can\nscarcely be found a more beautiful trait of a delicately attentive wife,\nthan she exhibits, by withdrawing at the exact point of propriety. She\ndoes not retire in consequence of any look or gesture, any broad sign of\nimpatience, much less any command or intimation of her husband; but with\nthe ever watchful eye of vigilant affection and deep humility:\n\n                   When by his countenance he seem'd\n    Entering on thoughts abstruse,\n\ninstructed only by her own quick intuition of what was right and\ndelicate, she withdrew. And here again how admirably does the poet\nsustain her intellectual dignity, softened by a most tender stroke of\nconjugal affection.\n\n    Yet went she not, as not with such discourse\n    Delighted, or not capable her ear\n    Of what was high--such pleasure she reserved,\n    Adam relating, she sole auditress----\n\nOn perusing, however, the tête-à-tête which her absence occasioned,\nmethinks I hear some sprightly lady, fresh from the Royal Institution,\nexpress her wonder why Eve should be banished by her husband from\nRaphael's fine lecture on astronomy which follows; was not she as\ncapable as Adam of understanding all he said, of\n\n    Cycle and Epicycle, Orb on Orb?\n\nIf, however, the imaginary fair objector will take the trouble to read\nto the end of the eighth book of this immortal work, it will raise in\nher estimation both the poet and the heroine, when she contemplates the\njust propriety of her being absent before Adam enters on the account of\nthe formation, beauty and attractions of his wife, and of his own love\nand admiration. She will further observe, in her progress through this\ndivine poem, that the author is so far from making Eve a mere domestic\ndrudge, an unpolished housewife, that he pays an invariable attention\neven to external elegance, in his whole delineation, ascribing grace to\nher steps and dignity to her gesture. He uniformly keeps up the same\ncombination of intellectual worth and polished manners;\n\n    For softness she, and sweet attractive grace.\n\nAnd her husband, so far from a churlish insensibility to her\nperfections, politely calls her\n\n    Daughter of God and man, _accomplish'd_ Eve.\n\nI will not, however, affirm that Adam, or even Milton, annexed to the\nterm _accomplished_ precisely the idea with which it is associated in\nthe mind of a true modern-bred lady.\n\nIt may be objected to the poet's gallantry that he remarks\n\n    How beauty is excell'd by manly grace,\n    And wisdom, which alone is truly fair;\n\nlet it be remembered that the observation proceeds from the lips of Eve\nherself, and thus adds to her other graces, the crowning grace of\nhumility.\n\nBut it is high time that I should proceed from my criticism to myself.\nThe connexion, and of course the transition, will be found more natural\nthan may appear, till developed by my slight narrative.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nI am a young man, not quite four and twenty, of an ancient and\nrespectable family, and considerable estate in one of the northern\ncounties. Soon after I had completed my studies in the university of\nEdinburgh, my father fell into a lingering illness. I attended him with\nan assiduity which was richly rewarded by the lessons of wisdom, and the\nexample of piety, which I daily received from him. After languishing\nabout a year, I lost him, and in him the most affectionate father, the\nmost enlightened companion, and the most Christian friend.\n\nThe grief of my mother was so poignant and so lasting, that I could\nnever prevail on myself to leave her, even for the sake of attaining\nthose advantages, and enjoying those pleasures, which may be reaped by a\nwider range of observation, by a more extended survey of the\nmultifarious tastes, habits, pursuits, and characters of general\nsociety. I felt with Mr. Gray that we can never have but one mother, and\npostponed from time to time the moment of leaving home.\n\nI was her only child, and though it was now her sole remaining wish to\nsee me happily married, yet I was desirous of first putting myself in a\nsituation which might afford me a more extensive field of inquiry before\nI ventured to take so irretrievable a step, a step which might perhaps\naffect my happiness in both worlds. But time did not hang heavy on my\nhands; if I had little society, I had many books. My father had left me\na copious library, and I had learnt from him to select whatever was most\nvaluable in that best species of literature which tends to form the\nprinciples, the understanding, the taste, and the character. My father\nhad passed the early part of his life in the gay and busy world; and our\ndomestic society in the country had been occasionally enlivened by\nvisits from some of his London friends, men of sense and learning, and\nsome of them men of piety.\n\nMy mother, when she was in tolerable spirits, was now frequently\ndescribing the kind of woman whom she wished me to marry. \"I am so\nfirmly persuaded, Charles,\" would she kindly say, \"of the justness of\nyour taste, and the rectitude of your principles, that I am not much\nafraid of your being misled by the captivating exterior of any woman who\nis greatly deficient either in sense or conduct; but remember, my son,\nthat there are many women against whose characters there lies nothing\nvery objectionable, who are yet little calculated to taste or to\ncommunicate rational happiness. Do not indulge romantic ideas, of\nsuper-human excellence. Remember that the fairest creature is a fallen\ncreature. Yet let not your standard be low. If it be absurd to expect\nperfection, it is not unreasonable to expect _consistency_. Do not\nsuffer yourself to be caught by a shining quality, till you know it is\nnot counteracted by the opposite defect. Be not taken in by strictness\nin one point, till you are assured there is no laxity in others. In\ncharacter, as in architecture, proportion is beauty. The education of\nthe present race of females is not very favorable to domestic happiness.\nFor my own part I call education, not that which smothers a woman with\naccomplishments, but that which tends to consolidate a firm and regular\nsystem of character; that which tends to form a friend, a companion, and\na wife. I call education not that which is made up of the shreds and\npatches of useless arts, but that which inculcates principles, polishes\ntaste, regulates temper, cultivates reason, subdues the passions,\ndirects the feelings, habituates to reflection, trains to self-denial,\nand, more especially, that which refers all actions, feelings,\nsentiments, tastes, and passions, to the love and fear of God.\"\n\nI had yet had little opportunity of contrasting the charms of my native\nplace with the less wild and romantic beauties of the south. I was\npassionately fond of the scenery that surrounded me, which had never yet\nlost that power of pleasing which it is commonly imagined that novelty\ncan alone confer.\n\nThe priory, a handsome Gothic mansion, stands in the middle of a park,\nnot extensive, but beautifully varied. Behind are lofty mountains, the\nfeet of which are covered with wood that descends almost to the house.\nOn one side a narrow cultivated valley winds among the mountains; the\nbright variegated tints of its meadows and corn fields, with here and\nthere a little white cottage, embosomed in trees, are finely contrasted\nwith the awful and impassable fells which contain it.\n\nAn inconsiderable but impetuous river rushes from the mountains above,\nthrough this unadorned but enchanting little valley, and passes through\nthe park at the distance of about a hundred yards from the house. The\nground falls beautifully down to it; and on the other side is a fine\nwood of birch overhanging the river, which is here crossed by a small\nrustic bridge; after being enlarged by many streams from the neighboring\nhills, it runs about half a mile to the lake below, which, from the\nfront of the house, is seen in full beauty. It is a noble expanse of\nwater. The mountains that surround it are some of them covered with\nwood, some skirted with cultivation, some rocky and barren to the\nwater's edge; while the rugged summits of them all present every variety\nof fantastic outline. Toward the head of the lake a neat little village\nornaments the banks, and wonderfully harmonizes with the simple beauty\nof the scene. At an opening among the hills, a view is caught of the\ndistant country, a wide vale richly wooded, adorned everywhere with\ntowns, villages, and gentlemen's houses, and backed by sublime\nmountains, rivaling in height, though not in their broken and Alpine\nforms, those that more immediately surround us.\n\nWhile I was thus dividing my time between the enjoyment of this\nexquisite scenery, my books, the care of my affairs, my filial\nattentions, and my religious duties, I was suddenly deprived of my\ninestimable mother. She died the death of the righteous.\n\nAddison has finely touched on the singular sort of delicate and refined\ntenderness of a father for a daughter: but I am persuaded that there is\nno affection of the human heart more exquisitely pure than that which is\nfelt by a grateful son toward a mother who fostered his infancy with\nfondness, watched over his childhood with anxiety, and his youth with an\ninterest compounded of all that is tender, wise, and pious.\n\nMy retirement was now become solitude: the former is, I believe, the\nbest state for the mind of man, the latter almost the worst. In\ncomplete solitude the eye wants objects, the heart wants attachments,\nthe understanding wants reciprocation. The character loses its\ntenderness when it has nothing to love, its firmness when it has none to\nstrengthen it, its sweetness when it has nothing to soothe it; its\npatience when it meets no contradiction, its humility when it is\nsurrounded by dependants, and its delicacy in the conversation of the\nuninformed. Where the intercourse is very unequal, society is something\nworse than solitude.\n\nI had naturally a keen relish for domestic happiness; and this\npropensity had been cherished by what I had seen and enjoyed in my\nfather's family. Home was the scene in which my imagination had pictured\nthe only delights worthy of a rational, feeling, intellectual, immortal\nman:\n\n                    sole bliss of Paradise\n    Which has survived the fall.\n\nThis inclination had been much increased by my father's turn of\nconversation. He often said to me, \"I know your domestic propensities;\nand I know, therefore, that the whole color of your future life will be,\nin a particular manner, determined by the turn of mind of the woman you\nmay marry. Were you to live in the busy haunts of men; were you of any\nprofession, or likely to be engaged in public life, though I would still\ncounsel you to be equally careful in your choice, yet your happiness\nwould not so immediately, so exclusively depend on the individual\nsociety of a woman, as that of a retired country gentleman must do. A\nman of sense who loves home, and lives at home, requires a wife who can\nand will be at half the expense of mind necessary for keeping up the\ncheerful, animated, elegant intercourse which forms so great a part of\nthe bond of union between intellectual and well-bred persons. Had your\nmother been a woman of an uninformed, inelegant mind, virtuous and\npious as she is, what abatement must there have been in the blessings of\nmy lot! The _exhibiting_, the _displaying_ wife may entertain your\ncompany, but it is only the informed, the refined, the cultivated woman\nwho can entertain yourself; and I presume whenever you marry you will\nmarry primarily for yourself, and not for your friends; you will want a\nCOMPANION: an ARTIST you may hire.\n\n\"But remember, Charles, that when I am insisting so much on mental\ndelicacy, I am assuming that all is right in still more essential\npoints. Do not be contented with this superstructure, till you have\nascertained the solidity of the foundation. The ornaments which decorate\ndo not support the edifice! Guarded as you are by Christian principles,\nand confirmed in virtuous habits, I trust you may safely look abroad\ninto the world. Do not, however, irrevocably dispose of your affections\ntill you have made the long-promised visit to my earliest, wisest, and\nbest friend, Mr. Stanley. I am far from desiring that your friends\nshould direct your choice. It is what even your father would not do: but\nhe will be the most faithful and most disinterested of counselors.\"\n\nI resolved now for a few months to leave the priory, the seat of my\nancestors, to make a tour not only to London, but to Stanley Grove, in\nHampshire, the residence of my father's friend; a visit I was about to\nmake with him just before his last illness. He wished me to go alone,\nbut I could not prevail on myself to desert his sick-bed for any scheme\nof amusement.\n\nI began to long earnestly for the pleasures of conversation, pleasures\nwhich, in our small, but social and select circle of cultivated friends,\nI had been accustomed to enjoy. I am aware that certain fine town-bred\nmen would ridicule the bare mention of learned and polished conversation\nat a village in Westmoreland, or indeed at any place out of the\nprecincts of the metropolis; just as a London physician or lawyer smiles\nsuperciliously at the suggested merits of a professional brother in a\nprovincial town. Good sense, however, is of all countries, and even\nknowledge is not altogether a mere local advantage. These, and not the\ntopics of the hour, furnish the best raw materials for working up an\nimproving intercourse.\n\nIt must be confessed, however, as I have since found, that for giving a\nterseness and polish to conversation; for rubbing out prejudices; for\ncorrecting egotism; for keeping self-importance out of sight, if not\ncuring it; for bringing a man to condense what he has to say, if he\nintends to be listened to; for accustoming him to endure opposition; for\nteaching him not to think every man who differs from him in matters of\ntaste, a fool, and in politics, a knave; for cutting down harangues; for\nguarding him from producing as novelties and inventions, what has been\nsaid a thousand times; for quickness of allusion, which brings the idea\nbefore you without detail or quotation; nothing is equal to the\nmiscellaneous society of London. The advantages, too, which it possesses\nin being the seat of the court, the parliament, and the courts of law,\nas well as the common centre of arts and talents of every kind, all\nthese raise it above every other scene of intellectual improvement, or\ncolloquial pleasure, perhaps, in the whole world.\n\nBut this was only the secondary motive of my intended migration. I\nconnected with it the hope, that, in a more extended survey, I might be\nmore likely to select a deserving companion for life. \"In such a\ncompanion,\" said I, as I drove along in my post-chaise, \"I do not want a\nHelen, a Saint Cecilia, or a Madame Dacier; yet she must be elegant, or\nI should not love her; sensible, or I should not respect her; prudent,\nor I could not confide in her; well-informed, or she could not educate\nmy children; well-bred, or she could not entertain my friends;\n_consistent_, or I should offend the shade of my mother; pious, or I\nshould not be happy with her, because the prime comfort in a companion\nfor life is the delightful hope that she will be a companion for\neternity.\"\n\nAfter this soliloquy, I was frightened to reflect that so much was\nrequisite; and yet when I began to consider in which article I could\nmake any abatement, I was willing to persuade myself that my\nrequisitions were moderate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nI had occasionally visited two or three families in our own county, who\nwere said to make a very genteel appearance on narrow fortunes. As I was\nknown not to consider money as a principal consideration, it had often\nbeen intimated to me what excellent wives the daughters of these\nfamilies would make, because on a very slender allowance their\nappearance was as elegant as that of women of ten times their\nexpectations. I translated this respectable appearance into a language\nnot the most favorable, as I instantly inferred, and afterward was\nconvinced, that this personal figure was made by the sacrifice of their\nwhole time to those decorations which procured them credit, by putting\ntheir outward figure on a par with the most affluent. If a girl with a\nthousand pounds rivals in her dress one with ten thousand, is it not\nobvious, that not only all her time must be employed, but all her money\ndevoted to this one object? Nothing but the clippings and parings from\nher personal adornments could enable her to supply the demands of\ncharity; and these sacrifices, it is evident she is not disposed to\nmake.\n\nAnother inducement suggested to me was, that these young ladies would\nmake the better wives, because they had never been corrupted by the\nexpensive pleasures of London, and had not been spoiled by the gay\nscenes of dissipation which it afforded. This argument would have\nweighed powerfully with me, had I not observed, that they never\nabstained from any amusement in the country that came within their\nreach.\n\nI naturally inferred, that she who eagerly grasped at every petty\nprovincial dissipation, would with increased alacrity have plunged into\nthe more alluring gayeties of the metropolis had it been in her power. I\nthought she had even less apology to plead than the town lady; the fault\nwas equal, while the temptation was less: and she who was as dissipated\nas her limited bounds permitted, where there was little to attract,\nwould, I feared, be as dissipated as she possibly could be, when her\ntemptations were multiplied, and her facilities increased.\n\nI had met with several young ladies of a higher description, daughters\nof our country gentlemen, a class which furnishes a number of valuable\nand elegant women. Some of these, whom I knew, seemed unexceptional in\nmanner and in mind. They had seen something of the world, without having\nbeen spoiled by it; had read with advantage; and acquitted themselves\nwell in the duties which they had been called to practice. But I was\nwithheld from cultivating that degree of intimacy which would have\nenabled me to take an exact measure of their minds, by the injunction of\nmy father, that I would never attach myself to any woman till I had seen\nand consulted Mr. Stanley. This direction, which, like all his wishes,\nwas a law to me, operated as a sort of sedative in the slight\nintercourse I had with ladies; and resolving to postpone all such\nintimacy as might have led to attachment, I did not allow myself to\ncome near enough to feel with interest, or to judge with decision.\n\nAs soon as I got to town I visited some of my father's friends. I was\nkindly received for his sake, and at their houses soon enlarged the\nsphere of my acquaintance. I was concerned to remark that two or three\ngentlemen, whom I had observed to be very regular in their attendance on\npublic worship in the country, seldom went to church in London; in the\nafternoon never. \"Religion,\" they said, by way of apology, \"was entirely\na thing of example; it was of great political importance; society was\nheld together by the restraints it imposed on the lower orders. When\nthey were in the country it was highly proper that their tenants and\nworkmen should have the benefit of their example, but in London the case\nwas different. Where there were so many churches, no one knew whether\nyou went or not, and where no scandal was given, no harm was done.\" As\nthis was a logic which had not found its way into my father's religion,\nI was not convinced by it. I remember Mr. Burke, speaking of the\nEnglish, who were so humane at home, and whom he unjustly accused of\nwanting humanity in India, says, \"that the humanity of Britain is a\nhumanity of points and parallels.\" Surely the religion of the gentlemen\nin question is not a less geographical distinction.\n\nThis error, I conceive, arises from religion being too much considered\nas a mere institution of decorum, of convention, of society; and not as\nan institution founded on the condition of human nature, a covenant of\nmercy for repairing the evils which sin has produced. It springs from\nthe want of a conviction that Christianity is an individual as well as\ngeneral concern; that religion is a personal thing, previous to its\nbeing a matter of example; that a man is not infallibly saved or lost as\na portion of any family, or any church, or any community; but that, as\nhe is individually responsible, he must be individually brought to a\ndeep and humbling sense of his own personal wants, without taking any\nrefuge in the piety he may see around him, of which he will have no\nbenefit, if he be no partaker.\n\nI regretted, even for inferior reasons, the little distinction which was\npaid to this sacred day. To say nothing of the elevating views which the\nsoul acquires from devoting itself to its proper object; the man of\nbusiness, methinks, should rejoice in its return; the politician should\nwelcome its appearance, not only as a rest from anxiety and labor, but\nas an occasion of cooling and quieting the mind, of softening its\nirritation, of allaying its ferment, and thus restoring the repaired\nfaculties and invigorated spirits to the demands of the succeeding week,\nin a frame of increased aptitude for meeting its difficulties and\nencountering its duties.\n\nThe first person whom I visited was a good-natured, friendly man, whom I\nhad occasionally seen in the North. As I had no reason to believe that\nhe was religious, in the true sense of the word, I had no intention of\nlooking for a wife in his family. I, however, thought it not amiss to\nassociate a little with persons of different descriptions, that by a\nwider range I might learn to correct my general judgment, as well as to\nguide my particular pursuit. Nothing, it is true, would tempt me to\nselect a woman on whose pious dispositions I could not form a reasonable\ndependence: yet to come at the reality of those dispositions was no easy\nmatter.\n\nI had heard my father remark, that he had, more than once, known a\nright-minded girl, who seemed to have been first taught of heaven, and\nafterward supported in her Christian course under almost every human\ndisadvantage; who boldly, but meekly, maintained her own principles,\nunder all the hourly temptations and oppositions of a worldly and\nirreligious family, and who had given the best evidence of her piety\ntoward God, by her patient forbearance toward her erring friends. Such\nwomen had made admirable wives when they were afterward transplanted\ninto families where their virtues were understood, and their piety\ncherished. While, on the other hand, he had known others, who,\naccustomed from childhood to the sober habits of family religion, under\npious but injudicious parents, had fallen in mechanically with the\ndomestic practices, without having ever been instructed in Christian\nprinciples, or having ever manifested any religious tendencies. The\nimplantation of a new principle never having been inculcated, the\nreligious habit has degenerated into a mere form, the parents acting as\nif they thought that religion must come by nature or infection in a\nreligious family. These girls, having never had their own hearts\nimpressed, nor their own characters distinctly considered, nor\nindividually cultivated, but being taken out as a portion from the mass,\nhave afterward taken the cast and color of any society into which they\nhave happened to be thrown; and they who before had lived religiously\nwith the religious, have afterward assimilated with the gay and\ndissipated, when thus thrown into their company, as cordially as if they\nhad never been habituated to better things.\n\nAt dinner there appeared two pretty-looking young ladies, daughters of\nmy friend, who had been some time a widower. I placed myself between\nthem for the purpose of prying a little into their minds, while the rest\nof the company were conversing on indifferent subjects. Having formerly\nheard this gentleman's deceased wife extolled as the mirror of managers,\nand the arrangements of his table highly commended, I was surprised to\nsee it so ill-appointed, and every thing wearing marks of palpable\ninelegance. Though no epicure, I could not forbear observing that many\nof the dishes were out of season, ill-chosen, and ill-dressed.\n\nWhile I was puzzling my head for a solution, I recollected that I had\nlately read in a most respectable periodical work, a paper (composed, I\nbelieve, however, by a raw recruit of that well-disciplined corps) which\ninsisted that nothing tended to make ladies so useless and inefficient\nin the _ménage_ as the study of the dead languages. I jumped to the\nconclusion, and was in an instant persuaded that my young hostesses must\nnot only be perfect mistresses of Latin, but the _tout ensemble_ was so\nill arranged as to induce me to give them full credit for Greek also.\n\nFinding, therefore, that my appetite was balked, I took comfort in the\ncertainty that my understanding would be well regaled; and after\nsecretly regretting that learning should so effectually destroy\nusefulness, I was resolved to derive intellectual comfort from this too\nclassical repast. Turning suddenly to the eldest lady, I asked her at\nonce if she did not think Virgil the finest poet in the world. She\nblushed, and thus confirmed me in the opinion that her modesty was equal\nto her erudition. I repeated my question with a little circumlocution.\nShe stared, and said she had never heard of the person I mentioned, but\nthat she had read Tears of Sensibility, and Rosa Matilda, and Sympathy\nof Souls, and Too Civil by Half, and the Sorrows of Werter, and the\nStranger, and the Orphans of Snowdon.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" joined in the younger sister, who did not rise to so high a\npitch of literature, \"and we have read Perfidy Punished, and Jemmy and\nJenny Jessamy, and the Fortunate Footman, and the Illustrious\nChambermaid.\" I blushed and stared in my turn; and here the\nconversation, through the difficulty of our being intelligible to each\nother, dropped; and I am persuaded that I sunk much lower in their\nesteem for not being acquainted with their favorite authors, than they\ndid in mine for having never heard of Virgil.\n\nI arose from the table with a full conviction that it is very possible\nfor a woman to be totally ignorant of the ordinary but indispensable,\nduties of common life without knowing one word of Latin; and that her\nbeing a bad companion is no infallible proof of her being a good\neconomist.\n\nI am afraid the poor father saw something of my disappointment in my\ncountenance, for when we were alone in the evening, he observed, that a\nheavy addition to his other causes of regret for the loss of his wife,\nwas her excellent management of his family. I found afterward that,\nthough she had brought him a great fortune, she had had a very low\neducation. Her father, a coarse country esquire, to whom the pleasures\nof the table were the only pleasures for which he had any relish, had no\nother ambition for his daughter but that she should be the most famous\nhousewife in the country. He gloried in her culinary perfections, which\nhe understood; of the deficiencies of her mind he had not the least\nperception. Money and good eating, he owned, were the only things in\nlife which had a real intrinsic value; the value of all other things, he\ndeclared, existed in the imagination only.\n\nThe poor lady, when she became a mother, and was brought out into the\nworld, felt keenly the deficiencies of her own education. The dread of\nScylla, as is usual, wrecked her on Charybdis. Her first resolution, as\nsoon as she had daughters, was, that they should _learn every thing_.\nAll the masters who teach things of little intrinsic use were\nextravagantly paid for supernumerary attendance; and as no one in the\nfamily was capable of judging of their improvements, their progress was\nbut slow. Though they were taught much, they learned but little, even of\nthese unnecessary things; and of things necessary they learned nothing.\nTheir well-intentioned mother was not aware that her daughters'\neducation was almost as much calculated to gratify the senses, though in\na different way, and with more apparent refinement, as her own had been;\nand that _mind_ is left nearly as much out of the question in making an\nordinary artist as in making a good cook.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nFrom my fondness for conversation, my imagination had been early fired\nwith Dr. Johnson's remark, that there is no pleasure on earth comparable\nto the _fine full flow of London talk_. I, who, since I had quitted\ncollege had seldom had my mind refreshed, but with the petty rills and\npenurious streams of knowledge which country society afforded, now\nexpected to meet it in a strong and rapid current, fertilizing wherever\nit flowed, producing in abundance the rich fruits of argument, and the\ngay flowers of rhetoric. I looked for an uninterrupted course of profit\nand delight. I flattered myself that every dinner would add to my stock\nof images; that every debate would clear up some difficulty, every\ndiscussion elucidate some truth; that every allusion would be purely\nclassical, every sentence abound with instruction, and every period be\npointed with wit.\n\nOn the tiptoe of expectation I went to dine with Sir John Belfield, in\nCavendish-square. I looked at my watch fifty times. I thought it would\nnever be six o'clock. I did not care to show my country breeding, by\ngoing too early, to incommode my friend, nor my town breeding, by going\ntoo late, and spoiling his dinner. Sir John is a valuable,\nelegant-minded man, and, next to Mr. Stanley, stood highest in my\nfather's esteem for his mental accomplishments and correct morals. As I\nknew he was remarkable for assembling at his table men of sense, taste,\nand learning, my expectations of pleasure were very high. \"Here, at\nleast,\" said I as I heard the name of one clever man announced after\nanother, \"here at least, I can not fail to find\n\n    The feast of reason and the flow of soul:\n\nhere, at least, all the energies of my mind will be brought into\nexercise. From this society I shall carry away documents for the\nimprovement of my taste; I shall treasure up hints to enrich my\nunderstanding, and collect aphorisms for the conduct of life.\"\n\nAt first there was no fair opportunity to introduce any conversation\nbeyond the topics of the day, and to those, it must be confessed, this\neventful period gives a new and powerful interest. I should have been\nmuch pleased to have had my country politics rectified, and any\nprejudices, which I might have contracted, removed or softened, could\nthe discussion have been carried on without the frequent interruption of\nthe youngest man in the company. This gentleman broke in on every\nremark, by descanting successively on the merits of the various dishes;\nand, if it be true that experience only can determine the judgment, he\ngave proof of that best right to peremptory decision by not trusting to\ndelusive theory, but by actually eating of every dish at table.\n\nHis animadversions were uttered with the gravity of a German\nphilosopher, and the science of a French cook. If any of his opinions\nhappened to be controverted, he quoted in confirmation of his own\njudgment, _l'Almanac des Gourmands_, which he assured us was the most\nvaluable work that had appeared in France since the Revolution. The\nauthor of this book he seemed to consider of as high authority in the\nscience of eating, as Coke or Hale in that of jurisprudence, or\nQuintilian in the art of criticism. To the credit of the company,\nhowever, be it spoken, he had the whole of this topic to himself. The\nrest of the party were, in general, of quite a different calibre, and as\nlittle acquainted with his favorite author, as he probably was with\ntheirs.\n\nThe lady of the house was perfectly amiable and well-bred. Her dinner\nwas excellent; and every thing about her had an air of elegance and\nsplendor; of course she completely escaped the disgrace of being thought\na scholar, but not the suspicion of having a very good taste. I longed\nfor the removal of the cloth, and was eagerly anticipating the pleasure\nand improvement which awaited me.\n\nAs soon as the servants were beginning to withdraw, we got into a sort\nof attitude of conversation; all except the eulogist of l'Almanac des\nGourmands, who, wrapping himself up in the comfortable consciousness of\nhis own superior judgment, and a little piqued that he had found neither\nsupport nor opposition (the next best thing to a professed talker), he\nseemed to have a perfect indifference to all topics except that on which\nhe had shown so much eloquence with so little effect.\n\nThe last tray was now carried out, the last lingering servant had\nretired. I was beginning to listen with all my powers of attention to an\ningenious gentleman who was about to give an interesting account of\nEgypt, where he had spent a year, and from whence he was lately\nreturned. He was just got to the catacombs,\n\n          When on a sudden open fly,\n    With impetuous recoil and jarring sound,\n\nthe mahogany folding doors, and in at once, struggling who should be\nfirst, rushed half a dozen children, lovely, fresh, gay, and noisy. This\nsudden and violent irruption of the pretty barbarians necessarily\ncaused a total interruption of conversation. The sprightly creatures ran\nround the table to choose where they would sit. At length this great\ndifficulty of courts and cabinets, _the choice of places_, was settled.\nThe little things were jostled in between the ladies, who all contended\nwho should get possession of the _little beauties_. One was in raptures\nwith the rosy cheeks of a sweet girl she held in her lap. A second\nexclaimed aloud at the beautiful lace with which the frock of another\nwas trimmed, and which she was sure mamma had given her for being good.\nA profitable, and doubtless a lasting and inseparable association was\nthus formed in the child's mind between lace and goodness. A third cried\nout, \"Look at the pretty angel!--do but observe--her bracelets are as\nblue as her eyes. Did you ever see such a match?\" \"Surely, Lady\nBelfield,\" cried a fourth, \"you carried the eyes to the shop, or there\nmust have been a shade of difference.\" I myself, who am passionately\nfond of children, eyed the sweet little rebels with complacency,\nnotwithstanding the unseasonableness of their interruption.\n\nAt last, when they were all disposed of, I resumed my inquiries about\nthe resting-place of the mummies. But the grand dispute who should have\noranges and who should have almonds and raisins, soon raised such a\nclamor that it was impossible to hear my Egyptian friend. This great\ncontest was, however, at length settled, and I was returning to the\nantiquities of Memphis, when the important point, who should have red\nwine, and who should have white, who should have half a glass, and who a\nwhole one, set us again in an uproar. Sir John was visibly uneasy, and\ncommanded silence. During this interval of peace, I gave up the\ncatacombs and took refuge in the pyramids. But I had no sooner proposed\nmy question about the serpent said to be found in one of them, than the\nson and heir, a fine little fellow just six years old, reaching out his\narm to dart an apple across the table at his sister, roguishly intending\nto overset her glass, unluckily overthrew his own, brimful of port wine.\nThe whole contents were discharged on the elegant drapery of a\nwhite-robed nymph.\n\nAll was now agitation, and distress, and disturbance, and confusion; the\ngentlemen ringing for napkins, the ladies assisting the dripping fair\none; each vying with the other who should recommend the most approved\nspecific for getting out the stain of red wine, and comforting the\nsufferer by stories of similar misfortunes. The poor little culprit was\ndismissed, and all difficulties and disasters seemed at last surmounted.\nBut you can not heat up again an interest which has been so often\ncooled. The thread of conversation had been so frequently broken that I\ndespaired of seeing it tied together again. I sorrowfully gave up\ncatacombs, pyramids, and serpent, and was obliged to content myself with\na little desultory chat with my next neighbor; sorry and disappointed to\nglean only a few scattered ears where I had expected so abundant a\nharvest; and the day from which I had promised myself so much benefit\nand delight passed away with a very slender acquisition of either.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nI went almost immediately after, at the invitation of Mr. Ranby, to pass\na few days at his villa at Hampstead. Mr. and Mrs. Ranby were esteemed\npious persons, but having risen to great affluence by a sudden turn of\nfortune in a commercial engagement, they had a little self-sufficiency,\nand not a little disposition to ascribe an undue importance to wealth.\nThis I should have thought more pardonable under their circumstances,\nhad I not expected that religion would in this respect have more than\nsupplied the deficiencies of education. Their religion, however,\nconsisted almost exclusively in a disproportionate zeal for a very few\ndoctrines. And though they were far from being immoral in their own\npractice, yet, in their discourse, they affected to undervalue morality.\n\nThis was, indeed, more particularly the case with the lady, whose chief\nobject of discourse seemed to be, to convince me of her great\nsuperiority to her husband in polemical skill. Her chaste conversation\ncertainly was not coupled with fear. In one respect she was the very\nreverse of those pharisees who were scrupulously exact about their petty\nobservances. Mrs. Ranby was, on the contrary, anxious about a very few\nimportant particulars, and exonerated herself from the necessity of all\ninferior attentions. She was strongly attached to one or two preachers,\nand discovered little candor for all others, or for those who attended\nthem. Nay, she somewhat doubted of the soundness of the faith of her\nfriends and acquaintance who would not incur great inconvenience to\nattend one or other of her favorites.\n\nMrs. Ranby's table was \"more than hospitably good.\" There was not the\nleast suspicion of Latin here. The eulogist of female ignorance might\nhave dined in comfortable security against the intrusion and vanity of\nerudition. She had three daughters, not unpleasing young women. But I\nwas much concerned to observe, that they were not only dressed to the\nvery extremity of fashion, but their drapery was as transparent, as\nshort, and as scanty, there was as sedulous a disclosure of their\npersons, and as great a redundancy of ornaments, as I had seen in the\ngayest circles.\n\n\"Expect not perfection,\" said my good mother, \"but look for\n_consistency_.\" This principle my parents had not only taught me in the\ncloset, but had illustrated by their deportment in the family and in the\nworld. They observed a uniform correctness in their general demeanor.\nThey were not over anxious about character for its own sake, but they\nwere tenderly vigilant not to bring any reproach on the Christian name\nby imprudence, negligence, or inconsistency, even in small things.\n\"Custom,\" said my mother, \"can never alter the immutable nature of\nright; fashion can never justify any practice which is improper in\nitself; and to dress indecently is as great an offence against purity\nand modesty, when it is the fashion, as when it is obsolete. There\nshould be a line of demarcation somewhere. In the article of dress and\nappearance, Christian mothers should make a stand. They should not be so\nunreasonable as to expect that a young girl will of herself have courage\nto oppose the united temptations of fashion without, and the secret\nprevalence of corruption within: and authority should be called in where\nadmonition fails.\"\n\nThe conversation after dinner took a religious turn. Mrs. Ranby was not\nunacquainted with the subject, and expressed herself with energy on many\nserious points. I could have been glad, however, to have seen her views\na little more practical; and her spirit a little less censorious. I saw\nshe took the lead in debate, and that Mr. Ranby submitted to act as\nsubaltern, but whether his meekness was the effect of piety or fear, I\ncould not at that time determine. She protested vehemently against all\ndissipation, in which I cordially joined her, though I hope with\nsomething less intemperance of manner, and less acrimony against those\nwho pursued it. I began, however, to lose sight of the errors of the\ndaughters' dress in the pleasure I felt at conversing with so pious a\nmother of a family. For pious she really was, though her piety was a\nlittle debased by coarseness, and not a little disfigured by asperity.\n\nI was sorry to observe that the young ladies not only took no part in\nthe conversation, but that they did not even seem to know what was going\non, and I must confess the _manner_ in which it was conducted was not\ncalculated to make the subject interesting. The girls sat jogging and\nwhispering each other, and got away as fast as they could.\n\nAs soon as they were withdrawn--\"There sir,\" said the mother, \"are three\ngirls who will make three excellent wives. They were never at a ball or\na play in their lives; and yet, though I say it, who should not say it,\nthey are as highly accomplished as any ladies at St. James.\" I cordially\napproved the former part of her assertion, and bowed in silence to the\nlatter.\n\nI took this opportunity of inquiring what had been her mode of religious\ninstruction for her daughters; but though I put the question with much\ncaution and deference, she looked displeased, and said she did not think\nit necessary to do a great deal in that way; all these things must come\nfrom above; it was not human endeavors, but divine grace which made\nChristians. I observed that the truth appeared to be, that divine grace\n_blessing_ human endeavors seemed most likely to accomplish that great\nend. She replied that experience was not on my side, for that the\nchildren of religious parents were not always religious. I allowed that\nit was too true. I knew that she drew her instances from two or three of\nher own friends, who, while they discovered much earnestness about their\nown spiritual interests, had almost totally neglected the religious\ncultivation of their children; the daughters in particular had been\nsuffered to follow their own devices, and to waste their days in company\nof their own choosing and in the most frivolous manner. \"What do ye\nmore than others?\" is an interrogation which this negligence has\nfrequently suggested. Nay, professing serious piety, if ye do not more\nthan those who profess it not, ye do less.\n\nI took the liberty to remark that though there was no such thing as\nhereditary holiness, no entail of goodness; yet the Almighty had\npromised in the Scriptures many blessings to the offspring of the\nrighteous. He never meant, however, that religion was to be transferred\narbitrarily like an heir-loom; but the promise was accompanied with\nconditions and injunctions. The directions were express and frequent, to\ninculcate early and late the great truths of religion; nay, it was\nenforced with all the minuteness of detail, \"precept upon precept, line\nupon line, here a little, and there a little\"--at all times and seasons,\n\"walking by the way, and sitting in the house.\" I hazarded the\nassertion, that it would _generally_ be found that where the children of\npious parents turned out ill, there had been some mistake, some neglect,\nor some fault on the part of the parents; that they had not used the\nright methods. I observed that I thought it did not at all derogate from\nthe sovereignty of the Almighty that he appointed certain means to\naccomplish certain ends; and that the adopting these, in conformity to\nhis appointment, and dependence on his blessing, seemed to be one of the\ncases in which we should prove our faith by our obedience.\n\nI found I had gone too far: she said, with some warmth, that she was not\nwanting in any duty to her daughters; she set them a good example, and\nshe prayed daily for their conversion. I highly commended her for both,\nbut risked the observation, \"that praying without instilling principles,\nmight be as inefficacious as instruction without prayer. That it was\nlike a husbandman who should expect that praying for sunshine should\nproduce a crop of corn in a field where not one grain had been sown.\nGod, indeed, _could_ effect this, but he does not do it; and the means\nbeing of his own appointment, his omnipotence is not less exerted, by\nhis directing certain effects to follow certain causes, than it would be\nby any arbitrary act.\" As it was evident that she did not choose to\nquarrel with me, she contented herself with saying coldly, that she\nperceived I was a _legalist_, and had but a low view of divine things.\n\nAt tea I found the young ladies took no more interest in the\nconversation, than they had done at dinner, but sat whispering and\nlaughing, and netting white silk gloves till they were summoned to the\nharpsichord. Despairing of getting on with them in company, I proposed a\nwalk in the garden. I now found them as willing to talk, as destitute of\nany thing to say. Their conversation was vapid and frivolous. They laid\ngreat stress on small things. They seemed to have no shades in their\nunderstanding, but used the strongest terms for the commonest occasions,\nand admiration was excited by things hardly worthy to command attention.\nThey were extremely glad, and extremely sorry, on subjects not\ncalculated to excite affections of any kind. They were animated about\ntrifles, and indifferent on things of importance. They were, I must\nconfess, frank and good-natured, but it was evident, that as they were\ntoo open to have any thing to conceal, so they were too uninformed to\nhave any thing to produce: and I was resolved not to risk my happiness\nwith a woman who could not contribute her full share toward spending a\nwet winter cheerfully in the country.\n\nThe next day, all the hours from breakfast to dinner were devoted to the\nharp. I had the vanity to think that this sacrifice of time was made in\ncompliment to me, as I had professed to like music; till I found that\nall their mornings were spent in the same manner, and the only fruit of\ntheir education, which seemed to be used to any purpose was, that after\ntheir family devotions in the evening, they sung and played a hymn. This\nwas almost the only sign they gave of intellectual or spiritual life.\nThey attended morning prayers if they were dressed before the bell rang.\nOne morning when they did not appear till late, they were reproved by\ntheir father; Mrs. Ranby said, \"she should be more angry with them for\ntheir irregularity, were it not that Mr. Ranby obstinately persisted in\nreading a printed form which she was persuaded could not do any body\nmuch good.\" The poor man, who was really well disposed, very properly\ndefended himself by saying, that he hoped his own heart went along with\nevery word he read; and as to his family, he thought it much more\nbeneficial for them to join in an excellent composition of a judicious\ndivine, than to attend to any such crude rhapsody as he should be able\nto produce, whose education had not qualified him to lead the devotions\nof others. I had never heard him venture to make use of his\nunderstanding before; and I continued to find it much better than I had\nat first given him credit for. The lady observed, with some asperity,\nthat where there were _gifts_ and _graces_, it superseded the necessity\nof learning.\n\nIn vindication of my own good breeding, I should observe that in my\nlittle debates with Mrs. Ranby, to which I was always challenged by her,\nI never lost sight of that becoming example of the son of Cato, who,\nwhen about to deliver sentiments which might be thought too assuming in\nso young a man, introduced his admonitions with the modest preface,\n\n    Remember what our _father_ oft has taught us.\n\nI, without quoting the son of the sage of Utica, constantly adduced the\npaternal authority for opinions which might savor too much of arrogance\nwithout such a sanction.\n\nI observed, in the course of my visit, that self-denial made no part of\nMrs. Ranby's religious plan. She fancied, I believe that it savored of\nworks, and of works she was evidently afraid. She talked as if activity\nwere useless, and exertion unnecessary, and as if, like inanimate\nmatter, we had nothing to do but sit still and be shone upon.\n\nI assured her that though I depended on the mercy of God, through the\nmerits of his Son, for salvation, as entirely as she could do, yet I\nthought that Almighty grace, so far from setting aside diligent\nexertion, was the principle which promoted it. That salvation is in no\npart of Scripture represented as attainable by the indolent Christian,\nif I might couple such contradictory terms. That I had been often\nawfully struck with the plain declarations, \"that the kingdom of\nheaven suffereth violence\"--\"strive to enter in at the strait\ngate\"--\"whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy\nmight\"--\"give diligence to make your calling sure\"--\"work out your own\nsalvation.\" To this labor, this watchfulness, this sedulity of endeavor,\nthe crown of life is expressly promised, and salvation is not less the\nfree gift of God, because he has annexed certain conditions to our\nobtaining it.\n\nThe more I argued, the more I found my reputation decline, yet to argue\nshe compelled me. I really believe she was sincere, but she was ill\ninformed, governed by feelings and impulses, rather than by the plain\nexpress rule of Scripture. It was not that she did not read Scripture,\nbut she interpreted it her own way; built opinions on insulated texts;\ndid not compare Scripture with Scripture, except as it concurred to\nstrengthen her bias. She considered with a disproportionate fondness,\nthose passages which supported her preconceived opinions, instead of\nbeing uniformly governed by the general tenor and spirit of the sacred\npage. She had far less reverence for the preceptive, than for the\ndoctrinal parts, because she did not sufficiently consider faith as an\noperative influential principle; nor did she conceive that the sublimest\ndoctrines involve deep practical consequences. She did not consider the\ngovernment of the tongue, nor the command of her passions, as forming\nany material part of the Christian character. Her zeal was fiery because\nher temper was so; and her charity was cold because it was an expensive\npropensity to keep warm. Among the perfections of the Redeemer's\ncharacter, she did not consider his being \"meek and lowly\" as an\nexample, the influence of which was to extend to her. She considered it\nindeed as _admirable_ but not as _imitable_; a distinction she was very\napt to make in all her practical dissertations, and in her\ninterpretation of Scripture.\n\nIn the evening Mrs. Ranby was lamenting in general and rather customary\nterms, her own exceeding sinfulness. Mr. Ranby said, \"You accuse\nyourself rather too heavily, my dear: you have sins to be sure.\" \"And\npray what sins have I, Mr. Ranby?\" said she, turning upon him with so\nmuch quickness that the poor man started. \"Nay,\" said he meekly, \"I did\nnot mean to offend you; so far from it, that hearing you condemn\nyourself so grievously, I intended to comfort you, and to say that\nexcept a few faults--\" \"And pray what faults?\" interrupted she,\ncontinuing to speak however, lest he should catch an interval to tell\nthem. \"I defy you, Mr. Ranby, to produce one.\" \"My dear,\" replied he,\n\"as you charged yourself with all, I thought it would be letting you off\ncheaply by naming only two or three, such as--.\" Here, fearing matters\nwould go too far, I interposed, and softening things as much as I could\nfor the lady, said, \"I conceived that Mr. Ranby meant, that though she\npartook of the general corruption--\" Here Ranby, interrupting me with\nmore spirit than I thought he possessed, said \"General corruption, sir,\nmust be the source of particular corruption: I did not mean that my\nwife was worse than other women.\"--\"Worse, Mr. Ranby, worse?\" cried she.\nRanby, for the first time in his life, not minding her, went on, \"As she\nis always insisting that the whole species is corrupt, she can not help\nallowing that she herself has not quite escaped the infection. Now to be\na sinner in the gross and a saint in the detail; that is, to have all\nsins, and no faults, is a thing I do not quite comprehend.\"\n\nAfter he had left the room, which he did as the shortest way of allaying\nthe storm, she apologized for him, said, \"he was a well-meaning man, and\nacted up to the little light he had;\" but added, \"that he was\nunacquainted with religious feelings, and knew little of the nature of\nconversion.\"\n\nMrs. Ranby, I found, seems to consider Christianity as a kind of\nfree-masonry, and therefore thinks it superfluous to speak on serious\nsubjects to any but the initiated. If they do not _return the sign_, she\ngives them up as blind and dead. She thinks she can only make herself\nintelligible to those to whom certain peculiar phrases are familiar; and\nthough her friends may be correct, devout, and both doctrinally and\npractically pious; yet if they can not catch a certain mystic meaning,\nif there is not a sympathy of intelligence between her and them, if they\ndo not fully conceive of impressions, and can not respond to mysterious\ncommunications, she holds them unworthy of intercourse with her. She\ndoes not so much insist on high moral excellence as the criterion of\ntheir worth, as on their own account of their internal feelings.\n\nShe holds very cheap, that gradual growth in piety which is, in reality,\nno less the effect of divine grace, than those instantaneous\nconversions, which she believes to be so common. She can not be\npersuaded that, of every advance in piety, of every improvement in\nvirtue, of every illumination of the understanding, of every amendment\nin the heart, of every rectification of the will, the Spirit of God is\nno less the author, because it is progressive, than if it were sudden.\nIt is true Omnipotence can, when he pleases, still produce these\ninstantaneous effects, as he has sometimes done; but as it is not his\nestablished or common mode of operation, it seems vain and rash,\npresumptuously to wait for these miraculous interferences. An implicit\ndependence, however, on such interferences, is certainly more gratifying\nto the genius of enthusiasm, than the anxious vigilance, the fervent\nprayer, the daily struggle, the sometimes scarcely perceptible though\nconstant progress of the sober-minded Christian. Such a Christian is\nfully aware that his heart requires as much watching in the more\nadvanced as in the earliest stages of his religious course. He is\ncheerful in a well-grounded hope, and looks not for ecstasies, till that\nhope be swallowed up in fruition. Thankful if he feel in his heart a\ngrowing love to God, and an increasing submission to his will, though he\nis unconscious of visions, and unacquainted with any revelation but that\nwhich God has made in his word. He remembers, and he derives consolation\nfrom the remembrance, that his Saviour, in his most gracious and\nsoothing invitation to the \"heavy laden,\" has mercifully promised\n\"rest,\" but he has no where promised rapture.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nBut to return to Mrs. Ranby's daughters. Is this _consistency_, said I\nto myself, when I compared the inanity of the life with the seriousness\nof the discourse: and contrasted the vacant way in which the day was\nspent, with the decent and devout manner in which it was begun and\nended? I recollected, that under the early though imperfect sacred\ninstitution, the fire of the morning and evening sacrifice was never\nsuffered to be extinguished during the day.\n\nThough Mrs. Ranby would have thought it a little heathenish to have had\nher daughters instructed in polite literature, and to have filled a\nleisure hour in reading to her a useful book, that was not professedly\nreligious, she felt no compunction at their waste of time, or the\ntrifling pursuits in which the day was suffered to spend itself. The\npiano-forte, when they were weary of the harp, copying some indifferent\ndrawings, gilding a set of flower-pots, and netting white gloves and\nveils, seemed to fill up the whole business of these immortal beings, of\nthese Christians, for whom it had been solemnly engaged that they should\nmanfully fight under Christ's banner.\n\nOn a further acquaintance, I was much more inclined to lay the blame on\ntheir education than their dispositions. I found them not only\ngood-humored, but charitably disposed: but their charities were small\nand casual, often ill applied, and always without a plan. They knew\nnothing of the state, character, or wants of the neighboring poor; and\nit had never been pointed out to them that the instruction of the young\nand ignorant made any part of the duty of the rich toward them.\n\nWhen I once ventured to drop a hint on this subject to Mrs. Ranby, she\ndrily said there were many other ways of doing good to the poor, besides\nexposing her daughters to the probability of catching diseases, and the\ncertainty of getting dirt by such visits. Her subscription was never\nwanting when she was _quite sure_ that the object was deserving. As I\nsuspected that she a little over-rated her own charity, I could not\nforbear observing, that I did not think it demanded a combination of all\nthe virtues to entitle a poor sick wretch to a dinner. And though I\ndurst not quote so light an authority as Hamlet to her, I could not\nhelp saying to myself, _Give every man his due, and who shall 'scape\nwhipping_? O! if God dealt so rigidly with us; if he waited to bestow\nhis ordinary blessings till we were good enough to deserve them, who\nwould be clothed? who would be fed? who would have a roof to shelter\nhim?\n\nIt was not that she gave nothing away, but she had a great dislike to\nrelieve any but those of her own religious persuasion. Though her\nRedeemer laid down his life for all people, nations, and languages, she\nwill only lay down her money for a very limited number of a very limited\nclass. To be religious is not claim sufficient on her bounty, they must\nbe religious in a particular way.\n\nThe Miss Ranbys had not been habituated to make any systematic provision\nfor regular charity, or for any of those accidental calamities for which\nthe purse of the affluent should always be provided; and being very\nexpensive in their persons, they had often not a sixpence to bestow,\nwhen the most deserving case presented itself. This must frequently\nhappen where there is no specific fund for charity, which should be\nincluded in the general arrangement of expenses; and the exercise of\nbenevolence not be left to depend on the accidental state of the purse.\nIf no new trinket happened to be wanted, these young ladies were liberal\nto any application, though always without judging of its merits by their\nown eyes and ears. But if there was a competition between a sick family\nand a new brooch, the brooch was sure to carry the day. This would not\nhave been the case, had they been habituated to visit themselves the\nabodes of penury and woe. Their flexible young hearts would have been\nwrought upon by the actual sight of miseries, the impression of which\nwas feeble when it reached their ears at a distance, surrounded as they\nwere with all the softnesses and accommodations of luxurious life.\n\"They would do what they could. They hoped it was not so bad as was\nrepresented.\" They fell into the usual way of pacifying their\nconsciences by their regrets; and brought themselves to believe that\ntheir sympathy with the suffering was an atonement for their not\nrelieving it.\n\nI observed with concern, during my visit, how little the Christian\ntemper seemed to be considered as a part of the Christian religion. This\nappeared in the daily concerns of this high professor. An opinion\ncontradicted, a person of different religious views commended, the\nsmallest opposition to her will, the intrusion of an unseasonable\nvisitor, even an imperfection in the dressing of some dish at table:\nsuch trifles not only discomposed her, but the discomposure was\nmanifested with a vehemence which she was not aware was a fault; nor did\nshe seem at all sensible that her religion was ever to be resorted to\nbut on great occasions, forgetting that great occasions but rarely occur\nin common life, and that these small passes, at which the enemy is\nperpetually entering, the true Christian will vigilantly guard.\n\nI observed in Mrs. Ranby one striking inconsistency. While she\nconsidered it as forming a complete line of separation from the world,\nthat she and her daughters abstained from public places, she had no\nobjection to their indemnifying themselves for this forbearance, by\ndevoting so monstrous a disproportion of their time to that very\namusement which constitutes so principal a part of diversion abroad. The\ntime which is redeemed from what is wrong, is of little value, if not\ndedicated to what is right; and it is not enough that the doctrines of\nthe gospel furnish a subject for discussion, if they do not furnish a\nprinciple of action.\n\nOne of the most obvious defects which struck me in this and two or three\nother families, whom I afterward visited, was the want of\ncompanionableness in the daughters. They did not seem to form a part of\nthe family compact; but made a kind of distinct branch of themselves.\nSurely, when only the parents and a few select friends are met together\nin a family way, the daughters should contribute their portion to\nenliven the domestic circle. They were always ready to sing and to play,\nbut did not take the pains to produce themselves in conversation; but\nseemed to carry on a distinct intercourse by herding, and whispering,\nand laughing together.\n\nIn some women who seemed to be possessed of good ingredients, they were\nso ill mixed up together as not to produce an elegant, interesting\ncompanion. It appeared to me that three of the grand inducements in the\nchoice of a wife, are, that a man may have a directress for his family,\na preceptress for his children, and a companion for himself. Can it be\nhonestly affirmed that the present habits of domestic life are generally\nfavorable to the union of these three essentials? Yet which of them can\na man of sense and principle consent to relinquish in his conjugal\nprospects?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nI returned to town at the end of a few days. To a speculative stranger,\na _London day_ presents every variety of circumstance in every\nconceivable shape, of which human life is susceptible. When you trace\nthe solicitude of the morning countenance, the anxious exploring of the\nmorning paper, the eager interrogation of the morning guest; when you\nhear the dismal enumeration of losses by land, and perils by sea--taxes\ntrebling, dangers multiplying, commerce annihilating, war protracted,\ninvasion threatening, destruction impending--your mind catches and\ncommunicates the terror, and you feel yourself \"falling, with a falling\nstate.\"\n\nBut when, in the course of the very same day, you meet these gloomy\nprognosticators at the sumptuous, not \"dinner but Hecatomb,\" at the\ngorgeous fête, the splendid spectacle; when you hear the frivolous\ndiscourse, witness the luxurious dissipation, contemplate the boundless\nindulgence, and observe the ruinous gaming, you would be ready to\nexclaim, \"Am I not supping in the antipodes of that land in which I\nbreakfasted? Surely this is a country of different men, different\ncharacters, and different circumstances. This at least is a place in\nwhich there is neither fear nor danger, nor want, nor misery, nor war.\"\n\nIf you observed the overflowing subscriptions raised, the innumerable\nsocieties formed, the committees appointed, the agents employed, the\nroyal patrons engaged, the noble presidents provided, the palace-like\nstructures erected; and all this to alleviate, to cure, and even to\nprevent, every calamity which the indigent can suffer, or the affluent\nconceive; to remove not only want but ignorance; to suppress not only\nmisery but vice--would you not exclaim with Hamlet, \"What a piece of\nwork is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In action\nhow like an angel! In compassion how like a god!\"\n\nIf you looked into the whole comet-like eccentric orb of the human\ncharacter; if you compared all the struggling contrariety of principle\nand of passion; the clashing of opinion and of action, of resolution and\nof performance; the victories of evil over the propensities to good; if\nyou contrasted the splendid virtue with the disorderly vice; the exalted\ngenerosity with the selfish narrowness; the provident bounty with the\nthoughtless prodigality; the extremes of all that is dignified, with the\nexcesses of all that is abject, would you not exclaim, in the very\nspirit of Pascal, O! the grandeur and the littleness, the excellence\nand the corruption, the majesty and the meanness of man!\n\nIf you attended the debates in our great deliberative assemblies; if you\nheard the argument and the eloquence, \"the wisdom and the wit,\" the\npublic spirit and the disinterestedness; Curtius's devotedness to his\ncountry, and Regulus's disdain of self, expressed with all the logic\nwhich reason can suggest, and embellished with all the rhetoric which\nfancy can supply, would you not rapturously cry out, this is\n\n    Above all Greek, above all Roman fame?\n\nBut if you discerned the bitter personality, the incurable prejudice,\nthe cutting retort, the suspicious implication, the recriminating sneer,\nthe cherished animosity; if you beheld the interests of an empire\nstanding still, the business of the civilized globe suspended, while two\nintellectual gladiators are thrusting each to give the other a fall, and\nto show his own strength; would you not lament the littleness of the\ngreat, the infirmities of the good, and the weaknesses of the wise?\nWould you not, soaring a flight far above Hamlet or Pascal, apostrophize\nwith the royal Psalmist, \"Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of\nhim, or the son of man that thou regardest him?\"\n\nBut to descend to my individual concerns. Among my acquaintance, I\nvisited two separate families, where the daughters were remarkably\nattractive; and more than usually endowed with beauty, sense, and\nelegance; but I was deterred from following up the acquaintance, by\nobserving, in each family, practices which, though very different,\nalmost equally revolted me.\n\nIn one, where the young ladies had large fortunes, they insinuated\nthemselves into the admiration, and invited the familiarity, of young\nmen, by attentions the most flattering, and civilities the most\nalluring. When they had made sure of their aim, and the admirers were\nencouraged to make proposals, the ladies burst out into a loud laugh,\nwondered what the man could mean; they never dreamt of any thing more\nthan common politeness; then petrified them with distant looks, and\nturned about to practice the same arts on others.\n\nThe other family in which I thought I had secured an agreeable intimacy,\nI instantly deserted on observing the gracious and engaging reception\ngiven by the ladies to more than one libertine of the most notorious\nprofligacy. The men were handsome, and elegant, and fashionable, and had\nfigured in newspapers and courts of justice. This degrading popularity\nrather attracted than repelled attention; and while the guilty\nassociates in their crimes were shunned with abhorrence by these very\nladies, the specious undoers were not only received with complaisance,\nbut there was a sort of competition who should be most strenuous in\ntheir endeavors to attract them. Surely women of fashion can hardly make\na more corrupt use of influence, a talent for which they will be\npeculiarly accountable. Surely, mere personal purity can hardly deserve\nthe name of virtue in those who can sanction notoriously vicious\ncharacters, which their reprobation, if it could not reform, would at\nleast degrade.\n\nOn a further acquaintance, I found Sir John and Lady Belfield to be\npersons of much worth. They were candid, generous, and sincere. They saw\nthe errors of the world in which they lived, but had not resolution to\nemancipate themselves from its shackles. They partook, indeed, very\nsparingly of its diversions, not so much because they suspected their\nevil tendency, as because they were weary of them, and because they had\nbetter resources in themselves.\n\nIndeed, it is wonderful that more people from mere good sense and just\ntaste, without the operation of any religious consideration, do not,\nwhen the first ardor is cooled, perceive the futility of what is called\npleasure, and decline it as the man declines the amusements of the\nchild. But fashionable society produces few persons, who, like the\nex-courtier of King David, assign their fourscore years as a reason for\nno longer \"delighting in the voice of singing men and singing women.\"\n\nSir John and Lady Belfield, however, kept a large general acquaintance;\nand it is not easy to continue to associate with the world, without\nretaining something of its spirit. Their standard of morals was high,\ncompared with that of those with whom they lived; but when the standard\nof the gospel was suggested, they drew in a little, and thought _things\nmight be carried too far_. There was nothing in their practice which\nmade it their interest to hope that Christianity might not be true. They\nboth assented to its doctrines, and lived in a kind of general hope of\nits final promises. But their views were neither correct, nor elevated.\nThey were contented to generalize the doctrines of Scripture, and though\nthey venerated its awful truths in the aggregate, they rather took them\nupon trust than labored to understand them, or to imbue their minds with\nthe spirit of them. Many a high professor, however, might have blushed\nto see how carefully they exercised not a few Christian dispositions;\nhow kind and patient they were! how favorable in their construction of\nthe actions of others! how charitable to the necessitous! how exact in\nveracity! and how tender of the reputation of their neighbor!\n\nSir John had been early hurt by living so much with men of the world,\nwith wits, politicians, and philosophers. This, though he had escaped\nthe contagion of false principles, had kept back the growth of such as\nwere true. Men versed in the world, and abstracted from all religious\nsociety, begin, in time, a little to suspect whether their own religious\nopinions may not possibly be wrong, or at least rigid, when they see\nthem so opposite to those of persons to whose judgment they are\naccustomed to look up in other points. He found too, that, in the\nsociety in which he lived, the reputation of religion detracted much\nfrom that of talents; and a man does not care to have his understanding\nquestioned by those in whose opinion he wishes to stand well. This\napprehension did not, indeed, drive him to renounce his principles, but\nit led him to conceal them; and that piety which is forcibly kept out of\nsight, which has nothing to fortify, and every thing to repel it, is too\napt to decline.\n\nHis marriage with an amiable woman, whose virtues and graces attached\nhim to his own home, drew him off from the most dangerous of his prior\nconnections. This union had at once improved his character, and\naugmented his happiness. If Lady Belfield erred, it was through excess\nof kindness and candor. Her kindness led to the too great indulgence of\nher children; and her candor to the too favorable construction of the\nerrors of her acquaintance. She was the very reverse of my Hampstead\nfriend. Whereas Mrs. Ranby thought hardly any body would be saved, Lady\nBelfield comforted herself that hardly any body was in danger. This\nopinion was not taken up as a palliative to quiet her conscience, on\naccount of the sins of her own conduct, for her conduct was remarkably\ncorrect; but it sprang from a natural sweetness of temper, joined to a\nmind not sufficiently informed and guided by scriptural truth. She was\ncandid and teachable, but as she could not help seeing that she had more\nreligion than most of her acquaintance; she felt a secret complacency in\nobserving how far her principles rose above theirs, instead of an\nhumbling conviction of how far her own fell below the requisitions of\nthe gospel.\n\nThe fundamental error was, that she had no distinct view of the\ncorruptions of human nature. She often lamented the weaknesses and\nvices of individuals, but thought all vice an incidental, not a radical\nmischief, the effect of thoughtlessness and casual temptation. She\ntalked with discrimination of the faults of some of her children; but\nwhile she rejoiced in the happier dispositions of the others, she never\nsuspected that they had all brought into the world with them any natural\ntendency to evil; and thought it cruel to suppose that such, innocent\nlittle things had any such wrong propensities as education would not\neffectually cure. In every thing the complete contrast of Mrs. Ranby--as\nthe latter thought education could do nothing, Lady Belfield thought it\nwould do every thing; that there was no good tendency which it would not\nbring to perfection, and no corruption which it could not completely\neradicate. On the operation of a higher influence she placed too little\ndependence; while Mrs. Ranby rested in an unreasonable trust on an\ninterference not warranted by Scripture.\n\nIn regard to her children, Lady Belfield was led by the strength of her\naffection to extreme indulgence. She encouraged no vice in them, but she\ndid not sufficiently check those indications which are the seeds of\nvice. She reproved the actual fault, but never thought of implanting a\nprinciple which might extirpate the evil from whence the fault sprung;\nso that the individual error and the individual correction were\ncontinually recurring.\n\nAs Mrs. Ranby, I had observed, seldom quoted any sacred writer but St.\nPaul, I remarked that Lady Belfield admired almost exclusively\nEcclesiastes, Proverbs, and the historical books of the Bible. Of the\nEpistles, that of St. James was her favorite; the others she thought\nchiefly, if not entirely, applicable to the circumstances of the Jews\nand Pagans, to the converts from among whom they were addressed. If she\nentertained rather an awful reverence for the doctrinal parts, than an\nearnest wish to study them, it arose from the common mistake of\nbelieving that they were purely speculative, without being aware of\ntheir deep practical importance. But if these two ladies were\ndiametrically opposite to each other in certain points, both were\nfrequently right in what they assumed, and both wrong only in what they\nrejected. Each contended for one half of that which will not save when\ndisjointed from the other, but which when united to it, makes up the\ncomplete Christian character.\n\nLady Belfield, who was, if I may so speak, constitutionally charitable,\nalmost thought that heaven might be purchased by charity. She inverted\nthe valuable superstructure of good works, and laid them as her\nfoundation; and while Mrs. Ranby would not, perhaps, much have blamed\nMoses for breaking the tables of the law, had he only demolished the\nsecond, Lady Belfield would have saved the second, as the more important\nof the two.\n\nLady Belfield had less vanity than any woman I ever knew who was not\ngoverned by a very strict religious principle. Her modesty never courted\nthe admiration of the world, but her timidity too much dreaded its\ncensure. She would not do a wrong thing to obtain any applause, but she\nomitted some right ones from the dread of blame.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nThe house of Sir John Belfield was become a pleasant kind of home to me.\nHe and his lady seldom went out in an evening. Happy in each other and\nin their children, though they lived much with the rational, they\nassociated as little as they thought possible with the racketing world.\nYet being known to be generally at home, they were exposed to the\ninroads of certain invaders, called fine ladies, who, always afraid of\nbeing too early for their parties, are constantly on the watch how to\ndisburden themselves for the intermediate hour, of the heavy commodity\n_time_; a raw material, which as they seldom work up at home, they are\nalways willing to truck against the time of their more domestic\nacquaintance. Now as these last _have_ always something to do, it is an\nunfair traffic; \"all the reciprocity is on one side,\" to borrow the\nexpression of an illustrious statesman; and the barter is as\ndisadvantageous to the sober home-trader, as that of the honest negroes,\nwho exchange their gold-dust and ivory for the beads and bits of glass\nof the wily English.\n\nThese nightly irruptions, though sometimes inconvenient to my friends,\nwere of use to me, as they enabled me to see and judge more of the gay\nworld than I could have done without going in search of it; a risk which\nI thought bore no proportion to the gain. It was like learning the\nlanguage of the enemy's country at home.\n\nOne evening, when we were sitting happily alone in the library, Lady\nBelfield, working at her embroidery, cheerfully joining in our little\ndiscussions, and comparing our peaceful pleasures with those pursued by\nthe occupiers of the countless carriages which were tearing up the\n\"wheel-worn streets,\" or jostling each other at the door of the next\nhouse, where a grand assembly was collecting its myriads--Sir John asked\nwhat should be the evening book. Then rising, he took down from the\nshelf Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination.\n\n\"Is it,\" said he, as soon as he sat down, \"the rage for novelty, or a\nreal degeneracy of taste, that we now so seldom hear of a poet, who,\nwhen I was a boy, was the admiration of every man who had a relish for\ntrue genius? I can not defend his principles, since in a work, of which\n_Man_ is professedly the object, he has overlooked his _immortality_: a\nsubject which one wonders did not force itself upon him, as so congenial\nto the sublimity of his genius, whatever his religious views might have\nbeen. But to speak of him only as a poet; a work which abounds in a\nricher profusion of images, and a more variegated luxuriance of\nexpression than the Pleasures of Imagination, can not easily be found.\nThe flimsy metre of our day seems to add fresh value to his sinewy\nverse. We have no happier master of poetic numbers; none who better knew\n\n    To build the lofty rhyme.\n\nThe condensed vigor, so indispensable to blank verse, the skillful\nvariation of the pause, the masterly structure of the period, and all\nthe occult mysteries of the art, can, perhaps, be best learned from\nAkenside. If he could have conveyed to Thomson his melody and rhyme, and\nThomson would have paid him back in perspicuity and transparency of\nmeaning, how might they have enriched each other!\"\n\n\"I confess,\" said I, \"in reading Akenside, I have now and then found the\nsame passage at once enchanting and unintelligible. As it happens to\nmany frequenters of the opera, the music always transports, but the\nwords are not always understood.\" I then desired my friend to gratify us\nwith the first book of the Pleasures of Imagination.\n\nSir John is a passionate lover of poetry, in which he has a fine taste.\nHe read it with much spirit and feeling, especially these truly\nclassical lines,\n\n    _Mind, Mind_ alone, bear witness earth and heaven,\n    The living fountains in itself contains\n    Of beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand\n    Sit paramount the graces; here enthroned\n    Celestial Venus, with divinest airs\n    Invites the soul to never-fading joy.\n\n\"The reputation of this exquisite passage,\" said he, laying down the\nbook, \"is established by the consenting suffrage of all men of taste,\nthough by the critical countenance you are beginning to put on, you look\nas if you had a mind to attack it.\"\n\n\"So far from it,\" said I, \"that I know nothing more splendid in the\nwhole mass of our poetry. And I feel almost guilty of high treason\nagainst the majesty of the sublimer Muses, in the remark I am going to\nhazard, on the celebrated lines which follow. The poet's object, through\nthis and the two following pages, is to establish the infinite\nsuperiority of mind over unconscious matter, even in its fairest forms.\nThe idea is as just as the execution is beautiful; so also is his\nsupreme elevation of intellect, over\n\n    Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts.\n\nNothing again can be finer, than his subsequent preference of\n\n    The powers of genius and design,\n\nover even the stupendous range\n\n    Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres.\n\nHe proceeds to ransack the stores of the mental and the moral world, as\nhe had done the world of matter, and with a pen dipped in Hippocrene,\nopposes to the latter,\n\n    The charms of virtuous friendship, etc.\n                         The candid blush\n    Of him who strives with fortune to be just.\n    All the mild majesty of private life.\n\n    The graceful tear that streams from others' woes.\n\n\"Why, Charles,\" said Sir John, \"I am glad to find you the enthusiastic\neulogist of the passage of which I suspected you were about to be the\nsaucy censurer.\"\n\n\"Censure,\" replied I, \"is perhaps too strong a term for any part\nespecially the most admired part of this fine poem. I need not repeat\nthe lines on which I was going to risk a slight observation; they live\nin the mind and memory of every lover of the Muses.\"\n\n\"I will read the next passage, however,\" said Sir John, \"that I may be\nbetter able to controvert your criticism:\n\n    Look then abroad through nature to the range\n    Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,\n    Wheeling unshaken through the void immense,\n    And speak, oh man! does the capacious scene\n    With half that kindling majesty dilate\n    Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose\n    Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's fate\n    Amid the crowd of patriots, and his arm\n    Aloft extending, like eternal Jove\n    When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud\n    On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel,\n    And bade the father of his country hail;\n    For lo! the tyrant prostrate in the dust,\n    And Rome again is free?\n\n\"What a grand and powerful passage!\" said Sir John.\n\n\"I acknowledge it,\" said I, \"but is it as just as it is grand? _Le vrai\nest le seul beau._ Is it a fair and direct opposition between mind and\nmatter? The poet could not have expressed the image more nobly, but\nmight he not, out of the abundant treasures of his opulent mind have\nchosen it with more felicity? Is an act of murder, even of an usurper,\nas happily contrasted with the organization of matter, as the other\nbeautiful instances I named, and which he goes on to select? The\nsuperiority of mental beauty is the point he is establishing, and his\nelaborate preparation leads you to expect all his other instances to be\ndrawn from pure mental excellence. His other exemplifications are\ngeneral, this is particular. They are a class, this is only a variety. I\nquestion if Milton, who was at least as ardent a champion for liberty,\nand as much of a party-man as Akenside, would have used this\nillustration. Milton, though he often insinuates a political stroke in\nhis great poem, always, I think, generalizes. Whatever had been his\nprinciples, or at whatever period he had written, I question, when he\nwanted to describe the overthrow of authority by the rebel angels, if he\nwould have illustrated it by Cromwell's seizing the mace, or the\ndecapitation of Charles. Much less, if he would have selected those two\ninstances as the triumph of mind over matter.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Sir John, \"you forget that Akenside professedly adopts the\nlanguage of Cicero in his second Philippic.\" He then read the note\nbeginning with, Cæsare interfecto, etc.\n\n\"True,\" said I; \"I am not arguing the matter as a point of fact, but as\na point of just application. I pass over the comparison of Brutus with\nJove, which by the way would have become Tully better than Akenside, but\nwhich Tully would have perhaps thought too bold. Cicero adorns his\noration with this magnificent description. He relates it as an event,\nthe other uses it as an illustration of that to which I humbly conceive\nit does not exactly apply. The orator paints the violent death of a\nhero; the poet adopts the description of the violent death, or rather of\nthe stroke which caused it, to illustrate the perfection of intellectual\ngrandeur. After all, it is as much a party question as a poetical one. A\nquestion on which the critic will be apt to be guided in his decision by\nhis politics rather than by his taste. The splendor of the passage,\nhowever, will inevitably dazzle the feeling reader, till it produce the\ncommon effect of excessive brightness, that of somewhat blinding the\nbeholder.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nWhile we were thus pleasantly engaged, the servant announced Mrs.\nFentham; and a fashionable looking woman, about the middle of life,\nrather youthfully dressed, and not far from handsome, made her\nappearance. Instead of breaking forth into the usual modish jargon, she\npolitely entered into the subject in which she found us engaged; envied\nLady Belfield the happiness of elegant quiet, which she herself might\nhave been equally enjoying at her own house, and professed herself a\nwarm admirer of poetry. She would probably have professed an equal\nfondness for metaphysics, geometry, military tactics, or the Arabic\nlanguage, if she had happened to have found us employed in the study of\neither.\n\nFrom poetry the transition to painting was easy and natural. Mrs.\nFentham possessed all the phraseology of connoisseurship, and asked me\nif I was fond of pictures. I professed the delight I took in them in\nstrong, that is in true terms. She politely said that Mr. Fentham had a\nvery tolerable collection of the best masters, and particularly a\nTitian, which she would be happy to have the honor of showing me next\nmorning. I bowed my thankful assent; she appointed the hour, and soon\nafter, looking at her watch, said she was afraid she must leave the\ndelights of such a select and interesting society for a far less\nagreeable party.\n\nWhen she was gone, I expressed my obligations to her politeness, and\nanticipated the pleasure I should have in seeing her pictures. \"She is\nmuch more anxious that you should see her _Originals_,\" said Lady\nBelfield smiling; \"the kindness is not _quite_ disinterested; take care\nof your heart.\" Sir John, rather gravely, said, \"It is with reluctance\nthat I ever say any thing to the prejudice of any body that I receive in\nmy house; but as the son of my valued friend, I think it fair to tell\nyou that this vigilant matron keeps a keen look out after all young men\nof fortune. This is not the first time that the Titian has been made the\nbait to catch a promising acquaintance. Indeed it is now grown so stale,\nthat had you not been a new man, she would hardly have risked it. If you\nhad happened not to like painting, some book would have been offered\nyou. The return of a book naturally brings on a visit. But all these\ndevices have not yet answered. The damsels still remain, like\nShakspeare's plaintive maid, 'in single blessedness.' They do not,\nhowever, like her, spend gloomy nights\n\n    Chaunting cold hymns to the pale, lifeless moon,\n\nbut in singing sprightlier roundelays to livelier auditors.\"\n\nI punctually attended the invitation, effectually shielded from danger\nby the friendly intimation, and a still more infallible Ægis, the charge\nof my father never to embark in any engagement till I had made my visit\nto Mr. Stanley. My veneration for his memory operated as a complete\ndefence.\n\nI saw and admired the pictures. The pictures brought on an invitation to\ndinner. I found Mrs. Fentham to be in her conversation, a sensible,\ncorrect, knowing woman. Her daughters were elegant in their figures,\nwell instructed in the usual accomplishments, well-bred, and apparently\nwell tempered. Mr. Fentham was a man of business, and of the world. He\nhad a great income from a place under government, out of which the\nexpenses of his family permitted him to save nothing. Private fortune he\nhad little or none. His employment engaged him almost entirely, so that\nhe interfered but little with domestic affairs. A general air of\nelegance, almost amounting to magnificence, pervaded the whole\nestablishment.\n\nI at first saw but little to excite any suspicion of the artificial\ncharacter of the lady of the house. The first gleam of light which let\nin the truth was the expressions most frequent in Mrs. Fentham's\nmouth--\"What will the world say?\" \"What will people think?\" \"How will\nsuch a thing appear?\" \"Will it have a good look?\" \"The world is of\nopinion.\" \"Won't such a thing be censured?\" On a little acquaintance I\ndiscovered that human applause was the motive of all she said, and\nreputation her great object in all she did. Opinion was the idol to\nwhich she sacrificed. Decorum was the inspirer of her duties, and praise\nthe reward of them. The standard of the world was the standard by which\nshe weighed actions. She had no higher principle of conduct. She adopted\nthe forms of religion, because she saw that, carried to a certain\ndegree, they rather produced credit than censure. While her husband\nadjusted his accounts on the Sunday morning, she regularly carried her\ndaughters to church, except a head-ache had been caught at the\nSaturday's opera; and as regularly exhibited herself and them afterward\nin Hyde-Park. As she said it was Mr. Fentham's leisure day, she\ncomplimented him with always having a great dinner on Sundays, but\nalleged her piety as a reason for not having cards in the evening at\nhome, though she had no scruple to make one at a private party at a\nfriend's house; soberly conditioning, however, that there should not be\nmore than _three tables_; the right or wrong, the decorum or\nimpropriety, the gayety or gravity always being made specifically to\ndepend on the number of tables.\n\nShe was, in general, extremely severe against women who had lost their\nreputation; though she had no hesitation in visiting a few of the most\ndishonorable, if they were of high rank or belonged to a certain set.\nIn that case, she excused herself by saying, \"That as fashionable people\ncontinued to countenance them, it was not for her to be scrupulous; one\nmust sail with the stream; I can't set my face against the world.\" But\nif an unhappy girl had been drawn aside, or one who had not rank to bear\nher out had erred, that altered the case, and she then expressed the\nmost virtuous indignation. When modesty happened to be in repute, not\nthe necks of Queen Elizabeth and her courtly virgins were more\nentrenched in ruffs and shrouded in tuckers, than those of Mrs. Fentham\nand her daughters; but when _display_ became the order of the day, the\nGrecian Venus was scarcely more unconscious of a vail.\n\nWith a very good understanding she never allowed herself one original\nthought, or one spontaneous action. Her ideas, her language, and her\nconduct were entirely regulated by the ideas, language, and conduct of\nthose who stood well in the world. Vanity in her was a steady, inward,\nbut powerfully pervading principle. It did not evaporate in levity or\nindiscretion, but was the hidden, though forcible spring of her whole\ncourse of action. She had all the gratification which vanity affords in\nsecret, and all the credit which its prudent operation procures in\npublic. She was apparently guilty of no excess of any kind. She had a\nsober scale of creditable vices, and never allowed herself to exceed a\nfew stated degrees in any of them. She reprobated gaming, but could not\nexist without cards. Masquerades she censured as highly extravagant and\ndangerous, but when given by ladies of high quality, at their own\nhouses, she thought them an elegant and proper amusement. Though she\nsometimes went to the play, she did not care for what passed on the\nstage, for she confessed the chief pleasure the theatre afforded was to\nreckon up when she came home, how many duchesses and countesses had\nbowed to her across the house.\n\nA complete despot at home, her arbitrariness is so vailed by correctness\nof manner, and studied good breeding, that she obtains the credit of\ngreat mildness and moderation. She is said not to love her daughters,\nwho come too near her in age, and go too much beyond her in beauty to be\nforgiven; yet like a consummate politician, she is ever laboring for\ntheir advancement. She has generally several schemes in hand, and always\none scheme under another, the under-plot ready to be brought forward if\nthe principal one fails. Though she encourages pretenders, yet she is\nafraid to accept of a tolerable proposal, lest a better should present\nitself; but if the loftier hope fails, she then contrives to lure back\nthe inferior offer. She can balance to a nicety, in the calculation of\nchances, the advantages or disadvantages of a higher possibility against\na lower probability.\n\nThough she neither wants reading nor taste, her mind is never\nsufficiently disengaged to make her an agreeable companion. Her head is\nalways at work conjecturing the event of every fresh ball and every new\nacquaintance. She can not even\n\n    Take her tea without a stratagem.\n\nShe set out in life with a very slender acquaintance, and clung for a\nwhile to one or two damaged peeresses, who were not received by women of\ntheir own rank. But I am told it was curious to see with what adroitness\nshe could extricate herself from a disreputable acquaintance, when a\nmore honorable one stepped in to fill the niche. She made her way\nrapidly, by insinuating to one person of note how intimate she was with\nanother, and to both what handsome things each said of the other. By\nconstant attentions, petty offices, and measured flattery, she has got\nfooting into almost every house of distinction. Her decorum is\ninvariable. She boasts that she was never guilty of the indecency of\nviolent passion. Poor woman! she fancies there is no violent passion but\nthat of anger. Little does she think that ambition, vanity, the hunger\nof applause, a rage for being universally known, are all violent\npassion, however modified by discretion or varnished by art. She suffers\ntoo all that \"vexation of spirit\" which treads on the heels of \"vanity.\"\nDisappointment and jealousy poison the days devoted to pleasure. The\nparty does not answer. The wrong people never stay away, and the right\nones never come. The guest for whom the fête is made is sure to fail.\nHer party is thin, while that of her competitor overflows; or there is a\nplenty of dowagers and a paucity of young men. When the costly and\nelaborate supper is on the table excuses arrive; even if the supper is\ncrowded, the daughters remain upon hands. How strikingly does she\nexemplify the strong expression of--\"laboring in the fire for very\nvanity\"--\"of giving her money for that which is not bread, and her labor\nfor that which satisfieth not!\"\n\nAfter spending the day at Mrs. Fentham's, I went to sup with my friends\nin Cavendish-square. Lady Belfield was impatient for my history of the\ndinner. But Sir John said, laughing, \"You shall not say a word,\nCharles--I can tell how it was as exactly as if I had been there.\nCharlotte, who has the best voice, was brought out to sing, but was\nplaced a little behind, as her person is not quite perfect; Maria, who\nis the most picturesque figure, was put _to attitudinize_ at the harp,\narrayed in the costume, and assuming the fascinating graces of Marmion's\nLady Heron:\n\n    Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er\n    The strings her fingers flow.\n\n\"Then, Charles, was the moment of peril! then, according to your favorite\nMilton's most incongruous image,\n\n    You took in sounds that might create a soul\n    Under the ribs of death.\n\n\"For fear, however, that your heart of adamant should hold out against\nall these perilous assaults, its vulnerability was tried in other\nquarters. The Titian would naturally lead to Livinia's drawings. A\nbeautiful sketch of the lakes would be produced, with a gentle\nintimation, what a sweet place Westmoreland must be to live in! When you\nhad exhausted all proper raptures on the art and on the artist, it would\nbe recollected, that as Westmoreland was so near Scotland, you would\nnaturally be fond of a reel. The reel of course succeeded.\" Then,\nputting himself into an attitude and speaking theatrically, he\ncontinued,\n\n                  \"Then universal Pan\n    Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance--\n\n\"Oh! no, I forgot universal Pan could not join, but he could admire. Then\nall the perfections of all the nymphs burst on you in full blaze. Such a\nconcentration of attractions you never could resist! You are _but_ a\nman, and now, doubtless, a lost man.\" Here he stopped to finish his\nlaugh, and I was driven reluctantly to acknowledge that his picture,\nthough a caricature, was, notwithstanding, a resemblance.\n\n\"And so,\" said Sir John, \"you were brought under no power of incantation\nby this dangerous visit. You will not be driven, like the tempted\nIthacan, to tie yourself to a mast, or to flee for safety from the\nenchantment of these Sirens.\"\n\nWhile we were at supper, with more gravity, he said, \"Among the various\nobjects of ambition, there are few in life which bring less accession\nto its comfort, than an unceasing struggle to rise to an elevation in\nsociety very much above the level of our own condition, without being\naided by any stronger ascending power than mere vanity. Great talents,\nof whatever kind, have a natural tendency to rise, and to lift their\npossessor. The flame in mounting does but obey its impulse. But when\nthere is no energy more powerful than the passion to be great, destitute\nof the gifts which confer greatness, the painful efforts of ambition are\nlike water, forced above its level by mechanical powers. It requires\nconstant exertions of art, to keep up what art first set a-going. Poor\nMrs. Fentham's head is perpetually at work to maintain the elevation she\nhas reached. And how little after all is she considered by those on\nwhose caresses her happiness depends! She has lost the esteem of her\noriginal circle, where she might have been respected, without gaining\nthat of her high associates, who, though they receive her, still refuse\nher claims of equality. She is not considered as of their\n_establishment_; it is but _toleration_ at best.\n\n\"At Mrs. Fentham's, I encountered Lady Bab Lawless, a renowned modish\ndowager, famous for laying siege to the heart of every distinguished\nman, with the united artillery of her own wit and her daughters' beauty.\nHow many ways there are of being wrong! She was of a character\ndiametrically opposite to that of Mrs. Fentham. She had the same end in\nview, but the means she used to accomplish it were of a bolder strain.\nLady Bab affected no delicacy, she laughed at reserve; she had shaken\nhands with decorum.\n\n    She held the _noisy_ tenor of her way\n\nwith no assumed refinement; and, so far from shielding her designs\nbehind the mask of decency, she disdained the obsolete expedient. Her\nplans succeeded the more infallibly, because her frankness defeated all\nsuspicion. A man could never divine that such gay and open assaults\ncould have their foundation in design, and he gave her full credit for\nartless simplicity, at the moment she was catching him in her toils. If\nshe now and then had gone too far, and by a momentary oversight, or\nexcessive levity had betrayed too much, with infinite address she would\nmake a crane-neck turn, and fall to discussing, not without ability,\nsome moral or theological topic. Thus she affected to establish the\ncharacter of a woman, thoughtless through wit, indiscreet through\nsimplicity, but religious on principle.\n\nAs there is no part of the appendage to a wife, which I have ever more\ndreaded than a Machiavelian mother, I should have been deaf to wit and\nblind to beauty, and dead to advances, had their united batteries been\ndirected against me. But I had not the ambition to aspire to that honor.\nI was much too low a mark for her lofty aim. She had a natural antipathy\nto every name that could not be found in the red book. She equally\nshrunk from untitled opulence and indigent nobility. She knew by\ninstinct if a younger son was in the room, and by a petrifying look\nchecked his most distant approaches; while with her powerful spells she\nnever failed to draw within her magic circle the splendid heir, and\ncharm him to her purpose.\n\nHighly born herself, she had early been married to a rich man of\ninferior rank, for the sake of a large settlement. Her plan was, that\nher daughters (who, by the way, are modest and estimable), should find\nin the man they married, still higher birth than her own, and more\nriches than her husband's.\n\nIt was a curious speculation to compare these two friends, and to\nobserve how much less the refined maneuvers of Mrs. Fentham answered,\nthan the open assaults of the intrepid Lady Bab. All the intricacies\nand labyrinths which the former has been so skillful and so patient in\nweaving, have not yet enthralled one captive, while the composed\neffrontery, the affecting to take for granted the offer which was never\nmeant to be made, and treating that as concluded, which was never so\nmuch as intended, drew the unconscious victim of the other into the\ntrap, before he knew it was set: the depth of her plot consisting in not\nappearing to have any. It was a novelty in intrigue. An originality\nwhich defied all competition, and in which no imitator had any chance of\nsuccess.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nSir John carried me one morning to call on Lady Denham, a dowager of\nfashion, who had grown old in the trammels of the world. Though she\nseems resolved to die in the harness, yet she piques herself on being\nvery religious, and no one inveighs against infidelity or impiety with\nmore pointed censure. \"She has a grand-daughter,\" said Sir John, \"who\nlives with her, and whom she has trained to walk precisely in her own\nsteps, and which, she thinks, _is the way she should go_. The girl,\"\nadded he, smiling, \"is well looking, and will have a handsome fortune,\nand I am persuaded that, as a friend, I could procure you a good\nreception.\"\n\nWe were shown into her dressing-room, where we found her with a book\nlying open before her. From a glance which I caught of the large black\nletter, I saw it was a _Week's Preparation_. This book, it seems,\nconstantly lay open before her from breakfast to dinner, at this\nseason. It was Passion week. But as this is the room in which he sees\nall her morning visitors, to none of whom is she ever denied, even at\nthis period of retreat, she could only pick up momentary snatches of\nreading in the short intervals between one person bowing out and another\ncourtesying in. Miss Denham sat by, painting flowers.\n\nSir John asked her ladyship if she would go and dine in a family way\nwith Lady Belfield. She drew up, looked grave, and said with much\nsolemnity, that she should never think of dining abroad at this holy\nseason. Sir John said, \"As we have neither cards nor company, I thought\nyou might as well have eaten your chicken in my house as in your own.\"\nBut though she thought it a sin to dine with a sober family, she made\nherself amends for the sacrifice, by letting us see that her heart was\nbrimful of the world, pressed down and running over. She indemnified\nherself for her abstinence from its diversions, by indulging in the only\npleasures which she thought compatible with the sanctity of the season,\nuncharitable gossip, and unbounded calumny. She would not touch a card\nfor the world, but she played over to Sir John the whole game of the\npreceding Saturday night: told him by what a shameful inattention her\npartner had lost the odd trick; and that she should not have been beaten\nafter all, had not her adversary, she verily believed, contrived to look\nover her hand.\n\nSir John seized the only minute in which we were alone, to ask her to\nadd a guinea to a little sum he was collecting for a poor tradesman with\na large family, who had been burned out a few nights ago. \"His wife,\"\nadded he, \"was your favorite maid Dixon, and both are deserving people.\"\n\"Ah, poor Dixon! She was always unlucky,\" replied the lady. \"How could\nthey be so careless? Surely they might have put the fire out sooner.\nThey should not have let it get ahead. I wonder people are not more\nactive.\" \"It is too late to inquire about that,\" said Sir John; \"the\nquestion now is, not how their loss might have been prevented, but how\nit may be repaired.\" \"I am really quite sorry,\" said she, \"that I can\ngive you nothing. I have had so many calls lately, that my charity purse\nis completely exhausted--and that abominable property-tax makes me quite\na beggar.\"\n\nWhile she was speaking, I glanced at the open leaf at, \"Charge them that\nare rich in this world that they be ready to give;\" and directing my eye\nfurther, it fell on, \"Be not deceived. God is not mocked.\" These were\nthe awful passages which formed a part of her _Preparation_; and this\nwas the practical use she made of them!\n\nA dozen persons of both sexes \"had their exits and their entrances\"\nduring our stay; for the scene was so strange, and the character so new\nto me, that I felt unwilling to stir. Among other visitors was Signor\nSquallini, a favorite opera singer, whom she patronized. Her face was\nlighted up with joy at the sight of him. He brought her an admired new\nair in which he was preparing himself, and sung a few notes, that she\nmight say she had heard it the first. She felt all the dignity of the\nprivilege, and extolled the air with all the phrases, cant, and rapture\nof _dilettanteism_.\n\nAfter this, she drew a paper from between the leaves of her still open\nbook, which she showed him. It contained a list of all the company she\nhad engaged to attend his benefit. \"I will call on some others,\" said\nshe, \"to-morrow after prayers. I am sorry this is a week in which I can\nnot see my friends at their assemblies, but on Sunday you know it will\nbe over, and I shall have my house full in the evening. Next Monday will\nbe Easter, and I shall be at our dear Duchess's private masquerade, and\nthen I hope to see and engage the whole world. Here are ten guineas,\"\nsaid she in a half whisper to the obsequious Signor; \"you may mention\nwhat I gave for _my_ ticket, and it may set the fashion going.\" She then\npressed a ticket on Sir John and another on me. Ho declined, saying with\ngreat _sang froid_, \"You know we are _Handelians_.\" What excuse I made I\ndo not well know; I only know that I saved my ten guineas with a very\nbad grace, but felt bound in conscience to add them to what I had before\nsubscribed to poor Dixon.\n\nHitherto I had never seen the gnat-strainer and the camel-swallower so\nstrikingly exemplified. And it is observable how forcibly the truth of\nScripture is often illustrated by those who live in the boldest\nopposition to it. If you have any doubt while you are reading, go into\nthe world and your belief will be confirmed.\n\nAs we took our leave, she followed us to the door, I hoped it was with\nthe guinea for the fire; but she only whispered Sir John, though he did\nnot go himself, to prevail on such and such ladies to go to Squallini's\nbenefit. \"Pray do,\" said she, \"it will be charity. Poor fellow! he is\nsadly out at elbows; he has a fine liberal spirit, and can hardly make\nhis large income do.\"\n\nWhen we got into the street we admired the splendid chariot and laced\nliveries of this _indigent_ professor, for whom our charity had been\njust solicited, and whose \"liberal spirit,\" my friend assured me,\nconsisted in sumptuous living and the indulgence of every fashionable\nvice.\n\nI could not restrain my exclamations as soon as we got out of hearing.\nTo Sir John, the scene was amusing, but to him it had lost the interest\nof novelty. \"I have known her ladyship about twelve years,\" said he,\n\"and of course have witnessed a dozen of these annual paroxysms of\ndevotion. I am persuaded that she is a gainer by them on her own\nprinciple, that is, in the article of pleasure. This short periodical\nabstinence whets her appetite to a keener relish for suspended\nenjoyment; and while she fasts from amusements, her blinded conscience\nenjoys a feast of self-gratulation. She feeds on the remembrance of her\nself-denial, even after she has returned to those delights which she\nthinks her retreat has fairly purchased. She considers religion as a\nsystem of pains and penalties, by the voluntary enduring of which, for a\nshort time, she shall compound for all the indulgences of the year. She\nis persuaded that something must be annually forborne, in order to make\nher peace. After these periodical atonements, the Almighty being in her\ndebt, will be obliged at last to pay her with heaven. This composition,\nwhich rather brings her in on the creditor side, not only quiets her\nconscience for the past, but enables her joyfully to enter on a new\nscore.\"\n\nI asked Sir John how Lady Belfield _could_ associate with a woman of a\ncharacter so opposite to her own? \"What can we do?\" said he, \"we can not\nbe singular. We must conform a _little_ to the world in which we live.\"\nTrusting to his extreme good nature, and fired at the scene to which I\nhad been a witness, I ventured to observe that non-conformity to such a\nworld as that of which this lady was a specimen, was the very criterion\nof the religion taught by Him who had declared by way of pre-eminent\ndistinction, that \"his kingdom was not of this world.\"\n\n\"You are a young man,\" answered he mildly, \"and this delicacy and these\nprejudices would soon wear off if you were to live some time in the\nworld.\" \"My dear Sir John,\" said I, warmly, \"by the grace of God, I\nnever _will_ live in the world; at least, I never will associate with\nthat part of it whose society would be sure to wear off that delicacy\nand remove those prejudices. Why this is retaining all the worst part of\npopery. Here is the abstinence without the devotion; the outward\nobservance without the interior humiliation; the suspending of sin, not\nonly without any design of forsaking it, but with a fixed resolution of\nreturning to it, and of increasing the gust by the forbearance. Nay,\nthe sins she retains in order to mitigate the horrors of forbearance,\nare as bad as those she lays down. A postponed sin, which is fully\nintended to be resumed, is as much worse than a sin persisted in, as\ndeliberate hypocrisy is worse than the impulse of passion. I desire not\na more explicit comment on a text which I was once almost tempted to\nthink unjust; I mean, the greater facility of the entrance of gross and\nnotorious offenders into heaven than of these formalists. No! If Miss\nDenham were sole heiress to Cr[oe]sus, and joined the beauty of\nCleopatra to the wit of Sappho, I never would connect myself with a\ndisciple of that school.\"\n\n\"How many ways there are of being unhappy!\" said Sir John, as we\nreturned one day from a ride we had taken some miles out of town, to\ncall on a friend of his. \"Mr. Stanhope, whom we have just quitted, is a\nman of great elegance of mind. His early life was passed in liberal\nstudies, and in the best company. But his fair prospects were blasted by\na disproportionate marriage. He was drawn in by a vanity too natural to\nyoung men, that of fancying himself preferred by a woman who had no one\nrecommendation but beauty. To be admired by her whom all his\nacquaintance admired, gratified his _amour propre_. He was overcome by\nher marked attentions so far as to declare himself, without knowing her\nreal disposition. It was some time before his prepossession allowed him\nto discover that she was weak and ill-informed, selfish and\nbad-tempered. What she wanted in understanding, she made up in spirit.\nThe more she exacted, the more he submitted; and her demands grew in\nproportion to his sacrifices. My friend, with patient affection,\nstruggled for a long time to raise her character, and to enlighten her\nmind; but finding that she pouted whenever he took up a book, and that\nshe even hid the newspaper before he had read it, complaining that he\npreferred any thing to her company; the softness of his temper and his\nhabitual indolence at length prevailed. His better judgment sunk in the\nhopeless contest. For a quiet life, he has submitted to a disgraceful\nlife. The compromise has not answered. He has incurred the degradation\nwhich, by a more spirited conduct, he might have avoided, and has missed\nthe quiet which he sacrificed his dignity to purchase. He compassionates\nher folly, and continues to translate her wearisome interruptions into\nthe flattering language of affection.\n\n\"In compliment to her, no less than in justification of his own choice,\nhe has persuaded himself that all women are pretty much alike. That in\npoint of capacity, disposition, and knowledge he has but drawn the\ncommon lot, with the balance in his favor, of strong affection and\nunsullied virtue. He hardly ever sees his fine library, which is the\nobject of her supreme aversion, but wastes his days in listless idleness\nand his evenings at cards, the only thing in which she takes a lively\ninterest. His fine mind is, I fear, growing mean and disingenuous. The\ngentleness of his temper leads him not only to sacrifice his peace, but\nto infringe on his veracity in order to keep her quiet. All the\nentertainment he finds at dinner is a recapitulation of the faults of\nher maids, or the impertinence of her footmen, or the negligence of her\ngardener. If to please her he joins in the censure, she turns suddenly\nabout, and defends them. If he vindicates them, she insists on their\nimmediate dismission; and no sooner are they irrevocably discharged,\nthan she is continually dwelling on their perfections, and then it is\nonly their successors who have any faults.\n\n\"He is now so afraid of her driving out his few remaining old servants,\nif she sees his partiality for them, that in order to conceal it, he\naffects to reprimand them as the only means for them to secure her\nfavor. Thus the integrity of his heart is giving way to a petty\nduplicity, and the openness of his temper to shabby artifices. He could\nsubmit to the loss of his comfort, but sensibly feels the diminution of\nhis credit. The loss of his usefulness too is a constant source of\nregret. She will not even suffer him to act as a magistrate, lest her\ndoors should be beset with vagabonds, and her house dirtied by men of\nbusiness. If he chance to commend a dish he has tasted at a friend's\nhouse--Yes, every body's things are good but hers, she can never please.\nHe had always better dine abroad, if nothing is fit to be eaten at home.\n\n\"Though poor Stanhope's conduct is so correct, and his attachment to his\nwife so notorious, he never ventures to commend any thing that is said\nor done by another woman. She has, indeed, no definitive object of\njealousy, but feels an uneasy vague sensation of envy at any thing or\nperson he admires. I believe she would be jealous of a fine day, if her\nhusband praised it.\n\n\"If a tale reaches her ears of a wife who has failed of her duty, or if\nthe public newspapers record a divorce, then she awakens her husband to\na sense of his superior happiness, and her own irreproachable virtue. O\nCharles, the woman who, reposing on the laurels of her boasted virtue,\nallows herself to be a disobliging, a peevish, a gloomy, a discontented\ncompanion, defeats one great end of the institution, which is happiness.\nThe wife who violates the marriage vow, is indeed more criminal; but the\nvery magnitude of her crime emancipates her husband; while she who makes\nhim not dishonorable, but wretched, fastens on him a misery for life,\nfrom which no laws can free him, and under which religion alone can\nsupport him.\"\n\nWe continued talking, till we reached home, on the multitude of\nmarriages in which the parties are \"joined not matched,\" and where the\nterm union is a miserable misnomer. I endeavored to turn all these new\nacquaintances to account, and considered myself at every visit I made,\nas taking a lesson for my own conduct. I beheld the miscarriages of\nothers, not only with concern for the individual, but as beacons to\nlight me on my way. It was no breach of charity to use the aberrations\nof my acquaintance for the purpose of making my own course more direct.\nI took care however, never to lose sight of the humbling consideration\nthat my own deviations were equally liable to become the object of their\nanimadversion, if the same motive had led them to the same scrutiny.\n\nI remained some weeks longer in town, indulging myself in all its safe\nsights, and all its sober pleasures. I examined whatever was new in art,\nor curious in science. I found out the best pictures, saw the best\nstatues, explored the best museums, heard the best speakers in the\ncourts of law, the best preachers in the church, and the best orators in\nparliament; attended the best lectures, and visited the best company, in\nthe most correct, though not always the most fashionable sense of the\nterm. I associated with many learned, sensible, and some pious men,\ncommodities with which London, with all its faults, abounds, perhaps,\nmore than any other place on the habitable globe. I became acquainted\nwith many agreeable, well informed, valuable women, with a few who even\nseemed in a good measure to live above the world while they were living\nin it.\n\nThere is a large class of excellent female characters who on account of\nthat very excellence, are little known, because to be known is not their\nobject. Their ambition has a better taste. They pass through life\nhonored and respected in their own small, but not unimportant sphere,\nand approved by Him, \"whose they are, and whom they serve,\" though their\nfaces are hardly known in promiscuous society. If they occasion little\nsensation abroad, they produce much happiness at home. And when once a\nwoman who has \"all appliances and means to get it,\" _can_ withstand the\nintoxication of the flatterer, and the adoration of the fashionable;\n_can_ conquer the fondness for public distinction, _can_ resist the\ntemptations of that magic circle to which she is courted, and in which\nshe is qualified to shine--this is indeed a trial of firmness; a trial\nin which those who have never been called to resist themselves, can\nhardly judge of the merit of resistance in others.\n\nThese are the women who bless, dignify, and truly adorn society. The\npainter indeed does not make his fortune by their sitting to him; the\njeweler is neither brought into vogue by furnishing their diamonds, nor\nundone by not being paid for them; the prosperity of the milliner does\nnot depend on affixing their name to a cap or a color; the poet does not\ncelebrate them; the novelist does not dedicate to them; but they possess\nthe affection of their husbands, the attachment of their children, the\nesteem of the wise and good, and above all they possess _His_ favor,\n\"whom to know is life eternal.\" Among these I doubt not I might have\nfound objects highly deserving of my heart, but the injunction of my\nfather was a sort of panoply which guarded it.\n\nI am persuaded that such women compose a larger portion of the sex, than\nis generally allowed. It is not the number, but the noise which makes a\nsensation, and a set of fair dependent young creatures who are every\nnight forced, some of them reluctantly, upon the public eye; and a bevy\nof faded matrons rouged and repaired for an ungrateful public, dead to\ntheir blandishments, do not compose the whole female world! I repeat\nit--a hundred amiable women, who are living in the quiet practice of\ntheir duties, and the modest exertion of their talents, do not fill the\npublic eye, or reach the public ear, like one aspiring leader, who,\nhungering for observation, and disdaining censure, dreads not abuse but\noblivion; who thinks it more glorious to head a little phalanx of\nfashionable followers, than to hold out, as from her commanding\neminence, and imposing talents she might have done, a shining example of\nall that is great, and good, and dignified in woman. These\nself-appointed queens maintain an absolute but ephemeral empire over\nthat little _fantastic aristocracy_ which they call the\nworld--admiration besets them, crowds attend them, conquests follow\nthem, inferiors imitate them, rivals envy them, newspapers extol them,\nsonnets deify them. A few ostentatious charities are opposed as a large\natonement for a _few amiable weaknesses_, while the unpaid tradesman is\nexposed to ruin by their vengeance if he refuses to trust them, and to a\njail if he continue to do it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nThe three days previous to my leaving London were passed with Sir John\nand Lady Belfield. Knowing I was on the wing for Hampshire, they\npromised to make their long intended visit to Stanley Grove during my\nstay there.\n\nOn the first of these days we were agreeably surprised at the appearance\nof Dr. Barlow, an old friend of Sir John, and the excellent rector of\nMr. Stanley's parish. Being obliged to come to town on urgent business\nfor a couple of days, he was charged to assure me of the cordial welcome\nwhich awaited me at the Grove. I was glad to make this early\nacquaintance with this highly respectable divine. I made a thousand\ninquiries about his neighbors, and expressed my impatience to know more\nof a family in whose characters I already felt a more than common\ninterest.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"if you set me talking of Mr. Stanley, you must abide by\nthe consequences of your indiscretion, and bear with the loquacity of\nwhich that subject never fails to make me guilty. He is a greater\nblessing to me as a friend, and to my parish as an example and a\nbenefactor than I can describe.\" I assured him that he could not be too\nminute in speaking of a man whom I had been early taught to admire, by\nthat exact judge of merit, my late father.\n\n\"Mr. Stanley,\" said the worthy doctor, \"is about six-and-forty, his\nadmirable wife is about six or seven years younger. He passed the early\npart of his life in London, in the best society. His commerce with the\nworld was, to a mind like his, all pure gain; for he brought away from\nit all the good it had to give, without exchanging for it one particle\nof his own integrity. He acquired the air, manners, and sentiments of a\ngentleman, without any sacrifice of his sincerity. Indeed, he may be\nsaid to have turned his knowledge of the world to a religious account,\nfor it has enabled him to recommend religion to those who do not like it\nwell enough to forgive, for its sake, the least awkwardness of gesture,\nor inelegance of manner.\n\n\"When I became acquainted with the family,\" continued he, \"I told Mrs.\nStanley that I was afraid her husband hurt religion in one sense as much\nas he recommended it in another; for that some men who would forgive him\nhis piety for the sake of his agreeableness, would be led to dislike\nreligion more than ever in other men in whom the jewel was not so well\nset. 'We should like your religious men well enough,' will they say, 'if\nthey all resembled Stanley.' Whereas the truth is, they do not so much\n_like_ Mr. Stanley's religion, as _bear_ with it for the pleasure which\nhis other qualities afford them. She assured me that this was not\naltogether the case, for that his other qualities having pioneered his\nway, and hewed down the prejudices which the reputation of piety\nnaturally raises, his endeavors to be useful to them were much\nfacilitated, and he not only kept the ground he had gained, but was\noften able to turn this influence over his friends to a better account\nthan they had intended. He converted their admiration of him into arms\nagainst their own errors.\n\n\"He possesses in perfection,\" continued Dr. Barlow, \"that sure criterion\nof abilities, a great power over the minds of his acquaintance, and has\nin a high degree that rare talent, the art of conciliation without the\naid of flattery. I have seen more men brought over to his opinion by a\nmanagement derived from his knowledge of mankind, and by a principle\nwhich forbade his ever using this knowledge but for good purposes, than\nI ever observed in any other instance; and this without the slightest\ndeviation from his scrupulous probity.\n\n\"He is master of one great advantage in conversation, that of not only\nknowing _what_ to say that may be useful, but exactly _when_ to say it;\nin knowing when to press a point, and when to forbear; in his sparing\nthe self-love of a vain man, whom he wishes to reclaim, by contriving to\nmake him feel himself wrong without making him appear ridiculous. The\nformer he knows is easily pardoned, the latter never. He has studied the\nhuman heart long enough to know that to wound pride is not the way to\ncure, but to inflame it; and that exasperating self-conceit will never\nsubdue it. He seldom, I believe, goes into company without an earnest\ndesire to be useful to some one in it; but if circumstances are adverse;\nif the _mollia tempora fandi_ does not present itself; he knows he\nshould lose more than they would gain, by trying to make the occasion\nwhen he does not find it. And I have often heard him say, that when he\ncan not benefit others, or be benefited by them, he endeavors to benefit\nhimself by the disappointment, which does his own mind as much good by\nhumbling him with the sense of his own uselessness, as the subject he\nwished to have introduced, might have done them.\n\n\"The death of his only son, about six years ago, who had just entered\nhis eighth year, is the only interruption his family has had to a\nfelicity so unbroken, that I told Mr. Stanley some such calamity was\nnecessary to convince him that he was not to be put off with so poor a\nportion as this world has to give. I added that I should have been\ntempted to doubt his being in the favor of God, if he had totally\nescaped chastisement. A circumstance which to many parents would have\ngreatly aggravated the blow, rather lightened it to him. The boy, had he\nlived to be of age, was to have had a large independent fortune from a\ndistant relation, which will now go to a remote branch, unless there\nshould be another son. 'This wealth,' said he to me, 'might have proved\nthe boy's snare, and this independence his destruction. He who does all\nthings well has afflicted the parents, but he has saved the child.' The\nloss of an only son, however, sat heavy on his heart, but it was the\nmeans of enabling him to glorify God by his submission, I should rather\nsay, by his acquiescence. Submission is only yielding to what we can not\nhelp. Acquiescence is a more sublime kind of resignation. It is a\nconviction that the divine will is holy, just, and good. He once said to\nme, 'We were too fond of the mercy, but not sufficiently grateful for\nit. We loved him so passionately that we might have forgotten who\nbestowed him. To preserve us from this temptation, God in great mercy\nwithdrew him. Let us turn our eyes from the one blessing we have lost,\nto the countless mercies which are continued to us, and especially to\nthe hand which confers them; to the hand which, if we continue to\nmurmur, may strip us of our remaining blessings.'\n\n\"I can not,\" continued Dr. Barlow, \"make a higher eulogium of Mrs.\nStanley than to say, that she is every way worthy of the husband whose\nhappiness she makes. They have a large family of lovely daughters of all\nages. Lucilla, the eldest, is near nineteen; you would think me too\npoetical were I to say she adorns every virtue with every grace; and yet\nI should only speak the simple truth. Ph[oe]be, who is just turned\nfifteen, has not less vivacity and sweetness than her sister, but, from\nher extreme naïveté and warmheartedness, she has somewhat less\ndiscretion; and her father says, that her education has afforded him,\nnot less pleasure, but more trouble, for the branches shot so fast as to\ncall for more pruning.\"\n\nBefore I had time to thank the good doctor for his interesting little\nnarrative, a loud rap announced company. It was Lady Bab Lawless. With\nher usual versatility she plunged at once into every subject with every\nbody. She talked to Lady Belfield of the news and her nursery, of poetry\nwith Sir John, of politics with me, and religion with Dr. Barlow. She\ntalked well upon most of these points, and not ill upon any of them; for\nshe had the talent of embellishing subjects of which she knew but\nlittle, and a kind of conjectural sagacity and rash dexterity, which\nprevented her from appearing ignorant, even when she knew nothing. She\nthought that a full confidence in her own powers was the sure way to\nraise them in the estimation of others, and it generally succeeded.\n\nTurning suddenly to Lady Belfield, she said, \"Pray my dear, look at my\nflowers.\" \"They are beautiful roses, indeed,\" said Lady Belfield, \"and\nas exquisitely exact as if they were artificial.\" \"Which in truth they\nare,\" replied Lady Bab. \"Your mistake is a high compliment to them, but\nnot higher than they deserve. Look especially at these roses in my cap.\nYou positively shall go and get some at the same place.\" \"Indeed,\" said\nLady Belfield, \"I am thinking of laying aside flowers, though my\nchildren are hardly old enough to take them.\" \"What affectation!\"\nreplied Lady Bab, \"why you are not above two or three and thirty; I am\nalmost as old again, and yet I don't think of giving up flowers to my\nchildren, or my grandchildren, who will be soon wanting them. Indeed, I\nonly now wear _white_ roses.\" I discovered by this, that white roses\nmade the same approximation to sobriety in dress, that three tables made\nto it in cards. \"Seriously, though,\" continued Lady Bab, \"you must and\nshall go and buy some of Fanny's flowers. I need only tell you, it will\nbe the greatest charity you ever did, and then I know you won't rest\ntill you have been. A beautiful girl maintains her dying mother by\nmaking and selling flowers. Here is her direction,\" throwing a card on\nthe table. \"Oh no, this is not it. I have forgot the name, but it is\nwithin two doors of your hair-dresser, in what d'ye call the lane, just\nout of Oxford-street. It is a poor miserable hole, but her roses are as\nbright as if they grew in the gardens of Armida.\" She now rung the bell\nviolently, saying she had overstaid her time, though she had not been in\nthe house ten minutes.\n\nNext morning I attended Lady Belfield to the exhibition. In driving home\nthrough one of the narrow passages near Oxford-street, I observed that\nwe were in the street where the poor flower-maker lived. Lady Belfield\ndirected her footman to inquire for the house. We went into it, and in a\nsmall but clean room, up three pair of stairs, we found a very pretty\nand very genteel young girl at work on her gay manufacture. The young\nwoman presented her elegant performances with an air of uncommon grace\nand modesty.\n\nShe was the more interesting, because the delicacy of her appearance\nseemed to proceed from ill health, and a tear stood in her eye while she\nexhibited her works. \"You do not seem well, my dear,\" said Lady\nBelfield, with a kindness which was natural to her. \"I never care about\nmy own health, madam,\" replied she, \"but I fear my dear mother is\ndying.\" She stopped, and the tears which she had endeavored to restrain\nnow flowed plentifully down her cheeks. \"Where is your mother, child?\"\nsaid Lady Belfield. \"In the next room, madam.\" \"Let us see her,\" said\nher ladyship, \"if it won't too much disturb her.\" So saying, she led the\nway, and I followed her.\n\nWe found the sick woman lying on a little poor, but clean, bed, pale and\nemaciated, but she did not seem so near her end as Fanny's affection had\nmade her apprehend. After some kind expressions of concern, Lady\nBelfield inquired into their circumstances, which she found were\ndeplorable. \"But for that dear girl, madam, I should have perished with\nwant,\" said the good woman; \"since our misfortunes I have had nothing to\nsupport me but what she earns by making these flowers. She has ruined\nher own health, by sitting up the greatest part of the night to procure\nme necessaries, while she herself lives on a crust.\"\n\nI was so affected with this scene, that I drew Lady Belfield into the\nnext room; \"if we can not preserve the mother, at least let us save the\ndaughter from destruction,\" said I; \"you may command my purse.\" \"I was\nthinking of the same thing,\" she replied. \"Pray, my good girl, what sort\nof education have you had?\" \"O, madam,\" said she, \"one much too high for\nmy situation. But my parents, intending to qualify me for a governess,\nas the safest way of providing for me, have had me taught every thing\nnecessary for that employment. I have had the best masters, and I hope I\nhave not misemployed my time.\" \"How comes it then,\" said I, \"that you\nwere not placed out in some family?\" \"What, sir! and leave my dear\nmother helpless and forlorn? I had rather live only on my tea and dry\nbread, which indeed I have done for many months, and supply her little\nwants, than enjoy all the luxuries in the world at a distance from her.\"\n\n\"What were your misfortunes occasioned by?\" said I, while Lady Belfield\nwas talking with the mother. \"One trouble followed another, sir,\" said\nshe, \"but what most completely ruined us, and sent my father to prison,\nand brought a paralytic stroke on my mother; was his being arrested for\na debt of seven hundred pounds. This sum, which he had promised to pay,\nwas long due to him for laces, and to my mother for millinery and fancy\ndresses, from a lady who has not paid it to this moment, and my father\nis dead, and my mother dying! This sum would have saved them both!\"\n\nShe was turning away to conceal the excess of her grief, when a\nvenerable clergyman entered the room. It was the rector of the parish,\nwho came frequently to administer spiritual consolation to the poor\nwoman. Lady Belfield knew him slightly, and highly respected his\ncharacter. She took him aside, and questioned him as to the disposition\nand conduct of these people, especially the young woman. His testimony\nwas highly satisfactory. The girl, he said, had not only had an\nexcellent education, but her understanding and principles were equally\ngood. He added, that he reckoned her beauty among her misfortunes. It\nmade good people afraid to take her into the house, and exposed her to\ndanger from those of the opposite description.\n\nI put my purse into Lady Belfield's hands, declining to make any present\nmyself, lest, after the remark he had just made, I should incur the\nsuspicions of the worthy clergyman.\n\nWe promised to call again the next day, and took our leave, but not\ntill we had possessed ourselves of as many flowers as she could spare. I\nbegged that we might stop and send some medical assistance to the sick\nwoman, for though it was evident that all relief was hopeless, yet it\nwould be a comfort to the affectionate girl's heart to know that nothing\nwas omitted which might restore her mother.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nIn the evening we talked over our little adventure with Sir John, who\nentered warmly into the distresses of Fanny and was inclined to adopt\nour opinion, that if her character and attainments stood the test of a\nstrict inquiry, she might hereafter be transplanted into their family as\ngoverness. We were interrupted in the formation of this plan by a visit\nfrom Lady Melbury, the acknowledged queen of beauty and of ton. I had\nlong been acquainted with her character, for her charms and her\naccomplishments were the theme of every man of fashion, and the envy of\nevery modish woman.\n\nShe is one of those admired but pitiable characters, who, sent by\nProvidence as an example to their sex, degrade themselves into a\nwarning. Warm-hearted, feeling, liberal on the one hand; on the other\nvain, sentimental, romantic, extravagantly addicted to dissipation and\nexpense, and with that union of contrarieties which distinguishes her,\nequally devoted to poetry and gaming, to liberality and injustice. She\nis too handsome to be envious, and too generous to have any relish for\ndetraction, but she gives to excess into the opposite fault. As Lady\nDenham can detect blemishes in the most perfect, Lady Melbury finds\nperfections in the most depraved. From a judgment which can not\ndiscriminate, a temper which will not censure, and a hunger for\npopularity, which can feed on the coarsest applause, she flatters\negregiously and universally, on the principle of being paid back\nusuriously in the same coin. Prodigal of her beauty, she exists but on\nthe homage paid to it from the drawing-room at St. James's, to the mob\nat an election. Candor in her is as mischievous as calumny in others,\nfor it buoys up characters which ought to sink. Not content with being\nblind to the bad qualities of her favorites, she invents good ones for\nthem, and you would suppose her corrupt \"little senate\" was a choir of\nseraphims.\n\nA recent circumstance related by Sir John was quite characteristical.\nHer favorite maid was dangerously ill, and earnestly begged to see her\nlady, who always had loaded her with favors. To all company she talked\nof the virtues of the poor Toinette, for whom she not only expressed,\nbut felt real compassion. Instead of one apothecary who would have\nsufficed, two physicians were sent for; and she herself resolved to go\nup and visit her, as soon as she had finished setting to music an elegy\non the death of her Java sparrow. Just as she had completed it, she\nreceived a fresh entreaty to see her maid, and was actually got to the\ndoor in order to go up stairs, when the milliner came in with such a\ndistracting variety of beautiful new things, that there was no\npossibility of letting them go till she had tried every thing on, one\nafter the other. This took up no little time. To determine which she\nshould keep and which return, where all was so attractive, took up still\nmore. After numberless vicissitudes and fluctuations of racking thought,\nit was at length decided she should take the whole. The milliner\nwithdrew; the lady went up--Toinette had just expired.\n\nI found her manners no less fascinating than her person. With all her\nmodish graces, there was a tincture of romance and an appearance of\nsoftness and sensibility which gave her the variety of two characters.\nShe was the enchanting woman of fashion, and the elegiac muse.\n\nLady Belfield had taken care to cover her work-table with Fanny's\nflowers, with a view to attract any chance visitor. Lady Melbury admired\nthem excessively. \"You must do more than admire them,\" said Lady\nBelfield, \"you must buy and recommend.\" She then told her the affecting\nscene we had witnessed, and described the amiable girl who supported the\ndying mother by making these flowers. \"It is quite enchanting,\"\ncontinued she, resolving to attack Lady Melbury in her own sentimental\nway, \"to see this sweet girl twisting rose-buds, and forming hyacinths\ninto bouquets.\" \"Dear, how charming!\" exclaimed Lady Melbury, \"it is\nreally quite touching. I will make a subscription for her, and write at\nthe head of the list a melting description of her case. She shall bring\nme all her flowers, and as many more as she can make. But no, we will\nmake a party, and go and see her. You shall carry me. How interesting to\nsee a beautiful creature making roses and hyacinths! her delicate hands\nand fair complexion must be amazingly set off by the contrast of the\nbright flowers. If it were a coarse-looking girl spinning hemp, to be\nsure one should pity her, but it would not be half so moving. It will be\ndelightful. I will call on you to-morrow, exactly at two, and carry you\nall. Perhaps,\" whispered she to Lady Belfield, \"I may work up the\ncircumstances into a sonnet. Do think of a striking title for it. On\nsecond thoughts, the sonnet shall be sent about with the subscription,\nand I'll get a pretty vignette to suit it.\"\n\n\"That fine creature,\" said Sir John, in an accent of compassion, as she\nwent out, \"was made for nobler purposes. How grievously does she fall\nshort of the high expectations her early youth had raised! Oh! what a\nsad return does she make to Providence for his rich and varied\nbounties. Vain of her beauty, lavish of her money, careless of her\nreputation; associating with the worst company, yet formed for the best;\nliving on the adulation of parasites, whose understanding she despises!\nI grieve to compare what she is with what she might have been, had she\nmarried a man of spirit, who would prudently have guided and tenderly\nhave restrained her. He has ruined her and himself by his indifference\nand easiness of temper. Satisfied with knowing how much she is admired\nand he envied, he never thought of reproving or restricting her. He is\nproud of her, but has no particular delight in her company, and trusting\nto her honor, lets her follow her own devices, while he follows his. She\nis a striking instance of the eccentricity of that bounty which springs\nfrom mere sympathy and feeling. Her charity requires stage effect;\nobjects that have novelty, and circumstances which, as Mr. Bayes says,\n'elevate and surprise.' She lost, when an infant, her mother, a woman of\nsense and piety; who, had she lived, would have formed the ductile mind\nof the daughter, turned her various talents into other channels, and\nraised her character to the elevation it was meant to reach.\"\n\n\"How melancholy a consideration is it,\" said I, \"that so superior a\nwoman should live so much below her high destination! She is doubtless\nutterly destitute of any thought of religion.\"\n\n\"You are much mistaken,\" replied Sir John, \"I will not indeed venture to\npronounce that she entertains much _thought_ about it; but she by no\nmeans denies its truth, nor neglects occasionally to exhibit its outward\nand visible signs. She has not yet completely forgotten\n\n    All that the nurse and all the priest have taught.\n\nI do not think that, like Lady Denham, she considers it as a\ncommutation, but she preserves it as a habit. A religious exercise,\nhowever, never interferes with a worldly one. They are taken up in\nsuccession, but with this distinction, the worldly business is to be\ndone, the religious one is not altogether to be left undone. She has a\nmoral chemistry which excels in the amalgamation of contradictory\ningredients. On a Sunday at Melbury castle if by any strange accident\nshe and her lord happen to be there together, she first reads him a\nsermon, and plays at cribbage with him the rest of the evening. In town\none Sunday when she had a cold she wrote a tract on the sacrament, for\nher maids, and then sat up all night at deep play. She declared if she\nhad been successful she would have given her winnings to charity; but as\nshe lost some hundreds, she said she could now with a safe conscience\nborrow that sum from her charity purse, which she had hoped to add to\nit, to pay her debt of honor.\"\n\nNext day, within two hours of her appointed time, she came, and was\ncomplimented by Sir John on her punctuality. \"Indeed,\" said she, \"I _am_\nrather late, but I met with such a fascinating German novel, that it\npositively chained me to my bed till past three. I assure you, I never\nlose time by not rising. In the course of a few winters I have exhausted\nhalf Hookham's catalogue, before some of my acquaintance are awake, or I\nmyself out of bed.\"\n\nWe soon stopped at the humble door of which we were in search. Sir John\nconducted Lady Melbury up the little winding stairs. I assisted Lady\nBelfield. We reached the room, where Fanny was just finishing a\nbeautiful bunch of jonquils. \"How picturesque,\" whispered Lady Melbury\nto me. \"Do lend me your pencil; I must take a sketch of that sweet girl\nwith the jonquils in her hand. My dear creature,\" continued she, \"you\nmust not only let me have these, but you must make me twelve dozen more\nflowers as fast as possible, and be sure let me have a great many sprigs\nof jessamine and myrtle.\" Then snatching up a wreath of various colored\ngeraniums--\"I must try this on my head by the glass.\" So saying she ran\ninto an adjoining room, the door of which was open; Lady Belfield having\nbefore stolen into it to speak to the poor invalid.\n\nAs soon as Lady Melbury got into the room, she uttered a loud shriek.\nSir John and I ran in, and were shocked to find her near fainting. \"Oh,\nBelfield,\" said she, \"this is a trick, and a most cruel one! Why did you\nnot tell me where you were bringing me? Why did you not tell me the\npeople's name?\" \"I have never heard it myself,\" said Sir John, \"on my\nhonor I do not understand you.\" \"You know as much of the woman as I\nknow,\" said Lady Belfield. \"Alas, much more,\" cried she, as fast as her\ntears would give her leave to speak. She retired to the window for air,\nwringing her hands, and called for a glass of water to keep her from\nfainting. I turned to the sick woman for an explanation; I saw her\ncountenance much changed.\n\n\"This sir,\" said she, \"is the lady, whose debt of seven hundred pounds\nruined me, and was the death of my husband.\" I was thunderstruck, but\nwent to assist Lady Melbury, who implored Sir John to go home with her\ninstantly, saying, her coach should come back for us. \"But, dear Lady\nBelfield, do lend me twenty guineas, I have not a shilling about me.\"\n\"Then, my dear Lady Melbury,\" said Lady Belfield, \"how _could_ you order\ntwelve dozen expensive flowers?\" \"Oh,\" said she, \"I did not mean to have\npaid for them till next year.\" \"And how,\" replied Lady Belfield, \"could\nthe debt which was not to have been paid for a twelvemonth have relieved\nthe pressing wants of a creature who must pay ready money for her\nmaterials? However, as you are so distressed we will contrive to do\nwithout your money.\" \"I would pawn my diamond necklace directly,\"\nreturned she, but speaking lower, \"to own the truth, it is already in\nthe jeweler's hands, and I wear a paste necklace of the same form.\"\n\nSir John knowing I had been at my banker's that morning, gave me such a\nsignificant look as restrained my hand, which was already on my\npocket-book. In great seeming anguish, she gave Sir John her hand, who\nconducted her to her coach. As he was leading her down stairs, she\nsolemnly declared she would never again run in debt, never order more\nthings than she wanted, and above all, would never play while she lived.\nShe was miserable, because she durst not ask Lord Melbury to pay this\nwoman, he having already given her money three times for the purpose,\nwhich she had lost at Faro. Then retracting, she protested, if ever she\n_did_ touch a card again, it should be for the sole purpose of getting\nsomething to discharge this debt. Sir John earnestly conjured her not to\nlay \"that flattering unction to her soul,\" but to convert the present\nvexation into an occasion of felicity, by making it the memorable and\nhappy era of abandoning a practice which injured her fortune, her fame,\nher principles, and her peace. \"Poor thing,\" said Sir John, when he\nrepeated this to us,\n\n                  \"Ease will recant\n    Vows made in pain, as violent and void.\"\n\n\"In an interval of weeping, she told me,\" added he, \"that she was to be\nat the opera to-night. To the opera Faro will succeed, and to-morrow\nprobably the diamond earrings will go to Grey's in pursuit of the\nnecklace.\"\n\nLady Belfield inquired of Fanny how it happened that Lady Melbury, who\ntalked with _her_, without surprise or emotion, discovered so much of\nboth at the bare sight of her mother. The girl explained this by saying,\nthat she had never been in the way while they lived in Bond-street when\nher ladyship used to come, having been always employed in an upper room,\nor attending her masters.\n\nBefore we parted, effectual measures were taken for the comfortable\nsubsistence of the sick mother, and for alleviating the sorrows, and\nlightening the labors of her daughter, and next morning I set out on my\njourney for Stanley Grove, Sir John and Lady Belfield promising to\nfollow me in a few weeks.\n\n\nAs soon as I got into my post-chaise, and fairly turned my back on\nLondon, I fell into a variety of reflections on the persons with whom I\nhad been living. In this soliloquy, I was particularly struck with that\ndiscrepancy of characters, all of which are yet included under the broad\ncomprehensive appellation of _Christians_. I found that though all\ndiffered widely from each other, they differed still more widely from\nthat rule by which they professed to walk. Yet not one of these\ncharacters was considered as disreputable. There was not one that was\nprofane or profligate. Not one who would not in conversation have\ndefended Christianity if its truth had been attacked. Not one who\nderided or even neglected its forms; and who in her own class would not\nhave passed for religious. Yet how little had any one of them adorned\nthe profession she adopted! Of Mrs. Ranby, Mrs. Fentham, Lady Bab\nLawless, Lady Denham, Lady Melbury, which of them would not have been\nstartled had her Christianity been called in question? Yet how merely\nspeculative was the religion of even the most serious among them! How\nsuperficial, or inconsistent, or mistaken, or hollow, or hypocritical,\nor self-deceiving was that of all the others! Had either of them been\nasked from what source she drew her religion, she would indignantly have\nanswered, from the Bible. Yet if we compare the copy with the model,\nthe Christian with Christianity, how little can we trace the\nresemblance! In what particular did their lives imitate the life of Him\n_who pleased not himself_, who _did the will of his Father_; who _went\nabout doing good_? How irreconcilable is their faith with the principles\nwhich He taught! How dissimilar their practice with the precepts He\ndelivered! How inconsistent their lives with the example He bequeathed!\nHow unfounded their hope of heaven, if an entrance into heaven be\nrestricted to those who are _like minded with Christ_!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nMy father had been early in life intimately connected with the family of\nMr. Stanley. Though this gentleman was his junior by several years, yet\nthere subsisted between them such a similarity of tastes, sentiments,\nviews, and principles, that they lived in the closest friendship; and\nboth their families having in the early part of their lives resided in\nLondon, the occasions of that thorough mutual knowledge that grows out\nof familiar intercourse, were much facilitated. I remembered Mr.\nStanley, when I was a very little boy, paying an annual visit to my\nfather at the Priory, and I had retained an imperfect but pleasing\nimpression of his countenance and engaging manners.\n\nHaving had a large estate left him in Hampshire, he settled there on his\nmarriage; an intercourse of letters had kept up the mutual attachment\nbetween him and my father. On the death of each parent, I had received a\ncordial invitation to come and soothe my sorrows in his society. My\nfather enjoined me that one of my first visits after his death, should\nbe to the Grove; and in truth I now considered my Hampshire engagement\nas the _bonne bouche_ of my southern excursion.\n\nI reached Stanley Grove before dinner. I found a spacious mansion,\nsuited to the ample fortune and liberal spirit of its possessor. I was\nhighly gratified with fine forest scenery in the approach to the park.\nThe house had a noble appearance without; and within, it was at once\ncommodious and elegant. It stood on the south side of a hill, nearer the\nbottom than the summit, and was sheltered on the north-east by a fine\nold wood. The park, though it was not very extensive, was striking from\nthe beautiful inequality of the ground, which was richly clothed with\nthe most picturesque oaks I ever saw, interspersed with stately beeches.\nThe grounds were laid out in good taste, but though the hand of modern\nimprovement was visible, the owner had in one instance spared\n\n    \"The obsolete prolixity of shade,\"\n\nfor which the most interesting of poets so pathetically pleads. The\npoet's plea had saved the avenue.\n\nI was cordially welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Stanley; and by that powerful\nand instantaneous impression which fine sense and good breeding, joined\nto high previous veneration of character, produce on the feelings of the\nguest, I at once felt myself at home. All the preliminaries of gradual\nacquaintance were in a manner superseded, and I soon experienced that\nwarm and affectionate esteem, which seemed scarcely to require\nintercourse to strengthen, or time to confirm it. Mr. Stanley had only a\nfew minutes to present me to his lady and two lovely daughters, before\nwe were summoned to dinner, to which a considerable party had been\ninvited; for the neighborhood was populous and rather polished.\n\nThe conversation after dinner was rational, animated, and instructive. I\nobserved that Mr. Stanley lost no opportunity, which fairly offered, for\nsuggesting useful reflections. But what chiefly struck me in his manner\nof conversing, was, that without ever pressing religion unseasonably\ninto the service, he had the talent of making the most ordinary topics\nsubservient to instruction, and of extracting some profitable hint, or\nstriking out some important light, from subjects which, in ordinary\nhands, would have been unproductive of improvement. It was evident that\npiety was the predominating principle of his mind, and that he was\nconsulting its interests as carefully when prudence made him forbear to\npress it, as when propriety allowed him to introduce it. This piety was\nrather visible in the sentiment than the phrase. He was of opinion that\nbad taste could never advance the interests of Christianity. And he gave\nless offense to worldly men, than most religious people I have known,\nbecause though he would, on no human consideration, abate one atom of\nzeal, or lower any doctrine, nor disguise any truth, nor palliate, nor\ntrim, nor compromise, yet he never contended for words or trifling\ndistinctions. He thought it detracted from no man's piety to bring all\nhis elegance of expression, his correctness of taste, and his accuracy\nof reasoning to the service of that cause which lies the nearest to the\nheart of every Christian, and demands the exertion of his best\nfaculties.\n\nHe was also forward to promote subjects of practical use in the affairs\nof common life, suited to the several circumstances and pursuits of his\nguests. But he particularly rejoiced that there was so broad, and safe,\nand uninclosed a field as general literature. This he observed always\nsupplies men of education with an ample refuge from all vulgar, and\ndangerous, and unproductive topics. \"If we can not,\" said he, \"by\nfriendly intercourse, always raise our principles, we may always keep\nour understanding in exercise; and those authors who supply so peccable\na creature as man with subjects of elegant and innocent discussion, I do\nnot reckon among the lowest benefactors of mankind.\"\n\nIn my further acquaintance with Mr. Stanley, I have sometimes observed\nwith what address he has converted a merely moral passage to a religious\npurpose. I have known him, when conversing with a man who would not have\nrelished a more sacred authority, seize on a sentiment in Tully's\nOffices, for the lowest degree in his scale of morals, and then\ngradually ascending, trace and exalt the same thought through Paley or\nJohnson, or Addison or Bacon, till he has unsuspectedly landed his\nopponent in the pure ethics of the Gospel, and surprised him into the\nadoption of a Christian principle.\n\nAs I had heard there was a fine little flock of children, I was\nsurprised, and almost disappointed every time the door opened, not to\nsee them appear, for I already began to take an interest in all that\nrelated to this most engaging family. The ladies having, to our great\ngratification, sat longer than is usual at most tables, at length obeyed\nthe signal of the mistress of the house. They withdrew, followed by the\nMiss Stanleys,\n\n                       With grace\n    Which won who saw to wish their stay.\n\nAfter their departure the conversation was not changed. There was no\noccasion; it could not become more rational, and we did not desire that\nit should become less pure. Mrs. Stanley and her fair friends had taken\ntheir share in it with a good sense and delicacy which raised the tone\nof our society; and we did not give them to understand by a loud laugh\nbefore they were out of hearing, that we rejoiced in being emancipated\nfrom the restraint of their presence.\n\nMrs. Stanley is a graceful and elegant woman. Among a thousand other\nexcellences, she is distinguished for her judgment in adapting her\ndiscourse to the character of her guests, and for being singularly\nskillful in selecting her topics of conversation. I never saw a lady who\npossessed the talent of diffusing at her table so much pleasure to those\naround her, without the smallest deviation from her own dignified\npurity. She asks such questions as strangers may be likely to gain, at\nleast not to lose, credit by answering; and she suits her interrogations\nto the kind of knowledge they may be supposed likely to possess. By\nthis, two ends are answered: while she gives her guest an occasion of\nappearing to advantage, she puts herself in the way of gaining some\ninformation. From want of this discernment, I have known ladies ask a\ngentleman just arrived from the East Indies, questions about America;\nand others, from the absence of that true delicacy, which, where it\nexists, shows itself even on the smallest occasions, who have inquired\nof a person how he liked such a book, though she knew, that in the\nnature of things, there was no probability of his ever having heard of\nit: thus assuming an ungenerous superiority herself, and mortifying\nanother by a sense of his own comparative ignorance. If there is any one\nat table who from his station has least claim to attention, he is sure\nto be treated with particular kindness by Mrs. Stanley, and the\ndiffident never fail to be encouraged, and the modest to be brought\nforward, by the kindness and refinement of her attentions.\n\nWhen we were summoned to the drawing-room, I was delighted to see four\nbeautiful children, fresh as health and gay as youth could make them,\nbusily engaged with the ladies. One was romping; another singing; a\nthird was showing some drawings of birds, the natural history of which\nshe seemed to understand; a fourth had spread a dissected map on the\ncarpet, and had pulled down her eldest sister on the floor to show her\nCopenhagen. It was an animating scene. I could have devoured the sweet\ncreatures. I got credit with the little singer by helping her to a line\nwhich she had forgotten, and with the geographer by my superior\nacquaintance with the shores of the Baltic.\n\nIn the evening when the company had left us, I asked Mrs. Stanley how\nshe came so far to deviate from established custom as not to produce her\nchildren immediately after dinner? \"You must ask me,\" said Mr. Stanley,\nsmiling, \"for it was I who first ventured to suggest this bold\ninnovation. I love my children fondly, but my children I have always at\nhome; I have my friends but seldom; and I do not choose that any portion\nof the time that I wish to dedicate to intellectual and social enjoyment\nshould be broken in upon by another, and an interfering pleasure, which\nI have always within my reach. At the same time I like my children to\nsee my friends. Company amuses, improves, and polishes them. I therefore\nconsulted with Mrs. Stanley how we could so manage as to enjoy our\nfriends without locking up our children. She recommended this expedient.\nThe time, she said, spent by the ladies from their leaving the\ndining-room till the gentlemen came in to tea, was often a little heavy,\nit was rather an interval of anticipation than of enjoyment. Those\nladies who had not much _mind_, had soon exhausted their admiration of\neach other's worked muslins, and lace sleeves; and those who _had_,\nwould be glad to rest it so agreeably. She therefore proposed to enliven\nthat dull period by introducing the children.\n\n\"This little change has not only succeeded in our own family, but has\nbeen adopted by many of our neighbors. For ourselves, it has answered a\ndouble purpose. It not only delights the little things, but it delights\nthem with less injury than the usual season of their appearance. Our\nchildren have always as much fruit as they like, after their own dinner;\nthey do not therefore want or desire the fruits, the sweetmeats, the\ncakes, and the wine with which the guests, in order to please mamma, are\ntoo apt to cram them. Besides, poor little dears, it mixes too much\nselfishness with the natural delight they have in seeing company, by\nconnecting it with the idea of the good things they shall get. But by\nthis alteration we do all in our power to infuse a little\ndisinterestedness into the pleasure they have in coming to us. We love\nthem too tenderly to crib their little enjoyments, so we give them two\npleasures instead of one, for they have their dessert and our company in\nsuccession.\"\n\nThough I do not approve of too great familiarity with servants, yet I\nthink that to an old and faithful domestic, superior consideration is\ndue. My attendant on my present tour had lived in our family from his\nyouth, and had the care of me before I can remember. His fidelity and\ngood sense, and I may add, his piety, had obtained for him the privilege\nof free speaking. \"Oh, sir,\" said he, when he came to attend me next\nmorning, \"we are got into the right house at last. Such a family! so\ngodly! so sober! so charitable! 'Tis all of a piece here, sir. Mrs.\nComfit, the housekeeper, tells me that her master and mistress are the\nexample of all the rich, and the refuge of all the poor in the\nneighborhood. And as to Miss Lucilla, if the blessing of them that are\nready to perish can send any body to heaven, she will go there sure\nenough.\"\n\nThis rhapsody of honest Edwards warmed my heart, and put me in mind that\nI had neglected to inquire after this worthy housekeeper, who had lived\nwith my grandfather, and was at his death transplanted into the family\nof Mr. Stanley. I paid a visit, the first opportunity, to the good\nwoman in her room, eager to learn more of a family who much resembled my\nown parents, and for whom I had already conceived something more tender\nthan mere respect.\n\nI congratulated Mrs. Comfit on the happiness of living in so valuable a\nfamily. In return, she was even eloquent in their praises. \"Her\nmistress,\" she said, \"was a pattern for ladies, so strict, and yet so\nkind! but now, indeed, Miss Lucilla has taken almost all the family\ncares from her mamma. The day she was sixteen, sir, that is about two\nyears and a half ago, she began to inspect the household affairs a\nlittle, and as her knowledge increased, she took more and more upon her.\nMiss Ph[oe]be will very soon be old enough to relieve her sister; but my\nmistress won't let her daughters have any thing to do with family\naffairs till they are almost women grown, both for fear it should take\nthem off from their learning, and also give them a low turn about eating\nand caring for niceties, and lead them into vulgar gossip and\nfamiliarity with servants. It is time enough, she says, when their\ncharacters are a little formed, they will then gain all the good and\nescape all the danger.\"\n\nSeeing me listen with the most eager and delighted attention, the worthy\nwoman proceeded. \"In summer, sir, Miss Stanley rises at six, and spends\ntwo hours in her closet, which is stored with the best books. At eight\nshe consults me on the state of provisions, and other family matters,\nand gives me a bill of fare, subject to the inspection of her mamma. The\ncook has great pleasure in acting under her direction, because she\nallows that Miss understands when things are well done, and never finds\nfault in the wrong place; which, she says, is a great mortification in\nserving ignorant ladies, who praise or find fault by chance, not\naccording to the cook's performance, but their own humor. She looks\nover my accounts every week, which being kept so short, give her but\nlittle trouble, and once a month she settles every thing with her\nmother.\n\n\"'Tis a pleasure, sir, to see how skillful she is in accounts! One can't\nimpose upon her a farthing if one would; and yet she is so mild and so\nreasonable! and so quick at distinguishing what are mistakes, and what\nare willful faults! Then she is so compassionate! It will be a\nheart-breaking day at the Grove, sir, whenever Miss marries. When my\nmaster is sick, she writes his letters, reads to him, and assists her\nmamma in nursing him.\n\n\"After her morning's work, sir, does she come into company, tired and\ncross, as ladies do who have done nothing or are but just up? No, she\ncomes in to make breakfast for her parents, as fresh as a rose, and as\ngay as a lark. An hour after breakfast, she and my master read some\nlearned books together. She then assists in teaching her little sisters,\nand never were children better instructed. One day in a week, she sets\naside both for them and herself to work for the poor, whom she also\nregularly visits at their own cottages, two evenings in the week; for\nshe says it would be troublesome and look ostentatious to have her\nfather's doors crowded with poor people, neither could she get at their\nwants and their characters half so well as by going herself to their own\nhouses. My dear mistress has given her a small room as a store-house for\nclothing and books for her indigent neighbors. In this room each of the\nyounger daughters, the day she is seven years old, has her own drawer,\nwith her name written on it; and almost the only competition among them\nis, whose shall be soonest filled with caps, aprons, and handkerchiefs.\nThe working day is commonly concluded by one of these charitable visits.\nThe dear creatures are loaded with their little work-baskets, crammed\nwith necessaries. This, sir, is the day--and it is always looked\nforward to with pleasure by them all. Even little Celia, the youngest,\nwho is but just turned of five, will come to me and beg for something\ngood to put in her basket for poor Mary or Betty such a one. I wonder I\ndo not see any thing of the little darlings; it is about the time they\nused to pay me a visit.\n\n\"On Sundays before church they attend the village school; when the\nweek's pocket-money, which has been carefully hoarded for the purpose,\nis produced for rewards to the most deserving scholars. And yet, sir,\nwith all this, you may be in the house a month without hearing a word of\nthe matter; it is all done so quietly; and when they meet at their meals\nthey are more cheerful and gay than if they had been ever so idle.\"\n\nHere Mrs. Comfit stopped, for just then two sweet little cherry-cheeked\nfigures presented themselves at the door, swinging a straw basket\nbetween them, and crying out, in a little begging voice, \"Pray, Mrs.\nComfit, bestow your charity--we want something coarse for the hungry,\nand something nice for the sick--poor Dame Alice and her little\ngrand-daughter!\" They were going on, but spying me, they colored up to\nthe ears, and ran away as fast as they could, though I did all in my\npower to detain them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nWhen Miss Stanley came in to make breakfast, she beautifully exemplified\nthe worthy housekeeper's description. I have sometimes seen young women,\nwhose simplicity was destitute of elegance, and others in whom a too\nelaborate polish had nearly effaced their native graces: Lucilla\nappeared to unite the simplicity of nature to the refinement of good\nbreeding. It was thus she struck me at first sight. I forbore to form a\ndecided opinion till I had leisure to observe whether her mind fulfilled\nall that her looks promised.\n\nLucilla Stanley is rather perfectly elegant than perfectly beautiful. I\nhave seen women as striking, but I never saw one so interesting. Her\nbeauty is countenance: it is the stamp of mind intelligibly printed on\nthe face. It is not so much the symmetry of features as the joint\ntriumph of intellect and sweet temper. A fine old poet has well\ndescribed her:\n\n                  Her pure and eloquent blood\n    Spoke in her cheeks and so distinctly wrought.\n    That one could almost say her body thought.\n\nHer conversation, like her countenance, is compounded of liveliness,\nsensibility, and delicacy. She does not say things to be quoted, but the\neffect of her conversation is that it leaves an impression of pleasure\non the mind, and a love of goodness on the heart. She enlivens without\ndazzling, and entertains without overpowering. Contented to please, she\nhas no ambition to shine. There is nothing like effort in her\nexpression, or vanity in her manner. She has rather a playful gayety\nthan a pointed wit. Of repartee she has little, and dislikes it in\nothers; yet I have seldom met with a truer taste for inoffensive wit.\nThis is indeed the predominating quality of her mind; and she may rather\nbe said to be a nice judge of the genius of others than to be a genius\nherself. She has a quick perception of whatever is beautiful or\ndefective in composition or in character. The same true taste pervades\nher writing, her conversation, her dress, her domestic arrangements, and\nher gardening, for which last she has both a passion and a talent.\nThough she has a correct ear, she neither sings nor plays; and her\ntaste is so exact in drawing, that she really seems to have _le compass\ndans l'[oe]uil_; yet I never saw a pencil in her fingers, except to\nsketch a seat or a bower for the pleasure-grounds. Her notions are too\njust to allow her to be satisfied with mediocrity in any thing, and for\nperfection in many things, she thinks that life is too short, and its\nduties too various and important. Having five younger sisters to assist,\nhas induced her to neglect some acquisitions which she would have liked.\nHad she been an only daughter, she owns that she would have indulged a\nlittle more in the garnish and decoration of life.\n\nAt her early age, the soundness of her judgment on persons and things\ncan not be derived from experience; she owes it to a _tact_ so fine as\nenables her to seize on the strong feature, the prominent circumstance,\nthe leading point, instead of confusing her mind and dissipating her\nattention, on the inferior parts of a character, a book, or a business.\nThis justness of thinking teaches her to rate things according to their\nworth, and to arrange them according to their place. Her manner of\nspeaking adds to the effect of her words, and the tone of her voice\nexpresses with singular felicity, gayety or kindness, as her feelings\ndirect, and the occasion demands. This manner is so natural, and her\nsentiments spring so spontaneously from the occasion, that it is obvious\nthat display is never in her head, nor an eagerness for praise in her\nheart. I never heard her utter a word which I could have wished unsaid,\nor a sentiment I could have wished unthought.\n\nAs to her dress, it reminds me of what Dr. Johnson once said to an\nacquaintance of mine, of a lady who was celebrated for dressing well.\n\"The best evidence that I can give you of her perfection in this respect\nis, that one can never remember what she had on.\" The dress of Lucilla\nis not neglected, and it is not studied. She is as neat as the strictest\ndelicacy _demands_, and as fashionable as the strictest delicacy\n_permits_; and her nymph-like form does not appear to less advantage for\nbeing vailed with scrupulous modesty.\n\nOh! if women in general knew what was their real interest! if they could\nguess with what a charm even the _appearance_ of modesty invests its\npossessor, they would dress decorously from mere self-love, if not from\nprinciple. The designing would assume modesty as an artifice, the coquet\nwould adopt it as an allurement, the pure as her appropriate attraction,\nand the voluptuous as the most infallible art of seduction.\n\nWhat I admire in Miss Stanley, and what I have sometime regretted the\nwant of in some other women, is, that I am told she is so lively, so\nplayful, so desirous of amusing her father and mother when alone, that\nthey are seldom so gay as in their family party. It is then that her\ntalents are all unfolded, and that her liveliness is without restraint.\nShe was rather silent the two or three first days after my arrival, yet\nit was evidently not the silence of reserve or inattention, but of\ndelicate propriety. Her gentle frankness and undesigning temper\ngradually got the better of this little shyness, and she soon began to\ntreat me as the son of her father's friend. I very early found, that\nthough a stranger might behold her without admiration, it was impossible\nto converse with her with indifference. Before I had been a week at the\nGrove, my precautions vanished, my panoply was gone, and yet I had not\nconsulted Mr. Stanley.\n\nIn contemplating the captivating figure, and the delicate mind of this\ncharming girl, I felt that imagination, which misleads so many youthful\nhearts, had preserved mine. The image my fancy had framed, and which had\nbeen suggested by Milton's heroine, had been refined indeed, but it had\nnot been romantic. I had early formed an ideal standard in my mind; too\nhigh, perhaps; but its very elevation had rescued me from the common\ndangers attending the society of the sex. I was continually comparing\nthe women with whom I conversed, with the fair conception which filled\nmy mind. The comparison might be unfair to them; I am sure it was not\nunfavorable to myself, for it preserved me from the fascination of mere\npersonal beauty, the allurements of fictitious character, and the\nattractions of ordinary merit.\n\nI am aware that love is apt to throw a radiance around the being it\nprefers, till it becomes dazzled, less perhaps with the brightness of\nthe object itself, than with the beams with which imagination has\ninvested it. But religion, though it had not subdued my imagination, had\nchastised it. It had sobered the splendors of fancy, without obscuring\nthem. It had not extinguished the passions, but it had taught me to\nregulate them.----I now seemed to have found the being of whom I had\nbeen in search. My mind felt her excellences, my heart acknowledged its\nconqueror. I struggled, however, not to abandon myself to its impulses.\nI endeavored to keep my own feelings in order, till I had time to\nappreciate a character which appeared as artless as it was correct. And\nI did not allow myself to make this slight sketch of Lucilla, and of the\neffect she produced on my heart, till more intimate acquaintance had\njustified my prepossessions.\n\nBut let me not forget that Mr. Stanley had another daughter. If\nLucilla's character is more elevated, Ph[oe]be's is not less amiable.\nHer face is equally handsome, but her figure is somewhat less delicate.\nShe has a fine temper, and strong virtues. The little faults she has,\nseem to flow from the excess of her good qualities. Her susceptibility\nis extreme, and to guide and guard it, finds employment for her\nmother's fondness, and her father's prudence. Her heart overflows with\ngratitude for the smallest service. This warmth of her tenderness keeps\nher affections in more lively exercise than her judgment; it leads her\nto over-rate the merit of those she loves, and to estimate their\nexcellences, less by their own worth than by their kindness to her. She\nsoon behaved to me with the most engaging frankness, and her innocent\nvivacity encouraged, in return, that affectionate freedom with which one\ntreats a beloved sister.\n\nThe other children are gay, lovely, interesting, and sweet-tempered.\nTheir several acquisitions, for I detest the term _accomplishments_,\nsince it has been warped from the true meaning in which Milton used it,\nseem to be so many individual contributions brought in to enrich the\ncommon stock of domestic delight. Their talents are never put into\nexercise by artificial excitements. Habitual industry, quiet exertion,\nsuccessive employments, affectionate intercourse, and gay and animated\nrelaxation, make up the round of their cheerful day.\n\nI could not forbear admiring in this happy family the graceful union of\npiety with cheerfulness; strictness of principle embellished, but never\nrelaxed by gayety of manners; a gayety, not such as requires turbulent\npleasures to stimulate it, but evidently the serene, yet animated,\nresult of well-regulated minds;--of minds actuated by a tenderness of\nconscience, habitually alive to the perception of the smallest sin, and\nkindling into holy gratitude at the smallest mercy.\n\nI often called to my mind that my father, in order to prevent my being\ndeceived, and run away with by persons who appeared lively at first\nsight, had early accustomed me to discriminate carefully, whether it was\nnot the _animal_ only that was lively, and the man dull. I have found\nthis caution of no small use in my observations on the other sex. I had\nfrequently remarked, that the musical and the dancing ladies, and those\nwho were most admired for modish attainments, had little _intellectual_\ngayety. In numerous instances I found that the mind was the only part\nwhich was not kept in action; and no wonder, for it was the only part\nwhich had received no previous forming, no preparatory molding.\n\nWhen I mentioned this to Mr. Stanley, \"the education,\" replied he,\n\"which now prevails, is a Mohammedan education. It consists entirely in\nmaking woman an object of attraction. There are, however, a few\nreasonable people left, who, while they retain the object, improve upon\nthe plan. They too would make woman attractive; but it is by sedulously\nlaboring to make the understanding, the temper, the mind, and the\nmanners of their daughters, as engaging as these Circassian parents\nendeavor to make the person.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nThe friendly rector frequently visited at Stanley Grove, and, for my\nfather's sake, honored me with his particular kindness. Dr. Barlow\nfilled up all my ideas of a country clergyman of the higher class. There\nis a uniform consistency runs through his whole life and character,\nwhich often brings to my mind, allowing for the revolution in habits\nthat almost two hundred years have necessarily produced, the\nincomparable _country parson_ of the ingenious Mr. George Herbert.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: See Herbert's Country Parson, under the heads of the parson\nin his house, the parson praying, the parson preaching, the parson\ncomforting, the parson's church, the parson catechizing, the parson in\nmirth, &c., &c. The term parson has now indeed a vulgar and\ndisrespectful sound, but in Herbert's time it was used in its true sense\n_persona ecclesiæ_. I would recommend to those who have not seen it,\nthis sketch of the ancient clerical life. As Mr. Herbert was a man of\nquality, he knew what became the more opulent of his function; as he was\neminently pious, he practiced all that he recommended. \"This appellation\nof parson,\" says Judge Blackstone, \"however depreciated by clownish and\nfamiliar use, is the most legal, most beneficial, and most honorable\ntitle, which a parish priest can enjoy.\" _Vide Blackstone's\nCommentaries._]\n\n\"I never saw _Zeal without Innovation_,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"more\nexemplified than in Dr. Barlow. His piety is as enlightened as it is\nsincere. No errors in religion escape him, through ignorance of their\nexistence, or through carelessness in their detection, or through\ninactivity in opposing them. He is too honest not to attack the\nprevailing evil, whatever shape it may assume; too correct to excite in\nthe wise any fears that his zeal may mislead his judgment, and too\nupright to be afraid of the censures which active piety must ever have\nto encounter from the worldly and the indifferent, from cold hearts and\nunfurnished heads.\n\n\"From his affectionate warmth, however, and his unremitting application,\narising from the vast importance he attaches to the worth of souls, the\nman of the world might honor him with the title of enthusiast; while his\nprudence, sober-mindedness, and regularity, would draw on him from the\nfanatic, the appellation of formalist. Though he is far from being\n'content to _dwell_ in decencies,' he is careful never to neglect them.\nHe is a clergyman all the week as well as on Sunday; for he says, if he\ndid not spend much of the intermediate time in pastoral visits, there\ncould not be kept up that mutual intercourse of kindness which so much\nfacilitates his own labors, and his people's improvement. They listen to\nhim because they love him, and they understand him, because he has\nfamiliarized them by private discourse to the great truths which he\ndelivers from the pulpit.\n\n\"Dr. Barlow has greatly diminished the growth of innovation in his\nparishes, by attacking the innovator with his own weapons. Not indeed by\nstooping to the same disorderly practices, but by opposing an\nenlightened earnestness to an eccentric earnestness; a zeal _with_\nknowledge to a zeal _without_ it. He is of opinion that activity does\nmore good than invective, and that the latter is too often resorted to,\nbecause it is the cheaper substitute.\n\n\"His charity, however, is large, and his spirit truly catholic. He\nhonors all his truly pious brethren, who are earnest in doing good,\nthough they may differ from him as to the manner of doing it. Yet his\ncandor never intrenches on his firmness; and while he will not dispute\nwith others about shades of difference, he maintains his own opinions\nwith the steadiness of one who embraced them on the fullest conviction.\n\n\"He is a 'scholar, and being a good and a ripe one,' it sets him above\naiming at the paltry reputation to be acquired by those false\nembellishments of style, those difficult and uncommon words, and that\nlabored inversion of sentences, by which some injudicious clergymen make\nthemselves unacceptable to the higher, and unintelligible to the lower,\nand of course, the larger part of their audience. He always bears in\nmind that the common people are not foolish, they are only ignorant. To\nmeet the one he preaches good sense, to suit the other, plain language.\nBut while he seldom shoots over the heads of the uninformed, he never\noffends the judicious. He considers the advice of Polonius to his son\nto be as applicable to preachers as to travelers--\n\n    Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.\n\n\"In his pulpit he is no wrangling polemic, but a genuine Bible\nChristian, deeply impressed himself with the momentous truths he so\nearnestly presses upon others. His mind is so imbued, so saturated, if I\nmay hazard the expression, with scriptural knowledge, that from that\nrich store-house, he is ever ready to bring forth _treasures, new and\nold_, and to apply them wisely, temperately, and seasonably.\n\n\"Though he carefully inculcates universal holiness in all his\ndiscourses, yet his practical instructions are constantly deduced from\nthose fundamental principles of Christianity which are the root and life\nand spirit of all goodness. Next to a solid piety, and a deep\nacquaintance with the Bible, he considers it of prime importance to a\nclergyman to be thoroughly acquainted with human nature in general, and\nwith the state of his own parish in particular. The knowledge of both\nwill alone preserve him from preaching too personally so as to hurt, or\ntoo generally so as not to touch.\n\n\"He is careful not to hurry over the prayers in so cold, inattentive,\nand careless a manner, as to make the audience suspect he is saving\nhimself, that he may make a greater figure in delivering the sermon.\nInstead of this, the devout, reverential, and impressive manner in which\nhe pronounces the various parts of the Liturgy, best prepares his own\nheart, and the hearts of his people, to receive benefit from his\ndiscourse. His petitions are delivered with such sober fervor, his\nexhortations with such humble dignity, his thanksgiving with such holy\nanimation as carry the soul of the hearer along with him. When he\nascends the pulpit, he never throws the liturgical service into the back\nground by a long elaborate composition of his own, delivered with\nsuperior force and emphasis. And he pronounces the Lord's prayer with a\nsolemnity which shows that he recollects its importance and its author.\n\n\"In preaching, he is careful to be distinctly heard, even by his\nremotest auditors, and by constant attention to this important article,\nhe has brought his voice, which was not strong, to be particularly\naudible. He affixes so much importance to a distinct delivery, that he\nsmilingly told me he suspected the grammatical definition of a\nsubstantive was originally meant for a clergyman, whose great object it\nwas, if possible, _to be seen_, but indispensably to be _heard_, _felt_,\nand _understood_.\n\n\"His whole performance is distinguished by a grave and majestic\nsimplicity, as far removed from the careless reader of a common story,\nas from the declamation of an actor. His hearers leave the church, not\nso much in raptures with the preacher, as affected with the truths he\nhas delivered. He says, he always finds he has done most good when he\nhas been least praised, and that he feels most humbled when he receives\nthe warmest commendation, because men, generally extol most the sermons\nwhich have probed them least; whereas those which really do good, being\noften such as make them most uneasy, are consequently the least likely\nto attract panegyric. '_They_ only bear true testimony to the excellence\nof a discourse,' added he, 'not who commend the composition or the\ndelivery, but who are led by it to examine their own hearts, to search\nout its corruptions, and to reform their lives. Reformation is the\nflattery I covet.'\n\n\"He is aware that the generality of hearers like to retire from the\nsermon with the comfortable belief, that little is to be done on _their_\nparts. Such hearers he always disappoints, by leaving on their minds at\nthe close, some impressive precept deduced from, and growing out of, the\npreparatory doctrine. He does not press any one truth to the exclusion\nof all others. He proposes no subtleties, but labors to excite\nseriousness, to alarm the careless, to quicken the supine, to confirm\nthe doubting. He presses eternal things as things near at hand; as\nthings in which every living man has an equal interest.\n\n\"Mr. Stanley says, that though Dr. Barlow was considered at Cambridge as\na correct young man, who carefully avoided vice and even irregularity,\nyet being cheerful, and addicted to good society, he had a disposition\nto innocent conviviality, which might, unsuspectedly, have led him into\nthe errors he abhorred. He was struck with a passage in a letter from\nDr. Johnson to a young man who had just taken orders, in which, among\nother wholesome counsel, he advises him 'to acquire the courage to\nrefuse _sometimes_ invitations to dinner.' It is inconceivable what a\ndegree of force and independence his mind acquired by the occasional\nadoption of this single hint. He is not only, Mr. Stanley, the spiritual\ndirector, but the father, the counselor, the arbitrator, and the friend\nof those whom Providence has placed under his instruction.\n\n\"He is happy in an excellent wife, who, by bringing him a considerable\nfortune, has greatly enlarged his power of doing good. But still more\nessentially has she increased his happiness, and raised his character,\nby her piety and prudence. By the large part she takes in his affairs,\nhe is enabled to give himself wholly up to the duties of his profession.\nShe is as attentive to the bodies, as her husband is to the souls of his\npeople, and educates her own family as sedulously as he instructs his\nparish.\n\n\"One day when I had been congratulating Dr. Barlow on the excellence of\nhis wife's character, the conversation fell, by a sudden transition, on\nthe celibacy of the Romish clergy. He smiled and said, 'Let us\nministers of the Reformation be careful never to provoke the people to\nwish for the restoration of that part of popery. I often reflect how\npeculiarly incumbent it is on us, to select such partners as shall never\ncause our emancipation from the old restrictions to be regretted. And we\nourselves ought, by improving the character of our wives, to repay the\ndebt we owe to the ecclesiastical laws of Protestantism for the\nprivilege of possessing them.'\n\n\"Will it be thought too trifling to add, how carefully this valuable\npair carry their consistency into the most minute details of their\nfamily arrangements? Their daughters are no less patterns of decorum and\nmodesty in their dress and appearance, than in the more important parts\nof their conduct. The Doctor says, 'that the most distant and\ninconsiderable appendages to the temple of God, should have something of\npurity and decency. Besides,' added he, 'with what face could I censure\nimproprieties from the pulpit, if the appearance of my own family in the\npew below were to set my precepts at defiance, by giving an example of\nextravagance and vanity to the parish, and thus by making the preacher\nridiculous make his expostulations worse than ineffectual.\n\n\"So conscientious a rector,\" added Mr. Stanley, \"could not fail to be\nparticularly careful in the choice of a curate; and a more humble,\npious, diligent assistant than Mr. Jackson could not easily be found. He\nis always a welcome guest at my table. But this valuable man, who was\nabout as good a judge of the world as the great Hooker, made just such\nanother indiscreet marriage. He was drawn in to choose his wife, the\ndaughter of a poor tradesman in the next town, because he concluded that\na woman bred in humble and active life, would necessarily be humble and\nactive herself. _Her_ reason for accepting _him_ was because she\nthought that as every clergyman was a _gentleman_, she of course, as his\nwife, should be a _gentlewoman_, and fit company for any body.\n\n\"'He instructs my parish admirably,' said Dr. Barlow, 'but his own\nlittle family he can not manage. His wife is continually reproaching\nhim, that though he may know the way to heaven, he does not know how to\npush his way in the world. His daughter is the finest lady in the\nparish, and outdoes them all, not only in the extremity, but the\nimmodesty of the fashion. It is her mother's great ambition that she\nshould excel the Miss Stanleys and my daughters in music, while her good\nfather's linen betrays sad marks of negligence. I once ventured to tell\nMrs. Jackson that there was only one reason which could excuse the\neducation she had given her daughter, which was that I presumed she\nintended to qualify her for getting her bread; and that if she would\ncorrect the improprieties of the girl's dress, and get her instructed in\nuseful knowledge, I would look out for a good situation for her. This\nroused her indignation. She refused my offer with scorn, saying, that\nwhen she asked my charity, she would take my advice; and desired that I\nwould remember that one clergyman's daughter was as good as another. I\ntold her that there was indeed a sense in which one clergyman was as\ngood as another, because the profession dignified the lowest of the\norder, if, like her husband, he was a credit to that order. Yet still\nthere were gradations in the church as well as in the state. But between\nthe _wives_ and _daughters_ of the higher and lower clergy, there were\nthe same distinction which riches and poverty have established between\nthose of the higher and lower orders of the laity; and that rank and\nindependence in the one case, confer the same outward superiority with\nrank and independence in the other.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nAmong the visitors at Stanley Grove, there was a family of ladies, who,\nthough not particularly brilliant, were singularly engaging from their\nmodesty, gentleness, and good sense. One day when they had just left us,\nMr. Stanley obliged me with the following little relation: Mrs. Stanley\nand Lucilla only being present.\n\n\"Lady Aston has been a widow almost seven years. On the death of Sir\nGeorge, she retired into this neighborhood with her daughters, the\neldest of whom is about the age of Lucilla. She herself had had a pious\nbut a very narrow education. Her excessive grief for the loss of her\nhusband augmented her natural love of retirement which she cultivated,\nnot to the purpose of improvement, but to the indulgence of melancholy.\nSoon after she settled here, we heard how much good she did, and in how\nexemplary a manner she lived, before we saw her. She was not very easy\nof access even to us; and after we had made our way to her, we were the\nonly visitors she admitted for a long time. We soon learned to admire\nher deadness to the world, and her unaffected humility. Our esteem for\nher increased with our closer intercourse, which however enabled us also\nto observe some considerable mistakes in her judgment, especially in the\nmode in which she was training up her daughters. These errors we\nregretted, and with all possible tenderness ventured to point out to\nher. The girls were the prettiest demure little nuns you ever saw, mute\nand timid, cheerless and inactive, but kind, good, and gentle.\n\n\"Their pious mother, who was naturally of a fearful and doubting mind,\nhad had this pensive turn increased by several early domestic losses,\nwhich, even previous to Sir George's death, had contributed to fix\nsomething of a too tender and hopeless melancholy on her whole\ncharacter. There are two refuges for the afflicted; two diametrically\nopposite ways of getting out of sorrow--religion and the world. Lady\nAston had wisely chosen the former. But her scrupulous spirit had made\nthe narrow way narrower than religion required. She read the Scriptures\ndiligently, and she prayed over them devoutly; but she had no judicious\nfriend to direct her in these important studies. As your Mrs. Ranby\nattended only to the doctrines, and our friend Lady Belfield trusted\nindefinitely to the promises, so poor Lady Aston's broken spirit was too\nexclusively carried to dwell on the threatenings; together with the\nrigid performance of those duties which she earnestly hoped might enable\nher to escape them. This round of duty, of watchfulness, and prayer, she\ninvariably performed with almost the sanctity of an apostle, but with a\nlittle too much of the scrupulosity of an ascetic. While too many were\nrejoicing with unfounded confidence in those animating passages of\nScripture, which the whole tenor of their lives demonstrates not to\nbelong to them, she trembled at those denunciations which she could not\nfairly apply to herself. And the promises from which she might have\nderived reasonable consolation, she overlooked as designed for others.\n\n\"Her piety, though sincere, was a little tinctured with superstition. If\nany petty strictness was omitted, she tormented herself with causeless\nremorse. If any little rule was broken, she repaired the failure with\ntreble diligence the following day; and labored to retrieve her\nperplexed accounts with the comfortless anxiety of a person who is\nworking out a heavy debt. I endeavored to convince her, that an inferior\nduty which clashed with one of a higher order, might be safely postponed\nat least, if not omitted.\n\n\"A diary has been found useful to many pious Christians, as a record of\ntheir sins, and of their mercies. But this poor lady spent so much time\nin weighing the offenses of one day against those of another, that\nbefore the scruple was settled, the time for action was past. She\nbrought herself into so much perplexity by reading over this journal of\nher infirmities, that her difficulties were augmented by the very means\nshe had employed to remove them; and her conscience was disturbed by the\nmethod she had taken to quiet it. This plan, however, though distressing\nto a troubled mind, is wholesome to one of a contrary cast.\n\n\"_My_ family, as you have seen, are rather exact in the distribution of\ntheir time, but we do not distress ourselves at interruptions which are\nunavoidable: but _her_ arrangements were carried on with a rigor which\nmade her consider the smallest deviation as a sin that required severe\nrepentance. Her alms were expiations, her self-denials penances.\n\n\"She was rather a disciple of the mortified Baptist, than of the merciful\nRedeemer. Her devotions were sincere but discouraging. They consisted\nmuch in contrition, but little in praise; much in sorrow for sin, but\nlittle in hope of its pardon. She did not sufficiently cast her care and\nconfidence on the great propitiation. She firmly believed all that her\nSaviour had done and suffered, but she had not the comfort of\npractically appropriating the sacrifice. While she was painfully working\nout her salvation with fear and trembling, she indulged the most\nunfounded apprehensions of the divine displeasure. At Aston Hall the\nAlmighty was literally feared, but he was not glorified. It was the\nobedience of a slave, and not the reverential affection of a child.\n\n\"When I saw her denying herself and her daughters the most innocent\nenjoyments, and suspecting sin in the most lawful indulgences, I took\nthe liberty to tell her how little acceptable uncommanded austerities\nand arbitrary impositions were to the God of mercies. I observed to her\nthat the world, that human life, that our own sins and weaknesses, found\nus daily and hourly occasions of exercising patience and self-denial;\nthat life is not entirely made up of great evils or heavy trials, but\nthat the perpetual recurrence of petty evils and small trials is the\nordinary and appointed exercise of the Christian graces. To bear with\nthe failings of those about us, with their infirmities, their bad\njudgment, their ill-breeding, their perverse tempers; to endure neglect\nwhere we feel we have deserved attention, and ingratitude where we\nexpected thanks; to bear with the company of disagreeable people, whom\nProvidence has placed in our way, and whom he has perhaps provided on\npurpose for the trial of our virtue: these are the best exercises; and\nthe better because not chosen by ourselves. To bear with vexations in\nbusiness, with disappointments in our expectations, with interruptions\nof our retirement, with folly, intrusion, disturbance, in short, with\nwhatever opposes our will, and contradicts our humor; this habitual\nacquiescence appears to be more of the essence of self-denial than any\nlittle rigors or inflictions of our own imposing. These constant,\ninevitable, but inferior evils, properly improved, furnish a good moral\ndiscipline, and might well in the days of ignorance have superseded\npilgrimage and penance. It has this advantage too over the other, that\nit sweetens the temper and promotes humility, while the former gives\nrigidness instead of strength, and inflexibility instead of firmness.\"\n\n\"I have often thought,\" said I, when Mr. Stanley made a pause, \"that we\nare apt to mistake our vocation by looking out of the way for occasions\nto exercise great and rare virtues, and by stepping over those ordinary\nones which lie directly in the road before us. When we read, we fancy we\ncould be martyrs, and when we come to act, we can not even bear a\nprovoking word.\"\n\nMiss Stanley looked pleased at my remark, and in a modest tone observed\nthat \"in no one instance did we deceive ourselves more than in fancying\nwe could do great things well, which we were never likely to be called\nto do at all; while, if we were honest, we could not avoid owning how\nnegligently we performed our own little appointed duties, and how\nsedulously we avoided the petty inconveniences which these duties\ninvolved.\"\n\n\"By kindness,\" resumed Mr. Stanley, \"we gradually gained Lady Aston's\nconfidence, and of that confidence we have availed ourselves to give\nsomething of a new face to the family. Her daughters, good as they were\ndutiful, by living in a solitude unenlivened by books, and unvaried by\nimproving company, had acquired a manner rather resembling fearfulness\nthan delicacy. Religious they were, but they had contracted gloomy views\nof religion. They considered it as something that must be endured in\norder to avoid punishment, rather than as a principle of peace, and\ntrust, and comfort; as a task to be gone through, rather than as a\nprivilege to be enjoyed. They were tempted to consider the Almighty as a\nhard master, whom however they were resolved to serve, rather than as a\ngracious father who was not only loving, but LOVE in the abstract. Their\nmother was afraid to encourage a cheerful look, lest it might lead to\nlevity, or a sprightly thought, for fear it might have a wrong tendency.\nShe forgot, or rather she did not know, that young women were not formed\nfor contemplative life. She forgot that in all our plans and operations\nwe should still bear in mind that there are two worlds. As it is the\nfault of too many to leave the _next_ out of their calculation, it was\nthe error of Lady Aston, in forming the minds of her children, to leave\nout _this_. She justly considered heaven as their great aim and end; but\nneglected to qualify them for the present temporal life, on the due use\nand employment of which so obviously depends the happiness of that which\nis eternal.\n\n\"Her charities were very extensive, but of these charities her sweet\ndaughters were not made the active dispensers, because an old servant,\nwho governed not only the family but her lady also, chose that office\nherself. Thus the bounty being made to flow in partial channels, the\nwoman's relations and favorites almost entirely engrossing it, it did\nlittle comparative good.\n\n\"With fair understandings the Miss Astons had acquired very little\nknowledge: their mother's scrupulous mind found something dangerous in\nevery author who did not professedly write on religious subjects. If\nthere were one exceptionable page in a book, otherwise valuable, instead\nof suppressing the page, she suppressed the book. And indeed, my dear\nCharles, grieved am I to think how few authors of the more entertaining\nkind we _can_ consider as perfectly pure, and put without caution,\nrestriction, or mutilation, into the hands of our daughters. I am,\nhowever, of opinion, that as they will not always have their parents for\ntasters, and as they will everywhere, even in the most select libraries,\nmeet with these mixed works, in which, though there is much to admire,\nyet there is something to expunge, it is the safest way to accustom them\nearly to hear read the most unexceptionable parts of these books.\n\n\"Read them yourself to them without any air of mystery; tell them that\nwhat you omit is not worth reading, and then the omissions will not\nexcite but stifle curiosity. The books to which I allude are those where\nthe principle is sound and the tendency blameless, and where the few\nfaults consist rather in coarseness than in corruption.\n\n\"But to return; she fancied that these inexperienced creatures, who had\nnever tried the world, and whose young imaginations had perhaps painted\nit in all the brilliant colors with which erring fancy gilds the scenes\nit has never beheld, and the pleasure it has never tried, could\nrenounce it as completely as herself, who had exhausted what it has to\ngive, and was weary of it. She thought they could live contentedly in\ntheir closets, without considering that she had neglected to furnish\ntheir minds with that knowledge which may make the closet a place of\nenjoyment, by supplying the intervals of devotional with entertaining\nreading.\n\n\"We carried Lucilla and Ph[oe]be to visit them; I believe she was a\nlittle afraid of their gay countenances. I talked to her of the\nnecessity of literature to inform her daughters, and of pleasures to\nenliven them. The term pleasure alarmed her still more than that of\nliterature. 'What pleasures were allowed to religious people? She would\nmake her daughters as happy as she dared without offending her Maker.' I\nquoted the devout but liberal Hooker, who exhorts us not to regard the\nAlmighty as a captious sophist, but as a merciful Father.\n\n\"During this conversation we were sitting under the fine spreading oak\non my lawn, in front of that rich bank of flowers which you so much\nadmire. It was a lovely evening in the end of June, the setting sun was\nall mild radiance, the sky all azure, the air all fragrance. The birds\nwere in full song. The children, sitting on the grass before us, were\nweaving chaplets of wild flowers.\n\n    It looked like nature in the world's first spring.\n\n\"My heart was touched with joy and gratitude. 'Look, madam,' said I, 'at\nthe bountiful provision which a beneficent Father makes, not only for\nthe necessities, but for the pleasures of his children;\n\n                               ----not content\n    With every food of life to nourish man,\n    He makes all nature beauty to his eye,\n    And music to his ear.\n\n\"'These flowers are of so little apparent use, that it might be thought\nprofuseness in any economy short of that which is divine, to gratify us\nat once with such forms, and such hues, and such fragrance. It is a\ngratification not necessary, yet exquisite, which lies somewhere between\nthe pleasure of sense and intellect, and in a measure partakes of both.\nIt elevates while it exhilarates, and lifts the soul from the gift to\nthe Giver. God has not left his goodness to be _inferred_ from abstract\nspeculation, from the conclusions of reason, from deduction and\nargument: we not only collect it from observation, but have palpable\nevidences of his bounty, we feel it with our senses. Were God a hard\nmaster, might he not withhold these superfluities of goodness? Do you\nthink he makes such rich provision for us, that we should shut our eyes\nand close our ears to them? Does he present such gifts with one hand,\nand hold in the other a stern interdict of 'touch not, taste not, handle\nnot?' And can you believe he is less munificent in the economy of grace,\nthan in that of nature? Do you imagine that he provides such abundant\nsupplies for our appetites and senses here, without providing more\nsubstantial pleasures for our future enjoyment? Is not what we see a\nprelude to what we hope for, a pledge of what we may expect? A specimen\nof larger, higher, richer bounty, an encouraging cluster from the land\nof promise? If from his works we turn to his word, we shall find the\nsame inexhaustible goodness exercised to still nobler purposes. Must we\nnot hope then, even by analogy, that he has in store blessings exalted\nin their nature, and eternal in their duration, for all those who love\nand serve him in the gospel of his Son?'\n\n\"We now got on fast. She was delighted with my wife, and grew less and\nless afraid of my girls. I believe, however, that we should have made a\nquicker progress in gaining her confidence if we had looked less happy.\nI suggested to her to endeavor to raise the tone of her daughters'\npiety, to make their habits less monastic, their tempers more cheerful,\ntheir virtues more active; to render their lives more useful, by making\nthem the immediate instruments of her charity; to take them out of\nthemselves, and teach them to compare their fictitious distresses with\nreal substantial misery, and to make them feel grateful for the power\nand the privilege of relieving it.\n\n\"As Dr. Barlow has two parishes which join, and we had pre-occupied the\nground in our own, I advised them to found a school in the next, for the\ninstruction of the young, and a friendly society for the aged of their\nown sex. We prevailed on them to be themselves not the nominal but the\nactive patronesses; to take the measure of all the wants and all the\nmerit of their immediate neighborhood; to do every thing under the\nadvice and superintendence of Dr. Barlow, and to make him their 'guide,\nphilosopher, and friend.' By adopting this plan, they now see the\npoverty of which they only used to hear, and know personally the\ndependants whom they protect.\n\n\"Dr. Barlow took infinite pains to correct Lady Aston's views of\nreligion. 'Let your notions of God,' said he, 'be founded, not on your\nown gloomy apprehensions, and visionary imaginations, but on what is\nrevealed in his word, else the very intenseness of your feelings, the\nvery sincerity of your devotion, may betray you into enthusiasm, into\nerror, into superstition, into despair. Spiritual notions which are not\ngrounded on scriptural truth, and directed and guarded by a close\nadherence to it, mislead tender hearts and warm imaginations. But while\nyou rest on the sure unperverted foundation of the word of God, and pray\nfor his Spirit to assist you in the use of his word, you will have\nlittle cause to dread that you shall fear him too much, or serve him too\nwell. I earnestly exhort you,' continued he, 'not to take the measure of\nyour spiritual state from circumstances which have nothing to do with\nit. Be not dismayed at an incidental depression which may depend on the\nstate of your health, or your spirits, or your affairs. Look not for\nsensible communications. Do not consider rapturous feelings as any\ncriterion of the favor of your Maker, nor the absence of them as any\nindication of his displeasure. An increasing desire to know him more,\nand serve him better; an increasing desire to do, and to suffer his\nwhole will; a growing resignation to his providential dispensations is a\nmuch surer, a much more unequivocal test.'\n\n\"I next,\" continued Mr. Stanley, \"carried our worthy curate, Mr.\nJackson, to visit her, and proposed that she should engage him to spend\na few hours every week with the young ladies. I recommended that after\nhe had read with them a portion of Scripture, of which he would give\nthem a sound and plain exposition, he should convince them he had not\nthe worse taste for being religious, by reading with them some books of\ngeneral instruction, history, travels, and polite literature. This would\nimbue their minds with useful knowledge, form their taste, and fill up\nprofitably and pleasantly that time which now lay heavy on their hands;\nand, without intrenching on any of their duties, would qualify them to\ndischarge them more cheerfully.\n\n\"I next suggested that they should study gardening; and that they should\nput themselves under the tuition of Lucilla, who is become the little\nRepton of the valley. To add to the interest, I requested that a fresh\npiece of ground might be given them, that they might not only exercise\ntheir taste, but be animated with seeing the complete effect of their\nown exertions, as a creation of their own would be likely to afford them\nmore amusement than improving on the labors of another.\n\n\"I had soon the gratification of seeing my little Carmelites, who used\nwhen they walked in the garden to look as if they came to dig a daily\nportion of their own graves, now enjoying it, embellishing it, and\ndelighted by watching its progress; and their excellent mother, who,\nlike Spenser's Despair, used to look 'as if she never dined,' now\nenjoying the company of her select friends. The mother is become almost\ncheerful, and the daughters almost gay. Their dormant faculties are\nawakened. Time is no longer a burden, but a blessing: the day is too\nshort for their duties, which are performed with alacrity since they\nhave been converted into pleasures. You will believe I did not hazard\nall these terrible innovations as rapidly as I recount them, but\ngradually, as they were able to bear it.\n\n\"This happy change in themselves has had the happiest consequences.\nTheir friends had conceived the strongest prejudices against religion,\nfrom the gloomy garb in which they had seen it arrayed at Aston Hall.\nThe uncle who was also the guardian, had threatened to remove the girls\nbefore they were quite moped to death; the young baronet was actually\nforbidden to come home at the holidays; but now the uncle is quite\nreconciled to them, and almost to _religion_. He has resumed his\nfondness for the daughters; and their brother, a fine youth at\nCambridge, is happy in spending his vacations with his family, to whom\nhe is become tenderly attached. He has had his own principles and\ncharacter much raised by the conversation and example of Dr. Barlow, who\ncontrives to be at Aston Hall as much as possible when Sir George is\nthere. He is daily expected to make his mother a visit, when I shall\nrecommend him to your particular notice and acquaintance.\"\n\nLucilla blushing, said, she thought her father had too exclusively\nrecommended the _brother_ to my friendship; she would venture to say the\n_sisters_ were equally worthy of my regard, adding, in an affectionate\ntone, \"they are every thing that is amiable and kind. The more you know\nthem, sir, the more you will admire them; for their good qualities are\nkept back by the best quality of all, their modesty.\" This candid and\nliberal praise did not sink the fair eulogist herself in my esteem.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nI had now been near three weeks at the Grove. Ever since my arrival I\nhad contracted the habit of pouring out my heart to Mr. and Mrs. Stanley\nwith grateful affection and filial confidence. I still continued to do\nso on all subjects except one.\n\nThe more I saw of Lucilla, the more difficult I found it to resist her\nnumberless attractions. I could not persuade myself that either prudence\nor duty demanded that I should guard my heart against such a combination\nof amiable virtues and gentle graces: virtues and graces which, as I\nbefore observed, my mind had long been combining as a delightful idea,\nand which I now saw realized in a form more engaging than even my own\nimagination had allowed itself to picture.\n\nI did not feel courage sufficient to risk the happiness I actually\nenjoyed, by aspiring too suddenly to a happiness more perfect. I dared\nnot yet avow to the parents, or the daughter, feelings which my fears\ntold me might possibly be discouraged, and which, if discouraged, would\nat once dash to the ground a fabric of felicity that my heart, not my\nfancy, had erected, and which my taste, my judgment, and my principles\nequally approved, and delighted to contemplate.\n\nThe great critic of antiquity, in his treatise on the drama, observes\nthat the introduction of a new person is of the next importance to a new\nincident. Whether the introduction of two interlocutors is equal in\nimportance to two incidents, Aristotle has forgotten to establish. This\ndramatic rule was illustrated by the arrival of Sir John and Lady\nBelfield, who, though not new to the reader or the writer, were new at\nStanley Grove.\n\nThe early friendship of the two gentlemen had suffered little diminution\nfrom absence, though their intercourse had been much interrupted. Sir\nJohn, who was a few years younger than his friend, since his marriage,\nhaving lived as entirely in town as Mr. Stanley had done in the country.\nMrs. Stanley had, indeed, seen Lady Belfield a few times in\nCavendish-square, but her ladyship had never before been introduced to\nthe other inhabitants of the Grove.\n\nThe guests were received with cordial affection, and easily fell into\nthe family habits, which they did not wish to interrupt, but from the\nobservation of which they hoped to improve their own. They were charmed\nwith the interesting variety of characters in the lovely young family,\nwho in return were delighted with the politeness, kindness, and\ncheerfulness of their father's guests.\n\nShall I avow my own meanness? Cordially as I loved the Belfields, I am\nafraid I saw them arrive with a slight tincture of jealousy. They would,\nI thought, by enlarging the family circle, throw me at a further\ndistance from the being whom I wished to contemplate nearly. They would,\nby dividing her attention, diminish my proportion. I had been hitherto\nthe sole guest, I was now to be one of several. This was the first\ndiscovery I made that love is a narrower of the heart. I tried to subdue\nthe ungenerous feeling, and to meet my valuable friends with a warmth\nadequate to that which they so kindly manifested. I found that a wrong\nfeeling at which one has virtue enough left to blush, is seldom lasting,\nand shame soon expelled it.\n\nThe first day was passed in mutual inquiries and mutual communications.\nLady Belfield told me that the amiable Fanny, after having wept over the\ngrave of her mother, was removed to the house of the benevolent\nclergyman, who had kindly promised her an asylum till Lady Belfield's\nreturn to town, when it was intended she should be received into her\nfamily; that worthy man and his wife having taken on themselves a full\nresponsibility for her character and disposition; and generously\npromised that they would exert themselves to advance her progress in\nknowledge during the interval. Lady Belfield added, that every inquiry\nrespecting Fanny, whom we must now call Miss Stokes, had been attended\nwith the most satisfactory result, her principles being as\nunquestionable as her talents.\n\nAfter dinner, I observed that whenever the door opened, Lady Belfield's\neye was always turned toward it, in expectation of seeing the children.\nHer affectionate heart felt disappointed on finding that they did not\nappear, and she could not forbear whispering to me, who sat next her,\n\"that she was afraid the piety of our good friends was a little\ntinctured with severity. For her part, she saw no reason why religion\nshould diminish one's affection for one's children, and rob them of\ntheir innocent pleasures.\" I assured her gravely I thought so too; but\nforbore telling her how totally inapposite her application was to Mr.\nand Mrs. Stanley. She seemed glad to find me of her opinion, and gave up\nall hope of seeing the \"little melancholy recluses,\" as she called them,\n\"unless,\" she said, laughing, \"she might be permitted to look at them\nthrough the grate of their cells.\" I smiled, but did not undeceive her,\nand affected to join in her compassion. When we went to attend the\nladies in the drawing-room, I was delighted to find lady Belfield\nsitting on a low stool, the whole gay group at play around her. A blush\nmixed itself with her good-natured smile as we interchanged a\nsignificant look. She was questioning one of the elder ones, while the\nyoungest sat on her lap singing. Sir John entered, with that kindness\nand good humor so natural to him, into the sports of the others, who,\nthough wild with health and spirits, were always gentle and docile. He\nhad a thousand pleasant things to entertain them with. He, too, it\nseems, had not been without his misgivings.\n\n\"Are not these poor miserable recluses?\" whispered I maliciously to her\nladyship, \"and are not these rueful looks proof positive that religion\ndiminishes our affection for our children? and is it not abridging their\ninnocent pleasures, to give them their full range in a fresh airy\napartment, instead of cramming them into an eating-room, of which the\nair is made almost fetid by the fumes of the dinner and a crowded table?\nand is it not better that they should spoil the pleasure of the company,\nthough the mischief they do is bought by the sacrifice of their own\nliberty?\" \"I make my _amende_,\" said she. \"I never will be so forward\nagain to suspect piety of ill nature.\" \"So far from it, Caroline,\" said\nSir John, \"that we will adopt the practice we were so forward to blame;\nand I shall not do it,\" said he, \"more from regard to the company, than\nto the children, who I am sure will be gainers in point of enjoyment;\nliberty, I perceive, is to them positive pleasure, and paramount to any\nwhich our false epicurism can contrive for them.\"\n\n\"Well, Charles,\" said Sir John, as soon as he saw me alone, \"now tell us\nabout this Lucilla, this paragon, this nonpareil of Dr. Barlow's. Tell\nme what is she? or rather what is she not?\"\n\n\"First,\" replied I, \"I will as you desire, define her by negatives--she\nis _not_ a professed beauty, she is _not_ a professed genius, she is\n_not_ a professed philosopher, she is _not_ a professed wit, she is\n_not_ a professed any thing; and, I thank my stars, she is _not_ an\nartist!\" \"Bravo, Charles, now as to what she is.\" \"She is,\" replied I,\n\"from nature--a woman, gentle, feeling, animated, modest. She is by\neducation, elegant, informed, enlightened. She is, from religion, pious,\nhumble, candid, charitable.\"\n\n\"What a refreshment will it be,\" said Sir John, \"to see a girl of fine\nsense, more cultivated than accomplished--the creature, not of fiddlers\nand dancing-masters, but of nature, of books, and of good company! If\nthere is the same mixture of spirit and delicacy in her character, that\nthere is of softness and animation in her countenance, she is a\ndangerous girl, Charles.\"\n\n\"She certainly does,\" said I, \"possess the essential charm of beauty\nwhere it exists; and the most effectual substitute for it, where it does\nnot; the power of prepossessing the beholder by her look and manner, in\nfavor of her understanding and temper.\"\n\nThis prepossession I afterward found confirmed, not only by her own\nshare in the conversation, but by its effect on myself; I always feel\nthat our intercourse unfolds, not only her powers, but my own. In\nconversing with such a woman, I am apt to fancy that I have more\nunderstanding, because her animating presence brings it more into\nexercise.\n\nAfter breakfast, next day, the conversation happened to turn on the\nindispensable importance of unbounded confidence to the happiness of\nmarried persons. Mr. Stanley expressed his regret, that though it was\none of the grand ingredients of domestic comfort, yet it was sometimes\nunavoidably prevented by an unhappy inequality of mind between the\nparties, by violence, or imprudence, or imbecility on one side, which\nalmost compelled the other to a degree of reserve, as incompatible with\nthe design of the union, as with the frankness of the individual.\n\n\"We have had an instance among our own friends,\" replied Sir John, \"of\nthis evil being produced, not by any of the faults to which you have\nadverted, but by an excess of misapplied sensibility, in two persons of\nnear equality as to merit, and in both of whom the utmost purity of\nmind, and exactness of conduct rendered all concealment superfluous. Our\nworthy friends Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton married from motives of affection,\nand with a high opinion of each other's merit, which their long and\nintimate connection has rather contributed to exalt than to lower; and\nyet, now at the end of seven years, they are only beginning to be happy.\nThey contrived to make each other and themselves as uncomfortable by an\nexcess of tenderness, as some married pairs are rendered by the want of\nit. A mistaken sensibility has intrenched, not only on their comfort,\nbut on their sincerity. Their resolution never to give each other pain\nhas led them to live in a constant state of petty concealment. They are\nneither of them remarkably healthy, and to hide from each other every\nlittle indisposition, have kept up a continual vigilance to conceal\nillness on the one part, and to detect it on the other, till it became a\ntrial of skill which could make the other most unhappy; each suffering\nmuch more by suspicion when there was no occasion for it, than they\ncould have done by the acknowledgment of slight complaints when they\nactually existed.\n\n\"This valuable pair, after seven years' apprenticeship to a petty\nmartyrdom, have at last found out that it is better to submit to the\ninevitable ills of life cheerfully and in concert, and to comfort each\nother under them cordially, than alternately to suffer and inflict the\npain of perpetual disingenuousness. They have at last discovered that\nuninterrupted prosperity is not the lot of man. Each is happier now\nwith knowing that the other is sometimes sick, than they used to be with\nsuspecting they were always so. The physician is now no longer secretly\nsent for to one, when the other is known to be from home. The apothecary\nis at last allowed to walk boldly up the public staircase fearless of\ndetection.\n\n\"These amiable persons have at length attained all that was wanting to\ntheir felicity, that of each believing the other to be well when they\n_say_ they are so. They have found out that unreserved communication is\nthe lawful commerce of conjugal affection, and that all concealment is\ncontraband.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" said I, when Sir John had done speaking, \"it is a false\ncompliment to the objects of our affection, if, for the sake of sparing\nthem a transient uneasiness, we rob them of the comfort to which they\nare entitled, of mitigating our sufferings by partaking it. All\ndissimulation is disloyal to love. Besides, it appears to me to be an\nintroduction to wider evils, and I should fear, both for the woman I\nloved and for myself, that if once we allowed ourselves concealment in\none point, where we thought the motive excused us, we might learn to\nadopt it in others, where the principle was more evidently wrong.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"it argues a lamentable ignorance of\nhuman life, to set out with an expectation of health without\ninterruption, and of happiness without alloy. When young persons marry\nwith the fairest prospects, they should never forget that infirmity is\ninseparably bound up with their very nature, and that in bearing one\nanother's burdens, they fulfill one of the highest duties of the\nunion.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nAfter supper, when only the family party were present, the conversation\nturned on the unhappy effects of misguided passion. Mrs. Stanley\nlamented that novels, with a very few admirable exceptions, had done\ninfinite mischief, by so completely establishing the omnipotence of\nlove, that the young reader was almost systematically taught an\nunresisting submission to a feeling, because the feeling was commonly\nrepresented as irresistible.\n\n\"Young ladies,\" said Sir John, smiling, \"in their blind submission to\nthis imaginary omnipotence, are apt to be necessarians. When they _fall_\nin love, as it is so justly called, they then obey their _fate_; but in\ntheir stout opposition to prudence and duty, they most manfully exert\ntheir _free will_; so that they want nothing but _knowledge absolute_ of\nthe miseries attendant on an indiscreet attachment, completely to\nexemplify the occupation assigned by Milton to a class of beings to whom\nit would not be gallant to resemble young ladies.\"\n\nMrs. Stanley continued to assert, that ill-placed affection only became\ninvincible, because its supposed invincibility had been first erected\ninto a principle. She then adverted to the power of religion in subduing\nthe passions, that of love among the rest.\n\nI ventured to ask Lucilla, who was sitting next me (a happiness which,\nby some means or other, I generally contrived to enjoy), what were her\nsentiments on this point? With a little confusion, she said, \"to conquer\nan ill placed attachment, I conceive may be effected by motives inferior\nto religion. Reason, the humbling conviction of having made an unworthy\nchoice, for I will not resort to so bad a motive as pride, may easily\naccomplish it. But to conquer a well-founded affection, a justifiable\nattachment, I should imagine, requires the powerful principle of\nChristian piety; and what can not that effect?\" She stopped and blushed,\nas fearing she had said too much.\n\nLady Belfield observed, that she believed a virtuous attachment might\npossibly be subdued by the principle Miss Stanley had mentioned; yet she\ndoubted if it were in the power of religion itself, to enable the heart\nto conquer aversion, much less to establish affection for an object for\nwhom dislike had been entertained.\n\n\"I believe,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"the example is rare, and the exertion\ndifficult; but that which is difficult to us, is not impossible to him\nwho has the hearts of all men in his hand. And I am happy to resolve\nLady Belfield's doubt by a case in point.\n\n\"You can not, Sir John, have forgotten our old London acquaintance,\nCarlton?\" \"No,\" replied he, \"nor can I ever forget what I have since\nheard of his ungenerous treatment of that most amiable woman, his wife.\nI suppose he has long ago broken her heart.\"\n\n\"You know,\" resumed Mr. Stanley, \"they married not only without any\ninclination on either side, but on her part with something more than\nindifference, with a preference for another person. _She_ married\nthrough an implicit obedience to her mother's will, which she had never\nin any instance opposed: _He_, because his father had threatened to\ndisinherit him if he married any other woman; for as they were distant\nrelations, there was no other way of securing the estate in the family.\"\n\n\"What a motive for a union so sacred and so indissoluble!\" exclaimed I,\nwith an ardor which raised a smile in the whole party. I asked pardon\nfor my involuntary interruption, and Mr. Stanley proceeded.\n\n\"She had long entertained a partiality for a most deserving young\nclergyman, much her inferior in rank and fortune. But though her high\nsense of filial duty led her to sacrifice this innocent inclination, and\nthough she resolved never to see him again, and had even prevailed on\nhim to quit the country, and settle in a distant place, yet Carlton was\nungenerous and inconsistent enough to be jealous of her without loving\nher. He was guilty of great irregularities, while Mrs. Carlton set about\nacquitting herself of the duties of a wife, with the most meek and\nhumble patience, burying her sorrows in her own bosom, and not allowing\nherself even the consolation of complaining.\n\n\"Among the many reasons for his dislike, her piety was the principal. He\nsaid religion was of no use but to disqualify people for the business of\nlife; that it taught them to make a merit of despising their duties, and\nhating their relations; and that pride, ill-humor, opposition, and\ncontempt for the rest of the world, were the meat and drink of all those\nwho pretended to religion.\n\n\"At first she nearly sunk under his unkindness; her health declined, and\nher spirits failed. In this distress she applied to the only sure refuge\nfor the unhappy, and took comfort in the consideration that her trials\nwere appointed, by a merciful Father, to detach her from a world which\nshe might have loved too fondly, had it not been thus stripped of its\ndelights.\n\n\"When Mrs. Stanley, who was her confidential friend, expressed the\ntenderest sympathy in her sufferings, she meekly replied, 'Remember who\nare they whose robes are washed white in the kingdom of glory, _it is\nthey who come out of great tribulation_. I endeavor to strengthen my\nfaith with a view of what the best Christians have suffered, and my hope\nwith meditating on the shortness of all suffering. I will confess my\nweakness,' added she: 'of the various motives to patience under the\nills of life, which the Bible presents, though my reason and religion\nacknowledge them all, there is not one which comes home so powerfully to\nmy feelings as this--_the time is short_.'\n\n\"Another time Mrs. Stanley, who had heard of some recent irregularities\nof Carlton, called upon her, and lamenting the solitude to which she was\noften left for days together, advised her to have a female friend in the\nhouse, that her mind might not be left to prey upon itself by living so\nmuch alone. She thanked her for the kind suggestion, but said she felt\nit was wiser and better not to have a confidential friend always at\nhand, 'for of what subject should we talk,' said she, 'but of my\nhusband's faults? Ought I to allow myself in such a practice? It would\nlead me to indulge a habit of complaint which I am laboring to subdue.\nThe compassion of my friend would only sharpen my feelings, which I wish\nto blunt. Giving vent to a flame only makes it rage the more; if\nsuppressing can not subdue it, at least the consciousness that I am\ndoing my duty will enable me to support it. When we feel,' added she,\n'that we are _doing_ wrong, the opening our heart may strengthen our\nvirtue; but when we are _suffering_ wrong, the mind demands another sort\nof strength; it wants higher support than friendship has to impart. It\npours out its sorrows in prayer with fuller confidence, knowing that he\nwho sees can sustain; that he who hears will recompense; that he will\njudge, not our weakness, but our efforts to conquer it; not our success,\nbut our endeavors; with him endeavor is victory.\n\n\"'The grace I most want,' added she, 'is humility. A partial friend, in\norder to support my spirits, would flatter my conduct: gratified with\nher soothing, I should, perhaps, not so entirely cast myself for comfort\non God. Contented with human praise, I might rest in it. Besides, having\nendured the smart, I would not willingly endure it in vain. We know who\nhas said, 'If you suffer with me, you shall also reign with me.' It is\nnot, however, to mere suffering that the promise is addressed, but to\nsuffering for his sake, and in his spirit.' Then turning to the Bible\nwhich lay before her, and pointing to the sublime passage of St Paul,\nwhich she had just been reading, 'Our light affliction which is but for\na moment worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of\nglory.' 'Pray,' said she, 'read this in connection with the next verse,\nwhich is not always done. _When_ is it that it works for us this weight\nof glory? _Only_ 'while we are looking at the things which are not\nseen.' Do admire the beauty of this position, and how the good is\nweighed against the evil, like two scales differently filled; the\naffliction is light, and but for a moment; the glory is a _weight_, and\nit is _forever_. 'Tis a feather against lead, a grain of sand against\nthe universe, a moment against eternity. Oh, how the scale which\ncontains this world's light trouble kicks the beam, when weighed against\nthe glory which shall be revealed.'\n\n\"At the end of two years she had a little girl; this opened to her a new\nscene of duties, and a fresh source of consolation. Her religion proved\nitself to be of the right stamp, by making her temper still more sweet,\nand diffusing the happiest effects through her whole character and\nconversation. When her husband had staid out late, or even all night,\nshe never reproached him. When he was at home, she received his friends\nwith as much civility as if she had liked them. He found that his house\nwas conducted with the utmost prudence, and that while she maintained\nhis credit at his table, her personal expenses were almost nothing:\nindeed, self seemed nearly annihilated in her. He sometimes felt\ndisappointed, because he had no cause of complaint, and was angry that\nhe had nothing to condemn.\n\n\"As he has a very fine understanding, he was the more provoked, because\nhe could not help seeing that her blameless conduct put him continually\nin the wrong. All this puzzled him. He never suspected there was a\nprinciple, out of which such consequences could grow, and was ready to\nattribute to insensibility, that patience which nothing short of\nChristian piety could have inspired. He had conceived of religion as a\nvisionary system of words and phrases, and concluded that from so\nunsubstantial a theory, it would be a folly to look for practical\neffects.\n\n\"Sometimes, when he saw her nursing his child, of whom he was very fond,\nhe was almost tempted to admire the mother, who is a most pleasing\nfigure; and now and then when his heart was thus softened for a moment,\nhe would ask himself, what reasonable ground of objection there was\neither to her mind or person?\n\n\"Mrs. Carlton, knowing that his affairs must necessarily be embarrassed,\nby the extraordinary expenses he had incurred, when the steward brought\nher usual year's allowance she refused to take more than half, and\nordered him to employ the remainder on his master's account. The\nfaithful old man was ready to weep, and could not forbear saying,\n'Madam, you could not do more for a kind husband. Besides, it is but a\ndrop of water in the ocean.' 'That drop,' said she, 'it is my duty to\ncontribute.' When the steward communicated this to Carlton, he was\ndeeply affected, refused to take the money, and again was driven to\nresort to the wonderful principle from which such right but difficult\nactions could proceed.\"\n\nHere I interrupted Mr. Stanley. \"I am quite of the steward's opinion,\"\nsaid I. \"That a woman should do this and much more for the man who loved\nher, and whom she loved, is quite intelligible to every being who has a\nheart. But for a cruel, unfeeling tyrant! I do not comprehend it. What\nsay you, Miss Stanley?\"\n\n\"Under the circumstance you suppose,\" said she, blushing, \"I think the\nwoman would have no shadow of merit; her conduct would be a mere\ngratification, an entire indulgence of her own feelings. The triumph of\naffection would have been cheap; Mrs. Carlton's was the triumph of\nreligion; of a principle which could subdue an attachment to a worthy\nobject, and act with such generosity toward an unworthy one.\"\n\nMr. Stanley went on. \"Mrs. Carlton frequently sat up late, reading such\nbooks as might qualify her for the education of her child, but always\nretired before she had reason to expect Mr. Carlton, lest he might\nconstrue it into upbraiding. One night, as he was not expected to come\nhome at all, she sat later than usual, and had indulged herself with\ntaking her child to pass the night in her bed. With her usual\nearnestness she knelt down and offered up her devotions by her bed-side,\nand in a manner particularly solemn and affecting, prayed for her\nhusband. Her heart was deeply touched, and she dwelt on these petitions\nin a strain peculiarly fervent. She prayed for his welfare in both\nworlds, and earnestly implored that she might be made the humble\ninstrument of his happiness. She meekly acknowledged her own many\noffenses; of his she said nothing.\n\n\"Thinking herself secure from interruption, her petitions were uttered\naloud; her voice often faltering, and her eyes streaming with tears.\nLittle did she suspect that the object of her prayers was within hearing\nof them. He had returned home unexpectedly, and coming softly into the\nroom, heard her pious aspirations. He was inexpressibly affected. He\nwept, and sighed bitterly. The light from the candles on the table fell\non the blooming face of his sleeping infant, and on that of his weeping\nwife. It was too much for him. But he had not the virtuous courage to\ngive way to his feelings. He had not the generosity to come forward and\nexpress the admiration he felt. He withdrew unperceived, and passed the\nremainder of the night in great perturbation of spirit. Shame, remorse,\nand confusion, raised such a conflict in his mind, as prevented him from\nclosing his eyes; while she slept in quiet, and awoke in peace.\n\n\"The next morning, during a very short interview, he behaved to her with\na kindness which she had never before experienced. He had not resolution\nto breakfast with her, but promised, with affection in his words and\nmanners, to return to dinner. The truth was, he never quitted home, but\nwandered about his woods to compose and strengthen his mind. This\nself-examination was the first he had practiced; its effects were\nsalutary.\n\n\"A day or two previous to this, they had dined at our house. He had\nalways been much addicted to the pleasures of the table. He expressed\nhigh approbation of a particular dish, and mentioned again when he got\nhome how much he liked it. The next morning Mrs. Carlton wrote to\nLucilla to beg the receipt for making this ragout; and this day, when he\nreturned from his solitary ramble and 'compunctuous visitings,' the\nfavorite dish, most exquisitely dressed, was produced at his dinner. He\nthanked her for this obliging attention, and turning to the butler,\ndirected him to tell the cook that no dish was ever so well dressed.\nMrs. Carlton blushed when the honest butler said, 'Sir, it was my\nmistress dressed it with her own hands, because she knew your honor was\nfond of it.'\n\n\"Tears of gratitude rushed into Carlton's eyes, and tears of joy\noverflowed those of the old domestic, when his master, rising from the\ntable, tenderly embraced his wife, and declared he was unworthy of such\na treasure. 'I have been guilty of a public wrong, Johnson,' said he to\nhis servant, 'and my reparation shall be as public. I can never deserve\nher, but my life shall be spent in endeavoring to do so.'\n\n\"The little girl was brought in, and her presence seemed to cement this\nnew formed union. An augmented cheerfulness on the part of Mrs. Carlton\ninvited an increased tenderness on that of her husband. He began every\nday to discover new excellences in his wife, which he readily\nacknowledged to herself, and to the world. The conviction of her worth\nhad been gradually producing esteem, esteem now ripened into affection,\nand his affection for his wife was mingled with a blind sort of\nadmiration of that piety which had produced such effects. He now began\nto think home the pleasantest place, and his wife the pleasantest\ncompanion.\n\n\"A gentle censure from him on the excessive frugality of her dress,\nmixed with admiration of the purity of its motive, was an intimation to\nher to be more elegant. He happened to admire a gown worn by a lady whom\nthey had visited. She not only sent for the same materials, but had it\nmade by the same pattern. A little attention of which he felt the\ndelicacy.\n\n\"He not only saw, but in no long time acknowledged, that a religion\nwhich produced such admirable effects, could not be so mischievous a\nprinciple as he had supposed, nor could it be an inert principle. Her\nprudence has accomplished what her piety began. She always watched the\nturn of his eye, to see how far she might venture, and changed the\ndiscourse when the look was not encouraging. She never tired him with\nlectures, never obtruded serious discourse unseasonably, nor prolonged\nit improperly. His early love of reading, which had for some years given\nway to more turbulent pleasures, he has resumed; and frequently\ninsists, that the books he reads to her shall be of her own choosing. In\nthis choice she exercises the nicest discretion, selecting such as may\ngently lead his mind to higher pursuits, but which at the same time are\nso elegantly written as not to disgust his taste. In all this Mrs.\nStanley is her friend and counselor.\n\n\"While Mrs. Carlton is advancing her husband's relish for books of\npiety, he is forming hers to polite literature. She herself often\nproposes an amusing book, that he may not suspect her of a wish to\nabridge his innocent gratifications; and by this complaisance she gains\nmore than she loses, for, not to be outdone in generosity, he often\nproposes some pious one in return. Thus their mutual sacrifices are\nmutual benefits. She has found out that he has a highly cultivated\nunderstanding, and he has discovered that she has a mind remarkably\nsusceptible of cultivation. He has by degrees dropped most of his former\nassociates, and has entirely renounced the diversions into which they\nled him. He is become a frequent and welcome visitor here. His conduct\nis uniformly respectable, and I look forward with hope to his becoming\neven a shining character. There is, however, a pertinacity, I may say a\nsincerity, in his temper, which somewhat keeps him back. He will never\nadopt any principle without the most complete conviction of his own\nmind; nor profess any truth of which he himself does not actually feel\nthe force.\"\n\nLady Belfield, after thanking Mr. Stanley for his interesting little\nnarrative, earnestly requested that Sir John would renew his\nacquaintance with Mr. Carlton, that she herself might be enabled to\nprofit by such an affecting example of the power of genuine religion as\nhis wife exhibited; confessing that one such living instance would weigh\nmore with her than a hundred arguments. Mrs. Stanley obligingly promised\nto invite them to dinner the first leisure day. Mr. Stanley now\ninformed us that Sir George Aston was arrived from Cambridge on a visit\nto his mother and sisters; that he was a youth of great promise whom he\nbegged to introduce to us as a young man in whose welfare he took a\nlively concern, and on the right formation of whose character much would\ndepend, as he had a large estate, and the family interest in the county\nwould give him a very considerable influence; to this influence it was,\ntherefore, of great importance to give a right direction. We next\nmorning took a ride to Aston Hall, and I commenced an acquaintance with\nthe engaging young baronet, which I doubt not, from what I saw and\nheard, will hereafter ripen into friendship.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nThe good rector joined the party at dinner. The conversation afterward\nhappened to turn on the value of human opinion, and Sir John Belfield\nmade the hackneyed observation, that the desire of obtaining it should\nnever be discouraged, it being highly useful as a motive of action.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dr. Barlow, \"it certainly has its uses in a world, the\naffairs of which must be chiefly carried on by worldly men; a world\nwhich is itself governed by low motives. But human applause is not a\nChristian principle of action; nay, it is so adverse to Christianity\nthat our Saviour himself assigns it as a powerful cause of men's not\nbelieving, or at least not confessing Him; _because they loved the\npraise of men_. The eager desire of fame is a sort of separation line\nbetween Paganism and Christianity. The ancient philosophers have left us\nmany shining examples of moderation in earthly things, and of the\ncontempt of riches. So far the light of reason, and a noble self-denial\ncarried them; and many a Christian may blush at these instances of their\nsuperiority; but of an indifference to fame, of a deadness to human\napplause except as founded on loftiness of spirit, disdain of their\njudges, and self-sufficient pride, I do not recollect any instance.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said Sir John, \"I remember Seneca says in one of his\nepistles, that no man expresses such a respect and devotion to virtue as\nhe who forfeits the _repute_ of being a good man, that he may not\nforfeit the _conscience_ of being such.\"\n\n\"They might,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"incidentally express some such\nsentiment, in a well turned period, to give antithesis to an expression,\nor weight to an apothegm; they might declaim against it in a fit of\ndisappointment in the burst of indignation excited by a recent loss of\npopularity; but I question if they ever once acted upon it. I question\nif Marius himself, sitting amid the ruins of Carthage, actually felt it.\nSeldom, if ever, does it seem to have been inculcated as a principle, or\nenforced as a rule of action: nor could it--it was against the canon law\nof their foundation.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" said Sir John, \"a good man struggling with adversity is, I think,\nrepresented by one of their authors as an object worthy of the attention\nof the gods.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"but the divine approbation alone was never\nproposed as the standard of right, or the reward of actions, except by\ndivine revelation.\"\n\n\"Nothing seems more difficult,\" said I, \"to settle than the standard of\nright. Every man has a standard of his own, which he considers as of\nuniversal application. One makes his own tastes, desires, and appetites,\nhis rule of right; another the example of certain individuals, fallible\nlike himself; a third, and indeed the generality, the maxims, habits,\nand manners of the fashionable part of the world.\"\n\nSir John remarked, \"That since it is so difficult to discriminate\nbetween allowable indulgence and criminal conformity, the life of a\nconscientious man, if he be not constitutionally temperate, or\nhabitually firm, must be poisoned with solicitude, and perpetually\nracked with the fear of exceeding his limits.\"\n\n\"My dear Belfield,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"the peace and security of a\nChristian, we well know, are not left to depend on constitutional\ntemperance, or habitual firmness. These are, as the young Numidian says,\n\n     Perfections that are placed in bones and nerves.\n\nThere is a higher and surer way to prevent the solicitude, which is, by\ncorrecting the principle; to get the heart set right; to be jealous over\nourselves; to be careful never to venture to the edge of our lawful\nlimits; in short, and that is the only infallible standard, to live in\nthe conscientious practice of measuring all we say, and do, and think,\nby the unerring rule of God's word.\"\n\n\"The impossibility of reaching the perfection which that rule requires,\"\nsaid Sir John, \"sometimes discourages well-meaning men, as if the\nattempt were hopeless.\"\n\nDr. Barlow replied, \"That is, sir, because they take up with a hearsay\nChristianity. Its reputed pains and penalties drive them off from\ninquiring for themselves. They rest on the surface. If they would go\ndeeper, they would see that the Spirit which dictated the Scriptures is\na Spirit of power, as well as a Spirit of promise. All that he requires\nus to do, he enables us to perform. He does not prescribe 'rules'\nwithout furnishing us with 'arms.'\"\n\nIn answer to some further remarks of Sir John, who spoke with due\nabhorrence of any instance of actual vice, but who seemed to have no\njust idea of its root and principle, Dr. Barlow observed: \"While every\none agrees in reprobating wicked actions, few, comparatively, are aware\nof the natural and habitual evil which lurks in the heart. To this the\nBible particularly directs our attention. In describing a bad character,\nit does not say that his actions are flagitious, but that 'God is not in\nall his _thoughts_.' This is the description of a thoroughly worldly\nman. Those who are given up completely to the world, to its maxims, its\nprinciples, its cares, or its pleasures, can not entertain thoughts of\nGod. And to be unmindful of his providence, to be regardless of his\npresence, to be insensible to his mercies, must be nearly as offensive\nto him as to deny his existence. Excessive dissipation, a supreme love\nof money, or an entire devotedness to ambition, drinks up that spirit,\nswallows up that affection, exhausts that vigor, starves that zeal, with\nwhich a Christian should devote himself to serve his Maker.\n\n\"Pray observe,\" continued Dr. Barlow, \"that I am not speaking of avowed\nprofligates, but of decent characters; men who, while they are pursuing\nwith keen intenseness the great objects of their attachment, do not\nderide or even totally neglect religious observances, yet think they do\nmuch and well, by affording some odd scraps of refuse time to a few\nweary prayers, and sleepy thoughts, from a mind worn down with\nengagements of pleasure, or projects of accumulation, or schemes of\nambition. In all these several pursuits, there may be nothing which, to\nthe gross perceptions of the world, would appear to be moral turpitude.\nThe pleasure may not be profligacy, the wealth so cherished may not have\nbeen fraudulently obtained, the ambition, in human estimation, may not\nbe dishonorable; but an alienation from God, an indifference to eternal\nthings, a spirit incompatible with the spirit of the gospel, will be\nfound at the bottom of all these restless pursuits.\"\n\n\"I am entirely of your opinion, Doctor,\" said Mr. Stanley; \"it is taking\nup with something short of real Christianity; it is an apostacy from the\ndoctrines of the Bible; it is the substitution of a spurious and popular\nreligion for that which was revealed from heaven; it is a departure from\nthe faith once delivered to the saints, that has so fatally sunk our\nmorality; and given countenance to that low standard of practical virtue\nwhich prevails. If we lower the principle, if we obscure the light, if\nwe reject the influence, if we sully the purity, if we abridge the\nstrictness of the divine law, there will remain no ascending power in\nthe soul, no stirring spirit, no quickening aspiration after perfection,\nno stretching forward after that holiness to which the beatific vision\nis specifically promised. It is vain to expect that the practice will\nrise higher than the principle which inspires it; that the habits will\nbe superior to the motives which govern them.\"\n\n\"Selfishness, security, and sensuality,\" said the Doctor, \"are predicted\nby our Saviour, as the character of the last times. In alluding to the\nantediluvian world, and the cause of its destruction, eating, drinking,\nand marrying could not be named in the gospel as things censurable in\nthemselves, they being necessary to the very existence of that world\nwhich the abuse of them was tending to destroy. Our Saviour does not\ndescribe criminality by the excess, but by the spirit of the act. He\nspeaks of eating, not gluttony; of drinking, not intoxication; of\nmarriage, not licentious intercourse. This seems a plain intimation,\nthat carrying on the transactions of the world in the spirit of the\nworld, and that habitual deadness to the concerns of eternity, in beings\nso alive to the pleasures or the interests of the present moment, do not\nindicate a state of safety, even where gross acts of vice may be rare.\"\n\nMr. Stanley said it was his opinion that it is not by a few, or even by\nmany, instances of excessive wickedness, that the moral state of a\ncountry is to be judged, but by a general averseness and indifference to\n_real_ religion. \"A few examples of glaring impiety,\" said he, \"may\nfurnish more subject for declamation, but are not near so deadly a\nsymptom. It is no new remark, that more men are undone by an excessive\nindulgence in things permitted, than by the commission of avowed sins.\"\n\n\"How happy,\" said Sir John, \"are those who by their faith and piety are\ndelivered from these difficulties!\"\n\n\"My dear Belfield,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"where are those privileged\nbeings? It is one sad proof of human infirmity, that the best men have\ncontinually these things to struggle with. What makes the difference is,\nthat those whom we call good men struggle on to the end, while the\nothers, not seeing the danger, do not struggle at all.\"\n\n\"Christians,\" said Dr. Barlow, \"who would strictly keep within the\nbounds prescribed by their religion, should imitate the ancient Romans,\nwho carefully watched that their god Terminus, who defined their limits,\nshould never recede; the first step of his retreat, they said, would be\nthe destruction of their security.\"\n\n\"But, Doctor,\" said Sir John, \"pray what remedy do you recommend against\nthis natural, I had almost said this invincible, propensity to\nover-value the world? I do not mean a propensity merely to over-rate its\npleasures and its honors, but a disposition to yield to its dominion\nover the mind, to indulge a too earnest desire of standing well with it,\nto cherish a too anxious regard for its good opinion?\"\n\n\"The knowledge of the disease,\" replied the worthy Doctor, \"should\nprecede the application of the remedy. Human applause is, by a worldly\nman, reckoned not only among the luxuries of life, but among articles of\nthe first necessity. An undue desire to obtain it has certainly its\nfoundation in vanity; and it is one of our grand errors to reckon vanity\na trivial fault. An over-estimation of character, and an anxious wish to\nconciliate all suffrages, is an infirmity from which even worthy men are\nnot exempt; nay, it is a weakness from which, if they are not governed\nby a strict religious principle, worthy men are in most danger.\nReputation being in itself so very desirable a good, those who actually\npossess it, and in some sense deserve to possess it, are apt to make it\ntheir standard, and to rest in it as their supreme aim and end.\"\n\n\"You have,\" said Sir John, \"exposed the latent principle; it remains\nthat you suggest its cure.\"\n\n\"I believe,\" said Dr. Barlow, \"that the most effectual remedy would be,\nto excite in the mind frequent thoughts of our divine Redeemer, and of\n_his_ estimate of that world on which we so fondly set our affections,\nand whose approbation we are too apt to make the chief object of our\nambition.\"\n\n\"I allow it to have been necessary,\" replied Sir John, \"that Christ, in\nthe great end which he had to accomplish, should have been poor, and\nneglected, and contemned, and that he should have trampled on the great\nthings of this world, human applause among the rest; but I do not\nconceive that this obligation extends to his followers, nor that we are\ncalled upon to partake the poverty which he preferred, or to renounce\nthe wealth and grandeur which he set at naught, or to imitate him in\nmaking himself of no reputation.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said the Doctor, \"we are not called to resemble him in his\nexternal circumstances. It is not our bounden duty to be necessarily\nexposed to the same contempt; nor are we obliged to embrace the same\nignominy. Yet it seems a natural consequence of our Christian\nprofession, that the things which he despised, we should not venerate;\nthe vanities he trampled on, we should not admire; the world which he\ncensured, we ought not to idolize; the ease which he renounced, we\nshould not rate too highly; the fame which he set at naught, we ought\nnot anxiously to covet. Surely, the followers of him who was 'despised\nand rejected of men' should not seek their highest gratification from\nthe flattery and applause of men. The truth is, in all discourses on\nthis subject, we are compelled continually to revert to the observation,\nthat Christianity is a religion of the _heart_. And though we are not\ncalled upon to partake the poverty and meanness of his situation, yet\nthe precept is clear and direct, respecting the temper by which we\nshould be governed: 'Let the same _mind_ be in you which was also in\nChrist Jesus.' If, therefore, we happen to possess that wealth and\ngrandeur which he disdained, we should _possess them as though we\npossessed them not_. We have a fair and liberal permission to use them\nas his gift, and to his glory, but not to erect them into the supreme\nobjects of our attachment. In the same manner, in every other point, it\nis still the spirit of the act, the temper of the mind, to which we are\nto look. For instance, I do not think that I am obliged to show my faith\nby sacrificing my son, nor my obedience by selling all that I have, to\ngive to the poor; but I think I am bound by the spirit of these two\npowerful commands, to practice a cheerful acquiescence in the whole will\nof God, in suffering and renouncing as well as in doing, when I know\nwhat is really his will.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nThe pleasant reflections excited by the interesting conversation of the\nevening were cruelly interrupted by my faithful Edwards. \"Sir,\" said he,\nwhen he came to attend me, \"do you know that all the talk of the Hall\nto-night at supper was, that Miss Stanley is going to be married to\nyoung Lord Staunton. He is a cousin of Mrs. Carlton's, and Mr. Stanley's\ncoachman brought home the news from thence yesterday. I could not get at\nthe very truth, because Mrs. Comfit was out of the way, but all the\nservants agree, that though he is a lord, and rich and handsome, he is\nnot half good enough for her. Indeed, sir, they say he is no better than\nhe should be.\"\n\nI was thunderstruck at this intelligence. It was a trial I had not\nsuspected. \"Does he visit here, then, Edwards,\" said I, \"for I have\nneither seen nor heard of him?\" \"No sir,\" said he, \"but Miss meets him\nat Mr. Carlton's.\" This shocked me beyond expression. Lucilla meet a man\nat another house? Lucilla carry on a clandestine engagement? Can Mrs.\nCarlton be capable of conniving at it? Yet if it were not clandestine,\nwhy should he not visit at the Grove?\n\nThese tormenting reflections kept me awake the whole night. To acquit\nLucilla, Edward's story made difficult; to condemn her my heart found\nimpossible. One moment I blamed my own foolish timidity, which had kept\nme back from making any proposal, and the next, I was glad that the\ndelay would enable me to sift the truth, and to probe her character. \"If\nI do not find consistency here,\" said I, \"I shall renounce all\nconfidence in human virtue.\"\n\nI arose early, and went to indulge my meditations in the garden. I saw\nMr. Stanley sitting under the favorite oak. I was instantly tempted to\ngo and open my heart to him, but seeing a book in his hand, I feared to\ninterrupt him, and was turning into another walk till I had acquired\nmore composure. He called after me, and invited me to sit down.\n\nHow violent were my fluctuations! How inconsistent were my feelings? How\nmuch at variance was my reason with my heart! The man on earth with whom\nI wished to confer invited me to a conference. With a mind under the\ndominion of a passion which I was eager to declare, yet agitated with an\nuncertainty which I had as much reason to fear might be painfully as\npleasantly removed, I stood doubtful whether to seize or to decline the\noccasion which thus presented itself to me. A moment's reflection\nhowever convinced me that the opportunity was too inviting to be\nneglected. My impatience for an eclaircissement on Lord Staunton's\nsubject was too powerful to be any longer resisted.\n\nAt length with a most unfeigned diffidence, and a hesitation which I\nfeared would render my words unintelligible, I ventured to express my\ntender admiration of Miss Stanley, and implored permission to address\nher.\n\nMy application did not seem to surprise him. He only gravely said, \"We\nwill talk of this some future day.\" This cold and laconic reply\ninstantly sunk my spirits. I was shocked and visibly confused. \"It is\ntoo late,\" said I to myself; \"happy Lord Staunton!\" He saw my distress,\nand taking my hand, with the utmost kindness of voice and manner said,\n\"My dear young friend, content yourself for the present with the\nassurance of my entire esteem and affection. This is a very early\ndeclaration. You are scarcely acquainted with Lucilla; you do not yet\nknow,\" added he smiling, \"half her faults.\"\n\n\"Only tell me, my dear sir,\" said I, a little re-assured and grasping\nhis hand, \"that when you know all mine, you will not reject me. Only\ntell me that you feel no repugnance; that you have no other views; that\nMiss Stanley has no other\"--here I stopped, my voice failed; the excess\nof my emotion prevented me from finishing my sentence. He encouragingly\nsaid, \"I know not that Lucilla has any attachment. For myself, I have no\nviews hostile to your wishes. You have a double interest in my heart.\nYou are endeared to me by your personal merit, and by my tender\nfriendship for your beloved father. But be not impetuous. Form no sudden\nresolution. Try to assure yourself of my daughter's affection before you\nask it of her. Remain here another month as my welcome guest, as the son\nof my friend. Take that month to examine your own heart, and to endeavor\nto obtain an interest in hers; we will then resume the subject.\"\n\n\"But, my dear sir,\" said I, \"is not Lord Staunton--\" \"Set your heart at\nrest,\" said he. \"Though we are both a little aristocratic in our\npolitical principles, yet when the competition is for the happiness of\nlife, and the interests of virtue, both Lucilla and her father think\nwith Dumont, that\n\n                        \"A lord\n    Opposed against a man, is but a man.\"\n\nSo saying, he quitted me; but with a benignity in his countenance and\nmanner that infused not only consolation but joy into my heart. My\nspirits were at once elated. To be allowed to think of Lucilla! To be\npermitted to attach myself to her! To be sure her heart was not engaged!\nTo be invited to remain a month longer under the same roof with her; to\nsee her; to hear her; to talk to her; all this was a happiness so great\nthat I did not allow myself to repine because it was not all I had\nwished to obtain.\n\nI met Mrs. Stanley soon after. I perceived by her illuminated\ncountenance, that my proposal had been already communicated to her. I\nventured to take her hand, and with the most respectful earnestness\nintreated her friendship; her good offices. \"I dare not trust myself\nwith you just now,\" said she with an affectionate smile; \"Mr. Stanley\nwill think I abet rebellion, if through my encouragement you should\nviolate your engagements with him. But,\" added she, kindly pressing my\nhand; \"you need not be much afraid of _me_. Mr. Stanley's sentiments on\nthis point, as on all others, are exactly my own. We have but one heart\nand one mind, and that heart and mind are not unfavorable to your\nwishes.\" With a tear in her eyes and affection in her looks, she tore\nherself away, evidently afraid of giving way to her feelings.\n\nI did not think myself bound by any point of honor to conceal the state\nof my heart from Sir John Belfield, who with his lady joined me soon\nafter in the garden. I was astonished to find that my passion for Miss\nStanley was no secret to either of them. Their penetration had left me\nnothing to disclose. Sir John however looked serious, and affected an\nair of mystery which a little alarmed me. \"I own,\" said he, \"there is\nsome danger of your success.\" I eagerly inquired what he thought I had\nto fear? \"You have every thing to fear,\" replied he, in a tone of grave\nirony, \"which a man not four-and-twenty, of an honorable family, with a\nclear estate of four thousand a year, a person that all the ladies\nadmire, a mind which all the men esteem, and a temper which endears you\nto men, women, and children, can fear from a little country girl, whose\nheart is as free as a bird, and who, if I may judge by her smiles and\nblushes whenever you are talking to her, would have no mortal objection\nto sing in the same cage with you.\"\n\n\"It will be a sad dull novel, however,\" said Lady Belfield: \"all is\nlikely to go on so smoothly that we shall flag for want of incident. No\ndifficulties, nor adventures to heighten the interest. No cruel\nstep-dame, no tyrant father, no capricious mistress, no moated castle,\nno intriguing confidante, no treacherous spy, no formidable rival, not\nso much as a duel or even a challenge, I fear, to give variety to the\nmonotonous scene.\"\n\nI mentioned Edwards's report respecting Lord Staunton, and owned how\nmuch it had disturbed me. \"That he admires her,\" said Lady Belfield, \"is\nnotorious. That his addresses have not been encouraged, I have also\nheard, but not from the family. As to Lucilla, she is the last girl that\nwould ever insinuate even to me, to whom she is so unreserved, that she\nhad rejected so great an offer. I have heard her express herself with an\nindignation, foreign to her general mildness, against women who are\nguilty of this fashionable, this dishonorable indelicacy.\"\n\n\"Well, but Charles,\" said Sir John \"you must positively assume a little\ndejection, to diversify the business. It will give interest to your\ncountenance and pathos to your manner, and tenderness to your accent.\nAnd you must forget all attentions, and neglect all civilities. And you\nmust appear absent, and _distrait_ and _réveur_; especially while your\nfate hangs in some suspense. And you must read Petrarch, and repeat\nTibullus, and write sonnets. And when you are spoken to, you must not\nlisten. And you must wander in the grove by moonshine, and talk to the\nOreads, and the Dryads, and the Naiads; oh no, unfortunately, I am\nafraid there are no Naiads within hearing. You must make the woods vocal\nwith the name of Lucilla; luckily 'tis such a poetical name that Echo\nwon't be ashamed to repeat it. I have gone through it all, Charles, and\nknow every highway and byway in the map of love. I will, however, be\nserious for one moment, and tell you for your comfort, that though at\nyour age I was full as much in for it as you are now, yet after ten\nyears' union, Lady Belfield has enabled me to declare\n\n    \"How much the wife is dearer than the bride.\"\n\nA tear glistened in her soft eyes, at this tender compliment.\n\nJust at that moment, Lucilla happened to cross the lawn at a distance.\nAt sight of her, I could not, as I pointed to her, forbear exclaiming in\nthe words of Sir John's favorite poet,\n\n                 There doth beauty dwell,\n    There most conspicuous, e'en in outward shape,\n    Where dawns the high expression of a MIND.\n\n\"This is very fine,\" said Sir John, sarcastically; \"I admire all you\nyoung enthusiastic philosophers, with your intellectual refinement. You\npretend to be captivated only with _mind_. I observe, however, that\nprevious to your raptures, you always take care to get this mind lodged\nin a fair and youthful form. This mental beauty is always prudently\nenshrined in some elegant corporeal frame, before it is worshiped. I\nshould be glad to see some of these intellectual adorers in love with\nthe mind of an old or ugly woman. I never heard any of you fall into\necstasies in descanting on the mind of your grandmother.\" After some\nfurther irony, they left me to indulge my meditations, in the nature of\nwhich a single hour had made so pleasant a revolution.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nThe conversation of two men bred at the same school or college, when\nthey happen to meet afterward, is commonly uninteresting, not to say\ntiresome, to a third person, as involving local circumstances in which\nhe has no concern. But this was not always the case since the meeting of\nmy two friends. Something was generally to be gained by their\ncommunications even on these unpromising topics.\n\nAt breakfast Mr. Stanley said, \"Sir John, you will see here at dinner\nto-morrow our old college acquaintance, Ned Tyrrel. Though he does not\ncommonly live at the family house in this neighborhood, but at a little\nplace he has in Buckinghamshire, he comes among us periodically to\nreceive his rents. He always invites himself, for his society is not the\nmost engaging.\"\n\n\"I heard,\" replied Sir John, \"that he became a notorious profligate\nafter he left Cambridge, though I have lost sight of him ever since we\nparted there. But I was glad to learn lately that he is become quite a\nreformed man.\"\n\n\"He is so far reformed,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"that he is no longer\ngrossly licentious. But in laying down the vices of youth, he has taken\nup successively those which he thought better suited to the successive\nstages of his progress. As he withdrew himself from his loose habits and\nconnections, ambition became his governing passion; he courted public\nfavor, thirsted for place and distinction, and labored by certain\nobliquities, and some little sacrifices of principle, to obtain\npromotion. Finding it did not answer, and all his hopes failing, he now\nrails at ambition, wonders men will wound their consciences and renounce\ntheir peace for vain applause and 'the bubble reputation.' His sole\ndelight at present, I hear, is in amassing money and reading\ncontroversial divinity. Avarice has supplanted ambition, just as\nambition expelled profligacy.\n\n\"In the interval in which he was passing from one of these stages to the\nother, in a very uneasy state of mind he dropped in by accident where a\nfamous irregular preacher was disseminating his Antinomian doctrines.\nCaught by his vehement but coarse eloquence, and captivated by an\nalluring doctrine which promised much while it required little, he\nadopted the soothing but fallacious tenet. It is true, I hear he is\nbecome a more respectable man in his conduct, but I doubt, though I have\nnot lately seen him, if his present state may not be rather worse than\nhis former ones.\n\n\"In the two previous stages, he was disturbed and dissatisfied. Here he\nhas taken up his rest. Out of this stronghold, it is not probable that\nany subsequent vice will ever drive him, or true religion draw him. He\nsometimes attends public worship, but as he thinks no part of it but the\nsermon of much value, it is only when he likes the preacher. He has\nlittle notion of the respect due to established institutions, and does\nnot heartily like any precomposed form of prayer, not even our\nincomparable Liturgy. He reads such religious books only as tend to\nestablish his own opinions, and talks and disputes loudly on certain\ndoctrinal points. But an accumulating Christian, and a Christian who,\nfor the purpose of accumulation, is said to be uncharitable, and even\nsomewhat oppressive, is a paradox which I can not solve, and an anomaly\nwhich I can not comprehend. Covetousness is, as I said, a more\ncreditable vice than Ned's former ones, but for that very reason more\ndangerous.\"\n\n\"From this sober vice,\" said I, \"proceeded the blackest crime ever\nperpetrated by human wickedness; for it does not appear that Judas, in\nhis direful treason, was instigated by malice. It is observable, that\nwhen our Saviour names this sin, it is with an emphatical warning, as\nknowing its mischief to be greater because its scandal was less. Not\ncontented with a single caution, he doubles his exhortation. '_Take heed\nand beware_ of covetousness.'\"\n\nAfter some remarks of Sir John, which I do not recollect, Mr. Stanley\nsaid, \"I did not intend making a philippic against covetousness, a sin\nto which I believe no one here is addicted. Let us not, however, plume\nourselves in not being guilty of a vice to which, as we have no natural\nbias so in not committing it, we resist no temptation. What I meant to\ninsist on was, that exchanging a turbulent for a quiet sin, or a\nscandalous for an orderly one, is not reformation; or, if you will allow\nme the strong word, is not conversion.\"\n\nMr. Tyrrel, according to his appointment, came to dinner, and brought\nwith him his nephew, Mr. Edward Tyrrel, whom he had lately entered at\nthe university, with a design to prepare him for holy orders. He was a\nwell-disposed young man, but his previous education was said to have\nbeen very much neglected, and was rather deficient in the necessary\nlearning. Mr. Stanley had heard that Tyrrel had two reasons for breeding\nhim to the church. In the first place, he fancied it was the cheapest\nprofession, and in the next he had labored to infuse into him some\nparticular opinions of his own, which he wished to disseminate through\nhis nephew. Sir George Aston having accidentally called, he was\nprevailed on to stay, and Dr. Barlow was one of the party.\n\nMr. Tyrrel, by his observations, soon enabled us to discover that his\nreligion had altered nothing but his language. He seemed evidently more\nfond of controversy than of truth, and the whole turn of his\nconversation indicated that he derived his religious security rather\nfrom the adoption of a party, than from the implantation of a new\nprinciple. \"His discourse is altered,\" said Mr. Stanley to me\nafterward, \"but I greatly fear his heart and affections remain\nunchanged.\"\n\nMr. Stanley contrived, for the sake of his two academical guests,\nparticularly young Tyrrel, to divert the conversation to the subject of\nlearning, more especially clerical learning.\n\nIn answer to a remark of mine on the satisfaction I had felt in seeing\nsuch a happy union of learning and piety in two clergymen who had lately\ndined at the Grove, Mr. Stanley said, \"Literature is an excellent thing,\nwhen it is not the best thing a man has. It can surely be no offense to\nour Maker to cultivate carefully his highest natural gift, our reason.\nIn pious men it is peculiarly important, as the neglect of such\ncultivation, in certain individuals, has led to much error in religion,\nand given much just offense to the irreligious, who are very\nsharp-sighted to the faults of pious characters. I therefore truly\nrejoice to see a higher tone of literature now prevailing, especially in\nso many of our pious young divines; the deficiency of learning in some\nof their well-meaning predecessors having served to bring not only\nthemselves, but religion also, into contempt, especially with men who\nhave only learning.\"\n\n\"I say nothing,\" remarked Mr. Tyrrel, \"against the necessity of learning\nin a lawyer, because it may help him to lead a judge, and to mislead a\njury; nor in a physician, because it may advance his credit by enabling\nhim to conceal the deficiencies of his art; nor in a private gentleman,\nbecause it may keep him out of worse mischief. But I see no use of\nlearning in the clergy. There is my friend Dr. Barlow. I would willingly\ngive up all his learning, if he would go a little deeper into the\ndoctrines he professes to preach.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"I should think Dr. Barlow's various\nknowledge of little value, did he exhibit the smallest deficiency in the\ngreat points to which you allude. But when I am persuaded that his\nlearning is so far from detracting from his piety that it enables him\nto render it more extensively useful, I can not wish him dispossessed of\nthat knowledge which adorns his religion without diminishing its good\neffects.\"\n\n\"You will allow,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"that those first great publishers of\nChristianity, the Apostles, had none of this vain learning.\"\n\n\"I admit,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"that it is frequently pleaded by the\ndespisers of learning, that the Apostles were illiterate. The fact is\ntoo notorious, and the answer too obvious to require to be dwelt upon.\nBut it is unfortunately adduced to illustrate a position to which it can\nnever apply, the vindication of an unlettered clergy. It is a hackneyed\nremark, but not the less true for being old, that the wisdom of God\nchose to accomplish the first promulgation of the gospel by illiterate\nmen, to prove that the work was his own, and that its success depended\nnot on the instruments employed, but on the divinity of the truth\nitself. But if the Almighty chose to establish his religion by miracles,\nhe chooses to carry it on by means. And he no more sends an ignorant\npeasant or fisherman to instruct men in Christianity now, than he\nappointed a Socrates or a Plato to be its publisher at first. As,\nhowever, there is a great difference in the situations, so there may be\na proportionate difference allowed in the attainments of the clergy. I\ndo not say it is necessary for every village curate to be a profound\nscholar, but as he may not always remain in obscurity, there is no\nnecessity for his being a contemptible one.\"\n\nSir John remarked, that what has been said of those who affect to\ndespise birth, has been applied also to those who decry learning;\nneither is ever undervalued except by men who are destitute of them; and\nit is worthy of observation, that as literature and religion both sunk\nin the dark ages, so both emerged at the same auspicious era.\n\nMr. Stanley finding that Dr. Barlow was not forward to embark in a\nsubject which he considered as rather personal, said, \"It is\npresumptuous to observe, that the Apostles were unlettered men, yet\nthose instruments who were to be employed in services singularly\ndifficult, the Almighty condescended partly to fit for their peculiar\nwork by great human attainments. The Apostle of the Gentiles was brought\nup at the feet of Gamaliel; and Moses, who was destined to the high\noffice of a great legislator, was instructed in all the wisdom of the\nmost learned nation then existing. The Jewish law-giver, though under\nthe guidance of inspiration itself, did not fill his station the worse\nfor this preparatory instruction. To how important a use the Apostle\nconverted _his_ erudition, we may infer from his conduct in the most\nlearned and polished assembly in the world. He did not unnecessarily\nexasperate the polite Athenians, by coarse upbraiding, or illiterate\nclamor, but he attacked them on their own ground. With what\ndiscriminating wisdom, with what powerful reasoning did he unfold to\nthem that God whom they ignorantly worshiped! With what temper, with\nwhat elegance, did he expose their shallow theology! Had he been as\nunacquainted with _their_ religion, as they were with _his_, he had\nwanted the appropriate ground on which to build his instruction. He\nseized on the inscription of their own pagan altar, as a text from which\nto preach the doctrine of Christianity. From his knowledge of their\nerrors, he was enabled to advance the cause of truth. He made their\npoetry, which he quoted, and their mythology which he would not have\nbeen able to explode, if he had not understood it, a thesis from which\nto deduce the doctrine of the Resurrection; thus softening their\nprejudices, and letting them see the infinite superiority of that\nChristianity which he enforced, to the mere learning and mental\ncultivation on which they so highly valued themselves. By the same\nsober discretion, acute reasoning, and graceful elegance, he afterward\nobtained a patient hearing, and a favorable judgment from King Agrippa.\"\n\n\"It has always appeared to me,\" returned Dr. Barlow, \"that a strong\nreason why the younger part of a clergyman's life should be in a good\nmeasure devoted to learning is, that he may afterward discover its\ncomparative vanity. It would have been a less difficult sacrifice for\nSt. Paul to profess that he renounced all things for religion, if he had\nhad nothing to renounce; and to count all things as dross in the\ncomparison, if he had had no gold to put in the empty scale. Gregory\nNazianzen, one of the most accomplished masters of Greek literature,\ndeclared that the chief value which he set upon it was, that in\npossessing it, he had something of worth to esteem as nothing in\ncomparison of Christian truth. And it is delightful to hear Selden and\nGrotius, and Pascal and Salmasius, whom I may be allowed to quote,\nwithout being suspected of professional prejudice, as none of them were\nclergymen, while they warmly recommended to others that learning of\nwhich they themselves were the most astonishing examples, at the same\ntime dedicating their lives to the advancement of religion. It is\ndelightful, I say, to hear them acknowledge that their learning was only\nvaluable as it put it in their power to promote Christianity, and to\nhave something to sacrifice for its sake.\"\n\n\"I can willingly allow,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"that a poet, a dramatic poet\nespecially, may study the works of the great critics of antiquity with\nsome profit; but that a Christian writer of sermons can have any just\nground for studying a pagan critic, it is to me quite inconceivable.\"\n\n\"And yet, sir,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"a sermon is a work which demands\nregularity of plan, as well as a poem. It requires, too, something of\nthe same unity, arrangement, divisions, and lucid order as a tragedy;\nsomething of the exordium and the peroration which belong to the\ncomposition of the orator. I do not mean that he is constantly to\nexhibit all this, but he should always understand it. And a discreet\nclergyman, especially one who is to preach before auditors of the higher\nrank, and who, in order to obtain respect from them, wishes to excel in\nthe art of composition, will scarcely be less attentive to form his\njudgment by some acquaintance with Longinus and Quintilian than a\ndramatic poet. A writer of verse, it is true, may please to a certain\ndegree by the force of mere genius, and a writer of sermons will\ninstruct by the mere power of his piety; but neither the one nor the\nother will ever write well, if they do not possess the principles of\ngood writing, and form themselves on the models of good writers.\"\n\n\"Writing,\" said Sir John, \"to a certain degree is an art, or, if you\nplease, a trade. And as no man is allowed to set up in an ordinary trade\ntill he has served a long apprenticeship to its _mysteries_ (the word, I\nthink, used in indentures), so no man should set up for a writer till he\nknows somewhat of the mysteries of the art he is about to practice. He\nmay, after all, if he want talents, produce a vapid and inefficient\nbook; but possess what talents he may, he will, without knowledge,\nproduce a crude and indigested one.\"\n\nMr. Tyrrel, however, still insisted upon it, that in a Christian\nminister the lustre of learning is tinsel, and human wisdom folly.\n\n\"I am entirely of your opinion,\" returned Mr. Stanley, \"if he rest in\nhis learning as an _end_ instead of using it as a _means_; if the fame,\nor the pleasure, or even the human profit of learning be his ultimate\nobject. Learning in a clergyman without religion is dross, is nothing;\nnot so religion without learning. I am persuaded that much good is done\nby men who, though deficient in this respect, are abundant in zeal and\npiety; but the good they do arises from the exertion of their piety, and\nnot from the deficiency of their learning. Their labors are beneficial\nfrom the talent they exercise, and not from their want of another\ntalent. The Spirit of God can work, and often does work, by feeble\ninstruments, and divine truth by its own omnipotent energy can effect\nits own purposes. But particular instances do not go to prove that the\ninstrument ought not to be fitted, and polished, and sharpened for its\nallotted work. Every student should be emulously watchful that he do not\ndiminish the stock of professional credit by his idleness; he should be\nstimulated to individual exertion by bearing in mind that the English\nclergy have always been allowed by foreigners to be the most learned\nbody in the world.\"\n\nDr. Barlow was of opinion that what Mr. Stanley had said of the value of\nknowledge, did not at all militate against such fundamental prime truths\nas--\"This is life eternal to _know_ God and Jesus Christ whom he has\nsent. I desire to _know_ nothing, save Jesus Christ. The natural man can\nnot _know_ the things of the Spirit of God. The world by wisdom _knew_\nnot God;\" and a hundred other such passages.\n\n\"Ay, Doctor,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"now you talk a little more like a\nChristian minister. But from the greater part of what has been asserted,\nyou are all of you such advocates for human reason and human learning as\nto give an air of paganism to your sentiments.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"it does not diminish the utility, though it\nabases the pride of learning, that Christianity did not come into the\nworld by human discovery, or the disquisitions of reason, but by\nimmediate revelation. Those who adopt your way of thinking, Mr. Tyrrel,\nshould bear in mind that the work of God, in changing the heart, is not\nintended to supply the place of the human faculties. God expects, in\nhis most highly favored servants, the diligent exercise of their natural\npowers; and if any human being has a stronger call for the exercise of\nwisdom and judgment than another, it is a religious clergyman.\nChristianity does not supersede the use of natural gifts, but turns them\ninto their proper channel.\n\n\"One distinction has often struck me. The enemy of mankind seizes on the\nsoul through the medium of the passions and senses: the divine friend of\nman addresses him through his rational powers--_the eyes of your\nunderstanding being enlightened_, says the Apostle.\"\n\nHere I ventured to observe, that the highest panegyric bestowed on one\nof the brightest luminaries of our church is, that his name is seldom\nmentioned without the epithet _judicious_ being prefixed to it. Yet does\nHooker want fervor? Does Hooker want zeal? Does Hooker want courage in\ndeclaring the whole counsel of God?\n\n\"I hope,\" said Sir John, \"we have now no clergymen to whom we may apply\nthe biting sarcasm of Dr. South on some of the popular but illiterate\npreachers of the opposite party in his day, 'that there was all the\nconfusion of Babel without the gift of tongues.'\"\n\n\"And yet,\" returned Mr. Stanley, \"that party produced some great\nscholars, and many eminently pious men. But look back to that day, and\nespecially to the period a little antecedent to it, at those prodigies\nof erudition, the old bishops and other divines of our church. They\nwere, perhaps, somewhat too profuse of their learning in their\ndiscourses, or rather they were so brimful, that they involuntarily\noverflowed. A juster taste, in our time, avoids that lavish display\nwhich then not only crowded the margin, but forced itself into every\npart of the body of the work. The display of erudition might be wrong,\nbut one thing is clear, it proved they had it; and, as Dryden said, when\nhe accused of having too much wit, 'after all, it is a good crime.'\"\n\n\"We may justly,\" said Dr. Barlow, \"in the refinement of modern taste,\ncensure their prolixity, and ridicule their redundancies; we may smile\nat their divisions, which are numberless, and at their subdivisions,\nwhich are endless; we may allow that this labor for perspicuity\nsometimes produced perplexity. But let us confess they always went to\nthe bottom of whatever they embarked in. They ransacked the stores of\nancient learning, and the treasures of modern science, not to indulge\ntheir vanity by obtruding their acquirements, but to prove, to adorn,\nand to illustrate the doctrine they delivered. How incredible must their\nindustry have been, when the bare transcript of their voluminous folios\nseems alone sufficient to have occupied a long life?\"\n\n\"The method,\" said I, \"which they adopted, of saying every thing that\ncould be said on all topics, and exhausting them to the very dregs,\nthough it may and does tire the patience of the reader, yet it never\nleaves him ignorant; and of two evils, had not an author better be\ntedious than superficial? From an overflowing vessel you may gather more\nindeed than you want, but from an empty one you can gather nothing.\"\n\n\"It appears to me,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"that you wish to make a clergyman\nevery thing but a Christian, and to bestow upon him every requisite\nexcept faith.\"\n\n\"God forbid that I should make any comparison between human learning and\nChristian principle,\" replied Mr. Stanley; \"the one is indeed lighter\nthan the dust of the balance, when weighed against the other. All I\ncontend for is, that they are not incompatible, and that human\nknowledge, used only in subserviency to that of the Scriptures, may\nadvance the interests of religion. For the better elucidation of those\nScriptures, a clergyman should know not a little of ancient languages.\nWithout some insight into remote history and antiquities, especially the\nJewish, he will be unable to explain many of the manners and customs\nrecorded in the sacred volume. Ignorance on some of these points has\ndrawn many attacks on our religion from skeptical writers. As to a\nthorough knowledge of ecclesiastical history, it would be superfluous to\nrecommend that, it being the history of his own immediate profession. It\nis therefore requisite, not only for the general purposes of\ninstruction, but that he may be enabled to guard against modern\ninnovation, by knowing the origin and progress of the various heresies\nwith which the Church in all ages has been infested.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"he may be thoroughly acquainted with all this,\nand not have one spark of light.\"\n\n\"He may indeed,\" said the Doctor; \"with deep concern I allow it. I will\ngo further. The pride of learning, when not subdued by religion, may\nhelp to extinguish that spark. Reason has been too much decried by one\nparty and too much deified by the other. The difference between reason\nand revelation seems to be the same as between the eye and the light;\nthe one is the organ of vision, the other the source of illumination.\"\n\n\"Take notice, Stanley,\" observed Mr. Tyrrel, \"that if I can help it,\nI'll never attend your accomplished clergyman.\"\n\n\"I have not yet completed the circle of his accomplishments,\" said Mr.\nStanley, smiling; \"besides what we call book learning, there is another\nspecies of knowledge in which some truly good men are sadly deficient: I\nmean an acquaintance with human nature. The knowledge of the world, and\nof him who made it; the study of the heart of man, and of him who has\nthe hearts of all men in his hand, enable a minister to excel in the\nart of instruction; one kind of knowledge reflecting light upon the\nother. The knowledge of mankind, then, I may venture to assert, is, next\nto religion, one of the first requisites of a preacher; and I can not\nhelp ascribing the little success which has sometimes attended the\nministry of even worthy men, to their want of this grand ingredient. It\nwill diminish the use they might make of the great doctrines of our\nreligion, if they are ignorant of the various modifications of the human\ncharacter to which those doctrines are to be addressed.\n\n\"As no man ever made a true poet without this talent, one may venture to\nsay that few without it have ever made eminent preachers. Destitute of\nthis, the most elaborate addresses will be only random shot, which, if\nthey hit, will be more owing to chance than to skill. Without this\nknowledge, warmed by Christian affection, guided by Christian judgment,\nand tempered with Christian meekness, a clergyman will not be able in\nthe pulpit to accommodate himself to the various wants of his hearers;\nwithout this knowledge, in his private spiritual visits he will resemble\nthose empirics in medicine who have but one method of treatment for all\ndiseases, and who apply indiscriminately the same pill and the same drop\nto the various distempers of all ages, sexes, and constitutions. This\nspirit of accommodation does not consist in falsifying, or abridging, or\nsoftening, or disguising any truth; but in applying truth in every form,\ncommunicating it in every direction, and diverting it into every\nchannel. Some good men seem sadly to forget that precept--_making a\ndifference_--for they act as if all characters were exactly alike.\"\n\n\"You talk,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"as if you would wish clergymen to depart\nfrom the singleness of truth, and preach two gospels.\"\n\n\"Far from it,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"but though truth is single, the\nhuman character is multiplied almost to infinity, and can not be\naddressed with advantage if it be not well understood. I am ashamed of\nhaving said so much on such a subject in presence of Dr. Barlow, who is\nsilent through delicacy. I will only add, that a learned young clergyman\nis not driven for necessary relaxation to improper amusements. His mind\nwill be too highly set to be satisfied with those light diversions which\npurloin time without affording the necessary renovation to the body and\nspirits, which is the true and lawful end of all amusement. In all\ncircumstances, learning confers dignity on his character. It enables him\nto raise the tone of general conversation, and is a safe kind of medium\nwith persons of a higher class who are not religious; and it will always\nput it in his power to keep the standard of intercourse above the\ndegrading topics of diversions, sports, and vulgar gossip.\"\n\n\"You see, Mr. Tyrrel,\" said the Doctor, \"that a prudent combatant thinks\nonly of defending himself on that side where he is assaulted. If Mr.\nStanley's antagonist had been a vehement advocate for clerical learning\nas the great essential to his profession, he would have been the first\nto caution him against the pride and inflation which often attend\nlearning, when not governed by religion. Learning, not so governed,\nmight injure Christian humility, and thus become a far more formidable\nenemy to religion than that which it was called in to oppose.\"\n\nSir John said, smiling, \"I will not apply to the clergy what Rasselas\nsays to Imlac, after he had been enumerating the numberless qualities\nnecessary to the perfection of the poetic art--'Thou hast convinced me\nthat no man can be a poet;'--but if all Stanley says be just, I will\nventure to assert that no common share of industry and zeal will qualify\na young student for that sacred profession. I have indeed no experience\non the subject, as it relates to the clerical order, but I conceive in\ngeneral, that learning is the best human preservative of virtue; that it\nsafely fills up leisure, and honorably adorns life, even where it does\nnot form the business of it.\"\n\n\"Learning, too,\" said I, \"has this strong recommendation, that it is the\noffspring of a most valuable virtue, I mean industry; a quality on which\nI am ashamed to see pagans frequently set a higher value than we seem to\ndo.\"\n\n\"I believe, indeed,\" replied Sir John, \"that the ancients had a higher\nidea of industry and severe application than we have. Tully calls them\nthe _imperatoriæ virtutes_, and Alexander said that slaves might indulge\nin sloth, but that it was a most royal thing to labor.\"\n\n\"It has been the error of sensible men of the world to erect talents and\nlearning into idols, which they would have universally and exclusively\nworshiped. This has, perhaps, driven some religious men into such a fear\nof over-cultivating learning, that they do not cultivate it at all.\nHence the intervals between their religious employments, and intervals\nthere must be while we are invested with these frail bodies, are languid\nand insipid, wasted in trifling and sauntering. Nay, it is well if this\ndisoccupation of the intellect do not lead from sloth to improper\nindulgences.\"\n\n\"You are perfectly right,\" said Sir John; \"our worthy friend Thompson is\na living illustration of your remark. He was at college with us; he\nbrought from thence a competent share of knowledge; has a fair\nunderstanding, and the manners of a gentleman. For several years past he\nhas not only adopted a religious character, but is truly pious. As he is\nmuch in earnest, he very properly assigns a considerable portion of his\ntime to religious reading. But as he is of no profession, the\nintermediate hours often hang heavy on his hands. He continues to live\nin some measure in the world, without the inconsistency of entering into\nits pursuits; but having renounced the study of human learning, and yet\naccustoming himself to mix occasionally with general society, he has few\nsubjects in common with his company, but is dull and silent in all\nrational conversation, of which religion is not the professed object. He\ntakes so little interest in any literary or political discussion,\nhowever useful, that it is evident nothing but his good breeding\nprevents his falling asleep. At the same time, he scruples not to\nviolate consistency in another respect, for his table is so elaborately\nluxurious, that it seems as if he were willing to add to the pleasures\nof sense what he deducts from those of intellect.\"\n\n\"I have often thought,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"of sending him Dr. Barlow's\n_three sermons on industry in our calling as Christians, industry as\ngentlemen, and industry as scholars_; which sermons, by the way, I\nintended to have made my son read at least once a year, had he lived,\nthat he might see the consistency, the compatibility, nay, the analogy\nof the two latter with the former. I wish the spirit of these three\ndiscourses was infused into every gentleman, every scholar, and every\nChristian through the land. For my own part, I should have sedulously\nlabored to make my son a sound scholar; while I should have labored\nstill more sedulously to convince him that the value of learning depends\nsolely on the purposes to which it is devoted. I would have a Christian\ngentleman able to beat the world at its own weapons, and convince it,\nthat it is not from penury of mind, or inability to distinguish himself\nin other matters, that he applies himself to seek that wisdom which is\nfrom above; that he does not fly to religion as a shelter from the\nignominy of ignorance, but from a deep conviction of the comparative\nvanity of that very learning which he yet is so assiduous to acquire.\"\n\nDuring this conversation, it was amusing to observe the different\nimpressions made on the minds of our two college guests. Young Tyrrel,\nwho, with moderate parts and slender application, had been taught to\nadopt some of his uncle's dogmas as the cheapest way of being wise,\ngreedily swallowed his eulogium of clerical ignorance, which the young\nman seemed to feel as a vindication of his own neglected studies, and an\nencouragement to his own mediocrity of intellect. While the interesting\nyoung baronet, though silent through modesty, discovered in his\nintelligent eyes evident marks of satisfaction in hearing that\nliterature, for which he was every day acquiring a higher relish, warmly\nrecommended as the best pursuit of a gentleman, by the two men in the\nworld for whose judgment he entertained the highest reverence. At the\nsame time it raised his veneration for Christian piety, when he saw it\nso sedulously practiced by these advocates for human learning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\nDuring these conversations I remarked that Lucilla, though she commonly\nobserved the most profound silence, had her attention always riveted on\nthe speaker. If that speaker was Dr. Barlow, or her father, or any one\nwhom she thought entitled to particular respect, she gently laid down\nher work, and as quietly resumed it when they had done speaking.\n\nI observed to Sir John Belfield, afterward, as we were walking together,\nhow modestly flattering her manner was when any of us were reading; how\nintelligent her silence; how well-bred her attention.\n\n\"I have often contrasted it,\" replied he, \"with the manners of some\nother ladies of my acquaintance, who are sometimes of our quiet evening\nparty. When one is reading history, or any ordinary book, aloud to them,\nI am always pleased that they should pursue their little employments. It\namuses themselves, and gives ease and familiarity to the social circle.\nBut while I have been reading, as has sometimes happened, a passage of\nthe highest sublimity, or most tender interest, I own I feel a little\nindignant to see the shuttle plied with as eager assiduity as if the\nDestinies themselves were weaving the thread. I have known a lady take\nup the candlestick to search for her netting-pin, in the midst of Cato's\nsoliloquy; or stoop to pick up her scissors while Hamlet says to the\nghost, 'I'll go no further.' I remember another who would whisper across\nthe table to borrow thread while Lear has been raving in the storm, or\nMacbeth starting at the spirit of Banquo; and make signs for a\nthread-paper while cardinal Beaufort 'dies, and makes no sign.' Nay,\nonce I remember when I was with much agitation hurrying through the\ngazette of the battle of Trafalgar, while I pronounced, almost agonized,\nthe last memorable words of the immortal Nelson, I heard one lady\nwhisper to another that she had broken her needle.\"\n\n\"It would be difficult to determine,\" replied I, \"whether this\ninattention most betrays want of sense, of feeling, or of good breeding.\nThe habit of attention should be carefully formed in early life, and\nthen the mere force of custom would teach these ill-bred women 'to\nassume the virtue if they have it not.'\"\n\nThe family at the Grove was, with us, an inexhaustible topic whenever we\nmet. I observed to Sir John, \"that I had sometimes noticed in charitable\nfamilies a display, a bustle, a kind of animal restlessness, a sort of\nmechanical _besoin_ to be charitably busy. That though they fulfilled\nconscientiously one part of the apostolic injunction, that of 'giving,'\nyet they failed in the other clause, that of doing it 'with simplicity.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied he, \"I visit a charitable lady in town, who almost puts\nme out of love with benevolence. Her own bounties form the entire\nsubject of her conversation. As soon as the breakfast is removed, the\ntable is regularly covered with plans, and proposals, and subscription\npapers. This display conveniently performs the threefold office of\npublishing her own charities, furnishing subjects of altercation, and\nraising contributions on the visitor. Her narratives really cost me more\nthan my subscription. She is so full of debate, and detail, and\nopposition; she makes you read so many papers of her own drawing up, and\nso many answers to the schemes of other people, and she has so many\nobjections to every other person's mode of doing good, and so many\narguments to prove that her own is the best, that she appears less like\na benevolent lady than a chicaning attorney.\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said I, \"corrects this bustling bounty so completely, as when\nit is mixed up with religion, I should rather say, as when it flows from\nreligion. This motive, so far from diminishing the energy, augments it;\nbut it cures the display, and converts the irritation into a principle.\nIt transfers the activity from the tongue to the heart. It is the only\nsort of charity which 'blesses twice.' All charity, indeed, blesses the\nreceiver; but the blessing promised to the giver, I have sometimes\ntrembled to think, may be forfeited even by a generous mind, from\nostentation and parade in the manner, and want of purity in the motive.\"\n\n\"In Stanley's family,\" replied he, in a more serious tone, \"I have met\nwith a complete refutation of that favorite maxim in the world, that\nreligion is a dull thing itself, and makes its professors gloomy and\nmorose. Charles! I have often frequented houses where pleasure was the\navowed object of idolatry. But to see the votaries of the 'reeling\ngoddess,' after successive nights passed in her temples! to see the\nlanguor, the listlessness, the discontent--you would rather have taken\nthem for her victims than her worshipers. So little mental vivacity, so\nlittle gayety of heart! In short, after no careless observations, I am\ncompelled to declare, that I never saw two forms less alike than those\nof Pleasure and Happiness.\"\n\n\"Your testimony, Sir John,\" said I, \"is of great weight in a case of\nwhich you are so experienced a judge. What a different scene do we now\ncontemplate! Mr. Stanley seems to have diffused his own spirit through\nthe whole family. What makes his example of such efficacy is, that he\nconsiders the Christian _temper_ as so considerable a part of\nChristianity. This temper seems to imbue his whole soul, pervade his\nwhole conduct, and influence his whole conversation. I see every day\nsome fresh occasion to admire his candor, his humility, his constant\nreference, not as a topic of discourse, but as a principle of conduct,\nto the gospel as the standard by which actions are to be weighed. His\nconscientious strictness of speech, his serious reproof of calumnies,\nhis charitable construction of every case which has two sides; 'his\nsimplicity and godly sincerity;' his rule of referring all events to\nprovidential direction, and his invariable habit of vindicating the\ndivine goodness under dispensations apparently the most unfavorable.\"\n\nHere Sir John left me, and I could not forbear pursuing the subject in\nsoliloquy as I proceeded in my walk. I reflected with admiration that\nMr. Stanley, in his religious conversation, rendered himself so useful,\nbecause instead of the uniform nostrum of _the drop and the pill_, he\napplied a different class of arguments, as the case required, to\nobjectors to the different parts of Christianity; to ill informed\npersons who adopted a partial gospel without understanding it as a\nscheme, or embracing it as a whole; to those who allow its truth merely\non the same ground of evidence that establishes the truth of any other\nwell authenticated history, and who, satisfied with this external\nevidence, not only do not feel its power on their own heart, but deny\nthat it has any such influence on the hearts of others; to those who\nbelieve the gospel to be a mere code of ethics; to their antipodes, who\nassert that Christ has lowered the requisitions of the law; to Lady\nBelfield, who rests on her charities--Sir John, on his correctness--Lady\nAston, on her austerities; to this man, who values himself solely on the\nstoutness of his orthodoxy; to another, on the firmness of his\nintegrity; to a third, on the peculiarities of his party, he addresses\nhimself with a particular view to their individual errors. This he does\nwith such a discriminating application to the case as might lead the\nill-informed to suspect that he was not equally earnest in those other\npoints, which, not being attacked, he does not feel himself called on to\ndefend, but which, had they been attacked, he would then have defended\nwith equal zeal as relative to the discussion. To crown all, I\ncontemplated that affectionate warmth of heart, that sympathizing\nkindness, that tenderness of feeling, of which the gay and the\nthoughtless fancy that they themselves possess the monopoly, while they\nmake over harshness, austerity, and want of charity to religious men, as\ntheir inseparable characteristics.\n\nThese qualities excite in my heart a feeling compounded of veneration,\nand of love. And oh! how impossible it is, even in religion itself, to\nbe disinterested! All these excellences I contemplate with a more\nheartfelt delight from the presumptuous hope that I may one day have the\nfelicity of connecting myself still more intimately with them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\nSome days after, while we were conversing over our tea, we heard the\nnoise of a carriage; and Mr. Stanley, looking out from a bow window in\nwhich he and I were sitting, said it was Lady and Miss Rattle driving up\nthe avenue. He had just time to add, \"These are our _fine_ neighbors.\nThey always make us a visit as soon as they come down, while all the\ngloss and lustre of London is fresh upon them. We have always our\nregular routine of conversation. While her Ladyship is pouring the\nfashions into Mrs. Stanley's ear, Miss Rattle, who is about Ph[oe]be's\nage, entertains my daughters and me with the history of her own talents\nand acquirements.\"\n\nHere they entered. After a few compliments, Lady Rattle seated herself\nbetween Lady Belfield and Mrs. Stanley at the upper end of the room;\nwhile the fine, sprightly, boisterous girl of fifteen or sixteen threw\nherself back on the sofa at nearly her full length between Mr. Stanley\nand me, the Miss Stanleys and Sir John sitting near us, within hearing\nof her lively loquacity.\n\n\"Well, Miss Amelia,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"I dare say you have made good\nuse of your time this winter; I suppose you have ere now completed the\nwhole circle of the arts. Now let me hear what you have been doing, and\ntell me your whole achievements as frankly as you used to do when you\nwere a little girl.\" \"Indeed,\" replied she, \"I have not been idle, if I\nmust speak the truth. One has so many things to learn, you know. I have\ngone on with my French and Italian of course, and I am beginning German.\nThen comes my drawing-master; he teaches me to paint flowers and shells,\nand to draw ruins and buildings, and to take views. He is a good soul,\nand is finishing a set of pictures, and half a dozen fire-screens, which\nI began for mamma. He _does_ help me to be sure, but indeed I do some of\nit myself, don't I, mamma?\" calling out to her mother, who was too much\nabsorbed in her own narratives to attend to her daughter.\n\n\"And then,\" pursued the young prattler, \"I learn varnishing, and\ngilding, and japaning. And next winter I shall learn modeling, and\netching, and engraving in mezzotinto and aquatinta; for Lady Di. Dash\nlearns etching, and mamma says, as I shall have a better fortune than\nLady Di., she vows I shall learn every thing she does. Then I have a\ndancing-master, who teaches me the Scotch and Irish steps; and another\nwho teaches me attitudes, and I shall soon learn the waltz, and I can\nstand longer on one leg already than Lady Di. Then I have a\nsinging-master, and another who teaches me the harp, and another for the\npiano-forte. And what little time I can spare from these _principal_\nthings, I give by odd minutes to ancient and modern history, and\ngeography, and astronomy, and grammar, and botany. Then I attend\nlectures on chemistry, and experimental philosophy, for as I am not yet\ncome out, I have not much to do in the evenings; and mamma says there is\nnothing in the world that money can pay for but what I shall learn. And\nI run so delightfully fast from one thing to another that I am never\ntired. What makes it so pleasant is, as soon as I am fairly set in with\none master, another arrives. I should hate to be long at the same thing.\nBut I sha'n't have a great while to work so hard, for as soon as I come\nout, I shall give it all up, except music and dancing.\"\n\nAll this time Lucilla sat listening with a smile, behind the complacency\nof which she tried to conceal her astonishment. Ph[oe]be, who had less\nself-control, was on the very verge of a broad laugh. Sir John, who had\nlong lived in a soil where this species is indigenous, had been too long\naccustomed to all its varieties to feel much astonishment at this\nspecimen, which, however, he sat contemplating with philosophical but\ndiscriminating coolness.\n\nFor my own part, my mind was wholly absorbed in contrasting the coarse\nmanners of this voluble and intrepid, but good-humored girl, with the\nquiet, cheerful, and unassuming elegance of Lucilla.\n\n\"I should be afraid, Miss Rattle,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"if you did not\nlook in such blooming health, that, with all these incessant labors, you\ndid not allow yourself time for rest. Surely you never sleep?\"\n\n\"O yes, that I do, and eat too,\" said she; \"my life is not quite so hard\nand moping as you fancy. What between shopping and morning visits with\nmamma, and seeing sights, and the park, and the gardens (which, by the\nway, I hate, except on a Sunday when they are crowded), and our young\nballs, which are four or five in a week after Easter, and mamma's music\nparties at home, I contrive to enjoy myself tolerably, though after I\nhave been presented, I shall be a thousand times better off, for then I\nsha'n't have a moment to myself. Won't that be delightful?\" said she,\ntwitching my arm rather roughly, by way of recalling my attention,\nwhich, however, had seldom wandered.\n\nAs she had now run out her London materials, the news of the\nneighborhood next furnished a subject for her volubility. After she had\nmentioned in detail one or two stories of low village gossip, while I\nwas wondering how she could come at them, she struck me dumb by quoting\nthe coachman as her authority. This enigma was soon explained. The\nmother and daughter having exhausted their different topics of discourse\nnearly at the same time, they took their leave, in order to enrich\nevery family in the neighborhood, on whom they were going to call, with\nthe same valuable knowledge which they had imparted to us.\n\nMr. Stanley conducted Lady Rattle, and I led her daughter; but as I\noffered to hand her into the carriage she started back with a sprightly\nmotion, and screamed out, \"O no, not in the inside, pray help me up to\nthe _dickey_; I always protest I never _will_ ride with any body but the\ncoachman, if we go ever so far.\" So saying, with a spring which showed\nhow much she despised my assistance, the little hoyden was seated in a\nmoment, nodding familiarly at me as if I had been an old friend.\n\nThen with a voice, emulating that which, when passing by Charing Cross,\nI have heard issue from an over-stuffed vehicle, when a robust sailor\nhas thrust his body out at the window, the fair creature vociferated,\n\"Drive on, coachman!\" He obeyed, and turning round her whole person, she\ncontinued nodding at me till they were out of sight.\n\n\"Here is a mass of accomplishments,\" said I, \"without one particle of\nmind, one ray of common sense, or one shade of delicacy! Surely somewhat\nless time and less money might have sufficed to qualify a companion for\nthe coachman!\"\n\n\"What poor creatures are we men,\" said I to Mr. Stanley as soon as he\ncame in. \"We think it very well, if, after much labor and long\napplication, we can attain to one or two of the innumerable acquirements\nof this gay little girl. Nor is this I find the rare achievement of one\nhappy genius--there is a whole class of these miraculous females. Miss\nRattle\n\n    \"Is knight of the shire, and represents them all.\"\n\n\"It is only young ladies,\" replied he, \"whose vast abilities, whose\nmighty grasp of mind can take in every thing. Among men, learned men,\ntalents are commonly directed into some one channel, and fortunate is he\nwho, in that one, attains to excellence. The linguist is rarely a\npainter, nor is the mathematician often a poet. Even in one profession,\nthere are divisions and subdivisions. The same lawyer never thinks of\npresiding both in the King's Bench, and in the Court of Chancery. The\nscience of healing is not only divided into its three distinct branches,\nbut in the profession of surgery only, how many are the subdivisions!\nOne professor undertakes the eye, another the ear, and a third the\nteeth. But woman, ambitious, aspiring, universal, triumphant, glorious\nwoman, even at the age of a school-boy, encounters the whole range of\narts, attacks the whole circle of sciences!\"\n\n\"A mighty maze, and _quite_ without a plan,\" replied Sir John, laughing.\n\"But the truth is, the misfortune does not so much consist in their\nlearning every thing, as in their knowing nothing; I mean nothing well.\nWhen gold is beaten out so wide, the lamina must needs be very thin. And\nyou may observe, the more valuable attainments, though they are not to\nbe left out of the modish plan, are kept in the background; and are to\nbe picked up out of the odd remnants of that time, the sum of which is\ndevoted to frivolous accomplishments. All this gay confusion of\nacquirements, these holiday splendors, this superfluity of enterprise,\nenumerated in the first part of her catalogue, is the _real business_ of\neducation, the latter part is incidental, and if taught is not learned.\n\n\"As to the lectures so boastfully mentioned, they may doubtless be made\nvery useful subsidiaries to instruction. They most happily illustrate\nbook-knowledge; but if the pupil's instructions in private do not\nprecede, and keep pace with these useful public exhibitions, her\nknowledge will be only presumptuous ignorance. She may learn to talk of\noxygen and hydrogen, and deflagration, and trituration but she will know\nnothing of the science except the terms. It is not knowing the name of\nhis tools that makes an artist; and I should be afraid of the vanity\nwhich such superficial information would communicate to a mind not\npreviously prepared, nor exercised at home in corresponding studies. But\nas Miss Rattle honestly confessed, as soon as she _comes out_, all these\nthings will die away of themselves, and dancing and music will be almost\nall which will survive of her multifarious pursuits.\"\n\n\"I look upon the great predominance of music in female education,\" said\nMr. Stanley, \"to be the source of more mischief than is suspected; not\nfrom any evil in the thing itself, but from its being such a gulf of\ntime, as really to leave little room for solid acquisitions. I love\nmusic, and, were it only cultivated as an amusement, should commend it.\nBut the monstrous proportion, or rather disproportion of life which it\nswallows up, even in many religious families--and this is the chief\nsubject of my regret--has converted an innocent diversion into a\npositive sin. I question if many gay men devote more hours in a day to\nidle purposes, than the daughters of many pious parents spend in this\namusement. All these hours the mind lies fallow, improvement is at a\nstand, if even it does not retrograde. Nor is it the shreds and scraps\nof time, stolen in the intervals of better things, that are so devoted;\nbut it is the morning, the prime, the profitable, the active hours, when\nthe mind is vigorous, the spirits light, the intellect awake and fresh,\nand the whole being wound up by the refreshment of sleep, and animated\nby the return of light and life, for nobler services.\"\n\n\"If,\" said Sir John, \"music were cultivated to embellish retirement, to\nbe practiced where pleasures are scarce, and good performers are not to\nbe had, it would quite alter the case. But the truth is, these highly\ntaught ladies are not only living in public where they constantly hear\nthe most exquisite professors, but they have them also at their own\nhouses. Now one of these two things must happen. Either the performance\nof the lady will be so inferior as not to be worth hearing on the\ncomparison, or so good that she will fancy herself the rival, instead of\nthe admirer of the performer, whom she had better pay and praise than\nfruitlessly emulate.\"\n\n\"This anxious struggle to reach the unattainable excellence of the\nprofessor,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"often brings to my mind the contest for\nvictory between the ambitious nightingale and the angry lutanist in the\nbeautiful Prolusion of Strada.\"\n\n\"It is to the predominance of this talent,\" replied I, \"that I ascribe\nthat want of companionableness of which I complain. The excellence of\nmusical performance is a decorated screen, behind which all defects in\ndomestic knowledge, in taste, judgment, and literature, and the talents\nwhich make an elegant companion, are creditably concealed.\"\n\n\"I have made,\" said Sir John, \"another remark. Young ladies, who from\napparent shyness do not join in the conversation of a small select\nparty, are always ready enough to entertain them with music on the\nslightest hint. Surely it is equally modest to _say_ as to _sing_,\nespecially to sing those melting strains we sometimes hear sung, and\nwhich we should be ashamed to hear said. After all, how few hours are\nthere in a week, in which a man engaged in the pursuits of life, and a\nwoman in the duties of a family, wish to employ in music. I am fond of\nit myself, and Lady Belfield plays admirably; but with the cares\ninseparable from the conscientious discharge of her duty with so many\nchildren, how little time has she to play, or I to listen! But there is\nno day, no hour, no meal in which I do not enjoy in her the ever ready\npleasure of an elegant and interesting companion. A man of sense, when\nall goes smoothly, wants to be entertained; under vexation to be\nsoothed; in difficulties to be counseled; in sorrow to be comforted. In\na mere artist can he reasonably look for these resources?\"\n\n\"Only figure to yourself,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"my six girls daily\nplaying their four hours a piece, which is now a moderate allowance! As\nwe have but one instrument they must be at it in succession, day and\nnight, to keep pace with their neighbors. If I may compare light things\nwith serious ones, it would resemble,\" added he, smiling, \"the perpetual\npsalmody of good Mr. Nicholars Ferrar, who had relays of musicians every\nsix hours to sing the whole Psalter through every day and night! I mean\nnot to ridicule that holy man; but my girls thus keeping their useless\nvigils in turn, we should only have the melody without any of the piety.\nNo, my friend! I will have but two or three singing birds to cheer my\nlittle grove. If all the world are performers, there will soon be no\nhearers. Now, as I am resolved in my own family that some shall listen,\nI will have but few to perform.\"\n\n\"It must be confessed,\" said Sir John, \"that Miss Rattle is no servile\nimitator of the vapid tribe of the superficially accomplished. Her\nviolent animal spirits prevent her from growing smooth by attrition. She\nis as rough and angular as rusticity itself could have made her. Where\nstrength of character, however, is only marked by the worst concomitant\nof strength, which is coarseness, I should almost prefer inanity\nitself.\"\n\n\"I should a little fear,\" said I, \"that I lay too much stress on\ncompanionableness; on the _positive duty of being agreeable at home_,\nhad I not early learned the doctrine from my father, and seen it\nexemplified so happy in the practice of my mother.\"\n\n\"I entirely agree with you, Charles,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"as to the\nabsolute _morality_ of being agreeable and even entertaining in one's\nown family circle. Nothing so soon, and so certainly wears out the\nhappiness of married persons, as that too common bad effect of\nfamiliarity, the sinking down into dullness and insipidity; neglecting\nto keep alive the flame by the delicacy which first kindled it; want of\nvigilance in keeping the temper cheerful by Christian discipline, and\nthe faculties bright by constant use. Mutual affection decays of itself,\neven where there is no great moral turpitude, without mutual endeavors,\nnot only to improve, but to amuse.\n\n\"This,\" continued he, \"is one of the great arts of _home enjoyment_.\nThat it is so little practiced, accounts in a good measure for the\nundomestic turn of too many married persons. The man meets abroad with\namusements, and the woman with attentions, to which they are not\naccustomed at home. Whereas a capacity to please on the one part, and a\ndisposition to be pleased on the other, in their own house, would make\nmost visits appear dull. But then the disposition and the capacity must\nbe cultivated antecedently to marriage. A woman, whose whole education\nhas been rehearsal, will always be dull, except she lives on the stage,\nconstantly displaying what she has been sedulously acquiring. Books, on\nthe contrary, well chosen books, do not lead to exhibition. The\nknowledge a woman acquires in private, desires no witnesses; the\npossession is the pleasure. It improves herself, it embellishes her\nfamily society, it entertains her husband, it informs her children. The\ngratification is cheap, is safe, is always to be had at home.\"\n\n\"It is superfluous,\" said Sir John, \"to decorate women so highly for\nearly youth; youth is itself a decoration. We mistakingly adorn most\nthat part of life which least requires it, and neglect to provide for\nthat which will want it most. It is for that sober period when life has\nlost its freshness, the passions their intenseness, and the spirits\ntheir hilarity, that we should be preparing. Our wisdom would be to\nanticipate the wants of middle life, to lay in a store of notions,\nideas, principles, and habits, which may preserve or transfer to the\nmind that affection which was at first partly attracted by the person.\nBut to add a vacant mind to a form which has ceased to please; to\nprovide no subsidiary aid to beauty while it lasts, and especially no\nsubstitute when it is departed, is to render life comfortless, and\nmarriage dreary.\"\n\n\"The reading of a cultivated woman,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"commonly\noccupies less time than the music of a musical woman, or the idleness of\nan indolent woman, or the dress of a vain woman, or the dissipation of a\nfluttering woman; she is therefore likely to have more leisure for her\nduties, as well as more inclination, and a sounder judgment for\nperforming them. But pray observe, that I assume my reading woman to be\na religious woman; and I will not answer for the effect of a literary\nvanity, more than for that of any other vanity, in a mind not habitually\ndisciplined by Christian principle, the only safe and infallible\nantidote for knowledge of every kind.\"\n\nBefore we had finished our conversation, we were interrupted by the\narrival of the post. Sir John eagerly opened the newspaper; but, instead\nof gratifying our impatience with the intelligence for which we panted\nfrom the glorious Spaniards, he read a paragraph which stated \"that Miss\nDenham had eloped with Signor Squallini, that they were on their way to\nScotland, and that Lady Denham had been in fits ever since.\"\n\nLady Belfield with her usual kindness was beginning to express how much\nshe pitied her old acquaintance. \"My dear Caroline,\" said Sir John,\n\"there is too much substantial and inevitable misery in the world, for\nyou to waste much compassion on this foolish woman. Lady Denham has\nlittle reason to be surprised at an event which all reasonable people\nmust have anticipated. Provoking and disgraceful as it is, what has she\nto blame but her own infatuation? This Italian was the associate of all\nher pleasures; the constant theme of her admiration. He was admitted\nwhen her friends were excluded. The girl was continually hearing that\nmusic was the best gift, and that Signor Squallini was the best gifted.\nMiss Denham,\" added, he laughing, \"had more wit than your Strada's\nnightingale. Instead of dropping down dead on the lute for envy, she\nthought it better to run away with the lutanist for love. I pity the\npoor girl, however, who has furnished such a commentary to our text, and\nwho is rather the victim of a wretched education than of her own bad\npropensities.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\nI had generally found that a Sunday passed in a visit was so heavy a\nday, that I had been accustomed so to arrange my engagements, as\ncommonly to exclude this from the days spent from home. I had often\nfound that even where the week had been pleasantly occupied, the\nnecessity of passing several hours of a season peculiarly designed for\nreligious purposes, with people whose habits have little similarity with\nour own, either draws one into their relaxed mode of getting rid of the\nday, or drives one to a retirement which having an unsociable\nappearance, is liable to the reproach of austerity and gloom.\n\nThe case was quite different at Stanley Grove. The seriousness was\nwithout severity, and the cheerfulness had no mixture of levity. The\nfamily seemed more than usually animated, and there was a variety in the\nreligious pursuits of the young people, enlivened by intervals of\ncheerful and improving conversation, which particularly struck Lady\nBelfield. She observed to me, that the difficulty of getting through the\nSunday, without any mixture of worldly occupations or amusements on the\none hand, or of disgust and weariness on the other, was among the many\nright things which she had never been able to accomplish in her own\nfamily.\n\nAs we walked from church one Sunday, Miss Stanley told me that her\nfather does not approve the habit of criticising the sermon. He says\nthat the custom of pointing out the faults, can not be maintained\nwithout the custom of watching for them; that it gives the attention a\nwrong turn, and leads the hearer only to treasure up such passages as\nmay serve for animadversion, and a display, not of Christian temper, but\nof critical skill. If the general tenor and principle be right, that is\nthe main point they are to look to, and not to hunt for philosophical\nerrors; that the hearer would do well to observe, whether it is not \"he\nthat sleeps,\" as often, at least, as \"Homer nods:\" a remark exemplified\nat church, as often as on the occasion which suggested it; that a\ncritical spirit is the worst that can be brought out of church, being a\nsymptom of an unhumbled mind, and an evidence that whatever the sermon\nmay have done for others, it has not benefited the caviler.\n\nHere Mr. Stanley joined us. I found he did not encourage his family to\ntake down the sermon. \"It is no disparagement,\" said he, \"to the\ndiscourse preached, to presume that there may be as good already\nprinted. Why, therefore, not read the printed sermon at home in the\nevening, instead of that by which you ought to have been improving while\nit was delivering? If it be true that _faith cometh by hearing_, an\ninferior sermon, 'coming warm and instant from the heart,' assisted by\nall the surrounding solemnities which make a sermon _heard_, so\ndifferent from one _read_, may strike more forcibly than an abler\ndiscourse coolly perused at home. In writing, the mechanical act must\nnecessarily lessen the effect to the writer, and to the spectator it\ndiminishes the dignity of the scene, and seems like short-hand writer\ntaking down a trial.\n\n\"But that, my daughters may not plead this as an excuse for\ninattention,\" continued he, \"I make it a part of their evening duty to\nrepeat what they retain, separately, to me in my library. The\nconsciousness that this repetition will be required of them, stimulates\ntheir diligence; and the exercise itself not only strengthens the\nmemory, but habituates to serious reflection.\"\n\nAt tea, Ph[oe]be, a charming, warm-hearted creature, but who now and\nthen, carried away by the impulse of the moment, forgets habits and\nprohibitions, said, \"I think, papa, Dr. Barlow was rather dull to-day.\nThere was nothing new in the sermon.\" \"My dear,\" replied her father, \"we\ndo not go to church to hear news. Christianity is no novelty; and though\nit is true that we go to be instructed, yet we require to be reminded\nfull as much as to be taught. General truths are what we all\nacknowledge, and all forget. We acknowledge them, because a general\nassent of the understanding costs but little; and we forget them,\nbecause the remembrance would force upon the conscience a great deal of\npractical labor. To believe, and remember, and act upon, common,\nundisputed, general truths, is the most important part of religion.\nThis, though in fact very difficult, is overlooked, on account of its\nbeing supposed very easy. To keep up in the heart a lively impression of\na few plain momentous truths, is of more use than the ablest discussion\nof a hundred controverted points.\n\n\"Now tell me, Ph[oe]be, do you really think that you have remembered and\npracticed all the instructions you have received from Dr. Barlow's\nsermons last year? If you have, though you will have a better right to\nbe critical, you will be less disposed to be so. If you have not, do not\ncomplain that the sermon is not new till you have made all possible use\nof the old ones; which if you had done, you would have acquired so much\nhumility, that you would meekly listen even to what you already know.\nBut however the discourse may have been superfluous to such deep divines\nas Miss Ph[oe]be Stanley, it will be very useful to me, and to other\nhearers who are not so wise.\"\n\nPoor Ph[oe]be blushed up to her ears; tears rushed into her eyes. She\nwas so overcome with shame that, regardless of the company, she flew\ninto her father's arms, and softly whispered that if he would forgive\nher foolish vanity, she would never again be above being taught. The\nfond, but not blind father, withdrew with her. Lucilla followed, with\nlooks of anxious love.\n\nDuring their short absence, Mrs. Stanley said, \"Lucilla is so\npractically aware of the truth of her father's observation, that she\noften says she finds as much advantage as pleasure in teaching the\nchildren at her school. This elementary instruction obliges her\ncontinually to recur to first principles, and to keep constantly\nuppermost in her mind those great truths contained in the articles of\nour belief, the commandments, and the prayer taught by our Redeemer.\nThis perpetual simplifying of religion she assures me, keeps her more\nhumble, fixes her attention on fundamental truths, and makes her more\nindifferent to controverted points.\"\n\nIn a few minutes Mr. Stanley and his daughters returned cheerful and\nhappy: Lucilla smiling like the angel of peace and love.\n\n\"If I were not afraid,\" said Lady Belfield, \"of falling under the same\ncensure with my friend Ph[oe]be,\" smiling on the sweet girl, \"I should\nventure to say that I thought the sermon rather too severe.\"\n\n\"Do not be afraid, madam,\" replied Mr. Stanley; \"though I disapprove\nthat cheap and cruel criticism which makes a man _an offender for a\nword_, yet discussion does not necessarily involve censoriousness; so\nfar from it, it is fair to discuss whatever seems to be doubtful, and I\nshall be glad to hear your ladyship's objections.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" replied she, in the most modest tone and accent, \"with all\nmy reverence for Dr. Barlow, I thought him a little unreasonable in\nseeming to expect universal goodness from creatures whom he yet insisted\nwere fallen creatures.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, madam,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"you mistook his meaning, for he\nappeared to me perfectly consistent, not only with himself, but with his\ninvariable rule and guide, the Scriptures. Sanctification--will you\nallow me to use so serious a word?--however imperfect, must be\nuniversal. It is not the improvement of any one faculty, or quality, or\ntemper, which divines mean, when they say we are renewed in part, so\nmuch as that the change is not perfect, the holiness is not complete in\n_any_ part or power, or faculty, though progressive in all. He who\nearnestly desires a universal victory over sin, knows which of his evil\ndispositions or affections it is that is yet unsubdued. This rebellious\nenemy he vigilantly sets himself to watch against, to struggle with,\nand, through divine grace, to conquer. The test of his sincerity does\nnot so much consist in avoiding many faults to which he has no\ntemptation, as in conquering that one to which his natural bent and bias\nforcibly impel him.\"\n\nLady Belfield said, \"But is it not impossible to bring every part of our\nnature under this absolute dominion? Suppose a man is very passionate,\nand yet very charitable; would you look upon that person to be in a\ndangerous state?\"\n\n\"It is not my province, madam, to decide,\" replied Mr. Stanley. \"'God,'\nas Bishop Sanderson says, 'reserves this _royalty_ to himself of being\nthe searcher of hearts.' I can not judge how far he resists anger, nor\nwhat are his secret struggles against it. God, who expects not\nperfection, expects sincerity. Though complete, unmixed goodness is not\nto be attained in this imperfect state, yet the earnest desire after it\nis the only sure criterion of the sincerity we profess. If the man you\nallude to does not watch, and pray, and strive against the passion of\nanger, which is his natural infirmity, I should doubt whether any of his\naffections were really renewed; and I should fear that his charity was\nrather a mere habitual feeling, though a most amiable one, than a\nChristian grace. He indulges in charity, because it is a constitutional\nbias, and costs him nothing. He indulges in passion, because it is a\nnatural bias also; and to set about a victory over it would cost him a\ngreat deal. This should put him on a strict self-examination; when he\nwould probably find that, while he gives the uncontrolled reins to any\none wrong inclination, his religion, even when he does right things, is\nquestionable. True religion is seated in the heart; that is the centre\nfrom which all the lines of right practice must diverge. It is the great\nduty and chief business of a Christian to labor to make all his\naffections, with all their motives, tendencies, and operations,\nsubservient to the word and will of God. His irregular passions, which\nare still apt to start out into disorder, will require vigilance to the\nend. He must not think all is safe, because the more tractable ones are\nnot rebellious; but he may entertain a cheerful hope, when those which\nwere once rebellious are become tractable.\"\n\n\"I feel the importance of what you say,\" returned Lady Belfield; \"but I\nfeel also my utter inability to set about it.\"\n\n\"My dear madam,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"this is the best and most salutary\nfeeling you can have. That very consciousness of insufficiency will, I\ntrust, drive you to the fountain of all strength and power: it will\nquicken your faith, and animate your prayer; faith, which is the\nhabitual principle of confidence in God; and prayer, which is the\nexercise of that principle toward him who is the object of it.\"\n\n\"But Dr. Barlow,\" said Lady Belfield, \"was so discouraging! He seemed to\nintimate, as if the conflict of a Christian with sin must be as lasting\nas his life; whereas, I had hoped that victory once obtained, was\nobtained forever.\"\n\n\"The _strait gate_,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"is only the entrance of\nreligion; the _narrow way_ is a continued course. The Christian life, my\ndear Lady Belfield, is not a point but a progress. It is precisely in\nthe race of Christianity as in the race of human glory. Julius Cæsar and\nSt. Paul describe their respective warfares in nearly the same terms.\n_We should count nothing done, while any thing remains undone_,[2] says\nthe Warrior. _Not counting myself to have attained--forgetting the\nthings which are behind, and pressing forward to those which are\nbefore_, says the Apostle. And it is worth remarking, that they both\nmade the disqualifying observation after attainments almost incredible.\nAs there was no being a hero by any idler way, so there is no being a\nChristian by any easier road. The necessity of pursuit is the same in\nboth cases, though the objects pursued differ as widely as the vanities\nof time from the riches of eternity.\n\n[Footnote 2: Nil actum reputans dum quod superesset agendum. LUCAN.]\n\n\"Do not think, my dear madam,\" added Mr. Stanley, \"that I am erecting\nmyself into a censor, much less into a model. The corruptions which I\nlament, I participate. The deficiencies which I deplore, I feel. Not\nonly when I look abroad, am I persuaded of the general prevalence of\nevil by what I see; but when I look into my own heart, my conviction is\nconfirmed by what I experience. I am conscious, not merely of frailties,\nbut of sins. I will not hypocritically accuse myself of gross offenses\nwhich I have no temptation to commit, and from the commission of which,\nmotives inferior to religion would preserve me. But I am continually\nhumbled in detecting mixed motives in almost all I do. Such strugglings\nof pride with my endeavors after humility! Such irresolution in my\nfirmest purposes! So much imperfection in my best actions! So much want\nof simplicity in my purest designs! Such fresh shoots of selfishness\nwhere I had hoped the plant itself had been eradicated! Such frequent\ndeadness in duty! Such coldness in my affections! Such infirmity of\nwill! Such proneness to earth in my highest aspirations after heaven!\nAll these you see would hardly make, in the eyes of those who want\nChristian discernment, very gross sins; yet they prove demonstrably the\nroot of sin in the heart, and the infection of nature tainting my best\nresolves.\"\n\n\"The true Christian,\" said I, when Mr. Stanley had done speaking,\n\"extracts humility from the very circumstance which raises pride in the\nirreligious. The sight of any enormity in another makes the mere\nmoralist proud that he is exempt from it, while the religious man is\nhumbled from a view of the sinfulness of that nature he partakes, a\nnature which admits of such excesses, and from which excesses he knows\nthat he himself is preserved by divine grace alone. I have often\nobserved that comparison is the aliment of pride in the worldly man, and\nof self-abasement in the Christian.\"\n\nPoor Lady Belfield looked comforted on finding that her friend Mr.\nStanley was not quite so perfect as she had feared. \"Happy are those,\"\nexclaimed she, looking at Lucilla, \"the innocence of whose lives\nrecommends them to the divine favor.\"\n\n\"Innocence,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"can never be pleaded as a ground of\nacceptance, because the thing does not exist. Innocence excludes the\nnecessity of repentance, and where there is no sin, there can be no need\nof a Saviour. Whatever therefore we may be in comparison with others,\ninnocence can afford no plea for our acceptance, without annulling the\ngreat plan of our redemption.\"\n\n\"One thing puzzles me,\" said Lady Belfield. \"The most worthless people I\nconverse with deny the doctrine of human corruption, a doctrine the\ntruth of which one should suppose their own feelings must confirm; while\nthose few excellent persons who almost seem to have escaped it, insist\nthe most peremptorily on its reality. But if it be really true, surely\nthe mercies of God are so great that he will overlook the frailties of\nsuch weak and erring mortals. So gracious a Saviour will not exact such\nrigorous obedience from creatures so infirm.\"\n\n\"Let not what I am going to say, my dear Lady Belfield,\" replied Mr.\nStanley, \"offend you; the correctness of your conduct exempts you from\nany particular application. But there are too many Christians who, while\nthey speak with reverence of Christ as the Saviour of sinners, do not\nenough consider him as a deliverer from sin. They regard him rather as\nhaving lowered the requisitions of the law, and exonerated his followers\nfrom the necessity of that strictness of life which they view as a\nburdensome part of religion. From this burden they flatter themselves it\nwas the chief object of the gospel to deliver them; and from this\nsupposed deliverance it is, that they chiefly consider it a merciful\ndispensation. A cheap Christianity, of which we can acquit ourselves by\na general recognition, and a few stated observances; which requires no\nsacrifices of the will, nor rectification of the life, is, I assure you,\nthe prevailing system; the religion of that numerous class who like to\nsave appearances, and to decline realities; who expect every thing\nhereafter while they resolve to give up nothing here; but who keep\nheaven in view as a snug reversion after they shall have squeezed out of\nthis world, to the very last dregs and droppings, all it has to give.\"\n\nLady Belfield with great modesty replied, \"Indeed I am ashamed to have\nsaid so much upon a topic on which I am unable and unused to debate. Sir\nJohn only smiles, and looks resolved not to help me out. Believe me,\nhowever, my dear sir, that what I have said proceeds not from\npresumption, but from an earnest desire of being set right. I will only\nventure to offer one more observation on the afternoon's sermon. Dr.\nBarlow, to my great surprise, spoke of the death of Christ as exhibiting\n_practical_ lessons. Now though I have always considered it in a general\nway, as the cause of our salvation, yet its preceptive and moral\nbenefits, I must confess, do not appear to me at all obvious.\"\n\n\"I conceive,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"our deliverance from the punishment\nincurred by sin, to be one great end and object of the death of our\nRedeemer; but I am very far from considering this as the only benefit\nattending it. I conceive it to be most abundant in instruction, and the\nstrongest possible incentive to practical goodness, and that in a great\nvariety of ways. The death of our Redeemer shows us the infinite value\nof our souls, by showing the inestimable price paid for them, and thus\nleads us to more diligence in securing their eternal felicity. It is\ncalculated to inspire us with an unfeigned hatred of sin, and more\nespecially to convince us of God's hatred to that, for the pardon of\nwhich such a sacrifice was deemed necessary. Now if it actually produce\nsuch an effect, it consequently stimulates us to repentance, and to an\nincreasing dread of violating those engagements which we have so often\nmade to lead a better life. Then the contemplation of this stupendous\ncircumstance will tend to fill our hearts with such a sense of gratitude\nand obedience, as will be likely to preserve us from relapsing into\nfresh offenses. Again, can any motive operate so powerfully on us toward\nproducing universal charity and forgiveness? Whatever promotes our love\nto God will dispose us to an increased love for our fellow-creatures. We\ncan not converse with any man, we can not receive a kindness from any\nman, nay, we can not receive an injury from any man, for whom the\nRedeemer has not died. The remembrance of the sufferings which procured\npardon for the greatest offenses, has a natural tendency to lead us to\nforgive small ones.\"\n\nLady Belfield said, \"I had not indeed imagined there were any practical\nuses in an event to which I had been, however, accustomed to look with\nreverence as an atonement for sin.\"\n\n\"Of these practical effects,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"I will only further\nobserve, that all human considerations put together can not so\npowerfully inspire us with an indifference to the vanities of life, and\nthe allurements of unhallowed pleasures. No human motive can be so\nefficacious in sustaining the heart under trials, and reconciling it to\nafflictions. For what trials and afflictions do not sink into nothing in\ncomparison with the sufferings attending that august event, from which\nwe derive this support? The contemplation of this sacrifice also\ndegrades wealth, debases power, annihilates ambition. We rise from this\ncontemplation with a mind prepared to bear with the infirmities, to\nrelieve the wants, to forgive the unkindnesses of men. We extract from\nit a more humbling sense of ourselves, a more subdued spirit, a more\nsober contempt of whatever the world calls great, than all the lectures\nof ancient philosophy, or the teachers of modern morals ever inspired.\"\n\nDuring this little debate, Sir John maintained the most invincible\nsilence. His countenance bore not the least mark of ill-humor or\nimpatience, but it was serious and thoughtful, except when his wife got\ninto any little difficulty; he then encouraged her by an affectionate\nsmile, but listened like a man who has not quite made up his mind, yet\nthinks the subject too important to be dismissed without a fair and\ncandid hearing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\nWhile we were at breakfast the next morning, a sweet little gay girl\nflew into the room almost breathless with joy, and running to her\nmother, presented her with a beautiful nosegay.\n\n\"O, I see you were the industrious girl last week, Kate,\" said Mrs.\nStanley, embracing her, and admiring the flowers. Lady Belfield looked\ninquisitively. \"It is an invention of Lucilla's,\" said the mother, \"that\nthe little one who performs best in the school-room, instead of having\nany reward which may excite vanity or sensuality, shall be taught to\ngratify a better feeling, by being allowed to present her mother with a\nnosegay of the finest flowers, which it is reward enough to see worn at\ndinner, to which she is always admitted when there is no company.\"\n\n\"Oh pray do not consider us as company; pray let Kate dine with us\nto-day,\" said Lady Belfield. Mrs. Stanley bowed her assent and went on.\n\"But this is not all. The flowers they present, they also raise. I went\nrather too far, when I said that no vanity was excited; they are vain\nenough of their carnations, and each is eager to produce the largest. In\nthis competition, however, the vanity is not personal. Lucilla has some\nskill in raising flowers: each girl has a subordinate post under her.\nTheir father often treats them with half a day's work, and then they all\ntreat me with tea and cakes in the honey-suckle arbor of their own\nplanting, which is called Lucilla's bower. It would be hard to say\nwhether parents or children most enjoy these happy holidays.\"\n\nAt dinner Mrs. Stanley appeared with her nosegay in a large knot of\nribbons, which was eyed with no small complacency by little Kate. I\nobserved that Lucilla, who used to manifest much pleasure in the\nconversation after dinner, was beckoned out of the room by Ph[oe]be, as\nsoon as it was over. I felt uneasy at an absence to which I had not been\naccustomed; but the cause was explained, when, at six o'clock, Kate, who\nwas the queen of the day, was sent to invite us to drink tea in\nLucilla's bower: we instantly obeyed the summons.\n\n\"I knew nothing of this,\" said the delighted mother, while we were all\nadmiring the elegant arrangements of this little fête. The purple\nclematis, twisting its flexile branches with those of the pale woodbine,\nformed a sweet and fragrant canopy to the arched bower, while the\nflowery tendrils hung down on all sides. Large bunches of roses,\nintermixed with the silver stars of the jessamine, were stuck into the\nmoss on the inside as a temporary decoration only. The finest plants had\nbeen brought from the green-house for the occasion. It was a delicious\nevening, and the little fairy festivity, together with the flitting\nabout of the airy spirits which had prepared it, was absolutely\nenchanting. Sir John, always poetical, exclaimed in rapture,\n\n          \"Hesperian fables true,\n    If true, here only.\"\n\nI needed not this quotation to bring the garden of Eden to my mind, for\nLucilla presided. Ph[oe]be was all alive. The other little ones had\ndecorated Kate's flaxen hair with a wreath of woodbines. They sung two\nor three baby stanzas, which they had composed among themselves, in\nwhich Kate was complimented as queen of the fête. The youngest daughter\nof Lady Aston, who was about Kate's age, and two little girls of Dr.\nBarlow's, were of the children's party on the green. The elder sisters\nof both families made part of the company within.\n\nWhen we were all seated in our enchanting bower, and drinking our tea,\nat which we had no other attendants than the little Hebes themselves, I\nasked Kate how it happened that she seemed to be distinguished on this\noccasion from her little sisters. \"Oh, sir,\" said she, \"it is because it\nis my birth-day. I am eight years old to-day. I gave up all my gilt\nbooks, with pictures, this day twelvemonth, and to-day I give up all my\nlittle story books, and I am now going to read such books as men and\nwomen read.\"\n\nShe then ran to her companions who ranged themselves round a turf seat\nat a little distance before us, to which were transferred a profusion of\ncakes and fruit from the bower. While they were devouring them, I turned\nto Mr. Stanley and desired an explanation of Kate's speech.\n\n\"I make,\" said he, \"the renouncing their baby books a kind of epocha,\nand by thus distinctly marking the period, they never think of returning\nback to them. We have in our domestic plan several of these artificial\ndivisions of life. These little celebrations are eras that we use as\nmarking-posts, from which we set out on some new course.\"\n\n\"But as to Kate's books?\" said Lady Belfield.\n\n\"We have,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"too many elementary books. They are\nread too much and too long. The youthful mind, which was formerly sick\nfrom inanition, is now in danger from a plethora. Much, however, will\ndepend on capacity and disposition. A child of slower parts may be\nindulged till nine years old with books which a lively genius will look\ndown upon at seven. A girl of talents _will_ read. To _her_ no\nexcitement is wanting. The natural appetite is a sufficient incentive.\nThe less brilliant child requires the allurement of lighter books. She\nwants encouragement as much as the other requires restraint.\"\n\n\"But don't you think,\" said Lady Belfield, \"that they are of great use\nin attracting children to love reading?\"\n\n\"Doubtless they are,\" said Mr. Stanley. \"The misfortune is, that the\nstimulants used to attract at first, must be not only continued but\nheightened, to keep up the attraction. These books are novels in\nminiature, and the excess of them will lead to the want of novels at\nfull length. The early use of savory dishes is not usually followed by\nan appetite for plain food. To the taste thus pampered, history becomes\ndry, grammar laborious, and religion dull.\n\n\"My wife, who was left to travel through the wide expanse of Universal\nHistory, and the dreary deserts of Rapin and Mezerai, is, I will venture\nto assert, more competently skilled in ancient, French, and English\nhistory, than any of the girls who have been fed, or rather starved, on\nextracts and abridgments. I mean not to recommend the two last named\nauthors for very young people. They are dry and tedious, and children in\nour day have opportunities of acquiring the same knowledge with less\nlabor. We have brighter, I wish I could say safer, lights. Still fact,\nand not wit, is the leading object of history.\n\n\"Mrs. Stanley says, that the very tediousness of her historians had a\ngood effect; they were a ballast to her levity, a discipline to her\nmind, of which she has felt the benefit in her subsequent life.\n\n\"But to return to the mass of children's books. The too great profusion\nof them protracts the imbecility of childhood. They arrest the\nunderstanding, instead of advancing it. They give forwardness without\nstrength. They hinder the mind from making vigorous shoots, teach it to\nstoop when it should soar, and to contract when it should expand. Yet I\nallow that many of them are delightfully amusing, and to a certain\ndegree instructive. But they must not be used as the basis of\ninstruction, and but sparingly used at all as refreshment from labor.\"\n\n\"They inculcate morality and good actions surely,\" said Lady Belfield.\n\n\"It is true,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"but they often inculcate them on a\nworldly principle, and rather teach the pride of virtue, and the profit\nof virtue, than point out the motive of virtue, and the principle of\nsin. They reprobate bad actions as evil and injurious to others, but not\nas an offense against the Almighty. Whereas the Bible comes with a\nplain, straightforward, simple, but powerful principle--'How shall I do\nthis great wickedness against GOD?' 'Against THEE, THEE only have I\nsinned, and done this evil in THY sight.'\n\n\"Even children should be taught that when a man has committed the\ngreatest possible crime against his fellow creature, still the offense\nagainst God is what will strike a true penitent with the most deep\nremorse. All morality which is not drawn from this scriptural source is\nweak, defective, and hollow. These entertaining authors seldom ground\ntheir stories on any intimation that human nature is corrupt; that the\nyoung reader is helpless, and wants assistance; that he is guilty, and\nwants pardon.\"\n\n\"Surely, my dear Mr. Stanley,\" said Lady Belfield, \"though I do not\nobject to the truth and reasonableness of any thing you have said, I can\nnot think that these things can possibly be made intelligible to\nchildren.\"\n\n\"The framers of our catechism, madam, thought otherwise,\" replied Mr.\nStanley. \"The catechism was written for children, and contains all the\nseeds and principles of Christianity for men. It evidently requires much\nexplanation, much development; still it furnishes a wide and important\nfield for colloquial instruction, without which young persons can by no\nmeans understand a composition so admirable, but so condensed. The\ncatechism speaks expressly of 'a death unto sin'--of 'a new birth unto\nrighteousness'--of 'being born in sin'--of being the 'children of\nwrath'--of becoming the 'children of grace'--of 'forsaking sin by\nrepentance'--of 'believing the promises of God by faith.' Now while\nchildren are studying these great truths in the catechism, they are\nprobably, at the same time, almost constantly reading some of those\nentertaining stories which are grounded and built on a quite opposite\nprinciple, and do not even imply the existence of any such fundamental\ntruths.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" interrupted Lady Belfield, \"you would not have these serious\ndoctrines brought forward in story books?\"\n\n\"By no means, madam,\" replied Mr. Stanley; \"but I will venture to assert\nthat even story books should not be founded on a principle directly\n_contradictory_ to them, nay, totally _subversive_ of them. The Arabian\nNights, and other oriental books of fable, though loose and faulty in\nmany respects, yet have always a reference to the religion of the\ncountry. Nothing is introduced against the law of Mohammed; nothing\nsubversive of the opinions of a Mussulman. I do not quarrel with books\nfor having _no_ religion, but for having a _false_ religion. A book\nwhich in nothing opposes the principle of the Bible, I would be far from\ncalling a bad book, though the Bible was never named in it.\"\n\nLady Belfield observed, \"That she was sorry to say her children found\nreligious studies very dry and tiresome; though she took great pains,\nand made them learn by heart a multitude of questions and answers, a\nvariety of catechisms and explanations, and the best abridgments of the\nBible.\"\n\n\"My dear Lady Belfield,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"you have fully accounted\nfor the dryness and dullness of which you complain. Give them the _Bible\nitself_. I never yet knew a child who did not delight in the Bible\nhistories, and who would not desire to hear them again and again. From\nthe histories, Mrs. Stanley and I proceed with them to the parables; and\nfrom them to the miracles, and a few of the most striking prophecies.\nWhen they have acquired a good deal of this desultory knowledge, we\nbegin to weave the parts into a whole. The little girl who had the honor\nof dining with you to-day, has begun this morning to read the Scriptures\nwith her mother systematically. We shall soon open to her something of\nthe _scheme_ of Christianity, and explain how those miracles and\nprophecies confirm the truth of that religion in which she is to be more\nfully instructed.\n\n\"Upon their historical knowledge, which they acquire by picking out the\nmost interesting stories, we endeavor to ground principles to enlighten\ntheir minds, and precepts to influence their conduct. With the genuine\nlanguage of Scripture I have taken particular care they shall be well\nacquainted, by digging for the ore in its native bed. While they have\nbeen studying the stories, their minds have at the same time been imbued\nwith the impressive phraseology of Scripture. I make a great point of\nthis, having often seen this useful impression effectually prevented by\na multitude of subsidiary histories and explanations, which too much\nsupersede the use of the original text.\n\n\"Only observe,\" continued he, \"what divine sentiments, what holy\nprecepts, what devout ejaculations, what strokes of self-abasement, what\nflights of gratitude, what transports of praise, what touches of\npenitential sorrow, are found comprised in some one short sentence woven\ninto almost every part of the historical Scriptures! Observe this, and\nthen confess what a pity it is that children should be commonly set to\nread the history in a meagre abridgment, stripped of those gems with\nwhich the original is so richly inlaid! These histories and expositions\nbecome very useful afterward to young people who are thoroughly\nconversant with the Bible itself.\"\n\nSir John observed that he had been struck with the remarkable\n_disinterestedness_ of Mr. Stanley's daughters, and their indifference\nto things about which most children were so eager. \"Selfishness,\" said\nMr. Stanley, \"is the hydra we are perpetually combating; but the monster\nhas so much vitality, that new heads spring up as fast as the old ones\nare cut off. _To counteract selfishness, that inborn, inbred mischief, I\nhold to be the great art of education._ Education, therefore, can not be\nadequately carried on, except by those who are deeply convinced of the\ndoctrine of human corruption. This evil principle, as it shows itself\nearly, must be early lopped, or the rapid shoots it makes will, as your\nfavorite Eve observes,\n\n    Soon mock our scant manuring.\n\n\"This counteraction,\" continued Mr. Stanley, \"is not like an art or a\nscience, which is to be taken up at set times, and laid aside till the\nallotted period of instruction returns; but as the evil shows itself at\nall times, and in all shapes, the _whole force_ of instruction is to be\nbent against it. Mrs. Stanley and I endeavor that not one reward we\nbestow, not one gratification we afford, shall be calculated to promote\nit. Gratifications children ought to have. The appetites and\ninclinations should be reasonably indulged. We only are cautious not to\nemploy them as _the instrument of recompense_, which would look as if we\nvalued them highly, and thought them a fit remuneration for merit. I\nwould rather show a little indulgence to sensuality _as_ sensuality,\nthan make it the reward of goodness, which seems to be the common way.\nWhile I indulged the appetite of a child, I would never hold out that\nindulgence which I granted to the lowest, the animal part of his nature,\nas a payment for the exertion of his mental or moral faculties.\"\n\n\"You have one great advantage,\" said Sir John, \"and I thank God it is\nthe same in Cavendish-square, that you and Mrs. Stanley draw evenly\ntogether. Nothing impedes domestic regulation so effectually as where\nparents, from difference of sentiment, ill-humor, or bad judgment,\nobstruct each other's plans, or where one parent makes the other\ninsignificant in the eyes of their children.\"\n\n\"Mr. Reynolds,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"a friend of mine in this\nneighborhood, is in this very predicament. To the mother's weakness the\nfather's temperate discipline seems cruelty. She is perpetually blaming\nhim before the children for setting them to their books. Her attentions\nare divided between their health, which is perfect, and their pleasure,\nwhich is obstructed by her foolish zeal to promote it, far more than by\nhis prudent restrictions. Whatever the father helps them to at table,\nthe mother takes from them, lest it should make them sick. What he\nforbids is always the very thing which is good for them. She is much\nmore afraid, however, of overloading their memories than their stomachs.\nReading, she says, will spoil the girls' eyes, stooping to write will\nruin their chests, and working will make them round-shouldered. If the\nboys run, they will have fevers; if they jump, they will sprain their\nankles; if they play at cricket, a blow may kill them; if they swim,\nthey may be drowned; the shallowness of the stream is no argument of\nsafety.\n\n\"Poor Reynolds' life is one continued struggle between his sense of duty\nto his children, and his complaisance to his wife. If he carries his\npoint, it is at the expense of his peace; if he relaxes, as he commonly\ndoes, his children are the victims. He is at length brought to submit\nhis excellent judgment to her feeble mind, lest his opposition should\nhurt her health; and he has the mortification of seeing his children\ntrained as if they had nothing but bodies.\n\n\"To the wretched education of Mrs. Reynolds herself, all this mischief\nmay be attributed; for she is not a bad, though an ignorant woman; and\nhaving been harshly treated by her own parents, she fell into the vulgar\nerror of vulgar minds, that of supposing the opposite of wrong must\nnecessarily be right. As she found that being perpetually contradicted\nhad made herself miserable, she concluded that never being contradicted\nat all would make her children happy. The event has answered as might\nhave been foreseen. Never was a more discontented, disagreeing,\ntroublesome family. The gratification of one want instantly creates a\nnew one. And it is only when they are quite worn out with having done\nnothing, that they take refuge in their books, as less wearisome than\nidleness.\"\n\nSir John, turning to Lady Belfield, said in a very tender tone, \"My dear\nCaroline, this story, in its principal feature, does not apply to us. We\nconcur completely, it is true, but I fear we concur by being both\nwrong: we both err by excessive indulgence. As to the case in point,\nwhile children are young, they may perhaps lean to the parent that\nspoils them, but I have never yet seen an instance of young persons,\nwhere the parents differed, who did not afterward discover a much\nstronger affection for the one who had reasonably restrained them, than\nfor the other, whose blind indulgence had at once diminished her\nimportance and their own reverence.\"\n\nI observed to Mr. Stanley, that as he had so noble a library, and wished\nto inspire his children with the love of literature, I was surprised to\nsee their apartment so slenderly provided with books.\n\n\"This is the age of excess in every thing,\" replied he; \"nothing is a\ngratification of which the want has not been previously felt. The wishes\nof children are all so anticipated, that they never experience the\npleasure excited by wanting and waiting. Of their initiatory books they\n_must_ have a pretty copious supply. But as to books of entertainment or\ninstruction of a higher kind, I never allow them to possess one of their\nown, till they have attentively read and improved by it; this gives them\na kind of title to it; and that desire of property, so natural to human\ncreatures, I think stimulates them in dispatching books which are in\nthemselves a little dry. Expectation with them, as with men, quickens\ndesire, while possession deadens it.\"\n\nBy this time the children had exhausted all the refreshments set before\nthem, and had retreated to a little further distance, where, without\ndisturbing us, they freely enjoyed their innocent gambols: playing,\nsinging, laughing, dancing, reciting verses, trying which could puzzle\nthe other in the names of plants, of which they pulled single leaves to\nincrease the difficulty, all succeeded each other. Lady Belfield looking\nconsciously at me, said, \"These are the creatures whom I foolishly\nsuspected of being made miserable by restraint, and gloomy through want\nof indulgence.\"\n\n\"After long experience,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"I will venture to pronounce,\nthat not all the anxious cutting out of pleasure, not all the costly\nindulgences which wealth can procure, not all the contrivances of\ninventive man for his darling youthful offspring, can find out an\namusement so pure, so natural, so cheap, so rational, so healthful, I\nhad almost said so religious, as that unbought pleasure connected with a\ngarden.\"\n\nKate and Celia, who had for some time been peeping into the bower, in\norder to catch an interval in the conversation, as soon as they found\nour attention disengaged, stole in among us, each took the fond father\nby a hand, and led him to the turf seat. Ph[oe]be presented him a book\nwhich he opened, and out of it read with infinite humor, grace, and\ngayety, THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. This, it seems, was a\npleasure to which they had been led to look forward for some time, but\nwhich, in honor of Kate, had been purposely withheld till this memorable\nday. His little auditors, who grouped themselves around him on the\ngrass, were nearly convulsed with laughter, nor were the tenants of the\nbower much less delighted.\n\nAs we walked into the house, Mr. Stanley said, \"Whenever I read to my\nchildren a light and gay composition, which I often do, I generally take\ncare it shall be the work of some valuable author, to whose writings\nthis shall be a pleasant and tempting prelude. What child of spirit who\nhears John Gilpin, will not long to be thought old and wise enough to\nread the 'Task?' The remembrance of the infant rapture will give a\npredilection for the poet. Desiring to keep their standard high, I\naccustom them to none but good writers, in every sense of the word; by\nthis means they will be less likely to stoop to ordinary ones when they\nshall hereafter come to choose for themselves.\"\n\nLady Belfield regretted to me that she had not brought some of her\nchildren to the Grove. \"To confess a disgraceful truth,\" said she, \"I\nwas afraid they would have been moped to death; and to confess another\ntruth still more disgraceful to my own authority, my indulgence has been\nso injudicious, and I have maintained so little control, that I durst\nnot bring some of them, for fear of putting the rest out of humor; I am\nnow in a school where I trust I may learn to acquire firmness, without\nany diminution of fondness.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nThe next morning Mr. Stanley proposed that we should pay a visit to some\nof his neighbors. He and Sir John Belfield rode on horseback, and I had\nthe honor of attending the ladies in the sociable. Lady Belfield, who\nwas now become desirous of improving her own too relaxed domestic system\nby the experience of Mrs. Stanley, told her how much she admired the\ncheerful obedience of her children. She said, \"she did not so much\nwonder to see them so good, but she owned she was surprised to see them\nso happy.\"\n\n\"I know not,\" replied Mrs. Stanley, \"whether the increased\ninsubordination of children is owing to the new school of philosophy and\npolitics, but it seems to me to make part of the system. When I go\nsometimes to stay with a friend in town to do business, she is always\nmaking apologies that she can not go out with me--'her daughters want\nthe coach.' If I ask leave to see the friends who call on me in such a\nroom--'her daughters have company there, or they want the room for their\nmusic, or it is preparing for the children's ball in the evening.' If a\nmessenger is required--'her daughters want the footman.' There certainly\nprevails a spirit of independence, a revolutionary spirit, a separation\nfrom the parent state. IT IS THE CHILDREN'S WORLD.\"\n\n\"You remind me, madam,\" said I, \"of an old courtier, who being asked by\nLouis XV., which age he preferred, his own or the present, replied, 'I\npassed my youth in respecting old age, and I find I must now pass my old\nage in respecting children.'\"\n\n\"In some other houses,\" said Mrs. Stanley, \"where we visit, besides that\nof poor Mr. Reynolds, the children seem to have all the accommodation;\nand I have observed that the convenience and comfort of the father is\nbut a subordinate consideration. The respectful terms of address are\nnearly banished from the vocabulary of children, and the somewhat too\norderly manner which once prevailed is superseded by an incivility, a\nroughness, a want of attention, which is surely not better than the\nharmless formality which it has driven out.\"\n\nJust as she had said this, we stopped at Mr. Reynolds's gate; neither he\nnor his lady were at home. Mr. Stanley, who wished to show us a fine\nreach of the river from the drawing-room window, desired the servant to\nshow us into it. There we beheld a curious illustration of what we had\nheard. In the ample bow-window lay a confused heap of the glittering\nspoils of the most expensive toys. Before the rich silk chairs knelt two\nof the children, in the act of demolishing their fine painted\nplaythings; \"others apart sat on _the floor_ retired,\" and more\ndeliberately employed in picking to pieces their little gaudy works of\nart. A pretty girl, who had a beautiful wax doll on her lap, almost as\nbig as herself, was pulling out its eyes, that she might see how they\nwere put in. Another, weary of this costly baby, was making a little\ndoll of rags. A turbulent-looking boy was tearing out the parchment from\na handsome new drum, that he might see, as he told us, where the noise\ncame from. These I forgave: they had meaning in their mischief.\n\nAnother, having kicked about a whole little gilt library, was sitting,\nwith the decorated pages torn asunder at his feet, reading a little\ndirty penny book, which the kitchen-maid had bought of a hawker at the\ndoor. The Persian carpet was strewed with the broken limbs of a painted\nhorse, almost as large as a poney, while the discontented little master\nwas riding astride on a long rough stick. A bigger boy, after having\nbroken the panels of a fine gilt coach, we saw afterwards in the\ncourt-yard nailing together a few dirty bits of ragged elm boards, to\nmake himself a wheel-barrow.\n\n\"Not only the disciple of the fastidious Jean Jacques,\" exclaimed I,\n\"but the sound votary of truth and reason, must triumph at such an\ninstance of the satiety of riches, and the weariness of ignorance and\nidleness. One such practical instance of the insufficiency of affluence\nto _bestow_ the pleasures which industry must _buy_; one such actual\nexemplification of the folly of supposing that injudicious profusion and\nmistaken fondness can supply that pleasure which must be worked out\nbefore it can be enjoyed, is worth a whole folio of argument or\nexhortation. The ill-bred little flock paid no attention to us, and only\nreturned a rude 'n--o' or 'ye--s' to our questions.\"\n\n\"Caroline,\" said Sir John, \"these painted ruins afford a good lesson for\nus. We must desire our rich uncles and our generous god-mothers to make\nan alteration in their presents, if they can not be prevailed upon to\nwithhold them.\"\n\n\"It is a sad mistake,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"to suppose that youth wants to\nbe so incessantly amused. They want not pleasures to be chalked out for\nthem. Lay a few cheap and coarse materials in their way, and let their\nown busy inventions be suffered to work. They have abundant pleasure in\nthe mere freshness and novelty of life, its unbroken health, its elastic\nspirit, its versatile temper, and its ever new resources.\"\n\n\"So it appears, Stanley,\" said Sir John, \"when I look at your little\ngroup of girls, recluses as they are called. How many cheap, yet lively\npleasures do they enjoy! their successive occupations, their books,\ntheir animating exercise, their charitable rounds, their ardent\nfriendships; the social table, at which the elder ones are companions,\nnot mutes; the ever-varying pleasures of their garden,\n\n    \"Increasing virtue, and approving heaven.\"\n\nWhile we were sitting with Lady Aston, on whom we next called, Mr.\nStanley suddenly exclaimed, \"The Misses Flam are coming up the gravel\nwalk.\" Lady Aston looked vexed, but correcting herself said, \"Mr.\nStanley, we owe this visit to you, or rather to your friend,\" bowing to\nme; \"they saw your carriage stop here, or they would not have done so\ndull a thing as to have called on me.\"\n\nThese new guests presented a new scene, very uncongenial to the timid\nand tranquil spirit of the amiable hostess. There seemed to be a contest\nbetween the sisters, who should be most eloquent, most loud, or most\ninquisitive. They eagerly attacked me all at once, as supposing me to be\noverflowing with intelligence from the metropolis, a place which they\nnot only believed to contain exclusively all that was worth seeing, but\nall that was worth hearing. The rest of the world they considered as a\nbarren wilderness, of which the hungry inhabitants could only be kept\nfrom starving, by such meagre aliment as the occasional reports of its\npleasures, fashions, and anecdotes, which might now and then be conveyed\nby some stray traveler, might furnish.\n\n\"It is so strange to us,\" said Miss Bell, \"and so monstrously dull and\nvulgar, to be in the country at this time of the year, that we don't\nknow what to do with ourselves.\"\n\n\"As to the time of year, madam,\" said I, \"if ever one would wish to be\nin the country at all, surely this month is the point of perfection. The\nonly immoral thing with which I could ever charge our excellent\nsovereign is, that he was born in June, and has thus furnished his\nfashionable subjects with a loyal pretense for encountering 'the sin and\nsea-coal of London,' to borrow Will Honeycomb's phrase, in the finest\nmonth of the twelve. But where that is the real motive with one, it is\nthe pretense of a thousand.\"\n\n\"How can you be so shocking?\" said she. \"But papa is really grown so\ncross and stingy, as to prevent our going to town at all these last two\nor three years; and for so mean a reason that I am ashamed to tell you.\"\nOut of politeness I did not press to know; I needed not, for she was\nresolved I should not 'burst in ignorance.'\n\nShe went on: \"Do you know he pretends that times are hard, and public\ndifficulties increasing; and he declares that whatever privations we\nendure, government must be supported: so he says it is right to draw in\nin the only way in which he can do it honestly; I am sure it is not\ndoing it creditably. Did you ever hear any thing so shabby?\"\n\n\"Shabby, madam,\" replied I; \"I honor a gentleman who has integrity\nenough to do a right thing, and good sense enough not to be ashamed to\nown it.\"\n\n\"Yes, but papa need not. The steward declares, if he would only raise\nhis tenants a very little, he would have more than enough; but papa is\ninflexible. He says my brother must do as he pleases when he comes to\nthe estate, but that he himself promised when he came into possession,\nthat he would never raise the rents, and that he will never be worse\nthan his word.\" As I could not find in my heart to join in abusing a\ngentleman for resolving never to be worse than his word, I was silent.\n\nShe then inquired with more seriousness, if there were any prospect of\npeace. I was better pleased with this question, as it implied more\nanxiety for the lives of her fellow-creatures, than I had given her\ncredit for. \"I am anxiously looking into all the papers,\" continued she,\nwithout giving me time to speak, \"because as soon as there is peace,\npapa has promised that we shall go to town again. If it was not for that\nI should not care if there was war till doomsday, for what with marching\nregiments, and militia, and volunteers, nothing can be pleasanter than\nit makes the country, I mean as far as the country _can_ be pleasant.\"\nThey then ran over the names and respective merits of every opera\nsinger, every dancer, and every actor, with incredible volubility; and I\nbelieve they were not a little shocked at my slender acquaintance with\nthe nomenclature, and the little interest I took in the criticisms they\nbuilt upon it.\n\nPoor Lady Aston looked oppressed and fatigued, but inwardly rejoiced, as\nshe afterward owned to me, that her daughters were not within hearing. I\nwas of a different opinion, upon the Spartan principle, of making their\nchildren sober, by the spectacle of the intoxicated Helots. Miss Bell's\neloquence seemed to make but little impression on Sir George; or rather\nit produced an effect directly contrary to admiration. His good taste\nseemed to revolt at her flippancy. Every time I see this young man he\nrises in my esteem. His ingenuous temper and engaging modesty set off to\nadvantage a very fair understanding.\n\nIn our way home, we were accosted by Mr. Flam. After a rough but hearty\nsalutation, and a cordial invitation to come and dine with him, he\ngalloped off, being engaged on business. \"This is an honest country\n'squire of the old cut,\" said Mr. Stanley afterward; \"he has a very good\nestate which he has so much delight in managing, that he has no pleasure\nin any thing else. He was prevailed on by his father to marry his\npresent wife for no other reason than because her estate joined to his,\nand broke in a little on the _arrondissement_; but it was judged that\nboth being united, all might be brought within a ring fence. This was\nthought a reason sufficiently powerful for the union of two immortal\nbeings, whose happiness here and hereafter might be impeded or promoted\nby it! The felicity of the connection has been in exact proportion to\nthe purity of the motive.\"\n\nI could not forbear interrupting Mr. Stanley, by observing that nothing\nhad surprised or hurt me more in the little observation I had made on\nthe subject of marriage than the frequent indifference of parents to the\nmoral, and especially to the religious character of the man who proposed\nhimself. \"That family, fortune, and connections should have their full\nshare in the business, I readily admit,\" added I, \"but that it should\never form the chief, often the only ground of acceptance, has, I\nconfess, lowered mankind in my esteem more completely than almost any\nother instance of ambition, avarice, or worldliness. That a very young\ngirl, who has not been carefully educated, should be captivated by\npersonal advantages, and even infatuated by splendor, is less surprising\nthan that parents, who having themselves experienced the insufficiency\nof riches to happiness, that they should be eagerly impatient to part\nfrom a beloved daughter, reared with fondness at least, if not with\nwisdom, to a man of whose principles they have any doubt, and of whose\nmind they have a mean opinion, is a thing I can not understand. And yet\nwhat proposal almost is rejected on this ground?\" Lucilla's eyes at\nthis moment shone with such expressive brightness that I exultingly said\nto myself, \"Lord Staunton! I defy thee!\"\n\n\"The mischief of this lax principle is of wide extent,\" replied Mr.\nStanley. \"When girls are continually hearing what an advantageous, what\na desirable marriage such a young friend has made, with a man so rich,\nso splendid, so great, though they have been accustomed to hear this\nvery man condemned for his profligacy perhaps, at least they know him to\nbe destitute of piety; when they hear that these things are not\nconsidered as any objection to the union, what opinion must these girls\nform, not only of the maxims by which the world is governed, but of the\ntruth of that religion which those persons profess?\n\n\"But to return to Mr. Flam. He passed through the usual course of\neducation, but has profited so little by it, that though he has a\ncertain natural shrewdness in his understanding, I believe he has\nscarcely read a book these twenty years, except Burn's 'Justice' and\n'The Agricultural Reports.' Yet when he wants to make a figure, he now\nand then lards his discourse with a scrap of thread-bare Latin which he\nused to steal in his school-boy exercises. He values himself on his\nintegrity, and is not destitute of benevolence. These, he says, are the\nsum and substance of religion; and though I combat this mistaken notion\nas often as he puts it in my power, yet I must say that some who make\nmore profession would do well to be as careful in these points. He often\ncontrasts himself with his old friend Ned Tyrrel, and is proud of\nshowing how much better a man he is without religion than Ned is with\nall his pretensions to it. It is by thus comparing ourselves with worse\nmen that we grow vain, and with more fortunate men that we become\ndiscontented.\n\n\"All the concern he gives himself about his wife and daughters is, that\nthey shall not run him in debt; and, indeed, he is so liberal that he\ndoes not drive them to the necessity. In every thing else, they follow\ntheir own devices. They teased him, however, to let them spend two or\nthree winters in town, the mother hinting _that it would answer_. He was\nprevailed on to try it as a speculation, but the experiment failed. He\nnow insists that they shall go no more, till the times mend, to any of\nthe advertising places, such as London, Brighton, or Bath; he says that\nattending so many fairs and markets is very expensive, especially as the\ngirls don't go off. He will now see what can be done by private contract\nat home, without the cost of journeys, with fresh keep and trimming and\ndocking into the bargain. They must now take their chance among country\ndealers; and provided they will give him a son-in-law, whose estate is\nfree from incumbrances, who pays his debts, lives within his income,\ndoes not rack his tenants, never drinks claret, hates the French, and\nloves field sports, he will ask no more questions.\"\n\nI could not but observe how preferable the father's conduct, with all\nits faults, was to that of the rest of the family. \"I had imagined,\"\nsaid I, \"that this coarse character was quite out of print. Though it is\nreligiously bad, and of course morally defective, yet it is so\npolitically valuable that I should not be sorry to see a new edition of\nthese obsolete squires, somewhat corrected, and better lettered.\"\n\n\"All his good qualities,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"for want of religion have a\nflaw in them. His good nature is so little directed by judgment, that\nwhile it serves the individual, it injures the public. As a brother\nmagistrate, I am obliged to act in almost constant opposition to him,\nand his indiscretions do more mischief by being of a nature to increase\nhis popularity. He is fully persuaded that occasional intoxication is\nthe best reward for habitual industry; and insists that it is good old\nEnglish kindness to make the church ringers periodically tipsy at the\nholidays, though their families starve for it the whole week. He and I\nhave a regular contest at the annual village fairs, because he insists\nthat my refusing to let them begin on a Sunday is abridging their few\nrights, and robbing them of a day which they might add to their pleasure\nwithout injury to their profit. He allows all the strolling players,\nmountebanks, and jugglers to exhibit, because, he says, it is a charity.\nHis charity, however, is so short-sighted that he does not see that\nwhile these vagabonds are supplying the wants of the day, their\nimprovident habits suffer them to look no further; that his own workmen\nare spending their hard-earned money in these illegal diversions, while\nthe expense is the least mischief which their daughters incur.\"\n\nOur next visit was to Mr. Carlton, whom I had found, in one or two\nprevious interviews, to be a man of excellent sense, and a perfect\ngentleman. Sir John renewed with pleasure his acquaintance with the\nhusband, while Lady Belfield was charmed to be introduced to the wife,\nwith whose character she was so enamored, and whose gentle manners were\ncalculated to confirm the affection which her little history had\ninspired.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\nThough Mr. Stanley had checked my impetuosity in my application to him,\nand did not encourage my addresses with a promptitude suited to the\nardor of my affection: yet as the warmth of my attachment,\nnotwithstanding I made it a duty to restrain its outward expression,\ncould not escape either his penetration or that of his admirable wife,\nthey began a little to relax in the strictness with which they had\navoided speaking of their daughter. They never indeed introduced the\nsubject themselves, yet it some how or other never failed to find its\nway into all conversation in which I was one of the interlocutors.\n\nSitting one day in Lucilla's bower with Mrs. Stanley, and speaking,\nthough in general terms, on the subject nearest my heart, with a\ntenderness and admiration as sincere as it was fervent, I dwelt\nparticularly on some instances which I had recently heard from Edwards,\nof her tender attention to the sick poor, and her zeal in often visiting\nthem, without regard to weather, or the accommodation of a carriage.\n\n\"I assure you,\" said Mrs. Stanley, \"you over-rate her. Lucilla is no\nprodigy dropped down from the clouds. Ten thousand other young women,\nwith natural good sense, and good temper, might, with the same\neducation, the same neglect of what is useless, and the same attention\nto what is necessary, acquire the same habits and the same principles.\nHer being no prodigy, however, perhaps makes her example, as far as it\ngoes, more important. She may be more useful, because she carries not\nthat discouraging superiority, which others might be deterred from\nimitating, through hopelessness to reach. If she is not a miracle whom\nothers might despair to emulate, she is a Christian whom every girl of a\nfair understanding and good temper may equal, and whom, I hope and\nbelieve, many girls excel.\"\n\nI asked Mrs. Stanley's permission to attend the young ladies in one of\ntheir benevolent rounds. \"When I have leisure to be one of the party,\"\nreplied she, smiling, \"you shall accompany us. I am afraid to trust your\nwarm feelings. Your good-nature would perhaps lead you to commend as a\nmerit, what in fact deserves no praise at all, the duly being so\nobvious, and so indispensable. I have often heard it regretted that\nladies have no stated employment, no profession. It is a mistake.\n_Charity is the calling of a lady; the care of the poor is her\nprofession._ Men have little time or taste for details. Women of fortune\nhave abundant leisure, which can in no way be so properly or so\npleasantly filled up, as in making themselves intimately acquainted with\nthe worth and the wants of all within their reach. With their wants,\nbecause it is their bounden duty to administer to them; with their\nworth, because without this knowledge, they can not administer prudently\nand appropriately.\"\n\nI expressed to Mrs. Stanley the delight with which I had heard of the\nadmirable regulations of her family, in the management of the poor, and\nhow much their power of doing good was said to be enlarged by the\njudgment and discrimination with which it was done.\n\n\"We are far from thinking,\" replied she, \"that our charity should be\nlimited to our own immediate neighborhood. We are of opinion, that it\nshould not be left undone anywhere, but that _there_ it should be done\nindispensably. We consider our own parish as our more appropriate field\nof action, where providence, by 'fixing the bounds of our habitation,'\nseems to have made us peculiarly responsible for the comfort of those\nwhom he has doubtless placed around us for that purpose. It is thus that\nthe Almighty vindicates his justice, or rather calls on us to vindicate\nit. It is thus he explains why he admits natural evil into the world, by\nmaking the wants of one part of the community an exercise for the\ncompassion of the other. As in different circumstances, the faults of\none part of mankind are an exercise for the forbearance of the other.\n\n\"Surely,\" added Mrs. Stanley, \"the reason is particularly obvious, why\nthe bounty of the affluent ought to be most liberally, though not\nexclusively, extended to the spot whence they derive their revenues.\nThere seems indeed to be a double motive for it. The same act involves a\nduty both to God and man. The largest bounty to the necessitous on our\nestates, is rather justice than charity. 'Tis but a kind of pepper-corn\nacknowledgment to the great Lord and proprietor of all, from whom we\nhold them. And to assist their own laboring poor is a kind of natural\ndebt, which persons who possess great landed property owe to those from\nthe sweat of whose brow they derive their comforts, and even their\nriches. 'Tis a commutation, in which, as the advantage is greatly on our\nside, so is our duty to diminish the difference a paramount obligation.\"\n\nI then repeated my request, that I might be allowed to take a practical\nlesson in the next periodical visit to the cottages.\n\nMrs. Stanley replied, \"As to my girls, the elder ones I trust are such\nveterans in their trade, that your approbation can do them no harm, nor\ndo they stand in need of it as an incentive. But should the little ones\nfind that their charity procures them praise, they might perhaps be\ncharitable for the sake of praise, their benevolence might be set at\nwork by their vanity, and they might be led to do that, from the love of\napplause, which can only please God when the principle is pure. _The\niniquity of our holy things_, my good friend, requires much Christian\nvigilance. Next to not giving at all, the greatest fault is to give from\nostentation. The motive robs the act of the very name of virtue. While\nthe good work that is paid in praise, is stripped of the hope of higher\nretribution.\"\n\nOn my assuring Mrs. Stanley that I thought such an introduction to their\nsystematic schemes of charity might inform my own mind and improve my\nhabits, she consented, and I have since been a frequent witness of their\nadmirable method; and have been studying plans, which involve the good\nboth of body and soul. Oh! if I am ever blest with a coadjutress, a\ndirectress let me rather say, formed under such auspices, with what\ndelight shall I transplant the principles and practices of Stanley Grove\nto the Priory! Nor indeed would I ever marry but with the animating hope\nthat not only myself, but all around me, would be the better and the\nhappier for the presiding genius I shall place there.\n\nSir John Belfield had joined us while we were on this topic. I had\nobserved that though he was earnest on the general principle of\nbenevolence, which he considered as a most imperious duty, or, as he\nsaid in his warm way, as so lively a pleasure that he was almost ready\nto suspect if it _were_ a duty; yet I was sorry to find that his\ngenerous mind had not viewed this large subject under all its aspects.\nHe had not hitherto regarded it as a matter demanding any thing but\nmoney; while time, inquiry, discrimination, system, he confessed, he had\nnot much taken into the account. He did a great deal of good, but had\nnot allowed himself time or thought for the best way of doing it.\nCharity, as opposed to hard-heartedness and covetousness, he warmly\nexercised; but when, with a willing liberality, he had cleared himself\nfrom the suspicion of those detestable vices, he was indolent in the\nproper distribution of money, and somewhat negligent of its just\napplication. Nor had he ever considered, as every man should do, because\nevery man's means are limited, how the greatest quantity of good could\nbe done with any given sum.\n\nBut the worst of all was, he had imbibed certain popular prejudices\nrespecting the more _religious_ charities; prejudices altogether\nunworthy of his enlightened mind. He too much limited his ideas of\nbounty to bodily wants. This distinction was not with him, as it is with\nmany, invented as an argument for saving his money, which he most\nwillingly bestowed for feeding and clothing the necessitous. But as to\nthe propriety of affording them religious instruction, he owned he had\nnot made up his mind. He had some doubts whether it were a duty. Whether\nit were a benefit he had still stronger doubts; adding that he should\nbegin to consider the subject more attentively than he had yet done.\n\nMrs. Stanley in reply, said, \"I am but a poor casuist, Sir John, and I\nmust refer you to Mr. Stanley for abler arguments than I can use. I will\nventure, however, to say, that even on your own ground it appears to be\na pressing duty. If sin be the cause of so large a portion of the\nmiseries of human life, must not that be the noblest charity which\ncures, or lessens, or prevents sin? And are not they the truest\nbenefactors even to the bodies of men, who by their religious exertions\nto prevent the corruption of vice, prevent also in some measure that\npoverty and disease which are the natural concomitants of vice? If in\nendeavoring to make men better, by the infusion of a religious\nprinciple, which shall check idleness, drinking, and extravagance, we\nput them in the way to become healthier, and richer, and happier, it\nwill furnish a practical argument which I am sure will satisfy your\nbenevolent heart.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\nMr. Tyrrel and his nephew called on us this evening, and interrupted a\npleasant and useful conversation on which we were just entering. \"Do\nyou know, Stanley,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"that you absolutely corrupted my\nnephew, by what passed at your house the other day in favor of reading?\nHe has ever since been ransacking the shelves for idle books.\"\n\n\"I should be seriously concerned,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"if any thing I\nhad said should have drawn Mr. Edward off from more valuable studies, or\ndiverted him from the important pursuit of religious knowledge.\"\n\n\"Why, to do him justice, and you too,\" resumed Mr. Tyrrel, \"he has since\nthat conversation begun assiduously to devote his mornings to serious\nreading, and it is only an hour's leisure in the evening, which he used\nto trifle away, that he gives to books of taste; but I had rather he\nwould let them all alone; the best of them will only fill his heart with\ncold morality, and stuff his head with romance and fiction. I would not\nhave a religious man ever look into a book of your belles-lettres\nnonsense; and if he be really religious, he will make a general bonfire\nof the poets.\"\n\n\"That is rather too sweeping a sentence,\" said Mr. Stanley. \"It would, I\ngrant you, have been a benefit to mankind, if the entire works of some\ncelebrated poets, and a considerable portion of the works of many not\nquite so exceptionable, were to assist the conflagration of your pile.\"\n\n\"And if fuel failed,\" said Sir John Belfield, \"we might not only rob\nBelinda's altar of her\n\n    Twelve tomes of French romances neatly gilt,\n\nbut feed the flame with countless marble-covered octavos from the modern\nschool. But having made this concession, allow me to observe, that\nbecause there has been a voluptuous Petronius, a scoffing Lucian, and a\nlicentious Ovid, to say nothing of the numberless modern poets, or\nrather individual poems, that are immoral and corrupt--shall we\ntherefore exclude all works of imagination from the library of a young\nman? Surely? we should not indiscriminately banish the Muses, as\ninfallible corrupters of the youthful mind; I would rather consider a\nblameless poet as the auxiliar of virtue. Whatever talent enables a\nwriter to possess an empire over the heart, and to lead the passions at\nhis command, puts it in his power to be of no small service to mankind.\nIt is no new remark that the abuse of any good thing is no argument\nagainst its legitimate use. Intoxication affords no just reason against\nthe use of wine, nor prodigality against the possession of wealth. In\nthe instance in dispute, I should rather infer that a talent capable of\ndiffusing so much mischief was susceptible of no small benefit. That it\nhas been so often abused by its misapplication, is one of the highest\ninstances of the ingratitude of man for one of the highest gifts of\nGod.\"\n\n\"I can not think,\" said I, \"that the Almighty conferred such a faculty\nwith a wish to have it extinguished. Works of imagination have in many\ncountries been a chief instrument in civilization. Poetry has not only\npreceded science in the history of human progress, but it has in many\ncountries preceded the knowledge of the mechanical arts; and I have\nsomewhere read, that in Scotland they could write elegant Latin verse\nbefore they could make a wheel-barrow. For my own part, in my late visit\nto London, I thought the decline of poetry no favorable symptom.\"\n\n\"I rejoice to hear it _is_ declining,\" said Mr. Tyrrel. \"I hope that\nwhat is decaying, may in time be extinguished.\"\n\n\"Mr. Tyrrel would have been delighted with that with which I was\ndispleased,\" replied I. \"I met with philosophers, who were like Plato in\nnothing but his abhorrence of the Muses; with politicians, who resembled\nBurleigh only in his enmity to Spenser; and with warriors, who, however\nthey might emulate Alexander in his conquests, would never have imitated\nhim in sparing the house of Pindarus.\"\n\n\"The _art_ of poetry,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"is to touch the passions, and\nits _duty_ to lead them on the side of virtue. To raise and to purify\nthe amusements of mankind; to multiply and to exalt pleasures, which\nbeing purely intellectual, may help to exclude such as are gross, in\nbeings so addicted to sensuality, is surely not only to give pleasure,\nbut to render service. It is allowable to seize every avenue to the\nheart of a being so prone to evil; to rescue him by every fair means,\nnot only from the degradation of vice, but from the dominion of\nidleness. I do not now speak of gentlemen of the sacred function, to\nwhich Mr. Edward Tyrrel aspires, but of those who, having no profession,\nhave no stated employment; and who, having more leisure, will be in\ndanger of exceeding the due bounds in the article of amusement. Let us\nthen endeavor to snatch our youth of fashion from the low pleasures of\nthe dissolute; to snatch them, not only from the destruction of the\ngaming-table, but from the excesses of the dining-table, by inviting\nthem to an elegant delight that is safe, and especially by enlarging the\nrange of pure mental pleasure.\n\n\"In order to this, let us do all we can to cultivate their taste, and\ninnocently indulge their fancy. Let us contend with impure writers,\nthose deadliest enemies to the youthful mind, by opposing to them in the\nchaster author, images more attractive, wit more acute, learning more\nvarious; in all which excellences our first-rate poets certainly excel\ntheir vicious competitors.\"\n\n\"Would you, Mr. Tyrrel,\" said Sir John, \"throw into the enemy's camp all\nthe light arms which often successfully annoy where the heavy artillery\ncan not reach?\"\n\n\"Let us,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"rescue from the hands of the profane and\nthe impure, the monopoly of wit which, they affect to possess, and which\nthey would possess, if no good men had written works of elegant\nliterature, and if all good men totally despised them.\"\n\n\"For my own part,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"I believe that a good man, in my\nsense of the word, will neither write works of imagination, nor read\nthem.\"\n\n\"At your age and mine, and better employed as we certainly may be,\" said\nMr. Stanley, \"we want not such resources. I myself, though I retain the\nrelish, have little leisure for the indulgence, which yet I would allow,\nthough with great discrimination, to the young and the unoccupied. What\nis to whet the genius of the champions of virtue, so as to enable them\nsuccessfully to combat the leaders of vice and infidelity, if we refuse\nto let them be occasionally sharpened and polished by such studies? That\nmodel of brilliant composition, Bishop Jeremy Taylor, was of this\nopinion, when he said, 'by whatever instrument piety is advantaged, use\nthat, though thou grindest thy spears and arrows at the forges of the\nPhilistines.'\n\n\"I know,\" continued Mr. Stanley, \"that a Christian need not borrow\nweapons of attack or defense from the classic armory; but, to drop all\nmetaphor, if he is called upon to defend truth and virtue against men\nwhose minds are adorned with all that is elegant, strengthened with all\nthat is powerful, and enriched with all that is persuasive, from the\nwriters in question--is he likely to engage with due advantage if his\nown mind be destitute of the embellishments with which theirs abound?\nWhile wit and imagination are _their_ favorite instruments, shall we\nconsider the aid of either as useless, much less as sinful in their\nopponents?\"\n\n\"While young men _will_ be amused,\" said Sir John, \"it is surely of\nimportance that they should be _safely_ amused. We should not therefore\nwish to obliterate in authors such faculties as wit and fancy, nor to\nextinguish a taste for them in readers.\"\n\n\"Show me any one instance of good that ever was effected by any one\npoet,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"and I will give up the point; while, on the\nother hand, a thousand instances of mischief might be produced.\"\n\n\"The latter part of your assertion, sir,\" said I, \"I fear is too true:\nbut to what evil has elevation of fancy led Milton, or Milton his\nreaders? Into what immoralities did it involve Spenser or Cowley? Has\nThomson added to the crimes or the calamities of mankind? Into what\nimmoralities did it plunge Gray, or Goldsmith? Has it tainted the purity\nof Beattie in his Minstrel, or that of the living minstrel of the LAY?\nWhat reader has Mason corrupted, or what reader has Cowper not\nbenefitted? Milton was an enthusiast both in religion and politics. Many\nenthusiasts with whom he was connected, doubtless condemned the exercise\nof his imagination in his immortal poem as a crime; but his genius was\ntoo mighty to be restrained by opposition, and his imagination too vast\nand powerful to be kept down by a party. Had he confined himself to his\nprose writings, weighty and elaborate as some of them are, how little\nservice would he have done the world, and how little would he now be\nread or quoted! In his life-time politics might blind his enemies, and\nfanaticism his friends. But now, who, comparatively, reads the\nIconoclastes? who does not read Comus?\"\n\n\"What then,\" said Mr. Tyrrel, \"you would have our young men spend their\ntime in reading idle verses, and our girls, I suppose, in reading loose\nromances?\"\n\n\"It is to preserve both from evils which I deprecate,\" said Mr. Stanley,\n\"that I would consign the most engaging subjects to the best hands, and\nraise the taste of our youth, by allowing a little of their leisure, and\nof their leisure only, to such amusements; and that chiefly with a view\nto disengage them from worse pursuits. It is not romance, but indolence;\nit is not poetry, but sensuality, which are the prevailing evils of the\nday--evils far more fatal in themselves, far more durable in their\neffects, than the perusal of works of wit and genius. Imagination will\ncool of itself. The effervescence of fancy will soon subside; but\nabsorbing dissipation, but paralyzing idleness, but degrading self-love,\n\n    \"Grows with their growth, and strengthens with their strength.\"\n\n\"A judicious reformer,\" said Sir John, \"will accommodate his remedy to\nan existing and not an imaginary evil. When the old romances, the grand\nCyruses, the Clelias, the Calprenedes, and the Cassandras, had turned\nall the young heads in Europe; or when the fury of knight-errantry\ndemanded the powerful rein of Cervantes to check it--it was a duty to\nattempt to lower the public delirium. When, in our own age and country,\nSterne wrote his corrupt, but too popular lesser work, he became the\nmischievous founder of the school of sentiment. A hundred writers\ncommunicated, a hundred thousand readers caught, the infection.\nSentimentality was the disease which then required to be expelled. The\nreign of Sterne is past. Sensibility is discarded, and with it the\nsoftness which it must be confessed belonged to it. Romance is vanished,\nand with it the heroic, though somewhat unnatural, elevation which\naccompanied it. We have little to regret in the loss of either; nor have\nwe much cause to rejoice in what we have gained by the exchange. A\npervading and substantial selfishness, the striking characteristic of\nour day, is no great improvement on the wildness of the old romance, or\nthe vapid puling of the sentimental school.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" said I (L'Almanac des Gourmands at that instant darting across\nmy mind), \"it is as honorable for a gentleman to excel in critical as in\nculinary skill. It is as noble to cultivate the intellectual taste, as\nthat of the palate. It is at least as creditable to discuss the\ncomparative merits of Sophocles and Shakspeare, as the rival ingredients\nof a soup or a sauce. I will even venture to affirm that it is as\ndignified an amusement to run a tilt in favor of Virgil or Tasso against\ntheir assailants, as to run a barouche against a score of rival\nbarouches; and though I own that, in Gulliver's land of the Houyhnhnms,\nthe keeping up the breed of horses might have been the nobler\npatriotism, yet in Great Britain it is hitherto, at least, no\ncontemptible exertion of skill and industry 'to keep up the breed of\ngentlemen.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n\nI strolled out alone, intending to call at the Rectory, but was\nprevented by meeting the worthy Dr. Barlow, who was coming to the Grove.\nI could not lose so fair an opportunity of introducing a subject that\nwas seldom absent from my thoughts. I found it was a subject on which I\nhad no new discoveries to impart. He told me he had seen and rejoiced in\nthe election my heart had made. I was surprised at his penetration. He\nsmiled, and told me he \"took no great credit for his sagacity in\nperceiving what was obvious to spectators far more indifferent than\nhimself; that I resembled those animals who, by hiding their heads in\nthe earth, fancied nobody could see them.\"\n\nI asked him a thousand questions about Lucilla, whose fine mind I knew\nhe had in some measure contributed to form. I inquired, with an\neagerness which he called jealousy, who were her admirers? \"As many men\nas have seen her,\" replied he; \"I know no man who has so many rivals as\nyourself. To relieve your apprehensions, however, I will tell you, that\nthough there have been several competitors for her favor, not one has\nbeen accepted. There has, indeed, this summer been a very formidable\ncandidate, young Lord Staunton, who has a large estate in the county,\nand whom she met on a visit.\" At these words I felt my fears revive. A\nyoung and handsome peer seemed so redoubtable a rival, that for a moment\nI only remembered she was a woman, and forgot that she was Lucilla.\n\n\"You may set your heart at rest,\" said Dr. Barlow, who saw my emotion;\n\"she heard he had seduced the innocent daughter of one of his tenants,\nunder the most specious pretense of honorable love. This, together with\nthe looseness of his religious principles, led her to give his lordship\na positive refusal, though he is neither destitute of talents, nor\npersonal accomplishments.\"\n\nHow ashamed was I of my jealousy! How I felt my admiration increase! Yet\nI thought it was too great before to admit of augmentation. \"Another\nproposal,\" said Dr. Barlow, \"was made to her father by a man every way\nunexceptionable. But she desired him to be informed that it was her\nearnest request that he would proceed no further, but spare her the pain\nof refusing a gentleman for whose character she entertained a sincere\nrespect; but being persuaded she could never be able to feel more than\nrespect, she positively declined receiving his addresses, assuring him,\nat the same time, that she sincerely desired to retain, as a friend, him\nwhom she felt herself obliged to refuse as a husband. She is as far from\nthe vanity of seeking to make conquest, as from the ungenerous insolence\nof using ill those whom her merit has captivated, and her judgment can\nnot accept.\"\n\nAfter admiring in the warmest terms the purity and generosity of her\nheart, I pressed Dr. Barlow still further, as to the interior of her\nmind. I questioned him as to her early habits, and particularly as to\nher religious attainments, telling him that nothing was indifferent to\nme which related to Lucilla.\n\n\"Miss Stanley,\" replied he, \"is governed by a simple, practical end, in\nall her religious pursuits. She reads her Bible, not from habit, that\nshe may acquit herself of a customary form; not to exercise her\ningenuity by allegorizing literal passages, or spiritualizing plain\nones, but that she may improve in knowledge and grow in grace. She\naccustoms herself to meditation, in order to get her mind more deeply\nimbued with a sense of eternal things. She practices self-examination,\nthat she may learn to watch against the first risings of bad\ndispositions, and to detect every latent evil in her heart. She lives in\nthe regular habit of prayer, not only that she may implore pardon of\nsin, but that she may obtain strength against it. She told me one day\nwhen she was ill, that if she did not constantly examine the actual\nstate of her mind, she should pray at random, without any certainty what\nparticular sins she should pray against, or what were her particular\nwants. She has read much Scripture and little controversy. There are\nsome doctrines that she does not pretend to define, which she yet\npractically adopts. She can not perhaps give you a disquisition on the\nmysteries of the Holy Spirit, but she can and does fervently implore his\nguidance and instruction; she believes in his efficacy, and depends on\nhis support. She is sensible that those truths, which from their deep\nimportance are most obvious, have more of the vitality of religion, and\ninfluence practice more, than those abstruse points which unhappily\nsplit the religious world into so many parties.\n\n\"If I were to name what are her predominant virtues, I should say\nsincerity and humility. Conscious of her own imperfections, she never\njustifies her faults, and seldom extenuates them. She receives reproof\nwith meekness, and advice with gratitude. Her own conscience is always\nso ready to condemn her, that she never wonders, nor takes offense, at\nthe censures of others.\"\n\n\"That softness of manner which you admire in her is not the varnish of\ngood breeding, nor is it merely the effect of good temper, though in\nboth she excels, but it is the result of humility. She appears humble,\nnot because a mild exterior is graceful, but because she has an inward\nconviction of unworthiness which prevents an assuming manner. Yet her\nhumility has no cant; she never disburdens her conscience by a few\ndisparaging phrases, nor lays a trap for praise by indiscriminately\ncondemning herself. Her humility never impairs her cheerfulness; for the\nsense of her wants directs her to seek, and her faith enables her to\nfind, the sure foundation of a better hope than any which can be derived\nfrom a delusive confidence in her own goodness.\"\n\n\"One day,\" continued Dr. Barlow, \"when I blamed her gently for her\nbackwardness in expressing her opinion on some serious point, she said,\n'I always feel diffident in speaking on these subjects, not only lest I\nshould be _thought_ to assume, but lest I really _should_ assume a\ndegree of piety which may not belong to me. My great advantages make me\njealous of myself. My dear father has so carefully instructed me, and I\nlive so much in the habit of hearing his pious sentiments that I am\noften afraid of appearing better than I am, and of pretending to feel in\nmy heart what perhaps I only approve in my judgment. When my beloved\nmother was ill,' continued she, 'I often caught myself saying\nmechanically, God's will be done! when I blush to own how little I felt\nin my heart of that resignation of which my lips were so lavish.'\"\n\nI hung with inexpressible delight on every word Dr. Barlow uttered, and\nexpressed my fears that such a prize was too much above my deserts to\nallow me to encourage very sanguine hopes. \"You have my cordial wishes\nfor your success,\" said he, \"though I shall lament the day when you\nsnatch so fair a flower from our fields, to transplant it into your\nnorthern gardens.\"\n\nWe had now reached the park-gate, where Sir John and Lady Belfield\njoined us. As it was very hot, Dr. Barlow proposed to conduct us a\nnearer way. He carried us through a small nursery of fruit-trees, which\nI had not before observed, though it was adjoining the ladies'\nflower-garden, from which it was separated and concealed by a row of\ntall trees. I expressed my surprise that the delicate Lucilla would\nallow so coarse an inclosure to be so near her ornamented ground. \"You\nsee she does all she can to shut it out,\" replied he. \"I will tell you\nhow it happens, for I can not vindicate the taste of my fair friend,\nwithout exposing a better quality in her. But if I betray her, you must\nnot betray me.\n\n\"It is a rule when any servant who has lived seven years at the Grove,\nmarries, provided they have conducted themselves well, and make a\nprudent choice, for Mr. Stanley to give them a piece of ground on the\nwaste, to build a cottage; he also allows them to take stones from his\nquarry, and lime from his kiln; to this he adds a bit of ground for a\ngarden. Mrs. Stanley presents some kitchen furniture, and gives a\nwedding dinner; and the rector refuses his fee for performing the\nceremony.\"\n\n\"Caroline,\" said Sir John, \"this is not the first time since we have\nbeen at the Grove that I have been struck with observing how many\nbenefits naturally result to the poor, from the rich living on\ntheir own estates. Their dependants have a thousand petty local\nadvantages, which cost almost nothing to the giver, which are yet\nvaluable to the receiver, and of which the absent never think.\"\n\n\"You have heard,\" said Dr. Barlow, \"that Miss Stanley, from her\nchildhood, has been passionately fond of cultivating a garden. When she\nwas hardly fourteen, she began to reflect that the delight she took in\nthis employment was attended neither with pleasure nor profit to any one\nbut herself, and she became jealous of a gratification which was so\nentirely selfish. She begged this piece of waste ground of her father,\nand stocked it with a number of fine young fruit-trees of the common\nsort, apples, pears, plums, and the smaller fruits. When there is a\nwedding among the older servants, or when any good girl out of her\nschool marries, she presents their little empty garden with a dozen\nyoung apple-trees, and a few trees of the other sorts, never forgetting\nto embellish their little court with roses and honey-suckles. These last\nshe transplants from the shrubbery, not to fill up the _village garden_,\nas it is called, with any thing that is of no positive use. She employs\na poor lame man in the village a day in a week to look after this\nnursery, and by cutting and grafts a good stock is raised on a small\nspace. It is done at her own expense, Mr. Stanley making this a\ncondition when he gave her the ground; 'otherwise,' said he, 'trifling\nas it is, it would be my charity and not hers, and she would get thanked\nfor a kindness which would cost her nothing.' The warm-hearted little\nPh[oe]be cooperates in this, and all her sister's labors of love.\n\n\"Some such union of charity with every personal indulgence, she\ngenerally imposes on herself; and from this association she has acquired\nanother virtue, for she tells me, smiling, she is sometimes obliged to\ncontent herself with practicing frugality instead of charity. When she\nfinds she can not afford both her own gratification, and the charitable\nact which she wanted to associate with it, and is therefore compelled to\ngive up the charity, she compels herself to give up the indulgence also.\nBy this self-denial she gets a little money in hand for the next demand,\nand thus is enabled to afford both next time.\"\n\nAs he finished speaking, we spied the lame gardener pruning and clearing\nthe trees. \"Well, James,\" said the Doctor, \"how does your nursery\nthrive?\" \"Why, sir,\" said the poor man, \"we are rather thin of stout\ntrees at present. You know we had three weddings at Christmas, which\ntook thirty-six of my best apple-trees at a blow, besides half a dozen\ntall pear-trees, and as many plums. But we shall soon fetch it up, for\nMiss Lucilla makes me plant two for every one that is removed, so that\nwe are always provided for a wedding, come when it will.\"\n\nI now recollected that I had been pleased with observing so many young\norchards and flourishing cottage gardens in the village: little did I\nsuspect the fair hand which could thus in a few years diffuse an air of\nsmiling comfort around these humble habitations, and embellish poverty\nitself. She makes, they told me, her periodical visits of inspection to\nsee that neatness and order do not degenerate.\n\nNot to appear too eager, I asked the poor man some questions about his\nhealth, which seemed infirm. \"I am but weak, sir,\" said he, \"for matter\nof that, but I should have been dead long ago but for the Squire's\nfamily. He gives me the run of his kitchen, and Miss Lucilla allows me\nhalf-a-crown a week for one day's work and any odd hour I can spare; but\nshe don't let me earn it, for she is always watching for fear it should\nbe too hot, or too cold, or too wet for me; and she brings me my dose of\nbark herself into this tool-house, that she may be sure I take it; for\nshe says, servants and poor people like to have medicines provided for\nthem, but don't care to take them. Then she watches that I don't throw\nmy coat on the wet grass, which she says, gives laboring men so much\nrheumatism; and she made me this nice flannel waistcoat, sir, with her\nown hands. At Christmas they give me a new suit from top to toe, so that\nI want for nothing but a more thankful heart, for I never can be\ngrateful enough to God and my benefactors.\"\n\nI asked some further questions, only to have the pleasure of hearing him\ntalk longer about Lucilla. \"But, sir,\" said he, interrupting me, \"I hear\nbad news, very bad news. Pray, your honor, forgive me.\" \"What do you\nmean, James?\" said I, seeing his eyes fill. \"Why, sir, all the servants\nat the Grove will have it that you are come to carry off Miss Lucilla,\nGod bless her whenever she goes. Your Mr. Edwards, sir, says you are one\nof the best of gentlemen, but indeed, indeed, I don't know who can\ndeserve her. She will carry a blessing wherever she goes.\" The honest\nfellow put up the sleeve of his coat to brush away his tears, nor was I\nashamed of those with which his honest affection filled my own eyes.\nWhile we were talking, a poor little girl, who I knew, by her neat\nuniform, belonged to Miss Stanley's school, passed us with a little\nbasket in her hand. James called to her, \"Make haste, Rachel, you are\nafter your time.\"\n\n\"What, this is market-day, James, is it?\" said Doctor Barlow, \"and\nRachel is come for her nosegays.\" \"Yes, sir,\" said James; \"I forgot to\ntell their honors, that every Saturday, as soon as her school is over,\nthe younger Misses give Rachel leave to come and fetch some flowers out\nof their garden, which she carries to the town to sell; she commonly\ngets a shilling, half of which they make her lay out to bring home a\nlittle tea for her poor sick mother, and the other half she lays up to\nbuy shoes and stockings for herself and her crippled sister. Every\nlittle is a help where there is nothing, sir.\"\n\nSir John said nothing, but looked at Lady Belfield, whose eyes glistened\nwhile she softly said, \"O, how little do the rich ever think what the\naggregate even of their own squandered shillings would do in the way of\ncharity, were they systematically applied to it!\"\n\nJames now unlocked a little private door, which opened into the\npleasure-ground. There, at a distance, sitting in a circle on the\nnew-mown grass, under a tree, we beheld all the little Stanleys, with a\nbasket of flowers between them, out of which they were earnestly\nemployed in sorting and tying up nosegays. We stood some time admiring\ntheir little busy faces and active fingers, without their perceiving us,\nand got up to them just as they were putting their prettily-formed\nbouquets into Rachel's basket, with which she marched off, with many\ncharges from the children to waste no time by the way, and to be sure to\nleave the nosegay that had the myrtle in it at Mrs. Williams's.\n\n\"How many nosegays have you given to Rachel to-day, Louisa?\" said Dr.\nBarlow to the eldest of the four. \"Only three apiece, sir,\" replied she.\n\"We think it a bad day when we can't make up our dozen. They are all our\nown; we seldom touch mamma's flowers, and we never suffer James to take\nours, because Ph[oe]be says it might be tempting him. Little Jane\nlamented that Lucilla had given them nothing to-day, except two or three\nsprigs of her best flowering myrtle, which,\" added she, \"we make Rachel\ngive into the bargain to a poor sick lady who loves flowers, and used to\nhave good ones of her own, but who has now no money to spare, and could\nnot afford to give more than the common price for a nosegay for her sick\nroom. So we always slip a nice flower or two out of the green-house into\nher little bunch, and say nothing. When we walk that way we often leave\nher some flowers ourselves, and would do it oftener if it did not hurt\npoor Rachel's trade.\"\n\nAs we walked away from the sweet prattlers, Dr. Barlow said: \"These\nlittle creatures already emulate their sisters in associating some petty\nkindness with their own pleasures. The act is trifling, but the habit is\ngood; as is every habit which helps to take us out of self, which\nteaches us to transfer our attention from our own gratification to the\nwants or the pleasures of another.\"\n\n\"I confess,\" said Lady Belfield, as we entered the house, \"that it never\noccurred to me that it was any part of charity to train my children to\nthe habit of sacrificing their time or their pleasure for the benefit of\nothers, though to do them justice, they are very feeling and very\nliberal with their money.\"\n\n\"My dear Caroline,\" said Sir John, \"it is our money, not theirs. It is,\nI fear, a cheap liberality, and abridges not themselves of one\nenjoyment. They well know we are so pleased to see them charitable that\nwe shall instantly repay them with interest whatever they give away, so\nthat we have hitherto afforded them no opportunity to show their actual\ndispositions. Nay, I begin to fear that they may become charitable\nthrough covetousness, if they find out that the more they give the more\nthey shall get. We must correct this artificial liberality as soon as we\nget home.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\nA few days after, Sir John Belfield and I agreed to take a ride to Mr.\nCarlton's, where we breakfasted. Nothing could be more rational than the\nwhole turn of his mind, nor more agreeable and unreserved than his\nconversation. His behavior to his amiable wife was affectionately\nattentive, and Sir John, who is a most critical observer, remarked that\nit was quite natural and unaffected. It appeared to be the result of\nesteem inspired by her merit, and quickened by a sense of his own former\nunworthiness, which made him feel as if he could never do enough to\nefface the memory of past unkindness. He manifested evident symptoms of\na mind earnestly intent on the discovery and pursuit of moral and\nreligious truth; and from the natural ardor of his character, and the\nsincerity of his remorse, his attainments seemed likely to be rapid and\nconsiderable.\n\nThe sweet benignity of Mrs. Carlton's countenance was lighted up at our\nentrance with a smile of satisfaction. We had been informed with what\npleasure she observed every accession of right-minded acquaintance which\nher husband made. Though her natural modesty prevented her from\nintroducing any subject herself, yet when any thing useful was brought\nforward by others, she promoted it by a look compounded of pleasure and\nintelligence.\n\nAfter a variety of topics had been dispatched, the conversation fell on\nthe prejudices which were commonly entertained by men of the world\nagainst religion. \"For my own part,\" said Mr. Carlton, \"I must confess\nthat no man had ever more or stronger prejudices to combat than myself.\nI mean not my own exculpation when I add, that the imprudence, the want\nof judgment, and, above all, the incongruous mixtures and\ninconsistencies in many characters who are reckoned religious, are ill\ncalculated to do away the unfavorable opinions of men of an opposite way\nof thinking. As I presume that you, gentlemen, are not ignorant of the\nerrors of my early life--error indeed is an appellation far too mild--I\nshall not scruple to own to you the source of those prejudices which\nretarded my progress, even after I became ashamed of my deviations from\nvirtue. I had felt the turpitude of my bad habits long before I had\ncourage to renounce them; and I renounced them long before I had courage\nto avow my abhorrence of them.\"\n\nSir John and I expressed ourselves extremely obliged by the candor of\nhis declaration, and assured him that his further communications would\nnot only gratify but benefit us.\n\n\"Educated as I had been,\" said Mr. Carlton, \"in an almost entire\nignorance of religion, mine was rather a habitual indifference than a\nsystematic unbelief. My thoughtless course of life, though it led me to\nhope that Christianity might not be true, yet had by no means been able\nto convince me that it was false. As I had not been taught to search for\ntruth at the fountain, for I was unacquainted with the Bible, I had no\nreadier means for forming my judgment than by observing, though with a\ncareless and casual eye, what effect religion produced in those who\nprofessed to be influenced by it. My observations augmented my\nprejudices. What I saw of the professors increased my dislike of the\nprofession. All the charges brought by their enemies, for I had been\naccustomed to weigh the validity of testimony, had not riveted my\ndislike so much as the difference between their own avowed principles\nand their obvious practice. Religious men should be the more cautious of\ngiving occasion for reproach, as they know the world is always on the\nwatch, and is more glad to have its prejudices confirmed than removed.\n\n\"I seize the moment of Mrs. Carlton's absence (who was just then called\nout of the room, but returned almost immediately) to observe, that what\nrooted my disgust was, the eagerness with which the mother of my\ninestimable wife, who made a great parade of religion, pressed the\nmarriage of her only child with a man whose conduct she knew to be\nirregular, and of whose principles she entertained a just, that is, an\nunfavorable opinion. To see, I repeat, the religious mother of Mrs.\nCarlton obviously governed in her zeal for promoting our union by\nmotives as worldly as those of my poor father, who pretended to no\nreligion at all, would have extremely lowered any respect which I might\nhave previously been induced to entertain for characters of that\ndescription. Nor was this disgust diminished by my acquaintance with Mr.\nTyrrel. I had known him while a professed man of the world, and had at\nthat time, I fear, disliked his violent temper, his narrow mind, and his\ncoarse manners, more than his vices.\n\n\"I had heard of the power of religion to change the heart, and I\nridiculed the wild chimera. My contempt for this notion was confirmed by\nthe conduct of Mr. Tyrrel in his new character. I found it had produced\nlittle change in him, except furnishing him with a new subject of\ndiscussion. I saw that he had only laid down one set of opinions and\ntaken up another, with no addition whatever to his virtues, and with the\naddition to his vices of spiritual pride and self-confidence; for with\nhypocrisy I have no right to charge any man. I observed that Tyrrel and\none or two of his new friends rather courted attack than avoided it.\nThey considered discretion as the infirmity of a worldly mind, and every\nattempt at kindness or conciliation as an abandonment of faith. They\neagerly ascribed to their piety the dislike which was often excited by\ntheir peculiarities. I found them apt to dignify the disapprobation\nwhich their singularity occasioned with the name of persecution. I have\nseen them take comfort in the belief that it was their religion which\nwas disliked, when perhaps it was chiefly their oddities.\n\n\"At Tyrrel's I became acquainted with your friends Mr. and Mrs. Ranby. I\nleave you to judge whether their characters, that of the lady\nespecially, was calculated to do away my prejudices. I had learned from\nmy favorite Roman poet a precept in composition, of never making a God\nappear, except on occasions worthy of a God. I have since had reason to\nthink this rule as justly theological as it is classical. So thought not\nthe Ranbys.\n\n\"It will, indeed, readily be allowed by every reflecting mind, as God is\nto be viewed in all his works, so his 'never-failing providence ordereth\nall things both in heaven and on earth.' But surely there is something\nvery offensive in the indecent familiarity with which the name of God\nand Providence is brought in on every trivial occasion, as was the\nconstant practice of Mr. and Mrs. Ranby. I was not even then so\nillogical a reasoner as to allow a general and deny a particular\nProvidence. If the one were true, I inferred that the other could not be\nfalse. But I felt that the religion of these people was of a slight\ntexture and a bad taste. I was disgusted with littleness in some\ninstances, and with inconsistency in others. Still their absurdity gave\nme no right to suspect their sincerity.\n\n\"Whenever Mrs. Ranby had a petty inclination to gratify, she had always\nrecourse to what she called the _leadings of Providence_. In matters of\nno more moment than whether she should drink tea with one neighbor\ninstead of another, she was _impelled_, or _directed_, or _overruled_. I\nobserved that she always took care to interpret these _leadings_ to her\nown taste, and under their sanction she always did what her fancy led\nher to do. She professed to follow this guidance on such minute\noccasions, that I had almost said her piety seemed a little impious. To\nthe actual dispensations of Providence, especially when they came in a\ntrying or adverse shape, I did not observe more submission than I had\nseen in persons who could not be suspected of religion. I must own to\nyou also, that as I am rather fastidious, I began to fancy that vulgar\nlanguage, quaint phrases, and false grammar, were necessarily connected\nwith religion. The sacrifice of taste and elegance, seemed\nindispensable, and I was inclined to fear that if _they_ were right, it\nwould be impossible to get to heaven with good English.\"\n\n\"Though I grant there is some truth in your remarks, sir,\" said I, \"you\nmust allow that when men are determined at all events to hunt down\nreligious characters, they are never at a loss to find plausible\nobjections to justify their dislike; and while they conceal, even from\nthemselves, the real motive of their aversion, the vigilance with which\nthey pry into the characters of men who are reckoned pious, is exercised\nwith the secret hope of finding faults enough to confirm their\nprejudices.\"\n\n\"As a general truth, you are perfectly right,\" said Mr. Carlton; \"but at\nthe period to which I allude, I had now got to that stage of my\nprogress, as to be rather searching for instances to invite than to\nrepel me in my inquiry.\"\n\n\"You will grant, however,\" said I, \"that it is a common effect of\nprejudice to transfer the fault of a religious man to religion itself.\nSuch a man happens to have an uncouth manner, an awkward gesture, an\nunmodulated voice; his allusions may be coarse, his phraseology quaint,\nhis language slovenly. The solid virtues which may lie disguised under\nthese incumbrances go for nothing. The man is absurd, and therefore\nChristianity is ridiculous. Its truth, however, though it may be\neclipsed, can not be extinguished. Like its divine Author, it is the\nsame yesterday, to-day, and forever.\"\n\n\"There was another repulsive circumstance,\" replied Mr. Carlton: \"the\nscanty charities both of Tyrrel and his new friends, so inferior to the\nliberality of my father and of Mr. Flam, who never professed to be\ngoverned by any higher motive than mere feeling, strengthened my\ndislike. The calculations of mere reason taught me that the religious\nman who does not greatly exceed the man of the world in his\nliberalities, falls short of him; because the worldly man who gives\nliberally, acts above his principle, while the Christian who does no\nmore, falls short of his. And though I by no means insist that\nliberality is a certain indication of piety, yet I will venture to\nassert that the want of the one is no doubtful symptom of the absence of\nthe other.\n\n\"I next resolved to watch carefully the conduct of another description\nof Christians, who come under the class of the formal and the decent.\nThey were considered as more creditable, but I did not perceive them to\nbe more exemplary. They were more absorbed in the world, and more\ngoverned by its opinions. I found them clamorous in defense of the\nchurch in words, but neither adorning it by their lives, nor embracing\nits doctrines in their hearts. Rigid in the observance of some of its\nexternal rites, but little influenced by its liberal principles, and\ncharitable spirit. They venerated the establishment merely as a\npolitical institution, but of her outward forms they conceived, as\ncomprehending the whole of her excellence. Of her spiritual beauty and\nsuperiority, they seemed to have no conception. I observed in them less\nwarmth of affection, for those with whom they agreed in external\nprofession, than of rancor for those who differed from them, though but\na single shade, and in points of no importance. They were cordial\nhaters, and frigid lovers. Had they lived in the early ages, when the\nchurch was split into parties by paltry disputes, they would have\nthought the controversy about the time of keeping Easter of more\nconsequence than the event itself, which that festival celebrates.\"\n\n\"My dear sir,\" said I, as soon as he had done speaking, \"you have\naccounted very naturally for your prejudices. Your chief error seems to\nhave consisted in the selection of the persons you adopted as standards.\nThey all differed as much from the right as they differed from each\nother; and the truth is, their vehement desire to differ from each\nother, was a chief cause why they departed so much from the right. But\nyour instances were so unhappily chosen, that they prove nothing against\nChristianity. The two opposite descriptions of persons who deterred you\nfrom religion, and who passed muster in their respective corps, under\nthe generic term of religious, would, I believe, be scarcely\nacknowledged as such by the soberly and the soundly pious.\"\n\n\"My own subsequent experience,\" resumed Mr. Carlton, \"has confirmed the\njustness of your remark. When I began, through the gradual change\nwrought in my views and actions, by the silent, but powerful preaching\nof Mrs. Carlton's example, to have less interest in believing that\nChristianity was false, I then applied myself to search for reasons to\nbelieve that it was true. But plain, abstract reasoning, though it might\ncatch hold on beings who are all pure intellect, and though it might\nhave given a right bias even to _my_ opinions, would probably never have\ndetermined my conduct, unless I saw it clothed, as it were, with a body.\nI wanted examples which should influence me to act, as well as proofs\nwhich should incline me to believe; something which would teach me what\nto do, as well as what to think. I wanted exemplifications as well as\nprecepts. I doubted of all merely speculative truth. I wanted, from\nbeholding the effect, to refer back to the principle. I wanted arguments\nmore palpable and less theoretic. Surely, said I to myself, if religion\nbe a principle, it must be an operative one, and I would rationally\ninfer that Christianity were true, if the tone of Christian practice\nwere high.\n\n\"I began to look clandestinely into Henrietta's Bible. There I indeed\nfound that the spirit of religion was invested with just such a body as\nI had wished to see; that it exhibited actions as well as sentiments,\ncharacters, as well as doctrines; the life portrayed evidently governed\nby the principle inculcated; the conduct and the doctrine in just\ncorrespondence. But if the Bible be true, thought I, may we not\nreasonably expect that the principles which once produced the exalted\npractice which that Bible records, will produce similar effects now?\n\n\"I put, rashly perhaps, the truth of Christianity on this issue, and\nsought society of a higher stamp. Fortunately the increasing external\ndecorum of my conduct began to make my reception less difficult among\ngood men than it had been. Hitherto, and that for the sake of my wife,\nmy visits had rather been endured than encouraged; nor was I myself\nforward to seek the society which shunned me. Even with those superior\ncharacters with whom I did occasionally associate, I had not come near\nenough to form an exact estimate.\n\n\"DISINTERESTEDNESS and CONSISTENCY had become with me a sort of\ntouchstone, by which to try the characters I was investigating. My\nexperiment was favorable. I had for some time observed my wife's\nconduct, with a mixture of admiration as to the act, and incredulity as\nto the motive. I had seen her foregoing her own indulgences, that she\nmight augment those of a husband whom she had so little reason to love.\nHere were the two qualities I required, with a renunciation of self\nwithout parade or profession. Still this was a solitary instance. When\non a nearer survey, I beheld Dr. Barlow exhibiting by his exemplary\nconduct during the week, the best commentary on his Sunday's sermon:\nwhen I saw him refuse a living of nearly twice the value of that he\npossessed, because the change would diminish his usefulness, I was\n_staggered_.\n\n\"When I saw Mr. and Mrs. Stanley spending their time and fortune as\nentirely in acts of beneficence, as if they had built their eternal\nhope on charity alone, and yet utterly renouncing any such confidence,\nand trusting entirely to another foundation;--when I saw Lucilla, a girl\nof eighteen, refuse a young nobleman of a clear estate, and neither\ndisagreeable in his person or manner, on the single avowed ground of his\nloose principles; when the noble rejection of the daughter was supported\nby the parents, whose principles no arguments drawn from rank or fortune\ncould subvert or shake--I was _convinced_.\n\n\"These, and some other instances of the same nature, were exactly the\ntest I had been seeking. Here was _disinterestedness_ upon full proof.\nHere was _consistency_ between practice and profession. By such\nexamples, and by cordially adopting those principles which produced\nthem, together with a daily increasing sense of my past enormities, I\nhope to become in time less unworthy of the wife to whom I owe my peace\non earth, and my hope in heaven.\"\n\nThe tears which had been collecting in Mrs. Carlton's eyes for some\ntime, now silently stole down her cheeks. Sir John and myself were\ndeeply affected with the frank and honest narrative to which we had been\nlistening. It raised in us an esteem and affection for the narrator\nwhich has since been continually augmenting. I do not think the worse of\nhis state, for the difficulties which impeded it, nor that his\nadvancement will be less sure, because it has been gradual. His fear of\ndelusion has been a salutary guard. The apparent slowness of his\nprogress has arisen from his dread of self-deception, and the diligence\nof his search is an indication of his sincerity.\n\n\"But did you not find,\" said I, \"that the piety of these more correct\nChristians drew upon them nearly as much censure and suspicion as the\nindiscretion of the enthusiasts? and that the formal class who were\nnearly as far removed from effective piety, as from wild fanaticism,\nran away with all the credit of religion?'\"\n\n\"With those,\" replied Mr. Carlton, \"who are on the watch to discredit\nChristianity, no consistency can stand their determined opposition; but\nthe fair and candid inquirer will not reject the truth, when it forces\nthe truth on the mind with a clear and convincing evidence.\"\n\nThough I had been joining in the general subject, yet my thoughts had\nwandered from it to Lucilla ever since her noble rejection of Lord\nStaunton had been named by Mr. Carlton as one of the causes which had\nstrengthened his unsteady faith. And while he and Sir John were talking\nover their youthful connections, I resumed with Mrs. Carlton, who sat\nnext me, the interesting topic.\n\n\"Lord Staunton,\" said she, \"is a relation, and not a very distant one,\nof ours. He used to take more delight in Mr. Carlton's society when it\nwas less improving than he does now, that it is become really valuable;\nyet he often visits us. Miss Stanley now and then indulges me with her\ncompany for a day or two. In these visits Lord Staunton happened to meet\nher two or three times. He was enchanted with her person and manners,\nand exerted every art and faculty of pleasing, which it must be owned he\npossesses. Though we should both have rejoiced in an alliance with the\nexcellent family at the Grove, through this sweet girl, I thought it my\nduty not to conceal from her the irregularity of my cousin's conduct in\none particular instance, as well as the general looseness of his\nreligious principles. The caution was the more necessary, as he had so\nmuch prudence and good breeding, as to behave with general propriety\nwhen under our roof; and he allowed me to speak to him more freely than\nany other person. When I talked seriously, he sometimes laughed, always\nopposed, but was never angry.\n\n\"One day he arrived quite unexpectedly when Miss Stanley was with me. He\nfound us in my dressing-room reading together a _Dissertation on the\npower of religion to change the heart_. Dreading some levity, I strove\nto hide the book, but he took it out of my hand, and glancing his eye on\nthe title, he said, laughing, 'This is a foolish subject enough; a _good\nheart_ does not want changing, and with a _bad_ one none of _us three_\nhave any thing to do.' Lucilla spoke not a syllable. All the light\nthings he uttered, and which he meant for wit, so far from raising a\nsmile, increased her gravity. She listened, but with some uneasiness, to\na desultory conversation between us, in which I attempted to assert the\npower of the Almighty to rectify the mind, and alter the character. Lord\nStaunton treated my assertion as a wild chimera, and said, 'He was sure\nI had more understanding than to adopt such a methodistical notion;'\nprofessing at the same time a vague admiration of virtue and goodness,\nwhich, he said, bowing to Miss Stanley, were _natural_ where they\nexisted at all; that a good heart did not want mending, and a bad one\ncould not be mended, with other similar expressions, all implying\ncontempt of my position, and exclusive compliment to her.\n\n\"After dinner, Lucilla stole away from a conversation, which was not\nvery interesting to her, and carried her book to the summer-house,\nknowing that Lord Staunton liked to sit long at table. But his lordship\nmissing her for whom the visit was meant, soon broke up the party, and\nhearing which way she took, pursued her to the summer-house. After a\nprofusion of compliments, expressive of his high admiration, he declared\nhis passion in very strong and explicit terms, and requested her\npermission to make proposals to her father, to which he conceived she\ncould have no possible objection.\n\n\"She thanked him with great politeness for his favorable opinion, but\nfrankly told him, that though extremely sensible of the honor he\nintended her, thanks were all she had to offer in return; she earnestly\ndesired the business might go no further, and that he would spare\nhimself the trouble of an application to her father, who always kindly\nallowed her to decide for herself in a concern of so much importance.\n\n\"Disappointed, shocked, and irritated at a rejection so wholly\nunexpected, he insisted on knowing the cause. Was it his person? Was it\nhis fortune? Was it his understanding to which she objected? She\nhonestly assured him it was neither. His rank and fortune were above her\nexpectations. To his natural advantages there could be no reasonable\nobjection. He still vehemently insisted on her assigning the true cause.\nShe was then driven to the necessity of confessing that she feared his\nprinciples were not those of a man with whom she could venture to trust\nher own.\n\n\"He bore this reproof with more patience than she had expected. As she\nhad made no exception to his person and understanding, both of which he\nrated very highly, he could better bear with the charge brought against\nhis principles, on which he did not set so great a value. She had indeed\nwounded his pride, but not in the part where it was most vulnerable. 'If\nthat be all,' said he gayly, 'the objection is at an end; your charming\nsociety will reform me, your influence will raise my principles, and\nyour example will change my character.'\n\n\"'What, my lord,' said she, her courage increasing with her indignation,\n'this from _you_? From you, who declared only this morning, that the\nwork of changing the heart was too great for the Almighty himself? You\ndo not now scruple to declare that it is in _my_ power. That work which\nis too hard for Omnipotence, your flattery would make me believe a weak\ngirl can accomplish. No, my lord, I will never add to the number of\nthose rash women who have risked their eternal happiness on this vain\nhope. It would be too late to repent of my folly, after my presumption\nhad incurred its just punishment.'\n\n\"So saying, she left the summer-house with a polite dignity, which, as\nhe afterward told me, increased his passion, while it inflamed his pride\nalmost to madness. Finding she refused to appear, he quitted the house,\nbut not his design. His applications have since been repeated, but\nthough he has met with the firmest repulses, both from the parents and\nthe daughter, he can not be prevailed upon to relinquish his hope. It is\nso far a misfortune to us, as Lucilla now never comes near us, except he\nis known not to be in the country. Had the objection been to his person,\nor fortune, he says, as it would have been substantial, it might have\nbeen insuperable; but where the only ground of difference is mere matter\nof opinion, he is sure that time and perseverance will conquer such a\nchimerical objection.\"\n\nI returned to the Grove, not only cured of every jealous feeling, but\ntransported with such a decisive proof of the dignity and purity of Miss\nStanley's mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n\nMiss Sparkes, a neighboring lady, whom the reputation of being a wit and\nan amazon, had kept single at the age of five-and-forty, though her\nperson was not disagreeable, and her fortune considerable, called in one\nmorning while we were at breakfast. She is remarkable for her pretension\nto odd and opposite qualities. She is something of a scholar, and a\nhuntress, a politician, and a farrier. She outrides Mr. Flam, and\noutargues Mr. Tyrrel; excels in driving four in hand, and in canvassing\nat an election. She is always anxious about the party, but never about\nthe candidate, in whom she requires no other merit but his being in the\nopposition, which she accepts as a pledge for all other merit. In her\nadoption of any talent, or her exercise of any quality, it is always\nsufficient recommendation to her that it is not feminine.\n\nFrom the window we saw her descend from her lofty phæton, and when she\ncame,\n\n    The cap, the whip, the masculine attire,\n\nthe loud voice, the intrepid look, the independent air, the whole\ndeportment indicated a disposition rather to confer protection than to\naccept it.\n\nShe made an apology for her intrusion, by saying that her visit was\nrather to the stable than the breakfast-room. One of her horses was a\nlittle lame, and she wanted to consult Mr. Stanley's groom, who, it\nseems, was her oracle in that science, in which she herself is a\nprofessed adept.\n\nDuring her short visit, she labored so sedulously not to diminish by her\nconversation the character she was so desirous to establish, that her\nefforts defeated the end they aimed to secure. She was witty with all\nher might, and her sarcastic turn, for wit it was not, made little\namends for her want of simplicity. I perceived that she was fond of the\nbold, the marvelous, and the incredible. She ventured to tell a story or\ntwo, so little within the verge of ordinary probability, that she risked\nher credit for veracity without, perhaps, really violating truth. The\ncredit acquired by such relations seldom pays the relator for the hazard\nrun by the communication.\n\nAs we fell into conversation, I observed the peculiarities of her\ncharacter. She never sees any difficulties in any question. Whatever the\ntopic is started, while the rest of the company are hesitating as to the\npropriety of their determination, she alone is never at a loss. Her\nanswer always follows the proposition, without a moment's interval for\nexamination herself, or for allowing any other person a chance of\ndelivering an opinion.\n\nMr. Stanley, who always sets an example of strict punctuality to his\nfamily, had to-day come in to perform his daily devotions somewhat later\nthan usual. I could perceive that he had been a little moved. His\ncountenance wanted something of its placid serenity, though it seemed to\nbe seriousness untinctured with anger. He confessed while we were at\nbreakfast, that he had been spending above an hour in bringing one of\nhis younger children to a sense of a fault she had committed. \"She has\nnot,\" said he, \"told an absolute falsehood, but in what she said there\nwas prevarication, there was pride, there was passion. Her perverseness\nhas at length given way. Tears of resentment are changed into tears of\ncontrition. But she is not to appear in the drawing-room to-day. She is\nto be deprived of the honor of carrying food to the poor in the evening.\nNor is she to furnish her contribution of nosegays to Rachel's basket.\nThis is a mode of punishment we prefer to that of curtailing any\npersonal indulgences; the importance we should assign to the privation\nwould be setting too much value on the enjoyment.\"\n\n\"You should be careful, Mr. Stanley,\" said Miss Sparkes, \"not to break\nthe child's spirit. Too tight a rein will check her generous ardor, and\ncurb her genius. I would not subdue the independence of her mind, and\nmake a tame dull animal of a creature whose very faults give indications\nof a soaring nature.\" Even Lady Belfield, to whose soft and tender heart\nthe very sound of punishment, or even privation, carried a sort of\nterror, asked Mr. Stanley \"if he did not think he had taken-up a\ntrifling offense too seriously, and punished it too severely.\"\n\n\"The thing is a trifle in itself,\" replied he, \"but infant prevarication\nunnoticed, and unchecked, is the prolific seed of subterfuge, of\nexpediency, of deceit, of falsehood, of hypocrisy.\"\n\n\"But the dear little creature,\" said Lady Belfield, \"is not addicted to\nequivocation. I have always admired her correctness in her pleasant\nprattle.\"\n\n\"It is for that very reason,\" replied Mr. Stanley, \"that I am so careful\nto check the first indication of the contrary tendency. As the fault is\na solitary one, I trust the punishment will be so too. For which reason\nI have marked it in a way to which her memory will easily recur. Mr.\nBrandon, an amiable friend of mine, but of an indolent temper, through a\nnegligence in watching over an early propensity to deceit, suffered his\nonly son to run on from one stage of falsehood to another, till he\nsettled down in a most consummate hypocrite. His plausible manners\nenabled him to keep his more turbulent vices out of sight. Impatient\nwhen a youth of that contradiction to which he had never been accustomed\nwhen a boy, he became notoriously profligate. His dissimulation was at\nlength too thin to conceal from his mistaken father his more palpable\nvices. His artifices finally involved him in a duel, and his premature\ndeath broke the heart of my poor friend.\n\n\"This sad example led me in my own family to watch this evil in the bud.\nDivines often say that unbelief lies at the root of all sin. This seems\nstrikingly true in our conniving at the faults of our children. If we\nreally believed the denunciations of Scripture, could we for the sake of\na momentary gratification, not so much to our child as to ourselves\n(which is the case in all blamable indulgence), overlook that fault\nwhich may be the germ of unspeakable miseries! In my view of things,\ndeceit is no slight offense; I feel myself answerable in no small degree\nfor the eternal happiness of these beloved creatures whom Providence has\nespecially committed to my trust.\"\n\n\"But it is such a severe trial,\" said Lady Belfield, \"to a fond parent\nto inflict voluntary pain!\"\n\n\"Shall we feel for their pain and not for their danger?\" replied Mr.\nStanley. \"I wonder how parents who love their children as I love mine,\ncan put in competition a temporary indulgence, which may foster one evil\ntemper, or fasten one bad habit, with the eternal welfare of that\nchild's soul. A soul of such inconceivable worth, whether we consider\nits nature, its duration, or the price which was paid for its\nredemption! What parent, I say, can by his own rash negligence, or false\nindulgence, risk the happiness of such a soul, not for a few days or\nyears, but for a period compared with which the whole duration of time\nis but a point? A soul of such infinite faculties, which has a capacity\nfor improving in holiness and happiness, through all the countless ages\nof eternity?\"\n\nObserving Sir John listen with some emotion, Mr. Stanley went on: \"What\nremorse, my dear friend, can equal the pangs of him who has reason to\nbelieve that his child has not only lost this eternity of glory, but\nincurred an eternity of misery, through the carelessness of that parent\nwho assigned his very fondness as a reason for his neglect? Think of the\nstate of such a father, when he figures to himself the thousands and ten\nthousands of glorified spirits that stand before the throne, and his\ndarling excluded--excluded perhaps by his own ill-judging fondness. Oh,\nmy friends, disguise it as we may, and deceive ourselves as we will,\nwant of faith is as much at the bottom of this sin as of all others.\nNotwithstanding an indefinite, indistinct notion which men call faith,\nthey do not actually _believe_ in this eternity; they believe it in a\ngeneral way, but they do not believe in it practically, personally,\ninfluentially.\"\n\nWhile Mr. Stanley was speaking with an energy which evinced how much his\nown heart was affected, Miss Sparkes, by the impatience of her looks,\nevidently manifested that she wished to interrupt him. Good breeding,\nhowever, kept her silent till he had done speaking: she then said, \"that\nthough she allowed that absolute falsehood, and falsehood used for\nmischievous purposes, was really criminal, yet there was a danger on the\nother hand of laying too severe restrictions on freedom of speech. That\nthere might be such a thing as tacit hypocrisy. That people might be\nguilty of as much deceit by suppressing their sentiments if just, as by\nexpressing such as were not quite correct. That a repulsive treatment\nwas calculated to extinguish the fire of invention. She thought, also,\nthat there were occasions where a harmless falsehood might not only be\npardonable, but laudable. But then she allowed, that a falsehood to be\nallowed, must be inoffensive.\"\n\nMr. Stanley said, \"that an inoffensive falsehood was a perfect anomaly.\nBut allowing it possible that an individual instance of deceit might be\npassed over, which, however, he never could allow, yet one successful\nfalsehood, on the plea of doing good, would necessarily make way for\nanother, till the limits which divide right and wrong would be\ncompletely broken down, and every distinction between truth and\nfalsehood be utterly confounded. If such latitude were allowed, even to\nobtain some good purpose, it would gradually debauch all human\nintercourse. The smallest deviation would naturally induce a pernicious\nhabit, endanger the security of society, and violate an express law of\nGod.\"\n\n\"There is no tendency,\" said Sir John Belfield, \"more to be guarded\nagainst among young persons of warm hearts and lively imaginations. The\nfeeling will think falsehood good if it is meant to _do_ good, and the\nfanciful will think it justifiable if it is ingenious.\"\n\nPh[oe]be, in presenting her father with a dish of coffee, said in a half\nwhisper, \"Surely, papa, there can be no harm in speaking falsely on a\nsubject where I am ignorant of the truth.\"\n\n\"There are occasions, my dear Ph[oe]be,\" replied her father, \"in which\nignorance itself is a fault. Inconsiderateness is always one. It is your\nduty to deliberate before you speak. It is your duty not to deceive by\nyour negligence in getting at the truth; or by publishing false\ninformation as truth, though you have reason to suspect it may be false.\nYou well know who it is that associates him that _loveth_ a lie, with\nhim that _maketh_ it.\"\n\n\"But sir,\" said Miss Sparkes, \"if by a falsehood I could preserve a\nlife, or save my country, falsehood would then be meritorious, and I\nshould glory in deceiving.\"\n\n\"Persons, madam,\" said Mr. Stanley, \"who, in debate, have a favorite\npoint to carry, are apt to suppose extreme cases, which _can_ and _do_\nvery rarely if ever occur. This they do in order to compel the\nacquiescence of an opponent to what ought never to be allowed. It is a\nproud and fruitless speculation. The infinite power of God can never\nstand in need of the aid of a weak mortal to help him out in his\ndifficulties. If he sees fit to preserve the life, or to save the\ncountry, he is not driven to such shifts. Omnipotence can extricate\nhimself, and accomplish his own purposes, without endangering an\nimmortal soul.\"\n\nMiss Sparkes took her leave soon after, in order, as she said, to go to\nthe stable and take the groom's opinion. Mr. Stanley insisted that her\ncarriage should be brought round to the door, to which we all attended\nher. He inquired which was the lame horse. Instead of answering, she\nwent directly up to the animal, and after patting him with some\ntechnical jockey phrases, she fearlessly took up his hind leg, carefully\nexamined the foot, and while she continued standing in what appeared to\nthe ladies a perilous, and to me a disgusting situation, she ran over\nall the terms of the veterinary art with the groom, and when Miss\nStanley expressed some fear of her danger, and some dislike of her\ncoarseness, she burst into a loud laugh, and slapping her on the\nshoulder, asked her if it was not better to understand the properties\nand diseases of so noble an animal, than to waste her time in studying\nconfectionery with old Goody Comfit, or in teaching the catechism to\nlittle ragged beggar-brats?\n\nAs soon as she was gone, the lively Ph[oe]be, who, her father says, has\nnarrowly escaped being a wit herself, cried out: \"Well, papa, I must say\nthat I think Miss Sparkes, with all her faults, is rather an agreeable\nwoman.\" \"I grant that she is amusing,\" returned he, \"but I do not allow\nher to be quite agreeable. Between these, Ph[oe]be, there is a wide\ndistinction. To a correct mind, no one can be agreeable who is\nincorrect. Propriety is so indispensable to agreeableness, that when a\nlady allows herself to make any, even the smallest, sacrifice of\nveracity, religion, modesty, candor, or the decorum of her sex, she may\nbe shining, she may be showy, she may be amusing, but she can not,\nproperly speaking, be agreeable. Miss Sparkes, I very reluctantly\nconfess, does sometimes make these sacrifices, in a degree to make her\nfriends look about them, though not in a degree to alarm her own\nprinciples. She would not tell a direct falsehood for the world; she\ndoes not indeed invent, but she embellishes, she enlarges, she\nexaggerates, she discolors. In her moral grammar there is no positive or\ncomparative degree. Pink with her is scarlet. The noise of a popgun is\na cannon. A shower is a tempest. A person of small fortune is a beggar.\nOne in easy circumstances is a Cr[oe]sus. A girl, if not perfectly well\nmade, is deformity personified; if tolerable, a Grecian Venus. Her\nfavorites are angels. Her enemies, demons.\n\n\"She would be thought very religious, and I hope that she will one day\nbecome so; yet she sometimes treats serious things with no small levity,\nand though she would not originally say a very bad word, yet she makes\nno scruple of repeating, with great glee, profane stories told by\nothers. Besides, she possesses the dangerous art of exciting an improper\nidea, without using an improper word. Gross indecency would shock her,\nbut she often verges so far toward indelicacy as to make Mrs. Stanley\nuneasy. Then she is too much of a genius to be tied down by any\nconsideration of prudence. If a good thing occurs, out it comes, without\nregard to time or circumstance. She would tell the same story to a\nbishop as to her chambermaid. If she says a right thing, which she often\ndoes, it is seldom in the right place. She makes her way in society,\nwithout attaching many friends. Her bon-mots are admired and repeated;\nyet I never met with a man of sense, though he may join in flattering\nher, who did not declare, as soon as she was out of the room, that he\nwould not for the world that she should be his wife or daughter. It is\nirksome to her to converse with her own sex, while she little suspects\nthat ours is not properly grateful for the preference with which she\nhonors us.\n\n\"She is,\" continued Mr. Stanley, \"charitable with her purse, but not\nwith her tongue; she relieves her poor neighbors, and indemnifies\nherself by slandering her rich ones. She has, however, many good\nqualities, is generous, feeling, and humane, and I would on no account\nspeak so freely of a lady whom I receive at my house were it not that,\nif I were, quite silent, after Ph[oe]be's expressed admiration, she\nmight conclude that I saw nothing to condemn in Miss Sparkes, and might\nbe copying her faults under the notion that being entertaining made\namends for every thing.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n\nOne morning, Sir John coming in from his ride, gayly called out to me,\nas I was reading, \"Oh Charles, such a piece of news! The Miss Flams are\nconverted. They have put on tuckers. They were at church twice on\nSunday. Blair's Sermons are sent for, and _you_ are the reformer.\" This\nludicrous address reminded Mr. Stanley that Mr. Flam had told him we\nwere all in disgrace for not having called on the ladies, and it was\nproposed to repair this neglect.\n\n\"Now take notice,\" said Sir John, \"if you do not see a new character\nassumed. Thinking Charles to be a fine man of the town, the modish\nracket, which indeed is their natural state, was played off, but it did\nnot answer. As they probably, by this time, suspect your character to be\nsomewhat between the Strephon and the Hermit, we shall now, in return,\nsee something between the wood-nymph and the nun, and I shall not wonder\nif the extravagantly modish Miss Bell\n\n    \"Is now Pastora by a fountain's side.\"\n\nThough I would not attribute the change to the cause assigned by Sir\nJohn, yet I confess we found, when we made our visit, no small\nrevolution in Miss Bell Flam. The part of the Arcadian nymph, the\nreading lady, the lover of retirement, the sentimental admirer of\ndomestic life, the censurer of thoughtless dissipation, was each acted\nin succession, but so skillfully touched that the shades of each melted\nin the other without any of those violent transitions which a less\nexperienced actress would have exhibited: Sir John slyly, yet with\naffected gravity, assisting her to sustain this newly adapted character,\nwhich, however, he was sure would last no longer than the visit.\n\nWhen we returned home, we met the Miss Stanleys in the garden and joined\nthem. \"Don't you admire,\" said Sir John, \"the versatility of Miss Bell's\ngenius? You, Charles, are not the first man on whom an assumed fondness\nfor rural delights has been practiced. A friend of mine was drawn in to\nmarry, rather suddenly, a thorough-paced town-bred lady, by her repeated\ndeclarations of her passionate fondness for the country, and the rapture\nshe expressed when rural scenery was the subject. All she knew of the\ncountry was, that she had now and then been on a party of pleasure at\nRichmond, in the fine summer months; a great dinner at the Star and\nGarter, gay company, a bright day, lovely scenery, a dance on the green,\na partner to her taste, French horns on the water, altogether\nconstituted a feeling of pleasure from which she had really persuaded\nherself that she was fond of the country. But when all these\nconcomitants were withdrawn, when she had lost the gay partner, the\ndance, the horns, the flattery, and the frolic, and nothing was left but\nher books, her own dull mansion, her domestic employments, and the sober\nsociety of her husband, the pastoral vision vanished. She discovered, or\nrather _he_ discovered, but too late, that the country had not only no\ncharms for her, but that it was a scene of constant ennui and vapid\ndullness. She languished for the pleasures she had quitted, and he for\nthe comforts he had lost. Opposite inclinations led to opposite\npursuits; difference of taste however, needed not to have led to a\ntotal disunion, had there been on the part of the lady such a degree of\nattachment as might have induced a spirit of accommodation, or such a\nfund of principle as might have taught her the necessity of making those\nsacrifices which affection, had it existed, would have rendered\npleasant, or duty would have made light, had she been early taught\nself-government.\"\n\nLucilla, smiling, said, \"she hoped Sir John had a little over-charged\nthe picture.\" He defended himself by declaring, \"he drew from the life,\nand that from his long observations he could present us with a whole\ngallery of such portraits.\" He left me to continue my walk with the two\nMiss Stanleys.\n\nThe more I conversed with Lucilla, the more I saw that good breeding in\nher was only the outward expression of humility, and not an art employed\nfor the purpose of enabling her to do without it. We continued to\nconverse on the subject of Miss Flam's fondness for the gay world. This\nintroduced a natural expression of my admiration of Miss Stanley's\nchoice of pleasures and pursuits so different from those of most other\nwomen of her age.\n\nWith the most graceful modesty she said, \"Nothing humbles me more than\ncompliments; for when I compare what I hear with what I feel, I find the\npicture of myself drawn by a flattering friend so utterly unlike the\noriginal in my own heart, that I am more sunk by my own consciousness of\nthe want of resemblance, than elated that another has not discovered it.\nIt makes me feel like an imposter. If I contradict this favorable\nopinion, I am afraid of being accused of affectation; and if I silently\nswallow it, I am contributing to the deceit of passing for what I am\nnot.\" This ingenious mode of disclaiming flattery only raised her in my\nesteem, and the more, as I told her such humble renunciation of praise\ncould only proceed from that inward principle of genuine piety and\ndevout feeling which made so amiable a part of her character.\n\n\"How little,\" said she, \"is the human heart known except to him who made\nit! While a fellow creature may admire our apparent devotion, he who\nappears to be its object, witnesses the wandering of the heart, which\nseems to be lifted up to him. He sees it roving to the ends of the\nearth, busied about any thing rather than himself, running after trifles\nwhich would not only dishonor Christian, but would disgrace a child. As\nto my very virtues, if I dare apply such a word to myself, they\nsometimes lose their character by not keeping their proper place. They\nbecome sins by infringing on higher duties. If I mean to perform an act\nof devotion, some crude plan of charity forces itself on my mind, and\nwhat with trying to drive out one, and to establish the other, I rise\ndissatisfied and unimproved, and resting my sole hope, not on the duty I\nhave been performing, but on the mercy I have been offending.\"\n\nI assured her with all the simplicity of truth, and all the sincerity of\naffection, that this confession only served to raise my opinion of the\npiety she disclaimed; that such deep consciousness of imperfection, so\nquick a discernment of the slightest deviation, and such constant\nvigilance to prevent it, were the truest indications of an humble\nspirit; and that those who thus carefully guarded themselves against\nsmall errors, were in little danger of being betrayed into great ones.\n\nShe replied, smiling, that \"she should not be so angry with vanity, if\nit would be contented to keep its proper place among its vices; but her\nquarrel with it was, that it would mix itself among our virtues, and\nrob us of their reward.\"\n\n\"Vanity, indeed,\" replied I, \"differs from the other vices in this;\n_they_ commonly are only opposite to the one contrary virtue, while this\nvice has a kind of ubiquity, is on the watch to intrude everywhere, and\nweakens all the virtues which it can not destroy. I believe vanity was\nthe harpy of the ancient poets, which, they tell us, tainted whatever it\ntouched.\"\n\n\"Self-deception is so easy,\" replied Miss Stanley, \"that I am even\nafraid of highly extolling any good quality, lest I should sit down\nsatisfied with having borne any testimony in its favor, and so rest\ncontented with the praise instead of the practise. Commending a right\nthing is a cheap substitute for doing it, with which we are too apt to\nsatisfy ourselves.\"\n\n\"There is no mark,\" I replied, \"which more clearly distinguishes that\nhumility which has the love of God for its principle, from its\ncounterfeit--a false and superficial politeness--than that while this\nlast flatters, in order to extort in return more praise than its due,\nhumility, like the divine principle from which it springs, seeketh not\neven its own.\"\n\nIn answer to some further remark of mine, with an air of infinite\nmodesty, she said, \"I have been betrayed, sir, into saying too much. It\nwill, I trust, however, have the good effect of preventing you from\nthinking better of me than I deserve. In general, I hold it indiscreet\nto speak of the state of one's mind. I have been taught this piece of\nprudence by my own indiscretion. I once lamented to a lady the fault of\nwhich we have now been speaking, and observed how difficult it was to\nkeep the heart right. She so little understood the nature of this inward\ncorruption, that she told in confidence to two or three friends, that\nthey were all much mistaken in Miss Stanley, for though her character\nstood so fair with all the world, she had secretly confessed to her that\nshe was a great sinner.\"\n\nI could not forbear repeating though she had chid me for it before, how\nmuch I had been struck with several instances of her indifference to the\nwork, and her superiority to its pleasures. \"Do you know,\" continued\nshe, smiling, \"that you are more my enemy than the lady of whom I have\nbeen speaking? She only defamed my principles, but you are corrupting\nthem. The world, I believe, is not so much a place as a nature. It is\npossible to be religious in a court, and worldly in a monastery. I find\nthat the thoughts may be engaged too anxiously about so petty a concern\nas a little family arrangement; that the mind may be drawn off from\nbetter pursuits, and engrossed by things too trivial to name, as much as\nby objects more apparently wrong. The country is certainly favorable to\nreligion, but it would be hard on the millions who are doomed to live in\ntowns if it were exclusively favorable. Nor must we lay more stress on\nthe accidental circumstance than it deserves. Nay, I almost doubt if it\nis not too pleasant to be quite safe. An enjoyment which assumes a sober\nshape may deceive us by making us believe we are practicing a duty when\nwe are only gratifying a taste.\"\n\n\"But do you not think,\" said I, \"that there may be merit in the taste\nitself? May not a succession of acts, forming a habit, and that habit a\ngood one, induce so sound a way of thinking that it may become difficult\nto distinguish the duty from the taste, and to separate the principle\nfrom the choice? This I really believe to be the case in minds finely\nwrought and vigilantly watched.\"\n\nI observed that however delightful the country might be a great part of\nthe year, yet there were a few winter months when I feared it might be\ndull, though not in the degree Sir John's Richmond lady found it.\n\nWith a smile of compassion at my want of taste, she said, \"she perceived\nI was no gardener. To me,\" added she, \"the winter has charms of its own.\nIf I were not afraid of the light habit of introducing Providence on an\noccasion not sufficiently important, I would say that he seems to reward\nthose who love the country well enough to live in it the whole year, by\nmaking the greater part of the winter the busy season for gardening\noperations. If I happen to be in town a few days only, every sun that\nshines, every shower that falls, every breeze that blows, seems wasted,\nbecause I do not see their effects upon my plants.\"\n\n\"But surely,\" said I, \"the winter at least suspends your enjoyment.\nThere is little pleasure in contemplating vegetation in its torpid\nstate, in surveying\n\n    The naked shoots, barren as lances,\n\nas Cowper describes the winter-shrubbery.\"\n\n\"The pleasure is in the preparation,\" replied she. \"When all appears\ndead and torpid to you idle spectators, all is secretly at work; nature\nis busy in preparing her treasures under ground, and art has a hand in\nthe process. When the blossoms of summer are delighting you mere\namateurs, then it is that we professional people,\" added she, laughing,\n\"are really idle. The silent operations of the winter now produce\nthemselves--the canvas of nature is covered--the great Artist has laid\non his colors--then we petty agents lay down our implements, and enjoy\nour leisure in contemplating _his_ work.\"\n\nI had never known her so communicative; but my pleased attention,\ninstead of drawing her on, led her to check herself. Ph[oe]be, who had\nbeen busily employed in trimming a flaunting yellow Azalia, now turned\nto me and said: \"Why it is only the Christmas-month that our labors are\nsuspended, and then we have so much pleasure that we want no business;\nsuch in-door festivities and diversions that that dull month is with us\nthe gayest in the year.\" So saying, she called Lucilla to assist her in\ntying up the branch of an orange-tree which the wind had broken.\n\nI was going to offer my services when Mrs. Stanley joined us, before I\ncould obtain an answer to my question about these Christmas diversions.\nA stranger, who had seen me pursuing Mrs. Stanley in her walks, might\nhave supposed not the daughter, but the mother, was the object of my\nattachment. But with Mrs. Stanley I could always talk of Lucilla, with\nLucilla I durst not often talk of herself.\n\nThe fond mother and I stood looking with delight on the fair gardeners.\nWhen I had admired their alacrity in these innocent pursuits, their\nfondness for retirement, and their cheerful delight in its pleasures,\nMrs. Stanley replied: \"Yes, Lucilla is half a nun. She likes the rule,\nbut not the vow. Poor thing! her conscience is so tender that she\noftener requires encouragement than restraint. While she was making this\nplantation, she felt herself so absorbed by it that she came to me one\nday and said that her gardening work so fascinated her that she found\nwhole hours passed unperceived, and she began to be uneasy by observing\nthat all cares and all duties were suspended while she was disposing\nbeds of carnations, or knots of anemones. Even when she tore herself\naway, and returned to her employments, her flowers still pursued her,\nand the improvement of her mind gave way to the cultivation of her\ngeraniums.\n\n\"'I am afraid,' said the poor girl, 'that I must really give it up.' I\nwould not hear of this. I would not suffer her to deny herself so pure a\npleasure. She then suggested the expedient of limiting her time, and\nhanging up her watch in the conservatory to keep her within her\nprescribed bounds. She is so observant of this restriction, that when\nher allotted time is expired, she forces herself to leave off even in\nthe midst of the most interesting operation. By this limitation a treble\nend is answered. Her time is saved, self-denial is exercised, and the\ninterest which would languish by protracting the work is kept in fresh\nvigor.\"\n\nI told Mrs. Stanley that I had observed her watch hanging in a\ncitron-tree the day I came, but little thought it had a moral meaning.\nShe said it had never been left there since I had been in the house, for\nfear of causing interrogatories. Here Mrs. Stanley left me to my\nmeditations.\n\nIt is wisely ordered that all mortal enjoyments should have some alloy.\nI never tasted a pleasure since I had been at the Grove, I never\nwitnessed a grace, I never heard related an excellence of Lucilla,\nwithout a sigh that my beloved parents did not share my happiness. \"How\nwould they,\" said I, \"delight in her delicacy, rejoice in her piety,\nlove her benevolence, her humility, her usefulness! O how do children\nfeel who wound the peace of _living_ parents by an unworthy choice, when\nnot a little of my comfort springs from the certainty that the departed\nwould rejoice in mine! Even from their blessed abode, my grateful heart\nseems to hear them say, 'This is the creature we would have chosen for\nthee! This is the creature with whom we shall rejoice with thee through\nall eternity!'\"\n\nYet such was my inconsistency, that charmed as I was that so young and\nlovely a woman could be so cheaply pleased, and delighted with that\nsimplicity of taste which made her resemble my favorite heroine of\nMilton in her amusements, as well as in her domestic pursuits; yet I\nlonged to know what these Christmas diversions, so slightly hinted at,\ncould be, diversions which could reconcile these girls to their absence\nnot only from their green-house, but from London. I could hardly fear\nindeed to find at Stanley Grove what the newspapers pertly call _Private\nTheatricals_. Still I suspected it might be some gay dissipation not\nquite suited to their general character, nor congenial to their usual\namusements. My mother's favorite rule of _consistency_ strongly forced\nitself on my mind, though I tried to repel the suggestion as unjust and\nungenerous.\n\nOf what meannesses will not love be guilty: it drove me to have recourse\nto my friend Mrs. Comfit to dissipate my doubts. From her I learned that\nthat cold and comfortless season was mitigated at Stanley Grove by\nseveral feasts for the poor of different classes and ages. \"Then, sir,\"\ncontinued she, \"if you could see the blazing fires, and the abundant\nprovisions! The roasting, and the boiling, and the baking! The house is\nall alive! On those days the drawers and shelves of Miss Lucilla's\nstore-room are completely emptied. 'Tis the most delightful bustle, sir,\nto see our young ladies tying on the good women's warm cloaks, fitting\ntheir caps and aprons, and sending home blankets to the infirm who can\nnot come themselves. The very little ones kneeling down on the ground to\ntry on the poor girls' shoes--even little Miss Celia, and she is so\ntender--to fit them exactly and not hurt them! Last feast-day, not\nfinding a pair small enough for a poor little girl, she privately\nslipped off her own and put on the child. It was some time before it was\ndiscovered that she herself was without shoes. We are all alive, sir.\nParlor, and hall, and kitchen, all is in motion! Books, and business,\nand walks, and gardening, all are forgot for these few happy days.\"\n\nHow I hated myself for my suspicion! And how I loved the charming\ncreatures who could find in these humble but exhilarating duties an\nequivalent for the pleasures of the metropolis! \"Surely,\" said I to\nmyself, \"my mother would call _this_ consistency, when the amusements of\na religious family smack of the same flavor with its business and its\nduties.\" My heart was more than easy; it was dilated, while I\ncongratulated myself in the thought that there _were_ young ladies to be\nfound who could spend a winter not only unrepiningly but cheerfully and\ndelightedly in the country.\n\nI am aware that were I to repeat my conversations with Lucilla, I should\nsubject myself to ridicule by recording such cold and spiritless\ndiscourse on my own part. But I had not yet declared my attachment. I\nmade it a point of duty not to violate my engagement with Mr. Stanley. I\nwas not addressing declarations, but studying the character of her on\nwhom the happiness of my life was to depend. I had resolved not to show\nmy attachment by any overt act. I confined the expression of my\naffection to that _series of small, quiet attentions_, which an accurate\njudge of the human heart has pronounced to be the surest avenue to a\ndelicate mind. I had, in the mean time, the inexpressible felicity to\nobserve a constant union of feeling, as well as a general consonance of\nopinion between us. Every sentiment seemed a reciprocation of sympathy,\nand every look, of intelligence. This unstudied correspondence enchanted\nme the more as I had always considered that a conformity of tastes was\nnearly as necessary to conjugal happiness as a conformity of principles.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n\nOne morning I took a ride alone to breakfast at Lady Aston's; Mr.\nStanley having expressed a particular desire that I should cultivate the\nacquaintance of her son. \"Sir George is not quite twenty,\" said he,\n\"and your being a few years older, will make him consider your\nfriendship as an honor to him; I am sure it will be an advantage.\"\n\nIn her own little family circle, I had the pleasure of seeing Lady Aston\nappear to more advantage than I had yet done. Her understanding is good,\nand her affections are strong. She had received a too favorable\nimpression of my character from Mr. Stanley, and treated me with as much\nopenness as if I had been his son.\n\nThe gentle girls, animated by the spirit of their brother, seemed to\nderive both happiness and importance from his presence: while the\namiable young baronet himself won my affection by his engaging manners,\nand my esteem by his good sense and his considerable acquirements in\nevery thing which becomes a gentleman.\n\nThis visit exemplified a remark I had sometimes made, that shy\ncharacters, who from natural timidity are reserved in general society,\nopen themselves with peculiar warmth and frankness to a few select\nfriends, or to an individual of whom they think kindly. A distant manner\nis not always, as is suspected, the result of a cold heart, or a dull\nhead; nor is gayety necessarily connected with feeling. High animal\nspirits, though they often evaporate in mere talk, yet by their warmth\nand quickness of motion obtain the credit of strong sensibility: a\nsensibility, however, of which the heart is not always the fountain.\nWhile in the timid, that silence which is construed into pride,\nindifference, or want of capacity, is often the effect of keen feelings.\nFriendship is the genial climate in which such hearts disclose\nthemselves; they flourish in the shade, and kindness alone makes them\nexpand. A keen discerner will often detect, in such characters,\nqualities which are not always connected with\n\n                      the rattling tongue\n    Of saucy and audacious eloquence.\n\nWhen people who have seen little of each other are thrown together,\nnothing brings on free communication so quickly or so pleasantly, as\ntheir being both intimate with a third person, for whom all parties\nentertain one common sentiment. Mr. Stanley seemed always a point of\nunion between his neighbors and me.\n\nAfter various topics had been discussed, Lady Aston remarked, that she\ncould now trace the goodness of Providence in having so ordered events,\nas to make those things which she had so much dreaded at the time, work\nout advantages which could not have been otherwise obtained for her.\n\n\"I had a singular aversion,\" added she, \"to the thoughts of removing to\nthis pl", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31879", "title": "Coelebs In Search of a Wife", "author": "", "publication_year": 1808, "metadata_title": "Coelebs In Search of a Wife", "metadata_author": "Hannah More", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:14.134644", "source_chars": 786933, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 113362}}
{"text": "Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/American\nLibraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  OUR BATTERY;\n  OR THE\n  JOURNAL OF COMPANY B,\n  1st O. V. A.,\n\n\n  BY O. P. CUTTER.\n\n\n  CLEVELAND, OHIO:\n  NEVINS' BOOK AND JOB PRINTING ESTABLISHMENT.\n  1864.\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION.\n\n\nTo COLONEL JAMES BARNETT, commanding the First Ohio Artillery, than whom a\nbraver, or kinder hearted man to the soldier does not exist, this humble\nwork is respectfully inscribed by his friend,\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR'S NOTE.--This little work was hastily written during the leisures\nof Camp Life, and without any intention of ever putting it in print. But,\nby the urgent entreaties of his companions-in-arms, the author has finally\nconcluded to risk it--incomplete though it be--in the hands of a generous\npublic.\n\n\n\n\nOUR BATTERY.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIn accordance with the Proclamation of President Lincoln, calling out\ntroops for three years, or during the war--which in future history will be\nbetter known as the great Southern Rebellion--a Regiment of Light\nArtillery was at once organized in this State, and the command given to\nCOL. JAMES BARNETT, of Cleveland, than whom no person was more qualified\nfor the position. For many years previous to the present outbreak he had\ninterested himself in the study of Artillery, and for some time commanded\na battery in this city, which, under his skillful management, became\nhighly proficient.\n\nOf the batteries composing the above regiment, Co. B, of which we are\nabout to give the Journal, was the second organized, and W. E. Standart\nelected Captain, and J. A. Bennett and J. H. Sypher as First Lieutenants,\nand N. A. Baldwin and E. P. Sturges for Second Lieutenants. All the\ncommissioned officers and a portion of the non-commissioned and privates,\nwere residents of Cleveland or its vicinity.\n\nOn Thursday, September 4th, 1861, the company having been recruited to the\nmaximum number, we took our departure from Cleveland. A large number of\nrelatives and friends had assembled at the depot to see us off. At 2.40\nP. M., the train on which we embarked moved slowly out of the depot amid\nthe cheers of the people. At Grafton, Wellington, and other points along\nthe road, we were joined by a large number of recruits, who had enlisted\nin these and surrounding towns. Many of their friends and relatives were\npresent to bid the bold \"soger boys\" good bye. Early the same evening we\narrived at Columbus, were delayed for an hour, then got under way, and\nreached Camp Dennison the following morning, when we at once formed in\nline and marched to our quarters.\n\nAt Camp Dennison commenced our first experience of a soldier's life. We\nwere quartered in shanties built for the purpose, eight or ten persons to\neach. The first day was passed in looking around the Camp. The next, we\nhad guard mounting, and were given the order of the day. Each day we were\ntwice drilled, and soon became quite proficient in handling the guns. A\nfew days after arriving at Camp we were regularly mustered into the United\nStates' service, when we received our clothing and equipments, and now\npitched our tents for the first time, in a beautiful grove about one mile\nfrom our old quarters. The horses, harness, and other necessary articles\nsoon arrived, and on the 5th of October orders were received to hold\nourselves in readiness to march at an hours' notice. Each member of the\nbattery was assigned his position, and all was got in readiness to march.\n\nOn Sunday morning following, the order was given to strike tents, harness\nhorses, and be prepared to march without delay; and, although it was then\nraining heavily, no time was lost. Every one was actively engaged in\ngetting ready. Soon came word to move, but some of our horses were\ninclined to disobey orders, as they refused to proceed. Camp life had not\nbeen without its charms to them; they had no inclination to give up \"going\nto grass,\" so soon; but, after considerable coaxing, and a little\n\"persuasive force,\" we were finally on the road, and with but little\nadventure, aside from our horses being once or twice stalled in the mud,\nwe reached Cincinnati.\n\nOn arriving at the \"Queen City,\" we were quartered at the Elm street\nbarracks. The building is quite extensive, and built of brick. It was\nformerly used as an Orphan Asylum, and was thus rather suggestive to us\npoor soldiers. How many of our little band of warm hearts would ever again\nsit in the sunshine of home? How many of the loved and true would look\n\n  For the brave men who'd come never again,\n  To hearths that are broken, to hearts that are lone.\n\nNone could know the ending.\n\nQuartered in the same building was Kinney's battery of our own regiment.\nWe remained here but two days, during which we were visited by a large\nnumber of citizens, and by them shown much attention.\n\nOn the morning of October 8th, we were on the march to Kentucky, and\ncrossed the Ohio river. Arriving at Covington we at once commenced getting\nour horses and guns on board the cars, after which we were formed in line\nand marched to the market house, where we partook of a good dinner that\nhad been provided for us by the loyal and patriotic ladies and gentlemen\nof Covington. When we had eaten to our hearts' content, our haversacks\nwere abundantly filled by fair hands; then, giving nine rousing cheers for\nCovington's noble sons and daughters, we reformed in line and marched back\nto the depot. In a short time all were on board the cars and under way. We\npassed through Cynthiana and several small towns and arrived at Lexington,\nwhere we remained until daylight. The cars containing the horses were sent\nforward to Nicholsville, the drivers going with them. Those who remained\nat Lexington were marched up to one of the hotels and treated to a good\nbreakfast. During the forenoon the entire train reached Nicholasville, our\nguns and equipments were landed, and in a short time we were once more on\nthe march.\n\nEarly the following morning we arrived at Camp Dick Robinson, having\nmarched sixteen miles over a good turnpike road, and through what is\ncalled \"the blue grass regions.\" This part of the country is said to be\nthe finest in Kentucky. We pitched our tents in an extensive field, and\nfound quite a large body of troops who had preceded us, numbering about\nsix thousand. The place is poorly adapted for a camping ground, wood and\nwater being quite unhandy. We were obliged to go three miles to the\nKentucky river to water our horses. After remaining here eight days,\nduring a portion of which time it rained, on the night of October 18th we\nreceived orders to be ready to march early the next morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nBATTLE OF WILD CAT.\n\n\nEarly the following morning, in accordance with orders, all were actively\nengaged in making preparations to march; and, from certain indications, it\nwas evident that we were shortly to be called on to take part in our first\nbattle. It had been reported that the rebels, under Gen. Zollicoffer, were\nadvancing from Cumberland Gap to attack the Union force stationed at Camp\nWild Cat. The men were all in high spirits at the prospect of soon meeting\nthe enemy in battle array. At an early hour we were on the march, being\naccompanied by the Fourteenth Ohio Volunteer Infantry, under command of\nCol. Steedman.\n\nAt noon, we passed through the pretty little town of Lancaster. The\ncitizens are nearly all Unionists, and they greeted us kindly as we passed\nalong. A number of ladies brought out such provisions as they had ready\ncooked, and gave to us freely. At sundown, we arrived at Crab Orchard,\nhaving marched twenty miles during the day. We here camped for the night,\nit raining heavily at the time.\n\nNext morning, after a hasty breakfast, were again on the tramp. After\npassing Crab Orchard we left the beaten turnpike over which we had for\nsome time been traveling; and now commenced the worst trial we had yet\nundergone. Over rocks, into ruts, through mud, onward we went; when, about\nten o'clock, reports reached us that the enemy had already commenced the\nattack on the First Kentucky Infantry stationed at Wild Cat, and which was\nyet some twenty miles distant. We therefore hurried along as speedily as\nthe rough nature of the ground would admit, and, at four o'clock, halted\nat a small creek and were ordered to feed our horses and prepare supper\nwith all possible dispatch, to be ready for an all night march. Instantly,\nall was activity. Ammunition chests were overhauled, and things got in\nreadiness for the coming battle.\n\nAt dark the word \"forward\" was given, and away we went over hills, through\nvalleys, and through the interminable mud. Such roads! The one leading to\n\"Jordan\" can hardly be more difficult of passage. The moon, however, was\nshining brightly, and all night long we held our toilsome way. No word of\ncomplaint, not a murmur was heard, but with a silence only broken by the\nheavy tread of our horses, and the creaking and rattling of the caissons\nand gun carriages, we passed slowly forward. We were about to engage in\nour first battle for the country we loved; the country that gave us birth;\nand that was enough to quicken the blood, to rouse our nerves for the\ncoming conflict.\n\nAt daylight we arrived at Rock Castle River, and here made a halt to feed\nhorses and get breakfast. On the opposite side of the river lay Wild Cat\nMountain, where we soon expected to meet the foe. Breakfast was soon\ndispatched, and on crossing the river, which was done by fording, we were\nmet by messengers with orders to hurry forward, as the battle had already\nbegun. Although we had a steep and rugged mountain of some three miles in\nhight to ascend, and were much fatigued with our last night's march, the\nwhip and spur were freely applied to our horses, and hurrying along at\ndouble quick were soon at the scene of action.\n\nIn less than ten minutes after our arrival we were in position, and at\nonce opened on the enemy. They were rather taken by surprise, it being the\nfirst intimation they had received that there was any artillery on the\nground. The fighting, up to this time, had been done by infantry and\ncavalry. The Rebels were in a deep ravine, and so thick were the trees we\nwere unable to obtain sight of them from our position, and were only\nguided by the smoke from their guns.\n\nThe Thirty-third Indiana Infantry were posted on a hill directly opposite\nour battery, while the Seventeenth Ohio and First Kentucky Infantry,\ntogether with a part of Woolford's Cavalry, were stationed away to our\nright. The Fourteenth Ohio Infantry were drawn up in line to our left. The\nRebels were making efforts to drive the Thirty-third Indiana from their\nposition. Every shot from our guns told with good effect, and the battle\ncontinued at intervals during the day. About three o'clock in the\nafternoon the firing became quite brisk, and lasted for half an hour. At\nthis time we rapidly threw shells into the enemy's cover, which they did\nnot much relish, for their fire soon perceptibly diminished, and finally\nceased. All was now quiet. At dark, one section of our battery, under\nLieutenant Sypher, moved over to where the Thirty-third Indiana held\nposition. It being through the woods, and as there was no road, the guns\nwere of necessity dragged by hand; but there were willing hearts and stout\nhands at the work, and it was speedily and safely effected.\n\nAbout midnight the enemy endeavored to outflank us, but in this they were\nfoiled; for we opened on them, throwing two or three shot, when they at\nonce fell back to their old position, and all again became quiet.\n\nIn the morning, nothing was to be seen or heard of the enemy. They had\ndoubtless come to the sage conclusion,\n\n  \"That those who fly may fight again,\n  Which he can never do that's slain,\"\n\nand so had quietly decamped. They had been badly whipped, and only wanted\nto be \"let alone.\" Their force was estimated to be about seven thousand,\nwhile ours did not exceed two thousand, and five hundred actively engaged.\nThe Rebel loss could not have been less than two hundred and fifty killed\nand wounded. Our loss was four killed and twenty wounded. Twenty-eight of\nthe enemy's dead were left on the field, and were buried by our soldiers.\nThree of their wounded fell into our hands, two of whom died the next day.\nOwing to the wild and rugged nature of the country, immediate pursuit was\nimpossible, otherwise we would have \"gobbled\" the greater part of their\nforce. The ground on which the battle was fought is said to have been the\nfavorite hunting ground of Daniel Boone, the pioneer of Kentucky. It was\nrather a romantic place for a battle.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nON THE ROAD AGAIN.\n\n\nWe remained at Camp Wild Cat until Thursday, Oct. 24th, and then took up\nour line of march on the track of the fleeing Rebels. All along the road\nwere evidences of their work of destruction, as, in their retreat, they\ndestroyed bridges, fences, and even houses. Carcasses of horses, cattle\nand hogs, were strewn along the roadside. In many places they had felled\nlarge trees across the road to cover their retreat. We also saw several\ngraves where they had buried their dead.\n\nIn the afternoon of the same day, we arrived at what is called Pittman's X\nRoads. The Richmond road here intersects the Lexington and Cumberland Gap\nroad. The place derives its name from an old settler.\n\nWe here pitched our tents upon a pretty knoll. It was quite convenient to\nwood and water, and was the most pleasant place we had yet occupied.\n\nWhile here, large reinforcements were received, being an entire brigade,\ncomposed of the following regiments, namely: Fourteenth, Seventeenth and\nThirty-eighth Ohio; Thirty-third Indiana; First Kentucky; First and Second\nTennessee; all Infantry, and a small detachment of Woolford's Cavalry,\nwith our own and Kinney's Batteries, of the First Ohio Artillery.\n\nWhile here, we had several night alarms, but none of them proved of much\nconsequence. In each instance, however, we were promptly prepared for any\nemergency. A few days later, word came to strike tents and proceed on to\nLondon, some three miles distant.\n\nWe reached London about noon of the same day, and took our bivouac in a\nlarge field on the outskirts of the town. Some of the brigade arrived the\nnight previous, having been pushed forward, from a report that the enemy\nwere advancing on the place. This, however, proved false. But we at once\ntook up good positions, and made preparations to resist any attack.\nDetachments were sent out to reconnoiter, but without discovering any\nsigns of the Rebels. They had retired to their old quarters at Cumberland\nGap.\n\nThe country around London is rough and mountainous, and the people are\nmostly of the poorer class. They are generally loyal to the \"old flag.\"\nThe population of the town is about five hundred. Most of the inhabitants\nhad fled on the approach of the Rebel army, but returned to their homes on\nour arrival. The buildings are, for the greater part, rickety affairs.\nThere are but few good houses in the place. The stars and stripes, which\nhad been torn down by vandal hands, were again raised, when the people\nwere addressed by those noble patriots, Andy Johnson and Horace Maynard,\nboth of Tennessee.\n\nAfter remaining here quietly for two weeks, we changed our camping ground,\nmoving about a mile west of the town, the officers thinking it to be a\nmore desirable place for the purpose. But ere the tents had been pitched,\nan order came to cook three days' rations, and be prepared to march early\nin the evening. All wondered what was up, and various were the\nconjectures. The most reasonable supposition was, that we were going to\nattack the enemy. What was our surprise, when, on forming into line, to\nfind ourselves faced towards Wild Cat.\n\nAt last came the word to march. Regiment after regiment fell into line as\nwe filed past, for our battery was to take the lead. Soon the entire\nbrigade was in motion. Wild Cat was reached and passed, but forward was\nthe order. It was now past midnight, with the moon shining brightly. Rock\nCastle river was crossed; and after marching some two miles further we\ncame to a halt. In the meantime the moon had sunk beyond the western\nhills, and it was now quite dark. Fires were built, around which we\ngathered and patiently waited for daylight. Our brigade was strewn along\nthe road for miles, and their watch-fires streamed brightly athwart the\ngloom, but all was quiet, save the mournful hoot of an owl perched in the\nneighboring forest, and the measured tread of the sentinels as they paced\ntheir weary beat.\n\nDaylight came at last, and with it came rain. The command was given to\nmove on, and forward we went, the rain pouring down in torrents, and the\nroads in a horrible condition. At almost every step, poor, weary, worn out\nsoldiers sank by the road-side, being completely exhausted and unable to\nproceed further.\n\nAbout four o'clock in the afternoon, the advance of our battery arrived at\nMount Vernon. Here they halted for the remainder to come up, but finally\ntook up quarters in a large field just in rear of the town, and it was\ndecided upon to remain there for the night. Our guns came stringing along,\nand at dark all had not arrived. A small quantity of coffee was procured,\nfrom which, with some raw pork, we made the best meal we could. Fires\nwere kindled, around which the weary souls gathered to obtain, if\npossible, a little sleep. Some crouched under wagons, others stowed\nthemselves away in sheds and barns. The wagons containing our tents and\nmess chests were still back on the road.\n\nSuch a night as we passed through, will never be forgotten. All were wet\nto the skin, and many had no overcoats nor blankets.\n\nMorning came at last, and with it a bright sun; but the air was raw and\nchilly. A breakfast similar to last night's supper was procured and soon\neaten. After waiting some time for the rest of the battery to come up, we\nfinally moved on without them. A march of ten miles brought us to a short\ndistance from Crab Orchard. Here, much to our satisfaction, we were\nordered to encamp. No time was lost in obeying the command, and what few\ntents had arrived were soon pitched. A hasty supper was cooked, and as\nspeedily demolished. Soon, all had turned in for a night's rest, being the\nfirst we had been able to obtain for two days.\n\nThus ended one of the most disastrous forced marches during the war. Many\na poor fellow owes his death to this cause.\n\nThe day following, the rest of the battery arrived, and we remained here\nuntil Tuesday noon, the 19th of November, when we were ordered to march,\nour destination being Lebanon. Alonzo Starr, of our company, died the\nnight previous at Mount Vernon, a victim of the forced march above\nalluded to. His remains were sent home in charge of Corporal Blanchard.\nThis was the first death in the battery. A number of our sick were left\nbehind; one of whom, E. K. Bailey, died on the 17th of December. After\nmarching about eight miles during the day, we encamped for the night, and\nthe next morning were again on the move, marching some eighteen miles,\nwhen we halted near a small creek. The weather up to this time had been\nquite pleasant, but the following morning it commenced raining, still we\npushed forward, the rain continuing during the day. In the afternoon\npassed through the village of Caynaville, rather a small place. The same\nnight pitched our tents in a field near a creek, about six miles from\nLebanon. The weather on the next day was clear but quite cold, and we\nagain resumed our march. Daring the forenoon we halted and camped on a\nhigh hill, a short distance from the town, which lay in plain view. The\nFourteenth Ohio Infantry were still with us. Four days later our right\nsection was ordered forward to Somerset, it having been reported that a\nlarge Rebel force under Zollicoffer had made an attack on the Twelfth\nKentucky Infantry, Col. Hoskins, who were camped on the Cumberland River,\nabout five miles from Somerset. According to orders, at nine o'clock in\nthe morning, the right section, under Lieut. Bennett, started, and at noon\nthe remainder of the battery were sent forward. Shortly after dark we came\nup with Bennett's command, and halted for the night. We here found the\npaymaster, who, the next morning, paid over our first instalment, being up\nto the 1st of November. After receiving our pay, again moved forward in a\nheavy rain, which continued through the day, and late in the afternoon the\nadvance reached Danville, and encamped two miles beyond the town. At dark\nall had arrived. Most of the men were quartered in town for the night,\nprocuring their suppers at the hotels, and at private residences. The\ncitizens did all in their power to make us comfortable during our short\nstay. A number of us obtained beds at the hotels, by paying for them,\nwhich was done willingly, for a comfortable bed we had not for a long time\nenjoyed.\n\nIn the morning, after passing a short time doing our trading, all returned\nto camp, and were again soon on the move. The right section had gone on\nahead, under command of Lieutenant Baldwin--Lieutenant Bennett having\nreceived a short furlough to go home. We passed through Stanford during\nthe day, and pitched tents four miles beyond the town. Next morning\ncontinued our march. The weather was clear, but quite cool. After marching\nfifteen miles, encamped near a church in progress of erection. That night\nthe boys lodged in the church--probably the first time some of them were\never in one. Early in the morning were again moving.\n\nEvery one that we now met, reported that a battle was going on at the\nriver just beyond Somerset. In a short time we distinctly heard\ncannonading, and pushed on as fast as possible, at noon arriving at\nSomerset. We were here informed that a regular battle was being fought at\nthe river, five miles distant. The Seventeenth and Thirty-eighth Ohio\nInfantry were close on our rear, and all possible dispatch was made to\nreach the river, as the men were anxious to have a hand in the fun, as\nthey called it.\n\nAt two o'clock we reached the river. It was snowing quite hard, and the\nfiring had ceased. This was on Monday, December 2nd.\n\nWe here found Lieutenant Baldwin, and his command. It appears that the\nfiring had all been done by the Rebels, who were on the opposite side of\nthe river. They had been throwing shot and shell into the camp of the\nTwelfth Kentucky, but without execution, only causing the Twelfth to move\nfurther back from the river, and out of reach of their guns.\n\nOccasionally the Rebels would march forward in regiments, fire a volley,\nand then fall back. Our guns made no reply, we not firing a shot. There\nhad been some slight skirmishing between the enemy and the Twelfth\nKentucky a day or two previous to our arrival. Colonel Hoskins had a small\nmountain howitzer, with which he now and then sent them a shell. No more\nfiring took place that night after our arrival.\n\nThe following morning, after vainly endeavoring to make some discovery of\nthe enemy, but seeing nothing of them, it was concluded that they had gone\ndown the river about sixteen miles, to what is called Mill Springs, and\nthat they would there make an attempt to cross, as at that place the river\nis sometimes fordable. Accordingly, Lieutenant Sypher was directed to take\npart of the Battery and proceed to that point, to prevent their crossing.\nThe Seventeenth Ohio Infantry had previously gone on as far as Fishing\nCreek, and there Lieutenant Sypher joined them. They then proceeded on\ntowards the river, Lieutenant Sypher having the front. On enquiring of\npeople living along the road, they were informed that none of the enemy\nhad crossed the river; and when they had arrived to within six miles of\nthe ford, a halt was ordered.\n\nAfter some consultation, Colonel Connel, and Captain Rickards, of the\nSeventeenth Ohio, and Lieutenant Sypher, concluded to go forward, by\nthemselves, and reconnoiter. When near the river, and in a deep ravine,\nthey were suddenly fired upon by a number of Secesh Cavalry, and ordered\nto halt. But, instead of obeying this command, they put spurs to their\nhorses, and made \"tracks\" as fast as possible, the Rebels firing several\nvolleys after them. In their flight, Colonel Connel's horse stumbled and\nfell, throwing the Colonel off, by which means he lost his cap and sword,\nand was badly bruised. Captain Rickards immediately came to his\nassistance, and gave him his horse, the Captain making his way out on\nfoot. All got safely back to their men.\n\nIt was now evident that a large body of the enemy had already crossed, and\nthere being no chance of obtaining a desirable position, and not having\nsufficient force to contend with them, they determined to fall back to\nFishing Creek, and await further orders. A retreat was ordered, and our\nmen retired in good order, and at daylight next morning were safely\narrived at Fishing Creek. In the meantime, the balance of the Battery were\non the way to their assistance, and on the night previous were camped only\ntwo miles from the creek, where we soon found them.\n\nWe remained here through the day, and early in the evening were ordered to\nhave all the horses harnessed, and everything ready in case of an\nemergency; information having been received that the enemy were advancing.\nOne section of the Battery, under Lieutenant Baldwin, was posted on the\nspur of a hill, commanding the crossing of the creek. A part of the\nSeventeenth Ohio were also stationed with them, and all were prepared for\nan attack.\n\nAbout ten o'clock, our pickets were driven in by the enemy's advance. They\nreported the Rebels in large force; and it being deemed folly to contend\nagainst such odds, General Schoepf, who was then in command, thought it\nadvisable to fall back on Somerset, and there await reinforcements. We\nwere soon retiring in good order, and before daylight arrived at Somerset.\nThe Thirty-eighth Ohio, and Twelfth Kentucky, coming in about the same\ntime. Shortly after daylight we moved about two miles North of the town,\nand encamped. This was on Thursday, December 5th.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE BATTLE OF MILL SPRINGS.\n\n\nWe remained quietly at Somerset until December 8th. In the meantime, were\nreinforced by the arrival of the Thirty-first and Thirty-fifth Ohio\nInfantry, and also Hewitt's Kentucky Battery. In addition to the above,\nwas a small detachment of Woolford's Cavalry.\n\nOn Sunday noon, one of the cavalrymen came riding into camp in hot haste,\nand nearly out of breath. He stated that the enemy were advancing, and\nthat they had made an attack on our picket guard, killing and wounding\nseveral, and had taken the rest prisoners.\n\nAt first, his story was doubted. It, however, proved true in many\nrespects. One of the guard was killed, one wounded, and fifteen or twenty\ntaken prisoners, all of them belonging to the Thirty-fifth Ohio.\nImmediately, bustle and confusion pervaded the camp. The long roll was\nbeaten in the Infantry, and all were soon in line for action. Our horses\nwere harnessed, tents struck, when we at once proceeded towards Somerset,\nwhich we had only left a few hours previous; and, at double quick, soon\nwent rushing into the town.\n\nWe at once took up position on a high hill just north of the town, which\ngave us a fine command of the country. The Seventeenth Ohio were stationed\nwith us. The remainder of the force were stationed at different points,\nand all quietly awaited an attack; but at dark, no enemy had appeared. The\nhorses were kept harnessed, and every one remained near his post of duty\nall night.\n\nDuring the night, we were reinforced by the arrival from London of the\nFirst and Second Tennessee Infantry. The next morning nothing was seen or\nheard of the enemy, and it was supposed that they had become alarmed\nduring the night, and had fallen back to their intrenchments at Mill\nSprings. Small reconnoitering parties were sent out daily, but with the\nexception of a few slight skirmishes, and occasionally a little firing\nbetween the picket guards, nothing of importance occurred for a number of\ndays. During these skirmishes, a few prisoners were taken on both sides,\nso that neither derived but little advantage. The weather for about two\nweeks, continued fine; but neither force seemed inclined to make good use\nof it.\n\nOn the 17th December, Gen. Schoepf ordered the whole brigade to be in\nreadiness to make a reconnoisance the next day. That night, one day's\nprovisions were cooked, and all prepared for an early start. At daylight,\nDecember 18th, the entire brigade, with the exception of a sufficient\nnumber of men to guard the camp, were on the move. The forces were divided\ninto two divisions. The Ohio and Kentucky Regiments, with two sections of\nour battery, under General Schoepf, went up Fishing Creek. The two\nTennessee Regiments, with the right section of our battery, under\nLieutenant Bennett, General Carter commanding, went down the Creek. The\ndivision of General Schoepf did not effect anything, being unable to fall\nin with the enemy. General Carter's command, however, was more successful.\nThey came upon a party of the Rebel Cavalry, who were on the opposite side\nof the Creek, and being out of rifle distance, they were inclined to be\nquite bold and defiant. But Lieutenant Bennett got his guns in position,\nand sent over several shells, which caused them to \"skedaddle\" in all\ndirections. It was supposed that his shot killed and wounded several, as\nthey were seen carrying off a number. They left considerable plunder which\nfell into the hands of the Tennessee men.\n\nSeeing no further prospect of drawing out the enemy, the expedition\nreturned to Somerset, arriving at dark.\n\nNothing of further importance occurred for some time, with the exception\nof an attempt on the part of Colonel Hoskins, with his regiment, and a\npart of the Thirty-eighth Ohio, to capture a forage train of the enemy,\nbut which proved unsuccessful. The weather had now become cold and rainy,\nmaking the roads almost impassable; and, it was thought that nothing would\nbe done before Spring, as neither party seemed inclined to throw down the\ngauntlet. But things were quietly working, and which the following will\nshow was to some purpose.\n\nOn Friday morning, January 17th, 1862, in accordance with orders of the\nprevious evening, the entire available force then at Somerset, set out, as\nwas then supposed, for another reconnoisance, towards the enemy's lines.\nSubsequent events showed that it resulted far different from what most of\nthe men anticipated. All camp equipage was left behind, in charge of a\nsufficient guard. At an early hour a start was effected; but, owing to the\nbad condition of the roads, slow progress was made. The late rains had\nswollen Fishing Creek, so that it was almost impassable; and it was at a\nlate hour of the night ere the Battery succeeded in crossing the stream.\n\nIt now commenced raining quite hard, but the men bravely pushed forward,\nand, near midnight, arrived at the camp of General Thomas, who had a large\nforce under his command. They had come over the Columbia road. This was\nquite a surprise to all, except such officers as were in the secret.\n\nIt now became evident that an exciting time was at hand, and that a\nbattle was soon to be fought. But little did we soldiers dream that it\nwould result so gloriously to our cause as the sequel will show. The rain\nkept pouring down, and all were wet to the skin, having no tents to\nprotect us. At day-light next morning, it was still raining. A\nconsultation was held between Generals Thomas and Schoepf, the result of\nwhich was known only to themselves. A part of Schoepf's Brigade was\nordered back to Somerset, to act as a reserve. Our Battery, with the two\nTennessee regiments, remaining. Teams were sent to Somerset for\nprovisions, with which they were loaded, and sent forward. The rain, which\nhad fallen heavily during the entire day, had swollen the creek to such a\nhight that they were not able to recross until the following morning.\n\nAll of Saturday the men remained in camp, on account of the rain. The\nvarious regiments were scattered over a large extent of ground. On Sunday,\nJanuary 19th, at an early hour, a part of Woolford's Cavalry, who were on\npicket guard, were driven in by the advance of the enemy, and soon\nthereafter the attack was commenced on the Tenth Indiana Infantry, who\nwere camped in an advanced position. The Tenth stood their ground manfully\nfor a long time, although they were opposed by four times their number. At\nlength the Fourth Kentucky came to their relief.\n\nThe engagement had now become general. For a time our guns could not be\nbrought to bear upon the enemy, owing to the nature of the ground, and the\nposition of our troops, without endangering our own men. After\nconsiderable maneuvering, a portion of the guns were got into a favorable\nposition, and soon begun to pour in a deadly fire upon the enemy. Shot and\nshell flew thick and fast. Each discharge wrought fearful execution, and\nthe Rebel ranks were rapidly thinned.\n\nThe fighting had now become terrific, the advantage changing alternately\nfrom one side to the other; and at times it was difficult to tell how the\nbattle was going. Our troops fought bravely, not once flinching. Although\ntheir comrades were falling around them, still they pressed bravely\nforward. General Zollicoffer fell in the early part of the engagement,\nhaving been shot through the heart by Colonel Fry, of the Fourth Kentucky.\n\nThe enemy had now begun to waver, and gradually gave ground, when the\ngallant Ninth Ohio made a grand bayonet charge, which scattered them in\nall directions. The retreat then became general. Our forces followed them\nup, firing volley after volley into their disordered ranks. In the\nmeantime, the guns of our Battery were doing fearful execution among the\nfleeing Rebels. Many of the shells exploded in their very midst. We still\nkept up the pursuit, the rain all the time falling heavily, which rendered\nthe roads almost impassable; but on we went, through woods, over logs and\nstumps, through brush and mud. At times it was all our horses could do to\npull through, and our progress was consequently slow. The roads and woods\nwere scattered with the dead and wounded of both armies. The track of the\nfleeing Rebels was strewn with muskets, swords, knapsacks, overcoats, &c.,\nwhich they had thrown away to facilitate their flight.\n\nAt about five o'clock we had succeeded in driving the enemy behind their\nintrenchments at Mill Springs, being a distance of eight miles from where\nthe battle commenced. Reinforcements had now come up, and though the men\nwere nearly exhausted, having eaten nothing since early morning, and were\nsaturated with the rain, the guns were soon got in position, and opened\nwith shell on the enemy's works. The Rebels replied with a few ineffectual\nshot, their shell falling far short of their destination. Kinney's and\nWetmore's Batteries were also engaging the enemy from different positions.\nAbout eight in the evening the enemy's guns were silenced, and in a short\ntime the firing ceased altogether. An hour later quiet reigned in the\ncamp.\n\nOur weary men now stretched themselves on the cold, damp ground, to obtain\na little repose from the toils of the day. All slept near their post of\nduty, and were ready to spring into action at sound of the bugle. At early\ndawn they were at their stations, to renew the battle; but no sound came\nfrom the enemy's camp.\n\nIt was now determined to make a grand charge, and storm the Rebel works.\nAll the forces were drawn up in line of battle, and, at the same time, our\nguns were got in readiness to open on the enemy. At last the word to\ncharge was given, and with a loud yell, the brave troops rushed forward,\nand were soon scaling the entrenchments. But what was their surprise, when\nreaching the top of the breastworks, to find the place evacuated. The\nbirds had flown; or to use their own favorite phrase, \"skedaddled.\" They\nhad succeeded in crossing the river in a small steamer. A shell from our\nbattery struck the boat just as it had crossed for the last time. The\nshell exploded, setting the boat on fire, and it was soon burned to the\nwater's edge.\n\nHaving no means of crossing our forces, we were unable to follow them up.\nThey had attempted to get part of their guns over the river, but our near\napproach prevented them from doing so. They left several sticking fast in\nthe mud. A large number of the Rebels could yet be seen climbing the hill\non the opposite side of the river, when a few shell thrown among them\ncaused them to scatter in wild confusion. So great was their fright, and\nin such a hurry were they to get away, that they left everything behind,\neven to their half-cooked rations. They saved nothing, except what they\nhad on their backs.\n\nThe result of this glorious victory to the Union cause, is summed up as\nfollows: From three hundred to four hundred of the enemy killed and\nwounded, and two hundred taken prisoners. About fifteen hundred horses and\nmules, five hundred wagons and harness, fourteen guns, with caissons and\nequipments complete, five thousand muskets, together with a large quantity\nof provisions, clothing and ammunition, fell into our hands. But the best\nof all, by this victory we succeeded in freeing this part of Kentucky of\nthe secesh army, much to the gratification of the good Union people.\n\nThis was the first, of a series of brilliant victories that soon followed.\nThe enemy's force in this engagement, was about ten thousand; while our\nforce, actually engaged, did not exceed three thousand five hundred--they\nhaving about three to our one. Our men got a large quantity of trophies,\nin the shape of guns, revolvers, watches and clothing.\n\nThe following list comprises our force engaged in the battle: Tenth\nIndiana, Fourth Kentucky, Ninth Ohio, Second Minnesota, part of the First\nTennessee, all Infantry, and a portion of Woolford's Cavalry, together\nwith our own and Kinney's and Wetmore's Batteries, First Ohio Artillery.\n\nThis battle has been given several names; such as, battle near Somerset,\nbattle of Fishing Creek, Logan's X Roads, Old Fields, and Mill Springs. It\nis better known by the last mentioned.\n\nIt was not until Wednesday evening, the 22d of January, that our battery\narrived in Camp at Somerset, having been absent six days. Although the men\nwere well nigh worn out, yet all were in high spirits over their late\nvictory, and for a long time it was the only thing talked of.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nHERE A LITTLE, AND THERE A LITTLE.\n\n\nAs has been stated, it was on the 22d of January, when the battery\nreturned to Somerset. The next day, we went back to Mill Springs with our\nhorses, to bring away the guns captured from the enemy.\n\nAs it was late in the day, when we arrived at the scene of the engagement,\nand the roads being in bad condition, we remained over night. The next\nmorning, at daylight, started on our return, and reached Somerset at 2\nP. M., the distance traveled in both expeditions being sixty-four miles.\n\nWe now received orders to march for East Tennessee; but the order was soon\nafter countermanded, as it was found impossible to proceed, owing to the\nhorrible condition of the roads. Colonel Barnett had arrived shortly after\nthe battle, it being the first time we had seen him since leaving Camp\nDick Robinson. He remained with us only a few days.\n\nNot having before said anything about Somerset, we will here describe the\nplace:--It is one of the early settled towns of Kentucky, and like all the\nother mountain towns of this State, it presents rather a sombre and\ngloomy appearance. The buildings are mostly built of wood, and are old\nfashioned affairs. The business part looks as if it had gone through the\nrevolutionary war; many of the buildings are fast going to decay. The\npopulation is about one thousand five hundred. Although the inhabitants\nprofess to be loyal to the old Government, yet many of them are, at heart,\nrank secessionists. There is a court-house and jail here, it being the\nseat of justice for Pulaski county.\n\nWe remained here until the 10th of February, 1862, being a period of just\nten weeks from the day of our first arrival. On Saturday, the 8th of the\nsame month, Edward C. Chapman, a member of our company, died, and was\nburied the next day. His remains were followed to the grave by nearly all\nthe members of the battery. This was the first burial in the company, the\nothers, who died, having been sent home, with the exceptions of Hodge and\nBailey, who were left sick at towns we passed through.\n\nIt having been found impracticable to go forward into East Tennessee, for\nvarious reasons, on Saturday, February 8th, we were ordered to be prepared\nto march on the following Monday.\n\nMonday morning found us ready to move; and, at 8 o'clock, we bade good bye\nto Somerset, much to our satisfaction. We marched twelve miles that day,\nover the worst kind of a road. In many places the mud was belly deep to\nthe horses, and they often got stalled. At night, camped in a small valley\nnear a creek. During the night, a heavy snow storm set in, and, in the\nmorning, the ground was covered, and more still falling. At 8 o'clock,\nwere again on the move. The roads were but little better than the day\nprevious; we were, however, in a more open country. Marched this day about\nfourteen miles, and at 4 o'clock struck the turnpike at a small creek,\nwhere there was a mill, and one or two stores. We proceeded one mile\nbeyond, and camped for the night--the weather cold and stormy.\n\nNext morning, the weather was quite pleasant; and, as soon as breakfast\nwas over, were again on the road. Lieutenant Bennett was taken sick, and\nwas left at this place. We now had a good road, and made fair progress. At\n4 o'clock, we camped two miles from Danville, the town being in plain\nview. The distance made this day, was twenty-four miles.\n\nDanville is one of the most beautiful towns in Kentucky. The streets are\nwide and clean, and the place is well laid out. The population is about\nfive thousand. It contains many fine buildings, both public and private.\n\nEarly next morning, as usual, on the move, with fine weather. Lieutenant\nSturges was left sick with typhoid fever at Houstonville, on our way\nthrough. Marched twenty miles this day, and camped in the woods eight\nmiles from Lebanon. There was a heavy fall of snow during the night, and\nthe morning was ushered in cold and disagreeable, but we were soon moving,\nand arrived at Lebanon about noon, and camped two miles from town on the\nLouisville road.\n\nTime, on the above march, four and a half days.\n\nAt Lebanon, we received a supply of new clothing, and also our Sibley\ntents, which made us more comfortable. At this place, we obtained the news\nof the capture of Forts Henry and Donelson. Our horses were shod, and some\nof them exchanged for others. Also received a lot of army wagons, with six\nmules to each. Had considerable sport in breaking in the mules, many a\nlaughable incident occurring. One of them, in particular, seemed inclined\nto have his own way, in spite of all the driver's efforts to render him\ntractable. He would neither go forwards nor backwards; and when Jehu\napplied whip and spurs, as an inducement to proceed, he would turn his\nhead, look his tormentor full in the face, with a most wicked leer, and\nthen commence such a series of \"ground and lofty tumblings,\" that the\ndriver was feign to hold on for dear life. Finally, a bright idea seized\nthe mind of our mounted friend. \"Boys,\" said he, \"I'll bet two to one,\nthat I make this cloven-footed, tobacco-leaf-eared model of a Dutch church\nsweat the hide off hisself;\" and, leaving his animal tied to a fence, he\nentered a grocery, soon returning with an immense cabbage stuck on the\npoint of his sword. Once more mounting the sagacious beast, Jehu laid his\nsword between the animal's ears. The cabbage projecting in full view to\nthe enraptured gaze of the refractory steed, caused him to elevate his\nmuzzle for so tempting a morsel, and, in the attempt, he began to move\nforward, and soon was going at a speed wonderful to behold. That mule\nalways went well after that. He was partial to cabbages.\n\nWe had orders to move on Tuesday, the 18th of the same month; but, owing\nto the rainy weather, did not leave. From preparations being made, it\nlooked as if we were going to have another long and tedious march. Only\nthe officers knew our destination. The weather during our stay here, had\nbeen wet and cold.\n\nTheodore White died in hospital on the night of February 18th. His remains\nwere sent home in charge of his brother, who was quite sick. A large\nnumber of sick were left in hospital at this place, among whom was\nCorporal H. P. Fenn, who died shortly after our departure. Lieutenant\nBennett returned on the 20th, having nearly recovered from his sickness.\n\nFriday morning opened bright and clear, and we took our departure from\nLebanon, having been here one week.\n\nAt 8 o'clock, were on the way, and, at 11 A. M., passed through the town\nof Springfield. Marched twenty-five miles that day, and pitched our tents\nin the woods, five miles from Bardstown. The next morning was rainy.\nProceeded to within one mile of the town, and again camped. Kinney's\nbattery accompanied us. This was the 22d of February, being Washington's\nbirth-day. At noon, Kinney's battery fired a salute, in honor of the\noccasion. The next day, went about four miles beyond Bardstown and again\ncamped in the woods. A large number of troops were camped near us.\n\nOn Monday morning, the 24th, we started for Louisville. Nearly all of\nThomas' Division were with us, making quite a large army. Marched\ntwenty-six miles this day, and camped for the night near a small village.\nThe next morning, got an early start, and arrived within three miles of\nLouisville. It was now the 25th of February.\n\nWe camped in a large field near the city, and the following day were paid\nfor two months' services, being up to the 1st of January. This was the\nsecond payment we had received.\n\nIt was now generally understood, that we were bound up the Cumberland\nriver; but for what point, was not fully known. General Thomas' Division\nkept coming in, regiment after regiment; proceeded directly to the city,\nand there embarked aboard the steamers which were chartered for the\npurpose. A number of our men went into the city, after being paid.\n\nLouisville is the largest and most important city in Kentucky. It is\nsituated at the falls of the Ohio river, and contains a population of\nseventy thousand, and is the center of a large and growing trade.\n\nOn Thursday morning, the 27th of February, we entered the city, and at\nonce commenced getting the guns, horses, &c., on board the steamer\nWestmoreland. It was nearly dark, ere this was completed. At 10 o'clock\nthe same evening, we cast loose from the levee and were soon steaming down\nthe broad Ohio. Sixteen boats loaded with troops accompanied us. Colonel\nBarnett was on one of them; and there were also two or three more of his\nbatteries on different boats.\n\nLieutenant Sypher, who had been absent on a short furlough, joined us at\nLouisville.\n\nThe late heavy rains had caused quite a freshet in the Ohio river and its\ntributaries. Many towns and buildings, which we passed, were almost\nsubmerged, and in some places the river spread out in lake-like expansion.\nWe frequently met boats, which were returning for troops and supplies,\nhaving discharged their loads. Making but few stops, and only then for the\npurpose of \"coaling,\" on Sunday morning, March 2d, we arrived at\nSmithland, at the mouth of the Cumberland. We made but a short stay here,\nand then went steaming up the river.\n\nIt was now well understood, that Nashville was our destination. The\nCumberland, like the Ohio, was at a high stage, and our progress against\nthe current was but slow. About 4 o'clock in the afternoon, we arrived at\nFort Donelson, and as we made but a short stop, had no opportunity to go\non shore to see the place, but had a pretty good view of it as we passed\nby. There were a large number of Union troops stationed here, who heartily\ncheered us on passing. The stars and stripes were floating over the fort,\nwhere erst the hated symbol of secession flung its disgraceful folds.\n\nOn Monday morning, we passed the city of Clarksville, Tennessee, but made\nno landing. A band, on board one of the transports accompanying us, played\nseveral national airs as we steamed along. The place seemed almost\ndeserted. Occasionally, a group of \"wooley heads\" could be seen,\ndisplaying their \"ivories,\" and swinging their old hats. Here, as at Fort\nDonelson, were a large number of troops, and the good old flag was flying.\nThe railroad bridge, over the river, had been partially destroyed by fire,\nwhen the Federal gunboats first made their appearance before the city. On\nTuesday morning, March 4th, we arrived at Nashville, having been four days\non the trip.\n\nAt Nashville, we found about fifty steamers discharging their loads. All\nof them had brought troops and munitions of war. There had already twenty\nthousand troops arrived, and more constantly coming. Our guns and caissons\nwere got ashore at once, the men and horses remaining on board until next\nmorning, when we disembarked, and took up our line of march for the\ncamping ground, passing through several of the principal streets. We\nproceeded out on the Charlotteville road some three miles from the city,\nand pitched our tents on a beautiful spot, near a small creek. Bartlett's\nand Kinney's batteries were camped near by. We had dress parade at 4 P. M.\neach day. The weather was very changeable, sometimes being cold, with rain\nand snow, at other times quite warm and pleasant.\n\nWhile at this camping ground, a large number of the Company visited what\nwas called Fort Zollicoffer, or, at least, what was intended for a fort,\nor defence, for the protection of Nashville. It is situated on a high\nbluff, three miles below the city, on the Cumberland River, and consists\nof a slight earthwork. There were several large guns laying half buried in\nthe mud; only two remaining mounted, the Rebels having hastily attempted\nto destroy the works, on the approach of the Union gun-boats. Shot and\nshell, were laying around in large quantity.\n\nRemaining at this camp until Sunday, March 16th, we moved our quarters two\nmiles south of the city, on the Franklin Pike, and near the Tennessee and\nAlabama Railroad. We here pitched our tents, on a high ridge between the\nrailroad and turnpike. Colonel Barnett named it Camp Brownlow, in honor of\nthat sterling old patriot, Parson Brownlow. There were also camped near\nby, several batteries from Kentucky, Wisconsin, and other States. Colonel\nBarnett, had the entire command. We were kept under thorough military\ndiscipline. Dress parade every afternoon, drilling and guard mounting.\nAfter remaining here about one week, for some cause or other, we again\nmoved half a mile to new grounds. While here, a number of the sick were\ndischarged the service. Those who had been left sick at different points,\nand had recovered, here rejoined us. Richard Williams, a member of our\nCompany, died in the hospital at Nashville on the 15th of March. He was\nfrom Cleveland.\n\nNashville, the capital of Tennessee, is situated on the Cumberland River,\ntwo hundred and fifty miles from its mouth. It is the terminus of the\nLouisville and Nashville Railroad, and is also the centering point of\nnumerous other Southern roads. It is sometimes known as the City of Rocks;\nbeing built on a high rocky elevation. The population is about twenty-five\nthousand, and it is a place of considerable trade. Most of the cotton, and\nother products of Middle Tennessee, here find a market. The State House,\nis a large and magnificent structure, built entirely of marble, and\nsituated on a high elevation called Capitol Hill. It is the first object\nthat attracts the attention of the stranger, on his approach to the city,\nas it can be seen from a considerable distance from all quarters of\napproach. The glorious old flag, under which our fathers fought in a cause\nmost holy, now floats from its dome, in place of the late Secesh rag. The\nstreets are narrow and irregular, not being laid out with any regard to\nbeauty. There are a large number of fine buildings here, both public and\nprivate. The citizens are, for the most part, strong secessionists. The\nappearance of Union soldiers in their streets was not much relished, but\nthey were obliged to put up with it.\n\nOn the 29th of March, we struck tents, and again moved forward, taking\nthe Franklin road, in company with the Seventy-ninth Pennsylvania, First\nWisconsin, and Thirty-fifth Indiana, all Infantry, and one Regiment of\nPennsylvania Cavalry. We were now in the Seventh Brigade of General Buel's\ndepartment, General Negley commanding. A march of twenty miles through\nheat and dust, brought us to the pretty little town of Franklin, and at 4\no'clock in the afternoon we camped in a grove one mile from the town.\nNearly all the places of business here were closed, many of the\ninhabitants having fled from the wrath of the \"barbarous Yankees.\" We\nremained here only two days, and were then again ordered forward.\n\nOn Monday morning, April 1st, we left the place. The day was quite warm,\nand the roads very dusty, but we marched twenty-five during the day, and\ncamped in the woods near a creek. The men had now a good opportunity for\nbathing, which most of them took advantage of. This place was rather a\nrough camping ground, being quite uneven and covered with rocks. The next\nmorning, had a fine shower, which cooled the atmosphere and settled the\ndust. At 8 o'clock were once more moving, and soon forded a creek, the\nRebels having destroyed the bridge. A number of the First Regiment\nMichigan Engineers and Mechanics, were actively engaged in rebuilding it.\nAfter proceeding about two miles, were ordered to halt, remaining in the\nroad for two hours, then moved into a field to our left, and encamped.\nNext day, again started, and at noon reached Columbia, having crossed Duck\nRiver. We here camped on a high hill just back of the town.\n\nThis was April 3d.\n\nIt was about 2 o'clock, when our tents were pitched. The ground was\ncleared up, and the place made quite pleasant for camping purposes. It was\nsurrounded by a heavy growth of trees, which were beginning to leave out.\nWe also had a commanding view of the town and surrounding country.\n\nColumbia, the county seat of Maury, is situated on Duck River, and is\nfifty miles from Nashville. The Tennessee and Alabama Railroad, passes\nthrough it. Population, about three thousand. The streets are wide and\nclean. Among the public buildings, is a large Female Seminary, then\nclosed. A majority of the people are secessionists. Shortly after our\narrival, Dow Tanney, a member of the Company, died. On the 7th of April,\nthe right section of the Battery, under command of Lieutenant Bennett,\nwent to Mount Pleasant, fourteen miles from Columbia. A part of our\nbrigade, also went with them. On the 22d of April, we received another\npayment, being up to March 1st. On the night of May 1st, about 11 o'clock,\nan order came for one section of the Battery to proceed at once to\nPulaski. At 12 o'clock the centre section, under Lieutenant Baldwin,\nstarted, with four companies of the Seventh Pennsylvania Cavalry, one\ncompany First Kentucky, and four companies Seventy-ninth Pennsylvania\nInfantry, accompanying.\n\nThe reason of this sudden movement, was on account of Morgan's cut-throat\nCavalry being at Pulaski, where they had captured a wagon train of General\nMitchell's division, and had also made an attack on a party of unarmed\nUnion soldiers, who had just been discharged from hospital, and were on\nthe way to join their regiments. A number were killed and wounded, and\nseveral taken prisoners. The citizens of Pulaski had assisted Morgan in\nthis attack, firing on our soldiers from their houses, and had also broken\nopen the store of a Union man, and carried off all his goods and money.\n\nOur men pushed on as fast as possible, and, when within ten miles of the\ntown, were met by a number of the troops, who had been captured by the\nenemy, and released on parole. They reported Morgan and his gang still at\nPulaski, when they left. Lieutenant Baldwin having the front, gave the\norder to forward on double quick. The men were not slow in obeying; and at\n2 o'clock went rushing into Pulaski in hot haste, but were a little too\nlate for the Rebels, as they had taken the alarm and \"skedaddled.\"\n\nThe men retaliated on the citizens for their base conduct. They took\npossession of the town, and went into the mercantile business. From\nsoldiers, they were soon turned into merchants, and opened stores on their\nown account. Soon all were loaded with watches, jewelry, boots, shoes,\nhats, clothing, etc., besides a certain other article which we wouldn't\nmention by a jug-full.\n\nThey remained here a few days--long enough to regulate matters, and to\ngive the residents to understand, that they must behave themselves. For\nUnion boys wont be trifled with.\n\nOn the 6th instant, they returned to Columbia, where they safely arrived.\n\nOn the evening of the 2d of May we were all aroused by an order to harness\nhorses, and every man to be at his post with all possible dispatch.\n\nThis sudden move rather took us by surprise, and all wondered what was in\nthe wind.\n\nIt would appear that a large number of Morgan's guerillas had been\nprowling in the vicinity of Columbia, and it was supposed that they\nintended to take advantage of the absence of part of our force, to attack\nthe place. But it was not long ere we were in readiness to give them a\nwarm reception. Our remaining two guns were posted on a hill a short\ndistance from the camp, and the balance of the troops, then here, were\nplaced in favorable positions. The night passed without any disturbance.\n\n  Morgan and his hellish crew\n  Were afraid to come in view.\n\nBut for several nights we maintained a strict watch for the murderous\nthieves.\n\nOn the morning of the 6th of May, the forge wagon was sent to Mount\nPleasant, to shoe the horses of Lieutenant Bennett's section. Lieut. B.\nand his command were camped in a fine grove, near a large creek. The First\nWisconsin and Thirty-fifth Indiana Infantry, together with some Kentucky\nCavalry, were camped near by.\n\nOn the 10th of May, an order came for them to proceed directly to Pulaski;\nand at noon they were on the road,--the First Wisconsin going with them.\nThe left section had, also, an order to go to the same place, and left\nimmediately, under command of Lieutenants Sypher and Sturges. I will here\nstate, that Lieutenant Sypher had returned, and joined us at Columbia,\nsome two weeks previous, having recovered his health. He had been sick\nnearly two months, and went home from Houstonville, where we had left him.\nA number of our sick, who had been left behind, rejoined us here.\n\nOn the 20th of May, Lieutenant Bennett returned to Columbia with the right\nsection, and immediately proceeded to Kalioke Station, six miles from\nColumbia, and on the railroad. On the 21st inst., the left section, under\nLieutenant Sypher, returned, and went into camp at the old place. The\nnight of June 2d, had another alarm, caused by the firing of our pickets.\nThe next day, a Union meeting was held at the place; and during the\nafternoon had still another alarm, but, like the former, proved without\ncause. On the 29th of May, the left section again left Columbia, the\ncenter section now only remaining; and, on the 9th of June, they also left\nfor Murfreesboro.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nEXPEDITION OF THE CENTER SECTION.\n\n\nOn Monday, June 9th, the Center Section left Columbia for Murfreesboro,\nleaving the forge, battery and baggage wagons behind, together with the\ntents and camp equipage. The reason for this move was supposed to be an\nattack apprehended on Murfreesboro, as there had been several skirmishes\nin that vicinity.\n\nAt 5 A. M. the two guns started, under command of Captain Standart and\nLieutenant Baldwin. At 2 P. M. the forge and battery wagons, together with\nwhat men were left; also left along with the First Kentucky Cavalry.\nStandart's command marched four miles beyond Franklin that day, and camped\nfor the night. The remainder went within five miles of the above place,\nand also camped. The next day, the last-named went to within seven miles\nof Murfreesboro. The center section reached the town at 2 P. M. the same\nday. The roads, with the exception of some six miles, were in fine order,\nbeing macadamized. The country is well adapted for farming, and we passed\nmany large fields of wheat, corn and cotton. The wheat, generally, was\nbeing cut. On Wednesday morning, June 11th, with our two guns we set out,\nin company with the Sixty-ninth and Seventy-fourth Ohio, Third Minnesota,\nEleventh and part of the Ninth Michigan--all Infantry--and one battalion\neach of the Fourth Kentucky and Seventh Pennsylvania Cavalry, together\nwith four guns of the First Tennessee and four of First Kentucky\nArtillery. At 9 o'clock, same morning, the First Kentucky Cavalry,\ntogether with our forge and battery wagon, arrived at Murfreesboro, and\nwere at once sent forward to join the main body of the army. The\nexpedition was under command of General Dumont.\n\nEarly that evening our expedition reached Readyville, and camped in a\ncorn-field near a creek. At 11 o'clock, the same night, all hands were\nordered out to proceed on the march. A good deal of grumbling was caused\nat this unlooked for command, but all must obey.\n\nAbout this time, an eclipse of the moon occurred, and the men jocosely\nremarked that we were only wakened to take an astronomical survey of it.\n\nAfter considerable delay, at 1 o'clock we were in motion. For the first\nfew miles the road was quite hilly, and one of the Kentucky battery's\ncaissons was capsized over a bank, and had to be left behind. The roads\nwere now in pretty good condition, but very dusty, and at daylight we had\nadvanced some ten miles. The weather was extremely warm, but the road was\nwell shaded by woods. At 11 o'clock arrived at McMinnville, a small town\nof some five hundred inhabitants, and situated on the Manchester and\nMcMinnville Railroad. The place is strongly \"secesh.\" There was an M. D.\nalong with us, who had lately been driven out of the town on account of\nstrong Union sentiments. He was acting as our guide.\n\nAt McMinnville we camped in an open field near the town--the Tennessee and\nKentucky Batteries being camped near by. The remainder of the force were\ncamped at different places. On the day following, a part of the force,\nconsisting of the Third Minnesota, and First Kentucky Infantry, one\nbattalion each of the Fourth Kentucky and Seventh Pennsylvania Cavalry,\none section of Hewitt's Kentucky, and our center section of artillery,\nwere ordered forward to Pikeville, to drive out a body of Secesh Cavalry,\nwho were reported as being at that place. At 5 P. M., took up our line of\nmarch. The next morning, early, the rest of the force followed.\n\nOur road now lay through a wild, rough, and mountainous country, but\nthinly inhabited and little cultivated--corn being the only grain we saw.\nThe long and dry continuance of the weather had drained all the creeks, so\nthat water was not readily obtained, and, for the want of which, both man\nand beast suffered terribly. The hills were steep and rocky, and our poor\nhorses, overcome with heat and thirst, were bleeding at the nose, and\nready to give out; but by dint of hard urging, and easing them of their\nloads, we finally reached Pikeville early in the afternoon of Saturday,\nJune 14th. Much to our disappointment, found that the secesh had left\nthree days prior to our arrival.\n\nPikeville is a small place, containing one hundred and fifty inhabitants,\nand is situated at the head of Sequatchie Valley. It is on or near the\ndividing line of East and Middle Tennessee. There were several Union men\nliving here, some of whom joined Woolford's Cavalry.\n\nThe advance, finding their mission at an end, set out on their return the\nnext day. In the meantime the rear detachment, which had camped half way\nbetween McMinnville and Pikeville the night before, the next morning\nproceeded on; but when they had gone four or five miles, were ordered to\nface about and retrace their steps.\n\nA day and night's march again brought us to McMinnville, where we camped\non the river's bank. Those who went forward also arrived on the afternoon\nof the same day, which was Monday, June 16th.\n\nWe remained here until 5 o'clock on the afternoon of the 17th, and then\nonce more moved towards Murfreesboro. Marched all night, and at daylight\nof the 18th entered the town of Woodbury, where we camped near our former\nground. Remained here during the day, and at night resumed our march.\nDuring the night were visited by a heavy thunder storm, rendering it so\ndark as to be almost impossible to keep the road. At 4 o'clock next\nmorning reached Murfreesboro, and went into camp.\n\nMurfreesboro is quite a pretty place, and contains a population of five\nthousand. It is the county seat of Rutland, and is located on the\nNashville and Chattanooga Railroad, being some thirty miles from the\nformer place.\n\nFriday morning, at daylight, we started for Columbia, free from infantry\nand cavalry, with the exception of one company of the First Kentucky.\nCaptain Standart left us at Murfreesboro and went to Shelbyville, where\nLieutenant Sypher was stationed with the left section. We were accordingly\nunder command of Lieutenant Baldwin. We camped the first night, two miles\nbeyond Franklin. Made an early start on Saturday morning, June 21st, and\nreached Columbia at 11 A. M. the same day. Camped on the east side of Duck\nRiver, where we found Lieutenant Bennett with the second detachment of the\nright section, they having arrived the night previous from Rogersville,\nAlabama, where they left the first detachment. The Seventy-eighth\nPennsylvania Infantry were encamped with them. All were glad to once more\nget back to their old quarters. We had been gone just thirteen days,\nduring which time we had marched two hundred and fifty miles, and which\nresulted in no particular advantage; but, on the contrary, had\nconsiderably worn down the men and horses, besides losing our tents and\npart of our baggage. Take it all in all, it was the most severe march we\nhad yet endured. Our present camping ground was not near as pleasant as\nformerly.\n\nJuly 1st, moved our quarters one mile north-east of the town. This was a\nmuch better location in many respects. The Seventy-eighth Pennsylvania\ncamped near us. July 4th, at 3 A. M., one section of our battery went into\ntown, and fired a salute of thirty-four guns. At noon, the entire battery\ndid the same. On July 9th, the left and center sections started for\nShelbyville, marching till about 8 o'clock that evening, and then halted\nnear a creek to feed horses and get supper. At 11 o'clock, the moon having\nrisen, were ordered forward, and soon passed through the small town of\nFarmington. The stars and stripes were flying from a high staff in the\ncenter of the town, and several of the inhabitants displayed small United\nStates flags in front of their houses.\n\n\nTOGETHER AGAIN.\n\nWe were here joined by the Seventh Pennsylvania Cavalry; and, on the\nmorning of July 10th, entered Shelbyville, where we found Lieutenant\nSypher with the left section, camped one mile from town. This was the\nfirst time that the entire battery had camped together since the 7th of\nApril. Distance from Columbia, forty miles.\n\nShelbyville is located on Duck River, and is the terminus of a branch of\nthe Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad, and distant about seventy-five\nmiles from Nashville. It contains a population of three thousand five\nhundred, and is the county seat of Bedford. About one-half of the\nresidents are good Unionists.\n\nWe remained here only a few hours, being ordered off at 6 o'clock the same\nevening. The left section had been here nearly a month. A short time after\ngetting under way, it commenced raining quite hard. At 10 o'clock the same\nnight arrived at Wartrace, where we remained until next morning. We laid\nout in the storm all night, and, in the morning, after breakfast, went one\nmile from town and camped. The Seventy-ninth Pennsylvania Infantry were\nalready here.\n\nWartrace is a small station on the Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad.\nPopulation about two hundred. Our camping ground was on a hill, and near a\nfine creek. For two days, everything was quiet; but, on Sunday morning,\nJuly 13th, at daylight, heavy firing was heard in the direction of\nMurfreesboro, which is about twenty miles distant. All sorts of\nconjectures were formed in regard to the cause of it. At night, received a\nreport that the Rebels had attacked Murfreesboro, and had succeeded in\nobtaining possession of the town. Had captured the Third Minnesota\nInfantry, and part of Hewitt's First Kentucky Battery. At first, this\nreport was doubted, but in the end proved true.\n\nFrom certain rumors current in camp, it was supposed that a force of the\nenemy were in the vicinity of Wartrace, and an attack was apprehended at\nany moment. At dark struck our tents, harnessed our horses, and made all\npreparation to meet the enemy. About 10 o'clock, received an order to\nmove. The right section remained near camp. The left section took\nposition at the depot, the center section going out some distance below\nthe depot, and close to the track. All kept vigilant watch during the\nnight, but no enemy appeared.\n\nThe following day we received reinforcements, consisting of the\nFifty-first Ohio, part of the Ninth Michigan, and two companies of the\nThird Minnesota, who were engaged in guarding some station at the time of\nthe capture of Murfreesboro, and had luckily escaped. We also had a small\nforce of cavalry. During the day of Monday, July 14th, scouts were sent\nout in different directions. A small barricade was built at the point\nwhere the center section was posted. At night, troops were stationed in\ndifferent places along the road, and the utmost caution observed to\nprevent a surprise. But the night passed, like the one previous, without\nan attack.\n\nAt daylight, the whole force was ordered to move, and were soon under way.\nWe were not allowed to wait for breakfast, or to feed the horses. What\nthis movement was for, or where we were going, none, save the officers in\ncommand, knew.\n\nA march of twenty miles brought us to Tullahoma, which is south of\nWartrace, and on the same railroad. It is also at the junction of the\nManchester and McMinnville road. On arriving there, we encamped in an\norchard near the depot. At dark, the left section were posted on a high\nelevation, at the north-east part of the town. There was already a large\nforce here, and more troops still arriving. The concentrating of so large\na force at this point, looked as if a battle was brewing. Preparations\nwere at once made to resist any force the enemy might bring to oppose us.\nRifle pits were dug, and earth works thrown up. Various rumors circulated\nthrough camp. Several persons were arrested on the charge of being spies;\none of whom, rumor had it, was found guilty, and sentenced to be hung.\n\nThree days thus passed by, during which time we were visited by frequent\nshowers of rain.\n\nOn the night of the 18th of July, the center section moved to a grove\nclose by the depot, while the right section moved in another direction,\nand near where the left was posted. At 9 o'clock next morning, received\norders to march, and a general breaking up of camp now took place; some\ngoing in one direction--some in another. Our battery, together with the\nEighteenth Kentucky Infantry, went towards Shelbyville. Marched about nine\nmiles that day, and camped in a large field. During the night, had a heavy\nthunder storm, with high wind. At daylight, were on the move. The weather\nwas quite cloudy, and threatened more rain, but soon cleared up and became\nquite pleasant. At 10 o'clock A. M., entered Shelbyville, and, after\nremaining there an hour, again moved forward. We were now traveling over a\nmacadamized road, which was in most excellent condition. After going eight\nmiles, we camped near a creek, and remained here until daylight the next\nmorning, when we again resumed our march. At 11 o'clock A. M., arrived at\nMurfreesboro, where we found a large Union force, under Major General\nNelson. We camped on the Nashville pike, about one mile from town. The\nnext morning, there was quite a movement of troops. A large force headed\nby General Nelson went towards Nashville. Our battery moved camp to a high\nelevation overlooking the town. About three hundred slaves had been\nbrought in from the surrounding country, and set to work building a\nredoubt for the use of artillery. Our men were engaged in putting the\ncamping ground in good order. In a short time, report reached us that a\nlarge force of Rebels had entered Lebanon and captured the place without\nfiring a gun. All kinds of rumors were put in circulation regarding this\nmovement. At 4 o'clock, we received orders to harness horses and be\nprepared to march at any moment. About the same time, a \"cock and bull\"\nstory was started, that a party of \"secesh\" had entered town with a flag\nof truce and demanded the surrender of the place. But it afterwards\nappeared that a small body of rebels had approached the place for the\npurpose of effecting an exchange of prisoners. At dark, no order had been\ngiven to move. Another sensation was created, to the effect that some\nRebel Cavalry had been seen skulking in the upper edge of a cornfield,\nnear which we were encamped.\n\nAll this time we were momentarily expecting to move; but, for some reason,\nthe order was delayed. It seemed as if those in command did not know what\nto do. After waiting until after midnight, we at last received word to\nmarch. The night was very dark, and the clouds threatened an instant\nstorm. We moved on at a snail-like pace until daylight, and shortly after\narrived at Stone river, which we were obliged to ford, the bridge having\nbeen destroyed. We now knew that we were going towards Lebanon. The slaves\nalong the road reported that a large body of Rebel Cavalry had gone\ntowards Murfreesboro late the day previous. Here, again, was a fine\nopportunity to manufacture long \"yarns;\" and mole-hills were magnified\ninto mountains. Notwithstanding all this, we kept on towards Lebanon. When\nwe had proceeded to within ten miles of the town, a halt was ordered, and\nsome of the Cavalry were sent forward to reconnoiter. In about an hour\nthey returned, bringing in two prisoners whom they had captured. They\nreported that the enemy had left Lebanon. Order was now given to \"about\nface,\" and we were soon on the return to Murfreesboro. When we had arrived\nto within two miles of where the Nashville and McMinnville road crosses\nthe Murfreesboro and Lebanon road, it was reported that a body of the\nenemy were there, waiting to offer us battle; and, from the stories we had\nheard in the morning, it looked somewhat reasonable.\n\nOur forces were soon drawn up in line of battle, and moved forward to meet\nthe supposed enemy; Colonel Barnes, of the Eighth Kentucky, acting as\nBrigadier General.\n\nAfter deploying right and left, and sending out scouts, it was soon\nascertained that there was no enemy lying in wait. It was now nearly dark,\nand we had eaten nothing during the day, except a little hard bread and\ncold bacon, but the word \"forward\" was given, and on we went. About 7\no'clock we again crossed Stone river, and here camped, or rather\nbivouacked, for the night. After feeding our teams, and preparing some\ncoffee, stretched ourselves on the ground to obtain a little sleep, being\npretty well tired out.\n\nThe next morning, as soon as it was light enough to see, and without\nhaving anything to eat, we again moved forward towards Murfreesboro. We\nhad barely gone two miles when we were ordered to about face and march\nback. What this all meant was more than we were able to surmise. The boys\nremarked that we were going back to water, and which has since been a\nby-word, whenever a countermarch has taken place.\n\nOnce more we crossed the river, and on arriving at the cross-roads before\nmentioned, were ordered to camp, which we were glad to do, though it was\nfar from being a pleasant place. This was on the 24th of July.\n\nWe remained here until the afternoon of the 25th, without anything worthy\nof note transpiring. At 6 o'clock P. M. we started for Murfreesboro,\narriving there at 8 o'clock the same evening. We halted in front of the\ncourt-house, and after standing some two hours, were ordered to unhitch\nhorses, but not to take off harness, and lay by for the night. We spread\nour blankets on the sidewalk, and, with an excellent brick sidewalk for a\nbed, dreamed the hours away. Early in the morning, went to our old camping\nground on the hill. This was on the 27th of July.\n\n     NOTE.--The enemy which we expected to meet at the cross-roads near\n     Stone river, on the night of the 23d of July, proved to be General\n     Nelson's command, who had returned by this road. Colonel Barnes--who,\n     it will be recollected, was in command of our force--was unaware of\n     this movement. The slaves had mistaken General Nelson's force for a\n     body of \"secesh.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nMOVING--STILL MOVING.\n\n\nOn arriving at the old quarters, we found the negroes still at work on the\nredoubt, which they had nearly completed. The Twenty-third Kentucky were\ncamped near us. We now supposed that we would be allowed at least a short\nrespite after our previous three weeks' hard marching; but in this we were\nmistaken. And, as the old Scotch proverb runs--\n\n  \"The best laid plans of men and mice\n  Oft gang aglee.\"\n\nAt noon of the 28th July, we received orders, (those eternal orders,) to\nprepare for a march at 3 o'clock that afternoon. The battery wagon, tents,\nand all the extra baggage, were to be left behind. At the appointed hour\nall was in readiness, and in a short time we were on the move. We had\nproceeded but a short distance when we were ordered back, and the old\nby-word came again in play, that we were only going to water our horses.\nBack to camp we went. It seemed as if those in command were diverting\nthemselves at our expense. The next day we were permitted to remain in\nquiet. But at 2 o'clock on the morning of the 30th July, we were all\naroused out of a sound sleep with the old oft-repeated order to get ready\nto march. Soon all were actively engaged in preparing to move. At\ndaylight, after drinking a cup of slops--denominated coffee--and devouring\nsome mouldy hard bread, we patiently awaited the order to march.\n\nIt had now commenced raining, and in a short time was pouring down\nheavily. No word came to move. And thus we stood, hour after hour, and\nreceived a thorough drenching. Finally, about noon, were ordered to\nunharness horses, but to hold ourselves in readiness to move at any\nmoment. Here was a piece of great military strategy displayed.\n\nFinally, on the morning of August 1st, we succeeded in making a start. At\n5 o'clock were on the road leading to McMinnville, over which a part of\nour battery had before traveled. The forces with us consisted of the\nEighth and Twenty-first Kentucky and Fifty-first Ohio Infantry, together\nwith a part of the Fifth Kentucky Cavalry. General Nelson headed the\ncolumn. A much larger force had preceded us a few days previous. It was\nrumored that there was a large force of the enemy at McMinnville, and the\nobject of the present expedition was to drive them out. Their number was\nvariously estimated from five thousand to forty thousand. We marched the\nfirst day as far as Woodbury, a distance of twenty miles, and camped for\nthe night near one of our old quarters.\n\nEarly next morning, as usual, again on the move. Another \"cock and bull\"\nstory was going the rounds, but little heed was given it. At 6 P. M. of\nthe second day, August 2d, we entered McMinnville, but instead of finding\na large Rebel force, we found only the residents. As near as could be\nascertained, there had been some three hundred Rebel Cavalry in the place,\nwho had said \"good-bye\" on our approach.\n\nWe pitched tents near our former camping ground. The next day, which was\nSunday, we were allowed to rest. It was said that the Rebels, some eight\nthousand or ten thousand strong, were camped nine miles distant, on the\nSparta road. Our force numbered about twelve thousand. At dark, that\nnight, received orders to be ready to march at 4 o'clock the following\nmorning. We were further ordered not to take any extra clothing--not even\nour overcoats, nor cooking utensils, and but one blanket to two men.\n\nFrom these orders, and what had been reported of the enemy, a fight was\ncertainly expected. On Monday morning, at the break of day, all were\nready, and soon regiment after regiment fell in line. At 5 o'clock, moved\nout on the Sparta road. But for some reason, unknown to us soldiers, our\nbattery, and the Thirty-fifth Indiana Infantry, were ordered to remain in\ncamp.\n\nFor the two succeeding days, nothing of consequence transpired. At the end\nof this time the expedition returned, having been unable to meet with the\nenemy, and therefore but little of importance was effected by this\nmovement.\n\nOn the morning of August 6th, we moved our camp one-half mile out on the\nSparta road. We were now assigned to the Twenty-third Brigade--Colonel\nStanley Mathews, of the Fifty-first Ohio, acting Brigadier General. The\nbrigade consisted of the Fifty-first Ohio, Eighth and Twenty-first\nKentucky, and Thirty-fifth Indiana Infantry, together with our battery. On\nthe 6th instant, being the same day of our removal, seven of our men, with\nthree six-mule teams, were captured by a party of Secesh Cavalry a few\nmiles from McMinnville, and on the Chattanooga road. They were, at the\ntime, out foraging. Thirteen out of fifteen of the Thirty-fifth Indiana,\nwho went out as guards, were also captured, although they made a strong\nresistance. The day previous, Lieutenant Sturges and Sergeant Lewellen\nhad been out to this place, and had made arrangements to take a lot of\ncorn on the day following, being the one on which the men were taken\nprisoners. The Rebels were either informed by the owners of the grain, or\nhad got notice of it in some manner, and were lying in wait for our men.\nThe consequence was, the men were entirely surrounded and taken by\nsurprise. Those belonging to the battery were without arms, or any means\nof defence. It is said that two or three of the Rebels were killed or\nwounded, but it lacks confirmation.\n\nThe Rebels immediately hurried the men off on double quick, and, after\ntaking them some twenty-five miles, released them on parole, leaving them\nto find their way back to camp on foot. They returned safe on the morning\nof the 8th. Shortly after their arrival, they were arrested and put in the\nguard house, by order of General Nelson, but for what reason was not known\nat the time. Subsequent events went to show that they had purposely\nsurrendered themselves to the enemy, or had not exercised due caution in\npreventing surprise.\n\nOn investigation they were all honorably discharged, as none of the\ncharges could be substantiated; but, on the contrary, it was proven that\nthey had done all in their power to prevent being taken, and only\nsurrendered when they became aware that any further resistance was\nuseless. They were again ordered on duty, as those who had paroled them\nhad acted without proper authority, and therefore it was null and void.\n\nOn Sunday, August 10th, about noon, were ordered to be ready to march at 4\no'clock, but shortly before the appointed time the order was\ncountermanded. The next morning at daylight, got the order to \"forward,\"\nand were soon in motion. One of the guns was left behind, as there were\nnot sufficient men to handle it. The Eighth and Twenty-first Kentucky, and\nFifty-first Ohio, with a small detachment of the Fifth Kentucky Cavalry,\nand our battery, constituted the force, all under the command of Brigadier\nGeneral Jackson. A march of eighteen miles brought us to the town of\nSmithville, and about 4 o'clock we camped a short distance beyond the\nplace. We here found the Thirty-first Indiana and Twenty-third Kentucky\nInfantry, and the Second Indiana Cavalry. They all joined us on the march\nnext day, when we made an early start, and after proceeding six miles\nstruck on the Lebanon pike. About noon, passed through the small village\nof Liberty--a strong Union place. Going two miles further, we turned off\non the road leading to Murfreesboro, and went into camp on the banks of\nClear creek. Remained here until 4 o'clock of the next afternoon, when we\nonce more formed in line for the march. On getting on the old road, we\nwere faced towards McMinnville. The Thirty-first Indiana and Twelfth\nKentucky, and Second Indiana Cavalry, remained in camp. Nine o'clock that\nmorning, we arrived at our old camping ground at Smithville, and remained\nthere for the night. Resumed marching early in the morning, and at 6 P. M.\nreached McMinnville. The day after our arrival at this place, the battery\nwagon, tents and baggage, came on from Murfreesboro. Remained here until\nSunday afternoon, August 24th, when we again moved forward. The sick were\nsent to Nashville, and a large quantity of provisions and other property\nwas buried, as there was not sufficient means of transportation. At 3\no'clock the entire force were in motion. None but the officers in command\nknew our destination. We crossed the river, and found ourselves on the\nroad to Altamont, Winchester, and other towns. Marched six miles, and, at\n9 o'clock, halted for the night. It being late, and over a mile to where\nwe could obtain water, and as all were tired and sleepy, we went to bed\nsupperless--our beds being mother earth. Started early in the morning for\nAltamont, without breakfast. Proceeding two miles we came to water, and\nnow supposed we would have a chance to cook our rations. But no; as soon\nas the horses were watered, \"forward\" was the word, and we must obey. This\ncommand caused much grumbling. Two more weary miles were passed, when we\nagain halted for a couple of hours; but no water was to be had here, so we\nwere obliged to content ourselves with some dry, hard bread for breakfast.\nWe finally got started again, and after going a short distance another\nhalt was made, caused by the road being blockaded by the wagons. We at\nonce turned into the woods on our left, and encamped. Remained here until\ndaylight, and were once more ordered forward. Arrived at McMinnville at 11\nA. M., and proceeded to our old camping ground, having been absent two\ndays, and accomplished nothing. This was on August 26th. With the\nexception of an alarm, caused by some of the cavalry firing their guns\njust outside the lines, a few days after our return from the above\nexpedition, nothing of note occurred until September 3rd.\n\nOn the morning of September 3d--being just one month from our arrival--we\ntook our departure from McMinnville. After the usual delay, we were on the\nmove, and headed for Murfreesboro. For the past month we had been deprived\nof all communication with home, and had scarcely seen a paper. As a matter\nof course, we knew but little of what was transpiring in regard to the\nwar. We could not even tell for what purpose we were ordered on, or what\nour destination. We marched about twelve miles this day, and then camped\nin a large open field. During the morning we passed the place where a\nskirmish had taken place between some of our troops and a party of Rebels,\na few days previous. The Union force had succeeded in routing the enemy,\nbut several of their men were captured. We remained in this camp until the\nnext morning, and again started. At noon passed through Woodbury, and at\nnight camped at Readyville, having marched about fifteen miles. The\nfollowing morning resumed our march, and reached Murfreesboro at noon.\nConsiderable delay was caused here, and it was 4 P. M. ere we pitched our\ntents, which was done two miles from town, on the Nashville pike, and near\nStone River.\n\nHere, for the first time, we received information that some extraordinary\nmovement was on foot. Troops, in large bodies, were constantly coming in\nfrom all quarters, and it seemed as if Buel's entire army were about to\nconcentrate at this point, for the purpose of some grand movement upon the\nenemy. The report was that we were about to return to Kentucky. About this\ntime we received a late paper, and the tenor of its news led us to believe\nthat such a movement looked reasonable.\n\nThe next morning early were on the move towards Nashville. All doubts as\nto our course were now removed. Owing to the large body of troops in\nadvance, our progress was necessarily slow. But we made sixteen miles\nduring the day, which was September 6th, and at night camped at a small\nstation on the Nashville and Chattanooga railroad, and fourteen miles from\nthe former place.\n\nAn early start the next morning brought us, at noon, to within five miles\nof the city. We here turned off from the main road, and proceeding two\nmiles, camped near a small creek. But scarcely had our picket ropes been\nextended, and horses unharnessed, when we were again commanded to move.\nThis time proceeded to within a mile of the city, and then pitched our\ntents. Were ordered to be in readiness to move at 3 o'clock in the\nmorning.\n\nIt was now evident that Kentucky was our destination. At the appointed\ntime next morning, we were on the move; and, shortly after daylight,\ncrossed the Cumberland river by means of the railroad bridge, which had\nbeen planked over for the purpose. We passed through the pleasant little\ntown of Edgefield, and found ourselves on the road leading to Bowling\nGreen. When we had gone four miles we halted in a piece of woods, and\nremained there two hours, then proceeded on our way, and at night camped\neight miles from Nashville, and near what is called Edgefield Junction.\n\nWe remained at the above camping ground two days. On the afternoon of the\n2d of September, we had an alarm; and, as the surrounding country was\nswarming with Rebels, it stood us well in hand to be on the alert. It took\nbut a moment's notice to be prepared for action, when scouts were sent out\nin all directions. They succeeded in bringing in several prisoners, some\nof whom belonged to the Rebel army. But little information could be\nobtained from them. The remainder of the day and night passed without\nanything further of note transpiring.\n\nEarly on the morning of September 11th, we were once more on the move.\nAbout 10 A. M. passed through the small town of Goodsonville, or Edgefield\nStation. We here saw evidences of the Rebel's work of destruction. The\nplace was almost entirely deserted, and every store had been completely\nriddled and robbed of its contents. Many of them had been fired, and were\npartially consumed.\n\nWe made no halt at this place, but continued our march. A few miles\nfurther on passed through another small town, which contained two or three\nstores, all of which were closed, and, as at Goodsonville, the inhabitants\nhad mostly fled. At noon we halted near a large public house, where there\nwas a fine spring of water. Here we procured dinner, and remained for two\nhours.\n\nIt appears that there had been a skirmish a short time previous, some two\nmiles ahead, between our advance and a large body of Rebel Cavalry. A part\nof the Ninth Michigan Infantry, one section of Hewitt's Battery, and a\nsmall detachment of cavalry, succeeded in repulsing the enemy, who had one\nkilled and three wounded, who fell into our hands. On our side, there was\nbut one wounded.\n\nAbout 2 o'clock resumed our march, and shortly after passed the spot where\nthe skirmish had taken place. It was at a crossing of the road. We marched\nuntil 8 o'clock in the evening, and then camped near a small creek, where\nthere were two or three stores.\n\nSeptember 12th resumed our march. We had skirmishers thrown out on each\nside of the road to prevent a surprise. Nothing worthy of note occurred\nduring the day. Marched sixteen miles, and camped at Mitchellville shortly\nbefore dark. Had a light fall of rain during the night. General Buel\njoined us this day.\n\nAt daylight, September 13th, continued the march. At 10 A. M. arrived at\nFranklin, Kentucky, which place is on the Nashville and Louisville\nRailroad. It was reported that a large body of the enemy were hovering\naround the town. A halt was ordered, and scouts sent out in all\ndirections. Each section of our battery went to the outer edge of the town\non picket guard. After remaining one hour, and nothing seen or heard of\nthe enemy, resumed our march. At 8 o'clock in the evening, camped two and\na half miles from Bowling Green. Distance made this day, twenty-five\nmiles.\n\nEarly the morning succeeding proceeded on the march, but went into camp\none mile from Bowling Green. While here we suffered for the want of\nwholesome water--the only spring of good water being two miles from camp.\nWe were obliged to use water for cooking purposes from a pond that was\nstagnant. Were kept on half rations, as we had been since leaving\nMcMinnville. In place of hard bread, flour was distributed.\n\nWere ordered to move on September 15th, but, after getting ready, the\norder was countermanded.\n\nSeptember 16th, again ordered to move, and at 5 o'clock were ready, but\nwaited two or three hours for the word to proceed. Finally started and\nwent one mile, when we bivouacked on side of the road for the night, it\nbeing impossible to proceed further, owing to the immense wagon train.\n\nAt daylight next morning again started, and passed through the town of\nBowling Green, and shortly after forded Barren River, then halted long\nenough for breakfast. About an hour before dark we left the turnpike, and\nturned off to the right, through a piece of woods. It now commenced\nraining quite hard, and the night was very dark. Our progress was but\nslow, and it was 10 o'clock ere we halted for the night. The rain was\nstill falling heavily, and the air was quite chilly. Large fires was soon\nbuilt, around which we all gathered to enjoy the genial warmth. Water was\nnot readily obtained, and we lay down supperless. Tired and hungry, wet\nand cold, we were soon asleep.\n\nThe next morning, September 18th, opened cold and cloudy, but soon cleared\nup. And now, for the first time since leaving McMinnville, we had three\ndays' full rations served out. Having found a mudhole, from which we could\nobtain water, all were soon busy in cooking their food, and for a time the\ncamp was quite lively--the men once more wore cheerful faces, and our\nformer hard fare was forgotten. Hardly, however, had we prepared our meal,\nwhen the order was given to move, and the grub went down our throats on a\ndouble quick. There was considerable \"jawing\" about that time. In a few\nminutes, we were once more on the road. We started at noon, and for the\ngreater part of the way the road lay through a woody and sparsely\npopulated country. At dark we came in sight of camp fires, burning\nbrightly, evidently but a short distance ahead. But, for some reason, we\nwere delayed for hours on the road, and it was midnight ere we arrived at\nthe place. Here was presented one of the most beautiful sights ever\nwitnessed. Spread out in a large open space, extending over many acres of\nground, were the camp-fires of an army of fifty thousand men. The fires\nwere built in rows a few feet apart, each mess having its own fire. The\nmen could be seen flitting about from point to point, some cooking, some\ncarrying wood and water, some sleeping, others smoking or eating.\nOccasionally the strains of a flute were wafted sweetly to the ear, borne\non the night breeze. Then came the full manly chorus of some patriotic\nsong, from one of the messes. Away in the distance we heard the sweet and\ntouching words of \"Rock me to sleep, mother,\" sung by some brave but\nwarm-hearted soldier-boy, as he thought of his dear home far away. Would\nthat kind mother ever again fold her darling boy to her warm heart?\nMayhap, even the morning's sun might shine on his lifeless form. The\nvicissitudes of war are great.\n\nAt a distance, the camp resembled a large and populous city by gaslight,\nand it was truly a magnificent spectacle. Our battery was soon joined with\nthem, and most of us being wearied by the days' labors, lay down for a\nlittle sleep, as our orders were to move at daylight. We were informed\nthat the place near which we were encamped was called Prout's Knob, from a\nsmall mountain, which reared its rugged head just outside the line of the\nencampment.\n\nWere routed out before day next morning, September 19th, to prepare\nbreakfast. At daybreak, were ready to move. General Smith now took the\ncommand of our division in place of General Ammon.\n\nOwing to the large number of troops, it was nearly 7 o'clock before we got\nstarted. After proceeding four miles we halted in the road, and were kept\nthere until 4 o'clock in the afternoon. During the day signal flags were\nkept flying, the meaning of which only those in command knew. At 4 o'clock\nwe moved forward, and pitched tents in a field near the road, most of the\ninfantry and other troops going further on.\n\nRemained in camp during the day of September 20th, engaged in cooking\nthree days' rations. While here heard of the fight at Mumfordsville, and\ndefeat of our troops. All kinds of stories were at once set afloat, and,\nlike those at a ladies' tea-party, were not much entitled to\nconsideration. It was generally supposed that we were on the eve of a\ngreat battle.\n\nAt daylight, September 21st, were again ordered to move, and were soon on\nthe road. But before we had gone one mile came to a halt. We turned aside\ninto a piece of woods, where we remained till 5 o'clock in the afternoon,\nwhen we once more proceeded forward, and it was long past midnight ere we\nencamped, which was done near a small creek. Distance traveled, ten miles.\n\nOne o'clock, September 22d, took the road, and after going some four miles\ncame to where the enemy had been camped the night previous. It was\nreported that they had left in two divisions, and that some of our advance\ncavalry had a skirmish with them, and caused the enemy to retreat. We went\nabout one mile further and were then ordered to \"about face,\" it having\nbeen ascertained that we were on the wrong road. Going back two miles we\nturned to the left, and in a short time pitched tents on the banks of\nGreen River, opposite Mumfordsville, and near an old fort which had been\nerected the previous winter.\n\nSeptember 23d, again early on the march. At sunrise crossed Green River,\nand passed through Mumfordsville. At noon, halted near the railroad.\nRemained one hour, and once more under way. At 9 o'clock in the evening\nreached Camp Nevins, and pitched our tents near a creek. Marched this day\ntwenty miles.\n\nEarly on the following morning moved forward. Passed through Elizabethtown\nwithout stopping. Went thirteen miles beyond, and camped for the night. We\nwere now on a good macadamized road. As heretofore, water was scarce.\n\nSeptember 25th, resumed our march, and at noon arrived at West Point,\nsituated on the Ohio, at the mouth of Salt River, and distant from\nLouisville twenty-two miles.\n\nFor the first time in a year we once more beheld a free State. After\nremaining a few hours, once more made a move. Crossed Salt River, and were\nnow on the direct road to Louisville. Two miles from West Point we\nencamped.\n\nStarted before daylight, September 26th, and at noon reached Louisville.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nAT LOUISVILLE--AND OFF AGAIN.\n\n\nAs before stated, at noon of September 26th, we arrived at Louisville,\nhaving marched over two hundred and fifty miles, occupying just\ntwenty-three and a half days. We were nearly all worn out on this long,\ndreary, and tedious march, and presented a most woful appearance, being\ndirty, ragged, and well nigh famished. Take it all in all, we had\nundergone more hardships and real suffering than on any previous occasion,\nand it was probably one of the most disastrous movements that had taken\nplace since the war had an existence. The boys say it was a \"masterly\npiece of military strategy,\" and think that a few more such movements will\nspeedily terminate the war.\n\nOur camp was located on a piece of low ground, and in a potato patch near\nthe canal, through which the boats are obliged to pass when the river is\nat a low stage, as there is then an insufficiency of water on the falls.\n\nWe now had full rations served out, and as far as the matter of eating,\nwere well off. On Sunday the 27th September, we received an addition of\nforty-seven new members, they having been recruited at Cleveland by\nColonel Barnett and others. Two of our men, who had been home on sick\nleave, rejoined us at the same time.\n\nOn the afternoon of Tuesday, September 30th, we moved camp a short\ndistance, and the same afternoon were paid for four months' services, and\nalso received a lot of new clothing, which rendered the men extremely\nhappy, and many a wistful eye was cast towards the city. But the same\nnight we received that same \"eternal\" order to be ready to march the\nfollowing morning. So the men were disappointed in the expectation of\ngetting \"shut\" of their money.\n\nAt an early hour, October 1st, all were ready for a start; and shortly\nafter daylight the battery was in motion. But, on crossing the canal, we\ncame to a halt, and after being delayed an hour, again moved forward. In a\nshort time another halt was ordered, and\n\n  We all halt, halt, halted.\n\nIn this manner nearly the entire day was consumed, and it was quite late\nin the afternoon ere we were fairly outside the city.\n\nWe now found ourselves on the Bardstown pike, being the same road by which\nwe had entered the city seven months previous. Marched six miles, and at 9\no'clock camped for the night.\n\nOctober 2d resumed our march at the usual early hour; but owing to the\nlarge force accompanying, our progress was slow. About 4 o'clock in the\nafternoon, and about eight miles distant from our starting point in the\nmorning, heavy firing was heard some distance ahead, but in a short time\nit suddenly ceased. After proceeding two miles further we halted, and went\ninto camp for the night. We soon learned, from scouts sent out, that the\nfiring was occasioned by a skirmish between our advance and the rear guard\nof the enemy, who were slowly retreating before us. There being so many\nrumors concerning the skirmish, it was impossible to obtain a correct\nresult. However, there was no great damage done on either side. The enemy,\nas usual, wanted to be \"let alone.\" Considerable rain fell during the\nnight.\n\nCaptain Standart and Lieutenant Bennett, who had remained at Louisville on\nbusiness, joined us the next day, October 3d. The morning was cloudy, with\nsome rain. At 9 o'clock got started. The clouds swept away shortly after,\ngiving place to the genial sun, and the remainder of the day was quite\npleasant. At 10 A. M. passed through the small town of Mount Washington.\nHere was where the skirmish of the day previous had taken place. At 3\no'clock crossed a small stream, called Floyd's Fork. The bridge had been\ndestroyed by the Rebels. We had no difficulty in fording the stream, owing\nto the low stage of water. This was six miles from Mount Washington, and\nfourteen miles from Bardstown. Just beyond here our advance cavalry were\nfired upon by the Rebels, with artillery from a masked battery. A halt was\nat once ordered, and instant preparation made for action. Two of our guns,\nunder command of Lieutenant Bennett, were moved forward some two miles,\nand were then fired upon. The pieces were immediately posted on a\ncommanding place near by, and opened on the enemy. A few shots were\nexchanged, when the firing soon ceased. Scouting parties were now sent out\nto reconnoiter, but returned without making any discovery of importance.\nNothing more, worthy of notice, occurred during the night.\n\nHaving ascertained that the Rebels had retired during the night, at 10\no'clock next morning, October 4th, we again moved forward. It was now\nevident that the enemy were gradually falling back, but had left a rear\nguard for the purpose of retarding our march, and to cause us as much\ntrouble as possible, without bringing on a general engagement. About three\nmiles from our last night's camping ground we again crossed Floyd's Fork,\nand near where the Lexington pike intersects the Bardstown and Louisville\nroad. We here found that the bridge had not been destroyed. About one-half\nmile beyond we came to where the enemy had thrown up a sort of barricade\nagainst a fence, and from which they had, no doubt, intended to give us a\nsurprise, but had thought better of the matter. Another mile, and we came\nto a public building, called the Barclay House, and located on a high\nelevation. Here, the night previous, the Rebels had posted their\nartillery. Our forces were again placed in position, and scouts sent out\nto ascertain the enemy's whereabouts. In two hours they returned without\nhaving made any discovery, and once more we resumed our march. At night\ncamped within eight miles of Bardstown. From people living along the route\nwe traveled, all manner of reports concerning the Rebels were received. By\nsome it was represented that they were at Bardstown, from sixty thousand\nto eighty thousand strong, and were going to make a stand to offer us\nbattle. But little credence was given to any of these reports; but we were\nall inclined to believe that a battle was soon to be fought.\n\nThe morning of Sunday October 5th, was ushered in clear and pleasant. Had\nbreakfast at daylight, and at 7 o'clock our column was in motion. We moved\nslowly, and with much caution, halting frequently. Once we laid by for\nnearly three hours. Shortly before dark we entered Bardstown, and found\nthat the Rebels had, as usual, \"skedaddled.\" We now found that the\ndetention during the day was caused by the arrival of another division of\ntroops, who had come by a different road, and we had to wait for them to\npass on ahead. We were informed by the citizens that the enemy had left\nbut a few hours previous, and that the division above mentioned were in\nclose pursuit. They had taken the direct road to Lebanon and Danville. We\npassed through town, took a road to the left--crossed a small creek, and\npitched our tents, one mile beyond the place.\n\nEarly next morning, October 6th, again on the move. Our march this day was\nover a rough and hilly road, and through a thinly settled part of the\ncountry. At noon crossed a creek, the name of which we did not learn.\nShortly after this we passed through the village of Glenville, and again\ngot on a good road. Marched about eighteen miles this day, and, at 8\no'clock in the evening, camped one mile from Springfield.\n\nOctober 7th. This morning continued our march, and at 8 o'clock passed\nthrough Springfield. A large party of Rebels had been driven out of town\nthe day previous, by the advanced division. We proceeded on towards\nDanville, following the pike for some distance, and then turned off to the\nleft, on a common dirt road. Marched several miles, and at dark came out\non the Lebanon and Danville road, six miles from the former place. General\nGilbert's division passed on ahead. We went on two miles further, and, at\na small village, turned off to the right, and proceeding some distance\nfurther, came to a creek, and camped. Our object in leaving the main road\nwas to find water. Marched eighteen miles this day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nBATTLE OF PERRYVILLE.\n\n\nAt 7 o'clock on the morning of October 8th, we resumed our march,\nreturning and taking the Lebanon and Danville pike. A few minutes after\nreaching the main road, we heard heavy firing some distance in advance. A\nhalt was made, and the order given to transfer all extra baggage from the\npieces and caissons to the baggage wagons, and be prepared for action. The\nreport was then prevalent that the enemy were some five miles ahead, and\nhad made a stand, and were already engaging our advance force. A fierce\nbattle was now anticipated, and our men were anxious to participate in it,\nafter the long chase we had given the enemy.\n\nThe firing had now become more frequent and distinct, and our men were\nbecoming more and more eager for the conflict. As usual, there were all\nsorts of rumors regarding the number and position of the enemy. After a\nhalt of one hour we again moved forward, and soon came on the Perryville\npike. Proceeding one mile further, we turned off into a field on the left\nof the road, and took position on a high piece of ground, our division\nbeing posted at different points. We held our position until near dark,\nwhen we moved forward half a mile, and were then stationed on a hill to\nthe right of the road. The fighting in the meantime had been most\ndesperate, and was chiefly confined to General McCook's division, which\nmaintained its ground in fine order, the men showing great bravery. The\nbattle lasted until dark, when the enemy retired, and, on the following\nmorning, retreated to Harrodsburg. The Union loss was eight hundred and\ntwenty killed, between two thousand and three thousand wounded, and over\nfour hundred missing. Enemy's loss, one thousand and eighty-two killed,\nand four thousand two hundred and sixty-one wounded. Our Battery took no\npart in this action, as we were, during the time, out of range. It was the\nintention, on our part, to renew the battle the next day--the enemy\nwilling--but they wanted to be \"let alone,\" and withdrew from the field.\n\nOn the day following the battle, our Battery was kept constantly on the\nmove, charging through woods and cornfields, but no enemy was there. At\nnight we camped near Perryville.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nMUCH MARCHING, BUT LITTLE FIGHTING.\n\n\nThe morning of October 10th were again early on the move, and at 9 o'clock\npassed through the town of Perryville, and proceeded on towards Danville.\nThe buildings, as we passed along, presented the appearance of hard usage\nfrom the effects of the battle of Wednesday. Nearly every house was more\nor less riddled by shot and shell. We saw one house that seemed as if it\nhad been the especial target of the gunners, for it was pierced in many\nplaces. We continued on for about two miles, when our advance had some\nlittle skirmishing with the enemy's rear guard. Our guns were at once\ndrawn up in position on a high hill, having a good command of the country\nsurrounding. We remained here some fifteen or twenty minutes, and then\nproceeded forward on a double quick. Two miles further, and we came to a\nhalt--all our forces being drawn up in line of battle. More skirmishing\ntook place. About 4 o'clock we bivouacked in an extensive hemp field, four\nmiles from Danville. The boys remarked that we had come here for the\nexpress purpose of preparing hemp for the \"skedaddlers.\" That night was\ncold and stormy. We crawled under the hemp-stacks, and made ourselves as\ncomfortable as the circumstances would admit.\n\nOctober 11th. Morning still cold and stormy. We changed the position of\nour guns, and the horses were kept ready harnessed, and every one at his\npost. Some firing was heard on our left during the forepart of the day,\nand, in the afternoon, on our right. We, however, kept our position, and\nat night again slept under the hemp-stacks. The weather still continued\ncold, but the storm had ceased.\n\nWeather next morning was clear, but cold. At 9 o'clock some of the enemy\ncame into camp, bearing a flag of truce, but for what purpose we soldiers\ndid not learn. About 10 o'clock we were ordered to move forward. Our march\nwas through woods and fields, we seldom being on a regular traveled road.\nAt 4 P. M. we came out on the turnpike leading from Danville to Camp Dick\nRobinson, and proceeded towards the latter place. The smoke of the enemy's\ncamp-fires could be plainly seen. When within four miles of the camp we\nwere ordered to \"about face,\" and march back. So face about it was, and we\nwere again passing over the same ground that we had but just traveled.\n\n  \"We marched boldly down the road,--\n  Then marched back again.\"\n\nAfter going about three miles, we came out on another pike, which also led\nto Danville. And now we came to a halt, for the night. Supper was soon\nover with, and all turned in for a night's repose. Before midnight we were\nrouted out, with orders to harness our teams and march. Soon found\nourselves faced towards Danville. The night was clear and the road good,\nso we went along at a lively pace, and in an hour's time reached the town,\nand halted in a field just on the outskirts. We were now allowed to remain\nquietly until morning.\n\nOctober 13th. The weather being fine, and as we were to remain in camp\nthis day, the men took the opportunity to wash their clothes, it being the\nfirst time that they were able to do so since leaving Louisville. During\nthe day we were visited by Colonel Barnett. We had not before seen him\nsince leaving Nashville, in March, a period of eight months. Major Race\nalso accompanied the Colonel. At 4 o'clock we were ordered to move.\n\nOn getting into the road we found we were faced towards camp Dick\nRobinson. Marched three miles, and camped directly opposite the camping\nground of the night previous.\n\nOn the following morning, October 14th, again on the move, and going\ntowards Danville, which place we reached about 9 o'clock A. M. We here\nturned into a field and halted. The entire army seemed in motion. After\nremaining here some two or three hours we again started, and about noon\npassed through town, and took the road leading to Stanford. Just before\ndark we turned off the main road, and after going two or three miles\nthrough the woods and fields, camped on a high piece of ground, as we\nsupposed, for the night, as it was quite dark. It was reported that a\nlarge wagon train of the enemy had passed only two or three hours in\nadvance of us. As soon as supper was over those who were not on guard\nstretched themselves on the ground to seek repose. Suddenly the clear\nnotes of the bugle rang out on the night air. Never was the sound more\nunwelcome; but its call had to be obeyed. The moon shone brightly, but the\nair was piercing cold. The prospect of an all night's march was not much\nrelished.\n\nAs soon as we got out on the road we struck off on a double quick, and\nwent spinning along towards Crab Orchard. Considerable firing was now\nheard some distance in advance. At every halt that was made fires were\nkindled with the rails along the road, and for miles ahead the sky was\nlighted up by them. There is something very impressive and thrillingly\ngrand about a large army in motion at dead of night. The measured tramp,\ntramp, of the infantry, the rattle and creaking of artillery, the\noccasional neigh of a horse, mingled with the peculiar sound which always\naccompanies a large body--the breathing of thousands of human beings--and\nall lit up by the camp-fires, presents a weird, spectral scene. The march\nof death!\n\nShortly before daylight, and when we were some three or four miles from\nCrab Orchard, we came to a halt in the middle of the road. Several large\nfires were built, around which we all gathered. At daylight we got a cup\nof coffee and some \"hard-tack,\" then away on the road again. An\noccasional report of a gun could be heard. About 9 o'clock, A. M., we\nentered the town of Crab Orchard, and were here informed that the rear\nguard of the enemy had passed through only an hour before. The firing\nwhich we had heard was caused by a slight skirmish between them and our\nadvance. Several prisoners had been taken.\n\nAfter a few moment's halt we pushed on through the town, and once more\nwere on the road to Wild Cat, the place where we had fought our first\nbattle, nearly one year previous. The weather was fine, and the roads were\nin far better condition than when we first traveled them.\n\nProceeding four miles beyond Crab Orchard, our brigade left the main body,\nand turned off on a road leading to the left. Just before dark, and after\nhaving gone some six or eight miles, we were obliged to turn back, to find\na suitable camping ground, as there were several high hills which we could\nnot ascend at night. The road being very narrow, with a thick growth of\ntrees and underbrush on either side, it was fully two hours ere we got\nfairly turned about. We then went one half a mile, and camped in a\ncornfield, near a small creek.\n\nOctober 16th, resumed our march. Nothing worthy of note occurred during\nthe day. About 3 P. M. passed through Mount Vernon. Did not make any halt.\nAt night camped three miles from the crossing of Rock Castle River.\n\nThe next morning, early, moved forward, a part of the battery in advance.\nCaptain Standart acted as a guide, from his previous knowledge of the\ncountry. He, with the advance, consisting of some cavalry and the\nThirty-sixth Indiana Infantry, proceeded on some distance beyond Wild Cat,\nand on the road to London. When three miles beyond the old battle ground,\nthey suddenly encountered quite a force of the enemy, when a brisk\nskirmish took place. In a short time our forces succeeded in driving the\nRebels, killing and wounding several of their number, and taking a few\nprisoners. Our loss was six or eight killed and wounded. Captain Standart\nhad a very narrow escape, as one of the Thirty sixth Indiana was killed at\nhis side.\n\nOur entire battery, with the rest of the brigade, arrived at the summit of\nWild Cat Mountain about 2 P. M. We then camped on the same place we had\noccupied on the first battle, and our guns were placed in almost the same\nposition that they were in when we hurled death and destruction into the\nenemy's ranks nearly one year ago. Appearances indicated that we were to\nhave another battle. It would indeed be a singular coincidence should we\nagain fight on the old ground.\n\nOur battery, being the only company of our present division that had\nparticipated in the former battle, was the center of attraction, and many\na tough \"yarn\" was told by our men of their exceeding valor at that time.\n\nLieutenant Bennett here left us to take command of a battery in Virginia.\n\nDuring the day of October 18th, there was considerable movement among the\ntroops, and, for a time, it seemed as if we were about to have an\nengagement. But still it was thought that the Rebels would make for\nCumberland Gap as speedily as possible. Some of our troops went out on the\nWinding Glade Road. Two of our guns were sent with them. Another body went\ntowards London. Troops were constantly arriving. In the afternoon\nconsiderable firing was heard in the direction taken by our two guns. It\nwas soon ascertained that a lively fight had taken place between our men\nand some Rebel Cavalry and Infantry. Our troops soon drove them, taking\nabout one hundred prisoners, and between two hundred and three hundred\nhead of cattle. This occurred about four miles from Wild Cat. The enemy\nwere driven some miles, and several of them were killed and wounded. Four\nmen were wounded on our side.\n\nAbout 10 o'clock, October 19th, were ordered to follow after the advance.\nA march of six or eight miles brought us to their encampment. It was\nlocated at what is called Scovill's Corners, or Cross-Roads, being where\nthe Richmond road intersects the Lexington pike. We remained here during\nthe night.\n\nAt 2 o'clock on the morning of the 20th, our Battery was ordered out, to\ngo on a reconnoisance, as was also the greater part of the brigade. All\nbaggage-wagons, tents, and camp equipments, were left behind. The men took\nbut one day's rations.\n\nShortly before daylight the brigade separated in two divisions, and\nproceeded out on different roads; but, after being absent all day without\nmeeting with any of the enemy, with the exception of a few stragglers,\nwhom they captured, they returned to camp. The Rebels being alarmed at the\nnear approach of our forces had hastily beat a retreat, burning several of\ntheir transportation wagons, to prevent their falling into Union hands.\n\nOctober 21st. Just one year ago this day was fought the battle of Wild\nCat; and we were only six miles from the place. All was quiet in camp.\n\nAnother reconnoizance was made, commencing October 22d. Our Battery went\ntowards Manchester. The expedition was gone three days. Their object was\nto destroy the salt works near Manchester, on which the Rebels depended\nfor a supply of that necessary article of consumption.\n\nHaving accomplished their purpose, and nothing further remaining to be\ndone, the expedition returned to camp on the morning of October 25th. On\nthe day previous, several citizens of London came into camp, and reported\na large body of Secesh cavalry in the town. It was thought that, owing to\nthe absence of the greater part of our force, the Rebels might take\nadvantage of it, and make an attack on our camp during the night.\nAccordingly the men belonging to our Battery were all armed with muskets,\nand given several rounds of amunition. We were notified to hold ourselves\nin readiness to repel an attack. For the first time our artillerymen were\ntransformed into infantry. About one hundred refugees from East Tennessee\ncame into camp, and were also armed. The night, however, passed without\nany alarm. Our troops arriving the next morning, we all again got in\nmotion, and proceeded back through Wild Cat. Arrived at the Rock Castle\nriver crossing, and camped for the night.\n\nThere was a very heavy snow storm during the night, and in the morning the\nground was covered to the depth of several inches; but, the weather being\nmild, it rapidly disappeared. Got an early start, and pushed on through\nthe mud and slush. At noon arrived at Mount Vernon, and halted for an hour\nin a large field, and cooked our dinner. At 2 o'clock we again moved\nforward, and went towards Somerset. The weather was now growing colder,\nand the snow had made the roads very heavy, so that our progress was but\nslow. It was a cheerless and comfortless march. Little do those at home,\nwho tread only on hard, dry pavements, know where a soldier's feet hath\nbeen. We toiled on through the mud for about six miles, and then camped\nfor the night. The snow was still quite deep, but we succeeded in getting\nsome hay, and, clearing the ground, spread our blankets on the hay, then\nbuilt large fires, and lay down to rest. Thus we managed to pass the night\nin tolerable comfort. It must be borne in mind that, as yet, we were\nwithout tents, and had been so ever since leaving Nashville.\n\nThe next morning, October 27th, we were up betimes, and, after breakfast,\nwere again on the road. The sun shone brightly, yet the air was quite\nchilly. We marched about twenty miles, and at night camped near a small\ncreek, two miles from Somerset.\n\nThe day succeeding we all remained in camp, and passed the time in looking\nover old letters--as dear to us as household words--and now and then a sly\nlook was given to some well-worn miniature of a nameless friend far away\nin some Northern home. Thus passed the day, and the stars came out, and\n\n  \"Sat their sentinel watch in the sky,\"\n\nand found us sunk on the ground overpowered with sleep.\n\nThe following morning we were again on the march. Passed through Somerset\nat 8 o'clock, and went out on the road to Fishing Creek. Found all the\nplaces of business closed, and the town looking quite gloomy. The greater\npart of the inhabitants had left previous to the Rebel army entering. We\nwere warmly welcomed by those who remained--especially the members of our\nBattery, as most of us were well known. As we passed the hill on which we\nhad been so long quartered the previous winter, all eyes were turned\ntowards it, and many a familiar spot was pointed out. It seemed to us like\nan old home.\n\nWe crossed Fishing Creek about 11 o'clock, A. M., and here remained until\nthe following morning.\n\nOctober 30th. Resumed our march, and, at 9 o'clock, A. M., passed the\nbattle ground of Mill Springs.\n\nOld stories of the battle were told, as we passed the familiar places\nwhere the conflict had raged. Many a tree bore the marks of cannon ball\nand shell. The fences were riddled with bullet holes, as evidences of the\nterrible work of January 19th, 1862, and which will long be remembered as\nan eventful day in future history.\n\nWe saw many graves of those noble heroes who that day gave up their lives\nin their Country's cause. Peace to their ashes.\n\nMarched about twenty miles this day, and camped near the road.\n\nThe next day we continued our march, and at dark crossed Green River, and\ncamped one half-mile from Columbia, having marched twenty-one miles.\n\nNovember 1st. Remained in camp. A general muster was had, for the purpose\nof making out the pay-roll. Weather clear and pleasant.\n\nThe next day resumed our march at noon, and, passing through Columbia at\ndark, camped near a creek, eight miles from last night's camp.\n\nNovember 3d. Again on the move, and at noon halted near the town of\nEdmonson, and remained long enough to feed horses and get dinner. Passed\nthrough the town, and took the road towards Glasgow. Marched eight miles,\nand camped in a piece of woods. The men had here a fine opportunity to\ngather hickory-nuts, which covered the ground profusely.\n\nThe next morning made an early start, and at noon passed through Glasgow,\nand camped one mile beyond.\n\nWe here found George Eldridge, with our baggage, tents, etc., which we had\nleft behind at Bowling Green. Some of the sick, who had also been left,\nrejoined us here.\n\nWe remained in camp at this place for three days; and while here received\nsome blankets, and a few articles of clothing, of which we stood greatly\nin need. Orderly Sergeant Kelley here received a commission as Second\nLieutenant, and Sergeant Thompson was promoted to Orderly.\nQuarter-Master's Sergeant, George Eldridge, was transferred on detached\nservice, as clerk in the Division Quarter-Master's department. The\nweather, during the time we remained here, was wet and disagreeable.\n\nSaturday, November 8th. Broke up camp, and resumed our march towards\nNashville. Marched about twenty miles, and camped near the road. During\nthe day we crossed Great Barren river.\n\nNext morning proceeded towards Scottsville, where we arrived at noon.\nPitched tents one mile beyond, and remained until next day.\n\nScottsville is sixty miles distant from Nashville, and is the last town we\npassed through previous to entering Tennessee.\n\nNovember 10th. Commenced our march at half-past 8 o'clock, A. M. At noon\nhalted for dinner, a short distance from the boundary line of Kentucky and\nTennessee. At 2 o'clock we were again on the move, and in the State of\nTennessee, having been out of that State nearly two months. Marched only\nthirteen miles this day, and halted for the night. Weather clear and cold.\n\nEarly the next morning on the move. At half-past 3 o'clock, P. M., passed\nthrough Gallatin, without stopping, and took the Lebanon road. At night\ncamped on the banks of Cumberland river, about three miles beyond\nGallatin. Had all kinds of rumors during the day. One of which was that\nthere had been a fight at Nashville. No reliance could be placed on these\nreports.\n\nThe morning of November 12th opened with a cold, drizzling rain. About 11\no'clock, A. M., we were ordered to move; and, after waiting until near\nnoon for the Tenth Brigade to pass, we finally forded the river--which was\nat this time quite low--and marching eight miles, encamped for the night\nin the woods, near the Nashville and Lebanon turnpike.\n\nThe next morning, at 10 o'clock, we started towards Nashville, and on\nreaching Silver Springs, camped in rear of the town. This place is distant\neighteen miles from Nashville.\n\nWe remained here for several days, during which time one of our men was\ntried by Court Martial for attempting an outrage on the person of a woman\nin Kentucky, while on the march from Somerset to Columbia. He was found\nguilty, and sentenced to serve six months in military prison, with ball\nand chain attached to his leg, and to forfeit two months' pay.\n\nWhile here, General Crittenden came near falling into Rebel hands. He,\nhowever, managed to escape, but several of his staff were captured.\n\nAfter having remained in camp at Silver Springs for six days, on the\nmorning of November 19th we broke up, and moved down the turnpike towards\nNashville. Proceeded as far as Stone river, and again camped, being eight\nmiles from the city. We remained here one week, with nothing worthy of\nnote transpiring.\n\nBroke up camp on the morning of November 26th, and moved towards\nNashville.\n\nDuring the march, one of our new members, who had joined us at Louisville,\nnamed Leonard Starr, died in the ambulance. He had been sick several days.\nHis remains were sent home in charge of his brother, who is also a member\nof our battery.\n\nWe camped on the Murfreesboro pike, three miles from Nashville.\n\nOur tents were pitched in a large open field. The ground was low and\nspringy, and whenever it rained, the place was almost untenable.\n\nThe day after our arrival was Thanksgiving day, but it passed off the same\nas all other days with us. We had our usual dinner of sow-belly _a la\nmode_, and hard-tack _a la mouldy_.\n\nNothing out of the usual course occurred, until December 8th. On that day,\nour brigade made a foraging excursion on the Nolensville pike. Went ten\nmiles, and succeeded in obtaining one hundred and sixty-nine loads of\ncorn, which was brought away in sight of the enemy's pickets, without a\ngun being fired.\n\nCaptain Standart was acting as Chief of Artillery on General Palmer's\nStaff; General Palmer having succeeded General Smith as Division\nCommander.\n\nI will here mention that we were now in what was called the Fourth\nDivision of General Crittenden's Corps. Our Brigade is known as the\nTwenty-second, General Cruft commanding. Lieutenant Baldwin, at this time,\nwas temporarily commanding the Battery.\n\nOn the 10th, we moved our camp about one-fourth of a mile to a drier piece\nof ground. Captain Standart also moved his quarters back to the Battery,\nbut still retained his position as Chief of Artillery.\n\nWe remained in camp near Nashville just one month, during which time we\nhad several alarms, but none of them of any consequence. Also made several\nreconnoisances on different roads.\n\nWe here received a supply of new clothing, harness, and other equipments;\nand, on the morning of December 24th, were ordered to have five days'\nrations in haversacks, ready to march--but for some cause did not move.\n\nChristmas went by in quiet, but it was only a lull in the war-storm which\nwas soon to break upon us with a fury hard to withstand.\n\nOn the morning of the 26th we were ordered to move. All camp equipage and\nbaggage, as well as those who were not fit for active duty, were to be\nmoved into Nashville.\n\nThe storm was about to burst.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nSKIRMISHING PREVIOUS TO THE BATTLE OF STONE RIVER.\n\n\nAt an early hour on the morning of Friday, December 26th, the shrill call\nof the bugle ringing out on the frosty air, announced that we were about\nto move.\n\nSoon great activity prevailed in camp, and all were in high spirits at the\nprospect of an advance; and it was evident to each and every one of us,\nthat unless the rebels should retreat from Murfreesboro, a battle must\nsoon occur.\n\nNothing so arouses a soldier's spirit as the prospect of a battle--though,\nin the same anxiously looked for battle, his life may be sacrificed. For\nhuman life, at best, but hangs on a thread which even a little blow may\nsnap asunder. But if man dies thus, his life is nobly given on the altar\nof his country, and that is worth the life of any man.\n\n           \"_Who_ dies in vain\n  Upon his country's war-fields, and within\n  The shadow of her altars?\"\n\nWar follows rebellion, and death follows war. Some must die--both the just\nand the unjust; but in the end, right will _ever_ conquer. And now to our\nmovements.\n\nThe morning was cloudy, and in a short time it began to rain.\nNevertheless, all were soon ready to move. After waiting for more than an\nhour, the command was finally given to \"forward march.\"\n\nThe army of General Rosencrans had now been divided into three separate\ndivisions, or army corps, and designated as the Right, Left and Center\nwings. The Right, commanded by General McCook; the Centre, by General\nThomas; and the Left, by General Crittenden. To the last named was our\nBattery attached, General Palmer being still in command of the Division,\nand General Cruft of the Brigade. Our Corps moved forward on the\nMurfreesboro road, the other Corps taking different routes. At the time\nwe got fairly started the rain had increased, and the storm was raging\nfuriously; and though all were thoroughly drenched, yet it dampened not\nthe ardor of the brave men, as they were elated at the prospect of soon\nmeeting their deadly enemy in battle array.\n\nOwing to the great number of troops, and having a large wagon train, our\nprogress was quite slow; and further, it was known that our movements\nwould be more or less harrassed by the enemy. Great caution was therefore\nnecessary.\n\nWhen within two miles of Lavergne--which is a small station on the\nNashville and Chattanooga Railroad--our advance guard encountered the\nRebel pickets. After a short skirmish, the enemy were driven into their\ncamp at Lavergne, where they had one Brigade stationed.\n\nOur Brigade having the advance, we soon came in sight of the enemy, who\nwere drawn up in line ready for battle. Our Battery, and one section of\nKonkle's Battery, under command of Lieutenant Nathan Newell, were ordered\ninto position, and opened on the Rebels. They immediately returned our\nfire, when a lively artillery fight commenced, which lasted until dark.\nOne of our men had his hand badly shattered, by the premature explosion of\none of the guns. He has since had his hand amputated. One of the men\nbelonging to Newell's section was instantly killed by the Rebel fire. This\nwas the only loss sustained on our side. The Rebels suffered the loss of\na number killed and wounded, and a few taken prisoners.\n\nEarly next morning, we were in readiness to renew the attack; but the\nenemy were not inclined to oppose us, as they commenced a retrograde\nmovement towards Murfreesboro. Our troops at once pressed on them closely,\nand constant skirmishing ensued throughout the entire day. At dark, we had\nsucceeded in driving them six miles, to what is called Stewart's Creek. We\nhere rested for the night--the Rebels on the east and we on the west side\nof the creek.\n\nThe following day both armies remained in the same position, and no\nmovement was made on either side. _We_ were awaiting the arrival of\nGeneral Thomas' troops.\n\nThe next morning we moved forward in order of battle. Skirmishers were\nthrown out on each side of the road, through the woods and fields, and\nduring the day some little fighting took place. We moved to within four\nmiles of Murfreesboro, and camped for the night in a piece of cedar woods.\n\nThe following day was passed in preparing for the great battle, which was\nnow imminent. Our troops were posted at different points, Batteries placed\nin position, picket lines established, scouts and skirmishers thrown out,\nammunition chests overhauled, and all other necessary preparations made\nfor the coming conflict.\n\nThat night our guards were doubled. The Infantry slept on their arms, and\nArtillerymen at their several posts. No fires were allowed, and the utmost\nvigilance enjoined on all.\n\nTo-morrow would be an eventful day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nTHE BATTLE OF STONE RIVER.\n\nFIRST DAY.\n\n\nJust at daylight, and while some were getting breakfast, others watering\ntheir horses, the Rebels made a sudden and vigorous attack on the Division\nof General Johnson in General McCook's Corps, and which was stationed on\nthe extreme right.\n\nOwing to the suddenness of the attack, and the overpowering force which\nthe enemy had brought to bear at this particular point, the troops of\nGeneral Johnson were thrown into confusion, and ere they could recover\nfrom their surprise, the enemy had broken through their lines, and forced\nthem to fall back, at the same time firing volley after volley, killing\nand wounding a large number of Union troops. They had also succeeded in\ncapturing several pieces of artillery, and, in one instance, the entire\nbattery of Captain Edgarton, taking the Captain and most of his men\nprisoners.\n\nGeneral Johnson rallied the remainder of his troops as speedily as\npossible, and others coming to his support--but not until having lost\nconsiderable ground--by 9 o'clock, A. M., the engagement had become\ngeneral along the entire line. At 10 o'clock the battle raged with great\nfury, and slaughter. Our Battery was stationed on the left of General\nNegley's division--it being the last, or left division of the right wing.\nThe enemy, at noon, had succeeded in turning this wing, and had partially\ngot in on our rear, subjecting us to a severe cross-fire. General Cruft,\nhowever, managed to extricate the brigade from this unpleasant\npredicament, and our Battery was drawn off in fine order, but not until we\nhad expended all our ammunition. Our men, as well as those of the entire\nbrigade, stood their ground bravely, and dealt dire destruction to the\nenemy. Several of our men were killed and wounded about this time.\n\nThe battle still raged with great fierceness. The Rebels had gained a\ngreat advantage, and had driven General McCook's wing two or three miles.\n\nAt this critical juncture, when it seemed as if we must suffer complete\nannihilation--when the Rebel star was in the ascendant--Generals\nRosencrans and Thomas coming dashing along the line, cheering and rallying\ntheir men, when they turned and fought like very tigers. And now the scene\nwas truly thrilling.\n\n                        \"Then more fierce\n  The conflict grew; the din of arms--the yell\n  Of savage rage--the shriek of agony--\n  The groan of death, commingled in one sound\n  Of undistinguished horrors.\"\n\nInch by inch was the lost ground recovered, as hand to hand friend and\nfoe grappled for the mastery. General Rosencrans, by his dauntless\nbearing, cheered on our brave men to such deeds of valor as the pen of\nhistory has seldom recorded. Fiercely did the Union troops throw\nthemselves in solid battallions against the fierce assailing foe. The roar\nof artillery, the rattle of musketry, the groans of the wounded and dying,\nrang horribly upon the ear.\n\nDarkness finally closed over the scene, and, for the time, put an end to\nthe conflict. Weary and exhausted the men threw themselves on the\nblood-dyed ground, to pass the hours of night, their ears filled with the\ngroans of their dying companions.\n\nThe number of killed and wounded, on both sides, this day, was quite\nlarge.\n\nThus ended the old year of Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-Two.\n\n\nSECOND DAY.\n\nThe New Year dawned not on faces radiant with joy and gladness; for, alas!\nmany of our brave comrades lay stark and cold on that ensanguined field.\nNo \"Happy New Year\" came from their voiceless lips--no kindly word of\ngreeting; but, with eyes upturned to Heaven, they lay mute in death. Never\nagain would that gray-haired father welcome his son on the threshold of\nhome. Never again would that meek-eyed mother fold her darling soldier-boy\nto her heart. Never again would brother, nor sister, gaze upon his manly\nform--for that brave boy slept his last sleep on the battle-field of his\ncountry. Who shall say that the angels did not welcome him that morning\nto a Happy New Year, where the sound of battle is never heard?\n\nNo, there were no merry greetings, nor lively pealing of bells, for those\nwar-worn men; but instead was heard the roar of artillery, and the rattle\nof musketry, and the groans and shrieks of the wounded and dying soldier,\nmingled with that thrilling and strange cry of the horse on receiving his\ndeath wound.\n\nThe fighting this day was confined principally to artillery, but at longer\nrange than the day previous, and consequently the slaughter was much\nlighter.\n\nThe battle lasted through the day, with no material advantage to either\nside; and at night both armies retained nearly their positions of the\nmorning.\n\nAnother night was passed on the battle-field.\n\n\nTHIRD DAY.\n\nEarly the following morning considerable skirmishing ensued, and continued\nthrough the forenoon, with shifting of positions.\n\nBetween 3 and 4 o'clock in the afternoon, the Rebels, in strong force,\nopened an attack on a single brigade of ours, which was posted near Stone\nriver, and in advance of our extreme left. Pressed by greatly superior\nnumbers the brigade was compelled to fall back, which they did in good\norder, contesting every inch of ground, and making great havoc in the\nenemy's ranks. Our reserve force soon pushed forward, with cheers and\nyells, determined to do or die. With a shock that could not be withstood,\nour brave men rushed upon the foe. Their columns shook--they wavered,\nreeled, and fighting desperately, fell back, while the brave Union troops\npushed them at every step. Vainly did the Rebel General in command strive\nto rally and turn back his horror-stricken legions. But furiously, more\nfuriously, did our noble men assail the rebellious foe, till the ground\nwas piled heap on heap with the slain, and the thirsty earth drank up\ntheir life blood. And now, in utter confusion, the enemy gave way, and\nsoon were flying before us, like chaff before the wind.\n\nNight had now set in, and darkness was gradually stealing over us; but\nstill we fought on, determined to achieve a glorious victory for our\ncountry, and our firesides.\n\nOur forces were now massed, and with cheers that made the welkin ring, we\ncharged down upon a battery of artillery, which had been pouring\ndestruction into our ranks.\n\nSo great was this onset, that again did the enemy give way and retire from\ntheir guns, and fled in wild disorder back into the cedar thickets which\ndotted the battle-field.\n\nIn this charge we captured four guns of the enemy's celebrated Washington\nbattery, of Louisiana, and also recaptured several of our own guns, which\nwere taken from us in the first day's fight.\n\nThe Rebel loss, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, was nearly three to our\none. Had but two hours more of daylight intervened, the Rebel army would\nhave been well nigh annihilated. It was fortunate for them that darkness\nput an end to the conflict, when\n\n  \"Our bugles sang truce--for the night-cloud had lower'd,\n    And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;\n  And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd,\n    The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.\"\n\nThus passed another night on the battle-field.\n\n\nFOURTH DAY.\n\nDuring this day the enemy kept up a continual skirmishing along our front,\nbut without seeming inclined to risk another general encounter. This\nafterwards appeared to have been only a blind to cover their retreat, for\nduring the same night they evacuated the field.\n\nOn Sunday morning, January 4th, General McCook entered Murfreesboro, and\ntook formal possession of the town.\n\nThus ended the great battle of Stone river, which, for desperate and hard\nfighting, has not been excelled by any battle fought during the rebellion.\n\n\nSUMMARY.\n\nIt would be occupying too much time and space to give full particulars of\nall that transpired during this memorable conflict. And where all fought\nso bravely and so well, it will not be necessary to discriminate. Taken as\na whole, it was one of the hardest contested, and most decisive battles,\nwhich has yet been fought. The loss, in killed and wounded, on both sides,\nwas very heavy. The enemy's loss, in killed and wounded, will not vary far\nfrom twelve thousand to fourteen thousand. About five thousand of the\nenemy fell into our hands as prisoners of war. We captured but few arms or\nequipments. Our loss, in killed and wounded, was about eight thousand, and\nfrom three thousand to four thousand captured and missing. The Rebels\nprobably gained a slight advantage in the amount of artillery captured.\nSeveral Generals, and other officers high in rank were killed and wounded,\non both sides. The Rebels retreated towards Tullahoma.\n\nThis victory once more placed us in possession of a good part of Middle\nTennessee, and thereby materially afforded us help in obtaining supplies.\n\nThe enemy were confident of success, but were woefully disappointed, and\nit has been a severe blow to them, and one from which they will hardly\nrecover. General Rosencrans rather outwitted the redoubtable Rebel Bragg,\nand came off with increased laurels. Rosencrans has shown himself to be\nthe right man in the right place. He knows no such word as _fail_.\n\nOur Battery, in this engagement, was in command of Lieutenant Norman\nBaldwin. Captain Standart was still acting as Chief of Artillery, on\nGeneral Palmer's Staff. Lieutenant Sypher was sick, at Nashville. Both\nLieutenants Baldwin and Sturges acted with great coolness and bravery.\nLieutenant Baldwin had one horse killed under him. The Battery was several\ntimes in a dangerous position, and once was nearly surrounded by the\nenemy, and subjected to a severe cross fire. The men heroically stood at\ntheir posts, and fought like veterans, while the air was hissing with shot\nand shell. None wavered from their duty, and all are deserving of the\nhighest praise. But, alas! some laid down their lives in that fearful\nbattle-storm. This was the first time that any of our company were killed\nin battle.\n\nThe following is a list of the members of the Battery who were killed,\nwounded, and taken prisoners:\n\n_Killed_--Orderly Sergeant Thomas J. Thompson; Sergeant George Wolf;\nPrivates Chauncey Lyon, Samuel Ruple, John Elliott.\n\n_Wounded Seriously_--Privates Benjamin F. Sarles, S. W. Shankland, William\nBroe, Alfred French John Blanchard.\n\n_Wounded and Missing_--A. J. McLaughlin, George Overy.\n\n_Slightly Wounded_--L. L. Sawtell, N. Schoh, J. Arndt, J. Grant, --.\nHayes.\n\nOf those mentioned as killed, Chauncey Lyon was killed instantly; Sergeant\nWolf had his head entirely blown off, and, as is supposed, by one of our\nown guns, as he was seen to step in front of the battery just as the\ncommand to fire was given. Immediately thereafter his lifeless body was\nfound near one of the guns. The others died a few days after, from the\neffects of their wounds. Those seriously wounded were removed to the\nhospitals at Nashville. Alfred French had his arm amputated. The others\nwill all probably recover without loss of limbs. Those who were slightly\nwounded continued on duty. We had twenty-one horses killed. A shot struck\nthe forge, knocking out a spoke and splintering the box. The battery wagon\nwas made a complete wreck.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nWE LEAVE THE BATTLE-FIELD.\n\n\nWe remained camped on the battle-ground until the 7th of January, when we\nmoved about three miles beyond Murfreesboro, on the McMinnville road, and\ncamped in a piece of woods near the road. The same night the wagons came\nout from Nashville, bringing our tents and baggage. We remained here\nthrough the next day. On Friday, January 9th, we struck tents, and went\none mile nearer town.\n\nWe camped about a quarter of a mile off the road, and near a house. The\nground was not very well adapted for such a purpose, being quite low.\n\nDuring our stay here we experienced much heavy weather; it rained or\nsnowed a great portion of the time. But we now received a supply of new\nclothing, and other necessary articles.\n\nAfter remaining here for ten days, on the morning of Sunday, January 18th,\nwe once more made a move.\n\nThe morning was quite cold, and considerable snow lay on the ground--a\nheavy snow storm having prevailed during the night.\n\nA march of six miles brought us to Cripple creek. We pitched our tents on\na hill overlooking the surrounding country, and near the creek. The place\nwas very rocky, and covered with young cedars. The trees, rocks and\nstumps, were so thick that it was almost impossible for a wagon to get\nthrough. But the men went to work, and soon had the ground sufficiently\ncleared to pitch the tents. This camp was on the McMinnville road, and\neight miles from Murfreesboro. We had passed the place several times\npreviously.\n\nThe day succeeding our arrival all hands went to work clearing up the\nground, felling trees, and building breast-works and fortifications. This\noccupied several days. The weather was cold, with frequent rains, which\nrendered our condition rather unpleasant.\n\nNothing out of the usual way occurred until January 24th, when the entire\nbrigade made a reconnoissance towards Woodbury. On reaching Readyville\nwere joined by General Hazen's brigade, and then proceeded as far as\nWoodbury, where a skirmish ensued with a small Rebel force. Our troops\nrepulsed and drove them from the town. Our brigade returned to camp the\nsame night.\n\nSunday, January 22d. This being the anniversary of Washington's birth-day,\nat sun-down we fired a salute.\n\nThe next day Captain Standart started for home, having obtained a short\nfurlough.\n\nMarch 2d. A skirmish reported beyond Readyville.\n\nMarch 3d. The entire division of General Reynolds passed our camp, going\ntowards Woodbury.\n\nMarch 5th. An election took place for five persons whose names should be\nplaced on the Roll of Honor, according to published order of General\nRosencrans. The following men were elected, viz: John Boon, Joseph Axford,\nThomas C. Potter, John Snyder, and C. B. Valentine.\n\nMarch 6th. Were paid this day for four months' services, being up to\nJanuary 1st. The first payment we had received in six months. This put the\nmen in good spirits again; but they had one difficulty, and that was, they\nhad no means of getting rid of their money, as the market in this vicinity\nwas not over-well stocked with what a soldier wants.\n\nThe next day a portion of General Reynold's force--which went towards\nWoodbury a few days previous--returned to Murfreesboro. Cannonading was\nheard this day--supposed to be in the direction of Franklin.\n\nThe morning following, the order was passed to prepare to march. But,\nafter getting ready, we stood all day waiting for the word to proceed.\nJust at dark were told to unharness horses, as we were not to move for the\npresent.\n\nTuesday, March 10th. All quiet on Cripple creek. Tents were again pitched.\nConsiderable rain fell during the day.\n\nThursday, March 12th. Lieutenant Baldwin went to Nashville this day, to\nprocure horses.\n\nSaturday, March 14th. Buchanan Reed, the artist and poet, of Cincinnati,\naddressed our brigade this day. Lieutenant Kelley left for home, having\nresigned, and his resignation being accepted. Captain Standart returned to\nhis command.\n\nSunday, March 15th.--Eighth week in our present camp. Brigade review\nto-day.\n\nSunday, March 22d. Ninth week in camp.--Weather delightful. Peach trees in\nbloom. Trees leaving out.\n\nWednesday, March 25th. Received news to-day that George D. Eldridge--a\nmember of our company--was dead. He died in hospital, at Nashville.\n\nSunday, March 29th. Tenth week in camp. Last night, at 10 o'clock, we had\nan alarm. It was caused by our pickets, who fired on a small party of\nRebel cavalry--the cavalrymen having made a dash on them, so the pickets\nreported. No one hurt.\n\nWednesday, April 1st. At 12 o'clock last night were routed out, with\norders to prepare three days' rations, in haversacks, for a\nreconnoissance. Two hours later preparations were completed, when a start\nwas made. All of our guns were taken, with two train wagons. The forge and\nBattery wagons, and all camp equipage, were left in camp. The brigade\ndivided and took different roads. The object of this movement was to\nsurprise and capture a force of Rebel cavalry, who were camped between\nWoodbury and McMinnville. A part of the third brigade came out to our\ncamp, on guard duty, during the absence of our brigade. The expedition\nreturned at night, having dispersed the enemy, killing and wounding a\nnumber. They also captured their entire camp equipage, several wagons, a\nlot of horses and mules, and about twenty prisoners.\n\nThe next morning the third brigade of our division passed camp. Part of\nthe Fifteenth Pennsylvania cavalry were with them. They had no camp\nequipage, and carried five days' rations. Were on a reconnoissance, and\ngoing towards Woodbury and McMinnville.\n\nSaturday, April 4th. Part of our brigade went to Readyville, as guard to\nGeneral Hazen's camp.\n\nSunday, April 5th. Eleventh week in camp.\n\nTuesday, April 7th, were paid to-day up to 1st of March.\n\nSaturday, April 11th. At roll-call we had orders to draw three days'\nrations, and be in readiness to move at daylight next morning.\n\nSunday, April 12th. All were ready to move, but no further order was given\nin regard to doing so. In the afternoon the First and Second Kentucky\ninfantry were each presented with a beautiful flag. The weather continued\nfine. This was our twelfth week in present camp.\n\nMonday, April 20th. General Reynold's division passed our camp on another\nreconnoissance towards Woodbury and McMinnville.\n\nTuesday, April 21st. The men were this day--as well as several days\nprevious--engaged in clearing up camp--hauling gravel and evergreens. The\nground had been leveled off, and covered with gravel, and arbors and\nsummer-houses built of evergreens, stables made for the horses, and our\ncamp otherwise beautified. It now presented a cheerful appearance. From\nindications it appeared that we were to remain here for some time to come.\nWe were favored with fine weather--but little rain having fallen during\nthe last month. Everything in nature looked beautiful.\n\nSaturday, April 25th. A teamster belonging to the brigade, while\nintoxicated, fell off his mule just in front of our camp. The wagon passed\nover him, injuring him so severely that he died the same night. Could not\nlearn his name, nor to what regiment he belonged.\n\nSunday, April 26th. Fourteen weeks this day since our arrival here.\nLieutenant Baldwin started for home, on a short furlough. Lieutenant\nSypher was sent to Cleveland, on recruiting service, on the 22d inst. The\nteamster who was killed the day previous was buried this day.\n\nTuesday, April 28th. Had orders to hold ourselves ready to move at any\nmoment. Considerable Rebel cavalry were daily seen hovering around our\nlines. Nothing very serious apprehended.\n\nThursday, April 30th. Regular two month's muster for pay. Our tents were\nalso turned over to the Quarter-Master. We were to have what are termed\n\"shelter\" tents, in place of our old ones. The men call them \"dog\" tents,\nand they are rightly named. Although this was the day set apart, by\nPresident Lincoln, as a day of fasting and prayer, everything went on as\nusual in camp. The men said that they had done enough fasting.\n\nFriday, May 1st. All the sick were this day sent to the hospital.\n\nSunday, May 3rd. Fifteen weeks this day at Cripple Creek. We were joined\nby two companies of the First Tennessee Cavalry. They went into camp on\nthe flats across the creek. Regular brigade review.\n\nMonday, May 4th. The One Hundred and Twentieth Illinois Infantry passed\nour camp, going towards Murfreesboro. The regiment had been for some time\nin the Second brigade of General Palmer's division, but had been reduced\nby sickness and desertion, so that it did not then contain over one\nhundred and fifty effective men. The weather continued quite warm.\n\nTuesday, May 5th. The Twenty-Third Kentucky Infantry passed our camp, on\ntheir way to take the place of the One Hundred and Tenth Illinois. Weather\ncloudy, with some rain.\n\nFriday, May 8th. Lieutenant Baldwin returned from home, bringing numerous\npackages for the men, sent by their friends.\n\nOn Sunday, May 11th, J. P. Beers died, at noon. His disease was Typhoid\nfever. He hailed from Collamer, a few miles East of Cleveland, Ohio. At 3\no'clock a grand review of the entire brigade took place, after which the\ntroops were formed in a hollow square, when Captain Standart was called\nout and presented, by General Cruft, on behalf of the officers of the\nbrigade, with a beautiful flag for our Battery. But great was the\nCaptain's surprise, when the General presented him with a splendid sword,\nas a mark of the respect and high estimation in which the officers of the\nbrigade held him. General Cruft then made a neat little speech, which was\nhappily responded to by Captain Standart.\n\nColonel Barnett being present, also offered a few remarks, in which he\nalluded, in a happy manner, to the good discipline and soldierly bearing\nof the men, and congratulated us for the fair name and reputation which\nwe had gained.\n\nColonel Enyart, of the First Kentucky Infantry, was also presented with an\nelegantly wrought sword, by the officers and soldiers of his command.\n\nImmediately after the above ceremony, loud, long, and hearty cheers were\ngiven for General Cruft, Colonel Barnett, Captain Standart, Colonel\nEnyart, and the officers of the First Brigade. And now all quietly marched\nback to their respective quarters.\n\nSunday, May 10th, 1863, will long live in the remembrance of those who\ncomposed Standart's Battery.\n\nThe flag which we received was made of the most costly material. On its\nfolds, in letters of silver, was inscribed: Presented by the Officers of\nFirst Brigade, Second Division, Twenty-First Army Corps, to Standart's\nOhio Battery. Underneath this were the Words: Wild Cat, Mill Springs,\nChaplin Hills, Stone River. The Captain's sword is heavily mounted with\ngold, and is a beautiful piece of workmanship. It cost two hundred\ndollars.\n\nFrom the above it will be seen that the services which our Battery has\nrendered in the Union cause are duly appreciated by those who know our\nhistory best.\n\nThe morning succeeding the above eventful day, the body of J. P. Beers was\nsent home. The detachment to which he belonged escorted his remains\noutside the lines.\n\nThe day following, the Third brigade of our division arrived, and camped\nnear us.\n\nFriday, May 15. A little excitement in camp, caused by a horse-race for\none hundred dollars a side. Our whilom mule-driver says that his steed can\nrun the \"har\" clean off them dandified looking \"critters.\" But says he\ndon't \"keer\" about betting, as cabbages ain't very plenty just now.\n\nSunday, May 17th. On this morning, as General Palmer and Staff were out,\nwith some of the First Tennessee cavalry, on a reconnoissance, when about\nfive miles from camp they were suddenly confronted by a large body of\nRebel cavalry, who at once opened fire on them. General Palmer gave the\ncommand for his cavalry to charge, and which order the brave Tennesseeans\nwere not slow in obeying. With drawn sabres they rushed on the Rebels,\nwhich caused them to give way, when they broke and fled in confusion. The\nresult was the capture of about twenty prisoners, the same number of\nhorses, and a few muskets. Two captains were among the prisoners. One or\ntwo of the enemy were killed, and several wounded. Two or three slightly\nwounded on our side. The prisoners were soon after brought into camp.\nBrigade inspection in the afternoon. Seventeen weeks in camp at Cripple\ncreek.\n\nAfter the above incident nothing aside from the usual daily routine and\nan occasional reconnoissance, transpired until Tuesday, June 23d. On this\nday we received word that Andy Ives, a member of our company, was dead. He\nhad been sick for some time, and had been taken to Nashville by his\nfather. This made twenty-two of our members who had died or been killed\nsince we first entered the service. This afternoon the entire army in camp\nat Cripple Creek was called out to witness the execution of a private, in\nthe First Kentucky infantry, for desertion.\n\nAt half-past 2 o'clock, P. M., the division marched in regiments to the\nparade ground, and were drawn up in the usual manner on such occasions. At\na quarter to 3 o'clock the prisoner made his appearance, following his\ncoffin, and surrounded by a strong guard. On either side of him was a\nchaplain, or spiritual adviser. The drums beat a mournful march, and,\nafter passing around the various regiments, with head uncovered, the\ndoomed man was placed behind his coffin. He was then allowed to make a\nshort address, but little of which could be heard. After he had concluded,\na prayer, in his behalf, was offered by each of the chaplains. The\nprisoner then shook hands with them, and with some of the officers. His\neyes were then bandaged--his bosom bared for the fatal shot. The soldiers\ndetailed for this painful duty took their positions. With a suspense which\nwas painful to witness, all awaited the final word for the execution.\n\nPrecisely at 3 o'clock the signal was given, and immediately the report\nof twelve guns echoed through the valley. * * * All was over.\n\nOn examination it was found that four balls had pierced his heart, and one\nhad entered his temple. His death was easy and instantaneous.\n\nThus ended a sad and painful scene, the like of which we hope never again\nto behold. The man's name was Shockman, and he hailed from Cincinnati. He\nwas about twenty-eight years of age, and unmarried.\n\nOn returning to our quarters, an order was received to issue twelve days'\nrations, and be ready to move at a moment's notice. As we had before\nreceived such orders, and nothing came of them, the men were now inclined\nto believe--as we had been so long at this camp--that we would here remain\nuntil disbanded. But at dark it became quite evident that a move would be\nmade on the following morning. Some were pleased at this, but others were\nloth to leave a place which had become almost like a home to them. We had\nnow been here a little over five months--by far the greatest length of\ntime we had remained in any one camp. But all things must have a\ntermination, and so did our stay here.\n\nIn the different dates above, have been given the items of interest which\noccurred during our stay at Cripple Creek. But little else, aside from the\nusual routine of camp life, had taken place.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nDEPARTURE FROM CRIPPLE CREEK.\n\n\nEarly on the morning of June 24th all were astir, and busily engaged in\npreparing to march. The word was given to be ready at 7 o'clock. The\nweather was quite cloudy, and indicated rain. At 8 o'clock it commenced\nraining; and shortly after, we were on the move, having bid adieu to\nCripple Creek, which had so long been our home. The rain was now falling\nheavily, and so continued through the whole day.\n\nAfter crossing the creek, we took a South-east course. The roads in many\nplaces were quite rough, but the country, generally, was level. We passed\nthrough a fine farming section, and the crops mostly looked flourishing,\nbut somewhat backward, owing to the late spring frosts, which had delayed\nplanting.\n\nA march of six or eight miles brought us out on the Murfreesboro and\nBradyville pike, and the roads were now in better condition. General\nWood's Division were here waiting for us to pass. A little further on, we\nfound the Second Brigade, General Hazen, waiting to join us. Shortly\nafter, we passed through the small town of Bradyville. About one mile\nbeyond this, at a creek, a skirmish took place between some of the First\nTennessee Cavalry and a party of Rebel Cavalry. Two of the Tennesseans\nwere wounded, and, as usual, the enemy \"skeedaddled.\"\n\nA halt was now made; and, after standing in the rain for an hour, we\nfinally turned off the road, and camped for the night in a piece of woods.\nThus ended our first day's march from Cripple Creek.\n\nThe next morning was again rainy. Made a move at 6 o'clock, and found the\nroads rough and hilly. Had one very steep and bad hill to ascend, and\nfound it necessary to double our teams; but it was some time ere all the\nguns and caissons were well at the top. We marched about five miles, and\nthen halted for the wagon train to come up. The weather had now partially\ncleared. At 5 o'clock, seeing no prospect of the trains arriving that\nnight, we finally camped. Some firing heard in the distance, on our left.\n\nNext morning, the train had not reached us, and we could not move without\nit, as we were without provisions or forage. Were obliged to send back for\nfeed for our horses. More rain was falling, and the roads were getting\nvery heavy. About noon, the wagons arrived; but no further move was made,\nand we quietly remained in camp. Heavy firing was heard nearly all day. A\ngeneral battle was reported as going on at Beech Grove, about twelve or\nfourteen miles distant. General Thomas' Corps was engaged. Rumors were\nrife in camp, and several prisoners were brought in. Our camp was located\nat Holly Springs, about seventeen miles from Murfreesboro.\n\nSaturday, June 27th. All hands were up at daylight, and prepared\nbreakfast. The weather again cloudy. Firing on our right, still heard; but\njust before noon, ceased. At 12 o'clock, report came that General Thomas\nhad defeated the Rebels and driven them, taking a large number of\nprisoners, and a lot of plunder.\n\nAt 1 o'clock, we once more got started, but the road was in a horrible\ncondition; and after plodding slowly along for some six miles, we turned\ninto a field near a creek and pitched our tents.\n\nSunday, June 28th. Morning cloudy. About 9 o'clock it commenced raining,\nbut we were soon moving. Went two miles, and then prepared to camp; but\nthe stumps and brush were so thick that it was some time ere we were\nenabled to pitch the tents. This was one mile from Manchester, and near a\nlarge creek, called the Barren fork of Duck river.\n\nIn the morning we were again moving, but nothing worthy of note transpired\nfor several days.\n\nSaturday, July fourth, eighteen hundred and sixty-three. This is the\neighty-seventh anniversary of our National Independence, and here we are\nengaged in civil war. What would our old Revolutionary heroes say, could\nthey but look in upon us? Ah! little did they dream when they laid down\nthe sword and gun, that this country would ever again have cause to\nmaintain her honor by sword-blade and cannon's mouth; yet, this curse has\nbeen entailed upon us, by the vandal hand of the South. And now, to-day we\nstand up in a cause just as pure and holy as that for which our fathers\nfought in days gone by. We battle for our country as a whole; it _must\nnot_, it _can not_ be divided. Yes,\n\n  We'll battle for our own true flag,\n    We'll fight for every star;\n  In town, on plain, or beetled crag,\n    Our cause we'll thunder far.\n\nBut, already a light--faint though it be--breaks over our war-tossed\nhomes, and 'tis slowly but surely expanding. Ere another year be passed,\nwe hope to see its effulgent rays light up all the dark corners of our\nland. That light, is the light of Liberty and Union.\n\nBut to our Battery.\n\nWe were now camped in the woods near Elk river, and there was but little\nprospect of our very soon getting out, as it rained almost uninterruptedly\nfor several days, making our condition far from enviable. Our wagons,\nwhich had been left at Manchester, arrived early in the morning, as also\ndid the train from Murfreesboro with provisions, which was hailed with\ndelight. But still we were to be kept on half rations, as we had been for\nsome time back.\n\nDuring the afternoon the writer of this received two boxes of \"good\nthings\" from home, and the men all gathered around him with open mouths\nand straining eyes.\n\nThere being a little \"mountain dew\" in one of the boxes, on inspection, it\nmade some of the men feel in better spirits, and rather more patriotic.\n\nThus passed the 4th of July, 1863.\n\nTuesday, July 7th. About five o'clock in the afternoon cannonading was\nheard in the direction of Tullahoma, and from the regularity of the firing\nit was supposed to be occasioned by some good news. In a short time after,\nfiring was heard much nearer, and evidently in General Thomas's Corps,\nwhich was encamped on the opposite side of Elk river. One half hour later,\nthe joyful news was received of the capture of Vicksburg, and the entire\nRebel army of that place. The news spread like wild-fire through the camp,\nand every one was in high glee. Good news was also received from the army\nof the Potomac, which was now under the command of Major-General Meade.\n\nWednesday, July 8th. Early this morning received word to prepare for a\nmove. Some of the batteries in our division fired a salute in honor of the\nvictory achieved at Vicksburg. About half-past 7, we got started, and\nmoved towards Manchester. The roads were in a horrible condition, and it\nwas with difficulty that we were enabled to proceed. We passed through the\ntown of Hillsboro, and here General Woods's division went into camp while\nwe pushed forward, and at 4 o'clock in the afternoon reached Manchester,\na small town on the Chattanooga and Nashville railroad, and went into\ncamp.\n\nOur tents were pitched on the same ground that we formerly occupied, and\non the following day we commenced clearing up and regulating the place, as\nit was evident that we were to remain here for several days. Shades of\nevergreens were erected over the tents, and the ground being hard and dry\nour situation was quite pleasant.\n\nOn Monday, July 13th, Generals Rosencrans and Crittenden, together with\nseveral other distinguished officers, arrived on the cars. They appeared\nto be on a tour of inspection; but after a short stop proceeded to\nMcMinnville.\n\nThe Pay Master arrived on the following Wednesday, and took up quarters\nwith Captain Standart. The next day we were paid for four months'\nservices, being up to July 1st.\n\nThe above comprises about all that occurred while in camp at Elk river,\nout of the usual course of camp life. The weather, while here, was quite\nhot, and frequent thunder storms ensued. Several prisoners were brought in\nat different times, and numerous foraging expeditions were sent out, and\nwere generally successful, bringing in oats, rye, and hay. Farmers came in\nwith wagon loads of potatoes, fruit and vegetables, which were readily\nbought by the soldiers. A number of men in our Battery built ovens, in\nwhich they baked bread, pies, etc.; and, as a general thing, we lived on\nthe best the country afforded.\n\nA few days before we left camp an addition was made to our Battery of\ntwelve new members, who were enlisted on the Western Reserve, in Ohio.\nOrderly Sergeant Thompson, received his commission as Second Lieutenant,\nand William Camp was appointed Orderly Sergeant. William Broe, who was\nwounded at the battle of Stone river, rejoined us. Captain Standart was\nacting as Chief of Artillery for the division, and also sitting on the\nCourt Martial board. We received a number of fresh horses from Nashville,\ntogether with a lot of new clothing. Several of the members who had been\nleft in hospital at Murfreesboro, returned to duty. We remained in this\ncamp just thirty-eight days.\n\nAt 3 o'clock on the morning of Sunday, August 16th, we were all aroused\nfrom a sound sleep, with the order to \"turn out,\" and \"get ready to\nmarch.\"\n\nThis was rather unexpected, and caused considerable surprise, as it was\nunderstood that no movement would be made until Monday. But, \"no man\nknoweth what a day may bring forth.\" So move it was, and at 8 o'clock we\nwere \"marching along.\" About 10 o'clock we crossed Taylor creek, and\nheaded towards McMinnville; but when we had proceeded some five or six\nmiles it clouded up suddenly, and soon we were experiencing one of those\nthunder storms so peculiar to this region. In a couple of hours the storm\nhad passed over, and the remainder of the day was quite pleasant. We\nreached Viola near sundown, and camped in a large field near the place.\n\nAt daylight all were up and had breakfast, expecting the usual early move.\nThe morning was foggy, but at 8 o'clock the mist cleared away, and two\nhours later we were on the road.\n\nWe now turned off to the right, crossing a small creek; and, as we were\nnow off the McMinnville pike, our expectations of going to that place\nvanished. We were once more nonplussed as to what was really our\ndestination. As usual, various opinions were expressed.\n\nIt would really be laughable to an outsider to hear the surmises and\n\"yarns\" of the men about this, that and the other. One thing, however, was\nquite evident: that from the direction we were taking, we would soon be\namong the Cumberland mountains; and it further looked as if we were\nheading towards Chattanooga.\n\nWe soon found ourselves on a road over which we had marched nearly a year\nprevious, and which leads from McMinnville to Altamont. This road is a\nsuccession of twists and turns, being similar to a street in Boston: it\nhad no apparent beginning, nor ending.\n\nAfter a tedious day of it--meeting with some slight accidents--at night we\ncame near a large Female Seminary, and camped in the woods close by, and\ntwo miles from Collins river.\n\nStarted at 8 o'clock the next morning, and soon thereafter crossed Collins\nriver. The road was now ascending, being in many places quite steep, and\nit was with much difficulty that we were enabled to transport our heavy\nguns. The horses were all pretty well used up at the end of the day, and\nsome of them had given out entirely.\n\nOn Wednesday morning, according to orders of the previous evening, we got\nan early start, and at five o'clock were all on the road. The horses were\nsuffering for want of food, as we had no forage for them, and we were\nobliged to send them back on the road for a supply.\n\nThe road now lay through a thinly settled part of the country, and very\nrocky and uneven. Water was scarcely to be obtained, and for the want of\nwhich there was much suffering. Frequent halts were found necessary, to\nrest both men and horses. At 2 o'clock we had made about fifteen miles;\nhad now gained the summit, and were about to descend the mountain. We\nfound this part of the road more heavy than that of the morning. In going\ndown a steep pitch, the reach of the forge was broken, and a little\nfurther on, two caissons broke down. The men belonging to the detachments,\ntogether with the wagon maker, were left with them to make repairs. The\nremainder of the Battery continued on, and at 5 o'clock reached the small\ntown of Dunlap, which is located in Sequatchie Valley, and one mile from\nthe foot of the mountain.\n\nAt 10 o'clock on the morning of September 3d, we once more made a move,\nand about noon passed through the town of Jasper, making but a short halt.\nFive miles beyond the town, we crossed the Sequatchie river, and halted\non its banks long enough to get dinner. At 4 o'clock we again moved\nforward, and continued on till about 8 o'clock in the evening, when we\nhalted in a large field, about one mile from the Tennessee river.\n\nOur orders were to unharness horses, but to be prepared to cross the river\nas soon as the moon rose. Accordingly none ventured to sleep; but we built\nlarge fires, cooked supper, and patiently awaited for the moon's rising.\n\nAt 10 o'clock Miss Luna showed her face, which was the signal to move; and\nin a few moments we were on the way to the river. In a short time we\nreached its bank, and at once commenced crossing by means of ferry-boats;\nbut it was daylight ere all were safely crossed, and at Shellmond.\n\nShellmond is nothing more than a railroad station, there being only the\ndepot building to give it the name of a place. It is located on the\nNashville and Chattanooga railroad, twenty-two miles from Chattanooga, and\nabout sixteen from Stevenson, being on the South bank of Tennessee river.\nThe place had been occupied by the Rebels a short time previous to our\narrival, but they had been driven out by Union troops. The depot building,\nwhich is of brick, showed rough usage from the effects of cannon balls,\nshell and bullets--it being pretty well riddled.\n\nAbout one mile from the depot is a large cavern, called the Knick-a-Jack\nCave. Near by, are the salt works, which had been worked by the Rebels,\nbut which were mostly destroyed by our troops, at the time the Rebels were\ndriven out.\n\nWe remained in the above camp until the afternoon of September 5th, when,\nat 2 o'clock, we were once more on the move.\n\nDuring our stay here, a large number of troops arrived from different\npoints; and it was now plainly evident that our destination was\nChattanooga, or its immediate vicinity, and all were in expectation of\nsoon being once more engaged in deadly array with the enemy. The weather\nwas extremely warm and sultry.\n\nThe division to which our Battery was attached, proceeded on the direct\nroad to Chattanooga. In many places the road was narrow and rocky, and our\nprogress was necessarily slow. The Tennessee river was frequently in plain\nview, and the road ran in close proximity to the railroad. We occasionally\npassed places where the Rebels had made a halt, and had hastily erected\nbreastworks, or slight stockades, no doubt from fear of an attack from our\nforces.\n\nAt dark, all were anxiously awaiting for the order to encamp; but in this\nwere disappointed, for we were still kept on the move. At half-past 9\no'clock we passed the ruins of the railroad bridge at Falling Waters. This\nbridge was formerly a splendid structure, but was now a complete wreck,\nhaving been destroyed by the Rebels. Three miles further, much to our\ngratification, we filed into a cornfield and camped for the night.\n\nAll were weary and well nigh worn out by the protracted march; but fires\nwere soon lighted, and preparations made for supper.\n\nIt so happened that there was--to elegantly describe it--a hog pen near\nby, in which were several fine young \"porkers,\" and the men--though\ncontrary to orders--were determined to make an inspection of the place.\nBut how to manage the thing, without alarming the guard, was the question.\nFinally a plan was arranged: Two of the men were to stand sentry, while\none, with axe in hand, and another with keen, glittering blade, were to\nknock on the head, and cut porkers' throats. This done, they would be\nthrown out to the sentries, when they would at once drag them off into the\nfield, where the initiated were to be lying in wait to receive them. But,\nalas! how often are poor mortals' calculations vain. Owing to some\nblunder, the pigs took the alarm, and beat a hasty retreat into one corner\nof the pen, and their outcries soon brought a Major to the scene of\naction, who at once arrested all those who were in the vicinity of the\npen, and all of whom were innocent of any crime. But to the guard-house\nthey were marched, there to dream of pork in all its forms.\n\nAt daylight we were again on the move, and shortly after crossed the\nGeorgia line, being the first time we had ever been in that State.\n\nIn many places there were evidences of a grand \"skedaddle\" having been\nmade by the Rebels. The men now anxiously began to enquire along the road\nthe distance to Chattanooga, and what about the enemy. To these questions\nthey received about as intelligent answers as they might expect from a\nfreshly imported Dutchman's \"Nix-cum-erouse,\" as all we could learn was,\nthat it was a \"right smart distance,\" and that Bragg had a \"heap\" of men,\nand us Yankees would wish ourselves \"done gone.\"\n\nAt noon, we arrived at Rock Cove mountain, and, on climbing to its summit,\nwent into camp.\n\nWe remained here undisturbed during the following day, when, at evening\nroll-call, we were ordered to prepare to march. A large number of troops\nhad come in during the day, and it was evident to all that something\nimportant was soon to occur.\n\nAt 1 o'clock on the morning of September 8th, we resumed our march, and\nwithout an incident, at night camped by the road-side. At daybreak the\nfollowing morning, again moved forward, and just before noon arrived at\nthe celebrated Lookout Mountain, and at once commenced its ascent. We were\nsoon in plain view of Chattanooga; and from the top of this mountain the\nprospect of the surrounding country was grand and picturesque in the\nextreme.\n\nOwing to the breaking down of a number of the transportation wagons, it\nwas late in the day ere we were all safely over. But great was our\nsurprise, on now finding ourselves faced in a contrary direction to\nChattanooga. Soon, however, we learned that the enemy had evacuated the\ntown, and were retreating towards Lafayette; so in that direction we\nshaped our course. Proceeding five miles further, we camped for the night.\n\nThe next day we continued the march, and now began to have skirmishes with\nthe enemy's rear-guard, and it was thought that a general engagement would\nsoon be brought about.\n\nShortly before dark, we crossed the small river of Chickamauga, and two\nmiles further on came to a halt.\n\nWe moved on the next morning, and after proceeding five miles, halted for\ndinner. But while we were quietly partaking of our food, a sudden and\nunexpected assault was made by a force of the enemy's cavalry, which\nresulted in the capture of about fifty men of the First Kentucky Infantry,\nof our brigade, and who were on picket guard. So emboldened were the\nRebels by their exploit, that they made a second dash, and into our very\nmidst. But they met with a sudden check, and were soon put to flight,\nleaving several of their number dead and wounded in our hands. For the\nremainder of the day we were not disturbed, and lay in camp till the next\nmorning.\n\nThe next day, at 10 o'clock in the morning, we arrived at the small town\nof Graysville. At this place were several mills and factories, which had\nbeen used in manufacturing various articles for the Confederates. These\nworks were ordered to be destroyed, which was speedily accomplished, and\nsoon thereafter we were again moving.\n\nAt 2 o'clock P. M., we reached the town of Ringgold. It was near this\nplace that Colonel Creighton, and Lieutenant-Colonel Crane, of the gallant\nSeventh Ohio Infantry, were soon afterwards killed, while charging up the\nsteeps at the head of their men.\n\nWe were here informed that the enemy's rear guard had been driven from the\ntown by our advance cavalry.\n\nRemaining here for the night, early in the morning we moved forward; but\nnot until we had destroyed the property of the rampant Rebels who resided\nin the place.\n\nPassing through the town, we took a South-easterly course, and soon\ncrossed Chickamauga river. After proceeding about eight miles, our column\nwas suddenly brought to a halt, by our scouts coming in contact with the\nenemy's rear guard. A lively skirmish now ensued, which resulted to our\nadvantage, as several of the Rebels were killed and captured.\n\nAfter this incident, we continued on our way, and at dark camped near Lee\nand Gordon's Mills, which are situated on the Chickamauga river. Troops\nwere constantly coming in, and there seemed to be a general concentration\nof our forces at this point. Something momentous was on the tapis.\n\nLong ere daylight the following morning, we had made preparations to move,\nand were awaiting orders. From various movements going on in camp, it was\napparent that the enemy were meditating mischief, as it was well known\nthat they were in strong force in our immediate vicinity. About dark we\nchanged our position by crossing the river.\n\nAt early dawn the next morning all were ready for orders. After waiting\nfor some hours, word reached us that the enemy were retreating.\nImmediately we were pushed forward, and after going a few miles, arrived\nat a cross roads, when a halt was ordered.\n\nIt was now ascertained that the enemy were gradually falling back to the\ntown of Lafayette, and where it was supposed they would concentrate their\nforce and await an attack.\n\nAt 7 o'clock of the same evening, the clear, ringing notes of the bugle\nsummoned us to our respective posts, and in less than ten minutes\nthereafter we were moving. But instead of going forward, a retrograde\nmovement was made; or, in other words, we fell back. Here was mystery on\nmystery, to us soldiers, and many a sly wink, or ominous shake of the\nhead, was exchanged. Two days later, however, plainly showed what this\nmovement meant. All along the road flashed the camp-fires of the Union\narmy. The night was cold and cheerless, and around the fires groups of\nweary, worn-out soldiers were gathered. Many a draft was made on some\nConfederate's rail fence, for fuel to keep the fires going. Onward we\nslowly moved, sometimes through cornfields and woods. At 8 o'clock we\nturned into a large field, and now expected to go into camp. But in this\nwere disappointed, for an hour later we were again ordered to proceed.\nNear midnight we turned into a cornfield, and, after considerable\nmaneuvering, were ordered to pitch tents.\n\nAt peep-of-day, on the morning of September 18th, the camp was astir.\nBreakfast was hurried up, horses fed and watered, and soon we were ready\nto move. Orders were frequently given, and as often countermanded. Horses\nwere harnessed and unharnessed, some half dozen times; but at last we made\na go of it. Every few moments a halt was ordered; and thus it went until\nthe day was nearly ended, and little progress had been made.\n\nShortly before dark we arrived at Gordon's Mills and came to a halt.\nConsiderable cannonading was now heard on our right, and Madame Rumor,\nwith her thousand tongues, was busily circulating all manner of reports\nthroughout the lines. One thing, however, was certain; and that was,\nmatters must soon come to a focus, which the events of the following day\nwill fully demonstrate.\n\nAt 8 o'clock, the same evening, our horses were harnessed and hitched to\nthe guns; but hour after hour went by, and no word to move. Troops were\nconstantly filing past our Battery. We huddled around the camp-fires and\npatiently awaited for orders. At midnight came the word to \"forward,\" and\naway we went. But little did we dream of what was in store for us the day\nfollowing, and which resulted so disastrously to the Army of the\nCumberland.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE BATTLE OF CHICKAMAUGA.\n\n\nFIRST DAY.\n\nAt 2 o'clock on the morning of the 19th of September, we passed our former\ncamping ground near Lee and Gordon's Mills, and about one mile beyond,\ncame to a halt. The weather was very cold, but fires were not allowed, and\nevery one was cautioned to remain as quietly as possible--to keep our\nstations, and be prepared to obey any orders that might be given.\n\nAlthough the men were weary and nigh worn out, yet they cheerfully obeyed,\nas all well knew that danger threatened, and it behooved us to be on our\nguard.\n\nIt was well that this caution was taken, for at daylight, the booming of\nartillery and the rattle of musketry proclaimed that another battle had\ncommenced.\n\nThe enemy, in part, were stationed in a piece of woods near the banks of\nthe Chickamauga river, but in a short time they attempted a flank\nmovement, and the lines of both armies were at once changed. At 9 o'clock\nthe engagement became general, and the enemy now made several desperate\ncharges, but were as often repulsed with heavy loss. At 11 o'clock, the\nbattle raged with great fury, but both sides still maintained their\nground, and frequently a fierce hand to hand conflict ensued. Charge after\ncharge did the Rebels make in heavy body upon our sturdy lines, and as\noften were they driven back.\n\nOur Battery was exposed to a hot and galling fire, but we maintained our\nposition through the entire day, the guns belching forth a continuous\nsheet of flame. Several of our men were wounded in the engagement, but\nnone were killed. Lieutenant Baldwin still commanded the Battery, and\nhere, as well as at Stone river, he displayed great coolness and bravery.\n\nAt dark, hostilities ceased, only to be renewed with greater fierceness on\nthe following day.\n\n\nSECOND DAY.\n\nEarly in the morning the battle again opened, when both armies for some\ntime kept up a series of maneuverings, each endeavoring to gain some\nadvantage in position. The Rebels having greatly superior numbers, were\nenabled to extend their lines, so that our army was in imminent danger of\nbeing outflanked; and at one time they had nearly succeeded in cutting off\nour communication with Chattanooga. But General Rosencrans had anticipated\nthis, and had made preparations to check the movement, which was\nsuccessfully done, but not without great loss.\n\nGeneral Bragg, finding himself foiled in this attempt, now ordered a\ngeneral assault along the entire line, and soon the battle raged with\nincreasing fury.\n\nAbout this time, a large body of the enemy charged upon our Battery. On,\non they came, with steady front, feeling confident of victory. But our\ngallant men wavered not. Nobly did they face their hated foe, and\nanxiously watched the countenance of our brave Captain. Soon he gave the\nword, and instantly the brazen throats of all our guns spoke out their\nthunder, and the enemy went down like grass before the scythe. But onward\ncame the foe, and at each instant our guns mowed great gaps in their\nranks. Now they were seen to waver--to sway backwards and forwards, and\nfinally when it seemed as if they must surely accomplish their object,\nthey fell back in confusion.\n\nSoon thereafter, a large body of the enemy were massed and thrown forward\non our Brigade. For a time this assault was withstood, but owing to their\nsuperior numbers, the Brigade was finally compelled to give way.\n\nThe ground over which we retired was very rocky, and covered with a heavy\ngrowth of underbrush. Two of our guns had been disabled, by the breaking\nof the trails. As the enemy were closely pressing us, we were compelled to\nabandon these guns, which fell into their hands.\n\nDuring the above charge, several of our Company were wounded and taken\nprisoners.\n\nThe retreat now became general, the Union forces slowly retiring towards\nChattanooga.\n\nThus, after nearly two days' hard fighting against a greatly superior\nforce, the Army of the Cumberland were compelled to give up the field.\n\nThe Union loss in this engagement was, two thousand and eight hundred\nkilled, eleven thousand and five hundred wounded, and five thousand\nprisoners. The Rebel loss was, from their own account, twenty thousand\nkilled, wounded and prisoners.\n\nOur Battery reached Chattanooga about dark the same night, and early the\nfollowing morning the forge and baggage wagons crossed the river. The army\ntook position in the town and extended their works for several miles along\nthe river. Skirmishing frequently ensued, and the battles of Lookout\nMountain, Mission Ridge and Chattanooga were fought, when Bragg was\ncompelled to give up the offensive, and retire, with his whole army, into\nGeorgia.\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\nDuring the intervals of these battles, our Company, as well as the entire\nArmy of the Cumberland, suffered greatly for the want of suitable food.\nFor many days we were on quarter rations; and, for some time, had but one\nbiscuit per day. The horses fared still worse; and it often happened that,\nfor two or three consecutive days, we had nothing wherewith to feed them.\nThe Rebels had possession of the country in our front, where forage only\ncould be obtained. They also had command of the Nashville and Chattanooga\nRailroad, on the South side of the Tennessee river; so, our supplies were\ntransported by wagons by the way of Stevenson.\n\nFinally, it being found impossible to procure provisions for the entire\narmy, a number of batteries were placed in the Reserve Corps. Our Battery\nwas of the number.\n\nOn the morning of October 19th, the order was given to send all the horses\nbelonging to the Reserve to Stevenson, and that the batteries be moved\nacross the river. This was done, and we went into quarters at Black Oak\nRidge, where we found comfortable log houses which had been erected by\nUnion troops, who had previously occupied the place.\n\nWe remained in camp at this place, until the battle of Chattanooga, when,\nby orders of General Thomas, we were sent to Nashville. Captain Standart\nhad sent in his resignation, which was accepted, and, on the 12th of\nNovember, he left for home. The command of the Battery now devolved on\nLieutenant Baldwin, he being the senior officer on duty.\n\nOn Sunday evening, December 6th, we arrived at Nashville, and on the\nfollowing day went into camp one mile from the city. Five other Batteries\noccupied the same quarters--all under the personal command of Colonel\nBarnett. We were designated as the First Division of Reserve Artillery.\n\nSoon after arriving here, Lieutenant Baldwin--much to the gratification of\nall the members of the company--received his commission as Captain.\n\nAs we now had neither horses nor guns, we led a very easy life of it.\nWhenever the weather was pleasant, we engaged in out door sports--such as\nball playing, pitching quoits, etc. But when, as was often the case, the\nweather was stormy, the time was passed in our tents, reading, writing,\nand \"spinning yarns.\"\n\nAt last, the subject of re-enlisting was broached; but, at first, this did\nnot meet with much favor. Finally, on talking over the matter, and on\nlearning the benefits to be derived from such a course, a few of the men\nstepped forward and placed their names on the roll. Soon, others did the\nsame, and, by the 4th of January, sixty-five of the old, original members\nof the company, had re-entered as veterans.\n\nOn the 18th of the same month, the veterans were duly mustered in for\ntheir new term of service; and a few days later received their back pay,\nand also their bounty.\n\nThe 3d day of February was a joyful day to us who had re-enlisted; for, on\nthat day we were given the order to return home for a month's furlough.\n\nAt 3 o'clock, on the morning of the day following the reception of this\norder, the bugle was sounded, as a signal for the veterans to form in\nline. Never did its notes sound sweeter. The roll was called, and all\nresponded to their names but one poor fellow, who had been taken sick, and\nwas in the hospital. The men who had not re-enlisted gave us three rousing\ncheers, followed by a \"tiger,\" to which we heartily responded. Soon we\nwere on the road to the depot with nimble steps and light hearts; for we\nwere not going to battle, or on one of our long and weary marches. We were\n\"homeward bound.\"\n\nA half hour later, we were speeding it towards our Northern homes. All our\npast trials and privations were forgotten.\n\nAt 9 o'clock on the evening of February, 6th, 1864, we arrived at\nCleveland, having been in the service nearly two and a half years.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nORIGINAL ROLL OF MEMBERS OF THE BATTERY,\n\nAUGUST, 1861.\n\n  William E. Standart, _Captain._\n  John A. Bennett,     _First Lieutenant._\n  J. Hale Sypher,           \"      \"\n  Norman A. Baldwin,   _Second_    \"\n  Eben P. Sturges,          \"      \"\n  Geo. D. Eldridge,    _Quartermaster's Sergeant._\n  Thos. J. Thompson,   _Ordnance_          \"\n  John J. Kelly,       _First_             \"\n  David H. Throup,     _Second_            \"\n  John H. Blair,            \"              \"\n  Elisha D. Parker,         \"              \"\n  Henry Moats,              \"              \"\n  William M. Camp,          \"              \"\n  George Wolf,              \"              \"\n  Wm. Lewhellen,            \"              \"\n  Alonzo B. Adams,     _Corporal._\n  Alonzo Starr,             \"\n  Edmond A. Nichols,        \"\n  Addison J. Blanchard,     \"\n  Silas H. Judson,          \"\n  Harvey P. Fenn,           \"\n  Joseph G. Lankester,      \"\n  Gerhert Schmidt,          \"\n  Merwin Blanchard,         \"\n  Lewis R. Penfield,        \"\n  Barney McNani,            \"\n  William T. Quilliams,     \"\n  James Willis,        _Bugler._\n  Charles E. Humm,          \"\n  George Luster,       _Artificer._\n  George Schmehl,           \"\n  William C. Hodge,         \"\n  John S. Coleman,          \"\n  William Naylor,      _Wagon Master._\n\n\n_Privates._\n\n  Jeremiah Arndt,\n  John Q. Adams,\n  Joseph Axford,\n  Robert F. Andrews,\n  Joseph Binehurer,\n  David K. Bailey,\n  John L. Barnes,\n  Jerome Boice,\n  James Baker,\n  Thomas K. Bayard,\n  John Boon,\n  Jacob Bluim,\n  Charles Bull,\n  Hugh Chambers,\n  John G. Courser,\n  William H. Chapman,\n  Samuel B. Cole,\n  Francis Carter,\n  Newton Crittenden,\n  William B. Carvey,\n  Edmond Chapman,\n  Orlando P. Cutter,\n  John Dunlap,\n  Marvin Dodge,\n  James Disbrow,\n  Edmond Demilt,\n  Joseph A. Day,\n  John David,\n  John Elliott,\n  Samuel Earl,\n  James H. Fast,\n  Charles E. Fowler,\n  Louis Fahrion,\n  Martin P. Findley,\n  Charles Furst,\n  Theodore Gott,\n  John Grant,\n  Ransom E. Gillett,\n  Milo H. Gage,\n  Thomas M. Hunter,\n  Lewis Hickok,\n  Percival Holcomb,\n  Egbert Holcomb,\n  Byron Hougland,\n  William R. Hoadley,\n  Rodman Hart,\n  Dwight N. Hamlin,\n  Andrew H. Ives,\n  John Jackson,\n  Joshua B. Kerebs,\n  Lowman Keredzon,\n  Buchan Kirk,\n  John Lepper,\n  William Leary,\n  Alonzo D. Lee,\n  Chauncey Lyons,\n  Charles H. Millis,\n  A. J. McLaughlin,\n  George Mason,\n  Angus McDonald,\n  James McIlhaney,\n  John McKinty,\n  C. C. McIlrath,\n  Henry McCowan,\n  Peter Manning,\n  William McFarland,\n  Hugh B. Mooney,\n  William Newcomb,\n  George Overy,\n  Edgar M. Peet,\n  Harlan P. Penfield,\n  Aldin B. Peet,\n  Royal E. Pease,\n  George W. Payson,\n  John W. Pickersgill,\n  Thomas C. Potter,\n  James Rosborough,\n  Frank G. Recklee,\n  John Ripperton,\n  George Reading,\n  Samuel B. Ruple,\n  Lyman C. Richmond,\n  John Renouard,\n  Martin V. B. Richards,\n  Stephen D. Renouard,\n  Alexander Stratton,\n  Erastus H. Stroup,\n  John Shukers,\n  Nicholas Schroh,\n  Adam Sprinkle,\n  Francis D. Storey,\n  William H. Singer,\n  Walter Starr,\n  John Snyder,\n  S. W. Shankland,\n  William R. Stanfield,\n  Frank H. Seidel,\n  James N. Sloan,\n  Benjamin H. Sarles,\n  Francillion Tanney,\n  Lewis M. Tyson,\n  Henry Tyson,\n  William Twerrell,\n  Austin VanHaun,\n  Cyrus B. Vallentine,\n  Richard Williams,\n  Wesley Wilson,\n  Jacob Wolf,\n  Alonzo White,\n  Theodore White,\n  James Webster,\n  Arthur West,\n  George Walters,\n  Daniel White,\n  Samuel P. Wilson,\n  John Wellsted,\n  Frank M. Yeckley.\n\n\nNAMES OF MEMBERS WHO JOINED THE BATTERY SINCE ITS FIRST ORGANIZATION.\n\n_Privates._\n\n  Robert S. Avery,\n  Charles Abbott,\n  William Abbott,\n  David Burnham,\n  William Broa,\n  John P. Beers,\n  John Blanchard,\n  Orlando D. Cole,\n  Henry Mace,\n  Moses Marx,\n  George Nagle,\n  H. Olrock,\n  Fletcher S. Penfield,\n  Philo A. Penfield,\n  Henry A. C. Ross,\n  Charles B. Radder,\n  Edwin Chester,\n  Frank Deidirich,\n  Walter Dalgleish,\n  William Freeman,\n  Balthaser Fischer,\n  Alfred French,\n  John French,\n  William Grant,\n  G. L. Goodyear,\n  Silas A. Gardner,\n  Charles G. Guilford,\n  Robert S. Graham,\n  William C. Howe,\n  Thomas J. Holcomb,\n  Charles L. Hayden,\n  T. J. Hudson,\n  James Hathaway,\n  Augustus B. Hayes,\n  Samuel T. Hoyt,\n  Albert Hawkins,\n  James S. Jennings,\n  Conrad Koch,\n  Patrick Kelley,\n  Henry Long,\n  William R. Leonard,\n  Cuyler Morris,\n  Lester J. Richmond,\n  A. E. Sheldon,\n  Leonard G. Starr,\n  Edward E. Swift,\n  Levi L. Sawtell,\n  George Smith,\n  Bradford Teachout,\n  John Carroll,\n  Reason B. Case,\n  Frederick Flick,\n  F. E. Freeman,\n  Thomas J. Gill,\n  John H. Gause,\n  Alexander Manary,\n  Dennis Troy,\n  J. McDonald,\n  George Wilson,\n  Thomas Marx,\n  Harman H. Alms,\n  Alfred Burton,\n  Frank Bowers,\n  Albert Fahrion,\n  Fayette Green,\n  Charles Heller,\n  Richard Miller,\n  Eli Wright.\n\n\nLIST OF MEMBERS OF THE BATTERY WHO WERE KILLED IN BATTLE, OR DIED FROM\nDISEASE.\n\n  George Wolf, First Sergeant,  _Killed in Battle._\n  Chauncey Lyons, Private,         \"     \"    \"\n  Samuel B. Ruple,   \"             \"     \"    \"\n  John Elliott,      \"             \"     \"    \"\n  T. J. Thompson, 1st Serg't,   _from wounds in Battle._\n  Thomas C. Potter, Private,       \"     \"    \"    \"\n  T. J. Hudson,        \"           \"     \"    \"    \"\n  John David, Corporal,            \"     \"    \"    \"\n  G. Wilson, Private,              \"     \"    \"    \"\n  John W. Pickersgill, Private, _Killed by Cars._\n  A. Starr, Corporal,                     _Died._\n  D. K. Bailey, Private,                     \"\n  W. C. Hodge,     \"                         \"\n  E. Chapman,      \"                         \"\n  T. White,        \"                         \"\n  H. P. Fenn, Corporal,                      \"\n  R. Williams, Private,                      \"\n  F. Tanney,      \"                          \"\n  J. P. Wilson,   \"                          \"\n  W. B. Carvey,   \"                          \"\n  J. Baker,       \"                          \"\n  L. Starr,       \"                          \"\n  G. Smith,       \"                          \"\n  G. D. Eldridge, Quartermaster's Sergeant,  \"\n  J. P. Beers, Private,                      \"\n  A. H. Ives,     \"                          \"\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _underscore_.\n\nIn the phrases \"Pittman's X Roads\" and \"Logan's X Roads,\" the \"X\"\nis printed horizontally in the original text.\n\nThe following misprints have been corrected:\n  \"mnrched\" corrected to \"marched\" (page 6)\n  \"fromo ur\" corrected to \"from our\" (page 6)\n  \"necesary\" corrected to \"necessary\" (page 6)\n  \"arived\" corrected to \"arrived\" (page 17)\n  \"Tennesse\" corrected to \"Tennessee\" (page 25)\n  \"1852\" corrected to \"1862\" (page 26)\n  \"euemy\" corrected to \"enemy\" (page 28)\n  \"aad\" corrected to \"and\" (page 34)\n  \"of of same month\" corrected to \"of the same month\" (page 36)\n  \"in in\" corrected to \"in\" (page 36)\n  \"detroyed\" corrected to \"destroyed\" (page 42)\n  \"Pensylvania\" corrected to \"Pennsylvania\" (page 44)\n  \"immediotely\" corrected to \"immediately\" (page 46)\n  \"Watrace\" corrected to \"Wartrace\" (page 53)\n  \"reboubt\" corrected to \"redoubt\" (page 59)\n  \"ronnds\" corrected to \"rounds\" (page 61)\n  \"A\" corrected to \"At\" (page 61)\n  \"fidd\" corrected to \"find\" (page 63)\n  \"torough\" corrected to \"through\" (page 66)\n  \"tne\" corrected to \"the\" (page 79)\n  \"bivouaked\" corrected to \"bivouacked\" (page 83)\n  \"withont\" corrected to \"without\" (page 92)\n  \"gathery\" corrected to \"gather\" (page 94)\n  \"caming\" corrected to \"coming\" (page 103)\n  \"Bejamin\" corrected to \"Benjamin\" (page 109)\n  \"Seargeant\" corrected to \"Sergeant\" (page 109)\n  \"A A\" corrected to \"A\" (page 110)\n  \"pased\" corrected to \"passed\" (page 111)\n  \"Jannary\" corrected to \"January\" (page 111)\n  \"occured\" corrected to \"occurred\" (page 127)\n  \"numerour\" corrected to \"numerous\" (page 127)\n\nOther than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in\nspelling and hyphenation have been retained.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31887", "title": "Our Battery; Or, The Journal of Company B, 1st O.V.A.", "author": "", "publication_year": 1864, "metadata_title": "Our Battery; Or, The Journal of Company B, 1st O.V.A.", "metadata_author": "O. P. Cutter", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:14.898418", "source_chars": 201856, "chars": 201856, "talkie_tokens": 46852}}
{"text": "Produced by StevenGibbs, Jane Hyland and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\"_Adventures are to the adventurous._\"\n\nBEACONSFIELD.\n\n[Illustration: _THE ADVENTURE SERIES._]\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE SERIES.\n\nIllustrated. Cr. 8vo, 5s.\n\n    1.\n\n    Adventures of a Younger Son. By E.J. Trelawny. _With an Introduction\n    by Edward Garnett._ Second Edition.\n\n    2.\n\n    Robert Drury's Journal in Madagascar. _Edited, with an Introduction\n    and Notes, by Captain S.P. Oliver._\n\n    3.\n\n    Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John Shipp. _With an\n    Introduction by H. Manners Chichester._\n\n    4.\n\n    The Adventures of Thomas Pellow, of Penryn, Mariner. _Written by\n    himself, and edited with an Introduction and Notes by Dr. Robert\n    Brown._\n\n    _Others in the Press._\n\n\n\nMEMOIRS OF THE\nEXTRAORDINARY MILITARY\nCAREER OF JOHN\nSHIPP, LATE A LIEUT.\nIN HIS MAJESTY'S 87TH\nREGIMENT\n\nWRITTEN BY HIMSELF. A\nNEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION.\nWITH AN INTRODUCTION\nBY H. MANNERS CHICHESTER\n\nLONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN,\nPATERNOSTER SQUARE. MDCCCXC\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT JOHN SHIPP.]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                        PAGE\n\n    (1) EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION                              7\n\n    (2) AUTHOR'S PREFACE                                  15\n\n    (3) MEMOIRS OF JOHN SHIPP                             17\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n    (1) LIEUTENANT JOHN SHIPP                _Frontispiece._\n\n    (2) SAXMUNDHAM CHURCH                    _To face p._ 32\n\n    (3) PLAN OF BHURTPORE                       \"         98\n\n    (4) EUROPEAN CAVALRY OF SHIPP'S DAY         \"        144\n\n    (5) GHOORKA SOLDIER                         \"        210\n\n    (6) THE FORT OF HATTRASS                    \"        216\n\n    (7) TRAVELLING ON THE GANGES                \"        236\n\n    (8) INDIAN TROOPS OF SHIPP'S DAY            \"        326\n\n    (9) GHAUT ON THE GANGES                     \"        360\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nIn reproducing the \"Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John\nShipp\" as a volume of the Adventure Series, it may be well to say a few\nintroductory words concerning the author and the book.\n\nJohn Shipp was, he tells us, the second son of Thomas and Lætitia Shipp,\npersons in humble circumstances in the little town of Saxmundham, in\nSuffolk, and he adds that in the registers of the parish church will be\nfound a record of his birth on March 16, 1785. The latter statement is\nincorrect. The church register records baptisms, not births, and a\ncareful search has shown that the only entry answering to the above is a\nrecord of the _baptism_ of John, the child of Thomas and Lætitia Shipp,\nat a date twelve months earlier--March 16, 1784. The error probably\nexplains the conflicting statements of the author's age which occur in\nthe course of the story.\n\nShipp's father was a soldier (a marine?), and his mother dying when he\nwas very young, he became an inmate of the parish poorhouse (there were\nno Union workhouses in those days), whence he passed into the hands of a\nneighbouring farmer, one of those savage taskmasters only too common in\nthe \"good old times.\"[1] His deliverance came in unexpected fashion. In\nthe early years of the French Revolutionary War the supply of recruits\nwas far less certain than at a later stage. Partly as a recruiting\nexperiment, partly to relieve parishes of the burthen of pauper boys\nbetween the ages of ten and sixteen who might be willing to enter for\n(_un_limited) service in the army, three regiments of foot were ordered\nto be completed to a thousand rank and file each by the enlisting of\nboys of this description. One of the regiments was the 22nd (Cheshire)\nRegiment of Foot, which half a century later won much fame under the\ncommand of General Sir Charles Napier on the plains of Sind. The 22nd,\non return from the West Indies in 1795, had been ordered to Colchester,\nto recruit; and a Muster Roll, now in the War Office, shows that John\nShipp was duly enlisted into that regiment on January 17, 1797.\n\nShipp appears to have been a bright, plucky, intelligent boy. Regimental\nschools were not in those days; but through the kindness of his captain\nhe picked up some education, and after serving in the Channel Islands,\nat the Cape, and in India, found himself, in the year 1804, a young\nsergeant in the Grenadier company, which was detached with the grand\narmy under Lord Lake fighting against the Mahrattas. He was one of the\nstormers at the capture of Deig, on December 24, 1804, and led the\n\"forlorn-hope\" of the storming column in _three_ out of the four\ndesperate, but unsuccessful, assaults on Bhurtpore in January-February,\n1805, receiving severe wounds upon each occasion. Lord Lake rewarded his\ndaring with an ensigncy in the 65th Foot. A few weeks later he was\npromoted to lieutenant in the 76th Foot, both commissions being dated\nMarch 10, 1805. With the 76th Shipp returned home in 1807; but he\nspeedily found himself in pecuniary difficulties, and sold out of the\narmy on March 19, 1808. His commissions having been given \"without\npurchase,\" he was only entitled to £100 for each twelve months of actual\ncommissioned service abroad, and £50 for like periods at home, up to the\nfull value--£700. With the small sum so realized he paid his debts, and\nsoon after found himself alone in London, without a shilling in the\nworld.\n\nSeeing, as he tells us, no reason why he should not rise again as he had\ndone before, Shipp enlisted into the 24th light Dragoons, which he had\nknown in Lake's army; returned to India to join that regiment; and in\nthe course of a few years rose to the position of regimental\nsergeant-major. In 1815 he was appointed by the Marquis of Hastings\n(Earl of Moira), then Governor-general and Commander-in-chief in India,\nto an ensigncy in the 87th Prince's Own Irish, better known under its\nlater name of the 87th Royal Irish Fusiliers, the first battalion of\nwhich landed at Calcutta from Mauritius in August that year. Shipp's\ncommission bore the original date of the vacancy, May 4, 1815; but by an\nomission, then not uncommon in the case of Indian appointments, he was\nnot gazetted at home until some time later, and his name never appeared\nin the Army List until May, 1819. Shipp had thus twice won a commission\nfrom the ranks by the time he was little more than thirty years old--an\nachievement which may be regarded as unique in the annals of the British\narmy.\n\nShipp served with the 87th in the second campaign of the Ghoorkha War,\nand distinguished himself by a single combat with one of the enemy's\nsirdars in the action near Muckwanpore. He also served at the siege of\nHattrass, where he was the first to enter the fort, and was wounded in\nthe hand. He was on the staff of the left division of the grand army\nunder the Marquis of Hastings in the Mahratta and Pindaree War of\n1817-18, during which he distinguished himself on several occasions. He\nbecame a lieutenant in the 87th on July 5, 1821.\n\nAt the latter end of this year a series of unfortunate occurrences\nbegan, which brought Shipp's military career to an untimely close. He\nappears to have entered into a racing partnership with Lieut.-Colonel\nBrowne, of the same regiment, to run horses at Cawnpore races. Shipp,\nwho was supposed to be a good judge of horseflesh, was to make certain\npurchases, for the purpose, at Calcutta. Colonel Browne, who died in\ncommand of the regiment in Burmah a few years afterwards, was then one\nof the regimental majors. He was a brave officer and, it is said, much\nliked in the regiment; but it does not seem to have occurred to him or\nany one else that to encourage a junior officer in Shipp's position--a\nmoneyless man, with family ties--to embark in turf speculations was a\nmost unfriendly action. The partners speedily fell out, each accusing\nthe other of \"throwing him over.\" Browne claimed 2,000 rupees from\nShipp, which the latter admitted he had not the means to pay; and Shipp\nthen accused Browne of prejudicing the minds of the other officers\nagainst him. This state of things continued until Shipp had a\nmisunderstanding with a civilian at Calcutta, in consequence of which\nhis brother officers treated him with marked coolness. Whether there\nwere sufficient grounds for so doing does not appear; but when Shipp\nasked that his conduct in the matter might be investigated by\ncourt-martial--the only course open to an officer without the means to\ngo to the civil courts--he was told that the Judge Advocate-General\nconsidered it unnecessary. Worried by pecuniary difficulties, and\nsmarting under what he considered undeserved treatment by his former\nassociates, which he attributed to the hostile influence of Colonel\nBrowne, Shipp wrote some intemperate letters reflecting on the conduct\nof Colonel Browne and of the regimental commanding officer. These he\nstubbornly refused to withdraw; although in after years he admitted that\nthey were unjust and written under a misapprehension of facts. The\ninevitable result followed. Shipp was brought before an European\nGeneral Court Martial on specific charges of unofficer-like conduct. The\ncourt, of which Colonel Baldock, 29th Bengal Native Infantry, was\npresident, assembled at Fort William on July 14, 1823, and after\nthirteen days' sitting found Shipp guilty of both the charges of\nunofficer-like conduct preferred against him, and sentenced him to be\n\"discharged\" from the service; but, at the same time, strongly\nrecommended him to mercy in consideration of his past services and\nwounds, and the high character as an officer and a gentleman that he had\npreviously borne. The proceedings of the court were sent home for\nconfirmation, and eighteen months later were returned with the\nnotification that Shipp was to be permitted to retire from the service.\nHe accordingly returned home, and sold out of the regiment on November\n3, 1825, about a month after his arrival in England. With their\ncustomary generosity, the Court of Directors of the late East India\nCompany settled upon him a life pension of £50 a year, in consideration\nof his Indian services.\n\nDisappointed again and again in his hopes of obtaining civil employment,\nShipp tried his hand at authorship, and wrote a work entitled the\n\"Military Bijou,\" and other things. In 1829 he published \"Memoirs of the\nExtraordinary Military Career of John Shipp.\" The book was brought out\nby the late Mr. Hurst, of Great Marlborough Street, and proved a\nliterary success. As a military critic observed at the time, \"that a\nfriendless farmer's boy, ignorant, by his own admission, of the simplest\nrudiments of education, and following the engrossing profession of a\nsoldier from an age scarcely beyond the pale of childhood, should have\nqualified himself to be at once the hero and the author of so remarkable\na work argues no ordinary qualities in the individual.\" A no less\ncreditable feature, we may be permitted to add, is the fine, soldierly\nsense of duty, which led Shipp to bow to his fate (p. 317), and to\nabstain from making his autobiography a vehicle for either\nself-exculpation or recrimination in regard of the matters that proved\nthe ruin of his professional life. Two years after the publication of\nhis memoirs, Shipp wrote a pamphlet entitled, \"Flogging and its\nSubstitutes--A Voice from the Ranks.\" It was in the form of a letter to\nthe late Sir Francis Burdett, Bart., M.P., who in return sent the author\na douceur of £60. Shipp's views did not find general acceptance in\nmilitary circles at the time; but the substitutes for corporal\npunishment which he advocated, including a system of pecuniary fines for\nvarious military offences, have all been since adopted in the army, and\nare now in force. About the same time the late Sir Charles Rowan,\nK.C.B., then Colonel Rowan, one of the Commissioners of the new\nMetropolitan Police, offered Shipp an inspectorship in the Stepney\ndivision, which was gladly accepted. Subsequently he received the\nappointment of Superintendent of the Night Watch at Liverpool. There he\nproved himself a most capable and efficient officer. So highly, indeed,\nwas he esteemed in the borough, that when he offered himself for the\nmastership of the Liverpool Workhouse, early in the year 1833, he was\nelected to the post by an overwhelming majority of votes. The\ncomfortable competency thus assured to him he did not live long to\nenjoy. An attack of pleurisy, after a few days of acute suffering,\ncarried him off on February 27, 1834, at the age of fifty-two.\n\nHis \"Memoirs,\" as already stated, first appeared in 1829. A reprint, by\nthe same publisher, appeared in 1840. Subsequently another edition, in\nwhich the summary of the court-martial proceedings and some other matter\ncontained in the original edition were omitted, and a supplementary\nchapter added, bringing down the narrative to the date of Shipp's death,\nwas issued by the late Mr. Tegg, publisher, 73, Cheapside, London, in\n1843. The present volume is a reprint of the latter work, the text of\nwhich has been reproduced in full, and, save as regards the correction\nof some obvious typographical errors, without alteration. A very few\nexplanatory footnotes have been added, and some illustrations, from\nauthentic contemporary sources, have been introduced, which it is hoped\nwill lend additional interest to the story of the \"Extraordinary\nMilitary Career of John Shipp.\"\n\n                                                H. MANNERS CHICHESTER.\n\n    LONDON, 1890.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] See the picture of East Anglian rural life given by the Rev. Dr.\nJessopp in _Nineteenth Century_ for May, 1882, under the title, \"The\nArcady of our Grandfathers.\"\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn laying before the public a familiar and unreserved detail of the\nincidents and adventures of my past life, I trust it will not for a\nmoment be supposed that I am actuated by vanity, or by a desire to make\nan ostentatious display of my military services. That, in the course of\nthose services, I have exercised some degree of daring, to the merit (if\nany) attached to which I may justly lay claim, I do not affect to deny;\nbut it is far, very far, from my thoughts, to assume the possession of\nuncommon fortitude, or to arrogate to myself any degree of heroism\nsuperior to that which would be displayed, on occasions which required\nit, by every brave officer in his Majesty's service.\n\nHaving thus, first, disclaimed all intention of boasting of my\nperformances, or of holding myself up as a prodigy of valour, it becomes\nme next to declare that I do not pretend to afford the reader any\nimportant intelligence respecting our Indian possessions, either as\nregards statistics or politics. Information on these subjects must be\nsought in the works of writers of far higher pretensions than the humble\nauthor of these Memoirs.\n\nMy design has been to present the public with a simple and unadorned\nnarration of my own life, from the period of my infancy to the date of\nmy having been, unfortunately, compelled to quit his Majesty's service.\n\nIf, among the anecdotes which I have introduced, the eye of criticism\nmay detect many which may be deemed of too trivial a nature, and devoid\nof that piquancy which can alone confer a value on such light and\nunimportant materials, I can only plead that I may have been led to\nover-estimate their merit, from the hearty laughter which they created\nwhen they were first noted by me; and I trust it will be recollected\nthat it is a rough soldier who has ventured to think them worthy of\npublicity. So, also, if in my account of the battles and sieges in which\nI have had the honour to participate, my details shall appear flimsy or\nmeagre, more especially as concerns the objects of the government of\nIndia in the various campaigns in which I have been engaged, be it\nremembered that I do not profess to know their designs; that my constant\noccupation in my professional duties afforded me no time to study them;\nand that it is the subaltern's duty to act, and not to reason.\n\nMy Memoirs, such as they are, I leave to the indulgent consideration of\na liberal public.\n\n                                                     JOHN SHIPP.\n\n    BHURTPORE COTTAGE,\n    ALPHA ROAD, REGENT'S PARK,\n    _January, 1829_.\n\n\n\n\nMEMOIRS OF JOHN SHIPP.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIn the ponderous mouldy register of the little market-town of\nSaxmundham, in the county of Suffolk--covered with the red remnants of\nthe old worn-out velvet pulpit-cushion of the said village church, into\nwhich the Christian religion had been beaten and enforced, both with\nclenched fist and pointed elbow, and which now plainly told the\ncongregation that it had at last yielded only to Parson Brown's\nimpressive manner and arguments--in this prodigious volume, protected by\nhuge brass clasps, which naught but the rough hand of the man of\nskulls[2] could force to obedience, after the oft-wetted thumb had\naroused some hundreds of gigantic leaves from their peaceful slumber,\nand the book had opened wide its time-worn pages, there was, and, I\ndoubt not, is still to be discovered, a plainly-written record, setting\nforth, in most intelligible terms, that I, John Shipp, the humble author\nof these Memoirs, came into this wicked and untoward generation on the\n16th day of March, A.D. 1785. If this register be an authentic\nenrolment, which I have neither reason nor inclination to doubt, I was\nthe second son of Thomas and Lætitia Shipp--persons of honest fame, but\nin indigent circumstances, who had both \"drank deep\" of the cup of\nsorrow. Of the latter of those dear parents I was bereft in my infancy;\nand, as my father was a soldier in a foreign clime, thus was I thrown on\nthe world's tempestuous ocean, to buffet with the waves of care, and to\nencounter the breakers of want.\n\nAt the death of my poor mother I was left, with my elder brother, in\nutter destitution. The advantage which other children derive from the\nsupport and good counsel of an affectionate father, we had never known;\nand we were now suddenly bereft of a fond mother's fostering care, and\nwith it, of our humble parental home. Where, under such circumstances,\ncould we look for protection? Friends we had few, if any; and those who\nmight have been generously disposed to assist us were, unfortunately,\nincapacitated, by their own distressed circumstances, from extending a\nhelping hand towards us. Need I feel shame, then, in avowing that there\nwas one place of refuge, and one place only, in which two helpless\norphans could obtain, at once, food, clothes, and shelter; and that that\none asylum was the village poorhouse!\n\nAt the age of nine I was deprived of my brother, who was pressed on\nboard a man-of-war. He was a remarkably fine youth of about fourteen;\nand, being of a wild spirited disposition, I have every reason to\nbelieve that but little _pressing_ was required to induce him to go to\nsea; but rather, that being, like myself, homeless and dependent, he\ngladly availed himself of the opportunity which offered of setting his\nyouthful heart free from bondage, by becoming a volunteer in the\nservice of his country. Since that period--now upwards of thirty\nyears--I have never heard of him!\n\nTo return to my own Memoirs: now that my brother had left me, I was\ndesolate indeed! His departure afflicted me most sincerely, and I felt\nmyself alone in the wide world, a friendless isolated being. But the\nspirits of childhood, buoyant and elastic, though they may be depressed\nfor a time, readily accommodate themselves to all exigencies, and rise\nsuperior to the greatest calamities. Grief, however poignant at first,\nwill not dwell long with youth; and the ingenuity and curiosity of a boy\never on the alert to discover some new expedient with which to amuse his\nmind and to gratify his fickle fancy, effectually prevent him from\nindulging in unavailing despondency. I was naturally a wild dog, of an\nactive unconquerable spirit; and although the miseries peculiar to my\nfriendless situation could not but at first severely affect me, yet,\nafter a short time, I found that, in spite of them all, I had so\ncontrived it as to have established in the village a character for\nmischief infinitely superior to that possessed by any other boy of my\nown age. This character, however reverenced by boys of the same genius,\nwas not, it must be acknowledged, very likely to increase the number of\nmy real friends; and I therefore cannot speak in very rapturous terms of\nthe comforts I enjoyed at this period of my youth. I have a recollection\nof sundry tricks and misdemeanours in which I was very actively\nconcerned, and for which I was frequently as deservedly punished; and,\nas far as my memory serves me, my time, just at this juncture, was\npassed in a pretty even routine of planning and executing mischief, and\nreceiving its reward.\n\nThis, however, was not long to last; for fickle fortune threw an\nincident in my way, which diverted my attention from all my former\ntricks and frolics, and turned my thoughts into a new channel. One\nautumn's morning, in the year 1794, while I was playing marbles in a\nlane called Love Lane, and was in the very act of having a shot at the\nwhole ring with my blood-alley, the shrill notes of a fife, and the\nhollow sound of a distant drum, struck on my active ear. I stopped my\nshot, bagged my marbles, and scampered off to see the soldiers. On\narriving at the market-place, I found them to be a recruiting party of\nthe Royal Artillery, who had already enlisted several likely-looking\nfellows. The pretty little well-dressed fifer was the principal object\nof my notice. His finery and shrill music were of themselves sufficient\nattractions to my youthful fancy; but what occupied my thoughts more\nthan either of these was the size of this musical warrior, whose height\nvery little exceeded that of the drum by which he stood. \"Surely,\"\nthought I to myself, sidling up to him, \"I must be myself as tall, if\nnot taller, than this little blade, and should make as good a soldier!\"\nReflections of this nature were crowding thick into my mind when the\nportly sergeant, addressing his words to the gaping rustics by whom he\nwas surrounded, but directing his eyes to the bed-room windows in the\nvicinity of his station, commenced a right royal speech. I swallowed\nevery word spoken by the royal sergeant, with as much avidity as the\ndrum-major's wife would her morning libation. It was all about\n\"gentlemen soldiers,\" \"merry life,\" \"muskets rattling,\" \"cannons\nroaring,\" \"drums beating,\" \"colours flying,\" \"regiments charging,\" and\nshouts of \"victory! victory!\" On hearing these last words, the rustic\nbumpkins who had enlisted exposed their flowing locks, and with their\ntattered hats gave three cheers to \"the king--God bless him.\" In this I\nmost heartily joined, to the no small amusement of the assembled\nmultitude. \"Victory!\" seemed still to ring in my ears, and the sound\ninspired my little heart with such enthusiasm, that it was not until\nsome minutes after the rest had left off cheering, that I became\nconscious, from the merriment around me, that I still held my tiny hat\nelevated in the air, waiting for a repetition of that spirit-stirring\nword. Finding myself observed, I adjusted my hat with a knowing air,\nelevated my beardless chin with as much consequence as I could assume,\nand, raising myself on tiptoe, to appear as tall as possible, I strutted\nup to the sergeant, and asked him, in plain words, if he would \"take I\nfor a sodger?\" The sergeant smiled, and patted my head in so\ncondescending a manner, that I thought I might venture to take the same\nliberty with the head of the drum; but in this I was mistaken, for I had\nno sooner touched it than I received from the drummer a pretty sharp rap\non the knuckles for my presumption: his drum-head was as sacred to him\nas the apple of his eye. I again mounted on tiptoe and urged my\nquestion, \"Will you like I for a sodger?\" intimating, at the same time,\nthat I was \"bigger than that there chap,\" pointing to the little fifer.\nIncensed at this indignity, the boy of notes was so nettled, that he\ncommenced forthwith to impress on my face and head striking marks of his\nirritation in being thus degradingly referred to. This I felt that I\ncould have returned with compound interest; but, as my antagonist had\nthe honour of wearing his Majesty's livery, I deemed it wiser to pocket\nthe affront, with my marbles, and make the best of my way off. I\naccordingly made a retrograde movement towards home, full of the scene I\nhad just witnessed, and vociferating, as I went along, \"Left, right;\"\n\"Right, left;\" \"Heads up, soldiers;\" \"Eyes right;\" \"Eyes left,\" &c. In\nshort, I had thus suddenly not only been touched by the military, but\ngot the military touch; and from that day forth I could neither say nor\ndo anything, but in what I thought a soldier-like style: my play\nconsisted chiefly of evolutions and manoeuvres, and my conversation of\nmilitary phrases.\n\nShortly after this adventure, I was sent to live with a farmer in the\ntown, whose heart was as cold as the hoar-frost which often blighted his\nfairest prospects. Fortunately for me, however, his wife was of a\ndifferent disposition. This good dame proved almost a second mother to\nme, and frequently screened me from the effects of my master's rage;\nbut so restless and untoward (to say the truth) were my inclinations\nand propensities, and so imperious in his commands, and unrelenting in\nhis anger, was my master, that in spite of my kind mistress's\nintercession in my favour, I seldom passed a day without being subjected\nto his cruel lash. This treatment was but little calculated either to\nconciliate my affections, or to effect a reformation in my conduct. My\nfeelings became hardened under the lash of oppression; and my desire to\nleave a place so little congenial with my disposition increased daily.\nMeantime, all the cats and dogs in my master's house were made to go\nthrough military evolutions; the hoes and rakes were transformed into\nmuskets, and the geese and turkeys into soldiers. Even my master's whip,\nwhich was always in requisition at the conclusion of these performances,\ncould not eradicate my propensity for \"soldiering.\" Every time his back\nwas turned, my military exercises were resumed; and when I could not by\npossibility find time to be thus actively engaged, I solaced myself with\nwhistling, \"God save the King,\" \"The British Grenadiers,\" and \"See, the\nconquering hero comes.\" The first of these tunes I once commenced in the\nchurchyard, during a funeral service; for which I got the sexton's cane\nover my back; \"that being no place,\" as the said sexton judiciously\nremarked, \"to show my loyalty in.\" Even the old women in the parish\ncould not pass me without a military salute, such as \"Heads up, missis!\"\n\"Eyes right, missis!\" \"Keep the step, missis!\" &c. These pranks often\nbrought me into disgrace and trouble, and usually ended with an\napplication of the end of my master's whip.\n\nIn the dreary month of December, when the white snow danced along the\nglen, and the icicle sparkled on the hoary oak, I had transported my\nfrozen limbs into a turnip field, close by the Great Yarmouth road,\nwhere I stood shrivelled up like a dried mushroom, plotting and planning\nhow to escape from the truly wretched situation in which I felt myself\nto be then placed. I had just put my cold fingers into my mouth, for\nthe purpose of warming them, and had given them the first puff, when I\nheard the distant sound of martial music. Down went my hands, and up\nwent my heels. I made an _echellon_ movement towards the place; jumped\nover the gate; brought up my right shoulder a little; then gave the word\n\"Forward,\" and marched in double quick time. The music soon got nearer;\nor, at all events, I soon got so near to the music that I was glad to\nhalt. Just at this moment the whole band struck up \"Over the hills, and\nfar away,\" which kindled a flame in my bosom which nothing but death can\nextinguish, though I have now long since had my full share of the\nreality of the Scotch melody. On coming up to the party of soldiers, I\ngave the colonel a military salute, by first slapping my leathers, then\nbringing up my right hand (which, by the by, was the wrong hand) to my\nforehead, and extending the thumb as far as I could from my fingers. I\ncontinued in this position, keeping my elbow parallel with the top of my\nhead, until the colonel came close up to me; and, remarking how\nstudiously I retained the same position, condescendingly said, with a\nsmile, \"That's a fine fellow.\" On this head I perfectly agreed with the\ngallant commandant, as may be readily supposed; and the compliment so\nelated me, that I felt by no means certain whether I stood on my head or\nmy heels; but ran about, first in the front, then in the rear, until at\nlast I ran bump up against \"master,\" who presented himself to my\nastonished eyes, mounted on Corporal Dash (a horse of his I had so\nnamed), with a long hunting whip (a very old friend of mine) in his\nhand. The moment I recognized these old acquaintances, I saw that I had\nnot a minute to lose; so, making up my mind that a good retreat was far\nbetter than a bad fight, I ran off at full charge, as fast as my legs\nwould carry me, my master riding after me, and roaring out most lustily,\n\"Stop! stop!\" If, instead of \"Stop,\" he had said \"Halt,\" it is more than\nprobable that my legs would instinctively have obeyed; for, from the\nconstant drills to which they had been subjected, they began to move\nquite mechanically. As it was, however, on I went, until a stile brought\nmy master up; when, as I was quite out of breath, I thought I might as\nwell halt too. Here I had the satisfaction of hearing my master swear\nroundly, that he would kill me when he caught me. \"Thank God,\" thought I\nto myself, \"you have not got me yet.\" The moment my persecutor rode on,\nI cut across a field, and again gained the head of the corps of Royal\nHorse Artillery, who were at this time just entering the suburbs of the\nvillage. Here I dared not venture to follow them any farther, until my\nmaster's hurricane had blown over; so I mounted a gate, where my heart\nyearned after them, as that of a wounded soldier does after his corps in\nthe battle's heat. Here I again set my wits to work how to elude the\nchastisement I was sure to receive from the infuriated man of clods. The\nregiment which I had seen was, I had ascertained, on its march to\nYarmouth, to embark for foreign service; and, from the condescending\nmanner of the colonel (who returned my salute), I made no doubt whatever\nthat he would be glad to take me for a soldier. Full of these thoughts,\nI loitered about all day, but dared not venture in, until, at length, my\ninterior began to express wants respecting which I had not before\nreflected. These demands were of a nature not to be drilled into\nobedience; so, at last, overcome by fatigue and inanition, in I marched,\nhaving first seen my master march out. My mistress, who was ever ready\nto act the part of a kind mother towards me, soon provided me with a\nsubstantial meal. I was not long in doing justice to the repast thus\nkindly set before me; and, having effectually satisfied my appetite for\nthe time present, I took the precaution of lining my pockets with a\nlarge hunch of bread and cheese, to subsist on the following day, when I\nintended to be in light marching order to follow the soldiers. Having\nthus prudently provided in some degree for the future, I betook myself\nto my usual occupations; but I had not commenced work more than five\nminutes, when I espied my master reconnoitring me from behind a hedge.\nPresently he crossed a stile with a large whip in his hand; and I could\ndiscern, from his artful movements, that it was his intention to come\nupon me unperceived. Now and then, in order that my fears might not be\nexcited, he would stoop down and pull a turnip; but I was too good a\nsoldier myself to be out-generalled in this manner. I stood from my\nwork, the better to observe the enemy's movements, and kept my eye upon\nthe fugleman. At last, I saw him make preparations to arrange his whip;\nso I immediately arranged my legs for a start. \"Every step that he now\ntakes,\" thought I to myself, \"is a step nearer to my back; whereas, now\nthat I have ten yards' start, there is still a chance for me.\" My master\nperceived that I was ready for a bolt, and soon broke from slow time\ninto quick, and from quick to double quick, which put me to the charge,\nmy master following me--swearing, threatening, and roaring out, \"Stop\nhim! stop him!\" a second time. I turned round to look who was likely to\nstop me, when my foot came in contact with a large clod, and I tumbled\nheels over head. Here the chase ended; for my tyrant caught hold of me\nby a smock-frock which I had on, and commenced flogging me; but, from\nthe race I had given him, I found he was so winded, that he had not\nstrength left to hurt me much; so I \"showed fight\" at once, by seizing\nhold of the lash of the whip. This so enraged him, that he threw me from\nhim with such violence, that one side of the smock-frock and I parted\ncompany, and I had just sufficient time left me to get up again and make\nmy escape, which I did, leaving my master, as a token of my unalterable\naffection, the one side of my upper garment. Let it be his\nwinding-sheet, for he was a cruel monster!\n\nThe remaining half of my smock-frock I stuck in a hedge in the same\nfield, as a further token of my regard, and as a proof of my anxiety to\nleave him all I could spare. I then made a movement towards the town, in\nthe hope that I should see the colonel, but he was not to be found; and\nI went from public-house to public-house, in search of the soldiers,\ntill night began to unfold her sombre mantle, which was as gloomy as my\npoor little friendless bosom. Go home I dared not; so, after wandering\nabout the farmer's house, I at last got into the stable, and slept all\nnight in the hay-loft, dreaming I was a general, and riding over the\nbattle's plain. Here I slept as sound as a dead soldier, until I was\nawoke in the morning by the gruff voice of my master, inquiring if they\nhad seen anything of me, and protesting that, whenever he caught me, he\nwould skin me alive. \"Bob\" (one of his men), he bellowed out, \"saddle\nthat there old horse, Corporal Dash, and I'll go and see where he is;\nand, if I catches him, I'll put him in the stocks, and see if that can't\ncool his courage for him. He is the most tarnationest and outdationest\nlad I have ever seen: it was only the day before yesterday that I\ncatched him riding the old sow, Polly, with a pitchfork, and singing\nout, 'Victory! victory!' but I'll see if the stocks won't cool him.\" The\nold corporal was saddled accordingly, and led out. I could distinctly\nsee him through a small hole in the loft, and he trotted off towards the\nmarket-place. I now began to think what place was best and safest for\nme. Skinning alive I could not bear the thoughts of; and, as to the\nstocks, it is true they might have cooled me, for it was freezing hard,\nand as bitter a morning as ever blew from the heavens; but there was\nnothing soldier-like in the situation, and the thoughts of such a\nposition were not to be endured.\n\nAs soon as Bob had left the place to go to his work, I began to form\nplans for my retreat. Resolved, for the present, to act on the\ndefensive, I first reconnoitred the course, to see that the enemy was\nnot lying in ambush for me, or lurking in the vicinity of my\nhiding-place. Finding all clear, I descended to the stable, and soon\ngained the road. Having passed through the barn-yard and orchard, I\npeeped in at the farmhouse, but could not catch a glimpse of my kind\nmistress. My bread and cheese I had eaten the preceding evening, and my\nstomach began now to evince symptoms of mutinous commotion; but the fear\nof falling again into the hands of my merciless enemy prevailed over all\nother considerations, and, in an adjoining field, I regaled myself very\ncontentedly on a turnip. I had just concluded that sumptuous repast, and\nwas beginning to reflect seriously on the situation in which I had\nplaced myself, when the band struck up that beautiful old melody, \"The\ngirl I left behind me.\" This was both meat and drink to me, and its\nsweet notes comforted my lately inconsolable bowels. I put myself in\nmarching and soldier-like attitude; and, with my hands stuck close to my\nleathers, my fingers directed towards the earth, chin elevated, toes\npointed, thus I stepped off with the left leg, keeping time with the\ntune, until I arrived at the toll-gate, about a quarter of a mile from\nthe town. Here I could not help halting, to look back on the little\nplace of my birth, the scene of my boyhood, and many a sportive hour. I\nfound the tear trickling down my cheek. It was near the grave of my fond\nmother, too. I hesitated, for some time, whether to proceed or return;\nbut my master's dreadful threat rushed upon my mind in all its terror,\nand this impelled me onwards; and I again joined the followers, men and\nboys, girls and dogs. I was but a child, but I was a child cast upon the\nworld, parentless, and in the hands of a cruel master. I could not\nbelieve it possible to be worse off, and therefore continued my march\ntowards Yarmouth, without a mouthful of bread to eat, or a penny in my\npocket. I knew not a soul in the place to which I was going; but my\ntruant disposition took a hop, step, and jump over all difficulties.\n\nMy worldly effects consisted of a hat, which had once been round, but\nwhich, from my continually turning and twisting it into the shape of\ncocked-hats, road-hats, soldiers' caps, &c., was now any shape you\nwished; a little fustian jacket; waistcoat of the same material; a\ncoarse shirt, which, from a violent shaking fit, was completely in rags;\na pair of leathers, intolerably fat and greasy; ribbed worsted\nstockings; and a thwacking pair of high-lows, nailed from heel to toe.\nThese, with a little stick, were my only incumbrances, save a gloomy\nprospect. I was bitterly hungry, and sadly tired; but on I went until we\narrived within a mile of Beccles, some sixteen miles from home. Here\nsome of the soldiers branched off to their quarters in the vicinity of\nthe town; but I followed the greater body, as the more probable means of\ngetting something to eat. The band now again struck up, \"Over the hills,\nand far away.\" I marched at the head, but began to find that my poor\ncraving stomach could no longer feed upon delicious melody; so I now\nmade up my mind to accost the colonel, and ask him if he could not\nenlist me for a soldier. The colonel seemed a kind-hearted man; so, as\nmodesty on my part was now quite out of the question, I bent my way to\nthe head inn, where all the officers were assembled. I inquired for the\ncolonel, and was at last shown into a room where he was sitting, with\nother officers, at breakfast. I strutted up to him with my hat in my\nhand, and made him a most obsequious bow, with my hand and foot at the\nsame time. I then stood straight, as if I had swallowed a sergeant's\npike; when the colonel laughingly said, \"Well, my fine little rustic,\nwhat's your pleasure?\" I said, making another bow, and scraping the\ncarpet with my nailed high-lows, \"Soldiering, your honour.\" At this, the\nwhole of the officers burst into a roar of laughter, in which the\ncolonel most heartily joined. I thought it was the fashion in the army,\nso I joined them, which only served to increase their mirth; and many of\nthem were obliged to hold their sides from excess of laughter. I soon\nfound that all this merriment was at my expense; at which I began to\nevince some slight displeasure, and was just about to express it in\nwords, when the colonel said, in the most affectionate manner, \"My dear\nlittle child, you had better return to your fond mother's lap.\" Here I\ncould not help piping, and I replied, \"Sir, my mother is dead.\" \"Could I\neven take you,\" continued the colonel, \"I should imagine that I was\nrobbing some fond parent of its child; besides, we are proceeding on\nforeign service, against the enemy.\"\n\nThis news only served to increase my anxiety to go, and I again\nentreated him to look with compassion upon an orphan. I saw him turn\nfrom me, and wipe away a falling tear; and then, addressing me with the\naffection of a parent, he said, \"My dear little fellow, if I was going\nto remain in England, I would take you; but under the present\ncircumstances, I cannot.\" Here I again began to cry, and I told him that\nI was sixteen miles from home, and had not got a piece of bread to put\nin my mouth. Upon this, the whole of the officers vociferated, \"Waiter!\nwaiter! waiter!\" The waiter was speedily in attendance, when I was\nordered breakfast by twenty persons at the same time. I was still\nresolved not to give up my point; but the colonel again told me, it\nwould be impossible for him to take me, but assured me that I should be\ntaken care of, and desired me to go downstairs and get my breakfast. I\ndid so, and, in passing round the table for the purpose of retiring,\nsome gave me a shilling, some sixpence, so that I had more money than I\nhad ever before possessed in my life. I ate a hearty breakfast in the\nkitchen, the servants asking me a number of impertinent questions. After\nbreakfast, I counted my riches, and found that I had ten shillings, at\nleast, in my leathers, into the pockets of which I every moment\nintroduced my hand, to feel if all was safe. In the afternoon I was\nordered dinner, and at last placed in the charge of a sergeant, who\ninquired who and what I was. I slept with him, and slept most soundly\ntoo, thinking I was a soldier. Early the next morning I was awoke, when\nthe sergeant showed me a note from the good-natured colonel to my\nmaster, whose name and address he had pumped me out of the evening\nbefore. The sergeant was proceeding to Woodbridge Barracks, and he had\ndirections to take me over to my master, as well as to deliver the\ncolonel's note, which was open, and contained a most earnest request\nthat, for his sake, my master would not flog me. The generous colonel\nhad also given the sergeant five shillings for me, which he gave me\nbefore I started from Beccles. About three o'clock in the afternoon I\narrived at my master's, who was at home. The kind message of the colonel\nwas communicated to him, and he faithfully promised the sergeant, that\nall should be forgiven and forgotten. I was lured, under this promise,\nto return to my work, resolved to do better in future; and I began to\nthink that I really had not much reason to complain; for, on counting my\nmoney, I found I had fifteen shillings and sixpence left, after treating\nthe sergeant on the way home. Scarcely, however, had the sun risen on\nthe following day, when my master seized me by the neck, and dragged my\nclothes off my back. He had with him a double-handed whip, such as is\nused by colliers, and with this he lashed me so unmercifully, that I\nhave no hesitation in saying, that, had not a man, who was labouring in\nan adjoining field, interfered, he would have killed me. He was the most\ninhuman man I ever saw; and if he was not dead, and his family in abject\npoverty, I should, before this, have published his name; but, not to add\nto their present calamities, I will bury such feelings with their\nfather, and begin a fresh chapter, with accounts more interesting to my\nreaders; first entreating their forgiveness for having dwelt so long on\nthe scenes of my boyhood.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] The sexton of the parish.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\nAbout this period (1797) the three experimental regiments[3] were\nordered to be formed, viz., the 22nd, 34th, and 65th regiments; the\nformer at Colchester. I was, one morning in that year, about the month\nof January or February, busily employed in a field close by my master's\nhouse, when, who should I see but one of the parish officers making\ntowards me, with a large paper in his hand. I began to muster and parade\nmy crimes, but found, on a fair review, that I had done nothing that\nmerited the interference of an officer; so I stood up boldly till he\napproached me, and smilingly said, \"Shipp, I have frequently heard of,\nand observed your great wish to go for a soldier.\" He then read the\nparagraph, and asked me if I was willing to go; for that, if I was, the\nparish would rig me out decently, and that he would take me to\nColchester. My little heart was in my mouth; I repeated his words,\n\"Willing to go!\" and eagerly assured him of the rapture with which I\naccepted his offer. The affair was soon concluded; so down went my\nshovel, and off I marched, whistling, \"See, the conquering hero comes.\"\nBy four o'clock of the same day, to the honour and praise of the parish\nbe it spoken, I was rigged out in my new leather tights, new coat, new\nhat, new shoes, new everything--of which I was not a little proud. I\nbegged, as a particular favour, that I might sport colours in my hat;\nand even this was permitted to my vanity, as long as I remained in the\ntown. I took an affectionate leave of all my old playfellows and my good\nmistress; and even my cruel master was not neglected by me, for I never\nhad malice or unforgiveness in my disposition. The next day, by seven\no'clock in the morning, I was on my way to Colchester; and, when I was\nseated on the front seat of the coach, I would not have exchanged\nsituations with the grand pasha of Egypt, or the king upon the throne of\nthat land of which I was a native. Scarcely had I seated myself, and\nadjusted my feet in a safe situation, than I indulged my coach\ncompanions by whistling several martial airs; but, coming to a\nwell-known turn of the road, from which you take the farewell peep at\nSaxmundham, as much as I loved my king, I stopped short in the middle of\nthe national anthem, and my eye bent its way instinctively towards my\nnative village, where I first saw the light of heaven, and rested on the\nlittle village spire, which reared its Gothic head over the remains of\nmy poor mother. Towards this painfully interesting object I looked and\nlooked, till the place of my nativity was buried from my sight by the\nsurrounding trees. When bereft of this view, I felt pensive and sad, and\ncould only console myself by reflecting, that I did not fly from my\nparental roof; nor was I deserting aged parents, or unprotected sisters,\nfor I had no one to bewail my departure. Yet I could not help feeling\nthat I left something behind me that hung like a magnet to my heart;\nwith all my misfortunes, all my cares and troubles, still I could not\nquit, without a pang, the place of my birth, and the tomb of my beloved\nmother. At last, three gentlemen on the coach, having heard my history\nfrom the person who accompanied me, cheered me up by saying, that they\nknew the corps I was going to, and that they were all lads like myself.\nThis notice from strangers so enlivened me, that I began to regard\nmyself as no small personage, and I talked as much as any of them, until\nwe arrived at an inn in Colchester, where we dined. Here I was marched\noff to the colonel of the corps in which I was to serve; from the\ncolonel to the adjutant; from the adjutant to the sergeant-major; from\nthe sergeant-major to the drum-major; and thence to his wife, an old\ndrunken Irish woman, but as good a creature as ever drank whisky. In the\ncustody of this lady, the friend who came with me left me, first giving\nme a hearty shake of the hand, and wishing me every happiness. I must\nconfess I felt now quite deserted: about twenty boys gathered round me,\nand I soon found that my fine leathers were the subject of their\nridicule and laughter; some of them crying out, \"Bill, twig his\nleathers!\"--\"Smoke his new coat!\"--\"My eye! what a buck!\"--\"Some\ngemman's son, I suppose, run away from his daddy!\"--\"Never mind,\" said\nanother, \"we'll soon drill his leathers into hot rolls and butter.\" Here\nmy friend Maggy, the Irish woman, interposed her aid in my behalf.\n\"Arrah!\" said she, \"what are you gazing at, you set of spalpeens, you?\nBe off, you set of thaves, or I will be after breaking some of your\nnasty dirty mugs for you. Arrah! don't mind them; sure they are nothing\nat all but a set of monkeys just catched. Come here, honey, and let me\nsee who will be after laying a finger on you.\" Here she seated me by her\nside, rubbed my chin, patted my back, eyed my coat and breeches, and\nasked me if I had got any pence in my pocket, with which she should get\nme some hot rolls and butter, for _ta_. I gave her a shilling, and she\nbrought two rolls and butter. The residue I suppose she spent in gin,\nfor she began to give me some of her Irish hugs; so much so, that I\nwished myself at a greater distance. One of the boys cried out, \"Ask for\nthe change--ask her for the change, or she will do you.\" At this\nimputation Maggy got on her legs, and, seizing a large trencher,\ntottered, or rather staggered, towards the boy, and exclaimed, \"You\ngreat big blackguard, you, do you want to rob me of my name? Take that,\nand bad luck to you!\" Here she hurled the trencher at him, but the\neffort carried old Maggy off her legs, and she exhibited her gigantic\nfigure on the floor, to the amusement of all the barrack. I could not\nhelp laughing heartily, though I found I had got among a queer set; when\nthe drum-major entering, and seeing his wife on the floor, vociferated,\n\"Get up, you old drunken hag; or, by St. Patrick! and that's no small\noath, but I'll pay you off.\" Here Maggy made an effort to rise, but the\ndrop had done her up; and I was obliged to give her a helping hand, and\nshe was put to bed, clothes and all.\n\n[Illustration: SAXMUNDHAM CHURCH]\n\nOn the following morning I was taken to a barber's, and deprived of my\ncurly brown locks. My hair curled beautifully, but in a minute my poor\nlittle head was nearly bald, except a small patch behind, which was\nreserved for a future operation. I was then paraded to the tailor's\nshop, and deprived of my new clothes--coat, leathers, and hat--for which\nI received, in exchange, red jacket, red waistcoat, red pantaloons, and\nred foraging-cap. The change, or metamorphosis, was so complete, that I\ncould hardly imagine it to be the same dapper little fellow. I was\nexceedingly tall for a boy of ten years of age; but, notwithstanding\nthis, my clothes were much too large: my sleeves were two or three\ninches over my hands, or rather longer than my fingers; and the whole\nhung on me, to use a well-known expression, like a purser's shirt on a\nhand-spike. My pride was humbled, my spirits drooped, and I followed the\ndrum-major, hanging my head like a felon going to the place of\nexecution. I cut such a queer figure, that all who met me turned round\nand stared at me. At last, I mustered up courage enough to ask one\nlittle chap what he was staring at, when he replied, \"Ask my eye, Johnny\nRaw;\" at the same time adding his extended fingers and thumb to the\nlength of his nose. Passing some drummers on their way to practice, I\ngot finely roasted. \"Twig the raw-skin!\"--\"Smoke his pantaloons!\"--\"Them\nthere trousers is what I calls a knowing cut!\"--\"Look at the sign of the\nRed Man!\" &c., &c. Under this kind of file-firing I reached my barrack,\nwhere I was doomed to undergo the same routine of quizzing, till at\nlength I got nettled, and told one of the boys, if he did not let me\nalone, I should take the liberty of giving him a good threshing. This\n\"pluck,\" as they termed it, silenced most of my tormentors, and I was\npermitted, for a time, to remain unmolested. In this interval the\ndrum-major went out, having first put my leathers, &c., into his box, of\nwhich he took the key. I sat myself down on a stool, which might not\ninaptly have been styled the stool of repentance; for here I began first\nto think that soldiering did not possess quite so much delight as I had\npictured to myself. Still I resolved to put a good face on the matter,\nand so mixed with my comrades, and in an hour was as free and as much at\nhome with them all as if I had known them for years. The drift of my new\nacquaintances, in being thus easily familiar with me, was soon apparent;\nfor one of the knowing ones among them called me aside, and asked me if\nI knew where to sell my coloured clothes; as, if not, he would go with\nme, and show me. I told him that the drum-major had them. \"Yes,\" replied\nhe, \"I know he has; but you see as how he has no business with them.\nThem there traps should be sold, and you get the money they brings; and\nif you don't keep your eye on the fugleman, he will do you out of half\nof them.\" He further said, that, when he enlisted, he got more than five\nshillings for his things. I replied, that of course the drum-major would\neither sell them for my benefit, or permit me to do it; and, if the\nlatter, that I should be thankful for his kindness. At this moment he\nentered, when the boy, who had just spoken to me, approached him, and\nsaid, pointing to me, \"That there chap says as how he wants to sell\nthem things of his in your box, and that I am to go with him, to show\nhim the place where I sold my things.\" To this falsehood I could not\nsubmit, and I therefore went up to the drum-major, and said, \"Sir, I\nsaid nothing of the kind; all I said was, that I supposed you would\neither dispose of the things for my benefit, or allow me to do\nso.\"--\"Yes, yes,\" said the drum-major, \"that's all right; I will sell\nthem for you, and you shall have the money.\" The boy here turned upon\nhis heel, muttering something like _fudge!_ and the things were put into\na handkerchief and carried off into the town. When the drum-major had\nleft us, the same boy came up to me, and called me a liar, stating that\nhe had a great mind to thresh me; and, as a proof of his inclination, he\nattempted to seize my nose between his finger and thumb. I got in a\nrage, and told him, if he ventured to touch me, I would fell him to the\nground; when all the boys gathered round us, and said, \"Well done,\nJohnny Raw!\"--\"Well done, old leather-breeches!\"--\"That's right, Johnny\nWapstraw!\" Finding that I did not venture to strike the first blow, my\nantagonist called me a coward. This I knew I was not; so, as I could\nsubmit to his insolence no longer, I struck him, and to it we went in\nright earnest. After half a dozen rounds my opponent gave in. This, my\nfirst victory, established that I was neither a coward nor to be hoaxed\nwith impunity. Eulogiums were showered down upon me, and the shouting\nand uproar were beyond description. I understood afterwards that he was\na great bully, and always fighting. Our boxing-match had just concluded,\nwhen the drum-major entered, and produced the proceeds of my clothes;\nviz., £1 1s. 6d. for a new hat, coat, waistcoat, and leathers: a fair\nprice, some said; while others thought they ought to have fetched thirty\nshillings; but I was very well satisfied, and stood hot rolls and butter\nto all around, not forgetting my antagonist, who shook hands, and said\nit was the first time he had ever been beaten, and that he would some\nday, in friendship, have another trial. I assured him that I should be\nat any time at his service, and thus this matter ended.\n\nAfter this I went into town, to purchase a few requisites, such as a\npowder-bag, puff, soap, candles, grease, &c.; and, having procured what\nI stood in need of, I returned to my barrack, where I underwent the\noperation of having my hair tied for the first time, to the no small\namusement of all the boys assembled. A large piece of candle-grease was\napplied, first to the sides of my head, then to the hind long hair;\nafter this, the same kind of operation was performed with nasty stinking\nsoap--sometimes the man who was dressing me applying his knuckles,\ninstead of the soap, to the delight of the surrounding boys, who were\nbursting their sides with laughter, to see the tears roll down my\ncheeks. When this operation was over, I had to go through one of a more\nserious nature. A large pad, or bag filled with sand, was poked into the\nback of my head, round which the hair was gathered tight, and the whole\ntied round with a leather thong. When I was dressed for parade, I could\nscarcely get my eyelids to perform their office; the skin of my eyes and\nface was drawn so tight by the plug that was stuck in the back of my\nhead, that I could not possibly shut my eyes; add to this, an enormous\nhigh stock was poked under my chin; so that, altogether, I felt as stiff\nas if I had swallowed a ramrod, or a sergeant's halberd. Shortly after I\nwas thus equipped, dinner was served; but my poor jaws refused to act on\nthe offensive, and when I made an attempt to eat, my pad behind went up\nand down like a sledge-hammer.\n\nIn the evening I went to parade, and was inspected by the colonel, who\nsaid I was a promising lad, but that my clothes did not fit, which he\nordered to be altered. At this moment the master of the band came up to\nthe colonel, and said that he should like to have me in the band, to\nlearn the flute and to beat the triangles. This request was granted, and\nI was the following day removed to the band-room, and commenced my\nmusical avocations; and in six months I had beaten the sides of the\ntriangles nearly as thin as my own, and had also become a tolerable\nflute-player: but, as at that time we got several volunteers from the\nmilitia, among whom were two excellent flute-players, I was removed back\nto the drummer's room, and put to the fife. In a short time I was made\nfife-major--no small office, I assure you. I wore two stripes and a\ntremendous long sash, which almost touched the ground. As the reader may\nsuppose, I was not a little proud of my new office; I began to ride the\nhigh horse among my old comrades, and to show my authority by enforcing\nobedience by very powerful arguments; for I was permitted to carry a\nsmall cane, and to use it too. In the absence of the drum-major, which\nwas frequent, I carried the silver-headed stick, some seven feet long,\nand when we furnished the band for general guard-mounting, I astonished\nthe spectators with my double demi-semi twist of my cane, and began to\nthink myself one of the brightest of the bright. At this period the\nregiment moved to the Hythe, about a mile from Colchester, and twice a\nday we beat through the streets, followed by all the girls and boys in\nthe town, some of the rosy-cheeked beauties begging me to play favourite\ntunes of theirs. These entreaties for particular airs were urged with\nsuch pathos, accompanied with such fascinating smiles and leers, that\nthe fife-major occasionally vouchsafed to comply, always, however,\nkeeping up his dignity, by making a compliance with such requests appear\na great condescension. I strutted about the town with my little cane\nunder my arm, like some great man of eminent consequence, whom the\ncommunity could not do without; became a great favourite with all my\nofficers; was happy and contented; and time passed imperceptibly and\nvery pleasantly away. Meantime, I grew very tall, though somewhat\nslender; and my red coat had been thrown off, for which was substituted\na splendid white silver-laced jacket, with two small silver epaulettes,\nwhich my swagger induced to fan the evening breeze.\n\nMy days were now comparatively cloudless; yet still my youthful tricks\nhad not entirely left me. Some of these frequently led me into scrapes\nand unpleasant predicaments. The following were among the frolics with\nwhich I at this time diverted myself: viz., filling the pipes of my\ncomrades with gunpowder; putting a lighted candle in their hands while\nasleep, then tickling their noses with a straw; tying their great toes\ntogether, then crying out fire; blacking their hands with soot, then\ntickling their ears and noses, to induce them to scratch themselves, and\nthus to black their faces all over; putting lighted paper between their\ntoes when asleep; pulling the stools from behind them when in the act of\nsitting down; sewing their shirts to their bedding when asleep: all\nthese, with fifty more, I regret to say, were in those days my constant\ndelight and practice. These mischievous pranks led me into many a fight,\nbut that did not discourage me. I had a natural propensity to tease\npeople; and, as I did not scruple to indulge it, you may be sure I did\nnot escape without my share of tricks in return. He who plays at fives,\nsays the old proverb, must expect rubbers; and accordingly, one day,\nwhen I was sitting upstairs, a hundred voices bawled out, \"Pass the word\nfor the fife-major; the adjutant wants him.\" I bounced down in an\ninstant, and soon found that the whole barrack were in a roar of\nlaughter at my expense; for, to the tail of my coat was attached a large\nsheet of paper with these words in legible characters, \"The Biter Bit.\"\nTo have evinced any displeasure at this hoax, would only have served to\nrender me more ridiculous, and to increase the hooting and laughter at\nmy expense; so I joined in the laugh, and affected to think it a\nremarkably good joke.\n\nAbout this period a circumstance happened which, in some degree,\nblighted my pride, and almost cooled my military zeal. It was nutting\nseason: I made a party to go, and we arrived at the wood, where the\nfilberts hung as thick as laurels on a soldier's brow. We had not bagged\nmore than a bushel, when we were pounced upon by three keepers, and\ntaken prisoners to the barracks. The three boys who were my companions\non this excursion got two dozen stripes; I lost my two as fife-major,\nand was turned back to my original post as drummer, or rather as fifer.\nThis severe punishment did not arise from the enormity of purloining the\nnuts, but from the fact of our being found some four miles from the\ncantonment. Under these circumstances we might have been taken up as\ndeserters, and the keepers have received two pounds each man; so that,\nupon the whole, we had reason to be grateful that the more serious\noffence was not urged against us.\n\nShortly after this unfortunate occurrence, the regiment was ordered to\nproceed to the barracks at Hilsea, Portsmouth. This was soldiering in\nclover; and good living, fresh scenes, faces, and events, conspired to\nmake me, in a measure, forget the stripes which I had lost. I was not\nlong on the march, before I became as knowing as the best of them, and\nwas soon well versed in the tricks of the road. I found that it was the\npractice of some of the landlords to give us fat pea-soup, and of others\nto regale us with greasy suet dumplings, as heavy as lead, by way of\ntaking off the edge of our appetites. These dishes I invariably avoided,\nstating that they were injurious to my constitution, or that the doctors\nhad forbidden me to eat such food. I therefore waited for the more\nsubstantial fare--the roast and the boiled--which I attacked with such\nzest, as could not fail to convince the landlord of the delicacy of my\nconstitution, and of the absolute necessity of my refraining from less\nsubstantial diet. In two hours after dinner the duff and pea-soup eaters\nwere as hungry as ever; but I kept my own counsel, and thus was enabled\nto go on my way with a smiling countenance that indicated good and\nsubstantial fare.\n\nWhen we were treated in the scurvy way I have spoken of by the landlords\non our line of march, we never failed to leave some token of our\ndispleasure behind us. Thus, one day at Chelmsford, we were compelled to\nsubmit to dreadful bad quarters; and even the extreme delicacy of my\nconstitution, which had so often succeeded with me before, could not, on\nthis occasion, induce our host to give us anything but greasy puddings\nand fat stews, made of the offal of his house for the last month. The\nfat on the top of this heterogeneous mixture was an inch thick; and I,\nfor my own part, protested that I could not and would not eat it.\nFinding me so positive, he privately slipped a shilling into my hand to\nquiet me, which I did not think it expedient to refuse. This bribe\ntended, in some degree, to pacify me; but my comrades, on quitting the\nhouse, evinced their disapprobation of the treatment they had met with,\nby writing with a lighted candle on the ceiling, \"D----d bad\nquarters--How are you off for pea-soup?--Lead dumplings--Lousy\nbeds--Dirty sheets.\"\n\nThis was the mildest description of punishment with which we visited\nlandlords who incurred our displeasure; for, in addition to this, it did\nnot require any very aggravated treatment to induce us to teach some of\nmine host's ducks and geese to march part of the way on the road with\nus; to wit, until we could get them dressed.\n\nThese birds would sometimes find their way into drums. I was once myself\na party concerned in a pilfering of this kind--at least, indirectly so;\nfor I was accessory to the act of stealing a fine goose--a witness of\nits death, or rather, what we supposed its death--and an assistant in\n_drumming_ it. Moreover, I do not doubt that I should have willingly\nlent a hand towards eating it also. The goose, however, was, in our\nopinion at least, very snugly secured, and we commenced our march\nwithout the least fear of detection, chuckling in our sleeves how\ncompletely we had eluded the landlord's vigilance. The bird only wanted\ndressing to complete the joke, and discussion was running high among us\nas to how that could be accomplished, when, to our astonishment, who\nshould pass us on horseback but the landlord himself! He rode very\ncoolly by, and, as he took no sort of notice of us, we concluded that he\nmight very probably have other business on the road, and for a time we\nthought nothing more of the matter; but what were our feelings when, on\nhalting in the market-place, we perceived this very landlord in earnest\nconversation with our colonel; and, to all appearance, \"laying down the\nlaw,\" as it is called, in a most strenuous manner. At last, the colonel\nand he moved towards us; on perceiving which my knees broke into\ndouble-quick time, and my heart into a full gallop. On arriving near to\nthe spot where our guilty party was drawn up, the colonel, addressing\nus, stated that, \"the gentleman who stood by his side, complained that\nhe had lost one of his geese, and had informed him he had good reason to\nsuspect that some of the party to whom he now spoke had stolen it.\" For\nthe satisfaction of \"the gentleman,\" whom we, one and all, most heartily\nwished under ground, our knapsacks were ordered to be examined, and\nunderwent the most scrupulous inspection; but no goose was to be found.\nProfessing his regret for the trouble he had caused, and apparently\nsatisfied that his suspicions were ill-founded, our worthy landlord was\njust on the point of leaving us, and the boys around were grinning with\ndelight at the notion of having so effectually deceived him, when, to\nour utter confusion and dismay, the goose, at this very juncture, gave a\ndeep groan, and the landlord protested roundly that \"that there sound\nwas from his goose.\" Upon this, the investigation was renewed with\nredoubled ardour; our great coats were turned inside out, and, in short,\nalmost everything belonging to us was examined with the minutest\nattention; but still no goose was to be found. The officers could not\nrefrain from smiling, and the boys began again to grin at the fun; but\nthis merriment was doomed to be but of short duration, for the poor\ngoose, now in its last moments, uttered another groan, more loud and\nmournful than the former one. In fact, the vital spark had just taken\nits flight; and this might be construed into the last dying speech of\nthe ill-fated bird, and a full confession of its dreadful situation and\nmurder. The drum, in which the now defunct goose was confined, stood\nclose against the landlord's elbow, and his ear was, unfortunately for\nus, so correct in ascertaining whence the sound of woe proceeded, that\nhe at once roared out, \"Dang my buttons, if my goose bean't in that\nthere drum!\" These words were daggers to our souls; we made sure of as\nmany stripes on our backs as there were feathers on the goose's; and our\nmerriment was suddenly changed into mortification and despair. The\ndrum-head was ordered to be taken off, and sure enough there lay poor\ngoosey, as dead as a herring. The moment the landlord perceived it, he\nprotested that \"as he was a sinner, that was his goose.\" This assertion\nthere was no one among us hardy enough to deny; and the colonel desired\nthat the goose should be given up to the publican, assuring him, at the\nsame time, that he should cause the offenders to be severely punished\nfor the theft which had been committed. Fortunately for our poor backs,\nwe now found a truly humane and kind-hearted man in the landlord whom we\nhad offended; for, no sooner did he find that affairs were taking a more\nserious turn than he had contemplated, and that it was likely that he\nshould be the cause of getting a child flogged, than he affected to\ndoubt the identity of the goose; and, at length, utterly disclaimed it,\nsaying to the colonel, \"This is none of mine, Sir; I see it has a black\nspot on the back, whereas mine was pure white; besides, it has a black\nhead: I wish you a good morning, Sir, and am very sorry for the trouble\nI have given you.\" Thus saying, he left us, muttering, as he went along,\n\"Get a child flogged for a tarnation old goose? no, no!\" Every step he\ntook carried a ton weight off our hearts. Notwithstanding this generous\nconduct in the publican, who was also, by his own acknowledgment a\nsinner, our colonel saw very clearly how matters stood; but, in\nconsideration of our youth, and that this was our first offence--at\nleast that had been discovered--he contented himself with severely\nadmonishing us; and the business ended, shortly after, with the\ndemolition of the goose--roasted.\n\nWe remained at Hilsea Barracks for nearly a year, where we acquired the\nappellation of the \"Red Knights,\" from our clothing being all of that\ncolour. I do not recollect anything of importance that occurred to me at\nthat place, except that I was condemned to pass a week in the black-hole\nthere, for what the soldiers called \"eating my shoes.\" This punishment I\nbrought upon myself in the following manner. I had been out to receive\nmy half-mounting, consisting of a pair of shoes, a shirt, two pair of\nstockings, and a stock; and, on my way home, as ill-luck would have it,\nan old woman, with whom I had frequently before had dealings, and who\nwas well known, among us by the title of the plum-pudding woman,\nhappened to throw herself in my way. Her pudding was smoking hot, I was\nexceedingly hungry, and my mouth watered so at the tempting sight, that\nI could not drag myself away. But, much as I longed for a slice, what\nwas to be done? I had no money, and my friend the plum-pudding woman was\nby far too old a soldier to give trust till pay-day.[4] The pudding,\nhowever, it was impossible for me to dispense with; and finding,\ntherefore, that all my promises and entreaties, with the view of\nobtaining credit, were fruitless, I at length, in an evil hour, incited\nby the savoury smell which issued from the old woman's basket, proposed\nto her to buy my shoes. After a good deal of bargaining, we at length\ncame to an understanding, by which it was agreed, that in consideration\nof a quarter of a yard of pudding, and a shilling to be to me paid and\ndelivered, my new shoes were to be handed over to the dealer in\nplum-pudding, as her own proper goods and chattels.\n\nThis contract being honourably completed on both sides, I retreated to a\nsolitary shed to eat my _duff_ (the name by which this description of\npudding was well known among us), where without any great exertion, I\nsoon brought the two extremities of my quarter of a yard together. The\nlast mouthful put me to the extremity of my wits to devise how I could\npossibly account for the sudden disappearance of my shoes. My first\nimpulse was to run in search of the old woman, and endeavour, by fair\npromises, to coax her out of the shoes again; but I soon found that no\nsuch chance was left me, for she had made a precipitate retreat from the\nplace where we had transacted our business together, knowing well that\nshe was punishable for having bought such articles of me. Nothing\nappeared to be now left for me but a palpable falsehood; and, although\nof this I had a great abhorrence, yet I really had not sufficient\ncourage to think of avowing the literal truth. At length I thought I had\nhit upon a sort of compromise, and I determined to say that I had\ndropped my shoes on my way home; which, though not exactly the fact, yet\napproached nearer to the truth than anything else I could devise, likely\nto serve my end. As on all other occasions of the kind, however, it\nappeared that I might just as well have made a full confession at\nonce--for my statement was not believed--and as I could not in any other\nway account satisfactorily for the elopement of my shoes, I was ordered\nseven days' black-hole for the purpose of refreshing my memory. Against\nthis punishment I prayed long and loudly, but all to no purpose; so,\nwith the remainder of my day's rations under my arm, off I was marched,\nnot much elated with the dreary prospect before me. When I heard the\ndoor of the cell creak upon its hinges behind me, and the huge key grate\nin the lock, I began to think that I had parted with my shoes too cheap,\nand, for some time after, I sat myself down in a corner, and brooded in\nmelancholy mood over the misfortune which I had by my own folly brought\nupon myself. But I was never one of the desponding kind; and it\ntherefore soon occurred to me, that, instead of indulging in dismal\nreflections, it would be far wiser, and more pleasant, to devise some\nmeans by which I might contrive to amuse myself during the period of my\nconfinement. Seven days and seven nights appeared to me at first to be a\nlong time to remain encaged in darkness; and yet there was certainly\nsomething soldier-like in the situation. The mere fact of being a\nprisoner had a military sound with it. To be sure, I was imprisoned for\nhaving eaten my shoes; but what of that? Was it not quite as easy for\nme to imagine myself a prisoner of war? Certainly it was; and\naccordingly, with this impression strong on my mind, I dropped into a\nprofound sleep in the midst of my meditations, and dreamed that I was\ndeposited in this dungeon by the chance of war. On waking I found myself\nextremely cold, from which I inferred that it would be necessary for me\nto contrive some plan by which I might comfort my body as well as my\nmind; and I therefore immediately set about standing on my head, walking\non my hands, tumbling head over heels, and similar gymnastic exercises.\nIn this manner, sleeping and playing by turns, I managed to pass my time\nin the black-hole for one whole day and night, by no means unpleasantly;\nwhen, about nine o'clock the next morning, I heard the well-known voice\nof the drum-major asking for me, and desiring that I might be liberated.\nOn hearing this order given, I presumed that, of course, my period of\ncaptivity had expired: and, although the time certainly appeared to have\npassed off at a wonderfully rapid rate, yet I accounted for it by\nconsidering that I had slept away the greater part of it; and, in\naddition to this, that it was but natural it should seem to have passed\nquickly, since I had been, during the whole period, exempt from parades,\ndrills, head-soaping, &c. When I first got into the daylight, I could\nscarcely open my eyes; and, no sooner had I brought my optics into a\nstate to endure the light, than I was asked by the drum-major how I\nliked my new abode, and if I was ready to return to it. I perceived,\nfrom the smile which accompanied these questions, that I had little\nfurther to fear, and I soon understood that I had only spent one day and\none night in the black-hole, and that the remainder of my sentence had\nbeen remitted. I was hailed by all my comrades, as if I had been cast\non, and escaped from, some desolate island; and, having macadamized my\ninward man with six penny pies, out of the shilling I had received from\nthe old pudding-woman--of which I was still possessed--I was soon as fit\nfor fun again as the best of them.\n\nBut, the regiment being now about to embark for Guernsey, I will\ncommence our voyage in a new chapter.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] The object of government in forming these \"experimental regiments,\"\nas they were called, was to relieve parishes of boys, from the age of\nten to sixteen, who were allowed to enlist, on the parish paying the\nexpenses of their journey to some recruiting depôt. Each of these\nregiments was composed of a thousand boys, who made such excellent\nsoldiers, that it appears extraordinary no such plan was ever again\nadopted; the three regiments here spoken of having been the only corps\nformed in this way.\n\n[Some additional particulars, obtained from the War Office records, will\nbe found in the introduction to this edition.--ED.]\n\n[4] Soldiers were then paid once in each month.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nWe had received orders to hold ourselves in readiness to embark--as I\nthen imagined, for foreign parts; and the idea made my heart bound for\njoy. In a few days we embarked on board a small sloop, at about four\no'clock in the afternoon, and in an hour after got under weigh. When the\nsun had retired to his western chamber, the sky looked gloomy, and\nindicated wind; and, in another hour, there arose so terrific a gale,\nthat we were obliged to put the tarpaulins over the hatches, to protect\nus against the large seas which broke over us. The scene was enough to\nfrighten a person of greater courage than I possessed. There were\nsoldiers crying--women screaming--children squalling--sailors\nswearing--the storm all the while continuing to increase, until at\nlength it blew a perfect hurricane; the rain came down in torrents, and\nthe vivid lightning's flash exhibited the fear depicted on every\ncountenance. At this juncture a poor frightened soldier mustered up\ncourage enough to ask the captain or master of the sloop, if there was\nany danger. At this question every ear was open, and the son of Neptune\ngruffly replied, \"Danger, shipmate! If the storm continues another hour,\nI would not give a rope-yarn for all your lives. When we reach that\npoint on the larboard-bow, you must throw out your grappling-irons, and\nhold in, for she will be then close-hauled and go under water like a\nduck, and you will all be in David's locker before you can say, Luff,\nboy!\" Then, addressing himself to one of his men, \"Steady, Tom, steady;\ndon't let her go off; don't you see the light ahead? run it down.\nSteady, boy, steady! luff a little, luff!\" At this moment an awful sea\nbroke over us. My mouth was full, and I was wet to the skin; but,\nstrange to say, I felt no alarm. Our little vessel dived like the gull\nafter its prey. As soon as she righted, I said, \"Captain, that was a\nwetter.\" He replied, \"Ay, boy; you will get plenty of them before we\nmake the port.\"--\"Very consoling, truly,\" thought I to myself. I had\njust squeezed myself up into a small compass, head and knees together,\nclose to the helm, when we shipped another tremendous sea, which carried\naway our foresail, and made so terrific and dreadful a flapping, that an\nofficer bellowed out from below, \"Is there anything the matter?\"--\"Yes,\"\nreplied the captain, \"the devil to pay, and no pitch hot.\" These words\nwere scarcely spoken, when we shipped another awful sea, which washed\nthree soldiers overboard. At this crisis, a sailor bellowed out, \"Light\nahead, sir.\"--\"The devil there is! what does it look like?\" roared the\ncaptain.--\"Like a light,\" replied the sailor.--\"A Frenchman, I suppose,\"\nvociferated the captain. These words caught the ear of the military\ncaptain on board, who holloed out from below, \"What did you say about a\nFrenchman?\"--\"Why, that if it gets clear, we may have a bit of a fight;\nfor I see there is a Frenchman ahead,\" replied the sea captain.--\"Then,\"\nsaid the soldier, \"I had better get my men ready. Sergeant, get the\nbugler! Sound to arms! Call the drummer, and tell him to beat to arms!\"\nBut the devil a drummer, drum, bugler, or bugle was forthcoming. All the\nmen were busily engaged below, and by no means in a condition to come to\nthe scratch, French or no French. Notwithstanding this, the noble\nsoldier strutted about on deck by himself, with a cocked hat, and sword\nin hand, when a merciless sea washed off his gay hat, and the gallant\ncaptain lost his balance, and fell into the hold, bawling out most\nlustily for his three-cornered scraper, which was buffeting the raging\nbillows. \"I say, captain, have the goodness to send down my hat. Is my\nhat upon deck? Have you seen my hat?\" \"Your hat, sir,\" replied the son\nof Neptune, with infinite _sang-froid_, \"has got under sail, and I\nshould not be surprised if it made port before you.\" Here he changed the\nsubject, by hailing the man on the forecastle. \"Tom, where is the\nstrange sail?\"--\"Sheered off to leeward; but she is a Frenchman, by the\ncut of her gib,\" replied the sailor. \"Steady,\" said our naval commander,\nand on we went; but by no means steadily, for I never saw a little bark\nmore unsteady, though she really seemed to dive through the water like a\nduck. Morning now began to dawn, which only threw light (as even the\ncaptain confessed) upon the heaviest sea he had ever seen. The black\nclouds seemed to fly, and the thunder and lightning to rend the very\natmosphere asunder. Our distant haven was in sight; but the wind was\nfoul, and it was therefore impossible to avoid making several tacks\nbefore we could get in. Our poor fellows, what from fear, cold, hunger,\nwant of sleep, and being wet through, were completely worn out. I kept\nmy station the whole night, more from fear than from any attachment to\nit; although I certainly did not feel the great alarm that was so\nvisibly depicted on the countenances of most of my comrades. From\nextreme cold, and being quite wet through, I cut but a sorry figure by\nthe time we began to near the land. The prospect, from about three or\nfour miles off, was extremely beautiful. Some little cottages studded\nthe high and lofty rocks, and, here and there, small bays and little\nvillages enlivened the scene, and consoled us with the idea that we were\nnot going to be landed on a barren rock. We soon after saw the extensive\ntown of Guernsey. Part of it seemed hanging on an eminence, and the view\nof the old castle, which is built of stone, and calculated to buffet\nwith many a wintry storm, was extremely picturesque. In the distance we\ncould see Fort George; and, in ten minutes after, we ran into the bay,\nwhich, being sheltered and protected by surrounding high lands, was\ntranquil indeed, when compared with the main ocean. Boats were in\nattendance, and we soon set our wet limbs on _terra firma_. Having\nlanded, I could not help viewing my person, of which I at all times had\na good opinion. I looked, for all the world, like a squeezed lemon, or\nthe bag of a Scotch pipe; and I should have been glad to have taken the\nedge off my appetite, and the dirt off my clothes, instead of dancing\nthrough the town; but I was, of course, obliged to obey orders, and when\nI struck up my tune--for I still led the fifers--I tipped Monsieur \"The\nDownfall of Paris.\" I found the march did me a great deal of good; and,\nby the time I reached the barracks, I was in prime order for my\nbreakfast.\n\nWe were stationed in Fort George, in exceedingly good quarters, though I\ncould not bring myself to be reconciled to the ponderous drawbridges in\nuse there, which foreboded no great stretch of liberty. I was\nparticularly fond of rural and pensive wanderings, to muse on nature's\nbeauties; and the sight of an orchard, in particular, was at all times\nhailed by me with great delight, for I could feast upon its beauties for\nhours together, to the gratification of more faculties than my vision.\nThe drawbridges seemed to cut off these delightful prospects. It was\ntrue, I could see them from the fort; but then the prospect was too far,\nand I lost all relish in the distance; and, being in consequence\ncompelled to steal out, I was apprehensive that some of my solitary\nrambles would get me into disgrace. My doubts and forebodings on this\nhead were soon verified; for, in less than a week, I saw my name posted\nup at the gate--\"John Shipp, confined to his barracks for one week.\" A\nweek was to me an age. Confinement was to me intolerable; deprived of\nthe pure air, of the delightful ramble along an orchard's edge, and of\nthe salubrious smell of the orange groves. Oft have I, from the\nrampart-top, sighed at the distant prospect, and, while my longing eye\nlingered on the golden produce of the orchard within sight, my heart\npanted to be at liberty, to take a nearer view, and taste again of\nnature's beauties. The word _confinement_ haunted me from one bastion to\nanother, and I saw no refuge for the future but a more circumspect line\nof conduct, on which I firmly resolved. When three long days of my week\nhad been numbered with the dead, the drum-major was taken seriously ill,\nand on the morning parade the colonel inspected the drummers. I was\nalways remarkably clean--that was my pride: the colonel eyed me from\nhead to foot, and at last told the adjutant that I was to act as\ndrum-major. I was nearly shouting \"Liberty\" in the colonel's face, but I\nchecked myself just in time. He at the same time gave me a ticket for a\nplay, which was to be acted in the town; and, in the evening, several\nboys were committed to my care, to accompany me to the theatre. Thus,\nfor a brief interval, I was restored to favour; but, whenever fickle\nfortune deigned to smile upon me, some untoward circumstance was sure to\nhappen, and nip the fair promise in its bud. I had scarcely got the\nstick of office into my hands, before I cut so many capers with it, that\nI soon capered myself back to the dignity and full rank of fifer, was\ndeprived of my staff of office, and, of what I considered even much\nworse, my liberty. My name was again exhibited to public gaze at the\ndrawbridge-gate, for seven long days, during which I was obliged to kick\nmy heels along the ramparts, contenting myself with contemplating the\ndistant prospect. One day I effaced my name from the list of the\nconfined, unobserved by the sentinel; but in this I was detected by the\nsergeant, for which I had the felicity of attending drill three times\na-day with my musket reversed and my coat turned inside out;[5] and, in\nthis manner, for several hours each day I was obliged to comply with the\nmandates of a little bandy-legged drill-sergeant, who did not fail to\nenforce his authority and dignity in a manner by no means agreeable to\nmy feelings, especially to those of my back. This I could bear well\nenough: indeed, I was obliged to bear it; but my turned coat seemed to\nhang upon me like some badge of ignominy, and I imagined that every eye\nwas upon me. Had I been a depraved and callous-hearted youth, this\nmethod of disgracing me would have only served to harden me in vice; and\nI cannot deny, that at this treatment I felt the seeds of disobedience\nrankling in my heart, and had almost resolved within my mind, that the\nnext time I was doomed to wear this garb of infamy, it should be for a\ncrime worthy of such disgrace. I found my disposition soured, and the\nspark of revenge kindling in my bosom; and I am persuaded that this\nmethod of disgracing youth, instead of eradicating vice, serves only to\nnurture those rancorous feelings which irritation, arising from a sense\nof degradation, is sure to excite, and which, in the young mind, might,\nby a more judicious and conciliatory treatment, be either totally\nrepressed in their birth, or at least easily extinguished.\n\nOur regiment being now ordered to prepare for embarkation for\nPortsmouth, my garb of disgrace was thrown off, and I embarked as\nsprightly as any, having been disgraced in this way for a misdemeanour\nthat would scarcely have disgraced a schoolboy. We reached our old\nbarracks at Portsmouth, without any other occurrence save a little\ncasting-up of accounts, and a few distorted faces from sea-sickness.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] Wearing the coat turned inside out (whence \"turncoat\"), an old\nmilitary punishment now long since forgotten. It survived as a\npunishment for drunkenness among Chelsea and Greenwich in-pensioners for\nyears after it had been discontinued in the service.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nWe had not been long at Portsmouth, when the head-quarters of the\nregiment were ordered to embark on board of the _Surat Castle_ East\nIndiaman, a fifteen-hundred-ton ship, then lying off Spithead, and the\nremainder of the corps on board of other ships at the same place. Our\ndestination was the Cape of Good Hope. The _Surat Castle_ in which I was\ndoomed to sail, was most dreadfully crowded; men literally slept upon\none another, and in the orlop-deck the standing beds were three tiers\nhigh, besides those slinging. Added to this, the seeds of a pestilential\ndisease had already been sown. An immense number of Lascars, who had\nbeen picked up in every sink of poverty, and most of whom had been\nliving in England in a state of the most abject want and wretchedness,\nhad been shipped on board this vessel. Many of these poor creatures had\nbeen deprived of their toes and fingers by the inclemency of winter, and\nothers had accumulated diseases from filth, many of them having\nsubsisted for a considerable time upon what they picked up in the\nstreets. The pestilential smell between decks was beyond the power of\ndescription; and it was truly appalling to see these poor wretches, with\ntremendous and frightful sores, and covered with vermin from head to\nfoot, many of them unable to assist themselves, left to die unaided,\nunfriended, and without one who could perform the last sad office. The\nmoment the breath was out of their bodies, they were, like dogs, thrown\noverboard as food for sharks. To alleviate their sufferings by personal\naid was impossible, for we had scarcely men enough to work the ship.\nThese circumstances were, I suppose, reported to the proper authority;\nbut, whether this was the case or not, in three or four days we weighed\nanchor, with about sixty other ships for all parts of the world. The\nsplendid sight but little accorded with the aching hearts, lacerated\nbodies, and wounded minds of the poor creatures below. It was about four\no'clock in the afternoon when the signal was fired to weigh. Immediately\nevery sail was waving in the wind, and in a quarter of an hour after we\nstood out from land, each proud bark dipping her majestic head in the\nsilvery deep, and manoeuvring her sails in seeming competition, to catch\nthe favouring breeze.\n\nSuch firing, such signals, such tacking and running across each other\nnow prevailed, that our captain resolved to run from it; and the evening\nhad scarcely spread her sombre curtains over the western ocean, and the\ngolden clouds begun to change their brilliant robes of day for those of\nmurky night, when our crew \"up helm,\" and stole away from the motley\nfleet, plying every sail, and scudding through the blue waters like some\naerial car or phantom-ship, smoothly gliding over the silvery deep. In\nthree or four hours we had entirely lost sight of our convoy. We were\nrunning at the rate of eleven knots an hour, and, as it seemed, into the\nvery jaws of danger. The clouds began to assume a pitchy and awful\ndarkness, the distant thunder rolled angrily, and the vivid lightning's\nflash struck each watching eye dim, and, for a moment, hid the rolling\nand gigantic wave from the sight of fear. The wind whistled\nterrifically, and the shattered sails fanned the flying clouds. All was\nconsternation; every eye betrayed fear. Sail was taken in, masts lowered\nand yards stayed--preparations which bespoke no good tidings to the\ninquiring and terrified landsman. I was seated on the poop, alone,\nholding by a hen-coop, and viewing the mountainous and angry billows,\nwith my hand partly covering my eyes, to protect them against the\nlightning. It was a moment of the most poignant sorrow to me: my heart\nstill lingered on the white cliffs of Albion; nor could I wean it from\nthe sorrowful reflection that I was, perhaps, leaving that dear and\nbeloved country for ever. During this struggle of my feelings, our\nvessel shipped a tremendous sea over her poop, and then angrily shook\nher head, and seemed resolved to buffet the raging elements with all her\nmight and main. The ship was shortly after this \"hove to,\" and lay\ncomparatively quiet; and, in about a couple of hours, the wind\nslackened, and we again stood on our way, the masts cracking under her\nthree topsails, and fore storm-staysail. However, she rode much easier,\nand the storm still continued to abate. I was dreadfully wet and cold,\nand my teeth chattered most woefully; so I made towards the gun-deck,\nsome portion of which was allotted for the soldiers. There the heat was\nsuffocating, and the stench intolerable. The scene in the orlop-deck was\ntruly distressing: soldiers, their wives and children, all lying\ntogether in a state of the most dreadful sea-sickness, groaning in\nconcert, and calling for a drop of water to cool their parched tongues.\nI screwed myself up behind a butt, and soon fell into that stupor which\nsea-sickness will create. In this state I continued until morning; and,\nwhen I awoke, I found that the hurricane had returned with redoubled\nfury, and that we were standing towards land. The captain came ahead to\nlook out, and, after some consideration, he at last told the officer to\nstand out to sea. The following morning was ushered in by the sun's\nbright beams diffusing their lustre on the dejected features of\nfrightened and helpless mortals. The dark clouds of sad despair were in\nmercy driven from our minds, and the bright beams of munificent love\nfrom above took their place. The before downcast eye was seen to sparkle\nwith delight, and the haggard cheek of despondency resumed its wonted\nserenity. The tempestuous bosom of the main was now smooth as a mirror,\nand all seemed grateful and cheerful, directing the eye of hope towards\nthe far-distant haven to which we were bound.\n\nA great number of the fleet were the same morning to be seen emerging\nfrom their shelter, or hiding-place, from the terrific hurricane of the\nday before; but our captain was resolved to be alone; so the same night\nhe crowded sail, and, by the following morning's dawn, we were so much\nahead that not a sail was visible, save one solitary sloop, that seemed\nbending her way towards England.\n\nSome three weeks after this we were again visited by a most dreadful\nstorm, that far exceeded the former one, and from which we suffered much\nexternal injury, our main top-mast, and other smaller masts, being\ncarried away. But the interior of our poor bark exhibited a scene of far\ngreater desolation. We were then far from land, and a pestilential\ndisease was raging among us in all its terrific forms. Nought could be\nseen but the pallid cheek of disease, or the sunken eye of despair. The\nsea-gulls soared over the ship, and huge sharks hovered around it,\nwatching for their prey. These creatures are sure indications of ships\nhaving some pestilential disease on board, and they have been known to\nfollow a vessel so circumstanced to the most distant climes--to\ncountries far from their native element. To add to our distresses, some\nten barrels of ship's paint, or colour, got loose from their lashings,\nand rolled from side to side, and from head to stern, carrying\neverything before them by their enormous weight. From our inability to\nstop them in their destructive progress, they one and all were staved\nin, and the gun-deck soon became one mass of colours, in which lay the\ndead and the dying, both white and black.\n\nIt would be difficult for the reader to picture to himself a set of men\nmore deplorably situated that we now were; but our distresses were not\nyet at their height: for, as though our miseries still required\naggravation, the scurvy broke out among us in a most frightful manner.\nScarcely a single individual on board escaped this melancholy disorder,\nand the swollen legs, and gums protruding beyond the lips, attested the\nmalignancy of the visitation. The dying were burying the dead, and the\nfeatures of all on board wore the garb of mourning.\n\nEvery assistance and attention that humanity or generosity could\ndictate, was freely and liberally bestowed by the officers on board, who\ncheerfully gave up their fresh meat and many other comforts, for the\nbenefit of the distressed; but the pestilence baffled the aid of\nmedicine and the skill of the medical attendants. My poor legs were as\nbig as drums; my gums swollen to an enormous size; my tongue too big for\nmy mouth; and all I could eat was raw potatoes and vinegar. But my kind\nand affectionate officers sometimes brought me some tea and coffee, at\nwhich the languid eye would brighten, and the tear of gratitude would\nintuitively fall, in spite of my efforts to repress what was thought\nunmanly. Our spirits were so subdued by suffering, and our frames so\nmuch reduced and emaciated, that I have seen poor men weep bitterly,\nthey knew not why. Thus passed the time; men dying in dozens, and, ere\ntheir blood was cold, hurled into the briny deep, there to become a prey\nto sharks. It was a dreadful sight to see the bodies of our comrades the\nbone of disputation with these voracious natives of the dreary deep; and\nthe reflection that such might soon be our own fate would crush our best\nfeelings, and with horror drive the eye from such a sight. Our\nmuster-rolls were dreadfully thinned: indeed, almost every fourth man\namongst the Europeans, and more than two-thirds of the natives, had\nfallen victims to the diseases on board; and it was by the mercy of\nProvidence only, that the ship ever reached its destination, for we had\nscarcely a seaman fit for duty to work her. Never shall I forget the\nmorning I saw the land. In the moment of joy I forgot all my miseries,\nand cast them into the deep, in the hope of future happiness. This is\nmortal man's career. Past scenes are drowned and forgotten, in the\nanticipation of happier events to come; and, by a cherished delusion,\nwe allow ourselves to be transported into the fairy land of imagination,\nin quest of future joys--never, perhaps, to be realized, but the\ncontemplation of which, in the distance, serves at least to soothe us\nunder present suffering.\n\nWhen the view of land first blessed our sight, the morning was foggy and\ndreary. We were close under the land, and were in the very act of\nstanding from it, when the fog dispersed, the wind shifted fair, and we\nran in close to the mouth of Simon's Bay. The now agreeable breeze\nravished our sickened souls, and the surrounding view delighted our dim\nand desponding eyes. Every one who could crawl was upon deck, to welcome\nthe sight of land, and inhale the salubrious air. Every soul on board\nseemed elated with joy; and, when the anchor was let go, it was indeed\nan anchor to the broken hearts of poor creatures then stretched on the\nbed of sickness, who had not, during the whole voyage, seen the bright\nsun rising and setting--sights at sea that beggar the power of\ndescription. For myself, I jumped and danced about like a merry-andrew,\nand I found, or fancied I found, myself already a convalescent.\n\nThe anchor had not been down long, when a boat came off from shore, on\nboard of which were several medical gentlemen, who questioned us as to\nwhence we came, whither we were bound, the state of the ship, the nature\nof the disease, and the number of men that had died during the passage.\nThe number of men was a finishing blow to our present hopes, and we were\nordered to ride at quarantine; but every comfort that humanity or\nliberality could dictate was immediately sent on board: fresh meats,\nbread, tea, sugar, coffee, and fruits of all kinds; and, in a few days,\nour legs began to re-assume their original shapes, and the disease died\naway. The quarantine was very soon taken off, and the troops landed, and\nwere marched, or rather carried, to the barracks that stand on the brow\nof the hill, at the back of Simon's Town. Here our treatment was that of\nchildren of distress; every comfort was afforded us, and every means\nadopted by our kind officers, which could contribute towards our\nrecovery. For the first fortnight drills were out of the question,\ninstead of which we were kindly nursed, until the disease was completely\neradicated; and by this careful treatment we were all soon restored to\nthe enjoyment of health. But few men died of those that were landed;\nand, if I recollect right, our total loss was seventy-two men.\nNotwithstanding all our troubles and misfortunes, we arrived before the\nother divisions of the regiment; but they had not suffered from disease:\ntheir loss was two men only.[6]\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] According to Barrow, the ships bringing the other \"experimental\"\nboy-regiments to the Cape, suffered in like manner from \"ship-fever.\"\nIt affords a suggestive commentary on the transport-service of that time\nthat the same ships, after they had been properly disinfected at the\nCape, carried troops to Egypt without sickness.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nSimon's Town is situated on the bay which bears the same name, and\ncontains many well-built houses. Here we were stationed for a short\ntime; and, as the regiment was not restricted from going out, I soon\ncommenced reconnoitring the localities of the neighbourhood, and was\nglad to find that there were a number of well-stocked gardens close to\nthe barracks. A pound of meat (and that of the worst) and three-quarters\nof a pound of bread per diem, was but a scanty allowance for a growing\nlad. Indeed, I frequently managed to get through my three days' bread in\none; but as we could get fish for a mere song, and as the gardens of our\nneighbours, the Dutchmen, supplied us with potatoes, we continued, one\nway or another, to fare tolerably well at this station.\n\nWe were soon after moved to the station of Muisenberg, seven miles\nnearer to Cape Town, a post defended by a small battery, and the beach,\nin places of easy access, guarded by a few guns. The road from Simon's\nTown to Muisenberg sometimes runs along the beach, which is very flat,\nand on which the sea flows with gentle undulations; and, at others,\nwinds round the feet of craggy hills, covered with masses of stone,\nwhich have the appearance of being merely suspended in the air, ready to\nbe rolled down upon you by the slightest touch. On these hills whole\nregiments of baboons assemble, for which this station is particularly\nfamous. They stand six feet high, and in features and manners approach\nnearer to the human species than any other quadruped I have ever seen.\nThese rascals, who are most abominable thieves, used to annoy us\nexceedingly. Our barracks were under the hills, and when we went to\nparade, we were invariably obliged to leave armed men for the protection\nof our property; and, even in spite of this, they have frequently stolen\nour blankets and great-coats, or anything else they could lay their\nclaws on. A poor woman, a soldier's wife, had washed her blanket and\nhung it out to dry, when some of these miscreants, who were ever on the\nwatch, stole it, and ran off with it into the hills, which are high and\nwoody. This drew upon them the indignation of the regiment, and we\nformed a strong party, armed with sticks and stones, to attack them,\nwith the view of recovering the property, and inflicting such\nchastisement as might be a warning to them for the future. I was on the\nadvance, with about twenty men, and I made a _détour_ to cut them off\nfrom caverns to which they always flew for shelter. They observed my\nmovement, and immediately detached about fifty to guard the entrance,\nwhile the others kept their post, and we could distinctly see them\ncollecting large stones and other missiles. One old grey-headed one, in\nparticular, who often paid us a visit to the barracks, and was known by\nthe name of Father Murphy, was seen distributing his orders, and\nplanning the attack, with the judgment of one of our best generals.\nFinding that my design was defeated, I joined the main body, and rushed\non to the attack, when a scream from Father Murphy was the signal for a\ngeneral encounter, and the host of baboons under his command rolled down\nenormous stones upon us, so that we were obliged to give up the contest,\nor some of us must inevitably have been killed. They actually followed\nus to our very doors, shouting an indication of victory; and, during the\nwhole night, we heard dreadful yells and screaming; so much so, that we\nexpected a night attack. In the morning, however, we found that all this\nrioting had been created by disputes about the division of the blanket,\nfor we saw eight or ten of them with pieces of it on their backs, as old\nwomen wear their cloaks. Amongst the number strutted Father Murphy.\nThese rascals annoyed us day and night, and we dared not venture out\nunless a party of five or six went together.\n\nOne morning, Father Murphy had the consummate impudence to walk straight\ninto the Grenadier barracks, and he was in the very act of purloining a\nsergeant's regimental coat, when a corporal's guard, which had just been\nrelieved, took the liberty of stopping the gentleman at the door, and\nsecured him. He was a most powerful brute, and, I am persuaded, too much\nfor any single man. Notwithstanding his frequent misdemeanours, we did\nnot like to kill the poor creature; so, having first taken the\nprecaution of muzzling him, we determined on shaving his head and face,\nand then turning him loose. To this ceremony, strange to say, he\nsubmitted very quietly, and, when shaved, he was really an exceedingly\ngood-looking fellow; and I have seen many a \"blood\" in Bond Street not\nhalf so prepossessing in his appearance. We then started him up the\nhill, though he seemed rather reluctant to leave us. Some of his\ncompanions came down to meet him; but, from the alteration which shaving\nhis head and face had made in him, they did not know him again, and,\naccordingly, pelted him with stones, and beat him with sticks, in so\nunmerciful a manner, that poor Father Murphy actually sought protection\nfrom his enemies, and he in time became quite domesticated and tame.\n\nWe soon bade farewell to Muisenberg, and marched to Wynberg, and were in\ncamp for several months. Here we suffered dreadfully from the inclemency\nof the weather, and from lying on damp ground, in small bell tents;\nadded to which, our very lives were drilled out by brigade field-days,\nfrom three and four o'clock in the morning, until seven and eight\no'clock at night. At this period the Caffres were committing the most\nterrific murders and robberies amongst the Dutch boers up the country.\nTo stop these devastations, a rifle company was formed from the several\ncorps of the 8th Dragoons, and the 22nd, 34th, 65th, 81st, and 91st\nregiments, and placed under the command of Captain Effingham Lindsay,\none of the bravest soldiers in his majesty's army. We were dressed in\ngreen, and our pieces were browned to prevent their being seen in the\nwoods where the Caffres congregated. About three months after the\nformation of the company, we were sent up the country, in conjunction\nwith the light company of the 91st regiment and a corps of Hottentots.\nWe embarked on board the _Diamond_ frigate, and reached Algoa Bay in\nfourteen days, having experienced bad weather.[7] From thence we marched\nto Graaf-Reynett, about five or six hundred miles in the interior, and\nfifteen hundred miles from Cape Town, and took up our quarters in a\nDutch church. The road from Algoa Bay to Graaf-Reynett is hill and dale,\nand infested with lions, tigers, hyenas, wolves, and elephants; and we\nfrequently saw eight or ten a-day, at a place called Rovee Bank, a day's\nmarch on this side of the great pass. One day I went out shooting wild\nducks here with another person. We came to a pool of water, surrounded\nwith very high grass--some of it ten feet high--which abounded with wild\nducks and geese. I took aim and fired, and had just time to see, that at\nleast one bird had fallen a victim to number four, when I heard a most\ntremendous roar, and the whole pool was in a moment in a state of\ncommotion. I was in the act of plunging into the water after my\nbutchered duck, when, imagine my astonishment and alarm, on seeing an\nenormous white elephant rush out from the high grass, roaring loudly,\nand striking the grass aside with his trunk. Neither myself nor my\ncompanion had ever seen one before, and we had now no inclination for a\nsecond peep; so, leaving the ducks to their fate, we took to our heels,\nand never stopped till we arrived safe in camp.\n\nAt every farmer's house on our line of march, we found sad vestiges of\nmurder and desolation. Whole families had been wantonly massacred by\nthis wild and misguided race of people, whose devastations it was now\nour duty to check, and whose ignorance is so extraordinary, that I am\npersuaded they are insensible that murder is a crime. Beautiful\nfarmhouses were to be still seen smoking; the families either murdered,\nor run away to seek refuge elsewhere. Not a living creature was to be\nseen, unless, perchance, a poor dog might be discovered howling over the\ndead body of his master; or some wounded horse or ox, groaning with the\nstab of a spear or other mutilation. The savage Caffre exults in these\nappalling sights; gaping wounds, and the pangs of the dying, are to his\ndark and infatuated mind the very acme of enjoyment. This barbarous\nrace, when they have succeeded in any of their murderous exploits,\nappear to be so excited to ecstasy, that they will jump about in a sort\nof frenzy, hurling their spears in all directions, and in the most\nreckless manner, either at man or beast. They are quite insensible to\nthe value of money, which they would accept on account of its glitter\nonly; while a more shining gilt button would be prized by them as of\ninestimable value. In short, they seem scarcely to possess a rational\nidea beyond what may tend to the gratification of the appetite; and I\nhave myself seen them with women's gowns, petticoats, shawls, &c, tied\nround their legs, and between their toes, and in this manner they would\nrun wildly into the woods, shouting in exultation. These people had got\ninformation that we were their avowed enemies, and come to destroy them\nand take from them their enormous herds of cattle; they were, therefore,\ndriven far into the interior of almost inaccessible parts of the\ncountry, where we could not follow them. Some few stragglers were left\nin the neighbourhood, to watch our movements, with whom we had some\nslight skirmishes; but, from the extreme intricacy of the woods, we\ncould do but little with them.\n\nThe Caffres may unquestionably be considered as a formidable enemy. They\nare inured to war and plunder, and most of them are such famous marksmen\nwith their darts, that they will make sure of their aim at sixty or\neighty paces' distance. When you fire upon them they will throw\nthemselves flat upon their faces, and thus avoid the ball; and, even if\nyou hit them, it is doubtful whether the ball would take effect, the\nskins worn by them being considered to be ball-proof. Added to this, as\nthey reside in woods, in the most inaccessible parts of which they take\nrefuge on being hard pressed by their enemies, an offensive warfare\nagainst them is inconceivably arduous.\n\nBefore they deliver the darts with which they are armed, they run\nsideways; the left shoulder projected forward, and the right\nconsiderably lowered, with the right hand extended behind them, the dart\nlying flat in the palm of the hand, the point near the right eye. When\ndischarged from the grasp, it flies with such velocity that you can\nscarcely see it, and when in the air it looks like a shuttlecock\nviolently struck. They carry, slung on their backs, about a dozen of\nthese weapons, with which single men have been known to kill lions and\ntigers.\n\nFrom this harassing warfare, travelling through almost impenetrable\nwoods, over tremendous hills, and through rivers, we were soon in a\nterribly ragged condition. Our shoes we managed to replace from the raw\nhides of buffaloes, in the following manner: the foot was placed on the\nhide, which was then cut to the shape of the sole, and fastened to the\nfoot by thongs made of the same material, sewed to the sole instead of\nupper-leathers. In two or three days this dried, and formed to the shape\nof the foot, and was sure to be a fit. When we had remained at this\nstation about two years, it was truly laughable to see the\nmetamorphosis of the once white regimental trousers. Here and there\npieces had been sewn in to patch up holes, and, these pieces being of\nmaterials of other texture as well as other colours, we looked, at a\ndistance, like spotted leopards. During these two years I had sprung up\nsome six inches, outgrowing, of course, both my jacket and trousers;\nand, when I was in full case for parade, my figure must have been\nexceedingly ludicrous. My jacket was literally a strait jacket; for,\nfrom its extreme tightness, I could scarcely raise my hand to my head.\nMy pantaloons or trousers had been, during the whole period, continually\nrising in the world, and now they would scarcely condescend to protect\nmy protruding knees. I was but a novice at the needle, so that the\npatches I put on were either too small or too large. In this predicament\nI had to march nearly fifteen hundred miles through Africa. The rest of\nthe men were but little better off; and we might well have been compared\nto Falstaff's ragged recruits, with whom he swore he would not march\nthrough Coventry.\n\nHaving continued on this duty for upwards of two years, to very little\npurpose, the Cape of Good Hope was ordered, by the British Government,\nin 1801, to be given up to the Dutch. To remove the rifle company, and\nthe light company of the 91st Foot, a small vessel was dispatched from\nCape Town to Algoa Bay, for their conveyance to the capital, preparatory\nto embarking for India. I was dispatched over land with a Dutch boer's\nfamily, then about to leave the station for Cape Town. The whole of the\nofficers' baggage was committed to my care, which was a very serious\ncharge and responsibility, through such a wild and desolate country. On\nthis trip I had to pass along the margin of the country inhabited by the\nCaffres; and, although the Dutch family with whom I travelled had\nmuskets and four waggons, these sojourners in the woods and hills\nneither feared them nor their guns. After laying in a good stock of\npowder and shot, we commenced our march in regular battle array. I was\nmounted on a horse, with my rifle slung over my back, always loaded, and\na pistol in my holster-pipe; on each side rode the Dutchman's two sons;\nafter us, four Hottentots, armed with muskets; then the old boss (the\nmaster); and, following him, the four waggons, containing the families\nand property of all. The rear-guard consisted of two head servants\n(Hottentots) armed, on bullocks; then four on foot, with their families,\nmany of the women carrying two children. Thus we would accomplish twenty\nmiles a day over the most enormous hills; and, if we could not reach a\nfarmhouse by the setting sun, which was the time we generally halted, we\nselected the most open spot we could find for our encampment, forming a\nsquare with the four waggons, keeping our cattle inside, where they were\nfed. Six men out of the twelve kept watch the whole night, and were\nrelieved every four hours, in which duty I always took a part. In fact,\nwe were so often disturbed, either by the Caffres, or some beast of prey\nprowling about our little fortified encampment, that we might be said to\nbe always watching. The Caffre possesses a great deal of cunning and\ncraft. Their system of attack is this: under the garb of night, when all\nis still save the roaring lion, the hungry tiger, or the screeching owl,\nthey will crawl on their hands and knees, imitating the cries of any\nanimal of the woods, or any bird of the air. At the smallest noise they\nwill turn themselves flat on the ground, so that you may walk close by,\nand not observe them; and the first indication given you of having such\ndangerous neighbours, is by the incision of a spear, or the blow of a\nclub. These imitations of the cries of animals, and chirping of birds,\nare well understood amongst themselves. No wonder, then, that we should\nwatch. It was no unusual thing in the morning to see their spears lodged\nin the top of our waggons, and close by where we kept watch; but we\nnever attempted to leave our possessions, and resolved not to throw away\nour precious powder and ball on slight occasions. To narrate the\nnumerous trials, watchings, privations, perils, and escapes of this\ntrip, would of itself fill a larger space than I can devote to such a\ndetail. Suffice it for the present, that we at last reached Cape Town in\nsafety.\n\nThe Dutchman with whom I was travelling had two daughters; the younger\nof whom, Sabina by name, was a most lovely creature. She was tall, and\nrather slim; of symmetrical form; in complexion a brunette; with black\neyes and hair; her foot extremely small; and her waist scarcely a span.\nHer manners were vivacious and interesting, and her education had been\nby no means neglected. As we proceeded on our perilous journey, this\ncharming girl would single me out as her companion, and seek consolation\nin my society and conversation, from the coarseness of her father, who\nwas a very gross man. It need scarcely be confessed by me, that I was\nnothing loth to be thus distinguished; neither can it reasonably be\nexpected that I was long insensible to the charms of my amiable\ncompanion. I would walk by her side, while she rode my horse the whole\nmarch; and in this manner, day after day passed away like so many hours,\nand our attachment grew stronger and stronger, and at length settled\ninto a deep-rooted affection, and was cemented by an interchange of\nprotestations of mutual love. She was a year younger than I; my age\nbeing then sixteen, and hers fifteen; but the appearance of both was far\nbeyond that tender age.\n\nConvinced of the reciprocity of our attachment, thus we journeyed on,\nindulging in visions of bliss; and it was not until we had approached\nwithin a short distance of our destination, that the idea first crossed\nmy mind that we must soon part. Until this moment all my faculties had\nyielded to the fascinations of my enslaver, from the contemplation of\nwhose beauty it had seemed treason to steal a thought; but, now that the\ntime approached when my duty must tear me from her, and when I\nreflected, that from that duty there was no possibility of shrinking,\nwithout disgrace, the absolute necessity of separation from my beloved\nSabina rushed upon my senses, and almost drove me to despair. These\nbitter thoughts having thus suddenly and painfully intruded, I revolved\nwithin my mind, in all ways, the possibilities of extricating myself\nfrom my perplexing situation; and the more I reflected, the more was I\ndistressed and embarrassed. Marriage would not have been consented to by\nmy commanding officer, on account of my extreme youth; the thought of\nany less honourable proposal I could not myself encourage for a moment;\nand, in short, it soon became clear to me, that there was but one road\nof escape from the heart-rending necessity of parting at once, and for\never, from my lovely brunette--desertion. The idea of being compelled to\nresort to such an alternative startled me; I knew the enormity of the\noffence, and the consequences of such a step; but the recollection that\nit was my only resource, haunted me day and night. As often as it\nintruded upon my distracted mind, I endeavoured to drive it from me; but\nit stuck to me like ivy on the crumbling tower. What to do I could not\nresolve. I at last mentioned the subject to Sabina, and it seemed that\nthe thought of our approaching separation had been by her also forgotten\nin our mutual love. The moment I hinted at the possibility of parting,\nshe turned as pale as death; I saw the crystal tear steal down her\nbeautiful cheek; she trembled; and at last swooned away. It was then the\ndark fiend again urged me on, and I promised, in the moment of grief and\nexcitement, that I would desert, and follow her wherever she might go.\nHer sweet eye beamed ineffable pleasure; she seized my hand; kissed it a\nhundred times; and she said, in a most pathetic manner, \"Will you really\nreturn with me to my home?\" I declared I would, whatever might be the\nresult. She said, \"Swear it, and I shall live; deny me, and I shall\ndie.\" The concluding part of this appeal was urged with such a searching\nanguish, that it drew from me a solemn promise of desertion. This\nresolution was communicated to her family; and one and all urged me to\ngo, or rather return with them to their homes--pointing out the\nhappiness I should enjoy with their beautiful sister. These were\narguments too cogent to be resisted, and I again promised to return with\nthem. Scarcely had the fatal promise been repeated, when the\nrecollection of my native country, my home, my country's glory, my\nregiment, and the disgrace attaching to the committal of so bad a crime,\nall rushed in quick succession upon my bewildered mind. I thought--I\npaused; but a single glance from the eye of my beloved Sabina plainly\ntold me that the first whisper of love would suffice to confirm me in my\nfatal resolution.\n\nWe were now within sight of Cape Town; and here again my feelings,\ndistressed at the thought of deserting, goaded me beyond description. I\nsometimes gave up the idea, and resolved to fly from temptation, and\nseek protection with my regiment; but the melodious voice of Sabina\ncalling me by name, would at once dissipate my better resolutions, until\nI at last abandoned all idea of the possibility of parting. I contented\nmyself with praying most devoutly that the regiment might have sailed\nere I arrived, which would have saved me from the stigma of desertion.\nIn the event of the regiment being still at Cape Town, I had sworn to my\nbetrothed and her family to return to them: thus we parted. My arrival\nwas hailed by my comrades with delight, as they feared I had been\nmurdered by the Caffres; and I received every kind of congratulation,\nand several very handsome presents, from all those officers whose things\nI had in charge. Some hundred miles before I had reached Cape Town, the\nold Dutchman had tried hard to persuade me to remain behind, with all\nthe property, till he and his family returned. This I resolutely\nrefused: desertion was of itself bad enough, without adding to it the\ncrimes of breach of trust and theft. I had not, in our long and arduous\nmarch, lost or injured a single thing, but delivered them all safe into\nthe custody of their rightful owners, and in the evening went to see my\nSabina at her friend's house, where I was informed that the family\nproposed leaving Cape Town for their home on the following Monday. After\na severe struggle, I consented to accompany them; for which purpose I\nstole out of the barracks after hours, and joined them at the appointed\nplace outside the town. I need not say my arrival was hailed with\ndelight, for I had kept them waiting an hour beyond the appointed time;\nSabina locked her arm in mine; the procession moved on; and in my\nexcessive love I forgot my crime. Reader, judge me not too harshly;\nconsider my youth, and the temptation I had to contend against; and,\nbefore you utterly condemn me, place yourself under the same combination\nof circumstances, and tell me how you would have acted in my place.\n\nWe had proceeded about thirty miles from Cape Town, and were busily\nengaged building castles of future bliss, when--oh, short-sighted\nmortals!--the provost-marshal thrust his head into the waggon, and\npointed a pistol at me, saying, if I attempted to move, he would shoot\nme. This mandate was too pointed to be disobeyed; and, in ten minutes\nafter, I was on my way back to Cape Town, having been dragged from the\nembraces of her for whom I had sacrificed my all. From that moment I\nnever saw or heard of the fair Sabina or her family, who would also\nundoubtedly have been seized, but that I took all the blame upon my own\nshoulders. I was tried by a regimental court-martial for being absent\nfrom morning parade, and for desertion, and sentenced to receive 999\nlashes, being more than fifty lashes for every year I was old; but my\ncommanding officer was a kind and affectionate man, and had known me\nfrom the day I entered his regiment; he could not consent that I should\nreceive a single lash, but sent for me, and admonished me like a parent,\npainted the crime of desertion in all its enormities, and dismissed me,\nwith the assurance of his full forgiveness and friendship; adding, that\nhe was assured I had been deluded away by the Dutchman and his family.\nThis I never would acknowledge, until some months afterward, when,\nknowing that they must be far out of our reach, I related the whole\ntransaction.\n\nSome of the Dutch troops, to whom we were to resign the Cape, had\nalready arrived from Java and Batavia, and other Dutch settlements, many\nof whom flocked to the wharf to see us embark, and, where they dared, to\noffer insults. A huge brute sidled up to me, with his greasy mustaches,\nwhich he began to curl and twist between his forefinger and thumb, at\nthe same time chucking me under the chin, and calling me a pretty boy.\nFor this I took the liberty of saluting him with a kick on the shins,\nfor which he attempted to seize my ears; but I fixed my bayonet--a\nweapon the Dutch have a great aversion to; so he marched off. The\nfollowing morning we embarked for India, on board a small American\nvessel that had been lying a considerable time at the Cape.\n\nWhen the land was buried in distance, I could not help reviewing the\nmany providential escapes I had already experienced during my short\ncareer, and the mercies that had been extended to me in the most\nperilous situations. Did men but oftener attribute them to that great\nsource from whence all our mercies are derived, we should think less of\nour often fancied hardships, and feel grateful for the blessings we\nenjoy. In my case, it was impossible to look back upon the last four\nyears of my life, without trembling at the scenes I had been carried\nthrough in safety, and addressing a prayer of thanksgiving to the\nfountain of all love, for the unmerited protection that had been\nextended towards me.\n\nWe had scarcely got to sea a day, when we found that it was a difficult\nmatter to determine which was the more cranky, the vessel or the\ncaptain. She took in water in large quantities--he grog; she would not\ngo steady--neither would he; she rolled and pitched--so did he; she\nshook her head--so did he; she was often sea-sick--so was he: in fact,\nthey were a cranky pair. She had lain so long at the Cape, that her\nbottom had become foul, and she would not go more than four knots an\nhour, if it blew a hurricane, and then she seemed to tear the very water\nasunder. We prowled about the deep like the wandering Jew on earth,\nuntil at last our water began to evince symptoms of decline, and it was\njustly feared we should soon suffer much under a hot sun, for want of\nthat great essential; but, about a week after, we stumbled upon land,\nwhich, after a great deal of reconnoitring, our wise captain pronounced\nto be some part of Sumatra. However this might be, it was a welcome\nsight to us; but, as it was late in the evening when we discovered it,\nwe were obliged to steer about the whole night. About ten o'clock the\nclouds began to thicken, and the wind blew from shore; about twelve it\nblew a smart gale, and we hove to; our vessel lay like a log of wood,\nscarcely moving, till the morning dawned, when the storm had subsided in\na great degree, and we stood in for land. The hills looked woody, and\nthe valleys fertile. We at last got into a small bay, or basin, where\nthe surrounding scenery was beautiful in the extreme. Several canoes\nwere to be seen steering up the creeks, and men and women running into\nthe woods, in seeming alarm and consternation. We anchored about three\nhundred yards from the shore. The movements of the natives did not\nevince any friendly inclination towards us, but the contrary; and it was\nfortunate that we had the means of taking by compulsion what we should\nwillingly have purchased--wood and water, those two essentials to man's\nexistence. To convince them, if possible, that our appearance in this\nbasin was not of a hostile nature, a small boat was dispatched, with six\nor seven men, four of them armed. I was one, and we approached the shore\nwith great caution. We could plainly see people hiding behind trees, and\ncarrying away their moveables from some huts which stood about two\nhundred yards from shore, where we could also discover fishing-nets,\ncanoes that had been dragged ashore, a few domestic fowls, and one or\ntwo goats and kids. We beckoned them to approach, but they seemed shy,\nand would not come near us. The captain's servant was a native of\nCeylon, and could speak several languages. We landed him, but he was\njustly afraid to venture far from the boat. He soon, however, made them\nunderstand the object for which we put into this port, and informed them\nthat we were willing to purchase both wood and water at a reasonable\nprice. This they would not consent to, but requested us immediately to\nweigh anchor and leave the bay, or dread the displeasure of their king,\nwhom they had apprised of our intrusion into their country. It appeared\nfrom this that we had no alternative but to take what we required by\nforce; we therefore disregarded the threats of the subjects of his black\nmajesty, and the following morning got out the long-boat, with\nimplements for getting in water and cutting wood. The latter was already\ncut to our hands, as the surrounding country was one mass of fuel, that\nhad decayed, and been blown down by the tempest. The water was close\nby--a most beautiful crystal stream; but the moment we had commenced\nwork, we saw an enormous number of people, with swords, spears, and\ndaggers, approaching towards us. We formed a line, primed and loaded,\nand prepared for a fight; but, resolved not to be the aggressors, we\nagain dispatched the native servant to endeavour to reason them into\ncompliance; for which purpose, a small safeguard went with him. After a\ngreat deal of threatening and blustering, they consented to sell the\nwater for five dollars per butt, and the wood in proportion. This\nexorbitant claim was of course rejected with indignation; but, still\nwishing to keep friendly with them, we offered one dollar per butt. This\nwas refused by them, and the servant returned. Meantime, we continued\nfilling our water utensils and collecting firewood, with the greatest\nindustry, keeping our eyes on them all the while. There appeared to be a\ndeal of consultation among the natives, and a number of messengers going\nand coming; at last an arrow was fired, which fell close to where I was\nstanding. Another soon followed it; and the officer in command of our\nparty then ordered two or three men to fire in the air. This alarmed\nthem so, that they took to their heels and ran shouting into the woods,\nand we went hard to work. In about an hour, the inhabitants, encouraged\nby our pacific appearance, sent a man to inform us, that \"his majesty\nhad been pleased to permit the strangers to tread upon the margin of his\ncountry, and drink his water of mercy\" (so interpreted by the native\nservant), and that \"his majesty would come and hold communion of\nfriendship with the strangers on the following day, if the day was\nauspicious; that we might drink as much water of his mercy as we\npleased, and cut as much wood; but his majesty begged we would not\nattempt to make incursions into his country, as he could not be held\nresponsible, if his elephants and bull-dogs got loose, and destroyed the\nstrangers; and further, that he would, in his most gracious mercy, send\nus all sorts of fruits, &c., at a moderate price.\" To this message we\nreturned a very gracious answer; and about ten the following morning a\ngreat number of boats were seen coming down the several creeks, which,\nconcentrating at the bottom of a small village a little way up the\nlargest creek, at last came on their way towards the ship, in number\nabout thirty, with about four men in each boat. It had been before\nunderstood that not one person would be admitted with arms, and only ten\npeople at a time. His majesty did not choose to make his appearance, but\nhad instructed those that did come to say, that he had consulted his\ndiviners, and they had pronounced the day an inauspicious one. We were,\ntherefore, deprived of his royal presence; but, if he was as big a thief\nas those he sent to represent him, his majesty was qualified for a more\nexalted sphere--the gallows: such a set of rogues I have never seen in\nthe whole course of my life. They brought oranges, plantains, &c., and\nsome few ducks, chickens, and eggs, for barter; but they were such\nthieves that you could not trust them even to handle the article you\nwished to barter. If you trusted it out of your own hand, it was handed\nby them from one to another, and ultimately to their canoes, and then\nyou might \"fish for it,\" to use a soldier's term. A ludicrous scene took\nplace between a tar and one of these fellows. Jack offered his blanket\nfor sale, as he had now got into a warm climate, and it was of no\nfurther use to him. Jack, in good, sound, and intelligible English,\nparticularized the length, breadth, and quality of his blanket,\nqualifying his description with many an oath, not one syllable of which\ndid the purchaser understand. During the examination of the said\nblanket, Jack kept hold of one end, pledging his tarry honour to the\nauthenticity of his assertion that it was a real Witney. Some one at\nthis moment took off Jack's attention, and he withdrew his hand from the\nblanket, which soon found its way to the canoe. The tar uttered sundry\nimprecations touching his \"day-lights\" and \"grappling-irons,\" and was up\non deck and down into the canoe in a moment, overhauling everything; but\nneither the blanket nor the purchaser was to be found. At this the\nsailor ran about like a madman, until, at last, he espied the fellow\nmoving down the fore-hatchway. Being certain of his man, he took one\nhop, skip, and jump, and fastened on the fellow's neck, vociferating,\n\"Halloa, shipmate, where have you stowed my blanket? Come, skull it\nover, or I shall board you before you can say luff.\" The fellow did not,\nof course, understand one word he said; but Jack soon brought him to his\nbearings, as he called it, by mooring him on the deck, and swearing\nthat, if he did not \"skull over the Witney,\" he would tear him into\nrope-yarns. Thus roughly treated, poor blacky bellowed out lustily for\nmercy, which brought down the first officer, who asked Jack Carter (for\nthat was his name) what was the matter. He replied, \"This here black\nrascal has grappled my blanket, so I am just after boarding him, and, if\nhe don't shore it out, I'll sink him, or Jack Carter is no sailor.\" Here\nhe commenced hammering his head against the deck, until the knave said\nsomething to one of his countrymen, who ran forward where his canoe was,\nand put an end to the dispute by producing the Witney.\n\nThe following day we again bent our way towards India, with light hearts\nand cheerful countenances. We soon reached the Pilot, cruising off the\nsand-heads of Saugar, and steered our way up the river Hoogley. This\nriver is wide, and its current powerful. The views on each side, when\nyou get as far as Fultah, are romantic, and we gratified our eyes in\nfeasting on nature's beauties. On rounding the corner, or protruding\nneck of land, on which stand the company's botanical gardens, Fort\nWilliam first appears; then Calcutta, with its innumerable shipping,\nbursts upon the view, and the beholder gazes on the beautiful\nfortification of the fort, and the city of palaces, with astonishment\nand delight. We passed the fort in full sail, and were hailed from its\nramparts by the artillery, and part of the 10th regiment of Foot, then\nin garrison there. We returned the welcome greeting with three loud\ncheers, and in five minutes after came to anchor off Esplanade Ghaut,\nafter a voyage of more than five months.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[7] Previous to the arrival of the British in 1795, an agreement between\nthe Dutch and Caffres had recognized the line of the Sunday's River,\nbetween Graaf-Reynett and Algoa Bay, as the colonial boundary. The\nreader may be reminded that the British occupied the Cape Colony in\n1795; restored it to the Dutch at the Peace of Amiens; and retook it in\n1806.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nThe instant the anchor was gone, boats were alongside, for the purpose\nof conveying the two companies ashore; and, in a couple of hours, we\nwere safely lodged in our quarters at Fort William. Here the five\ncompanies of his majesty's 10th regiment of Foot joined our lads, with\nbottles of rum, and a scene ensued that was beyond description;\ndrinking, singing, dancing, shouting, fighting, and bottles flying in\nall directions. The sight was terrific; so I marched off to the bazaar,\nto get out of the bustle; went round the fort, and visited everything\nworth seeing. On my return to the barracks, I found the men lying in a\nstate of the most disgusting drunkenness; some on the floor, others on\ncots, trunks, and boxes. In those days, I knew not the taste of\nspirituous liquors; and, indeed, for years after: consequently, instead\nof joining those scenes of revelry and discord, they were to me\noffensive and disgusting in the extreme. The very smell of arrack would\nat any time drive me from the barrack, and many a night have I slept in\nthe open air, to avoid the fumes arising from its use, as well as the\ndrunken jargon of those who drank it to excess.\n\nI had now attained the age of eighteen years; was healthy and active; a\nzealous, though very humble member of the profession I had chosen; and\nan ardent aspirant to share in my country's glory. With these feelings\nand qualifications, assuring myself that, now I was in India, I was in\nthe wide field of promise, I began to revolve in my mind if I could not\nbetter my situation. I was then fifer and bugler in the light company,\nthe kind captain of which, seeing my anxious spirit, generously\nundertook to improve me in reading and writing, of which I at that time\nknew but little. In the course of one year's close application, I so\nmuch improved as to keep his books of the company and his own private\naccounts. I then begged of him that I might be removed from the drummers\nto the ranks. I did not like the appellation drum-_boy_. As I have seen\nmany a man riding post, who was at least sixty years old, still called a\npost-boy, so, if a drummer had attained the age of Methusaleh, he would\nnever acquire any other title than drum-boy. Indeed, there were many\nother things I could never bring myself to relish in any eminent degree:\nsuch as flogging--to say nothing of being flogged--and dancing\nattendance on a capricious sergeant-major, or his more consequential\nspouse, who is queen of the soldiers' wives, and mother of tipplers, and\nan invitation-card from whom to tea and cards is considered a ponderous\nobligation.\n\nIn about a week after having made this request, I was transferred from\nthe drummers' room, and promoted to the rank of corporal. This was\npromotion indeed--three steps in one day! From drum-boy to private; from\na battalion company to the Light Bobs; and from private to corporal. I\nwas not long before I paraded myself in the tailor's shop, and tipped\nthe master-snip a rupee to give me a good and neat cut, such as became a\nfull corporal. By evening parade my blushing honours came thick upon me.\nThe captain came upon parade, and read aloud the regimental orders of\nthe day, laying great stress upon, \"to the rank of corporal, and to be\nobeyed accordingly.\" I was on the right of the company, being the\ntallest man on parade, when I was desired by the captain to fall out,\nand give the time. I did so, and never did a fugleman cut more capers;\nbut here an awkward accident happened. In shouldering arms, I elevated\nmy left hand high in the air; extended my leg in an oblique direction,\nwith the point of my toe just touching the ground; but in throwing the\nmusket up in a fugle-like manner, the cock caught the bottom of my\njacket, and down came brown Bess flat upon my toes, to the great\namusement of the tittering company. I must confess, I felt queer; but I\nsoon recovered my piece and my gravity, and all went on smoothly, till I\ngot into the barracks, where a quick hedge-firing commenced from all\nquarters; such as, \"Shoulder _hems_!\"--\"Shoulder _hems_!\"--\"Twig the\nfugleman!\" This file-firing increased to volleys, till I was obliged to\nexert my authority by threatening them with the guard-house, for riotous\nconduct; but this only increased the merriment, so I pocketed the\naffront, as the easiest and most good-natured mode of escape; my\npersecutors ceased, and thus ended my first parade as a non-commissioned\nofficer.\n\nIn my new sphere of life I now felt that there was, unquestionably, some\nsatisfaction derivable from being\n\n    \"Clothed in a little brief authority.\"\n\nA corporal has to take command of small guards; is privileged to visit\nthe sentinels whenever he pleases; his suggestions are frequently\nattended to by his superiors; and his orders must be promptly obeyed by\nthose below him. There is certainly a pleasure in all this, and a man\nrises proportionately in his own esteem. In short, to confess the truth\nI now looked upon a drum-boy as little better than his drum.\n\nFull of the importance of my situation and duties, thus passed the time\nfor nearly six months, at the end of which I was advanced to the rank of\nsergeant, and, shortly afterwards, to that of pay-sergeant, in the same\nregiment. The post of pay-sergeant is certainly one of importance, and\nhe who holds it a personage of no small consideration. He feeds and\nclothes the men; lends them money at _moderate_ interest and on good\nsecurity; and sells them watches and seals, on credit, at a price\n_somewhat_ above what they cost, to be sure, but the mere sight of\nwhich, dangling from a man's fob, has been known to gain him the\ncharacter of a sober steady fellow, and one that should be set down for\npromotion. Thus, at least, good may sometimes be educed from evil; and,\nas it is not my intention to enter into a detail of the chicanery\npractised among the minor ranks in the army, let it suffice that I never\nserved in a company in which every individual could not buy, sell,\nexchange, lend, and borrow, on terms peculiar to themselves.\n\nShortly after my promotion, an order arrived for the two flank companies\nof the regiment to proceed to join the army then in the field, with all\npossible speed. We were to proceed by land, the distance about twelve\nhundred miles, and the season winter. Every hand was busily engaged in\nmaking the necessary preparations for the journey, equipping ourselves\nas lightly as possible; when an unfortunate misunderstanding occurred,\nwhich was but too likely, not only to prevent our journey, but to put an\nend to some of our lives.\n\nOn the arrival of troops at Fort William, it had been the custom to stop\nfrom each soldier of his majesty's army, eight rupees; but for what\npurpose, strange to say, they were never told. This deduction had been\nmade from the pay of our two companies without any explanation; and, as\nthe men were now proceeding on active service, it was but right and\nnatural that they should desire to know (as we had been accustomed in\nthe regiment) why any part of this pay was withheld from them. They\ncalled upon their officers for explanation, who were as much in the dark\nas themselves. The greater part of the two companies then marched, in a\nsober deliberate manner, towards Major-General Sir Hughen Bailey's\nquarters, to seek redress. Here they were given to understand that the\nsum of eight rupees was customary to be stopped from each soldier, to\ninsure him a decent burial. This explanation only added fuel to flame,\nand excited in the hearts of the men--few of whom, poor fellows! ever\nwanted burial, as will be seen in the sequel of this narrative--the\nmost bitter rancour against such a custom. The men returned to the\nbarracks: liquor was resorted to to feed the spark already kindled in\ntheir bosoms; till at length they became bent upon open rebellion and\nmutiny. This spirit, of disaffection was manifested most strongly in the\ngrenadier company. Both companies were doatingly fond of their officers,\nwho took great pains to explain to them that violent measures, and\ntaking the law into their own hands, would never be likely to get their\nwrongs redressed; but that, on the contrary, those very acts deprived\nthem of the power of interceding for them, and explaining to the proper\nauthorities the grounds of their complaints. This timely explanation had\nits due effect, and _we_ one and all (I mean the light company) said,\n\"March us before the enemy, that we may wipe away this our first\ndisobedience;\" but those who had drank deeper of the poisonous cup of\nrebellion, in the grenadier company, were still unappeased, and\nspreading wide the infectious sparks of mutiny; so much so, that the\nofficers were again called in to quell them. Their colonel they loved\ndearly--he was a father to his men; the adjutant they hated. On the\narrival of the former, the men became passive, and the tumult was\nhushed; but, when the latter appeared, the shouting of, \"Kick him\nout!\"--\"Turn him out!\" resounded through the barracks, and he had a\nnarrow escape for his life. When he had left, the tumult again ceased;\nthe men retired to their cots; and, in an hour, all was silent as the\ngrave. The next morning the eight rupees were refunded; and, on the\nmorning following, we left the fort, with the band of the regiment\nplaying us through Calcutta, where we were met and hailed by all\nassembled. Every face smiled with joy; every breast beat high for glory.\nThe country through which we passed was fertile and well inhabited;\nplenty smiled around, and all seemed peace and contentment. Here\npresided English justice; the Pariah cottager was protected in his\nreed-thatched hovel, and the ploughman was seen smiling over his nodding\ncrops. We lived like fighting-cocks; thought nothing of five or six and\ntwenty miles a day; every face wore the smile of contentment; all were\nhealthy; and the merry song and story beguiled some of our more dreary\nnight-marches. Thus merrily we reached the army, our marches averaging\ntwenty-six miles a day. We were met some miles from camp by his\nexcellency Lord Lake, the Commander-in-chief, who said that he was\ndelighted to see us. At this flattering greeting of the\ncommander-in-chief, we gave three cheers, in which his lordship and\nstaff heartily joined us. I must confess I felt at this moment\nsensations I was a stranger to before--a kind of elevation of soul\nindescribable, accompanied by a consciousness that I could either have\nlaughed heartily or cried bitterly. Nearer camp we were met and greeted\nby nearly the whole European army. Such shouting and huzzaing I never\nheard; nor could I have imagined that the mind of man could be worked up\nto such a height of feeling. For myself, I could not help dropping a\ntear--for what, I cannot tell; but so it was. On reaching the general\nhospital, we saw many men without legs, some without arms, others with\ntheir heads tied up; and it was a most affecting sight to behold these\npoor wounded creatures waving their shattered stumps, and exerting their\nfeeble frames, to greet us warmly as we passed along. The scene that\nfollowed would beggar description--drinking, dancing, shouting, that\nmade the Byannah Pass echo again! Reader, believe me when I assure you\nthat in those days I knew not, as I said before, the taste of spirituous\nliquors; consequently, I did not join in these bacchanalian orgies, but\nreconnoitred the camp, which, to my spirits, was far more exhilarating\nthan the jovial cup. Three days restored us to some kind of order and\ndiscipline, and all went on smoothly.\n\nHolkar, a Mahratta chieftain, was at this time in full force, with about\nsixty thousand horse, and twenty-five thousand infantry, encamped a\nshort distance from us, ever on the alert to watch our movements, and\nsupported by Ameer-Khan and other self-created rajahs. From the very\nnature of this service, against a flying enemy, thoroughly acquainted\nwith the localities of the country, we had but little chance of coming\nup with them. Anything like a general engagement they studiously avoid;\nplunder only is their aim. In this way they pay themselves, giving their\nchiefs any great article of value that may fall into their hands; that\nis to say, if they are known to have it. Their wives are excellent\nhorse-women, and many of them good shots with the matchlocks, and active\nswords-women. They are always mounted on the best horse, and it is not\nan unusual thing for them to carry one child before them and another\nbehind, at full speed. The Pindaree horsemen, and indeed all horsemen in\nIndia, have a decided advantage over the English. Their horses are so\ntaught that they can turn them right round for fifty times, without the\nhorse's moving his hind legs from the same circle, or pull them up at\nfull speed instantaneously. Our horses are heavy, fat, and quite\nunmanageable with the bit; it takes them as long to get round as a ship;\nand you cannot pull them up under ten or twenty yards. Some of their\nhorsemen have spears seventeen feet in length, which they handle in so\nmasterly a style that singly they are dangerous persons to have anything\nto say to: but I have frequently seen Lord Lake charge, with his\nbody-guard, a whole column of them, and put them to the rout.\n\nA few days after our arrival, we moved on towards Jeypore, these\nplundering rascals riding close by us, manoeuvring on our flanks, and\ngiving us a shot now and then, to let us know they wished to be\nneighbourly. On one of these occasions it nearly cost me my life. We\nwere in column on one side of a field, near some high corn, called\njuwar, about half a mile from our column on the other side of the field.\nI had at this time the fastest pony in India, called \"Apple,\" on which\nI rode on ahead to the extreme end of the field, to have a shot at the\nhead of their line of march; for which imprudence my own life was nearly\nthe forfeit, for round the corner I came almost in contact with about a\nhundred of the enemy. I soon wheeled round, and gallopped back again as\nfast as my pony could carry me: they fired at me fifty or sixty shots,\nnot one of which touched me. Ever after, I kept a little more within\nbounds.\n\nWe had frequent skirmishes with detached parties, killing numbers with\nour six-pounders; but we could not come up with them. We therefore made\nour way towards Muttra, a great haunt of the Pindarees, where we lay for\nsome time, trying to surprise them; but they were ever on the watch, as\nthe rattling of our swords might be heard a mile off. Tired of this\nservice, we took possession of the town of Muttra, driving them out.\nHere we had glorious plunder--shawls, silks, satins, khemkaubs, money,\n&c.; and some of the men made a good thing of it. I was not idle; but an\nuntoward circumstance for a time delayed my exertions. I was quartered\nin a large square or rajah's palace, and had to ascend several flights\nof steps to get at anything worth notice. All the way up this staircase\nwere little iron plated doors, locked with several locks. As Paul Pry\nsays, I thought this \"rather mysterious\"; I therefore commenced\nlocksmith, and knocked off the locks, when I found the rooms full of\nbales of silk and shawls. I had just removed one of the largest bales\nfrom the top, and was in the very act of walking off with it, when, on\nturning round, a most brilliant eye met mine, set in one of the most\nhideous heads I had ever beheld. What monster this could be I could not\nat first imagine; nor did I stop very long to consider, but marched off\nrather precipitately with my prize; being at the moment more frightened\nthan I was willing to confess, even to myself. On reflection, I was\nashamed of my fears; so, having \"screwed my courage to the\nsticking-post,\" in I marched again, with a drawn sword in my hand, and,\nhaving convinced myself, by a second peep, that my friend with the\nglaring eyes was no other personage than one of the gods Mahadooh, I\nsaluted him with a cut across his face for taking up his quarters in\nthat solitary place, and took the liberty of making free with all the\nsilks and shawls under his protection. A short time after, we returned\nto quarters at Cawnpore, to spend the produce of our short campaign,\nHolkar having retired to a distant part of India, to his winter\nquarters.\n\nEarly in the following spring, our active enemy was again in the field,\nand approaching the city of Delhi, where the inhabitants were not very\nwell disposed towards us, and in which we had but a small force of\nnative troops. We immediately marched, by forced marches, to their\nrelief, and found Mr. Holkar had been besieging that place, but that,\nsome two or three days before our arrival, he had raised the siege and\ncrossed the river Jumna; a necessary precaution on his part, for our\ncavalry were lightly equipped. Colonel Burn, to his praise be it spoken,\nwas marching from the opposite direction towards Delhi, for the succour\nof that place, with five companies of native infantry, when he\nunfortunately fell in with the whole body of Holkar's cavalry; and,\nwonderful to say, he made his retreat good to Shamlee, a large town,\nfighting every inch of his way. There he took possession of a small\ngurry, or mud fort, for the space of six days, defending himself against\nan immense body of the enemy, suffering most dreadful privations, and\nworn out by continual watching. The grand army crossed the Jumna, to the\nrescue of Colonel Burn and his little band of native heroes, and in two\ndays afforded him the succour he so much wanted, having, with this view,\nperformed a distance of eighty-four miles in forty-eight hours. Never\nshall I forget the cheering of the handful of men on the ramparts of\nthis little asylum. His lordship, to whom I was close, dropped the tear\nof sympathy when waving his hat to them. I had that morning preceded the\narmy for the purpose of taking up the encampment; and, on the approach\nof our advance-guard, some of the straggling enemy were seen loitering\nbehind the main body, who had marched early that morning. We had two\nsix-pounders with us, five troops of his majesty's 8th Light Dragoons,\nfive troops of his majesty's 24th Dragoons, with a regiment of native\ncavalry; and we succeeded in killing a few of these marauders, who were\nplundering and laying waste the whole country. We could always trace\ntheir line of march by the dreadful destruction they had committed. Some\nfew sepoys were killed from the tops of the houses of Shamlee, many of\nwhich were higher than the little fort. For this breach of good faith\nhis lordship gave up the town to plunder. The scene that followed would\ntake an abler pen than mine to describe:--breaking open houses and\nboxes; tearing open bales of shawls, silks, and satins; and fighting\nhand to hand: the tumult is inconceivable to any one who has not\nwitnessed such a scene. We marched the following morning, treading upon\nthe heels of the enemy: but, as they had a day's start of us, and their\nhorses will go from fifty to sixty miles a day, it was impossible for us\nto come up with them.\n\nOn our road we passed several villages that had been burned to the\nground; poor, naked, and plundered creatures, men, women, and children;\nburning corn-fields; dead elephants, camels, horses, and bullocks; and\nthe road was strewed with moah-berry, on which they feed their horses\nfor the purpose of making them drunk, in which state it is incredible\nthe astonishing distance they will go, though you can count their ribs a\nmile off. The rear-guard of the enemy generally kept their eye on our\nadvance-guard, detaching parties on each of our flanks, and, by way of\namusement, giving us occasionally a shot. I recollect, on one of these\nday's marches, a most impudent fellow, mounted on a beautiful horse, and\nfinely bedizened, came within two hundred yards of our column, passing\nupon us some unpleasant epithets, and once or twice firing his\nmatchlock. He at last wounded a man of the native cavalry. This so\nannoyed me that I asked his lordship if he would permit me to attack\nhim. His answer was, \"Oh, never mind him, Shipp: we will catch him\nbefore he is a week older.\" I never in my life felt more inclined to\ndisobey orders, for he was still capering close by us. An officer\ncommanding one of the six-pounders came up at the same time, and told\nhis lordship that, if he would permit him, he would knock him over, the\nfirst shot, or lose his commission. His lordship said, \"Well, try.\" At\nthis moment the fellow fired his matchlock again, and immediately\ncommenced reloading his piece. Our gun was unlimbered, laid, and fired;\nthe ball striking the horse's rump, passed through the man's back, and\nthe poor animal's neck, and we said, \"So much for the Pin.\"\n\nWe marched, on the average, about twenty-five miles a day; but we were\nobliged to push our poor horses on even faster than this, for Holkar was\nmaking his way to Futtyghur, a small military station. This is a rich\ncity; and, no doubt, his inclination was to plunder and burn it. He\narrived at Furrackabad, about three or four miles from the above\nstation, the day before us, for the purpose of exacting money from the\nrajah there. The little force at the station was withdrawn from the\nbarracks, and placed for the protection of the mint, which had a short\ntime before been established there. In the evening they arrived, and on\nthe morning of the same day we marched upwards of twenty miles, halted\ntill eight o'clock at night, then made ourselves as light as possible,\nand again moved on, intending to surprise them before daylight the\nfollowing morning. We had twenty-eight miles to accomplish before that\ntime, and there is no doubt, from the judicious arrangement made for\nthis attack, by his excellency the commander-in-chief, that scarcely a man\nwould have escaped us, had not a most unfortunate circumstance occurred,\nwhich was near destroying all our plans. An ammunition-tumbrel belonging\nto one of our six-pounders, from the rapid rate at which we were moving,\nblew up within half a mile of the enemy; who were buried in the arms of\nsleep, they having made a forced march, so as to prevent the possibility\nof our reaching them. This alarmed a few of those who happened to be\nawake; but they supposed it the station-gun at Futtyghur. This\nstation-gun was really fired about ten minutes after, and some of them\ngot on the move; but thousands of them were still asleep. I would\nrecommend all officers who serve in India, to attack the enemy, if\npossible, in the night. At this time it often happens that not a single\nsentinel is to be found on the watch. This want of vigilance is to be\nattributed to their eating and smoking too much opium, a practice\ncarried by them to such an excess as completely to deaden their\nfaculties; from which, their stupor in sleep is so extraordinary, that\nif a gun were fired under a man's nose, he would scarcely have the power\nto awake.\n\nWhen the day dawned they were surrounded, and a general attack commenced\non all sides. Some were cut to pieces in their sleep, others in\nendeavouring to escape. The carnage became terrific; his majesty's 8th,\n24th, and 25th Dragoons, two regiments of native cavalry, and a corps of\nhorse-artillery, mowing them down with grape-shot in hundreds. About two\nthousand were left dead on the field, and amongst the number several\npoor tradespeople from Furrackabad, who had come to the spot to sell\ntheir commodities. We pursued them many miles from the scene of action;\nthey, in their flight, burning the barracks and adjacent villages. The\nsame evening, or the following morning, the enemy reached the station of\nMainporee, a distance of seventy-two miles. At this station we had one\nnative corps only; but they were prepared to receive them. This little\nband took possession of the house of the judge (Mr. Cunningham), and\ndefended themselves against Holkar's immense body of horse.\n\nThe battle of Furrackabad was on the 16th or 17th day of November,\n1804; after which the enemy shifted their course towards the fort of\nDeig, the property of the Bhurtpore rajah. In the neighbourhood were his\ninfantry, about twenty-five thousand men, with upwards of a hundred\npieces of cannon. Holkar little dreamt that, on the 13th of the same\nmonth, his infantry had met with a similar defeat to that which his\ncavalry had experienced on the 16th. Major-General Frazer, with a small\nforce, had completely routed and defeated them, taking all their guns\nand stores. This action was at several intervals extremely doubtful, our\nforce being so inadequate to that of the enemy. We had no European\nregiment there, except the Company's European regiment, and the 76th\nFoot, both corps not more than six or seven hundred men. The enemy\nsought protection under the walls of the fort; and, although our ally,\nthe governor of the fort of Deig, fired on our army, General Frazer,\nseeing the danger of a defeat, charged at the head of the 76th,\nsupported by the European regiment and native troops, and succeeded in\ndriving them from their guns, and from the protection of the fort; but,\nin the heat of the action, the gallant general received a ball in the\nfoot, and was obliged to retire from the field. He died a short time\nafterwards. Colonel the Honourable W. Monson, on whom the command\ndevolved, completed his work, and a decisive victory was the result.\nHolkar, being informed of the disaster of his infantry, then shifted his\ncourse towards Bhurtpore, demanding immense sums of money from the\nrajah, under threats of laying waste his country, which at that time\nmight be called the garden of India. His encampment was close under the\nwalls of the fort, leaving a body of about two thousand men to harass\nand annoy us.\n\nAbout the 18th of December we took up a position before the fort of\nDeig, and in two days after broke ground against it. The two companies\nto which I belonged led the column, carrying tools for working. The\nnight was as dark as pitch, and bitterly cold. Secrecy was the great\nobject of our mission, and we slowly approached the vicinity of the\nfort, steering our course towards a small village about eight hundred\nyards from the spot, where we halted under shelter from their guns. This\nvillage had been set on fire two days before, and its inmates compelled\nto take shelter in the fort. Small parties were dispatched in search of\neligible ground for trenches, and within breaking distance. I was\ndispatched alone through the desolate village, to see what was on the\nother side. I was yet but a novice in soldiering; and, believe me,\nreader, I had no great fancy for this job; but an order could not be\ndisobeyed; so off I marched, my ears extended wide to catch the most\ndistant sound. I struck into a wide street, and, marching on tiptoe,\npassed two or three poor solitary bullocks, who were dying for want of\nfood. These, startled me for the moment; but not another creature could\nI see. I at one time thought I heard voices, and that I could see a blue\nlight burning on the fort, from which I inferred that I was getting\npretty close to it. Just as I had made up my mind that this must be the\ncase, I distinctly heard a voice calling out, \"_Khon hie?_\" in English,\n\"Who is there?\" I was riveted to the spot, and could not move till the\nwords were repeated; when I stole behind one of the wings of a hut close\non my right. Soon after I heard the same man say, \"_Quoi tah mea ne\ndeckah_;\" which is, \"I am sure I saw somebody.\" Another voice answered,\n\"_Guddah, hogah_;\" which signifies, \"A jackass, I suppose;\" for there\nwere several wandering about. I fully agreed with the gentleman who\nspoke last, but was determined to throw off the appellation as quickly\nas possible, by endeavouring to find my way back. In attempting to make\nmy retreat with as little noise as possible, I put my foot into some\nfire. This compelled me to withdraw rather precipitately, and they heard\nme, when one of them said, \"_Hi quoi_;\" which is, \"There certainly is\nsomebody.\" The other replied, \"_Kis wastah nay tuckeet currah?_\" \"Why\ndon't you ascertain it, then?\" Hearing this, I dashed into another hut,\nand squatted myself down close, resolved at least to have a fight for\nit. A man passed the door of the hut twice; but, at last, crying out,\n\"_Cally ek lungrah bile hie_,\" which signifies, \"There is only one lame\nbullock,\" he rejoined his party. The attempt to steal away in so dark a\nnight would have been impracticable; I must infallibly have been heard.\nI resolved, therefore, to have a run for it, and off I bolted, up the\nsame street through which I had come, when a whole volley of matchlocks\nwas sent after me, but they did not attempt to follow--at least, as far\nas I know, for I did not stop to look behind me. I arrived safe at the\ndivision, not a little frightened; and I can venture to say that, the\nelephant affair excepted, I never ran so fast before in my life. This\nafterwards proved to be a strong cavalry piquet.\n\nWe at last took possession of the village, and established a depôt\nthere; and a rising ground about two or three hundred yards from it was\nthe spot selected for our batteries. We were at first heard, when the\nfort commenced a heavy firing, but in the wrong direction. Every man was\nemployed in digging a sufficient space to lie down in; and, in the\ncourse of a couple of hours, we were covered and protected from their\nshot. We then erected batteries; and, by daylight in the morning,\neverything was finished, and we were so close to the enemy that we could\ndistinctly hear English spoken,[8] and the _reveillée_ beaten.\n\nOn Christmas eve, as dark and cold a night as ever blew from the\nheavens, the breach was reported practicable, and the rising of the moon\nwas a signal for marching to the storm. She did rise, in splendid\neffulgence, over one of the highest bastions of the fort we were about\nto storm; and we could see by her light, spears on the ramparts as thick\nas plants in a new-set forest. We were now and then saluted with a\nsolitary gun from the fort, to let us know they were not asleep; blue\nlights were seen burning on their ramparts, and they occasionally\nindulged us with a rocket or two, which played beautifully in the air.\n\nThe soldiers, seeing I was a spirited youth, and a competitor with them\nfor glory, gave me a few salutary hints, especially an old veteran of\nthe 76th Foot, who had been then fighting about twenty years in the\nEast. Among the hints he gave me were these: 1st. Never to pass a man\nlying down, or supposed to be dead, without giving him the point of the\nbayonet or sword; for it was a common trick of theirs to lay themselves\ndown on your approach, and then to watch the opportunity of cutting you\ndown. 2nd. Whenever I saw a rocket or shell fall near me, to get as\nclose to it as possible, and lay myself flat on my face. This was\nundoubtedly very excellent advice; but I soon got tired of killing dead\nmen, and lying down every time I saw a rocket; the having neglected to\ndo which, on one occasion, however, nearly cost me my life, which I\nshall mention in its proper place.\n\nThe storming party consisted of about seven hundred men, composed of two\ncompanies of his majesty's 22nd regiment, two of the Company's European\nregiments, and the rest native troops, the whole under the command of\nColonel Ball, a brave old hero, but so feeble, that he was obliged to be\npushed up the track of glory. The two flank companies to which I\nbelonged led the column. Sergeant Bury, of the Grenadier company, headed\nthe foremost; but being wounded at the moment, he was compelled to leave\nthe battery. I volunteered to take his place. The enemy had a strong\nintrenchment between our batteries and the breach, with innumerable\nguns, so placed as to have a cross fire on the storming party. However,\nwe soon fought our way through their intrenchments, our gallant captain\n(Lindsay) cheering, and boldly leading us on. Crossing these trenches,\nthis brave officer was cut with a spear in the arm, and also received a\nsevere wound from a sabre; but his gallantry and zeal were so great,\nthat he could not be prevailed upon to retire from the scene of action.\nA little on our right I saw some of the enemy point a gun at us.\nImmediately, with three or four comrades, I rushed out to spike it; for\nwhich purpose, I was in the act of searching for the touchhole, to put a\nnail in it, when one of the enemy's golundauze (artillery-men) fired the\ngun off, and I was thrown on my back in the trench, and the same man was\nin the act of cutting me to pieces, when a grenadier of our company,\nnamed Shears, shot him, and I once more escaped. Fortunately for us, the\nwhole of the enemy's great guns were elevated too much, owing to which\nthe shots passed over our heads. If they had been properly directed, we\nmust have been annihilated to a man. Within fifty or sixty paces from\nthe breach, I received a matchlock ball in the head, which dropped me to\nthe ground, the blood flowing profusely. When I came a little to myself\nfrom the stun, I found myself impelled onward by one of our companies,\nwho were close together, and running stooping, to avoid the shots,\nwhich, being near the breach, were uncomfortably thick; but we reached,\nand soon planted the British flag on the summit of the bastion which was\nbreached. Our opponents fought hard to resist our entrance, throwing\nimmense stones, pieces of trees, stink-pots, bundles of straw set on\nfire, spears, large shots, &c.; but resistance was in vain: we were\ndetermined to conquer. In spite of this laudable resolution, however, we\nfound some hard work cut out for us on making good our ascent. The\nstreets in the fort were narrow, running across each other, and every\nten yards guns were placed, for the purpose of raking the whole streets.\nAdded to this, many of the enemy had got into high houses, in which\nthere were loop-holes, from which they could fire down upon us, without\nthe possibility of our getting at them. Near the corner of a street, in\na kind of nook, I saw our dear Captain Lindsay attacked by five or six\nof the enemy. He was on one knee, and quite exhausted, having lost much\nblood from his former wounds; but, to our great joy, we were just in\ntime to save him, and punish some of his assailants. From the intricacy\nof the place, we were afraid of shooting our own men, and were therefore\nobliged to keep pretty close together. At midnight I again met Captain\nLindsay, clearing one of the streets, when he asked me how I felt\nmyself. I complained of a wound in my side, but said that I could find\nno hole; but this was not a time for talking. In turning sharp down a\nstreet rather larger than those we had cleared, we met a column of the\nenemy, with a person of rank in a palanquin. We soon stopped his black\nhighness; and, to ascertain who was inside the palanquin, which was an\nopen one, I, with several others, probed our way with our bayonets, when\na tremendous fat zemindar (an officer) roared out most lustily, and\nbegan to show fight. He fired a matchlock at me, which went through the\nwing of my coat, but did not touch my person. Before I could retaliate,\nmy comrades had finished him, and we then commenced at the column; but I\ntook from the palanquin the gun which had nearly robbed me of life. It\nwas like the barrel of a gun, about two feet long, with a round handle;\nat the handle end was a sharp hatchet; at the other extremity a sharp hook.\nThis extraordinary instrument I presented to the commander-in-chief; but\nhe refused the present, saying it was my trophy. His lordship was\nafterwards prevailed on to purchase it, at the price of two hundred\nrupees. We at this time got information that the five companies which\nhad deserted from the Honourable Colonel Monson, in his masterly retreat\nfrom Jeypore, were standing, dressed in the full uniform they deserted\nin, outside the principal gate of the fort, with their arms ordered,\nwithout apparently making any resistance, and frequently crying out,\n\"Englishmen, Englishmen, pray do not kill us; for God's sake, do not\nkill us.\" As these supplications proceeded rather from fear than from\npenitence for the crime they had been guilty of--that of deserting to an\nenemy--these men could expect no mercy. We had positive orders to give\nthem no quarter, and they were most of them shot.\n\nAbout three o'clock, when I was completely tired and done up, I took my\nstation under the gable end of a brick building, and began to examine\nthe extent of my wounds. The one on the head was a bad one, having\ntouched the skull; it was about two inches long, and one broad, and I\nwas a little alarmed for the consequences. The wound which I supposed I\nhad received in the side, was nothing more than the wind of a\ncannon-ball, which it was thought must have passed between my arm and\nside. It was quite black, and much swollen, and on its margin there\nappeared red streaks, which convinced the doctors that it was caused as\nbefore stated. I felt it for months afterwards. The wound in my head had\nbeen so long exposed to the night air, that, on examination by the\nmedical gentlemen, it was pronounced to be a dangerous one; but, with an\nexcellent constitution, and youth on my side, I soon recovered.\n\nThe killed found next morning exceeded the number of our storming party.\nWe had but few killed, but a great number wounded. Poor Sergeant Bury\nfound his way in, wounded as he was, before the whole company had\nentered, and fought hard the whole night. Early in the morning he was\nlooking over the parapet of the fort, when a cannon-ball struck him on\nthe back, and killed him on the spot; otherwise he would have been\nrewarded with a commission; but such is the fate of war! The taking of\nthis small redoubt was but a preparatory and necessary step before we\ncommenced a regular siege against the strong fort, and equally strong\ntown, both of which, however, they gave up, being fully satisfied of the\nimpossibility of holding either.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] The English, which we were confident we heard spoken on this\noccasion, was, no doubt, by a drummer who had deserted from the 76th\nregiment, and who was afterwards found dead in the fort.\n\n[Illustration: OFFICIAL PLAN OF THE SIEGE OF BHURTPORE, 1805.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nI was obliged to nurse myself a little, as the strong fortress of\nBhurtpore was, we understood, to be our next job.[9] Having but in part\nled the last party in, I became a volunteer to lead the Forlorn Hope at\nBhurtpore. This offer his excellency, Lord Lake, accepted, with\nencomiums on my zeal, and a promise that, if I escaped, I should have a\ncommission. We arrived before this place about the 29th day of December,\nencamped about two miles from it, and immediately commenced our\noperations against it. Holkar was lying under its walls, with his\nimmense body of cavalry, who committed every kind of cruelty on the\ncamp-followers that fell into their hands, such as cutting off their\nhands from the first joint of the wrist, cutting off their noses, ears,\n&c.; but seldom killing them outright.\n\nDuring the preparation for the siege, when off duty I amused myself with\ngoing out to the advanced piquets, where there were continual skirmishes\nwith Holkar's cavalry, who were always loitering about, day and night.\nOn one of these occasions I nearly paid dear for my imprudence. I\nventured far beyond the piquet, in hopes of picking off a fellow who was\nshowing off his horsemanship. As I was mounted on a good horse, and was\nwell armed, I rode after him, gaining ground fast; but, on looking\nbehind, I found myself a considerable distance from the piquet, and that\nseveral horsemen had got between us, to prevent my return. To have run\naway would have given them encouragement: no other remedy was left but\nto dash through them. Our piquet, seeing my situation, got a\nsix-pounder, and fired a long shot at them. During the consternation\ncaused by the ball striking near them, and smothering them in dust, I\nmade the best use of my horse's legs, got safe to the piquet, and never\nventured so far from home again.\n\nOn the 1st day of January, 1805, we broke ground against this strong\nfortress and town. I was again on the working party, my wound being\nnearly closed. We halted near a wood; and, a party having been sent on\nto reconnoitre, we at last pitched upon a place, and commenced our\nnocturnal labours. We had not been at work ten minutes, when they heard\nour working tools, and commenced a most terrific cannonade. We were\nordered to desist, and to lie down behind the earth we had thrown up,\nwhich, fortunately for us, was of a sufficient thickness to be\nmusket-ball proof, or we must have suffered dreadfully; for their little\nrough iron balls flew about as thick as bees. The cannon-shot were\ngenerally high: some that fell short rolled, and were brought up by our\nlittle mound of defence. They kept it up gloriously for half an hour,\nconceiving that we intended to take them by surprise; but, from the\nreports of this fortress containing 100,000 soldiers, and the enormous\nsum of nineteen crore of rupees, our orders were to approach it by\nregular siege. I fear I shall be thought rather tedious in relating the\ndisastrous events at this place; but we must take the gall with the\nhoney. The firing having ceased, except at intervals, we recommenced our\nlabours; and glad indeed were we to set blood again on the move. The\nnight was bitterly cold, and the ground damp; but we kept ourselves in\nexercise with our work, and by daylight we had completed our trenches,\nand four-gun breaching battery, within five hundred yards of the town\nwall. The moment the day dawned, our night's work was observed. The fort\nwas again in a blaze; flags were hoisted; the parapet of the town wall\nwas one general mass of spears and little flags, as far as the eye could\nreach; and the heads of soldiers studded the ramparts with variegated\ncolours--their turbans being generally of the most prominent dyes--red,\nyellow, and pink. Such shouting, roaring of cannon, whistling of shot,\ngrumbling of rockets, and waving of flags and spears, made me reflect\nfor a moment on the folly of having ever sold my \"leathers,\" to\nparticipate in such a scene; but this thought was soon buried in the\nshouts of defiance from our trenches. We did not show hands, as we had\nnone to spare; but as we were, of course, anxious to see what kind of a\nplace this said Bhurtpore was, we took every opportunity of peeping,\nwhenever we saw a gun fired, crying out, \"Shot,\" which was a signal to\nbob our heads. On the firing subsiding in the slightest degree, we\ncontinued our work, and at length completed our batteries and magazines,\nand widened our trenches to seven feet, leaving just sufficient room to\npass and repass, so as to communicate with our principal depôt under\nshelter. During the whole of this day, the enemy kept up an almost\nincessant fire, both with great guns and small arms, and we had some few\nmen wounded. A soldier of the light company, named Murphy, stood upon\nthe bank, exposing himself, and drawing upon us the fire from the fort.\nSome of us remonstrated with him on his imprudence, when Paddy coolly\nreplied, \"Never fear, honey; sure I have got my eye on them; and, if\nthey kill me, bad luck to me if I don't be after paying them for it when\nI get into that same fort.\" In the course of the day he was shot in the\nfinger, for his disregard of our advice, which, he said, was \"just\nbecause he was looking another way at the time.\"\n\nIn the evening we got our guns into battery, erecting two small\nbatteries of twelves and sixes. A constant fire was kept up by the enemy\nduring the night, and blue lights were to be seen at intervals, as\nthough to inform us that they were on the watch. From the debauched\nhabits of the Mussulmans, in any situation in life, they seldom retire\nto rest till very late; and then, indeed, so stupefied with eating and\nsmoking auffeem (opium), that they are incapable of being roused to any\nactive duty. From their constant use of this intoxicating drug, they are\ndull companions when the spirit is absorbed and dead within them; but,\nwhen revived, I know no set of people more talkative, communicative, and\njovial. Often have I listened with delight to an old Mussulman soldier's\nrelation of his campaigns and stories. We heard drums and music the\nwhole night, now and then accompanied by the inharmonious roar of their\nguns. The guns used in India by the natives are of cast iron; but, from\ntheir using ball beat out instead of cast, the guns labour and roar\ndreadfully, and the rough surface of their balls tears the muzzles to\npieces.\n\nWhen the morning bestrewed its bright rays abroad, we threw a little\nfurther light upon the subject, by opening our breaching-battery with a\nsalvo, accompanied with such terrific cheering and shouting, as seemed\nto startle the new-risen sun, which at that identical moment peeped from\nbehind its golden curtains to see what was the matter. The enemy, after\na moment's pause, were seen in a tremendous bustle, mustering their full\nforce; and their heads were so thick, that, had our shelling-battery\nbeen ready, we might have made dreadful havoc among the motley group.\nThey shouted, yelled, screamed, groaned; small arms whistled, cannons,\nroared; and, in an instant, the fort was enveloped in smoke. It was\naltogether a most terrific scene. At this moment a soldier called out,\n\"Shipp, have you made your will?\" I said \"Yes; which is, that I will\nlead you into that fort undaunted, for all their smoke and\nrattle.\"--\"Well done, Jack!\" said one; \"That's a hearty!\" said another;\nand many a joke followed; but, to confess the truth, I thought it no\njoking matter, but wished most earnestly that I could say, with Macbeth,\n\"I have _done_ the deed.\" Notwithstanding this, I saw no cause for\nfretting. Without parents, or ties of any other kind, I felt that I was\nfully justified in acting\n\n    \"As if a man were author of himself,\n    And knew no other kin.\"\n\nMy ambition was to signalize myself in the field of honour; and, if it\nwas to be my fate to fall, I consoled myself with the reflection, that I\ncould not die in a better cause than fighting for my king and country.\nThese were my real feelings; but the business that was going on during\nthe whole of this day, afforded me but little time for reflection.\nTowards evening, however, we were relieved from the trenches, and\nobtained some rest.\n\nThe next day I took another peep at the Pins, who were in immense\nnumbers in front of our piquets. My fingers itched to be among them, but\nmy last escape withheld me. It was truly tantalizing to see these\nfellows chuckering their horses not more than a quarter of a mile from\nour post; but what irritated us still more was, that these miscreants,\nthat evening, sent into our camp about twenty grass-cutters, belonging\nto the 8th Dragoons, some with their right arms cut off at the\nwrist-joint, and others with the loss of their noses and ears. These\npoor creatures paid dearly for their disobedience of general orders,\nwhich forbade any grass-cutter from going out alone; but, for the love\nof plunder, they will at all times risk their lives. It will appear\nscarcely credible to the general reader, when he is informed, that to\nevery fighting-man in an Indian army, there are at least ten\ncamp-followers. The majority of these live by plundering the adjacent\nvillages round the camp and on the march; robbing every hut and field\nwithin ten miles round. There is no possibility of checking them, or\npreventing these abuses. Amongst these fellows are thieves of every\ndescription, and the most notorious are jugglers. They commence their\nnocturnal pilferings in a state of nudity, oiling themselves all over to\nprevent their being held if caught; they then creep on their hands and\nfeet like dogs, and frequently imitate them in barking and howling, as\nwell as most other animals, more particularly goats, sheep, and asses.\nIn the course of my narrative, I shall have occasion to mention several\ninstances of this nature that happened to myself.\n\nOn the following morning, I went again on duty in the trenches. We\nretired into the wood before mentioned, which had a path of\ncommunication with the trenches, though it was a considerable distance\nfrom the grand breaching-battery. Our operations against the fort\ncontinued active and resolute; but our balls made but little impression\nupon the mud bastions and curtains. Many of them scarcely buried\nthemselves, and others rolled down into the underworks of the enemy, and\nwere kindly sent back to us. It is almost folly to attempt to effect a\npracticable breach in a fort built of such materials. The crust you\nknock off the face of a bastion or curtain, forms a great barrier to\nyour approach to a solid footing. Young engineers are too apt to judge,\nfrom the appearance of the fallen mud, that the breach is practicable;\nwhen, the first step the storming-party takes, they find they sink up to\ntheir necks in light earth. A woful instance of this nature I shall have\nto advert to more particularly in the course of my narrative; and, if\nit prove a timely hint to the inexperienced, I shall be rewarded. Stone\nforts are soon demolished; when undermined well at the bottom, the top\nwill soon follow, and they cannot easily be repaired; but mud forts defy\nhuman power.\n\nWe this day erected howitzer and mortar-batteries; and, when they first\nopened, they struck terror and consternation into the enemy, who fled in\nevery direction, to avoid those destructive engines; but, in a few\nhours, they dug holes in the ramparts, which they got into whenever they\nsaw those unwelcome visitors on the wing; and, unless the shell happened\nactually to fall on them, they escaped in this way. But our shelling in\nthose days was a mere bagatelle to what it is now. A shell in five\nminutes was then enormous; now, twenty in one minute is by no means\nextraordinary, and these twice as big as in the times of which I speak.\n\nThis day the enemy was pretty passive; no doubt, making places of\nrefuge. Our shells, if thrown further into the town, must have been most\ndestructive, for the population was evidently prodigious, from the\nnumber of fighting men. The houses frequently appeared on fire, and\nseveral small explosions took place daily; no doubt small magazines.\nThese little incidents generally created cheering by the besiegers, and\nredoubled firing by the enemy. In the course of the day we saw the rajah\nfor the first time: he was on the shabroodge, or royal bastion, with his\nsuite, reconnoitring with a spy-glass. The officer commanding the\nhowitzer battery laid a shell for the shabroodge, which struck the very\ntop of it, and soon dislodged his highness and suite. In a moment not a\nsoul was to be seen. On this bastion was an enormous gun, about a\nseventy-two-pounder, which before had been laid up in embryo, but which,\nas a mark of revenge for our having disturbed his highness, was now got\nready. From its gigantic size they could not depress it sufficiently to\nbear upon our batteries, or it must have torn them to pieces. At last\noff it went; the report was like that of an earthquake, but the ball\nwent a good quarter of a mile over us. Several other shots were, in the\ncourse of the day, fired from it, but the balls never came nearer. Our\nsoldiers, finding it did no harm, christened it _Civil Tom_; but, from\nthe enormous dust it kicked up, the enemy thought it did wonders for\nsome time; until, at last, finding out their mistake, they turned its\ngigantic muzzle towards camp, and actually threw a ball close to the\nflag opposite Lord Lake's tent, more than two miles from the fort. The\nonly real mischief Civil Tom ever did (which, by the by, was rather\nuncivil) was killing a poor water-carrier's bullock, and carrying away\nthe poor man's right arm. This was more than a mile from camp.\n\nThe night passed away without anything of moment, we still keeping up a\nregular and constant fire, to prevent the enemy from rebuilding what we\nhad had so much trouble in knocking down, and at times indulging them\nwith a few whistling shells to keep them awake.\n\nWe now began to grow impatient to see what was inside this boasting\nfort, for we had pretty well seen what was outside. The breach soon\nbegan to wear a stormable appearance, when we discovered that they had\nthrown out two small guns for the purpose of a cross fire and cutting\noff our storming party, and to annoy and rake our breaching-battery. For\nremoving this evil we threw out two six-pounders, and we had not fired\nmany shots and given them more than a dozen shrapnells, when a\ntremendous explosion took place, which finally removed the annoyance.\n\nIn the evening I heard the engineer say to Captain Nelley, commanding\nthe breaching-battery, that he imagined we should, on the following\nevening, put a stop to their vaunting. \"The next evening!\" I muttered to\nmyself. I was standing close to Captain Nelley, who turned round to me\nand said, \"Shipp, how do you like that information?\" I replied, \"I wish\nit was this night, Sir.\" This I did wish most sincerely, for I felt\nthat, having once resolved to undertake the desperate service in which I\nhad volunteered, the sooner I was in action the better.\n\n    \"Between the acting of a dreadful thing,\n    And the first motion, all the interim is\n    Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream;\n    The genius and the mortal instruments\n    Are then in council; and the state of man,\n    Like to a little kingdom, suffers then\n    The nature of an insurrection.\"\n\nI have heard some men say that they would as soon fight as eat their\nbreakfasts; and others, that they \"dearly loved fighting.\" If this were\ntrue, what bloodthirsty dogs they must be! But I should be almost\nilliberal enough to suspect these boasters of not possessing even\nordinary courage. I will not, however, go so far as positively to assert\nthis, but will content myself by asking these terrific soldiers to\naccount to me why, some hours previously to storming a fort, or fighting\na battle, are men pensive, thoughtful, heavy, restless, weighed down\nwith apparent solicitude and care? Why do men, on these occasions, more\nfervently beseech the divine protection and guidance, to save them in\nthe approaching conflict? Are not all these feelings the result of\nreflection, and of man's regard for his dearest care--his life, which no\nmortal will part with if he can avoid it? There are periods in war which\nput man's courage to a severe test: if, for instance, as was my case, I\nknew I was to lead a forlorn hope on the following evening, innumerable\nideas will rush in quick succession on the mind; such as, \"For aught my\npoor and narrow comprehension can tell, I may to-morrow be summoned\nbefore my Maker?\" \"How have I spent the life he has been pleased to\npreserve to this period? Can I meet that just tribunal?\" A man, situated\nas I have supposed, who did not, even amid the cannon's roar and the din\nof war, experience anxieties approaching to what I have described, may,\nby possibility, have the courage of a lion, but he cannot possess the\nfeelings of a man. In action man is quite another being: the softer\nfeelings of the roused heart are absorbed in the vortex of danger, and\nthe necessity for self-preservation, and give place to others more\nadapted to the occasion. In these moments there is an indescribable\nelation of spirits; the soul rises above its wonted serenity into a kind\nof frenzied apathy to the scene before you--a heroism bordering on\nferocity; the nerves become tight and contracted; the eye full and open,\nmoving quickly in its socket, with almost maniac wildness: the head is\nin constant motion; the nostril extended wide, and the mouth apparently\ngasping. If an artist could truly delineate the features of a soldier in\nthe battle's heat, and compare them with the lineaments of the same man\nin the peaceful calm of domestic life, they would be found to be two\ndifferent portraits; but a sketch of this kind is not within the power\nof art, for in action the countenance varies with the battle: as the\nbattle brightens, so does the countenance; and, as it lowers, so the\ncountenance becomes gloomy. I have known some men drink enormous\nquantities of spirituous liquors when going into action, to drive away\nlittle intruding thoughts, and to create false spirits; but these are as\nshort-lived as the ephemera that struggles but a moment on the crystal\nstream, then dies. If a man have not natural courage, he may rest\nassured that liquor will deaden and destroy the little he may possess.\n\nOur two companies were relieved for the night, for the purpose of\nresting ourselves and preparing for the ensuing evening's attack. On\nthis occasion one of our poor fellows was killed by a shot from the\nfort, and he was ordered to be immediately buried. When we were about to\nleave the trenches we found him still lying there, when the sergeant was\ncalled, and asked by his officer, why he had not been buried, according\nto orders. The sergeant, an Irishman, answered, \"Faith! your honour, he\nhas grown so mighty stiff since he went dead, that he would neither ride\nnor walk; he threw himself off my back twice; but I am just after\nordering a fatigue-party to march him there, whether he will or not.\"\n\nThe same sergeant was chided a short time before for shooting an unarmed\nman. His officer told him it was a cowardly act to shoot a poor fellow\nwithout arms. \"Arms! your honour, I beg your honour's pardon, he had\ntwo; ay, faith, and fists at the end of them; and he was just after\ngoing to be mighty saucy besides. Besides, your honour, did not a\nspalpeen shoot at and hit me at Deig, without so much as bidding me the\ntime of the morning, or by your lave, or with your lave? Fait! they must\nexpect no palaveration or blarney from Dennis Gaffen.\" To relate the\nanecdotes of this man would fill a volume; but, as the two little ones\nmentioned may bear the reading, I will insert a few more in their proper\nplaces.\n\nI slept soundly, and early in the morning commenced cleaning and\nnew-flinting my musket, and pointing my bayonet, that it might find its\nway through the thick cotton-stuffed coats of our enemies. All Mussulman\nsoldiers wear these coats during winter. The cotton is about two inches\nthick, and the coats are worn rather loose, so that you can with\ndifficulty cut through them; and I am persuaded that many of them are\nball-proof, and that bayonets and spears are the only weapons against\nthem. In the course of the day I walked down to the batteries, to well\nascertain the road I had to take to the breaches. Our batteries\ncontinued, with unabated exertions, to knock off the defences; and\neverything, from appearances, seemed calculated to insure complete\nsuccess. My heart was all alive this day, and I wished for the sombre\ngarments of night. This was the 9th day of January, 1805. The greatest\nsecrecy was observed as to the storming party; no general orders were\nissued, nor was there any stir or bustle till the hour appointed--nine\no'clock. Orders and arrangements were communicated to officers\ncommanding regiments and companies, and in the same private manner\nconveyed to us. The gun fired as usual at eight o'clock. This was the\nsignal to move out. I kissed and took leave of my favourite pony, Apple,\nand dog, Wolf, and I went to my post at the head of the column, with my\nlittle band of heroes, twelve volunteers from the different corps of the\narmy. Reader, you may believe me when I assure you, that at this\ncritical juncture everything else was forgotten in the enthusiasm of the\nmoment, except the contemplation of the honourable post confided to me.\n\"What!\" thought I, \"I, a youth, at the head of an Indian army!\" I began\nto think it presumption, when so many more experienced soldiers filled\nthe ranks behind. I thought that every eye was upon me, and I did not\nregret the pitchy darkness of the night, which hid my blushing\ncountenance. All was still as the grave, when I distinctly heard\nsomebody call, \"Sergeant Shipp!\" This was Lieutenant-Colonel Salkeld,\nadjutant-general of the army, who brought with him a golundauze, who had\ndeserted from the fort, and who, for filthy lucre, was willing to betray\nhis countrymen. This man was handed over to me, he having undertaken to\nlead me to the breach. If he attempted to deceive me, or to run from me,\nI had positive orders to shoot him; consequently, I kept a sharp\nlook-out on him. We then, in solemn silence, marched down to the\ntrenches, and remained there about half an hour, when we marched to the\nattack in open columns of sections, the two flank companies of the 22nd\nleading, supported by the 75th and 76th European regiments, and other\nnative infantry. I took the precaution of tying a rope round the wrist\nof my guide, that he might not escape; for, firing at him at that moment\nwould have alarmed the fort. Not a word was to be heard; but the\ncannon's rattling drowned many a deep-drawn sigh, from many as brave a\nheart.\n\nI was well supported, having my own two companies behind me. Colonel\nMaitland, of his majesty's 76th regiment, commanded this storming-party,\nand brave little Major Archibald Campbell his corps. The former officer\ncame in front to me, and pointed out the road to glory; but, observing\nthe native whom I had in charge, he asked who he was; and, on being\ninformed, said, \"We can find the way without him; let him go about his\nbusiness.\" I remonstrated, and repeated to him the instructions I had\nreceived; but his answer was, \"I don't care; if you don't obey my\norders, I will send you to the rear.\" I did obey, and on we moved to the\nattack. Immediately behind me were pioneers, carrying gabions and\nfascines to fill up any cavities we might meet with. The enemy did not\ndiscover our approach till within fifty paces of the ditch, when a\ntremendous cannonade and peals of musketry commenced: rockets were\nflying in all directions; blue lights were hoisted; and the fort seemed\nconvulsed to its very foundation. Its ramparts seemed like some great\nvolcano vomiting tremendous volumes of fiery matter; the roaring of the\ngreat guns shook the earth beneath our feet; their small arms seemed\nlike the rolling of ten thousand drums; and their war trumpets rent the\nair asunder. Men were seen skipping along the lighted ramparts, as busy\nas emmets collecting stores for the dreary days of winter. The scene was\nawfully grand, and must have been sublimely beautiful to the distant\nspectator.\n\nWe pushed on at speed, but were soon obliged to halt. A ditch, about\ntwenty yards wide, and four or five deep, branched off from the main\ntrench. This ditch formed a small island, on which were posted a strong\nparty of the enemy, with two guns. Their fire was well directed, and the\nfront of our column suffered severely. The fascines and gabions were\nthrown in; but they were as a drop of water in the mighty deep: the fire\nbecame hotter, and my little band of heroes plunged into the water,\nfollowed by our two companies, and part of the 75th regiment. The middle\nof the column broke off, and got too far down to the left; but we soon\ncleared the little island. At this time Colonel Maitland and Major\nCampbell joined me, with our brave officers of the two companies, and\nmany of the other corps. I proposed following the fugitives; but our\nduty was to gain the breach, our orders being confined to that object.\nWe did gain it; but, imagine our surprise and consternation, when we\nfound a perpendicular curtain going down to the water's edge, and no\nfooting, except on pieces of trees and stones that had fallen from\nabove. This could not bear more than three men a-breast, and if they\nslipped--which many did--a watery grave awaited them, for the water was\nextremely deep here. Close on our right was a large bastion, which the\nenemy had judiciously hung with dead underwood. This was fired, and it\nthrew such a light upon the breach, that it was as clear as noonday.\nThey soon got guns to bear on us, and the first shot (which was grape)\nshot Colonel Maitland dead, wounded Major Campbell in the hip or leg, me\nin the right shoulder, and completely cleared the remaining few of my\nlittle party. We had at that moment reached the top of the breach, not\nmore, as I before stated, than three a-breast, when we found that the\nenemy had completely repaired that, by driving in large pieces of wood,\nstakes, stones, bushes, and pointed bamboos, through the crevices of\nwhich was a mass of spears jobbing diagonally, which seemed to move by\nmechanism. Such was the footing we had, that it was utterly impossible\nto approach these formidable weapons; meantime, small spears or darts\nwere hurled at us; and stones, lumps of wood, stink-pots, and bundles of\nlighted straw, thrown upon us. In the midst of this tumult, I got one of\nmy legs through a hole, so that I could see into the interior of the\nfort. The people were like a swarm of bees. In a moment I felt something\nseize my foot; I pulled with all my might, and at last succeeded in\ndisengaging my leg, but leaving my boot behind me. Our establishing\nourselves on this breach in sufficient force to dislodge this mass of\nspearsmen, was physically impossible. Our poor fellows were mowed down\nlike corn-fields, without the slightest hope of success. The rear of the\ncolumn suffered much, as they were within range of the enemy's shot. A\nretreat was ordered, and we were again obliged to take to the water; and\nmany a poor wounded soldier lost his life in this attempt. Not one of\nour officers escaped without being wounded, and Lieutenant Creswell was\nalmost cut to pieces. We, as may be supposed, returned almost\nbroken-hearted at this our first failure in India. Our loss was a\nmelancholy one; and the conviction that the poor wounded fellows we were\ncompelled to leave behind would be barbarously massacred, incited our\nbrave boys to beg a second attempt. This was denied: had it been\ngranted, it must infallibly have proved abortive; for there was,\nliterally, no breach. The disastrous issue of our attack caused the\nenemy to exult exceedingly; and the shouting and roaring that followed\nour retreat, were daggers in the souls of our wounded and disappointed\nsoldiers, who were with difficulty restrained from again rushing to the\nbreach. I found that I had received a spear-wound in the right finger,\nand several little scratches from the combustibles they fired at us.\nPieces of copper coin, as well as of iron, stone, and glass, were\nextracted from the wounds of those who were fortunate enough to escape.\nWe were, in the course of the night, relieved, and went to our lines to\nbrood over our misfortunes.\n\nI found, the next morning, to add to my feelings of distress, that the\nold wound in my head had opened afresh; the wound on my shoulder, having\ninjured the bone, was also extremely painful; but that on my finger,\nbeing a flesh-wound, did not trouble me much. The general orders of the\nday following were highly flattering to us all, placing the blame, if\nany, where it ought to be. Our engineer, finding the spot we had\nattempted strong and impracticable, changed his position more to the\neastward, where the difficulties were not so formidable. During these\nnew operations, our breaching-guns, four in number, were sent to the\npark to be re-bushed, their bushes having been injured from the constant\nfiring and heat.\n\nThus ended our first attempt to take the strong fortress of Bhurtpore by\nstorm.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[9] Runjeet Singh, rajah of Bhurtpore, in Rajpootana--not the famous\nSikh adventurer and ruler of the same name--had concluded a treaty with\nthe British in 1803, and a contingent of his cavalry fought bravely\nunder Lake, at the battle of Laswarree against the Mahrattas. But, on\nthe approach of Holkar, Runjeet Singh wanted to evade his engagements\nwith the British, whereupon Lake attacked and captured Deig and laid\nsiege to Bhurtpore. The total loss in Lake's army at Bhurtpore is given\nby the historian Mill as 388 killed and 1,894 wounded. The causes of\nfailure were, undoubtedly, those suggested by Shipp, p. 125. When\ndisputes as to the Bhurtpore succession led the British to attack the\nfortress again in 1825, Lord Combermere had 25,000 men, and a strong\nbattering-train, but had to resort to mining to render the breaches\npracticable.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nHaving abundance of spare time while preparations were making for a\nsecond attack on the fort, Lord Lake determined to disturb Holkar in his\nhiding-place; for which purpose a party of infantry was dispatched with\nabout four six-pounders. We soon came within sight of him, sheltered a\ngood deal from his view by high trees and jungle. The fort, observing\nour manoeuvres, commenced a heavy cannonade. Holkar, alarmed, got on the\nmove and made towards Futtypore Seccrah, one of his old haunts. Once\nfrom under the walls of the fort, our cavalry soon put his troops to\nflight; immense numbers were killed, and elephants, horses, camels,\nspears, matchlocks, colours, &c., were brought into camp. Holkar's best\nelephant was that day taken, and some little treasure was found on\ncamels. Notwithstanding this routing, however, they took up their old\nground, and we returned to camp, with some few men killed and wounded.\nThis skirmish, instead of decreasing their impudence, seemed only to\nincrease it; for they were day and night hovering round our piquets, the\nobject of which was to take our attention from their main body, who had\nbeen dispatched to intercept a small detachment that was on the way to\njoin us, from Muttra. Our spies soon brought intelligence of this, and,\nin little more than ten minutes after, three regiments of dragoons were\non the move to rescue them, and arrived just in time to save our stores\nand the lives of the little party. Holkar commanded in person on this\noccasion; and it was reported that he was killed, though this proved\nafterwards to be false. A reward was offered for his head, and a great\nnumber were tendered, but none belonged to one-eyed Holkar. It is true,\nheads were produced without an eye, but the phiz of that notorious Pin\nwas too well known to Chiggram (our best spy) to admit of our being\nimposed on.\n\nMy wounds at this time were nearly well; and, having been unsuccessful\nin the first forlorn hope which I led, I volunteered to lead the second.\nOne night, previous to the time appointed for the second attack, I\nsauntered to a retired spot, far from the observation of my comrades, to\nmuse over the prospect then immediately before me, and to ask His aid\nwho alone has the power to protect us. Scarcely had I entered a wood\nabout one hundred yards from the trenches, when my attention was\narrested by a soldier on his knees, fervently supplicating the aid of\nAlmighty God in the coming storm. The moment he heard my footstep, he\nsuddenly arose, and, seeming ashamed of the way in which he was engaged,\nhe said, \"Who's that?\" I answered, \"Sergeant Shipp; who are you?\" He\nreplied, \"Private Murphy.\"--\"Murphy!\" I repeated; \"is it possible that\nsuch a blasphemer as you, who, day after day, and hour after hour, boast\nyour own infamy in a wanton disbelief and contempt of every quality that\ncan constitute the man and the Christian, and who, no later than\nyesternight, solemnly protested before your comrades, that you firmly\nbelieved there was no place of punishment save a man's own conscience,\nand that hell was merely a name to frighten and intimidate\nschoolboys--can it be possible,\" continued I, \"that you have at this\nlate hour retired to this lonely place, and are found in the act of\nprayer?\"--\"Shipp,\" he replied, in a softer tone, and in nearly the\nfollowing words, \"whatever men may boast or say in their deluded and\nmore irrational moments, there is a period when all those blasphemous\nexpressions rush across the human mind, and the recollection of having\nuttered them leaves an inconceivable pressure on the humbled heart; but\nI pray you, do not expose me to my comrades, or I shall become their\njeer and ridicule. I beg this as a favour.\"--\"What!\" said I, \"more\nafraid of the derision of men, than the wrath of an offended God?\"--\"No,\nno,\" replied he; \"but you know how religious soldiers are held in\nderision by some of our comrades.\"--\"Well,\" I said, \"I shall keep your\nsecret, and you may confidently trust me on this subject; I will promise\nyou most solemnly that I will never join in the laugh against you, and,\nif you have not finished, I shall be gratified in joining you in prayer,\nas I have rebuked you for your profligacy.\" He affectionately seized my\nhand, and pulled me toward the earth.\n\nOn the following day this poor fellow was summoned to his last account;\nand who knows but this single act of faith and devotion might have saved\nhis immortal soul?\n\nTwo o'clock in the afternoon of the 20th of January, 1805, was arranged\nfor the second storming of Bhurtpore. To prevent any obstruction by the\ntrench, which was supposed to be at this part deep and wide, a bridge of\nbamboos was made, that would admit of three file a-breast. This bridge\ncould be thrown a considerable distance by a hundred men, and was\nsupported by ghee dubbahs (skins) in which the natives keep oil and\nbutter for exportation; which, when dried, are light, and will bear a\nconsiderable weight before you can sink them. Elephants and camels were\nalso laden with tents, and hackeries, or carts drawn by bullocks, with\nbales of cotton, all to fill up the ditch, to enable us to cross to the\nbreach.\n\nI once more took my station with my twelve volunteers, supported by my\ntwo companies as before. A shell from one of the howitzers was a signal\nto move. On this signal being given, the shell, bursting in the muzzle\nof the gun or mortar, killed two of our grenadiers--a sad beginning. The\nbridge followed the forlorn hope, carried on men's shoulders, and must\nhave appeared some extraordinary monster to those who were not\nacquainted with its intended use. We moved on; and, before I got half\nway down to the fort, six of my men were killed or wounded. The enemy,\nno doubt encouraged by our late defeat, had redoubled their fire, both\nin guns and men; and on the right side of the breach they had thrown out\nan underwork, which was filled with matchlock-men, and in which they had\nseveral guns. My men kept falling off one by one; and when I arrived at\nthe edge of the ditch, which appeared wide and deep, and was assisting\nthe men with the bridge, I received a matchlock ball, which entered over\nthe right eye, and passed out over the left. This tumbled me, my\nforehead literally hanging over my nose, and the wound bleeding\nprofusely. I was at this time close to our gallant Captain Lindsay, who,\nat the same moment, received a ginjall ball[10] in the right knee, which\nshattered the bone to pieces. I recovered a little from the stun of my\nwound, when, the first thing that met my eye--for I could only see with\none--was the bamboo bridge quietly gliding down the stream, being some\nyards too short. Nothing but killed and wounded could be seen, and there\nwas not the most distant chance of getting in. To have attempted\ncrossing the ditch would have been an act of madness. In descending we\nmust have plunged over our heads in water; and they had two small guns\nbearing on the spot. At last a retreat was ordered. Previous to this,\nour poor fellows stood like sheep to be shot at, without the remotest\nhope of success. The camels and elephants, alarmed by the tremendous\nfiring and shouting, could not be induced to approach the fort, many of\nthem throwing their loads and running back to camp, and wild into the\nwoods. Seven hundred men were killed and wounded on this occasion. Our\nbrave Captain Lindsay's wound was so bad that his leg was amputated in\nthe battery. My wound was a dangerous one, having touched the bone. I\nwas immediately sent home to camp, where I lay completely blind for\nseveral days. This, added to our disastrous defeat, threw me into a\nfever, and nearly cost me my life; but, with the aid of a kind\nProvidence, and the advantage of a strong and unimpaired constitution, I\nsoon recovered.\n\nOur engineer now gave up this side of the fort as perfectly hopeless,\nand we went more to the eastward, breaching a prominent bastion; but the\nwhole fort was so constructed that one part protected the others; and\ntherefore, wherever we breached we were sure of a destructive\ncross-fire. From our melancholy failures, our poor fellows became\ndisheartened; scarcely a man had escaped without being wounded, and the\nsad recollection of their poor comrades that were left behind in a\nmutilated state, was the constant topic of conversation. Our\nmortification was greatly increased by seeing our men's clothing paraded\non the ramparts, and worn by the miscreants in the fort. However, we\nstill lived in the fond hope that our next effort would prove more\nsuccessful.\n\nI could again go abroad, although my wound was by no means healed. It\nwas now truly distressing to enter our men's tents, where, but a month\nbefore, the merry joke went round, and mirth and hilarity prevailed.\nNaught but gloomy faces, and even them but few, were to be seen: some\nhad lost brothers; others, dear comrades; Captain Lindsay had lost his\nleg; Lieutenant Creswell had been cut to pieces; and every other officer\nwas wounded. Our loss in killed and wounded in the two assaults, in our\ntwo companies alone, was nearly the one half of the total number.\n\nAfter the storm, our breaching-guns were again sent to the park to be\nre-bushed. This was a seasonable pause to enable us to recruit our\nshattered frames and spirits; but it also gave the enemy an opportunity\nof repairing and reinforcing every point of attack.\n\nOn the 18th of February things began to wear a more enlivening\nappearance. The breached bastion seemed to bow its haughty head to our\nroaring guns, and the 20th was talked of as the day for storming it. Our\nlast disastrous repulse was scarcely eradicated from our minds; the\nmassacre of our brave comrades was still alive in our memories; but the\nfond hope of retaliation--I do not mean in cutting up a poor defenceless\ncreature, not a single instance of which can, in the long course of our\nwars, be brought against the Company's army--spirited us up, and we\nlooked forward to the time when we might drag the garments of our\nmurdered comrades from the backs of the vaunting foe. They were now\ndaily and hourly exhibiting to our view the number of muskets they had\ntaken; our ammunition which had fallen into their hands was now turned\nagainst ourselves; as also our cannon-shot, which they had picked out of\nthe two old breaches. We again possessed our wonted spirits and\ncheerfulness, and made preparation to retrieve the British character.\nThe patient conduct and intrepid gallantry of our officers and soldiers\nwhen in the hour of their utmost distress, from repeated defeats, did\nnot pass unnoticed by the enemy; and it is not improbable that the\nresolution and heroism then displayed by the troops were the means of\nfacilitating that long friendship which afterwards subsisted between the\nrajah of Bhurtpore and the Company.\n\nThe day appointed (20th of February) arrived, and was ushered in with a\nnew and unexpected scene. About four hundred men from the fort,\nemboldened, no doubt, by our tardiness, and the repeated defeats which\nour troops had experienced, rushed out upon us just as we were relieving\ntrenches, and actually reached and had possession of our batteries and\ntrenches before we could return. Every one of these men was in a state\nof intoxication, and fought desperately; but we soon drove them from the\nbatteries; then, turning our guns against them, dreadful was the\ncarnage. The fort fired indiscriminately at the whole party. These\nfellows were, no doubt, a set of vagabonds they wished to get rid of;\nand, if this was the case, their wish was fully realized, for a very\nfew returned to tell the tale. This was the kind of retaliation we\nsighed for; but we lost a considerable number of men, killed and\nwounded, in this affray; but these they had not the barbarous\ngratification of cutting up. Their wounded men left within our reach\nwere sent to the native hospitals, and every comfort administered to\nthem. They were in the same wards with our wounded men, where friendship\npresided instead of murder. Had the war been between native and native,\nthe cruelties would have been equal on both sides.\n\nWhen this strange rencounter had subsided, the storming party was\nordered for twelve o'clock. Reader, imagine my disappointment when my\ndoctor most positively forbade my being employed on this occasion, as my\nwound in the forehead was still in such a state that, should I get\nheated or catch cold, he feared an inflammation of the brain would take\nplace. I could have thrown what few brains I had in his face; but I was\nobliged to obey. The forlorn hope was led by Lieutenant Templer, of the\n76th regiment, as brave a little fellow as ever wore a red coat. I\nlooked on at a short distance from the scene of action, and a desperate\nhard struggle it was. No sooner did our brave boys gain the top of the\nbreach, than the well-directed fire from the fort swept them off.\nFooting they had none; they literally hung on the bosom of the bastion.\nA third retreat was the result; leaving behind them upwards of five\nhundred dead and wounded: indeed, they might all be said to be dead, for\ndeath was inevitable. The enemy again manned the breach in swarms,\nshouting victory! It would have been better for me had I been there, for\nI am sure I fought and struggled as hard as any one engaged. I cannot\ndescribe my feelings and those of the other spectators of this dreadful\nscene; but what can eight or ten men a-breast do against a legion,\nposted aloft, and protected by walls, bastions, &c., and where every\npossible engine is in requisition for their destruction? Thus exposed,\nthere was never any real chance of success. The whole circumference of\nthe bastion, if lined with men, would not have contained more than\nfifteen or twenty men a-breast; and the whole means of the fort were\nlevelled on this small space, to their certain defeat and destruction.\nAll that was in the power of mortal man to do was done, but all our\nefforts were in vain.\n\nThe storming party was again ordered for the following day. I suffered\nan excruciating headache, but said nothing of the badness of my wound,\nwhich at that time bore a most frightful appearance, resolved to die\nrather than give up my past honour. I assured my doctors that I was\nwell, and felt quite adequate to take my station, and entreated that\nthey would not stand between me and glory. At last they consented, and I\nmade the most of the short period between that and the storm, in\nsupplicating the Divine protection, and in penning a letter to my only\nrelation, on account of arranging my little affairs. I had made up my\nmind that I could not, in all human probability, escape a third time;\nbut He alone who created life can destroy it. In the evening I left my\ntent, to seek in solitude that consolation for my troubled bosom which\nthe drunken and tumultuous riot of a camp could but ill afford. The\ncaptain of our company, under whose care I had been brought up, was one\nof the best and most pious of men. In gratitude I mention the name of\nCaptain Effingham Lindsay, now colonel on the half-pay of the 22nd\nregiment of Foot. To this beloved individual I am indebted for having\nimplanted in my bosom, in early youth, those religious principles and\nfeelings by which I have ever since endeavoured to direct my conduct,\nand from which, in the hour of affliction and of peril, I have ever\nderived inexpressible comfort. It was with the view of gaining\nconsolation and support from private meditation and prayer, that I now\nretired from the riotous company of my companions in arms, the evening\nprevious to my leading, for the third time, the forlorn hope at\nBhurtpore. Scarcely had I gone beyond the discordant sound of revelry,\nand begun to muse upon the subjects that were ever uppermost in my\nmind, viz., the possibility of my ever returning to my native village,\nor ever seeing my poor father, when an object presented itself to my\nsight, that for a moment startled, and, I must confess, a little alarmed\nme. The moon was just peeping from behind the high towers of the fort,\nand shedding her bright rays through the tree near which I stood, when\nby her light I perceived that the object which arrested my attention was\na European soldier, prostrated on the ground--as I supposed, dead. I\napproached him, but could not hear him breathe. I laid my hand on his\ncheek; it was cold and chilly; which confirmed me in my first opinion,\nthat he was dead. At last, I ventured to grasp his icy hand, which\nroused him, and he rose up and said, \"Why did you disturb me? I have had\na sweet sleep.\" Then, looking at and suddenly recognizing me, he said,\n\"Is that you, Shipp?\" I replied, \"Yes; what brought you to this dreary\nspot?\" He replied, \"The same, in all probability, that guided you here.\"\n\"What,\" said I, \"do you suppose that to be?\" He replied, \"To reflect on\nthe scene before us to-morrow. Yes, sergeant,\" he continued, \"I have\nthis night stolen like a thief from the riotous parties I have too long\njoined, to spend an hour or two alone; and, if I must confess it, in\nprayer. Having offered up my prayers, I felt my poor heart relieved of a\nburden I cannot describe, and thus I fell asleep, and am now glad to\nmeet a friend in this lonely spot.\" We then, together, made the earth\nour communion-table, and offered up our poor but fervent devotions to\nthe throne of mercy. It was the will of the Almighty to call my\ncompanion in prayer the next day from the world, and to spare me, but\nwith a wound in the head, to show my dependence upon His mercy.\n\nTwo o'clock in the afternoon of the next day was ordered for the\nassault. I forgot my aches and wounds, and was at my old post.\nLieutenant Templer, of his majesty's 76th regiment (he was a little man,\nbut he possessed the heart of a lion) accompanied me on this occasion,\nwith a small union jack, to plant on the enemy's bastion. He gave me his\nhand, and smilingly said, \"Shipp, I am come to rob you of part of your\nglory; you are a regular monopolist of that commodity.\" He continued, \"I\nwill place Old England's banner on their haughty bastion, or die in the\nattempt!\" He fell a victim to his zeal, having first planted his colour\non the bastion.\n\nOn the way down from the camp, we met his excellency the\ncommander-in-chief, and suite. His lordship addressed me and my forlorn\nhope: \"Sergeant, it is with sincere regret I again see you wounded, and\nagain at the head of your little band of heroes. I will not check your\npraiseworthy spirit; go into glory, my lads, and may Heaven prosper your\nzeal, and crown you with triumph!\" His lordship addressed every corps\nthat passed him; but when the remnant of the two companies of the 22nd\nregiment marched by, he was seen to turn from them, and the tear fell\ndown his cheek; but, fearful it might be observed, he took off his hat\nand cheered them. This was not the tear of Judas, for his lordship often\nshed tears of sorrow for our great loss at this place. He was a true\nsoldier's friend, and valued their lives as much as he did his own.\n\nThe storming party marched out in the usual steady order; yet, from our\nrecent calamitous defeats, there was not that spirit amongst the men\nwhich I had witnessed on former occasions. We had already experienced\nthree disastrous repulses from this fort, and there now seemed a cloud\non every brow, which proceeded, I have no hesitation, in asserting, from\na well-grounded apprehension that this, our fourth assault, would be\nconcluded by another retreat. If any sight could be exhibited to the\nhuman eye that was calculated to work upon the feelings of men already\ndisappointed and dispirited, it was the scene that was exposed to our\nview on approaching to this breach; for there lay our poor comrades who\nhad fallen in previous attempts, many of them in a state of nudity,\nsome without heads, some without arms or legs, and others whose bodies\nexhibited the most barbarous cruelties, for they were literally cut to\npieces. The sight was truly awful and appalling, and the eye of pity\nclosed instinctively on such a spectacle of woe. Those who attempted to\nextend the hand of relief were added to the number of the slain, as the\nspot was much exposed to a cross-fire from the fort. Could any sight be\nmore distressing for affectionate comrades to look on? I say\naffectionate, for, among men living together in one barrack, and,\nperhaps under one tent, in familiar intercourse, there must be a greater\nregard for each other than is found to subsist among those who meet\ncasually, once a day or once a week. In a soldier's barrack, the\npeculiarities, good or bad, of every individual are known; added to\nwhich, arduous services will always link men together in the bond of\nunion and affection. Many of these mutilated objects still breathed, and\ncould be seen to heave the agonized bosom; some raised their heads\nclotted with blood; others their legs and arms; and, in this manner,\neither made signs to us or faintly cried for help and pity. It was a\nsight to turn nature's current, and to melt a heart of stone. Such was\nits effect upon our lines, that, after a short conflict of the softer\nfeelings, the eye of every man flashed the vivid spark of vengeance\nagainst the cruel race who had committed such wanton barbarities; and,\nif mortal effort could have surmounted the obstacles in our path, those\nwho witnessed the horrid scene I have just described must infallibly\nhave succeeded. But the effort was beyond mortal power. Braver hearts,\nor more loyal, never left the isle of Albion, than those who fell like\nwithered leaves, and found a soldier's grave at Bhurtpore.\n\nOur ascent was found, for the fourth time, to be quite impossible: every\nman who showed himself was sure of death. The soldiers in the fort were\nin chain armour. I speak this from positive conviction, for I myself\nfired at one man three times in the bastion, who was not six yards from\nme, and he did not even bob his head. We were told afterwards, that\nevery man defending the breach was in full armour, which was a coat,\nbreast-plate, shoulder-plates, and armlets, with a helmet and chain\nface-guard; so that our shots could avail but little. I had not been on\nthe breach more than five minutes, when I was struck with a large shot\non my back, thrown down from the top of the bastion, which made me lose\nmy footing, and I was rolling down sideways, when I was brought up by a\nbayonet of one of our grenadiers passing through the shoe, into the\nfleshy part of the foot, and under the great toe. My fall carried\neverything down that was under me. The man who assisted me in getting\nup, was at that moment shot dead: his name was Courtenay, of the 22nd\nlight company. I regained my place in time enough to see poor Lieutenant\nTempler, who had planted the colour on the top, cut to pieces, by one of\nthe enemy rushing out, and cutting him almost in two, as he lay flat\nupon his face on the top of the breach. The man was immediately shot\ndead, and trotted to the bottom of the ditch. I had not been in my new\nplace long, when a stink-pot, or other earthen pot, containing\ncombustible matter, fell on my pouch, in which were about fifty rounds\nof ball cartridges. The whole exploded; my pouch I never saw more, and I\nwas precipitated from the top to the bottom of the bastion. How I got\nthere in safety, I know not; but, when I came to myself, I found I was\nlying under the breach, with my legs in the water. I was much hurt from\nthe fall, my face was severely scorched, my clothes much burnt, and all\nthe hair on the back of my head burnt off. I for a time could not tell\nwhere I was. I crawled to the opposite side of the bank, and seated\nmyself by a soldier of the same company, who did not know me. I sat\nhere, quite unable to move, for some little time, till a cannon-ball\nstruck in the ditch, which knocked the mud all over me. This added\ngreatly to the elegance of my appearance; and in this state I contrived,\nsomehow or other, to crawl out of the ditch. At this moment the retreat\nwas sounded, after every mortal effort had been made in vain.\n\nThe case was now deemed completely hopeless, and we were obliged to give\nup the contest, having lost, in killed and wounded, upwards of three\nthousand men--braver, or more zealous, never lived--against this fort.\nOf the twelve gallant fellows who composed the third forlorn hope led by\nme, not one returned to reap the proffered reward of the\ncommander-in-chief: add to this, the loss of one of the best officers in\nour army, Captain Menzies, of the 22nd grenadier company, aid-de-camp to\nLord Lake. He fell endeavouring to rally some native troops that were\nexposed to a galling fire, and began to give way. In this heroic attempt\nhe lost his life, regretted by the whole army. Of our two companies,\nscarce a soul escaped uninjured. Near the breach, the dead, dying, and\nwounded would have melted the heart of the most callous wretch; and, had\nnot the little party who stormed the eleven-gun battery proved\nsuccessful, few, if any, would have escaped the dreadful carnage. You\nmust permit me to draw the gloomy shroud of mourning over this scene of\nmisery and terror. The sad details of this siege have years ago been\nbefore the public; and here my personal services at Bhurtpore ended,\nleaving impressions, both on mind and body, that can never be\nobliterated.\n\nIn the course of the siege, frequent overtures were made from the fort,\nbut of what nature I do not pretend to know. They were at last, however,\nobliged to come to our terms, which compelled them to pay all the\nexpenses of the siege, &c.; after which we raised the siege, and\nreturned to camp. The loss of the enemy must have been immense: report\nsaid, five thousand men, women, and children; and, from the immense\nconcourse of inhabitants in the town, with their families, that number\ndoes not appear to be at all improbable. Certain it is, that they must\nhave been as heartily tired of it as we were.\n\nOur sad failures, on the occasion of this memorable siege, may\nunquestionably, in my opinion, fairly be attributed to our total want of\nmeans. What were four breaching-guns against such a fort as that of\nBhurtpore? Forty would not have been too many: as a proof of which, if\nwe contrast the means of attack at our disposal, with those possessed by\nLord Combermere, in his successful siege of the same fort, it will be\nfound, that the number of guns employed on the latter occasion, compared\nwith the former, was at least ten to one. With the original force of\nBhurtpore--calculated at not less than a hundred thousand men--it was\nscarcely possible that, with a less number of guns, the place could be\ntaken by assault. It should be recollected, also, that, with the means\nwe had, the ditch which surrounds the fort made it quite inaccessible to\nus. Sapping and mining, the only way by which Bhurtpore could have\nfallen, was, at the period of the first siege of that place, scarcely\nknown in India; and shelling was then only in its infancy. The former of\nthese methods was resorted to by the present commander-in-chief, with\ngreat success; and the latter, from the improvements which, since 1805,\nhave been made in this destructive system of warfare, with at least ten\ntimes the vigour and effect that it was possible for us to impart to it.\n\nAfter our last failure, conciliatory orders were published to our\ndisheartened troops; everything was done to console and comfort them;\nand, with these judicious measures, though the men could scarcely bear\nthe stigma of being defeated, yet, after a few days' reflection, their\nfeatures began to brighten up, and they began to weigh things in a\nproper light; when an unexpected and untoward event happened, that was\nlikely to have been attended with the most frightful consequences. The\npeace having been ratified, the garrison had permission to visit our\ncamp. Imagine our mortification and surprise, when many of them had the\npresumption to appear, under our very noses, with the coats, sashes, and\narms they had torn from the dead bodies of our poor comrades. This news\nflew through the camp in a moment; the whole army was out; every eye\nflashed vengeance: but, by the timely interference of the\ncommander-in-chief, and the officers in general, the men were calmed,\nand the mischief stopped. In the next general orders my name appeared as\nEnsign in his majesty's 65th regiment, with many flattering encomiums by\nthe commander-in-chief. From the whole of this regiment, during the\nshort time I remained with them, I received the most marked attentions;\nand whenever I served with, or met them afterwards, I experienced from\nthem the most disinterested friendship.\n\nOn the day of my appointment, I was metamorphosed into a gentleman; hair\ncut and curled; new coat, &c., &c.; had an invitation to dine with the\ncommander-in-chief; but, of course, kept myself in the background. The\ngentleman did not seem to sit easy on me; for, you must know, I was then\na blushing modest youth: but the extremely kind inquiries of his\nlordship, and of his equally kind son, if I was there, tended greatly to\ndissipate my shyness. His lordship, on hearing I had arrived, approached\nme with extended hand, and shook mine cordially, saying, \"I congratulate\nyou as a brave young fellow, and I shall not lose sight of your merit.\"\nHe requested I would sit next to him at dinner. I did so; and, after the\ncloth was removed, he made me fight the forlorn hopes over again; at the\nrecital of which his lordship was much affected. The next day his\nlordship again sent for me, when he addressed me in these words, \"Shipp,\nI have been thinking a good deal about your case. You, of course, have\nnot much money. I know your generous Lindsay will do anything to serve\nyou, but he must really leave a little for me to do. You may therefore\ndraw on me, through the field paymaster, for what you want.\" His\nlordship afterwards sent me a tent, two camels, and a horse, as\npresents. The rest of my fitting-out my excellent friend, Captain\nLindsay, generously gave me.\n\nLord Lake was truly my friend, as he was that of every soldier in the\narmy. He was munificent in his charities, being ever the first in\nsubscribing large sums to whatever cases of distress appeared. I will\nrelate one instance of his benevolence and generosity. A very old\nlieutenant could not purchase a company then vacant; indeed, knowing he\ncould not purchase, he had thought nothing of the vacancy. In the\nevening I was standing with this officer, when the orderly-book,\npublishing his promotion by purchase, was put into his hands. He said,\n\"There must be some mistake, for he had not a rupee he could call his\nown.\" At that moment Colonel Lake, his lordship's son, came up, and\nwished him joy of his promotion. The other said, \"Colonel, there must be\nsome mistake in this; I cannot purchase.\" Colonel Lake said, \"My father\nknows you cannot, and has therefore lent you the money, which he never\nintends to take back.\" These were the sort of acts in which his lordship\ndelighted; and, in consequence, he was loved by his army, and admired by\nthe people wherever he came.\n\nIn about three weeks after, having been appointed ensign in the 65th\nregiment, his lordship promoted me to the rank of lieutenant in his\nMajesty's 76th regiment, thus faithfully keeping his promise of not\nlosing an opportunity of serving me. In this regiment I became a great\nfavourite with my colonel, the Honourable William Monson, then\nbrigadier-general of the army.\n\nOne of the articles of treaty was, that Holkar should be driven from\nunder the walls of the fort of Bhurtpore. This had been done; but he\nstill hovered about camp, annoying our foraging-parties and small\nescorts coming into camp with supplies. A few days after having joined\nthe 76th regiment, I was appointed an extra aid-de-camp to the\nbrigadier, to proceed on a foraging-party, consisting of one regiment of\nnative cavalry and four six-pounders, with five hundred of irregular or\nlocal horse. We had not proceeded many miles from camp, when we saw\nHolkar's troops in immense force, posted on an eminence. They showed\nsymptoms of fight. We collected our elephants, camels, and bullocks,\nand left them in charge of the five hundred irregular horse; then,\nplacing two of the six-pounders behind the regiment of native cavalry,\nwe moved slowly on till within two or three hundred yards of the enemy,\nwhen we gave them about twenty rounds of grape, killing great numbers.\nWe then charged them, and cut up a great number more. I had a narrow\nescape; my horse was killed by a spear-wound in the chest, which entered\nhis heart, and I fell under him. The horseman was about to give me a few\ninches of the same spear, when the honourable brigadier cut him down,\nand thus I escaped, taking the liberty of riding my well-meaning\nadversary's horse to camp. I was a good deal hurt by the fall, but this,\nwith one or two men wounded, and some few horses killed, were the only\ncasualties of the day.\n\nHolkar, finding that our hands were so unoccupied that we had more\nleisure than suited his purposes, made towards Jeypore. We crossed the\nriver Chumlah, near Daulpore, in pursuit; but he retired to his old\nhaunts, with his colleague Ameer-Khan, and we to quarters in Futtypore\nSeccrah.\n\nThe following year, everything wearing the pacific garb, and the gallant\nregiment to which I belonged being literally cut to pieces--so much so,\nthat we had scarcely a sound man left in the regiment--it was considered\nto be time that the corps had some cessation from war. Twenty-five years\nhad they been in India, and stood the brunt of all Lord Lake's\nconquests, and those on the coast. When I was in the regiment (1805) I\nbelieve there were only two men of the original corps--Lieutenant\nMontgomery, and Quarter-Master Hopkins.\n\nThe regiment now embarked for Calcutta. I preceded them in charge of\ninvalids. Many of these poor fellows were without arms and legs; and\nsome of them so dreadfully cut up, that scarcely a human feature could\nbe traced. Many died from their wounds. Mine, by the blessing of Divine\nProvidence, continued to do well; but I was visited with the most\nexcruciating headaches and dizziness from the wound in my head; and the\nterrific spectacle of the last scene at Bhurtpore so affected my mind,\nthat scarcely a night passed in which I did not dream of \"hair-breadth\n'scapes i' th' imminent deadly breach,\" and fancy I was fighting my\nbattles over again. My head was so much injured, that the report of a\ngun would startle me dreadfully; but, with an excellent constitution,\ncare, and avoiding drink, I soon recovered, though the wound across my\nforehead has considerably impaired my sight. Twelve pieces, or splints,\ncame away from the upper part of the wound; and when you put your finger\nupon it, the skull was so thin that you could feel the pulsation, like\nthe pendulum of a clock. My wounds are still a certain and sure\nweather-glass. That on my forehead will, to this day, swell and expand\non any change of the weather, or variation in the atmosphere.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[10] This is a long matchlock, which moves on a pivot, and carries about\na two-pound ball.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nYou have now, reader, followed me through my military enterprises, up to\nthe time of my being appointed lieutenant in the 76th regiment. The time\nhas arrived when I have to request that you will beat the silvery wave\nwith me; for I am bound to my native country with my regiment, after an\nabsence of ten years. On arriving at Calcutta, our reception was\ngratifying in the extreme. Every house opened its hospitable doors, and\nthe tables groaned under a profusion of good cheer. Every one was\nanxious to hear the tale of war; and, wherever I went, I was thought\nill-natured if I refused to repeat storm after storm, and all my battles\nover and over again. But, the ship being about to weigh anchor, our stay\nhere was but short. We embarked at Balloh Ghaut, on board small sloops,\nand in three days reached the vessel, the _Lord Duncan_, Captain\nBradford, in safety. We had on board a great number of passengers, and\nabout two hundred invalids, under the command of Captain Lindsay, of my\nold corps. Two days afterwards we bade adieu to the Indian shores,\nleaving many dear and respected friends behind us.\n\nWe were at this time at war with France, and the Indian Seas were well\nwatched by cruisers from off the Isle of France. Our fleet consisted of\nthirteen Indiamen of the first-rate convoyed by the _Tremendous_,\nseventy-four, and _Hindostan_, seventy-four. We sailed in two lines,\nheaded by the two seventy-fours. All seemed order and discipline, and\nwe thought ourselves a match for any ships of France we might have\nfallen in with. Everything went on smoothly, practising and drilling our\nguns once a week, and keeping a constant look-out for the enemy. Off the\ncoast of Madagascar a ship was discovered, early in the morning,\nstanding right down upon us. Seeing her a single vessel, we conceived\nher to be one of our cruisers from off the Cape of Good Hope; but, when\nshe was within one mile and a half from us, she could not answer our\nsignals, and consequently ran towards the land, which was to windward of\nus. The _Tremendous_, being a fast sailer, went in chase of her. The\nFrenchman soon found that he was mistaken. He, no doubt, at first took\nus for a French fleet that was then out in these seas, and relied upon\nhis fast and superior sailing to enable him to get away, should he prove\nmistaken; but our commodore overhauled him hand over hand. The Frenchman\ntacked, turned, and twisted, but he found it was of no use. He therefore\nresorted to his natural cunning, shortened sail, and at last backed\nmaintopsail, and waited till the English vessel came within pistol-shot.\nThe commodore, conceiving that the Frenchman was about to strike, did\nnot wish to injure her, and therefore would not fire. The French captain\navailed himself of this interval, and gave the _Tremendous_ a whole\nbroadside, by which she was so disabled as to become an immoveable log\non the water. The Frenchman up-helm, and off he started. The commodore,\nat last, got his ship's broadside to bear, and nearly tore her out of\nthe water. However, she was a faster sailer than any ship in our fleet,\nand, finally, made her escape, to the mortification of the whole fleet,\nexcept one Captain Brusée, a French prisoner of war, a passenger on\nboard our ship, who danced with ineffable delight;--natural enough, but\nnot very pleasant to the sight of an Englishman.\n\nThe following day we experienced a most violent hurricane, which lasted\nfor two days without cessation. Fortunately, our fleet suffered but\nlittle injury, with the exception of one vessel, the _Lady\nCastlereagh_, which we thought must inevitably have been lost. She was\nabout a quarter of a mile from us, and we could at one time see her\nwhole keel. There was a general shriek of terror from all on board of\nus, and our captain said that he feared she would never right. The next\ngigantic wave, however, brought her up, and she did right, in spite of\nour predictions, but seemed to roll, pitch, and labour dreadfully. Some\nparts of her masts were carried away; but what, I do not now recollect.\nThree of our ships separated from the fleet, and we imagined that they\nhad fallen into the hands of the French, for we learned, at St. Helena,\nthat they had been seen a few days before from that island. The name of\nthe French ship which we had fallen in with was _Le Cannonier_, a\nsixty-four, from the Isle of France. We understood that she was so badly\nwounded, that she was obliged to put into Simon's Bay, not aware, at\nthat time, that the Cape was again in possession of the English. She\nsoon found this out, cut and ran, and got clear to the Isle of France.\nOur three strayed ships made their appearance at St. Helena the\nfollowing day, having seen the French fleet the night after the affair\nbetween the _Tremendous_ and _Le Cannonier_, and, under cover of the\nnight, escaped unobserved, or they must have been taken, as the French\nfleet consisted of five sail or more.\n\nOur reception at St. Helena, by Governor Brooke, was truly splendid and\nhospitable. We remained there, I think, eight or ten days, after which\nwe again stood towards Old England.\n\nWe arrived in England some time in October, 1807. We landed at Long\nReach, and proceeded to Dartford, in Kent, from whence I marched my\ninvalids, or rather had them carried, to Chelsea Hospital--a journey\nwhich I was three days in accomplishing. On the fourth day I reached the\nplace of destination; and, having made my report to the commandant of\nChelsea, I returned to join the regiment at Dartford. Here we remained\nfor about a week or ten days, receiving the greatest kindness from the\ngentlemen in that town and its vicinity. From thence the regiment was\nordered to Nottingham, and I obtained leave of absence to proceed home.\n\nMy primary object in coming to England was the hope of seeing my father;\nand I anxiously availed myself of the opportunity which now offered of\nrevisiting my native village, full of anticipation of the pleasure with\nwhich I should relate my adventures to all who had formerly known me.\nThe coach which was to convey me to the village of my birth, had not\nproceeded many miles, when a coincidence happened, which, though \"true\nas holy writ,\" might be thought, without this assurance, to bear the\nmarks of fiction. On the coach, next to me, sat a pilot from Aldborough,\nin Suffolk, who, suddenly addressing himself to me, said, \"I really\ncannot help thinking, Sir, from your extraordinary resemblance to a\nperson I once knew, that you are his son.\" The words, \"_once_ knew,\"\nturned my blood cold, and it was some minutes before I could muster\ncourage to ask the name of the person to whom he referred. What was my\nastonishment when he at once replied, \"Shipp!\" \"Is he then dead, Sir?\"\nexclaimed I, convinced now that it was my father of whom he spoke. \"I\nregret to say he is,\" replied the pilot; and he added, while his lip\nquivered, and the tear of sympathy stood in his eye, \"You are his son\nJohn--I feel sure that I cannot be mistaken now.\" At this moment the\ncoach stopped to change horses, and I jumped off, and, instead of\nsupping with the rest of the passengers, took a solitary stroll, to hide\nmy grief. I had left India at a great sacrifice to my prospects. There\nwere all my friends, and there lay all my interest. I might have made a\nvery advantageous exchange, and remained in that country; but I could\nnot resist the temptation of coming to England, from anticipations of\nthe delight I should enjoy in recounting my life to a parent who had\nalmost from my infancy been estranged from me. I had now heard, in the\nsudden and unexpected manner I have related, of that parent's death!\nBut, not to dwell long on this painful subject, I made up my mind, that,\nnotwithstanding what I had just learnt, I would still proceed to\nSaxmundham. On arriving there, I found living my father's two brothers,\nand my mother's sister. With the latter I took up my quarters, and spent\na most happy fortnight under her roof. To enumerate the alterations\nwhich had been made, both in places and persons, since I left my native\nvillage, or to detail the inquiries I had to answer, and the\ncongratulations which poured in upon me from all quarters, would be as\nuninteresting to the reader as it would be tedious to myself.\n\nI soon returned to Nottingham, and rejoined my regiment. From thence I\nwas ordered to Wakefield, in Yorkshire, on the recruiting service. Here\nnothing but gaiety prevailed; and, as I was the only officer at the\nplace for a considerable time, I received invitation upon invitation, to\ndinners, balls, and suppers; and, to confess the truth, I thought myself\nno small personage, which, as I was now in the grenadier company, was\nnot, in its literal sense, very easily to be controverted.\n\nWhile I was at this place, I was called upon to perform the office of\nsecond, in an affair of honour between a military officer of rather\ndiminutive person, and a huge fellow of a civilian. The circumstances\nwhich gave rise to the quarrel were as follow:--\n\nAmong the fair attendants of a ball which was given one evening in the\ntown, was a very pretty girl, on whose charms the tall gentleman had for\nsome time looked with amorous inclination, and whom, it is to be\npresumed, he therefore wished to exclude from the attentions of all but\nhimself. The young lady herself, however, was not so exclusive in her\nnotions; and, accordingly, finding her conversation courted, and the\nfavour of her hand solicited, by a dashing little officer in handsome\nuniform, and who, though a warrior of somewhat small dimensions, was\nreally a dapper, good-looking little fellow, she made no scruple either\nof listening to his flattering tongue, or of accepting his hand for the\ndance. This preference of the man of steel so irritated his huge rival,\nthat he determined to pass some insult upon him. He accordingly found a\nmore compassionate lady as his partner; and, no sooner had the dance\ncommenced, than he took the first opportunity which presented itself of\ntreading, with all his weight, on the little officer's toes. In dancing\ndown a second time, he played him the same trick. Our little hero did\nnot think it much of a joke to have the full weight of a gentleman full\nsix-feet-three in height, and stout in proportion, twice on his toes\nwithin a few minutes; but as his tormentor made the most ample apologies\non both occasions, he felt fully disposed to endure the pain with as\nmuch fortitude as possible, and to attribute the occurrence to accident;\nwhen his little rustic beauty, who had more carefully watched and better\nunderstood the manoeuvres of the neglected swain, whispered in his ear,\n\"A pointed insult, Sir.\" These words roused the blood of the son of Mars\nin a moment; he watched the movements of his toe-treading foe, and, just\nas he was coming down the middle a third time, to repeat the trick, he\njumped upon a chair, and from thence sprung on his enemy's back, and,\nseizing his nose, he wrung it in so unmerciful a manner, as to compel\nits proprietor to cry out most piteously for help. The parties were at\nlength separated by the master of the ceremonies, and a challenge was of\ncourse the result; the gentleman whose nose had been thus scurvily\ntreated, in the presence of almost the whole town, being compelled\neither to fight or to quit society.\n\nMortal combat having been appointed to take place the next morning, it\nwas arranged by the seconds that the principals were to be placed back\nto back, and that from thence each party was to step six paces, and then\nto fire together by signal.\n\nPreliminaries being thus concerted, and the fatal morning having\narrived, the parties met punctually at the appointed spot, and were duly\nranged with their backs to each other. At this moment the contrast\nbetween the courage of the two gentlemen was to the full as apparent as\nthe ludicrous disproportion in their size. When I was placing them on\nthe line drawn by me for their march, my little man, who possessed true\n\"pluck,\" and was as cool as a cucumber, observing the trepidation of his\nopponent, whispered to me, just loud enough to be overheard, \"Where\nshall I hit him, Shipp? Shall I wing him?\" On hearing this, the knees of\nthe six-foot Yorkshireman, which were already on the trot, broke into a\nfull gallop; and, when his second placed the pistol, duly primed and\nloaded, into his hand, he seized it by the muzzle. This mistake, as I\nalways loved fair play, I rectified; and, at last, the word \"March\" was\ngiven. Away went long-legs, getting over at least three yards of ground\nat each stride; and, had we permitted him to proceed at this rate, the\none might as well have fired from the top of St. Paul's, and the other\nfrom Table Mountain; so the seconds saved him the trouble of extending\nhis walk any further, by measuring twelve paces; and the signal having\nbeen given to fire, the little one's ball cut through the collar of his\naffrighted opponent's coat, and the big one's nearly shot his own toes\noff. At this crisis of the affair, the gigantic rustic was scarcely so\ntall as his little rival, and his knees and body were so inclined to\ntake a more firm position, that we expected every moment he would fall\nflat on the earth; when his second roused him by saying, \"Come, Sir, we\nmust have another shot.\" This brought him fully to his senses, and he\nexclaimed, throwing down his pistol, \"I'll see you d----d first; he has\nput it through my coat already, and the next time I may get it where the\ntailor cannot mend it. No, no; I am perfectly satisfied; so I wish you a\ngood morning.\" And off he trudged, at a pretty round pace, to the great\namusement of the other three, as well as of some country bumpkins, who\nwere grinning from behind an adjoining hedge, and who roared out, \"Well\ndone, little un; bravo, little robin-redbreast.\" By the result of this\naffair, the six-feet-three gentleman lost his honour as well as his\ndearie, and the subject was the theme of many a song in Wakefield for\nyears after.\n\nThe routine of dissipation which was kept up at Wakefield, was not to be\nsustained by me without expense; and to meet these expenses I spent more\nthan my income. This extravagance--with the loss of fifty pounds, of\nwhich I was robbed by my servant, and the assistance of a designing\nsergeant, who took advantage of my youth and inexperience--soon involved\nme in debts, to liquidate which I was obliged to apply for permission to\nsell my commission. This, in consideration of my services, was readily\ngranted; and, having effected a sale, I paid every shilling of my debts,\nand with the residue of the money repaired to London, where, in about\nsix months, I found myself without a shilling, without a home, and\nwithout a friend. Thus circumstanced, my fondness of the profession\ninduced me to turn my thoughts to the army again. I could see no earthly\ndifficulty why I should not rise in the same way I had before; and\naccordingly I enlisted at Westminster, in his majesty's 24th\nDragoons,[11] and in two or three days after went with the\nrecruiting-sergeant to the cavalry depôt at Maidstone, then under the\ncommand of Major-General George Hay. I had not been there long before an\nofficer, who had served with me in campaigns in India, arrived at the\ndepôt, and, immediately recognizing me, my history was made known to the\ncommanding officer, and I was promoted to the rank of sergeant. I\nremained at the depôt about three months, at the expiration of which we\nwere ordered to India, and I embarked as acting quarter-master on board\nthe _New Warren Hastings_, Captain Larkins, and sailed from Spithead on\nthe 8th day of January, 1808.\n\nWe experienced a most terrific gale in the British Channel, and were at\nlast obliged to run for Torbay, where we brought up near where the East\nIndiaman, the _Abergavenny_, was lost. Near us lay a ship of war, from\nwhich, at the imminent hazard of the lives of an officer and six men, a\nboat was sent off to our ship, the crew of which, after riding in safety\nover the mountainous waves, desired us, in a most authoritative tone, to\nthrow out a rope. All hands were at the leeward side in a moment, when\nthere was a general whispering amongst the tars. \"Shiver my timbers,\"\nsaid one, \"but that looks like a press.\"--\"Start me,\" said another, \"but\nso it does.\" Thus went round the general buzz, when the man of\nauthority, in size not much larger than a quaker,[12] with a sword as\nlong as himself, and a huge cocked-hat, as big as a gaff top-sail, which\nhe skulled off with as much grace and majesty as a grand bashaw, flew up\nthe side of the ship in an instant. He saluted the quarter-deck, as is\nusual, then mounted on tiptoe, and danced up to the captain, who was on\ndeck, and, with the authority of an admiral of the red, demanded to see\nthe ship's books. At this sound every sailor writhed his features and\nlimbs into the most ludicrous distortions; some limped, others stooped,\nand all did their utmost to appear as decrepit and unfit for service as\npossible. As our ship was then in imminent danger of going ashore, the\ncaptain remonstrated, setting forth the perilous situation of his ship,\nthe number of lives, and the amount of property on board; but\nnotwithstanding that we were at that moment dragging our two anchors,\nthe little officer persisted in obeying the orders of his commander, and\nwalked off with six of our very best seamen. By the loss of these men,\nour ship was involved in double the danger she was in before, as they\nwere our ablest hands. Whether or not this was a justifiable act, I am\nunacquainted; but its enforcement at such a conjuncture seems sadly at\nvariance with the principles of humanity. Fortunately for us, however,\nthe storm soon abated, and the following morning, ere the feathered\ntribe were on the wing, we again stood on our way towards our destined\nport. Our ship had suffered but little injury, and she now scudded\nsweetly along the blue waters, her white sails swollen with majestic\npride, and the eye of every one on board lingering, until it was lost in\nthe distance, on that dear isle from which we were so rapidly departing.\nAfter this, we had a long and tedious voyage, in which much misery was\nexperienced by all the troops on board, in consequence of the cruel and\ndespotic conduct of our commanding officer. This gentleman is now no\nmore; and, if it were on this account only, I should refrain from\nmentioning his name. For this, and other reasons, I shall withhold from\nthe reader all detail of conduct which I have myself long tried to\nforget; and content myself by stating, in justification of the epithets\napplied by me to such conduct, that the cat-o'-nine-tails was constantly\nat work; so much so, that Captain Larkins at length interfered, and\nprotested \"that he would not have his quarter-deck converted into a\nslaughterhouse, nor the eyes of the ladies on board disgusted with the\nsight of the naked back of a poor screaming soldier, every time they\ncame upon deck.\"\n\nThe distant low-land peeping from afar, and the company of little\nmessengers from the myrtle grove, at length apprised us that we were in\nsight of the long-looked-for haven. The wind was contrary, and night had\nbegun to throw over the silvery deep her sombre mantle; so that we were\nobliged to stand out to sea, to avoid getting into the currents that\nprevail near this land. Early in the morning it was dark and hazy, but\nat about ten o'clock it cleared up: the sun shed his bright beams over\nthe Indian Ocean; the little harbinger of peace was again on the wing;\nand we again beheld the land.\n\nAll the passengers were now promenading the quarter-deck: some viewing\nthe beauty of the scenery; others whispering sad notes of farewell love;\nand all anxiously looking forward to the moment of disembarkation.\n\nWe were crowding all possible sail to get the ship safe into the river\nby night. The wind was fair, and the sky was spotless, save here and\nthere some little white clouds, that seemed to dance about us. In an\ninstant after, the ship was thrown on her beam-ends, her gunwales under\nwater, and passengers tumbling and rolling over each other. The crew had\nto struggle hard to keep her head above water. Every eye was wildly\nfixed on the captain, and every cheek wore a death-like paleness. At\nlast, away went her fore-top mast, top-gallant and royal-mast, foreyard,\nmain-royal-mast, main-top-gallant, and main-top-mast; and her mizen-mast\nwas much injured. In that short moment the cup of bliss was dashed from\nour lips, and we lay a complete wreck upon the water; but, the masts\nhaving gone, carrying everything before them, and the ship having\nrighted, every hand was as instantaneously set to work, and busily\nemployed in remedying the evils and clearing the wreck. It was imagined\nat first that the ship had gone ashore; but, on trying her pumps, it\nappeared that she had made no water. We soon discovered that our\nmisfortune was occasioned by what are termed, in those seas, white\nsqualls. These come on without any previous indication; and, though of\nshort duration, are so destructive while they last, that no ship under\nheavy sail can stand against them. These squalls are most frequent when\nthe sky is clearest. They are supposed to be contained in those little\nwhite flying clouds, which, previous to the storm, are seen hovering\nover the ship, as though watching to catch the mariners off their guard.\n\nWe were again obliged to stand out to sea; but we soon cleared away, and\nonce more stood towards land. The day was rainy and hazy, when through\nthe darksome mist we beheld a sail, and soon discovered, to our great\njoy, that it was the boat of a Calcutta pilot, who immediately came on\nboard our vessel. On examining the masts, we discovered that the\nmaintop-mast would not bear her sails; therefore splinters and stays\nwere immediately put on. The day brightened up, but the wind blew\nstrong; so, not being able to discover landmarks, we cast anchor for the\nnight. The next morning we found that we were so close to land that we\ncould see men walking on the sea-beach, and distinguish huts and towns\nin the distance. We weighed anchor early, and stood towards Saugar, the\nwind blowing a smart gale. At one time we approached so near the\nbreakers that we expected to go ashore, and a few minutes after we\nshipped a tremendous sea, the major part of which went over the poop and\nthrough the great cabin windows, carrying trunks, boxes, beds, and\neverything before it. I was on deck at the time: the ship's stern seemed\nto be fastened, and she shook much; but at last on she went. I have no\nhesitation in saying that her stern struck the ground, but no injury was\ndone beyond sousing a few trunks and beds. We at last reached Saugar in\nsafety; but before we arrived there our feelings were excited to a high\npitch of sympathy by an interesting scene. Captain Larkins was standing\non the poop, close by where I stood, with his glass at his eye examining\nthe ships which were lying at anchor, when he suddenly exclaimed, \"I\nsurely know that ship lying yonder: my eyes cannot deceive me--it's my\nold ship, the _Warren Hastings_.\" The pilot was requested to go within\nhail of her. All hands were upon deck; every eye fixed upon the strange\nship; and sailors and soldiers manned the rigging. The captain got the\nlarge speaking-trumpet, and bellowed out, \"What ship, a-hoy?\" Answer,\n\"The _Warren Hastings_--what ship are you?\" Answer, \"The _New Warren\nHastings_.\" Here the shouting of the crews of both ships was quite\ndeafening. Our captain could not say a syllable more, but was so much\naffected as to shed a tear to the memory of his old ship, which he had\nmanfully defended, but lost to some French ship-of-war. She had been\nretaken by some of our cruisers.\n\nA short time after this we came to anchor a little above Saugar; and the\nfollowing day we were shipped on board sloops, and sailed up the river\nHoogley, and in about a week came to anchor off Fort William, Calcutta,\nand were again placed on _terra firma_. We remained in the fort about a\nfortnight; and, while boats were in preparation for our conveyance up\nthe river Ganges, to our respective regiments, all was gaiety and mirth.\n\nThe monsoon, or rainy season, having commenced, we sailed from Calcutta,\nunder the command of Colonel Wade, on route to Cawnpore, where we\narrived in safety in about three months, with the loss of seven or eight\nmen drowned, and of a few others, who died from having eaten too freely\nof unripe fruit.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[11] The 24th Dragoons was raised in 1794 as the 27th Light Dragoons.\nAfter serving in San Domingo and at the Cape, it went to India and\nserved with distinction in the campaigns under Lord Lake, for which it\nreceived a \"standard of honour\" from the East India Company. It was\nre-numbered the 24th Light Dragoons in 1803. It returned home from India\nin 1818 and was disbanded. The uniform in Shipp's time was French grey,\nwith bright yellow facings and silver lace and buttons.\n\n[12] A false gun, made of wood, about two feet long.\n\n[Illustration: EUROPEAN CAVALRY OF SHIPP'S DAY.\n\nFrom a Sketch taken at the time.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nThe day before we arrived at Cawnpore, Colonel Wade sent for me, and\ngave me a strong and handsome letter of recommendation. In the evening\nof the next day we marched to tents which had been previously pitched\nfor our reception. Here we found two officers of our own regiment, ready\nto receive us, with one of whom I had often dined when an officer in the\nsame camp. He received me kindly, and promised me his friendship.\nNothing of moment occurred during the short time I was at this station.\n\nHaving refitted, we started on route to Meerut, about three hundred\nmiles by land, under the command of two officers, whose sole study was\nto promote our happiness and welfare. I do not know that I ever spent a\nhappier time. Our march was always over by nine o'clock, and we encamped\nunder the salubrious scent and pleasant shade of the lofty mango. After\njourneying in this pleasant manner, we reached Meerut on the 9th day of\nNovember, 1809, having been eleven months and a day from England. Here I\nwas welcomed by all my old comrades, and found myself full sergeant in\nCaptain Beattie's troop.\n\nOn the evening of our arrival we were inspected by the commanding\nofficer, now Major-General Need. I was well received by all the\nofficers, and indeed by all the corps, save two or three corporals whom\nI had supplanted in their long-cherished hopes of promotion. This\nnaturally placed me in no very enviable situation with these men, and\nseveral attempts were made to try my courage; but I was too well versed\nwith the rank I held, to permit myself to be imposed on or annoyed. When\nthey found this, their ire passed away and their grievances were\nforgotten. After the inspection, my commanding officer called me on one\nside, and said, \"I am much grieved to see you in your present situation,\nafter the many laurels you have gained in India, but I feel pleasure in\nhaving it in my power to promote you to the rank of sergeant; and, if\nyou conduct yourself well, be assured I shall not lose sight of your\nfurther promotion.\" I was obliged once more to go through a regular and\nsystematic course of drills, both on horseback and on foot; but, as I\nwas already well acquainted with both, I was soon dismissed.\n\nI had not been in the regiment above one year, when a colonel,\ncommanding a corps of the Company's native cavalry, who had known me\nbefore, offered me a riding-mastership, a situation equal to an\nensigncy. I was elated with the idea; it was the situation which, of all\nothers, I should have fancied. I dressed myself in my best, and off I\nmarched with the colonel's kind invitation in my hand, not having the\nshadow of a doubt of the full and joyous concurrence of my commanding\nofficer, who, I thought, would gladly embrace the opportunity of giving\nme a proof of the friendship he had so often professed for me. I\npresented the letter, and begged his consent and aid in the fulfilment\nof my wishes. He read it, paused, knitted his dark eyebrows, and it was\nso evident that he was displeased, that I began to muster my offences,\nbut I could think of nothing in which I had offended him. Imagine my\nsurprise and mortification when he returned the little document into my\nhand, accompanied with this sweet and consoling declaration, \"I shall\nnot recommend you for any such thing.\" He was just about to leave the\nroom, when I presumed to remonstrate on the cruelty of such a denial, in\npreventing me from getting such a respectable situation; and I pushed\nthe matter home by asking him if he thought me unworthy of it, or if I\nhad displeased him in anything. He said, \"No; but,\" continued he, \"don't\nyou think I like good men in my regiment as well as Colonel K----?\nBesides,\" he said, \"what am I to do for a sergeant-major if you leave\nthe regiment, or perhaps for an adjutant, if anything should happen to\neither of them?\" Two of these persons were younger than myself, and in\nfull and blooming health. I felt my pride wounded and my feelings hurt,\nand I could not help expressing my sentiments to that effect, and we\nparted at enmity. This was a death-blow to my present hopes. I made the\nbest excuse I could to the colonel who had made me the kind offer, and I\nwas in a short time made drill-corporal in my own regiment, and\nafterwards drill-sergeant. This was a situation I was fond of, and a\npreparatory step to that of regimental sergeant-major. For a time this\nnew toy pleased me, for I would, at any time, sooner command than be\ncommanded; but the duties of a drill-sergeant are very laborious.\n\nI went on tolerably well with the troubles and vexations of this arduous\noffice, when, one fine morning, it was rumoured through the lines that\nthe sergeant-major was defunct in hospital. I was congratulated from all\nquarters as his successor, as a matter of course, and the eye of the\nwhole regiment was upon the drill-sergeant. I expected a summons every\nmoment from the commanding officer. So sanguine was I myself, that I had\ndirected that all my \"traps\" might be put in moveable order; when, lo!\nanother sergeant was appointed sergeant-major, leaving poor me the butt\nand jeer of the whole corps. I could not imagine what could possibly be\nthe cause of this strange appointment. I say strange, for two reasons:\nfirst, that the situation had been promised to me; and, secondly, that\nthe sergeant who was appointed was, of all others, the most unfit for\nit. I felt hurt beyond description, but my spirit was too proud to\npermit me to ask why I had thus been passed over. I bore it as patiently\nas I could, still trying to kill care by fagging at the drills; and no\ndoubt some of the poor fellows under me felt the weight of my\ndisappointed hopes, for I had them out late and early. I mentioned,\nhowever, the circumstance to my captain, and told him I would resign\nboth my drill-sergeantship and also my three other stripes; but the\ncaptain, having more prudence and temper than his sergeant, advised me\nto put up with it, saying, that he had no doubt the colonel had\nsomething better in store for me. This supposition appeased my troubled\nmind, and I endeavoured to smother my grief by making myself a better\ndrill; and in a short time the storm had blown over, and the event was\nnearly obliterated from my memory. After this affair I always avoided\nthe colonel, and whenever chance threw me in his way, I gave him the\ncustomary salute due to his rank, but accompanied with a few dark looks,\nas tokens of my gratitude.\n\nThus I went on, chewing the cud of disappointment, when one morning I\nhappened to be straying down a narrow lane, brooding over my\nmisfortunes, and trying to assign some reason why my commanding officer\nhad passed me over in promotion, when, in turning a corner, I almost\ncame in contact with the object of my meditations, who could soon have\nput my mind at peace--the colonel himself. I tendered him a most formal\nsalute, almost as stiff as my feelings were towards him; this dumb\ngreeting being garnished with one of my blackest looks. I was passing\non, with one eye looking over my shoulder, and at last I turned my whole\nbody round to have a good stare at him; when, to my surprise, as if he\nhad anticipated my thoughts, I found that he also had countermarched. We\nwere now face to face, and retreat would have been unsoldier-like; so I\ncommenced the attack, by approaching the spot where he stood, as if I\nwas returning home to my barracks. When passing him, I of course gave\nhim another salute, somewhat smoother than the former. From this\namendment in my behaviour, I was in hopes he would speak to me as I\npassed, for I was ripe with a speech as long as my sabre, which I had\nbeen some time cementing together. I had hardly gone past, when he said,\n\"Halloa, Shipp--come here.\" I approached him, and, after giving him a\nmore conciliatory salute than usual, was just about to open my battery\nupon him, when he commenced a hedge-fire, by saying, in a kind and\nfriendly manner, \"Well, Shipp, how do you get on?\" Here was a pretty\npreface to my intended speech! I stood at attention, knowing the respect\ndue to my commanding officer, and replied, \"I get on but badly, Sir.\"\n\"How is that?\" said the colonel. I said, \"I had but little encouragement\nto get on well, since he was pleased to pass me over in\npromotion.\"--\"Why, then,\" said he, \"did you not come and ask me for it?\"\nHere my spirit nettled; I told him, no doubt impetuously, that, if he\ndid not think me worthy of it unsolicited, I should never ask it of him.\nBy this I struck the chord of his displeasure, and he replied, \"Then you\nwill never get it.\" I tipped him another salute, rather bordering on\nimpudence, and was in the act of facing to the right-about, and for this\npurpose had drawn my right foot back to my left heel, when he turned his\ndispleasure into kindness, and said, \"Stop, sergeant; suppose I have\nsomething better for you than what I have taken from you, and which you\ndid not think worth soliciting.\" He said this with an inquiring eye, and\nI replied, that my prospects in life depended entirely upon his\nfriendship towards me. If he withheld that, I had nothing further to\nhope. He answered, \"My good-will and friendship you have; but you must\ndivest yourself of that impetuosity of temper, and depend upon it I\nshall not lose sight of your welfare: go home, and keep yourself quiet.\"\nThus we parted. I wanted a balm of this kind to soothe and calm me; for,\nwhat with my disappointment, and the trouble I had with obstinate young\nsoldiers and drunken old ones, my patience and temper were really worn\nthreadbare, and, from constant bellowing at the drills, my voice had\nbecome as gruffly sonorous as a bad church organ. But, in all my\ndistresses, I never lost sight of my duties and respect to my superiors,\nknowing that any neglect on my part would lose me everything. I was on\ngood terms with every officer and man in the regiment, and made it my\nstudy to be the first on parade, and the last off. I had risen through\nthe several gradations of lance-corporal to full--lance-sergeant to\nfull--drill-corporal--drill-sergeant--pay-sergeant--and\ntroop-sergeant-major--without being once confined, or on any occasion\nreprimanded by a superior officer.\n\nIn the year 1813, another sergeant-major made a retrograde movement, and\ntumbled into his grave; but I still could not make up my mind to solicit\nthe appointment of my commanding officer, although I saw several other\nsergeants running down to ask for it. Notwithstanding this, I kept at\nhome, where I dressed, expecting every moment to receive a summons from\nthe colonel, who, I thought, surely would not again pass me over. Here I\nwaited, looking every now and then out of my barrack-room window, but\nneither messenger nor orders arrived. I began to think it had been given\naway a second time, and a dreadful struggle ensued between pride and\ninterest; the former said, \"Don't go;\" the latter, \"Go, or you get\nnothing.\" After a long contest, pride succeeded, and I remained where I\nwas. At evening drill I was early at my post, and was going through my\nregular course of evolutions, when the adjutant rode up to me, and said,\n\"Why don't you go and ask the commanding officer to give you the\nvacancy?\" I replied, \"Sir, I should deem myself unworthy of such a\nsituation, did I beg or cringe for it. If my commanding officer deemed\nme deserving of such an appointment, he would give it me without\nhesitation; and, should he be so kind, he may rely upon my strictly\nperforming the duties intrusted to me, and thus proving my gratitude;\nbut ask it I never can.\" After this fine speech, I went on with my\ndrill; when the adjutant, after pausing a few seconds, said, \"Well, if\nyou are too proud to ask for it, I am not;\" and off he gallopped. In a\nquarter of an hour he returned, and said, \"You are appointed\nsergeant-major.\" I thanked him most cordially, and assured him he should\nnever have cause to regret his kindness. He replied, \"Shipp, to be\ncandid with you, I admire your proper spirit in not begging the\nsituation, nor does your commanding officer think the worse of you for\nit: you will immediately move into the sergeant-major's bungalow, and\nassume the duties of that office. I need not, I am sure, inform you what\nthey are.\" On the following morning I moved into my new house, and\npublished my own appointment. Here all the cares and anxieties of my\npast life were forgotten. The very idea of having the whole regiment\nunder my special command at drill, was to me inexpressibly delightful,\nand I looked forward to the day as the consummation of my military\nglory.\n\nAs a groundwork for proceeding properly in my new office, I established\nan inseparable vacuum between my rank and that of the other\nnon-commissioned officers, treating them with every respect consistent\nwith theirs, and, in time, making them sensible that such a difference\nmust be established between their station and that of the privates under\ntheir command. I enforced prompt obedience and attention from them, and\nthey from those under them. This they at first construed into pride on\nmy part; but, in time, that prejudice wore off, and they obeyed with\npleasure. Those who proved refractory were removed from their\nsituations, and those more obedient promoted in their stead. Thus things\nwent on smoothly and pleasantly; and, in two or three months, I could\ntrust them in the discharge of their duties with confidence, and they\nsoon learned how far they could go with me. I had a strict and vigilant\nadjutant; he made a strict and vigilant sergeant-major; he made good\nnon-commissioned officers; and they good private soldiers. Thus,\ndiscipline and good-will towards each other went hand in hand together.\nMy situation was a respectable one, and, what was equally pleasant, a\nlucrative one. I had as many titles as any peer in the kingdom:--\n\n    J. Shipp, R.S.M.--Regimental Sergeant-Major.\n    J. Shipp, G.K.--Gaol-Keeper.\n    J. Shipp, U.T.--Undertaker.\n    J. Shipp, L.M.--Log-Maker.\n\nThe perquisites of all these situations brought my pay to a handsome\namount; I was respected by the officers, and loved by the men; and I had\nscarcely a wish ungratified. The year round I always found the same\npeople, with but little variation, in the congee-house; and one man, a\nfine young fellow, was never off my gaol-book. The moment he was\nreleased he was assuredly in the guard-room again, and from thence to\nhis old place of abode. I once asked him how he could, month after\nmonth, prefer that solitary and secluded life to that of liberty. He\nreplied, \"Habit is second nature,\" for there, he said, \"he could, alone\nand undisturbed, brood over his sad and hitherto melancholy career.\" He\nconcluded in a most pathetic manner: \"Sergeant-major, I have never done\nany good since the time your predecessor got me flogged. I assure you, I\nendeavour with all my energy to forget it, but I cannot; it crushes me\nto the ground, and that day's disgrace has been my ruin. I am of a good\nfamily, but I never can or will return to disgrace those dear parents\nwith a scarified back.\" Some three months after this he died, in a sad\nstate of inebriety.\n\nOne day I was going my usual round with the orderly-officer, who twice a\nday visited the congee-house. This officer was a famous one for scenting\nanything; he could smell a cigar a mile off. In going round the yard,\nwhich is enclosed by a tremendous high wall, he discovered a large\nbeef-bone, recently dropped. The sergeant was called to account for this\nominous appearance. This sergeant was a shrewd fellow, and he\nimmediately said, \"Oh, Sir, the pelicans have dropped it.\" This was\nvery plausible, for these birds will carry enormous bones; and\nfrequently, when fighting for them, they drop them, so that this might\nvery probably have been the case. The moment the dinner-trumpet sounds,\nwhole flocks of these birds are in attendance at the barrack doors,\nwaiting for bones, or anything that the soldiers may be pleased to throw\nthem. The men were in the habit of playing them many mischievous tricks;\nbut, notwithstanding this, at the well-known sound of the dinner-trumpet\nthey were regularly at their station. Some of the more mischievous boys\nwould tie two large bones together, and throw to them: these would be\nswallowed with the greatest avidity by two of those poor hungry\nmendicants, who, in general, would both soar above the barrack-tops with\ntheir prey, pulling and hauling against each other, and attended by a\nhundred crows and kites, pecking them on the head most unmercifully.\nSometimes they would throw out a single bone, a pretty large one, with a\nstring and small kite at the end of it, or a large piece of rag. One of\nthe pelicans having swallowed the bone, he would fly aloft, with the\nstring and kite hanging out of his mouth, and with hundreds of his own\ntribe after him, in hopes he might throw up the bone again, which these\nbirds can do with the greatest facility. Thus ascending, they are lost\nsight of amidst the clouds; but the same gentleman would frequently be\nin attendance the following day at dinner-hour, with a portion of the\nstring hanging to him.\n\nWe had not gone much further on our round, when the officer scented a\nbundle of cigars, which he picked up and archly said, \"Sergeant, what\nluxurious dogs these pelicans must be! I have already seen beef, mutton,\nand pork bones, and here I find a bundle of cigars. I should not be\nsurprised if I stumbled upon a bottle of brandy next.\" This the artful\nsergeant did not know how to account for; but the thing was obvious\nenough: the whole had been thrown over for the prisoners, by some of\ntheir friends. The sergeant was severely admonished for his neglect of\nduty, and a long conversation then took place between me and the\norderly-officer, on the subject of these wonderful birds. They grow so\ntame that they will feed out of your hand. At night, they roost on the\ntops of the barracks, and on trees in their vicinity. In the morning\nearly, they pay their respects to the river-side in search of any dead\nbodies that may be washed ashore; and it is a most appalling sight to\nsee those ravenous creatures, with hundreds of enormous vultures,\ntearing human bodies to pieces. If you live on the banks of the Ganges,\nit is no uncommon sight to see crows, vultures, and hawks, riding down\nthe river on dead bodies, feeding on them as they sail along. This is\neasily accounted for. Hindoos, in general, are committed to the pile\nafter death, and burned to ashes; but the poor people, who cannot\nperform this last office to their departed relatives, burn the hair off\nthe body, which is then committed to the Holy Gunga, as they call the\nGanges. The bodies, when exposed to the sun, swell to an enormous and\nfrightful size.\n\nOne day, I was walking on the banks of the Ganges, when I saw a group of\npeople sitting together, and mumbling something to themselves. Near them\nI saw a corpse, wrapped in a white sheet, with its feet covered with\nwater. A few moments after, a young man, I should think about twenty\nyears of age, shouldered the corpse, and, walking slowly to an elevated\nbank, he hurled it into the river, in the same manner you would a log of\nwood. He then plunged in after the body, and deprived it of the\nwinding-sheet, leaving the corpse to float down the tide in a state of\nnudity. When the youth reached the shore, I asked him who the young\nperson was that he had thrown into the river. He replied, with a kind of\ngrin, \"My wife.\" I said, \"You don't seem to be very sorry about her.\" He\nsaid, \"No; it was God's pleasure.\" I asked him how old she was, and he\nsaid, \"Thirteen years old.\" I then inquired if he had any family. He\nreplied, \"Not now; she had one, a little girl, but that the Gunga had\ngot the day before.\" I then asked him how long his wife had been dead,\nwhen he informed me that she died the moment before I came up. The\nfather and mother of the unfortunate girl were both there, but seemed as\nindifferent as the rock on which they had perched themselves to watch\nher progress down the rippling stream--the cold grave of millions.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nHaving now a respectable home, and an easy income, I began to look\naround me for a wife, to share my fortune, and to drink with me of the\nsalubrious cup of contentment. I had been for some time intimately\nacquainted with a most respectable family, the father of which was a\nconductor to the commissariat department. He had three daughters, whom\nhe took great pains to bring up in a respectable manner, and they all\ndid credit to his fatherly care, and lived together in great affection\nand domestic comfort. To the eldest of these I became most sincerely\nattached. I asked her hand in marriage, and it was granted; but the\nfather stipulated, that, in consideration of his daughter's tender\nyears, the marriage was not to take place for the space of two years. In\nthe meantime, every preparation was to be made for our mutual happiness.\n\nThus things went on till the latter end of the year 1815, when my good\nfriend the colonel was promoted to the rank of major-general, and\nconsequently bade farewell to his old corps, the 24th Dragoons, in which\nhe was respected and loved. Scarcely had he departed, when I drew up a\nshort memorial to the Marquis of Hastings, then Governor-General of\nIndia, and my new commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Philpot,\nimmediately dispatched it to head-quarters, Calcutta, accompanied with a\nhandsome recommendatory letter from himself. When I presented this\nmemorial to my commanding officer, he replied, \"Shipp, I am glad you\nhave done so. I was yesterday speaking to your friend, Major Covell,\nabout you. I will forward it with pleasure, and I hope it may succeed.\"\nSome twenty days after this, I was sent for in a great hurry to the\nriding-school, where the colonel was looking at some young stud horses.\nI immediately attended the summons. He was standing with his back\ntowards the riding-school door when I entered, so I waited at some\ndistance, when the adjutant said, \"Here is the sergeant-major.\" The\ncolonel immediately came up to me, seized my left arm with the hand of\nhis right, and thus led me out of the school. No sooner were we out of\nsight than he pulled out a letter, and I shall never forget his delight\nwhen he grasped my hand, and said, \"Shipp, I sincerely congratulate you\non your appointment. The Marquis of Hastings has been pleased to meet\nboth your and my wishes; you are appointed to an ensigncy in his\nMajesty's 87th regiment,[13] and directed to join that corps\nimmediately: but this you must promise me, to keep the affair secret\ntill to-morrow, or I shall be teased out of my life for your\nappointment. I would ask you to dine with me to-day, but for this wish\nto keep it a secret. I shall therefore have that pleasure another time.\"\nI expressed my most sincere thanks; the colonel put the letter into my\nhand; he went to his horses again; and I went to evening parade.\n\nIn the evening, after my duty was done, I went down to see my intended,\nand to tell her and her family of my good fortune. On my walk hither I\nhad a most strange feeling; it was not that of elation of spirits, but\nrather of a dreary and gloomy turn. In this mood I reached the abode of\nmy little wife, before I was aware of my near approach, and had almost\nstumbled upon her good father before I perceived him. Indeed, I should\nhave passed him but for his usual salutation, \"Ah, John, is that you?\nhow are you?\" This address roused me from my reverie, and I replied,\nwith affected dignity, \"Come, Sir, be a little more respectful to your\nsuperior officer, or I shall send you to the congee-house.\" Here I could\nnot help lowering the ensign's mighty dignity, by bursting into a loud\nlaugh. The old gentleman did not seem to know what to make of it; but I\nsuppose he thought me tipsy, for at last he said, \"What's the matter,\nJohn? you seem a little out of sorts this evening.\" I then took his arm;\nwe walked together towards the house; and on the way I told him the\nwhole affair. He replied, \"Then of course that will break off the match\nwith my poor Ann; you will now look higher.\" At this the ensign's blood\nrose, and he got nettled, and warmly replied, \"You have mistaken your\nman, Sir. I could never, after winning the affections of any woman,\nforsake or desert her. No: it was with tenfold pleasure I came down to\nassure her of my unalterable affection.\" Here my friend gave me his\nhonest hand, and I have no doubt his heart with it; and thus, hand in\nhand, we entered where all the family were seated round a table at work,\ntheir usual evening's employment.\n\nOn entering the room, the father, addressing himself to the domestic\ncircle assembled, said in a jocular manner, \"Mrs. H. and children,\npermit me to introduce to your acquaintance Ensign John Shipp, Esq., of\nthe Horse Marines--I mean His Majesty's Own Irish Regiment of Foot.\" I\nmade a bow worthy of his Majesty's commission and of the corps to which\nI was appointed; but this profound obeisance only set the young ones\ntittering, and one of them, the youngest, had the impudence to point\nthe finger of derision at me, saying, \"He an ensign! so is my cat,\"\nwhich cat she immediately paraded on the table on his two hinder\nextremities, calling him \"Ensign Shipp.\" After this I seated myself\nclose to my little intended, and whispered the whole truth into her ear;\nbut, instead of evincing the joy which I expected, she turned pale and\ngloomy. I inquired the cause. She was humble as she was good, and she\nreplied, \"I am sorry for it; for I suppose you will not condescend to\nlook upon a poor conductor's daughter.\" Here the ensign's ire was again\nroused to a pitch far beyond that of a sergeant-major, and I said, \"What\nthe devil (I could not help the warm expression) do you all take me\nfor?--man or beast? No, Ann; have a better opinion of me.\" I then\nextended my hand towards her, and pledged the honour of an ensign that\nit was hers, and hers only. She seized my hand and bathed it with her\ntears. I then directed the conversation into a new channel, by turning\nmy indignation on the little one who had metamorphosed the cat into an\nensign; but, as I bethought myself that I really had seen less sagacious\nanimals bearing that commission, I kissed her for her impudence, and\nforgave her.\n\nThe following day I had my hair cut _à la ensign_, and ordered a new\nsuit of regimentals; and the third day I dined at the mess of my old\ncorps, to which I had a general invitation during the time I remained at\nthe station. I received the most marked kindness from the regiment on my\npromotion. Invitation followed upon invitation, so that it took up\nnearly the whole of the ensign's time to make and write excuses; the\nofficers vied with each other in politeness and liberality; and I shall\never remember the generosity of the late 24th regiment with feelings of\ngratitude.\n\nHaving arranged my affairs, I left Cawnpore for Dinapore, on the 1st day\nof January, 1816, having first concerted everything for my marriage as\nsoon as I should be settled with my regiment. I reached the station\nwhere my corps was quartered, in five days--a distance of four hundred\nmiles.\n\nOn the morning of the 5th day I landed, for the purpose of reporting my\narrival to my commanding officer. After wandering about the station a\nconsiderable time, without seeing a single European soldier, at last I\nmet a woman, and I asked her if she would have the goodness to inform me\nwhere I could find the commanding officer of the 87th regiment. I found\nby her manners (I mean ill manners) that she had early paid her devoirs\nto the shrine of rum. I repeated, \"Will you, my good woman, have the\ngoodness to inform me where I can find the 87th regiment?\"\n\n\"What! the old Fogs?\"[14] said she.\n\n\"Fogs!\" said I, \"no: the 87th regiment, I mean.\"\n\n\"Is it making fun of me you are?\"\n\nI replied, \"No, my good woman: I really want to find where the 87th\nregiment are.\"\n\n\"Sure they are just after laving this place, becase they are gone away\nthese three big days.\"\n\n\"Gone!\" I repeated, \"where?\"\n\n\"Fait, to fight against Paul.\"\n\n\"Paul!\" said I, \"who the devil is he?\"\n\n\"Arrah! bad luck to you, is it after mocking Judy Flanagan you are, you\ntafe?\" I again assured the woman that I was in earnest (for she had put\nherself in a boxing attitude), and informed her that I was an officer of\nthat corps. Here she burst into a loud horse-laugh, slapping her legs\nwith both her hands, \"You an officer of the old Fogs! ha, ha, ha! Arrah,\nnone of your blarney, honey.\"\n\n\"However you may laugh,\" said I, \"I am an officer of the old Fogs, as\nyou call them, and I am come to join them.\"\n\n\"Then,\" replied she, \"you might have saved yourself the trouble, joy;\nfor the divel a one is here, except the quarter-master, and I could not\nfind him this morning; but does your honour really belong to the old\nFogaboloughs?\" I pledged the honour of an ensign, upon which she\nstretched forth her brawny paw, and grasped my hand, saying, \"Give us\nyour daddle, your honour; sure I am always glad to see any of the old\ncorps here.\" She gave me positive proof of her attachment to the\nregiment, by nearly squeezing my hand off, and she was about to confirm\nthe whole with a kiss, but I parried her in this kind intention. She\nthen entered on a eulogium of the regiment. \"The divel a better corps\nwithin a whole day's march. The regiment is a credit to your honour.\nOch, thase are the boys for fighting!\" Here she pulled up her petticoats\nnearly to her knees, and commenced capering and humming a tune. I could\nnot help laughing, for she footed it with the skill of a dancing-master.\nWhen she had pretty nearly winded herself, she again seized my hand, and\nasked me for something \"to drink his honour's health, and success to the\nold Fogs.\" I told her that, if she could inform me if there was any\nperson belonging to the regiment at the station, I might be inclined to\ngive her something to drink.\n\n\"Thank your honour,\" said she; \"sure, the adjutant, and one Captain\nBell, are left behind.\"\n\n\"The adjutant here?\" answered I, \"what--sick or on duty?\"\n\n\"Neither, your honour: he is confined as snug as a bug to his own room,\nand is a prisoner besides. Sure, there has been a mighty blusteration\nand hubbub between him and the same Captain Bell.\"\n\nI inquired what had been the matter.\n\n\"Matter, your honour! matter enough: there has been bloody murder\nbetwixt them; and sure there is no end to the murders in this regiment.\"\n\n\"What! have they been fighting?\" said I, meaning a duel.\n\n\"Fighting! sure enough.\"\n\n\"Is the captain also a prisoner?\"\n\n\"Snug enough, joy.\"\n\n\"Will you be kind enough to show me where the adjutant's quarters are?\"\n\n\"To be sure, honey: he lives just over against the corner house, just\nover by the other side of the chapel, and forenent the main guard-room:\nsure anybody will inform you that knows.\"\n\n\"I fear I shall never find it, with all these leading points,\" said I;\n\"give me some place near it.\"\n\n\"Well, your honour, do you see yonder woman standing all alone, with a\nman spaking to her? Or can you see the house round the corner?\"\n\nFinding now, from the information proffered by this lady, that the more\nexplanatory she attempted to be, the more unintelligible she became, I\ncut the matter short by giving her a rupee, and I took my leave of this\nardent admirer of the old Fogs, with her parting benediction, \"God bless\nyour honour; may your honour never die till the side of an old house\nfall on you and kill you!\"\n\nHaving parted from this pretty specimen of my new regiment, I inquired\nfor the adjutant's quarters, which were pointed out to me. At the door I\nmet a soldier, of whom I inquired if the adjutant was at home, and was\ninformed he had just gone out. I said I would wait till he returned; so\nI seated myself, and in about five minutes after he came in; and, when I\ninformed him who I was, he gave me a hearty welcome, invited me to\nbreakfast, and I remained with him the two days I stopped at the\nstation. From this officer I learned that the regiment had left two days\nbefore, against the Nepaulese. This was a piece of news that delighted\nme much, although I had not a single thing prepared for such a campaign,\nnor was it probable I could procure what was necessary, after the whole\ncountry had been drained of cattle, &c., to supply the army. But,\nnotwithstanding this, in two days I was ready, so far as carriage; but,\nas I could not, by any possibility, get a tent, I was obliged to\nmanufacture one, something like what our gipsies use, out of a\nsetterenge, or Indian cotton carpet.\n\nThus provided, I commenced my march to join the old Fogs, who had\npreceded me five marches. The first day I accomplished a distance equal\nto the regiment's first two days' marches. The next day I completed two\nmore, and was handsomely treated by an indigo-planter, in the district\nof Tirhoot, where their liberality is noted. I sent on my things, the\nnext morning, twenty miles, and desired that they might be conveyed\ntwenty more, should I not reach them that night. I spent the day with my\nliberal host, the planter; slept there, and, after eating a hearty\nbreakfast, started the next morning on horseback, my kind entertainer\nhaving laid horses for me on the road. I overtook my things about two\nmiles from their destination, and put up at another indigo-planter's.\nHere I met a young officer, who was also on his way to rejoin the same\ndivision, and, as it proved after a little conversation, the same\nregiment. He was very young, and seemed delicate; and, I thought, but\nlittle calculated for such an arduous campaign as the one in prospect.\nHere we regaled ourselves till next morning, when we thanked our host\nfor his liberality, and bade him farewell. This was the last indigo\nfactory on our road, and travelling without protection was attended with\nsome little danger, the lowlands being proverbial for murders and\nrobberies. We were, therefore, now obliged to proceed with caution. In\nthe day-time we remained in our tents, and at night slept in some hut or\ntemple. Neither tents nor mud walls were any safeguard against the\ndesperate thieves in these districts; besides, these lowlands abounded\nwith tigers, bears, hyænas, wolves, jackals, &c.; and, as these had not\nbeen much accustomed to the sight of Europeans, we could not tell how\nfar they might be induced to go for such unusual delicacies; so safety\nwas the parole.\n\nThe first march I taught my young companion the art of becoming his own\nbutcher, cook, &c.; for I killed, skinned, washed, cooked, and eat a\nfine young kid, of part of which I made a curry, and grilled the\nremainder; of this my young friend partook, with most excellent\nappetite. After tea we moved into a village for the night; for some\nsuspicious fellows had already been seen loitering about. When thus\ntravelling, I would recommend people to show their fire-arms, and in the\ndusk of the evening to fire them off. The dacoits, or low thieves, in\nIndia, although a most desperate set, have the greatest dread of\nfire-arms, and will seldom approach those whom they know to possess\nthem, however ill-disposed they might be under other circumstances.\nThus, I have often, on the rivers Hoogley and Ganges, when coming home\nat night in a lone boat, escaped being robbed, and perhaps murdered, by\nfrequently discharging my fire-arms, while others, who have neglected\nthis precaution, or perhaps not had fire-arms with them, have been\nplundered, and in many instances murdered, in spite of the police kept\non those rivers.\n\nThe regiment was now only twenty miles ahead of us. We therefore retired\nearly to rest, intending to reach the corps the following day. We had\nnot reposed more than an hour, lying upon our things, when I was awoke\nby a noise something like the crowing of the domestic cock, and then\nlike the barking of a dog. I had been too long in the country not to\nknow that these crowings and barkings were sure indications of robbers\nbeing on the look-out. I therefore seized my pistol, resolving to have a\nshot at whatever first made its appearance. For a time all was still.\nThere were two doorways to the hut in which we had sheltered ourselves;\nand, across each of these doorways lay myself and my young friend. I was\nwide awake, and he was just dozing, when, all of a sudden, he jumped up,\nand bellowed out, so that his voice re-echoed again, \"Who is that?\" I\njumped up and said, \"What's the matter?\" He answered, \"Some person's\nhand touched my face.\" I replied, \"You must have been dreaming.\" He said\nhe was confident that what he said was true. \"Well, then, if it is,\ndon't be afraid,\" said I. This nettled the young soldier, and he\nreplied, \"No, Sir, I am not so easily frightened as you may imagine.\" I\nthought at one time he was going to give me proof of his valour, by\ncoming to an open rupture with me; but, at last, we both lay down to\nrepose again, I thinking to myself, \"I shall try your courage by-and-by,\nmy lad.\" I pretended to be asleep, and soon heard the thieves on the\nmove again. I therefore stole silently from my bed, and discharged both\nmy pistols in the air, bellowing out, with the lungs of an ensign,\n\"Choor! choor! choor!\" which my companion perfectly understood to be,\nthieves! thieves! thieves! Hearing this, he made a desperate jump over\nmy bed, and was out with me in a moment; but he afterwards confessed\nthat he was most dreadfully alarmed. We retired to rest once more, but\nhad not lain long before I felt a hand cross my face. I immediately\nseized the fellow, but he was so oiled that he slipped through my hands\nlike an eel, and was out of sight in a moment. I ran out after him, but\nhe was gone like a whisper on the breeze. At this juncture I heard my\ncompanion crying out, \"Where are you, Sir? Where are you, Mr. Shipp?\nDon't leave me.\" When I returned, I found him in a dreadful state of\nalarm, and, I must confess, I did not myself half like it. These\nnocturnal robbers go perfectly naked, with their heads shaved, and oiled\nfrom head to foot. They seemed bent upon robbing us, for it was strange\nthat they should have returned after I had fired. However, I reloaded my\npistols, and I said, \"Now, Sir, I think we may repose till the\nmorning.\"--\"Repose, Sir!\" he replied; \"I don't think I shall sleep again\nfor a week.\"--\"Nonsense!\" said I; \"we soldiers must not mind these\nlittle skirmishes. Such things as these happen every day, and we laugh\nat them. If we had nothing more to disturb our peace than these little\nannoyances, soldiering would be a delightful life indeed. The grand\nthing is to keep a good watch, so as not to be taken by surprise.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[13] The 87th \"Prince of Wales's Own Irish\" Regiment of Foot,\nre-entitled in 1827 the 87th \"Royal Irish Fusiliers\" (the facings being\nchanged from deep-green to blue at the same time), now the 1st Royal\nIrish Fusiliers. In 1815, when Shipp was appointed to it, the 87th had\n_two_ battalions, the first of which, after some years at the Cape and\nMauritius, landed in Bengal in August that year. The second battalion,\nwhich had greatly distinguished itself in the Peninsula, under command\nof Sir Hugh, afterwards Viscount Gough, was at Colchester, where it was\ndisbanded in February, 1817, the effective officers and men mostly\njoining the battalion in India.\n\n[14] The 87th was popularly known as the \"Ould Fogs\" from its Erse shout\nin charging _'Faugh a Ballagh_ (Clear the Way). The _sobriquet_ is often\nwrongly assigned to the Connaught Rangers.--ED.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nThe next morning we were in marching order betimes, and started with the\ndetermination of joining our regiment as early in the day as possible.\nWe overtook them about nine o'clock, just as they had crossed a nullah,\nand had halted on the opposite bank. I immediately sought the acting\nadjutant, from whom, after I had announced my name and delivered my\ncredentials, I received every politeness and attention. He introduced me\nat once to the commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Miller, C.B., who\nreceived me in the most cordial manner, congratulated me on my\nappointment, and expressed himself much pleased at my accession to the\nregiment. All the officers of the corps flocked round me, and greeted me\nin the most handsome and friendly manner, every one of them inviting me\nto breakfast. That invitation, however, I had previously received from\nthe kind commander of the Prince's Own Irish regiment. This liberal\nconduct was the more gratifying to my feelings, as I must confess I did\nnot anticipate any such friendly reception. I was well aware of the\nexisting prejudice, and the caution with which officers promoted from\nthe ranks were usually received; but no such prejudice prevailed in this\ndistinguished corps: on the contrary, had I been the son of a duke, my\nreception could not have been more flattering or friendly. It is true\nthat I had the most flattering letters of introduction from my late\ncommanding officer to my present; but as I had not delivered them, the\nkindness which I experienced was wholly spontaneous and unsolicited, and\nthe result of liberal and benevolent feeling. My young companion was\nreceived by all in the same handsome manner.\n\nAs I found that the jacket, which I had had made for me in haste when I\nwas ordered to join the regiment, was widely different from the uniform\nof the corps, I apologized for this to the colonel while at breakfast,\nand he relieved me from all anxiety on that score, by replying, \"Ah,\nnever mind; the one you have will do very well for fighting in, as it is\nsupposed we shall have some pretty hard service.\"\n\nThe following day the regiment reached the ground on which the army\nengaged in the arduous campaign of Nepaul, in the years 1815 and 1816,\nhad been directed to form. It was at a place called Ammowah, about\nthirty-five miles from the great forest of Nepaul. At the back of this\nforest were the strong forts and stockades of the enemy, on hills whose\nsummits were crowned with milk-white clouds, fringed with glittering\ngold; and in the distance were to be seen the snowy mountains proudly\ntowering over the heads of the more humble hills below.\n\nConsiderable delay now occurred in the formation of the army, and time\nbegan to hang heavy on our hands, although we had good hunting,\nshooting, and racing, and did our best to amuse ourselves when off\nactive duty. But this was not the sort of sport for which we were\nassembled in arms in this wild and romantic territory of the Nepaulese.\nOur object was to reduce this artful and warlike tribe to subjection;\nfor our disasters the year before had made them bold and overbearing,\nand had incited them to laugh to scorn all overtures of amicable\narrangement. They trusted, and not without good cause, to the almost\ninaccessible nature of their country, and, from their tremendous\nfortified hills and stockades, looked down with contempt on the little\nfoe below.\n\nThe necessary preliminaries to this arduous enterprise having been at\nlength duly arranged, things began to take a more active turn, and in\nthree days after we bent our way towards that forest that for ages past\nhad been the terror of the East, and was indeed a bulwark to the Nepaul\nterritory. Our march was necessarily slow and tedious; but in three days\nwe reached a place called Summarabassah, on the very margin of that\nterrific forest. On the last day I was in the rear-guard, which did not\nreach camp until late in the evening, although a distance of not more\nthan ten miles. The roads in which we marched might, with great\npropriety, be termed bogs. They abounded with deep nullahs, or ravines,\nwith abrupt banks of a clayey nature. Our heavy guns we were compelled\nto get over by means of men and drag-ropes, for the bullocks had no\nfooting, and many of these poor creatures were much hurt in the attempt\nto perform this labour. After the camp was in sight, we were three hours\nbefore we reached it. We had marched at about four o'clock in the\nmorning, without breakfast, expecting to reach our ground by nine, the\nusual time, instead of which we did not get in until past four o'clock\nin the afternoon, and then half famished.\n\nWe at last reached camp, in front of which, in a kind of inlet to the\nforest, stood a large building, two stories high, forming a square. This\nwas built of stone, and tiled, and had only one entrance, which was a\nsmall door. This security was, no doubt, to protect the inmates against\ndepredation, and from the nocturnal visits of savage animals. It was\nsupposed to have been the residence of the collector of the lowlands or\nvalleys. At this place we established a strong depôt, or principal post\nof communication, where we could deposit cumbersome or superfluous\nstores with safety. On the forest side we erected a strong breastwork or\nstockade, with a wide and deep ditch, and embrasures for some guns--I\nnow forget the number--I think four.\n\nThe following day, Captain Gully, Lieutenants Masterson, Lee, Bowes,\nand Ensign Shipp, must needs take a morning ride, and a peep into this\ndark and dreary forest--the awe of man, and the haunt of beasts. We had\nnot gone far, when we saw several bears near a water-brook--no doubt for\nthe purpose of a morning swim, for the weather was warm. A little\nfurther, we struck into a path, about a yard wide, which we all agreed\nto explore. On each side of this path the underwood was thick and dark;\nthe trees were of an enormous and gigantic size; every hundred yards\nwere places where it was evident that fires had been kindled; and large\ntrees had been cut down, and were piled across the pathway, for the\nprevention, beyond question, of intruders. We rode on till prudence\nsuggested the propriety of returning; but our curiosity was not yet\nsatisfied, so we mutually agreed to proceed about two miles further. At\nlast we came to a fire which was still burning. Here we called a\nconsultation, and at last again agreed to proceed about two miles\nfurther. This distance brought us so close to the hills, that we could\ndiscover men moving on them. About a mile further was the end of the\ndark and frightful forest of Nepaul, which, the year before, had kept\nfive thousand men at bay. At the end was some open ground, with large\nclumps of bamboo trees, and the open space pebbly. It was evident that\nthis space was covered with water during the monsoons. We still rode on\na little further, until at last we saw some men running across the road,\nwhereupon we unanimously agreed that it was high time to return, having\nsatisfied our curiosity to the full, and at the risk of our lives. We\nwere fearful that they might have observed us, and have dispatched a\ndetachment to cut off our retreat; and we now began to count our beads\nof repentance; but the trial was to be made; so on we pushed, and\nreached camp without molestation, thanking the auspicious stars that\nwere our safeguards. The distance we had ridden was about thirteen\nmiles, which, being doubled, made a pretty good morning's ride; add to\nwhich, that during the excursion we had leapt over about a hundred\nlarge trees. For this piece of palpable indiscretion, we were, as we\nrichly deserved, most severely admonished; but the information which we\nhad gained was truly acceptable, and we the following day commenced our\nmarch, taking the road which we had so rashly explored, preceded by\npioneers, who soon cleared a way, and made a good carriage-road. We had\nscarcely any stoppage, nor did we see a soul of the enemy. If small\nstockades had been thrown across this narrow pathway, our loss of men\nmust have been great; but the supposed inaccessible nature of their\nmountains made the enemy slumber in security. We soon got through the\navenue, and continued our march through the pebbly bed before alluded\nto. About a mile ahead of this, a small plain opened to view, studded\nwith small bushes, at the extreme end of which the bed of the dry ravine\ntook a direction to the left. Here a most magnificent scene burst upon\nthe sight. The hills at this point represented a flight of stairs; one\nreared its golden summit above the other in beautiful succession; the\nwhole of them were wooded with the most beautiful variegated trees and\nshrubs; and, here and there, majestic rocks elevated their proud heads,\nand seemed to bid defiance to the besieging enemy. At the foot or base\nof these hills were posted two strong piquets of the enemy; one on a\nhill to the right, in a house similar to the one described at\nSummarabassah: but on our approach they flew into the hills in the\nvicinity, without giving us a shot in earnest of being our enemy. This\nsilence on the part of a subtle and cunning foe informed us, in plain\nterms, that something was brewing for us. They seemed to coax and invite\nus to advance and view their picturesque country. It was necessary to\nestablish here a post of communication, through which we could obtain\nsupplies; for which purpose the house just spoken of was fortified, and\na depôt established. Here we waited until this post was well stored with\nevery requisite for war. During this time, the quarter-master-general's\ndepartment was busily employed in reconnoitring the surrounding\ncountry; but, from the intricacy of its nature, but little information\ncould be obtained which we could on sure grounds act upon. At last,\nafter our patience was worn almost threadbare with this delay, it was\ngiven out, as the firm opinion of the quarter-master-general (grounded\non unquestionable information from his trustworthy spies), that to force\nan entrance at this point would be attended with the most disastrous\nconsequences. To risk a failure at the commencement of a war against\nsuch a foe, would have been the basis of our ultimate defeat and\ndestruction; and it appeared, from information not to be doubted, that\nin the direction which we had thought of taking, there were stockade\nupon stockade, and fort upon fort. The attempt, therefore, to prosecute\nour enterprise in this direction, under all these circumstances, could\nbe considered in no other light than wantonly knocking our heads against\nthe flinty rocks, or offering our shattered limbs as wadding for the\nenemy's guns, or our bodies to fill up some deep vacuity in their new\nand numerous stockades. We had more than fifty years' dear-bought\nexperience, and an officer seventy years of age for our guide. The young\nand inexperienced officers, in the ardour of youth, felt mortified at\nthis information; and, had their will and feelings been consulted, they\nwould have madly rushed to their graves.\n\nIt was the opinion of the more calm-thinking and experienced men, that\nif, after the information we possessed, we had proceeded in the same\ntrack, and a failure had been the result, the whole dishonour of the\ncatastrophe would have fallen on the head of the commander, and have\nbeen visited with the government's disapprobation and censure; but we\nhad at our head a soldier possessing every requisite for such a critical\ncampaign, and whose thoughts were now turned to some more practicable\npart of the country. Every one was actively engaged in the attempt to\ndiscover some new road, path, or ascent. Spies had now been absent two\ndays, and some apprehensions were entertained as to their safety,\nknowing the barbarity of the Nepaulese; but on the evening of the third\nday they returned; but not a syllable could be gleaned from the\nquarter-master-general's department; every ear was on the listen to\ncatch the slightest hint, but all was silence and secrecy throughout the\ncamp. Rumours were flying about, and strange stories were circulated;\nbut the prevailing opinion was, that we must give up the campaign, on\naccount of an impossibility of access into the enemy's country. This was\na death-blow to our hopes. The attempt to force the entrance above\nalluded to, would have been through the Chirecah Ghattie pass; but this\nwas wisely given up as hopeless. There was a small ravine branching off\nfrom the bed of a dry river, in which our encampment lay, and its\nentrance looked like the dreary access to some deep cavern. From thence\nthe spies last came. The moon rose in all her splendour, gilding the\ntops of the golden-leaved trees; and all was silent, save the falling of\nthe distant cataract, when a faint whisper, borne on the refreshing\nbreeze of night, said, \"Prepare to move;\" and in one hour after, we\nentered this little gaping cavern, leaving the principal part of our\nforce for the protection of our standing tents and baggage. We were\nequipped as lightly as possible. Two six-pounders were conveyed on\nelephants, and our march seemed to lie through the bed of this ravine,\nwhich was rocky, and watered by a crystal current that rippled along its\nflinty bed. We did not proceed at the rate of more than one or two\nhundred yards an hour, ascending and descending every twenty paces; at\none time deep sunk in some dark excavation, and shortly afterwards\nperched upon the summit of a rock, the falling of the numerous cataracts\ndrowning the noise made by our approach. The night was cold and chilly,\nbut as light as noonday; not a cloud was to be seen; the sky was one\nsheet of beautiful blue; but in some of the excavations, where the\nblessed moon never condescended to show her bright face, we were obliged\nto go back to boyhood, and have a game of blind-man's-buff, for in\nthose places we were obliged to grope our way completely in the dark. In\nthese excavations the water was deep and cold; but even in these dreary\nspots we experienced some pleasure, for occasionally, through little\nfissures in the rock, we could espy the distant moonlit landscape, which\nappeared as if viewed through a spy-glass, and was beautiful in the\nextreme.\n\nHad the enemy been aware of our nocturnal excursion, they might have\nannihilated us, by rolling down rocks and stones upon our heads; but,\nfortunately for us, they slumbered on the couch of fancied security, and\nheard us not. What with falling and slipping, we became wet through; but\nas I had that night the honour of bearing my country's banner, this was\na charge, the care of which afforded me neither time nor inclination to\nattend either to personal annoyance or personal comfort. I felt that,\nwhile it was untarnished, I should be proud and happy. My\ncovering-sergeant once had the assurance to ask me to permit him to\ndeprive me of the incumbrance. I really thought I should have jumped\ndown the fellow's throat. \"An incumbrance!\" I repeated; \"how dare you\ncast such an imputation on England's pride? No, sergeant: he who takes\nthis colour, when before an enemy, will take with it my life.\" \"I beg\npardon, Sir; I did not intend to offend you, or cast a reflection on\nthat flag under which I have fought and bled.\" I replied, \"No, sergeant,\nI know you did not intend to offend me, or cast a stigma upon the\ncolour; but supposing that I should be so imprudent as to give up such a\ncharge to you, and you should lose it, or be killed, or meet with any\nother accident, which in the course of war we are all liable to, what\nanswer should I make my justly-offended country, when asked, Where is\nthe banner which was intrusted to your charge? What excuse would it be\nto say, I gave it to a sergeant to carry? Should I not deserve to be\ncarried to the gallows? No, sergeant, the post of ensign is one of most\ndistinguished trust, and, so long as I hold that commission, nothing\nbut death shall part me and my flag, while it is my duty to bear it;\nbut your offer was that of kindness. Come, let us drink to its\nprosperity.\" Here I gave him my little pistol or brandy-bottle; and, in\nthe most prophetic manner, he said, \"Well, Sir, God bless and prosper\nour old banner; and, ere to-morrow's dawn, may you wave it over a\nconquered foe.\" I took a drop, and said, \"Amen.\" My young friend, who\nhad journeyed with me from Dinapore, and who was now my chum, had the\nhonour of carrying the other flag, and he also gloried in the\ndistinction; and although he had some twenty desperate falls, and\nsprained his thumb, he would not part with it.\n\nOur march now became more and more tardy, and the ascents and descents\nmore difficult and intricate. In some places rocks of gigantic size hung\nsome hundred feet over head. These sudden and tremendous hills and dales\nindicated that we could not have far to go; for the last hill was\nscarcely accessible. The soles of both my boots had long refused to bear\nme company any further; but I had one faithful soul that bore me through\nevery difficulty and hardship.\n\nThe morn now began to break through the cerulean chambers of the east,\nthe faithful moon still lingering on the tops of the western hills, loth\nto bid us farewell. I was of course in the centre of my regiment. We\nhalted a considerable time, till broad daylight, when we could see, from\nwhere I stood, the soldiers in advance of us, ascending by means of\nprojecting rocks and boughs. We were halted in a kind of basin,\nsurrounded by high hills. In the course of a couple of hours, the whole\nof the 87th regiment, with our gallant general and suite, ascended this\ndifficult ghaut. From this eminence we could see a great distance; and\non every hill we could discern signals, which were communicated from\npost to post. From this we concluded that the enemy had gained\ninformation of our approach; but I do not think they knew whereabouts we\nwere, as will appear afterwards, but merely that some of our troops had\nmarched from their old ground.\n\nWhat will not good examples effect on the minds of soldiers? Our gallant\ngeneral walked every yard of this critical march, encouraging his men.\nThese well-timed examples will accomplish wonders. The question now was,\nhow to get the guns up, and the powder and shot; but those who are\naccustomed to wars in India are not often at a loss for expedients.\nHaving got all the men up, except the rear-guard, the pioneers went to\nwork with their pickaxes, some making a road, and others felling trees.\nAs we were but two regiments, the general's primary object was to place\nour little force to the best advantage. This accomplished, the guns were\nour next object. Having cut a good deal of the most prominent part of\nthe hill away, and laid trees on the ascent as a footing for elephants,\nthese animals were made to approach it, which the first did with some\nreluctance and fear. He looked up, shook his head, and, when forced by\nhis driver, he roared piteously. There can be no question, in my\nopinion, that this sagacious animal was competent instinctively to judge\nof the practicability of the artificial flight of steps thus\nconstructed; for the moment some little alteration had been made, he\nseemed willing to approach. He then commenced his examination and\nscrutiny, by pressing with his trunk the trees that had been thrown\nacross; and after this he put his fore leg on, with great caution,\nraising the fore part of his body so as to throw its weight on the tree.\nThis done, he seemed satisfied as to its stability. The next step for\nhim to ascend by was a projecting rock, which we could not remove. Here\nthe same sagacious examination took place, the elephant keeping his flat\nside close to the side of the bank, and leaning against it. The next\nstep was against a tree; but this, on the first pressure of his trunk,\nhe did not like. Here his driver made use of the most endearing\nepithets, such as \"Wonderful, my life\"--\"Well done, my dear\"--\"My\ndove\"--\"My son\"--\"My wife;\" but all these endearing appellations, of\nwhich elephants are so fond, would not induce him to try again. Force\nwas at length resorted to, and the elephant roared terrifically, but\nwould not move. Something was then removed; he seemed satisfied, as\nbefore; and he in time ascended that stupendous ghaut. On his reaching\nthe top, his delight was visible in a most eminent degree; he caressed\nhis keeper, and threw the dirt about in a most playful manner. Another\nelephant, a much younger animal, was now to follow. He had watched the\nascent of the other with the most intense interest, making motions all\nthe while, as though he was assisting him by shouldering him up the\nacclivity; such gestures as I have seen some men make when spectators of\ngymnastic exercises. When he saw his comrade up, he evinced his pleasure\nby giving a salute, something like the sound of a trumpet. When called\nupon to take his turn, however, he seemed much alarmed, and would not\nact at all without force. When he was two steps up, he slipped, but\nrecovered himself by digging his toes in the earth. With the exception\nof this little accident, he ascended exceedingly well. When this\nelephant was near the top, the other, who had already performed his\ntask, extended his trunk to the assistance of his brother in distress,\nround which the younger animal entwined his, and thus reached the summit\nof the ghaut in safety. Having both accomplished their task, their\ngreeting was as cordial as if they had been long separated from each\nother, and had just escaped from some perilous achievement. They\nmutually embraced each other, and stood face to face for a considerable\ntime, as if whispering congratulations. Their driver then made them\nsalaam to the general, who ordered them five rupees each for sweetmeats.\nOn this reward of their merit being ordered, they immediately returned\nthanks by another salaam.\n\nAt the top of this ghaut we left five companies of native infantry to\nprotect our baggage, that must necessarily follow through this pass.\nPioneers were also left to cut down the hill, so that our large guns\nmight be dragged up by means of men. This arranged, we pushed on for\nabout a couple of miles. Our route lay through the bed of a river,\nwhich was then dry, but which, from the enormous trees that had been\nwashed down its current, must be rapid and destructive during the\nmonsoons. I believe the whole distance we had accomplished did not\nexceed five miles, and we had been upwards of sixteen hours on the move.\nBy the evening, the enemy had learnt of our being in their country with\na large force, with elephants, guns, &c., which so much alarmed them,\nthat they dared not so much as take a peep at us. They said that we were\nnot men, but devils, and that we must have descended from the skies.\nSome set forth that we were seen soaring in the air in aerial cars,\ndrawn by elephants. Thus, their idolatrous superstition frightened them\nout of their wits; and until some of them, more courageous than the\nrest, had ventured and felt that we were men, they could not be\nprevailed upon to return to their posts, nor would they ever believe\nthat we had ascended the ghaut; and, indeed, to view it even after the\nhill had undergone such a metamorphosis, it was then almost beyond\ncredit that the whole army, with twenty-four pounders, should have been\ngot up.\n\nOur next object was to keep firm possession of what we had attained with\nso much difficulty; for which purpose a small hill was selected for the\ngeneral safety, on which we established outlying piquets. From hence we\ncould reconnoitre the surrounding neighbourhood; but we had scared the\nfoe far into the woods and hills. The beauteous sun, which had in mercy\ndried our wet clothes, was now on the decline, but assumed such an awful\ncolour, that it looked like a blood-stained banner. It had, when this\nidea came across my mind, half buried itself behind the highest hill\nvisible from our new and exalted situation. When the sun had wholly\nretired behind the hills, the golden rays which lingered on the scene\nrendered it truly magnificent and ravishing. The mountains in the\ndistance were so high, that their tops seemed to touch the clear blue\nclouds, while those which exceeded the others in height seemed pushing\ntheir smaller neighbours headlong, to crush the foe below.\n\nWhen the sombre robe of eve began to spread itself over the beauteous\nscene, fires were seen as far as the eye could reach. These were signals\nof alarm, and we could not expect anything less than a desperate effort\nto drive us down the ghaut again; for the prevention of which every\npossible preparation was promptly made. We were cold, hungry, and\nbarefooted. There had been an order that every man should bring three\ndays' provisions; but, by some mistake, this order had been neglected to\nbe properly communicated, for it ought to have been verbally published\non the morning of the day we marched. The expectation of something to do\nin the night made us forget the cold and hunger. An additional outlying\nand advanced piquet was ordered, and I was the next for duty. This\npiquet was thrown out about two hundred yards in front of the others--a\nsubaltern's piquet. The first line of piquets threw out a chain of\ndouble sentinels, the extremities of which formed a link with those\nthrown out from the hill above, forming one-eighth of a circle round the\ngeneral body. Mine was rather a piquet for reconnoitring, and, in case\nof alarm, to join the first piquet behind me. It was now about twenty\nhours since we had had anything to eat. I was therefore hungry, and,\nconsequently, in good watching order, for an Englishman is always\nirritable and peevish when his belly is empty. Repose was quite out of\nthe question, for bedding we had none, except the earth. I could not\nsleep myself, and I took care that my little piquet did not slumber on\ntheir posts. Of water there was plenty, for a most lovely crystal brook\nmurmured close by; but we were quite cold enough without that. It grew\ndark and lonely, fires being forbidden to those on piquet, while those\non the hill had enormous ones. Speaking beyond a whisper was also\nforbidden. Thus posted, we fully expected to be attacked; for the enemy\nwas famous for night-work. I visited my sentinels every quarter of an\nhour. I could always find them by their teeth chattering. I had\nforbidden them from challenging me, as I gave them to understand I\nshould always whistle when I was going round, and thus the enemy would\nstumble upon my little piquet, and we could, if overpowered, retreat to\na stronger. Thus things went on till the moon rose in all her eastern\nsplendour, which enlivened the scene considerably; for when she was\nthoroughly roused from her slumbers, we could see a great distance. All\nwas hushed as the tomb, save the crackling faggot, and the distant\nroaring of beasts of prey. All of a sudden, two of my sentinels bellowed\nout so that the echo resounded again, \"Who comes there? Who comes\nthere?\" Bang! bang! went both their muskets, and, in an instant, my\nwhole piquet were on the spot; and the whole line were ferreted out of\ntheir beds of dried leaves--guns loaded--matches lit; all was ready for\nthe conflict: when it was found that the alarm was occasioned by a bear\nor tiger lurking close upon our post, and which, in all probability, if\nnot timely disturbed, would have walked off with one of our men. The\ncircumstance was explained to an aid-de-camp who had arrived, and all\nwas again quiet; and the two sentinels got finely roasted by their\ncomrades, who had been obliged to turn out from their hiding-places.\nNaught now was heard, save some pathetic execrations on the disturbers\nof the night, by some poor fellow who had lost his warm berth. Thus\npassed the night. This was in the month of January, and a bitter night\nit was.\n\nThe following morning it was truly laughable to see the men crawling\nfrom a huge heap of dried leaves, like pigs out of their straw. Thus\nenveloped, they had managed to keep themselves warm during the night.\nSome companies' liquor and biscuit had arrived; and, a short time after\ndaylight, my men and myself had something to eat, in the delights of\nwhich meal we forgot the cares of a soldier, smiled on the hardships\nthat were passed, and thought little of those to come. I had some tea,\nwhich revived me much. I must confess I do love to be on duty on any\nkind of service with the Irish. There is a promptness to obey, a\nhilarity, a cheerful obedience, and willingness to act, which I have\nrarely met with in any other body of men; but whether, in this\nparticular case, those qualifications had been instilled into them by\nthe rigid discipline of their corps, I know not, or whether these are\ncharacteristics of the Irish nation; but I have also observed in that\ncorps (I mean the 87th regiment, or Prince's Own Irish) a degree of\nliberality amongst the men I have never seen in any other corps--a\nwillingness to share their crust and drop on service with their\ncomrades, an indescribable cheerfulness in obliging and accommodating\neach other, and an anxiety to serve each other, and to hide each other's\nfaults. In that corps there was a unity I have never seen in any other;\nand as for fighting, they were very devils. During the Peninsular war,\nsome general officer observed to the Duke of Wellington, how unsteadily\nthat corps marched. The noble duke replied, \"Yes, general, they do\nindeed; but they fight like devils.\" So they always will while they are\nIrish. In some situations they are, perhaps, too impetuous, but if I\nknow anything of the service, this is a fault on the right side; and,\nwhat at the moment was thought rashness and madness, has gained Old\nEngland many a glorious victory.\n\nOur magical or aerial flight up the ghauts, with guns and elephants,\nseemed to have bewildered the enemy, for we could not get a glimpse of\none of them; and it is not clear to me that they had not flown to their\ncapital, to see if some of us had alighted there, or that we were not\nsoaring in the air in that vicinity.\n\nThe sun rose in majestic splendour, and the scene before us was a little\nworld of woody hills and valleys. The brilliant rays of the luminary of\nday exhibited to the eye nature's masterpiece in scenery. Golden woods,\nthat would have defied the pencil of an artist, and which surpassed the\nsublimest creation of the imagination; glittering hills, that vied in\nbrilliancy with the rising sun; rippling rills, that whispered, \"Come,\nye thirsty souls, and drink of the crystal brook; and, ye passing\nseraphs, stay and dip your wings in the pure stream, ere ye ascend to\nthe realms of love;\" lofty towering pines, that nodded, \"Come and see\nthe things on high;\" and cataracts, that rushed headlong down the rocky\ncliff, and imparted a wild beauty to the whole, beyond the power of\nwords to describe. There sighed the weeping willows, which, by the cool\nbrookside, dipped their new-born leaves in the rippling waters, to steal\nmore tears that they might weep again. There sported the golden fish,\nsheltering themselves from the meridian sun, beneath the shade of the\noverhanging foliage. There grew the blushing rose, calmly reposing on\nits downy moss, and smiling that it had, when fair maidens were asleep,\nrobbed their cheeks of all their beauty. There flourished the gaudy\ntulip; and the blue-eyed violet dwelt on the mossy banks. The little\nminstrels of the grove tuned their morning notes, and their seraphic\nmelody lulled the whole to sweet repose. Oh, that ever human blood\nshould defile these beauteous scenes! or that the horrors of war should\ndisturb the sweet harmony established by nature in the fertile valleys\nof this sweet and picturesque country! But in this paradise of beauty\ndwelt a cruel and barbarous people, proverbial for their bloody deeds,\nwhose hearts were more callous than the flinty rocks that reared their\nmajestic heads above their woody mountains. They are more savage in\ntheir nature than the hungry tiger that prowls through their dreary\nglens; cruel as the vulture; cold-hearted as their snowy mountains;\nsubtle and cunning as the fiend of night; powerful as the rocks on which\nthey live; and active as the goat upon the mountain's brow.\n\nWe were obliged to proceed with caution, and with our eyes open, step by\nstep. We had intended to have remained here the whole of this day, to\nenable our supplies to come up; but these having arrived early we\ncommenced our march in continuation of the same bed of the river. We had\nnot been in motion an hour, before the enemy's fires were lighted, as\nsignals that we were again on the move. Our march was difficult, as we\nwere obliged to cut our way through underwood, and pass through several\nrivers, which much impeded our progress. These streams are fed and\nnourished from the tremendous cataracts from the high hills before us.\nWe found that the enemy had strictly watched our movements during the\nnight; for, every quarter of a mile we advanced, we found fires still\nburning, and some earthen cooking-vessels in which they had boiled their\nrice. Having proceeded about a mile, we came to a sudden and abrupt\nturning in the river. Here we halted, and the light company was sent on\nto reconnoitre. We then moved on again, and when we had rounded the\nturning of the river, which swept round the bottom of a little hill, a\nsmall plain opened to our view. It was fertile with a kind of yellow\ngrass, that perfumed the air with its odour, something like sandalwood.\nThis grass, we were informed afterwards, was a deadly poison. Here we\ncame to another halt, our spies having returned, and informed us that we\nwere not far from a very strong post of the enemy. This news flew\nthrough the ranks like wildfire; the flints were adjusted--bayonets\nfirmly fixed on--cartridges arranged--and every eye beamed delight. I\ndid not much like my present situation, in the centre of the regiment;\nit was not what I had been used to; but being one of the youngest\nensigns, I was obliged to comply. I thought it strange that the colours\nshould be in the centre, and would, if I had dared to make such a\nproposition, have suggested that they might be moved to the front; but\nmy commanding officer, good and kind as he was, would, I am sure, have\nrode me down for my impudence; so I contented myself by getting on the\ntoes of my lower extremities, and peeping over the men's heads to see\nwhat was going on. The light company were busy all this time in\nexploring and examining the localities on our right and left, that we\nmight not be hemmed in. This is a necessary precaution in a mountainous\ncountry; for the enemy may open the door to you and bid you enter, and,\nwhen well in, may shut you in, so as to leave you no possibility of\nescape. Young officer, never be inveigled in this manner, but take care,\nespecial care, that you can always insure that last extremity--a good\nretreat. My eyes lingered on the light bobs as they ascended the\nsurrounding hills, and I wished to be with them, to see what was to be\nseen. This was a most critical campaign, and required more prudence and\ncaution than I ever possessed in the whole course of my life. In such a\ncountry you could not tell but your next step might be in the cannon's\nmouth. I was thus thinking, when I saw the adjutant running towards the\ncentre of the regiment, vociferating, \"Pass the word for Mr. Shipp; pass\nthe word for Mr. Shipp.\"--\"Holloa!\" thought I, \"what's all this about?\".\nAt last he came up to me, and said I was to join the light company\nimmediately. This was making me a light bob, indeed. I made over the\ncolour to my covering sergeant, by the adjutant's desire; but at that\nmoment a thought struck me, that perhaps this was the last time I should\never bear it; for I could not foresee but that that day--nay, that\nfleeting hour--might be my last; so I pressed the colour to my bosom and\nkissed it: why should I be ashamed of it? I was a soldier, and the oft\nblood-stained banner was my pride.\n\nI soon joined the light bobs, for I could run and jump with the best of\nthem, and the column now proceeded slowly. The fine light company of the\n25th regiment of Bengal Native Infantry were with us, and there was the\ngreatest intimacy between this native company and ours, and more\nfamiliarity and good-fellowship than I had ever witnessed during my\ncourse of service in India. We now ascended a small hill, at the bottom\nof which we saw several men running away. Our soldiers were not cruel,\nnor did they ever wantonly throw away their fire. A soldier ought to\nguard every round intrusted to his care, for the protection of his\ncountry and himself, as the apple of his eye; many a brave man has lost\nhis life in battle for the want of a round of ammunition, which, in all\nprobability, he had been careless of at the beginning. It is not only a\ncrime, but a folly, for men to be wanton in this particular. I took\nabout ten men with me, and the acting adjutant followed, and we soon\ncame up with these poor frightened and bewildered creatures. They threw\nthemselves on the earth, but did not supplicate for mercy--a thing\nunknown among themselves. They seemed rather to meet the pointed\nbayonet, than to run or cringe from it; but, when they saw that we did\nnot lay on them the finger of harm, they kissed our feet and then the\nearth, in token of gratitude. These poor creatures were not soldiers,\nbut poor, solitary, and oppressed villagers, that had been sent for\nrice, of which they carry great loads, by a strap or belt over their\nheads, in baskets made of the willow-twig. We were directed by our\ngeneral to let them go, that they might tell our enemies that we were\nnot bloodthirsty murderers. When this was communicated to them by one of\ntheir countrymen, the eye of fear brightened up; we could see the tear\nof joy in their eyes; they bowed, a hundred times in the most abject\nprostrations to our feet; then stood towards their village, seemingly\ndispossessed of any fear. I dare say these poor starving creatures would\nwillingly have sought protection under the shadow of our mercy, rather\nthan return to be the slaves of a tyrannic government.\n\nWe now came to a wider river with a rocky bed, and, a little higher up,\nwas the strong post before alluded to. We could see the ends of the\nhouses standing some thirty yards from the river, whose banks, at this\nplace, were high and abrupt. We therefore crossed a little lower down,\nwhen the 87th light company was pushed on at a good round trot. Here was\na square building, something like what I have before described at\nSummarabassah, but on a much larger and stronger scale. This we\nsurrounded and entered. About fifty men were in this place; but, on\nseeing us enter, they ran out at an opposite door, but were met by the\nEuropean soldiers. Many of them escaped; the others, some of whom showed\nfight, were killed. The house was empty, except that some unshelled\nrice and saltpetre were strewn about it. On looking round, we discovered\nanother building of a similar nature, about three hundred yards further\nin the wood, to which there was a narrow path. Into this we struck, and\nexpected every moment to be saluted with the contents of a cannister of\ngrape, or with a volley of musketry; for the building commanded this\nroad or pathway from two or three hundred loop-holes. In this building,\nor, rather, near the door of it, lay a man dead, dreadfully mutilated.\nWe pushed in, and the few soldiers that occupied the house ran out into\nthe wood, which was close to this building, and thus escaped, with the\nexception of about five or six, who were shot by some good marksmen.\nThis house was also empty, save that some little grain was scattered\nabout here and there. They did not, I should suppose, expect us to dinner,\nalthough their cooking utensils, well filled, were boiling on the fire.\nThese we broke for fear of poison, a crime they were fully capable of.\nOn looking at the poor mutilated man, he was discovered to be one of our\nspies, respecting whom our kind-hearted quarter-master-general had\nexpressed the most anxious solicitude. My expressions, in describing\nthese savages, may have been thought to have been too severe and\nexaggerated, when I accused them of being barbarous and cruel; but the\nreader shall now judge for himself whether or not this accusation was\nunfounded.\n\nIn all nations, even in Europe, the practice of punishing spies is\nrecognized as just; but their execution is generally public, and not\nwithout the sanction and approbation of the governor or\ncommander-in-chief; and no piquet, post, or guard, dare inflict the\npenalty of death. This poor creature was seized, and literally cut to\npieces; and it was supposed, by the medical people, that he must have\ndied a death of extreme agony, for the ground under him was dug up with\nhis struggling under the torture which had been inflicted on him. His\narms had been cut off, about half way up from the elbow to the\nshoulder; after which it appeared that two deep incisions had been cut\nin his body, just above the hips, into which the two arms had been\nthrust. His features were distorted in a most frightful manner. Our poor\nfellows wept bitterly over the sight, and swore, in the bitterness of\ntheir anger, that they would revenge this foul and bloody deed; and I\nhad great difficulty, with their gallant captain, in restraining them\nfrom following those savages into the wood. The pioneers having arrived,\nthe poor wretch was committed to his last home, amidst the sympathy of\nall around.\n\nEttoondah was the name of the place where this barbarous murder had been\ncommitted; and a more lovely or more picturesque spot there is not in\nthe created world.\n\nHere we had some tolerably good fishing, by tying our horse-blankets\ntogether, and then dragging the stream. We remained here some days, for\nthe purpose of making this our grand depôt; for which purpose, in the\nlower house, which was better situated than the other, and not so near\nthe wood, we built a large and strong stockade, with six embrasures for\nguns. This house we converted into store-rooms, and here we left all our\nsuperfluous baggage. I had no superfluities; one thing on and one off\nwas quite enough for any man on such a service, and I often regretted,\nwith many of my brother officers, that we had not brought packs, like\nthe men, which would have carried our all safely, and entirely relieved\nus from the apprehension which we now felt of losing those things not\nimmediately in our presence.\n\nThe domestic fowls, kept by the natives, had strayed into the adjoining\nwoods, and there bred, and had become very numerous. At night they\nroosted on the trees, without any apparent fear of molestation. Firing\nwas most strictly prohibited within a mile of camp; and justly so, or we\nshould, if permitted, have had the soldiers firing away their\nammunition, and the camp alarmed. Many of the fowls, however, were\ncaught and eaten.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nIn three or four days we again moved on. The 87th being the only\nEuropean corps with this part of the division, we always led the column,\nor, rather, formed the advance-guard. We commenced our march; and,\nrather wishing to see, instead of groping, our way, we went on through a\ndense thick wood for a couple of miles, through which there was a\ntolerably good road, so that our troops travelled with comparative\nfacility. When at the end of two miles, we came to a small open space,\nwhere several fires were still alight and burning, and earthen pots left\nbehind. About the middle of this little plain was a river about\nknee-deep. On the margin of the wood on the opposite side of this river,\nseveral people were seen peeping through the green foliage, watching our\nmovements. We entered another thick wood, which brought us to the bank\nof another river; but the road did not cross it, but went along the left\nbank, under a small hill, from which it had apparently been cut by\nmanual labour. This was rather a dangerous place to enter. A high and\ninaccessible hill was on one side, and a deep bank and river on the\nother; and on the opposite side of the river, was a kind of rising bank,\nbehind which the enemy might be lying in ambush, and waiting till we had\ngot well in before they commenced firing. In this case their fire must\nhave been very destructive from both sides, without the possibility of\nescape or defence, and the confusion would have been dreadful. But\nMajor-General Sir David Ochterlony was not to be entrapped in that\nmanner; these points were scrupulously explored before we attempted to\nenter such a place of insecurity.\n\nAt the end of this winding road, there opened to the view an extensive\nvalley, and, here and there, small straggling villages, consisting of\nsome ten or more huts; but very few people could be seen, and those few\nwere poor villagers. We continued our march for about half a mile\nfurther, when we saw on our left an extensive village, and, on the hills\nimmediately in its rear, an immense number of people, seemingly\nsoldiers; for we could see spears, colours, &c. We immediately bent our\nway towards this village, as we saw numerous people running to and fro.\nWhen near, we got into double-quick time, and then separated into files,\nwith our pieces loaded. I went into several huts, where nothing but a\nset of poor decrepit old people could be seen. About twenty or thirty\nyards further, I saw a two-story brick house, probably the Zemindar's,\nfor there was no other. Here I saw several good-looking and well-dressed\nmen run in and shut the door. I broke it open, with the assistance of\nsome of my men. When I entered the lower floor, I found there were\nseveral men there. One was sitting; but, having gone from the light, and\na bright sun, into comparative darkness, I could scarcely see. I was\ntherefore obliged to prick my way with my old 24th dragoon sabre; and I\njust recovered my vision in time to see a man aiming an arrow at me. I\nstruck at the arrow, which was close to me; but, from the indistinct\nlight, I could not make sure of my aim. He let fly, and the arrow could\nnot have been more than a hair-breadth from the side of my head. It\nstuck in the door-post, when a soldier of the company, by name Quanbury,\nstopped his shooting, by shooting him, for firing at his officer. The\nothers begged for mercy, which was willingly granted. Never did I see a\nman in the 87th regiment wantonly commit an act of cruelty. We took them\nprisoners, but they were ultimately discharged, and permitted to return\nto their villages or homes.\n\nA little further on we came in sight of Muckwanpore Valley, and an\nimmense long line of huts. These, we afterwards were given to\nunderstand, were the summer quarters of the enemy's soldiers. On our\nleft ran a ridge of hills, covered with variegated shrubs and trees. On\nthis range of hills we could see soldiers posted in immense force, but\nthey attempted not to molest our line of march, although sometimes, I am\nsure, within shot of their ginjalls. They seemed rather to be on the\ndefensive than the offensive, as we should have imagined. Various were\nthe opinions as to their apparent indifference to our running all over\nthe country. From these huts, or military cantonments, we could see the\nfort of Muckwanpore, and innumerable large stockades on the hill in the\nrear of the one immediately in front of the before-mentioned huts. The\nfort appeared some miles off, and looked like a speck in the sky; but,\nno doubt, the approaches to it, protected as it was by the stockades,\nwhich we could see with the spy-glass, were extremely perilous. We\nencamped in the lines which had been left by the enemy, and could not\nhave been more than one mile and a half from the summit of this hill.\nHowever, they still continued passive, sitting upon their legs, watching\nour movements. Our position was secure and strong, being on two sides\nsurrounded with a deep nullah, with a nice rippling stream.\n\nThe following morning was occupied in looking about our new encampment,\nand seeing what was in the adjoining woods. We found nothing but a few\npartridges and woodcocks, and these we could not shoot, being too near\ncamp. About a mile behind the camp the whole scenery around was truly\nromantic, from the white and craggy rocks, apparently living in the\nclouds, behind which not a tree or a shrub was to be seen. These could\nonly be seen night and morning, or when the sky was clear; at other\ntimes, these hills could not be discovered through the clouds. The fort\nitself seemed high, and almost beyond the power of mortal ascent. For\nthe first time these ten nights I obtained some sleep, having no charge,\nand no care on my mind. Sleeping in my clothes was no inconvenience to\nme. I slept soundly till the broad daylight broke in through the\ncrevices of the tent. I rose in the morning sprightly as a lark, and\nindulged myself with dry and clean linen, which was quite a treat. I\nfelt so refreshed, that I was quite another being from the day before,\nand fit for anything. I took a stroll round my brother-officers' tents;\npaid my devoirs to my commanding-officer, which I never failed to do\nonce a day, as a duty, and a respect due to his rank. I was invited to\nbreakfast with him; after which, as we were standing looking at the\nhill, we were not a little surprised to find that the strong piquet of\nthe enemy, which was posted there the night before, was not to be seen.\nTwo of our men were brought before the commanding-officer for having\ngone beyond the outlying piquet. The fact was, that these imprudent\nfellows had been upon the hill, where the piquet had been, unarmed.\nAfter admonishing them for their imprudence and disobedience of orders,\nthe commanding-officer asked one of them what he saw; he replied,\n\"Nothing at all, your honour, but a great big piquet; and sure they were\nnot there, but all gone.\" He added, that \"all their fires were alight,\nbecause he saw them burning.\"\n\n\"And what did you see on the other side of this first hill?\" asked the\ncolonel, trying to smother a laugh.\n\n\"Nothing at all, your honour.\"\n\n\"Are there hills or valleys on the other side?\"\n\n\"Neither, your honour; only a mighty big mountain, as big as the Hill of\nHowth.\"\n\n\"Did you see any men?\"\n\n\"Divel a one, your honour, except one poor old woman in one of the huts,\nand she was after going when she saw me and Pat Logan coming near her.\"\n\n\"What took you there?\"\n\n\"Fait! we both went to take a big walk, for we were quite tired doing\nnothing--that's all, your honour; so I hope no offence.\"\n\n\"Fall in, the light company!\"--\"Light company, fall in!\" was bellowed\nthrough the whole line of encampment. The colonel flew to the right--the\nadjutant to the left; I ran one way, and the two men jumped another, for\nthey both belonged to the light company. Scarcely had I reached the\nparade, when three parts of the company were under arms, with our noble\ngeneral at the head, getting men together. It was five minutes only from\nthe first order when we marched off, not a man absent. We soon found, by\nthe direction we took, that the taking of the hill was to be our object.\nWe moved on slowly, for it was a good half mile up the hill, and the\nascent winding and steep. Our lads seemed as merry as crickets. In five\nminutes after, we heard firing on the top of the hill to our right. This\nproceeded from a small reconnoitring party that had a short period\nbefore gone up, under Lieutenant Lee, of the 87th regiment, and\nLieutenant Turrell, of the 20th native infantry, a brave young\nvolunteer, who fell an early victim to his zeal. The design with which\nthis reconnoitring party had been dispatched up the hill, was to protect\nthe quarter-master-general in the execution of the duties incident to\nhis department. This party being observed from the fort of Muckwanpore,\nwhich overlooked the ground on which they were reconnoitring, a large\nbody of the enemy, who had, without orders, vacated the post immediately\nin front of our encampment, were dispatched to re-occupy the position\nwhich they had deserted, and in their advance they fell in with our\nreconnoitring party, who, as they were not in all above twenty men, were\nof course obliged to make a precipitate retreat. In this disastrous\nskirmish, poor Lieutenant Turrell was cut to pieces, and several others\nof the party killed and wounded. As the party which had been thus\nsurprised was making the best of their way down the hill, we made the\nbest of our way up. We were supported by our old friends, the light\ncompany of the 25th native infantry. The ascent was most difficult,\nthere being only one narrow pathway, by which we were obliged to ascend\nalmost one by one. When about half way, or three parts up, we came to a\nsmall flat spot, about fifty yards long, and twenty wide. Here our noble\ncaptain sounded the _assemblée_. We could now see the enemy, like ants,\ncreeping and lurking about, and busily engaged in secreting themselves\nbehind trees and stones. I presumed to recommend to the captain of the\nlight company, that our forming in a body would bring on us a\ndestructive fire, and that we had better fight them on their own system,\nwhich was extending, and every man availing himself of tree or stone,\nand a rest for his piece. This was sure to be attended with success;\nand, however brave a man may be, he never ought to be above advice. Our\ncaptain readily saw the danger that would attend our forming, and\ntherefore immediately sounded the extend; then the advance; and the\nfighting soon became warm on both sides. The enemy maintained their\nground and fought manfully. I hate a runaway foe; you have no credit for\nbeating them. Those we were now dealing with were no flinchers; but, on\nthe contrary, I never saw more steadiness or more bravery exhibited by\nany set of men in my life. Run they would not; and of death they seemed\nto have no fear, though their comrades were falling thick around them,\nfor we were so near that every shot told. At last some of their men\nbegan to give way; and, as we were ascending rapidly, their commander,\nor one of their principal officers, attempted to rally them. Having\nsucceeded in this attempt for the moment, the said officer had the\nimpudence to attack and put his majesty's liege subject, John Shipp,\nensign on full pay, and in the full vigour of his life and manhood, in\nbodily fear, on the king's high hill of Muckwanpore, on the afternoon of\n---- I now forget the date, he so frightened me. He was a strong,\npowerful man, protected by two shields, one tied round his waist, and\nhanging over his thighs as low as his knees, and the other on the left\narm, much larger than the one round his waist. From this gentleman there\nwas no escape; and, fortunately for me, I had my old twenty-fourther\nwith me, which I had two or three days before put in good shaving order.\nWith this I was obliged to act on the defensive, till I could catch my\nformidable opponent off his guard. He cut, I guarded; he thrust, I\nparried; until he became aggravated, and set to work with that\nimpetuosity and determination pretty generally understood by the phrase\n\"hammer and tongs;\" in the course of which he nearly cut my poor\ntwenty-fourther in pieces. At last I found he was winded; but I could\nsee nothing of the fellow, except his black face peeping above one\nshield, and his feet under the other; so I thought I would give him a\ncut five across his lower extremities; but he would not stand still a\nmoment; he cut as many capers as a French dancing-master, till I was\nquite out of patience with his folly. I did not like to quit my man; so\nI tried his other extremities; but he would not stand still, all I could\ndo. At length, I made a feint at his toes, to cut them; down went his\nshield from his face, to save his legs; up went the edge of my sword\nsmack under his chin; in endeavouring to get away from which, he threw\nhis head back, which nearly tumbled off, and down he fell; and I assure\nyou, reader, I was not sorry for it, for he was a most unsociable\nneighbour. I don't know whether I had a right or not, but I took the\nliberty of taking his sword, gold crescent, turban-chain, and large\nshield. The latter I sported on my left arm during the action, and it\nwas fortunate for me that I did, for I found that the shield was\nball-proof, and I should have been severely wounded, had I been deprived\nof this trophy. Our gallant captain fought like one of the old Fogs, and\nhis men, as I had been told, were indeed \"divels to fight.\" The very\nnoise they made would have frightened old Harry himself.\n\nThe enemy fought furiously before they gave up the hill; indeed, many\nof them rushed upon our bayonets in the most reckless and desperate\nmanner. Being at last compelled to give way, they took up their station\non the adjoining hills, and in the ravines and valleys below, and their\nfire for a time was destructive. As we had now gained the hill, we had\nproceeded to the extent of our orders. Here reinforcements poured up to\nour assistance, and two six-pounders, which had been sent up immediately\nafter us, now began to play with grape on the poor and brave fellows who\nhad sought refuge in the dells below. The havoc was dreadful, for they\nstill scorned to fly. During our ascent, some shells had been thrown by\nour artillery below, from some howitzers in front of our encampment, to\nthe right of the ridge of the hill, where the enemy, in immense force,\nhad been observed running down to the assistance of their beaten\ncomrades. This reinforcement of the enemy brought down, to play upon our\nascent, a small hill-gun, a three-pounder of about a yard long, which\none man could carry. The whole of the ammunition brought by the enemy\nfor this and other purposes, our shells from below reached and blew up,\nand great numbers were killed and wounded by the explosion. When their\nammunition was gone, they rolled the little gun down the hill, where we,\nafter the action, found it. Our troops having been distributed and\nposted along the range of hills, some of our men were killed and wounded\nby each other, by their cross-firing at random, where they heard the\nsound of muskets, but could not see the object. We frequently sounded\n\"cease firing,\" but to no purpose; and, indeed, it was truly tantalizing\nto see thousands of the enemy under our very noses, and not to be\nallowed to fire at them; but, the woods being thick and high, we were\nfearful of again drawing on ourselves the fire of our men on the\nopposite hills. Our brave colonel had arrived upon the hill with the\nreinforcements which belonged to his brigade, and, fearing the same evil\nhe sounded repeatedly the \"cease firing;\" but here and there some shots\nwere still fired by the native troops. When he came to his light\ncompany, I could see the beam of delight in the veteran's eye; but that\nwas no time for compliments. He desired us to cut the first man down who\npresumed to disobey his oft-repeated order of \"cease firing;\" and he\ntold us to lie down, and on no account to attempt to proceed. At this\nmoment, one of the enemy, who had been annoying us from a thicket some\nthirty paces from where I stood, not stomaching the grape, made a\nmovement from his hiding-place. One of our company seeing so good an\nopportunity, was not to be restrained; he fired, and killed his man. The\ncolonel had nothing but a walking-stick in his hand. Whether he thought\nit was his sword or not, I cannot say; but he immediately ran at the man\nand struck him across the nose--in which, by-the-by, nature had been\nvery bountiful to this individual--exclaiming at the same time, \"You\nrascal! I have a great mind to have you shot this moment for this\npointed disobedience of my orders.\" At this moment, seeing the enemy,\nwho had secreted themselves in the underwood, ferreted out by our\nshells, and running off, some of our fellows must, if they died for it,\nhave a shot. This exasperated our little colonel beyond bounds. He was a\nlittle lion when roused. He immediately selected one of the men of the\nlight company of the 25th regiment, and ordered him to be shot, which\nwould certainly have been done, had not the adjutant-general of the\nforces at that time joined the colonel with orders. By this the\ncolonel's attention was drawn off, and he ran off towards the right. The\nman, seeing this, ran towards the left, and thus escaped the punishment\nhe justly deserved. Prompt and implicit obedience is one of the grand\nprinciples of military discipline; and any officer would have been\njustifiable in shooting, or cutting down, any such disobedient soldier.\nAny breach of orders I would at all times punish with a great and heavy\npenalty. Encourage this, and there is an end to military obedience and\ndiscipline at once. The soldier who was struck on this occasion was\nsensible of the enormity of his crime, and therefore quietly pocketed\nthe more lenient penalty, and the countermarch his nose had made towards\nhis cheek, and thought himself fortunate that he had not been deprived\nof his life.\n\nNaught was now heard but the roaring of the two six-pounders and the\nwhistling of shells. The dying and the wounded lay in masses in the\ndells and ravines below. In our own company we had, I think, eleven\nkilled and twenty wounded, our total number being eighty only. I do\nrepeat again, I never saw such soldiers. I began to think myself, in\ncomparison with them, but yet a novice. When the evening began to spread\nher mantle over the dreary scene, the sombre appearance of the lowering\nsky seemed to mourn, and put on a garb of black, to shield from human\neye the ghastly sight below. As long as it was light, we could plainly\nsee the last struggles of the dying. Some poor fellows could be seen\nraising their knees up to their chins, and then flinging them down with\nall their might. Some attempted to rise, but failed in the attempt. One\npoor fellow I saw get on his legs, put his hand to his bleeding head,\nthen fall, and roll down the hill, to rise no more. This was the scene\nthat the evening now closed upon. Reader, believe me when I assure you\nthat these results of war were no sights of exultation or triumph to the\nsoldiers who witnessed them. Willingly would we one and all have\nextended the hand of aid to them, and dressed their gaping wounds. No\nbrave man will ever exult over a bleeding and wounded enemy. The weapon\nof destruction is no sooner out of his hands, than he is our prisoner,\nbut not our foe. The sympathetic expressions that fell from the lips of\nour brave soldiers, on witnessing these sights, would have done credit\nto any set of men.\n\nThe dark clouds omened a coming storm. I have been told that any\nparticular noise in mountainous countries--more particularly the\nroaring of cannon--will bring the clouds down from above, and that rain\nwill follow; and I once heard a gentleman account for it in this way. He\nsaid that all dark and thick-looking clouds might be said to be\nreservoirs of water; that any convulsion would bring them down; and\nthat, when at a certain distance from the earth, the earth's attractive\npower would draw the rain from them, and, when lightened of this burden,\nthe clouds would again rise. How far this may be the case, I know not. I\ncan only say that, if convulsion could cause rain, there was convulsion\nenough, for the roaring of the cannon kept up one continued re-echo. The\nevening closed in pitchy darkness.\n\nThe pioneers had been sent up, and we commenced intrenching and\nstockading the hill round the huts, which were in number about twenty.\nSome refreshments had at this time come up, both for officers and men.\nAfter partaking of some food, it was resolved between my captain and me,\nthat we should watch four hours round, and that he should commence the\nfirst four. He accordingly went to post his men, and I took possession,\nwith several men, of a small hut full of good straw, on which I lay down\nto repose. Scarcely had I closed my eyes in balmy sleep, when I heard\nthe unwelcome vociferation, \"Pass the word for Lieutenant Shipp; pass\nthe word for Mr. Shipp; send Mr. Shipp to me.\" It was the colonel's\nvoice that I heard; so, jumping from my straw, I exclaimed, \"Here I am,\ncolonel; here am I, Sir.\"--\"That's right,\" said the colonel; \"I want you\nto go on duty.\" He then took me by the hand, and said, \"Shipp, you have\nverified the recommendations I received from your late commanding\nofficer of the 24th Light Dragoons, and I shall not lose sight of your\nconduct. From the information our spies have brought, we have every\nreason to believe that the enemy will, under the darkness of the night,\nmake an effort to regain their lost post, which is of much consequence\nto them, and more to us. We must therefore prepare to meet them with\ndetermined force and resistance, or we shall have all our work to do\nover again. You must take a steady sergeant and twelve men, and proceed\ndown close to the reservoir of water. On this side of the reservoir take\nup your station. Let your sentinels form a link with the other sentinels\non your right and left; and by no means permit your men to lie down or\nsleep, but see that they watch, and are on the alert. Go; I know I need\nnot explain more to you. Your captain I have posted in a similar\nsituation.\" The rain now fell in torrents; the thunder rolled in its\nbitterest anger; and the lightning shot in massive sheets along the\nmountain-tops, and, by its vivid blaze, showed us a glimpse of the dead\nand the dying. I found that, close to my post, lay numbers whom I\nbelieved dead; but I afterwards distinctly heard, during the cessation\nof the thunder, the moaning of those below. I don't know any situation\nmore painful than mine was at that moment: a tempest raging in all its\nterrific forms, surrounded by the dead and the dying, and expecting\nevery moment to be attacked by a cruel and barbarous foe, from whom no\nmercy could be expected, should fate throw us into their hands. Nothing\nbut a sense of duty, and the recollection that I was engaged in the\nservice of my country, could have supported me under such circumstances.\nA high sense of the duties, and an ardent attachment to the profession\nof a soldier, will enable a man to do that, with comparative\ncheerfulness, from which, under other circumstances, his feelings would\nrevolt. The enemy were noted for barbarity and craft, and the danger of\nsurprise was great.\n\nUpon the principle that all stratagems are justifiable in warfare as\nwell as in love, a ready excuse may be found for the craft and cunning\nexercised by this or any other tribe in their own defence; and it is\nimpossible to look even upon the cruelties practised by them, with any\nother than an eye of pity and commiseration. They are taught from their\ninfancy the art of war; they fight under the banner of gloomy\nsuperstition; cruelty is their creed; and murder of their foes the\nzenith of their glory. Let us not, therefore, condemn too severely\nthese untaught babes of idolatry.\n\nNotwithstanding my dismal forebodings, and the dangerous position which\nwe occupied, the night passed off quietly enough. Towards morning the\nrain ceased, and the sun rose in all its splendour and majesty; but the\nscene of death below marred and defiled the more distant prospect, which\nwas magnificent beyond description. The piquets from below were\nwithdrawn after daylight. On going round the hill afterwards, the dead\nbodies there astonished me. It was scarcely possible to walk without\nstepping on them. I could not have imagined that the one-twentieth part\nhad fallen; but, as I have before said, self, in action, is the grand\nand primary object of man's regard. I paid a visit to the dead body of\nmy antagonist of the preceding day. I found that his head hung only by\nthe skin of his neck. He had also a cut in the abdomen, through which\nthe bowels protruded. I found that, in addition to this, he had received\na ball in the fleshy part of the thigh; but whether he got this before\nor after the fall, I do not pretend to say, but I should imagine before,\nfrom the direction of the ball. He was a fine-looking man, and was\ndressed in a full general's uniform, the same as that worn by our\nEnglish generals twenty years ago, with the old frog lace, both on the\nskirts and sleeves, but without epaulettes. When engaged with him, I\nnever dared take my eye off his. Had I not been thoroughly practised in\nthe sword exercise, I must soon have fallen, for he was a very expert\nswordsman. In a letter addressed to me afterwards, by Captain\nPickersgill, quarter-master-general of the army, I was congratulated on\nthe fall of that distinguished _sobah_, or chieftain. His name, the\nquarter-master-general stated, was Khissna Rhannah Bahadur, and that he\nwas the identical officer who had planned and executed the massacre at\nSummanpore and Persah, the season before. The letter went on to state\nthat he was a great loss to the Nepaul government, and it was the\nopinion of the quarter-master-general, as well as of Sir David\nOchterlony, that the death of this sobah contributed greatly to turn the\ncurrent of affairs in the Nepaul campaign.\n\nOur next object was to commit the poor fellows who were killed to the\ngrave; for which purpose an enormous working-party was employed to bury\nthe dead, and take the wounded to our hospitals. In two days, eleven\nhundred were committed to the grave, having almost one general tomb; and\nit would have much edified those babblers who rail so much against\nsoldiers' cruelties and vices, to have seen the tear of compassion\ntrickling down the cheeks of both natives and Europeans on this\noccasion. Having performed our sad duty, we were relieved at mid-day,\nand returned to the lines, amidst the greetings of our comrades at the\nfoot of the hill. The orders of the day were flattering and\ncomplimentary to all engaged. These were little trophies gained that no\nman could rob or cheat us of. Having washed and dressed myself, I went\nto the hospital to visit both my friends and those that had been, a\nshort day before, my mortal enemies. It had been a considerable time\nbefore our wounded men could be removed from the hill, and then the\nbringing them down so shook them, that, in many cases, inflammation had\ntaken place. Some of these poor suffering fellows seemed to endure the\nmost excruciating pangs. Every comfort that liberality could purchase\nwas afforded to the sufferers, and it gladdened my heart when I went\ninto the tents of the wounded of the enemy, to see some of our native\nsoldiers on their knees, waiting on and administering comforts to them,\nwhile others were whispering sweet words of consolation into their\nattentive ears, which were the more necessary, as some of these poor\ncreatures had an idea that their lives were only prolonged for a more\ncruel and lingering death. An amputation had been thought necessary on\nthe leg of one of the native enemy. This he submitted to almost without\na struggle. When his leg was off, and the stump dressed, it confirmed\nhim in what he had been taught from his infancy, that almost all white\nmen were cannibals; and he asked one of his friends who was lying by\nhim (one of his countrymen), \"when he thought they would take the other\nleg off; as, if he thought it would be long, he would destroy himself.\"\nThis being understood by one of the hospital attendants, to ease his\nmind, it was thought proper to explain to him that the act was one of\nkindness, not of cruelty, and done to save his life. For this purpose\none of his countrymen, a spy of ours, was sent for; nothing, however,\nbut the sight of the same operation performed on one of our native men,\ncould appease and satisfy him. After having witnessed this, he became\ncalm, and felt satisfied that we were not such barbarians as he had been\ntaught to suppose. Our humane general had directed that men of the same\ncaste should attend the wounded prisoners of war, and volunteers in\nabundance came forward for this benevolent purpose. It was a truly\npleasurable and delightful sight to witness those who, but a short day\nbefore, had fought hard in the bitterest rancour of their souls, now\ninterchanging the most affectionate civilities.\n\nI have, in the hurry of my narrative, forgotten a circumstance which\nreflects honour on the soldier whom it concerns. When on the top of the\nhill where the action raged most, one of the enemy showed himself most\nconspicuously, fighting like a hero. He had just shot one of our men\nclose by where I stood, when I made towards him, with a man of the name\nof Quanbury. Finding that he was receding from us, and again loading,\nthe soldier next me fired, and the man fell upon his knees. Quanbury\nimmediately ran up to him--for he still grasped his firelock--and was in\nthe act of running him through, when the man threw down his arms. Seeing\nthis, the brave Irish soldier stayed his finishing blow, exclaiming, \"By\nthe powers, my fine fellow, but it was well you were after doing that\nself-same thing; for had you shot me as you did that other man, bad luck\nto me if I wouldn't have blown your brains out; so I would.\" Here the\nquarter-master-general came up and took charge of his prisoner, and we\npassed on to clear the hill of others who were keeping up a heavy fire.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nWe were still obliged to carry on our approaches with all possible\nvigilance and activity; and our discipline was not relaxed in the\nslightest particular. We were compelled to watch the enemy with a\njealous eye, not allowing our late little victory to feed our vanity, or\nto seduce us from our wonted caution. Every eye was now fixed on the\nhill which was in front of our head approach; and various and ludicrous\nwere the reports and opinions, during the day and night, of the\nmovements on the said hill. Fallen trees were magnified into guns and\nmortars; variegated bushes into soldiers; the light between the trees\ninto flags; and the midnight _ignis fatuus_, on its nocturnal rambles,\ninto torches and lights of the enemy. The rustling leaves, falling down\nthe wintry glen, were construed into the coming foe; and, had one of our\ncaptains been the commander-in-chief, the hill would have been treeless\nand leafless, for he would have blown them all up instead of the enemy.\nThe glass was never from this gentleman's eye. Could his thoughts and\nspeculations by day and night have been committed to paper, his words\nwould have shone forth in all the radiance of a military vocabulary.\nWhat shells would he not have expended upon the poor _ignis fatuus_! All\nwe could do or say, he would not believe us. If he had been our general,\nwe should have been in Khatmandoo, the capital of Nepaul, in half the\ntime. His system was new and wonderful; for, when arguing on the best\nplan to be adopted, he had always the most happy knack of catching the\nenemy asleep. But in these notions he happened to have mistaken his men.\nThe Nepaulese soldiers never sleep, or rather, such is their\nwatchfulness, that you can never surprise them. This misconception of\ntheir character would have led him wrong as often as the _ignis fatuus_.\nIt is quite preposterous to hear some men boasting of what they would do\nif they had the command. Soldiers are not to judge of the actions of\ntheir superiors, but implicitly to obey any orders that may be\ncommunicated to them. It is certain, at least, we have no right to\npromulgate our opinions to the prejudice of others. I longed for an\nopportunity of seeing this kill-devil of a captain well tried as a\nsoldier; for, if he killed people as fast by the sword as he did by the\ntongue, two companies of such men would clear the universe, asleep or\nawake. However, I never had my wish gratified in this respect, though I\ndo not despair that I may hear of some of his brilliant exploits when he\nis general; for his merits surely cannot be long before it reach the\nthrone.\n\nWhile we were parading the company in the evening, the captain observed\na man looking extremely ill, and asked him what was the matter with him.\n\"Nothing at all, your honour, only a little scratch one of them\nspalpeens gave me on the hill yesterday; but, sure, it's nothing worth\nwhile talking about.\" As the surgeon was standing near the parade, he\nwas sent for, and the man went into a tent to show his scratch, as he\ncalled it, when it was found that the ball had carried away the point of\nhis lower rib, and the wound having been neglected, the surgeon\nexpressed some doubts as to whether the ball was still in or not; when\nthe soldier replied, \"I beg your pardon, that's a great big mistake, for\nhere it is\" (pulling it out of his pocket), \"beat as flat as a\ncrown-piece.\" He was then ordered to the hospital, but was almost\nobliged to be dragged there, for he bellowed out, \"Arrah, captain,\nhoney, are you going to send me to the hospital before I get\nsatisfaction and revenge for this wound?\" He was, of course, obliged to\ngo, and he got better; but during the campaign against the Nepaulese, he\nnever had the satisfaction he required.\n\nThe following day I went on outlying piquet, on a small hill about half\na mile from the right of the camp. This was, strictly speaking, a piquet\nor post of observation, as, immediately behind it, was a small foot\npathway from the hill, which our advanced post had not yet reached. It\nwas, therefore, requisite to guard the mouth of this little pathway with\ngreat care.\n\nI believe it was when on this service that I had occasion to notice an\ninstance of sagacity in a dog, that may be deemed worthy of being\nrecorded.\n\nIn passing the sentinels, I found it necessary to admonish one of them\nfor not challenging in a louder voice. To my astonishment, the excuse\nwhich the man made was, that he was afraid of waking a faithful dog of\nhis, which was asleep under a bush just by.\n\n\"What!\" said I, \"then I suppose you sometimes take nap about with this\nfaithful animal.\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said the man, innocently, \"sometimes, sir; and, to say the\ntruth, I have but five minutes ago relieved him from his post.\"\n\n\"Very candid, truly,\" said I; \"but are you not aware, my good fellow,\nthat you could be shot for sleeping on your post?\"\n\nThe sentinel admitted that he knew well the consequences to which he\nwould be subjected by so doing; but notwithstanding this, he asserted\nthat he could thoroughly confide in his faithful companion, who, on the\nslightest noise, would jump upon him, and awake him.\n\nOn further inquiry, I learnt that this sagacious and faithful creature\nwould regularly, when his master was on watch, stand his hour and walk\nhis round; that, in very dark nights, he would even put his ear to the\nground, and listen; and that, during the period assigned to him as his\nturn to watch, he would never venture to lie down, but would steadily\nand slowly walk his round, which nothing could induce him to leave, such\nwas his opinion of the nature and responsibility of his post. The man\nadded, that he once gave him to an officer of the Company's service, who\ntook him from the station where he was (Meerut) to Loodiana, a distance\nof four hundred miles, and that, the moment the officer let him loose,\nhe returned to his old master, having performed that great distance in\ntwo days and a half; that he was on the main-guard the night he\nreturned, and he was awoke by the dog licking his face. It appeared that\nhe had been through the barrack, and visited every sleeping soldier on\ntheir separate cots, until he found his master. The man related several\nanecdotes of this animal: among the rest, he said he was one day out\ndrinking toddy, some miles from camp, and from the intoxicating effect,\nand the extreme heat of the weather, he went to sleep. On awaking, he\nfound his clothes torn in several places, and that he had been dragged\nmore than three yards from the bush under which he had lain down; but\nwhat was his astonishment, on getting up, to find a large snake almost\ntorn to pieces, no doubt by his faithful guard! He was a powerful dog--a\nkind of Persian hill greyhound--that would kill a wolf single-handed.\n\nOn the following day we opened our batteries on some stockades on the\nface of the hill intervening between us and the fort of Muckwanpore. The\nfirst stockade that we proposed to dislodge, was one about eight hundred\nor a thousand yards from our battery. We could not approach nearer than\nthis, as a deep and enormous declivity lay between us. This being the\ncase, we were under the necessity of commencing at this great distance.\nThe stockade seemed alive with men. There was also a tent pitched in it,\nwith several colours flying, in token of defiance. Some dozen shells,\nwhich were beautifully thrown into this stockade, put some of them to\ndouble-quick; the tent soon disappeared, as well as the colours, and\nmost of the men, save now and then one or two taking a sly peep to see\nwhat we were about. The eighteen and twenty-four pound balls, however, I\nam convinced never had power to penetrate that little edifice of art. It\nwas evidently built of green bamboos. These, when green, are very\nelastic, and, being interwoven, as this stockade seemed to be, there is\nno question that, at the distance from which we fired, they would resist\nthe power of our balls. We frequently saw men running and picking up\nsomething, a hundred yards or more from the place. We could not suppose\nthat they were picking up stones.\n\nIn the course of this day we received a communication to admit into camp\na native from the fort, with his attendants, six in number. \"Halloa,\"\nsaid one, \"what! they have had a sickener, have they?\"--\"They have had\nenough on't,\" said another. A soldier standing near me bellowed out,\n\"Arrah, Corporal Freeman, dear, sure the enemy have got the Corporal\nForbes\" (meaning the cholera morbus), \"for the rajah is coming to take\n_ta_ with Sir David Maloney.\" This was what our men had christened him,\nI suppose to make his name shorter. Various were the reports in\ncirculation, and every one had his own opinion. Here again the glass of\nthe noble captain, of whom I have already made honourable mention, was\nconstantly at his eye, looking for this messenger of peace. Sometimes he\nsaw him on horseback; then in his palanquin, attended by one hundred\nfollowers. \"If he was the commander-in-chief, he would not permit one of\nthem to come within a mile of the camp, armed.\" One time he saw the\nrajah riding on a milk-white steed on the hill; but this procession,\nunfortunately, proved to be no other than little white clouds riding in\nthe sky. Ten thousand were the methods and styles in which this\nmessenger was to make his appearance, and not one was right, for he\narrived carried in something like a sailor's hammock, with one follower.\nHe was a dirty, ill-looking, thick-set fellow, with small eyes, wide\nface, and a low forehead. In spite of these disadvantages of person,\nhowever, he assumed all the consequence of a nabob; but when we\ncommenced examining his hammock and person, to see that he had no hidden\nweapon, his ambassadorship was highly offended, and protested that, to\nuse his own words, \"He would not permit his holy person (for he was a\npriest) to be polluted or defiled by the contaminating touch of a\nChristian.\" He added, \"that he was a high-priest, and that, rather than\nsubmit to such debasement, he would return to his rajah, and inform him\nof the prodigious indign scrutiny of his holy person.\" He was soon\ninformed, that if he did not submit to the required forms and rules of\nthe East, he of course might return to his master, and tell him what he\npleased. He was getting into his hammock for this purpose, when his\nholiness thought better of it, and said, \"Well, you may examine.\" While\nI searched his ponderous cumerbund (a long cloth that was round his\nwaist) he endeavoured to avoid my touch, by cringing from me, as he\nwould from the bite of a serpent; but I gave his holiness such a twist\nround, that he thought he would never have stopped. Upon this his eye\ndarted vivid flashes of fire; I saw him clench his fists with rage; he\nfoamed from the sides of his mouth; and at one time I really thought\nthat the holy personage was about to forget his holiness, and coming to\nthe scratch. Having no secreted weapon upon him, he was permitted to\npass, and it was a very necessary precaution to examine such a fellow\nstrictly, for he was a Goorkah, or bastard Tartar, a race pre-eminently\nbloodthirsty and cruel, and of the same sect with those who committed\nsuch wanton cruelties on the poor unfortunate spy of Ettoondah. In\nobedience to our instructions, we passed him into camp, and in about an\nhour he returned, his sallow face contracted and distorted with all the\nrage and malice that can make the human features terrific. He passed on\nin sullen silence, in his heart vowing vengeance, as he had no doubt\nbeen unsuccessful in his embassy. His sudden exit, and obvious\ndispleasure, indicated a renewal of hostilities; at least so said the\nall-wise captain, who was the very fountain of information--a complete\nreservoir of the pure stream of knowledge, at least as far as his own\nopinion went.\n\nNotwithstanding this sage prediction, however, two more days passed\naway, when another ambassador came into camp--if not so holy as the\nformer, certainly more like a statesman. This second messenger remained\na considerable time in deep and secret conversation with our noble\ngeneral, who could see as far as most folks, although the service had\ndeprived him of one eye. At last he left, his eye beaming delight. He\nsmiled and bowed as he passed, and we, one and all, immediately flew to\nthe sure channel of information. His opinion was peace; and, for once\nduring the captain's campaigns, he was right, for, the day following,\nthe firing from our batteries ceased, and the uncle to the then reigning\nrajah, who was regent, was expected in camp. Every eye was on the\nlook-out for this great personage, and various were the opinions of the\nanxious multitude, and they were as ridiculous as they were varied. The\nwise captain was not idle, either with his glass or his tongue. To do\nhonour to the reception of such a personage, the two flank companies of\nthe 87th regiment, and the two flank companies of the 25th native\ninfantry, formed a street to the general's tent, where every preparation\nwas made to receive our visitor as regent, and uncle to the reigning\nrajah, who was a boy. Having waited some hours after the time, Sir David\nbegan to get nettled, and was in the act of withdrawing the troops and\nsetting our batteries to work, when the shrill sound of the war-trumpet,\nand the roll of the war-drum, were heard, which were signals that the\nregent was on the move. Shortly afterwards we saw him descending the\nhill in a superb palanquin, attended by about twenty armed men on foot.\nAt the end of the street he was met by the adjutant-general,\nquarter-master-general, and several other staff-officers; and, after a\nlittle hugging, they led him on, taking his hands in theirs in token of\nfriendship. Thus they proceeded to the general's splendid tent, the\nstreet presenting arms, which he perfectly understood, and to which he\nbowed in a most majestic manner. I do not think that in the course of my\nservice I ever beheld a more noble and venerable-looking man. He was\nmost superbly dressed, with numberless daggers stuck in his cumerbund,\nand a sword by his side that seemed studded with diamonds and precious\nstones. His neck, turban, and hands were one mass of jewels. Our brave\ngeneral met him at the door of his tent, when the greeting was most\nlaughable; something like that of Doodle and Noodle, in \"Tom Thumb.\" The\nmanners of our visitor were those of a perfect courtier; but he was\nfree, affable, and jocular. In two hours after the customary sprinkling\nof scents, the treaty of peace was ratified, and he returned towards\nhome with pleasure in his eye. Here the wise captain ran about,\ndelighted and delighting, saying, \"Did I not tell you so? I knew it--I\ncould not be deceived--the thing was plain. People must have been blind\nnot to have foreseen this event.\"\n\nThus ended the fighting against the Nepaulese, this having been the\nsecond campaign in what is called the Goorkah war. It was a fortunate\nthing for all hands that hostilities were thus terminated, for seventy\nmen of the 87th regiment had that morning gone to hospital with the\ndysentery, a complaint that was raging with great violence, from the\ndamp situation of the valley, and the thick fogs that lodged there till\nnearly mid-day. Guns were ordered down, and we began to prepare for\nquarters. None were sorry for it, for already were our toes playing at\nhide-and-seek through our boots, and our wardrobes were much the worse\nfor wear. We were given to understand, from the quarter-master-general,\nthat the post which we took had been vacated by the enemy's troops,\nwithout orders, and that they were sent back reinforced to retake and\nkeep it, in which attempt, if they did not succeed, their heads were to\nbe the forfeit. This accounts for the desperate manner in which they\nfought and struggled to keep the post.\n\nHaving vacated the hill, and our enemies having now become our\nfriends--for many of them had already come down into camp for the\npurpose of purchasing articles in our bazaars--some three or four of us\nmade a party to visit the fort and stockades; for which purpose we\nstarted after breakfast, and reached their advanced outpost. Here we\nwere stopped, and informed that we could not be permitted to proceed any\nfurther, without the permission of the keeledar, or governor of the\nfort; but that, if we would wait, a man should be sent to ask if we\nmight advance. To this we consented, and, in about half an hour after,\nthe man who had been sent on this errand came back, with two other men,\nand said the keeledar had been pleased to grant us permission to go, but\nthat we must go unarmed, leaving our swords in the last stockade. The\nascent of the hill towards the fort was extremely difficult; and at\nevery turning of the road was a strong stockade with guns; so that our\nnecessary loss in taking these hills and posts must have been enormous,\nfor there was scarcely any footing.\n\nWe at last reached the grand fort of Muckwanpore, if it deserved the\nname. It was built of stone and brick, and was very high; but a dozen\nshots from our twenty-four-pounders would have levelled it with the\nground. Indeed, one bastion had given warning of its intending to stand\nno longer. The tempests that rage in these hills had shaken its\nfoundation. The gate was strong, but its hinges were small. On our\nentering, a small guard at the gate presented arms, a drummer beat the\ngrenadiers' march, and a little fifer played the tune. Both the drum and\nthe fife were of English manufacture. A little further was the tent we\nhad seen in the stockade--at least some part of it. It was riddled like\na sieve with our shells, and the top of it was hanging in ribbons. Here\nwe were introduced to the governor, who was seated on a greasy cushion,\nthe pillows of which, though they had once been white, were now the\ncolour of his face. He received us cordially, and shook hands with us\nmost heartily; and he was really a very jolly old fellow, some twenty\nor twenty-three stone, his fat sides hanging in large flaps over his\nhips, which we sometimes made shake again with laughter. He paid us many\ncompliments about our fighting and system of warfare, and wanted to know\nhow many thousands we had had killed. When we assured him that we had\nnot lost more than forty he laughed heartily, and said, we meant forty\nhundred, for they had lost more than that. We spent a pleasant hour with\nthis fat governor, who, after we had looked round the fort, had the\npoliteness to parade his regiment for our inspection. I never saw a\nfiner body of men in my life. They were as well armed, and as well\nequipped in every respect, as our native troops. After this we returned\nto camp, and the following morning marched towards cantonments.\n\n[Illustration: GHOORKA SOLDIER.\n\nFrom a Sketch taken by the late Earl of MUNSTER.]\n\nAs all treaties contracted in India, between native and European powers,\nare ever to be held with a jealous and watchful eye (for naught but time\ncan make them valid), it was necessary for us to take up a position to\nwatch the proceedings of our new friends. Under the cloak of friendship,\nsome of the most barbarous massacres have been perpetrated; and treaties\nhave been frequently signed and sealed, and, ere the signature was dry,\nthe enemy have commenced infringing on their contracts and sacred ties.\nIt has even been known that, during the time occupied by the parley\nnecessary for completing such negotiations, the enemy have been busily\nengaged in making preparations for striking a more effectual blow. It\nwas but prudent, therefore, that we should keep our eye upon them. In\naccordance with one of the covenants of the treaty, a British resident,\nand the usual escort, were to remain at the capital. This escort\nmarched, on the same day we did, to Khatmandoo. Our march was through\nthe pass of Cheriagotte, where the mad-brained young officers wanted to\nforce an entrance. My description of this pass, as I proceed, will prove\nhow fatal, and contrary to the dictates of reason, would have been any\nsuch attempt.\n\nI was on the rear-guard the morning we left the valley of Muckwanpore.\nThe enemy--or, perhaps, I should say our friends--flocked in great\nnumbers, to bid us farewell, or see us depart. The whole of the baggage\nwas nearly gone, when a number of these soldiers gathered round the\nguard, asking all manner of questions. A most respectable-looking young\nman, wearing the dress of an officer, came up to me and said, \"Were you\nnot in the action on the hill of Muckwanpore?\"\n\nI told him that I had had that honour.\n\nHe replied, \"So was I; and I fired three shots at you from behind a\ntree--are you not wounded?\"\n\nI replied, \"No.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"I never missed my man before in my life.\"\n\nI asked him at what period of the action it was that he aimed at me.\n\n\"When you were fighting with Sobah Khissna Rhannah,\" replied he.\n\n\"You were not far from your man, then,\" said I, \"for one of your shots\nstruck the peak of my cap.\"\n\nAt this he laughed. He afterwards complimented me on my swordmanship,\nand said that few could touch the sobah in that exercise. He then asked\nto look at one of my men's muskets, and he put himself through the\nmanual and platoon exercises, giving himself the word of command in\nEnglish. I never saw motions more clean or more compactly executed. I\nasked him where he learned English, and the English modes of drill. He\nreplied, \"From Browne,\" who was a deserter from the Company's European\nregiment. He added, that a man of the name of Bell, a deserter from the\nCompany's Foot Artillery, had also taught him his exercise, and Browne\nhad instructed him in English. The former, he said, had been made\ncolonel of artillery, and the latter schoolmaster; but they had both\nbeen discharged from the service at the commencement of the war.\n\nAt last we moved off, the young stranger shaking me heartily by the\nhand, and saying, \"I love a brave soldier; and the white men are all\nbrave.\" This young man, it appeared, was the adjutant of the corps of\nwhich Khissna Rhannah, who fell under my fortunate sabre, was colonel.\n\nOur first march was tolerably easy, as it lay under a winding hill; and\nwe reached nearly the top of the pass, and encamped. On the following\nmorning we dispatched our things very early, to prevent them falling\ninto the hands of the people, should they attempt to prove\ntreacherous--which was not at all improbable--after we had descended the\nghauts. When under the base of the hill, the road, which had been before\nwide and tolerably good, narrowed off, and we soon found ourselves\nsinking down between two enormous hills. The road was scarcely wide\nenough, in some places, to admit an elephant, with his load, to pass. On\neach side of this terrific hill were huge rocks and stones piled up for\nour destruction. Some, of enormous size, the least touch would have\nprecipitated upon our heads, and they seemed to have been rolled to the\nbrink for that purpose. There were stockades upon stockades, all looking\non and commanding this little and narrow excavated pathway. Had we once\nentered, as I have before mentioned was suggested by some rash-brained\nyoung officers, not a soul could have escaped destruction. I should\nthink that, in the middle of this ghaut, the perpendicular rock on each\nside must have been five hundred feet high; and therefore, had there\nbeen no other weapons of destruction than the ponderous masses of rock\nand stone which they could have hurled upon us, our annihilation must\nhave been inevitable, for escape was impossible.\n\nWhen we reached the other side, the eye was met by stockades, fortified\nhills in all directions, and strong breastworks thrown across the\nroadway, which was here somewhat wider; though our road all along was,\nin fact, nothing more than the bed of a river, surrounded and commanded\nby numberless little fortified sugar-loaf hills. These the foe had been\nobliged to ascend by means of ladders. To complete the destruction these\nhills must have dealt upon us, they had poisoned a stream of water,\neither previous to our march from the ravine some ten days before, or\nsince the treaty of peace was signed; but this was timely detected. The\npoisonous grass I have before alluded to, had been sunk in a kind of\nbasin, which was constantly replenished by water that fell from the\nrocks behind it. This might be about twenty yards round, and two deep.\nOn the morning of our return, an elephant, belonging to\nLieutenant-Colonel Rose, of the Company's army, as also a horse\nbelonging to that officer, had preceded the army, and even the baggage.\nThe elephant got his fore feet in the water, of which he drank a little,\nbut seemed not to relish it. The horse could not be induced to drink\nmuch, nor would the elephant again touch it. When urged by his keeper,\nsuch was his perverseness, that the driver descended, and, on looking at\nthe water, he saw a yellowish colour rising to the surface, which was\ncaused by the pressure of the elephant's feet on the grass. The keeper\nimmediately introduced his hand, and pulled out the poisonous herb. This\noccurrence was without delay communicated to our gallant commander; and,\nnever shall I forget his indignation and displeasure at this\nintelligence. The fact being ascertained by the medical department, and\nboth the elephant and horse dying shortly afterwards, Sir David\nperemptorily called upon the Nepaul government for satisfaction for this\ndiabolical attempt to poison his army; but they denied all knowledge of\nsuch a base transaction, protesting that the heads of the offenders\nshould be the penalty, if they could discover the authors of such a\nscheme, which they affected to suppose must be the act of some\nindividual who had sustained injury by the war. They promised that a\nmost strict inquiry should be set on foot, and that the result should be\nmade known to our government. Here, I believe, the business ended; at\nleast, we heard no more of it. A guard was, after this discovery,\nplaced on the poisoned water, to prevent any of the cattle that followed\nfrom drinking it; and the basin was afterwards filled up by our\npioneers, as an effectual remedy to prevent any other travellers that\nmight be journeying that way from becoming its victims.\n\nNothing worth narrating happened during our march to our new place of\nencampment, or where a temporary cantonment was to be erected; save that\nwe went to visit the still exposed bones of those poor creatures who\nwere murdered at Summanpore and Persah. Skulls, and whole bodies, were\nhere to be seen in all directions, and scarcely a tree that had not\nfifty shots in it. We dropped a tear to the memory of the poor fellows\nwho had here fallen, and committed their fleshless bones to the earth.\n\nHaving arrived at our new place of encampment, we found that some\ntemporary barracks had been erected there, for two regiments, the year\nbefore. The site of our new cantonment was marked out. It was on the\nbanks of a beautiful lake, well stocked with fish and wild fowl. Here\nevery one commenced building his hut, not knowing the moment we might be\ncalled upon to re-commence the campaign; for breach of treaties with\nsuch people was an everyday occurrence. From the long and uninterrupted\nfriendship which has now subsisted between the two nations, we may, I\nthink, with fairness conclude, that first impressions are the most\ndurable; and, if in my power, I would take especial care not to run the\nrisk of a failure at the beginning of a campaign. An effectual blow then\nmakes the enemy shy and tame; and the complete victory gained over the\nNepaulese, at Muckwanpore, beat them into principles they never knew\nbefore. They are, however, still tenacious of admitting strangers into\ntheir country, and it is with difficulty that a passport can be obtained\nto visit any part of their beautiful territory.\n\nIn the month of March we had built and completed our bungalows, or huts,\ncontaining two or three rooms each; but we had scarcely got housed when\nwe received orders to proceed to Cawnpore by water--a tedious and long\ntrip at that time of the year. I therefore, being almost tired of war's\nalarms, began to turn my mind towards the object of my affections, with\nwhom I had kept up a constant correspondence during the whole campaign.\nI asked for permission to proceed by land to Cawnpore. This was readily\ngranted, and I started alone on this long trip--a distance of four\nhundred and thirty miles.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE FORT OF HATTRAS.\n\nFrom a Sketch taken by the late Earl of MUNSTER.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nI reached Cawnpore in twelve days, after a very harassing journey, the\nfatigues of which laid me on a bed of sickness; but the affectionate\nnursing of the fair object of my love, and the kind attentions of her\nexcellent family, soon restored me to health, and I was married on the\n4th of April, 1816.\n\nI was received by my old regiment in the most cordial manner; and their\ncontinued marks of kindness to me and my young wife, kept pace with the\nliberality of their mess. No stranger was permitted to pass through the\nstation without a liberal invitation from the 24th Light Dragoons. Soon\nafter this, my own regiment arrived, when every hand was extended to bid\nme welcome; and the next eighteen months were spent by me in domestic\nfelicity. At the expiration of that time, we were called upon again to\nput our limbs in marching order, on an expedition against the strong\nforts of Hattrass, Cummoun, and some other refractory dependencies of\nthe Hattrass rajah.\n\nThe former of these forts is situate about thirty miles from Agra, and\ntwelve from Muttra. It is a mud fort, standing in the middle of the most\nfertile country in Bengal, and is a place of immense strength, in\nconsequence of its enormous ditch, eighty feet wide, by seventy and\nseventy-five feet deep, with but two small bridges, extremely narrow,\nand which the occupants of the fort could destroy in an instant.\n\nOn our arrival before this place, a negotiation was entered into with\nthe political agent and a messenger from the fort; but still our\noperations went on in the most active manner. We could not expect\nsuccess but by a regular and progressive siege, as, independently of the\nfort, there was also a walled town, which it would be necessary to take\nand occupy, before we could get near enough to the former to mine and\nbreach it. For the taking of the town our first batteries were erecting\nduring the parley, as convincing proofs that we were in earnest. This\nsiege was under the command of Major-General Sir Dyson Marshall, K.C.B.\n\nMid-day was finally to determine peace or war. The embassy had been in\ncamp all the morning, begging for time to consider of the proffered\nterms, or, more probably, to endeavour to meet the foe. This stratagem\nhad often been resorted to on similar occasions, to gain the same end;\nand I have known instances when those creatures would swear by all their\nheathen gods and goddesses, that their great wish was to be reconciled,\nwhen, in reality, they were only plotting a more formidable resistance.\nI have often heard them swear by their most sacred Ganges, what was well\nknown, both to us and them, to be the most palpable falsehood. I have\nseen these sycophants kiss the earth, and call everything dear to them\nto witness their asseverations, when they have been uttering the most\nabominable falsehoods to gain some end. I have also seen them beat their\nbreasts and tear their hair, in indication of their love and friendship,\nwhen all the while the canker-worm was busy in their hearts. If you\npermit them, they will put off the evil day from week to week, and from\nmonth to month, having always something new to start. This day the\nvakeel had brought to camp the most positive assurance that his master,\nthe rajah, would be in camp to sign and ratify a treaty on the proffered\nterms. On receiving this intelligence, our good general directed that\nour batteries should not open till the hour of twelve that day.\n\nTen o'clock arrived, but no rajah; eleven o'clock and half-past eleven\npassed away, but still no appearance of the great man from the fort.\nAbout a quarter before the awful hour, the vakeel was seen emerging from\nthe political agent's tent, and mounting his rut; but his contracted\nbrow betrayed the agitation of his mind. He set off at speed. I rode\nbeside him as far as our grand battery, and he told me on the way that\nall was settled, and that the rajah was coming into camp. Scarcely had\nhe uttered this lie, when the awful bell struck twelve, and our\nbatteries opened at the same instant. In a moment the whole town was\nenveloped in one dense cloud of smoke. The instant the vakeel heard the\nguns, he leapt out of his carriage, and ran as fast as he could towards\nthe fort, screaming in notes something like the angry tiger. This being\nthe case, I took the liberty of taking the rut and horse to camp as\nprize property. Whether he reached the fort in safety I know not, for we\nnever saw nor heard anything more of his fat ambassadorship; so I\nsuppose he suffered with many hundreds of others during the siege. The\nmoment our batteries opened, their guns also opened a heavy cannonade,\nevidencing the truth of what the vakeel had been holding forth. Our\nsiege went on progressively and systematically, keeping in view the\ngrand point in all sieges, preservation of men's lives, and going to\nwork with our eyes open. Our breaching-distance from the wall of the\ntown was only about four hundred yards; and therefore, if we were\ninclined to take a peep at things, we were obliged to do it on the sly,\nfor we were within half musket-shot; so near, indeed, that we were\nobliged to have screens for our embrasures, to protect the men when\nloading and laying the guns. The parts breached were the two extreme\ncorners. When we commenced, the town was full of men; but we sent them a\nfew shrapnells and a few rockets, which played beautifully along the\ntops of the houses, and up the narrow streets; and, in one hour,\nscarcely a man was to be seen on the ramparts; but we could hear them\nbusily at work digging something, which we afterwards found to be holes,\nto hide from the shells, over which they covered themselves with old\ndoors and pieces of plank. Some of our shells, however, found them,\neven in those dreary hiding-places. Many of their houses were on fire.\nThe Congreve rocket is a most destructive instrument of death; its\nenormous shaking tail carries everything before it; and, when it\nexplodes, it kills some yards round, and fires houses right and left.\nOur little whistling shrapnells quite discomposed the gravity of their\nhoary-headed priests, and drove them into the fort to seek refuge, and\ncall in the aid of their heathen gods; but not one could be prevailed\nupon to interpose, even so far as to stop a single rocket or shell. Some\nlong shots were then thrown from some of the large guns in the town,\nnear and into camp; but these caused no other inconvenience than to put\nsome ladies, who had come from Agra to be spectators of the scene, to\nthe double-quick, who never thought themselves safe till in their own\ndear homes, some thirty miles off. One lady only remained; but she kept\nat a much more respectful distance than before.\n\nA reward was given for all description of balls brought into camp,\nvarying in amount according to size. Such is the avarice of the natives\nwho hover about camps, that they will risk anything for money. Near the\nright of the line, balls used frequently to be thrown, and some of them\nrolled as far as the piquet. I was riding in that direction one morning\nwhen balls were flying pretty thick. A native saw one lob, and ran to\nstop it. In this attempt, one of his legs was so badly broken, that I\nbelieve it was afterwards amputated. If he had carried the ball to camp,\nhe would have got about fourpence for it!\n\nIn two days the breaches began to wear a stormable appearance; and, on\nthe third day, the storming parties were ordered to be in readiness\nabout two o'clock in the afternoon. The day was calm, and the sky serene\nand cloudless. By three o'clock every soldier was at his post, ready and\nwilling to perform the service of his country, and add new laurels to\nits crown. The left column was to be led by the 87th, or Prince's Own\nregiment, who were as merry as crickets; and the right column by the\n14th regiment, a beautiful corps. About half-past three we moved off\ntowards the town, in silence. Under cover of the village we halted, and\nan unaccountable delay ensued. Here we sat down and talked over the work\nbefore us. While thus engaged, the eye of an inquisitive officer was\nfixed on another officer of the same regiment, who had taken his\nepaulette from his shoulder, and his plate and feather off his cap, so\nthat he looked for all the world like some discharged pensioner. This\nstrange metamorphosis drew upon him the ridicule of his brother\nofficers, and the scoffing of the soldiers. Whatever might be his motive\nfor such an alteration in his dress, to say the least of it, it was\nextremely imprudent and improper; for, by such conduct, he incurred the\nanimadversion of the soldiers of his own regiment, who would, in all\nprobability, put the most illiberal construction on it. The officers did\nnot fail to have their jokes and draw their conclusions from such a\nstrange circumstance; and, when the question was put to him, why he did\nsuch a thing, his answer confirmed the ill-natured surmises that had\ngone abroad, his avowed object being that the enemy should not know him\nfrom a private soldier of the regiment. How far such an expedient may\nhave deserved censure, I leave the public to judge. I merely introduce\nthe instance to warn other young officers against doing anything that\nmay justify the animadversions of the soldiers, or bring them under the\nlash and ridicule of their brother officers. Whatever might have been\nthe feelings of this young officer--and I should be sorry to impute his\nconduct to anything but thoughtlessness--I can venture to assert that he\nnever re-established his former character; in consequence of which, he\nsome time after left the regiment. Therefore, young soldier, never be\nashamed to let your foe know that you hold his majesty's commission. I\nwould sooner cram it down their throats than have my honour or courage\ndoubted. Be tenacious of your character, more especially in the point\nof courage. If you trifle with this, the sooner you cut and run the\nbetter.\n\nThe head engineer, conceiving the breaches not practicable, from his not\nknowing the depth and width of the ditch, had the storming postponed\ntill the following day, with the view that an opportunity might be\nafforded him, under cover of the night, to obtain the necessary\ninformation. At night this officer stole down to the ditch unobserved,\nand, on his return, he seemed delighted beyond bounds that the storm did\nnot take place, as the ditch was so wide and deep that an entrance was\nimpossible. It appeared that what had been knocked off the bastion, had\nnot actually filled up any part of the trench, but only hung to the\nsides of it.\n\nOn the following morning, we found that the enemy, having seen us march\ndown the evening before, had fled when the night closed in, supposing we\nwere going to storm in the night. On this being ascertained, a strong\nparty was instantly dispatched to occupy the town. We found some\ndifficulty in obtaining an entrance, as they had barricaded the two\ngates with stone and large bales of cotton. At last, we were obliged to\nscale the walls with ladders. With the exception of a few poor old\npeople, not a living soul was to be seen in the town; but the number of\nthe dead was considerable. Two elephants had been slain, and camels,\nhorses, bullocks, goats, &c., lay killed in all directions. After\nsauntering about the town, and taking a peep on the other side, we found\nthat the fort was quite close. The moment the enemy saw us, they\ncommenced a heavy cannonade; and the tremendous peals of musketry which\nfollowed informed us that they had not run far. The prize agents now\nturned us all out, supposing, with a good deal of reason, that we were\nnot to be trusted with gold mohurs and rupees, of which a few were found\nin some of the banking-houses.\n\nOn the following day, after reconnoitring the fort and the ground in its\nvicinity, spots were fixed upon for new breaching and shelling\nbatteries; and, in twenty-four hours afterwards, we commenced our work\nof death on the fort and its obdurate inmates. Long ere the hour of the\nsun's decline, it grew as dark as midnight. About ten o'clock, the\nterrific shelling commenced, every whistling shell bearing on its\nlighted wings messengers of death and desolation. I never saw these\nimplements of destruction so accurately thrown--some of them scarcely\nfive inches above the walls of the fort. In five minutes the screams of\nthe women in the fort were dreadful. In a place so confined, where\nnumberless houses were crowded together, every shell must have found its\nway to some poor wretch's dwelling, and, perhaps, torn from mothers'\nbosoms their clinging babes. No person can estimate the dreadful carnage\ncommitted by shells, but those whose fate it has been to witness the\neffects of these messengers of death. On this occasion our shells were\nvery numerous, and of enormous size, many of them thirteen and a half\ninches in calibre. The system of shelling had been so improved in the\ntwelve years which had elapsed since the siege of Bhurtpore, that,\ninstead of about one shell in five minutes from a single battery, it was\nby no means extraordinary to see twenty in one minute, from the numerous\nbatteries which were brought to bear upon this place. It was, at times,\ntruly awful to see ten of these soaring in the air together, seemingly\nriding on the midnight breeze, and disturbing the slumbering clouds on\ntheir pillows of rest--all transporting to a destined spot the\nimplements of havoc and desolation contained within their iron sides.\nThe moon hid herself, in seeming pensiveness, behind a dense black\ncloud, as though reluctant to look on such a scene; and the feathered\ntribe, that were wont, in those warm nights of summer, to melodize the\nbreeze, retired far into the distant woods, there to tune their notes of\nsorrow. Mortal language cannot array such a scene in its garb of\nblackest woe. Some carcasses were also thrown. These, when in the air,\nare not unlike a fiery man soaring above. They are sent to burn houses,\nor blow up magazines. Far and wide they stretch forth their claws of\ndeath; and well might the poor natives call them devils of the night, or\nfiends of the clouds. To complete this dreadful scene, the roaring\nCongreves ran along the bastion's top, breaking legs and arms with their\nshaking tails. Nothing could be more grand to the eye, or more affecting\nto the sympathizing heart, than this horrid spectacle. Still, the\nsuperstitious foe were stimulated by some hoary priest with hopes of\nvictory, thus imbruing their hands in the blood of their children, their\nparents, and their friends. Our shells found their way to their very\ncells, tearing babes from their mothers' bosoms, and dealing death and\ndestruction around. Oh! what must be the anguish of a fond mother, to\nsee nothing but the head of her fondling hanging to her bosom! I will\nrelate one melancholy case of this kind, out of numbers that came within\nmy observation, and actually happened at this place.\n\nA female was lying on a bed of green silk; under her head was a pillow\nof the same material; her right arm had, no doubt, cradled her babe; and\nher left was extended as though for the purpose of keeping her child\nclose to her. A large shell had perforated the tiled roof, and, having\nmade its way through three floors, had gone through the foot of the bed,\nand penetrated some depth into the fourth floor. A piece of this shell\nhad gone through the woman's forehead, carrying away a great part of the\nhead; so that her death, according to the opinion of a medical man who\nsaw her, must have been instantaneous. The lower part of the child's\nbody, from the hips downward, was entirely gone; but, strange to say,\nits mother's nipple still hung in the left corner of its mouth, and its\nlittle right hand still held by its mother's clothes, which probably it\nhad grasped at the first noise of the shell. We understood that this\nwoman was the wife of a most respectable officer in the fort, who had\nalso met his death some hours before her, and was, therefore, in pity\nspared the afflicting sight. Such, reader, are the scenes of war! Such\nare the sights which soldiers, in the course of service, are called upon\nto witness! The poor woman and her babe were committed to the\ngrave--probably the first of her generation that ever returned to the\nearth as her last home; for she was a Hindoo woman.\n\nThe garrison of this fort had been solicited, in the warmest manner, to\nsend their families to their homes, with a promise that they should be\nguarded to any part of the country, and their property guaranteed to\nthem. To these proposals, dictated by the feelings of humanity, which\nour good general possessed in a most eminent degree, we received nothing\nbut contemptuous answers. Be the blood of their slaughtered relatives,\ntherefore, on their shoulders, not on ours! Wherever the troops of the\nCompany have been employed, humanity has always marked their steps; yet\nI have only known one instance in my long service, in which the natives\nconsented to avail themselves of the kind offer made to them, that their\nfamilies should be protected. I shall have the pleasure of mentioning\nthis in its proper place.\n\nIt was currently reported, and there seemed to be some foundation for\nsuch a report, that there were immense treasures in the fort. This was a\nmore shining prospect than we had contemplated. Nothing could be more\ncongenial to our minds than the chance of touching the coin. These\nanticipations gladdened our very hearts, and kept us watchful and\nvigilant. To say the truth, I do not know any class of people more\ndeserving of money, or who can spend it in a more gentlemanlike manner,\nthan soldiers. From our late gaieties at Cawnpore, and having danced my\nmarriage rounds through the whole station, my purse, at this critical\njuncture, was in deep decline. It had undergone a most severe draining,\nand its contents had dwindled away to a single silver piece. My account\nwith the paymaster had also made an oblique evolution, and settled on\nthe wrong side, leaving me no credit by the position it had taken. Since\nthis untoward account had taken that whim into its head, the paymaster\nwas never at home. A confounded bore this--always to find people out,\nwhom you particularly want to see, and have a little sterling confab\nwith. Thus stood the case, or rather, thus stood my purse, yawning for\nlack of coin; and this was the case with many others. Was it a wonder,\nthen, that we so readily gave credit to the reports which were in\ncirculation touching the probability of our reaping a golden harvest by\nthis siege?\n\nWith these prospects in view, the siege went on with all possible\nenergy. Having viewed the gaping ditch, and assured ourselves of the\nimpossibility of both descent and ascent, we had pushed our mining\noperations within thirty yards of the top of the glacis, and began to\ndescend into the bowels of the earth. I was this day on a working-party,\nwith one hundred men, and had just arrived in the tool-yard, about three\nhundred yards from the left of the trenches, when I was thrown flat on\nmy face by some violent shock of the earth. Before the general shock,\nthe earth seemed in dreadful convulsions. The walls surrounding the\ntool-yard were propelled forward from the fort, and fell to the ground.\nStones, bricks, pieces of wood, and, nearer the fort, bodies and limbs,\nwere to be seen soaring in the air in all directions. For the moment,\nconsternation and dismay were depicted on every face. When I arose, I\nfelt much alarmed; the earth seemed still to move under me; and at first\nI thought something had happened to me alone; but, on looking around, I\nfound my men, some in the attitude of prayer, and others lying down,\nhiding their faces with fear. Having recovered my senses, I looked\ntowards the fort, and saw it enveloped in one dense cloud of smoke or\ndust, and, now and then, streaks of fire issuing from its battlements.\nIn the midst of this momentary alarm, there was an indistinct buzzing\nthat the grand magazine of the enemy had been blown up. This report\nhaving reached my ears, I ran, or rather rolled, along the trenches, and\nwas informed that their grand magazine had really been blown up by one\nof our shells. Again looking towards the tomb of destruction, what a\nsight met the eye! The smoke which arose from the ruins seemed to be a\nsolid and substantial structure, gradually and majestically ascending to\nthe skies, bearing on its top variegated volumes of vapour, that seemed\nto ride upon its summit. From this ascending mountain were ever and anon\nvomited forth sheets of vivid fire; and glittering sand fell in showers\naround the spot. Through this dense, but really unsubstantial mass, was\nto be seen the setting sun, spreading his luminous beams through the\ngigantic phenomenon; and the beauty of the sight was beyond human fancy\nto imagine. This tremendous volume of smoke seemed almost to rise\nperpendicularly, verging off a little with the wind, which scarcely\nbreathed. When it had ascended so that the sun was visible under it, the\nmass above changed colour, and you might trace on it the most brilliant\nrays of the rainbow. This continued ascending in various forms, until,\nat last, it was lost in distance: after which, every eye was directed\ntowards the destruction below; and the sight was frightful indeed.\nHeads, bodies, legs, arms, hands, spears, guns, muskets, planks, and\ncolours, lay indiscriminately among the pile of ruin. Four thousand\nmaunds, or three hundred and twenty thousand pounds of gunpowder, an\naccumulation of years, were contained in this magazine. This was buried\nin stone magazines, some hundreds of feet under the earth; and it was\nsupposed that the major part of the garrison had sought refuge in those\nexcavated vaults, from the destruction of our shells, and were there\nentombed in this pile of ruin and desolation. The cries of men, women,\nand children, and the groans of wounded horses, could be distinctly\nheard, and drew from every eye the tear of pity. Our guns had ceased\nfiring, no one knew why. There were no shoutings of exultation; but, on\nthe contrary, loud were the expressions of commiseration and sorrow.\nAmidst the convulsion, it was a most extraordinary fact, that the new\nand scarcely finished temple of the inmates of the fort still reared its\nsuperstitious head, and, on the very margin of their once boasted and\ninexhaustible mine of powder and ball, stood uninjured amidst the\ngeneral wreck, divested only of its scaffolding. This coincidence, which\nthey, no doubt, attributed to supernatural agency, still fed their\ndeluded hopes, and they would not bend the stubborn knee and ask for\nmercy, but still persisted in their resistance, led on by some\nhoary-headed priest, who would not tear himself away from his ill-gotten\nstores. The night closed in as cold as the hearts of these obdurate\ncreatures; the sky was serene and clear; and the moon rose in her most\neffulgent brightness.\n\nThe moon had now risen high above the tops of Rumnah (a place where they\nkeep preserved game), when our guns re-opened, and more messengers of\ndestruction were sent to complete the work of death. Every hand employed\nagainst the fort would willingly have carried these poor creatures the\ncup of peace and the balm of comfort, rather than send them more woe;\nbut, notwithstanding these sympathetic feelings, there is a duty we owe\nourselves and our country. We were in honour bound to push the siege;\nbut this was our duty, not our inclination: nor is it true that\nsoldiers, inured to scenes of war, do not possess the nicer feelings of\nthe heart. The shelling again roared through their narrow streets, and\ntore up their little dwellings by the roots, each hurling additional\nvictims into the gaping pile. About the hour of midnight, there seemed a\nbustle and clashing of arms amongst the people in the fort, and I began\nto think that they intended to give us leg; so I kept a good look-out. I\ncrept close to the edge of the ditch, and listened. I could hear voices,\nbut not distinctly what they said. I was observed from the fort, and\nnearly paid dear for my peeping. Several shots were fired, one of which\nstruck close to my head. I moved my quarters to a more safe place; and,\nfrom the neighing of horses, it was pretty evident to me that they were\non the bit: but, as I was no reservoir of news, I took good care to keep\nmy opinion to myself, until the thing became more certain. Five minutes\nafter, I saw some of them outside of the fort, on horseback, waiting to\nassemble in force, before they attempted to break through our mounted\ncavalry, which formed a chain of sentinels round this side. It was\nimagined impossible that they could make their escape. I communicated\nwhat I had seen to the commanding officer of the protecting party, who\nhad a hundred native men under his command, which would, in all\nprobability, have been sufficient to have stopped them; for, no doubt,\nthey did not intend to go empty-handed away, but laden with gold mohurs.\nWhen I first communicated this intelligence to the officer on duty, he\npolitely said it was only fancy--they were no flinchers. I told him that\nI could see them coming out; but he replied, sarcastically, \"Then why\ndon't you go and stop them? I will tell you what, Shipp--you are never\neasy unless your head is in the cannon's mouth.\" At the first part of\nthis reproof I got terribly nettled, and warmly replied, \"Had I your\nmeans, Captain Brewer (alluding to the men under his command), I would\nstop them; but, as my men have only their pickaxes and shovels, it would\nbe an act of pure madness to attempt such a thing; though it is by no\nmeans clear to me that I could not even stay their flight with these\npoor means.\" At this he instantly flew into a rage, and said, \"Pray,\nSir, what do you mean to insinuate by what you have this moment given\nutterance to?\"--\"My dear Brewer,\" said I, \"you know I am as poor as the\ninside of a sentry-box, and it is really a pity to see these fellows\nunder our very noses, walking off with the coin.\" He smilingly replied,\n\"That's true; and I will prevent it if possible.\" So on we marched at\ndouble-quick; and, all I could do and say, I could not prevent my men,\narmed, as they were, with pickaxes and shovels, from following me. I\nthreatened to cut the first man down who dared attempt to leave his\npost; but no sooner was I gone than my men were close at my heels; and\none fellow came running up to me, and said, pointing to a small village,\nclose by the entrance of the bridge, \"By the powers, your honour, but\nthere is a whole generation of cavalry, all mounted on horses. See, your\nhonour, some of them that are halted are coming this way.\" I replied,\n\"What the devil has brought you here?\"--\"Does your honour think I would\nlave you in this blusteration?\" said Paddy. On getting pretty close to\nthese \"cavalry on horseback,\" my attention was drawn off from the\nsoldier, who, on turning round, I found was close at my elbow, with a\npickaxe on his shoulder. Here the enemy, observing us, rode off to the\nleft at full speed. One I endeavoured to stop, and he rode at me. I\ngathered myself up in an attitude of defence, resolved, if possible, to\ndismount him; but, unfortunately, his horse's foot struck the inside of\nmy thigh, and down I went, and he had the politeness to fire his\nmatchlock at me, but it did not touch me. He rode on, and I jumped up,\nand again recovered my station at the head of the party. We now arrived\nat the end of the bridge, where there was a kind of half-moon battery or\nbreastwork--at least there had been, but now nothing but the parapet and\nembrasures remained. Behind these my men, many of whom had followed me,\ntook refuge, till we had again driven the enemy into the fort. We pushed\non, and on the bridge the struggle was dreadful. The enemy wanted to\ncome out, and we wanted to go in. They would not permit us to go in; and\nwe, equally unaccommodating, would not let them out. This was the\ndispute; and, after a good deal of fighting, we not only stopped their\nintended journey, but put an end to many of their lives. They, for a\ntime, disputed every inch of ground with us; but Jack Sepoy was not to\nbe done; and we, after a hard struggle, gained possession not only of\nthe bridge, but of the inner gate. Here they had the advantage for a\ntime, for they had fastened the inner gate, which, however, yielded to\nforce. At this moment I received a tremendous blow from a large piece of\nwood that was thrown from the ramparts, and hit me on the head; I fell\nto the ground, stunned for a moment, but soon got up again. When I was\nknocked down by the log of wood, a sergeant halloed out, \"By the powers,\nbut he is kilt at last outright!\"--\"Not quite, sergeant,\" said I; \"but\nit was a devil of a blow.\"--\"Och! never mind that, your honour,\" said\nthe sergeant, \"it's all in the army.\" \"No, sergeant,\" I replied, \"it is\nall on my head.\" A few seconds after this, the same sergeant received a\nsimilar salute, which made him hug the ground, when a soldier who was\nnear him sang out, \"Are you kilt, sergeant, dear?\"--\"Upon my\nconscience,\" groaned the sergeant, \"I don't know; but I feel mighty\nqueer, so I do.\"\n\nI had not been on my legs again above a second, and had scarcely time to\nscratch my head, when there was a dreadful explosion of powder. The\nshock caused by this explosion nearly threw me down again. On looking\nbehind, I found it necessary to give some orders, and I pointed to the\nobject of my instructions. Some ill-natured fellow from the ramparts\nthought I was pointing the finger of derision at him, so he let fly his\nmatchlock at me, and shot me through the very finger I was pointing\nwith--the forefinger of the left hand. The shot passed through the\nfinger, and, carrying away nearly the whole of the bone of the two first\njoints, grazed the palm of my hand, and passed through the lapel of my\ncoat. At last the inner gate yielded to force, and we rushed into the\nbody of the fort. On our first entrance, we could see women and children\nflying across the narrow streets; some mothers bearing their offspring\nin their bleeding arms; some dropping them in their flight; and others\nmeeting death from the balls of our men, who were firing at random. Many\npoor childless mothers threw themselves on the points of our men's\nbayonets, and some begged for mercy. Putrid bodies, both of men and\nbeasts, lay about in all directions--some of them three or four deep;\nand the smell was absolutely suffocating. The fighting soon ceased; and,\nthough many attempted to escape by another bridge, they were taken\nprisoners.\n\nThe fort being now completely in our possession, as soon as the\nprisoners had been secured, I examined my wound. An hour having elapsed\nsince I received it, my whole arm had begun to ache most dreadfully.\nFinding, therefore, that I could do no further good to the service, I\nwas resolved I would do no harm to myself, so I bent my way towards\ncamp, to get my wound dressed. To be candid, I may as well confess that\nI did not walk home, but rode one of the finest Persian horses I ever\nbeheld. I found him loose, running about the fort. I caught him, and\nrode him with a piece of rope in his mouth. The good-natured\nprize-agents did not request me to give him up; nor, perhaps, were they\naware that I had such an animal in my possession. Be that as it may,\nhowever, I sold him at Lucknow, to the king of Oude, for two thousand\nrupees--about two hundred pounds sterling. Having reported the capture\nof the fort to the major-general, who was, of course, much pleased with\nthe information, and immediately made his arrangements accordingly, I\ngot my wound dressed. My good-natured doctor was pleased to announce to\nme, that if I escaped with the loss of my finger, I might consider\nmyself fortunate; but he feared that the dreadful manner in which the\nfinger had been torn, would render amputation of the hand necessary. The\nwound was evidently from an iron and rugged ball. Iron ball-wounds\nimmediately turn a rusty, or more of a yellow colour, and are bad\nhealing wounds. In the morning my wound was again dressed by another\nmedical friend; and it was so much better in the forenoon of the\nfollowing day, that I got into my palanquin and rode down to the fort. I\nmust beg to be excused from entering into a minute narration of the\nscene inside. Let it suffice, that it far exceeded anything that man\ncould write, were he to sit down to draw a picture of the most abject\nmisery and woe. The most depraved wretch could not have looked on the\nwork of death which presented itself to our eyes, without being melted\ninto sorrow. I soon turned from such a sight, and stood towards home.\n\nNear a small village, a beautiful young woman, about sixteen years of\nage, had been seen, and ultimately seized. Her husband, to whom she had\nonly been wedded about three months, was one of those who were entombed\nwhen the magazine blew up. From that period nothing could soothe her or\nappease her grief; no power could restrain her; and at last she escaped\ninto the adjoining wood, or rumnah. When I saw her, she was running\nwildly; but, at times, she would pause, hold up her finger, and tell you\nto listen; when she would exclaim, with the most heart-rending shriek,\n\"That was him! It was he that did speak! Yet, now he is gone.\" Then the\npoor bewildered maniac would tear her sloe-black hair, which was hanging\nin ringlets down her back and bosom, and, at length, sink exhausted to\nthe ground. She was taken to camp, and committed to the care of some of\nher relations, who had been taken prisoners.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nAmongst the prisoners captured in the fort of Hattrass, search was made\nby us for the keeledar, and his friend the negotiator, who had been so\nmany times in camp; but neither of these gentlemen could be found; and\nwe naturally concluded they must have escaped on the evening of the\nstorm; for, strange to say, a great body of cavalry had cut their way\nthrough some of our cavalry piquets. The Europeans saddled the native\ncorps of Hindostanee horse with this; and they in return threw the blame\non the European cavalry. Some part of this flying enemy, however, passed\nthe piquet of the 8th Light Dragoons, and several of the brave fellows\nof that regiment were wounded in endeavouring to stop them; but I have\nno doubt that the main body passed between the right of the 8th Dragoons\nand the left of the corps of Captain Badley's horse, between which\nflanks there was a wide space and a high-road. This road was watched by\na regiment of native infantry. From the beautiful horses left in the\nfort, and the immense number of suits of chain armour we found strewed\nabout the stables of the cavalry, the whole of the enemy's horse must\nhave been in mail; so that our cavalry could have made but little\nimpression, even if they had fallen in with them. By this escape one of\nour grand objects was defeated, by the loss of the person of the rebel\ngovernor, who was wanted to answer his rebellion to an offended\ngovernment. How it was possible that a single individual could have\nescaped such a bombardment, was to us a mystery; for large houses were\nliterally torn up by the roots. They had thrown a great number of their\ndead into a well, and many lay in the ditch, a melancholy and revolting\nsight, for the sun had swollen them to an enormous size.\n\nIt seems that, the moment any of their children were killed in houses\nremote from the well, they were thrown into the street. I counted five\nlimbless babes in one street.\n\nThe day I left camp the maniac widow died; and it is with infinite\npleasure I now bid farewell, for a time, to such distressing scenes.\n\nDeputies from the other forts and dependencies of this rajah had\nwitnessed the siege _incog._, and were no doubt in camp when the\nexplosion took place. Not being inclined to risk the same aerial ascent,\nor to be entombed, as many hundreds of the poor creatures in Hattrass\nhad been, they readily surrendered to the wishes of the government. What\nhad become of Diaram--for that was the rajah's name--we could not\ndiscover; but he was a dangerous man loose in a country like India, and\nmight do much mischief if he joined the Pindarees, who were then in full\nforce prowling about the country, not immediately in our provinces, but\nlingering on the borders. After some search, this rajah was found with\nNawab Ameer-Khan, an independent chief; and, no sooner had the Company\ndiscovered the place of his residence, than, instead of punishing the\nrebel as he deserved, they munificently offered him a pension for\nhimself and family, if he would reside in our provinces. With these\nterms the veteran rajah readily complied, and he is now residing in\naffluence, peace, and happiness, under the Company's banner of\nprotection and shield of faith. I have heard from those who have since\nseen him, that his loss in lives at Hattrass was upwards of fifteen\nhundred in the fort, besides those in the town. Two of his nephews were\namongst the dead; and he himself encouraged his men in person during the\nwhole of the siege, and was scarcely ever from the ramparts.\n\nMy wound at this time assumed a dangerous appearance. It had been much\nirritated by the extraction of several pieces of shattered bone; and, as\nthe weather at this period grew intensely hot, my doctor advised me not\nto travel with the regiment, as he apprehended that the extreme heat,\nand the constant shaking of the palanquin, might bring on inflammation.\nI therefore the next afternoon left my corps for Cawnpore, some hundred\nmiles, by dawk,[15] and arrived there about the same time on the\nafternoon of the following day. From having been more than\nfour-and-twenty hours without proper dressing, the whole of my arm, and\nindeed all my left side, became much inflamed, and were extremely\npainful; but the fond attentions of an affectionate wife, and the\nkindness of her good family, soon made me forget my pains and aches.\n\nI had such a home as few were blessed with; and, in the bosom of my\nfamily, I forgot the toils of terrific war. By good nursing and good\nmedical advice, my wound began to mend apace; but there were still\npieces of bone protruding through the wound, which, however, were in\ntime extracted by the hand of skill.\n\nThe moment I got my hand dressed on the night I was wounded, I took the\nprecaution of sitting down to communicate the true particulars of the\naffair to my family by letter, knowing well what erroneous reports are\noften sent to the wives of soldiers, and communicated in the most blunt\nand abrupt manner.\n\nIn a few days the regiment arrived in cantonments; and in a month or six\nweeks I was again on parade with my company, little the worse, except\nthat I had an ugly and troublesome finger, which was always in the way.\nI have since turned it to some use as a true register of the weather;\nbut, beyond this, I do not think I could even now make it so far useful\nas efficiently to pull a man's nose with it.\n\n[Illustration: TRAVELLING ON THE GANGES.\n\nFrom a Drawing by W. DANIELL, R.A.]\n\n\nI forgot to mention that, when I went down to visit the fort on the\nmorning after its fall, the prize-agents were busy on the look-out for\nprize property, and to keep our lads from picking and stealing; but, had\nthere been a thousand of them, all with the eyes of lynxes, this would\nhave been impossible. I heard that a private of the Company's Foot\nArtillery passed the very noses of the prize-agents, with five hundred\ngold mohurs (sterling £1,000) in his hat or cap. Several of the men,\nwhen the troops got beyond the power of the prize-committee, boasted of\ntheir plunder; and, indeed, it is not much to be wondered at that men\nshould make so free as to help themselves, when the dreadful\nmetamorphosis that prize-money always goes through before it reaches the\npockets of the captors, and the length of time before it is paid, are\nconsidered. All prize property is liable to many diseases and changes,\nincidental perhaps to the climate of India. When first taken, it shines\nin the full vigour of habit--is of good solid substance--of solidity of\nbody--current, pure and clear; but in bulk rather protuberant and gross,\nand therefore, perhaps, somewhat inclined to be dropsical. Change of\nsituation is in general resorted to; but the disease has taken fatal\nroot, and nothing can eradicate the distemper but reduction of the\nsystem. Having been severely drained, and much inflammatory matter\nhaving been expressed, symptoms of decline but too often follow, and the\npoor sufferer is left but a shadow, if it escape total extinction. In\nthis manner the solid substance extracted from the fort of Hattrass\ndwindled away, leaving, however, a residue of some £20,000, of which I\npocketed eighty-six rupees; but as I had sold my share for two hundred,\nI may be said to have come off tolerably well. We afterwards learned,\nfrom undoubted authority, that immense treasures had been conveyed from\nHattrass. The rajah, aware that he had fallen under the displeasure of\nthe government, had the precaution to send his principal treasures away,\nas also the greater part of his family. This treasure passed through the\ncity of Agra, the rajah having solicited the civil authorities to permit\nthe female part of his family to pass through that district to some\ndistant festival. As the rajah was an ally, this request could not be\nrefused; and, accordingly, from twenty to twenty-four ruts, containing\nthe treasures of that potentate, as well as his family, passed through\nAgra, to a place of safety.\n\nThe station now began to be gay, and nothing but parties, dinners,\nballs, suppers, &c., were the order of the day. This routine of gaiety\nand festivity was kept up for a considerable time, until the more active\nminds began to tire of it. In addition to this, our purses began to\nexhibit symptoms of an attack of their old complaints. Mine, in\nparticular, had had such a regular and confirmed shaking-fit, that the\ndisease threatened to be vital, unless some immediate remedy was\napplied.\n\nThe most noble the Marquis of Hastings was on his way up the river to\nthis station. The object of his voyage up the country was quite secret.\nStrange were the surmises, and many of them as ridiculous as they were\nstrange. Some said Scindia was to be attacked--others, Bhurtpore. His\nlordship was very particular and minute in the inspection of the troops\nof the upper provinces. The 87th regiment were in excellent order for\nservice, and I longed to see them as a body again in the field. The\nnoble marquis was as hospitable as majestic: dinners and drawing-rooms\nwere now all the go at Cawnpore, and quite astonished the natives. His\nlordship's manners were truly winning and devoid of pride. At his\nparties he generally selected the greatest strangers to sit next him at\ndinner, and was to all extremely affable and condescending. Thus passed\nthe time till the August following, when his lordship's grand scheme for\nthe annihilation of the Pindarees was published, and set us all on the\nstir. Every one was as busy as trunk-makers, preparing. On every face\nwas the smile of joy, except on those of affectionate wives, whose\nanxieties foreboded numberless ills that were never realized, and\nsorrows that never came. Farewell dinners passed in all directions; and,\nto wind up the farewell to each other, a station amateur play concluded\nthe festivities. I played Lord Duberley in the \"Heir-at-Law,\" and Lord\nMinikin in \"Bon Ton.\" His lordship seemed highly amused with these\nperformances, and was pleased to pass some eulogiums on my Lord\nDuberley. When the play had concluded, a gentleman came into the\ndressing-room, and addressed me thus: \"Shipp, if you act your part as\nbaggage-master, as you have that of Lord Duberley, you will do well.\"\n\n\"Baggage-master!\" I replied, \"I don't understand you.\"--\"Why,\" said he,\n\"you are appointed baggage-master to the left division of the grand\narmy.\"\n\n\"My dear Sir,\" said I, \"you must be mistaken; for I have not heard a\nsyllable of the matter.\" He replied, \"You may depend upon it as a fact;\nand, to be candid with you, I went to Lord Hastings and asked him for\nthe appointment, when he himself told me you were already appointed, at\nthe especial request and wish of Major-General Marshall, in\nconsideration of your conduct at Hattrass, and of your being the only\nofficer wounded during that siege.\"\n\nHad I known this good news before, I would have thrown all the life and\nsoul of a baggage-master into the character of Lord Duberley. As it was,\nno intelligence could be more welcome to me. On the following morning I\nwrote to the brigade-major to know if the information was true. He\nreplied by note that it was, and apologized for having, through\nmultiplicity of business, forgotten to mention to me that I must join\nthe left division of the grand army forthwith. They had left Cawnpore\ntwo days before. Being now sure of this good news, I communicated it to\nmy wife, and fixed the following day for my departure. I then waited on\nthe noble marquis, to thank him for my preferment. His lordship received\nme with great kindness. \"Mr. Shipp,\" said he, \"you have no occasion to\nthank me, but your own merit, and the kindness of Major-General\nMarshall, who requested the appointment of me as a favour conferred on\nhim.\" His lordship concluded, \"I will not ask you to dine to-day, as you\nwould in all probability prefer spending the short time you have to\nspare with your family.\" I expressed my grateful sense of his lordship's\nkindness, and returned home and spent the day with her whom I loved best\non earth. In the evening I took leave of my brother officers, and on the\nfollowing morning, ere the cock crew, I had taken an early breakfast,\nand by the time the sun left his slumbering couch I was some miles on my\nroad, to join the left division of the grand army.\n\nThere is a kind of pensiveness by which the human mind is assailed on\nseparating, though for a short time only, from pleasant acquaintances;\nbut, when we part from objects bound to us by the dearest ties of love\nor consanguinity, an indescribable weight oppresses the heart. I felt\nthis in parting from the most affectionate of women, to enter on a new\nseries of wars, perhaps never to behold her again. These thoughts will\nintrude, in spite of all one's efforts to repress them, where the heart\nfeels assured of reciprocal love. If I do not deceive myself, or my\nrecollection fail me not, I was weak enough to weep on this occasion;\nfor who could see the wife of his bosom writhing with anguish and\nclinging round his neck, whispering sweet words of love and constancy,\nand refrain from tears? She had two little sisters, too, who hung about\nmy knees, crying, \"Dear brother, do not go; see how sister cries. Pray\ndo not go; sister will be ill.\" I tore myself from the endearing\nembraces which restrained me, and rushed out of the house.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[15] Travelling by dawk is a very speedy mode of conveyance, well known\nin India. The traveller is carried in a palanquin by eight bearers, who\nare relieved every ten miles; and by this arrangement a hundred miles\nare so certainly performed in twenty-four hours, that from Cawnpore to\nCalcutta, a distance of eight hundred miles, is reckoned an eight days'\njourney.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nThe whole combined powers of the three Presidencies of India were now in\nmotion, to effect the dispersion or annihilation of the Pindarees, a set\nof despotic marauders and savage barbarians, who were prowling about the\ncountry in immense hordes. Their numbers might be estimated at two\nhundred thousand, all horsemen, the remains of the old Mahratta sect of\nwarriors, who had been driven from their homes by the civil wars of the\nseveral native powers of Hindostan. These marauders levied their\nexactions from the poor peasantry of the more remote districts of\nHindostan, whom they robbed and plundered year after year; and murder is\na common incident of the day. The horses on which they ride, and also\ntheir equipments, whether stolen or not, are the rider's own property,\nand respected by the rest as such. The craftiest and most daring among\nthem are the greatest men, and call themselves, according to their\nseveral degrees of superiority, names of high office, such as those of\nour native officers of cavalry. Their weapons generally consist of a\nlong spear, a sabre, a shield, and a matchlock; but many of them have\npistols also, and some few I have seen with huge blunderbusses. Their\nfamilies generally accompany them, and they are mounted on the best and\nfleetest horses. Should any of their women die or run away, they can\neasily be replaced at the next village. If any resistance is made,\neither on the part of the female herself, or of her father, mother, or\nhusband, coercive means are unhesitatingly resorted to, and the poor\ncreature is carried off in the same manner as any other commodity of\nwhich they may stand in need. As soon as they have drained one town or\nvillage, they take up their quarters in another, living entirely upon\nrapine and plunder.\n\nIn this manner these marauders had long prowled about uncontrolled,\nlaying whole districts waste, and bringing with them, wherever they\nwent, desolation and ruin. These desperadoes, who set the laws of the\nland at defiance, and the laws of humanity at naught, the Marquis of\nHastings was now determined to destroy; for which purpose, every soldier\nthat could be spared was now in the field, the noble marquis commanding\nin person the centre division of the army, and superintending and\ndirecting the whole plan of the war.\n\nIn four days I reached the division, then lying under the fort of\nCallenger, and reported myself to Major-General Marshall, commanding the\ndivision, with whom I breakfasted. His extremely kind manner of\nreceiving me was truly flattering. I cannot say that I was very bashful,\nbut I always endeavoured to be respectful to my superiors. I took the\nearliest opportunity of expressing my acknowledgments for his kind\nrecommendation of me to his excellency the commander-in-chief. The\ngeneral replied, \"Shipp, you deserve what you have been appointed to. I\nhave not forgotten your gallantry at Hattrass, although I was so\nextremely ill before that place; but I must confess that plaguy gout\nalmost made me overlook your merit. I heartily wish you joy. There will\nbe a knife and fork always laid at my table for you. Make my board your\nhome.\" Thus saying, he shook me cordially by the hand.\n\nI had now been told in person, both by the Marquis of Hastings and by\nthe general in command of the division of the army in which I was now to\nact, that I had hitherto performed my duty like a brave and loyal\nsoldier. These attestations to my military character and conduct caused\nmy heart to glow with pride and satisfaction; and, indeed, nothing can\nbe more gratifying to the feelings of a soldier than the consciousness\nthat the approbation with which his superiors are pleased to regard him\nhas been really deserved by him, on account of his ardent attachment to\nhis profession, and his faithful performance of its perilous duties. It\nwas with heartfelt pleasure that I heard I had earned the good opinion\nof men of high rank and command; and I felt highly gratified in the\ncontemplation that, when retired from scenes of war, I could add to the\nenjoyments of the domestic circle the comfort of being able to look on\nmy former life with satisfaction, and of fighting my battles over again\nand again with delight. Glory had been my motto; laurels were my crown!\n\nI then paid my respects to Brigadier-General Watson, C.B., colonel of\nhis Majesty's 14th regiment, second in command of this division, whose\ncordiality and hospitality, for nearly a year that I was a constant\nguest at his table, I can never forget. After wishing me joy of my\nappointment, he said, \"Shipp, as you are the only king's officer in this\ncamp besides myself and staff, I hope you will take a seat at my table\nduring the campaign.\" This hospitality I could not accept, the\ncommanding officer having previously given me the same invitation; but\nthe brigadier-general would take no excuse, but said he would settle\nthat with General Marshall. I lived with him till the month of May\nfollowing, in a most friendly manner, faring at his board in a very\nsumptuous style. In his private character, General Watson was generous,\nkind, and affable, and ever ready to do a good act; and in his public\ncapacity a brave, active, and zealous officer, who seldom contented\nhimself with directing things to be done, but actually saw them\nexecuted. From the extreme indisposition of the major-general, he\nundertook the more active parts of the several storms and sieges in\nwhich the left division was engaged, as the continuation of my narrative\nwill show.\n\nOn the following day I visited the strong hill fort of Callenger. It is\nsituated on an immense hill, on the ascent of which the greater part of\nthe town stands. At the extremity of this ascent, the rocks are almost\nperpendicular. In some places they are fifty and sixty feet high. On\nthese are built prodigious bastions and stone walls, with embrasures and\nloop-holes, so that any approach by assault or escalade was impossible.\nOn its summit is a beautiful tank of clear water, nourished by a crystal\nspring. There are also fields, gardens, and woods, and two or three\ntemples or mosques. The view from this elevation embraced an expanse of\nsome miles of country. In its front, or more prominent part, lay the\nlowlands of the station of Banda, on the most beautiful and clear stream\nin Hindostan, the river Cane. This beautiful stream empties itself into\nthe Jumna, about sixteen or twenty miles from this station. Between us\nand Banda stood some enormous hills; and temples were built on their\nvery pinnacles, which are reached by winding steps, cut out of the rock\nby manual labour. These buildings, viewed from the base of the hills,\nlook like little white spots in the sky.\n\nWhen the sun arose on the following morning, I was invited to go up and\nwitness the splendour of the scene; and I had no cause to regret such an\ninvitation. The morning clouds seemed to slumber on the tops of those\nbarren hills; but the rising sun's glittering beams roused them from\ntheir lethargy, and drove them from their thrones of night. Even at\nmid-day, I have seen the buildings on these hills entombed in the murky\nclouds, and their inmates, when visible, seemed beings of another world.\nThey were Brahmin mendicants, who descended in the morning, and\nsolicited alms all day in the name of Alla, re-ascending at eve to their\naerial abodes, there to mumble forth their witchcrafts, and to\ncontaminate the salubrious breeze of night with their invocations to\nblocks and stones. The breeze in these valleys is pure, renovating, and\nsalubrious. Pea-fowls are seen in great abundance on these hills. They\nare both fed and worshipped by the mendicant priests, who are much\nannoyed if you disturb or shoot them, which, notwithstanding that,\nEuropeans take the liberty of doing, wherever they can find them. These\nbirds are, while young, as delicious as a young turkey. In former days,\neven during my time in India, shooting peacocks was strictly prohibited\nby the government, as interfering with the religious rites of the\nnatives; but those orders or prohibitions have been long since\nrescinded, and they are now considered fair game. They are found in\nalmost all the districts of Hindostan. Their plumage is splendid and\nbeautiful, and, when parading before the sons of idolatry, who worship\nthem, they seem as proud of their tails as the priests themselves do of\ntheir pretended and presumptuous knowledge of futurity.\n\nBy their ridiculous predictions of futurity these wretches live, and\nimpose on the deluded villagers, whom they buoy up with the most\nfelicitous prospects to come, feeding their fancies with the hope of\nfuture aggrandizement and wealth. Such is the confidence of the\nuninformed villagers in these promises of future bliss, that they will\npart with their all to insure a favourable prediction; but, when the\nauspicious and long-watched-for period arrives at which their hopes are\nto be realized, then they see how they have been deceived and robbed.\nBut the miscreant priest has always a loophole to creep out at, either\nby asserting that his dupes have not dedicated a sufficient portion of\ntheir property to the priesthood; that it is necessary for them to do\npenance so many days; or give so much money, so much corn, and so many\npieces of cloth to the priesthood, to enable them to invoke their gods\nfor the promised mercies. This is frequently complied with, and the\ndelusion goes on from one imposition and infatuation to another.\n\nThis is the description of the people inhabiting those beautiful\nmountains, on which the eye could dwell, and always find something new\nto feast on. This very fort of Callenger had, but a short time before,\nbeen stained with the purple stream flowing from Christian bosoms. It\nwas in the storming of this fort, that his Majesty's 53rd regiment of\nFoot suffered so severely before they succeeded in planting Old\nEngland's banner on its proud top. On the summit of the edifice is a\nmonument, which was erected to the memory of the brave fellows who fell\nin the assault of this place.\n\nWe remained here three or four days, visiting this fort; and the oftener\nwe went up, the more we were astonished how it was possible our troops\ncould have got in on the occasion alluded to. To us who merely journeyed\nfor amusement up its stupendous sides, the ascent was most difficult,\nand by the time we had gained its summit we were exhausted. That a fort\nlike that of Callenger, often attempted by legions of native armies,\nshould have been taken as it was, was matter of amazement to all who\nbeheld it. It had once, we understood, been taken by stratagem in the\nfollowing manner. A native rajah, who was going to war, solicited the\ngovernor's permission to lodge his treasures and family there as a place\nof security during the war. The governor, no doubt actuated by the hope\nof the ultimate possession of the treasures, readily granted the\nrequired asylum, for which purpose a hundred doolies, or covered\npalanquins, were to be sent up on the following morning. The infatuated\nand blinded governor, his soul burning with the prospect of gain,\nslumbered on his couch of supposed safety. Each of these palanquins was\nto be permitted to carry one female belonging to the rajah's family;\nbut, instead, each in reality contained a soldier dressed in the\nhabiliments of the female sex, and veiled to hide his huge moustaches.\nTo each of those doolies were eight bearers; in the palanquins were\ntheir arms, hidden from view. Those hundred doolies went up without the\nslightest suspicion, and they were ranged around the governor's house.\nThe sequel may be readily guessed: no sooner were the supposed bearers\nrelieved of their loads than they flew to arms, and thus got possession\nof the fort of Callenger.\n\nThe army being now formed and complete, with every requisite for a long\ncampaign, I put the implements of my office in lashing order. My post of\nbaggage-master being a situation which is, I believe, peculiar to India,\nit may not be improper to state its duties, &c. He is a staff-officer, and,\nwhen not employed in his particular department, is attached to the suite of\nthe commander of the division, as much as the commissary-general,\nquartermaster-general, or any other staff-officer of the division. On\nthe line of march, he is held entirely responsible that neither men nor\nbaggage precede the column of march, and that they are on their proper\nflank, which is regulated by the general orders of the day. If the\nreader recollect what I before stated, that he may safely calculate ten\nfollowers in a Bengal army to every fighting man, and when he is\ninformed that, according to calculations made in our camp, including the\nseveral native contingents we had with us, our followers were not less\nin number than eighty thousand, men, women, and children, some thirty\nthousand of whom followed the army for what they could pick up, by fair\nmeans or otherwise, my situation cannot be supposed to have been a\nsinecure. It was truly one of great labour and activity. I had twenty\nmen belonging to a corps of local horse. These men were provided with\nlong whips, and placed at my disposal. To attempt to talk the numberless\ncamp-followers into obedience was quite out of the question; and,\ntherefore, these whips were for the purpose of lashing them into\nsomething like discipline. To the great number of human beings I have\nspoken of must be added fifty elephants, six hundred camels, five\nthousand bullocks, five thousand horses, one thousand ponies, two\nhundred goats, two hundred sheep, fifty ruts, one hundred palanquins,\none hundred dogs, and one hundred hackeries, or carts: presenting the\nfollowing total:--\n\n    Fighting men                         8,000\n    Camp-followers                      80,000\n    Elephants                               50\n    Camels                                 600\n    Bullocks, horses, and tattoos       11,000\n    Goats, sheep, and dogs                 500\n    Palanquins, hackeries, and ruts        250\n\n    Total.                             100,400\n\nOne hundred thousand four hundred were thus under my command, for the\nmovements of the whole of whom, men, animals, and vehicles (except\nfighting men), I was responsible; and I am sure the reader will not\nclass me amongst cruel men if I was obliged to use the whip, where\nobduracy and contempt of orders were frequent.\n\nOn the following morning we commenced our march; and I began the\nfunctions of my new situation by impressing upon the minds of some of\nthe followers, that my arm was strong as well as the lash of my whip. I\nfound I was soon obliged to take other measures besides merely bellowing\nto them; and in three days I had whipped the whole body into perfect\nobedience, which saved me a tremendous deal of labour afterwards, and\nsome hundred yards of whip-cord. Sometimes some mischievous fellows\nwould, to annoy me, get the whole baggage on the wrong flank; but I had\ninfluence enough to find them out, when they paid dearly for their\ntrick. After a short time they found it would not do; so, my situation,\ninstead of a task, was at last a pleasure to me; and the sight of my\nwhip was sufficient to deter the most desperate from exceeding his\nlimits. My commanding officer frequently said that, if he lived and\ncommanded twenty armies, I should be his baggage-master.\n\nIn two days we arrived under the town and fort of Hedjeeghur, a strong\nhill fort, that had been recently taken by the Honourable Company's\narmy. The refractory rajah, driven from his strong and proud walled\nfort, lived in the town below, where no doubt he panted for vengeance\non his foes. He was a designing and crafty fellow, capable of the\nblackest crimes; but he was so pressed under the thumb of the government\nwhom he had offended, that he dared not show himself in his true\ncolours. What must have been his heart's writhings, when he saw that\nproud fort, which had been the residence and glory of his forefathers,\nforfeited by the most diabolical breach of treaty! It must have filled\nhis cup of bitterness to the brim. In his disposition this conquered\nrajah was cunning, cruel, and despotic; but, from fear, he was the most\ncringing sycophant that ever lived.\n\nThe next march brought us to the foot of the ghaut we were to ascend. On\nits projecting bosom could be seen a kind of winding path or road,\nwhich, in some parts, seemed suspended from the clouds; and, how any\nmortal power could get up our twenty-four pounders, and all their\ngigantic appendages, seemed beyond human foresight to imagine. The\npioneers went to work with the view of enlarging the road; in which\noccupation we will leave them, while I endeavour to describe the scene\nbelow. I imagined that no spot on this wide earth could equal in beauty\nthe scene I beheld in Nepaul; but the one in which our encampment now\nlay appeared to me almost to surpass it in magnificence. The hill, from\nits base to its summit, was, I should think, a good English mile.\nSimilar hills surrounded the encampment, and rippling and creeping\nstreams wound through the camp in every direction. Here the trees,\nclosely embraced by the fragrant woodbine, were of an enormous size;\nand, when in full leaf, their lofty tops vied with the encircling\nmountains. Every kind of wild flower was here in great profusion, and\nthe grass under our feet was like the finest green carpet. The eye could\nwander far through beautiful trees, and through their verdure could be\nseen little huts of peace, standing by the brookside, which bespoke\ndomestic bliss. But here, as at Nepaul, stalked idolatry in all its\ndeformity, bidding defiance and evincing the most obdurate ingratitude\nto the sole Author of such blessings. Oh! that in God's good time the\npure word of truth may flourish among this unenlightened race! May their\nseed bloom in the blossom of faith, and may sweet anthems of praise\nresound through their fertile valleys, and not only ascend to their\nmountain-top, but to the throne of heaven!\n\nI was delighted to find, by the orders of the day, that the army would\nascend the ghaut on the following morning; but that the baggage-master,\nwith one thousand men as a working party, would remain behind.\nImmediately after the division had ascended, they were to follow,\npermitting all private baggage to be got up in the best manner it could.\nThe working party which had been left below, was for the purpose of\ngetting up public stores. I was up early, and saw them off; and it was a\nmost terrific sight to see the cavalry hanging, apparently on the craggy\ncliff. Strange to say, elephants ascended carrying up their usual\nenormous loads; but the time occupied by these animals was considerable,\nfrom their trying to step one after another, and never venturing without\nfirst being well assured of the solidity of the ground. This reference\nto the extraordinary sagacity of elephants reminds me of two or three\nother anecdotes of these huge animals, which may be interesting to the\nreader.\n\nIn the year 1804, when we were in pursuit of Holkar, there was, in our\nencampment, a very large elephant, used for the purpose of carrying\ntents for some of the European corps. It was the season in which they\nbecome most unmanageable, and his legs were consequently loaded with\nhuge chains, and he was constantly watched by his keepers. By day he was\npretty passive, save when he saw one of his own species, when he roared\nand became violent; and, during those moments of ungovernable frenzy, it\nwas dangerous for his keepers to approach him, or to irritate his\nfeelings by any epithets that might prove repugnant to him. On the\ncontrary, every endearing expression was used to soothe and appease him,\nwhich, with promises of sweetmeats, sometimes succeeded with the most\nturbulent to gain them to obedience, when coercive measures would have\nroused them to the most desperate acts of violence. By night, their\nextreme cunning told them that their keepers were not so watchful or\nvigilant. The elephant here alluded to, one dark night broke from his\nchains and ran wild through the encampment, driving men, women,\nchildren, camels, horses, cows, and indeed everything that could move,\nbefore him, and roaring and trumpeting with his trunk, which is, with\nelephants, a sure sign of displeasure, and that their usual docility has\ndeserted them. Of course, no reasonable beings disputed the road he\nchose to take. Those that did soon found themselves floored. To record\nthe mischief done by this infuriated animal in his nocturnal ramble,\nwould fill a greater space than I can afford for such matter. Suffice it\nthat, in his flight, followed by swordsmen and spearsmen shouting and\nscreaming, he pulled down tents, upset everything that impeded his\nprogress, wounded and injured many, and ultimately killed his keeper by\na blow from his trunk. He was speared in some twenty places, which only\ninfuriated him the more, and he struck away with his trunk at everything\nbefore him. His roaring was terrific, and he frequently struck the\nground in indication of his rage. The instant he had struck his keeper,\nand found he did not rise, he suddenly stopped, seemed concerned, looked\nat him with the eye of pity, and stood riveted to the spot. He paused\nfor some seconds, then ran towards the place from whence he had broken\nloose, and went quietly to his piquet, in front of which lay an infant,\nabout two years old, the daughter of the keeper whom he had killed. The\nelephant seized the child round the waist as gently as its mother would,\nlifted it from the ground, and caressed and fondled it for some time,\nevery beholder trembling for its safety, and expecting every moment it\nwould share the fate of its unfortunate father; but the sagacious\nanimal, having turned the child round three times, quietly laid it down\nagain, and drew some clothing over it that had fallen off. After this\nit stood over the child, with its eyes fixed on it; and, if I did not\nsee the penitential tear steal from its eye, I have never seen it in my\nlife. He then submitted to be re-chained by some other keepers, stood\nmotionless and dejected, and seemed sensible that he had done a wrong he\ncould not repair. His dejection became more and more visible, as he\nstood and gazed on the fatherless babe, who, from constant familiarities\nwith this elephant, seemed unintimidated, and played with its trunk.\nFrom this moment the animal became passive and quiet, and always seemed\nmost delighted when the little orphan was within its sight. Often have I\ngone with others of the camp to see him fondling his little adopted; but\nthere was a visible alteration in his health after his keeper's death,\nand he fell away, and died at Cawnpore, six months afterwards; people\nwell acquainted with the history of the elephant, and who knew the\nstory, did not scruple to say, from fretting for his before favourite\nkeeper.\n\nDuring the Nepaul war (1815) a female elephant, that had a young one\nsome seven years old, died, leaving its young to lament its loss. I went\nto see it every day; and I pledge my word to the reader that the sorrow\nand sighing of this little animal was truly piteous and distressing. For\nsome time it refused all kind of food. An old male elephant, that always\nstood near its mother, after some days seemed to take pity on it,\nfondled over and caressed it, and at last adopted it. It always\ntravelled on the line of march close by its side, would feed out of its\nmouth, and gambolled with it as it was wont to do with its mother. Thus\nnoticed, it grew fast, and, ere the campaign was over, its poor mother\nwas forgotten, and all its affections seemed settled on its new friend.\nIts name was Pearee--love, or lovely, in English.\n\nColonel James Price, now major-general in the Company's army, knew,\nperhaps, more of the history of elephants than any man in India, having\nbeen one of the Company's breeders, at Chittygong, for many years. I\nhave heard him recount the most affecting stories about these animals.\nHe generally kept two or three himself. I was tiffing one day with him,\nwhen the subject turned on the sagacity of elephants, and he said he\nthought he had a young one as cunning as any one he had ever seen; and\nhe offered to lay a bet, that if any one played this animal a trick, he\nwould return it, if it was a month afterwards. The company seemed to\ndoubt this, and the consequence was a small wager, taken by me. I cut\nthe elephant some bread, of which these animals are extremely fond, but\nbetween the pieces I introduced a considerable quantity of cayenne\npepper. Thus highly seasoned, I gave this bread to the elephant; but he\nsoon discovered the trick, and I was obliged to run for it. I afterwards\ngave him some bread without any pepper, which he ate and seemed grateful\nfor, and we parted. About a month or six weeks afterwards, I went to\ndine with the same colonel, and, prior to dinner being served, we took\nour usual walk to look at his stud. I had forgotten all about the\nelephant and the bet I had made respecting him, and accordingly played\nwith and fondled him, without any suspicion. With this he seemed much\npleased at the time; but, on my going away, he drenched me from head to\nfoot with dirty water, in return for my cayenne pepper trick.\n\nAbout mid-day, the whole of the private baggage was up, and some small\nguns had been drawn up by the working party. By six o'clock, no one but\nmyself and the working party were remaining below. When I made my report\nto the commandant of the division that everything was up, he could\nscarcely credit my assertion; but when I assured him of its reality, he\nthanked me in the most cordial manner, and said he had given the\nfollowing day for the completion of that job. The large guns took four\nhundred men, with double and treble drag-ropes, to pull up; and some of\nthem were, in some of the most abrupt turnings in the ascent, actually\nhanging by the ropes, in a very dangerous state. One gun broke from its\ndrag-ropes, but it was, fortunately, not far from a turning, which\nbrought it up without any accident. Indeed, scarcely an accident\nhappened worth the relation, save one, which I pledge my word was an\nabsolute fact. A small hackery, or cart, belonging to some of the\nfollowers of the camp, fell down a precipice upwards of eighty yards\ndeep, the sides of which were studded with trees of an enormous size.\nThe two bullocks who drew this cart were dashed to pieces, and the\ndriver so dreadfully injured that he had scarcely a feature left that\ncould be recognized as human. Some ten feet from the cart lay a child\nabout two years of age, perfectly uninjured, with the exception of one\nslight bruise on its little knee. It was supposed that the cart did not\nupset till at the bottom of the declivity, and that not until then did\nthe child fall out; but it was certainly one of those extraordinary\ncircumstances which sometimes happen, for which it would be difficult\nsatisfactorily to account.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nHaving made my report that the whole of the stores, baggage, &c, had\nbeen safely got up the ghaut, I was still at the general's, when a\nmessenger came from Rajah Buckeet Bellee, the rajah of Hadjepore, whom I\nhave before alluded to; and the general requested I would escort him\ninto camp. I therefore rode towards the top of the ghaut, where I found\nthe rajah in waiting. The purpose of his visit was to make his peace\nwith the general, who was much displeased at his not having complied\nwith his requisition to furnish five hundred workmen to assist us to get\nup the baggage. The rajah had with him five elephants, and twenty\nhorsemen, with spears, guns, &c. He was inclined to be affable and\njocular with me; but I could see through his dark eyebrows the more\ninward workings of his heart. He broke silence by asking me if the\ngeneral was displeased with him. Knowing the character of the fellow, I\ncould hardly make up my mind to be civil to him, so I replied, \"You had\nbetter put that question to him who can best answer it. If the general\nis not offended, he has good reason to be so.\" He then asked me what was\nthe object of our campaign, and I told him that he had better reserve\nall these questions for the ear of the general himself, who, no doubt,\nwould be able to satisfy his nawabship. Finding that I was not quite so\nelated with the honour of sitting on the same elephant with him, as he\nhad expected I should be, and that he could get no information out of\nme, the rajah next admired my dress, and took a mighty fancy to my\nwatch, but I would not let it out of my hand. He winked to a man on\nanother elephant, and muttered something in the Mahratta language, which\nI did not thoroughly comprehend, but which sounded something like, \"it\nwon't do,\" or \"he won't do.\" He then took a fancy to my whip, which I\npermitted him to look at. Some person happening to speak to me just as\nwe arrived in the precincts of the camp, my whip was passed from one to\nanother, and all protested they knew nothing about it; so that I had but\nlittle hope of ever seeing it again. On the rajah's, return from the\ngeneral, from whom he had met but a cool reception, he remounted his\nelephant, with indignation in his eye, and vowing vengeance, if ever in\nhis power, against all Europeans. I had to see him out of the camp,\nwhen, having proceeded to the extent of my orders, I demanded my whip,\nprotesting that he should be detained in camp until it was restored.\nEvery search was made, but no whip was to be found. I was not to be\nhoaxed in this manner, so I persisted in having either my emblem of\noffice returned, or its full value paid to me. The nawab asked what it\ncost. I said five gold mohurs; and, after some demur, and a good deal of\nparleying, I pocketed that sum, and we parted, to my perfect\nsatisfaction.\n\nWe marched the following day. Our journey lay through a wild country, in\nwhich scarcely a human being was to be seen, though the soil seemed good\nand fertile. The fact was, that we were now entering those districts\nwhich had been recently the haunts of the Pindarees. The next day our\nmarch lay through a famous diamond country, belonging to the Punnah\nrajah. Having passed a small deserted stone fort, I was much astonished\nthat, after the enormous ascent of nearly a mile, the whole country\ncontinued flat for a considerable distance. From the country having been\ndeserted in consequence of the ravages of the Pindarees, all appeared\ndesolate and dreary, except in the district in which the diamond\nspeculation was carried on. Here were seen, in little groups,\nadventurers digging for these precious stones. In this venture, as in\nall others, some won and others lost; but the number of the latter\ngreatly predominated. The adventurers purchase a certain extent of\nground, say ten or twelve feet square, for which they pay from a hundred\nto a thousand rupees, which depends entirely on the situation. Terms\nhaving been agreed upon, they then dig, sift, and wash, and if they find\nany diamonds under a certain value, they are their own; if above (I\nthink ten thousand rupees is the amount stipulated), they are the\nproperty of the rajah. Few of very high value are found; but,\nnotwithstanding this, the speculators are well watched during the whole\nof their sifting and washing. A good deal of gold, silver, copper, and\niron is also found in this part of the country, and there can be no\ndoubt that the rajah is a rich man; though, notwithstanding his\ntreasures, he must be devoid of happiness, as the following incident of\nhis life will prove.\n\nSome three years before the time that the division of the army to which\nI belonged passed through this district, the rajah had married a most\nbeautiful woman, the daughter of a neighbouring rajah, making his third\nwife. This woman, of all his wives and concubines, he most loved, if\nsuch a tyrant can be supposed to be susceptible of such a feeling. In\nhis court he had promoted a young man (his barber) from an indigent\nsphere to be his chief confidant. This confidant became his greatest\nfavourite, and, indeed, ruler. Nothing could be done but through his\ninterest. Thus things went on for some time, when the rajah was invited\nsome hundreds of miles to an annual festival, which invitation he\naccepted. The times were turbulent, for the Pindarees were then roving\nabout in large bodies; but, notwithstanding all this, the rajah imagined\nhe could safely leave his confidant in charge of his family and his\npeople. Having made this arrangement, he started on his journey,\nreposing the most implicit trust in the firmness and integrity of the\nnew minister--for so he was denominated. Scarcely had one week elapsed,\nwhen the fiend, who was thus trusted, cast his sensual eye on the object\nof his master's best love; but he found her virtuous as she was\nbeautiful. He protested his most ardent love, and that he could not\nexist without her honeyed smiles; that she was everything that could\npromote his happiness or destroy his life. He entreated, he conjured;\nbut all were as words cast upon the wintry blast: she was firm, and\nthreatened to expose his infamy to the rajah. Thus menaced, his crime\nseemed to stagger him, and he importuned no more; all the exasperated\nfury of an offended master rushed upon his mind. The rajah, as he well\nknew, was of a most violent and ungovernable temper--one of those\nunhappy mortals who act first and think afterwards; and such a report\nagainst his favourite would have wrought his jealous heart to a pitch of\nutter frenzy. The villain, seeing his danger, immediately turned his own\ndastardly crime upon her who had resisted his corrupt proposals, and,\nseeking an interview with the rajah on his return, he represented to\nhim, clothed with the most infamous and plausible falsehoods, that his\nfavourite wife had been unfaithful in his absence. Had the infuriated\nand jealous-hearted rajah but given this report one instant of\nconsideration, he must have detected the wretch in his infamous\nfalsehood; but the artful favourite knew and relied on his master's\nfury. The moment he whispered the poisonous words into his ears, the\nrajah grasped his sabre, flew like a madman into the zenanah, and\nwithout speaking one word, he cut his favourite mistress into pieces;\nthen, gazing on the murdered beauty who lay lifeless at his feet, he\nsought refuge in the bosom of him who had destroyed his peace of mind,\nand the object of his most ardent attachment. Her lacerated body was\ncommitted to the pile, and burnt, after the usual lamentations. He was\nan independent rajah, and, consequently, beyond the reach of British\njustice. In his own country there was no law to punish such offences. In\na short time, therefore, the circumstance passed away, and was\nforgotten; and not even did the relatives of the poor woman inquire the\ncause of the foul act, for murder was a common incident of the day.\n\nAt length, one of the other wives of the rajah lay on her death-bed. In\nthis state, she expressed a wish that her whole court might be\nassembled, for she had something of the greatest importance to disclose,\nbefore she closed her earthly career. This was communicated to the\nconfidant, who immediately imagined that the murdered victim had\ncommunicated to her the whole affair. He however took the necessary\nmeasures to summon the court into the chamber of death; but, when they\nhad assembled, the favourite alone was missing, and, on search being\nmade, it was found he had fled on horseback. The council having\nassembled, a full and clear disclosure of his infamous designs was made.\nThe rajah, in bitterest anguish, tore his hair, beat his breast, and ran\nraving like a madman round the palace. Nothing could soothe or pacify\nhim. Every horseman was dispatched in pursuit of the delinquent, but he\nwas never found; and all the infuriated murderer could do, was to build\na temple to the memory of his favourite mistress. This he did, and a\nmost splendid edifice it is.\n\nThe unfortunate rajah, when I last saw him, which was in the year 1819,\nwas a perfect madman. After looking on his blood-stained hands, he would\nwash them a hundred times a day; but neither water nor time can wash\naway the guilt of murder. In the temple before alluded to is her effigy,\nand two valuable diamonds occupy the place of her once smiling eyes.\n\nWe remained at Punnah some four or five days, waiting for instructions\nfrom head-quarters. The left division was originally intended as an army\nof observation, to watch the several ghauts on the frontiers of our\nprovinces, and to prevent the Pindarees from getting into our districts;\nbut they having taken another direction towards Candish, we received\norders to move on in the combined and general pursuit, and we stood\ntowards Serronge Bopaul and Burrowah Saugar, through a most wild and\ndesolate country, where tyrannic sway had driven far from their homes\nthe poor villagers. At one time, having lost sight of the Pindarees, we\nbegan to be seriously alarmed about our families at the different\nstations. At one of the principal stations (Cawnpore) there was scarcely\na soldier to be seen, and reports having reached them that the Pindarees\nhad descended the ghauts, the alarm of the women and their families\nbecame dreadful. Their doors were barricaded with stones, bricks,\ntables, chairs, drawers, beds, and so forth, and not one dared to\nventure abroad. All was fear and consternation. Servants were dispatched\nfor information, who brought back the most unfounded reports, which\ngreatly increased their alarm. My wife's letters were filled with fears\nand forebodings. Many ladies had hired boats for the purpose of going\ndown the river to a more secure place, when an event happened that, for\na time, confirmed all their alarms, and almost frightened them out of\ntheir wits. A lady of the station, riding out early in her chair, or\n_tonjon_, saw, on the race-course, an immense dust, raised by a number\nof bullocks which were coming to the cantonment for grain, escorted by a\nparty of local horse. She inquired who these were, when the person of\nwhom she asked this question said \"Brinjarree,\" meaning a small cattle\nthat carry commissariat stores; but the lady understood him Pindaree,\nand the name was quite sufficient. She jumped out of her palanquin and\nran towards home, screaming, \"Pindarees, Pindarees!\" and all she could\nanswer to the questions put to her was, that the Pindarees were come,\nand were already in the cantonment. Servants were dispatched, who,\nseeing everybody running, vociferating \"Pindarees,\" the alarm, as may\nwell be supposed, spread like wildfire. Some took to their boats; some\ngot under their beds; others into their cellars and go-downs; and the\nconsternation was unbounded. My wife, fortunately, had a small guard of\nsepoys at her house, there being some commissariat stores there. On the\nnews reaching her, her doors were locked and bolted, and a confidential\nservant was dispatched to ascertain the nature and the extent of the\ntruth of the report. He returned, saying, that they were then plundering\nthe great bazaar. The screaming of ladies and children which ensued, and\nthe alarm of servants, beggars description; and it was not before\nevening that confidence and peace were restored, by the kindness and\njudicious interference of Captain Sissmore, the acting paymaster of the\nstation.\n\nWe pushed on towards Bersiah, where we found Major Logie, of the Bengal\nInfantry, who had thought it advisable to stockade himself, for he had\nwith him a considerable quantity of treasure for Colonel Adam's\ndivision. As the Pindarees were hovering about in large numbers, and a\nlarge body of Scindia's horse seemed to eye the treasure with delight,\nthe major having only a few men, we found him on a small hill, well and\nsecurely fortified. The day before our arrival, this enormous body of\nScindia's horse encamped close to the stockade, and in their manners\nwere extremely insolent to Major Logie; so much so, that he told them in\nplain terms, if they did not move their quarters, he would fire on them;\nand I do not know any man in the Company's army more likely to put his\nthreat in execution. It is true they were the troops of an ally, but\nthey were not to be trusted; and nothing but fear prevented them from\nseizing the treasure under Major Logie's care. At this place we received\nhourly information that the Pindarees were in the neighbourhood; but as\nthey were in tens and twenties, it would have been folly for us to have\ngone in pursuit of them. Indeed, we might as well have attempted to\ncatch the falling stars. Such a pursuit could not have redounded to the\ncredit of the service, and it might probably have frightened and\ndispersed them, which was not our object. We rather encouraged their\ncombining in large parties, that we might surprise and cut them up. With\nthis view we remained here some time, watching their movements. Here,\nagain, the munificence of the government of the East India Company was\nevinced. Proclamations were published through every village, calling on\nthese marauders to become good subjects, offering to purchase their\nhorses and arms at a fair valuation, and to give them land and a free\npardon for all their former transgressions. Not one of these kind and\nliberal proposals had they a right to expect; but their obdurate hearts\nwould not accept the proffered mercy, nor their indolent habits permit\nthem to think of cultivating the earth. It is supposed that during the\nmore inactive seasons of their lives, they will sleep from twelve to\nfifteen hours out of the twenty-four; and the few hours that they are\nawake are spent in rapine and sensual pleasures. There is no race of\npeople on God's earth more depraved and debauched than a Mussulman\nPindaree.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nDuring our long stay at Bersiah, we frequently went out on parties of\npleasure; and, as I had at this place nothing to do in my official\nsituation, I generally accompanied these little excursions. About\nBersiah the country was more fertile and beautiful than any part we had\npassed through, and we had excellent shooting, from the royal tiger to\nthe royal snipe, without going a mile from camp. Thus we passed our\ntime, living pleasantly enough. At length we found that the Pindarees\nhad ascended another range of ghauts, and concentrated their forces at a\nplace called Beechy Taull. Towards this place we bent our course, the\nextent of our daily marches being entirely regulated by the information\nbrought in by our spies. Our wild enemy were, for a time, stationary;\nour marches were more regular; and they actually permitted us to\napproach them, without moving their quarters; taking care, however, to\nkeep a wide and deep river between them and us, and an almost\ninaccessible ghaut, from whence they could see such a distance round,\nthat our approach could be observed ten or fifteen miles off. When we\nwere within forty miles of this place, we made a forced march in the\nmorning, some twenty-two miles, through a thick woody country. Having\ncompleted this distance, we halted for our cattle and followers; but we\nstarted again when the moon rose, intending to surprise them by the\nfollowing morning's dawn. Our road, however, lay through a dense thick\nwood, with a deep ditch or ravine every hundred paces, which we had so\nmuch difficulty in getting our guns over, that, when the morning dawned,\nwe had not proceeded more than one-half of the distance, though we were\nin sight of the ghaut, which was about eight miles ahead. In an hour and\na half after this, we reached and crossed the river Scend, about two\nmiles from the top of the ghaut.\n\nOur spies, who had just left the camp of the enemy, informed us that\nthey were not encamped on the top of the ghaut, there being no water\nthere, but that they were lying near a large lake of water, about two\nmiles from the ghaut, apparently unconscious of our approach. The\ngeneral immediately dispatched the 4th regiment of Native Cavalry, under\nBrigadier-General Newberry, who commanded the whole of the cavalry, with\nthis division, also Cunningham's corps of Local Horse, under the command\nof Lieutenant W.W. Turner, with two six-pounders, called gallopers, as\nthey would proceed as fast as the regiment could charge. I asked the\ngeneral's permission to go, and I obtained his consent to act on the\nstaff with Brigadier-General Newberry. The ghaut was high and difficult,\nbeing nothing more than a mass of loose stones, by which many of the\npoor horses broke their knees in getting up. As soon as we were up, we\nformed an extended line, and moved on slowly, as our horses had then\nbeen ten hours saddled, and without food. At the camp described we found\na large body drawn up, and we gave them several long shots, and brought\nsome of their spirited steeds and men a pitch lower. We then went off at\na good smart gallop; but our long-jaded and hungry horses had but little\nchance. We soon emerged from the thick wood which surrounded their\nenormous encampment, and came up with some of them, and cut them up.\nAbout a mile to our left, and in our front, we could see tremendous\nvolumes of dust; and, about a mile further on, we began to fall in with\nthe enemy in considerable numbers. Some of them fought well and bravely:\nindeed, the greatest coward, when his life is at stake, will fight\ndesperately, and this was the case with these marauders; but their\nstruggle was ineffectual. We could see women riding across the country\nat speed, with one child on their backs, and one before them. Their\nhorses flew along the plain with extraordinary rapidity.\n\nHaving gone about four or five miles, some few of the Pindarees formed,\nand seemed inclined to come to the scratch; but, before we could reach\nthem, their hearts failed them, and they rode off, passing upon the\ngentlemen with the white faces some unpleasant epithets, which decency\nforbids me to mention. The declining sun had already dipped his golden\nbeams in the distant lake, and bid us speed while yet he tarried. We had\nsome hours of day remaining, and by the close of the evening we cut up\nnumbers of them. At this time Lieutenant Turner's corps of Local Horse\nhad separated themselves from the 4th Cavalry; and, before it was dark,\nthe brigadier wished them to rejoin him, for the whole of the enemy's\nbaggage was in sight. I was dispatched for the purpose of delivering the\ngeneral's communications and wishes. When about half way on my road on\nthis duty, I found that a number of straggling Pindarees were prowling\nabout, some of them wounded; and, in riding over the ground again, it\nwas evident to me that we had not been idle. Lieutenant Turner and his\ncorps of Local Horse had also done the state good service. I was riding\nat speed to deliver my orders, when, from behind a large tree, a\nPindaree had the impudence to discharge his matchlock in my very teeth;\nbut the ball missed me. I had before this bent my faithful friend, the\n24th Dragoon sabre, nearly double, by striking at the thick\ncotton-stuffed coats of the Pindarees; but, in the course of the battle,\nI had seized a larg", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31910", "title": "Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John Shipp\nLate a Lieut. in His Majesty's 87th Regiment", "author": "", "publication_year": 1890, "metadata_title": "Memoirs of the Extraordinary Military Career of John Shipp", "metadata_author": "John Shipp", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:15.674002", "source_chars": 736873, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 117607}}
{"text": "Produced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEXT STEP IN RELIGION\n\n\nAN ESSAY TOWARD THE COMING RENAISSANCE\n\n\n\nBY\n\nROY WOOD SELLARS, Ph.D.\n\nAuthor of \"Critical Realism,\" \"The Next Step in Democracy,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\nNew York\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\n1918\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1918\n\nBY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\n\nSet up and electrotyped.  Published, August, 1918\n\n\n\n\nTO\n\nHELEN STALKER SELLARS\n\nTHIS BOOK IS DEDICATED\n\n\n\n\nFOREWORD\n\nThe purpose of this book is positive and constructive, although it may\nnot at first appear such to the reader whose inherited beliefs are\nfreely challenged.  But let the reader ponder the fact that the deepest\nspiritual life has always concerned itself with the appreciation and\nmaintenance of values.  He who acknowledges, and wishes to further,\nhuman values cannot be said to be irreligious or unspiritual.\n\nThe center of gravity of religion has been openly changing for some\ntime now from supernaturalism to what may best be called a humanistic\nnaturalism.  The history of this change is traced in many of the\nchapters of the book.  There have been many steps forward in the past,\nfor every age must possess its own religion, a religion concordant with\nits knowledge and expressive of its problems and aims.  The sincerity\nand adequacy with which this necessary task is done measures the\nspiritual greatness of the particular age.\n\nI have called the book _The Next Step in Religion_ because the time is\nripe for one of the great steps forward.  The setting of religion must\nbe adjusted to man's knowledge.  Let it not be feared that man's\nspiritual life will be injured thereby.  Rather will it be made saner,\nhealthier and more creative.\n\nThe first phase of religion reflected man's helplessness and fear.  He\npeopled his surroundings with conscious powers, sometimes adverse,\nsometimes friendly, but always jealous.  Man became their slave.  As\nman became less of a savage, these gods of his fancy became nobler.\nBut they still acted like magnets to draw his attention away from his\nown problems.  The coming phase of religion will reflect man's power\nover nature and his moral courage in the face of the facts and\npossibilities of life.  It will be a religion of action and passion, a\nsocial religion, a religion of goals and prospects.  It will be a free\nman's religion, a religion for an adult and aspiring democracy.\n\nA book must in the main carry its own credentials.  But there may be\nthose who will wish to carry the quest further and deeper.  To those\ninterested in my share in this larger work I may mention my _Critical\nRealism_ and _The Next Step in Democracy_.\n\nR. W. SELLARS.\n\nAnn Arbor, Michigan,\n  August 5, 1918.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER                                                          PAGE\n\n    I  SUGGESTIONS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    1\n   II  THE AGE OF MYTH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   13\n  III  STORIES OF CREATION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   30\n   IV  MAGIC AND RITUAL  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   44\n    V  THE ORIGINS OF CHRISTIANITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   58\n   VI  THE PROPHET OF NAZARETH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   72\n  VII  THE EVOLUTION OF CHRISTIANITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   84\n VIII  THE CONFLICT BETWEEN SCIENCE AND THEOLOGY . . . . . . . .   98\n   IX  THE LIMITS OF PERSONAL AGENCY . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  110\n    X  DO MIRACLES HAPPEN? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  123\n   XI  THE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  138\n  XII  THE PROBLEM OF EVIL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  153\n XIII  RELIGION AND ETHICS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  169\n  XIV  THE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--THE CATHOLIC CHURCH . . . .  187\n   XV  THE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--PROTESTANTISM . . . . . . .  198\n  XVI  THE HUMANIST'S RELIGION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  211\n\n\n\n\n{1}\n\nTHE NEXT STEP IN RELIGION\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nSUGGESTIONS\n\nMore than people are consciously aware, a new view of the universe and\nof man's place in it is forming.  It is forming in the laboratories of\nscientists, the studies of thinkers, the congresses of social workers,\nthe assemblies of reformers, the studios of artists and, even more\nquietly, in the circles of many homes.  This new view is growing\nbeneath the old as a bud grows beneath its covering, and is slowly\npushing it aside.  While the inherited outlook, still apparently so\nstrong, is losing effectiveness and becoming a thing of conventions and\nphrases, the ideas and purposes which are replacing it possess the\nvigor and momentum of contact with the living tendencies and needs of\nthe present.\n\nMankind grows away from its traditional beliefs as inevitably as does\nthe boy or girl from childhood fancies, and often with much the same\nlack of realization.  But the time is certain to come to both when the\nchange is pressed home and there is need for interpretation and serious\nself-communing.  At such a time, kindly--yet uncompromising and\nveracious--explanation of the nature and implications of the crisis is\nthe course dictated by wisdom.  Nothing can be more cruel,\ndisorganizing, and, in a way, insulting than the attempt to {2}\nharmonize what cannot in the long run be harmonized.  The agony is then\nsure to be long drawn out and the strength of soul, given by\nfearlessness, is lost.  I feel that the first law of personality is\n_spiritual courage_.  Actions and methods founded on a doubt of this\nprimary law lead to a blunting of the fine edge of the self, an injury\ngreater than which can scarcely be conceived.\n\nIn this day of testing, when so few have been found lacking in courage\nand the capacity for self-sacrifice, it seems peculiarly fitting that\nspiritual values and beliefs be boldly thrown into the arena, there to\nprove themselves.  In the years after the Great War, mankind must build\nits life afresh and it will be wisest to see that the foundation is a\nsound one.  And, as a matter of social psychology, I doubt that a\npeople which is unwilling to look carefully to the framework of its\nsocial and spiritual edifice can build a noble mansion.  Mechanical\nefficiency and cleverness will not be enough for this task of spiritual\ncreation.  We must find lasting values around which to build a humane\nlife.  And this, also, is a kind of warfare.  Some have expressed to me\na doubt whether America is prepared for this effort at reconstruction\nof a basic, yet intangible, sort.  I have hopes, although not blind\nones.  I refuse to take the vulgarities and ignorances of popular\nevangelists as completely diagnostic of America's soul.\n\nIn the following pages, which are devoted to a clear statement of the\nnew view of man and nature which, in its essentials, has come to stay,\nI shall act according to this law of personality, to wit, spiritual\ncourage.  I shall explain the spiritualized naturalism to which we are\nascending in the same spirit that the scientist presents his\nfacts--impersonally, calmly, and simply.  {3} Such, at least, is my\npurpose and desire.  What I write here is in its way a confession of\nfaith.  The values and loyalties which I shall proclaim as true,\nredemptive and invigorating are those which my own life and concrete\nreflection have selected.  In them I see the possibility of high\nspiritual attainment.\n\nThe new view of the universe is founded upon, influenced by, and has\nfor its necessary setting, the exact knowledge which the various\nspecial sciences, mental as well as physical, have been accumulating.\nThis knowledge is rounding into something of the nature of a whole\nwhose interpretation does not admit of doubt.  Incomplete in detail\nthough his knowledge be, man is no longer in the dark as to the main\nfeatures of the world and his own origin and destiny.  He knows that he\nis an inhabitant of a small planet in one of the many solar systems of\nthe stellar universe, that he is the product of an age-long evolution\nin which variation and survival have been the chief methods of advance,\nthat his mind as well as his body has its natural ancestry.  While it\nwill always remain a wonder, so to speak, that there is a universe in\nwhich and to which we awaken, it is equally certain that the only\nsensible thing to do is to seek to find out its character and laws.  Is\nit not like exploring the chambers and corridors of a house in which\none shall live for a stated period?\n\nAs a matter of fact, man has always been curious about his world.  Yet\nbefore he hit upon the proper methods of investigation, he could only\nguess and dream about it, under the sway of hopes and fears which too\neasily threw themselves like gigantic shadows before him.  The fire of\nhis untrained intelligence was feeble and unpenetrating and, so,\ndistorted the world which it {4} dimly revealed.  The result was what\nmust be called the older religious view of the world--a view which saw\npersonal and super-personal agency at the heart of things.  This\nprimitive interpretation of the world we shall be led to criticize,\nbut, in so doing, we shall be the servants of truth and of a more adult\nspirituality.\n\nIt is not surprising that the patiently acquired knowledge, obtained by\nscience, philosophy and a matured human wisdom, has been found to\nconflict with the first interpretation of the world.  The recognition\nof this conflict dates back now some centuries--the warfare between\nscience and religion also has its history--but each generation has seen\nthe addition made of some new element to the clash which is leading man\nto a new view of the world.\n\nWhat is striking about the present situation is the increase of the\npositive elements in the outlook which is forming in men's minds.  In\nthe past, the traditionalist had some justification in speaking of the\nopposed ideas as largely negative.  What positive doctrine there was in\nthe physical science which theology had to meet, to its discomfort, had\nonly an indirect bearing upon life.  But the nineteenth century was the\nwitness of a distinct revolution in this regard.  I do not refer merely\nto the fact that the idea of evolution was applied to man.  That was\nprophetic and strategic rather than revolutionary.  It symbolized the\npassage of science from the periphery to the center, from the outlying\nregions of the universe to man's very self.  All the time, however, a\nnew perspective had been arising in man's interests and values.  The\npossibilities and needs of this life were replacing the dream of\nanother life in {5} another world.  A busy concern with the things of\nthis world was everywhere evident.  Man was seeking to master his\nenvironment.\n\nDuring the first stage of this revolution, the industrial and political\nchanges were the most prominent.  A change in the instrumentalities of\nlife, physical, economic and political, occupied men's thoughts to a\nlarger degree than ever before.  But as the nineteenth century circled\nto the twentieth, deeper notes became audible.  Humanitarianism,\nconstructive reform, social democracy became the watchwords of the day.\nI do not think that it has yet been clearly realized how completely\nthese new aims and interests fit in with the results of science and yet\npass beyond them to the service of human values.  The truth seems to be\nthat, by an imperceptible process, new values and hopes have been\nreplacing the traditional ones, and that these values and aims both\nfind themselves in harmony with the new knowledge and rest upon it.\n\nIn spite of the conflict between the rising view of man and nature and\nthe traditional religious conception, there is yet, I believe, a\nprofound continuity in the genuinely spiritual achievements of\nhumanity.  It is a pity to be so ridden by the new that the noble in\nthe old is forgotten.  Tenderness and love, however obscured at times\nby formalism and bigotry, owe much to their nurture by Christianity.\nHence, the deeper and truer interpretation of all past movements\nregards them as varying expressions of humanity's growth in social and\nmental stature.  There is, in other words, no real discontinuity in\nhuman history.  The only difference is, that the dynamic of social\nconditions and intellectual heritage has varied.\n\n{6}\n\nBut this acknowledged continuity does not preclude that presence of\ngenuine and effective newness which is revolutionary in its effects.\n_The perspective, intention, and elements of religion are about to\nalter_.  In the following pages, I shall argue that the attachments of\npast religion were determined by a mythological, and essentially\nmagical, idea of man's environment.  Such attitudes and expectations as\nprayer, ritual, worship, immortality, providence, are expressions of\nthe pre-scientific view of the world.  But as man partly outgrows,\npartly learns to reject, the primitive thought of the world, this\nperspective and these elements will drop from religion.  That this\nalteration has, in surprisingly large measure, already taken place can\nbe seen from the following excerpts from the writings of the best known\nAmerican authority on Church History: \"Traditional Christian ideas, in\nfact, are undergoing extensive transformation as a result of the new\nsocial emphasis.  The individualism of evangelicalism, with its primary\nconcern for the salvation of the individual soul, is widely\ndiscredited.  The old ascetic ideal is everywhere giving way to the\nsocial.  Instead of holding themselves aloof from the world Christians\nare throwing themselves into it and striving to reform it.  Holiness in\nthe traditional sense of abstinence from sin is less highly valued than\nit was.  The test of virtue is more and more coming to be the social\ntest.  The virtuous man is he who makes his influence tell for the\nimprovement of society.  Personal probity and uprightness, dissociated\nfrom the active service of one's fellows, is frequently regarded to-day\nas 'mere morality' was by the Evangelicals.  As virtue had value to\nthem only in union with and subordination to piety, so without the\nspirit of service {7} personal morality seems to many a modern social\nreformer a mere empty husk.\"[1]  Obviously, the center of religious\ngravity has altered tremendously from what it was in the Victorian Age.\nWe are on the brink of a new period, the period of a realistic, and yet\nspiritual, social democracy.\n\n\"But,\" I will be asked, \"do you advocate a religion of humanity?  That\nis an old effort weighed in the balance and found wanting.\"  Comte's\nreform was, in a way, premature.  Society had not developed enough to\ngive his effort a concrete basis.  But, more than this, his mistake was\nthat he did not see that the elements of religion, as well as its\nperspective, must be altered.  Humanity is not an object to be\nworshiped.  The very attitude and implications of worship must be\nrelinquished.  In their place must be put the spiritually founded\nvirtue of loyalty to those efforts and values which elevate human\nbeings and give a quality of nobility and significance to our human\nlife here and now.\n\nThe positive note of the present work can now be given in a few words:\n_Religion is loyalty to the values of life_.  The idea of the spiritual\nmust be broadened and humanized to include all those purposes,\nexperiences and activities which express man's nature.  The spiritual\nmust be seen to be the fine flower of living, which requires no other\nsanctions than its own inherent worth and appeal.  We must outgrow the\nfalse notion that religion is inseparable from supernatural objects,\nand that the spiritual is something alien to man which must be forced\nupon him from the outside.  _The spiritual is man at his best, man\nloving, daring, creating, {8} fighting loyally and courageously for\ncauses dear to him_.  Religion must be concrete instead of formal, and\ncatholic in its count of values.  Wherever there is loyal endeavor, the\npresence of the spiritual must freely be acknowledged.  It would seem\nto follow that religion will have objects only in the sense of purposes\nto fulfill.  It will no longer have need of a special view of the world.\n\nThe religion of the past has had much to say about salvation.\nSalvation was only too often something which happened to a man from\noutside.  It was something capricious and uncontrollable like sudden\nfortune.  Let us see what the religion of the present with its more\nrealistic conception of life has to say about salvation.  I have\nwritten in the book as follows: \"Only that soul is saved which is worth\nsaving, and the being worth saving is its salvation.  Salvation is no\nmagical hocus-pocus external to the reach and timbre of a man; it is\nthe loyal union of a man with those values of life which have come\nwithin his ken.\"  Whatever mixture of magic, fear, ritual, and\nadoration religion may have been in man's early days upon this earth,\nit is now increasingly, and henceforth must be, that which concerns his\ncontact with the duties and possibilities of life.  Such salvation is\nan achievement which has personal and social conditions.  It is not a\nlabel nor a lucky number for admission into another world, but\nsomething bought and paid for by effort.  It is like character and\neducation, for these are but special instances of it.\n\nThe personal conditions of spiritual life are sanity, health, and a\ncapacity to be fired by consuming purposes.  No one can be greatly\nsaved who has not a {9} soul capable of being touched in some measure\nby what is sterling and significant.  But one of the discoveries of\ndemocracy is the wide distribution of this sensitiveness.  The\nspiritual is not something painful, but it is something which concerns\nthe quality of human life.\n\nThe social conditions of salvation are just as necessary.  They are the\npresence of institutions and arrangements which give opportunity to the\nindividual to develop himself.  The individual must have a certain\namount of leisure and a chance for a vital education.  He should have\nsome contact with beautiful things and the stimulus of association with\ngreat causes.  A healthy and sane society makes possible healthy and\nsane individuals.  It is especially desirable that society put its\nemphasis on the right things.  If it is permissible to speak of\nsociety's salvation, we would say that it consists in the wise relation\nof means to ends, the subordination of the economic side of life to the\nmoral, intellectual and artistic activities.  A society which does not\norder itself in this way is called materialistic; and such a society is\ncertain to contain numberless individuals who live at a far lower\nspiritual level than they should.  It is the very nature of religion to\ncondemn this falling short of loyalty to the finer values of life.\n\nWe have said that religion must be catholic in its count of values.\nMoral souls may still be comparatively starved souls.  One of the great\nmistakes religion has made in the past has been this very lack of\nsympathy for values of all kinds.  For this very reason, religion has\noften displayed a certain narrowness and harshness.  Its loyalty has\nfrequently been a one-sided loyalty which prided itself on its\nasceticism.  But the day of an irrational asceticism has passed.\nIntensity {10} is good, but intensity and breadth are better still.  A\nhumane religion will preach loyalty to many values, harmonized together\nby the work of a concrete reason and a living art.  When religion did\nnot consider itself of this world, it was passive and acquiescent\ntoward many features of human life.  But a truer idea of the nature of\nthe spiritual, united with a decay of the old supernaturalistic\nsanctions, will change all that.  Religion will become active and\nmilitant, intensely concerned with everything human, a loyal enthusiasm\nfor all the significant phases of life.  It will cease to be a matter\nof taboos, of ritual, of rather conventional routine and become a\nspirit of vigorous search for whatever elevates and ennobles human\nbeings in their day of life.  Into the service of such a religion\nreason and art will gladly enter.\n\nBut this interpretation of religion has its obverse side.  It is in\npart directed against the age-old, supernaturalistic perspective which\nhas done so much to render religion a hindrance to the growth of\nspirituality.  The growth of my own thinking has led me to see, ever\nmore clearly, the harm done in this day and age by that emphasis on\nsanctions for conduct which are not justified by the vital and concrete\nneeds of human life.  The appeal to tradition and authority abstracted\nreligion from that fresh contact with the movement of events which\nmakes the great causes of history so vivid and appealing.  This\nabstraction divided the spiritual life of man against itself and led to\ninefficiency and confusion.  What the world needs to-day is a rational\nenthusiasm for human values.  The thought of another world with its\nmelodramatic last judgment encouraged individualism, withdrew {11}\nattention from social problems and aspirations, made the conception of\nthe spiritual anæmic and vague.  The official spirituality of the\nChurch lacked the happy stimulus of a social setting.\n\nBad as this division of man's spiritual life against itself was, it was\nnot all.  Man had been taught to despise reason, almost his highest\nquality.  The consequence was, that reason passed into the service of\nthe mere technical arrangements of life.  Man rationalized nature and\nleft himself irrational, as can be seen in the Great War.  Because\nreligion ignored reason and slighted many sides of man's nature, it\npaid the penalty of abortiveness.  It is not a mere accident that\nChristianity has been so helpless in the present crisis.\n\nIn times of darkness, it is natural for the individual to seek ways of\nescape from the crushing load which has fallen upon him.  The student\nof the history of religion knows that the most popular way of escape\nhas been in terms of spiritualism and supernaturalism.  But the thinker\nknows that this is a search for a sedative rather than a remedy.\nMoreover, the growth of human knowledge has made such a refuge more\nstrained and artificial than it used to be.  Those few men of standing\nin the physical sciences who have lent the prestige of their name to\nfields in which they have little competence have done a grave\ndisservice to mankind.  Man must conquer his problems; he cannot find\nsalvation in a cowardly flight from them.  The teaching of this book is\nthat supernaturalism has prevented man from finding himself, and that\nthe spiritual task of the present generation is a re-interpretation of\nthe spiritual to take in all the significant features of human life.\nWe want a religion of present use, a religion {12} not concerned with\nmythological objects and hypothetical states of existence but with the\ntasks and needs of human beings in society.  Will not the next step in\nreligion be the relinquishment of the supernatural and the active\nappreciation of virtues and values?  It is my hope that the present\nsincere discussion will assist, in some small measure, the coming of\nsuch a religion.\n\n\n\n[1] McGiffert, _The Rise of Modern Religious Ideas_, p. 272.\n\n\n\n\n{13}\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE AGE OF MYTH\n\nWe must, perforce, admit that our ancestors awoke to consciousness of\nthemselves and their surroundings at a time when they knew practically\nnothing, as we understand knowledge.  Theirs was a world of sights and\nsounds, a world of woods and streams, of moving things, of growing\nthings, of things to be eaten, of things good and evil.  It was a\ndriving, fearful, fascinating world.  Unconsciously and inevitably, man\ninterpreted his surroundings in terms of his own eager, childish life.\nForce and desire peeped from every corner.\n\nThe sky was not very high above him for it seemed to touch the mountain\ntops; and yet he could never hope to climb there.  But he could see\nvery well that it was inhabited.  And was it not a wonderful place,\nsince the heat and light of the sun and the warm, fructifying rain came\nfrom it?  And what were the clouds that floated across it like huge\nbirds or strange, gigantic creatures?  Even the lush grass of the\nspring-time seemed full of a hidden life.  Everywhere was force and\nwill--the power for good and harm.\n\nPerhaps only an imaginative child, or an adult with something of the\npoet's gift, can appreciate vividly the type of world in which these\nearly men found themselves.  The city-dweller of to-day lives in a\nsubdued {14} and mechanically controlled region whose every clank and\nrattle speaks of routine and order.  The myth-making faculty of the\nstreet-urchin has little to feed upon--all is so obvious and open to\ninspection.  The ordinary lad, again, is so soon filled with the\nconventionalized views of his elders that the hand of fancy soon ceases\nto write upon his soul or give a touch of wonder to familiar things.\nThere can be no doubt, therefore, that a conscious effort is required\nbefore a man of to-day can give even a fleeting glimpse at the\ncapricious, magical, animated, and intensely personal world of his\ndistant ancestors.  And yet the guesses and surmises of these earlier\nmen were the source of more of his beliefs than he would care to admit.\nIn these pages we shall see how much of mythology still lingers with us.\n\nMythology is a product of the social group, of clans and tribes and\npeoples, and is of slow growth.  Story added itself to story, this\nfeature to that.  Hence it was often a work of art, though of\nunconscious art.  It was an expression of the life of groups who had\ngods and totems.  It was inextricably bound up with the whole savage\noutlook upon nature; and yet only recently has this setting been\nadequately appreciated.  Until the middle of the nineteenth century,\nknowledge of mythology was practically limited to the poetized\nmythology of the Greeks and Romans.  And so, because it was found in\nthe poets, it was thought of as an artificial product, as a series of\nstories invented and embroidered by the fancy of bards and narrators.\n\nBut the wider knowledge due to exploration changed this narrow\napproach.  The discoveries of travelers in the Americas, Africa, and\nOceania gave pause to this too {15} civilized and superficial theory of\nmyth.  Gradually, a more realistic view arose.  The idea of evolution\ngave a genetic way of approach and made investigators aware of the\nslowness of human advance.  The next steps followed quickly.  Social\npsychology replaced the individualistic and overly rationalistic\npsychology of the early nineteenth century.  All the phenomena of\nprimitive society were seen to be the products of relatively\nnon-reflective groups who felt and stumbled their way into rituals and\nbeliefs.  As the material accumulated, comparative methods were applied\nin the field.  The result has been astounding.  In place of the\nromantic conception of primitive life, which made the savage\nessentially a civilized child, a grimmer picture unfolded itself.\nFetichism, shamanism, magic, human sacrifice, totemism, ritualism, all\nwere found combined and interactive in a scheme of life alien to our\nown enlightened outlook.  In such an atmosphere it was that mythology\narose.  It arose as an account of acts and beliefs, and, as these were\npurified and deepened, it, also, advanced in purity and depth.  Yet,\nalways, there remained the trace of the savagery from which it had\nsprung.\n\nWhile primitive religion and mythology are not identical, they are\nclosely bound up with one another.  Both rest upon animism, totemism\nand magic as these are brought into relation with man's needs and\nfears.  Religion is chiefly an affair of sentiment and cult, actively\nguided by belief in superhuman powers capable of helping and hurting\nman.  Mythology, on the other hand, consists of the stories told about\nthese dynamic powers as they are more and more personified and given a\nhistory and a name.  And such stories are naturally {16} built up\naround acts whose significance has been forgotten, or around dramatized\ninterpretations of processes in nature.  Myths are explanations of acts\nand events and names which aroused curiosity and therefore demanded\nsome explanation.  It was only after modern anthropology had unearthed\nthe characteristic beliefs of primitive man that many myths became\nintelligible.  A few examples will make this relationship clearer.\n\nTotemism is a sort of cult rendered to animals and plants which are\nregarded as akin to the tribe.  It must be remembered that primitive\nman was not nearly so convinced of his superiority as is modern man.\nWolves and bears and foxes are strong and cunning, and seem to him to\nhave a power and knowledge even superior to his own.  Strange as it\nappears to us to-day, savages quite often assign their origin to some\nanimal and regard that animal as the possessor of a force which is\nvaluable to his kin.  This cult of totemistic animals and plants is at\nthe base of the tales of metamorphosis which we read in Classic\nliterature or in our own fairy tales.  \"Beauty and the Beast\" is an\nexample of this transformation, which our ancestors looked upon as\nquite natural; while the savage tales of the werewolf go back to the\nsame outlook.  The serpent in the Garden of Eden is another instance of\nthe same cycle of ideas.  The application of our present knowledge of\ntotemism to mythology has been very enlightening.  Students of Greek\nliterature used to wonder why all the gods had birds and animals as\ncompanions.  As a matter of fact, these animals were once sacred\ntotems.  The eagle and the swan were gradually displaced by Zeus, the\nsky deity.  But so gradual was {17} this displacement that the animals\nbecame attributes of the younger deity, while he was thought to change\nhimself at times back into the totem animal.  The story of Leda and the\nswan can, in this way, be easily understood.\n\nMany myths are explanations of rites which were no longer understood.\nSuch myths are called ætiological.  They are answers to questions which\nworshipers were bound, sooner or later, to ask.  The myth of\nPrometheus, the Titan who stole the fire from heaven to succor men, was\nconnected with the use of eagles on the front of temples to ward off\nlightning.  Originally, the story concerns the punishment of the eagle,\nbut is later attached to Prometheus.  It is, according to Reinach, the\ndevelopment of the following naïve dialogue: \"Why is this eagle\ncrucified?  It is its punishment for having stolen the fire from\nheaven.\"  Other examples of ætiological myths are the Phaethon legend,\nthe story of Hippolyte, and some of the stories told about Heracles.\n\nAnother source of myth is to be found in the sacrifice of animal-gods\nwho are supposed to possess a secret strength.  Such animal-gods are\nnot anthropomorphized in early times.  They are simply regarded as\nseats of vital power or _mana_.  We must bear in mind the fact that\nsavage man would not have been shocked by Darwinism as Bishop\nWilberforce was.  No distinction worth mentioning was made between men\nand animals in those ancient days.  \"English-lore,\" writes Andrew Lang,\n\"has its woman who bore rabbits.\"  The religions of Greece and of Asia\nMinor had rites and myths which introduced the sacred bull.  In\nMithraism, a religion which almost won against Christianity, the\nsacrifice of the bull and the consumption of its {18} blood and flesh\nin a communion feast were prominent features.  Again, in the rites of\nDionysus Zagreus, a bull was torn to pieces and eaten.  From this arose\nthe myth of Dionysus Zagreus as a son of Zeus and Persephone changed\ninto a bull and eaten by the Titans.  He is born again under the name\nof Dionysus, yet carries horns on his forehead, evident signs of his\nanimal origin.  Thus different strata of religion and belief meet and\nblend and necessitate the growth of explanatory myths.\n\nBut we must not allow the newer recognition of the part played by\nmisinterpretation in the development of myths to obscure the genuine\nrole of naïve reflection upon the phenomena of nature.  Yet the savage\nimagination was limited by the experience at its command.  The Homeric\nhymn to Helios \"looks on the sun as a half-god, almost a hero, who had\nonce lived on earth.\"  Still more naïve are legends which make it a\nbeast which has once been trapped.  Myths arise to account for\neclipses, the waxing and waning of the moon, sunset, etc.  The\nexplanation of the rainbow as a sign of a covenant between Yahweh and\nNoah, is an excellent example of a nature-myth introduced as a part of\na legend.\n\nThere are many other sources of myths.  Around all striking events,\nsuch as the first punishment of homicide, legends arise.  Bellerophon\nand Ixion are compelled to flee into exile.  Again, the facts and\nritual of death are a fruitful center for the working of the\nimagination.  The _sheol_ of the Hebrews is first the grave; and only\nlater does it become even the shadowy underworld which is pictured in\nIsaiah.\n\nBut our purpose is not to present an exhaustive {19} analysis of the\ntypes of myth which early man wove about the world in which he found\nhimself.  What it is important to grasp is the slow growth from an\nalmost animal state of ignorance to a more enlightened, moral, and\nsocially ordered life.  This evolution took time, and such progress as\nwas made was always in danger of being overthrown by the hardening of\nmyth and cult into a strait-jacket of superstition and hysterical fear.\nThis danger was always great just because reason could secure no firm\nfoothold upon reality.  Man's life was one of constant fear.  He felt\nhimself assailed by evil spirits and surrounded by taboos and laws, to\nviolate which meant disaster.  When we glance over history, we find\nonly two things which have shown promise of power to raise man out of\nthis slough of fear,--ethical monotheism and reason.  How far is this a\ngenuine antithesis?  May it not be that the real strength and freeing\npower of ethical monotheism is due to the reason which created it and\nspeaks through it?\n\nUpon one set of myths of extreme importance for religion we have,\nhowever, scarcely touched.  Yet the study of this group and its\nexplanation has been a signal triumph for the science of comparative\nreligion.  It is a great pity that the general public knows, as yet, so\nlittle about the researches made by scholars into the wide-spread\nritual of communion and purification, by means of which the participant\nbecomes one with his deity and is even assured of salvation and\nimmortality.  The interesting fact is, that, here again, we find ideas\nwhich are essentially primitive and magical given a new setting.  What\nwas once social, and largely a ritual concerned with the re-birth of\nvegetation in the Spring, becomes personal, and a symbol of the\nresurrection of a {20} believer in another world.  In its first form\nand motivation, this set of ideas turns around the tribe's material\nneeds.  Only with the growth of self-consciousness is it applied to the\nindividual.\n\nWhy did this type of ritual arise?  And why was it celebrated with such\nfervor?  These questions lead us into the very heart of early religion.\nReligion was the expression of man's very real need, in the light of\nhis view of the world as the seat of spiritual agencies.  \"The\nextraordinary security of our modern life in times of peace makes it\nhard for us to realize, except by a definite effort of the imagination,\nthe constant precariousness, the frightful proximity of death, that was\nusual in these weak ancient communities.  They were in fear of wild\nbeasts; they were helpless against floods, helpless against\npestilences.  Their food depended on the crops of one tiny plot of\nground; and if the Savior was not reborn with the spring, they slowly\nand miserably died.  And all the while they knew almost nothing of the\nreal causes that made crops succeed or fail.  They only felt sure it\nwas somehow a matter of pollution, of unexpiated defilement.  It is\nthis state of things that explains the curious cruelty of early\nagricultural works, the human sacrifices, the scapegoats, the tearing\nin pieces of living animals, and perhaps of living men, the steeping of\nthe fields in blood.\"  To men at this stage, religion is the most\nnatural of attitudes.  It is the child of animism, of magic, of\nignorance and of need.  But to explain the origin of an attitude is not\nto explain it away.  May it not be that these sentiments can be given\nanother setting and other objects?\n\nWhile all races have passed through this myth-making {21} stage,\ncertain races have been more gifted, or else more favored by the\ncircumstances of their development.  A vivid imagination, a relatively\ncomplex society with different traditions, a diversified landscape, an\ninviting climate, and a leisurely, yet vigorous life were necessary to\nthe highest efflorescence of this poetic power to weave human motives\ninto nature and into the conduct of supernatural powers conceived after\nthe manner of men.  These conditions were fulfilled to a remarkable\ndegree among the Greeks, whose mythology constantly surprises us by its\nrichness, variety and delicacy.  As the years rolled by, every striking\naspect of nature or of traditional ritual was interpreted in terms of\nthe passion, plan or caprice of some being, different from, yet by no\nmeans alien to, man.  The daring and beauty of the legends woven by\nthis race and the immensity of their range have made them the\nadmiration and wonder of other times more given to reflection than to\nphantasy.  The childhood of the race was productive in a memorable\nfashion which has made art and literature forever its debtors.\n\nIn our admiration for Greek mythology, we must not forget that other\nraces and nations wove stories to account for human life and to\ninterpret those features of nature which aroused their fear, love or\nwonder.  Our own Northern mythology had its beauties and wild reaches\nof imagination which made it, in certain regards, a fit rival of that\nof the Mediterranean.  The story of Balder, the joyous and kindly god\nwhom all things loved, is evidently the mythical form of the passing of\nsummer sunshine and the coming of winter with its darkness and gloom.\nWe must always remember that our remote ancestors interpreted their\nworld concretely, {22} and mainly in terms of human life, because they\nhad no abstract ideas at their command.  Psychical and physical\nconcepts were interfused in their minds: prose and poetry, fact and\nfigure combined together without that feeling of disharmony which is so\ndistinctive of the modern mind.  Nature welcomed personification, and\nto read the conflict of light and darkness, warmth and cold, in terms\nof human struggles and hates was the inevitable course for human\nthought to take.  The simple grandeur of many of these tales of the\ngods comes from the poignancy of life itself.  Those events in nature\nwhich affected man intensely received an intense meaning.  We, who have\nconquered nature in large measure, or can so predict her convulsions as\nto escape the first shock of her rude forces; we, who think of her\nprocesses as ruled by impersonal laws, cannot appreciate the directness\nand unveiled immediacy of those ancient dramas which man saw around\nhim.  Darkness is for us the absence of light, not a mysterious and\nthreatening presence which fills the sky while the kindly god of day\nsleeps.  Light consists of vibrations in ether emitted from a\ntremendously hot, material substance instead of being a beneficent\nforce under the control of a radiant being.\n\nBut other races than the Aryan were less inclined to embellish and\nhumanize nature.  The imagination worked less freely to add to the\nvisible aspect of things.  The consequence of this thinness of reaction\nwas, that the mind rested in things as they appeared, although it could\nnot desist from assigning to them capacities and powers which were\nsuperhuman.  Nature was at least instinct with will, even while this\nvaguely stirring will did not clothe itself in definite forms.  Man\nbelieved {23} himself surrounded by forces which affected him for good\nand evil; he felt himself immersed in an ocean of life, yet he could\nnot discern any forms back of that which he saw with his bodily eyes.\nPerhaps these other races had less of the dramatic in their\ncomposition, less of that genial delight in far-fetched analogies and\nthe free play of ideas.\n\nAs time passed, the first stage of mythology with its simple naturalism\nand its relative lack of imaginative elements gave way to a more human\nstage.  Myths of the next world came to the front, and man became more\nand more concerned with his salvation in an afterlife.  Comparative\nreligion has proven how widespread was the belief in some sort of\nimmortality.  The Orphic cults in Greece, the Osiris and Isis cult in\nEgypt, the worship of Attis and Adonis in Syria, the purification and\ncommunion ceremonies of Mithraism, all turned about the idea of a\nsecret means of salvation.  A common set of ideas developed in the\nMediterranean basin and found expression in liturgies and phrases of a\nstriking similarity.  The god dies and is resurrected; the virgin\ngoddess gives birth to a son; the members of a religious community eat\nof their god and gain strength from the sacred meal.  The Church\nFathers were aware of these similarities and sought to explain away\ntheir resemblances with the Christian ritual by means of the theory\nthat the Devil had blasphemously imitated Christian rites and\ndoctrines.  Research has shown that this theory of parody is entirely\nunhistorical.  The fact is, that Christianity borrowed its ritual from\nthe cults among which it grew up.  For instance, the belief in the\ndeath and resurrection of a savior-god was very {24} prevalent in\nTarsus, Paul's own city.  The Attis mysteries were celebrated at a\nseason which corresponded to the end of our Lenten period and the\nbeginning of Easter.  They were preceded by fasting and began with\nlamentations, \"the votaries gathering in sorrow around the bier of the\ndead divinity; then followed the resurrection, and the risen god gave\nhope of salvation to the mystic brotherhood, and the whole service\nclosed with the feast of rejoicing, the Hilaria.\"  There can be little\ndoubt that this whole cycle of ideas represents a development of the\nprimitive ritual of eating the sacred animal or plant in spring in\norder to foster the re-birth of man's necessities.  From this germ\nsprang reflective ideas of atonement and communion and immortality.\n\nAlong with the growth of the mysteries went the introduction of more\nethical standards of conduct.  Ritual purity suggested the idea of\nspiritual purity.  This ethicizing of myth is very apparent in Greece.\nBy the time of the dramatists, moral judgments had become more severe,\nand the gods were looked upon as guardians of the moral law; and yet\nthis view was tragically thwarted by much of the old tradition.  The\nsavage inheritance and the later moral idealism found themselves in\nconflict.  The consequence was the gradual weakening of the older myths\nand the welcoming of new cults.\n\nEthical growth is usually in large measure unconscious.  Man reads\nideas into the world around him before he becomes conscious that they\nare his own.  His own development is thus reflected in the pantheon\nwith which he has peopled nature.  Zeus is at first the thunderer and\nthe cloud-gatherer; finally he represents {25} justice and those kingly\nqualities which social growth stresses.  Poets and philosophers refine\naway the grosser myths which shock the taste of a more advanced social\nlevel.  When we compare the conceptions of Euripides, of Plato, of\nCleanthes, of Marcus Aurelius, with the conduct of the Homeric gods, we\nrealize the distance traveled by the mind of man along ethical lines.\nMan is now a builder of ideals.  Yet the cosmic setting for these\nideals is virtually unchanged; the framework of man's universe has\nremained much the same.  It is at heart a realm of personal agents with\nwhich man is in communication.\n\nIn all the nations which advanced in civilization, this transformation\nwithin mythology makes itself felt.  Ormuzd, the Persian god, passes\nfrom a personification of the sunlight in its battle with darkness to a\nspiritual deity who is the guardian of all the virtues.  Indra, the\nVedic god, is likewise at first the sky through which the clouds move,\nand is later conceived as the creator and sustainer of the world.  The\nsame process reveals itself in Egyptian mythology for we pass from Ra,\nthe sun deity, to Neph and Pthah who represent creative energies and to\nOsiris, the god of truth and goodness.  Thus there is in mythology a\nuniversal movement, from the visible aspects of nature as personified,\nto supernal beings back of nature, protecting what is thought of as\nhighest and noblest in human conduct.  The setting remains constant\nwhile new wine is poured into the old bottles.  _The truth of the\nmatter is that man grew faster ethically than he did intellectually_.\nPhilosophy and science were far harder to achieve than glimpses of\njustice and kindness.  The very growth of society in numbers forced man\nto adapt his conduct to a {26} social life and to have regard to his\nneighbors.  The ideals advocated by Confucius, Buddha, Plato, Hosea and\nJesus are as noble as our own.  But advance in knowledge and its\npresuppositions is more revolutionary and extraordinary because more\nartificial and more alien to the psychological prejudices of the mass\nof the people.  Ethics, like religion, remained for ages peacefully\nwithin the mythological setting which primitive man unconsciously\nconstructed.\n\nWe have purposely omitted prior reference to the development of\nreligion among the Hebrews because their religion has been so important\nfor our own civilization.  The mythological element in it was\nrelatively small for various reasons; yet this is true only if we have\nregard to fable and æsthetic tale.  Their world was one of personal\nagency just as it was for other races.  But the Hebrews made a fresh\nstart long after they had isolated themselves from the general Semitic\nstock.  Their migration from their ancient home could not help but\nwither the more local myths, and this tendency was reënforced by the\nadoption of a new god, Yahweh, the God of the Kenites.  Yahweh was a\ngod of the lightning who thundered from Mount Sinai, and he was a god\nof battles, just as was Thor, the thunder-god of the Scandinavians.\nThis war god naturally obtained their allegiance during the years of\nconflict with the Canaanites, and gained in prestige as time elapsed.\nThe Canaanites had their local Baal cults and myths, and these were\nassociated with agricultural festivals and with that worship of\nfertility which was so wide-spread among the ancients.  The followers\nof Yahweh, on the other hand, were hillmen and shepherds and their\nrites were closely connected with sacrificial observances.\n\n{27}\n\nAs time passed, the two races mingled and the tendency was toward an\namalgamation of their respective cults.  But a storm of protest set in,\nled by the prophets and the simpler, less concretely naturalistic\nreligion prevailed.  The very simplicity of the cult of Yahweh made it\na fitting basis for that ethical development which we associate with\nthe names of Amos, Hosea, Isaiah and Jeremiah.  Only an ignorance of\nthe ethical deepening of other religions can excuse the belief that\nthis ethical development was absolutely unique.  Probably it is the\naspect of national monotheism, or henotheism, as it should more\naccurately be called, which impresses so many, whereas this feature was\nan historical accident.  To claim that the Hebrew development was\nunique and therefore supernatural is to assume that the relatively\nunique must be supernatural.  But such an assumption has no foundation\nin experience, for differences in the development of nations are the\nrule rather than the exception.  Shall we say that English\nconstitutional development is supernatural because no other nation\nachieved such a form of government by itself?  Shall we assert that\nGreek art was supernatural because it was unique?  Is it not evident\nthat the wish has been father to the thought in this case?  All early\npeoples have looked upon themselves as chosen and upon other peoples as\ngentiles and barbarians.  We have accepted this prejudice of the\nHebrews because we have adopted a modified form of their religion with\nits racial traditions.\n\nBut while conditions in Palestine were not favorable to the flowering\nof a rich and delicate mythology, it would be false to deny the\npresence of a mythological motive in the Hebrew outlook.  The whole\nstory of the {28} intimate relations of Yahweh to his people and to\ntheir ancestors is through and through mythological.  Milton's epic was\nmade possible by the folklore incorporated in the Bible.  There are\nmany traces in the Bible of a common Semitic tradition in spite of the\nreactions which it underwent.  Recent Semitic scholarship has made it\nevident that Babylonian beliefs had penetrated to this kindred people.\nThere are sun-myths and tales of semi-divine heroes.  After the exile,\nunder the influence of Persia and Babylonia, there arose a belief in\ndemons and angels as powers at work in the world for good and evil.\nThese mythical creatures passed into the outlook of the Western mind by\nway of Christianity, and offered fruitful material for art and poetry,\nand for the gradual blossoming of new myths around the Christian epic\nof the universe.  Milton and Dante unfold the inner meaning of life in\nterms which cannot be understood apart from beliefs which have their\nultimate roots in primitive conceptions of the world.\n\nChristian mythology, like Greek mythology, has its æsthetic value, but\nit is a mistake to assume that this value is removed when the old\ncredence has departed.  To appreciate the beauty of Botticelli's Venus,\nit is not necessary to believe that Venus arose from this sea-foam; in\nlike manner, to enjoy Christian art it is not required that we accept\nthe literal truth of its symbols.  Indeed, it seems to me very doubtful\nwhether many educated people to-day take the minor characters of the\nChristian pantheon very seriously.  We would be more than surprised to\nhear angelic messengers chanting in the heavens above us.  Only because\nthey are bound up with a system of attitudes and values dear to men,\nare these mystic beings given that half-belief which {29} prevents them\nfrom falling into that limbo to which dragons and griffins and nymphs\nhave descended.  That this will be their ultimate fate is certain.  In\nProtestant countries, in which moral values control religion and\nsensuous elements exercise little attraction, these figures have\nalready retreated far into the background.  Yet the average religious\nmind likes to dally with the thought of them, much as the child, who no\nlonger believes in fairies, still wishes to indulge in make-believe\nwhen the everyday world becomes too bare and well-ordered.\n\nThe age of myth, then, corresponds to a naïve extension of human\ncharacteristics to natural phenomena.  The world becomes a drama to\nwhich man holds the key in his own life.  He feels himself surrounded\nby mysterious forces and agencies, far surpassing his own puny\nstrength, and inevitably conceives them in analogy with his own\nactivities.  They differ not so much in how they work as in what they\ndo.  In this way, the gods were born into the world--and once born man\nhas been unable to free himself from them.  As he has grown in mental\nand moral stature, he has unconsciously reflected into them this\nincreased knowledge and these higher ideals.  And the process, once\nbegun, has continued to the present.  _Not until he has outgrown old\nfears and relinquished unwarranted hopes will these beliefs lose their\npower.  Then and not till then, will reason be able to supplant\nmythology by knowledge._\n\n\n\n\n{30}\n\n\nSTORIES OF CREATION\n\nIn stories of creation we have the imagination of primitive man at\nwork, trying to answer questions which it was no more prepared to\nanswer than a child of seven is in a position to understand higher\nmathematics.  The savage has an answer for every question because he\nhas no idea of the difficulty of the problems involved.  A name or a\nstory will completely satisfy him because he is uncritical.  Now the\nstories of creation, or cosmogonies, as they are technically called,\nare peculiarly interesting because they give us an insight into the\nconcrete terms which the imagination was forced to use in its attempt\nto picture the past and the origin of things.  Moreover, we can trace\nthe changes these naïve stories underwent as man's experience broadened\nand he was able to think more abstractly.  We can become acquainted\nwith the materials with which the poet-priest of the pre-scientific\npast worked to build himself a marvelous and soul-satisfying tale; and\nwe are able, as history unrolls, to watch myth gradually pass into\ntheology.\n\nThe desire to explain how nature came to be and how man arose was\nwell-nigh universal.  Everywhere we find accounts of a distant past\nwhen the gods walked on earth.  Egyptians, Hindoos, Greeks, Japanese,\nPolynesians, Hebrews and American Indians had tales of the origin of\nthings to tell.  This desire to account for {31} origins is not hard to\nunderstand.  The same psychological tendency is at work to-day and\ngives zest to the theory of evolution.  Why did the _Descent of Man_\nawaken such a storm throughout the Western World if not because it\nshook the story of man's first coming, which had been handed down from\ngeneration to generation since the mists of antiquity?  Man wants to\nknow about himself, how he came here, and whither he is going.  The\nvogue of the _Rubaiyat_ of Omar Khayyam is in large measure due to the\nhaunting sense of man's ignorance of his place in the world.  Who set\nthe stage and placed the puppets on it?  Primitive man always answered\nhis questions in terms of Beings like himself, although more powerful\nand longer lived.  _All agency was for him personal agency_.  And there\nare, even now, a surprisingly large number of people who can think in\nno other terms.  The universe is for them the playground of spirits who\nwork their will upon it.  Matter and energy and the slow growth of\nyears are ideas which strike them cold.  Their view of the universe is\ndramatic and even melodramatic; it is personal, mythical.\n\nLet us glance at some of these attempts to account for the world.  We\nshall not find them very coherent or deep, but we shall always find\nthem instructive for the light they throw upon man, himself, and the\nlimits set to his theories about origins by the concrete agency to\nwhich he perforce appealed.  We shall then realize how natural were the\nquestions which man asked and which he sought to answer, and how\nimpossible it was for him to offer any other solutions than those\nimaginative ones which grew up in folk-lore and which have been\ndeveloped and re-cast in the various religions.\n\nNo early race had the idea of an absolute beginning.  {32} The attempt\nmade was simply to carry things back to different conditions, to a less\ndeveloped state of things, and then to trace the larger steps by means\nof which the later world, as they saw it, came about.  Those races\nwhich had little power for abstract thinking and had achieved few\nimpersonal ideas kept very near to concrete phenomena and explained\ntheir own origin in terms of a mythical ancestor, or animal magician,\nwhile they left the earth and the sky very much as it was.  The\nIroquois Indians, for instance, believed that their original female\nancestress fell from heaven.  There was no land to receive her, but it\nsuddenly bubbled up under her feet and waxed bigger, so that ere long a\nwhole country was visible.  Other branches of the tribe held that\notters and beavers hastened to dig up enough earth from beneath the\nwater to provide her with an island on which to dwell.  The Athapascans\nof Northwestern Canada asserted that a raven, whose eyes were fire,\nwhose glances were lightning, and the clapping of whose wings was\nthunder, descended to the ocean.  Instantly, the earth arose and\nremained floating on the surface of the waters.  It was from this Being\nthat the tribe traced its descent.  We must remember how near akin are\nanimals and men at this stage of human development.  Once throw oneself\ninto the atmosphere of myth and it is not difficult to comprehend how\nsuch stories grew up.\n\nBut we are more interested in tracing the development of stories of\ncreation from primitive types to subtler and more abstract forms; and a\ncollection of savage folk-lore on the subject would, therefore, be of\nlittle value.  Let us pass, then, to the accounts given by races which\nhave played a part in history.\n\n{33}\n\nThe Egyptian account is as follows: In the beginning was the primitive\nocean, a wild waste of waters.  From this tossing chaos sprang land and\nsky, and it was from their embrace that other things arose.  The\ngeneral idea present in this account was probably derived from the Nile\nfloods or from glimpses of the ocean.  The lifting of the watery mists\nwhich are seen rising each morning from the Nile, the parting of them\nfrom the earth and the raising of them to the sky was a work variously\nattributed to Ra (the sun) or Shu (the atmosphere).  Gradually the\nEgyptians developed ideas of various deities all of whom derive from\nobjects and activities in nature.  To these were then assigned the work\nof creation.  At first this work was thought of as a shaping or\nfashioning in a literal sense.  Ptah, the Great Artificer, shapes the\nsun and moon eggs on his potter's wheel; Osiris, the god of vegetation,\nformed with his hand the earth, its waters, its air, its plants, all\nits cattle, all its birds, all its winged fowl, all its reptiles, all\nits quadrupeds.  Is this view very far different from the account given\nin the so-called second story of creation beginning with verse four of\nGenesis?  There it is written: \"And the Lord God formed man of the dust\nof the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and\nman became a living soul.\"\n\nSomewhat later developed the more priestly, or theological, account;\njust as it did for the Hebrews.  Creation was then conceived more\nmystically as an act of will issuing in a word of command.  We should\nremember that, for primitive thought, words were not mere verbal signs,\nuseful to man as means of communication, but were conceived, more\nrealistically and naïvely, as essential parts of things, bound up with\ntheir existence.  {34} This same fact will explain much of the ritual\nof magic.  When God says, \"Let there be light,\" light is selected and,\nas it were, coerced into existence by the name.  As time passed man\nbecame reflective and critical.  He had nothing essentially new to\noffer, yet he felt dissatisfied with the crude imagery of tradition.\nStep by step with the growth of society, we always find the passage\nfrom creation myths built around the idea of spontaneous generation to\nthe idea of a god who molds men as a potter does his clay, and thence\nto a _fiat_ in which the creative will of a supernatural and\ntranscendent deity finds expression.  There is a remarkable similarity\nin creation stories, just as we would expect.  The same few motives\nrepeat themselves with local variations.\n\nThe oldest of the Greek myths of creation are to be found in Homer and\nHesiod.  For Homer, Oceanus is the father of the gods, while Tethys,\ncalled the suckling or nursing one, is the mother.  Back of these\naugust, generative powers, however, lies Night whom even Zeus is afraid\nto offend.  We must remember that darkness is a presence for early man,\nas real as water or air, and that man feared it as mysterious and\nthreatening.  Always we must put aside the knowledge which science has\ngiven us and sink down into this vague world of the past, filled with\ntremendous shapes and forces.  Hesiod's view is best given in his own\nwords:\n\n  \"From chaos were generated Erebos and black Night,\n  And from Night again were generated Ether and Day,\n  Whom she brought forth, having conceived from the\n      embrace of Erebos.\"\n\nHere we have the same sexual motive at work as among the Egyptians; a\nmotive which, as we should expect, {35} is well-nigh universal.  During\nthe sixth century there was an efflorescence of creation myths among\nthe Greeks.  These are associated with the name of Orpheus, and are\ncommonly classed together as Orphic cosmogonies.  Soon after,\nphilosophic speculation began to come into its own and the Greeks \"left\noff telling tales.\"  Burnet, a famous student of Greek culture, asserts\nthat \"history teaches that science has never existed except among those\npeoples which the Greeks have influenced.\"  But we shall leave the\nGreeks for the present; it may be that we shall meet them, and their\ninfluence again.\n\nThe Hindoos passed from crude views to more abstract and refined\nconcepts just as the Egyptians and Greeks did.  In the Vedic period,\nthere are many contradictory statements about the creation of the world\nand of the gods.  Heaven and earth are spoken of as the parents of the\ngods, and at the same time the gods are said to have built, or woven,\nthe whole world.  When we remember that there was little distinction at\nfirst between nature and the gods, we are not surprised at this\ncontradiction.  Moreover, as one writer suggests, this contradiction\nseems only to have enhanced the mystery of the conception.  When\nreligion enters, logic is not always desired.\n\nAnother conception which we find in Hindoo thought is that of a\nworld-egg.  This analogy is so natural that we are not surprised to\ndiscover it.  Let us glance at one of the accounts given in the\nSatapatha Brahmana: \"In the beginning this universe was water, nothing\nbut water.  The waters desired, 'How can we be reproduced?'  So saying,\nthey toiled, they performed austerity.  While they were performing\nausterity, a golden egg came into existence.  Being produced, {36} it\nthen became a year.  Wherefore this golden egg floated about for the\nperiod of a year.  From it in a year a male came into existence, who\nwas Prajapati....  He divided this golden egg....  In a year he desired\nto speak.  He uttered 'bhur,' which became this earth; 'bhuvah,' which\nbecame this firmament; and 'svar,' which became that sky....  Desiring\nprogeny, he went on worshiping and toiling.  He conceived progeny in\nhimself; with his mouth he created the gods....\"\n\nThis account of the creation is characteristic of Hindoo thought as it\npasses from the frank admiration of nature, which distinguishes the\nVedic period, to what more nearly approaches theosophic speculation.\nYet there is no genuine break with the animism of primitive times.  The\nwaters are thought of as desiring, that is, they are held to be alive\nand vaguely conscious.  The belief that words are inseparable from\nthings should again be noted.  \"Bhur\" becomes the earth, and \"svar\"\nbecomes the sky.\n\nIn the course of time, Hindoo thought became more abstract and\nsophisticated without having achieved any method which would lead to\ntested knowledge.  An analogy may make clearer to the reader the\nvicious intellectual situation.  Imagine the subtle minds of the\nMediæval scholastics, without the material furnished them by the Greek\nphilosophy, and obliged to exercise themselves upon magic, myth and\nlegend.  The very energy and subtlety of their intellects would lead\nthem into all sorts of phantasmagoria.  Theosophy--and a large share of\nwhat is called theology--is simply a refining and subtilizing of\nmythology.  The more difficult and abstract the thought, the more\nsignificance {37} it is assumed to possess.  The penetrative and\nexploring power of mere untested speculation is taken for granted.\nWords throw a spell over the mind because nothing of a more positive\ncharacter is before it to counteract their charm.  Even to-day we all\nknow of people who like to employ such terms as force, and unity, and\nspirit, and will.  The very vagueness of the words exercises a\nfascination which smothers the slight demand for explanation.  Just as\nthe Jews of the Dispersion spoke of Wisdom as the first-born creature\nof God and gave this abstraction an objective existence, so the Hindoo\npoets and theosophists explained the world in terms which seem to the\nscientifically trained mind subjective and irrelevant.  For all its\napparent profundity, such an outlook represents a lower stage than that\nwhich science has reached.  Subtlety is not enough; it must be a\nservant to the right methods of investigation.  Dialectic and\nimaginative vividness cannot give truth to ideas not adapted to explain\nthe sort of a world we live in.\n\nThose creation stories developed by the Hebrews with the aid of the\nBabylonians have had most influence on Western thought and, therefore,\ndeserve considerable attention.  The motives and mental processes at\nwork are, however, essentially those which we have already examined.\nUnfortunately, we have only hints here and there in the Old Testament\nof the more primitive traditions which were worked over and built upon\nby the priests and prophets.  Moreover, the Yahweh religion seems to\nhave been adopted quite late and to have made easy a break with the\nolder tales.  Probably few readers of the Bible, who have not made a\nsystematic study of Semitic literature, are aware that ancient strands\nof {38} folk-lore are scattered through it.  In Psalm 74, for instance,\nthere is a good instance of primitive views: \"Thou didst divide the sea\nby thy strength; Thou breakest the head of Leviathan in pieces....\nThou didst cleave fountain and flood.\"  In Job, likewise, there are\nreferences to these deeds of Yahweh in the far past.  Very few casual\nreaders ask themselves who Rahab and the Flying Serpent and Leviathan\nwere.  Now investigation has shown that we have, in these references to\nthe deeds of Yahweh, fragments of the Babylonian myth of creation.\nThese creatures are monsters whom Yahweh makes captive before he orders\nthe original chaos into a cosmos.  In doing this, he is a counterpart\nof Marduk, the Babylonian creator.  These monsters, like the gods who\nconquer them, are only personified forms of phenomena in the heavens\nabove and the earth beneath.  Let us now consider the stories of\ncreation given in Genesis.  It is not widely enough known that there\nare two distinct accounts which, although they are externally combined,\ncan easily be separated even in the English translation.  The oldest\nversion begins with chapter two, verse five.  This version is called\nthe prophetic account.  It assumes that the world already exists and\nconcerns itself only with man's appearance, the institution of\nmarriage, and the general features of man's life.  God forms man out of\nthe dust of the ground, as a potter molds his clay, and breathes into\nhim the breath of life.  He places him in a garden to dress and keep\nit.  But the incidents which follow are so familiar to every one that\nthere is no need to repeat them.  Scholars have pointed out that this\naccount is very similar to that current in Babylonia.  The motives are\nlike those found in the Gilgamish and Adapa {39} myths.  The\ndifferences in general tone and in geographical details can readily be\nexplained by the later date--about the eighth century--and the\ncharacter of the Palestinian landscape.  Those who read Hebrew will\nnote the difference in vocabulary between the second chapter in Genesis\nand the first, while those who are confined to the English translation\nshould especially note that the two words, Lord and God, are combined\nin the prophetic account.  There are many naïve, and obviously\nprimitive, touches in this creation story which give it a quaint charm.\nOnly those, however, who are themselves naïve in their outlook upon the\nworld can dream of taking it as other than folk-lore.  I must confess\nthat it is a mystery to me that so many fairly educated men can take it\nas anything but what it so obviously is, a creation myth.\n\nThe creation story, told in the first chapter, is called by scholars\nthe priestly account.  It is post-exilic and, so, relatively late.  The\nfoundation consists of mythical ideas which go back to the mists of\nantiquity.  From these were derived certain terms which are scarcely\ntranslatable into English.  The reader has been further confused by a\npoetic and inexact rendering of many Hebrew phrases.  The \"spirit of\nGod\" is literally the \"wind of God,\" an idea which probably is\nhistorically connected with the Babylonian tale of how Marduk uses the\nwind as his instrument in his fight against Tiamat, the monster of the\ndeep.  Tiamat has become Tehom, translated as the \"deep.\"\n\nIn spite of the lapse in verse 26, into the language of polytheism, the\npriestly account represents a late theological level in which creation\nis conceived as the passage of will and word into existence.  The\neffect is {40} majestic and intensely dramatic in its simplicity.  Yet\nhow else can critical thought portray creation?  An omnipotent,\npersonal God is necessarily conceived as one who has the power to call\nthings into being.  To ask how he does this is meaningless, for it\nignores the stark power which is assumed.  In accordance with the\ngenius of the Semite, then, God was pictured as a monarch whose very\nwill brought forth without effort.  But a little reflection must\nconvince us that this conception neither makes creation thinkable in\nany genuine sense nor proves its occurrence.  We have merely attained\nthe idealization of the creation myth, its most perfect form.\n\nThe Christian conception of the creation rests largely upon the Hebrew\naccount.  The uncritical way in which this was studied and accepted,\nprevious to the rise of modern science and the higher criticism,\nremains a marvel to those who are not acquainted with the psychology of\nreligion.  Sanctioned by religion, idealized myth naturally held its\nown until something positive arose to dispute it.  The Church Fathers,\nthe scholastics, and the leaders of the Reformation accepted the\nstories in Genesis as revelations.  They believed that there was a God\nand that he had revealed to man what he had done and what his plan of\nsalvation was.  These myths fitted into their view of the world as an\nessential and harmonious ingredient of it.  What motive would there be\nfor skepticism?  Luther states that \"Moses is writing history and\nreporting things that actually happened.\"  \"God was pleased,\" says\nCalvin, \"that a history of the creation should exist.\"  Of course, no\nreally educated man of to-day can accept this attitude unless he wishes\nto sin against his reason.  It is {41} unfortunate that there has not\nbeen sufficient openness of mind to make possible a wider extension of\nthe knowledge which scholars have been accumulating.  The only candid\nthing to do is to class these Hebrew stories of the creation with the\nmyths which grew up in other parts of the world.  All represent\nattempts to picture a beginning of things as they are, by appeal to a\nmagnified and magical personal agency.  Those early thinkers did the\nbest they could do with the ideas they had at hand.  They were innocent\nof our modern understanding of nature as a scene of impersonal, causal\nprocesses.  To try to find science in mythology is like looking upon\nDante's _Divine Comedy_ as a tale of real adventure.\n\nIt is interesting to study the speculations which Christian thinkers\nhave evolved upon the question of creation.  Usually, the idea of a\ncreation of the physical world out of nothing by a fiat has been\nfavored.  \"I am the Lord, that maketh all things; that stretches forth\nthe heavens alone; that spreadeth abroad the earth.\"  Such is the\nnatural goal of the idea of a creation.  Yet a moment's reflection\nmakes us realize that the position is entirely deductive and without a\nshred of evidence.  To assign to a hypothetical agent called God powers\nsufficient to produce what experience tells us exists explains nothing.\nThe primary assumption, of course, is that there must have been a\ncreation.  But the conception of evolution has attacked that assumption\nat its very foundation.\n\nOf late, there have been attempted compromises with the idea of\nevolution.  May not God guide the course of natural change?  But this\noutlook meets with certain difficulties.  In the first place, was the\nphysical {42} world created?  If so, it must have been the best of all\npossible physical worlds, or else God is either not omnipotent or not\nomniscient or not ideally good.  And when these questions are raised,\nwe pass immediately into a field of mere speculation.  The centuries\nhave been witnesses of disputes between advocates of different dogmas.\nAt present, there seems to be a revival of interest in the idea of a\nlimited and youthful deity struggling against odds to make the world\nlivable.  But God becomes a part of the universe in every sense, and so\nwe are led to the idea that the physical world was not created but is,\nrather, co-existent with deity.  Of course, there are many possible\nvariations on the theme, and human ingenuity will exhaust itself in\ncombining these possibilities in various ways.\n\nThe truth is, that these theological speculations carry us nowhere.\nMyth and dialectical acuteness, however skillfully blended, cannot add\nto our genuine knowledge of the world.  Instead, they create new\nproblems of their own which cannot be settled, because there is no way\nof testing and verifying the various solutions.  In short, the premises\nare at fault and must be outgrown and left behind.  Our experience no\nlonger suggests to us the idea of a supernatural agency at work, nor\nare we so prone to think of an act of creation some few thousands of\nyears in the past.  We have largely outgrown the mythological setting\nout of which theology arose, and it is tradition and the lack of a more\npositive view which enable it to retain for us any semblance of\nplausibility.  There is nothing inherently irrational in the idea of\ncreation; it simply bears witness to a looser, more personal world in\nwhich annihilation and {43} origination were familiar events, because\nman saw only the surface of things and was not able to follow the\ncontinuities which bind things together underneath.  The principle of\nconservation, which is one of the grand achievements of science, is\nlike a two-edged sword: it destroys not only the belief in an absolute\nannihilation but, likewise, the belief in an absolute beginning.\nSlowly, but surely, this new view of nature will have its effect and\nundermine the more naïve hypothesis of a creation.  The emotional\nreverberation of the accustomed forms of speech, reënforced by the\nmental habits encouraged by religion, will die out only gradually.  Man\nis instinctively romantic and tends to dramatize the world.  His\nfavorite categories are personal, and he has a profound distaste for\nthe impersonalism of science.  Only the slow pressure of actual\nknowledge will lift him to a truer view of the world in which he finds\nhimself.\n\n\n\n\n{44}\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nMAGIC AND RITUAL\n\nEarly man had not the conception of natural law that we now possess.\nIn order even partially to understand his attitude toward things, the\nman of to-day must abstract from the idea of law and regularity which\nhe has shot through nature, and ignore the knowledge about the\nantecedents of events which close observation and careful experiment\nhave furnished him with.  In the case of magic, just as in the case of\nmythology, he who wishes to see eye to eye with those who lived long\nago must rid himself for the time being both of the knowledge which\nscience has accumulated and of the mental habits of enquiry and causal\nexplanation which have been fostered by it.  These habits and this\nknowledge have become such a part of us that we are not fully conscious\nof them and of their importance.  They are like the clothes we wear or\nthe forms of politeness which we go through with automatically.  It is\nonly after the twentieth-century man delves into folklore or reads\naccounts of the beliefs and practices of the past, that he realizes\nthat he stands on the shoulders of innumerable generations as the\ninheritor of a long process of mental evolution.  Nothing, perhaps, can\nmake him realize this fact more vividly than a study of magic.\n\nWhat is magic?  The best answer is to give examples {45} of magic.  \"In\nthe Malay Peninsula the magician makes an image like a corpse, a\nfootstep long.  If you want to cause sickness, you pierce the eye and\nblindness results; or you pierce the waist and the stomach gets sick.\nIf you want to cause death, you transfix the head with a palm twig;\nthen you enshroud the image as you would a corpse and pray over it as\nif you were praying over the dead; then you bury it in the middle of\nthe path which leads to the place of the person whom you wish to charm,\nso that he may step over it.\"  Ancient agriculture is full of magic\nrites designed to ward off evils.  \"To this day a Transylvanian sower\nthinks he can keep birds from the corn by carrying a lock in the\nseedbag.\"  To this day, again, in Roumania, Serbia and parts of\nGermany, the peasants try to bring on a rain by sprinkling water on a\nyoung girl.  It is supposed that nature will follow suit, and send a\nbeneficent shower upon the thirsty earth.  Magic is, then, an ingenious\nway of making or leading nature to do what you want it to do.  As\nProfessor Murray writes: \"Agriculture used to be entirely a question of\nreligion; now it is almost entirely a question of science.  In\nantiquity, if a field was barren, the owner of it would probably assume\nthat the barrenness was due to pollution, or offense somewhere.  He\nwould run through all his own possible offenses, or at any rate those\nof his neighbors and ancestors, and when he eventually decided the\ncause of the trouble, the steps that he would take would all be of a\nkind calculated not to affect the chemical constitution of the soil,\nbut to satisfy his own emotions of guilt and terror, or the imaginary\nbeing he had offended.  A modern man in the same predicament would\nprobably not think of religion at all, at any rate {46} in the earlier\nstages; he would say it was a case for deeper plowing or for basic\nslag.\"\n\nMagic is a way of controlling things.  Imitate the act desired, in a\ncertain way, and it will come to pass.  Talismans and amulets, again,\npossess a secret power for good and evil.  Ancient societies built up a\nlore of this kind, adding to material objects the agency of demons\nunder the control of magicians.  This lore is practically a feature of\nthe past.  Even white magic is no longer good form, no longer\naccredited by the dominant social mind.  It slinks into out-of-the-way\nplaces beyond the public eye.  Yet research is showing that these\nseemingly discredited beliefs and points of view seldom completely\ndisappear.  They smolder beneath the surface and flame up now and then\nin a startling way to remind us that society in its evolution does not\ncarry all its members along at the same rate.  The historian is\nsurprised to find that rites which are given an exalted place in\nvarious religions are magical at heart, and go back to beliefs which\nhave long been discredited in other settings.\n\nSome who have specialized in folklore and anthropology are very\npessimistic as to the degree in which the scientific outlook upon\nnature is replacing the more primitive attitude associated with magic.\nOne of the greatest authorities upon primitive beliefs and customs\nwrites as follows: \"We seem to move on a thin crust which may at any\nmoment be rent by the subterranean forces slumbering below....  Now and\nthen the polite world is startled by a paragraph in a newspaper which\ntells how in Scotland an image has been found stuck full of pins for\nthe purpose of killing an obnoxious laird or minister, how a woman has\nbeen slowly roasted {47} to death as a witch in Ireland, or how a girl\nhas been murdered and chopped up in Russia to make those candles of\nhuman tallow by whose light thieves hope to pursue their midnight trade\nunseen.\"  The danger to civilization foreseen by the specialist in\nuncouth customs is undoubtedly exaggerated, but his warning should\nremind us that education has a very valuable function to perform in\ntraining an ever increasing number in scientific habits of thought.\n\nOne of the assumptions which underlie magic is the idea that two things\nare connected in nature because they are like one another.  Space is\nnot looked upon as a barrier to this connection.  So far as can be\nseen, anything can affect anything else; and the slightest suggestion\nof such a relation leads to the belief in its reality.  There is almost\nentire absence of any conception of systematic testing: any accidental\nassociation may lead the savage to be assured of an important sign.\nThus, if a man went out hunting and saw a rabbit cross his path, and\nthen had bad luck, he would be sure that a rabbit is a sign of bad\nluck.  Moreover, since individuals were on the lookout for hoodoos,\nthey would not tempt providence a second time.  This example\nillustrates the psychology rather than the sociology of the process.\nIt must be remembered that social groups developed what we call\nsuperstitions by way of social contagion and suggestion.  The laughing\nacquiescence of the present in hoodoos, mascots and lucky objects\ncannot be traced back to the credulity of any one individual.  Such\nthings come to pass by a process of accretion just as does the belief\nthat a particular house is haunted.\n\nMost writers on the subject classify magic into two {48} kinds,\nimitative and contagious.  These varieties are then carried back to two\nprinciples which seem to govern the association of ideas.  Imitative\nmagic follows the law of association by similarity, while contagious\nmagic is based on the law of contiguity.  To those who have studied\npsychology this classification will present no difficulties.  To others\na word of explanation is, perhaps, necessary.  Our minds connect things\nor acts which are similar (the principle of similarity) and those which\nare experienced or thought of together (principle of contiguity).\nConnections are thus made between things and, since the principles are\nso liberal, almost anything can be connected with anything else.  It is\nthis liberality which is alien to science.  Let us glance at some\nexamples of both kinds of magic.\n\nThe most familiar instance of imitative magic is the device by means of\nwhich an individual hopes to injure or kill an enemy.  A figure of the\nenemy is made and this is then stuck full of pins or else burned before\na slow fire.  \"In ancient Babylonia it was a common practice to make an\nimage of clay, pitch, honey, fat, or other soft material in the\nlikeness of an enemy, and to injure or kill him by burning, burying, or\notherwise ill-treating it.\"  This practice occurs in the highlands of\nScotland to-day as well as in Mexico, Italy, China and other countries.\nRossetti's poem, _Sister Helen_, has made this example of imitative\nmagic fairly familiar to those who would probably never otherwise have\nheard of it.\n\n  \"Why did you melt your waxen man,\n        Sister Helen?\n  To-day is the third since you began.\"\n\n{49}\n\n  \"The time was long, yet the time ran,\n        Little brother.\"\n  \"Oh, the waxen knave was plump to-day,\n        Sister Helen;\n  Now like dead folk he has dropped away!\"\n  \"Nay now, of the dead what can you say,\n        Little brother?\"\n\nThere are many other curious instances of imitative magic.  A Bavarian\npeasant in sowing wheat will sometimes wear a golden ring, in order\nthat the corn may have a fine yellow color.  Similarly, in many parts\nof Germany and Austria, the peasant imagines that he makes the flax\ngrow tall by dancing or leaping high, or by jumping backwards from a\ntable.  Telepathic action, or action at a distance, was constantly\nbelieved in.  The hunter's wife abstained from spinning for fear the\ngame should turn and wind like the spindle and the hunter be unable to\nhit it.\n\nWhile imitative magic works through fancied resemblance, contagious\nmagic is based on the principle that what has once been together must\nremain forever after in a sympathetic relation, so that what is done to\none affects the other.  In Sussex some forty years ago a maid servant\nremonstrated strongly against the throwing away of children's cast\nteeth, affirming that should they be found and gnawed by any animal,\nthe child's new tooth would be, for all the world, like the teeth of\nthe animal that had bitten the old one.  It was quite the custom in\nformer years to anoint the sword which wounded a man instead of the\nwound itself.  In Bryden's play, _The Tempest_, Ariel directs Prospero\nto anoint the sword which wounded Hippolite and to wrap it up close\nfrom the air.  Footprints, pieces of {50} clothing, pictures, locks of\nhair, all are connected with the individual and what is done to them\nreacts on the individual no matter where he is.\n\nAt first, mankind resorted to magic as naturally as we resort to the\ninformation given us by science.  There was nothing nefarious about it.\nNot to use all the precautions in your power and employ all the means\nyou could think of was simply foolish.  As time went on, however,\nsocially approved magic became distinguished from black magic or that\nwhich it was wrong to resort to.  But magic, like every other activity,\ntended to become specialized.  Certain persons seemed to possess more\npower than others, and, since no one could tell what was impossible,\nwhat appear to us the most absurd claims were put forth.  Things were\nbelieved because they were impossible.  It was under the encouragement\nof this \"will to believe\" that magic flourished until the slow growth\nof civilization and the awakening reason of man cast doubts upon it.\n\nTo study the more technical developments of magic is extremely\ninteresting.  Magicians as a class evolved a lore which was looked upon\nby the uninitiated as occult and mysterious.  The mass of the people\ndid not know of any bounds which could be set to their power.  They and\ntheir deeds were shrouded in darkness and surrounded by all the\ngruesome associations which the awe-struck imagination could conjure\nup.  Such was the case especially when magic became outlawed as an\nunderhand means of obtaining things.  But magic had by then fallen on\nevil days.  It was not yet disbelieved but simply condemned because it\ndid not fit in with the dominant religious and social order.  The exact\n{51} relation of religion and magic is a somewhat complex problem which\nwe must postpone for a while.\n\nThe orient was always the fertile home of magic: here it reached its\nmore technical developments.  In _Lucian_ we read of the reputed power\nof the Chaldean wise men who were able to recite spells which would\nmove even the gods.  All through the East this esoteric science\nexisted.  In Egypt the magicians claimed to be able to compel the\nhighest gods to do their bidding.  By this time magic had, however,\npassed beyond its more primitive character.  So far as it involved\nsigns and acts, these were of a highly symbolic type.  Geometrical\nfigures of intricate construction, phrases consisting of apparently\nmeaningless words or of words supposed to have a peculiar significance,\nand the names of gods or demons were used with appropriate ceremonies.\nMany of these magical formulae have come down to us.  They are spells\nwhich are supposed to constrain even the highest gods.\n\nThe story of Faust reflects very well the notion of magic existing in\nEurope during the Middle Ages.  The reader will call to mind the scene\nin which Faust calls up the Earth-Spirit.  Devotees of Victor Hugo will\nremember the description given in his _Notre-Dame_ of Dom Claude's cell\nand this ecclesiast's unsuccessful attempts to use the hammer of\nEzekiel.  The important thing was to discover the magic word which this\nfamous rabbi pronounced as he struck upon the nail with his hammer.\n\nWe have frequently called attention to the close connection supposed to\nexist between name and thing.  The name is a genuine part of the nature\nof the thing.  {52} It was this assumption which lay at the root of the\nmore involved magic of spells and incantations.  \"This is why every\nancient Egyptian had two names,\" writes F. C. Conybeare, \"one by which\nhis fellows in this world knew him, and the other, his true or great\nname, by which he was known to the supernal powers and in the other\nworld.\"  He who possessed knowledge of the name of another had him to\nthat extent in his power.  Fear of such an eventuality led many nations\nto conceal the true name of their god.  That is why the real name of\nthe god of the Hebrews is a matter of conjecture to us, and why the\nRomans had an important deity whose name is completely lost.  In an old\nEgyptian legend, the goddess Isis asks herself this question, \"Cannot\nI, by virtue of the great name of Ra, make myself a goddess and reign\nlike him in heaven and earth?\"  This conception reminds us of the\npassage in Matthew, \"Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, did\nwe not prophesy by thy name, and by thy name cast out devils, and by\nthy name do mighty works?  And then will I profess unto them, I never\nknew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.\"  Again, in Mark, we\nhave this corresponding passage, \"John said unto him, Teacher, we saw\none casting out devils in thy name; and we forbade him, because he\nfollowed us not.\"  Thus names were things to conjure with in a literal\nsense.  How few of those who read these verses understand their real\nmeaning, that they involved a belief in the magic of names!  In the\nActs of the Apostles, Peter performs a miracle simply by the name of\nJesus Christ of Nazareth.  Is it necessary to remark that such cures as\nwere possibly performed were due to {53} suggestion of the sort for\nwhich ecstatic religious faith prepares the way?\n\nIn pre-scientific times, diseases were regarded as the effect of\nspirits or demons.  Death, itself, is considered the work of a\nmalignant agent.  It is unnatural and magical.  Savages often address\ndiseases respectfully as Grandfather Smallpox.  Jesus heals a woman and\nspeaks of her as \"a daughter of Abraham whom Satan has bound these\neighteen years past.\"  This address is in accord with the beliefs of\nthat day everywhere.  That the early Christians held similar views is\nno matter for surprise.  They were children of their age.\n\nReligion and magic were long bound up with one another.  It is useless\nto ask which came first, for they are not mutually exclusive in the\nbeginning.  Only as an ethical monotheism, with a high respect for the\npersonality and power of the deity worshiped, develops, is the magical\nelement rejected.  There are few religions, even to-day, which do not\ncontain magical elements, and the farther back in time we go, the more\nconspicuous is the presence of incantations and ritual acts imputed to\nhave a mysterious efficacy.  Man had sore need of help, and so he\nadopted all the means which accident, fancy and ignorance suggested.\nIf certain acts gave him the _mana_ of his god or brought pressure to\nbear upon a supernatural agent, so much the better.  Much of early\nliturgy is a mingling of spell and prayer, and it is strictly true that\nmuch of Christian liturgy bears traces of this origin.  The following\nexample shows this intertwining of higher and lower elements: In the\nblessing of the baptismal water on the eve of Epiphany, a custom\nprevalent in the earlier Church {54} of Rome, the priest, while praying\nto God to sanctify the water, dipped a crucifix thrice into it,\nrecalling in his prayer the miracle described in Exodus, the sweetening\nof the bitter water with wood; then followed antiphonal singing\ndescribing Christ's baptism in Jordan, which sanctified the water.  \"We\nappear to have here,\" writes L. D. Farnell, \"a combination of the great\ntypical forms of the immemorial religious energy, prayer pure and\nsimple, the potent use of the spiritually charged object, the fetish\n(in this case the crucifix), and an intoned or chanted narrative which\nhas the spell-value of suggestion.\"\n\nIt has been suggested by certain investigators that magic is nearer\nscience than religion.  It is the attempt of man to compel things to do\nwhat he desires.  In religion, on the other hand, man proclaims his\nhelplessness and his utter dependence upon spiritual powers.  There can\nbe little doubt that this difference exists and comes more and more to\nthe front.  But it is not until religion evolves into spiritual prayer\nand communion and away from ritual processes that the separation takes\nplace.  Few events are more interesting than the gradual rejection of\nmagic by religion.  But does not this rejection involve a similar\nrejection of science?  Here, again, we meet the inevitable compromise.\nWhite magic is distinguished from black magic.  We shall have more to\nsay of this relationship later.\n\nOnly after countless centuries of mistake did the intellect of man\ndiscover the actual relations in nature in such a way as to be able to\nuse them with certainty.  Subjective associations were then replaced by\ntested causal connections.  Faith in mere imitative acts was {55} lost,\nand it was finally realized that patient research was a pre-condition\nof the control of man's environment.  Time, alone, could show what was\npossible and what was impossible.\n\nWe have pointed out that, as religion became more idealistic in its\nconception of deity, magic tended to drop into the background.  Moral\nmotives were considered the sole motives capable of moving him to\nbeneficent action.  Prayer came to be thought of as a petition for the\ngood, and it was even admitted that this omniscient being knew better\nthan the petitioner what was best.  We who have been brought up in the\nChristian belief have been too much inclined to belittle the character\nand intellect of races with a different heritage.  It may be well,\nthen, to point out that problems which are being thrashed over to-day\nin Christian communities were discussed and answered in much the same\nway by other peoples in less enlightened times.  Ancient Greece reached\nthe spiritual level expressed in the conclusion of the Lord's Prayer,\n\"Thy will be done.\"  The prayer of Socrates was: \"Grant me to become\nnoble of heart.\"  The prayer of Epictetus was: \"Do with me what thou\nwilt: my will is thy will: I appeal not against thy judgments.\"  Is\nthis not the inevitable deduction from an ethical monotheism?  Any\nnoble believer in a good god would look at prayer in this way.  It is\nnot surprising, then, that the more philosophic adherents of early\nChristianity questioned the validity of prayers for favors.  Take away\nthe support of science, with its healthy scotching of superstition,\nfrom the mind of the modern Christian and I doubt whether he would rise\nto higher ethical levels than any of his forbears.\n\n{56}\n\nBut the growth of moral idealism in religion does not involve the\nrational overthrow of magic.  So long as all the events in the world\nare not assigned directly to God as the sole active agent at work, the\nbasis of magic remains.  Moral idealism condemns only black magic, that\nis, an immoral use of magical powers.  But moral condemnation is not a\nrational denial of the existence of magic.  Carried to its logical\nextreme, ethical monotheism could discredit magic only by substituting\npersonal for impersonal agency, and then proclaiming a monopoly of\npersonal agency.  It is evident, then, that science, rather than\nreligion, has been the real foe of magic, because it grappled with it\nempirically, and in a detailed fashion, in the midst of the here and\nnow of human events.  Ethical monotheism is abstract, deductive and\ndogmatic.  What was necessary was a critical movement at once concrete,\ninductive and empirical.  Religion develops only the moral reason and\ntends to leave the wider reaches of reason an uncultivated field.\nHence the traitor of superstition was never far from it, thunder as the\npreacher would from the pulpit.  Victory over darkness requires the\nspread of light into every nook and cranny of the human soul.\n\nThe age-long conflict has passed its crisis.  Yet all too few willingly\ngive their whole-hearted allegiance to the ideals and methods of\nscience.  The struggle upward from primitive ignorance and superstition\nto the conception of slow-working impersonal agency has been toilsome\nand tiring, and the germs of sullen revolt are in more breasts than we\noften suppose.  Man's hold on the good is frail; let us seek to\nstrengthen it and to widen its grasp.  Laudation of the practical {57}\napplications of science is not enough.  All are ready to be healed and\nto be made the masters of nature.  Too few are willing to accept the\nimplications of natural science and press on toward a philosophy\nconflicting with the ideas of the universe cherished by their fathers.\n\n\n\n\n{58}\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE ORIGINS OF CHRISTIANITY\n\nLet us now pass from the study of the general features of the ancient\noutlook upon nature to a study of the Christian view of the world.  Is\nthe Christian view of the world inseparably bound up with this ancient\noutlook, or can it be purged of it?  Is the moral fervor and idealism\nof Christianity its essential and permanent contribution, a\ncontribution to a rational appreciation of human life?  Probing still\ndeeper, let us not be afraid to ask ourselves whether the surgery which\nthis thesis implies does not involve the daring of a break with theism\nas only a developed form of primitive animism?  In ethical monotheism,\nmay not the _monotheism_ be the protecting envelope from which the\nbutterfly has already flown?\n\nThe part played by Christianity in the development of Western\ncivilization and its position as chief representative of the religious\ninterpretation of the universe makes our selection of it for study\nnatural.  To identify traditional religion with a low stage of its\ndevelopment, in which it is inextricably bound up with crude myth and\nritualistic magic, is not a fair procedure.  We must take theology at\nits best and place it over against science and philosophy before we can\nrightly judge it.  Only then can we be certain whether it stands for\nanything vital, significant and true.  For the Western {59} world, at\nleast, Christian theology is generally acknowledged to represent the\nhigh-water mark of theology.  If it is intrinsically inadequate and\nuntrue to modern experience, the only course open to a morally and\nintellectually courageous man is to resign it as a view outgrown.  No\nmatter how much pain may arise from a break with old associations and\nfrom the relinquishment of false hopes, intellectual morality permits\nonly one course.  It may be that social morality will gain new life\nwhen the old forms are broken, for the letter killeth.  I mean that\nChristian ethics will operate more freely and creatively in the world\nwhen it is given an entirely humanistic setting.  In dreaming of a\nsuper-mundane god, man has only too often forgotten his fellow man.  In\nyearning for the coming of the divine kingdom, he has allowed his hands\nand feet to be idle, or has even stepped unheeding over the prostrate\nforms of men and children broken in the mart.  To remove theology from\nChristianity is to make the kingdom of this world.\n\nThe content of Christianity cannot be separated from its origin.  To do\nso is to open the door to private interpretations of all sorts and to\nfacilitate duplicity and self-deception.  Christianity is an historical\nfact, and has meant various pretty definite things.  If we have\noutgrown certain of these things and re-interpreted others in a\nfundamental way, we are not making for clearness of thought by trying\nto read our own outlook into the past.  Continuity of a spiritual kind\nthere has been, but there is also newness of a basic import.  The\nknowledge and atmosphere which confront it to-day are vastly different\nfrom the theosophy in which it was born and nourished.\n\n{60}\n\nI think we all feel that Christianity stood for an ethical stimulus of\na very fruitful sort whose effect can hardly be overestimated.  Yet, if\nwe wish to gain a proper perspective, we must not neglect to put in the\nother balance the tendency to dogmatism and the persecuting zeal which\naccompanied it.  There have been other than Christian martyrs.\nSomething was faulty with a movement which contained so much\nobscurantism and bigotry.  There was not enough of sweet reason in its\ncomposition, and too much of the old terrors which accompanied\nprimitive ignorance and cruelty.  It needed a saner and more wholesome\nperspective and more trust in human reason.  For instance, the\ndifferences between the various sects, which have sprung up from period\nto period with such clamor and death-defying energy, have been\ndifferences of stress and of formulation whose importance was grossly\nexaggerated.  To the modern student nothing is more tragic and pitiful\nthan this zeal of ignorance.  So much to be done in the world to make\nit sweeter and more beautiful and more livable, so much need for sanity\nand charity; and yet so much of human energy wasted and, more than\nwasted, turned to evil results.  The only way to overcome this\nsectarian mal-adjustment is to know the past as it was and to cherish\nno distorting and blinding illusions in regard to it.  Man is so prone\nto see the golden age in the past that it is necessary to have a\nsearchlight directed upon it.  An historical approach is such a\nsearchlight.\n\nThere is another psychological advantage in an historical approach.\nThe reason is often unconsciously bound by the authority of a supposed\npast.  For the philosopher with his confidence in experimental reason,\n{61} perhaps, this inhibition does not exist; but even people who have\nevery inclination to bring their total experience to bear, in a free\nway, upon doctrines and beliefs are restrained by what they have been\ntaught, and lose audacity.  The spirit of acquiescence is always at\nwork in the world, and nothing reënforces this spirit more powerfully\nthan a traditionally-accepted book of sacred writings.  Confronted by\nthese with their unhesitating affirmations and claims, the minds of the\nmajority are intimidated, and such reflections as they allow themselves\nwork within the prescribed boundaries or wander little beyond them.\nNothing is better suited to unbind the mind and to lead it to think\nboldly than a study of origins.  The individual gains perspective as he\nsees ideas and sentiments rise and fall and give way to others.  He can\nno longer be intimidated by the shadow of a compact and seemingly\nimpregnable tradition.  We must remember, however, that such an\nhistorical and comparative approach can, at its best, only break up the\nmythical simplicity of a sentimentalized past and reveal the complexity\nof the many-channeled forces at work; it cannot prove any particular\ndoctrine.  The creation must come from the spirit of the present, as it\ncarries the stimulus of the past and adds to it its own energies.\n\nAll developed religions have their sacred books.  Until the translation\nof the Sacred Books of the East was undertaken in the latter part of\nthe nineteenth century, few people realized how many such books there\nwere.  And we Americans have been the unwilling witnesses of the\nappearance of two other collections of writings making the same claims,\n_The Book of Mormon_ and _Science and Health_.  Now such sacred books\nare {62} regarded as revelations which could not be obtained except by\na mysterious contact with divine things.  And the religious faith which\nhas been called forth and directed by a teaching founded on the\nscripture turns back its own warmth upon its source.  Nothing is more\nnatural than this interaction between a living faith and the writings\nwhich are felt to be its guarantee.  Religion is notoriously\nconservative and retrospective.  Especially is this true of religions\nwhich impute to themselves a complete and final source of revelation in\nthe past.  Faith and book are associated in the mind so intimately that\nthey lose their separateness.  To doubt one is like doubting the other.\nThus faith forms an emotional envelope which protects the literature,\nwhile the concrete detail of the literature reacts upon the mind to\nstrengthen the faith.  It is not strange, therefore, that the cult of\nthe book is a phenomenon which is universal in the advanced religions.\nThe Mohammedan believes in the verbal inspiration of the Koran just as\nfully as does the Jew in the divine origin of the Old Testament, and\nthe Christian in the inspiration of the accepted canon called the\nBible.  Nor are these the only examples.  But this psychological circle\nis a vicious one.  It involves the substitution of a subjective support\nto claims and theories which require the test of human experience as a\nwhole.  But just because science is this coördination of the whole\nrange of experience, there inevitably arises that conflict between\nscience and theology of which we have heard so much during the last few\ndecades.  It is a conflict between a part of experience, interpreted\ntoo hastily, and the rationalized whole.\n\nScience arose at the time of the Renaissance as a {63} consequence of\nman's awakened curiosity.  Its first conquests were in the fields of\nastronomy and physics.  These were of such a striking character that\nthey gave this comparatively new movement a prestige which stood it in\ngood stead in time of trouble.  Gradually, an assured technic was\ndeveloped, and inductive tests made of every hypothesis which suggested\nitself.  For a considerable time, science was confined pretty\ndefinitely to the physical world; but it was inevitable that the mental\nhabits encouraged would sooner or later extend themselves to other\nfields.  While there were many tentative applications of the methods\nand ideals of inductive science to the field of history in the\neighteenth century, it was not until the nineteenth century that the\nscience of history was fully developed.  Our conception of the past has\nbecome progressively deeper and truer.  Romanticism has been replaced\nby a realism which calls anthropology, archeology, and modern\npsychology to its aid.  We wish to see the men of the past as they\nactually were; and we are quite aware that we know more about the world\nthan they did.\n\nIn the domain of biblical literature and comparative religions, the\nmethod of science was slow of application.  There was a tremendous\ninertia to overcome, and a strong spirit of positive antagonism to\nresist.  The whole system of hopes and fears, sanctions and taboos,\nwhich the ancient view of the world had fostered within the human\nbreast cried out against the sacrilege of rational investigation.\nHumanity hugs illusion more fondly than it does truth because it is\nmore familiar with it.  For a while, all that orthodoxy had to contend\nwith was a rationalism of a skeptical cast which had scarcely a better\nhistorical outlook at its {64} command than had its opponent.  It could\nassert that these stories and beliefs handed down from the past could\nnot be true because they conflicted with our experience; but it could\nnot explain why people had originated these ideas and why they had\nbelieved in them so implicitly.  In other words, it could not let the\npast explain itself in such a natural way that it would disprove its\nown beliefs.  It is this that modern research has done so thoroughly\nthat there is scarce need for the appeal to the constructive sciences\nwhich skeptical rationalism makes.  The battle is no longer a drawn one\nso far as the intellect is concerned.  It is merely a question of how\nlong it will take before the victory will be recognized and proclaimed\nby all educated people.\n\nAs the evolutionary point of view forced its way into recognition,\nscholars became aware of the real nature of myth and legend; they\nrealized that beliefs of this sort are products of a creative\ngroup-consciousness saturated with a view of the world which we have\nslowly outgrown; they sensed the mental complexity of the past and\nbecame suspicious of the naïve assumption that religions were formed in\na generation by the sheer authority of a single man or of a small group\nof men.  The first clear statement of this changed point of view was\nthe work of David Friedrich Strauss in his famous _Life of Jesus_.\nStrauss developed the idea that much of religious literature consists\nof myths and dogmas, not created out of whole cloth by would-be\ndeceivers, but woven by the stimulated fancy of groups working in the\natmosphere of traditions and attitudes which the most intense research,\nalone, can make living {65} to the scholar.  There can be little doubt\nthat this standpoint is essentially correct.  Before it could be\napplied satisfactorily, however, painstaking investigation of the\nliterature and recorded customs of the people of the Mediterranean\nbasin had to be carried through.  Only by now has this task been so far\nachieved that the main features of the\nGraeco-Syrian-Palestinian-Egyptian world are open to a sympathetic\ninspection.  No one who has not done some work in this field at first\nor second hand can realize the difficulties which confronted\ninvestigators.  Fragments found here and there in the writings of the\nChurch Fathers, the teachings of the Jews of Alexandria, the\napocalyptic literature discovered in remote places, inscriptions\nunearthed here and there, all were carefully studied and compared and\nforced to yield their quota of information.\n\nIt is a psychological principle which must always be reckoned with that\nthe less an untrained individual knows about the past, the more certain\nof the correctness of his assumed knowledge he is prone to be.  For\nexample, the American who has read one or more of the over-simplified\ntext-books dealing with the history of his country, which are used in\nthe schools, has a clear-cut picture of the various events, knows\nexactly how they occurred and who was in the right.  The university\nteacher, on the other hand, has before him a wealth of conflicting data\nfrom which he must painfully and tentatively construct a picture of the\ntendencies at work at different periods.  He must test the genuineness\nof his sources, weigh the prejudices of the writer, and decide whether\nhe was in a position to know exactly {66} what was happening.\nConsequently, he will speak in a qualified language where the average\ncitizen will deliver himself of emphatic assertions.\n\nYet the investigator of American history is possessed of an abundance\nof material and deals with a time for which printing existed.  The\nlanguage in which these documents are written is his own or else a\nwell-known one.  The student of comparative religions has none of these\nadvantages.  For the ancient world, the inscriptions are archaic and\ncondensed.  In the case of the biblical literature, he may be dealing\nwith accounts edited from older manuscripts in other languages.  These\nnarratives conflict among themselves and contain surprisingly little\ninformation on important points.  Hence, the investigator is almost\noverwhelmed by the difficulty of his task and the fewness of his\ncertain results.  The ordinary confessing Christian, on the contrary,\nis blissfully unaware of these problems.  He opens his English\ntranslation and reads the familiar words in the light of inherited\ndogmas which blind his eyes to all contradictions and discrepancies.\nThe truth is, that he is mentally unprepared to compare passages and to\nsee problems which stare the trained man in the face.  He reads\nsubjectively for edification.  The ecclesiastical atmosphere is such\nthat his spiritual advisors have either desired to keep modern critical\nwork from his notice, or have been afraid to arouse the bigotry of\ntheir keepers, or have themselves lacked a modern education.  The\nconsequence is that the average Christian has the most naïve notions in\nregard to the authorship and authenticity of the gospels and of the\nreal meaning of many of the verses.  Palestine is conceived in terms of\nthe color-prints which illustrate his bible, while the mental {67}\natmosphere of the Year One is that of the present day in America with,\nperhaps, an exotic touch here and there.\n\nLet us glance over some of the facts which investigation is making ever\nclearer and which are not as generally known as they deserve to be.\nWhat is said here should be read with remembrance of the results of the\nprevious chapters.  Such a bird's eye view of the forces at work in\nlater Hellenistic and Roman times will be the best preparation for a\nsane conception of the origin and trend of Christianity.\n\nIn Tarsus, a Greek city of Cilicia, Paul, or Saul, was born and\neducated.  Now Tarsus was, after Alexandria, the chief seat of late\nGreek philosophy in the near-orient.  Many of the more noted Stoic\nthinkers and teachers of the day came from Cilicia and had semitic\nblood in their veins.  Athenodorus, the teacher of Cicero and Augustus,\ncame from Tarsus, itself; and it is said that his grateful and admiring\nfellow citizens made him a hero upon his death and annually celebrated\nhim in a memorial feast, a procedure very characteristic of the age.\nThere is the strongest evidence in Paul's epistles that he was well\nacquainted with the doctrines of Stoicism.  The larger intellectual\nworld of Philo of Alexandria and Seneca of the Imperial City lies\nbehind these epistles.  The Hellenistic Jew of the Dispersion differed\nwidely from the Jew of Palestine, no matter how desirous he might be to\nidentify himself with the worship at the Temple.\n\nBut Greek philosophy was not the only element with which the inhabitant\nof Tarsus would come in contact.  When Paul speaks of mysteries, he is\nreferring to the various secret cults which permeated the Roman world.\nHow few Christians are aware that the ancient world {68} was, at this\ntime, in a religious ferment almost without parallel.  _The Greek\ncivilization had lost its nerve_.  It had shot its bolt and been\noverwhelmed by autocratic powers and sheer barbarism.  The conditions\nof a progressive and broadly based civilization had not yet been\nachieved.  \"Any one who turns from the great writers of classical\nAthens, say Sophocles or Aristotle,\" writes Gilbert Murray, \"to those\nof the Christian era must be conscious of a great difference in tone.\nThere is a change in the whole relation of the writer to the world\nabout him.  The new quality is not specifically Christian: it is just\nas marked in the Gnostics and Mithra-worshipers as in the Gospels and\nthe Apocalypse, in Julian and Plotinus as in Gregory and Jerome.  It is\nhard to describe.  It is a rise of asceticism, of mysticism, in a\nsense, of pessimism; _a loss of self-confidence, of hope in this life\nand of faith in normal human effort_; a despair of patient inquiry, a\ncry for infallible revelation; an indifference to the welfare of the\nstate; a conversion of the soul to God.  It is an atmosphere in which\nthe aim of the good man is not so much to live justly, to help the\nsociety to which he belongs and enjoy the esteem of his fellow\ncreatures; but rather, by means of a burning faith, by contempt for the\nworld and its standards, by ecstasy, suffering and martyrdom, to be\ngranted pardon for his unspeakable unworthiness, his immeasurable sins.\nThere is an intensifying of certain spiritual emotions; an increase of\nsensitiveness, a failure of nerve.\"  It was in such a state of the\nsocial mind that Christianity had its birth.  It was, as we have before\npointed out, one of many competing for dominance.\n\nThese competing religions had much in common, {69} though it was the\nadvantage of Christianity to have inherited the ethical monotheism of\nthe prophets.  Upon Paul, the Hellenist and Jew of the dispersion, was\nfocussed this august tradition along with traditions of a more mystical\ncharacter.  Syria had been the home of certain mysteries from an early\nday, for we read in the Old Testament of women mourning the death of\nTammuz, the god of vegetation who dies and is born again.  Now Adonis\nor Attis was the corresponding god of Phrygia, and all people of Syria\nwere well acquainted with the cult which showed the mother-goddess\nmourning for her son.  But these more primitive rites were being\ndisplaced by a more developed and ethical form called Mithraism.  I\nwell remember my surprise when, visiting one of the older churches at\nRome, I was shown the earlier church beneath and told that, beneath\nthat again, a church dedicated to Mithra had been discovered.  Now\nTarsus was one of the chief seats of Mithraism, and it is practically\ncertain that Paul was acquainted with its main rituals and beliefs.\nLet us try to realize the importance of this fact.\n\nMithraism had an initiatory service in which the proselytes were\nadmitted into the faith.  The liturgy of this service is still extant\nand we know that it represented a mystical dying and rebirth in which\nthe guilt of the old life is removed and a new immortal life is created\nthrough the spirit.  The initiates spoke of themselves as reborn for\neternity.  \"So striking,\" writes Pfleiderer the German critic, \"is the\nconnection of these ideas with Paul's teaching of Christian baptism as\na community of death and resurrection with Christ (Romans 6) that the\nthought of historical relation between the two cannot be evaded....\nMithraism also {70} had a sacrament corresponding to the Christian\neucharist at which the sanctified bread and a cup of water or even wine\nserved as mystic symbols of the distribution of the divine life to\nMithra-believers.\"\n\nWhen we bear in mind how little importance Paul attached to the actual\nlife and ethical teaching of Jesus, we are not surprised at the\nfrequent suggestion that Paul was the real founder of both liturgical\nand theological Christianity.  He did not create this liturgy but found\nit to hand.  The early church followed this natural impulse and added\nto the simpler inherited rites.  Into the psychology of Paul's\nconception of the Christ it is difficult to enter.  He was probably an\nenthusiast with the tendency to exalted moods peculiar to epileptics\nand yet with high mental ability.  He felt himself inspired.  He gives\nus to understand that he was subject to visions, and it is well known\nthat religious excitement is capable of welding together the myriad\nsuggestions which play upon the self.  We can comprehend the work of\nPaul, one of the main founders of Christianity, only when we see him as\nthe mystical interpreter weaving the Jewish traditions of the soberer\ntype, the apocalyptic outlook of such books as Daniel and Ezra, the\nmystery cults of the Hellenistic world and the theories of the Stoic\nphilosophy into one whole, dominantly supernaturalistic.  Scholars will\ncontinue to differ in regard to the comparative proportions of the\ningredients he fused together, but few will gainsay that Paul's\nteaching is a product of many sources.  In this connection a very\nsignificant fact should be noted: although the Pauline epistles are the\nearliest records of Christianity, \"aside from the crucifixion, not a\nsingle fact in the life of Jesus can be gleaned from these {71}\nepistles, nor do they record a single saying of Jesus.\"\n\nWe shall next pass to a brief study of the Jesus of the synoptic\ngospels, the figure which has become endeared to humanity and with\nwhich the Western world has associated its noblest sentiments.  But\neven the present study of some of the more mystical elements in\nChristianity must have persuaded the reader that we have in this\nmovement the focussing of the complex life of ancient times.  The\ncircle of ideas passionately held by the members of the church was not\ncreated by any one man or group of men.  It was the flowering out of\nprimitive ideas and ethical aspirations.  Moral idealism goes hand in\nhand with cosmological myth.  We who have regained the nerve which that\nage had lost may have the gift and high adventure of separating moral\ntruth from theological illusion.\n\n\n\n\n{72}\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE PROPHET OF NAZARETH\n\nOf recent years a strong reaction against the Pauline interpretation of\nChristianity--or shall we say the Pauline type of Christianity?--has\nset in.  We have so completely outgrown the primitive notions of\nsacrifice, and the Jewish belief in the necessity of an atonement is so\ncontrary to our idea of God, that Paul's rabbinical theology does not\nstrike a sympathetic chord.  After all is said, we are descendants in\nthe spirit of those gentiles for whom Paul's message was nonsense.\nIntellectually, we are the sons of Plato and Aristotle, of Archimedes\nand Justinian.  During the Middle Ages, the ideas of the period of the\nGraeco-Roman decline were mingled with the social ideas of feudalism.\nTo-day, science and philosophy have lifted us back to the serener\nheights of classic times, and bid fair to surpass that glorious period\nin solid construction if not in delicacy of inspiration.  The result\nis, that the social mind is dropping those elements from Christianity\nwhich do not harmonize with our moral and intellectual temper.  Now,\nthe synoptic gospels are of a nature to lend themselves to this\nshifting of interest from the theological and the sacrificial to the\nmore human and ethical.  They present an idealized picture of Jesus\nChrist after the flesh, whereas Paul preaches only the second Adam,\nJesus Christ after the spirit.  Paul was {73} interested in the world\nto come and the heavenly world above the clouds where sit the æons, the\nprincipalities, and the powers.  We are interested chiefly in the world\nhere and now, in social justice and democratic fellowship.  As\nhumanitarianism became aggressive, Christianity reflected the change.\nIs there any reason to suppose that its theological envelope will be\nable to place a boundary to the extent of this change?  The real forces\nat work are those of to-day, those of our own spirit and mind.  Only\nfor a time will they seek to find themselves in the past.  Only while\nthey are gathering force and confidence will they masquerade as a mere\nrevival of a truer primitive Christianity.\n\nIt is extremely suggestive that the more democratic movements within\nChristianity have always stressed the kindlier, more human, and more\nhomely phases of the bible.  The followers of St. Francis of Assisi\nwere, at first, teachers of humility and brotherly love; and Francis,\nhimself, modeled his life after that of Jesus as he conceived him.  The\ndisciples of Wycliffe made their home among the peasantry and artisans\nof Mediæval England.  John Ball is a good interpreter to us of the\nsocial outlook they nourished.  It appears that they thought of Jesus\nas like one of themselves, read his life in terms of their own pressing\nproblems.  Pietism and methodism have always inclined toward the gospel\nJesus in preference to the Pauline Christ; but their social outlook was\nfar too negative and passive.  Democracy must be aggressive,\nnon-mystical, triumphant.  It must exalt reason while not forgetting\ntenderness.  With the growth of modern democracy of a socialistic kind,\nJesus the Carpenter with his kindly word for the poor and downtrodden\nand his scorn for {74} the haughty and rich has become the symbol and\nsign of a new social ethics.  It is evident that religion is not\nindependent of the social temper of an age.  Religion points to the\nseat of power as a compass points to the pole.  When man's sore need\nmade him cry out for mercy and succor in the primitive days, his\nignorant helplessness inevitably peopled nature with gods of fertility.\nIllusion and need created the gods of myth and ritual.  Remove this\nsetting of ignorance and illusion, and put in its place a sense of\npower, and need will point to the proper use of that power.  Justice\nand mercy and reason, used socially for a social purpose, will surely\nbecome the religion of an intelligent democracy.  In the older forms of\nreligion, man was a petitioner holding out helpless hands of prayer; in\nthe religion to come, man will be a creator bravely taking his destiny\ninto his own hands.  What a reversal!  Yet it is no greater than the\ncontrast between the primitive world we have been studying, with its\nmana and taboos and magic, and the modern world with its knowledge of\nchemistry and electricity and its deep probing into the very soul of\nman.\n\nBut we must return to the explanation of the popular tendency to exalt\nthe man Jesus over the Pauline Christ.  Is the explanation far to seek?\nTheology of a recondite character has always been the expression of\nreflection and leisure.  The religion of the masses has always been, on\nthe contrary, in terms of pictures and emotions connected with their\neveryday needs.  The rabbinical concepts of Paul were foreign to their\nexperience, while the philosophical mysticism of John was appreciated\nonly by a few who felt the beauty of the language and the strange charm\nof its figures of speech.  {75} To the common people Jesus was a loving\nfriend who comforted them in their sorrows, and the witness to a heaven\nin which all tears would be wiped away.  Of course, we must not be too\nromantic in our interpretation of the outlook of the masses.  These\nsentiments often attached themselves to the given theology with\ndogmatic fierceness; and in the background superstitious fears were\nonly too apt to smolder.  But, on the whole, it is not false to say\nthat the gospel story of the life of Jesus with its simple pathos and\nvivid diction appealed to the masses, while his personality met their\nideal of nobility and moral grandeur.  Jesus, the man who was also the\nSon of God, who came upon earth for them and for some reason died for\nthem, affected them as nothing else could.  And is it not a wonderful\nconception?  Yes; in the right setting, there has been none grander in\nall literature.  It is a masterpiece of lyricized mythology.  But, when\nwe have outlived its setting, it can affect us only as great literary\nmasterpieces do, when we consent to throw ourselves into the æsthetic\nattitude.\n\nThe pragmatic and æsthetic qualities of a story do not guarantee its\nhistorical truth.  In fact, research has shown that practically all the\nmost charming anecdotes which have come down to us will not stand\ncritical examination.  The historian of Christianity is well aware of\nthis situation.  The general movement of enlightened religious thought\nfrom the more mythical element to the career of Jesus, while it bears\nwitness to a more wide-spread interest in his personality, also\ntestifies to a growing doubt of the validity of the theological\nconstructions which have been woven around his figure.  We wish to\nknow, if possible, exactly what he thought {76} and taught.  Were we\nable to determine this, we feel that much of the distorting atmosphere\nwould be withdrawn.  But is not this, itself, one of those deluding\nhopes which the attitude of compromise fosters?  Do we not know in our\nheart of hearts that the beliefs of Jesus reflected the beliefs of his\ntime, just as the beliefs of Kant or Luther are functions of the ages\nin which they lived?  But we have here an hypothesis which can be\ntested by historical data.  Were the views of Jesus like those of his\nage?  Nothing has come out more clearly than just this fact.\n\nLet us see what has resulted from this close study of the sources.  We\nmust remember that books were not published in ancient days as they are\nat present.  Manuscripts passed from hand to hand, and individuals\nadded to them, or altered them, or combined them as they saw fit.\nPlagiarism did not have the meaning it has now when authors live on the\nproceeds of the sale of their books.  Besides, it was quite the custom\nto attach names to manuscripts at pleasure or in accordance with\ntradition.  Our modern critical attitude had not arisen--for obvious\nreasons.  Besides, it was difficult to secure copies of manuscripts.\nFor instance, Papias, bishop of Hierapolis in Phrygia toward the middle\nof the second century, believed that there was an Aramaic gospel\naccording to Matthew, but he was unable to get a glimpse of it and had\nto trust to the oral tradition of his time.  To bring this situation\nhome: suppose we had to rely on the oral tradition still lingering in\nregard to the life of Washington, how certain would we be of its\nauthenticity?  Why, there are already myths in regard to the life of\nMary Baker Eddy!  In olden days, {77} myths sprang up like mushrooms.\nOnly too many varieties were at hand to choose from.\n\nScholars are pretty certain that the present Matthew is not a\ntranslation of an Aramaic original.  Moreover, the present Matthew\nbreaks up into separate parts conflicting with one another quite\nextensively, and is full of insertions of a comparatively late date.\nOnly after the gospel has been radically revised are we likely to be\nnear an old tradition of the life and deeds of Jesus.\n\nWhile we are on the topic of the authenticity of the gospels, it may be\nworth while to discuss the other synoptics as briefly as possible.  The\nmajority of critics regard Mark as the oldest but this is mere\nguesswork when all is said and done.  In its present form it is briefer\nthan the others and this fact has impressed many students.  Besides, it\ndoes not contain an account of the infancy of Jesus.  But it, itself,\nis evidently a compilation of other documents since it repeats the same\nevent in slightly different forms.  In all probability, it was written\nin Greek for a Hellenistic audience and emphasizes those traditions\nwhich would be the most likely to impress its readers.  It is not known\nwho wrote it or exactly when it was written.\n\nThe gospel according to Luke did not originally make any claim to have\nbeen written by Luke.  Scholars are agreed from internal evidence that\nit could not have been written until long after the fall of Jerusalem\nin 70 A.D.  The author of Luke was acquainted with the _Antiquities_ of\nJosephus and this shows that he must have made his compilation and free\nreworking of traditions in the second century.\n\n{78}\n\nIf, then, our gospels were not written by eye-witnesses, and represent\nthe beliefs and traditions of at least the next half-century after the\ndeath of Jesus, to what can we give credence?  What is myth and legend\nand what is historic fact?  Can we find a clew to guide us?\n\nIt is a canon among historical critics to regard those passages as the\noldest which conflict most with the outlook of the later centuries.  We\ncan understand why they happen to be there but there would be no good\nreason for their later creation and insertion.  Let us try to determine\nwhither this canon will lead us.\n\nAll scholars agree that the birth stories are a later addition.  They\nare a product of Hellenistic beliefs, perhaps even of Hindoo\ninfluences.  The Virgin-Mother myth was very common in ancient times\nand the whole machinery of the story was undoubtedly absorbed from\ntales widely current in those days.  For instance, the father of Plato,\nthe Greek philosopher, was warned in a dream by Apollo so that Plato\nwas virgin-born.  What can we think of the intellectual state of\nChurches which excommunicate ministers who have the decency to inform\ntheir congregation what disinterested scholarship has determined?  So\nfar as there is intellectual dishonesty or incompetence here, it will\nbring its own punishment in the attitude adopted by sincere men toward\nthe Churches.  The best we can say, then, is that there is no very good\nreason to doubt that Jesus was the son of a carpenter, by the name of\nJoseph, and his wife, Mary.  He was not the only child, for Mark\nrepresents his fellow townsmen as saying: \"Is not this the carpenter,\nthe son of Mary, and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon?\nAnd are not his sisters {79} here with us?\"  Quite a goodly family, you\nsee.  The Ebionite Christians, who were the Christians of Palestine and\nprobably had the safest traditions on this point, believed that Jesus\n\"was the son of Joseph and Mary according to the ordinary course of\nhuman generation.\"  His kinsmen were the leaders of the Christian\ncommunity for several generations.  But there is little use in laboring\na point which is so obvious.\n\nOf his early life we know practically nothing.  He was probably not\ntrained as a rabbi but worked at the trade of his father.  We may\nassume that he knew how to read and write, since an opportunity to\nlearn was usually offered in the synagogue.  It is likely that his\nreading was largely confined to the religious literature of his people,\nespecially the psalms and the prophets.  His spirit was more in harmony\nwith the deep ethical fervor of these champions of righteousness and\nlovers of justice than with the formal prescriptions of the Law.  If we\nmay judge from the general tone of the traditions, he was a close\nstudent of men and a lover of nature, a silent, reflective man who\nnoted the events passing around him.  His youth passed in this way\nwithout any overt step being taken; and, perhaps, without any clear\nmessage having developed in his mind.  He was simply one of the\ndissatisfied few who are always to be found.  Now and then, it may be,\nhe spoke passionate words against the evils that were apparent on every\nhand, quoted the prophets in their outbursts against similar evils and\nsubsided into a brooding silence.  There are many such in our land\nto-day, sincere and passionate and kindly men who eat their heart out\nwitnessing the course of events.\n\nThe Jews of the day cherished the idea that a {80} Messianic kingdom\nwould be established.  Jesus shared in this expectation; but it is\ncertain that he thought of it less as a restoration of the Jewish state\nto power than a change in the position of the mass of the people.  In\nother words, he infused the belief with a finer ethical meaning more in\naccordance with his concept of God and his sense of what was really\nvaluable and important.  There is no means of knowing his entire\nattitude toward this popular belief in a supernatural kingdom to be\nestablished by God upon earth, but he undoubtedly retained its main\noutlines.  He was a child of his age although a notably sincere and\nhigh-minded one.\n\nAbout 28 A. D. John appeared and preached in the wilderness.  Jesus\nwent to hear him because of the natural interest he aroused.  It is\nquite probable that he was baptized by John.  We do not know whether he\nassociated himself with John or not.  At any rate John's message\ncrystallized his own ideas and he felt called upon to continue his\nmission.  He did not proclaim himself as the Messiah but simply\npreached that the kingdom of God was at hand and that men were to\nprepare for it.  This preparation was of an ethical sort and largely\nascetic in character.\n\nPalestine was in a ferment at this time and his appearance and\npreaching aroused great interest.  Like all prophets he was called upon\nto heal the sick and, accepting the customary views of sickness, he\nproceeded to exorcise the evil spirits which possessed those who were\nbrought to him.  I do not see how he could have escaped this task.\nWhat part accident played in giving him confidence cannot be known, but\nit was probably large.  There is no reason to doubt that there is a\nground of fact for these stories of healing, although {81} they have\nbeen grossly exaggerated by later tradition when he was viewed as\ndivine.  We must always remember how late and biased our sources are.\n\nAs time went on, he gained more confidence in himself.  Since he was\nhuman, he could not help being moved by the confidence of the people.\nHe felt that reforms should be made; everywhere was poverty and\nsickness and unhappiness.  Could the thought help coming to him that\nperhaps he was the one to inaugurate the kingdom?  The idea kept coming\nback, forced upon him by his own reflection and by the questions and\nassumptions of his disciples.  It may be that he never made up his mind\nbut was forced by the course of events to go to Jerusalem where his\ncareer ended all too soon.  Mankind will never know the details of his\ninner life; his doubts, hopes, decisions, indecisions are hidden from\nus in an obscurity that will never be completely lifted.\n\nHis preaching became more revolutionary.  More and more he set himself\nin opposition to the mechanical observance of the law and the fanatical\nworship of forms and days.  The opposition of the conservative members\nof priesthood increased in bitterness.  Soon it was war to the knife\nbetween this new prophet, with his disregard for the law, and its\nchosen representatives.  Thus Jesus had drifted into a position which\nhe had probably not anticipated when he set out on his ministry.  But\nthis is always the way.  Mohammed began as a reformer, and the\nantagonism of the keepers of Caaba led to his aggressive campaign;\nLuther and Huss and Wycliffe changed their attitude and their ideas at\nvarious moments in their career.  No man's life is the working out of a\nfixed and ready-made plan.  At any rate, he determined to go to\nJerusalem--in all {82} likelihood, as Pfleiderer suggests, in order to\nwin a victory over the hierarchy and to realize the prophetic ideal in\nthe center of the religious life of the Jewish nation.  The people\nreceived him enthusiastically but his opponents were too strong and\nclever for him.  He feared only secret assassination while they induced\nthe Roman power to intervene.\n\nThe story draws to a close.  In the garden of Gethsemane Jesus felt the\npossibility of a tragic end to his hopes of an early coming of the\nKingdom.  The real situation shines clear through all the legend which\na later age has woven around it.  When he saw himself surrounded by a\nmultitude of armed men, he knew that resistance was vain.  He was\ndelivered into the hands of his enemies.  Through all the humiliation\nand pain of those days, he seems to have hoped that his God would\nrescue him.  It was only on the cross that he finally gave up hope.\nThe heavens were dumb as they always have been and always will be.\n\nThe body of Jesus was probably thrown into the common pit reserved for\nmalefactors, as Abbé Loisy suggests, while the story of the burial by\nJoseph of Arimathea grew up to save him from the terrible dishonor of\nsuch a last resting-place.  The rest of the traditional narrative is\nunquestionably mythical.  Paul speaks of him as buried and evidently\nthinks of the risen Jesus as an incorruptible or spiritual man.  Paul\ndid not believe in a bodily resurrection.  The visions which led to a\nbelief in the resurrection of Jesus were ecstatic in character.  We\nmust remember that the ancients were far less critical than we are in\nregard to dreams and illusions and did not consider a return to life in\nsome shadowy form as very unusual.  I have not the {83} slightest\ndifficulty in my own mind in accounting for the belief in the\nresurrection of Jesus in an entirely natural way.  Once this belief\narose and became important as a part of a new religion, the rise of\nlegendary details was simply inevitable.\n\nThe position I have taken is relatively conservative.  Many scholars\nhave even become skeptical whether such a person as Jesus ever lived.\nWe cannot be certain but it seems more plausible to give a relative\ncredence to the older strands of tradition in the New Testament.  That\nsuch an ethical reformer lived who believed in the coming of the\nMessianic kingdom, that he was embroiled with the priestly class and\nwas done to death by them with the aid of the Roman governor who feared\na seditious outbreak, that his disciples after his death came to\nbelieve in his resurrection and his coming Messiahship upon earth, all\nthis appears to me more than probable.  Human life is a fertile field\nfor tragedy.  The more we rid the narratives of their fairy-story\naccompaniments and see Jesus, not as a god who foreknows his human life\nand plays it out gravely as an actor who knows his role, but as a human\nbeing hurried to issues he had not at first dreamed of, the more his\ncareer becomes comprehensible.  Its pathos is increased by this truer\nperspective, while the moral grandeur of his life gains by the human\natmosphere which descends upon it.  He lived his life sincerely as\nother men have done and did not dream of the use history would make of\nhis name.\n\n\n\n\n{84}\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE EVOLUTION OF CHRISTIANITY\n\nChristianity did not arise in the form we associate with it.  The\nfollowers of Jesus, after they had become convinced that their\ncrucified leader had arisen from the dead and had become a spiritual\nagent, grouped themselves together in Jerusalem and formed a religious\ncongregation whose distinguishing tenet was a belief in the near\napproach of the earthly kingdom of God, whose ruler would be Jesus.  In\nhis powerful name, the members of the congregation could perform\nmiracles of healing where the faith was sufficient.  This form of\nChristianity did not differ very widely from Judaism in anything but\nthis belief in Jesus as the expected Messiah.  It is obvious that this\ndifference has no essential meaning to us to-day who know the origin\nand import of the Messianic hope of the Jews.  Let us be frank with\nourselves and clear our minds of these dreams of the past.  These early\nChristians deceived themselves; their hopes were not fulfilled; the\nearthly kingdom of God did not come.  Jesus was not the Messiah for the\nsimple reason that there is no such person.  He was not the Messiah any\nmore than Mohammed Ahmed was the Mahdi--and for the very same reason.\nMahdis and Messiahs and Buddhas are creations of religious and race\nimagination just as King Lear is the product of the poetic imagination\nof William Shakespeare.  The {85} educated man of the present must\nclassify these figures as tremendous fictions whose power is waning.\nWhen he faces them squarely and asks himself what significance they\nhave for his life, his answer must be, \"Only historical and artistic.\"\nWe may say, then, that Christianity in its first form has been outgrown.\n\nBut the Messianic form of Christianity gave it a vividness and concrete\nimpressiveness that made it a force among the men of that age.  Jesus\nwas the heavenly Messiah who would return in power and rule according\nto righteousness.  With him was bound up the hope of immortality and in\nhis hand was dominion over the evils which beset one's path.  A great\nworld-event was impending; at any moment the last trumpet might sound\nand the dead and the living be delivered to judgment.  Moreover, Jesus\nas the Christ and Lord was even now at work among men, his Spirit was\nactive to guide and encourage those who had faith in him.  In the\ncongregation at Jerusalem, this belief in Jesus as the Messiah was\nclosely associated with the past history of the race and did not\ninvolve a break with the Law.  The Old Testament was searched to find\nprophecies which would throw light upon this apparently new departure\nand soon passage after passage was found which would easily lend itself\nto the desired interpretation.  Under the guidance of these passages\nand of the new outlook, the life of the prophet of Nazareth was\nre-molded until it lost the greater part of its more human features.\n\nSuch an important amendment of the Jewish religion could not keep\nitself hidden.  The Jews of the dispersion, broadened by their contact\nwith the political, {86} philosophical and religious movements of the\nRoman empire, yet cherishing a sincere faith in the traditions of their\nfathers, heard of the new sect which had arisen in Palestine.  Their\ninterest was aroused.  Sometimes they felt sympathetic, sometimes they\nwere antagonistic.  Slowly at first and then more rapidly through the\nwork of Paul, they came in more direct contact with this new movement.\nBy this time, it had already become Hellenistic in its spirit and\nattitude.  Around the nucleus of the life of Jesus and his\nresurrection, the seething, myriad-shaped ideas of the age attached\nthemselves.  The Palestinian congregation was left behind in its\npeaceful conservatism while the movement which it had inaugurated grew\nby leaps and bounds and swept outward into the tossing ocean of faiths\nand philosophies which extended from India to Gaul.  To suppose that it\ncould remain unchanged in such fellowship is to undervalue the\nassimilative tendencies in the social mind.  The Greeks and Romans and\nEgyptians and Syrians could not think as Jews.  They inevitably\ninterpreted it in terms of their own ideas and problems in order to\ncomprehend it.\n\nWe have already considered the interpretation which Paul gave to\nChristianity.  It was, as we saw, dominated by the apocalyptic notion\nof a heavenly, or spiritual, man while it gave ample recognition to the\ndesire for salvation from sin and participation in the divine life.\nThus Christianity was brought into touch with the mystery-cults and\nresponded to the yearning for some guarantee of immortality so\nwide-spread at this time.  \"But if the Spirit of him that raised up\nJesus from the dead dwelleth in you, he that raised up Christ Jesus\nfrom the dead shall quicken also your mortal {87} bodies through his\nSpirit which dwelleth in you.\"  We should compare this passage from\nRomans with the corresponding discussion in Corinthians (1, 15), \"And\nif Christ hath not been raised, then is our preaching vain, our faith\nalso is vain.\"  The message which he brought to the Hellenistic world\nwas in its essentials a definite one.  Jesus, a man who recently lived\nin Palestine and did wonders, was raised by God and has become a\nheavenly man, the guarantee of immortality to those who have faith in\nhim.  The last trumpet of the day of judgment will sound and the dead\nwill be raised with spiritual or incorruptible bodies, and those who\nare still alive will be changed and given these spiritual bodies since\nflesh and blood cannot enter the coming kingdom of God.  This message\nis the natural interpretation of Christianity by a learned Hellenistic\nJew.\n\nBut this was merely the beginning of the evolution of Christianity.\nThe next phase involves its interpretation by the Gnostic movement.\nLet us see first what this Gnostic movement was before we try to\ndetermine its direct and indirect influence upon Christianity.\n\nSo far as can be made out, Gnosticism was a religious philosophy which\ngrew up in the eastern part of the Roman empire.  Toward the making of\nthis theosophy went many strands of refined mythology coming from\nIndia, Persia, Alexandria and Palestine.  It was an esoteric doctrine\nrepresenting that free mingling of traditions from all sources so\ncharacteristic of the age.  Those traditions were worked up by\nreflection into a fairly systematic outlook upon the world, entirely\ncontinuous with mythology yet far more highly developed.  Gnosticism\ncannot be called a philosophy in the technical sense of that term since\nits constructions did not {88} have a critical foundation.  So far as\nit used Greek philosophy, it drew from the more pictorial myths of\nPlato and the conception of subordinate powers or demons advanced by\nstoicism.  Its interest was not, however, philosophical but rather\ntheosophical in character.  The relation of the individual soul to the\nworld-powers and the way in which a future state of happiness could be\nreached occupied its attention in the first instance; and the theology\nwhich it developed represented the stage-setting for this personal\ndrama.  I do not think it is saying too much when I state that there is\nnothing in Gnosticism which modern science and philosophy can recognize\nas having a valid foundation.  We can understand why it developed, just\nas we can understand why mythology arose, but it was a mistaken\nmovement because it followed the old mythological path of explanation.\nIf the direction taken by reflection is wrong, the most strenuous\nendeavors cannot lead to truth.\n\nGnosticism possessed certain tenets which were very wide-spread in\nancient civilization.  The flesh was looked upon as a thing of evil\nwhich corrupted the soul.  The physical world was in fact given over to\nthe powers of darkness while the spiritual world was ruled by the god\nof light and purity.  This dualism with its accompanying asceticism is\nto be found in the Persian religion, in India, in later Jewish thought,\nin the Orphic cults of Greece and even in Plato.  It entered into\nChristianity as naturally as science does into our outlook to-day.  All\nthrough the early years of the Christian era, and during the Middle\nAges, this contrast existed and controlled ethics.  All of which goes\nto show that Christianity was not the creation of a single man but the\nflowering out of religious mythology.\n\n{89}\n\nAccording to the teaching of Gnosticism, the soul was in danger of\ndestruction or of dire calamities unless it possessed the proper\npreparation for its journey after death.  The best means of safety was\nthe participation in the life of some savior-god who had vanquished the\npowers of darkness and evil.  It is evident that the world-setting of\nGnosticism was not far different from that of Christianity.  They were\nproducts of the same age, outgrowths of a similar soil.  The advantage\nwhich Christianity had was its connection with a noble personality and\nthe ethical background which this gave it.  Gnosticism was oriental far\nmore than it was Greek.  Had it been connected with the ethical\nteaching of the classic Greek tradition, had a myth of the resurrection\nof some noble teacher like Plato arisen to control the phantasy of the\noriental mind, the result would not have been far different from\nChristianity.\n\nIt was only natural that Gnosticism with its belief in a savior-god\nshould feel itself drawn to Christianity with its similar teaching.\nJesus was regarded by the Christian gnostics as divine, as an eternal\nbeing who had manifested himself historically in fulfillment of his\nfunction of mediator.  The Christian congregations were thus forced to\ntake another step in the deification of Jesus.  For Paul, he was still\na man, the second or spiritual Adam who began a new dispensation.  For\nthe earlier Christians, he was the God-selected Messiah.  He now became\na god who was also the son of God.  The evolution was inevitable in the\nintellectual environment of the time.  But the Christian congregations,\nas represented by their clearest thinkers, wished to avoid gnostic\nextremes and to keep near the historical basis and the ethical\nmonotheism of the best Hebrew {90} tradition.  Jesus was God, but he\nwas also man.  In this way, arose the doctrine of the incarnation.\nInstead of being a monument of mystical insight as theologians tell us,\nit was the consequence of a problem forced upon the Church.  In other\nwords, the doctrine of the Trinity is the attempt to combine gnostic\npolytheism and monotheism.  The only way three can be made one is by a\nmystery, so a mystery it became.  It is a bit of verbal gymnastic or a\nformal solution of an impossible problem which the pressure of events\nhad forced upon the Church.\n\nChristianity was now on the high-road to a theology.  To enter the\nHellenistic world and not be forced to develop a theology was simply\nimpossible.  The first fruit of this entrance into the intellectual\nworld of the time was the Fourth Gospel or the so-called Gospel\naccording to John.  Scholars have begun to interpret this gospel as an\nattempt to combine the older Christian tradition with the theological\nspeculations of the age.  The beginning of the gospel strikes a new\nnote which separates it immediately from the synoptics.  \"In the\nbeginning was the Word (Logos) and the Word was with God and the Word\nwas God.\"  What is this Word or Logos with which the historical Jesus\nwas identified?  For Philo, the Alexandrian Jew who played such an\nimportant part in the theological speculation of the time, the Logos\nwas a second God, the reflection of his glory, the only begotten Son,\nthe actual creator of the world, his active agent at work in events.\nIt is not going too far to assert that, without the speculations of\nPhilo, the Fourth Gospel could not have been written.  And yet Philo\nwas merely developing and applying to the Old Testament the writings of\nthe stoic philosophy and the {91} teaching of Plato.  Does it not\nfollow that, in the Fourth Gospel, we have the more theosophic portions\nof ancient philosophy attached externally to the life of the Prophet of\nNazareth?  Under such conditions of origin, how can we begin to\nseparate reason and revelation?  Gnosticism, stoicism, platonism, the\nOld Testament, the stories of the life of Jesus, the broadening of\nChristianity, all went together to make possible the mystic theology of\nthis gospel.\n\nBut the more Jesus was transformed into a god, the more he lost his\nhuman characteristics.  The figure of Jesus becomes elusive and\nshadowy; he lives among men but is not of them.  To make God a man or\nman a second God was an impossible task.  When all is said, the Fourth\nGospel performs this task about as well as it could be done, yet Jesus\nis no longer a Galilean peasant but a mystic being who speaks in\nriddles.\n\nThis vital interplay of Christianity and Hellenistic thought led to the\npassing away of the older Messianic idea with its distinct limitations.\nA noble monotheism was the result, while the concrete, human element\nwhich the historical origins of Christianity had contributed to it\nprevented this monotheism from losing sight of human problems.  The\nvalue of Christianity lies in its ethics but it is doubtful whether the\nethics could have become effective unless it had been carried by the\nmore chaotic beliefs which we usually call religious.  There can be\nlittle doubt that some religious system would have conquered the Roman\nempire; the educational level was too low to enable the better type of\nphilosophy to dominate the life of the mass of the people.  Magic and\nother-worldism were rampant because the social and political\norganization was unsatisfactory and mental discipline {92} was not\nwide-spread.  In brief, the world was still at the mythological level\nand was not yet prepared for a higher plane.  _This being so, the\nsuccess of Christianity was the best thing which could have happened_.\n\nLater phases of the evolution of Christianity force us to qualify this\nposition that its success was the best thing which could have happened.\nIn order to escape the dangers which free theosophizing brought, the\nleaders of the Christian congregations felt the need of a firmer\norganization.  The result was the gradual concentration of moral and\ndoctrinal authority in the hands of bishops.  The early Church had been\ndemocratic in polity but the times were not ripe for such democracy and\nslowly elders were chosen to be leaders.  These elders were shepherds\nor bishops, that is, spiritual overseers.  Soon they claimed and were\ngranted life-tenure and greater authority.  Every analogy from the Old\nTestament and from the larger political organization of the time worked\nin their favor.  This assumption of authority on the part of the\nbishops is well represented by the letter of warning sent out by Bishop\nIgnatius of Antioch.  \"Obey the Bishop as Jesus Christ the Father, and\nthe Presbyters as the Apostles, but honor the Deacons as the law of the\nLord....  Whoever honors the Bishop is honored of God; whoever does\naught behind the Bishop's back, serves the devil.\"  The natural result\nof this changed organization was the doctrine of Apostolic succession.\nWith this doctrine went another, the belief in the Apostolic Origin of\nthe articles of faith.  The flexible growth of Christianity was at an\nend.  There arose a series of dogmas enunciated by Councils of bishops\nand these were forced upon Christianity as authoritative.  Free enquiry\nand {93} speculation was at an end.  A religion with a creed had\nappeared, a thing unknown before in the history of ancient thought.\n\nWhen Protestantism arose, it made a half-hearted appeal to the spirit\nof free inquiry.  Protestantism was, however, a complex movement with\ndecided limitations in the motives at work and the knowledge on which\nto build.  The old church organization, molded on the lines of the\nRoman empire, was discarded and the function of the priesthood was\nchanged, but the intellectual attitude and the creed upheld remained\npractically the same.  Some of the more radical branches of the\nmovement like the baptists of Northern Italy were suppressed too soon\nto allow their influence to be felt.  On the whole, Protestantism was\nhampered by the New Testament canon which it inherited from the later\nstages of the evolution of Christianity.  It seldom went seriously back\nof the stage at which Jesus was deified.  Its reforms were social and\npolitical rather than theological.  The tendency was to establish the\nbible as ultimate authority without investigation as to its origin.\nThe consequence of this establishment of the bible as the final court\nof appeal was decidedly harmful since it set reason and experience over\nagainst a supposed revelation.  So far as Protestantism itself was\nconcerned, it did not have in it, as a consequence of this bibliolatry,\nthe intellectual vitality necessary to a true evolution.  Had it not\nbeen for the larger social, scientific and philosophical developments\nwhich sprang up at the same time and founded themselves on reason and\nexperience, the protestant revolt would have ended in a blind alley.\nThere is every reason to believe, however, that it helped to break the\ntyranny of the theological {94} view of the world and to free the human\nspirit for new endeavors.  Protestantism, just because it was a revolt,\ncould not attain sufficient unity and power to stamp out intellectual\nfreedom.  The modern world was too complex to be dominated by religion.\nBut we have already indicated the conditions which gave rise to the\nhigher criticism whose results we have been summarizing.\n\nWe must frankly ask ourselves what features of historical Christianity\nare congruent with our modern life.  The Hellenistic world to which\ndogma and ritual are mainly due is a thing of the past, existent for no\none but the scholar.  Ours is a new world with new ideas, new problems\nand new possibilities.  Does the recognition of historical continuity\npreclude the acknowledgment of very radical changes?\n\nI am certain that the deification of Jesus will be given up step by\nstep.  He was not born miraculously, nor was he preëxistent as the Word\nor Logos.  These terms do not fit into an outlook dominated by science.\nTo call him the Son of God in an exclusive sense is not warranted by\nthe facts, nor has it any clear meaning for the present age.  To the\nold Greek, Egyptian, and Roman, the idea was familiar; many of the\npatrician families traced their descent to Apollo or Jupiter.  But such\na literal interpretation of the phrase has no sanction for us, and any\nother than a literal meaning is essentially meaningless.  Jesus was a\nnoble and tender-hearted man with the beliefs of his age.  To speak of\nhim as ideally perfect and sinless is absurd just because these terms\nare absolutes where relatives alone have meaning.  Like most\ntheological terms they cut themselves loose {95} from their necessary\nsetting, which, in this case, is human nature and society.\n\nWhen the necessary critical work has been done, what is left of the\nstately theology reared by Church Fathers, councils and scholastics?\nApparently only a mellowed religion with a universalistic outlook and a\nstrong ethical trend.  This mellowness and this universalism were not\nqualities present in perfection from the start, although we cannot say\nthat Christianity was antagonistic to them.  Mellowness takes time.  I\ncannot but feel that men like St. Francis, Pascal, Bossuet, Fenelon,\nMelancthon, Wesley, on the ecclesiastical side, and men like Plato,\nAristotle, Galileo, Newton, Fichte, Darwin, and Mazzini, on the laic\nside, have contributed to this mellowness.  From this point of view, we\ncan best describe modern Christianity as an evolution of Hebrew ethical\nmonotheism along tenderer and more human lines under the stimulus of\nmany very noble personalities.\n\nDuring the latter half of the nineteenth century, Christianity passed\nthrough a fire of criticism which rocked it to its foundation.  To\nthose who lived at that time, the transition from the older, and more\ndogmatic, form was accompanied by spiritual and moral struggles which\nseem to us exaggerated.  The very indifference of the present age shows\nthat the atmosphere has cleared and that new values have come to the\nfront.  A short while since, I picked up Hutton's once famous book,\n_Modern Guides of English Thought in Matters of Faith_, and read his\nanalysis of the life of Cardinal Newman and his interesting criticism\nof Matthew Arnold.  I must confess that the time-spirit of which Arnold\n{96} made so much has done its work.  The scene is shifting from a\nreligion which stresses a peculiar form of salvation and a career in\nanother world to social and economic conditions and ideals.  Is there\nnot something Byronic in much of Arnold's religious poetry?  Is there\nnot too much of the pageant of the bleeding heart in his sighs of\nregret and farewell?  Yet he realized that the old faith was dying and\nthat man had not yet found that which could fill its place.  It takes\ntime to make an adjustment in these matters, just as it is time alone\nthat softens the griefs of unrequited love or the loss of dear ones.\nAnd it is usually only the next generation, which has been able to make\na genuinely fresh start, that settles into a new way of life.\n\nChange is a great physician because it is able to introduce new factors\ninto the situation, and it has been at work since Arnold's day.  There\nare, nevertheless, prophecies in his poems of another world which would\nbefore long take the place of the one that was dying; and some of us\nbelieve that, in the new democracy which is stirring into life\nthroughout the earth, this new and more creative world is being born:\n\n  \"The millions suffer still and grieve,\n  And what can helpers heal\n  With old-world cures men half believe\n  For woes they wholly feel?\n\n      \"And yet men have such need of joy!\n      But joy whose grounds are true;\n      And joy that should all hearts employ\n      As when the past was new.\"\n\n\nIn the figure of Jesus, ethical and æsthetic idealization guided by\nreligious emotion has created a {97} personality of a peculiarly\nappealing type well fitted to remain as an ideal to foster and\nstrengthen the noblest tendencies.  But this ideal has become\npractically self-supporting apart from its mythical scaffolding.  Its\nreal foundation to-day is in its appeal to sympathies, natural to\nsocial beings, which the spiritual evolution of humanity has developed\nand given content to.  When man succeeds in applying these sympathies\nrationally, in a social fashion, he may bring upon this sad old earth\nsome measure of that kingdom for which Jesus longed.  But Christianity\nhas stood and, on the whole, still stands for certain beliefs in regard\nto the universe as a whole and the relation of man to it, which only\npatient reflection and inductive investigation can settle.  By their\nvery nature, these beliefs cannot have an historical justification\nalthough they have had an historical origin.  Taking these beliefs in\ntheir simplest form and separating them from all connection with the\nfigure of Jesus and the developed ethics whose stimulus goes back to\nhim, they become an acceptance of an ethical God, a special providence\nand immortality.  Remove these postulates, and it is doubtful whether\ntheology has not also disappeared.  It behooves us to examine the\nvalidity of these postulates in the light of modern science and\nphilosophy.\n\n\n\n\n{98}\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE CONFLICT BETWEEN SCIENCE AND THEOLOGY\n\nThe conviction that there is a deep-seated conflict between the\nreligious view the world, characteristic of the past, and the outlook\nwhich has been shaping under the guiding hands of science and\nphilosophy is held by an ever increasing number.  Those who deny this\nconflict are judged to be either willing self-deceivers or postponers\nof the evil day of confession.  Many books have been written to detail\nthe warfare between the champions of orthodoxy and the leaders of the\nadvance guard of science.  The persecution of Galileo, the burning of\nBruno, the bitter attacks upon the founders of the theory of organic\nevolution are cited as examples of the unavoidable warfare.  For the\nnonce, there is a lull in the battle which was waged so fiercely by\nTyndall and Huxley; but this lull does not signify that a treaty of\npeace has been signed, but only that the combatants have shifted their\nground.  The forces of orthodoxy have sullenly retreated to another\nline of entrenchments.  The objective observer can entertain little\ndoubt that the intellectual forces of orthodoxy have been worsted in\nthe open field and have become disheartened by the growing revelation\nof the number and strength and persistence of the workers in the\nservice of science.  The prestige of science bids fair to equal, if not\nto surpass, {99} that of the church.  Hence, the desire of the\ntheologian is to avoid a renewal of the conflict, or else to change the\nmode of the warfare.\n\nAnd here I shall venture a prophecy.  The new battle will be waged\naround psychology and philosophy.  Already the lines are being drawn\nbetween the defenders of an extra-organic soul and the experimental\nsappers in the laboratories of biology and psychology who are seeking\nto show that mind and body are inseparable, that, indeed, mind is just\na term for certain capacities of control exercised by the brain.  The\ncrucial character of this growing conflict, which is yet not much\nbeyond the status of a skirmish, leaps to the eyes, as the French say.\nIs not even the soul to be spared the siege before which the human body\nfell?  Is it to be placed on the dissection-table and teased apart into\nits component strands?  Even so.  The process has already begun, and\nfar more has been accomplished than is generally known.  The solution\nof the mind-body problem is already in the air.  And, with it, will\ncome theoretical consequences by no means secondary to those associated\nwith the theory of evolution.  With some of these consequences we shall\nbe concerned in a later chapter.\n\nChristianity has been bound up with the letter and even with the spirit\nof a sacred book.  Naturally, this book reflects the view of the world\nheld by people about two thousand years ago.  It contains primitive\nnotions of the origin of things, a naïve conception of the relation of\nthe sun to the earth, a belief that demons are the cause of sickness, a\nconviction that souls merely inhabit bodies temporarily, and an\napocalyptic idea of the end of the world in a last judgment.  As we\nhave seen, no part of this outlook was particularly unique, but it was\n{100} accepted by the Christian Church as inspired because it was found\nin the canonical writings accredited to prophets and apostles.  During\nthe Middle Ages, this biblical view of the world was united with the\nastronomical and physical teaching of Aristotle and hardened into a\nsystem.  So intimate was this union between these cosmological elements\nand Christianity felt to be that an attack upon one was taken as an\nattack upon the whole.  To doubt the primitive notions of the world and\nman's place therein, was to doubt the bible; and to doubt the bible as\nan inspired compendium of information was to doubt Christianity.\n\nFor the sake of perspective, it will repay us to note the order in\nwhich these primitive ideas were attacked and replaced by more adequate\nones.  It will be noticed that the general cosmological setting was\nfirst reconstructed and that the growing point passed thence to the\ncenter, the nature and destiny of man.  As we indicated above, the\nreplacement of older by newer and better-founded views is proceeding\nmost rapidly at this crucial point.  Having obtained a different and\nvaster heaven and earth, man has turned the microscope upon himself.\nThe suspicion is growing ever more insistent that he, also, is a\nnatural part of this procession of things.\n\nWhen, at the time of the Renaissance, modern science was born, the\nfirst field invaded with success was that of astronomy.  Copernicus\nbecame convinced that the current theory, called the Ptolemaic, was\nuntenable because it led to insuperable complexities in the\ninterpretation of the observed paths of the heavenly bodies.  He was\nled to suggest that the sun was the actual center of the system and\nthat the earth revolved around it in the {101} course of a year.  One\ncan easily imagine the furore such a daring hypothesis aroused.  The\nCopernican theory was scoffed at by learned and ignorant alike, for it\nupset the whole picture of the world which had been tranquilly accepted\nfrom early times, except by such a radical non-conformist as\nAristarchus of Samos.  To appreciate the intellectual revolution\nthreatened, one has only to read Dante's \"Divine Comedy,\" for Dante\njourneys from planet to planet and thinks of them as arranged within\ncrystalline spheres revolving slowly about the earth.  In the second\ncanto of Paradise, he speaks of the blessed motors who make the holy\nspheres revolve.  These motors are angels of various orders resident in\nthe spheres and transmitting to them the efficacy of the Divine\nIntelligence.  Thus infant science had to challenge the appearance of\nthings to the eye, and a system bound up with the religious view of the\nworld.\n\nIt is obvious that the old geocentric view of the world, which thought\nof the earth as the center of the universe, was nothing more than a\nstatement of the apparent relations of the visible heavens to the broad\nearth which stretches out on either hand as far as eye can see.  That\nthis natural view of things was taken up into the religious picture of\nthe universe was the occurrence to be expected.  Had it not been and\nhad the priests and prophets enunciated the Copernican theory, there\nwould be reason to suspect a hidden source of revelation.  Needless to\nsay such a reversal of the natural sequence never occurs.\n\nIt is only when we grasp the naïve outlook of early days that we can\nrealize the full significance of many Christian doctrines.  Let us take\nthe articles of the {102} creed.  We are taught to believe that Jesus\ndescended into Hell and then ascended into Heaven and sitteth on the\nright hand of God.  What is this Hell into which Jesus is supposed to\nhave descended?  It is the Sheol of the old Hebrews, a misty region\nbelow the surface of the earth; it is the Hades of the Greeks, the\nplace of the departed shades; it is the Avernus of the Romans, the\nlower regions where ghosts flit and gibber.  This place of the dead is\nat first the grave and sinks deeper into the earth as time passes and\nthe myth-making fancy has been directed upon it.  But it is thought of\nliterally as in the bowels of the earth.  All through the Middle ages\nthis naïve view was held.  There was an absolute down and a\nsubterranean Hell, and every country told of some cavern which was one\nof its many mouths.  With the advent of the Copernican view what\nbecomes of these age-old ideas?  To save them they must be transformed\nand given another location or a merely symbolic meaning.  But why save\nthem?  They are as pure myths as any others to be found in olden days.\nThey are brother to Tartarus and the Battle of the Titans and the\nSlaying of Rahab.  The early Christians believed in a literal Hell\nbeneath the surface of the earth.  Their belief was wrong beyond the\nshadow of a doubt.  We cannot make it true by modifying it out of all\nrecognition.\n\nThe ascent into Heaven was thought of as a literal ascension of the\nresurrected body by the majority of early Christians.  We have seen,\nhowever, that Paul did not teach any such doctrine.  But even for Paul,\nJesus, as the Messiah, was literally in the heavens directly above the\nearth.  Into this region Paul is caught up in ecstasy--even to the\nthird heaven.  It is from {103} this region, not very far above us,\nthat the last trump will sound and the day of judgment dawn.  The\naccount, given by the so-called \"Revelation of St. John the Divine,\"\nwhich has led to so much foolish controversy among certain protestant\nsects, is typical of the apocalyptic literature of the time.  No\nscholar to-day believes that it was written by an apostle or by any one\nin direct relation to an apostle.  It is simply an example of the\ncurrent religious phantasies of the age just before and after the Fall\nof Jerusalem.  What factual basis could there be for such myths of the\nend of the world?  To take this old picture of the days to come as\nhaving anything but historical interest is to live in a mist.  Only the\nscholar can understand the allusions made and connect the ideas with\nthe beliefs of this vanished world.  It is poetry, a creation of\ngenerations of dreamers steeped in the tremendous idea of a coming\ndestruction preceded by portents and disasters.  We can understand how\nit arose in the motley and chaotic press of the Roman Empire in the\nEast with its memories of oppressions and conquests and changing\nkingdoms; but to regard it gravely as a revelation, to be taken\nseriously, of the destruction of the world is impossible.  The universe\nwas a small affair for the men of that time and the little planet we\ncall the earth and live upon was the center of all things.  We who\nthink in terms of light-years, and nebulae in which our solar system\ncould be lost, and huge constellations far off in the pathless void,\nrealize that we have outgrown even the imagery of this apocalyptic poem.\n\nReligion was loth to give up the simpler and more child-like ideas of\nthe universe and to displace the earth from its proud preëminence as\nthe one foot-stool of {104} deity.  Man feels lonelier in the\ntremendous spaces and stellar systems which astronomy has revealed to\nhis eye and mind.  But the facts piled up by science in its patient\nwork of investigation were too strong to be ignored, and religion had\nto modify its teaching by at least a passive acceptance of the new\nworld outlook which would have been so strange to Jesus and Paul.  It\nis evident that this involves the quiet giving up of the truth of the\nstory of creation, as well as the doctrine of a day of judgment.  When\nwe once realize that the earth is a pin-point in the physical universe,\nthese stories, woven in days when it was regarded as the stable center\nof things, are seen to be outgrown myths.\n\nBut astronomy was followed by biology with its hypothesis of evolution.\nNo sooner had religion resigned itself to a larger world than its peace\nwas again broken by the teaching that man was the end-term of an\nevolution of animal life going far back into the dim past.  Instead of\nthe neat little tale which Hebrew literature had passed on to the\nChurch, men were asked to believe that ages of slow change had elapsed\nwhile one form of life changed to a more complex form adapted to new\nconditions.  Soon facts rained in from all sides to make this new\nposition impregnable.  Geology studied the various strata of rock and\nfound fossil remains which could only be dated back millions of years.\nStrange creatures unlike those to be found now upon the earth were\nbrought to light.  Reptiles of monstrous size, fishes of strange\nshapes, huge trees resembling our ferns, botanically weeds, yet\ntowering into the heavens, were unearthed until the imagination caught\nglimpses of past ages teeming with life.  The teaching of geology was\nreënforced by comparative anatomy, which showed {105} the similarity of\ndifferent animals which had been thought of as quite distinct.  Man,\nhimself, was examined and was found to contain traces of an older mode\nof life.  Only in this way could certain atrophied organs, like the\nappendix, be understood.  Before long, comparative embryology arose and\nit was seen that the embryo passes through certain stages of\ndevelopment which roughly indicate the past life of the organism.  On\nall lines, investigation taught the same conclusion.  That there was\nevolution in nature, so that new forms of life developed while old\nforms passed away, no one who knew the facts doubted.  What factors\nwere at work to produce these changes was not entirely known.  The new\noutlook was set in the place of the old myths; but the details of the\nevolutionary process required careful working out by patient\nexperiments and observations.\n\nThe mythical background of Christianity was thus again attacked.  The\nstruggle was violent and bitter.  Christians were so accustomed to the\nprimitive myth of man's creation in a Garden of Eden, as narrated in\nthe Old Testament, that they refused for a long time to consider any\nother view.  Bishops and laymen denounced Huxley and Darwin and their\nsupporters, and often resorted to parodies of their position in order\nto awaken the prejudices of the mass of the people.  It was affirmed\nthat they believed that man was descended from an ape or monkey.  But\nthe clergy were waging a losing fight, as is always the case when the\nfacts are overwhelmingly against an old dogma.  The educated people of\nto-day accept some form of the theory of evolution as naturally as they\naccept the automobile and electric street-car.  They see no reason to\nbelieve that {106} primitive people who made no study of animal life\nknew more about its origin than those who have devoted their time to\ncareful and earnest investigation.  Facts speak for themselves and\nconquer what opposes them no matter what traditions bolster it up.\n\nThe refuge which Christianity has taken is the usual one resorted to by\nreligions which find themselves in conflict with views more adequate\nthan those they hold.  The myths are either allegorized or thrust into\nthe background.  Allegorization of myth is only a work of fancy, but it\nalways implies a tendency to self-deception.  So long as we see tales\nlike the stories of creation in a sanely historical way, we realize\nthat these men of the past were stating their own naïve beliefs and\nwere not teaching our own views in the guise of a poetic version.  The\nonly way to be true to ourselves is to give up any attempt at\ncompromise and acknowledge that the account of man's creation given in\n\"_Genesis_\" has simply been outgrown.\n\nThus, step by step, the framework of nature and man's place in it as\ntaught by Christianity has come in conflict with more thoroughly\nfounded views and has had to give way.  Before science arose, man\nguessed at things and appealed to the gods at every step.  The gods, as\nsuperhuman powers capable of doing anything, were naturally introduced\nto account for origins and mysterious events.  Such an agent seemed a\nsufficient answer to any problem.  How did man arise?  God created him.\nHow did the earth come to be?  God created it.  But science has come to\nsee that an agent which answers every question in this easy-going\nfashion does not really answer any of them.  It is a verbal answer and\ndoes not give us any specific information.  {107} Investigation is\ngradually showing just _how_ men did arise and _how_ the earth once\nformed part of a larger whole from which it was whirled off.\n\nThe only valid position to take in the light of this retreat of the\nbiblical view of the world is to accept the evident conclusion that\nthose who wrote the various books of the bible told the beliefs of\ntheir time.  Some half-hearted converts to this conclusion try to take\nthe edge off the admission by saying that the bible does not teach\nscience.  Let us put it frankly and say that the bible taught the\nknowledge of the olden days, their science, but that this does not at\nall agree with what we have come to know by real investigation.\n\nWhile the primitive view of the world had the strength which came to it\nfrom the sincere belief of Christians, it struggled valiantly against\nthe new knowledge.  Unfortunately, Christians were, by their training,\ndogmatists and sought to silence the rising whispers of doubt by\npersecution, rather than by frank appeal to fact and reason.  Because\nof this attitude, there developed the tradition of antagonism between\nscience and religion which is so often referred to.  The primitive view\nof the world, woven into historical Christianity, because shot through\nthe bible, was helpless in the face of this vigorous enemy which was\nnourished by the intellectual adulthood of man.  Its partisans were\nshocked by the denial of beliefs that seemed to them bound up with the\nmost sacred and important facts.  What could be more natural than an\nappeal to force to put down such impious suggestions!  The story is not\na pleasant one but it should not be looked upon as unexpected.\nChristianity used its power but was defeated.  The fight is to all\nintents and purposes over; the primitive view of the {108} world has\ngone forever and Christianity is in the throes of the effort to loosen\nitself from it, as a swimmer tries to free himself from the embrace of\na corpse which would drag him down.\n\nBut this is not the first time that Christianity has been forced to\ngive up a belief that would not fit in with the facts of a wider\nexperience.  We saw that the early Christians believed in the coming of\nthe kingdom of God upon earth in their own day and generation.  This\nhope was relinquished by the Church as time passed and it was not\nfulfilled.  The date of the great change was simply postponed\nindefinitely.  But the problem which the growth of modern science\ncaused could not be met so easily.  The conflict was stern, and it was\nonly after defeat stared her in the face that Christianity tried to\nadapt herself to the new view of the world.\n\nWere this adaptation possible simply by giving up the mythical elements\nin the bible and in the traditional theology, there can be no doubt\nthat it would be accomplished.  Many protestant denominations have\npractically gone thus far.  There is reason to believe that, sooner or\nlater, the doctrine of the virgin-birth, with its only too evident\ndependence upon classic mythology and its obvious violation of\nbiological facts, will be resigned and Jesus acknowledged to have been\nborn as all men are.  We moderns see no shame in such biological facts.\nSince historical criticism and biology point in the same direction,\nthere can hardly be a doubt as to the outcome.  However reluctantly,\nChristianity must yield to knowledge.\n\nEven after Christianity has surrendered her mythical envelope and\nresigned herself to the less dramatic and pictorial account of the\nbeginning and end of things, {109} taught by modern science, she is not\nsecure.  The struggle has only passed from the outer works of religion\nto its very citadel.  To yield the nonessentials, which were the\nwrappings of its early manhood, to this stern seeker after knowledge,\nin the hope of a treaty of peace, will only lead to disappointment.\nBecause of her worship of the book, Christianity has set too high a\nvalue upon beliefs which were simply doomed to destruction.  Hence she\nhas no right to look upon her surrender of these beliefs as an act of\ngreat merit.  It is simply a preliminary step to the basic conflict\nbetween science and religion.  The question which confronts the human\nmind at the present time concerns the problem of the harmony or\ndisharmony of the views of the world essentially connected with\nreligion and science respectively.  Before this fundamental problem,\nthese minor conflicts which have occupied so much attention shrink into\ninsignificance.  This problem involves the character of the agencies at\nwork in the universe.  Can science admit the reality of a special\nprovidence at work in the world?  Let us see to what issues this\nproblem leads.\n\n\n\n\n{110}\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE LIMITS OF PERSONAL AGENCY\n\nReligion was born from need wedded to ignorance.  But needs change, and\nillusions fade away and are replaced by knowledge.  That religion\nreflects these factors of which it is a function cannot be doubted.\nSome thinkers, who have sincerely pondered the problem, declare that\nreligion will only be transformed.  Others, as earnest, assert that it\nwill disappear, and speak of the non-religion of the future.  Is not\nthe question in large measure one of definition?  That man will\ncontinue to evolve ethically can scarcely be doubted, but it can be\ndoubted with good right that he will continue to seek to fulfill his\nneeds by rites designed to enlist superhuman agents in his behalf.  Is\nthere not more than a note of skepticism in that much-approved saying:\n\"God helps those who help themselves?\"  Already, man is beginning to\nclassify his needs and to believe that his material needs, at least,\ncan best be met by industry and knowledge.  He supplicates less and\nworks more.  Let us not forget what tremendous economic and social\nchanges have occurred since the days of the little, helpless\ncommunities that lifted up praying hands to their gods lest famine and\nwar destroy them completely.  To-day, man does more harm to man than\ndoes nature.  The face of things has changed more radically than we are\naccustomed to realize.  Social habits and beliefs {111} cannot fail to\nreflect this change.  It may very well be that we shall be forced to\nconclude that what were, in a sense, the by-products of religion have\nbecome all that promises to survive when man has, indeed, eaten of the\nfruit of the tree of knowledge.\n\nWe have seen that primitive man read his surroundings in the light of\nhis own consciousness.  Everywhere he saw the evidence of will and\nanger, desire and caprice.  The world was the theater of personal\nagents not so dissimilar to himself.  Technically, we should speak of\nthis outlook as anthropomorphic animism.  Perhaps a still lower stage\nexisted in which things are full of _mana_ or a mysterious power for\ngood and evil.  As man felt his own powerlessness in the midst of\ntremendous, and often hostile agencies, which overtopped his own meager\npowers, he was led to feel the desire to ally himself with these\nagencies and propitiate them in order that all might be well with him.\nMan was ever more convinced that his own life was bound up with the\nplans of the gods.  To displease them was to incur the most serious\ndanger.  The anger of Jove, or Neptune, or Asshur, or Yahweh was not\neasily turned aside once it was kindled.  The winds which threaten\nshipwreck, the rains which give increase, the drouth which dries up the\nearth, the plague which brings death are under the control of the gods;\nand it behooves man to walk warily in order not to offend them.  Thus\nwas the path set in which man was to travel until he reached an ethical\nmonotheism.\n\nAs time passed, demons and gods gave way, in theory at least, to the\nsovereignty of one powerful deity who gathered to himself the powers\nand activities of the old multiplicity of agents whom man had\nworshipped and {112} placated.  It is probable that this movement\ntoward a consciously held monotheism reflected the changing political\norganization of society.  The old chaos of superhuman agents, each\ndoing what was right in his own eyes, gave way to a growing heavenly\norder in which one powerful agent exerted his suzerainty over minor\nprincipalities.  Yet monotheism has always been relative, for the one\ngod has his agents of subordinate rank--agents, powers and\nintercessors--just as the most absolute monarch has his ministers.\nPolitical imagination cannot go beyond its source.\n\nChristianity is usually regarded as the best type of monotheism; yet\nthe early Church Fathers thought of the old gods as demons working\ntheir nefarious will upon man.  It is notorious that many of the saints\nof the calendar are only re-christened pagan deities adopted by the\nChurch to meet popular demands.  The peasantry _would_ believe in the\nagency of local divinities whose reputation had been great for the\nhealing of sickness, or the granting of children to the childless, or\nthe causing of rain to fall in seasons of drouth; and the Church,\nwisely enough, controlled and adopted what it could not prevent.  The\nold pluralism of agencies refused to give way more than formally to a\nsingle agent.  The psychology of this resistance is simple enough.\nJust as the king is unable to give his personal attention to the\nrequests of all his subjects but must delegate authority to officers to\nlook after details, so the one deity cannot give ear and attention to\nthe incessant cries of his myriads of creatures.  I cannot help feeling\nthat the pious catholic has more psychological realism in these matters\nthan the protestant sectarian who wearies his deity with all sorts of\ntrivial matters.  Surely a {113} million petitions at the same time\nwould distract any conceivable kind of personal deity!\n\nBut, in the present chapter, we are not concerned so much with the\nproblem of the number and inter-relations of the superhuman agents at\nwork in the universe as with the idea of personal agency itself.  The\npoint I wish to call attention to is that the change from polytheism to\nmonotheism did not involve any essential modification of the accepted\nnotions of agency.  Nature--and human life with it--was thought of as\nunder the control of a superpersonal agent who guided the course of\nevents in accordance with his purposes.  An ethical refinement of the\nidea of deity had supervened which lifted it far above the crudities of\nthe so-called nature-religions.  Was this not because man and human\nsociety had evolved ethically and socially?  But no marked break in the\nsetting of the idea had arisen.  And this fact presents the thinker\nwith a problem.\n\nIn its origins, religion is innately hostile to the extension of\nimpersonal causation to the cosmos, for the obvious reason that such a\nconception conflicts with the operation of special agency.  Religion\nbegins with the postulation of powerful agents whom man can placate.\nUp to the present, the evolution of religion has not involved a\nwithdrawal of this primary assumption but only its ethical refinement\nand the reduction of the number of agents.  In the Western world, at\nleast, religion and the idea of an ethical control of the course of\nnature have been inseparable.  This latter idea underlies prayer for\nmaterial blessings, miracles, and the various conceptions of\nprovidence.  Can this primary assumption be taken from religion without\ndestroying it?\n\n{114}\n\nThe difficulties which confront this assumption for the educated man of\nto-day must not blind us to its naturalness in the past.  But that is\nthe very point to grasp.  The primitive view of the world is not being\nso much refuted as outgrown.  Slowly and painfully, man has learned\nthat events are conditioned by antecedents of an inflexible character,\nand that his wishes and desires must have hands and feet working for\nthem before they can affect things.  He has bettered his condition\nthrough invention and discovery and social organization.  Of course,\nthe world might have been different, and moral categories might have\nbeen the proper ones to apply to nature; but the brute fact of the case\nis that our particular universe is not of that sort.\n\nOnce given the notion of superhuman agents of a social character, the\nafter-development of religion is inevitable.  Man adopts toward them\nthe attitude that he takes toward his own rulers.  To pray to the gods\nis as natural as to pray to those who have power and who, we hope, may\nbe moved by our prayers.  Psychologically, there is no difference in\nthe attitude involved.  Providence is merely the action of an agent who\nis more than human.  For primitive man it did not imply an intervention\nwith nature, for the very good reason that the gods were active in\nnature.  Nature was the sphere of the activities of the gods in the\nsame way that it was, in a minor degree, the sphere of the activity of\nmen.  We must rid ourselves of the modern conception, nourished by\nscience, of nature as a realm of causal relations.  For ages, man had\nno such conception; all activities were thought of as acts.  Nature,\nman and the gods acted together in a sort of social whole.  Law, as we\nunderstand the term in science, would have had no {115} meaning to\nprimitive man just as it has little meaning for many at the present day.\n\nIt is very interesting to study the development of the idea of\nprovidence.  It means foresight and the care which renders foresight\npraiseworthy.  The more the gods were given character and identified\nwith the life of the community, the more they were thought of as\nguardians anxious for the good of their people.  As superhuman, they\nwere gifted with knowledge of events to come and with plans for the\nwelfare and happiness of their worshipers.  The social relations of the\ngods inevitably brought them into transforming touch with the ethical\nprogress of humanity.  They became ideals reflecting back the highest\nof which man could conceive.\n\nIn Christianity, we have a most striking instance of this ethical\ntransformation of the one deity who is the superhuman agent _par\nexcellence_.  He is the father, kindly and loving, merciful and\nbountiful, who looks after the welfare of his children and plans their\nindividual lives and the course of civilization.  The evolution of God\non its ethical side has reached its high point.  From the philosophical\nside, this evolution was practically a foregone conclusion.  Just\nbecause God was conceived socially, he could not escape this goal.\nHosea and Jesus took the direction which ethical idealists could not\nhelp but take.\n\nLet us examine the consequences of this assumption of an omnipotent,\nomniscient and ethically perfect agent who acts in nature and in human\nhistory.  Simply by deducing the implications of the concept, we find\nthat it involves a plan for the world.  Such a plan is called by\ntheology God's providence.  For one who accepts the assumption, the\nonly sane attitude to take is that {116} of submission to the course of\nevents as manifestations of God's will and wisdom.  The heart of\nreligion thus becomes a joyous acceptance of life's portion through a\nwilled union with the purposes of this perfect being.  The most\nreligious souls in history have drawn this conclusion and acted it out\nin their lives.  In this way, they taste of an exaltation similar to\nthat which the patriot experiences when he identifies himself, without\nreservation, with the hopes and plans of his country at some time of\ncrisis.  They have, moreover, this advantage that disappointment is\nimpossible, since they can never know the actual plans of God nor the\ntime when they are to be fulfilled.  If they anticipate and set their\nheart on some event which kindles their enthusiasm and it does not come\nto pass, they can assuage their disappointment with the remembrance\nthat God's ways are past finding out and that he has an eternity in\nwhich to work.  From the very nature of the hypothesis, the course of\nhistory can never disprove this outlook which is the logical end-term\nof the god-idea.  This impossibility of test makes it, however,\nunscientific.  Nothing can be deduced from it.  As an hypothesis, it\nmust always remain unfruitful.  When we come to treat of the problem of\ngood and evil, we shall see other difficulties which it must face.\n\nBut the idea of a grand plan from which God cannot be swerved by\nintercession and supplication is far from the thought of the usual\nlevel of religion.  It is the creation of reflective thought, and does\nnot find a ready welcome in the minds of people at large.  For them,\nthere is no such thing as complete determination of the course of\nevents.  God is a powerful agent who is able to bring to pass what he\nwills but he does not always {117} intervene in particular cases unless\nhe is asked.  It is this situation, in which God is only one of the\nforces at work in nature, that gives the setting for the idea of a\nspecial providence and the answer to prayer.  Is it not evident that we\nhave in these beliefs the expression of personal agency, an idea\ncontinuous with mythology?\n\nThere are many examples of the appeal to a special providence which\nawaken the curiosity of the modern man.  In cases of severe sickness,\nprayer for restoration to health is offered in the churches and homes.\nIf God is a personal agent affected by the desires of his worshipers,\nthis act is perfectly logical.  Yet the nature of sickness is now so\nwell known that we see in it a cause and effect relation of a definite\nsort.  Knowledge of impersonal agency is undermining the faith in\nsuper-human agency.  Perhaps the fact that such prayers have never\nstayed a plague, while active measures of a scientific sort have done\nso, has had something to do with the purely formal and traditional\ncharacter of such prayers among civilized men.  Another instance which\nhas caused many cynical comments is the appeal to God to bring victory\nto the nation in time of war.  Both combatants pray to the same deity\nwith about equal fervency and, at the same time, make as careful\npreparations as possible for the actual warfare.  The religious\nceremonies appear to play the part of an emotional accompaniment for\nthe grimmer proceedings on the battle-field.  To the soldier, God\nstands for the element of chance; otherwise, the main precept is to\nkeep the powder dry.\n\nWhen we enter the domain of science, we at once realize that a\ndifferent conception of agency is held.  The universe is regarded as a\nclosed system of causal {118} relations which spring from the nature of\nits parts.  It is a systematic and self-contained world whose\nactivities can be explained by the discovery of laws which constantly\nhold and which grow out of the stable properties of nature itself.  As\nthe result of a close and accurate study of the various aspects of\nnature, science has come to the conclusion that the large bulk of the\nworld is lifeless and that its parts react in habitual or mechanical\nways which are invariable.  The planets circle about the sun in\naccordance with the pull and haul of forces which work in the same\ndirection from year to year and lead to the same mathematically\ndescribable result.  By means of measurements and calculations,\ncelestial mechanics has been able to predict eclipses centuries ahead\nand to test historical records in regard to those which happened\nthousands of years ago.  The paths of comets have been calculated and\ntheir return to the solar system foretold.  Thus the mass-movements of\nthe universe have been seen to be mechanical in nature and expressive\nsolely of the energies and configurations distributed throughout its\nparts.  The events which happen are inevitable and arise out of the\nimpersonal agency of spatially existent things.  In what sharp contrast\nis this view of nature to the interpretation primitive man made for\nhimself when he read his own emotions and desires into the things\naround him.  Caprice and whim have no place in this regular procession\nof the heavens.\n\nImpersonal agency conquered, not only in man's conception of the larger\nrelations of bodies to one another, but also in his idea of those\nevents, like sickness and death, which strike nearer home.  While the\nagencies at work may not be considered mechanical, they are yet {119}\nseen to be natural and regular in their working.  The characteristic of\nthe personal agency to which religion makes appeal is that it\ndisregards space; it works here and there at its own will and leaps\nacross intervening distances as though they had no reality.  Just\nbecause it is spaceless, it is supernatural.  It cannot be localized,\nand brought into definite relations with other things in the universe.\nThe more we conceive the universe as a spatial, self-contained system\nof things and processes, the more it excludes the presence of an agency\nwhich intervenes in it but is not really of it.  So long as events can\nbe explained as the effects of the natural working of things in nature,\nthe assumption of a supernatural agent is unmotived.\n\nThe conflict between science and religion has thus passed beyond the\nstage where a primitive and childish idea of the extent and origins of\nthe visible world struggled against a more rational and better-founded\noutlook.  No educated man to-day would seriously defend the cosmical\ntheories of ancient times.  It is simply absurd to deny that we have\noutgrown them once and for all.  But this first victory of science only\ninvolved the capture of the weakest outposts of the religious view of\nthe world.  The heart of traditional religion seems to be the belief in\na personal, superhuman agency at work in nature or, rather, upon\nnature.  Even the religious mind, however, admits that investigation\nhas shown that there is a routine aspect to nature which covers the\nordinary course of events.  The final crux of the problem comes, then,\nto be whether there is good reason to believe that there are unusual\nevents which cannot be accounted for by natural conditions.  The\nvictorious career of science has undoubtedly cast {120} suspicion upon\nthe occurrence of events which cannot be explained by means of regular\nchanges in nature.  The appeal to superhuman, personal agency to\naccount for such events presupposes their occurrence, while the belief\nin their occurrence is psychologically based upon the acceptance of\nsuch supernatural agency.  Hence it is probable that both beliefs will\nfall together.  In the meantime, they give one another mutual support.\nHe who believes in supernatural agency is the more likely to be\ncredulous in regard to testimony advanced in its favor.\n\nNature was at first regarded as a realm in which personal agency ruled.\nYahweh thundered from Sinai and rode in the tempest.  Apollo guided the\nhorses of the sun.  The gods did things in nature directly, much as man\ndoes them, only they are able to do things that man cannot do.  By will\nand word of command, they make the mountains tremble and the hills to\nshake.  But gradually man came to conceive nature as a self-contained\nrealm in which parts affected one another.  We owe the beginning of\nthis view to the Greeks.  They developed, from the first, a way of\napproach to events which was absolutely opposed to the older outlook.\nAs nature became, for man, more and more self-sufficient and capable of\nexplaining what occurred within it, there was less need to appeal to an\nagent of the old mythical sort.\n\nReligion is rightly anthropomorphic, just as ethics is.  Man's welfare\nand destiny are properly and inevitably the important questions for\nman, and he naturally approached the world with these problems in mind.\nHe used personal and social categories in his vague thinking about his\nenvironment.  The discovery that nature {121} did not work that way was\nmade slowly and only after comparative civilization had brought leisure\nand safety.  Even to-day, the intellectual restraint, which the\napplication of impersonal and non-moral concepts to nature demands, is\ndistasteful to the majority.  But this restraint will become less and\nless as man is introduced from childhood to a world of law and order to\nwhich he can adapt himself with a fair measure of success.  His eyes\nwill remove themselves from far horizons and turn to the world around\nhim, nor will he dream of a transcendent realm of which earthly things\nare only the appearance and veil.  He will seek his welfare and find\nhis destiny among his fellows during the normal time allotted to his\nspecies.  Banded with them, he will become an active and clear-eyed\nworker for the four great blessings which, he finds, are within his\ngrasp, health, knowledge, goodness and beauty.  Many virtues and ideals\nwhich religion has sheltered and encouraged will find themselves at\nhome in this valiant and intelligent world, but the religion of the\npast must shed many things before it will feel in harmony with its new\nsetting.  Will sufficient identity remain to make the term still\nsignificant?  Frankly, it is very hard to say--impossible to say with\ncertainty.\n\nWhat, then, are the limits of personal agency?  The limits set to that\nincarnated intelligence which organisms possess.  The ability to\nre-direct and distribute the energies which surround them in accordance\nwith laws which study reveals, the ability to build dwellings for\nshelter and for adornment, the ability to use medicines for healing,\nthe ability to drain marshes, dig canals, girdle the earth with iron\nroads, the ability to conceive things of beauty and to translate these\n{122} conceptions into sensuous form, all these abilities are theirs.\nSuch agency works within nature as a highly gifted part within a whole\nto which it is not alien.  But experience gives us no hint of a\ntranscendent agent for whom the earth is as a footstool and who whirls\nstars and planets through space to their appointed orbits.\n\n\n\n\n{123}\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nDO MIRACLES HAPPEN?\n\nDo miracles happen?  I am often asked this question by young people who\nare trying to combine religious tradition with modern thought, and find\na disharmony.  Ecclesiastical authority urges them to the acceptance of\nmiracles, while the principles and conclusions of science as obviously\nmilitate against any such belief.  Many halt half-way between these two\nopinions and drift through life without having been able to come to a\ndecision.  In their moments of mysticism, when the past religious view\nof the world with its prestige and emotional appeal gains the upper\nhand, they are persuaded that all things are possible.  They lose sight\nof nature with its massive constancy, and float back into the sentiment\nof personal agency so natural to man.  As they listen to the poetry of\nthe familiar passage read by the clergyman, their memories awaken, and\nvague hopes for they know not what are stirred to a restless life.  All\nthe surroundings and accompaniments reënforce these suggestions, for\nthat is the transformed purpose of modern rites.  The music throbs in\ntheir ears, now plaintive and low, now bursting into triumphant peals.\nIncense fills the air, and the lights burn dimly.  Then a new\npsychological world is created within them.  The erstwhile solid earth\nwith its blind driving power becomes transparent and a thing {124} to\ndespise.  The Lord reigneth to Whom all things are possible.  His the\npower to create or to destroy, to bind or to loose, to wither or to\nmake whole.\n\nThe next day in the laboratory, perhaps, the same individuals watch the\ncirculation of the blood in the thin membrane of a frog's foot, or\nmeasure the transformation of energy in a chemical reaction, or examine\nthe nerve-tissue of the human brain, and another outlook forms itself.\nThey see a world of harmonious movements, of gigantic forces, of\ndelicate adjustments, of slow birth and quick decay.  The sentiment of\nlaw, the feeling for fact, the sense of nature grow upon them.  For the\ntime being, they are the conscious spectators of an immense reality it\nwould be meaningless to set aside.  The complexity and autonomy of\nnature thrusts all thought of superpersonal agency into the background.\nThus the pendulum swings back and forth from supernaturalism to\nnaturalism.  They believe, and yet disbelieve.  What answer must be\ngiven to these troubled minds?\n\nNow the question, Do miracles happen? presupposes a single, unambiguous\nmeaning for the term, miracle.  Yet to secure such a single meaning\nrequires an effort.  It is so tempting for the advocate of miracles to\nmake qualifications when the argument goes against him, to say that he\ndid not mean an act of a supernatural agent but only an extraordinary\nevent, something marvelous and not easily accounted for.  We shall\nconcern ourselves primarily with what may be called a theological\nmiracle, an occurrence confidently assigned to the will of a divine\nagent.  Incidentally, however, we shall discuss the logical attitude to\ntake toward marvels which cannot easily be fitted into the usual scheme\nof events.\n\n{125}\n\nTo understand the ideas and sentiments associated with our term, we\nmust go back to the past.  We are sufficiently acquainted by now with\nthe setting of the religious view of the universe to know that the gods\nwere at first forces _in_ nature and only slowly became spiritual\nagents _outside_ of nature.  We cannot too often remember that man had\nno instinctive knowledge of what energies operated in the world and\nwhat were the conditions of their operation.  He peopled woods and\nfields and sky with invisible agents who could do almost all they\nwanted to do, and with no hindrance from distance.  We may put it this\nway: man had no idea of spatial process but thought of all events as\nacts of will.  The gods had _mana_, or power, just as the medicine man\nhad, only greater.  And miracles were, for ages, only extraordinary\nevents due to the power of gods or other power-possessing beings.  So\nlong as this primitive view of things was prevalent, miracles were only\nespecially significant events assigned to the will of the gods.  They\nwere events which transparently revealed their anger, or favor, or\npurposes.  There was nothing illogical or puzzling about them.\n\nThe forces which are so strongly working against the acceptance of\nmiracles are just those forces which are antagonistic to the primitive\nview of the world.  If nature is a self-contained spatial system, the\ncomplete mechanism of change should be open to study.  Even human wills\nmust be connected with human bodies, and shown to act in accordance\nwith psychological and physiological laws.  In the place of such vague\nterms as _mana_, we have chemical and electrical properties, bacterial\ninfection, hypnosis.  Magic and miracle are closely connected; and the\nreplacement of magic by {126} science put miracles on the defensive.\nNature became a realm of recurrent processes.  The exceptional, alone,\ncould be assigned to the old type of agency.  Thus the contrast came\nout more clearly, as the religious view of the world found itself\nopposed to an orderly conception of natural process.  Divine agency, on\nthe one hand; uniform processes, on the other.\n\nEtymologically, a miracle is something which awakens wonder because of\nits strangeness.  In former days, all events out of the ordinary were\nnaturally classed as miracles, that is, as events to be wondered at.\nThere was, of course, a routine aspect to nature.  People expected the\nsun to rise in the morning and pass unwaveringly over the sky; they\nlooked for the return of the seasons and had festivals to celebrate\nthem; they anticipated normal young from their animals.  Thus the\nroutine aspect of things was fairly conspicuous, and they guided\nthemselves by reference to it.  But, in those days, things were less\nsettled than they are in our well-organized society.  People were more\nnervous, as it were, more surrounded by rumor, more credulous.  Both\nthe psychological and the social situation favored tales of marvelous\nevents.  I cannot help feeling that the religious customs, the constant\nappeal to the gods for favors and portents, were both effects and\ncauses of this sense for the miraculous which we find so widespread in\nthe past.  Sometimes monsters were born; sometimes the wind blew from\none direction for an extraordinary length of time; sometimes the sun\nwas darkened at midday.  Stories were constantly afloat about wonderful\ncures imputed to gods or magicians.  Credulity awoke at the least\nencouragement.  Priests, prophets, magicians, kings, gods, all were\nregarded as {127} the authors of cures.  Only the common man was unable\nto do these wonderful things.  The idea that the king's touch had\nwonderful curative power lingered on into the nineteenth century.\n\nWe have pointed out, more than once, that the best way to explain an\nidea away is to explain how it arose.  Add to this a clear statement of\nhow the older view conflicts with the new outlook which has been born\nof tested knowledge, and the disproof is as complete as may be.  Let us\napply this method to the stories told of Jesus in the New Testament.\nJesus was reputed to have the gifts of an exorcist.  That Jesus, if he\ndid actually live, believed in demons cannot be doubted.  In Mark, the\ncrowd exclaims: \"With authority he commands even the unclean spirits,\nand they obey him.\"  Again, the scribes from Jerusalem say: \"He hath\nBeelzebub.  By the prince of the devils he casteth out the devils.\"\nWherever Jesus went, crowds of sick people flocked to him to be healed\nof their various complaints.  But they undoubtedly did the same to\nevery prophet or medicine-man who came along.  A man could not be a\nprophet if he did not have a special _mana_, or power, either in his\nown right or as the representative of his deity.  And we must not think\nof these healers as charlatans or impostors.  Everybody believed that\ndisease was a matter for religion.  Why?  Because they did not know\nanything about toxins and bacteria and amoebic infection.  The\ndemon-theory of disease was everywhere dominant outside, perhaps,\ncertain circles in Greece.  \"It is beyond a doubt,\" writes F. C.\nConybeare, \"that Jesus regarded fever, epilepsy, madness, deafness,\nblindness, rheumatism, and all the other weaknesses to which flesh is\nheir, as the distinct work of evil {128} spirits.  The storm-wind which\nchurned the sea or inland lake into fury is equally an evil spirit in\nthe Gospel story.  In the Vedic poems it is the same; and, indeed, we\nhave here a commonplace of all folklore.\"\n\nThe stories told about Jesus in the synoptic gospels can be paralleled\nin the literature of the time throughout the Roman world.  The use of\nspittle as a sovereign remedy was universal.  In his essay upon\nmiracles, Hume called attention to the story told about the Emperor\nVespasian by Tacitus.  Vespasian was a little more careful than Jesus,\nfor he had physicians examine the eyes of the blind suppliant before he\nexerted his touch and spittle as healing agents.  But, then, Jesus\ncould not be so careful about such things as an emperor.\n\nWhen we once clearly realize the emotional atmosphere of the times and\nthe complete lack of the sort of intellectual background we possess, we\nare not surprised either at the recorded acts of Jesus or at the myths\nwhich grew up around his figure.  The absence of miracles from the New\nTestament would be far more surprising than is their presence.\n\nThe miracles attributed to Jesus are of two main kinds, the expulsion\nof demons as a means of curing ills and allegorical fulfillments of\nsupposed Old Testament prophecies.  The first kind has been\nsufficiently examined.  The second can be touched upon only briefly.\nIt has been one of the main contributions of the higher criticism to\npoint out how much of the life of Jesus is built up around passages in\nthe Septuagint or Greek version of the Old Testament.\n\nI do not think that I am going too far when I assert that the presence\nof these tales in the sacred literature of Christianity has done an\nincalculable amount of {129} harm.  They have given a sanction to all\nsorts of superstitious beliefs and have helped to carry over into our\nday an outlook which would otherwise have been more quickly cast off.\nHad it not been for the miracles related in the gospels, there would\nhave been no problem of miracles to discuss.  The idea, itself, would\nhave been outgrown and have died a natural death.  And, in the long\nrun, that is what must take place.  As a saner view of Jesus is taken\nand a better knowledge of the outlook of the time in which he lived is\ngained, the recorded miracles will be explained, not as actual events,\nbut as actual beliefs.\n\nAnother period deserves study in this connection.  When one examines\nthe literature of the Middle Ages, one gains the conviction that\nmiracles formed the staple emotional diet of the people.  They played\nthe part that novels and detective stories do now.  Man is naturally\ndramatic in his interpretation of life, and what can be more thrilling\nthan a miracle?  Constance, the heroine of the _Man of Law's Tale_ in\nChaucer, is rescued from death when in most perilous plight by that\nUnseen Hand which frustrates the plots of the wicked.  Skepticism and\nrealism are slowly acquired habits of mind.  The primary impulse is to\nbelieve.  And, when religious motives and traditions enter to\nstrengthen the sway of this impulse, it is hard to counteract.  When\nlearned theologians enunciate the principle, \"I believe because it is\nabsurd,\" it is not to be wondered at that the mass of the people\nbelieve because they do not see that it is absurd.  For ages, the world\nwas a sort of quicksand, and it has taken far more courage and sheer\nintellectual capacity and moral daring than the mass of the people will\never conceive to build dykes out into {130} the unknown and rescue it\nfor the empire of unswerving law.\n\nBut we must pass from the historical study of miracles to the\nsystematic, or philosophical, aspect of the matter.  The philosophy of\nmiracles breaks up into two parts, the laws of evidence and proof, and\nthe nature of cause.  The first part may be called logical; the second,\nmetaphysical.\n\nTheological miracles involve two elements, the fact and the theory.  It\nis only after the fact has been sufficiently proven that its cause can\ncome into question.  It is absurd to explain facts either by natural\nprocesses or by the will of God until you are certain that these events\n_were_ actual occurrences.  If a child took _Alice in Wonderland_ too\nseriously and asked me to explain \"Why the sea is boiling hot,\" I would\nbe compelled to disappoint its craving for explanation.  Now I am\ncertain that the situation in regard to miracles is not much otherwise.\nWere the alleged facts to be proven beyond reasonable doubt, the need\nfor a genuine explanation would press upon us.  But the history of the\nsubject points in the other direction.\n\nThe logic of evidence concerns itself with the tests applied to\nstatements which purport to be facts.  What reason have we to believe\nin those stories which have been handed down to us from the past, or in\nthe tales of marvelous cures and visions spread abroad in certain\ncircles to-day?  Is it not evident that we must apply to them the same\nstringent tests that the scientist employs?  All the canons of\nevidence, external and internal, must be brought to bear upon them.\nAccounts of cures in connection with the shrines of saints and the\ndescriptions of cases of healing among Christian {131} Scientists\nshould be subjected to rigorous, yet equitable, examination.  The\nnature of the sickness or injury should be diagnosed, and the\nafter-history kept under observation.  And, unless these religious\nbodies wish to incur the suspicion of abetting fraud, they should\nwelcome thorough inquiry.  Until something of this kind is done, the\nevidential value of the accounts is weaker than it must be to reach\nproof.  The more the adduced narratives conflict with the usual course\nof experience, the more does this lack of ventilation weaken their\nevidential worth.  From the standpoint of logic, this attitude is\nincontestable.  Either we must maintain it or we must give up all\nserious attempt to sift testimony.\n\nThe advances made by history and psychology during the nineteenth\ncentury have put us in a far better position to handle the question of\npast marvels than Hume was in.  Yet this more concrete outlook has\nsimply reënforced Hume's method of criticism.  Hume was, perhaps, a\nlittle too generous.  The burden of proof rests upon the believer in\nmarvels, rather than upon the critic, because the regularity of\nexperience has been increasingly established.  Hence, the historical\nevidence must be very strong, stronger than it has turned out to be.\n\nWhen the canons of historical evidence are applied to the accounts of\nmarvelous events, it is surprising how quickly they lose their\nimpressiveness.  Let us take, for example, the astounding series of\nincidents told in Exodus.  Were this book written by Moses, an actual\neye-witness and chief actor on the human side, we would be forced to\nassert that he was self-deceived, or intended to deceive, or that the\nevents actually did {132} happen in some strange sort of way.  But when\nwe discover that the Pentateuch was not written until long after the\nestablishment of the Kingdom, and that it contains various strands of\npopular tradition and priestly construction, we realize that the\nlogical situation is very different.  The eye-witness has disappeared.\nIn other words, we have to deal with legends instead of with history.\nWe are no longer reduced to the dilemma of either calling Moses a liar\nor accepting events which strike us as mythical.  We are not even\ncalled upon to rationalize these legends and to appeal, say, to the\ninfluence of a high wind, long continued, upon some shallow branch of\nthe Red Sea.  Such ingenuity is now seen to be misplaced.\n\nWhen we pass from past to present, we must keep to the same logical\nmethods.  In fact, we must often pass from the present to the past.  It\nwas Lyell, the famous geologist, who established the scientific canon\nthat the same forces that are working to-day must be used to explain\nwhat occurred in other ages.  And this canon was of immense value, for\nit prevented scientists from dreaming of catastrophes and forgetting to\nstudy the detailed working of common forces.  How far faith in Jesus as\na religious healer, a powerful prophet sent by God, led to what are\ncalled faith-cures can be answered only by analogy from the present.\nThe nature and reach of mental cures must be studied with the same care\nthat is given to other fields.  Only lately is this being done.\nPhysicians did not do justice to the nervous system.  Their materialism\nwas too naïve, too mechanical.  The individual is an organic whole, and\nthe mind cannot be severed from this whole without falsity.  Put in\nphysiological terms, the nervous system {133} controls the expenditure\nof energy of the organism, and, if it is wasteful, can soon exhaust the\nsupply.  The resistance offered by the organism to disease is, then,\nlikely to vary with the mental and nervous balance of the individual.\nHow effective an abnormal direction of nervous energy toward certain\nparts of the organism may be cannot be told beforehand.  Probably,\nexperimental work with hypnosis and psychoanalysis will throw light\nupon these internal adjustments.  The historian of religious history\nshould keep his eye upon the recent developments of psychiatry.  He\nshould, moreover, learn his psychology from experts and not be\nsatisfied with the jargon of spiritualists.\n\nBut logic alone will never be able to disprove theological miracles.  I\ncannot prove that there are no fairies, although I can show that there\nis no good evidence for belief in their existence.  The rationalist who\nundertakes to _demonstrate_ the impossibility of miracles forgets that\nhis thinking works within a set of postulates and principles which his\nadversary will not accept.  All he can really show is that his\npostulates and principles fit in better with experience than do those\nof his adversary.  The final conflict is that between the primitive\nview of the world and the scientific view.  The best that can be done\nis to stress the logical side and then make the contrast between the\ntwo views of the world as distinct as possible.  Whether an individual\nwill, or will not, believe in religious miracles depends ultimately\nupon the view of the world which grows up in his mind.  And this mental\noutlook is a function of his training and his psychological make-up.\n\nThe theological miracle is more deductive than inductive.  I mean that\nit is a consequence of a dogma {134} rather than an independently given\nfact.  The religious outlook comes first in order and dominates the\nfact.  Just the opposite is the case in science.  There the fact comes\nfirst and the theory afterwards.  As I have written in my _Logic_:\n\"Mere speculation uncontrolled by fact is almost certain to lose touch\nwith reality.  It may lead to the construction of beautiful systems,\nbut these systems, for all their splendor and subtlety, are sure to\nlack value as means of interpreting the world in which we actually\nlive.\"  But is not the theological miracle an instance of just such\nuncontrolled speculation?  An omnipotent God could do anything to, or\nin, his footstool.  Of course he could.  You are only developing the\nimplications of your hypothesis.  The test questions are, first, Is it\nhis nature to want to do these abrupt things? second, Is this\nconception of an omnipotent God the most satisfactory hypothesis?  Does\nit help us to meet the facts and events of human life?  We know how the\nidea arose, and we know that it was based on interpretations of nature\nthat seem to us now essentially illusory.  The rub of the matter is,\nthat it is of no assistance to science and creates hosts of artificial\ndifficulties.  We have been discussing one of these artificial problems\nin the present chapter and shall be engaged in the discussion of others\nin the next two chapters.  A naturalistic metaphysics and ethics is far\neasier to formulate than a theological system free from contradiction.\n\nBut suppose that certain marvels which would not fit into the natural\ncourse of things were established.  How could it be shown that these\npeculiar events were the acts of a supernatural agent?  Strictly\nspeaking, only revelation could accomplish this feat.  But revelation\n{135} is, itself, a miracle which needs accrediting.  And so you are,\nonce more, in a vicious circle.  Revelation might be a well-accredited\nmode of proof if it had an organ of a public character--a voice from\nheaven, for instance.  But such a voice would become a part of nature\nfor us; in other words, its assumption implies another sort of world\nfrom the one we are in.  But, until this organ is established, we have\ngood right to doubt the _ipse dixit_ of self-appointed oracles.\n\nWhen we examine the whole question of miracles inductively and\ndeductively, I think that we must acknowledge that their basis is\nexceedingly weak.  Already, the educated world is in a fair way to\noutgrow them; and this tendency will undoubtedly increase as science\ncontinues to explore the world we live in.\n\nIn conclusion, it seems worth while to call attention to the fact that\nvery few people realize what they are really believing when they accept\nmiracles.  They do not know enough about nature to grasp the real\ncontent of their beliefs; and, until they do, their belief represents\nsimply a point of view which has not been confronted with its\nimplications.  It expresses innocence rather than virtue.  Let us\nglance at a couple of the biblical miracles to show what they involve.\n\nTyndall has brought out, very strikingly, the difference between the\nmiracle supposed to have aided Joshua in his battle with the Amorites,\nas this appeared in the eyes of an Israelite of old, and as it appears\nto a man of science.  For the one the miracle probably consisted in the\nstoppage of a fiery ball less than a yard in diameter, while to the\nother it would be the stoppage of an orb fourteen thousand times the\nearth in size.  \"There is,\" he writes, \"a scientific as well as a\nhistoric {136} imagination; and when, by the exercise of the former,\nthe stoppage of the earth's rotation is clearly realized, the event\nassumes proportions so vast, in comparison with the result to be\nobtained by it, that belief reels under the reflection.  The energy\nhere involved is equal to that of six trillion of horses working for\nthe whole of the time employed by Joshua in the destruction of his\nfoes.\"  If we pass from the great to the small, from the employment of\ntremendous forces to the reconstruction of endless, minute relations,\nthe same divergence between superficial appearance and the reality\nstares us in the face.  Let us consider the raising of Lazarus from the\ndead.  It is a well-known fact that the nervous system begins to\ndisintegrate very quickly after death.  Now research has shown that\nthere are nearly a billion of cells in the brain alone.  Think of the\ndisorganization which would ensue in such a complicated system after a\nperiod of four days.  Those who are acquainted with the delicacy of\norganic compounds can realize the condition of the brain when the body\nwas already beginning to stink.  But the ancients did not even know\nthat the brain was closely connected with consciousness, let alone its\nstructure.  Of the character of the economy of the body, they knew\npractically nothing; they dealt with wholes, not with parts.  How\ndifferent this miracle appears from these two stand-points!  It is the\nsame only in name.  It may be of interest to note that this miracle,\ncharacteristic of John, is very evidently related to illustrate the\nprinciple that Jesus as the Logos is the resurrection and the life.  It\nis a demonstration miracle.\n\nOur answer to the question, Do miracles happen? must be in the\nnegative.  While there is nothing {137} irrational in the idea in\nitself, it does not fit the world as experience presents it.  The\nassertion that God performs miracles, like the similar assertion that\nhe created the world, is purely hypothetical and unverifiable.\n\n\n\n\n{138}\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE SOUL AND IMMORTALITY\n\nThe hope of immortality is an essential feature of practically all\nmodern religions.  Even those oriental religions which lack its clear\npresence postulate a dim kind of personal continuity.  Buddhism has\nalways been a puzzle to the optimistic Westerner who is in love with\nhimself and does all his thinking in terms of personality and personal\nrelations.  The idea of re-birth in accordance with a rigid moral law\nis alien to his traditions; while the impersonalism of the whole\nprocess leaves him cold.  It is not untrue to the facts to call\nBuddhism an atheistic religion.  Yet it is a religion because it\npostulates the objective efficacy of moral categories.  Freedom from\nthe wheel of re-birth is gained by the Eightfold Path of right beliefs\nand right acts.  Enough of the idea of a soul and enough of the idea of\nimmortality exists even in this religion to make these assumptions\nimportant.  But what have modern science and philosophy to say about\nthese age-old ideas?  Is the soul any longer in favor?\n\nHere, again, an historical approach is worth while, because it gives\nthe proper perspective.  If we can understand why people in the past\ndeveloped and fostered these ideas, we can judge their reasons pretty\nobjectively, even though we realize that we have been strongly affected\nby the beliefs erected upon them.  {139} Destroy the roots of a tree\nand the foliage will wither before long.  Has science dug so sharply\naround the roots of these old beliefs that they are bound to decay?\nThe subject is an extremely interesting one.\n\nA belief in some sort of an after-life is wide-spread.  It is common\nknowledge that the American Indians spoke of a happy hunting-ground in\nthe West, in which the soul of the warrior would rejoice in abundance\nof game.  Other peoples thought of the abode of the dead as in the East\nwhere the sun arises.  Still others taught that it was in the sun or\nthe other heavenly bodies, or underneath the earth in a subterranean\nregion.  We are seldom able to determine the motives which led to these\nvarying locations.\n\nAll sorts of beliefs flourished in the Mediterranean basin a few\ncenturies before our era; but the drift of religious thought was moving\nrapidly toward a passionate acceptance of another life somewhere in the\nheavens.  Immortality was taking on a more vivid coloring and was being\ntransformed from a passive survival to an event of marked religious\nsignificance.  New ethical motives were attaching themselves to an old\ntendency and modifying it almost beyond recognition.  The sentiments\nand rituals built up around the ideas of sin and salvation were\nreflected into the next world and created the vision of a heaven and\nhell.  What a rich field this was for the mythopeic imagination to\nexploit!  And what an interesting sociological fact is it that the\nhuman imagination has always been more fertile in its descriptions of\nhell than in its descriptions of paradise!\n\nBut a few words ought to be said about the earlier conceptions of an\nafter-life.  Both the Greeks and the {140} Hebrews thought of the\nother-world as a joyless reflection of the present.  Death was, to all\nintents, the end of what really counted.  Those who deny that men can\nlive nobly without the hope of immortality forget that men like\nPericles were unaffected by that phantom dream.  Even the great Hebrew\nprophets extolled righteousness without the promise of a reward in the\nnext world.  What men have done, we can surely do again.  The Greek\nfather felt himself a member of a family whose traditions and loyalties\nhe wished to hand on intact.  For himself, he desired only the\ncustomary funeral rites so that his shade might rest in peace.  In the\nhouse of Hades dwell the senseless dead, the phantoms of men outworn.\nThe answer of Achilles to Ulysses, when that wanderer visits him in the\nunderworld, expresses this shadowy after-life admirably: \"Nay, speak\nnot comfortably to me of death, oh great Ulysses.  Rather would I live\non ground as the hireling of another, with a landless man who had no\ngreat livelihood, then bear sway among all the dead that be departed.\"\nThe Homeric Greeks rejoiced in life like youths whom everything\npleases.  The shadowy realm of Hades was felt to be a mockery of the\nsunlit world.  The history of the belief in an after-life among the\nHebrews is very similar.  Yet it is surprising to notice how few remark\nthe paucity of reference to this idea in the Old Testament.  In the\nbook of Isaiah occurs that account of Sheol to which attention was\ncalled in an earlier chapter: \"Sheol from beneath is moved for thee to\nmeet thee at this coming....  All they shall answer and say unto thee,\nArt thou become weak as we?\"  The passage is a tremendous one, full of\nthe most biting irony and vindictive hatred.  This {141} conception of\nSheol evidently scarcely differs from the corresponding one of the\nHomeric Greek.  Toward the Christian era, as a result of the\ninfiltration of the beliefs current among surrounding peoples, the idea\nof a future life took hold of the Jews.  The Pharisees, the popular\nparty of the day, stressed the dogma, while the Sadducees, the\nAristocratic party, denied it.\n\nEarly religion was largely a state affair, for it concerned itself with\nthe safety of the social group; but it was rapidly becoming an\nengrossing concern for the individual.  The religious imagination was\nbusily painting another world and connecting it with the relations of\nthe individual to divine powers.  Given the religious view of the\nworld, what an instrument of appeal and of dread this conception of\nimmortality was!  The shadow and sunshine of another world lay athwart\nthis one.  Endless vistas of pain and pleasure stretched into the\nfuture.  No wonder that the true means of salvation became the burning\nquestion!  From the beginning, Christianity emphasized the fact of\nanother world and its terrific meaning for the soul of man, adopting as\nan inheritance the current views with regard to a Messianic kingdom and\na place of torment.  Paul even goes so far as to proclaim the cynical\nalternative: \"If the dead are not raised, let us eat and drink, for\nto-morrow we die.\"\n\nThe ideas of immortality and salvation were the central features of the\ngreat religious revival which swept over the Roman Empire about the\ntime of the rise of Christianity.  The desire for personal safety in\nthis world and the next moved men.  Fear and hope worked together; fear\nof the terrors awaiting the soul after death, hope of a happy existence\nin some paradise.  {142} That early Christianity owed much of its\nsuccess to its doctrines of final things cannot be denied.  It was a\nperiod of astrology, theosophy, mysticism, cults of saviors,\neschatologies.  Few were able to keep their heads above this tide of\noracular mythology and superstition.  What moorings did they have?\nNone of that tested knowledge of the physical world which we possess,\nand which keeps numbers of people fairly sane to-day in spite of\nthemselves.  When we recall the terror at Salem a few centuries ago, we\nmust admit that these Greeks, and Romans, and Jews, and Syrians did not\nconduct themselves so badly in the demon-ridden world in which they\nlived.  Yet, while it would be unfair to blame those who embraced the\nvarious cults, it would be equally unfair not to give praise to those\nfew enlightened souls who would approve none of these things.\n\nUp to the present, the doctrine of immortality has been an essential\npart of Christianity.  The creeds which have come down to us proclaim\nthe faith that Christ Jesus will appear again to judge the quick and\nthe dead.  To the average man, religion is absolutely committed to such\na belief.  It has gone hand in hand with the idea of retribution and\nreward until the two have grown together.  It is not strange, then,\nthat the suspicion that immortality is not justified by physiological\nand psychological facts is felt to have a grave bearing upon religion.\nTo the vast majority, religion without immortality is like _Hamlet_\nwith Hamlet left out.  Remove the faith in a special providence,\nlikewise, and the edifice around which many religious emotions and\nvalues have entwined themselves is no more than a ruin.\n\nBut the idea of a soul always accompanies the belief {143} in\nimmortality.  The experiences which led to the one notion naturally\nencouraged the other.  If the soul can leave the body, it is obviously\nindependent, in large measure, of the latter's fate.  Let us glance at\nsome of the experiences whose false interpretation is at the foundation\nof a belief in an immortal soul inhabiting the body for a little space.\n\nIt is surprising what an influence was exercised by dreams.  We have so\ncompletely outgrown this uncritical attitude toward them that it takes\nsome effort to realize how natural it was.  For the educated man of\nto-day, dreams are subjective experiences, that is, experiences which\ndo not contain information about what is happening in the external\nworld.  In the jargon of psychology, they are centrally aroused ideas\nplaying about some organic stimulus or some repressed wish.  But the\nsavage knew nothing about such distinctions.  The dead appeared to the\nliving and talked with them.  Patroclus stands before Achilles and\nchides him.  Do not the dead, then, have some sort of life?  Many\npsychological motives combined to convince primitive man of at least a\nshadowy existence after death.  But there was another side to the\ndream-life.  The living went on long journeys, doing strange things,\nwhile their bodies rested in the tent.  Added to these suggestions, so\nnaturally lending themselves to a spiritistic interpretation, were\nstill others.  Certain kinds of sickness are explained by means of the\nidea of possession.  Invisible agents are at work in the world.  What\ncan a trance be if not the temporary absence of just such an agent?\n\"Among the Kayans of Borneo, for example, it is the custom for an\nelderly person learned in such matters to sit beside the corpse, where\nthe soul is {144} supposed to hover for some days after death, and to\nimpart to the latter minute directions for its journey to the land of\nthe dead.\"  We are in the presence, here, of natural illusions, of\nhypotheses which inevitably arose.  Man's first guesses were mistakes.\nThe whole history of science drives this fact home.\n\nThe various opinions men have built up around the idea of a soul are\ninstructive.  How gravely men have written about such hidden things!\nOnly very slowly have they learned to separate an experience from its\ninterpretation, and to seek a wide range of facts before erecting even\nan hypothesis.  To explain by means of _agents_, visible and invisible,\nis the plausible method to which man always resorts first.  It is only\nwhen he becomes more sophisticated that he thinks in terms of\n_processes_.  The following examples of divergent opinion upon the\nsoul, gathered by an able French author, show the vagueness of the idea:\n\nOrigen, the Alexandrian theologian: \"The soul is material and has a\ndefinite shape.\"\n\nSt. Augustine: \"The soul is incorporeal and immortal.\"\n\nA Polynesian: \"The soul is a breath, and when I saw that I was on the\npoint of expiring, I pinched my nose in order to retain my soul in my\nbody.  But I did not grasp it tightly enough--and I am dead.\"\n\nAlbertus Magnus: \"There are thirty arguments against the immortality of\nthe soul and thirty-six for, which is a majority of six arguments in\nfavor of the affirmative.\"\n\nRabbi Maimonides: \"It is written: 'The wicked will be destroyed and\nthere will not rest anything of him.'\"\n\n{145}\n\nEcclesiastes: \"Men die as the beasts and their fate is the same.  They\nhave all one breath.\"\n\nThe soul was at first conceived in very material ways.  The idealistic\nmovement in Greek philosophy is responsible for the concept of an\n_immaterial substance_.  \"Under the influence of mystical, religious\nmotives the soul becomes more and more non-spatial and intangible.  The\nwords used are negative and abstract.  It is generally supposed that\nPlotinus was the first to describe the soul as an immaterial substance.\nBut this immaterial substance must somehow be brought into relation\nwith the physical body.\"  It was this situation which gave rise to the\nsoul-body problem in philosophy, a problem which has gradually changed\ninto the mind-body problem.  This transformation of the puzzle is\nsignificant.  The very terms have changed and have become more concrete\nand empirical.  A quotation from William James--a man who had no bias\nagainst theology--will bring out the essential reasons for this\nsignificant change of terms: \"Yet it is not for idle or fantastical\nreasons that the notion of the substantial soul, so freely used by\ncommon men and the more popular philosophies, has fallen upon such evil\ndays, and has no prestige in the eyes of critical thinkers.  It only\nshares the fate of other unrepresentable substances and principles.\nThey are without exception all so barren that to sincere inquirers they\nappear as little more than names masquerading.\"\n\nI am inclined to believe that, to most people, to-day, the soul means\nno more than the personality, and the conviction that this cannot be\nreduced to the body.  It stands for consciousness and character as\nsomehow rooted in something permanent.  Plato's idea of the {146} soul\nas a simple, indestructible substance awakens hardly an echo in their\nminds--and why should it?  Something which guarantees and makes\npossible the continued existence of their conscious self after the\ndeath of the body is the association which is uppermost.  Educated\npeople, at least, have outgrown the ghost-soul of primitive times and\nhave put their hope in the inability of the philosophic scientist to\nexplain life and consciousness without appeal to agencies which are\ninexplicable on naturalistic terms.  But it is obvious that such a\nbasis is overhung by an ever-threatening danger.  If the mind-body\nproblem were solved in a concrete, empirical way, what then?\n\nIt has been customary to examine the question of immortality from three\nangles which may be called, respectively, the empirical, the ethical\nand the philosophical.  The more recent drift of philosophy toward\nrealism has tended to bring the first and the third methods of approach\ncloser together.  It has increasingly been felt that philosophy\ncoöperates with the special sciences and is inseparable from them.  The\nethical argument in favor of immortality is oftener found in poetry\nthan in serious books on ethics.  It cannot be said to have sufficient\nforce to swing the balance established by science and a realistic\nphilosophy in touch with science.\n\nThe empirical status of immortality can best be brought out by a glance\nat the facts of abnormal psychology.  In olden days, as we have seen,\ninsanity was explained as the disturbing effect of a demon.  To-day,\nexperiment and careful observation have proven that it is due to a\nfunctional disorder of the brain.  That, whenever there is a disorder\nof the mind, there {147} is some corresponding anatomical or\nphysiological flaw in the brain has become a commonplace of modern\nmedicine and psychology.  In fact, insanity is defined as a \"symptom of\ndisease of the brain inducing disordered mental symptoms.\"  A multitude\nof experiences point to the very intimate connection between the brain\nand consciousness.  Careful observation of clinical cases has, for\nexample, shown that a lesion in the visual center of the brain, that\nis, the part of the brain to which the fibers of the optic nerve run,\ninduces the disappearance of both sight and visual imagery.  Psychology\nand physiology have been busily engaged in discovering these\ncorrelations.  So extended are they that the suggestion that\nconsciousness is inseparable from the brain forces itself home ever\nmore obstinately.  Mental capacity runs parallel with the finer\ndevelopment of the brain.  Is not, therefore, the very meaning of\nmental capacity connected with the needs and activities of the\norganism?  But the case is still stronger when we note what happens to\nan individual when something goes wrong with the brain.  Can this poor\nlunatic, who has dropped from the high level of educated manhood to a\ncondition more helpless than that of an animal, just because of a\nrelatively slight disintegration of the cortex, be expected to recover\nhis intellect by means of its total disintegration?  Can it be denied\nthat the burden of proof rests on those who assert immortality?\n\nThe so-called ethical argument for immortality is associated with the\nname of Immanuel Kant.  Kant's philosophy was agnostic, and it was this\nagnosticism which made his use of the ethical argument possible.  If\nyou can't make any assured theoretical statement {148} about the nature\nof the self, you can allow demands, which you regard as ethical and\nprimary, to dictate your ultimate beliefs.  It cannot be denied that\nKant's argument savors of the popular notion that the virtuous must be\nrewarded.  At its highest, the ethical argument signifies a demand for\na future life in order to carry out that development of character which\nthe brief span of earthly life is not equal to.  It is this argument\nwhich runs through Browning.  What shall we say of it?\n\nThere are both factual and theoretical objections to the ethical\nargument for immortality.  The more we know about habit, the more we\nrealize that character is pretty well \"set\" by middle life.  The\ncreative period of human life ends all too soon.  Character is not an\nabstract possession separable from human tasks and needs.  It is not\nlike a work of art which can be polished and re-polished.  But, when\nall is said and done, ethics must abide by the facts of the case.  Take\ncharacter abstractly enough and apart from its human and organic\nsetting, and the dream of continuous perfecting may have meaning; but\nso would the dream of continuous intellectual advance.  Yet the scholar\nknows all too well the judgment passed by the coming generation upon\nthe older one: \"They can't adjust themselves to this new point of\nview.\"  Would progress come if the generations did not pass?\n\nThe philosophical aspect of the question can be touched upon only\nbriefly and in an untechnical way.  The basic problem may be put in\nthis way: Can human personality be included in nature in a\ntheoretically satisfactory way?  It has been customary to stress the\ndifficulties which confront such an attempt {149} and to be silent in\nregard to the problems which the separation of body and personality has\nalways found facing it.  Yet I think that few philosophers would deny\nthat it is the very irrationality of the traditional dualism which\nmakes a living monism of mind and body so desirable and so urgently\nsought after.\n\nThere is good reason to believe that the persistence of the mind-body\npuzzle has been due to two conditions, the lack of an adequate theory\nof knowledge, and an ultra-mechanical, or non-evolutionary, view of the\nphysical world.  Scientists and philosophers, alike, were possessed by\nan inertia which prevented them from taking the principle of evolution\nseriously.  They refused to readjust their ideas so as to admit that\norganization of a high grade, such as characterizes the nervous system,\nhas a synthetic way of acting of its own, not reducible to the mere\nchain-like action of externally related units.  There are many signs\npointing to the conclusion that a broader and more flexible naturalism\nis forming which will sweep away the artificial problems and\nstereotyped contrasts which have stood in the way of a candid inclusion\nof human thought and activity within nature.  When that day comes, the\nhesitations which have encouraged the faith in immortality in the face\nof empirical difficulties of an ever-increasing weight will pass away.\nI am inclined to prophesy that psychology and physiology will reach an\nadjustment of their principles before many years have passed, and that\nconsciousness and mind will take their places along with mass and\nenergy in the scientific view of nature.  The old dualism of soul and\nbody will pass away and give place to a flexible naturalism.\n\nThe belief in immortality and the wish for it will die {150} out very\nslowly.  The vague appetite for another life will persist as an\nundercurrent of half-understood desire for a good whose nature has not\nbeen clearly thought out.  What men really want is an eternal youth in\nan environment which gives opportunity for self-expression and pleasant\ncompanionship.  It means rest to the weary, new horizons to those who\nwish to achieve, a release from fetters to those who have felt\nthemselves oppressed.  What a quiet charm there is in such an\nuncritical play of the fancy!  But is it anything more than\ndaydreaming?  Can our musings become definite without revealing\nthemselves as fancies?  Alas! our souls are old and written upon, and\nwe would no longer be the same were these marks removed.  They have a\nmeaning for us and we cannot wish them away.  If, for a forgetful\nmoment, we envy the smooth cheeks of a youth, the envy is but\nmomentary.  What we desire is his abundant energy and hopefulness with\nour own humorous and wiser self in command.  How completely we are\nparts of life as it is lived upon this planet!  Desires, affections,\npassions, ideas, habits, all, when analyzed, point to the human\norganism and its environment.  Our personality is like a plant which\ndraws its nourishment from what surrounds it.  Remove the old peasant\nfrom his fields and plow-fellows, and he will lose interest in life.\nRemove the business man from the mart and counter, and he will become\nrestless.  How can we expect to revive a zest in life by cutting the\ngrown personality loose from what it has fed upon?  It is\npsychologically absurd and betrays that tendency to abstract thinking\nwhich is so widespread.  The human personality is a function of this\nsub-lunar life, of this organism, of this sky, of this {151} soil, of\nthis restless struggle with nature.  Immortality is an impossible\nsurgery.\n\nAt certain stages of social development, false beliefs are simply\ninevitable.  For example, the Ptolemaic view of the solar system was\nbound to precede the Copernican.  And false beliefs do both good and\nharm before they are outgrown.  How many of the down-trodden have\nlooked to another world to right their wrongs!  It gave them hope: but\nit made them passive and all too meek.  Has not the idea of another\nlife encouraged a false perspective in regard to this one?  I cannot\nfeel that the belief was ever a very healthy one for the human race.\nYet, during the coming period of transition, many who have been trained\nto hold false expectations will experience grievous pain.  People who\nbecome used to a narcotic recoil from the idea of giving it up.  Their\nnervous system has been taught to depend upon it.  Is there not\nsomething parallel to this in ethics?  Religious romanticism is a\nspiritual narcotic which substitutes a dream world for the more humdrum\nworld of every-day existence.  It develops a taste for the meretricious\nand sentimental.  In revenge, the enthusiast fails to achieve insight\ninto the significance of common things.  Life's real tragedies and\ntriumphs are veiled from his untrained eye.  Only a whole-hearted, even\njoyous, immersion in the sea of struggling human life gives the\nimagination that iron vigor it needs.  The greatest saints have talked\nthe least of heaven.\n\n      \"Born into life!--who lists\n      May what is false hold dear,\n      And for himself make mists\n      Through which to see less clear;\n  The world is what it is, for all our dust and din.\n\n{152}\n\n      \"Is it so small a thing\n      To have enjoy'd the sun,\n      To have lived light in the spring,\n      To have loved, to have thought, to have done;\n  To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes--\"\n\n\nLet those who can meet life bravely and joyously.  The stage has been\nplanned by no master artist, and the actors are only amateurs compelled\nto improvise their parts; but the sunlight is sometimes golden and the\nspoken lines often surprise us with their beauty.  What critic can pass\nassured judgment upon this continuous play?\n\n\n\n\n{153}\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE PROBLEM OF EVIL\n\nIt is noteworthy that there has never been a problem of good, but\nalways a problem of evil.  Man takes the good in his life for granted,\nwhile he bewails the presence of evil in all its forms.  The Greeks had\nthe myth of Pandora's box to account for the sorrows and ills which\nafflict the human race; the Hebrews told of the Fall of man from his\noriginal state of bliss to a life of toil and sin through the weakness\nof our first parents and the wiles of the Serpent; the Scandinavians\nsang of Loki, the Spirit of Deception, whose artful malice led to the\ndeath of Balder, the Beautiful.  And Christianity has been accustomed\nto connect evil with a personal devil \"who rushes about like a roaring\nlion seeking whom he may devour.\"  At his door, popular thought has\nlain those temptations and backslidings that bewilder poor humanity.\nEven the more physical evils, such as famine, sickness and bodily\ninjury, have been ascribed to his agency.\n\nIs it necessary to say that primitive man thought of all evils as due\nto mysterious potencies which surrounded him on every hand?  His ritual\nof purification corresponds to the signs which now surround electrical\nmachinery.  Irrational as many of these taboos were, they yet implied\nthat the actual world was a strange mixture of favorable and\nunfavorable potencies to {154} which man had to adapt himself.  \"To the\nprimitive mind nothing was more uncanny than blood, and there are\npeople still who faint at the sight of it: for 'the blood is the life,'\nlife and death are the great primeval mysteries, and all the physical\nsubstances that are associated with the inner principle of either\npartake of this mysteriousness.\"  This early idea of a miasmic\ncontagion slowly unites itself with the belief in demons, as animistic\nreligion evolves.  Bad demons work havoc, while favorable spirits bring\nblessings to the needy worshiper.\n\nBut, as religion developed a more distinctly ethical and personal\ncharacter, the existence of evil in the world became a problem.  In the\nearly days, it was not so much a problem as a fact.  But a Jew who\nbelieved that Yahweh controlled everything that occurred in the Kingdom\nhad to account for personal and social disasters in a rational way.\nWhat was more natural than the hypothesis that those whom disasters\novertook had been guilty of some secret wrong?  And it was this point\nof view which was adopted.  The Book of Job represents the puzzled\nreflection of a late period over the difficulty of squaring the\nhypothesis with the facts.  And, so far as I can see, the puzzle is\nhandled as well as it could be within the accepted setting.  The whole\ntreatment is deductive rather than inductive.  Assume an omnipotent,\nomniscient and ethically perfect deity, and it follows that, when facts\ndo not square with your sense of justice, you must either suspect the\nindividual of secret sins or proclaim that God's ways are past finding\nout.  In other words, the search for a theodicy leads to agnosticism.\nSince you don't really know anything about the world, one hypothesis is\nas good as {155} another.  But agnosticism is a cheap way of\nestablishing a position, and is likely to suggest to the reflective\nthat the whole setting of theodicy is at fault.  If the religious view\nof the world leads to this _impasse_, may it not be better to take a\nmore inductive way of approach to what we call evil?  May not reality\nbe of such a character that evil is as natural as good?\n\nWhen we glance a little more closely at the Christian tradition, we\nfind that the popular answer to the problem of evil is by no means\nunambiguous.  To explain the existence of evil by the agency of the\ndevil (Satan, Ahriman) is a straightforward answer, quite in accordance\nwith the appeal to personal agency so characteristic of religion, but\nit does not harmonize with the ethical monotheism which Christianity\ninherited.  The query will not down, Why does this omnipotent and\nethically perfect deity permit such a being to exist to work havoc\namongst his children?  Even upon a casual examination, it becomes\nevident that there are many strands of tradition and doctrine in\nChristianity.  There is the classic monotheism of the prophets, and the\nmore polytheistic tendencies of later times, a contrast parallel to the\nsanity of classic Greece as compared with the flabbiness of Hellenistic\ntimes.\n\nIn the New Testament, itself, there are many evidences of the\nacceptance of a dualistic view of the world.  Satan is the Prince of\nthis World.  We have already pointed out that the writers of the\ngospels think of Jesus as casting out demons which have infested the\nbodies of men and women and made them sick.  Yet, strange to say, we\nare told that not a sparrow falls to the ground without God's consent.\n\nThis dualistic strand of thinking dominated during {156} the Middle\nAges.  The world is given over to the devil for him to work his will\nupon it.  Here we have both a cause and an effect of the pessimism of\nthe times.  For the early Christians, society was corrupt and filled\nwith abominations; the only sure way to achieve salvation was to flee\nfrom its lure to deserts and monasteries, there to purge the soul of\nfleshly desires.  No one has painted the situation more keenly and\nunflinchingly than Anatole France in _Thais_.  Humanity was sick.  A\nstrong wave of asceticism spread from the East to the West and carried\nwith it doctrines based on the metaphysical extension of the contrast\nbetween light and darkness, good and evil.  Matter is evil in its very\nnature and leagues itself with those instincts in the soul which come\nfrom its contamination with flesh.  The taint of original sin is\ndeepened by the grossness of the material out of which man's earthly\ntabernacle is made.  The body with its passions plays double traitor to\nthe soul.  Only by prayer, purification, fasting, and the grace of God\ncan the son of corruption save his soul alive for the heavenly kingdom\namong the stars.\n\nThe number of mythical elements woven into this ascetic dualism is\nstriking.  Woman was the temptress most to be feared; the daughters of\nEve were considered the most powerful instruments Satan had at his\ncommand.  It was even debated whether she had a soul.  It was even\nwhispered that a woman guarded the gates of Hell.  Again, Satan was\npictured as a demon leading the unwary astray by the desires of this\nworld.  Ethics was an affair of external fighting for the souls of men.\nThe whole setting was mythical and supernaturalistic and full of\npicture-thinking.\n\n{157}\n\nWe have already referred to the doctrine of original sin.  This\ndoctrine was taken up by St. Augustine who had been a Manichean.\nPauline theology, Augustinianism, and Manicheism have much in common.\nThey are all instances of what may be called mythological metaphysics.\nThe dogma is, that, left to his own devices, man tends to take the path\nof sin.  He is, moreover, alienated from God, who, because of his\nperfection, cannot condone imperfection and demands an atonement which\ncannot be made by man himself.  Hence, the need arises for a savior to\nmediate between man and God.  What a construction is this in which\nmyth, rabbinical theology and pagan dualistic cosmologies are drawn\ntogether to furnish the setting for a juridical drama!  How can those\nwho accept the teaching of modern science and realize the more\nsubjective and personal spirit of modern ethics conserve any portion of\nthis strange creation of past ages?  The idea of evolution, as applied\nto both nature and man, undermines the whole fantastic drama.  Man has\narisen painfully from a brutish condition, instead of falling from a\nperfect state.  The contrast between flesh and spirit can no longer be\ntaken literally as corresponding to a sort of physical division of the\nuniverse into spheres of good and evil which can have no commerce with\none another.  This is ethical poetry which is not sufficiently aware\nthat it is poetry.  Instead of seeking to re-interpret the belief in an\nexternal, sacrificial savior, mediating between God and man in vague,\nmystically symbolic language which suggests a depth it does not\npossess, the sensible thing is to drop the whole outlook frankly, as\noutgrown, and as having essentially lost its meaning.  We saw that\nJesus, himself, would probably {158} not have comprehended its\nintricacies, and certainly would not have accepted it as true of his\nown mission.  Instead, it represents the theosophic speculations of the\nAncient World.  So long as the thinker toys with these imaginative\nspeculations which have no direct foundation in the knowledge and\nexperience of to-day, so long will he live in a mental fog unable to\nsee the really pressing social and ethical problems of the present.\n\nWhen we once shake ourselves loose from these mythical, gnostic and\nrabbinical ideas, with their legal and poetical conceptions of ethics,\nand their naïve picture of the world as the seat of ethical forces\nstruggling in a physical way against one another; when we once realize\nthat it is meaningless to apply ethical distinctions to matter, we are\nled to press past these Hellenistic accretions to the simpler and\nnobler traditions which Christianity inherited from Jesus and the\ngreater Hebrew prophets.  Here, if anywhere, religion is in a position\nto solve the problem of evil.  There are passages in the New Testament\nwhich breathe the same faith as that held by Deutero-Isaiah, a sort of\nsublime religious optimism or will to believe.  For the Hebrew prophet\nof the exile, God is the creator and righteous ruler of the earth.  \"I\nam the Lord and there is none else.  I form the light and create\ndarkness; I make peace and _create evil_; I am the Lord that doeth all\nthese things.\"  Such is monotheism of the creationalistic type in all\nits vigor and challenging fervor.  Yet the prophet speaks and thinks in\nterms of world-movements and the fate of nations, and his thoughts\nscarcely drop from this vast setting to consider the fates of\nindividuals.  We should note further the absence of the poly-demonism\n{159} of later Judaism and the evident impatience with the ancient\nmyths and the belief in a Satan or Spirit of Evil.  Had Christianity\ntaken its departure from this high altitude, it would have been more\ntruly monotheistic, but it would not have been the child of its age,\nand would not have been assimilated by the Mediterranean peoples.  Let\nus examine the implications of this bolder and simpler faith.\n\nThere can be little doubt that the position adopted by the second\nIsaiah is the logical terminus of monotheism.  If God be omnipotent, he\nmust be responsible for all the evil in the world as well as for the\ngood.  In other words, this must be the best of all possible worlds.\nHe who is a king, and not a marionette, cannot beg off from the duties\nof his station.  To introduce Sin as a sort of hellish entity, as did\nSaint Augustine, is to mar our conception of deity.  We no longer have\nthat old Roman's courtier-like sycophancy, nor his nonchalance when\nothers are condemned by divine caprice to the eternal flames.  What was\nto him a means of manifesting God's greater glory is to us a crime\nwhich would sully our ideal of goodness.  The educated world of to-day\nhas at least come up to the level of the peasant-poet's indictment of\nthe Calvinism of two centuries ago.\n\nChristianity is on the horns of a terrible dilemma.  It has long\nwavered between the bold attitude of Isaiah, softened by such devices\nas apologetic ingenuity could invent, and the mythological dualism\ncurrent at the time of its birth.  God must be totally responsible for\nall physical evils, at least; or else he must be thwarted by something\nindependent of himself, whether this be an evil spirit or matter.  Now\nscholars have pointed out that the idea of a prolonged conflict between\na {160} good and an evil power was characteristic of the Persian\nreligion, and that this view tinged later Judaism and passed over into\nChristianity.  Here it was met and reënforced by Neo-Platonism in the\nform usually called Gnosticism and Manicheism.  At present, the tide\nhas turned in favor of monotheism and against the coexistence of an\nevil power.  We are inclined to smile at a personal devil, perhaps\nbecause superstition has made him humorous, perhaps because we know\nbetter the seat and cause of what we call evil.  Science has helped to\ndo away with the devil; but, in so doing, has it not also undermined\nthe idea of Providence?  Must not the same arrow transfix an effective\nGod that does away with an effective Devil?\n\nThe God of the past was a realistic God; he counted for everything in\nthe governance of the universe.  The God of modern theology is fast\nbecoming an ideal of personality.  When God is thought of as a\ntender-hearted and perfect gentleman, the question of evil takes the\nfollowing form: Can we harmonize this conception with the facts of\nlife?  _Is God an agent or an ideal_?  We must bear in mind the fact\nthat God is an hypothesis characteristic of the religious view of the\nworld, and that, like every other hypothesis, it should help to explain\nthe facts to which it is relevant.  But does it do this?  Is it\nfruitful?\n\nI am free to confess that theodicies of all sorts strike me as proofs\nof the inapplicability of the religious view of the world.  Yet immense\ndialectical ability has been displayed in the tireless search for some\nsatisfactory theory of God's relation to the universe.  A glance at\nthese theories reveals the working of the time-spirit.  When man is\nharsh, his god is harsh and cruel.  When {161} man is tender, his god\nis benevolent.  And this correspondence does not complete the story.\nIn past ages, the political organization was autocratic and unyielding.\nThe subjects of the monarch did not dream of questioning the justice of\nhis rule.  It was not right for common men to think of such matters; it\nwas out of their sphere of control and understanding.  Besides, is not\nmight the sanction of right?  During these monarchial periods, God was\nthought of as a heavenly king whose power and glory and dominion was\nwithout end.  This correspondence between the political organization\nand the theological picture betrays the sociological side of theology.\nAll of man's ideas are human ideas, and so his idea of his God and the\nvery personality and moral outlook of that God reflect the social\nstandards which are in force around the individual.  If human justice\nis cruel, God's justice is strict and unyielding.  What could be more\nnatural than this parallelism?  But as punitive justice yields to ideas\nof mercy and sympathy, a change comes over man's conception of this\nheavenly replica of his own sentiments and institutions.  Irrational\npunishment with its brutal terrors gives way to thoughts of\nlovingkindness.\n\nBut it is this very evolution of human morality which brings out the\nproblem of evil in all its distinctness.  Yahweh could command whole\ntribes to be slaughtered, and no one felt the least religious\ndiscomfort.  But the man of to-day, when he allows himself to think,\nrevolts against such heartlessness.  God must be at least as merciful\nas man--and man would not do these things.  Yet our experience tells us\nthat pain and disaster are everywhere rampant in the world.  How is it\nthat an omnipotent and noble God permits these {162} things to be?  The\nline of reasoning which leads to the demand for a theodicy is simple\nand direct.  God is a moral agent who has this peculiarity, that he can\ndo what he wills and is therefore responsible for all that happens.\nBut tragic things happen.  Why did he permit them?\n\nThe various formulations of God's relation to the world turn about this\nproblem.  The inherent possibilities are few in number and are soon\ngrasped and developed.  If God is a limited deity, then evil can be\nassigned to something else.  If God is unlimited, then whatever is, is\nsomehow right.  Let us glance at typical developments of these two main\nlines of approach.\n\nMr. H. G. Wells has recently startled the general public by his\nadvocacy of a struggling deity.  It is not in accordance with Christian\ntradition, he admits, but it is truer to the facts as we know them.\nBut he might well have told the public that this view of his was not a\nnew one.  Long before the Christian era, the Zoroastrian Persians held\njust such a theory of a struggling deity combating the evil\nmachinations of Ahriman.  The faithful were exhorted to do all in their\npower to assist Ahura Mazda in his stern fight with darkness and\ncontamination.  This dualistic view found its way West and appears in\nManicheism.  It may not be well known, but it was this Manichean\nconception of the world that Saint Augustine gave up at his conversion\nto Christianity.  Again and again, it found its way to the surface of\nWestern society.  Who has not heard of the Cathars or Albigenses of the\nMiddle Ages?  These people were believers in a struggling deity engaged\nwith the powers of evil.  Some of them identified the Jehovah of the\nOld Testament with this cruel {163} and malignant spirit.  In so doing,\nthey showed an absence of all historical perspective, but, also, a keen\nethical judgment.  This tribal god of the early Jews did not harmonize\nwith their ideals of goodness and mercy.  While theirs was a darker and\nmore superstitious outlook than an educated man of to-day would adopt,\nthe logical basis of the system is essentially the same as the one\nwhich seems to be rising to the surface in our own times as a revolt\nagainst the smugness of traditional Christianity.  The atmosphere of\nreligion was more somber in the past; and these Cathars would have been\nshocked by the fine, careless rapture of the modern novelist; but they\nwould have recognized that his view was akin to their own.\n\nIt may not be amiss to mention the fact that John Stuart Mill, the\nfamous English philosopher of the middle of the nineteenth century,\nsuggested that it would be truer to the experience of human beings to\nassume a God limited in power, though perfect in other respects.  It is\nimpossible, he thought, to harmonize the attributes of omnipotence and\ngoodness in a divine agent, with the world as it is.  This protest\nagainst the high, deductive faith of Christian monotheism was due to\nMill's frank empiricism.  Life must speak for itself, he held; it must\njustify hypotheses by their agreement with it.  The traditional\nChristian method has been too dictatorial and too little inductive.  It\nhas started from a set of dogmas in regard to God and spun out their\nconsequences, refusing to qualify these dogmas when the consequences\ndid not fit the tragic character of life.\n\nThe treatment of the second logical possibility is familiar ground.\nChristian ethical monotheism followed {164} Hebrew religious thought in\nits essentials.  God is held to be an omnipotent agent who is also\nmorally perfect.  Theology knows two forms of this dogma, the\nCalvinistic or Augustinian, and the Arminian.  Calvinism stands flatly\non the thesis that God is just and that, therefore, what is done is\njust.  Within this setting with its easy appeal to ignorance, it makes\nlittle difference whether events are right because God does them or\nwhether God does them because they are right.  Arminianism turns out,\nwhen examined, to be largely an attempt to soften the absolutism of\nCalvinism along certain lines.  But these endless and, in the main,\nsterile theological controversies reveal the artificiality of the\ndogmas within which they are carried on.  They are, when all is said,\nonly ingenious modifications and redressings of the primary assumptions\nof the religious view of the world.  I challenge any one to develop a\nreally tenable system of theology, a system which is self-consistent\nand relevant to the world as we know it.  I am certain that it cannot\nbe done.  As a student of ethics, my growing conviction has for some\ntime been that these traditional controversies and modes of approach to\nhuman life are barren and irrelevant, because they cast absolutely no\nlight upon human problems, social or personal.  Modern ethics and\ntheology have ceased to have any genuine commerce.  The one is in touch\nwith the sciences of biology, sociology, psychology and criminology;\nthe other, by its very nature, can gain nothing from these sciences.\nEthics is concrete and inductive.  Theology is abstract and deductive.\n\nI have not tried to state and criticize the numerous theodicies which\nman's restless intellect has constructed.  Mystics have taught that\nevil is an {165} illusion.  But illusions have a way of being very\nreal; and a derogatory term does not alter facts.  Idealists have\ndeclared that what we call evil only increases the divine harmony, as a\njudicious discord heightens the effect of symphonic combinations.  But\nthis æsthetic argument conflicts with moral relations.  Surely God\nwould not be so self-centered.  Thus there are weighty objections to\nall the ingenious and profound apologies for the course of events.  But\nwhy are such apologies felt to be necessary?  Simply and solely because\nevents are assumed to be under the control of an intelligent, moral\nagent.  Withdraw this assumption, and the problem vanishes.\n\nWhen we turn from the religious view of the world to the scientific and\nphilosophical, we are immediately impressed by the different\nperspective.  What were theoretical problems of the most absolute and\ninescapable kind cease to exist.  While the religious view of the world\nculminates in an attempted justification of the ways of God to man, the\nscientific studies the system of things as a given whole to which all\nquestions of justification are irrelevant.  The world is as it is, and\nthe category of responsibility is inapplicable.  Evil becomes a\npractical and relative problem.  There is no thought of trying to fix\nresponsibility upon some personal agent who could have done otherwise\nand did not.  Man is a part of nature, although a self-directive\norganism adapted more or less adequately to his environment.  And just\nbecause he is an organism, he must maintain himself in the face of\nattacks and fluctuating changes.  He is not able to claim exemption\nfrom the consequences of cataclysms, such as earthquakes and tornadoes,\nwhich result from the unstable balance of physical {166} energies.  He\nperishes in the same way that beasts and plants do, when his\nintelligence is not able to find a way of escape from a sudden danger.\nIn other words, physical evil is evil only because it hurts man, who\ndoes not want to be hurt.  From the objective standpoint, evil and good\ndiffer not a jot from one another.  They are both causal events\nbaptised by man in accordance with his sympathies and antipathies.\nEvents are good to him or bad to him; in themselves, they are neither\ngood nor bad.  Rain does not fall in summer in order to nourish the\nplants; instead, the plants are nourished and continue to exist because\nthe rain falls.  Once, it was hard for man to admit this impersonalism.\nHe wanted to find an objective purpose focusing upon his career.  But\nhe is at last beginning to realize that his will to live and create is\nthe source of all values.  Nature is a thing to be used for his own\ndesired ends.\n\nThere are no problems harder than false problems.  The great\nachievement is to see that they are false because they flow from a\nfalse assumption.  Remove this assumption, and the problem which\ntortured the greatest thinkers vanishes into thin air.  The problem of\nevil becomes the problem of lessening evil by conquering nature and\nrendering her subservient to man.  It is a problem of engineering, of\napplied chemistry, of preventive medicine, of social planning.  Man\nmust become the master of his destiny through the instrumentality of\nhis intelligence.  But what a different setting this presents from the\none in which primitive man existed!  Then man was needy and fearful and\nignorant and helpless.  Now he is wealthy, ingenious, sure of himself.\nIt is coming to be that man is less hurt by {167} physical agencies\nthan by himself.  He has freed himself from his environment; he must\nnow free himself from his own passions and hatreds.  He must love\nrighteousness and peace, and flee from dissension and all forms of\ninjustice.  The problem of evil has become a social problem.  It is the\ntask of amelioration by intelligent control.\n\nBut science, alone, will never be sufficient to meet the fact of evil.\nThe most optimistic believer in the possibilities of intelligent\nplanning and control does not deny that tragedies of all sorts will\nstill be only too common.  Let us hope that there will be less of\ntuberculosis, less of grinding poverty, less of avoidable accidents.\nBut will there be less of secret disappointment with life, less of\nwounded affection?  More will live happy and noble lives in the\nhealthier society which is within our power than was possible in the\npast; but there will be mal-adjustments of various kinds.  Individuals\nwill seek to control the lives of others, and this control will be\nresented; friends will fall out over fancied or real wrongs; lovers\nwill quarrel; misunderstandings will arise.  None of Shakespeare's\ngreat tragedies turn about sickness and natural calamities.  The\nmotives are social and personal in character, the quarrels of rival\nhouses, the senile pride of an old man, the ambition of princes, the\nadulterous love which leads to murder.  Men will need strength of\nspirit and broad sympathy to meet the situations which confront them.\nAnd many will fail hopelessly in the struggle, in the future as they\nhave in the past.  But, on the other hand, the rank and file will lead\nvigorous, active lives with a fair measure of those rewards of success\nand companionship which {168} sweeten endeavor.  What more is there to\nsay?  Life is a hazard, and men must take their risk bravely.  Courage\non the part of the actor will do much; sympathy on the part of those\nnear him will also do much; but risk there will be always.\n\n\n\n\n{169}\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nRELIGION AND ETHICS\n\nWhat was the exact relation between religion and morality in the past?\nDoes morality any longer need the sanctions and supernatural setting\nwhich helped to support it in other days?  These are questions of\nprimary importance whose discussion should throw light upon both\nreligion and human morality.  Have human values become self-supporting\nand self-justifying?  Do the decencies of life find sufficient ground\nin human nature for their continuance and increase?  Or is the rescuing\nhand of a supernatural grace necessary to prevent deterioration?  Such\nquestions are peculiarly proper to-day when ethics is seeking to build\nitself upon a broad study of human instincts.  Let us try to penetrate\nbelow the surface of the traditional contrasts between flesh and\nspirit--contrasts which hindered rather than furthered clear\nanalysis--and note the actual basis of the spiritual life in man.  In\norder to do so, we must read human nature as it manifests itself in\norganized society, sanely and calmly, expecting neither too much nor\ntoo little, and not being intimidated by the assertions of men who have\nbuilt their lives around the traditional theological outlook.  Those\nwho have learned to lean upon a crutch or who have cast their spiritual\nexperiences in a certain mold naturally feel at a loss when this is\nthreatened.  This is to put it too {170} mildly, perhaps, for the\n_odium theologicum_ has a reputation which cannot be all unearned.\nYet, comprehensible as the protest of the conservative is, it must be\nviewed in the light of the psychological habits which it expresses.  It\nmay well be that new times and new points of view will bring new habits\nand new molds for spiritual experience.  It may well be that the\ntraditional religious sanctions will gradually lose their meaning in\nthe new generation, born into a more social, humane and scientific\natmosphere.  Let us see what indications there are for this prediction.\n\nIn early times, religion was mainly a community affair.  The tribe or\nstate had its gods who protected it against its enemies in return for\nhomage and sacrifice.  The tribal god was inseparable from his\nworshipers.  A god without a nation was almost as badly off as a nation\nwithout a divine protector.  As members of the community, the\nindividuals, separately and collectively, were required to perform\nestablished ceremonies which were pleasing in the eyes of the gods, and\nto refrain from acting in ways displeasing to them.  Gods and men\nformed, as it were, one society; and so customs and rituals always\nreceived the fearful sanctions of these divine powers.  How naturally\nthis outlook developed can readily be understood.  And there can be\nlittle doubt that the double sanction of social group and divine\nwitnesses was of advantage in those early days when man was more\nimpulsive and less rational than he is to-day.  A crime was, at one and\nthe same time, a crime and a sin or act of impiety; and so close was\nthought to be the responsible connection of the individual and the\ngroup that the tribe was held to be in danger because of the deeds of\nits members.  {171} The gods were living agents quick to anger and\nready to punish in the direst ways.  Warned by this knowledge of the\njealousy of the gods, the fellow tribesmen hastened to punish the\noffender in order to ward off the divine anger.  Thus the sanctions\nenforcing the customs were both social and religious.\n\nThis situation had its bad side as well as its good.  While it helped\nto enforce the tribal laws by means of the awe of the divine witness\nwho could not be escaped, it tended to merge valuable with trivial\nthings.  Society was quite irrational as yet, and was as likely to\npunish the violation of accidental taboos as really serious attacks\nupon society.  It is a commonplace of history that religions have\nstressed ritual observances more than vital phases of conduct.  The\ngreater Hebrew prophets stand out just because of their emphasis upon\nhuman morality, upon justice and righteousness and love.  Amos and\nHosea are social reformers who conceive their national god as a god of\nrighteousness who will turn his face away from the doers of evil.  They\nthreaten their compatriots with his wrath if they continue in their\nevil ways.  \"Seek good, and not evil, that ye may live: and so the\nLord, the God of hosts, shall be with you, as ye say.  Hate the evil\nand love the good, and establish judgment in the gate.\"  Thus the\nsetting of religion was used as the leverage for an attempted ethical\nreformation, the exalted reformer conceiving himself as the mouthpiece\nof his god.  But the prophets were exceptions.  The priestly class, the\nclass that has always held closely to traditional ways of thinking,\nbrought the usual multitude of non-moral acts under this impressive\nsanction.\n\nThe struggle between priest and prophet, {172} traditionalist and\nethical reformer, took place within the religious view of the world,\nbut the conflict was, after all, a purely human process.  The prophets\nloved righteousness because they knew that it was good, because they\nfell repelled by unmerited poverty and by careless wealth, because they\nadmired the decencies of life.  They could not have given the\njustification of their sentiments as well as a theorist of to-day, but\nthey had these sentiments as keenly as to-day's prophet has them.  When\nwe read their wonderful discourses, we are thrilled by the depth and\nintensity of their ethical life.  But we are too apt to forget that the\nsocial situation in Palestine was the stimulus to their denunciations.\nThey were noble enough to feel that conditions were intolerable, and it\nwas not a far step to believe that Yahweh would not tolerate them.  A\nnoble man has always a noble god.  That is the reason why the god of\nAmos is noble.  The theological view reverses the true causal relation.\nMorality is always human morality, expressive of human nature and human\nconditions.  Man may assign his ideals to some superhuman source\nbecause he is convinced that this source has selected him as its\ninterpreter; but the fact that he has thought and judged in this moral\nway is indubitable, while his theory that Yahweh is speaking through\nhim is merely an expression of the religious view of the world common\nto the time.  When we stop a moment to think, we realize that Amos and\nHosea were certain to put their views under the sanction of their\nnational god.  Not to have done so would have been far stranger\npsychologically than the ideals which they championed.\n\nDid the prophetic claim that social justice was {173} sanctioned by\nYahweh help its advance?  Probably.  I see no reason to doubt that it\ndid somewhat--how much it is impossible to say.  So far as the claim\nwas accepted by the nation, it would assist the forces working for\nreform.  But religious sanctions are far more powerful when they are\nexplicit and detailed, as the history of Christianity has shown.  And\nwe must remember that the prophetic claims were not always accepted.\nReligion is usually conservative and more or less conventional.  The\nritual element plays a considerable part in religious morality.  It is\nas hard to change the people's ideas of God as it is to change their\nconceptions of justice and goodness.  For this reason, I am not\nconvinced that the religious sanction was of much advantage in the\nevolution of morality.  The old has even more of the use of the\nsanction than has the new.  Moral forces need to be vigorously based\nupon human nature and human relations if they are to dominate society\nand control the ethical standards which public opinion demands.  The\npresence of religious sanctions simply beclouds the real factors at\nwork.  Morality can never, in the long run, be something pressed upon\nman from outside; it must express his life and its needs.\n\nIt cannot be denied that supernatural sanctions have often been very\neffective for certain types of people in certain anarchic periods.  The\nrobber baron of the Middle Ages, credulous and superstitious, was\nrestrained at times by his fear of the penalties threatened by Mother\nChurch.  But so is a burglar by a pistol pointed at him, even if it is\nnot loaded.  In the past, a code of morality much in advance of the\ntimes has, no doubt, often been aided by religious sanctions.  But\n{174} it is foolish to base one's theories upon exceptional conditions.\nWe must remember that the situation confronted by the Christian\ntradition after the breakdown of the political and social life of the\nRoman Empire was abnormal.  A turbulent mass of barbarians faced the\nethics and theology of an overthrown civilization.  It cannot too often\nbe pointed out that this situation was unhealthy in many ways.  It is\nnot good for a people to have codes of morality thrust upon it from\noutside.  Especially is it bad when the code is in many ways untrue to\nhuman nature under normal conditions.  Ascetic, other-worldly\nChristianity distorted the impulses of mediæval man.  And it is certain\nthat religious sanctions, alone, enabled it to control society.\n\nWe have seen that religion and morality marched together as long as the\nevolution of the society was healthy and natural.  Often there was a\nstruggle over the ritual and mythical elements in religious morality;\nbut, as a rule, the civic type of morality gained the upper hand.\nReligious sanctions were called in because of the faith in divine\npowers interested in the welfare of the community, but these sanctions\nsoon ceased to be creative.  While the gods remained, these sanctions\nwould necessarily remain; yet they tended to become benevolent and\nsecondary.\n\nBut Christianity, by reason of the forces at work at the time of its\norigin, nourished vicious interpretations of morality.  The despair of\nhuman nature which we note in the writings of St. Paul tinged the\noutlook of Christian ethics.  Man is by nature evil; only the working\nin his soul of a supernatural grace can lead him to value the things\nwhich are pure and of good {175} repute.  This pessimism cannot be too\nsharply spurned.  Man is neither angel nor devil; he is just man.  And\nthe modern thinker is pretty well convinced that morality is a purely\nhuman affair growing out of the instinctive tendencies which man has\ninherited in the course of evolution as these find themselves in\nvarious situations.  Moral problems are meaningless apart from their\nsetting on this earth.  Man is moral because he can pass judgments upon\ncourses of behavior and decide what best conduces to his welfare.  He\nis moral because he can build up standards of social and personal\nconduct and adhere to them more or less completely.  The assumption\nthat man is immoral is psychologically untrue.  The asceticism and\npessimism of mediæval Christianity was a reflection of false ideals and\nof an unhealthy social system.  There was an element of strain in the\ndemands held up before the individual.  The spiritual life was a task\nwhich he had to accomplish because it possessed a supernatural sanction.\n\nBut the inherent pessimism of much of Christianity was not its only\nfault.  It taught men to suppose that morality was not something which\npaid for itself.  So much did it stress the necessity of supernatural\nsanctions that it led the majority to believe that no man would be good\nunless he had to, unless he was afraid of the external consequences\nwhich would be meted out to him at the bar of judgment.  But how false\nsuch a view is.  We know to-day that morality pays here and now, in the\nspecie of a happy, healthy, well-developed life.  Any other view makes\nmorality irrational and unnatural and, consequently, dependent upon\nsanctions which rest upon the will of some agent apart from {176} this\nconcrete life of act and fact.  To put this criticism in the technical\nlanguage of ethics, Christianity has tended to think of conduct in\nterms of heteronomous ethics, _i.e._, in terms of precepts and laws\ncoming from outside of human life and pressed upon it by authority,\nrather than in terms of autonomous ethics for which ideals and customs\nare wise adjustments to the natural relations in which man finds\nhimself.\n\nThis assumption that morality is a hardship played into the hands of a\njuridical notion of the sanctions of conduct, for which the conception\nof immortality furnished the grandiose opportunity.  The arm of society\nis eluded at death, but death offers no escape for the wicked from the\noutraged deity they have offended.  It is the motive of fear which is\nhere employed.  Human beings are to be scared into being good.\nMorality is on the defensive because it has no real charm and natural\nloveliness, because it does not grow out of a rational study of human\nrelations.\n\nHow tragically false this view was!  Its existence can be explained\nonly as an expression of an ill-organized society in which impulsive\nviolence was not enough held in check.  Supernatural sanctions could be\nused to restrain malefactors of great power in less happy times.\nSociety has grown beyond this need.  Courts of law and outraged public\nopinion are quite able to deal with criminals.  If the reason for\npunishment is prevention, it is certainly true that punishment by\nsociety is more likely to be effective than the postponed pains of an\nhereafter, because of its immediacy and power of being repeated.  But\nit is very doubtful whether fear is a moral motive or whether it is a\nvery effective deterrent.  Social thinkers are agreed that punishment\nis a very {177} bungling method at the best.  It does not show the\npresence of a very constructive imagination.\n\nHell has always been a magnified torture chamber.  It has been the\nreflection on the gigantic background of the next world of the penal\nideas of the time.  That is why it has always been more interesting\nthan heaven.  Man feared to make a social utopia out of heaven because\nhe conceived it as a kingdom in which he was to play a very minor role,\nwhile he was quite certain of his importance in hell.  But the morbid\nresults of his imaginings were tragic in their effects when connected\nwith such damnable doctrines as infant damnation and eternal punishment\nfor lack of belief in a particular creed.  What distorted ethical\nnotions, what mixture of horrible fear before a world-tyrant and\ncallous delight in the punishment of others are revealed in these\npictures of a place of eternal torment!  Thank goodness, the civilized\nworld is outgrowing the whole savage set of ideas.\n\nBefore we leave these juridical religious sanctions, it may be well to\ncall attention to the fact that theories of punishment have radically\nchanged during the last century.  The purpose of modern justice is less\nto uphold the majesty of an outraged law than to protect the citizens\nof a state and reform the character of the criminal.  Crime is studied\ngenetically and its conditions determined so far as possible.  It is\nwell known that criminals are products of biological and social\nconditions over which they have little control.  The modern ideal is\ncoming to be prevention by means of the betterment of social\norganization and negative eugenics.  Healthy and capable persons in a\ndecent society would be unlikely to turn out criminals.  I do {178} not\nsee how we can escape the conclusion that the saner penology of the\npresent has completely undermined the whole juristic basis of the next\nworld.  Human ethics and a supernatural ethics of an eschatological\nsort cannot be dovetailed together.  The scene and motives of a crime\ncannot be laid in one world with that world's peculiar conditions, and\nthe punishment dispensed in another.  And a final punishment is a\nveritable absurdity.  Is punishment an end in itself?  Are the wicked\nsuch hopeless creatures?  Or does it simply mean that men have never\nbefore thought of such things as indeterminate sentences and\nreformation?  Prisoners were hustled away and never seen afterwards.\nPunishment and reward were easy matters in the old days when justice\nwas external and terroristic; we see to-day that they are the most\ndifficult of problems.  Final judgments by omniscient judges strike us\nas romantic and even melodramatic.  Again, we doubt such facile\ndivisions of our mixed humanity as that between saints and sinners.  We\nhave a keener and more democratic eye for the good in the most\nunprepossessing of our fellow creatures.  We know what he has been up\nagainst from his babyhood days, what his chances, temptations, joys and\nsorrows have been.  And we have the deep conviction that ghostly\njudgment after death would be absolutely meaningless.\n\nIn an earlier chapter, we pointed out that the belief in, and desire\nfor, immortality is stronger in periods of social disorganization than\nin periods of marked social unity and happy creativeness.  Christianity\narose in just such a time of pessimism and stifled social life.  The\nRoman Empire had become barren of joyous hopefulness and spirited\nendeavor.  The citizen was only a {179} unit in a dreary and monotonous\nwhole ruled from above.  All through the Middle Ages, something of this\nsuspicion of the world, this longing for release from earthly things\ntinged the interests and judgments of the more spiritually-minded men\nand women.  The inevitable ethical result was a disregard of genuine\nhuman problems and a tense exaltation of attitudes of self-control and\nnegation.  Disciplines became ends in themselves, which rejected all\nrelation to the life of every day.  The direction of ethical life was\naway from creative activity and concern with the more homely things,\nand toward an abstract contemplation of ideals seldom put to the test\nof positive application.  The religious setting of life withdrew human\nenergies from their rightful and fruitful sphere of activity and\napplied them to tasks of self-analysis and never-ceasing\nself-criticism.  Such an approach to life produced men who were saints,\nmen who were unselfish and admirable in almost every way; but this\nsaintliness grew at the expense of significant human achievement.  It\nwas as though men forged splendid instruments and did not know how to\nuse them.  The pity of it all is, that this mediæval world-view\nstimulated men to devotions of soul which looked away from the arena of\nhuman life rather than into it.\n\nBut religion only revealed what human nature, itself, possessed.  These\ncapacities for sympathy, love, persistent self-discipline, and devotion\nto ideals were natural to man.  The primary fault with Mediævalism was\nthe inability to see the worth of human things and the hypnotic\nfixation of the mind upon unreal relations and demands.  The modern man\nadmires these cloistered saints and, at the same time, feels the\ntragedy and {180} futility of this goodness which wearied itself out in\nvigil and prayer.  The human cost of this virtue was so high and its\nobjective use so small.  It is only as an artist that I can enjoy\nreading the _Prayers and Meditations_ of Thomas à Kempis.  When this\nmood is not upon me, I am repelled by the picture of this white-faced\nmonk in his cell, holding in restraint all his natural impulses by\nmeans of the thought of a reward in paradise after death.  Virtue was\nthe winning of a goal set by his Maker, for reasons which he did not\ndream of questioning.  \"When I weary of the long night vigils, or of\nthe Lessons, longer perhaps than usual, give me grace to remember how\ngreat are the rewards in heaven which I have now a chance of gaining.\nWhen the days of abstinence from food and drink are many, give me the\npower to fast, and good health to enable me to carry on my work; give\nme pardon for the sins which I have committed, keep me from falling\ninto them again, relieve me from the punishment they have deserved, and\ngive me a good hope of everlasting happiness with the elect in the\nKingdom of God.\"  We feel that this ethical energy should have been\nused otherwise and in the service of human beings.  Better Thomas à\nKempis than the man who is mad for wealth and the lusts of the flesh;\nbut far better than either is the sane worker for things of good\nrepute.  His goodness is a social goodness which makes life happier and\nfuller of activities and things worth while.\n\nThe traditional religion has not only been, frequently enough,\nanti-social, but it has also been morally inefficient.  Why?  Because\nit has made too much of tension and too little of intelligence.\nInstead of pointing out that morality paid because it was only the\napplication {181} of intelligence to human needs, it set a standard of\nmoral discipline before people and then sought to drive them to its\nattainment by sheer force of will and subjectively aroused emotion.\nThe modern ethical thinker is convinced that morality is but the\nharmonious adjustment of an individual to his social group; it is the\nsensible foresight which selects the active values which attract and\nexpress man's nature.\n\nThis rather blind tension of traditional religion appears quite clearly\nin the conception of sin.  The setting of this idea has been monarchic\nand terroristic.  It has exhaled an atmosphere of sharp, mystic\ncontrasts which were as unreal as they were vicious.  To set a goal too\nhigh is almost as bad psychologically as to set it too low.\nChristianity vaguely felt this flaw in its dramatic ethical scheme and\nwas led to bring the doctrine of God's saving grace to the front to\nbridge the fearful gulf caused by the opposition of God's perfection to\nman's imperfection.  But the man of to-day who is sincere with himself\nknows that this religious world-ethics is a meaningless fiction.  He\ncan understand why it arose in the olden days, with its supernaturalism\nand juridical ethics, yet he feels that this absolutism is a product of\nmonarchism and pre-evolutionary thinking.  Goodness is a human ideal\nwhose content is always undergoing change, while it hovers just beyond\nman's reach.  I must confess, then, that I have little sympathy with\nthe gross exaggerations associated with this word sin.  I know that I\noften fall short of my better moral judgment and, at such moments of\nmoral insight, I experience a keen regret and try to strengthen those\ntendencies and activities which will aid me to do better next time.\nBut I know too {182} much of personality on its biological,\npsychological and social sides, too much of its complexity and its\nfoundations to retain the old notion of the self as an entity which,\nhaving the ability to be godlike, chooses evil.  Paul's God was an\noriental monarch; to the modern, he is a cad.  Why, no sensible teacher\nasks the impossible of his pupils!  Yet this strange relation conceived\nto exist between an omnipotent deity and his frail creatures, when\nintensified by the horizon of another and eternal world, was bound to\ndevelop the tensest and most paralyzing of attitudes.  No novel has\nbeen able to unfold a plot which has such psychological possibilities.\nAnd the morbid and exalted religious imagination has done more than\njustice to them.  While I do not for a moment deny the strength and\nleverage this ensemble of ideas possesses when faith is present, I do\ncontend that the whole creation is unhealthy and blinding and involves\ninefficiency as regards the real and pressing problems of personal and\nsocial development.  The ecclesiastic seldom has a normal perspective.\nTake Cardinal Newman, for instance.  Can one deny that this subtle\npersonality, for all his gifts, brought distorting values into the\ncurrent of life?  Such a man is certain to misread movements and\nactivities and to magnify the subjective at the expense of the social.\nThe individual who identifies himself with social projects, able to\nelicit his energy and enthusiasm, is more apt to forget the pettier\ninterests of the moment in the broad sweep of creative endeavor than is\nthe person who morbidly catechizes his conscience.  A formal morality\nwhich looks inward and never outward is bound to be inefficient.\nTension is no fit substitute for intelligent insight.\n\n{183}\n\nMany theologians assume that ethics has a choice only between reliance\nupon some supernatural power for its sanctions, and a sort of harsh and\nhaughty stoicism, in which the individual stands alone and by sheer\nforce of will establishes and maintains ideals which are alien to his\nnature.  The fallacy in such an assumption is not hard to detect.  By\nhis training in the ascetic traditions of Christianity with its\nacquiescence in the doctrine of original sin, the theologian is\ninitiated into a distorted conception of human nature and of human\nrelations.  While man is a complex being with many instincts and\npossibilities to adjust and organize in an efficient and progressive\nway, it is slanderous to assert that these instincts are evil or that\nman, on the whole, does not relate them quite satisfactorily to a plan\nof life.  Human nature is a sweeter, saner thing than the ascetic\nadmits; man is capable of heroic idealisms and of far-reaching\nsympathies which express themselves in the mold of society.  As a\nmatter of fact, the haughty stoicism of which the religious writer\nspeaks with so much pity, as the only alternative to supernatural\nrelations and sanctions, is a product of times of social disruption\nwhen the high-strung individual is thrown back upon himself.  To-day,\npeople live and think in groups, with common hopes, standards and\nplans.  Their conscience is a social conscience which finds its\nsupporting echo in the deeds and sentiments of their companions and\nfellow workers.  It is the supernaturalist who is an egoist at heart.\nEven Mr. Wells is so dominated by this anti-social point of view that\nhe falsifies both psychology and fact in his tirade upon the sane\nworker for human values.  No one who knew the elements of modern\nethical thought {184} based, as it is, upon an evolutionary social\npsychology would subscribe to the following nonsense: \"The benevolent\natheist stands alone upon his own good will, without a reference,\nwithout a standard, trusting to his own impulse to goodness, relying\nupon his own moral strength.  A certain immodesty, a certain\nself-righteousness, hangs like a precipice above him....  He has no one\nto whom he can give himself.  He has no source of strength beyond his\nown amiable sentiments, his conscience speaks with an unsupported\nvoice, and no one watches while he sleeps.  He cannot pray; he can but\nejaculate.  He has no real and living link with other men of good\nwill.\"  Of course, one can write such things if one wishes to.  But the\nsocial reformer knows that his problems are human problems whose\nsolution rests upon sentiments of sympathy, enlightened and directed by\nintelligence.  They who seek for the advent of a better day for\nhumanity band together as naturally and loyally as ever did the\nbelievers in the second coming of Christ.\n\nThe remark is frequently made that the modern world is tending to\nreturn to the Greek view of life.  If by the Greek view of life is\nmeant the outlook characteristic of the Greeks of the classic\nperiod--the era of Plato, Pericles, and Sophocles,--there is much truth\nin the judgment.  Human values are again coming uppermost in men's\nminds.  This life is not a sojourn in a vale of tears, but the scene of\nthe attempts of socially-minded, conscious organisms to achieve a\ntemperate and fairly happy existence.  But the centuries intervening\nhave not been without their effect; man's moral horizon has been both\ndeepened and enlarged.  Since those halcyon days, man has eaten of the\ntree of good and {185} evil, he has fought with shadowy monsters and\nwandered for years in the wilderness of helplessness and pessimism, he\nhas worshiped at the shrine of strange gods and prostrated himself\nbefore the terrors of his own imagination.  Slowly he has come to stand\nerect and look about him and see the world and himself as they actually\nare.  Knowledge has become his most trusted instrument, and democratic\nsympathy with human life his most cherished guide.  With such a guide\nand with such an instrument, he will before long set about to mold his\nlife in accordance with those mellower ideals which have grown in his\nheart during his long pilgrimage.  At last, man is becoming an adult\nable to stand upon his feet and to look keenly around with a measuring\nglance at things as they are.  Will he not work for the sweet fruition\nof those human values which are dear to his very soul--home, children,\nkindly social intercourse, work which gives self-expression, art,\nknowledge, contentment, all suffused with the vigor of healthy bodies\nand the sleep of quiet nights?  Man will surely come to desire greatly,\nand achieve magnificently, and live courageously.\n\nNow that the ethical degradation of the industrial revolution has been\nstayed and society has turned its face from the clatter of\nmass-production for its own sake, now that ethical reflection has been\nunited with reason and science in a sane realism, now that sympathy is\nabroad in the land, now that democracy with its conception of human\nbrotherhood is astir throughout the world, ethics has secured a firm\nfoundation in the free aspirations of free men.  If noble character and\nrational conduct cannot maintain themselves in such a society, then the\ntheologian can rightly say that man is {186} by nature corrupt.  But\nthe present is a time of growing loyalties to the common good and of\nvigorous search for the efficient means to attain it in greater\nmeasure.  The great spiritual adventures of the future will surely be\nhuman and humane.\n\n\n\n\n{187}\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--THE CATHOLIC CHURCH\n\nEven a cursory glance at the institutional history of Christianity is\ninstructive.  Beginning as an essentially democratic brotherhood of\nfellow-believers in which wisdom and experience, rather than authority,\nguided affairs, the Christian community gradually adopted the political\nform of the society in which it found itself.  The very names of the\nchurch officials of whom we read in the later canonical epistles are\ntaken over from the municipal governments of the time.  The presbyters,\nor elders, were old men selected by common consent from the members of\nthe congregation as a sort of advisory council.  They were\ncommittee-men, ripe in experience and capable of dealing sensibly with\nthe various problems sure to arise from time to time in the social\ngroup.  From among these elders, overseers, or bishops, were chosen who\nhad administrative functions of an indefinite sort.  Besides these\nofficials, there were deacons, prophets and teachers, men who took a\nmore or less conspicuous part in the life of the brotherhood.\n\nAs time elapsed, the Christian communities took on a more formal\norganization, an evolution which was due to the stress of problems\nwhich could not be met without a more centralized structure.  New\nheresies were {188} constantly arising and leading the members into\nconfusion; moral disorders, like those against which Paul had to\nthunder, were continually appearing.  It was only too easy for members\nof unorganized groups to miss that sense of a common outlook which is\nso important and yet so difficult to maintain in an age of intellectual\nand moral turmoil.  This situation was grasped by leaders who had\ndecided views of their own as to the proper doctrines to be taught and\nthe proper mode of life to follow.  Under their guidance, a\ncentralization of authority was evolved.  The bishop became the head of\nthe community with power in matters of doctrine and morality.\nNaturally, the heads of the more important communities, Rome, Antioch,\nAlexandria and Constantinople, had a prestige which gave their opinions\ndifferential weight.  Before long, councils of bishops were called to\ndecide questions of doctrine.  The period of fixed creeds had arrived.\nOnce this direction was taken, it was no long step to the formation of\na church organization comparable in complexity to that of the Roman\nEmpire and as undemocratic in character.  Such a development was most\nnatural; and it would, indeed, have been surprising had it not\noccurred.  Institutions always possess the imprint of their age.  It is\nfoolish, because unhistorical, to expect ideals out of their time.\n\nThe primitive Christian association was more than a church in the\nmodern sense.  It was a loyal group of like-minded people.  It was a\nstate within the state, a social unit dominating the main part of the\nlives of its members, and not merely a center for worship.  It is this\naspect of the early religious associations which I wish to stress; for\nit is the question, whether this phase {189} of the church still exists\nto justify the church as an institution, into which I wish to enquire.\n\nIn the vast loneliness of the Roman Empire, men felt the need to draw\ntogether in order to escape the dreariness of life.  The teeming\ninterests and intense loyalties of the old city-state had disappeared\nand left men stranded in a cosmopolitan State, ordered from above, in\nwhich they had no vital participation; it was too gigantic and formal\nto touch them in a personal fashion and to kindle those enthusiasms\nwhich lift men beyond economic cares.  It was well to be a Roman\ncitizen, but such an honor did not suffice for the more homely needs of\neveryday existence.  In the days of Athenian greatness, the individual\nwas lost in the citizen; in the Roman Empire, the citizen was lost in\nthe individual.  Man is a social animal--to adapt Aristotle's famous\nexpression--and the inhabitants of the various countries sought to\ncreate associations of various sorts to fill this gap caused by the\ndestruction of the old political interests.  In other words, men tried\nto weave a new social tissue of a private type to answer their craving\nfor companionship and for the chance to do something worth doing.\nRemove the business, artistic, political, trades-union, literary and\nsocial interests in their present free and varied form from modern\nlife, and we can gain some idea of the unsatisfactoriness of human life\nunder the Empire for the lower and poorer classes.  Monotonous as\nvillage life is to-day, it is throbbing with life as compared with the\nvillage or tenement district of ancient days.  The farmer has his\nnewspaper, the farmer's wife the magazine, and the piano, and the trip\nto town.  Small wonder that these men and women of the Hellenistic and\nRoman worlds {190} formed clubs and associations in which to escape\nfrom a disheartening loneliness and feel themselves members one of\nanother.\n\nBut the Empire essayed to stamp out these brotherhoods, in order that\nit might be all in all and receive the loyalty and affection which\nthese private organizations evoked.  The ancient state was unable to\nconceive that division of interests into public and private which is so\nmarked a feature of modern civilization.  As Renan points out, the\nEmpire \"was trying, out of homage to an exaggerated idea of the State,\nto isolate the individual, to snap every moral tie between man and man,\nto defeat a legitimate desire of the poor, the desire to press together\nin a little corner of their own to keep one another warm.  The\nintolerable sadness inseparable from such a life seemed worse than\ndeath.\"  Associations, or clubs, in which a complete equality reigned\nsprang up on every side in spite of the laws against combination.\nHuman relations of the most kindly and intimate sort were established\nwhich sweetened life and made death less lonely.  Now the Christian\ncommunities were just such associations; while they added religious\nemotions and hopes to the attractions of companionship.  They were\nsocial units of a humble and spontaneous type within the formal\nstructure of the Empire.  They justified themselves in a human as well\nas in a superhuman way.  An adequate psychology of religion remains to\nbe written.  Religion has always had its markedly social side.\n\nUpon the foundation of this combined social and religious function, the\nsuperstructure of the Church was erected, much as on the political\nnature of man the Greek city-state arose.  Creed and hierarchy were\n{191} inevitable products whose appearance could have been predicted,\nbut they were expressive of a certain growing cumbersomeness and a\nslowing up of the thought and action of the mass of the people.\nHenceforth, one of their religious duties was to believe fanatically\nwhat bishops and councils promulgated and to obey the advice of their\nsuperiors in matters of conduct.  In this way, Christianity became a\nreligion of authority.  We must not over-idealize the early\nChristians--a reading of Paul's epistles would help to guard us against\nthat tendency--but the spirit of the primitive congregations was,\nbeyond much doubt, nobler than that which characterized the mobs of\nAlexandria and of Byzantium.  A perusal of _Hypatia_, for example, is\nvery apt to sober one's enthusiasm.  We must remember that the bars of\nadmission were lowered as Christianity became powerful and popular.\nSelection, which is one of the most attractive features of a new\nmovement, no longer acted.  It was at this period that Christianity\ndeveloped its _cult_ aspect.  It became a religion of the imagination,\nof the sensuous, as well as of the will and the intellect.  Ancient art\nand liturgy gave their contributions and Christianity moved from the\ncatacombs to the basilica and the cathedral.\n\nAs Church and state became reconciled, the early breach between public\nand private life was filled.  The religious interest and its duties\njoined themselves to those of secular life.  For the mass of the people\nwho did not surrender themselves to religion in the intensive way\nreserved for the clergy, Christianity simply forced a new alignment of\nsocial relations and values.  The ideal was a Church-directed\ncivilization in which the next world overshadowed this.  For ordinary\nlife, {192} however, a practical adjustment was soon reached.  Life was\nlived in a conventional enough way and the compromise was balanced by\nthe efficacy of sacraments administered by the servants of the\nauthoritative Church, the continuation of the incarnation upon the\nearth.\n\nIn the chaotic West, overrun by barbarians, society lost its ancient\nform and became stratified in accordance with a decentralized, military\nrégime.  The strongly organized, international Church maintained itself\nand saw an opportunity to realize its ideal, a civilization, or order,\nguided by itself and obedient to religious values.  Should not the\nvice-regent of God rule upon the earth and make the divine law the law\nof the nations?  In the conflict between the Roman Church, as\nreorganized by Hildebrand, and the Holy Roman Empire, we have a\nstriking instance of that recurrent struggle between the supernatural\nand the secular so peculiar to the Christian world.  Had not the\nemperors possessed some religious sanction for their claims and\nauthority, they would have been completely overridden by the popes.  It\nwas the growth from beneath of national and human interests and of a\nmore varied and stimulating social life that ultimately defeated the\npolitical aims of the Church.  Humanism always flourishes when peace\nand contentment are abroad, and humanism is the deadliest enemy that\nsupernaturalism has to meet.  Thus the tradition of the Roman Empire\ntided secular authority over until the rise of vigorous nations with\ndistinct customs, languages, and loyalties ceased to make the imperial\nand theocratic aspirations of the Church practical.  But we must never\nforget that these aspirations of the Mediæval Church were natural\noutgrowths of the {193} religious view of the world.  If man is but a\nsojourner here, undergoing his tests for the life to come, who can be a\nbetter guide in all things than the divine institution established by\nGod himself?  The center of gravity of man's life falls outside this\nworld.\n\nBut social tendencies and relations are always more complex and\nuncontrollable than theory or doctrine wishes to allow.  Human values\nhave a way of asserting themselves in all sorts of unexpected ways.\nThe very act of living forces man to feel and achieve, to strive for\nthis thing and for that, to enter into warm human relations which lead\nout into ambitions and desires.  So, in spite of the official, and\ngenerally accepted, denial of human values, these sprang up at the\nleast encouragement and flowered in custom and art.  Thus, even during\nthe Middle Ages, social activities had their innings and fair measure\nof attention.  Men loved, and sinned, and fought, and dreamed much as\nthey did in other days and do now.  The thought of another world only\ntempered their moments of reflection and deepened their periods of\ncontrition.  There is good reason to believe, moreover, that men\nalternated between extremes of mood more than we do to-day with our\nsettled horizon.  The mediæval outlook did not favor that quiet\ntemperance which the Greeks achieved in their happiest days.\n\nWith the rise of the cities and the national states came the revival of\nlearning and a fresh interest in all phases of human life.  The\ncomplete control of human life by a supernaturalistic religion was then\nno longer even a theoretical possibility.  Life became a thing of\ninterest for its own sake, something frankly to be enjoyed.  Humanism\nhad once more appeared in the world.\n\n{194}\n\nBut the Church had an organized breadth which went far beyond the\npurely religious functions which Protestantism is inclined to associate\nwith the institution.  Within this socially flexible organization arose\nthe monastic orders whose ideals varied from age to age.  To establish\nindustries, to clear the land, to preach the nobility of work and to\nfoster commerce, to nurse the sick, to found schools and universities,\nto distribute charity, to offer hospitality to wayfarers, to nourish\nart and literature, all these activities grew out of the initiative of\nnoble men who found the atmosphere or associations of organized\nChristianity favorable to their endeavors.  It was under the shelter of\nreligion that the finer phases of morality manifested themselves.\nSecular life did not possess a stability or organs adequate to the\ntasks of social ethics.  Whatever new movement appeared naturally\ndrifted into contact with the Church, even though the Church was not\ncertain what to do with it.  Sometimes these vital movements, in which\nethical idealism of a rare type was displayed, almost threatened the\nexistence of the hierarchical body which was in control of the\norganization through which they had to work.  This was the situation\nwhich developed as a result of the spread of the ideals of the\nmendicant orders of the thirteenth century.  Such an occurrence makes\nus realize that the social life of the time was creative, and that this\ncreativeness could with difficulty be kept within the control of the\nformal Church; yet the organs which were necessary for the application\nof these ideas and enthusiasms were molded in accordance with\necclesiastical institutions, because no other model was at hand.\nSecular life was too narrow to give either financial support or\nsuggestions.  It {195} had so long been accustomed to assign the moral\nfield to religious institutions.\n\nIn spite of the undercurrent of criticism against the worldliness of\nthe clergy which discovers itself to the historian of the later Middle\nAges, the social movements connected with incorporated Christianity\nwere vital enough to justify the existence of the Church.  It acted as\nthe traditional center of philanthropy, and its immense wealth made\nthis feature a real force among the poor.  But the other associated\nfunctions were slowly separating themselves from their original\nconnection and striking roots in the secular life of the time.  In\nplace of the cathedral towns clustered around the cathedral and the\nbishop's palace, the commercial towns pushed to the front both in\nwealth and importance.  The wealthy merchant or banker vied in riches\nwith the churchman.  Art and literature passed from the hands of the\nChurch to the laity.  This process was very gradual, but steady and\npersistent.  By the time of the reformation, it was in full swing.\nBeneath the framework of feudalism and the Mediæval Church, a new\nsociety had been forming, far more complex than the old and full of\npotentialities which we are only now beginning to measure.  Industry,\ncommerce, geographical discovery, national literature, guilds,\nmunicipal governments, courts, science, secular art, philosophy, all\nwere present either in bud or in full flower.  Out of the fertile and\nfearless life which came from the interplay of these tendencies and\nactivities, new ideas and values were born and soon found or created\nappropriate organs for their expression apart from the Church.  Try as\nit would, Mother Church could not cover them with her wings.  Many of\nthese activities were alien to {196} her genius and, as they waxed in\nstrength and confidence, stepped boldly out into the arena of secular\nlife.\n\nOne has only to take a broad survey of modern society to realize how\ncompletely secular life has found means to perform functions which were\nformerly carried by the Church.  The very control which the Church\nwished to exercise repelled them and drove them into the world with its\nfreedom and tolerance.  Free association, individual enterprise, the\ncreative fervor of genius, and, later, governmental policy have worked\nwonders in overcoming the meagerness of secular life.  Education is now\nalmost universal, and so the masses live lives which touch a myriad\ninterests never known to them in other days.  Art has broadened its\nscope and now touches with magic fingers all phases of human life,\nnature and man being alike raised to a higher spiritual level by her\nwork.  Science has reached out into all parts of nature and thrown a\ntransforming light upon all things.  Philosophy has left the old\nscholastic concepts and mated with science to explain the world in\nwhich we live.  Charity is giving way to a broader conception of social\njustice.  In short, the old division of life into two spheres, the\nearthly and the spiritual, no longer has its old significance.  The\nspiritual has made its home in man's daily life, in his reading, his\nart, his thinking and his doing.  _Wherever there are genuine values,\nthere is the spiritual_.  _Is not loyalty to these spiritual values of\nhuman life coming to be the sole meaning of religion_?  Is it within\nthe power of an institution, still dominated by beliefs hostile to this\nfrank humanism, to cherish and guide the unfolding of the spiritual\nlife of the present?  That is the query which I bring with me when I\ncontemplate the {197} Church.  Has not the free life of the present\noutgrown any centralized and institutionalized control?\n\nTo-day, ideas and enthusiasms find their organs in the teeming secular\nworld.  Moral idealism is at home upon the earth in fellowships and\nloyalties in which men discover much of their reason for being.  The\npulse of society beats time to the songs of its true poets, and throbs\nat the call to battle for some noble achievement, while the Church\ndreams of the past and the days of her greatness, or tenderly stoops to\ncomfort those who cling to her sanctions and her vision of a heavenly\nkingdom, not of this world.  She played her part, and she played it\ngreatly--that much we must avow, even while we point out her present\nlimitations--but the world has passed beyond her tutelage and runs\nlithesomely and courageously into fields where she cannot bring herself\nto follow.  Thus is it, and thus has it always been--institutions and\nideas have their period of usefulness when they serve as organizing\ncenters for social tendencies; but the time inevitably comes when they\nlose their creative power and are outgrown by the life which has made\nthem and is greater than they.  And yet there is hope.  Will the\ndethroned monarch recognize the inevitableness of the massive\nrevolution which is surging round her and give up her outgrown\npretensions, willingly consenting to play a lesser role in full harmony\nwith the spirit of the time?  Not yet will this voluntary abdication\ncome.  But, some time in the future, the new loyalties will surely seep\ninto the Church and prepare it for the great sacrifice in which it will\nfind its saving service.  Modernism can afford to wait patiently, for\ntime fights on its side.\n\n\n\n\n{198}\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE CHURCH AS AN INSTITUTION--PROTESTANTISM\n\nThe rise of Protestantism was the consequence of many factors which\ntemporarily combined and worked in the same direction.  There are those\nwho maintain that it was an unhappy accident, which threw back the\nwheels of progress some hundreds of years.  But those who bewail the\ndivision of the Christian Church forget that division is a sign of\nincompatible tendencies within a body not flexible enough to contain\nthem.  Strife is irrational only when we cease to be realists.  The\nappearance of Protestantism in the sixteenth century is only one\ninstance among many of the inadequacy of any one institution to\ncomprehend the life of its time.  Were we to call the roll of the\nheresies of the past, the names which would appear upon the list would\nbe far more numerous than popular history records.  Just because\nChristians believed that they possessed a final truth they were\nintolerant and persecuting.  The natural desire of an institution to\nmaintain itself and its interests intact added its force to this\nunfortunate characteristic.  But the tragedy of the situation was, that\nthis final truth could not prove itself by an appeal to experience and\nreason.  It had, therefore, to resort to violence.  The logic of\nrevelation is the logic of the _auto da fe_.  The logic of science is\nthe logic of tested {199} fact.  Science can have hope of agreement;\ntheological religion has no right to such a hope.\n\nProtestantism had its ethical, political, economic and doctrinal sides.\nIt was not merely a religious movement.  Had it been so, it might more\nreadily have run its course as a reform movement within the\ninstitutional life of the time.  Had the Northern nations possessed\ngreater power in the councils of the Church, it is just possible that\nthe change would have been brought about without the occurrence of an\nopen rupture.  But the Church was too centralized and too rich to\nescape conflict with the growing nationalism.  For our present purpose,\nhowever, this larger social setting of Protestantism is not important.\nWhat we wish to study is the religious tendencies covered by this term.\nWhat advance did they contain?  What was the weakness of the movement?\n\nThe setting of Protestantism was entirely supernaturalistic.  So far as\nthe fundamental doctrinal assumptions are concerned, there is\npractically no difference between Catholic and Protestant.\nProtestantism represented a reform, and not a revolution.  Or, to put\nit more deeply, human nature is such that the real revolutions take\ncenturies of growth and come like the thief in the night.  The modern\nscientific view of the world is revolutionary in the philosophical and\ntrue sense of the term; while the sharp sectarian conflict is only a\nbattle over secondary things.  Since it has so commonly been assumed\nthat the Protestant reformation represented a decisive break with the\noutlook of the Middle Ages and somehow marked a milestone in man's\nintellectual progress, it may be worth while to consider whether such\nreally was the case.  A disinterested study {200} of the reformation\nmust, I feel sure, convince the student that the crisis in the Church\nwas concerned more with matters of theological doctrine and church\npolity than with the ideas underlying Christianity.  It brought no\nessential change in the inherited and firmly entrenched tale of the\npast.  The puritan poet, Milton, sings of \"man's first disobedience\" in\nmuch the way that St. Augustine would have done.  The weapons of the\ngreat advance had not yet been forged.  We are the ones who will be\ncalled upon to face the vision of the New Spiritual World and to be\nfaithful to its demands upon our loyalty and integrity.  \"The defection\nof the Protestants from the Roman Catholic Church,\" writes Professor\nRobinson, \"is not connected with any decisive intellectual revision.\nSuch ardent emphasis has been constantly placed upon the differences\nbetween Protestantism and Catholicism by representatives of both\nparties that the close intellectual resemblance of the two systems,\nindeed their identity in nine parts out of ten, has tended to escape\nus.  The early Protestants, of course, accepted, as did the Catholics,\nthe whole patristic outlook on the world; their historical perspective\nwas similar, their notions of the origin of man, of the Bible, with its\ntypes, prophecies and miracles, of heaven and hell, of demons and\nangels, are all identical....  Early Protestantism is, from an\nintellectual standpoint, essentially a phase of mediæval history.\"\n\nBut when we look at Protestantism as a social and religious movement\nrather than an intellectual movement, we see that it stood for certain\nrelatively new emphases which did indicate a breaking loose from\nmediævalism.  Many sincere men felt the need for a deeper, more\npersonal assurance of salvation than that {201} offered by the\ntraditional, substantial sacraments of the Church.  Religion seemed to\nthem a more personal affair than it had overtly come to be.  By means\nof an act of faith, the individual hoped to secure a new relation to\nGod in which his sins were forgiven and salvation attained.  Salvation\nthus became a more internal act than it had been, and particularly one\nin which the ecclesiastical institution played a far less important\npart.  The new tendency emphasized the individual and personal as\nagainst the institutional and formal.  Catholicism had inherited too\nmuch ritualistic and magical trapping to harmonize completely with the\nkeen ethical sense of the younger and simpler people who were growing\nto adulthood.\n\nA new movement is on the defensive and, when too completely estranged\nfrom the institutions of which it is a reform, almost inevitably tends\nto be narrow and intense.  Now Protestantism was essentially an\nemphasis on the soul's salvation by meeting certain requirements of a\ndoctrinal and ethical type, and so it tended to drop those functions\nand relations which the Mediæval Church included within its scope.  It\nis this clear-cut intensification of one factor and the exclusion of\nothers which we must bear in mind when we compare the early Protestant\nsects with the Catholic Church of the Middle Ages.\n\nDeep religious fervor easily leads to narrowness, especially when the\nspiritual values regarded as essential are subjective and rather\nformal.  Because confessional Protestantism was as other-worldly as the\nMediæval Church, it cut itself loose from aspects of life which might\notherwise have mellowed it and saved it from formalism and hardness.\nWe may laugh with {202} Swift at the freaks of Jack, at his dourness\nand savagery, his strained interpretation of the scriptures and his\nlack of social tact, but we must, if we would be just, always bear in\nmind the outlook which Jack had inherited.\n\nThe Protestant of to-day does not usually realize how different the\nProtestantism of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was from that\nwhich he sees around him.  Protestantism has mellowed and absorbed\nvalues and interests which it would once have repudiated as irrelevant\nto the tremendous drama of salvation.  Take mediæval Catholicism, with\nits ideal of a Church-directed society, its doctrines of sin and\nredemption, its belief in another world overshadowing this one, its\nstrain of asceticism, and remove the sacramental power of the Church,\nand you have early Protestantism before you.  Instead of fleeing the\nworld and its temptations, the Christian was ordered to live in it like\na sentinel on his guard.  He was not to set his heart on creaturely\ncomforts nor love the things and interests of this life overmuch, but\nrather to trample them underfoot while gazing upwards.  No wonder that\nthe early Protestants were a stern people; they were a community of\nsecular monks.  They had the joy of union with God and assured\nredemption from sin, but this world was not their true home.  Whereas\nthe Mediæval Church had tempered the asceticism of historical\nChristianity by the distinction between what was imposed upon clergy\nand what was demanded of the laity, Protestantism was unable to\ncontinue this distinction because all believers were priests.  All had\nto come up to the same high standard or risk damnation.  This\nexaltation has in large measure departed from Protestantism, and we who\n{203} have grown into a mellower idea of salvation are inclined to\njudge this set of ideals as narrow and even morbid.  We forget that\npuritanism was the expression of an ascetic religious view of the world.\n\nIt was in the sphere of church government that Protestantism made its\ngreat changes by attempting to return to the polity of the early\nassociational form of Christianity.  The more radical forms of\nProtestantism, especially, inaugurated a movement in the direction of\nwhat we now call democracy.  There can be little doubt, in fact, that\nthese waves of religious individualism assisted the growth of\ndemocratic and republican forms of government.  This influence was\nunplanned and relatively accidental because religious individualism was\nmore concerned with the right to worship according to the dictates of\nconscience than with political rights.  But man is a psychological\nwhole, and so a reform along one line is bound to affect other phases\nof life.\n\nAs we have already pointed out, the alterations introduced on the\ntheological side were by no means revolutionary from an intellectual\nstandpoint.  And yet the spirit and mood of religion was deeply\naltered.  The process of salvation was differently conceived, and this\nled to the thought of a more direct relation between man and God than\nhad been admitted in the older Church.  God was believed to have\nguaranteed redemption to those who had faith in Jesus Christ as the\nredeemer.  This tenet led to an emphasis on the bible and on personal\nexperience.  It was through a study of the bible that men were led to\nthis personal faith, and the bible was accordingly conceived as the\nrepresentative of God upon earth.  What wonder that it was {204}\nsubstituted for the Church and tradition as an infallible and\nunchanging authority!  The logic of the movement is clear.  It has been\npointed out by one scholar that Protestantism introduced the doctrine\nof infallibility before the Roman Catholic Church did.  Calvinism\nselected the Augustinian dogmas of election and original sin as its\nfoundation, and used them in such a way as to become a fighting church,\na congregation of the elect, fearless and self-reliant.\n\nBibliolatry soon flourished, and sects sprang up on every hand, ready\nto suffer persecution for their particular interpretation of passages.\nTheology became a series of fanatically held dogmas supported by\ncopious quotations.  And the intellectual atmosphere within which these\ndogmatic theories arose was of the most conventional and limited sort.\nBroadness of outlook upon life was the exception rather than the rule.\nThe general assumption of the Christian scheme of the world remained\nunchallenged, while the bitterest disputes broke out in regard to\npoints which seem to the educated man of to-day quite unimportant.\nSuch a course of events was to be expected, and could not have been\nprevented.  Perhaps it did more good than harm, because it encouraged\nindependence on the part of the masses.  Its only cure was not\nauthority but education.  And the world was not yet ready for universal\neducation.  At certain periods, a tremendous waste of mental and moral\nenergy is simply inevitable: men cannot help going around and around in\nthe same circle of ideas in the most pathetically earnest fashion.  The\nconditions of progress are not always ready.  Take the knowledge of the\nclergy.  It was confined to the classics, the patristics, to massive\ntomes of theology, to {205} the bible in its Hebrew and Greek original.\nIt was not from these fields that enlightenment was to come.  The truth\nis, that Protestantism was slowly modified and mellowed, almost in\nspite of itself, by the pervasive influence of the great world\ncivilization that grew up around it and to which it was more\nsusceptible than was the reorganized Catholic Church.  Let us look at\nthis point more closely.\n\nThe reformation was an effect as much as a cause.  The nations were\ncoming to their own in the midst of a more complex social life full of\nhuman interests and values.  The Confessional Churches which sprang up\nwere unable to establish themselves securely enough to dominate the\ncivil powers.  The consequence was, that secular civilization was\nreleased from the sway of religion and its supernaturalism.\nGovernment, science, art, industry, and literature flourished in a\nfreedom they had seldom before experienced.  The disorganization of\nreligious institutions enabled many tendencies, hitherto kept in the\nbackground of men's consciousness, to push to the front and reveal\ntheir power over the human soul.  Do we not know that many great\nmediæval doctors had to fight against their love of literature and art?\nProtestantism may be said to have been an unintentional cause of the\nmodern world.\n\nProtestantism broke up into an array of sects and tendencies as it fell\nupon the prism of human temperament.  Radical sects appeared, like the\nIndependents, the Quakers, the Baptists, the Pietists, and the\nCongregationalists.  These were radical in a social way rather than in\nan intellectual way.  They were subjective variations of the inherited\nmotives.  Largely, they represented a revolt against authoritism, and\n{206} emphasized the inner light or a very mild appeal to reason.  Yet\nwe must call them sects, just because they had much the same spirit and\nassumptions, and exaggerated what must be regarded as slight\ndifferences.  Still their very number gave a milder direction to\nreligion and made the idea of toleration more natural.  There was\nsafety in numbers.  On the intellectual side, the Unitarian movement\ndeserves attention for its aid in the dethronement of the old dogmatic\nstructure.  Alongside of these more subjective and emotional offshoots\nof Protestantism arose philosophical idealism to add a touch of vague\npantheism and a flavor of kindly mysticism.  In short, the confessional\ntype of Protestantism mellowed under the influence of a more rational\nsocial organization with its gentler life.  Reason was gaining in\nconcreteness and power, and human values were gaining in\nattractiveness.  The Old Testament gradually gave way to the synoptic\ngospels of the New, while asceticism dropped away like a mantle.  I,\nmyself, well remember when religion was largely a matter of taboos on\nthe moral side.  \"Thou shalt not\" outbalanced by far the suggestion of\nconcrete lines of positive endeavor.  Such spiritualism was passive and\nsuspicious rather than active and creative.  During the last thirty\nyears, Protestantism has passed insensibly into a gentle religion of\nthe spirit, sentimentally inclined toward life and permeated with\npopular notions of science and philosophy.  The sermon of the Puritan\nconcerned itself with the two dispensations; the sermon of the modern\nminister is full of quotations from the poets and reveals the growing\ninfluence of the social sciences.  The negative note is hardly audible.\nThis {207} world and its spiritual problems occupies the focus of\nattention.\n\nModern Protestantism is not over certain of its creed.  In fact, so\nuncertain is it of the doctrines it wishes to champion that it much\nprefers to discuss human problems, and to expend its enthusiasm in the\nadvance of a gentle code of ethics attached to the teaching of Jesus of\nNazareth.  In a very real sense, this attitude is to its credit, for it\nis positive and genuinely spiritual.  Moreover, it bears witness to a\nconsciousness of the decay of the supernaturalistic perspective which\ndominated and misled the world for so many centuries.  The spirit and\nknowledge of the present age has undermined the traditional beliefs,\nand the average protestant is too well educated and too much in touch\nwith current movements to be unaware of this situation.  He is not\ncertain whither he is being led nor does he so very much care; he is\ncontent to drift with the tide of human development, assured that the\nworld is becoming better and broader in its purposes and possibilities.\nCreed and dogma are dropping into the background and will soon be\ndiscarded, while the spiritual values which grow out of, and express,\nhuman nature and life are steadily forging to the front.\n\nThe church as an institution is only one among many.  And it must\nfurther be remembered that the life of society reaches beyond\ninstitutions, much as the life of an organism is greater than the\nhabits and structure which it uses.  Religious institutions did not\ncreate the modern world with its gigantic advances in commerce, its\nacute applications of science, its subtle art, its daring adventures in\nliving, its bold philosophies, its high {208} level of education, its\nexperiments in new social forms.  They have had their share in the\nwork, no doubt; but they have been acted upon even more than they have\nacted.  Because of its lack of internal unity and its antagonism to\nauthority, Protestantism could offer no effective barrier to the growth\nof the new outlook.  Often suspicious, it yet fought in the open.  The\ntrial of strength went against it ultimately because its foundation was\ninadequate.  Myth cannot fight against science and hope to win.  The\nverdict of the hard-fought contest is becoming evident to both winner\nand loser.  Let us hope that the loser will take his defeat manfully\nand gradually adapt himself to the New World that is dawning.  The\nProtestant Churches may then become groups of voluntary associations\nfilled with high spiritual purpose and ministering to the growth of a\nfiner social and economic life.  The main necessity is to find a\nfunction that is real and vital in the judgment and conscience of the\ntime.\n\nIt is undeniable that the various churches will long play a beneficent\nrole in the social economy, but the question may well be asked whether\nthis role would not be more significant and sanely creative if the\nhampering traditions and beliefs of the past were shaken off.  For\nthese traditions are the shelter of interpretations and social habits\nwhich are ill-adapted to the needs of the present.  They slow down the\nenergy of institutions and cloud their vision.  They lead the sincerest\nof people to use tools which have lost edge.  For instance, is not\ncivic and moral education far more effective than melodramatic revivals\nwhich stir people's emotions and leave them without chart and compass\nbefore the problems of their every-day life?  The church must {209}\nlearn prevention; it must go to school to the social and mental\nsciences.  Only so will it conquer that dilettantism which accompanies\nthe absence of methodical intelligence.\n\nBut the churches have the right to respond that they are not the only\nsinners in this regard.  Institutions of all kinds display the same\ntendency to retardation, to conservatism, to waste of energy, the\nbeliefs and habits of the past clinging heavily about them as\nimpedimenta.  It is seldom that a new life wells up quickly enough\nwithin them to break this inertia.  Perhaps all that the younger\ngeneration has the right to ask is a spirit of tolerance and even\nrespect for all loyalties which attach themselves to things of good\nrepute, and a more catholic admission of all human values into the\nclass of spiritual things.  The scientist is working for things of the\nspirit, and so is the artist, and so is the social reformer, and so is\nthe educator, and so is the day-laborer who does his work for the sake\nof some dear one.\n\nThe sea of faith of which Matthew Arnold sang is indeed at its ebb; but\na new sea of faith is welling up in the human soul, faith in humanity,\nin this life here and now, a faith in common things and common people,\na faith in noble things and their gifted creators, a faith founded in\nsympathy and in mental integrity and rooted in the actualities of life.\nIt is a faith grounded on the high will to assimilate and carry further\nthe spiritual values which the human race has slowly achieved in its\ntravail of the centuries.  Not to relinquish but to surpass, not to\ndeny but to transform: thus will the new day be won.  Let the spiritual\nforces which have grown up around religion, industry, science,\nphilosophy, {210} citizenship and art fall to with a will, to bring\nsome fuller measure of the long-dreamed-of Kingdom upon this earth,\nwhich has been and forever will be man's sole home.\n\n\n\n\n{211}\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE HUMANIST'S RELIGION\n\nIn the preceding pages we have no doubt often hurt--but we have hurt to\nheal.  The good surgeon probes deeply in order that he may not have the\noperation to perform again.  Even a minute amount of diseased tissues\nleft behind can prevent the return of vigorous and creative health.\nThus what may seem to the anxious patient unnecessary cruelty may be\nthe greatest kindness.  A sentimental compromise is never welcomed by\nthe mature judgment of the brave man.  And in this day when so many\nhave willingly given their lives for the sake of a human ideal, is it\njust and right to flinch in the spiritual warfare which confronts our\ngeneration?  We are seeking nothing less than a renaissance in which\nmen's energies will be wisely and loyally directed to what is greatly\nhuman and humanly great.  In such a service we must will to be hard on\nourselves and on others.\n\nIn the past, religion has only too often been formal and negative and\nworld-fleeing.  It has said nay to life rather than yea.  Past religion\nrested upon man's sense of his own helplessness in a world which he did\nnot understand.  By the very instinct of self-preservation, he created\nsupernatural powers which were to be on his side in the grim and\nunequal struggle in which he was engaged.  But this subterfuge by which\nhe thought to conquer had its treacherous effects, for it turned man\n{212} from comprehending and mastering his world.  He became but a\npilgrim here, intent on heavenly joys and splendors, which threw this\nworld into darkness.  What these joys and splendors were he hardly\nknew: yet he hugged the thought of them to his heart and despised\nthings merely human.  And if, as often became the case, the world grew\nupon him, his conscience was torn and tormented.  He was a man divided\nagainst himself, unable to throw himself whole-heartedly into any\nenterprise.\n\nBut the humanist's religion is the religion of one who says yea to life\nhere and now, of one who is self-reliant and fearless, intelligent and\ncreative.  It is the religion of the will to power, of one who is hard\non himself and yet joyous in himself.  It is the religion of courage\nand purpose and transforming energy.  Its motto is, \"What hath not man\nwrought?\"  Its goal is the mastery of things that they may become\nservants and instrumentalities to man's spiritual comradeship.\nWhatever mixture of magic, fear, ritual and adoration religion may have\nbeen in man's early days, it is now, and henceforth must be, that which\nconcerns man's nobilities, his discovery of, and loyalty to, the\npervasive values of life.  The religious man will now be he who seeks\nout causes to be loyal to, social mistakes to correct, wounds to heal,\nachievements to further.  He will be constructive, fearless, loyal,\nsensitive to the good wherever found, a believer in mankind, a fighter\nfor things worth while.\n\nWhen old ideas become enfeebled, they clog the spiritual system.\nConventionality, routine and sentimentalism take the place of the fresh\nvigor which always accompanies profound conviction.  A gospel cannot be\n{213} a heritage enjoyed: it must be a portion earned.  And to-day,\nespecially, there is pressing need for a brave criticism of past\nstandards, succeeded by an act of intelligent will which presses\nfearlessly on to a reformulation and reaffirmation of values.  Because\nthe old religions did not have this power to exalt significant human\nideals, relevant to the changing crisis of the times, the nations\ndrifted into the materialism of commercialism and militarism.  And a\nreligion insistent upon a rational and wise interpretation of the ways\nof life will, alone, be able to rescue them.  Watchwords by themselves,\nif they remain vague generalities untranslatable into new directions of\neffort, will fail.  What is necessary is a new goal, or else a\npragmatic development of past dreams into programs which awaken loyalty\nand hope.  But the center of gravity and endeavor of such a religion\nwill lie within society.  It will be, to all intents and purposes, a\nhumanist's religion.  It will save men's souls by making them worth\nsaving.  For it, salvation will be no magical hocus-pocus external to\nthe reach and timbre of man's personality: it will be his loyal and\nintelligent union with those values and possibilities of life which\nhave come within his ken.  To convert will be to educate and redirect\nthe energies of the soul.  And society will need conversion as\npressingly as scattered individuals in slums and tenements.  Does it\nto-day stress the most important things?  The State has been the\nservant of things as they are, not of things as they might be.  A\nhumanist's religion can admit no cunning division into the things which\nare God's and the things which are Cæsar's.  Human values are as\njealous as the Yahweh of Moses.  To sin against them is to die\nspiritually.\n\n{214}\n\nThe common opinion that critical work is ever merely negative is a\ngreat error.  It is the willing error of a dogmatism which feels itself\ninsecure.  It is the error of a spiritual plane which has settled into\nease and hates to be disturbed.  Sooner or later, criticism leads to\nsomething positive, to a new vision and a new goal.  All that is needed\nis the patience which is founded upon faith and is willing to try all\nthings in the firm belief that the truth will prevail.  Moreover,\ncriticism has a positive psychological effect in that it calls\nattention to the actual situation and directs attention to the living\nproblems.  It is that spur to the soul which prevents it from going to\nsleep.  Without it, problems are avoided rather than sought.  Who can\ndeny that this lethargy has been the disheartening temper of the\nChristian Church, now when every domain of life cries aloud for\nvigorous thought?  Surely religion has to do with more than the common\ndecencies of life, important as they are.  Its place is in the van of\nthe fighting; it has to do with last hopes and glimpsed visions, with\nwhat is to come as well as with what is.  Religion at its tensest has\nto do with ultimate loyalties.  Habit and tradition are helpless in\nsuch matters, which are of things hoped for--upon this earth.\n\nBut enough of the critical side.  We have said that the coming religion\nwill say yea to human life.  Yet it will not affirm it in a blind and\nsentimental way.  It will be realistic and striving.  All great\nreligions of the past have recognized the tragic aspects of human life,\nits brevity, its littlenesses, its fussy selfishness, its lack of\nvision, its suffering; but they have too often been led to despise\nhumanity by seeing it on the illimitable background of celestial\nomnipotences and perfections.  {215} Religion as loyalty to human\nvalues will lose no whit of this tragic sense, and yet the palsying\nbackground of supernaturalism will disappear.  Some measure of tragedy\nwill remain; but its morbidity will have been separated out and\ncourageously rejected.  Social groups will fall to with a will to live\nlargely and widely.  They will seek a tingling welfare woven of the\nthreefold values of truth, beauty and goodness.  The saint will not be\nthe groveling sinner, but the man of mellow wisdom.  He will be\nimmersed in the currents of life and yet master of himself.  He will be\nat once the servant of concrete and compassable ideals and their\npossessor and enjoyer.\n\nThe shadow of the Great War will lighten to the coming generation soon\nafter peace is declared.  Then will come the time for the taking of\nstock and the revaluation of human endeavor.  Man must ask himself more\nseriously than ever before what things are worth while, and thereupon\nbend his political and economic instrumentalities to their furtherance.\nAnd here the religion of human values must be the leader.  Does\ndemocracy yet accord with such a religion?  Or is it still too timid,\nnegative, thin and uninstructed?  America, for example, has a soul; but\nit is a soul which needs discipline, instruction, contemplation.  The\nreligion of human possibilities needs prophets who will grip men's\nsouls with their description of a society in which righteousness,\nwisdom and beauty will reign together.  It is hard to say what thought\nsuch a society calls up before us.  Yet does it not mean that, more\nthan now and increasingly, selfish luxury will be scorned, property\nsubordinated to welfare, economic fear lessened to the utmost,\nknowledge unenviously exalted, and art called {216} into service?\nLoyalty to such an ideal will surely constitute the heart of the\nhumanist's religion.\n\nThe ideals of a religion can never be easy.  The prophets were stern\ncritics and hard taskmasters; Jesus knew that his true followers would\nfind their way no primrose path; the Mediæval saints were hard on\nthemselves and their disciples.  We can generalize this history for the\nfuture.\n\nAnd yet a larger measure of joy and human satisfaction will play around\nreligion in the future than has been the case in the past.  Because of\nits supernaturalisms and distortions, religious demands have often been\nmorbid and full of unnecessary friction.  Religion has sought to thwart\nand repress human nature rather than to guide and express.  But a\nreligion of human loyalty can be kindly as well as exigent,\nmirth-loving as well as stern.\n\nAs never before, spiritual values sing to us from life.  They sing to\nus of the patient love of the parent for the child, of the conquest of\nnature by trained intellect, of the quiet labor of the skilled workman,\nof the steady loyalties of every-day life, of the willing coöperation\nof citizens, of the sweetness of music, of plans for greater social\njustice, and of a world made free from war.  Spiritual values are\neverywhere around us inviting our service.  He who asks where they are\nis like a man who asks for water when a spring is bubbling beneath his\nfeet.  And yet we have been so blinded by the old ascetic\nsupernaturalisms that we are slow to realize that these simple human\nthings are nobly spiritual.  So long as there are things worth while,\nthere will be spiritual values.  Is not this positive enough?  Need he\nwho has an inalienable treasure fear robbery?\n\n{217}\n\nTo put the situation bluntly, religion must be separated from the\nother-worldly pull of the traditional theologies and be sanely grounded\nin the outlook of modern knowledge.  There is no need for a rabid\nanti-theism.  The truth is, rather, that mankind is outgrowing theism\nin a gentle and steady way until it ceases to have any clear meaning.\nThis is a hard saying and requires justification.  In part, I have\ngiven the justification in the preceding pages; in part, I have given\nit elsewhere.[1]  But the drift among thinking people is unmistakable.\nWith the imminent solution of the mind-body problem, the last bulwark\nof the old supernaturalism will have fallen.  Man will be forced to\nacknowledge that he is an earth-child whose drama has meaning only upon\nher bosom.  It is my firm conviction that the clear realization of this\nfact will startle men into insights and demands of far-reaching import.\nMay it not remove a dead-weight of inhibitions which has kept the human\nspirit under bonds to past attitudes and methods?  There will no longer\nbe a divided interest and an uncertain horizon.  To many it will come\nlike a plunge in cold water: but may not such a plunge do them good by\nwaking them from their dogmatic slumbers?\n\nThe interpretation of the physical world of which man is a part must be\nleft to the coöperative work of {218} science and philosophy.  These\nwill give to us tested and critical knowledge of the processes which go\non around us, of the drift of the stars in the world-spaces, of the\nspiral movements of nebular matter, of the evolution of the elements,\nof the integration of organic forms, of the development of historic\nlife.  The universe is: it is meaningless to ask whence it came, for it\nalways was, and time is but a term for the changes which go on within\nit.\n\nBut, having explored the universe by telescope and microscope, and\nhaving thus come to some understanding of his world, man must return\nagain to his own pressing problems and possibilities, to his need to\ninterpret his own good, to his desire to further and maintain those\ninterests and activities in which he finds self-expression.  His own\nlife, as a realm of affection and action, must rightly be for him the\nsignificant center of the universe.  These urgencies, interests,\npossibilities, satisfactions, loyalties are inalienably human and\nvalid.  He can no more ignore them than he can his hunger for food and\nhis thirst for water.  Nothing can rob him of the values which he has\ncreated, nor can any one take from him the burden of courageous\nendeavor.  He is the master of his own destiny and the prompter in his\nown drama.  In his tenser moments, the physical spaces around his\nplanet will but contain\n\n  \"The endless, silly merriment of stars.\"\n\n\nAs religion learns to relinquish theology and accept the modern view of\nthe world, the spirituality which it has fostered will mate with\nreason.  Reason by itself is not enough; feeling by itself is not\nenough.  What the world awaits is the sane and kindly ministry of a\n{219} concrete reason to the goods of human life.  Thinking and\nexperimentation must be instrumental to the progressive betterment of\nlife.  This idea is not new.  Many have grasped it before in whole or\nin part; but the setting has not always been simple enough.  Comte\nmeant just such a humanism in his religion of humanity, but he was\nunable to cut himself loose from his associations with organized\nChristianity.  There is no adequate motive for the retention of the\nritualism and worship of Comtism, nor is there any good reason for the\ndeification of humanity.  Humanity is not an entity, nor is it a sort\nof supreme personality which may be worshiped.  Religion will mean the\nvaluing of experiences and activities, the striving for their\nrealization, the loyalty to their call.  Taken in this way, religion\nwill agree with and commend the purpose expressed by Huxley: \"To\npromote the increase of natural knowledge and to forward the\napplication of scientific methods of investigation to all the problems\nof life to the best of my ability, in the conviction which has grown\nwith my growth, and strengthened with my strength, that there is no\nalleviation for the sufferings of mankind except veracity of thought\nand action, and the resolute facing of the world as it is, when the\ngarment of make-believe by which pious hands have hidden its uglier\nfeatures is stripped off.\"  This outlook has been called the marriage\nof naturalism with philanthropy; it is better to speak of it as the\nmarriage of naturalism with humanism.  It is the belief that a rational\nspirituality is possible, natural to man, and, above all things,\ndesirable.\n\nBut if men find their salvation in love for, and loyalty to, values of\nvarious kinds, the practical question {220} becomes that of the\nfurtherance and support of these values.  What are some of the social\nconditions of a noble life?  Surely education, opportunity and free\nassociation.  It is no longer granted to trust the coming of a\nsupernatural grace which will illuminate life.  Such subjective\nillumination is only too apt to reflect the temperament of the\nindividual and to lack that training and breadth of interest which only\neducation and opportunity for a varied experience can give.  Many of\nthe values which we prize most highly to-day need the soil of culture\nand of a complex civilization before they will flourish.  To distribute\nthem widely is the dearest hope of a democracy which looks beyond the\nmerely political aspects of social institutions.  But such a\ndistribution is a goal which has conditions which must be mastered by\nthe bending of a keen social intelligence into the service of a genuine\ndesire for the extension of well-used leisure.  I mean that the task of\nmodern democracy is the securing of economic well-being and a fair\ndegree of leisure for the mass of the citizens in order that they may\nhave the time, the energy, and the opportunity to develop themselves\nand to put themselves coöperatively into touch with the pleasant and\ncreative side of life.  But I have already touched upon these problems\nof social method and aim in another volume.[2]\n\nIt is time that I discussed a question which, I have no doubt, has been\nhovering in the background of many a reader's mind.  Is it justifiable\nto retain the term religion when its ancient setting has been so\ncompletely discarded?  I have myself asked this question many a {221}\ntime.  For many years, I felt that it would be better to give up the\nword entirely as indissolubly bound up with those ideas and beliefs\nwhich the modern trained mind is outgrowing.  But I could not hide from\nmyself the fact that the consciousness of the time was beginning to\nemploy it in a freer and more constructive way.  It had sensed the\nelement of devotion and loyalty which religion had, in spite of its\nmany shortcomings, nourished.  How common the phrase is that a man has\nmade a religion of some interest!  The socialist is said to make a\nreligion of socialism, the social reformer of his work of constructive\nphilanthropy, the artist of his art.  We mean that he has thrown\nhimself whole-heartedly into some one of these fields.  And,\npositively, this means that he has found that concrete and living\nsalvation which ideal effort always brings to a man.  He is filled with\nthe spirit of consuming loyalty to what he values.  He has left the\nmere conventionalities, the run of use-and-wont behind and has exalted\nhimself with a living purpose which illuminates and concentrates his\nbeing.  I think that this spirit and attitude is coming to be called\nreligious, no matter to what objects it attaches itself.  Have we not\nhere a mark of identity which justifies the retention of the age-old\nword?  Morality is too cold a word in the ears of most men.  Besides,\nmoral values are only a part of the immense throng of appreciations to\nwhich man responds.  There is need of a comprehensive term, able to\ntake in all those interests and activities which give life its variety\nand glory.  Is there a better term than religion?\n\nBut there must be no mistake about the new setting of the term; no\ncasuistic ambiguity must be encouraged.  We must be firm in our\nnegations of the old as {222} well as constructive in our affirmation\nof the new.  I have tried to show that the belief in superhuman spirits\narose in primitive times when man knew little about the world in which\nhe found himself.  Investigators in the history of religion trace the\nsteps from polydemonism to polytheism and thence to henotheism and\nmonotheism.  Along with this evolution, which reflected changes in\nsocial organization, went a corresponding moral transformation of these\ndivine beings.  Yet the setting of the outlook was largely the same as\nin earlier days.  Social relations were supposed to control the\nuniverse as a whole.  Nature recognized her master in God much as the\nsubjects of a king greeted him as their lord.  His was the might,\nmajesty, dominion and glory.  There is a pathetic incident related of\nCarlyle which has meaning in this connection.  Mr. Froude told Carlyle,\nnot long before the latter's death, that he could believe only in a God\nwho did something.  With a cry of pain, Carlyle answered, \"He does\nnothing.\"  How can we harmonize this cry with his earlier faith in an\nEverlasting Will and a Providential Government of the world?  It is\nimpossible to do so.  Romantic spiritualism must give way to a\nhumanistic naturalism which sees clearly the place of man in the world.\nMorality, science and art are man's creation and distinctive\npossession.  What he needs is a stable, law-abiding environment within\nwhich to work.  He has this, and has gained some mastery of it.  The\nfurther necessary step is mastery of himself and of those huge\ninstitutions which have grown up and now threaten to make him circle\nwithin their orbits.  Man has battles still to fight.\n\nThe religion of the future will increasingly be concerned with two\nthings, virtues and values.  The Greek {223} virtues have been made\ntenderer by the Christian virtues and more steadfast by that training\nof the will and character which we associate with puritanism.  The\nexperience of the ages has deepened and broadened man, made him less\nhasty in judgment, more aware of his limitations, more realistic, more\nefficient.  At the same time, it has added that touch of pathos which\nspiritualizes the beauty of life.  We believe, also, that it has\nnourished that sentiment of tenderness for the homely fate of the\naverage man that will some day find expression in a fuller democracy\nthan has as yet dawned upon the earth.\n\nBut, above all, religion must be catholic in its count of values.\nWherever there is loyal endeavor, it will acknowledge the presence of\nthe spiritual.  It will reverence the philosopher who has found\nsalvation in the solution of complex intellectual problems, the\nscientist who has given himself to the whole-hearted study of nature,\nthe missionary who has devoted himself to the spread of an elevating\nconception of life, the kindly physician who has sought to alleviate\nhuman suffering, the social reformer who has spent his life in\nagitating for a saner social polity, the artist who has had a vision of\nbeauty and has labored to express it in such a way that all men could\nshare it, the man and woman who have met the tasks of every day with\ncourage and charity.  And it will seek to bring these values to closer\nacquaintance with each other than has hitherto been the case.  The\nguidance of a kindly and clear-eyed reason will not be regarded with\nsuspicion, for this human faith will have nothing to fear, because\nhaving no tottering creed to sustain.  What a relief it will be to have\nthe narrow sectarianism, the cruel bigotry, the obscurantism of {224}\nsupernaturalism purged from religion!  These unlovely features of man's\nspiritual life had their rootage in the distrust of human nature and of\nhuman reason, in a certain slavishness of soul continuous with the\ndistant days of man's ignorance and fear.  They will lessen and pass\naway as knowledge increases, as liberty becomes concrete and\nsignificant, as a more spiritual courage grows among the mass of men.\nAnd, in my opinion, there is nothing more calculated to hasten the\ngrowth of this buoyancy and moral courage than a larger measure of\nsocial justice in the common affairs of life.\n\nAnd, in this mission of adjustment and service between the various\nvalues of life, reason will have a co-equal as a helper.  Surely, art\nwill come more and more to its own in the life which is opening up\nbefore us!  Man's soul will crave gracious surroundings, the harmony of\nwell-constructed dwellings, the restfulness of dawn and flowers, the\nelevation of noble buildings.  Ugliness and squalor will be repugnant\nto him, for he will know their spiritual cost.  But man will not only\nseek healthy and beautiful surroundings, he will also be desirous to\ninterpret all phases of his life to himself.  And in this effort at\ninterpretation he will succeed ever more fully in seeing the various\nsides of his life as parts of a whole.  Art will set itself the task of\ngiving significance and depth to nature, to industry, to the home, to\npublic life, to science.  And, as art begins to perform this mission of\ninterpretation, it will cease to be thought of as a mere decoration,\nthe plaything of the rich.  It will be conceived as the means for the\nexpression of those various loyalties which will ennoble and\nspiritualize life.  As the human race grows healthier {225} and happier\nit will employ to the full that gift of all gifts it has in its\npossession, the capacity to clothe things with gracious forms and give\nits deepest feelings a human voice.  Art will be the high-priest of the\nreligion of loyalty to the values of life.\n\nTo those accustomed to the old mythological setting of religion with\nits glance away from human life as a whole, this prophecy will but\nconfirm their conviction of the revolutionary character of the thesis\nwhich this book has sought to champion.  But I feel certain that, if\nthey will permit themselves a dispassionate study of the facts, they\nwill, sooner or later, be forced to acknowledge the inevitableness of\nthe conclusion.  If religion is to survive, it must be human and\nsocial.  It is they who insist upon a supernatural foundation and\nobject who are its enemies.  Man's life is spiritual in its own right.\nSo long as he shall dream of beauty and goodness and truth his life\nwill not lack religion.\n\n\n\n[1] Those who are interested in a constructive philosophical position\nwhich meets the results of modern science may be referred to my two\nbooks, _Critical Realism_ and _The Essentials of Philosophy_.  I have\nthere shown that the mind-body dualism has been due to a false way of\napproach.  Psychology gives knowledge about the functional capacities\nof the nervous system additional to that given by the physical science,\nand in no way conflicting with it, and consciousness is in the brain.\n\n[2] See especially _The Next Step in Democracy_, ch. 5.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\n\n{227}\n\nINDEX\n\n\nAgency, impersonal, 117 f.; limits of personal, 121 f.\n\nAgnosticism, and theodicy, 154 f.\n\nAlbigenses, 162\n\nArminianism, 161\n\nAsceticism, 156; protestant, 202\n\nAttis, 23\n\nAttis mysteries, 24\n\n\nBalder, 21\n\nBiblical criticism, 66\n\nBibliolatry, 204\n\nBrain, discussion of, 136\n\nBuddhism, 138\n\n\nCalvinism, 164\n\nCathars, 162\n\nChristianity, origins of, 58 f.; historical approach to, 60 f.; setting\nof, 68 f.; democratic movements in, 73; in transition, 95 f.; naïveté\nof doctrines, 101 f.\n\nChristian mythology, 28\n\nChurch, organization of, 92, 187\n\nCopernican theory, 100 f.\n\nCreation, stories of, 30 f.\n\nCriticism, higher, 128, 131 f.\n\n\nDemons, Jesus's belief in, 127\n\nDevil, a personal, 155\n\nDionysus, 18\n\nDogmatism, tendency to, 65\n\nDreams, influence of, 143\n\n\nEthics, and early religion, 170 f.; in the Middle Ages, 173 f.;\nheteronomous, 175 f.; modern, 177 f.; 184 f.\n\nEvil, for primitive man, 153; and Satan, 156; created by God, 158; as\nillusion, 164 f.; disappearance of problem of, 165\n\nEvolution, and myth, 41 f.; biological, 104 f.\n\n\nFaith cures, 132\n\n\nGnosticism, 87 f.\n\nGod, for Christianity, 115 f.; ideas of, 159 f.\n\nGreat War, 2, 11\n\n\nHades, 140\n\nHell, 177\n\nHumanism, 192\n\nHumanitarianism, 5\n\n\nImmortality, arguments for, 146 f.; and early peoples, 139 f.; and\nChristianity, 142; philosophical aspect of, 148 f.\n\nIncarnation, 90\n\nInfallibility, 204\n\nInsanity, 146 f.\n\n\nJames, Wm., 145\n\nJesus, 75, 79 f.; death of, 82; as Messiah, 85; become God, 91; and the\nHebrew prophets, 158 f.\n\nJob, 154.\n\n\nKant, Immanuel, 147 f.\n\nKempis, Thomas à, 180\n\nKoran, 62\n\n\nLang, Andrew, 17\n\nLaws, universal, 118\n\nLyell, scientific canon of, 132\n\n\nMagic, 44 f.\n\nMagicians, 50\n\nManicheism, 162\n\nMcGiffert, quoted, 7\n\nMill, John Stuart, 163\n\nMiracles, 123 f.; of Jesus, 127 f; evidence for, 130 f.; and their\nlogic, 133\n\nMithraism, 23, 69.\n\nMonastic orders, 194\n\nMonotheism, ethical, 91, 115; Christian, 111 f.; of Isaiah, 158 f.\n\nMorality, 173\n\nMythology, 14 f.\n\nMyths, and morality, 24 f.; surrendering of, 108\n\n\nName, influence of, 51 f.\n\nNaturalism, 2\n\nNewman, Cardinal, 187\n\n\nOriginal sin, 157\n\nOsiris, 23\n\n\nPaul, 70, 73\n\nPauline Christianity, 86 f.\n\nPhilo, 90\n\nPrometheus, 17\n\nProphets, Hebrew, 171 f.\n\nProtestantism, beginnings of, 93; aspects of, 199 f.; sects of, 205\n\nProvidence, 144 f.\n\n\nReformation, 205\n\nReinach, 17\n\nReligion, new perspective in, 6, 10; of the Hebrews, 27; and magic, 53\nf.; in early times, 170; social side of, 190\n\nRitual, 19 f.; and Christianity, 23\n\nRobinson, quoted, 200\n\nRoman Empire, 189, 192\n\n\nSacraments, 192\n\nSalvation, 8 f.; and immortality, 141 f., 201\n\nSatan, 155\n\nSavior, 157\n\nScience, 62 f.\n\nSecular life, growth of, 195 f.\n\nSheol, 18, 140 f.\n\nSkepticism, 110\n\nSocial democracy, 5\n\nSpiritual, the, 11, 196\n\nSpiritual courage, 2\n\nSpiritualism, 11\n\nSt. Augustine, 159, 162\n\nSt. Francis, 73.\n\nStrauss, 64\n\nSynoptic gospels, 77 f.\n\n\nTheology, and ethics, 164\n\nTotemism, 15 f.\n\nTradition, harm of, 10\n\nTyndall, 135\n\n\nUnitarian movement, 206\n\nUniverse, new view of, 3 f.\n\n\nWells, H. G., 162, 184 f.\n\n\nYahweh, 26 f.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  The following pages contain advertisements of a few\n  of the Macmillan books on kindred subjects.\n\n\n\n\nThe Bible at a Single View\n\nWith an Appendix on How to Read the Bible\n\nBY RICHARD G. MOULTON,\n\nEditor of _The Modern Reader's Bible_\n\n_Cloth, 12mo.  $1.00_\n\nDr. Moulton's purpose in this book is, as indicated in his title, to\npresent a concise view of the Bible, a view which shall make clear its\ngeneral character and content and prepare the reader for more detailed\nstudy afterward.  Dr. Moulton's training and research--he is the author\nof many books bearing on the Bible and the editor of _The Modern\nReader's Bible_--well fit him for the task which he has chosen.  This\npresentation of the broad outlines of the Bible cannot but lead to a\nmore general and clearer appreciation of the content and real spirit of\n\"the greatest book in the world.\"  The appendix offers a course in\nBible reading calculated to conserve time and energy and to bring\nbetter results than disorganized Bible reading.\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York\n\n\nThis Life and the Next\n\nTHE EFFECT ON THIS LIFE OF FAITH IN ANOTHER\n\nBY P. T. FORSYTH\n\n_Price, $1.00_\n\n\n\"Immortality needs to be mortalized and brought home to our daily life\nwithout losing its mystic spell.  So many have turned it from a\npractical task into a theoretical problem; from a Gospel to our will\ninto a riddle to our wits; from a matter of conscience and duty to a\nmatter of poetry and speculation, resting it not on the free grace of\nGod but on the dim presumption of man.\"\n\nThe reaction of a belief in immortality, its moral rebound, upon this\nlife--The egoism of Christ and the egoism of the anti-egoists--The\negoism of God, the blessing of the world--Immortality, a vocation\nrather than a problem--Immortality as a crushing crisis, a searching\njudgment on life's interior--Time's sacramental secret--The Kingdom of\nGod as the real ground of Christian belief in the soul's\nfuture--Immortality, not continued but redeemed life--Immortality as\nbehavior in a new dimension.\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York\n\n\nReligion, Its Prophets and False Prophets\n\nBY JAMES BISHOP THOMAS, PH. D.\n\nProfessor in the Theological Department of the\n  University of the South.\n\n_$1.50_\n\n\nThe object of this book, as its title suggests, is a study of the\nhistoric conflict between the two types of religion, which may be\ndesignated as the prophetic and the exploiting type.  It further seeks\nto ascertain the theological aspects and implications of the contest,\nto do justice to the theological permanence, veracity and breadth of\nvision of prophetism and to show how the theologies or hierarchies and\necclesiasticism were influenced or manipulated in the interests of the\nwill to exploit.  Again it may be said that the author seeks in this\nvolume to discover and state just what Christianity is.  In order to do\nthis he distinguishes between historic Christianity and the\nChristianity of its founder.  His conclusion is that \"The world's\ngreatest need as in the past so today, is to understand and follow the\nChristianity of Christ.\"\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York\n\n\nReligious Hand Books\n\n_Each Sixty Cents_\n\n\nNew Horizon of State and Church\n\nBy W. H. P. FAUNCE\n\n\"Broad, profound scholarship, close relationship with progressive\nsentiment all over the land, and unusual powers of keen analysis and\ngraphic statement are forceful elements in 'The New Horizon of State\nand Church.'\"--_Philadelphia North American_.\n\n\nThe Christian Man, the Church and the War\n\nBY ROBERT E. SPEER\n\nDr. Speer here discusses the essentials of a problem which has\nexercised Christian men since the beginning of the war.  He deals with\nit sanely and in a manner that will be considered distinctly helpful.\n\n\nThe Assurance of Immortality\n\nBY HARRY EMERSON FOSDICK\n\n\"Will be welcomed by those who need to be shown how much it means to\nthis world to believe that this life is but part of a vast\nforever.\"--_Boston Transcript_.\n\n\nThe Church and the Man\n\nBY DONALD HANKEY\n\n\"Filled with the wise sincerity of a religious conviction that cares\nlittle for creed and miracle, that finds the whole _vade mecum_ of life\nin the simple facts of Christ's active work among men.\"--_Boston\nTranscript_.\n\n\nAre You Human?\n\nBY WILLIAM DEWITT HYDE\n\n\"Like a stinging fresh breeze laden with the very salt of life and\nvigor....  Every man ought to get and digest this book.\"--_Pacific\nChurchman_.\n\n\nThe Best Man I Know\n\nBY WILLIAM DEWITT HYDE\n\n\"All the virtues and the graces that make for fine quality of life are\nincluded.  They are presented with a vigor that is like the sting of\nsalt winds, bracing and wholesome.\"--_Christian Register_.\n\n\nIt's All in the Day's Work\n\nBY HENRY CHURCHILL KING\n\n\"Good bracing counsel ... a book for all who wish to acquit themselves\nwell in the battle of life.\"--_The Dial_.\n\n\n\nTHE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nPublishers -- 64-66 Fifth Avenue -- New York\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Next Step in Religion, by Roy Wood Sellars", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31920", "title": "The Next Step in Religion: An Essay toward the Coming Renaissance", "author": "", "publication_year": 1918, "metadata_title": "The Next Step in Religion: An Essay toward the Coming Renaissance", "metadata_author": "Sellars", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:16.013062", "source_chars": 381610, "chars": 381610, "talkie_tokens": 86077}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by David Edwards, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page\nimages generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries\n(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\nNote: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/songofthewolf00mayerich\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE WOLF\n\nby\n\nFRANK MAYER\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCopyright, 1910, by\nMoffat, Yard and Company\nNew York\n\nPublished, April, 1910\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n       I. A RIFT IN THE LUTE\n\n      II. THE MARK OF THE BEAST\n\n     III. AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING\n\n      IV. IN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS\n\n       V. \"HER HEART WON'T BE BROKE NONE\"\n\n      VI. THE MAN AND THE WOMAN\n\n     VII. BELSHAZZAR\n\n    VIII. THE PASSING OF A CLOUD\n\n      IX. IN PART PAYMENT\n\n       X. THAT WHICH IS CÆSAR'S\n\n      XI. FRENZIED FINANCE\n\n     XII. NOT STRICTLY ACCORDING TO PROGRAM\n\n    XIII. A LAUGH IN THE NIGHT\n\n     XIV. A FAIR FIELD AND NO FAVORS\n\n      XV. GREAT EXPECTATIONS\n\n     XVI. THE SONG OF THE WOLF\n\n    XVII. THE FROWNING GODDESS SMILES\n\n   XVIII. IN THE HOUSE OF POTIPHAR\n\n     XIX. MUTUAL ASSISTANCE\n\n      XX. A PASSAGE AT ARMS\n\n     XXI. THE WIDENING CHASM\n\n    XXII. THE RENUNCIATION\n\n   XXIII. BELSHAZZAR COMES BACK TO STAY\n\n\n\n\n     \"When a man gets through playin' thu goat he gin'rally feels some\n     obligated to act the sheep foh a spell, so's to even up thu deal.\"\n\n     Red McVey\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE WOLF\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nA RIFT IN THE LUTE\n\n\nEverything else was in harmony. If the sky turquoise was a shade or two\npaler than the prescribed robin's-egg, it blended perfectly with the\nunpronounced greens of the sprouting grass and the uncertain olive of\nthe budding sagebrush. On the crest of the distant divide a silver-gray\nwreath of aspens lay against the tawny cheek of the mountain as daintily\nas an otter-fur collarette on the neck of a girl. Even the darker girdle\nof spruce and pine, lower down, lost its harsh individuality, merging\ninsensibly into the faded umbers, sepias, lavenders and tans of the\ngraduating background where the rocks and buckbrush fell away to the\nopen slopes beneath.\n\nOn the vega below, the alkaline scars, as yet uncalcined by the sun's\nfires into glaring chalkiness, gave no offense in their moist\nneutrality, and the coyote slinking dejectedly among the deserted\nprairie-dog mounds was, in his ash-colored surtout, as inconspicuous as\nthe long wan shadows cast by the weak spring sun. In the hollow of the\nfoothill's arm lay a little lake, fed by a brook born in heights so\nremote that its purl was deduced rather than heard, and over all lay\nthe soft glow of the fading twilight, accentuated by the subtle incense\nof the young year's breath.\n\nIt was a symphony of tender half-tone in minor key, one of these\nmystical, ethereal, God-painted Corots of the great West whose\nenchantment outlives life itself, calling with an insistence which will\nnot be denied until the souls of its hearing yearn for its bondage again\nand return to the rack of the cow-range, the torments of the desert, the\nchain of the eternal hills.\n\nThe only discord was in the heart and speech of the man who swore\nsavagely at his over-ridden horse stumbling among the loose bowlders of\nthe half-effaced trail. The anathema and succeeding spur thrust were\nalike cruel and undeserved, for the faithful beast had borne his rider\nbravely throughout a long and weary day's work, and despite the\nfavorable temperature of the mild spring day, his chest was foam-flecked\nand sweat-crusted and his gaunt flanks heaved pitiably. And yet there\nwas nothing particularly vicious in the face of the cowpuncher glaring\nso disconsolately over the tender vista. It was a bit thin-lipped and\nthere was more than a suggestion of merciless hardness in the deep lines\nabout the mouth, but the blue-gray eyes were calm and steady and there\nwas a sturdy independence in the out-thrust of his prominent chin and\nthe bird-like poise of his head which, bespoke either a clear conscience\nor the lethal indifference of an indomitable will. Bull-throated, yet\nwithal of a lean, rangy, muscular conformation, his every movement\nbetokened virility and force; an experienced frontiersman would have\nglanced approvingly at his well-ordered equipment, the wicked blue Colts\nin its Mexican holster sagging at just the proper angle for quick work\non a cartridge belt filled to the last becket, the pliable reata hanging\nin unkinked coils with chafed honda evincing long usage. There was a\nsignificant absence of fringe and ornament about this man, yet the\nexcellence of materials was noticeable, from the selected buckskin of\nhis gauntlets to the tempered steel of his rowels and expensive Stetson\nhat; and women usually looked twice at the broad-chested, flat-thighed,\nbronze-faced fellow who returned their stares with disconcerting\nassurance. It was his habit to look all things squarely in the face, and\nbefore his level gaze women blushed unaccountably and men smiled,\nsquirmed or turned quietly away as the circumstances warranted. Little\nchildren alone took liberties with him, and for these the bold eyes\nwould soften wondrously and a rare gentleness creep into his usually\ncrisp and terse speech.\n\nThe panorama stretched out before him as he topped the ridge, halting\nhis horse instinctively to reconnoitre the ground, was one that would\nordinarily have appealed to him, for despite his prosaic avocation, his\nwas the true artistic temperament; but to-day he looked with weary\nunappreciation bordering upon disgust, and mumbled profanely under his\nheavy mustache.\n\nThe coyote sneaking stealthily among the short sagebrush caught his eye\nand he laughed mirthlessly. \"Poor devil! Rustling like the rest of us to\nkeep his miserable body and soul together--and making a damn poor job of\nit. It would be a mercy--\" and he half drew the heavy revolver from its\nsheath. Just then the wolf sprang fiercely at a clump of grass and a\nplaintive squeal rose upon the air. Then the coyote trotted out into the\nopen with a rabbit hanging limply from its jaws and made off across the\nvega in a swinging gallop instead of devouring its prey instantly, as\none would have naturally anticipated, considering its gaunt and starved\nappearance.\n\nUnder the tan of the cowboy's face a darker flush spread redly.\n\n\"A bunch of starving pups in the arroyo yonder, and I would have\nwantonly killed her. God! what a brute I am.\"\n\nFor a space he sat in silent self-abasement; then as his horse champed\nimpatiently on the bit, he tightened the rein and rode slowly down to\nthe little lake.\n\nAt its edge he dismounted, and after removing the bridle so that his\nhorse could drink and graze more comfortably, threw himself at full\nlength upon the short grass. The well-trained broncho would not stray\nfar, and both needed rest. The coyote was still in his thoughts, but his\nmood had changed. \"After all,\" he meditated, \"she got that rabbit\nunexpectedly when she sure needed it worst--and she won out by staying\nwith the game. Maybe my turn will come, too, if I don't get buffaloed\nand stampede. Was it Seneca or Lucretius--no, Havard--who said that\nperseverance is a virtue\n\n                'that plucks success\n    Even from the spear-proof crest of rugged danger.'\n\nWell, in this case I'll be virtuous from force of necessity. But how\nlong, oh, Lord, how long?\"\n\nFrom which it might be inferred that this particular cowboy had some\ntime or other drank from springs Pierian as well as alkaline. Just now\nit was hard to say which was most bitter in his mouth.\n\nHe shifted restlessly to his elbow and built a cigarette; through its\nthin blue mist he waded retrospectively in the stream of memory. Rapidly\nin review passed his boyhood days in the far East, his college career\nwith its vast ambitions and roseate dreams, his migration to the\ncloud-kissed Rockies where he had suffered the undoing of all his\nmawkish illusions. An idealist of the most refined type, he writhed even\nnow at the merciless rape of all his virginal conceptions by that\nunsympathetic iconoclast Practicality, that ironical cynic who laughs\nour adolescent theories to scorn and desecrates the holiest of our\ndream-woven holies. All his finespun hopes had been ruthlessly rent by\nthe hand of reality. Contact with humanity in its primeval phase had\nworn his unusually refined sensibilities to the quick and the reaction\nwas as unhealthy as it was inevitable. From enthusiastic optimism to\nhopeless pessimism is only a short step for exaggerated natures like\nhis, and there were few things that this man now held sacred--and none\nthat he held holy. Even life itself, and particularly that of other men,\nhe held in contempt, and with the usual disastrous consequences. There\nwere few, even in this land of reckless men, who cared to arouse the\nslumbering devil under the quiet demeanor of this gray-eyed range rider\nwho killed first and argued afterward.\n\nFrom the pinnacle of a great faith in his kind he had been hurled\nheadlong to the depths of unbelief and suspicion. He had seen Loyalty\nmocked and betrayed; starving Intelligence bought with a price by\ncrime-opulent Ignorance; naked Virtue crouched shivering in the shadow\nof exalted, ermined Vice; the sots and trulls of bestial Sensuality\ndeified and worshiped in the public places. He had seen the harlotry of\nSociety set above the sacrament of Maternity, the butchery of embryonic\nsouls so that their lawful heritage might be squandered in the\nprostitution of Love to Vanity and Indolence. He had witnessed the\nsacrifice of every civic virtue to the Moloch of Greed and Graft, the\nabasement of all human motives to the idol of Self.\n\nThe fiercely-drawn cigarette burned his lips and he threw it away with a\nsnarling curse, his whole sentience revolted with the odor of social\ncorruption, his soul sickening in resentment of his own undeserved\nfailure. He had been honest and industrious, energetic, leal and true,\nconscientious in all things--and to what end?\n\nThat he might look every man fearlessly in the face by day and go\nahungered to a scant bed at night. He had labored servilely in the\nvineyard of the Lord and been paid by the contemptuously-thrown lees of\nthe vintage. Thrice had he lost employment because he had indignantly\nrefused to be a party to mendacity and rascality, the recollection of\nhis rather strenuous resentment in the last instance wrinkling his face\nwith a grim, unlovely smile; it had made an outlaw of him. But the\nother was an object of compassion ever since. Another Ishmael, he had\nturned naturally to the clean, free independence of the life outdoors,\ndrifting ultimately to the cow range. His natural ability and\nadaptiveness soon brought him recognition in a sphere where men are\nweighed in the scale of their actual worth as men, not as puppets in the\npantomime of conventionality. It paid him bread and he bedded where and\nhow he chose. In the first flush of independence he felt a certain\ncontent, but his was too intense a nature--he was cursed with too much\nknowledge and ambition--and the encysted leaven began to work.\n\nIn one thing he was fortunate. The hard outdoor work had hammered the\nnative iron of the man into finely-tempered steel and he was thewed and\nsinewed like a cougar. He had learned self-reliance, which is a good\nthing, and self-containment, which is a better. Best of all, he was\nbeginning to place a value on himself; all he needed was incentive. And\nsuch men make their own opportunities.\n\nThe fast waning light warned him that it was time to take the trail\nagain. It was quite dark when he swung himself into the saddle with ten\nmiles of rough country to negotiate, and the trail's difficulties in\nnowise lessened his mental discontent. For the first time he was\nresenting morosely the necessity of preparing his own supper at the end\nof his journey, and he was nowise gentle in the roping of a fresh mount\nfor the morrow's work on his arrival at the outlying camp, where he ate\nperfunctorily and without gust; despite his harsh fatigue a great\nrestlessness sent him wide, with pipe in mouth, into the stellar\nsplendor that beatifies every clear Colorado night.\n\nThe thin, pure air was surcharged with ozone and delicately perfumed\nwith the aroma of the lemonia crushing beneath his feet. A big white\nmoon topped the far-off crests of the Continental Divide, silvering the\ncottonwood fringe of the creek bank and transmuting the dull lead of the\nsagebrush waste into molten silver and liquid pearl. High up the aspens\nwere a shimmering sea of aquamarine, and the snow fields at the foot of\nthe moon were scintillating masses of opal; the cloudless sky above was\na shield of steel-blue sapphire emblazoned with diamond stars. The\nsanctity of the profound solitude was as yet unbroken by the inevitable\nwolf wails; the tender benediction of a supernal beauty was over all;\nand everywhere, save in the hot heart of Ken Douglass, was a great\nPeace.\n\nUnseeing the glory spread about him, he tramped far into the night, torn\nby conflicting emotions, none of which could he analyze. He was\nconscious only of a great Desire whose inchoateness maddened and\nbewildered him, and he stumbled blindly through the mazes of his\nuncertainty, falling over the truth at every turn but never once\nrealizing it. Vainly he evoked all the logic and reason at his command,\nbut the analogies of a by no means inconsiderable experience failed him\nutterly. It was ordinarily characteristic of him to arrive at\nconclusions with a bound where he himself was the object under\nconsideration, but to-night his powers of concentration were strangely\ndeficient and he chafed as much under the sense of indecision as he did\nover his inability to diagnose his ailment.\n\n\"What's the matter of me, anyhow?\" he ruminated, lapsing whimsically\ninto the range vernacular which he seldom affected. \"Here I've been\nriding circle on myself all day and haven't rounded in even a sick\nmaverick. I reckon I'm losing my grip on myself--and that's a bad sign.\nGuess I'm herding by my lonely too much and it's getting on my nerves.\nMight as well be a sheep-herd as hold down this job; then I'd have a dog\nto talk to at any rate. Well, wolfing it like this won't do my\ncomplexion any good; guess I'll go and get my beauty sleep!\" But the\ngray eyes held an unusual languor when he rode out in the morning, and\nthe look of worriment increased with every strenuous hour; all\nthroughout the night had he lain wide-eyed, and the experience was a\ndisturbing one. Never before had sleep been denied him; even on that\nmemorable night when, in a difference of opinion as to whose horse was\nentitled to precedence at the public watering trough in Tin Cup, he had\nroped and dragged nigh to death the foreman of the C Bar outfit, he had\naudaciously crept into the bunkhouse of the outraged fellows who were\nvengefully seeking him in every place but the right one, and after\ncalmly appropriating the personal blankets of his victim, had slept the\nsleep of vindicated virtue. That this necessitated his shooting his way\nout, on his discovery by the astonished outfit the next morning, in\nnowise affected the soundness of his slumbers; sleep was imperative to\nthis hard-working young man, and the incident had gone far towards the\nestablishment of his standing on the range. He had watered his horses\nunchallenged and slept undisturbedly ever since.\n\nTherefore his last night's experience was anomalous to a degree and one\nto be reckoned with seriously. In Douglass's perplexity he decided to\nextend the day's pascar to Tin Cup and get decently drunk; convinced\nthat conviviality was the one essential lacking to his happiness. He\ndismounted at the ford of the creek on, the outskirts of the village and\nlooked solicitously after the condition of his revolver. Not that he\ndeliberately, contemplated \"shooting up\" the town; but there was always\nthe possibility of the C Bar gang coming into town after their mail and\nit was only proper and wise to provide against contingencies. And Ken's\nfavorite maxim was, \"Never overlook no bets.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE MARK OF THE BEAST\n\n\nAs he rode slowly up the little squalid street, seemingly lost in a\nbrown study and gazing abstractedly straight between his horse's ears,\nhe was in reality keenly alive to his surroundings. Not a face or\nmovement escaped him, and his mouth hardened ever so slightly as he\nnoted a couple of C Bar horses tied to the hitching rail before the door\nof the Alcazar saloon. Dismounting leisurely before the grimy little\nshack which did combined duty as stationery store and post office, he\nnodded casually to the crowd of loafers about the entrance; if he\nnoticed significant glances toward the horses tied to the railing across\nthe street, he made no sign. And when the old postmaster quietly\nvolunteered the information, \"Matlock is in town,\" he merely smiled his\ncomprehension and rolled a fresh cigarette. Matlock was the man whom he\nhad so ignominiously dragged at his rope's end a month ago. And Matlock\nhad been indiscreet of speech since.\n\nAt the door he turned and came back with his hand extended to his\nfriend, \"I am sure grateful to you for your interest, Hank,\" he said\ngravely. \"I noticed his horse as I came in. Well, so-long!\" and\nthrusting into his pocket the bundle of mail at which he had scarcely\nglanced, went out, mounted his horse and rode unconcernedly toward the\none hotel which the embryo metropolis boasted.\n\nHank Williams scratched his head thoughtfully as he turned again to the\ntask of assorting the afternoon's mail. \"Of course he must play his own\nhand,\" he ruminated, \"an' he'll come mighty nigh to winnin' out. But all\nthe same I'd like to set in the game a deal or two myself. Guess I'll\nlook in at the Alcazar to-night.\"\n\n\"I ain't got no call to butt in,\" he continued as he puzzled over an\nunusually illegible address, \"but that Matlock is a treacherous coyote\nan' there's no tellin' what lowdown play he'll make. I just nacherally\nhave to keep cases to-night.\" His work finished, the old man proceeded\nto carefully fill the empty loops of his cartridge belt and there was a\ngrim determination on his handsome hard old face as he spun the cylinder\nof his \".45\" to test its perfect action.\n\nUp at the hotel an ambuscade was laid into which Douglass walked\nunwittingly. As his foot reached the first of the three low steps\nleading up to the rickety veranda, an arm shot around the corner of the\nhouse, there was a soft swis-h-h, a chuckle of tense triumph, and the\nfolds of a lasso encircled his throat. Involuntarily his hand leaped to\nhis holster on his hip and the ready gun came flashing half way up. But\nafter a lightning glance at the chubby fist holding the other end of the\nreata, the twinkle in his eyes accorded but illy with his subsequent\nplunging and yelling as he sprawled on all fours and bawled like a\nchoking calf.\n\nThen from around the corner rushed a sturdy little boy of five,\ngathering up the slack of the rope as he came, followed by a\nred-cheeked, star-eyed girl of four, who brandished a huge branding\niron. Upon the prostrate cowpuncher they precipitated themselves with a\nyell, the boy deftly throwing a bight of the rope about Ken's feet and\ndrawing up the slack. Then placing one foot on Douglass's neck he\nlaconically announced:\n\n\"Tied! Put the iron to 'im, Yule.\"\n\nThe little girl thrust the end of the brand against the brawny shoulder\nnow quivering with the suppressed laughter of its owner and made a\nquaint sizzling noise with her puckered lips. The cowboy emitted an\nagonized bawl wonderfully like that of a calf in the throes of the\nred-hot iron's bite and the boy stooped to a critical examination.\nBueno! he said approvingly, and then he untied the restraining coils,\nstepped back a pace and gave Ken the ethical kick in the ribs.\n\n\"Get up, you chump!\" he ejaculated in comical imitation of Ken's accent\nand manner when at work in the branding corrals. Douglass was his model\nin everything, and only the week before he had the beatitude of seeing\nhis hero actively engaged In a similar employment of the branding iron.\nBut the little girl laid her soft cheek against the bronzed one of the\ncowboy and whispered sweetly, \"Oh! Ten, youse is weally mine vewy own\nnow, ain't youse? Buddy said youse would be if ve doed it.\"\n\nThe man made two attempts before he could answer. Then he laid his lips\nreverently on the rosebud mouth. \"Yes, honey, I'm sure in your brand\nnow,\" he said gently. And he quietly but firmly declined the glass of\nwhiskey proffered him by her father as he sat her on the end of the\ndingy counter. The sweetness of those little lips was too fresh for\nthat. Old Blount gave him a keen look of approval as he set the bottle\nback. \"Your head's level,\" he said, misinterpreting Douglass's motive.\n\"Matlock is a quick mover even if he is a cur. And he's ugly to-night.\"\n\n\"That so?\" said Douglass indifferently, playing with the curls of the\nlittle child nestling against his breast. Mrs. Blount, coming to\nannounce that supper was ready, shivered slightly and her kind brown\neyes were filled with an unspoken entreaty. But he evaded their\nwistfulness and a certain doggedness gloomed in his own. All throughout\nthe meal he held the child in his lap, and when he relinquished her to\nthe troubled woman he said not unkindly: \"I am not going to get drunk\nto-night and I shall do all I can to avoid trouble. Of course I am not\ngoing to let him kill me.\"\n\n\"Ask him to go back to the ranch, dearie, to go back at once for your\nsake,\" the woman said to the child, nervously. \"Just this once, Ken,\"\nshe pleaded. \"You are so young--and life certainly holds so much for\nyou!\" But the child here interposed tearfully: \"Ten shan't do home! Ten\ntate me widin' to-mov-ver.\"\n\n\"That's what, honey!\" said Douglass, with quieting assurance. \"Out of\nthe mouth of babes--\" he quoted whimsically and the woman turned away\nwith a sigh. But all that night a light burned in her room and when\nlittle Eulalie said her prayers she knelt beside her with dumbly moving\nlips. She had known so much misery and heartache in this dreadful\nplace--and this young man had once told her that his mother was dead.\nStrangely enough, she did not include Matlock in her appeal. Which was\nmanifestly unfair and essentially feminine.\n\nHank Williams, dropping casually into the Alcazar that night, noted with\nno small satisfaction that Douglass occupied that seat at the poker\ntable which commanded the whole room with the minimum of exposure in his\nown rear. \"Trust him for that!\" he chuckled, but his nod of greeting was\nanything but demonstrative. All the same he unobtrusively sat down at a\npoint where he could see in profile every man in the room and likewise\ncatch the first view of all who entered at either rear or front doors.\nMatlock was not in the room, but leaning against the counter of the bar\nwere three of the C Bar outfit talking earnestly together. At the other\nend of the counter Blount was lighting an unusually refractory pipe\nwhich persisted in going out at every third puff. Williams, noting a\nsharp projection in the side pocket of Blount's coat, smiled\nquizzically.\n\n\"Derringer,\" he speculated. \"Well, there ain't no accountin' for tastes.\nAn' I've heard that Blount got two men in one scrap down in No Man's\nLand afore he come here. Guess Ken's good for a square deal all right.\nBut I don't like Matlock's dodging the play in this way. Wonder what\nskunk trick he will try this time?\"\n\nNearly every other man in the room was indulging in a like speculation.\nThe only possible exceptions were the C Bar men at the counter and a\nslight, well-dressed young fellow who was watching the faro game at the\nother side of the room. The latter was evidently a stranger both to Tin\nCup and to the game in which he was so thoroughly absorbed. Williams\nlooked him over indifferently.\n\n\"Tenderfoot,\" he opined, \"takin' in the sights. Maybe he'll see suthin'\nworth while if he hangs around a bit longer.\" And he smiled grimly and\nrenewed his watch of the doors.\n\nLess than a year before, Matlock had an altercation with a sheep herder\nover a game of cards in this very room and had been soundly thrashed by\nthe unarmed man. The next night the shepherd's camp had been raided by a\nmasked mob, his sheep ruthlessly slaughtered, despite the fact that he\nwas on the right side of the \"dead line,\" therefore entirely within his\nrights, and himself shot to death by the merciless marauders. Of course\nthere was no positive proof of their identity, but the consensus of\nopinion pointed to the C Bar outfit, and the decent element among the\nrange men had held significantly aloof from Matlock ever since.\nDouglass's escapade had in nowise affected his popularity among the\nresentful cattle owners who had been seriously involved by the outrage\non the sheepman; the law of the range demands fair play and the feeling\nagainst Matlock was further intensified by a dastardly trick perpetrated\nby him a few days before Douglass's unceremonious man-handling of him.\n\nAmong the men working for the C Bar had been a quiet inoffensive German\nnamed Braun, whose ambition was to acquire a small ranch of his own.\nWith this end in view he had allowed salary to accumulate in Matlock's\nhands until it had attained very respectable proportions. Upon this\nlittle hoard Matlock had long had designs, and one night he seduced\nBraun--who was a mere boy--into a game of cards where with the\nassistance of one of his confederate creatures he had deliberately\nrobbed him of every cent. This in itself would have aroused but little\ncomment; every man must protect himself in card play and any means that\ncan be enforced to one's end in poker are admissible. But with the\nmalicious brutality characteristic of all cowardly bullies, Matlock had\nsubsequently taunted his victim with his lack of perspicuity, boasting\nopenly of the means he had employed, until the boy, lashed into\nungovernable fury, had fumblingly drawn his revolver, whereupon Matlock\nshot him through the head.\n\nIn the light of self-defense even this would have been condoned, but one\nof the dead man's friends, collecting his effects for transmission to\nhis widowed mother, had discovered that Braun's revolver had been\nrendered absolutely useless by having its hammer point shortened in such\na way that it could not reach the primers of the cartridges, the weapon\nbeing therefore undischargeable. It was evident that the point had been\nfirst broken off and the fracture cunningly ground smoothly round so as\nto avoid detection. And it was whispered significantly among the C Bar\nboys that Braun's gun had hung for the better-part of a day in the ranch\nblacksmith shop while he was employed on a distant irrigation ditch, and\nthat Matlock had been refurbishing some branding Irons in the smithy\nduring the interim. And one of the boys who had been friendly with the\ndead man found on the edge of the grindstone a deeply-cut indentation\nsuch as is made by the bite of casehardened steel.\n\nIt was now ten o'clock and Matlock had not put in his appearance; the\nsmoke-dimmed atmosphere was heavy with expectancy but Douglass sat\nunconcernedly rolling cigarettes, occasionally making a bet and\nexchanging the rude badinage inseparable from the game. His face was\nsphinx-like in its immobility but the cold lethality of his eyes was\napparent even to the inexperienced tenderfoot, who was growing strangely\nuncomfortable for some indefinable reason. The raucous clamor of the\npreceding hours had become unaccountably subdued and the soft flutter of\nthe cards as they were dealt was distinctly heard. A sudden gust of wind\nslammed the insecurely fastened door with a sharp bang and a man sprang\nquickly behind the precarious shelter of the stove; even Williams\nstiffened perceptibly in his chair. The C Bar men had their hands on the\nbutts of their revolvers. The gray-eyed man alone smiled contemptuously\nat the disconcerted fellow grinning behind the stove and said\nhumorously:\n\n\"Better take a little bromide, Jim. This night air is hell on the\nnerves.\"\n\nThe tenderfoot was wavering between a conviction that it was time to go\nhome and a morbid inclination to stay and see what all this portended.\nImpelled by an irresistible impulse, he went over and sat down beside\nDouglass, who courteously shoved back the chair for his better\nconvenience. It was the one just vacated by the man behind the stove.\n\nThen of a sudden it happened. In through the door walked Matlock, his\nbloated face working ominously and an evil glitter in his closely-set\neyes. The player opposite Douglass, immediately between him and the\nnewcomer, rose with exaggerated deliberation and strolled over to the\ncounter, asking for a match. There was a perfect litter of matches on\nthe table about the very respectable heap of chips and coin which he had\naccumulated but these were curiously overlooked, and what was even more\nremarkable, he displayed no unseemly celeritude in returning to what was\nplainly a very profitable divertisement.\n\nThen the tenderfoot, comprehending, was obsessed by a great desire to go\nsomewhere and he moved nervously in his chair. The hand of the man\nbeside him had dropped carelessly to his side and involuntarily he\nshifted his chair a little farther away. He wished now that he had gone\nhome. But the pride inherent in every man worthy of the name chained him\nto his seat. He paled perceptibly, but Williams, watching him cynically\nout of the corner of his eye, gave a grin of appreciative surprise at\nthe resolute squaring of his jaw and firm compression of lips.\n\n\"Blamed if the kid isn't game!\" he ejaculated under his breath. \"But all\nthe same, if I was him I'd mosey off a leetle to one side--and that _muy\npronto_. The work's apt to be a bit wild in all this yere durned smoke.\"\n\nThen Douglass did a generous thing.\n\n\"I think,\" said he quietly to the young stranger, \"that Blount over\nthere wants to speak to you.\"\n\nThe youngster looked him squarely in the eyes. \"I don't know Blount--and\nif I did it can wait.\" He was going to see it out side by side with this\nman, come what might.\n\nMatlock was no fool. As he halted with a swagger beside his men, one of\nthem spoke quickly in an undertone and he looked calculatingly about the\nroom. Something in the unfriendly silence warned him that this time his\nmetal would be fairly put to the test and the sheer cowardice of the man\nshrank from the ordeal. He would wait for more propitious conditions and\nwith a well-simulated nonchalance he ordered drinks for the house. The\nscant acceptance of his hospitality flooded his bloodshot eyes with\nimpotent rage, but he made no comment thereon. He merely remarked that\nit was time to hit the trail, ignoring the titter of contemptuous\nsurprise and disgust which greeted the announcement. Was this the thing\nhe had foresworn so rabidly a scant four hours before! Someone laughed\njeeringly and he whirled like a kicked cur, the fires of hell in his\neyes.\n\n\"If anyone here's got any objections--!\" he began furiously but he had\nbeen weighed and found wanting and the strain had been relaxed. The\nwhole room was broadly smiling. Douglass's vis-a-vis had returned to his\nseat, and even the tenderfoot was laughing in pure relief.\n\nMatlock's undoing was so complete that he did not even resent Blount's\ndeep-toned \"Buffaloed, by God!\" He groped unseeingly for the door,\nfollowed by the scowling trio whose faces were flushed with the awful\nshame of his cowardice. At the threshold they stopped as one man, these\nthree; they were brave men, if evil ones, and their sense of ethics had\nbeen outraged unpardonably.\n\n\"I'll take my time right now!\" said one of them thickly. \"I don't work\nfor no d----d coward!\" And the others acquiesced: \"Same here!\"\n\nMatlock glared at them fiendishly for an eternal moment, one hand\nfumbling at his throat, the other fiercely gripping his gun; but they\nstared at him with somber contempt and deliberately turned their backs.\nIt was the last straw, and mumbling insanely through frothed lips, the\nnow thoroughly discredited and wholly disgraced wretch stumbled pitiably\nout into the night of an ostracism more terrible than death.\n\nNever again would man of these ranges take order from him. Never again\nwould women--even the sordid trollops of the slums--give him aught but a\npitying glance. And even the little children, awed by his shame, would\nshrink wide-eyed from his contamination. For the one sin unpardonable,\nthe one foul specter against which range mothers invoke the intercession\nof their gods, is Cowardice.\n\n\n\n\n\nAS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING\n\n\nDouglass, ambling around the hotel veranda with little Eulalie astride\nof his neck, the next morning, bumped into the tenderfoot who had sat\nbeside him in the Alcazar. He grinned sheepishly, for his antics were\nanything but dignified and he and the child were both shouting at the\ntop of their voices. But there was only appreciation in the younger\nman's eyes as he reflected \"and this is the man who waited smilingly for\npossible death last night!\" Aloud he said genially:\n\n\"Good morning, Mr. Douglass. They told me over at the ranch--the C Bar I\nmean--that I might find you here. At your convenience I would like to\nhave a talk with you.\"\n\nDouglass looked at him curiously. \"The C Bar,\" he said wonderingly. The\nyoung man smiled. \"Yes, I own it, as it happens. I am Robert Carter.\"\nThe cowboy took his extended hand and the young fellow winced\ninvoluntarily. Eulalie, after grave deliberation, stuck out her chubby\nlittle fist.\n\n\"I likes you, I fink,\" she said with much conviction, and Carter bowed\nover it with a courtesy that placed him instantly in the good graces of\nboth.\n\n\"I am honored!\" he said with characteristic gentleness. \"You are the\nfirst lady I have had the pleasure of meeting here, and your favor is an\nauspicious omen.\" He pressed his lips to the grimy fingers.\n\nThe child smiled softly. \"Youse may tiss my face if you wants.\"\n\nIt is worthy of note that the cowboy watching him saw nothing\nincongruous in the flush of color that suffused this tenderfoot's face\nas he availed himself of the ingenuous permission. \"Another critter in\nyour brand, Yulie,\" he thought, \"and this one's a thoroughbred!\"\n\nThey adjourned to the shady side of the veranda and Carter, proffering\nhis cigar case, said without preamble: \"You are a college man, Mr.\nDouglass?\" Ken, puffing at the excellent Havana, nodded affirmation.\n\n\"Yale '82.\"\n\n\"Princeton '86 myself,\" said Carter, and after the fashion of hereditary\nrivals the world over, they solemnly shook hands again. For awhile they\nsmoked in silence, then Carter turned abruptly. \"Will you manage the C\nBar for me?\"\n\nDouglass puffed meditatively for a moment. A thunderbolt from the clear\nblue above would have surprised him less, but no stoic ever bore a face\nmore immobile than that which he turned toward the owner of the biggest\nranch on the Western Slope.\n\n\"How about Matlock?\"\n\n\"He left this morning,\" said Carter grimly. \"See here, Douglass, all I\nhave in this world is invested in the ranch. My family--I have a mother\nand sister--has no other source of income. The outfit is badly run down\nand I find it to be in bad flavor with everybody in this section.\"\n\nDouglass looked at him in surprise. \"Why, I thought--\"\n\n\"So did I,\" said Carter sententiously, \"but I was wrong. I haven't had\ntime to investigate the leak, but about half my fortune has seeped\nthrough it and it's got to be stopped. I want a capable man, whom I can\ntrust, to take full charge and put it back on its feet. Will you take\nthe job?\"\n\nKen looked at him with a new understanding; this was a different man\nfrom the white-lipped one who had writhed so uncomfortably beside him\nthe night before. There was no indecision in the tense, vibrant voice,\nand the almost effeminately delicate features were strong with a great\ndetermination. The cowboy was suddenly filled with a conviction that Tin\nCup had underweighed this tenderfoot.\n\n\"Do I get a free hand?\" he asked. \"I can only work my own way.\"\n\nCarter nodded shortly. \"The actual work will be yours absolutely but I\nwill take care of the outside business end. I have a knack that way--and\nI need something to keep me busy. So far I've had no time for\ninvestigation--came in on the stage yesterday afternoon and put up at\nVaughan's, old friends of mine--but will get at the bottom of things\nto-day. You'll take hold on the first; that will give you a week to\nclear up your work. You'll start at three thousand a year. And now I'll\ngo back to the ranch and get busy.\"\n\nThey shook hands and Douglass said slowly: \"I'll do what I can.\" And\nCarter was filled with great satisfaction, for he knew that was a pledge\nwhich would see fulfillment.\n\nWhen he had gone, Ken sat for a long time in silent meditation. \"I guess\nI've arrived!\" he confided to the little girl who finally waked him out\nof this reverie. \"Yulie dear, it pays to stay with the game!\" And he\nwent in to the congratulations of Blount and his wife, who were\noverjoyed at his good fortune.\n\nDown at the Alcazar he found the three riders who had deserted Matlock\novernight. \"I'm taking charge of the C Bar on the first, boys,\" he said\nsimply, \"and I'd like you to stay on with me if you will. There's going\nto be a clean-up and a new deal. I'll play square, and you're all good\nhands. What d'ye say?\"\n\nThe three looked interrogatively at each other and then Reddy McVey, the\nman who had taken the initiative the night before, said, \"I reckon we'll\nstay.\"\n\n\"That's good! Your pay will go right along without any docking and I\nwant you to go back to the ranch after we've had a drink, and finish up\nyour corral building. And you might tell all the other boys that I won't\nmake any changes--unless I have to. Sabe?\"\n\nThey grinned their full understanding of the underlying significance of\nthat qualifying clause, and Red assured him that the rest of the outfit\nwould stay. \"They're all good boys ef they are a leetle free on the\nbit,\" he confided. \"An' they've only been obeying orders.\" Ken nodded\nhis comprehension and the deal was properly ratified.\n\nOver at the post office Williams was frankly exultant. \"Best move ever\nmade on the C Bar,\" he swore. \"That tenderfoot has more savvy than I\ngiv' him credit for. He's a sandy cuss, too. I was keepin' cases on him\nlas' night and he shore panned out good. Looks a heap more like his mam\nthan he does like th' ole man; reckon that's why I didn't get onto the\nbrand quicker. There's good leather in your new boss, Ken.\"\n\n\"Kem in yere this mawnin',\" continued the loquacious old fellow, \"an'\nsays--fust crack outer th' box--'What's th' name o' the feller who sits\nnext to me las' night; the one who was waitin' fer Matlock to make a\nbreak?' er words to thet effect. 'How d'ye guess it?' I axes, bein' some\ntook aback--fer I didn't think he was wise ter the play. 'Will ye tell\nme his name, man!' sez he, kinder impatient; 'I'm in a hurry.' Then I\ngive him your handle an' bymeby he twisted your pedigree outer me, too.\nNot that he axes me any questions ter speak of, but somehow I slops over\nwithout thinkin' an' he listens sharp. 'You're a friend o' hisn?' he\nsays, quiet like. 'Well, I don't wonder none. That's a man!' sez he. 'An\nhe's going to be my manager if I can fix it. I'm Carter, o' ther C Bar!'\n\n\"Say I, 'th' hell ye are! I knowed ole Bob Carter afore ye was\nearmarked. You don't look none like him.' But his jaws snaps amazin'.\n'My father is daid,' he whips out, 'but I am Robert Carter all the\nsame.' I axes his pardon an' he hikes out on your trail. An' I sez to\nmyself, he's some man, too!\"\n\nDouglass going out encountered a lady just entering the store. As he\nstepped aside to allow her passage-way through the narrow door, their\neyes met momentarily and she flushed slightly at the unconscious\nboldness of his look. Yet, curiously enough, she took no offense\nthereat, and turned around as old Williams bawled out, \"Hey, there!\nDouglass. Come back yere; I'v got a letter fer you I overlooked\nyisteday.\"\n\nOut of the tail of his eye the man saw that the woman was young, dressed\nquietly yet in exquisite taste, and that she was extremely good to look\nat. She was evidently a stranger, yet there was something intangibly\nfamiliar about her features. It was not until that night that he traced\nthe resemblance to Carter, when he knew immediately that this was the\nsister of whom his employer had spoken. And although none knew better\nthan he the disparity of their social planes, he dropped off to sleep\nwishing that her stay on the ranch would be indefinitely prolonged, for,\nnext to a horse he deemed a woman the most creditable and handsome of\ndivine creations, and beauty he adored both in the concrete and\nabstract. It would be very pleasant and agreeable to come in contact\noccasionally with this extremely pretty girl; it would ameliorate the\ncoarse, hard routine of his work just as the finding of a cluster of\nmountain heart's-ease had often before dispelled the gloom of a hard\nday's ride. His thought of her was purely impersonal as yet. He slept\ndreamlessly the sleep of healthy, heart-whole youth and when he waked\nwith the dawn he had practically forgotten her existence.\n\nAnd the woman? Well, after the fashion of woman, she thought more than\nonce of the bronzed young fellow who had looked at her so audaciously.\nAs she asked for her mail old Williams had volunteered some interesting\ninformation.\n\n\"So you are Bob Carter's leetle gal, the one he used to brag on so much\nto the boys, eh? Well, durn my pictur', if he didn't have good reason\nto! You look like your mammy, Miss, and she were the puttiest filly that\never run over this range! An' as good as she were purty! I mind oncet--\"\nand there followed an interminable string of reminiscences very\ninteresting to the girl but of no moment to this story.\n\n\"That feller thet jest went out is your brother's new foreman, Ken\nDouglass, the sandiest galoot an' best cowman on this range,\" he\nconcluded. \"Of course he didn't know who you was or he'd a spoke to you,\n'deed he would! Ken's real polite.\" The girl smiled at his earnest\nassurance and said gently: \"I am quite sure of it.\"\n\n\"Betcher life!\" affirmed the old man enthusiastically. \"He's too da--er,\nhem! too much polite to some cattle as doesn't desarve it, accordin' to\nmy way o' thinkin'. Why las' night he actoolly waited for a feller to\nbegin killin' of him before drawin' his own gun! It waz plumb downright\nkeerless o' him, an' some day he'll get it good an' plenty ef he don't\nwatch out!\"\n\nThen, seeing the look of white consternation in the girl's face, he shut\nup like a clam, saying only that Ken could \"take a plenty good keer o'\nhisself, when he wanted to.\" She went away, wondering what manner of man\nthat could be who had not his own personal welfare constantly in mind,\nthat being proverbially the first law of nature. Her wonder increased\nwhen, on casually mentioning her chance encounter with him, Mrs. Vaughan\nhad acquainted her with as much of Douglass's record as was common\nproperty. It was so new to her, so abnormal in every particular when\ncompared with her own code of ethics, that she was a little bewildered.\nShe was shocked not a little at Mrs. Vaughan's frank enjoyment of the\nwatering-trough episode and the ensuing bravado of the dare-devil fellow\nwho had deliberately entered the lion's den to intensify the indignity\nput upon her brother's outfit. Yet somehow the indomitable courage of\nthe man appealed to her strongly; all women love personal valor and this\nwas the most exaggerated example of it that had ever come to her notice.\nShe distinctly disapproved of the motive of it, but she blushed to think\nhow glad she was that he had come safely out of the jaws of death with\ncolors flying.\n\nStrangely enough, she appreciated the Alcazar incident to the full, and\nat her brother's graphic relation evinced no surprise. She could readily\nunderstand this kind of courage and she only commended his tact. \"He was\nmaster of the situation,\" she remarked, with an insight into the facts\nastonishing in one who had never in all her life heard a word spoken in\nanger; \"and it is absurd to think that he was ignorantly exposing\nhimself to inevitable death. He would have shot first in any event--and\nI think he would have hit.\" A conclusion so prescient that her brother\ngasped with astonishment.\n\n\"I guess your estimate of him tallies with mine, sis,\" he said\nteasingly. \"I fell in love with him at first sight.\"\n\n\"How perfectly absurd!\" she returned, with a rebuking hauteur, and\ndeftly changing the subject proceeded to regale Mrs. Vaughan with the\ndetails of New York's latest operatic sensation. But she relented enough\nto clasp her soft white arm about her brother's neck just before\nretiring that night and whisper:\n\n\"It was very lovely and noble of him to try and send you out of danger.\nOh! Bobbie, what would I have done if--\"\n\nCarter kissed her tenderly. \"It was the whitest thing I ever saw,\nGracie, and I want you to try and help me make it up to him. The man is\na gentleman, too, no matter what his past has been. And with your aid we\nwill keep him such. Besides, our fortune is in his hands to all intents\nand purposes and something tells me we are going to owe him much in the\ndays to come.\"\n\nIt may have been telepathy, and then again it may have only been\ncoincidence; but certain it is that at the very moment Grace Carter\nknelt beside her little white bed, Ken Douglass sitting on the edge of\nhis bunk took from about his neck a slender gold chain to which was\nattached a locket, opened it with trembling hands and laid his lips with\ninfinite tenderness and reverence on the mouth of the sweet-faced woman\npictured therein.\n\n\"Oh! Mother,\" he prayed, \"help me to make good!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nIN THE MIDST OF ALARUMS\n\n\nLuxuriously hammocked in the delightful cool of the broad veranda\nsurrounding three sides of the C Bar ranch house, Grace Carter lay\ndreamily watching the shadow-dance on the slope of the fast purpling\nrange. Outside, the sun devils were whirling maliciously, here and there\nkicking up a dust-spout in the wake of the sadly-tormented breezlets\nwhich foolishly ventured out in that July inferno. Overhead the sun was\nherding his cloud flocks to their fold in the brassy west, wearily\ndipping out of sight momentarily amidst their billowy fleeces. There was\nan intolerable shimmer on the low-lying adobe flats to the east, and the\nsea of alfalfa to the north drooped flaccidly in the furnace heat.\n\nHer neglected novel lay limply on a bamboo tabour at her side and an\nopen letter lay where it had fallen unrecked on the veranda floor. On\nthe wide rail shelf blazed a glory of multi-colored cacti artistically\npotted in harmoniously contrasting cool-gray jars. A luxuriant wistaria\nat the porch angle behind her supplied the requisite foil for as perfect\na picture as ever filled the eye of mortal man, and Douglass, coming\nnoiselessly through the fetlock-deep dust of the driveway, reined up his\ntired horse in eager admiration.\n\nThe girl, lulled to sleep by the languor of the hour, was very good to\nlook, upon and his eyes drank in her beauty greedily. Her hands, locked\ntogether under the shapely head, were hidden in the wealth of golden\nbrown hair that somehow had escaped its fastenings and lay in an aureole\nof glory about her delicately-chiseled face. The wide sleeves of the\nthin lavender-tinted silk kimono had fallen away from her arms,\nrevealing their soft rounded contour and exquisite modeling. The\nclinging stuff of her filmy gown betrayed every perfection of outline,\nand peeping over one edge of the hammock was just a ravishing suspicion\nof silk-stockinged foot and ankle, dainty as a child's. Her skin, tanned\ngolden tawny to the limit of the sun's daily caress, betrayed its true\ncoloring in the creamy white hollow of her uncovered throat, where the\ntreacherous fabric had failed in its trust. The lips, not too full but\nrather of a gentle firmness, were slightly parted, revealing well-shaped\nteeth, and the eyelashes and brows were long and beautifully arched.\n\nAs he sat unconsciously glowering at her, she moved slightly and the\nkimono slipped to one side, exposing the bodice of thin stuff beneath.\nThrough its folds the rise and fall of her bosom were distinctly\nperceptible. He whirled his horse with a deep-chested oath and rode\nunseen to the stables. Taking something from his saddle-roll, he tiptoed\nback to the veranda and without once looking at the sleeping girl laid\nit on the open novel.\n\nWaking an hour later, she chanced to look casually at the tabour. With a\nlittle cry of pleasure she picked up the heart-shaped bit of moist moss\nwith its embedded cluster of mountain heart's-ease and her eyes were\nvery soft as she laid it to her lips. There was no uncertainty as to\ntheir source; she knew that these were the first-offerings of the\nseason, procurably only in the hardly penetrable cañons of the range,\nmore than twenty dusty miles away, and she felt very grateful. She wore\nthem on her corsage that night at dinner and later, coming on him\nsmoking his post-prandial pipe under the stars, thanked him graciously.\n\nAs he muttered the conventional commonplaces of depreciation, his\ngleaming eyes were riveted for a moment on the flowers. Something in the\nintensity of his glance struck her like a blow; she paled and\ninstinctively covered the blossoms with both hands. Instantly her mind\nreverted to her afternoon's siesta and her cheeks flamed with\nconsciousness. She was far from unsophistication; she had seen men look\nso before but never with a similar acceleration of her heart-beats,\nnever with this fierce resentment which now coursed though her whole\nbeing. She was quivering with a sense of vague outrage and her breath\ncame fast and hard. Then with the unaccountability of the unfathomable\nfeminine, she deliberately detached one of the dainty blooms and,\nstanding with the filmy laces on her bosom brushing against his chest,\ndeftly fastened it on the lapel of his coat. After all, the man had\nridden far that day for her pleasure, and she smiled inscrutably as she\nrecalled, on retiring that night, how his hands had clenched and his\nbreast heaved when she had given him the flower. The rest of the violets\nwere sadly wilted now and she threw them out of the window with a\nsudden impatient anger.\n\nBut an hour later a great horned owl, watching from a fence post the\nmoonlit sward in front of the veranda in hopes of a possible mouse for\nhis belated supper, hooted his contemptuous derision of another\nwhite-robed hunter groping in the shadows. And over at the bunkhouse a\nman with self-revilement was fumbling with a spray of heart's-ease and\nlooking into vacancy.\n\nWhen she came down to breakfast the next morning Douglass was already\nfar out on the range. He had thrown his whole heart and soul into his\nwork and the effect was already visible to the most casual observer. The\nranch grounds had been thoroughly policed, all the halting projects of\nMatlock's régime had been spurred to finality, and cleanliness, method\nand order had replaced the previous chaos and squalor of the C Bar.\nEverything radiated the new manager's virility and energy. The renovated\nditches were glistening bank full with their life-giving floods; the\nalfalfa and grain fields, now properly kept and irrigated, were billowy\nseas of emerald fore-promise; everything betokened activity and thrift.\nIn three short months he had wrought wonders with the really excellent\nmaterial at hand and the C Bar was fast regaining its old-time prestige\nas the best-ordered ranch west of the Divide.\n\nCarter was openly enthusiastic over the wisdom of his choice of\nmanagers, a wisdom which he shrewdly supplemented by giving Douglass\nfull sway in the conduct of affairs. At the latter's suggestion, he went\nEast in June to secure certain necessary machinery, and the letter\nwhich had lain beneath her hammock the previous day was one written to\nGrace by her brother announcing his intention to have their mother\naccompany him on his return. The girl, interested by the novelty of her\nnew environment, had elected to remain on the ranch, laughingly\nasserting that it was a precautionary measure in her brother's behalf,\nas she was sure Douglass had designs on the picturesque old ranch house\nand would tear down and rebuild it if not restrained by her presence.\nThe real truth was that she knew in his loyal respect for her he would\nabstain from excesses in which he might be tempted to indulge in the\nabsence of that restraint. She was not quite sure of the moral fortitude\nof this erratic young man, and even temporary interference with his work\nwas a contingency calamitous to the C Bar interests. Up to last night\nshe had felt only a great self-complacency over the result; but this\nmorning, toying with her usually much-relished berries and cream, she\nwas obsessed by the insistent thought that her self-congratulation was,\nafter all, a trifle premature. The longer she reflected, the more she\nregretted that she had not gone back East with her brother. Not that she\nwas in the slightest degree apprehensive of any untoward futurity; it\nwas only that a new and unexpected factor had intruded itself into her\nalready perfected scheme for the restoration of her brother's\nfortune--and the reclamation of Ken Douglass.\n\nWomen are usually creatures of one idea, and she was no exception to the\ngeneral rule; her whole mentality had been concentrated on this one\nachievement, and here at the very outset the fair fabric of her dreams\nwas crumbling. She was oppressed with a sense of impending defeat that\ngrew more and more disquieting as she recalled the stories she had heard\nof his indomitable will and pertinacity of purpose. She had been much\nimpressed by a remark made by old Hank Williams on the morning of their\nfirst encounter, \"Ken allus gits what he goes after!\"\n\nAt the time she deemed it a very grand, almost heroic attribute, but\njust now it was fraught with a new significance. Something in her\ncogitations sent the blood to her face, then it receded, leaving her\npale. She pushed the untasted food away impatiently and rose from the\ntable. Going swiftly to her room, she took from between the leaves of\nher diary a cluster of withered flowers and stepped to the open window.\nIn the very act of their contemptuous casting away she hesitated\nirresolutely, looked at them once more compassionately and replaced them\nin the morocco-bound booklet. Then with an air of renewed determination\nshe returned to her breakfast and ate everything comestible in sight.\n\nThat night when Douglass returned, he bore in his arms a tiny antelope\nkid which he laughingly entrusted to her tender mercies. In his ride\nover the range he had come upon one of the pitiful little tragedies\ncommon to the great Outdoors with its unending struggle of the weak\nagainst the strong and merciless. In a little hollow of the foothills\nits mother, hamstrung by a pair of wolves and exhausted by her gallant\nfight against the inevitable, was making a last frantic effort to\ndefend her offspring cowering between her feet. The revolver flashed\ntwice vengefully and then a third time mercifully, for the poor doe's\ncondition was hopeless. But of this third shot Douglass said nothing to\nMiss Carter, simply saying that the doe had succumbed to her injuries.\nNeither did he deem it advisable to tell her that with the economy and\nthrift inseparable from plainsmen, he had sent the carcass of the\nmartyred mother to one of his outlying camps to eke out its larder, and\nso save the otherwise necessary sacrifice of a valuable yearling for\ncamp meat. Nor did he mention the fact that this had occurred quite\nearly in the afternoon, necessitating his \"packing\" the helpless kid\nabout on his saddle for many weary miles.\n\nThe girl's eyes had filled at his simple recital and she cooed\nassuringly to the kid, which nestled contentedly in her arms. But\nsomething in her eyes and about her lips as he threw the wolf pelts at\nher feet caused the man to look at her curiously. He had seen that\nexpression once before on the face of the wife of the dead sheepman when\nsome one had told her of the finding of a C Bar rider with a load of\nbuckshot through his heart some weeks after the assassination of her\nhusband. There had been no over-officious zeal displayed by the\nauthorities in their attempts to fix the responsibility of the man's\ndeath, despite the fact that the sheepman's son possessed one of the\nonly three shotguns in the county, the deceased being reputedly a \"bad\nman\" and notoriously the creature of Matlock. He it was who had assisted\nin the fleecing of poor Braun, and the general consensus of opinion was\nthat \"he only got what was coming to him!\" The code of the range is as\ndrastic as it is simple.\n\n\"It's up to you now to mother this goat, Miss Grace,\" he said\nwhimsically; \"I'll send a man in to Tin Cup to-morrow for a gunnysackful\nof any pap-maker you nominate. We've got to assume the responsibility of\nhim, his mother having come to grief on your demesne. When you are ready\nto christen him I'll get Red to stand godfather for him--that is, if you\nhave no other preferred sponsor in mind.\"\n\nThe girl looked up quickly; his tone seemed a bit patronizing and to her\nmind altogether too familiar. It was an opportune time to inaugurate a\nnew order of things which all day she had been formulating.\n\n\"I shall name him now,\" she said, icily. \"He shall be known as Buffo and\nyou are his sponsor.\"\n\n\"Buffo--a buffoon!\" He laughed a little constrainedly. \"Well, I think\nthe name is appropriate. He is a fool and so was his mother before him.\nOtherwise they'd have never ventured in where naught but angels have any\nlicense to tread.\"\n\nShe bit her lip in chagrin as he lifted his sombrero and rode\nnonchalantly away. The intended rebuke had recoiled upon her and she was\nfurious at her impotence. Retreating to the kitchen, she somewhat curtly\nordered the cook--old Abigail Williams, sister to the postmaster, who in\norder to preserve the proprieties had been engaged in that capacity--to\nprepare some nourishment for her charge.\n\n\"We've got to feed the thing,\" she snapped in a tone strangely variant\nfrom her endearing coo of a few minutes before.\n\nAbbie nodded briskly: \"I'll fix up a rag on a bottle of new milk. I've\nraised 'em before. We bed two on em oncet--Hank ez thet foolish about\nsich critters.\"\n\n\"It'll make quite a peart pet,\" went on the garrulous old body. \"An' I\ns'pose ye'll be fer givin' it sum name? Ourn was Belshazzar an' Sappho.\nHank got the buck's name outen a book where it said in slick soundin'\npoetry as how Belshazzar was king an' Belshazzar waz lord. Thet buck\nwere sure the mos' uppity critter! Nuthin' waz good enuf fer him to\nsociate with and he herded by hisself mos'ly. He waz allus on thu prod,\nstompin' aroun' darin' thu other critters to fite. He waz powerful\nor'nary, that Belshazzar, lordin' it over everybody an' allus huntin'\ntrouble.\n\n\"He waz mean to thu she-goat an' treated her scan'lous! The more she\ntried to be sociable an' nice the more biggoty he got. She'd go up'n\nnuzzle 'im an' he'd back off an' look at her scornful and walk away high\nan' mighty-like on thu tips uv he's toes, jest like he's walkin' on\naigs. He waz allus hurtin' uv her feelin's but he didn't seem to care\nnone. An' thu poor critter would tag after 'im an' humor 'im ontil she\nmade me sick! If he got outen her sight she'd blat an' take on suthin'\ndrefful, an' one spring when he jumped thu fence an' went out\ngallivantin' with thu wild ones fer a spell, she went loco an' actooly\ncried tears! That's sure right. I seed 'em.\n\n\"That was the spring that Ken Douglass hit this range. One day when she\nis actin' more foolish than, most he pats her on thu back an' calls her\n'Sappho' an' spouts a lot o' hifalutin dago talk an' wipes her eyes with\nhis new silk han'kerchief--really! Tenderfeets air cu'r'ous critters an'\nKen acts loco a leetle hisself sumtimes. He takes a heap o' int'rest in\nher after that, and fetches her apples n' things every time he goes to\nTin Cup. An' one day I hears that durn fool say to Sappho as how he\nwishes he was a goat so that he could teach her to fergit her sorrer.\nDid ye ever hear anythin' so plumb ridic-lous! Then one day he rides up\nto thu gate an' says: 'Miss Abbie'--he kin be real polite when he\nwants--'there's rejoicin' in Lesbos to-day. Belshazzar has come back!'\nThen he rides off laffin, an' I gits my sunbonnit and hikes down to ther\npastur'. Sure 'nough, thar's thet fool buck, an' for the fust time\n_he's_ nuzzlin' her! An' thet Sappho she waz so foolish happy that I\nwanted to shake her.\"\n\nGrace put the kid down very gently on the floor. \"I had thought of a\nname for him but--\"\n\nA shadow darkened the door. \"Hello, Buffo. You getting your first\nlesson, too?\"\n\nThe girl stiffened instantly. \"I shall call him that, after all. Thank\nyou, Mr. Douglass, for strengthening my resolution.\"\n\n\"And as his godfather I, of course, must be Momus,\" said Ken, nothing\nabashed, though his eyes glittered. And in a not unpleasant if somewhat\nstrident voice, he mischievously sang:\n\n    \"Why gall and wormwood in a throat\n    Designed for hydromel!\n    Far better be a Buffo goat\n    And court the booze bot-tel.\"\n\nHer lips curled at what she mistook for an implied threat. With all the\nhauteur she could summon to her aid, she swept him with her scorn. \"Oh!\nIf you feel a really irresistible desire to get drunk,\" she said, \"that\nis a waste of talent far more appreciable by the critics of the Alcazar;\nmy brother, being unfortunately absent, will be desolated at missing\n_this_ performance.\"\n\nShe regretted her temerity even before she had finished. His face seemed\nto age as she looked. A man putting such indignity upon him, at first\nview of that face, would have hastily laid his hand on his pistol-butt;\nthe girl placed hers tremblingly above her heart.\n\nThe man's self-restraint was wonderful. For an interminable moment which\nseemed an age to the frightened women--for even old Abbie was blanched\nwith comprehension and stood with clasped hands and white lips--he was\nsilent. Then in a voice whose calmness made the girl shiver with an\nundefinable fear, he said:\n\n\"That is twice to-day, Miss Carter, that you have been pleased to insult\nme. I am most unfortunate in having incurred your disfavor. My intrusion\nhere was to acquaint you with the news that your brother, accompanied by\nyour mother, will be here to-morrow night, a rider having just brought a\ntelegram to that effect. It will take me but a few minutes to gather my\neffects. I will submit a full account of my stewardship to Mr. Carter\nto-morrow--from Tin Cup. It will be sufficiently full and comprehensive\nenough to obviate the necessity of any explanations on your part. Have\nI your permission to retire?\"\n\nUnable to think coherently she mutely nodded assent. Hat in hand, he\nturned on the threshold. \"The performance will begin at ten, to-morrow\nnight,\" he said. \"Abbie, don't put any wormwood in Buffo's milk. It'll\nmake him uppish.\"\n\nBut the gods who dispose of man's proposals ordained that Douglass was\nnot to leave the C Bar that night. As he swung out into the moonlight\nhis nostrils were assailed with the pungent fumes of burning hay and a\nman came running toward him.\n\n\"The stacks have been fired and the ditches cut! Red saw one of them and\nis on his trail!\" Afar in the starlight a pistol snapped viciously; it\nwas answered by a louder detonation, succeeded almost instantly by the\nfainter whip of the pistol. Then after a few seconds' interim came yet\nagain the fainter report and all was silent.\n\n\"That's Red's .45,\" said the man with curt positiveness. \"T'other must\nhave had a Winchester, and he didn't fire but one shot. Red shot last.\"\nThey were running full speed toward the burning stacks and Ken chose to\nwaste no breath in speculative reply. But he was seeing a different red\nthan that of the flaming hay as he recalled Williams's warning: \"Look\nout fer Matlock. He's a pizen skunk and he'll stoop to anythin' ter play\neven.\" The fire being incendiary, admitted but one deduction, and he was\npraying his gods to give this man into his hands.\n\n\"'Twan't Matlock,\" said Red tersely, in answer to the interrogation in\nhis comrade's eyes as he rode in to where they were standing helplessly\nwatching the destruction of what was fortunately the smallest stack on\nthe ranch, Ken's masterly directions executed by willing hands having\nextinguished the others. \"'Twer that mizzuble Mexican side-kicker o'\nhisn, an' the damned varmint nearly got me. Shot his hoss an' he come\nback with his rifle. Got him second shot.\"\n\n\"Yeh fired three,\" said the man who had summoned Douglass, tentatively.\n\nRed took a chew of tobacco. \"Yep. Only winged him an' he possumed on me.\nStuck his knife inter me but she glanced on a rib. He's daid now.\" His\nvoice was unemotional but his face was white. Douglass, watching him\nsharply, laid his hand on the other's glove.\n\n\"Better get up to the shack, Red,\" he said quietly, \"You've lost a lot\nof juice.\"\n\nThe man smiled wanly, reeled In his saddle, and clutching fruitlessly at\nthe horn, slipped limply down into Douglass's supporting arms.\nSubsequent examination revealed that he had also been wounded by the\nMexican's rifle shot. There was a ragged hole through the fleshy part of\nhis thigh and hemorrhage had been profuse. Declining all offers of\nassistance, Douglass carried him to the bunkhouse and laid him on the\nrough bed. Looking at the white face of the fellow before him, his mouth\nresolved itself into a thin cruel line.\n\n\"By God, Matlock, you will pay in full for this!\" He had unconsciously\nsworn it aloud and the men gathered around the bed of their stricken\ncomrade knew that supreme sentence had been passed. They made no\ncomment, but as Douglass, rolling up his sleeves, bent to the clumsy but\nefficient surgery that was to save Red's life, one of them nudged his\nneighbor and said inconsequentially, \"Red weighs good two hunnerd!\" And\nhe looked admiringly at the ripples playing silkily under the bronze\nsatin of his foreman's arms.\n\nBut far out on the prairie, riding in headlong guilty haste from the\nNemesis that his craven heart dreaded as even his cowardice had never\ndreaded anything before, Matlock shivered telepathically and turned in\nhis saddle. A startled night-fowl fluttered uncannily over his head and\nhe crouched almost to his saddle-bow with terror. The flutter of\nAzrael's wings seemed very close!\n\nAn hour later, as Douglass emerged from the bunkhouse, old Abigail\nhesitatingly accosted him. \"Yuah to come up to thu house, Ken, right\nway! Now don' yuh be foolish, boy; remember she's only a gel--an' young\nat that!\"\n\nHe patted the wrinkled hand laid on his arm but shook his head in grim\nnegation. \"It isn't necessary, Abbie; you tell Miss Carter that it will\nall be in the report to-morrow!\" And he gently but firmly put aside her\nrestraining hand.\n\nBut the old woman was wise in her generation. \"Look heah, Ken Douglass,\"\nshe indignantly stormed; \"don't yuh try no hifalutin with me. I ain't\ngoin' to be stood off with no such a bluff ez that! Who nussed yuh when\nyuh got shot up by this yeah very mizzuble outfit las' summeh? Yuh come\nalong o' me without no moah talk. An' when yuh git theah yuh go down on\nyuh stubboahn knees to that little angel an' promise thet yuh'll be\ngood.\"\n\nHe laughed quizzically. \"Is that one of the conditions she imposes--that\ngetting down on my knees? I'm out of practice a little and my knees are\nall blacked up from that fire. I'm afraid I'd soil that immaculate\ncarpet of hers.\"\n\n\"Yuh hev soiled a heap moah than her cyapet already,\" said the old woman\nsignificantly, \"an' yuh mind's been blacker than yuh knees. Did yuh\nthink she was one o' them dance-hall huzzies yuh've been herdin' with\nall yuh mean life? An' up tha' she sits cryin'--\"\n\n\"Crying!\" said the man sharply, and without another word he strode after\nthe doddering old woman, who had knowingly turned even as she spoke.\n\nAs he entered the living-room the girl rose with an involuntary cry. His\nhair, eyebrows and mustache had been badly singed, his face was\nsmoke-grimed and dirty, great holes had been burned in the thin shirt,\nthe flesh showing angrily red through the rents. He was in sharp\ncontrast with her own white daintiness as he stood there grim and\nforbidding, but she thought she had never looked upon a manlier man.\n\n\"I inferred from what Abbie said that you wished to see me?\" The tone\nwas cool and even but respectful.\n\n\"Yes--I wished--I thought--\" she faltered incoherently, looking\nappealingly at him. But he only waited impassively, and the girl\nnervously clasped her hands.\n\n\"Tongue burned too?\" snapped Abigail, with withering sarcasm, glowering\nwrathfully at him; the girl went up to him quickly, her eyes luminous\nwith compassion.\n\n\"Oh! You are injured--you are suffering--I did not know--\"\n\n\"It is nothing--merely a few slight scorches. Pray do not be concerned\nabout it. And I am glad to assure you that McVey will recover. The\nbullet--\" At the white terror which crept into the girl's face he\nstopped abruptly, clipping the words between his teeth and cursing his\ninadvertence.\n\n\"The bullet--McVey--I do not understand,\" she was wild-eyed now with\nfear and her voice was very faint. Old Abigail with an incredibly quick\nmovement caught her around the waist.\n\n\"Sit down, honey, and we'll tell you about it. There! Thet's a dear.\nMatlock an' one uv his critters fired the haystacks an' cut the ditches\nso's Ken wouldn't hev no water to save 'em with. An' Red he see one uv\n'em ridin' off an' runs him down an' shoots him up right! But the ornary\ncuss shoots back an' Red gets it in ther laig an' thet's all they is to\nit. Don't yuh worrit none; we only lost thu leetlest stack o' ther\nbunch.\"\n\n\"And the other--the one who ran away?\" asked the girl with quick\nconcern.\n\nAbigail's lips curved in a grim smile. \"Red shot three times. Once at\nthe hoss.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\"HER HEART WONT BE BROKE NONE\"\n\n\nTrue to her intuition, he came to her, lying in the hammock waiting his\ncoming the next morning.\n\n\"I am afraid,\" he began apologetically, \"that I will have to postpone my\ndeparture for some time, after all. It is imperative that the ditches be\nrepaired, the crops needing immediate irrigation, and McVey's\nindisposition leaves us very short-handed. Besides, I am personally\nresponsible for all these mishaps and must make them good.\"\n\nHis speech was almost contrite in its humility and his manner had lost\nmuch of its assurance. It was a moment fraught with possibilities and\nshe was fully aware that the smallest concession on her part would pave\nthe way to reconciliation. But she did not know of the bitter travail in\nwhich he had labored the livelong night, and the significance of his\nclosing words evaded her understanding.\n\nAttributing all the foregone evils to Matlock's personal hatred of him,\nand deeming himself therefore solely responsible for the damage\ninflicted by that worthy, he had quixotically resolved to remain in\nCarter's employ until his salary had accumulated to an amount sufficient\nto recoup the latter for all the loss sustained. That end attained, he\nwould find Matlock--the rest was simple.\n\nNothing of this she knew, and yet she was conscious of a great\nimpellment to be kind to this man. She had half arisen with a gracious\nword of thanks for his herculean labors in the behalf of her brother on\nher lips, when, by some fatality, the morning wrap she was wearing\ndropped from her shoulders. It was unfortunate that his eyes fell on the\ninstant. When he again raised them she had caught up the garment and\nwith a care so exaggerated that it sent the blood to his face, was\nhaughtily fastening it about her throat. Her intent was unmistakable and\nhe hardened like adamant. All too late she repented; that one second of\nperversity had undone a whole night's chastening and his voice was as\ncold as ice when he resumed:\n\n\"I will therefore be unable to meet your brother on his arrival. You can\nsay to him that he will lose nothing by last night's work. I am going\nout to the ditch now and will not return until it has been fully\nrestored.\" Then with an almost imperceptible inclination of his head, he\nleft her without another look.\n\nTurning uneasily in the hammock, she discovered for the first time that\nthe entrance to the bunkhouse was visible through the interstices of the\nwistaria. The door was open to admit the solace of the balmy air to the\nwounded man, whose pale face with its closed eyes was plainly\ndiscernible in the semi-gloom of the darkened room. Shuddering slightly,\nshe put her hands before her eyes, lowering them at the very moment\nthat Douglass, belted and spurred, led his saddled horse up to the\ndoor.\n\nShe watched him enter, noting that he removed his sombrero on crossing\nthe threshold. His every movement betokened care and caution, indicating\nhis solicitude not to awaken the sleeper. Unconsciously she admired the\nsinuous, almost feline grace of the fellow who stood for quite a time\nlooking down on his stricken comrade. Then she was startled to see him\nturn and raise his clenched fist in the air, his lips moving\nconvulsively, and she shrank from what was written on his face when he\nagain came softly out and mounted his horse. Ten minutes later she\nwatched a cloud of dust blotting the horizon on the crest of the little\nrise to the north. When it had again settled, she went into her room and\ncame out with a pair of shears in her hand.\n\nMcVey, jaded and wan from the manipulations of the surgeon who had come\ndown overnight from Tin Cup, waked to find an exquisite bouquet of\nfreshly cut flowers in a quaint Japanese vase on the little stand beside\nhis bed. He had seen that vase before on the window-sill of Miss\nCarter's room and he blinked incredulously at it. His wonder was only\nexceeded by his embarrassment when, a few minutes later, that lady\nherself in person entered the room, followed by Abigail, who bore a\nplatter of daintily prepared food.\n\n\"It's might good o' yuh, ma'am, too good!\" he assured her in clumsy\ngratefulness, as she rearranged his pillows after the refection. \"But\nyuh shouldn't go to so much trouble; I'd rest a heap easier in my mind\nif I knowed you wasn't puttin' yuhself out none. But,\" reminiscently,\n\"that chicken soup were shore fine!\"\n\n\"You shall have some every day until you are well,\" she beamed on him\nfrom the doorway.\n\nHe thanked her with a gravity whose solemnity of effect was somewhat\noffset by his next utterance. \"Say, Miss Williams,\" he said seriously in\na stage aside, \"when yuh cal'late I am well enough to stand it, yuh go\nout an' git some other Greaser to come up here and shoot me some more!\"\n\n\"Yuh shet yuah trap, Red McVey,\" snapped the vestal addressed\nreprovingly, \"an' rest yuah pore weak brain. Ain't yuh made trouble\nenough already, gettin' yuhself shot up right here in thu thick o' thu\nhayin' an' Ken short-handed as it was? What onaccountable idjits men is\nanyway! Now yuh be good fer a spell!\"\n\nShe flounced out with assumed asperity, halting at the threshold for a\nlast admonishing look. The big fellow, his head hung in abashment,\nlooked up pleadingly.\n\n\"Kiss me, mommer, an' I'll go to sleep!\"\n\nRouted horse, foot and dragoons, Abigail fled in confusion, and Red\ngrinned in self-complacency as Miss Carter's silvery laugh tinkled in\ndiminishing crescendo. Then he turned his face to the wall and really\nfell asleep.\n\n\"Beats all,\" confided Abigail that afternoon, to Grace, watching her\ndeft manipulation of the dinner's pie crust, \"what misonderstandable\nfools these men critters be. Thar's thet Ken Douglas o'\nyourn,\"--watching slyly out of the corner of her eye the flushing face\nand compressing lips of her auditor--\"now 'tain't sca'cely six months\nsince he was sky-hootin' around yeah, wishful o' killin' every blessed\ncowpuncha in this outfit; an' now they ain't ary one o' the pin-headed\ndogies that ain't a beggin' to be allowed to do his killin' fer him! He\nhad quite a time makin' 'em promise not ter cut in on Matlock, las'\nnight. I hear 'm jawbonin' about it oveh to thu shack. But they finally\nallows he's Ken's meat an' 'grees ter keep han's off. I'd feel some\nsorry fer that Matlock ef he wa'nt sech a pizen skunk. I r'ally do wisht\nhe was moah of a man! Ken's too clean a boy to hev ter stomp out sech a\nsnake.\"\n\nMiss Carter was not a woman of iron nerve and this dispassionate talk of\nkilling affected her visibly. As the old woman proceeded with her\ndisquieting recital, her face blanched, but with a great effort at\nself-control she held her peace; this was evidently the hour of\nrevelations--and she had to know!\n\n\"But he has it ter do--he suah has! An' I wisht 'twas oveh. I doan\nreckon Matlock will ketch him nappin'--Ken's eye tooths is cut--but yuh\nnevah kin tell!\" She sighed lugubriously and the girl's blood ran cold\nin her veins. \"Thar's allus a chanct--an' Ken is a heap keerless at\ntimes. I hope he gits him soon!\"\n\n\"But why?\" said Grace unevenly, making a heroic struggle to retain the\ncomposure that was fast deserting her. \"You talk as if he were compelled\nto kill this man.\"\n\n\"Well, hain't he?\" replied Abbie, with naïve surprise in her voice, as\nshe stopped pinching the edges of a pie and looked up in astonishment.\n\"Hain't Matlock declar'd hisself? Hain't he bragged as how he'd cut thu\nheart out o' Ken an' show it ter him? Didn't he crawfish like a cowardly\ncoyote when Ken called his bluff in thu Alcazar, an' then came sneakin'\naround yeah in thu night an' buhn yuh haystacks? Why, what moah d'yuh\nwant him to do?\" The indignation in her voice was genuine.\n\n\"But why--I cannot understand--\" began the girl confusedly, \"why is it\nnecessary for Mr. Douglass to personally undertake the punishment of\nthis wretch? Have you no laws that can be invoked to punish the one and\nprotect the other?\"\n\n\"Laws!\" snorted the old woman contemptuously, \"what good would all the\nlaws be to Ken arter Matlock had him pumped full o' lead? Thar's only\none law fer rattlesnakes on ther range, honey--kill 'em befoah they gits\na chanct ter strike!\" The leathery old face twitched venomously and she\nslashed the pie top with suggestive vigor.\n\n\"But that would be murder!\" gasped the girl, her face gray with horror.\n\n\"Murder, huh! An' what would it be if Matlock has his way? Didn't he\nkill thet sheepherd--who whopped him fair an' squar'--in cold blood?\nDidn't he jest nat'rally butcher thet pore Dutch boy arter fust\ncripplin' o' his gun on ther sly, ther tre'cherous haound! Murder--!\"\n\nHer gray crest was erect and she was breathing audibly through\npassion-pinched nostrils. She put her hand kindly on the girl's\nshoulder. \"Hit's got ter be one or t'other on 'em, honey. They hain't no\nother way. An' out yeah whar wimmin 'n children air left alone a heap at\ntimes hit's every good man's duty ter pertect his own. Did yuh heah what\nhappened ter thet sheepman's wife thet night arter they killed her man?\n\n\"Hit war one man done hit arter the rest was gone. He was masked, o'\ncose, but all thu rest o' yuh outfit was at thu Alcazar--Matlock with\n'em--so's ter prove a alleyby. Thu one that were shy was thu feller they\nfound on Hoss Creek a week later with nine buckshot in his rotten\nheart.\" And then she avoided the girl's eyes as she whispered something\nthat brought Grace to her feet screaming with horror.\n\n\"Naow I ain't sayin',\" she went on slowly, \"thet Matlock is as low as\nthet. T'other was a half-breed 'n some say a convick. But thar's no room\nfer him on this range naow, an' he knows it. An' that kind o' man allus\ngoes bad. He's got it in specul fer Ken, an' hit's suah one er t'other\non 'em.\" And then she shot her last bolt mercilessly:\n\n\"Would yuh ruther he killed Ken?\"\n\nOutside somewhere a raven, scavengering indolently about the corrals,\ncroaked gutturally; never again as long as she lived would Grace Carter\nhear without shuddering the uncanny dissonance of that foul bird. In the\nsilence of that suddenly oppressive room the ticking of the little cheap\nalarm clock on the mantel beat upon her brain like the strokes of a\ndrum, seeming to her disordered mind to say \"Kill-Ken!--Kill-Ken!\"\n\nShe passed her hand numbly over her forehead, mechanically adjusting a\nstray wisp of hair. She was dimly conscious of an agony of compunction\non the wrinkled face before her, but it excited in her only a dull\nwonder. Why was Abbie looking so strangely at her? If only that tiresome\nclock would cease its muttering! What was this strange thing now\nhappening to her, this slipping away of a part of herself, this new and\nperturbing sense of sudden oldness and wisdom and--and heart-wrenching\nfear! For a moment she plucked petulantly at the velvet band about her\nthroat; the room seemed reeling about her and she swayed unsteadily on\nher feet.\n\nWith a cry of keen self-reproach, Abigail threw her arm around the\ntottering girl and bore her into the darkened bedroom. When she emerged\nlater it was with a sorely troubled mien.\n\n\"I'm not quite settled in my mind thet I've done ther right thing in\ntellin' her so suddenly. Still, since he's goin' ter do it she hed best\nbe prepared. Pore lamb! Why didn't Ken finish ther job in thu fust place\nand be done with it! Now it'll come between 'em an' like as not she\nwon't hav' him on account of it. Ther Lawd do move in myster'ous ways\nfer a fac'! An' they do say thet ther trail o' troo love is rough an'\ncrooked. An' them sech a well-matched span, too!\"\n\nAbigail had evidently jumped to conclusions of her own, in her\nrange-born simplicity overlooking the obvious disparity that a more\ncaptious conventionality would have interposed between the respective\nsocial planes of a society blossom and a \"wild and woolly\" cowpuncher.\nAnd if she had drawn any comparisons they would have been indubitably\nin favor of the latter. For in her environment she had acquired the\nfaculty of properly estimating the worth of a real man. And then, again,\nAbigail was a woman, and there is a proverb about the contempt of\nfamiliarity.\n\n\"I reckon 'twer ther heat,\" she opined barefacedly when the young woman,\na girl no longer since the ticking of that clock, expressed her\ninability to account for her sudden indisposition. \"I heve nevah fainted\nmahself; reckon I wouldn't know how,\" with a grim attempt at jocularity.\n\"Nevah had the time, anyhow. Yuh feelin' peart again, honey?\"\n\nGrace assented languidly. The antelope kid, fed to repletion, was\nblinking at her from his blanket nest in the corner. As she spoke he\narose and wabbled over to her side, laying his cool, moist muzzle\nagainst her hand.\n\n\"Jest look at thet, now!\" said Abbie delightedly. \"Thu leetle cuss wants\nter be petted an' coddled. Well, he's like all other he-critters, got\nter be humored an' made much of, whether they desarve it or not. An' I\nguess,\" with shrewd philosophy and a certain deliberate emphasis,\n\"thet's what we poor she-males was mos'ly created for. Take Hank, now.\nHe's a reg'lar baby about sech things--an' whines like a sick pup ef\nhe's overlooked in the slightest. Thar now, you Buffo!--lawks a mussy,\ndearie, he's got yuh hand all slobbered up--you hont yuah hole! It don't\ndo to giv' 'em too much rope. Ef yuh do they's suah ter run on it an'\nthar's trouble all raound. Feed 'em well, speak 'em kind, an' give 'em\ntheah haids on a hahd pull er in a tight place, an' they gentle quick,\nan' easy an' come up pullin' arter every fall. But doan yuh never go to\ncrowdin' of 'em onreasonable at thu wrong time er they'll balk an' lay\ndown, er kick over thu dash-boahd an' run away, accordin' to thu natuah\no' thu brute. Yuh kin keep 'em up on thu bit when thu goin's good, but\ndoan spur 'em when they's excited 'n feelin' they cawn!\n\n\"Thu mos' on 'ems ondependable at times! some on 'ems loco all thu\ntime--thet kind espeshully\" pointing toward the bunkhouse from which was\nissuing the tinkle of a guitar to the accompaniment of a stentorian\nwail:\n\n    \"Haow d-r-r-y I am! Haow d-r-r-y I am!\n    Gawd o-h-h-nly knows haow-w-w dry I am!\"\n\n\"Yuah takin' thet tuhn quite upsot me, and I done quite forgot thet no\n'count Red. Heah him yowl! Long ways from daid yet, 'pears to me!\"\n\nNevertheless, the cool hand laid on his hot brow was invested with a\nmotherly tenderness, and the chiding voice was gentle and kind.\n\n\"Yuh better go and lay in yuah hammock, dearie,\" she suggested to Grace,\n\"an' rest up a bit; I got a lot o' tidyin' up to do yeah.\" The room was\nalready painfully clean and the man on the bed knit his brows\nquizzically.\n\n\"I do want my hair curled 'n' my mustache waxed 'n' some ody-kolone on\nmy hank-chy,\" he murmured plaintively. \"I shore do!\"\n\nAbigail glared at him, but Grace, with a final pat to the pillows,\nsmiled indulgently. \"Get well quickly; we need you too much; and it must\nbe dreadful to have to stay indoors in this weather.\" Then she went out\nrather abstractedly, McVey's eyes following her with the wistfulness of\na dog's. Abbie, watching him, smiled satirically.\n\n\"Red, too!\" she ejaculated mentally; \"well, why not? He's a whole lot of\na man, hisself, an cats kin look at queens ef they likes. An' queens hev\na lot o' things ter be done fer 'em thet only men kin do. I wonder\nnow--!\"\n\nShe looked at him speculatively, her lips tightening with a sudden\ndetermination. The cowboy grinned with quick prescience.\n\n\"Spit it out, Abbie. I caint help myself.\"\n\n\"Red,\" she said quietly without an attempt at preamble, \"will yuh kill\nMatlock fer me?\"\n\nHe stared his astonishment undisguisedly. There was absolutely no doubt\nas to the seriousness of her question; the grim set of her jaws, the\nanxiety in her eyes and general tenseness of muscle throughout the whole\nlean body betokened that.\n\nIn this man's life surprises were not infrequent and now as ever he\ndisplayed only the nonchalance characteristic of all typical\nfrontiersmen in moments of crisis. Something in her manner and attitude\nrepressed the almost irresistible desire to answer her humorously, and\nhis reply was grave to solemnity.\n\n\"Yuh see, Miss Abbie, we-all promised Ken thet we wouldn't cut in on\nthet deal. But I'd jest love to oblige yuh, an' if yuh can square me\nwith the old man I'll take Matlock's trail soon as I can straddle m'\nhoss agin. Yuh see, Ken's kinder got hes heart sot on doin' thet leetle\nstunt hisself, an' he's apt to r'ar up an' sweat under thu collar when\nanybody musses with hes things. Yuh onderstand how 'tis--\"\n\nShe withered him with a measureless scorn: \"Yes, I onderstan'. Yuah\nafraid o' Matlock!\" She turned to go. \"An' I thought this was a man!\"\n\n\"Stop a minnit, Miss Willi'ms!\" The words were scarcely audible but she\nwheeled instanter. He had not moved a muscle so far as she could detect\nbut she felt as though she had been clutched in a grasp of steel and\nwhirled on a pivot. But the erstwhile pallid face was now justifying his\nnickname and his eyes were black with menace. \"Thet's not eggsactly\nsquar' now, is it?\" His voice was almost pleading, the trembling hands\nalone betrayed the strain he was laboring under.\n\nMountain born and range bred, Abigail Williams was a woman of undaunted\ncourage, but even her invincible spirit recoiled momentarily from the\ntask she set herself. It was like plowing in a powder magazine with a\nred-hot share, but she was only concerned with the end in view and,\ndeliberately considering the risk, employed the only means at hand.\n\n\"Squar' er raound,\" she said incisively, \"It's thu mizzable truth. Ef it\nwa'nt, yuh would take thu job offen Ken's ban's an' keep my lamb's heart\nfrom breakin'!\"\n\nShe could hear the beating of his heart in the absolute quiet that\nfollowed her audacious words. When she dared to raise her eyes he was\nvery pale and wan but he met her pitying glance with a brave smile\nalthough his lips were twitching.\n\n\"I reckon that I've been a bit thick-haided,\" he said simply. \"I ought\nhave knowed thet you wa'nt the kind o' woman to take no sech mean\nadvantage of a feller. Yuh'll excuse _me_, Miss Abbie! Yuh see, I didn't\nsavvy the how o' things.\"\n\nAbbie, torn with remorse and pity, was all woman again. In the reaction\nshe wished she had left her words unsaid and impulsively went over and\nlaid her hand on his. The cowboy covered it with his other bronzed paw\nand for a long time neither spoke. It was McVey who broke the silence.\n\n\"I'll kill him, o' cose. Reckon it'll cost me me' job--an' then some!\nIt's goin' to be mahnst'ous hard to make Ken see it thu right way an'\nhe'll be some rambunctuous about it. He's awful sot in hes ways an' it's\ngoin' to be hard to explain. I'd shore hate to have some one play me\nthet trick, I suttinly would!\"\n\nThe woman was crying now and as the weak drawl ended she grew\nhysterical. \"Oh! Gawd, what hev I done?\" she moaned under her breath;\nthen she frantically implored him to forget what she had said, insisting\nthat it was all a joke, that she was merely \"tryin' to pay him back fer\nhis imperence\" the night before. But Red smiled his entire conviction.\n\n\"Miss Abbie, don't yuh do it no moah, don't yuh, now! It shore ain't\nyuah strong suit, yuh giv' yuah han' away. Lyin's man's work, an' a\npowerful bad business it is, too! Gawd nevah intended a woman's lips to\nbe dirtied that away.\"\n\n\"An' besides, it's too late,\" he went on dispassionately. \"Yuh've made\nmany things plain to me that I was too locoed to see before. But tell\nme straight, is that true about her'n Ken?\"\n\nShe nodded mutely, not daring to meet his eyes.\n\nHe looked long into the starlit sky, and Abbie, emboldened after a time\nby his seeming composure, rose and bade him good night. He reached out\nfor the cigarette materials laid convenient to his hand.\n\n\"Guess I'll make a terbacco smoke.\" Abbie struck a match and he\nluxuriously filled his capacious lungs. Then slowly exhaling the pungent\nwreath he flicked the ash from the cigarette tip and tentatively\nextended his sinewy arm. It was as devoid of tremor as that of a bronze\nstatue and he nodded his satisfaction.\n\n\"Her heart won't be broke none.\"\n\nHis voice was very calm and even.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE MAN AND THE WOMAN\n\n\nAt the junction of Horse and Squaw creeks, some seven miles from where\nGrace Carter was lying in her hammock awaiting the arrival of her\nbrother and mother, Ken Douglass outspanned his weary scraper team and\ncalled his day's work done. The damage had been of even greater\nmagnitude than he had feared and his most sanguine estimate placed the\ntime required for complete repairs at three more days.\n\nHe had impressed every available man and team into the service, leaving\nonly one young fellow at the ranch to do the choring inseparable to a\nholding like the C Bar. Having outlined his plans and assigned to each\nman his specific duty, he had personally plunged into the thick of the\nwork, driving his men only a trifle less strenuously than he did\nhimself. In consequence whereof it was a sore-muscled crowd that\nruefully rubbed their aching backs about the camp-fire that night,\nquaintly profane after the manner of their kind.\n\n\"Gawd! But you make a bum driver, Punk,\" said one of them\ndispassionately to a short, squat fellow who was anointing his blistered\nhands with bacon drippings. \"Yuh pushed so hawd on thu lines that yuh\nraised cawns on that claybank's gooms. Was yuh thinkin' yuh was polin\ndogies oveh to Glenwood again?\"\n\nNow Punk Dixon was a bit sensitive on the dogie question; while employed\nin the engaging pursuit of prodding refractory yearlings up a loading\nchute that spring his flimsy footing had given way, precipitating him\nunder the feet of two score frightened animals whose sharp hoofs had\nreduced his brand new \"chaps\" to rags and himself to a sadly dilapidated\nmass of incoherent blasphemy. But he grinned good-naturedly and wiped\nthe surplus grease off his hands over the head of his tormenter.\n\n\"Thar! That's better'n that pink axle-grease yuh been lavigatin' yuh\npore old coco with, Woolly,\" vigorously massaging the viscid fat into\nthe bald pate with his thumbs, much to the hilarious enjoyment of the\ninconstant crowd who laughed even louder at the last victim's\ndiscomfiture. It was a tradition that \"Woolly\" Priest had been born with\nexceedingly long hair in plenteous supply, losing it in the stress of a\nhard winter succeeding \"thet awful calamity to Grand County,\" as the\nnarrator generously put it, by reason of a goat's having dined upon it,\nmistaking it for wire grass! According to the veracious relator his head\nhad been so soft and mushy that the goat had \"pulled the bristles out by\nthe roots 'n they wa'nt annythin' left fer a starter.\" Certain it is\nthat the shiny poll was entirely devoid of any hirsute covering at the\npresent time, despite its owner's unremitting applications of all the\npatent nostrums he could get--the latest being an unguent built by Red\nMcVey's suggestion out of rattlesnake oil and Tobasco sauce!\n\n\"Well,\" said one of the more optimistic among them as he kicked off his\nboots preparatory to turning in after supper, \"this yeah life might be\nbetter, 'n it might be wuss. But I'm shore thankful fer this yeah leetle\nole baid, an' thu knowin' that I'm goin' to roll out of it to-morrow\nmawnin' alive an' kickin'. They's a heap o' satisfaction in bein' able\nto ante when yuh are called to eat!\"\n\n\"An' thu daid don't eat none. Say, Hungry, haow d' yuh like to be\nBraun?\" The speaker was the friend of the dead man who had discovered\nthe mutilation of the revolver. The badinage ceased instantly and an\nominous silence fell upon the whole assemblage.\n\n\"Hungry\" Thompson looked over to where Douglass was morosely glaring\nover the demolished ruins of his spring's labor. Even through the murk\nof the gathering night the clenched hands and swelling neck cords were\nvisible to that sharp eye.\n\n\"Haow d'yuh like to be Matlock?\"\n\nA match snapped sharply as some inveterate smoker kindled his cigarette.\nA man sat bolt upright in his blankets and Hungry swore angrily. The\ncamp sank to rest but not exactly to sleep, as the occasional clearing\nof a throat evinced. Eventually, when the fire had sunk to a heap of\nsmouldering coals, tired nature asserted itself and the men slept.\n\nTo Douglass alone came neither sleep nor rest. His mind was in a turmoil\nof doubt and anger--doubt as to the nature of the strange obsession\nunder which he travailed, and anger directed chiefly against himself.\nHis hatred of Matlock was very bitter, but it was inconsequential in\ncomparison with his savage self-objurgation. He did not go to bed, as\ncommon sense would have dictated and overwrought frame pleaded, but sat\nby the dead coals smoking himself black in the face.\n\n\"What an egregious ass I am!\" he reflected, reviewing his senseless and\nstilted actions of the day before. \"Here I am quarreling with the first\nbread and butter that ever came my way with jelly on it. After all, I am\nonly a menial, Carter's hired man, and I presumed too far. What in the\ndevil's name is the matter with me? My hide ought to be thick enough by\nthis time, God knows! And yet that fool girl's little bodkin went\nthrough it like an electric spark and cut to the marrow! Well, she's\ntaught me my place, all right, all right.\" He smiled his grim admiration\nof her cleverness. \"But it's too late. It's a pity, too, for I think I\ncould have made good.\"\n\nIt was characteristic of him that he never entertained even a momentary\nthought of a possibility of reconciliation. He had told her what he was\ngoing to do and that was settled business. It was going to be a little\nrough on him to quit \"broke\"; it would take all his summer's wages to\nrecoup Carter for that hay and the loss of the men's time incurred in\nthe ditch mending. The fall round-up would be over by that time and work\nis scarce for unattached cowpunchers in the winter. It meant \"choring\nfor his board\" until spring's activities widened the vista and the\nprospect was uninviting to one of energetic temperament.\n\nEven more characteristic was his utter lack of resentment of the young\nlady's rebuke; he had \"presumed too far\" and got what was coming to him.\nHe was conscious that he had deserved it, in more ways than one. But\neven as he admitted this to himself there crept again into his eyes a\nsomething not altogether wholesome and reassuring to any woman arousing\nit.\n\nOf love so far he had known only two phases, the filial which is\nspecifically restricted, and the universal which is diametrically\ndiffused over so great an area that it is dubious whether it really\nmerits that high classification. For his parents he had entertained an\naffection closely approximating idolatry, especially for his mother,\nwhom he had known best, his father having died in his early childhood;\nhe also had a certain affection for little children, for flowers, for\nthe more frail and helpless things of creation in general, that might be\ndignified by the name of love but which more probably was merely the\nindulgent patronage of all strong natures for things weaker than\nthemselves. At college he had made no special strong affiliations for\nthe simple reason that few of his fellow-students were strong enough,\nphysically, mentally, or morally, to greatly command his respect. And\nall unknowing to him he had come away from school with a hunger in his\nreally affectionate heart that had not been appeased by precarious\ncontact with the unsatisfying elements among which his lines had been\ncast. Not once in all his western career had he met with an affinitive\nsoul on which he might have leaned and so gained that chastening sense\nof tender dependence without which no man ever yet attained happiness.\n\nWomen's beauty he admired, but their virtue he revered not at all; yet\nhe had a paradoxical respect for that quality, whenever he encountered\nit, that first begat and ultimately conserved in him that anomalous\nchivalry of the frontier which impels a man to the espousal of the under\ndog's cause without hesitation. He would have fought instantly and to\nthe death for a woman insulted; but he would just as readily have sprang\nto the aid of a man battling against unfair odds. Of conventionality he\nhad only a contemptuous disregard, taking the goods the gods gave\nhim--when altogether to his fastidious taste--when and where they\noffered. The very recklessness displayed, and its all too frequent\nindulgence and participation in by the objects of its incitation, had\nmade him calloused, and cynical to a degree very disastrous to a man of\nhis tender years. For at twenty-six it is befitting to take off one's\nhat to a petticoat hanging on a clothes line, after the traditional\nhabit of Lord Chesterfield.\n\nLet us not sit too hardly in judgment upon this red-corpuscled young\nsavage. The fires of youth burn fiercely into the natural sequence of\nmaturity's steady glow and senility's ashes. A boy's will is\nproverbially the wind's will, and youth must have its fling. In a land\nwhere every man is a law unto himself it is hard to fix limitations and\nthe tide of license rolls high. There is no caste on the frontier, and\nthe range of passion is as wide as the boundless horizon. He had been\ntenderly received in high places before, and so there was nothing\nincongruous in his quick desire for Grace Carter.\n\nSomething of this was passing through his mind now, but somehow it\nsavored of sophistry and he knit his brows. He had said or done nothing\nto which the most hypercritical could logically take exceptions, yet her\nresentment had been spontaneous and unmistakable.\n\n\"_Honi soit qui mal y pense!_\" he muttered, and again his eyes held that\nunlovely light. \"One who divines, must feel--and she is only a woman\nafter all.\" But the conclusion was not altogether satisfying and he\nshook his head. The cigarette was suddenly bitter in his mouth and he\nthrew it away impatiently.\n\n\"No, damned if I believe that, either! I don't know what I believe.\nGuess I better hit the feathers.\" He rolled into bed, blinked sleepily\nat the stars for a few minutes, and with an indifferent \"What the hell\ndo I care, anyway!\" fell asleep.\n\nAnd in the hammock seven miles away she was making excuses for him. \"He\nis very impatient of restraint,\" she was thinking, \"and probably I\nmisjudged him, he is so different from the others.\" Nevertheless a\nsudden flash of anger kindled in her eyes; then, strangely enough, she\nsmiled softly into the starlight.\n\nShe had yet two hours to wait and the balmy stillness of the night was\nconducive to reflection. Her thoughts went back to the scenes of her\nformer life and the people she had known in that vastly different\nenvironment. Men had been plentiful. In that effete land of worrying\nnecessities the shrine of beauty, when allied with reputed wealth, has\nmany devotees; the Carters were known to be \"cattle kings.\" She was\nfamiliar with many types, and with the arrogance of all youthful women,\ndeemed herself an infallible judge of men and their motives. There had\nbeen men of parts among her acquaintances: soldiers, merchants,\nclergymen, writers, financiers, and fops galore. Some she had respected,\na few she had admired, many she had tolerated, but none she had loved.\nShe was generous in her estimation of their worth and strove to enthuse\nover their many excellences, but to her irritation, suddenly realized\nthat she was weighing them all against a gray-eyed man in a fire-rent\nshirt, with smoke-grimed face and singed hair.\n\nShe turned uneasily in her hammock, catching through the wistaria a\nglimpse of the open door of the dimly-lit bunkhouse. She could see the\nintermittent glow of Red's cigarette, and the glisten of the polished\nsteel in the holster, hung carelessly on his bed-post. Suddenly she was\ninfected by the magnificent extravagance of this western life, this\nqueer jumble of loyalty, pride, poverty, sacrifice, sin, strength,\nsuffering, fortitude and malignity. She felt a fierce satisfaction in\nliving where men begged for the privilege of killing the enemies of\ntheir friends, and she felt almost grateful to Red for his savage\nappreciation of the courage which had transformed Douglass from his\ndearest foe into his dearest friend. She had even a greater reason to be\ngrateful to him, had she only known it.\n\n\"He must not leave,\" she said with a fine determination. \"It will check\nhis career--and we owe so much to him. I am a super-sensitive little\nfool and I will make amends. Bobbie said we must 'make it up to him' and\nI will. He is a gentleman, and he will not make it hard for me.\"\nComforted by her intuitive assurance of that fact she laid her soft\ncheek on the pillow at precisely the moment of Douglass's line\nassumption of indifference, and fell asleep.\n\nBut out in the kitchen an old woman was awkwardly stroking the head of\nan antelope kid. \"I wonder ef I done right?\" she mumbled. \"I wonder!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nBELSHAZZAR\n\n\nIn October the Colorado mountain lands are very beautiful. They lack, it\nis true, the gorgeous coloring of the eastern Indian summer, with its\nbeauty of scarlets, crimsons, ochres, maroons and mauves, the western\ncolor scheme being in half-tints of low tone. The barbaric splendor of\nthe eastern autumn is here reflected only in the evening skies and in\nthe glowing grays, blues, browns, blacks, bronzes and golds of the eyes,\nhair and faces of the hardy mountaineers.\n\nOver the foothills and valleys are spread tenderly the more delicate\ntints of the Master's palette; the enveiling haze is golden instead of\npurple, the tints of verdure and earth are softly subdued and blend\ntogether with all the exquisite harmony of an old Bokhara rug. Even the\nonce-disfiguring alkali barrens appeal to the eye now, their velvet\ncloaks of ash-of-roses contrasting most agreeably with the delicate\nolive-grays and heliotropes of the sage and rabbit brush. Here and there\na belated Indian-shot flaunts its brilliant lance and over yonder a\ncactus masks its treachery with a blush; an occasional larkspur or\ngentian raises blue eyes from the gentle hill slopes, and down on the\nplains the martial Spanish-bayonet parades its oriflamme. The whole\nlandscape has an underlying wash of burnt sienna, glowing warmly through\nthe superimposed color.\n\nThe forests are mysterious with silent flitting mouse-blue and\ngray-tawny shadows, and the dim trails and passes are incised with the\nquaint hieroglyphics which tell the story of the migrant deer. The oily\nblack-green splashes of spruce and fir, the silvery valance of the\naspens, and the ermine of the snow coronal against the puce of\nprotruding peaks in the higher ranges are the only decided colors in\nmass. Of early mornings the mountain bases in the distances are billows\nof smoked-pearl mist; as the light strengthens and the temperature\nrises, the mist rises with it, dissipating gradually into thin wreaths\nof dainty rose-pink, faint orange--and nothingness. In the as yet\nundisturbed shadows the bold cliffs suggest to the imaginative mind\naggregations of uncut crystals; higher up, where they catch the downward\nreflected rays of the warming sun, they are amber and wine-colored\ntopazes, and on the ice-capped summits they are scintillant as diamonds.\nAt midday the pure rarified air is a marvel of transparent clarity and\neverything is as clear cut as a cameo.\n\nIt is not until late in the afternoon that the great mystery evolves.\nAll of a sudden one is aware of a decided and yet intangible change.\nImperceptibly but surely the temperature falls, the quality of light\nalters, the heat shimmer is no more and a golden radiance replaces the\nbrazen glare of the sun; into the nostrils steals an indescribable\nperfume, elusive and infrangible, the brown scent of autumn wafted to\nthe senses on the cool breath of the frozen heights above.\nInstinctively the perceptions sharpen; this is the hour when beast and\nbird bestir themselves and the vista is enlivened with a new animation.\nOut of nowhere, seemingly, struts a sage hen with her brood; another and\nyet another materializes under your feet until it seems as if the very\nsoil was being transmuted into patches of gray-speckled life. In the\napparent vacancy of that soft-swelling knoll to the west looms up the\nphantom bulk of an antelope, disproportionately large and deceptively\nblack against the sun. A dun-colored heap of trash at the foot of a\nsagebrush in the bight of the dry creek-bed below resolves itself into a\nvery live-looking coyote which blinks yearningly at the unattainable\nvenison on the knoll above, wistfully licks his chops and slinks evilly\nin the wake of the grouse broods.\n\nAs the sun dips behind the detached mountain spurs in the west the\nshadows grow slightly blue and the high lights intensify. By some\noptical necromancy the clouds seem massed in the west, the whole eastern\nsweep of sky being an unbroken wash of salmon pink, relieved by tinges\nof apple-green at its nethermost edges. Against this tender background\nthe minutest details of the majestic Rockies stand out with such vivid\ndistinctness that one gasps with the wonder of it. Long after the low\nlands have gloomed these heights glow with a glory indescribable, and\nwhen it has finally passed one feels as though a glimpse of Heaven\nitself had been vouchsafed to the soul torn with Life's torturing\nskepticism.\n\nBut what words can describe, what brush portray the awful grandeur of\nthe western sky! Before that riot of color the eye falls abashed as did\nthose of Moses on the mount. The sublimity of it shrivels man's pitiful\negoism until he grovels in humility and awe. When God lays His hand upon\nthe sky the dimmest eye sees and the most skeptical heart believes!\n\nShe was saying as much in substance to him as they rode homeward in the\nsoft afterglow, her face transfigured by the reverence in her heart. He\nassented gravely, his eyes dwelling admiringly upon her rare beauty. In\nthe hallowing light of the hour she was invested with a new charm to\nthis appreciative Pantheist and from some pigeon-hole of his\nwell-stocked and retentive memory called the almost-inspired voice of\nold Ossian:\n\n    \"Fair was Colna-Dona, the daughter of kings,\n        Her soul was a pure beam of light!\"\n\nUnconsciously he put his thought into words and the voice was very\ngentle. She looked at him dubiously, almost apprehensively; it was hard\nto differentiate between this man's cynicism and sincerity. Then she\ndropped her eyes in rosy confusion, her heart leaping unaccountably.\n\n\"That was a false note the Psalmist struck,\" he went on quietly, \"when\nhe sang of the wrath of his God. It were better he had dwelt only on the\nsweeter quantity of His love. I am sorry for that devotion inspired only\nby fear. _This_ is the manifestation best calculated to insure one's\nkeeping in the right trail.\" He swept his hand comprehensively toward\nthe western glory. \"Men do not love the thing they fear--nor women\neither.\" His tone was quizzical and challenging.\n\nShe looked up in sudden relief; this was more familiar ground and she\nlaughed with sudden audacity.\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"About women? Well, I'll admit that was a bluff; but I know all about\nmen; I am one of them! The divinity that shapes our ends must kiss, not\nkick!\"\n\nAt this unconscious confirmation of old Abigail's sage conclusions her\nlaugh pealed out merrily. \"Feed 'em well, speak 'em kind, an' give 'em\ntheah haids on a hawd pull er in a tight place,\" she quoted with\ninimitable mimicry, and he grinned with quick understanding.\n\n\"Good old Abbie! I wonder who she loved enough to learn all that? And so\nyou've been taking lessons, too!\"\n\n\"I thought we had done with that,\" she said almost pleadingly. \"You make\nit very hard for me!\"\n\nInstantly he was all contrition. \"Forgive me! I shall not offend again.\"\nShe took his extended hand frankly and for a time they rode in silence.\nThe narrow cañon trail necessitated their riding very closely together\nand occasionally his leathern chaps brushed against her. Once, as they\nrounded an abrupt turn, the heavy revolver at his hip was jammed\npainfully against her gauntlet; she merely shut her teeth and smiled.\n\nThey were returning from Tin Cup, whither they had gone in the morning\nin company with Robert and his mother, who were leaving for the East.\nThe morning after his arrival at the ranch she had bravely told her\nbrother the whole circumstances of the preceding week, magnanimously\ntaking upon herself all the blame--in which truth compels us to say her\nbrother entirely agreed--and thereafter had ridden out to the camp of\nthe ditch repairers and patched up a truce with Douglass.\n\n\"I am only a tenderfoot,\" she had wisely begun, \"and always have had an\nunhappy faculty of doing the wrong thing unintentionally. You are a big,\nstrong, generous man, and you will hold no malice against a foolish\ngirl--!\"\n\nHe capitulated instantly; but he was over-voluble in his reassurances\nand somehow she divined that her apology had missed fire so far as it\naffected his determination to leave when he had recouped her brother for\nthe losses he had unwittingly brought about. She was not for a moment\ndeceived by his studiously polite words but was too politic to betray\nit. He had affected not to see the hand she had timidly extended in\namity and for that he would pay, later! There was much of old Bob\nCarter's inflexible determination in this frail-looking daughter of his.\n\nTo her mother she had, curiously enough, said nothing about it. She had\neven been unwise enough to impose secrecy upon her brother and Abigail\nas to the cause of the conflagration and Red's mishap, forgetting that\nMrs. Carter was range bred and born, and that Nellie Vaughan was an\nincorrigible gossip! It would not have added to her equanimity to have\nknown that inside of twenty-four hours her astute mother was in\npossession of all the facts and considerably perturbed thereover. She\nwould, however, have appreciated the relief in her mother's eyes on her\nfirst encounter with Douglass.\n\n\"Clean, manly and good to look at,\" had been her shrewd verdict.\n\"Thoroughbred stock, too. A good friend and a bad enemy! A good cowman\nand a valuable accession all around. I really must congratulate Robbie.\nBut what is Grace's mysterious interest in him? She was very anxious not\nto have me find out the facts about this latest outrage, poor dear! Was\nit that she was afraid that I would be unduly exercised over a trifle\nlike this?\"\n\nShe smiled somewhat grimly as her mind went back to that day when, over\nher husband's unconscious form thrown at her feet by the benumbing\nbullets of a gang of rustlers, she had emptied the magazine of his\nWinchester to such effect that border men rode far out of their way to\ntake off their hats to \"Bob Carter's pard.\" The recollection sent the\nblood into the fine old cheeks and her hands were again clenched\nretrospectively upon that shapely bit of walnut and steel which had\nserved her so well that day. Then the lips softened wondrously and a\ngreat sweetness flooded her eyes. She was thinking how tenderly he had\nkissed her powder-blackened hands and bruised shoulder, his heart\nthrobbing with love and wonder and pride of her.\n\nShe was very gracious to Douglass that night at dinner, leading him on\nwith skill to talk of himself, and drawing him out to a degree that\nwould have astonished him had he realized it. Under her charming\npersonality, quick and sympathetic intelligence and clever induction,\nhis reserve melted gradually and soon he was talking more freely than he\nhad ever done to human being before. When he had finally made his exit\nshe turned thoughtfully to her children.\n\n\"We want to be very judicious in our dealings with that young man. He is\nof sterling quality, but super-sensitive and impulsive, and requires\nhandling with gloves of velvet. I think he is scrupulously honest, and I\nshould imagine inordinately brave--and vain! Do you know anything of his\nantecedents?\"\n\n\"Only that he is American born, of Scotch descent, mother,\" replied\nRobert, \"and that he was educated at Yale. He is a civil engineer by\nprofession, I believe, but he is hardly the kind of man from whom one\nwould attempt to force confidences. All I know is that he is the\npluckiest fellow in the world, and the most generous and considerate.\nWhy, one night at the Alcazar--?\" and he proceeded to the eager relation\nof his pet story.\n\nShe listened attentively, nodding her full comprehension. \"That is what\nI would have expected of him; I am seldom mistaken in my judgment of the\ntype. And I presume his services here are in every way satisfactory?\nWell, let us make every consistent effort to retain him; such men are\nscarce even in this land of good men. I suppose that the man Matlock has\nleft the country?\"\n\n\"He has not been seen since the night of which I spoke. Ken seems to\nhave run him out for keeps!\" His voice was distinctly boastful. \"And if\nhe knows what is good for him he'll stay out!\"\n\nIf Mrs. Carter, glancing casually at her daughter, noted the sudden\ncompression of Grace's lips, she made no comment thereon. She had\ncraftily wormed out of one of the men, the youngster detailed for\nchore-work, the story of the men's agreement to leave Matlock's\npunishment to Douglass. She understood the situation thoroughly, and, as\na typical range woman she approved of Douglass's determination. The\nquarrel was eminently his, and upon him in person devolved its\nsettlement. What she could not understand was the distress in her\ndaughter's face as she said earnestly:\n\n\"I am not so sure that you have seen the last of him. Such men as he are\ntenacious and revengeful; he fired our stacks, you remember! Don't look\nso surprised, Robbie. It was very nice and thoughtful of you and Grace\nto try to keep me from knowing, but your mother was born in this valley\nand is still in full possession of all her faculties. Besides,\nconversational topics are scarce, and your neighbors like to talk!\" Then\nas an after-thought, \"I think Mr. Douglass is fully able to cope with\nthe situation!\"\n\nLater, as she stood by the window of her darkened room looking\nabstractedly out into the beautiful night, she saw him enter the room\nwhere Red lay strumming on his guitar. Approvingly she noted his quick,\nspringy stride, his alert, upright carriage, the whole sinewy grace of\nhim as he bent kindly over his comrade.\n\n\"What a splendid young animal it is,\" she mused smilingly, \"one\neminently calculated to fill the eye of a romantic young girl. After\nall, why should I interfere? As he said to-night, 'every one has to dree\nhis own weird!' Then again, she has known all kinds of men, and this in\nall likelihood is merely a transient fancy bred of the novel environment\nand will doubtlessly pass in due course.\" Her face grew serious,\nhowever, as she recalled the concern in Grace's face at her reference to\nMatlock's revengefulness. \"Propinquity--and youth--and passion! A\nprecarious trio, indeed. Everything considered, I think I will take her\nback with me,\" concluded this astute woman of the world.\n\nShe was, nevertheless, not unduly surprised at Grace's negation of that\nproposal when it was broached the week before her mother's departure.\nThe young woman urged her very evident physical betterment since coming\nto the ranch, and her great desire to witness that most spectacular of\nrange functions, the fall round-up. With the imposed condition that her\nstay would not extend over the holiday season, her mother consented,\nhesitatingly. But she took occasion, that very evening, to casually\nbring Douglass under discussion, concluding a very generous estimation\nof him with the significant words: \"One can trust to an appeal to his\nhonor when every other means fail!\" That she directed the remark\nparticularly to Grace, was doubtless without premeditation, and\nassuredly called for no reply. Yet there was a certain resentment in the\ngirl's rather constrained answer:\n\n\"Do you think it probable that such an exigency will ever arise?\"\n\nThe world-wise old woman looked thoughtfully at the flushed face,\nthinking how singularly beautiful it was. Then she scanned the perfectly\nproportioned figure beneath, its exquisite modeling revealed and\naccentuated by the clinging silk fabric of the thin evening gown.\n\n\"Anything is probable to a man of his temperament,\" she said calmly.\n\"Strong natures like his are contemptuous of limitations and laugh at\nethical restrictions. That man, if I mistake not, will go straight to\nhis desire as a bullet to the mark, regardless of what stands between.\"\n\nRobert laughed fatuously, missing entirely the drift of the\nundercurrent. \"You have certainly got him sized up right, Mater. Ken is\n'sure chain lightin',' as Williams says.\"\n\n\"And if it be evil to stand in the path of a thunderbolt, how\ninconceivably foolish to invite its stroke!\"\n\nThe young man stared dubiously at her; all this seemed inconsequential\nto him, this talk of thunderbolts and bullets. Did these foolish women\nthink that Ken Douglass was ass enough to expose himself recklessly to\neither. In some respects the master of the C Bar was as unimaginative\nand simple-minded as a new-born baby.\n\n\"Don't yuh worrit none about thundeh-strikes,\" interjected Abbie with\ncrisp assurance, entering the room in pursuit of the too-intrusive\nBuffo, who every evening persisted in joining the family circle. \"They\nain't goin' to be no thundeh-stawms so late in thu yeah; yuh suahly\nknow thet, Mis' Cahtah, yuh was bawn heah!\"\n\nThe lady addressed smiled indulgently at her old friend. \"I am hoping\nthat there will be no storms of any sort which will cause suffering and\nmisery to anybody, Abbie. Life is too short to be spoiled with\nheartaches.\"\n\n\"Do you know whose property this is?\" she asked Grace that night, coming\ninto her bedroom as she was preparing to retire. \"One of the men found\nit this morning just outside the main gate and brought it to me,\nthinking it belonged to Robert. But the handwriting is not his, I know,\nand I thought you might recognize it. There is no name on the fly-leaf.\"\nShe handed her a thin, long, morocco-covered notebook, which opened of\nitself, as she laid it in the young lady's hand, at a place where the\nleaves were separated by a withered flower. It was a long-dried mountain\nheart's-ease, and, despite her efforts, her cheeks reddened consciously.\nThe writing on the pages was in verse and she recognized the bold, free\nstyle at a glance. She had commented frequently on his firm, legible\nscript when auditing his accounts in company with her brother. And once\nhe had sent her a little formal note, asking if she had any commissions\nfor him to execute in Denver, where he had gone on some private business\nshortly after her overtures at reconciliation. She had eagerly grasped\nthe olive branch so chillingly extended, and his matching of the silk\nfloss samples she sent him in reply was entirely to her satisfaction. It\nis a question if she would have appreciated the grim humor of her\ncommission had she known his real mission to the capital city. He had\nbeen informed, on more or less reliable authority, that Matlock had been\nseen there a few days previously! The report proved to be false, and the\nnote was now enveloping a cluster of withered heart's-ease in her\nsandalwood jewel case.\n\nWithout hesitation she identified the handwriting. \"I think it must\nbelong to Mr. Douglass;\" she said frankly, meeting her mother's eyes\nwithout a particle of indecision. \"I am quite familiar with his writing,\nhaving helped Bobbie in auditing his accounts. And this flower, I think,\nis one I gave him some months ago.\"\n\nMrs. Carter's eyes snapped with a fierce pride. She put her arm tenderly\nabout the velvety neck.\n\n\"Kiss me, dearie! You are very like your father, and he was the bravest\nman God ever made!\" At the threshold she turned; \"I think it entirely\npermissible--indeed, I much desire that you read that verse.\"\n\nFor the first time since her coming to the ranch, Grace Carter turned\nthe key in the door lock; then she laid the notebook on her dressing\ntable and completed her preparations for rest. Finally, she sat down on\nthe edge of the bed and opened the book. Carefully she removed the\nflower and laid it on a silk handkerchief, folded for its reception. For\na time she sat looking at it reminiscently; then with a visible effort\nshe turned to the clearly-written pages.\n\nShe read with great deliberation, a second and then a third time, a hymn\nto love, boyishly crude, but charged to the full with youth and\nlonging; no better and no worse, perhaps, than the average effusion of\ntwenty-six in love, not with woman but with love; authentic, and for\nthat reason sacred; overwrought, as became the heedless passion which\ninspired it; self-revealing, but of sex and temper rather than of mind.\nA few years back it would have shocked her; now, it made her think.\n\nShe replaced the flower, closed the book and thrust it under her pillow.\nFar into the night she sat there, her arms clasped about her knees, her\neyes luminous but unseeing. Finally the night chill aroused her and she\nslipped into bed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE PASSING OF A CLOUD\n\n\nBut that was a week ago and now she was riding homeward with him in the\nmoonlight. She had the notebook in the inside pocket of her riding\njacket, having decided to return it to him in person, and this had been\nher first opportunity, he having been away for the whole of the previous\nweek on some range matter requiring his personal attention.\n\nHe had evidently dropped the book from his shirt pocket during his\nstruggle with the refractory gate, and on his return had interrogated\neveryone on the ranch about it except the actual finder, that worthy\nbeing absent at the time of his return on some errand for Miss Carter.\nHe was very anxious for its recovery for more reasons than one. It\ncontained some valuable memoranda about his range work; and then, again,\nhe had private reasons why none of the men should chance to fall afoul\nof his metrical effusion. He was familiar with the coarse badinage of\nthe camp, a humor that respects no personage, however high his official\nposition, and the possibilities worried him.\n\nHe felt a great chagrin that he had as yet not been able to locate\nMatlock. In his supersensitiveness he was obsessed with an entirely\nunfounded impression that he was losing prestige among his men because\nof the unavoidable delay. If they were to learn that he had been\nfarther guilty of the inexcusable weakness of writing verse of that\nsentimental character, his cup of bitterness would be running over!\n\nImagine his unbounded relief when she handed it to him with the simple\nremark: \"I have something here belonging to you, I think.\" But almost\ninstantly he was filled with consternation. Had she by any miserable\nchance read that verse! Intuitively she felt what was passing in his\nmind and demurely fibbed for his reassurance: \"Mamma recovered it--I\nthink she said it was found at the gate--and brought it to me. I knew it\nwas yours from the memoranda on the first page, but forgot to return it\nbefore. I sincerely hope I have not caused you any inconvenience?\"\n\nHe was almost vehement in his eagerness to assure her that it was\naltogether a matter of no moment, but her eyes twinkled mischievously as\nshe noted the care with which he bestowed it in a safe place. \"After\nall, men are only boys grown up,\" she thought, and her regard for him\nwas ludicrously maternal. She felt an almost irresistible desire to\nlecture him on the folly of his ways and the dangerous possibilities\nattendant on the writing of erotic verse; she actually began a homily on\nthe uncertainty of life and one's logical duty of the enjoyment of\nthings actually in possession rather than the pitiable craving for the\nunattainable. She had cleverly led up to it by enthusiastically admiring\nthe beauty of the perfect night and the understandable attraction that\nthese glorious surroundings had for everyone who came into intimate\ncontact with them.\n\nOnce, in the emphasizing of some vital point in issue, she impulsively\nlaid her gloved hand on his arm; the man started as if he had been stung\nand she recoiled from the hunger in his eyes. The mothering of a lion\ncub has its disadvantages, and thereafter her milk of human kindness\noverflowed no more.\n\nThere was an evident suspicion evinced in the keen attention he was\npaying to her words as she trenched on the delicate topic of logical\ncontent with one's militant blessings, and she ingeniously proceeded to\ndisarm it.\n\n\"Why is it that among the thousands of susceptible and impressionable\nsouls that have reveled in these delights, not one has had the moral\ncourage to depict them in print? The labor would surely be one of love\nand the inspiration never lacks.\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" he suggested, \"it is a matter of sheer mental and literary\ninability. But few have been endowed with the gift of Genius. And then,\nagain, authorship is necessarily an affair of leisure, and life is apt\nto be strenuous in these hills.\" He turned in his saddle and laughingly\nasked her: \"How much time could your cowpunchers afford to devote to the\nMuses, Miss Grace?\"\n\n\"Genius knows no paltry restrictions of time and place,\" she said, with\nsome acerbity, \"and I know of at least one of the men you mention who\nhas the ability if not the courage.\"\n\nHe winced a little at that and the cloud of suspicion grew denser. But\nit was partly dissipated at her earnest inquiry: \"Why do not you, a man\nof keen discernment and liberal education, essay the task? I am certain\nthat you would achieve a great success.\"\n\n\"I have other work to do,\" he said, gruffly. \"And I am not sure that I\nfind your suggestion at all complimentary. Am I to infer that in your\nestimation I am blessed with an inordinate amount of leisure time?\"\n\nShe shrugged her shoulders with wrathful impatience; he was a bigger\nbaby than she had thought. \"That was gratuitous,\" she said, with a fine\nshow of indignation; \"and you are not at all nice when you are\ninsolent.\" To her disgust he chuckled audibly, leaning over his pommel\nin simulated humility.\n\n\"Lesson number three. I'm getting that 'liberal education' fast,\" he\nmurmured; \"by and by I'll know enough to put into a book.\"\n\nFor the life of her she could not resist the temptation. \"If you do,\ndon't write it in verse.\"\n\nInstantly she regretted her temerity. \"There are so few people who write\nverse acceptably,\" she explained hurriedly, \"and there are too many\nambitious things that die 'abornin',' as Abbie would say, from that very\nreason. Prose has much more potentiality and is more acceptable to the\nmasses. Of course\"--the tone was that of innocence personified--\"if you\ncan do verse, that would be another matter. The essential thing is that\nyou do write the book. Will you? Please.\"\n\nThe voice was almost tenderly imploring; his brow cleared. He was almost\nashamed of his momentary distrust of her. In polite society people do\nnot read private documents; evidently this young woman had come\ndangerously close to his rash misjudgment and he was properly penitent.\n\nStill he was tormented by an insistent doubt. Why had she particularized\nthat first page of memoranda? With a fatuous attempt at diplomacy he put\nhis foot into it.\n\n\"Why should you assume so flatteringly that I have any literary\nability?\" He thought the question almost Machiavelian in its adroitness.\n\nShe had her cue, now. \"Well, your aptness at quotation from obscure\nsources presupposes a wide range of reading, a retentive memory, and a\nlove for literature. Then, again, you have rare constructiveness\nand--and--\" her simulation of modest distress would have deceived even a\nwiser man--\"a horribly clever knack of impromptu rhyme, as I have\nregretful reasons for knowing.\"\n\nPoor Machiavelli! He was at her feet figuratively in an instant. \"That\nBuffo business! It was abominable of me! Don't judge me by a thing like\nthat. I can do better things. Will you let bygones be bygones, if I\nplead guilty to the gentle impeachment and promise to let you criticise\nmy future efforts?\"\n\nShe took his extended hand frankly. \"Everything begins right here.\" She\ngave thanks for a timely cloud's momentary obscuration of the moon as he\nlaid his lips on the tiny gauntlet. Then she impulsively urged her horse\ninto a gallop, and before the moon had emerged from behind the cloud,\nthey had crossed the ridge and the ranch lights twinkled in view though\nstill a good five miles away.\n\nUp on the hillside above, behind a bowlder which commanded in easy range\nthe point where their compact had been sealed, a man lay fumbling a\nrifle and fluently cursing the cloud which had so inopportunely spoiled\nhis aim. His vicious face was distorted with rage and fury, his mouth\nfoaming with passion.\n\n\"Damn you,\" he raved, shaking his clenched fist at the offending white\nbillow; \"I'd got him if you had waited a second longer or crossed a\nsecond sooner. Everything goes against me, and he's got all the luck.\nI'll get him yet.\" And with hideous blasphemies trickling from his thick\nlips, he again shook his fist impotently at the derisively smiling face\nof the moon and slunk away to the horse tied in the shadows behind him.\n\nIn blissful ignorance of that narrowly averted calamity, the pair on the\nother side of the ridge rode silently along in the restored moonlight.\nThe woman was very happy and loth to break the spell; the man whirling\nin the maelstrom of a jumbled introspection. The victim of strongly\nopposed currents, he drifted aimlessly in the sea of troubled thought,\nseeing no shore and seeking none. Content to leave much to Chance and\nmore to Opportunity, he had hitherto let his destiny shape itself,\nsatisfied with merely aiding fate to the best of his physical ability as\nthe occasion offered; but now he was conscious of a growing incitement\nto dictate his own future. The temptation to try and dominate things\nwas very strong. He had compelled the smaller ones to come his way when\nhe had so chosen, why not the greater ones. He glanced covertly at the\nwoman riding by his side; in the soft moonlight she was very fair.\n\nIt was she who first broke the silence, her words unconsciously\npandering to his suddenly-formed resolution.\n\n\"How splendidly you ride, Mr. Douglass!\" Her admiration was frank and\nsincere. \"You have that horse under perfect control, and yet, if I am\nnot mistaken, he is the worst of the three 'outlaws' which all the other\nboys have declared unridable. Abbie told me this morning that everybody\nis afraid of them.\"\n\n\"Abbie tells you a great many funny things, I reckon,\" he said, with an\nevasive grin, and she laughed reminiscently. \"Well, old Highball here\nisn't just what you might call love-inspiring, and the boys have kind o'\npassed him up; they have too many other good gentle horses in their\nstrings to justify my letting them take any chances. But as to their\nbeing 'afraid' of him, why that's all bosh. Cowpunchers who are afraid\nof any horse don't hold their jobs long, Miss Carter.\"\n\n\"Yet you, yourself, take the very chances that you shield your men\nfrom.\" The tone was severe and distinctly reproachful, albeit her heart\nbeat with an understanding pride. He shrugged his shoulders\ndeprecatingly.\n\n\"Well, the brutes have got to earn their keep, and hay is high this\nyear.\"\n\n\"Yes, about two inches, on that part of the public domain where this\nparticular brute ranges,\" she said scornfully. \"He has not been in the\ncorrals for over two years, as I happen to know. I believe you overheard\nwhat Abbie said, and are riding him out of sheer perversity. You don't\nlike to be thought afraid, do you?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am,\" he said, so humbly that she laughed despite her resolve.\nThen, with a sudden burst of confidence, \"You see, he threw me last week\nand kind o' upset my conceit, and it's been on my conscience ever since.\nWe just had to come to some definite conclusion as to who is bossing\nthis job. He's going to be a good horse now.\"\n\n\"Now, as to hating being thought afraid,\" he went on after a short\nsilence, \"I guess every man thinks that way. And yet there is something\nthat every man fears, that he is more or less afraid of, if he is only\nhonest enough to admit it.\"\n\n\"And what are you afraid of?\" There was much of incredulity and more of\ncuriosity in her audacious question.\n\n\"Myself.\" He answered quietly; she was very sorry she had asked.\n\nJust as they reached the main gate they were joined by Red McVey; who\nrode up from the opposite direction. He was riding another of the\n\"outlaws\" and Douglass noted that fact with a certain displeasure; his\norders had been explicit about those horses. Red nonchalantly drawled an\nexplanation:\n\n\"We didn't expect yuh back to-night; Miss Willi'ms said yuh would stay\noveh in Tin Cup. Bud Vaughan was oveh to-day and said as how Miss\nNellie was sick, so Miss Willi'ms allows she'd go oveh an' sit with her\nto-night. I'll tell yuh about the hoss lateh,\" he concluded in an\nundertone to Douglass, whose look of keen inquiry changed to one of\nconcern at Grace's irrepressible exclamation.\n\n\"What is it?\" His words were sharp and imperative. She was pale, but\nperfectly composed. Then, for the first time in her life she\ndeliberately lied: \"The horse crushed my hand against the gate; a mere\ntrifle, but it startled me.\"\n\n\"What are we going to do for something to eat?\" she said in pretended\ndismay. \"I'm as hungry as a--a--\"\n\n\"Tom-tit?\" suggested Red drolly; she had, much to his abashment, once\ncaught him feeding one with crumbs of cake, embellishing his service\nwith profanely quaint ejaculations of delight.\n\n\"As a wolf,\" she averred decidedly, \"and I haven't tried to cook since I\nwas a little girl.\"\n\n\"Oh, that'll be all right,\" said Douglass cheerfully. \"Red, here, is a\nwonder at making angel cake, and I can boil water without burning it, at\na pinch. If you can stand camp chuck for once we'll make out to take the\nwire edge off your appetite, anyway.\"\n\n\"Oh, I've et,\" said Red hurriedly, the reference to that angel cake\nfilling him with apprehension. \"Had supper oveh to Vaughan's. You two go\nto wras'lin' yuh grub an' I'll take keer o' yuah hosses.\"\n\n\"Doan't yuh let him scoach thet wateh, Miss Cahteh,\" he volleyed as he\nretreated in good order, much relieved at his narrow escape. \"He's a\npowahful wahm baby.\"\n\nWhile she was changing her dress, Douglass got a fire going in the big\nCharter Oak stove and filled the kettle with fresh water from the\nspring. He brought over from the meat dive a generously big and tender\nsteak and fossicked about in the pantry until he found the egg basket.\nThere were a couple of tempting broilers lying on a platter, but he\nconcluded that Abbie had prepared these with a view to Miss Carter's\nbreakfast. He was grinding the coffee when she came in and she sniffed\nthe grateful aroma rapturously.\n\nShe was very simply attired in a loose-fitting white dress with short\nsleeves, and about her slender waist was tied one of Abbie's huge\ngingham aprons. Her riding Hessians had been replaced with a pair of\ndiminutive sandals which made a clicking little patter as she walked. He\nhad unconsciously rolled up his sleeves, camp-cook fashion, the better\nto mix and mold the biscuit he contemplated making; the sight of her\nbare arms reminded him of his own and he hurriedly lowered the sleeves\nand began fumbling at the buttons. She came forward quickly and checked\nhim with a pretty gesture.\n\n\"Put them up again! Men always work better with their sleeves rolled up,\nI have noticed, and all good cooks have them so. That's why I am wearing\nthis waist; I am going to help.\" She looked complacently at her round,\ndimpled arms, then at the corded brawn of his. An irresistible impulse\nsent her close to his side. \"Why,\" she said, with a fine assumption of\nwonder at the portentous discovery, \"my arms are tanned as brown as\nyours.\" And she coquettishly held hers so close to his in comparison\nthat they momentarily touched.\n\nThrough his veins there leaped a sudden fire as though his blood had\nturned to molten lava; he trembled. Stricken with a sudden terror she\nshrank away slightly, but her eyes never left his. The man was trying\nfor self-control, and she wisely waited. The best time to play with fire\nis not when the coals are hottest.\n\n\"You, too, hate to be thought afraid.\" It was hardly more than a\nwhisper. \"And your arms are very beautiful.\" Holding her wrists very\ncarefully, yet with a grip of steel, he bent forward and deliberately\nkissed each arm in the dimpling hollows. Then he gently released them,\nand turned once more to his coffee grinding.\n\nSo wise a man as Solomon declared, centuries ago, that the way of a man\nwith a maid was beyond even his great understanding; but the composite\nintelligence of all the wise men that ever were or ever will be created\ncannot elucidate the greater mystery of the ways of a maid with a man.\nBy all accepted rules and conventions, Miss Carter should have\nostentatiously wiped her arms with a lace handkerchief, extravagantly\ncasting it aside later with an air of loathing and disgust, and stalked\nout of the room with superior dignity without deigning him even a\ncontemptuous glance. She did nothing of the kind. She merely laughed, a\nsilvery, tinkling, infectious little ripple whose contagion was\nirresistible, and at his responsive grin the atmosphere cleared\ninstantly.\n\nHer eyes fell upon the basket of eggs and she had a sudden inspiration:\n\"I am going to make waffles. Now if we could only achieve the regulation\nfried chicken to go with it we should dine ideally.\"\n\n\"There are two in the pantry, ready to your hand,\" he replied eagerly.\nShe ran out excitedly, as if to verify the good news; but once in the\nseclusion of the pantry her interest in the broilers moderated\nunaccountably. She seemed more concerned with the hollows of her arms\nand in her rapt inspection of them held them singularly close to her\nface. Her cheeks were engagingly flushed and her lips moist when she\nbore the fowls into the kitchen.\n\nDouglass was inclined to be patronizing as she sat about her\nwaffle-building; what could this pampered society pet possibly know\nabout the plebeian craft of cookery? But his indulgence quickly changed\nto surprised admiration as he watched her deft manipulations.\n\n\"How long has it been since you were a little girl?\" She smiled her\nquick delight at the implied compliment. \"Oh, waffles are easy; Dad\nalways insisted on my making them for him and I had considerable\nexperience, and one does not exactly forget little things like that. How\nlong has it been since you were a little boy?\"\n\n\"I am one to-night,\" he averred, dextrously filching the first\ngolden-brown disc as she laid it on the plate; as he danced about\ntrying to bolt the hot dainty she rapped him on the head reprovingly\nwith the huge spoon and they laughed with all the light-heartedness of\nthe foolish children they really were.\n\nIt was a memorable meal that they finally sat down to, and neither of\nthem ever forgot it. Sitting opposite to her in that comfortable old\nkitchen--he had begged the privilege of eating there instead of in the\nmore formal dining-room--the man's heart was filling with a subtle\nconsciousness that it would be very pleasant to have her sit so always\nthroughout the days to come. It came to him with a certain shock,\nnevertheless; in all his former associations with women, his emotions\nhad been of a distinctly different nature, and somehow the recollection\nof them was not pleasing. He even felt a certain angry resentment of the\ninsidious charm of the comforting domesticity of his surroundings. What\nright had an indigent pauper of a cowpuncher to aspire to a heaven like\nthis? It was only to her natural gentleness, her inherent graciousness,\npossibly only to a passing indulgent whim, that he was indebted for the\nfavor she was showing. What had he, who would be penniless in another\nmonth--for he still stubbornly adhered to his determination to recoup\nhis employer--to offer the mistress of the C Bar with its broad acres\nand \"cattle on a thousand hills\"? All incredible as it may seem he\nactually forgot for the moment that he had, unreproved, kissed her arms\na short half-hour before. It simply strengthened his resolution to get\naway from an environment provocative of such disturbing reflections.\n\nThe woman was thinking how big and brave and strong he was, and how\nintegral a part of--how entirely he belonged in the plan of her\ncogitations. She could imagine him always sitting there, a bulwark\nbetween her and the evils of life, and she was very happy. She realized\nhow it would take time and diplomacy to leash this untamed tiger, to\nbring into leading-strings this unbound Sampson who foolishly deemed\nthat the sum of Life was Delilah; but she was the daughter of \"the\nbravest man God ever made,\" and this was her Man. She knew it now beyond\nthe peradventure of a doubt, and looking at him as he sat there in all\nhis manly beauty, she thanked God for it.\n\nHis hand, outstretched toward the waffles, encountered hers, and he\npaled.\n\nIt was very still and quiet in the room; even the little alarm clock on\nthe mantelpiece, unwound for once, lacking Abbie's careful hand, was\nsilent. He arose with cruel deliberation and walked around the table\ntoward her; she met him half way, all composure now, her hand extended.\nThe antelope kid, with a comical yawn, came and stood between them.\n\n\"I am so grateful for your many kindnesses to me to-day,\" she said\nsteadily, her eyes calm and unwavering. \"I am more fatigued than I\nthought. Good night--and pleasant dreams.\"\n\nThe kid butted him playfully as though to recall him to earth again; he\nhad stood such an unconscionable time holding her hand. The woman smiled\non him kindly again, and instantly he relinquished it.\n\n\"Good night,\" he said dully, his face the color of copper. He went to\nthe sofa where he had left his hat and holster and fumbled a while\nuncertainly. He took up the Stetson, leaving the weapon untouched. At\nthe door he turned mechanically.\n\n\"Good night,\" he mumbled; \"good night. And may you have no dreams at\nall.\"\n\nThe antelope butted him again, scornfully, as he passed out.\n\nGrace Carter stood for a moment in silent meditation. Then she went to\nthe sofa and drew the Colt from its sheath. With the weapon in her hand\nshe extinguished the light and went into her bedroom, locking the door\nbehind her.\n\nWhen she had finished disrobing she laid the weapon on her reading stand\nwithin reach of her hand when abed. For a while she lay very quiet,\nopen-eyed; then she arose, unlocked her door and replaced the revolver\nin its sheath, leaving both lying where he had tossed them.\n\nOver at the bunkhouse Douglass stood glaring at the imperturbable Red.\n\"I thought,\" said he ominously, \"that my orders were that nobody should\nride those outlaws.\"\n\nMcVey, having finished the cigarette he was rolling, gave it a final\nlick with his tongue, twisted the ends adroitly, struck a match, and\nbetween tentative puffs, remarked:\n\n\"When they's nothing left in thu corral but one hoss I reckon it's ride\nthet er go afoot. When I got back from Vaughan's this evenin' I found\nthu pastur' bars down an' everything stompeded but thet buckskin\noutlaw. Reckon he were too or'nary to trail with thu bunch an' cut\nhisself out; ketched him in thu cow paddock.\"\n\nDouglass carefully selected a cigarette paper and reached for the\ntobacco pouch. The hand that held the lighting match was very steady.\n\n\"How do you size it up, Red?\"\n\n\"Matlock,\" said the other, tersely. \"Thu bars were not only down, but\ndragged away more'n a rod. It were one man thet done it--his hoss shod\nall around 'ceptin' left hind foot. 'Twere too dark to track after I\nlost him in thu timber, but the whole cavvy is scattered to hell an'\ngone. Say, Ken, I'm goin' to rue back on that promise; an' I don't see\nas it's eggsactly fair on the other boys, either. S'posen sum of us was\nto meet up with that skunk accidental: are we to let him slip jest\nbecause yuh don't happen to be cavortin' around conteegious? I, fer one,\n_won't_, an' right here I gives yuh notice.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" he drawled softly, \"I've got a privut grutch agin him of my\nown, an' I'm goin' to beat yuh to it if I kin.\"\n\nThe other shook his head deprecatingly. \"Don't do anything rash, Red. I\npreëmpted that right first. And my claim's been bearing interest ever\nsince.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nIN PART PAYMENT\n\n\nThe temporary loss of the horses was a twofold source of irritation to\nDouglass. They had been gathered with much labor for the forthcoming\nround-up and that work would all have to be done over again at quite an\nexpenditure of time, patience and money; for this he deemed himself also\nresponsible, and it added materially to the already large pecuniary\nobligation which he had assumed.\n\nThen, he also regarded the malicious scattering of his horses as a\nstigma on his care and watchfulness of his employer's interests, as well\nas a personal affront and challenge to himself. It would be a sorry\nreflection on his professional ability, as well as on his courage, and\nhe writhed in the shock to his really abnormal vanity. By established\ncode he should have \"got\" Matlock long ago; and now he would have to\ndefer the wiping out of that blot on his escutcheon until after the\nseason's work was over. In the cold fury of his bitter self-revilement,\nhe actually forgot the woman who had stirred his blood almost as\nstrongly a short half-hour ago.\n\nThe mischief had been made possible only by the fact that the day after\nthe horse round-up was ended he had indulgently granted a four days'\nleave of absence to his entire force, excepting only McVey, who had\nprofessed a lack of interest, to enable them to participate in a roping\nand riding tournament over in South Park. His own and Red's temporary\nabsence to-day had given the perpetrator, of whose identity he had not\neven a momentary doubt, the chance to do the contemptible trick, the\nundoing of which would take a whole week's furious work with the\nentailed strain on both men and horses. His provocation was very great.\n\nThe next day, working over the ground, he found the freshly-cast shoe of\nthe marauder's mount; it was a peculiarly constructed \"blind-bar\"\naffair, and Matlock's horse, his own private property, taken with him\nwhen he left the ranch, had a bad frog on his left hind hoof. His\nconviction was made a certainty later when the blacksmith at Gunnison\nidentified the shoe as one that he had made for and attached to the left\nhind foot of the deposed foreman's horse. The chain of evidence was\ncomplete and conclusive.\n\nBy a rare bit of good fortune he discovered quite a large band of his\nbest horses quietly feeding in a little valley some three miles from the\nhouse, and he quickly returned to the ranch, where he discussed with Red\nthe likelihood of their being able to corral it; it was a big contract\nfor two men, this particular band being a notoriously wild one and hard\nto handle, and now the animals would especially resent a return to\ndurance vile after their previous week's confinement. But it meant an\nindispensable factor to the ultimate recovery of the other horses,\nwithout which, the outfit would be practically afoot. Red was logically\npessimistic.\n\n\"Three might do it, but two ain't got any more chanct than a snowball in\nhell,\" was his opinion, and Douglass knew that he was right. It had\ntaken four of his best riders to turn the trick a week before. But the\nother men were absolutely unavailable and long before their earliest\npossible return this band of horses would be off to their favorite range\ntwenty miles or more away.\n\nHe determined to take a chance, saying hopefully, \"Well, we might be\nable to corral a part of them, anyway, and that would give us a few to\nwork with.\"\n\nMiss Carter, coming to summon them to breakfast, was made acquainted\nwith the dilemma. \"Can I be of any help?\" she asked instantly. \"I can\nride fairly well, and under your instructions may really be of some\nassistance.\"\n\nDouglass looked at Red doubtfully, but that worthy was for some\ninscrutable reason, enthusiastically sanguine. \"Why, shore yuh kin! Yuah\nhosses wa'nt done up any to speak of by yuah pasear yiste'day, an' the\nbuckskin is fresh. That bunch is ourn.\"\n\n\"Oh, I am so glad,\" she cried eagerly. \"I'll be ready before you get\nsaddled up.\"\n\nShe was flushed with excitement as they slowly cantered out, but paid\ncareful attention to Douglass's minutely detailed instructions as he\noutlined his plan of campaign. Red looking admiringly at her skillful\nhandling of the rangy roan gelding, the kindling eyes and firmly\ncompressed lips, decided that she would \"make good.\" He remarked as much\nto Douglass, who nodded his conviction and said a word or two of\ncaution in an undertone:\n\n\"If they break back at the corral, see that she isn't in the way of the\nbig blue; you know his trick. If there should be any danger, shoot quick\nand straight.\"\n\nTo Grace he said with frank admonition: \"The leader of this bunch is a\nbig blue stallion which has a nasty habit of whirling about just as he\ntouches the corral gate; he will run over anything that opposes him when\nhe breaks back, and if he tries it to-day, ride to one side as fast as\nyou can. Don't try to stop him in any event. You understand?\"\n\nShe merely nodded, her lips closing a bit more tightly. Then she smiled\na protest: \"Please don't try to 'buffalo' me--I think that is the proper\nword?--at the outset. This is my first round-up, you know. I'll 'make\ngood,' as Mr. McVey said a while ago.\"\n\nBoth men laughed heartily. \"Red's whisper is a little stertorous,\"\nadmitted Douglass, \"but you remember what I say: fight shy of the blue\nif he breaks.\" Down in his heart he knew that this woman would surely\n\"make good\" in anything she attempted, but nevertheless, he saw to it\nthat the revolver slid easily and without a hitch in the holster, and\nloosened up a few cartridges in his belt. Red had already taken that\nprecaution.\n\nThey circled the bunch without alarming it and with comparative ease\nstarted it corralwards, the leader proving unusually tractable for the\nnonce. Her roan was no novice at the business and covered his assigned\narc as gracefully as a swallow, to the great delight of the young woman\nwho was reveling in the pleasure of a new sensation. She wisely gave the\nhorse his head, and the intelligent beast repaid her good judgment by\ncleverly heading off every straggler who essayed to dodge back to\nliberty. She was really proving of decided assistance and Red waved her\na cordial encouragement from the left flank.\n\nThe horses were bunched closely together as they neared the corral gate,\nthe leader trotting easily and with apparently no concern, directly\ntowards the entrance. He was seemingly resigned to the inevitable and\nthe riders closed in sharply to urge them through. Grace was much elated\nover her successful debut and gave a little exultant shout as the\nmassive head and shoulders of the blue stallion were momentarily framed\nin the opening. She was inclined to be contemptuous of the ease with\nwhich it had been accomplished, and in the relief of the thought dropped\nher rein loosely on the roan's neck. At that exact moment the cunning\nbeast In the gateway whirled like a flash, lowered his head like a\nsnake, and darted back through the plunging throng which opened before\nhim as a dry pine butt splits to a stoutly driven wedge.\n\nOwing to the dense smother of dust about the gateway, and the further\nfact that the bunch, not missing their leader in its enveloping clouds,\nwere crowding through the opening into the corral, neither of the men\nnoted the maneuver of the stallion until he broke out of the press,\nheading obliquely to one side, between Douglass and Miss Carter.\n\nThen was she conscious of a hoarse cry that rang like the roar of an\nanguished lion above the din of trampling feet:\n\n\"To the left! Get out of his way, for Christ's sake! To the left!\"\n\nOut of the dust blur, an animated lead-blue bullet, shot the great\nstallion, his head held low, his body extended until his stomach brushed\nthe sagebrush beneath. The roan, taking the bit between his teeth,\nturned as on a pivot, almost unseating his rider, and raced undirected\ntowards the exact point where the escaping animal could be best\nintercepted, intent only on the well-understood work which was logically\nhis duty. It was his business to head off and turn back the fugitive,\nand, unchecked by his helpless rider, who clung fearfully to her\nsaddle-horn in her extremity, he ran the race of his life, putting his\nwhole heart into the work, her light weight hampering him almost\nnegligibly.\n\nThe point of intersection was at least five hundred yards away, the\nhorses racing along the converging sides of an obtuse angle, the roan\nsome hundred yards in the lead; the point of convergence was just below\nthe brow of a little hill, and the roan, running in open ground, had the\nadvantage of the blue who was impeded by the thick sagebrush; he gained\nrapidly, changing the locus of intersection thereby, and finally swung\nat right angles across the stallion's course.\n\nGrace had been vaguely conscious of a crackle of pistol shots and a\nconfused roar of profanely phrased implorations, but all her energies\nwere concentrated to the end of keeping her seat on that plunging roan\nthunderbolt, whose speed was accelerated by the lashing reins which,\ndropping from her nerveless hand, were now flapping against his sides.\nSwinging in a beautiful arc of exactly the correct radius, the roan\nheaded the blue in triumph, his legs stiffening as he crossed the\nlatter's course, his hoofs tearing up the thin turf in a fifty-foot\nfurrow as he essayed a turn in order to forestall any side divergence of\nthe stallion. But the blue streak swerved not one iota.\n\nWith ears flattened against his head, eyes green with malignity and\npain, lips curled back and teeth bared to the gums, he charged directly\nat the unbalanced roan, squealing fiendishly as he came. The gallant\ngelding floundered ineffectually for a footing, fell directly in the\npath of the infuriated beast, and threw his rider over his head.\n\nThough dazed by her violent contact with the hard ground, Grace\ninstinctively struggled to her knees, raising one hand as if to ward off\nthat impending horror; twenty yards away the thudding hoofs beat on her\near drums like a funeral knell, her lips parted in a soundless gasp,\nthen faintly as from a far distance she heard a dull concussion, felt a\ncrashing blow, and lost consciousness.\n\nWhen her eyes opened again they were in close juxtaposition to a rough\ntan-colored shirt whose coarse fiber rasped her cheek; the whole\nuniverse seemed rocking with a gentle up and down motion as soothing as\nthe swing of her beloved hammock, but there was a curious numbness\nacross her chest and lower limbs like that induced by the pressure of\nclosely-encircling iron bands. Gradually it dawned upon her that she\nwas in the arms of a man who, carrying her weight with perceptibly no\neffort, was running swiftly towards the house. One little shy upward\nglance completed her inventory; she deliberately closed her eyes and\ncuddled closer, so close that she could distinctly hear and count the\nstrong heart-beats against her temple. Nor did she open them again until\nhe had lain her on a sofa in the living room and bent solicitously over\nher.\n\n\"Thank God!\" The relief in his voice was somehow very sweet to her. \"I\nwas afraid--tell me, are you hurt?\"\n\n\"Only frightened, I think.\" The tone was effectively languid and\nhesitating; she was loth to dissipate the tender concern in his eyes.\n\"But oh, the horror of it. I can scarcely realize that I am alive. Death\nseemed so close.\" She hid her face, shudderingly. \"Was the horse\nkilled?\"\n\n\"The blue was,\" for some reason avoiding her glance, \"but the roan is\nall right. You had a very close call. Why did you try to head him?\"\n\n\"Don't scold me, please!\" she pleaded. \"I could not help it; he bolted\nwhen the other horse broke away and I lost my reins. I had no control\nover him, whatever. How did I get here?\" The question was a marvel of\ninnocent nescience. And how could he know that her heart was beating\neven more furiously than his as he had held her close for those five\nblissful minutes.\n\n\"I carried you,\" he said, simply. \"There was no other way. Are you quite\nsure that you are not injured? That brute's head was lying on your\nshoulder when I picked you up. He must have struck you as he fell.\"\n\n\"I do feel sorely bruised,\" tentatively rubbing her side, \"but I am\ncertain that is all.\" She arose and walked lamely across the room in\nconfirmation, then came back and sat down on the sofa. \"How silly of me\nto faint! And how kind of you to take such care of me! Was I _very_\nheavy?\"\n\n\"I've carried heavier women,\" he said, unthinkingly, and could have\nbitten his tongue off in instant chagrin at his unfortunate slip. \"You\nsee,\" he said with forced attempt at humor, \"I make a business of\nrescuing young damsels in distress and carrying them off to places of\nsafety.\"\n\n\"Really! How romantic!\" hiding her sudden bitter anger under the mask of\npersiflage. \"I assume they all came through their difficulties as\nhappily as I?\"\n\n\"I can't remember any of them dying,\" he said caustically; then with\ndeliberate malice: \"None of them even pretended to faint.\"\n\nThe evil bolt, although all unwittingly shot, came close home and she\ncould have struck him in her shame and fury. How much did he know? And\nhow dared he couple her with those nameless creatures! Taken at a\ndisadvantage, the retort courteous failed her for once, and she was\ndevoutly glad for the timely intervention of Red, who thrust his carroty\nshock into the door at that moment.\n\n\"Miss Cahtah,\" he said with solemn gravity. \"I'm almighty glad yuh ain't\ndaid!\" At her reassuring laugh of relief he added admiringly: \"Yuh\nsuttinly are quick on yuh feets, ma'am! Thet hoss was goin' some when\nyuh was standin' on yuah haid!\" He had been quick to appreciate the\nstrain she was laboring under and Red's panacea for any suffering was to\nmake fun of it. She laughed again, a bit hysterically.\n\n\"Did I look particularly ridiculous?\"\n\nRed's protest was suspiciously grave: \"Ridic'lous! suttinly not, ma'am.\nYuh looked just like a angel, floppin hes wings--upside down.\"\n\nThey all shouted at that, their hilarity exciting the antelope kid into\na rear charge upon Red, who used the incident to cover his retreat. He\nturned at the door to impart some good news.\n\n\"We've got the whole bunch corralled. Reckon thu shootin' an' yellin'\nyou done, Ken, scared 'em in. I got thu bars up befoh I missed thu blue;\nfact is I didn't see him break, thu dust were so thick.\"\n\nA minute later he returned with the additional good; tidings that Abbie\nwas in sight; ten minutes more and he strode into the room, bearing in\nhis arms a struggling, scratching, scolding burden which he deposited\nwith much aplomb on the sofa besides Miss Carter.\n\n\"Reckon I'm some pumpkins on thu carry, mahself!\" he said with much\nunction, grinning at the scandalized Abbie, who was quaintly\nanathematizing him. \"No use yuh yowlin', Miss Abbie. The fashion's been\nsot an' yuh cloth is cut. But yuh shore got to gentle up a heap or Ken,\nyeah, will hev to do thu totin'.\"\n\nQuick as a flash the old woman's arms went around Grace and the fair\nhead was pillowed upon her bosom.\n\n\"What is it, honey?\" she cooed, gently stroking the silken hair and\nentirely ignoring the men. The tensely strung nerves gave way and in the\nreaction the tears were softly welling. The two cowpunchers sneaked out\nsheepishly and once out of hearing, Red swore wonderingly.\n\n\"Well, I'm damned! Never peeped till it was all over with, and then\nclapped on the water-works. Wouldn't that bust yuah cinche!\"\n\nDouglass smiled but said nothing. Actuated by a common impulse, both men\nmounted their horses and rode over to where the blue stallion lay\ndoubled up in a thickening pool of scarlet. Dismounting, they gave the\ndead beast a critical examination.\n\n\"Good shootin'!\" said Red, touching approvingly six blue-black blots on\nthe muscular hip that could be covered with the open palm; \"but the\nrange were too far--over two hundred, I reckon--and they had lost their\nforce. Stern on all thu time, wa'nt he?\"\n\nDouglass nodded. \"I tried to break his hip but the bullets were spent at\nthat distance. This is what got him, Red.\" He touched an oozing puncture\njust forward of the shapely shoulder. \"Looks like a small caliber high\npressure to me; let's have it out.\"\n\nSome minutes later both men were bending over a bit of metal lying in\nRed's palm. They were very thoughtful and a curious expression was\nplaying over their faces. \"It's a seven millimeter Mauser,\" said\nDouglass, quietly, \"and there's only one such gun on this range. It's a\npretty big payment on account, Red!\"\n\nMcVey's lips hardened but he evaded the other's eye. \"Let's get the\ndirection,\" he said, \"and maybe we can work it out.\"\n\nIn an incredibly short time these experienced frontiersmen had not only\nlocated the spot from which had been fired the shot that undoubtedly\nsaved Miss Carter's life, but Douglass had as well found the discharged\ncartridge shell. It was a seven millimeter Mauser case, and Matlock was\nthe possessor of the only weapon of the kind on this range! Furthermore,\nthey found the depressions in the loose soil where he had knelt when\nfiring the shot. It was a good three hundred yards from where the horse\nlay and Red once more said, \"Damn good shoot in,' Ken! It's worth\nremembering when the time comes. A six-shooter ain't deuce high against\nthat Dutch joker at long range.\"\n\nTracking the shooter's footprints back to the gully oil the other slope\nof the hill, they were found to lead to where a horse had been tied. The\nhorse tracks showed that the beast had cast his left hind shoe!\n\nBack-tracking still farther, they ascertained that the tracks had\nproceeded to this spot from an eminence at the head of a wooded coulie\nwhich commanded the valley where the horses had been found. To these men\nit was as plain as a printed page that Matlock had followed their\nmovements unseen, finally establishing his position on the crest of the\nlittle hill where the empty shell was found, a position that commanded\nthe corral and all the country likely to be traversed by the blue in\nhis attempt to escape!\n\n\"He figgered the blue would break back, and that you would try to turn\nhim,\" said Red. \"Yuh have had a close call, son!\"\n\n\"Yet he saved her,\" said Douglass, steadily. \"That's a big payment, Red,\na big payment!\"\n\n\"Yep!\" answered McVey, noncommittally, \"but only part payment.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHAT WHICH IS CÆSAR'S\n\n\nThe round-up was over, the marketable beef cut out and shipped, and life\nat the C Bar had resumed the normality of quiet routine. From now until\nspring the ranch labor would be nominal; a few weaklings to be fed and\nnurtured through the rigors of winter, a few likely colts to be broken\nand \"gentled\" against the next season's requirements, a few necessary\nrepairs to equipment and fences, much wood hauling for the long night's\nconsumption, and an engaging season of rest and recuperation for man and\nbeast.\n\nAll throughout the range there is a general reduction of working forces\nat this period, the superfluous men seeking the larger towns for the\ncommendable purpose of putting into active circulation their season's\nhoardings; that they are almost always obsessed with a weird delusion\nthat somewhere in the gilded halls of Chance the fickle dame Fortune\nawaits their coming with a whole cornucopia of royal favors, aces by\npreference, only insures the economy of time to that end. For whether\nshe smile or not, there be always dames and favors of price to reward\nthe ambitious; and to be lucky in love is even more expensive than to be\nunlucky at cards. The process may be conditionally prolonged, but the\nfinal result is always the same. By the time the grass greens again\nthey have been divested of everything, even of their cares, and are\nready to take up the broken threads of the endless chain that links them\nindissolubly to the old traditions.\n\nThe C Bar outfit had narrowed down to four men besides Douglass. Red,\nWoolly, Punk and a saturnine-faced Texan whose addiction to unique\nexpletives of an unconventional nature had secured for him the sobriquet\nof \"Holy Joe.\" The two latter were detailed to \"riding fences\" while Red\nand Woolly did desultory choring and hauled wood.\n\nRobert Carter had returned for the rodeo and he and Douglass had enjoyed\nseveral hunting trips in company afterward; that is to say, the former\ndid, Douglass evincing a certain restlessness which he, however,\nsuccessfully strove to conceal from the younger man. He was all\nimpatience for the departure of Carter and his sister, for reasons that\nhe did not care to share with either, and he felt a positive relief when\nthe day of their leaving was definitely announced.\n\nCarter had been vainly endeavoring to persuade him to accompany them,\nand one night enlisted his sister s influence to that end; her gentle\ninsistence precipitated Douglass's proffer of repayment of the losses\nincurred through Matlock's emity.\n\n\"I haven't either the time or means at my disposal for such a junket,\"\nhe said with decision. \"I alone am responsible for all the losses\noccurring on this ranch of late, and there's just about enough due me on\nsalary account to square it up. I've got it all figured out here,\"\nproducing a memorandum sheet, \"and I think my estimate of the damage is\na fair one; I'd like your approval of it. It leaves a trifle over a\nhundred left coming to me and I've got other and more urgent uses for\nit. Besides, I've got work to do that can't be postponed.\"\n\nCarter heard him in open-mouthed amazement, his astonishment changing\nfirst to amusement, then to indignation as he gathered the drift of\nDouglass's intent. Grace, suddenly comprehending many things previously\nonly hinted at, looked genuinely distressed and tapped nervously on the\ncarpet with her sandaled foot.\n\n\"Why, man, you're crazy!\" shouted Carter. \"Do you think for a moment\nthat I will permit you to even contemplate such an absurdity?\"\n\n\"Pardon me,\" said Douglass, suavely; \"the question of your permit does\nnot enter into the matter at all; and I've done all the thinking\nnecessary. I have had it under contemplation for a long time. This\nbusiness is going to be settled right here and now!\" There was no\nmistaking his determination and Carter was dumb-foundered.\n\n\"But--\" he stammered, protestingly, \"the thing is utterly inconceivable!\nI could not even momentarily entertain such a preposterous proposal.\nWhy, supposing for argument's sake, that Matlock's private animosity to\nyou in person had brought this about, how does that inculpate you? And\nif it did, do you think I would stand for your only taking a paltry\nhundred dollars for a whole season's hard work, the best work ever done\non this range? Nonsense, old fellow; you've got another think coming!\"\n\n\"Well, I'm thinking that a hundred odd is just what's coming to me, and\njust what I'm going to get!\" said Douglass, obstinately. \"It'll be\nplenty for what I am going to do with it.\"\n\nCarter sprang up, stormily: \"Don't be any more of an ass than God\nintended you to be. Quixotism went out centuries ago. You're going to\nget what's actually due you!\"\n\n\"And that is a hundred odd, I believe you make it, Mr. Douglass?\"\ninterrupted Grace, evenly, with a look of imperious warning at her\nbrother. \"Can't you see, dear, that he is right! Now no more petty\nbickering between you two foolish boys. Don't look so desolated, Bobbie;\nMr. Douglass does not intend this as a preamble to his resignation; he\nis not going to leave us. There are no quitters on the C Bar.\"\n\n\"Let me write the check,\" she continued, in hasty trepidation, not\ndaring to look at the man she had so audaciously preëmpted to their\nservice. \"Not a word, leave it to me!\" she whispered tensely to her\nbrother, whose lips were again opening in protest. \"For heaven's sake,\ndon't spoil it all!\"\n\nAs she dipped the pen in the ink she hesitated: \"Your given name, Mr.\nDouglass? I have never learned it in full.\"\n\n\"Kenneth--Kenneth Malcolm,\" he said shortly. She bit her lip as she\nwrote hurriedly; he was so deliciously pompous!\n\n\"And the exact amount?\" He handed her the memorandum. \"One hundred and\nsix dollars. Please approve this, Bobbie.\" She extended the paper to\nher brother, pinching him viciously under the table as he hesitated.\n\"Quick!\" she breathed, almost hissingly, and he scrawled the necessary\nendorsement. Then she wrote the amount in the body of the check. Carter\nsigned it wrathfully, and she tendered it to Douglass with a smile.\n\n\"There! Now you are square with the world,\" she said, facetiously, but\nher lips were tremulous with anxiety; he had been so distressingly\nnoncommittal as to that resignation!\n\n\"Not exactly with the whole world!\" he said, grimly. \"I've got a few\nother trifling obligations to discharge before I can subscribe to that\nflattering assumption.\"\n\n\"Don't think me ungrateful for your kindness,\" he continued, earnestly.\n\"I appreciate your invitation more than you know; but you see, this\nwould not go very far in luxurious old New York. It wouldn't more than\nhardly pay my fare there, and really my presence here is imperative for\nsome indefinite time. I had no intention of resigning, but I am going to\nask the favor of a month's leave of absence. McVey is perfectly\ncompetent to handle the outfit until my return.\"\n\n\"Take two months if you like,\" said Carter, cordially. \"And while I am\nnot at all easy in mind about that money business, I respect your wishes\nin the matter and we will consider that over and done with. But I insist\non your being our guest at the old home next year. I have your\npromise?\"\n\nDouglass hesitated. \"A great deal can happen in a year,\" he said,\nquietly; \"but if I am alive and other conditions serve I shall be\ndelighted.\"\n\nBobbie's manner was not quite so genial and complaisant to his sister\nwhen they were again alone: \"See here, sis, what the devil--!\"\n\n\"For shame, Bobbie!\" she said, with laughing remonstrance, stopping\nfurther utterance with her soft palm. \"Swearing isn't at all becoming to\nsmall boys. You are contracting very bad local habits.\" But she\nvouchsafed him no explanation whatever, merely rumpling his hair over\nhis eyes and kissing him on the tip of his nose.\n\nThe day of their departure Douglass accompanied them as far as Tin Cup,\nwhere they would take the stage for Alpine. He was all cordiality to\nCarter and deference to Grace, showing at his best all throughout the\npleasant ride. As she laid her hand in his at parting her eyes were full\nof wistful entreaty:\n\n\"Be good to Buffo and my roan, and very, very good to yourself! I am\ncoming back in the spring and so will say _auf wiedersehen_, not\ngood-by. You will write me occasionally? It will be manna to me until I\ncan get back to 'God's country' again!\"\n\nHis face brightened approvingly; \"I like that! It is 'God's country,'\nsurely, even though abandoned for a space by its brightest angel. Come\nback to us soon!\"\n\n\"That was very sweet of you, and I am going to take it at full face\nvalue,\" she said, steadily. \"That is the first compliment you have ever\npaid me and I am commensurably proud. But do you know\"--her lips were\nvery close to his ear--\"it seems funny somehow! I had rather--oh, dear!\nI really can't help it!--but couldn't you manage to swear at me a\nlittle, Ken!\" Her face was a vivid scarlet and she laughed a little\nhysterically. Before he had recovered from his astonishment she was in\nthe arms of Abbie, who, attended by Red, had just driven up in the\nbuckboard with the luggage.\n\nShe persistently avoided his eyes as she shook hands with Red. \"Mr.\nMcVey,\" she said, laughingly, \"we have so over-burdened Mr. Douglass\nwith responsibility for innumerable things that he won't have time to\ntake care of himself; will you kindly look after him for us?\"\n\nRed's jaws closed spasmodically at the appeal underlying her forced\nlevity; his grasp tightened ever so little but of other sign he was\nguiltless. Then he turned and looked at Douglass with preternatural\ngravity:\n\n\"I'm shore honahed, Miss Grace, with yuah commission! Yuh leave it to\nme! I'll see he gits he's milk regulah an' goes to hes leetle baid at\nseven every night. On yuah return I'll hand him oveh to you all wropped\nup in cotton bats, tied with pink ribbon like thet about yuah naick,\nthet is, purvidin' I kin rustle thu ribbon.\"\n\nHis meaning was unmistakable, and though blushing at his audacity, Grace\ntook up the gage. Deliberately unclasping the tiny golden heart, which\nheld the narrow band in place, she made a dainty little roll of the\nsilk, fastened the end with the jewel and laid it in Red's bronze paw.\nDouglass, watching the little by-play with a curious interest, wondered\nat the quiver in that iron fist which could hold the weight of a heavy\nColt's .45 with never a tremor.\n\nAmong the mail handed him later by old Hank was an official-looking\ndocument dated Denver. It was from the office of the State Registrar of\nbrands and was almost laconic in its brevity:\n\n\"The brand O-O (left side); earmarks, square crop right, underbit left;\nis registered in the name of Bartholomew Coogan. He claims residence at\nGunnison, and range in Gunnison County from Texas Creek to Quartz Creek.\nDate of record May 1st, 1898.\"\n\nHe reread the letter three times with exceeding care, his eyes narrowing\nto mere slits, then thrust it into an inner pocket. He was very\nthoughtful on the homeward ride, his preoccupied air at the supper table\nemboldening Punk to irreverent levity:\n\n\"These yeah partin's are shore deespiritin' things!\" he observed,\nlugubriously, to nobody in particular. \"I don't wonder none thet gloom\nhas settled in one great gob oveh thu achin' souls of this yeah outfit.\nWhy, I'm so sad, mahself, thet I kin hawdly eat pie!\" Nevertheless he\ncast avaricious glances at Douglass's portion of that comestible and\nlater took advantage of his abstraction to filch the savory morsel.\n\n\"Yuh'll be sum sadder if yuh don't keep yuah hooks on yuah side of the\ntable!\" warned Red, sinisterly, as he successfully repelled a similar\nassault on his own reserves. \"Yuh moon-faced pie-eater, what yuh got to\nbe sad about 'ceptin' thet yuh are alive?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Woolly, with well-feigned sympathy, \"don't yuh know thet\nPunk's hed a great sorrer? He's been yirrigatin' the hull dum ranch with\nhes tears ontil yuh-ve gotter wear gum butes to git around in! Why, he's\nweeped so hawd thet hes years has got washed clean for oncet!\"\n\nHoly chortled in blasphemous delight as Woolly went on: \"Punk's been lef\nstranded on thu shoals o' woe. He's stah o' happiness is sot 'an' thu\nmune o' he's desiah won't rise no moah! Thu light has gone outen he's\nyoung life an' he's tooken to writin' potery an' herdin' by hisself. He\nwas tooken thet way early this mawnin' an' hes mizzery hes been suthin'\nscand'lous. He's made up a leetle pome all outen hes own haid thet would\nmake a Ute cry. Speak it for us, Punk, won't yuh!\"\n\nPunk sighed dolorously and rested his head on his bowed arms. Then he\nraised it again and with a comical imitation of Douglass's abstraction\nlooked into vacancy. Holy was gurgling ecstatically, his delight finding\nvent in a yell of irrepressible joy as Punk fumbled twistingly with his\nbare upper lip in emulation of Douglass's impatient twirls of his\nmustache.\n\nHis wandering thoughts recalled by that raucous guffaw, Douglass glared\nwith cold disfavor at the twain, somehow realizing that he was more or\nless concerned in their horse-play. \"What's the matter with you damn\nfools?\" he asked, incautiously.\n\nPunk looked at him in anguished protestation, shook his head in hopeless\ndespondency and wailed:\n\n\"Oh! Gawd--haow _kin_ I stand it? Haow kin I?\"\n\nWoolly looked at Douglass reproachfully. \"To be sworn at in thet\nheartless way, an' him so young and gentle!\" He put his arm\nsympathetically about Punk's shoulders; Red's eyes were twinkling in\nanticipation.\n\n\"Thar! thar! ole man! Don't yuh take it so hawd.\"\n\nPunk laid his head wearily on Woolly's breast. Then as Holy and Red\nalmost cried in their hilarity, he clasped his hands and crooned with\nheart-rending pathos:\n\n    \"'Tis sweet tu love--\n    But oh! haow bitter\n    To hev yuh gyurl\n    Git up an' flit-ter!\"\n\nDouglass swore softly under his breath; then he looked meaningly at Red\nand touched his throat carelessly. Red sobered instantly and felt of\nsomething in the breast pocket of his shirt. His own fences were a\ntrifle shaky and the temper of this particular colt was proverbially\nshort and uncertain. He rose and went over to the water pail on the\nbench behind Woolly as if to get a drink, turning with a world of\ncompassion in his eyes as Punk gasped faintly and sank back in Woolly's\narms.\n\nInstantly he was beside the twain, a huge dipper full of water in his\nhand. \"Don't let him faint! don't yuh now, Woolly!\" he yelled, in mock\nconsternation. \"Heah, put this on hes pore brow!\" and he deliberately\npoured a quart of ice water down Punk's neck. The effect was as\nremarkable as it was instantaneous.\n\nPunk's head flew up spasmodically, catching Woolly's nose with a force\nthat tilted that worthy's chair backwards and sent them to the floor\nlocked in each other's arms. Tangled up with their chairs, the impact\nwas attended with such a series of excruciating bruises that both men\nlashed out retaliatingly and in a second they were fighting like wolves.\nHoly, leaning up against the wall for support, was convulsed with\necstasy: \"Bite him in thu flank, Woolly! Pull hes ha'r out, Punk! Oh!\nGawd! Let me die now!\"\n\nIn the midst of the amenities entered Abbie with eyes aflame, a mopstick\nin her hand. Without hesitation, she impartially belabored both the\ncombatants, calling frantically on Douglass and Red for aid. When their\ncombined efforts had finally pried the two men apart she turned\nwitheringly upon Douglass and lashed him with her scorn.\n\n\"A fine boss yuh be to let these coyotes tear each other to pieces! Ef\nyuh cain't manage men any bettah than thet yuh bettah take yuh lettle\npen an' write potery fer a livin'. Maybe yuh'd git yuh name in thu\npapehs that way!\" Then she stopped suddenly, the flood of invective\ndying on her tongue. The man's face was a livid gray, the teeth showing\nblue through the thin white lips. She quailed before the unlovable smile\nthat distorted his mouth as he bowed ironically to her and went silently\nout.\n\n\"What hev I done wrong, now?\" she muttered, speculatively. \"He seemed\ntouched on thu raw!\" Her thrust had been a random one and entirely\nwithout malice or specific reference; Abbie merely had a wholesome\ncontempt for rhymes and rhymsters in general and had inadvertently\nexercised that contempt in lieu of other more opprobious taunt. But this\nDouglass did not know; he leaped, instead, to a different and altogether\nunworthy conclusion, one that sickened him to the depths of his strong\nbeing and ultimately brought much unnecessary pain to another heart.\n\nAnd yet, as he walked into the bunkhouse a few minutes later, no one\nlooking at the outward impassiveness of that calm face would have even\nthe remotest suspicion of the hell of resentful anger and outraged\nvanity burning in his heart. His lip even twitched with indulgent\namusement as he watched Woolly and Punk solicitously binding up each\nother's wounds, each with a studiously exaggerated commiseration of the\nother's disfiguration.\n\n\"Gawd! Woolly, but yuh shore was playin' in luck when my haid hit yuh\nbeak 'stead o' my fist!\" Punk said, comfortingly, wiping that\nensanguined member with a bit of wet burlap. Woolly grinned\nacquiescently:\n\n\"Thet's so, Punk, thet's so! It were shore consid'rit o' yuh to jab me\nwith the softest thing yuh had. Ef yuh'll put a leetle skunk-oil on thet\nchawed year o' yourn I guess it'll grow out again', er I kin eat off thu\notheh one to match it. Honest, son, I didn't aim to chaw off more'n a\nfoot, but my jaw slipped.\"\n\n\"Thet must hev been when I swatted yuh against thu table laig,\" said\nPunk, regretfully. \"Yuh know Ken has giv ordahs to kill everything with\nthu lumpy jaw, an' yuh mug is shore a heap outer place. Does yuh teeths\ntrack all right, old man?\" The anxiety in his voice was very touching.\n\n\"They've kissed an' made up,\" explained Holy to Douglass, with\nblood-curdling expletiveness. \"Ain't they jest thu two mos' lovin'\nwaddies yuh eveh see?\"\n\n\"When you two fellows get done monkeying with each other,\" said\nDouglass, impatiently, \"I have something to tell you.\" Something in his\ntone enlisted their immediate attention. Red looked at him\ninquisitively.\n\n\"It was only a bit of harmless hoss-play,\" he mumbled, apologetically.\n\"They didn't mean nuthin'.\" Douglass nodded indifferently. He had\nalready forgotten the incident in the consideration of more serious\nthings.\n\nHe took out of his pocket the letter he had that day received from\nDenver. \"It's from the brand Registrar's office,\" he said, shortly. \"I\nguess it clears up the mystery about that O Bar O brand.\" He read it\nwith slow deliberation and at the mention of Coogan's name they\nexchanged meaning glances. Red whistled significantly. \"Big Bart, eh!\"\nThe others said never a word.\n\nDouglass meditatively took out of his vest pocket a broad-leaded\nindelible pencil with which he traced upon the margin of a newspaper the\ncharacters which composed the Carter brand: \"C--.\" As the others watched\nhim in silence he retraced them, closing up the ends of the first\ncharacter and adding another after the second. As amended the brand was\n\"O-O.\" There was no need of comment, for every man knew what his action\nimplied.\n\nIn the midst of an impressive silence he rolled and lighted a cigarette;\nthen he rose and strolled over to the fireplace, resting his arm on the\nmantel shelf. Red waited expectantly but there was visible discomfort in\nthe uneasy demeanor of the other three men.\n\n\"Boys,\" said Douglass, slowly but with incisive distinctness. \"When I\ntook charge here I was under the impression that the O Bar O brand was\nowned by a man in Middle Park named Wistar, a friend of Mr. Carter's. I\nwas even so assured by two of the men most trusted by Mr. Carter--I\nthink you know to whom I refer--as well as by Mr. Carter himself, who\nwas evidently misinformed. I have reason to believe that every man of\nthis outfit, except McVey, knew differently, but I have no intention of\nasking any embarrassing questions. I want to say, however, that I am\nsatisfied that since I came to the C Bar none of our old cattle have\nbeen absorbed by the O Bar O.\n\n\"But our tally sheets for the three previous years show a strange\ndiscrepancy with our present bunch; we are shy about five hundred head\nof cows, and our increase has fallen off unaccountably. And in this\nyear's round-up I noticed a great many motherless calves and yearlings\nin the O Bar O brand. As a matter of curiosity I took a chance and\nkilled a few of them, and here are the hides.\" He walked over to his\nbunk and took from underneath it three partly dried skins which he\nspread flesh side uppermost on the floor. To their experienced eyes\nit was plainly evident that the animals had been rebranded, the\ndifferently healed scars showing very plainly that the brands were\noriginally C-- afterwards altered to O-O.\n\n\"Every man in this room knows what this means; and every man also is\naware that Mr. Matlock and Mr. Coogan always have been on terms of\nclosest intimacy, it being the general impression that they are partners\nin several enterprises. Now, boys, I respect a man who keeps his own\ncounsel at all times, and I am aware that when a fellow wants to know\nanything he is expected to find it out for himself. Well, I have been\nfinding out enough to warrant my keeping you men on this job. I am sure\nthat you are all right. But the fellows I let out this fall won't come\nback. I am going to see that there are a few more C Bar calves on the\nrange this year, and a few less O Bar O's. If I had been reasonably sure\nof my premises before, the thing would have been straightened up long\nago; but as I am going to acquire the O Bar O brand myself in a few\ndays, it won't make any difference, as we will vent the brand and put\nthe cattle under it back where they belong, in the C Bar.\"\n\n\"One thing more,\" he continued dispassionately; \"I expect every man who\nworks for this outfit to play the limit in his employer's interest. I\nhave set aside two thousand dollars out of our last sales to be used to\ndefend any man who finds it necessary to shoot up a few of the skunks\nthat are looting this range. I believe that you are all dependable men,\nand your wages will be raised twenty-five per cent, after the first of\nthe month. McVey will act as assistant foreman, and you will take orders\nfrom him. I think that's all,\" he said with a yawn, \"except that Red\nand I are going to Gunnison in the morning. You fellows keep tabs till\nwe get back; we'll be gone about five or six days.\"\n\nHe filled his pipe, a sure indication that he contemplated an extended\nstroll, and scooped up a hot coal from the fireplace; at the door he\nturned for a final word: \"We will take those hides with us.\"\n\nAfter he had gone the men sat for a long time in silence. Then Holy\nswore enthusiastically: \"By Gawd! fellers, that's a man!\" Woolly felt of\nhis swollen jaw tenderly and turned in pretended amazement: \"Why, was\nyuh thinkin' he was a woman?\"\n\nPunk ceased operations on his cigarette and stared meditatively into the\nfire. \"Wonder haow he's goin' to ack-kwire that brand? Trade those hides\nfer it, mebbe.\"\n\nBut Red McVey for once was silent. Going to his warbag he took therefrom\nhis spare gun; it had a soft leather scabbard of the kind designed for\nwearing inside the coat under the left armpit. Very carefully he cleaned\nand recleaned the already speckless weapon and oiled it anew; he then\nbestowed a similar attention on the Colts in his belt, and filled both\nbandolier and belt with fresh cartridges from an unbroken box. Of the\nhides he made a neat package that would \"ride\" well on a pack-saddle.\nThen he took down his guitar and a moment later the night was vocal with\nthe strains of \"The Spanish Cavalier.\"\n\nWhen his pipe was empty, Douglass went up to the office to write a\nletter. The rapidity with which he wrote showed that he had perfectly\nrehearsed its text. It was addressed to Robert Carter at his New York\nresidence:\n\n     \"DEAR MR. CARTER:--\n\n     \"I have just proved to my entire satisfaction that you have been\n     systematically robbed by Matlock and certain of his confederates in\n     your employ, for the past three years. The proof is indisputable\n     and I am going to secure restitution if I can. By the time you\n     receive this the matter will be definitely settled one way or the\n     other.\n\n     \"The O-O brand is not owned, as you suppose, by Mr. Wistar, but by\n     a side partner of Matlock's named Coogan, a saloon keeper and\n     tin-horned gambler in Gunniston. Their game has been to not only\n     alter your C-- into O-O, but to have your own men, confederates of\n     Matlock's and working under his directions, brand your calves in\n     that brand, killing the mothers when necessary. I figure that your\n     losses have been at least one thousand head. I have discharged\n     every man implicated or under reasonable suspicion, retaining only\n     four whom I deem dependable. I did not acquaint you of these facts\n     before your departure for reasons that do not matter.\n\n     \"Should I be fortunate in my endeavor I will report promptly.\n     Should you not hear from me within the next two weeks you may\n     assume that my attempt has been unsuccessful. In the latter event\n     you had better place the matter in the hands of competent counsel;\n     sufficient proofs can be easily supplied by the men now in your\n     employ, and an examination of young cattle in the O-O brands will\n     give you sufficient evidence for an action for damages.\"\n\nOn another sheet he wrote:\n\n     \"In case of my death from any cause, I hereby direct that all my\n     effects be given to Red McVey if he be alive; if he be not, then it\n     is my wish that they be divided among the other three boys employed\n     at the time of this writing on the C Bar ranch.\"\n\n     \"BREWSTER.\"\n\nHe signed and sealed them in separate envelopes, directing both to\nRobert Carter. Then he entrusted them to Abbie with the request that she\nhave the former mailed at once to New York, but to retain the latter\nfor two weeks before mailing. He was very explicit in his instructions\nand enjoined her to carry them out in every particular. She was inclined\nto ask questions but he calmly ignored them and went off to bed, after\ninforming her that he wanted breakfast at daybreak in the morning.\n\nAs he entered the bunkhouse the measured breaths from each bed were\nthose of placidly sleeping men and he undressed in the dark so as not to\ndisturb them. A single ray of moonlight lay across the room, hitting\nsquarely the peg in the post above Red's bunk. It lit up the two\nrevolvers hanging in their scabbards and Douglass smiled almost\naffectionately in the direction of their owner. When Red \"packed\" that\nextra gun he was enlisted for the whole war.\n\nHe went over and looked down kindly upon the stalwart sleeper. In the\nrelaxation of sleep the stern face was gentle and almost handsome. Was\nhe justified in taking this comely young fellow into the grim\nuncertainty that lay ahead, into the jaws of the specter grinning\nwaitingly behind the red lights of Bart Coogan's gambling hell at\nGunnison? As he hesitatingly debated the question in his mind, Red\nturned slightly and mumbled in his sleep: \"All right, honey--for yuah\nsake--\"\n\nDouglass, stepping back involuntarily, laid his hand upon the breast of\nthe shirt hanging under the guns; it encountered something round in the\nflannel pocket, and instantly his face hardened. He went over to his own\nbunk and laid down.\n\n\"You've got to sit in the game, Red, for her sake. We are in the same\nboat and we've got to take our medicine. I wonder if she told old Abbie\nabout that ribbon, too. Well, maybe we'll give her something more to\nlaugh at before we are through.\" Then youth and healthful fatigue\nasserted itself and he rolled over and went to sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nFRENZIED FINANCE\n\n\nOutside of a fixed determination to compel the restoration of the stolen\ncattle, Douglass had no specific plans in mind as they rode away in the\ngray dawn. His actions would be determined by the conditions that would\nconfront him at Gunnison, and he left much to what he deemed his luck,\nbut which in reality was rather his great capability and aptitude in\nmoments of crisis.\n\nOf course, he would incidentally kill Matlock if justifying\ncircumstances permitted, but he was not a killer in cold blood and the\nprovocation would have to be amply sufficient. He resolved to let\nMatlock make the first hostile demonstration, after which matters were a\nthing of evolution purely; of the ultimate result he had not the\nslightest apprehension.\n\nEvery fiber of him was tingling with resentment of what he deemed\nGrace's duplicity; she had begged for his friendship and then had\nmaliciously exposed him to ridicule by showing that foolish poem to\nAbbie, and the Lord only knew who else besides. She had made of him a\nlaughing stock of the whole community, a butt for the coarse witticisms\nof his fellows, and the deeply-driven barb in his vanity rankled sore.\nOf course, he opined, she had only been making a fool of Red, too, but\ndespite the old time-honored saw about misery loving company, he took\nsmall comfort in the thought, being rather disposed to harsher judgment\nof her for so unscrupulously playing upon that ignorant cowpuncher's\nfatuous credulity. Red knew nothing of fine ladies and their heartless\nmachinations and it was a shame to encourage him in his hopeless folly.\nNo lady would take such cruel advantage of puerile innocence! It is\npossibly apparent to the reader by this time that Mr. Douglass was\nsomewhat of an egotist, whose personal estimation of himself bulked\nlarge in his stock in trade. If it be true that a man's vanity is the\nreal unit of the measure of his possibilities, then Ken Douglass, scaled\nby the miles of his self-containment, might logically have aspired\nbeyond the stars. Not that he underestimated other men in the slightest;\nhe was quick to recognize and commend courage, fortitude, honesty and\nskill in his compeers; indeed, he heartily despised anyone in whom these\nprimal qualities were not ingrained; but the ego was first in his cosmos\nand when a man humbly urges that he is the equal of all other men it may\nbe set down as an axiom that he really thinks himself immeasurably their\nsuperior. Now the world always accepts a man at his own valuation in\nabsence of evidence to the contrary, and he had vindicated his position\nso far as his range work went; he was concededly the best rider, roper,\npistol shot and poker player in his circumscribed little world, and had,\nbesides, the enviable reputation of never \"falling down\" in anything he\nessayed. In the flush of his present successes he entirely overlooked\nhis previous grievous failures, as is man's wont the world over; the\nworld was his own succulent oyster, and he, himself, the proper blade\nfor its opening. Therefore he arrogantly pitied Red's unsophistication;\nat which the gods laughed.\n\nAs they rode along he made a clean breast of his dilemma. \"It will have\nto be largely a case of bluff,\" he confided, \"and we must make it stick.\nWe have no time for lawing, and if we did, the shysters would get it\nall. Bart isn't easily buffaloed and will put up a stiff fight. Of\ncourse we've got the age on him--those hides are a strong card--but\nwe're not going to have a walk-over. I can't see my way clear just yet,\nbut it will work out as we go along. It sure won't be a picnic, but one\nthing is certain; we'll either get those cattle or Matlock will have to\nrustle a new partner.\"\n\nRed shifted his cud and spat unerringly on the crest of a loco weed in\nthe trail. \"D'yuh 'spose we'll meet up with Matlock there? Reckon\n'tain't likely though.\" Through the labored indifference of his speech,\nDouglass detected a certain restrained hopefulness and his face grew\nserious.\n\n\"I want to talk to you about that, Red. We've got nothing that we can\nfasten on him securely as yet, and we've got to go slow. Of course, if\nwe get him to rights, or if he makes any bad breaks\"--the pause was\nominous. \"But we don't want to raise any hell that we can't lay again.\nI'm going to give him all the rope that the game will stand; I think,\nhowever, that he has quit.\"\n\n\"Them kind nevah quits,\" said McVey sententiously, \"an' yuh don't want\nto take any fool chances, Ken. I seen a feller oncet thet was monkeying\nwith a rattler an' ketched 'im by thu tail. He got bit! Thu best way\nwith a pizen reptyle is to blow his damn haid off, 'specially one thet\nyuh've pulled thu rattles offen.\"\n\nThey both grinned reminiscently at the reference to the Alcazar\nincident, but Douglass winced at the thought that although he had\nstopped Matlock's rattling for the time being, he had not neutralized\nthe venom of his silent bite. And it is hard to side-step an unheralded\nstroke from behind.\n\n\"Well,\" he said unemotionally, \"it's his first move.\"\n\n\"Hes last, yuh mean,\" muttered Red sotto voce, \"fer I am to be first if\nhe bats hes eye.\" But aloud he merely said, \"That's what,\" and took a\nfresh chew of plug.\n\nDouglass's perplexity as how his coup was to be executed increased with\nevery passing hour. He carefully formulated and as regretfully discarded\nat least a hundred schemes, each of which appealed less and less to his\npractical judgment as he critically reviewed them. Never in his\nexperience had he faced anything so intangible as the problem which now\nconfronted him. He was at a loss for a precedent, and what was still\nworse, was in total ignorance of the laws governing the unique\nconditions. Not that he cared a rap for the laws so far as they might\naffect him personally, and he had an inborn contempt for conditions; but\nhe wanted that transfer of the brand to be legally absolute and without\nrecourse, and he did not want to involve Mr. Carter in the slightest\ndegree.\n\nWhen they eventually reached Gunnison he went straight to the office of\nthe best lawyer in the town, a life-long friend of old Bob Carter, and\nsuccinctly and forcibly laid all the facts before him. After listening\nattentively to his explicit elucidation of the law in the case, and his\nlogical course of procedure in the premises, Douglass shook his head.\n\n\"That will take months of lawing and jawing and I want those stolen\ncattle returned at once. It's got to be settled before I leave town, and\nI won't consent to involving Carter in any long-drawn-out, expensive\nlitigation. There must be some way of settling it man to man. Will the\nlaw protect a bill of sale made out to me or Red, here, if I win it in a\ncard game or force it out of him with a gun? That's what I want to\nknow.\"\n\nThe old practitioner chuckled at this ingenuous imputation of the law's\nplasticity; his eyes twinkled in anticipation of the laugh he would\nraise in chambers when he got a chance to spring that joke on his\ndignified confreres. But his manner was gravity personified as he\nearnestly assured this exceedingly straightforward young fellow that\nmuch to his regret he would have to answer negatively.\n\n\"Even if you did get a sufficient and properly-drawn bill of sale out of\nCoogan by either of the means you suggest, he could come back at you\nwith the 'baby act' and nullify the transfer by pleading no real\nconsideration and invoking the statute which declares gambling debts\nnoncollectible, in the first instance; and in the second, by setting up\nthe plea of unlawful stress and intimidation. In either case you would\nlose out if he brought action.\"\n\n\"Supposin' he was daid an' couldn't get no action on hisself?\"\ninterjected Red, softly.\n\nThe old lawyer, frontier-hardened as he was, started nervously. \"You\nsurely don't contemplate any such--?\"\n\n\"Any such what?\" Red's face was a study in mild curiosity. \"I was only\nasking yuh a question.\"\n\nThe lawyer moistened his lips tentatively before replying. \"That would\ncomplicate matters very much--to all parties concerned. I hope,\ngentlemen--\"\n\n\"An' if thu bill o' sale was made out to me, an' I was to trade it off\nto Ken, an' he was to tuhn it inter coin an' cache thu dough, what\nthen?\" The drawling voice was a sinister purr and somehow the half-shut\neyes took on a feline expression. The lawyer suddenly achieved a new\ninterest in this inquisitive young man; he looked at him from under his\ngrizzled brows with professional appreciation.\n\n\"Why, you're a pretty fair shyster, yourself, Red,\" said Douglass\nhumorously; \"that idea didn't occur to me. That could not possibly\ninvolve Carter, could it?\"\n\n\"No. But I trust--.\" The old man's voice was hesitating and tremulous.\n\n    \"O-h-h, put yuah trust in Jesus,\n    An' yuh shall see thu Throne!\"\n\nchanted Red, nasally; adding as an after-thought: \"Thu C Bar pays cash.\"\n\n\"And it wants to retain you, Mr. Brewster, as counsel in event of my\nfailure to accomplish the restitution of Mr. Carter's property,\"\nsupplemented Douglass quickly. \"You see, I've got to fight the devil\nwith fire. If I lose out you have full authority to thrash it out in\nyour own way. But I play my hand first.\"\n\n\"That's what,\" said Red laconically. \"An' I'll keep cases on thu game.\"\n\nAt the request of Douglass the attorney drew up the correct form of a\nbill of sale with notorial attest; he refused the fee tendered him,\nsaying: \"I am glad to be of service to Bob Carter's boy. And if at any\ntime you need my aid, professional or otherwise, command me without\nhesitation.\"\n\n\"Ken,\" said McVey oracularly, as they mounted their horses. \"We're goin'\nto win out. We've seed a honest law-sharp an' our systems hev stood thu\nshock; an' we ain't been parted from our wealth none. I think thu Lawd\ntook thet way o' breakin' thu news to us, gentle like, thet Fawtune is\ngoin' to smile on us. Betcha we have pie an' ice cream feh suppah.\"\n\nHe was still more optimistic when he came in, an hour or so after supper\nwas over, to where Douglass sat thoughtfully smoking a cigar. His manner\nwas even jubilant as he struck a match and sucked vivaciously at the\nproffered weed. \"Matlock will be in town to-morrow; he was here\nyiste'day an' him an' Bart has gone out huntin'; so they say; like as\nnot up ter sum lowdown meanness er 'tother; an' they're aixpected back\nto-morrer evenin'. Luck is suttinly comin' ouah way.\n\n\"I thought I'd go projeckin' around a leetle so as to kinda size up thu\nlayout,\" he explained, \"an' get a line on thu fo'thcomin' festivities.\nSo I nacherally draps in to thu Palace an' thu barkeep gits loquacious.\nWas yuh thinkin' o' drinkin' a sarsaperiller with me?\"\n\nTime hanging heavy on their hands, the two cowpunchers strolled up the\nstreet in the search of diversion; at the Shoo Fly dance-hall the\nrevelry seemed most promising and they went in to investigate. The usual\nquota of frowsy, bedraggled women were in evidence, wearily swinging in\nthe eccentric mazes of a putative waltz or plying their blowsy victims\nwith the stuff that had already stolen their souls and later would steal\naway what besotted senses they still held in precarious possession. It\nwas an old experience to both of them and they looked listlessly about\nwith the disinterestedness of bored familiarity.\n\nTime was when these young men would have entered into the orgies with a\ncertain reckless aplomb; there were a few girls among the throng who had\nnot yet lost all their pristine comeliness, who still retained some few\npitiful shreds of the femininity that should have made of them the\nloving wives and good mothers that Nature's God creatively intended; but\nto-night none of them looked good to these two not usually\nover-discriminative animals, intrepidly fresh as they were from pasture.\n\nThe whole thing jarred unaccountably upon both of them; Douglass looking\ndisgustedly at the tawdry surroundings, at the flushed faces and\nprofessionally displayed charms, felt a great irritation at himself for\ncoming here. Unconsciously he was comparing this sickening\nmeretriciousness with the delightful reserve and dignity of another\nenvironment, and he felt the quick shame of a schoolboy detected in his\nfirst illicit adventure.\n\nRed grunted telepathically: \"Gawd, Ken, this yeah's a punk layout. Let's\ngo out wheah it's clean.\" They settled their score and were in the act\nof rising when, McVey touched Douglass on the arm. A woman had just\nentered by a side door and was looking at them with a strange\nintentness.\n\n\"That's Coogan's woman,\" said Red, in a low voice; \"Stunner, ain't she!\nWonder he stands fer her comin' here.\"\n\nThe woman came forward with a curious snake-like quickness and seated\nherself at the adjoining table. She was a very striking creature,\nevidently one of the higher class Mexicans occasionally still to be met\nwith on the Colorado frontier. She was not more than twenty-four or five\nyears old, with all the color and voluptuousness of the younger women of\nher race. Her hair and eyes were of a peculiar blue-black color, her\ncomplexion ordinarily very light olive with carmine cheek tints but now\nexhibiting a pallor that only intensified the gleam in her big eyes. She\nwas neither painted nor powdered, as both men noted approvingly, and was\nfinely gowned in a modest, though expensive style. The only inharmonious\nthing in her entourage was the blaze of the diamonds with which she was\nlavishly bedecked.\n\nShe ordered brandy, and when it was brought drank it with reckless haste\nand called for more. Twice was her glass refilled, and the fiery\nstimulant flushed her face. At the third serving she paid the waiter\nand shudderingly pushed the glass away with every evidence of disgust.\n\nTo Douglass, watching her out of the corner of his eye, for somehow, her\nmanner did not invite the leer customary on such occasions, she turned\nsuddenly:\n\n\"You are the Señor Douglass of Rancho C Bar?\"\n\nHer voice, though very musical and low-pitched, was tensely strained. As\nit was apparent that her English, though correct, was labored, he\nanswered, hat in hand, in her own tongue:\n\n\"_A las pies de usted, Señorita._\" (At your feet, Miss.)\n\nShe smiled gratefully, as much at his courteous consideration as in her\nrelief at his knowledge of her tongue and its social ethics.\n\n\"_Bese usted las manos, Señor._\" (My hands for your kisses, Sir.)\n\nRed looked his appreciation of her favor; they were very pretty hands,\nand while he was not \"up\" in the flowery etiquette of sunny Spain, he\nunderstood its language indifferently well. \"Ken's shore thu luckiest\ndevil on yearth!\" he muttered under his breath, enviously. It soon\ndeveloped, however, that his hastily-formed conclusions were at fault.\nAs he in duty bound slowly rose to his feet with a studious, \"Well, I\nmust be goin'--see you lateh,\" she protestingly laid her hand on his\narm.\n\n\"But no, Señor. It is that I wish to have the speech wis you bot'--but\nnot here.\" She looked around in sudden alarm. \"Can you to my room\ngraciously come? I live in the ho-tel.\" Her manner was pleading and\neager.\n\nThe eyes of the men met inquiringly. Red unostentatiously flecked a\nspeck of dust from a slight bulge in his coat under the left armpit.\nDouglass tentatively placed his hand in the side pocket of his reefer.\nThen as one man they both answered. \"Why, certainly, Señorita.\"\n\n\"In an hour, then. Come carefully. Numero 9, the one mos' far in the\nhall. I go first, now.\" And without further look at them she went out as\nunobtrusively as she had entered. Red calmly confiscated her rejected\nglass of brandy.\n\n\"Shame to waste good likker, 'specially when it's paid fer. What's yuh\nijea, Ken, a plant?\"\n\n\"Damfino! She's all worked up over something, that's sure. Well, it's\nall in the game.\" Then, with an inscrutable and not altogether pleasant\nflicker in his eyes, \"Not a bad looker, eh, Red?\"\n\nMcVey emptied the glass. \"Brandy's hell foh a woman,\" was his\nenigmatical reply.\n\nAn hour later they gained her apartments unobserved, the hotel corridors\nbeing deserted at that hour. She had changed her gown and received them\nin a charming half-negligé of some filmy white stuff that set off her\ndark beauty ravishingly. Her eyes were out-gleaming her diamonds but her\nmanner was quiet and composed.\n\nThey sat down and respectfully awaited her pleasure; but every article\nin that room could have been accurately catalogued by either man. There\nwas only one door in the room besides the one through which they had\nentered and that stood partly ajar, revealing beyond a luxuriously\nfurnished bedroom. A large double window gave down on the main street;\none-half of it was closely curtained, but the hangings of the other was\nlooped aside, and for a time she stood beside it looking down into the\nsqualid street. Suddenly she drew the curtains close and with a strength\nhardly to be looked for in that slender wrist, whirled a heavy Morris\nchair directly before them and seated herself.\n\nFor a full minute she regarded them intently through half-closed eyes\nand then, addressing herself to Douglass, but keeping her eyes for the\ngreater part of the time on McVey, she said slowly in her soft mother\ntongue:\n\n\"Your friend understands Spanish?\"\n\n\"Sufficiently, Señorita,\" assured Red, \"to follow your conversation.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" she said quietly, \"but your address flatters me. I am\nSeñora, not Señorita.\" She held out her left hand with a curiously proud\ngesture; on the third finger was a heavy plain band of dull gold.\n\n\"I am desolated--madame,\" said Red, instantly. Douglass bowed his polite\nacceptance of the correction.\n\n\"Yes,\" she went on wearily, \"I am a married woman, no matter what the\nworld, what _you_ may think. The ceremony was performed by the Jefe\nPolitico of Ameca, my natal town, though not solemnized by the church.\nThere was a witness, but he is dead now. It was Pedro Rodriguez, the man\nyou killed the night he and Señor Matlock burned the hay on your\nrancho.\"\n\nIn the tense silence which followed, the ticking of Douglass's watch was\ndistinctly audible. Red's hand, fumbling with his watch chain, went up\nswiftly to his armpit; but Douglass, interpreting her even intonation\nmore correctly, never moved a muscle. She smiled reassuringly at McVey:\n\n\"Nay, Señor. There is nothing to--to regret. He was a dog--and I love\nyou for it.\" The hand sank to his knee and he flushed slightly.\n\n\"I was only a young girl,\" she went on rapidly, \"and he was as big and\nas fair as his words. My mother was dead, my father engrossed with\nbusiness cares: he was owner of the 'San Christobal' mine. I met him at\nnight, for my father liked him not and forbade me. It was my first\naffair, and I thought I loved him.\" She laughed, a mirthless sibilance\nthat was marvelously like a snake's hissing, her eyes hard and dry.\n\n\"I had a brother, an only one, Rafael. He was very dear to me and loved\nme greatly. He was, of the mine--what do you name it, the one who holds\nand pays the monies? Ah, mil gracias! the 'treasurer.' He was of the\nlively the liveliest and played much at the cards. And Don Bartholomew\nwas of his friends the most esteemed. We knew not then that he made his\nliving so: he had come to buy lands, he said, and he had letters, many\nfrom great men; they were not written by those whose names they bore as\nI know now, but we of Mejico know little of such things and trusted him\nfully.\n\n\"Then, one night, mi padre discovered me in his arms and there was much\nsorrow. I was to the casa confined and to him was said that we should\nsee him no more. But you know our adage: '_No ay cerradura si es de oro\nla ganzua_' (there is no lock but that will open to a golden key), and\nPedro Rodriguez, our servidor, was very poor. Like Eve, I listened to\nthe serpent's voice; I was very young.\"\n\nShe covered her face with her hands and again the silence fell; Red\nlicked his lips nervously: \"The damned caterpillar!\" he ejaculated. She\nroused at that and her manner changed. She seemed to speak mechanically\nand her words fell like drops of ice:\n\n\"One night he came in great haste and said that we must fly at once; a\ngreat trouble had come to him and his life was in peril. I had to marry\nhim, you understand, and I had no other choice. We went to the\nmagistrate--he swore that we would be remarried by a priest of my faith\nwhen we reached his land, and so I consented. My father was absent and\nmy brother--Oh! Rafael!\" She broke down and sobbed bitterly. Red cursed\naloud.\n\nOf a sudden she calmed; her eyes were hot but her voice was cold and\nemotionless. \"Not until yesterday did I know that on that very night he\nhad robbed my brother at cards and treacherously shot him dead when his\nguilt was discovered. My father, thinking I knew all--God, give me\nvengeance on this man--died two weeks ago, cursing me with his last\nbreath. I had it from an old acquaintance whom I met here all\nunexpectedly yesterday morn. They never answered my letters you know,\nand I dared not return. The child was dead born.\n\n\"The life with him has been hell. I had to live, and he was liberal in\nhis brutal way. Long ago I learned from Pedro that he was robbing you,\nbut for that I cared nothing. The men of your race have given me blood\nand gall to drink, and the thought of your wrongs was bitterly sweet to\nme; it would have been sweeter had your lives gone with it.\"\n\nThey looked at her entirely without resentment; this was something they\ncould understand. Douglass felt a great sympathy for her, but Red was\nrevolving something in his mind that made his eyes gleam evilly.\n\n\"Yesterday I upbraided him with the truth. God knows what I said, for my\nheart was hot and I think I was mad. He was devil enough to admit all,\nand taunt me with my helplessness. We are of a passionate blood, we\npeople of the South, and I tried--. Enough! He beat me--me, Dolores\nYsobel de Tejada! May his soul writhe in hell until I lave his accursed\nlips!\" Her venomous fury was not shrill and vociferous; instead, it was\ncold and low-voiced, but Douglass breathed hard and Red clenched his\nlips, watching it. She sprang impulsively to her feet and tore violently\nat her bodice. As the thin silk ripped away they saw that arms, neck and\nbreasts were purple.\n\nShe came closer, thrusting her shame into their very faces. \"See!\" she\nhissed, \"the chivalry of the American gringo! Do you Yanquis treat all\nyour women so tenderly, caballeros?\"\n\nDouglass's face hardened resentfully. \"We are not all Coogans, Señora.\nBe seated, please, and for God's sake, cover up that horror! And\nnow--why do you tell us this?\"\n\n\"So that you will kill him--for a price.\"\n\nRed laughed harshly. \"By Gawd! Madame Dolores Ysobel de Tajeda--or\nCoogan, whatever yuah name is, I'd giv' a better price ef yuh was able\nto tuhn yuhself into a man fer a couple o' minnits. What d'yuh take us\nfer, greasers?\" But Douglass, his own face very white and hard set,\nasked quietly, with an eager interest in his calm voice:\n\n\"And the price, Señora?\"\n\n\"I will give him into your hands,\" she said coolly, \"I have letters,\nsome from Matlock, which he thought destroyed, and two from him to\nMatlock which were missent and returned here. In his absence, I received\nand kept them. I have also one from Rodriguez asking me for money and\nthreatening me with exposure if I denied him. They are enough to prove\nyour case and give you justification for killing him.\"\n\nDouglass rose quietly. \"You do me much honor, Señora. But I think your\nacquaintance with American men is, after all, very inconsiderable.\" And\nwith a stiff inclination he left the room.\n\nShe ran after him impulsively but at the threshold of the door she\npaused. Then she swiftly returned and gently pushed Red down into the\nseat from which he had arisen. \"Wait--a single little moment, Señor, I\nbeg of you. I will return immediately.\" She ran into the bedroom and he\nheard a swift rustling. In ten minutes she returned, bearing in her\nhands a packet of letters. She had in some marvelous way succeeded in\nrerobing herself and was now arrayed in an exquisite tea gown which made\nRed's eyes light up with admiration. Inwardly exulting at the success of\nher experiment, she sat down close beside him on the divan and rapidly\nopened the letters.\n\nAt her insistence he took them, though very reluctantly, and\nperfunctorily scanned their contents. Then he reread them with\ndeliberate care, hesitated for a moment and then thrust them in his\nbreast pocket.\n\n\"I reckon I'll keep these for a few days at least; they may come in\nhandy.\"\n\n\"It is your right, Señor McVey. And now there is more that you must\nknow. They have sworn the death of yourself and friend: his because he\nstands between them and their thefts and has brought to black shame the\nman Matlock; yours because you did slay the jackal of my husband. Do you\nknow that in the hands of the sheriff there is a warrant for the arrest\nof you both, sworn out by my husband, charging you with murder, and the\nSeñor Douglass with being accessory thereto? It is the plan to have you\nin the weak jail confined--one single night will serve their\npurpose--and when your friends come the next morning it will be too\nlate. The sheriff is a weakling, as you know--worse, he is as wax in the\nhands of Bartholomew, who did win from him at cards much treasure that\nis to the county belonging, though why that should be cause to make him\nlick my husband's hand I can not understand. Maybe you, a man, do know?\nAnd while two unarmed men are striving with those who will do my\nhusband's bidding--even now has he gone to summons them, your coming\nbeing known to him through a spy who rode faster than you--yet others\nwill be sent to your rancho to burn and destroy.\"\n\nMcVey stifled a great oath. \"You are givin' me straight dope?\" His\nstrong hand was crushing her soft arm.\n\n\"As Heaven is my witness, Señor. I swear it by the memory of my dead!\"\n\n\"Do you know when thu warrant is ter be served?\" The question was curt\nand imperative.\n\n\"At nightfall, as soon as Bartholomew arrives with his fellows.\"\n\nFor a while he deliberated in silence, but into the woman's eyes crept\ntriumph at sight of the grimly compressed lips and wrinkled brow. Then\nas she watched it was commingled with another expression that boded ill\nfor the honor as well as the fortunes of Big Bart Coogan.\n\n\"I reckon I'll say adios, Señora,\" he said finally. \"I have things to\nattend to. When can I see you again?\"\n\nHer raven locks brushed his as she bent forward to look at the tiny\njeweled chatelaine watch on her bodice.\n\n\"It is yet scarcely ten of the clock,\" she murmured, coyly dropping her\neyes. \"The night is young.\"\n\nHis veins ran fire. The woman was very beautiful.\n\nDouglass nodded confirmation as Red told him her story five minutes\nlater. \"Just got a tip myself from Barton,\" he observed calmly. Barton\nwas the clerk of the court from which the warrant had issued, and as it\nhappened, was an old college mate of Douglass and his personal friend.\nHe was not in sympathy with the ring of grafters dominating the county\noffices, and had hastened to Douglass's enlightenment as soon as he\nlearned of his arrival.\n\n\"They don't aim to give you a chance to secure bail for at least one\nnight,\" he said significantly, \"and while that may not mean anything in\nparticular, I thought you had better be put 'wise.' And I've taken the\nliberty of asking Strang to send up three or four fellows from the Lazy\nK to-morrow. Hope you won't think me officious, old man; I thought it\nbest to be on the safe side.\" Strang was a particular friend of both\nmen.\n\nDouglass smashed his fist in silent gratitude. \"Guess we'll manage to\ngive them a run for their money. Have a cigar?\"\n\n\"I've got those letters, Ken,\" said Red casually. \"Better read 'em oveh;\nthey shore are interestin' lit'rachure. Thu gettin' of 'em ain't\nobleegated yuh none, an' mahself hawdly enough ter talk about. Naw, I\ndidn't promise ter cook hes goose,\" meeting the other's eyes squarely;\n\"I'm engagin' in anotheh kind o' frenzied fee-nawnce' altogetheh. Yuh\nhunt yuh leetle baid an' gatheh strength fer to-morrer's\nstren-u-hossity. I'm goin' on night-herd mahself.\"\n\nDouglass wheeled sharply. \"Yuh are not going to--?\"\n\nRed fumbled in the pocket of his shirt. \"I'm agoin' ter ask yuh ter keep\nsuthin' fer me to-night.\" Without raising his eyes he laid in Douglass's\nhand a small parcel wrapped in his best silk handkerchief. \"I want ter\nkeep it clean!\" he muttered.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nNOT STRICTLY ACCORDING TO PROGRAM\n\n\nAs they emerged from the dining-room the next morning they were greeted\nby a short but sturdily built man whose deeply-set blue eyes lighted up\nas he slapped Douglass familiarly on the shoulder. It was Dave Strang,\nforeman of the Lazy K outfit on Cibolla Creek.\n\n\"Why, yuh old son of a gun, wheah d'yuah drap from?\" asked Red, with a\nportentous wink. Douglass had just informed him of Barton s message and\nhis remark was for the benefit of the loungers about the stove, among\nwhom he had reason to believe were some of Coogan's familiars. He deemed\nit best to have them under the impression that the encounter was one of\npure chance; being an enthusiastic devotee at the shrine of \"stud\npoker,\" he believed in keeping inviolate the suit and value of his\nburied card.\n\n\"Oh, just been atrailing and got plumb wore out fer a look at suthin'\nbesides sagebrush,\" answered Strang, easily; he had a few cards up his\nsleeve, himself. \"What brings yuh fellows inter thu tem'tations of thu\nmeetropoliss? Don't yuh know thet this is thu home of the devourin' lion\nan' thu laih o' thu feroshus tigeh? Come an' look at yeh innercent selfs\nin thu bottom of a glass!\"\n\nAs they lined up at the bar Strang said quickly, in an undertone. \"Six\nof us heah by dark. What's thu game?\"\n\n\"Come up to my room in an hour or two and I'll put you next,\" said\nDouglass, cautiously; \"some of this gang is keeping tab on us.\" Then he\nturned to the crowd politely: \"Will you gentlemen join us? This is on\nme, Dave; no foolishness!\"\n\nAfter a few desultory commonplaces, during which Strang intimated that\nhe would be in town only a few hours, Douglass said, casually, \"Drop in\nand see us before you go out, Dave. Been a long time since we had a\ntalk.\" Strang looked doubtful.\n\n\"I only aim to stay till thu mail comes in an' I got a heap ter do.\nMebby I kin spah a few minnits.\" Then he treated the crowd in turn with\na nonchalant, \"Well, so 'long!\" hitched up his belt and strolled out.\n\nUp at the post office he met them a few minutes later. \"I'll be on deck\nin your room in an hour. I'll go there first, ahead of you.\"\n\nThey found him there at the appointed time and he was soon in possession\nof all the facts. Douglass's plan was quickly stated:\n\n\"We'll let them arrest us without any suspicious resistance. Of course\nthey'll make us give up our guns, but they won't get these,\" tapping his\npocket and belt; \"we'll buy a pair of cheap guns for them to relieve us\nof--our own guns will be in Barton's hands at noon. He will make some\nexcuse to come in and see us, bringing our guns with him. We have a\nhundred shells apiece. I think their scheme is to shoot us first so as\nto make sure, and hang us afterward so as to make it look like a\nlynching. I think they will mostly all be greasers, friends of\nRodriguez, with a sprinkling of Coogan's curs to keep them to the work.\nWe may not need you boys, but we are sure thankful for your good will!\nWith eight of us it would be child's play.\"\n\n\"D'yuh reckon Matlock'll be among thu bunch?\" asked Red, hopefully.\n\n\"Not he!\" scornfully said Douglass. \"He hasn't sand enough to face a\nfull-grown man's gun. He'll he down at the Palace with Coogan when the\nfun starts, so as to establish an alibi. This is to be a Roman holiday,\nyou understand, with the 'Roman' spelled g-r-e-a-s-e-r! Pity to spoil\nsuch a pretty scheme, eh?\"\n\nJust then there was a rap at the door. Red opened it and in entered one\nLew Ballard, on whose neck they fell with much profane acclamation. He\nwas United States Marshall for that district, an old cowpuncher and a\nwarm friend of the trio. He grinned comprehensively at the three\nconspirators.\n\n\"What's this fairy story about a portending lynching that Barton's been\nstuffing me with?\" he asked, pleasantly. When they had told him he\nslapped his thigh with enjoyment. \"Say, it reads just like a book! Gawd!\nto think I can't take a hand in it!\" Then a thought struck him and he\nroared. \"Say, I've got a scheme that will put the cap-sheaf on the\nstack!\"\n\n\"First of all, I'll swear the whole bunch of you in as deputy United\nStates marshals. Then I'll arrest two of your boys, Strang, on some\ncharge or another and get them in jail a few minutes before the mob\ncomes. The other four you will hold in readiness outside. We'll switch\ncells and when the greasers get inside we'll lock them up in your places\nand you can go down and pass the time of day with your friend Coogan.\nGawd! won't he be glad to see you! I forgot to say that Barton has\nalready sent a rider over to the C Bar to put the boys wise to the gang\nthat's going down there. Gee, but this will be a great night for\nMexico!\"\n\nSo it was arranged. The marshall went out and secured two extra\nrevolvers and the C Bar arsenal was turned over to Barton. Strang went\nto instruct his men, and the two prospective victims pretended to get\nroyally drunk so as to allay any suspicion. They played their parts so\nwell that Coogan was completely taken in. With these two fools drunk it\nwas a veritable cinch, he thought. Matlock, for some occult reason, was\nnot so sanguine. He would be more at ease when it was all over and he\nshrewdly made arrangements for a hasty departure in case of mishap.\n\nIt was nearly ten o'clock before the chicken-hearted sheriff deemed the\ntwo cowpunchers sufficiently drunk enough to take chances with. At that\nhour he valiantly descended upon the Red Light saloon with a full posse\nand accomplished the arrest with scarcely any difficulty, the only\ncasualty being to the sheriff's nose, which Red could not help\nflattening with the butt of his six-shooter.\n\nEmerging from the jail after the incarceration of his prisoners, the\nsheriff encountered Marshall Ballard in charge of two heavily-ironed\ncaptives whom he was exultantly informed were two dangerous\ncounterfeiters. He overheard the marshall request the turnkey to place\nthem in the steel dungeon in the basement, as they were important\nprisoners and very dangerous characters. He waited until the marshall\nrejoined him and invited that official to have a night-cap, remarking\nthat he was tired and would \"hit the hay\" without unseemly delay. Could\nhe have known that at the moment of lifting his glass, Red McVey was\nsitting astride of the turnkey's neck, industriously engaged in stuffing\nhis silk neckerchief into that worthy's capacious mouth, the Angostura\nin his cocktail would have turned to gall.\n\nDown at the Palace with exaggerated ostentation Coogan and Matlock were\nseated in the main gambling room where their presence was very\nconspicuous; Matlock was nervous, but veiled his agitation under a\nstream of profanity that grew more and more vicious as the hours dragged\nalong. His subterfuge did not deceive his more hardened accomplice, who\nlooked at him with cynical contempt. Could Matlock have known the dark\nthoughts brooking in the evil mind of the big gambler, he would have\nsworn even more affrightedly.\n\n\"That cur is getting dangerous,\" Big Bart was thinking. \"He'd squeal any\ntime to save his own cursed neck, and he knows too much! I'll attend to\nhis case when this affair blows over.\" From under his shaggy eyebrows he\nregarded his confederate evilly; of genuine courage he had no dread, but\nof this man's moral as well as physical cowardice he was growing more\nand more afraid. The consummation of their present plot would only\nplunge him deeper into the toils of the law if Matlock should, in case\nof exposure, turn State's evidence. For another reason he was strangely\nperturbed; that afternoon he had seen a face which was irritatingly\nfamiliar but which he could not correctly place. In his avocation there\nare only two facial classifications: those of absolute strangers, which\nare to be studied with care, and those of people well known, which are\nto be watched jealously. A gambler dare risk no middle path in the\nphysiognomy of his acquaintances; he must either know a face well or it\nmust be that of a total stranger. And for the life of him he could not\nremember the time and place where he had formerly encountered it.\nSomehow he felt a presentiment of coming evil and he chafed under it.\nTo-morrow he would make it his business to find out who and what that\ndignified old Mexican was!\n\nAs he registered this mental resolution, the door opened and in walked\nthe object of his cogitations; he was accompanied by Lew Ballard and\nanother Mexican at sight of whom Coogan paled perceptibly. He knew them\nboth now! The elder man was Don Ramon Seguro, joint owner of the San\nChristobal mine; the other was Don Luis Garcia, sheriff of Jalisco.\n\nCoogan was no coward; he had been in many a tight place before and\nescaped by reason of his brute courage and herculean strength. He\nfurtively felt of his hip pocket, then quietly arose and went forward\nwith extended hand. They had no proof of his killing Rafael de Tejada,\nhe thought rapidly; the only eyewitness, Pedro Rodriguez, was dead; and\nhe could fight extradition until such time as he could make his escape.\nHe resolved to brazen it out.\n\nAffecting not to know the Mexicans, he shook Ballard's hand cordially.\n\"Ah, good evening, Mr. Ballard. I was just going to open a bottle in my\nprivate office. Will your friends join us?\" The marshall and his friends\nwould be delighted! Ballard nodded casually to Matlock as they passed\nhim. For some reason Coogan did not include him in the invitation.\n\nAt the moment of opening the wine they heard in the distance the faint\nrattle of a fusillade of pistol shots. The Mexicans looked inquiringly\nat Ballard but he dismissed the matter with a careless, \"Oh, just some\ndrunken bunch of cowpunchers or railroad tarriers with more ammunition\nthan sense; that kind of thing is getting altogether too prevalent; the\nauthorities ought to put a stop to it! Say, that's a dandy bottle of\nfizz, Coogan! Do you drink of the wines of Champagne much in Arneca,\nSeñores?\" His Spanish was perfect, his voice and manner conventionally\npleasant. On Coogan's brow was the glisten of a dense perspiration;\nBallard covered his mouth with his hand to hide a cynical smile.\n\nJust as the glasses were filled there came from the rear of the saloon\nthe rasping grate of a startled oath, succeeded by the hoof thuds of a\nrapidly-ridden horse. Coogan, involuntarily pushing aside the window\nblinds, cursed scornfully under his breath. \"Got rattled and is hiking\nout for the timber, the cowardly dog! That settles his hash!\" The rider\nwas Matlock and he seemed to be in a hurry.\n\nAs Coogan turned his back the Mexican sheriff made a quick motion toward\nhis hip but Ballard warningly caught his arm. \"Wait!\" he breathed,\n\"there is much sport toward. There will be those here soon who will do\namusing things.\" Coogan flashed around in quick suspicion, angered to\nthink that for one moment he had foolishly relaxed his guard, but\nBallard was serenely lighting his cigarette at that of Don Luis and the\nglass of Don Ramon was just descending from his lips.\n\nWhen the wine was finished, Ballard insisted on ordering another bottle\nat his expense; this was followed by a third at the insistence of Don\nLuis. As the bubbles frothed over the crystal rims, Coogan, either from\npure nerve or fearful bravado, raised his glass. \"A toast, gentlemen:\n\n    \"Here's to good health and untroubled mind;\n    Here's to good luck and fame;\n    Here's to the girl that is fair and kind;\n    And here's to the man who is game!\"\n\n\"A toast worthy of another bottle, especially the last clause,\" said an\napproving voice in the doorway, and at sight of Ken Douglass standing\nthere smiling, Coogan's glass crashed on the floor as his hand flew to\nhis hip pocket.\n\n\"Easy, Bart!\" There was no mirth in the eye gleaming menacingly behind\nthe sights of the heavy .44 aligned so steadily upon the heart of the\nman into whose eyes had crept a superstitious terror at the sight of one\nrisen from the dead. \"Put both your hands on the table! Both, I said!\nThere, that's more sensible! Mr. McVey, may I trouble you to remove that\nexceedingly uncomfortable thing from Mr. Coogan's pocket? It seems to be\ngiving him a world of trouble and it will be in his way when he sits\ndown to talk with me.\"\n\nCoogan's face was ashen as Red lounged languidly into sight; the sweat\npoured down his cheeks in a stream and his lips opened and shut\nconvulsively. He was trembling all over as Red unconcernedly walked\nbehind him and relieved him of the weapon, which he put in his own\npocket. On Don Luis's face was a great contempt and Ballard was grinning\nbroadly.\n\n\"Now the derringers, Red, two of them, in his pants' pockets. You will\nexcuse the liberty, Mr. Coogan, but accidents will happen occasionally\nand I wouldn't have you hurt yourself for the world! We are going to\nhave a quiet little gentlemen's game of cards, you and I, and we don't\nwant our foreign friends here to get a false impression about the ethics\nof our great national game. Sit down, please!\" Coogan dropped\nnervelessly into his chair.\n\nAt a sign from Douglass, there entered into the room a cowboy bearing\nthree beef-hides which he laid on the table. As Douglass spread them\nflesh side up the Mexicans looked significantly at each other; they were\nboth experienced cowmen and the altered brands told their own tale.\n\nUpon the skins Douglass laid successively a handful of gold coin and a\npacket of letters; opening the string which bound the latter he spread\nthem out separately so that their signatures were easily read by the\nwhite-faced fellow sitting opposite to him. Then he turned to Strang,\nwho was standing in the door behind him, watching his actions with\ndeceptively mild interest.\n\n\"Dave, could you manage to get us a new deck of cards and something to\nsmoke?\"\n\nStrang soon returned with a box of really excellent cigars and an\nunbroken package of cards. The former he had secured at the \"Palace\"\nbar, Coogan's weeds being the best in the city, a thing characteristic\nof all gambling hells whose whiskey and tobacco is always\nunexceptionable, but the cards he bought at the little drug store across\nthe way. He had reason to be suspicious of the ornately-backed\npasteboards affected by the Coogan establishment.\n\nIn the combined gambling hall and bar adjacent to the private room, four\nLazy K cowpunchers were languidly lounging about with disconsolation\nwritten all over their faces; but Strang's orders had been imperative,\nso they had to content themselves with smoking innumerable cigarettes\nand hoping that something might occur to enliven the monotony of their\nvigil.\n\n\"It's up to yuh mugs to see that nobody gets offishus an' interrupts thu\nperceedin's!\" had been his instructions; nevertheless they irresistibly\ngravitated toward the door of the private room, where they stood with\nthumbs hooked in their belts in suggestive proximity to the butts of\ntheir peacemakers.\n\nSomehow the atmosphere was charged with expectancy and a strange\nconstraint had fallen on the usually boisterous throng. Something\nunusual was taking place in that private room, but Big Bart's privacy\nwas a thing not healthy to violate; and then again there was something\npeculiarly discouraging to idle curiosity in the grim faces of the\nbronzed quartet just outside the door. There was not a man in that\nassemblage who would not have given half of his hoard for one peep into\nthat room, and similarly there was not a man of them who for thrice that\nconsideration would have essayed such a breach of etiquette.\n\nAnd up at the county jail another of the Lazy K outfit was cursing his\nluck and sarcastically requesting a horde of wretches in the basement\ndungeons to \"holler a few, so's I kin use up a bunch o' these damn\nhulls. Holler just oncet!\"\n\nIn an unlighted room on the second story of the little hotel four short\nblocks away, a woman sat crouched behind the curtains of a window which\ncommanded fully the Palace saloon. She was still dressed in the\ninconspicuous dark robe in which she had watched the sadly aborted\nattempt at the jail a short half-hour before. Feverishly had she\nwitnessed the stealthy approach of the scant dozen of slinking forms\nwhich had silently stolen into the frowning portals which had\naccommodatingly opened for their ingress; breathlessly had she waited\nuntil there came the sound of savage oaths, muffled thuds and the clamor\nof men in mortal combat. She had almost screamed in frantic apprehension\nas the invading force had been suddenly reinforced by four other figures\nwith gleaming weapons in their hands. She would have called out warning\nof this new and terrible peril to the now certainly doomed prisoners,\nbut her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth and she only sobbed and\nswayed in hysterical rage at the balking of her revenge. But suddenly to\nher amazement there came forth seven men clad in vaquero costume, who\nlaughed boisterously and shot their revolvers aimlessly into the air.\nShe gave a sharp gasp of relief as she heard a familiar voice say with\nunfeigned regret:\n\n\"Why, I've hed moah fun at a dawg fite! D'yuh reckon that theah was evah\nary white man, ceptin' he were sick er asleep, that passed in his chips\nto sech a passd o' pulin' polecats like this yeah bunch we've jes' been\nbendin' ouah guns ovah? Gawd! Ken, I'll stink o' gawlic fer a week! Ef\nCoogan don't put up a betah scrap by hes lonesome than hes whole pack o'\npeccaries did, why, I'm goin' to swap my ole hawg laig fer a putty\nblowah an' hiah out on a sheep ranch whar they's suthin' doin'!\"\n\nAnd now she was waiting, waiting with a fierce impatience that bruised\nthe soft taper fingers gripping the jeweled hilt of a slender _cuchilla_\nhidden in her bosom, waiting for the vicious crackle that would\nmercifully appease the maddening insistence of those two dead men\ncalling from their graves in far-off Ameca.\n\nFor the greater part of an hour she shivered in an ecstasy of\nexpectation and fear. \"Mother of God! What if they should let him escape\nafter all!\" Clutching her stiletto, she ran vengefully out into the\nnight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA LAUGH IN THE NIGHT\n\n\nDave Ballard was the only man in the room who immediately lighted the\ncigar of Strang's passing; the others seemed indifferent to the\nblandishments of the odorous goddess for the nonce. Big Bart, with the\nforced composure of a trapped wolf waiting the next move of his captor,\nnonchalantly chewed on his with affected indifference, but on his bull\nneck the sinews stood out like whipcords. The man was no coward but just\nnow he was up against a game new to his great and diversified\nexperience, another man's game, the futility of \"bucking\" which is\nproverbial even among layman. If it be true that the uncertainty of the\nfuture alone makes living endurable, then Bart Coogan was just now\nhaving the time of his life!\n\nWith his characteristic directness, Douglass came straight to the point\nwithout delay:\n\n\"Mr. Coogan, I have just ascertained that you are the putative owner of\nthe O Bar O brand, the registry and record standing in your name. May I\npresume so far as to ask whether the title is solely in you or is it a\npartnership affair?\" His tone was very respectful but business-like.\n\n\"While it's none of your damn business, I don't object to telling you\nthat I am the whole firm,\" said Coogan, insolently. \"And I'd like to\nknow what in--!\" He was beginning to get a grip on himself again and\nresorted to bluster.\n\n\"Thank you!\" said Douglass, quietly, restraining a great desire to send\nhis fist against that snarling mouth. \"Now we'll get down to brass tacks\nin a jiffy. In the brand referred to there are presently six hundred\nhead of cattle, six hundred and four, to be exact, including motherless\ncalves. Of this number more than two-thirds bear altered brands similar\nto these.\" He pointed to the hides on the table: \"May I ask how they\ncame into your possession?\"\n\n\"You can't prove nothing!\" snarled the cornered wolf, viciously. The\nother smiled incredulously.\n\n\"No? Evidently you have not considered these,\" touching the letters,\nsignificantly. \"Well, we won't argue that point. The upshot of the\nmatter is that I have a proposal to make to you. I am anxious to acquire\nthe ownership of the brand myself, and as I have not got enough ready\nmoney to buy it outright, what do you say to a little game of\nfreeze-out, with these for my stakes as against your bill of sale?\" He\npointed to the heap on the table. \"You'll be getting much the best of\nit!\"\n\nFor a moment the gambler glared fiendishly at the imperturbable man\nfacing him; his body was quivering all over with illy suppressed hate\nand fury. He crouched like a wild beast preparing to spring, his hands\nopening and closing nervously. Then out of the silence came the nasal\nhumming of Red:\n\n    \"Yeah's to thu gyurl thet is faih an' kind,\n    An' yeah's to thu man who is game!\"\n\nThe taunt stung him back to composure again. Every gambler is a fatalist\nby nature; the chance was, after all, more than he had any logical right\nto expect under the circumstances. And Big Bart Coogan was game to the\ncore of his calloused heart! With an admirable effort he recovered his\nself-control, and the hand that held the lighted match to the fresh\ncigar which Strang politely tendered him was as steady as a rock.\n\n\"Anything to oblige a fellow sport!\" he said with a fine return to his\nprofessional deference. \"Have you a blank form about you, Lew?\"\n\nBallard produced one already filled out; the gambler glanced at him\nmeaningly. \"Got it all framed up, eh?\"\n\n\"Framed up nothing!\" said the marshall, indignantly. \"If you win out\nthis business will be dropped. I think, myself, that you are in big luck\nto get so favorable a deal! In his place I'd have settled it in another\nway.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Coogan, affably, as he scrawled his name with a fountain\npen at the bottom of the instrument, \"after I've won out suppose you\ntake his place.\" Ballard jerked his head in instantaneous acquiescence.\n\"If you win out!\" he assented, gravely. Then he summoned the bartender,\nwho was a notary public, to take Coogan's acknowledgment of signature;\nthe stakes were removed to a side table and the men cut for the deal,\neach man was given ten chips.\n\nIn poker everything goes that can be made go; Coogan knew perfectly well\nthat there would be positively no interference on the part of the\nspectators, no matter how open and vile his attempts to cheat his\nantagonist. Douglass would be left severely alone in his self-defense,\nand he resolved to employ every means at his command to win, and that\nmeant play of the foulest kind. Just so long as his opponent (for whom\nby the way he very foolishly felt the professional's contempt of\namateurism) should not detect his crooked work, he would not be\ninterfered with by his victim's friends. He had never watched Douglass's\nplay before, but smiled confidently at what he mistook for awkwardness\nwhen Ken clumsily shuffled the cards, the deal having fallen to him.\n\nIt was dealer ante and Douglass stayed when Coogan came in. The gambler\nfilled his hand, aces on sixes, on a three card draw. He passed the bet\nand Douglass bet one chip; Coogan raised it two and Douglass called. The\nlatter had three queens and Coogan took the pot. He was quite certain of\nhis man now; this cowpuncher was either rattled and had lost his nerve,\nor else he was an amateur of the rawest kind, it being evident from the\nfact of his drawing only two cards that he had the three queens before\nthe draw, his other cards being a deuce and seven.\n\nBut his equanimity got a jar when Ken passed up the ante on his deal and\nsubsequently regained all his lost chips on his own deal. The hands were\nastonishingly big for the stage of the game and the gambler essayed a\ncrooked play which apparently was not detected by Douglass. He was\nvastly encouraged thereby and tried it repeatedly, winning only a chip\nor two each time. Fortune seemed very capricious and at last both men\nwere again on even footing, each having in possession his full quota of\ncounters.\n\nEmboldened by his previous successes in that line the gambler now went\nabout systematically holding out cards; he finally secured the four\naces, dealing Douglass a king full. When the latter called him all the\nchips of both men were in the pot.\n\n\"What have you got?\" The cowboy's voice was peculiarly clear, his manner\nsuave and courteous.\n\n\"What you got?\" evasively retorted Coogan with a smirk.\n\n\"King full--_and_ a .44 to your nothing! Your sleeve is too tight for\nthis kind of work, Bart. I didn't think you'd dare try that on me; your\nwork is very coarse!\" He swept the heap of chips to his side of the\ntable with the barrel of his revolver. \"You'll find his real hand in his\nsleeve, Red. No, not that one--there's where he has the knife; the cards\nare in the left sleeve.\"\n\n\"Did you really think I was that easy?\" he said reproachfully to the\ndiscomfited gambler, as McVey laid the bowie and secreted cards on the\ntable. \"Why, you've even misjudged your own hold-out--see!\" He rapidly\ntook up his opponent's hand and spread them face up before the\nastonished eyes of the gambler. There were only three, instead of four\naces, with a jack and deuce. \"I had you beat on the showdown, Bart.\nReally, I am surprised!\" Then to the profane delight of Red, he\ncarelessly opened his hand, exposing the missing ace which he had\nadroitly palmed. The spectators to a man laughed and after a moment\nCoogan joined in the hilarity. He was really a man of big caliber and he\nfelt an unwilling admiration of this audacious youngster who had so\ncleverly hoisted him with his own petard. Besides, there is a certain\nwisdom of magnanimity in defeat.\n\n\"You've got me going and coming!\" he admitted, laughingly; \"I ain't got\nno kick coming.\" But his eyes wandered uneasily to the letters and hides\non the floor and Douglass was generous.\n\nHe took the bowie knife and with three rapid circular slashes cut out\nthose parts branded; upon these he laid the package of letters and held\nthem out to the gambler together with his knife. He took them\nmechanically, staring incredulously at the cowpuncher, who said not\nunkindly:\n\n\"I reckon you've got more use for these than I have. But if I were you\nI'd keep out of the cattle business; the game isn't worth the candle!\"\nBig Bart went over and tossed the bits of skin and the incriminating\nletters into the heart of the little coal fire blazing in the office\nstove. When they were finally consumed he turned to Red, who was nearest\nthe door.\n\n\"Call in all your outfit and tell Billy to send in a basket of wine.\"\nWith his own hand he filled the glasses and then turned to the waiting\nthrong with uplifted beaker:\n\n\"To the new owner of the O Bar O!\"\n\nThey drank it vociferously and when the bottles were finally empty\nCoogan passed around the cigars. Douglass, though fully aware of the\nman's uncanny past, felt for the now apparently despondent wretch the\ninvoluntary pity which the huntsman feels always for the dangerous tiger\nwhich he has laid low after a titanic struggle. He tried to think of\nsome service that he could consistently render him; there was so much in\nthis man of gigantic frame and undaunted courage! He had shown himself\ngame to an incredible degree, and somehow the thought of that herculean\nthroat purpling in the noose of a Mexican rope was violently distasteful\nto him. Impelled by a sudden impulse he went over to him and while\nostensibly bidding him good-by, contrived to whisper unperceived:\n\n\"My horse, a roan, is tied just under this window. Nothing on this range\ncan touch him! I'll hinder them all I can. Good luck to you!\"\n\nOver the man's face swept a great wonder. He tried to speak but the\nwords stuck in his throat; he dropped his eyes and gripped Ken's hand\nhard.\n\n\"If I make it I'll live straight hereafter!\" he mumbled, thankfully.\nThere is no man so brave but what chills on the threshold of the Valley\nof the Shadow!\n\nAs Douglass turned laughingly to reply to some witticism of Ballard's\nconcerning \"bloated cattle kings\" and their liquorous obligations to the\ncommon community, Coogan put his hands behind his back and with head\nbowed as in deep meditation paced slowly toward the window. The Mexican\nsheriff, resolutely interposed between him and the opening, drew his\nrevolver and curtly said: \"Pardon! Señor Coogan, I would have speech\nwith you. I have here a warrant--\"\n\nHe got no farther, having committed the fatal error of letting his man\nget too close. With a leap like that of a charging tiger, the gambler\nwas upon him, one hand catching the wrist below the weapon, the other\nfalling with frightful force upon the olive temple. Under the impact of\ntheir combined weight the flimsy window gave way like blotting paper and\nboth men were precipitated on the ground outside. With a pretense of\ngoing to the sheriff's aid Douglass managed to trip up the marshall,\nwhose quickly-drawn weapon was harmlessly discharged in the floor, and\nas the others stumbled and fell over his prostrate body Douglass managed\nto get himself somehow wedged in the window, thus effectually preventing\nany use of firearms.\n\nAs he struggled with exaggerated strenuosity to free himself from the\nentangled debris, he saw Coogan gain his feet and run swiftly towards\nthe tethered horse; he saw the halter rope severed with one deft slash\nof the bowie and the foot placed hastily in the stirrup. But the\ntriumphant vault into the saddle was never made; the animal, alarmed at\nthis summary and unusual method of release, was shying away from the man\nwho was trying in his frenzied haste to mount on the wrong side. As\nCoogan hopped about with muttered oaths, trying to secure an effectual\nfooting, a dark, slender figure seemed to rise out of the ground at his\nside. Douglass caught the blue gleam of polished steel in the moonlight\njust above Coogan's neck, heard the soft thud of a well-driven blow; he\ngave a great cry of warning but it fell upon unheeding ears. The man,\nreleasing his hold upon the horse, staggered blindly about, thrusting\nsavagely at random, a queer bubbling cry welling from his lips. Again\nand again as the stricken giant reeled tottering about, came that\nsnake-like glide and merciless thrust until finally, his veins drained\nof their vital flood, Coogan fell on his face in the crimsoned snow.\n\nAnd then above the rush of hurrying feet, above the cries of blasphemous\nwonder and alarm as the Palace vomited out its raucous filth, there\narose a cackling horror that Douglass would never forget as long as he\nlived, the vacuous gibbering of Dolores Ysobel de Tejada, kissing her\nblood-stained _cuchilla_ and screaming weird endearments to two dead men\nin Jalisco.\n\nDon Luis Garcia, a little giddy and tremulous from the effects of that\nawful blow, wept remorsefully on the neck of McVey, who promptly\nsuggested vinous consolation. \"_Ay de mi!_\" he wailed, \"why deed I heem\nnot keel so when that I the chance haddest! Now there will not the\nhangin' be, and Señorita de Tejada--Ah, _pobre nina!_ She is what you\ncall heem 'off-the-nut.' It is to weep--she of the ver' firs' familee\nwas, and now--_Es muy lastima!_ Eet iss too damn bad!\"\n\nRed assented dolorously. \"An' Matlock got away, too! Señor, it are shore\nhell!\" Then, remembering, he turned sharply aside so that the other\ncould not see the dull flush on his cheek as Conscience slapped him in\nthe face.\n\nBy the advice of Mr. Brewster, the lawyer, Douglass and McVey returned\nto the jail and reincarcerated themselves therein. The entrapped\nMexicans were released with a series of warnings, so effectively phrased\nby the Lazy K cowpuncher in charge of them, coupled by a few emphasizing\nkicks impartially administered by him to each by way of self-consolation\nfor his having missed all the fun, that they took their permanent\ndeparture for parts unknown without standing on the order of their\ngoing. The turnkey, for obvious reasons, was only too glad to keep his\nown counsel.\n\nAt the preliminary examination, which was held without delay, both men\nwere fully exonerated on the grounds of self-defense and were as\npromptly discharged from custody. The bill of sale was duly recorded;\nanother transfer of the brand and its contents from Douglass to Carter\nwas executed and put on record, and relaxation was the logical order of\nthe day.\n\nDouglass, suddenly remembering his promise to report the result of his\nattempt, went up to the telegraph office and indited a brief message.\n\n    \"Won out. O Bar O brand recorded in your name.\"\n\nHe did not know that it had been preceded by another message to the same\naddress, sent by Warren Brewster in reply to one received from Carter,\nand ascribed the unconcealed admiration of the girl operator to an\nentirely different cause from that which actually inspired it. Evidently\nhis vanity had suffered no discouragement over night. But he only smiled\nindulgently at her; she was a pale, anæmic, washed-out blonde and he had\nbut small regard for the type.\n\nBack in their palatial New York home Robert Carter and his sister were\nseated in the library, waiting with strained emotions for the ring of\nthe messenger boy who would bring the answer to a message flashed an\nhour before to the far West. The man was visibly perturbed and ever and\nanon strode impatiently to the window, watch in hand, cursing the\ndilatoriness of telegraph companies in general and this one in\nparticular. The woman sat very quiet and thoughtful in a big cozy chair\nbefore the open fire of sea coals, her head supported by one hand, the\nother lying clenched upon two open letters in her lap. Her face was very\npale and there were lines of pain about the sensitive mouth. Her whole\nattitude betokened a great nervous tension and the eyes were luminous\nwith dread. Mechanically she took up the letters and reread them for at\nleast the hundredth time that morning. They were the two written by\nDouglass the night before his departure to Gunnison. It was evident that\nAbbie had either exceeded or misunderstood his instructions as to the\nposting of them, for they had arrived together in the same mail.\n\nOnce more she yielded to the fatal fascination of the shorter note: \"In\ncase of my death--\" this time she got no farther for the letters swam in\na blinding mist; her reserve broke down and she laid her head on the\ncushioned arm of the chair. Robert came quickly to her side.\n\n\"Don't! For God's sake, don't, Gracie! We will know in a minute.\" He put\nhis arm tenderly around her. \"There is absolutely nothing to apprehend;\nhe is a man among a thousand and too wise to take any foolish risks. It\nis all right!\" But his own agitation gave the lie to his brave assurance\nand he started nervously as the door-bell clanged harshly.\n\nHe took the ominous yellow envelope from the hand of the pompous lackey\nwho presented it and almost tore the enclosure in twain as he wrenched\nit from its flimsy covering. One hasty glance and he gave a great shout\nof joy.\n\n\"Gracie--listen!\"\n\n     \"Douglass secured bill sale from Coogan without trouble. Is well\n     and hearty. Congratulations on your manager! He is a wonder!\n\n     \"BREWSTER.\"\n\nAs she hastily confirmed his reading the bell clanged again and the\nobsequious waiter brought in Douglass's telegram. Quick as was the man,\nthe girl reached the salver first. With a composure that strongly\ncontrasted with her previous agitation, she handed it to her brother.\n\n\"It is from Mr. Douglass,\" she said calmly, \"and confirms Mr. Brewster's\nwire. After all we were needlessly exercised about the whole matter. I\nhad no idea that your friend had such a predilection for dramatic\neffects.\" And to his open-mouthed consternation she swept out of the\nroom with a scornful smile on her face.\n\n\"Well, I'll be damned!\" said Mr. Robert Carter, blankly, to the\ndignified effigy in plush.\n\n\"Yessir,\" assented that functionary, gravely. \"If you please, sir!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA FAIR FIELD AND NO FAVORS!\n\n\nIt was very pleasant at the C Bar ranch when the bluebirds came again.\nUnder the magical touch of the revivifying spring the buds were bursting\nwith the sheer joy of living and the earth was soft with thankfulness.\nThe cool, balmy air of the lower mesas was rich with the delicate\nfragrance of the greening things, and higher up the breath of the cañons\nwas faintly redolent of the balsamic incense of pine and fir.\n\nThe meadows, lush with the largess of the melting snow fields above,\nresounded to the liquid gurgling of myriads of red and yellow-shouldered\nblackbirds wheeling and swinging over them in clouds of parti-colored\nanimation; the streams, no longer mere empty stretches of thirsty sand\nand dry white bowlders, were roaring the lusty pean of well-filled\nbellies and over-flushed veins. Far and near the land was dotted with\nslowly-moving cattle, nipping gratefully at the succulent grass tips,\ntheir formerly lank and rough-haired flanks distended with the young\nyear's generous bounty. In the barnyards was a scurrying of yellow balls\nof down as the clucking hens told of some juicy tidbit wriggling for\ntheir delectation. Everywhere was new young life, and all things were\nfat with promise.\n\nScoured by the strenuous hand of winter, the ranch premises were\ndelightfully clean and sweet; the fences and corrals, repaired and\nnew-built, looked trim, strong and capable; the ditches were running\nbank-full in readiness for duty in the arid days to come. Everything\nbetokened thrift and good management, and Douglass, looking at it with\ncritical approvement, knew that so far he had made good.\n\n\"She nevah looked bettah,\" was McVey's satisfied comment as he sat on\nhis horse on the crest of the little divide overlooking the ranch. \"Yuh\nsuah hev got thu layout well in hand. We'll hev hay to buhn this fall.\"\n\n\"There was too much burned last year,\" said Douglass grimly; \"we'll try\nto put it to better use this time. I wonder what's become of him.\" It\nwas the first reference he had made to Matlock for many weeks. Red spat\nindifferently.\n\n\"Pulled hes freight fer good, I reckon. Mont Butler told me he saw him\nin Laramie two weeks afteh yuh broke jail.\" Both men chuckled\nreminiscently. \"He were full o' talk, as usual, but I reckon thet hes\nblowin' won't cause no cyclones in these yeah pahts. I feel real bad to\nthink thet he didn't stop long enough to say goo'by to me thet night.\"\n\nAs they rode slowly in to lunch, warned by the blowing of a horn in the\nhands of the impatient Abbie, Douglass was unusually taciturn. As they\nunbridled their horses in the barn he said suddenly:\n\n\"Red, I'm going to take my vacation to-morrow; will be gone for a month.\nDay after to-morrow Mr. and Miss Carter will be at Tin Cup--got a\nletter from him last week. I want you to go and meet them. Better take\nthe extra wagon for their luggage, as well as the buckboard and Miss\nCarter's roan; she wants to ride in. The buckboard is for Carter and a\nwoman friend they are bringing with them. Of course you will be in\ncharge while I'm gone. I'm going prospecting and I'll stake you in if I\nfind a gold mine.\" He said it as a matter of course; these two had\nbecome inseparable in most things.\n\nRed grunted suspiciously; he was evidently not so well pleased with\nprospective riches as he logically should have been.\n\n\"Yuh are shore yuh ain't goin' to try an' develop a lead mine in\nsomebody's haid oveh to Laramie?\" His tone was almost peevish.\n\nDouglass gave him a reassuring thump amidships. \"Not this trip, old man.\nI am going over to the head of the Roaring Fork to trace up some float I\nfound there two years ago. I'd like mighty well to have you come along,\nbut we both can't leave at the same time, you know.\"\n\n\"It's very rich float,\" he said that night as they sat discussing final\narrangements. \"If I ever find that lead, Red, our working days are over.\nHow'd you like to be a bloated bond-holder, eh, old-timer?\"\n\nRed grinned skeptically. \"I'm from Texas. Yuh've got ter put it in mah\nhand.\"\n\n\"But in case we should strike it?\" insisted the other with amused\ncuriosity.\n\nRed hung his belt and scabbard on the peg above his bunk; then he hung\nhis sombrero over them, taking considerable time to their satisfactory\ndisposal. But his head was thrown well back and his reply was almost a\nchallenge in its curt incisiveness:\n\n\"Then I reckon I wouldn't have to baig what ribbons I took a fancy to.\"\n\nDouglass's eyes narrowed to mere slits and he breathed very softly; then\nhis brows unbent again, and he laughed cynically. \"That isn't very\ncomplimentary to--to wearers of the ribbons, Red. Do you really think\nmoney can buy that kind of thing?\"\n\n\"No, I reckon it wouldn't in her case,\" said McVey slowly, \"but it would\ngive a man thu right to sit in thu game.\" Then he raised his head\nproudly, sincerity, truth and resolution glowing in every lineament of\nhis strong, bronzed face: \"I love her,\" he said simply, \"an' some day,\nwhen I've got thu right to, I'm goin' ter tell her so. An' now that I've\nbeen fool enough to let yuh fo'ce my hand, I wan't yuh to know that I\nonly ask a faih field an' no favohs. To hell with yuh mine.\"\n\nHe flung angrily out of the house, his spurs clinking as he went. For\nquite a time Douglass sat in statuesque silence; then he, too, went out\ninto the night, wending his way to the office, where he wrote far into\nthe wee sma' hours. Finally he dismounted his fountain pen and reread\ncarefully the longer of the four documents on which he had been engaged.\nThey were respectively a complete report of the stewardship, a receipt\nfor one thousand dollars covering his four months' salary (he took that\nsum in cash from the little safe), a short letter to Mr. Carter, and his\nresignation. He sealed them all in one envelope, which he addressed and\nconfided to Abbie's care for prompt delivery to Carter on his arrival.\nThen he went back to the bunkhouse and in ten minutes was fast asleep.\n\nAs he pulled out in the morning Red noted that the horses which he rode\nand packed were Douglass's private property. Just before mounting he\nsaid, holding McVey's fist in a cordial grip, his other hand upon the\nbrawny shoulder:\n\n\"Red, I have decided to make my vacation a permanent one. I am not\ncoming back. You are in full charge now and naturally will be retained\nin that capacity. You are a square, straight, _white_ man, and I am\nleaving you a free field. I wish you luck.\" He rode away, McVey watching\nhim out of sight with wonder and consternation written all over his\nhonest face.\n\nOver at Tin Cup he tarried long enough to bait and rest his horses and\nbid his friends good-by, confiding to them the scant information that he\nwas tired of ranch work and was going to try his luck at mining. He made\nall kinds of exaggerated promises to little Eulalie as she clung to him\nsobbingly, and solemnly pledged himself to kill a bear for Bud, who\nwanted the hide to make a pair of _chaparejos_.\n\nHe remained over night in town, leaving rather late the next day. The\nanimals were fresh and the going good, nevertheless he did not get so\nfar away but what the sweet face of Grace Carter glowed almost life-size\nin the field of his powerful prism binoculars as she sprang expectantly\nout of the stage and looked eagerly around with a keen disappointment\ngrowing in her eyes as McVey and Abbie alone appeared to welcome her.\nHe saw her shake hands cordially with the former and a sneer disfigured\nhis mouth; but it involuntarily dissipated as she was buried in the hug\nof the old woman who was patting her on the shoulder and crying for joy.\n\nHe suddenly changed the focus of the glass as another face came in view;\nRobert Carter was assisting a woman to alight and as she reached terra\nfirma the declining sun rays irradiated her face sharply. The man licked\nhis lips nastily: \"Hell!\" he muttered with a fierce regret, \"why didn't\nI know that this was coming? Guess I've overlooked the best bet of my\nlife.\" And that, with Ken Douglass, was a sin.\n\nHe watched them get under way for the ranch, and followed them with his\nglass until the distance swallowed them up. He had a broadside view for\nnearly the whole distance, as their course lay at nearly right angles to\nhis line of vision. Occasionally he looked at the equestrienne on the\nprancing roan, but for the greater part of the time the lenses were\ncentered on the face and form of the woman in the buckboard.\n\nFor the first time in his life Red McVey had dodged a direct issue when\nCarter had asked him why Douglass had not met them in person. In\nresponse to that question he had equivocally replied that Douglass had\ngone away on his vacation and had delegated the duty to him. He was\ndevoutly glad that he was not forced into particulars and avoided any\nembarrassing questions by devoting himself assiduously to the baggage.\n\nWhen he opened the envelope which Abbie handed to him after supper,\nCarter's irritation passed all bounds. With a forced politeness he\nexcused himself to his guest and went into the office, where he was\nshortly joined by his sister, who intuitively surmised that something\nwas wrong. He almost thrust the letter into her hand, asking angrily:\n\n\"What the devil is the meaning of all this?\"\n\nShe scanned the page hurriedly, her face paling as she read. It was very\nshort, but concise:\n\n     \"DEAR MR. CARTER:--\n\n     \"In leaving your service I desire to thank you for the many\n     courtesies enjoyed at your hands, and for the flattering confidence\n     you have ever reposed in me. Enclosed please find a full statement\n     of assets and liabilities which I ask you will confirm at your\n     earliest convenience. I have done my best and I trust that my\n     services have been satisfactory.\n\n     \"Mr. McVey is perfectly competent to assume full management of the\n     outfit and I sincerely hope that you will consider him favorably in\n     that connection; he is absolutely honest and dependable, and is,\n     besides, by far the best cowman of my acquaintance. I am\n     recommending him without either his knowledge or consent.\n\n     \"I have paid myself out of the funds in hand; please find voucher\n     inclosed.\n\n     \"Wishing the C-- unbounded prosperity, and yourself the happiness\n     and good fortune you deserve,\n\n     Yours very respectfully,\n\n     \"KENNETH M. DOUGLASS.\"\n\nNever a word as to his underlying reasons; not an intimation of his\nfuture plans and purposes, not even a conventional word of farewell to\nher. She laid the letter quietly on the table.\n\n\"Really, Robert, your question is astonishing,\" she said in cold\nasperity to his reiterated demand. \"How could I possibly know of the\nreasons actuating Mr. Douglass? He has never taken me into his\nconfidence and so I am more in the dark than you, his professed best\nfriend, should logically be. Of course I share your regret at losing so\nvaluable an employé; but assuredly I am not responsible for it in any\nway.\"\n\nThen she swept out haughtily to the entertainment of her guest, leaving\nhim standing there furious and altogether unconvinced. He went over to\nthe bunkhouse to interrogate McVey, but could get no enlightenment from\nthat taciturn individual, who really knew nothing of Douglass's motives.\nSo the next morning he made a virtue of necessity and offered the\nposition to Red, who accepted it without comment, merely observing:\n\"I'll try to please yuh.\"\n\nOn leaving her brother, Grace went straight to Mrs. Brevoort with no\nlittle embarrassment in her manner. She realized now that both she and\nRobert had talked a great deal about their recalcitrant manager and she\nwas at a loss how to explain the anomalous situation. But she went the\nbest possible way about it, straight to the point.\n\n\"I am afraid that your proposed conquest of all the cowboys on the ranch\nwill have to be deferred in at least one particular instance, Connie,\"\nshe said with a fine attempt at humorous condolence; \"the most eligible\none, our manager, Mr. Douglass, having severed his connection with the C\nBar, so Bobbie informs me. I am genuinely sorry, for he was 'the noblest\nRoman of them all'!\"\n\nIt was cleverly done; so cleverly, in fact, that Constance Brevoort was\ncompletely nonplused, astute as she was. Long ago she had arrived at a\nconclusion not borne out by the seeming indifference of her hostess, who\nwas placidly smiling at the regal beauty in the cozy armchair before the\ncheerful pinon fire. Under the cover of a pretended pout she watched\nGrace sharply.\n\n\"I have not learned the particulars yet,\" continued Grace airily, \"but I\nrather suspect that he got forewarned somehow and has beaten a masterly\nretreat while yet in possession of all his faculties. Seriously, dear, I\nam sorry that you did not meet him; he is a very attractive man and a\nforceful one. I am dubious of the outcome of a passage between you and\nhim, despite your proficiency in the gentle game of hearts.\" She was\nlaughing quite naturally now, if a little bitterly; there is much said\nin jest that is meant in earnest.\n\nConstance somehow detected the false note but gave no sign. She looked\nup languidly. \"Really, I am getting interested. Maybe it is only a\npleasure deferred. Is he handsome, this Sir Galahad of yours?\" There was\na covert malice in the question that failed of its intent, for Grace\nsaid steadily:\n\n\"Not handsome in the common acceptance of the term, perhaps, but the\nmanliest man I have ever seen.\"\n\n\"And you have seen so many,\" murmured the other comprehensively. \"He\ninterests me more than ever. Is he irrevocably lost to me?\"\n\n\"That,\" said Grace truthfully, \"I cannot say. It's a small world, you\nknow, and strange things come to pass.\" She gave a little retrospective\npat to the head of Buffo, lying in her lap. \"And some beautiful things\npass for ever.\" The antelope licked her cheek sympathetically as the\nlast sentence was breathed softly in his ear. Constance Brevoort,\nunhearing that last piteous cry, smiled confidently.\n\n\"It will come to pass, without question. And then--who knows.\"\n\nCarter entering at this juncture, the conversation was diverted to other\ntopics. Later that night as Mrs. Brevoort divested herself of the\nsurface paraphernalia of the sex, she smiled approvingly at the\nrevelations of the long cheval mirror in her dressing-room.\n\nShe was a handsome young matron of thirty, a perfect specimen of the\nsouthern type of brunette, with black eyes and hair, and creamy skin.\nMarried at eighteen to Anselm Brevoort, a millionaire thirty years her\nsenior, she had lived the life of luxury and dissipation inseparable\nfrom her social station, and was therefore naturally blasé and a bit\nenervated. Yet, as she stood there in the soft candle light, uncoiling\nher luxuriant masses of hair, it was evident that excesses had left no\ntraces on her splendid physique.\n\nHer marriage had been one of convenience purely; she had from the very\nbeginning frankly disavowed any love for the man who made her the\nmistress of his establishment and the custodian of his honor, and the\nwaning years had not brought any accession of the tender passion.\nBrevoort was a very unemotional man at the best and was wholly engrossed\nin his business affairs, living for the better part of his time at the\nclubs or abroad. She was therefore thrown a great deal on her own\nresources for amusement, and it must be admitted that she made the most\nof the many opportunities accorded to every beautiful woman in her\nsphere. Her natural pride and discriminativeness had served her among\ntemptations that would have been disastrous to a weaker nature.\n\nSo it was that at the end of her \"dolorous dozen\" as she whimsically\ncalled her years of marital anomaly, she had run the gamut of every\ndanger incident to such a career and had escaped without a scar. And her\nself-confidence was commensurably great. It was her laughing boast that\nno man had ever given her a sensation other than those of charity and\nweariness, and she was irritatingly frank in her expressions to that\neffect, even to her victims. Her visit to the Carter ranch was merely a\ncaprice, occasioned by Grace's enthusiastic laudations of her pet\nwestern plainsmen and her mischievous intimation that beyond the Rockies\nwas a world impregnable to even the prowess of this female Alexander.\nGrace was not a little alarmed at the prompt acceptance of her\ninadvertent challenge by the finished coquette, who really had no design\nwhatever on her protégés but only utilized it as an excuse to get away\nfor a time from an environment productive of ennui. She had heartily\ntired of the silly game and really welcomed the distraction of a new and\nunique experience.\n\nNevertheless, she had gaily laid a wager with Grace that she would, in\nless than the allotted two-months of her stay, bedeck her belt with the\nscalp of every cowpuncher within a radius of ten miles from the C Bar.\nAnd when, as the day of their departure for the West approached, Miss\nCarter realized that Mrs. Brevoort was in earnest, she wished that she\nhad been less urgent in her conventional invitation: it is ever a\ndubious venture, this turning of one's pet preserve over to the\nquestionable mercies of a skillful and calloused hunter.\n\nWell, there was no danger now, she was thinking with a sad sinking of\nheart, as she looked wistfully at a cluster of long-dried heart's-ease\nin her escritoire. It was over and done with, and that chapter of her\nlife was closed forever. For Abbie had, in a fit of self-reproach, told\nher of her taunt on that eventful night and she had instantly divined\nhis thoughts and deductions. Her first impulse had been to write him and\nindignantly deny--what? He had not given voice to any such belief in her\nduplicity, and how was she to assume that he entertained such a thought\nwithout giving color and grounds for his suspicion? And then, again, he\nhad not left any address and it would be impossible to reach him by\nmail. She knew him well enough to know that he would never again look\nupon her willingly in his foolish and unjustified resentment, and the\nprobabilities of a consistent explanation were all against her. He had\nnever written her one word during her eastern sojourn; his letters had\nbeen all of a purely business nature, curt and brief, always addressed\nto her brother and only containing the conventionally-required\nremembrances to herself. And now the over-wide gulf was forever\nunbridgable. In her desolation and heartache she cried herself to\nsleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nGREAT EXPECTATIONS\n\nConstance Brevoort's two months had lengthened into five and it was now\nOctober. Her experience had been unique and so diverting that the\nattractions of the eastern metropolis had paled before the more virile\nand exciting possibilities of this life primitive, and it had required\nbut slight persuasion on the part of the Carters to induce her to\nprolong her stay until the time of their own return to New York.\n\nThe healthful outdoor life, to which she took with avidity, had worked\nwonders for her really splendid and responsive constitution, and her\nnormal great beauty had been freshened and intensified to a degree that\nmade her conquest of the unsophisticated cowpunchers a thing of almost\nunenjoyable ease. With the single exception of Red, who loyally\nworshiped at the shrine of his first-loved divinity, every man for miles\naround did open and unblushing homage to the bewitching goddess, who\nfound in their frank adoration a charm and satisfaction unknown to her\nprevious inane piracies on the placid shallows of the social millpond.\nOut here on the high seas of unshackled independence, where every man\nwas a viking in his own right and cruised with unbridled license through\nthe deeps of his own will, each conquest was a victory to be written\nlarge on the tablet of her vanity. In her own land she had found many\nmen who would languidly live for her favors; out here there was not one\nwho would not eagerly die for the privilege of carrying out her most\nwhimsical commands. And with womanly lack of philosophy she very much\npreferred those who would die to those who would live.\n\nUnder the jealous ministrations of her Centaur swains she had developed\na great skill of horsewoman-ship, and in their company she and Grace\nCarter had ridden the range thoroughly, leaving not one point thereof\nunexplored. Each man vied with the other in the breaking of a safe mount\nfor her, and tradition has it that there were more gentle horses on the\nrange that year than had ever been known before on the whole western\nslope. These extended rides were a Godsend for Grace, diverting her mind\nfrom its cankering memories and bringing a new beauty to both face and\nfigure, until at last the amorous cowpunchers were frankly divided as to\nthe supremacy of the two women's respective charms. Red, alone, had no\nindecision, either in thought or strenuous expression on that point.\n\n\"Thu black ain't in thu runnin' with thu bay; an' she ain't in her\nclass, nuther,\" had been his unequivocal opinion when approached on that\ntopic. \"Thu one's good enough to put yuh wad on fer a quick spurt, but\nyuh kin trus' yuah life on thu otheh. Thu filly fer me, every time.\" But\nthen Red was in love, and that always has a strongly modifying influence\non one's convictions. That he was nearly alone in his judgment may be\nascribed to the difference of tastes. And it may be stated as a curious\ncoincidence that most of the cowpunchers were blondes.\n\nNot a word had been heard from Douglass since his departure and he had\nactually passed out of the mind of Mrs. Brevoort altogether. When their\npaths did finally cross, however, it was under conditions that stamped\nhim indelibly upon her mind and soul both.\n\nShe and Grace had ridden over to Tin Cup in the cool of the morning,\nspending the day with Mrs. Blount. They had, on their return, essayed a\nshort cut through William's pasture field, with the intention of thereby\nshortening the distance and evading the dust which hung in big yellow\nclouds above a herd of cattle being driven up the county road.\n\nIn the field adjoining Grace saw, with an instantaneous recognition\nwhich sent the color from her cheeks, a rider engaged in corralling a\npair of dusty pack-horses whose appearance betokened a long day's\nplodding. There could be no mistaking that erect, lithe figure, or the\nlong, rangy \"strawberry roan\" he was so gracefully bestriding, and her\nheart leaped at sight of him. Constance, following the direction of her\ngaze, asked quickly:\n\n\"Who is that? What a superb seat he has!\"\n\nEven as her lips opened in reply, Grace saw Mrs. Brevoort's horse give a\nfrantic kick at something entangling his legs, then leap affrightedly\nfrom side to side, while his rider screamed in terror. As he plunged\nagain Grace screamed in unison as she realized her companion's peril;\nshe never knew that at that moment of supreme dread she had\ninstinctively cried out the name of the rider in the next field,\nconscious only of that terrible strand of barbed wire which was goading\nConstance's horse to frenzy. It was a thing of all too common occurrence\nin this land of wire fences; a loosely-coiled strand of the barbed steel\nhad been left lying in the high grass where some careless repairsman had\nindolently flung it, and the horse had become hopelessly entangled in\nits trap. Scared and anguished by the ripping barbs, the horse was\nplunging madly about in his attempt to free himself from its cruel\nfetters, momentarily approaching a greater danger, as in his struggles\nhe neared a high cut bank of the arroyo traversing the pasture.\n\nAt that shrill scream of \"Ken! Ken!\" the man whirled his horse about and\nlooked inquiringly in their direction; one lightning-like glance and he\nsent the rowells home hard into the flank of the roan, which left the\nground in one mighty leap. Over the intervening twenty rods he came like\na thunderbolt, clearing the dividing fence by a good two feet as\nDouglass lifted him to the jump and gaining the side of the plunging\nhorse just as the bank's edge crumbled under its feet.\n\nHe was not one moment too soon, for as his arm encircled Constance's\nwaist, her horse went floundering down to a broken neck on the rocks\nthirty feet below. Even then for a few moments the issue was in doubt;\nMrs. Brevoort was an exceedingly well-nurtured young woman, and one\nhundred and forty pounds of limp humanity is difficult to sustain with\none arm while on the back of a horse struggling to retain his footing\non the treacherous edge of a loose-earth precipice. But that arm had the\nstrength of a steel bar, and its possessor was the best horseman in a\nland where all men rode for a living. Inside of ten seconds he was\ndismounting in safety, still holding the fainting woman with that one\nclasping arm.\n\nAs he touched the ground he placed the other arm around her\nsupportingly, her weight for the first time telling on him. On his\nsnatching her out of the saddle she had instinctively thrown her arms\nabout his neck, and they were still there; her head lay drooped upon his\nshoulder and her loosened hair, whipping in the fresh breeze, was\nstinging his cheek and blinding his eyes as Grace rode up and flung\nherself from the saddle. There was a suggestiveness in the pose of the\ntwo that went to her heart with a pang: they looked so lover-like, this\nman with his arms about the clinging woman. For five long months she had\nbeen schooling her heart to resignation in the conviction that they\nwould never meet in the flesh again, and here he had come back to\nher--with another woman in his arms. In that moment she hated Constance\nBrevoort with all the fervor of her strong young aching heart. For as\nshe stood there, torn by passion and pulsating with joy at the sight of\nhim whom she had deemed lost to her forever, she saw the black eyes\ncautiously open and close again, the rose-red lips curve in a peculiar\nsmile, and the white arms tighten about Douglass's neck.\n\nIn the first fury of her jealous rage she could have killed them both\nwithout compunction, but pride came to her rescue and as he gently laid\nhis burden down in the deep grass, reason reasserted itself. Taking\nConstance's head in her lap, she said curtly:\n\n\"Get some water at once! There is plenty in the arroyo.\"\n\nHe was back in a half minute with his inverted sombrero full of the\ntepid fluid which Grace rather unceremoniously poured over Mrs.\nBrevoort's face and neck, sneering cynically at the well-simulated gasp\nof returning consciousness that rewarded her efforts. At the second\ndouche Mrs. Brevoort's eyes opened a bit hastily; the water was a trifle\nturbid as well as tepid, and Constance doubted the benefits of that\nalkaline lotion on her zealously-preserved complexion. Grace smiled\ngrimly and emptying the remainder of the water out of his sombrero\nhanded it to him with exaggerated thankfulness.\n\nHe took it with a modest declaimer and turned to the readjustment of his\nsaddle which had been displaced during the rescue. Then he went to the\nrecovery of the accoutrements of the dead horse in the arroyo and when\nhe returned Mrs. Brevoort was in more appropriate condition to receive\nhis formal introduction and convey her gratitude for the supreme service\nhe had rendered. He evaded most of the latter by hastily riding back to\ntown in the hopes of securing her another mount. He returned with the\ndiscomfiting report that there was not a single ridable animal\navailable, and suggested that the ladies return to Tin Cup and stay over\nnight, a rider being meanwhile sent to the C Bar ranch for a horse that\nshe could handle with safety. As it was already well along in the heel\nof the day they were compelled to accept his advice and the return to\nthe hotel was soon effected.\n\nHe was all deference to Miss Carter throughout the evening meal and the\nshort succeeding hour of his company which he accorded them. He was\nfrank in his confession of failure to find the mineral deposits of which\nhe had been in search, although positive in his conviction that he would\nbe ultimately successful. He was exceedingly affable in his manner and\nGrace was all sweetness in return. Constance Brevoort, watching the\nlittle by-play, was genuinely amused; with the wisdom of the old serpent\nshe effaced herself as much as possible, and as soon as conventionality\nwould permit, excused herself and retired to her room, leaving the\nleaven of her beauty to work in what she correctly judged to be warm and\nfertile soil. It was a clever bit of strategy that would in nine out of\nten instances have been altogether successful and she smiled as she\nlooked into the little mirror.\n\n\"This one will be worth while,\" she mused aloud, her mouth full of\nhair-pins. \"But he will require different treatment from the others, and\nwill have to be handled carefully. But why did she say he was not\nhandsome? The man is as beautiful as a Greek god done in bronze. And he\nhas the strength of ten. He caught me up like a feather.\" She looked\nwith a strange admiration at the slight discoloration of the white flesh\nwhere his arm had gripped her waist. \"Yes, he will be worth while.\"\n\nBut fate had capriciously designed this to be the tenth instance; after\nshe had left the room an embarrassing silence had fallen upon the stuffy\nlittle parlor and after awhile, Douglass rose diffidently and stalked\ntoward the door, mumbling some conventional excuse for his departure.\nHis hand was already on the door knob when his name, softly spoken,\ncaused him to turn instantly. Grace had also risen and was standing\nbeside the table with one hand partly extended and something very like\nentreaty in her eyes.\n\n\"Tell me,\" she said without preamble, coming straight to the point, \"why\ndid you leave the C Bar? My brother says you gave no reason; and I think\nI have a right to know.\"\n\nFor the eternal half of a minute he regarded her with somber scorn. \"I\nguess you've got another think coming,\" he said with slangy\nimpoliteness. \"When, and where, and how, and by whom was conferred upon\nyou the right to demand of me an accounting of my private affairs?\"\n\nHer bosom was heaving in hot resentment of his studied incivility and\nher lips trembled with a fierce desire to give him scorn for scorn. But\nshe had too much at stake and another opportunity might not offer if she\nlet the present one escape her. So she wisely availed herself of woman's\nbest weapon and a tear glistened in her eye as she said humbly: \"I\npresumed too greatly; and I am fully rebuked. I have no right--not even\nthe right to expect courtesy and justice at your hands. Yet you are a\nfair man, and some terrible mistake seems to have been made somehow.\nTell me, please, why did you leave us as you did?\"\n\nHe answered her, Yankee-wise, with a counter question: \"Why did you show\nAbbie my poem?\"\n\n\"Abbie--your poem--! I do not understand!\" Her genuine wonder and\nsurprise made him feel uneasy. 'Could it be possible, after all, that\nshe was guiltless? If so--God! what a fool he had made of himself! He\ncrossed the room impulsively, and laying his hand on her shoulder,\nlooked squarely into her dewy eyes. She met his look bravely, then\ngently removing his hand, walked in her turn to the door. He intercepted\nher with a quick movement, his jaws squaring with determination.\n\n\"Let us have this thing out, here and now! Why did you deliberately make\na laughing stock of me by exhibiting that foolish bit of verse and so\nexpose me to the ridicule of the whole range? I want the truth.\"\n\n\"And you could think me guilty of that!\" There was more of sorrowful\npity than indignation in the words and they cut him like a bullet. \"Let\nme pass, please. I have no further curiosity to satisfy.\"\n\nHe barred the way obstinately, a shamed contrition struggling with\nsullen incredulity for the mastery. \"Wait a minute,\" he said thickly.\n\"If I am wrong in this I humbly beg your pardon, but I am going to be\nsure before I humiliate myself unnecessarily.\" Angry as she was, she had\nmuch difficulty to repress a smile at the arrogance of his vanity.\n\n\"Abbie taunted me with writing poetry and the men joined in her\ninsinuations. Their only knowledge of my foolishness could have been\nderived from one source--the notebook which I lost and which you\nreturned to me. There was no reference to it made before it came into\nyour possession. What was I to infer?\"\n\n\"That book was handed to me by my mother, who, as I understand, got it\nfrom one of the men who found it at the gate. He thought it belonged to\nmy brother and so gave it to her. I beg to assure you that no one saw or\nhandled it while in my possession but myself. And I certainly have not\ndiscussed its contents with any one.\" Reading full belief in his eyes,\nshe recovered her composure instantly and thereafter had him on the\ndefensive.\n\n\"Was the poetry really as bad as all that?\" she asked with such apparent\ninnocent naïveté that he was compelled against his will to smile\nsomewhat sheepishly.\n\n\"It was arrant nonsense,\" he confessed. And then, somewhat bitterly.\n\"Yet it was written in good faith, every word of it.\"\n\n\"Then I should like to read it,\" she said, with hypocritical interest.\n\"I am curious to learn what could be the nature of the impressions that\nyou could be impelled to perpetuate in verse.\"\n\n\"I thought you had no further curiosity to satisfy,\" he retorted\nevasively, his suspicions now entirely dissipated. \"And I do not care to\nrisk subjecting myself to any further indignities.\"\n\n\"That is very unkind of you.\" The reproof was gravely gentle. \"My\ninterest is not that of mere curiosity, believe me. I prophesied once\nthat you could write poetry, remember. It would be a great pleasure to\nread the vindication of my intuition. _That_ is woman's best trump card,\nyou know. Please.\"\n\nShe laid her hand on his arm and he fumbled irresolutely with his hat;\nshe smiled confidently, knowing well that he who hesitates with a woman\nis lost. Although greatly against his inclination he took the book from\nhis inside pocket and put it in her hand, opened at the verse she was so\nfamiliar with.\n\nWith a great pretense at its more convenient reading, she went over to\nthe lamp or the table; but it was really to hide a sudden trepidation\nshe felt at her own audacity in thus forcing his hand. In order to gain\ntime she reread it a second and then a third time. In the presence of\nthe man standing there silently waiting her judgment, the lines took on\na new and strange meaning, an intensity of pathetic appeal that filled\nher eyes with tears. She made no attempt to conceal them as she returned\nthe booklet.\n\n\"I thank you,\" she said very gently. \"It is my vindication--and my\nanswer as well. 'A great Love's ecstasy!' May it be yours--and without\nthe penalty.\"\n\nHer face was drawn and wan, and the hand she extended to him as she bade\nhim good night trembled visibly. He took it in both his and for an\nimmortal second, happiness was very close to those two young people, had\nthey only known. But Cupid was ever a mischievous imp and one of his\narrows had only glanced; he laughed derisively and turned his back,\nresolving to drive the shaft home mercilessly when time and longing had\nworn to the quick this big simpleton's armor of obtuse vanity, as\nDouglass, restraining a sudden mad desire to take this woman in his arms\nand bruise her mouth with kisses, merely laid his lips respectfully on\nthe little hand and deferentially held open the door.\n\nAt the entrance of the hotel he encountered Red McVey, coming to assure\nhimself of the safety of the ladies. He had ridden out to meet them on\ntheir return journey, as was his wont, and, meeting the rider sent for a\nnew mount for Mrs. Brevoort, had sent him on to the ranch with definite\ninstructions, electing himself to ride through to town and as a matter\nof precaution, accompany them home the next day. The rider had not\nmentioned Douglass's participation in the mishap, and his presence was\ntherefore a surprise to McVey, who was unaffectedly glad to see his best\nfriend again.\n\nAt the Alcazar, a little later, Red had a sapient suggestion to make:\n\"Befoh yuh squandah all thu gold yuh been diggin' outen yuh leetle ole\nmine, Ken, on this yeah mad-wateh outfit, yuh betteh lay yuh a leetle\nnest aig. Thu Vaughans want to sell theah ranch an' go east; reckon\ntwenty thousand would buy it, cattle an' all. If yuh got that much\ndenario in yuh jeans it's a mighty big bahgaln.\"\n\n\"Twenty thousand!\" said Douglass derisively. \"You haven't heard of a\nlone cowpuncher about my size that's been holding up any banks or\ntreasure trains, have you? Twenty thousand! Why say, you old redheaded\nfunny-bone, I'm ashamed to tell you what I'd do for one-half that much\nmoney, honest I am. I'm just seven bones to the good and I've come down\nhere to make it a couple of hundred, so's I can eat till the grass\ncomes. It's next year I'll be buying twenty thousand-dollar bargains;\nthe gold is there, all right, and I'm going to find it.\n\n\"I bought out a claim up there,\" he continued, \"and who do you think\nowned it first?\" He chuckled at thought of the surprise he was going to\nspring on Red. But his mirth got a sudden check as McVey nodded his head\nknowingly.\n\n\"Yes, I heered about it; 'twer Matlock, an' he's been talkin' a heap\ndisrespec'ful about how he broke it off in yuh, oveh to Cheyenne. Says\nas how he is seven hundred dollars nearer even with yuh. I didn't think\nyuh'd let that coyote soak yuh thataway.\" His words were distinctly\nreproachful. Douglass smiled mysteriously.\n\n\"Don't you worry about my soaking, old-timer. He'll talk even more\ndisrespectfully of himself about this time next year. That claim lies\nlengthwise along the top of the ridge, on both sides of it, and so\nconstitutes the 'apex' of every vein below it throughout its full\nlength. I am perfectly aware that he salted it for my benefit with ore\ntaken from the Bonanza mine. I saw him doing it! But even if I hadn't\nknown all about it I wouldn't have been fooled. The formation is\nentirely different from the Bonanza locality and any miner, let alone a\nprofessional mining engineer as I happen to be, would have tumbled to\nthe salting at first sight of the stuff the fool scattered about the\nplace. And that apex controls the vein that this came from!\" He fished\na bit of rock from his pocket and passed it to Red, whose eyes bulged\nout as he looked. Through its center, from side to side, ran a ribbon of\ndull yellow metal as wide as one's finger. Even to Red's unmetallurgical\neyes its identity was plain.\n\n\"Gold! Pure gold!\" he murmured with respectful awe. Then his big paw\nwent out congratulatingly. \"Shake! Gawd, ole man, but I'm shore glad!\"\n\n\"What's a 'apex'?\" he inquired of Douglass, some six hundred dollars\nwinner for the night, as he left the faro table and walked arm in arm\nwith him to the hotel. Douglass was very explicit in his explanation.\n\n\"Nearly all true fissure veins in these mountains are to all practical\nintents and purposes vertical; that is, they run straight up and down\ninstead of lying horizontal. It naturally follows that, if they don't\npinch out before they get there, they come to the surface at or near the\ntop of the hill. The courts have decided that a claim located on the top\nor 'apex' of such veins controls them to whatever depth they may run;\nthat is, an 'apex' claim holds all the veins under it clean down to\nChina! So the fellow who owns the 'apex' practically owns the whole\nmountain for a space as long as the length of his claim. To make sure of\ncatching the apex of any veins in the hill I took up two extensions--one\non each side of the claim I bought from Matlock and his partner, so that\nmy holdings are fifteen hundred feet long by nine hundred feet wide; as\nthe hill crest is almost a knife-edge in sharpness I cover every vein\nin it. And somewhere under the loose slide-rock on that hill lies the\nlode from which this comes! Do you _sabe_ now?\"\n\nRed gurgled his full comprehension. \"Why yuh damned ole foxy gran'pa! I\norter knowed thet yuh wouldn't let thet swab do yuh! But howd' yuh come\nto be dealin' with Matlock? I been a heap oneasy in my mind about that.\"\n\n\"Well, it was this way: Two years ago his partner, old Eric Olsen, the\nbig Swede that Coogan bought the Palace from, you know, saw me\nprospecting on that mountain and naturally figured that I had found some\ngood indications of mineral there or I would not be fooling around. So\nthey plotted to salt a claim or two and swindle me a bit, their own\nprospecting of the ground revealing nothing at all. The whole mountain\nside is covered with slide-rock and there is no mineral in sight. So,\ncalculating that a fool cowpuncher knew nothing about geology and so\nwould bite at anything he could see with his own eyes, they stole a lot\nof rich ore from the Bonanza, over at Breckenridge, and salted her up\ngood! As it happened, they chose the very claim I wanted to file on, the\napex, and so I had to buy them out. I never came in contact with either\nof them at all; I bought it through a mining broker. But for a whole day\nI watched them through my field glasses salting the ground. The funny\npart of it is that by a very little work--Olsen is a good man with a\ndrill and powder, you know--they did enough linear shafting to enable me\nto patent the ground. And in the five months that I have been at work on\nthe extensions I have done enough work on each of them to patent them\nalso. That's what I wanted this six hundred for. In ten days I'll have\nthem patented, too, and then no one can jump them or cause me any\ntrouble when I come to work the leads which I am sure lie under my apex\nclaims.\"\n\nOn the first of the new year he received his patents from Washington;\nand in the interim he had secured work that promised to put him in\nsufficient funds to prosecute developments on his mining claims.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE SONG OF THE WOLF\n\n\nThe next morning, yielding to McVey's urgencies, he consented to take\npart in the fall round-up just at hand, working in the interests of the\nC Bar outfit.\n\nIn the ensuing days of strenuous toil he worked harder than he had ever\ndone before in all his range experience, spurred with the idea that he\nowed Carter some reparation for leaving his service so unceremoniously,\nand his staunch yeomanry appealed particularly to Anselm Brevoort, who\nhad run out to see a rodeo and have a month's hunt with Carter. As the\nbest hunter among the C Bar men it naturally devolved upon Douglass,\nafter the range work was done, to act as guide to Brevoort and the\nladies, who developed a great interest in the sport.\n\nIt was upon one of these trips that Brevoort casually mentioned his\ntemptation to buy a ranch as an investment, asking Douglass's advice in\nthe matter. The latter expressing some diffidence in the premises,\nBrevoort brought the point in issue to a definite focus by asking him if\nhe thought the price asked for the Vaughan holdings, twenty thousand\ndollars, was excessive. Douglass thought it was excessively cheap, to\nthe contrary, and said so emphatically.\n\n\"I would gladly give thirty for it if I had the money. There are more\nthan twenty thousand dollars' worth of cattle in the VN brand without\ncounting the ranch lands, which are worth nearly as much more. I think\nthe Vaughans are loco to sell at the price!\"\n\nThey had just finished luncheon and were lounging about a little spring\nenjoying their post-prandial pipes. Mrs. Brevoort was dallying with a\ndainty papelito and Grace was fussing with her pocket camera. Constance,\ngracefully exhaling a perfumed wraith, looked significantly to her\nhusband, who gave an imperceptible nod and after a few thoughtful puffs\ncame to the marrow of his subject.\n\n\"That's Carter's opinion, too, and McVey thinks it a great bargain,\nalso. And as Mrs. Brevoort has taken a great fancy to the place for some\nreason, I think I will take it; that is, if I can secure some competent\nman to manage it for me. It would be a position of entire trust as I\nknow nothing of the business and would necessarily be unable to give it\nscarcely any attention, my time being fully occupied otherwise. Are you\nopen to such an engagement, Mr. Douglass?\"\n\nGrace Carter, her attention apparently riveted upon some intricate\nadjustment of her camera, scarcely breathed; Constance Brevoort,\nflicking the ash from her cigarette, never moved an eyelash. In the\nsilence which followed the question, the champing of the horses on the\ngrain in their nose-bags sounded to the women like a threshing machine.\n\n\"I am much flattered!\" said Douglass, slowly. \"But I am afraid that I\nwill not be able to accept your offer. I have some mining interests to\nlook after and--\"\n\n\"But I understood you to say that you would gladly give thirty thousand\ndollars for it if you were in funds. That presupposes that you could\nfind the time if necessary,\" said Breevort, with humorous insistence.\n\"Look here, Douglass, I am not in the habit of loading myself up with\ndubious investments, and I wouldn't give ten dollars for the whole\nlayout unless I can secure you as manager. In your hands I feel as\nthough I would get fair returns on my outlay. I am frank to say I have\n'looked you up' as we say in town, and I want you to give it further\nconsideration before turning my offer down. As to your mining interests,\nperhaps I could be of some assistance to you in that direction. Think it\nover; I won't take no for an answer right off the reel.\"\n\nAs he was unsaddling the horses on their return that night, Miss Carter,\ncoming with some sugar lumps for her pet roan, stopped long enough to\nshyly venture the hope that he would be able to become one of the\nneighbors.\n\n\"The sale of their ranch will allow Nellie Vaughan to achieve the dream\nof her life, an extended trip abroad, and one realizes so few of one s\ndreams in this life, you know! Besides, you are part of the environment\nto me. You really 'belong'! I do hope you will accept Mr. Brevoort's\nproposal--for Nellie's sake!\"\n\nVery deliberately he hung the saddle on the rack. Then he came close to\nher, looking very masterful and Strong in the white moonlight.\n\n\"Nellie is to be congratulated on the thoughtfulness of her loving\nfriends! But why should I, who am not one of them, take her into\nconsideration at all? Promiscuous philanthropy is not my forte. The\ninducement is small. Have you nothing better to offer?\"\n\n\"For our sakes, then;\" she said ambiguously. \"We will feel easier if you\nremain on this range, feel more secure in our lives and property.\" He\nflushed at the immensity of the compliment but ruthlessly forced her\nhand.\n\n\"That's rather high, but still not enough. Bid again!\"\n\n\"For _my_ sake!\" It was nearly a whisper, but he heard. His eyes were\ntriumphantly bright as, deftly eluding his curving arm, she sped swiftly\naway in the benign darkness. But it was a different glow from any which\nhad ever irradiated them before: This was that of a soft, sweet\ntenderness that vaguely soothed even while strongly disconcerting him.\nHe was very quiet under the spell of it as he went into supper, and\nnoticeably distrait during the game of chess which he subsequently\nplayed with Mrs. Brevoort in the big living room later on.\n\nBeating him with ridiculous ease she declined another game, saying,\nlaughingly: \"You are not in form to-night, Mr. Douglass, and I like\nvictories more difficult of achievement. Time was when I was content\nwith mere winning, no matter how easy the attainment of that end. But\nthis life out here has spoiled me for inanities forever. I have still\nthe insatiable desire for conquest, but now I want to go up against odds\nand win, to bring into camp only opponents worthy of my steel.\"\n\n\"But that,\" he said, with conventional politeness, \"is unthinkable.\nThere can be none entirely worthy of you!\" She made a little _moué_ at\nthe wearisome compliment.\n\n\"Why do all men say the same things! I'm quite sure I've heard something\nlike that a hundred times before. In fact, I've come three thousand\nmiles to get away from it. Say something original, please, even if it be\nsomething wicked!\"\n\nHe looked at her queerly but she met his gaze with eyes as audacious as\nher words. Over at the piano Grace was playing with much tender feeling\none of Chopin's delicious nocturnes; before the open fireplace, Carter,\nBrevoort and McVey were discussing the possibilities of a well-managed\nranch. The big room with its happy combination of modern and primitive\namenities was the epitome of cheerfulness and comfort.\n\n\"Original? No man can say anything that is that. The possibilities were\nexhausted centuries ago. Even. Sin is stereotyped. There have always\nbeen women like you and men like me! What on earth could a man in my\nposition say to a woman in yours that would be acceptably wicked?\"\n\nShe smiled inscrutably; there was no abstraction in his manner now. \"And\nyet you are so bold in other things!\" she said, tauntingly. \"To the\nbrave all things are possible.\"\n\nFrom far out in the darkness came the weird, long-drawn, mournful howl\nof some gaunt timber wolf foraging with his mate. It was very faint and\nthe others, deeply engrossed in music and money matters, were\nunconscious of it. At its eerie repetition she laid her hand lightly on\nhis arm.\n\n\"Listen! That is something new to me at all events. What can it be?\"\n\n\"Only 'the voice of one crying in the wilderness,'\" he whimsically\nquoted. \"A gray wolf calling to his mate.\" He laid his hand\nrestrainingly on hers and leaned so close that his hot breath swept her\ncheek.\n\n\"I wonder how brave, or wicked, you could really be, you wonderful\ncreature!\" he murmured, insidiously. Her color heightened but she made\nno reply. The pulse was very distinct in the veins of the soft little\nwarm hand lying tremulously beneath his. \"Listen! There it is again, the\ncall of the Wild, the voice out of the Primitive inviting strong souls\nback into the boundless realm of the great First Cause. Are you brave\nenough to accept it, to go out and be the most gloriously fierce wolf of\nthem all?\"\n\n\"Why,\" she exclaimed, with a labored vivacity that deceived neither of\nthem, \"that is certainly original!\"\n\n\"With--say with me for a running mate!\" His voice was scarcely audible.\n\n\"And that is decidedly wicked!\" She gently withdrew her hand. But there\nwas small reproof in the seductive smile playing about her red lips.\nWith the arrogance of the youthfully virile and strong he glanced\ncontemptuously at the slight figure before the fireplace, old and worn\nand gray, debilitated with the fierce excesses of the chase after money;\nthen he looked at the radiant beauty of the voluptuous young woman\nbeside him and laughed grimly at the painful disparity between man and\nwife.\n\n\"And they say marriages are made in heaven!\" To his credit be it said\nthat he had intended the sneer to be mental only, but somehow or other,\nperhaps telepathically, the woman bent her head and a wave of crimson\nsuffused her face.\n\n\"Wolves know no conventions,\" he went on with tense vehemence. \"Out\nthere in the wild soul calls to soul, body leaps to body in the fitness\nof true affinity. It is all Life, and therefore all Love; for Life is\nLove incarnated. The senile moralists of Humanity, that least fit race\nof all earthly animals, preach the equality of the sexes. As applied to\nhuman beings that is a lie. It is only out there among the wolves that\nShe is the equal of He in all things, his mental, physical, psychical\nand sexual peer. That is why the type is kept pure and eternal. The wolf\nof twenty centuries hence will be fully the equal of the wolf of to-day.\nAnd why? Because of the virtue of perfect natural selection--the fittest\nto the fittest, without the let and hindrance of sickly sentimentality,\nthe unnatural joining by Man-god made crimes of the unfit to the fit.\nWolves breed wolves, with full powers of the highest enjoyment of Life\nand Love. Humanity begets weaklings, cowards, driveling idiots whose\nhighest evolution is that shapeless thing called Hope, whose greatest\nvirtue is submission to the anomalies of civilization. Even you, who\ncould be the peer of any wolf that ever ran untrammeled--\"\n\nHe stopped abruptly, ashamed of his vehemence, and somewhat abashed by\nthe indulgent if slightly satirical smile of his amused listener.\n\n\"Even if I could run, and howl, and go hungry; every man's hand, and\nwhat is infinitely worse, every woman's tongue against me! And what\ncould the Wolf give me in exchange for this?\" waving her hand around the\nroom comprehensively and incidentally fondling her jewels.\n\n\"He could give you something in exchange for _that_,\" he said, with a\nsinister glance towards the fireplace and again she dropped her eyes.\n\nHe drew the chess board towards him and began mechanically arranging the\npieces. Then he swept them impatiently into a heap and made as if to\narise. She leaned forward suddenly and again laid her hand on his arm.\n\n\"The wolf subject is an interesting one to me. It is really a pity that\nI will not be accorded an opportunity of studying them in their native\nhaunts. If it were not for your, to us, unfortunate obligations\nelsewhere, I should devote quite a portion of my time to the pursuit of\nmore definite information about them.\"\n\nHis hot hand almost burned hers. \"Why shouldn't you investigate the\nmatter if you want to? Your husband is going to buy the VN ranch!\" In\nsilence more eloquent than words she gave him her hand.\n\nAfter a few desultory minutes with the group about the fireplace, he\nstrolled over to the piano. Grace welcomed him shyly, her touch on the\nkeys a little uncertain as in compliance with her request he sang to her\naccompaniment the Toreador song from Carmen. The request was an\ninspiration on her part, she never having heard him sing before, and she\nhad preferred it only to cover her soft confusion as she suddenly felt\nrather than saw his presence behind her. If his instant compliance had\nsurprised her, his execution of it was a revelation to everyone in the\nroom. He sang it easily and freely, a little raucously from lack of\npractice, it is true, but with the power and richness of voice that made\neven Constance Brevoort, hypercritical as she was in things musical, sit\nbreathless to its conclusion.\n\nThe silence which followed was first broken by Red. \"Gee, Ken,\" he said\nquaintly, \"who'd ever thought yuh could beller so melojious as that!\nWhy, yuh're a reg'lah preemoh-johnny!\" In the hilarity which this evoked\nGrace said, reproachfully:\n\n\"And to think I never knew!\"\n\nHe was almost boyishly elated at the implied compliment, and, at the\ninsistence of his audience sang several other operatic selections very\ncreditably. Then he turned in modest explanation to Carter's demand.\n\n\"We all sang a little at college, you know, and my mother was an\naccomplished musician. It is four years since I last sang. You are\noverkind to me.\"\n\n\"Do you not play as well?\" impulsively asked Mrs. Brevoort. He shook his\nhead negatively.\n\n\"Only a few accompaniment chords that I smash out indifferently! and I\nam dubious of my ability to do that after all these years of roping and\nditch digging.\"\n\nAnselm Brevoort, watching him speculatively through a fragrant cloud of\ncigar smoke, suddenly sprang a bomb. \"Have you ever composed, Mr.\nDouglass, written any songs, for instance? I have heard that you range\nmen have an aptitude in that direction.\"\n\nDouglass surveyed him levelly for a moment, his face hardening with\nquick suspicion. \"I have done most things foolish, after the manner of\nmy kind, Mr. Brevoort,\" he said, curtly; \"but I hardly think you would\nfind even a passing interest in anything I have accomplished in that\ndirection.\" Whereupon that astute financier subsided promptly, evincing\nno further curiosity as to the poetic attainments of this uncomfortably\nstraight-speaking young personage. He was a very shrewd man and had long\nsince learned to respect the moods and idiosyncrasies of others.\n\nBut Constance, his wife, detecting the sharp irritation in Douglass's\nvoice, was seized with a malicious desire to know its cause; like her\nhusband she was thinking: \"That caught him on the raw, somehow. I wonder\nwhy?\"\n\n\"You should allow your friends to be the judge of that, Mr. Douglass,\"\nshe said, pleasantly. \"I am quite certain myself that we should find\nmuch more than a passing interest if we could induce you to favor us.\nThe songs inspired by this environment must naturally be full of color\nand strength. I should very much enjoy hearing one.\"\n\n\"Upon your heads be it, then!\" He seated himself at the piano. \"This,\"\nhe said, turning to Mrs. Brevoort, meaningly, \"I call 'The Song of the\nWolf.'\"\n\nThrough the silence of the room crept a queer, faint murmur like the\nbreath of an æolian harp or the sighing of the wind through far-off\npines. There was no attempt at harmonious arrangement and concordance;\nit was rather a vague, erratic and intangible dissonance, a weird jumble\nof soft discords that alternately pleased and pained. Gradually it\nincreased in volume, as the wind rises to the approach of a storm,\nculminating finally in a thunderous crash of double bass. Then out of\nthe contrastive silence of the succeeding lull came unmistakably the\nmournful howl of a wolf, wonderfully rendered by a few soft tremulous\ntouches of those strong yet sensitive fingers.\n\nAnother rolling crash, a diminishing rumble, and then the rich, deep\nvoice of the singer:\n\n    \"Child of the Wind and Sun, I glide\n      Like a tongue of flame o'er the mountain's side.\n    Wherever falleth my blighting tread\n      Lie the whitening bones of the silent Dead.\n          For trail of wrath\n          Is my red-wet path\n    From the Sea's low rim to the glaciers high,\n          _Ai y-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_\n    I live the better that others die.\n          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_\n\n    \"Oh! sweet is the scent in the evening gale,\n      Of the dun deer wending adown the trail\n    Where I lie, grim ambushed, with bated breath,\n      A gray lance couched in the hand of Death!\n          At that maddening tang\n          White-bared each fang,\n    Dripping anon with ambrosia red;\n          _Ai y-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_\n    Haste, sweetheart, to the feast outspread!\n          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_\n\n    \"But sweeter even than Life's rich wine,\n      As, hot from the kill--ah-h! draught divine!--\n    It trickles adown my ravished throat,\n      Is my gaunt mate's deep-toned, chesty note.\n          As o'er hill and plain\n          She calls amain\n    Till the welkin quivers with ecstasy:\n          _Ai y-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_\n    'Oh come, Beloved, to Love and me!'\n          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_\n\n    \"Manlings spawned in the cities' slime.\n      Weaklings, withered before your prime.\n    What ken ye of the joys there be\n      Of Life and of Love and of Liberty!\n          Better hill and dell\n          As free Ishmael\n    Than the shackles of pomp and pageantry:\n          _Ai yu-u-u--yu--yu-u-u-u!_\n    Come out, oh! faint hearts, and howl with me!\n          _Ai yu-u-u-u-u-u!_\"\n\nIn the storm of applause that rewarded his unique performance he rose\nand went over to the fireplace.\n\n\"If you are still disposed to the purchase of the Vaughan holdings I\nwill accept your offer,\" he said to Brevoort. \"But I must be free to\ncome and go at will. I am one of the wolves, you know!\"\n\nBrevoort nodded a brisk acquiescence. \"That is perfectly satisfactory to\nme. We will arrange the details.\"\n\nMcVey was genuinely pleased and said so; Carter rather grudgingly\nextended his congratulations; he would rather Douglass were the manager\nof his own estate. His grievance was still fresh and rankling.\n\nConstance Brevoort, toying with the ivory chessmen, smiled\ncommiseratingly at the soft irradiation of Grace's face.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE FROWNING GODDESS SMILES\n\n\nIt was arranged that the transfer of the VN interests should be made at\nthe last day of the year. The weather was still open and the days very\ndelightful, and Brevoort evincing a lively interest in Douglass's mining\nventure, his wife proposed a junket over to the claims on the head of\nthe Roaring Fork, something less than forty miles away as the crow\nflies. As the trip would have to be made over rather difficult trails it\nwas decided to go on horseback, the camp paraphernalia being loaded on\npack animals in charge of McVey, who somewhat eagerly volunteered his\nservices.\n\nThe trail led through a very rugged country alive with big game and\nBrevoort was in the seventh heaven of a hunter's delight. For three days\nthe cavalcade slowly wended its way through scenery unequaled anywhere\non earth, and every minute was fraught with enjoyment. On the afternoon\nof the third day, when they finally reached the rough claim-cabin\nnestling in the giant spruces on the edge of a little sun-kissed park,\ntheir delight was unbounded.\n\nArtistic in nature, Douglass had selected a most charming spot for his\nhabitation. The little park, sloping to the westward, was knee-deep\nwith grass, studded with the belated blooms of the high altitudes. Down\none side purled a little brook, fed from a beautiful waterfall in easy\nview from the cabin door. To the south lay the snow-capped purple\nreaches of the Taylor Range over which they had just come, and to the\neast, behind the cabin, towered the majestic grandeur of the\ncontinent-dividing Rockies, the \"Backbone of the World\" in the poetical\nphraseology of the Ute Indians. From the cabin door one looked over an\nimmense vista of mountain, plain, valley and river too exquisite for\ndescription by words.\n\nHaving come leisurely and comfortably, all were in the proper frame of\nmind and body for its enjoyment, and the scrupulously clean cabin came\nin for its share of deserved encomiums. It was immediately given over\nfor the personal use of the ladies, who were delighted with the cozy\nbunks and foot-deep mattresses of aromatic spruce needles. The men, as\nmuch from preference as from necessity, spread their blankets under the\nopen sky.\n\nThe sportsman's instinct was strong in Brevoort, so he and Douglass went\nout with their rifles, returning in less than an hour with a splendid\nbuck deer and a dozen grouse. The little stream had also yielded up to\nCarter, who was an expert fly-fisherman, some two-score delicious trout,\nand the resulting meal was one fit for the gods. All cowboys are from\nnecessity good cooks, and the fluffy, golden brown biscuits and fragrant\ncoffee of Red's making were unexceptionable.\n\nDespite the chill of the evening they sat around a roaring camp-fire\nuntil long after the moon rose, regaled by the quaint narratives of\nMcVey, who was a born raconteur. What added to their subtle humor\nimmensely was the fact that the embodied jokes were almost always turned\nat his own expense. But the last of his relations brought tears into the\neyes of one woman at least, and made Douglass kick embarrassedly at the\nglowing log heap until the sparks arose in an inverted cascade of fire.\n\n\"Theah is some people in thu wohld that seem just bawn foh trubble! They\nare built a-puppos, like a woodpecker, an' mizzery nacherally poahs upon\n'em when everybody else is so allfired happy that it hurts.\n\n\"I mind a fambly o' that kind which come oveh yeah from thu Picketwire\n(Purgatoire River) three yeah ago. They was foah on 'em, two ole ones\nan' a couple o' kids, boy 'n gyurl, 'bout sixteen yeahs ole, each.\"\n\n\"How old, each?\" asked Douglass, artlessly.\n\n\"'Bout sixteen yeah ole, each, I said, an' I didn't stuttah, neither!\nThey was twinneds. Thu boy was tow-haided an' ornary; thu gyurl were a\nroan, even redder'n me! I think she were thu freckledst critter I eveh\nsee, an' ugly! Say, honest, she was afeared to look inter a lookin'\nglass an' every time she see her face axcidental she hollered!\n\n\"Thet outfit were shore onlucky! Fust theah hosses got into a loco\npatch, an' one dawk night walked oveh a clift thinkin' it were thu aidge\no' a sun crack. Then theah cow gits lumpy jaw an' haster be shot. Thu\nhekid tried to hold out kyards one night when Lem Bowers was feelin'\nmean, an' it took thu waggin an' hawness to pay fer sawin off hes laig.\nAn' when he got so's he could mosey about agin, hes krutch got stuck in\nthu frawg o' the railroad crossin' in Gunnison an' a freight train\nmussed him up redic'lous!\n\n\"Naow yuh'd think thet thu two thousand plunks thu Company paid hes paw\nfer dammitches was a purty faih standoff fer past hawdships, but thet\nfambly's luck was suthin' scandalous! It were all in hunner dollah\nbills, an' thu ole woman cached 'em in thu mattrass of her baid. Thu\nmattrass were stuffed with wild hay, an' one day when thu ole woman were\nout pickin' Oregan grape an' osho-root fer thu ole man's rheumatiz, a\nburro loafered into camp an' et up thu hull shootin' match!\n\n\"The she-kid rustles a jawb as biscuit-shooter in a Swede beanery oveh\nto Crested Butte, but she was so plum ugly thet she scahed away all thu\nfeeders an' thu boss sues her foh his come-back. Then she hikes out with\na tinhawn Greaser an' ketches thu small-pawx down to Taos, an' passes\nout accordin'!\n\n\"One day thu ole man goes shy on meat and goes out huntin'. He don't see\nno deer but he finds a mine--just hes dum luck, ye see; he were lookin'\nfer chuck an' thu best he got was a stone! Well, he gits so axcited thet\nhe tries to break a chunk offen thu laidge with his gun butt, an' thu\nblame ole shootin' iron jars loose an' blows hes fool wing off. Fawtuhn\nwere a leetle severe on thu ole fellah, don't yuh think? But he manages\nter git home with hes leetle ole hunk o' quawtz, tells thu ole woman\nwheah he found it, an' petehs out, hisself. They's so pooh thet she had\nter go an' git hes gun so's ter be able ter sell it an' git enough\nmazuma ter plant him with thu 'propriate trimmin's. Them kind is allus\ngreat on perprieties!\n\n\"Well, she finds thu gun wheah he had drapped it on thu croppin's an'\nbrings it an' a hull apern full o' thu rock home with her. Then she\nbawls it all out, foolish like, to ther neighbors; she hocks her weddin'\ndress fer enough ter pay a rock-sharp fer a assay on thu truck--an' o'\ncose thu durn skunk sneaks out an' jumps thu claim!\"\n\nHe rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it with a red-hot coal juggled\ndeftly between his palms. Douglass kicked the fire impatiently and\nyawned.\n\n\"Cut it short, Red! It's getting late. Of course she got so much gold\nout of her mine that she took the yellow fever and swallowed her false\nteeth, or was guilty of some other fantastic foolishness. You\nincorrigible old faker, you are making that up as you go!\"\n\nRed looked undecidedly after him as he strode away in the moonlight in\nthe direction of the picketed horses. For a moment he hesitated, then he\nflung a fresh log on the fire and began to untie his blanket roll.\n\n\"It is gettin' along about beddin' down time, fer a fac'.\" But there was\nmuch of disconsolation in his voice. Red hated to spoil a good story.\n\n\"But the woman, the mine, finish your story!\" came in rapid fire from\nhis audience. He fumbled with his \"soogans\" a moment, then came over and\nlooked thoughtfully into the fire.\n\n\"Thu fellah who jumped thu Las' Chance lode was a kind o' mine brokeh,\none o' thu damn sharks as is allus raidy to take a low down advantage of\nthu mis-fort-unit an' helpless.\" Brevoort winced slightly and his wife\nsmiled behind her hand. \"He had anotheh felleh workin' fer him, a real\nwhite man! When this yeah las' felleh I'm tellin' yuh about finds out\nwhat the brokeh cuss's game is, he done raises--well, he nacherally\nbuhns th' air! He acts real foolish about what he calls justice to the\nignerent an' weak, an' when hes bawss perposes to let him shaih in thu\nprofits an' holp do thu ole woman outen her rights, he jes' up an' bends\nhes gun oveh thu dawg's haid--he's been on thu puny list eveh since!\nThen he, thu white felleh, goes out, pulls up thu jumpah's stakes an'\nre-locates thu mine in thu ole woman's name.\"\n\n\"That's a man after my own heart!\" said Grace, enthusiastically. Red\nseemed a little put out over her assertion but he bravely swallowed his\ndose and continued.\n\n\"He's got a few hunnerd saved up and he makes it go far enough in\ndevelopment work to git her a patent on it. Bein' a United States Deputy\nhe surveys thu claim hisself an' saves thet much. In sho't he makes her\nclaim good so's no one kin steal it from her, an' thet ole woman owns a\nhat store, a ho-tel, a bank, an' foweh saloons in Gunnison now. She jes'\nwallers in wealth!\"\n\nAgain he turned to his blankets. Out in the white moonlight Douglass\nstood looking over the silvered landscape, a retrospective bitterness\ncurling his lip.\n\n\"And the surveyor, the man who saved her mine and in reality gave her\nthis great wealth?\" asked Grace, with a fierce wild pride burning in her\nheart.\n\n\"Well,\" said Red, gravely, \"I told yuh she was a critter bawn to\nmisfohtuhn. She went loco oveh thu thing, got in too much of a hurry,\nan' sold out the claim, unbeknownst ter him who were managin' it fer\nher, fer a measly hunnerd thousand, jes' two hours befoh he closed a\ndeal with a big Denveh outfit foh a quateh million. An' she got so het\nup oveh her hawd luck thet she lost her memory an' couldn't remember\nthet she was owin' him anything when they come ter settle up. Thet were\nshore thu mos' unfawchinit thing 'at eveh happened to her. I reckon thet\nshe'll go to hell on account of it!\"\n\n\"But why did he not bring suit for a just and proper accounting?\" asked\nBrevoort, impatiently. \"He had a good case. The man must be a rank fool!\nWhat has become of him?\"\n\nRed spat speculatively into the fire. \"I reckon he kinda hated ter fuss\nwith a woman. He is a cow-punchaw now, an' all cowpunchaws is loco! Thu\nlas' time I see him he were glommerin' all by hes lonesome in a\nmoonlight jes' like this'n, an' I have an' ijea thet he were wishtful o'\nkickin' somebody's pants.\"\n\nThe moon was high in the heavens when Douglass came back to the fire. It\nhad burned down to a heap of ruby coals and the others had long since\nentered the land of Nod. He lighted a last cigarette, crouching over the\nscant warmth as he smoked it.\n\nBrevoort, not yet fully inured to the chill of these great heights,\nshivered in his sleep despite his generous covering. Douglass took a\nwell-furred bearskin from his own bed and laid it gently over the\nthin-blooded sleeper. Then he pulled off his high-heeled boots and\njoined the silent majority. The gray mare was flicking her tail in the\neast when he opened his eyes again.\n\nFor five blissful days there was much of hunting, fishing and exploring\nof the charming neighborhood by the Carters and Brevoorts. Douglass and\nMcVey expended their time and energies mostly on the development of the\nclaims. But the covering of slide-rock was very thick and the vein\npersistently eluded them. Probe and strip where they would nothing but\ncountry-rock rewarded their efforts. Carter and Brevoort were inclined\nto a kindly expressed skepticism as to the existence of the lode, and\neven Red's optimistic faith in Douglass's good judgment was waning. The\nwomen alone, for some occult reason, gave him cheering encouragement,\nGrace in particular expressing her conviction of his ultimate success.\n\nBut up to the day preceding their intended departure nothing had\nmaterialized to vindicate his expenditure of time and money. On the\nmorning of that day he had gone up alone to the shallow tunnel which he\nwas driving into the hillside near the top of the ridge, intending to\nblast down a wide shelf of rock in the face of the adit in order to\n\"square up\" his work and leave everything in ship-shape for the next\nseason's new operations.\n\nHe was using dynamite, the rock being very hard; and as this explosive\nexerts its force most powerfully against the object of most resistance,\nwith an especial tendency to blow downward, he had merely placed a\ncouple of the cartridge sticks with detonaters and fuses attached on the\ntop of the shelf, covering them slightly with loose sand, depending on\nthe well-defined cleavage of the rock to accomplish his purpose. As it\nhappened to be the last of both powder and fuse supply on the claim, he\ndid not trim off the fuse as short as usual; it was about four times the\nordinary length, but as fuse is the least expensive item in such work he\nwas unusually extravagant in this single instance.\n\nIt is singular upon what strange things the pivot of fate and fortune\nturns. Had he been ordinarily economical of that fuse these annals would\nend grewsomely with this chapter. For, as he lighted the fuse and walked\nleisurely out of the short tunnel, directing his steps toward a\nsheltering abutment of the ledge which assured protection from the\nflying fragments loosened by the explosion of the heavy charge, Grace\nCarter slowly sauntered into view on the other side of the tunnel mouth,\nher hands full of some mountain blooms which she had gathered on the\nopposite slope of the ridge.\n\nNeither saw the other until she stood directly in front of the\nexcavation. He was lighting his pipe, his back towards her; she,\nthinking him to be about to leave the mine on his descent to the cabin,\ngayly called out:\n\n\"What's your hurry?\"\n\nNot dreaming of her dangerous proximity to the tunnel's mouth, he turned\nslowly, for the wind was fairly strong and he had not as yet secured a\nsatisfactory light. He was about forty yards away. For one\nnerve-paralyzing second he was incapable of motion or speech. Then the\npipe clattered on the slide-rocks and he was leaping like a cougar over\nthe treacherous footing, a great cry bursting hoarsely from his white\nlips:\n\n\"Run! For God's sake, run! Away from the tunnel!\"\n\nDazed by the awful fear in his voice, and misinterpreting the only two\ndistinct words of his otherwise inarticulate command: \"Run\" and\n\"Tunnel,\" she bolted obediently into the yawning mouth of the\nexcavation. For a few seconds, with eyes blinded by the sudden\ntransition from sun-glare to comparative darkness, she did not perceive\nthe spluttering flare of the fuse. Then all at once came comprehension\nand in the shock of it she was as a marble statue. Paralyzed with horror\nat the awful death hissing there a scant five feet away, she seemed\nrooted to the ground; for the life of her she could not move hand or\nfoot, standing numbly there waiting for the end. Each second seemed an\neternity before his coming. His coming--to what? To share the horrible\ndeath that menaced her? She found her voice in one agonized scream of\nwarning, but even as it left her lips he came dashing into the tunnel,\nshouting incoherent blasphemies and holding out both arms.\n\nA pile of litter on the floor of the tunnel entrapped his foot. A\ntreacherous stone turned beneath his flying tread, and wildly striving\nto regain his balance, he pitched forward to her feet, striking his head\non the rocks. He lay very still, a thin stream of blood trickling down\nhis forehead.\n\nAs a tigress protects her young, so did she cast her body between him\nand the fiery serpent hissing on the rock, her one thought being for his\npreservation. As she crouched above him there came vaguely into her mind\nthe remembrance of a story told her in the long ago by her father, the\nstory of a man who had saved his comrade by the plucking out of the\nburning fuse from a blast which was on the point of killing the man\ncaught beneath some falling timbers. The details came painfully slow to\nher dazed mind and over there the fuse was hissing ominously.\n\nSuddenly it was all clear to her and unhesitatingly she sprang to the\nshelf and clutched the smoking terror with both hands. One frantic tug\nand the deadly dynamite was dangling before her; with the swiftness of a\nswallow she reached the mouth of the tunnel and, summoning all her\nstrength for one mighty effort, cast it far down the mountain side. Then\nshe turned unsteadily and slowly groped her way, like one who is blind,\nto the silent figure on the tunnel floor.\n\nEverything was swimming about her in a confused whirl; with a great\neffort she raised his head to her shoulder. A broad red stain spread\nover her white bodice but her eyes were unseeing, her lips passing\nsearchingly over his face. As they found his mouth and rested there, a\nsharp explosion, followed by a tremendous rumble, jarred the air.\n\nAs though awakened from sleep by that detonation, Douglass opened his\neyes. Her face was still upon his and he blinked uncomprehendingly. She\nwas crying softly, helplessly, and his face was wet with her tears.\nImpulsively he put his arm around her and sat up erect.\n\nWith returning consciousness came remembrance and he cast his eyes\nfearfully towards the shelf, springing to his feet as he did so, with\nthe girl firmly clasped in his arms. He took two steps towards the mouth\nof the tunnel and safety. Then he looked again at the little innocuous\nheap of sand; he passed his hand wonderingly over his eyes. There was a\ndull smear on the bronzed finger backs and he noticed the stain on her\nbodice.\n\n\"You are hurt!\" His voice was husky with fear and sympathy. She shook\nher head negatively, not trusting herself to speak. \"But the blast--the\npowder--where is it?\"\n\n\"I threw it down the mountain side. You stumbled and fell. There was no\nother way.\"\n\nHe felt of his head tentatively; then he looked again at the stain on\nher bosom. He turned her face inquiringly to the light; upon lips and\ncheek lay a red like that on the back of his hand. In the semi-twilight\nhis eyes grew luminous. Very tenderly he raised the tear-stained face\nand looked reverently into the dewy pools brimming over with that which\nmade him close them with a kiss.\n\n\"Sweetheart!\" he said softly. \"Sweetheart!\"\n\nShe put her white arms about his neck, and, clinging to him as though\nshe would never let go, cried as if her heart would break.\n\nFrom the head of the waterfall where she washed the jagged wound in his\nhead, Douglass looking down to where she had thrown the dynamite, noted\nthat the whole hillside was changed in appearance. Where once had been a\nshoulder-deep mass of loose slide-rock was now the bare face of the\nmountain, out of which cropped a ten-foot wide ledge of parti-colored\nrock which he instantly, even at that considerable distance, classified\nas quartz. In that one comprehensive glance he divined the whole truth.\nAs a result of the violent explosion, the mass of loose rock had been\nset in motion and an avalanche had ensued; the whole mountain side had\nbeen denuded of its covering of detritus which now lay heaped up at the\nbase of the declivity.\n\nIn the clear light a sheen glittered over those portions of the ledge\nwhere its surface had been freshly abraded by the mass of rock grinding\nover it in the avalanche's descent; it was indubitably quartz, quartz in\nplace, the only body of it found in situ so far on that mountain. His\nrich float had been of quartz gangue! Very quietly he turned and put his\narms about the girl, conviction growing every minute.\n\n\"Dearie, I think you have killed two birds with one stone. Do you see\nthat projecting ledge of rock yonder? I am certain it is the blind lode\nI have been looking for. If it is, we will be rich beyond the wildest\ndreams of avarice.\"\n\nShe laughed shyly and took his face between both pink palms.\n\n\"I am that already, Ken, dear.\" Very rich indeed was the treasure she\nlaid on his lips. He caught her up to him fiercely, his face as white as\nthe kerchief which she had bound about his brow. Unconsciously he was\nbruising her soft flesh, but she gloried in the pain of it.\n\nRed McVey, coming over the crest of the ridge to investigate the\nexplosion and the succeeding rumble of the avalanche which he had heard\nwhile hunting on the other slope, paused abruptly at sight of that\ntender tableau. Very cautiously, as one coming suddenly in the hunting\ntrail upon a dangerous beast who is as yet unaware of the hunter's\nproximity, he took the rifle from his shoulder and cocked it, crouching\nas he did so to avoid detection and to insure a better aim. But even as\nhis knee touched the ground a cold perspiration broke out all over his\nbody; the red left his vision, something clicked in his throat, and\nlicking his dry lips nervously, he lowered the hammer of his weapon and\nbacked over the ridge out of sight.\n\nHand in hand the twain picked their way carefully down to the ledge. By\na curious freak of chance the explosive had landed directly above the\noutcrop, and the ground about was strewn with fragments torn off by the\nconcussion. One of the bits which Grace eagerly picked up was spangled\nwith dull yellow points.\n\nThe man with his hand on the ledge looked out dreamily into the blue\nether; the woman cuddled in the hollow of his arm looked only at him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nIN THE HOUSE OF POTIPHAR\n\n\nMrs. Robert Carter was far too astute a politician to openly offer any\nopposition to her daughter's devotion for Douglass, though fully\ndetermined to unravel what she deemed a preposterous and altogether\nundesirable entanglement.\n\nHaving herself fought the hard fight against the ogres of Poverty and\nAdversity, she had no foolish illusions in the premises, and had long\nago resolved that her daughter should be spared the grim heartaches that\neven love cannot wholly bar from the proverbial cottage. Her chief\nambition was to see Grace established in a position commanding at the\nvery outset all the amenities to which the girl had been accustomed from\nchildhood, both of her children having come after Carter pere had\nachieved a substantial competence. There were many among the girl's\nsuitors who offered this and more, and she felt a bitter impatience with\nthe extravagance of youthful passion which now so perversely menaced all\nher plans.\n\nWhile cordially conceding the beauty of love in the abstract, the\nconcreteness of wealth and social position appealed far more potently to\nthe world-worn old woman, who temporarily forgot her own girlish\nexaltations of days long gone in her apprehensions for her daughter's\nfuture.\n\nNever was woman better qualified or disposed to appreciate youthful\nvirility and sterling manliness; her personal esteem for Douglass was\nvery high, and had it not been for the, to her, insuperable bar of his\ncomparative poverty, she would have welcomed him with open arms. As it\nwas, she was very indulgently disposed towards him. If his mines really\ndeveloped into bonanza she would interpose no obstacle in his way. But\nin her wide experience she had known all too many just as promising\nprospects as his turn out miserable failures; when he had\nincontrovertibly established the value of his claims it would be time\nenough to consider his proposed alliance with her family.\n\nAll this she said to him with frank candor in a letter answering his\nrequest for her sanction to his engagement to Grace.\n\n\"I will give you two years,\" she concluded, \"in which to demonstrate\nyour ability to give her all the comforts to which she is accustomed. In\nthe interim I shall take her abroad, and if at the expiration of that\ntime you have 'made good,' and both of you are still of the same mind, I\nwill give you my blessing with all my heart.\n\n\"But it must be distinctly understood that until then I recognize no\nmanner of bond between you; she must be free to change her mind if she\nso chooses. I have no objection to a friendly exchange of correspondence\nbetween you during our absence, relying upon your honor to use no undue\ncoercion. Please regard these stipulations as imperative and final.\"\n\nHe sent her a rather constrained acceptance and so it was arranged.\nDirectly after the holidays Mrs. Carter and Grace sailed for Europe.\n\nOne balmy day in the following spring he was over at Tin Cup awaiting\nthe coming of the stage. Two days before he had been advised by letter\nof the coming of the Brevoorts for a season's outing on their\nlately-acquired ranch. He had rather expected a letter from Grace by the\nsame mail and was proportionately elated. Everything had gone well with\nhim in the new year. He had secured the services of an experienced and\naltogether dependable miner, an old friend of his assaying days, to\ndevelop his mining claims, and the reports were eminently satisfying.\nWith every foot of depth attained on the vein the ore grew better, and\nthe property was yielding enough values to pay for its extensive\nexploitation. The ore chute, paying from grass roots down, was getting\nwider and richer; two promising \"blind leads\" had been struck in\naddition, and the opinion of all the visiting experts was that Douglass\nhad struck it exceedingly rich. Should the improvement continue, his\nterm of probation would be over before snow flew again. He did not need\nmany more tons of that honeycombed quartz to satisfy Mrs. Carter's most\nstringent exactions.\n\nHe was therefore in a wonderfully complaisant frame of mind as old\nTimberline Tobe reined in his leaders with a flourish before Blount's\nhotel. Constance Brevoort, clad in an exceedingly well-fitting\ntraveling costume of neutral gray, smiled her delight as he went forward\nwith uplifted hands to assist her descent from the seat of honor on the\nbox beside the driver. Of the two other passengers inside the stage he\ntook small note; Brevoort could look after himself and be hand-shaken\nlater. Just now the woman engrossed his whole attention.\n\nStiffened doubtlessly by her necessarily cramped position on the box\nthroughout a half-day's jolting over rough mountain roads, she slipped\nawkwardly from the wheel and landed plump in his arms, her lips brushing\nhis in her descent as he protectingly caught her close to save her from\nfalling. His face was crimson, possibly from over-exertion, as he slowly\nreleased her. But even though the vice-like grip of his arms had been a\nmoment or two overlong, Mrs. Brevoort made no protest; she only smiled\nat his discomposure and said somewhat ambiguously:\n\n\"Don't look so distressed, Mr. Douglass. I alone am to blame for that\nslip; and there have been no consequences.\"\n\nHe took her extended hand and shook it heartily. Into his eyes there\ncrept a flicker of amusement tinged with audacity.\n\n\"I am not so sure of that,\" he said with pretended ruefulness, feeling\nin the breast pocket of his shirt. \"My cigars are demolished. Were you\nreally so glad to see me as all that?\" She looked at him coquettishly\nthrough half-closed lids.\n\n\"Can you doubt, remembering how I threw myself into your arms in the\nrecklessness of my transports?\" She laughed unaffectedly, but underneath\nthe dimples of her peachy cheeks spread the veriest wraith of a soft\nrose tint. For into his eyes had suddenly flamed something, a subtle\nspark that burned down through her body's jeweled sheath like a\nwhite-hot coal. A little frightened at the hot wave surging through her\nveins she was betrayed into another indiscretion.\n\n\"And you,\" she murmured seductively, \"are you glad to see me?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you later, when I am calm enough to phrase my joy in more\nconventional words than my present distraction permits.\" They both\nlaughed a little constrainedly and he turned to greet the man who had\njust descended from the stage. Imagine his surprise to see, instead of\nthe shriveled form of the financier, the portly bulk of a grinning\nwhite-headed old negro who was assisting an equally robust damsel of\nlike ebon complexion, but considerably less years, to alight from the\ndusty vehicle.\n\nConstance laughed at his frank bewilderment.\n\n\"Two family retainers from my girlhood's home, Uncle 'Rastus, my butler,\nand Lucindy, his daughter, my cook. At the last moment Mr. Brevoort was\ncalled away to Europe on business,\" she explained somewhat hurriedly.\n\"He hopes to be able to join us in time for the fall hunting.\"\n\nIt was characteristic of the man that he did not mumble the conventional\nregrets over the defection of her husband; on the contrary, he did not\nhesitate to express his pleasure.\n\n\"That's nice!\" was his rather startling comment to which, however, she\ntook no exception, mischievously misinterpreting the reference of his\nwords.\n\n\"Yes, I know you enjoy those hunting trips,\" she said demurely, \"and Mr.\nBrevoort is even more enthusiastic. He says you are positively the most\nindefatigable man in the chase that he ever met. Have you chased much\nsince we left?\"\n\nHe glanced at her dubiously; she was the embodiment of naïve innocence\nas she stood there struggling with her pearl-colored suedes, the\ndelicious color coming and going in her fresh, fair cheeks. He was not\nat all sure of her, and he hesitated a little as he caught up her valise\nand relieved her of her discarded wraps.\n\n\"I wonder if there was any double meaning in that?\" he thought, watching\nher out of the corner of his eye; but it was this man's creed, as has\nbeen previously noted, to overlook no bets. Aloud he said:\n\n\"The open season ended the day you left, and I haven't been to town\nsince.\"\n\nShe bit her lip in discomfiture; there was a prematureness about this\nfrontier lance that made him exceedingly difficult to parry, skilled as\nshe was in the subtle art of fence. The insolent assurance of that\nthrust through her guard angered and alarmed her.\n\n\"You will pay for that,\" she resolved mentally, wrathful at his coarse\narrogance. But her frown was only that of gentle wonderment as she\nturned inquiringly. \"The town! I do not understand. Is there any game to\nbe hunted there?\"\n\n\"Only faro, and poker, and roulette, with other divertisements of divers\nkinds and sorts,\" he said humorously. \"But one does not have to hunt\nmuch for any of them so far as my experience goes. Yet I've even left\nthe seductive tiger unbucked in his lair for over six long weary months.\nI've been so good that even the very thought of it hurts.\"\n\n\"You poor thing,\" she said with mock compassion; \"how your talents have\nbeen wasted. What a pity that the virtue born of necessity is not\nentitled to commendation.\"\n\n\"Is there any virtue entitled to that?\" he asked shamelessly. She drew a\nlittle apart from him, really shocked and not a little apprehensive.\n\n\"Certainly not that of Evolution,\" she said with some acerbity. \"Against\nthe stone ax and brutal strength of the Cave Man, woman's helpless\ntrust, love and dependency are just as inadequate as it was in the\nbeginning, æons ago. But even barbarians can, with profit, learn the\nlesson of decent forbearance.\"\n\n\"Stung!\" His comical grimace and slangy confession of her sharper point\ncompletely disarmed her and she sheathed her rapier with a smile. But\nfor the life of her she could not resist the temptation to bait this\ngood-natured bear.\n\n\"After all, we are only a step removed from the Primitive,\" she said\nplaintively, \"and in this wonderful environment of yours one comes\nactually within touch. Here we are at swords-points already, and only a\nfew moments ago I was in your arms.\" Her heart was quaking at her great\naudacity as he made a sudden movement that brought him so near that his\nelbow grazed her shapely waist.\n\n\"Backward, oh! backward, turn, Time, in thy flight!\" he hummed\nlongingly. Unconsciously she swayed towards him for the fraction of an\ninch. She was even closer to the border-land than she had deemed.\n\nRed McVey, coming for the mail, greeted them as they ascended the porch\nsteps of the little hostelry. She very graciously laid her hand in his,\nand her face beamed with positive pleasure as he awkwardly congratulated\nher upon her splendid appearance.\n\n\"Well, little ole N'Yawk ain't done you no hurt as I kin see. Reckon\nI'll have to winter theah a spell mahself when mah caows come home,\" he\nsaid enthusiastically. \"Yuah lookin' purtier 'n a red heifer.\"\n\nDouglass grinned at her rosy confusion. \"You've got a good eye for\ncolor, Red. But you ought to cultivate the virtue of forbearance, ought\nhe not, Mrs. Brevoort?\" But she scornfully ignored him and was rather\nprofuse in her protestations to Red of her happiness at being back in\n\"God's country\" again.\n\nAt the dinner table that night Douglass maliciously reverted to the\ntopic of forbearance. Turning to McVey he assumed a becoming gravity\nwhich the twinkle in his eyes belied.\n\n\"Say, old-timer, Mrs. Brevoort is skeptical of we poor cowpunchers'\nvirtue; she thinks we have no power of forbearance. Can't you help me to\nconvince her that we often keep from doing wicked things just for the\npure love of being good.\"\n\nRed, catching the mischievous note in his question, rose to the occasion\nmanfully.\n\n\"Why, yuh ain't thinkin' that bad of us, are yuh?\" he said with\nsorrowful reproach to Constance. \"Indeed, ma'am, we are real gentle by\nspells. Why, I mind las' yeah when I was ridin' fences foh thu C Bar I\ngot to thinkin' haow foolish it were o' me to keep hankerin' after thu\ndelusions o' thu Alcazah, an' to keep wantin' to go oveh theah\nsimultaneous an' waste my hawd eahned money on thu see-ductions o' thu\nflowin' bowl. So I braces up, an' says to thu devil o' temptation, kinda\ncontemptuous-like, 'Hit thu back trail, Satan!'\n\n\"Every time I feels thu iniquity o' thust comin' on me I jes' swaps the\nprice o' a drink from my sack to a leetle ole terbacca bag I totes\nespecial foh thet puppos, and goes an' dips my beak in healthy alkali\nwateh like a sensibul, fohbeahing Christian should. It were two bits\nevery time an' by thu time Chris'mas comes raound thu smoke bag were\nplumb full. I suttinly fohboah a heap thet summah.\"\n\nGenuinely interested at the simple relation, Constance asked\nsympathetically: \"And what did you do with the money so heroically\nsaved, may I ask?\"\n\n\"Well, I had thu price O' nine bottles o' booze in thu bag when I\ncounted her oveh at Tin Cup on Chrismus eve. Theah's five bottles goes\nto a gallon, yuh know, so I rattles thu bones with thu perfessor an' o'\ncose I wins thu odd bottle. Then I blows six bits fer a two-gallon jug\nan'--\"\n\nConstance glared at him severely. Douglass laid his head on the table\nand cried.\n\nThe greater portion of the next day was spent by Constance in shopping\nand resting after her wearisome stage ride. Douglass had some saddlery\nmatters to attend to and Grace's letter to answer. Red had volunteered\nto drive 'Rastus and Lucindy over to the VN ranch with the luggage and\nso it happened that Douglass and Mrs. Brevoort rode out together alone\nin the pleasant evening to her home-coming.\n\nThey jogged along very leisurely, talking only the veriest commonplaces\nafter they had exhausted the more interesting topics of ranch and mine.\nCuriously enough, neither referred once to Grace Carter, her name not\nbeing mentioned throughout the whole journey. Toward the end of their\nride both man and woman grew strangely silent. The white May moon was\njust peeping over the horizon as he dismounted before the door of the\nranch house to assist her to alight.\n\nAs she released her foot from the stirrup and held out her hands, from\nsomewhere far out on the prairie came the call of a wolf. Telepathically\nboth turned toward the moonlit plain awaiting the answering cry; as it\nrang out in not unmusical cadence through the stilly night she shivered\nslightly and her hands trembled in his warm grasp. He leaned toward her,\nhis eyes gleaming.\n\n\"Come,\" he said, masterfully. Shifting her left hand to his shoulder he\nthrew his arm about her waist and lifted her from the saddle. But before\nher feet touched the ground he had gathered her up in his arms and was\nstriding towards the house. Taken by surprise, she clung to him\nbreathlessly, one arm still tightly clasped about his neck as he placed\nher feet upon the threshold. Very gently she disengaged herself from his\nembrace but made no effort to enter the house. He looked hungrily at her\nfull red lips for a second, then stooped and laid his own upon the hand\nwhich he still retained.\n\n\"Welcome, oh, Queen, to your lair!\" he said softly. \"May you have good\nhunting.\"\n\nThen, sombrero in hand, he bowed again and turning abruptly left her\nstanding there silent in the white moonlight. Not until the shadows of\nthe corral had swallowed him up did she so much as move a muscle.\n\nUnto him a half hour later came old 'Rastus with her invitation to dine.\nWhen he finally joined her she was secretly relieved at the very\npresentable appearance he made in the modest suit of gray negligee\nwhich, he apologetically stated with engaging candor, was the nearest\napproximation he could make to full dress. All other cowboys of her\nacquaintance, while delightfully picturesque in their range costume, had\nlooked disappointingly commonplace and uninteresting when clothed in\ncivilized habiliments; but there was neither _gaucherie_ nor\nself-consciousness about this exceedingly self-possessed young fellow,\nwhose evident familiarity with the niceties of etiquette came as an\nagreeable surprise. Every slave to Convention is more or less a snob,\nand she had been under the yoke a whole lifetime. Her relief at his\nperfect deportment changed to an irritating sense of chagrin as she\nrealized her own obtuseness in not recognizing from the first that this\nman had assuredly been bred, if not born, a gentleman. How was she to\nknow if he were not even mentally amused at her inexcusable lack of\nperspicacity?\n\nThe truth of the matter was that Douglass thought nothing at all about\nit; he was thinking only of how attractive this woman was--in a\ndifferent way from Grace Carter.\n\nOld 'Rastus he had captivated instanter by his critical commendation of\nthe really superb wine which she had, whimsically, it must be confessed,\nand to the secret indignation of the old darkey, ordered served. 'Rastus\nhad mumbled something about the casting of pearls, but he melted\ninstantly at Douglass's evident appreciation.\n\n\"Chateau Yquem, is it not, and of a vintage surely previous to '57!\" he\naverred with the confidence of a connoisseur, lovingly rolling the\ndelicious liquor under his tongue. \"You are an exaggerated Lady\nBountiful, my dear Mrs. Brevoort. This is ambrosia for the gods rather\nthan a tipple for an obscure cowpuncher!\"\n\n\"Yes, this Yquem has been in our cellars since '59; so Mr. Brevoort\ninforms me. I am extremely fortunate in having selected it since it\nmeets with your favor!\" Her tone was sweetly sincere and he was\ninordinately flattered. She on her part was not a little amazed at the\nanomaly of a mere ranch hand's knowledge of rare old vintages and looked\nat him with a new interest. He was surely going to be worth\nexploitation!\n\nWhen the cloth had been removed they adjourned to a little room which\nhad been fitted up as a den by Brevoort. Here the coffee was served, and\nover her cigarette she watched him deftly preparing the cognac and\nkirschenwasser with all the assurance of an epicure, the caraffe having\nbeen set beside him by the old servitor as a matter of course; there was\nno doubt now in 'Rastus's mind about this \"cow-gentleman\" being to the\nmanner born.\n\nIt being an unusually mild night, the windows, which faced on the open\nprairie land to the north, were partly open. The air was sweet with the\nfragrance of the purpling lucerne, punctuated by the aroma of her\nTurkish tobacco. In the mellow light of the rose-tinted acetylene globe\nsuspended overhead everything was invested with a deliciously soft\nwarmth. Douglass, puffing luxuriously at his havana, was filled with a\ngreat conviction that he had not been so happy for years. This was what\nhe would have when his mines were in bonanza and he had come to his own!\nBut try as he would, he could not permanently establish Grace's presence\non the divan over yonder; somehow the conditions did not lend themselves\nconcordantly. The woman furtively watching him smiled intuitively; he\nwas a very transparent young man, after all!\n\nAnd yet how perfectly he fitted into the environment's scheme! In the\nsoft rose light his clean-cut aquiline profile was as perfect as a\nwell-chiseled cameo in red bronze. Vigor, strength and indomitable power\nbreathed from every well-balanced line of his well-knit frame.\n\n\"Fit, and ready, to fight for his strong young life!\" she was thinking\nadmiringly, \"a man among a thousand in these degenerate days. A 'running\nmate' who would go far with the wolf of his choosing. I wonder what he\never saw in that insipid goody-goody. She will tame him down to\nmediocrity, never realizing what she is desecrating, what she is robbing\nsome other better-fitted woman of. She ought to have married Anselm!\"\n\nAt the thought of her husband her face hardened. Very contemptuous did\nshe wax in her merciless comparison of him with the stalwart young\nfellow sitting there so lordly in the arrogance of lusty manliness. Now\nthat it was too late she realized that she had sold herself for a price!\nOf course Brevoort had paid, generously, magnificently, and without\ndemur; but how had she benefited thereby? To the end only of being the\nleader of her social set, queen regnant of a symposium of sexless\ndegenerates with whom she had not one mental or physical desire in\ncommon! The best proof of it was that she was here, far from their\nwearying inanities and hollow gilded gauds by deliberate choice. Her\nmeditations terminated abruptly at this point; was that the real reason\nof her coming? She turned to him with a curious shyness, thankful for\nthat rose-colored globe.\n\n\"You are fond of children, Mr. Douglass?\" It was more an assertion than\na question. His face lit up rarely.\n\n\"I love them!\" he said, simply. \"They are the sweetest flowers in God's\ngarden!\"\n\n\"Even as I do!\" There was something strangely like a sob in her low\nvoice, but she had not meant him to hear. \"I congratulate you on your\nconquest of the little Blount girl; her adoration of you is actually\nidyllic!\"\n\n\"Oh, Eulalie and I have been sweethearts for ages,\" he said, laughingly.\n\"It was a case of love at first sight.\"\n\n\"Happy Eulalie!\" she said, enviously. \"She has been favored beyond the\ncomputation of the gods. That beatitude falls to the lot of but few of\nher sex.\"\n\n\"Are you voicing a personal grievance?\" His eyes were full of amused\nincredulity. She smiled a little bitterly but evaded his question.\n\n\"What do you hear from Grace?\" she asked, inconsequentially. He was\nsobered instantly.\n\n\"She is well; and enjoying herself, I gather from her last letter. They\nare on the wing constantly, you know, and it was unusually short. They\nare now headed for Venice, with a certain Lord Ellerslie in train. Do\nyou happen to know him?\" There was a mild anxiety in his tone.\n\n\"Yare Ellerslie? Yes, I know him very well. One of England's 'best'\ntypes; a fine gentleman of mildewed lineage. He Is immensely wealthy!\"\n\n\"Oh! I say, don't rub it into a fellow!\" he protested, laughingly, but\nhis eyes held a glitter that caught Constance's attention disagreeably.\nShe rather pitied Lord Ellerslie at that moment.\n\n\"Oh! he is perfectly innocuous,\" she hastened to assure him; \"nearly\nevery designing mamma has given him up as impossible. His price is above\nthe rubies of any woman's offering!\" Her lip curled scornfully. \"His\n_metier_ is platonics.\"\n\n\"And you don't believe in their possibility,\" he concluded, dryly. She\neyed him narrowly.\n\n\"Do you?\"\n\n\"Not in their putative purity at any event. Of course, I am not a\ncompetent authority and my circle of acquaintances is limited to people\nof flesh and blood. Imagine such an absurdity as platonics between--\"\n\n\"Between--?\" she prompted audaciously, her seductive face close his.\n\n\"Between you and me, for instance!\" he finished, calmly, his cool\ndemeanor betraying nothing of the seething volcano beneath that\nunruffled surface. She rose somewhat precipitately and went over and\nstood by the window.\n\nFaint and eerie from the muffling mazes of some far-off coulie came\nagain the wolf cry. She turned shudderingly away.\n\n\"It sounds like the wail of a lost soul!\"\n\n\"Calling to another affinitive soul, neither of them knowing or caring,\nin the all-compensative ecstasy of their own making, that they have lost\nanything at all! Do you imagine that fellow is mouthing platonics out\nthere?\"\n\nHe had risen unconsciously and laid his hot hand on her bare arm; she\nshrank from it as though it burned her and deliberately placed the table\nbetween them. She rang the silver call bell.\n\n\"I can imagine nothing more to-night but that it is time to retire,\" she\nsaid, humorously. Before he could reply, Lucindy entered, bearing a\nsalver on which was a glass of milk and a pitcher of water. Constance\ngave him her hand in gentle dismissal.\n\n\"Go to bed, Wolf,\" she said, mischievously, \"and dream of--of platonics,\nas befits your rugged constitution. Personally, I am not equal to more\nthan the inspirations of milk-and-water--as yet!\"\n\nAs he opened the door the wolf howled in the distance. He turned with a\nsmile of sinister significance as an answering call rang out in the\nnight.\n\nThe fair hand holding the diluting pitcher wavered a trifle. A few drops\nof water failed of their destination and spattered on the table.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nMUTUAL ASSISTANCE\n\n\nIt was three days before she saw him again, he having left at daybreak\nfor a distant part of the range where he went to investigate a\ndisturbing report of mysteriously disappearing cattle whose loss puzzled\nthe most astute of his men. The news had come in over night, and\nreasoning that she would be a late riser after her fatiguing trip, he\nmerely wrote her a short note saying that he was suddenly called away on\nurgent business and could not say just when he would return. He was,\nhowever, very explicit as to the horses that he deemed safe for her use,\nparticularly recommending a bay filly which he had broken especially for\nher personal service. He did not deem it necessary to say that the filly\nwas his own personal property, originally designed as a gift for Grace.\n\nAn inexplicable disappointment wrinkled her smooth brows as she read the\ncarelessly polite words; this was such a note as her husband might have\nwritten and she tossed it aside impatiently. Somehow or other it seemed\nlike a rebuff, this cold formality after their intimate conversation of\nthe preceding night, and she resented it strongly. Had she, after all,\nmade so little impression on this springald despite her tacit\nencouragement of him! Could it be possible that he was only maliciously\namusing himself at her expense, playing even a more skillful game than\nshe was capable of doing against such an unusual antagonist? This man\nwas vastly different from those of her previous experience and she was\nfar from her habitual calm as she musingly weighed the possibilities.\n\nAt her request the filly was saddled and she rode over the ranch,\ncritically inspecting her new possessions. It was an unusually\nwell-situated property, and under Douglass's strenuous management it had\nassumed an entirely new aspect. Everything was in perfect order and her\neye dwelt in pleased approval on the countless evidences of his\nhandiwork. With professional care and exactness he had reduced\neverything to a science, and although not as extensive as the C Bar\nholdings it was plain to the most casual observer that Constance\nBrevoort's ranch was a close second in pecuniary value and even excelled\nit in point of desirability as a place of habitation. Its income, in\nproportion to the respective investments, was at least twice as great as\nthat of the Carter property, and promised to become even greater under a\nproposed change of policy now in Douglass's contemplation.\n\n\"It is a labor of love,\" she said appreciatively. \"He could not have\nworked more faithfully or assiduously had the property been his own.\nWhat heights an ambitious soul could attain to if working in loving\nconjunction with so strong an executive nature as his.\" For a while she\nsat musing introspectively, a rapt smile on her beautiful face; then of\na sudden she was filled with an unreasonable anger at Grace Carter. \"To\nthink of his being wasted upon a colorless entity like that chit!\"\n\nOn her return to the house she sought the seclusion of the little den\nand wrathfully consumed a half dozen cigarettes. When dinner was\nannounced she ate perfunctorily and at its conclusion sought the den\nagain. It was far into the night when she finally arose and sought her\nbedchamber. As she turned down the silken coverlet her ear caught\nfaintly that for which she had been waiting since the moon rose. She\nhesitated a moment and then went swiftly to the open window. The cry had\ncome from the east, in the direction of the mountains where Douglass was\nat work. With a warm color rioting across her face she opened her mouth\nand made a queer little gurgling noise in her throat.\n\nOn the night of his return, tired, dusty and with a sullen anger burning\nin his heart, he somewhat curtly declined her invitation to dine,\npleading fatigue and the necessity of a conference with his men. His\ntour of investigation had resulted in the discovery that very extensive\ndepredations were being made upon the VN herds by what was evidently a\nwell-organized and shrewdly commanded band of rustlers far more\naudaciously aggressive than any of his previous experience. At an\naudience which he requested the next morning, he urged the advantage of\nthe immediate adoption of the change in policy previously referred to.\n\nThis policy was to dispose of the rather mediocre lot of cattle at\npresent in the VN brand for cash, and with the proceeds purchase a\nsmaller bunch of high-grade stock, which could be close-herded and\nranch-fed at a largely decreased expense and with an increased revenue,\nthe VN conditions being peculiarly adapted to such a policy. She\nunhesitatingly authorized him to use his own discretion absolutely in\nanything connected with her interests and he immediately ordered a\nround-up with that end in view. He had already arranged for the sale of\nthe cattle, he somewhat abashedly confessed to her secret amusement, and\nat a price rather above current quotations. The change could be made\nwithout either delay or loss and he was openly sanguine of the outcome\nof his new plans. During his absence he had partly succeeded in rounding\nup the cattle to be sold, and in ten days more he had delivered into her\nhand the buyer's check covering the transaction. To her great surprise\nit was for an amount some five thousand dollars in excess of the\noriginal purchase price of the whole ranch; evidently her manager had\ndriven a very good bargain.\n\nHe did not think it necessary to tell her that he had caught the cowboys\nof a big syndicate in the act of running a bunch of VN steers out of the\ncountry under the pretense of a general round-up, or that he had gone\ndirectly to the headquarters of the outfit with a rather peremptory\nrequest that they buy the rest of the cattle together with the brand, a\nsuggestion that the guilty parties found it advisable to accept in view\nof the direct evidence with which he confronted them of not only this,\nbut several other shady transactions of a similar nature. Nor was she\naware, until several days later, that in the course of a slight argument\nwhich he had indulged in with one of the syndicate's men, whom he had\ncaught red-handed in the act of branding a VN calf whose mother lay in a\nnearby gully with a bullet hole in her head, he had resorted to a little\n\"six-gun suasion\" with the result that the other fellow was in the\nhospital at Leadville, while Douglass nursed an ugly flesh wound in his\nshoulder. The syndicate, composed largely of eastern men who for obvious\nreasons could not afford to have their acts unduly ventilated, were very\nglad to close with his rather excessive demands, backed as they were by\nthe smoothest-working gun and handiest shot on the range.\n\nShe made the discovery In a rather unexpected way. They were out riding\ntogether one pleasant afternoon, and seduced by the magnificent going\nand delightful weather had prolonged their pasear into the twilight\nhours. On the return canter, Douglass's horse, affrightened by a\nviciously whirring rattlesnake on which it narrowly escaped treading,\nbegan to \"pitch\" violently and for a few minutes Constance was treated\nto an exhibition of superb horsemanship which made her blood tingle. It\nwas an unusually severe and long-sustained struggle between horse and\nrider, but the man conquered as a matter of course and the rest of the\njourney was without incident.\n\nShe had acquired the knack of dismounting by placing one hand on his\nleft shoulder; in doing so, this evening, her bare hand encountered\nsomething wet and sticky. At that moment the door opened and a flood of\nlight from the living-room illuminated them sharply. Looking curiously\nat her wet hand Constance caught her breath with a gasp.\n\n\"It is blood!\" she cried in horror. \"You are hurt!\"\n\nDespite his muttered assurance that it was nothing to be alarmed about\nshe drew him into the living-room, where she became almost hysterical at\nthe black-red blotch on his thin tan-colored silk shirt. Almost before\nhe suspected what she was about she had unknotted the kerchief from\naround his throat and hastily bared his shoulder. In the violent\nplunging of the horse the clumsily-fixed bandage had become displaced,\nthe wound had reopened and was bleeding freely.\n\nAlthough entirely unaccustomed to the sight of any kind of wounds, she\nknew intuitively from the tiny blue-rimmed red puncture on the massive\nshoulder that this was a gun-shot injury. She ran over to her work\nbasket and secured a pair of scissors with which she unhesitatingly cut\naway the shirt from the collar downwards, exposing the ragged gash of\nexit on the other side. To 'Rastus, watching her with open mouth and\nprotruding eyes, she said sharply:\n\n\"Water, and some clean linen cloths, quick!\"\n\nShe was a different woman now, and her subsequent ministrations were as\ndeft and as effectual as those of a trained nurse. Very tenderly she\nbathed the shoulder, wondering all the while at its contrastive\nwhiteness with the bronzed face and throat, marveling at the silky\nrippling of the muscles beneath as he obediently flexed his arm at her\ncommand. In less than ten minutes she had completed her surgery and in\nfive more he was again rehabilitated in garments fetched by 'Rastus\nfrom his room in the bunkhouse. She would not hear of his attending to\nthe horses, but had one of the men summoned, to whom their care was\ndelegated. If she detected Douglass's dejected wink at the smiling young\nfellow, she made no sign, saying merely that she would be pleased to\nhave him dine with her as she wished to discuss some business matters of\nimportance with him.\n\nNot until they had adjourned to the den did she evince the slightest\ncuriosity as to the time and cause of his mishap. Then when he had his\ncigar nicely under way she demanded imperatively:\n\n\"And now be good enough to tell me, please, who shot you--why, where and\nwhen! I want the whole truth with no evasions.\"\n\nThus cornered, he told her the story in its most important details,\nending with a regret that he had caused her so much apprehension and\nunnecessary trouble. Her eyes were bright with wonder and admiration\nwhen he finished but she nodded approval.\n\n\"Served the wretch right!\" she snapped. \"I almost wished you had killed\nhim.\"\n\n\"Well, ma'am,\" he said apologetically, \"I tried all I knew how, but my\nhorse bucked outrageously at his shot--he got his work in first, you\nknow--and he seemed quiet enough when I shot. If you say so, I'll go and\nfinish him.\" She smiled at the grim pleasantry, knowing it to be such.\n\n\"And in all probability get your other arm shot off! No, thanks, I\nprefer you as you are.\"\n\nHe brightened at this amazingly, but a mischievous twinkle stole into\nhis eye. \"I am glad to hear that. Now that I am acquainted with your\npreferences, I'll see that I keep in this winged condition. And yet, do\nyou know that your predilection for one-armed men is a surprise to me.\"\nHe looked quizzically at her sudden confusion. \"Most ladies are partial\nto men with two good arms; but just so that you keep on preferring me I\nam content, no matter how anomalous the conditions.\"\n\nShe lit another papelito and smiled mockingly at him. \"That was very\nclumsy. I must get you well as soon as possible, poor wolf. You run\nrather indifferently on one leg. What can such a benighted Ishmael as\nyou possibly know of the partialities of ladies?\"\n\n\"Not much,\" he confessed humbly, \"and yet a few have been undeservedly\ngenerous to me. I am eager to learn, however, if the opportunity be\ngraciously accorded me.\" She evaded his bold glance a little nervously.\nFor a one-legged wolf he was coming disconcertingly fast. The water was\ngetting rather deep for drifting, and in the face of this baffling\nhead-wind she promptly tried another tack.\n\n\"Tell me,\" she asked curiously, \"of the most wonderful thing in your\ncertainly unique experience.\"\n\n\"You,\" he said promptly, and the crimson suffused her face. \"I think you\nare the most wonderful thing that could ever happen to any man. There\nare times when I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses. Imagine\nme, a common menial, sitting here in the lap of luxury, holding familiar\nconverse with a queen like you and not feeling in the least embarrassed,\ndrinking in your ineffable loveliness unchecked, unrebuked, unafraid,\nas the desert sands thirstily absorb the heavenly ram, drunk with the\nrich wine of your sympathy and maddened with the subtle delirium of your\npersonal charms.\"\n\nHis voice, low and tense in the beginning, was now vibrant; he had risen\nand was leaning across the low table, his muscles quivering, yet the\nwoman felt not the slightest fear of him. On the contrary, she was\nthrilling to the core with a mad joy that she wanted to shout from the\nhousetops. Her face was very pale, but her eyes were jet black and\nsparkling with a flame that burned down to the steel of the man,\ninciting him to recklessness, and he threw reason to the winds.\n\n\"Constance!\" His whisper was hoarse with suppressed emotion. He walked\nswiftly to her side and held out his arms appealingly. She was quivering\nall over, her bosom heaving tumultuously. He bent over her slowly until\nhis hot breath scorched her cheek. \"Constance!\"\n\nPanting like a wounded animal she sprang to her feet; at the touch of\nhis encircling arms she gave a tremulous little sigh and her head sank\non his shoulder. Very tenderly, but firmly, he put one hand beneath her\nsoft chin and forced her face upward toward his. Almost had his lips\ntouched hers, when, with a gasping cry, she put both her hands against\nhis chest and violently pushed him away.\n\n\"No! My God, no!\" The words were a broken sob. \"We are both mad! It\ncannot be! Think of my husband, of Grace!\"\n\n\"It's a little late to think of them now. And what do they, or the rest\nof the whole world, signify to us?\" Smiling confidently he again\napproached her with outstretched arms, but she swiftly evaded him, and\nsnatched up a pearl-handled stiletto which she had been utilizing as a\npaper cutter. At his grim smile of contempt she flung it down on the\ntable and laid her hand on the call bell. He gave a shrug and dropped\nhis arms.\n\n\"That is unnecessary,\" he said quietly. \"Your pitiful fear is an\nefficient safeguard against any further importunity. Courage is an\nindispensable quantity in the composition of a wolf. I have been\nludicrously mistaken. May I hope that you will forgive and forget?\"\n\n\"There is nothing to forgive, but neither of us must forget, again. Not\never again!\" She was struggling for composure, her hard-clenched hand\npressed against her heart. \"I never dreamed--\"\n\nHe laughed harshly. \"You never dreamed that in the veins of men there\ncould be red, as well as white corpuscles? Were there nothing but\nemasculates among your circle of acquaintance in the vaunted 'Four\nHundred'?\"\n\nWincing at his coarseness as though it had been a blow, she went over\nand leaned against the casement of the window, looking silently out at\nthe stars. After a time he took up his sombrero and moved toward the\ndoor, pausing at the threshold to courteously bid her good night. At the\nsound of his voice she turned quickly.\n\n\"Wait!\" She motioned to an easy chair. \"Sit down, please. There is\nsomething which in justice to us both, must be said before you go.\" He\ntook the seat indicated and she turned again to the window. For quite a\ntime she stared mutely into the night, the man waiting in patient\nsilence. When she finally spoke it was in a tone so low that he had to\nbend forward to catch the words.\n\n\"You were right when you said that I was afraid; but it is not\nconvention that has made me a coward. It is of myself that I am afraid,\nthe new, strange self that has evolved since I came here, a year ago,\nfilled with the pitiful conceit that I knew life--and men--thoroughly.\n\n\"Remember that I lived In a different world, in an artificial and\nenervating atmosphere where nothing is real but Rank, nothing sweet but\nStation, nothing precious but Money. As a girl I was sold to the highest\nbidder; he gave me all that wealth and genealogy could give, and up to\nsix months ago I kept faith. Not one of the countless men with whom I\namused myself ever aroused in me even one moment's serious thought; for\ntwelve weary years I played at the inane game of platonics, with no\nfurther effect than to come finally to regard the vaunted 'love' of the\npoets as a libel on human intelligence. It had been proffered me in all\ntongues, in all climes, at all times, by all sorts and conditions of\nmen; at first to my listless amusement and at last to my contemptuous\ndisgust. It was part of my strained and unnatural environment; I wore\nthese 'loves' on my sleeve as I wore hothouse orchids on my corsage,\nfinding their emanations as nauseous and unwholesome.\n\n\"I was fed on sweets of flattery and wine of adulation, when all the\ntime I was thirsting for pure affection, hungry for the strong meat of a\nreal love. Yesterday I heard one of your men singing a plaintive ditty\nwhose refrain absolutely portrays my miserable existence:\n\n    \"'A bird in a gilded cage'!\"\n\nShe threw out her hand passionately, her eyes filling with tears. It was\nwith great effort that she recovered her self-control sufficiently to\ncontinue.\n\n\"I never realized what possibilities Life held until six months ago.\nThen for the first time I learned the difference in men--and the\nbitterness that comes with knowledge acquired too late. The confession\nmay be unwomanly, but I glory in it. No, keep your seat.\" He had eagerly\narisen and was holding out his arms. \"I have been disloyal to my husband\nin the learning and this is part of my atonement.\"\n\nShe went over and stood beside him, breathing softly. In the subdued\nlight her pallor only accentuated her ravishing beauty. Douglass thought\nhe had never beheld so heavenly a thing. Very gently he leaned forward\nand touched her hand but she as gently shook her head in negation.\n\n\"I was foolishly, criminally weak to come back here. But I had to see\nyou again. Oh! I am mad! mad! mad! I know only too well the nature of\nthe passion I have inspired in you, and the humiliation of it is the\nbitterest part of my deserved punishment. Yet even your avid, brutal\nlust is a thousand times dearer to me than the refined insipidity of any\nother man's purest love. Stop! I say, or--!\" She placed her hand\nresolutely on the bell, her determination indubitable.\n\n\"It is the hour of my shame and you must know all. I had rather be your\nrunning mate--Oh! you grand, lovable, vicious, merciless beast--than be\nqueen regnant in heaven. But that can never be. I am the wife of Anselm\nBrevoort and you are the betrothed husband of another woman. But she\nwill breed you no wolves, my lost Ishmael; your getlings will be\nbleating lambs. Ah, God! the shame of it!\"\n\nShe struck the bell savagely as he sprang to his feet with a choking\ncry.\n\n\"And, now that you know, I confidently invoke your honor, your clean\nmanliness, for my protection. You will help me against myself, will you\nnot, dear?\"\n\n\"And who will help me?\" he muttered hoarsely. The perspiration was\nstanding in white beads on his forehead. Swift as a flash she crossed\nover to him and laid her hand trustfully on his arm.\n\n\"We will help each other, beloved. Good night.\"\n\nBut hours after he had succumbed to the seductions of his coarse\nblankets she lay on her dainty bed with clenched hands and sleepless\neyes, trying to pierce the gloomy veil of futurity and tearfully\nstriving to reconcile a great misery with a greater joy.\n\n\"I love him! I love him!\" she moaned passionately, \"and if it were not\nfor that milk-and-water baby he would love me with all the savage\nstrength and intensity of his fierce nature. Oh! my Wolf, my strong,\nwild Wolf! What can that vapid ninny offer you in comparison to what I\nwould give?\"\n\nShe sat up erect, her eyes blazing in the darkness like those of a\nhunted wild beast.\n\n\"She shall not--I swear it! Home, station, wealth, honor, body and\nsoul--I will sacrifice all! He is mine! mine! mine!\" After awhile, in\nsheer exhaustion of passion, she fell into a troubled sleep.\n\nThe next day he obtained leave of absence for a fortnight's inspection\nof his mines. En route he mailed several letters entrusted by Mrs.\nBrevoort, one of which was addressed to a woman in New York. She was one\nof those inveterate gossips of high station who act as purveyors of\n\"exclusive information\" to the society editors of the great fashionable\njournals.\n\nSome days later he stopped at Tin Cup for the ranch mail; it included a\nrather short and unsatisfactory note from Grace, written hurriedly in\ntransit, announcing her party's embarkation on Lord Ellerslie's yacht\nfor a cruise on the Mediterranean. The girl was really homesick in\ntruth, but relying too implicitly on Love's divination had omitted to\nmake that fact clear, ending her missive with the ambiguous sentence: \"I\nwish we had never left home. I am so unhappy.\" It was the first\ncommunication he had received from her for over six weeks. He did not\nknow that her customary budget, a sort of daily diary mailed once a\nmonth, had gone down with the fated _Peruvia_ in mid-ocean, and he was\nuneasy and resentful.\n\nMrs. Brevoort was out riding when he reached the ranch, so he merely\ninstructed 'Rastus to inform her of his return, and dined at the common\nmess house. In the interim of waiting he glanced casually over the\ncontents of the New York papers which he had received in the mail.\n\nUnto Constance Brevoort, awaiting him with a great trepidation in the\nlittle den, came a white-lipped, stern-faced man with a paper crushed In\nhis hand.\n\n\"Read that!\" he said curtly, pointing to a paragraph at the head of the\n\"Society Column.\" She caught her breath sharply but with no other\nvisible evidence of emotion held the paper up to the light. He watched\nher grimly, a mirthless smile on his lips. With a well-simulated gasp of\nhorror she let the sheet fall on the floor and turned to him\nbreathlessly.\n\n\"It cannot be true! It is a lie! Oh! my poor friend!\" Her voice was a\ncurious commingling of fear and exultation. The gossip had done her work\nwith artistic efficiency.\n\nHe picked up the paper and calmly read the paragraph aloud. It was short\nbut succinct:\n\n     \"We have it on indisputable authority that the engagement of one of\n     Gotham's most lovely daughters, the beautiful Miss Grace Carter, to\n     lord Yare Ellerslie, of ellesmere, Surrey, one of Britain's most\n     eligible scions, will be formally announced on the return of his\n     lordship's yacht from the Mediterranean, where he is at present\n     cruising in company with his fiancée, her mother, and a party of\n     mutual friends. It is said to be one of those delightful\n     love-at-first-sight affairs, and society is all agog over the\n     romantic outcome of what was merely intended to be a short pleasure\n     trip. Lord Ellerslie is said to be immensely wealthy in his own\n     right and will, besides, succeed to the title and vast estates of\n     his father, the present earl. Miss Carter is a joint heiress of the\n     millions of the famous 'cattle king,' Robert Carter. We understand\n     that the honeymoon will include a cruise around the world in his\n     lordship's magnificent yacht, which has been rechristened the\n     'Gracie' in honor of his prospective bride.\"\n\nHe laid the paper down on the table and stood looking silently at It. It\nseemed to the woman watching him nervously that he aged a dozen years\nsince she last saw him. She almost relented at the sight of his\nfiercely-controlled misery, but she shut her teeth with determination.\nOne cannot make an omelet without the breaking of eggs. The game was a\ndesperate one, but she had everything at stake. She would play it out\nand win.\n\nShe was about to speak when he looked up with a harsh laugh.\n\n\"Your nobleman wasn't so very 'innocuous' after all, it seems. Her\nmother certainly lost no time. What is the accepted form of a letter of\ncongratulation on such occasions?\"\n\n\"Oh! it cannot be true!\" she faltered, evading his eyes unaccountably.\n\"There has been some terrible mistake!\"\n\n\"And I have made It.\" He handed her Grace's little note. \"This is the\namount of her correspondence in the last two months. It seems to clinch\nthe certainty of the glad tidings. And to think that I was fool enough\nto imagine that there was one pure, true heart among your fair, false\nsex.\" He turned upon her scornfully. \"I wonder how much of what you said\nthe other night was a lie. It is a rare accomplishment, this clever\nability to turn an impending tragedy into a harmless comedy. Tell me,\nhow long did you laugh after I had gone?\"\n\nShe paled, for his mood was a dangerous one and a single false move\nmight imperil everything. But she was a past-master of the gentle craft\nof love-making and all her finesse had been to this very end. She had\ncalculated on the ease with which a heart may be caught in the rebound,\nand her opportunity was at hand. And she knew now, with a certainty that\nterrified and yet emboldened her, that she loved this man better than\nlife and that existence without him would be one eternal curse. She was\na brave woman and her hesitation was only momentary.\n\n\"Suffering has made you unjust, my friend,\" she said quietly. \"I take\nbitter shame to myself for having bared my heart so nakedly to you that\ndreadful night, since it has been so pitiably unavailing. I did not\nlaugh that night--I cried. I only wish I could lie to you, dear. It\nmight be the means of conserving my honor and self-respect in those\nhours of danger--the every hour I spend in your company. Must I abase\nmyself more? Must I tell you that I have prayed that this pain should\ncome to you so that I might comfort you with a love so tender, so\nall-giving that you would blush in self-commiseration of your callow\ninfatuation for that foolish fledgling who deserted the eyrie of an\neagle for the flat commons of an English goose pasture? And now that the\nmeasure of my shame is complete, go--and leave me to the agony of it.\nOh! my Wolf! my Wolf! I could have given so much, and so willingly! But\nnow I hate you! I hate you! Go, I say! Go!\" She pointed imperiously to\nthe door with streaming eyes. \"Will you go or must I summon the\nservants?\"\n\nBut with eyes flaming and extended arms he advanced Instead. With a\nlittle cry of alarm she evaded him and took refuge on the divan, where\nshe cowered with covered eyes. With a strange forced smile he sank on\nhis knee beside her. Very gently he removed her hands from her face and\ncompelled her to look at him. She was quivering all over and her eyes\nwere gleaming like stars.\n\n\"What is the need of other servants when you have a loving slave here at\nyour feet? Connie! Connie!\"\n\nAfar in the distance rang a familiar cry; at the eerie sound their\npulses leaped in unison. The man put his whole soul into one fierce\nappeal:\n\n\"Connie! my Queen!\"\n\nFrom without stole the answering call of the she-wolf.\n\nWith a soft little cry that was half a laugh, half a sob, she drew his\nface down upon her bosom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nA PASSAGE AT ARMS\n\n\nAt Brindisi, a month later, Grace found Douglass's letter awaiting her.\nShe kissed it furtively and thrust it in her bosom, reserving its\nreading for the privacy of her room. Not until she had crept into bed\ndid she open the prosaic government-stamped envelope which he\nmethodically used. She always read his letters so, punctuating each\ntender sentence with a kiss and going to sleep with It tucked In her\nnightdress next her heart.\n\nThis was an unusually bulky enclosure and she hugged it in anticipation;\nhow sweet it was of him to devote so much of his time to her in his\nbusiest season. Passionately she pressed her lips to it again and with a\nsigh of delight drew out--a single sheet of note paper enclosing a\nclosely-folded page of printed matter.\n\nAs though doubting her senses, she sat erect in bed and unfolded the\nnewspaper; there was nothing enclosed therein and with perplexity writ\nlarge all over her face she turned curiously to the written sheet.\n\nSlowly, as one in a daze, she read and reread it a dozen times; it was\nvery short and in nowise ambiguously phrased, yet she did not seem able\nto grasp its meaning:\n\n     \"My congratulations on the speed and facility with which your very\n     astute and clever mother has extricated you from what must\n     certainly have been a very embarrassing entanglement. May you be as\n     happy in your new exalted station as you once made me imagine I was\n     going to be!\n\n     \"Owing you, as I do, not only my life but my fortune as well, for\n     my mines are now in bonanza, I confess to even a greater\n     indebtedness: you gave me a six-month of the only happiness I have\n     ever known. But you would have rendered me an incalculably greater\n     service had you left those dynamite cartridges undisturbed that\n     day.\n\n     \"If in the mutations of time and chance you should ever have need\n     of me, the life and fortune which you gave are at your command.\n     Good-by.\"\n\nIn an agony of bewilderment she took up the newspaper, intuitively\nseeking the Society Columns.\n\nMrs. Robert Carter, leisurely preparing for her night's rest in the\nadjoining apartment, looked up with a pleasant smile as the\ncommunicating door opened, a word of loving greeting on her lips. But\nthere was little of answering affection in the glittering eyes and white\nface of the girl who, with clenched hands and dilating nostrils,\nadvanced upon her. Something in the unnatural demeanor of Grace alarmed\nher and she nervously dropped her hair brush and rose to her feet.\n\n\"Gracie! What is It?\"\n\nVery deliberately the girl thrust the printed sheet Into her mother's\nhand and in a calm voice demanded:\n\n\"Tell me, what part did you have in this?\"\n\nIn astonishment the elder woman ran her eye hurriedly over the item the\nrigid finger was pointing out; her face hardened with anger and\nannoyance.\n\n\"None whatever, my child,\" she said with an evident truthfulness that\ncarried with it instant conviction. \"I am as much surprised and pained\nas you are. Instead of sanctioning such an alliance it would have\nreceived my firmest opposition. Lord Ellerslie scarcely approximates to\nmy ideals of a son-in-law. This is the work of some contemptible\npenny-a-liner with a superfluity of space to fill; it is not worth\nrefuting, dear; women of our station are always exposed to these petty\nannoyances and this may have been written with the very object of\ninciting our space-filling denial. Don't be unduly exercised over such a\ntrifle.\" And then a bit reproachfully, \"You really could not think me\naccessory to such a contemptible thing as that, daughtie?\"\n\nAt the endearing diminutive the hardness left the girl's face and her\nlips trembled pitifully. Unable to speak she mutely held out Douglass's\nletter and the mother, comprehending, took her shelteringly to her bosom\nwhile she read it. At its conclusion she patted the silken hair\ncaressingly.\n\n\"Don't worry, dearie,\" she said reassuringly. \"A cablegram will set this\nmatter right. It is unfortunate that he should have seen this particular\npaper.\" She paused abruptly, a sudden suspicion intruding itself. But\nshe did not voice it, and bent to the consolation of the now weeping\ngirl.\n\n\"Oh! Mummy,\" she sobbed, \"I love him so! I love him so! Let us go home\nbefore my heart breaks!\"\n\nMrs. Carter took up the letter again. \"My mines are now in bonanza,\" she\nread.\n\n\"We will take the next steamer,\" she said quietly. \"And upon second\nthought I think we had better not cable. Better make your denial in\nperson; it will be more effective.\"\n\nWhile Grace Carter was speeding homeward with a heavy heart, out at the\nVN ranch Constance Brevoort was In a delirium of feverish happiness, and\nDouglass, thrilled by her passionate abandon, had not yet tired. Upon\nhim she showered all the affection so long repressed; and her fervor and\nintensity, which awed him not a little, was very flattering to his\nvanity. Too subtly wise to risk wearying him with too great exactions on\nhis time, she was rather shy and disposed to hold him aloof, thus\nskillfully shifting the onus of importunity on to his shoulders and so\nkeeping alive and burning the flame at which she had lighted all her\nhopes. But in the occasional moments of their intimate communion she\nflooded him with sweetness even as the \"Serpent of the old Nile\" washed\nreason from the mind of Antony and laved his soul with living fire. Of\nwhat the world might think or say, of her husband's fury and probable\nrevenge, of her friends Inevitable ostracism she thought with\nindifference if at all; in this new-found happiness everything else was\nlost. She lived entirely in the present, obstinately refusing to reckon\nwith the future. Once, when he hesitatingly broached the subject of\ntheir future relations, she stopped his mouth with kisses and breathed\nInto his ear the sophistry of the old Tent-maker of Naishapur:\n\n    \"Ah, fill the Cup; what boots it\n       to repeat\n    How Time is slipping underneath\n       our Feet?\n    Unborn TO-MORROW and dead\n       YESTERDAY,\n    Why fret about them if TO-DAY\n       be sweet?\"\n\nShe was very frankly in love with him, and he not at all with her. So\nfar as she was concerned he was simply a wolf, with a wolf's wild\ndesire. Of course, the situation had Its attractions, and the risks\nincurred lent an added charm to this danger-loving young animal. He was\ninfatuated with her physically, but that was all. Of this she was fully\nconscious, but with a hope born of desperation she determined to hold\nhim while she could; who knows what a day may bring forth? Anselm\nBrevoort was getting old; she would be a very wealthy widow; and this\nman, despite his very humble station, had been reared in luxury and had\na keen appreciation of the higher amenities. She was more than content\nto drift, leaving the ultimate harbor in the lap of the gods.\n\nThe story of a rich strike spreads very rapidly in a mining region;\nwithin three months after the explosion of that wild-flung dynamite all\nthe Rocky Mountain country was agog with marvelous tales of Douglass's\nluck and a great rush of prospectors was made to the new Eldorado. At\nthe time of the discovery of the quartz ledge, at Douglass's suggestion,\nBrevoort, Carter and McVey had conjointly located three extension claims\non the vein, and the two women, Grace and Constance, had also located\ntwo claims in their joint names. The assessment work legally required to\nhold these claims had all been done and the necessary excavations had\nshown all the five extensions to contain values. The additional work\nrequired to make the holdings patentable was rushed to completion, and\nbefore the inrush of the prospective Midases had fairly begun, the\ntitles had been made incontestibly secure.\n\nIn the parlance of the camps Douglass's original discoveries \"paid from\ngrass-roots down\" and his exploitation work was all in high grade ore.\nWith the proceeds derived from its sale he installed a diamond drilling\nplant with which he thoroughly prospected the formation within his\nboundary lines with the result of indisputably establishing the\ncontinuity of the rich deposits. So extensive and valuable did these\nprove that he was fairly inundated with offers of purchase from the\nshrewd representatives of various syndicates, the figures rising with\neach successive bid as the vein was definitely proved. But the offers as\nyet were scarcely half the amount which Douglass had sturdily demanded\nfor his holdings, although at his advice the two women and Red McVey\nsold out their interests to a syndicate headed and promoted by Anselm\nBrevoort. His good judgment was fully vindicated later, when, after\nextensive exploitation the consolidated five extension claims barely\nyielded ore enough to pay the purchase price, the real ore chimney being\nconfined inside Douglass's property. And as the three lucky venders\nreceived in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand dollars each, with\nonly a nominal outlay for assessment work and patenting, the\ntransaction was very satisfactory to them.\n\nBefore sailing for Europe, Grace had at her brother's suggestion given\nDouglass power of attorney for the handling of her interests, and he had\nduly deposited her share of the proceeds to her credit in Denver's best\nbank, notifying her brother of the disposition of the fund and\nsuggesting that it be retained there until her return, when it could be\npresented as an agreeable surprise. Constance's share simply swelled an\nalready very respectable private banking account, and Red McVey had very\nwisely taken Douglass's earnest advice and Invested his entire fortune\nin Denver Tramway stock, eventually buying with the resultant dividends\na splendid ranch. But that is another story.\n\nBrevoort's syndicate was composed altogether of European investors, and\nthat astute financier, fully aware of the great value of Douglass's\nholdings, was in conference with his colleagues in London, urging their\nacceptance of the cool million demanded by the hard-headed owner. The\nday Grace Carter and her mother landed in New York on their homeward\npassage he had finally achieved his point and immediately cabled\nDouglass and his Denver banking correspondent to that effect,\nauthorizing the latter to make an initial payment of one-tenth of the\nrequired amount to bind the transaction pending his immediate return to\ncomplete the deal. At his earnest request Douglass left immediately on\nreceipt of his advice for Denver.\n\nConsidering the unattractive conditions at the ranch in event of his\nabsence for an indefinite time, it is scarcely to be wondered at that\nConstance Brevoort elected to accompany him.\n\nThree days after their arrival at the metropolis, Grace Carter\naccompanied by her brother reached Denver on their way to the ranch,\nhaving no intimation of the others' presence in the city. In order to\ndistract his sister's mind from her nervous brooding, Robert insisted\nupon her attendance at the opera, the night of their arrival, and at her\nlistless acquiescence had procured box seats. It chanced to be Carmen,\nwith Calve in the title role. The assemblage was a brilliant one and\nCalve was at her best. Always an emotional creature, Grace yielded to\nthe fascination of the story and had temporarily forgotten her own\ntroubles when she chanced to glance at the lower box immediately\nopposite, into which had just entered a man and woman. The woman was\nConstance Brevoort and her escort was Ken Douglass!\n\nEven though clad in the conventional full dress in which she had never\nbefore beheld him, there was no mistaking that lean, muscular form and\nbronzed face. Eagerly she leaned forward, her lips parted and her face\nflushed with excitement. How wonderful to find him here so unexpectedly;\nit would shorten her agony at least five blessed days! But--but--why was\nConstance with him? Unconsciously a chilling wave swept over her and she\ndrew back into the shelter of the box with a vague uneasiness tugging at\nher heart. Carter, frankly interested in the voluptuous Carmen, had no\neyes except for the stage, and did not notice his sister's\nperturbation. It is worthy of note that she did not call his attention\nto the occupants of the other box.\n\nFor as she stealthily watched her betrothed husband's removal of\nConstance's cloak there was something in the manner of both that drove\nthe color from her face. And when, in an intermission, as he leaned over\nher, she saw Constance Brevoort's lips laid surreptitiously on his\nthroat, she gave a heart-broken gasp and nervously implored her brother\nto take her back to the hotel.\n\nAll unconscious of the cause, and with never a look at the opposite box,\nhe instantly complied, reproaching himself with having subjected her to\nthis unadvisable strain on her nerves. On their arrival at their hotel\nshe pleaded a slight indisposition from weariness of travel and at once\nretired.\n\nWith clenched hands and white face she lay staring into the darkness. It\nwas all plain to her now! For with an intuition that went straight to\nthe mark, she knew who was the instigator of the report of her\nengagement to Lord Ellerslie; and she knew why! Curiously enough, she\nattached no blame to him, but she felt a deep and increasing hatred for\nthe woman who had robbed her. There could be only one interpretation of\ntheir relations and her whole nature resented it passionately. But her\nlove for him was very great and she was eager to give him the benefit of\nthe doubt, even while her whole sentience shrieked his guilt.\n\nThe next morning she called a bellboy and handed him a bank note upon\nwhich lay a slip of paper.\n\n\"Find out for me, please,\" she said, with a forced smile, \"the hotel\nwhere these two friends of mine are registered, without letting them\nknow. I want to call upon them unexpectedly and surprise them.\" The lad\nbowed his appreciation of her generosity and in less than a half hour\nreturned with the desired information. It was \"dead easy to locate\nswells of that kind,\" as he shrewdly remarked to an envious colleague\nwho had begrudged him that magnificent tip.\n\nShe was all honied complaisance when she called upon Constance that\nmorning immediately after breakfast, much to that lady's consternation\nand surprise. For a moment Mrs. Brevoort was speechless and\npanic-stricken, but she was an old campaigner and soon recovered her\ncomposure. She professed her delight at the unexpected pleasure and then\nboldly played a false card.\n\n\"Your coming was so unexpected, dear, that it has deprived me of my good\nmanners. I sincerely congratulate you on your engagement to Lord\nEllerslie. It was a great surprise to me; I was, er--under the\nimpression--\"\n\nGrace looked at her steadily, a cynical contempt faintly curling the red\nlips. \"Really! How strange! I should have imagined that my own surprise\nwould have been the greater, considering that, as you know, there was\nnot a word of truth in that announcement so maliciously dictated by some\ncontemptible wretch to subserve her own vicious purpose. By this time\nour lawyers will have determined the responsibility for that pitiful\nlie, although I have already a full conviction as to its authorship!\nIt's really dreadful, Connie! But, as mamma says, women of our station\nare proverbially exposed to such annoyances. And people have absolutely\nno regard for the probable consequences of their malicious gossip. Think\nof what it would mean to you, dear, for Instance, if someone were to\nmercilessly convey to Mr. Brevoort an insinuation that you had been\nguilty of--of a great indiscretion! Think of the publicity, the scandal,\nthe shame of it; the loss of home, rank, station and friends.\"\n\nUnder the lash of the bitterly deliberate words Constance Brevoort\nwinced and cringed. This thing of white flame and quiet fury was\nscarcely the \"colorless entity\" of her misplaced contempt. How much did\nshe really know, anyway? The doubt was cutting her soul into ribbons.\n\nSummoning all her really great courage to her aid, she affected to treat\nthe matter humorously and gave an exaggerated little shiver of\ndeprecation. But all the time her heart was quaking with a fear of the\noutraged girl before her. Yet she had all the proverbial courage--or Is\nit the desperation--of the cornered wolf she knew herself to be, and\nmetaphorically bared her teeth.\n\n\"How dramatically grewsome your suggestion, _cherie_! It really gives me\nthe shivers! But supposing the absurdly impossible; what then? Don't you\nknow that the world and all its hollow shams are well lost for a love\nlike the one you are intimating?\" It was a distinct challenge; one could\nread it diviningly in the set lips and flashing eyes as well. But love\nfights doggedly and unconqueredly long after volatile and ephemeral\npassion has fled a stubborn field, and this was the love of the daughter\nof \"the bravest man God ever made.\"\n\n\"You are jumping at conclusions, dear,\" she said, with a careless\nindulgence which made her hearer's jaws meet with a venomous click. \"I\nhave intimated nothing, not even the possibility of your ever being\ntempted by the arising of such a contingency. And yet, having had many\nlovers--if the tales be true--you should be able to speak\nauthoritatively!\"\n\nIf looks could have slain, the world would have been forever lost to\nGrace Carter at that moment. It took Constance quite a time to control\nherself sufficiently to avoid betraying her rage at this chit's insolent\nassurance. When she did speak her words were sweetly vitriolic:\n\n\"One can imagine the shock Ellerslie's vanity will encounter when he\nlearns of that canard! Such things require so much explanation, too! I\nam really sorry, dear, at your humiliating predicament. And what in the\nname of Venus are you going to say in conciliation to Kenneth Douglass?\"\n\nGrace flinched pitifully at this double _touche_ of her adversary's keen\nweapon, but her eyes glinted like burnished steel. The duel was to be _a\nl'outrance_ now, and she put all her indignation and subtlety behind\nher blow. The older woman had noted with a malicious pleasure a dull\nflushing of the fair face and throat but had wrongly ascribed its cause.\nThe battle ground was her bedchamber, and over on a chair, carelessly\nthrown, lay a man's light topcoat and a pair of gloves many sizes too\nlarge for Constance's dainty hands! With a world of scornful meaning the\ngirl looked at the chair, and the eyes of the woman following the\ndirection of that glance, grew black with confusion.\n\n\"I think he has been sufficiently appealed to in the name of your patron\ngoddess,\" she said, icily, \"and as for Lord Ellerslie, I rejected his\nproposal even before I had learned of his relations with the author of\nthat despicable lie. As for Mr. Douglass--\"\n\nThe words died on her tongue as the door, evidently communicating with\nanother room adjoining, suddenly opened and a well-known voice said\nfamiliarly:\n\n\"Did I leave my coat and gloves in here last night, Connie? There would\nbe the devil to pay if the chambermaid--!\"\n\nStanding there in his shirt sleeves, Ken Douglass was, for the first\ntime in his reckless life, at a disadvantage too great for even his\nconceded adroitness to overcome. In a coma of stupefaction, with horror\nand shame written all over his gray-white face, he stood staring at the\npale, haughty face so relentlessly directed toward him. For a full\nminute she held him on the rack of her scorn; then with a hard composure\nin her voice, which accorded but poorly with the unutterable loathing\nand aversion in her eyes, she said coldly:\n\n\"I am doubly fortunate in this rencounter. It saves much unnecessary\nwaste of time, and fatigue, and verbiage to find you here! In justice to\nus both I have come all the way from Europe to tell you that my reported\nengagement to Lord Ellerslie was a cruel lie!\"\n\nAnd without another word she swept proudly out of the room without\ndeigning one look at the woman cowering on the cushioned divan.\n\n\"Take me home, Bobbie!\" she sobbed piteously to her brother, as she\nclung forsakenly to him in their sitting-room. And further explanation\nshe would vouch him none, despite his bewildered implorations. \"Take me\nhome; I want Mummy!\"\n\nThat night after she had retired he picked up from the floor, where it\nhad fluttered unnoticed, a scrap of paper containing two names and a\nhotel address. He stared at it uncomprehendingly and then a cold sweat\nstood on his wrinkled brow. He went over to his dressing-case and took\nout a shining nickel-plated revolver. Tiptoeing cautiously into his\nsister's room he gently kissed the tear-stained face. Then he went out\nvery softly and called for a cab.\n\nIn the ordinary of the vast hostelry he found Douglass sitting on an\neasy-chair, staring into vacancy. At his curt address the man looked up\nwearily and gravely motioned him toward the elevator. It was noticeable\nthat neither offered to shake hands, despite the closeness of their\nrelations and the further fact that they had not met in better than half\na year.\n\nIn silence Carter strode after him until they reached Douglass's\napartments; then turning to the silent man before him, he sternly asked:\n\n\"What have you done to my sister?\"\n\nDouglass, leaning against the window jamb, looking out into the soft\nsummer night, made no reply. Carter crossed over fiercely and wrenched\nhim around.\n\n\"Answer me! Or by God, I'll tear it out of you with my hands!\"\n\nHis breath was coming thickly but there was no fear in the eyes of old\nBob Carter's boy.\n\nDouglass looked at him with apathetic wonder.\n\n\"I've lost her!\" he answered dully. Carter looked at him with impatient\namazement, mingled with suspicion. Was the man crazy, or was this only a\nweak attempt at evasion? He was going to know and that without any more\nfoolishness. Savagely he caught hold of the other's coat lapel and shook\nhim with an incredible strength.\n\n\"She came across an ocean and two continents to tell you that she was\ntrue to you, damn you! And she has just cried herself to sleep! I want\nthe truth, do you hear!\" His boyish face was convulsed with passion and\nhis whole effeminate body was aquiver.\n\n\"I've lost her!\" repeated Douglass, unemotionally, offering not the\nslightest resistance to the other's vehemence. \"I've lost her!\" as\nthough that were the Alpha and Omega of all things. Then he turned\nfiercely to the younger man.\n\n\"What in hell do you want?\"\n\nThe boy blazed back at him as fiercely, fumbling the weapon in his\npocket.\n\n\"I want the whole truth of this miserable thing--the whole truth! And if\nyou have made my sister suffer through anything unworthy, I want your\nheart's blood as well! Damn you, are you going to speak?\" He clutched\nfrantically at Douglass's throat. Very calmly the bronzed giant circled\nhis wrists with a grip of steel and held him off at arms' length.\n\n\"Sit down, Carter,\" he said in a normal tone. \"It is your right to know\nand you shall. I have wronged your sister! No, you fool, not in that\nway!\" as the boy struggled furiously in his vice-like grip. \"But I am\ndeserving of any punishment you may choose to inflict.\" And without\npreamble he told Carter the whole story, only suppressing the name of\nthe woman concerned.\n\nAt its conclusion the boy breathed easier and the truculence went out of\nhim entirely as Douglass laid his head on his arms and muttered\nhoarsely:\n\n\"I love her! I love her! And now I've lost her!\"\n\nBobbie Carter rose and put his hand on the brawny shoulder. His voice\nwas harsh with sympathy, after the fashion of man.\n\n\"You've been all kinds of a senseless ass, Ken,\" he said,\naffectionately, his faith in his hero once more restored, \"but it is not\nas bad as I thought. You want to break off with Mrs.--\" he had almost\nbetrayed his knowledge of that which Douglass had been chivalrously\ntrying to conceal--\"with that woman, whoever she is, and in course of\ntime, after she has bawled her foolish little eyes out, Gracie will\nforgive you. I know her like a book. I'm her brother, you know! Buck up,\nold man! She'll make it hard for you, and you are going to get a bitter\nlesson. But it will come out all right in time--If you don't go loco\nagain and spoil it all.\"\n\nBut all his pleading and remonstrances were unavailing with his sister\nwhen he sought to effect a reconciliation. She had been irremediably\nhurt, and, in her misery, actually hoped that she would never see him\nagain. She insisted upon returning home; and then consented to go on to\nthe ranch for a short, and, as she firmly resolved, a final visit!\n\nDouglass, watching her as he thought unseen, the next morning at the\nUnion Depot, as she entered the west-bound train, was filled with a\ngreat repentance and remorse. He did not know that she stood at the\nproper angle to see his disconsolate face until the train pulled out. It\nmust be confessed, however, that it was a hard, unrelenting mouth that\nscornfully curved as he strode away with depressed head as the train\nglided out with accelerating speed.\n\n\"Like as not he will go straight back to that shameless creature as soon\nas we are safely out of sight!\" she thought, with stiffly-erected head.\nAnd as a curious vindication of that strange quantity in women, which,\nfor lack of some better name, we term \"intuition,\" we are truthfully\ncompelled to admit that is just exactly what he did!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nA WIDENING CHASM\n\n\nTen days later Brevoort arrived in Denver and the deal was fully\nconsummated. As the possessor of a million, cowpunching lost its charms\nfor Douglass, who resigned his connection with the VN interests.\n\nBrevoort, realizing his own inability to make a success of ranching\nwithout expert assistance, made Douglass a very favorable proposition to\ntake over his ranch holdings, which was promptly accepted. Within thirty\ndays he had purchased a fine \"bunch\" of high-grade cattle, placing the\nwhole \"outfit\" under the efficient supervision of Punk Wilson, who,\nreinforced by a trio of Lazy K boys, who transformed their allegiance to\nDouglass, soon had matters running along swimmingly. The ranch was\nthereafter known as the Circle D, that being Douglass's private brand.\n\nImmediately upon taking possession of his new property he had made an\nineffectual overture towards Grace's conciliation; the girl, stung by\njealousy and smarting under a sense of his disloyalty, had scornfully\nrejected his advances and the breach was wider than ever in consequence.\nYet her visit was prolonged far into the autumn, possibly because she\nwas determined not to give a clear field to Constance Brevoort, who had\nalso apparently become a fixture. All relations between the two women\nhad been severed irrevocably, each keeping to her own respective\nbailiwick. Constance had, with a reluctant regard for the proprieties,\nestablished herself at the Blounts, in Tin Cup, and after Grace's\ncontemptuous treatment of Douglass, he spent the major portion of his\ntime in the village. Brevoort, engrossed in his mining schemes,\ngravitated between Tin Cup and the Roaring Fork, unseeingly.\n\nOver at the C Bar the situation was fast growing intolerable to Grace\nCarter. Although she would rather have died than admit it even to\nherself, her love for Douglass only increased with every heart-wrenching\nreport of his recklessly open relations with the object of her deepest\nhatred, which were constantly sifting down to her through the neighbors'\ngossip. As their engagement had not been made public, she was spared the\nirritating commiseration which would otherwise have been her uneviable\nlot. All knowledge of it was fortunately restricted to Abbie, McVey,\nBrevoort and his wife; for obvious reasons it gained no further\npublicity. Therefore Douglass's affair was regarded enviously by the\nother range men, and it must be confessed, rather indulgently by the\nrange women, who found not a great deal of fault with his conquest of\nthis supercilious \"big-bug\" who had weaned the hearts of their men away\nfrom proper altars of devotion. Old Abbie, alone, was bitterly\nvituperative of both the man and his condoning admirers.\n\n\"Why is it,\" she indignantly snorted to Mrs. Blount, on the occasion of\none of that lady's garrulous visits, \"that all wimmen, even r'ally good\nones, have a kinda sneakin' likin' foah a rake? Thu worse thu mizzable\nhe-critters be, thu moah yuh giggle at theah nastiness! It's a wondeh to\nme thet men eveh get married at all any moah. I disremembeh eveh hearin'\nany she-male talkin' about thu goodness of any r'ally decent man,\nmarried er single; but jest let some tur'ble mean-minded cuss get to\ncuttin' capehs with some fool woman er tother, an' every ole brindle on\nthu range chaws on thu cud of it like a dogie on May blue-joint; an' as\nfer thu heifers, every blessed one on 'em purtends to be buffaloed if he\ncrosses theah trail an' skitteh away, lookin' back disap'inted if he\ndon't folleh an' try to raound 'em up. An' bimeby, when he gets good an'\nplenty tiahed o' hell-ahootin' araound, he jes' ups an' nach'rally takes\nhes pick o' thu cream o' thu bunch, leavin' thu skim milk fer better men\nwhose shoes he ain't fitten to lick!\n\n\"I don't know why,\" she went on regretfully, calmly ignoring the\nindignant protest of her scandalized hearer, \"an' I reckon Gawd,\nHisself, don't know eitheh, but we locoed wimmen allus love bad men a\nheap better'n we do good ones. I've been seein' it all my life ontil I'm\ngot plumb ashamed o' my sect.\"\n\nBut to Grace, that night, she said inconsistently, her gray crest\nbristling with impatience:\n\n\"Honey, anything in this wohld that's worth havin' is worth fightin'\nfoh! Yuh are no Cahteh if yuh stand foh anybody's runnin' off yuah\nstock. Neveh yuh mind haow wild an' ornary he 'peahs to be just now,\nthat fool boy is a thorrerbred at heart, and the best on 'em go loco by\nspells. Thu betteh the breed, thu worse they bolt when things go wrong,\nbut they are mighty good critters to have in yuah brand! Thu trouble is\nthat you been feedin' him on bran mash when he's system was ahollerin'\nfoh star-shavin's! Ken Douglass ain't no yeahlin' no moah, honey; he\nain't no child to be tooken' an' raised like we did Buffo; he's a strong\nman an' wants strong meat with salt an' peppeh on it. An' long's he's\nnot robbin' yuah lahdeh what yuh gotta kick about?\"\n\nBut she turned her head away as the girl said bitterly:\n\n\"And you, too? It Is part of the Divine scheme, then, that only women\nshould keep themselves pure and sweet and clean in order to merit the\nbeatitudes of 'holy' matrimony! Delilah gets the kernel, and Ruth the\nhusks! You shameless old woman! To think that _you_ would dare preach\nsuch a wickedness with unblushing face!\"\n\n\"Dearie,\" said the old woman slowly, \"Theah's been Delilahs eveh since\ntheah's been Samsons an' they allus will be. I reckon Gawd made 'em to\nkinda take thu aige offen men's sharp desiah so as to keep it from\ncuttin' puah hearts apaht. Yuh cain't change natuh, lammie; wild oats\nwill be agrowin' long afteh thu second comin' o' Christ! But theah allus\nsown in wild an' waste places as is right an' fitten, an' thu seed runs\nout in time. Thu betteh growths need pureh soil, an' men wisely sow\ntheah good seed in the clean gahdens that Gawd intended thu otheh kind\no' wimmins' hearts to be. Yuh kin allus cook betteh, too, on thu steady\nheat of thu coals afteh the flame O' fierce fiah has buhned itself out,\nan' thu brand that holds a man bites deepeh if it's heated In the\nglowin' heart of Love afteh thu flame an' smoke of passion has drifted\naway.\n\n\"Theah's things In a man's natuh that's gotta be buhned out; yuh cain't\nprune 'em away. An' like measles, mumps an' small-pox, it's bettah to\nhappen when he's young. When that Brevoort critter has trimmed Ken's\nlamps so's they'll burn steady without flickerin' he'll light up yuah\nlife foh all time, honey. An' she's almost got thu jawb done, or I miss\nmy guess! Yuh take my advice, an' when he comes cavortin' about yeah\nagain within ropin' distance get yuah string on him and corral him foh\nkeeps. He'll be good from now on if you give him thu chanct. An' if yuh\ndon't, he'll run rampageous to the bad--an' yuh'll be to blame!\"\n\nAnd the wise old woman was even wiser than she knew. At that very\nmoment, Douglass, looking at a picture that should have logically\nthrilled him to the core, was travailing in a morose discontent quite\nincompatible with his environment. The woman for whose sake he had\nimperiled all that a man holds dear, was sitting opposite him on the\nhotel veranda In the soft moonlight, with little Eulalie cuddled closely\nto her. Every full, round line of her betokened her perfect fitness for\nmaternity and the motherhood implanted in every woman's heart was softly\nirradiating her face as she bent caressingly over the sleeping child.\nIntended by Nature as a mother of soldiers, here by the caprice of fate\nshe was fostering the weak offspring of another less fit, denied\nwoman's highest mission, debarred from Nature's most noble function. And\nhe had but to say the word!\n\nFor that afternoon, in an agony of passion, she had whispered a\ntemptation in his ear, clinging to him with all the seductiveness in her\nnature:\n\n\"Let us go away, dear, anywhere, anywhere, so that we are together!\nThere will be a separation without any publicity, for he is very proud;\nand he really never cared! Make me the wife and mother that Nature\nintended me to be; give me the fulfillment that is every woman's due!\"\n\nIt came to him with a shock, for he had been living only in the\nenjoyment of the present. Brought face to face with the eternal future,\nhe realized a great unpreparedness, abnormal as it was disquieting. He\nhad answered her evasively, with a politic tenderness that satisfied her\ntemporarily; but he knew that her insistence was only deferred, and his\nanswer was not ready. And to-night he was cursing the inevitable\nbrutality that he knew he would ultimately be compelled to exercise.\n\nFor even as his soul yearned at the tender appeal of that picture most\nexquisite to man, the mothering of a child, the beauteous face before\nhim was replaced by another, reproachful and haughty yet fair with a\npurity and beauty indescribable, the patrician mouth trembling and the\nsweet eyes brimming with appeal. Sharply he shut his teeth and sat\nerect.\n\nOnly one woman in the world should be mother to his children--and that\nwoman was not the beauty crooning softly to that sleeping babe! He had\nlost her for a little while but he would find her, and the way back\ninto her favor! And having found her, at whatever bitter cost, he would\nnever let her go again! He resolved that on the morrow he would ride\nover to the C Bar and grovel in abasement at her feet if need be.\n\nThe woman sitting opposite him shivered telepathically and a tear fell\non the face of the child.\n\n\"He is weighing me against her,\" she thought, fearfully, \"and I am\nafraid--afraid! But I will not give him up! Oh, my God! I can not!\"\n\nAnd down at the C Bar Grace was crying to her heart:\n\n\"Will he come? Will he come?\"\n\nBut it was Red McVey who came awooing in the soft dusk of the succeeding\nevening, his handsome face bright with a great love, his six feet of\nstalwart manliness begroomed with appropriate care. He was far from\npossessing his ordinary confidence, but he came bravely to the point and\nthe girl's eyes held as much pride as they did sympathy for him.\n\n\"Your love is an honor to me,\" she said, gently. \"I am proud to have\ninspired such a feeling in so grand a man, and I shall thank God on my\nknees for it to-night! But it is impossible, my dear friend; you will be\ngenerous and spare me explanations--\"\n\n\"Don't cry!\" he said, gently, but his face was very white and drawn. \"I\nunderstand. Yuh are shore they ain't any hope. I'd wait foh yeahs?\"\n\n\"No, dear friend, there is none. I do not think I shall ever marry. And\nI am going away to-morrow.\"\n\nShe held out her hand and he bent awkwardly over it. Very softly he\npressed his lips upon the little pink palm. Then he stood erect, still\nholding the fluttering fingers in both his bronzed hands.\n\n\"Yuh will neveh know what yuh've been to me,\" he said, gravely, \"and\nwhat yuh will always be to me still. It's goin' to hurt a little, of\ncourse; but I'll have my dreams, and that's something. And I'm shore\nyuah friend as you said. Gawd make yuh happy!\"\n\nThen he went quietly out, carefully closing the door behind him. The\ngirl waited until the last echo of his firm steps had died away. Then\nshe sat down beside the table, laid her face on her arms and cried\nbitterly.\n\nIt never occurred to either of them that he had made no reference to her\nengagement to Douglass, whose severance he could not possibly have known\nexcept by deduction.\n\nThe next afternoon he drove her over to a point where the stage could be\nintercepted without going to Tin Cup. She desired to avoid the\npossibility of a chance meeting with Constance Brevoort or Douglass,\ndespite an almost irresistible temptation to see him for the last time.\nIn ten days more she was aboard an ocean liner, her mother\nunquestioningly complying with her request for a continental tour,\nwisely leaving the girl to her own time in the matter of explanations.\nBesides, she had adroitly drawn out of Robert enough to confirm her\nsuspicions, and she was unqualifiedly glad to encourage any distractions\nfor the pale girl whose eyes were heavy with misery. As Grace expressed\nno preference she decided on Egypt, and the departure was made without\nunnecessary loss of time.\n\nHad Grace gone direct to Tin Cup that day, instead of intercepting the\nstage some twenty miles out, or if the driver had been a more loquacious\nman than \"Timberline,\" she would have been spared many heartaches at the\nprice of a sickening terror. For the day before, the man that she loved,\nbleeding and senseless, had been carried into the hotel at Tin Cup,\nwhere a white-faced, wild-eyed woman sat by his bedside waiting the\narrival of the doctor, stonily facing a despair too great for words.\n\nWith the firm intention of riding out to the C Bar that afternoon to\nmake a last appeal to Grace for forgiveness and reconciliation, Douglass\nhad rather reluctantly accompanied Constance for her morning's\nconstitutional on horseback. Divining his intention in some mysterious\nmanner known only to the loving jealous, she had determined to frustrate\nhis purpose by making her ride unusually long, thus keeping him with her\nuntil too late to reach the C Bar that night. She was fighting for time,\nand every moment of delay was vital, she having been informed of the\nintended departure of Grace within the next few days. If she could\nmanage to prevent their meeting before that time the chasm between the\ntwo would become permanently unbridgable.\n\nSome ten miles out of town, in a magnificent cañon, reachable only by a\nsomewhat difficult trail, was an exquisite little spot well known to\nboth. It was one of their favorite rendezvous in the trout-fishing\nseason, where they stopped to fry the delicious fish and boil the coffee\nindispensable to an _al fresco_ luncheon. Hither, too, they had come on\nother innumerable occasions when absolute privacy was the desire of\nboth, and it was to this place of tender associations and more or less\ncompelling memories that she diplomatically led the way. Here, in the\ngreat outdoor temple of this pantheist's loving, with no other goddess\nto divert him from her own homage, was the place of all places to regain\nher fast waning influence over him. If she could only hold him for a\nlittle time longer success was assured.\n\nCleverly disregarding his taciturnity she kept up a merry chatter as\nthey rode along, finally drawing him skillfully into a discussion of the\ngeological features of the interesting region which they were slowly\ntraversing; like every mining expert he was a bit professionally\npedantic on this subject, and to this woman of abnormally clear\nperceptions it was a positive pleasure to him to impart the really great\ninformation with which his mind was stored. Once she got him warmed up\nto his subject he waxed enthusiastic in his dissertation on dykes,\nfissures, blanket veins and the like, even riding out of their course to\npoint out confirming formations and collect specimens of their\ncharacteristic components. By the time they reached the embowered little\nglade in the cañon his sullenness was completely dissipated, and he\nkissed her very passionately as he lifted her from her horse. There was\nmuch of the old fire in him as she clung distractingly about his neck,\nand her eyes gleamed with triumph.\n\nSo absorbed had they become in each other that neither noticed the\nslinking figure which stole out of the glade at the sound of their\napproach, or the charcoal of a hastily-extinguished fire swirling in the\neddies of the little pool. And mercifully they did not know, as they\nstood there in close-held rapture, drinking with clinging lips the Lethe\nof all things save love, that twenty feet away, from the vantage of a\ndense clematis tangle veiling a clump of dwarf box-elder, a pair of evil\neyes burned above a snarling mouth, as a grimy hand drew cautiously back\nthe firing bolt of a Mauser.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE RENUNCIATION\n\n\nBallard, riding ahead of his posse, reined in his horse sharply at the\nhead of the trail leading down to the stream as a shot crackled\nviciously in the depths of the cañon below. There was no mistaking that\ncrisp, whip-like report of a small-calibered, high-pressure rifle\ncartridge, and he wondered much that it was not accompanied by the whine\nof the long metal-cased bullet about his ears. For the last twenty-four\nhours had he been in momentary expectation of that sinister song, of a\npossible succeeding agony of blindness, for he realized that he was now\nin the hands of the gods, and more or less at the mercy of the desperate\nman whom he had been relentlessly pursuing for the last three days, a\nman who would just as relentlessly kill him if the opportunity offered,\na man who knew every inch of these mountain fastnesses in which he had\ntaken refuge in his last extremity.\n\nBut despite all hazards of ambush he had kept doggedly on the trail, and\nnow he was within reach of his quarry. Hurriedly directing two of his\nbest mounted followers to cover the cañon's mouth below, and the\nremaining two to guard the only other possible exit above, he rode at\nbreakneck speed down the precipitous trail, spurred to recklessness by\na woman's wailing scream.\n\nFour days before, the Gunnison Express had been boarded at a watering\ntank, some fifty miles out of the city, by a particularly villainous\nband of desperadoes who, not content with looting the passengers, mails\nand express matter, had maliciously aggravated their crime with murder,\ndeliberately shooting down the conductor and express messenger after the\nrobbery had been accomplished. It was an unheard-of brutality, the men\nbeing helpless, unarmed and unresisting, and pursuit of the wretches had\nbeen so prompt and successful that every member of the gang, save the\none now in the cañon before him, was presently decorating a series of\ntelegraph posts on the outskirts of the city, their captors having given\nthem but exceedingly short shrift. And one of them, in an unavailing\nattempt to enlist the mercy of his grim executioners, had confessed that\nMatlock was the leader of the gang; but with characteristic cowardice\nhad refrained from personal active participation in the robbery, merely\ndirecting their operations from a safe distance as arch plotter. His\ntrail was soon found and had been skillfully followed so far by the\nexpert marshal, whose long experience in trailing cattle on the cow\nrange had made him one of the best trackers in the mountains.\n\nBallard was at a loss to account for the fatal recklessness of that\nshot. Matlock must certainly have known that It would betray his\nwhereabouts and he was far too shrewd a villain to so unnecessarily\nexpose himself to the risk of possible capture. There was but one\nexplanation, and the marshal sent the spurs home with a great foreboding\nat heart.\n\n\"He _had_ to fire that shot!\" was the quick conjecture. \"But why? He is\neither in a tight place or else Is up to some fearful deviltry. That was\ncertainly a woman's cry!\" He was using both spur and cuerto now, and his\ngallant horse was responding grandly.\n\nBut before he reached the little glade, the echoes wakened to a rumbling\nroar at the duller concussion of a revolver shot. Then followed that\nmost unnerving thing, the mourning of a woman for her dead. With a\nmagnificent leap the horse cleared the brawling torrent and in the edge\nof the glade Ballard checked him with a savage oath. Flinging himself\nfrom the saddle, he ran eagerly forward, pulling his revolver as he\nwent.\n\nIn the middle of the glade, beside a little spring which bubbled up\namidst the grass, sat a stylishly-gowned woman holding to her bosom the\nhead of his best friend. Across the white forehead trickled down a thin\ncrimson stream which sadly stained and discolored the fawn-colored\nriding habit and left its grewsome horror on the lips passionately\npressed to those of the man lying so still and quiet in her rocking\narms.\n\nAnd ten feet away, with his sightless eyes staring up at the blue sky,\nhis shirt still smouldering from a powder burn above his heart, lay\nMatlock, still clutching the Mauser in his stiffening hand.\n\nDouglass, on dismounting, had picketed the horses and thrown himself at\nfull length on the grass with his head in Constance's lap. She had\ntemporarily regained dominion over him and was deliriously happy in\nconsequence, lavishing upon him all the tenderness of her really\nunselfish affection. With tact she induced him to talk of his earlier\nlife and its vicissitudes, and in the relation he was so frank and\nconfiding that he was invested with a new glory in her sight. Of his\namours he was considerately reticent, his innate chivalry prompting him\nto repress anything which would give her pain, and she was wise enough\nto refrain from any embarrassing questions. Their communion was\nintimate, and she had not been so happy in many months.\n\nThen by some unfortunate vagary she chanced to refer to his first\ndifficulty with Matlock, asking him for the real facts in the case, and\nthe man crouched in the clematis gnashed his teeth at Douglass's\ncontemptuous reflections upon his cowardice.\n\n\"Oh, I took no particular risk,\" Douglass said carelessly; \"the man was\nnot only a cowardly cur, but a blundering fool as well, as was plainly\nshown in his foolish sale of that apex mine. Why, he might just as well\nhave got the million out of it that I did, if he had been honest and\nonly ordinarily intelligent. I knew the vein was there all the time, and\nI really think he had a suspicion of it. But his great mistake was his\ninsane hatred of me, and he bungled his revenge badly. He really thought\nhe was cleverly swindling me, when the fact was that he was playing\ndirectly into my hand.\"\n\nHe laughed scornfully and drew down the fair head to his.\n\n\"Let us forget about the fool. I had sworn to kill him once, but now\nthat he was unconsciously the cause of all my good fortune I feel only\npity for him.\"\n\nOver in the clematis the sun was gleaming on a polished tube of steel\nthat was leveled directly at his heart, the eyes aligned along its\nsights malignant with insane fury. But the finger crooked about the\ntrigger was restrained by a fiendish thought and with a chuckle Matlock\nwaited.\n\nThe distance was absurdly short and at that range he could clip the head\nof a match. Just two more inches of elevation of that hated head and he\ncould send the jacketed bullet shearing just through the bridge of the\naquiline nose, splitting both eyeballs and blinding his enemy for the\nlittle space of life he would thereafter accord him. It would be passing\nsweet to have that helpless, sightless thing listen unseeingly to his\nmaltreatment of the woman.\n\nAt that moment his horse, which had been picketed some distance away in\nthe brush, discovered the presence of the two horses in the glade and\ngave a loud whinny of salutation. Douglass was on his feet in a second,\nhis hand upon his revolver butt. The presence of another horse in that\ncañon was a suspicious thing and as he inclined his head toward the\ndirection from which the whinny had come, his sharp eye discerned the\ngleam in the clematis.\n\nInstantly the gun leaped from its scabbard, but in the moment of its\nrelease there came a faint haze from the leafy screen, a sharp report,\nand Douglass pitched forward, face down, beside the little spring, the\nrevolver falling from his nerveless hand directly into the lap of the\nscreaming woman.\n\nBaffled of his proposed torture, and intent now only on making sure of\nthe man he feared even in death, Matlock came running forward, working\nthe bolt of his rifle as he ran. At the side of his victim he paused and\nthrust the muzzle of the weapon against the motionless head. He would\nnot bungle this job, at any rate.\n\nBut even as his finger closed about the trigger, Constance Brevoort was\nupon him with a spring like that of a lioness fighting for her mate, her\narms fully extended and both hands clutching the butt of the heavy .44\nColt. Instinctively he raised his weapon to fend off this new and\nunlooked-for antagonist; but he was a moment too late. As the flame\nleaped from the muzzle to his breast he numbly lowered the rifle, turned\nhalf around, and walking forward a few steps, clutched blindly at the\nair and sank limply to the ground. One spasmodic struggle in which he\nturned over on his back and then he lay very still, his mouth distorted\nby a ghastly grin.\n\nAt Ballard's signaling call, he was hastily rejoined by his posse and a\nhurried examination of Douglass's wound was made. The bullet had entered\nthe skull just above the left temple, making its exit at the back of the\nhead just where the parting of the hair ended. From all appearances it\nhad passed directly through the upper portion of the brain, and Ballard\nshook his head hopelessly. But the heart was still beating vigorously\nand there was a very perceptible pulse.\n\nA rider was dispatched instantly to the nearest ranch, some two miles\naway, for a conveyance, returning quickly with a buckboard. A rude\nstretcher was improvised, on which Douglass was tenderly carried to the\nhead of the trail, and with his head in Constance's lap he was carefully\nbut quickly driven to the hotel. A dozen riders were soon scouring the\nsuburbs for the doctor, who was out making his round of daily calls, and\njust at noon he came riding post-haste. As it most fortunately happened,\nhe was a practitioner of ability and experience, having filled for years\nthe responsible position of operating surgeon in one of the East's most\nfamous hospitals.\n\n\"It's an extra thousand on the side from me if you save him, Doc,\" said\nBallard earnestly. \"Don't you let my pard die!\" The surgeon paused long\nenough from his examination to give him an assuring hand-grip.\n\n\"That was superfluous, Ballard,\" he said quietly. \"He is my friend,\ntoo.\" And there was an appeal in the eyes of Constance Brevoort that\noutweighed all the treasures of Golconda.\n\nBallard, looking at her sympathetically, suddenly received an\ninspiration. Taking her quietly to one side he coughed apologetically\nand finally stammered out:\n\n\"I don't want to butt in, Mrs. Brevoort, but there will have to be a\nmore or less rigid investigation of this affair by the coroner\nand--well, there is no use of your being put to any annoyance or\nembarrassment. And I reckon you really _don't_ know what happened after\nKen was shot. The coroner is a friend of ours and will not deem It\nnecessary to question you at all; you will not have to appear at the\ninquest. It's a lucky thing I happened to get there in time to kill\nMatlock before he could do any further mischief.\"\n\nHe looked meaningly at her and she gasped with relief and wonder as the\nsignificance of his words dawned upon her.\n\n\"And you would do that for me, a stranger!\" she said incredulously. \"How\nnoble you are!\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said slowly, confused by the gratitude streaming from her\neyes, \"you are a friend of his, and I think he would prefer it so. So\ndon't discuss the matter at all with anyone; just stand 'em all off\nsomehow. Say you fainted when the first shot was fired. And let me do\nall the explaining. I was justified in doing it in my official capacity,\nyou know, and my statement will end the matter.\"\n\nAnd so the world was none the wiser. In the days to come two others were\nto learn the truth, and to these four alone was It restricted for all\ntime. That night after the inquest the body of the dead desperado was\ntaken to Gunnison, and Justice was satisfied.\n\nTo the woman waiting in the darkened room that afternoon it seemed an\nage before the surgeon returned with the implements necessary for the\noperation he had promptly determined on. Ever and anon she would look\nfearfully at her hands and shudder at what she thought she saw there. It\nwould be easier to bear if she could only be assured that it had not all\nbeen in vain; the figure on the bed lay so alarmingly still. A dozen\ntimes she placed her ear to his heart to convince herself that it was\nstill beating.\n\nThe door creaked shrilly on its rusty hinges and the doctor entered.\nAfter him followed Blount and Ballard, bearing between them a long deal\ntable requisitioned from the dining-room. Raising the curtains, the room\nwas flooded with a strong white light, in which the table was placed.\n\nWhen the wounded man had been removed thereto, the surgeon turned to\nConstance.\n\n\"All operations are more or less attended with unpleasant features,\nMadam,\" he said kindly. \"Had you not better retire?\"\n\nShe begged piteously to be allowed to remain, even insisting upon her\nability to render any necessary assistance. But he saw her shudder of\napprehension as he opened the case of glittering instruments and he\nhesitated dubiously. She clasped her hands in prayerful entreaty and he\nturned to his work.\n\nA few skillful strokes of the scalpel and he nodded his satisfaction.\n\n\"Merely a scalp wound with a slight depression of the parietal bone,\" he\nsaid reassuringly. \"It will require trephining but that is at the worst\nonly a minor operation. As soon as the pressure on the brain is relieved\nhe will recover consciousness. The bullet did not penetrate the skull at\nall, being deflected by its acute angle of impact. It was an exceedingly\nclose call, but in six weeks he will never know he was shot at all,\nprovided no unforeseen complications arise.\"\n\nA half hour later Douglass opened his eyes. His vision was still\nuncertain and he blinked uncomprehendingly at the white faces about him.\nThen he caught sight of the woman kneeling at the bedside in an agony of\nthanksgiving, her face hidden in her hands. He half rose from the table\nwhere he was lying and held out his arms pleadingly through the mists\nthat clouded brain and eyes alike:\n\n\"Gracie, sweetheart, forgive--!\"\n\nAs he fell back fainting in the arms of the irate doctor, who was taken\nunawares by his patient's unexpected action, and who was savagely\ncursing his own remissness in not having strapped him to the table, the\nwoman rose from her knees and with one hand pressed to her heart,\ntottered unsteadily towards the door. Ballard, springing to her\nassistance, recoiled at the hopeless despair and misery written on that\nface. At the threshold she hesitated a moment, steadying herself with\none hand braced against the casing. Then of a sudden she turned and\nwalked firmly to the table; disregarding the surgeon's indignant\nremonstrance, she leaned over the unconscious man and laid her lips on\nhis. For a full minute she held them there, her form as motionless as\nhis, then with the slowness of one who is wearied unto death, she raised\nher head and stood with closed eyes beside him.\n\nThe men's faces were averted and their heads bowed as she went silently\nout. For not a one of them but was fully conversant with her relations\nto Douglass, and one of them at least knew of his engagement to Grace\nCarter.\n\nBut all of them were awed by the tragedy of this woman's misspent love,\nall reverently silenced by the atoning sacrifice offered up in that\nheart-breaking kiss of renunciation.\n\nA week later when Douglass had regained full consciousness he was\ninformed that Mr. and Mrs. Brevoort had returned to New York. He felt\nnot a little hurt at her unceremonious departure without a word of\nfarewell to him and was inclined to be morose and splenetic during the\nsucceeding fortnight of convalescence. From Red McVey he had learned of\nGrace's departure on the day of his mishap, and was much relieved to\nknow that she was probably unaware of his injury at the time of leaving,\nit being very doubtful if she had even heard of it up to the present\ntime; her foreign address being unknown to any of her western friends,\nthere had been no interchange of correspondence, and local happenings of\nthis nature were not of sufficient Interest to the eastern public to\nreceive insertion in the New York papers. At least that is what he\nthought, forgetting that a robbery of the mails is an item of universal\ninterest and also overlooking the fact that he was now a millionaire,\nwhose attempted assassination by a ringleader of the desperadoes had\nbeen the welcome justification for glaring scare-heads in all the\nmetropolitan dailies. It would have cut him to the quick had she been\ncognizant of his trouble and evinced no interest. He was also cynically\nresentful of Constance's apparent defection, ungenerously attributing it\nto her fear of being compromised.\n\nImagine his contrition when Ballard one day sought him out and\ndelivered unto him an envelope addressed in Constance's familiar dainty\nchirography, admitting its detention for over three weeks by her express\ncommand.\n\n\"I was not to give it to you until you were fairly off the puny list,\"\nsaid the marshal gravely, \"and there is something else that you should\nknow before you read that letter.\"\n\nAnd he proceeded to relate without any embellishment the facts in the\nmatter of Matlock's taking off, supplementing them with other details of\ninterest to the man who sat for hours after his friend had gone in\nbitter self-communion. It was quite dark when he went supperless to his\nroom and opened the cream-tinted envelope.\n\nThe hours came and passed unrecked, and the gray dawn found him still\nsitting by the rickety little table, head in hands, poring dully over\nthe lines that to his disordered fancy seemed written in her heart's\nblood.\n\n     \"I am going away to-morrow, out into the pitiful Nothing in which\n     all things end; and soon I will be even less than a memory to you.\n     It is best so, for I would not have you hampered by a single regret\n     in your enjoyment of the happiness that the future holds for you.\n\n     \"You owe me nothing, although I have given you all--and gloried in\n     the giving. For you at least vouchsafed me, through barred windows,\n     a glimpse into the sanctuary where such as I may not enter. I\n     realize now that it was impossible for me to have ever entered into\n     the holy of holies; and yet, dear, can you blame me for hoping?\n\n     \"I know now that I could never have entered fully into your life;\n     the clay of my being leans too awry for that. But am I to blame for\n     the shaking of the Potter's hand? I sought with all the assiduity\n     of a weak woman's love, but there was a door to which I never\n     found the key, a veil behind which I could not peer. Yet to me was\n     given the rapture of the outer temple--and it was the bread of\n     life.\n\n     \"Be generous to me in this, the hour of my bitter atonement, and\n     believe that my love was as pure and unselfish as it is possible\n     for a woman to give. The proof of it is that I am giving you up now\n     when I know that by a little finesse I could pull you down to hell\n     with me. For I have spilled the Red Wine for you, my Wolf, and the\n     reek of it would have been a bond and heel-rope between us.\n\n     \"It is because of my love for you that I am giving you up, giving\n     you into the hands of another woman. I have been but a flame to\n     you, burning out the dross from your nature so that she might pour\n     into her heart's crucible only the pure gold. God grant she mold\n     the chalice aright.\n\n     \"And now farewell while I have yet strength to say it. Forget me if\n     you can. But if from the heights you ever look backward and\n     downward, and in the sea of memory catch one faint reflection of\n     me, let the thought be a kindly one.\n\n     \"For oh, Man, who was more than God to me, I loved you too well!\"\n\nVery reverently he kissed the letter, then burned it in the flame of the\nsmoky lamp. It was a long and weary ride to the nearest telegraph office\nat Gunnison, yet he never dismounted from his staggering horse until he\nheard the clicking of the sounders in the dingy little office.\n\n\"My life is yours alone,\" he wrote firmly; \"let me make amends. Will you\nmold the chalice?\"\n\nFeverishly he strode up and down his apartment at the hotel until her\nanswering wire was laid in his hand:\n\n\"You are even more noble than I thought, and shall have your reward.\nGrace waits you at Cairo. Have written her all that she must ever know.\nGo at once and God bless you both!\"\n\nHe left that night for the East, and at the house of the Brevoorts\nlearned that Mr. Brevoort and his wife had taken their departure two\ndays before on an extended tour of the Orient. Yes, Mrs. Brevoort had\nleft an enclosure for him.\n\nIt contained only a little note from Grace Carter to Constance and in\nhis misery he could not understand why the latter had urged him to go to\nCairo:\n\n\"I forgive you, even as I think God has forgiven you,\" Grace wrote, \"for\nI, too, have been whirled in the maelstrom of his irresistible passion.\nI do not presume to sit in judgment of you, for you have given him his\nlife--and at what an awful price! May God grant you forgetfulness, the\nboon that has been denied me.\"\n\nUnderneath this was written in Mrs. Carter's angular hand:\n\n\"I found this on my daughter's table the day after she was stricken down\nby brain fever, and an investigation of her correspondence shows it to\nhave been intended for you. Now that the danger is passed and she is on\nthe way to recovery, I send it to you with my contempt. Deem yourself\nfortunate that it is not my curse, instead.\"\n\nOn the forward deck of the great ocean grayhound that was cleaving the\nwaters at record speed, a man stood that night with his face turned ever\nto the East. It would be ten days more before he could kiss the hem of\nher garment in supplication, ten days of hell in whose torturing fires\nhis soul shriveled with a sickening fear.\n\nIf he had lost her, after all!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nBELSHAZZAR COMES BACK TO STAY\n\n\nIn her apartments at the Grand Hotel de Esbekie-yeh in Cairo, a\nwan-faced girl was looking wearily out over the splendid panorama spread\nbefore her. In the heel of the afternoon the level rays of the sun were\ngilding parti-colored minarets of mosque and palaces with barbaric\nsplendor. In the distance the Shoubrah palaces gleamed even more\nfairy-like than usual; the Abbasieyeh camps were astir with multi-hued\nlife, and on its frowning rock the distant citadel was a gem in red\nbronze.\n\nOn the bosom of the world's most mysterious river, the brown sails were\ngleaming like the wings of great birds, and inshore the graceful lateens\nunder the dipping shadoofs were closely folded as they lay at rest. Over\nbeyond Ghizeh loomed the Pyramids which she was to visit on the morrow,\nthe Sphinx in its majesty between. It was fairyland, in truth, the most\ngorgeous riot of color and mystery in the whole world, and yet she saw\nit not. The languorous air was heavy almost to oppression with the\nblended odor of jasmine, orange, citron, and the thousand and one\nflowers of the myriad gardens, mingled with the reek of the bazaars and\nthe indescribable breath of the Nile. And yet she was all unconscious of\nit.\n\nFor in the nostrils of her introspection there was only the spicy tang\nof lemonias and sagebrush, and the eyes of her soul saw only a little\nglade embowered with artemesia and clematis, nestled deep in the\nforbidding cleft in the Rocky Mountains, many thousand miles away. A\nglade where lay a dead man with the snarl of baffled hatred petrified on\nhis discolored lips, and another wounded almost to death, his head\nclasped close to the bosom of a woman whom she should be logically\nhating as woman was never hated before.\n\nAnd yet in the heart of her there was only pity for the woman, whose\nletter lay in her lap. For the hundredth time she read the tear-stained\nwords, feeling a new accession of tenderness at each transcribed sob:\n\n     \"Yesterday, at the 'horse-shoe bend' in Lost Cañon, I killed the\n     man called Jasper Matlock, after he had shot Kenneth Douglass from\n     ambush. Mr. Douglass was not injured seriously, but at the time I\n     thought him dead. Somehow I found his revolver in my hands and the\n     man was making a second attempt.\n\n     \"Mr. Ballard--ah, the great hearts of these\n     westerners--magnanimously sought to shield me from the consequences\n     and publicity. As though all the publicity in the world mattered\n     now.\n\n     \"I have wronged you, but in one thing only: the lie about your\n     engagement to Ellerslie. That was my doing. In everything else I\n     had the justification of every law of Nature; I loved him far\n     better than you could ever do, and he was logically mine if I could\n     but win him. I was ready and eager to sacrifice all, while you in\n     your pitiful selfishness and egotism turned from the glory laid at\n     your feet and yielded him nothing. Oh, you fool! You poor, weak\n     fool! To deny him even the small assurance of your vain little\n     body, when you should have found, as I did, ecstatic exaltation in\n     letting him trample on my soul.\n\n     \"Oh! child, in your wealth of possession be generous and give me a\n     little of your kindness, a little of your forgiveness. I have so\n     little, so little of him. I know now that I have never even had\n     his respect, at times barely his tolerance. And, God help me, I\n     loved him so. Can you understand when I say that I love him even\n     the more that he was always greater than the manifold arts I\n     exercised upon him? That all my sacrifices, my tenderness, my\n     adoration gave him out apathetic amusement? I was ever but a toy to\n     divert him from the agony your neglect caused him and any other\n     woman as fair would have sufficed as well.\n\n     \"To my shame be it said that I knew it all the time; but I was\n     hoping against hope. To-day I go away from here, and from him,\n     forever. He will come to you as certainly as the iron flies to the\n     magnet, and he will be suffering, penitent and purified. My share\n     of him has been the coarse dross of passion that must be skimmed\n     from the crucible of every strong man's hot heart; yours will be\n     the refined gold of his soul's first and last real love. For God's\n     sake, child, play with happiness no more, lest you lose it as I\n     have done.\n\n     \"In the bitterness of the days to come it would lessen the pain if\n     I thought you could ever come to forgive me. I can see to write no\n     more. Mayhap these tears will in time wash out the stain on my\n     soul. That on my hands I must see forever. It is the visible proof\n     of my atonement, for by it I gave back his life to you.\"\n\nThe paper was wet with her tears as she thrust it into the bosom of her\ndress. Beside the open window she knelt and prayed for the peace of a\ntroubled soul. But it could never be--this home-coming of her lost love.\nHer heart, too, was dead; the feet of her idol had crumbled and the\nglorious fabric of her dreams was dust. The yellow drifting sands of the\nLibyan desert shimmering before her aching eyes were no more dry and\nlifeless than the dead love moldering In her heart. Never again would\nher pulses leap at the sound of his voice or her senses reel at his\ntouch. That was as much a thing of the past as Thebes, Luzor, Karnak and\nAthor out yonder, a dead thing buried in the ashes of a murdered hope.\n\nOver in the aridity of the eternal desert, where for ages she had\nwatched in contemptuous silence the petty tragedies enacted on the worn\nold stage of Life by the gibbering puppets who call themselves Man, the\nwoman-breasted Sphinx, touched by the shadow of a passing cloud, smiled\ncynically into the vacancy of the everlasting East.\n\nTwo hours after her carriage had entered the airline avenue from Ghizeh\nto the Pyramids, the incoming train from Alexandria bore into the\ncomposite Bedlam called \"Masr el Kahira\" a bronzed young American at\nsight of whom more than one _yashmak_ fluttered eagerly as its dark-eyed\nowner beamed approval of this handsome _giaour_. Even the lounging\npith-hatted Englishmen nodded their appreciation of this lithe Yankee\nwho so hurriedly bounded up the steps of Shepheard's Hotel and spoke\nimperiously to the Maitre d' Hotel of that famous hostelry.\n\nMoney is everything in Cairo, and Lord Frederick Chillingham of H. R. M.\nHussars was open in his admiration of the horsemanship of the newcomer\nas, a short half-hour afterward, Douglass, mounted on a superb barb,\nswept out into the square. How he obtained accouterments and that\nmagnificent mount in so short a time is a mystery only known to the\nsmiling factotums who bowed and scraped their enjoyment of one of the\nmost princely _douceurs_ that had ever been lavished upon them.\n\n\"Cowboy, b'gad!\" drawled the honorable Freddie knowingly to a fair-faced\nyoung English girl who was watching the rider with a degree of interest\nrather distasteful to the stalwart guardsman. \"I wonder now where the\nbeggar got that horse. Best looker I've seen in Egypt.\"\n\n\"Best lookers, you mean, Freddie,\" corrected the girl mischievously;\n\"but how do you know he is a cowboy?\"\n\n\"By the seat of him,\" tersely explained the blond giant. \"Rides straight\nup, grips with his thighs, don't know he's got stirrups; and don't need\nthem, either. Those Yankees can ride no end!\" he concluded grudgingly.\n\"This one seems to be in a rush!\"\n\nBut once out on the tawny stretch that lay between him and his heart's\ndesire, Douglass checked the swallow-like flight of that wonderful\nblue-blood and paced more leisurely along in profound meditation. He was\nnot at all sure of his reception. What was he going to say in pleading\nto his outraged queen? What God-given words would be vouchsafed him to\noffer in palliation? He groaned at thought of the hopelessness of it.\nWhat had he deserved but her contemptuous scorn!\n\nHe licked his lips nervously and a cold sweat broke on his brow despite\nthe stifling heat that beat up in shimmering waves against his face. He\nfumbled a moment in the bosom of his shirt, and prayed for the second\ntime in many years:\n\n\"Oh! Mother, help me!\"\n\nSuddenly, to the trained far-seeing eyes sweeping that cheerless waste\nhungrily, appeared a faint speck of color on one of the sand dunes at\nthe base of the Sphinx. With eyes fixed unwaveringly upon it he put the\nbarb at full speed. What he would do, what he would say--all hesitation\ndropped away in his fierce desire to look into her eyes once more, to\nhear that sweet voice again, though it were only to send him hurtling\ndown into the hell of his deserts.\n\nGrace Carter, sitting alone in the carriage, watched listlessly the rest\nof her party kodaking at a distance the immobile face of the Great\nMystery. But she saw them as in a dream and ere long she was looking,\nwith a heart as old and cold and dead as that of the grim Mistress of\nthe Nile, as far and unseeingly into the west as the Sphinx stared into\nthe east.\n\nBefore her fast-misting eyes blazed one line in Constance's letter:\n\n\"For God's sake, play with happiness no more!\"\n\nIt would be easy to obey that prayer, she thought bitterly, for never\nmore would happiness come anigh her. Afar in the desert a sand spout\nflared up, whirled along feverishly for a few minutes, and was gone. She\nwatched it with a strange fascination and muttered brokenly:\n\n\"Just like his love, fierce, threatening, grand and evanescent. And yet\nI was to blame! Oh, why did I ever let him go?\"\n\nThe twanging of some stringed instrument in one of the Bedouin black\ntents clustered about the base of the Sphinx woke a long-forgotten chord\nand she mechanically crooned the words of a song that once wailed a\nheart misery as great as hers:\n\n    \"'Could you come back to me, Douglass, Douglass,\n      Back with the old-time smile that I knew?\n    I'd be so faithful and loving, Douglass!\n      Douglass, Douglass, tender and true!\n\n        \"Could you come back with--'\"\n\nHer voice broke and she buried her face in her hands, her form convulsed\nby a paroxysm of tears. Then to her numbed senses came vaguely another\nremembrance of the buried past, frantic hoof-beats. For a second she\ncowered as she had done on that awful day, then she turned with a sigh\nof relief to welcome, this time, the end of all things. Through her\ntear-blinded eyes she saw the blue stallion sweeping down upon her but\nshe never flinched. God was going to be kind after all.\n\nBut even as the lean head ranged beside her, the foam splattering on her\nbosom as she involuntarily covered her eyes with her hands, from out of\nChaos came a cry:\n\n\"Gracie, forgive--!\"\n\nSlowly she dropped her hands and stared incredulously. What was this\nwonder that had come to her in the moment of death? She tottered\nunsteadily, swaying to and fro like a wind-tossed leaf. As in a fog she\nsaw him there with arms extended, waiting to carry her across the dark\nford.\n\nThen, by God's mercy, her brain cleared and she knew.\n\n\nAt the Court of Europe's greatest prince men strive with each other\ndoing honor to the beautiful wife of the new American Ambassador, Anselm\nBrevoort.\n\n\"As good as she is beautiful, God bless her!\" was Frederick, Lord\nChillingham's enthusiastic eulogy one night when her name was mentioned\nat the United, and his comrades silently drank her health standing.\n\n\"As pure and as cold as the stars above, God bless her!\" sighs the\nsilver-haired Ambassador, looking wistfully at her where she sits with\nher protégé, little Eulalie Blount, in her lap, patiently explaining\nthat the tail makes all the difference between O and Q.\n\n\"I love oo, Tonnie!\" lisps the little tot kneeling by her little white\nbed. And the woman, clasping in her bosom a tiny satin bag containing a\ncommon yellow telegraph blank on which are written a few now\nundecipherable words, looks dry-eyed into the night and wonders.\n\n\nIn the marshal's office at Gunnison, over their cigars and a big-bellied\nbottle, Red McVey and Ballard are looking reminiscently at a Mauser\nhanging on the wall.\n\n\"I reckon that were thu best jawb yuh evah done, Lew,\" says the cowboy\nwith much conviction.\n\nBallard, dropping his eyes unaccountably, hesitates long over his\nselection of a fresh weed.\n\n\"What the hell else was there to do?\" he says gruffly. But the recording\nangel, looking kindly and indulgently at the honest face, smiles softly\nand forgets the pen in his hand.\n\nFor a long time the men smoke in a silence more eloquent than words.\nThen Ballard shifts the threads in the loom.\n\n\"That's a great kid that Ken's got, I hear. Think I'll take a pasear\nover there with you when you go back and look at his points.\"\n\n\"That kid!\" says Red enthusiastically. \"Say, Lew, hush! He's thu biggest\nthing on thu range. Why, thu damn leetle cuss actooly kin make fists\nalready, an' he jes' nacherally pre-empts my ole hawg laig every time I\ngoes there. Thu han'le is good to cut his teeths on, Ken says, an' he\nkin eat it cleah off if he wants. I m thinkin' o leavin my spah gun foh\nhim to nibble on at odd times.\"\n\n\"An' Ken?\"\n\nThere is a certain diffidence in the sturdy fellow's voice. Red looking\nat him with a world of reassurance in his laughing blue eyes, grins\nbroadly.\n\n\"Hell!\" he says succinctly. \"Yuh go oveh theah and watch hes eyes\nfollerin' of her. When a man gits through playin' thu goat he gin'rally\nfeels some obligated to act sheep foh a spell, so's to even up thu\ndeal.\"\n\n\nOver at the Circle D ranch a broad-shouldered man in flannel shirt and\n\"fair leather\" _chaparejos_ lies sprawled on the veranda beside a\nlow-hung hammock in which is lying a brown-haired woman. Pressed to her\nlips is a spray of mountain heart's-ease, and In her heart is the\nsweeter ease of mountains removed. The man is dusty and saddle-worn,\nbut in his heart is a great Peace.\n\nTenderly he lays his lips on the hand shyly touching his bronzed cheek\nand the woman crimsons with pleasure. For a long time they lie in\nunderstanding silence, then the grave rich voice of the man says:\n\n\"Tell me, sweetheart, do you never long for the pleasant gayety, the\ndiversions, the distractions of your old social world? Are you really\nhappy and content here in this circumscribed little sphere?\"\n\nShe slips quickly from the hammock to the floor beside him and draws his\nhead up to her bosom.\n\n\"Do I ever long? Yes, sweetheart, I have wept with longing--for the hour\nof your daily return. I have sighed--for the coming of the dusk that\nwould bring you home to baby and me! I have pined--for the music of the\nhoof-beats that would thrill me if they passed over my grave.\"\n\nFrom the little nursery comes the lusty insistence of a child clamoring\nfor his desires. Very gently she releases herself from his embrace. Then\nthis Madonna of the Range goes proudly to the mothering of her\nfirst-born.\n\nOld Abigail, hastening likewise to obey that imperious summons, smiles\napprovingly as the man, catching at the garment trailing above his face,\nlays his lips to its hem.\n\n\"I kinda reckon,\" she says softly to herself, \"that Belshazzar has come\nback to stay!\"", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31930", "title": "The Song of the Wolf", "author": "", "publication_year": 1910, "metadata_title": "The Song of the Wolf", "metadata_author": "Frank Mayer", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:16.292621", "source_chars": 465188, "chars": 465188, "talkie_tokens": 110914}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by Jeannie Howse, Adrian Mastronardi, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from\npage images generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian\nLibraries (http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)\n\n\n\nNote: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/landmarksofscien00engeuoft\n\n\n      +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n      | Transcriber's Note:                                       |\n      |                                                           |\n      | Inconsistent hyphenation and use of quotation marks in    |\n      | the original document have been preserved.                |\n      |                                                           |\n      | Subscripted characters in chemical formulas are enclosed  |\n      | in curly braces after an underscore. For example, the     |\n      | formula for water is represented by H_{2}O. Obvious       |\n      | errors in chemical formulas were corrected without        |\n      | comment.                                                  |\n      |                                                           |\n      | Superscripted numbers are preceded by a carat character.  |\n      | For example, a-squared is represented by a^2.             |\n      |                                                           |\n      | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |\n      | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |\n      |                                                           |\n      +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n\nLANDMARKS OF SCIENTIFIC SOCIALISM\n\n\"Anti-Duehring\"\n\nby\n\nFREDERICK ENGELS\n\nTranslated and Edited by Austin Lewis\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nChicago\nCharles H. Kerr & Company\nCo-Operative\n\nCopyright, 1907\nby Charles H. Kerr & Company\n\nJohn F. Higgins\nPrinter and Binder\n376-382 Monroe Street\nChicago, Illinois\n\n\n\n\nTABLE OF CONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER I                                                    PAGE\n\nTRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION                                       7\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nPREFACES                                                       23\n    Part I                                                     23\n    Part II                                                    27\n    Part III                                                   35\n\n\nINTRODUCTION                                                   36\n     I. In General                                             36\n    II. What Herr Duehring Has to Say                          50\n\n\nPART I\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n        Apriorism                                              54\n        The Scheme of the Universe                             63\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nNATURAL PHILOSOPHY                                             70\n        Time and Space                                         70\n        Cosmogony, Physics, and Chemistry                      82\n        The Organic World                                      94\n        The Organic World (conclusion)                        107\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nMORAL AND LAW                                                 116\n        Eternal Truths                                        116\n        Equality                                              130\n        Freedom and Necessity                                 146\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE DIALECTIC                                                 150\n        Quantity                                              150\n        Negation of the Negation                              159\n        Conclusion                                            175\n\n\nPART II\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nPOLITICAL ECONOMY                                             176\n     I. Objects and Methods                                   176\n    II. The Force Theory                                      184\n   III. Force Theory (continued)                              193\n    IV. Force Theory (conclusion)                             203\n     V. Theory of Value                                       214\n    VI. Simple and Compound Labor                             219\n   VII. Capital and Surplus Value                             223\n  VIII. Capital and Surplus Value (conclusion)                227\n    IX. Natural Economic Laws--Ground Rent                    232\n     X. With Respect to the \"Critical History\"                235\n\n\nPART III\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nSOCIALISM                                                     236\n        Production                                            236\n        Distribution                                          245\n        The State, The Family, and Education                  256\n\nAPPENDIX                                                      261\n\n\n\n\nLANDMARKS OF SCIENTIFIC SOCIALISM\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION\n\n\nWhen Dr. Eugene Duehring, privat docent at Berlin University, in 1875,\nproclaimed the fact that he had become converted to Socialism, he was\nnot content to take the socialist movement as he found it, but set out\nforthwith to promulgate a theory of his own. His was a most elaborate\nand self-conscious mission. He stood forth as the propagandist not\nonly of certain specific and peculiar views of socialism but as the\noriginator of a new philosophy, and the propounder of strange and\nwonderful theories with regard to the universe in general. The taunt\nas to his all-comprehensiveness of intellect, with which Engels\npursues him somewhat too closely and much too bitterly, could not have\naffected Herr Duehring very greatly. He had his own convictions with\nrespect to that comprehensive intellect of his and few will be found\nto deny that he had the courage of his convictions.\n\nThirty years have gone since Duehring published the fact of his\nconversion to socialism. The word \"conversion\" contains in itself the\ndistinction between the socialism of thirty years ago and that of\nto-day. What was then a peculiar creed has now become a very\nwidespread notion. Men are not now individually converted to\nsocialism but whole groups and classes are driven into the socialist\nranks by the pressure of circumstances. The movement springs up\ncontinually in new and unexpected places. Here it may languish\napparently, there it gives every indication of strong, new and\nvigorous life.\n\nThe proletariat of the various countries race as it were towards the\nsocialist goal and, as they change in their respective positions, the\neconomic and political fields on which they operate furnish all the\nsurprises and fascinations of a race course. In 1892 Engels wrote that\nthe German Empire would in all probability be the scene of the first\ngreat victory of the European proletariat. But thirteen years have\nsufficed to bog the German movement in the swamps of Parliamentarianism.\nGreat Britain, whose Chartist movement was expected to provide the\nBritish proletariat with a tradition, has furnished few examples of\nskill in the management of proletarian politics, but existing society in\nGreat Britain has none the less been thoroughly undermined. The year\nbefore that in which Herr Duehring made his statement of conversion, the\nBritish Liberals had suffered a defeat which, in spite of an apparent\nrecuperation in 1880, proved the downfall of modern Liberalism in Great\nBritain, and showed that the Liberal Party could no longer claim to be\nthe party of the working class. Not only that, but the British\nphilosophic outlook has become completely changed. The nonconformist\nconscience grows less and less the final court of appeal in matters\npolitical. A temporary but fierce attack of militant imperialism coupled\nwith the very general acceptance of an empiric collectivism has sufficed\nto destroy old ideas and to make the road to victory easier for a\ndetermined and relentless working class movement.\n\nBut if thirty years have worked wonders in Europe, and disintegration\ncan be plainly detected in the social fabric, the course of social and\npolitical development in the United States has been still more\nremarkable. In 1875 the country was still a farming community living\non the edge of a vast wilderness through which the railroad was just\nbeginning to open a path. Thirty years have been sufficient to convert\nit into the greatest of manufacturing and commercial states. The\noccupation of the public lands, the establishment of industry on an\nhitherto undreamed of scale, the marvellous, almost overnight creation\nof enormous cities, all these have resulted in the production of a\nproletariat, cosmopolitan in its character, and with no traditions of\nother than cash relations with the class which employs it. The purity\nof the economic fact is unobscured. Hence a socialistic agitation has\narisen in the United States, the enthusiasm of which vies with that in\nany of the European countries and the practical results of which bid\nfair to be even more striking. This movement has arisen almost\nspontaneously as the result of economic conditions. It is a natural\ngrowth not the result of the preaching of abstract doctrines or the\npicturing of an ideal state. The modern American proletariat is, as a\nmatter of fact, given neither to philosophic speculation nor to the\nimagination which is necessary to idealism. Such socialism as it has\nadopted it has taken up because it has felt impelled thereto by\neconomic pressure.\n\nHence, apart from all socialistic propaganda, a distinct\ndisintegration-process has been proceeding in modern society. Each\nepoch carries within itself the seeds of its own dissolution. Things\nhave just this much value, they are transitory, says Engels in his\nparaphrase of Hegel, and this is in fact the central idea of his\ndialectic philosophy.\n\nHe criticises the work of Duehring from this standpoint. He labors not\nso much to show that Duehring is mistaken in certain conclusions as to\nprove that the whole method of his argument is wrong. His diatribes,\nthough the subject matter of his argument requires him to attack the\nBerlin tutor, are directed chiefly against all absolute theories.\n\"Eternal truth,\" in the realm of science, equally with that of\nphilosophy, he scouts as absurd. To interpret the history of the time\nin terms of the spirit of the time, to discover the actual beneath the\ncrust of the conventional, to analyse the content of the formulæ which\nthe majority are always ready to take on trust, and to face the fact\nwith a mind clear of preconceived notions is what Engels set out to\ndo. It cannot be said that he altogether succeeded. No man can succeed\nin such a task. The prejudices and animosities created by incessant\ncontroversy warped his judgment in some respects, and tended on more\nthan one occasion to destroy his love of fair play. The spirit which\nis occasionally shown in his controversial writing is to be deplored\nbut it may be said in extenuation that all controversies of that time\nwere disfigured in the same way. He pays the penalty for the fault.\n\nMuch of the work is valueless to-day because of Engels' eagerness to\nscore a point off his adversary rather than to state his own case. But\nwhere the philosopher lays the controversialist on one side for a\nbrief period, and takes the trouble to elucidate his own ideas we\ndiscover what has been lost by these defects of temperament. He\npossesses in a marked degree the gift of clear analysis and of keen\nand subtle statement.\n\nThe socialist movement everywhere arrives some time or other at what\nmay be called the Duehring stage of controversy. There are two very\ndistinct impulses towards socialism. The individuals who are\ninfluenced by these impulses must sooner or later come into collision,\nand as a result of the impact the movement is for a time divided into\nhostile parties and a war of pamphleteering and oratory supervenes.\nThis period has just ended in France. For the last few years the\nFrench movement has been divided upon the question of the\nphilosophical foundation of the movement, and the parties to the\ncontroversy may be divided into those who sought to justify the\nmovement upon ethical grounds and those who have regarded it as a\nmodern political phenomenon dependent alone upon economic conditions.\nThe former of these parties based its claims to the suffrages of the\nFrench people upon the justice of the socialistic demands. It\nproclaimed socialism to be the logical result of the Revolution, the\nnecessary conclusion from the teachings of the revolutionary\nphilosophers. Justice was the word in which they summed up the claims\nof socialism, that and Equality, for which latter term as Engels\npoints out in the present work, the French have a fondness which\namounts almost to a mania. Hence one party of the French socialist\nmovement chose as a platform those very \"eternal truths\" which Engels\nridicules and which it is the sole purpose of the present work to\nattack.\n\nTo kill \"eternal truths\" is however by no means an easy matter. Years\nof habit have made them part of the mental structure of the citizens\nof the modern democratic or semi-democratic states. Not only in France\nbut to an even greater degree in the English speaking countries these\n\"eternal truths\" persist, they form the stock in trade of the\nclergyman and the ordinary politician. Bernard Shaw directs the\nshafts of his ridicule against these \"eternal truths\" and smites with\na sarcasm which is more fatal than all the solemn German philosophy\nwhich Engels has at his command. But Shaw is not appreciated by the\nBritish socialist. The latter cannot imagine that the writer is really\npoking fun at things so exceedingly serious and so essential to any\nwell constituted man, to a well-constituted Briton in particular. The\nBritish socialist is as much in love with \"eternal truths\" as is the\nstiffest and most unregenerate of his bourgeois opponents. He\ntherefore toploftily declares that Mr. Shaw is an unbalanced person, a\nlicensed jester. Precisely the same results would attend the efforts\nof an American iconoclast who would venture to ridicule the \"eternal\ntruths\" which have been handed down to us in documents of\nunimpeachable respectability, like the Declaration of Independence,\nand by Fourth of July orators, portly of person and of phrase.\n\nThe \"eternal truth\" phase of socialist controversy seems to be as\neternal as the truth, and must necessarily be so as long as the\nmovement is recruited by men who bring into it the ideas which they\nhave derived from the ordinary training of the American citizen.\n\nThe other side of the controversy to which reference has been made\nderived its philosophy from the experience of the proletariat. This\nmodern proletariat, trained to, the machine, is a distinct product of\nthe occupation by which it lives. The organisation of industry in the\ngrasp of which the workman is held during all his working hours and\nmanufacture by the machine-process, the motions of which he is\ncompelled to follow have produced in him a mental condition which does\nnot readily respond to any sentimental stimulus. The incessant process\nfrom cause to effect endows him with a sort of logical sense in\naccordance with which he works out the problems of life independent of\nthe preconceptions and prejudices which have so great a hold upon the\nreason of his fellow citizens who are not of the industrial\nproletariat. Without knowing why he arrives by dint of the experience\nof his daily toil at the same conclusions as Engels attained as the\nresult of philosophic training and much erudition. The Church is well\naware of this fact to her sorrow for the industrial proletarian seldom\ndarkens her portals. He has no hatred of religion, as the atheistic\nradical bourgeois had, but with a good-natured \"non possumus\" says by\nhis actions what Engels says by his philosophy.\n\nRevolution is an every day occurrence with the industrial proletarian.\nHe sees processes transformed in the twinkling of an eye. He wakes up\none morning to find that the trade which he has learned laboriously\nhas overnight become a drug on the market. He is used to seeing the\nmachine whose energy has enchained him flung on the scrap heap and\ncontemptuously disowned, in favor of a more competent successor whose\nmotions he must learn to follow or be himself flung on the scrap heap\nalso. This constant revolution in the industrial process enters into\nhis blood. He becomes a revolutionist by force of habit. There is no\nneed to preach the dialectic to him. It is continually preached. The\ntransitoriness of phenomena is impressed upon him by the changes in\nindustrial combinations, by the constant substitution of new modes of\nproduction for those to which he has been accustomed, substitutions\nwhich may make \"an aristocrat of labor\" of him to-day, and send him\ntramping to-morrow.\n\nThe industrial proletarian therefore knows practically what Engels has\ntaught philosophically. So that when in the course of his political\nperegrinations he strays into the socialist movement and there finds\nthose who profess a socialism based upon abstract conceptions and\n\"eternal truths\" his contempt is as outspoken as that of a Friedrich\nEngels who chances upon a certain Eugen Duehring spouting paraphrases\nof Rousseau by the socialistic wayside. Engels simply anticipated by\nthe way of books the point of view reached by the industrial\nproletarian of to-day by the way of experience, and by the American\nmachine-made proletarian in particular. This is a matter of no mean\nimportance. In the following pages we can detect if we can look beyond\nand beneath the mere criticism of Duehring, an attitude of mind, not\nof one controversialist to another merely but of an entire class, the\nclass upon which modern society is driven more and more to rely, to\nthe class which relies upon it.\n\nFor their popular support classes and governments rely upon formulæ.\nWhen the cry of \"Down with the Tsar\" takes the place of the humbly\nspoken \"Little Father\" what becomes of the Tsardom? When the terms\n\"Liberty\" and \"Equality\" become the jest of the workshop, upon what\nbasis can a modern democratic state depend? This criticism of \"eternal\ntruths\" is destructive criticism, and destructive of much more than\nthe \"truths.\" It is more destructive than sedition itself. Sedition\nmay be suppressed cheaply in these days of quick-firing guns and open\nstreets. But society crumbles away almost insensibly beneath the\nmordant acid of contemptuous analysis. So to-day goaded on the one\nside by the gibes of the machine-made proletariat, and on the other,\nby the raillery of the philosophic jester, society staggers along like\na wounded giant and is only too glad to creep into its cave and to\nforget its sorrows in drink.\n\nAs for 1875, \"Many things have happened since then\" as Beaconsfield\nused to say, but of all that has happened nothing could have given\nmore cynical pleasure to the \"Old Jew\" than the lack of faith in its\nown shibboleths which has seized the cocksure pompous society in which\nhe disported himself. The rhetoric of a Gladstone based upon the\n\"eternal truths\" which constituted always the foundations of his\npolitical appeals would fail to affect the masses to-day with any\nother feeling than that of ridicule. We have already arrived at the\n\"Twilight of the Idols\" at least so far as \"eternal truths\" are\nconcerned. They still find however an insecure roosting place in the\npulpits of the protestant sects.\n\nIf blows have been showered upon the political \"eternal truths\" in the\nname of which the present epoch came into existence social and ethical\nideals have by no means escaped attack. Revolt has been the watchword\nof artist and theologian alike. The pre-Rafaelite school, a not\naltogether unworthy child of the Chartist movement, raised the cry of\nartistic revolt against absolutism and the revolt spread in ever\nwidening circles until it has exhausted itself in the sickly egotism\nof the \"art nouveau.\" Even Engels, with all his independence and\nglorification of change as a philosophy, can find an opportunity to\nfling a sneer at Wagner and the \"music of the future.\" The remnants of\nearly Victorianism cling persistently to Engels. He cannot release\nhimself altogether from the bonds of the bourgeois doctrine which he\nis so anxious to despise. He is in many respects the revolutionist of\n'48, a bourgeois politician possessed at intervals by a proletarian\nghost, such as he says himself ever haunts the bourgeois. The younger\ngeneration without any claims to revolutionism has gone further than\nhe in the denunciation of authority and without the same self\nconsciousness. The scorn of Bernard Shaw for the moguls of the\nacademies and for social ideals is greater than the scorn of Engels\nfor \"eternal truths.\" Says Mr. Shaw, \"The great musician accepted by\nhis unskilled listener is vilified by his fellow musician. It was the\nmusical culture of Europe that pronounced Wagner the inferior of\nMendelssohn and Meyerbeer. The great artist finds his foes among the\npainters and not among the men in the street. It is the Royal Academy\nthat places Mr. Marcus Stone above Mr. Burne Jones. It is not rational\nthat it should be so but it is so for all that. The realist at last\nloses patience with ideals altogether and finds in them only something\nto blind us, something to numb us, something to murder self in us.\nSomething whereby instead of resisting death we disarm it by\ncommitting suicide.\" Here is a note of modernity which Engels was\nhardly modern enough to appreciate and yet it was written before he\ndied.\n\nNietzsche, Tolstoy and a host of minor writers have all had their\nfling at \"eternal truths\" and modern ideals. The battle has long since\nrolled away from the ground on which Engels fought. His arguments on\nthe dialectic are commonplaces to-day which it would be a work of\nsupererogation to explain to anyone except the persistent victim of\nLittle Bethel. The world has come to accept them with the equanimity\nwith which it always accepts long disputed truths.\n\nThe sacred right of nationality for which men contended in Engels'\nyouth, as a direct consequence of political \"eternal truths\" has been\nruthlessly brushed aside. The philosopher talks of the shameful\nspoliation of the smaller by the larger nations, a moral view of\ncommercial progress, which an age, grown more impatient of \"eternal\ntruths\" than Engels himself simply ignores, and moves on without a\nqualm to the destruction of free governments in South Africa. Backward\nand unprogressive peoples jeer, it is true, and thereby show their\npolitical ineptitude, for even the American Republic, having freed the\nnegro under the banner of \"eternal truth\" annexes the Philippines and\nraids Panama in defiance of it.\n\nAnd so since the days of 1875 the world has come to accept the general\ncorrectness of Engels' point of view.\n\nThe enemy which Engels was most anxious to dislodge was \"mechanical\nsocialism,\" a naïve invention of a perfect system capable of\nwithstanding the ravages of time, because founded upon eternal\nprinciples of truth and justice. That enemy has now obeyed the law of\nthe dialectic and passed away. Nobody builds such systems, nowadays.\nThey have ceased their building however not in obedience to the\ncommands of Friedrich Engels but because the lapse of time and the\nchange in conditions have proved the dialectic to the revolutionist.\nWith the annihilation of \"eternal truths,\" system building ceased to\nbe even an amusing pastime. The revolutionist has been revolutionized.\nHe no longer fancies that he can make revolutions. He knows better. He\nis content to see that the road is kept clear so that revolutions may\ndevelop themselves. Your real revolutionist, for example, puts no\nobstacle in the path of the Trust, he is much too wise. He leaves that\nto the corrosion of time and the development of his pet dialectic. He\nsees the contradiction concealed in the system which apparently\ntriumphs, and in the triumph of the system he sees also the triumph of\nthe contradiction. He waits until that shadowy proletariat which\nhaunts the system takes on itself flesh and blood and shakes the\nsystem with which it has grown up. But this waiting for the\ndevelopment of the inevitable is weary work to those who want to\nrealise forthwith, so they, unable to confound the logic of Engels,\nattack the \"abstractions\" on which his theory is founded. They still\noppose their \"eternal truths\" to the dialectic.\n\nThus in England, where the strife between the two parties in the\nsocialist movement has lately been waged with a somewhat amusing\nferocity, Engels is charged with a wholesale borrowing from Hegel. In\nany other country than England this would not be laid up against a\nwriter, but the Englishman is so averse to philosophy that the\nassociation of one's name with that of a philosopher, and a German\nphilosopher in particular, is tantamount to an accusation of keeping\nbad company. But a glance at the following pages should tend to\ndispose of so romantic a statement which could, in fact, only have\nbeen made by those who know neither Hegel nor Engels.\n\nThat Hegel furnished the original philosophic impetus to both Marx and\nEngels is true beyond question, but the impetus once given, the course\nof the founders of modern socialism tended ever further from the\nopinions of the idealistic philosopher. In fact Engels says somewhat\nself consciously, not to say boasts, that he and his followers were\npioneers in applying the dialectic to materialism. Whatever accusation\nmay be made against Engels, this much is certain that he was no\nHegelian. In fact both in the present work and in \"Feuerbach\" he is at\ngreat pains to show the relation of the socialist philosophy as\nconceived by himself and Marx to that of the great man for whom he\nalways kept a somewhat exaggerated respect, but from whom he differed\nfundamentally. Engels' attack upon the philosophy of Duehring is based\nupon dislike of its idealism, the fundamental thesis upon which the\nwork depends being entirely speculative. Duehring insisted that his\nphilosophy was a realist philosophy and Engels' serious arguments,\napart from the elaborate ridicule with which he covers his opponent\nand which is by no means a recommendation to the book, is directed to\nshow that it is not realist, that it depends upon certain preconceived\nnotions. Of these notions some are axiomatic, as Duehring claims, that\nis they are propositions which are self evident to Herr Duehring but\nwhich will not stand investigation. Others again are untrue and are\npreconceptions so far as they are out of harmony with established\nfacts.\n\nMuch of Engels' work is out of date judged by recent biological and\nother discoveries, but the essential argument respecting the\ninterdependence of all departments of knowledge, and the impossibility\nof making rigid classifications holds good to-day in a wider sense\nthan when Engels wrote. Scientific truths which have been considered\nabsolute, theories which have produced approximately correct results,\nhave all been discredited. The dogmas of science against which the\ndogmatic ecclesiastics have directed their scornful contempt have\nshared the same fate as the ecclesiastical dogmas. Nothing remains\ncertain save the certainty of change. There are no ultimates. Even the\natom is suspect and the claims of the elements to be elementary are\nrejected wholesale with something as closely resembling scorn as the\nscientist is ever able to attain. A scientific writer has recently\nsaid \"What is undeniable is that the Daltonian atom has within a\ncentury of its acceptance as a fundamental reality suffered\ndisruption. Its proper place in nature is not that formerly assigned\nto it. No longer 'in seipso totus, teres, atque rotundus' its\nreputation for inviolability and indestructibility is gone for ever.\nEach of these supposed 'ultimates' is now known to be the scene of\nindescribable activities, a complex piece of mechanism composed of\nthousands of parts, a star-cluster in miniature, subject to all kinds\nof dynamical vicissitudes, to perturbations, accelerations, internal\nfriction, total or partial disruption. And to each is appointed a\nfixed term of existence. Sooner or later the balance of equilibrium is\ntilted, disturbance eventuates in overthrow; the tiny exquisite system\nfinally breaks up. Of atoms, as of men, it may be said with truth\n'Quisque suos patitur manes.'\"\n\nThe discovery of radium was in itself sufficient to revolutionise the\nheretofore existing scientific theories and the revolution thereby\neffected has been enough to cause Sir William Crookes to say, \"There\nhas been a vivid new start, our physicists have remodelled their views\nas to the constitution of matter.\" In his address to the physicists at\nBerlin the same scientist said, \"This fatal quality of atomic\ndissociation appears to be universal, and operates whenever we brush a\npiece of glass with silk; it works in the sunshine and raindrops in\nlightnings and flame; it prevails in the waterfall and the stormy sea\"\nand a writer in the Edinburgh Review (December, 1903) remarks in this\nconnection \"Matter he (Sir William Crookes) consequently regards as\ndoomed to destruction. Sooner or later it will have dissolved into the\n'formless mist' of protyle and 'the hour hand of eternity will have\ncompleted one revolution.' The 'dissipation of energy' has then found\nits correlative in the 'dissolution of Matter.'\"\n\nThe scope of this revolution may only be gauged by the fact that one\nwriter (\"The Alchemy of the Sea,\" London \"Outlook,\" Feb. 11, 1905) has\nventured to say, and this is but one voice in a general chorus: \"To-day\nno one believes in the existence of elements; no one questions the\npossibility of a new alchemy; and the actual evolution of one element\nfrom another has been observed in the laboratory--observed by Sir\nWilliam Ramsey in London, and confirmed by a chemist in St. Petersburg.\"\nHelium being an evolution of radium and it is expected furthermore that\nradium will prove to be an evolution of uranium and so there is a\nconstant process as the writer points out of what was formerly called\nalchemy the transmutation of one metal into another.\n\nIt is clear that in face of these facts the arguments of Engels\npossess even greater force at the present day than when they were\nenunciated and that the old hard and fast method of arguing from\nabsolute truths is dead and done for.\n\nOnly statesmen see fit to still harp on the same phrases which have\nbecome as it were a part of the popular mental structure and by\nconstant appeals to the old watchwords to obscure the fact of change.\nWere one not acquainted with the essential stupidity of the political\nmind and the lack of grasp which is the characteristic of statesmen,\nit might be imagined that all this was done with malice aforethought\nand that there was a sort of tacit conspiracy on the part of the\npoliticians to delude the people. But experience of the inexcusable\nblunders and the inexplicable errors into which statesmen are\ncontinually driven forces the conclusion that they are in reality no\nwhit in advance of the electorate and that only now and then a\nBeaconsfield appears who can understand the drift of events. Such a\nman is the \"revolutionist\" which Beaconsfield claimed himself to be.\nBut what shall we say of the President of the country that has\nattained the highest place in industrial progress among the nations,\nwhose whole history is a verification of the truth of the dialectic\nand who can still appeal to \"individualism\" as a guiding principle of\npolitical action? It is a wanton flying in the face of the experience\nof the last quarter of a century and such rashness will require its\npenalty. \"Back to Kant\" appears to be the hope of reactionary\npoliticians as well as of reactionary philosophers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nPREFACES\n\n\n\nThe following work is by no means the fruit of some \"inward\ncompulsion,\" quite the contrary.\n\nWhen three years ago, Herr Duehring suddenly challenged the world, as\na scholar and reformer of socialism, friends in Germany frequently\nexpressed the wish that I should throw a critical light upon these new\nsocialist doctrines, in the central organ of the Social Democratic\nParty, at that time the \"Volkstaat.\" They held it as very necessary\nthat new opportunity for division and confusion should not be afforded\nin a party so young and so recently definitely united. They were in a\nbetter condition than myself to comprehend the condition of affairs in\nGermany, so that I was compelled to trust to their judgment. It\nappeared furthermore that the proselyte was welcomed by a certain\nportion of the socialist press, with a warmth, which meant nothing\nmore than kindliness to Herr Duehring, but it was seen by a portion of\nthe party press that a result of this kindly feeling towards Herr\nDuehring was the introduction unperceived of the Duehring doctrine.\nPeople were found who were soon ready to spread his doctrine in a\npopular form among the workingmen, and finally Herr Duehring and his\nlittle sect employed all the arts of advertisement and intrigue to\ncompel the \"Volksblatt\" to change its attitude respecting the new\nteachings which put forth such tremendous claims.\n\nHowever, a year elapsed before I could make up my mind to engage in so\ndisagreeable a business to the neglect of my other labors. It was the\nsort of thing one had to get through as quickly as possible, once it\nwas begun. And it was not only unpleasant but quite a task. The new\nsocialist theory appeared as the last practical result of a new\nphilosophic system. It therefore involved an investigation of it in\nconnection with this system and therefore of the system itself. It was\nnecessary to follow Herr Duehring over a wide expanse of country where\nhe had dealt with everything under the sun, yea, and more also. So\nthere came into existence a series of articles which appeared from the\nbeginning of 1877 in the successor of the \"Volkstaat,\" the \"Vorwaerts\"\nof Leipsic, and are collected here.\n\nIt was my object which extended the criticism to a length out of all\nproportion to the scientific value of the matter and, therefore, of\nHerr Duehring's writings. There are two further reasons in extenuation\nof this lengthiness. In the first place it gave me an opportunity of\ndeveloping my views, in a positive fashion, with respect to matters\nwhich are connected with this, though very different, and which are of\nmore general scientific and practical interest to-day. I have taken\nthe opportunity to do so in every chapter, and, as this book cannot\nundertake to set up a system in opposition to that of Herr Duehring,\nit is to be hoped that the reader will not overlook the real\nsignificance of the views which I have set forth. I have already had\nsufficient proof that my labors have not been altogether in vain in\nthis regard.\n\nOn the other hand the \"system-shaping\" Herr Duehring is by no means an\nexceptional phenomenon in Germany these days. Nowadays in Germany\nsystems of cosmogony, of natural philosophy in particular, of\npolitics, of economics, etc., are in the habit of shooting up over\nnight like mushrooms. The most insignificant Doctor of Philosophy,\nnay, even the student, has no further use for a complete \"system.\" In\nthe modern state, it is predicated that every citizen is able to pass\njudgment on all the questions upon which he is called upon to vote; in\npolitical economy it is assumed that every consumer is thoroughly\nacquainted with all commodities, which he has occasion to buy to\nmaintain himself withal, and the same idea is also held as regards\nknowledge. Freedom of knowledge demands that a person write of that\nwhich he has not learned and proclaim this as the only sound\nscientific method. But Herr Duehring is one of the most conspicuous\ntypes of those absurd pseudo-scientists, who to-day occupy so\nconspicuous a place in Germany and drown everything with their noisy\nnonsense. Noisy nonsense in poetry, in philosophy, in political\neconomy, in writing history: noisy nonsense in the professor's chair\nand tribune; noisy nonsense too in the claims to superiority and\nintellectuality above the vulgar noisy nonsense of other nations,\nnoisy nonsense the most characteristic and mightiest product of German\nintellectual activity, cheap and bad, like other German products,\nalong with which, I regret to say, they were not exhibited at\nPhiladelphia.\n\nSo, German socialism, particularly since Herr Duehring set the\nexample, beats the drum, and produces here and there one who prides\nhimself upon a \"science\" of which he knows nothing. It is this, a sort\nof child's disease which marks the first conversion of the German\nuniversity man to social democracy and is inseparable from him, but it\nwill soon be thrust aside by the remarkable sound sense of our working\nclass.\n\nIt is not my fault that I am obliged to follow Herr Duehring into a\nrealm in which I can at the very most only claim to be a dilettante.\nOn such occasions I have for the most part limited myself to placing\nthe plain incontrovertible facts in contrast with the false or crooked\nassertions of my opponent, as in relation to jurisprudence and many\ninstances with regard to natural science. In other places he indulges\nin universal views on the subject of natural science theories and\ntherefore on a field where the professional naturalist must range out\nof his own particular specialty to neighboring regions, where he,\naccording to Herr Virchow's confessions is just as good a\n\"half-knower\" as the rest of us. For slight deficiencies and\nunavoidable errors in the publication I hope that the same indulgence\nwill be extended to me as has been shown the other side of the\ncontroversy.\n\nJust as I was completing this preface I received the publishers'\nnotice of a new important book by Herr Duehring. \"New Foundations for\nrational Physics and Chemistry.\" Although I am very well aware of my\ndeficiencies in physics and chemistry I still believe that I know my\nDuehring well enough, without having read the book, to venture to say\nthat the laws of physics and chemistry there set forth are worthy of\nbeing placed alongside of Herr Duehring's former discoveries and the\nlaws of economics, scheme of the universe, etc., examined in my\nwritings and proved to be misunderstood or commonplace, and that the\nrhigometer, an instrument constructed by Herr Duehring for measuring\ntemperature will be found to serve not only as a measure for high or\nlow temperature but of the ignorance and arrogance of Herr Duehring.\n_London, 11 June, 1878._\n\n\nII\n\nIt came to me as quite a surprise that a new edition of this work was\ncalled for. The special views which it criticised are practically\nforgotten to-day. The work itself has not only been placed before many\nthousands of readers by its serial publication in \"Vorwaerts\" of\nLeipsic in 1877 and 1878, but it has also been published in large\neditions in its entirety. How then can there be any further interest\nin what I have to say about Herr Duehring?\n\nIn the first place, I fancy, that it is owing to the fact that this\nbook, as indeed, all my writings at that time, was prohibited in\nGermany soon after the publication of the anti-Socialist laws.\nWhosoever was not fettered by the inherited officialdom of the\ncountries of the Holy Alliance should have clearly seen the effect of\nthis measure--the double and treble sale of the prohibited books, and\nthe advertisement of the impotence of the gentlemen in Berlin, who\nissued injunctions and could not make them effective. Indeed the\namiability of the Government was the cause of the publication of\nseveral new editions of my shorter writings, as I am able to affirm. I\nhave no time for a proper revision of the text and so allow it to go\nto press, just as it is.\n\nBut there is still an additional circumstance. The \"system\" of Herr\nDuehring here criticised spreads over a very extensive theoretical\nground and I was compelled to pursue him all over it and to place my\nideas in antagonism to his. Negative criticism thereupon became\npositive; the polemic developed into a more or less connected\nexposition of dialectic methods and the socialist philosophy, of which\nMarx and myself are representative, and this in quite a number of\nplaces. These our philosophic ideas have had an incubation period of\nabout twenty years since they were first given to the world in Marx's\n\"Misère de la Philosophie\" and the Communist Manifesto until they\nobtained a wider and wider influence through the publication of\n\"Capital\" and now find recognition and support far beyond the limits\nof Europe in all lands where a proletariat exists together with\nprogressive scientific thinkers. It seems that there is also a public\nwhose interests in this matter are sufficient to induce them to\npurchase the polemic against Duehring's opinions, in spite of the fact\nthat it is now without an object, and who evidently derive pleasure\nfrom the positive development.\n\nI must call attention to the fact, by the way, that the views here set\nout were, for by far the most part, developed and established by Marx,\nand only to a very slight degree by myself, so that it is understood\nthat I have not represented them without his knowledge. I read the\nentire manuscript to him before sending it to press and the tenth\nchapter of the section on Political Economy was written by Marx and\nunfortunately had to be somewhat abbreviated by me.\n\nIt was our wont to mutually assist each other in special branches of\nwork.\n\nThe present edition is with the exception of one chapter an unchanged\nedition of the former. I had no time for revision although there was\nmuch in the mode of presentation which I wanted altered. But there is\nincumbent upon me the duty of preparing for publication the\nmanuscripts which Marx left, and this is much more important than\nanything else. Then my conscience rebels against making any changes.\nThe book is controversial and I have an idea that it is unfair to my\nantagonist for me to alter anything when he cannot do so. I could only\nclaim the right to reply to Herr Duehring's answer. But what Herr\nDuehring has written with respect to my attack I have not read and\nshall not do so, unless obliged. I am theoretically done with him.\nBesides I must observe the rules of literary warfare all the more\nclosely as a despicable wrong has since been inflicted upon him by the\nUniversity of Berlin. It has been chastised for this, indeed. A\nuniversity which so degrades itself as to refuse permission to Herr\nDuehring to teach under the known circumstances should not be\nsurprised if a Herr Schwenninger is forced upon it under circumstances\njust as well known.\n\nThe one chapter in which I have permitted myself any explanations is\nthe Second of the Third Section \"Theory.\" Here where the sole concern\nis the presentation of a most important part of the philosophy which I\nrepresent, my antagonist cannot complain if I put myself to some\ntrouble to speak popularly and to generalise. This was undoubtedly a\nspecial occasion. I had made a French translation of three chapters of\nthe book (the First of the Introduction and the First and Second of\nthe Third Section) into a separate pamphlet for my friend Lafargue,\nand the French edition afterwards served as a basis for one in Italian\nand one in Polish. A German edition was provided under the title \"The\nDevelopment of Socialism from Utopia to Science.\" The latter has\nexhausted three editions in a few months and has also made its\nappearance translated into Russian and Danish. In all these\npublications only the chapter in question was added to and it would\nhave been pedantic in me if I had confined myself to the actual\nwording of the original in the new edition in spite of the later and\ninternational form which it had assumed.\n\nWhere I wished to make changes had particular reference to two points.\nIn the first place with regard to primitive history, as far as known,\nto which Morgan was the first to give us the key in 1877. In my book\n\"The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State,\" Zurich,\n1884, I have since had an opportunity of working up material more\nlately accessible which I employed in this later work. In the second\nplace, as far as that portion which is concerned with theoretical\nscience is concerned, the presentation of the subject is very\ndefective and a much more definite one could now be given. If I did\nnot allow myself the right of improving it now, I should be in duty\nbound to pass criticism on myself instead of the other.\n\nMarx and I were probably the first to import the well known dialectic\nof the German idealistic philosophy into the materialistic view of\nnature and history. But to a dialectical and at the same time\nmaterialistic view of nature there pertains an acquaintance with\nmathematics and natural science. Marx was a sound mathematician but\nthe sciences we only knew in part, by fits and starts, sporadically.\nAfter I retired from mercantile pursuits and went to London and had\ntime, I made as far as possible a complete mathematical and scientific\n\"molting,\" as Liebig calls it, and spent the best part of eight years\non it. I was occupied with this molting process when it chanced that I\nwas called upon to busy myself with Herr Duehring's so-called\nphilosophy. If, therefore, I often fail to find the correct technical\nexpression, and am a little awkward in the field of natural science it\nis only too natural. On the other hand the consciousness of\ninsecurity which I have not yet got over has made me cautious. Actual\nblunders respecting facts up to the present known, and incorrect\npresentations of theories thus far recognised cannot be proved against\nme. In this relation just one great mathematician, who is laboring\nunder a mistake, has complained to Marx in a letter that I have made a\nmischievous attack upon the honor of the square root of minus one.\n\nAs regards my review of mathematics and the natural science it was\nnecessary for me to reassure myself on some special points--since I\nhad no doubts about the truth of the general proposition--that in\nnature the same dialectic laws of progress fulfill themselves amid all\nthe apparent confusion of innumerable changes as dominate the\napparently accidental in nature; the same laws whose threads traverse\nthe progressive history of human thought, and little by little come to\nthe consciousness of thinking men. These were first developed by Hegel\nin a comprehensive fashion but in a mystical form. Our efforts were\ndirected towards stripping away this mystical form and making them\nevident in their full simplicity and universal reality. It was self\nevident that the old philosophies of nature--in spite of all their\nactual value and fruitful suggestiveness--could be of no value to us.\nThere was an error in the Hegelian form, as shown in this book, in\nthat it recognised no progression of nature in time, no \"one after\nanother\" (Nacheinander) but merely \"one besides another\"\n(Nebeneinander). This was due on the one hand to the Hegelian system\nitself which ascribed to the Spirit (Geist) alone a progressive\nhistorical development, but on the other hand, the general attitude of\nthe natural sciences was responsible. So Hegel fell far behind Kant in\nthis respect for the latter had already by his nebular hypothesis\nproclaimed the origin and, by his discovery of the stoppage of the\nrotation of the earth through the tides, the destruction of the solar\nsystem. And finally, I could not undertake to construct the\ndialectical laws of nature but to discover them in it and to develop\nthem from it.\n\nTo do this entirely and in each separate division is a colossal task.\nNot only is the ground to be covered almost immeasurable but on this\nentire ground natural science is involved in such tremendous changes\nthat even those who have all their time to give can hardly keep up\nwith it. Since the death of Marx however my mind has been occupied by\nmore pressing duties and so I had to interrupt my work. I must, for\nthe moment, confine myself to the hints in the work before us and wait\nfor a later opportunity to correct and publish the results obtained,\nprobably together with the most important manuscripts on mathematics\nleft behind by Marx.\n\nBut the advance of theoretical science makes my work in all\nprobability, in a great measure, or altogether, superfluous. Since the\nrevolution which overturned theoretical science the necessity of\narranging the accumulation of purely empirical discoveries has caused\nthe opposing empiricists to pay more and more attention to the\ndialectical character of the operations of nature. The old stiff\nantagonisms, the sharp impassable frontier lines are becoming more and\nmore abolished. Since the last \"true\" gases have been liquefied, since\nthe proof that a body can be put in a condition in which liquid and\ngaseous forms cannot be differentiated, aggregate conditions have to\nthe last remnant lost their earlier absolute character. With the\nstatement of the kinetic theory of gases that, in gases, the squares\nof the speeds with which the separate gas molecules move are in\ninverse ratio to the molecular weights, under the same temperature,\nheat takes its place directly in the series of such measurable forms\nof motion. Ten years ago the newly discovered great fundamental law of\nmotion was still understood as a mere law of the conservation of\nenergy, as a mere expression of the indestructibility and\nuncreatibility of motion, and therefore merely on its quantitative\nside. That narrow negative expression has been more and more\nsubordinated to the transformation of energy, in which the qualitative\ncontent of the process is duly recognised and the last notion of an\nextramundane Creator is destroyed. That the quantity of motion (of\nenergy, so called) is not changed when it is transformed into kinetic\nenergy (mechanical force, so called), into electricity, heat,\npotential static energy need not now be preached any longer as\nsomething new, it served as the foundation, once attained, of many\nvaluable investigations of the process of transformation itself, of\nthe great fundamental process, in the knowledge of which is\ncomprehended the knowledge of all nature. And since biology has been\ntreated in the light of the theory of evolution it has abolished one\nstiff line of classification after another in the realm of organic\nnature. The entirely unclassified intermediate conditions increase in\nnumber every day. Later investigations throw organisms out of one\nclass into another, and marks of distinction which have become\narticles of faith lose their individual reality. We have now mammals\nwhich lay eggs and, if the news is established, birds also which go on\nall fours. It was already observed, before the time of Virchow, as a\nconclusion of the discovery of the cell, that the identity of the\nindividual creature is lost, scientifically and dialectically\nspeaking, in a federation of cells, so the idea of animal (and\ntherefore human) individuality is still further complicated by the\ndiscovery of the amoeba in the bodies of the higher animals\nconstituting the white blood corpuscles. And these are just the things\nwhich were considered polar opposites, irreconcilable and insoluble,\nthe fixed boundaries and differences of classification, which have\ngiven modern theoretical science its limited and metaphysical\ncharacter. The knowledge that these distinctions and antagonisms\nactually do occur in nature, but only relatively, and that on the\nother hand that fixity and absoluteness are the products of our own\nminds--this knowledge constitutes the kernel of the dialectic view of\nnature. The view is reached under the compulsion of the mass of\nscientific facts, and one reaches it the more easily by bringing to\nthe dialectic character of these facts a consciousness of the laws of\ndialectic thought. At all events, the scope of science is now so great\nthat it no longer escapes the dialectic comprehension. But it will\nsimplify the process if it is remembered that the results in which\nthese discoveries are comprehended are ideas, that the art of\noperating with ideas is not inborn, moreover, and is not vouchsafed\nevery day to the ordinary mind, but requires actual thought, and this\nthought has a long history crammed with experiences, neither more nor\nless than the accumulated experiences of investigation into nature. By\nthese means, then, it learns how to appropriate the results of fifteen\nhundred years development of philosophy, it gets rid of any separate\nnatural philosophy which stands above or alongside of it and the\nlimited method of thought brought over from English empiricism.\n\n  _London, 22nd September, 1885._\n\n\n\nThe following new edition is, with the exception of a very few changes\nin form of expression, a reproduction of the former. Only in one\nchapter, namely in the Xth. of the Second Section (that on Critical\nHistory) I have allowed some important emendations, for the following\nreasons. As has been stated already in the preface to the second\nedition, this chapter is in all its essentials, the work of Marx. In\nits first form, which was intended as an article in a review, I was\ncompelled to abbreviate the manuscript of Marx very much, particularly\nin those points in which the criticism of Herr Duehring's propositions\nis subordinate to the particular development of the history of\neconomics. But these are just the portions of the manuscript which\nconstitute the greatest and most important of, as regards its\npermanent interest, part of the work. The places in which Marx gives\ntheir appropriate place in the genesis of political economy to such\nwriters as Petty, North, Locke and Hume, I consider myself obliged to\ngive as literally and completely as possible, and still more so, his\nexplanation of the \"economic tableaux\" by Quesnay, the insoluble\nriddle of the sphinx to all economists. I have omitted however that\npart which dealt solely with the writings of Herr Duehring as far as\nthe connection permitted. For the rest, I am perfectly well satisfied\nwith the extent to which the views represented in this work, have made\ntheir way into the minds of the working class and the scientists\nthroughout the world since the publication of the former edition.\n\n                                                       F. ENGELS.\n\n  _London, 23d May, 1894._\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\n_I. In General._\n\nModern socialism is in its essence the product of the existence on the\none hand of the class antagonisms which are dominant in modern\nsociety, between the property possessors and those who have no\nproperty and between the wage workers and the bourgeois; and, on the\nother, of the anarchy which is prevalent in modern production. In its\ntheoretical form however it appears as a development of the\nfundamental ideas of the great French philosophers of the eighteenth\ncentury. Like every new theory it was obliged to attach itself to the\nexisting philosophy however deeply its roots were embedded in the\neconomic fact.\n\nThe great men in France who cleared the minds of the people for the\ncoming revolution were themselves uncompromisingly revolutionary. They\ndid not recognise outside authority of any kind whatsoever. Religion,\nnatural science, society, the state, all were subjected to the most\nunsparing criticism, and everything was compelled to justify its\nexistence before the judgment seat of reason or perish. Reason was\nestablished as the one and universal measure. It was the time when, as\nHegel said, the world was turned upside down, first in the sense that\nthe human mind and the principles arrived at by process of thought\nwere claimed as the foundations of all human actions and social\nrelations, but later also, in the wider sense, that the reality which\ncontradicted these theories had indeed to be turned upside down. All\nforms of society and the state existent heretofore, all survivals of\nold notions, were thrown into the lumber room as unreasonable. Up to\nthat time the world had only allowed itself to be led by prejudice.\nAll that had been done deserved merely pity and contempt. Now for the\nfirst time day broke: from now on, superstition, injustice, tyranny\nand privilege should be replaced by eternal truth, eternal justice,\nequality founded on natural rights and the inalienable rights of man.\n\nWe now know that the rule of reason was nothing more than the rule of\nthe bourgeoisie idealised, that eternal right found its realisation in\nbourgeois justice, that equality was materialised in bourgeois\nequality before the law, that when the rights of man were proclaimed\nbourgeois rights of property were proclaimed at one and the same time,\nand that the state of reason, Rousseau's Social Contract, could only\ncome into existence as the bourgeois democratic republic. To such a\nslight extent could the great thinkers of the eighteenth century, just\nas their predecessors, prevail over the limits which their own epoch\nhad placed upon them.\n\nBut besides the antagonism between feudal baron and bourgeois there\nexisted the general antagonism between the robbers and the robbed,\nbetween the rich idlers and the toiling poor. It was just this\nantagonism which made it possible for the leaders of the bourgeoisie\nto pose as the representatives not merely of a special class but of\nthe whole of suffering humanity. Furthermore the bourgeoisie was\nsaddled with an antithesis right from the start. Capitalists cannot\nexist without laborers, and, in proportion, as the members of the\ngilds in the Middle Ages developed into the modern bourgeois, the\njourneymen of the gilds and the day laborers, on their part, developed\ninto the proletariat. And though the bourgeois, as a general rule,\nmight claim to represent also the interests of the different working\nclasses of the period, still, independent movements of the latter\nclasses broke out in connection with each great movement on the part\nof the bourgeoisie; such working classes being the more or less\ndeveloped predecessors of the modern proletariat. Thus there came into\nbeing at the time of the German Reformation and the Peasant War the\nparty of Thomas Munzer, in the great English Revolution the Levellers,\nand in the great French Revolution, Baboeuf.\n\nBesides these revolutionary demonstrations of a class still\nundeveloped, occurred certain theoretical manifestations of a\ncorresponding nature. Thus in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,\nutopian pictures of an ideal social condition, in the eighteenth\ncentury, absolutely communistic theories (Morelly and Mably). The\ndemand for equality was confined no longer to political rights, it had\nto be extended to the social condition of individuals; the demand was\nmade for the abolition not merely of class privileges but of class\ndistinctions also. An ascetic communism patterned on that of Sparta\nwas the first form which the new teachings assumed. Then came the\nthree great utopians--Saint Simon, in whose eyes bourgeois aims\npossessed a certain merit as well as those of the proletariat: then\nFourier and Owen, who, in the land of the most highly developed\ncapitalistic production, and under the influence of the antagonisms\nwhich arise therefrom, developed in direct relation to French\nmaterialism their proposals which tended to the abolition of class\ndistinctions.\n\nOne common feature pertaining to all the three is the fact that they\ndid not appear as the representatives of the interests of the\nproletariat which had been in the meantime developed through the\nhistorical process. Like the philosophers, their ambition is not to\nfree a particular class but the whole world. Like them they wish to\nintroduce the government of reason and eternal justice. But there is a\nworld of difference between their government and that of the\nphilosophers. According to the philosophers, the bourgeois world as it\nexists is unreasonable and unjust and is destined for the rubbish\nheap, just as feudalism and all other earlier forms of society. The\nreason that true justice and reason have not dominated the world is\nbecause up to the present man has not properly comprehended them. That\na man of genius has appeared and that the truth concerning these\nthings should have now been made clear are not results arising from a\ncombination of historical progress and necessity, but a mere piece of\nluck. He might just as well have been born five hundred years earlier\nand saved mankind the mistakes, conflicts and sorrows of five hundred\nyears.\n\nThis is actually the idea of all English and French socialists and of\nthe earlier German socialists, Weitling included. According to this\nview, socialism is the expression of absolute truth, reason, and\njustice, and only has to be perceived in order to vanquish the world\nby reason of its truth. Hence, absolute truth, reason, and justice\nvary according to each founder of a school, and therefore with each\none, the variety of absolute truth, reason and justice is dependent,\nin turn, upon the subjective temperament of that founder, his\nconditions of life, the extent of his knowledge and mental discipline,\nso that in this conflict of absolute truths there is no possible\nsolution save that they rub each other smooth by mutual contact. Hence\nnothing could result from it except a sort of eclectic, average\nsocialism, which is, as a matter of fact, up to the present, the\nprevailing notion in the minds of the great majority of socialist\nagitators in France and England--a mixture admitting of manifold\nshades, of a few notable critical utterances, economic teachings and\npictures of a future state of society by leaders of different sects, a\nmixture which flows all the easier in proportion as the sharp precise\ncorners are rubbed off the separate notions in the stream of debates,\njust as pebbles become round in a brook.\n\nIn order that a science can be made out of socialism it is first\nnecessary that it be placed on a sound basis.\n\nMeanwhile, close to and just after the French philosophy of the\neighteenth century, the new German philosophy arose and culminated in\nHegel. Its greatest service was the restoration of the dialectic as\nthe highest form of thought. The old Greek philosophers were all\nnatural dialecticians, and the most universal intellect among them,\nAristotle, was already the discoverer of the essential forms of\ndialectic thought. On the other hand, subsequent philosophy although\nin it there were brilliant exponents of the dialectic (e.g. Descartes\nand Spinoza), was more and more involved in the so-called metaphysical\nmode of thought, chiefly owing to English influence which completely\nmastered the French philosophers, at least of the eighteenth century.\nOutside of the strict frontiers of philosophy, masterpieces of the\ndialectic might be found occasionally of which I can only recall\n\"Rameau's Nephew\" by Diderot, and the treatise upon the origin of\nhuman inequality by Rousseau.\n\nWe now give briefly the essential features of the two modes of\nthought: we will return to them more fully later.\n\nIf we examine nature, the history of man or our own intellectual\nactivities, we have presented to us an endless coil of interrelations\nand changes in which nothing is constant whatever be its nature, time\nor position, but every thing is in motion, suffers change, and passes\naway. This original, naïve and very nearly correct philosophy of the\nworld is that of the old Greek philosophers and was first put in a\nvery clear form by Heraclitus. Everything is and yet is not, since\neverything is in a state of flux, is comprehended as undergoing\nconstant modification, as eternally existing and disappearing. But\nthis philosophy, correct as it is as regards phenomena in general,\nviewed as a picture, is insufficient to explain the individual\nphenomena of which the picture of the universe is composed, and as\nlong as we cannot do that we are not clear about the general picture.\nIn order to study these individual phenomena we are obliged to take\nthem out of their natural or social connection, and examine each of\nthem by itself according to its own form and its particular origin and\ndevelopment. This is the task of natural science and historical\ninvestigation, branches of discovery to which the Greeks of classical\ntimes assigned a subordinate place for very good reasons, since they,\nfirst of all, had to collect the material. The beginning of an exact\nobservation of nature was made first by the Greeks of the Alexandrine\nperiod, and was later developed further by the Arabs in the Middle\nAges. True natural science hence dates from the second half of the\nfifteenth century, and from then on has advanced at a constantly\ngrowing rate. The dissection of nature into its separate parts, the\nseparation of different natural events and natural conditions into\ncertain classes, the examination of the interiors of organic bodies\nwith respect to their manifold anatomical forms, furnished the\nfundamental reasons for the progress in a knowledge of nature which\nthe last four hundred years have brought in their train. But it has\ncaused us occasionally to drop into the habit of regarding natural\nphenomena and events as entities, apart from the great universal\ninterrelations, and therefore not as moving but quiescent, not as\nchangeable in their essence but fixed and constant, not in their life\nbut in their death. And hence, just as happened with Bacon and Locke,\nthis point of view has been carried over from science into philosophy,\nand has constituted the specially narrow view of the last century, the\nmetaphysical mode of thought.\n\nFor the metaphysician, things and their pictures in the minds,\nconcepts, are separate entities, one following the other without any\nregard to each other, stable, rigid, eternally fixed objects of\ninvestigation. The metaphysician thinks in antitheses. His\nconversation is \"Yea, yea; Nay, nay\" and whatsoever is more than these\ncometh of evil. For him a thing exists or it does not exist, a thing\ncan never be itself and something else at the same time; positive and\nnegative are mutually exclusive, cause and effect stand in stiff\nantagonism to each other. This method of thought seems at the first\nglance to be quite plausible because it is in accordance with sound\ncommon sense. But sound common sense, respectable fellow though he may\nbe in his own home surrounded by his four walls, meets with strange\nadventures when he betakes himself into the wide world of\ninvestigation; and the metaphysical way of looking at things, sound\nand useful as it is, under given conditions, runs sooner or later into\na stone wall, beyond which it is one-sided, stupid and abstract, and\nloses itself in insoluble contradictions. Because it omits to notice\nthe interrelations of the individual phenomena, their existence, their\ncoming and their going, their static and mobile conditions, and so to\nspeak does not see the forest for trees. We know for example, with\nsufficient certainty for every day affairs, whether an animal is alive\nor dead, but, on closer examination, we find that this is sometimes no\neasy matter to decide, as jurists know very well and have gone indeed\nto great pains to discover a rational border line beyond which the\nkilling of a child in the womb of its mother is murder. It is just as\nimpossible too to fix the precise moment of death, for physiology\nshows that death is not a single and sudden event but a very slow\nprocess. Just so is every organic being at the same moment itself and\nnot itself. Every moment it takes up matter coming to it from the\noutside and throws off other matter, every moment its body-cells die\nand are recreated. Indeed after a longer or shorter period the whole\nmaterial of the body is renewed through the taking up of other\nparticles of matter so that each organic being is at the same time\nitself and something else. We find also if we look at the matter more\nclosely that the two poles of an antithesis, positive and negative,\nare just as inseparable as they are antagonistic, and that they, in\nspite of all their fixed antagonisms permeate each other, also that\nthe cause and effect are concepts which can only realise themselves in\nrelation to a particular case. However when we come to examine the\nseparate case in its general relation to the world at large they come\ntogether and dissolve themselves in face of the working out of the\nuniversal problem, for, here, cause and effect exchange places, what\nwas at one time and place effect becoming cause and vice versa.\n\nAll these phenomena and thought-concepts do not fit into the frame of\nmetaphysical philosophy. According to the dialectic method of thinking\nwhich regards things and their concepts in relation to their\nconnection with each other, their concatenation, their coming into\nbeing and passing away, phenomena, like the preceding, are so many\nconfirmations of its own philosophy. Nature is the proof of the\ndialectic, and we must give to modern science the credit of having\nfurnished an extraordinary wealth and daily increasing store of\nmaterial towards this proof, and thereby showing in the last instance\nthings proceed dialectically and not in accordance with metaphysical\nnotions. But as the scientists who have learned to think dialectically\nmay be still easily counted, the chaos arising from the confusion\nbetween actual results and an antiquated mode of thought is thus\nexplained, and this confusion is to-day dominant in theoretical\nscience, and drives teachers and pupils, writers and readers to\ndespair.\n\nA correct notion of the universe, of the human race, as well as of the\nreflection of this progress in the human mind can only be had by means\nof the dialectic method, together with a steady observation of the\nchange and interchange which goes on in the universe, the coming into\nexistence and passing away, progressive and retrogressive\nmodification.\n\nAnd the later German philosophy has proceeded from this standpoint.\nKant began his career in this way by abolishing Newton's conception of\na stable solar system which persisted after receiving its first\nimpulse, in favor of a historical process, to wit, the origin of the\nsun and all the planets from a rotating mass of nebulæ. From this\nconcept he drew the conclusion that, granted this origin, the future\ndissolution of the solar system is inevitable. His theory was\nmathematically proved by Laplace half a century later, and half a\ncentury later still the spectroscope discovered the existence of such\nglowing masses of gas in space in different stages of condensation.\n\nThis later German philosophy found its conclusion in the philosophy of\nHegel where for the first time, and this is his greatest service, the\nentire natural, historical and spiritual universe was regarded as a\nprocess, that is, as in constant progress, change, transformation and\ndevelopment, and the attempt was made to show the more subtle\nrelations of this process and development. From this historical point\nof view the history of mankind no longer appeared as a barren\nconfusion of mindless forces, all alike subject to rejection before\nthe judgment seat of the most recently ripened philosophy, and which,\nat the very best, man puts out of his mind as soon as possible, but as\nthe development-process of humanity itself, to follow the process of\nwhich, little by little, through all its ramifications, and to\nestablish the essential laws of which, in spite of all apparent\naccidents, is now the task of philosophic thought.\n\nIt is immaterial at this place that Hegel did not solve this problem.\nHis epoch-making service was to have proposed it. It is a problem,\nmoreover, which no individual can solve. Though Hegel, next to Saint\nSimon, was the most universal intellect of his time he was still\nlimited, in the first place, through the necessarily narrow grasp of\nhis own knowledge and in addition through the limitations of the\ncontemporary conditions of knowledge. There was a third reason, too.\nHegel was an idealist, that is he regarded thought not as a mere\nabstract representation of real phenomena, but, on the contrary,\nphenomena and their development appeared to him as the representations\nof the Idea which existed before the world. The result was an\ninversion of everything, the actual interrelations of the universe\nwere turned completely upside down, and though of these\ninterrelations, many single ones were set out justly and correctly by\nHegel, much of the detail is patched, labored, made up, in short,\nincorrect. The Hegelian system was, to speak briefly, a colossal\nmiscarriage, and the last of its kind. It rested on an incurable\ncontradiction; on the other hand, it actually proclaimed the\nhistorical conception according to which human history is a process of\ndevelopment, which, in its very nature, cannot find its intellectual\nconclusion in the discovery of a so-called absolute truth, on the\nother hand it declared itself to be the central idea of just such an\nabsolute truth. An all embracing and determined knowledge of nature\nand history is in absolute contradiction with the foundations of\ndialectic thought, but it is not denied, on the contrary, it is\nstrongly affirmed, that the systematic knowledge of the entire\nexternal world may from age to age make giant strides.\n\nThe total perversion of modern German idealism of necessity drove men\nto materialism, but not, and this is well worth noting, to the mere\nmetaphysical mechanical materialism of the eighteenth century. In\ncontradiction to the naïvely simple revolutionary pushing on one side\nof all earlier history, modern materialism sees in history the process\nof the development of society, to discover the laws of whose\ndevelopment is its task. In contradistinction to the conception of\nnature which prevailed among the French philosophers, as well as with\nHegel, as something moving in a narrow circle with an eternal and\nunchangeable substantial form, as Newton conceived it, and with\ninvariable species of organic beings, as Linnæus thought, materialism\nembraces the more recent discoveries of natural science, according to\nwhich nature has also a history in time. For the forms of the worlds,\nlike the species of organisms by which they are inhabited under\nsuitable conditions, come into being and pass away, and the cycles of\ntheir progress, in so far as it is permissible to use the term, take\non eternally more magnificent dimensions. In either case it is\nentirely dialectic and no longer forces a static philosophy upon the\nother sciences. As soon as the demand is made upon each separate\nbranch of science that it make clear its relation to things in\ngeneral, and science as a whole, the individual science thereupon\nbecomes superfluous. Of all philosophy up to the present time the only\npeculiar property which remains as its characteristic is the study of\nthought and the formal laws of thought--logic and the dialectic. All\nelse belongs to the positive sciences of nature and history.\n\nWhile the revolution in natural science was only able to be completely\ncarried out in proportion as investigation furnished the necessary\npositive material, there were known a multitude of earlier historical\nfacts which gave a distinct bias to the philosophy of history. In 1831\nin Lyons the first purely working class revolt occurred. The first\nnational working class movement, that of the English Chartists,\nreached its height between 1838 and 1842. The class war between the\nproletariat and the bourgeoisie proceeded historically in the most\nadvanced European countries just in proportion as the newly developed\ngreater industry has progressed, on the one hand, and the political\npower of the bourgeoisie on the other. The teachings of the bourgeois\neconomists with respect to the identity of the interests of capital\nand labor and with respect to the universal peace and well being which\nwould follow as a matter of course from the adoption of free trade\nwere more and more contradicted by facts. All these things could be as\nlittle ignored as the French and English socialism which was their\ntheoretical though very insufficient expression. But the old\nidealistic philosophy of history which was as yet by no means laid\naside knew nothing of class wars dependent upon material interests,\nand nothing of material interests, specially. Production, like all\neconomic phenomena only occupied a subordinate position as a secondary\nelement of the \"history of civilisation.\" The new facts, moreover\nrendered necessary a new investigation of all preceding history and\nthen it became evident that all history up to then had been a history\nof class struggles and that these mutually conflicting classes are the\nresults of a given method of production and distribution at a given\nperiod, in a word, of the economic conditions of that epoch. Hence,\nthat the economic structure of society at a given time furnishes the\nreal foundations upon which the entire superstructure of political and\njuristic institutions as well as the religious, philosophical and\nother abstract notions of a given period are to be explained in the\nlast instance. Idealism was thereupon driven from its last refuge, the\nphilosophy of history; a materialistic philosophy of history was set\nup, and the path was discovered by which the consciousness of man\ncould be shown as springing from his existence rather than his\nexistence from his consciousness.\n\nBut the socialism which had existed so far was just as incompatible\nwith the materialistic conception of history as was the naturalistic\nFrench materialism with the dialectic and the modern discoveries in\nnatural science. The then existing socialism criticised the prevailing\ncapitalistic methods of production and their results but it could not\nexplain them and thus could not match itself against them, it could\nonly brush them on one side as being bad. But it was necessary to\nshow, on the one hand, the capitalistic methods of production in their\nhistorical connection, and their necessity at a given historical epoch\nand therefore the necessity of their ultimate disappearance. On the\nother hand their inner character had to be explained and this was all\nthe more concealed for criticism had up to then been chiefly engaged\nin pointing out the evil results flowing from them rather than in\ndestroying the thing itself. This was made clear by the discovery of\nsurplus value.\n\nIt was shown that the appropriation of unpaid labor is the basis of\nthe capitalistic mode of production and the robbery of the worker is\ncarried out by its means; that the capitalist, although he buys the\nlabor-force of the worker at the full value which it possesses in the\nmarket as a commodity, yet derives more from it than he has paid for\nit, and that in the last instance this surplus creates the total\namount of value from which the capital steadily increasing in the\nhands of the capitalistic class is amassed. The phenomenon not only of\ncapitalistic production but of the creation of capital has thus been\nexplained.\n\nFor these two great discoveries, the materialistic conception of\nhistory and the disclosure of the mystery of capitalistic production\nwe must thank Marx. Granted these, socialism became a science, which\nthereupon had to busy itself in the working out of these ideas in\ntheir individual aspects and connections.\n\nThus matters stood in the realm of theoretical socialism and the dead\nphilosophy (of metaphysics Ed.) when Herr Eugene Duehring, with no\nslight impressement sprang up before the public and announced that he\nhad accomplished a complete revolution in political economy and\nsocialism.\n\nLet us now see what Herr Duehring promises and--how he keeps his\npromises.\n\n\n_II. What Herr Duehring Has to Say._\n\nUp to now, the notable writings of Herr Duehring are his \"Course of\nPhilosophy,\" his \"Course of Political and Social Science\" and his\n\"Critical History of Political Economy and Socialism.\" The first work\nis the one which particularly claims our attention.\n\nRight on the first page Herr Duehring announces himself as \"one who\nclaims to represent this power (of philosophy) at the present time and\nits unfolding in the undiscoverable future.\" He discovers himself,\ntherefore, as the one true philosopher for the present and the hidden\nfuture. Whoso differs from him differs from truth. Many people even\nbefore Herr Duehring, have thought this about themselves or something\nlike it, but, with the exception of Richard Wagner, he is the first\nwho has allowed himself to say it right out. And, as a matter of fact,\nthe truth, as it is handled by him is \"a final truth of the last\ninstance.\" Herr Duehring's philosophy is \"the natural system, or the\nphilosophy of reality.... Reality is so understood as to exclude every\nsudden impulse towards an unreal and subjectively limited\ncomprehension of the universe.\" The philosophy is therefore so shaped\nas to exclude Herr Duehring himself from the somewhat obvious\nlimitations of his own personal, subjective narrowness. It is quite\nnecessary to explain how this miracle is worked, if he is in a\nposition to lay down unquestionable truths of the last instance,\nthough, for our part, we cannot discover any particular merit in them.\nThis \"natural system of valuable knowledge\" has \"with great profundity\nestablished the foundation forms of existence.\" Out of his real\ncritical attitude proceed the elements of a real critical philosophy,\nbased on the realities of nature and life, which does not allow of any\nmerely imaginary horizon but in its mighty revolutionary progress\nopens up the earth and heaven of external and inner nature; it is a\n\"new method of thought\" and its results are \"from the bottom up,\npeculiar results and philosophies ... system-shaping ideas ... fixed\ntruths.\" We have in it before us \"a work which must seek its force in\nthe concentrated initiative,\" whatever that may mean; an\n\"investigation reaching to the roots ... a rooted science ... a\nseverely scientific conception of things and men ... a comprehensive\nthorough effort of the mind ... a creative sketch of suppositions and\nconclusions from overmastering ideas ... the absolute fundamental.\" In\nthe realm of political economy he gives us not only \"historical and\nsystematic comprehensive efforts\" of which the historical are moreover\ndistinguished by \"my presentation of history in the grand style\" and\nthose in political economy have produced \"creative movements,\" but\ncloses with a special completely elaborated scientific scheme for a\nfuture society which is \"the actual fruit of a clear and basic\ntheory,\" and is therefore just as free from the possibility of error\nand as individual as Duehring's philosophy ... for \"only in that\nsocialistic structure which I have disclosed in my \"Course of\nPolitical and Social Science\" can a true ownership arise in place of\nthe present apparent private property which rests on force such an\nownership as must be recognised in the future.\"\n\nThese flowers of rhetoric from the praises of Herr Duehring by Herr\nDuehring might be increased tenfold with ease. They must cause a doubt\nto arise in the mind of the reader whether he is reading the words of\na philosopher or of a--but we must ask him to withhold his judgment\nuntil he shall have learnt the aforesaid grasp of the root of things\nby a closer acquaintance. We only quote the foregoing flowery remarks\nto show that we have to do with no ordinary philosopher and socialist\nwho simply speaks what he thinks and leaves the future to decide with\nrespect to their value, but with an extraordinary personality like the\nPope whose individual teachings must be received if the damnable sin\nof heresy is to be avoided. We have not by any means to deal with the\nkind of work which abounds in all the socialist writings, and the\nlater German ones, in particular, works in which people of varying\ncalibre seek to explain in the most naïve fashion their notions of\nthings in general and for an answer to whom there is more or less\nmaterial available. But whatever may be the literary or scientific\ndeficiencies of these works their goodwill towards socialism is always\nmanifest. On the other hand, Herr Duehring presents us with statements\nwhich he declares to be final truths of the last instance, exclusive\ntruths, according to which any other opinion is absolutely false. Thus\nhe owns the only scientific methods of investigation, and all others\nare unscientific in comparison. Either he is right and we are face to\nface with the greatest genius of our time, the first superhuman,\nbecause infallible, man; or he is wrong, and then, since our judgment\nmay always be at fault, benevolent regard for his possible good\nintentions would be the deadliest insult to Herr Duehring.\n\nWhen one is in possession of final truths of the last instance and the\nonly absolutely scientific knowledge one must have a certain contempt\nfor the rest of erring and unscientific humanity. We cannot therefore\nbe surprised that Herr Duehring employs very abusive terms with regard\nto his predecessors, and that only a few exceptional people,\nrecognised by him as great men, find favor in face of his\ncomprehension of fundamental truths.\n\n(Then follows a list of the epithets applied by Duehring to\nphilosophers, naturalists, Darwin, in particular, and to the socialist\nwriters. This list has been omitted as it contributes nothing of value\nto the general discussion and is only useful for the particular\ncontroversial matter in hand. Ed.)\n\nAnd so on--and this is only a hastily gathered bouquet of flowers from\nHerr Duehring's rose garden. It will be understood that if these\namiable insults which should be forbidden Herr Duehring on any grounds\nof politeness, are found somewhat disreputable and unpleasant, they\nare, still, final truths of the last instance. Even now we shall guard\nagainst any doubt of his profundity because we might otherwise be\nforbidden to discover the particular category of idiots to which we\nbelong. We have but considered it our duty on the one hand to give\nwhat Herr Duehring calls \"The quintessence of a modest mode of\nexpression,\" and on the other hand, to show that in Herr Duehring's\neyes the objectionableness of his predecessors is no less firmly\nestablished than his own infallibility. Accordingly if all this is\nactually true we bow in reverence humbly before the mighty genius of\nmodern times.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nPHILOSOPHY\n\n\n_Apriorism._\n\nPhilosophy is, according to Herr Duehring, the development of the\nhighest forms of consciousness of the world and life, and embraces, in\na wider sense, the principles of all knowledge and volition. Wherever\na series of perceptions, or motives or a group of forms of life\nbecomes a matter of consideration in the human mind the principles\nwhich underly these forms, of necessity, become an object of\nphilosophy. These principles are single, or, up to the present, have\nbeen considered as single ingredients out of which are composed the\ncomplexities of knowledge and volition. Like the chemical composition\nof material bodies, the entire universe may be also resolved into\nfundamental forms and elements. These elementary constituents and\nprinciples serve, when once discovered, not only for the known\ntangible world but for that also, which is unknown and inaccessible.\nPhilosophical principles therefore constitute the last complement\nrequired by the sciences in order that they may become a uniform\nsystem by means of which nature and human life are explained. In\naddition to the examination of the fundamental forms of all existence,\nphilosophy has only two particular objects of investigation, Nature\nand Humanity. Hence our material may be classified into three main\ngroups,--a general scheme of the universe, the teaching of the\nprinciples of nature and finally the principles which regulate\nHumanity. This arrangement at the same time comprises an inner\nlogical order, for the formal principles which are true for all\nexistence take precedence, and the concrete realms in which these\nprinciples display themselves follow in the gradation of their\nsuccessive arrangements. So far, this is Herr Duehring's conception of\nthings given almost in his very words.\n\nHe is therefore engaged with principles, formal conceptions, which are\nsubjective and not derived from the knowledge of external phenomena,\nbut which are applied to Nature and Humanity, as the principles\naccording to which Nature and Humanity must regulate themselves. But\nhow are these subjective principles derived? From thought itself? No,\nfor Herr Duehring himself says: the purely ideal realm is limited to\nlogical arrangements and mathematical conceptions (which latter as we\nshall later see is false). Logical arrangements can only be referred\nto forms of thought, but we are engaged here only with forms of\nexistence, the external world, and these forms can never be created by\nthought nor derived from it but only from the external world. Hereupon\nthe entire matter undergoes a change. We see that principles are not\nthe starting point of investigation but the conclusion of it, they are\nnot to be applied to nature and history but are derived from them.\nNature and Humanity are not steered by principles, but principles are,\non the other hand, only correct so far as they correspond with nature\nand history. That is just the materialistic conception of the matter,\nand the opposite, that of Herr Duehring is the idealistic conception,\nit turns things upside down and constructs a real world out of the\nworld of thought, arrangements, plans and categories existing from\neverlasting before the world, just like Hegelianism.\n\nAs a matter of fact, we prefer Hegel's \"Encyclopedia,\" with all its\nfever phantoms, to the \"final truths of the last instance\" of Herr\nDuehring. In the first place, according to Herr Duehring we have the\ngeneral scheme of the universe which by Hegel is called \"logic.\" Then\naccording to both of them we have the application of this scheme to\nnature by means of the logical categories, the philosophy of nature,\nand finally their application to Humanity, by what Hegel calls \"the\nPhilosophy of the Spirit.\" \"The inner logical arrangement\" of\nDuehring's scheme brings us therefore logically back to Hegel's\n\"Encyclopedia\" from which it is taken with a fidelity which would move\nthat Wandering Jew of the Hegelian school, Professor Michelet of\nBerlin, to tears.\n\nSuch a result follows if one takes it for granted that\n\"consciousness,\" \"thought,\" is something which has existed from the\nbeginning in contradistinction to nature. It would then be of the\ngreatest importance to bring consciousness and Nature, thought and\nexistence, into harmony, to harmonise the laws of thought and the laws\nof Nature. But one enquires further what are thought and consciousness\nand whence do they originate. It is consequently discovered that they\nare products of the brain of man, and that Humanity is itself a\nproduct of nature which has developed in and along with its\nenvironment; wherefore it becomes self-apparent that the products of\nthe brain of man being themselves, in the last instance, natural\nproducts, do not contradict all the rest of Nature but correspond with\nit.\n\nBut Herr Duehring cannot allow so simple a treatment of the subject.\nHe thinks not only in the name of Humanity which would be quite a\nlarge affair, but in the name of the conscious and thinking beings of\nthe whole universe. Indeed, it would be \"a degradation of the\nfoundation concepts of knowledge and consciousness if one should wish\nto exclude or even to throw suspicion upon their sovereign value and\nundoubted claims to truth by means of the epithet 'human.'\" In order\nthat there may be no suspicion that upon some heavenly body or other\ntwice two may make five, Herr Duehring does not venture to call\nthought a human attribute, and therefore he is obliged to separate it\nfrom the only true foundation on which it rests, as far as we are\nconcerned, namely, from man and nature, and thereby falls, without any\npossibility of getting out, into an \"ideology\" which causes him to\nplay baby to Hegel. It is self-evident that one cannot build\nmaterialistic doctrines on foundations so ideological. We shall see\nlater that Herr Duehring is compelled to push nature to the front as a\nconscious agent and, therefore, as that, which people in plain English\ncall God.\n\nIndeed, our philosopher had other motives in shifting the foundation\nof reality from the material world to that of thought. The knowledge\nof this general scheme of the universe, of these formal principles of\nbeing is just the foundation of Herr Duehring's philosophy. If we\nderive the scheme of the universe not from our own brain, but merely\nby means of our own brain, from the material world, we need no\nphilosophy, but simply knowledge of the world and what occurs in it,\nand the results of this knowledge likewise do not constitute a\nphilosophy, but positive science. In such a case, however, Herr\nDuehring's entire book would have been love's labor lost.\n\nFurther, if no philosophy, as such, is longer required there is no\nlonger the necessity of any philosophy of nature even. The view that\nall the phenomena of nature stand in systematic mutual relations\ncompels science to prove this systematic interconnection in all\nrespects, in single cases as well as in the entirety. But an\nappropriate creative, scientific representation of this mutual\nconnection in such a way as to show the composition of an exact\nthought-picture of the system of the universe in which we live remains\nnot only for us but for all time an impossibility. Should such a final\nconclusive system of the interconnection of the various activities of\nthe universe, physical, as well as intellectual and historical, ever\nbe brought to completion at any point of time in the history of the\nhuman race, human knowledge would forthwith come to an end and future\nhistorical progress would be cut off from the very moment in which\nsociety was directed in accordance with the system, which would be an\nabsurdity, mere nonsense.\n\nMan is therefore confronted by a contradiction, on the one hand he is\nobliged to study the interconnections of the world-system\nexhaustively, and, on the other hand, he is unable to fully accomplish\nthe task either as regards himself or as regards the system of nature.\nThis contradiction, however, does not consist solely in the nature of\nthe two factors World and Man; it is the main lever also of universal\nintellectual progress and is solved every day and for ever in an\nendless progressive development of humanity, just as mathematical\nproblems find their solution in an endless progression of a recurring\ndecimal. As a matter of fact also every concept of the universe is\nsubject to objective limitations owing to the conditions of historical\nknowledge, and subjectively in addition owing to the physical and\nmental make up of the author of the concept. But Herr Duehring\nexhibits a mode of thought which is confined in its application to a\nlimited and subjective idea of the universe. We saw earlier that he\nwas omnipresent, in all possible forms of the universe, now we see\nthat he is omniscient. He has solved the final problems of science and\nhas nailed up tight all future knowledge.\n\nHerr Duehring considers that he can, as with the fundamental forms of\nexistence, produce aprioristically by means of his own cogitations the\nwhole of pure mathematics without making any use of the experience\nwhich is afforded us in the objective world. In pure mathematics the\nunderstanding is engaged \"in its own free creations and imaginations\";\nthe concepts of number and form are \"self-sufficient objects\nproceeding from themselves\" and so have \"a value independent of\nindividual experience and actual objective reality.\"\n\nThat pure mathematics has a significance independent of particular\nindividual experience is quite true as are also the established facts\nof all the sciences and indeed of all facts. The magnetic poles, the\nformation of water from oxygen and hydrogen, the fact that Hegel is\ndead and that Herr Duehring is alive, are facts independent of my\nexperience or that of any other single individual, and will be\nindependent of that of Herr Duehring himself, as soon as he shall\nsleep the sleep of the just. But in pure mathematics the mind is not\nby any means engaged with its own creations and imaginings. The\nconcepts of number and form have only come to us by the way of the\nreal world. The ten fingers on which men count and thereby performed\nthe first arithmetical calculations are anything but a free creation\nof the mind. To count not only requires objects capable of being\ncounted but the ability, when these objects are regarded, of\nsubtracting all qualities from them except number and this ability is\nthe product of long historical development of actual experience. The\nconcept form is, like that of number, derived exclusively from the\nexternal world and is not a purely mental product. To it things\npossessed of shape were necessary and these shapes men compared until\nthe concept form was arrived at. Pure mathematics considers the shapes\nand quantities of things in the actual world, very real objects. The\nfact that these objects appear in a very abstract form only\nsuperficially conceals their origin in the world of external nature.\nIn order to understand these forms and qualities in their purity it is\nnecessary to separate them from their content and thus one gets the\npoint, without dimensions, the line, without breadth and thickness, a\nand b, x and y, constants and variables, and we finally first arrive\nat independent creations of the imagination and intellect, imaginary\nmagnitudes. Also the apparent derivation of mathematical magnitudes\nfrom each other does not prove their aprioristic origin, but only\ntheir rational interconnection. Before one attained the concept that\nthe form of a cylinder was derived from the revolution of a rectangle\nround one of its sides, he must have examined a number of rectangles\nand cylinders even if of imperfect form. Like all sciences,\nmathematics has sprung from the necessities of men, from the\nmeasurement of land and the content of vessels, from the calculation\nof time and mechanics. But, as in every department of thought, at a\ncertain stage of development, laws are abstracted from the actual\nphenomena, are separated from them and set over against them, as\nsomething independent of them, as laws, which apparently come from the\noutside, in accordance with which the material world must necessarily\nconduct itself. So, it has happened in society and the state, so, and\nnot otherwise, pure mathematics though borrowed from the world is\napplied to the world, and though it only shows a portion of its\ncomponent factors is all the better applicable on that account.\n\nBut as Herr Duehring imagines that the whole of pure mathematics can\nbe derived from the mathematical axioms, \"which according to purely\nlogical concepts are neither capable of proof nor in need of any, and\nwithout empirical ingredients anywhere and that these can be applied\nto the universe, he likewise imagines, in the first place, the\nfoundation forms of being, the single ingredients of all knowledge,\nthe axioms of philosophy, to be produced by the intellect of man; he\nimagines also that he can derive the whole of philosophy or plan of\nthe universe from these, and that his sublime genius can compel us to\naccept this, his conception of nature and humanity.\" Unfortunately\nnature and humanity are not constituted like the Prussians of the\nManteuffel regime of 1850.\n\nThe axioms of mathematics are expressions of the most elementary ideas\nwhich mathematics must borrow from logic. They may be reduced to two.\n\n(1) The whole is greater than its part; this statement is mere\ntautology, since the quantitatively limited concept, \"part,\"\nnecessarily refers to the concept, \"whole,\"--in that \"part\" signifies\nno more than that the quantitative \"whole\" is made up of quantitative\n\"parts.\" Since the so-called axiom merely asserts this much we are not\na step further. This can be shown to be a tautology if we say \"The\nwhole is that which consists of several parts--a part is that several\nof which make up a whole, therefore the part is less than the whole.\"\nWhere the barrenness of the repetition shows the lack of content all\nthe more strongly.\n\n(2) If two magnitudes are equal to a third they are equal to one\nanother; this statement is, as Hegel has shown, a conclusion, upon\nthe correctness of which all logic depends, and which is demonstrated\ntherefore outside of pure mathematics. The remaining axioms with\nregard to equality and inequality are merely logical extensions of\nthis conclusion. Such barren statements are not enticing either in\nmathematics or anywhere else. To proceed we must have realities,\nconditions and forms taken from real material things; representations\nof lines, planes, angles, polygons, spheres, etc., are all borrowed\nfrom reality, and it is just naive ideology to believe the\nmathematicians, who assert that the first line was made by causing a\npoint to progress through space, the first plane by means of the\nmovement of a line, and the first solid by revolving a plane, etc.\nEven speech rebels against this idea. A mathematical figure of three\ndimensions is called a solid--corpus solidum--and hence, according to\nthe Latin, a body capable of being handled. It has a name derived,\ntherefore, by no means from the independent play of imagination but\nfrom solid reality.\n\nBut to what purpose is all this prolixity? After Herr Duehring has\nenthusiastically proclaimed the independence of pure mathematics of\nthe world of experience, their apriorism, their connection with free\ncreation and imagination, he says \"it will be readily seen that these\nmathematical elements (number, magnitude, time, space, geometric\nprogression), are therefore ideal forms with relation to absolute\nmagnitudes and therefore something quite empiric, no matter to what\nspecies they belong.\" But \"mathematical general notions are, apart\nfrom experience, nevertheless capable of sufficient characterization,\"\nwhich latter proceeds, more or less, from each abstraction, but does\nnot by any means prove that it is not deprived from the actual. In the\nscheme of the universe of our author pure mathematics originated in\npure thought, in his philosophy of nature it is derived from the\nexternal world and then set apart from it. What are we then to\nbelieve?\n\n\n_The Scheme of the Universe._\n\n\"All-comprehending existence is sole. It is sufficient to itself and\nhas nothing above or below it. To associate a second existence with it\nwould be to make it just what it is not, a part of a constituent or\nall-embracing whole. When we conceive of our idea of soleness as a\nframe there is nothing which can enter into this, nothing which\nretains twofoldness can enter into this concept of unity. But nothing\ncan alienate itself from this concept of unity. The essence of all\nthought consists in uniting the elements of consciousness in a unity.\nThe indivisible concept of the universe has arisen by comprehending\neverything, and the universe, as the word signifies, is recognised as\nsomething in which everything is united into one unity.\"\n\nSo far Herr Duehring is quoted. The mathematical method, \"Everything\nmust be decided on simple axiomatic foundation principles, just as if\nit were concerned with the simple principles of mathematics,\" this\nmethod is for the first time here applied.\n\n\"The all-embracing existence is sole.\" If tautology, simple repetition\nin the predicate of what has been stated in the subject, if this\nconstitutes an axiom, then we have a splendid specimen. In the subject\nHerr Duehring tells us that existence comprehends everything, in the\npredicate he explains intrepidly that there is nothing outside it.\nWhat a system-shaping thought. It is indeed system-shaping until we\nfind six lines further down that Herr Duehring has transformed the\nsoleness of being by means of our idea of unity into its one-ness. As\nthe work of all thought consists in the bringing together of all\nthought into a unity so is existence, as soon as it is conceived,\nthought of as a unity, an indivisible concept of the universe, and\nbecause existence so conceived is the sole universal concept, so is\nreal existence, the real universe, just as much an indivisible unity,\nand consequently \"the beings in the beyond have no further place as\nsoon as the mind has learned to comprehend existence in the\nhomogeneous universality.\"\n\nThat is a campaign with which in comparison Austerlitz and Jena,\nKoeniggratz and Sedan sink in insignificance. In a couple of\nexpressions after we have set the first axiom moving we have\nabolished, put away, and destroyed all the inhabitants of the\nspirit-world, God, the heavenly hierarchies, heaven, hell and\npurgatory as well as the immortality of the soul.\n\nHow do we arrive at the idea of the unity of existence from that of\nits soleness? As a matter of fact, we generally conceive it. As we\nspread out our idea of unity as a frame around it the concept of\nexistence becomes the concept of unity, for the existence of all\nthought consists in the bringing of elements of consciousness into\nunity.\n\nThis last statement is simply false. In the first place thought\nconsists in the decomposition of objects of consciousness into their\nelements as well as in the uniting of mutually connected elements into\na unity. There can be no synthesis without analysis. In the second\nplace, thought can, without error, only bring those elements of\nconsciousness into a unity in which or in the actual prototypes of\nwhich this unity already existed beforehand. If I comprehend a\nshoebrush under the class mammal, it does not thereupon become a\nmilk-giver. The unity of existence is therefore just the thing which\nhad to be proved in order to justify his concept of thought as a\nunity, and if Herr Duehring assures us that he regards existence as a\nunity and not as twofold he tells us nothing more than that he himself\npersonally thinks so.\n\nTo give a clear explanation of his method of reasoning, it is as\nfollows, \"I begin with existence. Therefore I think of existence. The\nidea of existence is an idea of unity. Thought and existence must\ntherefore belong together, they answer one another, they mutually\ncover each other. Therefore existence is in reality a unity and there\nare no beings beyond.\" But if Herr Duehring had spoken thus plainly\ninstead of entertaining us with oracular statements, the ideology of\nhis argument would have been completely exposed. To attempt to\nundertake to prove from the identity of thought and existence the\nreality of the result of thought, that indeed were one of the\nfever-phantoms of a Hegel.\n\nIf his entire method of proof were really correct Herr Duehring would\nnot have gained a single point over the spiritists. The spiritists\nwould curtly reply, \"The universe is simple from our standpoint also.\nThe division into the hither and the beyond only exists from our\nspecial earthly original sin standpoint. In its essence, that is God,\nthe entire universe is a unity.\" And they will take Herr Duehring with\nthem to his beloved heavenly bodies, and will show him one or more\nwhere no original sin can be found, and where there is therefore no\nantagonism between the hither and the beyond, and the oneness of the\nuniverse is a demand of faith.\n\nThe most comical thing about the matter is that Herr Duehring in order\nto prove the non-existence of God from his concept of existence,\nfurnishes the ontological proof of God's existence. This runs as\nfollows--If we think of God we think of Him as the concept of complete\nperfection. To the idea of perfection existence is a first essential,\nsince a non-existent being is of necessity imperfect. We must\ntherefore add existence to the perfections of God. Therefore God must\nexist. Thus Herr Duehring reasons exactly. If we think of existence we\nthink of it as a concept. What is united into a concept is a unity,\ntherefore existence would not correspond with its concept if it were\nnot a unity. Therefore it must be a unity, therefore there is no God,\netc.\n\nIf we speak of existence and merely of existence, the unity can only\nconsist in this that all objects with which it is concerned\nare--exist. They are comprised under the unity of this common\nexistence, and no other, and the general dictum that they all exist\ncannot give them any further qualities, common or not common, but\nexcludes all such from consideration in advance. For as soon as we\ntake a step beyond the simple fact that existence is common to all\nthings, the distinctions between these separate things engage our\nattention, and if these differences consist in this that some are\nblack, some white, some alive, others not alive, some hither and some\nbeyond, we cannot conclude therefrom that mere existence can be\nimputed to all of them alike.\n\nThe unity of the universe does not consist in its existence, although\nits existence is a presumption of its unity, since it must first exist\nbefore it can be a unit. Existence beyond the boundary line of our\nhorizon is an open question. The real unity of the universe consists\nin its materiality, and this is established, not by a pair of juggling\nphrases but by means of a long and difficult development of philosophy\nand natural science.\n\nWith respect to the subject in hand; the existence which Herr Duehring\npresents to us is \"not that pure existence which is self sufficient\nand without any other qualities, in fact, only representing the\nantithesis of no-idea or absence-of-idea.\" Now we shall very soon see\nthat the universe of Herr Duehring has its origin simultaneously with\nan existence which is without essential differentiation, progress or\nchange, and is therefore merely in fact a contradiction of absence of\nthought, therefore really nothing. From this non-existence is\ndeveloped the present differentiated, changeable universe which\nrepresents progressive growth; and when we grasp this idea, only by\nvirtue of this eternal change do we arrive at \"the concept of the self\nsufficing, universal existence.\" We have therefore now the concept of\nexistence on a higher plane where it comprises within itself stability\nas well as change, being as well as development. Arrived at this point\nwe find that \"species and genera in fact the special and the general,\nare the simplest forms of differentiation, without which the\nconstitution of things cannot be grasped.\"\n\nBut this is a means of distinguishing quality and after a discussion\nof this part of the subject we proceed \"Over against the idea of\nspecies stands the idea of the whole, a homogeneity, as it were, in\nwhich no differentiation of species can longer be found,\" so we pass\nfrom quality to quantity and this is always \"capable of measurement.\"\n\nLet us compare this \"clear analysis of the actual, universal scheme of\nthings\" and its \"real, critical standpoint\" with the fever-phantasies\nof a Hegel. We find that Hegel's \"Logic\" begins with existence as does\nthat of Herr Duehring; that existence displays itself as nothing, as\nwith Herr Duehring; that out of this not-being, a leap is made into\nbeing, and that existence is the result of this, that is a more\ncomplete and higher form of being, as with Herr Duehring. Being leads\nto quality, quality to quantity, just as with Herr Duehring. And in\norder that no essential shall be lacking Herr Duehring tells us\nelsewhere \"from the realm of absence of sensation man leaps to that of\nsensation in spite of all the quantitative steps with but one\nqualitative leap ... from which we can show that he is entirely\ndifferentiated from the mere gradation of one and the same quality.\"\nThis is just the Hegelian standard of measurement according to which\nmere quantitative expansion or contraction causes a sudden qualitative\nchange at a given point, as for example with heated or cooled water,\nthere are points where the spring into a new set of conditions is\nfulfilled under normal circumstances, and where therefore quantity\nsuddenly changes into quality.\n\nOur investigation has likewise sought to penetrate to the deepest\nroots, and discovers the rooted Duehring foundations to be the\n\"fever-phantasies\" of a Hegel, the categories of the Hegelian logic,\nin the first place, teachings in regard to existence after the antique\nHegelian method, and an ineffective cloak of plagiarism.\n\nAnd not content with purloining the whole scheme of existence from his\ndespised predecessors, Herr Duehring after giving the above example of\na change of quantity into quality has the coolness to say of Marx, \"Is\nit not comical, this appeal (of Marx) to Hegelian confusion and\nmistiness, that quantity changes into quality.\" Confused mixture, who\nchanges his ground, who is a comical fellow Herr Duehring?\n\nAll these pretty little statements are not only not \"axiomatic\nutterances\" according to label, but are simply taken from foreign\nsources, that is, from Hegel's \"Logic.\" Of a truth there is not\nrevealed in the whole chapter the shadow of any \"inner connection,\"\nexcept so far as it is borrowed from Hegel, and the whole talk about\nstability and change finally runs out into mere garrulity on the\nsubject of time and space.\n\nFrom existence Hegel comes to substance, to the dialectic. Here he\ntreats of reflex-movements, antagonisms and contradictions, positive\nand negative for example, and thence proceeds to causality, or the\nconditions of cause and effect and closes with necessity. Herr\nDuehring does not vary this method. What Hegel calls the \"doctrines of\nexistence\" Herr Duehring has translated into \"logical properties of\nexistence.\" These exist, above all else in the antagonism of forces,\nin antithesis, Herr Duehring denies the antithesis in toto, but we\nshall return to this matter later. Then he proceeds to causality and\nthence to necessity. If Herr Duehring says of himself, \"I do not\nphilosophise from a cage,\" he must mean that he philosophises in a\ncage, the cage of the Hegelian arrangement of categories.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nNATURAL PHILOSOPHY\n\n\n_Time and Space._\n\nWe now come to natural philosophy. Here again Herr Duehring takes it\nupon himself to be dissatisfied with his predecessors. He says\n\"Natural philosophy sank so low that it became barren dregs of poetry\nand had fallen into the degraded rubbish of the sham philosophy of a\nSchelling and the like, grubbing in priest-craft and mystifying the\npublic.\" Disgust has rid us of these deformities, but up to the\npresent it has been succeeded by instability, and \"what is of concern\nto the public at large is that the disappearance of a particularly\ngreat charlatan merely gives an opportunity to a smaller but more\nexpert successor who repeats the production in another form.\"\nNaturalists have little desire for \"a flight into the kingdom of the\nuniverse-comprehending ideas,\" and therefore indulge too freely in\nspeculations which \"go to pieces.\" Thus complete salvation must be\nfound, and, fortunately, Herr Duehring is at hand.\n\nIn order to comprehend aright the following conclusions respecting the\nunfolding of the universe in time and its limitation in space, we must\nagain turn our attention to certain portions of the \"scheme of the\nuniverse.\"\n\nEternity is ascribed to existence, in agreement with Hegel, what Hegel\ncalls \"tiresome (schlecht) eternity,\" and this eternity is now\ninvestigated. \"The plainest form of an incontrovertible idea of\neternity is the piling up of numbers unlimitedly in arithmetical\nprogression. Just as we can give a complete unity to each number\nwithout the possibility of repetition, so at every stage of its being\nit progresses still further and eternity consists in the unlimited\nmanifestation of this condition. This sufficiently conceived eternity\nhas but one single beginning with one single direction. Although it is\nnot material to our concept to imagine a direction opposite to that in\nwhich the progression piles up, this notion of a backward moving\neternity is only a hasty picture drawn by the imagination. Since it\nmust necessarily run in a contrary direction, it would have behind it\nin each instance an endless succession of numbers. But this would be\ninadmissible as constituting the contradiction of a calculated\ninfinity of numbers, and so it seems absurd to imagine a second\ndirection of eternity.\"\n\nThe first conclusion to be drawn from this conception of eternity is\nthat the chain of cause and effect in the universe must once have had\na beginning: an endless number of causes which have followed one\nanother endlessly is therefore unthinkable, \"because innumerability is\nthus considered as enumerated,\" therefore a final cause is proved.\n\nThe second conclusion is \"the law of the definite number: the\naccumulation of identical independent objects of an actual species is\nonly thinkable as being made up of a definite number of these\nindividual objects.\" Not only must the actual number of the heavenly\nbodies be definite at a given time, but the total number of all\nexistent objects, the smallest independent particles of matter. This\nlast necessity constitutes the real reason why no composite body is\nthinkable except as made up of atoms. All actual division has a fixed\nlimit and must have it, if the contradiction of a numerated\ninnumerability is to be avoided. On the same grounds not only must the\nrevolutions of the sun and earth be fixed as they have occurred up to\nthe present, even if they cannot be indicated, but all the periodical\nprocesses of nature must have had a beginning somewhere, and all the\ndistinctions and complexities of nature which succeed each other must\nsimilarly have had an origin. This must indisputably have existed from\neternity, but such an idea would be excluded if time consisted of real\nparts and was not arbitrarily divided to accommodate the possibilities\nof our understanding. It is different with time, self regarded, but\nthe facts and phenomena of which time is made up being capable of\ndifferentiation can be enumerated. Let us conceive of a condition in\nwhich no change occurs and which undergoes no alteration in its stable\nidentity; the time concept then becomes transformed into the general\nnotion of existence. What is the result of piling up an empty duration\nof time is not discoverable. So far, Herr Duehring writes and he is\nnot a little edified concerning the significance of these discoveries.\nHe hopes that \"it is perceived as a not insignificant truth,\" and\nlater on says, \"One should note the very simple phrases by which we\nhave helped the concept of immortality and the criticism of it to a\npoint at present unknown, through the sharpening and deepening of the\nsimple elements of the universal conception of time and space.\"\n\nWe have helped! This deepening and sharpening! Who are we? In what are\nwe manifest? Who deepens and who sharpens?\n\n\"Thesis--the world has a beginning in time and is bounded by space.\nProof--If one suppose that the world has no beginning in time he is\nbound to grant infinity to each point of time, and so an infinite\nsuccession of things has passed away in the universe. But infinity of\na series consists in the impossibility of its completion by successive\nsyntheses. Therefore an eternal progression of the world is\nimpossible. Hence a beginning of the world is a necessary condition of\nits existence, which was to be proved. Let us take the other concept.\nThe world now appears as an eternal given whole consisting of things\nwhich have a simultaneous existence. Now we can conceive of the mass\nof a quantity, which can only be regarded under certain conditions, in\nno other way than by means of the synthesis of its parts, and we\nconceive the totality of the quantity by means of the completed\nsynthesis or repeated additions of the unity to itself. Thus, in order\nto conceive of the universe as a whole which fills all space, the\nsuccessive syntheses of the parts of an infinite universe must be\nregarded as being completed, that is an eternity of time must in\ncalculating all coexisting things, be regarded as having existed, but\nthis is impossible. Therefore an unending aggregate of actual things\ncannot be regarded as a given whole and therefore also not as\ncoexistent. A world is therefore extension in space which is not\nunlimited and which has therefore bounds. And this was the second\nthing to be proved.\"\n\nThese statements are copied from a well-known book which made its\nappearance in 1781 and is entitled \"The Critique of Pure Reason,\" by\nImmanuel Kant. They can be read there in Part I, Division 2, second\nsection, second part. \"First Antinomy of Pure Reason.\" To Herr\nDuehring alone remains the name and fame of having pasted the law of\nfixed numbers on one of the published thoughts of Kant and of having\nmade the discovery that there was once a time when time did not exist\nbut only a universe. For the rest, therefore, when we come across\nanything sensible in Herr Duehring's exposition \"We\" means Immanuel\nKant, and the \"present\" is only ninety-five years old. Quite simple\nindeed, and unknown until now! But Kant does not establish the above\nstatement by his proof. On the other hand, he shows the reverse,\nnamely, that the universe has no beginning in time and no end in\nspace, and he fixes his antinomy in this, the unsolvable contradiction\nthat the one is just as capable of proof as the other. People of small\ncalibre might be inclined to think that here Kant had found an\ninsuperable difficulty, not so our bold author of fundamental results\n\"especially his own.\" He copies all that he can use of Kant's antinomy\nand throws the rest away.\n\nThe matter solves itself very simply. Eternity in time and endlessness\nin space signify from the very words that there is no end in either\ndirection, forwards or backwards, over or under, right or left. This\ninfinity is quite different from an endless progression, since the\nlatter always has some beginning, a first step. The inapplicability of\nthis progression idea to our object is evident directly we apply it to\nspace. Infinite progression translated in terms of space is a line\nproduced continuously in a given direction. Is infinity in space\nexpressed in this way, even remotely? On the contrary it requires six\nof these lines drawn from this point in three opposite directions to\nexpress the dimensions of space and we should have accordingly six of\nthese dimensions. Kant saw this so plainly that he employed his\nprogression merely indirectly in a round about way to express the\nextent of the universe. Herr Duehring on the contrary forces us to\naccept his six dimensions of space and at the same time has no words\nin which to express his contempt of the mathematical mysticism of\nGauss who would not content himself with the three dimensions of\nspace.\n\nApplied to time, the series or row of objects, infinite at both\nextremities, has a certain figurative significance. But let us picture\ntime as proceeding from unity or a line proceeding from a fixed point.\nWe can say then that time has had a beginning. We assume just what we\nwanted to prove. We give a one-sided half-character to infinity of\ntime. But a one-sided eternity split in halves is a contradiction in\nitself, the exact opposite of a hypothetical infinity, incapable of\ncontradiction. We can only overcome this contradiction by assuming\nthat the unity which we began to count the progression from, the point\nfrom which we measure the line, is a unity taken at pleasure in the\nseries, a point taken at pleasure in the line. Hence as far as the\nline or series is concerned it is immaterial where we put it.\n\nBut as for the contradiction of the \"counted endless progression\" we\nshall be in a position to examine it more closely as soon as Herr\nDuehring has taught us the trick of reckoning it. If he has\naccomplished the feat of counting from minus infinity to zero, we\nshall be glad to hear from him again. It is clear that wherever he\nbegins to count he leaves behind him an endless progression, and with\nit the problem which he had to solve. Let him only take his own\ninfinite progression 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 etc. and try to reckon back to 1\nagain from the infinite end. He evidently does not comprehend the\nrequirements of the problem. And furthermore, if he affirms that the\ninfinite progression of past time is capable of calculation he must\naffirm that time has a beginning for otherwise he could not begin to\ncalculate. Therefore he again substitutes a supposition for what he\nhad to prove. The idea of the calculated infinite series, in other\nwords Duehring's all-embracing law of the fixed number, is therefore a\ncontradiction in adjecto, is a self contradiction, and an absurd one,\nmoreover.\n\nIt is clear that an infinity which has an end but no beginning is\nneither more nor less than an infinity which has a beginning but no\nend. The least logical insight would have compelled Herr Duehring to\nthe statement that beginning and end are mutually necessary to each\nother, like North Pole and South Pole, and that if one omit the end\nthe beginning becomes the end, the one end which the series has and\nvice versa.\n\nThe entire fallacy would not be possible if it were not for the\nmathematical practice of operating with an infinite series. Because in\nmathematics one must proceed from the given and finite to that which\nis not given and infinite, all mathematical series whether positive or\nnegative, begin with a fixed point otherwise one cannot calculate. The\nideal necessities of the mathematician however are very far from being\na law compulsory upon the universe.\n\nBesides Herr Duehring will never succeed in imagining an infinity\nwithout contradiction. In the first place, infinity is a contradiction\nand full of contradictions. For example it is a contradiction that\ninfinity should be made up of finite things and yet such is the case.\nThe notion of a limited universe leads to contradictions just as much\nas the notion of its unlimitedness, and each attempt to abolish these\ncontradictions leads, as we have seen, to new and worse\ncontradictions. But just because infinity is a contradiction, it is\nwithout end, endlessly developing itself in time and space. The\nabolition of the contradiction would be the end of infinity. Hegel\nsaw that very clearly, and covers the people who entered upon\nintricate arguments about this contradiction with merited scorn.\n\nLet us proceed. Now, time has had a beginning. What was before this\nbeginning? The unchangeable universe incomparable with anything else.\nAnd as no changes occur in this condition the particular concept time\nis transformed into the general concept existence. In the first place\nwe have nothing to do with the transformation which goes on in the\nbrain of Herr Duehring. We are not engaged with a concept of time, but\nwith actual time of which Herr Duehring cannot so easily dispose. In\nthe second place no matter how much the concept of time is transformed\ninto the general concept existence it does not bring us one step\nnearer the goal. For the fundamental forms of all existence are space\nand time, and a thing existing outside of time is as silly an idea as\nthat of a being outside of space. The Hegelian \"past existence in\nwhich there was no time\" and the neo-Schelling \"being beyond the scope\nof thought\" are rational conceptions compared with this being outside\nof time. For this reason Herr Duehring goes to work very cautiously\n\"intrinsically it may be called time, but one cannot really call it\ntime, as time does not consist in itself of real parts but is merely\ndivided by us into parts to suit our own convenience,\" only a real\nfilling up of time with distinct facts makes it capable of\ncalculation. It is impossible to see the significance of piling up an\nempty duration. But it does not matter anyway. The question is whether\nthe universe in this presupposed condition continues, that is\npersists, through a period of time. We have long known that it is\nuseless to try and measure such empty space and to calculate without\nplan or aim and just because of the tiresomeness of such a proceeding\nHegel calls this infinity \"miserable.\" According to Herr Duehring time\nexists only by virtue of change, not change in and through time.\nBecause time is different from change and independent of it, we can\nmeasure it by the changes, because in order to measure we need\nsomething different from that which is to be measured. And the time in\nwhich no recognisible changes take place is very far from being no\ntime, on the other hand since it is free from other ingredients, it is\npure, that is to say, true time. Indeed if we want to contemplate time\nas a pure concept separated from all foreign admixture, we are obliged\nto eliminate all the various events which occur in time, either\nsuccessively or simultaneously, and thus imagine a time in which\nnothing occurs. By this means we have not permitted the concept time\nto be overcome by the general concept of existence, but we have\nthereby arrived at a pure time concept. All these contradictions and\nimpossibilities are mere child's play compared with the confusion into\nwhich he plunges the universe with its self-sufficient commencement.\nIf the universe was in a condition in which no change occurred in it,\nhow did it ever manage to get from that state to one of change?\nMoreover, an absolute condition of absence of change existing from\neternity cannot possibly get out of that state unaided so as to pass\nover to a condition of progress and change. A first cause of motion\nmust therefore have come from the outside, from beyond the universe,\nwhich caused the movement. This first cause of motion is clearly only\nanother term for God, The God and the Beyond of which Herr Duehring\nfancied that he had so nicely settled in his scheme of the universe,\nreturn sharpened and deepened in his natural philosophy.\n\nFurther Herr Duehring says: \"Where a fixed element of existence is\ncapable of measurement, it will remain in unalterable stability. This\nis evident from material and mechanical force.\" The former quotation\ngives, it may be incidentally mentioned, a good example of Herr\nDuehring's axiomatic grandiloquence. Fixed quantities remain exactly\nthe same, the quantity of mechanical force, once in the universe, is\nalways the same. We will not dwell on this, so far as it is true,\nDescartes knew and said it three hundred years ago as regards\nphilosophy, while in mechanical science the doctrine of the\nconservation of energy has been preached for the last twenty years.\nHerr Duehring has not improved upon it in so far as he limits it to\nmechanical energy. But where was mechanical energy at the period of\nunchangeableness? To this question Herr Duehring stubbornly refuses an\nanswer.\n\nWhere was the unchangeable mechanical force then, Herr Duehring, and\nwhat was it busy about? Answer: \"The original state of the universe,\nor, better, the existence of unchangeable matter, not allowing of any\nchanges in time, is a question which no mind can pass except one which\nsees the acme of wisdom in the destruction of its own powers.\"\nTherefore you must either take my original condition with your eyes\nshut, or I, the lusty Eugene Duehring, brand you as an intellectual\neunuch. Some people might be quite alarmed about this, but we who have\nseen a few examples of Herr Duehring's powers, can let the elegant\nabuse pass and reiterate the question, \"But how about that mechanical\nenergy, Herr Duehring, if you please?\"\n\nHerr Duehring is staggered at once. In fact, he stammers, \"There is no\nproof of the actual existence of that original condition. Let us\nremember that this is also the case with each new step in the series\nwith which we are acquainted. He therefore who will make difficulties\nin the foregoing case may see that he does not avoid them in the\nsmaller apparent cases. Besides, the possibility exists that there are\nsuccessively graduated intermediate states inserted, and thus there is\na stable bridge by the means of which we can work backwards to the\nsolution of the problem. As a matter of fact this notion of stability\ndoes not assist the main thought, but it is for us the fundamental\nform of regular progression, and of each transition known so far, so\nthat we have a right to consider it as intermediate between the first\noriginal state and its disturbance. But if we consider the independent\ncondition of equipoise from the point of view of mathematical concepts\nas, admittedly, without independent existence, there is no need of\nindicating the mode in which matter came into a dynamic condition.\"\nOutside of the mechanics of matter a change in movement of matter\ndepends upon a change in the movement of the most insignificant\nparticles. \"Up to the present we have no universal principle of\nknowledge and we must therefore not be surprised if we are somewhat in\nthe dark as to these matters.\"\n\nThat is all that Herr Duehring has to say, and we should seek the very\npinnacle of wisdom not alone in a mutilation of the creative faculty,\nbut in blind superstition, if we were to let the matter pass with\nthese foolish evasions and statements. Absolute stability has no power\nof change in itself, Herr Duehring admits this. The absolute condition\nof equipoise possesses no means by which it can pass into a dynamic\nstate. What have we then? Just three false and foolish phrases.\n\nIn the first place, Herr Duehring says that to show the transition\nfrom each most insignificant step in the chain of things with which we\nare acquainted to the next presents the same difficulty. He seems to\nthink that his readers are infants. The proof of the transitions and\ninterrelations of the most insignificant links in the chain of\nexistence is just what constitutes the subject matter of natural\nscience. If there is an impediment anywhere, nobody, not even Herr\nDuehring, thinks to explain the development as proceeding from\nnothing, but on the other hand as only proceeding from transition,\nchange, and forward movement from a completed evolutionary stage.\nHere, however, he undertakes to show with reference to matter that it\nproceeds from absence of movement and therefore from nothing.\n\nIn the second place, we have the \"stable bridge.\" This does not help\nus appreciably over the difficulty, but we have a right to use it as a\nbridge between rigid stability and motion. Unfortunately stability\nconsists in absence of motion, and the question as to the generation\nof motion remains as dark a secret as before. And if Herr Duehring\nshifts his no-movement at all to universal movement in infinitely\nsmall particles and ascribes to this ever so long a duration of time,\nwe are still not the thousand part of an inch further from the place\nwhence we started. Without a creative act we can get nothing from\nnothing, not even anything as small as a mathematical differential.\nThe bridge of stability is therefore not even a _pons asinorum_. Herr\nDuehring is the only person able to cross it.\n\nThirdly, as long as the present theories of mechanics prevail, this\nconstitutes one of Herr Duehring's most reliable props, we cannot\nindicate how anything passes from a state of quiescence to one of\nmotion. But the mechanical theory of heat teaches us that the movement\nof the mass depends upon the movements of the molecules, (so that even\nin this case movement proceeds from other movement and not from lack\nof movement) and this Herr Duehring shyly points out might serve as a\nbridge between the entirely static (the state of equipoise) and the\ndynamic (self-movement). But here Herr Duehring leaves us entirely in\nthe dark. All his deepening and sharpening has dug a pit of folly and\nwe are brought up necessarily in \"darkness.\" But Herr Duehring\ntroubles himself very little about that. He says right on the next\npage, with considerable audacity that he has been able to endow the\nself contained stability with real significance by means of the\nproperties of matter and the mechanical forces.\n\nIn spite of all these errors and confused statements we have still an\ninspiring faith remaining that \"The mathematics of the inhabitants of\nother planets cannot rest on any axioms other than our own.\"\n\n\n_Cosmogony, Physics, and Chemistry._\n\nProceeding we come to theories respecting the mode by which the world,\nas it is to-day, came into being. A universal separation of matter\nfrom one element was the notion of the Ionic philosophers, but, since\nKant, the conception of an original nebulous state has played a new\nrole and according to this gravitation and heat expansion have built\nup the worlds, little by little and one by one. The mechanical theory\nof heat of our time has fixed the origin of the earlier condition of\nthe universe with much greater precision.\n\nIn spite of all this \"the universal condition of the gaseous form can\nonly be a point of departure for serious conclusions if one can define\nthe mechanical system of it more precisely beforehand. If not, the\nidea becomes not only very cloudy, but the original nebula becomes\nreally in the progress of those conclusions denser and more\nimpenetrable.\"... For the present everything remains in the vagueness\nand formlessness of an indefinite idea, and so with regard to the\ngaseous universe we have only an insubstantial conception.\n\nThe theory of Kant that all existing worlds were created from a mass\nof rotating vapor was the greatest advance made by astronomy since the\ndays of Copernicus. The idea that nature had no history in time was\nthen shaken for the first time. Up to then the worlds were fixed in\nbounds and conditions from their very beginning, and though the\nindividual organisms on the separate worlds were transient, the\nspecies remained unalterable. Nature was conceived as an apparently\nlimited movement and its motion seemed to be the repetition of the\nsame movements perpetually. It was in this conception which is entire\naccord with the metaphysical mode of thought that Kant made the first\nbreach and so scientifically that most of his grounds of proof stand\ngood to-day. Really the theory of Kant is a mere hypothesis even\nto-day. The Copernican theory of the universe has no longer any weight\nand since the spectroscope discovered such glowing gaseous matter in\nspace all objections have been disposed of and scientific opposition\nto Kant's theory has been silenced. Even Herr Duehring cannot produce\nhis universe without the nebulous state and he takes his revenge by\nasking to be shown the mechanical system of this nebulous state and\nbecause this cannot be done he inflicts all sorts of contemptuous\nremarks upon this nebulous state. Unfortunately modern science cannot\nshow this system and please Herr Duehring. But there are many other\nquestions which it cannot answer. For example regarding the question\nwhy toads have no tails it can only answer so far \"Because they have\nlost them.\" But if people get angry and say that this is all vague and\nformless, a mere fanciful idea, incapable of being made definite and a\nvery poor notion, such views would not carry us a step further,\nscientifically. Such insults and exaggerations are sufficiently\nnumerous. What is there to hinder Herr Duehring himself from\ndiscovering the mechanical system of the original nebular state?\n\nFortunately we are informed that the nebular hypothesis of Kant \"is\nfar from showing a fully distinct condition of the world-medium or of\nexplaining how matter arrived at a similar state.\" This is really very\nfortunate for Kant who is to be congratulated on having been able to\ntrace the existing celestial bodies to the nebular condition, and who\nyet does not allow himself to dream of the self-contained unchanged\ncondition of matter. It is to be remarked by the way that although the\nnebular condition of Kant is supposed to be the original vapor-form of\nmatter, this is to be understood merely relatively. It is to be\nunderstood on the one hand as the original vapor form of the heavenly\nbodies, as they are at present, and on the other hand as the earliest\nform of matter to which we have been able to trace our way backwards.\nThe fact that matter passed through an endless series of other forms\nbefore arriving at the nebular state is not excluded from this\nconception but is on the other hand rather included in it.\n\nHerr Duehring is at an advantage here. Whereas science comes to a halt\nat the existence of the nebulous state his quack science carries him\nback to that \"Condition of the development of the world which cannot\nbe called actually static in the present sense of the word but most\nemphatically cannot be called dynamic. The unity of matter and\nmechanical force which we call the world is, so to speak, a formula\nof pure logic, to signify the self-contained condition of matter as\nthe point of departure of all enumerable stages of material progress.\"\n\nWe have obviously not yet got away from the original self-contained\ncondition of matter. Here it is explained as consisting of mechanical\nforce and matter, and this as a formula of pure logic, etc. As soon\nthen as the unity of matter and mechanical force is at an end\nevolution proceeds.\n\nThe formula of pure logic is nothing but a lame attempt to make the\nHegelian categories \"an Sich and fuer Sich\" of use in a philosophy of\nrealism. In \"an Sich\" according to Hegel the original unity of a thing\nconsists; in \"fuer Sich\" begins the differentiation and movement of\nthe concealed elements, the active antithesis. We shall therefore\ndepict the original condition as one in which there is a unity of\nmatter and mechanical force and the transition to movement as the\nseparation and antithesis of these two elements. But we have not\nthereby established the proof of the real existence of the fantastic\noriginal condition but only this much that it exists according to the\nHegelian category \"an Sich\" and just as fantastically disappears\naccording to the Hegelian category \"fuer Sich.\"\n\nMatter, says Duehring, implies all that is real, therefore there is no\nmechanical force outside of matter. Mechanical force is furthermore a\ncondition of matter. In the original condition where no change\noccurred matter and its mechanical force were a unity. Afterwards when\nthe change commenced there was a differentiation from matter. Thus we\nare obliged to be satisfied with these mystical phrases and with the\nassurance that the self contained original state was neither static\nnor dynamic, neither in a state of rest nor of motion. We are still\nwithout information with regard to the whereabouts of mechanical force\nat that period and how we arrived at a condition of motion from one of\nrest without a push from the outside, that is without God.\n\nBefore the time of Herr Duehring materialists were wont to speak of\nmatter and motion. He reduces motion to mechanical force as its\nnecessary original form and so renders incomprehensible the real\nconnection between matter and motion which was also not evident to the\nearlier materialists. Yet the thing is easy enough. Matter has never\nexisted without motion, neither can it. Motion in space, the\nmechanical motion of smaller particles to single worlds, the motion of\nmolecules as in the case of heat, or as electric or magnetic currents,\nchemical analysis or synthesis, organic life, each single atom of the\nmatter of the world--they all discover themselves in one or other of\nthe forms of motion or in several of them together at any given\nmoment. All quiescence, all rest, is only significant in relation to\nthis or that given form of motion. A body for example may be upon the\nground in mechanical quiescence, in mechanical rest. This does not\nprevent its participation in the movements of the earth and of the\nwhole solar system, just as little does it prevent its smallest\ncomponent parts from completing the movements conditioned by the\ntemperature or its atoms from going through a chemical process. Matter\nwithout motion is just as unthinkable as motion without matter. Motion\nis just as uncreatable or indestructible as matter itself, the older\nphilosophy of Descartes proclaimed precisely that the quantity of\nmotion in the world has been fixed from the beginning. Motion cannot\nbe generated therefore it can only be transferred. If motion is\ntransferred from one body to another, one may as far as it is\nregarded as transferring itself, as active, consider it as the\noriginal cause of motion, but so far as it is transferred, as passive.\nThis active motion we call force; the passive, expression of force. It\nis therefore just as clear as noon that force is just as great as its\nexpression because the same motion fulfils itself in both.\n\nA motionless condition of matter is therefore one of the hollowest and\nmost absurd notions, a mere delirium. In order to arrive at it one is\nobliged to consider the relative absence of motion in the case of a\nbody lying on the ground, as absolute rest, and then to transfer this\nidea to the entire universe. This is made easier by the reduction of\nmotion in general to mere mechanical force. By the limitation of\nmotion to mere mechanical force we can conceive of a force as at rest,\nas confined, as momentarily ineffective. If for example in the\ntransference of motion which transference is very frequently a\nsomewhat complicated process in the carrying out of which various\nintermediate steps are necessary, one may stay the actual transference\nat a chosen point and stop the process, as for example if one loads a\ngun and delays the moment when the charge shall be set at liberty by\nthe pull of the trigger, through the firing of powder. Therefore one\nmay conceive of matter as being loaded with force in the unprogressive\nstatic period, and this Herr Duehring appears to mean by his unity of\nmatter and force if indeed he means anything at all. This notion is\nabsurd, since it pictures as absolute for the entire universe a\ncondition which is by nature only relative and to which therefore only\na portion of matter can be subjected at one and the same time. Let us\nlook at it from this point of view and we do not escape the difficulty\nof explaining first how the universe came to be loaded and in the\nsecond place, whose finger drew the trigger. We may revolve all we\nplease but under the guidance of Herr Duehring we always come back\nover and over again to the finger of God.\n\nFrom astronomy our realist philosopher passes on to mechanics and\nphysics and complains that the mechanical theory of heat has brought\nus no further in the course of a generation than the point which\nRobert Mayer reached by his own efforts. Moreover the whole thing is\nvery obscure. We must \"always remember that with conditions of the\nmovement of matter statical conditions are also given and that these\nlast are not measured in mechanical work. If we have earlier typified\nnature as a great workwoman, and we still hold to the statement, we\nmust now add that the static condition, the condition of rest, does\nnot imply any mechanical labor. We are again without the bridge from\nthe static to the dynamic and if latent heat, so called, is up to the\npresent a stumbling block to the theory we can recognise a lack which\nmay be denied in the cosmic process.\"\n\nThis whole oracular utterance is again merely an outpouring of bad\nscience which very clearly perceives that it has got itself into a\nplace from which it cannot be saved by creating motion from a state of\nabsolute freedom from motion, and is ashamed to call upon its only\nsaviour, the Creator of heaven and earth. If in mechanics, heat\nincluded, there is no bridge to be found from statics to dynamics,\nfrom equipoise to motion, why should Herr Duehring be obliged to find\na bridge from his condition of absence of motion to motion? Thus he\nwould have the luck to escape from his dilemma.\n\nIn ordinary mechanics the bridge from statics to dynamics is--the push\nfrom the outside. If a stone of the weight of a hundred grammes be\nlifted ten meters high and then flung free so that it should remain\nhanging in a self-contained condition and in a state of rest, you\nwould have to appeal to a public of sucking infants to declare that\nthe existing condition of that body represents no mechanical labor and\nthat its removal from its earlier condition has no measure in\nmechanical work. Any passerby would tell Herr Duehring that the stone\ndid not come on the string by its own efforts and the first good hand\nbook in mechanics would inform him that if he let the stone fall\nagain, the latter in its fall does just as much mechanical work as is\nnecessary to lift it to the height of ten meters. The very simple fact\nthat the stone is suspended represents mechanical force in itself,\nsince if it remain long enough, the string breaks, as soon as it, as a\nresult of its chemical constitution, is no longer strong enough to\nhold the stone. All mechanical phenomena, may, we must inform Herr\nDuehring, be reduced to just such simple fundamental forms, and the\nengineer is still unborn who cannot discover the bridge from statics\nto dynamics as long as he has sufficient initial force at his\ndisposal.\n\nIt is quite a hard nut and bitter pill for our metaphysician that\nmotion should find its measure in its opposite rest. It is such a\nglaring contradiction, and every contradiction is an absurdity in the\neyes of Herr Duehring. It is nevertheless true that the hanging stone\nby reason of its weight and its distance from the ground represents a\nmeans of mechanical movement sufficiently easily measured in different\nways, as for example through gravity direct, through glancing on an\nincline or through the undulation of a wave--and it is just the same\nwith a loaded gun. The expression of motion in terms of its opposite\nrest presents no difficulty at all to the dialectic philosophy. The\nwhole contradiction in its eyes is merely relative, for absolute\nrest, complete equipose does not exist. The movement of the particles\nstrives towards equipose, the movement of the mass in turn destroys\nthe equipose, so that rest and equipose where they occur are the\nresults of arrested motion, and it is evident that this motion is\ncapable of being measured in respect of its results, of being\nexpressed in itself and of being restored in some form or other\nexternal to itself. But Herr Duehring would never be satisfied with\nsuch a simple explanation of the matter. Like a good metaphysician he\ncreates a yawning gulf between motion and equipose which does not\nreally exist and then wonders if he can find no bridge across the\nself-created chasm. He might just as well bestride his metaphysical\nRosinante and hunt the \"Ding an Sich\" of Kant since it is in the last\nanalysis nothing else than this which stands behind the undiscoverable\nbridge.\n\nBut what about the mechanical theory of heat and of latent heat which\nis a \"stumbling block\" in the path of the theory?\n\nIf one convert a pound of ice at freezing point under normal\natmospheric pressure into a pound of water of the same temperature by\nmeans of heat there vanishes a quantity of heat which could heat the\nsame pound of water from 0° centigrade to 79° centigrade, or\nseventy-nine pounds of water one degree centigrade. If one heat this\npound of water to boiling point, that is, to one hundred degrees\ncentigrade and change it into steam of the heat of one hundred degrees\ncentigrade there vanishes up to the time when the last of the water is\nchanged into steam a seven fold greater quantity of heat, capable of\nraising the temperature of 537.2 pounds of water one degree. This\ndissipated heat is called latent. It is transformed, by cooling the\nsteam, into water again, and the water into ice, so the same mass of\nheat which was formerly latent, is again set free, that is, as heat\ncapable of being felt and measured. This setting free of heat by the\ncondensation of steam and the freezing of water is the reason that\nsteam if it is cooled off at 100° transforms itself little by little\ninto water, and that a mass of water at freezing point is but slowly\ntransformed into ice. These are the facts. The question is what\nbecomes of the heat while it is latent?\n\nThe mechanical theory of heat according to which the heat of a body at\na certain temperature is dependent upon the greater or less vibration\nof the smallest physical parts (molecules) a vibration which can,\nunder certain conditions, be transformed into some other form of\nmotion, shows the whole thing completely, that the latent heat has\nperformed work, has been expended in work. By the melting of the ice\nthe close connection of the separate particles is broken asunder and\nchanged into a loose relationship; by the conversion of water into\nsteam at boiling point a condition is entered where the separate\nmolecules exercise no noticeable influence upon each other, and under\nthe influence of heat fly from one another in all directions. It is\nnow evident that the separate molecules of a body in the gaseous state\nare endowed with much greater energy than in the fluid state, and in\nthe fluid state than in the solid. Latent heat is therefore not\ndissipated, it is merely transformed and has taken on the form of\nmolecular elasticity.\n\nAs soon as conditions are at an end under which the molecules can\nexercise this relative freedom with regard to each other as soon\nnamely as the temperature falls below one hundred degrees to zero,\nthis elasticity becomes released and the molecules come together with\nthe same force with which they formerly flew apart, but only to\nappear again as heat, as exactly the same quantity of heat as was\nlatent before. This explanation is of course a hypothesis, as is the\nwhole mechanical theory of heat, in so far as no one has yet seen a\nmolecule, much less a molecule in motion. Like all recent theories,\nthis hypothesis is full of flaws but it can at least offer an\nexplanation which does not conflict with the uncreatability and\nindestructibility of motion and it is able to give an account of the\nwhereabouts of the heat in the transformation. Latent heat is\ntherefore by no means an obstacle in the way of the mechanical theory\nof heat. On the contrary this theory for the first time provides a\nrational explanation of the subject and an obstacle arises from the\nfact in particular that the physicists make use of the old and\nineffective expression \"latent heat\" to signify the heat transformed\ninto some other shape by molecular energy.\n\nThe static conditions of the solid, liquid and gaseous states\ntherefore represent mechanical work in so far as mechanical work is a\nmeasure of heat. Thus the solid crust of the earth, like the water of\nthe ocean, represents in its present form a certain quantity of heat\nset free which implies the same quantity of mechanical force. By the\npassing of the vaporous state which was the original form of the earth\ninto the fluid state and later into a condition, for the most part\nsolid, a certain quantity of molecular energy was set free in space,\nthe difficulty of which Herr Duehring whispers does not therefore\nexist. We are frequently brought to a stop in our cosmic observations\nby lack of knowledge, but nowhere by insuperable theoretical\ndifficulties. The bridge from statics to dynamics is therefore the\npush from the outside caused by the cooling or heating occasioned by\nother bodies which influence certain objects in equipoise. The\nfurther we explore Herr Duehring's philosophy, the more impossible\nappear all his attempts to explain rotation from absence of rotation,\nor to discover the bridge by which that which is purely static,\nself-contained, can without disturbance come to be the dynamic, in\nmotion.\n\nWe should here be glad to get rid of the whole self-contained\ncondition business. Herr Duehring, however, goes to chemistry and\ngives us three permanent natural laws established by the philosophy of\nrealism as follows, 1. The constant amount of matter in the universe.\n2. The simple chemical elements, and 3. The mechanical forces are\nunchangeable.\n\nTherefore the impossibility of creating or destroying matter, the\nsimple forms of its existence as far as they exist, and motion, these\nold, well known facts, inadequately expressed, that is the only\npositive thing which Herr Duehring is in a position to offer us as a\nresult of his real philosophy of the inorganic world. All these things\nwe have long known. But what we have not known is that they are\npermanent laws and as such natural properties of the system of things.\nIt is just the same thing over again as in the case of Kant. Herr\nDuehring takes some universally known expressions, pastes the Duehring\nlabel on them and calls them \"fundamentally original results and\nviews, system shaping thoughts, profound science.\"\n\nWe have not long to hesitate on this account. Whatever deficiencies\nthe most profound science and the best contrived social theories may\nhave, for once Herr Duehring can say precisely \"The quantity of gold\nin the universe must always remain the same and cannot be increased or\ndiminished any more than matter in general. But unfortunately Herr\nDuehring does not tell us what we may buy with this gold.\"\n\n\n_The Organic World._\n\n\"From mechanics in rest and motion to the relation of sensation and\nthought there is a uniform progression of interruptions.\" With this\nassurance Herr Duehring spares himself from saying anything further\nabout the origin of life, though one might reasonably expect that a\nthinker who has followed the development of the world from its\nself-contained condition, and who is so much at home with the other\nheavenly bodies would be here at home also. Besides this assurance is\nonly half true in so far as it is not yet completed by means of the\nlog line of Hegel, of which mention has been made already. In all its\ngradations the transition from one form of evolution to another\nremains a leap, a differentiating movement. So in the transition from\nthe mechanics of the worlds to those of the smaller amounts of matter\nin each single world, just so also in that from the mechanics of the\nmass to that of the molecule--the motion which we examine particularly\nin physics, so-called, heat, light, electricity, magnetism, just in\nthe same way also the transition from the physics of the molecule to\nthe physics of the chemical atom is completed by a differentiating\nleap, and it is just the same with the transition from ordinary\nchemical action to the chemistry of albumen which we call life. Within\nthe sphere of life the changes become less frequent and less\nremarkable. Therefore Hegel must again correct Herr Duehring.\n\nThe idea of purpose furnishes Herr Duehring with his conception of the\ntransition to the organic world. This is again borrowed from Hegel,\nwho in his \"logic\"--teachings of the concept--mingled with teachings\nof teleology or of purpose, passes over from chemistry to life.\nWhichever way we look we discover Herr Duehring to be in possession\nof Hegelian lore which he gives forth without any embarrassment as his\nown fundamental philosophy. It would be too long a task to find out\nhere just how far the application of the ideas of purpose is correctly\nstated and applied to the organic world. The application of the\nHegelian \"inner purpose\" at all events is evident, that is, of a\npurpose which is imported into nature not through a consciously acting\nthird party, like the wisdom of Providence, but which is inherent in\nmatter itself, which among people who are not well versed in\nphilosophy proceeds to the unthinking supposition of a conscious and\nall-wise agent; the same Herr Duehring who breaks out into unmeasured\nmoral indignation at the least tendency towards spiritism on the part\nof other people, tells us that \"sex sensations are certainly mainly\ndirected towards the gratification which is bound up in their\nexercise.\" He tells us moreover that \"poor Nature must always hold the\nobjective world in order\" and it has besides to perform acts which\nrequire more subtlety from Nature than we usually attribute to her.\nBut nature knows not only why she does this and that. She has not only\nher housemaid's duties to perform, she has not only subtlety, which is\na very pretty accomplishment, in subjective conscious thought, she has\nalso a will, for \"we must regard the additional natural desires which\noccur, such as feeding and propagation, not as directly but as\nindirectly willed.\" We now arrive at a consciously thinking and acting\nnature, and we therefore stand right at the bridge, not indeed between\nthe static and dynamic but between pantheism and deism, or perhaps\nHerr Duehring is pleased to indulge himself in a little\n\"natural-philosophical half-poetry.\"\n\nImpossible. All that the realistic philosophy has to say on organic\nnature is limited to a war against this natural philosophical\nhalf-poesy against \"Charlatanism with its wanton superficialities and\npseudo-scientific mysticism, against the poetic features of\nDarwinism.\"\n\nDarwin comes in for a share of blame chiefly because he transferred\nthe Malthusian theory of population from political economy to natural\nscience, because he is entangled by his notions of breeding, so that\nhis work is a sort of unscientific half-poetic attack against design\nin creation, and that the whole of Darwinism, after what he has\nborrowed from Lamark has been deducted, is a piece of brutality aimed\nagainst humanity.\n\nDarwin had brought home with him as the result of his scientific\njourneys the conclusion that species of plants and animals are not\nfixed but are subject to variations. In order to pursue this idea he\nentered upon experiments in the breeding of plants and animals. Just\nfor this reason England has become a classic land. The scientists of\nother countries, Germany, for example, have nothing to offer\ncomparable with England in this respect. Moreover, most of the\nconclusions belong to the last century so that the establishment of\nthe facts presented few difficulties. Darwin found that this\nartificial breeding produced differences in the species of plants and\nanimals greater than occur among those which are universally\nrecognised as belonging to different species. Therefore it was, up to\na certain point, proved that species can change and furthermore there\nwas established the possibility of a common ancestry for organisms\nwhich partake of the characteristics of different species.\n\nDarwin now examined the question whether there were not in nature\ncauses--which without the conscious intention of the breeder--might in\nthe course of time, by means of heredity, produce changes in the\nliving animal analogous to those produced by scientific breeding.\nThese causes he found in the disproportion between the enormous number\nof germs made by nature and the small number of beings which actually\ncome to maturity. But as the germ struggles for its own development\nthere is of necessity a consequent struggle for existence, which not\nonly shows itself directly in the wear and tear of the body, but also\nas a struggle for space and light, as in the case of plants. And it is\nevident that in this fight those individuals have the best prospect of\ncoming to maturity and reproducing themselves which possess certain\nqualities, perhaps insignificant, but advantageous in their fight for\nexistence. There is a tendency towards the inheritance of these\nindividual properties, and if they occur in several individuals of the\nsame species towards development in the direction once taken, by\nvirtue of the accumulated heredity, while the individuals which are\nnot possessed of these qualities succumb more easily and little by\nlittle disappear in the struggle for existence. Thus a species\nnaturally changes by the survival of the fittest.\n\nAgainst this theory of Darwin Herr Duehring urges that the origin of\nthe idea of the struggle for existence is, as Darwin himself\nconfessed, based on the views of the political economist and theorist,\nMalthus, on the population question, and he covers it with all the\nabuse appropriate to the clerical Malthusian views on keeping down the\npopulation. Now it happens that Darwin never said that the cause of\nthe struggle for existence theory was to be sought from Malthus. He\nonly said that his theories respecting the struggle for existence are\nthe theories of Malthus applied to the entire vegetable and animal\nworld. How great a blunder Darwin made when he so naively accepted the\nteachings of Malthus without examination may be seen from the fact\nthat there is no need to employ the spectacles of Malthus in order to\ndetect the struggle for existence in nature,--the contradiction\nbetween the innumerable mass of germs which nature produces in such\nprodigality and the slight number which can manage to reach maturity,\na contradiction which resolves itself into an apparently grim fight\nfor existence. And with regard to the law of wages the Malthusian\ndoctrines are widely advertised and Ricardo based his contentions upon\nthem,--so the struggle for existence in nature may find a standing\neven without the Malthusian interpretation. Besides the organisms of\nnature have their law of population, the establishment of which would\ndecide the theories of the development of species. And who gave the\ndecisive impetus in that direction? Nobody but Darwin.\n\nHerr Duehring is on his guard against entering upon the positive side\nof this question. Instead he must again find fault with the struggle\nfor existence. There can be no argument about a struggle for existence\nbetween plants and the genial eaters of plants \"in a sufficiently\naccurate sense the struggle for existence only occurs within the\nsphere of brutality, in so far as nourishment depends upon robbery and\nconsumption.\" And after he has reduced the concept struggle for\nexistence to these narrow limits he gives his wrath free play as\nregards the brutality of this conception which he himself has narrowed\ndown to a brutal conception. But this moral wrath simply reacts on\nHerr Duehring himself, the inventor of this sort of struggle for\nexistence. It is not Darwin therefore who seeks among the lower\nanimals the \"conditions of the operations of nature\" (as a matter of\nfact Darwin would have included the whole of organic nature in the\nstruggle), but one of Herr Duehring's bugaboos. The expression\n\"struggle for existence\" in particular excites Herr Duehring's lofty\nmoral scorn. That this actually exists among plants every meadow,\nevery cornfield and every wood can show him. We need not trouble about\nthe name, whether one call it \"struggle for existence\" or \"lack of the\nconditions of existence and want of mechanical realisation,\" but as to\nhow this fact operates as regards the maintenance or transformation of\nspecies. With regard to this Herr Duehring persists in a\ncharacteristically stubborn silence. We cannot trouble ourselves any\nmore about natural selection.\n\nBut \"Darwinism produces its changes and differentiations out of\nnothing.\" Darwin thoroughly understands that he is engaged with the\ncauses which have produced changes in individuals and in the second\nplace he is engaged with the mode in which such individual\ndifferentiations tend to mark off a race, a genus, or a species.\nDarwin moreover was less occupied in discovering these causes, which\nup to the present are either entirely unknown or on which there is\nonly general information, than in discovering a rational form in which\nto establish their reality, to embrace their permanent significance.\nBut Darwin ascribed too wide a reach to his discovery in this that he\nmade it an exclusive means of variation in species and neglected the\ncauses of individual differentiations from the general form. This\nmistake however is common to most people who make a step forwards.\nNext, if Darwin produces his changes in individual types out of\nnothing and thereby excludes the wisdom of the breeder, the breeder on\nhis part must not only display his wisdom but he must produce out of\nnothing real changes in plant and animal forms. But who has given the\nimpetus to the investigation as to whence these variations and\ndifferentiations proceed? It is again no one but Darwin.\n\nLately the conception of natural selection has been broadened, by\nHaeckel, in particular, and the variation of species has been shown to\nbe the result of actual change owing to adaptation and inheritance,\nwhereby adaptation is considered as the source of variations and\nheredity as the conserving element in the process. Even this is not\ncorrect in Herr Duehring's eyes. \"Peculiar adaptation to the\ncircumstances of life as they are offered or withheld by nature\nsupposes impulses and facts which answer to the conception. Hence\nadaptation is only apparent and actual causality does not elevate\nitself above the lowest steps of physical, chemical and plant\nphysiology.\" It is again the name which provokes Herr Duehring. But\nhow does he deal with the matter? The question is if such changes do\ntake place in the species of organic beings or not. And again Herr\nDuehring has no reply.\n\n\"If a plant in the course of its growth takes a direction by which it\ngets the most light the result is nothing but a combination of\nphysical forces and chemical agents, and if we are to call it an\nadaptation, not metaphorically but strictly, confusion is certain to\narise in the motion.\" This man is so exacting with other people\nbecause he is quite well acquainted with the intentions of nature and\nspeaks of the subtlety of nature, even of its will. There is\nconfusion, indeed, but with whom, with Haeckel or with Herr Duehring?\n\nAnd the confusion is not only spiritual but logical. We have seen that\nHerr Duehring put forth all his efforts to make the purpose idea in\nnature real. \"The relation of means and end does not by any means show\na conscious intention.\" But what is adaptation without conscious\nintention, without any intrusion of design of which he complains so\nloudly, but an unconscious teleology?\n\nIf the color of tree frogs and leaf eating insects is as a rule green\nand that of beasts that inhabit the desert sandy-yellow, and that of\npolar animals white, they have certainly not come into possession of\nthis coloring intentionally or through any kind of mental process, on\nthe contrary the coloring can only be explained by means of the\noperation of physical substances and chemical agents. And yet it\ncannot be denied that by these colors these animals are particularly\nadapted to the conditions in which they are and it is certain that\nthey are by their means rendered less visible to their enemies. Just\nof a similar nature are the organs by which certain plants seize and\nconsume certain insects (the means being on their under side, suited\nto this purpose and adapted to this end). Now if Herr Duehring insists\nthat the adaptation must be realised through the operation of thought,\nhe only says that the purpose must be carried out through mental\noperation, must be conscious and intentional. Thus again, just as in\nthe philosophy of realism we arrive at the Creator with a purpose, at\nGod. Formerly this kind of declaration was called \"deism\" and Herr\nDuehring says that we had not much regard for it, but it now appears\nthat the world has gone backwards in this respect also.\n\nFrom adaptation we come to heredity and here according to Herr\nDuehring Darwinism is quite out. \"The whole organic world, Darwin\nexplained, came from a single germ, is, so to speak, the brood of a\nsingle being. Independent similar products of nature according to\nDarwin do not exist without heredity and his retrogressive philosophy\nmust come to a full stop when the end of the thread of ancestry is\nreached, or the original vegetable form.\"\n\nThe statement that Darwin traced all existing organisms from one\noriginal germ is to put it politely a piece of pure imagination on the\npart of Herr Duehring. Darwin says distinctly on the last page of the\nOrigin of Species, Sixth Edition, that he regards all living beings\nnot as separate creations but as the descendants in a direct line from\nsome fewer beings and Haeckel makes a distinct advance on this\nascribes \"an entirely distinct source for plants and another for the\nanimal kingdom\" and on and between both of them \"a number of original\nstems each of which has developed independently from one single\nprimary monistic form.\" (History of Creation page 397.) This original\nform of life Herr Duehring discovers solely to bring it into contempt\nby paralleling it with the first man according to Jewish tradition,\nAdam. Here, unfortunately for Herr Duehring, he does not know how this\noriginal Jew turns out, according to Smith's Assyrian discoveries to\nhave been the original Semite, and that the entire Biblical story of\nthe Creation and the Flood has been shown to have been taken from a\nlegendary store common to the Jews, Babylonians, Chaldeans, and\nAssyrians.\n\nIt is brought forward as a severe and irrefutable reproach to Darwin\nthat he is at an end where the thread of descent fails him.\nUnfortunately the whole of our science deserves the same reproach.\nWhen the thread of descent fails it it is \"at an end.\" It has not yet\ncome to the point of creating organic beings without an ancestry, not\neven once has it been able to make simple protoplasm or other\nalbuminous bodily forms out of the chemical elements. It can only say\ntherefore with any certainty regarding the origin of life, that it\nmust have come about by a chemical process. But perhaps the\nphilosophy of realism can give us some assistance here since it is\nengaged with independent organic natural products, without any descent\none from another. How can these come into being? By original creation?\nBut up to the present not even the most audacious advocates of\nspontaneous generation have claimed to create in this way anything\nexcept bacteria, fungi, or other very elementary organisms, but not\ninsects, birds, fish or mammals. If these homogeneous products of\nnature--it is understood for all this discussion that they are\norganic--are not related through descent, they or their ancestors,\nthen \"where the thread of descent breaks\" they must have been placed\nin the world by a separate act of creation, and this again requires a\ncreator, what we call \"deism.\"\n\nHerr Duehring further explains that \"it was a piece of superficiality\non the part of Darwin to make the mere fact of the sex-composition of\nqualities the foundation for the existence of these qualities.\" Here\nwe have again a piece of pure imagination on the part of our profound\nphilosopher. On the contrary Darwin says that natural selection has to\ndo only with the maintenance of variations and not with their origin.\nThis new supposition however of things which Darwin did not say serves\nto assist us to this deep idea of Duehring. \"If a principle of\nindividual variation had been sought in the inner scheme of creation\nit would have been an entirely rational idea. For it is natural to\nunite the idea of universal generation with that of sex propagation,\nand to regard the so-called original creation from the higher point of\nview, not as absolutely antagonistic to reproduction but even as\nreproduction itself.\" And the man who could write this is not ashamed\nto reproach Hegel with writing jargon.\n\nLet us call a halt to the vexatious and contradictory babble with\nwhich Herr Duehring proclaims his wrath against the advance given to\nscience by the theory of Darwin. Neither Darwin nor his followers\namong the natural scientists have any idea of belittling Lamark's\ntremendous services, in fact they are the very people who first\nrestored his fame. But we are unable to ignore the fact that in the\ntime of Lamark science was still far from supplied with competent\nmaterial to enable it to answer the question of the origin of species\nother than in a prophetic or, as it were anticipatory, manner. In\naddition to the enormous amount of material in the realm of general,\nas well as of that of anatomical, botany and zoology, accumulated\nsince that time, two entirely new sciences have since come into\nexistence--the investigation of the development of plant and animal\ngerms (embryology), and the investigation of the organic survivals in\nthe earth's crust which still remain. There is a distinct similarity\nbetween the steps in the development of the organic germ to mature\norganism, and the successive steps by which plants and animals succeed\neach other in the history of the world. It is just this similarity\nwhich has placed the evolution theory on its most secure foundations.\nThe theory of evolution is however still very young and it is beyond\nquestion that upon further investigation the rigid Darwinian ideas\nupon the origin of species will be considerably modified.\n\nBut what has the realist philosophy of a positive nature to contribute\nwith respect to the evolution of organic life? \"The variation of\nspecies is an acceptable supposition, but there exists, in addition,\nthe independent order of the products of nature belonging to the same\nspecies without any intervention of descent.\" According to this we\nare to conclude that products of unlike species, that is species which\nvary, are descended from one another, but those of similar species\nnot. But even this is not altogether correct, for he ventures to say\nof the varying species, \"The part played by descent is on the contrary\na very secondary activity of nature.\" There is heredity, then, but it\nis only to be reckoned as a factor of the second class. Let us be glad\nthat heredity of which Herr Duehring has said so much that is evil and\nmysterious is at least let in by the back door. It is just the same\nwith natural selection, since after all his moral indignation with\nrespect to the struggle for existence by means of which natural\nselection fulfils itself he suddenly exclaims, \"The most important\nconstituent is to be found in the conditions of life and cosmic\nconditions, while natural selection as set forth by Darwin may be\nconsidered as secondary.\" Natural selection still exists, even if a\nfactor of the second class, like the struggle for existence, and the\nclerical malthusian surplus-population theory. That is all, for the\nrest Herr Duehring refers us to Lamark.\n\nFinally, he warns against misuse of the terms metamorphosis and\nevolution. Metamorphosis, he says, is a very obscure notion, and the\nconcept of evolution is only admissible in so far as a law of\nevolution can be really proved. Instead of either of these expressions\nwe should employ the term \"composition\" and then everything would be\nall right. It is the same old story over again, Herr Duehring is\nsatisfied if we change the names. If we speak of the evolution of the\nchicken in the egg we give rise to confusion because we have only an\nincomplete knowledge of the law of evolution. But if we speak of its\n\"composition\" everything becomes clear. We must therefore say no\nlonger \"this child is growing nicely\" but, \"he composes himself\nsplendidly,\" and we congratulate Herr Duehring upon the fact that he\nis not only a peer of the author of the Niebelungen Ring in his\nopinion of himself but in his own particular capacity is also a\ncomposer of the future.\n\n\n_Organic World (Conclusion)._\n\n\"One reflects upon our natural philosophical portion of positive\nknowledge in order to fix it relatively to all one's scientific\nhypotheses. Next in importance come all the actual acquisitions of\nmathematics as well as the leading principles of exact science in\nmechanics, physics and chemistry and particularly the scientific\nresults in physiology, zoology, and antiquarian investigation.\"\n\nHerr Duehring speaks in this confident and decided fashion with\nrespect to the mathematical and scientific scholarship of Herr\nDuehring. One cannot detect in its meager shape and in its scanty and\naudacious results the extent of positive knowledge which lies behind.\nEvery time the oracle is consulted for a definite statement as regards\nphysics or chemistry we get nothing as regards physics but the\nequation which expresses the mechanical equivalent of heat, and\nconcerning chemistry only this that all bodies are divisible into\nelements and combinations of elements. He who can speak as Duehring\ndoes about \"gravitating atoms\" shows at once that he is quite at a\nloss to understand the difference between an atom and a molecule.\nAtoms, of course, exist, not with respect to gravitation or any other\nphysical or mechanical form of motion, but only as concerns chemical\naction. And if the last chapter on organic nature is read, the empty,\nself-contradictory, assertive, oracular, stupid, circuitous absolute\nnothingness of the final result lead one to the conclusion that Herr\nDuehring talks about things of which he knows very little and this\nconclusion becomes a certainty when we come to his proposal in the\ncourse of his writing on organic life (biology) to use the term\n\"composition\" instead of evolution. He who can make such a suggestion\nas that gives evidence that he is not acquainted with the building up\nof organic bodies.\n\nAll organic bodies, the very lowest excepted, develop from small cells\nby the increment of visible pieces of albumen with a central cell. The\ncell generally develops an outer skin and the contents are more or\nless fluid. The lowest cell-bodies develop from one cell; the enormous\nmajority of organic beings are many-celled and among the lower forms\nthese take on similar, and among the higher forms greater variations\nof, groupings and activities. In the human body for example are bones,\nmuscles, nerves, sinews, ligaments, cartilage, skin, all either made\nup of cells or originating in them. But for all organic bodies, from\nthe amoeba which is a simple and for the most part unprotected piece\nof albumen with a cell centre in the midst to man, and from the\nsmallest one-celled desmidian to the highest developed plant, the mode\nis one and the same by which the cells propagate themselves, that is\nby division. The cell centre is first laced across its midst, the\nlacing which separates the centre into two knobs becomes stronger and\nstronger and at last they become separated and two cell centres are\nformed. The same occurrence takes place in the cell itself. Each of\nthe cell centres becomes the middle point of a collection of cell\nstuff which by knitting ever closer becomes combined with the other,\nand finally both of them part and live on as separate cells. Through\nsuch repeated cell divisions the full sized animal gradually develops\nfrom the germ of the animal egg after fructification and the\nsubstitution of used up cells in the full grown animal is brought\nabout similarly. To call such a process \"composition\" and to speak of\nthe term \"evolution\" as a purely imaginary term belongs to one who\ndoes not know anything of the matter, hard as it is to imagine such\nignorance at this date.\n\nWe have still somewhat to say with respect to Herr Duehring's views of\nlife in general. Elsewhere he sets forth the following statement with\nrespect to life. \"Even the inorganic world is a self-regulated system\nbut one may undertake to speak of life in the proper sense first when\nthe organs and the circulation of matter through special separate\nchannels from a central point to another germ collection of a minor\nformation begin.\"\n\nIf life begins where the separate organs begin then we must hold all\nHaeckel's protozoa (Protistenreich) and probably many others as dead;\nall organisms at least up to those composed of one cell and those\nincluded are not capable of life. If the means of circulation of\nmatter through different channels is the distinguishing mark of life\nwe must place outside of this definition all the upper classes of the\ncolenterata entirely, with the exception of the medusae, and therefore\nall the polypi and other plant animals are also to be considered as\nbeing outside the class of living creatures. And if the circulation of\nmatter through different canals from an inner point is the\ndistinguishing characteristic of life we must reckon all animals as\ndead which either have no heart or several hearts. Besides these there\nbelong also to this category all worms, starfish and ringed creatures\n(annuloids and annulous according to Huxley's definition) a portion of\nthe shell fish, crabs, and finally a vertebrate animal, the lancelet\n(amphioxus) and all plants.\n\nWhen Herr Duehring therefore undertakes to distinguish life narrowly\nand strictly, he gives four mutually contradictory modes of\ndistinguishing life, one of which condemns not only the whole of plant\nlife but about half the animal kingdom to eternal death. No one can\naccuse him of having deceived us when he promised us peculiar results\nbased on individual ideas.\n\nIn another place he says \"There is a simple fundamental type in nature\nbelonging to all organisms from the lowest to the highest\" and this\ntype is to be met \"in the subordinate movements of the most\nundeveloped plants.\" This is again an absolutely false statement. The\nsimplest type in the whole of organic nature is the cell, and it lies\nuniversally at the foundation of the highest organisms. On the other\nhand there is a substance among the lowest organisms lower even than\nthe cell, the protomoeba, a single piece of undifferentiated\nprotoplasm, without any differentiation, a complete series of monads\nand the entire class of siphoneae. All of these are connected with the\nhigher organisms only by virtue of the fact that protoplasm is its\nsubstantial foundation, and that they fulfill the functions of\nprotoplasm, that is they live and die.\n\nFurther Herr Duehring tells us \"physiologically the concept of\nexistence consists in this, that it embraces a single nerve apparatus.\nSensation is therefore the characteristic of all animal organisms that\nis the capacity of conscious subjective recognition of circumstances.\nThe sharp line of differentiation between plants and animals consists\nin the leap to sensation. This distinguishing line cannot any more be\nabolished by known forms of transition than it can be brought into\nexistence by the logical necessity of externally distinguishable\ncharacteristics.\" And further \"Plants are totally and eternally\nwithout sensation and are devoid of the faculty for it.\"\n\nIn the first place Hegel says that \"sensation is the specific\ndifferentiation, the distinguishing mark of the animal.\" Thus one of\nHegel's erudite statements becomes an indubitable truth of the last\ninstance merely by being copied into Herr Duehring's book.\n\nIn the second place we now arrive for the first time at the forms of\ntransition between animals and plants. That these intermediate forms\nexist, that there are organisms concerning which we are unable to say\nflatly whether they are plants or animals, that we are therefore\nunable to fix accurately the frontiers between plant and animal life,\nall these things make Herr Duehring logically anxious to fix a\ndecisively distinguishing line, which in the next breath he declares\ncannot be thoroughly relied on. But there is no need for us to go to\nthe doubtful region; intermediate between plants and animals are\nsensitive plants which at the least contact fold their leaves or close\ntheir petals. Are insect eating plants utterly without sensation? Even\nHerr Duehring cannot make such an assertion without indulging in\n\"unscientific half-poetry.\"\n\nIn the third place Herr Duehring is again giving free rein to his\nimagination when he says that sensation is psychologically existent,\neven when the nerve apparatus is exceedingly simple. This is found\nregularly among reptiles yet Herr Duehring is the first to say that\nthey have no sensation because they have no nerves. Sensation is not\nnecessarily bound up with nerves but it is bound up with some\nalbuminous substance the true nature of which has not yet been\ndiscovered.\n\nIn addition, the biological knowledge of Herr Duehring becomes\nexceedingly evident in that he is not ashamed to fling at Darwin the\nquestion do animals develop from plants? so that it is a question\nwhether he is more ignorant with regard to plants or animals.\n\nOf life in general Herr Duehring can only tell us \"The change in the\nform of matter which fulfills itself by plastic constructive\narrangement remains a distinguishing characteristic of the individual\nlife-process.\"\n\nThat is all that we learn of life and with respect to the plastic\ncreative arrangement we sink knee deep in the nonsense of Duehring's\njargon. If we want to learn what life is we shall have to look at the\nproblem a little more closely on our own account.\n\nThat organic change in matter is the most universal and distinctive\nevidence of life has been declared by physiological chemists and\nchemical physiologists times without number during the last thirty\nyears and their utterances are translated by Herr Duehring into his\nown clear and elegant language. But to define life as an organic\nchange of matter is simply to define life as life, for organic change\nof matter, or change of matter with plastic creative arrangement is a\nstatement which must itself be explained by life, and the explanation\nin its turn by the difference between organic and inorganic, that is\nbetween that which is alive and that which is not alive. So that with\nthis explanation we do not get at the problem.\n\nOrganic change, as such, is frequently found where life does not\nexist. There are whole series of processes in chemistry, which by the\nproper combination of the elements, produce again their own\nconditions, so that thereby a certain body is the creator of a\nprocess. Thus in the manufacture of sulphuric acid by the burning of\nsulphur, there is created in this process sulphuric dioxide SO_{2},\nand if one add steam and nitric acid thereto, the sulphuric dioxide\ntakes up the water and the oxygen and becomes H_{2} SO_{4}. Nitric\nacid gives off oxygen and becomes nitric oxide, this nitric oxide\nsimultaneously takes up new oxygen from the atmosphere and is\ntransformed into a higher oxide of nitrogen and from this acid\nsulphuric dioxide is again given off and made by the same process, so\nthat, theoretically, an infinitely small amount of nitric acid should\nbe effective to transform an unlimited quantity of sulphuric dioxide,\noxygen and water into sulphuric acid. Change in matter regularly\noccurs through the passing of fluids through dead organic and\ninorganic membranes as in the artificial cells of Traube. It therefore\nappears that there is no progress by the way of organic change for the\nquality of organic change which was to explain life must itself be\nexplained by life. We must therefore seek it elsewhere.\n\nLife is a mode of existence of protoplasm and consists essentially in\nthe constant renewal of the chemical constituents of this substance.\nProtoplasm is here understood in the modern chemical sense and\ncomprises under this name all substances analogous to the white of an\negg, otherwise called protein substances. The name is not\nsatisfactory, for the ordinary white of egg plays the least active\nrole of all transformed substances, since it only serves as mere\nnourishment for the yolk, for the self-developing germ. As long\nhowever as so little is known of the chemical constituents of\nprotoplasm the name is better than any other because more inclusive.\n\nWhenever we discover life we also find it bound up with protoplasm,\nand when we find a piece of protoplasm not in solution there we find\nalso life, without exception. Doubtless the presence of other chemical\nconstituents is necessary to a living body, to produce the various\ndifferentiations of these elements of life. They are not necessary to\nlife in itself, hence they enter as food and become transformed into\nprotoplasm. The lowest forms of life with which we are acquainted are\nnothing but simple pieces of protoplasm and yet they have all the\nappearance of living objects.\n\nBut in what consist these signs of life which are common to all living\nobjects? In this, that the protoplasm takes from its surroundings\nother matter suitable to itself and assimilates it while other former\nportions of the body become decomposed and are thrown off. Other\nthings, not living bodies, decompose or make combinations, but cease\nthereby to be what they were. The rock worn by atmospheric action is\nno longer rock, the metal which becomes oxidised goes off in rust. But\nwhat causes the destruction of dead bodies is the essential of the\nexistence of living protoplasm. From the very moment when the unbroken\ninterchange in the constituents of protoplasm ceases, the continual\ninterchange of receiving and throwing off, from that moment the\nprotoplasmic substance itself ceases, becomes decomposed, that is,\ndies.\n\nLife, the mode of existence of protoplasmic substance, therefore\nconsists in this, that at one and the same moment it is itself and\nsomething else, and this is not the result of a process to which it is\ncompelled by external agency, since this may happen also with objects\nwhich are dead. On the contrary life, which is change of matter, is\nconsequent upon nourishment and throwing off, is a self-fulfilling\nprocess inherent in its medium, protoplasm, without which it cannot\nexist. Hence, it follows that if chemistry should ever discover how to\nmake protoplasm artificially, this protoplasm must show some signs of\nlife, even if very insignificant. It is, of course, doubtful if\nchemistry will discover the proper food for this protoplasm at the\nsame time as the protoplasm.\n\nThrough the changes in matter produced by nourishment and throwing\noff, as actual functions of the protoplasm, and through its own\nplasticity, proceed all the other most simple factors of life,\nsensibility which consists in the interchange between the protoplasm\nand its food, contractibility which shows itself at a very low stage\nin the consumption of food, possibility of growth which is shown in\nthe lowest stages of development by splitting, and internal motion\nwithout which neither the consumption nor assimilation of food is\npossible.\n\nOur definition of life is, of course, very incomplete since in order\nto include all the widely differing manifestations of life it must\nconfine itself to the most universal and simple. Definitions are of\nlittle scientific worth. In order to determine what life is we must\nexamine all forms of its manifestation from the lowest to the highest.\nFor ordinary use such definitions are very convenient and in a certain\nsense indispensable, and they can do no harm as long as their\ninevitable deficiencies are not forgotten.\n\n(The remainder of this section simply teases Herr Duehring.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nMORALS AND LAW\n\n\n_Eternal Truths._\n\nWe refrain from offering examples of the hodge podge of stupidity and\nsham solemnity with which Herr Duehring regales his readers for fifty\nfull pages as fundamental knowledge on the elements of consciousness.\nWe merely quote the following: \"He who merely conceives of thought\nthrough the medium of speech has never understood what is signified by\nabstract and true thought.\" Hence, animals are the most abstract and\ntrue thinkers, for their thought is never obscured by the importunate\ninterference of speech. With regard to Herr Duehring's thought in\nparticular, it may be perceived that they are but little suited to\nspeech and that the German language in particular is quite inadequate\nto express them.\n\nThe fourth part of his book, however, possesses some redeeming\nfeatures, for here and there it offers us some comprehensible notions\non the subject of morals and law in spite of the tedious and involved\nrhetoric. Right at the beginning we are invited to take a journey to\nthe other heavenly bodies. Thus, the elements of morality are to be\nfound among superhuman beings among whom exist an understanding of\nthings and a regular system of the harmonious conduct of life. Our\nshare in such conclusions must then be small, but there always remains\na beneficent and enlarging idea in picturing that even in other\nspheres individual and social life follows one purpose which cannot\nbe escaped or evaded by any intelligent living creature.\n\nThere is good reason for our altering the position of the statement\nthat Herr Duehring's truth is good for all possible worlds from the\nclose to the beginning of the chapter. When once the correctness of\nHerr Duehring's notions of morals and law have been established so as\nto apply to all world the beneficent notion may easily be extended to\nall time. Here again, however, we run across another final truth of\nlast instance. The moral universe has \"just as well as that of\nuniversal knowledge its general principles and simple elements.\" Moral\nprinciples are beyond history and the national distinctions of to-day\n... the various truths from which in the course of development the\nfuller moral consciousness, and, so to speak, conscience itself is\nderived, can, as far as their origin is investigated, claim a similar\nacceptation and extent to that of mathematics and its applications.\nReal truths are immutable and it is folly to conceive of correct\nknowledge as liable to the attacks of time or of change in material\nconditions. \"Hence the certainty of sound knowledge and the\nsufficiency of general acceptation forbid to doubt the absolute\ncorrectness of the fundamental principles of knowledge.... Continual\ndoubt is in itself an evidence of weakness and is merely the\nexpression of a barren condition of confusion, which although\nconscious of possessing nothing still seeks to maintain the appearance\nof holding on to something. Regarding morals, it denies universal\nprinciples with respect to the manifold variations in moral ideas\nowing to geographical and historical conditions, and thinks that with\nthe admission of the unavoidable necessity of evil and wickedness\nthere is no need for it to acknowledge the truth and efficiency of\nmoral impulses. This mordant scepticism which is not directed against\nany false doctrine in particular, but against human capacity to\nrecognise morality resolves itself finally into nothingness, it is no\nmore than mere nihilism. It flatters itself that it can attain\nsupremacy and give free rein to unprincipled pleasures by destroying\nmoral ideas and creating chaos. It is greatly deceived, however, if\nmerely pointing at the inevitable fate of the intellect with respect\nto error and truth is sufficient to show by analogy that natural\nliability to error does not exclude the arriving at a correct decision\nbut rather tends to that end.\"\n\nUp to now we have not commented upon Herr Duehring's pompous opinions\non final truths of the last instance, sovereignty of the will,\nabsolute certainty of knowledge, and so forth, until the matter could\nfirst be brought to an issue. Up to this point the investigation has\nbeen useful to show how far the separate assertions of the philosophy\nof realism had \"sovereign validity\" and \"unrestricted claim to truth\"\nbut we now come to the question if any and what product of human\nknowledge can have in particular \"sovereign validity\" and\n\"unrestricted claims to truth.\" If I speak of human knowledge I do not\ndo so as an affront to the dwellers in other worlds whom I have not\nthe honor to know, but only because animals have knowledge also, not\nsovereign, however. The dog recognises a divinity in his master, who\nmay, however, be a great fool.\n\n\"Is human thought sovereign?\" Before we can answer \"yes\" or \"no\" we\nmust first examine what human thought is. Is it the thought of an\nindividual man? No. It exists only as the individual thoughts of many\nmillions of men, past, present and to come. If I now say, having\ncomprehended the thought of all men in the future also under my\nconcept, that it is able to understand the entire universe, if man\nonly lasts long enough, and the organs of perception are unlimited,\nand the objects to be comprehended have no limits upon their\ncomprehensibility, my statement is banal and barren. The most valuable\nresult of such a conclusion would be to cause in us a tremendous\ndistrust of present day knowledge. Because, to all appearance, we are\njust standing at the threshold of human history and the generations\nwhich will correct us will be much more numerous than those whose\nknowledge--often with little enough regard,--we ourselves correct.\nHerr Duehring himself explains the necessity of consciousness,\nknowledge and perception only becoming apparent in a collection of\nseparate individuals. We can only apply the word sovereignty to the\nthought of these individuals in so far as we do not know of any force\nwhich can defeat thought. But we all know that there is no\nsignificance to nor power of interpretation of the sovereign power of\nthe knowledge of the thought of each individual, and, according to our\nexperience, there is much more that requires improvement and\ncorrection in it than not.\n\nIn other words, the sovereignty of thought is realised in a number of\nhighly unsovereign men capable of thinking, the knowledge which has\nunlimited pretensions to truth is realised in a number of relative\nblunders; neither the one nor the other can be fully realised except\nthrough an endless eternity of human existence.\n\nWe have here again the same contradiction as above between the\nnecessary, as an absolute conceived characteristic of human thought,\nand its reality in the very limited thinking single individual, a\ncontradiction which can only be solved in the endless progression of\nthe human race, that is endless as far as we are concerned. In this\nsense human thought is just as sovereign as not--sovereign, and its\npossibility of knowledge just as unlimited as limited. It is sovereign\nand unlimited as regards its nature, its significance, its\npossibilities, its historical end, it is not sovereign and limited\nwith respect to individual expression and its actuality at any\nparticular time.\n\nIt is just the same with eternal truths. If mankind only operated with\neternal truths and with thought which possessed a sovereign\nsignificance and unlimited claims to truth, mankind would have arrived\nat a point where the eternity of thought becomes realised in actuality\nand possibility. Thus the famous miracle of the enumerated innumerable\nwould be realised.\n\nBut what about those truths which are so well established that to\ndoubt them is to be, as it were, crazy? That twice two is four, that\nthe three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, that\nParis is in France, that a man will die of hunger if he does not\nreceive food, etc.? Do we not perceive then that there are eternal\ntruths, final truths of last instance? Quite so. We can divide the\nentire field of knowledge in the old-fashioned way into three great\ndivisions. The first includes all the sciences which are concerned\nwith inanimate nature and which can be treated mathematically, more or\nless--mathematics, astronomy, mechanics, physics and chemistry. If one\nlike to use big words to express simple things, it may be said that\ncertain results of these sciences are eternal truths, final truths of\nlast instance, whence they are called the exact sciences. But all the\nresults are by no means of this character. With the introduction of\nvariable quantities and the extension of the variability to the\ninfinitely small and the infinitely large, mathematics, otherwise\nerect, meets with its fall, it has eaten of the apple of knowledge and\nthere has been opened up to it the path of limitless progress as well\nas that of error. The virgin condition of absolute purity, the\nundisturbable certainty of all mathematics has vanished forever, a\nperiod of controversy has intervened, and we have now arrived at the\nstate of affairs in which most people carry on the operations of\nmultiplication and division not because they really understand what\nthey are engaged in, but from mere belief because the operation has so\nfar always given correct results. Astronomy and mechanics, physics and\nchemistry are in a still more confused state, and hypotheses crowd one\nanother thick as a swarm of bees. It cannot be otherwise. In physics\nwe investigate the movements of molecules, in chemistry the\ndevelopment of molecules from atoms, and if the theory of light waves\nshould not be correct we have no absolute knowledge that we even see\nthese interesting things. The lapse of time produces a very thin crop\nof final truths of last instance. In geology we are in a still more\nembarrassing situation for we are here involved in the study of\npreceding epochs in which, as a matter of fact, neither we ourselves\nnor any other human being ever existed. Here there is much labor spent\nin the harvesting of truths of last instance, and they are a scanty\ncrop withal.\n\nThe second division of knowledge is occupied in the investigation of\nliving organisms. In this field the changes and causalities are so\ncomplex that not only does the solution of each question bring about\nthe rise of an unlimited number of new questions, but the solution of\neach of these separate new questions depends upon years, frequently\ncenturies, of investigation, and can then be only partially completed.\nSo that the need of systematic arrangement of the various\ninterrelations continually surrounds the final truths of the last\ninstance with a prolific and spreading growth of hypotheses. Look at\nthe long succession of progressive steps from Galen to Malpighi\nnecessary to establish correctly so simple a thing as the circulation\nof the blood of mammals, yet how little we know of the origin of blood\ncorpuscles and how many mistakes we make in, for example, rationally\nconnecting the symptoms and cause of a disease. Besides there are\nfrequently discoveries like those of the cell which compel us to\nentirely revise all hitherto firmly established truth of the last\ninstance in biology, and to lay numbers of such truths aside for good\nand all. He who would therefore in this science undertake the\nproclamation of absolute and immutable truths must be content with\nsuch platitudes as the following: \"All men must die; all female\nmammals have mammary glands, etc.\" He will not even be able to say\nthat the greater animals digest their food by means of the stomach and\nbowels and not with the head because the centralised system of nerves\nin the head is not adapted to digestion.\n\nBut things are worse with regard to final truths of last instance in\nthe third group of sciences--the historical. These are concerned with\nthe conditions of human life, social conditions, forms of law and the\nstate with their idealistic superstructure of philosophy, religion,\nart, etc., in their historic succession and in their present day\nmanifestations. In organic nature we have at least to do with a\nsuccession of regular phenomena which regularly repeat themselves as\nfar as our immediate observation goes, within very wide limits.\nOrganic species have remained on the whole unaltered since the time of\nAristotle. In social history, on the other hand, repetitions of\nconditions are the exception, not the rule, directly we leave behind\nthe prehistoric conditions of humanity, the stone-age, so-called.\nWhere such repetitions do occur, moreover, they never recur under\nprecisely similar conditions, as for example the occurrence of early\ntribal communism among all peoples anterior to civilisation and the\nform of its break up. As regards human history, then, as far as\nscience is concerned, we are at a greater disadvantage than in\nbiology. Furthermore, when the intimate relations existing between a\nsocial and political phenomenon come to be recognised it is not, as a\nrule, perceived until the conditions are actually on the way to decay.\nKnowledge is therefore entirely relative, since it is limited to a\ngiven people and a given epoch, and their nature under transitory\nsocial and political forms, when it examines relations and forms\nconclusions. He who therefore is after final truths of last instance,\npure and immutable, will only manage to catch flat phrases and the\nmost arrant commonplaces, like these--man cannot, generally speaking,\nlive without working; up to the present men have for the most part\nbeen divided into masters and servants; Napoleon died on May 5th,\n1821, and things of that sort.\n\nIt is worth noting that in this department of knowledge pretended\nfinal truths of last instance are met with most frequently. Only the\nperson who wishes to show that there are eternal truth, eternal\nmorality, and eternal justice in human history, and that these are\nsimilar in scope and application to those of mathematics, will\nproclaim that twice two is four and that birds have beaks and the like\nto be eternal truths. We can also certainly rely upon the same friend\nof humanity taking the opportunity to explain that all former\ninventors of eternal truths have been more or less asses or\ncharlatans, that they have been circumscribed by error and have made\nmistakes. The fact of their error, however, is natural and proves the\nexistence of the truth, and that it can be reached, and the newly\narisen prophet has a ready-to-hand stock of final truths of last\ninstance, eternal law and eternal justice. This has happened hundreds,\nnay, thousands of times, so that it is a wonder that men are still\nsufficiently credulous to believe it not only of others, but even of\nthemselves. Here we find a prophet clad in the armour of righteousness\nwho proclaims in the old-fashioned way that whoever else may deny\nthere is still one left to declare final truths of last instance.\nDenial, nay, doubt even, is a weakness, barren confusion, mole-like\nscepticism, worse than blank nihilism, confusion worse confounded and\nother little amiabilities of this sort. As with all prophets, there is\nno scientific investigation, but merely off-hand condemnation.\n\nWe might have made mention of the sciences which investigate the laws\nof human thought, logic and dialectics. Here we are, however, no\nbetter off as regards eternal truths. Herr Duehring explains that the\ndialectic proper is pure nonsense, and the many books which have been\nand are still being written on logic prove clearly that final truths\nof last instance are more sparsely distributed than many believe.\n\nMoreover, we are not at all alarmed because the step of science upon\nwhich we to-day stand is not a bit more final than any of the\npreceding steps. Already it includes an immense amount of material for\ninvestigation and offers a great chance for specialisation and study\nto anyone who desires to become expert in any particular branch.\nWhoever expects to find final and immutable truths in observations\nwhich in the very nature of things must remain relative for successive\ngenerations, and can only be completed piecemeal, as in cosmogony,\ngeology and human history, which must always be incomplete owing to\nthe complexity of the historical material, shows perverse ignorance\neven where he does not, as in the present case, set up claims of\npersonal infallibility.\n\nTruth and error, like all such mutually antagonistic concepts, have\nonly an absolute reality under very limited conditions, as we have\nseen, and as even Herr Duehring should know by a slight acquaintance\nwith the first elements of dialectics, which show the insufficiency of\nall polar antagonisms. As soon as we bring the antagonism of truth and\nerror out of this limited field it becomes relative and is not\nserviceable for new scientific statements. If we should seek to\nestablish its reality beyond those limits we are at once confronted by\na dilemma, both poles of the antagonism come into conflict with their\nopposite; truth becomes error and error becomes truth. Let us take,\nfor example, the well-known Boyle's law, according to which, the\ntemperature remaining the same, the volume of the gas varies as the\npressure to which it is subjected. Regnault discovered that this law\ndoes not apply in certain cases. If he had been a realist-philosopher\nhe would have been obliged to say, \"Boyle's law is mutable, therefore\nit does not possess absolute truth, therefore it is untrue, therefore\nit is false.\" He would thus have made a greater error than that which\nwas latent in Boyle's law, his little particle of truth would have\nbeen drowned in a flood of error; he would in this way have elaborated\nhis correct result into an error compared with which Boyle's law with\nits particle of error fastened to it would have appeared as the truth.\nRegnault, scientist as he was, did not trouble himself with such\nchildish performances. He investigated further and found that Boyle's\nlaw is only approximately correct, having no validity in the case of\ngases which can be made liquid by pressure when the pressure\napproaches the point where liquefaction sets in. Boyle's law therefore\nis shown only to be true within specific bounds. But is it absolute, a\nfinal truth of last instance within specific bounds? No physicist\nwould say so. He would say that it is correct for certain gases and\nwithin certain limits of pressure and temperature, and even then\nwithin these somewhat narrow limits he would not exclude the\npossibility of a still narrower limitation or change in application as\nthe result of further investigation. This is how final truths of last\ninstance stand in physics, for example. Really scientific works as a\nrule avoid such dogmatic expressions as truth and error, but they are\nconstantly cropping up in works like the Philosophy of Reality, where\nmere loose talking vaunts itself the supreme result of sovereign\nthought.\n\nBut a naïve reader may say, \"Where has Herr Duehring expressly stated\nthat the content of his philosophy of reality is final truth of the\nlast instance?\" Well, for example, in his dithyramb on his system\nwhich we quoted above, and again where he says \"Moral truths as far as\nthey are known are as sound as those of mathematics.\" Does not Herr\nDuehring explain that by reason of his powers of criticism and\nsearching investigations, the fundamental philosophy has been brought\nto light and that he has thus bestowed upon us final truths of last\ninstance? But if Herr Duehring does not set up such a claim either on\nhis own behalf or that of his time, if he says that some time in the\nmisty future final truths of last instance will be established, and\nthat therefore his own statements are merely accidental and confused,\na kind of \"mole-like scepticism\" and \"barren confusion,\" what is all\nthe fuss about, and what useful purpose is served by Herr Duehring?\n\nIf we gain no ground in the matter of truth and error we gain less in\nrespect of good and evil. Here we have an antagonism of ethical\nsignificance, and ethics is a department of human history in which\nfinal truths are but slight and few. From people to people, from age\nto age, there have been such changes in the ideas of good and evil\nthat these concepts are contradictory in different periods and among\ndifferent peoples. But some one may remark, \"Good is still not evil\nand evil is not good; if good and evil are confused all morality is\nabolished, and each may do what he will.\" When the rhetoric is\nstripped away this is the opinion of Herr Duehring. But the matter is\nnot to be disposed of so easily. If things were as easy as that there\nwould be no dispute about good and evil. Everybody would know what was\ngood and what was evil. How is it to-day, however? What system of\nethics is preached to us to-day? There is first the Christian-feudal,\na survival of the early days of faith, which is as a matter of fact\nsubdivided into Catholic and Protestant, of which there are still\nfurther subdivisions, from the Jesuit-Catholic and orthodox Protestant\nto loosely drawn ethical systems. There figure also the modern or\nbourgeois, and still further the proletarian future system of\nmorality, so that the progressive European countries alone present\nthree contemporaneous and coexistent actual theories of ethics. Which\nis the true one? No single one of them, regarded as a finality, but\nthat system assuredly possesses the most elements of truth which\npromises the longest duration, which existent in the present is also\ninvolved in the revolution of the future, the proletarian.\n\nBut if we now see that the three classes of modern society, the feudal\naristocracy, the bourgeoisie and the proletarian, have their\ndistinctive ethical systems, we can only conclude therefrom that\nmankind consciously or unconsciously shapes its moral views in\naccordance with the material facts upon which in the last instance the\nclass existence is based--upon the economic conditions under which\nproduction and exchange are carried on.\n\nBut in the three above mentioned systems of ethics there is much which\nis common to all three of them, and might not this at least constitute\na portion of an eternally stable system of ethics? These ethical\ntheories pass through three distinct steps in their historical\ndevelopment, they have therefore a common historical basis and hence\nnecessarily much in common. Further, for approximately similar\neconomic stages there must, necessarily be a coincidence of similar\nstages of economic development, and ethical theories must of necessity\ncoincide with a greater or less degree of closeness. From the very\nmoment when private property in movables developed there had to be\nethical sanctions of general effect in all communities in which\nprivate property prevailed, thus: Thou shalt not steal. Is this\ncommandment, then, an eternal commandment? By no means. In a society\nin which the motive for theft did not exist stealing would only be the\npractice of the weak-minded, and the preacher of morals who proclaimed\n\"Thou shalt not steal\" as an eternal commandment would only be laughed\nat for his pains.\n\nWe here call attention to the attempt to force a sort of moral\ndogmatism upon us as eternal, final, immutable moral law, upon the\npretext that the moral law is possessed of fixed principles which\ntranscend history and the variations of individual peoples. We state,\non the contrary, that up to the present time all ethical theory is in\nthe last instance a testimony to the existence of certain economic\nconditions prevailing in any community at any particular time. And in\nproportion as society developed class-antagonisms, morality became a\nclass morality and either justified the interests and domination of\nthe ruling class, or as soon as a subject class became strong enough\njustified revolt against the domination of the ruling class and the\ninterests of the subject class. That, by this means, there is an\nadvance made in morals as a whole, just as there is in all other\nbranches of human knowledge, there can be no doubt. But we have not\nyet advanced beyond class morals. Real human morality superior to\nclass morality and its traditions will not be possible until a stage\nin human history has been reached in which class antagonisms have not\nonly been overcome but have been forgotten as regards the conduct of\nlife. Now the colossal egotism of Herr Duehring may be understood when\nit is seen that, on the eve of a revolution which will bring about a\nstate of society devoid of classes, he claims from the midst of an old\nand class divided society to proclaim an eternal system of morals\nindependent of time and material change. He himself declares what up\nto the present has been hid from the rest of us that he understands\nthe structure of this future society at least as regards its salient\nfeatures.\n\nIn conclusion he makes a revelation which is essentially original but\nnone the less \"fundamental respecting the origin of evil.\" We have the\nfact that the type of the cat with its inherent treachery is pictured\nas the representative animal type, and this also displays a form of\ncharacter to be found also in man. There is no mystery then about evil\nif one can detect a mysticism in the cat or any other beast of prey.\nEvil is--the cat. Goethe was evidently wrong when he introduced\nMephistopheles as a black dog instead of a cat similarly colored. This\nis ethics suited not only to all worlds but to cats also.\n\n\n_Equality._\n\nBy dint of experience we have come to learn Herr Duehring's \"method.\"\nIt consists in separating each department of knowledge into what are\nassumed to be its most simple elements, then of making so called self\nevident axioms with regard to these simple elements, and thereupon\noperating with the results obtained in this way. Thus a sociological\nquestion is to be \"decided on simple axiomatic principles just as if\nit were a matter of elementary mathematics.\" Thus the application of\nthe mathematical method to history, ethics and law gives mathematical\ncertainty to the final results which appear as pure and immutable\ntruths.\n\nThis is only another form of the old ideological, _a priori_ method so\ncalled, which learned the properties of an object not from the object\nitself but derived them by proof from the concept of the object. First\nyou derive a concept of the object from the actual object, then you\nturn the spit and measure the object in terms of its derivative the\nconcept. The concept is not shaped after the pattern of the object but\nthe object after the pattern of the concept. In Herr Duehring's\nmethod, the simplest elements, the last abstractions to which he can\nattain do duty for the concept which is unchangeable, the simplest\nelements are under the best conditions purely imaginary in their\nnature. The philosophy of realism hence appears to be mere ideology,\nand has no derivation from real life but is absolutely dependent upon\nthe imagination. When such an ideologist proceeds to construct a\nsystem of morals and law from his concept of the so-called simplest\nelements of society instead of from the real social conditions of the\nmen about him, where does he get his material for construction? The\nmaterial evidently consists of two kinds--firstly, the slim vestiges\nof reality which are still present in every fundamental abstraction,\nand secondly in the actual content which our ideologist evolves from\nhis own consciousness. And what does he discover in his consciousness?\nFor the most part moral and ethical philosophic ideas and these\nconstitute an expression corresponding more or less closely, whether\npositive or negative, harmonious or hostile, with the social and\npolitical conditions which environ him. Besides he probably has\nnotions derived from literature pertaining to these conditions, and\nfinally he has possibly personal idiosyncrasies. Let our ideologist\ndodge all that he can, the historical reality which he has thrown out\nof doors comes in again at the window and although he may fancy that\nhe is employed in the manufacture of moral and legal doctrines good\nfor all worlds and all ages he is actually making a distorted,\ncounterfeit of the conservation or revolutionary tendencies of his\ntime, because torn from its real place, as things seen in a concave\nmirror are upside down.\n\nHerr Duehring therefore resolves society into its simplest elements\nand discovers accordingly that the most elementary society consists of\nat least two human beings. He thereupon operates with these two human\nbeings to produce his axiom. Then he delivers himself of the\nfundamental maxim of morals, \"Two human wills, as such, are entirely\nidentical, and the one can in consequence make no positive demands\nupon the other.\" Here the \"foundation of moral law\" is apparent, so\n\"in order to develop the principal concepts of justice we require two\nhuman beings under absolutely simple and elementary conditions.\"\n\nThat two human wills or two human beings are just alike is not only no\naxiom, it is a glaring exaggeration. In the first place two human\nbeings may differ as regards sex, and this simple fact shows us, if we\nlook at childhood for a moment, that the elements of society are not\ntwo men, but a little man and a little woman, which constitute a\nfamily, the simplest and earliest form of association for productive\npurposes. But Herr Duehring cannot by any means agree to this. On the\none hand the two constituents of society might very possibly be made\nalike and on the other Herr Duehring would not be able to construct\nthe moral and legal equality of man and woman from the original\nfamily. Therefore one of two things must take place. Either the\nmolecules of Herr Duehring's society from the multiplication of which\nall society is built up is merely _a priori_ and destined to fail,\nsince two men cannot produce a child, or we must consider them as two\nheads of families. In this case the entire foundation is made its very\nopposite. Instead of the equality of man we have at the most the\nequality of two heads of families, and since women are not\ncomprehended we have the consequent subjection of women.\n\nWe are sorry to warn the reader that these two notorious men cannot be\ngot rid of, for a long time. They take up in the realm of social\nconditions the role heretofore played by the dwellers in the other\nworld with whom it is to be hoped we have now finished. Should any\nquestion of political economy, of politics or any other such matter\nrequire solution, out come the two men and make the thing axiomatic\nforthwith. This is a remarkable, clever, and system-shaping discovery\nof our system-shaping philosopher. But to give the truth its due we\nare regretfully bound to say that he did not discover the two men.\nThey are common to the whole of the eighteenth century. They appear in\nRousseau's Treatise on Equality, 1754, where, by the way, they serve\nto prove axiomatically the direct opposite of Herr Duehring's\ncontentions. They play an important part in political economy from\nAdam Smith to Ricardo, but here they are so far unequal that they\nfollow different trades, principally hunting and fishing, and they\nexchange their mutual products. They serve through the entire\neighteenth century principally as mere illustrative examples, and the\noriginality of Herr Duehring consists in the fact that he elevates\nthis method of illustration to a fundamental method for all social\nscience and to a measure of all historical instruction. There is no\neasier way to arrive at \"a really scientific philosophy of things and\nmen.\"\n\nIn order to create the fundamental axiom the two men and their wills\nare mutually equal and neither has any right to lord it over the\nother. We cannot find two suitable men. They must be two men who are\nso free from all national, economic, political and religious\nconditions, from sex and personal peculiarities that nothing remains\nof either of them but the mere concept \"man\" and then they are\nentirely equal. They are therefore two fully-equipped ghosts conjured\nup by that very Herr Duehring who particularly ridicules and denounces\n\"spiritistic\" movements. These two phantoms must of course do all that\ntheir wizard wants of them and so their united productions are a\nmatter of complete indifference to the rest of the world.\n\nNow let us follow Herr Duehring's axiomatic utterances a little\nfurther. These two men cannot make positive demands upon each other.\nThe one who does so and enforces his demand thereupon performs an\nunjust act, and with this idea as a foundation Herr Duehring explains\nthe injustice, the tyranny, the servitude, in short all the evil\nhappenings of history up to the present time. Now Rousseau has in the\nwork above mentioned proved the contrary just as axiomatically, by\nmeans of two men. A. cannot forcibly enslave B. except by putting B.\nin a place where he cannot do without A. This is far too materialistic\nan idea for Herr Duehring. He has accordingly put the same matter\nsomewhat differently. Two shipwrecked men being by themselves on an\nisland form a society. Their wills are, theoretically speaking,\nentirely equal and this is acknowledged by both. But in reality the\ninequality is tremendous. A. is resolute and energetic, B. inert,\nirresolute and slack. A. is sharp, B. is stupid. How long will it be\nbefore A. imposes his will upon B., first by taking the upper hand,\nand keeping it habitually, under the pretence that B.'s submission is\nvoluntary. Whether the form of voluntariness continues or force is\nresorted to slavery still is slavery. Voluntary entering into a state\nof slavery lasted all through the Middle Ages in Germany up to the\nThirty Years War. When serfdom was abolished in Prussia after the\ndefeats of 1806 and 1807 and with it the duty of the nobility to take\ncare of their subjects in need, sickness and old age the peasants\nthereupon petitioned to be allowed to remain in slavery--for who would\ncare for them when they were in trouble? The concept of the two men is\njust as applicable to inequality and slavery as it is to equality and\nmutual aid, and since, under the penalty of extinction, men must\nassume the headship of a family, hereditary slavery may be foreseen in\nit.\n\nLet us put this view of the case on one side for a moment. We assume\nthat we are convinced by Herr Duehring's maxim and that we are zealous\nfor the full equalisation of the two wills, for the \"universal\nsovereignty of man\" for the \"sovereignty of the individual,\"\nmagnificent expressions, in comparison with which Stirner's\n\"individual\" with his private property is a mere bungler though he\nmight claim his modest part therein. Then we are all free and\nindependent. All? No, not even now. There are still \"occasional\ndependent relations\" but these are to be explained \"on grounds which\nmust be sought not in the action of two wills as such but in a third\nconsideration, in the case of children, for example, in the\ninadequateness of their self-assertion.\"\n\nIndeed, the foundations of independence are not to be sought in the\nrealisation of the two wills as such. Naturally not, since the\nrealisation of one of the wills is thus interfered with. But they must\nbe sought in a third direction. And what is the third direction? The\nactual fixing of a subjected will as an inadequate one. So far has our\nrealistic philosopher departed from reality that will, the real\ncontent, the characteristic determination of this will serves him as a\nthird ground, for abstract and indefinite speech. However this may be\nwe must agree that equality has its exceptions. It does not apply to a\nwill which is infected with inadequateness of self expression.\n\nFurther, \"Where the animal and the human are intermingled in one\nperson can one in the name of a second fully developed human being\ndemand the same actions as in the case of a single human being ... our\nsupposition is here of two morally unequal persons of which one has a\nshare of purely animal characteristics in a certain sense the typical\nfundamental conception which characterises the differences in and\nbetween groups of men.\" Now the reader may see by these modest excuses\nin which Herr Duehring turns and winds like a Jesuit priest to\nestablish a casuistical position, how far the human human can prevail\nover the bestial human, how far he can employ deceit, warlike, keen\nterrorising means of deceit against the latter without overstepping\nimmutable ethical bounds.\n\nTherefore, if two persons are \"morally unequal\" there is an end of\nequality. It was therefore not worth while to conjure up two fully\nequal men, since there are no two individuals who are morally equal.\nBut inequality consists in this that one is a human being and the\nother has some part of the animal in his composition. It is evident\nthat since man is descended from the animal creation he is not free\nfrom animality. So that as regards man degrees of animality can only\nbe differentiated to a greater or less degree. A division of men into\ntwo sharply differentiated groups, into humans and human beasts, into\ngood and bad, into sheep and goats, even Christianity, let alone the\nrealist philosophy, is aware, implies a judge who makes the\ndistinction. But who shall be judge as regards the realist philosophy?\nWe must follow the practice of Christians according to which the pious\nlittle sheep undertake to act as judges of the universe against their\nunworthy neighbors the goats, with results which are too well known.\nThe sect of the realist philosophers supposing it ever comes into\nexistence will certainly not give up anything quietly. This is indeed\na matter of small concern to us but we are interested in the\nconfession that as a conclusion of the moral inequality between men\nequality no longer exists.\n\nAgain \"If the one acted in accordance with truth and science but the\nother in accordance with a superstition or prejudice a mutual\ndisagreement would generally occur. At a certain stage of incapacity\nbarbarism or an evil tendency of character must in all circumstances\nproduce an antagonism. Force is the last resort not alone with\nchildren and incapables. The peculiar characteristics of whole classes\nof men, whether in a state of nature or civilised, may render\nnecessary the subjection of their inimical will, due to their own\nimpotency, in order to bring them into harmony with social\narrangements. But such a man has challenged his own equality by the\nperversity of his inimical and hurtful actions, and if he suffers at\nthe hands of a superior force he only reaps the recoil of his own\nactions.\"\n\nThus not only moral but spiritual inequality is sufficiently potent to\ndo away with the \"full equality\" of two wills and to furnish an\nethical rule by which all the shameful acts of civilised plundering\nstates against backward peoples down to the atrocities of the Russians\nin Turkestan may be justified. When General Kaufmann, in the summer of\n1873, fell upon the Tartar tribes of the Jomuden, burnt their tents,\nmowed down their wives and families, as the command ran, he explained\nthat the destruction was due to the perversity, the inimical minds of\nthe people of the Jomuden, and was employed for the purpose of\nbringing them back to the social order, and the means used by him had\nbeen the most efficient.\n\nBut he who wills the end wills also the means. But he was not so cruel\nas to insult the Jomuden people in addition and to say that he\nmassacred them in the name of equality, that he considered their wills\nequal to his own. And again in this conflict the select, those who\npose as champions of truth and science, the realist philosophers in\nthe last instance must be able to distinguish superstition, prejudice,\nbarbarism, evil tendencies of character, and when force and subjection\nare necessary to bring about equality. So that equality now means\nequalisation by means of force, and the will of one recognises the\nwill of the other as equal by overthrowing it.\n\nThe phrase that an external will in its bringing about equalisation by\nforce is only to be regarded as producing equality is nothing but a\ndistortion of the Hegelian theory that punishment is a right of the\ncriminal. \"That punishment is to be regarded as implying a right to it\nin accordance with which the criminal is respected as a rational\nbeing.\" (Rechtsphil, 100.)\n\nWe may pause here. It would be superfluous to follow Herr Duehring any\nfurther in the piecemeal destruction of his axiomatically established\nequality, universal human sovereignty, etc., to observe how he brings\nsociety into existence with two men and produces yet a third in order\nto establish the state, because to put the matter briefly, no majority\ncan be had without the third, and without him, that is, without the\ndomination of the majority over the minority, no state can exist.\nThere is no need either for us to observe how he launches his future\nsocial state on the more peaceful waters of construction, where we may\nhave the honor some fine morning of beholding it. We have seen so far\nthat the complete equality of two wills only exists as long as they do\nnot will anything. That as soon as they cease to become human wills as\nsuch and to be converted into real individual wills, into wills of\nreal persons, that is, equality ceases; that childhood, idiocy,\nanimality so called, superstition, prejudice, supposed lack of power\non the one hand and supposed humanity and insight into truth and\nscience on the other hand, that therefore every difference in the\nquality of the two wills and in the degree of intelligence\naccompanying it justifies an inequality which may go as far as\nsubjection. Why should we seek further since Herr Duehring has brought\nhis own edifice of equality which he so laboriously constructed\ntumbling to the ground?\n\nBut if we are now prepared to meet Herr Duehring's silly and\nincompetent consideration of equality of rights we are not yet ready\nto take issue with the idea itself which through the influence of\nRousseau has played a theatrical part, and since the days of the great\nRevolution a practical and political part, and now plays no\ninsignificant role in the agitation carried on by the socialist\nmovement of all countries. The establishment of its scientific\nsoundness has a value for the proletarian agitation.\n\nThe idea that all men have something in common as men and that they\nare equal with respect to that common quality is naturally older than\nhistory. But the modern doctrine of equality is something quite\ndifferent than that. This derives from the property of humanity,\ncommon to man, the equality of man, as man, or at least of all\ncitizens of a given state or of all members of a given society. Until\nthe conclusion of equality of rights in the state and society was\ndeduced from the original notion of relative equality, and until this\nconclusion was to be stated as something natural and self evident,\nmany thousands of years had to pass and indeed have passed. In the\noldest and most elementary communities it may be said that equality of\nrights among the members existed in the highest degree, women, slaves,\nand foreigners, however, being excluded. Among the Greeks and Romans\ninequality existed to a greater degree. Greeks and barbarians, freemen\nand slaves, citizens and subjects, Roman citizens and Roman subjects\n(to employ a comprehensive expression) that these should have any\nclaim to equality of political rights would have been regarded by the\nancients necessarily as madness. Under the Roman Empire there was a\ncomplete elimination of all these distinctions with the exception of\nthose of freemen and slaves. There arose therefore as far as the\nfreemen were concerned that equality of private individuals upon which\nRoman law was founded and developed as the most perfect system of\njurisprudence based on private property with which we are acquainted.\nBut while the contradiction of freemen and slaves existed there could\nbe no statement based upon the universal equality of man as such, as\nwas recently shown in the slave states of the Northern American Union.\n\nChristianity recognised one equality on the part of all men, that of\nan equal taint of original sin, which entirely corresponded with its\ncharacter as a religion of slaves and the oppressed. In the next place\nit recognised completely the equality of the elect but it only\ndeclared this at the beginning of its teaching. The traces of common\nproperty in possessions which may be found occasionally in the\nearliest days of the religion was based rather upon the mutual\nassistance which persecuted people hold out to each other, than upon\nany real concepts of human equality. Very soon the establishment of\nthe antithesis between the priesthood and the laity put an end to even\nthis expression of Christian equality. The inundation of Western\nEurope by the Germans abolished for centuries all concepts of equality\nby the creation of a universal, social and political gradation of rank\nof a much more complicated nature than had existed up to that time.\nContemporaneously with this Western and Middle Europe entered upon a\nhistorical development, shaped for the first time a compact\ncivilisation, and a system which was on the one hand dynamic and on\nthe other conservative, the leading national states. Thereupon a soil\nwas prepared for the declaration of the equality of human rights so\nrecently made.\n\nThe feudal middle ages moreover developed the class in its womb\ndestined to be the apostle of the modern agitation for equality, the\nbourgeois class. In the beginning even under the feudal system the\nbourgeois class had developed the prevalent hand-industry and the\nexchange of products even within feudal society to a high degree\nconsidering the circumstances, until with the close of the fifteenth\ncentury the great discoveries of lands beyond the seas opened before\nit a new and individual course. The trade beyond Europe which up to\nthat time had been carried on between the Italians and the Levant was\nnow extended to America and the Indies and soon exceeded in amount the\nreciprocal trade of the European countries as well as the internal\ncommerce of any particular land. American gold and silver flooded\nEurope and like a decomposing element penetrated all the fissures,\ncrevices and pores of feudal society. The system of hand-labor was no\nlonger sufficient for the growing demand, it was replaced by\nmanufacture in the leading industries of the most highly developed\npeoples.\n\nA corresponding change in the political structure followed this\npowerful revolution in the economic conditions of society but by no\nmeans immediately. The organisation of the State remained feudal in\nform while society became more and more bourgeois. Trade, particularly\ninternational, and to a greater degree world-commerce demanded for its\ndevelopment the free and unrestricted possessors of commodities, who\nhave equality of right to exchange commodities at least in one and the\nsame place. The transition from hand labor to manufacture presupposes\nthe existence of a number of free laborers, free on the one hand from\nthe fetters of the gild and on the other free to employ their labor\nforce in their own behalf, who could make contracts for the hire of\ntheir labor force to the manufacturers and therefore face him as if\nendowed with equal rights as contracting parties. At last then there\narose equality of rights and actual equality of all human labor, for\nlabor force finds its unconscious but strongest expression in the law\nof value of modern bourgeois economy according to which the value of a\ncommodity finds its measure in the socially necessary labor\nincorporated in it. But where the economic circumstances render\nfreedom and equality of rights necessary, the political code, gild\nrestrictions and peculiar privileges oppose them at every step. Local\nprovisions of a legal character, differential taxation, exceptional\nlaws of every description, interfere not only with foreigners or\ncolonials but frequently enough also with whole categories of citizens\nin the nation itself. Gild privileges in particular constituted a\ncontinual impediment to the development of manufacture. The course was\nnowhere open and the chances of the bourgeois victory were by no means\nequal, but to make the course open was the first and ever more\npressing necessity.\n\nAs soon as the demand for the abolition of feudalism and for the\nequality of rights was set on the order of the day it had necessarily\nto take an ever widening scope. As soon as the claim was made in\nbehalf of commerce and industry it had also to be made in behalf of\nthe peasants who, being in every stage of slavery from serfdom labored\nfor the most part without any return for the feudal lords and were\nobliged in addition to perform innumerable services for them and for\nthe State. Also it became desirable to abolish feudal privileges, the\nimmunity of the nobility from taxation, and the superiority which\nattached to a certain status. And as men no longer lived in a world\nempire like the Roman, but in an independent system with states which\napproximated to a similar degree of bourgeois development and which\nhad intercourse with one another on an equal footing, the demand took\non necessarily a universal character reaching beyond the individual\nstate, and freedom and equality were thus proclaimed as human rights.\nBut as regards the special bourgeois character of these human rights,\nit is significant that the American Constitution which was the first\nto recognise these rights of man in the same breath established\nslavery among the colored people: class privileges were cursed, race\nprivileges were blessed.\n\nAs is well known, the bourgeois class as soon as it escaped from the\ndomination of the ruling class in the cities, by which process the\nmedieval stage passes into the modern, has been steadily and\ninevitably dogged by a shadow, the proletariat. So also the bourgeois\ndemands for equality are accompanied by the proletarian demands for\nequality. Directly the demand for the abolition of class privileges\nwas made by the bourgeois there succeeded the proletarian demand for\nthe abolition of classes themselves. This was first made in a\nreligious form and was based upon early Christianity, but later\nderived its support from the bourgeois theories of equality. The\nproletarians take the bourgeois at their word, they demand the\nrealisation of equality not merely apparently, not merely in the\nsphere of government but actually in the sphere of society and\neconomics. Since the French bourgeoisie of the great Revolution placed\nequality in the foreground of their movement, the French proletariat\nhas answered it blow for blow with the demand for social and economic\nequality, and equality has become the special battle cry of the French\nproletariat.\n\nThe demand for equality as made by the proletariat has a double\nsignificance. Either it is, as was particularly the case at first, in\nthe Peasants' War, for example, a natural reaction against social\ninequalities which were obvious, against the contrast between rich and\npoor, masters and slaves, luxurious and hungry, and as such it is\nsimply an expression of revolutionary instinct finding its\njustification in that fact and in that fact alone. On the other hand\nit may arise from reaction against the bourgeois claims of equality\nfrom which it deduces more or less just and far reaching claims,\nserves as a means of agitation to stir the workers, by means of a cry\nadopted by the capitalists themselves, against the capitalists, and in\nthis case stands or falls with bourgeois equality itself. In both\ncases the real content of the proletarian claims of equality is the\nabolition of classes. Every demand for equality transcending this is\nof necessity absurd. We have already given examples and can furnish\nmany more when we come to consider Herr Duehring's prophecies of the\nfuture.\n\nSo the notion of equality, in its proletarian as well as in its\nbourgeois form, is itself a historic product. Certain circumstances\nwere required to produce it and these in their turn proceeded from a\nlong anterior history. It is therefore anything but an eternal truth.\nAnd if the public regards it as self-evident in one sense or another\nif it, as Marx remarks \"already occupies the position of a popular\nprejudice\" it is not due to its being an axiomatic truth but to the\nuniversal broadening of conception in accordance with the spirit of\nthe eighteenth century. If Herr Duehring then can set up his two\nfamous men in housekeeping on the grounds of equality, it is apparent\nthat the prejudices of the mass of men in its favor is an antecedent\ncondition. In fact Herr Duehring calls his philosophy the \"natural\"\nbecause it proceeds from generally recognised things, which appear to\nhim to be entirely natural. But why they seem to him to be natural he\ndoes not take the trouble to enquire.\n\n\n_Freedom and Necessity._\n\n(The former part of this section is taken up with a criticism of Herr\nDuehring's knowledge of law of which he had boasted. It is a purely\ntechnical discussion and is of merely local interest. Having disposed\nof Duehring's juristic claims Engels proceeds to discuss \"Freedom and\nNecessity\" as follows.)\n\nOne cannot deal properly with the question of morals and law without a\ndiscussion of free will, human responsibility, and the limits of\nnecessity and freedom. The realistic philosophy has not only one but\ntwo solutions of these questions.\n\n\"One must substitute for false theories of freedom the actual\nconditions in which reason on the one hand and instinct on the other\nunite upon a middle ground. The fundamental facts of this sort of\ndynamics are to be learned from observation and as regards the\ncalculation in advance of phenomena which have not yet occurred, we\nmust judge of them in general terms according to their special\nqualities. In this way the silly speculations with respect to the\nfreedom of the will which have wasted thousands of years are not only\nentirely removed but are replaced by something positive, something\nuseful for practical life.\" So freedom of the will consists in this\nthat reason impels men to the right and irrationality to the left and\naccording to this parallelogram of forces the true direction is that\nof the diagonal. Freedom would therefore be the average between\ninsight and impulse, between understanding and lack of understanding,\nand its degree would to use an astronomical expression be empirically\nestablished by the \"personal equation.\" But a few pages later we read\n\"We establish moral responsibility upon freedom by which we only mean\nsusceptibility to known motives according to the measure of natural\nand acquired reason. All such motives in spite of antagonism realise\nthemselves in action with the inevitability of natural law, but we\ncount upon this inevitable necessity when we deal with morals.\"\n\nThis second definition of freedom which is quite opposed to the first\nis nothing but a very weak paraphrase of Hegel's notions on the\nsubject. Hegel was the first man to make a proper explanation of the\nrelations of freedom and necessity. In his eyes freedom is the\nrecognition of necessity. \"Necessity is blind only in so far as it is\nnot understood.\" Freedom does not consist in an imaginary independence\nof natural laws but in a knowledge of these laws and in the\npossibility thence derived of applying them intelligently to given\nends. This is true both as regards the laws of nature and of those\nwhich control the spiritual and physical existence of man\nhimself,--two classes of laws which we can distinguish as an\nabstraction but not in reality. Freedom of the will consists in\nnothing but the ability to come to a decision when one is in\npossession of a knowledge of the facts. The freer the judgment of a\nman then in relation to a given subject of discussion so much the more\nnecessity is there for his arrival at a positive decision. On the\nother hand lack of certainty arising from ignorance which apparently\nchooses voluntarily between many different and contradictory\npossibilities of decision shows thereby its want of freedom, its\ncontrol by things which it should in reality control. Freedom,\ntherefore, consists in mastery over ourselves and external nature\nfounded upon knowledge of the necessities of nature, it is, therefore,\nnecessarily a product of historical development. The first human\nbeings to become differentiated from the lower animals were in all\nessentials as devoid of freedom as these animals themselves but each\nstep in human development was a step towards freedom. At the threshold\nof human history stands the discovery of the transformation of\nmechanical motion in heat, the generation of fire by friction; at the\nclose of development up to the present stands the discovery of the\ntransformation of heat into mechanical motion, the steam engine. In\nspite of the tremendous revolution in the direction of freedom which\nthe steam engine has produced in society it is not yet half complete.\nThere is no question that the production of fire by friction still\nsurpasses it as an agent in the liberation of humanity. Because the\nproduction of fire by friction for the first time gave man power over\nthe forces of nature and separated him for ever from the lower\nanimals. The steam engine can never bridge so wide a chasm. It appears\nhowever as the representative of all those productive forces by the\nhelp of which alone a state of society is rendered possible in which\nno class subjection or pain will be produced by reason of the lack of\nmeans for the sustenance of the individual, in which moreover it will\nbe possible to speak of real human freedom as arising from living in\naccordance with the recognised laws of nature. But considering the\nyouth of humanity it would be absurd to wish to impute any universal\nabsolute validity to our present philosophical views, and it follows\nfrom the mere facts that the whole of history up to the present time\nis to be regarded as the history of the period extending from the time\nof the practical discovery of the transformation of mechanical\nmovement into heat to that of the transformation of heat into\nmechanical movement.\n\n(The above constitutes a reply to the view which regards history\nsimply as the record of human error and is followed by a discussion of\nDuehring's opinions in that regard.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE DIALECTIC\n\n\n_Quantity and Quality._\n\n(Here Herr Duehring contends \"The first and most important statement\nwith respect to the foundation logical properties of existence points\nto the exclusion of contradiction. Contradiction is a category which\ncan belong to thought alone but which can pertain to nothing real.\nThere are no contradictions in things; in other words the law of\ncontradiction is itself the crowning point of absurdity.\" To which\nEngels replies as follows):\n\nThe thought content of the foregoing passages is contained in the\nstatement that contradiction is an absurdity and cannot occur in the\nactual world. This statement will have for people of average common\nsense the same self-evident truth as to say that straight cannot be\ncrooked nor crooked straight. But the differential calculus shows in\nspite of all the protests of common sense that under certain\nconditions straight and crooked are identical, and reaches thereby a\nconclusion which is not in harmony with the common sense view of the\nabsurdity of there being any identity between straight and crooked.\nConsidering moreover the significant role which the so called\nDialectic of the Contradiction played in the ancient Greek philosophy,\na stronger opponent than Herr Duehring would be obliged to meet it\nwith better arguments than a mere affirmation and a number of\nepithets.\n\nAs long as we regard things as static and without life, each by\nitself, separately, we do not run against any contradictions in them.\nWe find certain qualities sometimes common, sometimes distinctive,\noccasionally contradictory, but in this last case they belong to\ndifferent objects and are hence not self contradictory. While we\nfollow this method we pursue the ordinary metaphysical method of\nthought. But it is quite different when we consider things in their\nmovement, in their change, their life and their mutually reciprocal\nrelations. Then we come at once upon contradictions. Motion is itself\na contradiction since simple mechanical movement from place to place\ncan only accomplish itself by a body being at one and the same moment\nin one place and simultaneously in another place by being in one and\nthe same place and yet not there. And motion is just the continuous\nestablishing and dissolving the contradiction.\n\nHere we have a contradiction which is \"objective, and so to speak\ncorporeal in things and events.\" And what does Herr Duehring say about\nit? He affirms that \"in rational mechanics there is no bridge between\nthe strictly static and the dynamic.\" Finally the reader is able to\nsee that there is behind this pretty little phrase of Herr Duehring\nnothing more than this--that the metaphysical mode of thought can\nabsolutely not pass from the idea of rest to that of motion because\nthe aforesaid contradiction intervenes. Motion is absolutely\ninconceivable to the metaphysician, because a contradiction. And as he\naffirms the inconceivability of motion he admits the existence of this\ncontradiction against his will and therefore admits that it\nconstitutes an objective contradiction in actual facts and events, and\nis moreover an actual fact.\n\nBut if simple mechanical motion contains a contradiction in itself\nstill more so do the higher forms of motion of matter and to a high\ndegree organic life and its development. We saw above that life\nconsists chiefly in this that a being is at one and the same time\nitself and something different. Life itself then is likewise a\ncontradiction contained in things and events, always establishing and\ndissolving itself, and as soon as the contradiction ceases life also\nceases, death comes on the scene. Thus we saw also that we cannot put\nan end to the Contradictions in the realm of thought, and how for\nexample the contradiction between the intrinsically unlimited\npossibilities of human knowledge and its actual existence in the\npersons of human beings with limited faculties and powers of\nknowledge, is dissolved in the, for us at least, practically endless\nprogression of the race, in unending progress.\n\nWe stated just now that higher mathematics holds as one of its basic\nprinciples that straight and crooked may be identical under certain\ncircumstances. It shows another contradiction, that lines which\napparently intersect yet are parallel from five to six centimeters\nfrom the point of intersection, should be such as should never\nintersect although indefinitely produced, and yet, notwithstanding\nthese and even greater contradictions, it produces not only correct\nresults but results which are unattainable by lower mathematics.\n\nBut even in the latter there is a host of contradictions. It is a\ncontradiction, for example, that a root of A should be and actually is\na power of A. A to the power of one-half equals the square root of A.\nIt is contradiction that a negative magnitude should be the square of\nanything, since every negative magnitude multiplied by itself gives a\npositive square. The square root of minus one is therefore not only a\ncontradiction but an absurd contradiction, a veritable absurdity. And\nyet the square root of minus one is in many instances the necessary\nresult of correct mathematical operations, nay further, where would\nmathematics higher or lower be if one were forbidden to operate with\nthe square root of minus one.\n\nMathematics itself enters the realm of the dialectic and significantly\nenough it was a dialectic philosopher, Descartes, who introduced this\nprogressiveness into mathematics. As is the relation of the\nmathematics of variable magnitudes to that of invariable quantities,\nso is the relation of the dialectic method of thought to the\nmetaphysical. This does not prevent the great majority of\nmathematicians from only recognising the dialectic in the realms of\nmathematics, a condition of things satisfactory to those who operate\nin the antiquated, limited, metaphysical fashion by methods attained\nby means of the dialectic.\n\n\n(Duehring having made an attack upon Marx's \"Capital\" because of its\nreliance upon the dialectic, and having indulged in the epithets to\nwhich he is too prone with respect to this work, Engels takes up its\ndefence in that respect as follows):\n\nIt is not our business to concern ourselves at this point with the\ncorrectness or incorrectness of the investigations of Marx as regards\neconomics, but only with the application which he makes of the\ndialectic method. So much is certain, that it is only now that the\nreaders of \"Capital\" will by the aid of Herr Duehring understand what\nthey have read properly, and among them Herr Duehring himself, who in\nthe year 1867 was still in a position, as far as possible to a man of\nhis calibre, to review the book rationally. He did not then, it may be\nnoted, first translate the arguments of Marx into Duehringese, as now\nseems indispensable to him. Even if he at that time made the blunder\nof identifying the Marxian dialectic with that of Hegel he had not\naltogether lost the ability to distinguish methods from the results\nattained by them and to comprehend that an abuse of the former is no\ncontradiction of the latter.\n\nHerr Duehring's most astonishing observation is that from the Marxian\nstandpoint, \"in the last analysis everything is identical,\" that\ntherefore in the eyes of Marx, for example, capitalists and wage\nworkers, feudal, capitalistic and social methods of production are\n\"all one.\" In order to show the possibility of such sheer stupidity it\nonly remains to point out that the mere word \"dialectic\" makes Herr\nDuehring mentally irresponsible and makes what he says and does so\ninaccurate and confused as to be in the last analysis \"all one.\"\n\n\n(Herr Duehring remarks, \"How comical for example is the declaration\nbased upon Hegel's confused notions that quantity becomes lost in\nquality and that money advanced [i.e. for productive purposes. Ed.]\nbecomes capital when it reaches a certain limit merely through\nquantitative increase.\" To which Engels replies thus):\n\nThis seems peculiar when presented in this washed out fashion by Herr\nDuehring. On page 313 (2nd ed. \"Capital\") Marx, after an investigation\nof fixed and variable capital and surplus value, derives from his\ninvestigations the conclusion that \"not every amount of gold or value\ncapable of being transformed into capital is so transformed; rather a\ncertain minimum of gold or of exchange value is presupposed to be in\nthe possession of the individual owner of gold or goods.\" He thereupon\ngives an example, thus, in a branch of industry the worker works eight\nhours per day for himself, i.e. in order to produce the value of his\nwages, and the following four hours for the capitalist in producing\nsurplus value to go into their pockets. One must have sufficient\nvalues to permit of the setting up of two workmen with raw material,\nmeans of labor and wages, in order to live as well as a workman. But\nsince capitalistic production is not undertaken for mere livelihood\nbut for increase of wealth, our individual with his two workmen would\nstill be no capitalist. If he lives twice as well as an ordinary\nworkman and transforms half of the surplus value produced into capital\nhe will have to employ eight workmen and possess four times the\naforementioned amount of value, and only after this and other examples\nfor the purpose of illustrating and establishing the fact that not\nevery small amount of value can effect a transformation of itself into\ncapital, but that each period of industrial development and each\nbranch of industry has its own minimum, fixed, Marx remarks \"Here, as\nin nature, the correctness of the law of logic, as discovered by\nHegel, is established--that mere quantitative changes at a certain\npoint suddenly take on qualitative differences.\"\n\nOne may remark the elevated and dignified fashion in which Duehring\nmakes Marx say the exact opposite of what he did say. Marx says \"The\nfact that a given amount of value can only transform itself into\ncapital as soon as it has attained a definite minimum, varying with\ncircumstances, in each individual case,--this fact is proof of the\ncorrectness of the law of Hegel. Herr Duehring makes him say \"Because,\naccording to the law of Hegel, quantity is transformed into quality\ntherefore 'a sum of money when it has reached a certain amount becomes\ncapital.'\" He says just the opposite.\n\nWe have seen above in the Scheme of the Universe that Herr Duehring\nhad the misfortune to acknowledge and apply, in a weak moment, this\nHegelian system of calculation, according to which at a given point\nquantitative changes suddenly become qualitative. We then gave one of\nthe best known examples, that of the transformation of the form of\nwater which at 0° C. changes from a liquid to solid and at 100° C.\nfrom liquid to gaseous, where thus at both these points of departure a\nmere quantitative change in temperature produces a qualitative change\nin the water.\n\nWe might have cited from nature and human society a hundred more such\nfacts in proof of this law, thus the whole fourth section of Marx's\n\"Capital\" entitled \"Production of Relative Surplus Value in the realm\nof co-operative industry, the Division of Labor, and Manufacture,\nMachinery and the Great Industry,\" goes to show innumerable instances\nin which qualitative change alters the quantity of the thing, and\nwhere also, to use Herr Duehring's exceedingly odious expression,\nquantity is converted and transformed into quality. So also the mere\ncoöperation of large numbers, the melting of several diverse crafts\ninto one united craft, to use Marx's expression, produces a new\n\"industrial power\" which is substantially different from the sum of\nthe individual crafts.\n\nMarx, in the interest of the entire truth, has remarked, in complete\ncontrast to the perverted style of Herr Duehring \"The molecular theory\nemployed in modern chemistry, first scientifically developed by\nLaurent and Gerhardt, rests upon no other law.\" But what does Herr\nDuehring care for that? He knows that \"the eminently modern\nconstructive elements of scientific thought make just the same mistake\nas was made by Marx and his rival Lassalle; half-knowledge and a touch\nof pseudo-philosophy furnish the tools necessary for a display of\nlearning.\" While with Herr Duehring \"elevated notions of exact\nknowledge in mechanics, physics and chemistry\" are, as we have seen,\nthe foundations. But that the public may be in a position to decide we\nshall examine somewhat more closely the example cited by Marx in his\nnote.\n\nHere we have, for example, the homologous series of compounds of\ncarbon of which many are known and each has its own algebraic formula.\nIf we, for example, according to the practice of chemistry, represent\nan atom of carbon by C, an atom of hydrogen by H, an atom of oxygen by\nO and the number of atoms contained in each combination of carbon by\nn, we can express the molecular formula of each one of this series\nthus,\n\nC_{n}H_{2n+2}--Series of normal paraffin.\n\nC_{n}H_{2n+2}O--Series of primary alcohol.\n\nC_{n}H_{2n}O_{2}--Series of the monobasic oleic acids.\n\nLet us take, for example, the last of this series and set one after\nthe other n = 1, n = 2, etc., we get the following results omitting\nthe compounds.\n\nCH_{2}O_{2}--Formic Acid--boiling point 100°--melting point 1°.\n\nC_{2}H_{4}O_{2}--Acetic Acid--boiling point 118°--melting point 17°.\n\nC_{3}H_{6}O_{2}--Propionic Acid--boiling point 140°--melting point--.\n\nC_{4}H_{8}O_{2}--Butyric Acid--boiling point 162°--melting point--.\n\nC_{5}H_{10}O_{2}--Valerianic Acid--boiling point 175°--melting\npoint--.\n\nAnd so on to C_{30}H_{60}O_{2}, Melissic Acid, which melts first at\n180°, and which has no boiling point, because it does not evaporate\nwithout splitting up.\n\nHere we see therefore a whole series of qualitatively different\nbodies, produced by single quantitative additions of the elements and\nalways in the same proportions. This occurs absolutely where all\nelements of the combinations change their quantity in the same\nproportions, so with normal paraffin, C_{n}H_{2n} + 2: the lowest is\nCH_{4} a gas, the highest known is C_{16}H_{34}, a body forming a hard\ncolorless crystal which melts at 21° and boils at 278°. In both the\nseries each new step is reached through the introduction of CH_{2}, an\natom of carbon and two atoms of hydrogen, to the molecular form of the\npreceding step, and this quantitative change in the molecular form\nbrings about a qualitatively different body.\n\nThese series are merely obvious examples. Almost universally in\nchemistry, particularly in the different oxides of nitrogen, in the\noxi-acids of phosphorus or sulphur, one can see how \"quantity suddenly\nchanges into quality\" and how this so called \"confused Hegelianism\"\nis, so to speak, inherent in things and events, and no one is ever\nconfused or beclouded by it, except Herr Duehring. If Marx is the\nfirst to observe this, and if Herr Duehring points this out, without\nunderstanding it (since he could not let so unheard of a crime pass),\nhe should explain which of the two, Marx or Duehring, is without\nelementary conceptions of natural science and the established\nprinciples of chemistry, and do it without boasting about his own\nideas on natural philosophy.\n\nIn conclusion, let us call attention to a witness on the change of\nquantity into quality, namely Napoleon. He describes the conflicts\nbetween the French cavalry, bad riders but disciplined, with the\nMamelukes who, as regards single combat were better horsemen but\nundisciplined, as follows--\"Two Mamelukes were a match for three\nFrenchmen, one hundred Mamelukes were equal to one hundred Frenchmen,\nthree hundred Frenchmen could beat three hundred Mamelukes and a\nthousand Frenchmen invariably defeated fifteen hundred Mamelukes.\"\nJust as in the statement of Marx, that a certain amount of money,\nvariable in amount, is necessary as a minimum, to make its\ntransformation into capital possible, so, according to Napoleon, a\ncertain minimum number of cavalrymen is required to bring into being\nthe force of discipline inherent in military organisation, to make\nthem evidently superior to greater numbers of individually better\nriders and fighters, cavalry at least as brave, though irregular. But\nwhat effect has this argument on Herr Duehring? Was not Napoleon\nutterly defeated in his conflict with Europe? Did he not suffer defeat\nafter defeat? And why? Simply as a result of his introduction of\nconfused Hegelian ideas into cavalry tactics.\n\n\n_Negation of the Negation._\n\n\"The historical sketch (of the so called original accumulation of\ncapital in England) is comparatively the best part of Marx's book and\nit would be even better if it had been developed scientifically and\nnot by means of the Dialectic. The Hegelian negation of the negation\nis called upon to serve here as a midwife, in default of anything\nbetter and clearer, and by means of it the future is brought into\nexistence from the present. The abolition of private property which is\nshown to have been going on since the sixteenth century is the first\nnegation. Another negation must follow which is characterised as the\nnegation of the negation and therefore the restoration of individual\nprivate property, but in a higher form, founded on the common\nownership of land and instruments of labor. If this new 'individual\nprivate property' is called also 'social property' by Herr Marx, the\nhigher Hegelian unity is here manifested in which the contradiction\nwill be destroyed, that is, in accordance with this juggling of words,\nbe destroyed and preserved.... The dispossession of the dispossessor\nis, as it were, in this case the automatic product of historical\nreality in its material external form.... It would be difficult for a\ncautious man to convince himself of the necessity of communism in land\nand property on the credit of Hegel's shiftiness, of which the\nnegation of the negation is an example.... The confusion of the\nMarxian philosophic notions will not be strange to him who knows what\ncan be done by means of the Hegelian dialectic or rather what cannot\nbe done. For those who do not know the trick, it must be noted that\nthe first negation of Hegel is the teaching of the catechism with\nrespect to the Fall, and the second is a higher unity leading to the\nRedemption. On these analogies, which pertain to religion no logic of\nfacts can be established.... Herr Marx consoles himself in the midst\nof his simultaneously individual and social property and leaves his\ndisciples to solve his profound dialectic puzzle.\" (Thus far Herr\nDuehring is quoted.)\n\nSo Marx cannot prove the necessity of the social revolution, the\nrestoration of a common property in land and the means of production,\nexcept by a reliance upon Hegel's negation of the negation. And, since\nhe founds his socialistic theories upon analogies pertaining to\nreligion, he comes to the conclusion that in future society a\nsimultaneously individual and social property will prevail, as the\nHegelian higher unity of the contradiction destroyed.\n\nLet us leave the negation of the negation for a little and look at\n\"the coexistent individual and social property.\" This will be called\nby Herr Duehring a \"cloud realm,\" and, strange to say he is really\nright in this regard. But sad to say it is not Marx who is found to be\nin the cloud realm but on the contrary Herr Duehring himself. Since by\nvirtue of his wonderful versatility in the vagaries of Hegel he does\nnot experience any difficulty in telling us the necessary contents of\nthe as yet unpublished volume of \"Capital,\" so, after setting Hegel\nright, he is able to correct Marx without any trouble in that he\nascribes to him a higher unity of a private property of which Marx has\nnot said a word.\n\nMarx says \"It is the negation of the negation. This reestablishes\nprivate property but on the basis of the acquisitions of the\ncapitalistic era, of the cooperation of free laborers and their common\nownership of the land and the means of production. The transformation\nof the private property of individuals, depending upon the labor of\nindividuals, into capitalistic property is naturally a process much\nmore tedious, hard and difficult than the transformation of\ncapitalistic private property, as it now exists, resting upon social\nproduction, into social property.\" That is all. The condition attained\nby the dispossession of the dispossessor is here shown as the\nrestoration of individual private property resting however on a basis\nof social property in the land and means of production. For people who\ncan understand English, the meaning of this is that social property\nextends to the land and means of production, and private property to\nthe products, therefore to consumption. And that the matter should be\nevident even to infants Marx shows on page 56. \"A society of free men\nwho labor with social means of production, and consciously expend\ntheir individual labor power as social labor power,\" therefore a\nsocialistically organised society, and he says further \"The total\nproduct of the society is a social product. A portion of this product\nserves again as a means of production. It remains social. But another\nportion is consumed by the members of the society. It must therefore\nbe distributed among them.\" And that ought to be clear, even to Herr\nDuehring, in spite of his having Hegel on the brain. The coexistent\nindividual and social property, this confused and indefinite thing,\nthis nonsense proceeding from the Hegelian dialectic, this misty\nworld, this deep dialectic puzzle which Marx leaves his pupils to\nsolve is merely a creation of Herr Duehring's imagination. Marx, as a\nso-called Hegelian, is obliged, as a result of the negation of the\nnegation, to furnish a correct higher unity, and since he does not do\nthis in accordance with the taste of Herr Duehring, the latter has to\ntake a lofty stand and to smite Marx in the interests of the full\ntruth of things upon which Herr Duehring holds a patent.\n\nWhat attitude did Marx take to the negation of the negation? On page\n761 and following he states the conclusion with respect to his\neconomic and historical investigations into the so-called accumulation\nof original capital, extending over the fifty preceding pages. Before\nthe capitalistic era in England, at least, small production existed,\nbased upon the private property of the worker in his tools. The\nso-called accumulation of capital consists in the expropriation of\nthese immediate producers, that is in the abolition of private\nproperty resting on the labor of individuals. This was possible\nbecause the aforesaid small production is only compatible with a\nnarrow and primitive stage of production and of society and at a\ncertain grade of development furnishes the means of its own suicide.\nThis suicide, the transformation of individual and divided modes of\nproduction into social production, constitutes the early history of\ncapitalism. As soon as the workers are transformed into proletarians\nand their means of labor into capital, as soon as the capitalistic\nmethods of production are firmly established, the growing association\nof labor and the further transformation of the land and other means of\nproduction and hence the further expropriation of the owners of\nprivate property takes on a new form, \"there is no longer the\nself-employing worker to expropriate, but the capitalist who\nexpropriates many workers. This expropriation fulfils itself through\nthe play of laws immanent in capitalistic production itself, through\nthe concentration of capital. One capitalist kills many. Hand in hand\nwith this concentration, or the expropriation of many capitalists by a\nfew, there develop continually the conscious technical application of\nscience, the deliberate organised exploitation of the soil, the\ntransformation of the instruments of labor into instruments of labor\nwhich can only be employed collectively, and the economising of all\nmeans of production through their employment as the common means of\nproduction of combined social labor. With the constantly diminishing\nnumbers of capitalist magnates who usurp and monopolise all the\nadvantages of this process of transformation, grows the mass of\nmisery, pressure, slavery, degradation and robbery but there grows\nalso revolt and the constant progress in union and organisation of the\nworking class brought about through the mechanism of the capitalistic\nprocess of production. Capitalism becomes an impediment to the methods\nof production developed with and under it. The concentration of the\nmeans of production and the organisation of labor reach a point where\nit comes into collision with its capitalistic covering. It is broken.\nThe hour of capitalistic private property strikes. The expropriators\nare expropriated.\"\n\nAnd now I ask the reader, where are the dialectic twists and twirls,\nthe intellectual arabesques, where the confused thought the result of\nwhich is the identity of everything, where the dialectic mystery for\nthe faithful, where the dialectic hocus pocus, and the Hegelian\nintricacies, without which, Marx, according to Herr Duehring, cannot\ndevelop his own ideas? Marx simply pointed to history and showed\nbriefly that just as the small industry necessarily produced the\nconditions of its own downfall, by its own development, that is to say\nby the expropriation of the small holders of private property so now\nthe capitalistic method of production has itself developed likewise\nthe material circumstances which must cause its downfall. The process\nis a historical one and, if it is at the same time dialectic, it is\nnot to the discredit of Marx, that it happens to be so fatal to Herr\nDuehring.\n\nIn the first place, since Marx is ready with his historical economic\nproof, he proceeds \"The capitalistic method of production and method\nof appropriation, that is to say capitalistic private property is the\nfirst negation of individual private property founded on labor of\nindividuals, the negation of capitalistic production will be\nself-produced with the necessity of a natural process, etc.\" (as\nquoted above).\n\nAlthough Marx therefore shows the occurrence of this event as negation\nof the negation, he has no intention of proving by this means that it\nis a historical necessity. On the contrary \"After he has shown that\nthe actual fact has partially declared itself, and has, as yet\npartially to declare itself, he shows it also as a fact which fulfils\nitself in accordance with a certain dialectic law.\" That is all. It is\ntherefore again merely supposition on Herr Duehring's part to assert\nthat the negation of the negation must act as a midwife by whose\nmeans the future is brought out of the womb of the present, or that\nMarx wants to convince anyone of the necessity of social ownership of\nland and capital upon the credit of the negation of the negation.\n\nIt shows a complete lack of comprehension of the nature of the\ndialectic to regard it as Herr Duehring does, as an instrument of mere\nproof, just as one can after a limited fashion employ formal logic or\nelementary mathematics. Formal logic is itself more than anything else\na method for the discovery of new results, for advancing from the\nknown to the unknown, and so, but in a much more distinguished sense,\nis the dialectic, which, since it transcends the narrow limits of\nformal logic, attains a more comprehensive philosophical position. It\nis the same with mathematics. Elementary mathematics, the mathematics\nof constant quantities, proceeds within the limits of formal logic, at\nleast as a rule: the mathematics of variable quantities which is\npeculiarly concerned with calculations running to the infinite, is\nsubstantially nothing but the application of the dialectic in\nmathematics. Mere proof becomes secondary before the manifold\napplication of the method to new fields of investigation. But nearly\nall the proofs of higher mathematics from the first of the\ndifferential calculus, are, strictly speaking, false from the\nstandpoint of elementary mathematics. This cannot be otherwise, if\none, as is here the case, wishes to establish results won in the realm\nof dialectics by means of formal logic. For a crass metaphysician like\nHerr Duehring to want to prove anything by means of the dialectic\nwould be the same wasted labor as Leibnitz and his pupils went through\nwhen they tried to establish the thesis of calculation to infinity by\nmeans of the mathematics of their time. The differential gave them\nthe same spasms as the negation of the negation gives Herr Duehring\nand it played a role in it as we shall see. They admitted it at last,\nat least as many as did not die first, not because they were convinced\nbut because it always worked out right. Herr Duehring, is, as he says,\njust in his forties, and if he attains old age, as we hope he will, he\nmay also experience the same.\n\nBut what is this dreadful negation of the negation which makes life so\nbitter to Herr Duehring and which is to him what the unpardonable sin,\nthe sin against the Holy Ghost, is to Christianity? It is a very\nsimple process, and one, moreover, which fulfils itself every day,\nwhich any child can understand when it is deprived of mystery, under\nwhich the old idealistic philosophy found a refuge, and beneath which\nit will pay unprotected metaphysicians to take refuge from the stroke\nof Herr Duehring. Let us take a grain of barley. Millions of such\ngrains of barley will be ground, cooked and brewed and then consumed.\nBut let such a grain of barley fall on suitable soil under normal\nconditions; a complete individual change at once takes place in it\nunder the influence of heat and moisture, it germinates. The grain, as\nsuch disappears, is negated, in its place arises the plant, the\nnegation of the grain. But what is the normal course of life of this\nplant? It grows, blossoms, bears fruit and finally produces other\ngrains of barley and as soon as these are ripe the stalk dies, and\nbecomes negated in its turn. As the result of this negation of the\nnegation, we have the original grains of barley again, not singly,\nhowever, but ten, twenty or thirty fold. Forms of grain change very\nslowly and so the grain of barley remains practically the same as a\nhundred years ago. But let us take a cultivated ornamental plant, like\nthe dahlia or orchid. Let us consider the seed and the plants\ndeveloped from it by the skill of the gardener, and we have in\ntestimony of this negation of the negation, no longer the same seeds\nbut qualitatively improved seed which produces more beautiful flowers,\nand every repetition of this process, every new negation of the\nnegation, increases the tendency to perfection. Similarly this process\nis gone through by most insects, butterflies, for example. They come\nout of the egg by a negation of the egg, they go through certain\ntransformations till they reach sex maturity, they copulate and are\nagain negated, since they die as soon as the process of copulation is\ncompleted, and the female has laid her innumerable eggs. That the\nmatter is not so plainly obvious in the case of other plants and\nanimals, seeing that they produce seeds, plants, and animals not once\nbut oftener, does not affect us in this case, we are now only\nconcerned in showing that the negation of the negation actually does\noccur in both kingdoms of the organic world. Besides, all geology is a\nseries of negated negations, one layer after another following the\ndestruction of old and the establishment of new rock foundations.\nFirst, the original crust of the earth, through the cooling of the\nfluid mass, and through oceanic, meteorological, and chemical\natmospheric action, being broken up into small parts, these broken\nmasses form layers in the seas. Local elevations of the seas, through\nthe ebb and flow of the waters, bring portions of these layers afresh\nunder the influence of rain, the warmth of the seasons, and the oxygen\nand carbon in the atmosphere: melted and almost cooled masses of rock\nfrom the interior of the earth underlie these and break through the\nlayers. Through millions of centuries new layers are continually being\nformed, always to a large extent destroyed and serving again as\nbuilding materials for new layers. But the result of the process is\nalways positive, the restoration of a piece of ground made up of\nexceedingly diverse chemical elements to a condition of mechanical\npulverisation, which is the cause of a most abundant and diverse\nvegetation.\n\nIt is the same also in mathematics. Let us take an ordinary algebraic\nquantity a. Let us negate it, then we have-a (minus a). Let us negate\nthis negation, that is let us multiply --a by --a and we have + a^2,\nthat is the original positive quantity but in a higher form that is to\nthe second power. It does not matter that we can attain the same a^2\nby the multiplication of a positive by itself. The negated negation is\nestablished so completely in a^2 that under all circumstances it has\ntwo square roots a and --a. And this impossibility, the negated\nnegation, the getting rid of the negative root in the square has much\nsignificance in quadratic equations. The negation of the negation is\nmore evident in the higher analyses, in those \"unlimited summations of\nsmall quantities,\" which Herr Duehring himself explains as being the\nhighest operations of mathematics and which are usually called the\ndifferential and integral calculus. How do these forms of calculation\nfulfil themselves? I have for example in a given problem two variable\nquantities x and y, of which one cannot vary without causing the other\nto vary also under fixed conditions. I differentiate x and y, that is\nI consider x and y as being so infinitesimally small that they do not\nrepresent any real quantities, even the smallest, so that, of x and y\nnothing remains, except their reciprocal relations, a quantitative\nrelation without any quantity; therefore dx/dy, the relation of the\ntwo differentials of x and y, is 0/0 but 0/0 is fixed as the\nexpression of y/x. That this relation between two vanished quantities,\nthe fixed moment of their vanishing, is a contradiction I merely\nmention in passing, it should give us as little uneasiness as it has\ngiven mathematics for the two hundred or so years past. What have I\ndone except to negate x and y; not as in metaphysics so as not to\ntrouble myself any further about them, but in a manner demanded by the\nproblem? Instead of x and y, I have therefore their negation dx and dy\nin the formulæ or equations before me. I now calculate further with\nthese formulæ. I treat dx and dy as real quantities, as quantities\nsubject to certain exceptional laws, and at a certain point I negate\nthe negation, that is, I integrate the differential formula. I get\ninstead of dx and dy the real quantities x and y again, and am thereby\nno further forward than at the beginning, but I have thereby solved\nthe problem over which ordinary geometry and algebra would probably\nhave gnashed their teeth in vain.\n\nIt is not otherwise in history. All civilised peoples began with\ncommon property in land. Among all peoples which pass beyond a certain\nprimitive stage the common property in land becomes a fetter upon\nproduction in the process of agricultural development. It is cast\naside, negated, and, after shorter or longer intervening periods, is\ntransformed into private property. But at a higher stage, through the\ndevelopment still further of agriculture, private property becomes in\nits turn a bar to production, as is to-day the case with both large\nand small land proprietorship. The next step, to negate it in turn,\nto transform it into social property, necessarily follows. This\nadvance however does not signify the restoration of the old primitive\ncommon property, but the establishment of a far higher better\ndeveloped form of communal proprietorship, which, far from being an\nimpediment to production, rather, for the first time is bound to put\nan end to its limitations and to give it the full benefit of modern\ndiscoveries in chemistry and mechanical inventions.\n\nBut again; ancient philosophy was primitive naturalistic materialism.\nIn the state of thought at that period it was, as such, incapable of\nclear conceptions of matter. But the necessity of clearness on this\npoint led to the doctrine of a soul which could leave the body, then\nto the idea of the immortality of the soul, finally, to monotheism.\nThe old materialism was therefore negated by idealism. But in the\nfurther development of philosophy idealism became untenable, and is\nnegated by modern materialism. This, the negation of negation, is not\nthe mere reestablishment of the old, but unites, with the surviving\nfoundations, the whole thought content of a two thousand years'\ndevelopment of philosophy and science, as well as the history of these\ntwo thousand years. It is in a special sense no philosophy but a\nsingle concept of the universe which has to prove and realise itself\nnot in a science of sciences apart, but in actual science. Philosophy\nis here also cast aside, that is \"destroyed and preserved,\" destroyed\nas to its form, preserved as to its real content. Where Herr Duehring\nonly sees word-jugglery a more real content is brought to light by the\nnewer point of view.\n\nFinally, even the Rousseau doctrine of equality, of which that of Herr\nDuehring is only a feeble and false plagiarism, has no existence\nunless the Hegelian negation of the negation serve it as a midwife,\nalthough it originated twenty years prior to the birth of Hegel. Far\nfrom being ashamed of this it bears in plain sight the stamp of its\ndialectic derivation in its earliest manifestation. In a state of\nnature and savagery men were equal, and, since Rousseau regards speech\nas a falsifying of natural conditions, he is quite right in\npredicating equality of animals of one species as far as this reaches,\nand the same also with regard to those speechless animal-men, recently\nhypothetically classified by Haeckel as Alali. But these equal animal\nmen had one quality beyond the other animals,--perfectibility, the\npower of further development and this was the reason of inequality.\nRousseau sees therefore in the existence of equality a step forward.\nBut this advance was self contradictory, it was at the same time a\nretrogression. \"All further advances (beyond the primitive stage) were\nso many steps, seemingly in the development of individual men, but\nactually in the decay of the species. Working in metals and\nagriculture were the two arts whose discovery brought about this great\nrevolution\" (the transformation of the primitive forests into\ncultivated lands, but also the introduction of poverty and slavery\ntogether with private property). \"The poets hold that gold and silver,\nthe philosophers that iron and corn have civilised men and ruined the\nhuman race.\" Each new advance of civilisation is at the same time an\nadvance of inequality. All contrivances with which society endows\nitself by means of civilisation are in direct opposition to their\noriginal purpose. \"It is beyond question and a foundation principle of\nthe entire public law that people made rulers to defend their\nliberties, not to destroy them.\" And yet these rulers become of\nnecessity the oppressors of the people and they carry the oppression\nto the point where inequality is brought to a climax and, then,\ntransformed into its opposite, again becomes the reason of equality,\nfor to despots all are equal, that is equally of no account. Here is\nthe extreme of inequality, the crowning point which closes the circle,\nand touches the point from which we have proceeded; here all private\nindividuals are equal, since they are of no account, and subjects have\nno law other than the will of their master. \"But the despot is master\nonly as long as he has the power, and for this reason he cannot\ncomplain of the use of force if he is banished.... Force upholds him,\nforce throws him down, everything goes according to a straight and\nnaturally appointed path.\" And thus again inequality is transformed\ninto equality, but not into the old materialistic equality of\nspeechless, primitive men, but into the higher equality of organised\nsociety. The oppressor is oppressed, it is negation of the negation.\n\nWe have then, as regards Rousseau, not merely a method of thought\nwhich is quite analogous to that pursued in Marx's \"Capital,\" but also\na whole series of single dialectic turns of which Marx avails himself:\nProcesses, which are antagonistic in their nature, containing a\ncontradiction in themselves, are transformed from one extreme to its\nopposite, finally, as the quintessence of the whole, negation of the\nnegation. Although Rousseau in 1754 could not speak the jargon of\nHegel, he was then, at a period twenty-three years before the birth of\nHegel, deeply infected with the Hegel contagion, the dialectic of\ncontradiction, doctrine of logic, theology, etc. And if Duehring in\nhis misapplication of Rousseau's theory of equality, operates with his\ntwo victorious men, he having lost his feet, falls, of necessity into\nthe arms of the negation of the negation.\n\nThe conditions under which the equality of the two men flourishes and\nwhich is set forth as an ideal condition is shown on page 271 of the\nPhilosophy as the original condition. This original condition on page\n279 is of necessity destroyed by the \"robber system\"--first negation.\nBut we have now, thanks to the philosophy of reality, arrived at the\npoint of abolishing the \"robber system\" and substituting for it the\neconomic commune discovered by Herr Duehring--negation of the\nnegation, equality on a higher plane.\n\nWhat is the negation of the negation, therefore? It is a very far\nreaching, and, just, for this reason, a very important law of\ndevelopment of nature, human history and thought, a law which we see\nrealised in the animal and vegetable kingdoms, in geology, in\nmathematics, in history, and philosophy, and which Herr Duehring\nhimself, in spite of his opposition and resistance, must follow, after\nhis own fashion. It is evident that I say nothing of the special\ndevelopment of the grain of barley from the germ to the crop bearing\nplant, if I say it is negation of the negation. Since the integral\ncalculus is likewise negation of the negation, with the other\nassertion I should only affirm that the life process of a grain of\nbarley is integral calculus or even socialism. But that is just the\nkind of thing which the metaphysicians push off on the dialectic. If I\nsay that all these processes constitute negation of the negation, I\nembrace them all under this one law of progress, and leave the\ndistinctive features of each special process without particular\nnotice. The dialectic is, as a matter of fact, nothing but the science\nof the universal laws of motion, and evolution in nature, human\nsociety and thought.\n\nAt this point, however, the objection may be urged that the final\nnegation is no true negation, I negate a grain of barley also when I\ngrind it, an insect when I crush it, a positive quantity when I\neliminate it, etc. Or I negate the statement \"the rose is a rose\" if I\nsay \"the rose is no rose\" and what happens if I negate this negation\nagain and say \"but the rose is a rose\"? These objection are, in fact,\nthe chief arguments of the metaphysicians against the dialectic and\nare quite worthy of this idiotic method of reasoning. To negate in the\ndialectic is not simply to say \"No,\" or to describe a thing as\nnon-existent, or to destroy it after any fashion that you may choose.\nSpinoza says \"omnis determinatio est negatio,\" every limitation or\ndetermination is at the same time a negation. Furthermore, the sort of\nnegation here is shown first by means of the universal and in the\nsecond place by means of the distinctive nature of the process. I must\nnot only negate but I must also restore the negation again. I must\ntherefore so direct the first negation that the second remains\npossible or shall be so. How? Just according to the peculiar nature of\neach particular case. I grind a grain of barley, I crush an insect, I\nhave certainly fulfilled the first act but have made the second\nimpossible. Every species of things has therefore its own peculiar\nproperties to be negated in order that a progression may proceed, and\nevery species of properties and ideas is precisely the same in this\nregard. In infinitesimal calculations the negation is brought about\nafter a different fashion than in the restoration of positive powers\nfrom negative roots. That has to be learnt like everything else. With\nthe mere knowledge that the stalk of barley and infinitesimal\ncalculation fall under the principle of the negation of the negation,\nI cannot cultivate more barley nor can I differentiate and integrate,\njust as I cannot play the violin by virtue of a mere knowledge of the\nlaws of harmony. But it is evident that a merely childish negation of\nthe negation such as writing down a and erasing it, or by affirming\nthat a rose is a rose and that it is not a rose leads to no conclusion\nother than to show the silliness of the people who undertake processes\nso tedious. And yet metaphysicians would inform us that that is the\nright way to carry out the negation of the negation.\n\nHerr Duehring is therefore a mystifier when he asserts that the\nnegation of the negation was an analogy made by Hegel derived from\nreligion and built up on the story of the Fall and the Redemption. Men\nthought dialectically a long time before they knew what the dialectic\nreally was, just as they spoke prose a long time before the term\n\"prose\" was used. The law of the negation of the negation which\noperates in history and which until it is once learned goes on in our\nbrains unconsciously to ourselves, was first clearly formulated by\nHegel, and if Herr Duehring desires to employ it in secret but cannot\nstand the name, he should discover a better name. But if he insist on\nexpelling it from the processes of thought, he must first be good\nenough to expel it from nature and from history, and find a system of\nmathematics in which --a multiplied by --a does not give us + a^2 and\nwhere the differential and integral calculus are both forbidden by\nlaw.\n\n\n_Conclusion._\n\nIn this short section Engels leaves the general discussion in order to\nagain pay his respects to the shortcomings and deficiencies of Herr\nDuehring. The matter possesses no general interest for Engels merely\nteases his opponent upon the magnificence of his claims and the\nslightness of his performances.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nPOLITICAL ECONOMY\n\n\n_I. Objects and Methods._\n\nPolitical economy is, in the widest sense, the science of the laws\ncontrolling the production and exchange of the material necessities of\nlife in human society. Production and exchange are two entirely\ndifferent functions. Production may exist without exchange,\nexchange--since there can only be exchange of products--cannot exist\nwithout production. Each of the two social functions is controlled by\nentirely different external influences and thus has, generally\nspeaking, its own peculiar laws. But on the other hand they become so\nmutually involved at a given time and react one upon the other that\nthey might be designated the abscisses and ordinates of the economic\ncurve.\n\nThe conditions under which men produce and exchange develop from land\nto land, and in the same land from generation to generation. Political\neconomy cannot be the same for all lands and for all historical\nepochs. From the bow and arrow, from the stone knife and the\nexceptional and occasional trading intercourse of the barbarian to the\nsteam engine with its thousands of horse-power, to the mechanical\nweaving machine, to the railway and the Bank of England is a\ntremendous leap. The Patagonians do not have production on a large\nscale and world-commerce any more than they have swindling or\nbankruptcy. Anyone who should attempt to apply the same laws of\npolitical economy to Patagonia as to present-day England would only\nsucceed in producing stupid commonplaces. Political economy is thus\nreally a historical science. It is engaged with historical material,\nthat is, material which is always in course of development. At the\nclose of this investigation it can, for the first time, show the few\n(especially as regards production and exchange) general laws which\napply universally. In this way it is made evident that the laws which\nare common to certain methods of production or forms of exchange are\ncommon to all historical periods in which these methods of production\nand forms of exchange are the same. Thus for example with the\nintroduction of specie, there came into being a series of laws which\nholds good for all lands and historical epochs in which specie is a\nmeans of exchange.\n\nThe method of distributing the product is in accordance with the\nmethod of production and exchange of a given society at a given time.\nIn the tribal or village community with communal ownership of land, of\nwhich there are obvious survivals in the history of all civilized\npeoples, there is practically an equal distribution; where a greater\ninequality of distribution of the product has been introduced among\nthe members of a society, it is a sign of the coming dissolution of\nthe community--large and small farming have very different modes of\ndistribution according to the historical circumstances from which they\nhave developed. But it is apparent that large farming requires a\ndifferent mode of distribution than small farming; that the large\nfarming shows the existence of class antagonism--slave-holders and\nslaves, landlords and tenants, capitalists and wage workers,--but\nthat, on the contrary, in small farming, class distinction does not\narise from the farming operations of separate individuals but from the\nmere beginnings of farming on a large scale. The introduction and\ndevelopment of the use of gold into a country where formerly exchange\nof actual goods was the exclusive or general practice, is closely\nassociated with a slow or rapid revolution of the mode of distribution\nhitherto prevailing, and to such an extent that inequality of\ndistribution among individuals and, so, antagonism between rich and\npoor becomes more and more apparent. Local gild hand-production as it\nprevailed in the Middle Ages made great capitalists and life-long\nwage-workers just as impossible as the great modern industry, the\ncredit system of to-day, and form of exchange, corresponding with the\ndevelopment of these, free competition, render them inevitable.\n\nWith the difference in distribution however class differences are\nintroduced. Society becomes divided into upper and lower classes, into\nplunderers and plundered, into master and servant classes, and the\nstate which the original groups composed of societies claiming the\nsame ancestry only regarded as a means of protection of the common\ninterests (remnants of which remain in the Orient, e.g.) and against\nforeign force, takes upon itself the duty of maintaining the economic\nand political supremacy of the dominant class against the dominated\nclass by means of force.\n\nSo distribution is not a mere passive witness of production and\nexchange; it has an immediate influence on both. Every new method of\nproduction and form of exchange is impeded, not only through the old\nforms and their particular forms of political development, but also\nthrough the old method of distribution. It can only bring about its own\nmethod of distribution as the result of long conflict. But just in\nproportion as a given method of production and exchange is built up and\ndevelops, distribution all the more rapidly reaches a point where it\noutstrips its predecessor and where it comes into collision with the\nsystem of production and exchange existing up to that time. The old\ntribal communistic forms of which we have already spoken may last\nthousands of years, as is seen in the case of the Indians and Slavs of\nto-day, until intercourse with the outside world develops causes of\ndisruption within them as a conclusion of which their dissolution comes\nabout. Modern capitalistic production on the other hand which is hardly\nthree hundred years old and which first became dominant with the\nintroduction of the greater industry about one hundred years ago, has,\nin this short time, developed antagonisms in distribution--concentration\nof capital on the one hand in the possession of a few persons and, on\nthe other, concentration of propertyless masses in the great\ncities--which must of necessity bring it to an end.\n\nThe connection between the form of distribution and the material\neconomic conditions of a society is so much in the nature of things\nthat it is generally reflected in the popular instinct. As long as a\nmethod of production is in the course of development, even those whose\ninterests are against it, who are getting the worst of the particular\nmethod of production, are highly satisfied. It was just so with the\nEnglish working class at the introduction of the greater industry. As\nlong as this method of production remained the normal social method,\nsatisfaction with the methods of distribution was, on the whole,\nprevalent; and when a protest against it rose even in the bosom of the\ndominant class itself (Saint-Simon, Fourier, Owen) it found at first\npractically no sympathy among the masses of the exploited. But\ndirectly the method of production has travelled a good portion of its\nupward progress, when half of its life was over, when its destiny was\nin a great measure accomplished and its successor was knocking at the\ndoor--then for the first time the ever increasingly unequal\ndistribution appeared as unjust. Then was the first appeal made from\nactual facts to so-called eternal justice. This appeal to morality and\njustice does not bring us a step further scientifically. Economic\nscience can find no grounds of proof in moral indignation, however\njustifiable, but merely a symptom. Its task is to show the newly\ndeveloping social wrongs as the necessary results of existing methods\nof production and, at the same time, as signs of its approaching\ndissolution, and to point out, amid the break up of the existing\neconomic system, the elements of the new organization of production\nand exchange which will abolish those social wrongs. The feeling\nstirred up by the poets whether in the picturing of these social\nwrongs or by attack upon them or, on the other hand, by denial of them\nand the glorification of harmony in the interests of the dominant\nclass, is quite timely, but its slight value as furnishing proof for a\ngiven period is shown by the fact that one finds an abundance of it in\nevery epoch.\n\nPolitical economy, as the science of the conditions and forms under\nwhich various human societies have produced and exchanged and\naccording to which they have distributed the products of their\nlabor,--political economy, in this broad sense, has yet to be planned\nfor the first time. All that we have so far of political economic\nscience is almost entirely limited to the beginning and development of\nthe capitalistic mode of production. It begins with the genesis and\ngrowth of the capitalistic mode of production, and exchange,\nrecognises the necessity of the disappearance of these by means of the\ncapitalistic forms, then develops the laws of the capitalistic\nmethods of production and their corresponding forms of exchange on the\npositive side, that is on the side on which they further the objects\nof society, as a whole and closes with the socialist criticism of the\ncapitalistic methods of production, that is, with the exhibition of\nits laws on the negative side, with the proof that this method of\nproduction arrives at the point, by its own development, where it is\nno longer possible. This criticism proves that the capitalistic\nmethods of production and exchange constitute more and more an\ninsufferable fetter upon production itself. The mode of distribution\nwhich is necessarily associated with this form of production has\nbrought about a class condition which grows daily more unbearable. It\nhas produced the daily sharpening antagonism between the continually\nless numerous but constantly richer capitalists and the more numerous,\nbut on the whole, continually poorer propertyless wage-workers.\nFinally the tremendous productive forces of the capitalistic methods\nof production, which are practically unlimited, are only awaiting\ntheir seizure at the hands of an organized co-operative society to\nsecure for all the members of that society the means of existence and\nthe fuller development of their faculties in an ever increasing\ndegree.\n\nIn order to fully accomplish this criticism of the bourgeois economy\nacquaintance with the capitalistic form of production of exchange and\nof distribution was not enough. Preceding forms and others, existing\nside by side with the capitalistic mode in a few highly developed\ncountries, had to be examined and compared at least in their chief\nfeatures. Such an investigation and comparision has been undertaken as\na whole by Marx alone and we consider that this investigation\npractically sums up all that has been established respecting\ntheoretical economy prior to that of the bourgeois.\n\nWhile political economy in a narrow sense arose in the minds of a few\ngeniuses of the seventeenth century, it is, in its positive\nformulation by the physiocrats and Adam Smith, substantially a child\nof the eighteenth century, and expresses itself in the acquisitions of\nthe great contemporary French philosophers with all the excellencies\nand defects of that time. What we have said of the French philosophers\napplies also to the economists of that day. The new science was with\nthem not the expression of the condition and needs of the time but the\nexpression of eternal reason; the laws of production and exchange\ndiscovered by them were not the laws of a given historical form of\nthose facts but were eternal natural laws; they derived them from the\nnature of man. But this man, seen clearly, was a burgher of the Middle\nAges on the high road to becoming a modern bourgeois, and his nature\nconsisted in this that he had to manufacture commodities and carry on\nhis trade according to the given historical conditions of that period.\n\n(Herr Duehring having applied the two man theory to political economic\nconditions and having decided that such conditions are unjust, upon\nwhich conclusion he bases his revolutionary attitude, Engels remarks\nas follows):\n\n\"If we have no better security for the revolution in the present\nmethods of distribution of the products of labor with all their crying\nantagonisms of misery and luxury, of poverty and ostentation, than the\nconsciousness that this method of distribution is unjust and that\njustice must finally prevail, we should be in evil plight and would\nhave to stay there a long time. The mystics of the Middle Ages who\ndreamed of an approaching thousand years kingdom of righteousness had\nthe consciousness of the injustice of class antagonisms. At the\nbeginning of modern history three hundred years ago, Thomas Muenzer\nshouted it aloud to all the world. In the English and French bourgeois\nrevolutions the same cry was heard and died away ineffectually. And if\nthe same cry, after the formation of class antagonisms and class\ndistinctions left the working, suffering classes cold until 1830, if\nit now takes hold of one land after another with the same results and\nthe same intensity, in proportion as the greater industry has\ndeveloped in the individual countries if, in one generation, it has\nacquired a force which defies all the powers opposed to it and can be\nsure of victory in the near future--how comes it about? From this,\nthat the greater industry has created the modern proletariat, a class,\nwhich for the first time in history can set about the abolition not of\nthis or that particular class organization or of this or that\nparticular class privilege but of classes in general, and it is in the\nposition that it must carry out this line of action on the penalty of\nsinking to the Chinese coolie level. And that the same greater\nindustry has on the other hand produced a class which is in possession\nof all the tools of production and the means of life but in every\nperiod of prosperity (Schwindelperiode) and in each succeeding panic\nshows that it is incapable of controlling in the future the growing\nproductive forces; a class under whose leadership society runs\nheadlong to ruin like a locomotive whose closed safety valve the\nengine driver is too weak to open. In other words it has come about\nthat the productive forces of the modern capitalistic mode of\nproduction as well as the system of distribution based upon it are in\nglaring contradiction to the mode of production itself and to such a\ndegree that a revolution in the modes of production and distribution\nmust take place which will abolish all class differences or the whole\nof modern society will fall. It is in these actual material facts,\nwhich are necessarily becoming more and more evident to the exploited\nproletariat, that the confidence in the victory of modern socialism\nfinds its foundation and not in this or that bookworm's notions of\njustice and injustice.\n\n\n_II. The Force Theory._\n\n(Herr Duehring argues that the causes of class subjection are to be\nsought in political conditions and that political force is the\nprimary, and economic conditions merely the secondary, cause of class\ndistinctions Engels makes the following reply to these arguments):\n\n\nThis is Herr Duehring's theory. It is set out, decreed so to say, here\nand in several other places. But we cannot find the slightest attempt\nto prove it or to disprove the opposite theory in the three thick\nvolumes. Moreover if there was an abundance of proof we should get\nnone from Herr Duehring, for the matter is proven by the famous fall\nof man in that Robinson Crusoe made Friday his slave. That was an act\nof force and so a political act. And this slavery constitutes the\npoint of departure and fundamental fact of history up to the present\ntime and inoculates the heirs of sin with injustice so certainly that\nonly lately it has become milder and \"transformed into the more\nindirect forms of economic dependency.\" Since the whole of the\nremaining actual \"force-possession\" rests upon this original\nenslavement, it is clear that all economic phenomena can be explained\nfrom original political causes, that is from force. And whoever is not\nsatisfied with this is a secret reactionary.\n\nLet us first remark that one has to be as much in love with himself as\nHerr Duehring is to consider this idea as \"original\" since it is not\nso by any means. The idea that the political doings of monarch and\nstates are decisive events in history is as old as the writing of\nhistory itself and is the reason why we are so little aware of the\nreal and quietly developing progress of the peoples which goes on\nbehind these noisy and spectacular activities. This idea has dominated\nthe whole of history in the past and got its first shock at the hands\nof the French bourgeois historians of the Restoration period.\n\nTo proceed, let us grant for the present that Herr Duehring is correct\nwhen he says that all history up to now has been the slavery of man by\nmen, and we are still a long way from the root of the matter. Let us\nask now how it was that Robinson came to enslave Friday. Was it merely\nfor the pleasure of doing so? Surely not. On the contrary we are\ninformed that Friday \"was subjugated as a slave or mere tool for\neconomic service and was kept in subjection merely as a tool.\"\nRobinson only enslaved Friday that he might work for the benefit of\nRobinson. And how could Robinson derive benefit from the labor of\nFriday? Only by virtue of the fact that Friday produced more means of\nlivelihood by his labor than Robinson had to give him to keep him able\nto work. Robinson has therefore, contrary to Herr Duehring's pretty\nprescription, made, by the enslavement of Friday, a political\norganization, not just because he wanted to, but simply as a means of\nproviding himself with food, and he ought to see how little he has in\ncommon with his lord and master Herr Duehring.\n\nThe childish example therefore which Herr Duehring has discovered in\norder to show that force is the \"historical fundamental\" proves that\nforce is only a means to further an economic interest, and in history\nthe economic side is likewise more fundamental than the political. The\nexample therefore proves just the opposite of what it ought to prove.\nAnd, as with Robinson and Friday, so it is also with all the examples\nof lordship and slavery up to now. Slavery, to use Duehring's own\nelegant expression, always implies a means for supplying sustenance\n(using the term in its broadest sense) and never merely implies a\npolitical organization which has been developed by its own will. One\nwould have to be a Herr Duehring to venture to call taxes only a\nsecondary feature of government, or, to say that the political\ngroupings of the dominant bourgeois of to-day and the subjugated\nproletariat are purely voluntary and not made to serve the material\ninterests of the bourgeois, namely profit making and the accumulation\nof capital.\n\nLet us give our attention again to our two men. Robinson \"sword in\nhand\" makes Friday his slave. But to do this Robinson uses something\nelse besides his sword. A slave is not made by that means solely. In\norder to be able to keep a slave one has to be superior to him in two\nrespects, one must first have control over the tools and objects of\nlabor of the slave and over his means of subsistence also. Therefore,\nbefore slavery is possible, a certain point in production has to be\nreached and a certain degree of inequality in distribution attained.\nAnd when slave labor becomes the dominant mode of production of an\nentire society a higher development of the powers of production, of\ntrade and of wealth, accumulation occurs. In early tribal communities\nwhich had common ownership of the soil, slavery is either nonexistent\nor its role is very subordinate. So it was at first in Rome, as a\nstate of farmers, but when Rome became the capital city of the world\nand the soil of Italy came more and more to be owned by a numerically\nsmall class of enormously wealthy property owners, the population of\nfarmers perished in front of the slave population. When at the time\nof the Persian War, the number of slaves in Corinth was 460,000, and\nin Ægina 470,000, and there were ten slaves to every freeman in the\npopulation, the explanation must be sought in something other than\nforce; there were a highly developed art and handicraft and foreign\ncommerce. Slavery in the United States of America was much less due to\nforce than to the English cotton industry; where there was not cotton\ngrown or where slaves were not raised, as in the border states, for\nthe cotton producing states, it perished of its own accord and without\nany employment of force simply because it did not pay.\n\nWhen Herr Duehring therefore calls the property of the present day\nproperty resting on force and designates it as \"that form of\ndomination which does not merely signify the exclusion of one's fellow\nbeings from the use of the natural means of sustenance, but implies in\naddition that the subjection of man has lain at the foundation of\nhuman slavery\" he puts the matter upside down. The subjection of\nhumanity to slavery in all its forms means the control by the master\nof the means of labor by virtue of which alone he can employ his\nslaves upon them and the disposal of the means of livelihood by which\nhe can keep his slaves alive. In all cases therefore it implies a\ncertain power of possession which transcends the ordinary? How did\nthis arise? Occasionally it is clear that it was seized and can\ntherefore be said to rest upon force but this is by no means\nessential. It can be got by labor, be robbed, be obtained by trade, or\ntaken by fraud. It must be worked for generally before it can be\nstolen.\n\nPrivate property does not historically come into existence by any\nmeans as a rule as the product of robbery and violence. On the\ncontrary. It arises from the limitation of certain things in the\nearly tribal communes. It develops in the first place within the tribe\nand afterwards in exchange with peoples outside of the tribe in the\nform of wares. In proportion as the products of the tribe assume the\nform of commodities, i.e., the less they are produced for the use of\nthe producer and the more for the purpose of exchange, the exchange\ndestroys the original form of distribution in the commune itself, and\nthe more unequal become the shares of the individual members of the\ncommunity with respect to material possessions. So the old communal\nownership of land becomes more and more invaded, the communal property\nis rapidly converted into a village of farmers, each tilling his own\npiece of ground. Oriental despotism and the changing government of\nconquering nomads had no power to alter the old form of communal\nownership for a thousand years. But the continual destruction of the\nprimitive domestic industry through the competition of the products of\nthe great industry is bringing about its dissolution. The thing has\nlittle to do with force as has lately appeared in the matter of the\ndivision of the communal property of the feudal societies on the\nMoselle and in Hochwald. The peasants are finding the substitution of\nindividual for communal holdings to their interests. Even the growth\nof a primitive aristocracy as among the Celts, the Germans, and in\nMesopotamia, is a result of the communal ownership of landed property,\nand does not depend upon force in the slightest degree but upon free\nwill and custom. Especially where private property arises it appears\nas the result of a change in the methods of production and exchange in\nthe interests of the increase of production and the development of\ncommerce and therefore arises from economic causes. Force plays no\nrole in this. It is clear that the institution of private property\nmust have already existed before the robber is able to possess himself\nof other people's goods and that force may change the possession but\ncannot alter private property as such.\n\nBut to explain the \"subjection of men to slavery\" in its modern form,\nin wage-labor, we can make no use of either force or property acquired\nby force. We have already mentioned the part which the transformation\nof the products of labor into commodities, their production not for\nuse alone, but for exchange, plays in the destruction of the primitive\ncommunal property and therefore in the bringing into existence\ndirectly or indirectly the universality of private property. But Marx\nhas proved in his \"Capital\"--and Herr Duehring does not venture to\nintrude upon the matter--that at a certain stage in economic\ndevelopment the production of commodities is transformed into\ncapitalistic production and that at this point \"the law of\nappropriation resting upon the production and circulation of\ncommodities, the law of private property, by its own inevitable\ndialectic becomes changed into its opposite, the exchange of\nequivalents, which appeared as its original mode of operation, but has\nnow become so twisted that there is only an appearance of exchange\nsince. In the first place, the portion of capital exchanged for\nlabor-force is itself only a portion of the product of another's labor\ntaken without an equivalent, and in the second place, it is not only\nsupplied by its producers, the workers, but it must be supplied also\nwith a new surplus. Originally property seemed to us to be established\non labor only--property now appears (as a conclusion of the Marxian\nargument), on the side of the capitalist, as the right to unpaid labor\nand, on the side of the workingman, as an impossibility, the ownership\nof his own product. The difference between property and labor is the\nresult of a law which apparently proceeded from their identity.\" In\nother words if we exclude the possibility of force, robbery, and\ncheating absolutely, if we take the position that all private property\noriginally depended upon the personal labor of its possessor and that\nequivalents are always exchanged we nevertheless come, in the course\nof the development of production and exchange, of necessity, to the\nmodern capitalistic methods of production, to the monopolisation of\nthe means of production and livelihood in the hands of a single class\nfew in numbers, to the degradation of the other consisting of the\nimmense majority of producers to the position of propertyless\nproletarians, to the periodical alternations of swindling operations\nand trade crises and to the whole of the present anarchy in\nproduction. The entire result rests on purely economic grounds without\nrobbery, force, or any intervention of politics or the government\nbeing necessary. Property resting on force becomes a mere phrase which\nmerely serves to obscure the understanding of the real development of\nthings.\n\nThis course, historically expressed, is the story of the development\nof the bourgeoisie. If \"political conditions are the decisive causes\nof economic conditions,\" the modern bourgeoisie would necessarily not\nhave progressed as the result of a fight with feudalism, but would be\nthe darling child of its womb. Everybody knows that the opposite is\nthe case. The bourgeoisie, originally bound to pay feudal dues to the\ndominant feudal nobility, recruited from bond slaves and thralls, in a\nsubject state, has, in the course of its conflict with the nobility\ncaptured position after position, and finally has come into possession\nof the power in civilized countries. In France it directly attacked\nthe nobility, in England it made the aristocracy more and more\nbourgeois and finally incorporated it with itself as a sort of\nornament. And how did this come about? Entirely through the\ntransformation of economic conditions which was sooner or later\nfollowed either by the voluntary or compulsory transformation of\npolitical conditions. The fight of the bourgeoisie against the feudal\nnobility is the fight of the city against the country, of industry\nagainst landlordism, of economy based on money against economy based\non natural products. The distinctive weapons of the bourgeois in this\nfight were those which came into existence through the development of\nincreasing economic force by reason of the growth at first of hand\nmanufacture and afterwards machine-manufacture and through the\nextension of trade. During the whole of this conflict the political\npower was in the hands of the nobility, with the exception of a period\nwhen the king employed the bourgeoisie against the nobility in order\nto hold one in check by means of the other. From the very moment,\nhowever, in which the bourgeoisie still deprived of political power\nbegan to be dangerous because of the development of its economic power\nthe monarchy again turned to the nobility and thereby brought about\nthe revolution of the bourgeois first in England and then in France.\nThe political conditions in France remained unaltered until the\neconomic conditions outgrew them. In politics the noble was\neverything, the bourgeois nothing. As a social factor the bourgeoisie\nwas of the highest importance while the nobility had abandoned all its\nsocial functions and yet pocketed revenues, social services which it\ndid not any longer perform. Even this is not sufficient. Bourgeois\nsociety was, as far as the whole matter of production is concerned,\ntied and bound in the political feudal forms of the Middle Ages, which\nthis production, not only as regards manufacture but as regards\nhandwork also had long transcended amid all the thousandfold\ngild-privileges and local and provincial tax impositions which had\nbecome mere obstacles and fetters to production. The bourgeois\nrevolution put an end to them. But the economic condition did not, as\nHerr Duehring would imply, forthwith adapt itself to the political\ncircumstances,--that the king and the nobility spent a long time in\ntrying to effect--but it threw all the mouldy old political rubbish\naside and shaped new political conditions in which the new economic\nconditions might come into existence and develop. And it has developed\nsplendidly in this suitable political and legal atmosphere, so\nsplendidly that the bourgeoisie is now not very far from the position\nwhich the nobility occupied in 1789. It is becoming more and more not\nalone a social superfluity but a social impediment. It takes an ever\ndiminishing part in the work of production and becomes more and more,\nas the noble did, a mere revenue consuming class. And this revolution\nin its position and the creation of a new class, that of the\nproletariat, came about without any force-nonsense but by purely\neconomic means. Further more, it has by no means accomplished it by\nits own willful act. On the other hand it has accomplished itself\nirresistibly against the wish and intentions of the bourgeoisie. Its\nown productive forces have taken the management of affairs and are\ndriving modern bourgeois society to the necessity of revolution or\ndestruction. And if the bourgeoisie now appeals to force to ward off\nthe ruin arising from the decrepit economic condition it proves\nthereby that it suffers from the same error as Herr Duehring, in that\nit thinks that \"political conditions are the distinctive causes of\neconomic condition\" and that by the use of the prime factor of mere\npolitical force it can manufacture the secondary factor of economic\nconditions. It thinks that it can shape economic conditions and their\ninevitable development, and therefore eliminate the economic effects\nof the steam engine, and the modern industry which has proceeded from\nit. It thinks that it can abolish the world commerce and the bank\ncredit development of to-day from the universe by means of Krupp guns\nand Mauser rifles.\n\n\n_III. Force Theory (Continued)._\n\nLet us look at this omnipotent \"force\" of Herr Duehring a little more\nclosely. Robinson enslaved Friday \"sword in hand.\" How did he get the\nsword? Robinson's imaginary island never grew swords on trees and some\nanswer to this question is due from Herr Duehring. We might just as\nwell assume that as Robinson became possessed of a sword so, one fine\nmorning, Friday appeared with a loaded revolver in his hand. Thereupon\nthe \"force\" is entirely reversed. Friday takes command and Robinson\nmust submit. We beg pardon of the reader for returning to the story of\nRobinson Crusoe, which is more appropriate to the nursery than to an\neconomic discussion, but what can we do about it? We are compelled to\npursue Herr Duehring's axiomatic scientific methods and it is not our\nfault if we always find ourselves in the realms of childishness. The\nrevolver then triumphs over the sword and it should be apparent even\nto the maker of childish axioms that superior force is no mere act of\nthe will but requires very real preliminary conditions for the\ncarrying out of its purposes, especially mechanical instruments, the\nmore highly developed of which have the superiority over the less\nhighly developed. Furthermore these tools must be produced, whence it\nappears that the producer of the more highly developed tool of force,\ncommonly called weapon, triumphs over the producer of the less highly\ndeveloped tool. In a word, the triumph of force depends upon the\nproduction of weapons, therefore upon economic power, on economic\nconditions, on the ability to organize actual material instruments.\n\nForce at the present day implies the army and the navy, and the two of\nthem cost, to our sorrow, a heap of money. But force cannot make\nmoney, on the contrary it gets away very fast with what is made, and\nit does not make good use of it as we have just discovered painfully\nwith respect to the French indemnity. Money must therefore finally be\nprovided by means of economic production, force is thus again limited\nby the economic conditions which shape the means of making and\nmaintaining the instruments of production. But that is not all by any\nmeans. Nothing is more dependent upon economic conditions than armies\nand fleets. Arming, concentration, organization, tactics, strategy,\ndepend before anything else upon the degree of development in\nproduction and transportation. In the trade of war the free\ninventiveness of liberal-minded generals has never worked a\nrevolution, but the discovery of better weapons and the change in\nmilitary equipment have never failed to do so. The inventiveness of\nthe general under the most favorable conditions finds its limitations\nin the adaptation of methods of warfare to the new weapons and the new\nsoldiers.\n\nAt the beginning of the fourteenth century gunpowder was brought from\nthe Arabs to Western Europe and, as every schoolboy knows, entirely\nrevolutionized warfare. The introduction of gunpowder and firearms was\nhowever by no means an act of force but an industrial and therefore\neconomic advance. Industry is still industry whether its object in\nthe creation or the destruction of material things. The introduction\nof firearms not only produced a revolution in the methods of warfare\nbut also in the relations of master and subject. Trade and money are\nconcomitants of gunpowder and firearms and these former imply the\nbourgeoisie. Firearms from the first were bourgeois instruments of\nwarfare employed on behalf of the rising monarchy against the feudal\nnobility. The hitherto unassailable stone castles of the nobles\nsubmitted to the cannon of the burghers, the fire of their guns\npierced the mail armor of the knights. The supremacy of the nobility\nfell with the heavily armed cavalry of the nobility. With the\ndevelopment of the bourgeoisie, infantry and artillery became more and\nmore the important arms of the service and because of artillery the\ntrade of war had to create another industrial subdivision, to-wit,\nengineering.\n\nThe development of firearms proceeded very slowly. Shooting remained\nclumsy and small arms were ineffective in spite of many individual\ninventions. Three hundred years elapsed before a musket was produced\nwhich sufficed for the arming of a complete infantry. First at the\nbeginning of the eighteenth century, a musket with a bayonet attached,\nwhich discharged a stone superseded the pike as an infantry weapon.\nThe infantry of that day was exceedingly unreliable, only kept\ntogether by physical force, composed of the basest elements of\nsociety, frequently made up of men picked up by the press gang and\nprisoners of war intermingled with soldiers recruited by the various\nprinces. The only fighting formation in which these soldiers could be\nmade to use the new weapon was the linear tactic, which reached its\nhighest development under Frederick II. The whole infantry of an army\nwas drawn up in a very long hollow square three files deep and\nadvanced in battle array en masse. It was usually permitted to one of\nthe two wings to be a little in advance or a little in the rear. This\nhelpless body could only advance and keep its formation on perfectly\nlevel ground and then only at a slow marching time (seventy-five steps\nto the minute) a change of formation during the fight was impossible\nand victory or defeat was determined rapidly at a stroke as soon as\nthe infantry came under fire.\n\nThese helpless lines in the American Revolutionary War came into\ncollision with the rebel troops, which certainly could not drill but\ncould shoot so much the better in that they were fighting for their\nown interests and therefore did not desert like the enlisted soldiers.\nThese did not, like the English, deploy in massed bodies on the open\nfield, but in rapidly moving bodies of sharpshooters in the thick\nwoods. The organised lines were here powerless and had to contend\nagainst invisible and unapproachable foes. The sharpshooters thereupon\nwere brought into existence as a part of the army organization--a new\nmethod of fighting arising from a change in the military material.\n\nWhat the American Revolution began the French completed in the\nmilitary realm. To the drilled troops of the Coalition the French\nRevolution opposed soldiers who were badly drilled but who constituted\nlarge masses, the product of the whole nation. Some means had to be\ndiscovered of protecting Paris with these masses. That could not be\ndone without victory in the open field. A mere musketry engagement\nwould not suffice, a form would have to be discovered by which the\nmasses could be utilized and this was found in the column. The column\nformation allowed slightly drilled troops to keep better order and by\nmeans of a better marching speed (one hundred steps to the minute)\nallowed it to break through the stiff old-fashioned line arrangement.\nIt was possible by this formation to fight in country unsuitable to\nthe line formation, to mass troops in places suitable, to associate\nscattered sharpshooters with the columns, to keep back, occupy and\nwear the lines of the enemy, until the decisive movement came when a\ncharge could be made by the troops held in reserve. This new method of\ncombining riflemen and columns and making a complete army corps\nconsisting of all arms, which was fully developed on its tactical and\nstrategic side by Napoleon, was only rendered possible by the change\nin military material brought about by the French Revolution. There\nwere still two very important technical preliminaries, first the\nmaking of light carriages for field pieces which were constructed by\nGribevaul by means of which alone the required quick advance was\nrendered possible, and making the army rifle a more precise weapon by\nadapting to it some of the features of the hunting rifle. Without\nthese improvements military sharpshooting would have been impossible.\n\nThe revolutionary method of arming the entire population was subjected\nto certain limitations and chiefly as regards the excusing of the well\nto do, and in this form became common to most of the great continental\ncountries. Prussia alone sought by its militia system to make the\nentire force of its people available for military purposes. Prussia\nwas the first state to provide its entire infantry with the latest\nweapons, and to place officers in the rear, since between 1830 and\n1860 trained officers leading their troops had played an unimportant\npart. The results of 1866 were largely due to these innovations.\n\nIn the Franco Prussian War two armies came into contact both of which\nhad their officers in the rear and which both used substantially the\nsame tactics as in the time of the old smooth bore flintlocks. The\nPrussians however by the introduction of company columns had made an\nattempt to discover a method of fighting more suitable to the new\nsystem of arming. But on the 18th of August at St. Privat the Prussian\nguard which employed the company column formation lost the most part\nof five regiments, over a third of its strength in two hours (176\nofficers and 5114 men) after which the company column form of battle\norder came in for no less criticism than the battalion column form and\nthe line formation. Every attempt to oppose a solid formation to the\nfire of the enemy was thereafter abandoned. The battle was thereafter,\non the German side, carried on by dense swarms of riflemen into which\nthe columns dissolved under the fire of the enemy spontaneously,\nwithout orders from the superior officers, and this was, in fact, the\nonly possible method of advance under fire. The private soldier was\nagain cleverer than his officer; he had discovered the only form of\nfighting formation, and set himself to follow it in spite of the\nresistance of his leaders.\n\nIn the Franco-German war there is a point of departure of entirely\ndifferent significance from all preceding wars. In the first place the\nweapons are now so complete that a new revolutionary departure in this\nrespect is no longer possible. When you have cannon with which you can\ndecimate a battalion as far as your eye can make it out, and when you\nhave rifles by which you can aim at individuals, and which take less\ntime to load than to aim, all further advances as far as battle in the\nfield goes are immaterial. The era of progress on this side is\nsubstantially closed. In the second place, however, this war has\ninduced all the great states of the continent to adopt the highly\ndeveloped Prussian militia system and thus to take up a military\nburden which will ruin them in a few years. The army has become the\nmain object of the state, it has become an object in itself. The\npeople only exist to furnish and maintain soldiers. Militarism\ndominates and devours Europe. But this militarism has in it the seeds\nof its own destruction. The competition of the various states with\neach other necessitates the spending of more money every year on the\narmy, the fleet, weapons of destruction, etc., and thus accelerates\nfinancial breakdown. On the other hand, with the increasingly rigid\nmilitary service, the whole people becomes familiar with the use of\nmilitary weapons. It therefore becomes able at some time to impose its\nwill upon the dominating military authority. And this time arrives as\nsoon as the mass of the people--country and city workers and\nfarmers--has the will. At this point the army of the classes becomes\nthe army of the masses, the machine refuses to do the work, militarism\ngoes under in the dialectic of its own development. What the bourgeois\ndemocrats of 1848 could not accomplish, just because they were\nbourgeois and not proletarian, namely the endowment of the laboring\nmasses with a will, the content of which corresponded with their class\ncondition, socialism will certainly accomplish. And that means the\ndestruction of militarism and with it of all standing armies\nabsolutely and entirely.\n\nThat is the moral of our history of modern infantry. The second moral\nwhich brings us back to Herr Duehring is that the entire organization\nand methods of warfare of modern armies and, with them, victory and\ndefeat, are dependent upon material things, that is upon economic\nconditions, upon soldier material and upon weapon material and\ntherefore upon the quality of a population and upon technique. Only a\nhunting people like the Americans could rediscover the sharpshooter.\nNow the Yankees of the old States have, from purely economic causes,\nbecome transformed into farmers, industrialists, sailors and\nmerchants, who no longer shoot in the primeval forests and on that\naccount have become all the more successful in the field of\nspeculation where they have developed into colossal appropriators.\nOnly a Revolution like the French which emancipated the burghers and\nstill more the peasants could discover the simultaneously massed\narmies and free advance by which they overcame the stiff old line\nformation, the military product of the absolutism against which they\nfought. And as for the advances in technique as soon as they were\napplicable and were applied, forthwith changes, nay revolutions, in\nthe methods of warfare were at once made, often against the will of\nthe military leaders as we have seen over and over again to be the\ncase. A diligent subaltern could explain to Herr Duehring how at the\npresent day the making of war is dependent upon the productivity and\nmeans of communication of the back country as well as of the theatre\nof war. In short, economic conditions and means of power are always\nthe things which help \"force\" to victory, and without them \"force\"\ncomes to an end. So that he who would reform the art of war according\nto the axioms of Herr Duehring would only get a flogging for his\npains.\n\nIf we go from the land to the sea we shall discover a complete\nrevolution, even within the last twenty years. The warship of the\nCrimean War was the wooden three decker, with from sixty to a hundred\nguns, which depended upon its sailing power and had only a weak\nauxiliary steam engine. It carried in general thirty-two pounders of\nabout sixty hundred weight and only a few sixty-eight pounders of\nninety-five hundred weight. At the end of the war ironclad floating\nbatteries were used, clumsy and slow but impregnable to the artillery\nof that time. Very soon iron plates were placed on the warships, at\nfirst thin, four inches thickness of iron was then considered to\nconstitute a remarkably great thickness. But the progress in artillery\nsoon discounted the thickness of armour, for every addition to the\narmour there was a new and more powerful artillery which pierced it\nwith the greatest ease. So now we have warships with ten, twelve,\nfourteen, twenty-four inches of armour plate (the Italians are going\nto build a warship with armourplate three feet thick) on the one hand\nand on the other hand guns which reach to a hundred tons and which\nhurl projectiles amounting to two thousand pounds in weight to unheard\nof distances. The modern war vessel is a rapid travelling armoured\nscrew steamer of eight to ten thousand tons and of from six to eight\nthousand horse power provided with turrets and four or six very\npowerful big guns, together with a ram at the bow below the water line\nfor the purpose of destroying the ship of the enemy. It is a colossal\nmachine in which steam not only furnishes the driving power but also\nsteers, raises the anchor, moves the towers, aims and loads the guns,\nworks the pumps, takes in and lowers the boats, which are frequently\nsteamers, and so forth. And the contest between the armour plate and\nthe projectile is so far from having been settled that a ship is\nto-day practically obsolete as soon as it has left the ways. The\nmodern warship is not only a product of modern industry but a\nmasterpiece, a product of the dissipation of wealth. The country in\nwhich the greater industry has developed the most completely has a\nmonopoly of shipbuilding. All the Turkish, almost all the Russian and\nthe greater part of the German warships are built in England. Armour\nplate of the best type is made almost exclusively in Germany. Of the\nthree iron foundries which are alone in the position to turn out the\nheaviest artillery, two of them, Woolwich and Elswick, are in England,\nthe third Krupp's is in Germany. Here it may be seen that the pure\npolitical power which Herr Duehring maintains to be the original\nreason for economic conditions is on the contrary inseparable from\neconomic conditions and that not only the existence but the very\nmanagement of the tool of force on the sea, the warship, is in itself\na branch of modern industry. And that this is so gives nobody more\ntrouble than just that force, the state, which has now to pay more for\none ship than it had formerly for a small fleet and sees that these\nexpensive ships are obsolete as soon as they are launched. And the\nstate is just as much upset as Herr Duehring would be over the fact\nthat the controller of the economic force of the ship, the engineer,\nis a much more important person than the man of pure force, the\ncaptain. On the other hand we have no further grounds for annoyance\nwhen we see that how as a result of this contest between armour plate\nand projectile the battle ship has arrived at the point when it is as\nexpensive as it is unfit for fighting and that this contest shows the\ndialectic law of progress at work in naval warfare according to which\nmilitarism like every other historical phenomenon must come to an end\nas a result of its own development.\n\nWe can thus see as plain as noonday that it is not true that \"the\noriginal reason must be sought in pure political force and not in\nindirect economic force.\" Quite the contrary. Economic force is the\ncontrol of the power of the great industry. Political force in naval\nmatters which is dependent upon modern ships of war is by no means\n\"pure force\" but is involved in economic force, in the advanced\ndevelopment of metallurgy, in the mastery of historical technique and\nthe possession of rich coal-fields.\n\n\n_IV. Force Theory (Conclusion)._\n\n(Herr Duehring makes an argument which is briefly summarised by Engels\nas follows and which may be said to involve the notion that the\nmonopolization of land is the cause of human slavery and is the\nproduct of force. Engels proceeds):\n\nThesis--The domination of nature by man is the reason of the\ndomination of man by man.\n\nProof--The existence of landlordism on a large scale cannot be carried\non anywhere except by means of slavery.\n\nProof of proof--Landlordism on a large scale cannot exist without\nslavery because the great landlord with his own family without the\nhelp of slaves can only cultivate a small piece of his property.\n\nTherefore, in order to show that man cannot subdue nature without the\nsubjugation of his fellowman, Herr Duehring transforms \"nature\"\nforthwith into \"private ownership of large tracts of land\" and this\nindefinite private ownership into the ownership exercised by a great\nlandlord, who naturally cannot cultivate his land without slaves.\n\nIn the first place the domination of nature and the cultivation of\nprivate landed property do not imply the same thing. The domination of\nnature in industrial affairs is displayed in a manner altogether\ndifferent from that in agricultural affairs, for these latter are\nalways at the mercy of the climate instead of being supreme over the\nclimate.\n\nIn the second place if we limit ourselves to the exploitation of\nprivate property in land in large amounts we come to the question as\nto whom the land belongs. We find that in the beginnings of civilised\npeoples the land was not owned by great landlords but was held in\ncommon by tribal and village communities. From India to Ireland the\nexploitation of land property in large tracts has proceeded from the\ntribal and village communal ownership which was the original form.\nSometimes the land was cultivated in common for the benefit of the\ncommon members, sometimes in separate pieces, parcelled by the\ncommunity to separate families from time to time with wood and willow\nland retained for communal use.\n\nIt is pure imagination on the part of Herr Duehring to declare that\nthe exploitation of landed property is responsible for the existence\nof master and servant. Who is the owner of private landed property in\nthe entire Orient where the land is possessed by the community or the\nState and the word landlord is not to be found in the language? The\nTurks first introduced a species of feudalism into the lands which\nthey conquered. The Greeks in heroic times had a classified system of\nrank which itself bore witness to a long unknown preceding history,\nbut the land was then cultivated by an independent peasantry. The\nlarge possessions of the nobles and leaders of the tribes were the\nexception and had no permanence. Italy was originally cultivated by\nsmall peasant farmers; when in the latter days of the Roman Republic\nthe great holdings, the _latifundia_ destroyed the small\nfarmer-holdings, cattle raising was substituted for agriculture, and\nas Pliny points out Italy was ruined (_latifundia Italiam perdidere_).\nIn the whole of Europe during the Middle Ages small farming was the\nrule and it is very appropriate to the above discussion to note what\ntasks these peasants were obliged to perform for the feudal lords. The\nFrisians, lower Saxons, Flemings and people from the lower Rhine who\ninvaded the lands of the Slavs to the east of the Elbe and cultivated\nthem did so under very favorable terms of rent but by no means under a\nspecies of slavery. In North America, by far the greatest amount of\nthe land is cultivated by the labor of free small farmers, while the\ngreat landed proprietors of the South with their slaves and\nextravagant farming methods destroyed the soil until the land ceased\nto be productive and the cultivation of cotton travelled ever\nWestward. In Australia and New Zealand the attempts to artificially\nestablish an agrarian aristocracy by the British government have\nfailed. In short, if we except the tropical and sub-tropical colonies,\nin which the climate is prohibitive of agriculture by Europeans, it\nseems that the idea of a great land holding class originally\ndominating nature by means of the employment of slaves and serfs is a\npure product of the imagination. Things are quite otherwise. If one\ngoes to the older countries like Italy the land was not waste\noriginally but the transformation of the agricultural land cultivated\nby the small farmers into cattle-land utterly ruined the country.\n\nLatterly, for the first time since the growth in the intensity of the\npopulation has increased the value of land and especially since the\nprogress in agriculture has made possible the reclamation of poor\nlands, the greater landlordism has begun to obtain possession of waste\nand pasture lands and has stolen the old communal lands of the\npeasants in this country, as well in England as in Germany. And this\nhas not happened without a counter-poise. For every acre of common\nland which the great landlords in England converted into arable land\nthey have made at least three acres of arable land in Scotland into\nshooting preserves and mere places for the hunting of wild animals.\n\nWe have to consider the declaration of Herr Duehring to the effect\nthat the cultivation of large parcels of land has not come into\nexistence otherwise than through great landlords and their slaves, a\ndeclaration which we have seen implies an entire ignorance of history.\nWe have now to see how far at different epochs the cultivation of the\nsoil has been carried on by means of slaves, as in the palmy days of\nGreece, or by means of tenants, like the socage tenure, since the\nMiddle Ages, and then what has been the social function of the greater\nlandlordism at different periods of history.\n\nIf Herr Duehring means that the mastery of man by men as a preliminary\nto the mastery of nature by man is a universal law, that our present\neconomic condition, the stage attained to-day in agriculture and\nindustry, is the result of a society which has developed itself in\nclass antagonisms, in mastership on the one hand and in slavery on the\nother hand, he says something which is a mere commonplace since the\npublication of the Communist Manifesto. We have thus to explain the\nexistence of these classes and when Herr Duehring has no further\nexplanation to give than \"force\" we are right back at the beginning\nagain. The mere fact that the subject and the plundered have always\nbeen more numerous and that therefore the actual force has rested with\nthem is enough to show the stupidity of the entire force theory. We\nhave therefore still to explain the origin of master and subject\nclasses. They have come into being in two ways.\n\nWhen men originally sprang from the lower animals they came into\nhistory, still half-wild animals, elementary, with no power over the\nforces of nature, still unacquainted with their own powers, as poor as\nthe animals and hardly more productive than they. There prevailed a\ncertain equality in the conditions of life and as far as the heads of\nfamilies were concerned an equality of social condition--there was at\nleast an absence of those class distinctions which developed later in\nthe agricultural communities. In such a social state there were\ncertain common interests which overrode the interests of the\nindividual in certain respects, the settlement of disputes, the\nrepression of individuals who exceeded their rights, the looking after\nthe water supply, particularly in hot countries, and finally under the\nconditions of life in the primeval forests, religious functions. We\nfind analogous communal duties exercised by communal officials at all\nperiods as well in the oldest German mark communities as in India\nto-day. These are contemporaneous with a sort of beginning of\nauthority and state power in a rudimentary form. The productive forces\ndevelop; a denser population produces common and then conflicting\ninterests between members of the society, the grouping of which in\naccordance with a new division of labor causes the creation of new\norgans for the purpose of maintaining the society on the one hand and\nrepressing the antagonistic interests on the other. These organs which\nact for the entire group have different forms according to the varying\ncircumstances of the individual groups, partly through the natural\ngrowth of a hereditary leadership in a world where everything proceeds\nnaturally and partly through a growing need owing to the development\nof conflicts with other groups. How these social functions which were\nsubsidiary to society came in the course of time to triumph over\nsociety; how the original servant, under favorable conditions became\ntransformed into the master, how, according to circumstances, this\nmaster made his appearance as Oriental despot or satrap, as Greek\nchieftain, as Celtic clan chief, etc., how far he relied on force for\nthis transformation and finally how the individual leaders associated\nthemselves into a dominant class we have here no opportunity to\nconsider. We can only state that real social duties lay at the base of\nthe political domination and that the political supremacy has only\nexisted as long as the politically supreme fulfilled these social\nfunctions. How many despotisms have risen and fallen among the\nPersians and Hindoos, and everybody knows quite well that the public\nmanagement of the irrigation was the prime necessity of agriculture in\nthose places. The \"educated\" English were the first to observe this\namong the Hindoos; they let the canals and locks fall into disuse and\nthey have now discovered by the regular recurrence of famine that they\nhave neglected the only opportunity to make their rule at least as\nrighteous as that of their predecessors.\n\nBut there is another form of class distinction besides the one\ndescribed. The natural division of labor in the agricultural families\npermitted at a certain point of prosperity the introduction of foreign\nlabor power. This was particularly the case in countries where the old\ncommon ownership of the soil had disappeared or where at least the old\nsystem of common cultivation had become supplanted by the cultivation\nof separate plots by individual families. Production had so far\ndeveloped that the human labor force was able to produce more than was\nnecessary for the support of the individual laborer. The time was ripe\nfor the employment of more labor-power, labor-power had become a\nvalue. But the limitations of the communal system did not afford any\nattainable surplus labor power. Yet war did give such an opportunity\nfor getting surplus labor power and war was as old as the simultaneous\nexistence of groups of communal groups in close juxtaposition. Up to\nthis time men did not take prisoners of war, they killed them right\noff, and, at a still earlier date, they ate them. But at the stage of\neconomic development of which we speak they had a value and they were\nnot only allowed to live but were set to work. So force instead of\nbeing the master of economic conditions was pressed into the service\nof those conditions. Slavery was discovered. It soon became the\ndominant form of production among all people who had developed beyond\nthe tribal communal stage and as a matter of fact was at the end one\nof the main reasons for the break up of the communal system. Slavery\nfirst made the division of labor between agriculture and industry\ncompletely possible and brought into existence the flower of the old\nworld, Greece. Without slavery there would have been no Grecian state,\nno Grecian art and science and no Roman Empire. There would have been\nno modern Europe without the foundation of Greece and Rome. We must\nnot forget that our entire economic, political and intellectual\ndevelopment has its foundation in a state of society in which slavery\nwas regarded universally as necessary. In this sense we may say that\nwithout the ancient slavery there would have been no modern socialism.\n\nIt is very easy to make preachments about slavery and to express our\nmoral indignation at such a scandalous institution. Unfortunately the\nwhole significance of this is that it merely says that these old\ninstitutions do not correspond with our present conditions and the\nsentiments engendered by these conditions. We do not however in this\nway explain how these institutions came into existence, why they came\ninto existence and the role which they have played in history. And\nwhen we enter upon this matter we are obliged to say in spite of all\ncontradiction and accusations of heresy that the introduction of\nslavery under the conditions of that time was a great step forwards.\nIt is a fact that man sprang from the lower animals and has had to\nemploy barbaric and really bestial methods in order to rid himself of\nbarbarism. The old communal system where it persisted built up the\nmost elementary form of the state, Oriental despotism, from India to\nRussia. Only where it has been dissolved has the people progressed and\nthe next economic step lay in the development of production by means\nof slave labor. It is evident that as long as human labor was so\nlittle productive that it afforded only a small surplus over the\nnecessary means of life, the development of the productive forces, the\ninstitution of commerce, the development of the State and of law and\nthe foundation of art and science were only possible through an\nincrease in the subdivision of labor. This implied the broad division\nbetween the mass of the workers and the directors of labor, trade,\nstate, state-business, and later the occupation of a few privileged\npersons in art and science. The simplest and most natural form of this\nsubdivision of labor was slavery. In the conditions of the ancient,\nand especially the Greek world, the advance to a society founded on\nclass distinction could only be for the slaves, the prisoners of war\nfrom whom the majority of slaves were recruited instead of being\nmurdered as they would have been at an earlier date or instead of\nbeing eaten as they would have been at a stage still earlier.\n\nHere we add that all the historical antitheses of robbers and robbed of\nmaster and subject classes find their explanation in the relatively\nundeveloped productivity of human labor. As long as the actual working\npeople claim that they have no time left at the close of their necessary\nlabors to attend to the common business of society--the organization of\nlabor, the business of the government, the administration of justice,\nart, science, etc., just so long will distinct classes exist which are\nfree from actual labor to carry on these functions. Naturally these\nclasses do not hesitate to lean more and more and more upon the\nshoulders of the working class for their own advantage. The development\nof the great industry with its enormous increase in the forces of\nproduction for the first time permitted of the subdivision of labor in\nall social grades and thus allowed of the reduction of the time\nnecessary for labor so that enough leisure remains for all to take part\nin the actual public business--theoretical as well as practical. So that\nnow for the first time the dominant and exploiting classes have become\nsuperfluous and even an obstacle to social progress, and so now for the\nfirst time they will be unceremoniously brushed aside in spite of their\n\"pure force.\"\n\nWhen Herr Duehring then shows his scorn of the Greek civilisation\nbecause it was founded on slavery he might just as reasonably reproach\nthe Greeks for not having steam engines and electric telegraphs. And\nwhen he explains that our modern wage slavery is only a somewhat\ntransformed and ameliorated inheritance of chattel slavery and not to\nbe explained from itself (that is from the economic laws of modern\nsociety) it only signifies that wage slavery, like chattel slavery, is\na form of class domination and class subjection as every child knows,\nor it is false. So we might with the same right maintain that wage\nslavery is only a milder form of cannibalism, the established\noriginal method of disposing of conquered enemies.\n\nThe role which force has played in history with respect to economic\ndevelopment is therefore clear. In the first place, all political\nforce rests originally on an economic social function, and developed\nin proportion as the old tribal communistic society was dissolved and\ntransformed into various grades of private producers, and the\nadministrators of the communal functions therefore became more widely\nseparated from the rest of the community. In the second place, when\npolitical force, independent of society, has transformed itself from\nthe position of servant to that of master, it may work in two\ndirections. In the first place, it may work sensibly and in the\ndirection of general economic development. In this case there is no\nquarrel between the two, economic development is advanced. Or it may\nwork against it and then with few exceptions it succumbs to the\neconomic development. These few exceptions consist of individual cases\nof tyranny where barbaric conquerors have overcome a country and have\ndestroyed the economic forces which they did not know how to handle.\nThus the Christians in Spain destroyed the irrigation works upon which\nthe highly developed agriculture and horticulture of that country\ndepended. Every conquest by a more barbarous people interferes with\neconomic development and destroys numerous productive forces. But in\nthe great majority of instances of the permanent conquest of a\ncountry, the more barbaric conquerors are obliged to adopt the higher\neconomic conditions into which their conquest has brought them. They\nare assimilated into the conquered people and are compelled to adopt\ntheir language. But where--apart from instances of conquest--the inner\npolitical forces of a country comes in conflict with its economic\ndevelopment, which at the present day is practically true of all\npolitical force, the battle has always ended with the destruction of\nthe political force. Without exception and inexorably, economic\ndevelopment has attained its goal. The last most striking example of\nwhich we have already called attention to, the French Revolution. If,\nas according to Herr Duehring's teachings, the economic development\nand the economic conditions of a certain country are altogether\ndependent upon political forces there is no explanation of the fact\nthat Frederick William IV after 1848 could not succeed, in spite of\nhis army, in attaching the guilds of the Middle Ages and other\nromantic tomfooleries to the steam-engines, railroads and the newly\ndeveloping greater industry, or why the Czar who is still much more\npowerful could not only not pay his debts but could not collect his\nforces without drawing on the credit of the economic conditions of\nWestern Europe.\n\nAccording to Herr Duehring force is the absolute evil. The first act\nof force is to him the first fall into sin. His whole conception is a\npreachment over the infection of all history up to the present time\nwith the original sin. He talks about the disgraceful falsifying of\nall natural and social laws by the invention of the devil, force. That\nforce plays another role in history, a revolutionary role, that it is\nin the words of Marx, the midwife of the old society which is pregnant\nwith the new, that it is the tool by the means of which social\nprogress is forwarded, and foolish, dead political forms\ndestroyed,--of that Herr Duehring has no word to say, only with sighs\nand groans does he admit the possibility that force may be necessary\nfor the overthrow of a thievish economic system. He simply declares\nthat every application of force demoralizes him who uses it. And this\nin spite of the moral and intellectual uplift which has followed every\nvictorious revolution. He says this in Germany, too, where a powerful\nand necessary uprising would at least have the advantage of abolishing\nthe slavish snobbery of the national mind which has prevailed since\nthe humiliation of the Thirty Years War. And this foolish and\nsenseless sort of preaching is set up in opposition to the most\nrevolutionary party known to history.\n\n\n_V. Theory of Value._\n\nIt is now about a hundred years since a book appeared in Leipsic which\nby the beginning of this century had gone through thirty-one editions\nand which was distributed throughout the towns and the country\ndistricts by officials, preachers and humanitarians, of all sorts, and\nwhich was universally adopted in the schools as a reader. This book\nwas called, \"The Children's Friend\" by Rochow. It had the object of\nteaching the children of the peasant and laboring classes their\nvocation in life and their duties to their social and political\nsuperiors, and making them satisfied with their lot in life, with\nblack bread and potatoes, compulsory servitude, low wages, fatherly\nbeatings and other similar agreeable things. In pursuit of this end,\nthe youth in town and country was informed what a wise provision of\nnature it was that man was obliged to get his food and enjoyment by\nmeans of his labor, and how fortunate the peasant and handworker ought\nto feel that they were able to spice their food with hard labor while\nthe spendthrift and the picture suffered the pangs of indigestion or\nlack of appetite. These commonplaces which old Rochow thought good\nenough for the peasant children of his day have been elevated into\nthe \"absolute fundamental\" of the newest political economy by Herr\nDuehring.\n\nValue is defined as follows by Herr Duehring \"Value is what economic\ngoods and activities will fetch in exchange.\" What they will fetch is\nshown \"by the price or some other equivalent, wages for example.\" In\nother words Value is price. Or not to do Herr Duehring an injury and\nto show the absolute absurdity of his definition in his own language,\n\"Value is prices.\" On page 19 he says \"Value and its prices expressed\nin money\" and he also affirms that the same value has very different\nprices and therefore has different values. If Hegel had not died long\nago he would hang himself out of pure jealousy, for, with all his\ntheology, he could not have produced this value which has as many\ndifferent values as it has prices. One would have to possess the\nconfidence of Herr Duehring to begin a new and more profound treatment\nof political economy with the declaration that there is no difference\nbetween value and price except that one is expressed in terms of money\nand the other is not.\n\n(After gentle raillery of Duehring's statements Engels proceeds.)\n\nThe actual, practical value of an object according to Herr Duehring\nconsists in two things, first in the amount of human labor contained\nin it and secondly in a forcibly imposed tax. In other words value as\nit exists to-day is a monopoly price. If all wares have this monopoly\nprice, as according to this theory, only two things are possible.\nEither every buyer, as buyer, loses what he made as seller, for prices\nhave only changed their names, they are really the same, everything\nremains as it was and the much talked of exchange value is merely\nimaginary, or the imposed cost represents real values, values\nproduced by the working value-making class, but taken by the\nmonopolising class, and this sum of values is simply unpaid labor. In\nthis latter case we come, in spite of the force theory, and the\ncompulsory taxation theory and the special exchange value theory back\nagain to the Marxian theory of value.\n\nThe fixing of the value of a commodity by wages which is frequently\nconfused by Adam Smith with the fixing of value by the time expended\nin labor has been, since the time of Ricardo, denounced by political\neconomists and only to-day persists in popular economics. It is now\nthe sycophants of the existing capitalistic system who declare that\nvalue is fixed by wages and therefore declare the profits of the\ncapitalists to be higher kind of wages, wages of abstinence, in that\nthe capitalist has not dissipated his capital, wages of\nsuperintendence, premiums on risks, etc. Herr Duehring only differs\nfrom them in that he calls profits robbery. In other words Herr\nDuehring founds his socialism on the worst teachings of the popular\neconomists. His popular economics and his socialism stand or fall\ntogether.\n\nIt is clear that what a workman accomplishes and what he costs are\ndifferent matters from what a machine makes and what it costs. The\nvalue which a workman makes in a day of twelve hours has nothing in\ncommon with the value of the means of life which he consumes in this\nworking day and the periods of rest in connection with it. There may\nbe one, three, four or seven hours of labor time incorporated in these\nmeans of livelihood according to the stage of the productivity of\nlabor. Let us take seven hours as the necessary time for the\nproduction of them. Then Herr Duehring and the vulgar economists\ndeclare that the product of twelve hours labor has the value of the\nproduct of seven hours labor or in other words twelve is equal to\nseven. To make the matter more explicit, a peasant produces say twenty\nhectolitres of wheat in a year. During this time he consumes a sum of\nvalues which may be expressed by fifteen hectolitres. Then the twenty\nhectolitres have the same value as the fifteen in the same market\nunder identical conditions. In other words 20 equals 15. And this is\ncalled political economy!\n\nThe entire development of human society from the position of savagery\nbegan from the day when the labor of a family resulted in the\nproduction of more than was necessity for its support, from the day\nwhen a part of the labor was no longer expended on mere means of\nliving but was transformed into means of production. A surplus of\nlabor product over and above the cost of the maintenance of labor, and\nthe creation and increase of a social production and reserve fund out\nof this surplus was and is the foundation of all social, political and\nintellectual development. In history up to the present time this fund\nhas been the property of a certain superior class which has, with its\npossession, also the political mastery and the spiritual supremacy.\nThe approaching social revolution will make this social production and\nreserve fund that is the entire mass of raw material, instruments of\nproduction, and means of life for the first time really social\nproperty, in that it will put an end to its monopolisation by the\nsuperior class and make it the common possession of the entire\nsociety.\n\nIt is one of two things. Suppose value shows itself in the cost of\nmaintenance of the necessary labor, that is in present society in\nwages. If such is the case every worker gets the value of his product\nin wages and the robbery of the working class by the capitalistic\nclass is an impossibility. Let it be granted that the cost of\nmaintaining a worker in a given society is three marks. Then the daily\nproduct of the worker is, according to the popular economist, of the\nvalue of three marks. Now let us consider that the capitalist who\nemploys this worker takes a profit on this product and sells it for\nfour marks. Other capitalists do the same thing. But thereupon the\nworker can no longer maintain himself with three marks a day, it will\ncost him four marks. Other conditions remaining the same, wages\nexpressed in terms of the means of life must remain the same and wages\nexpressed in gold will rise therefore from three to four marks daily.\nWhat the capitalists gain in the form of profit on the working class\nthey have to return in the form of wages. So we are just where we were\nat the beginning. If wages signify value, no plunder of the working\nclass by the capitalist is possible. But the creation of a surplus is\nimpossible if, according to our hypothesis the workers consume as much\nas they produce. And since the capitalists produce no value it is\nimpossible to see how they can live. And if such a surplus of\nproduction over consumption does exist, if such a production and\nreserve fund exists in the hands of the capitalists there is no other\nexplanation possible than that the working class uses only enough\nvalues for its own maintenance and turns over the rest of the goods\nwhich it produces to the capitalist.\n\nOn the other hand, if this production and reserve fund actually exists\nin the hands of the capitalist class, if it has really come into\nexistence through the piling up of profits, (we will leave rent out of\nthe question for the present); it necessarily comes from the\naccumulated profits of the capitalist class taken from the working\nclass over and above the sums paid by the capitalist class to the\nworking class in the form of wages. Value therefore does not depend\nupon wages, but upon amount of labor. The working class renders to the\ncapitalist class a greater amount of value than it receives in wages\nand thus the profit of capital as of all other forms of the\nappropriation of unpaid for products of labor is to be explained on\nthe simple ground of the surplus value discovered by Marx.\n\n\n_VI. Simple and Compound Labor._\n\n(The argument of Duehring against which Engels here directs his\nefforts may be best summed up in Duehring's concluding words \"Marx in\nhis utterances on value cannot escape the lurking ghost of highly\nskilled labor. The prevalent notion of the intellectual classes has\nbeen a hindrance to him in this matter, for according to this idea it\nis an enormity to reckon the labor time of a barrow pusher and an\narchitect as economic equivalents.\")\n\nEngels thereupon says \"the passage in the works of Marx which caused\nthis outbreak on the part of Duehring is very short.\" Marx is\nexamining the question as to the basis of the value of commodities and\nanswers it by the statement that it is the amount of human labor\ncontained in them. \"This\" he goes on \"is the expression of that simple\nlabor force which belongs to the average human being without any\nspecial development. Skilled labor is a power or rather a multiple of\nsimple labor, so that a small amount of skilled labor is equivalent to\na larger amount of unskilled labor. Practice shows that this reduction\nto the terms of unskilled labor takes place. A commodity may be the\nproduct of skilled labor, its value may be equivalent to a product of\nunskilled labor skilled labor. The proportion in which different forms\nof labor are reduced to their general standard in unskilled labor is\nestablished by a social process going on behind the backs of the\nproducers, and appears to them merely customary.\"\n\nHere Marx is only dealing with the value of commodities, that is of\nobjects produced and exchanged by private producers in a society\nconsisting of private producers producing for their own profit. He is\ntherefore not concerned here with \"absolute value\" whatever that may\nbe but only with the value which is realised in a given form of\nsociety. This value under the given social conditions is shaped and\nmeasured by the human labor incorporated in the commodities and this\nhuman labor shows itself as the expression of simple human energy. But\nevery piece of work is not merely an expression of simple labor force.\nVery many labor products require the expenditure of more or less time,\nmoney, trouble, and acquired skill or knowledge. Do these kinds of\ncompound labor show at the same period of time the same commodity\nvalues as simple labor, are they the expression of merely simple labor\nforce? Evidently not. The product of an hour of compound labor is a\ncommodity of higher, double or three times the value of a product of\nan hour of simple labor. The value of the product of compound labor\ncan in this comparison be expressed through the measure of simple\nlabor; and this reduction of compound labor is carried on by means of\na social progress behind the back of the producer, by means of which\ncan here be established according to the theory of value but not\nexplained.\n\nThe thing which Marx states here is a simple fact which happens every\nday before our eyes in the present capitalistic society.\n\n(After some invective and satire hurled at Duehring Engels proceeds:)\n\nLet us examine with regard to equality of value a little more closely.\nAll labor time is of equal value, that of the barrow pusher and that\nof the architect. Therefore labor time and consequently labor itself\nhas a value. But labor is the creator of all values. It is the only\nthing which gives the original products of nature a value in the\neconomic sense. Value in itself is nothing but the expression in a\ngiven object of necessary, social, human labor. One might just as well\nspeak of and fix a value to labor as speak of the value of value, of\nthe weight, not of a specific body, but of gravity itself. Herr\nDuehring calls people like Owen, St. Simon and Fourier, social\nalchemists. When he invents a value for labor time, that is for labor,\nhe shows that he is far below these same alchemists.\n\nFor Socialism, which will emancipate human labor force from its place\nas a commodity, the understanding that labor has no value and can have\nnone is a matter of the greatest importance. With an understanding of\nit, all attempts made by Herr Duehring by means of his crude\nworker-socialism (Arbeitersozialismus) to regulate the division of the\nmeans of existence, as a kind of higher wages, fall to the ground.\nFrom it there follows the broader view, since it is controlled by\npurely economic motives, that distribution regulates itself in the\ninterests of production, and production is advanced in the greatest\ndegree by a method of distribution which permits all the social\ndepartments to develop, maintain, and express their capacities to the\nfullest possible extent. To the ideas of the intellectuals which have\ncome into Herr Duehring's possession, it must always seem to be an\nenormity that it will abolish barrow pushing and architecture\nsimultaneously as professions, and that the man who has given half an\nhour to architecture will also push the cart a little until his work\nas architect is again in demand. It would be a pretty sort of\nsocialism which perpetuated the business of barrow-pushing.\n\nIf the equality of value of labor time has the significance that\nworkers produce equal products in equal periods of time it is\nevidently false, unless an average is first taken. Of two workmen at\nthe same branch of industry the value of the product of their labor\ntime will differ according to the intensity of labor and their\nrespective ability. No scheme of economic equality, at least on our\nplanet, can remedy this unfortunate state of affairs. What then is\nleft of the equality of all and every sort of labor? Nothing but high\nsounding phrases which have no economic value, nothing but the evident\ninability of Herr Duehring to distinguish between the fixing of value\nby labor and the fixing of value by the wages of labor, only the\nukase, which is the foundation of the new social economy, that wages\nshall be equal for equal amounts of labor time. Really the old French\ncommunists and Weitling had much better grounds for their equality of\nwages theories.\n\nHow then do we solve the whole weighty question of the higher wages of\ncompound labor? In a society of private producers, private individuals\nor their families have to bear the cost of creating intellectual\nworkers. An intellectual slave always commanded a better price, an\nintellectual wage worker gets higher wages. In an organized socialist\nsociety, society bears the cost and to it therefore belong the fruits,\nthe greater value produced by intellectual labor. The laborer himself\nhas no further claim. Whence it follows that there are many\ndifficulties connected with the beloved claim of the worker for the\nfull product of his toil.\n\n\n_VII. Capital and Surplus Value._\n\n(\"Marx does not have the usual economic idea of capital that it is\nmeans of production already produced, but he seeks to endow it with a\nspecial dialectic history in the metamorphosis of a historical idea.\nCapital is expressed in gold, it creates an historical period which\nhas its beginning in the sixteenth century and the establishment of a\nworld-market. Any keen economic analysis is impossible with such a\nnotion. Such barren conceptions which are half historical and half\nlogical destroys the possibility of any proper discrimination with\nrespect to the matter.\" These remarks of Duehring are answered as\nfollows by Engels:)\n\nAccording to Marx, then, capital manifested itself as gold at the\nbeginning of the sixteenth century. It is just as if anybody were to\nsay that specie had expressed itself as cattle for three thousand\nyears, because formerly cattle had performed the gold functions along\nwith others. Only Herr Duehring could be guilty of such a crude and\ndistorted expression. Marx in his analysis of the economic forms in\nwhich the process of the circulation of commodities takes places\nsimply declares gold to be the last form. \"This last product of the\ncirculation of commodities is the form in which capital first appears.\nHistorically capital comes with the possession of property in the form\nof money, as hoards of money, merchant-capital, and usury-capital....\nThis history is going on every day before our eyes. New capital comes\non the scene, that is the market,--the market for commodities, the\nlabor market or the money market, simply as money, money which is\ntransformed into capital by a definite process.\" Again Marx states the\nfact. It is useless for you to struggle against it, Herr Duehring,\nCapital must express itself in gold.\n\nMarx further examines the process by which money is transformed into\ncapital and discovers that the form in which money circulates as\ncapital is the inversion of the form in which it circulates as the\nuniversal equivalent. The individual owner of commodities sells to\nbuy, he sells what he does not need, and buys with the money thus\nobtained what he does need. The budding capitalist buys on the\ncontrary what he does not want himself, he buys to sell, and to sell\nfor a higher money value than he put into the business, he makes a\nmoney profit, and this profit Marx calls surplus value.\n\nWhat is the origin of this surplus value? Either the buyer buys goods\nbelow their value or the seller sells them above their value. In both\ncases gain and loss would balance one another, since every buyer is\nalso a seller. It can also not arise from extortion, for extortion\nmight enrich one at the expense of the other but it could not increase\nthe total sum of money neither could it increase the amount of\ncommodities in circulation. \"The entire capitalist class of a country\ncannot overreach itself.\"\n\nNow, we find that the totality of the capitalist class in every\ncountry grows richer before our very eyes, by the process of selling\ndearer than it bought, by appropriating surplus value. So we are just\nat the beginning of the discussion. Where does this surplus value come\nfrom? This question has to be answered on purely economic grounds to\nthe exclusion of all cheating, and all invasion of force. How is it\npossible to keep selling dearer than one buys under the assumption\nthat equal values are always exchanged for equal values?\n\nThe solution of this problem is the crowning glory of the work of\nMarx. He sheds clear daylight in economic places where the earlier\nsocialists no less than the bourgeois economists have groped in utter\ndarkness. From his work dates the origin of scientific socialism.\n\nThe solution is as follows. The power of increase in money which is\ntransformed into capital cannot proceed from the money neither does it\ndepend upon trade, since the money only realizes the price of the\ncommodities and this price is, since we hold that only equal values\nare exchanged, no different from its value. On the same grounds the\npower of increase cannot come from the exchange of commodities. The\nchange therefore depends upon the commodities which are exchanged, but\nnot upon their value, since they are bought and sold at their value.\nIt arises from their consumption-value as such; that is the change\nmust arise out of the consumption of commodities. \"In order for a\ncommodity to derive value from consumption our possessor of money must\nbe fortunate enough to discover a commodity whose use-value has the\npeculiar property of being a source of value, whose consumption would\nimply the expenditure of labor and thus be value-producing. And the\npossessor of money finds such a specific commodity on the market in\nthe shape of labor-power.\" If, as we have seen, labor has no value\nthis is by no means the case with labor-force. This has a value, as it\nis a commodity, and, as a matter of fact, it is a commodity to-day and\nthis value is fixed \"like that of every other commodity by the amount\nof labor time necessary for the production and reproduction of this\nspecific commodity.\" It is fixed by the labor time which is necessary\nfor the procuring of the means of livelihood required to maintain the\nlaborer in a condition to continue laboring and reproduce his kind.\nLet us suppose that these means of livelihood represent, taking one\nday with another, six hours labor-time a day. Our budding capitalist\nwho buys labor force for his business, that is hires a laborer, pays\nthis laborer the full daily value of his labor force, if he pays him a\nsum of money which represents six hours of labor. If the laborer has\nonly expended six hours in the service of the capitalist he has got\nthe full return of his expenditure, the day's value of his labor-force\nhas been paid. But money could not be transformed into capital in this\nfashion, it would have produced no surplus value. The buyer of\nlabor-power has quite another view of the nature of his business.\nSince only six hours' work is necessary to maintain the laborer for\ntwenty-four hours, it does not follow that the laborer cannot work\ntwelve hours out of the twenty-four. The value of labor force and its\nrealization in the labor-process are two different magnitudes. The\nowner of money pays out a day's value of labor-force but there belongs\nto him its use for the day, the whole day's labor. That the value\nwhich it produces in the course of a day is double its own value for\nthe day is fortunate for the buyer but according to the laws of\nexchange no injustice to the seller. The laborer then costs the owner\nof money according to our calculation the value product of six hours'\nlabor, but he gives him daily the value product of twelve hours'\nlabor. The difference to the credit of the owner of the money is six\nhours' unpaid extra labor, an unpaid for surplus product, in which the\nlabor of six hours is incorporated. The trick is done. Surplus value\nis produced, money is transformed into capital.\n\nWhile Marx, in this way, proved how surplus value exists and the only\npossible way in which it can exist, under the laws which regulate the\nexchange of commodities he also exposed the present capitalistic\nmethods of production and the methods of appropriation resting upon\nthem and unveiled the secret upon which the whole arrangement of the\nsociety of to-day depends.\n\nThere is a necessary presupposition to this origin and birth of\ncapital. \"For the transformation of money into capital the money owner\nmust first find free laborers in the market, free in the double sense\nthat as a free person the laborer can use his labor power as a\ncommodity, that he has no other wares to sell, that he is unemployed\nand that he is free of everything necessary to the realisation of his\nlabor power.\" But this condition of a possessor of money or\ncommodities on the one hand, and, on the other, of the possessor of\nnothing, except his own labor force, is no natural condition of\naffairs nor is it common to all periods of history; \"it is clearly the\nresult of a historical development, the product of a whole series of\nolder forms of social production.\" And this free laborer first strikes\nour notice as a historical phenomenon at the end of the fifteenth and\nthe beginning of the sixteenth century as a result of the dissolution\nof feudal society. Thereupon with the creation of the world trade and\nthe world market which dates from the same period the foundation was\nlaid for the mass of moveable wealth to become more and more\ntransformed into capital and for the capitalistic system, directed\nmore and more to the production of surplus value, to become the\ndominant system.\n\n\n_VIII. Capital and Surplus Value (Conclusion)._\n\n(Duehring having said that the term surplus value merely signifies in\nordinary language, rent, profit and interest, Engels still further\nexplains)\n\nWe have already seen that Marx does not say that the surplus product\nof the industrial capitalist, of which he is the first owner, is\nalways exchanged for its value, as Herr Duehring points out. Marx\nplainly says that trade profit only constitutes a portion of the\nsurplus value and under the foregoing conditions this is only possible\nif the factory proprietor sells his product under value to the trader\nand thus parts with a portion of the booty. Marx' contention\nrationally put is How is surplus value transformed into its\nsubordinate forms, profit, interest, trade-profits, ground rents etc.?\nand this question Marx undertakes to answer in the third volume of\nCapital. But since Herr Duehring cannot wait long enough for the\nsecond volume to appear he has in the meantime to take a close look at\nthe first volume. He thereupon reads that the immanent laws of\ncapitalistic production, the course of the development of capitalism,\nrealise themselves as the necessary laws of competition and thus are\nbrought to the consciousness of the individual capitalists as dominant\nmotives. That therefore a scientific analysis of competition is only\npossible when the real nature of capital is grasped, just as the\napparent movement of heavenly bodies can only be understood by\napprehending their real movement, and not merely those movements which\nare perceptible to the senses. So Marx shows how a certain law, the\nlaw of value, appears under given conditions in the competitive system\nand makes evident its impelling force. Herr Duehring might have\nunderstood that competition plays an important role in the\ndistribution of surplus values, and, after sufficient thought, might\nhave grasped at least the outlines of the transformation of surplus\nvalue into its subordinate forms from the examples given in the first\nvolume.\n\nHerr Duehring finds competition to be the stumbling block in the way\nof his comprehension. He cannot understand how competing\nentrepreneurs can manage to sell the entire product of labor including\nthe surplus product for so much more than the natural cost of\nproduction. Here again that \"force\" of his which, in his estimation,\nis the very evil thing, comes into play. According to Marx, the\nsurplus product does not have any cost of production, it is the part\nof the product which costs the capitalist nothing. If the\nentrepreneurs were to sell the surplus product at its real cost of\nproduction they would have to give it away. Is it not a fact that the\ncompeting entrepreneurs really sell the product of labor every day at\nits natural cost of production? According to Herr Duehring the cost of\nproduction consists \"in the expenditure of labor or force and\ntherefore in the last analysis must be measured by cost of\nmaintenance,\" and therefore, in present day society, is to be\nestimated at the cost of the raw material, instruments of labor and\nactual wages paid in distinction to taxation, profit and compulsory\nraising of prices. It is well recognised that in modern society the\ncompeting entrepreneurs do not sell their wares at the natural cost of\nproduction but calculate on a profit and generally get it. This\nquestion which Herr Duehring fancies will level the walls of Marxism\nas the blast of Joshua did those of Jericho is a question which the\neconomic doctrines of Duehring have to meet also.\n\n\"Capitalistic property,\" he says, \"has no practical value and only\nrealises itself because it implies the exercise of indirect power over\nman. The testimony to the existence of this force is capitalistic\nprofit, and the amount of this latter depends upon the extent and\nintensity of the power of 'force.'... Capitalistic profit is a\npolitical and social institution which manifests itself very strongly\nas competition. The entrepreneurs take their stand on this relation\nand each one of them maintains his position. A certain amount of\nprofit is a necessity of the dominant economic condition.\"\n\nWe know quite well that the entrepreneurs are in a position to sell\nthe products of labor at a cost above the natural cost of production.\nSurely Herr Duehring does not think so meanly of his public as to hold\nthe position that profit on capital stands above competition as the\nKing of Prussia used to stand above the law. The proceeding by which\nthe King of Prussia reached his position of superiority to the law we\nall know, the methods by which profit has come to be mightier than\ncompetition is just what Herr Duehring has to explain and what he\nstubbornly refuses to explain. It is no argument when he says that the\nentrepreneurs trade from this position and each one of them maintains\nhis own place. If we take him at his word, how is it possible for a\nnumber of people each to be able to trade only on certain terms and\nyet each one of them to keep his position? The gildmen of the Middle\nAges and the French nobility of 1789 operated from a decidedly\nsuperior position, and yet they came to grief. The Prussian army at\nJena occupied an advantageous position and yet it had to abandon it\nand surrender piecemeal. It is not enough to tell us that a certain\nmeasure of profit is a necessary concomitant of domination in the\neconomic sphere, it is necessary to tell us why. We do not get a step\nfurther by the statement of Duehring. \"Capitalistic superiority is\ninseparable from landlordism. A portion of the peasantry is\ntransformed in the cities into factory hands and in the final analysis\ninto factory material. Profit appears as another form of rent.\" This\nis a mere assertion and only repeats what should have been explained\nand proved. We can come to no other conclusion, then, except that\nHerr Duehring does not like to tackle the answer to his own question\nhow the capitalists are in a position to sell products of labor for\nmore than the natural cost of production, in short Herr Duehring\nshirks an explanation of profit. He takes the only path open to him, a\nshort cut, and simply declares that profit is the product of \"force.\"\nThis has been stated by Herr Duehring in his economic theory under the\nstatement \"force distributes.\" That is all very well; but the question\nstill persists what does force distribute? There must be something to\ndistribute otherwise force cannot distribute it. The profit which the\ncompeting capitalists pocket is something actual and tangible. Force\nmay take but it cannot create. And if Herr Duehring still obstinately\npersists in his statement that \"force\" takes the profits for the\nentrepreneurs he is as silent as the grave as to whence it takes it.\nWhere there is nothing the Kaiser, as all other \"force,\" ceases to\noperate. From nothing comes nothing, particularly nothing in the shape\nof profits. If capitalistic private property has not practical\nactuality, and cannot realize itself, except by the exercise of\nindirect force over men, the question still persists, in the first\nplace, how did the capitalist government come into possession of this\n\"force\" and in the second place how has this force been transformed\ninto profits, and in the third place where does it get these profits?\n\n(The remainder of this section is merely further elaboration of this\nidea with more caustic satire at the expense of the antagonist of\nEngels.)\n\n\n_IX. Natural Economic Laws--Ground Rent._\n\n(In this chapter Engels proceeds to examine what Herr Duehring called\nthe \"fundamental laws\" of his theory of economic science.)\n\nLAW NO. I. \"The productivity of economic instruments, natural\nresources and human force are capable of being increased by invention\nand discovery.\"\n\nWe are amazed. Herr Duehring treats us like that joke of Moliere on\nthe parvenu who was informed that he had talked prose all his life\nwithout being aware of it. That inventions and discoveries increase\nthe productive force of labor in many cases (but in many cases not, as\nthe patent records everywhere show) we have been for a long time\naware.\n\nLAW NO. II. \"Division of Labor. The formation of branches of work and\nthe splitting up of activities increases the productivity of labor.\"\n\nAs far as this is true it is a mere commonplace since the time of Adam\nSmith. How far it is true will appear in the third division of this\nwork.\n\nLAW NO. III. \"Distance and transportation are the most important\ncauses of the advance or hindrance of the organization of productive\nforces.\"\n\nLAW NO. IV. \"The industrial state has incomparably greater capacity\nfor population than the agricultural state.\"\n\nLAW NO. V. \"In economics only material interests count.\"\n\nThese are the natural laws on which Herr Duehring founds his new\neconomics. He remains true to his philosophic methods.\n\n(Hereupon Engels proceeds to the discussion of Duehring's opinions on\nground-rent.)\n\nHerr Duehring defines ground-rent as \"that income which the landowner\nas such derives from ground and land.\" The economic idea of\nground-rent, which Herr Duehring undertakes to explain to us, is\ntransformed right away into the juristic concept so that we are no\nfurther than at first. He compares the leasing of a piece of land with\nthe loan of capital to an entrepreneur but finds, as is so often the\ncase, that the comparison will not hold. Then he says \"to pursue the\nanalogy the profit which remains to the lessee after the payment of\nground-rent, answers to that portion of the profit on capital which\nremains to the entrepreneur who operates with borrowed capital after\nthe interest on the borrowed capital has been paid.\"\n\n(To these arguments Engels replies:)\n\nThe theory of ground-rent is a special English economic matter, and\nthis of necessity because only in England does a mode of production\nexist by which rent is separated from profit and interest. In England\nthere prevail the greater landlordism and the greater agriculture. The\nindividual landlords lease their lands in great farms to lessees who\nare able to cultivate them in a capitalistic fashion and do not, like\nour peasants, work with their own hands, but employ laborers just like\ncapitalistic entrepreneurs. We have here then the three classes of\nbourgeois society, and the income which each receives--the private\nlandlord in the form of ground-rent, the capitalist in that of profit\nand the laborer in the form of wages. No English economist has ever\nregarded the profit of the lessee as Herr Duehring does and still less\nwould he have to explain that the profit of the lessee is what it\nindubitably is, profit on capital. In England there is no use to\ndiscuss this question for the question as well as its answer are\nobvious from the facts and, since the time of Adam Smith, there has\nbeen no doubt at all about it.\n\nThe case in which the lessee cultivates his own land, as the rule in\nGermany, for the profit of the ground landlord does not make any\ndifference in this respect. If the landlord cultivates the land for\nhis own profit and furnishes the capital he puts the profit on capital\nin his pocket as well as the ground-rent for it cannot be otherwise\nunder existing conditions. And if Herr Duehring thinks that rent is\nsomething different when the lessee cultivates the land for himself it\nis not so and only shows his ignorance of the matter.\n\nFor example:--\n\n\"The revenue derived from labor is called wages; that derived from\nstock by the person who manages or employs it is called profit. The\nrevenue which proceeds from land is called rent and belongs altogether\nto the landlord. The revenue of the farmer is derived partly from his\nlabor and partly from his stock.... When those three different sorts\nof labor belong to different persons they are readily distinguished,\nbut when they belong to the same they are sometimes confounded with\none another at least in common language. A gentleman who farms part of\nhis own estate, after paying the expenses of cultivation, should gain\nboth the rent of the landlord and the profit of the farmer. He is apt\nto denominate, however, his whole gain, profit, and thus confounds\nrent with profit, at least in common language. The greater part of our\nNorth American and West Indian planters are in this situation. They\nfarm, the greater part of them, their own estates, and accordingly we\nseldom hear of the rent of a plantation but frequently of its\nprofit.... A gardener who cultivates his own garden with his own\nhands, unites in his own person the three different characters of\nlandlord, farmer, and laborer. His produce, therefore, should pay him\nthe rent of the first, the profit of the second and the wages of the\nthird. The whole, however, is commonly considered as the wages of his\nlabor. Both rent and profit are in this case confounded with wages.\"\n\nThis passage is in the sixth chapter of the first book of Adam Smith.\nThe case of the landholder who tills his own land has been examined a\nhundred years ago and the doubts which perplex Herr Duehring so much\nare caused entirely by his own ignorance.\n\n\n_X. With Respect to the \"Critical History\"._\n\nThis which is the concluding portion of the Second Division of the\nwork and which deals with Herr Duehring's estimates of economic\nwriters is omitted as being of too limited and polemic a character for\ngeneral interest.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nSOCIALISM\n\n\nThe first two chapters of this Division, which deal respectively with\nthe historical and the theoretical sides of Socialism, are omitted.\nThey have been already translated. The well known pamphlet \"Socialism,\nUtopian and Scientific\" contains both of them. The second has also\nbeen translated by R.C.K. Ensor and published in his \"Modern\nSocialism.\"\n\n\n_Production._\n\nFor him (Herr Duehring) socialism is by no means a necessary product\nof economic development, and, still less, a development of the purely\neconomic conditions of the present day. He knows better than that. His\nsocialism is a final truth of the last instance, it is \"the natural\nsystem of society.\" He finds its root in a \"universal system of\njustice.\" And if he cannot take notice of the existing conditions\nwhich are the product of the sinful history of man up to the present\ntime in order to improve them that is so much the worse, we must look\nupon it as a misfortune for the true principles of justice. Herr\nDuehring forms his socialism as he does everything else on the basis\nof his two famous men. Instead of these two marionnetes, as\nheretofore, playing the game of lord and slave they are converted to\nthat of equality and justice and the Duehring socialism is already\nfounded.\n\nClearly in the view of Herr Duehring the periodic industrial crises\nhave by no means the same significance as we must attribute to them.\nAccording to Herr Duehring they are only occasional departures from\nnormality and furnish a splendid motive for the institution of a\nproperly regulated system.\n\n(Duehring attributes crises to underconsumption; to which Engels\nreplies:)\n\nIt is unfortunately true that the underconsumption of the masses and\nthe limitation of the expenditures of the great majority to the\nnecessities of life and the reproduction thereof is not by any means a\nnew phenomenon. It has existed as long as the appropriating and the\nplundered classes have existed. Even in those historic periods where\nthe condition of the masses was exceptionally prosperous, as in\nEngland in the fifteenth century, there was underconsumption; men were\nvery far from having their entire yearly product at their own\ndisposal. Although underconsumption has been a constant historical\nphenomenon for a thousand years, the general break down in trade, due\nto overproduction, has appeared, for the first time, within the last\nfifteen years. Yet the vulgar political economy of Herr Duehring\nattempts to explain the new phenomenon, not by means of the new factor\nof overproduction, but by means of the exceedingly old factor of\nunderconsumption. It is just as if one were to try and explain a\nchange in the relation of two mathematical quantities, one of which is\nconstant and the other variable, not from the fact that the variable\nquantity has varied, but that the constant has remained constant. The\nunderconsumption of the masses is a necessary condition of all forms\nof society in which robbers and robbed exist, and therefore of the\ncapitalist system. But it is the capitalist system which first brings\nabout the economic crisis. Underconsumption is a prerequisite of\ncrises and plays a very conspicuous role in them, but it has no more\nto do with the economic crisis of the present day than it had with the\nformer absence of such crises.\n\n\nIn every society in which production has developed naturally, to which\nclass that of to-day belongs, the producers do not master the means of\nproduction but the means of production dominate the producers.\n\nIn such a society every new leverage of production is converted into a\nnew means of subduing the producers beneath the means of production.\nThis was the cause of that instrument of production, the mightiest up\nto the time of the introduction of the greater industry, the division\nof labor. The first great division of labor, the separation of the\ncity and country, doomed the inhabitants of the rural districts to a\nthousand years of stupidity and the people of the towns to be the\nslaves of their own handiwork. It denied the chance of intellectual\ndevelopment to the one and of physical development to the other. If\nthe peasant had his land and the town dweller his handiwork, it is\njust as true to say that the land had the peasant and the handiwork\nthe townsman. As far as there was a division of labor there was also a\ndivision of man. The rise of one single fact slaughtered all former\nintellectual and bodily capacities. This annexation of man grew in\nproportion as the division of labor developed and reached its\nculmination in manufacture. Manufacture distributes production into\nits separate operations, makes one of these operations the function of\nthe individual worker, and imprisons the worker for his whole life to\na given function and to a given tool. \"It forces the workingman to\nbecome an abnormality, since it makes him concentrate his efforts on\ndetail at the expense of the sacrifice of a world of forces and\ncapacities.... The individual himself becomes subdivided, he is\ntransformed into the automatic tool of the division of labor\" (Marx).\nThis tool in many cases finds its perfection in the literal crippling\nof the worker, body and soul. The machinery of the greater industry\ndegrades the workingman from a machine to being the mere appendage of\na machine. \"From the lifelong specialization of looking after a\nmachine there comes the lifelong specialization of serving a part of a\nmachine. The abuse of machinery transforms the worker from childhood\ninto a portion of a part of a machine\" (Marx). And not only the\nworkingman but the classes which indirectly or directly plunder the\nworkingman are also themselves involved in the division of labor and\nbecome the slaves of their own tools. The spiritually-barren bourgeois\nis the slave of his own capital and his own profit-getting, the jurist\nis dominated by his ossified notions of justice which rule him as a\nself-contained force; the \"refined classes\" are dominated by the local\nlimitations and prejudices, by their own physical and spiritual\nastigmatism, by their specialised education and their lifelong bondage\nto this specialty, even though the specialty be doing nothing.\n\nThe Utopists were thoroughly aware of the effects of the division of\nlabor, of the effect on the one hand of crippling the worker and on\nthe other of crippling the work, the unavoidable result of the\nlifelong, monotonous repetition of one and the same act. The rise of\nthe antagonism between town and country was regarded by Fourier as\nwell as Owen as the beginning of the rise of the old division of\nlabor. According to both of them the population should be divided into\ngroups of from six hundred to three thousand each, distributed over\nthe country. Each group has an enormous house in the midst of its\nterritory and the housekeeping is done in common. Fourier occasionally\nspeaks of towns but these only consist of four or five of the big\ncommunal houses in close proximity to each other. By both of them the\nwork of society is divided into agriculture and industry. According to\nFourier, handwork and machine manufacture were both included in the\nlatter while Owen made the great industry play the most important\npart, and the steam engine and machinery performed the work of the\ncommunity. But both in agriculture and manufacture the two writers\nnamed gave the greatest possible variety of occupation to individuals,\nand accordingly the education of the young provided for the most\nuniversal technical training. Both of them think that there will be a\nuniversal development of the human race as a result of a universal\npractical participation in practical work, and that work will recover\nits old attractiveness, which has been lost as a result of the\ndivision of labor, by virtue of this variety and the shortening of the\ntime expended upon it.\n\n\nJust as far as society obtains the domination of the social means of\nproduction in order to organize them socially it abolishes the\nexisting servitude of man to his own means of production. Society\ncannot be free without every member of society being free. The old\nmethods of production must be completely revolutionized and the old\nform of the division of labor must be done away with above all. In its\nplace an organization of production will have to be made in which, on\nthe one hand, no single individual will be able to shift his share in\nproductive labor, in providing the essentials of human existence,\nupon another, and on the other hand productive labor instead of being\na means of slavery will be a means towards human freedom, in that it\noffers an opportunity to everyone to develop his full powers, physical\nand intellectual, in every direction and to exercise them so that it\nmakes a pleasure out of a burden.\n\nThis is no longer at the present time a phantasy, a pious wish. Owing\nto the present development of the powers of production, production has\nproceeded far enough, provided that society endows itself with the\npossession of the social forces and abolishes the checks and\nimpediments, as well as the waste of products and productive forces,\nwhich springs from the capitalistic methods, to make a general\nreduction of labor time, to an amount, small as compared with present\nday ideas.\n\nThe abolition of the old method of division of labor is not an advance\nwhich would not be possible except at the expense of the productivity\nof labor, quite otherwise. It is a condition of production which has\ncome about spontaneously through the great industry. \"The machine\nindustry does away with the necessity of constantly distributing\ngroups of workmen at the different machines by keeping the worker\nconstantly at the same task. Since the total product of the factory,\nproceeds not from the worker but from the machine, a continual\nchanging about of individuals could not exist, without an interruption\nof the labor-process. Finally the speed with which work at the machine\nis learnt even by children does away with the necessity of training a\ndistinct class of workmen exclusively as machine laborers.\" But while\nthe capitalistic method of use of machinery does away with the old\nlimited particularity of labor, and, in spite of the fact, that\ntechnique is rendered superfluous, machinery itself rebels against the\nanachronism. The technical basis of the greater industry is\nrevolutionary. \"Through machinery, chemical processes and other\nmethods, the functions of the working class and the social labor\nprocess are revolutionized along with the technical basis of\nproduction. The division of labor is also revolutionized and masses of\ncapital and labor are hurled incontinently from one branch of industry\nto another. The nature of the greater industry demands mobility of\nlabor, a fluidity of functions and a complete adaptibility on the part\nof the laborers. We have seen how this absolute contradiction shows\nitself in the continual sacrifice of the working class, the most\ncomplete waste of labor force, and the dominance of social anarchy.\nBut if the mobility of labor now appears to be a law of nature beyond\nhuman control which realizes itself, in spite of all obstacles, it\nalso becomes a matter of life and death for the greater industry,\nowing to its catastrophic character, to recognise the mobility of\nlabor and hence the greatest possible adaptibility of the working\nclass, as a universal law of social production, and to accommodate\ncircumstances to its normal development. It becomes a question of life\nand death for the greater industry to keep an enormous number of\npeople on the edge of starvation always in reserve, in order that they\nmay be able to be placed at the disposal of the needs of capital as\nthese vary.\"\n\nWhile the greater industry has taught us how to transform molecular\nmovement into mass movement in order to fulfill technical needs, it\nhas, in the same measure, freed industrial production from local\nlimits. Water power was local, steam power is free. If water power\nbelongs to the country, steam power is by no means limited to the\ntown. It is capitalistic practice which causes concentration into\ncities and which makes manufacturing towns of manufacturing villages.\nBut thereby at the same time it undermines the essentials of its own\nmotive force. The first requisite of the steam engine and a prime\nrequisite of all branches of motive power is a sufficient quantity of\npure water. The factory town transforms all water into evil smelling\nsewage. Therefore, in proportion as the concentration into cities is\nthe foundation of capitalistic production, each individual capitalist\ntries to get away from the towns which have been necessarily produced\nto the motive forces of the country. This process may be individually\nobserved in the textile districts of Lancashire and Yorkshire. The\ngreater industry creates new towns in the course of its progress from\nthe town to the country. The same phenomenon was to be observed in the\ndistricts of the metal industry where somewhat different causes\nproduce identical results.\n\nThe capitalistic character of the greater industry is responsible for\nthis aimless blundering and these new contradictions. Only a society\nwhich organizes its industrial forces according to a single great\nharmonious plan, can permit industry to settle itself in such a manner\nthroughout the land as to secure its own development and the retention\nand development of the most important elements of production.\n\nThe abolition of the antagonism between town and country is now not\nonly possible, it has become an absolute necessity for industrial\nproduction itself. It has also become a necessity for agricultural\nproduction, and is, above all, essential to the maintenance of the\npublic health. Only through the amalgamation of city and country can\nthe present poisoning of air, water, and localities, be put at an end\nand the waste filth of the cities be used for the cultivation of\nvegetation rather than the spreading of disease.\n\nThe capitalistic industry has made itself relatively independent of\nlocal limitations for its raw materials. The textile industry works\nwith imported raw materials for the most part. Spanish iron ores are\nworked up in England and Germany, and South American copper ores in\nEngland. Every coal field supplies a yearly increasing number of\nplaces beyond its own confines. The whole coast of Europe has steam\nengines driven by English and, occasionally German and Belgian, coal.\nA society freed from the limits of capitalistic production could make\nstill further advances. While it makes a sort of all round skilled\nproducers, who are acquainted with the scientific requirements of\ngeneral industrial production, and by whom every new succession of\nbranches of production is completely developed from beginning to end,\nit creates a new productive force which undertakes the transportation\nof a superabundance of raw material or fuel.\n\nThe abolition of the separation between town and country is no Utopia,\nit is an essential condition of the proportionate distribution of the\ngreater industry throughout the country. Civilization has left us a\nnumber of large cities, as an inheritance, which it will take much\ntime and trouble to abolish. But they must and will be done away with,\nhowever much time and trouble it may take. Whatever fate may be in\nstore for the German nation, Bismarck may have the proud consciousness\nthat his dearest wish, the downfall of the great city, will be\nfulfilled.\n\nAnd now we can see the childishness of Herr Duehring's notion that\nsociety can obtain possession of the means of production without\nrevolutionizing the old methods of production from the ground up and\nabove all doing away with the old form of the division of labor.\n\n\nIt is easy to see that the revolutionary elements which will abolish\nthe old division of labor together with the separation of town and\ncountry and will revolutionize production as a whole are already in\nembryo in the methods of production of the modern great industry and\ntheir unfolding is only hindered by the capitalistic methods of\nproduction of to-day. But to see all this, it is necessary to have a\nbroader outlook than the mere limitations of the Prussian Code, the\ncountry where schnapps and beet sugar are the staple industries, and\nyou have to study industrial crises by way of the book-trade. (This is\na sneer at one of Duehring's illustrations: Ed.) One has to understand\nthe history and the present manifestations of the greater industry\nparticularly in that land where it has its home and where it has had\nits classic development. It must not be imagined that modern\nscientific socialism can be done away with by the specific Prussian\nSocialism of Herr Duehring.\n\n\n_Distribution._\n\nWe have seen that Duehring's economics depend upon the statement that\nthe capitalistic method of production is good enough and can be kept\nup, but that the capitalistic method of distribution is bad and must\nbe done away with. We now discover that the \"sociality\" of Herr\nDuehring is merely the imaginary putting into force of this statement.\nIn fact it appears that Herr Duehring has nothing to declare\nrespecting the method of production as such in a capitalistic society,\nand that he will maintain the old division of labor in all its\nessential features. So he has hardly a word to say about production in\nhis social state. Production is too dangerous a ground for him to\ntread on. On the other hand, in his estimation, distribution is not\nbound up with production but can be settled by an act of the will.\n\n\nLet us consider all the ideas of Herr Duehring as realized. Let us\nthen assume that the society pays each of its members for his work a\nsum in gold in which are incorporated six hours of labor, say twelve\nmarks. Let us now imagine that prices and values are in full accord,\nso that under our hypothesis only the cost of raw materials, the wear\nand tear of machinery, the use of tools and wages are comprehended. A\nsociety then of a hundred working members produces daily goods of the\nvalue of 1200 marks, and in a year of three hundred working days three\nhundred and sixty thousand marks and expends the entire amount on its\nworking members and thus each member has his share of three thousand\nsix hundred marks a year. At the end of the year and at the end of a\nhundred years the society is no better off than it was at the\nbeginning. Accumulation is entirely overlooked. Worse than that, since\naccumulation is a social necessity and the hoarding of gold is an\nelementary form of accumulation, the organization of a society on this\nbasis will necessitate private accumulation on the part of its members\nand consequently the destruction of the society.\n\nHow can this difficulty with respect to the economic society be\novercome? Refuge might be taken in a forcible raising of proceeds and\nthe produce of the society sold at four hundred and eighty thousand\nmarks instead of for three hundred and sixty thousand. But all other\neconomic societies would be in the same fix and each would have to\nmake it out of the other with the result that they would only be\nextorting tribute from their own members.\n\nOr it might find an easy way out by paying for six hours work less\nthan the product of six hours work, eight marks a day instead of\ntwelve, prices remaining the same. It accomplishes in this way plainly\nand openly what formerly it did secretly, it adopts the Marx surplus\nvalue notion to the amount of one hundred and twenty thousand marks a\nyear, since it pays the members under the value of their work and\nreckons the goods which they are only able to buy by its means at\ntheir full value. His economic society therefore can only get a\nreserve fund by adopting the truck system. Therefore one of two things\nis certain, either the economic society practices \"equal work for\nequal work\" and then it can get no funds for the maintenance and\ndevelopment of industry except through private sources, or it does\ncreate such a fund and ceases to practice \"equal work for equal work.\"\n\nThis is the fact about the exchange in the economic society, but what\nabout the form of it? According to Herr Duehring in his economic\nsociety money does not function as money between the members of the\nsociety. It serves merely as a labor certificate; it corresponds with\nthe expression of Marx \"only the share of the individual of the common\nlabor, and his individual claim to the consumption of a certain\nportion of the common product\" and in this function, says Herr\nDuehring, it is just as little money as a theater ticket. In short it\nfunctions in exchange like Owens \"labor-time money.\" As far as the\nmere calculating between amount due for production and the amount to\nbe expended in consumption of the individual member of the society is\nconcerned, paper markers or gold would serve the purpose equally well.\nBut it would not do for other purposes as will appear.\n\nIf the specie does not function as money among the members of a given\nsociety, but as a mark of labor, it functions still less as money in\nthe exchange between different economic societies. According to the\ntheory of Herr Duehring, therefore, specie as money is entirely\nsuperfluous. In fact it would be mere bookkeeping to set off the\nproducts of equal labor against the products of equal labor, according\nto the natural measure of labor-time, taking the labor-hour as a\nunit--if the labor hours are first translated into terms of money.\nExchange is in reality only simple exchange; all surpluses are easily\nand simply equalized by means of bills of exchange on other societies.\nBut when one community has a deficit in its dealings with another\ncommunity it can only make it up by increasing its labor output, if it\nis not to suffer disgrace in the eyes of other communities. The reader\nwill notice here that this is no attempt at social reconstruction. We\nare simply taking the notions of Herr Duehring and showing their\nunavoidable conclusions.\n\nTherefore neither in exchange among the individual members of a\nsociety nor in exchange between different economic societies can gold\nrealize itself as money. Yet Herr Duehring says that the function of\nmoney is carried out even in his \"sociality.\" We must therefore\ndiscover another field of activity for this money function. Herr\nDuehring predicates a quantitatively equal consumption. But he cannot\ncompel that. On the other hand, he prides himself that in his\ncommunity one can do with his money as he will. He cannot prevent one\nman, therefore, from saving money and another from not making his\nwages sufficient. This is indisputable, for he recognises the common\nproperty of the family in inheritance and talks about the duty of\nparents to provide for their children. Thereby his quantitatively\nequal consumption comes a cropper. The young unmarried man can get\nalong splendidly on twelve marks a day, but the widower with eight\nyoung children has a hard time of it. On the other hand the community,\nsince it takes money in payment without ceremony, lets money be\nacquired otherwise than by individual labor when the opportunity\noffers. _Non olet._ It does not know whence it comes. But now arises\nthe chance for money which has up to now played the role of a standard\nof work performed to operate as real money. The opportunities and the\nmotives arise for saving money on the one hand and squandering it on\nthe other. The needy borrows from the saver. The borrowed money taken\nby the community in payment for means of living becomes again, what it\nis in present day society, the social incarnation of human labor, the\nreal measure of labor, the universal means of circulation. All the\nlaws in the world are powerless against it, just as powerless as they\nare against the multiplication table or the chemical composition of\nwater. And the saver of money is in a position to demand interest so\nthat specie functioning as money again becomes a breeder of interest.\n\nSo far as we have only dealt with the operation of specie inside of\nHerr Duehring's economic society. But beyond the confines of that\nsociety the world goes peacefully along its old way. Gold and silver\nremain in the world-market, as world money, as the universal means of\npurchase and payment, as the absolute social incorporation of wealth.\nAnd in this ownership of the precious metals the individual societies\nfind a new motive for saving, for getting rich, for increasing their\nsupply,--the motive of becoming free and independent of the\ncommunities beyond their borders and of converting into money their\npiled up wealth in the world market. The profit hunters transform\nthemselves into traders in the means of circulation, into bankers,\ninto controllers of the means of production, though these may remain\nforever as the property of the economic and trading communities in\nname. Therewith the savers and profit mongers who have been converted\ninto bankers become the lords of the economic and trading communes.\nThe \"sociality\" of Herr Duehring is very distinct from the \"cloudy\nideas\" of the earlier socialists. It has no other end than the\nresurrection of the high finance.\n\nThe only value with which political economy is acquainted is the value\nof commodities. What are commodities? Products produced in a society\ncomposed of more or less separated private producers and therefore\nprivate products. But these private products first become commodities\nwhen they are made not for private use but for the use of someone\nelse, that is for social use. They are converted into objects of\nsocial use by means of exchange. The private producers are therefore\nin a social relationship, they constitute a society. Their private\nproducts, while the private products of each individual, are at the\nsame time, unconsciously and indeed involuntarily, social products\nalso. Wherein does the social character of these private products\nconsist? Plainly in two properties, in the first place because they\nsatisfy human needs but have no use-value for the producers, and in\nthe second place that, while they are the products of individual\nprivate producers, they are at the same time plainly the products of\nhuman labor, of human labor in general. In so far as they have a\nuse-value for other people they can be exchanged; in so far as they\nall possess the common quality of human labor in general, they can be\nmutually compared in exchange by means of this labor. In two similar\nproducts under identical social conditions there may be unequal\namounts of private labor, but equal amounts of human labor in general.\nAn unskillful smith might take as long to make five horseshoes as it\nwould take a skillful smith to make ten. But society does not fix the\nprice according to accidental lack of skill of the one, it recognises\nonly human labor in general, the human labor of the ordinary normal\nskilled smith. Each of the five horseshoes then made by the first does\nnot have any more value than each of the other ten which were made in\nthe same time as the five. Only so far as is socially necessary does\nprivate labor comprehend human labor in general.\n\nTherefore I maintain that a commodity has a certain value, 1st.\nbecause it is a socially useful product, 2nd. because it is produced\nby a private individual for private profit, 3d. because while it is a\nproduct of private labor, it is, at the same time, unconsciously and\ninvoluntarily a social product and exchanges socially according to a\ndefinite social standard, 4th. this standard is not expressed in terms\nof labor, in so many hours, but in another commodity. If, therefore, I\nsay that this clock is worth this piece of cloth and that they are\nboth worth fifty marks, I say that in the clock, the cloth and the\ngold there is an equal amount of social labor. I also affirm that the\namounts of social labor time in them are socially measured and found\nto be equal, not directly and absolutely however, as one measures\nlabor time in hours or days, but in a round about fashion, relatively,\nby means of exchange. I cannot therefore express this certain amount\nof labor-time in labor hours, since their number is not known to me,\nbut I can express it relatively in terms of another commodity, which\nhas the same amount of labor time incorporated in it. The clock is\nworth as much as the piece of cloth.\n\nBut while the production of commodities and the exchange of\ncommodities compel the society resting upon them to take this\nroundabout course, they are impelled to a shortening of the process.\nThey separate from the mass of commodities one sovereign commodity, in\nwhich the value of all other commodities can be universally expressed,\na commodity which is the complete incarnation of social labor, and,\nagainst which, all other commodities may be set in direct\ncomparison--gold. Gold already germinates in the idea of value, it is\nonly developed value. But since the commodity value exists in gold\nalso, itself being a commodity, a new factor arises in the society\nwhich produces and exchanges commodities, a factor with new social\nfunctions and operations. We can now examine this a little more\nclosely.\n\nThe economy of the production of commodities is by no means the only\nscience which has to reckon with relatively known factors. Even in\nphysics, we do not know how many single gas molecules there are in a\ngiven volume of gas, pressure and temperature being given. But we\nknow, as far as Boyle's law is correct, that a given volume of that\ngas has as many molecules as a similar volume of another selected gas\nat the same pressure and the same temperature. We can therefore\ncompare the different volumes of different gases with respect to their\nmolecular content, and, if we take one litre of gas at 0° Fahrenheit\nas the unit we can refer the molecular content of each to this\nstandard. In chemistry the absolute atomic weights of separate\nelements is unknown to us. But we know them relatively when we know\ntheir mutual conditions. And just as the production of commodities and\ntheir economy has a relative expression for the unknown quantities of\nlabor existing in commodities, since it compares these commodities\naccording to the relative amounts of labor which they contain, so\nchemistry makes a relative expression for the amounts of atomic\nweights unknown to it, since it compares the separate elements\naccording to their atomic weights and expresses the weight of the one\nas multiples or factors of the other. And just as the production of\ncommodities elevates gold to the position of an absolute commodity, to\nthe universal equivalent for other commodities, the measure of values,\nso chemistry elevates hydrogen to the position of a chemical\ngold-commodity, since it fixes the atomic weight of hydrogen at 1 and\nreduces the atomic weights of all the other elements in terms of\nhydrogen and expresses them as multiples of its atomic weight.\n\nThe production of commodities is by no means the exclusive form of\nsocial production. In the ancient Indian communities and the family\ncommunities of the Southern Slavs products were not transformed into\ncommodities. The members of the community were directly engaged in\nsocial production, the work was distributed as custom and\ncircumstances required as were the products as they came into the\nrealm of consumption. Direct social production and direct social\nconsumption exclude all exchange of commodities and hence the\ntransformation of products into commodities (at least within the\nconfines of the society) and therewith their transformation into\nvalue.\n\nAs soon as society comes into direct possession of the means of\nproduction and undertakes production as a society, the labor of each,\nhowever distinctive its special useful character may be, becomes\ndirect social labor. The amount of social labor existing in a product\ndoes not then have to be established in a roundabout way, daily\nexperience shows the average amount of human labor necessary. Society\ncan easily determine how many hours of labor there are in a steam\nengine, how many in a hectolitre of wheat of last harvest, how many in\na hundred square yards of cloth of a given quality. It cannot\ntherefore happen that the quantities of labor embodied in commodities,\nwhich will then be absolutely and directly known, will be expressed in\nterms of a measure which is only relative, fluctuating, inadequate and\nabsolute, in a third product, and not in their natural, adequate and\nabsolute measure, time. This would not happen any more than in\nchemistry. One would express the atomic weights indirectly by means of\nhydrogen if it were possible to express them absolutely in their\nadequate measure, that is in real weight, that is in billions or\nquadrillions of grammes. Under the foregoing conditions, then, society\nascribes no value to products. The simple fact that a hundred yards of\ncloth have taken a thousand hours in their production need not be\nexpressed in any distorted or foolish fashion, they would be worth a\nthousand labor hours. Society would then know how much labor each\nobject of use required for its creation. It would have to direct the\nplan of production in accordance with the means of production to which\nlabor-force also belongs. The advantageous effects of the different\nobjects of use and their relations to each other and the creation of\nthe necessary means of labor would be the sole determinants of the\nplan of production. People make things very easily without any\ninterference on the part of the much discussed \"value.\"\n\nThe value idea is the most universal and the most comprehensive\nexpression of the economic conditions of the production of\ncommodities. In the idea of value there is not only the germ of gold\nbut also of those more highly developed forms of commodity production\nand exchange. Since value is the expression of the social labor\nincorporated in individual products, there lies the possibility of a\ndifference between this and the individual labor embodied in the same\nproduct. This difference becomes very apparent to a private producer\nwho abides by an old fashioned method of production while the social\nmethod of production has taken a step forward. It then appears that\nthe sum of all the private manufacturers of a given commodity produce\nan amount in excess of the social needs. Then, since the value of a\ncommodity is expressed only in terms of other commodities and can only\nbe realised in exchange with them, the possibility arises that either\nexchange will cease or that the commodity will not realise its full\nvalue. Finally, the specific commodity labor-force finds its value\nlike that of other wares in the social labor time necessary for its\nproduction. In the value form of the product there is already in\nembryo the entire capitalistic form of production, the antagonism\nbetween the capitalists and the wage-workers, the industrial reserve\narmy, the crisis. The capitalistic system will be abolished by the\nrestoration of true value (just as Catholicism will be abolished by\nthe restoration of the true Pope), or by the restoration of a society\nin which the producer finally dominates his product, by the doing away\nof an economic category which is the most comprehensive expression of\nthe slavery of the producer to his own product.\n\nWhen the society producing commodities has developed the inherent\nvalue form of the commodities, as such, to the gold-form, various\ngerms of value hitherto hidden thereupon begin to sprout. The next\nsubstantial step is the generalising of commodity forms. Gold makes\nobjects directly produced for use into commodities by driving them\ninto exchange. Thereupon the commodity and the gold smite the\ncommunity which is engaged in social production, break one social tie\nafter another and finally dissolve the society into a mass of private\nproducers. Gold establishes, as in India, individual cultivation of\nthe land in the place of communal cultivation, then it destroys the\nsystem of regular distribution of communal lands among individuals and\nmakes ownership final, and lastly it leads to the division of the\ncommunal wood land. Whatever other causes arising from the industrial\ndevelopment may work along with it, gold is always the most powerful\ninstrument for the destruction of the communal society.\n\n\n_The State, the Family, and Education._\n\n(Herr Duehring says \"In the free society there will be no religion,\nsince, in all its degrees, it tends to destroy the originality of the\nchild, in that it places something above nature or behind it, which\nmay be affected by means of works or prayers\" also \"a properly\nconstituted socialist state will do away with all the paraphernalia of\nspiritualistic magic, and all the actual forms of religion.\" Engels\nproceeds--)\n\nReligion will be forbidden. Now, religion is nothing but the fantastic\nreflection in men's minds of the external forces which dominate their\nevery day existence, a reflection in which earthly forces take the\nform of the super-natural. In the beginning of history it is the\nforces of nature which first produce this reflection and in the course\nof development of different peoples give rise to manifold and various\npersonification. This first process is capable of being traced, at\nleast as far as the Indo-European peoples are concerned, by\ncomparative mythology, to its source in the Indian Vedas and its\nadvance can be shown among the Indians, Greeks, Persian, Romans, and\nGermans, and, as far as the material is available, also among the\nCelts, Lithuanians, and Slavs. But, besides the forces of nature, the\nsocial forces dominated men by their apparent necessity, for these\nforces were, in reality, just as strange and unaccountable to men as\nwere the forces of nature. The imaginary forms in which, at first,\nonly the secret forces of nature were reflected, became possessed of\nsocial attributes, became the representatives of historical forces. By\na still further development the natural and social attributes of a\nnumber of gods were transformed to one all-powerful god, who is, on\nhis part, only the reflection of man in the abstract. So arose\nmonotheism, which was historically the latest product of the Greek\nvulgar philosophy, and found its impersonation in the Hebrew\nexclusively national god, Jahve. In this convenient, handy and\nadaptible form religion can continue to exist as the direct, that is,\nthe emotional form of the relations of man to the dominating outside,\nnatural, and social forces, as long as man is under the power of these\nforces. But we have seen over and over again in modern bourgeois\nsociety that man is dominated by the conditions which he has himself\ncreated and that he is controlled by the same means of production\nwhich he himself has made. The fundamental facts which give rise to\nthe reflection by religion therefore still persist and with them the\nreflection persists also. And just because bourgeois economy has a\ncertain insight into the relations of the original causes of this\nphenomenon, it does not alter it a particle. Bourgeois economy can\nneither prevent crises, on the whole, nor can it stop the greed of the\nindividual capitalists, their disgrace and bankruptcy, nor can it\nprevent the individual laborers from suffering deprivation of\nemployment and poverty. Man proposes and God (to wit, the outside\nforce of the capitalistic method of production) disposes. Mere\nknowledge even though it be broader and deeper than bourgeois\neconomics is of no avail to upset the social forces of the master of\nsociety. That is fundamentally a social act. Let us suppose that this\nact is accomplished and society in all its grades freed from the\nslavery to the means of production which it has made but which now\ndominate it as an outside force. Let us suppose that man no longer\nmerely proposes but that he also disposes. Under such conditions the\nlast vestiges of the external force which now dominates man are\ndestroyed, that force which is now reflected in religion. Therewith,\nthe religious reflection itself is destroyed owing to the simple fact\nthat there is nothing more to reflect.\n\nBut Herr Duehring cannot wait until religion dies a natural death. He\ntreats it after a radical fashion. He out Bismarcks Bismarck, he makes\nsevere \"May laws\" not only against Catholicism but against all\nreligion. He sets his gendarmes of the future on religion and thereby\ngives it a longer lease of life by martyrdom. Wherever we look we find\nthat Duehring's socialism has the Prussian brand.\n\nAfter Herr Duehring has blithely got rid of religion he says \"Man can\nnow, since he is dependent upon himself and nature alone,\nintelligently direct the social forces in every way which open to him\nthe course of things and his own existence.\" Let us look for a little\nwhile at that course of things to which the self-reliant human can\ngive direction.\n\nThe first in the course of things by which man becomes self-reliant is\nbeing born. Then during the time of his immaturity his education is in\nthe hands of his mother. \"This period may, as in the old Roman law,\nreach to the age of puberty, that is to about fourteen years of age.\"\nOnly where the older boys do not respect the authority of the mother\ndoes the father's assistance play a part and the public method of\neducation robs this of all harm. With puberty the boy comes under the\nnatural care of his father, where this is exercised in a truly\nfatherly manner, in other cases society takes charge of his education.\n\nAs Herr Duehring has already maintained the position that it is\npossible to convert the capitalistic methods of production into social\nmethods without disturbing the mode of production itself, so he here\nseems to think that one can separate the modern bourgeois family from\nits entire economic foundations without any change in the whole form\nof the family. This form is so permanent in his estimation that he\nthinks of the old Roman jurisprudence, in an \"improved\" form, as the\nmodel of the family for ever, and he does not conceive of the family\notherwise than as a permanent unit. The Utopists have the superiority\nover Herr Duehring here. In their estimation a really free mutual\ncondition would arise in all the family relations as a result of the\nfree association and the public ownership of the instruments of\nproduction together with the institution of a system of public\neducation. And Marx has shown furthermore in his \"Capital\" how \"the\ngreater industry, which takes widows, young persons and children of\nboth sexes from the home, and employs them in organized social\nproductive processes, lays the foundation for a higher form of the\nfamily and better conditions for people of both sexes.\"\n\n\n\nLANDMARKS OF SCIENTIFIC SOCIALISM\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\nThe foregoing pages will have given the reader some idea of the\ninfinite care which Engels expended in order to keep abreast of the\nchief scientific discoveries of his times. He was as painstaking as a\ngenius. On the other hand, his modesty was almost absurd, for he never\nventured to claim anything for himself, and such ability as was\ndisplayed in the laying of the economic political foundations of the\nsocialist movement was invariably credited by him to the superior\ntalent and comprehension of Marx.\n\nThere is no question that the work constitutes a most effective reply\nto the arguments of Duehring, with whom, poor fellow, we need no\nlonger trouble ourselves. It constitutes, moreover, a very formidable\nanswer to all those who seek for a justification of the socialist\nmovement in those abstract conceptions which the average man finds it\nso hard to escape. In fact, so removed is the point of view of the\nwriter of the foregoing pages from that of the man in the street that\nit is doubtful whether it is possible for more than a comparatively\nfew students thoroughly to grasp the significance of the dialectic and\nto apply it in a satisfactory and effective fashion. Still, there is\nno question that this understanding of the socialist movement, as a\nmovement, is absolutely required of all who can be considered as\ntaking an intelligent and useful attitude with regard to social and\npolitical questions.\n\nThe possession of this key gave the two founders of the modern\nsocialist movement such a comprehension of the tendencies of modern\ncivilization as enabled them to make those economic and political\npredictions which have been so completely fulfilled.\n\nThere is little need to call attention to the fact that much of\nEngels' argument is now antiquated in face of the growth of science\nand the almost incredible development of mechanical invention and the\nmaterial progress consequent upon it. It could not have been\notherwise. The wonders of Engels' day are the commonplaces of our\nexistence. The machines, which he considered so wonderful and so\nchange-compelling have already been \"scrapped\" for new machines of\ngreater power and capacity for production. The remark that the\nbattleship had in his time arrived at a point where it was as\nexpensive as it was unfit for fighting sounds almost ridiculous in\nface of the tremendous development of the engines of naval warfare\nsince he wrote, and the invention and use of the submarine. Still it\nmust be remembered that there has been no really great test of ships\nof war since Engels' day and that the expense of modern navies is\nworrying the governments to distraction. Only a few weeks ago Lord\nCharles Beresford refused to accept the command of the Channel\nSquadron unless provided with an equipment the expense of which seemed\nalmost intolerable to Great Britain, wealthy as that country is and\ndependent as she is on the maintenance of the sea power. Great armies\nare still on the increase and the expense of their support combined\nwith the unsatisfactoriness of their performances is by no means\nreassuring to those who have the responsibility for national military\norganization. The Boer War proved the unreliability of the armed\nforces of one power, at all events, and the performances of great\nmasses of trained men in the Russo-Japanese conflict have not inspired\nany very great respect for the effectiveness of these colossal and\nexpensive fighting machines. Together with the breakdown of armies and\nnavies, as a material fact, there has grown up a strong prejudice\nagainst their employment, and the anti-war attitude of the\ninternational proletariat has been supplemented and strengthened by\nthe distinct growth of an international peace spirit in certain\nsections of the middle class. So that in spite of superficial\nappearances it does not seem to be so very unlikely that the action of\nthe dialectic will be manifest in the destruction of modern armaments,\nat least as far as the greater nations are concerned, though there is\nlittle doubt that military forces will still be maintained for the\npurpose of bullying and overawing the smaller and weaker peoples.\n\nMention has already been made of the fact that Engels never really\ndivested himself of the old \"forty-eight\" spirit. The notion that a\nrevolution would break out somewhere in the near future finds a\ncuriously fixed, if unexpressed, lodgment in his mind. One cannot help\nfeeling that he expected things to mature earlier than they have done\nand that he anticipated that changes in the mode of production and the\ndevelopment of industry would have made a stronger impression upon the\nmind of the proletarian than history shows to have been the case. This\nlatent, but still persistent, notion is in curious contrast to the\nalmost detached way in which, particularly in his later years, he\nviews the course of economic and political events. He never really in\nfact divested his mind of the notion of the imminence of social\nrevolution, for in his 1892 preface to \"The Condition of the Working\nClass in England in 1844\" he says, \"I have taken care not to strike\nout of the text the many prophecies, amongst others that of an\nimminent social revolution in England, which my youthful ardor induced\nme to venture upon.\" His youthful ardor seems never to have really\nabated in that respect. The dreams of boyhood seem to have haunted him\nand the old fighter stirred uneasily in his study chair at the echoes\nof past conflicts in which he also heard the bugles of the coming\nfight. To those who have watched the development of Engels' thought,\nas shown in his works, this philosophic, unemotional way of looking at\nthings proves the effect of experience and age upon the fighter. He\nstarted with a heart inflamed with the wrongs of the suffering, as the\ndamning pages of the work above cited show; he ends with a calm and\ndispassionate enquiry (apart from what he considered to be the\nexigencies of controversy) into the fundamental causes of economic and\nsocial progress. The burning enthusiasm and white-hot indignation had\ndied down in him ere he reached the stage of the Duehring controversy.\nHe finds that although not everything that is real is reasonable, to\nuse the phrase against which he has fulminated in \"Feuerbach,\"\nnevertheless every step in human progress has been an essential step\nand it is impossible to hurry things. To the proletarian he looks of\ncourse as the next great actor in the drama of social development. But\nthe proletarian, while his destiny is indubitable, is still not a\nbeing apart from existing conditions. He exists in the conditions, is\nin fact part of the conditions, and, while at war with them, takes on\nthe color of his surroundings. The facts of life have driven him to\nan unconscious rejection of old faiths and old philosophies but they\nhave not forced him to take up the sword against the actual realities\nof modern life, to which he appears, in fact, to submit himself with a\nhumility which is at least provoking to the eager and enthusiastic\nrevolutionist.\n\nWhat wonders of economic organization, what triumphs in mechanical\nproduction have been achieved since Engels gave the last revision to\nthis book in 1894 we in the United States at least have cause to know.\nThe entire structure of production has been modified from top to\nbottom, the old individual doctrine has fallen victim to its\ndialectic, and concentrated industry and collective capital now rise\nsupreme over the ruins of that individualism which gave them birth and\nto which they owe their existence. In the name of the individual the\nindividual is denied. The courts hand down decisions in the name of\nindividual liberty which have for their result the dethroning and\nextermination of the individual. The conglomeration of individual\nstates which was considered the very foundation of the American\ngovernment, and the outward and visible sign of collective sovereignty\nis already in its death throes. The dialectic of the United States is\nin course of development and there comes about in consequence the\nbirth of the United Imperial Republic, a republic which is so only in\nname, which is, in fact, as little of a republic as were those\noligarchies of the Middle Ages whose very existence defamed the name\nof republic. The old things have passed away, all things have become\nnew.\n\nStill there is one factor which has not really appreciably changed,\none factor which is always confronted by the same necessity, the\nnecessity of maintaining its existence. This factor is the working\nclass. The dialectic is at work with the working class also, and that\nwhich according to the individualistic notion consisted of isolated\nunits seeking their daily bread in meek conformity with the laws of\ncontract and property will disappear into that great collective\norganized body of labor which spurns the theories of contract and\nthereby makes itself no longer subject but master.\n\n                                                    AUSTIN LEWIS.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Typographical errors corrected in the text:               |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Page  40: socalled replaced with so-called                |\n    | Page  85: \"each single each single\" replaced with         |\n    |           \"each single\"                                   |\n    | Page  89: \"self contained\" replaced with \"self-contained\" |\n    | Page 102: \"any any\" replaced with \"any\"                   |\n    | Page 126: Boyles replaced with Boyle's                    |\n    | Page 128: prevailng replaced with prevailing              |\n    | Page 134: stpuid replaced with stupid                     |\n    | Page 140: excepiton replaced with exception               |\n    | Page 154: inaccurrate replaced with inaccurate            |\n    | Page 171: \"serve it is a midwife\" replaced with           |\n    |           \"serve it as a midwife\"                         |\n    | Page 173: \"a grain or barley\" replaced with               |\n    |           \"a grain of barley\"                             |\n    | Page 175: discusion replaced with discussion              |\n    | Page 181: unberable replaced with unbearable              |\n    | Page 186: framers replaced with farmers                   |\n    | Page 192: \"so so splendidly\" replaced with                |\n    |           \"so splendidly\"                                 |\n    | Page 192: bourgeoise replaced with bourgeoisie            |\n    | Page 193: maunfacture replaced with manufacture           |\n    | Page 194: inventivness replaced with inventiveness        |\n    | Page 205: \"these peasant\" replaced with \"these peasants\"  |\n    | Page 217: impossiblity replaced with impossibility        |\n    | Page 219: devolpment replaced with development            |\n    | Page 231: \"on the first place\" replaced with              |\n    |           \"in the first place\"                            |\n    | Page 233: entrepeneurs replaced with entrepreneurs        |\n    | Page 250: communties replaced with communities            |\n    | Page 251: horeshoes replaced with horseshoes              |\n    | Page 257: himsel replaced with himself                    |\n    | Page 265: develment replaced with development             |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31933", "title": "Landmarks of Scientific Socialism: \"Anti-Duehring\"", "author": "", "publication_year": 1907, "metadata_title": "Landmarks of Scientific Socialism: \"Anti-Duehring\"", "metadata_author": "Friedrich Engels", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:16.417780", "source_chars": 459225, "chars": 459225, "talkie_tokens": 98814}}
{"text": "Produced by Mark C. Orton, Christine P. Travers and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\navailable by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected.\nHyphenation and accentuation have been standardised, all other\ninconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling has been\nmaintained.\n\nBold text is marked with =.]\n\n\n\nLIVES OF THE MOST EMINENT PAINTERS SCULPTORS AND ARCHITECTS BY GIORGIO\nVASARI:\n\nVOLUME VIII. BASTIANO TO TADDEO ZUCCHERO 1914\n\nNEWLY TRANSLATED BY GASTON Du C. DE VERE. WITH FIVE HUNDRED\nILLUSTRATIONS: IN TEN VOLUMES\n\n[Illustration: 1511-1574]\n\nPHILIP LEE WARNER, PUBLISHER TO THE MEDICI SOCIETY, LIMITED 7 GRAFTON\nST. LONDON, W. 1912-15\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOLUME VIII\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\n    BASTIANO DA SAN GALLO, CALLED ARISTOTILE                           3\n\n    BENVENUTO GAROFALO AND GIROLAMO DA CARPI, AND OTHER LOMBARDS      23\n\n    RIDOLFO, DAVID, AND BENEDETTO GHIRLANDAJO                         59\n\n    GIOVANNI DA UDINE                                                 73\n\n    BATTISTA FRANCO                                                   89\n\n    GIOVAN FRANCESCO RUSTICI                                         111\n\n    FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI                                   133\n\n    FRANCESCO SALVIATI                                               161\n\n    DANIELLO RICCIARELLI                                             197\n\n    TADDEO ZUCCHERO                                                  215\n\n    INDEX OF NAMES                                                   265\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS TO VOLUME VIII\n\nPLATES IN COLOUR\n\n                                                             FACING PAGE\n\n    ALESSANDRO BONVICINO (MORETTO DA BRESCIA)\n        S. Justina\n            Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 218                             22\n\n    GAUDENZIO FERRARI\n        Madonna and Child\n            Milan: Brera, 277                                         56\n\n    RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO\n        Portrait of a Lady\n            Florence: Pitti, 224                                      64\n\n    JACOPO TINTORETTO\n        Bacchus and Ariadne\n            Venice: Doges' Palace, Sala Anticollegio                  96\n\n\nPLATES IN MONOCHROME\n\n    FRANCESCO UBERTINI (IL BACCHIACCA)\n        The Baptist in Jordan\n            Berlin: Kaiser Friedrich Museum, 267                      18\n\n    BENVENUTO GAROFALO\n        The Madonna and Child with Saints\n            Ferrara: Pinacoteca, 1514                                 24\n\n    BENVENUTO GAROFALO\n        The Massacre of the Innocents\n            Ferrara: Pinacoteca, 1519                                 26\n\n    BENVENUTO GAROFALO\n        The Adoration of the Magi\n            Ferrara: Pinacoteca, 1537                                 30\n\n    NICCOLÒ (NICCOLÒ DELL'ABATE)\n        Scene from the Æneid\n            Modena: Reale Galleria Estense                            34\n\n    IL MODENA (ANTONIO BEGARELLI)\n        The Madonna and Child with S. John\n            Modena: Museo Civico                                      38\n\n    IL MODENA (ANTONIO BEGARELLI)\n        Four Saints\n            Modena: S. Pietro                                         40\n\n    GIULIO CAMPO\n        The Purification of the Virgin\n            Cremona: S. Margherita                                    42\n\n    SOFONISBA ANGUISCIUOLA\n        Portrait of the Artist\n            Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 109                             44\n\n    GIROLAMO ROMANINO\n        The Madonna and Child with Saints\n            Brescia: S. Francesco                                     46\n\n    ALESSANDRO BONVICINO (MORETTO DA BRESCIA)\n        The Coronation of the Virgin\n            Brescia: SS. Nazzaro e Celso                              48\n\n    GIAN GIROLAMO BRESCIANO (SAVOLDO)\n        The Adoration of the Shepherds\n            Brescia: Palazzo Martinengo                               50\n\n    BRAMANTINO\n        The Holy Family\n            Milan: Brera, 279                                         50\n\n    BRAMANTINO\n        A Warrior\n            Milan: Brera, 494                                         52\n\n    CESARE DA SESTO\n       Salome\n           Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 91                               54\n\n    GAUDENZIO (GAUDENZIO FERRARI)\n        S. Paul\n            Paris: Louvre, 1285                                       56\n\n    RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO\n        Christ bearing the Cross\n            London: N. G., 1143                                       60\n\n    RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO\n        The Miracle of S. Zanobi\n            Florence: Uffizi, 1275                                    62\n\n    ANTONIO DEL CERAIOLO\n        The Crucifixion with SS. Francis and Mary Magdalene\n            Florence: Accademia, 163                                  66\n\n    RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO\n        The Madonna giving the Girdle to S. Thomas\n            Prato: Duomo                                              70\n\n    GIOVANNI DA UDINE\n        Arabesques\n            Rome: The Vatican, Loggia di Raffaello                    78\n\n    JACOPO TINTORETTO\n        The Pool of Bethesda\n            Venice: S. Rocco                                          98\n\n    JACOPO TINTORETTO\n        The Last Judgment\n            Venice: S. Maria dell'Orto                               102\n\n    JACOPO TINTORETTO\n        The Miracle of S. Mark\n            Venice: Accademia                                        104\n\n    JACOPO TINTORETTO\n        The Apotheosis of S. Rocco\n            Venice: Scuola di S. Rocco                               106\n\n    GIOVAN FRANCESCO RUSTICI\n        S. John Preaching\n            Florence: The Baptistry                                  114\n\n    FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI\n        S. Cosmas\n            Florence: S. Lorenzo, Medici Chapel                      136\n\n    FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI\n        Tomb of Andrea Doria\n            Genoa: S. Matteo                                         144\n\n    FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI\n        Fountain of Neptune\n            Messina: Piazza del Duomo                                146\n\n    FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI\n        High Altar\n            Bologna: S. Maria dei Servi                              150\n\n    FRANCESCO SALVIATI (FRANCESCO DE' ROSSI)\n        Portrait of a Man\n            Florence: Uffizi, 1256                                   162\n\n    FRANCESCO SALVIATI (FRANCESCO DE' ROSSI)\n        Justice\n            Florence: Bargello                                       174\n\n    FRANCESCO SALVIATI (FRANCESCO DE' ROSSI)\n        The Deposition\n            Florence: S. Croce, the Refectory                        180\n\n    FRANCESCO DAL PRATO\n        Medal of Pope Clement VII.\n            London: British Museum                                   190\n\n    GIUSEPPE DEL SALVIATI (GIUSEPPE PORTA)\n        The Reconciliation of Pope Alexander III and\n        Frederick Barbarossa\n            Rome: The Vatican, Sala Regia                            192\n\n    DANIELLO RICCIARELLI\n        The Descent from the Cross\n            Rome: SS. Trinita dei Monti                              200\n\n    DANIELLO RICCIARELLI\n        The Massacre of the Innocents\n            Florence: Uffizi, 1107                                   208\n\n    FEDERIGO ZUCCHERO\n        Portrait of the Artist\n            Florence: Uffizi, 270                                    226\n\n\n\n\nBASTIANO DA SAN GALLO, CALLED ARISTOTILE\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF BASTIANO DA SAN GALLO, CALLED ARISTOTILE,\n\nPAINTER AND SCULPTOR OF FLORENCE\n\n\nWhen Pietro Perugino, by that time an old man, was painting the\naltar-piece of the high-altar of the Servites at Florence, a nephew of\nGiuliano and Antonio da San Gallo, called Bastiano, was placed with him\nto learn the art of painting. But the boy had not been long with\nPerugino, when he saw the manner of Michelagnolo in the cartoon for the\nHall, of which we have already spoken so many times, in the house of the\nMedici, and was so struck with admiration, that he would not return any\nmore to Pietro's workshop, considering that his manner, beside that of\nBuonarroti, was dry, petty, and by no means worthy to be imitated. And\nsince, among those who used to go to paint that cartoon, which was for a\ntime the school of all who wished to attend to painting, the most able\nof all was held to be Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, Bastiano chose him as his\ncompanion, in order to learn colouring from him, and so they became fast\nfriends. But not ceasing therefore to give his attention to that cartoon\nand to work at those nudes, Bastiano copied all together in a little\ncartoon the whole composition of that mass of figures, which not one of\nall those who had worked at it had ever drawn as a whole. And since he\napplied himself to it with all the earnestness that was in him, it\nproved that he was afterwards able on any occasion to render an account\nof the attitudes, muscles, and movements of those figures, and of the\nreasons that had caused Buonarroti to depict certain difficult postures;\nin doing which he would speak slowly and sententiously, with great\ngravity, so that a company of able craftsmen gave him the name of\nAristotile, which, moreover, sat upon him all the better because it\nappeared that according to an ancient portrait of that supreme\nphilosopher and confidant of Nature, Bastiano much resembled him.\n\nBut to return to the little cartoon drawn by Aristotile; he held it\nalways so dear, that, after Buonarroti's original had perished, he would\nnever let it go either at a price or on any other terms, or allow it to\nbe copied; indeed, he would not show it, save only as a man shows\nprecious things to his dearest friends, as a favour. Afterwards, in the\nyear 1542, this drawing was copied in oils by Aristotile, at the\npersuasion of Giorgio Vasari, who was much his friend, in a picture in\nchiaroscuro, which was sent through Monsignor Giovio to King Francis of\nFrance, who held it very dear, and gave a handsome reward to San Gallo.\nThis Vasari did in order that the memory of that work might be\npreserved, seeing that drawings perish very readily.\n\nIn his youth, then, Aristotile delighted, as the others of his house\nhave done, in the matters of architecture, and he therefore gave his\nattention to measuring the ground-plans of buildings and with great\ndiligence to the study of perspective; in doing which he was much\nassisted by a brother of his, called Giovan Francesco, who was employed\nas architect in the building of S. Pietro, under Giuliano Leno, the\nproveditor. Giovan Francesco, having drawn Aristotile to Rome, employed\nhim to keep the accounts in a great business that he had of furnaces for\nlime and works in pozzolana and tufa, which brought him very large\nprofits; and in this way Bastiano lived for a time, without doing\nanything but draw in the Chapel of Michelagnolo, and resort, by means of\nM. Giannozzo Pandolfini, Bishop of Troia, to the house of Raffaello da\nUrbino. After a time, Raffaello having made for that Bishop the design\nof a palace which he wished to erect in the Via di S. Gallo at Florence,\nthe above-named Giovan Francesco was sent to put it into execution,\nwhich he did with all the diligence wherewith it is possible for such a\nwork to be carried out. But in the year 1530, Giovan Francesco being\ndead, and the siege of Florence in progress, that work, as we shall\nrelate, was left unfinished. Its completion was afterwards entrusted to\nhis brother Aristotile, who, as will be told, had returned to Florence\nmany and many a year before, after having amassed a large sum of money\nunder the above-named Giuliano Leno, in the business that his brother\nhad left him in Rome; with a part of which money Aristotile bought, at\nthe persuasion of Luigi Alamanni and Zanobi Buondelmonte, who were much\nhis friends, a site for a house behind the Convent of the Servites, near\nAndrea del Sarto, where, with the intention of taking a wife and living\nat leisure, he afterwards built a very commodious little house.\n\nAfter returning to Florence, then, Aristotile, being much inclined to\nperspective, to which he had given his attention under Bramante in Rome,\nappeared to delight in scarcely any other thing; but nevertheless,\nbesides executing a portrait or two from the life, he painted in oils,\non two large canvases, the Eating of the Fruit by Adam and Eve and their\nExpulsion from Paradise, which he did after copies that he had made from\nthe works painted by Michelagnolo on the vaulting of the Chapel in Rome.\nThese two canvases of Aristotile's, because of his having taken them\nbodily from that place, were little extolled; but, on the other hand, he\nwas well praised for all that he did in Florence for the entry of Pope\nLeo, making, in company with Francesco Granacci, a triumphal arch\nopposite to the door of the Badia, with many scenes, which was very\nbeautiful. In like manner, at the nuptials of Duke Lorenzo de' Medici,\nhe was of great assistance in all the festive preparations, and\nparticularly in some prospect-views for comedies, to Franciabigio and\nRidolfo Ghirlandajo, who had charge of everything.\n\nHe afterwards executed many pictures of Our Lady in oils, partly from\nhis own fancy, and partly copied from the works of others; and among\nthem he painted one similar to that which Raffaello executed for S.\nMaria del Popolo in Rome, with the Madonna covering the Child with a\nveil, which now belongs to Filippo dell'Antella. And another is in the\npossession of the heirs of Messer Ottaviano de' Medici, together with\nthe portrait of the above-named Lorenzo, which Aristotile copied from\nthat which Raffaello had executed. Many other pictures he painted about\nthe same time, which were sent to England. But, recognizing that he had\nno invention, and how much study and good grounding in design painting\nrequired, and that for lack of these qualities he would not be able to\nachieve any great excellence, Aristotile resolved that his profession\nshould be architecture and perspective, executing scenery for comedies,\nto which he was much inclined, on every occasion that might present\nitself to him. And so, the above-mentioned Bishop of Troia having once\nmore set his hand to his palace in the Via di S. Gallo, the charge of\nthis was given to Aristotile, who in time carried it with much credit to\nhimself to the condition in which it is now to be seen.\n\nMeanwhile Aristotile had formed a great friendship with Andrea del\nSarto, his neighbour, from whom he learned to do many things to\nperfection, attending with much study to perspective; wherefore he was\nafterwards employed in many festivals that were held by certain\ncompanies of gentlemen who were living at Florence in those peaceful\ntimes. Thus, when the Mandragola, a most amusing comedy, was to be\nperformed by the Company of the Cazzuola in the house of Bernardino di\nGiordano, on the Canto a Monteloro, Andrea del Sarto and Aristotile\nexecuted the scenery, which was very beautiful; and not long afterwards\nAristotile executed the scenery for another comedy by the same author,\nin the house of the furnace-master Jacopo at the Porta S. Friano. From\nthat kind of scenery and prospect-views, which much pleased the citizens\nin general, and in particular Signor Alessandro and Signor Ippolito de'\nMedici (who were in Florence at that time, under the care of Silvio\nPasserini, Cardinal of Cortona), Aristotile acquired so great a name,\nthat it was ever afterwards his principal profession; indeed, so some\nwill have it, his name of Aristotile was given him because he appeared\nin truth to be in perspective what Aristotle was in philosophy.\n\nBut, as it often happens that from the height of peace and tranquillity\none falls into wars and discords, with the year 1527 all peace and\ngladness in Florence were changed into sorrow and distress, for by that\ntime the Medici had been driven out, and then came the plague and the\nsiege, and for many years life was anything but gay; wherefore no good\ncould be done then by craftsmen, and Aristotile lived in those days\nalways in his own house, attending to his studies and fantasies.\nAfterwards, however, when Duke Alessandro had assumed the government of\nFlorence, and matters were beginning to clear up a little, the young men\nof the Company of the Children of the Purification, which is opposite to\nS. Marco, arranged to perform a tragi-comedy taken from the Book of\nKings, of the tribulations that ensued from the violation of Tamar,\nwhich had been composed by Giovan Maria Primerani. Thereupon the charge\nof the scenery and prospect-views was given to Aristotile, and he\nprepared the most beautiful scenery, considering the capacity of the\nplace, that had ever been made. And since, besides the beauty of the\nsetting, the tragi-comedy was beautiful in itself and well performed,\nand very pleasing to Duke Alessandro and his sister, who heard it, their\nExcellencies caused the author, who was in prison, to be liberated, on\nthe condition that he should write another comedy, but after his own\nfancy. Which having been done by him, Aristotile made in the loggia of\nthe garden of the Medici, on the Piazza di S. Marco, a very beautiful\nscene and prospect-view, full of colonnades, niches, tabernacles,\nstatues, and many other fanciful things that had not been used up to\nthat time in festive settings of that kind; which all gave infinite\nsatisfaction, and greatly enriched that sort of painting. The subject of\nthe piece was Joseph falsely accused of having sought to violate his\nmistress, and therefore imprisoned, and then liberated after his\ninterpretation of the King's dream.\n\nThis scenery having also much pleased the Duke, he ordained, when the\ntime came, that for his nuptials with Madama Margherita of Austria\nanother comedy should be performed, with scenery by Aristotile, in the\nCompany of Weavers, which is joined to the house of the Magnificent\nOttaviano de' Medici, in the Via di S. Gallo. To which having set his\nhand with all the study, diligence, and labour of which he was capable,\nAristotile executed all those preparations to perfection. Now Lorenzo di\nPier Francesco de' Medici, having himself written the piece that was to\nbe performed, had charge of the whole representation and the music; and,\nbeing such a man that he was always thinking in what way he might be\nable to kill the Duke, by whom he was so much favoured and beloved, he\nthought to find a way of bringing him to his end in the preparations for\nthe play. And so, where the steps of the prospect-view and the floor of\nthe stage ended, he caused the wing-walls on either side to be thrown\ndown to the height of eighteen braccia, intending to build up in that\nspace a room in the form of a purse-shaped recess, which was to be of\nconsiderable size, and a stage on a level with the stage proper, which\nmight serve for the choral music. Above this first stage he wished to\nmake another for harpsichords, organs, and other suchlike instruments\nthat cannot be moved or changed about with ease; and the space where he\nhad pulled down the walls, in front, he wished to have covered with\ncurtains painted with prospect-views and buildings. All which pleased\nAristotile, because it enriched the proscenium, and left the stage free\nof musicians, but he was by no means pleased that the rafters upholding\nthe roof, which had been left without the walls below to support them,\nshould be arranged otherwise than with a great double arch, which should\nbe very strong; whereas Lorenzo wished that it should be sustained by\nsome props, and by nothing else that could in any way interfere with the\nmusic. Aristotile, knowing that this was a trap certain to fall headlong\ndown on a multitude of people, would not on any account agree in the\nmatter with Lorenzo, who in truth had no other intention but to kill the\nDuke in that catastrophe. Wherefore, perceiving that he could not drive\nhis excellent reasons into Lorenzo's head, he had determined that he\nwould withdraw from the whole affair, when Giorgio Vasari, who was the\nprotégé of Ottaviano de' Medici, and was at that time, although a mere\nlad, working in the service of Duke Alessandro, hearing, while he was\npainting on that scenery, the disputes and differences of opinion that\nthere were between Lorenzo and Aristotile, set himself dexterously\nbetween them, and, after hearing both the one and the other and\nperceiving the danger that Lorenzo's method involved, showed that\nwithout making any arch or interfering in any other way with the stage\nfor the music, those rafters of the roof could be arranged easily\nenough. Two double beams of wood, he said, each of fifteen braccia,\nshould be placed along the wall, and fastened firmly with clamps of iron\nbeside the other rafters, and upon them the central rafter could be\nsecurely placed, for in that way it would lie as safely as upon an arch,\nneither more nor less. But Lorenzo, refusing to believe either Giorgio,\nwho proposed the plan, or Aristotile, who approved it, did nothing but\noppose them with his cavillings, which made his evil intention known to\neveryone. Whereupon Giorgio, having seen what a terrible disaster might\nresult from this, and that it was nothing less than an attempt to kill\nthree hundred persons, said that come what might he would speak of it to\nthe Duke, to the end that he might send to examine and render safe the\nwhole fabric. Hearing this, and fearing to betray himself, Lorenzo,\nafter many words, gave leave to Aristotile that he should follow the\nadvice of Giorgio; and so it was done. This scenery, then, was the most\nbeautiful not only of all that Aristotile had executed up to that time,\nbut also of all that had ever been made by others, for he made in it\nmany corner-pieces in relief, and also, in the opening of the stage, a\nrepresentation of a most beautiful triumphal arch in imitation of\nmarble, covered with scenes and statues, not to mention the streets\nreceding into the distance, and many other things wrought with\nmarvellous invention and incredible diligence and study.\n\nAfter Duke Alessandro had been killed by the above-named Lorenzo, and\nCosimo had been elected Duke; in 1536, there came to be married to him\nSignora Leonora di Toledo, a lady in truth most rare, and of such great\nand incomparable worth, that she may be likened without question, and\nperchance preferred, to the most celebrated and renowned woman in\nancient history. And for the nuptials, which took place on the 27th of\nJune in the year 1539, Aristotile made in the great court of the Medici\nPalace, where the fountain is, another scenic setting that represented\nPisa, in which he surpassed himself, ever improving and achieving\nvariety; wherefore it will never be possible to put together a more\nvaried arrangement of doors and windows, or façades of palaces more\nfantastic and bizarre, or streets and distant views that recede more\nbeautifully and comply more perfectly with the rules of perspective. And\nhe depicted there, besides all this, the Leaning Tower of the Duomo, the\nCupola, and the round Temple of S. Giovanni, with other features of that\ncity. Of the flights of steps that he made in the work, and how everyone\nwas deceived by them, I shall say nothing, lest I should appear to be\nsaying the same that has been said at other times; save only this, that\nthe flight of steps which appeared to rise from the ground to the stage\nwas octagonal in the centre and quadrangular at the sides--an artifice\nextraordinary in its simplicity, which gave such grace to the\nprospect-view above, that it would not be possible to find anything\nbetter of that kind. He then arranged with much ingenuity a lantern of\nwood in the manner of an arch, behind all the buildings, with a sun one\nbraccio high, in the form of a ball of crystal filled with distilled\nwater, behind which were two lighted torches, which rendered the sky of\nthe scenery and prospect-view so luminous, that it had the appearance of\nthe real and natural sun. This sun, which had around it an ornament of\ngolden rays that covered the curtain, was drawn little by little by\nmeans of a small windlass that was there, in such a manner that at the\nbeginning of the performance the sun appeared to be rising, and then,\nhaving climbed to the centre of the arch, it so descended that at the\nend of the piece it was setting and sinking below the horizon.\n\nThe author of the piece was Antonio Landi, a gentleman of Florence, and\nthe interludes and music were in the hands of Giovan Battista Strozzi, a\nman of very beautiful genius, who was then very young. But since enough\nwas written at that time about the other things that adorned the\nperformance, such as the interludes and music, I shall do no more than\nmention who they were who executed certain pictures, and it must suffice\nfor the present to know that all the other things were carried out by\nthe above-named Giovan Battista Strozzi, Tribolo, and Aristotile. Below\nthe scenery of the comedy, the walls at the sides were divided into six\npainted pictures, each eight braccia in height and five in breadth, and\neach having around it an ornamental border one braccio and two-thirds in\nwidth, which formed a frieze about it and was moulded on the side next\nthe picture, containing four medallions in the form of a cross, with two\nLatin mottoes for each scene, and in the rest were suitable devices.\nOver all, right round, ran a frieze of blue baize, save where the scene\nwas, above which was a canopy, likewise of baize, which covered the\nwhole court. On that frieze of baize, above every painted story, were\nthe arms of some of the most illustrious families with which the house\nof Medici had kinship.\n\nBeginning with the eastern side, then, next to the stage, in the first\npicture, which was by the hand of Francesco Ubertini, called Il\nBacchiacca, was the Return from Exile of the Magnificent Cosimo de'\nMedici; the device consisted of two Doves on a Golden Bough, and the\narms in the frieze were those of Duke Cosimo. In the second, which was\nby the same hand, was the Journey of the Magnificent Lorenzo to Naples;\nthe device a Pelican, and the arms those of Duke Lorenzo--namely, Medici\nand Savoy. In the third picture, painted by Pier Francesco di Jacopo di\nSandro, was Pope Leo X on his visit to Florence, being carried by his\nfellow-citizens under the baldachin; the device was an Upright Arm, and\nthe arms those of Duke Giuliano--Medici and Savoy. In the fourth\npicture, by the same hand, was Biegrassa taken by Signor Giovanni, who\nwas to be seen issuing victorious from that city; the device was Jove's\nThunderbolt, and the arms in the frieze were those of Duke\nAlessandro--Austria and Medici. In the fifth, Pope Clement was crowning\nCharles V at Bologna; the device was a Serpent that was biting its own\ntail, and the arms were those of France and Medici. That picture was by\nthe hand of Domenico Conti, the disciple of Andrea del Sarto, who proved\nthat he had no great ability, being deprived of the assistance of\ncertain young men whose services he had thought to use, since all, both\ngood and bad, were employed; wherefore he was laughed at, who, much\npresuming, at other times with little discretion had laughed at others.\nIn the sixth scene, the last on that side, by the hand of Bronzino, was\nthe Dispute that took place at Naples, before the Emperor, between Duke\nAlessandro and the Florentine exiles, with the River Sebeto and many\nfigures, and this was a most beautiful picture, and better than any of\nthe others; the device was a Palm, and the arms those of Spain.\n\nOpposite to the Return of Cosimo the Magnificent (that is, on the other\nside), was the happy day of the birth of Duke Cosimo; the device was a\nPhoenix, and the arms those of the city of Florence--namely, a Red Lily.\nBeside this was the Creation, or rather, Election of the same Cosimo to\nthe dignity of Duke; the device was the Caduceus of Mercury, and in the\nfrieze were the arms of the Castellan of the Fortress; and this scene,\nwhich was designed by Francesco Salviati, who had to depart in those\ndays from Florence, was finished excellently well by Carlo Portelli of\nLoro. In the third were the three proud Campanian envoys, driven out of\nthe Roman Senate for their presumptuous demand, as Titus Livius relates\nin the twentieth book of his history; and in that place they represented\nthree Cardinals who had come to Duke Cosimo, but in vain, with the\nintention of removing him from the government; the device was a Winged\nHorse, and the arms those of the Salviati and the Medici. In the fourth\nwas the Taking of Monte Murlo; the device an Egyptian Horn-owl over the\nhead of Pyrrhus, and the arms those of the houses of Sforza and Medici;\nin which scene, painted by Antonio di Donnino, a bold painter of things\nin motion, might be seen in the distance a skirmish of horsemen, which\nwas so beautiful that this picture, by the hand of a person reputed to\nbe feeble, proved to be much better than the works of some others who\nwere able men only by report. In the fifth could be seen Duke Alessandro\nbeing invested by his Imperial Majesty with all the devices and insignia\nof a Duke; the device was a Magpie, with leaves of laurel in its beak,\nand in the frieze were the arms of the Medici and of Toledo; and that\npicture was by the hand of Battista Franco the Venetian. In the last of\nall those pictures were the Espousals of the same Duke Alessandro, which\ntook place at Naples; the devices were two Crows, the ancient symbols of\nmarriage, and in the frieze were the arms of Don Pedro di Toledo,\nViceroy of Naples; and that picture, which was by the hand of Bronzino,\nwas executed with such grace, that, like the first-named, it surpassed\nthe scenes of all the others.\n\nBy the same Aristotile, likewise, there was executed over the loggia a\nfrieze with other little scenes and arms, which was much extolled, and\nwhich pleased his Excellency, who rewarded him liberally for the whole\nwork. Afterwards, almost every year, he executed scenery and\nprospect-views for the comedies that were performed at Carnival time;\nand he had in that manner of painting such assistance from nature and\nsuch practice, that he had determined that he would write of it and\nteach others; but this he abandoned, because the undertaking proved to\nbe more difficult than he had expected, but particularly because\nafterwards commissions to execute prospect-views were given by new men\nin authority at the Palace to Bronzino and Francesco Salviati, as will\nbe related in the proper place. Aristotile, therefore, perceiving that\nmany years had passed during which he had not been employed, went off\nto Rome to find Antonio da San Gallo, his cousin, who, immediately after\nhis arrival, having received and welcomed him very warmly, set him to\npress on certain buildings, with a salary of ten crowns a month, and\nthen sent him to Castro, where he stayed some months, being commissioned\nby Pope Paul III to execute a great part of the buildings there after\nthe designs and directions of Antonio. But, because Aristotile, having\nbeen brought up with Antonio from childhood, had become accustomed to\ntreat him too familiarly, it is said that Antonio kept him at a\ndistance, since Aristotile had never been able to accustom himself to\ncalling him \"you,\" insomuch that he gave him the \"thou\" even if they\nwere before the Pope, to say nothing of a circle of nobles and\ngentlemen, even as is still done by Florentines used to the ancient\nfashions and to giving the \"thou\" to everyone, as if they were from\nNorcia, without being able to accommodate themselves to modern ways of\nlife as others do, who march step by step with the times. And how\nstrange this circumstance appeared to Antonio, accustomed as he was to\nbe honoured by Cardinals and other great men, everyone may imagine for\nhimself. Having therefore grown weary of his stay at Castro, Aristotile\nbesought Antonio that he should enable him to return to Rome; in which\nAntonio obliged him very readily, but said to him that he must behave\ntowards him in a different manner and with better breeding, particularly\nwhenever they were in the presence of great persons.\n\nOne year, at the time of the Carnival, when Ruberto Strozzi was giving a\nbanquet at Rome to certain lords, his friends, and a comedy was to be\nperformed at his house, Aristotile made for him in the great hall a\nprospect-scene, which, considering the little space at his disposal, was\nso pleasing, so graceful, and so beautiful, that Cardinal Farnese, among\nothers, not only was struck with astonishment at it, but caused him to\nmake one in his Palace of S. Giorgio, where is the Cancelleria, in one\nof those mezzanine halls that look out on the garden; but in such a way\nthat it might remain there permanently, so that he might be able to make\nuse of it whenever he so wished or required. This work, then, was\ncarried out by Aristotile with all the study in his power and\nknowledge, and in such a manner, that it gave the Cardinal and the men\nof the arts infinite satisfaction. Now the Cardinal commissioned Messer\nCurzio Frangipane to remunerate Aristotile; and he, as a man of\nprudence, wishing to do what was right by him, but also not to overpay\nhim, asked Perino del Vaga and Giorgio Vasari to value the work. This\nwas very agreeable to Perino, because, feeling hatred for Aristotile,\nand taking it ill that he had executed that prospect-scene, which he\nthought should have fallen to him as the servant of the Cardinal, he was\nliving in apprehension and jealousy, and all the more because the\nCardinal had made use in those days not only of Aristotile but also of\nVasari, and had given him a thousand crowns for having painted in\nfresco, in a hundred days, the Hall of \"Parco Majori\" in the\nCancelleria. For these reasons, therefore, Perino intended to value that\nprospect-view of Aristotile's at so little, that he would have to repent\nof having done it. But Aristotile, having heard who were the men who had\nto value his prospect-view, went to seek out Perino, and at the first\nword, according to his custom, began to give him the \"thou\" to his face,\nfor he had been his friend in youth; whereupon Perino, who had already\nan ill-will against him, flew into a rage and all but revealed, without\nnoticing, the malicious thing that he had it in his mind to do.\nAristotile having therefore told the whole story to Vasari, Giorgio told\nhim that he should have no anxiety and should be of good cheer, for no\nwrong would be done to him.\n\nAfterwards, Perino and Giorgio coming together to settle that affair,\nPerino, as the older man, began to speak, and set himself to censure\nthat prospect-scene and to say that it was a work of a few halfpence,\nand that Aristotile, having received money on account and having been\npaid for those who had assisted him, had been overpaid, adding: \"If I\nhad been commissioned to do it, I would have done it in another manner,\nand with different scenes and ornaments from those used by that fellow;\nbut the Cardinal always chooses to favour some person who does him\nlittle honour.\" From these words and others Giorgio recognized that\nPerino wished rather to avenge himself on Aristotile for the grievance\nthat he had against the Cardinal than to ensure with friendly affection\nthe remuneration of the talents and labours of a good craftsman; and he\nspoke these soft words to Perino: \"Although I have not as much\nknowledge of such works as I might have, nevertheless, having seen some\nby the hands of those who know how to do them, it appears to me that\nthis one is very well executed, and worthy to be valued at many crowns,\nand not, as you say, at a few halfpence. And it does not seem to me\nright that he who sits in his work-room drawing cartoons, in order\nafterwards to reproduce in great works such a variety of things in\nperspective, should be paid for the labour of his nights--and perhaps\nfor the work of many weeks into the bargain--on the same scale as are\npaid the days of those who have to undergo no fatigue of the mind and\nhand, and little of the body, it being enough for them to imitate,\nwithout in any way racking their brains, as Aristotile has done. And if\nyou, Perino, had executed it, as you say, with more scenes and\nornaments, perhaps you might not have done it with that grace which has\nbeen achieved by Aristotile, who in that kind of painting has been\nesteemed with much judgment by the Cardinal to be a better master than\nyou. Remember that in the end, by giving a wrong and unjust estimate,\nyou do harm not so much to Aristotile as to art and excellence in\ngeneral, and even more to your own soul, if you depart from what is\nright for the sake of some private grievance; not to mention that all\nwho recognize the work as a good one, will censure not it but our weak\njudgment, and may even put it down to envy and malice in our natures.\nAnd whoever seeks to ingratiate himself with another, to glorify his own\nworks, or to avenge himself for any injury by censuring or estimating at\nless than their true value the good works of others, is finally\nrecognized by God and man as what he is, namely, as malignant, ignorant,\nand wicked. Consider, you who do all the work in Rome, how it would\nappear to you if others were to value your labours as you do theirs? Put\nyourself, I beg you, in the shoes of this poor old man, and you will see\nhow far you are from reason and justice.\"\n\nOf such force were these and other words that Giorgio spoke lovingly to\nPerino, that they arrived at a just estimate, and satisfaction was given\nto Aristotile, who, with that money, with the payment for the picture\nsent, as was related at the beginning, to France, and with the savings\nfrom his salaries, returned joyously to Florence, notwithstanding that\nMichelagnolo, who was his friend, had intended to make use of him in the\nbuilding that the Romans were proposing to erect on the Campidoglio.\nHaving thus returned to Florence in the year 1547, Aristotile went to\nkiss the hands of the Lord Duke Cosimo, and besought his Excellency,\nsince he had set his hand to many buildings, that he should assist him\nand make use of his services. And that lord, having received him\ngraciously, as he has always received men of excellence, ordained that\nan allowance of ten crowns a month should be given to him, and said to\nhim that he would be employed according as occasion might arise. With\nthat allowance Aristotile lived peacefully for some years, without doing\nanything more, and then died at the age of seventy, on the last day of\nMay in the year 1551, and was buried in the Church of the Servites. In\nour book are some drawings by the hand of Aristotile, and there are some\nin the possession of Antonio Particini; among which are some very\nbeautiful sheets drawn in perspective.\n\nThere lived in the same times as Aristotile, and were his friends, two\npainters of whom I shall make brief mention here, because they were such\nthat they deserve to have a place among these rare intellects, on\naccount of some works executed by them that were truly worthy to be\nextolled. One was Jacone, and the other Francesco Ubertini, called Il\nBacchiacca. Jacone, then, did not execute many works, being one who lost\nhimself in talking and jesting, and contented himself with the little\nthat his fortune and his idleness allowed him, which was much less than\nwhat he required. But, since he was closely associated with Andrea del\nSarto, he drew very well and with great boldness; and he was very\nfantastic and bizarre in the posing of his figures, distorting them and\nseeking to make them varied and different from those of others in all\nhis compositions. In truth, he had no little design, and when he chose\nhe could imitate the good. In Florence, when still young, he executed\nmany pictures of Our Lady, many of which were sent by Florentine\nmerchants into France. For S. Lucia, in the Via de' Bardi, he painted in\nan altar-piece God the Father, Christ, and Our Lady, with other figures,\nand at Montici, about a tabernacle on the corner of the house of\nLodovico Capponi, he executed two figures in chiaroscuro. For S. Romeo,\nin an altar-piece, he painted Our Lady and two Saints.\n\nThen, hearing once much praise spoken of the façades executed by\nPolidoro and Maturino at Rome, without anyone knowing about it he went\noff to that city, where he stayed some months and made some copies,\ngaining such proficience in matters of art, that he afterwards proved\nhimself in many works a passing good painter. Wherefore the Chevalier\nBuondelmonte commissioned him to paint in chiaroscuro a house that he\nhad built opposite to S. Trinita, at the beginning of the Borgo S.\nApostolo; wherein Jacone painted stories from the life of Alexander the\nGreat, very beautiful in certain parts, and executed with so much grace\nand design, that many believe that the designs for the whole work were\nmade for him by Andrea del Sarto. To tell the truth, from the proof of\nhis powers that Jacone gave in that work, it was thought that he was\nlikely to produce some great fruits. But, since he always had his mind\nset more on giving himself a good time and every possible amusement,\nliving in a round of suppers and feastings with his friends, than on\nstudying and working, he was for ever forgetting rather than learning.\nAnd that which was a thing to laugh at or to pity, I know not which, was\nthat he belonged to a company, or rather, gang, of friends who, under\nthe pretence of living like philosophers, lived like swine and\nbrute-beasts; they never washed their hands, or face, or head, or beard;\nthey did not sweep their houses, and never made their beds save only\nonce every two months; they laid their tables with the cartoons for\ntheir pictures, and they drank only from the flask or the jug; and this\nmiserable existence of theirs, living, as the saying goes, from hand to\nmouth, was held by them to be the finest life in the world. But, since\nthe outer man is wont to be a guide to the inner, and to reveal what our\nminds are, I believe, as has been said before, that they were as filthy\nand brutish in mind as their outward appearance suggested.\n\nFor the festival of S. Felice in Piazza--that is, the representation of\nthe Annunciation of the Madonna, of which there has been an account in\nanother place--which was held by the Company of the Orciuolo in the year\n1525, Jacone made among the outer decorations, according to the custom\nof those times, a most beautiful triumphal arch standing by itself,\nlarge, double, and very high, with eight columns, pilasters, and\npediments; all of which he caused to be carried to completion by Piero\nda Sesto, a well-practised master in woodwork. On this arch, then, were\npainted nine scenes, part of which, the best, he executed himself, and\nthe rest Francesco Ubertini, Il Bacchiacca; and these scenes were all\nfrom the Old Testament, and for the greater part from the life of Moses.\nHaving then been summoned by a Scopetine friar, his kinsman, to Cortona,\nJacone painted two altar-pieces in oils for the Church of the Madonna,\nwhich is without the city. In one of these is Our Lady with S. Rocco, S.\nAugustine, and other Saints, and in the other a God the Father who is\ncrowning Our Lady, with two Saints at the foot, and in the centre is S.\nFrancis, who is receiving the Stigmata; which two works were very\nbeautiful. Then, having returned to Florence, he decorated for Bongianni\nCapponi a vaulted chamber in that city; and he executed certain others\nfor the same man in his villa at Montici. And finally, when Jacopo da\nPontormo painted for Duke Alessandro, in his villa at Careggi, that\nloggia of which there has been an account in his Life, Jacone helped to\nexecute the greater part of the ornaments, such as grotesques, and other\nthings. After this he occupied himself with certain insignificant works,\nof which there is no need to make mention.\n\n[Illustration: THE BAPTISM IN JORDAN\n\n(_After the painting by =Bacchiacca=. Berlin: Kaiser Friedrich Museum,\nNo. 267_)\n\n_Hanfstaengl_]\n\nThe sum of the matter is that Jacone spent the best part of his life in\njesting, in going off into cogitations, and in speaking evil of all and\nsundry. For in those days the art of design in Florence had fallen into\nthe hands of a company of persons who paid more attention to playing\njokes and to enjoyment than to working, and whose occupation was to\nassemble in shops and other places, and there to spend their time in\ncriticizing maliciously, in their own jargon, the works of others who\nwere persons of excellence and lived decently and like men of honour.\nThe heads of this company were Jacone, the goldsmith Piloto, and the\nwood-carver Tasso; but the worst of them all was Jacone, for the reason\nthat, among his other fine qualities, his every word was always a foul\nslander against somebody. Wherefore it was no marvel that from such a\ncompany there should have sprung in time, as will be related, many evil\nhappenings, or that Piloto, on account of his slanderous tongue, was\nkilled by a young man. And since their habits and proceedings were\ndispleasing to honest men, they were generally to be found--I do not\nsay all of them, but some at least--like wool-carders and other fellows\nof that kidney, playing at chuck-stones at the foot of a wall, or making\nmerry in a tavern.\n\nOne day that Giorgio Vasari was returning from Monte Oliveto, a place\nwithout Florence, after a visit to the reverend and most cultured Don\nMiniato Pitti, who was then Abbot of that monastery, he found Jacone,\nwith a great part of his crew, at the Canto de' Medici; and Jacone\nthought to attempt, as I heard afterwards, with some of his idle talk,\nspeaking half in jest and half in earnest, to hit on some phrase\ninsulting to Giorgio. And so, when Vasari rode into their midst on his\nhorse, Jacone said to him: \"Well, Giorgio, how goes it with you?\"\n\"Finely, my Jacone,\" answered Giorgio. \"Once I was poor like all of you,\nand now I find myself with three thousand crowns or more. You thought me\na fool, and the priests and friars think me an able master. I used to be\nyour servant, and here is a servant of my own, who serves me and looks\nafter my horse. I used to dress in the clothes that beggarly painters\nwear, and here am I dressed in velvet. Once I went on foot, and now I go\non horseback. So you see, my Jacone, it goes exceeding well with me. May\nGod be with you.\"\n\nWhen poor Jacone had heard all this recital in one breath, he lost all\nhis presence of mind and stood confused, without saying another word, as\nif reflecting how miserable he was, and how often the engineer is hoist\nwith his own petard. Finally, having become much reduced by an\ninfirmity, and being poor, neglected, and paralysed in the legs, so that\nhe could do nothing to better himself, Jacone died in misery in a little\nhovel that he had on a mean street, or rather, alley, called\nCodarimessa, in the year 1553.\n\nFrancesco Ubertini, called Il Bacchiacca, was a diligent painter, and,\nalthough he was the friend of Jacone, he always lived decently enough\nand like an honest man. He was likewise a friend of Andrea del Sarto,\nand much assisted and favoured by him in matters of art. Francesco, I\nsay, was a diligent painter, and particularly in painting little\nfigures, which he executed to perfection, with much patience, as may be\nseen from a predella with the story of the Martyrs, below the\naltar-piece of Giovanni Antonio Sogliani, in S. Lorenzo at Florence, and\nfrom another predella, executed very well, in the Chapel of the\nCrocifisso. For the chamber of Pier Francesco Borgherini, of which\nmention has already been made so many times, Il Bacchiacca, in company\nwith the others, executed many little figures on the coffers and the\npanelling, which are known by the manner, being different from the\nothers. For the antechamber of Giovan Maria Benintendi, which likewise\nhas been already mentioned, he painted two very beautiful pictures with\nlittle figures, in one of which, the most beautiful and the most\nabundant in figures, is the Baptist baptizing Jesus Christ in the\nJordan. He also executed many others for various persons, which were\nsent to France and England. Finally, having entered the service of Duke\nCosimo, since he was an excellent painter in counterfeiting all the\nkinds of animals, Il Bacchiacca painted for his Excellency a cabinet all\nfull of birds of various kinds, and rare plants, all of which he\nexecuted divinely well in oils. He then made, with a vast number of\nlittle figures, cartoons of all the months of the year, which were woven\ninto most beautiful tapestries in silk and gold, with such industry and\ndiligence that there is nothing better of that kind to be seen, by\nMarco, the son of Maestro Giovanni Rosto the Fleming. After these works,\nIl Bacchiacca decorated in fresco the grotto of a water-fountain that is\nat the Pitti Palace. Lastly, he made the designs for a bed that was\nexecuted in embroidery, all full of scenes and little figures. This is\nthe most ornate work in the form of a bed, in such a kind of\nworkmanship, that there is to be seen, the embroidering having been made\nrich with pearls and other things of price by Antonio Bacchiacca, the\nbrother of Francesco, who is an excellent embroiderer; and, since\nFrancesco died before the completion of the bed, which has served for\nthe happy nuptials of the most illustrious Lord Prince of Florence, Don\nFrancesco de' Medici, and of her serene Highness Queen Joanna of\nAustria, it was finished in the end after the directions and designs of\nGiorgio Vasari.\n\nFrancesco died at Florence in the year 1557.\n\n\n\n\nBENVENUTO GAROFALO AND GIROLAMO DA CARPI, AND OTHER LOMBARDS\n\n[Illustration: MORETTO DA BRESCIA: S. JUSTINA\n\n(_Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 218. Panel_)]\n\n\n\n\nLIVES OF BENVENUTO GAROFALO AND GIROLAMO DA CARPI, PAINTERS OF FERRARA,\nAND OF OTHER LOMBARDS\n\n\nIn this part of the Lives that we are about to write we shall give a\nbrief account of the best and most eminent painters, sculptors, and\narchitects who have lived in Lombardy in our time, after Mantegna,\nCosta, Boccaccino of Cremona, and Francia of Bologna; for I am not able\nto write the life of each in detail, and it seems to me enough to\nenumerate their works. And even this I would not have set myself to do,\nnor to give a judgment on those works, if I had not first seen them; but\nsince, from the year 1542 down to this present year of 1566, I had not\ntravelled, as I did before, over almost the whole of Italy, nor seen the\nabove-mentioned works and the others that had appeared in great numbers\nduring that period of four-and-twenty years, I resolved, before writing\nof them, being almost at the end of this my labour, to see them and\njudge of them with my own eyes. Wherefore, after the conclusion of the\nabove-mentioned nuptials of the most illustrious Lord Don Francesco de'\nMedici, Prince of Florence and Siena, my master, and of her serene\nHighness Queen Joanna of Austria, on account of which I had been much\noccupied for two years on the ceiling of the principal hall of their\nPalace, I resolved, without sparing any expense or fatigue, to revisit\nRome, Tuscany, part of the March, Umbria, Romagna, Lombardy, and Venice\nwith all her domain, in order to re-examine the old works and to see the\nmany that have been executed from the year 1542 onward. And so, having\nmade a record of the works that were most notable and most worthy to be\nput down in writing, in order not to do wrong to the talents of many\ncraftsmen or depart from that sincere truthfulness which is expected\nfrom those who write history of any kind, I shall proceed without bias\nof mind to write down all that is wanting in any part of what has been\nalready written, without disturbing the order of the story, and then to\ngive an account of the works of some who are still living, and have\nworked or are still working excellently well; for it appears to me that\nso much is demanded by the merits of many rare and noble craftsmen.\n\nLet me begin, then, with the men of Ferrara. Benvenuto Garofalo was born\nat Ferrara in the year 1481, to Piero Tisi, whose elders had their\norigin in Padua. He was born, I say, so inclined to painting, that, when\nstill but a little boy, while going to school to learn reading, he would\ndo nothing but draw; from which exercise his father, who looked on\npainting as a folly, sought to divert him, but was never able. Wherefore\nthat father, having seen that he must second the inclination of that son\nof his, who would never do anything day and night but draw, finally\nplaced him with Domenico Panetti, a painter of some repute at that time,\nalthough his manner was dry and laboured, in Ferrara. With that Domenico\nBenvenuto had been some little time, when, going once to Cremona, he\nhappened to see in the principal chapel of the Duomo in that city, among\nother works by the hand of Boccaccio Boccaccino, a painter of Cremona,\nwho had painted the tribune there in fresco, a Christ seated on a throne\nsurrounded by four Saints, and giving the Benediction. Whereupon, that\nwork having pleased him, he placed himself by means of some friends\nunder Boccaccino, who was at that time executing in the same church,\nlikewise in fresco, some stories of the Madonna, as has been said in his\nLife, in competition with the painter Altobello, who was painting in the\nsame church, opposite to Boccaccino, some stories of Jesus Christ, which\nare very beautiful and truly worthy to be praised.\n\n[Illustration: THE MADONNA AND CHILD WITH SAINTS\n\n(_After the painting by =Benvenuto Garofalo=. Ferrara: Pinacoteca,\n1514_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nNow, after Benvenuto had been two years in Cremona, and had made much\nprogress under the discipline of Boccaccino, he went off in the year\n1500, at the age of nineteen, to Rome, where, having placed himself with\nGiovanni Baldini, a Florentine painter of passing good skill, who\npossessed many very beautiful drawings by various excellent masters,\nhe was constantly practising his hand on those drawings whenever he\nhad time, and particularly at night. Then, after he had been fifteen\nmonths with that master and had seen to his great delight the works of\nRome, he travelled for a time over various parts of Italy, and finally\nmade his way to Mantua. There he stayed two years with the painter\nLorenzo Costa, serving him with such lovingness, that Lorenzo, after\nthat period of two years, in order to reward him, placed him in the\nservice of Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, for whom Costa himself\nwas working. But Benvenuto had not been long with the Marquis, when, his\nfather Piero falling ill in Ferrara, he was forced to return to that\ncity, where he stayed afterwards for four years together, executing many\nworks by himself alone, and some in company with the Dossi.\n\nThen, in the year 1505, being sent for by Messer Geronimo Sagrato, a\ngentleman of Ferrara, who was living in Rome, Benvenuto returned there\nwith the greatest willingness, and particularly from a desire to see the\nmiracles that were being related of Raffaello da Urbino and of the\nChapel of Julius painted by Buonarroti. But when Benvenuto had arrived\nin Rome, he was struck with amazement, and almost with despair, by\nseeing the grace and vivacity that the pictures of Raffaello revealed,\nand the depth in the design of Michelagnolo. Wherefore he cursed the\nmanners of Lombardy, and that which he had learned with so much study\nand effort at Mantua, and right willingly, if he had been able, would he\nhave purged himself of all that knowledge; but he resolved, since there\nwas no help for it, that he would unlearn it all, and, after the loss of\nso many years, change from a master into a disciple. And so he began to\ndraw from such works as were the best and the most difficult, and to\nstudy with all possible diligence those greatly celebrated manners, and\ngave his attention to scarcely any other thing for a period of two whole\nyears; by reason of which he so changed his method, transforming his bad\nmanner into a good one, that notice was taken of him by the craftsmen.\nAnd, what was more, he so went to work with humility and every kind of\nloving service, that he became the friend of Raffaello da Urbino, who,\nbeing very courteous and not ungrateful, taught Benvenuto many things,\nand always assisted and favoured him.\n\nIf Benvenuto had pursued his studies in Rome, without a doubt he would\nhave done things worthy of his beautiful genius; but he was constrained,\nI know not by what cause, to return to his own country. In taking leave\nof Raffaello, he promised that he would, as that master advised him,\nreturn to Rome, where Raffaello assured him that he would give him more\nthan enough in the way of work, and that in honourable undertakings.\nHaving then arrived in Ferrara, Benvenuto settled the affairs and\ndespatched the business that had caused him to return; and he was\npreparing himself to make his way back to Rome, when the Lord Duke\nAlfonso of Ferrara set him to decorate a little chapel in the Castle, in\ncompany with other Ferrarese painters. That work finished, his departure\nwas again delayed by the great courtesy of M. Antonio Costabili, a\nFerrarese gentleman of much authority, who gave him an altar-piece to\npaint in oils for the high-altar of the Church of S. Andrea; which\nfinished, he was forced to execute another for S. Bartolo, a convent of\nCistercian Monks, wherein he painted the Adoration of the Magi, which\nwas beautiful and much extolled. He then painted another for the Duomo,\nfull of figures many and various, and two others that were placed in the\nChurch of S. Spirito, in one of which is the Virgin in the air with the\nChild in her arms, and some other figures below, and in the other the\nNativity of Jesus Christ.\n\n[Illustration: THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS\n\n(_After the painting by =Benvenuto Garofalo=. Ferrara: Pinacoteca,\n1519_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nIn executing those works, remembering at times how he had turned his\nback on Rome, he felt the bitterest regret; and he had resolved at all\ncosts to return thither, when, his father Piero's death taking place,\nall his plans were broken off; for, finding himself burdened with a\nsister ready for a husband and a brother fourteen years of age, and his\naffairs in disorder, he was forced to compose his mind and resign\nhimself to live in his native place. And so, after parting company with\nthe Dossi, who had worked with him up to that time, he painted by\nhimself in the Church of S. Francesco, in a little chapel, the Raising\nof Lazarus, a work filled with a variety of good figures, and pleasant\nin colouring, with attitudes spirited and vivacious, which brought him\nmuch commendation. In another chapel in the same church he painted the\nMassacre of the Innocents, cruelly done to death by Herod, so well and\nwith such spirited movements in the soldiers and other figures, that\nit was a marvel. Very well depicted, in addition, are different\nexpressions in the great variety of heads, such as terror in the mothers\nand nurses, death in the infants, and cruelty in the slayers, and many\nother things, which gave infinite satisfaction. It is worthy of remark\nthat in executing that work Benvenuto did a thing that up to that time\nhad never been done in Lombardy--namely, he made models of clay, the\nbetter to see the shadows and lights, and availed himself of a\nfigure-model made of wood, jointed in such a way that the limbs moved in\nevery direction, which he arranged as he wished, in various attitudes,\nwith draperies over it. But what is most important is that he copied\nevery least detail from life and nature, as one who knew that the true\nway is to observe and imitate the reality. For the same church he\nexecuted the altar-piece of a chapel; and on a wall he painted in fresco\nChrist taken by the multitude in the Garden.\n\nFor S. Domenico, in the same city, he painted two altar-pieces in oils;\nin one is the Miracle of the Cross and S. Helen, and in the other is S.\nPeter Martyr with a good number of very beautiful figures, wherein it is\nevident that Benvenuto departed considerably from his first manner,\nmaking it bolder and less laboured. For the Nuns of S. Salvestro he\npainted an altar-picture of Christ praying to His Father on the Mount,\nwhile the three Apostles are lower down, sleeping. For the Nuns of S.\nGabriello he executed an Annunciation, and for those of S. Antonio, in\nthe altar-piece of their high-altar, the Resurrection of Christ. For the\nhigh-altar of the Frati Ingesuati, in the Church of S. Girolamo, he\npainted Jesus Christ in the Manger, with a choir of Angels on a cloud,\nheld to be very beautiful. In S. Maria del Vado, in an altar-piece by\nthe same hand, very well conceived and coloured, is Christ ascending\ninto Heaven, with the Apostles standing in contemplation of Him. For the\nChurch of S. Giorgio, a seat of the Monks of Monte Oliveto, without the\ncity, he painted an altar-piece in oils of the Magi adoring Christ and\noffering to Him myrrh, incense, and gold; and this is one of the best\nworks that Benvenuto ever executed in all his life.\n\nAll these works much pleased the people of Ferrara, by reason of which\nhe executed pictures almost without number for their houses, and many\nothers for monasteries and for the townships and villas round about the\ncity; and, among others, he painted the Resurrection of Christ in an\naltar-piece for Bondeno. And, finally, he executed in fresco with\nbeautiful and fantastic invention, in the Refectory of S. Andrea, many\nfigures that are bringing the Old Testament into accord with the New.\nBut, since the works of this master are numberless, let it be enough to\nhave spoken of those that are the best.\n\nGirolamo da Carpi having received his first instructions in painting\nfrom Benvenuto, as will be related in his Life, they painted in company\nthe façade of the house of the Muzzarelli, in the Borgo Nuovo, partly in\nchiaroscuro and partly in colours, with some things done in imitation of\nbronze. They painted together, likewise, both within and without, the\nPalace of Coppara, a place of recreation belonging to the Duke of\nFerrara; for which lord Benvenuto executed many other works, both by\nhimself and in company with other painters.\n\nThen, having lived a long time in the determination that he would not\ntake a wife, in the end, after separating from his brother and growing\nweary of living alone, at the age of forty-eight he took one; but he had\nscarcely had her a year, when, falling grievously ill, he lost the sight\nof his right eye, and was in fear and peril of the other. However,\nhaving recommended himself to God and made a vow that he would always\ndress in grey, as he afterwards did, by the grace of God he preserved\nthe sight of the other eye, insomuch that the works executed by him at\nthe age of sixty-five were so well done, and with such diligence and\nfinish, that it was a marvel. Wherefore on one occasion, when the Duke\nof Ferrara showed to Pope Paul III a Triumph of Bacchus in oils, five\nbraccia in length, and the Calumny of Apelles, painted by Benvenuto at\nthat age after the designs of Raffaello da Urbino, which pictures are\nnow over certain chimney-pieces belonging to his Excellency, that\nPontiff was struck with astonishment that an old man of such an age,\nwith only one eye, should have executed works so large and so beautiful.\n\nOn every feast-day for twenty whole years Benvenuto worked for the love\nof God in the Convent of the Nuns of S. Bernardino, where he executed\nmany works of importance in oils, in distemper, and in fresco; which\nwas certainly a marvellous thing, and a great proof of his true and good\nnature, for in that place he had no competition, and nevertheless put no\nless study and diligence into his labour than he would have done at any\nother more frequented place. Those works are passing good in\ncomposition, with beautiful expressions in the heads, not confused, and\nexecuted in a truly sweet and good manner.\n\nFor all the disciples that Benvenuto had, although he taught them\neverything that he knew with no ordinary willingness, in order to make\nsome of them excellent masters, he never had any success with a single\none of them, and, in place of being rewarded by them for his lovingness\nat least with gratitude of heart, he never received anything from them\nsave vexations; wherefore he used to say that he had never had any\nenemies but his own disciples and assistants. In the year 1550, being\nnow old, and the malady returning to his eye, he became wholly blind,\nand he lived thus for nine years; which misfortune he bore with a\npatient mind, resigning himself completely to the will of God. Finally,\nwhen he had come to the age of seventy-eight, thinking at last that he\nhad lived too long in that darkness, and rejoicing in death, in the hope\nof going to enjoy eternal light, he finished the course of his life on\nthe 6th of September in the year 1559, leaving a son called Girolamo,\nwho is a very gentle person, and a daughter.\n\nBenvenuto was a very honest creature, fond of a jest, pleasant in his\nconversation, patient and calm in all his adversities. As a young man he\ndelighted in fencing and playing the lute, and in his friendships he was\nloving beyond measure and prodigal with his services. He was the friend\nof the painter Giorgione da Castelfranco, Tiziano da Cadore, and Giulio\nRomano, and most affectionate towards all the men of art in general; and\nto this I can bear witness, for on the two occasions when I was at\nFerrara in his time I received from him innumerable favours and\ncourtesies. He was buried with honour in the Church of S. Maria del\nVado, and was celebrated in verse and prose by many choice spirits no\nless than his talents deserved. But it has not been possible to obtain\nBenvenuto's portrait, and therefore there has been placed at the head of\nthese Lives of the Lombard painters that of Girolamo da Carpi, whose\nLife we are now about to write.\n\n[Illustration: THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI\n\n(_After the painting by =Benvenuto Garofalo=. Ferrara: Pinacoteca,\n1537_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nGirolamo, then, called Da Carpi, who was a Ferrarese and a disciple of\nBenvenuto, was employed at first by his father Tommaso, who was a kind\nof house-painter, in his workshop, to paint strong-boxes, stools,\nmouldings, and other suchlike commonplace things. After Girolamo had\nmade some proficience under the discipline of Benvenuto, he began to\nthink that he should be removed by his father from those base labours;\nbut Tommaso, as one who had need of money, would do nothing of the kind,\nand Girolamo resolved at all costs to leave him. And so he went to\nBologna, where he received no little favour from the gentlemen of that\ncity; wherefore, having made some portraits, which were passing good\nlikenesses, he acquired so much credit that he earned much money and\nassisted his father more while living at Bologna than he had done when\nstaying in Ferrara. At that time there was brought to the house of the\nnoble Counts Ercolani at Bologna a picture by the hand of Antonio da\nCorreggio, in which Christ is appearing to Mary Magdalene in the form of\na gardener, executed with incredible softness and excellence; and that\nmanner so took possession of Girolamo's heart, that, not content with\nhaving copied that picture, he went to Modena to see the other works by\nthe hand of Correggio. Having arrived there, besides being filled with\nmarvel at the sight of them, one among them in particular struck him\nwith amazement, and that was the great picture, a divine work, in which\nis the Madonna, with the Child in her arms marrying S. Catharine, a S.\nSebastian, and other figures, with an air of such beauty in the heads,\nthat they appear as if made in Paradise; nor is it possible to find more\nbeautiful hair, more lovely hands, or any colouring more pleasing and\nnatural. Having then received permission to copy it from the owner of\nthe picture, Messer Francesco Grillenzoni, a doctor, who was much the\nfriend of Correggio, Girolamo copied it with the greatest diligence that\nit is possible to imagine. After that he did the same with the\naltar-picture of S. Peter Martyr, which Correggio had painted for a\nCompany of Secular Priests, who hold it in very great price, as it\ndeserves, there being in it, in particular, besides other figures, an\nInfant Christ in the lap of His Mother, who appears as if breathing, and\na most beautiful S. Peter Martyr; and another little altar-piece by\nthe same hand, painted for the Company of S. Bastiano, and no less\nbeautiful than the other. All these works, thus copied by Girolamo, were\nthe reason that he so improved his manner, that it did not appear like\nhis original manner, or in any way the same thing.\n\nFrom Modena Girolamo went to Parma, where he had heard that there were\nsome works by the same Correggio, and he copied some of the pictures in\nthe tribune of the Duomo, considering them extraordinary works,\nparticularly the beautiful foreshortening of the Madonna, who is\nascending into Heaven, surrounded by a multitude of Angels, with the\nApostles, who are standing gazing on her as she ascends, and four\nSaints, Protectors of that city, who are in the niches--S. John the\nBaptist, who is holding a lamb; S. Joseph, the husband of Our Lady; S.\nBernardo degli Uberti the Florentine, a Cardinal and Bishop of Florence;\nand another Bishop. Girolamo likewise studied the figures by the hand of\nthe same Correggio in the recess of the principal chapel in S. Giovanni\nEvangelista--namely, the Coronation of the Madonna, with S. John the\nEvangelist, the Baptist, S. Benedict, S. Placido, and a multitude of\nAngels who are about them; and the marvellous figures that are in the\nChapel of S. Gioseffo in the Church of S. Sepolcro--a divine example of\npanel-painting.\n\nNow, since it is inevitable that those who are pleased to follow some\nparticular manner, and who study it with lovingness, should acquire\nit--at least, in some degree (whence it also happens that many become\nmore excellent than their masters)--Girolamo caught not a little of\nCorreggio's manner; wherefore, after returning to Bologna, he imitated\nhim always, not studying any other thing but that manner and that\naltar-piece by the hand of Raffaello da Urbino which we mentioned as\nbeing in that city. And all these particulars I heard from Girolamo da\nCarpi, who was much my friend, at Rome in the year 1550; and he lamented\nvery often to me that he had consumed his youth and his best years in\nFerrara and Bologna, and not in Rome or some other place, where, without\na doubt, he would have made much greater proficience. No little harm,\nalso, did Girolamo suffer in matters of art from his having given too\nmuch attention to amorous delights and to playing the lute at the time\nwhen he might have been making progress in painting.\n\nHaving returned, then, to Bologna, he made a portrait, among others, of\nMesser Onofrio Bartolini, a Florentine, who was then in that city for\nhis studies, and afterwards became Archbishop of Pisa; and that head,\nwhich is now in the possession of the heirs of that Messer Noferi, is\nvery beautiful and in a manner full of grace. There was working in\nBologna at this time a certain Maestro Biagio, a painter, who,\nperceiving that Girolamo was coming into good repute, began to be afraid\nlest he might outstrip him and deprive him of all his profits.\nWherefore, seizing a good occasion, he established a friendship with\nGirolamo, with the intention of hindering him in his work, and became\nhis intimate companion to such purpose, that they began to work in\ncompany; and so they continued for a while. This friendship was harmful\nto Girolamo, not only in the matter of his earnings, but likewise with\nrespect to art, for the reason that he followed in the footsteps of\nMaestro Biagio (who worked by rule of thumb, and took everything from\nthe designs of one master or another), and he, also, put no more\ndiligence into his pictures.\n\nNow in the monastery of S. Michele in Bosco, without Bologna, a certain\nFra Antonio, a monk of that convent, had painted a S. Sebastian of the\nsize of life, besides executing an altar-piece in oils for a convent of\nthe same Order of Monte Oliveto at Scaricalasino, and some figures in\nfresco in the Chapel of S. Scholastica, in the garden of Monte Oliveto\nMaggiore, and Abbot Ghiaccino, who had compelled him to stay that year\nin Bologna, desired that he should paint the new sacristy of his church\nthere. But Fra Antonio, who did not feel it in him to do so great a\nwork, and perchance was not very willing to undergo such fatigue, as is\noften the case with that kind of man, so contrived that the work was\nallotted to Girolamo and Maestro Biagio, who painted it all in fresco.\nIn the compartments of the vaulting they executed some little boys and\nAngels, and at the head, in large figures, the story of the\nTransfiguration of Christ, availing themselves of the design of that\nwhich Raffaello da Urbino painted for S. Pietro in Montorio at Rome; and\non the other walls they painted some Saints, in which, to be sure, there\nis something of the good. But Girolamo, having recognized that to stay\nin company with Maestro Biagio was not the course for him, and, indeed,\nthat it was his certain ruin, broke up the partnership when that work\nwas finished, and began to work for himself.\n\nThe first work that he executed on his own account was an altar-piece\nfor the Chapel of S. Bastiano in the Church of S. Salvadore, in which he\nacquitted himself very well. But then, having heard of the death of his\nfather, he returned to Ferrara, where for a time he did nothing save\nsome portraits and works of little importance. Meanwhile, Tiziano\nVecelli went to Ferrara to execute certain things for Duke Alfonso, as\nwill be related in his Life, in a little closet, or rather, study, where\nGiovanni Bellini had already painted some pictures, and Dosso a\nBacchanal rout of men which was so good, that, even if he had never done\nany other thing, for that alone he would deserve praise and the name of\nan excellent painter; and Girolamo, by means of Tiziano and others,\nbegan to have dealings with the Court of the Duke. And so, as it were to\ngive a proof of his powers before he should do anything else, he copied\nthe head of Duke Ercole of Ferrara from one by the hand of Tiziano, and\ncounterfeited it so well, that it seemed the same as the original;\nwherefore it was sent, as a work worthy of praise, into France.\nAfterwards, having taken a wife and had children by her, sooner,\nperchance, than he should have done, Girolamo painted in S. Francesco at\nFerrara, in the angles of the vaulting, the four Evangelists in fresco,\nwhich were passing good figures. In the same place he executed a frieze\nright round the church, which was a very large and abundant work, being\nfull of half-length figures and little boys linked together in a very\npleasing manner; and for that church, also, he painted an altar-picture\nof S. Anthony of Padua, with other figures, and another altar-piece of\nOur Lady in the air with two Angels, which was placed on the altar of\nSignora Giulia Muzzarelli, whose portrait was executed very well therein\nby Girolamo.\n\nAt Rovigo, in the Church of S. Francesco, the same master painted the\nHoly Spirit appearing in Tongues of Fire, which was a work worthy of\npraise for the composition and for the beauty of the heads. At Bologna,\nfor the Church of S. Martino, he painted an altar-piece of the three\nMagi, with most beautiful heads and figures; and at Ferrara, in company\nwith Benvenuto Garofalo, as has been related, the façade of the house of\nSignor Battista Muzzarelli, and also the Palace of Coppara, a villa of\nthe Duke's, distant twelve miles from Ferrara; and, again, in Ferrara,\nthe façade of Piero Soncini in the Piazza near the Fishmarket, painting\nthere the Taking of Goletta by the Emperor Charles V. The same Girolamo\npainted for S. Polo, a church of the Carmelite Friars in the same city,\na little altar-piece in oils of S. Jerome with two other Saints, of the\nsize of life; and for the Duke's Palace a great picture with a figure\nlarge as life, representing Opportunity, and executed with beautiful\nvivacity, movement and grace, and fine relief. He also painted a nude\nVenus, life-size and recumbent, with Love beside her, which was sent to\nParis for King Francis of France; and I, who saw it at Ferrara in the\nyear 1540, can with truth affirm that it was very beautiful. He also\nmade a beginning with the decorations in the Refectory of S. Giorgio, a\nseat of the Monks of Monte Oliveto at Ferrara, and executed a great part\nof them; but he left the work unfinished, and it has been completed in\nour own day by Pellegrino Pellegrini, a painter of Bologna.\n\n[Illustration: SCENE FROM THE ÆNEID\n\n(_After the painting by =Niccolò [Niccolò dell'Abate]=. Modena: R.\nGalleria Estense_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nNow, if we were to seek to make particular mention of the pictures that\nGirolamo executed for many lords and gentlemen, the story would be\nlonger than is our desire, and I shall speak of two only, which are most\nbeautiful. From a picture by the hand of Correggio that the Chevalier\nBaiardo has at Parma, beautiful to a marvel, in which Our Lady is\nputting a shirt on the Infant Christ, Girolamo made a copy so like it\nthat it seems the very same picture, and he made another copy from one\nby the hand of Parmigiano, which is in the cell of the Vicar in the\nCertosa at Pavia, doing this so well and with such diligence, that there\nis no miniature to be seen that is wrought with more subtlety; and he\nexecuted innumerable others with great care. And since Girolamo\ndelighted in architecture, and also gave his attention to it, in\naddition to many designs of buildings that he made for private persons,\nhe served in that art, in particular, Cardinal Ippolito of Ferrara, who,\nhaving bought the garden at Monte Cavallo in Rome which had formerly\nbelonged to the Cardinal of Naples, with many vineyards belonging to\nindividuals around it, took Girolamo to Rome, to the end that he might\nserve him not only in the buildings, but also in the truly regal\nornaments of woodwork in that garden. In this he acquitted himself so\nwell, that everyone was struck with astonishment; and, indeed, I know\nnot what other man could have done better than he did in executing in\nwoodwork--which has since been covered with most beautiful\nverdure--works so fine and so pleasingly designed in various forms and\nin different kinds of temples, in which there may now be seen arranged\nthe richest and most beautiful ancient statues that there are in Rome,\nsome whole and some restored by Valerio Cioli, a Florentine sculptor,\nand by others.\n\nBy these works Girolamo came into very great credit in Rome, and in the\nyear 1550 he was introduced by the above-named Cardinal, his lord, who\nloved him dearly, into the service of Pope Julius III, who made him\narchitect over the works of the Belvedere, giving him rooms in that\nplace and a good salary. But, since that Pontiff could never be\nsatisfied in such matters, and, to make it worse, was hindered by\nunderstanding very little of design, and would not have in the evening a\nthing that had pleased him in the morning, and also because Girolamo had\nto be always contending with certain old architects, to whom it seemed\nstrange to see a new man of little reputation preferred to themselves,\nhe resolved, having perceived their envy and possible malignity, and\nalso being rather cold by nature than otherwise, to retire. And so he\nchose, as the better course, to return to the service of the Cardinal at\nMonte Cavallo; for which action Girolamo was much commended, for it is\ntoo wretched a life to have to be always contending all day long and on\nevery least detail with one person or another, and, as he used to say,\nit is at times better to enjoy peace of mind on bread and water than to\nsweat and strive amid grandeur and honours. Wherefore, after Girolamo\nhad executed for his lord the Cardinal a very beautiful picture, which,\nwhen I saw it, pleased me very much, being now weary, he returned with\nhim to Ferrara, to enjoy the peace of his home with his wife and\nchildren, leaving the hopes and rewards of fortune in the possession of\nhis adversaries, who received from that Pope the same as he had done,\nneither more nor less.\n\nWhile he was living thus at Ferrara, a part of the Castle was burned, I\nknow not by what mischance, and Duke Ercole gave the charge of restoring\nit to Girolamo, who did it very well, adorning it as much as is possible\nin that district, which suffers from a great dearth of stone wherewith\nto make carvings and ornaments; for which he well deserved to be always\nheld dear by that lord, who rewarded him liberally for his labours.\nFinally, after having executed these and many other works, Girolamo died\nin the year 1556, at the age of fifty-five, and was buried in the Church\nof the Angeli, beside his wife. He left two daughters, and also three\nsons, Giulio, Annibale, and another.\n\nGirolamo was a blithe spirit, very sweet and pleasing in his\nconversation, and in his work somewhat slow and dilatory. He was of\nmiddle stature, and he delighted beyond measure in music, and more in\nthe pleasures of love than was perhaps expedient. The buildings of his\npatrons have been carried on since his death by the Ferrarese architect\nGalasso, a man of the most beautiful genius, and of such judgment in\nmatters of architecture, that, in so far as may be seen from the\nordering of his designs, he would have demonstrated his worth much more\nthan he has done, if he had been employed in works of importance.\n\nAn excellent sculptor, and likewise a Ferrarese, has been Maestro\nGirolamo, who, living at Recanati, has executed many works in marble at\nLoreto after his master, Andrea Contucci, and has made many of the\nornaments round that Chapel or House of the Madonna. This master--since\nthe departure from that place of Tribolo, who was the last there, after\nhe had finished the largest scene in marble, which is at the back of the\nchapel, wherein are the Angels carrying that house from Sclavonia into\nthe forest of Loreto--has laboured there continually from 1534 to the\nyear 1560, executing many works. The first of these was a seated figure\nof a Prophet of three braccia and a half, which, being good and\nbeautiful, was placed in a niche that is turned towards the west; which\nstatue, having given satisfaction, was the reason that he afterwards\nmade all the other Prophets, with the exception of one, that facing\ntowards the east on the outer side, over against the altar, which is by\nthe hand of Simone Cioli of Settignano, likewise a disciple of Andrea\nSansovino. The rest of those Prophets, I say, are by the hand of Maestro\nGirolamo, and are executed with much diligence and study and good skill\nof hand. For the Chapel of the Sacrament the same master has made the\ncandelabra of bronze about three braccia in height, covered with foliage\nand figures cast in the round, which are so well wrought that they are\nthings to marvel at. And a brother of Maestro Girolamo's, who is an able\nmaster in similar works of casting, has executed many things in company\nwith him at Rome, and in particular a very large tabernacle of bronze\nfor Pope Paul III, which was to be placed in the chapel that is called\nthe Pauline in the Palace of the Vatican.\n\nAmong the Modenese, also, there have been at all times craftsmen\nexcellent in our arts, as has been said in other places, and as may be\nseen from four panel-pictures, of which no mention was made in the\nproper place because the master was not known; which pictures were\nexecuted in distemper a hundred years ago in that city, and, for those\ntimes, they are painted with diligence and very beautiful. The first is\non the high-altar of S. Domenico, and the others in the chapels that are\nin the tramezzo[1] of that church. And there is living in the same\ncountry at the present day a painter called Niccolò, who in his youth\npainted many works in fresco about the Beccherie, which have no little\nbeauty, and for the high-altar of S. Piero, a seat of the Black Friars,\nin an altar-piece, the Beheading of S. Peter and S. Paul, imitating in\nthe soldier who is cutting off their heads a similar figure by the hand\nof Antonio da Correggio, much renowned, which is in S. Giovanni\nEvangelista at Parma. Niccolò has been more excellent in fresco-painting\nthan in the other fields of painting, and, in addition to many works\nthat he has executed at Modena and Bologna, I understand that he has\npainted some very choice pictures in France, where he still lives, under\nMesser Francesco Primaticcio, Abbot of S. Martin, after whose designs\nNiccolò has painted many works in those parts, as will be related in the\nLife of Primaticcio.\n\n         [Footnote 1: See note on p. 57, Vol. I.]\n\nGiovan Battista, also, a rival of that Niccolò, has executed many works\nin Rome and elsewhere, and in particular he has painted at Perugia, in\nthe Chapel of Signor Ascanio della Cornia, in S. Francesco, many\npictures of the life of S. Andrew the Apostle, in which he has acquitted\nhimself very well. In competition with the above-named Niccolò, the\nFleming Arrigo, a master of glass windows, has painted in the same place\nan altar-piece in oils, containing the story of the Magi, which would be\nbeautiful enough if it were not somewhat confused and overloaded with\ncolours, which conflict with one another and destroy all the gradation;\nbut he has acquitted himself better in a window of glass designed and\npainted by himself, and executed for the Chapel of S. Bernardino in S.\nLorenzo, in the same city. But to return to Giovan Battista; having gone\nback after the above-named works to Modena, he has executed in the same\nS. Piero, for which Niccolò painted the altar-piece, two great scenes at\nthe sides, of the actions of S. Peter and S. Paul, in which he has\nacquitted himself with no ordinary excellence.\n\nIn the same city of Modena there have also been some sculptors worthy to\nbe numbered among the good craftsmen, for, in addition to Modanino, of\nwhom mention has been made in another place, there has been a master\ncalled Il Modena, who has executed most beautiful works in figures of\nterra-cotta, of the size of life and even larger; among others, those of\na chapel in S. Domenico at Modena, and for the centre of the dormitory\nof S. Piero (a monastery of Black Friars, likewise in Modena), a\nMadonna, S. Benedict, S. Giustina, and another Saint. To all these\nfigures he has given so well the colour of marble, that they appear as\nif truly of that stone; not to mention that they all have beautiful\nexpressions of countenance, lovely draperies, and admirable proportions.\nThe same master has executed similar figures for the dormitory of S.\nGiovanni Evangelista at Parma; and he has made a good number of figures\nin the round and of the size of life for many niches on the outer side\nof S. Benedetto at Mantua, in the façade and under the portico, which\nare so fine that they have the appearance of marble.\n\n[Illustration: THE MADONNA AND CHILD WITH S. JOHN\n\n(_After the terra-cotta by =Il Modena [Antonio Begarelli]=. Modena:\nMuseo Civico_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nIn like manner Prospero Clemente, a sculptor of Modena, has been, and\nstill is, an able man in his profession, as is evident from the tomb of\nBishop Rangone, by his hand, in the Duomo of Reggio, wherein is a seated\nstatue of that prelate, as large as life, with two little boys, all very\nwell executed; which tomb he made at the commission of Signor Ercole\nRangone. In the Duomo of Parma, likewise, in the vaults below, there\nis by the hand of Prospero the tomb of the Blessed Bernardo degli\nUberti, the Florentine, Cardinal and Bishop of that city, which was\nfinished in the year 1548, and much extolled.\n\nParma, also, has had at various times many excellent craftsmen and men\nof fine genius, as has been said above, for, besides one Cristofano\nCastelli, who painted a very beautiful altar-piece for the Duomo in the\nyear 1499, and Francesco Mazzuoli, whose Life has been written, there\nhave been many other able men in that city. Mazzuoli, as has been\nrelated, executed certain works in the Madonna della Steccata, but left\nthat undertaking unfinished at his death, and Giulio Romano, having made\na coloured design on paper, which may be seen in that place by everyone,\ndirected that a certain Michelagnolo Anselmi, a Sienese by origin, but a\ncitizen of Parma by adoption, being a good painter, should carry that\ncartoon into execution, wherein is the Coronation of Our Lady. This he\ndid excellently well, in truth, so that he well deserved that there\nshould be allotted to him a great niche--one of four very large niches\nthat are in that temple--opposite to that in which he had executed the\nabove-mentioned work after the design of Giulio. Whereupon, setting his\nhand to this, he carried well on towards completion there the Adoration\nof the Magi, with a good number of beautiful figures, making on the flat\narch, as was related before in the Life of Mazzuoli, the Wise Virgins\nand the design of copper rosettes; but, when about a third of that work\nremained for him to do, he died, and so it was finished by Bernardo\nSoiaro of Cremona, as we shall relate in a short time. By the hand of\nthat Michelagnolo is the Chapel of the Conception in S. Francesco, in\nthe same city; and a Celestial Glory in the Chapel of the Cross in S.\nPier Martire.\n\nGirolamo Mazzuoli, the cousin of Francesco, as has been told, continuing\nthe work in that Church of the Madonna, left unfinished by his kinsman,\npainted an arch with the Wise Virgins and adorned it with rosettes.\nThen, in the recess at the end, opposite to the principal door, he\npainted the Holy Spirit descending in Tongues of Fire on the Apostles,\nand in the last of the flat arches the Nativity of Jesus Christ, which,\nalthough not yet uncovered, he has shown to us this year of 1566, to our\ngreat pleasure, since it is a truly beautiful example of work in\nfresco. The great central tribune of the same Madonna della Steccata,\nwhich is being painted by Bernardo Soiaro, the painter of Cremona, will\nalso be, when finished, a rare work, and able to compare with the others\nthat are in that place. But of all these it cannot be said that the\ncause has been any other than Francesco Mazzuoli, who was the first who\nwith beautiful judgment began the magnificent ornamentation of that\nchurch, which, so it is said, was built after the designs and directions\nof Bramante.\n\n[Illustration: FOUR SAINTS\n\n(_After =Begarelli=. Modena: S. Pietro_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nAs for the masters of our arts in Mantua, besides what has been said of\nthem up to the time of Giulio Romano, I must say that he sowed the seeds\nof his art in Mantua and throughout all Lombardy in such a manner that\nthere have been able men there ever since, and his own works are every\nday more clearly recognized as good and worthy of praise. And although\nGiovan Battista Bertano, the principal architect for the buildings of\nthe Duke of Mantua, has constructed in the Castle, over the part where\nthere are the waters and the corridor, many apartments that are\nmagnificent and richly adorned with stucco-work and pictures, executed\nfor the most part by Fermo Ghisoni, the disciple of Giulio, and by\nothers, as will be related, nevertheless he has not equalled those made\nby Giulio himself. The same Giovan Battista has caused Domenico\nBrusciasorzi to execute after his design for S. Barbara, the church of\nthe Duke's Castle, an altar-piece in oils truly worthy to be praised, in\nwhich is the Martyrdom of that Saint. And, in addition, having studied\nVitruvius, he has written and published a work on the Ionic volute,\nshowing how it should be turned, after that author; and at the principal\ndoor of his house at Mantua he has placed a complete column of stone,\nand the flat module of another, with all the measurements of that Ionic\nOrder marked, and also the palm, inch, foot, and braccio of the\nancients, to the end that whoever so desires may be able to see whether\nthose measurements are correct or not. In the Church of S. Piero, the\nDuomo of Mantua, which was the work and architecture of the above-named\nGiulio Romano, since in renovating it he gave it a new and modern form,\nthe same Bertano has caused an altar-piece to be executed for each\nchapel by the hands of various painters; and two of these he has had\npainted after his own designs by the above-mentioned Fermo Ghisoni,\none for the Chapel of S. Lucia, containing that Saint and two children,\nand the other for that of S. Giovanni Evangelista. Another similar\npicture he caused to be executed by Ippolito Costa of Mantua, in which\nis S. Agata with the hands bound and between two soldiers, who are\ncutting and tearing away her breasts. Battista d'Agnolo del Moro of\nVerona painted for the same Duomo, as has been told, the altar-piece\nthat is on the altar of S. Maria Maddalena, and Girolamo Parmigiano that\nof S. Tecla. Paolo Farinato of Verona Bertano commissioned to execute\nthe altar-piece of S. Martino, and the above-named Domenico Brusciasorzi\nthat of S. Margherita; and Giulio Campo of Cremona painted that of S.\nGieronimo. And one that was better than any other, although all are very\nbeautiful, in which is S. Anthony the Abbot beaten by the Devil in the\nform of a woman, who tempts him, is by the hand of Paolo Veronese. But\nof all the craftsmen of Mantua, that city has never had a more able\nmaster in painting than Rinaldo, who was a disciple of Giulio. By his\nhand is an altar-piece in S. Agnese in that city, wherein is Our Lady in\nthe air, with S. Augustine and S. Jerome, which are very good figures;\nbut him death snatched from the world before his time.\n\nIn a very beautiful antiquarium and study made by Signor Cesare Gonzaga,\nwhich is full of ancient statues and heads of marble, that lord has had\nthe genealogical tree of the House of Gonzaga painted, in order to adorn\nit, by Fermo Ghisoni, who has acquitted himself very well in everything,\nand especially in the expressions of the heads. The same Signor Cesare\nhas placed there, in addition, some pictures that are certainly very\nrare, such as that of the Madonna with the Cat which Raffaello da Urbino\npainted, and another wherein Our Lady with marvellous grace is washing\nthe Infant Jesus. In another little cabinet made for medals, which has\nbeen beautifully wrought in ebony and ivory by one Francesco da\nVolterra, who has no equal in such works, he has some little antique\nfigures in bronze, which could not be more beautiful than they are.\n\nIn short, between the last time that I saw Mantua and this year of 1566,\nwhen I have revisited that city, it has become so much more beautiful\nand ornate, that, if I had not seen it for myself, I would not believe\nit; and, what is more, the craftsmen have multiplied there, and they\nstill continue to multiply. Thus, to that Giovan Battista Mantovano, an\nexcellent sculptor and engraver of prints, of whom we have spoken in the\nLife of Giulio Romano and in that of Marc'Antonio Bolognese, have been\nborn two sons, who engrave copper-plates divinely well, and, what is\neven more astonishing, a daughter, called Diana, who also engraves so\nwell that it is a thing to marvel at; and I who saw her, a very gentle\nand gracious girl, and her works, which are most beautiful, was struck\nwith amazement.\n\nNor will I omit to say that in S. Benedetto, a very celebrated monastery\nof Black Friars at Mantua, renovated by Giulio Romano after a most\nbeautiful design, are many works executed by the above-named craftsmen\nof Mantua and other Lombards, in addition to those described in the Life\nof the same Giulio. There are, then, works by Fermo Ghisoni, such as a\nNativity of Christ, two altar-pieces by Girolamo Mazzuoli, three by\nLattanzio Gambara of Brescia, and three others by Paolo Veronese, which\nare the best. In the same place, at the head of the refectory, by the\nhand of a certain Fra Girolamo, a lay-brother of S. Dominic, as has been\nrelated elsewhere, is a picture in oils which is a copy of the very\nbeautiful Last Supper that Leonardo painted in S. Maria delle Grazie at\nMilan, and copied so well, that I was amazed by it. Of which\ncircumstance I make mention again very willingly, having seen Leonardo's\noriginal in Milan, this year of 1566, reduced to such a condition, that\nthere is nothing to be seen but a mass of confusion; wherefore the piety\nof that good father will always bear testimony in that respect to the\ngenius of Leonardo da Vinci. By the hand of the same monk I have seen in\nthe above-named house of the Mint, at Milan, a picture copied from one\nby Leonardo, in which are a woman that is smiling and S. John the\nBaptist as a boy, counterfeited very well.\n\n[Illustration: THE PURIFICATION OF THE VIRGIN\n\n(_After the fresco by =Giulio Campi=. Cremona: S. Margherita_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nCremona, as was said in the Life of Lorenzo di Credi and in other\nplaces, has had at various times men who have executed in painting works\nworthy of the highest praise. And we have already related that when\nBoccaccio Boccaccino was painting the great recess of the Duomo at\nCremona and the stories of Our Lady throughout the church, Bonifazio\nBembi was also a good painter, and Altobello executed in fresco many\nstories of Jesus Christ with much more design than have those of\nBoccaccino. After these works Altobello painted in fresco a chapel in S.\nAgostino of the same city, in a manner full of beauty and grace, as may\nbe seen by everyone. At Milan, in the Corte Vecchia--that is, the\ncourtyard, or rather, piazza of the Palace--he painted a standing figure\narmed in the ancient fashion, much better than any of the others that\nwere executed there by many painters about the same time. After the\ndeath of Bonifazio, who left unfinished the above-mentioned stories of\nChrist in the Duomo of Cremona, Giovanni Antonio Licinio of Pordenone,\ncalled in Cremona De' Sacchi, finished those stories begun by Bonifazio,\npainting there in fresco five scenes of the Passion of Christ with a\ngrand manner in the figures, bold colouring, and foreshortenings that\nhave vivacity and force; all which things taught the good method of\npainting to the Cremonese, and not in fresco only, but likewise in oils,\nfor the reason that in the same Duomo, placed against a pilaster in the\ncentre of the church, is an altar-piece by the hand of Pordenone that is\nvery beautiful. Camillo, the son of Boccaccino, afterwards imitated that\nmanner in painting in fresco the principal chapel of S. Gismondo,\nwithout the city, and in other works, and so succeeded much better than\nhis father had done. That Camillo, however, being slow and even dilatory\nin his work, did not paint much save small things and works of little\nimportance.\n\nBut he who imitated most the good manners, and who profited most by the\ncompetition of the above-named masters, was Bernardo de' Gatti, called\nIl Soiaro, of whom mention has been made in speaking of Parma. Some say\nthat he was of Verzelli, and others of Cremona; but, wherever he may\nhave come from, he painted a very beautiful altar-piece for the\nhigh-altar of S. Piero, a church of the Canons Regular, and in their\nrefectory the story of the miracle that Jesus Christ performed with the\nfive loaves and two fishes, satisfying an infinite multitude, although\nhe retouched it so much \"a secco,\" that it has since lost all its\nbeauty. That master also executed under a vault in S. Gismondo, without\nCremona, the Ascension of Jesus Christ into Heaven, which was a\npleasing work and very beautiful in colouring. In the Church of S. Maria\ndi Campagna at Piacenza, in competition with Pordenone and opposite to\nthe S. Augustine that has been mentioned, he painted in fresco a S.\nGeorge in armour and on horseback, who is killing the Serpent, with\nspirit, movement, and excellent relief. That done, he was commissioned\nto finish the tribune of that church, which Pordenone had left\nunfinished, wherein he painted in fresco all the life of the Madonna;\nand although the Prophets and Sibyls that Pordenone executed there, with\nsome children, are beautiful to a marvel, nevertheless Soiaro acquitted\nhimself so well, that the whole of that work appears as if all by one\nand the same hand. In like manner, some little altar-pieces that he has\nexecuted at Vigevano are worthy of considerable praise for their\nexcellence. Finally, after he had betaken himself to Parma to work in\nthe Madonna della Steccata, the great niche and the arch that were left\nincomplete through the death of Michelagnolo of Siena were finished by\nthe hands of Soiaro. And to him, from his having acquitted himself well,\nthe people of Parma have since given the charge of painting the great\ntribune that is in the centre of that church, where he is now constantly\noccupied in executing in fresco the Assumption of Our Lady, which, it is\nhoped, is to prove a most admirable work.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST\n\n(_After the panel by =Sofonisba Anguisciola=. Vienna: Imperial Gallery,\n109_)\n\n_Bruckmann_]\n\nWhile Boccaccino was still alive, but old, Cremona had another painter,\ncalled Galeazzo Campo, who painted the Rosary of the Madonna in a large\nchapel in the Church of S. Domenico, and the façade at the back of S.\nFrancesco, with other works and altar-pieces by his hand that are in\nCremona, all passing good. To him were born three sons, Giulio, Antonio,\nand Vincenzio; but Giulio, although he learned the first rudiments of\nart from his father Galeazzo, nevertheless afterwards followed the\nmanner of Soiaro, as being better, and studied much from some canvases\nexecuted in colours at Rome by the hand of Francesco Salviati, which\nwere painted for the weaving of tapestries, and sent to Piacenza to Duke\nPier Luigi Farnese. The first works that this Giulio executed in his\nyouth at Cremona were four large scenes in the choir of the Church of S.\nAgata, containing the martyrdom of that virgin, which proved to be\nsuch, that a well-practised master might perhaps not have done them so\nwell. Then, after executing some works in S. Margherita, he painted many\nfaçades of palaces in chiaroscuro, with good design. For the Church of\nS. Gismondo, without the city, he painted in oils the altar-piece of the\nhigh-altar, which was very beautiful on account of the diversity and\nmultitude of the figures that he executed in it, in competition with the\nmany painters who had worked in that place before him. After the\naltar-piece he painted there many things in fresco on the vaulting, and\nin particular the Descent of the Holy Spirit on the Apostles, who are\nforeshortened to be seen from below, with beautiful grace and great\nartistry. At Milan, for the Church of the Passione, a convent of Canons\nRegular, he painted a Christ Crucified on a panel in oils, with some\nAngels, the Madonna, S. John the Evangelist, and the other Maries. In\nthe Nunnery of S. Paolo, a convent also in Milan, he executed four\nscenes, with the Conversion and other acts of that Saint. In that work\nhe was assisted by Antonio Campo, his brother, who also painted for the\nNunnery of S. Caterina at the Porta Ticinese, likewise in Milan, for a\nchapel in the new church, the architecture of which is by Lombardino, a\npicture in oils of S. Helen directing the search for the Cross of\nChrist, which is a passing good work. And Vincenzio, likewise, the third\nof those three brothers, having learned much from Giulio, as Antonio has\nalso done, is a young man of excellent promise.\n\nTo the same Giulio Campo have been disciples not only his two\nabove-named brothers, but also Lattanzio Gambara and others; but most\nexcellent in painting, doing him more honour than any of the rest, has\nbeen Sofonisba Anguisciuola of Cremona, with her three sisters, which\nmost gifted maidens are the daughters of Signor Amilcare Anguisciuola\nand Signora Bianca Punzona, both of whom belong to the most noble\nfamilies in Cremona. Speaking, then, of Signora Sofonisba, of whom we\nsaid but little in the Life of Properzia of Bologna, because at that\ntime we knew no more, I must relate that I saw this year in the house of\nher father at Cremona, in a picture executed with great diligence by her\nhand, portraits of her three sisters in the act of playing chess, and\nwith them an old woman of the household, all done with such care and\nsuch spirit, that they have all the appearance of life, and are wanting\nin nothing save speech. In another picture may be seen, portrayed by the\nsame Sofonisba, her father Signor Amilcare, who has on one side one of\nhis daughters, her sister, called Minerva, who was distinguished in\npainting and in letters, and on the other side Asdrubale, their brother,\nthe son of the same man; and these, also, are executed so well, that\nthey appear to be breathing and absolutely alive. At Piacenza, in the\nhouse of the reverend Archdeacon of the principal church, are two very\nbeautiful pictures by the same hand: in one is the portrait of the\nArchdeacon, and in the other that of Sofonisba herself, and each of\nthose figures lacks nothing save speech. That lady, having been brought\nafterwards by the Duke of Alva, as was related above, into the service\nof the Queen of Spain, in which she still remains at the present day\nwith a handsome salary and much honour, has executed a number of\nportraits and pictures that are things to marvel at. Moved by the fame\nof which works, Pope Pius IV had Sofonisba informed that he desired to\nhave from her hand the portrait of her serene Highness the Queen of\nSpain; wherefore, having executed it with all the diligence in her\npower, she sent it to Rome to be presented to him, writing to his\nHoliness a letter in the precise form given below:\n\n[Illustration: THE MADONNA AND CHILD WITH SAINTS\n\n(_After the painting by =Girolamo Romanino=. Brescia: S. Francesco_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\n     \"HOLY FATHER,\n\n     \"From the very reverend Nuncio of your Holiness I understood that\n     you desired to have a portrait by my hand of her Majesty the\n     Queen, my Liege-lady. And since I accepted this commission as a\n     singular grace and favour, having thus to serve your Holiness, I\n     asked leave of her Majesty, who granted it very willingly,\n     recognizing therein the fatherly affection that your Holiness\n     bears to her. Taking the opportunity presented by this Chevalier,\n     I send it to you, and, if I shall have satisfied therein the\n     desire of your Holiness, I shall receive infinite compensation;\n     but I must not omit to tell you that if it were possible in the\n     same way to present with the brush to the eyes of your Holiness\n     the beauties of the mind of this most gracious Queen, you would\n     see the most marvellous thing in all the world. But in those\n     parts which can be portrayed by art, I have not failed to use all\n     the diligence in my power and knowledge, in order to present\n     the truth to your Holiness. And with this conclusion, in all\n     reverence and humility, I kiss your most holy feet.\n\n     \"From the most humble servant of your Holiness,\n\n                                               \"SOFONISBA ANGUISCIUOLA.\n\n     \"At Madrid, on the 16th of September, 1561.\"\n\nTo that letter his Holiness answered with that given below, which,\nhaving thought the portrait marvellously beautiful, he accompanied with\ngifts worthy of the great talents of Sofonisba:\n\n     \"PIUS PAPA IV DILECTA IN CHRISTO FILIA.\n\n     \"We have received the portrait of the most gracious Queen of\n     Spain, our dearest daughter, which you have sent to us; and it\n     has been most acceptable to us, both on account of the person\n     therein represented, whom we love with the love of a father by\n     reason of her true piety and her other most beautiful qualities\n     of mind, to say nothing of other reasons, and also because it has\n     been very well and diligently executed by your hand. We thank you\n     for it, assuring you that we shall hold it among our dearest\n     possessions, and commending this your art, which, although it is\n     marvellous, we understand to be the least of the many gifts that\n     are in you. And with this conclusion we send you once again our\n     benediction. May our Lord God preserve you.\n\n     \"Dat. Romæ, die 15 Octob., 1561.\"\n\nAnd let this testimony suffice to prove how great is the talent of\nSofonisba.\n\nA sister of hers, called Lucia, left at her death fame no less than that\nof Sofonisba, by means of some pictures by her hand that are no less\nbeautiful and precious than those of her sister described above, as may\nbe seen at Cremona from a portrait that she executed of Signor Pietro\nMaria, an eminent physician, but even more from another portrait,\npainted by that gifted maiden, of the Duke of Sessa, which was\ncounterfeited by her so well, that it would seem impossible to do better\nor to make a portrait with a more animated likeness.\n\nThe third of the sisters Anguisciuola, called Europa, is still a child\nin age. To her, a girl all grace and talent, I have spoken this very\nyear; and, in so far as one can see from her works and drawings, she\nwill be in no way inferior to Sofonisba and Lucia, her sisters. This\nEuropa has executed many portraits of gentlemen at Cremona, which are\naltogether beautiful and natural, and one of her mother, Signora Bianca,\nshe sent to Spain, which vastly pleased Sofonisba and everyone of that\nCourt who saw it. Anna, the fourth sister, although but a little girl,\nis also giving her attention with much profit to design: so that I know\nnot what to say save that it is necessary to have by nature an\ninclination for art, and then to add to that study and practice, as has\nbeen done by those four noble and gifted sisters, so much enamoured of\nevery rare art, and in particular of the matters of design, insomuch\nthat the house of Signor Amilcare Anguisciuola, most happy father of a\nfair and honourable family, appeared to me the home of painting, or\nrather, of all the arts. But, if women know so well how to produce\nliving men, what marvel is it that those who wish are also so well able\nto create them in painting?\n\nBut to return to Giulio Campo, of whom I have said that those young\nwomen are the disciples; besides other works, a painting on cloth that\nhe has made as a cover for the organ in the Cathedral Church, is\nexecuted with much study in distemper, with a great number of figures\nrepresenting the stories of Esther and Ahasuerus and the Crucifixion of\nHaman. And in the same church there is a graceful altar-piece by his\nhand on the altar of S. Michael; but since Giulio is still alive, I\nshall say no more for the present about his works. Of Cremona, likewise,\nwere the sculptor Geremia, who was mentioned by us in the Life of\nFilarete,[2] and who has executed a large work in marble in S. Lorenzo,\na seat of the Monks of Monte Oliveto; and Giovanni Pedoni, who has done\nmany works at Cremona and Brescia, and in particular many things in the\nhouse of Signor Eliseo Raimondo, which are beautiful and worthy of\npraise.\n\n         [Footnote 2: Really in the Life of Filippo Brunelleschi, p.\n         236, Vol. II.]\n\n[Illustration: THE CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN\n\n(_After the painting by =Alessandro Bonvicino [Il Moretto _or_ Moretto\nda Brescia]=. Brescia: SS. Nazaro e Celso_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nIn Brescia, also, there have been, and still are, persons most\nexcellent in the arts of design, and, among others, Girolamo Romanino\nhas executed innumerable works in that city. The altar-piece on the\nhigh-altar of S. Francesco, which is a passing good picture, is by his\nhand, and so also the little shutters that enclose it, which are painted\nin distemper both within and without; and his work, likewise, is another\naltar-piece executed in oils that is very beautiful, wherein may be seen\nmasterly imitations of natural objects. But more able than that Girolamo\nwas Alessandro Moretto, who painted in fresco, under the arch of the\nPorta Brusciata, the Translation of the bodies of SS. Faustino and\nJovita, with some groups of figures that are accompanying those bodies,\nall very well done. For S. Nazzaro, also in Brescia, he executed certain\nworks, and others for S. Celso, which are passing good, and an\naltar-piece for S. Piero in Oliveto, which is full of charm. At Milan,\nin the house of the Mint, there is a picture by the hand of that same\nAlessandro with the Conversion of S. Paul, and other heads that are very\nnatural, with beautiful adornments of draperies and vestments, for the\nreason that he much delighted to counterfeit cloth of gold and of\nsilver, velvets, damasks, and other draperies of every kind, which he\nused to place on the figures with great diligence. The heads by the hand\nof that master are very lifelike, and hold to the manner of Raffaello da\nUrbino, and even more would they hold to it if he had not lived so far\nfrom Raffaello.\n\nThe son-in-law of Alessandro was Lattanzio Gambara, a painter of\nBrescia, who, having learned his art, as has been related, under Giulio\nCampo of Verona,[3] is now the best painter that there is in Brescia. By\nhis hand, in the Black Friars Church of S. Faustino, are the altar-piece\nof the high-altar, and the vaulting and walls painted in fresco, with\nother pictures that are in the same church. In the Church of S. Lorenzo,\nalso, the altar-piece of the high-altar is by his hand, with two scenes\nthat are on the walls, and the vaulting, all painted in fresco almost in\nthe same manner. He has also painted, besides many other façades, that\nof his own house, with most beautiful inventions, and likewise the\ninterior; in which house, situated between S. Benedetto and the\nVescovado, I saw, when I was last in Brescia, two very beautiful\nportraits by his hand, that of Alessandro Moretto, his father-in-law,\nwhich is a very lovely head of an old man, and that of the same\nAlessandro's daughter, his wife. And if the other works of Lattanzio\nwere equal to those portraits, he would be able to compare with the\ngreatest men of his art. But, since his works are without number, and he\nhimself besides is still living, it must suffice for the present to have\nmade mention of those named.\n\n         [Footnote 3: Rather, of Cremona.]\n\nBy the hand of Gian Girolamo Bresciano are many works to be seen in\nVenice and Milan, and in the above-mentioned house of the Mint there are\nfour pictures of Night and of Fire, which are very beautiful. In the\nhouse of Tommaso da Empoli at Venice is a Nativity of Christ, a very\nlovely effect of night, and there are some other similar works of\nfantasy, in which he was a master. But, since he occupied himself only\nwith things of that kind, and executed no large works, there is nothing\nmore to be said of him save that he was a man of fanciful and inquiring\nmind, and that what he did deserves to be much commended.\n\nGirolamo Mosciano of Brescia, after spending his youth in Rome, has\nexecuted many beautiful works in figures and landscapes, and at Orvieto,\nin the principal Church of S. Maria, he has painted two altar-pieces in\noils and some Prophets in fresco, which are good works; and the drawings\nby his hand that are published in engraving, are executed with good\ndesign. But, since he also is alive, serving Cardinal Ippolito d'Este in\nthe buildings and restorations that he is carrying out in Rome, in\nTivoli, and in other places, I shall say no more about him at present.\n\nThere has returned recently from Germany Francesco Ricchino, likewise a\npainter of Brescia, who, besides many other pictures that he has painted\nin various places, has executed some works of painting in oils in the\nabove-named S. Piero in Oliveto at Brescia, which are done with much\nstudy and diligence.\n\n[Illustration: THE ADORATION OF THE SHEPHERDS\n\n(_After the painting by =Gian Girolamo Bresciano [Savoldo]=. Brescia:\nPalazzo Martinengo_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nThe brothers Cristofano and Stefano, painters of Brescia, have a great\nname among craftsmen for their facility in drawing in perspective; and,\namong other works in Venice, they have counterfeited in painting on the\nflat ceiling of S. Maria dell'Orto a corridor of double twisted columns,\nsimilar to those of the Porta Santa in S. Pietro at Rome, which,\nresting on certain great consoles that project outwards, form a superb\ncorridor with groined vaulting right round that church. This work,\nwhen seen from the centre of the church, displays most beautiful\nforeshortenings, which fill with astonishment everyone who sees them,\nand make the ceiling, which is flat, appear to be vaulted; besides that\nit is accompanied by a beautiful variety of mouldings, masks, festoons,\nand some figures, which make a very rich adornment to the work, which\ndeserves to be vastly extolled by everyone, both for its novelty and for\nits having been carried to completion excellently well and with great\ndiligence. And, since this method gave much satisfaction to that most\nillustrious Senate, there was entrusted to the same masters another\nceiling, similar, but small, in the Library of S. Marco, which, for a\nwork of that kind, was very highly extolled. Finally, those brothers\nhave been summoned to their native city of Brescia to do the same with a\nmagnificent hall which was begun on the Piazza many years ago, at vast\nexpense, and erected over a theatre of large columns, under which is a\npromenade. This hall is sixty-two full paces long, thirty-five broad,\nand likewise thirty-five in height at the highest point of its\nelevation; although it appears much larger, being isolated on every\nside, and without any apartment or other building about it. On the\nceiling of this magnificent and most honourable hall, then, those two\nbrothers have been much employed, with very great credit to themselves;\nhaving made a roof-truss for the roof (which is covered with lead) of\nbeams of wood that are very large, composed of pieces well secured with\nclamps of iron, and having turned the ceiling with beautiful artistry in\nthe manner of a basin-shaped vault, so that it is a rich work. It is\ntrue that in that great space there are included only three pictures\npainted in oils, each of ten braccia, which were painted by the old\nTiziano; whereas many more could have gone there, with a richer, more\nbeautiful, and better proportioned arrangement of compartments, which\nwould have made that hall more cheerful, handsome, and ornate; but in\nevery other part it has been made with much judgment.\n\n[Illustration: THE HOLY FAMILY\n\n(_After the panel by =Bramantino=. Milan: Brera, 279_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nNow, having spoken in this part of our book, up to the present, of the\ncraftsmen of design in the cities of Lombardy, it cannot but be well to\nsay something about those of the city of Milan, the capital of that\nprovince, of whom no mention has been made here, although of some of\nthem we have spoken in many other places in this our work. To begin,\nthen, with Bramantino, of whom mention has been made in the Life of\nPiero della Francesca of the Borgo, I find that he executed many more\nworks than I have enumerated above; and, in truth, it did not then\nappear to me possible that a craftsman so renowned, who introduced good\ndesign into Milan, should have executed works so few as those that had\ncome to my notice. Now, after he had painted in Rome, as has been\nrelated, some apartments for Pope Nicholas V, and had finished over the\ndoor of S. Sepolcro, in Milan, the Christ in foreshortening, the Madonna\nwho has Him on her lap, the Magdalene, and S. John, which was a very\nrare work, he painted in fresco, on a façade in the court of the Mint in\nMilan, the Nativity of Christ our Saviour, and, in the Church of S.\nMaria di Brera, in the tramezzo,[4] the Nativity of Our Lady, with some\nProphets on the doors of the organ, which are foreshortened very well to\nbe seen from below, and a perspective-view which recedes with a\nbeautiful gradation excellently contrived; at which I do not marvel, he\nhaving always much delighted in the studies of architecture, and having\nhad a very good knowledge of them. Thus I remember to have seen once in\nthe hands of Valerio Vicentino a very beautiful book of antiquities,\ndrawn with all the measurements by the hand of Bramantino, wherein were\nthose of Lombardy and the ground-plans of many well-known edifices,\nwhich I drew from that book, being then a lad. In it was the Temple of\nS. Ambrogio in Milan, built by the Lombards, and all full of sculptures\nand pictures in the Greek manner, with a round tribune of considerable\nsize, but not well conceived in the matter of architecture; which temple\nwas rebuilt in the time of Bramantino, after his design, with a portico\nof stone on one side, and with columns in the manner of trunks of trees\nthat have been lopped, which have in them something of novelty and\nvariety. There, likewise, was drawn the ancient portico of the Church of\nS. Lorenzo in the same city, built by the Romans, which is a great work,\nbeautiful and well worthy of note; but the temple there, or rather, the\nchurch, is in the manner of the Goths. In the same book was drawn the\nTemple of S. Aquilino, which is very ancient, and covered with\nincrustations of marble and stucco, very well preserved, with some large\ntombs of granite. In like manner, there was the Temple of S. Piero in\nCiel d'Oro at Pavia, in which place is the body of S. Augustine, in a\ntomb that is in the sacristy, covered with little figures, which,\naccording to my belief, is by the hands of Agostino and Agnolo, the\nsculptors of Siena. There, also, was drawn the tower of brick built by\nthe Goths, which is a beautiful work, for there may be seen in it,\nbesides other things, some figures fashioned of terra-cotta after the\nantique, each six braccia high, which have remained in passing good\npreservation down to the present day. In that tower, so it is said, died\nBoetius, who was buried in the above-named S. Piero in Ciel d'Oro, now\ncalled S. Agostino, where there may be seen, even at the present day,\nthe tomb of that holy man, with the inscription placed there by\nAliprando, who restored and rebuilt the church in the year 1222. And,\nbesides all these, there was in that book, drawn by the hand of\nBramantino himself, the very ancient Temple of S. Maria in Pertica,\nround in shape, and built with fragments by the Lombards; in which place\nnow lie the bones from the slaughter of the Frenchmen and others who\nwere routed and slain before Pavia, when King Francis I of France was\ntaken prisoner there by the Emperor Charles V.\n\n         [Footnote 4: See note on p. 57, Vol. I.]\n\n[Illustration: A WARRIOR\n\n(_After the fresco by =Bramantino=. Milan: Brera, No. 494_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nBut let us now leave drawings on one side: Bramantino painted in Milan\nthe façade of the house of Signor Giovan Battista Latuate, with a most\nbeautiful Madonna, and on either side of her a Prophet. On the façade of\nSignor Bernardo Scacalarozzo he painted four Giants in imitation of\nbronze, which are reasonably good; with other works that are in Milan,\nwhich brought him credit, from his having been the first light of a good\nmanner of painting that was seen in Milan, and the reason that after him\nBramante became, on account of the good form that he gave to his\nbuildings and perspective-views, an excellent master in the matters of\narchitecture; for the first things that Bramante studied were the works\nof Bramantino. Under the direction of Bramante was built the Temple of\nS. Satiro, which pleases me exceedingly, for it is a very rich work,\nadorned both within and without with columns, double corridors, and\nother ornaments, with the accompaniment of a most beautiful sacristy\nall full of statues. But above all does the central tribune of that\nplace merit praise, the beauty of which, as has been related in the Life\nof Bramante, was the reason that Bernardino da Trevio followed that\nmethod in the Duomo of Milan, and gave his attention to architecture,\nalthough his first and principal art was painting; having executed, as\nhas been related, in a cloister of the Monastery of S. Maria delle\nGrazie, four scenes of the Passion in fresco, and some others in\nchiaroscuro.\n\n[Illustration: SALOME\n\n(_After the panel by =Cesare da Sesto=. Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 91_)\n\n_Bruckmann_]\n\nBy that Bernardino was brought forward and much assisted the sculptor\nAgostino Busto, called Il Bambaja, of whom there has been an account in\nthe Life of Baccio da Montelupo. Agostino executed some works in S.\nMarta, a convent of nuns in Milan, among which, although it is difficult\nto obtain leave to enter that place, I have seen the tomb of Monsignor\nde Foix, who died at Pavia,[5] in the form of many pieces of marble,\nwherein are about ten scenes with little figures, carved with much\ndiligence, of the deeds, battles, victories, and triumphant assaults on\nstrongholds of that lord, and finally his death and burial. To put it\nbriefly, that work is such that I, gazing at it in amazement, stood for\na while marvelling that it was possible for works so delicate and so\nextraordinary to be done with the hand and with tools of iron; for there\nmay be seen in that tomb, executed with the most marvellous carving,\ndecorations of trophies, arms of every kind, chariots, artillery, and\nmany other engines of war, and, finally, the body of that lord in\narmour, large as life, and almost seeming to be full of gladness, as he\nlies dead, at the victories that he had gained. And certainly it is a\npity that this work, which is well worthy to be numbered among the most\nstupendous examples of the art, should be unfinished and left to lie on\nthe ground in pieces, and not built up in some place; wherefore I do not\nmarvel that some figures have been stolen from it, and then sold and set\nup in other places. The truth is that there is so little humanity, or\nrather, piety, to be found among men at the present day, that of all\nthose who were benefited and beloved by de Foix not one has ever felt a\npang for his memory or for the beauty and excellence of the work. By the\nhand of the same Agostino Busto are some works in the Duomo, and, as\nhas been related, the tomb of the Biraghi in S. Francesco, with many\nothers that are very beautiful in the Certosa of Pavia.\n\n         [Footnote 5: Ravenna.]\n\nA rival of Agostino was one Cristofano Gobbo, who also executed many\nworks in the façade of the above-named Certosa and in the church, and\nthat so well, that he can be numbered among the best sculptors that\nthere were in Lombardy at that time. And the Adam and Eve that are in\nthe east front of the Duomo of Milan, which are by his hand, are held to\nbe rare works, and such as can stand in comparison with any that have\nbeen executed by other masters in those parts.\n\nAlmost at the same time there lived at Milan another sculptor called\nAngelo, and by way of surname Ciciliano, who executed on the same side\n(of the Duomo), and of equal size, a S. Mary Magdalene raised on high by\nfour little Angels, which is a very beautiful work, and by no means\ninferior to those of Cristofano. That sculptor also gave his attention\nto architecture, and executed, among other works, the portico of S.\nCelso in Milan, which was finished after his death by Tofano, called\nLombardino, who, as was said in the Life of Giulio Romano, built many\nchurches and palaces throughout all Milan, and, in particular, the\nconvent, church, and façade of the Nuns of S. Caterina at the Porta\nTicinese, with many other buildings similar to these.\n\nSilvio da Fiesole, labouring at the instance of Tofano in the works of\nthat Duomo, executed in the ornament of a door that faces between the\nwest and the north, wherein are several scenes from the life of Our\nLady, the scene containing her Espousal, which is very beautiful; and\nthat of equal size opposite to it, in which is the Marriage of Cana in\nGalilee, is by the hand of Marco da Grà, a passing well-practised\nsculptor. The work of these scenes is now being continued by a very\nstudious young man called Francesco Brambilari, who has carried one of\nthem almost to completion, a very beautiful work, in which are the\nApostles receiving the Holy Spirit. He has made, also, a drop-shaped\nconsole of marble, all in open-work, with foliage and a group of\nchildren that are marvellous; and over that work, which is to be placed\nin the Duomo, there is to go a statue in marble of Pope Pius IV, one of\nthe Medici, and a citizen of Milan.\n\nIf there had been in that place the study of those arts that there is\nin Rome and in Florence, those able masters would have done, and would\nstill be doing, astonishing things. And, in truth, they are greatly\nindebted at the present day to the Chevalier Leone Lioni of Arezzo, who,\nas will be told, has spent much time and money in bringing to Milan\ncasts of many ancient works, taken in gesso, for his own use and that of\nthe other craftsmen.\n\nBut to return to the Milanese painters; after Leonardo da Vinci had\nexecuted there the Last Supper already described, many sought to imitate\nhim, and these were Marco Oggioni and others, of whom mention has been\nmade in Leonardo's Life. In addition to them, Cesare da Sesto, likewise\na Milanese, imitated him very well; and, besides what has been mentioned\nin the Life of Dosso, he painted a large picture that is in the house of\nthe Mint in Milan, a truly abundant and beautiful work, in which is\nChrist being baptized by John. By the same hand, also, in that place, is\na head of Herodias, with that of S. John the Baptist in a charger,\nexecuted with most beautiful artistry. And finally he painted for S.\nRocco, without the Porta Romana, an altar-piece containing that Saint as\na very young man; with other pictures that are much extolled.\n\nGaudenzio, a Milanese painter, who in his lifetime was held to be an\nable master, painted the altar-piece of the high-altar in S. Celso. In a\nchapel of S. Maria delle Grazie he executed in fresco the Passion of\nJesus Christ, with figures of the size of life in strange attitudes; and\nthen, in competition with Tiziano, he painted an altar-piece for a place\nbelow that chapel, in which, although he was very confident, he did not\nsurpass the works of the others who had laboured in that place.\n\nBernardino del Lupino, of whom some mention was made not very far back,\npainted in Milan, near S. Sepolcro, the house of Signor Gian Francesco\nRabbia--that is, the façade, loggie, halls, and apartments--depicting\nthere many of the Metamorphoses of Ovid and other fables, with good and\nbeautiful figures, executed with much delicacy. And in the Monastero\nMaggiore he painted all the great altar-wall with different stories, and\nlikewise, in a chapel, Christ scourged at the Column, with many other\nworks, which are all passing good.\n\n[Illustration: GAUDENZIO FERRARI: MADONNA AND CHILD\n\n(_Milan: Brera, 277. Panel_)]\n\nAnd let this be the end of the above-written Lives of various Lombard\ncraftsmen.\n\n[Illustration: S. PAUL\n\n(_After the panel by =Gaudenzio [Gaudenzio Ferrari]=. Paris: Louvre,\n1285_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\n\n\n\nRIDOLFO, DAVID, AND BENEDETTO GHIRLANDAJO\n\n\n\n\nLIVES OF RIDOLFO, DAVID, AND BENEDETTO GHIRLANDAJO\n\nPAINTERS OF FLORENCE\n\n\nAlthough it appears in a certain sense impossible that one who imitates\nsome man excellent in our arts, and follows in his footsteps, should not\nbecome in great measure like him, nevertheless it may be seen that very\noften the brothers and sons of persons of singular ability do not follow\ntheir kinsmen in this respect, but fall away strangely from their\nstandard. Which comes to pass, I think, not because there are not in\nthem, through their blood, the same fiery spirit and the same genius,\nbut rather from another reason--that is, from overmuch ease and comfort\nand from an over-abundance of means, which often prevent men from\nbecoming industrious and assiduous in their studies. Yet this rule is\nnot so fixed that the contrary does not sometimes happen.\n\nDavid and Benedetto Ghirlandajo, although they had very good parts and\ncould have followed their brother Domenico in the matters of art, yet\ndid not do so, for the reason that after the death of that same brother\nthey strayed away from the path of good work, one of them, Benedetto,\nspending a long time as a wanderer, and the other distilling his brains\naway vainly in the study of mosaic. David, who had been much beloved by\nDomenico, and who loved him equally, both living and dead, finished\nafter his death, in company with his brother Benedetto, many works begun\nby Domenico, and in particular the altar-piece of the high-altar in S.\nMaria Novella, that is, the part at the back, which now faces the choir;\nand some pupils of the same Domenico finished the predella in little\nfigures, Niccolaio painting with great diligence, below the figure of\nS. Stephen, a disputation of that Saint, while Francesco Granacci,\nJacopo del Tedesco, and Benedetto executed the figures of S. Antonino,\nArchbishop of Florence, and S. Catharine of Siena. And they painted an\naltar-picture of S. Lucia that is in that place, with the head of a\nfriar, near the centre of the church; and many other paintings and\npictures that are in the houses of various individuals.\n\nAfter having been several years in France, where he worked and earned\nnot a little, Benedetto returned to Florence with many privileges and\npresents that he had received from that King in testimony of his\ntalents. And finally, after having given his attention not only to\npainting but also to miniatures, he died at the age of fifty.\n\nDavid, although he drew and worked much, yet did not greatly surpass\nBenedetto: and this may have come about from his being too prosperous,\nand from not keeping his thoughts fixed on art, who is never found save\nby him who seeks her, and, when found, must not be abandoned, or she\nflies away. By the hand of David, in the garden of the Monks of the\nAngeli in Florence, at the head of a path that is opposite to a door\nthat leads into that garden, are two figures in fresco at the foot of a\nCrucifix--namely, S. Benedict and S. Romualdo--with some other similar\nworks, little worthy to have any record made of them. But, while David\nhimself would not give attention to art, it was not a little to his\ncredit that he caused his nephew Ridolfo, the son of Domenico, to devote\nhimself to it with all diligence, and set him on the right way; for that\nRidolfo, who was under the care of David, being a lad of beautiful\ngenius, was placed by him to practise painting, and provided with all\nfacilities for study by his uncle, who repented too late that he had not\nstudied that art, and had spent all his time on mosaic. David executed\non a thick panel of walnut-wood, which was to be sent to the King of\nFrance, a Madonna in mosaic, with some Angels about her, which was much\nextolled. And, living at Montaione, a township in Valdelsa, where he had\nfurnaces, glass, and wood at his command, he executed there many works\nin glass and mosaic, and in particular some vases, which were presented\nto the Magnificent Lorenzo de' Medici, the elder, and three heads, that\nof S. Peter, that of S. Laurence, and that of Giuliano de' Medici, on a\ndish of copper, which are now in the guardaroba of the Duke.\n\n[Illustration: CHRIST BEARING THE CROSS\n\n(_After the painting by =Ridolfo Ghirlandajo=. London: National Gallery,\n1143_)\n\n_Mansell_]\n\nMeanwhile Ridolfo, drawing from the cartoon of Michelagnolo, was held to\nbe one of the best draughtsmen thus employed, and was therefore much\nbeloved by everyone, and particularly by Raffaello Sanzio of Urbino, who\nat that time, also being a young man of great reputation, was living in\nFlorence, as has been related, in order to learn art. After Ridolfo had\nstudied from that cartoon, and had become well-practised in painting\nunder Fra Bartolommeo di San Marco, he already knew so much, according\nto the judgment of the best masters, that Raffaello, when about to go to\nRome at the summons of Pope Julius II, left him to finish the blue\ndrapery and other little things that were wanting in the picture of a\nMadonna that he had painted for some gentlemen of Siena; which picture\nRidolfo, after he had finished it with much diligence, sent to Siena.\nAnd Raffaello had not been long in Rome before he sought in many ways to\nattract Ridolfo to that city, but he, having never been out of sight of\nthe Cupola, as the saying goes, and not being able to reconcile himself\nto living out of Florence, never accepted any proposal made to him that\nwould interfere with his living in that city.\n\nFor the Convent of the Nuns of Ripoli Ridolfo painted two altar-pieces\nin oils: in one the Coronation of Our Lady, and in the other a Madonna\nsurrounded by certain Saints. For the Church of S. Gallo he painted in\nan altar-piece Christ bearing the Cross, with a good number of soldiers,\nand the Madonna and the other Maries, who are weeping in company with\nJohn, while Veronica is offering the Sudarium to Christ; all showing\nforce and animation. That work, in which are many very beautiful heads,\ntaken from life and executed with lovingness, acquired a great name for\nRidolfo; and in it are portrayed his father and some lads who were\nworking with him, and, of his friends, Poggino, Scheggia, and Nunziata,\nthe head of the last-named being very lifelike. That Nunziata, although\nhe was a puppet-painter, was in some things a person of distinction, and\nabove all in preparing fireworks and the girandole that were made every\nyear for the festival of S. John; and, since he was an amusing and\nfacetious person, everyone took great pleasure in conversing with him. A\ncitizen once saying to him that he was displeased with certain painters\nwho could paint nothing but lewd things, and that he therefore wished\nhim to paint a picture of a Madonna that might be seemly, well advanced\nin years and not likely to provoke lascivious thoughts, Nunziata painted\nhim one with a beard. Another meaning to ask from him a Christ on the\nCross for a ground-floor room where he lived in summer, and not being\nable to say anything but \"I want a Christ on the Cross for summer,\"\nNunziata, who saw him to be a simpleton, painted him one in breeches.\n\nBut to return to Ridolfo. Having been commissioned to paint the Nativity\nof Christ in an altar-piece for the Monastery of Cestello, he exerted\nhimself much, in order to surpass his rivals, and executed that work\nwith the greatest diligence and labour at his command, painting therein\nthe Madonna, who is adoring the Infant Christ, S. Joseph, and two\nfigures, S. Francis and S. Jerome, kneeling. He also made there a most\nbeautiful landscape, very like the Sasso della Vernia, where S. Francis\nreceived the Stigmata, and above the hut some Angels that are singing;\nand the whole work was very beautiful in colouring, and passing good in\nrelief. About the same time, after executing an altar-piece that went to\nPistoia, he set his hand to two others for the Company of S. Zanobi,\nwhich is beside the canonical buildings of S. Maria del Fiore; which\naltar-pieces were to stand on either side of the Annunciation that\nMariotto Albertinelli had formerly painted there, as was related in his\nLife. Ridolfo, then, carried the two pictures to completion with great\nsatisfaction to the men of that Company, painting in one S. Zanobi\nrestoring a boy to life in the Borgo degli Albizzi in Florence, which is\na very lively and spirited scene, for there are in it many heads\nportrayed from life, and some women who show very vividly their joy and\nastonishment at seeing the boy reviving and the spirit returning to him.\nIn the other is the scene of the same S. Zanobi being carried dead by\nsix Bishops from S. Lorenzo, where he was first buried, to S. Maria del\nFiore, when, passing through the Piazza di S. Giovanni, an elm that was\nthere, all withered, on the spot where there is now a column of marble,\nwith a cross upon it in memory of the miracle, was no sooner touched\n(through the will of God) by the coffin wherein was the holy corpse,\nthan it put forth leaves again and burst into bloom; which picture was\nno less beautiful than the others by Ridolfo mentioned above.\n\n[Illustration: THE MIRACLE OF S. ZANOBI\n\n(_After the painting by =Ridolfo Ghirlandajo=. Florence: Uffizi, 1275_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nNow those works were executed by that painter while his uncle David was\nstill alive, and that good old man took the greatest pleasure in them,\nthanking God that he had lived so long as to see the art of Domenico\ncome to life again, as it were, in Ridolfo. But finally, being\nseventy-four years of age, while he was preparing, old as he was, to go\nto Rome to take part in the holy Jubilee, he fell ill and died in the\nyear 1525, and received burial from Ridolfo in S. Maria Novella, where\nthe others of the Ghirlandajo family lie.\n\nRidolfo had a brother called Don Bartolommeo in the Angeli, a seat of\nthe Monks of Camaldoli in Florence, who was a truly religious, upright,\nand worthy man; and Ridolfo, who loved him much, painted for him in the\ncloister that opens into the garden--that is, in the loggia where there\nare the stories of S. Benedict painted in verdaccio by the hand of Paolo\nUccello, on the right hand as one enters by the door of the garden--a\nscene in which that same Saint, seated at table with two Angels beside\nhim, is waiting for bread to be sent for him into the grotto by Romanus,\nbut the Devil has cut the cord with stones; and the same Saint investing\na young man with the habit. But the best figure of all those that are on\nthat little arch, is the portrait of a dwarf who stood at the door of\nthe monastery at that time. In the same place, over the holy-water font\nat the entrance into the church, he painted in fresco-colours a Madonna\nwith the Child in her arms, and some Angels about her, all very\nbeautiful. And in the cloister that is in front of the chapter-house, in\na lunette over the door of a little chapel, he painted in fresco S.\nRomualdo with the Church of the Hermitage of Camaldoli in his hand: and\nnot long afterwards a very beautiful Last Supper that is at the head of\nthe refectory of the same monks, which he did at the commission of Don\nAndrea Doffi the Abbot, who had been a monk of that monastery, and who\nhad his own portrait painted in a corner at the foot.\n\nRidolfo also executed three very beautiful stories of the Madonna, which\nhave the appearance of miniatures, on a predella in the little Church of\nthe Misericordia, in the Piazza di S. Giovanni. And for Matteo Cini, in\na little tabernacle on the corner of his house, near the Piazza di S.\nMaria Novella, he painted Our Lady, S. Matthew the Apostle, and S.\nDominic, with two little sons of that Matteo on their knees, portrayed\nfrom life; which work, although small, is very beautiful and full of\ngrace. For the Nuns of S. Girolamo, of the Order of S. Francesco de'\nZoccoli, on the heights of S. Giorgio, he painted two altar-pieces; in\none is S. Jerome in Penitence, very beautiful, with a Nativity of Jesus\nChrist in the lunette above, and in the other, which is opposite to the\nfirst, is an Annunciation, and in the lunette above S. Mary Magdalene\npartaking of the Communion. In the Palace that is now the Duke's he\npainted the chapel where the Signori used to hear Mass, executing in the\ncentre of the vaulting the most Holy Trinity, and in the other\ncompartments some little Angels who are holding the Mysteries of the\nPassion, with some heads representing the twelve Apostles. In the four\ncorners he painted the four Evangelists in whole-length figures, and at\nthe head the Angel Gabriel bringing the Annunciation to the Virgin,\ndepicting in a kind of landscape the Piazza della Nunziata in Florence\nas far as the Church of S. Marco; and all this work is executed\nexcellently well, with many beautiful ornaments. When it was finished,\nhe painted in an altar-piece, which was placed in the Pieve of Prato,\nOur Lady presenting the Girdle to S. Thomas, who is with the other\nApostles. For Ognissanti, at the commission of Monsignor de' Bonafè,\nDirector of the Hospital of S. Maria Nuova, and Bishop of Cortona, he\nexecuted an altar-piece with Our Lady, S. John the Baptist, and S.\nRomualdo; and for the same patron, having served him well, he painted\nsome other works, of which there is no need to make mention. He then\ncopied the three Labours of Hercules (which Antonio del Pollaiuolo had\nformerly painted in the Palace of the Medici), for Giovan Battista della\nPalla, who sent them to France.\n\n[Illustration: RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO: PORTRAIT OF A LADY\n\n(_Florence: Pitti, 224. Panel_)]\n\nAfter he had executed these and many other pictures, Ridolfo, happening\nto have in his house all the appliances for working in mosaic which had\nbelonged to his uncle David and his father Domenico, and having also\nlearned something of that work from the uncle, determined that he would\ntry to do some work in mosaic with his own hand. Which having done, and\nfinding that he was successful, he undertook to decorate the arch that\nis over the door of the Nunziata, wherein he made the Angel bringing\nthe Annunciation to Our Lady. But, since he had not the patience for\nputting together all those little pieces, he never again did any work in\nthat field of art.\n\nFor a little church of the Company of Wool-carders at the head of the\nCampaccio, he painted in an altar-piece the Assumption of the Madonna,\nwith a choir of Angels, and the Apostles about the Sepulchre. But by\nmisadventure, the room in which the picture was having been filled in\nthe year of the siege with green broom for making fascines, the damp so\nsoftened the gesso that it all peeled away; wherefore Ridolfo had to\nrepaint it, and made in it his own portrait. At the Pieve of Giogoli, in\na tabernacle that is on the high road, he painted Our Lady with two\nAngels; and in another tabernacle opposite to a mill of the Eremite\nFathers of Camaldoli, which is on the Ema, beyond the Certosa, he\npainted many figures in fresco. By reason of all which works, Ridolfo,\nfinding himself sufficiently employed, and living comfortably with a\ngood income, would by no means rack his brains to do all that he could\nhave done in painting, but rather became disposed to live like a\ngentleman and take life as it came.\n\nFor the visit of Pope Leo to Florence, he executed in company with his\nyoung men and assistants all the festive preparations in the house of\nthe Medici, and decorated the Sala del Papa and the adjoining rooms,\ncausing the chapel to be painted by Pontormo, as has been related. In\nlike manner, for the nuptials of Duke Giuliano and Duke Lorenzo he\nexecuted the decorations and some scenery for comedies; and, since he\nwas much beloved by those lords for his excellence, he received many\noffices by their means, and was elected to the Collegio as an honoured\ncitizen. Ridolfo did not disdain also to make pennons, standards, and\nother suchlike things in plenty, and I remember having heard him say\nthat three times he had painted the banners of the Potenze,[6] which\nused every year to hold tournaments and keep the city festive. In short,\nall sorts of works used to be executed in his shop, so that many young\nmen frequented it, each learning that which pleased him best.\n\n         [Footnote 6: See note on p. 59, Vol. VI.]\n\nThus Antonio del Ceraiolo, having been with Lorenzo di Credi, was then\nwith Ridolfo, and afterwards, having withdrawn by himself, executed many\nworks and portraits from life. In S. Jacopo tra Fossi there is by the\nhand of this Antonio an altar-piece, with S. Francis and S. Mary\nMagdalene at the foot of a Crucifix; and in the Church of the Servites,\nbehind the high-altar, a S. Michelagnolo copied from that by Ghirlandajo\nin the Ossa of S. Maria Nuova.\n\nAnother disciple of Ridolfo, who acquitted himself very well, was\nMariano da Pescia, by whose hand is a picture of Our Lady, with the\nInfant Christ, S. Elizabeth, and S. John, executed very well, in the\nabove-mentioned chapel of the Palace, which Ridolfo had previously\npainted for the Signoria. The same Mariano painted in chiaroscuro the\nwhole house of Carlo Ginori, in the street which takes its name from\nthat family, executing there stories from the life of Samson, in a very\nbeautiful manner. And if this painter had enjoyed a longer life than he\ndid, he would have become an excellent master.\n\nA disciple of Ridolfo, likewise, was Toto del Nunziata, who painted for\nS. Piero Scheraggio, in company with his master, an altar-piece of Our\nLady, with the Child in her arms, and two Saints.\n\n[Illustration: THE CRUCIFIXION WITH SS. FRANCIS AND MARY MAGDALENE\n\n(_After the panel by =Antonio del Ceraiolo=. Florence: Accademia, 163_)\n\n_Brogi_]\n\nBut dear beyond all the others to Ridolfo was a disciple of Lorenzo di\nCredi, who was also with Andrea del Ceraiolo, called Michele, a young\nman of an excellent nature, who executed his works with boldness and\nwithout effort. This Michele, then, following the manner of Ridolfo,\napproached him so closely that, whereas at the beginning he received\nfrom his master a third of his earnings, they came to execute their\nworks in company, and shared the profits. Michele looked upon Ridolfo\nalways as a father, and loved him, and also was so beloved by him, that,\nas one belonging to Ridolfo, he has ever been and still is known by no\nother name but Michele di Ridolfo. These two, I say, loving each other\nlike father and son, executed innumerable works in company. First, for\nthe Church of S. Felice in Piazza, a place then belonging to the Monks\nof Camaldoli, they painted in an altar-piece Christ and Our Lady in the\nair, who are praying to God the Father for the people below, where some\nSaints are kneeling. In S. Felicita they painted two chapels in fresco,\ndespatching them in an able manner; in one is the Dead Christ with the\nMaries, and in the other the Assumption of Our Lady, with some Saints.\nFor the Church of the Nuns of S. Jacopo delle Murate they executed an\naltar-piece at the commission of Bishop de' Bonafè of Cortona: and for\nthe Convent of the Nuns of Ripoli another altar-piece with Our Lady and\nsome Saints. For the Chapel of the Segni, below the organ in the Church\nof S. Spirito, they painted, likewise in an altar-piece, Our Lady, S.\nAnne, and many other Saints; for the Company of the Neri a picture of\nthe Beheading of S. John the Baptist; and for the Monachine in Borgo S.\nFriano an altar-piece of the Annunciation. In another altar-piece, for\nS. Rocco at Prato, they painted S. Rocco, S. Sebastian, and between them\nOur Lady; and likewise, for the Company of S. Bastiano, beside S. Jacopo\nsopra Arno, they executed an altar-piece containing Our Lady, S.\nSebastian, and S. James; with another for S. Martino alla Palma. And,\nfinally, they painted for S. Alessandro Vitelli a S. Anne in a picture\nthat was sent to Città di Castello, and placed in the chapel of that\nlord in S. Fiorido.\n\nBut, since the works and pictures that issued from Ridolfo's shop were\nwithout number, and even more so the portraits from life, I shall say\nonly that a portrait was made by him of Signor Cosimo de' Medici when he\nwas very young, which was a most beautiful work, and very true to life;\nwhich picture is still preserved in the guardaroba of his Excellency.\nRidolfo was a rapid and resolute painter in certain kinds of work, and\nparticularly in festive decorations; and thus, for the entry of the\nEmperor Charles V into Florence, he executed in ten days an arch at the\nCanto alla Cuculia, and another arch in a very short time at the Porta\nal Prato for the coming of the most illustrious Lady, Duchess Leonora,\nas will be related in the Life of Battista Franco. At the Madonna di\nVertigli, a seat of the Monks of Camaldoli, without the township of\nMonte Sansovino, Ridolfo, having with him the above-named Battista\nFranco and Michele, executed in chiaroscuro, in a little cloister, all\nthe stories of the life of Joseph; in the church, the altar-pieces of\nthe high-altar, and a Visitation of Our Lady in fresco, which is as\nbeautiful as any work in fresco that Ridolfo ever painted. But lovely\nbeyond all others, in the venerable aspect of the countenance, is the\nfigure of S. Romualdo, which is on that high-altar. They also executed\nother pictures there, but it must suffice to have spoken of these.\nRidolfo painted grotesques on the vaulting of the Green Chamber in the\nPalace of Duke Cosimo, and some landscapes on the walls, which much\npleased the Duke.\n\nFinally, having grown old, Ridolfo lived a very happy life, having his\ndaughters married, and seeing his sons well started in the affairs of\ncommerce in France and at Ferrara. And, although afterwards he found\nhimself so oppressed by the gout that he stayed always in the house or\nhad to be carried in a chair, nevertheless he bore that infirmity with\ngreat patience, and also some misfortunes suffered by his sons. Old as\nhe was, he felt a great love for the world of art, and insisted on being\ntold of, and at times on seeing, those works that he heard much praised,\nsuch as buildings, pictures, and other suchlike things that were being\nexecuted every day; and one day that the Lord Duke was out of Florence,\nhaving had himself carried in his chair into the Palace, he dined there\nand stayed the whole day, gazing at that Palace, which was so changed\nand transformed from what it was before, that he did not recognize it;\nand in the evening, when going away, he said: \"I die happy, because I\nshall be able to carry to our craftsmen in the next world the news that\nI have seen the dead restored to life, the ugly rendered beautiful, and\nthe old made young.\" Ridolfo lived seventy-five years, and died in the\nyear 1560; and he was buried with his forefathers in S. Maria Novella.\n\nHis disciple Michele, who, as I have said, is called by no other name\nthan Michele di Ridolfo, has painted in fresco, since Ridolfo left the\nworld of art, three great arches over certain gates of the city of\nFlorence; at S. Gallo, Our Lady, S. John the Baptist, and S. Cosimo,\nwhich are executed with very beautiful mastery; at the Porta al Prato,\nother similar figures; and, at the Porta alla Croce, Our Lady, S. John\nthe Baptist, and S. Ambrogio; with altar-pieces and pictures without\nnumber, painted with good mastery. And I, on account of his goodness and\ncapacity, have employed him several times, together with others, in the\nworks of the Palace, with much satisfaction to myself and everyone\nbesides. But that which pleases me most in him, in addition to his\nbeing a truly honest, orderly, and God-fearing man, is that he has\nalways in his workshop a good number of young men, whom he teaches with\nincredible lovingness.\n\nA disciple of Ridolfo, also, was Carlo Portelli of Loro in the Valdarno\ndi Sopra, by whose hand are some altar-pieces and innumerable pictures\nin Florence; as in S. Maria Maggiore, in S. Felicita, in the Nunnery of\nMonticelli, and, at Cestello, the altar-piece of the Chapel of the\nBaldesi on the right hand of the entrance into the church, wherein is\nthe Martyrdom of S. Romolo, Bishop of Fiesole.\n\n[Illustration: THE MADONNA GIVING THE GIRDLE TO S. THOMAS\n\n(_After the painting by =Ridolfo Ghirlandajo=. Prato: Duomo_)\n\n_Brogi_]\n\n\n\n\nGIOVANNI DA UDINE\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF GIOVANNI DA UDINE\n\nPAINTER\n\n\nIn Udine, a city of Friuli, lived a citizen called Giovanni, of the\nfamily of the Nanni, who was the first of that family to give attention\nto the practice of embroidery, in which his descendants afterwards\nfollowed him with such excellence, that their house was called no longer\nDe' Nanni but De' Ricamatori.[7] Among them, then, one Francesco, who\nlived always like an honourable citizen, devoted to the chase and to\nother suchlike exercises, had in the year 1494 a son, to whom he gave\nthe name Giovanni; and this son, while still a child, showed such\ninclination to design that it was a thing to marvel at, for, following\nbehind his father in his hunting and fowling, whenever he had time he\nwas for ever drawing dogs, hares, bucks, and, in short, all the kinds of\nbirds and beasts that came into his hands; which he did in such a\nfashion that everyone was astonished. Perceiving this inclination, his\nfather Francesco took him to Venice, and placed him to learn the art of\ndesign with Giorgione da Castelfranco; but, while working under him, the\nboy heard the works of Michelagnolo and Raffaello so extolled, that he\nresolved at all costs to go to Rome. And so, having obtained from\nDomenico Grimani, who was much his father's friend, letters of\nintroduction to Baldassarre Castiglioni, the Secretary of the Duke of\nMantua and a close friend of Raffaello da Urbino, he went off to that\ncity. There, having been placed by that Castiglioni in the school of the\nyoung men of Raffaello, he learned excellently well the principles of\nart, a thing which is of great importance, for the reason that when a\nman begins by adopting a bad manner, it rarely happens that he can\nabandon it without great difficulty, in order to learn a better.\n\n         [Footnote 7: Embroiderers.]\n\nGiovanni, then, having been only a very short time under the discipline\nof Giorgione in Venice, when he had once seen the sweet, graceful, and\nbeautiful manner of Raffaello, determined, like a young man of fine\nintelligence, that he would at all costs attach himself to that manner.\nAnd so, his brain and hand being equal to his noble intention, he made\nso much proficience, that in a short time he was able to draw very well\nand to work in colour with facility and grace, insomuch that, to put it\nin a few words, he succeeded in counterfeiting excellently well every\nnatural object--animals, draperies, instruments, vases, landscapes,\nbuildings, and verdure; in which not one of the young men of that school\nsurpassed him. But, above all, he took supreme delight in depicting\nbirds of every kind, insomuch that in a short time he filled a book with\nthem, which was so well varied and so beautiful, that it was a\nrecreation and a delight to Raffaello. Living with Raffaello was a\nFleming called Giovanni, who was an excellent master in depicting\nfruits, leaves, and flowers with a very faithful and pleasing likeness\nto nature, although in a manner a little dry and laboured; and from him\nGiovanni da Udine learned to make them as beautiful as his master, and,\nwhat is more, with a certain soft and pastose manner that enabled him to\nbecome, as will be related, supremely excellent in some fields of art.\nHe also learned to execute landscapes with ruined buildings and\nfragments of antiquities, and likewise to paint landscapes and verdure\nin colours on cloth, in the manner that has been followed after him not\nonly by the Flemings, but also by all the Italian painters.\n\nRaffaello, who much loved the genius of Giovanni, in executing the\naltar-picture of S. Cecilia that is in Bologna, caused him to paint the\norgan which that Saint has in her hand; and he counterfeited it so well\nfrom the reality, that it appears as if in relief, and also all the\nmusical instruments that are at the feet of the Saint. But what was of\nmuch greater import was that he made his painting so similar to that of\nRaffaello, that the whole appears as if by one and the same hand. Not\nlong afterwards, excavations being made at S. Pietro in Vincula, among\nthe ruins and remains of the Palace of Titus, in the hope of finding\nfigures, certain rooms were discovered, completely buried under the\nground, which were full of little grotesques, small figures, and scenes,\nwith other ornaments of stucco in low-relief. Whereupon, Giovanni going\nwith Raffaello, who was taken to see them, they were struck with\namazement, both the one and the other, at the freshness, beauty, and\nexcellence of those works, for it appeared to them an extraordinary\nthing that they had been preserved for so long a time; but it was no\ngreat marvel, for they had not been open or exposed to the air, which is\nwont in time, through the changes of the seasons, to consume all things.\nThese grotesques--which were called grotesques from their having been\ndiscovered in the underground grottoes--executed with so much design,\nwith fantasies so varied and so bizarre, with their delicate ornaments\nof stucco divided by various fields of colour, and with their little\nscenes so pleasing and beautiful, entered so deeply into the heart and\nmind of Giovanni, that, having devoted himself to the study of them, he\nwas not content to draw and copy them merely once or twice; and he\nsucceeded in executing them with facility and grace, lacking nothing\nsave a knowledge of the method of making the stucco on which the\ngrotesques were wrought. Now many before him, as has been related, had\nexercised their wits on this, but had discovered nothing save the method\nof making the stucco, by means of fire, with gypsum, lime, colophony,\nwax, and pounded brick, and of overlaying it with gold; and they had not\nfound the true method of making stucco similar to that which had been\ndiscovered in those ancient chambers and grottoes. But at that time\nworks were being executed in lime and pozzolana, as was related in the\nLife of Bramante, for the arches and the tribune at the back in S.\nPietro, all the ornaments of foliage, with the ovoli and other members,\nbeing cast in moulds of clay, and Giovanni, after considering that\nmethod of working with lime and pozzolana, began to try if he could\nsucceed in making figures in low-relief; and so, pursuing his\nexperiments, he contrived to make them as he desired in every part, save\nthat the outer surface did not come out with the delicacy and finish\nthat the ancient works possessed, nor yet so white. On which account he\nbegan to think that it might be necessary to mix with the white lime of\ntravertine, in place of pozzolana, some substance white in colour;\nwhereupon, after making trial of various materials, he caused chips of\ntravertine to be pounded, and found that it answered passing well, but\nthat still the work was of a livid rather than a pure white, and also\nrough and granular. But finally, having caused chips of the whitest\nmarble that could be found to be pounded and reduced to a fine powder,\nand then sifted, he mixed it with white lime of travertine, and\ndiscovered that thus he had succeeded without any doubt in making the\ntrue stucco of the ancients, with all the properties that he had desired\ntherein. At which rejoicing greatly, he showed to Raffaello what he had\ndone; wherefore he, who was then executing by order of Pope Leo X, as\nhas been related, the Loggie of the Papal Palace, caused Giovanni to\ndecorate all the vaulting there in stucco, with most beautiful ornaments\nbordered by grotesques similar to the antique, and with very lovely and\nfantastic inventions, all full of the most varied and extravagant things\nthat could possibly be imagined. Having executed the whole of that\nornamentation in half-relief and low-relief, he then divided it up with\nlittle scenes, landscapes, foliage, and various friezes, in which he\ntouched the highest level, as it were, that art can reach in that field.\n\nIn all this he not only equalled the ancients, but also, in so far as\none can judge from the remains that we have seen, surpassed them, for\nthe reason that these works of Giovanni's, in beauty of design, in the\ninvention of figures, and in colouring, whether executed in stucco or\npainted, are beyond all comparison superior to those of the ancients\nthat are to be seen in the Colosseum, and to the paintings in the Baths\nof Diocletian and in other places. In what other place are there to be\nseen birds painted that are more lifelike and natural, so to speak, in\ncolouring, in the plumage, and in all other respects, than those that\nare in the friezes and pilasters of the Loggie? And they are there in as\nmany varieties as Nature herself has been able to create, some in one\nmanner and some in another; and many are perched on bunches, ears, and\npanicles, not only of corn, millet, and buckwheat, but of all the kinds\nof cereals, vegetables, and fruits that earth has produced from the\nbeginning of time for the sustenance and nourishment of birds. As for\nthe fishes, likewise, the sea-monsters, and all the other creatures of\nthe water that Giovanni depicted in the same place, since the most that\none could say would be too little, it is better to pass them over in\nsilence rather than seek to attempt the impossible. And what should I\nsay of the various kinds of fruits and flowers without number that are\nthere, in all the forms, varieties, and colours that Nature contrives to\nproduce in all parts of the world and in all the seasons of the year?\nWhat, likewise, of the various musical instruments that are there, all\nas real as the reality? And who does not know as a matter of common\nknowledge that--Giovanni having painted at the head of the Loggia, where\nthe Pope had not yet determined what should be done in the way of\nmasonry, some balusters to accompany the real ones of the Loggia, and\nover them a carpet--who, I say, does not know that one day, a carpet\nbeing urgently required for the Pope, who was going to the Belvedere, a\ngroom, who knew not the truth of the matter, ran from a distance to take\none of those painted carpets, being completely deceived? In short, it\nmay be said, without offence to other craftsmen, that of all works of\nthe kind this is the most beautiful, the most rare, and the most\nexcellent painting that has ever been seen by mortal eye. And, in\naddition, I will make bold to say that this work has been the reason\nthat not Rome only but also all the other parts of the world have been\nfilled with this kind of painting, for, besides that Giovanni was the\nrestorer and almost the inventor of grotesques in stucco and of other\nkinds, from this his work, which is most beautiful, whoever has wished\nto execute such things has taken his exemplar; not to mention that the\nyoung men that assisted Giovanni, who were many, and even, what with one\ntime and another, innumerable, learned from the true master and filled\nevery province with them.\n\nThen, proceeding to execute the first range below those Loggie, Giovanni\nused another and quite different method in the distribution of the\nstucco-work and paintings on the walls and vaultings of the other\nLoggie; but nevertheless those also were very beautiful, by reason of\nthe pleasing invention of the pergole of canes counterfeited in various\ncompartments, all covered with vines laden with grapes, and with\nclematis, jasmine, roses, and various kinds of birds and beasts. Next,\nPope Leo, wishing to have painted the hall where the guard of\nhalberdiers have their quarters, on the level of the above-named Loggie,\nGiovanni, in addition to the friezes of children, lions, Papal arms, and\ngrotesques that are round that hall, made some divisions on the walls\nwith imitations of variegated marbles of different kinds, similar to the\nincrustations that the ancient Romans used to make on their baths,\ntemples, and other buildings, such as may be seen in the Ritonda and in\nthe portico of S. Pietro. In another hall beside that one, which was\nused by the Chamberlains, Raffaello da Urbino painted in certain\ntabernacles some Apostles in chiaroscuro, large as life and very\nbeautiful; and over the cornices of that work Giovanni portrayed from\nlife many parrots of various colours which his Holiness had at that\ntime, and also baboons, marmosets, civet-cats, and other strange\ncreatures. But this work had a short life, for the reason that Pope Paul\nIV destroyed that apartment in order to make certain small closets and\nlittle places of retirement, and thus deprived the Palace of a very rare\nwork; which that holy man would not have done if he had possessed any\ntaste for the arts of design. Giovanni painted the cartoons for those\nhangings and chamber-tapestries that were afterwards woven in silk and\ngold in Flanders, in which are certain little boys that are sporting\naround various festoons, and as ornaments the devices of Pope Leo and\nvarious animals copied from life. These tapestries, which are very rare\nworks, are still in the Palace at the present day. He also executed the\ncartoons for some tapestries full of grotesques, which are in the first\nrooms of the Consistory.\n\n[Illustration: ARABESQUES\n\n(_After the fresco by =Giovanni da Udine=. Rome: The Vatican, Loggia_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nWhile Giovanni was labouring at those works, the Palace of M. Giovan\nBattista dall'Aquila, which had been erected at the head of the Borgo\nNuovo, near the Piazza di S. Pietro, had the greater part of the façade\ndecorated in stucco by the hand of the same master, which was held to be\na remarkable work. The same Giovanni executed the paintings and all the\nstucco-work in the loggia of the villa that Cardinal Giulio de' Medici\ncaused to be built under Monte Mario, wherein are animals, grotesques,\nfestoons, and friezes of such beauty, that it appears as if in that work\nGiovanni had sought to outstrip and surpass his own self. Wherefore he\nwon from that Cardinal, who much loved his genius, in addition to many\nbenefits that he received for his relatives, the gift of a canonicate\nfor himself at Civitale in Friuli, which was afterwards given by\nGiovanni to a brother of his own. Then, having to make for the same\nCardinal, likewise at that villa, a fountain with the water spouting\nthrough the trunk of an elephant's head in marble, he imitated in the\nwhole work and in every detail the Temple of Neptune, which had been\ndiscovered a short time before among the ancient ruins of the Palazzo\nMaggiore, all adorned with lifelike products of the sea, and wrought\nexcellently well with various ornaments in stucco; and he even surpassed\nby a great measure the artistry of that ancient hall by giving great\nbeauty to those animals, shells, and other suchlike things without\nnumber, and arranging them very well. After this he made another\nfountain, but in a rustic manner, in the hollow of a torrent-bed\nsurrounded by a wood; causing water to flow in drops and fine jets from\nsponge-stones and stalactites, with beautiful artifice, so that it had\nall the appearance of a work of nature. On the highest point of those\nhollow rocks and sponge-stones he fashioned a large lion's head, which\nhad around it a garland formed of maidenhair and other plants, trained\nthere with great artistry; and no one could believe what grace these\ngave to that wild place, which was most beautiful in every part and\nbeyond all conception pleasing.\n\nThat work finished, after the Cardinal had made Giovanni a Chevalier of\nS. Pietro, he sent him to Florence, to the end that, when a certain\nchamber had been made in the Palace of the Medici (at that corner,\nnamely, where the elder Cosimo, the builder of that edifice, had made a\nloggia for the convenience and assemblage of the citizens, as it was the\ncustom at that time for the most noble families to do), he might paint\nand adorn it all with grotesques and stucco. That loggia having then\nbeen enclosed after the design of Michelagnolo Buonarroti, and given the\nform of a chamber, with two knee-shaped windows, which were the first to\nbe made in that manner, with iron gratings, for the exterior of a\npalace, Giovanni adorned all the vaulting with stucco-work and painting,\nmaking in a medallion the six balls, the arms of the House of Medici,\nsupported by three little boys executed in relief in attitudes of great\nbeauty and grace. Besides this, he made there many most beautiful\nanimals, and also many most lovely devices of gentlemen and lords of\nthat illustrious house, together with some scenes in half-relief,\nexecuted in stucco; and on the field of the vaulting he did the rest of\nthe work in pictures, counterfeiting them after the manner of cameos in\nblack and white, and so well, that nothing better could be imagined.\nThere remained four arches beneath the vaulting, each twelve braccia in\nbreadth and six in height, which were not painted at that time, but many\nyears afterwards by Giorgio Vasari, as a young man of eighteen years,\nwhen he was in the service of Duke Alessandro de' Medici, his first\nlord, in the year 1535; which Giorgio executed there stories from the\nlife of Julius Cæsar, in allusion to the above-named Cardinal Giulio,\nwho had caused the work to be done. Giovanni then executed on a little\nbarrel-shaped vault, beside that chamber, some works in stucco in the\nlowest of low-relief, and likewise some pictures, which are exquisite;\nbut, although these pleased the painters that were in Florence at that\ntime, being wrought with boldness and marvellous mastery, and filled\nwith spirited and fantastic inventions, yet, since they were accustomed\nto a laboured manner of their own and to doing everything that they\ncarried into execution with copies taken from life, they did not praise\nthem without reserve, not being altogether decided in their minds, nor\ndid they set themselves to imitate them, perhaps because they had not\nthe courage.\n\nHaving then returned to Rome, Giovanni executed in the loggia of\nAgostino Chigi, which Raffaello had painted and was still engaged in\ncarrying to completion, a border of large festoons right round the\ngroins and squares of the vaulting, making there all the kinds of\nfruits, flowers, and leaves, season by season, and fashioning them with\nsuch artistry, that everything may be seen there living and standing out\nfrom the wall, and as natural as the reality; and so many are the\nvarious kinds of fruits and plants that are to be seen in that work,\nthat, in order not to enumerate them one by one, I will say only this,\nthat there are there all those that Nature has ever produced in our\nparts. Above the figure of a Mercury who is flying, he made, to\nrepresent Priapus, a pumpkin entwined in bind-weed, which has for\ntesticles two egg-plants, and near the flower of the pumpkin he\ndepicted a cluster of large purple figs, within one of which, over-ripe\nand bursting open, the point of the pumpkin with the flower is entering;\nwhich conceit is rendered with such grace, that no one could imagine\nanything better. But why say more? To sum the matter up, I venture to\ndeclare that in that kind of painting Giovanni surpassed all those who\nhave best imitated Nature in such works, for the reason that, besides\nall the other things, even the flowers of the elder, of the fennel, and\nof the other lesser plants are there in truly astonishing perfection.\nThere, likewise, may be seen a great abundance of animals in the\nlunettes, which are encircled by those festoons, and certain little boys\nthat are holding in their hands the attributes of the Gods; and, among\nother things, a lion and a sea-horse, being most beautifully\nforeshortened, are held to be divine.\n\nHaving finished that truly extraordinary work, Giovanni executed a very\nbeautiful bathroom in the Castello di S. Angelo, and in the Papal\nPalace, besides those mentioned above, many other small works, which for\nthe sake of brevity are passed over. Raffaello having then died, whose\nloss much grieved Giovanni, and Pope Leo having also left this world,\nthere was no more place in Rome for the arts of design or for any other\nart, and Giovanni occupied himself for many months on some works of\nlittle importance at the villa of the above-named Cardinal de' Medici.\nAnd for the arrival of Pope Adrian in Rome he did nothing but the small\nbanners of the Castle, which he had renewed twice in the time of Pope\nLeo, together with the great standard that flies on the summit of the\nhighest tower. He also executed four square banners when the Blessed\nAntonino, Archbishop of Florence, and S. Hubert, once Bishop of I know\nnot what city of Flanders, were canonized as Saints by the\nabove-mentioned Pope Adrian; of which banners, one, wherein is the\nfigure of that S. Antonino, was given to the Church of S. Marco in\nFlorence, where the body of the Saint lies, another, wherein is the\nfigure of S. Hubert, was placed in S. Maria de Anima, the church of the\nGermans in Rome, and the other two were sent to Flanders.\n\nClement VII having then been elected Supreme Pontiff, with whom Giovanni\nhad a strait bond of service, he returned immediately from Udine,\nwhither he had gone to avoid the plague, to Rome; where having arrived,\nhe was commissioned to make a rich and beautiful decoration over the\nsteps of S. Pietro for the coronation of that Pope. And afterwards it\nwas ordained that he and Perino del Vaga should paint some pictures on\nthe vaulting of the old hall opposite to the lower apartments, which\nlead from the Loggie, which he had painted before, to the apartments of\nthe Borgia Tower; whereupon Giovanni executed there a most beautiful\ndesign in stucco-work, with many grotesques and various animals, and\nPerino the cars of the seven planets. They had also to paint the walls\nof that same hall, on which Giotto, according as is written by Platina\nin the Lives of the Pontiffs, had formerly painted some Popes who had\nbeen put to death for the faith of Christ, on which account that hall\nwas called for a time the Hall of the Martyrs. But the vaulting was\nscarcely finished, when there took place that most unhappy sack of Rome,\nand the work could not be pursued any further. Thereupon Giovanni,\nhaving suffered not a little both in person and in property, returned\nagain to Udine, intending to stay there a long time; but in that he did\nnot succeed, for the reason that Pope Clement, after returning from\nBologna, where he had crowned Charles V, to Rome, caused Giovanni also\nto return to that city, where he commissioned him first to make anew the\nstandards of the Castello di S. Angelo, and then to paint the ceiling of\nthe great chapel, the principal one in S. Pietro, where the altar of\nthat Saint is. Meanwhile, Fra Mariano having died, who had the office of\nthe Piombo, his place was given to Sebastiano Viniziano, a painter of\ngreat repute, and to Giovanni a pension on the same of eighty\nchamber-ducats.\n\nThen, after the troubles of the Pontiff had in great measure ceased and\naffairs in Rome had grown quiet, Giovanni was sent by his Holiness with\nmany promises to Florence, to execute in the new sacristy of S. Lorenzo,\nwhich had been adorned with most excellent sculptures by Michelagnolo,\nthe ornaments of the tribune, which is full of sunk squares that\ndiminish little by little towards the central point. Setting his hand to\nthis, then, Giovanni carried it excellently well to completion with the\naid of many assistants, with most beautiful foliage, rosettes, and other\nornaments of stucco and gold; but in one thing he failed in judgment,\nfor the reason that on the flat friezes that form the ribs of the\nvaulting, and on those that run crossways, so as to enclose the squares,\nhe made foliage, birds, masks, and figures that cannot be seen at all\nfrom the ground, although they are very beautiful, by reason of the\ndistance, and also because they are divided up by other colours,\nwhereas, if he had painted them in colours without any other\nelaboration, they would have been visible, and the whole work would have\nbeen brighter and richer. There remained no more of the work to be\nexecuted than he would have been able to finish in a fortnight, going\nover it again in certain places, when there came the news of the death\nof Pope Clement, and Giovanni was robbed of all his hopes, particularly\nof that which he expected from that Pontiff as the reward and guerdon of\nthis work. Wherefore, having recognized, although too late, how\nfallacious in most cases are the hopes based on the favour of Courts,\nand how often those who put their trust in the lives of particular\nPrinces are left disappointed, he returned to Rome; but, although he\nwould have been able to live there on his offices and revenues, serving\nalso Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici and the new Pontiff, Paul III, he\nresolved to repatriate himself and to return to Udine.\n\nCarrying that intention into effect, therefore, he went back to live in\nhis native place with that brother to whom he had given the canonicate,\ndetermined that he would never more handle a brush. But in this also he\nwas disappointed, for the reason that, having taken a wife and had\nchildren by her, he was in a manner forced by the instinct that a man\nnaturally feels to bring up his children and to leave them in good\ncircumstances, to set himself once more to work. He painted, then, at\nthe entreaty of the father of the Chevalier Giovan Francesco di\nSpilimbergo, a frieze in a hall, filling it with children, festoons,\nfruits, and other things of fancy. After that, he adorned with lovely\npaintings and works in stucco the Chapel of S. Maria at Civitale; and\nfor the Canons of the Duomo of that place he executed two most beautiful\nstandards. And for the Confraternity of S. Maria di Castello, at Udine,\nhe painted on a rich banner Our Lady with the Child in her arms, and an\nAngel full of grace who is offering to her that Castello, which stands\non a hill in the centre of the city. At Venice, in the Palace of\nGrimani, the Patriarch of Aquileia, he decorated with stucco-work and\npaintings a very beautiful chamber in which are some lovely little\nscenes by the hand of Francesco Salviati.\n\nFinally, in the year 1550, Giovanni went to Rome to take part in the\nmost holy Jubilee, on foot and dressed poorly as a pilgrim, and in the\ncompany of humble folk; and he stayed there many days without being\nknown by anyone. But one day, while going to S. Paolo, he was recognized\nby Giorgio Vasari, who was riding in a coach to the same Pardon in\ncompany with Messer Bindo Altoviti, who was much his friend. At first\nGiovanni denied that it was he, but finally he was forced to reveal\nhimself and to confess that he had great need of Giorgio's assistance\nwith the Pope in the matter of the pension that he had from the Piombo,\nwhich was being denied to him by one Fra Guglielmo, a Genoese sculptor,\nwho had received that office after the death of Fra Sebastiano. Giorgio\nspoke of this matter to the Pope, which was the reason that the bond was\nrenewed, and afterwards it was proposed to exchange it for a canonicate\nat Udine for Giovanni's son. But afterwards, being again defrauded by\nthat Fra Guglielmo, Giovanni went from Udine to Florence, after Pope\nPius had been elected, in the hope of being assisted and favoured by his\nExcellency with that Pontiff, by means of Vasari. Having arrived in\nFlorence, then, he was presented by Giorgio to his most illustrious\nExcellency, with whom he went to Siena, and then from there to Rome,\nwhither there also went the Lady Duchess Leonora; and in such wise was\nhe assisted by the kindness of the Duke, that he was not only granted\nall that he desired, but also set to work by the Pope with a good salary\nto give the final completion to the last Loggia, which is the one over\nthat which Pope Leo had formerly caused him to decorate. That finished,\nthe same Pope commissioned him to retouch all that first Loggia, which\nwas an error and a thing very ill considered, for the reason that\nretouching it \"a secco\" caused it to lose all those masterly strokes\nthat had been drawn by Giovanni's brush in all the excellence of his\nbest days, and also the boldness and freshness that had made it in its\noriginal condition so rare a work.\n\nAfter finishing that work, Giovanni, being seventy years of age,\nfinished also the course of his life, in the year 1564, rendering up his\nspirit to God in that most noble city which had enabled him for many\nyears to live with so much success and so great a name. Giovanni was\nalways, but much more in his last years, a God-fearing man and a good\nChristian. In his youth he took pleasure in scarcely any other thing but\nhunting and fowling; and his custom when he was young was to go hunting\non feast-days with his servant, at times roaming over the Campagna to a\ndistance of ten miles from Rome. He could shoot very well with the fusil\nand the crossbow, and therefore rarely returned home without his servant\nbeing laden with wild geese, ringdoves, wild ducks, and other creatures\nsuch as are to be found in those marshy places. Giovanni, so many\ndeclare, was the inventor of the ox painted on canvas that is made for\nusing in that pursuit, so as to fire off the fusil without being seen by\nthe wild creatures; and on account of those exercises of hunting and\nfowling he always delighted to keep dogs and to train them by himself.\n\nGiovanni, who deserves to be extolled among the greatest masters of his\nprofession, chose to be buried in the Ritonda, near his master Raffaello\nda Urbino, in order not to be divided in death from him to whom in life\nhis spirit was always attached; and since, as has been told, each of\nthem was an excellent Christian, it may be believed that they are still\ntogether in eternal blessedness.\n\n\n\n\nBATTISTA FRANCO\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF BATTISTA FRANCO\n\nPAINTER OF VENICE\n\n\nBattista Franco of Venice, having given his attention in his early\nchildhood to design, went off at the age of twenty, as one who aimed at\nperfection in that art, to Rome, where, after he had devoted himself for\nsome time with much study to design, and had seen the manner of various\nmasters, he resolved that he would not study or seek to imitate any\nother works but the drawings, paintings, and sculptures of Michelagnolo;\nwherefore, having set himself to make research, there remained no\nsketch, study, or even any thing copied by Michelagnolo that he had not\ndrawn. Wherefore no long time passed before he became one of the first\ndraughtsmen who frequented the Chapel of Michelagnolo; and, what was\nmore, he would not for a time set himself to paint or to do any other\nthing but draw. But in the year 1536, festive preparations of a grand\nand sumptuous kind being arranged by Antonio da San Gallo for the coming\nof the Emperor Charles V, in which, as has been related in another\nplace, all the craftsmen, good and bad, were employed, Raffaello da\nMontelupo, who had to execute the decorations of the Ponte S. Angelo\nwith the ten statues that were placed upon it, having seen that Battista\nwas a young man of good parts and a finished draughtsman, resolved to\nbring it about that he also should be employed, and by hook or by crook\nto have some work given to him to do. And so, having spoken of this to\nSan Gallo, he so contrived that Battista was commissioned to execute in\nfresco four large scenes in chiaroscuro on the front of the Porta\nCapena, now called the Porta di S. Bastiano, through which the Emperor\nwas to enter.\n\nIn that work Battista, without having hitherto touched colours,\nexecuted over the gate the arms of Pope Paul III and those of the\nEmperor Charles, with a Romulus who was placing on the arms of the\nPontiff a Papal crown, and on those of the Emperor an Imperial crown;\nwhich Romulus, a figure of five braccia, dressed in the ancient manner,\nwith a crown on the head, had on the right hand Numa Pompilius, and on\nthe left Tullus Hostilius, and above him these words--Quirinus Pater. In\none of the scenes that were on the faces of the towers standing on\neither side of the gate, was the elder Scipio triumphing over Carthage,\nwhich he had made tributary to the Roman people; and in the other, on\nthe right hand, was the triumph of the younger Scipio, who had ruined\nand destroyed that same city. In one of the two pictures that were on\nthe exterior of the towers, on the front side, could be seen Hannibal\nunder the walls of Rome, driven back by the tempest, and in the other,\non the left, Flaccus entering by that gate to succour Rome against that\nsame Hannibal. All these scenes and pictures, being Battista's first\npaintings, and in comparison with those of the others, were passing good\nand much extolled. And, if Battista had begun from the first to paint\nand from time to time to practise using colours and handling brushes,\nthere is no doubt that he would have surpassed many craftsmen; but his\nobstinate adherence to a certain opinion that many others hold, who\npersuade themselves that draughtsmanship is enough for him who wishes to\npaint, did him no little harm. For all that, however, he acquitted\nhimself much better than did some of those who executed the scenes on\nthe arch of S. Marco, on which there were eight scenes, four on each\nside, the best of which were painted partly by Francesco Salviati, and\npartly by a certain Martino[8] and other young Germans, who had come to\nRome at that very time in order to learn. Nor will I omit to tell, in\nthis connection, that the above-named Martino, who was very able in\nworks in chiaroscuro, executed some battle scenes with such boldness and\nsuch beautiful inventions in certain encounters and deeds of arms\nbetween Christians and Turks, that nothing better could have been done.\nAnd the marvellous thing was that Martino and his assistants executed\nthose canvases with such assiduity and rapidity, in order that the work\nmight be finished in time, that they never quitted their labour; and\nsince drink, and that good Greco, was continually being brought to\nthem, what with their being constantly drunk and inflamed with the heat\nof the wine, and their facility in execution, they achieved wonders.\nWherefore, when Salviati, Battista, and Calavrese saw the work of these\nmen, they confessed that for him who wishes to be a painter it is\nnecessary to begin to handle brushes in good time; which matter having\nafterwards considered more carefully in his own mind, Battista began not\nto give so much study to finishing his drawings, and at times to use\ncolour.\n\n         [Footnote 8: Martin Heemskerk.]\n\nMontelupo then going to Florence, where, in like manner, very great\npreparations were being made for the reception of the above-named\nEmperor, Battista went with him, and when they arrived they found those\npreparations well on the way to completion; but Battista, being set to\nwork, made a base all covered with figures and trophies for the statue\non the Canto de' Carnesecchi that Fra Giovanni Agnolo Montorsoli had\nexecuted. Having therefore become known among the craftsmen as a young\nman of good parts and ability, he was much employed afterwards at the\ncoming of Madama Margherita of Austria, the wife of Duke Alessandro, and\nparticularly in the festive preparations that Giorgio Vasari made in the\nPalace of Messer Ottaviano de' Medici, where that lady was to reside.\n\nThese festivities finished, Battista set himself to draw with the\ngreatest industry the statues of Michelagnolo that are in the new\nSacristy of S. Lorenzo, to which at that time all the painters and\nsculptors of Florence had flocked to draw and to work in relief; and\namong these Battista made no little proficience, but, nevertheless, it\nwas recognized that he had committed an error in never consenting to\ndraw from the life and to use colours, or to do anything but imitate\nstatues and little else besides, which had given his manner a hardness\nand dryness that he was not able to shake off, nor could he prevent his\nworks from having a hard and angular quality, as may be seen from a\ncanvas in which he depicted with much pains and labour the Roman\nLucretia violated by Tarquinius. Consorting thus with the others and\nfrequenting that sacristy, Battista formed a friendship with the\nsculptor Bartolommeo Ammanati, who was studying the works of Buonarroti\nthere in company with many others. And of such a kind was that\nfriendship, that Ammanati took Battista into his house, as well as Genga\nof Urbino, and they lived thus in company for some time, attending with\nmuch profit to the studies of art.\n\nDuke Alessandro having then been done to death in the year 1536, and\nSignor Cosimo de' Medici elected in his place, many of the servants of\nthe dead Duke remained in the service of the new, but others did not,\nand among those who went away was the above-named Giorgio Vasari, who\nreturned to Arezzo, with the intention of having nothing more to do with\nCourts, having lost Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici, his first lord, and\nthen Duke Alessandro; but he brought it about that Battista was invited\nto serve Duke Cosimo and to work in his guardaroba, where he painted in\na large picture Pope Clement and Cardinal Ippolito, copying them from a\nwork by Fra Sebastiano and from one by Tiziano, and Duke Alessandro from\na picture by Pontormo. This picture was not of that perfection that was\nexpected; but, having seen in the same guardaroba the cartoon of the\n\"Noli me tangere\" by Michelagnolo, which Pontormo had previously\nexecuted in colours, he set himself to make a cartoon like it, but with\nlarger figures; which done, he painted a picture from it wherein he\nacquitted himself much better in the colouring. And the cartoon, which\nhe copied exactly after that of Michelagnolo, was executed with great\npatience and very beautiful.\n\nThe affair of Monte Murlo having then taken place, in which the exiles\nand rebels hostile to the Duke were routed and captured, Battista\ndepicted with beautiful invention a scene of the battle fought there,\nmingled with poetic fantasies of his own, which was much extolled,\nalthough there were recognized in the armed encounter and in the taking\nof the prisoners many things copied bodily from the works and drawings\nof Buonarroti. For the battle was in the distance, and in the foreground\nwere the huntsmen of Ganymede, who were standing there gazing at Jove's\nEagle carrying the young man away into Heaven; which part Battista took\nfrom the design of Michelagnolo, in order to use it to signify that the\nyoung Duke had risen by the grace of God from the midst of his friends\ninto Heaven, or some such thing. This scene, I say, was first drawn by\nBattista in a cartoon, and then painted with supreme diligence in a\npicture; and it is now, together with his other works mentioned above,\nin the upper apartments of the Pitti Palace, which his most illustrious\nExcellency has just caused to be completely finished.\n\nHaving thus been engaged on these and some other works in the service of\nthe Duke, until the time when he took to wife the Lady Donna Leonora of\nToledo, Battista was next employed in the festive preparations for those\nnuptials, on the triumphal arch at the Porta al Prato, where Ridolfo\nGhirlandajo caused him to execute some scenes of the actions of Signor\nGiovanni, father of Duke Cosimo. In one of these that lord could be seen\npassing the Rivers Po and Adda, in the presence of Cardinal Giulio de'\nMedici, who became Pope Clement VII, Signor Prospero Colonna, and other\nlords; and in another was the scene of the delivering of San Secondo. On\nthe other side Battista painted in another scene the city of Milan, and\naround it the Camp of the League, which, on departing, the above-named\nSignor Giovanni leaves there. On the right flank of the arch he painted\non one side a picture of Opportunity, who, having her tresses all\nunbound, was offering them with one hand to Signor Giovanni, and on the\nother side Mars, who was likewise offering him his sword. In another\nscene under the arch, by the hand of Battista, was Signor Giovanni\nfighting between the Tesino and Biegrassa upon the Ponte Rozzo,\ndefending it, as it were like another Horatius, with incredible bravery.\nOpposite to this was the Taking of Caravaggio, and in the centre of the\nbattle Signor Giovanni, who was passing fearlessly through fire and\nsword in the midst of the hostile army. Between the columns, on the\nright hand, there was in an oval Garlasso, taken by the same lord with a\nsingle company of soldiers, and on the left hand, between the two other\ncolumns, the bastion of Milan, likewise taken from the enemy. On the\nfronton, which was at the back of anyone entering, was the same Signor\nGiovanni on horseback under the walls of Milan, when, tilting in single\ncombat with a knight, he ran him through from side to side with his\nlance. Above the great cornice, which reached out to the other cornice,\non which the pediment rested, in another large scene executed by\nBattista with much diligence, there was in the centre the Emperor\nCharles V, who, crowned with laurel, was seated on a rock, with the\nsceptre in his hand; at his feet lay the River Betis with a vase that\npoured water from two mouths, and beside that figure was the River\nDanube, which, with seven mouths, was pouring its waters into the sea. I\nshall not make mention here of the vast number of statues that\naccompanied the above-named pictures and others on that arch, for the\nreason that it is enough for me at the present moment to describe that\nwhich concerns Battista Franco, and it is not my office to give an\naccount of all that was done by others in the festive preparations for\nthose nuptials and described at great length; besides which, having\nspoken of the masters of those statues where the necessity arose, it\nwould be superfluous for me to say anything about them here, and\nparticularly because the statues are not now standing, so that they\ncannot be seen and considered. But to return to Battista: the best thing\nthat he did for those nuptials was one of the ten above-mentioned\npictures which were in the decorations in the great court of the Medici\nPalace, wherein he painted in chiaroscuro Duke Cosimo invested with all\nthe Ducal insignia. But, for all the diligence that he used there, he\nwas surpassed by Bronzino, and by others who had less design than\nhimself, in invention, in boldness, and in the treatment of the\nchiaroscuro. For, as has been said before, pictures must be executed\nwith facility, and the parts set in their places with judgment, and\nwithout that effort and that labour which make things appear hard and\ncrude; besides which, overmuch study often makes them come out heavy and\ndark, and spoils them, while lingering over them so long takes away the\ngrace, boldness and excellence that facility is wont to give them. And\nthese qualities, although they come in great measure as gifts from\nnature, can also in part be acquired by study and art.\n\nHaving then been taken by Ridolfo Ghirlandajo to the Madonna di Vertigli\nin Valdichiana (which place was once attached to the Monastery of the\nAngeli, of the Order of Camaldoli, in Florence, and is now an\nindependent body in place of the Monastery of S. Benedetto, which, being\nwithout the Porta a Pinti, was destroyed on account of the siege of\nFlorence), Battista painted there the scenes in the cloister already\nmentioned, while Ridolfo was executing the altar-piece and the\nornaments of the high-altar. These finished, as has been related in the\nLife of Ridolfo, they adorned with other pictures that holy place, which\nis very celebrated and renowned for the many miracles that are wrought\nthere by the Virgin Mother of the Son of God.\n\nBattista then returned to Rome, at the very time when the Judgment of\nMichelagnolo had just been uncovered; and, being a zealous student of\nthe manner and works of that master, he gazed at it very gladly, and in\ninfinite admiration made drawings of it all. And then, having resolved\nto remain in Rome, at the commission of Cardinal Francesco Cornaro--who\nhad rebuilt the palace that he occupied beside S. Pietro, which looks\nout on the portico in the direction of the Camposanto--he painted over\nthe stucco a loggia that looks towards the Piazza, making there a kind\nof grotesques all full of little scenes and figures; which work,\nexecuted with much labour and diligence, was held to be very beautiful.\n\nAbout the same time, which was the year 1538, Francesco Salviati, having\npainted a scene in fresco in the Company of the Misericordia, was to\ngive it the final completion and to set his hand to others, which many\nprivate citizens desired to have painted; but, by reason of the rivalry\nthat there was between him and Jacopo del Conte, nothing more was done;\nwhich hearing, Battista sought to obtain by this means an opportunity to\nprove himself superior to Francesco and the best master in Rome; and he\nso went to work, employing his friends and other means, that Monsignor\ndella Casa, after seeing a design by his hand, allotted the work to him.\nThereupon, setting his hand to it, he painted there in fresco S. John\nthe Baptist taken at the command of Herod and cast into prison. But,\nalthough this picture was executed with much labour, it was not held to\nbe equal by a great measure to that of Salviati, from its having been\npainted with very great effort and in a manner crude and melancholy,\nwhile it had no order in the composition, nor in a single part any of\nthat grace and charm of colouring which Francesco's work possessed. And\nfrom this it may be concluded that those men are deceived who, in\npursuing this art, give all their attention to executing well and with\na good knowledge of muscles a torso, an arm, a leg, or other member,\nbelieving that a good grasp of that part is the whole secret; for the\nreason that the part of a work is not the whole, and only he carries it\nto perfect completion, in a good and beautiful manner, who, after\nexecuting the parts well, knows how to make them fit in due proportion\ninto the whole, and who, moreover, so contrives that the composition of\nthe figures expresses and produces well and without confusion the effect\nthat it should produce. And, above all, care must be taken to make the\nheads vivacious, spirited, gracious, and beautiful in the expressions,\nthe manner not crude, and the nudes so tinted with black that they may\nhave relief, melting gradually into the distance according as may be\nrequired; to say nothing of the perspective-views, landscapes, and other\nparts that good pictures demand, nor that in making use of the works of\nothers a man should proceed in such a manner that this may not be too\neasily recognized. Battista thus became aware too late that he had\nwasted time beyond all reason over the minutiæ of muscles and over\ndrawing with too great diligence, while paying no attention to the other\nfields of art.\n\n[Illustration: TINTORETTO: BACCHUS AND ARIADNE\n\n(_Venice: Doge's Palace, Salon Anticollegio. Canvas_)]\n\nHaving finished that work, which brought him little praise, Battista\ntransferred himself by means of Bartolommeo Genga to the service of the\nDuke of Urbino, to paint a very large vaulting in the church and chapel\nattached to the Palace of Urbino. Having arrived there, he set himself\nstraightway to make the designs according as the invention presented\nitself in the work, without giving it any further thought and without\nmaking any compartments. And so in imitation of the Judgment of\nBuonarroti, he depicted in a Heaven the Glory of the Saints, who are\ndispersed over that vaulting on certain clouds, with all the choirs of\nthe Angels about a Madonna, who, having ascended into Heaven, is\nreceived by Christ, who is in the act of crowning her, while in various\nseparate groups stand the Patriarchs, the Prophets, the Sibyls, the\nApostles, the Martyrs, the Confessors, and the Virgins; which figures,\nin their different attitudes, reveal their rejoicing at the advent of\nthat Glorious Virgin. This invention would certainly have given Battista\na great opportunity to prove himself an able master, if he had chosen a\nbetter way, not only making himself well-practised in fresco-colours,\nbut also proceeding with better order and judgment than he displayed in\nall his labour. But he used in this work the same methods as in all his\nothers, for he made always the same figures, the same countenances, the\nsame members, and the same draperies; besides which, the colouring was\nwithout any charm, and everything laboured and executed with difficulty.\nWhen all was finished, therefore, it gave little satisfaction to Duke\nGuidobaldo, Genga, and all the others who were expecting great things\nfrom that master, equal to the beautiful design that he had shown to\nthem in the beginning; for, in truth, in making beautiful designs\nBattista had no peer and could be called an able man. Which recognizing,\nthe Duke thought that his designs would succeed very well if carried\ninto execution by those who were fashioning vases of clay so excellently\nat Castel Durante, for which they had availed themselves much of the\nprints of Raffaello da Urbino and other able masters; and he caused\nBattista to draw innumerable designs, which, when put into execution in\nthat sort of clay, the most kindly of all that there are in Italy,\nproduced a rare result. Wherefore vases were made in such numbers and of\nas many kinds as would have sufficed to do honour to the credence of a\nKing; and the pictures that were painted on them would not have been\nbetter if they had been executed in oils by the most excellent masters.\nOf these vases, which in the quality of the clay much resemble the kind\nthat was wrought at Arezzo in ancient times, in the days of Porsenna,\nKing of Tuscany, the above-named Duke Guidobaldo sent enough for a\ndouble credence to the Emperor Charles V, and a set to Cardinal Farnese,\nthe brother of Signora Vittoria, his consort. And it is right that it\nshould be known that of this kind of paintings on vases, in so far as we\ncan judge, the Romans had none, for the vases of those times, filled\nwith the ashes of their dead or used for other purposes, are covered\nwith figures hatched and grounded with only one colour, either black, or\nred, or white; nor have they ever that lustrous glazing or that charm\nand variety of paintings which have been seen and still are seen in our\nown times. Nor can it be said that, if perchance they did have such\nthings, the paintings have been consumed by time and by their having\nbeen buried, for the reason that we see our own resisting the assaults\nof time and every other danger, insomuch that it may even be said that\nthey might remain four thousand years under the ground without the\npaintings being spoilt. Now, although vases and paintings of that kind\nare made throughout all Italy, yet the best and most beautiful works in\nclay are those that are wrought, as I have said, at Castel Durante, a\nplace in the State of Urbino, and those of Faenza, the best of which are\nfor the most part of a very pure white, with few paintings, and those in\nthe centre or on the edges, but delicate and pleasing enough.\n\nBut to return to Battista: for the nuptials of the above-mentioned Lord\nDuke and Signora Vittoria Farnese, which took place afterwards at\nUrbino, he, assisted by his young men, executed on the arches erected by\nGenga, who was the head of the festive preparations, all the historical\npictures that were painted upon them. Now, since the Duke doubted that\nBattista would not finish in time, the undertaking being very great, he\nsent for Giorgio Vasari--who at that time was painting at Rimini, for\nthe White Friars of Scolca, of the Order of Monte Oliveto, a large\nchapel in fresco and an altar-piece in oils for their high-altar--to the\nend that he might go to the aid of Genga and Battista in those\npreparations. But Vasari, feeling indisposed, made his excuses to his\nExcellency and wrote to him that he should have no doubt, for the reason\nthat the talents and knowledge of Battista were such that he would have\neverything finished in time, as indeed, in the end, he did. Giorgio then\ngoing, after finishing his works at Rimini, to visit that Duke and to\nmake his excuses in person, his Excellency caused him to examine, to the\nend that he might value it, the above-mentioned chapel that had been\npainted by Battista, which Vasari much extolled, recommending the\nability of that master, who was largely rewarded by the great liberality\nof that lord.\n\n[Illustration: THE POOL OF BETHESDA\n\n(_After the painting by =Jacopo Tintoretto=. Venice: S. Rocco_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nIt is true, however, that Battista was not at that time in Urbino, but\nin Rome, where he was engaged in drawing not only the statues but all\nthe antiquities of that city, and in making, as he did, a great book of\nthem, which was a praiseworthy work. Now, while Battista was giving his\nattention to drawing in Rome, Messer Giovanni Andrea dell'Anguillara,\na man truly distinguished in certain forms of poetry, having got\ntogether a company of various choice spirits, was causing very rich\nscenery and decorations to be prepared in the large hall of S. Apostolo,\nin order to perform comedies by various authors before gentlemen, lords,\nand great persons. He had caused seats to be made for the spectators of\ndifferent ranks, and for the Cardinals and other great prelates he had\nprepared certain rooms from which, through jalousies, they could see and\nhear without being seen. And since in that company there were painters,\nsculptors, architects, and men who were to perform the dramas and to\nfulfil other offices, Battista and Ammanati, having been chosen of the\ncompany, were given the charge of preparing the scenery, with some\nstories and ornaments in painting, which Battista executed so well\n(together with some statues that Ammanati made), that he was very highly\nextolled for them. But the great expenses of that place exceeded the\nmeans available, so that M. Giovanni Andrea and the others were forced\nto remove the prospect-scene and the other ornaments from S. Apostolo\nand to convey them into the new Temple of S. Biagio, in the Strada\nGiulia. There, Battista having once more arranged everything, many\ncomedies were performed with extraordinary satisfaction to the people\nand courtiers of Rome; and from this origin there sprang in time the\nplayers who travel around, called the Zanni.\n\nAfter these things, having come to the year 1550, Battista executed in\ncompany with Girolamo Siciolante of Sermoneta, for Cardinal di Cesis, on\nthe façade of his palace, the coat of arms of Pope Julius III, who had\nbeen newly elected Pontiff, with three figures and some little boys,\nwhich were much extolled. That finished, he painted in the Minerva, in a\nchapel built by a Canon of S. Pietro and all adorned with stucco, some\nstories of the Madonna and of Jesus Christ in the compartments of the\nvaulting, which were the best works that he had ever executed up to that\ntime. On one of the two walls he painted the Nativity of Jesus Christ,\nwith some Shepherds, and Angels that are singing over the hut, and on\nthe other the Resurrection of Christ, with many soldiers in various\nattitudes about the Sepulchre; and above each of those scenes, in\ncertain lunettes, he executed some large Prophets. And finally, on the\naltar-wall, he painted Christ Crucified, Our Lady, S. John, S. Dominic,\nand some other Saints in the niches; in all which he acquitted himself\nvery well and like an excellent master.\n\nBut since his earnings were scanty and the expenses of Rome very great,\nafter having executed some works on cloth, which had not much success,\nhe returned to his native country of Venice, thinking by a change of\ncountry to change also his fortune. There, by reason of his fine manner\nof drawing, he was judged to be an able man, and a few days afterwards\nhe was commissioned to execute an altar-piece in oils for the Chapel of\nMons. Barbaro, Patriarch-elect of Aquileia, in the Church of S.\nFrancesco della Vigna; in which he painted S. John baptizing Christ in\nthe Jordan, in the air God the Father, at the foot two little boys who\nare holding the vestments of Christ, in the angles the Annunciation, and\nbelow these figures the semblance of a canvas superimposed, with a good\nnumber of little nude figures of Angels, Demons, and Souls in Purgatory,\nand with an inscription that runs--\"In nomine Jesu omne genuflectatur.\"\nThat work, which was certainly held to be very good, won him much credit\nand fame; indeed, it was the reason that the Frati de' Zoccoli, who have\ntheir seat in that place, and who have charge of the Church of S. Giobbe\nin Canareio, caused him to paint in the Chapel of the Foscari, in that\nChurch of S. Giobbe, a Madonna who is seated with the Child in her arms,\nwith a S. Mark on one side and a female Saint on the other, and in the\nair some Angels who are scattering flowers. In S. Bartolommeo, at the\ntomb of Cristofano Fuccheri, a German merchant, he executed a picture of\nAbundance, Mercury, and Fame. For M. Antonio della Vecchia, a Venetian,\nhe painted in a picture with figures of the size of life and very\nbeautiful Christ crowned with Thorns, and about them some Pharisees, who\nare mocking Him.\n\nMeanwhile there had been built of masonry in the Palace of S. Marco,\nafter the design of Jacopo Sansovino, as will be related in the proper\nplace, the staircase that leads from the first floor upwards, and it had\nbeen adorned with various designs in stucco by the sculptor Alessandro,\na disciple of Sansovino; and Battista painted very minute grotesques\nover it all, and in certain larger spaces a good number of figures in\nfresco, which have been extolled not a little by the craftsmen, and he\nthen decorated the ceiling of the vestibule of that staircase. Not long\nafterwards, when, as has been related above, three pictures were given\nto each of the best and most renowned painters of Venice to paint for\nthe Library of S. Marco, on the condition that he who should acquit\nhimself best in the judgment of those Magnificent Senators was to\nreceive, in addition to the usual payment, a chain of gold, Battista\nexecuted in that place three scenes, with two Philosophers between the\nwindows, and acquitted himself very well, although he did not win the\nprize of honour, as we said above.\n\nAfter these works, having received from the Patriarch Grimani the\ncommission for a chapel in S. Francesco della Vigna, which is the first\non the left hand entering into the church, Battista set his hand to it\nand began to make very rich designs in stucco over the whole vaulting,\nwith scenes of figures in fresco, labouring there with incredible\ndiligence. But--whether it was his own carelessness, or that he had\nexecuted some works, perchance on very fresh walls, as I have heard say,\nat the villas of certain gentlemen--before he had that chapel finished,\nhe died, and it remained incomplete. It was finished afterwards by\nFederigo Zucchero of S. Agnolo in Vado, a young and excellent painter,\nheld to be among the best in Rome, who painted in fresco on the walls at\nthe sides Mary Magdalene being converted by the Preaching of Christ and\nthe Raising of her brother Lazarus, which are pictures full of grace.\nAnd, when the walls were finished, the same Federigo painted in the\naltar-piece the Adoration of the Magi, which was much extolled.\n\nExtraordinary credit and fame have come to Battista, who died in the\nyear 1561, from his many printed designs, which are truly worthy to be\npraised.\n\nIn the same city of Venice and about the same time there lived, as he\nstill does, a painter called Jacopo Tintoretto, who has delighted in all\nthe arts, and particularly in playing various musical instruments,\nbesides being agreeable in his every action, but in the matter of\npainting swift, resolute, fantastic, and extravagant, and the most\nextraordinary brain that the art of painting has ever produced, as may\nbe seen from all his works and from the fantastic compositions of his\nscenes, executed by him in a fashion of his own and contrary to the use\nof other painters. Indeed, he has surpassed even the limits of\nextravagance with the new and fanciful inventions and the strange\nvagaries of his intellect, working at haphazard and without design, as\nif to prove that art is but a jest. This master at times has left as\nfinished works sketches still so rough that the brush-strokes may be\nseen, done more by chance and vehemence than with judgment and design.\nHe has painted almost every kind of picture in fresco and in oils, with\nportraits from life, and at every price, insomuch that with these\nmethods he has executed, as he still does, the greater part of the\npictures painted in Venice. And since in his youth he proved himself by\nmany beautiful works a man of great judgment, if only he had recognized\nhow great an advantage he had from nature, and had improved it by\nreasonable study, as has been done by those who have followed the\nbeautiful manners of his predecessors, and had not dashed his work off\nby mere skill of hand, he would have been one of the greatest painters\nthat Venice has ever had. Not that this prevents him from being a bold\nand able painter, and delicate, fanciful, and alert in spirit.\n\n[Illustration: THE LAST JUDGMENT\n\n(_After the painting by =Jacopo Tintoretto=. Venice: S. Maria\ndell'Orto_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nNow, when it had been ordained by the Senate that Jacopo Tintoretto and\nPaolo Veronese, at that time young men of great promise, should each\nexecute a scene in the Hall of the Great Council, and Orazio, the son of\nTiziano, another, Tintoretto painted in his scene Frederick Barbarossa\nbeing crowned by the Pope, depicting there a most beautiful building,\nand about the Pontiff a great number of Cardinals and Venetian\ngentlemen, all portrayed from life, and at the foot the Pope's chapel of\nmusic. In all this he acquitted himself in such a manner, that the\npicture can bear comparison with those of the others, not excepting that\nof the above-named Orazio, in which is a battle that was fought at Rome\nbetween the Germans of that Frederick and the Romans, near the Castello\ndi S. Angelo and the Tiber. In this picture, among other things, is a\nhorse in foreshortening, leaping over a soldier in armour, which is most\nbeautiful; but some declare that Orazio was assisted in the work by his\nfather Tiziano. Beside these Paolo Veronese, of whom there has been an\naccount in the Life of Michele San Michele, painted in his scene the\nsame Frederick Barbarossa presenting himself at Court and kissing the\nhand of Pope Ottaviano, to the despite of Pope Alexander III; and, in\naddition to that scene, which was very beautiful, Paolo painted over a\nwindow four large figures: Time, Union, with a bundle of rods, Patience,\nand Faith, in which he acquitted himself better than I could express in\nwords.\n\nNot long afterwards, another scene being required in that hall,\nTintoretto so went to work with the aid of friends and other means, that\nit was given to him to paint; whereupon he executed it in such a manner\nthat it was a marvel, and that it deserves to be numbered among the best\nthings that he ever did, so powerful in him was his determination that\nhe would equal, if not vanquish and surpass, his rivals who had worked\nin that place. And the scene that he painted there--to the end that it\nmay be known also by those who are not of the art--was Pope Alexander\nexcommunicating and interdicting Barbarossa, and that Frederick\ntherefore forbidding his subjects to render obedience any longer to the\nPontiff. And among other fanciful things that are in this scene, that\npart is most beautiful in which the Pope and the Cardinals are throwing\ndown torches and candles from a high place, as is done when some person\nis excommunicated, and below is a rabble of nude figures that are\nstruggling for those torches and candles--the most lovely and pleasing\neffect in the world. Besides all this, certain bases, antiquities, and\nportraits of gentlemen that are dispersed throughout the scene, are\nexecuted very well, and won him favour and fame with everyone. He\ntherefore painted, for places below the work of Pordenone in the\nprincipal chapel of S. Rocco, two pictures in oils as broad as the width\nof the whole chapel--namely, about twelve braccia each. In one he\ndepicted a view in perspective as of a hospital filled with beds and\nsick persons in various attitudes who are being healed by S. Rocco; and\namong these are some nude figures very well conceived, and a dead body\nin foreshortening that is very beautiful. In the other is a story\nlikewise of S. Rocco, full of most graceful and beautiful figures, and\nsuch, in short, that it is held to be one of the best works that this\npainter has executed. In a scene of the same size, in the centre of the\nchurch, he painted Jesus Christ healing the impotent man at the Pool of\nBethesda, which is also a work held to be passing good.\n\n[Illustration: THE MIRACLE OF S. MARK\n\n(_From the painting by =Jacopo Tintoretto=. Venice: Accademia_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nIn the Church of S. Maria dell'Orto, where, as has been told above,\nCristofano and his brother, painters of Brescia, painted the ceiling,\nTintoretto has painted--that is, on canvas and in oils--the two walls of\nthe principal chapel, which are twenty-two braccia in height from the\nvaulting to the cornice at the foot. In that which is on the right hand\nhe has depicted Moses returning from the Mount, where he had received\nthe Laws from God, and finding the people worshipping the Golden Calf;\nand opposite to that, in the other, is the Universal Judgment of the\nlast day, painted with an extravagant invention that truly has in it\nsomething awesome and terrible, by reason of the diversity of figures of\neither sex and all ages that are there, with vistas and distant views of\nthe souls of the blessed and the damned. There, also, may be seen the\nboat of Charon, but in a manner so different from that of others, that\nit is a thing beautiful and strange. If this fantastic invention had\nbeen executed with correct and well-ordered drawing, and if the painter\nhad given diligent attention to the parts and to each particular detail,\nas he has done to the whole in expressing the confusion, turmoil, and\nterror of that day, it would have been a most stupendous picture. And\nwhoever glances at it for a moment, is struck with astonishment; but,\nconsidering it afterwards minutely, it appears as if painted as a jest.\nThe same master has painted in oils in that church, on the doors of the\norgan, Our Lady ascending the steps of the Temple, which is a\nhighly-finished work, and the best-executed and most gladsome picture\nthat there is in that place. In S. Maria Zebenigo, likewise on the doors\nof the organ, he has painted the Conversion of S. Paul, but not with\nmuch care. In the Carità is an altar-piece by his hand, of Christ taken\ndown from the Cross; and in the Sacristy of S. Sebastiano, in\ncompetition with Paolo Veronese, who executed many pictures on the\nceiling and the walls of that place, he painted over the presses Moses\nin the Desert and other scenes, which were continued afterwards by\nNatalino, a Venetian painter, and by others. The same Tintoretto then\npainted for the altar of the Pietà, in S. Giobbe, three Maries, S.\nFrancis, S. Sebastian, and S. John, with a piece of landscape; and, on\nthe organ-doors in the Church of the Servites, S. Augustine and S.\nPhilip, and beneath them Cain killing his brother Abel. At the altar of\nthe Sacrament in S. Felice, or rather, on the ceiling of the tribune, he\npainted the four Evangelists; and in the lunette above the altar an\nAnnunciation, in the other lunette Christ praying on the Mount of\nOlives, and on the wall the Last Supper that He had with His Apostles.\nAnd in S. Francesco della Vigna, on the altar of the Deposition from the\nCross, there is by the same hand the Madonna in a swoon, with the other\nMaries and some Prophets.\n\nIn the Scuola of S. Marco, near SS. Giovanni e Polo, are four large\nscenes by his hand. In one of these is S. Mark, who, appearing in the\nair, is delivering one who is his votary from many torments that may be\nseen prepared for him with various instruments of torture, which being\nbroken, the executioner was never able to employ them against that\ndevout man; and in that scene is a great abundance of figures,\nforeshortenings, pieces of armour, buildings, portraits, and other\nsuchlike things, which render the work very ornate. In the second is a\ntempest of the sea, and S. Mark, likewise in the air, delivering another\nof his votaries; but that scene is by no means executed with the same\ndiligence as that already described. In the third is a storm of rain,\nwith the dead body of another of S. Mark's votaries, and his soul\nascending into Heaven; and there, also, is a composition of passing good\nfigures. In the fourth, wherein an evil spirit is being exorcised, he\ncounterfeited in perspective a great loggia, and at the end of it a fire\nthat illumines it with many reflections. And in addition to those scenes\nthere is on the altar a S. Mark by the same hand, which is a passing\ngood picture.\n\nThese works, then, and many others that are here passed over, it being\nenough to have made mention of the best, have been executed by\nTintoretto with such rapidity, that, when it was thought that he had\nscarcely begun, he had finished. And it is a notable thing that with the\nmost extravagant ways in the world, he has always work to do, for the\nreason that when his friendships and other means are not enough to\nobtain for him any particular work, even if he had to do it, I do not\nsay at a low price, but without payment or by force, in one way or\nanother, do it he would. And it is not long since, Tintoretto having\nexecuted the Passion of Christ in a large picture in oils and on canvas\nfor the Scuola of S. Rocco, the men of that Company resolved to have\nsome honourable and magnificent work painted on the ceiling above it,\nand therefore to allot that commission to that one among the painters\nthat there were in Venice who should make the best and most beautiful\ndesign. Having therefore summoned Joseffo Salviati, Federigo Zucchero,\nwho was in Venice at that time, Paolo Veronese, and Jacopo Tintoretto,\nthey ordained that each of them should make a design, promising the work\nto him who should acquit himself best in this. While the others, then,\nwere engaged with all possible diligence in making their designs,\nTintoretto, having taken measurements of the size that the work was to\nbe, sketched a great canvas and painted it with his usual rapidity,\nwithout anyone knowing about it, and then placed it where it was to\nstand. Whereupon, the men of the Company having assembled one morning to\nsee the designs and to make their award, they found that Tintoretto had\ncompletely finished the work and had placed it in position. At which\nbeing angered against him, they said that they had called for designs\nand had not commissioned him to execute the work; but he answered them\nthat this was his method of making designs, that he did not know how to\nproceed in any other manner, and that designs and models of works should\nalways be after that fashion, so as to deceive no one, and that,\nfinally, if they would not pay him for the work and for his labour, he\nwould make them a present of it. And after these words, although he had\nmany contradictions, he so contrived that the work is still in the same\nplace. In this canvas, then, there is painted a Heaven with God the\nFather descending with many Angels to embrace S. Rocco, and in the\nlowest part are many figures that signify, or rather, represent the\nother principal Scuole of Venice, such as the Carità, S. Giovanni\nEvangelista, the Misericordia, S. Marco, and S. Teodoro, all executed\nafter his usual manner. But since it would be too long a task to\nenumerate all the pictures of Tintoretto, let it be enough to have\nspoken of the above-named works of that master, who is a truly able man\nand a painter worthy to be praised.\n\n[Illustration: THE APOTHEOSIS OF S. ROCCO\n\n(_After the painting by =Jacopo Tintoretto=. Venice: Scuola di S.\nRocco_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nThere was in Venice about this same time a painter called Brazzacco, a\nprotégé of the house of Grimani, who had been many years in Rome; and he\nwas commissioned by favour to paint the ceiling in the Great Hall of the\nChiefs of the Council of Ten. But this master, knowing that he was not\nable to do it by himself and that he had need of assistance, took as\ncompanions Paolo Veronese and Battista Farinato, dividing between\nhimself and them nine pictures in oils that were destined for that\nplace--namely, four ovals at the corners, four oblong pictures, and a\nlarger oval in the centre. Giving the last-named oval, with three of the\noblong pictures, to Paolo Veronese, who painted therein a Jove who is\nhurling his thunderbolts against the Vices, and other figures, he took\nfor himself two of the smaller ovals, with one of the oblong pictures,\nand gave two ovals to Battista. In one of these pictures is Neptune, the\nGod of the Sea, and in each of the others two figures demonstrating the\ngreatness and the tranquil and peaceful condition of Venice. Now,\nalthough all three of them acquitted themselves well, Paolo Veronese\nsucceeded better than the others, and well deserved, therefore, that\nthose Signori should afterwards allot to him the other ceiling that is\nbeside the above-named hall, wherein he painted in oils, in company with\nBattista Farinato, a S. Mark supported in the air by some Angels, and\nlower down a Venice surrounded by Faith, Hope, and Charity; which work,\nalthough it was beautiful, was not equal in excellence to the first.\nPaolo afterwards executed by himself in the Umiltà, in a large oval of\nthe ceiling, an Assumption of Our Lady with other figures, which was a\ngladsome, beautiful, and well-conceived picture.\n\nLikewise a good painter in our own day, in that city, has been Andrea\nSchiavone; I say good, because at times, for all his misfortunes, he has\nproduced some good work, and because he has always imitated as well as\nhe has been able the manners of the good masters. But, since the greater\npart of his works have been pictures that are dispersed among the houses\nof gentlemen, I shall speak only of some that are in public places. In\nthe Chapel of the family of Pellegrini, in the Church of S. Sebastiano\nat Venice, he has painted a S. James with two Pilgrims. In the Church\nof the Carmine, on the ceiling of the choir, he has executed an\nAssumption with many Angels and Saints; and in the Chapel of the\nPresentation, in the same church, he has painted the Infant Christ\npresented by His Mother in the Temple, with many portraits from life,\nbut the best figure that is there is a woman suckling a child and\nwearing a yellow garment, who is executed in a certain manner that is\nused in Venice--dashed off, or rather, sketched, without being in any\nrespect finished. Him Giorgio Vasari caused in the year 1540 to paint on\na large canvas in oils the battle that had been fought a short time\nbefore between Charles V and Barbarossa; and that work, which is one of\nthe best that Andrea Schiavone ever executed, and truly very beautiful,\nis now in Florence, in the house of the heirs of the Magnificent M.\nOttaviano de' Medici, to whom it was sent as a present by Vasari.\n\n\n\n\nGIOVAN FRANCESCO RUSTICI\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF GIOVAN FRANCESCO RUSTICI\n\nSCULPTOR AND ARCHITECT OF FLORENCE\n\n\nIt is in every way a notable thing that all those who were of the school\nin the garden of the Medici, and were favoured by the Magnificent\nLorenzo the Elder, became without exception supremely excellent; which\ncircumstance cannot have come from any other cause but the great, nay,\ninfinite judgment of that most noble lord, the true Mæcenas of men of\ntalent, who, even as he was able to recognize men of lofty spirit and\ngenius, was also both willing and able to recompense and reward them.\nThus Giovan Francesco Rustici, a Florentine citizen, acquitting himself\nvery well in drawing and working in clay in his boyhood, was placed by\nthat Magnificent Lorenzo, who recognized him as a boy of spirit and of\ngood and beautiful genius, to learn under Andrea del Verrocchio, with\nwhom there was also working Leonardo da Vinci, a rare youth and gifted\nwith infinite parts. Whereupon Rustici, being pleased by the beautiful\nmanner and ways of Leonardo, and considering that the expressions of his\nheads and the movements of his figures were more graceful and more\nspirited than those of any other works that he had ever seen, attached\nhimself to him, after he had learned to cast in bronze, to draw in\nperspective, and to work in marble, and after Andrea had gone to work in\nVenice. Rustici thus living with Leonardo and serving him with the most\nloving submission, Leonardo conceived such an affection for him,\nrecognizing him to be a young man of good, true, and liberal mind,\npatient and diligent in the labours of art, that he did nothing, either\ngreat or small, save what was pleasing to Giovan Francesco, who, besides\nbeing of a noble family, had the means to live honourably, and\ntherefore practised art more for his own delight and from desire of\nglory than for gain. And, to tell the truth of the matter, those\ncraftsmen who have as their ultimate and principal end gain and profit,\nand not honour and glory, rarely become very excellent, even although\nthey may have good and beautiful genius; besides which, labouring for a\nlivelihood, as very many do who are weighed down by poverty and their\nfamilies, and working not by inclination, when the mind and the will are\ndrawn to it, but by necessity from morning till night, is a life not for\nmen who have honour and glory as their aim, but for hacks, as they are\ncalled, and manual labourers, for the reason that good works do not get\ndone without first having been well considered for a long time. And it\nwas on that account that Rustici used to say in his more mature years\nthat you must first think, then make your sketches, and after that your\ndesigns; which done, you must put them aside for weeks and even months\nwithout looking at them, and then, choosing the best, put them into\nexecution; but that method cannot be followed by everyone, nor do those\nuse it who labour only for gain. And he used to say, also, that works\nshould not be shown readily to anyone before they are finished, so that\na man may change them as many times and in as many ways as he wishes,\nwithout any scruple.\n\nGiovan Francesco learned many things from Leonardo, but particularly how\nto represent horses, in which he so delighted that he fashioned them of\nclay and of wax, in the round or in low-relief, and in as many manners\nas could be imagined; and of these there are some to be seen in our book\nwhich are so well drawn, that they bear witness to the knowledge and art\nof Giovan Francesco. He knew also how to handle colours, and executed\nsome passing good pictures, although his principal profession was\nsculpture. And since he lived for a time in the Via de' Martelli, he\nbecame much the friend of all the men of that family, which has always\nhad men of the highest ability and worth, and particularly of Piero, for\nwhom, being the nearest to his heart, he made some little figures in\nfull-relief, and, among others, a Madonna with the Child in her arms\nseated upon some clouds that are covered with Cherubim. Similar to that\nis another that he painted after some time in a large picture in oils,\nwith a garland of Cherubim that form a diadem around the head of Our\nLady.\n\nThe Medici family having then returned to Florence, Rustici made himself\nknown to Cardinal Giovanni as the protégé of his father Lorenzo, and was\nreceived with much lovingness. But, since the ways of the Court did not\nplease him and were distasteful to his nature, which was altogether\nsimple and peaceful, and not full of envy and ambition, he would always\nkeep to himself and live the life as it were of a philosopher, enjoying\ntranquil peace and repose. And although he did at times choose to take\nsome recreation, and found himself among his friends in art or some\ncitizens who were his intimate companions, he did not therefore cease to\nwork when the desire came to him or the occasion presented itself.\nWherefore, for the visit of Pope Leo to Florence in the year 1515, at\nthe request of Andrea del Sarto, who was much his friend, he executed\nsome statues that were held to be very beautiful; which statues, since\nthey pleased Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, were the reason that the\nCardinal caused him to make, for the summit of the fountain that is in\nthe great court of the Palace of the Medici, the nude Mercury of bronze\nabout one braccio in height, standing on a ball in the act of taking\nflight. In the hands of that figure Rustici placed an instrument that is\nmade to revolve by the water that it pours down from above, in the\nfollowing manner: one leg being perforated, a pipe passes through it and\nthrough the torso, and the water, having risen to the mouth of the\nfigure, falls upon that instrument, which is balanced with four thin\nplates fixed after the manner of a butterfly, and causes it to revolve.\nThat figure, I say, for a small work, was much extolled. Not long\nafterwards, Giovan Francesco made for the same Cardinal the model for a\nDavid to be cast in bronze (similar to that executed by Donato, as has\nbeen related, for the elder Cosimo, the Magnificent), for placing in the\nfirst court, whence the other had been taken away. That model gave much\nsatisfaction, but, by reason of a certain dilatoriness in Giovan\nFrancesco, it was never cast in bronze; wherefore the Orpheus in marble\nof Bandinelli was placed there, and the David of clay made by Rustici,\nwhich was a very rare work, came to an evil end, which was a very great\nloss. Giovan Francesco made an Annunciation in half-relief in a large\nmedallion, with a most beautiful perspective-view, in which he was\nassisted by the painter Raffaello Bello and by Niccolò Soggi. This, when\ncast in bronze, proved to be a work of such rare beauty, that there was\nnothing more beautiful to be seen; and it was sent to the King of Spain.\nAnd then he executed in marble, in another similar medallion, a Madonna\nwith the Child in her arms and S. John the Baptist as a little boy,\nwhich was placed in the first hall in the residence of the Consuls of\nthe Guild of Por Santa Maria.\n\nBy these works Giovan Francesco came into great credit, and the Consuls\nof the Guild of Merchants, who had caused to be removed certain clumsy\nfigures of marble that were over the three doors of the Temple of S.\nGiovanni (made, as has been related, in the year 1240), after allotting\nto Contucci of Sansovino those that were to be set up in place of the\nold ones over the door that faces towards the Misericordia, allotted to\nRustici those that were to be placed over the door that faces towards\nthe canonical buildings of that temple, on the condition that he should\nmake three figures of bronze of four braccia each, representing the same\npersons as the old ones--namely, S. John in the act of preaching,\nstanding between a Pharisee and a Levite. That work was much after the\nheart of Giovan Francesco, because it was to be set up in a place so\ncelebrated and of such importance, and, besides this, by reason of the\ncompetition with Andrea Contucci. Having therefore straightway set his\nhand to it and made a little model, which he surpassed in the excellence\nof the work itself, he showed all the consideration and diligence that\nsuch a labour required. When finished, the work was held to be in all\nits parts the best composed and best conceived of its kind that had been\nmade up to that time, the figures being wholly perfect and wrought with\ngreat grace of aspect and also extraordinary force. In like manner, the\nnude arms and legs are very well conceived, and attached at the joints\nso excellently, that it would not be possible to do better; and, to say\nnothing of the hands and feet, what graceful attitudes and what heroic\ngravity have those heads!\n\n[Illustration: S. JOHN PREACHING\n\n(_After the bronze by =Giovan Francesco Rustici=. Florence: The\nBaptistery_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nGiovan Francesco, while he was fashioning that work in clay, would have\nno one about him but Leonardo da Vinci, who, during the making of the\nmoulds, the securing them with irons, and, in short, until the statues\nwere cast, never left his side; wherefore some believe, but without\nknowing more than this, that Leonardo worked at them with his own hand,\nor at least assisted Giovan Francesco with his advice and good judgment.\nThese statues, which are the most perfect and the best conceived that\nhave ever been executed in bronze by a modern master, were cast in three\nparts and polished in the above-mentioned house in the Via de' Martelli\nwhere Giovan Francesco lived; and so, also, the ornaments of marble that\nare about the S. John, with the two columns, the mouldings, and the\nemblem of the Guild of Merchants. In addition to the S. John, which is a\nspirited and lively figure, there is a bald man inclined to fatness,\nbeautifully wrought, who, having rested the right arm on one flank, with\npart of a shoulder naked, and with the left hand holding a scroll before\nhis eyes, has the left leg crossed over the right, and stands in an\nattitude of deep contemplation, about to answer S. John; and he is\nclothed in two kinds of drapery, one delicate, which floats over the\nnude parts of the figure, and over that a mantle of thicker texture,\nexecuted with a flow of folds full of mastery and artistry. Equal to him\nis the Pharisee, who, having laid his right hand on his beard, with a\ngrave gesture, is drawing back a little, revealing astonishment at the\nwords of John.\n\nWhile Rustici was executing that work, growing weary at last of having\nto ask for money every day from those Consuls or their agents, who were\nnot always the same (and such persons are generally men who hold art or\nany work of value in little account), he sold, in order to be able to\nfinish the work, a farm out of his patrimony that he possessed at San\nMarco Vecchio, at a short distance from Florence. And yet,\nnotwithstanding such labours, expenses, and pains, he was poorly\nremunerated for it by the Consuls and by his fellow-citizens, for the\nreason that one of the Ridolfi, the head of that Guild, out of some\nprivate spite, and perchance also because Rustici had not paid him\nenough honour or allowed him to see the figures at his convenience, was\nalways opposed to him in everything. And so that which should have\nresulted in honour for Giovan Francesco did the very opposite, for,\nwhereas he deserved to be esteemed not only as a nobleman and a citizen\nbut also as a master of art, his being a most excellent craftsman robbed\nhim, with the ignorant and foolish, of all that was due to his noble\nblood. Thus, when Giovan Francesco's work was to be valued, and he had\nchosen on his side Michelagnolo Buonarroti, the body of Consuls, at the\npersuasion of Ridolfi, chose Baccio d'Agnolo; at which Rustici\ncomplained, saying to the men of that body, at the audience, that it was\nindeed something too strange that a worker in wood should have to value\nthe labours of a statuary, and he as good as declared that they were a\nherd of oxen, but Ridolfi answered that, on the contrary, it was a good\nchoice, and that Giovan Francesco was a swollen bladder of pride and\narrogance. And, what was worse, that work, which deserved not less than\ntwo thousand crowns, was valued by the Consuls at five hundred, and even\nthose were not paid to him in full, but only four hundred, and that only\nwith the help of Cardinal Giulio de' Medici.\n\nHaving met with such malignity, Giovan Francesco withdrew almost in\ndespair, determined that he would never again do work for public bodies,\nor in any undertaking where he might have to depend on more than one\ncitizen or any other single person. And so, keeping to himself and\nleading a solitary life in his rooms at the Sapienza, near the Servite\nFriars, he continued to work at various things, in order to pass the\ntime and not to live in idleness; but also consuming his life and his\nmoney in seeking to congeal mercury, in company with a man of like brain\ncalled Raffaello Baglioni. Giovan Francesco painted a picture in oils\nthree braccia in breadth and two in height, of the Conversion of S.\nPaul, full of different kinds of horses ridden by the soldiers of that\nSaint, with various beautiful attitudes and foreshortenings; which\npainting, together with many other works by the hand of the same master,\nis in the possession of the heirs of the above-named Piero Martelli, to\nwhom he gave it. In a little picture he painted a hunting-scene full of\nvarious animals, which is a very bizarre and pleasing work; and it now\nbelongs to Lorenzo Borghini, who holds it dear, as one who much delights\nin the treasures of our arts. For the Nuns of S. Luca, in the Via di S.\nGallo, he executed in clay, in half-relief, a Christ in the Garden who\nis appearing to Mary Magdalene, which was afterwards glazed by Giovanni\ndella Robbia and placed on an altar in the church of those sisters,\nwithin an ornament of grey sandstone. For Jacopo Salviati the elder, of\nwhom he was much the friend, he made a most beautiful medallion of\nmarble, containing a Madonna, for the chapel in his palace above the\nPonte alla Badia, and, round the courtyard, many medallions filled with\nfigures of terra-cotta, together with other very beautiful ornaments,\nwhich were for the most part, nay, almost all, destroyed by the soldiers\nin the year of the siege, when the palace was set on fire by the party\nhostile to the Medici. And since Giovan Francesco had a great affection\nfor that place, he would set out at times from Florence to go there just\nas he was, in his lucco;[9] and once out of the city he would throw it\nover his shoulder and slowly wander all by himself, lost in\ncontemplation, until he was there. One day among others, being on that\nroad, and the day being hot, he hid the lucco in a thicket of\nthorn-bushes, and, having reached the palace, had been there two days\nbefore he remembered it. In the end, sending his man to look for it,\nwhen he saw that he had found it he said: \"The world is too good to last\nlong.\"\n\n         [Footnote 9: A long gown worn by the Florentine citizens,\n         particularly on occasions of ceremony.]\n\nGiovan Francesco was a man of surpassing goodness, and very loving to\nthe poor, insomuch that he would never let anyone leave him uncomforted;\nnay, keeping his money, whether he had much or little, in a basket, he\nwould give some according to his ability to anyone who asked of him.\nWherefore a poor man who often went to him for alms, seeing him go\nalways to that basket, said, not thinking that he could be heard: \"Ah!\nGod! if I had in my own room all that is in that basket, I would soon\nsettle all my troubles.\" Giovan Francesco, hearing him, said, after\ngazing at him fixedly a while: \"Come here, I will satisfy you.\" And\nthen, emptying the basket into a fold of his cloak, he said to him: \"Go,\nand may God bless you.\" And shortly afterwards he sent to Niccolò Buoni,\nhis dearest friend, who managed all his affairs, for more money; which\nNiccolò, who kept an account of his crops and of his money in the Monte,\nand sold his produce at the proper seasons, made a practice, according\nto Rustici's own wish, of giving him so much money every week, which\nGiovan Francesco then kept in the drawer of his desk, without a key, and\nfrom time to time anyone who wished would take some to spend on the\nrequirements of the household, according as might be necessary.\n\nBut to return to his works: Giovan Francesco made a most beautiful\nCrucifix of wood, as large as life, for sending to France, but it was\nleft with Niccolò Buoni, together with other things in low-relief and\ndrawings, which are now in his possession, at the time when Rustici\nresolved to leave Florence, believing that it was no place for him and\nthinking by a change of country to obtain a change of fortune. For Duke\nGiuliano, by whom he was always much favoured, he made a profile of his\nhead in half-relief, and cast it in bronze; and this, which was held to\nbe a remarkable work, is now in the house of M. Alessandro, the son of\nM. Ottaviano de' Medici. To the painter Ruberto di Filippo Lippi, who\nwas his disciple, Giovan Francesco gave many works by his own hand, such\nas low-reliefs, models, and designs; and, among other things, several\npictures--a Leda, a Europa, a Neptune, a very beautiful Vulcan, and\nanother little panel in low-relief wherein is a nude man on horseback of\ngreat beauty, which panel is now in the study of Don Silvano Razzi, at\nthe Angeli. The same Giovan Francesco made a very beautiful woman in\nbronze, two braccia in height, representing one of the Graces, who was\npressing one of her breasts; but it is not known what became of it, nor\nin whose possession it is to be found. Of his horses in clay with men on\ntheir backs or under them, similar to those already mentioned, there are\nmany in the houses of citizens, which were presented by him to his\nvarious friends, for he was very courteous, and not, like most men of\nhis class, mean and discourteous. And Dionigi da Diacceto, an excellent\nand honourable gentleman, who also kept the accounts of Giovan\nFrancesco, like Niccolò Buoni, and was his friend, had from him many\nlow-reliefs.\n\nThere never was a man more amusing or fanciful than Giovan Francesco,\nnor one that delighted more in animals. He had made a porcupine so tame,\nthat it stayed under the table like a dog, and at times it rubbed\nagainst people's legs in such a manner, that they drew them in very\nquickly. He had an eagle, and also a raven that said a great number of\nthings so clearly, that it was just like a human being. He also gave his\nattention to the study of necromancy, and by means of that I am told\nthat he gave strange frights to his servants and assistants; and thus he\nlived without a care. Having built a room almost in the manner of a\nfish-pond, and keeping in it many serpents, or rather, grass-snakes,\nwhich could not escape, he used to take the greatest pleasure in\nstanding, particularly in summer, to observe the mad pranks that they\nplayed, and their fury.\n\nThere used to assemble in his rooms at the Sapienza a company of good\nfellows who called themselves the Company of the Paiuolo;[10] and these,\nwhose numbers were limited to twelve, were our Giovan Francesco, Andrea\ndel Sarto, the painter Spillo, Domenico Puligo, the goldsmith Robetta,\nAristotile da San Gallo, Francesco di Pellegrino, Niccolò Buoni,\nDomenico Baccelli, who played and sang divinely, the sculptor Solosmeo,\nLorenzo called Guazzetto, and the painter Ruberto di Filippo Lippi, who\nwas their proveditor. Each of these twelve could bring to certain\nsuppers and entertainments of theirs four friends and no more. The\nmanner of the suppers, which I am very willing to describe because these\ncompanies have fallen almost entirely out of fashion, was that each man\nshould bring some dish for supper, prepared with some beautiful\ninvention, which, on arriving at the proper place, he presented to the\nmaster of the feast, who was always one of their number, and who then\ngave it to whomsoever he pleased, each man thus exchanging his dish for\nthat of another. When they were at table, they all offered each other\nsomething from their dishes, and every man partook of everything; and\nwhoever had hit on the same invention for his dish as another, and had\nproduced the same thing, was condemned to pay a penalty.\n\n         [Footnote 10: Cooking-pot or cauldron.]\n\nOne evening, then, when Giovan Francesco gave a supper to that Company\nof the Paiuolo, he arranged that there should serve as a table an\nimmense cauldron made with a vat, within which they all sat, and it\nappeared as if they were in the water of the cauldron, in the centre of\nwhich came the viands arranged in a circle; and the handle of the\ncauldron, which curved like a crescent above them, gave out a most\nbeautiful light from the centre, so that, looking round, they all saw\neach other face to face. Now, when they were all seated at table in the\ncauldron, which was most beautifully contrived, there issued from the\ncentre a tree with many branches, which set before them the supper, that\nis, the first course of viands, two to each plate. This done, it\ndescended once more below, where there were persons who played music,\nand in a short time came up again and presented the second course, and\nthen the third, and so on in due order, while all around were servants\nwho poured out the choicest wines. The invention of the cauldron, which\nwas beautifully adorned with hangings and pictures, was much extolled by\nthe men of that company. For that evening the contribution of Rustici\nwas a cauldron in the form of a pie, in which was Ulysses dipping his\nfather in order to make him young again; which two figures were boiled\ncapons that had the form of men, so well were the limbs arranged, and\nall with various things good to eat. Andrea del Sarto presented an\noctagonal temple, similar to that of S. Giovanni, but raised upon\ncolumns. The pavement was a vast plate of jelly, with a pattern of\nmosaic in various colours; the columns, which had the appearance of\nporphyry, were sausages, long and thick; the socles and capitals were of\nParmesan cheese; the cornices of sugar, and the tribune was made of\nsections of marchpane. In the centre was a choir-desk made of cold veal,\nwith a book of lasagne[11] that had the letters and notes of the music\nmade of pepper-corns; and the singers at the desk were cooked thrushes\nstanding with their beaks open, and with certain little shirts after the\nmanner of surplices, made of fine cauls of pigs, and behind them, for\nthe basses, were two fat young pigeons, with six ortolans that sang the\nsoprano. Spillo presented as his dish a smith, which he had made from a\ngreat goose or some such bird, with all the instruments wherewith to\nmend the cauldron in case of need. Domenico Puligo represented by means\nof a cooked sucking-pig a serving-girl with a distaff at her side, who\nwas watching a brood of chickens, and was there to scour the cauldron.\nRobetta made out of a calf's head, with appurtenances formed of other\nfat meats, an anvil for the maintenance of the cauldron, which was very\nfine and very beautiful, as were also all the other contributions; not\nto enumerate one by one all the dishes of that supper and of many others\nthat they gave.\n\n         [Footnote 11: Broad, flat strips of maccheroni.]\n\nThe Company of the Cazzuola,[12] which was similar to the other, and to\nwhich Giovan Francesco belonged, had its origin in the following manner.\nOne evening in the year 1512 there were at supper in the garden that Feo\nd'Agnolo the hunchback, a fife-player and a very merry fellow, had in\nthe Campaccio, with Feo himself, Ser Bastiano Sagginati, Ser Raffaello\ndel Beccaio, Ser Cecchino de' Profumi, Girolamo del Giocondo, and Il\nBaia, and, while they were eating their ricotta,[13] the eyes of Baia\nfell on a heap of lime with the trowel sticking in it, just as the mason\nhad left it the day before, by the side of the table in a corner of the\ngarden. Whereupon, taking some of the lime with that trowel, or rather,\nmason's trowel, he dropped it all into the mouth of Feo, who was waiting\nwith gaping jaws for a great mouthful of ricotta from another of the\ncompany. Which seeing, they all began to shout: \"A Trowel, a Trowel!\"\nThat Company being then formed by reason of that incident, it was\nordained that its members should be in all twenty-four, twelve of those\nwho, as the phrase was in those times, were \"going for the Great,\"[14]\nand twelve of those who were \"going for the Less\"; and that its emblem\nshould be a trowel, to which they added afterwards those little black\ntadpoles that have a large head and a tail, which are called in Tuscany\nCazzuole. Their Patron Saint was S. Andrew, whose festal day they used\nto celebrate with much solemnity, giving a most beautiful supper and\nbanquet according to their rules. The first members of that Company,\nthose \"going for the Great,\" were Jacopo Bottegai, Francesco Rucellai,\nDomenico his brother, Giovan Battista Ginori, Girolamo del Giocondo,\nGiovanni Miniati, Niccolò del Barbigia, Mezzabotte his brother, Cosimo\nda Panzano, Matteo his brother, Marco Jacopi, and Pieraccino Bartoli;\nand those \"going for the Less,\" Ser Bastiano Sagginati, Ser Raffaello\ndel Beccaio, Ser Cecchino de' Profumi, Giuliano Bugiardini the painter,\nFrancesco Granacci the painter, Giovan Francesco Rustici, Feo the\nhunchback, his companion Il Talina the musician, Pierino the fifer,\nGiovanni the trombone-player, and Il Baia the bombardier. The associates\nwere Bernardino di Giordano, Il Talano, Il Caiano, Maestro Jacopo del\nBientina and M. Giovan Battista di Cristofano Ottonaio, both heralds of\nthe Signoria, Buon Pocci, and Domenico Barlacchi. And not many years\npassed (so much did they increase in reputation as they held their\nfeasts and merrymakings), before there were elected to that Company of\nthe Cazzuola Signor Giuliano de' Medici, Ottangolo Benvenuti, Giovanni\nCanigiani, Giovanni Serristori, Giovanni Gaddi, Giovanni Bandini, Luigi\nMartelli, Paolo da Romena, and Filippo Pandolfini the hunchback; and\ntogether with these, at one and the same time, as associates, Andrea del\nSarto the painter, Bartolommeo Trombone the musician, Ser Bernardo\nPisanello, Piero the cloth-shearer, Gemma the mercer, and lastly Maestro\nManente da San Giovanni the physician.\n\n         [Footnote 12: Mason's trowel.]\n\n         [Footnote 13: A sort of curd.]\n\n         [Footnote 14: The phrase, \"To go for the Great,\" was\n         originally applied to those Florentine families that belonged\n         to the seven chief Guilds. It afterwards came to be used\n         simply as a mark of superiority.]\n\nThe feasts that these men held at various times were innumerable, and I\nshall describe only a few of them for the sake of those who do not know\nthe customs of these Companies, which, as has been related, have now\nfallen almost entirely out of fashion. The first given by the Cazzuola,\nwhich was arranged by Giuliano Bugiardini, was held at a place called\nthe Aia,[15] at S. Maria Nuova, where, as we have already said, the\ngates of S. Giovanni were cast in bronze. There, I say, the master of\nthe Company having commanded that every man should present himself\ndressed in whatever costume he pleased, on condition that those who\nmight resemble one another in their manner of dress by being clothed in\nthe same fashion, should pay a penalty, at the appointed hour there\nappeared the most beautiful, bizarre, and extravagant costumes that\ncould be imagined. Then, the hour of supper having come, they were\nplaced at table according to the quality of their clothes--those who\nwere dressed as Princes in the first places, the rich and noble after\nthem, and those dressed as poor persons in the last and lowest places.\nAnd whether they had games and merrymaking after supper, it is better to\nleave that to everyone to imagine for himself than to say anything about\nit.\n\n         [Footnote 15: Threshing-floor.]\n\nAt another repast, which was arranged by the same Bugiardini and by\nGiovan Francesco Rustici, the men of the Company appeared, as the master\nhad commanded, all in the dress of masons and their labourers; that is,\nthose who were \"going for the Great\" had the trowel with the cutting\nedge and hammer in their girdles, and those \"going for the Less\" were\ndressed as labourers with the hod, the levers for moving weights, and in\ntheir girdles the ordinary trowel. When all had arrived in the first\nroom, the lord of the feast showed them the ground-plan of an edifice\nthat had to be built by the company, and placed the master-masons at\ntable around it; and then the labourers began to carry up the materials\nfor making the foundations--hods full of cooked lasagne and ricotta\nprepared with sugar for mortar, sand made of cheese, spices, and pepper\nmixed together, and for gravel large sweetmeats and pieces of\nberlingozzo.[16] The wall-bricks, paving-bricks, and tiles, which were\nbrought in baskets and hand-barrows, were loaves of bread and flat\ncakes. A basement having then come up, it appeared to the stone-cutters\nthat it had not been executed and put together well enough, and they\njudged that it would be a good thing to break it and take it to pieces;\nwhereupon, having set upon it and found it all composed of pastry,\npieces of liver, and other suchlike things, they feasted on these, which\nwere placed before them by the labourers. Next, the same labourers\nhaving come on the scene with a great column swathed with the cooked\ntripe of calves, it was taken to pieces, and after distributing the\nboiled veal, capons, and other things of which it was composed, they eat\nthe base of Parmesan cheese and the capital, which was made in a\nmarvellous manner of pieces carved from roasted capons and slices of\nveal, with a crown of tongues. But why do I dally over describing all\nthe details? After the column, there was brought up on a car a very\ningenious piece of architrave with frieze and cornice, composed in like\nmanner so well and of so many different viands, that to attempt to\ndescribe them all would make too long a story. Enough that when the time\ncame to break up, after many peals of thunder an artificial rain began\nto fall, and all left the work and fled, each one going to his own\nhouse.\n\n         [Footnote 16: A Florentine cake.]\n\nAnother time, when the master of the same Company was Matteo da Panzano,\nthe banquet was arranged in the following manner. Ceres, seeking\nProserpine her daughter, who had been carried off by Pluto, entered the\nroom where the men of the Cazzuola were assembled, and, coming before\ntheir master, besought him that they should accompany her to the\ninfernal regions. To which request consenting after much discussion,\nthey went after her, and so, entering into a somewhat darkened room,\nthey saw in place of a door a vast mouth of a serpent, the head of which\ntook up the whole wall. Round which door all crowding together, while\nCerberus barked, Ceres called out asking whether her lost daughter were\nin there, and, a voice having answered Yes, she added that she desired\nto have her back. But Pluto replied that he would not give her up, and\ninvited Ceres with all the company to the nuptials that were being\nprepared; and the invitation was accepted. Whereupon, all having entered\nthrough that mouth, which was full of teeth, and which, being hung on\nhinges, opened to each couple of men that entered, and then shut again,\nthey found themselves at last in a great room of a round shape, which\nhad no light but a very little one in the centre, which burned so dim\nthat they could scarcely see one another. There, having been pushed into\ntheir seats with a great fork by a most hideous Devil who was in the\nmiddle, beside the tables, which were draped in black, Pluto commanded\nthat in honour of his nuptials the pains of Hell should cease for as\nlong as those guests remained there; and so it was done. Now in that\nroom were painted all the chasms of the regions of the damned, with\ntheir pains and torments; and, fire being put to a match of tow, in a\nflash a light was kindled at each chasm, thus revealing in the picture\nin what manner and with what pains those who were in it were tormented.\nThe viands of that infernal supper were all animals vile and most\nhideous in appearance; but nevertheless within, under the loathly\ncovering and the shape of the pastry, were most delicate meats of many\nkinds. The skin, I say, on the outer side, made it appear as if they\nwere serpents, grass-snakes, lizards large and small, tarantulas, toads,\nfrogs, scorpions, bats, and other suchlike animals; but within all were\ncomposed of the choicest viands. And these were placed on the tables\nbefore every man with a shovel, under the direction of the Devil, who\nwas in the middle, while a companion poured out exquisite wines from a\nhorn of glass, ugly and monstrous in shape, into glazed crucibles, which\nserved as drinking-glasses. These first viands finished, which formed a\nsort of relish, dead men's bones were set all the way down the table in\nplace of fruits and sweetmeats, as if the supper, which was scarcely\nbegun, were finished; which reliquary fruits were of sugar. That done,\nPluto, who proclaimed that he wished to go to his repose with his\nProserpine, commanded that the pains should return to torment the\ndamned; and in a moment all the lights that have been mentioned were\nblown out by a sort of wind, on every side were heard rumblings, voices,\nand cries, awesome and horrible, and in the middle of that darkness,\nwith a little light, was seen the image of Baia the bombardier, who was\none of the guests, as has been related--condemned to Hell by Pluto for\nhaving always chosen as the subjects and inventions of his girandole and\nother fireworks the seven mortal sins and the things of Hell. While all\nwere occupied in gazing on that spectacle and listening to various\nsounds of lamentation, the mournful and funereal table was taken away,\nand in place of it, lights being kindled, was seen a very rich and regal\nfeast, with splendid servants who brought the rest of the supper, which\nwas handsome and magnificent. At the end of the supper came a ship full\nof various confections, and the crew of the ship, pretending to remove\ntheir merchandize, little by little brought the men of the Company into\nthe upper rooms, where, a very rich scenic setting having been already\nprepared, there was performed a comedy called the Filogenia, which was\nmuch extolled; and at dawn, the play finished, every man went happily\nhome.\n\nTwo years afterwards, it being the turn of the same man, after many\nfeasts and comedies, to be master of the Company another time, he, in\norder to reprove some of that Company who had spent too much on certain\nfeasts and banquets (only, as the saying goes, to be themselves eaten\nalive), had his banquet arranged in the following manner. At the Aia,\nwhere they were wont to assemble, there were first painted on the wall\nwithout the door some of those figures that are generally painted on the\nwalls and porticoes of hospitals, such as the director of the hospital,\nwith gestures full of charity, inviting and receiving beggars and\npilgrims. This picture being uncovered late on the evening of the feast,\nthere began to arrive the men of the Company, who, after knocking and\nbeing received at the entrance by the director of the hospital, made\ntheir way into a great room arranged in the manner of a hospital, with\nthe beds at the sides and other suchlike things. In the middle of that\nroom, round a great fire, were Bientina, Battista dell'Ottonaio,\nBarlacchi, Baia, and other merry spirits, dressed after the manner of\nbeggars, wastrels, and gallows-birds, who, pretending not to be seen by\nthose who came in from time to time and gathered into a circle, and\nconversing of the men of the Company and also of themselves, said the\nhardest things in the world about those who had thrown away their all\nand spent on suppers and feasts much more than was right. Which\ndiscourse finished, when it was seen that all who were to be there had\narrived, in came S. Andrew, their Patron Saint, who, leading them out of\nthe hospital, took them into another room, magnificently furnished,\nwhere they sat down to table and had a joyous supper. Then the Saint\nlaughingly commanded them that, in order not to be too wasteful with\ntheir superfluous expenses, so that they might keep well away from\nhospitals, they should be contented with one feast, a grand and solemn\naffair, every year; after which he went his way. And they obeyed him,\nholding a most beautiful supper, with a comedy, every year over a long\nperiod of time; and thus there were performed at various times, as was\nrelated in the Life of Aristotile da San Gallo, the Calandra of M.\nBernardo, Cardinal of Bibbiena, the Suppositi and the Cassaria of\nAriosto, and the Clizia and Mandragola of Macchiavelli, with many\nothers.\n\nFrancesco and Domenico Rucellai, for the feast that it fell to them to\ngive when they were masters of the Company, performed first the Arpie of\nFineo, and the second time, after a disputation of philosophers on the\nTrinity, they caused to be represented S. Andrew throwing open a Heaven\nwith all the choirs of the Angels, which was in truth a very rare\nspectacle. And Giovanni Gaddi, with the help of Jacopo Sansovino, Andrea\ndel Sarto, and Giovan Francesco Rustici, represented a Tantalus in\nHell, who gave a feast to all the men of the Company clothed in the\ndress of various Gods; with all the rest of the fable, and many fanciful\ninventions of gardens, scenes of Paradise, fireworks, and other things,\nto recount which would make our story too long. A very beautiful\ninvention, also, was that of Luigi Martelli, when, being master of the\nCompany, he gave them supper in the house of Giuliano Scali at the Porta\nPinti; for he represented Mars all smeared with blood, to signify his\ncruelty, in a room full of bloody human limbs; in another room he showed\nMars and Venus naked in a bed, and a little farther on Vulcan, who,\nhaving covered them with the net, was calling all the Gods to see the\noutrage done to him by Mars and by his sorry spouse.\n\nBut it is now time--after this digression, which may perchance appear to\nsome too long, although for many reasons it does not seem to me that\nthis account has been given wholly out of place--that I return to the\nLife of Rustici. Giovan Francesco, then, not liking much to live in\nFlorence after the expulsion of the Medici in the year 1528, left the\ncharge of all his affairs to Niccolò Buoni, and went off with his young\nman Lorenzo Naldini, called Guazzetto, to France, where, having been\nmade known to King Francis by Giovan Battista della Palla, who happened\nto be there then, and by Francesco di Pellegrino, his very dear friend,\nwho had gone there a short time before, he was received very willingly,\nand an allowance of five hundred crowns a year was granted to him. By\nthat King, for whom Giovan Francesco executed some works of which\nnothing in particular is known, he was finally commissioned to make a\nhorse in bronze, twice the size of life, upon which was to be placed the\nKing himself. Whereupon, having set his hand to the work, after some\nmodels which much pleased the King, he went on with the making of the\nlarge model and the mould for casting it, in a large palace given to him\nfor his enjoyment by the King. But, whatever may have been the reason,\nthe King died before the work was finished; and since at the beginning\nof Henry's reign many persons had their allowances taken away and the\nexpenses of the Court were cut down, it is said that Giovan Francesco,\nnow old and not very prosperous, had nothing to live upon save the\nprofit that he made by letting the great palace and dwelling that he\nhad received for his own enjoyment from the liberality of King Francis.\nAnd Fortune, not content with all that the poor man had endured up to\nthat time, gave him, in addition to all the rest, another very great\nshock, in that King Henry presented that palace to Signor Piero Strozzi;\nand Giovan Francesco would have found himself in very dire straits, if\nthe goodness of that lord, to whom the misfortunes of Rustici were a\ngreat grief (the latter having made himself known to him), had not\nbrought him timely aid in the hour of his greatest need. For Signor\nPiero, sending him to an abbey or some other place, whatever it may have\nbeen, belonging to his brother, not only succoured Giovan Francesco in\nhis needy old age, but even had him attended and cared for, according as\nhis great worth deserved, until the end of his life. Giovan Francesco\ndied at the age of eighty, and his possessions fell for the most part to\nthe above-named Signor Piero Strozzi. I must not omit to tell that it\nhas come to my ears that while Antonio Mini, a disciple of Buonarroti,\nwas living in France, when he was entertained and treated with much\nlovingness in Paris by Giovan Francesco, there came into the hands of\nRustici some cartoons, designs, and models by the hand of Michelagnolo;\na part of which the sculptor Benvenuto Cellini received when he was in\nFrance, and he brought them to Florence.\n\nGiovan Francesco, as has been said, was not only without an equal in the\nwork of casting, but also exemplary in conduct, of supreme goodness, and\na great lover of the poor. Wherefore it is no marvel that he was\nassisted most liberally in the hour of his need by the above-mentioned\nSignor Piero with money and every other thing, for it is true beyond all\nother truths that even in this life the good works that we do to our\nneighbours for the love of God are repaid a thousand-fold. Rustici drew\nvery well, as may be seen, besides our own book, from the book of\ndrawings of the very reverend Don Vincenzio Borghini.\n\nThe above-mentioned Lorenzo Naldini, called Guazzetto, the disciple of\nRustici, has executed many works of sculpture excellently well in\nFrance, but of these I have not been able to learn any particulars, any\nmore than of those of his master, who, it may well be believed, did not\nstay all those years in France as good as idle, nor always occupied with\nthat horse of his. That Lorenzo possessed some houses beyond the Porta\na San Gallo, in the suburbs that were destroyed on account of the siege\nof Florence, which houses were thrown to the ground together with the\nrest by the people. That circumstance so grieved him, that, returning in\nthe year 1540 to revisit his country, when he was within a quarter of a\nmile of Florence he put the hood of his cloak over his head, covering\nhis eyes, in order that, in entering by that gate, he might not see the\nsuburb and his own houses all pulled down. Wherefore the guards at the\ngate, seeing him thus muffled up, asked him what that meant, and, having\nheard from him why he had so covered his face, they laughed at him.\nLorenzo, after being a few months in Florence, returned to France,\ntaking his mother with him; and there he still lives and labours.\n\n\n\n\nFRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI\n\nSCULPTOR\n\n\nTo one Michele d'Agnolo of Poggibonzi, in the village of Montorsoli,\nwhich is three miles distant from Florence on the road to Bologna, where\nhe had a good farm of some size, there was born a male child, to whom he\ngave the name of his father, Agnolo. That child, growing up, and having\nan inclination for design, as could be readily seen, was placed by his\nfather, according to the advice of friends, to learn stone-cutting under\nsome masters who worked at the quarries of Fiesole, almost opposite to\nMontorsoli. Agnolo continuing to ply the chisel with those masters, in\ncompany with Francesco del Tadda, who was then a lad, and with others,\nnot many months had passed before he knew very well how to handle the\ntools and to execute many kinds of work in that profession. Having then\ncontracted a friendship by means of Francesco del Tadda with Maestro\nAndrea, a sculptor of Fiesole, the genius of the child so pleased that\nmaster, that he conceived an affection for him, and began to teach him;\nand thus he kept him in his workshop for three years. After which time,\nhis father Michele being dead, Agnolo went off in company with other\nyoung stone-cutters to Rome, where, having been set to work on the\nbuilding of S. Pietro, he carved some of those rosettes that are in the\ngreat cornices which encircle the interior of that temple, with much\nprofit to himself and a good salary. Having then departed from Rome, I\nknow not why, he placed himself in Perugia with a master stone-cutter,\nwho at the end of a year left him in charge of all his works. But,\nrecognizing that to stay at Perugia was not the life for him, and that\nhe was not learning, he went off, when the opportunity to depart\npresented itself, to work on the tomb of M. Raffaello Maffei, called Il\nVolterrano, at Volterra; and in that work, which was being made in\nmarble, he carved some things which showed that his genius was destined\nsome day to achieve a good result. Which labour finished, hearing that\nMichelagnolo Buonarroti was setting to work at that time on the\nbuildings of the sacristy and library of S. Lorenzo the best carvers and\nstone-cutters that could be found, he went off to Florence; where,\nhaving been likewise set to work, among the first things that he did\nwere some ornaments from which Michelagnolo recognized that he was a\nyoung man of most beautiful and resolute genius, and that, moreover, he\ncould do more in one day by himself alone than the oldest and best\npractised masters could do in two. Wherefore he caused to be given to\nhim, boy as he was, the same salary as the older men were drawing.\n\nThese buildings being then suspended in the year 1527 on account of the\nplague and for other reasons, Agnolo, not knowing what else to do, went\nto Poggibonzi, from which place his father and grandfather had their\norigin; and there he remained for a time with M. Giovanni Norchiati, his\nuncle, a pious and well-lettered man, doing nothing but draw and study.\nBut in the end, seeing the world turned topsy-turvy, a desire came to\nhim to become a monk, and to give his attention in peace to the\nsalvation of his soul, and he went to the Hermitage of Camaldoli. There,\nmaking trial of that life, and not being able to endure the discomforts,\nfastings, and abstinences, he did not stay long; but nevertheless,\nduring the time that he was there, he became very dear to those Fathers,\nfor he was of an excellent disposition. And during that time his\ndiversion was to carve heads of men and of various animals, with\nbeautiful and fanciful inventions, on the ends of the staves, or rather,\nsticks, that those holy Fathers carry when they go from Camaldoli to the\nHermitage or for recreation into the forest, at which time they have a\ndispensation from silence. Having departed from the Hermitage with the\nleave and good-will of the Principal, he went off to La Vernia, as one\nwho was drawn at all costs to become a monk, and stayed there awhile,\nfrequenting the choir and mixing with those Fathers; but that life,\nalso, did not please him, and, after having received information about\nthe life in many religious houses of Florence and Arezzo, he left La\nVernia and went to those places. And finally, not being able to settle\nin any other in such a manner as to have facilities for attending both\nto drawing and to the salvation of his soul, he became a friar in the\nIngesuati at Florence, without the Porta a Pinti, and was received by\nthem very willingly; for they gave their attention to making windows of\nglass, and they hoped that he would be of great assistance and advantage\nto them in that work. Now those Fathers, according to the custom of\ntheir life and rule, do not say Mass, and keep for that purpose a priest\nto say Mass every morning; and they had at that time as their chaplain a\ncertain Fra Martino of the Servite Order, a person of passing good\njudgment and character. That Fra Martino, having recognized the young\nman's genius, reflected that he was little able to exercise it among\nthose Fathers, who do nothing but say Paternosters, make windows of\nglass, distil waters, and lay out gardens, with other suchlike pursuits,\nand do not study or give their attention to letters; and he contrived to\nsay and do so much that the young man, going forth from the Ingesuati,\nassumed the habit among the Servite Friars of the Nunziata in Florence\non the seventh day of October in the year 1530, receiving the name of\nFra Giovanni Agnolo. In the next year, 1531, having learned in the\nmeanwhile the ceremonies and offices of that Order, and studied the\nworks of Andrea del Sarto that are in that place, he made what they call\nhis profession; and in the year following, to the full satisfaction of\nthose Fathers and the contentment of his relatives, he chanted his first\nMass with much pomp and honour. Then, the images in wax of Leo, Clement,\nand others of that most noble family, which had been placed there as\nvotive offerings, having been destroyed during the expulsion of the\nMedici by some young men who were rather mad than valorous, the friars\ndetermined that these should be made again, and Fra Giovanni Agnolo,\nwith the help of some of those men who gave their attention to the work\nof fashioning such images, restored some that were old and consumed by\ntime, and made anew those of Pope Leo and Pope Clement, which are still\nto be seen there, and a short time afterwards those of the King of\nBosnia and of the old Lord of Piombino. And in these works Fra Giovanni\nAgnolo made no little proficience.\n\nMeanwhile, Michelagnolo being in Rome with Pope Clement, who desired\nthat the work of S. Lorenzo should be continued, and had therefore had\nhim summoned, his Holiness asked him to find a young man who might\nrestore some ancient statues in the Belvedere, which were broken.\nWhereupon Buonarroti, remembering Fra Giovanni Agnolo, proposed him to\nthe Pope, and his Holiness demanded him in a brief from the General of\nthe Servite Order, who gave him up because he could not do otherwise,\nand very unwillingly. Arriving in Rome, then, the friar, labouring in\nthe rooms of the Belvedere that were given to him by the Pope to live\nand work in, restored the left arm that was wanting to the Apollo and\nthe right arm of the Laocoon, which statues are in that place, and\nlikewise gave directions for restoring the Hercules. And, since the Pope\nwent almost every morning to the Belvedere for recreation and to say the\noffice, the friar made his portrait in marble, and that so well that the\nwork brought him much praise, and the Pope conceived a very great\naffection for him, particularly because he saw him to be very studious\nof the matters of art, and heard that he used to draw all night in order\nto have new things every morning to show to the Pope, who much delighted\nin them. During that time, a canonicate having fallen vacant at S.\nLorenzo, a church in Florence built and endowed by the House of Medici,\nFra Giovanni Agnolo, who by that time had laid aside the friar's habit,\nobtained it for M. Giovanni Norchiati, his uncle, who was chaplain in\nthe above-named church.\n\n[Illustration: S. COSMAS\n\n(_After the marble by =Fra Giovanni Agnolo Montorsoli=. Florence: S.\nLorenzo, Medici Chapel_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nFinally, Pope Clement, having determined that Buonarroti should return\nto Florence to finish the works of the sacristy and library of S.\nLorenzo, gave him orders, since many statues were wanting there, as will\nbe told in the Life of Michelagnolo himself, that he should avail\nhimself of the most able men that could be found, and particularly of\nFra Giovanni Agnolo, employing the same methods as had been adopted by\nAntonio da San Gallo in order to finish the works of the Madonna di\nLoreto. Having therefore made his way with the Frate to Florence,\nMichelagnolo, in executing the statues of Duke Lorenzo and Duke\nGiuliano, employed the Frate much in polishing them and in executing\ncertain difficult undercuttings; with which occasion Fra Giovanni Agnolo\nlearned many things from that truly divine man, standing with\nattention to watch him at work, and observing every least thing. Now\namong other statues that were wanting to the completion of that work,\nthere were lacking a S. Cosimo and a S. Damiano that were to be one on\neither side of the Madonna, and Michelagnolo gave the S. Damiano to\nRaffaello da Montelupo to execute, and to the Frate the S. Cosimo,\ncommanding the latter that he should work in the same rooms where he\nhimself had worked and was still working. Having therefore set his hand\nwith the greatest zeal to that work, the Frate made a large model of the\nfigure, which was retouched by Buonarroti in many parts; indeed,\nMichelagnolo made with his own hand the head and the arms of clay, which\nare now at Arezzo, held by Vasari among his dearest treasures in memory\nof that great man. There were not wanting many envious persons who\nblamed Michelagnolo for his action, saying that in allotting that statue\nhe had shown little judgment, and had made a bad choice; but the result\nafterwards proved, as will be related, that Michelagnolo had shown\nexcellent judgment, and that the Frate was an able man. When\nMichelagnolo, with the assistance of Fra Giovanni Agnolo, had finished\nand placed in position the statues of Duke Giuliano and Duke Lorenzo,\nbeing summoned by the Pope, who wished that arrangements should be made\nfor executing in marble the façade of S. Lorenzo, he went to Rome; but\nhe had not made a long stay there, when, Pope Clement dying, everything\nwas left unfinished. At Florence the statue of the Frate, unfinished as\nit was, together with the other works, was thrown open to view, and was\nvery highly extolled; and in truth, whether it was his own study and\ndiligence, or the assistance of Michelagnolo, it proved in the end to be\nan excellent figure, and the best that Fra Giovanni Agnolo ever made\namong all that he executed in the whole of his life, so that it was\ntruly worthy to be placed where it was.\n\nBuonarroti, being freed by the death of the Pope from his engagements at\nS. Lorenzo, turned his attention to discharging his obligations in\nconnection with the tomb of Pope Julius II; but, since he had need of\nassistance for this, he sent for the Frate. But Fra Giovanni Agnolo did\nnot go to Rome until he had finished entirely the image of Duke\nAlessandro for the Nunziata, which he executed in a manner different\nfrom the others, and very beautiful, in the form in which that lord may\nstill be seen, clad in armour and kneeling on a Burgundian helmet, and\nwith one hand to his breast, in the act of recommending himself to the\nMadonna there. That image finished, he then went to Rome, and was of\ngreat assistance to Michelagnolo in the work of the above-mentioned tomb\nof Julius II.\n\nMeanwhile Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici heard that Cardinal de Tournon\nhad to take a sculptor to France to serve the King, and he proposed to\nhim Fra Giovanni Agnolo, who, being much exhorted with good reasons by\nMichelagnolo, went with that same Cardinal de Tournon to Paris. Arriving\nthere, he was introduced to the King, who received him very willingly,\nand shortly afterwards assigned to him a good allowance, with the\ncommand that he should execute four large statues. Of these the Frate\nhad not yet finished the models, when, the King being far away and\noccupied in fighting with the English on the borders of his kingdom, he\nbegan to be badly treated by the treasurers, not being able to draw his\nallowances and have whatever he desired, according as had been ordained\nby the King. At which feeling great disdain--for it appeared to him that\nin proportion as these arts and the men of the arts were esteemed by\nthat magnanimous King, even so they were disprized and put to shame by\nhis Ministers--he departed, notwithstanding that the treasurers, who\nbecame aware of his displeasure, paid him his overdue allowances down to\nthe last farthing. It is true that before setting out he gave both the\nKing and the Cardinal to know by means of letters that he wished to go\naway.\n\nHaving therefore gone from Paris to Lyons, and from there through\nProvence to Genoa, he had not been long there when, in company with some\nfriends, he went to Venice, Padua, Verona, and Mantua, seeing with great\npleasure buildings, sculptures, and pictures, and at times drawing them;\nbut above all did the pictures of Giulio Romano in Mantua please him,\nsome of which he drew with care. Then, having heard at Ferrara and\nBologna that his fellow-friars of the Servite Order were holding a\nGeneral Chapter at Budrione, he went there in order to see again many\nwho were his friends, and in particular the Florentine Maestro\nZaccheria, whom he loved most dearly. At his entreaty Fra Giovanni\nAgnolo made in a day and a night two figures in clay of the size of\nlife, a Faith and a Charity, which, made in the semblance of white\nmarble, served to adorn a temporary fountain contrived by him with a\ngreat vessel of copper, which continued to spout water during the whole\nday when the Chapter was held, to his great credit and honour.\n\nHaving returned with the above-named Maestro Zaccheria from Budrione to\nFlorence, he made in his own Servite Convent, likewise of clay, and\nplaced in two niches of the chapter-house, two figures larger than life,\nMoses and S. Paul, which brought him much praise. Being then sent to\nArezzo by Maestro Dionisio, the General of the Servites at that time,\nwho was afterwards made a Cardinal by Pope Paul III, and who felt\nhimself much indebted to Angelo, the General at Arezzo, who had brought\nhim up and taught him the appreciation of letters, Fra Giovanni Agnolo\nexecuted for that General of Arezzo a beautiful tomb of grey sandstone\nin S. Piero in that city, with many carvings and some statues, and upon\na sarcophagus the above-named General Angelo taken from life, and two\nnude little boys in the round, who are weeping and extinguishing the\ntorches of human life, with other ornaments, which render that work very\nbeautiful. It was not yet completely finished, when, being summoned to\nFlorence by the proveditors for the festive preparations that Duke\nAlessandro was then causing to be made for the visit to that city of the\nEmperor Charles V, who was returning victorious from Tunis, the Frate\nwas forced to depart. Having arrived in Florence, he made on the Ponte a\nS. Trinita, upon a great base, a figure of eight braccia, representing\nthe River Arno lying down, which from its attitude appeared to be\nrejoicing with the Rhine, the Danube, the Bagradas, and the Ebro,\nstatues executed by others, over the coming of his Majesty; which Arno\nwas a very good and beautiful figure. On the Canto de' Carnesecchi the\nsame master made a figure, twelve braccia high, of Jason, Leader of the\nArgonauts, but this, being of immoderate size, and the time short, did\nnot prove to have the perfection of the first; nor, indeed, did the\nfigure of August Gladness that he made on the Canto alla Cuculia. But,\neveryone remembering the shortness of the time in which he executed\nthose works, they won much honour and fame for him both from the\ncraftsmen and from all others.\n\nHaving then finished the work at Arezzo, and hearing that Girolamo Genga\nhad a work to execute in marble at Urbino, the Frate went to seek him\nout; but, not having come to any agreement, he took the road to Rome,\nand, after staying there but a short time, went on to Naples, in the\nhope that he might have to make the tomb of Jacopo Sannazzaro, a\ngentleman of Naples, and a truly distinguished and most rare poet.\nSannazzaro had built at Margoglino, a very pleasant place with a most\nbeautiful view at the end of the Chiaia, on the shore, a magnificent and\nmost commodious habitation, which he enjoyed during his lifetime; and,\ncoming to his death, he left that place, which has the form of a\nconvent, with a beautiful little church, to the Order of Servite Friars,\nenjoining on Signor Cesare Mormerio and the Lord Count d'Aliffe, the\nexecutors of his will, that they should erect his tomb in that church,\nbuilt by himself, which was to be administered by the above-named\nfriars. When the making of it came to be discussed, Fra Giovanni Agnolo\nwas proposed by the friars to the above-named executors; and to him,\nafter he had gone to Naples, as has been related, that tomb was\nallotted, for his models had been judged to be no little better than the\nmany others that had been made by various sculptors, the price being a\nthousand crowns. Of which having received a good portion, he sent to\nquarry the marbles Francesco del Tadda of Fiesole, an excellent carver,\nwhom he had commissioned to execute all the squared work and carving\nthat had to be done in that undertaking, in order to finish it more\nquickly.\n\nWhile the Frate was preparing himself to make that tomb, the Turkish\narmy having entered Puglia and the people of Naples being in no little\nalarm on that account, orders were given that the city should be\nfortified, and for that purpose there were appointed four men of\nimportance and of the best judgment. These men, wishing to make use of\ncompetent architects, turned their thoughts to the Frate; but he, having\nheard some rumour of this, and not considering that it was right for a\nman of religion, such as he was, to occupy himself with affairs of war,\ngave the executors to understand that he would do the work either in\nCarrara or in Florence, and that at the appointed time it would be\nfinished and erected in its place. Having then made his way from Naples\nto Florence, he straightway received a command from the Signora Donna\nMaria, the mother of Duke Cosimo, that he should finish the S. Cosimo\nthat he had previously begun under the direction of Buonarroti, for the\ntomb of the elder Lorenzo de' Medici, the Magnificent. Whereupon he set\nhis hand to it, and finished it; and that done, since the Duke had\nalready caused to be constructed a great part of the conduits for the\ngreat fountain of his villa at Castello, and that fountain was to have\nat the top, as a crowning ornament, a Hercules in the act of crushing\nAntæus, from whose mouth there was to issue, in place of breath, a jet\nof water rising to some height, the Frate was commissioned to make for\nthis a model of considerable size; which pleasing his Excellency, it was\nordained that he should execute it and should go to Carrara to quarry\nthe marble.\n\nTo Carrara the Frate went very willingly, hoping with that opportunity\nto carry forward the above-mentioned tomb of Sannazzaro, and in\nparticular a scene with figures in half-relief. While Fra Giovanni\nAgnolo was there, then, Cardinal Doria wrote from Genoa to Cardinal\nCibo, who happened to be at Carrara, saying that, since Bandinelli had\nnot finished the statue of Prince Doria, and would now never finish it,\nhe should contrive to obtain for him some able man, a sculptor, who\nmight do it, for the reason that he had the charge of pressing on that\nwork. Which letter having been received by Cibo, who had long had\nknowledge of the Frate, he did his utmost to send him to Genoa; but he\nsteadfastly declared that he could not and would not serve his most\nreverend Highness until he had fulfilled the promise and obligation by\nwhich he was bound to Duke Cosimo.\n\nWhile these matters were being discussed, he had carried the tomb of\nSannazzaro well forward, and had blocked out the marble for the\nHercules; and he then went with the latter to Florence. There he brought\nit with much promptitude and study to such a condition, that it would\nhave been but little toil for him to finish it completely if he had\ncontinued to work at it. But a rumour having arisen that the marble was\nnot proving to be by any means as perfect a work as the model, and that\nthe Frate was likely to find difficulty in fitting together the legs of\nthe Hercules, which did not correspond with the torso, Messer Pier\nFrancesco Riccio, the majordomo, who was paying the Frate his\nallowance, let himself be swayed by that more than a serious man should\nhave done, and began to proceed very cautiously with his payments,\ntrusting too much to Bandinelli, who was leaning with all his weight\nagainst Fra Giovanni Agnolo, in order to avenge himself for the wrong\nwhich it appeared to him that master had done to him by promising that\nhe would make the statue of Doria when once free of his obligation to\nthe Duke. It was also thought that the favour of Tribolo, who was\nexecuting the ornaments of Castello, was no advantage to the Frate.\nHowever that may have been, perceiving himself to be badly treated by\nRiccio, and being a proud and choleric man, he went off to Genoa. There\nhe received from Cardinal Doria and from the Prince the commission for\nthe statue of that Prince, which was to be placed on the Piazza Doria;\nto which having set his hand, yet without altogether neglecting the tomb\nof Sannazzaro, while Tadda was executing the squared work and the\ncarvings at Carrara, he finished it to the great satisfaction of the\nPrince and the people of Genoa. But, although that statue had been made\nto be placed on the Piazza Doria, nevertheless the Genoese made so much\nado, that, to the despair of the Frate, it was placed on the Piazza\ndella Signoria, notwithstanding that he said that he had fashioned it to\nstand by itself on a pedestal, and that therefore it could not look well\nor have its proper effect against a wall. And, to tell the truth,\nnothing worse can be done than to set up a work made for one place in\nsome other place, seeing that the craftsman accommodates himself in the\nprocess of his labour, with regard to the lights and view-points, to the\nposition in which his work, whether sculpture or painting, is to be\nplaced. After this the Genoese, seeing the scenes and figures made for\nthe tomb of Sannazzaro, and much liking them, desired that the Frate\nshould execute a S. John the Evangelist for their Cathedral Church;\nwhich, when finished, pleased them so much that it filled them with\nstupefaction.\n\nFinally Fra Giovanni Agnolo departed from Genoa and went to Naples,\nwhere he set up in the place already mentioned the tomb of Sannazzaro,\nwhich is composed in this fashion. At the lower corners are two\npedestals, on each of which are carved the arms of Sannazzaro, and\nbetween them is a slab of one braccio and a half on which is carved the\nepitaph that Jacopo wrote for himself, supported by two little boys.\nNext, on each of the said pedestals is a seated statue of marble in the\nround, four braccia in height, these being Minerva and Apollo; and\nbetween them, set off by two ornamental consoles that are at the sides,\nis a scene two braccia and a half square, in which are carved in\nlow-relief Fauns, Satyrs, Nymphs, and other figures that are playing and\nsinging, after the manner which that most excellent man has described in\nthe pastoral verses of his most learned Arcadia. Above this scene is\nplaced a sarcophagus of a very beautiful shape in the round, all carved\nand very ornate, in which are the remains of that poet; and upon it, on\na base in the centre, is his head taken from life, with these words at\nthe foot--ACTIUS SINCERUS; accompanied by two boys with wings in the\nmanner of Loves, who have some books about them. And in two niches that\nare at the sides, in the other two walls of the chapel, there are on two\nbases two upright figures of marble in the round, each of three braccia\nor little more; these being S. James the Apostle and S. Nazzaro. When\nthis work had been built up in the manner that has been described, the\nabove-mentioned lords, the executors, were completely satisfied with it,\nand all Naples likewise.\n\n[Illustration: TOMB OF ANDREA DORIA\n\n(_After =Fra Giovanni Agnolo Montorsoli=. Genoa: S. Matteo_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nThe Frate then remembering that he had promised Prince Doria that he\nwould return to Genoa to make his tomb for him in S. Matteo and to adorn\nthe whole church, he departed straightway from Naples and set out for\nGenoa. Having arrived there, he made the models of the work that he was\nto execute for that lord, which pleased him vastly; and then he set his\nhand to it, with a good allowance of money and a good number of masters.\nAnd thus, dwelling in Genoa, the Frate made many friendships with\nnoblemen and men of distinction, and in particular with some physicians,\nwho were of much assistance to him; for, helping one another, they made\nanatomical studies of many human bodies, and gave their attention to\narchitecture and perspective, and so Fra Giovanni Agnolo attained to the\ngreatest excellence. Besides this, the Prince, going very often to the\nplace where he was working, and much liking his discourse, conceived a\nvery great affection for him. At that time, also, of two nephews that he\nhad left in charge of Maestro Zaccheria, one, called Agnolo, was sent to\nhim, a young man of beautiful genius and exemplary character; and\nshortly afterwards there was sent to him by the same Zaccheria another\nyoung man called Martino, the son of one Bartolommeo, a tailor. Of both\nthese young men, teaching them as if they were his sons, the Frate\navailed himself in the work that he had in hand. And when he had finally\ncome to the end of it, he built up the chapel, the tomb, and the other\nornaments that he had made for that church, which forms a cross at the\nhead of the central nave and three crosses down along the length of the\nnave, and has the high-altar standing isolated at the head and in the\ncentre. The chapel, then, is supported at the corners by four large\npilasters, which likewise uphold the great cornice that runs right\nround, over which curve four semicircular arches that lie in line with\nthe pilasters. Of these arches, three are adorned in their central space\nwith windows of no great size; and over the arches curves a round\ncornice that forms four angles between one arch and another at the\ncorners, while above it rises a vaulting in the form of a basin. After\nthe Frate, then, had made many ornaments of marble about the altar on\nall four sides, he placed upon the altar a very rich and beautiful vase\nof marble for the most Holy Sacrament, between two Angels of the size of\nlife, likewise of marble. Next, around the whole runs a pattern of\ndifferent kinds of stone let into the marble with a beautiful and\nwell-varied arrangement of variegated marbles and rare stones, such as\nserpentines, porphyries, and jaspers. And in the principal wall, at the\nhead of the chapel, he made another pattern from the level of the floor\nto the height of the altar, with similar kinds of variegated marble and\nstone, which forms a base to four pilasters of marble that enclose three\nspaces. In the central space, which is larger than the others, there is\nin a tomb the body of I know not what Saint, and in those at the sides\nare two statues of marble, representing two Evangelists. Above that\nrange of pilasters is a cornice, and above the cornice four other\nsmaller pilasters; and these support another cornice, which is divided\ninto compartments to hold three little tablets that correspond to the\nspaces below. In the central compartment, which rests upon the great\ncornice, is a Christ of marble rising from the dead, in full-relief, and\nlarger than life. On the walls at the sides the same order of columns is\nrepeated; and above that tomb, in the central space, is a Madonna in\nhalf-relief, with the Dead Christ: which Madonna is between King David\nand S. John the Baptist; and on the other side are S. Andrew and\nJeremiah the Prophet. The lunettes of the arches above the great\ncornice, wherein are two windows, are in stucco-work, with two children\nthat appear to be adorning the windows. In the angles below the tribune\nare four Sibyls, likewise of stucco, even as the whole vaulting is also\nwrought in grotesques of various manners. Beneath this chapel is built a\nsubterranean chamber, wherein, after descending to it by a marble\nstaircase, one sees at the head a sarcophagus of marble with two\nchildren upon it, in which was to be placed--as I believe was done after\nhis death--the body of Signor Andrea Doria himself. And on an altar\nopposite to the sarcophagus, within a most beautiful vase of bronze,\nwhich was made and polished divinely well by him who cast it, whoever he\nmay have been, is a piece of the wood of that most holy Cross upon which\nour Blessed Jesus Christ was crucified; which wood was presented to\nPrince Doria by the Duke of Savoy. The walls of that tomb are all\nencrusted with marble, and the vaulting wrought in stucco and gold, with\nmany stories of the noble deeds of Doria; and the pavement is all\ndivided into compartments with different kinds of variegated stone, to\ncorrespond with the vaulting. Next, on the walls of the cross of the\nnave, at the head, are two tombs of marble with two tablets in\nhalf-relief; in one is buried Count Filippino Doria, and in the other\nSignor Giannettino of the same family. Against the pilasters at the\nbeginning of the central nave are two very beautiful pulpits of marble,\nand at the sides of the aisles there are distributed along the walls in\na fine order of architecture some chapels with columns and many other\nornaments, which make that church a truly rich and magnificent edifice.\n\nThe church finished, the same Prince Doria ordained that work should be\nbegun on his Palace, and that new additions of buildings should be made\nto it, with very beautiful gardens. These were executed under the\ndirection of the Frate, who, having at the last constructed a fish-pond\nin front of that Palace, made a sea monster of marble in full-relief,\nwhich pours water in great abundance into that fish-pond; and after the\nlikeness of that monster he made for those lords another, which was sent\ninto Spain to Granvela. He also executed a great Neptune in stucco,\nwhich was placed on a pedestal in the garden of the Prince; and he made\nin marble two portraits of the same Prince and two of Charles V, which\nwere taken by Covos to Spain.\n\nMuch the friends of the Frate, while he was living in Genoa, were Messer\nCipriano Pallavicino, who, being a man of great judgment in the matters\nof our arts, has always associated readily with the most excellent\ncraftsmen, and has shown them every favour; the Lord Abbot Negro, Messer\nGiovanni da Montepulciano, the Lord Prior of S. Matteo, and, in a word,\nall the first lords and gentlemen of that city, in which he acquired\nboth fame and riches.\n\nHaving finished the works described above, Fra Giovanni Agnolo departed\nfrom Genoa and went to Rome to visit Buonarroti, whom he had not seen\nfor many years past, and to try if he could by some means pick up again\nthe thread of his connection with the Duke of Florence and return to\ncomplete the Hercules that he had left unfinished. But, after arriving\nin Rome, where he bought himself the title of Chevalier of S. Pietro, he\nheard by letters received from Florence that Bandinelli, pretending to\nbe in want of marble, and giving out that the above-named Hercules was a\npiece of marble spoiled, had broken it up, with the leave of Riccio the\nmajordomo, and had used it to make cornices for the tomb of Signor\nGiovanni, on which he was then at work; and at this he felt such\ndisdain, that for the time being he would not on any account return to\nvisit Florence, since it appeared to him that the presumption,\narrogance, and insolence of that man were too easily endured.\n\n[Illustration: FOUNTAIN OF NEPTUNE\n\n(_After =Fra Giovanni Agnolo Montorsoli=. Messina: Piazza del Duomo_)\n\n_Brogi_]\n\nWhile the Frate was thus passing his time in Rome, the people of\nMessina, having determined to erect on the Piazza of their Duomo a\nfountain with a very great enrichment of statues, had sent men to Rome\nto seek out some excellent sculptor. These men had secured Raffaello da\nMontelupo, but he fell ill at the very moment when he was about to\ndepart with them for Messina, so that they made another choice and took\nthe Frate, who had sought with all insistence, and even with some\ninterest, to obtain that work. Having therefore apprenticed as a\ncarpenter in Rome his nephew Agnolo, who had proved to be less gifted\nthan he had expected, he set out with Martino, and they arrived in\nMessina in the month of September, 1547. There, having been provided\nwith rooms, he set his hand to making the conduit for the waters, which\ncome from a distance, and to having marble sent from Carrara; and with\ngreat promptitude, assisted by many stone-cutters and carvers, he\nfinished that fountain, which is made in the following manner. The\nfountain, I say, has eight sides--namely, four large, the principal\nsides, and four smaller. The principal sides are divided, and two of\nthese, projecting outwards, form an angle in the middle, and two,\nreceding inwards, join a straight face that belongs to the four smaller\nsides, so that in all there are eight. The four angular sides, which jut\noutwards, making a projection, give space for the four straight sides,\nwhich recede inwards; and in each enclosed space is a basin of some\nsize, which receives water in great abundance from one of four River\nGods of marble that are placed on the edge of the basin of the whole\nfountain, so as to command all the eight sides already described. The\nfountain stands on a base of four steps, which form twelve sides; eight\nlonger sides, which contain the angles, and four smaller sides, where\nthe basins are, under the four River Gods. The borders of the fountain\nare five palms high, and at each of the corners (which in all cover\ntwenty sides) there is a terminal figure as an ornament. The\ncircumference of the first basin with eight sides is one hundred and two\npalms, and the diameter is thirty-four; and in each of the above-named\ntwenty sides is a little scene of marble in low-relief, with poetical\nsubjects appropriate to water and fountains, such as the horse Pegasus\ncreating the Castalian Fount, Europa passing over the sea, Icarus flying\nand falling into the same, Arethusa transformed into a fount, Jason\ncrossing the sea with the Golden Fleece, Narcissus changed into a fount,\nand Diana in the water and transforming Actæon into a stag, with other\nsuchlike stories. At the eight angles that divide the projections of the\nsteps of the fountain, which rises two steps towards the basins and\nRiver Gods, and four towards the angular sides, are eight Sea Monsters,\nlying on certain dados, with their front paws resting on some masks that\npour water into some vases. The River Gods which are on the border, and\nwhich rest within the basin on dados so high that they appear as if\nsitting in the water, are the Nile with seven little boys, the Tiber\nsurrounded by an infinite number of palms and trophies, the Ebro with\nmany victories of Charles V, and the River Cumano, near Messina, from\nwhich the waters for the fountain are taken; with some stories and\nNymphs executed with beautiful conceptions. Up to this level of ten\npalms there are sixteen jets of water, very abundant; eight come from\nthe masks already mentioned, four from the River Gods, and four from\nsome fishes seven palms high, which, standing upright in the basin, with\ntheir heads out, spout water towards the larger sides. In the centre of\nthe octagonal basin, on a pedestal four palms high, are Sirens with\nwings in place of arms, one at each corner; and above these Sirens,\nwhich are twined together in the centre, are four Tritons eight palms\nhigh, which likewise have their tails twined together, and with their\narms they support a great tazza, into which water is poured by four\nmasks superbly carved. From the centre of that tazza rises a round shaft\nthat supports two most hideous masks, representing Scylla and Charybdis,\nwhich are trodden under foot by three nude Nymphs, each six palms high,\nabove whom is placed the last tazza, which is upheld by them with their\narms. In that tazza four Dolphins, with their heads down and their tails\nraised on high, forming a base, support a ball, from the centre of\nwhich, through four heads, there issues water that spouts upwards, and\nso also from the Dolphins, upon which are mounted four naked little\nboys. On the topmost summit, finally, is a figure in armour representing\nthe constellation of Orion, which has on the shield the arms of the city\nof Messina, of which Orion is said, or rather is fabled, to have been\nthe founder.\n\nSuch, then, is that fountain of Messina, although it is not so easy to\ndescribe it in words as it would be to picture it in drawing. And since\nit much pleased the people of Messina, they caused him to make another\non the shore, where the Customs-house is; which also proved to be\nbeautiful and very rich. Now, although that fountain has in like manner\neight sides, it is nevertheless different from that described above; for\nit has four straight sides that rise three steps, and four others,\nsmaller, that are semicircular, and upon these stands the fountain with\nits eight sides. The borders of the great basin on the lowest level have\nat each angle a carved pedestal of an equal height, and in the centre of\nfour of them, on the front face, is another pedestal. On each side where\nthe steps are semicircular there is an elliptical basin of marble, into\nwhich water pours in great abundance through two masks that are on the\nparapet below the carved border. In the centre of the great basin of the\nfountain is a pedestal high in proportion, on which are the arms of\nCharles V; at each angle of that pedestal is a Sea-horse, which spouts\nwater on high from between its feet; and in the frieze of the same,\nbeneath the upper cornice, are eight great masks that pour jets of water\ndownwards. And on the summit is a Neptune of five braccia, who holds the\ntrident in his hand, and has the right leg planted beside a Dolphin. At\nthe sides, also, upon two other pedestals, are Scylla and Charybdis in\nthe forms of two monsters, fashioned very well, with heads of Dogs and\nFuries about them.\n\nThat work, likewise, when finished, much pleased the people of Messina,\nwho, having found a man to their liking, made a beginning, when the\nfountains were completed, with the façade of the Duomo, and carried it\nto some extent forward. And then they ordained that twelve chapels in\nthe Corinthian Order should be made in that Duomo, six on either side,\nwith the twelve Apostles in marble, each of five braccia. Of these\nchapels only four were finished by the Frate, who also made with his own\nhand a S. Peter and a S. Paul, which were two large and very good\nfigures. He was also commissioned to make a Christ of marble for the\nhead of the principal chapel, with a very rich ornament all around, and\na scene in low-relief beneath each of the statues of the Apostles; but\nat that time he did nothing more. On the Piazza of the same Duomo he\ndirected the building of the Temple of S. Lorenzo, in a beautiful manner\nof architecture, which won him much praise; and on the shore there was\nbuilt under his direction the Beacon-tower. And while these works were\nbeing carried forward, he caused a chapel to be erected for the Captain\nCicala in S. Domenico, for which he made a Madonna of marble as large as\nlife; and for the chapel of Signor Agnolo Borsa, in the cloister of the\nsame church, he executed a scene of marble in low-relief, which was held\nto be beautiful, and was wrought with much diligence. He also caused\nwater to be conducted by way of the wall of S. Agnolo for a fountain,\nand made for it with his own hand a large boy of marble, which pours\nwater into a vase that is very ornate and beautifully contrived; which\nwas held to be a lovely work. At the Wall of the Virgin he made another\nfountain, with a Virgin by his own hand, which pours water into a basin;\nand for that which is erected at the Palace of Signor Don Filippo\nLaroca, he made a boy larger than life, of a kind of stone that is used\nat Messina, which boy, surrounded by certain monsters and other products\nof the sea, pours water into a vase. And he made a statue in marble of\nfour braccia, a very beautiful figure of S. Catharine the Martyr, which\nwas sent to Taormina, a place twenty-four miles distant from Messina.\n\n[Illustration: HIGH ALTAR\n\n(_After =Fra Giovanni Agnolo Montorsoli=. Bologna: S. Maria dei Servi_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nFriends of Fra Giovanni Agnolo, while he was living at Messina, were the\nabove-named Signor Don Filippo Laroca, and Don Francesco of the same\nfamily; Messer Bardo Corsi, Giovan Francesco Scali, and M. Lorenzo\nBorghini, all three Florentine gentlemen then in Messina; Serafino da\nFermo, and the Grand Master of Rhodes, which last many times sought to\ndraw him to Malta and to make him a Knight; but he answered that he did\nnot wish to confine himself in that island, besides which, feeling that\nhe was doing ill not to be wearing the habit of his Order, he thought at\ntimes of going back to it. And, in truth, I know that even if he had not\nbeen in a manner forced to do it, he was determined to resume the habit\nand to go back to live like a good Churchman. When, therefore, in the\ntime of Pope Paul IV, in the year 1557, all the apostates, or rather,\nfriars who had thrown off the habit, were constrained to return to\ntheir Orders under threat of the severest penalties, Fra Giovanni\nAgnolo abandoned the works that he had in hand, leaving his disciple\nMartino in his place, and went in the month of May from Messina to\nNaples, intending to return to his Servite Monastery in Florence.\n\nBut before doing any other thing, wishing to devote himself entirely to\nGod, he set about thinking how he might dispose of his great gains most\nsuitably. And so, after having given in marriage certain nieces who were\npoor girls, and others from his native country and from Montorsoli, he\nordained that a thousand crowns should be given to his nephew Agnolo, of\nwhom mention has been already made, in Rome, and that a knighthood of\nthe Lily should be bought for him. To each of two hospitals in Naples he\ngave a good sum of money in alms. To his own Servite Convent he left a\nthousand crowns to buy a farm, and also that at Montorsoli which had\nbelonged to his forefathers, on the condition that twenty-five crowns\nshould be paid to each of two nephews of his own, friars of the same\nOrder, every year during their lifetime, together with other charges\nthat will be mentioned later. All these matters being arranged, he\nshowed himself in Rome and resumed the habit, with much joy to himself\nand to his fellow-friars, and particularly to Maestro Zaccheria. Then,\nhaving gone to Florence, he was received and welcomed by his relatives\nand friends with incredible pleasure and gladness. But, although the\nFrate had determined that he would spend the rest of his life in the\nservice of our Lord God and the salvation of his soul, and live in peace\nand quietness, enjoying a knighthood that he had reserved for himself,\nhe did not succeed in this so easily. For he was summoned to Bologna\nwith great insistence by Maestro Giulio Bovio, the uncle of Vascone\nBovio, to the end that he might make the high-altar in the Church of the\nServites, which was to be all of marble and isolated, and in addition a\ntomb with figures, richly decorated with variegated stone and\nincrustations of marble; and he was not able to refuse him, particularly\nbecause that work was to be executed in a church of his Order. Having\ntherefore gone to Bologna, he set his hand to the work and executed it\nin twenty-eight months, making that altar, which shuts off the choir of\nthe friars from one pilaster to the other, all of marble both within and\nwithout, with a nude Christ of two braccia and a half in the centre,\nand with some other statues at the sides. That work is truly beautiful\nin architecture, well designed and distributed, and so well put\ntogether, that nothing better could be done; the pavement, also, wherein\nthere is the tomb of Bovio on the level of the ground, is wrought in a\nbeautifully ordered pattern; certain candelabra of marble, with some\nlittle figures and scenes, are passing well contrived; and every part is\nrich in carving. But the figures, besides that they are small, on\naccount of the difficulty that is found in conveying large pieces of\nmarble to Bologna, are not equal to the architecture, nor much worthy to\nbe praised.\n\nWhile Fra Giovanni Agnolo was executing that work in Bologna, he was\never pondering, as one who was not yet firmly resolved in the matter, in\nwhat place, among those of his Order, he might be able most conveniently\nto spend his last years; when Maestro Zaccheria, his very dear friend,\nwho was then Prior of the Nunziata in Florence, desiring to attract him\nto that place and to settle him there, spoke of him to Duke Cosimo,\nrecalling to his memory the excellence of the Frate, and praying that he\nshould deign to make use of him. To which the Duke having answered\ngraciously, saying that he would avail himself of the Frate as soon as\nhe had returned from Bologna, Maestro Zaccheria wrote to him of the\nwhole matter, and then sent him a letter of Cardinal Giovanni de'\nMedici, in which that lord exhorted him that he should return to his own\ncountry to execute some important work with his own hand. Having\nreceived these letters, the Frate, remembering that Messer Pier\nFrancesco Riccio, after having been mad many years, had died, and that\nBandinelli also had left the world, which men had seemed to be little\nhis friends, wrote back that he would not fail to return as soon as he\nmight be able, in order to serve his most illustrious Excellency, and to\nexecute under his protection not profane things, but some sacred work,\nsince he had a mind wholly turned to the service of God and of His\nSaints.\n\nFinally, then, having returned to Florence in the year 1561, he went off\nwith Maestro Zaccheria to Pisa, where the Lord Duke and the Cardinal\nwere, to do reverence to their most illustrious lordships; and after he\nhad been received with much kindness and favour by those lords, and\ninformed by the Duke that after his return to Florence he would be given\na work of importance to execute, he went back. Then, having obtained\nleave from his fellow-friars of the Nunziata by means of Maestro\nZaccheria, he erected in the centre of the chapter-house of that\nconvent, where many years before he had made the Moses and S. Paul of\nstucco, as has been related above, a very beautiful tomb for himself and\nfor all such men of the arts of design, painters, sculptors, and\narchitects, as had not a place of their own in which to be buried;\nintending to arrange by a contract, as he did, that those friars, in\nreturn for the property that he was to leave to them, should be obliged\nto say Mass on some feast-days and ordinary days in that chapter-house,\nand that every year, on the day of the most Holy Trinity, a solemn\nfestival should be held there, and on the following day an office of the\ndead for the souls of those buried in that place.\n\nThis design having then been imparted by Fra Giovanni Agnolo and Maestro\nZaccheria to Giorgio Vasari, who was very much their friend, they\ndiscoursed together on the affairs of the Company of Design, which had\nbeen created in the time of Giotto, and had a home in S. Maria Nuova in\nFlorence, which it had possessed from that time down to our own, as may\nstill be seen at the present day from a record at the high-altar of that\nHospital; and they thought with this occasion to revive it and set it up\nagain. For that Company had been removed from the above-mentioned\nhigh-altar, as has been related in the Life of Jacopo di Casentino, to a\nplace under the vaulting of the same Hospital at the corner of the Via\ndella Pergola, and finally had been removed and driven from that place\nalso by Don Isidoro Montaguti, the Director of the Hospital, so that it\nwas almost entirely dispersed, and no longer assembled. Now, after Fra\nGiovanni Agnolo, Maestro Zaccheria, and Giorgio had thus discoursed at\nsome length of the condition of that Company, and the Frate had spoken\nof it with Bronzino, Francesco da San Gallo, Ammanati, Vincenzio de'\nRossi, Michele di Ridolfo, and many other sculptors and painters of the\nfirst rank, and had declared his mind to them, when the morning of the\nmost Holy Trinity came, all the most noble and excellent craftsmen of\nthe arts of design, to the number of forty-eight, were assembled in the\nabove-named chapter-house, where a most beautiful festival had been\nprepared, and where the tomb was already finished, and the altar so far\nadvanced that there were wanting only some figures of marble that were\ngoing into it. There, after a most solemn Mass had been said, a\nbeautiful oration was made by one of those fathers in praise of Fra\nGiovanni Agnolo, and of the magnificent liberality that he was showing\nto the Company by presenting to them that chapter-house, that tomb, and\nthat chapel, in order to take possession of which, he said in\nconclusion, it had been already arranged that the body of Pontormo,\nwhich had been placed in a vault in the first little cloister of the\nNunziata, should be laid in the new tomb before any other. When,\ntherefore, the Mass and the oration were finished, they all went into\nthe church, where there were on a bier the remains of that Pontormo; and\nthen, having placed the bier on the shoulders of the younger men, with a\ntaper for each and also some torches, they passed around the Piazza and\ncarried it into the chapter-house, which, previously draped with cloth\nof gold, they found all black and covered with painted corpses and other\nsuchlike things; and thus was Pontormo laid in the new tomb.\n\nThe Company then dispersing, the first meeting was ordained for the next\nSunday, when, besides settling the constitution of the Company, they\nwere to make a selection of the best and create an Academy, with the\nassistance of which those without knowledge might learn, and those with\nknowledge, spurred by honourable and praiseworthy emulation, might\nproceed to make greater proficience. Giorgio, meanwhile, had spoken of\nthese matters with the Duke, and had besought him that he should favour\nthe study of these noble arts, even as he had favoured the study of\nletters by reopening the University of Pisa, creating a college for\nscholars, and making a beginning with the Florentine Academy; and he\nfound him as ready to assist and favour that enterprise as he could have\ndesired. After these things, the Servite Friars, having thought better\nover the matter, came to a resolution, which they made known to the\nCompany, that they would not have their chapter-house used by them save\nfor holding festivals, offices, and burials, and would not have their\nconvent disturbed by the Company's meetings and assemblies, or in any\nother way. Of which Giorgio having spoken with the Duke, demanding some\nplace from him, his Excellency said that he had thought of providing\nthem with one wherein they might not only be able to erect a building\nfor the Company, but also have room enough to work and demonstrate their\nworth. And shortly afterwards he wrote through M. Lelio Torelli to the\nPrior and Monks of the Angeli, giving them to understand that they were\nto accommodate the above-named Company in the temple that had been begun\nin their monastery by Filippo Scolari, called Lo Spano. The monks\nobeyed, and the Company was provided with certain rooms, in which they\nassembled many times with the gracious leave of those fathers, who\nreceived them sometimes even in their own chapter-house with much\ncourtesy. But the Duke having been informed afterwards that some of\nthose monks were not altogether content that the Company's building\nshould be erected in their precincts, because the monastery would be\nencumbered thereby, and the above-named temple, which the craftsmen said\nthat they wished to fill with their works, would do very well as it was,\nso far as they were concerned, his Excellency made it known to the men\nof the Academy, which had already made a beginning and had held the\nfestival of S. Luke in that temple, that the monks, so he understood,\nwere not very willing to have them in their house, and that therefore he\nwould not fail to provide them with another place. The same Lord Duke\nalso said, like the truly magnanimous Prince that he is, that he wished\nnot only always to favour that Academy, but also to be himself its\nchief, guide, and protector, and that for that reason he would appoint\nyear by year a Lieutenant who might be present in his stead at all their\nmeetings. Acting on this promise, he chose as the first the reverend Don\nVincenzio Borghini, the Director of the Hospital of the Innocenti; and\nfor these favours and courtesies shown by the Lord Duke to his new\nAcademy, he was thanked by ten of the oldest and most excellent of its\nmembers. But since the reformation of the Company and the rules of the\nAcademy are described at great length in the statutes that were drawn up\nby the men elected and deputed for that purpose as reformers by the\nwhole body (who were Fra Giovanni Agnolo, Francesco da San Gallo, Agnolo\nBronzino, Giorgio Vasari, Michele di Ridolfo, and Pier Francesco di\nJacopo di Sandro), in the presence of the said Lieutenant, and with the\napproval of his Excellency, I shall say no more about it in this place.\nI must mention, however, that since the old seal and arms, or rather,\ndevice of the Company, which was a winged ox lying down, the animal of\nS. Luke the Evangelist, displeased many of them, it was ordained that\neach one should give in words his suggestion for a new one, or show it\nin a drawing, and then there were seen the most beautiful inventions and\nthe most lovely and extravagant fantasies that could be imagined. But\nfor all that it is not yet completely determined which of them is to be\naccepted.\n\nMeanwhile Martino, the disciple of the Frate, having come from Messina\nto Florence, died in a few days, and was buried in the above-named tomb\nthat had been made by his master. And not long afterwards, in 1564, the\ngood father himself, Fra Giovanni Agnolo, who had been so excellent a\nsculptor, was buried in the same tomb with most honourable obsequies, a\nvery beautiful oration being delivered in his praise in the Temple of\nthe Nunziata by the very reverend and most learned Maestro Michelagnolo.\nTruly great is the debt that our arts for many reasons owe to Fra\nGiovanni Agnolo, in that he bore infinite love to them and likewise to\ntheir craftsmen; and of what great service has been and still is that\nAcademy, which may be said to have received its origin from him in the\nmanner that has been described, and which is now under the protection of\nthe Lord Duke Cosimo, and assembles by his command in the new sacristy\nof S. Lorenzo, where there are so many works in sculpture by\nMichelagnolo, may be recognized from this, that not only in the\nobsequies of that Buonarroti (which, thanks to our craftsmen and to the\nassistance of the Prince, were not merely magnificent, but little less\nthan regal, and which will be described in his Life), but also in many\nother undertakings, the same men, from emulation, and from a desire not\nto be unworthy of their Academy, have achieved marvellous things, and\nparticularly in the nuptials of the most illustrious Lord, Don Francesco\nde' Medici, Prince of Florence and Siena, and of her Serene Highness,\nQueen Joanna of Austria, which have been described fully and in due\norder by others, and will be described again by us at great length in a\nmore convenient place.\n\nAnd since not only in this good father, but also in many others of whom\nwe have spoken above, it has been seen, as it still continues to be,\nthat good Churchmen are useful and serviceable to the world in the arts\nand in the other more noble exercises no less than in letters, in public\ninstruction, and in sacred councils, and that they have no reason to\nfear comparison in this respect with others, it may be said that there\nis probably no truth whatever in that which certain persons, influenced\nmore by anger or by some private spite than by reason and love of truth,\ndeclare so freely of them--namely, that they devote themselves to such a\nlife because from poverty of spirit they have not, like other men, the\npower to make a livelihood; for which may God forgive them. Fra Giovanni\nAgnolo lived fifty-six years, and died on the last day of August, 1563.\n\n\n\n\nFRANCESCO SALVIATI\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF FRANCESCO SALVIATI\n\nPAINTER OF FLORENCE\n\n\nThe father of Francesco Salviati, whose Life we are now about to write,\nand who was born in the year 1510, was a good man called Michelagnolo\nde' Rossi, a weaver of velvets; and he, having not only this child but\nalso many others, both male and female, and being therefore in need of\nassistance, had determined in his own mind that he would at all costs\nmake Francesco devote himself to his own calling of weaving velvets. But\nthe boy, who had turned his mind to other things, and did not like the\npursuit of that trade, although in the past it had been practised by\npersons, I will not say noble, but passing rich and prosperous, followed\nhis father's wishes in that matter with no good-will. Indeed,\nassociating in the Via de' Servi, where his father had a house, with the\nchildren of Domenico Naldini, their neighbour and an honoured citizen,\nhe showed himself all given to gentle and honourable ways, and much\ninclined to design. In which matter he received no little assistance for\na time from a cousin of his own called Diacceto, a young goldsmith, who\nhad a passing good knowledge of design, in that he not only taught him\nall that he knew, but also furnished him with many drawings by various\nable men, over which, without telling his father, Francesco practised\nday and night with extraordinary zeal. And Domenico Naldini, having\nbecome aware of this, first examined the boy well, and then prevailed\nupon his father, Michelagnolo, to place him in his uncle's shop to learn\nthe goldsmith's art; by reason of which opportunity for design Francesco\nin a few months made so much proficience, that everyone was astonished.\n\nIn those days a company of young goldsmiths and painters used to\nassemble together at times and go throughout Florence on feast-days\ndrawing the most famous works, and not one of them laboured more or with\ngreater love than did Francesco. The young men of that company were\nNanni di Prospero delle Corniole, the goldsmith Francesco di Girolamo\ndal Prato, Nannoccio da San Giorgio, and many other lads who afterwards\nbecame able men in their professions.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF A MAN\n\n(_After the panel by =Francesco Salviati [Francesco de' Rossi]=.\nFlorence: Uffizi, 1256_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nAt this time Francesco and Giorgio Vasari, both being still boys, became\nfast friends, and in the following manner. In the year 1523, Silvio\nPasserini, Cardinal of Cortona, passing through Arezzo as the Legate of\nPope Clement VII, Antonio Vasari, his kinsman, took Giorgio, his eldest\nson, to make his reverence to the Cardinal. And the Cardinal, finding\nthat the boy, who at that time was not more than nine years of age, had\nbeen so well grounded in his first letters by the diligence of M.\nAntonio da Saccone and of Messer Giovanni Pollastra, an excellent poet\nof Arezzo, that he knew by heart a great part of the _Æneid_ of Virgil,\nwhich he was pleased to hear him recite, and that he had learned to draw\nfrom Guglielmo da Marcilla, the French painter--the Cardinal, I say,\nordained that Antonio should himself take the boy to Florence. There\nGiorgio was settled in the house of M. Niccolò Vespucci, Knight of\nRhodes, who lived on the abutment of the Ponte Vecchio, above the Church\nof the Sepolcro, and was placed with Michelagnolo Buonarroti; and this\ncircumstance came to the knowledge of Francesco, who was then living in\nthe Chiasso di Messer Bivigliano, where his father rented a great house\nthat faced on the Vacchereccia, employing many workmen. Whereupon, since\nlike always draws to like, he so contrived that he became the friend of\nGiorgio, by means of M. Marco da Lodi, a gentleman of the above-named\nCardinal of Cortona, who showed to Giorgio a portrait, which much\npleased him, by the hand of Francesco, who a short time before had been\nplaced to learn painting with Giuliano Bugiardini. Meanwhile Vasari, not\nneglecting the study of letters, by order of the Cardinal spent two\nhours every day with Ippolito and Alessandro de' Medici, under their\nmaster Pierio, an able man. And this friendship, contracted as described\nabove between Vasari and Francesco, became such that it never ceased\nto bind them together, although, by reason of their rivalry and a\ncertain somewhat haughty manner of speech that Francesco had, some\npersons thought otherwise.\n\nWhen Vasari had been some months with Michelagnolo, that excellent man\nwas summoned to Rome by Pope Clement, to receive instructions for\nbeginning the Library of S. Lorenzo; and he was placed by him, before he\ndeparted, with Andrea del Sarto. And devoting himself under him to\ndesign, Giorgio was continually lending his master's drawings in secret\nto Francesco, who had no greater desire than to obtain and study them,\nas he did day and night. Afterwards Giorgio was placed by the\nMagnificent Ippolito with Baccio Bandinelli, who was pleased to have the\nboy with him and to teach him; and Vasari contrived to obtain Francesco\nas his companion, with great advantage to them both, for the reason that\nwhile working together they learned more and made greater progress in\none month than they had done in two years while drawing by themselves.\nAnd the same did another young man who was likewise working under\nBandinelli at that time, called Nannoccio of the Costa San Giorgio, of\nwhom mention was made not long ago.\n\nIn the year 1527, the Medici being expelled from Florence, there was a\nfight for the Palace of the Signoria, and a bench was thrown down from\non high so as to fall upon those who were assaulting the door; but, as\nfate would have it, that bench hit an arm of the David in marble by\nBuonarroti, which is beside the door on the Ringhiera, and broke it into\nthree pieces. These pieces having remained on the ground for three days,\nwithout being picked up by anyone, Francesco went to the Ponte Vecchio\nto find Giorgio, and told him his intention; and then, children as they\nwere, they went to the Piazza, and, without thinking of any danger, in\nthe midst of the soldiers of the guard, they took the pieces of that arm\nand carried them to the house of Michelagnolo, the father of Francesco,\nin the Chiasso di M. Bivigliano. From which house having afterwards\nrecovered them, Duke Cosimo in time caused them to be restored to their\nplaces with pegs of copper.\n\nAfter this, the Medici being in exile, and with them the above-mentioned\nCardinal of Cortona, Antonio Vasari took his son back to Arezzo, to the\nno little regret of Giorgio and Francesco, who loved one another as\nbrothers. But they did not long remain separated from each other, for\nthe reason that after the plague, which came in the following August,\nhad killed Giorgio's father and the best part of his family, he was so\npressed with letters by Francesco, who also came very near dying of\nplague, that he returned to Florence. There, working with incredible\nzeal for a period of two years, being driven by necessity and by the\ndesire to learn, they made marvellous proficience, having recourse,\ntogether with the above-named Nannoccio da San Giorgio, to the workshop\nof the painter Raffaello da Brescia, under whom Francesco, being the one\nwho had most need to provide himself with the means to live, executed\nmany little pictures.\n\nHaving come to the year 1529, since it did not appear to Francesco that\nstaying in Brescia's workshop was doing him much good, he and Nannoccio\nwent to work with Andrea del Sarto, and stayed with him all the time\nthat the siege lasted, but in such discomfort, that they repented that\nthey had not followed Giorgio, who spent that year in Pisa with the\ngoldsmith Manno, giving his attention for four months to the goldsmith's\ncraft to occupy himself. Vasari having then gone to Bologna, at the time\nwhen the Emperor Charles V was crowned there by Clement VII, Francesco,\nwho had remained in Florence, executed on a little panel a votive\npicture for a soldier who had been murderously attacked in bed by\ncertain other soldiers during the siege; and although it was a paltry\nthing, he studied it and executed it to perfection. That votive picture\nfell not many years ago into the hands of Giorgio Vasari, who presented\nit to the reverend Don Vincenzio Borghini, the Director of the Hospital\nof the Innocenti, who holds it dear. For the Black Friars of the Badia\nFrancesco painted three little scenes on a Tabernacle of the Sacrament\nmade by the carver Tasso in the manner of a triumphal arch. In one of\nthese is the Sacrifice of Abraham, in the second the Manna, and in the\nthird the Hebrews eating the Paschal Lamb on their departure from Egypt;\nand the work was such that it gave an earnest of the success that he has\nsince achieved. He then painted in a picture for Francesco Sertini, who\nsent it to France, a Dalilah who was cutting off the locks of Samson,\nand in the distance Samson embracing the columns of the temple and\nbringing it down upon the Philistines; which picture made Francesco\nknown as the most excellent of the young painters that were then in\nFlorence.\n\nNot long afterwards the elder Cardinal Salviati having requested\nBenvenuto della Volpaia, a master of clock-making, who was in Rome at\nthat time, to find for him a young painter who might live with him and\npaint some pictures for his delight, Benvenuto proposed to him\nFrancesco, who was his friend, and whom he knew to be the most competent\nof all the young painters of his acquaintance; which he did all the more\nwillingly because the Cardinal had promised that he would give the young\nman every facility and all assistance to enable him to study. The\nCardinal, then, liking the young Francesco's qualities, said to\nBenvenuto that he should send for him, and gave him money for that\npurpose. And so, when Francesco had arrived in Rome, the Cardinal, being\npleased with his method of working, his ways, and his manners, ordained\nthat he should have rooms in the Borgo Vecchio, and four crowns a month,\nwith a place at the table of his gentlemen. The first works that\nFrancesco (to whom it appeared that he had been very fortunate) executed\nfor the Cardinal were a picture of Our Lady, which was held to be very\nbeautiful, and a canvas of a French nobleman who is running in chase of\na hind, which, flying from him, takes refuge in the Temple of Diana: of\nwhich work I keep the design, drawn by his hand, in my book, in memory\nof him. That canvas finished, the Cardinal caused him to portray in a\nvery beautiful picture of Our Lady a niece of his own, married to Signor\nCagnino Gonzaga, and likewise that lord himself.\n\nNow, while Francesco was living in Rome, with no greater desire than to\nsee his friend Giorgio Vasari in that city, Fortune was favourable to\nhis wishes in that respect, and even more to Vasari. For, Cardinal\nIppolito having parted in great anger from Pope Clement for reasons that\nwere discussed at the time, but returning not long afterwards to Rome\naccompanied by Baccio Valori, in passing through Arezzo he found\nGiorgio, who had been left without a father and was occupying himself as\nbest he could; wherefore, desiring that he should make some proficience\nin art, and wishing to have him near his person, he commanded Tommaso\nde' Nerli, who was Commissary there, that he should send him to Rome as\nsoon as he should have finished a chapel that he was painting in fresco\nfor the Monks of S. Bernardo, of the Order of Monte Oliveto, in that\ncity. That commission Nerli executed immediately, and Giorgio, having\nthus arrived in Rome, went straightway to find Francesco, who joyfully\ndescribed to him in what favour he was with his lord the Cardinal, and\nhow he was in a place where he could satisfy his hunger for study;\nadding, also: \"Not only do I enjoy the present, but I hope for even\nbetter things, for, besides seeing you in Rome, with whom, as the young\nfriend nearest to my heart, I shall be able to study and discuss the\nmatters of art, I also live in hope of entering the service of Cardinal\nIppolito de' Medici, from whose liberality, as well as from the favour\nof the Pope, I may look for greater things than I have at present; and\nthis will happen without a doubt if a certain young man, who is expected\nfrom abroad, does not arrive.\" Giorgio, although he knew that the young\nman who was expected was himself, and that the place was being kept for\nhim, yet would not reveal himself, because of a certain doubt that had\nentered his mind as to whether the Cardinal might not have another in\nview, and also from a wish not to declare a circumstance that might\nafterwards fall out differently. Giorgio had brought a letter from the\nabove-named Commissary Nerli to the Cardinal, which, after having been\nfive days in Rome, he had not yet presented. Finally Giorgio and\nFrancesco went to the Palace and found in what is now the Hall of Kings\nMesser Marco da Lodi, who had formerly been with the Cardinal of\nCortona, as was related above, but was then in the service of Medici. To\nhim Giorgio presented himself, saying that he had a letter from the\nCommissary of Arezzo that was to be delivered to the Cardinal, and\npraying that he should give it to him; which Messer Marco was promising\nto do immediately, when at that very moment the Cardinal himself\nappeared there. Whereupon Giorgio, coming forward before him, presented\nthe letter and kissed his hands; and he was received graciously, and\nshortly afterwards given into the charge of Jacopone da Bibbiena, the\nmaster of the household, who was commanded to provide him with rooms and\nwith a place at the table of the pages. It appeared a strange thing to\nFrancesco that Giorgio should not have confided the matter to him; but\nhe was persuaded that he had done it for the best and with a good\nintention.\n\nWhen the above-named Jacopone, therefore, had given Giorgio some rooms\nbehind S. Spirito, near Francesco, the two devoted themselves in company\nall that winter to the study of art, with much profit, leaving no\nnoteworthy work, either in the Palace or in any other part of Rome, that\nthey did not draw. And since, when the Pope was in the Palace, they were\nnot able to stay there drawing at their ease, as soon as his Holiness\nhad ridden forth to the Magliana, as he often did, they would gain\nadmittance by means of friends into those apartments to draw, and would\nstay there from morning till night without eating anything but a little\nbread, and almost freezing with cold. Cardinal Salviati having then\ncommanded Francesco that he should paint in fresco in the chapel of his\nPalace, where he heard Mass every morning, some stories of the life of\nS. John the Baptist, Francesco set himself to study nudes from life, and\nGiorgio with him, in a bath-house near there; and afterwards they made\nsome anatomical studies in the Campo Santo.\n\nThe spring having then come, Cardinal Ippolito, being sent by the Pope\nto Hungary, ordained that Giorgio should be sent to Florence, and should\nthere execute some pictures and portraits that he had to despatch to\nRome. But in the July following, what with the fatigues of the past\nwinter and the heat of summer, Giorgio fell ill and was carried by\nlitter to Arezzo, to the great sorrow of Francesco, who also fell sick\nand was like to die. However, being restored to health, Francesco was\ncommissioned by Maestro Filippo da Siena, at the instance of Antonio\nL'Abacco, a master-worker in wood, to paint in fresco in a niche over\nthe door at the back of S. Maria della Pace, a Christ speaking with S.\nFilippo, and in two angles the Virgin and the Angel of the Annunciation;\nwhich pictures, much pleasing Maestro Filippo, were the reason that he\ncaused him to paint the Assumption of Our Lady in the same place, in a\nlarge square space that was not yet painted in one of the eight sides of\nthat temple. Whereupon Francesco, reflecting that he had to execute that\nwork not merely in a public place, but in a place where there were\npictures by the rarest masters--Raffaello da Urbino, Rosso, Baldassarre\nda Siena, and others--put all possible study and diligence into\nexecuting it in oils on the wall, so that it proved to be a beautiful\npicture, and was much extolled; and excellent among other figures is\nheld to be the portrait that he painted there of the above-named Maestro\nFilippo with the hands clasped. And since Francesco lived, as has been\ntold, with Cardinal Salviati, and was known as his protégé, he began to\nbe called and known by no other name but Cecchino Salviati, and he kept\nthat name to the day of his death.\n\nPope Clement VII being dead and Paul III elected, M. Bindo Altoviti\ncaused Francesco to paint on the façade of his house at the Ponte S.\nAgnolo the arms of the new Pontiff, with some large nude figures, which\ngave infinite satisfaction. About the same time he made a portrait of\nthat Messer Bindo, which was a very good figure and a beautiful\nportrait; and this was afterwards sent to his villa of S. Mizzano in the\nValdarno, where it still is. He then painted for the Church of S.\nFrancesco a Ripa a very beautiful altar-picture of the Annunciation in\noils, which was executed with the greatest diligence. For the coming of\nCharles V to Rome in the year 1535, he painted for Antonio da San Gallo\nsome scenes in chiaroscuro, which were placed on the arch that was made\nat S. Marco; and these pictures, as has been said in another place, were\nthe best that there were in all those festive decorations.\n\nAfterwards Signor Pier Luigi Farnese, who had been made Lord of Nepi at\nthat time, wishing to adorn that city with new buildings and pictures,\ntook Francesco into his service, giving him rooms in the Belvedere; and\nthere Francesco painted for him on large canvases some scenes in gouache\nof the actions of Alexander the Great, which were afterwards carried\ninto execution and woven into tapestries in Flanders. For the same Lord\nof Nepi he decorated a large and very beautiful bathroom with many\nscenes and figures executed in fresco. Then, the same lord having been\ncreated Duke of Castro, for his first entry rich and most beautiful\ndecorations were made in that city under the direction of Francesco, and\nat the gate an arch all covered with scenes, figures, and statues,\nexecuted with much judgment by able men, and in particular by\nAlessandro, called Scherano, a sculptor of Settignano. Another arch, in\nthe form of a façade, was made at the Petrone, and yet another on the\nPiazza, which arches, with regard to the woodwork, were executed by\nBattista Botticelli; and in these festive preparations, among other\nthings, Francesco made a beautiful perspective-scene for a comedy that\nwas performed.\n\nAbout the same time, Giulio Camillo, who was then in Rome, having made a\nbook of his compositions in order to send it to King Francis of France,\nhad it all illustrated by Francesco Salviati, who put into it all the\ndiligence that it is possible to devote to such a work. Cardinal\nSalviati, having a desire to possess a picture in tinted woods (that is,\nin tarsia) by the hand of Fra Damiano da Bergamo, a lay-brother of S.\nDomenico at Bologna, sent him a design done in red chalk by the hand of\nFrancesco, as a pattern for its execution; which design, representing\nKing David being anointed by Samuel, was the best thing that Cecchino\nSalviati ever drew, and truly most rare. After this, Giovanni da\nCepperello and Battista Gobbo of San Gallo--who had caused the\nFlorentine painter Jacopo del Conte, then a young man, to paint in the\nFlorentine Company of the Misericordia in S. Giovanni Decollato, under\nthe Campidoglio at Rome, namely, in the second church where they hold\ntheir assemblies, a story of that same S. John the Baptist, showing the\nAngel appearing to Zacharias in the Temple--commissioned Francesco to\npaint below that scene another story of the same Saint, namely, the\nVisitation of Our Lady to S. Elizabeth. That work, which was finished in\nthe year 1538, he executed in fresco in such a manner, that it is worthy\nto be numbered among the most graceful and best conceived pictures that\nFrancesco ever painted, in the invention, in the composition of the\nscene, in the method and the attention to rules for the gradation of the\nfigures, in the perspective and the architecture of the buildings, in\nthe nudes, in the draped figures, in the grace of the heads, and, in\nshort, in every part; wherefore it is no marvel if all Rome was struck\nwith astonishment by it. Around a window he executed some bizarre\nfantasies in imitation of marble, and some little scenes that have\nmarvellous grace. And since Francesco never wasted any time, while he\nwas engaged on that work he executed many other things, and also\ndrawings, and he coloured a Phaëthon with the Horses of the Sun, which\nMichelagnolo had drawn. All these things Salviati showed to Giorgio, who\nafter the death of Duke Alessandro had gone to Rome for two months;\nsaying to him that, once he had finished a picture of a young S. John\nthat he was painting for his master Cardinal Salviati, a Passion of\nChrist on canvas that was to be sent to Spain, and a picture of Our Lady\nthat he was painting for Raffaello Acciaiuoli, he wished to turn his\nsteps to Florence in order to revisit his native place, his relatives,\nand his friends, for his father and mother were still alive, to whom he\nwas always of the greatest assistance, and particularly in settling two\nsisters, one of whom was married, and the other is a nun in the Convent\nof Monte Domini.\n\nComing thus to Florence, where he was received with much rejoicing by\nhis relatives and friends, it chanced that he arrived there at the very\nmoment when the festive preparations were being made for the nuptials of\nDuke Cosimo and the Lady Donna Leonora di Toledo. Wherefore he was\ncommissioned to paint one of the already mentioned scenes that were\nexecuted in the courtyard, which he accepted very willingly; and that\nwas the one in which the Emperor was placing the Ducal crown on the head\nof Duke Cosimo. But being seized, before he had finished it, with a\ndesire to go to Venice, Francesco left it to Carlo Portelli of Loro, who\nfinished it after Francesco's design; which design, with many others by\nthe same hand, is in our book.\n\nHaving departed from Florence and made his way to Bologna, Francesco\nfound there Giorgio Vasari, who had returned two days before from\nCamaldoli, where he had finished the two altar-pieces that are in the\ntramezzo[17] of the church, and had begun that of the high-altar; and\nVasari was arranging to paint three great panel-pictures for the\nrefectory of the Fathers of S. Michele in Bosco, where he kept Francesco\nwith him for two days. During that time, some of his friends made\nefforts to obtain for him the commission for an altar-piece that was to\nbe allotted by the men of the Della Morte Hospital. But, although\nSalviati made a most beautiful design, those men, having little\nunderstanding, were not able to recognize the opportunity that Messer\nDomeneddio[18] had sent them of obtaining for Bologna a work by the hand\nof an able master. Wherefore Francesco went away in some disdain,\nleaving some very beautiful designs in the hands of Girolamo Fagiuoli,\nto the end that he might engrave them on copper and have them printed.\n\n         [Footnote 17: See note on p. 57, Vol. I.]\n\n         [Footnote 18: A method of alluding to the Deity, which, in\n         its playful simplicity, is quite impossible in English.]\n\nHaving arrived in Venice, he was received courteously by the Patriarch\nGrimani and his brother Messer Vettorio, who showed him a thousand\nfavours. For that Patriarch, after a few days, he painted in oils, in an\noctagon of four braccia, a most beautiful Psyche to whom, as to a\nGoddess, on account of her beauty, incense and votive offerings are\npresented; which octagon was placed in a hall in the house of that lord,\nwherein is a ceiling in the centre of which there curve some festoons\nexecuted by Camillo Mantovano, an excellent painter in representing\nlandscapes, flowers, leaves, fruits, and other suchlike things. That\noctagon, I say, was placed in the midst of four pictures each two\nbraccia and a half square, executed with stories of the same Psyche, as\nwas related in the Life of Genga, by Francesco da Forlì; and the octagon\nis not only beyond all comparison more beautiful than those four\npictures, but even the most beautiful work of painting that there is in\nall Venice. After that, in a chamber wherein Giovanni Ricamatori of\nUdine had executed many works in stucco, he painted some little figures\nin fresco, both nude and draped, which are full of grace. In like\nmanner, in an altar-piece that he executed for the Nuns of the Corpus\nDomini at Venice, he painted with much diligence a Dead Christ with the\nMaries, and in the air an Angel who has the Mysteries of the Passion in\nthe hands. He made the portrait of M. Pietro Aretino, which, as a rare\nwork, was sent by that poet to King Francis, with some verses in praise\nof him who had painted it. And for the Nuns of S. Cristina in Bologna,\nof the Order of Camaldoli, the same Salviati, at the entreaty of Don\nGiovan Francesco da Bagno, their Confessor, painted an altar-piece with\nmany figures, a truly beautiful picture, which is in the church of that\nconvent.\n\nThen, having grown weary of the life in Venice, as one who remembered\nthat of Rome, and considering that it was no place for men of design,\nFrancesco departed in order to return to Rome. And so, making a détour\nby Verona and Mantua, in the first of which places he saw the many\nantiquities that are there, and in the other the works of Giulio Romano,\nhe made his way back to Rome by the road through Romagna, and arrived\nthere in the year 1541. There, having rested a little, the first works\nthat he made were the portrait of Messer Giovanni Gaddi and that of\nMesser Annibale Caro, who were much his friends. Those finished, he\npainted a very beautiful altar-piece for the Chapel of the Clerks of the\nChamber in the Pope's Palace. And in the Church of the Germans he began\na chapel in fresco for a merchant of that nation, painting on the vault\nabove the Apostles receiving the Holy Spirit, and in a picture that is\nhalf-way up the wall Jesus Christ rising from the dead, with the\nsoldiers sleeping round the Sepulchre in various attitudes,\nforeshortened in a bold and beautiful manner. On one side he painted S.\nStephen, and on the other side S. George, in two niches; and at the foot\nhe painted S. Giovanni Limosinario, who is giving alms to a naked\nbeggar, with a Charity on one side of him, and on the other side S.\nAlberto, the Carmelite Friar, between Logic and Prudence. And in the\ngreat altar-picture, finally, he painted in fresco the Dead Christ with\nthe Maries.\n\nHaving formed a friendship with Piero di Marcone, a Florentine\ngoldsmith, and having become his gossip, Francesco made to Piero's wife,\nwho was also his gossip, after her delivery, a present of a very\nbeautiful design, which was to be painted on one of those round baskets\nin which food is brought to a newly-delivered woman. In that design\nthere was the life of man, in a number of square compartments containing\nvery beautiful figures, both on one side and on the other; namely, all\nthe ages of human life, each of which rested on a different festoon\nappropriate to the particular age and the season. In that bizarre\ncomposition were included, in two long ovals, figures of the sun and\nmoon, and between them Sais, a city of Egypt, standing before the Temple\nof the Goddess Pallas and praying for wisdom, as if to signify that on\nbehalf of newborn children one should pray before any other thing for\nwisdom and goodness. That design Piero held ever afterwards as dear as\nif it had been, as indeed it was, a most beautiful jewel.\n\nNot long afterwards, the above-named Piero and other friends having\nwritten to Francesco that he would do well to return to his native\nplace, for the reason that it was held to be certain that he would be\nemployed by the Lord Duke Cosimo, who had no masters about him save such\nas were slow and irresolute, he finally determined (trusting much, also,\nin the favour of M. Alamanno, the brother of the Cardinal and uncle of\nthe Duke) to return to Florence. Having arrived, therefore, before\nattempting any other thing, he painted for the above-named M. Alamanno\nSalviati a very beautiful picture of Our Lady, which he executed in a\nroom in the Office of Works of S. Maria del Fiore that was occupied by\nFrancesco dal Prato, who at that time, from being a goldsmith and a\nmaster of tausia,[19] had set himself to casting little figures in\nbronze and to painting, with much profit and honour. In that same place,\nthen, which that master held as the official in charge of the woodwork\nof the Office of Works, Francesco made portraits of his friend Piero di\nMarcone and of Avveduto del Cegia, the dresser of minever-furs, who was\nalso much his friend; which Avveduto, besides many other things by the\nhand of Francesco that he possesses, has a portrait of Francesco\nhimself, executed in oils with his own hand, and very lifelike.\n\n         [Footnote 19: Damascening.]\n\n[Illustration: JUSTICE\n\n(_After the fresco by =Francesco Salviati [Francesco de' Rossi]=.\nFlorence: Bargello_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nThe above-mentioned picture of Our Lady, being, after it was finished,\nin the shop of the wood-carver Tasso, who was then architect of the\nPalace, was seen by many persons and vastly extolled; but what caused it\neven more to be considered a rare picture was that Tasso, who was\naccustomed to censure almost everything, praised it to the skies. And,\nwhat was more, he said to M. Pier Francesco, the majordomo, that it\nwould be an excellent thing for the Duke to give Francesco some work of\nimportance to execute; whereupon M. Pier Francesco and Cristofano\nRinieri, who had the ear of the Duke, played their part in such a way,\nthat M. Alamanno spoke to his Excellency, saying to him that Francesco\ndesired to be commissioned to paint the Hall of Audience, which is in\nfront of the Chapel of the Ducal Palace, and that he cared nothing about\npayment; and the Duke was content that this should be granted to him.\nWhereupon Francesco, having made small designs of the Triumph of Furius\nCamillus and of many stories of his life, set himself to contrive the\ndivision of that hall according to the spaces left by the windows and\ndoors, some of which are high and some low; and there was no little\ndifficulty in making that division in such a way that it might be\nwell-ordered and might not disturb the sequence of the stories. In the\nwall where there is the door by which one enters into the hall, there\nwere two large spaces, divided by the door. Opposite to that, where\nthere are the three windows that look out over the Piazza, there were\nfour spaces, but not wider than about three braccia each. In the\nend-wall that is on the right hand as one enters, wherein are two\nwindows that likewise look out on the Piazza, but in another direction,\nthere were three similar spaces, each about three braccia wide; and in\nthe end-wall that is on the left hand, opposite to the other, what with\nthe marble door that leads into the chapel, and a window with a grating\nof bronze, there remained only one space large enough to contain a work\nof importance. On the wall of the chapel, then--within an ornament of\nCorinthian columns that support an architrave, which has below it a\nrecess, wherein hang two very rich festoons, and two pendants of various\nfruits, counterfeited very well, while upon it sits a naked little boy\nwho is holding the Ducal arms, namely, those of the Houses of Medici and\nToledo--he painted two scenes; on the right hand Camillus, who is\ncommanding that the schoolmaster shall be given up to the vengeance of\nhis young scholars, and on the other the same Camillus, while the army\nis in combat and fire is burning the stockades and tents of the camp, is\nrouting the Gauls. And beside that, where the same range of pilasters\ncontinues, he painted a figure of Opportunity, large as life, who has\nseized Fortune by the locks, and some devices of his Excellency, with\nmany ornaments executed with marvellous grace. On the main wall, where\nthere are two great spaces divided by the principal door, he painted two\nlarge and very beautiful scenes. In the first are the Gauls, who,\nweighing the gold of the tribute, add to it a sword, to the end that the\nweight may be the greater, and Camillus, full of rage, delivers\nhimself from the tribute by force of arms; which scene is very\nbeautiful, and crowded with figures, landscapes, antiquities, and vases\ncounterfeited very well and in various manners in imitation of gold and\nsilver. In the other scene, beside the first, is Camillus in the\ntriumphal chariot, drawn by four horses; and on high is Fame, who is\ncrowning him. Before the chariot are priests very richly apparelled,\nwith the statue of the Goddess Juno, and holding vases in their hands,\nand with some trophies and spoils of great beauty. About the chariot are\ninnumerable prisoners in various attitudes, and behind it the soldiers\nof the army in their armour, among whom Francesco made a portrait of\nhimself, which is so good that it seems as if alive. In the distance,\nwhere the triumphal procession is passing, is a very beautiful picture\nof Rome, and above the door is a figure of Peace in chiaroscuro, who is\nburning the arms, with some prisoners; all which was executed by\nFrancesco with such diligence and study, that there is no more beautiful\nwork to be seen.\n\nOn the wall towards the west he painted in a niche in one of the larger\nspaces, in the centre, a Mars in armour, and below that a nude figure\nrepresenting a Gaul,[20] with a crest on the head similar to that of a\ncock; and in another niche a Diana with a skin about her waist, who is\ndrawing an arrow from her quiver, with a dog. In the two corners next\nthe other two walls are two figures of Time, one adjusting weights in a\nbalance, and the other tempering the liquid in two vases by pouring one\ninto the other. On the last wall, which is opposite to the chapel and\nfaces towards the north, in a corner on the right hand, is the Sun\nfigured in the manner wherein the Egyptians represent him, and in the\nother corner the Moon in the same manner. In the middle is Favour,\nrepresented as a nude young man on the summit of the wheel, with Envy,\nHatred, and Malice on one side, and on the other side Honours, Pleasure,\nand all the other things described by Lucian. Above the windows is a\nfrieze all full of most beautiful nudes, as large as life, and in\nvarious forms and attitudes; with some scenes likewise from the life of\nCamillus. And opposite to the Peace that is burning the arms is the\nRiver Arno, who, holding a most abundant horn of plenty, raises with\none hand a curtain and reveals Florence and the greatness of her\nPontiffs and the heroes of the House of Medici. He painted there,\nbesides all that, a base that runs round below those scenes, and niches\nwith some terminal figures of women that support festoons; and in the\ncentre are certain ovals with scenes of people adorning a Sphinx and the\nRiver Arno.\n\n         [Footnote 20: A play on the word Gallo, which means both Gaul\n         and cock.]\n\nFrancesco put into the execution of that work all the diligence and\nstudy that are possible; and, although he had many contradictions, he\ncarried it to a happy conclusion, desiring to leave in his native city a\nwork worthy of himself and of so great a Prince. Francesco was by nature\nmelancholy, and for the most part he did not care to have anyone about\nhim when he was at work. But nevertheless, when he first began that\nundertaking, almost doing violence to his nature and affecting an open\nheart, with great cordiality he allowed Tasso and others of his friends,\nwho had done him some service, to stand and watch him at work, showing\nthem every courtesy that he was able. But when he had gained a footing\nat Court, as the saying goes, and it seemed to him that he was in good\nfavour, returning to his choleric and biting nature, he paid them no\nattention. Nay, what was worse, he used the most bitter words according\nto his wont (which served as an excuse to his adversaries), censuring\nand decrying the works of others, and praising himself and his own works\nto the skies. These methods, which displeased most people and likewise\ncertain craftsmen, brought upon him such odium, that Tasso and many\nothers, who from being his friends had become his enemies, began to give\nhim cause for thought and for action. For, although they praised the\nexcellence of the art that was in him, and the facility and rapidity\nwith which he executed his works so well and with such unity, they were\nnot at a loss, on the other hand, for something to censure. And since,\nif they had allowed him to gain a firm footing and to settle his\naffairs, they would not have been able afterwards to hinder or hurt him,\nthey began in good time to give him trouble and to molest him. Whereupon\nmany of the craftsmen and others, banding themselves together and\nforming a faction, began to disseminate among the people of importance a\nrumour that Salviati's work was not succeeding, and that he was\nlabouring by mere skill of hand, and devoting no study to anything that\nhe did. In which, in truth, they accused him wrongly, for, although he\nnever toiled over the execution of his works, as they themselves did,\nyet that did not mean that he did not study them and that his works had\nnot infinite grace and invention, or that they were not carried out\nexcellently well. Not being able to surpass his excellence with their\nworks, those adversaries wished to overwhelm it with such words and\nreproaches; but in the end truth and excellence have too much force. At\nfirst Francesco made light of such rumours, but later, perceiving that\nthey were growing beyond all reason, he complained of it many times to\nthe Duke. But, since it began to be seen that the Duke, to all\nappearance, was not showing him such favours as he would have liked, and\nit seemed that his Excellency cared nothing for those complaints,\nFrancesco began to fall from his position in such a manner, that his\nadversaries, taking courage from that, sent forth a rumour that his\nscenes in the hall were to be thrown to the ground, because they did not\ngive satisfaction and had in them no particle of excellence. All these\ncalumnies, which were pressed against him with incredible envy and\nmalice by his adversaries, had reduced Francesco to such a state, that,\nif it had not been for the goodness of Messer Lelio Torelli, Messer\nPasquino Bertini, and others of his friends, he would have retreated\nbefore them, which was exactly what they desired. But the above-named\nfriends, exhorting him continually to finish the work of the hall and\nothers that he had in hand, restrained him, even as was done by many\nother friends not in Florence, to whom he wrote of these persecutions.\nAnd Giorgio Vasari, among others, answering a letter that Salviati wrote\nto him on the matter, exhorted him always to have patience, because\nexcellence is refined by persecution as gold by fire; adding that a time\nwas about to come when his art and his genius would be recognized, and\nthat he should complain of no one but himself, in that he did not yet\nknow men's humours, and how the people and the craftsmen of his own\ncountry were made. Thus, notwithstanding all these contradictions and\npersecutions that poor Francesco suffered, he finished that\nhall--namely, the work that he had undertaken to execute in fresco on\nthe walls, for the reason that on the ceiling, or rather, soffit, there\nwas no need for him to do any painting, since it was so richly carved\nand all overlaid with gold, that among works of that kind there is none\nmore beautiful to be seen. And as a finish to the whole the Duke caused\ntwo new windows of glass to be made, with his devices and arms and those\nof Charles V; and nothing could be better in that kind of work than the\nmanner in which they were executed by Battista del Borro, an Aretine\npainter excellent in that field of art.\n\nAfter that, Francesco painted for his Excellency the ceiling of the hall\nwhere he dines in winter, with many devices and little figures in\ndistemper; and a most beautiful study which opens out over the Green\nChamber. He made portraits, likewise, of some of the Duke's children;\nand one year, for the Carnival, he executed in the Great Hall the\nscenery and prospect-view for a comedy that was performed, and that with\nsuch beauty and in a manner so different from those that had been done\nin Florence up to that time, that they were judged to be superior to\nthem all. Nor is this to be marvelled at, since it is very certain that\nFrancesco was always in all his works full of judgment, and well-varied\nand fertile in invention, and, what is more, he had a perfect knowledge\nof design, and had a more beautiful manner than any other painter in\nFlorence at that time, and handled colours with great skill and\ndelicacy. He also made a head, or rather, a portrait, of Signor Giovanni\nde' Medici, the father of Duke Cosimo, which was very beautiful; and it\nis now in the guardaroba of the same Lord Duke. For Cristofano Rinieri,\nwho was much his friend, he painted a most beautiful picture of Our\nLady, which is now in the Udienza della Decima. For Ridolfo Landi he\nexecuted a picture of Charity, which could not be more lovely than it\nis; and for Simone Corsi, likewise, he painted a picture of Our Lady,\nwhich was much extolled. For M. Donato Acciaiuoli, a knight of Rhodes,\nwith whom he always maintained a particular intimacy, he executed\ncertain little pictures that are very beautiful. And he also painted in\nan altar-piece Christ showing to S. Thomas, who would not believe that\nHe had newly risen from the dead, the marks of the blows and wounds that\nHe had received from the Jews; which altar-piece was taken by Tommaso\nGuadagni into France, and placed in the Chapel of the Florentines in a\nchurch at Lyons.\n\nFrancesco also depicted at the request of the above-named Cristofano\nRinieri and of Maestro Giovanni Rosto, the Flemish master of tapestry,\nthe whole story of Tarquinius and the Roman Lucretia in many cartoons,\nwhich, being afterwards put into execution in tapestries woven in silk,\nfloss-silk, and gold, proved to be a marvellous work. Which hearing, the\nDuke, who was at that time having similar tapestries, all in silk and\ngold, made in Florence by the same Maestro Giovanni for the Sala de'\nDugento, and had caused cartoons with the stories of the Hebrew Joseph\nto be executed by Bronzino and Pontormo, as has been related, commanded\nthat Francesco also should make a cartoon, which was that with the\ninterpretation of the dream of the seven fat and seven lean kine. Into\nthat cartoon Francesco put all the diligence that could possibly be\ndevoted to such a work, and that is required for pictures that are to be\nwoven; for there must be fantastic inventions and variety of composition\nin the figures, and these must stand out one from another, so that they\nmay have strong relief, and they must come out bright in colouring and\nrich in the costumes and vestments. That piece of tapestry and the\nothers having turned out well, his Excellency resolved to establish the\nart in Florence, and caused it to be taught to some boys, who, having\ngrown to be men, are now executing most excellent works for the Duke.\n\nFrancesco also executed a most beautiful picture of Our Lady, likewise\nin oils, which is now in the chamber of Messer Alessandro, the son of M.\nOttaviano de' Medici. For the above-named M. Pasquino Bertini he painted\non canvas yet another picture of Our Lady, with Christ and S. John as\nlittle children, who are smiling over a parrot that they have in their\nhands; which was a very pleasing and fanciful work. And for the same man\nhe made a most beautiful design of a Crucifix, about one braccio high,\nwith a Magdalene at the foot, in a manner so new and so pleasing that it\nis a marvel; which design M. Salvestro Bertini lent to Girolamo Razzi,\nhis very dear friend, who is now Don Silvano, and two pictures were\npainted from it by Carlo of Loro, who has since executed many others,\nwhich are dispersed about Florence.\n\nGiovanni and Piero d'Agostino Dini had erected in S. Croce, on the\nright hand as one enters by the central door, a very rich chapel of\ngrey sandstone and a tomb for Agostino and others of their family; and\nthey gave the commission for the altar-piece of that chapel to\nFrancesco, who painted in it Christ taken down from the Cross by Joseph\nof Arimathæa and Nicodemus, and at the foot the Madonna in a swoon, with\nMary Magdalene, S. John, and the other Maries. That altar-piece was\nexecuted by Francesco with so much art and study, that not only the nude\nChrist is very beautiful, but all the other figures likewise are well\ndisposed and coloured with relief and force; and although at first the\npicture was censured by Francesco's adversaries, nevertheless it won him\na great name with men in general, and those who have painted others\nafter him out of emulation have not surpassed him. The same Francesco,\nbefore he departed from Florence, painted the portrait of the\nabove-mentioned M. Lelio Torelli, and some other works of no great\nimportance, of which I know not the particulars. But, among other\nthings, he brought to completion a design of the Conversion of S. Paul\nthat he had drawn long before in Rome, which is very beautiful; and he\nhad it engraved on copper in Florence by Enea Vico of Parma, and the\nDuke was content to retain him in Florence until that should be done,\nwith his usual salary and allowances. During that time, which was in the\nyear 1548, Giorgio Vasari being at Rimini in order to execute in fresco\nand in oils the works of which we have spoken in another place,\nFrancesco wrote him a long letter, informing him in exact detail how his\naffairs were passing in Florence, and, in particular, that he had made a\ndesign for the principal chapel of S. Lorenzo, which was to be painted\nby order of the Lord Duke, but that with regard to that work infinite\nmischief had been done against him with his Excellency, and, among other\nthings, that he held it almost as certain that M. Pier Francesco, the\nmajordomo, had not presented his design, so that the work had been\nallotted to Pontormo. And finally he said that for these reasons he was\nreturning to Rome, much dissatisfied with the men and the craftsmen of\nhis native country.\n\n[Illustration: THE DEPOSITION\n\n(_After the painting by =Francesco Salviati [Francesco de' Rossi]=.\nFlorence: S. Croce, the Refectory_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nHaving thus returned to Rome, he bought a house near the Palace of\nCardinal Farnese, and, while he was occupying himself with executing\nsome works of no great importance, he received from that Cardinal,\nthrough M. Annibale Caro and Don Giulio Clovio, the commission to\npaint the Chapel of the Palace of S. Giorgio, in which he executed an\nornament of most beautiful compartments in stucco, and a vaulting in\nfresco with stories of S. Laurence and many figures, full of grace, and\non a panel of stone, in oils, the Nativity of Christ, introducing into\nthat work, which was very beautiful, the portrait of the above-named\nCardinal. Then, having another work allotted to him in the\nabove-mentioned Company of the Misericordia (where Jacopo del Conte had\npainted the Preaching and the Baptism of S. John, in which, although he\nhad not surpassed Francesco, he had acquitted himself very well, and\nwhere some other works had been executed by the Venetian Battista Franco\nand by Pirro Ligorio), Francesco painted, on that part that is exactly\nbeside his own picture of the Visitation, the Nativity of S. John,\nwhich, although he executed it excellently well, was nevertheless not\nequal to the first. At the head of that Company, likewise, he painted\nfor M. Bartolommeo Bussotti two very beautiful figures in fresco--S.\nAndrew and S. Bartholomew, the Apostles--which are one on either side of\nthe altar-piece, wherein is a Deposition from the Cross by the hand of\nthe same Jacopo del Conte, which is a very good picture and the best\nwork that he had ever done up to that time.\n\nIn the year 1550, Julius III having been elected Supreme Pontiff,\nFrancesco painted some very beautiful scenes in chiaroscuro for the arch\nthat was erected above the steps of S. Pietro, among the festive\npreparations for the coronation. And then, in the same year, a sepulchre\nwith many steps and ranges of columns having been made in the Minerva by\nthe Company of the Sacrament, Francesco painted upon it some scenes and\nfigures in terretta, which were held to be very beautiful. In a chapel\nof S. Lorenzo in Damaso he executed two Angels in fresco that are\nholding a canopy, the design of one of which is in our book. In the\nrefectory of S. Salvatore del Lauro at Monte Giordano, on the principal\nwall, he painted in fresco, with a great number of figures, the Marriage\nof Cana in Galilee, at which Jesus Christ turned water into wine; and at\nthe sides some Saints, with Pope Eugenius IV, who belonged to that\nOrder, and other founders. Above the door of that refectory, on the\ninner side, he painted a picture in oils of S. George killing the\nDragon, and he executed that whole work with much mastery, finish, and\ncharm of colouring. About the same time he sent to Florence, for M.\nAlamanno Salviati, a large picture in which are Adam and Eve beside the\nTree of Life in the Earthly Paradise, eating the Forbidden Fruit, which\nis a very beautiful work. For Signor Ranuccio, Cardinal Sant'Agnolo, of\nthe House of Farnese, Francesco painted with most beautiful fantasy two\nwalls in the hall that is in front of the great hall in the Farnese\nPalace. On one wall he depicted Signor Ranuccio the Elder receiving from\nEugenius IV his baton as Captain-General of Holy Church, with some\nVirtues, and on the other Pope Paul III, of the Farnese family, who is\ngiving the baton of the Church to Signor Pier Luigi, while there is seen\napproaching from a distance the Emperor Charles V, accompanied by\nCardinal Alessandro Farnese and by other lords portrayed from life; and\non that wall, besides the things described above and many others, he\npainted a Fame and a number of other figures, which are executed very\nwell. It is true, indeed, that the work received its final completion,\nnot from him, but from Taddeo Zucchero of Sant'Agnolo, as will be\nrelated in the proper place. He gave completion and proportion to the\nChapel of the Popolo, which Fra Sebastiano Viniziano had formerly begun\nfor Agostino Chigi, but had not finished; and Francesco finished it, as\nhas been described in the Life of Fra Sebastiano. For Cardinal Riccio of\nMontepulciano he painted a most beautiful hall in his Palace in the\nStrada Giulia, where he executed in fresco various pictures with many\nstories of David; and, among others, one of Bathsheba bathing herself in\na bath, with many other women, while David stands gazing at her, is a\nscene very well composed and full of grace, and as rich in invention as\nany other that there is to be seen. In another picture is the Death of\nUriah, in a third the Ark, before which go many musical instruments, and\nfinally, after some others, a battle that is being fought between David\nand his enemies, very well composed. And, to put it briefly, the work of\nthat hall is all full of grace, of most beautiful fantasies, and of many\nfanciful and ingenious inventions; the distribution of the parts is done\nwith much consideration, and the colouring is very pleasing. To tell the\ntruth, Francesco, feeling himself bold and fertile in invention, and\nhaving a hand obedient to his brain, would have liked always to have on\nhis hands works large and out of the ordinary. And for no other reason\nwas he strange in his dealings with his friends, save only for this,\nthat, being variable and in certain things not very stable, what pleased\nhim one day he hated the next; and he did few works of importance\nwithout having in the end to contend about the price, on which account\nhe was avoided by many.\n\nAfter these works, Andrea Tassini, having to send a painter to the King\nof France, in the year 1554 sought out Giorgio Vasari, but in vain, for\nhe said that not for any salary, however great, or promises, or\nexpectations, would he leave the service of his lord, Duke Cosimo; and\nfinally Andrea came to terms with Francesco and took him to France,\nundertaking to recompense him in Rome if he were not satisfied in\nFrance. Before Francesco departed from Rome, as if he thought that he\nwould never return, he sold his house, his furniture, and every other\nthing, excepting the offices that he held. But the venture did not\nsucceed as he had expected, for the reason that, on arriving in Paris,\nwhere he was received kindly and with many courtesies by M. Francesco\nPrimaticcio, painter and architect to the King, and Abbot of S. Martin,\nhe was straightway recognized, so it is said, as the strange sort of man\nthat he was, for he saw no work either by Rosso or by any other master\nthat he did not censure either openly or in some subtle way. Everyone\ntherefore expecting some great work from him, he was set by the Cardinal\nof Lorraine, who had sent for him, to execute some pictures in his\nPalace at Dampierre. Whereupon, after making many designs, finally he\nset his hand to the work, and executed some pictures with scenes in\nfresco over the cornices of chimney-pieces, and a little study full of\nscenes, which are said to have shown great mastery; but, whatever may\nhave been the reason, these works did not win him much praise. Besides\nthat, Francesco was never much liked there, because he had a nature\naltogether opposed to that of the men of that country, where, even as\nthose merry and jovial men are liked and held dear who live a free life\nand take part gladly in assemblies and banquets, so those are, I do not\nsay shunned, but less liked and welcomed, who are by nature, as\nFrancesco was, melancholy, abstinent, sickly, and cross-grained. For\nsome things he might have deserved to be excused, since his habit of\nbody would not allow him to mix himself up with banquets and with eating\nand drinking too much, if only he could have been more agreeable in\nconversation. And, what was worse, whereas it was his duty, according to\nthe custom of that country and that Court, to show himself and pay court\nto others, he would have liked, and thought that he deserved, to be\nhimself courted by everyone.\n\nIn the end, the King being occupied with matters of war, and likewise\nthe Cardinal, and himself being disappointed of his salary and promised\nbenefits, Francesco, after having been there twenty months, resolved to\nreturn to Italy. And so he made his way to Milan, where he was\ncourteously received by the Chevalier Leone Aretino in the house that he\nhas built for himself, very ornate and all filled with statues ancient\nand modern, and with figures cast in gesso from rare works, as will be\ntold in another place; and after having stayed there a fortnight and\nrested himself, he went on to Florence. There he found Giorgio Vasari\nand told him how well he had done not to go to France, giving him an\naccount that would have driven the desire to go there, no matter how\ngreat, out of anyone. From Florence he returned to Rome, and there\nentered an action against those who had guaranteed his allowances from\nthe Cardinal of Lorraine, and compelled them to pay him in full; and\nwhen he had received the money he bought some offices, in addition to\nothers that he held before, with a firm resolve to look after his own\nlife, knowing that he was not in good health and that he had wholly\nruined his constitution. Notwithstanding that, he would have liked to be\nemployed in great works; but in this he did not succeed so readily, and\nhe occupied himself for a time with executing pictures and portraits.\n\nPope Paul IV having died, Pius was elected, likewise the Fourth of that\nname, who, much delighting in building, availed himself of Pirro Ligorio\nin matters of architecture; and his Holiness ordained that Cardinals\nAlessandro Farnese and Emulio should cause the Great Hall, called the\nHall of Kings, to be finished by Daniello da Volterra, who had begun it.\nThat very reverend Farnese did his utmost to obtain the half of that\nwork for Francesco, and in consequence there was a long contention\nbetween Daniello and Francesco, particularly because Michelagnolo\nBuonarroti exerted himself in favour of Daniello, and for a time they\narrived at no conclusion. Meanwhile, Vasari having gone with Cardinal\nGiovanni de' Medici, the son of Duke Cosimo, to Rome, Francesco related\nto him his many difficulties, and in particular that in which, for the\nreasons just given, he then found himself; and Giorgio, who much loved\nthe excellence of the man, showed him that up to that time he had\nmanaged his affairs very badly, and that for the future he should let\nhim (Vasari) manage them, for he would so contrive that in one way or\nanother the half of that Hall of Kings would fall to him to execute,\nwhich Daniello was not able to finish by himself, being a slow and\nirresolute person, and almost certainly not as able and versatile as\nFrancesco. Matters standing thus, and nothing more being done for the\nmoment, not many days afterwards Giorgio himself was requested by the\nPope to paint part of that Hall, but he answered that he had one three\ntimes larger to paint in the Palace of his master, Duke Cosimo, and, in\naddition, that he had been so badly treated by Pope Julius III, for whom\nhe had executed many labours in the Vigna on the Monte and elsewhere,\nthat he no longer knew what to expect from certain kinds of men; adding\nthat he had painted for the Palace of the same Pontiff, without being\npaid, an altar-piece of Christ calling Peter and Andrew from their nets\non the Sea of Tiberias (which had been taken away by Pope Paul IV from a\nchapel that Julius had built over the corridor of the Belvedere, and\nwhich was to be sent to Milan), and that his Holiness should cause it to\nbe either paid for or restored to him. To which the Pope said in\nanswer--and whether it was true or not, I do not know--that he knew\nnothing of that altar-piece, but wished to see it; whereupon it was sent\nfor, and, after his Holiness had seen it, but in a bad light, he was\ncontent that it should be restored.\n\nThe discussion about the Hall being then resumed, Giorgio told the Pope\nfrankly that Francesco was the first and best painter in Rome, that his\nHoliness would do well to employ him, since no one could serve him\nbetter, and that, although Buonarroti and the Cardinal of Carpi favoured\nDaniello, they did so more from the motive of friendship, and perhaps\nout of animosity, than for any other reason. But to return to the\naltar-piece; Giorgio had no sooner left the Pope than he sent it to the\nhouse of Francesco, who afterwards had it taken to Arezzo, where, as we\nhave related in another place, it has been deposited by Vasari with a\nrich, costly, and handsome ornament, in the Pieve of that city. The\naffairs of the Hall of Kings remaining in the condition that has been\ndescribed above, when Duke Cosimo departed from Siena in order to go to\nRome, Vasari, who had gone as far as that with his Excellency,\nrecommended Salviati warmly to him, beseeching him to make interest on\nhis behalf with the Pope, and to Francesco he wrote as to all that he\nwas to do when the Duke had arrived in Rome. In all which Francesco\ndeparted in no way from the advice given him by Giorgio, for he went to\ndo reverence to the Duke, and was welcomed by his Excellency with an\naspect full of kindness, and shortly afterwards so much was said to his\nHoliness on his behalf, that the half of the above-mentioned Hall was\nallotted to him. Setting his hand to the work, before doing any other\nthing he threw to the ground a scene that had been begun by Daniello; on\nwhich account there were afterwards many contentions between them. The\nPontiff was served in matters of architecture, as has been already\nrelated, by Pirro Ligorio, who at first had much favoured Francesco, and\nwould have continued to favour him; but Francesco paying no more\nattention either to Pirro or to any other after he had begun to work,\nthis was the reason that Ligorio, from being his friend, became in a\ncertain sort his adversary, and of this very manifest signs were seen,\nfor Pirro began to say to the Pope that since there were many young\npainters of ability in Rome, and he wished to have that Hall off his\nhands, it would be a good thing to allot one scene to each of them, and\nthus to see it finished once and for all. These proceedings of Pirro's,\nto which it was evident that the Pope was favourable, so displeased\nFrancesco, that in great disdain he retired from the work and all the\ncontentions, considering that he was held in little estimation. And so,\nmounting his horse and not saying a word to anyone, he went off to\nFlorence, where, like the strange creature that he was, without giving a\nthought to any of the friends that he had there, he took up his abode\nin an inn, as if he did not belong to the place and had no acquaintance\nthere nor anyone who cared for him in any way. Afterwards, having kissed\nthe hands of the Duke, he was received with such kindness, that he might\nwell have looked for some good result, if only he had been different in\nnature and had adhered to the advice of Giorgio, who urged him to sell\nthe offices that he had in Rome and to settle in Florence, so as to\nenjoy his native place with his friends and to avoid the danger of\nlosing, together with his life, all the fruits of his toil and grievous\nlabours. But Francesco, moved by sensitiveness and anger, and by his\ndesire to avenge himself, resolved that he would at all costs return to\nRome in a few days. Meanwhile, moving from that inn at the entreaty of\nhis friends, he retired to the house of M. Marco Finale, the Prior of S.\nApostolo, where he executed a Pietà in colours on cloth of silver for M.\nJacopo Salviati, as it were to pass the time, with the Madonna and the\nother Maries, which was a very beautiful work. He renewed in colours a\nmedallion with the Ducal arms, which he had made on a former occasion\nand placed over a door in the Palace of Messer Alamanno. And for the\nabove-named M. Jacopo he made a most beautiful book of bizarre costumes\nand various headdresses of men and horses for masquerades, for which he\nreceived innumerable courtesies from the liberality of that lord, who\nlamented the strange and eccentric nature of Francesco, whom he was\nnever able to attract into his house on this occasion, as he had done at\nother times.\n\nFinally, Francesco being about to set out for Rome, Giorgio, as his\nfriend, reminded him that, being rich, advanced in years, weak in\nhealth, and little fitted for more fatigues, he should think of living\nin peace and shun strife and contention, which he would have been able\nto do with ease, having acquired honour and property in plenty, if he\nhad not been too avaricious and desirous of gain. He exhorted him, in\naddition, to sell the greater part of the offices that he possessed and\nto arrange his affairs in such a manner, that in any emergency or any\nmisfortune that might happen he might be able to remember his friends\nand those who had given him faithful and loving service. Francesco\npromised that he would do right both in word and deed, and confessed\nthat Giorgio had spoken the truth; but, as happens to most of the men\nwho think that time will last for ever, he did nothing more in the\nmatter. Having arrived in Rome, Francesco found that Cardinal Emulio had\ndistributed the scenes of the Hall, giving two of them to Taddeo\nZucchero of Sant' Agnolo, one to Livio da Forlì, another to Orazio da\nBologna, yet another to Girolamo da Sermoneta, and the rest to others.\nWhich being reported by Francesco to Giorgio, whom he asked whether it\nwould be well for him to continue the work that he had begun, he\nreceived the answer that it would be a good thing, after making so many\nlittle designs and large cartoons, to finish at least one picture,\nnotwithstanding that the greater part of the work had been allotted to\nso many others, all much inferior to him, and that he should make an\neffort to approach as near as possible in his work to the pictures by\nBuonarroti on the walls and vaulting of the Sistine Chapel, and to those\nof the Pauline; for the reason that after his work was seen, the others\nwould be thrown to the ground, and all, to his great glory, would be\nallotted to him. And Giorgio warned him to give no thought to profit or\nmoney, or to any vexation that he might suffer from those in charge of\nthe work, telling him that the honour was much more important than any\nother thing. Of all these letters and of the replies, the originals, as\nwell as copies, are among those that we ourselves treasure in memory of\nso great a man, who was our dearest friend, and among those by our own\nhand that must have been found among his possessions.\n\nAfter these things Francesco was living in an angry mood, in no way\ncertain as to what he wished to do, afflicted in mind, feeble in body,\nand weakened by everlasting medicines, when finally he fell ill with the\nillness of death, which carried him in a short time to the last\nextremity, without having given him time to make a complete disposal of\nhis possessions. To a disciple called Annibale, the son of Nanni di\nBaccio Bigio, he left sixty crowns a year on the Monte delle Farine,\nfourteen pictures, and all his designs and other art possessions. The\nrest of his property he left to Suor Gabriella, his sister, a nun,\nalthough I understand that she did not receive, as the saying goes, even\nthe \"cord of the sack.\" However, there must have come into her hands a\npicture painted on cloth of silver, with embroidery around it, which he\nhad executed for the King of Portugal or of Poland, whichever it was,\nand left to her to the end that she might keep it in memory of him. All\nhis other possessions, such as the offices that he had bought after\nunspeakable fatigues, all were lost.\n\nFrancesco died on S. Martin's Day, the 11th of November, in the year\n1563, and was buried in S. Gieronimo, a church near the house where he\nlived. The death of Francesco was a very great loss to art, seeing that,\nalthough he was fifty-four years of age and weak in health, he was\ncontinually studying and working, cost what it might; and at the very\nlast he had set himself to work in mosaic. It is evident that he was\ncapricious, and would have liked to do many things; and if he had found\na Prince who could have recognized his humour and could have given him\nworks after his fancy, he would have achieved marvellous things, for, as\nwe have said, he was rich, fertile, and most exuberant in every kind of\ninvention, and a master in every field of painting. He gave great beauty\nand grace to every kind of head, and he understood the nude as well as\nany other painter of his time. He had a very graceful and delicate\nmanner in painting draperies, arranging them in such a way that the nude\ncould always be perceived in the parts where that was required, and\nclothing his figures in new fashions of dress; and he showed fancy and\nvariety in headdresses, foot-wear, and every other kind of ornament. He\nhandled colours in oils, in distemper, and in fresco in such a manner,\nthat it may be affirmed that he was one of the most able, resolute,\nbold, and diligent craftsmen of our age, and to this we, who associated\nwith him for so many years, are well able to bear testimony. And\nalthough there was always between us a certain proper emulation, by\nreason of the desire that good craftsmen have to surpass one another,\nnone the less, with regard to the claims of friendship, there was never\nany lack of love and affection between us, although each of us worked in\ncompetition in the most famous places in Italy, as may be seen from a\nvast number of letters that are in my possession, as I have said,\nwritten by the hand of Francesco. Salviati was affectionate by nature,\nbut suspicious, acute, subtle, and penetrative, and yet ready to believe\nanything; and when he set himself to speak of some of the men of our\narts, either in jest or in earnest, he was likely to give offence, and\nat times touched them to the quick. It pleased him to mix with men of\nlearning and great persons, and he always held plebeian craftsmen in\ndetestation, even though they might be able in some field of art. He\navoided such persons as always speak evil, and when the conversation\nturned on them he would tear them to pieces without mercy. But most of\nall he abhorred the knaveries that craftsmen sometimes commit, of which,\nhaving been in France, and having heard something of them, he was only\ntoo well able to speak. At times, in order to be less weighed down by\nhis melancholy, he used to mingle with his friends and force himself to\nbe cheerful. But in the end his strange nature, so irresolute,\nsuspicious, and solitary, did harm to no one but himself.\n\nHis dearest friend was Manno, a Florentine goldsmith in Rome, a man rare\nin his profession and excellent in character and goodness of heart.\nManno is burdened with a family, and if Francesco had been able to\ndispose of his property, and had not spent all the fruits of his labours\non offices, only to leave them to the Pope, he would have left a great\npart of them to that worthy man and excellent craftsman. Very dear to\nhim, likewise, was the above-mentioned Avveduto dell'Avveduto, a dresser\nof minever-furs, who was the most loving and most faithful friend that\nFrancesco ever had; and if he had been in Rome when Francesco died,\nSalviati would probably have arranged certain of his affairs with better\njudgment than he did.\n\n[Illustration: MEDAL OF POPE CLEMENT VII\n\n(_After =Francesco dal Prato=. London: British Museum_)]\n\nHis disciple, also, was the Spaniard Roviale, who executed many works in\ncompany with him, and by himself an altar-piece containing the\nConversion of S. Paul for the Church of S. Spirito in Rome. And Salviati\nwas very well disposed towards Francesco di Girolamo dal Prato, in\ncompany with whom, as has been related above, he studied design while\nstill a child; which Francesco was a man of most beautiful genius, and\ndrew better than any other goldsmith of his time; and he was not\ninferior to his father Girolamo, who executed every kind of work with\nplates of silver better than any of his rivals. It is said that Girolamo\nsucceeded with ease in any kind of work; thus, having beaten the plate\nof silver with certain hammers, he placed it on a piece of plank, and\nbetween the two a layer of wax, tallow and pitch, producing in that way\na material midway between soft and hard, and then, beating it with iron\ninstruments both inwards and outwards, he caused it to come out in\nwhatever shapes he desired--heads, breasts, arms, legs, backs, and any\nother thing that he wished or was demanded from him by those who caused\nvotive offerings to be made, in order to attach them to those holy\nimages that were to be found in any place where they had received\nfavours or had been heard in their prayers. Francesco, then, not\nattending only to the making of votive offerings, as his father did,\nworked also at tausia and at inlaying steel with gold and silver after\nthe manner of damascening, making foliage, figures, and any other kind\nof work that he wished; in which manner of inlaid work he made a\ncomplete suit of armour for a foot-soldier, of great beauty, for Duke\nAlessandro de' Medici. Among many medals that the same man made, those\nwere by his hand, and very beautiful, which were placed in the\nfoundations of the fortifications at the Porta a Faenza, with the head\nof the above-named Duke Alessandro; together with others in which there\nwas on one side the head of Pope Clement VII, and on the other a nude\nChrist with the scourges of His Passion. Francesco also delighted in the\nwork of sculpture, and cast some little figures in bronze, full of\ngrace, which came into the possession of Duke Alessandro. And the same\nmaster polished and carried to great perfection four similar figures,\nmade by Baccio Bandinelli--namely, a Leda, a Venus, a Hercules, and an\nApollo--which were given to the same Duke. Being dissatisfied, then,\nwith the goldsmith's craft, and not being able to give his attention to\nsculpture, which calls for too many resources, Francesco, having a good\nknowledge of design, devoted himself to painting; and since he was a\nperson who mixed little with others, and did not care to have it known\nmore than was inevitable that he was giving his attention to painting,\nhe executed many works by himself. Meanwhile, as was related at the\nbeginning, Francesco Salviati came to Florence, and he worked at the\npicture for M. Alamanno in the rooms that the other Francesco occupied\nin the Office of Works of S. Maria del Fiore; wherefore with that\nopportunity, seeing Salviati's method of working, he applied himself to\npainting with much more zeal than he had done up to that time, and\nexecuted a very beautiful picture of the Conversion of S. Paul, which is\nnow in the possession of Guglielmo del Tovaglia. And after that, in a\npicture of the same size, he painted the Serpents raining down on the\nHebrew people, and in another he painted Jesus Christ delivering the\nHoly Fathers from the Limbo of Hell; which two last-named pictures, both\nvery beautiful, now belong to Filippo Spini, a gentleman who much\ndelights in our arts. Besides many other little works that Francesco dal\nPrato executed, he drew much and well, as may be seen from some designs\nby his hand that are in our book of drawings. He died in the year 1562,\nand his death much grieved the whole Academy, because, besides his\nhaving been an able master in art, there was never a more excellent man\nthan Francesco.\n\n[Illustration: THE RECONCILIATION OF POPE ALEXANDER III AND FREDERICK\nBARBAROSSA\n\n(_After the fresco by =Giuseppe del Salviati [Giuseppe Porta]=. Rome:\nThe Vatican, Sala Regia_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nAnother pupil of Francesco Salviati was Giuseppe Porta of Castelnuovo\ndella Garfagnana, who, out of respect for his master, was also called\nGiuseppe Salviati. This Giuseppe, having been taken to Rome as a boy, in\nthe year 1535, by an uncle, the secretary of Monsignor Onofrio\nBartolini, Archbishop of Pisa, was placed with Salviati, under whom he\nlearned in a short time not only to draw very finely, but also to use\ncolour excellently well. He then went with his master to Venice, where\nhe formed so many connections with noble persons, that, being left there\nby Francesco, he made up his mind that he would choose that city as his\nhome; and so, having taken a wife there, he has lived there ever since,\nand he has worked in few other places but Venice. He painted long ago\nthe façade of the house of the Loredani on the Campo di S. Stefano, with\nscenes very pleasingly coloured in fresco and executed in a beautiful\nmanner. He painted, likewise, that of the Bernardi at S. Polo, and\nanother behind S. Rocco, which is a very good work. Three other façades\nhe has painted in chiaroscuro, very large and covered with various\nscenes--one at S. Moisè, the second at S. Cassiano, and the third at S.\nMaria Zebenigo. He has also painted in fresco, at a place called\nTreville, near Treviso, the whole of the Palace of the Priuli, a rich\nand vast building, both within and without; of which building there will\nbe a long account in the Life of Sansovino; and at Pieve di Sacco he has\npainted a very beautiful façade. At Bagnuolo, a seat of the Friars of\nS. Spirito at Venice, he has executed an altar-piece in oils; and for\nthe same fathers he has painted the ceiling, or rather, soffit of the\nrefectory in the Convent of S. Spirito, with a number of compartments\nfilled with painted pictures, and a most beautiful Last Supper on the\nprincipal wall. For the Hall of the Doge, in the Palace of S. Marco, he\nhas painted the Sibyls, the Prophets, the Cardinal Virtues, and Christ\nwith the Maries, which have won him vast praise; and in the\nabove-mentioned Library of S. Marco he painted two large scenes, in\ncompetition with the other painters of Venice of whom mention has been\nmade above. Being summoned to Rome by Cardinal Emulio after the death of\nFrancesco, he finished one of the larger scenes that are in the Hall of\nKings, and began another; and then, Pope Pius IV having died, he\nreturned to Venice, where the Signoria commissioned him to paint a\nceiling with pictures in oils, which is at the head of the new staircase\nin the Palace.\n\nThe same master has painted six very beautiful altar-pieces in oils, one\nof which is on the altar of the Madonna in S. Francesco della Vigna, the\nsecond on the high-altar in the Church of the Servites, the third is\nwith the Friars Minors, the fourth in the Madonna dell'Orto, the fifth\nat S. Zaccheria, and the sixth at S. Moisè; and he has painted two at\nMurano, which are beautiful and executed with much diligence and in a\nlovely manner. But of this Giuseppe, who is still alive and is becoming\na very excellent master, I say no more for the present, save that, in\naddition to his painting, he devotes much study to geometry. By his hand\nis the Volute of the Ionic Capital that is to be seen in print at the\npresent day, showing how it should be turned after the ancient measure;\nand there is to appear soon a work that he has composed on the subject\nof geometry.\n\nA disciple of Francesco, also, was one Domenico Romano, who was of great\nassistance to him in the hall that he painted in Florence, and in other\nworks. Domenico engaged himself in the year 1550 to Signor Giuliano\nCesarino, and he does not work on his own account.\n\n\n\n\nDANIELLO RICCIARELLI\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF DANIELLO RICCIARELLI\n\nPAINTER AND SCULPTOR OF VOLTERRA\n\n\nDaniello, when he was a lad, learned to draw a little from Giovanni\nAntonio Sodoma, who went at that time to execute certain works in the\ncity of Volterra; and when Sodoma had gone away he made much greater and\nbetter proficience under Baldassarre Peruzzi than he had done under the\ndiscipline of the other. But to tell the truth, for all that, he\nachieved no great success at that time, for the reason that in\nproportion as he devoted great effort and study to seeking to learn,\nbeing urged by a strong desire, even so, on the other hand, did his\nbrain and hand fail him. Wherefore in his first works, which he executed\nat Volterra, there is evidence of very great, nay, infinite labour, but\nnot yet any promise of a grand or beautiful manner, nor any grace,\ncharm, or invention, such as have been seen at an early hour in many\nothers who have been born to be painters, and who, even in their first\nbeginnings, have shown facility, boldness, and some indication of a good\nmanner. His first works, indeed, seem in truth as if done by a\nmelancholic, being full of effort and executed with much patience and\nexpenditure of time.\n\nBut let us come to his works, leaving aside those that are not worthy of\nattention; in his youth he painted in fresco at Volterra the façade of\nM. Mario Maffei, in chiaroscuro, which gave him a good name and won him\nmuch credit. But after he had finished it, perceiving that he had there\nno competition that might spur him to seek to rise to greater heights,\nand that there were no works in that city, either ancient or modern,\nfrom which he could learn much, he determined at all costs to go to\nRome, where he heard that there were not at that time many who were\nengaged in painting, excepting Perino del Vaga. Before departing, he\nresolved that he would take some finished work that might make him\nknown; and so, having painted a canvas in oils of Christ Scourged at the\nColumn, with many figures, to which he devoted all possible diligence,\navailing himself of models and portraits from life, he took it with him.\nAnd, having arrived in Rome, he had not been long there before he\ncontrived by means of friends to show that picture to Cardinal Triulzi,\nwhom it satisfied in such a manner that he not only bought it, but also\nconceived a very great affection for Daniello; and a short time\nafterwards he sent him to work in a village without Rome belonging to\nhimself, called Salone, where he had built a very large house, which he\nwas having adorned with fountains, stucco-work, and paintings, and in\nwhich at that very time Gian Maria da Milano and others were decorating\ncertain rooms with stucco and grotesques. Arriving there, then,\nDaniello, both out of emulation and from a desire to serve that lord,\nfrom whom he could hope to win much honour and profit, painted various\nthings in many rooms and loggie in company with the others, and in\nparticular executed many grotesques, full of various little figures of\nwomen. But the work that proved to be more beautiful than all the rest\nwas a story of Phaëthon, executed in fresco with figures of the size of\nlife, and a very large River God that he painted there, which is a very\ngood figure; and all these works, since the above-named Cardinal went\noften to see them, and took with him now one and now another of the\nCardinals, were the reason that Daniello formed a friendship and bonds\nof service with many of them.\n\nAfterwards, Perino del Vaga, who at that time was painting the Chapel of\nM. Agnolo de' Massimi in the Trinita, having need of a young man who\nmight help him, Daniello, desiring to make proficience, and drawn by his\npromises, went to work with him and assisted him to execute certain\nthings in the work of that chapel, which he carried to completion with\nmuch diligence. Now, before the sack of Rome Perino had painted on the\nvaulting of the Chapel of the Crocifisso in S. Marcello, as has been\nrelated, the Creation of Adam and Eve in figures of the size of life,\nand in much larger figures two Evangelists, S. John and S. Mark, which\nwere not yet completely finished, since the figure of S. John was\nwanting from the middle upwards; and the men of that Company resolved,\nwhen the affairs of Rome had finally become settled again, that the same\nPerino should finish the work. But he, having other work to do, made the\ncartoons and had it finished by Daniello, who completed the S. John that\nhad been left unfinished, painted all by himself the two other\nEvangelists, S. Luke and S. Matthew, between them two little boys that\nare holding a candelabrum, and, on the arch of the wall that contains\nthe window, two Angels standing poised on their wings in the act of\nflight, who are holding in their hands the Mysteries of the Passion of\nJesus Christ; and he adorned the arch richly with grotesques and little\nnaked figures of great beauty. In short, he acquitted himself\nmarvellously well in all that work, although he took a considerable time\nover it.\n\n[Illustration: THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS\n\n(_After the fresco by =Daniello Ricciarelli=. Rome: SS. Trinita dei\nMonti_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nThe same Perino having then caused Daniello to execute a frieze in the\nhall of the Palace of M. Agnolo Massimi, with many divisions in stucco\nand other ornaments, and stories of the actions of Fabius Maximus, he\nbore himself so well, that Signora Elena Orsina, having seen that work\nand hearing the ability of Daniello much extolled, commissioned him to\npaint her chapel in the Church of the Trinita in Rome, on the hill,\nwhere the Friars of S. Francesco di Paola have their seat. Wherefore\nDaniello, putting forth all possible effort and diligence, in order to\nproduce a rare work which might make him known as an excellent painter,\ndid not shrink from devoting to it the labour of many years. From the\nname of that lady, the title given to the chapel being that of the Cross\nof Christ Our Saviour, the subject chosen was that of the actions of S.\nHelen; and so in the principal altar-piece Daniello painted Jesus Christ\ntaken down from the Cross by Joseph, Nicodemus, and other disciples, and\nthe Virgin Mary in a swoon, supported on the arms of the Magdalene and\nthe other Maries, in all which he showed very great judgment, and gave\nproof of very rare ability, for the reason that, besides the composition\nof the figures, which has a very rich effect, the figure of Christ is\nvery fine and most beautifully foreshortened, with the feet coming\nforward and the rest backwards. Very beautiful and difficult, likewise,\nare the foreshortenings in the figures of those who, having removed Him\nfrom the Cross, support Him with some bands, standing on some ladders\nand revealing in certain parts the nude flesh, executed with much\ngrace. Around that altar-piece he made an ornament in stucco-work of\ngreat beauty and variety, full of carvings, with two figures that\nsupport the pediment with their heads, while with one hand they hold the\ncapital, and with the other they seek to place the column, which stands\nat the foot on the base, below the capital to support it; which work is\ndone with extraordinary care. In the arch above the altar-piece he\npainted two Sibyls in fresco, which are the best figures in the whole\nwork; and those Sibyls are one on either side of the window, which is\nabove the centre of the altar-piece, giving light to the whole chapel.\nThe vaulting of the chapel is divided into four compartments by bizarre,\nwell varied, and beautiful partitions of stucco-work and grotesques made\nwith new fantasies of masks and festoons; and in those compartments are\nfour stories of the Cross and of S. Helen, the mother of Constantine. In\nthe first is the scene when, before the Passion of the Saviour, three\nCrosses are constructed; in the second, S. Helen commanding certain\nHebrews to reveal those Crosses to her; in the third, the Hebrews not\nconsenting to reveal them, she causes to be cast into a well him who\nknows where they are; and in the fourth he reveals the place where all\nthree are buried. Those four scenes are beautiful beyond belief, and\nexecuted with great care. On the side-walls are four other scenes, two\nto each wall, and each is divided off by the cornice that forms the\nimpost of the arch upon which rests the groined vaulting of the chapel.\nIn one is S. Helen causing the Holy Cross and the two others to be drawn\nup from a well; and in the second is that of the Saviour healing a sick\nman. Of the pictures below, in that on the right hand is the same S.\nHelen recognizing the Cross of Christ because it restores to life a\ncorpse upon which it is laid; to the nude flesh of which corpse Daniello\ndevoted extraordinary pains, searching out all the muscles and seeking\nto render correctly all the parts of the body, as he also did in those\nwho are placing the Cross upon it, and in the bystanders, who are all\nstruck with amazement by the sight of that miracle. And, in addition,\nthere is a bier of bizarre shape painted with much diligence, with a\nskeleton embracing it, executed with great care and with beautiful\ninvention. In the other picture, which is opposite to the first, he\npainted the Emperor Heraclius walking barefoot and in his shirt, and\ncarrying the Cross of Christ through the gate of Rome, with men, women,\nand children kneeling, who are adoring it, many lords in his train, and\na groom who is holding his horse. Below each scene, forming a kind of\nbase, are two most beautiful women in chiaroscuro, painted in imitation\nof marble, who appear to be supporting those scenes. And under the first\narch, on the front side, he painted on the flat surface, standing\nupright, two figures as large as life, a S. Francesco di Paola, the head\nof the Order that administers the above-named church, and a S. Jerome\nrobed as a Cardinal, which are two very good figures, even as are those\nof the whole work, which Daniello executed in seven years, with\nincalculable labour and study.\n\nBut, since pictures that are executed in that way have always a certain\nhard and laboured quality, the work is wanting in the grace and facility\nthat give most pleasure to the eye. Wherefore Daniello, himself\nconfessing the fatigue that he had endured in the work, and fearing the\nfate that did come upon him (namely, that he would be censured), made\nbelow the feet of those two Saints, to please himself, and as it were in\nhis own defence, two little scenes of stucco in low-relief, in which he\nsought to show that, although he worked slowly and with effort,\nnevertheless, since Michelagnolo Buonarroti and Fra Sebastiano del\nPiombo were his friends, and he was always imitating their works and\nobserving their precepts, his imitation of those two men should be\nenough to defend him from the biting words of envious and malignant\npersons, whose evil nature must perforce be revealed, although they may\nnot think it. In one of these scenes, then, he made many figures of\nSatyrs that are weighing legs, arms, and other members of figures with a\nsteelyard, in order to put on one side those that are correct in weight\nand satisfactory, and to give those that are bad to Michelagnolo and Fra\nSebastiano, who are holding conference over them; and in the other is\nMichelagnolo looking at himself in a mirror, the significance of which\nis clear enough. At two angles of the arch, likewise, on the outer side,\nhe painted two nudes in chiaroscuro, which are of the same excellence as\nthe other figures in that work. When it was all uncovered, which was\nafter a very long time, it was much extolled, and held to be a very\nbeautiful work and a triumph over difficulties, and the painter a most\nexcellent master.\n\nAfter that chapel, Cardinal Alessandro Farnese caused him to execute in\na room in his Palace--namely, at the corner, under one of those very\nrich ceilings made under the direction of Maestro Antonio da San Gallo\nfor three large chambers that are in a line--a very beautiful frieze in\npainting, with a scene full of figures on each wall, the scenes being a\nvery beautiful triumph of Bacchus, a Hunt, and others of that kind.\nThese much pleased the Cardinal, who caused him to paint, in addition,\nin several parts of that frieze, the Unicorn in various forms in the lap\nof a Virgin, which is the device of that most illustrious family. Which\nwork was the reason that that lord, who has ever been the friend of all\ntalented and distinguished men, always favoured him, and even more would\nhe have done it, if Daniello had not been so dilatory over his work; but\nfor that Daniello was not to blame, seeing that such was his nature and\ngenius, and he was content to do little well rather than much not so\nwell. Now, in addition to the affection that the Cardinal bore him,\nSignor Annibale Caro worked on his behalf in such a manner with his\npatrons, the Farnesi, that they always assisted him. And for Madama\nMargherita of Austria, the daughter of Charles V, he painted in eight\nspaces in the study of which mention has been made in the Life of\nIndaco, in the Palace of the Medici on the Piazza Navona, eight little\nstories of the actions and illustrious deeds of the above-named Emperor\nCharles V, with such diligence and excellence, that it would be almost\nimpossible to do better in that kind of work.\n\nIn the year 1547 Perino del Vaga died, leaving unfinished the Hall of\nKings, which, as has been related, is in the Papal Palace, in front of\nthe Sistine and Pauline Chapels; and by the mediation of many friends\nand lords, and in particular of Michelagnolo Buonarroti, Daniello was\nset in his place by Pope Paul III, with the same salary that Perino had\nreceived, and was commanded to make a beginning with the ornaments of\nthe walls that were to be executed in stucco, with many nudes in the\nround over certain pediments. Now, since the walls of that Hall are\nbroken by six large doors in variegated marble, and only one wall is\nleft unbroken, Daniello made over each door what is almost a tabernacle\nin stucco, of great beauty. In each of these he intended to execute in\npainting one of those Kings who have defended the Apostolic Church, and\nthen to continue on the walls with stories of those Kings who have\nbenefited the Church with tributes or victories, so that in all there\nwere to be six stories and six niches. After those niches, or rather,\ntabernacles, Daniello with the aid of many assistants executed all the\nother very rich decorations in stucco that are to be seen in that Hall,\nstudying at the same time over the cartoons for all that he had proposed\nto do in that place in the way of painting. Which done, he made a\nbeginning with one of the stories, but he did not paint more than about\ntwo braccia of it, and two of the Kings in the tabernacles of stucco\nover the doors. For, although he was pressed by Cardinal Farnese and by\nthe Pope, not reflecting that death very often spoils the designs of\nmen, he carried on the work so slowly that when in the year 1549 the\ndeath of the Pope took place, there was nothing done save what has been\ndescribed; and then, the Conclave having to be held in the Hall, which\nwas full of scaffolding and woodwork, it became necessary to throw\neverything to the ground and uncover the work. The whole being thus seen\nby everyone, the works in stucco were vastly extolled, as they deserved,\nbut not so the two Kings in painting, for it was thought that they were\nnot equal in excellence to the work at the Trinita, and that with all\nthose fine allowances and advantages he had gone rather backward than\nforward.\n\nJulius III having been created Pontiff in the year 1550, Daniello put\nhimself forward by means of friends and interests, hoping to obtain the\nsame salary and to continue the work of that Hall, but the Pope, not\nhaving any inclination in his favour, always put him off; indeed,\nsending for Giorgio Vasari, who had been his servant from the time when\nhe was Archbishop of Siponto, he made use of him in all matters\nconcerned with design. Nevertheless, his Holiness having determined to\nmake a fountain at the head of the corridor of the Belvedere, and not\nliking a design by Michelagnolo (in which was Moses striking the rock\nand causing water to flow from it) because it was a thing that could not\nbe carried out without a great expenditure of time, since Michelagnolo\nwished to make it of marble; his Holiness, I say, preferring the advice\nof Giorgio, which was that the Cleopatra, a divine figure made by the\nGreeks, should be set up in that place, the charge of that work was\ngiven by means of Buonarroti to Daniello, with orders that he should\nmake in the above-named place a grotto in stucco-work, within which that\nCleopatra was to be placed. Daniello, then, having set his hand to that\nwork, pursued it so slowly, although he was much pressed, that he\nfinished only the stucco-work and the paintings in that room, but as for\nthe many other things that the Pope wished to have done, seeing them\ndelayed longer than he had expected, he lost all desire for them, so\nthat nothing more was done and everything was left in the condition that\nis still to be seen.\n\nIn a chapel in the Church of S. Agostino Daniello painted in fresco,\nwith figures of the size of life, S. Helen causing the Cross to be\nfound, and in two niches at the sides S. Cecilia and S. Lucia, which\nwork was painted partly by him and partly, after his designs, by the\nyoung men who worked with him, so that it did not prove as perfect as\nhis others. At this same time there was allotted to him by Signora\nLucrezia della Rovere a chapel in the Trinita, opposite to that of\nSignora Elena Orsina. In that chapel, having divided it into\ncompartments with stucco-work, he had the vaulting painted with stories\nof the Virgin, after his own cartoons, by Marco da Siena and Pellegrino\nda Bologna; on one of the walls he caused the Nativity of the Virgin to\nbe painted by the Spaniard Bizzerra, and on the other, by Giovan Paolo\nRossetti of Volterra, his disciple, the Presentation of Jesus Christ to\nSimeon; and he caused the same Giovan Paolo to execute two scenes that\nare on the arches above, Gabriel bringing the Annunciation to the Virgin\nand the Nativity of Christ. On the outer side, at the angles, he painted\ntwo large figures, and on the pilasters, at the foot, two Prophets. On\nthe altar-front Daniello painted with his own hand the Madonna ascending\nthe steps of the Temple, and on the principal wall the same Virgin\nascending into Heaven, borne by many most beautiful Angels in the forms\nof little boys, and the twelve Apostles below, gazing on her as she\nascends. And since the place would not hold so many figures, and he\ndesired to use a new invention in the work, he made it appear as if the\naltar of that chapel were the sepulchre, and placed the Apostles around\nit, making their feet rest on the floor of the chapel, where the altar\nbegins; which method of Daniello's has pleased some, but others, who\nform the greater and better part, not at all. And although Daniello\ntoiled fourteen years over executing that work, it is not a whit better\nthan the first. On the last wall of the chapel that remained to be\nfinished, on which there was to be painted the Massacre of the\nInnocents, having himself made the cartoons, he had the whole executed\nby the Florentine Michele Alberti, his disciple.\n\nThe Florentine Monsignor M. Giovanni della Casa, a man of great learning\n(to which his most pleasing and learned works, both in Latin and in the\nvulgar tongue, bear witness), having begun to write a treatise on the\nmatters of painting, and wishing to enlighten himself as to certain\nminute particulars with the help of men of the profession, commissioned\nDaniello to make with all possible care a finished model of a David in\nclay. And then he caused him to paint, or rather, to copy in a picture,\nthe same David, which is very beautiful, from either side, both the\nfront and the back, which was a fanciful notion; and that picture now\nbelongs to M. Annibale Rucellai. For the same M. Giovanni he executed a\nDead Christ with the Maries; and, on a canvas that was to be sent to\nFrance, Æneas disrobing in order to go to sleep with Dido, and\ninterrupted by Mercury, who is represented as speaking to him in the\nmanner that may be read in the verses of Virgil. And he painted for the\nsame man in another picture, likewise in oils, a most beautiful S. John\nin Penitence, of the size of life, which was held very dear by that lord\nas long as he lived; and also a S. Jerome, beautiful to a marvel.\n\nPope Julius III having died, and Paul IV having been elected Supreme\nPontiff, the Cardinal of Carpi sought to persuade his Holiness to give\nthe above-mentioned Hall of Kings to Daniello to finish, but that Pope,\nnot delighting in pictures, answered that it was much better to fortify\nRome than to spend money on painting it. And so he caused a beginning to\nbe made with the great portal of the Castle, after the design of\nSalustio, the son of Baldassarre Peruzzi of Siena and his architect, and\nordained that in that work, which was being executed all in travertine,\nafter the manner of a sumptuous and magnificent triumphal arch, there\nshould be placed in niches five statues, each of four braccia and a\nhalf; whereupon Daniello was commissioned to make an Angel Michael, the\nother statues having been allotted to other craftsmen. Meanwhile\nMonsignor Giovanni Riccio, Cardinal of Montepulciano, resolved to erect\na chapel in S. Pietro a Montorio, opposite to that which Pope Julius had\ncaused to be built under the direction of Giorgio Vasari, and he\nallotted the altar-piece, the scenes in fresco and the statues of marble\nthat were going into it, to Daniello; and Daniello, by that time\ncompletely determined that he would abandon painting and devote himself\nto sculpture, went off to Carrara to have the marble quarried both for\nthe S. Michael and for the statues that he was to make for the chapel in\nS. Pietro a Montorio. With that occasion, coming to see Florence and the\nworks that Vasari was executing in the Palace for the Duke, and the\nother works in that city, he received many courtesies from his\ninnumerable friends, and in particular from Vasari himself, to whom\nBuonarroti had recommended him by letter. Abiding in Florence, then, and\nperceiving how much the Lord Duke delighted in all the arts of design,\nDaniello was seized with a desire to attach himself to the service of\nhis most illustrious Excellency. Many means being therefore employed,\nthe Lord Duke replied to those who were recommending him that he should\nbe introduced by Vasari, and so it was done; and Daniello offering\nhimself as the servant of his Excellency, the Duke answered graciously\nthat he accepted him most willingly, and that after he had fulfilled the\nengagements that he had in Rome, he should come when he pleased, and he\nwould be received very gladly.\n\nDaniello stayed all that summer in Florence, where Giorgio lodged him in\nthe house of Simon Botti, who was much his friend. There, during that\ntime, he cast in gesso nearly all the figures of marble by the hand of\nMichelagnolo that are in the new sacristy of S. Lorenzo; and for the\nFleming Michael Fugger he made a Leda, which was a very beautiful\nfigure. He then went to Carrara, and from there, having sent the marble\nthat he desired in the direction of Rome, he returned once again to\nFlorence, for the following reason. Daniello had brought with him, when\nhe first came from Rome to Florence, a young disciple of his own called\nOrazio Pianetti, a talented and very gentle youth; but no sooner had he\narrived in Florence, whatever may have been the reason, than he died.\nAt which feeling infinite grief and sorrow, Daniello, as one who much\nloved the young man for his fine qualities, and was not able to show his\naffection for him in any other way, returning that last time to\nFlorence, made a portrait of him in marble from the breast upwards,\nwhich he copied excellently well from one moulded from his dead body.\nAnd when it was finished, he placed it with an epitaph in the Church of\nS. Michele Berteldi on the Piazza degli Antinori; in which Daniello\nproved himself, by that truly loving office, to be a man of rare\ngoodness, and a different sort of friend to his friends from the kind\nthat is generally seen at the present day, when there are very few to be\nfound who value anything in friendship beyond their own profit and\nconvenience.\n\nAfter these things, it being a long time since he had been in his native\ncity of Volterra, he went there before returning to Rome, and was warmly\nwelcomed by his relatives and friends. Being besought to leave some\nmemorial of himself in his native place, he executed the story of the\nInnocents in a small panel with little figures, which was held to be a\nvery beautiful work, and placed it in the Church of S. Piero. Then,\nthinking that he would never return, he sold the little that he\npossessed there by way of patrimony to Leonardo Ricciarelli, his nephew,\nwho, having been with him in Rome, and having learned very well how to\nwork in stucco, afterwards served Giorgio Vasari for three years, in\ncompany with many others, in the works that were executed at that time\nin the Palace of the Duke.\n\nWhen Daniello had finally returned to Rome, Pope Paul IV having a desire\nto throw to the ground the Judgment of Michelagnolo on account of the\nnudes, which seemed to him to display the parts of shame in an unseemly\nmanner, it was said by the Cardinals and by men of judgment that it\nwould be a great sin to spoil them, and they found a way out of it,\nwhich was that Daniello should paint some light garments to cover them;\nand the business was afterwards finished in the time of Pius IV by\nrepainting the S. Catherine and the S. Biagio, which were thought to be\nunseemly.\n\n[Illustration: THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS\n\n(_After the painting by =Daniello Ricciarelli=. Florence: Uffizi, 1107_)\n\n_Anderson_]\n\nIn the meantime he began the statues for the Chapel of the above-named\nCardinal of Montepulciano, and the S. Michael for the great portal; but\nnone the less, being a man who was always going from one notion to\nanother, he did not work with the promptitude that he could and should\nhave used. About this time, after King Henry of France had been killed\nin a tournament, Signor Ruberto Strozzi being about to come to Italy and\nto Rome, Queen Caterina de' Medici, having been left Regent in that\nkingdom, and wishing to erect some honourable memorial to her dead\nhusband, commanded the said Ruberto to confer with Buonarroti and to\ncontrive to have her desire in that matter fulfilled. Wherefore, having\narrived in Rome, he spoke long of the matter with Michelagnolo, who, not\nbeing able, because he was old, to accept that undertaking himself,\nadvised Signor Ruberto to give it to Daniello, saying that he would not\nfail to give him all the counsel and assistance that he could. To that\noffer Strozzi attached great importance, and, after they had considered\nwith much deliberation what should be done, it was resolved that\nDaniello should make a horse of bronze all in one piece, twenty palms\nhigh from the head to the feet, and about forty in length, and that upon\nit there should then be placed the statue of King Henry in armour,\nlikewise of bronze. Daniello having then made a little model of clay\nafter the advice and judgment of Michelagnolo, which much pleased Signor\nRuberto, an account of everything was written to France, and in the end\nan agreement was made between him and Daniello as to the method of\nexecuting that work, the time, the price, and every other thing.\nWhereupon Daniello, setting to work with much study on the horse, made\nit in clay exactly as it was to be, without ever doing any other work;\nand then, having made the mould, he was proceeding to prepare to cast\nit, and, the work being of such importance, was taking advice from many\nfounders as to the method that he ought to pursue, to the end that it\nmight come out well, when Pius IV, who had been elected Pontiff after\nthe death of Paul, gave Daniello to understand that he desired, as has\nbeen related in the Life of Salviati, that the work of the Hall of Kings\nshould be finished, and that therefore every other thing was to be put\non one side. To which Daniello answered that he was fully occupied and\npledged to the Queen of France, but would make the cartoons and have the\nwork carried forward by his young men, and, in addition, would also do\nhis own part in it. The Pope, not liking that answer, began to think of\nallotting the whole to Salviati; wherefore Daniello, seized with\njealousy, so went to work with the help of the Cardinal of Carpi and\nMichelagnolo, that the half of that Hall was given to him to paint, and\nthe other half, as we have related, to Salviati, although Daniello did\nhis utmost to obtain the whole, in order to proceed with it at his\nleisure and convenience, without competition. But in the end the matter\nof that work was handled in such a manner, that Daniello did not do\nthere one thing more than what he had done before, and Salviati did not\nfinish the little that he had begun, and even that little was thrown to\nthe ground for him by certain malicious persons.\n\nFinally, after four years, Daniello was ready, so far as concerned him,\nto cast the above-mentioned horse, but he was obliged to wait many\nmonths more than he would otherwise have done, for want of the supplies\nof iron instruments, metal, and other materials that Signor Ruberto was\nto give him. But in the end, all these things having been provided,\nDaniello embedded the mould, which was a vast mass, between two furnaces\nfor founding in a very suitable room that he had at Monte Cavallo. The\nmaterial being melted and the orifices unstopped, for a time the metal\nran well enough, but at length the weight of the metal burst the mould\nof the body of the horse, and all the molten material flowed in a wrong\ndirection. At first this much troubled the mind of Daniello, but none\nthe less, having thought well over everything, he found a way to remedy\nthat great misfortune; and so after two months, casting it a second\ntime, his ability prevailed over the impediments of Fortune, so that he\nexecuted the casting of that horse (which is a sixth, or more, larger\nthan that of Antoninus which is on the Campidoglio) perfectly uniform\nand equally delicate throughout, and it is a marvellous thing that a\nwork so large should not weigh more than twenty thousand (libbre).\n\nBut such were the discomforts and fatigues that were endured in the work\nby Daniello, who was rather feeble in constitution and melancholy than\notherwise, that not long afterwards there came upon him a cruel catarrh,\nwhich much reduced him; indeed, whereas Daniello should have been happy\nat having surmounted innumerable difficulties in so rare a casting, it\nseemed that he never smiled again, no matter what good fortune might\nbefall him, and no long time passed before that catarrh, after an\nillness of two days, robbed him of his life, on the 4th of April, 1566.\nBut before that, having foreseen his death, he confessed very devoutly,\nand demanded all the Sacraments of the Church; and then, making his\nwill, he directed that his body should be buried in the new church that\nhad been begun at the Baths by Pius IV for the Carthusian Monks,\nordaining also that at his tomb, in that place, there should be set up\nthe statue of the Angel that he had formerly begun for the great portal\nof the Castle. And of all this he gave the charge to the Florentine\nMichele degli Alberti and to Feliciano of San Vito in the district of\nRome, making them executors of his will in those matters, and leaving\nthem two hundred crowns for the purpose. Which last wishes of Daniello's\nthe two of them executed with diligence and love, giving him honourable\nburial in that place, according as he had directed. To the same men he\nleft all his property pertaining to art, moulds in gesso, models,\ndesigns, and all the other materials and implements of his work;\nwherefore they offered themselves to the Ambassador of France, saying\nthat they would deliver completely finished, within a fixed time, the\nwork of the horse and the figure of the King that was to go upon it.\nAnd, in truth, both of them having practised many years under the\ninstruction and discipline of Daniello, the greatest things may be\nexpected from them.\n\nDisciples of Daniello, likewise, have been Biagio da Carigliano of\nPistoia, and Giovan Paolo Rossetti of Volterra, who is a very diligent\nperson and of most beautiful genius; which Giovan Paolo, having retired\nto Volterra many years ago, has executed, as he still does, works worthy\nof much praise. Another who also worked with Daniello, and made much\nproficience, was Marco da Siena, who, having made his way to Naples and\nchosen that city as his home, lives there and is constantly at work. And\nGiulio Mazzoni of Piacenza has likewise been a disciple of Daniello;\nwhich Giulio received his first instruction from Vasari, when Giorgio\nwas executing in Florence an altar-piece for M. Biagio Mei, which was\nsent to Lucca and placed in S. Piero Cigoli, and when the same Giorgio\nwas painting the altar-piece of the high-altar and a great work in the\nrefectory of Monte Oliveto at Naples, besides the Sacristy of S.\nGiovanni Carbonaro and the doors of the organ in the Piscopio, with\nother altar-pieces and pictures. Giulio, having afterwards learned from\nDaniello to work in stucco, in which he equalled his master, has adorned\nwith his own hand all the interior of the Palace of Cardinal\nCapodiferro, executing there marvellous works not only in stucco, but\nalso of scenes in fresco and in oils, which have won him infinite\npraise, and that rightly. The same master has made a head of Francesco\ndel Nero in marble, copying it so well from the life, that I do not\nbelieve that it is possible to do better; wherefore it may be hoped that\nhe is destined to achieve a very fine result, and to attain to the\ngreatest excellence and perfection that a man can reach in these our\narts.\n\nDaniello was an orderly and excellent man, but so intent on the studies\nof art, that he gave little thought to the other circumstances of his\nlife. He was a melancholy person, and very solitary; and he died at\nabout the age of fifty-seven. A request for his portrait was made to\nthose disciples of his, who had taken it in gesso, and when I was in\nRome last year they promised it to me; but, for all the messages and\nletters that I have sent to them, they have refused to give it, thus\nshowing little affection for their dead master. However, I have been\nunwilling to be hindered by that ingratitude on their part, seeing that\nDaniello was my friend, and I have included the portrait given above,\nwhich, although it is little like him, must serve as a proof of my\ndiligence and of the little care and lovingness of Michele degli\nAlberti and Feliciano da San Vito.\n\n\n\n\nTADDEO ZUCCHERO\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF TADDEO ZUCCHERO\n\nPAINTER OF SANT'AGNOLO IN VADO\n\n\nFrancesco Maria being Duke of Urbino, there was born in the township of\nSant'Agnolo in Vado, a place in that State, on the 1st of September in\nthe year 1529, to the painter Ottaviano Zucchero, a male child to whom\nhe gave the name of Taddeo; which boy having learned by the age of ten\nto read and write passing well, his father took him under his own\ndiscipline and taught him something of design. But, perceiving that his\nson had a very beautiful genius and was likely to become a better master\nin painting than he believed himself to be, Ottaviano placed him with\nPompeo da Fano, who was very much his friend, but a commonplace painter.\nPompeo's works not pleasing Taddeo, and likewise his ways, he returned\nto Sant'Agnolo, and there, as well as in other places, assisted his\nfather to the best of his power and knowledge. Finally, being well grown\nin years and in judgment, and perceiving that he could not make much\nprogress under the discipline of his father, who was burdened with seven\nsons and one daughter, and also that with his own little knowledge he\ncould not be of as much assistance to his father as he might wish, he\nwent off all alone, at the age of fourteen, to Rome. There, at first,\nnot being known by anyone, and himself knowing no one, he suffered some\nhardships; and, if he did know one or two persons, he was treated worse\nby them than by the others. Thus, having approached Francesco, called\nSant'Agnolo, who was working by the day at grotesques under Perino del\nVaga, he commended himself to him with all humility, praying him that,\nbeing his kinsman, he should consent to help him; but no good came of\nit, for Francesco, as certain kinds of kinsmen often do, not only did\nnot assist him by word or deed, but reproved and repelled him harshly.\nBut for all that, not losing heart and not being dismayed, the poor boy\ncontrived to maintain himself (or we should rather say, to starve\nhimself) for many months in Rome by grinding colours for a small price,\nnow in one shop and now in another, at times also drawing something, as\nbest he could. And although in the end he placed himself as an assistant\nwith one Giovan Piero Calavrese, he did not gain much profit from that,\nfor the reason that his master, together with his wife, a shrew of a\nwoman, not only made him grind colours all day and all night, but even,\namong other things, kept him in want of bread, which, lest he should be\nable to have enough or to take it at his pleasure, they used to keep in\na basket hung from the ceiling, with some little bells, which would ring\nat the least touch of a hand on the basket, and thus give the alarm. But\nthis would have caused little annoyance to Taddeo, if only he had had\nany opportunity of drawing some designs by the hand of Raffaello da\nUrbino that his pig of a master possessed.\n\nOn account of these and many other strange ways Taddeo left Giovan\nPiero, and resolved to live by himself and to have recourse to the\nworkshops of Rome, where he was by that time known, spending a part of\nthe week in doing work for a livelihood, and the rest in drawing,\nparticularly the works by the hand of Raffaello that were in the house\nof Agostino Chigi and in other places in Rome. And since very often,\nwhen the evening came on, he had no place wherein to sleep, many a night\nhe took refuge under the loggie of the above-named Chigi's house and in\nother suchlike places; which hardships did something to ruin his\nconstitution, and, if his youth had not helped him, they would have\nkilled him altogether. As it was, falling ill, and not being assisted by\nhis kinsman Francesco Sant'Agnolo any more than he had been before, he\nreturned to his father's house at Sant'Agnolo, in order not to finish\nhis life in such misery as that in which he had been living.\n\nHowever, not to waste any more time on matters that are not of the first\nimportance, now that I have shown at sufficient length with what\ndifficulties and hardships he made his proficience, let me relate that\nTaddeo, at length restored to health and once more in Rome, resumed his\nusual studies, but with more care of himself than he had taken in the\npast, and learned so much under a certain Jacopone, that he came into\nsome credit. Wherefore the above-mentioned Francesco, his kinsman, who\nhad behaved so cruelly toward him, perceiving that he had become an able\nmaster, and wishing to make use of him, became reconciled with him; and\nthey began to work together, Taddeo, who was of a kindly nature, having\nforgotten all his wrongs. And so, Taddeo making the designs, and both\ntogether executing many friezes in fresco in chambers and loggie, they\nwent on assisting one another.\n\nMeanwhile the painter Daniello da Parma, who had formerly been many\nyears with Antonio da Correggio, and had associated with Francesco\nMazzuoli of Parma, having undertaken to paint a church in fresco for the\nOffice of Works of S. Maria at Vitto,[21] beyond Sora, on the borders of\nthe Abruzzi, called Taddeo to his assistance and took him to Vitto. In\nwhich work, although Daniello was not the best painter in the world,\nnevertheless, on account of his age, and from his having seen the\nmethods of Correggio and Parmigiano, and with what softness they\nexecuted their paintings, he had such experience that, imparting it to\nTaddeo and teaching him, he was of the greatest assistance to him with\nhis words; no less, indeed, than another might have been by working\nbefore him. In that work, which was on a groined vaulting, Taddeo\npainted the four Evangelists, two Sibyls, two Prophets, and four not\nvery large stories of Jesus Christ and of the Virgin His Mother.\n\n         [Footnote 21: Alvito.]\n\nHe then returned to Rome, where, M. Jacopo Mattei, a Roman gentleman,\ndiscoursing with Francesco Sant'Agnolo of his desire to have the façade\nof his house painted in chiaroscuro, Francesco proposed Taddeo to him;\nbut he appeared to that gentleman to be too young, wherefore Francesco\nsaid to him that he should make trial of Taddeo in two scenes, which, if\nthey were not successful, could be thrown to the ground, and, if\nsuccessful, could be continued. Taddeo having then set his hand to the\nwork, the two first scenes proved to be such, that M. Jacopo was not\nonly satisfied with them, but astonished. In the year 1548, therefore,\nwhen Taddeo had finished that work, he was vastly extolled by all Rome,\nand that with good reason, because after Polidoro, Maturino, Vincenzio\nda San Gimignano, and Baldassarre da Siena, no one had attained in works\nof that kind to the standard that Taddeo had reached, who was then a\nyoung man only eighteen years of age. The stories of the work may be\nunderstood from these inscriptions, of the deeds of Furius Camillus, one\nof which is below each scene.\n\nThe first, then, runs thus--\n\n  TUSCULANI, PACE CONSTANTI, VIM ROMANAM ARCENT.\n\nThe second--\n\n  M.F.C. SIGNIFERUM SECUM IN HOSTEM RAPIT.\n\nThe third--\n\n  M.F.C. AUCTORE, INCENSA URBS RESTITUITUR.\n\nThe fourth--\n\n  M.F.C. PACTIONIBUS TURBATIS PRÆLIUM GALLIS NUNCIAT.\n\nThe fifth--\n\n  M.F.C. PRODITOREM VINCTUM FALERIO REDUCENDUM TRADIT.\n\nThe sixth--\n\n  MATRONALIS AURI COLLATIONE VOTUM APOLLINI SOLVITUR.\n\nThe seventh--\n\n  M.F.C. JUNONI REGINÆ TEMPLUM IN AVENTINO DEDICAT.\n\nThe eighth--\n\n  SIGNUM JUNONIS REGINÆ A VEIIS ROMAM TRANSFERTUR.\n\nThe ninth--\n\n  M.F.C. ... ANLIUS DICT. DECEM ... SOCIOS CAPIT.\n\nFrom that time until the year 1550, when Julius III was elected Pope,\nTaddeo occupied himself with works of no great importance, yet with\nconsiderable profits. In which year of 1550, the year of the Jubilee,\nOttaviano, the father of Taddeo, with his mother and another of their\nsons, went to Rome to take part in that most holy Jubilee, and partly,\nalso, to see their son. After they had been there some weeks with\nTaddeo, on departing they left with him the boy that they had brought\nwith them, who was called Federigo, to the end that he might cause him\nto study letters. But Taddeo judged him to be more fitted for painting,\nas indeed Federigo has since been seen to be from the excellent result\nthat he has achieved; and so, after he had learned his first letters,\nTaddeo began to make him give his attention to design, with better\nfortune and support than he himself had enjoyed. Meanwhile Taddeo\npainted in the Church of S. Ambrogio de' Milanesi, on the wall of the\nhigh-altar, four stories of the life of that Saint, coloured in fresco\nand not very large, with a frieze of little boys, and women after the\nmanner of terminal figures; which was a work of no little beauty. That\nfinished, he painted a façade full of stories of Alexander the Great,\nbeside S. Lucia della Tinta, near the Orso, beginning from his birth and\ncontinuing with five stories of the most noteworthy actions of that\nfamous man; which work won him much praise, although it had to bear\ncomparison with another façade near it by the hand of Polidoro.\n\nAbout that time Guidobaldo, Duke of Urbino, having heard the fame of the\nyoung man, who was his vassal, and desiring to give completion to the\nwalls of the chapel in the Duomo of Urbino, wherein Battista Franco, as\nhas been related, had painted the vaulting in fresco, caused Taddeo to\nbe summoned to Urbino. And he, leaving Federigo in Rome, under the care\nof persons who might make him give his attention to his studies, and\nlikewise another of his brothers, whom he placed with some friends to\nlearn the goldsmith's art, went off to Urbino, where many attentions\nwere paid him by that Duke; and then orders were given to him as to all\nthat he was to design in the matter of the chapel and other works. But\nin the meantime the Duke, as General to the Signori of Venice, had to\nvisit Verona and the other fortified places of that dominion, and he\ntook with him Taddeo, who copied for him the picture by the hand of\nRaffaello da Urbino which, as has been related in another place, is in\nthe house of the noble Counts of Canossa. And he afterwards began, also\nfor his Excellency, a large canvas with the Conversion of S. Paul,\nwhich, unfinished as he left it, is still in the possession of his\nfather Ottaviano at Sant'Agnolo.\n\nThen, having returned to Urbino, he occupied himself for a time with\ncontinuing the designs for the above-mentioned chapel, which were of the\nlife of Our Lady, as may be seen from some of them that are in the\npossession of his brother Federigo, drawn in chiaroscuro with the pen.\nBut, whether it was that the Duke had not made up his mind or considered\nTaddeo to be too young, or for some other reason, Taddeo remained with\nhim two years without doing anything but some pictures in a little study\nat Pesaro, a large coat of arms in fresco on the façade of the Palace,\nand a picture with a life-size portrait of the Duke, which were all\nbeautiful works. Finally the Duke, having to depart for Rome to receive\nfrom Pope Julius III his baton as General of Holy Church, left\ndirections that Taddeo was to proceed with the above-named chapel, and\nthat he was to be provided with all that he required for that purpose.\nBut the Duke's ministers, keeping him, as such men generally do, in want\nof everything, brought it about that Taddeo, after having lost two years\nof his time, had to go off to Rome, where, having found the Duke, he\nexcused himself adroitly, without blaming anyone, and promised that he\nwould not fail to do the work when the time came.\n\nIn the year 1551, Stefano Veltroni, of Monte Sansovino--having received\norders from the Pope and from Vasari to have adorned with grotesques the\napartments of the villa on the hill without the Porta del Popolo, which\nhad belonged to Cardinal Poggio--summoned Taddeo, and caused him to\npaint in the central picture a figure of Opportunity, who, having seized\nFortune by the locks, appears to be about to cut them with her shears\n(the device of that Pope); in which Taddeo acquitted himself very well.\nThen, Vasari having made before any of the others the designs for the\ncourt and the fountain at the foot of the new Palace, which were\nafterwards carried on by Vignuola and Ammanati and built by Baronino,\nProspero Fontana, in painting many pictures there, as will be related\nhereafter, availed himself not a little of Taddeo in many things. And\nthese were the cause of even greater benefits for him, for the Pope,\nliking his method of working, commissioned him to paint in some\napartments, above the corridor of the Belvedere, some little figures in\ncolour that served as friezes for those apartments; and in an open\nloggia, behind those that faced towards Rome, he painted in chiaroscuro\non the wall, with figures as large as life, all the Labours of\nHercules, which were destroyed in the time of Pope Paul IV, when other\napartments and a chapel were built there. At the Vigna of Pope Julius,\nin the first apartments of the Palace, he executed some scenes in\ncolour, and in particular one of Mount Parnassus, in the centre of the\nceilings, and in the court of the same he painted in chiaroscuro two\nscenes of the history of the Sabines, which are one on either side of\nthe principal door of variegated marble that leads into the loggia,\nwhence one descends to the fountain of the Acqua Vergine; all which\nworks were much commended and extolled.\n\nNow Federigo, while Taddeo was in Rome with the Duke, had returned to\nUrbino, and he had lived there and at Pesaro ever since; but Taddeo,\nafter the works described above, caused him to return to Rome, in order\nto make use of him in executing a great frieze in a hall, with others in\nother rooms, of the house of the Giambeccari on the Piazza di S.\nApostolo, and in other friezes that he painted in the house of M.\nAntonio Portatore at the Obelisk of S. Mauro, all full of figures and\nother things, which were held to be very beautiful. Maestro Mattivolo,\nthe Master of the Post, bought in the time of Pope Julius a site on the\nCampo Marzio, and built there a large and very commodious house, and\nthen commissioned Taddeo to paint the façade in chiaroscuro; which\nTaddeo executed there three stories of Mercury, the Messenger of the\nGods, which were very beautiful, and the rest he caused to be painted by\nothers after designs by his own hand. Meanwhile M. Jacopo Mattei, having\ncaused a chapel to be built in the Church of the Consolazione below the\nCampidoglio, allotted it to Taddeo to paint, knowing already how able he\nwas; and he willingly undertook to do it, and for a small price, in\norder to show to certain persons, who went about saying that he could do\nnothing save façades and other works in chiaroscuro, that he could also\npaint in colour. Having then set his hand to that work, Taddeo would\nonly touch it when he was in the mood and vein to do well, spending the\nrest of his time on works that did not weigh upon him so much in the\nmatter of honour; and so he executed it at his leisure in four years. On\nthe vaulting he painted in fresco four scenes of the Passion of Christ,\nof no great size, with most beautiful fantasies, and all so well\nexecuted in invention, design, and colouring, that he surpassed his own\nself; which scenes are the Last Supper with the Apostles, the Washing of\nFeet, the Prayer in the Garden, and Christ taken and kissed by Judas. On\none of the walls at the sides he painted in figures large as life Christ\nScourged at the Column, and on the other Pilate showing Him after the\nscourging to the Jews, saying \"Ecce Homo\"; above this last, in an arch,\nis the same Pilate washing his hands, and in the other arch, opposite to\nthat, Christ led before Annas. On the altar-wall he painted the same\nChrist Crucified, and the Maries at the foot of the Cross, with Our Lady\nin a swoon; on either side of her is a Prophet, and in the arch above\nthe ornament of stucco he painted two Sibyls; which four figures are\ndiscoursing of the Passion of Christ. And on the vaulting, about certain\nornaments in stucco, are four half-length figures representing the Four\nEvangelists, which are very beautiful. The whole work, which was\nuncovered in the year 1556, when Taddeo was not more than twenty-six\nyears of age, was held, as it still is, to be extraordinary, and he was\njudged by the craftsmen at that time to be an excellent painter.\n\nThat work finished, M. Mario Frangipane allotted to him his chapel in\nthe Church of S. Marcello, in which Taddeo made use, as he also did in\nmany other works, of the young strangers who are always to be found in\nRome, and who go about working by the day in order to learn and to gain\ntheir bread; but none the less for the time being he did not finish it\ncompletely. The same master painted in fresco in the Pope's Palace, in\nthe time of Paul IV, some rooms where Cardinal Caraffa lived, in the\ngreat tower above the Guard of Halberdiers; and two little pictures in\noils of the Nativity of Christ and the Virgin flying with Joseph into\nEgypt, which were sent to Portugal by the Ambassador of that Kingdom.\nThe Cardinal of Mantua, wishing to have painted with the greatest\npossible rapidity the whole interior of his Palace beside the Arco di\nPortogallo, allotted that work to Taddeo for a proper price; and Taddeo,\nbeginning it with the help of a good number of men, in a short time\ncarried it to completion, showing that he had very great judgment in\nbeing able to employ so many different brains harmoniously in so great\na work, and in managing the various manners in such a way, that the\nwork appears as if all by the same hand. In short, Taddeo satisfied in\nthat undertaking, with great profit to himself, the Cardinal and all who\nsaw it, disappointing the expectations of those who could not believe\nthat he was likely to succeed amid the perplexities of such a great\nwork.\n\nIn like manner, he painted some scenes with figures in fresco for M.\nAlessandro Mattei in some recesses in the apartments of his Palace near\nthe Botteghe Scure, and some others he caused to be executed by his\nbrother Federigo, to the end that he might become accustomed to the\nwork. Which Federigo, having taken courage, afterwards executed by\nhimself a Mount Parnassus in the recess of a ceiling in the house of a\nRoman gentleman called Stefano Margani, below the steps of the Araceli.\nWhereupon Taddeo, seeing Federigo confident and working by himself from\nhis own designs, without being assisted more than was reasonable by\nanyone, contrived to have a chapel allotted to him by the men of S.\nMaria dell'Orto a Ripa, making it almost appear that he intended to do\nit himself, for the reason that it would never have been given to\nFederigo alone, who was still a mere lad. Taddeo, then, in order to\nsatisfy these men, painted there the Nativity of Christ, and Federigo\nafterwards executed all the rest, acquitting himself in such a manner\nthat there could be seen the beginning of that excellence which is now\nmade manifest in him.\n\nIn those same times the Duke of Guise, who was then in Rome, desiring to\ntake an able and practised painter to paint his Palace in France, Taddeo\nwas proposed to him; whereupon, having seen some of his works, and\nliking his manner, he agreed to give him a salary of six hundred crowns\na year, on condition that Taddeo, after finishing the work that he had\nin hand, should go to France to serve him. And so Taddeo would have\ndone, the money for his preparations having been deposited in a bank, if\nit had not been for the wars that broke out in France at that time, and\nshortly afterwards the death of that Duke. Taddeo then went back to\nfinish the work for Frangipane in S. Marcello, but he was not able to\nwork for long without being interrupted, for, the Emperor Charles V\nhaving died, preparations were made for giving him most honourable\nobsequies in Rome, fit for an Emperor of the Romans, and to Taddeo were\nallotted many scenes from the life of that Emperor, and also many\ntrophies and other ornaments, which were made by him of pasteboard in a\nvery sumptuous and magnificent manner; and he finished the whole in\ntwenty-five days. For his labours, therefore, and those of Federigo and\nothers who had assisted him, six hundred crowns of gold were paid to\nhim.\n\nShortly afterwards he painted two great chambers at Bracciano for Signor\nPaolo Giordano Orsini, which were very beautiful and richly adorned with\nstucco-work and gold; in one the stories of Cupid and Psyche, and in the\nsecond, which had been begun previously by others, some stories of\nAlexander the Great; and others that remained for him to paint,\ncontinuing the history of the same Alexander, he caused to be executed\nby his brother Federigo, who acquitted himself very well. And then he\npainted in fresco for M. Stefano del Bufalo, in his garden near the\nfountain of Trevi, the Muses around the Castalian Fount and Mount\nParnassus, which was held to be a beautiful work.\n\nThe Wardens of Works of the Madonna of Orvieto, as has been related in\nthe Life of Simone Mosca, had caused some chapels with ornaments of\nmarble and stucco to be built in the aisles of their church, and had\nalso had some altar-pieces executed by Girolamo Mosciano of Brescia;\nand, having heard the fame of Taddeo by means of friends, they sent a\nsummons to him, and he went to Orvieto, taking with him Federigo. There,\nsettling to work, he executed two great figures on the wall of one of\nthose chapels, one representing the Active Life, and the other the\nContemplative, which were despatched with a very sure facility of hand,\nin the manner wherein he executed works to which he gave little study;\nand while Taddeo was painting those figures, Federigo painted three\nlittle stories of S. Paul in the recess of the same chapel. At the end\nof which, both having fallen ill, they went away, promising to return in\nSeptember. Taddeo returned to Rome, and Federigo to Sant'Agnolo with a\nslight fever; which having passed, at the end of two months he also\nreturned to Rome. There, Holy Week being close at hand, the two together\nset to work in the Florentine Company of S. Agata, which is behind the\nBanchi, and painted in four days on the vaulting and the recess of that\noratory, for a rich festival that was prepared for Holy Thursday and\nGood Friday, scenes in chiaroscuro of the whole Passion of Christ, with\nsome Prophets and other pictures, which caused all who saw them to\nmarvel.\n\nAfter that, Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, having brought very near\ncompletion his Palace of Caprarola, with Vignuola as architect, of whom\nthere will be an account in a short time, gave the charge of painting it\nall to Taddeo, on these conditions: that, since Taddeo did not wish to\nabandon his other works in Rome, he should be obliged to make all the\ncartoons, designs, divisions, and arrangements for the works in painting\nand in stucco that were to be executed in that place; that the men who\nwere to carry them into execution should be chosen by Taddeo, but paid\nby the Cardinal; and that Taddeo should be obliged to work there himself\nfor two or three months in the year, and to go there as many times as it\nmight be necessary to see how things were progressing, and to retouch\nall that was not to his satisfaction. And for all these labours the\nCardinal promised him a salary of two hundred crowns a year. Whereupon\nTaddeo, having so honourable an appointment and the support of so great\na lord, determined that he would give himself some peace of mind, and\nwould no longer accept any mean work in Rome, as he had done up to that\ntime; desiring, above all, to avoid the censure that many men of art\nlaid upon him, saying that from a certain grasping avarice he would\naccept any kind of work, in order to gain with the arms of others that\nwhich would have been to many of them an honest means to enable them to\nstudy, as he himself had done in his early youth. Against which\nreproaches Taddeo used to defend himself by saying that he did it on\naccount of Federigo and the other brothers that he had on his shoulders,\ndesiring that they should learn with his assistance.\n\nHaving thus resolved to serve Farnese and also to finish the chapel in\nS. Marcello, he obtained for Federigo from M. Tizio da Spoleti, the\nmaster of the household to the above-named Cardinal, the commission to\npaint the façade of a house that he had on the Piazza della Dogana, near\nS. Eustachio; which was very welcome to Federigo, for he had never\ndesired anything so much as to have some work altogether for himself.\nOn one part of the façade, therefore, he painted in colours the scene of\nS. Eustachio causing himself to be baptized with his wife and children,\nwhich was a very good work; and on the centre of the façade he painted\nthe same Saint, when, while hunting, he sees Jesus Christ on the Cross\nbetween the horns of a stag. Now since Federigo, when he executed that\nwork, was not more than twenty-eight[22] years of age, Taddeo, who\nreflected that the work was in a public place, and that it was of great\nimportance to the credit of Federigo, not only went sometimes to see him\nat his painting, but also at times insisted on retouching and improving\nsome part. Wherefore Federigo, after having had patience for a time,\nfinally, carried away on one occasion by the anger natural in one who\nwould have preferred to work by himself, seized a mason's hammer and\ndashed to the ground something (I know not what) that Taddeo had\npainted; and in his rage he stayed some days without going back to the\nhouse. Which being heard by the friends of both the one and the other of\nthem, they so went to work that the two were reconciled, on the\nunderstanding that Taddeo should be able to set his hand on the designs\nand cartoons of Federigo and correct them at his pleasure, but never the\nworks that he might execute in fresco, in oils, or in any other medium.\n\n         [Footnote 22: An error of the copyist or printer for\n         eighteen.]\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST\n\n(_After the panel by =Federigo Zucchero=. Florence: Uffizi, 270_)\n\n_Alinari_]\n\nFederigo having then finished the work of that house, it was universally\nextolled, and won him the name of an able painter. After that, Taddeo\nwas ordered to repaint in the Sala de' Palafrenieri those Apostles which\nRaffaello had formerly executed there in terretta, and which had been\nthrown to the ground by Paul IV; and he, having painted one, caused all\nthe others to be executed by his brother Federigo, who acquitted himself\nvery well. Next, they painted together a frieze in fresco-colours in one\nof the halls of the Palace of the Araceli. Then, a proposal being\ndiscussed, about the same time that they were working at the Araceli, to\ngive to Signor Federigo Borromeo as a wife the Lady Donna Virginia, the\ndaughter of Duke Guidobaldo of Urbino, Taddeo was sent to take her\nportrait, which he did excellently well; and before he departed from\nUrbino he made all the designs for a credence, which that Duke\nafterwards caused to be made in clay at Castel Durante, for sending to\nKing Philip of Spain. Having returned to Rome, Taddeo presented to the\nPope that portrait, which pleased him well enough; but such was the\ndiscourtesy of that Pontiff, or of his ministers, that the poor painter\nwas not recompensed even for his expenses.\n\nIn the year 1560 the Pope expected in Rome the Lord Duke Cosimo and the\nLady Duchess Leonora, his consort, and proposed to lodge their\nExcellencies in the apartments formerly built by Innocent VIII, which\nlook out upon the first court of the Palace and that of S. Pietro, and\nhave in front of them loggie that look out on the piazza where the\nBenediction is given; and Taddeo received the charge of painting the\npictures and some friezes that were to be executed there, and of\noverlaying with gold the new ceilings that had been made in place of the\nold ones, which had been consumed by time. In that work, which was\ncertainly a great and important undertaking, Federigo, to whom his\nbrother Taddeo gave the charge of almost the whole, acquitted himself\nvery well; but he incurred a great danger, for, as he was painting\ngrotesques in those loggie, he fell from a staging that rested on the\nmain part of the scaffolding, and was near coming to an evil end.\n\nNo long time passed before Cardinal Emulio, to whom the Pope had given\nthe charge of the matter, commissioned many young men, to the end that\nthe work might be finished quickly, to paint the little palace that is\nin the wood of the Belvedere, which was begun in the time of Pope Paul\nIV with a most beautiful fountain and many ancient statues as ornaments,\nafter an architectural design by Pirro Ligorio. The young men who worked\n(with great credit to themselves) in that place, were Federigo Barocci\nof Urbino, a youth of great promise, and Leonardo Cungi and Durante del\nNero, both of Borgo San Sepolcro, who executed the apartments of the\nfirst floor. At the head of the staircase, which was made in a spiral\nshape, the first room was painted by Santi Titi, a painter of Florence,\nwho acquitted himself very well; the larger room, which is beside the\nfirst, was painted by the above-named Federigo Zucchero, the brother of\nTaddeo; and the Sclavonian Giovanni dal Carso, a passing good master of\ngrotesques, executed another room beyond it. But, although each of the\nmen named above acquitted himself very well, nevertheless Federigo\nsurpassed all the others in some stories of Christ that he painted\nthere, such as the Transfiguration, the Marriage of Cana in Galilee, and\nthe Centurion kneeling before Christ. And of two that were still\nwanting, one was painted by Orazio Sammacchini, a Bolognese painter, and\nthe other by a certain Lorenzo Costa of Mantua. The same Federigo\nZucchero painted in that place the little loggia that looks out over the\nfish-pond. And then he painted a frieze in the principal hall of the\nBelvedere (to which one ascends by the spiral staircase), with stories\nof Moses and Pharaoh, beautiful to a marvel; the design for which work,\ndrawn and coloured with his own hand in a most beautiful drawing,\nFederigo himself gave not long since to the Reverend Don Vincenzio\nBorghini, who holds it very dear as a drawing by the hand of an\nexcellent painter. In the same place, also, Federigo painted the Angel\nslaying the first-born in Egypt, availing himself, in order to finish it\nthe quicker, of the help of many of his young men. But when those works\ncame to be valued by certain persons, the labours of Federigo and the\nothers were not rewarded as they should have been, because there are\namong our craftsmen in Rome, as well as in Florence and everywhere else,\nsome most malignant spirits who, blinded by prejudice and envy, are not\nable or not willing to recognize the merits of the works of others and\nthe deficiency of their own; and such persons are very often the reason\nthat the young men of fine genius, becoming dismayed, grow cold in their\nstudies and their work. After these works, Federigo painted in the\nOffice of the Ruota, about an escutcheon of Pope Pius IV, two figures\nlarger than life, Justice and Equity, which were much extolled; thus\ngiving time to Taddeo, meanwhile, to attend to the work of Caprarola and\nthe chapel in S. Marcello.\n\nIn the meantime his Holiness, wishing at all costs to finish the Hall of\nKings, after the many contentions that had taken place between Daniello\nand Salviati, as has been related, gave orders to the Bishop of Forlì as\nto all that he wished him to do in the matter. Wherefore the Bishop\nwrote to Vasari (on the 3rd of September in the year 1561), that the\nPope, wishing to finish the work of the Hall of Kings, had given him\nthe charge of finding men who might once and for all take it off his\nhands, and that therefore, moved by their ancient friendship and by\nother reasons, he besought Giorgio to consent to go to Rome in order to\nexecute that work, with the good pleasure and leave of his master the\nDuke, for the reason that, while giving satisfaction to his Holiness, he\nwould win much honour and profit for himself; praying him to answer as\nsoon as possible. Replying to which letter, Vasari said that, finding\nhimself very well placed in the service of the Duke, and remunerated for\nhis labours with rewards different from those that he had received from\nother Pontiffs in Rome, he intended to remain in the service of his\nExcellency, for whom he was at that very time to set his hand to a hall\nmuch greater than the Hall of Kings; and that there was no want in Rome\nof men who might be employed in that work. The above-named Bishop having\nreceived that answer from Vasari, and having conferred with his Holiness\nof the whole matter, Cardinal Emulio, immediately after receiving from\nthe Pontiff the charge of having that Hall finished, divided the work,\nas has been related, among many young men, some of whom were already in\nRome, and others were summoned from other places. To Giuseppe Porta of\nCastelnuovo della Garfagnana, a disciple of Salviati, were given two of\nthe largest scenes in the Hall; to Girolamo Siciolante of Sermoneta, one\nof the large scenes and one of the small; to Orazio Sammacchini of\nBologna one of the small scenes, to Livio da Forlì a similar one, and to\nGiovan Battista Fiorini of Bologna yet another of the small scenes.\nWhich hearing, Taddeo perceived that he had been excluded because it had\nbeen said to the above-named Cardinal Emulio that he was a person who\ngave more attention to gain than to glory and working well; and he did\nhis utmost with Cardinal Farnese to obtain a part of that work. But the\nCardinal, not wishing to move in the matter, answered him that his\nlabours at Caprarola should content him, and that it did not seem to him\nright that his own works should be neglected by reason of the rivalry\nand emulation between the craftsmen; adding also that, when a master\ndoes well, it is the works that give a name to the place, and not the\nplace to the works. Notwithstanding this, Taddeo so went to work by\nother means with Emulio, that finally he was commissioned to execute\none of the smaller scenes over a door, not being able, either by\nprayers or by any other means, to obtain the commission for one of the\nlarge scenes; and, in truth, it is said that Emulio was acting with\ncaution in the matter, for the reason that, hoping that Giuseppe\nSalviati would surpass all the others, he was minded to give him the\nrest, and perchance to throw to the ground all that might have been done\nby the others. Now, after all the men named above had carried their\nworks well forward, the Pope desired to see them all; and so, everything\nbeing uncovered, he recognized (and all the Cardinals and the best\ncraftsmen were of the same opinion) that Taddeo had acquitted himself\nbetter than any of the others, although all had done passing well. His\nHoliness, therefore, commanded Signor Agabrio that he should cause\nCardinal Emulio to commission him to execute one of the larger scenes;\nwhereupon the head-wall was allotted to him, wherein is the door of the\nPauline Chapel. And there he made a beginning with the work, but he did\nnot carry it any farther, for, the death of the Pope supervening,\neverything was uncovered for the holding of the Conclave, although many\nof those scenes had not been finished. Of the scene that Taddeo began in\nthat place, we have the design by his hand, sent to us by him, in the\nbook of drawings that we have so often mentioned.\n\nTaddeo painted at the same time, besides some other little things, a\npicture with a very beautiful Christ, which was to be sent to Caprarola\nfor Cardinal Farnese; which work is now in the possession of his brother\nFederigo, who says that he desires it for himself as long as he lives.\nThe picture receives its light from some weeping Angels, who are holding\ntorches. But since the works that Taddeo executed at Caprarola will be\ndescribed at some length in a little time, in discoursing of Vignuola,\nwho built that fabric, for the present I shall say nothing more of them.\n\nFederigo was meanwhile summoned to Venice, and made an agreement with\nthe Patriarch Grimani to finish for him the chapel in S. Francesco della\nVigna, which had remained incomplete, as has been related, on account of\nthe death of the Venetian Battista Franco. But, before he began that\nchapel, he adorned for that Patriarch the staircase of his Palace in\nVenice, with little figures placed with much grace in certain ornaments\nof stucco; and then he executed in fresco, in the above-named chapel,\nthe two stories of Lazarus and the Conversion of the Magdalene, the\ndesign of which, by the hand of Federigo, is in our book. Afterwards, in\nthe altar-piece of the same chapel, Federigo painted the story of the\nMagi in oils. And then he painted some pictures in a loggia, which are\nmuch extolled, at the villa of M. Giovan Battista Pellegrini, between\nChioggia and Monselice, where Andrea Schiavone and the Flemings,\nLamberto and Gualtieri, have executed many works.\n\nAfter the departure of Federigo, Taddeo continued to work in fresco all\nthat summer in the chapel of S. Marcello; and for that chapel, finally,\nhe painted in the altar-piece the Conversion of S. Paul. In that picture\nmay be seen, executed in a beautiful manner, the Saint fallen from his\nhorse and all dazed by the splendour and voice of Jesus Christ, whom he\ndepicted amid a Glory of Angels, in the act, so it appears, of saying,\n\"Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me?\" His followers, who are about him,\nare likewise struck with awe, and stand as if bereft of their senses. On\nthe vaulting, within certain ornaments of stucco, he painted in fresco\nthree stories of the same Saint. In one he is being taken as a prisoner\nto Rome, and disembarks on the Island of Malta; and there may be seen\nhow, on the kindling of the fire, a viper strikes at his hand to bite\nit, while some mariners, almost naked, stand in various attitudes about\nthe barque; in another is the scene when a young man, having fallen from\na window, is brought to S. Paul, who by the power of God restores him to\nlife; and in the third is the Beheading and Death of the Saint. On the\nwalls below are two large scenes, likewise in fresco; in one is S. Paul\nhealing a man crippled in the legs, and in the other a disputation,\nwherein he causes a magician to be struck with blindness; and both the\none and the other are truly most beautiful. But that work having been\nleft incomplete by reason of his death, Federigo has finished it this\nyear, and it has been thrown open to view with great credit to him. At\nthis same time Federigo executed some pictures in oils, which were sent\nto France by the Ambassador of that kingdom.\n\nThe little hall in the Farnese Palace having remained unfinished on\naccount of the death of Salviati (wanting two scenes, namely, at the\nentrance, opposite to the great window), Cardinal Sant'Agnolo, of the\nFarnese family, gave them to Taddeo to execute, and he carried them to\ncompletion very well. But nevertheless he did not surpass or even equal\nFrancesco in the works executed by him in the same apartment, as certain\nenvious and malignant spirits went about saying throughout Rome, in\norder to diminish the glory of Salviati by their foul calumnies; and\nalthough Taddeo used to defend himself by saying that he had caused the\nwhole to be executed by his assistants, and that there was nothing in\nthat work by his hand save the design and a few other things, such\nexcuses were not accepted, for the reason that a man who wishes to\nsurpass another in any competition, must not entrust the credit of his\nart to the keeping of feeble persons, for that is clearly the way to\nperdition. Thus Cardinal Sant'Agnolo, a man of truly supreme judgment in\nall things, and of surpassing goodness, recognized how much he had lost\nby the death of Salviati; for, although he was proud and even arrogant,\nand ill-tempered, in matters of painting he was truly most excellent.\nHowever, since the best craftsmen had disappeared from Rome, that lord,\nfor want of others, resolved to entrust the painting of the Great Hall\nin that Palace to Taddeo, who accepted it willingly, in the hope of\nbeing able to prove by means of every effort how great were his ability\nand knowledge.\n\nThe Florentine Lorenzo Pucci, Cardinal Santiquattro, had formerly caused\na chapel to be built in the Trinita, and all the vaulting to be painted\nby Perino del Vaga, with certain Prophets on the outer side, and two\nlittle boys holding the arms of that Cardinal. But the chapel remaining\nunfinished, with three walls still to be painted, when the Cardinal\ndied, those fathers, without any regard for what was just and\nreasonable, sold that chapel to the Archbishop of Corfu; and it was\nafterwards given by that Archbishop to Taddeo to paint. Now although,\nout of respect for the church and from other reasons, it may have been\nwell to find means of finishing the chapel, at least they should not\nhave allowed the arms of the Cardinal to be removed from the part that\nwas finished, only in order to place there those of the above-named\nArchbishop, which they could have set up in another place, instead of\noffering so manifest an affront to the memory of that good Cardinal.\nHaving thus so many works on his hands, Taddeo was every day urging\nFederigo to return from Venice. That Federigo, after having finished the\nchapel for the Patriarch, was negotiating to undertake to paint the\nprincipal wall of the Great Hall of the Council, where Antonio Viniziano\nhad formerly painted; but the rivalry and the contentions that he\nsuffered from the Venetian painters were the reason that neither they,\nwith all their interest, nor he, likewise, obtained it.\n\nMeanwhile Taddeo, having a desire to see Florence and the many works\nwhich, so he heard, Duke Cosimo had carried out and was still carrying\nout, and the beginning that his friend Giorgio Vasari was making in the\nGreat Hall; Taddeo, I say, pretending one day to go to Caprarola in\nconnection with the work that he was doing there, went off to Florence\nfor the Festival of S. John, in company with Tiberio Calcagni, a young\nFlorentine sculptor and architect. There, to say nothing of the city, he\nfound vast pleasure in the works of the many excellent sculptors and\npainters, ancient as well as modern; and if he had not had so many\ncharges and so many works on his hands, he would gladly have stayed\nthere some months. Thus he saw the preparations of Vasari for the\nabove-named Hall--namely, forty-four great pictures, of four, six,\nseven, or ten braccia each--in which he was executing figures for the\nmost part of six or eight braccia, with the assistance only of the\nFleming Giovanni Strada and Jacopo Zucchi, his disciples, and Battista\nNaldini, in all which he took the greatest pleasure, and, hearing that\nall had been executed in less than a year, it gave him great courage.\nWherefore, having returned to Rome, he set his hand to the above-named\nchapel in the Trinita, with the resolve that he would surpass himself in\nthe stories of Our Lady that were to be painted there, as will be\nrelated presently.\n\nNow Federigo, although he was pressed to return from Venice, was not\nable to refuse to stay in that city for the Carnival in company with the\narchitect Andrea Palladio. And Andrea, having made for the gentlemen of\nthe Company of the Calza a theatre in wood after the manner of a\nColosseum, in which a tragedy was to be performed, caused Federigo to\nexecute for the decoration of the same twelve large scenes, each seven\nfeet and a half square, with innumerable other stories of the actions\nof Hyrcanus, King of Jerusalem, after the subject of the tragedy; in\nwhich work Federigo gained much honour, from its excellence and from the\nrapidity with which he executed it. Next, Palladio going to Friuli to\nfound the Palace of Civitale, of which he had previously made the model,\nFederigo went with him in order to see that country; and there he drew\nmany things that pleased him. Then, after having seen many things in\nVerona and in many other cities of Lombardy, he finally made his way to\nFlorence, at the very time when festive preparations, rich and\nmarvellous, were being made for the coming of Queen Joanna of Austria.\nHaving arrived there, he executed, after the desire of the Lord Duke, a\nmost beautiful and fanciful Hunt in colours on a vast canvas that\ncovered the stage at the end of the Hall, and some scenes in chiaroscuro\nfor an arch; all which gave infinite satisfaction. From Florence he went\nto Sant' Agnolo, to revisit his relatives and friends, and finally he\narrived in Rome on the 16th of the January following; but he was of\nlittle assistance to Taddeo at that time, for the reason that the death\nof Pope Pius IV, followed by that of Cardinal Sant'Agnolo, interrupted\nthe work of the Hall of Kings and that of the Farnese Palace. Whereupon\nTaddeo, who had finished another apartment of rooms at Caprarola, and\nhad carried almost to completion the chapel in S. Marcello, proceeded to\ngive his attention to the work of the Trinita, much at his leisure, and\nto execute the Passing of Our Lady, with the Apostles standing about the\nbier.\n\nIn the meantime, also, Taddeo had obtained for Federigo a chapel to be\npainted in fresco in the Church of the Reformed Priests of Jesus at the\nObelisk of S. Mauro; and to that Federigo straightway set his hand.\nTaddeo, feigning to be angry because Federigo had delayed too long to\nreturn, appeared to care little for his arrival; but in truth he\nwelcomed it greatly, as was afterwards seen from the result. For he was\nmuch annoyed by having to provide for his house (of which annoyance\nFederigo had been accustomed to relieve him), and by the anxious care of\nthat brother who was employed as a goldsmith; but when Federigo came\nthey put many inconveniences to rights, in order to be able to attend to\ntheir work with a quiet mind. The friends of Taddeo were seeking\nmeanwhile to give him a wife, but he, being one who was accustomed to\nliving free, and feared that which generally happens (namely, that he\nwould bring into his house, together with the wife, a thousand vexatious\ncares and annoyances), could never make up his mind to it. Nay,\nattending to his work in the Trinita, he proceeded to make the cartoon\nof the principal wall, on which there was going the Ascension of Our\nLady into Heaven; while Federigo painted a picture of S. Peter in Prison\nfor the Lord Duke of Urbino; another, wherein is a Madonna in Heaven\nwith some Angels about her, which was to be sent to Milan; and a third\nwith a figure of Opportunity, which was sent to Perugia.\n\nThe Cardinal of Ferrara had kept many painters and masters in stucco at\nwork at the very beautiful villa that he has at Tivoli, and finally he\nsent Federigo there to paint two rooms, one of which is dedicated to\nNobility, and the other to Glory; in which Federigo acquitted himself\nvery well, executing there beautiful and fantastic inventions. That\nfinished, he returned to the work of the above-mentioned chapel in Rome,\nwhich he has carried to completion, painting in it a choir of many\nAngels and various Glories, with God the Father sending down the Holy\nSpirit upon the Madonna, who is receiving the Annunciation from the\nAngel Gabriel, while about her are six Prophets, larger than life and\nvery beautiful. Taddeo, meanwhile, continuing to paint the Assumption of\nthe Madonna in fresco in the Trinita, appeared to be driven by nature to\ndo in that work, as his last, the utmost in his power. And in truth it\nproved to be his last, for, having fallen ill of a sickness which at\nfirst appeared to be slight enough, and caused by the great heat that\nthere was that year, and which afterwards became very grave, he died in\nthe month of September in the year 1566; having first, like a good\nChristian, received the Sacraments of the Church, and seen the greater\npart of his friends, and leaving in his place his brother Federigo, who\nwas also ill at that time. And so in a short time, Buonarroti, Salviati,\nDaniello, and Taddeo having been taken from the world, our arts have\nsuffered a very great loss, and particularly the art of painting.\n\nTaddeo was very bold in his work, and had a manner passing soft and\npastose, and very far removed from the hardness often seen. He was very\nabundant in his compositions, and he made his heads, hands, and nudes\nvery beautiful, keeping them free of the many crudities over which\ncertain painters labour beyond all reason, in order to make it appear\nthat they understand anatomy and art; to which kind of men there often\nhappens that which befell him who, from his seeking to be in his speech\nmore Athenian than the Athenians, was recognized by a woman of the\npeople to be no Athenian. Taddeo also handled colours with much\ndelicacy, and he had great facility of manner, for he was much assisted\nby nature; but at times he sought to make too much use of it. He was so\ndesirous of having something of his own, that he continued for a time to\naccept any sort of work for the sake of gain; but for all that he\nexecuted many, nay, innumerable works worthy of great praise. He kept a\nnumber of assistants in order to finish his works, for the reason that\nit is not possible to do otherwise. He was sanguine, hasty, and quick to\ntake offence, and, in addition, much given to the pleasures of love; but\nnevertheless, although he was strongly inclined by nature to such\npleasures, he contrived to conduct his affairs with a certain degree of\ndecency, and very secretly. He was loving with his friends, and whenever\nhe could help them he never spared himself.\n\nAt his death he left the work in the Trinita not yet uncovered, and the\nGreat Hall in the Farnese Palace unfinished, and so also the works of\nCaprarola, but nevertheless these all remained in the hands of his\nbrother Federigo, whom the patrons of the works are content to allow to\ngive them completion, as he will do; and, in truth, Federigo will be\nheir to the talents of Taddeo no less than to his property. Taddeo was\ngiven burial by Federigo in the Ritonda of Rome, near the tabernacle\nwhere Raffaello da Urbino, his fellow-countryman, is buried; and\ncertainly they are well placed, one beside the other, for the reason\nthat even as Raffaello died at the age of thirty-seven and on the same\nday that he was born, which was Good Friday, so Taddeo was born on the\nfirst day of September, 1529, and died on the second day of the same\nmonth in the year 1566. Federigo is minded, if it should be granted to\nhim, to restore the other tabernacle in the Ritonda, and to make some\nmemorial in that place to his loving brother, to whom he knows himself\nto be deeply indebted.\n\nNow, since mention has been made above of Jacopo Barozzi of Vignuola,\nsaying that after his architectural designs and directions the most\nillustrious Cardinal Farnese has built his rich and even regal villa of\nCaprarola, let me relate that the same Jacopo Barozzi of Vignuola, a\nBolognese painter and architect, who is now fifty-eight years of age,\nwas placed in his childhood and youth to learn the art of painting in\nBologna, but did not make much proficience, because he did not receive\ngood guidance at the beginning. And also, to tell the truth, he had by\nnature much more inclination for architecture than for painting, as was\nclearly manifest even at that time from his designs and from the few\nworks of painting that he executed, for there were always to be seen in\nthem pieces of architecture and perspective; and so strong and potent in\nhim was that inclination of nature, that he may be said to have learned\nalmost by himself, in a short time, both the first principles and also\nthe greatest difficulties, and that very well. Wherefore, almost before\nhe was known, various designs with most beautiful and imaginative\nfantasies were seen to issue from his hand, executed for the most part\nat the request of M. Francesco Guicciardini, at that time Governor of\nBologna, and for others of his friends; which designs were afterwards\nput into execution in tinted woods inlaid after the manner of tarsia, by\nFra Damiano da Bergamo, of the Order of S. Domenico in Bologna. Vignuola\nthen went to Rome to work at painting, and to obtain from that art the\nmeans to assist his poor family; and at first he was employed at the\nBelvedere with Jacopo Melighini of Ferrara, the architect of Pope Paul\nIII, drawing some architectural designs for him. But afterwards, there\nbeing in Rome at that time an academy of most noble lords and gentlemen\nwho occupied themselves in reading Vitruvius (among whom were M.\nMarcello Cervini, who afterwards became Pope, Monsignor Maffei, M.\nAlessandro Manzuoli, and others), Vignuola set himself in their service\nto take complete measurements of all the antiquities of Rome, and to\nexecute certain works after their fancy; which circumstance was of the\ngreatest assistance to him both for learning and for profit. Meanwhile\nFrancesco Primaticcio, the Bolognese painter, of whom there will be an\naccount in another place, had arrived in Rome, and he made much use of\nVignuola in making moulds of a great part of the antiques in Rome, in\norder to take those moulds into France, and then to cast from them\nstatues in bronze similar to the antiques; which work having been\ndespatched, Primaticcio, in going to France, took Vignuola with him, in\norder to make use of him in matters of architecture and to have his\nassistance in casting in bronze the above-mentioned statues of which\nthey had made the moulds; which things, both the one and the other, he\ndid with much diligence and judgment. After two years had passed, he\nreturned to Bologna, according to the promise made by him to Count\nFilippo Pepoli, in order to attend to the building of S. Petronio. In\nthat place he consumed several years in discussions and disputes with\ncertain others who were his competitors in the affairs there, without\ndoing anything but design and cause to be constructed after his plans\nthe canal that brings vessels into Bologna, whereas before that they\ncould not come within three miles; than which work none better or more\nuseful was ever executed, although Vignuola, the originator of an\nenterprise so useful and so praiseworthy, was poorly rewarded for it.\n\nPope Julius III having been elected in the year 1550, by means of Vasari\nVignuola was appointed architect to his Holiness, and there was given to\nhim the particular charge of conducting the Acqua Vergine and of\nsuperintending the works at the Vigna of Pope Julius, who took Vignuola\ninto his service most willingly, because he had come to know him when he\nwas Legate in Bologna. In that building, and in other works that he\nexecuted for that Pontiff, he endured much labour, but was badly\nrewarded for it. Finally Cardinal Alessandro Farnese, having recognized\nthe genius of Vignuola, to whom he always showed much favour, desired,\nin carrying out the building of his Palace at Caprarola, that the whole\nwork should spring from the fanciful design and invention of Vignuola.\nAnd, in truth, the judgment of that lord in making choice of so\nexcellent an architect was no less than the greatness of his mind in\nsetting his hand to an edifice so noble and grand, which, although it is\nin a place where it can be enjoyed but little by men in general, being\nout of the way, yet is none the less marvellous in its site, and very\nsuitable for one who wishes at times to withdraw from the vexations and\ntumult of the city. This edifice, then, has the form of a pentagon, and\nis divided into four sets of apartments, without counting the front\npart, where the principal door is; in which front part is a loggia forty\npalms in breadth and eighty in length. On one side there curves in a\nround form a spiral staircase, ten palms wide across the steps, and\ntwenty palms across the space in the centre, which gives light to the\nstaircase, which curves from the base to the third or uppermost story;\nand these steps are all supported by double columns with cornices, which\ncurve in a round in accordance with the staircase. The whole is a rich\nand well-varied work, beginning with the Doric Order, and continuing in\nthe Ionic, the Corinthian, and the Composite, with a wealth of\nbalusters, niches, and other fanciful ornaments, which make it a rare\nthing, and most beautiful. Opposite to this staircase--namely, at the\nother of the corners that are one on either side of the above-mentioned\nloggia of the entrance--there is a suite of rooms that begins in a\ncircular vestibule equal in breadth to the staircase, and leads to a\ngreat hall on the ground floor, eighty palms long and forty broad. This\nhall is wrought in stucco and painted with stories of Jove--namely, his\nbirth, his being nursed by the Goat Amaltheia, and her coronation, with\ntwo other stories on either side of the last-named, showing her being\nplaced in the heavens among the forty-eight Heavenly Signs, and another\nsimilar story of the same Goat, which alludes, as also do the others, to\nthe name of Caprarola. On the walls of this hall are perspective-views\nof buildings drawn by Vignuola and coloured by his son-in-law, which are\nvery beautiful and make the room seem larger than it is. Beside this\nhall is a smaller hall", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31938", "title": "Lives of the most Eminent Painters Sculptors and Architects, Vol. 08 (of 10)\r\nBastiano to Taddeo Zucchero", "author": "", "publication_year": 1550, "metadata_title": "Lives of the most Eminent Painters Sculptors and Architects, Vol. 08 (of 10)", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:16.575828", "source_chars": 574835, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 120580}}
{"text": "Produced by Suzanne Shell, Susan T. Morin and the Online\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSee Transcriber's Notes at end of text.\n\n\n\n\nARTISTS PAST AND PRESENT\n\n\nBy the Same Author\n\n\n    =The Works of James McNeill Whistler.= Illustrated with\n        Many Reproductions of Etchings, Lithographs, Pastels and\n        Paintings, 6-3/4 × 9-1/4 Inches. Boxed, $4.00 Net.\n        (Postage 32 cents.)\n\n    A study of Whistler and his works, including etchings, lithographs,\n    pastels, water-colors, paintings, landscapes. Also a chapter on\n    Whistler's \"Theory of Art.\"\n\n\n    =The Same.--Limited Edition de Luxe.= The Limited Edition\n        of the Above Work, Illustrated with Additional Examples\n        on Japan and India Paper. Printed on Van Gelder Hand-made\n        Paper, with Wide Margins. Limited to 250 Numbered\n        and Signed Copies, of which a few are left unsold. Boxed,\n        $15.00 Net. (Postage Extra.)\n\n\n    =The Art of William Blake.= Uniquely and Elaborately Illustrated.\n        Size 7-1/2 × 10-1/2 Inches. Wide Margins. Boxed, $3.50\n        Net. (Postage 25 cents.)\n\n    A volume of great distinction, discussing the art of Blake in\n    several unusual phases, and dwelling importantly upon his\n    Manuscript Sketch Book, to which the author has had free access,\n    and from which the publishers have drawn freely for illustrations,\n    many of which have never been published before.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: DANS LA LOGE\n\n_From a painting by Mary Cassatt_]\n\n\n\n\nArtists Past and Present\n\nRANDOM STUDIES\n\nBY\n\nELISABETH LUTHER CARY\n\nAuthor of \"_The Art of William Blake_,\" \"_Whistler_,\" Etc.\n\n\n_ILLUSTRATED_\n\nNEW YORK\n\nMOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 1909\n\n\n\n\n_Copyright_,1909, _by_\n\nMOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY\n\nNEW YORK\n\n\nPUBLISHED, SEPTEMBER, 1909\n\n\n_The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                            PAGE\n\n    I. ANTOINE LOUIS BARYE                                     1\n\n   II. THE ART OF MARY CASSATT                                25\n\n  III. MAX KLINGER                                            37\n\n   IV. ALFRED STEVENS                                         49\n\n    V. A SKETCH IN OUTLINE OF JACQUES CALLOT                  61\n\n   VI. CARLO CRIVELLI                                         81\n\n  VII. THE CASSEL GALLERY                                     95\n\n VIII. FANTIN-LATOUR                                         109\n\n   IX. CARL LARSSON                                          119\n\n    X. JAN STEEN                                             131\n\n   XI. ONE SIDE OF MODERN GERMAN PAINTING                    143\n\n  XII. TWO SPANISH PAINTERS                                  165\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  DANS LA LOGE                                            _Frontispiece_\n _From a painting by Mary Cassatt_\n                                                               Facing\n                                                                 Page\n\n  PORTRAIT OF ANTOINE LOUIS BARYE                                2\n  _From a painting by J. F. Millet_\n\n  LION DEVOURING A DOE                                           6\n\n  BULL THROWN TO EARTH BY A BEAR                                 6\n  _From a bronze by Barye_\n\n  A LIONESS                                                      8\n  _From a bronze by Barye_\n\n  THE PRANCING BULL                                             10\n  _From a bronze by Barye_\n\n  PANTHER SEIZING A DEER                                        12\n  _From a bronze by Barye_\n\n  THE LION AND THE SERPENT                                      16\n  _From a bronze by Barye_\n\n  ASIAN ELEPHANT CRUSHING TIGER                                 20\n  _From a bronze by Barye_\n\n  CHILD RESTING                                                 28\n  _From an etching by Mary Cassatt_\n\n  ON THE BALCONY                                                32\n  _From a painting by Mary Cassatt_\n\n  WOMAN WITH A FAN                                              34\n  _From a painting by Mary Cassatt_\n\n  BEETHOVEN                                                     38\n  _From a statue in colored marble by Max Klinger_\n\n  CASSANDRA                                                     44\n  _From a statue in colored marble by Max Klinger_\n\n  L'ATELIER                                                     52\n  _From a painting by Alfred Stevens_\n\n  PORTRAIT OF JACQUES CALLOT                                    68\n  _Engraved by Vosterman after the painting of Van Dyck_\n\n  ST. DOMINIC                                                   84\n  _From a panel by Carlo Crivelli_\n\n  ST. GEORGE                                                    86\n  _From a panel by Carlo Crivelli_\n\n  PIETÀ                                                         88\n  _From a panel by Carlo Crivelli_\n\n  A PANEL BY CARLO CRIVELLI (_a_)                               90\n\n  A PANEL BY CARLO CRIVELLI (_b_)                               92\n\n  SASKIA                                                        98\n  _From a portrait by Rembrandt_\n\n  NICHOLAS BRUYNINGH                                           102\n  _From a portrait by Rembrandt_\n\n  PORTRAIT OF MME. MAÎTRE                                      112\n  _From a painting by Fantin-Latour_\n\n  MY FAMILY                                                    120\n  _From a painting by Carl Larsson_\n\n  A PAINTING BY CARL LARSSON                                   126\n\n  PEASANT WOMEN OF DACHAUER                                    148\n  _From a painting by Leibl_\n\n  FIDDLING DEATH                                               154\n  _From a portrait by Arnold Boecklin_\n\n  THE SWIMMERS                                                 166\n  _From a painting by Sorolla_\n\n  THE BATH--JÁVEA                                              168\n  _From a painting by Sorolla_\n\n  THE SORCERESSES OF SAN MILAN                                 170\n  _From a painting by Zuloaga_\n\n  THE OLD BOULEVARDIER                                         172\n  _From a painting by Zuloaga_\n\n  MERCEDÈS                                                     174\n  _From a painting by Zuloaga_\n\n\n\n\n\nARTISTS PAST AND PRESENT\n\n\n\n\n\nANTOINE LOUIS BARYE\n\n\nAt the Metropolitan Museum of Art are two pictures by the Florentine\npainter of the fifteenth century called Piero di Cosimo. They represent\nhunting scenes, and the figures are those of men, women, fauns, satyrs,\ncentaurs, and beasts of the forests, fiercely struggling together. As we\nobserve the lion fastening his teeth in the flesh of the boar, the bear\ngrappling with his human slayer, and the energy and determination of the\ncreatures at bay, our thought involuntarily bridges a chasm of four\ncenturies and calls up the image of the Barye bronzes in which are\ndisplayed the same detachment of vision, the same absence of\nsentimentality, the same vigor and intensity if not quite the same\nstrangeness of imagination. It is manifestly unwise to carry the parallel\nvery far, yet there is still another touch of similarity in the beautiful\nsurfaces. Piero's fine, delicate handling of pigment is in the same\nmanner of expression as Barye's exquisite manipulation of his metal after\nthe casting, his beautiful thin patines that do not suppress but reveal\nsensitive line and subtle modulation. We know little enough of Piero\nbeyond what his canvases tell us. Of Barye we naturally know more,\nalthough everything save what his work confides of his character and\ntemperament is of secondary importance, and he is interesting to moderns,\nespecially as the father of modern animal sculpture, and not for the\nevents of his quiet life.\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of the late Cyrus J. Lawrence, Esq.\n\nPORTRAIT OF ANTOINE LOUIS BARYE\n\n_From a painting by J. F. Millet_]\n\nAntoine Louis Barye, born at Paris September 15, 1796, died June 25,\n1875, in the same year with Corot and at the same age. The circumstances\nunder which he began his career have been told in detail by more than\none biographer, but it would be difficult rightly to estimate the\nimportance and singularity of his work without some review of them. His\nfather was a jeweler of Lyons, who settled in Paris before Antoine was\nborn, and whose idea of education for his son was to place him at less\nthan fourteen with an engraver of military equipments from whom he\nlearned to engrave on steel and other metals, and later with a jeweler\nfrom whom he learned to make steel matrixes for molding reliefs from\nthin metals. A certain stress has been laid on this lack of schooling in\nthe conventional sense of the word, but it is difficult to see that it\ndid much harm, since Barye, though he was not a correct writer of\nFrench, was a great reader, keenly intelligent in his analysis of the\nknowledge he gained from books, and with extraordinary power of turning\nit to his own uses. Such a mind does not seriously miss the\nadvantages offered by a formal training, and it might fairly be argued\nthat the manual skill developed at the work-bench was in the long run\nmore valuable to him than the abstract knowledge which he might have\nacquired in school could possibly have been. Be that as it may, up to\nthe time of his marriage in 1823 he had a varied apprenticeship. At\nsixteen he was drawn as a conscript and was first assigned to the\ndepartment where maps in relief are modeled. Before he was twenty-one he\nwas working with a sculptor called Bosio, and also in the studio of the\npainter, Baron Gros. He studied Lamarck, Cuvier and Buffon. He competed\nfive times for the _Prix de Rome_ at the Salon, once in the section of\nmedals and four times in the section of sculpture, succeeding once (in\nthe first competition) in gaining a second prize. He then went back to\nthe jeweler's bench for eight years, varying the monotony of his work by\nmodeling independently small reliefs of _Eagle and Serpent_, _Eagle and\nAntelope_, _Leopard_, _Panther_, and other animals.\n\nIn 1831 he sent to the Salon of that year the _Tiger Devouring a Gavial\nof the Ganges_, a beautiful little bronze, seven and a half inches high,\nwhich won a Second Medal and was bought by the Government for the\nLuxembourg. This was the beginning of his true career. In the same Salon\nwas exhibited his _Martyrdom of St. Sebastian_, but the powerful\nrealism and energy of the animal group represented what henceforth was\nto be Barye's characteristic achievement, the realization, that is, of\nwhat the Chinese call the \"movement of life;\" the strange reality of\nappearance that is never produced by imitation of nature and that makes\nthe greatness of art. The tiger clutches its victim with great gaunt\npaws, its eyes are fixed upon the prey, its body is drawn together with\ntense muscles, its tail is curled, the serpent is coiled about the\nmassive neck of its destroyer with large undulating curves. The touch is\neverywhere certain, the composition is dignified, and the group as an\nexhibition of extraordinary knowledge is noteworthy.\n\nA lithograph portrait of Barye by Gigoux, made at about this time, shows\na fine head, interested eyes, a firm mouth and a determined chin. His\nchief qualities were perseverance, scientific curiosity, modesty and\npride, and that indomitable desire for perfection so rarely encountered\nand so precious an element in the artist's equipment. He was little of a\ntalker, little of a writer, infinitely studious, somewhat reserved and\ncold in manner, yet fond of good company and not averse to good dinners.\nGuillaume said of him that he had the genius of great science and of\nhigh morality, which is the best possible definition in a single phrase\nof his artistic faculty. He had the kind of sensitiveness, or\nself-esteem, if you will, that frequently goes with a mind confident\nof its merits, but not indifferent to criticism or sufficiently elevated\nand aloof to dispense with resentment. In 1832 he sent to the Salon his\n_Lion Crushing a Serpent_, and in 1833 he sent a dozen animal\nsculptures, a group of medallions and six water-colors. That year he was\nmade chevalier of the Legion of Honour, but the following year nine\ngroups made for the Duke of Orleans were rejected by the Salon jury, and\nagain in 1836 several small pieces were rejected, although the _Seated\nLion_, later bought by the government, was accepted. The reasons for the\nrejections are not entirely clear, but Barye was an innovator, and in\nthe field of art the way of the innovator is far harder than that of the\ntransgressor. Charges of commercialism were among those made against\nhim, and he--the least commercial of men--took them deeply to heart. His\nbitterness assumed a self-respecting but an inconvenient and\nunprofitable form, as he made up his mind to exhibit thereafter only in\nhis own workshop, a resolution to which he held for thirteen years.\nAfter the rejection of his groups in 1834 he happened to meet Jules\nDupré, who expressed his disgust with the decision. \"It is quite easy to\nunderstand,\" Barye replied, \"I have too many friends on the jury.\" This\ntouch of cynicism indicates the ease with which he was wounded, but it\nwas equally characteristic of him that in planning his simple revenge\nhe hurt only himself. He did indeed refrain from sending his bronzes to\nthe Salon and he did act as his own salesman, and the result was the\nincurrence of a heavy debt. To meet this he was obliged to sell all his\nwares to a founder who wanted them for the purpose of repeating them in\ndebased reproductions. His own care in obtaining the best possible\nresults in each article that he produced, his reluctance to sell\nanything of the second class, and his perfectly natural dislike to\nparting with an especially beautiful piece under any circumstances, did\nnot, of course, work to his business advantage, although the amateurs\nwho have bought the bronzes that came from his own refining hand have\nprofited by it immensely. It would be a mistake, however, to think of\nhim as a crushed or even a deeply misfortunate man. He simply was poor\nand not appreciated by the general public according to his merits. After\n1850, however, he had enough orders from connoisseurs, many of them\nAmericans, and also from the French government to make it plain that his\nimportance as an artist was firmly established at least in the minds of\na few. He sold his work at low prices which since his death have been\ntrebled and quadrupled, in fact, some of his proofs have increased\nfifty-fold, but the fact that he was not overwhelmed with orders gave\nhim that precious leisure to spend upon the perfecting of his work\nwhich, we may fairly assume, was worth more to him than money.\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of the late Cyrus J. Lawrence, Esq.\n\nLION DEVOURING A DOE\n\n(\"LION DEVORANT UNE BICHE\")]\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of the late Cyrus J. Lawrence, Esq.\n\nBULL THROWN TO EARTH BY A BEAR\n\n(\"TAUREAU TERRASSÉ PAR UN OURS\")\n\n_From a bronze by Barye_]\n\nNor was he entirely without honor in his own country. At the Universal\nExposition of 1855 he received the Grand Medal of Honour in the section\nof artistic bronzes, and in the same year the Officer's Cross of Legion\nof Honour--a dignity that is said to have reached poor Rousseau only\nwhen he was too near death to receive the messengers. In 1868 Barye was\nmade Member of the Institute, although two years earlier he had been\nhumiliated by having his application refused. And from America, in\naddition to numerous proofs of the esteem in which he was held there by\nprivate amateurs, he received through Mr. Walters in 1875 an order to\nsupply the Corcoran Gallery at Washington with an example of every\nbronze he had made. This last tribute moved him to tears, and he\nreplied, \"Ah! Monsieur Walters, my own country has never done anything\nlike that for me!\" These certainly were far from being trivial\nsatisfactions, and Barye had also reaped a harvest of even subtler joys.\nOne likes to think of him in Barbizon, living in cordial intimacy with\nDiaz and Rousseau and Millet and the great Daumier. Here he had\nsympathy, excellent talk of excellent things, the company of artists\nworking as he did, with profound sincerity and intelligence, and he had\na chance himself to paint in the vast loneliness of the woods where he\ncould let his imagination roam, and could find a home for his tigers and\nlions and bears studied in menageries and in the _Jardin des Plantes_.\nIt is pleasant also to think of him among the five and twenty _Amis du\nVendredi_ dining together at little wineshops on mutton and cheese and\nwine with an occasional pâté given as a treat by some member in funds\nfor the moment. He was not above enthusiasm for \"_un certain pâté de\nmaquereau de Calais_\" and he was fond of the theater and of all shows\nwhere animals were to be seen. It is pleasantest of all to think of him\nat his work, the beauty of which he knew and the ultimate success of\nwhich he could hardly have doubted.\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of the late Cyrus J. Lawrence, Esq.\n\nA LIONESS\n\n_From a bronze by Barye_]\n\nIn what does the extraordinary quality of this work consist? The\nquestion is not difficult to answer, since, like most of the truly great\nartists, Barye had clear-cut characteristics among which may be found\nthose that separate him from and raise him above his contemporaries.\nScientific grasp of detail and artistic generalization are to be found\nin all his work where an animal is the subject, and this combination is\nin itself a mark of greatness. If we should examine the exceptionally\nfine collection of Barye bronzes belonging to the late Mr. Cyrus J.\nLawrence, and consisting of more than a hundred beautiful examples, or\nthe fine group in the Corcoran Gallery at Washington, we should soon\nlearn his manner and the type established by him in his animal subjects.\nIn the presence of so large a number of the works of a single artist,\ncertain features common to the whole accomplishment may easily be\ntraced. One dominating characteristic in this case is the ease with\nwhich the anatomical knowledge of the artist is worn. Even in the early\nbronzes the execution is free, large, and quite without the dry\nparticularity that might have been expected from a method the most\nexacting and specific possible. Barye from the first went very deeply\ninto the study of anatomy, examining skeletons, and dissecting animals\nafter death to gain the utmost familiarity with all the bones and\nmuscles, the articulations, the fur and skin and minor details. His\nreading of Cuvier and Lamarck indicates his interest in theories of\nanimal life and organism. He took, also, great numbers of comparative\nmeasurements that enabled him to represent not merely an individual\nspecimen of a certain kind of animal, but a type which should be true in\ngeneral as well as in particular. He would measure, for example, the\nbones of a deer six months old and those of a deer six weeks old,\ncarefully noting all differences in order to form a definite impression\nof the normal measurements of the animal at different ages. He made\ncomparative drawings of the skulls of cats, tigers, leopards, panthers,\nthe whole feline species, in short, seeking out the principles of\nstructure and noting the dissimilarities due to differences in size. He\nmade innumerable drawings of shoulders, heads, paws, nostrils, ears,\ncarefully recording the dimensions on each sketch. Among his notes was\nfound a minute description of the characteristic features of a blooded\nhorse.\n\nHe was never content with merely an external observation of a subject\nwhen he had it in his power to penetrate the secrets of animal\nmechanism. He first made sketches of his subjects, of course, but\nfrequently he also modeled parts of the animal in wax on the spot to\ncatch the characteristic movement. His indefatigable patience in thus\nlaying the groundwork of exact knowledge suggests the thoroughness of\nthe old Dutch artists. He followed, too, the recommendation of\nLeonardo--so dangerous to any but the strongest mind--to draw the parts\nbefore drawing the whole, to \"learn exactitude before facility.\"\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of the late Cyrus J. Lawrence, Esq.\n\nTHE PRANCING BULL\n\n(\"TAUREAU CABRÉ\")\n\n_From a bronze by Barye_]\n\nA story is told of a visit paid him by the sculptor Jacquemart: \"I will\nshow you what I have under way, just now,\" said he to his friend, and\nlooking about his studio for a moment, drew out a couple of legs and\nstood them erect. After a few seconds of puzzled thought he remembered\nthe whereabouts of the other members, and finally drew out the head from\nunder a heap in a corner. And the statue once in place was conspicuous\nfor its fine sense of unity. It was not, of course, this meticulous\nmethod, but the use he made of it, that led Barye to his great results.\nHis mind was strengthened and enriched by every fragment of knowledge\nwith which he fed it. It all went wholesomely and naturally to the\ngrowth of his artistic ideas, and he does not appear to have been\ninterested in acquiring knowledge that did not directly connect itself\nwith these ideas. By his perfect familiarity with the facts upon which\nhe built his conceptions he was fitted to use them intelligently, omit\nthem where he chose, exaggerate them where he chose, minimize them where\nhe chose. They did not fetter him; they freed him; and he could work\nwith them blithely, unhampered by doubts and inabilities. It is most\nsignificant both of his accuracy and his freedom that in constructing\nhis models he dispensed with the rigid iron skeleton on which the clay\ncommonly is built. Having modeled the different parts of his\ncomposition, he brought them together and supported them from the\noutside by means of crutches and tringles, after the fashion of the boat\nbuilders, thus enabling himself to make alterations, corrections and\nrevisions to the very end of his task. The definitive braces were put in\nplace only at the moment of the molding in plaster.\n\n[Illustration: PANTHER SEIZING A DEER\n\n_From a bronze by Barye_]\n\nFor small models he preferred to use wax which does not dry and crack\nlike the clay. He also sometimes covered his plaster model with a layer,\nmore or less thick, of wax, upon which he could make a more perfect\nrendering of superficial subtleties. Occasionally, as in the instance of\n_The Lion Crushing the Serpent_, cast by Honoré Gonon, he employed the\nprocess called _à cire perdue_, in which the model is first made in\nwax, then over it is formed a mold from which the wax is melted out by\nheat. The liquid bronze is poured into the matrix thus formed, and when\nthis has become cold the mold is broken off, leaving an almost accurate\nreproduction of the original model, which is also, of course, unique,\nthe wax model and the mold both having been destroyed in the process.\nUpon his _patines_ he lavished infinite care. Theodore Child has given\nan excellent description of the difference between this final enrichment\nof a bronze as applied by a master and the _patine_ of commerce. \"The\nideal _patine_,\" he says, \"is an oxydation and a polish, without\nthickness, as it were, a delicate varnish or glaze, giving depth and\ntone to the metal. Barye's green _patine_ as produced by himself has\nthese qualities of lightness and richness of tone, whereas the green\n_patine_ of the modern proofs is not a _patine_, not an oxydation, but\nan absolute application of green color in powder, a _mise en couleur_,\nas the technical phrase is. In places this _patine_ will be nearly a\nmillimeter thick and will consequently choke up all delicate modeling,\nsoften all that is sharp, and render the bronze dull, _mou_, heavy. To\nproduce Barye's fine green _patine_, requires time and patience, and for\ncommercial bronze is impracticable. Barye, however, was never a\ncommercial man. When a bronze was ordered he would never promise it at\nany fixed date; he would ask for one or two or three months; 'he did\nnot know exactly, it would depend on how his _patine_ came.'\"\n\nHis patines are by no means all green; some of them are almost golden in\ntheir vitality of color--the \"_patine médaillé_,\" as in _The Walking\nDeer_, which is a superb example; some are dark brown approaching black.\nThe most beautiful in color and delicacy which I have seen is that on\nMr. Lawrence's _Bull Felled by a Bear_ (_Taureau terrassé par un ours_),\na bronze which seems to me in many particulars to remain a masterpiece\nunsurpassed by the more violent and splendid later works. Another\nremarkable example of the effect of color possible to produce by a\n_patine_ is furnished by the _Lion Devouring a Doe_ (_Lion devorant une\nbiche_), dated 1837. The green lurking in the shadows and the coppery\ngleam on the ridge of the spine, the thigh, and the bristling mane, the\nrich yet bright intermediate tones, give a wonderful brilliancy and\nvitality to the magnificent little piece in which the ferocity of nature\nand the charm and lovableness of art are commingled. In his interesting\nbook on Barye, published by the Barye Monument Association, Mr. De Kay\nhas referred to this work as an example of Barye's power to reproduce\nthe horrible and to make one's blood run cold with the ferocity of the\ndestroying beast. It seems to me, however, that it is one of the pieces\nin which Barye's power to represent the horrible without destroying the\npeace of mind to be found in all true art, is most obvious. With his\ncapacity for emphasizing that which he wishes to be predominant in his\ncomposition he has brought out to the extreme limit of expression the\nstrength of the lion and its savage interest in its prey. The lashing\ntail, the wrinkled nose, the concentrated eyes are fully significant of\nthe mood of the beast, and were the doe equally defined the effect would\nbe disturbing. But the doe, lying on the ground, is treated almost in\nbas-relief, hardly distinguishable against the massive bulk of its\noppressor. The appeal is not to pity, but to recognition of the force of\nnative instincts. Added to this is the beauty, subtly distinguished and\nvigorously rendered, of the large curves of the splendid body of the\nlion. Even among the superb later pieces it would be difficult to find\none with greater beauty of flowing line and organic composition.\n\nIn the illustration we can see the general contour from one point of\nview, but we cannot see the rhythm of the curves balancing and repeating\neach other from the tip of the uplifted tail to the arch of the great\nneck. Nor is a particle of energy sacrificed to these beautiful\ncontours. The body is compact, the head large and expressive of power,\nthe thick paws rest with weight on the ground. There is none of the\npulling out of forms so often employed to give grace and so usually\nsuggestive of weakness. The composition is at once absolutely graceful\nand eloquent of immense physical force. In the _Panther Seizing a Deer_\n(_Panthère saississant un Cerf_), one of the largest of the animal\ngroups, we have again the characteristic double curves, the fine play of\nline, and the appropriate fitting of the figures into a long oval, and\nalso the minimizing of the cruelty of the subject by the reticent art\nwith which it is treated. We see clearly enough the angry jaws, the\ncurled tail, the weight of the attacking beast falling on the head of\nits victim, dragging it toward the ground. Nothing is slighted or\ncompromised. We see even the gash in the flesh made by the panther's\nclaws and the drops of blood trickling from the wound. But we have to\nthank Barye's instinct for refined conception that these features of the\nwork do not claim and hold our attention which is absorbed by the vital\nline, the gracious sweep of the contours, the lovely surface, and the\nomission of all irrelevant and unreasonable detail.\n\nMany of Barye's subjects included the human figure and in a few\ninstances the human figure alone preoccupied him. Occasionally he was\nvery successful in this kind. The small silver reproduction of _Hercules\nCarrying a Boar_ has the remarkable quality of easy force. The figure of\nHercules is without exaggerated muscles, is normally proportioned and\nquietly modeled. His burden rests lightly on his shoulders, and his free\nlong stride indicates that the labor is joy. This is the ancient, not\nthe modern tradition, and the little figure corresponds, curiously\nenough, with one of the male figures in the Piero di Cosimo mentioned at\nthe beginning of this article. In the latter case the strong man is\nengaged in combat with a living animal, but he carries his strength with\nthe same assurance and absence of effort in its exercise. Barye,\nhowever, does not always give this happy impression when he seeks to\nrepresent the human figure. If we compare, for example, the bronze made\nin 1840 for the Duke of Montpensier (_Roger Bearing off Angelica on the\nHippogriff_) with any of the animal groups of that decade or earlier, we\ncan hardly fail to be amazed at the lack of unity in the composition and\nthe distracting multiplicity of the details. If we compare the _Hunt of\nthe Tiger_ with the _Asian Elephant Crushing Tiger_ the great\nsuperiority of the latter in the arrangement of the masses, the dignity\nof the proportions, and in economy of detail, is at once evident. The\nfigures of the four stone groups on the Louvre, however, have a certain\nantique nobility of design and withal a naturalness that put them in the\nfirst class of modern sculpture, I think.\n\n[Illustration: From the collection of the late Cyrus J. Lawrence, Esq.\n\nTHE LION AND THE SERPENT\n\n(\"LION AU SERPENT\")\n\n_From a bronze by Barye_]\n\nOne point worthy of note in any comparison between Barye's animals and\nhis human beings is the intensity and subtlety of expression in the\nformer and the absence of any marked expression in the latter. His men\nare practically masked. No passion or emotion makes its\nimpression on their features. Even their gestures, violent though they\nmay be, seem inspired from without and not by the impulse of their own\nfeelings. His animals on the contrary show many phases of what must be\ncalled, for lack of a more exact word, psychological expression. A\nstriking instance of this is found in the contrast between the sketch\nfor _The Lion Crushing the Serpent_ and the finished piece. In the\nsketch there is terror in the lion's face, his paw is raised to strike\nat the reptile, his tail is uplifted and lashing, the attitude and\nexpression are those of terror mingled with rage and the serpent appears\nthe aggressor. In the finished bronze the lion is calmer and in obvious\npossession of the field. The fierce claws pushing out from their\nsheathing, the eyes that seem to snarl with the mouth, the massive paw\nresting on the serpent's coiled body combine to give a subtle impression\nof certain mastery, and the serpent is unquestionably the victim and\ndefendant in the encounter. It is by such intuitive reading of the\naspect of animals of diverse kinds, that Barye awakens the imagination\nand leads the mind into the wilderness of the untamed world. He is\nperhaps most himself when depicting moods of concentration. The fashion\nin which he gathers the great bodies together for springing upon and\nholding down their prey is absolutely unequaled among animal sculptors.\nHis mind handled monumental compositions with greater success, I think,\nthan compositions of the lighter type in which the subject lay at ease\nor exhibited the pure joy of living which we associate with the animal\nworld.\n\nTwo exceptions to this statement come, however, at once to my mind--the\ndelightful _Bear in his Trough_ and the _Prancing Bull_. The former is\nthe only instance I know of a Barye animal disporting itself with\nyouthful irresponsibility, and the innocence and humor of the little\nbeast make one wish that it had not occupied this unique place in the\nlist of Barye's work. The _Prancing Bull_ also is a conception by itself\nand one of which Barye may possibly have been a little afraid. With his\nextraordinary patience it is not probable that he had the opposite\nquality of ability to catch upon the fly, as it were, a passing motion,\nan elusive and swiftly fading effect. But in this instance he has\nrendered with great skill the curvetting spring of the bull into the air\nand the lightness of the motion in contrast with the weight of the body.\nThis singular lightness or physical adroitness he has caught also in his\nrepresentation of elephants, the _Elephant of Senégal Running_, showing\nto an especial degree the agility of the animal despite its enormous\nbulk and ponderosity.\n\nWhile Barye's most important work was accomplished in the field of\nsculpture, his merits as a painter were great. His devotion to the study\nof structural expression was too stern to permit him to lapse into\nmediocrity, whatever medium he chose to use, and the animals he\ncreated, or re-created, on canvas are as thoroughly understood, as\nclearly presented, as artistically significant as those in bronze. With\nevery medium, however, there is, of course, a set of more or less\nundefinable laws governing its use. Wide as the scope of the artist is\nthere are limits to his freedom, and if he uses water-color, for\nexample, in a manner which does not extract from the medium the highest\nvirtue of which it is capable he is so much the less an artist. It has\nbeen said of Barye that his paintings were unsatisfactory on that score.\nAbout a hundred pictures in oil and some fifty water-colors have been\nput on the list of his works. Mr. Theodore Child found his execution\nheavy, uniform, of equal strength all over, and of a monotonous impasto\nwhich destroys all aerial perspective. I have not seen enough of his\npainting in oils either to contradict or to acquiesce in this verdict;\nbut his water-colors produce a very different impression on my mind. He\nuses body-color but with restraint and his management of light and shade\nand his broad, free treatment of the landscape background give to his\nwork in this medium a distinction quite apart from that inseparable from\nthe beautiful drawing. In the painting that we reproduce the soft washes\nof color over the rocky land bring the background into delicate harmony\nwith the richly tinted figure of the tiger with the effect of variety in\nunity sought for and obtained by the masters of painting. The weight\nand roundness of the tiger's body is brought out by the firm broad\noutline which Barye's contemporary Daumier is so fond of using in his\npaintings, the interior modeling having none of the emphasis on form\nthat one looks for in a sculptor's work. In his paintings indeed, even\nmore than in his sculpture, Barye shows his interest in the\npsychological side of his problem. Here if ever he sees his subject\nwhole, in all its relations to life. The vast sweep of woodland or\ndesert in which he places his wild creatures, the deep repose commingled\nwith the potential ferocity of these creatures, their separateness from\nman in their inarticulate emotions, their inhuman passions, their\nwithdrawn powerfully realized lives, their self-sufficiency, their part\nin nature--all this becomes vivid to us as we look at his paintings and\nwe are aware that the portrayal of animal life went far deeper with\nBarye than a mere anatomical grasp of his subject. Corot did not find\nhis tigers sufficiently poetic and altered, it is said, the tiger drawn\nfor one of his own paintings until he succeeded in giving it a more\nromantic aspect. Barye's poetry, however, was the unalterable poetry of\nlife. He found his inspiration in realities but that is not to say that\nhis realities were external ones. He excluded nothing belonging to the\nsentiment of his subject and comparison of his work with that of other\nanimal sculptors and painters deepens one's respect for the\npenetrating insight with which he sought his truths.\n\nSince Barye's death and the great increase in the prices of his work,\nmany devices have been used to sell objects bearing his name, but not\nproperly his work. For example, he produced for the city of Marseilles\nsome objects in stone (designed for the columns of the gateway), which\nwere never done in bronze; since his death these have been reduced in\nsize and produced in bronze as his work. Works of the younger Barye\nsigned by the great name are also confused with those of the father.\nFurther still, to the confusion of inexperienced collectors, the bronzes\nof Méne, Fratin, and Cain, all artists of importance, but hardly\nincreasing fame, have had the signatures erased and that of Barye\nsubstituted. It is therefore inadvisable to attempt at this date the\ncollection of Barye's bronzes without special knowledge or advice. The\ngreat collections of early and fine proofs have been made. At the sale\nof his effects after his death the models with the right of reproduction\nwere sold, and in many instances these modern proofs are on the market\nbearing the name of Barye, with no indication of their modernity. Some\nof these are so cleverly done that great knowledge is required to detect\nthem, and if they were sold for a moderate price, would be desirable\npossessions. Certain dealers frankly sell a modern reproduction as\nmodern and at an appropriate price, but I know of one only, M.\nBarbédienne, who puts a plaque with his initials on each piece produced\nby him.\n\n[Illustration: ASIAN ELEPHANT CRUSHING TIGER\n\n_From a bronze by Barye_]\n\nDuring Barye's lifetime he had, however, in his employ, a man named\nHenri, who possessed his confidence to a full degree. A few pieces are\nfound with the initial of this man, showing that they were done under\nhis supervision and not that of Barye, but whether before or after the\ndeath of the latter is not yet determined.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ART OF MARY CASSATT\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE ART OF MARY CASSATT\n\n\nSome fifteen years ago, on the occasion of an exhibition in Paris of\nMiss Cassatt's work a French critic suggested that she was then,\nperhaps, with the exception of Whistler, \"the only artist of an\nelevated, personal and distinguished talent actually possessed by\nAmerica.\" The suggestion no doubt was a rash one, since, as much\npersonal and distinguished work by American artists never leaves this\ncountry, the data for comparison must be lacking to a French critic; but\nit is certainly true that, like Whistler, Miss Cassatt early struck an\nindividual note, looked at life with her own eyes, and respected her\nintellectual instrument sufficiently to master it to the extent, at\nleast, of creating a style for herself. Born at Pittsburgh,\nPennsylvania, she studied first at the Philadelphia Academy, and later\ntraveled through Spain, Italy, and Holland in search of artistic\nknowledge and direction. In France she came to know the group of\npainters including Monet, Renoir, Pissarro and Degas, and especially\ninfluenced by the work of Degas, she turned to him for the counsel she\nneeded, receiving it in generous measure. It was a fortunate choice, the\nmost fortunate possible, if she wished to combine in her art the\ndetached observation characteristic in general of the Impressionist\nschool with a passionate pursuit of all the subtlety, eloquence and\nprecision possible to pure line. The fruit of his influence is to be\nfound in the technical excellence of her representations of life, the\nfirmness and candor of her drawing, her competent management of planes\nand surfaces, and the audacity with which she attacks difficult problems\nof color and tone. The extreme gravity of her method is the natural\nresult of working under a master whose intensity and austerity in the\npursuit of artistic truth are perhaps unequaled in the history of modern\nart.\n\nHer choice of subject is not, however, the inspiration of any mind other\nthan her own. She has taken for the special field in which to exercise\nher vigorous talent that provided by the various phases of the maternal\nrelation. Her wholesome young mothers with their animated children,\ncomely and strong, unite the charm of great expressiveness with that of\nprofoundly scientific execution. The attentive student of art is well\naware how easily the former quality unsupported by the latter may\ndegenerate into the cloying exhibition of sentiment, and is equally\naware of the sterility of the latter practised for itself alone. With\nexpressiveness for her goal and the means of rendering technical\nproblems for her preoccupation, Miss Cassatt has arrived at hard-earned\ntriumphs of accomplishment. One has only to turn from one of her\nrecently exhibited pictures to another painted ten or twelve years ago\nto appreciate the length of the way she has come. The earlier painting,\nan oil color, is of a woman in a striped purple, white, and green gown,\nholding a half-naked child, who is engaged in bathing its own feet, with\nthe absorbed expression on its face common to children occupied with\nsuch responsible tasks. The bricky flesh tints of the faces and hands,\nand the greenish half-tones of the square little body are too highly\nemphasized, but a keen perception of facts of surface and construction\nis obvious in the well-defined planes of the child's anatomy, in the\nforeshortened, thin little arm pressing firmly on the woman's knee and\nin the stout little legs, hard and round and simply modeled. There is\nplenty of truth in the picture, but in spite of an almost effective\neffort toward harmony of color, it lacks what the critics call \"totality\nof effect.\" The annotation of the various phenomena is too explicit, the\nvalues are not finely related, and there is little suggestion of\natmosphere.\n\nIn the later picture this crudity is replaced by a beautiful fluent\nhandling and the mastery of tone. The subject is again a woman and\nchild, the latter just out of its bath, its flesh bright and glowing,\nits limbs instinct with life and ready to spring with uncontrollable\nvivacity. The modeling of the figures is as elusive as it is sure, and\nin the warm, golden air by which they seem to be enveloped, the\nwell-understood forms lose all suggestion of the hardness and dryness\nconspicuous in the early work. Another recent painting of a kindred\nsubject, _Le lever de bébé_, shows the same synthesis of detail, the\nsame warmth and richness of tone, the same free and learned use of line.\nObviously, Miss Cassatt has come into the full possession of her art and\nis no longer constrained by the struggle, sharp and hard as it must have\nbeen, with her exacting method--a method that has not at any time\npermitted the sacrifice of truth to charm. Since art is both truth and\ncharm, record and poetry, there is a great satisfaction in watching the\nflowering of a positive talent, after the inevitable stages of\nliteralism are passed, into the beauty of intelligent generalization. In\nall the later work there is the important element of ease, a certain\ngraciousness of style, that enhances to a very great degree the beauty\nof the serious, dignified canvases. And from the beginning these have\nshown the admirable qualities of serenity and poise. There is no\nsuperficiality or pettiness about these homely women with their deep\nchests and calm faces, peacefully occupying themselves with their sound,\nagreeable children. The air of health, of fresh and normal vigor, is\nthe characteristic of the chosen type, and lends a suggestion of the\nHellenic spirit to the modern physiognomies.\n\n[Illustration: CHILD RESTING\n\n_From an etching by Mary Cassatt_]\n\nIf, however, in her technique and in the feeling of quietness she\nconveys, Miss Cassatt recalls the classic tradition, she is intensely\nmodern in her choice of natural, unhackneyed gesture, and faces in which\nindividuality is strongly marked and from which conventional beauty is\nabsent. Occasionally, as in the picture shown at Philadelphia in 1904,\nand in the fine painting owned by Sir William C. Van Horne, we have a\nface charming in itself and modeled in a way to bring out its\nrefinement, but in the greater number of instances the rather heavy and\nimperfect features of our average humanity are reproduced without\ncompromise, with even a certain sense of triumph in the beautiful\nstatement of sufficiently ugly facts and freedom from a fixed ideal.\n\nNothing, for example, could be less in the line of academic beauty than\nthe quiet bonneted woman in the opera-box shown at the Pennsylvania\nAcademy in 1907. She has her opera-glass to her eyes and her pleasant\nrefined profile is cut sharply against the light balustrade of the\nbalcony. Other figures in adjoining boxes are mere patches of color and\nof light and shade, telling, nevertheless, as personalities so acutely\nare the individual values perceived and discriminated. The color is\npersonal and interesting, the difficult perspective of the curving line\nof boxes is mastered with amazing skill; the fidelity of the drawing to\nthe forms and aspects of things seen gives expression to even the\ninanimate objects recorded--and to painters who have tried it we\nrecommend the subtlety of that simply modeled cheek! The whole produces\nthe impression of solid reality and quick life and we get from it the\nkind of pleasure communicated not by the imitation but by the evocation\nof living truth. We note things that have significance for us for the\nfirst time--the fineness of the hair under the dark bonnet, the pressure\nof the body's weight on the arm supported by the railing, the relaxation\nof the arm holding the fan, and very clever painting by artists of less\npassionate sincerity takes on a meretricious look in contrast with this\ncloseness of interpretation.\n\nThis, perhaps, is the chief distinction of Miss Cassatt's art--closeness\nof interpretation united to the Impressionist's care for the transitory\naspect of things. She follows the track of an outline as sensitively if\nnot as obviously as Ingres, and she exacts from line as much as it is\ncapable of giving without interference with the expressiveness of the\nwhole mass. She takes account of details with an unerring sense for\ntheir appropriateness. She selects without forcing the note of\nexclusion, and she thus becomes an artist of sufficiently general appeal\nto be understood at once. She is not merely intelligent, but\nintelligible; her art has no cryptic side. It is only the initiated\nfrequenter of galleries who will pause to reflect how tremendously it\ncosts to be so clear and plain.\n\nIn her etchings and drawings Miss Cassatt early arrived at freedom of\nhandling. The more responsive medium gave her an opportunity to produce\ndelightful studies of domestic life while she was still far from having\nattained an easy control of pigment and brush. Her dry-points, pulled\nunder her own direction and enriched with flat tints of color, are\ninteresting and expressive, rich in line and large and full in modeling.\nThe color was not, however, wholly an improving experiment. Under the\nfriendly influence of time it may become an element of beauty, since in\nno case is it either commonplace or crude, but in its newness it lacks\nsomething of both delicacy and depth. The later etchings without color\nare more nearly completely satisfying. The three charming\ninterpretations of children recently sent over to this country are full\nof freshness and life, and are admirable examples of the brilliant use\nof pure line. The attitude of the child in the etching reproduced here\nis, indeed, quite an extraordinary feat of richness of expression with\neconomy of means. The heavy little head sagging against the tense arm,\nthe small, childish neck and thin shoulder are insisted upon just\nsufficiently to render the mood of light weariness, and the little\nface, full of individuality, is tenderly observed and modeled with\nfeeling. The psychological bent of the artist, her interest in the\nportrayal of mental and moral qualities, is nowhere more clearly\nrevealed than in her drawings of children. She has never been content to\nreproduce merely the physical plasticity and delicacy of infancy, but\nhas shown in her joyous babies and dreamy little girls at least the\npotentiality of strong wills and clear minds. Great diversity of\ncharacter and temperament are displayed in the expressive curves of the\nplump young faces, and the eyes, in particular, questioning, exultant,\nwondering, reflective or merry, betray a penetrating and subtle insight\ninto the dawning personality under observation.\n\n[Illustration: From the Wilstach Collection, Philadelphia.\n\nON THE BALCONY\n\n_From a painting by Mary Cassatt_]\n\nOne of her earliest works recently has been added to the Wilstach\ncollection in Philadelphia. It shows a man and two women on a balcony.\nThe straight line of the balcony railing stretches across the foreground\nwithout any modification of its rigid linear effect. The man's figure is\nin shadow, barely perceptible as to detail, yet indicated without\nuncertainty of drawing or vagueness of any kind, a solid figure the\n\"tactile values\" of which are clearly recognized. One of the women is\nbending over the railing in a half-shadow while the other lifts her face\ntoward the man in an attitude that makes exacting requirements of the\nartist's knowledge of foreshortening. The whole is duskily brilliant\nin color, full of the sense of form, simple, dignified, sturdy, opulent.\nIt shows that Miss Cassatt held at the beginning of her career as now,\nvaluable ideals of competency and lucidity in the interpretation of\nlife.\n\n[Illustration: WOMAN WITH A FAN\n\n_From a painting by Mary Cassatt_]\n\n\n\n\nMAX KLINGER\n\n\n\n\n\nMAX KLINGER\n\n\nMax Klinger is one of the most interesting and representative figures in\nthe art of Germany to-day. Essentially German in manner of thought and\nfeeling, he has brought into the stiff formality of early nineteenth\ncentury German painting and sculpture a plasticity of mind and an\nelevation of purpose and idea that suggest (as most that is excellent in\nGermany does suggest) the influence of Goethe. In his restless\ninterrogation of all the forms of representative art, his work in the\nmass shows a curious mingling of fantasy, imagination, brusque realism,\nantique austerity, and modern science. The enhancing of the sense of\nlife is, however, always the first thought with him, and lies at the\nroot of his method of introducing color into sculpture, not by the means\nof a deadening pigment but by the use of marbles of deep tints and\npositive hues, and of translucent stones. As an artist, his chief\ndistinction is this unremitting intention to convey in one way or\nanother the sense of the vitalizing principle in animate objects. We may\nsay of him that his drawing is sometimes poor, that his imagination may\nbe clumsy and infelicitous, that his treatment of a subject is\nfrequently coarse and even crude, but we cannot deny that out of his\netchings and paintings, and out of his great strange sculptured figures\nlooks the spirit of life, more often defiant than noble, more often\ncapricious than beautiful, but not to be mistaken, and the rarest\nphenomenon in the art product of his native country. He unites, too, a\nprofound respect for the art of antiquity with a stout modern sentiment,\na union that gives to his better work both dignity and force. What he\nseems to lack is the one impalpable, delicate, elusive quality that\nmakes for our enjoyment of so many imperfect productions, and the lack\nof which does so much to blind us to excellence in other directions--the\nquality of charm, which in the main depends upon the possession by the\nartist of taste.\n\nMax Klinger was born in Leipzig on the eighteenth of February, 1857. His\nfather was a man of artistic predilections, and in easy circumstances,\nso that the choice of a bread-winning profession for the son was not of\nfirst importance. As Klinger's talent showed itself at a very early age,\nit was promptly decided that he should be an artist. He left school at\nthe age of sixteen, and went to Karlsruhe, where Gussow was beginning to\ngather about him a large number of pupils. In 1875 he followed Gussow\nto Berlin, where he came also under the influence of Menzel. Gussow's\nteaching was all in the line of individualism and naturalism. He led his\npupils straight to nature for their model, and encouraged them to paint\nonly what they themselves saw and felt. For this grounding in the\nrepresentation of plain facts Klinger has been grateful in his maturer\nyears, and looks back to his first master with admiration and respect as\nhaving early armed him against his tendency toward fantasy and idealism.\nHis early style in the innumerable drawings of his youth is thin and\nweak, without a sign of the bold originality characterizing his recent\nwork, and he obviously needed all the support he could get from frank\nand sustained observation of nature. His first oil-painting, exhibited\nin Berlin in 1878, showed the result of Gussow's influence in its\nsolidity and practical directness of appeal, but a number of etchings,\nexecuted that year and the next--forerunners of the important later\nseries--indicate the natural bent of the young artist's mind toward\nsymbolic forms and unhackneyed subjects.\n\n[Illustration: BEETHOVEN\n\n_From a statue in colored marble by Max Klinger_]\n\nAbout the art of drawing as distinguished from that of painting he has\nhis own opinions, expressed with emphasis in an essay called _Malerei\nund Zeichnung_. Drawing, etching, lithography and wood-engraving he\nconsiders preeminently adapted to convey purely imaginative thoughts\nsuch as would lose a part of their evanescent suggestiveness by\ntranslation into the more definite medium of oil-color, and he holds\n_Griffelkunst_, or the art of the point in as high estimation as any\nother art for the interpretation of ideas appropriate to it, an opinion\nnot now as unusual as when he first announced it to his countrymen. For\nabout five years after the close of his student period, he occupied\nhimself chiefly with etchings, turning out between 1879 and 1883 no\nfewer than nine of the elaborate \"cycles\" which are so expressive of his\nmethod of thought, and of the best qualities of his workmanship. In\nthese cycles he delights in following a development not unlike that of a\nmusical theme, beginning with a prelude and carrying the idea through\nmanifold variations to its final expression. His curious history of the\nfinding of a glove which passes through different symbolic forms of\nindividuality in the dreams of a lover, is a fair example of his\neccentric and somewhat lumbering humor in the use of a symbol in his\nearlier years. His etchings for Ovid's _Metamorphoses_ show the same\nviolent grasp of the lighter side of his subject, but in his landscape\netchings of 1881 we have ample opportunity to see what he could do with\na conventionally charming subject treated with conventional sentiment\nand without symbolic intention. The moonlight scene which he calls\n_Mondnacht_, has all the subtle exquisite feeling for harmony and tone\nto be gained from a Whistler nocturne. The dim light on the buildings,\nthe soft sweep of the clouds across the dark sky, the impalpable\nrendering, the grave and deep beauty of the scene combine to express the\nessence of night and its mystery. The oil-painting _Abend_, of 1882,\nalso bears eloquent testimony to Klinger's power to evoke purely\npictorial images of great loveliness.\n\nIn 1882, after about a year of study in Munich, he painted the important\nfrescoes for the Steglitz Villa, in which the influence of Boecklin\nplayed freely. It was in Paris, however, where he studied between 1883\nand 1885, that Klinger received his strongest and most definite impulse\ntoward painting. His _Judgment of Paris_ revealed the fact that the\nyoung painter had come into possession of himself, and could be depended\nupon for qualities demanding constraint and a measure of severity. In\nchoosing a legend of antiquity for the subject of his picture, he may\nhave felt a psychological obligation to obey the greater influences of\nthe antique tradition. At all events he rather suddenly developed a\nstyle of great maturity and firmness. From Paris he went back to Berlin,\nbut in 1889 he started for Rome, where he spent four profitable years.\nThe fruit of this Roman period has continued to ripen up to the present\ntime, although since 1893 Klinger has made his home in Leipzig, his\n_wanderjahre_ apparently over and done with. He not only painted in\nRome a _Pietà_, a _Crucifixion_, and a number of pictures in which\nproblems of open-air painting are attacked, but he conceived there the\npowerful series of etchings on the subject of death, and there he made\nhis first attempts in colored sculpture. From his earliest years, the\nimage of death had often solicited him, and some of his interpretations\nare filled with dignity and pathos. In the slender, rigid figure on a\nwhite draped bed, from the etching cycle entitled _Eine Liebe_, there is\nthe suggestion of a classic tomb, severe and impressive in outline,\nwhile nothing could be more poignant than the emotional appeal of the\n_Mutter und Kind_ in the second death series. To turn from these to the\ntwo religious paintings executed in Rome, is to realize that eccentric\nas Klinger often is, both in choice of subject and treatment, his\nattitude toward the mysteries and problems of man's existence is that of\na serious thinker with a strong artistic talent, but a still stronger\nintelligence. It is not, however, until we reach the period which he\ndevotes to sculpture, that we find in his art the quality of nobility, a\ncertain breadth, which in spite of innovations in execution and almost\ntrivial symbolic detail, impresses upon his conceptions the classic\nmark.\n\nHe began his studies for his great polychromatic statue of Beethoven as\nearly as 1886, fifteen years before its completion. In 1892 it was\nreported in Rome that he had turned to sculpture as a new field in\nwhich to prove himself a master, and his first exhibited figure placed\nhim above the rank of the amateur. He threw himself into his new work\nwith his usual energy, making himself familiar with the technicalities\nof marble cutting in order to follow the execution with intelligence at\nevery stage. He sought for his material with unwearying zest, taking\nlong journeys into Italy, Greece and the Pyrenees to procure marble with\nthe soft, worn, rich quality produced by exposure to the weather; with\nthis he combined onyx and brilliant stones, bronze, ivory and gold,\nalways with the intention of creating an impression of life in addition\nto producing a decorative result. His strong decorative instinct comes\nto his aid, however, in avoiding the incoherence that would seem\ninevitable from the mixture of so many and such diverse materials, and\nthe equally strong intellectual motive always obvious in his work also\ntends to hold it together in a more or less dignified unity. The\n_Cassandra_, his second colored statue, finished in Leipzig in 1895, and\nnow in possession of the Leipzig Museum, is especially free from\neccentricity and caprice. The beautiful Greek head, with its deep-set\neyes and delicate mouth, is expressive of intense but normal feeling.\nThe flesh is represented by warm-toned marble, the hair is brownish-red,\nthe garment is of alabaster, yellowish-red with violet tones, and the\nfigure stands on a pedestal of Pyranean marble. In color effect,\nhowever, the _Beethoven_ is the most striking. In _Les Maîtres\nContemporains_, M. Paul Mongré thus describes it:\n\n\"The pedestal, half rock, half cloud, which supports the throne of the\nOlympian master, is of Pyranean marble of a dark violet-brown; the eagle\nis of black marble, veined with white, its eyes are of amber. The nude\nbust of Beethoven is of white Syrian marble, with light yellowish\nreflections, the drapery, hanging in supple folds, is of Tyrolean onyx\nwith yellow-brown streaks in it. The throne of bronze is of a dull brown\ntone, except in the curved arms, which are brilliantly gilded. Five\nangel heads in ivory are placed like a crown on the inside of the back\nof the throne; their wings are studded with multi-colored gems and with\nantique fluorspar; the back of the throne is laid with blue Hungarian\nopals.\" All these different elements, the French critic maintains, are\nheld together in reciprocal cohesion, and are kept subordinated to the\nbold conception of Beethoven as the Jupiter of music--\"the godlike power\naccumulated and concentrated, on the point of breaking forth in\nlightnings; the eagle in waiting, ready to take flight, as the visible\nthought of Jupiter, before whom will spring up a whole world, or the\nmusical image of a world: that is what is manifested by this close\nalliance of idea and form.\"\n\n[Illustration: CASSANDRA\n\n_From a statue in colored marble by Max Klinger_]\n\nThis monument to Beethoven is a performance designed to express not\nmerely the artistic interest of the subject for Klinger, but the\nabounding enthusiasm of the latter for the great musician's genius.\nImmediately after leaving Rome, Klinger also brought to completion a\nseries of etchings called _Brahms-phantasie_, and intended to illustrate\nthe emotions aroused by the compositions of Brahms. In 1901 he made a\nportrait bust of Liszt, and his drawings for the _Metamorphoses_ were\ndedicated to Schumann. In the autumn of 1906 his Brahms memorial was\nplaced in the new Music Hall in Hamburg. This memorial monument has the\nform of a powerful Hermes with the head of Brahms. The Muse of tone is\napparently whispering secrets of art into the ears of the master. His\ndebt, therefore, to the masters of music may be considered as fully and\npromptly paid, and the impression of hero-worship conveyed by these\nardent tributes is a reminder that the artist is young in temperament,\nTeutonic in origin, and untouched by the modern spirit of indifference\nto persons. Unlike many German artists of the present day, he did not\nfind in Paris the atmosphere that suited him. In spite of his years\nthere and in Rome, he has remained undisturbed by any anti-German\ninfluence. His compatriots speak with pride of the intensely national\ncharacter of his mind, and have early recognized his importance, as\nperhaps could hardly have failed to be the case with powers so far from\nhumble, and a method so far from patient. France also has paid him more\nthan one tribute of appreciation, and the general feeling toward him\nseems now to be that expressed by one of his German admirers in America:\n\"Why criticize him? He is so overwhelming, so overpowering\nintellectually that the best we can do is to try to understand him.\"\n\n\n\n\nALFRED STEVENS\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nALFRED STEVENS\n\n\nAn exhibition of the paintings of Alfred Stevens was held in April and\nMay, 1907, at the city of Brussels, and later in May and in June at the\ncity of Antwerp. The collection comprised examples from the museums at\nBrussels, Antwerp, Paris and Marseilles, and from the galleries of many\nprivate owners. It was representative in the fullest sense of the word,\nshowing the literal tendencies of the artist's youth in such pictures as\n_Les Chasseurs de Vincennes_ (1855) tightly painted, conscientiously\nmodeled, with only the deep, resonant red of a woman's cape to indicate\nthe magnificent color-sense soon to be revealed; or _Le Convalescent_,\nin which the two sympathetic women hovering over the languid young man\nin a Paris drawing-room are photographically true to the life of the\ntime, without, however, conveying its spiritual or intellectual\nexpression; showing also the rich and grave middle period in which\nbeauty of face and form and the charm of elegant accessories are\nrendered with singular intensity and perfect sincerity; as in _Les\nVisiteuses_, _Désespérée_, etc.; and, finally, showing the psychological\nsynthesis of the later years, which reveals itself in such works as _Un\nSphinx Parisien_, baffling in its fixed introspective gaze, and executed\nwith an impeccable technique.\n\nMany of the early pictures have a joyousness of frank workmanship, a\ndirectness of attack and a simplicity of arrangement that appeal to the\nworld at large more freely than the subtler blonde harmonies of the\nlater years. The _Profil de Femme_ (1855) in which M. Lambotte discerns\nthe influence of Rembrandt, is more suggestive to the present writer of\nfamiliarity with Courbet's bold, heavy impasto and sharp transitions\nfrom light to shadow. The _Réverie_ of the preceding year has also its\nsuggestions of Courbet, in spite of the delicately painted flowers in\nthe Japanese vase; but in the pictures of the next few years, the robust\nfreshness of the painter's Flemish vision finds expression in\ncolor-schemes that resemble nothing so much as the gardens of Belgium in\nspringtime, filled with hardy blossoms and tended by skillful hands; _La\nConsolation_ of 1857, for example, in which the two black-robed women\nform the heavy note of dead color against which are relieved the pink\nand white of their companion's gown, the pale yellow of the wall, the\nblue of the floor and the low, softly brilliant tones of the beautiful\ntapestry curtain. Another painting of about the same time has almost\nthe charm of Fantin-Latour's early renderings of serious women bending\nover their books or their sewing. In _La Liseuse_ the girl's face is\nabsorbed and thoughtful, the color harmony is quiet, the white dress,\nthe dull red of the chair, the blue and yellow and green wools on the\ntable, forming a pattern of closely related tones as various in its\nunity as the motley border of an old-fashioned dooryard. In other\nexamples we have reminiscences of that time of excitement and esthetic\nriot when the silks and porcelains and enamels of the Far East came into\nthe Paris of artists and artisans and formed at once a part of the\nbaggage of the Parisian atelier. _L'Inde à Paris_ is a particularly\ndelightful reflection of this period of \"Chinoiseries.\" It depicts a\nyoung woman in a black gown of the type that Millais loved, leaning\nforward with both hands on a table covered with an Indian drapery. On\nthe table stands the miniature figure of an elephant. The background is\nof the strong green so often used by Manet and the varied pattern of the\ntable cover gives opportunity for assembling a number of rich and vivid\nyet quiet hues in an intricate and interesting color composition.\n\n_La Parisienne Japonaise_ is a subject of the kind that enlisted\nWhistler's interest during the sixties--a handsome girl in a blue silk\nkimono embroidered with white and yellow flowers, and a green sash,\nlooks into a mirror that reflects a yellow background and a vase of\nflowers. The colors are said to have faded and changed, to the complete\ndemoralization of the color-scheme, but it is still a picture of winning\ncharm, less reserved and dignified than Whistler's _Lange Leizen_ of\n1864, but with passages of subtle color and a just relation of values\nthat have survived the encroachments of time.\n\nFrom a very early period Stevens adopted the camel's-hair shawl with its\nmulti-colored border as the model for his palette and the chief\ndecoration of his picture. It is easier, says one of his French critics,\nto enumerate the paintings in which such a shawl does not appear than\nthose in which it does. It slips from the shoulders of the _Désespérée_\nand forms a wonderful contrast to the smooth fair neck and arm relieved\nagainst it; it is the magnificent background of the voluminous gauzy\nrobe in _Une Douloureuse Certitude_; it falls over the chair in which\nthe young mother sits nursing her baby in _Tous les Bonheurs_; it hangs\nin the corners of studios, it is gracefully worn by fashionable visitors\nin fashionable drawing-rooms; its foundation color is cream or red or a\ndeep and tender yellow as soft as that of a tea-rose; it determines the\nharmony of the colored silks and bric-à-brac which are in its vicinity,\nit rules its surroundings with a truly oriental splendor, and it gives\nto the work in which it plays so prominent a part an individuality\nsupplementary to the artist's own. It is as important as the rugs in the\npictures of Vermeer of Delft or Gerard Terborch.\n\n[Illustration: L'ATELIER\n\n_From a painting by Alfred Stevens_]\n\nThe silks and muslins of gowns and scarves are also important\naccessories in these pictures which have a modernity not unlike that of\nthe pictures of Velasquez, in which the ugliness of contemporary\nfashions turns to beauty under the learned rendering of textures and\nsurfaces. Bibelots and furnishings, wall-hangings, pictures, rugs,\npolished floors, glass and silver and china and jewels are all likewise\npressed into the service of an art that used what lay nearest to it, not\nfor the purposes of realism but for the enchantment of the vision. M.\nLambotte has pointed out that Stevens introduced mirrors, crystals and\nporcelains into his canvasses with the same intention as that of the\nlandscape-painter who makes choice of a subject with a river, lake or\npond, knowing that clear reflections and smooth surface aid in giving\nthe effect of distance and intervening atmosphere. The same writer has\ntold us that so far from reproducing the ordinary costumes of his period\nStevens took pains to seek exclusive and elegant examples, _chefs\nd'oeuvres_ of the dressmaker's art, and that such were put at his\nservice by the great ladies of the second empire. The beautiful muslin\nover-dress of the _Dame en Rose_ is perhaps the one that most taxed his\nflexible brush. It is diaphanous in texture, elaborately cut and\ntrimmed with delicate laces and embroideries, and the rose of the\nunder-robe, the snowy white of the muslin, the silver ornaments and the\npale blonde hair of the wearer make the lightest and daintiest of\nharmonies accentuated by the black of the lacquer cabinet with its\nbrilliant polychromatic insets.\n\nUnlike Whistler, Stevens never abandoned the rich and complicated color\narrangements of his youth for an austere and restricted palette. He\nnevertheless was at his best when his picture was dominated by a single\ncolor, as in the wonderful _Fédora_ of 1882 or _La Tricoteuse_. In the\nformer the warmly tinted hair and deep yellow fan are the vibrant notes,\nthe creamy dress, the white flowers, the silver bracelet, and the white\nbutterfly making an _ensemble_ like a golden wheatfield swept by pale\nlights. The piquant note of contrast is given by the blue insolent eyes\nand the hardly deeper blue blossoms of the love-in-a-mist held in the\nlanguid hands.\n\nIn _La Tricoteuse_ the composition of colors is much the same--a creamy\nwhite dress with gray shadows, reddish yellow hair, and a bit of blue\nknitting with the addition of a sharp line of red made by the signature.\nThere is no austerity in these vaporous glowing arrangements of a single\ncolor. They are as near to the portraiture of full sunlight as pigment\nhas been able to approach and if it can be said that Whistler has\n\"painted the soul of color,\" it certainly can be said that Stevens here\nhas painted its embodied life. For the most part we have, however, to\nthink of Alfred Stevens as a portraitist of the ponderable world; a\nFlemish lover of brilliant appearances, a scrupulous translator of the\nlanguage of visible things into the idiom of art. In the picture\nentitled _L'Atelier_, which we reproduce, is a more or less significant\ninstance of his artistic veracity. On the crowded wall, forming the\nbackground against which is seen the model's charming profile, is a\npicture which obviously is a copy of the painting of _La Fuite en\nEgypte_ by Breughel. Two versions of the same subject, one, the original\nby Breughel the elder, the other, a copy by his son, now hang in the\nBrussels Museum, alike in composition but differing in tone, the son's\ncopy having apparently been left in an unfinished condition with the\nbrown underpainting visible throughout. That this, and not the elder\nBreughel's, is the original of the picture in Steven's _L'Atelier_ is\nclear at the first glance, the warm tonality having been accurately\nreproduced and even the drawing of the tree branches, which differs much\nin the two museum pictures having conformed precisely to that in the\ncopy by the younger Breughel. It is by this accuracy of touch, this\nrespect for differences of texture and material, this recognition of the\npart played in the ensemble by insignificant detail, this artistic\nconscience, in a word, that Stevens demonstrates his descent from the\ngreat line of Flemish painters and makes good their tradition in modern\nlife. Many of his sayings are expressive of his personal attitude toward\nart. For example:\n\n\"It is first of all necessary to be a painter. No one is wholly an\nartist who is not a perfect workman.\"\n\n\"When your right hand becomes too facile--more facile than the thought\nthat guides it, use the left hand.\"\n\n\"Do not put into a picture too many things which attract attention. When\nevery one speaks at once no one is heard.\"\n\nConcerning technique, he says to his pupils: \"Paint quantities of\nflowers. It is excellent practice. Use the palette knife to unite and\nsmooth the color, efface with the knife the traces of the brush. When\none paints with a brush the touches seen through a magnifying glass are\nstreaked with light and shade because of the hairs of the brush. The use\nof the palette knife renders these strokes as smooth as marble, the\nshadows have disappeared. The material brought together renders the tone\nmore beautiful. Marble has never an ugly tone.\"\n\n\"One may use impasto, but not everywhere. Your brush should be handled\nwith reference to the character of what you are copying ... do not\nforget that an apple is smooth. I should like to see you model a\nbilliard ball. Train yourself to have a true eye.\"\n\nThese are precepts that might be given by any good painter, but few of\nthe moderns could more justly claim to have practiced all that they\npreached.\n\nAs a creative artist Stevens had his limitations. His lineal\narrangements are seldom entirely fortunate and his compositions, despite\nthe skill with which the given space is filled, lack except in rare\ninstances the serenity of less crowded canvasses. He invariably strove\nto gain atmosphere by his choice and treatment of accessories but he\nrarely used the delicate device of elimination. Nevertheless he was a\ngreat painter and a great Belgian, untrammeled by foreign influences. He\nnot only drank from his own glass but he drank from it the rich old\nwines of his native country.\n\n\n\n\nA SKETCH IN OUTLINE OF JACQUES CALLOT\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nA SKETCH IN OUTLINE OF JACQUES CALLOT\n\n\nIn the Print Room of the New York Public Library are a large number of\netchings by Jacques Callot, which are a mine of wealth to the\npainter-etcher of to-day, curious of the methods of his predecessors.\nLooking at the portrait of Callot in which he appears at the height of\nhis brief career with well formed, gracious features, ardent eyes, a\nbearing marked by serenity and distinction, an expression both grave and\ngenial, the observer inevitably must ask: \"Is this the creator of that\ngrotesque manner of drawing which for nearly three centuries has borne\nhis name, the artist of the _Balli_, the _Gobbi_, the _Beggars_?\" In\nthis dignified, imaginative countenance we have no hint of Callot's\ntremendous curiosity regarding the most fantastic side of the fantastic\ntimes in which he lived. We see him in the rôle least emphasized by his\nadmirers, although that to which the greater number of his working years\nwere dedicated: the rôle, that is, of moralist, philosopher and\nhistorian, one deeply impressed by the sufferings and cruelties of which\nhe became a sorrowful critic.\n\nThere surely never was an artist whose life and environment were more\nfaithfully illustrated by his art. To know one is to know the other, at\nleast as they appear from the outside, for with Callot, as with the less\nveracious and ingenuous Watteau, it is the external aspect of things\nthat we get and from which we must form our inferences. Only in his\nselection of his subjects do we find the preoccupation of his mind; in\nhis rendering he is detached and impersonal, helping us out at times in\nour knowledge of his mental attitude with such quaint rhymes as those\naccompanying _Les Grandes Misères de la Guerre_, but chiefly confining\nhis hand to the representation of forms, relations and distances, with\nas little concern as possible for the expression of his own temperament,\nor for psychological portraiture of any sort.\n\nIn the little history, more or less authenticated, of his eventful youth\nis the key to his charm as an artist, a charm the essence of which is\nfreedom, an easy, informal way of looking at the visible world, a light\nabandon in the method of reproducing it, an independence of the tool or\nmedium, resulting in art which, despite its minuteness of detail, seems\nto \"happen\" as Whistler has said all true art must. The beginning was\ndistinctly picturesque, befitting a nature to which the world at first\nunfolded itself as a great Gothic picturebook filled with strange,\neccentric and misshapen figures.\n\nOne spring day in 1604, a band of Bohemians, such as are described in\nGautier's _Le Capitaine Fracasse_, might have been seen journeying\nthrough the smiling country of Lorraine on their way to Florence to be\npresent there at the great Fair of the Madonna. No gipsy caravan of\nto-day would so much as suggest that bizarre and irresponsible company\nof men, women, and children, clad in motley rags, some in carts, some\ntrudging on foot, some mounted on asses or horses rivaling Rosinante in\nbony ugliness, the men armed with lance, cutlass and rifle, a cask of\nwine strapped to the back of one, a lamb in the arms of another. A\ncouple of the swarming children were decked out with cooking utensils,\nan iron pot for a hat, a turnspit for a cane, a gridiron hanging in\nfront apron wise. Chickens, ducks, and other barnyard plunder testified\nto the marauding course of the troop whose advent at an inn was the\nsignal for terrified flight on the part of the inmates. The camp by\nnight, if no shelter were at hand, was in the forest, where the\ntravelers tied their awnings to the branches of trees, built their\nfires, dressed their stolen meats, and lived so far as they could\naccomplish it on the fat of the land--for the most part of their way a\nrich and lovely land of vine-clad hills and opulent verdure.\n\nThe period was lavish in curious gay figures to set against the peaceful\nbackground of the landscape. Strolling players of the open-air\ntheaters, jugglers, fortune-tellers, acrobats, Pierrots, and dancers\namused the pleasure-loving people. The band of Bohemians just described\nwas but one of many. Its peculiarity consisted in the presence among its\nmembers of a singularly fair and spirited child, about twelve years of\nage, whose alert face and gentle manner indicated an origin unmistakably\nabove that of his companions. This was little Jacques Callot, son of\nRenée Brunehault and Jean Callot, and grandson of the grandniece of the\nMaid of Orleans, whose self-reliant temper seems to have found its way\nto this remote descendant.\n\nAlready determined to be an artist, he had left home with almost no\nmoney in his pocket and without the consent of his parents, set upon\nfinding his way to Rome, where one of his playfellows--the Israel\nHenriet, \"_son ami_,\" whose name is seen upon so many of the later\nCallot prints--was studying.\n\nFalling in with the gipsies, he traveled with them for six or eight\nweeks, receiving impressions of a flexible, wanton, vagabond life that\nwere never entirely to lose their influence upon his talent, although\nhis most temperate and scholarly biographer, M. Meaume, finds little of\nBohemianism in his subsequent manner of living. Félibien records that\naccording to Callot's own account, when he found himself in such wicked\ncompany, \"he lifted his heart to God and prayed for grace not to join\nin the disgusting debauchery that went on under his eyes.\" He added also\nthat he always asked God to guide him and to give him grace to be a good\nman, beseeching Him that he might excel in whatever profession he should\nembrace, and that he \"might live to be forty-three years old.\" Strangely\nenough this most explicit prayer was granted to the letter, and was a\nprophecy in outline of his future.\n\nArriving in Florence with his friends the Bohemians, fortune seemed\nabout to be gracious to him. His delicate face with its indefinable\nsuggestions of good breeding attracted the attention of an officer of\nthe Duke, who took the first step toward fulfilling his ambition by\nplacing him with the painter and engraver, Canta Gallina, who taught him\ndesign and gave him lessons in the use of the burin. His taste was\nalready for oddly formed or grotesque figures, and to counteract this\ntendency Gallina had him copy the most beautiful works of the great\nmasters.\n\nPossibly this conventional beginning palled upon his boyish spirit, or\nhe may merely have been impatient to reach Israel and behold with his\nown eyes the golden city described in his friend's letters. At all\nevents, he shortly informed his master that he must leave him and push\non to Rome. Gallina was not lacking in sympathy, for he gave his pupil\na mule and a purse and plenty of good advice, and started him on his\njourney.\n\nStopping at Siena, Callot gained his first notion of the style, later to\nbecome so indisputably his own, from Duccio's mosaics, the pure\nunshadowed outline of which he bore in mind when he dismissed shading\nand cross-hatching from the marvelously expressive little figures that\nthrong his prints. He had hardly entered Rome, however, when some\nmerchants from the town of Nancy, his birthplace, recognized him and\nbore him, protesting, back to his home.\n\nOnce more he ran away, this time taking the route to Italy through Savoy\nand leading adventurous days. In Turin he was met by his elder brother\nand again ignominiously returned to his parents. But his persistence was\nnot to go unrewarded. The third time that he undertook to seek the light\nburning for him in the city of art, he went with his father's blessing,\nin the suite of the ambassador dispatched to the Pope by the new duke,\nHenry II.\n\nIt is said that a portrait of Charles the Bold, engraved by Jacques from\na painting, was what finally turned the scale in favor of his studying\nseriously with the purpose of making art his profession. He had gained\nsmatterings of knowledge, so far as the use of his tools went, from\nDumange Crocq, an engraver and Master of the Mint to the Duke of\nLorraine, and from his friend Israel's father, chief painter to Charles\nIII. He had the habit also of sketching on the spot whatever happened to\nattract his attention.\n\nIn truth he had lost but little time. At the age of seventeen he was at\nwork, and very hard at work, in Rome under Tempesta. Money failing him,\nhe became apprenticed to Philippe Thomassin, a French engraver, who\nturned out large numbers of rubbishy prints upon which his apprentices\nwere employed at so much a day. Some three years spent in this fashion\ntaught Callot less art than skill in the manipulation of his\ninstruments. Much of his early work is buried in the mass of Thomassin's\nproduction, and such of it as can be identified is poor and trivial. His\nprecocity was not the indication of rapid progress. His drawing was\nfeeble and was almost entirely confined to copying until 1616, when, at\nthe age of twenty-four, he began regularly to engrave his own designs,\nand to show the individuality of treatment and the abundant fancy that\npromptly won for him the respect of his contemporaries.\n\nWhile he was in Thomassin's studio, it is reported that his bright charm\nof face and manner gained him the liking of Thomassin's young wife--much\nnearer in age to Callot than to her husband--and the jealousy of his\nmaster. He presently left the studio and Rome as well, never to return\nto either. It is the one misadventure suggestive of erratic tendencies\nadmitted to Callot's story by M. Meaume, although other biographers have\nthrown over his life in Italy a sufficiently lurid light, hinting at\nrevelries and vagaries and lawless impulses unrestrained. If, indeed,\nthe brilliant frivolity of Italian society at that time tempted him\nduring his early manhood, it could only have been for a brief space of\nyears. After he was thirty all unquestionably was labor and quietness.\n\nFrom Rome he went to Florence, taking with him some of the plates he\nrecently had engraved. These at once found favor in the eyes of Cosimo\nII, of the Medici then ruling over Tuscany, and Callot was attached to\nhis person and given a pension and quarters in what was called, \"the\nartist's gallery.\" At the same time he began to study under the then\nfamous Jules Parigi, and renewed his acquaintance with his old friend\nCanta Gallina, meeting in their studios the most eminent artists of the\nday--the bright day not yet entirely faded of the later Renaissance.\n\n[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF JACQUES CALLOT\n\n_Engraved by Vosterman after the painting of Van Dyck_]\n\nStill his work was copying and engraving from the drawings of others.\nHad he been under a master less interested and sympathetic than the good\nParigi, it is possible that his peculiar talent would never have\ndeclared itself. At all events, Parigi urged him, and the urging\nseems to have been necessary, to improve his drawing, to drop the burin\nand study the great masters. Especially Parigi prayed him to cultivate\nhis precious talent for designing on a very small scale the varied and\ncomplicated compositions with which his imagination teemed. His taste\nfor whatever was fantastic and irregular in aspect had not been\ndestroyed by his study of the beautiful. The Bohemian side of human\nnature, the only nature for which he cared, still fascinated his mind,\nwhether it had or had not any influence upon his activities, and\nParigi's remonstrances were silenced by his appreciation of the comic\nwit sparkling in his pupil's sketches.\n\nWe see little of Callot among his friends of this period, but the\nglimpses we get reveal a lovable and merry youth in whose nature is a\nstrain of sturdy loyalty, ardent in work and patient in seeking\nperfectness in each individual task undertaken, but with a curious\ncontrasting impatience as well, leading him frequently to drop one thing\nfor another, craving the relaxation of change. An anecdote is told of\nhim that illustrates the sweet-tempered blitheness of spirit with which\nhe quickly won affection.\n\nIn copying a head he had fallen into an error common among those who\ndraw most successfully upon a small scale, he had made it much too\nlarge. His fellow-students were prompt to seize the opportunity of\njeering at him, and he at once improvised a delightful crowd of impish\ncreatures on the margin of his drawing, dancing and pointing at it in\nderision.\n\nHis progress under Parigi's wise instruction was marked, but it was four\nyears after his arrival in Florence before he began to engrave to any\nextent from his own designs. In the meantime, he had studied\narchitecture and aerial and linear perspective, and had made innumerable\npen and pencil drawings from nature. He had also begun to practice\netching, attaining great dexterity in the use of the needle and in the\nemployment of acids.\n\nIn 1617--then twenty-five years old--he produced the series of plates\nwhich he rightly deemed the first ripe fruits of his long toil in the\ndomain of art. These were the delightful _Capricci di varie figure_ in\nwhich his individuality shone resplendent. They reproduced the spectacle\nof Florence as it might then have been seen by any wayfarer; street\npeople, soldiers, officers, honest tradesmen and rogues, mandolin\nplayers, loiterers of the crossways and bridges, turnpike-keepers,\ncut-throats, buffoons and comedians, grimacing pantaloons, fops,\ncoquettes, country scenes, a faithful and brilliant study of the time,\nthe manners, and the place. Parigi was enthusiastic and advised his\npupil to dedicate the plates to the brother of the Grand Duke.\n\nAfter this all went well and swiftly. Passing over many plates,\nimportant and unimportant, we come three years later to the _Great Fair\nof Florence_, pronounced by M. Meaume, Callot's masterpiece. \"It is\ndoubtful,\" says this excellent authority, \"if in Callot's entire work a\nsingle other plate can be found worthy to compete with the _Great Fair\nof Florence_. He has done as well, perhaps, but never better.\"\n\nAt this time his production was, all of it, full of life and spirit,\nvivacious and fluent, the very joy of workmanship. He frequently began\nand finished a plate in a day, and his long apprenticeship to his tools\nhad made him completely their master. In many of the prints are found\ntraces of dry point, and those who looked on while he worked have\ntestified that when a blank space on his plate displeased him he was\nwont to take up his instrument and engrave a figure, a bit of drapery,\nor some trees in the empty spaces, directly upon the copper, improvising\nfrom his ready fancy.\n\nFor recreation he commonly turned to some other form of his craft. He\ntried painting, and some of his admirers would like to prove that he was\na genius in this sort, but it is fairly settled that when once he became\nentangled in the medium of color he was lost, producing the heaviest and\nmost unpleasing effects, and that he produced no finished work in this\nkind. He contributed to the technical outfit of the etcher a new\nvarnish, the hard varnish of the lute-makers which up to that time had\nnot been used in etching, and which, substituted for the soft ground,\nenabled him to execute his marvelous little figures with great lightness\nand delicacy, and also made it possible for him to keep several plates\ngoing at once, as he delighted to do, turning from one to another as his\nmood prompted him.\n\nThis Florentine period was one of countless satisfactions for him. More\nfortunate than many artists, he won his fame in time to enjoy it. His\nproductions were so highly regarded during his lifetime that good proofs\nwere eagerly sought, and to use Baldinucci's expression, were\n\"_enfermées sous sept clefs_.\" He was known all over Europe, and about\nhis neck he wore a magnificent gold chain given him by the Grand Duke\nCosimo II, in token of esteem. In the town which he had entered so few\nyears before in the gipsy caravan, he was now the arbiter of taste in\nall matters of art, highly honored, and friend of the great. When Cosimo\ndied and the pensions of the artists were discontinued, Callot was quite\npast the need of princely favors, and could choose his own path. He had\nalready refused offers from Pope and emperor and doubtless would have\nremained in Florence had not Prince Charles of Lorraine determined to\nreclaim him for his native place.\n\nIn 1621 or 1622 he returned to Nancy, never again to live in Italy. He\nwent back preeminent among his countrymen. He had done in etching what\nhad not been done before him and much that has not been done since. He\nhad created a new genre and a new treatment. He had been faithful to his\nfirst lesson from Duccio and had become eloquent in his use of simple\noutline to express joy, fear, calm or sorrow, his work gaining from this\nabandonment of shadows a largeness and clearness that separates him from\nhis German contemporaries and adds dignity to the elegance and grace of\nhis figures. His skill with the etching needle had become so great that\ntechnical difficulties practically did not exist for him. What he wished\nto do he did with obvious ease and always with distinction. His feeling\nfor synthesis and balance was as striking as his love of the curious,\nand as these qualities seldom go together in one mind, the result was an\nart extremely unlike that of other artists. It was characteristic of him\nthat he could not copy himself, and found himself completely at a loss\nwhen he tried to repeat some of his Florentine plates under other skies.\n\nArrived at Nancy, he found Henry II, the then reigning Duke of Lorraine,\nready to accord him a flattering welcome, and under his favor he worked\nwith increasing success. Among the plates produced shortly after his\nreturn is one called _Les Supplices_, in which is represented all the\npunishments inflicted throughout Europe upon criminals and legal\noffenders. In an immense square the revolting scenes are taking place,\nand innumerable little figures swarm about the streets and even upon the\nroofs of the houses. Yet the impression is neither confused nor painful.\nA certain impersonality in the rendering, a serious almost melancholy\nausterity of touch robs the spectacle of its ignoble suggestion.\nInspection of this remarkable plate makes it easy to realize Callot's\nsupreme fitness for the tasks that shortly were to be laid upon him.\n\nHe was chosen by the Infanta Elisabeth-Claire-Eugenie of Austria to\ncommemorate the Siege of Breda, in a series of etchings, and while he\nwas in Brussels gathering his materials for this tremendous work he came\nto know Van Dyck, who painted his portrait afterward engraved by\nVosterman, a superb delineation of both his face and character at this\nimportant period of his eminent career. Soon after the etchings were\ncompleted, designs were ordered by Charles IV, for the decorations of\nthe great carnival of 1627. Callot was summoned to Paris to execute some\nplates representing the surrender of La Rochelle in 1628, and the prior\nattack upon the fortress of St. Martin on the Isle of Ré. In Paris he\ndwelt with his old friend Israel Henriet, who dealt largely in prints\nand who had followed with keen attention Callot's constantly increasing\nrenown. Henriet naturally tried to keep his friend with him in Paris as\nlong as possible, but Callot had lost by this time the vagrant\ntendencies of his youth. He was married and of a home-keeping\ndisposition, and all that Henriet could throw in his way of stimulating\ntasks and congenial society, in addition to the formidable orders for\nwhich he had contracted, detained him hardly longer than a year. Upon\nleaving he made over all his Parisian plates save those of the great\nsieges to Henriet, whose name as publisher appears upon them.\n\nCallot's return to Nancy marked the close of the second period of his\nart, the period in which he painted battles with ten thousand episodes\nrevealed in one plate, and so accurately that men of war kept his\netchings among their text-books for professional reference. The next\ndemand that was made upon him to represent the downfall of a brave city\ncame from Louis XIII, upon the occasion of his entering Nancy on the\n25th of September, 1633. By a ruse Richelieu had made the entry\npossible, and the inglorious triumph Louis deemed worthy of\ncommemoration by the accomplished engraver now his subject. Neither\nCallot's high Lorraine heart nor his brilliant instrument was\nsubjugated, however, and he respectfully begged the monarch to absolve\nhim from a task so revolting to his patriotism. \"Sire,\" he said, \"I am\nof Lorraine, and I cannot believe it my duty to do anything contrary to\nthe honor of my Prince and my Country.\" The king accepted his\nremonstrance in good part, declaring that Monsieur of Lorraine was very\nhappy to have subjects so faithful in affection. Certain courtiers took\nCallot to task, however, for his refusal to obey the will of His\nMajesty, and to them Callot responded that he would cut off his thumb\nrather than do violence to his sense of honor. Some of the artist's\nhistorians have made him address this impetuous reply to the king\nhimself, but M. Meaume reminds us that, familiar with courts, he knew\ntoo well the civility due to a sovereign to make it probable that he so\nforgot his dignity. Later the king tried to allure Callot by gifts,\nhonors and pensions, but in vain. The sturdy gentleman preferred his\noppressed prince to the royal favor, and set himself to immortalizing\nthe misfortunes of his country in the superb series of etchings which he\ncalled \"_Les Misères de la Guerre_.\" He made six little plates showing\nin the life of the soldier the misery he both endures and inflicts upon\nothers. These were the first free inspiration of the incomparable later\nset called \"_Les Grandes Misères_,\" \"a veritable poem,\" M. Meaume\ndeclares, \"a funeral ode describing and deploring the sorrows of\nLorraine.\" These sorrows so much afflicted him that he would gladly\nhave gone back to Italy to spend the last years of his life, had not the\ncondition of his health, brought on by his indefatigable labor,\nprevented him.\n\nHe lived simply in the little town where he had seen his young visions\nof the spirit of art, walking in the early morning with his elder\nbrother, attending mass, working until dinner time, visiting in the\nearly afternoon with the persons, many of them distinguished and even of\nroyal blood, who thronged his studio, then working until evening. He\nrarely attended the court, but grew constantly more quiet in taste and\nmore severe in his artistic method, until the feeling for the grotesque\nthat inspired his earlier years were hardly to be discerned. Once only,\nin the tremendous plate illustrating the Temptation of Saint Anthony,\ndid he return to his old bizarre vision of a world conceived in the mood\nof Dante and Ariosto.\n\nCallot died on the 24th of March, 1635, at the age of forty-three. Still\na young man, he had passed through all the phases of temperament that\ncommonly mark the transit from youth to age. And he had used his art in\nthe manner of a master to express the external world and his convictions\nconcerning the great spiritual and ethical questions of his age. He\nenunciated his message distinctly; there were no tender gradations, no\nuncertainties of outline or mysteries of surface in his work. It is the\ngrave utterance of the definite French intelligence with a note of\ndeeper suggestion brought from those regions of ironic gloom in which\nthe Florentine recorded his sublime despair.\n\n\n\n\nCARLO CRIVELLI\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nCARLO CRIVELLI\n\n\nAmong the more interesting pictures acquired by the Metropolitan Museum\nwithin the past two years are the panels by Carlo Crivelli, representing\nrespectively St. George and St. Dominic.\n\nCrivelli is one of the fifteenth century Italian masters who show their\ntemperament in their work with extraordinary clearness. His spirit was\nardent and his moods were varying. With far less technical skill than\nhis contemporary, Mantegna, he has at once a warmer and more brilliant\nstyle and a more modern feeling for natural and significant gesture. His\nearliest known work that bears a date is the altar-piece in S. Silvestro\nat Massa near Fermo; but his most recent biographer, Mr. Rushworth,\ngives to his Venetian period before he left for the Marches, the Virgin\nand Child now at Verona, and sees in this the strongest evidences of his\nconnection with the School of Padua. Other important pictures by him are\nat Ascoli, in the Lateran Gallery, Rome, in the Vatican, in the Brera\nGallery at Milan, in the Berlin Gallery, in the National Gallery at\nLondon, in Frankfurt (the Städel Gallery), in the Museum of Brussels, in\nLord Northbrook's collection, London, in the Boston Museum, in Mrs.\nGardiner's collection at Boston, and in Mr. Johnson's collection at\nPhiladelphia. The eight examples in the National Gallery, although\nbelonging for the most part to his later period, show his wide range and\nhis predominating characteristics, which indeed are stamped with such\nemphasis upon each of his works that despite the many and great\ndifferences in these, there seems to be little difficulty in recognizing\ntheir authorship. No. 788, _The Madonna and Child Enthroned, surrounded\nby Saints_, an altarpiece painted for the Dominican Church at Ascoli in\n1476, is the most elaborate and pretentious of the National Gallery\ncompositions, but fails as a whole to give that impression of moral and\nphysical energy, of intense feeling expressed with serene art, which\nrenders the _Annunciation_ (No. 739) both impressive and ingratiating.\nThe lower central compartment is instinct with grace and tenderness. The\nVirgin, mild-faced and melancholy, is seated on a marble throne. The\nChild held on her arm, droops his head, heavy with sleep, upon her arm\nin a babyish and appealing attitude curiously opposed to the dignity of\nthe Child in Mantegna's group which hangs on the opposite wall. His hand\nclasps his mother's finger and his completely relaxed figure has\nunquestionably been studied from life. At the right and left of the\nVirgin are St. Peter and St. John, St. Catherine of Alexandria and St.\nDominic, whole-length figures strongly individualized and\ndifferentiated. St. John in particular reveals in the beauty of feature\nand expression Crivelli's power to portray subtleties and refinements of\ncharacter without sacrificing his sumptuous taste for accessories and\nornament. The Saint, wearing his traditional sheep skin and bearing his\ncross and scroll, bends his head in meditation. His brows are knit, his\nfeatures, ascetic in mold and careworn, are eloquent of serious thought\nand moral conviction. By the side of St. Peter resplendent in pontifical\nrobes and enriched with jewels, he wears the look of a young devout\nnovice not yet so familiar with sanctity as to carry it with ease. He\nstands by the side of a little stream, in a landscape that combines in\nthe true Crivelli manner direct realism with decorative formality. The\nSt. Dominic with book and lily in type resembles the figure in the\nMetropolitan, but the face is painted with greater skill and has more\nvigor of expression. Above this lower stage of the altarpiece are four\nhalf-length figures of St. Francis, St. Andrew the Apostle, St. Stephen\nand St. Thomas Aquinas, and over these again are four pictures showing\nthe Archangel Michael trampling on the Dragon, St. Lucy the Martyr, St.\nJerome and St. Peter, Martyr, all full length figures of small size and\ndelicately drawn, but which do not belong to the original series. The\nvarious parts of the altarpiece were enclosed in a splendid and ornate\nframe while in the possession of Prince Demidoff in the latter half of\nthe nineteenth century and the whole is a magnificent monument to\nCrivelli's art. The heavy gold backgrounds and the free use of gold in\nthe ornaments, together with the use of high relief (St. Peter's keys\nare modeled, for example, almost in the round, so nearly are they\ndetached from the panel) represent his tendency to overload his\ncompositions with archaic and realistic detail, but here as elsewhere\nthe effect is one of harmony and corporate unity of many parts. The\nintroduction of sham jewels, such as those set in the Virgin's crown and\nin the rings and medallions worn by Peter, fails to destroy the dignity\nof the execution. It may even be argued that these details enhance it by\naffording a salient support to the strongly marked emotional faces of\nthe saints and to the vigorous gestures which would be violent in a\nclassic setting.\n\n[Illustration: ST. DOMINIC\n\n_From a panel by Carlo Crivelli_]\n\nA quite different note is struck in the grave little composition\nbelonging to an altarpiece of early date in which two infant angels\nsupport the body of Christ on the edge of the tomb. Nothing is permitted\nto interrupt the simplicity of this pathetic group. In the much more\npassionate rendering of a similar subject--the _Pietà_ in Mr. Johnson's\ncollection--the child angels are represented in an agony of grief, their\nfeatures contorted and their gestures despairing. The little angels of\nthe National Gallery picture, on the contrary, are but touched by a\npensive sorrow. One of them rests his chin upon the shoulder of the\nChrist half tenderly, half wearily; the other in fluttering robes of a\nlovely yellow, applies his slight strength to his task seriously but\nwithout emotion. The figure of Christ, tragically quiet, with suffering\nbrows, the wound in the side gaping, is without the suggestion of\nextreme physical anguish that marks the figure in the Boston _Pietà_. The\nsentiment with which the panel is inspired is one of gentleness, of\nresignation, of self-control and piety. The same sentiment is felt in\nthe companion panel, now in the Brussels Gallery--_The Virgin and the\nChild Jesus_--which originally, with the _Pietà_, formed the central\ndouble compartment of a triptych at Monte Fiore, near Fermo. The sad\ncoloring of the Virgin's robe--a dull bluish green with a gold pattern\nover an under robe of pale ashes of roses, the calm, benign features,\nthe passive hands, are all in the spirit of subdued feeling. The child\nalone, gnomish in expression and awkward in a straddling attitude upon\nhis mother's knee, fails to conform to the general gracious scheme.\n\nIn the _Annunciation_ already mentioned, we have another phase of\nCrivelli's flexible genius--a phase in which are united the pomp and\nsplendor of his fantastic taste with the innocence and sweetness of his\nmost engaging feminine type. It would be difficult to imagine a more\ndemure and girlish Virgin than the small kneeling figure in the richly\nfurnished chamber at the right of the panel. The glory of her fate is\nsymbolized by the broad golden ray falling from the heavens upon her\nmeekly bowed head. Her face is pale with the dim pallor that commonly\nrests upon Crivelli's flesh tones, and her clasped hands have the\nexaggerated length of finger and also the look of extraordinary\npliability which he invariably gives. Outside the room in the open court\nkneels the Angel of the Annunciation and by his side kneels St. Emedius,\nthe patron of Ascoli, with a model of the city in his hands. These\nfigures are realistic in gesture and expression, interested, eager,\nresponsive, filled with quick life and joyous impulse. The richly\nembroidered garment of the angel, his gilded wings, his traditional\nattitude, neither overpower nor detract from the vivid individuality of\nthe beautiful face so firmly yet so freely modeled within its delicate\nhard bounding line. This feeling of actuality in the scene is carried\nstill farther by the introduction of a charming little child on a\nbalcony at the left, peering out from behind a pillar with naive\ncuriosity and half-shy, half-bold determination to see the end of the\nadventure. All this is conceived in the spirit of modernity and the\npersonal quality is unmistakable and enchanting. There is no excess of\nemotion nor is there undue restraint. There is a blithe sense of the\ninterest of life and the personality of human beings that gives a value\nto the subject and a meaning beyond its accepted symbolism. On the\ntechnical side, also, the panel has remarkable merit even for this\nexpert and careful painter. His Venetian fondness for magnificent\nexternals finds ample expression in the rich accessories. A peacock is\nperched on the casement of the Virgin's room, flowers and fruits, vases\nand variegated marbles all come into the plan of the handsome\nenvironment, and are justified artistically by the differentiation of\ntextures, the gradation of color, the research into intricacies of\npattern, the light firm treatment of architectural structure, and the\nskilful subordination of all superficial detail to the elements of the\nhuman drama, the figures of which occupy little space, but are\noverwhelming in significance.\n\n[Illustration: In the Metropolitan Museum, New York.\n\nST. GEORGE\n\n_From a panel by Carlo Crivelli_]\n\nIt is interesting to compare this _Annunciation_ with the two small\nsextagonal panels of the same subject in the Städel Museum at Frankfurt\nwhich are earlier in date. In many respects the compositions are closely\nsimilar. There is the same red brick wall, the same Oriental rug hanging\nfrom the casement, the types of Angel and Virgin are the same, but in\nthe Frankfurt panel there is more impetuous motion in the gesture of the\nAngel, who hardly pauses in his flight through air to touch his knee to\nthe parapet. His mouth is open and the words of his message seem\ntrembling on his lips. Although all the outlines are severely defined\nwith the sharpness of a Schiavone, the interior modeling is sensitive\nand delicate and in the case of the Virgin, tender and softly varied, so\nthat the curve of the throat and chin seem almost to ripple with the\nbreathing, the young chest swells in lovely gradation of form under the\nclose bodice, and the whole figure has a graciousness of contour, a slim\nroundness and elasticity by which it takes its place among Crivelli's\nmany realizations of his ideal type as at least one of the most lovable\nif not the most characteristic and personal. Especially fine, also, is\nthe treatment of the drapery in these two admirable little panels. The\nmantle surrounding the angel billows out in curling folds as eloquent of\nswift movement as the draperies of Botticelli's striding nymphs; and the\nopulent line of the Virgin's cloak is superb in its lightly broken swirl\nabout the figure. The hair, too, of both the Angel and the Virgin, waves\nin masses at once free and formal, with something of the wild beauty of\nBotticelli's windblown tresses. The analogy between the two painters,\nthe ardent and poetic Florentine and the no less ardent and at times\nalmost as poetic Venetian (if we accept his own claim to the title),\nmight be further dwelt upon, although it would be easy to overemphasize\nit. One attribute, certainly, they had in common and it is the one that\nmost completely separates each of them from his fellows--the exultant\n_verve_, that is, with which the human form is made to communicate\nenergy of movement in their compositions. It is impossible to believe\nthat either of them ever painted a tame picture. If, however, Crivelli\ncould not be tame he could be insipid, escaping tameness by what might\nbe called the violence of his affectation. The _St. George_ in the\nMetropolitan Museum is an instance of his occasional use of a type so\nfrail and languid in its grace and so sentimental in gesture and\nexpression as to suggest caricature. Another example dated 1491 is the\n_Madonna and Child Enthroned_ in the National Gallery. On either side of\nthe melancholy Madonna are St. Francis and St. Sebastian. The latter is\npierced by arrows and tied to a pillar, but so far from wearing the look\nof suffering or of calm endurance, he has a trivial glance of\ndeprecation for the observer, and his figure is wholly wanting in the\nforce of young manhood. A striking contrast to this effeminate mood may\nbe found in No. 724, also a _Madonna Enthroned_, between St. Jerome and\nSt. Sebastian, a late signed picture of Crivelli's declining talent,\nwith a predella below the chief panel in which appear St. Catherine,\nSt. Jerome in the Wilderness, the Nativity, the Martyrdom of St.\nSebastian again, and St. George and the Dragon. The little compartment\ncontaining the scene of the Nativity is quite by itself among Crivelli's\nworks for intimate and homely charm. The simplicity of the surroundings\nand the natural attitudes of the people have an almost Dutch character,\nborne out by the meticulous care for detail in the execution united to\nan effect of chiaro-oscuro very rare in early Italian art and hardly to\nbe expected in a painter of Crivelli's Paduan tendencies. The St. George\nis more characteristic, with an immense energy in its lines. In\narrangement it recalls the St. George of Mrs. Gardiner's collection and\ndespite its small size is almost the equal of that magnificent example\nin concentration and fire.\n\n[Illustration: In the Metropolitan Museum, New York.\n\nPIETÀ\n\n_From a panel by Carlo Crivelli_]\n\nStill another type, and one that combines dignity and much spirituality\nwith naive realism, is the _Beato Ferretti_ (No. 668), showing an open\nlandscape with a village street at the right and a couple of ducks in a\nsmall pond at the left, the Beato kneeling in adoration with a vision of\nthe _Virgin and Child_ surrounded by the _Mandorla_ or _Verica_ glory\nappearing above. The kneeling saint is realistically drawn and his face\nwears an expression of intense piety. The landscape is marked by the\nbare twisted stems of trees, that seem to repeat the rigid and\nconceivably tortured form of the saint. A beautiful building with a\ndomed roof is seen at the right. At the top of the picture across the\ncloud-strewn sky is a festoon of fruits, Crivelli's characteristic\ndecoration.\n\n[Illustration: In the Städel Gallery at Frankfort.\n\nA PANEL BY CARLO CRIVELLI (_a_)]\n\n\n[Illustration: In the Städel Gallery at Frankfort.\n\nA PANEL BY CARLO CRIVELLI (_b_)]\n\n\nIn all these pictures Crivelli reveals himself as an artist filled with\nemotional inspiration, to whom the thrill of life is more than its\ntrappings, and one, moreover, who observes, balances and differentiates.\nThe society of his saints and angels is stimulating; the element of the\nunexpected enters into his work in open defiance of his pronounced\nmannerism. It is possible to detect beneath the close and manifold\ncoverings of his ornate decoration a swift flame of imaginative impulse\nsuch as Blake sent into the world without such covering. He would have\npleased Blake by this nervous energy and by his pure bright coloring,\ndespite the fact that he signed himself \"Venetus.\" He painted in tempera\nand finished his work with care and deliberation. It is remarkable that\nso little of his mental fire died out in the slow process of his\nexecution. It is still more remarkable that in spite of his reactionary\ntendencies, his archaistic use of gold and relief at a moment when all\ngreat artists were renouncing these, he is intensely modern in his\nsentiment. He seems to represent a phase of human development at which\nwe in America have but recently arrived; a phase in which appreciation\nof ancient finished forms of beauty is united to a restless eagerness\nand the impulse toward exaggerated self-expression. He is supposed to\nhave been born about 1440, which would make him a contemporary of the\ntwo Bellini, of Hans Memling and of Mantegna. Had he only been able to\ngive his imagination a higher range--had he possessed a more controlling\nspiritual ideal, had the touch of self-consciousness that rests like a\ngrimace on the otherwise lovely aspect of much of his painting, been\neliminated, he would have stood with these on the heights of fifteenth\ncentury art. We are fortunate to have in America the Boston Museum\n_Pietà_, which shows him in one of his most temperate moods, the _Pietà_\nof Mr. Johnson's collection, which is the emphatic expression of his\nleast restrained moments, the _St. George_ of Mrs. Gardiner's\ncollection, in which his grasp of knightly character and pictorial grace\nis at its best, and these two strongly contrasted types of the\nMetropolitan Museum.\n\n\n\n\n\nREMBRANDT AT THE CASSEL GALLERY\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nREMBRANDT AT THE CASSEL GALLERY\n\n\nThe art gallery of Cassel is well known to connoisseurs as containing a\ngroup of Rembrandts of the first order. The earliest example is a small\npainting of a boy's head supposed to be a portrait of the artist at the\nage of twenty or one and twenty; Dr. Bode considers 1628 too late rather\nthan too early as the probable date, and the same authority warns us\nagainst considering such studies in the light of serious portraiture:\n\"It had never occurred to the young artist,\" he says, \"to make a\ndignified portrait of himself at the time when he painted these\npictures.\" The execution is clumsy, the color is dull and heavy and of\nthe brownish tone common to Rembrandt's early painting, and much of the\ndrawing--as in the rings of hair escaping to the surface from the thick\ncurling mass--is meaningless and indefinite, but the distribution of\nlight and shade is not unlike that of Rembrandt's later work and the\ntouch has a certain bold freedom that seems to have been his from the\nfirst whenever he served as his own model, even while his handling was\nstill hard and prim in his portraits of others. Another work ascribed\nto his early period, about 1634, is the \"Man with a Helmet,\" also\ncommonly known as a self-portrait, fluent in execution and vivacious and\nlifelike in expression, yet not without that hint of conscious pose\ncommon with the artist in his endeavors to force the note of character.\nThe blunt, strong features are strikingly like those of the\nauthenticated portraits of the artist, but Dr. Karl Voll, Director of\nthe Alt Pinakothek at Munich, declares that the idea of a\n\"self-portrait,\" attractive as it is, can hardly in this case be upheld.\nWhoever the sitter may have been, the painting is an amazing example of\ndexterity of hand and acute observation. The sharp glitter of the\nhelmet, the contrasting flesh-like quality of the painting in the face,\nthe light vigorous drawing of the moustache and hair, give an impression\nof the artist's mastery of his craft hardly to be surpassed at any\nperiod of his life. Far less poetic in its color-scheme and\nchiaro-oscuro than the youthful portrait belonging to Mrs. Gardiner's\ncollection, it is even more eloquent of the ease with which he managed\nhis tools. Of a still greater charm, with subtler problems met and\nsolved, is the portrait of Saskia van Ulenburgh, whom he married in\nAmsterdam in the year 1634, the probable date of the Cassel portrait. At\nall events the young woman carries in her hand a spray of rosemary, the\nsymbol of betrothal, and her dress has the richness of a Dutch bride's\nequipment. Here we see Rembrandt's art in perhaps its most delicate and\npsychologically interesting phase. The character revealed by the small\npretty features has neither extraordinary force nor marked\nindividuality. The lines are neither deep-cut nor broad. One is reminded\nof a fine little etching in which the plate has been bitten only to a\nmoderate depth and which requires a sensitive handling in the printing\nto produce anything like richness. Yet the result is rich in the fullest\nsense of the term. It depends for its quality not only upon the splendid\ncolor-scheme formed by the dark red of the velvet hat and gown, the\nwhite of the feather, the gold and gray and dull blue of the trimmings\nand ornaments, the beautiful jewels, with which Rembrandt then as later\nproduced an appearance of great magnificence, the bright red-gold of the\nhair falling lightly over the softly modeled brow, and the fair warm\ntones of the flesh glowing as from living health and physical energy: it\ndepends as much upon the deep research into the expression that has\nresulted in the intimate portraiture possible only to genius and seldom\nfound even in the work of the great masters, never, so far as the\nwriter's observation has gone, in the work of their later years. The\nsmile that hesitates at the corner of the whimsical little mouth, the\ntender modulations of surface on the forehead and about the\nstraight-gazing honest eyes, the swift suggestions of movement and play\nof mood in the flexible contours, the gaiety and sweetness and singular\npurity of the girlish face, are evoked with magisterial authority and\nprecision. Never surely has there been a finer example of Dutch care and\nthoroughness in the observation and rendering of minute detail united to\nbreadth of effect. The painting of the jewels and embroideries is\nwrought to a singularly perfect finish. It is almost as though the\nartist had set himself to extract the utmost beauty of which the\ntextures of stuffs and gems are capable, to prove how much more\nenchanting was the beauty of the brilliant blond demure little face\ndaintily poised above them. Dr. Bode calls the picture \"one of the most\nattractive, not only of his early pictures, but of all his works.\"\n\n[Illustration: Courtesy of Berlin Photographic Company.\n\nSASKIA\n\n_From a portrait by Rembrandt_]\n\nTo Rembrandt's early years also are ascribed certain careful studies of\nold men's heads and several portraits of younger men. Among these are\none of the writing-master Coppenol and one of the poet Krul, the former\npainted in 1632, the latter in 1633. The Krul portrait is the more\nstriking of the two, and the pictorial costume with the broad hat\ncasting its lucent shadow over the fine brow, the silken jacket with its\ngleaming reflections and the wide white ruffles at neck and sleeve on\nwhich the light blazes full, adds to the dignity and richness of the\neffect. It is easy, however, to agree with Dr. Voll in ranking the\nsplendid portrait of an unknown man, of some five or six years later\ndate, far above the Krul portrait in artistic quality. Although\nexcessively warm in tone it has in addition to excellent construction\nand a lifelike aspect a nobility of bearing that imposes itself directly\nand irresistibly upon the spectator.\n\nThe portrait of Coppenol is not easily analyzed and Dr. Bode notes that\nthe likeness to the authenticated portraits of the famous drawing master\nis not altogether convincing. Simpler and homelier in appearance than\nthe portrait of Krul, this solid and even heavy figure seated\ncomfortably in an armchair, the well-drawn hands busy with mending a\nquill pen, the glance reflective, but hardly thoughtful, the mouth under\nthe small fair moustache slightly indeterminate, the head covered with\nshort hair, the smooth fat face three-quarters in light, presents at\nfirst glance a commonplace aspect enough. But returning to it from the\nKrul or even from the more masterly later portrait, the spectator is\ncertain to be deeply impressed by the quiet yet searching execution that\ntakes account of every significant change in plane or outline in the\nlarge cheek and full chin. From the very commonplace of the pose and\ntype one gains a special pleasure, since the power of the artist to\nirradiate an ordinary subject is the more clearly seen. The serene light\nenveloping the good head and falling gently on the background brings no\nthought of method or pigment to the mind, and the fleshlike quality of\nthe face and hands is as near imitation of reality as is possible within\nthe bounds of synthetic art. It is easy to agree with Dr. Bode's opinion\nthat the homely simple portraits painted in ordinary costume and under\nordinary conditions of light during Rembrandt's first three years in\nAmsterdam are intellectually more worth while than the earlier more\npersonal works. The theory is that he turned them out in competition\nwith his contemporaries and eclipsed them on their own ground.\n\nThe portrait of \"Rembrandt's Father in Indoor Dress,\" of the preceding\nyear (1631), is in a quite different manner, and closely resembles the\npainting in Boston of an old man with downcast eyes, from the same\nmodel. The bald head and scanty beard, the wrinkled face and slightly\nuncertain mouth, are familiar to all students of Rembrandt's art. In\n1631 Rembrandt was still in his father's house and one gains some notion\nof the old miller's amiability from the frequency with which he appeared\nin etchings and paintings and the variety of the poses which he took on\nbehalf of his ardent son, adjusting his expression to his assumed\ncharacter with no little dramatic skill. Never in his later years did\nRembrandt so delicately render the patience and discipline of age. In\nthis alert, unprepossessing yet kindly face we can read a not too\nfanciful history of the temperament of the sitter. We see, at all\nevents, the mark of a sympathetic mind.\n\nThe next picture in the collection to mark a special period and one of\nbrilliant achievement in Rembrandt's career is the so-called\n\"Woodcutter's Family,\" belonging to the decade between 1640 and 1650.\nAfter an old fashion the Holy Family is represented as seen in a\npainting before which a curtain is partly drawn. The mother sits by the\nside of a cradle from which she has lifted the child who clings to her\nneck while she presses him to her in a close embrace. In the farther\ncorner of the room is the figure of the father in his carpenter's apron,\nand in the center a cat is crouching near some dishes on the floor. The\nroom is filled with a mild sunlight that filters through the air and\nfalls across the figures of the mother and child and across the broad\nexpanse of floor. The simplicity and poetic feeling in lighting and\ngesture are worthy of Rembrandt's prime, and there is no trace of the\nextreme drama that marks the religious compositions at Munich. The color\nis beautiful and the tone mysterious. Nevertheless one misses the\nprecious quality of the earlier craftmanship as it shines in such lovely\npaintings as the \"Saskia\" and the \"Portrait of a Young Woman.\" In these\nthe painter shows that he was still young, that he had arrived at a\nskill of hand that permitted him to use his medium with ease and\ncertainty, but that he had not yet ceased to attempt what lay just\nbeyond his powers. His brush still sought out subtle refinements of\nmodeling with the patience that allied him to the earlier Dutch and\nFlemish masters. He had, no doubt, the instinctive feeling of ardent\nyouth, the assumption of time ahead for the carrying out of all\nprojects, and his brilliant manipulations of his pigment showed neither\nhaste, nor as yet the complete confidence that leaves untold the detail\nof the story for the imagination of the audience to supply. He was not\nready to sacrifice everything else to that light and atmosphere of which\nhe made his own world in his later years. Characteristic of his most\nwinning use of this light that he created for his own purposes is the\nportrait of Nicholas Bruyningh, Secretary of one of the divisions of the\nCourts of Justice at Amsterdam: one of the most salient and brilliant of\nthe Rembrandts in the Cassel Gallery. This portrait belongs to the year\n1652 when the artist was about forty-five years old, and it is a superb\nexample of matured genius. The subject offered an opportunity for daring\nhandling and pictorial arrangement upon which Rembrandt seized with a\nfull understanding of its possibilities. The beautiful gay face with its\nsuggestion of irresponsibility glows from a mist of atmosphere that\nveils all minor detail, leaving in strong relief the mass of curling\nhair, the smiling dark eyes, the smiling mouth unconcealed by the slight\nmoustache, the firmly modeled nose and pliant chin, with the tasseled\ncollar below catching the point of highest light. It is the poetry of\ngood humor, of physical beauty, of content with life and life's\nadventures. It also marks what Herr Knackfuss calls Rembrandt's \"softer\nmanner\" in which all sharp outlines of objects are effaced, and the\nlights gleam from a general darkness. More than \"The Sentinel,\" which\nsometimes is given as the starting point for this departure in style, it\nhas the appearance of a dramatic emergence from shadow. From having been\na painstaking craftsman Rembrandt at this time had become a dramatist\nselecting from his material those elements best adapted to sway the\nemotions. He has lost himself--or found himself--in the expression of\ncharacter; not merely character as one element in a picture's interest,\nbut character as _the_ element. In this picture of Nicholas Bruyningh we\ncannot escape from the merry careless temperament. We cannot as in the\nearly portrait of Saskia linger in dalliance over charming accessories\nand beautifully discriminated textures until we reach by moderate\ndegrees the eloquence of the profoundly studied face. Bruyningh's face\nis like the \"_tirade_\" of a French play--it is rendered at white heat\nand in one inconceivably long breath. Its significance is so intensified\nas to produce a profound feeling in a sympathetic spectator.\n\n[Illustration: Courtesy of Berlin Photographic Company. In the Cassel\nMuseum.\n\nNICHOLAS BRUYNINGH\n\n_From a portrait by Rembrandt_]\n\nIf we compare it with the badly named \"Laughing Cavalier\" of Franz Hals\nwe see clearly enough the difference between drama and realism. Drama as\ndefined by Robert Louis Stevenson consists not of incident but of\npassion that must progressively increase in order that the actor may be\nable to \"carry the audience from a lower to a higher pitch of interest\nand emotion.\" This also defines Rembrandt's painting at all periods. As\none approaches the human face in his pictures one becomes aware of an\nemotional quality that is irresistible, and in a portrait like that of\nBruyningh the emotional quality is almost isolated from incident or\ndetail. It is the great moment of the third act when the audience holds\nits breath.\n\n\"The Standard Bearer\" is not accepted by Dr. Bode as a fine work or even\nas certainly original, the version of the same subject in Baron G. du\nRothschild's collection having made much deeper an impression upon him.\nThe Cassel version is nevertheless a work of great distinction, the\ngrave and beautiful face and shining armor looking out of a luminous\natmosphere that has more of the Rembrandtesque quality than many\nauthenticated works of Rembrandt's riper period. The work is engaging,\npersonal, striking, and if not entirely great certainly possessed of\nmany of the qualities of greatness.\n\nWhile the Cassel collection does not contain any of the superb self\nportraits of Rembrandt's later years, the one example in this kind\nhaving authority without great interest, it does include one biblical\npicture of unusual importance belonging to the year 1656, the \"Jacob\nBlessing his Grandchildren,\" which is, however, unfinished. The square,\ndirect brush strokes suggest those of Hals, the drapery is thinly\npainted with a flowing medium, the black shadows on the face of Jacob\ncut sharply into the half tones, there is little discrimination in the\ntextures and the background comes forward. But the faces of the children\nare charming in characterization, recalling the simple tenderness of the\n\"Girl Leaning Out of the Window\" at Dulwich, one of the most enchanting\nembodiments of youth ever achieved by Rembrandt, and the woman,\nIsraelitish in type, with large eyes and features rather abruptly\ndefined, is an attractive attempt to realize feminine beauty, a task in\nwhich Rembrandt was never dexterous, however.\n\nOf the two landscapes, that with the ruined castle is the most\nimpressive, but neither compares favorably with the dainty perfection of\nthe landscape etchings.\n\nIf we add to these examples the studies of old men's heads and the\ndelightful portrait of the artist's sister holding a pink in her hand,\nwe realize that the group as a whole covers many phases of Rembrandt's\nconstantly changing inspiration. He betrayed in his later works the\nimpatience of those to whom few years are left in which to complete\ntheir accomplishment, but he kept the sensitiveness of his youth well\ninto his brief prime, although he transferred it from the field of form\nto that of light. It betrays itself in the quality of that light which\nabsorbs all that is ugly, coarse, or ultra real in its poetizing\nglamour. From the tender explicit craftsmanship of the wonderful Saskia\nto the golden mist enveloping the figure of Nicholas Bruyningh, is a\nlong step, but not longer than many a painter has taken in his progress\nfrom youth to maturity. The special comment upon Rembrandt's character\nas a painter which we are able to gather from the Cassel pictures is\nthat in casting off the trammels of particularity he did not become less\nreceptive to poetic influences. He grew more and more a dreamer, and in\nlosing the clear objective manner of his early portraits he substituted\nnot the idle carelessness which in the work of a painter's later years\nis apt to be condoned as freedom, but the generalization that excludes\nvulgarities of execution and makes necessary increased mastery of the\ndifficult craft of painting.\n\n\n\n\nFANTIN-LATOUR\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nFANTIN-LATOUR\n\n\nFantin-Latour was born in 1836, was the son of a painter, and was\neducated at Paris under his father's guidance and that of Lecoq and\nBoisbaudeau, professor at a little art school connected with the Ecole\ndes Beaux-Arts. One of the most interesting painters of the little group\nin France whose work began to come before the public about the middle of\nthe nineteenth century, a close friend of Whistler, a passionate admirer\nof Delacroix, and an inspired student of the old masters, he managed to\npreserve intact an individuality that has a singular richness and\nsimplicity seen against the many-colored tapestry of nineteenth-century\nart. Rubens, Velasquez, Rembrandt, Franz Hals, and Nicolaas Maas, Pieter\nde Hooch and Vermeer of Delft, Watteau and Chardin, Van Dyck, Titian,\nTintoret, and Veronese were his true masters and his copies of their\nworks are said by his enlightened critic, M. Arsène Alexandre, to have a\nmasterly quality of their own, to be far removed from the\nconventionality of facsimiles, and to bear upon an underlying fidelity\nof transcription an impress of individual sentiment. He sought to be\nfaithful to the originals beyond external imitation, by seeking to\nrender the original tone of the painting in its first freshness, as it\nappeared before time and varnish had yellowed and darkened it. He thus\nmade himself familiar with the technical methods of the great periods of\npainting, and, coming into his inheritance of modern ideas and ideals,\nhe was able to achieve a beauty of execution much too rarely sought by\nhis contemporaries, although his intimate companions like himself\nfrequented the Louvre with a considerable assiduity, spending upon the\nold masters the enthusiasm which they withheld from the later academic\nschool of painting.\n\nHis earlier subjects were largely Biblical and historical. He then\npassed to domestic scenes and in 1859, 1861, and 1863 was painting his\npictures of _Les Liseurs_ and _Les Brodeuses_ which showed the charming\nface of his sister with her sensitive smiling mouth and softly modeled\nbrows, and later that of his wife. At the Salon of 1859 he and Whistler\nboth submitted subjects drawn from family life, Whistler his _At the\nPiano_ with his own sister and his niece, little Annie Haden, for the\nmodels, and Fantin his painting of young women embroidering and reading,\nonly to have their canvases refused. Fantin was not, however, a martyr\nto his predilections in art. He early obtained admission to the Salon\nalthough he had enough rejected work to permit him to appear among the\npainters exhibiting in the famous little \"Salon des Refusés\" of 1863. He\nreceived medals and official recognitions. But his modesty of taste led\nhim to hold himself somewhat apart and exclusive among those who shared\nhis likings. His portrait of himself, painted in 1858, shows a dreamy\nyoung man with serious, almost solemn, eyes, sitting before his easel,\nand looking into the distance with the expression of one who sees\nvisions.\n\nAs a matter of fact he did see visions and attempted to fix them with\nhis art. An ardent lover of music, he was eager to translate the\nemotions aroused by it into the terms of his own art. As early as 1859\nhe was in England, to which he returned in 1861 and 1864, and while\nthere he was surrounded by a group of people who shared his enthusiasm\nfor German music. There he first became familiar with Schumann's\nmelodies, and made the rare little etching representing his English\nfriends, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, playing one of Schumann's compositions,\nEdwards with his flute and Mrs. Edwards at the piano. In 1862 he had the\nvery tempered satisfaction of finding that Wagner, already beloved by\nhim, had reached the public taste through the labors of the courageous\nPasdeloup. \"I always regret,\" he wrote to Edwards, \"seeing the objects\nof my adoration adored by others, especially by the masses. I am very\njealous when I love.\"\n\nIn order to celebrate Wagner's triumph over these masses, however, he at\nonce made the lithograph called _Venusberg_, from which sprang the very\ndifferent oil version of the same subject which together with the\n_Hommage à Delacroix_, the story of which M. Bénédite has recounted, was\nadmitted to the Salon of 1864. Fantin's lithographs, a number of which\nare in the print room of the Lenox Library building in New York City,\nshow clearly his preoccupation with music, and an interesting article on\nthis phase of his temperament appeared in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_,\nSeptember 15, 1906. Naturally a worshiper, he did not confine himself to\ncommemorating only the musicians who were his favorites. In lithography\nand painting he exalted such diverse heroes of the different arts as\nStendhal, Hugo, Baudelaire, Delacroix, Manet, Schumann, Weber, Berlioz,\nand Wagner. In 1877 his enthusiasm for Wagner revived in his work, and\ncompositions based on the Ring music followed each other in rapid\nsuccession. Wolfram gazing at the evening star, or following with\nenchanted eyes Elizabeth's ghostly figure as it moves slowly up the hill\ntoward the towers of Wartburg; the Rhine maidens playing with rhythmic\nmotions in the swirling waters, with Alberic, crouched in the\nforeground, watching them; Sieglinde, giving Siegmund to drink, as\nhounded and pursued he sinks at the door of Hunding's dwelling; the\nevocation of Kundry by Klingner; Siegfried blowing his horn and\nreceding from the enticements of the Rhine maidens--these are among the\nsubjects that engaged him. It would be difficult to describe his manner\nof interpretation. Quite without theatrical suggestion, it combines a\ndramatic use of dark and light and a feeling for palpable atmosphere\nhardly equaled by Rembrandt himself, with a remarkably certain touch.\nNothing could better emphasize the value of technical drill to a poetic\ntemperament than these imaginative drawings. In them Fantin gives full\nrein to his emotional delight in tender visions and twilight dreams. The\nlovely rhythm of his lines, the rise and fall of his sensitive shadows\nand lights that play and interplay in as strict obedience to law as the\nwaves of the sea, his delicate modeling by which he brings form out of\nnebulous half-tones with the slightest touches, the least discernible\naccents, the accurate bland drawing, the ordered composition, the subtle\nspacing, the innumerable indications of close observation of life--all\nthese qualities combine to give an impression of fantasy and reality so\nwelded and fused as to be indistinguishable to the casual glance.\n\n[Illustration: In the Brooklyn Art Museum.\n\nPORTRAIT OF MME. MAÎTRE\n\n_From a painting by Fantin-Latour_]\n\nIn spite of the assiduous study of Dutch and Italian masters, Fantin's\nwork is characteristically French in both its fantasy and its realism.\nNot only the grace of the forms and the elegance of the gestures, but\nthe sentiment of the composition and the quality of the color, are\nundisguisedly Gallic. He is closer to Watteau than to any other painter\nbut his firmer technic and more patient temperament give him an\nadvantage over the feverish master of eighteenth-century idyls. His art\nthrobs with a fuller life and in his airiest dreams his world is made of\na more solid substance. For melancholy he offers serenity, for\ndaintiness he offers delicacy.\n\nHis technique, especially in his later work, is quite individual in its\ncharacter. He models with short swift strokes of the brush--not unlike\nthe brush work in some of Manet's pictures. His pigment is rather dry\nand often almost crumbly in texture, but his values are so carefully\nconsidered that this delicately ruffled surface has the effect of\ncasting a penumbra about the individual forms, of causing them to swim\nin a thickened but fluent atmosphere, instead of suggesting the rugosity\nof an ill-managed medium.\n\nIn his paintings of flowers he found the best possible expression for\nhis subtle color sense. The letters written to him by Whistler in the\nsixties show how fervently these paintings were admired by the American\nmaster of harmony, and also how much good criticism came to him from his\ncomrade whose enthusiasm for Japanese art already was fully awakened.\n\nAs a portraitist, Fantin was peculiarly fortunate. His exquisitely\npainted flower studies, his pearly-toned beautifully drawn nudes, his\nlithographs with their soft darks and tender manipulations of line, his\nambitious imaginative compositions, are none of them so eloquent of his\npersonality as his portraits with their absolute integrity, their fine\ndivination, and their fluent technique. The portrait which we reproduce\nis of Madam Maître, was painted in 1882, and was acquired by the Museum\nof the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences in 1906. It represents a\nwoman of middle years with a sincere and thoughtful face and a quiet\nbearing. The felicities of Fantin's brush are seen in the way in which\nthe silk sleeve follows the curve of the round firm arm, and the soft\nlace of the bodice rests against the throat and is relieved almost\nwithout contrast of color against the white skin. The touches of pure\npale blue in the fan and the delicate tints of the rose are\nmanifestations of the artist's restrained and subtle management of\ncolor, but above all there is a perfectly unassuming yet uncompromising\nrendering of character. There is nothing in the plain refined features\nthat cries out for recognition of a temperament astutely divined. They\nhave the calm repose that indicates entire lack of self-consciousness,\nno quality is unduly insisted upon, there is neither sentimentality nor\nbrutal realism in the handling, the sitter simply lives as naturally\nupon the canvas as we feel that she must have lived in the world. It is\nfor such sweet and logical truth-telling, such mild and strict\ninterpretation, that we must pay our debt of appreciation to Fantin, the\npainter of ideal realities and of actual ideals.\n\n\n\n\nCARL LARSSON\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nCARL LARSSON\n\n\nThe accomplished Swedish critic, Georg Nordensvan, opens his monograph on\nCarl Larsson with the statement that the latter is unquestionably the\nmost popular artist of the present day in his own country, and that he is\nequally popular as a man. It is not often that the personality of an\nartist seems so essentially connected with his work as in Larsson's case.\nHis gay, pugnacious, independent, yet amiable temper of mind is so\ndirectly reflected in the character of his various production as to make\na consideration of the two together an almost necessary prelude to any\naccount of him. He has insisted upon expressing his individuality at\nwhatever cost of traditional and conventional technique and he has at the\nsame time unconsciously represented the frankest, most wholesome, and, on\nthe whole, most characteristic side of the Swedish character. A rather\ndaring and flippant humor enters into his paintings. One of his portraits\nof himself shows him standing, his happy reddish face aglow, against a\nyellowish-brown wall. He is dressed in a long, yellowish-brown smoking\nfrock, and holds in his raised hand a pencil from which appears to spring\na little feminine figure supposed to represent his genius. \"This figure\ncarries what looks like a quantity of small round cookies,\" says his\ncritic, \"possibly to symbolize the adequacy with which his genius\nprovides for his nourishment.\"\n\nAnother shows him with his little girl sitting on his head, maintaining\nher equilibrium by planting stout feet on his shoulders. The painter\nwears a house-jacket, loose slippers and baggy trousers, his face beams\nwith good-humor; the child is brimming with laughter; the little scene\nis instinctive with the spirit of intimate domesticity, and the drawing,\nfree and easy, without apparent effort in the direction of elegant\narrangement or expressiveness of line, is nevertheless singularly\nnervous and vigorous.\n\n[Illustration: MY FAMILY\n\n_From a painting by Carl Larsson_]\n\nIn still another portrait, he is sitting before his easel, his little\ngirl on one knee, his canvas on the other with the easel serving only as\na prop. His eyes are turned toward a mirror which is outside the picture\nand the reflection in which he is using as a model; the child's eyes are\nfixed on the canvas watching the growth of the design. These are\n\"self-portraits\" in more than the usual sense. It is the rarest thing in\nart to find a painter representing his own aspect with such complete\nlack of self-consciousness. No characteristics seem especially to be\nemphasized, none betray exaggeration, there apparently is neither\ndistortion nor idealization, nor is there any attempt to select a mood\nthat shall preserve a favorable impression of the sitter. Nothing could,\nhowever, more favorably present a character to the critical scrutiny of\nstrangers than this superb good faith. The least sentimental of us must\nrecognize with frank delight the wholesome sweetness of the world these\nkindly faithful records open to us.\n\nLarsson was born at Stockholm in 1853. From the age of thirteen he\ndepended upon his own labors for support; retouching photographs at first.\nLater he entered the elementary school of the academy where he received\nhonors. He drew from the antique and from the model and began to make\ndrawings for illustration when he was about eighteen. The public knew him\nfirst through his drawings for the comic paper called _Kasper_, and he\nshortly became a much sought after illustrator for papers and books. The\nfirst book illustrated by him was a collection of stories by Richard\nGustafsson, the editor of _Kasper_, the next was Anderson's \"Tales.\" In\nthe latter he succeeded Isidor Törnblom, who died in 1876 after having\nexecuted only a few drawings for the first part. He became bold and rapid\nin improvisation, and light and easy in execution--qualities that he never\nlost. He was obliged to make of his academic studies a side issue,\nbread-winning taking necessarily the first place with him. No doubt it is\nto this necessity that he owes that prompt adaptation of his facility to\nvarious uses, that practical application of his freshly acquired knowledge\nwhich give to the simple compositions of his earlier period an especial\nspontaneity. He had no time to fix himself in ruts of practice. To draw\nfrom the Antinous one day and the next to press one's Greek outline into\nservice for the representation of little dancing girls and happy babies is\nto effect that union between art and life which makes the first moving and\nthe second beautiful; the union in which Daumier found the source of his\nprodigious strength. In his early years Larsson was anything but a\nrealist. His fancy turned to unusual and vast subjects, and his natural\nimpatience caused him to launch himself upon them with very inadequate\npreliminary study. The first canvas attempted by him during the study-time\nin Paris (time which he won at the Academy) was nearly ten feet high and\nrepresented a scene from the deluge with figures double life size.\nNaturally, he found himself unable to cope with the difficulties that\npromptly arose and was obliged to give it up. In 1877, when he was\ntwenty-four years old, he painted a three-quarter length portrait of a\nwoman standing, which was his best work of that period. The genre\npictures which he sent home to Stockholm at about the same time awakened\nlittle enthusiasm and spread the impression that he had no future as a\npainter and would be obliged to content himself with illustration. As an\nillustrator he became thoroughly successful, turning out a large amount of\nwork and gaining for himself in Stockholm the very inappropriate name of\n\"the Swedish Doré.\" He made enough money in this branch of art to try\npainting again in Paris, but with almost no success until the Spring of\n1883, when he exhibited at the Salon a couple of small water-colors, the\nsubjects taken from the field and garden life of Grez, a little painting\nvillage that lies south of the Fontainebleau forest. These pictures won a\nmedal and were bought in Gothenburg. Other similar subjects followed, all\ndistinguished, Nordensvan affirms, by the same pleasing delicacy of\nhandling, the same glow and splendor of sunlight, and the same glad\ncolor-harmony. He now was in a position to marry, and pictures of family\nlife presently appeared in great numbers. These are altogether\ncharming--spirited, vivid, original, and full of an indescribable\nfreshness and heartiness. Sometimes he painted his young wife holding her\nbaby, sometimes he painted his two boys parading as mimic soldiers;\nsometimes it was his little girl hiding under the great, handsome\ndining-table; or a young people's party in the characteristic\ndining-room, all the furniture and decorations of which are reproduced\nwith crisp naturalism.\n\nNot the least charm of his paintings lies in the beauty of these\nhandsome interiors in which detail has the precise definition found in\nthe work of the old Dutch artists. While Larsson's technique lacks the\nexquisite finish of a Terborch or Vermeer of Delft he tells almost as\nmany truths about a house and its occupants as they do. If we consider,\nfor example, the charming composition which he calls \"The Sluggard's\nMelancholy Breakfast\" (\"Sjusofverskans dystra frukost\") we find worthy\nof note not only the pensive and rather cross little girl sitting alone\nat the table with her loaf of bread and cup of milk, but also the long\ntablecloth with its handsome conventional design, obviously a bit of\nartistic handicraft since it is signed and dated above the fringe at one\nend, the decoration on the wall, possibly the lower part of a painted\nwindow, with its significant motto \"Arte et Probitate\"; the graceful\npattern of the chairs, the big pitcher full of flowers and fruits, the\nplain ample dishes, the polished floor of the passage-way at the end of\nwhich a door opens on the green fields with a child's figure half-seen\nstanding on the threshold, the fine rich color harmony of greens and\nreds and blues and browns held together by a subtlety of tone that\ninvolves no loss of strength.\n\nHis outdoor scenes are hardly less personal in their portraiture. There\nis the one called \"Apple-Bloom\" with a Larsson child in a pink sunbonnet\nclinging to the slim stem of a young apple-tree; in the distance some\nlong low red buildings behind a board fence, in the foreground the pale\ngreen of spring grass; there is the one in which the larger part of the\npicture is filled with delicate field growth, thin sprays of pink, blue\nand white blossoms, and long slender leaves, at the top of the canvas a\nlittle thicket of trees with a small bright head peering between the\nbranches; there is the one in which a baby lies on the greensward under\nthe trees; each has an indescribable charm of individuality. Doubtless\nresembling a hundred other groves or meadows, these have an expression\nof their own distinguishing them from their kind. It is the genius of\nthe close observer for discrimination between like things.\n\nWhatever the subject, the treatment is always brilliant, frank and\njoyous. Larsson's brushwork is light and flowing; he has, indeed, a\ncertain French vivacity of technique, but his motives and his personal\npoint of view are so purely Scandinavian as to leave no other impression\non the mind. Nor is he merely the painter of the Swedish type. He is the\npainter of intimate home life and character as found within his own\nwalls. Hardly any other family in Sweden is known so well as his, and\nthe variety and enthusiasm of his mind lend spontaneity to these\ndomestic pictures, so that one does not easily tire of the strong\nsmiling creatures naturally and effectively presented to our vision.\n\nIn the field of mural decoration also he has shown marked originality.\nUnder the encouragement of Mr. Pontus Furstenberg, one of the foremost\npatrons of art in Sweden, he tested himself on a series of paintings for\na girl's school in Gothenburg. He accomplished his task in a manner\nentirely his own, taking for his subjects typical figures of women in\nSweden at different periods of history--a Viking's widow; the holy\nBrigitta; a noble house mother of the time of the Vasas, etc.--but\nalthough his manner of painting was free and blithe it hardly satisfied\nthe most severe critics on account of its lack of architectonic\nqualities and the absence in it of anything like monumental simplicity.\nHe has continued, however, to go his own way in mural decoration and\nholds to the principle that the walls should look flat and that the\nharmony of color and line should be balanced and proportioned with\nregard to decorative and not to realistic effect. His subjects are apt\nto be fanciful and are executed in a semi-playful spirit not in the\nleast familiar to an uninventive age, as where the spirit of the\nRenaissance is represented by a young woman seated high on a\nstep-ladder, looking toward the sky, with Popes and Cardinals seated\non the rungs below gazing in adoration, while underneath them all yawns\nthe grave filled with skeletons, from which the Renaissance has risen.\n\n[Illustration: A PAINTING BY CARL LARSSON]\n\nOn the subject of home arts and handicrafts Larsson has emphatic ideas\nand urges on his compatriots the desirability of preserving their\nnational types. \"Take care of your true self while time is,\" he says,\n\"again become a plain and worthy people. Be clumsy rather than elegant:\ndress yourselves in furs, skins, and woolens, make yourselves things\nthat are in harmony with your heavy bodies, and make everything in\nbright strong colors; yes, in the so-called gaudy peasant colors which\nare needed contrasts to your deep green pine forests and cold white\nsnow.\" He has made designs for haute-lisse weaving which were executed\nby the Handicraft Guild and which were practically open air painting\ntranslated into the Gobelin weave. In all that he does he is free from\nthe trammels of convention; but his chief triumphs are in a field that\nis sadly neglected in modern art. As a painter of family life he is\nsurpassed by none of his contemporaries.\n\n\n\n\nJAN STEEN\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nJAN STEEN\n\n\nJan Steen was born in Leyden about 1626, which would make him nineteen\nyears younger than Rembrandt. He is said to have studied first under\nNicolas Knüpfer and then possibly under Adriaen van Ostade in Harlem,\nand finally under Jan van Goyen at the Hague. In 1648 he was enrolled in\nthe Painter's Guild at Leyden, and the following year he married\nMargaretha van Goyen, the daughter of his latest master. His father was\na well-to-do merchant and beer-brewer and Steen himself at one time ran\na brewery, though apparently not with great success. He incontestably\nwas familiar with the life of drinking places and houses in which rough\nmerrymaking was the chief business. Many of his subjects are drawn from\nsuch sources and his brush brings them before us with their\ncharacteristic features sharply observed and emphasized. He has been\naccused of a moralizing tendency and it may at least be said that he\npermits us to draw our own moral from perverted and unpolished facts. In\nhis least restrained moments he is a kind of Dutch Jordaens, less\nexuberant, less sturdy and florid and gesticulatory; but with the same\nzest for living, the same union of old and young in any festival that\nincludes good meat and good drink with song and dance and horse-play. If\nwe compare \"_Die Lustige Familie_\" at Amsterdam with that ebullient\nrendering of the same subject by Jordaens entitled \"_Zoo de ouden\nzongen: Zoo pypen de jongen_\" that hangs in the Antwerp Museum, we have\nno difficulty in perceiving the points of similarity. There even are\nlikenesses in the color-schemes of the two painters, Jordaen's silvery\nyellows for once meeting their match; but we find in Steen's picture a\nmore subtle discrimination in the characters and temperaments lying\nbeneath the physical features of the gay company.\n\nOftentimes Steen indulges in a gay and harmless badinage as different as\npossible from the bold and keen irony of his wilder themes. In \"_Die\nKatzentanz Stunde_\" of the Rijks museum at Amsterdam the laughing\nchildren putting the wretched little cat through a course of unwelcome\ninstruction, the excited pose of the dog, the concentration of the girl\nupon her dance-music, are rendered with joyous freedom and animation,\nand suggest a childlike mood. The lovely _Menagerie_ of the Hague is\nconceived in a still milder and gentler temper, the demure child among\nher pets, feeding her lamb, with her doves flying about her head and\nthe faithful little Steen dog in the background, is an idyllic figure.\nIndeed the entire composition has a tenderness and almost a religious\ndepth of sentiment that make it unique among the painter's achievements.\nAnother charming composition in which homely pleasures enjoyed with\nmoderation and in a mood of simple merriment are delicately depicted is\n\"_Der Wirtshausgarten_\" in Berlin, in which the young people and their\nelders together with the happy dog are having a quiet meal under a green\narbor. Family pets play an important part in all these scenes of\ndomestic life; apparently Jan Steen even more than other Dutch painters\nwas interested in the idiosyncrasies of the animals about him and was\namused by incidents including them. His pictures gain by this a certain\nsuggestion of kindliness and community of good feeling that is\nrefreshing in the midst of the frequent vulgarity of theme and\nsentiment. Reminiscences of the exquisite feeling shown in \"_Die\nMenagerie_\" continually occur in such incidents as a girl feeding her\nparrot, the play of children with the friendly dogs and cats of the\nnoisy inn, and especially in the importance given to the expressions and\nattitudes of the dumb creatures. The dog is nearly always in the\nforeground, invariably characterized with the utmost vivacity and\nclearness, and usually playing his cheerful part in whatever of lively\noccupation his masters are engaged in. In \"_Die Lustige Familie_\" he\njoins his voice to the family concert with an expression of canine\nagony.\n\nFrequently the subjects are obviously drawn from the life of his own\nfamily circle and the portraits of his children in these canvases are\nalways sympathetic and delightful, giving a peculiarly intimate\ncharacter to the artist's works in this kind. In \"_Das Nikolausfest_\" at\nAmsterdam the little girl in the foreground--apparently the little\nElisabeth born in 1662, who figures in so many of the later\npaintings--is a particularly engaging figure.\n\nThese simpler \"feasts\" and family gatherings in which gay laughter\nreigns in place of brawling, constitute a delightful phase of Steen's\nart, yet curiously they are seldom as beautiful in their esthetic\nqualities as the tavern scenes and incidents of low and vicious life.\nThe picture in the Louvre, however, \"_Das Familien Mahl_,\" contradicts\nthis generalization in the sheer loveliness of color, in the light that\nstreams through the window hung with vines, and in the delicately\ndiscriminated textures of the gowns and furnishings. In this picture the\nfigure of the woman nursing her child in the background has an amplitude\nof line and graciousness of pose that places it on a plane with Millet's\nrenderings of similar subjects, while the painting in itself is of a\nquality never achieved by the poetic Frenchman.\n\nOccasionally we find compositions by Steen in which only two or three\nfigures are introduced, although as a rule he crowds every inch of his\ncanvas with human beings and still-life. A very beautiful example of\nthese compositions is seen in \"_Die Musikstunde_\" of the National\nGallery, London. The daintiness and innocence of the young girl's\nprofile, the refinement of the man's face, and the enchanting tones of\nthe yellow bodice and blue skirt make of this picture a worthy sequel to\n\"_Die Menagerie_.\"\n\nAnother composition of two figures is \"_Das Trinkerpaar_\" in the Rijks\nMuseum at Amsterdam. A woman is drinking from a glass, and a man\nstanding at one side holds a jug and looks at her with an expression of\nconcern. The painting of the woman's right hand which she holds to her\nbreast is delightful and so is the clear half-tone of her face. An\nattractive one-figure composition, also in the Rijks Museum, is \"_Die\nScheuermagd_,\" a scullery maid scouring a metal pitcher on the top of a\ncask. The discriminations of texture in this picture, the wood and metal\nsurfaces, the cotton of the woman's blouse, the rather coarse skin of\nher bared arms and the more delicate texture of her full throat, are\nespecially noteworthy. Several compositions in which two or three\nfigures are grouped are variations of one theme, an invalid visited by\nher physician. In several instances the title, the rather lackadaisical\nexpression of the lady, and the significant glances of her companions,\nindicate that love-sickness is the malady. The color in these pictures\nis usually beautiful and the types are cleverly differentiated, the\nentire story becoming apparent to the spectator by particularities of\ngesture and feature, neither exaggerated nor emphasized unduly, but\nacutely observed and rendered at their precise value in the\nexpressiveness of the whole. A very fine example of these\n\"_Doktorbilder_\" is in the collection of the New York Historical\nSociety. The doctor is bleeding his patient, and there are several\npeople in the room. The rich costumes are distinguished by the\nindescribable blond yellows and silvery blues that make Steen's color\nharmonies at their best singularly delicate and blithe.\n\nAmong the compositions in which many figures in a complicated\nenvironment tax the artist's technical skill to the utmost, are several\nrepresentations of the bean feast, that saturnalia of Germany, upon\nwhich abundant eating and drinking are in order. One of the most\nbeautiful of these pictures is in the Cassel Gallery. Steen himself,\nportly and flushed, sits at the table, grimacing good-naturedly at the\nracket assailing his ears. His handsome wife is in the foreground, her\nlarge free gesture and unrestrained pose bringing out the opulent beauty\nof her form draped in shining silken stuffs. Her face, turned toward\nthe little urchin who has found the bean in the cake and thus won the\nright to wear a paper crown as king of the revels, is dimpled with\nsmiles. The two children are babyish in figure and expression and the\nlittle dog is more serious than is his wont upon these occasions. A\ncouple of men are making a din with bits of brass and iron, and the\nplace is in complete disorder with eggshells and kitchen utensils\nscattered about on the floor, yet the aspect of the scene is curiously\nremoved from vulgarity. Both beauty and character have been ideals of\nthe artist. He has not only grasped the loveliness of external things\nbut he has delved rather deeply into the individualities of these\nroistering Hollanders. You do not feel as you do with Jordaens that\nexcess of flesh and the joys of the palate are all the world holds for\nthe revelers. The world holds, for one thing, appreciation of rich\naccessories. The columned bedstead, the handsome rugs, the carved\nfurniture, the glint of gold in the ornate picture frame, especially the\nsheen of the silk skirts, the soft thick velvet and fur of the sacques\nand bodices, these, while they are not uncommon in the Dutch interiors\nof the period combine to produce an impression of esthetic well-being\nthat tempers the unctuous physical satisfactions of a merry-making\nclass. With Jordaens it is the satyr in man that sets the standard of\nenjoyment, except in his religious pictures which often are filled with\ngenuine and noble emotion, and in which he rises superior to Steen where\nthe latter works in the same kind. Nothing could be more commonplace or\ncharacterless in color and form than Steen's rendering of the dinner at\nEmmaus. Occasionally, however, he is equally without inspiration in his\nlustiest subjects. In the \"_Fröhliche Heimkehr_\" at Amsterdam, a merry\nenough scene of people returning from a boatride in high spirits, there\nis neither charm of color (save in the yellow jacket of a girl who leans\nover the side of the boat) nor subtlety of characterization.\n\nFully to appreciate Steen, we should know his pictures in the Louvre and\nat Amsterdam. They cover a wide range and comprise a considerable number\nof masterpieces. The life he depicts in them is not of a very high\norder, but he has seen the possibilities for pictorial representation in\nhis surroundings as almost no other painter of his time. His people are\nalive and their living is active and fervent. What they do they do with\nzest. There is energy in the painter's line and vitality in his color.\nNothing is dull or tame in his family drama. All has a touch of moving\nbeauty. In the \"_Schlechte Gesellschaft_\" of the Louvre or the more\nvulgar \"_Nach dem Gelage_\" of the Rijks Museum--least rewarding of\npictures for the moralist--how rich in beauties of color and line is the\ncomposition, how tender in modeling are the forms, how bewitching to\nthe eye the fine enamel of the surface!\n\nIn the Metropolitan Museum, in New York, is one characteristic example:\n\"The old rat comes to the trap at last,\" which badly needs cleaning, and\none new purchase attributed to Steen in the lists of his work but hardly\ntypical or even characteristic. The subject is a kitchen scene. In it we\nhave neither Steen's charm of color nor his perfection of finish. Yet\nthe turn of the woman's head, the unaffected merriment of her expression\nand that of the youth, and the type to which her face belongs\nsufficiently recall such examples of the artist's work as \"_Das Galante\nAnerbieten_\" at Brussels with which indeed it has more in common than\nwith any other of Jan Steen's pictures known to me.\n\nSteen's own portrait, painted by himself and hanging now in the\nAmsterdam Museum, shows a face upon which neither wild living nor ardent\ntoil has left unhappy marks. His serious eyes look frankly out from\nunder arched brows. His mouth is firm though smiling slightly. The high,\nbold nose and strong chin, the well-shaped head and thoughtful brow\nindicate a character more decided and more praiseworthy than the legends\nadrift concerning his life would lead us to expect in him.\n\n\n\n\nONE SIDE OF MODERN GERMAN PAINTING\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nONE SIDE OF MODERN GERMAN PAINTING\n\n\nThe best substitutes for the judgments of posterity are the judgments of\nforeigners. A group of pictures by the artists of one country, taken to\nanother country for exhibition and criticism, is subjected to something\nthe same test as the pictures of one generation coming under the\nscrutiny of another generation.\n\nWhen a collection of pictures by modern German artists was exhibited in\nAmerica in 1909, the American people were prompt in their recognition of\na certain quality which they termed national. The critics--many of\nthem--saw this quality from the adverse side and were far from\ncomplimentary to the Germans in their comparisons between American art\nand German art, but a general impression was given of a vitality\nsufficiently marked to make itself felt by the least initiated observer.\nA number of the pictures by the older men had little enough of this\nvitality, but where it existed it was so decided as to leaven the mass.\nAnd there was almost none of the sentimentality characterizing the\nTeutonic ideal as it had manifested itself in the pictures formerly\nbrought to this country.\n\nCompared, then, with the paintings of American artists and with those of\nthe Frenchmen, whose work we have known so much better than that of any\nother country, compared also with the work of the modern Spaniards,\nwhose paintings were on exhibition the same winter at the Hispanic\nMuseum, we find the special character of the German painting to exist in\na resolute individualism, a determination to express the inner life of\nthe artist, his temperament and predilections and his mood at whatever\ncost of technical facility. Expressiveness, getting the idea into\ncirculation, getting something said, this appears to be the common goal\nof the German painter of the present day.\n\nIn such case, of course, the idea is of particular importance. If it is\nto take precedence over purely esthetic qualities it is reasonable to\nexpect it to be an idea of no little importance. Let us examine some of\nthe painters represented in the exhibition arranged for America, and see\nwhether in most cases the idea is emotional as with the artists of China\nand Japan, and therefore peculiarly appropriate to translation by\nrhythms of line and harmonies of color, or intellectual, and therefore\ndemanding a complex and difficult expression and the solution of\ntechnical problems that do not come into the question at all when\nnothing else is required than to evoke an especial mood or temper of\nsoul.\n\nThe oldest of the painters represented was Adolf von Menzel, who was\nborn in 1815 and died in his ninetieth year. As he began work at an\nearly age his accomplishment practically covers the period of the\nnineteenth century. He has been designated by one of his German critics\nas three Menzels in one: the first, the historian of the Freiderician\nperiod; the second, the historian of his own time, recording the court\nlife in which he played his part; the third, the acute observer of the\nlife of the streets and workrooms and a commentator on the amusing\ndetails of the passing show.\n\nA number of his sketches were shown at the exhibition, a couple of\nlandscapes, a ballroom scene and a theater subject, beside a little\nmediaeval subject in gouache. These displayed his dexterity of hand\nwhich was truly astounding, and also his memory, as the \"Théâtre\nGymnase\" was painted fully a year after he left Paris. The ballroom\nsupper was painted in an ironic mood and the gluttony of his fellow\nhumans, their unattractive personalities, their curious aspect of the\neducated animal, appear with an intense and pitiless fidelity to the\nfact which is of the essence of intellectual realism, but which could\nequally have been achieved through the medium of words. In spite of a\ncultivated color sense and a fine control over his instrument he was\nfrom first to last essentially an illustrator. It was difficult for him\nto omit any detail that would add to the piquancy or fulness of his\nstory, however much the omission might have done for his general effect.\nHe said himself, \"There should be no unessentials for the artist,\" and\nhe advised his pupils to finish as much as possible and not to sketch at\nall. This passion for completeness rarely accompanies a strong feeling\nfor the romantic aspects of nature or for atmospheric subtleties.\nNeither does the painter who observes human nature closely and\nrepresents it with a detailed commentary upon its characteristics\nusually convey the impression of any subjective emotion.\n\nMenzel is no exception to this rule. In his work he appears as\nemotionless as a machine, but his accomplishment is not mechanical. It\nis, on the contrary, the record of a busy, highly individualized,\naccurate mind. A Berlin man, he had the alertness, the clear-cut\neffectiveness, the energy, and the coldness typical of a cosmopolitan\nproduct. If we compare his \"Ball Supper\" in which the glare of lights,\nthe elaboration of costume, the rapacity and shallow glittering\nsuperficiality of a Court festivity are presented almost as though in\nhackneyed phrases, so devoid is the picture of any meaning beyond the\nobvious, with the \"Steel Foundry\" in which the unsentimental acceptance\nof labor as a necessary factor in civilization is conspicuous, it is\nclear that his mind was free from dreams and visions whichever side of\nsociety he looked upon. In this respect his influence is salutary. It is\nlike a cool and wholesome breeze blowing away all miasmic vapors, and\nthere is a positively exhilarating quality in his firm assumption of the\npower of the human being over his material. His workmen are men of\nstrong muscle and prompt brain. In the \"Steel Foundry\" we see their\nefficient handling of the great bars of metal with admiration as we\nshould in life, and we note what in modern times is not always present\nfor notation, the intelligence and interest in their faces. In one\ncorner of the room, behind a screen or partition, a little group is\ndevouring luncheon. Here we strike once more the note of the ballroom\nsupper in the munching eagerness of the eaters, but seen in\njuxtaposition with the physical force and effort of the workers it\nceases to be revolting, and seems to symbolize the lusty joy of living\nwith a sympathetic zest of realization.\n\nIn all of Menzel's work we have this sense of physical and mental\ncompetency. It shows nothing of the abnormal or decadent, and it must\nalso be admitted that only in a few instances does it show anything of\nesthetic beauty. He was able to paint crowds of people and he managed to\nget a remarkable unity of effect in spite of his devotion to detail, but\nhis masses of light and shade are not held in that noble harmonious\nrelation achieved by the peasant Millet who was Menzel's contemporary,\nhis lines have no rhythmic flow, his color, though often charming, is\nseldom held together in a unified tone. Some one has called him \"the\nconscience of German painting,\" but he is more than that. He is both\nconscience and brain. It is always possible to obtain an intellectual\nsatisfaction from his point of view. What is lacking is emotion.\n\nWe feel this lack in other Berlin masters. Professor Max Liebermann is\none of the most distinguished of the modern group, and his large, cool,\ndefinite art is innocent of the moving quality. He was represented in\nthe exhibition by a portrait of Dr. Bode, a vigorous little composition\ncalled \"The Polo-players,\" the \"Flax Barn at Laren,\" and \"The Lace\nMaker.\" The last two were especially typical of his steady detachment\nfrom his subject. The old lace maker, bending over her bobbins, suggests\nonly absorption in her task. There is no ennobling of her form, no\nidealizing of her features, no enveloping of her occupation with\nsentiment, nothing but the direct statement of her personality which is\nneither subtle nor complex and the description of what she is doing. But\nshe is intensely real, more real, even, than Menzel's closely observed\nindividuals. Liebermann, born in 1847, was the leader of the new\ntendency characterizing the Germany of the seventies, the tendency\ntoward constant reference to nature as opposed to the old-fashioned\nconventionalism and Academic methods. There could have been no safer\nleader for a band of rebels since he was the sanest of thinkers and\nworked out a style in which the classic qualities of nobility in the\ndisposition of lines and spaces and remarkable purity of form played a\nprominent part.\n\n[Illustration: Courtesy of Berlin Photographic Company.\n\nPEASANT WOMEN OF DACHAUER\n\n_From a painting by Leibl_]\n\nObserving his \"_Flax Barn_,\" in comparison with the work of his\ncompatriots, its fine freedom from triviality of detail was apparent,\nand the beauty of its cool light, spread over large spaces and diffused\nthroughout the interior of the low shed, made itself felt. One noted\nalso, as elements of the picture's peculiarly dignified appeal, the\nsevere arrangement of the figures with the long row of workers under the\nwindows, the long threads of flax passing over their heads to the women\nin the foreground, and the almost straight line formed in turn by these\nwomen. The composition, quite geometrical in its precision, gave a sense\nof deep repose in spite of the vitality of the individual figures and\nthe impression they made of being able to turn and move at will, an\nimpression nearly always missed by Leibl, Liebermann's great forerunner\nin the painting of humble life. We get much the same austere effect from\nthe almshouse pictures of old men and women on benches in the open\nsquare, always arranged in a geometrical design, and always calm in\ngesture and mild in type, which appear from time to time in the foreign\nexhibitions of Liebermann's work.\n\nLiebermann has done for the Germans something of what Millet did for the\nFrench. He has built his art upon the daily life of the poor, but while,\nlike Millet, he has introduced a monumental element into his work, it is\nclearer, more closely reasoned, more firmly knit than Millet's art, and\nat the same time less emotional. Liebermann's hospitality to purely\ntechnical ideas, his interest in problems of light and air, his diligent\nanalysis of motion, his ability to translate a scene from the life of\nthe laboring class without sentimentality, without prettiness or\neloquence or any of the attributes that catch the multitude, give to his\nart a touch of coldness that is not without its charm for those who care\nfor a highly developed orderly product of the mind.\n\nMost of the Berlin men who are in any degree notable share somewhat in\nthis attribute. Arthur Kampf, although he has less than Liebermann of\ncool detachment, has both elegance and gravity. He could hardly have had\na better representation by any one or two canvases than by the \"Charity\"\nand the \"Two Sisters\" of the American exhibition. In the first he\ndepicts a street scene with its contrasts of poverty and wealth. A man\nand woman in evening dress, returning from their evening's pleasure, are\nbesought by poor people clustering around a soup stall and drop coin\ninto the insistent hands. The smoking caldron of soup in the center and\nthe circle of sharply differentiated faces form an admirable\ncomposition, the apparently accidental lines of which play into a\ndignified linear scheme. The \"Two Sisters\" reveals the influence of\nVelasquez in its flat modeling and subtle characterization, and in its\natmospheric grays enlivened with geranium reds. Both of these pictures\nindicate a modern temper of mind in the fluency of their technique and\nthe realism of their treatment together with the attention paid to the\ntonal quality and to the character of the space composition. Kampf,\nhowever, although a young man--he was born in 1864--has passed through\nmany phases of development which are recorded in his many-sided art. His\nsubjects range from the historical themes of his wall decorations at\nMagdeburg and Aachen through portraiture in which he grasps characters\nessentially diverse and suggests with unerring instinct the dominant\nquality, scenes of labor as in his \"Bridge-Building,\" scenes of\nbrutality and excitement as in his \"Bull-fight,\" scenes from the drama\nof the Biblical story, scenes of domestic life as in his delicately\nhumorous picture of the absorbed reader eating his breakfast with the\nmorning paper propped up in front of him, and scenes of peaceful\nholiday-making among the poor as in his idyllic \"Sunday Afternoon\" which\nshows a peasant boy playing his harmonicum under the trees, with his\nold father and mother sitting by in placid enjoyment. Various as these\npictures are and closely as the manner has in each case been adapted to\nthe special subject, we nowhere miss the note of individuality, although\nin such a portrait as that of the Kaiser, which was shown in America, it\nunquestionably is subdued. Neither do we miss the note of locality. Born\nat Aachen, Kampf is a true Rheinlander and one of his German critics\nnotes that we must look to this fact for the explanation of his special\nqualities, declaring that without the Rheinlander's cheerfulness and\nenergetic temperament, and without the background of the ancient Rhenish\nculture, he would be inconceivable. On the other hand his turning to\ndrama and romance for his inspiration speaks of his Duesseldorfian\ntraining and his realism of representation allies him to Menzel. At\nforty-two he was made president of the Royal Academy of Art in Berlin,\nand it is probable that the wholesome Rhenish energy of which his critic\nspeaks will save him from sinking into the formalism of the academic\ntradition.\n\nIn his art, however, as in that of his compatriots, it is apparent that\nthe world of ideas is the world in which he lives, and he works to\nexpress his mind rather than his soul, his thoughts rather than his\nemotions, if we follow the indefinite and arbitrary division between\nthought and feeling that does service as a symbol of a meaning difficult\nto express clearly.\n\nThere were other interesting painters represented in the Berlin group at\nthe American Exhibition, Otto Engel, Fritz Berger, Hans Hartig--and of\nall it is more or less true that the idea in their work is more\nimportant than the feeling. It is true also that the tradition of the\npeasant Leibl, a great painter, but invariably cold, rests upon most of\nthem. His wonderful manipulation of pigment is equaled by none of them,\nbut his accurate, detached observation, his balanced rendering, the\nfirmness of his method, have entered more or less into their scheme of\nart. And it is to be noted that his ideas and theirs are ideas\nappropriate to the painter's medium. Menzel's literary bent is not\nshared by them, his predilection for a story to illustrate almost never\nappears among the younger Berlin painters, and he cannot in any real\nsense be considered their prototype.\n\nWhen we turn to the older members of the modern Munich school we find\nthe influence of Boecklin dominant. Arnold Boecklin, a Swiss by birth,\nand possessed of the Swiss ingenuity of mind, has been the subject of\nendless discussion among the Germans of the present day. He exhausted\nhis very great talent in painting a symbolic world, and by his\nappreciation of the value of coherence he made his paintings\nimpressive. They are each a perfectly coherent arrangement of parts,\nmaking a whole which has the appearance of simplicity, however numerous\nthe elements composing it may be. By a combined generalization and\nintensity he turned the actual world which he studied closely enough,\ninto his own unreality. Thus, in his Italian landscapes, he reveals the\narchitectonic structure of his scene stripped of all incidental\nornament, the upright and horizontal lines left severe and\nuncompromised, and the blue of the heavens and the sea, and the dark\ngreen of the cypresses, pushed to an almost incredible depth. Everything\nis more significant than in nature, yet nature has provided the elements\nof significance. It is in his ability to see things whole and to\nco-ordinate the selected details that Boecklin is most an artist. This\nlargeness of generalization gives him power over the imagination, and\nis, perhaps the only, certainly the chief source of his power. His color\nby its very intensity overdoes the intended effect. The imagination\ninstead of being stimulated is sated, and his obvious symbolism fails to\npique the curiosity. Moreover, his handling of paint lacks\nsensitiveness. He has something of the disregard shown by the English\npainter Watts for the beauty inherent in his material which might as\nwell be clay or textile as pigment in his hands. But his appreciation of\nthe effect upon the mind of noble arrangements of space and mass\nraises him to a much higher place as an artist than he can be said to\noccupy as a painter.\n\n[Illustration: FIDDLING DEATH\n\n_From a portrait by Arnold Boecklin_]\n\nFranz von Stuck is Boecklin's most distinguished follower. When we turn\nfrom the examples of Boecklin's work, by no means the most impressive\nexamples, exhibited in America, to Stuck's \"Inferno\" we perceive both\nthe influence of Boecklin and the powerful individuality that mingles\nwith it.\n\nThere is Boecklin's insistence upon the symbol, and upon the bodying\nforth of things unseen, there is the solid violence of color, there is\nthe pompous statement of the half-discerned truths which more sensitive\nartists are content to whisper. But there is also a splendid arabesque\nof line and a deeper reading of the spiritual content of the subject.\n\nIf we compare Stuck with William Blake whose fancy also was haunted by\nDantesque conceptions, we see how much more impressive Blake's visions\nof the unreal world are and we find the reason in their swift energy of\nconception and in the artist's tenacity in holding his conception. With\nboth Boecklin and Stuck we feel that the manner of rendering the\nconception becomes more important than the initial conception, and this\nseldom, if ever, is true of Blake. In spite of Boecklin's superb\nrestraint in the disposition of his masses, when it comes to color he is\nat the mercy of the material pigment and permits it to obliterate where\nit should enhance and reveal. His forms, also, and even more than\nStuck's, lose vitality under the weight of significance forced upon\nthem, while Blake's emerge from the blank panel clean and strong and\nunencumbered. We feel that Blake, with all his struggle to utter truth\nby means of symbol, never allows his mind to lose the idea that \"Living\nform is eternal existence,\" but in Boecklin's pictures \"living form\" is\noften buried beneath his colored clays.\n\nThus we see that it cannot truly be said of him and his followers that\nthe idea is of first importance to them. It is their material that is of\nfirst importance, otherwise they would learn so to subordinate their\nmaterial as to support and disclose their idea. This is the more obvious\nthat their idea is emotional and therefore perfectly suited to\nexpression through the medium of art. Liebermann's ideas although they\nare intellectual are not of a kind that cannot appropriately be\ntranslated into pictures, and his respect for them leads him to fit his\nmanner of expression closely to their requirements. Like Leibl he is a\npainter and a thinker in one, and the faculties of the two work in\ncomplete coordination.\n\nPainters of Boecklin's type, on the other hand, wish to produce in the\nobserver a strong emotion, but they become slaves to their medium\nbecause their own emotion is not sufficiently powerful to conquer their\nminds, which become diverted by the colors and forms they produce. One\nof Blake's swift upward soaring lines has more power to carry the\nimagination heavenward than all the versions of Boecklin's \"Island of\nDeath.\"\n\nAgainst Boecklin's followers, whose minds are more or less befogged by\ntheir lack of appreciation of paint as a means to an end, we must place\nWilhelm Truebner who is a clear thinker and a great painter, with more\nwarmth than Liebermann and with a reticent color sense, a feeling for\nexpressive form, a love of reality, and no apparent desire to re-invent\nthe grotesque. His elegance of line in itself sets him apart from most\nof his compatriots, and his knowledge of how to extract from his color\nscheme its essential beauty is greater than that of most modern\npainters, whatever their nationality. His blacks have the depth and\nluster without unctiousness characteristic of black as the great\ncolorists use it, and in his touches of pale refined color enlivening a\nblack and white composition, we have the delightful effect so often\ngiven by Manet, as of a bunch of bright flowers thrown into a shadowy\ncorner.\n\nIf young Germany were content to follow in Truebner's footsteps we\nshould soon have a revival of the ancient craftsmanship and conscience\nthat animated Holbein and Dürer. Young Germany, however, has other\nplans. To learn of them the reader is referred to Meier-Graefe's\ncomprehensive and stimulating volume on modern art. The only\nrepresentation of the painters of the immediate present given in the\nAmerican exhibition was confined to the Scholle School, which, however,\nindicates clearly the creative impulse that is stirring in the younger\npainters. \"A warlike state,\" Blake wrote, \"never can produce Art. It\nwill Rob and Plunder and accumulate into one place and Translate and\nCopy and Buy and Sell and Criticize, but not Make.\" This has been true\nof the Germans, but the present generation is bent upon making and it is\nnatural that the strongest impulse toward originality should come to the\nMunich painters rather than to the cosmopolitan Berlin men.\n\nThe Scholle is a Munich association consisting of a group of young men\nwho, taking the humble and fecund earth as their symbol, as the title of\nthe society implies, seek to get into their painting the vigor and\nintensity of life and force which devotion to the healthy joys provided\nby our mother Earth is supposed to engender.\n\nThey are like the giant Antaeus whose strength was invincible so long as\nhe remained in contact with the earth, but who easily was strangled when\nlifted into the upper air. Their strength also melts into helplessness\nwhen confronted by problems of atmosphere and the delicate veils of tone\nwhich enwrap the material world for the American painter.\n\nBut the energy of these young Germans in their own field is something at\nwhich to wonder. They remind one of their critics of a band of lusty\npeasant boys journeying in rank from their University to the nearest\nbeer garden, singing loud songs by the way. Leo Putz, Adolf Muenzer,\nFritz Erler, are the leaders of the group, although Alex Salzmann and\nFerdinand Spiegel were Erler's collaborators in the famous Wiesbaden\nfrescoes which offended the taste of the Kaiser. These young men are\nentirely capable of offending a less conventional taste than the\nKaiser's, but they all are doing something which has not been done in\nGermany for many a long year; they are busying themselves with the\nvisible world and painting frankly what they see. It does not matter in\nthe least that in their decorative work they give rein to their fancy\nand produce such symbolism as we find in Erler's \"Pestilence,\" or that\nin the illustrations for Jugend they tell a story with keen appreciation\nof its literary significance. Their eyes are open upon the aspect of\nmaterial things and they paint flesh that is palpitating with life,\nforms that live and move, and color that vibrates.\n\nHere again as with Liebermann and Truebner the idea and the execution\nare in harmony, but with the Scholle painters the idea is apt to be a\nvery simple one, depending upon straightforward representation for its\nimpressiveness. Above all it reflects the national temper of mind, for\nall these individualists are German to the core and not to be mistaken\nfor any other race.\n\nOne characteristic of this national temper is directness. Not\nnecessarily simplicity, of course, since the German painter as well as\nthe German writer has frequently complex thoughts to express and uses\ncorresponding elaborations of expression. But he does not often say one\nthing while seeming to say another; he does not often give double and\ncontradictory meanings to the same subject. He does not present for your\ncontemplation the disheartening spectacle of sophistication masquerading\nas innocence, or duplicity masquerading as frankness. To that extent he\nis an optimist, however deep his native pessimism may go in other\ndirections.\n\nThere is, for example, a picture by the French artist Jacques Blanche,\nentitled \"Louise of Montmartre,\" and known to many Americans, in which\nthe girl to whom Paris irresistibly calls is shown in her boyish blouse\nand collar, her youthful hat and plainly dressed hair, in a nonchalant\nattitude, pretty and plebeian, with honest eyes, yet revealing in every\nline of her frank and fresh young face the potentiality of response to\nall the appeals made by the ruthless spirit of the city. It is\nimpossible to discern at what points the artist has betrayed that\nartless physiognomy in order to reveal the secrets of temperament, but\nthe thing is done.\n\nIt is not what the German is interested in doing. His imagination works\nsubjectively, giving form to his own conceptions, rather than\nobjectively or as an interpreter of others. Hence the downright, and, in\na sense, confiding aspect of so much of this brave art. Hence, also, its\naffinity with the American spirit, for the American still bends a rather\nunsuspecting gaze upon life and accepts character and temperament as\nthey choose to present themselves. The German, however, is articulate\nand ratiocinating where we are more purely instinctive. We are not\ninclined to reason about our moods and we seldom are able to express\nthem in our literature. In our art, on the other hand, especially in our\nlandscape art, we manage to translate our subtlest emotion. We are able\nto suggest what is too delicate for analysis, and in this we stand\nalmost alone in the painting of the present day.\n\n\n\n\nTWO SPANISH PAINTERS\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nTWO SPANISH PAINTERS\n\n\nModern art, particularly American art, owes much to Velasquez and\nsomething to Goya, and modern painters have been prompt to acknowledge\ntheir indebtedness. But there has been a prevailing impression that with\nGoya's rich and unique achievement Spanish art stopped in its own\ncountry so completely as to be incapable of revival. The impression was\ndisturbed in this country by the appearance in the galleries of the\nHispanic Museum in New York, and also in Buffalo and in Boston, of the\nwork of two modern Spaniards, one a painter who demonstrated by his\nmethods and choice of subjects that the old Spanish traditions and\nideals had not been forgotten, the other a singularly isolated\nindividual who illumined for us a side of Spanish life which art\npreviously had ignored. Both spoke a racy idiom and conveyed a sense of\nquickened vitality by freedom of gesture, unhackneyed arrangement,\nintensity of color, reality of type, yet in their influence upon the\npublic they were as far as might be asunder.\n\nJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida was born at Valencia, Spain, in 1863, and\nbegan seriously to study art at the age of fifteen. He studied at the\nAcademy of his birthplace for several years and won there a scholarship\nentitling him to a period of study in Italy. He visited Paris also,\nwhere he was profoundly impressed, it is said, by two exhibitions in the\nFrench capital, one of the work of Bastien LePage, the other of the work\nof the German Menzel. The modern note is clearly felt in all his later\npainting, but certainly not the influence of either Bastien LePage or\nMenzel. The painter to whom he bears the most marked resemblance is\nBotticelli. The spiritual languor, the melancholy sentiment, the\nmystical tendency, the curiosity and interest in the unseen which are\nimportant characteristics of the Florentine who read his Dante to such\ngood purpose do not appear in the work of this frank and lusty\nValencian, but where else in modern painting do we find the gracile\nforms, the supple muscles, the buoyancy of carriage, the light\nimpetuosity of movement, and the draperies blown into the shapes of\nwings and sails, which meet us here as in the pagan compositions of\nBotticelli?\n\n[Illustration: In the Metropolitan Museum of Art.\n\nTHE SWIMMERS\n\n_From a painting by Sorolla_]\n\nIf we glance at Sorolla's young girls and young boys racing along the\nhot beach, or his bathers exulting in their \"water joy,\" we recall at\nthe same moment the \"Primavera\" with its swift-stepping nymphs, the\nwind gods in the \"Birth of Venus,\" or the \"Judith\" with her maid\nmoving rapidly along a flower-strewn path. This joy of motion and this\ncontinual suggestion of youth and vitality form the link that binds\ntogether the so dissimilar ideals of the old and the modern master.\nSorolla's inspiration is by far the simpler. His art reflects the\nbrilliant sunshine of the Mediterranean coast, the tonic quality of the\nfresh air, and the unconventionality of life by the sea. All his people\nuse natural gestures and express in their activity the untrammeled\nenergy of primitive life. In looking at these children, and there is\nhardly a figure that has not the naïveté of childhood, we think less of\nthe individuals portrayed than of the outdoor freshness of which they\nare a part. They are much more spirits of nature than the dryads and\nnereids and mermaids conceived by the Germans to express in symbol the\nnatural forces. Nothing suggests the use of models, all has the look of\nspontaneity as though the artist had made his notes in passing, without\nthe slightest regard to producing a picture, with only the idea of\nreproducing life. Life, however, appears in his canvases in a\nsufficiently decorative form, although not in the carefully considered\npatterns of those artists with whom the decorative instinct is supreme.\n\nObserve, for example, the painting entitled \"Sea Idyl.\" Two children are\nstretched on the beach, their bright bodies wet and glistening and\ncasting blue shadows on the sands. They are lying so close to the\nwater's edge that the waves lap over them, the boy's skin shines like\npolished marble under the wet film just passing across it, and the\ngirl's drenched garments cling with sharp chiseled folds to the form\nbeneath like the draperies of some young Greek goddess just risen from\nthe sea. The insolence of laughing eyes, the idle fumbling of young\nhands in the wet sand, the tingling life in the clean-cut limbs, the\nbuoyancy of the waves that lift them slightly and hold them above the\nearth,--all are seen with unwearied eyes, and reproduced with energy.\n\nThe management of the pigment in this picture as in many of the others\ncan be called neither learned nor subtle. Apparently the artist had in\nmind two intentions, the one to represent motion, the other to represent\nlight, and he set about his task in the simplest way possible, with such\nsimplicity, indeed, that the extraordinary character of the result would\neasily be missed by a pedant. It has not been missed by the public, who\nhave entered with enthusiasm into the painter's mood, perceived the\noriginality of his vision and the joyousness of his art, and have\nradiated their own appreciation of this vitalized, healthful world of\nhappy people until they have increased the distrust of the pedant for an\nart so helplessly popular.\n\n[Illustration: In the Metropolitan Museum of Art.\n\nTHE BATH--JÁVEA\n\n_From a painting by Sorolla_]\n\nThe distrust is not unnatural. To follow the popular taste would lead us\ninto strange errors in our judgments of art, and only rarely would\nproduce a predilection capable of lasting over a generation. How is it,\nthen, that we fearlessly may range ourselves on the side of the public\nin admiration of Sorolla's art? Because the painter has cast off the\nslavery of the conventional vision. He sees for himself, the rarest of\ngifts, and thus can well afford to paint like others. He spends,\napparently, but little thought upon his execution, letting it flow\neasily according to his instinct for the appropriate. It is not a safe\nexample to follow for painters who do not see with unusual directness.\nOften in searching out refinements of execution the eye discovers\nrefinements of fact in the scene to be portrayed and makes its selection\nwith greater distinction than would be possible at first sight. But\nSorolla's prompt selective vision flies to its goal like a bee to a\nhoney-bearing flower. He takes what he wants and leaves the rest with\nthe dew still on it. His forces are neither scattered nor spent. His\nfreshness is overmastering, and with our eyes on his creations we have\nthat curious sense of possessing youth and health and freedom which we\nget sometimes from the sight of boys at their games. We are cheated into\nforgetfulness of the world's great age and our own lassitudes and\nphysical ineffectiveness. This illusion is agreeable to the most of us,\nhence our unreserved liking for Sorolla's art which produces it.\n\nThe art of Ignacio Zuloaga, on the contrary, produces the opposite\nimpression of complete sophistication. In place of adolescent\nexultations and ebullient physical activities, we find in it the strange\nsorceries of a guileful civilization. There are smiling women with\nnarrowed eyelids and powdered faces, old men practising dolorous\nrejuvenations, laughter that conceals more than it expresses, motions\nthat are as calculated as those of the dance, serpentine forms, fervid\npassions, and underneath the sophistries a violent primeval temper. In\nspite of the flowerlike gaiety of the color in rich costumes, the glint\nof silver, the sweet cool blues, the pale violets, in the painter's\nversions of the typical toreador of Spain the types are bold, cruel, and\nsullen. In spite of the fragility and elegance of the women on balconies\nunder soft laces the prevailing note is that of undisciplined ferocity\nof emotion. This too is Spain, but not the Spain of the beach and sea\nlife.\n\nThe rather numerous examples of what Mr. Christian Brinton has called\nZuloaga's \"growing diabolic tendency\" make it clear that his art holds\nno place for spontaneity and the innocence due to ignorance, but where\nhe keeps to Spanish subjects his work remains healthy. There is the\npicture entitled \"The Sorceresses of San Milan\" in which three old\nwomen are seen against a dramatic landscape. These haggard jests of\nnature bring before us a Spain from which the American finds it\nimpossible not to shrink with horror, but they are rich in dramatic\nquality and recall the power of Goya to endow the abnormal with\nimaginative splendor while holding to essential truth. They are\ndiabolic, if you will, but not Mephistophelian. There is the abstract\nhorror in them which we associate with unknown powers of darkness, but\nnot the guile with which we endow a personal devil. In striking contrast\nto this group are the balcony pictures in which women of ripe aggressive\nbeauty lounge gracefully in the open-air rooms with the same freedom of\npose as within doors, haughty yet frank, opulent, languid yet animated,\nflowers that could have bloomed nowhere else than under a scorching sun.\n\n[Illustration: Courtesy of the Hispanic Society of America.\n\nTHE SORCERESSES OF SAN MILAN\n\n_From a painting by Zuloaga_]\n\nThen there is the group of dancers and actors and singers in each of\nwhich we find the adroit mingling of the artificial with the real, and\nthe appreciation of the fact that with the people of the stage much that\nis artificial to others becomes their reality. The most vivid of them\nall is Mlle. Lucienne Bréval as \"Carmen.\" The sinuous figure is wrapped\nin a shawl apparently of a thousand colors; actually, a strong\ncombination of yellow, green, and red. The skirt which the singer\ngathers in one hand and lifts sufficiently to show the small foot in its\nred slipper has a dark vermilion ground on which is a pattern of large\nflowers of paler vermilion, boldly outlined with blue.\n\nOver it droops the dark fringe of the shawl. A crimson flower is in the\ndark hair, and the footlights cast an artificial amber glow on the face.\nThis tawny harmony is seen against a background of slightly acid green;\nat the other side of the canvas is a little table with two men seated at\nit. They look \"made up,\" in the theatrical sense, and the table looks\nrather light and rickety; there is one solid natural stage property, the\nyellow jug on the table with its dull blue figure. The whole life and\nreality of the picture are in the Carmen smiling and muffled in the\ncurious shawl, as if she were about to move in a fiery dance in which\nher brilliant wrappings would take a part as animated and vital as her\nown. No one but a Spaniard could invest a garment with such\nexpressiveness.\n\n[Illustration: Courtesy of the Hispanic Society of America.\n\nTHE OLD BOULEVARDIER\n\n_From a painting by Zuloaga_]\n\n\"Paulette as Danseuse\" is another stage figure. Here again the costume\nspeaks with extraordinary eloquence. The colors are green and pink, and\nplay delicately within a narrow range of varied tones. Under the short\ngreen jacket the low-cut bodice shows a finely modeled throat and a\nchest that seems almost to rise and fall with the breath, so palpitating\nwith life is the fleshlike surface. The poise of the figure suggests\nthat the dance has that moment ended, and the eyes and mouth are\nslightly arched. The undulating line of the draperies, now tightly\ndrawn about the figure, and again billowing into ampler curves, suggests\nthe rhythm of the dance.\n\nIn another canvas we see Paulette once more, this time in walking\ncostume, standing with her hands on her hips in a daintily awkward pose.\nHer lips, in the first picture upturned at the corners, mouselike, have\nwidened in a frank smile, her eyes have lost their formal archness and\nlook with detached interest upon the passing show, she still is supple,\nclear cut, with a flexible silhouette, but her gown would find it\nimpossible to dance, and, as before, she and her gown are one.\n\nIn \"The Actress Pilar Soler,\" on the other hand, Zuloaga dispenses as\nfar as possible with definite aids to expression. The costume is\nundefined; the half-length figure, draped in black and placed high on\nthe canvas, is seen against a dark greenish-blue background. The mass of\nthe silhouette, unbroken as in an Egyptian statue, but with tremulous\ncontours suggesting the fluttering of life in the dimly defined body, is\nsufficiently considered and distinguished; but it is the modeling of the\nface that holds the attention, a mere blur of tone, yet with all the\nplanes understood and with a certain material richness of impasto that\ncontributes to the look of solid flesh, the dark of the eyebrows making\nthe only pronounced accent--a face that becomes more and more vital as\nyou look at it, with that indestructible vitality of which, among the\nFrenchmen, Carrière was master.\n\nIn several other canvases, notably in the first version of \"My Cousin\nEsperanza,\" and the second version of \"Women in a Balcony,\" Zuloaga has\ncaught this effect of vague fleeting values, changes in surface so\nsubtle as to be felt rather than seen, a kind of floating modeling that\nsuggests form rather than insists upon it. And he has done this in the\nmost difficult manner. Whistler long ago taught us to appreciate the\neffect, but he worked with thin layers of pigment, a sensitive surface\nupon which the slightest accent made an impression. Zuloaga, on the\ncontrary, works with a full brush, and consequently a more unmanageable\nsurface. He attains his success as a sculptor does against the odds of\nhis material, but he seems better to suggest his special types in this\nway.\n\n[Illustration: Courtesy of the Hispanic Society of America.\n\nMERCEDÈS\n\n_From a painting by Zuloaga_]\n\nOften he makes his modeling with the sweep of his brush in one direction\nand another. \"Candida Laughing\" shows this method, and so does the\n\"Village Judge,\" in which the pigment is still more freely swept about\nthe bone of the cheek and the setting of the eye, telling its story of\nthe way the human face is built up in the frankest and briefest manner.\nWith the lovely \"Mercedès,\" a fragile figure, elegant in type, the\nworkmanship becomes again less outspoken. The haughty, graceful\ncarriage, and the intense refinement of the features that glow with\na pale light beneath the fine lace of the scarf, demand and receive a\ndaintier, more fastidious interpretation. In the portrait of Mrs. F., Jr.,\nthere is a fresher manner, a breezier, crisper feeling throughout. The\ncolor harmony of gray and green is cool and lively, the poise of the\nfigure lacks the touch of languor that is present in the fieriest of the\ntypical Spaniards. We seem to have passed into another and cooler air.\n\nThe composition of this picture too, is especially admirable. The\nsubject stands, bending forward a little, the left hand resting on the\nhip, the other fingering a string of pearls, a gauzy scarf is about the\nshoulder and floats away from the figure at the hips, the sky is\natmospheric and there is a background of trees, river, and bridge. At\nthe left of the canvas an iron balustrade, bent into free, graceful\ncurves, comes into the composition, beautifully drawn and painted in a\njust value, adding in the happiest manner to the decorative effect.\n\nThis is the class of pictures in which Zuloaga is at his best. The types\noffer him adequate opportunity for exercising the faculty of astute\ndiscrimination with which he is gifted, without calling into play the\nironic temper that broods with cold amusement over such a canvas as \"The\nOld Boulevardier\" than which cynicism can go but little farther. It\nmight reasonably be argued that it is only in subjects which call forth\nas many evidences as possible of the artist's temperament and character\nthat we can fully measure his force. The impulse, however, that turns\nhis gaze toward those physiognomies that offer the richest reward to the\ninvestigating scrutiny is a part of his force, as also his choice of\nsubjects about which he can talk, as one of his French critics has put\nit in his own language.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nThe word esthetic left as is throughout text. Compound words left as is\nthroughout text. Alternative and original spelling has been maintained\nincluding Rijksmuseum and Rijks Museum.\n\nSpelling and punctuation, by page number:\n\nPage\n\n   3 - _Tiger devouring a Gavial of the Ganges_ changed to Devouring.\n\n  12 - the patine of commerce[inserted . period] \"The ideal\n\n  27 - fluent handling and the mystery of tone changed to mastery.\n\n  44 - In Les Mâitre Contemporains, M. Paul Mongré thus changed to\n  Maître.\n\n  45 - but the abounding enthusisam of the latter changed to enthusiasm.\n\n  61 - the _Gobbi_, the _Beggars_?\" inserted question mark and closing\n  quotation mark.\n\n  74 - Years 1827 and 1828 changed to 1627 and 1628 respectively.\n\n  82 -(Städel Gallery) in the Museum of Brussels, changed to (Städel\n  Gallery), in the Museum of Brussels,\n\n  84 - those set in the Virign's changed to Virgin's.\n\n  85 - physical anguish that mark the figure changed to marks.\n\n  92 - his most temperate moods, the _Pieta_ changed to _Pietà_.\n\n 100 - 1831 changed to 1631.\n\n 132 - of the two painters, Jordaen's silvery---Jordaen's left as is,\n corrected it would have been Jordaens'. Jordaens was the painter's\n name.\n\n 138 - In the \"_Frohliche Heimkehr_\" at Amsterdam changed to Fröhliche.\n\n 174 - slightest accent made an impresssion changed to impression.\n\n 174 - With the lovely \"Mercedes,\" changed to Mercedès.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Artists Past and Present, by Elisabeth Luther Cary", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31940", "title": "Artists Past and Present; Random Studies", "author": "", "publication_year": 1909, "metadata_title": "Artists Past and Present; Random Studies", "metadata_author": "Elisabeth Luther Cary", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:16.679083", "source_chars": 208847, "chars": 208847, "talkie_tokens": 47451}}
{"text": "Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material\nfrom the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\nSt. Peter's Umbrella\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"JOINED HANDS UNDER THE SACRED UMBRELLA\"]\n\n\n\n\nSt. Peter's Umbrella\n\nA Novel by KÁLMÁN MIKSZÁTH\n\nTranslated from the Hungarian by B. W. Worswick, with Introduction by\nR. Nisbet Bain\n\n\nIllustrated\n\nHarper & Brothers, Publishers\nNew York and London, MDCCCCI\n\nCopyright, 1900, by JARROLD & SONS.\n\nAll rights reserved.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION,                                                        vii\n\n\nPART I.--THE LEGEND.\n\nI.    LITTLE VERONICA IS TAKEN AWAY,                                   3\nII.   GLOGOVA AS IT USED TO BE,                                        7\nIII.  THE NEW PRIEST AT GLOGOVA,                                      11\nIV.   THE UMBRELLA AND ST. PETER,                                     25\n\n\nPART II.--THE GREGORICS FAMILY.\n\nI.    THE TACTLESS MEMBER OF THE FAMILY,                              49\nII.   DUBIOUS SIGNS,                                                  63\nIII.  PÁL GREGORICS'S DEATH AND WILL,                                 77\nIV.   THE AVARICIOUS GREGORICS,                                       92\n\n\nPART III.--TRACES.\n\nI.    THE UMBRELLA AGAIN,                                            123\nII.   OUR ROSÁLIA,                                                   138\nIII.  THE TRACES LEAD TO GLOGOVA,                                    144\nIV.   THE EARRING,                                                   160\n\n\nPART IV.--INTELLECTUAL SOCIETY IN BÁBASZÉK.\n\nI.    THE SUPPER AT THE MRAVUCSÁNS,                                  191\nII.   NIGHT BRINGS COUNSEL,                                          218\n\n\nPART V.--THE THIRD DEVIL.\n\nI.    MARIA CZOBOR'S ROSE, THE PRECIPICE, AND THE OLD PEAR-TREE,     235\nII.   THREE SPARKS,                                                  256\nIII.  LITTLE VERONICA IS TAKEN AWAY,                                 276\n\n\n\n\nIllustrations\n\n\"JOINED HANDS UNDER THE SACRED UMBRELLA\"              Frontispiece\n\"THE CHILD WAS IN THE BASKET\"                         Facing p. 26\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nKálmán Mikszáth, perhaps the most purely national, certainly, after\nJókai, the most popular of all the Magyar novelists, was born at\nSzklabonya, in the county of Nográd, on January 16th, 1849. Educated at\nRimaszombáth and Pest, he adopted the legal profession, and settled down\nas a magistrate in his native county, where his family had for\ngenerations lived the placid, patriarchal life of small country squires.\nA shrewd observer, with a strong satirical bent and an ardent love of\nletters, the young advocate made his _début_ as an author, at the age of\ntwenty-five, with a volume of short stories, which failed, however, to\ncatch the public taste. Shortly afterward he flitted to Szeged, and\ncontributed to the leading periodical there a series of sketches, whose\npiquant humor and perfection of style attracted so much notice as to\nencourage a bookseller in the famous city on the Theiss to publish, in\n1881, another volume of tales, the epoch-making \"Tót Atyafiak,\" which\nwas followed, four months later, by a supplementary volume, entitled \"A\njó palóczok.\" Critics of every school instantly hailed these two little\nvolumes as the finished masterpieces of a new and entirely original\n_genre_, the like of which had hitherto been unknown in Hungary. The\nshort story had, indeed, been previously cultivated, with more or less\nof success, by earlier Magyar writers; but these first attempts had, for\nthe most part, been imitations of foreign novelists, mere exotics which\nstruck no deep root in the national literature. Mikszáth was the first\nto study from the life the peculiarities and characteristics of the\npeasantry among whom he dwelt, the first to produce real, vivid pictures\nof Magyar folk-life in a series of humoresks, dramas, idylls--call them\nwhat you will--of unsurpassable grace and delicacy, seasoned with a\npleasantly pungent humor, but never without a sub-flavor of that tender\nmelancholy which lies at the heart of the Hungarian peasantry. And these\nexquisite miniatures were set in the frame of a lucid, pregnant, virile\nstyle, not unworthy of Maupassant or Kjelland. Henceforth Mikszáth was\nsure of an audience. In 1883 he removed to Pest, and in the following\nyear a fresh series of sketches, \"A tisztelt házból,\" appeared in the\ncolumns of the leading Hungarian newspaper, the \"Pesti Hirlap,\" which\nestablished his reputation once for all. During the last twelve years\nMikszáth has published at least a dozen volumes, and, so far, his\nproductivity shows no sign of exhaustion. The chief literary societies\nof his native land, including the Hungarian Academy, have all opened\ntheir doors to him, and since 1882 he has been twice, unanimously,\nelected a member of the Hungarian Parliament, in the latter case, oddly\nenough, representing a constituency vacated by his illustrious compeer\nand fellow-humorist, Maurus Jókai. Fortunately for literature, he has\nshown no very remarkable aptitude for politics. When I add that in 1873\nMikszáth married Miss Ilona Mauks, and has two children living, who have\nfrequently figured in his tales, I have said all that need be said of\nthe life-story of this charming and interesting author.\n\nAs already implied, the _forte_ of Mikszáth is the _conte_, and as a\n_conteur_ he has few equals in modern literature. \"A jó palóczok,\" in\nparticular, has won a world-wide celebrity, and been translated into\nnearly every European language except English, the greater part of the\nSwedish version being by the accomplished and versatile pen of King\nOscar. But Mikszáth has also essayed the romance with eminent success,\nand it is one of his best romances that is now presented to the reader.\n\"Szent Péter esernyöje,\" to give it its Magyar title, is a quaintly\ndelightful narrative in a romantic environment of out-of-the-world\nSlovak villages, with a ragged red Umbrella and a brand-new brass\nCaldron as the good and evil geniuses of the piece respectively. The\nUmbrella, which is worth a king's ransom, is sold for a couple of\nflorins to the \"white Jew\" of the district, becomes the tutelary\ndeity--or shall I say the fetish?--of half a dozen parishes, and is only\nrecovered, after the lapse of years, by its lawful owner, when, by a\nsingular irony of fate, it has become absolutely valueless--from a\npecuniary point of view. The Caldron, on the other hand, which is\nerroneously supposed to contain countless treasures, and is the outcome\nof a grimly practical joke, proves a regular box of Pandora, and\noriginates a famous lawsuit which lasts ten years and ruins three\nfamilies--who deserve no better fate. How the Umbrella and the Caldron\nfirst come into the story the reader must be left to find out for\nhimself. Suffice it to say that grouped around them are very many\npleasant and--by way of piquant contrast--a sprinkling of unpleasant\npersonages, whose adventures and vicissitudes will, I am convinced,\nsupply excellent entertainment to all lovers of fine literature and\ngenuine humor.\n\nR. NISBET BAIN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Legend\n\nPART I\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nLITTLE VERONICA IS TAKEN AWAY.\n\n\nThe schoolmaster's widow at the Haláp was dead. When a schoolmaster dies\nthere is not much of a funeral, but when his widow follows him, there is\nstill less fuss made. And this one had left nothing but a goat, a goose\nshe had been fattening, and a tiny girl of two years. The goose ought to\nhave been fattened at least a week longer, but the poor woman had not\nbeen able to hold out so long. As far as the goose was concerned she had\ndied too soon, for the child it was too late. In fact, she ought never\nto have been born. It would have been better had the woman died when her\nhusband did. (Dear me, what a splendid voice that man had to be sure!)\n\nThe child was born some months after its father's death. The mother was\na good, honest woman, but after all it did not seem quite right, for\nthey already had a son, a priest, a very good son on the whole, only it\nwas a pity he could not help his mother a bit; but he was very poor\nhimself, and lived a long way off in Wallachia, as chaplain to an old\npriest. But it was said that two weeks ago he had been presented with a\nliving in a small village called Glogova, somewhere in the mountains\nbetween Selmeczbánya and Besztercebánya. There was a man in Haláp, János\nKapiczány, who had passed there once when he was driving some oxen to a\nfair, and he said it was a miserable little place.\n\nAnd now the schoolmaster's widow must needs go and die, just when her\nson might have been able to help her a little. But no amount of talking\nwould bring her back again, and I must say, for the honor of the\ninhabitants of Haláp, that they gave the poor soul a very decent\nfuneral.\n\nThere was not quite enough money collected to defray the expenses, so\nthey had to sell the goat to make up the sum; but the goose was left,\nthough there was nothing for it to feed on, so it gradually got thinner\nand thinner, till it was its original size again; and instead of\nwaddling about in the awkward, ungainly way it had done on account of\nits enormous size, it began to move in a more stately manner; in fact,\nits life had been saved by the loss of another. God in His wisdom by\ntaking one life often saves another, for, believe me, senseless beings\nare entered in His book as well as sensible ones, and He takes as much\ncare of them as of kings and princes.\n\nThe wisdom of God is great, but that of the judge of Haláp was not\ntrifling either. He ordered that after the funeral the little girl\n(Veronica was her name) was to spend one day at every house in the\nvillage in turns, and was to be looked after as one of the family.\n\n\"And how long is that to last?\" asked one of the villagers.\n\n\"Until I deign to give orders to the contrary,\" answered the judge\nshortly. And so things went on for ten days, until Máté Billeghi decided\nto take his wheat to Besztercebánya to sell, for he had heard that the\nJews down that way were not yet so sharp as in the neighborhood of\nHaláp. This was a good chance for the judge.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"if you take your wheat there, you may as well take the\nchild to her brother. Glogova must be somewhere that way.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" was the answer, \"it is in a totally different\ndirection.\"\n\n\"It _must_ be down that way if I wish it,\" thundered out the judge.\n\nBilleghi tried to get out of it, saying it was awkward for him, and out\nof his way. But it was of no use, when the judge ordered a thing, it had\nto be done. So one Wednesday they put the sacks of wheat into\nBilleghi's cart, and on the top of them a basket containing Veronica and\nthe goose, for the latter was, of course, part of the priest's\ninheritance. The good folks of the village had made shortbread and\nbiscuits for the little orphan to take with her on her journey out into\nthe great world, and they also filled a basket with pears and plums; and\nas the cart drove off, many of them shed tears for the poor little waif,\nwho had no idea where they were taking her to, but only saw that when\nthe horses began to move, she still kept her place in the basket, and\nonly the houses and trees seemed to move.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nGLOGOVA AS IT USED TO BE.\n\n\nNot only the worthy Kapiczány had seen Glogova, the writer of these\npages has also been there. It is a miserable little place in a narrow\nvalley between bare mountains. There is not a decent road for miles\naround, much less a railway. Nowadays they say there is some sort of an\nold-fashioned engine, with a carriage or two attached, which plies\nbetween Besztercebánya and Selmeczbánya, but even that does not pass\nnear to Glogova. It will take at least five hundred years to bring it up\nto that pitch of civilization other villages have reached.\n\nThe soil is poor, a sort of clay, and very little will grow there except\noats and potatoes, and even these have to be coaxed from the ground. A\nsoil like that cannot be spoken of as \"Mother Earth,\" it is more like\n\"Mother-in-law Earth.\" It is full of pebbles, and has broad cracks here\nand there, on the borders of which a kind of whitish weed grows, called\nby the peasants \"orphans' hair.\" Is the soil too old? Why, it cannot be\nolder than any other soil, but its strength has been used up more\nrapidly. Down below in the plain they have been growing nothing but\ngrass for about a thousand years, but up here enormous oak-trees used to\ngrow; so it is no wonder that the soil has lost its strength. Poverty\nand misery are to be found here, and yet a certain feeling of romance\ntakes possession of one at the sight of it. The ugly peasant huts seem\nonly to heighten the beauty of the enormous rocks which rise above us.\nIt would be a sin to build castles there, which, with their ugly modern\ntowers, would hide those wild-looking rocks.\n\nThe perfume of the elder and juniper fills the air, but there are no\nother flowers, except here and there in one of the tiny gardens, a\nmallow, which a barefooted, fair-haired Slovak girl tends, and waters\nfrom a broken jug. I see the little village before me, as it was in\n1873, when I was there last; I see its small houses, the tiny gardens\nsown partly with clover, partly with maize, with here and there a\nplum-tree, its branches supported by props. For the fruit-trees at least\ndid their duty, as though they had decided to make up to the poor\nSlovaks for the poverty of their harvest.\n\nWhen I was there the priest had just died, and we had to take an\ninventory of his possessions. There was nothing worth speaking of, a few\nbits of furniture, old and well worn, and a few shabby cassocks. But\nthe villagers were sorry to lose the old priest.\n\n\"He was a good man,\" they said, \"but he had no idea of economy, though,\nafter all, he had not very much to economize with.\"\n\n\"Why don't you pay your priest better?\" we asked. And a big burly\npeasant answered:\n\n\"The priest is not our servant, but the servant of God, and every master\nmust pay his own servant.\"\n\nAfter making the inventory, and while the coachman was harnessing the\nhorses, we walked across the road to have a look at the school, for my\ncompanion was very fond of posing as a patron of learning.\n\nThe schoolhouse was small and low, with a simple, thatched roof. Only\nthe church had a wooden roof, but even the House of God was very simply\nbuilt, and there was no tower to it, only a small belfry at one side.\n\nThe schoolmaster was waiting for us. If I remember rightly his name was\nGyörgy Majzik. He was a strong, robust-looking man, with an interesting,\nintelligent face, and a plain, straightforward way of speaking which\nimmediately awoke a feeling of friendship in one. He took us in to see\nthe children; the girls sat on one side, the boys on the other, all as\ntidy and clean as possible. They rose on our entrance, and in a singing\nvoice said:\n\n\"Vitajtye panyi, vitajtye!\" (Good-morning, honored sirs!)\n\nMy companion put a few questions to the rosy, round-faced children, who\nstared at us with their large brown eyes. They all had brown eyes. The\nquestions were, of course, not difficult, but they caused the children\nan amount of serious thinking. However, my friend was indulgent, and he\nonly patted the schoolmaster on the back and said:\n\n\"I am quite contented with their answers, my friend.\"\n\nThe schoolmaster bowed, then, with his head held high, he accompanied us\nout to the road.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE NEW PRIEST AT GLOGOVA.\n\n\nThe new priest had arrived in the only cart the villagers had at their\ndisposal. Two cows were harnessed to it, and on the way the sacristan\nstopped to milk them, and then offered some of the milk to the young\npriest.\n\n\"It's very good milk,\" he said, \"especially Bimbo's.\"\n\nHis reverence's luggage was not bulky; it consisted of a plain wooden\nbox, a bundle of bed-clothes, two walking-sticks, and some pipes tied\ntogether with string. As they passed through the various villages the\nsacristan was often chaffed by the inhabitants.\n\n\"Well,\" they called out to him, \"couldn't you find a better conveyance\nthan that for your new priest?\"\n\nWhereupon the sacristan tried to justify his fellow-villagers by saying\nwith a contemptuous look at the luggage in the cart:\n\n\"It's good enough, I'm sure. Why, a calf a month old could draw those\nthings.\"\n\nBut if he had not brought much with him in the way of worldly goods,\nJános Bélyi did not find much either in his new parish, which appeared\nto be going to wreck and ruin. The relations of the dead priest had\ntaken away every stick they could lay hands on, and had only left a dog,\nhis favorite. It was a dog such as one sees every day, as far as his\nshape and coat were concerned, but he was now in a very unpleasant\nposition. After midday he began to wander from house to house in the\nvillage, slinking into the kitchens; for his master had been in the\nhabit of dining every day with one or other of his parishioners, and\nalways took his dog with him.\n\nThe dog's name was Vistula, but his master need not have gone so far to\nfind the name of a river, when the Bjela Voda flowed right through the\nmeadows outside the village. (The Hungarian peasants generally give\ntheir dogs the name of a river, thinking it prevents hydrophobia.) The\ndog had already begun to feel that he and the priest together had been\nbetter received than he alone, though, until now, he had always\nimagined, with his canine philosophy, that his master had in reality\nbeen eating more than his share of the food. But now he saw the\ndifference, for he was driven away from the houses where he had once\nbeen an honored guest. So altogether he was in a very miserable, lean\ncondition when the new priest arrived. The sacristan had shown him his\nnew home, with its four bare walls, its garden overgrown with weeds, its\nempty stable and fowl-house. The poor young man smiled.\n\n\"And is that all mine?\" he asked.\n\n\"All of it, everything you see here,\" was the answer, \"and this dog\ntoo.\"\n\n\"Whose dog is it?\"\n\n\"It belonged to the poor dead priest, God rest his soul. We wanted to\nkill the poor beast, but no one dares to, for they say that the spirit\nof his old master would come back and haunt us.\"\n\nThe dog was looking at the young priest in a melancholy, almost tearful\nway; perhaps the sight of the cassock awoke sad memories in him.\n\n\"I will keep him,\" said the priest, and stooping down he patted the\ndog's lean back. \"At all events there will be some living thing near\nme.\"\n\n\"That will be quite right,\" said the sacristan. \"One must make a\nbeginning, though one generally gets something worth watching first, and\nthen looks out for a watch-dog. But it doesn't matter if it is the other\nway about.\"\n\nJános Bélyi smiled (he had a very winning smile, like a girl's), for he\nsaw that old Vistula would not have much to do, in fact would be quite\nlike a private gentleman in comparison to his companions.\n\nAll this time people had been arriving in the yard to have a look at the\nnew priest; the women kept at a distance, and said: \"Dear me! so young\nand already in holy orders!\"\n\nThe men went up and shook hands with him, saying, \"God bless you! May\nyou be happy with us!\"\n\nAn old woman called out, \"May you be with us till your death!\"\n\nThe older women admired his looks, and remarked how proud his mother\nmust be of him.\n\nIn fact the new priest seemed to have taken every one's fancy, and he\nspoke a few words with them all, and then said he was tired, and went\nacross to the schoolmaster's, for he was to live there for a time till\nhe could get his own place a bit straight, and until he saw some signs\nof an income.\n\nOnly a few of the more important villagers accompanied him to talk over\nthe state of affairs: Péter Szlávik, the sacristan; Mihály Gongoly, the\nnabob of Glogova; and the miller, György Klincsok. He began to question\nthem, and took out his note-book, in order to make notes as to what his\nincome was likely to be.\n\n\"How many inhabitants are there in the village?\"\n\n\"Rather less than five hundred.\"\n\n\"And how much do they pay the priest?\"\n\nThey began to reckon out how much wood they had to give, how much corn,\nand how much wine. The young priest looked more and more serious as they\nwent on.\n\n\"That is very little,\" he said sadly. \"And what are the fees?\"\n\n\"Oh, they are large enough,\" answered Klincsok; \"at a funeral it depends\non the dead person, at a wedding it depends on the people to be married;\nbut they are pretty generous on that occasion as a rule; and at a\nchristening one florin is paid. I'm sure that's enough, isn't it?\"\n\n\"And how many weddings are there in a year?\"\n\n\"Oh, that depends on the potato harvest. Plenty of potatoes, plenty of\nweddings. The harvest decides it; but as a rule there are at least four\nor five.\"\n\n\"That is not many. And how many deaths occur?\"\n\n\"That depends on the quality of the potato harvest. If the potatoes are\nbad, there are many deaths, if they are good, there are less deaths, for\nwe are not such fools as to die then. Of course now and then a falling\ntree in the woods strikes one or the other dead; or an accident happens\nto a cart, and the driver is killed. You may reckon a year with eight\ndeaths a good one as far as you are concerned.\"\n\n\"But they don't all belong to the priest,\" said the nabob of Glogova,\nsmoothing back his hair.\n\n\"Why, how is that?\" asked the priest.\n\n\"Many of the inhabitants of Glogova are never buried in the cemetery at\nall. The wolves eat them without ever announcing it in the parish.\"\n\n\"And some die in other parts of the country,\" went on György Klincsok,\n\"so that only very few of them are buried here.\"\n\n\"It is a bad lookout,\" said the priest. \"But the parish fields, what\nabout them?\"\n\nNow they all wanted to speak at once, but Klincsok pulled the sacristan\naside, and stood up in front of the priest.\n\n\"Fields?\" he said. \"Why you can have as much ground as you like. If you\nwant one hundred acres ...\"\n\n\"One hundred acres!\" shouted Szlávik, \"five hundred if you like; we\nshall not refuse our priest any amount of ground he likes to ask for.\"\n\nThe priest's countenance began to clear, but honest Szlávik did not long\nleave him in doubt.\n\n\"The fact is,\" he began, \"the boundaries of the pasture-lands of Glogova\nare not well defined to this day. There are no proper title-deeds; there\nwas some arrangement made with regard to them, but in 1823 there was a\ngreat fire here, and all our documents were burnt. So every one takes as\nmuch of the land as he and his family can till. Each man ploughs his own\nfield, and when it is about used up he looks out a fresh bit of land. So\nhalf the ground is always unused, of course the worst part, into which\nit is not worth while putting any work.\"\n\n\"I see,\" sighed the priest, \"and that half belongs to the church.\"\n\nIt was not a very grand lookout, but by degrees he got used to the idea\nof it, and if unpleasant thoughts would come cropping up, he dispersed\nthem by a prayer. When praying, he was on his own ground, a field which\nalways brought forth fruit; he could reap there at any minute all he was\nin need of--patience, hope, comfort, content. He set to work to get his\nhouse in order, so that he could at least be alone. Luckily he had found\nin the next village an old school friend, Tamás Urszinyi, a big,\nbroad-shouldered man, plain-spoken, but kind-hearted.\n\n\"Glogova is a wretched hole,\" he said, \"but not every place can be the\nBishopric of Neutra. However, you will have to put up with it as it is.\nDaniel was worse off in the lions' den, and after all these are only\nsheep.\"\n\n\"Which have no wool,\" remarked his reverence, smiling.\n\n\"They have wool, but you have not the shears.\"\n\nIn a few days he had furnished his house with the money he had borrowed\nof his friend, and one fine autumn afternoon he was able to take\npossession of his own house. Oh, how delightful it was to arrange things\nas he liked! What pleasant dreams he would have lying in his own bed, on\npillows made by his own mother! He thought over it all when he lay down\nto sleep, and before going to sleep he counted the corners of the room\nso as to be sure and remember his dreams. (The Hungarian peasants say,\nthat when you sleep in a room for the first time you must count the\ncorners, then you will remember your dream, which is sure to come true.)\nHe remembered his dream the next morning, and it was a very pleasant\none. He was chasing butterflies in the fields outside his native\nvillage, looking for birds' nests, playing games with the boys and\ngirls, having a quarrel with Pali Szabó, and they were just coming to\nblows when some one tapped at the window outside.\n\nThe priest awoke and rubbed his eyes. It was morning, the sun was\nshining into the room.\n\n\"Who is it?\" he called out.\n\n\"Open the door, Jankó!\"\n\nJankó! Who was calling him Jankó? It seemed to him as though it were one\nof his old schoolfellows, from whom he had just parted in his dream.\n\nHe jumped out of bed and ran to the window.\n\n\"Who is it?\" he repeated.\n\n\"It is I,\" was the answer, \"Máté Billeghi from your old home. Come out,\nJankó, no, I mean of course, please come out, your reverence. I've\nbrought something.\"\n\nThe priest dressed hastily. His heart was beating fast with a kind of\npresentiment that he was to hear bad news. He opened the door and\nstepped out.\n\n\"Here I am, Mr. Billeghi; what have you brought me?\"\n\nBut Mr. Billeghi had left the window and gone back to the cart, where he\nwas unfastening the basket containing little Veronica and the goose. The\nhorses hung their heads, and one of them tried to lie down, but the\nshaft was in the way, and when he tried the other side, he felt the\nharness cutting into his side, which reminded him that he was not in the\nstable, and a horse's honorable feeling will not allow of its lying\ndown, as long as it is harnessed to the cart. There must be something\nserious the matter to induce it to lie down in harness, for a horse has\na high sense of duty.\n\nMáté Billeghi now turned round and saw the priest standing near him.\n\n\"Hallo, Jankó! Why, how you have grown! How surprised your mother would\nbe if she were alive! Bother this rope, I did make a firm knot in it!\"\n\nThe priest took a step toward the cart, where Billeghi was still\nstruggling with the knot. The words, \"if your mother were alive,\" had\nstruck him like a blow, his head began to swim, his legs to tremble.\n\n\"Are you speaking of my mother?\" he stammered. \"Is my mother dead?\"\n\n\"Yes, poor woman, she has given up the ghost. But\" (and here he took out\nhis knife and began to cut the rope) \"here is your little sister, Jankó,\nthat is, I mean, your reverence; my memory is as weak as a chicken's,\nand I always forget whom I am talking to. I've brought your reverence's\nlittle sister; where shall I put her down?\"\n\nAnd with that he lifted up the basket in which the child was sleeping\nsoundly with the goose beside her. The bird seemed to be acting the part\nof nurse to her, driving off the flies which tried to settle on her\nlittle red mouth.\n\nThe autumn sunlight fell on the basket and the sleeping child, and Máté\nwas standing with his watery blue eyes fixed on the priest's face,\nwaiting for a word or a sign from him.\n\n\"Dead!\" he murmured after a time. \"Impossible. I had no feeling of it.\"\nHe put his hand to his head, saying sadly, \"No one told me, and I was\nnot there at the funeral.\"\n\n\"I was not there either,\" said Máté, as though that would console the\nother for his absence; and then added, as an afterthought:\n\n\"God Almighty took her to Himself, He called her to His throne. He\ndoesn't leave one of us here. Bother those frogs, now I've trodden on\none!\"\n\nThere were any amount of them in the weedy courtyard of the Presbytery;\nthey came out of the holes in the damp walls of the old church.\n\n\"Where shall I put the child?\" repeated Mr. Billeghi, but as he received\nno answer, he deposited her gently on the small veranda.\n\nThe priest stood with his eyes fixed on the ground; it seemed to him as\nthough the earth, with the houses and gardens, Máté Billeghi and the\nbasket, were all running away, and only he was standing there, unable to\nmove one way or the other. From the Ukrica woods in the distance there\ncame a rustling of leaves, seeming to bring with it a sound that spoke\nto his heart, the sound of his mother's voice. He listened, trembling,\nand trying to distinguish the words. Again they are repeated; what are\nthey?\n\n\"János, János, take care of my child!\"\n\nBut while János was occupied in listening to voices from a better land,\nMáté was getting tired of waiting, and muttering something to himself\nabout not getting even a \"thank you\" for his trouble, he prepared to\nstart.\n\n\"Well, if that's the way they do things in these parts, I'll be off,\" he\ngrumbled, and cracking his whip he added, \"Good-by, your reverence.\nGee-up, Sármány!\"\n\nFather János still gave no answer, did not even notice what was going on\naround him, and the horses were moving on, Máté Billeghi walking beside\nthem, for they had to go uphill now, and the good man was muttering to\nhimself something about its being the way of the world, and only natural\nthat if a chicken grows into a peacock, of course the peacock does not\nremember the time when it was a chicken. When he got up to the top of\nthe hill he turned round and saw the priest still standing in the same\nplace, and, making one last effort to attract his attention, he shouted:\n\n\"Well, I've given you what I was told to, so good-by.\"\n\nThe priest's senses at last returned from the paths in which they had\nbeen wandering, far away, with his mother. In imagination he was\nkneeling at her death-bed, and with her last breath she was bidding him\ntake care of his little sister.\n\nThere was no need for it to be written nor to be telegraphed to him;\nthere were higher forces which communicated the fact to him.\n\nJános's first impulse was to run after Máté, and ask him to stop and\ntell him all about his mother, how she had lived during the last two\nyears, how she had died, how they had buried her, in fact, everything.\nBut the cart was a long way off by now, and, besides, his eyes at that\nmoment caught sight of the basket and its contents, and they took up his\nwhole attention.\n\nHis little sister was still asleep in the basket. The young priest had\nnever yet seen the child, for he had not been home since his father's\nfuneral, and she was not born then; so he had only heard of her\nexistence from his mother's letters, and they were always so short.\nJános went up to the basket and looked at the small rosy face. He found\nit bore a strong resemblance to his mother's, and as he looked the face\nseemed to grow bigger, and he saw the features of his mother before him;\nbut the vision only lasted a minute, and the child's face was there\nagain. If she would only open her eyes! But they were firmly closed, and\nthe long eyelashes lay like silken fringes on her cheeks.\n\n\"And I am to take care of this tiny creature?\" thought János. \"And I\nwill take care of her. But how am I to do it? I have nothing to live on\nmyself. What shall I do?\"\n\nHe did as he always had done until now, when he had been in doubt, and\nturned toward the church in order to say a prayer there. The church was\nopen, and two old women were inside, whitewashing the walls. So the\npriest did not go quite in but knelt down before a crucifix at the\nentrance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE UMBRELLA AND ST. PETER.\n\n\nFather János remained kneeling a long time and did not notice that a\nstorm was coming up. When he came out of the church it was pouring in\ntorrents, and before long the small mountain streams were so swollen\nthat they came rushing down into the village street, and the cattle in\ntheir fright ran lowing into their stables.\n\nJános's first thought was that he had left the child on the veranda, and\nit must be wet through. He ran home as fast as he could, but paused with\nsurprise before the house. The basket was where he had left it, the\nchild was in the basket, and the goose was walking about in the yard.\nThe rain was still coming down in torrents, the veranda was drenched,\nbut on the child not a drop had fallen, for an immense red umbrella had\nbeen spread over the basket. It was patched and darned to such an extent\nthat hardly any of the original stuff was left, and the border of\nflowers round it was all but invisible.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE CHILD WAS IN THE BASKET\"]\n\nThe young priest raised his eyes in gratitude to Heaven, and taking the\nchild into his arms, carried it, under the red umbrella, into his room.\nThe child's eyes were open now; they were a lovely blue, and gazed\nwonderingly into the priest's face.\n\n\"It is really a blessing,\" he murmured, \"that the child did not get wet\nthrough; she might have caught her death of cold, and I could not even\nhave given her dry clothes.\"\n\nBut where had the umbrella come from? It was incomprehensible, for in\nthe whole of Glogova there was not a single umbrella.\n\nIn the next yard some peasants were digging holes for the water to run\ninto. His reverence asked them all in turn, had they seen no one with\nthe child? No, they had seen the child, but as far as they knew no one\nhad been near it. Old Widow Adamecz, who had run home from the fields\nwith a shawl over her head, had seen something red and round, which\nseemed to fall from the clouds right over the child's head. Might she\nturn to stone that minute if it were not true, and she was sure the\nVirgin Mary had sent it down from Heaven herself to the poor orphan\nchild.\n\nWidow Adamecz was a regular old gossip; she was fond of a drop of brandy\nnow and then, so it was no wonder she sometimes saw more than she\nought to have done. The summer before, on the eve of the feast of Sts.\nPeter and Paul, she had seen the skies open, and Heaven was before her;\nshe had heard the angels sing, as they passed in procession before God,\nsitting on a throne of precious stones. And among them she had seen her\ngrandson, János Plachta, in a pretty red waistcoat which she herself had\nmade him shortly before his death. And she had seen many of the\ninhabitants of Glogova who had died within the last few years, and they\nwere all dressed in the clothes they had been buried in.\n\nYou can imagine that after that, when the news of her vision was spread\nabroad, she was looked upon as a very holy person indeed. All the\nvillagers came to ask if she had seen their dead relations in the\nprocession; this one's daughter, that one's father, and the other one's\n\"poor husband!\" They quite understood that such a miracle was more\nlikely to happen to her than to any one else, for a miracle had been\nworked on her poor dead father András, even though he had been looked\nupon in life as something of a thief. For when the high road had had to\nbe made broader eight years before, they were obliged to take a bit of\nthe cemetery in order to do it, and when they had opened András's grave,\nso as to bury him again, they saw with astonishment that he had a long\nbeard, though five witnesses swore to the fact that at the time of his\ndeath he was clean-shaven.\n\nSo they were all quite sure that old András was in Heaven, and having\nbeen an old cheat all his life he would, of course, manage even up above\nto leave the door open a bit now and then, so that his dear Agnes could\nhave a peep at what was going on.\n\nBut Pál Kvapka, the bell-ringer, had another tale to tell. He said that\nwhen he had gone up the belfry to ring the clouds away, and had turned\nround for a minute, he saw the form of an old Jew crossing the fields\nbeyond the village, and he had in his hands that immense red thing like\na plate, which his reverence had found spread over the basket. Kvapka\nhad thought nothing of it at the time, for he was sleepy, and the wind\nblew the dust in his eyes, but he could take an oath that what he had\ntold them had really taken place. (And Pál Kvapka was a man who always\nspoke the truth.) Others had also seen the Jew. He was old, tall,\ngray-haired, his back was bent, and he had a crook in his hand, and when\nthe wind carried his hat away, they saw that he had a large bald place\nat the back of his head.\n\n\"He was just like the picture of St. Peter in the church,\" said the\nsacristan, who had seen him without his hat. \"He was like it in every\nrespect,\" he repeated, \"except that he had no keys in his hand.\" From\nthe meadow he had cut across Stropov's clover-field, where the Krátki's\ncow, which had somehow got loose, made a rush at him; in order to defend\nhimself he struck at it with his stick (and from that time, you can ask\nthe Krátki family if it is not true, the cow gave fourteen pints of milk\na day, whereas they used to have the greatest difficulty in coaxing four\npints from it).\n\nAt the other end of the village the old man had asked the miller's\nservant-girl which was the way to Lehota, and Erzsi had told him, upon\nwhich he had started on the footpath up the mountains. Erzsi said she\nwas sure, now she came to think of it, that he had a glory round his\nhead.\n\nWhy, of course it must have been St. Peter! Why should it not have been?\nThere was a time when he walked about on earth, and there are many\nstories told still as to all he had done then. And what had happened\nonce could happen again. The wonderful news spread from house to house,\nthat God had sent down from Heaven a sort of red-linen tent, to keep the\nrain off the priest's little sister, and had chosen St. Peter himself\nfor the mission. Thereupon followed a good time for the child, she\nbecame quite the fashion in the village. The old women began to make\ncakes for her, also milk puddings, and various other delicacies. His\nreverence had nothing to do but answer the door all day, and receive\nfrom his visitors plates, dishes, or basins wrapped up in clean cloths.\nThe poor young priest could not make out what was going on in his new\nparish.\n\n\"Oh, your reverence, please, I heard your little sister had come, so\nI've brought her a trifle for her dinner; of course it might be better,\nbut it is the best such poor folks as we can give. Our hearts are good,\nyour reverence, but our flour might be better than it is, for that\ngood-for-nothing miller burned it a bit the last time--at least, that\npart of it which he did not keep for his own use. May I look at the\nlittle angel? They say she's a little beauty.\"\n\nOf course his reverence allowed them all to look at her in turn, to pat\nher and smooth her hair; some of them even kissed her tiny feet.\n\nThe priest was obliged to turn away now and then to hide the tears of\ngratitude. He reproached himself, too, for his hard thoughts of the good\nvillagers. \"How I have misjudged them!\" he thought to himself. \"There\nare no better people in the world. And how they love the child!\"\n\nAt tea-time Widow Adamecz appeared on the scene; until now she had not\ntroubled much about the new priest. She considered herself entitled to a\nword in the management of the ecclesiastical affairs of the village, and\nbased her rights on the fact of her father having grown a beard in his\ngrave, which, of course, gave him a place among the saints at once.\n\n\"Your reverence,\" she began, \"you will want some one to look after the\nchild.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course, I ought to have some one,\" he replied, \"but the parish\nis poor, and ...\"\n\n\"Nobody is poor but the devil,\" burst out Widow Adamecz, \"and he's poor\nbecause he has no soul. But we have souls. And after all, your reverence\nwon't know how to dress and undress a child, nor how to wash it and\nplait its hair. And then she will often be hungry, and you can't take\nher across to the schoolmaster's each time. You must have some one to\ncook at home, your reverence. The sacristan is all very well for\nsweeping and tidying up a bit, but what does he know about children?\"\n\n\"True, true; but where am I to ...\"\n\n\"Where? And am _I_ not here? The Lord created me for a priest's cook,\nI'm sure.\"\n\n\"Yes, I daresay. But how am I to pay your wages?\"\n\nWidow Adamecz put her hands on her hips, and planted herself in front of\nFather János.\n\n\"Never mind about that, your honor. Leave it to God and to me. He will\npay me. I shall enter your service this evening, and shall bring all my\nsaucepans and things with me.\"\n\nThe priest was more and more surprised, but even more astonished was his\nfriend Urszinyi when he came over toward evening and the priest related\nthe events of the day, and told him of Widow Adamecz's offer.\n\n\"What!\" he exclaimed, \"Widow Adamecz? That old witch? And without\npayment? Why, János, a greater miracle never yet happened. An inhabitant\nof Glogova working for payment from Heaven! You seem to have bewitched\nthe people.\"\n\nThe priest only smiled, but his heart was full of gratitude. He also\nfelt that a miracle had taken place; it was all so strange, so\nincomprehensible. But he guessed at the cause of the change. The prayer\nhe had said at the entrance to the church had been heard, and this was\nthe answer. Yes, it really was a miracle! He had not heard all the\nstories that were spread abroad about the red umbrella, and he only\nsmiled at those that had come to his ears. It is true he did not\nunderstand himself how the umbrella came to be where he had found it; he\nwas surprised at first, but had not thought any more about it, and had\nhung it on a nail in his room, so that if the owner asked for it he\ncould have it at once, though it was not really worth sixpence.\n\nBut the day's events were not yet done. Toward evening the news spread\nthat the wife of the miller, the village nabob, had been drowned in the\nBjela Voda, which was very swollen from the amount of rain that had\nfallen. The unfortunate woman had crossed the stepping-stones in order\nto bring back her geese, which had strayed to the other side. She had\nbrought back two of them, one under each arm, but as she was re-crossing\nto fetch the third, her foot slipped, and she fell into the stream. In\nthe morning there had been so little water there, that a goat could have\ndrank it all in half a minute, and by midday it was swollen to such an\nextent that the poor woman was drowned in it. They looked for her the\nwhole afternoon in the cellar, in the loft, everywhere they could think\nof, until in the evening her body was taken out of the water near\nLehota. There some people recognized her, and a man was sent over on\nhorseback to tell Mihály Gongoly of the accident. All this caused great\nexcitement in the village, and the people stood about in groups, talking\nof the event.\n\n\"Yes, God takes the rich ones too,\" they said.\n\nGyörgy Klincsok came running in to the priest.\n\n\"There will be a grand funeral the day after to-morrow,\" he exclaimed.\n\nThe sacristan appeared at the schoolmaster's in the hope of a glass of\nbrandy to celebrate the event.\n\n\"Collect your thoughts,\" he exclaimed, \"there will be a grand funeral,\nand they will expect some grand verses.\"\n\nTwo days later the funeral took place, and it was a long time since\nanything so splendid had been seen in Glogova. Mr. Gongoly had sent for\nthe priest from Lehota too, for, as he said, why should not his wife\nhave two priests to read the burial service over her. He sent all the\nway to Besztercebánya for the coffin, and they took the wooden cross\nthat was to be put at the head of the grave to Kopanyik to have it\npainted black, with the name and the date of her death in white letters.\n\nThere were crowds of people at the funeral in spite of the bad weather,\nand just as the priest was starting in full canonicals, with all the\nlittle choir-boys in their clean surplices, it began to pour again; so\nFather János turned to Kvapka, the sacristan, and said:\n\n\"Run back as fast as you can and fetch the umbrella out of my room.\"\n\nKvapka turned and stared; how was he to know what an umbrella was?\n\n\"Well,\" said Father János, \"if you like it better, fetch the large,\nround piece of red linen I found two days ago spread over my little\nsister.\"\n\n\"Ah, now I understand!\"\n\nThe priest took shelter in a cottage until the fleet-footed Kvapka\nreturned with the umbrella, which his reverence, to the great\nadmiration of the crowd, with one sweeping movement of his hand spread\nout in such a fashion that it looked like a series of bats' wings\nfastened together. Then, taking hold of the handle, he raised it so as\nto cover his head, and walked on with stately step, without getting wet\na bit; for the drops fell angrily on the strange tent spread over him,\nand, not being able to touch his reverence, fell splashing on to the\nground. The umbrella was the great attraction for all the peasants at\nthe funeral, and they exchanged many whispered remarks about the (to\nthem) strange thing.\n\n\"That's what St. Peter brought,\" they said.\n\nOnly the beautiful verses the schoolmaster had composed for the occasion\ndistracted their attention for a while, and sobs broke forth as the\nvarious relations heard their names mentioned in the lines in which the\ndead woman was supposed to be taking leave of them:\n\n\"Good-by, good-by, my dearest friends; Pál Lajkó my brother, György\nKlincsok my cousin,\" etc.\n\nThe whole of Pál Lajkó's household began to weep bitterly, and Mrs.\nKlincsok exclaimed rapturously:\n\n\"How on earth does he manage to compose such beautiful lines!\"\n\nWhich exclamation inspired the schoolmaster with fresh courage, and,\nraising his voice, he continued haranguing the assembled friends in the\ndead woman's name, not forgetting a single one, and there was not a dry\neye among them.\n\nFor some time after they had buried Mrs. Gongoly the grand doings at the\nfuneral were still the talk of the place, and even at the funeral the\nold women had picked out pretty Anna Tyurek as the successor of Mrs.\nGongoly, and felt sure it would not be long before her noted \"mentyék\"\nhad an owner. (Every well-to-do Slovak peasant buys a long cloak of\nsheepskin for his wife; it is embroidered outside in bright colors, and\ninside is the long silky hair of the Hungarian sheep. It is only worn on\nSundays and holidays, and is passed on from one generation to another.)\n\nThe mourners had hardly recovered from the large quantities of brandy\nthey had imbibed in order to drown their sorrow, when they had to dig a\nnew grave; for János Srankó had followed Mrs. Gongoly. In olden times\nthey had been good friends, before Mrs. Gongoly was engaged; and now it\nseemed as though they had arranged their departure from this world to\ntake place at the same time.\n\nThey found Srankó dead in his bed, the morning after the funeral; he had\ndied of an apoplectic fit. Srankó was a well-to-do man, in fact a\n\"mágná.\" (The fifteen richest peasants in a Slovak village are called\n\"mágnás\" or \"magnates.\") He had three hundred sheep grazing in his\nmeadows and several acres of ploughed land, so he ought to have a grand\nfuneral too. And Mrs. Srankó was not idle, for she went herself to the\nschoolmaster, and then to the priest, and said she wished everything to\nbe as it had been at Mrs. Gongoly's funeral. Let it cost what it might,\nbut the Srankós were not less than the Gongolys. She wished two priests\nto read the funeral service, and four choir-boys to attend in their best\nblack cassocks, the bell was to toll all the time, and so on, and so on.\nFather János nodded his head.\n\n\"Very well, all shall be as you wish,\" he said, and then proceeded to\nreckon out what it would cost.\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Mrs. Srankó, \"but please, your reverence, put\nthe red thing in too, and let us see how much more it will cost.\"\n\n\"What red thing?\"\n\n\"Why, what you held over your head at Mrs. Gongoly's funeral. Oh, it\n_was_ lovely!\"\n\nThe young priest could not help smiling.\n\n\"But that is impossible,\" he said.\n\nMrs. Srankó jumped up, and planted herself before him, with her arms\ncrossed.\n\n\"And why is it impossible I should like to know? My money is as good as\nthe Gongolys', isn't it?\"\n\n\"But, my dear Mrs. Srankó, it was raining then, and to-morrow we shall\nin all probability have splendid weather.\"\n\nBut it was no use arguing with the good woman, for she spoke the dialect\nof the country better than Father János did.\n\n\"Raining, was it?\" she exclaimed. \"Well, all the more reason you should\nbring it with you to-morrow, your honor; at all events it won't get wet.\nAnd, after all, my poor dear husband was worthy of it; he was no worse\nthan Mrs. Gongoly. Every one honored him, and he did a lot for the\nChurch; why, it was he who five years ago sent for those lovely colored\ncandles we have on the altar; they came all the way from Besztercebánya.\nAnd the white altar-cloth my husband's sister embroidered. So you see we\nhave a right to the red thing.\"\n\n\"But I can't make myself ridiculous by burying some one with an umbrella\nheld over me when the sun is shining. You must give up the idea, Mrs.\nSrankó.\"\n\nThereupon Mrs. Srankó burst into tears. What had she done to be put to\nsuch shame, and to be refused the right to give her husband all the\nhonors due to the dead, and which were a comfort to the living too? What\nwould the villagers say of her? They would say, \"Mrs. Srankó did not\neven give her husband a decent funeral, they only threw him into the\ngrave like a beggar.\"\n\n\"Please do it, your reverence,\" she begged tearfully, and kept on wiping\nher eyes with her handkerchief, until one of the corners which had been\ntied in a knot came unfastened, and out fell a ten-florin note. Mrs.\nSrankó picked it up, and put it carefully on the table.\n\n\"I'll give this over and above the other sum,\" she said, \"only let us\nhave all the pomp possible, your honor.\"\n\nAt this moment Widow Adamecz rushed in from the kitchen, flourishing an\nimmense wooden spoon in the air.\n\n\"Yes, your reverence, Srankó was a good, pious man; not all the gossip\nyou hear about him is true. And even if it were, it would touch Mrs.\nGongoly as much as him, may God rest her soul. If the holy umbrella was\nused at her funeral, it can be used at his too. If God is angry at its\nhaving been used for her, He will only be a little more angry at its\nbeing used for him; and if He was not angry then, He won't be angry now\neither.\"\n\n\"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Widow Adamecz, talking such\nnonsense. Don't bother me any more with your superstitions. The whole\nthing is simply ridiculous.\"\n\nBut the two women were not to be put off.\n\n\"We know what we know,\" they said, nodding their heads sagely, \"your\nhonor can't deceive us.\"\n\nAnd they worried him to such an extent that he was obliged at last to\ngive way, and agreed to bring the red umbrella to János Srankó's\nfuneral, but he added as an afterthought, \"That is, of course, if the\nowner does not come for it before then. For it is certain that some one\nleft it here, and if they come for it, I shall be obliged to give it\nthem.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Widow Adamecz, \"as far as that goes we can sleep in peace,\nfor the one who brought it only walks on our planet once in a thousand\nyears.\"\n\nNobody appeared to claim the umbrella, and so the next day, though it\nwas a lovely afternoon, and not a cloud was to be seen on the horizon,\nthe young priest opened his umbrella, and followed the coffin to the\ngrave.\n\nFour strong men carried the bier on which the coffin was placed, and as\nchance willed it, when they passed the smithy, one of the bearers\nstumbled and fell, which so startled the one walking behind him, that he\nlost his presence of mind, the bier lurched to one side, and the coffin\nfell to the ground.\n\nIt cracked, then the fastenings gave way, and it broke to pieces; first\nthe embroidered shirt was visible, and then the supposed dead man\nhimself, who awoke from the trance he had been in, moved slightly, and\nwhispered:\n\n\"Where am I?\"\n\nOf course every one was as surprised as they could be, and there was\nplenty of running backward and forward to the smithy for blankets,\nshawls, and pillows, of which they made a bed in a cart that was outside\nwaiting to be repaired. Into this they put the man on whom such a\nmiracle had been worked, and the funeral procession returned as a\ntriumphant one to Srankó's house. He had so far recovered on the way\nhome as to ask for something to eat immediately on his arrival.\n\nThey brought him a jug of milk, at which he shook his head. Lajkó\noffered him a flask of brandy he had taken with him to cheer his\ndrooping spirits. He smiled and accepted it.\n\nThis ridiculous incident was the beginning of the umbrella legend, which\nspread and spread beyond the village, beyond the mountains, increasing\nin detail as it went. If a mark or impression were found on a rock it\nwas said to be the print of St. Peter's foot. If a flower of\nparticularly lovely color were found growing on the meadow, St. Peter's\nstick had touched the spot. Everything went to prove that St. Peter had\nbeen in Glogova lately. After all it was no common case.\n\nThe only real mystery in the whole affair was how the umbrella had come\nto be spread over little Veronica's basket; but that was enough to make\nthe umbrella noted. And its fame spread far and wide, as far as the\nBjela Voda flows; the Slovak peasants told the tale sitting round the\nfire, with various additions, according to the liveliness of their\nimagination. They imagined St. Peter opening the gates of Heaven, and\ncoming out with the umbrella in his hand, in order to bring it down to\nthe priest's little sister. The only question they could not settle was\nhow St. Peter had got down to the earth. But they thought he must have\nstood on a cloud which let him gently down, and set him on the top of\none of the neighboring hills.\n\nThen they discussed the power the umbrella possessed of raising the dead\nto life, and so the legend was spread abroad. And whenever a rich\npeasant died, even in the villages miles off, Father János was sent for,\nwith the red umbrella, to read the burial services. He was also sent for\nto sick persons who wished the umbrella spread over them while they\nconfessed their sins. It must have a good effect, and either the sick\nperson would recover, or if he did not do that he was at least\nsanctified.\n\nIf a newly married couple wished to do things very grandly (and they\ngenerally do), they were not only married at home by their own priest,\nbut they made a pilgrimage to Glogova in order to join hands once more\nunder the sacred umbrella. And that, to them, was the real ceremony. The\nbell-ringer held it over their heads, and in return many a piece of\nsilver found its way into his pocket. And as for the priest, money and\npresents simply poured in upon him. At first he fought against all this\nsuperstition, but after a while even he began to believe that the red\numbrella, which day by day got more faded and shabby, was something out\nof the common. Had it not appeared on the scene as though in answer to\nhis prayer, and was it not the source of all his good fortune?\n\n\"Oh, Lord!\" he had prayed, \"unless Thou workest a miracle, how am I to\nbring up the child?\"\n\nAnd lo and behold, the miracle had been worked! Money, food, all the\nnecessaries of life flowed from that ragged old umbrella. Its fame\nspread to higher circles too. The Bishop of Besztercebánya heard of it\nand sent for Father János and the umbrella; and after having examined it\nand heard the whole story, he crossed his hands on his breast and\nexclaimed: \"Deus est omnipotens.\" Which was equivalent to saying he\nbelieved in it.\n\nA few weeks later he went still further, and sent orders for the\numbrella to be kept in the church, instead of in the priest's room. Upon\nwhich Father János answered that in reality the umbrella belonged to his\nlittle sister, who was still a minor, so that he had no right to it, nor\nto give it away. But he was sure, as soon as Veronica was of age, she\nwould make a present of it to the church. But the umbrella not only\nbrought good fortune to the priest, who soon started a small farm, and\nin a few years built himself a new house, and kept a horse and trap, but\nit made a great difference in Glogova too. Every summer numbers of\nladies came from the small watering-places round about, very often\ncountesses too (mostly old countesses), in order to say a prayer under\nthe umbrella, and for these an inn was built opposite the priest's\nhouse, called the \"Miraculous Umbrella.\" In fact, Glogova increased in\nsize and importance from day to day.\n\nIn time the villagers began to feel ashamed of the simple wooden belfry,\nand had a tower built to the church, and hung two bells in it from\nBesztercebánya. János Srankó had a splendid statue of the Holy Family\nerected in front of the church, to commemorate his resurrection from the\ndead. The governess (for a time Father János had a governess for little\nVeronica) filled the priest's garden with dahlias, fuchsias, and other\nflowers which the inhabitants of Glogova had never yet seen.\n\nEverything improved and was beautified (except Widow Adamecz, who got\nuglier day by day), and the villagers even went so far as to discuss on\nSunday afternoons the advisability of building a chapel upon the\nmountain St. Peter had been seen on, in order to make it a place of\npilgrimage and attract even more visitors.\n\n\n\n\nThe Gregorics Family\n\nPART II\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE TACTLESS MEMBER OF THE FAMILY.\n\n\nMany years before our story begins, there lived in Besztercebánya a man\nof the name of Pál Gregorics, who was always called a tactless man,\nwhereas all his life was spent in trying to please others. Pál Gregorics\nwas always chasing Popularity, and instead of finding it came face to\nface with Criticism, a much less pleasing figure. He was born nine\nmonths after his father's death, an act of tactlessness which gave rise\nto plenty of gossip, and much unpleasantness to his mother, who was a\nthoroughly good, honest woman. If he had only arrived a little earlier\n... but after all _he_ could not help it. As far as the other Gregorics\nwere concerned, he had better not have been born at all, for of course\nthe estates were cut up more than they would otherwise have been.\n\nThe child was weak and sickly, and his grown-up brothers always hoped\nfor his death; however, he did not die, but grew up, and when of age\ntook possession of his fortune, most of which he had inherited from his\nmother, who had died during his minority and left him her whole fortune;\nwhereas the children of the first wife only had their share of the\nfather's fortune, which, however, was not to be sneered at, for old\nGregorics had done well in the wine trade. In those days it was easier\nto get on in that line than it is now, for, in the first place, there\nwas wine in the country, and in the second place there were no Jews. In\nthese days there is plenty of Danube water in the wine-cellars, but not\nmuch juice of the grapes.\n\nNature had blessed Pál Gregorics with a freckly face and red hair, which\nmade people quote the old saying, \"Red-haired people are never good.\"\n\nSo Pál Gregorics made up his mind to prove that it was untrue. All these\nold sayings are like pots in which generations have been cooking for\nages, and Pál Gregorics intended to break one of them. He meant to be\n\"as good as a piece of bread, and as soft as butter, which allows itself\nto be spread equally well on white bread or black.\" (This is a favorite\nphrase among the peasants, when describing a very good man.)\n\nAnd he was as good a man as you could wish to see, but what was the good\nof it? Some evil spirit always seemed to accompany him and induce people\nto misunderstand his intentions.\n\nThe day he came back from Pest, where he had been completing his\nstudies, he went into a tobacconist's shop and bought some fine Havanas,\nwhich at once set all the tongues in Besztercebánya wagging.\n\n\"The good-for-nothing fellow smokes seven-penny cigars, does he? That is\na nice way to begin. He'll die in the workhouse. Oh, if his poor dead\nfather could rise from his grave and see him! Why, the old man used to\nmix dry potato leaves with his tobacco to make it seem more, and poured\nthe dregs of the coffee on it to make it burn slower.\"\n\nPál Gregorics heard that he had displeased the good townsfolk by smoking\nsuch dear cigars, and immediately took to short halfpenny ones. But this\ndid not suit them either, and they remarked:\n\n\"Really, Pál Gregorics is about the meanest man going, he'll be worse\nthan his father in time!\"\n\nGregorics felt very vexed at being called mean, and decided to take the\nvery next opportunity to prove the contrary. The opportunity presented\nitself in the form of a ball, given in aid of a hospital, and of which\nthe Mayoress of the town was patroness. The programme announced that\nthough the tickets were two florins each, any larger sum would be\ngratefully accepted. So Pál Gregorics gave twenty florins for his\ntwo-florin ticket, thinking to himself \"They shan't say I am mean this\ntime.\"\n\nUpon that the members of the committee put their heads together and\ndecided that Pál Gregorics was a tactless fellow. It was the greatest\nimpertinence on his part to outbid the Mayor, and a baron to boot! Baron\nRadvánszky had given ten florins for his ticket, and Gregorics throws\ndown twenty. Why, it was an insult! The son of a wine merchant! What\nthings do happen in the nineteenth century, to be sure! Whatever Pál\nGregorics did was wrong; if he quarrelled with some one and would not\ngive in, they said he was a brawler; and if he gave in, he was a coward.\n\nThough he had studied law, he did nothing particular at first, only\ndrove to his estate a mile or two out of the town and spent a few hours\nshooting; or he went for a few days to Vienna, where he had a house\ninherited from his mother; and the rest of his time he spent in\nBesztercebánya.\n\n\"Pál Gregorics,\" they said, \"is a lazy fellow; he does nothing useful\nfrom one year's end to the other. Why are such useless creatures allowed\nto live?\"\n\nPál heard this too, and quite agreed with them that he ought to get some\nwork to do, and not waste his life as he was doing. Of course, every\none should earn the bread they eat. So he looked for some employment in\nthe town. That was enough to set all the tongues wagging again. What?\nGregorics wanted work in the town? Was he not ashamed of himself, trying\nto take the bread out of poor men's mouths, when he had plenty of cake\nfor himself? Let him leave the small amount of employment there was in\nthe town to those who really needed it. Gregorics quite understood the\nforce of this argument, and gave up his idea. He now turned his thoughts\ntoward marriage, and determined to start a family; after all that was as\ngood an occupation as any other.\n\nSo he began to frequent various houses where there were pretty girls to\nbe met, and where he, being a good match, was well received; but his\nstep-brothers, who were always in hopes that the delicate little man\nwould not live long, did their best to upset his plans in this case too.\nSo Pál Gregorics got so many refusals one after the other, that he was\nsoon renowned in the whole neighborhood. Later on he could have found\nmany who would have been glad of an offer from him, but they were\nashamed to let him see it. After all, how could they marry a man whom so\nmany girls had refused?\n\nOn the eve of St. Andrew's any amount of lead was melted by the young\ngirls of the town, but not one of them saw in the hardened mass the\nform of Gregorics. In fact, none of the young girls wanted to marry him.\nWhat they looked for was romance, not money. Perhaps some old maid would\nhave jumped at his offer, but between the young maids and the old maids\nthere is a great difference--they belong to two different worlds. The\nyoung girls were told that Pál Gregorics spat blood, and of course, the\nmoment they heard that, they would have nothing more to do with him, so\nthat at his next visit their hearts would beat loudly, but not in the\nsame way they had done last time he drove up in his coach and four. Poor\nGregorics! What a pity! The horses outside may paw the ground, and toss\ntheir manes as much as they like, what difference does it make? Pál\nGregorics spits blood! Oh, you silly little Marys and Carolines. Of\ncourse Pál Gregorics is an ugly, sickly man, but think how rich he is;\nand after all, he only spits his own blood. So what can it matter to\nyou?\n\nBelieve me, Rosália, who is ten years older than you, would not be such\na silly little goose, if she had your chances, for she is a philosopher,\nand if she were to be told that Pál Gregorics spits blood she would only\nthink to herself, \"What an interesting man!\" And aloud she would say, \"I\nwill nurse him.\" And deep down in her mind where she keeps the ideas\nthat cannot be put into words, which, in fact, are hardly even thoughts\nas yet, she would find these words, \"If Gregorics spits blood already,\nhe won't last so very long.\"\n\nYou silly little girls, you know nothing of life as yet; your mothers\nhave put you into long dresses, but your minds have not grown in\nproportion. Don't be angry with me for speaking so plainly, but it is my\nduty to show my readers why Pál Gregorics did not find a wife among you.\nThe reason is a simple one. The open rose is not perfectly pure; bees\nhave bathed in its chalice, insects have slept in it. But in the heart\nof an opening bud, not a speck of dust is to be found.\n\nThat is why Pál Gregorics was refused by so many young girls, and by\ndegrees he began to see that they were right (for, as I said before, he\nwas a good, simple man), marriage was not for him, as he spat blood; for\nafter all, blood is one of the necessaries of life. When he had once\nmade up his mind not to marry, he troubled his head no more about the\ngirls, but turned his attention to the young married women. He had\nbeautiful bouquets sent from Vienna for Mrs. Vozáry, and one fine\nevening he let five hundred nightingales loose in Mrs. Muskulyi's\ngarden. He had the greatest difficulty in getting so many together, but\na bird-fancier in Transylvania had undertaken to send them to him. The\nbeautiful young woman, as she turned on her pillows, was surprised to\nhear how delightfully the birds were singing in her garden that night.\n\nHe had no success with the young married women either, and was beginning\nto get thoroughly sick of life, when the war broke out. They would not\ntake him for a soldier either, they said he was too small and thin, he\nwould not be able to stand the fatigues of war. But he wanted to do\nsomething at any cost.\n\nThe recruiting sergeant, who was an old friend of his, gave him the\nfollowing advice:\n\n\"I don't mind taking you if you particularly wish to work with us, but\nyou must look out for some occupation with no danger attached to it. The\ncampaign is fatiguing; we'll give you something in the writing\nbusiness.\"\n\nGregorics was wounded in his pride.\n\n\"I intend accepting only the most dangerous employment,\" he said; \"now\nwhich do you consider the most dangerous?\"\n\n\"Why, that of a spy,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Then I will be a spy.\"\n\nAnd he kept his word. He dressed himself as one of those vagrants of\nwhom so many were seen at that time, and went from one camp to the\nother, carrying information and letters. Old soldiers remember and still\ntalk of the little old man with the red umbrella, who always managed to\npass through the enemy's camp, his gaze as vacant as though he were\nunable to count up to ten. With his thin, bird-like face, his ragged\ntrousers, his battered top-hat, and his red umbrella, he was seen\neverywhere. If you once saw him it was not easy to forget him, and there\nwas no one who did not see him, though few guessed at his business. Some\none once wrote about him: \"The little man with the red umbrella is the\ndevil himself, but he belongs to the better side of the family.\"\n\nIn the peaceful time that succeeded the war, he returned to\nBesztercebánya, and became a misanthrope. He never moved out of his\nugly, old stone house, and thought no more of making a position for\nhimself, nor of marrying. And like most old bachelors he fell in love\nwith his cook. His theory now was to simplify matters. He needed a woman\nto cook for him and to wait on him, and he needed a woman to love; that\nmeans two women in the house. Why should he not simplify matters and\nmake those two women one? Anna Wibra was a big stout woman, somewhere\nfrom the neighborhood of Detvár. She was a rather good-looking woman,\nand used to sing very prettily when washing up the plates and dishes in\nthe evening. She had such a nice soft voice that her master once called\nher into his sitting-room, and made her sit down on one of the\nleather-covered chairs. She had never sat so comfortably in her life\nbefore.\n\n\"I like your voice, Anna; sing me something here, so that I can hear you\nbetter.\"\n\nSo Anna started a very melancholy sort of song, \"The Recruit's Letter,\"\nin which he complains to the girl he loves of all the hardships of war.\n\nGregorics was quite softened by the music, and three times he exclaimed:\n\"What a wonderful voice!\" And he kept moving nearer and nearer to Anna,\ntill all at once he began to stroke her cheek. At this she turned\nscarlet, and jumped up from her chair, pushing him away from her.\n\n\"That's not in my contract, sir!\" she exclaimed.\n\nGregorics blushed too.\n\n\"Don't be silly, Anna,\" he said.\n\nBut Anna tossed her head and walked to the door.\n\n\"Don't run away, you stupid, I shan't eat you.\"\n\nBut Anna would not listen, and took refuge in her kitchen, from which\nshe was not to be coaxed again that evening.\n\nThe next day she gave notice to leave, but her master pacified her by\nthe gift of a golden ring, and a promise never to lay a finger on her\nagain. He told her he could not let her go, for he would never get any\none to cook as well as she did. Anna was pleased with the praise and\nwith the ring, and stayed, on condition that he kept his promise. He did\nkeep it for a time, and then forgot it, and Anna was again on the point\nof leaving. But Gregorics pacified her this time with a necklace of\ncorals with a golden clasp, like the Baronesses Radvánszky wore at\nchurch. The necklace suited her so well, that she no longer thought of\nforbidding her master to touch her. He was rich enough, let him buy her\na few pretty things.\n\nIn fact, the same afternoon she paid a visit to the old woman who kept a\ngrocer's shop next door, and asked whether it would hurt very much to\nhave her ears pierced. The old woman laughed.\n\n\"Oh, you silly creature,\" she said, \"you surely don't want to wear\nearrings? Anna, Anna, you have bad thoughts in your head.\"\n\nAnna protested and then banged the door behind her, so that the bell\nfastened to it went on ringing for some moments.\n\nOf course she wanted some earrings, why should she not have some? God\nhad given her ears the same as to all those grand ladies she saw at\nchurch. And before the day was over she had found out that it would\nhardly hurt her at all to have her ears pierced.\n\nYes, she wanted to have some earrings, and now she did all she could to\nbring Gregorics into temptation. She dressed herself neatly, wore a red\nribbon in her hair, in fact, made herself thoroughly irresistible.\nGregorics may have been wily enough to be a spy for a whole Russian and\nAustrian army, but a woman, however simple, was far deeper than he.\n\nNext Sunday she went to church with earrings in her ears, much to the\namusement of the lads and lasses of the town, who had long ago dubbed\nher \"the Grenadier.\" And in a few weeks' time the whole town was full of\ngossip about Gregorics and his cook, and all sorts of tales were told,\nsome of them supremely ridiculous. His step-brothers would not believe\nit.\n\n\"A Gregorics and a servant! Such a thing was never heard of before!\"\n\nThe neighbors tried to pacify them by saying there was nothing strange\nin the fact, on the contrary it was quite natural. Pál Gregorics had\nnever done things correctly all his life. How much was true and how much\nfalse is not known, but the gossip died away by degrees, only to awaken\nagain some years later, when a small boy was seen playing about with a\npet lamb in Pál Gregorics's courtyard. Who was the child? Where did he\ncome from? Gregorics himself was often seen playing with him. And\npeople, who sometimes out of curiosity looked through the keyhole of the\ngreat wooden gates, saw Gregorics, with red ribbons tied round his\nwaist for reins, playing at horses with the child, who with a whip in\nhis hand kept shouting, \"Gee-up, Ráró.\" And the silly old fellow would\nkick and stamp and plunge, and even race round the courtyard. And now he\nwas rarely seen limping through the town in his shabby clothes, to which\nhe had become accustomed when he was a spy, and under his arm his red\numbrella; he always had it with him, in fine or wet weather, and never\nleft it in the hall when he paid a visit, but took it into the room with\nhim, and kept it constantly in his hand. Sometimes the lady of the house\nasked if he would not put it down.\n\n\"No, no,\" he would answer, \"I am so used to having it in my hand that I\nfeel quite lost without it. It is as though one of my ribs were missing,\nupon my word it is!\"\n\nThere was a good deal of talk about this umbrella. Why was he so\nattached to it? It was incomprehensible. Supposing it contained\nsomething important? Somebody once said (I think it was István Pazár who\nhad served in the war), that the umbrella contained all sorts of notes,\ntelegrams, and papers written in his spying days, and that they were in\nthe handle of the umbrella, which was hollow. Well, perhaps it was true.\n\nThe other members of the Gregorics family looked with little favor on\nthe small boy in the Gregorics's household, and never rested till they\nhad looked through all the baptismal registers they could lay hands on.\nAt last they came upon the entry they wanted, \"György Wibra,\nillegitimate; mother, Anna Wibra.\"\n\nHe was a pretty little fellow, so full of life and spirits that every\none took a fancy to him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nDUBIOUS SIGNS.\n\n\nLittle Gyuri Wibra grew to be a fine lad, strong and broad chested. Pál\nGregorics was always saying, \"Where on earth does he take that chest\nfrom?\"\n\nHe was so narrow-chested himself that he always gazed with admiration at\nthe boy's sturdy frame, and was so taken up in the contemplation of it,\nthat he hardly interested himself in the child's studies. And he was a\nclever boy too. An old pensioned professor, Márton Kupeczky, gave him\nlessons every day, and was full of his praises.\n\n\"There's plenty in him, sir,\" he used to say. \"He'll be a great man,\nsir. What will you bet, sir?\"\n\nGregorics was always delighted, for he loved the boy, though he never\nshowed it. On these occasions he would smile and answer:\n\n\"I'll bet you a cigar, and we'll consider I've lost it.\"\n\nAnd then he would offer the old professor, who was very fond of\nbetting, one of his choicest cigars.\n\n\"I never had such a clever pupil before,\" the old professor used to say.\n\"I have had to teach very ordinary minds all my life, and have wasted my\ntalents on them. A sad thing to say, sir. I feel like that nugget of\ngold which was lost at the Mint. You know the tale, sir? What, you have\nnever heard it? Why, a large nugget of gold was once lost at the Mint.\nIt was searched for everywhere, but could not be found. Well, after a\nlong examination of all the clerks, it turned out that the gold had been\nmelted by accident with the copper for the kreutzers. You understand me,\nsir? I have been pouring my soul into two or three generations of fools,\nbut, thank goodness, I have at last found a worthy recipient for my\nknowledge. Of course, you understand me, sir?\"\n\nBut Pál Gregorics needed no spurring on in this case; he had fixed\nintentions as far as the boy was concerned, and folks were not far wrong\nwhen they (mostly in order to vex the other Gregorics) prophesied the\nend would be that Gregorics would marry Anna Wibra, and adopt her boy.\nKupeczky himself often said:\n\n\"Yes, that will be the end of it. Who will bet with me?\"\n\nIt would have been the end, and the correct way too, for Gregorics was\nfond enough of the boy to do a correct thing for once in a way. But two\nthings happened to prevent the carrying out of this plan. First of all\nAnna fell from a ladder and broke her leg, so that she limped all her\nlife after, and who wants a lame wife?\n\nThe second thing was, that little Gyuri was taken ill very suddenly. He\nturned blue in the face and was in convulsions; they thought he would\ndie. Gregorics fell on his knees by the side of the bed of the sick\nchild, kissed his face and cold little hands, and asked despairingly:\n\n\"What is the matter, my boy? Tell me what hurts you.\"\n\n\"I don't know, uncle,\" moaned the child.\n\nAt that moment Gregorics suffered every pain the child felt, and his\nheart seemed breaking. He seized hold of the doctor's hand, and his\nagony pressed these words from him:\n\n\"Doctor, save the child, and I'll give you a bag full of gold.\"\n\nThe doctor saved him, and got the bag of money too, as Gregorics had\npromised in that hour of danger. (Of course the doctor did not choose\nthe bag, Gregorics had one made on purpose.)\n\nThe doctor cured the boy, but made Gregorics ill, for he instilled\nsuspicion into his mind by swearing that the boy's illness was the\nresult of poison. Nothing could have upset Gregorics as much as this\ndeclaration. How could it have happened? Had he eaten any poisonous\nmushrooms? Gyuri shook his head. Well, what could he have eaten?\n\nThe mother racked her brains to find out what could have been the cause.\nPerhaps this, perhaps that, perhaps the vinegar was bad, or the copper\nsaucepans had not been quite clean? Gregorics shook his head\nsorrowfully.\n\n\"Don't talk nonsense, Anna,\" he said.\n\nDeep down in his heart was a thought which he was afraid to put into\nwords, but which entirely spoiled his life for him, and robbed him of\nsleep and appetite. He had thought of his step-brothers; they had\nsomething to do with it, he was sure. There was an end to all his plans\nfor adopting the boy, giving him his own name, and leaving him his\nfortune. No, no, it would cost Gyuri his life; they would kill him if he\ngave them the chance. But he did not intend to give them the chance. He\ntrembled for the child, and hardly dared to love him. He started a new\nline of conduct, a very mad one too. He ordered the boy to address him\nas \"sir\" for the future, and forbade him to love him.\n\n\"It was only a bit of fun, you know, my allowing you to call me 'uncle.'\nDo you understand?\"\n\nTears stood in the boy's eyes, and seeing them old Gregorics bent down\nand kissed them away; and his voice was very sad as he said:\n\n\"Don't tell any one I kissed you, or you will be in great danger.\"\n\nPrecaution now became his mania. He took Kupeczky into his house, and\nthe old professor had to be with the boy day and night, and taste every\nbit of food he was to eat. If Gyuri went outside the gates, he was first\nstripped of his velvet suit and patent leather shoes, and dressed in a\nragged old suit kept on purpose, and allowed to run barefoot. Let people\nask in the streets, \"Who is that little scarecrow?\" And let those who\nknew answer, \"Oh, that is Gregorics's cook's child.\"\n\nAnd, in order thoroughly to deceive his relations, he undertook to\neducate one of his step-sister's boys; took him up to Vienna and put him\nin the Terezianum, and kept him there in grand style with the sons of\ncounts and barons. To his other nephews and nieces he sent lots of\npresents, so that the Gregorics family, who had never liked the younger\nbrother, came at last to the conclusion that he was not such a bad\nfellow after all, only something of a fool.\n\nLittle Gyuri himself was sent away to school after a time; to Kolozsvár\nand then to Szeged, as far away as possible, so as to be out of reach of\nthe family. At these times Kupeczky secretly disappeared from the town\ntoo, though he might as well have been accompanied by a drum and fife\nband, for not a soul would have asked where he was going.\n\nDoubtless there was a lot of exaggeration in all this secrecy and\nprecaution, but exaggeration had a large share in Gregorics's character.\nIf he undertook something very difficult he was more adventurous than\nthe devil himself, and once his fear was overcome, he saw hope in every\ncorner. His love for the child and his fear were both exaggerated, but\nhe could not help it.\n\nWhile the boy was pursuing his studies with success, the little man with\nthe red umbrella was placing his money in landed estate. He said he had\nbought a large estate in Bohemia, and in order to pay for it had been\nobliged to sell his house in Vienna. Not long after he had built a sugar\nfactory on the estate, upon which he began to look out for a purchaser\nfor his Privorec estates. He soon found one in the person of a rich\nmerchant from Kassa. There was something strange and mysterious in the\nfact of the little man making so many changes in his old age. One day he\nhad his house in Besztercebánya transferred to Anna Wibra's name. And\nthe little man was livelier and more contented than he had ever been in\nhis life before. He began to pay visits again, interested himself in\nthings and events, chattered and made himself agreeable to every one,\ndined with all his relations in turn, throwing out allusions and hints,\nsuch as, \"After all, I can't take my money with me into the next world,\"\nand so on. He visited all the ladies who had refused him years ago, and\nvery often went off by train, with his red umbrella under his arm, and\nstayed away for months and weeks at a time. No one troubled about him,\nevery one said:\n\n\"I suppose the old fellow has gone to look after his property.\"\n\nHe never spoke much about his Bohemian estates, though his step-brothers\nwere much interested in them. They both offered in turns to go there\nwith him, for they had never been in Bohemia; but Gregorics always had\nan answer ready, and to tell the truth he did not seem to trouble\nhimself much about the whole affair. Which was not to be wondered at,\nfor he had no more possessions in Bohemia than the dirt and dust he\nbrought home in his clothes from Carlsbad, where he spent a summer doing\nthe cure.\n\nThe whole story was only trumped up to put his relations off the scent,\nwhereas the truth was that he had turned all he had into money, and\ndeposited it in a bank in order to be able to give it to the boy.\nGyuri's inheritance would be a draft on a bank, a bit of paper which no\none would see, which he could keep in his waistcoat pocket, and yet be\na very rich man. It was well and carefully thought out. So he did not\nreally go to his estates, but simply to the town where Gyuri was\nstudying with his old professor.\n\nThose were his happiest times, the only rays of light in his lonely\nlife; weeks in which he could pet the boy to his heart's content. Gyuri\nwas a favorite at school, always the first in his class, and a model of\ngood behavior.\n\nThe old man used to stay for weeks in Szeged and enjoy the boy's\nsociety. They were often seen walking arm in arm on the banks of the\nTisza, and when they and Kupeczky talked Slovak together, every one\nturned at the sound of the strange language, wondering which of the many\nit was that had been invented at the Tower of Babel.\n\nWhen the last lesson was over, Gregorics was waiting at the gate, and\nthe delighted boy would run and join him--though his comrades, who, one\nwould have thought, would have had enough to occupy their thoughts\nelsewhere, teased him about the old man. They swore he was the devil in\n_propria persona_, that he did Gyuri Wibra's exercises for him, and that\nhe had a talisman which caused him to know his lessons well. It was easy\nto be the first in his class at that rate. There were even some silly\nenough to declare the old gentleman had a cloven foot, if you could\nonly manage to see him with his boots off. The old red umbrella, too,\nwhich he always had with him, they thought must be a talisman, something\nafter the style of Aladdin's lamp. Pista Paracsányi, the best classical\nverse writer, made up some lines on the red umbrella; which were soon\nlearnt by most of the boys, and spouted on every possible occasion, in\norder to annoy the \"head boy.\" But the poet had his reward in the form\nof a black eye and a bleeding nose, bestowed upon him by Gyuri Wibra,\nwho, however, began to be vexed himself at the sight of the red\numbrella, which made his old friend seem ridiculous in the eyes of his\nschoolfellows, and one day he broached the subject to the old gentleman.\n\n\"You might really buy a new umbrella, uncle.\"\n\nThe old gentleman smiled.\n\n\"What, you don't like my umbrella?\"\n\n\"You only get laughed at, and the boys have even made verses about it.\"\n\n\"Well, my boy, tell your schoolfellows that 'all that glitters is not\ngold,' as they may have heard; but tell them, too, that very often\nthings that do not glitter may be gold. You will understand that later\non when you are grown up.\"\n\nHe thought for a bit, idly making holes in the sand with the umbrella,\nand then added:\n\n\"When the umbrella is yours.\"\n\nGyuri made a wry face.\n\n\"Thank you, uncle, but I hope you don't mean to give it me on my\nbirthday instead of the pony you promised me?\"\n\nAnd he laughed heartily, upon which the old gentleman began to laugh\ntoo, contentedly stroking his mustache, consisting of half a dozen\nhairs. There was something strange in his laugh, as though he had\nlaughed _inward_ to his own soul.\n\n\"No, no, you shall have your pony. But I assure you that the umbrella\nwill once belong to you, and you will find it very useful to protect you\nfrom the wind and clouds.\"\n\nGyuri thought this great nonsense. Such old gentlemen always attached\nthemselves so to their belongings, and thought such a lot of them. Why,\none of his professors had a penholder he had used for forty years!\n\nOne episode in connection with the umbrella remained fixed in Gyuri's\nmemory ever after. One day they rowed out to the \"Yellow,\" as they call\na small island situated just where the Maros and the Tisza met, and\nwhere the fishermen of Szeged cook their far-famed \"fish with paprika\"\n(a kind of cayenne grown in Hungary, and much used in the national\ndishes). We read in Márton's famous cookery book that \"fish with\npaprika\" must only be boiled in Tisza water, and the same book says that\na woman cannot prepare the dish properly.\n\nWell, as I said before, the three of them rowed out to the \"Yellow.\" As\nthey were landing they struck against a sand heap, and Gregorics, who\nwas in the act of rising from his seat, stumbled and lost his balance,\nand in trying to save himself from falling dropped his umbrella into the\nwater, and the current carried it away with it.\n\n\"My umbrella, save it!\" shouted Gregorics, who had turned as white as a\nsheet, and in whose eyes they read despair. The two boatmen smiled, and\nthe elder one, slowly removing his pipe from his mouth, remarked\nlaconically:\n\n\"No great loss that, sir; it was only fit to put in the hands of a\nscarecrow.\"\n\n\"One hundred florins to the one who brings it me back,\" groaned the old\ngentleman.\n\nThe boatmen, astonished, gazed at one another, then the younger man\nbegan to pull off his boots.\n\n\"Are you joking, sir, or do you mean it?\"\n\n\"Here are the hundred florins,\" said Gregorics, taking a bank-note from\nhis pocket-book.\n\nThe young man, a fine specimen of a Szeged fisherman, turned to\nKupeczky.\n\n\"Is the old chap mad?\" he asked in his lackadaisical way, while the\numbrella quietly floated down the stream.\n\n\"Oh dear no,\" answered Kupeczky, who, however, was himself surprised at\nGregorics's strange behavior.\n\n\"It's not worth it, domine spectabilis,\" he added, turning to the old\ngentleman.\n\n\"Quick, quick!\" gasped Gregorics.\n\nAnother doubt had arisen in the boatman's mind.\n\n\"Is the bank-note a real one, sir?\" he asked.\n\n\"Of course it is. Make haste!\"\n\nThe man, who had by this time taken off both his boots and his jacket,\nnow sprang into the water like a frog, and began to swim after the\numbrella, the old boatman shouting after him:\n\n\"You're a fool, Jankó; come back, don't exert yourself for nothing.\"\n\nGregorics, afraid the warning would take effect, flew at the old man and\nseized hold of his tie.\n\n\"Hold your tongue or I'll murder you. Do you want to ruin me?\"\n\n\"Well, what would that matter? Do you want to throttle me? Leave go of\nmy neck-tie.\"\n\n\"Well, let the boy go after my umbrella.\"\n\n\"After all, what is the hen good for if not to look after the chickens?\"\nmuttered the old boatman. \"The current just here is very strong, and he\nwon't be able to reach the umbrella. And what's the good of it, when it\nwill come back of itself when the tide turns in half an hour's time, to\nthe other side of the 'Yellow.' In half an hour the fishermen will\nspread their nets, and the gentleman's umbrella will be sure to be\ncaught in them; even if a big fish swallows it we can cut it open.\"\n\nAnd as the old fisherman had said, so it came to pass; the umbrella was\ncaught in one of the fishing nets, and great was the joy of old\nGregorics when he once more held his treasure in his hand. He willingly\npaid the young fisherman the promised one hundred florins, though it was\nnot really he who had brought the umbrella back; and in addition he\nrewarded the fishermen handsomely, who, the next day, spread the tale\nthrough the whole town of the old madman, who had given one hundred\nflorins for the recovery of an old torn red umbrella. They had never\nbefore caught such a big fish in the Tisza.\n\n\"Perhaps the handle of the umbrella was of gold?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it; it was only of wood.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the linen was particularly fine?\"\n\n\"Rubbish! Is there any linen in the world worth one hundred florins? It\nwas plain red linen, and even that was torn and ragged.\"\n\n\"Then you have not told us the tale properly.\"\n\n\"I've told you the whole truth.\"\n\nKupeczky remarked to Gyuri:\n\n\"I would not mind betting the old gentleman has a tile loose.\"\n\n\"A strange man, but a good one,\" answered Gyuri. \"Who knows what\nmemories are attached to that umbrella!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nPÁL GREGORICS'S DEATH AND WILL.\n\n\nNo signification was attached to the above-mentioned incident till years\nafter, when every one had forgotten all about it, Gyuri included. As for\nKupeczky, he could not remember it, for as soon as the news came from\nBesztercebánya that old Gregorics was dead, he took to his bed and never\nrose from it again.\n\n\"I am dying, Gyuri,\" he said to his sobbing pupil, \"I feel it. It was\nonly Gregorics kept me alive, or rather I kept myself alive for his\nsake. But now I'm done for. I don't know if he has provided for your\nfuture, my poor boy, but it's all over with me, I'm dying, I wouldn't\nmind betting it.\"\n\nAnd he would have won his bet too. Gyuri went home for Gregorics's\nfuneral, and a week later the landlady sent word that the old professor\nwas dead, and he was to send money for the funeral.\n\nBut what was Kupeczky's death to that of Gregorics? The poor old fellow\nwas quite right to take his departure, for no one wanted him, no one\ntook any notice of him. He slipped quietly into the next world, just as\none ought to do; even during his life he caused no disturbance; he was\nhere, he went, and there was an end of it. But Pál Gregorics went to\nwork in quite a different style. He was taken ill with cramp on the\nThursday in Holy Week, and went to bed in great pain. After a time the\ncramp ceased, but left him very weak, and he fell asleep toward evening.\nSome hours after he opened his eyes and said:\n\n\"Anna, bring me my umbrella, and put it here, near my bed. That's it!\nNow I feel better!\"\n\nHe turned over and went to sleep again, but soon woke up with a start.\n\n\"Anna,\" he said, \"I have had a fearful dream. I thought I was a horse,\nand was being taken to a fair to be sold. My step-brothers and nephews\nappeared on the scene, and began to bid for me, and I stood trembling\nthere, wondering which of them I was to belong to. My brother Boldizsár\npulled open my mouth, examined my teeth, and then said, 'He is not worth\nanything, we could only get five florins for his skin.' As he was\nspeaking, up came a man with a scythe. He poked me in the ribs (it hurts\nme still), and exclaimed, 'The horse is mine, I'll buy it.' I turned and\nlooked at him, and was horrified to see it was Death himself. 'But I\nwill not give the halter with the horse,' said my owner. 'It does not\nmatter,' answered the man with the scythe, 'I can get one from the shop\nround the corner; wait a minute, I'll be back directly.' And then I\nawoke. Oh, it was dreadful!\"\n\nHis red hair stood on end, and beads of perspiration rolled down his\nface, which Anna wiped with a handkerchief.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" she said, \"you must not believe in dreams; they do not come\nfrom Heaven, but from indigestion.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the sick man, \"I'm going, I feel it. My time will be up\nwhen they bring the halter. Don't waste words trying to console me, but\nbring me pen and paper, I want to send a telegram to the boy; he must\ncome home at once. I'll wait for his arrival, yes, I'll wait till then.\"\n\nThey brought a table to his bed, and he wrote the following words:\n\n\"Come at once, uncle is dying and wants to give you something.--Mother.\"\n\n\"Send the servant with this at once.\"\n\nHe was very restless while the man was away, and asked three times if he\nhad returned. At length he came back, but with bad news; the telegraph\noffice was closed for the night.\n\n\"Well, it does not matter,\" said Anna, \"we will send it in the morning.\nThe master is not really so bad, it is half imagination; but he is so\nnervous we must not excite him, so go in and tell him the telegram is\nsent.\"\n\nHe was quieter after that, and began to reckon at what time the boy\nwould arrive, and decided he might be there by the afternoon of the\nsecond day.\n\nHe slept quietly all night, and got up the next morning very pale and\nweak, but went about putting things straight and turning out drawers.\n\n\"It is unnecessary to send the telegram,\" thought Anna to herself. \"He\nseems nearly himself again, and will be all right in a day or two.\"\n\nThe whole day he pottered about, and in the afternoon shut himself up in\nhis study and drank a small bottle of Tokay wine, and wrote a great\ndeal. Anna only went in once to see if he wanted anything. No, he wanted\nnothing.\n\n\"Have you any pain?\"\n\n\"My side hurts me, just where the man with the scythe touched me. There\nis something wrong inside.\"\n\n\"Does it hurt very much?\"\n\n\"Yes, very much!\"\n\n\"Shall I send for a doctor?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nIn the evening he sent for his lawyer, János Sztolarik. He was quite\nlively when he came, made him sit down, and sent for another bottle of\nTokay.\n\n\"The February vintage, Anna,\" he called after her.\n\nThe wine had been left him by his father, and dated from the year when\nthere had been two vintages in Tokay in twelve months, one in February,\nand one in October. Only kings can drink the like of it. On account of\nthe mildness of the winter the vines had been left uncovered, had\nflowered and borne fruit, so that in February they were able to have a\nvintage, and you can imagine what a flavor those grapes had. There was\nnever anything like it before nor after. Old Gregorics's father used to\ncall it the \"Life-giver,\" and often said:\n\n\"If a man intending to commit suicide were to drink a thimbleful of it\nbeforehand, he would, if unmarried, go and look up a 'best man,' or, if\nmarried, would go and sue for a divorce; but kill himself he would not.\"\n\nThe two friends drank to each other's health, and Gregorics smacked his\nlips.\n\n\"It's devilish good,\" he said.\n\nThen he gave the lawyer a sealed packet.\n\n\"In that you will find my will,\" he said. \"I sent for you in order to\ngive it you.\"\n\nHe rubbed his hands and smiled.\n\n\"There will be some surprises in that.\"\n\n\"Why are you in such a hurry with it? There is plenty of time,\" said\nSztolarik, taking the packet.\n\nGregorics smiled.\n\n\"I know more about that than you, Sztolarik. But take a drop more, and\ndon't let us talk of death. And now I'll tell you how my father got this\nwine. Well, he was a very sly customer, and if he couldn't get a thing\nby fair means, he got it by foul, and I have inherited some of his\nslyness from him. But mine is not the genuine article; however, that\ndoes not matter. In Zemplin there lived a very, very rich man, a count,\nand an ass into the bargain; at least he was a good-hearted man, and\nliked to give pleasure to others, thus proving that he was an ass. My\nfather used to buy his wine of him, and if they had struck a good\nbargain the count used to give him a glass of this nectar. Being an\nassiduous wine merchant, of course my father was always worrying him to\nsell him some of the wine, but the count would not hear of it, and said,\n'The Emperor Ferdinand has not enough money to buy it!' Well, once when\nthey were drinking a small glass of the 'Life-giver,' my father began\nsighing deeply: 'If my poor wife could only drink a thimbleful of this\nevery day for two months, I am sure she would get quite well again.'\nUpon which the count's heart softened, and he called up his major-domo\nand said: 'Fill Mr. Gregorics's cask with the \"Life-giver.\"' A few days\nlater several visitors arrived at the castle, and the count ordered some\nof the wine to be brought. 'There is none left, sir,' said the butler.\n'Why, what has become of it?' asked the count. 'Mr. Gregorics took it\nwith him, there was not even enough to fill his cask!' It was true, for\nmy father had ordered an enormous cask of Mr. Pivák (old Pivák is still\nalive and remembers the whole story), took the cask in a cart to\nZemplin, and, after filling it with the wine, brought it home. Not bad,\nwas it? Drink another glass before you go, Sztolarik.\"\n\nWhen the lawyer had gone, Gregorics called his man-servant in.\n\n\"Go at once to the ironmonger's and buy a large caldron; then find me\ntwo masons and bring them here; but don't speak to a soul about it.\"\n\nNow that was Matykó's weak point, but if he had not been told to hold\nhis tongue he might have managed to do so later on, when the opportunity\nfor speaking came.\n\n\"Off you go, and mind you are back in double quick time!\"\n\nBefore dark the masons had arrived, and the caldron too. Gregorics took\nthe two men into his room, and carefully shut the door.\n\n\"Can you keep silence?\" he asked.\n\nThe masons looked at each other surprised, and the elder one answered.\n\n\"Why, of course we can keep silence, that is the first thing a man does\non his arrival in this world.\"\n\n\"Yes, until he has learnt to talk,\" answered Gregorics.\n\n\"And even afterward you can make the trial if it is worth your while,\"\nsaid the younger man slyly.\n\n\"It will be worth your while, for you shall have fifty florins each if\nyou will make a hole in a wall large enough to put this caldron in, and\nthen close it again so that no one can see where it was put.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"That is all. But besides that you will receive fifty florins each from\nthe owner of this house every year, as long as you keep silence.\"\n\nThe masons again exchanged glances, and the elder said:\n\n\"We will do it. Where is it to be done?\"\n\n\"I will show you.\"\n\nGregorics took down a rusty key from a nail, and went out with the men\ninto the courtyard.\n\n\"Now follow me,\" he said, and led them through the garden to an orchard,\nin which was a small house built of stone. The most delicious apples\ngrew here, and that had induced old Gregorics to buy the orchard and\nhouse from the widow of the clergyman; he had made a present of both to\nlittle Gyuri, and it was entered in his name. When the boy was at home\nhe used to study there with Kupeczky, but since he left it had been\nquite deserted.\n\nGregorics led the masons to this little house, and showed them the wall\nin which he wished an opening made large enough to receive the caldron,\nand told them when they were ready to come and tell him, as he wished to\nbe present when they walled it in. By midnight the hole was ready, and\nthe masons came and tapped at the window. Gregorics let them in, and\nthey saw the caldron in the middle of the room. The top was covered with\nsawdust, so that they could not see what was in it, but it was so heavy\nthe two masons could hardly carry it. Gregorics followed them step for\nstep, and did not move until they had built up the wall again.\n\n\"If you have it whitewashed to-morrow, sir, no one will find the place.\"\n\n\"I am quite satisfied with the work,\" said Gregorics. \"Here is the\npromised reward, and now you may go.\"\n\nThe elder of the two masons was surprised at being let off so easily.\n\n\"I've heard and read of this sort of thing,\" he said, \"but they did\nthings differently then. They used to put the masons' eyes out, so that\neven they could not find the place again, but of course they got a\nhundred times as much as we do.\"\n\n\"Ah, that was in the good old times,\" sighed the other.\n\nGregorics troubled his head no more about them, but closed the heavy\noaken door of the house, and went home to bed.\n\nThe next morning the cramp returned, and was only partially relieved by\nthe medicine Anna gave him. He was frightfully weak, and only now and\nthen showed interest in what was going on around him.\n\n\"Give us a good dinner, Anna,\" he said once, \"and make dumplings, the\nboy likes them.\"\n\nAnd half an hour afterward:\n\n\"Make the dumplings with jam, Anna, the boy likes them best so.\"\n\nThe only thing he would take himself was mineral water. Toward afternoon\nthe cramp was much worse, and he began to spit blood. Anna was\nfrightened, and began to cry, and ask if he would not have a doctor or a\npriest. Gregorics shook his head.\n\n\"No, no, I am quite ready to die, everything is in order. I am only\nwaiting for Gyuri. What time is it?\"\n\nThe church clock just then struck twelve.\n\n\"It is time the coach arrived. Go and tell Matykó to wait outside by\nthe gate, and carry Gyuri's bag in when he comes.\"\n\nAnna wrung her hands in despair. Should she own she had not sent off the\ntelegram? No, she dare not tell him; she would carry on the deception,\nand send Matykó out to the gate. But the sick man got more and more\nrestless.\n\n\"Anna,\" he said, \"take the horn out, and tell Matykó to blow it when the\nboy arrives, so that I may know at once.\"\n\nSo Anna took down the horn, and had less courage than ever to own the\ntruth.\n\nThe sick man was quieter after that, and listened attentively, raising\nhis head at every sound, and feeling for his umbrella every now and\nthen.\n\n\"Open the window, Anna, or I shan't hear Matykó blow the horn.\"\n\nThe sunlight streamed in through the open window, and the perfume of\nacacia blossoms was borne in on the breeze.\n\n\"Put your hand on my forehead, Anna.\"\n\nShe did as she was told, and found his skin cold and dry. The sick man\nsighed.\n\n\"Your hand is too rough, Anna. The boy's is so soft and warm.\"\n\nHe smiled faintly, then opened his eyes.\n\n\"Did you not hear anything? Listen! Was that the horn?\"\n\n\"I don't think so. I heard nothing.\"\n\nGregorics pointed to a clock in the next room.\n\n\"Stop it,\" he said. \"I can't hear anything. Quick, quick!\"\n\nAnna got on a chair, and stopped the clock. In that moment she heard a\nsound in the next room, something like a groan, then the muttered words:\n\"I hear the horn!\" then another groan.\n\nAnna jumped off the chair, and ran into the next room. There all was\nstill; on the bed were large spots of blood, and Gregorics lay there\ndead, his face white, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. One\nhand hung down by his side, the other firmly held the umbrella.\n\nThus died poor Pál Gregorics, and the news of his death soon spread\namong his relations and his neighbors. The doctor said he had died of\nsome illness with a long Latin name, which no one had ever heard, and\nsaid that if he had been called sooner he might have saved him.\n\nBoldizsár was soon on the spot, also his brother Gáspár with all his\nfamily. Mrs. Panyóki, the eldest sister, was in the country at the time,\nand on receipt of the news late the same evening, exclaimed\ndespairingly:\n\n\"What a deception! Here have I been praying all my life for him to die\nin the winter, and he must needs go and die in the summer. Is there any\nuse in praying nowadays? What a deception! Those two thieves will take\neverything they can lay their hands on.\"\n\nShe ordered the horses to be harnessed, and drove off as fast as she\ncould, arriving about midnight, by which time the two brothers were in\npossession of everything, had even taken up their abode in the house,\nand driven Anna out in spite of her protests that the house was hers,\nand she was mistress there.\n\n\"Only the four walls are yours, and those you shall have. The rest is\nours, and a good-for-nothing creature like you has no right here. So off\nyou go!\"\n\nGáspár was a lawyer, and understood things; how was poor Anna to take\nher stand against him. She could only cry, put on her hat, pack up her\nbox, and limp over the road to Matykó's mother. But before she went the\ntwo brothers turned her box out, to see she took nothing with her to\nwhich she had no right.\n\nThe funeral took place on the third day. It was not a grand one by any\nmeans; no one shed a tear except poor Anna, who did not dare go near the\ncoffin for fear of being sent off by the relations. The boy had not yet\narrived from Szeged, and it was better so, for he would probably have\nbeen turned out of the courtyard by the two brothers of the dead man.\nBut even though Anna did not walk with the mourners, she was the centre\nof all eyes, for did not that big house outside the town belong to her\nnow? And when she dropped her handkerchief wet with her tears, did not\nall the unmarried men, one of them even a lawyer, rush to pick it up for\nher?\n\nThis incident went to prove how much she had risen in people's\nestimation. After the funeral, there was a general gathering of all the\nfamily at Sztolarik's in order to hear the will read. Well, it was a\nrather strange one on the whole.\n\nThe old gentleman had left 2000 florins to the Academy of Arts and\nSciences, and 2000 florins to each of the ladies at whose houses he had\nvisited years before, and to those who had refused to marry him. Nine\nladies were mentioned by name, and the legacy had been placed in the\nhands of Sztolarik to be paid at once to the legatees.\n\nThe relations listened with bated breath, every now and then throwing in\na remark, such as, \"Very good. Quite right of him,\" etc. Only Mrs.\nPanyóki muttered, when the nine ladies' names were read out: \"Dear me,\nhow very strange!\"\n\nBoldizsár, who was of opinion it was not worth while worrying over such\ntrifles (after all, Pál had been slightly mad all his life), said\ngrandly:\n\n\"Please continue, Mr. Sztolarik.\"\n\nThe lawyer answered shortly: \"There is no more!\"\n\nTheir surprise was great, and there was a general rush to look at the\nwill.\n\n\"Impossible!\" they all exclaimed at once.\n\nThe lawyer turned his back on them repeating:\n\n\"I tell you there is not another word!\"\n\n\"And the rest of his fortune, his estates in Bohemia?\"\n\n\"There is no mention of them. I can only read what I see written here;\nyou must at least understand that, gentlemen.\"\n\n\"It is incomprehensible,\" groaned Gáspár.\n\n\"The curious part of it is,\" remarked Boldizsár, \"that there is no\nmention of that woman and her son.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" answered Gáspár, \"it does seem strange.\"\n\nThe lawyer hastened to reassure them.\n\n\"It can make no difference to you,\" he said. \"Whatever fortune there may\nbe that is not mentioned in the will falls to you in any case.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" said Gáspár, \"and that is only right. But the money?\nWhere is it? There must be any amount of it. I'm afraid some wrong has\nbeen done.\"\n\nMrs. Panyóki said nothing, only looked suspiciously at her two\nbrothers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE AVARICIOUS GREGORICS.\n\n\nThe contents of the will soon became known in the town, and caused quite\na little storm in the various patriarchal drawing-rooms, with their\nold-fashioned cherry-wood pianos, over which hung the well-known\npicture, the \"March of Miklós Zrínyi,\" and their white embroidered\ntable-cloths on small tables, in the centre of which stands a silver\ncandlestick, or a glass brought from some watering-place with the name\nengraved on it, and a bunch of lilac in it. Yes, in those dear little\ndrawing-rooms, there was any amount of gossip going on. It was really\ndisgraceful of Gregorics, but he was always tactless. The idea of\ncompromising honest old ladies, mothers and grandmothers!\n\nThe nine ladies were the talk of the town, their names were in every\nmouth, and though there were many who blamed Gregorics, there were also\nsome who took his part.\n\n\"After all,\" they said, \"who knows what ties there were between them?\nGregorics must have been a lively fellow in his youth.\"\n\nAnd even those who defended Gregorics decided that after all there must\nhave been some friendship between him and the nine ladies at some time\nor other, or why should he have remembered them in his will; but his\nbehavior was not gentlemanly in any case, even if they were to believe\nthe worst. In fact, in that case it was even more tactless.\n\n\"For such behavior he ought to be turned out of the club, I mean he\nought to have been turned out; in fact, I mean, if he were alive he\nmight be turned out. I assure you, if they write on his gravestone that\nhe was an honorable man, I'll strike it out with my own pencil.\"\n\nThese were the words of the notary.\n\nThe captain of the fire-brigade looked at it from a different point of\nview.\n\n\"It is a cowardly trick,\" he declared. \"Women only reckon until they are\nthirty-five years of age, and these are all old women. A little\nindiscretion of this kind cannot hurt them. If you breathe on a rusty\nbit of steel it leaves no mark. We only remove caterpillars from those\ntrees which have flowers or leaves, or which will bear fruit, but on\nold, dried-up trees we leave them alone. But it is the husbands\nGregorics has offended, for it is cowardly to affront people who cannot\ndemand satisfaction from you. And I think I may affirm with safety that\nGregorics is now incapable of giving satisfaction.\"\n\nThe next morning István Vozáry (whose wife was one of the nine ladies\nmentioned in the will) appeared at the lawyer's and informed him that as\nhis wife had never had anything to do with the dead man, she had no\nintention of accepting the 2000 florins. When this was known in the\ntown, the eight remaining ladies arrived, one after the other, at the\nlawyer's, in order to make known to him their refusal of the legacy, as\nthey also had nothing to do with Gregorics.\n\nI do not know when Sztolarik had had such a lively time of it as on that\nday, for it was really amusing to see those wrinkled old dames,\ntoothless and gray-haired, coming to defend their honor.\n\nBut it was even livelier for the Gregorics family, for they thus got\nback the 20,000 florins they had been cheated out of--that is, with the\nexception of the 2000 florins left to the Academy of Arts and Sciences,\nfor, of course, the Academy accepted the legacy, though it also had had\nnothing to do with Gregorics. But the Academy (the tenth old woman) was\nnot so conscientious as the other nine.\n\nThe joy of the Gregorics soon turned to bitterness, for they could not\nmanage to find out where the Bohemian estates were. Gáspár went off to\nPrague, but came back after a fruitless search. They were unable to find\nany papers referring to the estates; not a bill, not a receipt, not a\nletter was to be found.\n\n\"It was incomprehensible, such a thing had never happened before,\"\nBoldizsár said.\n\nThey were wild with anger, and threatened Matykó and Anna to have them\nlocked up, if they would not tell them where the estates were in\nBohemia; and at length they were brought before the Court and examined.\nMatykó at least must know all about it, for he had travelled everywhere\nwith his master.\n\nSo Matykó had to own that his master had never been to Bohemia at all,\nbut had always gone to Szeged or to Kolozsvár, where Gyuri had been at\nschool.\n\nOh! that sly Pál Gregorics, how he had cheated his relations! Now it was\nas clear as day why he had turned all his possessions into money, of\ncourse he had given it all to that boy. But _had_ he given it him? How\ncould he have trusted hundreds of thousands to a child of that age?\nThen, where had he put it? to whom had he given it? That was the riddle\nthe Gregorics were trying to solve.\n\nThe lawyer, the last person who had spoken to Gregorics, declared he had\nnot mentioned any money, and Anna swore by Heaven and earth that she\nand her son had not received a kreutzer from him, and were much\nembittered at the fact of his leaving them without any provision. She\nhad not a good word to say for the dead man. He had made the boy unhappy\nfor life, spending so much on him and his education, and then leaving\nhim totally without providing for him; so that the boy, for whom\nexpensive professors had been kept, would now be reduced to giving\nlessons himself, in order to enable him to live, for the house would\nhardly bring in enough to pay for his keep, while attending the lectures\nat the University.\n\n\"Well,\" said Sztolarik, \"if he had intended the boy to have his money,\nhe could have given it straight into his hands, no one could prevent\nit.\"\n\nThis was quite true, and that was the very reason it seemed so strange\nhe had not done so. The house in Vienna had been sold for 180,000\nflorins, the Privorec estates for 75,000, which made over a quarter of\nmillion florins. Good heavens! Where had he put it to? If he had\nexchanged the paper notes for gold, melted it, and eaten it by spoonfuls\never since, he could not have finished it yet.\n\nBut Gregorics had been a careful man, so the money must be in existence\nsomewhere. It was enough to drive one mad. It did not seem likely that\nAnna or the boy should have the money, nor Sztolarik, who was Gyuri\nWibra's guardian; so the brothers Gregorics did not despair of finding\nit, and they engaged detectives to keep their eyes on Anna, and looked\nup a sharp boy in Pest to let them know how Gyuri lived there, and to\nfind out from his conversation whether he knew anything of the missing\nmoney. For Gyuri had gone to Pest, to attend the University lectures,\nand study law. The boy sent word that Gyuri lived very simply, attended\nevery lecture, lived at the \"Seven Owls,\" and dined at a cheap\neating-house known by the name of the \"First of April.\" This little\nrestaurant was mostly frequented by law students. On the daily bill of\nfare was the picture of a fat man speaking to a very thin man, and\nunderneath was the following conversation:\n\nThin man: \"How well you look; where do you dine?\"\n\nFat man: \"Why here, at the 'First of April.'\"\n\nThin man: \"Really? Well, I shall dine there too for the future.\"\n\nAll the same, the fare was not of the best, and perhaps the above\nconversation was intended to make April Fools of people. For the\nrestaurant-keepers of olden times were frank, and even if they lied,\nthey did it so naively, that every one saw through the lie.\n\nGáspár Gregorics received the following particulars as to Gyuri's mode\nof life:\n\n\"He breakfasts at a cheap coffee-house, attends lectures all the\nmorning, dines at the 'First of April,' the afternoon he passes at a\nlawyer's office, copying deeds, etc., and in the evening he buys a\nlittle bacon or fried fish for supper, then goes home and studies till\nmidnight. Every one likes him, and he will make his way in the world.\"\n\nThat avaricious Gáspár Gregorics began to wish the boy had the quarter\nof a million after all, for he might in a few years' time marry his\ndaughter Minka, who was just eleven.\n\nAnna had let the house, and Sztolarik sent Gyuri thirty florins every\nmonth out of the rent.\n\nThe Gregorics divided the 18,000 florins refused by the nine ladies,\namong the three of them, and also the few hundreds obtained by the sale\nof the dead man's furniture and personal property, but the rest of the\nmoney was still missing.\n\nThe whole town was discussing the question of its whereabouts, and all\nsorts of silly tales were set afloat. Some said the old gentleman had\nsent it to Klapka, and that one day Klapka would return with it in the\nform of guns and cannon. Others said he had a castle, somewhere away in\nthe woods, where he kept a very beautiful lady, and even if he had not\nbeen able to eat up his fortune in the form of melted gold, a pretty\nwoman would soon know how to dispose of it.\n\nBut what made the most impression on every one was, that an ironmonger\nappeared at Gáspár's house with a bill for a large caldron Gregorics had\nbought the day before his death, but had not paid for.\n\nGáspár gave a long whistle.\n\n\"That caldron was not among the things we sold,\" he said. And he went\nthrough the inventory again; but no, the caldron was not there.\n\n\"I am on the right road,\" thought Gáspár. \"He did not buy the caldron\nfor nothing. Consequently, what did he buy it for? Why, to put something\nin it of course, and that something is what we are looking for!\"\n\nBoldizsár was of the same opinion, and positively beamed with delight.\n\n\"It is God's finger,\" he said. \"Now I believe we shall find the\ntreasure. Pál must have buried the caldron somewhere, thinking to do us\nout of our rights; and he would have succeeded if he had not been so\nstupid as not to pay for the caldron. But luckily in cases of this kind\nthe wrongdoer generally makes some stupid mistake.\"\n\nThe ironmonger remembered that it was Matykó who had chosen the caldron\nand taken it with him; so Gáspár one day sent for the servant, gave him\na good dinner with plenty of wine, and began to question him about\nPál's last days, introducing the incident of the caldron, the bill for\nwhich the ironmonger had just sent him he said.\n\n\"What about it, Matykó,\" he asked. \"Did your master really order it? I\ncan hardly believe it, for what could he have wanted it for? I'm afraid\nyou have been buying things for yourself, in your master's name.\"\n\nThat was the very way to make Matykó speak, to doubt his honor; and now\nhe let out the whole story in order to clear himself. The day before his\ndeath, his master had told him to go and buy a caldron, and bring it\nhim, together with two masons. He had done as he was told, and toward\nevening had taken the caldron into his master's bedroom; the masons had\narrived at the same time, and had seen the caldron, so they could bear\nwitness to the fact.\n\n\"Well, that's right, Matykó, you're a lucky fellow, for if you have two\nwitnesses, your honor is as intact as ever, and you must consider my\nwords as unspoken. Drink another glass of wine, and don't be offended at\nmy suspicion; after all, it was only a natural conclusion; we could find\nno traces of the caldron, and the ironmonger wanted to be paid for it,\nand said you had taken it away. Where can it have got to?\"\n\n\"Heaven only knows,\" answered Matykó.\n\n\"Did you never see it again?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"And what became of the masons? What did they come for?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nGáspár smiled pleasantly at the man.\n\n\"You are like 'John Don't-know' in the fairy tale. He always answered,\n'I don't know' to everything that was asked him. Of course you don't\nknow the two witnesses either who could establish your innocence? In\nthat case, my good fellow, you're no better off than you were before.\"\n\n\"But I do know one of them.\"\n\n\"What is his name?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know his name.\"\n\n\"Well, how do you know him, then?\"\n\n\"He has three hairs at the end of his nose.\"\n\n\"Rubbish! He may have cut them off since then.\"\n\n\"I should know him all the same by his face; it is just like an owl's.\"\n\n\"And where did you pick up the two masons?\"\n\n\"They were mending the wall of the parish church.\"\n\nBy degrees Gáspár Gregorics got all particulars out of the man; and now\nthe ground seemed to be burning under his feet, so he went straight into\nthe town to look for the man with the three hairs on his nose.\n\nIt was not difficult to find him, and at the first place he asked at,\nthree voices answered at once:\n\n\"That must be András Prepelicza. His mustache made a mistake, and grew\non the top of his nose instead of on his lip.\"\n\nAfter that it was mere child's play, for every workman knew that\nPrepelicza was \"building Pest,\" as they expressed it. He was working at\na large house in the Kerepesi Street.\n\nGáspár immediately had the horses harnessed, and drove to Pest, not\nstopping till he reached the capital; and there he set to work to find\nPrepelicza among the Slovak workmen. The mason was just going up on a\npulley to the third story when he found him, and Gáspár shuddered as he\nthought: \"Supposing the cords were to give way now!\"\n\n\"Hallo, Prepelicza!\" he shouted. \"Wait a bit, I was just looking for\nyou. I want to have a talk with you.\"\n\n\"All right,\" called out the mason, examining the newcomer from above.\n\"Come up if you want to talk.\"\n\n\"You come down to me, it is very important.\"\n\n\"Well, shout it out, I can hear it all right up here.\"\n\n\"I can't do that, I must speak to you in private at any cost.\"\n\n\"Good or bad?\"\n\n\"Very good.\"\n\n\"Good for me?\"\n\n\"Yes, good for you.\"\n\n\"Well, if it is good for me it can wait till the evening. I shall be\ndown by then, but I want to finish this top window first.\"\n\n\"Don't argue, but come down at once. You won't be sorry for it.\"\n\n\"Why, I don't even know who you are.\"\n\n\"I'll send you word in a minute.\"\n\nAnd with the next pulley he sent Prepelicza up a nice new crisp\nten-florin note. The man who took it up got a florin for doing so.\n\nAt the sight of this novel visiting-card Prepelicza threw down his\nhammer and trowel, and with the next pulley returned to his mother\nearth, where miracles have been going on ever since the time of Moses.\n\n\"What can I do for you, sir?\"\n\n\"Follow me.\"\n\n\"To the end of the world, sir.\"\n\n\"We need not go as far as that,\" said Gregorics, smiling. And they only\nwent as far as \"The Cock,\" a small public-house, where they ordered some\nwine, after drinking which, the wily Gáspár began, smiling blandly:\n\n\"Can you speak, Prepelicza?\"\n\nThe mason began to wonder what was going to happen, and looked long and\nattentively into the steely gray eyes of his new acquaintance, and then\nsaid guardedly:\n\n\"A jay can speak, sir.\"\n\n\"I am from Besztercebánya.\"\n\n\"Really? There are very decent people there. I seem to know your face\ntoo, sir.\"\n\n\"You probably mistake me for my half-brother,\" said Gáspár. \"You know,\nthe one who had the caldron put away so secretly.\"\n\n\"The caldron!\" Prepelicza's mouth was wide open from astonishment. \"Was\nthat your brother? Now I understand where the likeness is, at least ...\nI mean ... (and he began to scratch his ear doubtfully). What caldron\nare you speaking of? I can't be expected to remember every pot and pan I\nhave seen in my life.\"\n\nGáspár was prepared for such hitches as this, so was not surprised, and\noffered the mason a cigar, which he immediately wetted to make it burn\nslower, then lit it, and began to drum on the table like a man who has\njust found out that he has something to sell, and has the right\npurchaser before him. Now he must be as phlegmatic as possible, and the\nprice of the article would rise in proportion.\n\nHis heart beat loud and fast, and the white cock framed on the wall\nabove the green table seemed to awake to life before his eyes, and to\ncrow out these words: \"Good afternoon, András Prepelicza!\nCock-a-doodledo. You have luck before you! Seize hold of it!\"\n\n\"What do you say, Prepelicza, you don't remember the caldron? What do\nyou take me for? Do I look like a fool? But I daresay in your place I\nshould do the same. This wine is very good, isn't it? What do you say?\nIt tastes of the cask? Why, my good fellow, it can't taste of mortar,\ncan it? Here, waiter, fetch another bottle of wine, and then be off and\nleave us alone. Well, what were we speaking of? Ah, yes, you said a\nshort time ago that the jay could speak, and that is quite true; you are\na wise man, Prepelicza, and the right man for me, for we shall soon come\nto terms. Yes, the jay can speak, but only if they cut its tongue. That\nis what you meant, isn't it?\"\n\n\"H'm!\" was the answer, and the three hairs on the mason's nose began to\nmove, as though a breath of air had passed through them.\n\n\"I know of course that they cut the jay's tongue with a knife, but as\nyou are not a bird, Prepelicza ...\"\n\n\"No, no,\" stammered the man hastily.\n\n\"Well, instead of a knife I take these two bank-notes to cut your tongue\nwith.\"\n\nAnd with that he took two hundred-florin bank-notes out of his\npocket-book.\n\nThe eyes of the mason fixed themselves greedily upon the bank-notes,\nupon the two figures printed on them, one holding a sheaf of wheat, the\nother a book; his eyes nearly dropped out of his head he stared so hard,\nand then he said:\n\n\"The caldron was heavy, very heavy indeed.\"\n\nThat was all he could get out, while he continued gazing at the two\ncherubs on the paper notes. He had six of his own at home, but they were\nnot as pretty as these.\n\n\"Well, my good man,\" said Gregorics surprised, \"still silent?\"\n\n\"It would be like a stone on my heart if I were to speak,\" sighed the\nmason--\"a very big stone. I don't think I could bear it.\"\n\n\"Don't talk such nonsense! A stone, indeed! Why, you have had to do with\nnothing else all your life, you need not cry about having one on your\nheart! You can't expect me to give you two hundred florins, and then\ngive you a hot roll to carry in your heart. Don't be a fool, man.\"\n\nPrepelicza smiled at this, but he put his big red hands behind his back,\na sign that he did not intend to touch the money.\n\n\"Perhaps you find it too little?\"\n\nNot a word did he answer, only pushed his hair up in front, till he\nlooked like a sick cockatoo; then, after a few moments, raised his glass\nto his lips, and drained it to the dregs, and then put it back on the\ntable so brusquely that it broke.\n\n\"It is disgraceful!\" he burst out; \"a poor man's honor is only worth\ntwo hundred florins, though God created us all equal, and He gave me my\nhonor as well as to the bishop or to Baron Radvánszky. And yet you tax\nmine at two hundred florins. It's a shame!\"\n\nUpon that Gáspár decided to play his trump.\n\n\"Very well, Prepelicza, you needn't be so cross. If your honor is so\ndear, I'll look for cheaper.\"\n\nAnd with that he put back the two bank-notes in his pocket.\n\n\"I'll look up your companion, the other mason.\"\n\nThen he called the head waiter, in order to pay for the wine. Prepelicza\nsmiled.\n\n\"Well, well, can't a poor man give his opinion? Of course you can look\nup the other man, and he won't be as honest as I, probably. But ...\nwell, put another fifty to it, and I'll tell you all.\"\n\n\"Very well. It's a bargain!\"\n\nAnd the mason began to relate the events of that memorable night, and\nhow they had carried the caldron through the courtyard and garden to a\nsmall house.\n\n\"To the 'Lebanon'!\" exclaimed Gáspár excitedly. \"To that boy's house!\"\n\nAnd the mason went on to tell how Gregorics had stood by while they had\nwalled in the caldron, and watched every movement, Gáspár throwing in a\nquestion now and then.\n\n\"Was it heavy?\"\n\n\"Very heavy.\"\n\n\"Did no one see you as you passed through the courtyard?\"\n\n\"No one; every one had gone to bed.\"\n\nGáspár was quite excited, and seemed to enjoy every word he heard; his\neyes shone, his thoughts were occupied with the future, in which he\nimagined himself a rich man, the owner of untold wealth. He might even\nbuy a baronetcy! Baron Gáspár Gregorics! How well it sounded! And Minka\nwould be a little baroness. That fool of a Pál had not known how to make\nproper use of his wealth, so it must have increased immensely, he had\nbeen so economical!\n\n\"And what did my brother pay you for your work?\"\n\n\"He gave us each fifty florins.\"\n\n\"That was quite right of him.\"\n\nA weight had fallen from his heart at these words, for he had begun to\nfear Gregorics had given them some thousands to buy their silence, and\nthat would have been a great pity, as it would have diminished the sum\nhe hoped to possess before long. For he had decided to buy \"Lebanon,\"\nwith its caldron and its orchard. He would go to-morrow to that boy's\nguardian and make an offer for it. And he rejoiced inwardly at the trick\nhe was playing his brother and sister.\n\nHe returned home as fast as horses could take him, and did not even stop\nat his own house, but went straight on to Sztolarik's and informed him\nhe would like to buy \"Lebanon.\"\n\nThis was the name they had given to the orchard and house old Gregorics\nhad bought of the clergyman's widow. He had tried to grow cedars there\nat first, but the soil of Besztercebánya was not suitable for these\ntrees, and the sarcastic inhabitants of the small town christened the\norchard \"Lebanon.\"\n\nMr. Sztolarik showed no surprise at the offer.\n\n\"So you want to buy 'Lebanon'?\" he said. \"It is a good orchard, and\nproduces the finest fruit imaginable. This year a well-known\nhotel-keeper bought all the fruit, and paid an enormous price for it.\nBut what made you think of buying 'Lebanon'?\"\n\n\"I should like to build a house there, a larger house than the present\none.\"\n\n\"H'm! There is always a good deal of bother attached to a purchase of\nthat kind,\" said Sztolarik coldly; \"the present owner is a minor, and\nthe Court of Chancery must give permission for the sale to take place. I\nwould rather leave things as they are. When the boy is of age he may do\nwhat he likes, but if I sell it now he may be sorry for it later on. No,\nno, Mr. Gregorics, I can't agree to it. After all the house and orchard\nare a _pretium affectionis_ for the boy; he spent his childhood there.\"\n\n\"But if I offer a good sum for it,\" broke in Gáspár, nervously.\n\nSztolarik began to feel curious.\n\n\"What do you consider a good sum? What do you think of offering for it?\"\n\n\"Why, I would give--\" and here he was overcome by a fit of coughing,\nwhich made him turn as red as a peony--\"I would give 15,000 florins.\"\n\nWell, that was a brilliant offer, for Pál Gregorics had bought it of the\nclergyman's widow for 5000 florins. It was only a small bit of ground,\nand a good way from the market, which decreased its value exceedingly.\n\n\"Utcumque,\" said Sztolarik, \"your offer is a good one. But, but ...\nwell, I'll tell you what, Mr. Gregorics, I'll consider your offer a bit,\nand I must write to the boy about it too, and also speak to his mother.\"\n\n\"But I want to settle it as soon as possible.\"\n\n\"I'll write about it to-day.\"\n\nGáspár did not wish to say any more about the matter, for fear of\nawakening the lawyer's suspicions, but a day or two afterward he sent a\ntiny cask of Tokay wine to him (some Pál Gregorics had left in his\ncellar, and which they had divided among them), with the inquiry as to\nwhether he had any answer from Budapest. Sztolarik sent back word he\nexpected a letter every minute, and thanked him very much for the wine;\nhe also remarked to the footman who had brought it that he hoped it\nwould go smoothly, but whether he meant the wine, or something else, the\nfootman did not quite understand.\n\nHardly had the man gone, when the expected letter arrived, containing\nthe news that Gyuri agreed to the sale of the orchard, and Sztolarik was\njust going to send one of his clerks to Gáspár, when the door opened,\nand in walked Boldizsár Gregorics, puffing and blowing from the haste he\nhad made.\n\n\"Pray take a seat, Mr. Gregorics. To what do I owe the honor of your\nvisit?\"\n\n\"I've brought you a lot of money,\" gasped Boldizsár, still out of\nbreath.\n\n\"We can always do with plenty of that,\" said the lawyer.\n\n\"I want to buy that poor orphan's little bit of property, 'Lebanon.'\"\n\n\"'Lebanon'?\" repeated Sztolarik, surprised. \"What on earth is the matter\nwith them all?\" he muttered to himself; then continued out loud:\n\"Perhaps you want it for your brother?\"\n\n\"No, no, I want it for myself. It would suit me nicely; the view from\nthere is so lovely, and the fruit-trees are so good.\"\n\n\"It is really strange, very strange!\"\n\n\"Why is it strange?\" said the other, surprised.\n\n\"Because I have already one purchaser in view.\"\n\n\"Well, we won't let him have it. I daresay I can offer you more than\nhe.\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" said the lawyer; \"the first offer was 15,000 florins.\"\n\nBoldizsár showed no surprise.\n\n\"Well, I offer 20,000.\"\n\nNot till after he had said it did it occur to him that the orchard was\nnot worth even 15,000 florins, and he turned impatiently and asked:\n\n\"Who is the fool who offers so much?\"\n\n\"Your brother Gáspár.\"\n\nAt this name Boldizsár turned deathly pale, and dropped gasping on to a\nchair. His lips moved, but no sound came from them, and Sztolarik\nthought he would have a stroke, and rushed out for some water, calling\nfor help as he went; but when he returned with the cook armed with a\nrolling-pin and a jug of water, the old gentleman had recovered, and\nbegan to excuse himself.\n\n\"I felt a bit giddy; I often have attacks like this. I'm getting old,\nyou see. And now to return to our discussion. Yes, I'll give you 20,000\nflorins for 'Lebanon,' and pay the money down.\"\n\nThe lawyer thought a minute, then said:\n\n\"We can't manage things so quickly, for we must have the consent of the\nCourt of Chancery. I'll see about it at once.\"\n\nAnd he was as good as his word, for such an advantageous sale of the\norchard he had never dared to hope for. But all the time he was\nwondering why the two Gregorics were so anxious to have it. There must\nbe some reason for it. Supposing they had struck upon some treasure\nthere, it was not impossible, for had not King Arpád and his successors\nlived about here? He decided to send István Drotler, the civil engineer,\nto have a look at the place, and see if it contained gold or coal. But\nbefore he had time to start for the engineer's, Gáspár Gregorics\nappeared on the scene, to ask if there were any letter from Pest.\nSztolarik was in difficulties.\n\n\"The letter is here, yes, the letter is here; but something else has\nhappened. Another purchaser has turned up, and he offers 20,000 florins\nfor 'Lebanon.'\"\n\nThis was evidently a great blow for Gáspár.\n\n\"Impossible,\" he stammered. \"Is it Boldizsár?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nGáspár was furious; he began to swear like a trooper, and waved his\nstick about, thereby knocking down one of Mrs. Sztolarik's flower-pots,\nin which a rare specimen of hyacinth was just blossoming.\n\n\"The wretch!\" he hissed. And then he sat staring fixedly in front of him\nfor some time.\n\nHow did he get to know of it? was the question he was revolving in his\nmind. It was very simple. That sly Prepelicza had easily found out in\nBesztercebánya that Pál Gregorics had more than one brother living, and\nhe decided that if one of them paid him 250 florins for the secret, the\nother would perhaps be inclined to pay something too. So he got into the\ntrain, travelled to Besztercebánya, and looked up Boldizsár. There was\nnothing surprising in that except, perhaps, the fact that Prepelicza was\nnot such a fool as he looked.\n\n\"Oh, the wretch!\" Gáspár kept on saying. \"But he shall not have it, I\n_will_ buy it. I'll give you 25,000 florins for it.\"\n\nSztolarik smiled and rubbed his hands.\n\n\"It will belong to the one who gives most for it. If it were mine, I\nwould give it you for the 15,000 florins you offered at first, for I\nalways keep my word. But as it belongs to a minor, and I have his\ninterests at heart, I must do the best I can for him. Now don't you\nthink I am right?\"\n\nGáspár agreed with him, and tried to make him promise to give him the\npreference. But what was the good of it? Sztolarik met Boldizsár that\nevening at the club, and made no secret of the fact that Gáspár had been\nto see him that morning, and offered him 5000 florins more for the\norchard. But Boldizsár was not surprised, and only answered:\n\n\"Well, I will give 30,000.\"\n\nAnd this mad auction went on for days, until the attention of the whole\ntown was drawn to it, and people began to think the Gregorics must have\ngone mad, or that there must be some important reason for their wishing\nto have possession of \"Lebanon.\"\n\nGáspár came and offered 32,000 florins, and as soon as Boldizsár heard\nof it, he came and offered 3000 florins more; and so on, until people's\nhair began to stand on end.\n\n\"Let them go on as long as they like,\" thought the lawyer.\n\nAnd they did go on, until they reached the sum of 50,000 florins, which\nwas Boldizsár's last offer. And heaven only knows how long it would have\ngone on still.\n\nThe engineer had been to look at the place, and had declared there was\nnothing of any value to be found there, not even a bit of gold, unless\nit were the stoppings of some dead woman's teeth.\n\n\"But supposing there is coal there?\"\n\n\"Not a sign of it.\"\n\n\"Then what on earth are the Gregorics thinking of?\"\n\nWhatever the reason was, it was certainly to Gyuri's advantage, and his\nguardian meant to make the most of the opportunity, so he let the two\nbrothers go on bidding till the sum promised was 50,000 florins. He\nintended to wait till Gáspár capped it with 52,000, and then close the\nbargain.\n\nBut he had reckoned without his host, for one fine day it suddenly\noccurred to Gáspár it was strange Mrs. Panyóki showed no signs of taking\npart in the auction. She evidently knew nothing of the existence of the\ntreasure; Prepelicza had not told her the secret, and had thus proved\nhimself a clever man, for if he had told her too, his part in the play\nwas over. Whereas now, when the two brothers had the caldron in their\npossession, they would be obliged to pay him hush-money to hold his\ntongue. As Gáspár turned all this over in his mind, he began to find it\nridiculous for him and Boldizsár to keep on outbidding each other, thus\nattracting every one's attention to them, putting money into the boy's\npocket, and awakening Mrs. Panyóki's suspicions. And whichever bought\n\"Lebanon\" at last would certainly not be left to enjoy it unmolested. So\nhe decided it would be cheaper if they were to work together, buy the\nestate, share the contents of the caldron, and pay Prepelicza a certain\nsum yearly to hold his tongue.\n\nSo one day the brothers came to terms, and Sztolarik was very surprised\nwhen, the next day, the door opened, and in walked Boldizsár and\nannounced that he had thought things over, and come to the conclusion\nthat \"Lebanon\" was decidedly not worth 50,000 florins, and he had given\nup all idea of buying it.\n\n\"That does not matter,\" said Sztolarik, \"your brother will give us\n48,000 for it.\"\n\nAnd he waited impatiently till he had a chance of speaking to Gáspár\nabout it. But that good man calmly answered:\n\n\"It was very stupid of me to offer so much for it, and I am really\ngrateful to you, Sztolarik, for not taking me at my word at once. Why, I\ncan buy a good-sized estate for the money I offered for it.\"\n\nThe lawyer hardly knew what to do next. He was afraid he had made them\ngo back on their bargain, by letting them carry it on so long, and felt\nsure he would be the laughing stock of the town, and that Gyuri would\nreproach him with not looking after his interests properly. So off he\nrushed to Boldizsár and offered him \"Lebanon\" for 45,000 florins; but\nBoldizsár only laughed, and said:\n\n\"Do you take me for a fool?\"\n\nWhereupon he went to Gáspár and said:\n\n\"Well, you may have 'Lebanon' for 40,000 florins.\"\n\nGáspár shook his head and answered:\n\n\"I'm not quite mad yet.\"\n\nAnd now the auction began again, but this time it went _backward_, until\nat last, with the greatest difficulty, Sztolarik got 15,000 florins out\nof them. They bought it together, and both signed their names to the\ndeeds.\n\nOn the day they received the key of the house from the guardian, they\nboth went there, shut themselves in, and began to pull down the inner\nwall with the pickaxes they had brought with them under their cloaks. Of\ncourse they found the caldron, but what was in it has not become clear\nto this day, though that was the chief point to be settled in the\nGregorics lawsuit, which took up the attention of the Besztercebánya law\ncourts for ten years.\n\nIt began in this way. A few months after the purchase of \"Lebanon,\"\nPrepelicza appeared on the scene, and demanded his share of the treasure\ndiscovered in the wall, otherwise he would make known the whole affair\nto Mrs. Panyóki. The brothers got mad with rage at the sight of him.\n\n\"You miserable thief!\" they cried. \"You were a party to the fraud\npractised upon us by that good-for-nothing brother of ours, who wanted\nto rob us in order to benefit that boy. You helped him to fill the\ncaldron with rusty nails and bits of old iron. Now you are here, you\nmay as well have your share.\"\n\nWith that they each seized hold of a stick, and began to beat Prepelicza\ntill he was black and blue. Off he went to a doctor for a certificate as\nto his wounds, and then to the barber, who had to write a long letter to\nthe king in his name, complaining of the behavior of the two brothers\nGregorics toward one of his honest (?) subjects.\n\n\"If the king is not ashamed of them as subjects, I am not ashamed of\nowning how I have been beaten; they were two to one!\"\n\nThen he hired a cart (for it was impossible for him to walk in his\npresent state), and drove to Varecska, where Mrs. Panyóki spent the\nsummer, and told her the whole tale from beginning to end.\n\nThe result was the lawsuit Panyóki _versus_ Gregorics, which furnished\nthe neighborhood with gossip for ten years. A whole legion of witnesses\nhad to be examined, and the deeds and papers increased to such an extent\nthat at the end they weighed seventy-three pounds. Mrs. Panyóki could\nonly prove the existence of the caldron, its having been walled in, and\nits appropriation later on by the two brothers, who, on their part,\ntried to prove that it contained nothing of value, only a number of\nrusty nails and odd bits of iron. As the dead man had no lawyer to\ndefend him, _he_ lost the lawsuit, for it was certain he had played the\ntrick on his relations, and thus brought about the lawsuit, which only\nended when it was all the same which side lost or won it, for the\nseventy-three pounds of paper and the six lawyers had eaten up the whole\nof the Gregorics and Panyóki fortunes. By degrees all the members of the\nfamily died in poverty, and were forgotten; only Pál Gregorics lived in\nthe memories of the six lawyers, who remarked from time to time: \"He was\na clever man!\"\n\nBut in spite of all researches, the dead man's fortune was still\nmissing, not a trace of it was to be found, no one had inherited it\nexcept rumor, which did as it liked with it, decreased it, increased it,\nplaced it here or there at pleasure.\n\n\n\n\nTraces\n\nPART III\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE UMBRELLA AGAIN.\n\n\nMany years passed, and things had changed very much in Besztercebánya,\nbut the thing that will interest us most is the door-plate on the house\nformerly inhabited by old Gregorics, on which is to be read: \"György\nWibra, lawyer.\"\n\nYes, little Gyuri is now a well-known lawyer; people come to him from\nall sides for advice, and young girls smile at him from their windows as\nhe passes. He is a very handsome young man, and clever. He has youth and\nhealth, and his whole life before him, what more can he want? But the\nnarrow-minded inhabitants of the little town are at present only\noccupied with one question, viz., whom will he marry? Why, Katka\nKrikovszky would marry him any day, and she is the prettiest girl in the\ntown. Then there is Mathilda Hupka, who would receive him with open arms\nif he came to her with a proposal, though she is very high and mighty.\nAnd even Mariska Biky would not refuse him, and she belongs to the\nnobility, and has 50,000 florins. Girls are very cheap nowadays! But\nGyuri Wibra paid no attention to any of them; he was a serious and\nretiring young man, and his friends soon saw that he was infinitely\nabove them in every way. As a rule young men first take their diploma,\nthen start an office, look out for clients who do not come, and by their\nabsence make the place seem so large and empty, that the young lawyer\nfeels he must have company of some kind. So he brings home a wife to\ncheer his solitude.\n\nBut it never occurred to Gyuri to marry. And once when Mrs. Krikovszky\nbroached the subject to him and asked when they would hear of his\nengagement, he answered absently:\n\n\"I am not in the habit of marrying.\"\n\nIt certainly is a bad \"habit,\" but one that does not seem inclined to go\nout of fashion. For thousands of years people have been marrying,\nrepenting of it, and considering it madness to have done so, but they\nnever get over the madness, and marriage is as fashionable as ever. As\nlong as pretty young girls are growing up, they are always growing up\nfor some one.\n\nGyuri's business was a brilliant success from the beginning; fortune\nsmiled on him from every side, but he received it with a tolerably sour\nface. He worked, but only from habit, just the same as he washed\nhimself and brushed his hair every day. His mind was elsewhere; but\nwhere? His friends thought they knew, and often asked him:\n\n\"Why don't you marry, old fellow?\"\n\n\"Because I am not rich enough.\"\n\n\"Why, that is the very reason you should marry. Your wife will bring the\nmoney with her.\"\n\n(That is the usual opinion of young men.)\n\nGyuri shook his head, a handsome, manly head, with an oval face, and\nlarge black eyes.\n\n\"That is not true. It is the money brings the wife!\"\n\nWhat sort of a wife had he set his heart on? His friends decided he must\nbe chasing very high game. Perhaps he wanted a baroness, or even a\ncountess? He was like the Virginian creeper they said, which first\nclimbs very high and then blossoms. But if he were to marry, he could be\nsuccessful later on all the same. Look at the French beans; they climb\nand blossom at the same time.\n\nBut this was all empty talk. There was nothing whatever to prevent Gyuri\ngetting on in his profession; nothing troubled him, neither a pretty\ngirl's face, nor a wish for rank and riches, only the legend of the lost\nwealth disturbed him. For to others it was a legend, but to him it was\ntruth, which danced before his eyes like a Jack-o'-lantern; he could\nneither grasp it nor leave it alone; yet there it was by day and by\nnight, and he heard in his dreams a voice saying: \"You are a\nmillionaire!\"\n\nWhen he wrote out miserable little bills for ten or fifteen florins,\nthese words seemed to dance before him on the paper:\n\n\"Lay down your pen, Gyuri Wibra, you have treasures enough already,\nheaven only knows how much. Your father saved it up for you, so you have\na right to it. You are a rich man, Gyuri, and not a poor lawyer. Throw\naway those deeds and look for your treasure. Where are you to look for\nit? Why, that is just the question that drives one mad. Perhaps\nsometimes, when you are tired out, and throw yourself down on the ground\nto rest, it may be just beneath you, it is, perhaps, just beginning to\nget warm under your hand when you take it away to do something else, and\nit may be you will never find it at all. And what a life you could lead,\nwhat a lot you could do with the money. You could drive a four-in-hand,\ndrink champagne, keep a lot of servants. A new world, a new life would\nbe open to you. And to possess all this you only need a little luck; but\nas you have none at present, take up your pen again, my friend, and go\non writing out deeds and bills, and squeezing a few florins out of the\npoor Slovaks.\"\n\nIt was a great pity he had heard anything about the missing treasure. He\nfelt it himself, and often said he wished he knew nothing about it, and\nwould be very glad if something were to happen which would go to prove\nthat the treasure did not really exist; for instance, if some one would\nremark:\n\n\"Oh, yes, I met old Gregorics once in Monte Carlo; he was losing his\nmoney as fast as he could.\"\n\nBut no such thing happened; on the contrary, new witnesses were always\nturning up to assure him: \"Old Gregorics must certainly have left an\nimmense fortune, which he intended you to have. Don't you really know\nanything about it?\"\n\nNo, he knew nothing at all about it, but his thoughts were always\nrunning on the subject, spoiling all his pleasure in life. The promising\nyouth had really become only half a man, for he had two separate and\ndistinct persons in him. Sometimes he entirely gave himself up to the\nidea that he was the child of a servant, and began to feel he had\nattained to a really good position by means of his own work, and was\nhappy and contented in this thought. But only a word was needed to make\nthe lawyer a totally different man. He was now the son of rich old Pál\nGregorics, waiting to find and take possession of his property. And from\ntime to time he suffered all the pangs of Tantalus, and left his office\nto look after itself for weeks at a time, while he went to Vienna to\nlook up some of his father's old acquaintances.\n\nThe rich carriage-builder, who had bought Gregorics's house in Vienna,\ngave him valuable information.\n\n\"Your father,\" he said, \"once told me when I paid him for the house,\nthat he should put the money in some bank, and asked me which would be\nthe best and safest way to set to work about it.\"\n\nGyuri wandered then from one bank to another, but without success.\nThoroughly worn out he returned to Besztercebánya with the full\nintention of not thinking any more about the subject.\n\n\"I am not going on making a fool of myself,\" he said. \"I won't let the\nGolden Calf go on lowing in my ears forever. I will not take another\nstep in the affair, and shall imagine I dreamed it all.\"\n\nBut it was easier said than done. You can throw ashes on a smouldering\nfire--it will put it out, but not prevent it smoking.\n\nSometimes one friend referred to it, sometimes another. His mother, who\nnow walked on crutches, often spoke of the good old times, sitting in\nher arm-chair by the fire. And at length she owned that old Gregorics\nhad wanted to telegraph for Gyuri on his deathbed.\n\n\"He seemed as though he could not die till he had seen you,\" she said.\n\"But it was my fault you came too late.\"\n\n\"And why did he so much want to see me?\"\n\n\"He said he wanted to give you something.\"\n\nA light broke in upon Gyuri's brain. The Vienna carriage-builder had\ngiven him to understand that his father's fortune was represented by a\nreceipt for money placed in a bank, and from the information his mother\nnow gave him, he concluded that the old gentleman had intended giving\nhim the receipt before his death. So he must always have kept it by him.\nBut what had become of it? In which bank was the money deposited? Could\nhe, knowing what he did, give up the idea of finding it?\n\nNo, no, it was impossible! It could not be lost! Why, a grain of wheat,\nif dropped in a ditch, would reappear in time, however unexpectedly. And\nin a case of this kind, a chance word, a sign, could clear up every\ndoubt.\n\nHe had not long to wait. One day, the dying mayor of the town, Tamás\nKrikovszky, sent for him to make his will. Several people, holding high\npositions in the town, were assembled in the room. There lay the mayor,\npale and weak, but he still seemed to retain some of the majesty of his\noffice, in the manner in which he took leave of his inferiors in office,\nrecommending the welfare of the town to them, and then taking from\nunder his pillow the official seal, he put it into their hands, saying:\n\n\"For twenty years I have sealed the truth with it!\"\n\nThen he dictated his will to Gyuri, and while doing so, referred now and\nthen to various incidents in his life.\n\n\"Dear me, what times those were,\" he said once, addressing himself to\nGyuri. \"Your father had a red umbrella, with a hollow handle, in which\nhe used to carry valuable papers from one camp to another, in the days\nwhen he was a spy.\"\n\n\"What!\" stammered Gyuri. \"The red umbrella?\" and his eyes shone.\n\nLike a flash of lightning a thought had entered his head. The receipt\nwas in that umbrella! His blood began to course madly in his veins, as\nthe certitude of the truth of his suspicion grew upon him. Yes, there it\nwas, he was sure of it; and all at once he remembered the incident in\nSzeged, how Gregorics had let his umbrella fall in the water, his\nanxiety, and offer of a large reward for its discovery. Then again, the\nold gentleman's words rang in his ear:\n\n\"The umbrella will once belong to you, and you will find it useful to\nprotect you from the rain.\"\n\nThe bystanders could not imagine why Gyuri seemed so much put about at\nthe mayor's death; in their opinion it was quite right of the old man\nto take his departure, he had dragged on with his gouty old leg quite\nlong enough, and should now make room for younger men; he had not lived\nhis life for nothing, for were they not going to have his portrait\npainted and hung in the Town Hall, a grand ending to his life? If he\nlived for ten years longer he could have no greater honor done him, and\nhis portrait would be even uglier than now.\n\nThey were even more surprised at the strange question which Gyuri, in\nspite of the solemnity of the occasion, put to the dying man.\n\n\"And was the hole big, sir?\"\n\n\"What hole?\" asked the mayor, who had already forgotten the subject.\n\n\"The hole in the handle of the umbrella.\"\n\n\"I really don't know, I never asked Gregorics.\"\n\nHe closed his eyes, and in a weak voice added, with that phlegma which\nonly a Hungarian displays on his deathbed:\n\n\"But if you wait a bit, I'll ask him.\"\n\nAnd he probably kept his promise, for half an hour later a black flag\nwas flying from the roof of the Town Hall, and the bell of the Roman\nCatholic church was tolling.\n\nGyuri Wibra had hurried home, nervous and excited, and was now marching\nup and down his office, his heart beating wildly with joy.\n\n\"I have the treasure at last!\" he kept on repeating to himself, \"at\nleast, I should have it if I had the umbrella. But where is it?\" He\ncould neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep till he had settled it. He\nquestioned his mother on the subject, and she did her best to answer\nhim, but could only repeat:\n\n\"How am I to remember that, my dear boy, after so long a time? And what\ndo you want that ragged umbrella for?\"\n\nGyuri sighed.\n\n\"If I have to dig it out of the ground with my ten fingers, I will do\nit.\"\n\n\"Perhaps Matykó will remember something about it?\"\n\nMatykó was soon found; he sat smoking his pipe in the anteroom of the\noffice, for he was now Gyuri's servant. But he also said he had\nforgotten far more important things than that in all these years; but\nthis much he did remember, that the dead man had kept the umbrella near\nhim till the hour of his death.\n\n\"Heaven only knows,\" he added, \"why he took such care of the ragged old\nthing.\"\n\n(Not only heaven knew the reason now, but Gyuri too!)\n\nHe got more information from the old woman who kept the grocer's shop in\nold Gregorics's house; she had been in the house when he died, and had\nhelped to lay him out. She swore by heaven and earth that the umbrella\nhad been tightly clutched in the dead man's hand, and they had had the\ngreatest difficulty in freeing it from his grasp.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the old woman, \"the umbrella was certainly in his hand, may\nI never move from this spot if it is not true.\"\n\n\"It is all the same,\" muttered Gyuri; \"we want to know where it is now.\"\n\n\"I suppose it was sold with the rest of the things.\"\n\nThat seemed very likely, so Gyuri went and looked up the list of things\nthat had been sold at the auction. All sorts of things were\nmentioned--tables, chairs, cupboards, coats, etc.--but there was no\nmention of an umbrella. He read it over ten times, but it was of no use,\nhe could find no mention of it, unless the following could be considered\nas such.\n\n\"Various useless objects, bought for two florins by the white Jew.\"\n\nPerhaps the umbrella was one of those useless objects, and had been\nbought by the \"white Jew.\" Well, the first thing was to find the \"white\nJew.\" But who was he? For in those good old days there were not as many\nJews in Hungary as there are now; there were perhaps one or two in the\ntown, so it was easy to find them; for one was called \"red,\" another\n\"gray,\" another \"white,\" a fourth \"black,\" according to the color of\ntheir hair; and by means of these four colors the townsfolk were able to\ndistinguish any Jew who lived in their town. But now there were some\nhundred Jewish families, and heaven had not increased the shades of\ntheir hair to such an extent that each family could be distinguished in\nthe old way.\n\nIt was not difficult to find out about the old Jew, and Gyuri soon knew\nthat he was called Jónás Müncz, and it was very likely he had bought the\nthings, for all the coats and vests found their way into his tiny shop\nin Wheat Street, before starting on the second chapter of their\nexistence.\n\nMany people remember the little shop in which top-boots, cloaks, and\ndresses hung on nails, and the following announcement was written with\nchalk on the door:\n\n\"Only the lilies of the field can dress themselves cheaper than you can\nin this shop!\"\n\n(That was quite true, only with this difference, that the lilies of the\nfield were more becomingly dressed than Müncz's customers.)\n\nIn spite of all this information Gyuri was by no means satisfied, so he\nwalked across the road to his old guardian's to see if he could find out\nanything more on the subject from him, for he had been the first lawyer\nin the town for many years, and must know every one.\n\nThe young man told Sztolarik the whole story, openly and frankly, adding\nthat the receipt for the money, which was probably deposited in some\nforeign bank, was all but found, for it was most certainly in the handle\nof the red umbrella, and that had in all probability been bought by an\nold Jew of the name of Jónás Müncz. All of this Gyuri poured out quickly\nand breathlessly into the ears of his old guardian.\n\n\"That much I know. Now, what am I to do next?\"\n\n\"It is a great deal, much more than I ever hoped for. You must continue\nthe search.\"\n\n\"But where am I to search? We don't yet know where Müncz is, and even if\nwe had him, who knows on which dust-heap the umbrella has rotted since\nthen?\"\n\n\"All the same, you must not lose the thread.\"\n\n\"Did you know the 'white Jew'?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; he was a very honest Jew, that is why he never got very rich.\nHe often came to me; I can see him now, with his head bald at the back,\nand a fringe of white hair round it. 'Pon my word! (and here the lawyer\nskipped like a young lamb) the last time I saw him he had Pál\nGregorics's umbrella in his hand; I can swear to it, and I remember I\njoked him about it. 'It seems to me, Jónás,' I said, 'that you wander\nabout the next world, too, to buy \"ole clo',\" and bought that umbrella\nthere of Pál Gregorics.' At which he smiled, and said he had not gone as\nfar as that yet, for he only kept to the two counties of Zólyom and\nHont, and had divided the neighboring counties among his sons; Móricz\nhad Trencsin and Nyitra, Számi had Szepes and Liptó, and the youngest,\nKóbi, had only last week been given Bars, but they none of them intended\nto go into the next world until they were obliged to.\"\n\nGyuri's eyes shone with delight.\n\n\"Bravo, Sztolarik!\" he exclaimed, \"only the gods had such memories as\nyou have.\"\n\n\"You are a lucky fellow, Gyuri. I have an impression we are on the right\ntrack at last, and that you will find the money.\"\n\n\"I begin to think so too,\" answered Gyuri, who was in turns optimist or\npessimist, as the occasion presented itself.\n\n\"But what can have become of old Müncz?\"\n\n\"We Christians have a legend about the Jews which says, that on the Long\nDay every year a Jew disappears from the earth and is never seen again.\nOld Jónás disappeared thus fourteen years ago (you may be sure none of\nthe Rothschilds will disappear in that way). His wife and children\nwaited for him in vain, Jónás never returned. So his sons set out to\nlook for him, and it turned out the old fellow had got soft-headed, and\nhad taken to wandering about in the Slovak villages, where the sons now\nand then heard of him from people who had seen him; and then one day,\nthey found his dead body in the Garam.\"\n\nThe young lawyer's face was clouded again.\n\n\"Why, in that case the umbrella will be in the Garam too, probably.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not,\" was the answer. \"He may have left it at home, and if so,\nit will still be among the old rags and bones of the Müncz's, for I am\nsure no one would ever buy it. Try your luck, my boy! If I were you I\nwould get into a carriage, and drive and drive until ...\"\n\n\"But where am I to drive to?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course, of course.\"\n\nThen, after a minute's thought:\n\n\"Müncz's sons have gone out into the world, and the boxes of matches\nwith which they started have probably become houses since then. But I'll\ntell you what; go to Bábaszék, their mother lives there.\"\n\n\"Whereabouts is Bábaszék?\"\n\n\"Quite near to Zólyom, among the mountains. There is a saying that all\nthe sheep there were frozen to death once, in the dog-days.\"\n\n\"And are you sure Mrs. Müncz lives there?\"\n\n\"Quite sure. A few years ago they came and fetched her away to be the\n'Jewess of Bábaszék.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nOUR ROSÁLIA.\n\n\nYes, they had taken old Mrs. Müncz to Bábaszék to be their \"Jew,\" with\nforty florins salary, for they had no Jew there, and had to find one at\nany cost.\n\nThis is how it came to pass (and it is difficult for an inhabitant of\nBudapest to understand it). Bábaszék was one of those small towns which\nin reality was only a larger village, though it rejoiced in what it\ncalled its \"mayor,\" and on one day in the year a few miserable horses,\ncows, and pigs were driven in from the neighboring farms and villages,\nand the baker from Zólyom put up a tent, in which he sold gingerbread in\nthe shape of hearts, of soldiers, of cradles, all of which was soon\nbought up by the young men and fathers of families and taken home to\nsweethearts or children, as the case might be. In one word, there was a\nfair at Bábaszék. And for centuries every inhabitant has divided the\nyear and its events into two parts, one before the fair, and one after\nit. For instance, the death of Francis Deák took place just two days\nafter the fair at Bábaszék. And the reason of all this was, that the old\nkings of Hungary who lived during the hunting season in the castles of\nZólyom and Végles, instead of making grants to the inhabitants, raised\nthe villages to the position of towns.\n\nWell, of course, it was a privilege, for in a town everything seems\ngrander than in a village, and is worth a good deal more, even man\nhimself. The little straw-thatched house in which questions of moment\nare discussed is called the Town Hall, and the \"hajdu\" (town-servant)\nmust know how to beat a drum (for the town has a drum of its own), the\nricher ones even have a small fire-engine. After all, position is\nposition, and one must do all one can to keep it up. Zólyom and\nTót-Pelsöc were rivals.\n\n\"That's not a town,\" said the latter of the former; \"why, they have not\neven a chemist there!\" (Well, after all, not every village or town can\nbe as big as Besztercebánya or London!)\n\nPelsöc could not even leave poor little Bábaszék alone.\n\n\"That is no town,\" they said. \"There is not even a single Jew there. If\nno Jew settle in a town, it cannot be considered as such; it has, in\nfact, no future.\"\n\nBut it is not my intention now to write about the quarrels of two small\ntowns, I only want to tell you how Mrs. Müncz came to live in Bábaszék.\n\nWell, they sent word to her in Besztercebánya, to come and take\npossession of the little shop just opposite the market-place near the\nsmithy, the best position in the town. On either side of the door was\nwritten in colored letters: \"Soap, whips, starch, scrubbing-brushes,\nnails, salt, grease, saffron, cinnamon, linseed oil;\" in fact, the names\nof all those articles which did not grow in the neighborhood, or were\nnot manufactured there. So that is how Mrs. Müncz came to live in\nBábaszék, where she was received with great honors, and made as\ncomfortable as possible. It is a wonder they did not bring her into the\ntown in triumph on their shoulders, which would have been no joke, for\nshe weighed at least two hundredweight.\n\nSome of the townsfolk were very discontented that the mayor had only\nbrought a Jewess into the town, and not a Jew, for it would sound\ngrander if they could say: \"Our Jew says this, or our Móricz or Tobias\ndid that,\" than if they had said: \"Our Rosália says this, that, or the\nother;\" it sounds so very mild. They would have liked a Jew with a long\nbeard, and hooked nose, and red hair if possible; that was the correct\nthing!\n\nBut Mr. Konopka, the cleverest senator in the town, who had made the\ncontract with Mrs. Müncz, and who had even gone himself to fetch her\nand her luggage from Besztercebánya with two large carts, the horses of\nwhich had flowers and rosettes on, coldly repudiated these aspersions on\ntheir Jewess, with an argument which struck as heavily as the stones in\nDavid's sling.\n\n\"Don't be so foolish,\" he said. \"If a woman was once king in Hungary,\nwhy should not a Jewess fill the place of Jew in Bábaszék?\"\n\n(This was a reference to the words of the nation addressed to Maria\nTheresa: \"We will fight for our 'king' and our country.\")\n\nOf course they soon saw the truth of this, and ceased grumbling; and\nthey were in time quite reconciled to their Jewess, for every year, on\nthe Feast of Tents, all Mrs. Müncz's sons, seven in number, came to see\ntheir mother, and walked about the market-place in their best clothes,\nlaced boots, and top-hats. The townsfolk were glad enough then, their\nhearts swelled with pride as they gazed at the seven Jews, and they\nwould exclaim:\n\n\"Well, if this is not a town, what is?\"\n\n\"You won't see as many Jews as that in Pelsöc in ten years,\" answered\nanother proudly.\n\nOld Mrs. Müncz feasted her eyes on her sons when she sat, as she usually\ndid, in the doorway of her shop, her knitting in her hands, her\nspectacles on her nose (those spectacles lent her an additional charm\nin the eyes of her admirers). She was a pleasant-looking old woman in\nher snow-white frilled cap, and seemed to suit her surroundings, the\nwhitewashed walls of the neighboring houses, the important-looking Town\nHall, and no one could pass her without raising their hat, just as they\ndid before the statue of St. John Nepomuk. (Those were the only two\nthings worth seeing in Bábaszék.)\n\nEvery one felt that the little old woman would have her share in the\nsuccess of the town.\n\n\"Good-morning, young woman. How are you?\"\n\n\"Very well, thank you, my child.\"\n\n\"How is business, young woman?\"\n\n\"Thank you, my child, I get on very well.\"\n\nThey were all glad, oh, so glad, that the \"young woman\" was so healthy\nand strong, and that she got richer day by day; they boasted of it\nwhere-ever they went.\n\n\"Our Rosália is getting on well. It is easy to get on in Bábaszék, we\nare good-natured people.\"\n\nThey really made things very comfortable for Rosália. She was over\nseventy, but they still called her \"mlada pani\" (young woman). As the\nking reserves to himself the right of conferring various titles, so the\npeople have adopted the plan of conferring the \"title of youth,\" and\nmake use of it when and where they like.\n\nWell, as I said before, they took great care of Rosália, and when, a few\nyears after her arrival there, she decided to build a stone house, every\none who owned a cart placed it at her disposal, for the carting of\nstones, sand, wood, etc.; the bricklayers gave a day's work without\nwages; only one or two of the lazier ones did not join the rest on that\nday, but were sent to Coventry for it.\n\n\"Good-for-nothing fellows,\" said every one, \"they have no respect for\nany one, neither for God, the priest, nor a Jew!\"\n\nTheir respect went so far as to make them (at the mayor's instigation)\nset apart two pieces of ground, one for a (future) synagogue, and one\nfor a Jewish burial-ground (for the one Jewess they had in the town).\nBut what did that matter? They had the future before them, and who could\ntell what it held for them? And it was so nice to be able to say to\nstrangers: \"Just a stone's throw from the Jewish burial-ground,\" or\n\"near to the foundation of the Synagogue,\" etc. And the inhabitants of\nthe villages round about would say when the good folks turned their\nbacks: \"Poor things! Their brains have been turned with the joy of\nhaving a Jew in their town!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE TRACES LEAD TO GLOGOVA.\n\n\nOne fine spring afternoon, a light sort of dog-cart stopped before Mrs.\nMüncz's shop, and a young man sprang out of it, Gyuri Wibra, of course.\n\nRosália, who was just standing at her door, speaking to Mr. Mravucsán,\nthe mayor, and Mr. Galba, one of the senators, immediately turned to the\nyoung man with the question:\n\n\"What can I do for you, sir?\"\n\n\"Are you Mrs. Müncz?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I want to buy an umbrella.\"\n\nThe two gentlemen, surprised, looked up at the cloudless sky.\n\n\"What the devil does he want to buy an umbrella for?\" muttered\nMravucsán.\n\nThen added aloud:\n\n\"Where are you from, sir?\"\n\n\"From Besztercebánya.\"\n\nMravucsán was even more surprised.\n\nFancy any one coming all the way from Besztercebánya to Bábaszék to buy\nan umbrella! How proud he was it had happened under his mayorship! He\nnudged Galba:\n\n\"Do you hear?\" he said.\n\n\"This is only a small village shop, sir,\" answered Rosália. \"We don't\nkeep umbrellas.\"\n\n\"Pity enough!\" muttered Mravucsán, biting savagely at his mustache.\n\n\"But I heard,\" went on the stranger, \"that you had second-hand umbrellas\nto sell.\"\n\nSecond-hand umbrellas! Well, what next!\n\nMravucsán, who was asthmatic, began to breathe heavily, and was just\ngoing to say something disparaging to the stranger, when some runaway\nhorses attracted his attention, as they rushed across the market-place,\ndragging a handsome phaeton with them.\n\n\"That will never be fit for use again,\" said the smith, as he stood\nlooking on, his hands folded under his leather apron.\n\nThe phaeton had probably been dashed against a wall, for the left side\nwas smashed to bits, the shaft was broken, one of the wheels had been\nleft somewhere on the road, and the reins were dragging on the ground\nbetween the two horses.\n\n\"They are beautiful animals,\" said Galba.\n\n\"They belong to the priest of Glogova,\" answered Mravucsán. \"I'm afraid\nsome one may have been thrown out of the carriage; let us go and see.\"\n\nDuring this time the number of customers in Mrs. Müncz's shop had\nincreased, and as they had to be attended to, she first turned to the\nstranger before serving them, and said:\n\n\"There are a lot of old umbrellas somewhere on the loft, but they would\nnot do for a fine gentleman like you.\"\n\n\"I should like to look at them all the same.\"\n\nMrs. Müncz had her hand on the door to let her customers in, and only\nanswered without turning round:\n\n\"I can assure you you would not take them in your hand.\"\n\nBut the young man was not to be put off so easily; he followed her into\nthe shop, and waited till the customers were all served, then remarked\nagain that he would like to see the umbrellas.\n\n\"But, my good sir, don't bother me about the umbrellas. I tell you they\nwould be of no use to you. They are some that were left from the time of\nmy poor husband; he knew how to mend umbrellas, and most of these are\nbroken and torn, and they certainly will not have improved, lying on the\ndusty loft so long. Besides, I cannot show you them, for my son is at\nthe fair, the servant has a bad foot and cannot move, and when there is\na fair my shop is always full, so I cannot leave it to go with you.\"\n\nThe young lawyer took a five-florin note out of his pocket.\n\n\"I don't want you to do it for nothing, Mrs. Müncz, but I must see the\numbrellas at any price. So let me go up alone to the loft, and please\ntake this in return for your kindness.\"\n\nMrs. Müncz did not take the money, and her small black eyes examined the\nyoung man suspiciously.\n\n\"Now I shall certainly not show you the umbrellas.\"\n\n\"And why not?\"\n\n\"My poor dead husband used to say: 'Rosália, never do anything you don't\nunderstand the reason of,' and my husband was a very clever man.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course, you are quite right, and can't understand why I\noffer five florins for an old ragged umbrella.\"\n\n\"Just so; for five florins you might see something better.\"\n\n\"Well, it is very simple after all. My father had a very old umbrella,\nto which he was much attached, and I heard that it had come by chance\ninto your husband's hands, and I should very much like to have it as a\nsouvenir.\"\n\n\"And who was your father, sir? Perhaps I may have heard of him.\"\n\nThe lawyer blushed a little.\n\n\"Pál Gregorics,\" he said.\n\n\"Ah, Gregorics! Wait a bit! Yes, I remember, the funny little man in\nwhose will ...\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. He left 2000 florins to nine ladies in Besztercebánya.\"\n\n--\"I remember, but I don't think he was ...\"\n\n\"Yes ... no ... of course not ... I mean ...\" and here he stopped in\nconfusion. \"I am Gyuri Wibra, lawyer.\"\n\nNow it was Mrs. Müncz's turn to be confused.\n\n\"Of course, sir, I understand. How stupid of me! I have heard of you,\nsir, and I knew your poor father; dear me, how very like him you are,\nand yet so handsome. I knew him _very_ well,\" she added, smiling,\n\"though he did not leave me 2000 florins. I was an old woman when he was\nstill young. Well, sir, please go up and look at the umbrellas. I will\nshow you the way, and tell you just where to look for them. Follow me,\nplease, and I hope you will find the old gentleman's umbrella.\"\n\n\"I would give you fifty florins for it, Mrs. Müncz.\"\n\nAt the words \"fifty florins\" the old woman's eyes shone like two\nglowworms.\n\n\"Oh! what a good son!\" she sighed, turning her eyes up to heaven.\n\"There is nothing more pleasing to God than a good son, who honors the\nmemory of his father.\"\n\nShe got quite active and lively at the thought of the fifty florins, and\nshutting the door of the shop, she tripped across the yard with Gyuri to\nthe ladder of the loft, and even wanted to go up with him herself.\n\n\"No, no, stay down below, Mrs. Müncz. What would the world say, if we\ntwo were to go up to the loft together?\" said Gyuri jokingly.\n\nOld Rosália chuckled.\n\n\"Oh, dear heart alive!\" she said, \"there's no danger with me. Why, your\nfather didn't even remember me in his will, though once upon a time ...\n(and here she complacently smoothed her gray hair). Well, my dear,\nplease go up.\"\n\nGyuri Wibra searched about among the rubbish on the loft for quite half\nan hour, during which time the old woman came twice to the foot of the\nladder to see if he were coming down. She was anxious about the fifty\nflorins.\n\n\"Well?\" she asked, as he appeared at last empty-handed.\n\n\"I have looked through everything,\" he said, in a discouraged tone, \"but\nthe umbrella I want is not among the others.\"\n\nThe old Jewess looked disappointed.\n\n\"What can that tiresome Jónás have done with it?\" she exclaimed. \"Fifty\nflorins! Dreadful! But he never had a reason for anything he did.\"\n\n\"In all probability your husband used that umbrella himself. Mr.\nSztolarik of Besztercebánya says he distinctly remembers seeing him with\nit once.\"\n\n\"What was it like?\"\n\n\"The stuff was red, with patches of all sorts on it, and it had a pale\ngreen border. The stick was of black wood, with a bone handle.\"\n\n\"May I never go to heaven!\" exclaimed Rosália, \"if that was not the very\numbrella he took with him last time he left home! Yes, I know he took\nthat one!\"\n\n\"It was a great pity he took just that one.\"\n\nRosália felt bound to defend her husband.\n\n\"How was he to know that?\" she said. \"He never had a reason for anything\nhe did.\"\n\n\"Well, there's no help for it now,\" sighed Gyuri, as he stood on the\nlast rung of the ladder, wondering what he was to do next, and feeling\nlike Marius among the ruins of Carthage, only there were not even ruins\nto his Carthage; all hopes had returned to the clouds from which they\nhad been taken.\n\nSlowly he walked through the shop to his dog-cart, which was waiting\noutside, and the old woman waddled after him, like a fat goose. But once\nout in the street, she suddenly seemed to wake up, and seized hold of\nthe lawyer's coat.\n\n\"Wait a bit. I had nearly forgotten it, but my son Móricz, who is a\nbutcher in Ipolyság, was here at the time; he had come to buy oxen, I\nremember. My son Móricz knows everything, and may I never go to heaven\n(Rosália evidently had a strong objection to leaving this world) if he\ncan't throw some light on the subject. Go to the fair, my dear boy, to\nthe place where the sheep stand, and speak to the handsomest man you see\nthere, that will be my son Móricz; he's handsome, very handsome, is\nMóricz. Speak to him, and promise him the fifty florins. I am sure he\nonce told me something about that umbrella. For when my poor dear Jónás\ndied, Móricz went to look for him, and when he found traces of him, he\nwent from village to village making inquiries, till everything was\nclear. (Here Rosália gazed tearfully heavenward.) Oh, Jónás, Jónás, why\ndid you treat us so? If your senses had left you, why must you follow\nthem? You had enough sons who would have taken care of you!\"\n\nShe would have gone on like this all day, if Gyuri had not stepped into\nhis dog-cart and driven off to the scene of the fair as she had advised\nhim.\n\nAfter putting a few questions to the bystanders, he found Móricz Müncz,\na short, stout man, his pock-marked face looking like a turkey's egg.\nHe was as ugly as a Faun. His butcher's knife and steel hung from a belt\nround his waist, and on his arm was tattooed the head of an ox.\n\nHe was just bargaining for a cow, and its owner, a tanner, was swearing\nby heaven and earth that such a cow had never been seen in Bábaszék\nbefore.\n\n\"It will eat straw,\" he assured him, \"and yet give fourteen pints of\nmilk a day!\"\n\n\"Rubbish!\" answered Móricz. \"I'm not a calf, and don't intend to look\nupon this cow as my mother. I'm a butcher, and want to kill it and weigh\nit.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" said the honest tanner; and of his own free will he\nlowered the price by five florins.\n\nMóricz did not seem to think that enough, and began poking at the ribs\nof the cow.\n\n\"What bones!\" he exclaimed, and then pulled open its mouth to look at\nits teeth. \"Why, it has not got a tooth in its head!\"\n\n\"What do you want it to have teeth for?\" asked the honest tanner. \"I\ndon't suppose you want to weigh its teeth too?\"\n\n\"But it kicks!\"\n\n\"Well, it won't kick once it is killed; and I don't suppose you want to\nweigh it before it is killed?\"\n\nThe honest tanner laughed at his own wit, which had put him into such a\ngood humor, that he again took five florins off the price. But Móricz\nwas not yet satisfied, for he still gazed at the cow, as though trying\nto find more faults in her. And just at that moment Gyuri Wibra called\nout:\n\n\"Mr. Müncz, I should like to have a word with you.\"\n\nThe tanner, fearing to lose his purchaser, took five florins more off\nthe price, and Móricz, being a sensible man, at once struck the bargain;\nhe always bought of an evening from such as had not been able to sell\ntheir cattle during the day, and gave it for a low price to save their\nhaving to drive it home again.\n\n\"What can I do for you, sir?\"\n\n\"I should like to buy something of you, which belongs neither to you nor\nto me.\"\n\n\"There are plenty of things in the world answering to that description,\"\nsaid Móricz, \"and I can assure you, I will let you have it as cheap as\npossible.\"\n\n\"Let us move on a bit.\"\n\nGyuri led him out of the crowd to the village pump, near which grew an\nelder-tree. This tree, round which they had put some palings, was also a\npart of the future greatness of Bábaszék, for the green, evil-smelling\ninsects which housed in its branches, and which are used in various\nmedicines (Spanish flies), induced them to believe that they might, once\nupon a time, have a chemist in Bábaszék. The young girls of the town\nused to collect the insects, and sell them to the chemist at Zólyom for\na few kreutzers; but that was forbidden now, for the people had decided:\n\"Near that tree there will once be a chemist's shop, so we will not have\nthe insects taken away.\"\n\nThey evidently considered them the foundation of the future chemist's\nstore.\n\nGyuri told the Jew what he wanted; that he was interested in his\nfather's favorite umbrella, and would buy it if he could find it. Did\nMóricz know anything about it?\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" was the disappointed answer, for now he knew what a trifle\nit was, he saw the price fall in proportion.\n\n\"I will give you fifty florins for any information that will lead to its\ndiscovery.\"\n\nMóricz quickly took off his cap, which until now he had not considered\nit necessary to remove. Fifty florins for an old umbrella! Why, this\nyoung man must be the Prince of Coburg himself from Szent-Antal! Now he\nnoticed for the first time how very elegantly he was dressed.\n\n\"The umbrella can be found,\" he said; and then added more doubtfully, \"I\nthink.\"\n\n\"Tell me all you know.\"\n\n\"Let me see, where shall I begin? It is now about fourteen years since\nmy father disappeared, and I have forgotten most of the details, but\nthis much I remember, that I started to look for him with my brother\nSámi, and in Podhrágy I found the first trace of him, and following this\nup, I was told that when there he was still quite in his right mind, had\nsold a few trifles to the villagers, slept at the inn, and had bought a\nvery old seal from a certain Raksányi for two florins. He must have had\nall his senses about him then, for when we took him out of the Garam, he\nhad the seal in his coat pocket, and we sold it for fifty florins to an\nantiquary, as it turned out to be the seal of Vid Mohorai, of the time\nof King Arpád.\"\n\n\"Yes, but these particulars have nothing to do with the subject in\nquestion,\" interrupted the young man.\n\n\"You will see, sir, that they will be useful to you.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps so; but I don't see what they have to do with the\numbrella.\"\n\n\"You will see in time, if you will listen to the rest of my tale. I\nheard in Podhrágy that he went from there to Abelova, so I went there\ntoo. From what I heard, I began to fear that my father was beginning to\nlose his senses, for he had always inclined toward melancholy. Here they\ntold us that he had bought a lot of 'Angel Kreutzers' (small coins, on\nwhich the crown of Hungary is represented, held by two angels; they were\nissued in 1867, and many people wear them as amulets, and believe they\nbring luck) from the villagers for four kreutzers each; but later on I\nfound I was mistaken in my surmise.\"\n\n\"How was that? Was he not yet mad?\"\n\n\"No, for a few days later, two young Jews appeared in Abelova, each\nbringing a bag of 'angel kreutzers,' which they sold to the villagers\nfor three kreutzers each, though they are really worth four.\"\n\n\"So it is possible ...\"\n\n\"Not only possible, but certain, that the two young cheats had been told\nby the old man to buy up all the 'angel kreutzers' they could, and he\nthus became their confederate without knowing it. So it is very probable\nhe may have been mad then, or he would have had nothing to do with the\nwhole affair. From Abelova he went through the Viszoka Hor forest to\nDólinka, but we could find out nothing about his doings, though he spent\ntwo days there. But in the next village, Sztrecsnyó, the children ran\nafter him, and made fun of him, like of the prophet Elijah, and he,\nunfastening his pack (not the prophet Elijah, but my poor father), began\nthrowing the various articles he had for sale at them. In fifty years'\ntime they will still remember that day in Sztrecsnyó, when soap,\npenknives, and pencils fell among them like manna from heaven. Since\nthen it is a very common saying there: 'There was once a mad Jew in\nSztrecsnyó.'\"\n\n\"Bother Sztrecsnyó, let us return to our subject.\"\n\n\"I have nearly done now. In Kobolnyik my poor old father was seen\nwithout his pack; in one hand he had his stick, in the other his\numbrella, with which he drove off the dogs which barked at him. So in\nKobolnyik he still had his umbrella you see.\"\n\nTears were rolling down Móricz's pock-marked face, his heart was quite\nsoftened at the remembrance of all these incidents.\n\n\"After that we looked for a long time for traces of him, but only heard\nof him again in Lehota. One stormy summer night he knocked at the door\nof the watchman's house, the last in the village, but when they saw he\nwas a Jew, they drove him away. They told me he had neither a hat nor an\numbrella then, only the heavy, rough stick he used to beat us with when\nwe were children.\"\n\n\"Now I begin to understand the drift of your remarks. You want to show\nthat the umbrella was lost between Kobolnyik and Lehota.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But that proves nothing, for your father may have lost it in the wood,\nor among the rocks, and if any one found it, they would probably make\nuse of it to put in the arms of a scarecrow.\"\n\n\"No, that is not it, I know what happened. I heard it by chance, for I\nwas not looking for the umbrella; what did I care for that! I wanted to\nfind my father. Well, among the Kvet mountains I met a tinker walking\nbeside his cart, a very chatty man he seemed to be. I asked him, as I\ndid every one we met, if he had not seen an old Jew about there lately.\n'Yes,' he answered, 'I saw him a few weeks ago in Glogova during a\ndownpour of rain; he was spreading an umbrella over a child on the\nveranda of a small house, and when he had done so he moved on.'\"\n\nThe lawyer sprang up hastily.\n\n\"Go on,\" he cried.\n\n\"There is nothing more to tell, sir. But from the description the tinker\ngave me, I am sure it was my father, and, besides, Glogova lies just\nbetween Lehota and Kobolnyik.\"\n\n\"Well, you have given me valuable information,\" exclaimed the lawyer,\nand, taking a fifty-florin note out of his pocketbook, he added: \"Accept\nthis as a slight return for your kindness. Good-by.\"\n\nAnd off he went like a hound which has just found the scent; over some\npalings he vaulted, in order to get to his cart as quickly as possible.\nOn he raced, but as he passed the gingerbread stall, Móricz Müncz stood\nbefore him again.\n\n\"Excuse me for running after you,\" he exclaimed breathlessly, \"but it\nsuddenly occurred to me that I might give you a word of advice, which is\nthis. There are a good many people from Glogova here at the fair, so you\nreally might get the crier to go round and find out if they know\nanything of the umbrella. If you would promise a reward for any\ninformation, in an hour's time you will have plenty, I am sure. In a\nsmall village like Glogova, every one knows everything.\"\n\n\"It is quite unnecessary,\" replied the lawyer, \"for I am going to\nGlogova myself. Thanks all the same.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, it is I who have to thank you; you have behaved in a princely\nfashion. Fifty florins for such a trifle! Why, I would have done it for\none florin.\"\n\nThe lawyer smiled.\n\n\"And I would willingly have given a thousand, Mr. Müncz.\"\n\nAnd with that he walked away, past the stall where they were selling\nnuts, and onions tied up in strings. Móricz stood gazing after him till\nhe was out of sight.\n\n\"A thousand florins!\" he repeated, shaking his head. \"If I had only\nknown!\"\n\nAnd off he went, driving his cow before him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE EARRING.\n\n\nFrom the inn opposite Schramek's house lively sounds proceeded. I beg\npardon, I ought to call it \"hotel,\" at least, that is the name the\ninhabitants of Bábaszék delighted in giving it, and the more\naristocratic of them always patronized it in preference to the other\ninns. The gypsies from Pelsöc were there, and the sound of their lively\nmusic could be heard far and wide through the open windows. Handsome\nSlovak brides in their picturesque dresses, with their pretty white\nheadgear, and younger girls with red ribbons plaited into their hair,\nall run in to join the dance, and if the room is too full, late-comers\ntake up their position in the street and dance there.\n\nBut curiosity is even stronger than their love of dancing, and all at\nonce the general hopping and skipping ceases, as János Fiala, the\ntown-servant and crier, appears on the scene, his drum hung round his\nneck and his pipe in his mouth. He stops in front of the \"hotel,\" and\nbegins to beat his drum with might and main. What can have happened?\nPerhaps the mayor's geese have strayed? Ten or twelve bystanders begin\nto ply him with questions, but Fiala would not for the world take his\nbeloved pipe out of his mouth, nor would he divulge state secrets before\nthe right moment came. So he first of all beat his drum the required\nnumber of times, and then with stentorian voice, shouted the following:\n\n\"Be it known to all whom it may interest, that a gold earring, with a\ngreen stone in it (how was he to know it was called an emerald?), has\nbeen lost, somewhere between the brickfield and the church. Whoever will\nbring the same to the Town Hall will be handsomely rewarded.\"\n\nGyuri paused a moment at the sound of the drum, listened to the crier's\nwords, and then smiled at the look of excitement on the peasant girls'\nfaces.\n\n\"I wouldn't give it back if I found it,\" said one.\n\n\"I'd have a hairpin made of it,\" said another.\n\n\"Heaven grant me luck!\" said a third, turning her eyes piously\nheavenward.\n\n\"Don't look at the sky, you stupid,\" said another; \"if you want to find\nit look at the ground.\"\n\nBut as chance would have it, some one found it who would rather not have\ndone so, and that some one was Gyuri Wibra. He had only walked a few\nsteps, when a green eye seemed to smile up at him from the dust under\nhis feet. He stooped and picked it up; it was the lost earring with the\nemerald in it. How tiresome, when he was in such a hurry! Why could not\none of those hundreds of people at the fair have found it? But the green\neye looked so reproachfully at him, that he felt he could not give way\nto his first impulse and throw it back into the dust, to be trampled on\nby the cattle from the fair. Who wore such fine jewelry here? Well,\nwhoever it belonged to, he must take it to the Town Hall; it was only a\nfew steps from there after all.\n\nHe turned in at the entrance to the Town Hall, where some watering-cans\nhung from the walls, and a few old rusty implements of torture were\nexhibited (_sic transit gloria mundi!_), went up the staircase, and\nentered a room where the Senators were all assembled round a green\nbaize-covered table, discussing a serious and difficult question.\n\nA most unpleasant thing had happened. One of the watchmen in the\nLiskovina wood (the property of the town) had arrived there breathlessly\nnot long before, with the news that a well-dressed man had been found\nhanging on a tree in the wood; what was to be done with the body?\n\nThis was what was troubling the worthy Senators, and causing them to\nfrown and pucker their foreheads. Senator Konopka declared that the\ncorrect thing to do was to bring the body to the mortuary chapel, and at\nthe same time give notice of the fact to the magistrate, Mr. Mihály\nGéry, so that he could tell the district doctor to dissect the body.\n\nGalba shook his head. He was nothing if not a diplomat, as he showed in\nthe present instance. He said he considered it would be best to say\nnothing about it, but to remove the body by night a little further on,\nto the so-called Kvaka Wood, which was in the Travnik district, and let\n_them_ find the body. Mravucsán was undecided which of the two\npropositions to accept. He hummed and hawed and shook his head, and then\ncomplained it was hot enough to stifle one, that he had gout in his\nhand, and that one leg of the Senators' table was shorter than the\nothers. This latter was soon remedied by putting some old deeds under\nthe short leg. Then they waited to see which side would have the\nmajority, and as it turned out it was on Galba's side. But the Galba\nparty was again subdivided into two factions. The strict Galba faction\nwanted the dead man's body transported to the Travnik district. The\nmoderated Galba faction, headed by András Kozsehuba, would have been\ncontented with merely taking down the body, and burying it under the\ntree; they wanted, at all costs, to prevent its being carried through\nthe village to the cemetery, which would certainly be the case if the\nmagistrate were informed of the circumstances. For if a suicide were\ncarried through a place, that place was threatened with damage by hail!\n\n\"Superstitious rubbish!\" burst out Konopka.\n\n\"Of course, of course, Mr. Konopka, but who is to help it if the people\nare so superstitious?\" asked Senator Fajka, of the Kozsehuba faction.\n\nKonopka wildly banged the table with his fat, be-ringed hand, upon which\nevery one was quiet.\n\n\"It is sad enough to hear a Senator say such a thing! I can assure you,\ngentlemen, that the Lord will not send His thunder-clouds in our\ndirection just on account of that poor dead body. He will not punish a\nthousand just men because one unfortunate man has given himself to the\ndevil, especially as the dead man himself would be the only one not hurt\nby the hail!\"\n\nMravucsán breathed freely again at these wise words, which certainly\nraised one's opinion of the magistrates; he hastened to make use of the\nopportunity, and as once the tiny wren, sitting on the eagle's wings,\ntried to soar higher than the eagle, so did Mravucsán try to rise above\nthe Senators.\n\n\"What is true is true,\" he said, \"and I herewith beg to call your\nattention to the fact that there is nothing to be feared from hail if we\nbring the body through the town.\"\n\nUp sprang Mr. Fajka at these words.\n\n\"That is all the same to us,\" he said; \"if matters stand so, let us have\nhail by all means, for when once all the villagers are insured by the\nTrieste Insurance Company, I see no difference whether there is hail or\nnot. In fact, it would be better if there were some, for, if I know the\nvillagers well, they will immediately go and insure the harvest far\nbeyond its worth if the dead body is taken through the village. So the\nhail would not be such a great misfortune, but the carriage of the\ncorpse through the village would be.\"\n\nHe was a grand debater after all, that Senator Fajka, for he had again\nhit the right nail on the head, and at the same time enlightened the\nGalba and the Kozsehuba factions.\n\n\"What a brain!\" they exclaimed.\n\nThe word brain reminded Galba of the dissecting part of the\nbusiness--per _associationem idearum_--and he at once began to discuss\nthe point.\n\n\"Why dissect the man? We know who he is, for it is as plain as pie-crust\nthat he is an agent for some Insurance Company, and has hanged himself\nhere in our neighborhood in order to make people insure their harvest.\nIt's as clear as day!\"\n\n\"You are mad, Galba,\" said Konopka crossly.\n\nUpon which the Senators all jumped up from their places, and then the\nnoise broke forth, or, as Fiala, the town-servant and crier, used to\nsay, \"they began to boil the town saucepan,\" and every eye was fixed on\nthe mayor, the spoon which was to skim the superfluous froth. But the\nmayor drew his head down into the dark blue collar of his coat, and\nseemed quite to disappear in it; he gnawed his mustache, and stood there\nhelplessly, wondering what he was to say and do now, when all at once\nthe door opened, and Gyuri Wibra stood before them. In spite of all\nfolks may say, the powers above always send help at the right moment.\n\nAt sight of the stranger, who, an hour or two before, had wanted to buy\nan old umbrella of Mrs. Müncz, the mayor suddenly pushed back his chair\nand hurried toward him (let the Senators think he had some important\nbusiness to transact with the new arrival).\n\n\"Ah, sir,\" he said hurriedly, \"you were looking for me, I suppose?\"\n\n\"If you are the mayor, yes.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course!\" (Who else could be mayor in Bábaszék but\nMravucsán, he wondered?)\n\n\"They have been crying the loss of an earring, and I have found it. Here\nit is.\"\n\nThe mayor's face beamed with delight.\n\n\"Now that is real honesty, sir. That is what I like. This is the first\nearring that has been lost since I have been in office, and even that is\nfound. That's what I call order in the district.\"\n\nThen turning to the Senators, he went on:\n\n\"It is only an hour since I sent the crier round the town, and here we\nhave the earring. They couldn't manage that in Budapest!\"\n\nJust then he noticed that the stranger was preparing to leave.\n\n\"Why, you surely don't mean to leave us already, sir? There is a reward\noffered for the finding of this earring.\"\n\n\"I do not want the reward, thank you.\"\n\n\"Oh, come, don't talk like that, young man, don't run away from luck\nwhen it comes in your way. You know the story of the poor man who gave\nhis luck away to the devil without knowing it, and how sorry he was for\nit afterward?\"\n\n\"Yes, he was sorry for it,\" answered the lawyer, smiling, as he\nremembered the fable, \"but I don't think we can compare this case with\nthat.\"\n\n\"I am sure you have no idea to whom the earring belongs?\"\n\n\"Not the slightest. Whose is it?\"\n\n\"It belongs to the sister of the Glogova priest.\"\n\nGyuri screwed up his mouth doubtfully.\n\n\"Don't be too quick in your conclusions; just come here a minute; you\nwon't repent it.\"\n\n\"Where am I to go?\"\n\n\"Come into the next room.\"\n\nThe mayor wanted to keep him there at any cost, so as to gain time\nbefore deciding as to the dead man's future.\n\n\"But, my dear sir, I have important business to get through.\"\n\n\"Never mind, you must come in for a minute,\" and with that he opened the\ndoor and all but pushed the young man into the other room.\n\n\"My dear young lady,\" he called out over Gyuri's shoulder, \"I have\nbrought you your earring!\"\n\nAt these words a young girl turned from her occupation of putting\ncold-water bandages on the shoulder of an elderly lady, lying on a sofa.\nGyuri was not prepared for this apparition, and felt as confused and\nuncomfortable as though he had committed some indiscretion. The elder\nwoman, partly undressed, was lying on a sofa, her wounded right shoulder\n(a remarkably bony one) was bare. The young man at the door stammered\nsome apology, and turned to go, but Mravucsán held him back.\n\n\"Don't go,\" he said, \"they won't bite you!\"\n\nThe young girl, who had a very pretty attractive face, hastened to throw\na cloak over her companion, and sprang up from her kneeling position\nbeside the lady. What a figure she had! It seemed to Gyuri as though a\nlily, in all its simple grandeur, had risen before him.\n\n\"This gentleman has found your earring, and brought it you back, my\ndear.\"\n\nA smile broke over her face (it was as though a ray of sunlight had\nfound its way into the mayor's dark office), she blushed a little, and\nthen made a courtesy, a real schoolgirl courtesy, awkward, and yet with\nsomething of grace in it.\n\n\"Thank you, sir, for your kindness. I am doubly glad to have found it,\nfor I had given up all idea of ever seeing it again.\"\n\nAnd taking it in her hand she gazed at it lovingly. She was a child\nstill, you could see it in every movement. Gyuri felt he ought to say\nsomething, but found no suitable words.\n\nThis child disconcerted him, but there was something delightful in her\nartless manner which quite charmed him. There he stood, helpless and\nspeechless, as though he were waiting for something. Was it the reward\nhe wanted? The silence was getting painful, and the position awkward. At\nlast the girl saw that the young man did not move, so she broke the\nsilence.\n\n\"Oh dear! I had nearly forgotten in my delight that I had offered ... I\nmean ... how am I to say it?\"\n\nIt now occurred to Gyuri that she was offering him the reward, so he\nthought it time to make known his name.\n\n\"I am Dr. Wibra,\" he said, \"from Besztercebánya.\"\n\n\"Oh, how lucky!\" exclaimed the girl, clapping her hands gleefully. \"We\nare just in want of a doctor for poor madame.\"\n\nThis little misunderstanding was just what was wanted. Gyuri smiled.\n\n\"I am very sorry, my dear young lady; I am not a doctor of medicine, but\na doctor of law.\"\n\nThe young girl looked disappointed at this announcement, and blushed a\nlittle at her mistake; but Mravucsán was quite excited.\n\n\"What's that I hear? You are young Wibra, the noted lawyer? Well, that\nis nice! Who would have thought it? Now I understand. Of course, you are\nhere to try and find out particulars about one of your cases. I might\nhave thought of it when I met you at Mrs. Müncz's. Of course a gentleman\nlike you must have some special reason for buying an old umbrella. Well,\nthe fates must have sent you here now, for we are discussing such a very\ndifficult question in the next room, that our minds are too small for\nit. How strange, Miss Veronica, that your earring should be found by\nsuch a renowned lawyer.\"\n\nVeronica stole a look at the \"renowned lawyer,\" and noticed for the\nfirst time how handsome he was, and how gentlemanly, and her heart\nbegan to beat at the thought that she had nearly offered him the five\nflorins reward.\n\nMravucsán hastened to offer the lawyer a chair, and cast an anxious look\nround his office, and remarked with horror what an untidy state it was\nin; deeds lying about everywhere, coats and cloaks, belonging to the\nSenators, empty glasses and bottles, for they were in the habit of\ndrinking a glass now and then when they had settled some particularly\nimportant business, which was quite right of them, for the truth that\nemanated from them must be replaced by a fresh supply, and as the\nHungarians say: \"There is truth in wine.\"\n\nThe sight of that office would really have discouraged Mr. Mravucsán if\nhis eye had not at that moment fallen on the portrait of Baron\nRadvánszky, the lord lieutenant of the county, hanging on the wall in\nfront of him. That, after all, lent some distinction to the room. He\nwished from his heart that the baron were there in person to see what an\nillustrious guest they were harboring. But as the baron was not present,\nhe felt it devolved on him to express his satisfaction at the fact.\n\n\"I am a poor man,\" he said, \"but I would not accept a hundred florins in\nplace of the honor that is done to my poor office to-day. It is worth\nsomething to have the most renowned lawyer in the county, and the\nprettiest young lady ...\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Mravucsán!\" exclaimed Veronica, blushing furiously.\n\n\"Well,\" said Mravucsán, \"what's true is true. One need not be ashamed of\nbeing pretty. I was good-looking myself once, but I was never ashamed of\nit. Besides, a pretty face is of great use to one, isn't it, Mr. Wibra?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a very lucky thing,\" answered Gyuri quickly.\n\nMravucsán shook his head.\n\n\"Let us simply say it is a great help, for luck can easily turn to\nmisfortune, and misfortune to luck, as was the case now, for if it had\nnot been for to-day's accident, I should not now have the pleasure of\nseeing you all here.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" asked Gyuri. \"An accident?\"\n\nVeronica was going to answer, but that talkative mayor put in his word\nagain.\n\n\"Yes, there was an accident, but in a short time there will be no traces\nof it, for the earring is here, madame's shoulder is here, it will be\nblue for some days, but what the devil does that matter, it is not the\ncolor makes the shoulder. And the carriage will be all right, too, when\nthe smith has mended it.\"\n\n\"So those horses that were running away with a broken carriage...?\"\n\n\"Were ours,\" said Veronica. \"They took fright near the brickfield, the\ncoachman lost his hold of the reins, and when he stooped to gather them\nup, he was thrown out of the carriage. In our fright we jumped out too.\nI did not hurt myself, but poor madame struck her shoulder on something.\nI hope it will be nothing serious. Does it hurt very much, Madame\nKrisbay?\"\n\nMadame opened her small yellow eyes, which till then had been closed,\nand the first sight that met them was Veronica's untidy hair.\n\n\"Smooth your hair,\" she said in French in a low voice, then groaned once\nor twice, and closed her eyes again.\n\nVeronica, greatly alarmed, raised her hand to her head, and found that\none of her plaits was partly undone.\n\n\"Oh, my hair!\" she exclaimed. \"The hairpins must have fallen out when I\njumped out of the carriage. What am I to do?\"\n\n\"Let down the other plait,\" advised Mravucsán. \"That's it, my dear; it\nis much prettier so, isn't it, Wibra?\"\n\n\"Much prettier,\" answered Gyuri, casting an admiring glance at the two\nblack, velvety plaits, with a lovely dark bluish tinge on them, which\nhung nearly down to the edge of her millefleurs skirt.\n\nSo that was the priest's sister. He could hardly believe it, for he had\nimagined a fat, waddling, red-faced woman, smelling of pomade. That is\nwhat parish priests' sisters are generally like. The lawyer thought it\nwas time to start a conversation.\n\n\"I suppose you were very frightened?\"\n\n\"Not very; in fact, I don't think I was startled at all. But now I begin\nto fear my brother will be anxious about me.\"\n\n\"The priest of Glogova?\"\n\n\"Yes. He is very fond of me, and will be so anxious if we do not return.\nAnd yet I hardly know how we are to manage it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mravucsán, consolingly, \"we have the horses, and we will\nborrow a cart from some one.\"\n\nVeronica shuddered and shook her head.\n\n\"With those horses? Never again!\"\n\n\"But, my dear young lady, you must never take horses seriously, they\nhave no real character. You see, this is how it was. Near the brickfield\nthere is that immense windmill, for of course every town must have one.\nThe world is making progress, in spite of all Senator Fajka says. Well,\nas I said, there is the windmill. I had it built, for every one made fun\nof us because we had no water in the neighborhood. So I make use of the\nwind. Of course, the horses don't understand that; they are good\nmountain horses, and had never seen a beast with such enormous wings,\nturning in the air, so of course they were frightened and ran away. You\ncan't wonder at it. But that is all over now, and they will take you\nquietly home.\"\n\n\"No, no, I'm afraid of them. Oh, how dreadful they were! If you had only\nseen them! I won't go a step with them. As far as I am concerned, I\ncould walk home, but poor Madame Krisbay ...\"\n\n\"Now that would be a nice sort of thing to do,\" remarked Mravucsán.\n\"Fancy my allowing my best friend's little sister to walk all the way\nhome with those tiny feet of hers! How she would stumble and trip over\nthe sharp stones in the mountain paths! And his reverence would say: 'My\nfriend Mravucsán is a nice sort of fellow to let my sister walk home,\nafter all the good dinners and suppers I have given him.' Why, I would\nrather take you home on my own back, my dear, right into Glogova\nparish!\"\n\nVeronica looked gratefully at Mravucsán, and Gyuri wondered, if it came\nto the point, would Mravucsán be able to carry out his plan, or would he\nhave to be carried himself. The mayor was an elderly man, and looked as\nthough he were breaking up. He found himself glancing curiously at the\nold gentleman, measuring his strength, the breadth of his chest, and of\nhis shoulders, as though the most important fact now were, who was to\ntake Veronica on his back. He decided that Mravucsán was too weak to do\nit, and smiled to himself when he discovered how glad this thought made\nhim.\n\nMravucsán's voice broke in upon his musings.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" he was saying, \"don't you worry yourself about it; take\na rest first, and then we will see what is to be done. Of course it\nwould be better to have other horses, but where are we to get them from?\nNo one in Bábaszék keeps horses, we only need oxen. I myself only keep\noxen. For a mountain is a mountain, and horses are of no use there, for\nthey can, after all, only do what an ox can, namely, walk slowly. You\ncan't make a grand show here with horses, and let them gallop and prance\nabout, and toss their manes. This is a serious part, yes, I repeat it, a\nserious part. The chief thing is to pull, and that is the work of an ox.\nA horse gets tired of it, and when it knows the circumstances it loses\nall pleasure in life, and seems to say: 'I'm not such a fool as to grow\nfor nothing, I'll be a foal all my life.' And the horses round about\nhere are not much bigger than a dog, and are altogether\nwretched-looking.\"\n\nHe would have gone on talking all night, and running the poor horses\ndown to the ground, if Gyuri had not interrupted him.\n\n\"But I have my dog-cart here, Miss Veronica, and will take you home with\npleasure.\"\n\n\"Will you really,\" exclaimed Mravucsán. \"I knew you were a gentleman.\nBut why on earth didn't you say so before?\"\n\n\"Because you gave me no chance to put in a word edgeways.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" laughed Mravucsán good-humoredly. \"So you will take\nthem?\"\n\n\"Of course, even if I were not going to Glogova myself.\"\n\n\"Are you really going there?\" asked Veronica, surprised.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nShe looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, and then said:\n\n\"Don't try to deceive us.\"\n\nGyuri smiled.\n\n\"On my word of honor, I intended going to Glogova. Shall we all go\ntogether?\"\n\nVeronica nodded her head, and was just going to clap her hands like the\nchild she was, when madame began to move on the sofa, and gave a deep\nsigh.\n\n\"Oh dear,\" said Veronica, \"I had quite forgotten madame. Perhaps after\nall I can't go with you.\"\n\n\"And why not? The carriage is big enough, there will be plenty of\nroom.\"\n\n\"Yes, but may I?\"\n\n\"Go home? Who is to prevent it?\"\n\n\"Why, don't you know?\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Gyuri, surprised.\n\n\"Why, etiquette, of course,\" she said shyly.\n\n(Gyuri smiled. Oh, what a little simpleton she was!)\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" she assured them, seeing they were laughing at her, \"it says\nin the book on etiquette: 'You must not accept the arm of a stranger.'\"\n\n\"But a carriage is not an arm,\" burst out Mravucsán. \"How could it be?\nIf it were, I should have two carriages myself. My dear child, leave\netiquette to look after itself. In Bábaszék I decide what is etiquette,\nnot the French mamselles. And _I_ say a carriage is not an arm, so\nthere's an end of it.\"\n\n\"Of course you are right, but all the same, I must speak to madame about\nit.\"\n\n\"Just as you like, my dear.\"\n\nVeronica again knelt down by the sofa, and a whispered conversation\nensued, the result of which was, as Gyuri understood from the few words\nhe could hear, that madame quite shared Mravucsán's view of the case,\nthat a carriage is not an arm, and that if two people have been\nintroduced to each other, they are not strangers, and consequently, in\nMadame Krisbay's opinion, they ought to accept the young man's offer.\nBesides, in times of danger there is no such thing as etiquette.\nBeautiful Blanche Montmorency on the occasion of a fire was saved by the\nMarquis Privadière with nothing on but her nightgown, and yet the tower\nof Notre Dame is still standing!\n\nGyuri felt as impatient as a card-player when the cards are being dealt,\nand a large stake has been placed on one of them, until at length\nVeronica turned round.\n\n\"We shall be very thankful if you will take us in your carriage,\" she\nsaid, smiling, as she was sure Blanche Montmorency would have done under\nthe same conditions.\n\nGyuri received the announcement with delight.\n\n\"I will go and see after the carriage,\" he said, taking up his hat. But\nMravucsán stood in his way.\n\n\"Oh, no, you don't,\" he said. \"_Pro primo_, even if Veronica can go, I\nam sure Madame Krisbay cannot start yet; it would be a sin to make her\ndrive now; she must rest a bit first, after her fright and her bruises.\nIf my wife puts some of her wonderful plaster on it to-night, she'll be\nperfectly well in the morning. _Pro secundo_, you can't go because I\nwon't allow you to. _Pro tertio_, because it is getting dark. Please\nlook out of the window.\"\n\nHe was right; the sun had disappeared behind the dark blue lines of the\nZólyom Hills, and the fir-trees in front of the Town Hall cast their\nlong shadows down the road, right up to the Mravucsán garden, where a\nlean cat was performing its evening ablutions among the oleanders. All\nthe same Gyuri began to plead (it was part of his business).\n\n\"It will be a quiet, warm night,\" he said. \"Why should we not start?\nAfter all it can make no difference to madame whether she groans in bed\nor in the carriage.\"\n\n\"But it will be dark,\" objected Mravucsán, \"and there are some very bad\nbits of road between here and Glogova, and two or three precipices. In\nspite of my being mayor, I cannot order moonlight for you.\"\n\n\"We don't need it; we can light the lamps.\"\n\nVeronica seemed undecided, and glanced from one to the other of the\ngentlemen, till at length Mravucsán put in the finishing touch.\n\n\"There will be a storm to-night, for there is the dead body of a man\nhanging on a tree in the wood you have to pass through.\"\n\nVeronica shuddered.\n\n\"I would not go through that wood by night for anything,\" she exclaimed.\n\nThat settled the question. Gyuri bowed, and received a bright smile in\nreturn, and Mravucsán rushed into the next room, and told Konopka to\ntake his place (oh, his delight at getting rid of his responsibility!),\nas he had visitors, and had no time to think of other things; and then\nhe whispered in the ears of some of the Senators (those who had on the\nbest coats) that he would be pleased to see them to supper. Then off he\ntrotted home, to announce the arrival of visitors, and give orders for\ntheir reception. On the staircase he caught sight of Fiala, and sent him\nto tell Wibra's coachman, who was waiting with the dog-cart outside Mrs.\nMüncz's shop, to go and put up in his courtyard.\n\nAfter a few minutes, Mrs. Mravucsán appeared at the Town Hall to take\nthe ladies home with her. She was a short, stout, amiable woman, whose\nbroad, smiling face spoke of good temper and kindheartedness. She was\ndressed like all women of the middle class in that part, in a dark red\nskirt and black silk apron, and on her head she wore a black silk\nfrilled cap.\n\nShe entered the room noisily, as such simple village folks do.\n\n\"Well, I never!\" she exclaimed. \"Mravucsán says you are going to be our\nguests. Is it true? What an honor for us! But I knew it, I felt it, for\nlast night I dreamed a white lily was growing out of my basin, and this\nis the fulfilment of the dream. Well, my dear, get all your things\ntogether, and I'll carry them across, for I'm as strong as a bear. But I\nforgot to tell you the most important thing, which I really ought to\nhave said at the beginning: I am Mrs. Mravucsán. Oh, my dear young lady,\nI should never have thought you were so pretty! Holy Virgin! Now I\nunderstand her sending down an umbrella to keep the rain off your pretty\nface! So the poor lady is ill, has hurt her shoulder? Well, I've got a\ncapital plaster we'll put on it; come along. Don't give way, my dear, it\nhas to be borne. Why, I had a similar accident once, Mravucsán was\ndriving too. We fell into a ditch, and two of my ribs were broken, and\nI've had trouble with my liver ever since. Such things will happen now\nand then. Does it hurt you very much?\"\n\n\"The lady does not speak Slovak,\" said Veronica, \"nor Hungarian.\"\n\n\"Good gracious!\" exclaimed Mrs. Mravucsán, clasping her hands. \"So old,\nand can't even speak Hungarian! How is that?\"\n\nAnd Veronica was obliged to explain that madame had come direct from\nMunich to be her companion, and had never yet been in Hungary; she was\nthe widow of a French officer, she added, for Mrs. Mravucsán insisted on\nhaving full particulars. They had received a letter from her the day\nbefore yesterday, saying she was coming, and Veronica had wanted to meet\nher at the station.\n\n\"So that is how it is. And she can't even speak Slovak nor Hungarian!\nPoor unhappy woman! And what am I to do with her?--whom am I to put next\nher at table?--how am I to offer her anything? Well, it will be a nice\nmuddle! Luckily the schoolmaster can speak German, and perhaps the young\ngentleman can too?\"\n\n\"Don't you worry about that, Mrs. Mravucsán, I'll amuse her at supper,\nand look after her wants,\" answered Gyuri.\n\nWith great difficulty they got ready to go, Madame Krisbay moaning and\ngroaning as they tried to dress her, after having sent Gyuri into the\npassage. Mrs. Mravucsán collected all the shawls, rugs, and cloaks, and\nhung them over her arm.\n\n\"We will send the servant for the lady's box,\" she said.\n\nThen she made madame lean on her, and they managed to get her\ndownstairs. Madame was complaining, half in French, half in German, and\nthe mayor's wife chatted continually, sometimes to the young couple\nwalking in front, sometimes to madame, who, with her untidy hair, looked\nsomething like a poor sick cockatoo.\n\n\"This way, this way, my dear young lady. That is our house over there.\nOnly a few more steps, my dear madame. Oh, the dog won't bite you. Go\naway, Garam! We shall be there directly. You will see what a good bed I\nwill give you to sleep in to-night; such pillows, the softest you can\nimagine!\"\n\nIt made no difference to her that Madame Krisbay did not understand a\nword of what she was saying. Many women talk for the sake of talking.\nWhy should they not? They are probably afraid a spider might spin its\nweb before their mouth.\n\n\"It hurts you, does it not? But it will hurt still more to-morrow; that\nis always the way with a bruise of that kind. Why, you will feel it in\ntwo weeks' time.\"\n\nThen, casting a sly glance at the pair walking in front:\n\n\"They make a handsome couple, don't they?\"\n\nIt was not far to the Mravucsáns' house, and it would have been nearer\nstill if there had not been an immense pool of water just in front of\nthe Town Hall, to avoid which they had to go a good bit out of their\nway. But this pool was a necessity, for all the geese and ducks in the\nvillage swam on it, the pigs came and wallowed in the mud round it, and\nlast, but not least, the firemen took their water from here in case of\nfire. Oh, I forgot to say that all the frogs from the whole neighborhood\nhad taken up their abode in it, and gave splendid concerts to the\nvillagers.\n\nSo, as I said before, they needed the pool and gladly put up with its\npresence, and it was considered common property. Once a civil engineer\nhad been sent there by the county authorities, and he had called their\nattention to the fact that the pool ought to be filled up; but they just\nlaughed at him, and left it as it was.\n\nSo now they had to go right round the pool to the \"hotel,\" which\nstrangers always named the \"Frozen Sheep,\" in reference to the story I\nmentioned before. The gypsies were still playing inside, and outside\nseveral couples were turning in time to music, and some peasants were\nstanding about drinking their glass of \"pálinka\" (a kind of brandy),\nwhile a wagoner from Zólyom sat alone at a table drinking as hard as he\ncould. He was already rather drunk, and was keeping up a lively\nconversation all by himself, gazing now and then with loving eyes at the\nlean horse harnessed to his cart, and which, with drooping head, was\nawaiting his master's pleasure to move on.\n\n\"My neighbor says,\" philosophized the wagoner aloud, \"that my horse is\nnot a horse. And why is it not a horse, pray? It was a horse in the time\nof Kossuth! What? It can't draw a load? Of course not, if the load is\ntoo heavy. It is thin, is it? Of course it is thin, for I don't give it\nany oats. Why don't I give it any? Why, because I have none, of course.\nWhat's that you say? The other day it couldn't drag my cart? No,\nbecause the wheel was stuck in the mud. My neighbor is a great donkey,\nisn't he?\"\n\nUpon which, up he got, and stumbled over to the dancers, requesting them\nto give their opinion as to whether his neighbor was a donkey or not.\nThey got out of his way, so, like a mad dog, which sees and hears\nnothing, the wagoner rushed upon Madame Krisbay.\n\n\"Is mine a horse, or is it not?\"\n\nMadame was frightened, and the smell of brandy, which emanated from the\ngood man, made her feel faint.\n\n\"_Mon Dieu!_\" she murmured, \"what a country I have come to!\"\n\nBut Mrs. Mravucsán, gentle as she was generally, could also be energetic\nif necessary.\n\n\"I don't know if yours is a horse or not,\" she said, \"but I can tell you\nyou're a drunken beast!\"\n\nAnd with that she gave him a push which sent him rolling over on his\nback. He lay there murmuring:\n\n\"My neighbor says my horse is blind in one eye. Nonsense! He can see the\nroad just as well with one eye as with two.\"\n\nThen up he got, and began to follow them, and Madame Krisbay, leaving go\nof Mrs. Mravucsán's arm, and in her fright forgetting her wounded\nshoulder, took to her heels and ran. The dancers seeing her went into\nfits of laughter at the pair of thin legs she showed.\n\n\"How on earth can she run so fast with such thin legs?\" they asked each\nother.\n\nStill more surprised were Veronica and Gyuri (who had seen nothing of\nthe incident with the wagoner); they could not imagine why the sick\nwoman was running at the top of her speed.\n\n\"Madame! madame! What is the matter?\"\n\nShe gave no answer, only rushed to the Mravucsáns' house, where she\nagain had a fright at the sight of three enormous watch-dogs, who\nreceived her with furious barks. She would have fallen in a faint on the\nfloor, but at that moment Mravucsán appeared on the scene to receive his\nguests, so she fell into his arms instead. The good mayor just held her\nquietly, with astonished looks, for he had never yet seen a fainting\nwoman, though he had heard they ought to be sprinkled with water, but\nhow was he to go for water? Then he remembered he had heard that\npinching was a good remedy, that it would, in fact, wake a dead woman;\nbut in order to pinch a person, she must have some flesh, and Madame\nKrisbay had nothing but bones. So he waited with Christian patience till\nthe others arrived on the scene, and then gave her up to their tender\nmercies.\n\n\"Phew!\" he breathed, \"what a relief!\"\n\n\n\n\nIntellectual Society in Bábaszék\n\nPART IV\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE SUPPER AT THE MRAVUCSÁNS'\n\n\nI am not fond of drawing things out to too great a length, so will only\ngive a short description of the Mravucsáns' supper, which was really\nexcellent, and if any one were discontented, it could only have been\nMadame Krisbay, who burned her mouth severely when eating of the first\ndish, which was lamb with paprika.\n\n\"Oh,\" she exclaimed, \"something is pricking my throat!\"\n\nBut the pudding she found still less to her taste (a plain paste rolled\nout very thin, and cut into squares, boiled and served up with curds and\nwhey, and small squares of fried bacon).\n\n\"_Mon Dieu!_\" she said, \"it looks like small bits of wet linen!\"\n\nPoor Mrs. Mravucsán was inconsolable at her guest's want of appetite.\n\n\"It is such a disgrace for me,\" she said.\n\nThen it occurred to her to offer her some of her preserved fruit, and to\nthis madame seemed to take a fancy, for she finished up the dish, and\nin proportion as her hunger was appeased, her liking for her\nsurroundings increased.\n\nShe had the Lutheran clergyman, Sámuel Rafanidesz, on her right, and the\nschoolmaster, Teofil Klempa, on her left, and to them was deputed the\ntask of entertaining the unfortunate foreigner. Their invitations had\nbeen put in this form:\n\n\"You _must_ come, for there is to be a German lady at supper, whom you\nare to entertain.\"\n\nAnd they did all they could to prove to the rest of the company how much\nat ease they were in good German society.\n\nMadame Krisbay seemed very contented with her neighbors, especially when\nshe discovered that the Rev. Sámuel Rafanidesz was a bachelor. What! did\nclergymen marry there? (Perhaps, after all, she had not come to such a\nbad country!)\n\nThe schoolmaster was a much handsomer man, but he was older, and was,\nbesides, married. He had an intelligent face, and a long, flowing black\nbeard; he had, too, a certain amount of wit, which he dealt out in small\nportions. Madame Krisbay smiled at his sallies. Poor woman! She would\nhave liked to have laughed at them, but did not dare to, for her throat\nwas still burning from the effects of that horrid paprika. Now and then\nher face (which was otherwise like yellow wax) got quite red from the\nefforts she made to keep from coughing, which, besides being the\nforerunner of old age, she also considered very demeaning.\n\n\"Don't mind us, my dear,\" called out the mayor's wife, \"cough away as\nmuch as you like. A cough and poverty cannot be hidden.\"\n\nMadame began to feel more and more at home, for, as it turned out, the\nclergyman had been at school at Munich, and could tell a lot of\nanecdotes of his life there, in the Munich dialect, much to madame's\ndelight. The Rev. Sámuel Rafanidesz did not belong to the stiff,\nunpleasant order of clergymen, and there was a Slovak sentence composed\nby Teofil Klempa, often repeated by the good people of Bábaszék, which\nbore reference to him, and which, if read backward, gave his name:\n\"Szedi na fare, Rafanidesz\" (\"Stay in your parish, Rafanidesz\".) But he\nnever took this advice, and had already been sent away from one living\n(somewhere in Nográd) because of an entanglement with some lady in the\nparish. Mrs. Mravucsán knew the whole story, and even the lady, a\ncertain Mrs. Bahó. She must have been a silly woman, for it was she\nherself who let the cat out of the bag, to her own husband too; and she\nwas not a beauty either, as we can see from Mrs. Mravucsán's words:\n\n\"Rafanidesz was a fool. You should never ask a kiss from an ugly woman,\nnor a loan from a poor man, for they immediately go and boast of it.\"\n\nThus Mrs. Mravucsán. It is true she added:\n\n\"But if any one were to call me as a witness, I should deny the whole\nthing.\"\n\nSo you see, I can't stand good for the truth of it either. But that is\nneither here nor there.\n\nMadame Krisbay certainly enjoyed the company of her two neighbors, and\nthose gentlemen soon raised the whole country in her estimation. But it\nwas lucky she understood no Slovak, and could not hear the conversation\ncarried on by the intelligence of Bábaszék. Of course they were clever\npeople too, in their way, and Veronica often smiled at the jokes made,\nfor they were all new to her, though the natives of Bábaszék knew them\nall by heart; for instance, the rich butcher, Pál Kukucska, always got\nup when the third course was on the table, and drank to his own health,\nsaying:\n\n\"Long life to my wife's husband!\"\n\nIt would really be waste of time to try and describe the supper, for\nnothing of any real importance happened. They ate, they drank, and then\nthey went home. Perhaps they spoke of important matters? Not they! Only\na thousand trifles were discussed, which it would be a pity to put in\nprint; and yet the incidents of that supper were the talk of Bábaszék\nfor weeks after. For instance, Mr. Mravucsán upset a glass of wine with\nthe sleeve of his coat, and while they were wiping it up, and strewing\nsalt on the stain, Senator Konopka, turning to the lady of the house,\nexclaimed:\n\n\"That means a christening, madam!\"\n\nOf course Mrs. Mravucsán blushed, but Veronica asked in a most innocent\ntone:\n\n\"How can you know that?\" (She was either a goose, that young girl, or\nshe was a good actress.)\n\nNow who was to answer her with a face as innocent as the Blessed\nVirgin's must have been when she was a girl in short frocks? They all\nlooked at each other, but luckily the forester's wife, Mrs. Wladimir\nSzliminszky, came to the rescue with this explanation:\n\n\"You see, my dear, the stork which brings the children generally lets\none know beforehand, and the knocking over a glass is one of the signs\nit gives.\"\n\nVeronica thought for a bit, and then shook her head unbelievingly.\n\n\"But I saw the gentleman knock the glass over himself,\" she objected.\n\nTo this Mrs. Szliminszky had no answer ready, so, according to her usual\ncustom, she turned to her husband and began worrying him.\n\n\"Wladin, cut the fat off that meat.\"\n\nWladin frowned.\n\n\"But, my dear, that is just the best bit.\"\n\n\"Never mind, Wladin, I can't allow it. Your health is the first\nconsideration.\"\n\nAnd Wladin obediently cut off the fat bits.\n\n\"Why is your coat unbuttoned? Don't you feel how cold it is? Button it\nup at once, Wladin.\"\n\nThe forester did as he was told, and with the pleasant feeling of having\ndone his duty, turned his attention to his plate again.\n\n\"Not another bit, Wladin, you've had enough. We don't want you to dream\nof bulls to-night.\"\n\nWladin obediently put down his knife and fork, and prepared to drink a\nglass of water.\n\n\"Give it me first,\" cried his wife excitedly. \"I want to see that it is\nnot too cold.\"\n\nWladin handed over his glass of water.\n\n\"You may drink a little of it, but not too much. Stop, stop, that will\ndo!\"\n\nPoor Wladin! He was a martyr to conjugal love! For sixteen years he had\nsuffered under this constant thoughtfulness, and though he was a strong\nman when he married, and had never been ill since, yet every minute of\nhis life he expected some catastrophe; for, through constant warnings,\nthe unfortunate Pole had worked himself up to the belief that a current\nof air or a drop of water could be disastrous to him. He felt that\nNature had bad intentions toward him.\n\n\"Take care, Wladin, or the dog will bite your foot!\"\n\nOne of the watch-dogs was under the table gnawing at a bone he had\npossessed himself of, and a little farther off the cat was looking on,\nlongingly, as much as to say: \"Give me some of that superfluous food.\"\n\nNow began the so-called \"amabilis confusio.\" Every one spoke at once,\nand every one about a different subject. The Senators had returned to\nthe important question of the corpse hanging in the wood; Mrs. Mravucsán\ncomplained that no one was eating anything, and looked as wretched as\nshe could.\n\nEach one drank to the other's health, and during the quiet moment that\nfollowed, a voice was heard:\n\n\"Oh, Wladin, Wladin!\"\n\nIt was Mrs. Szliminszky's voice; she evidently objected to her husband\ndrinking, and her neighbor, Mr. Mokry, the lawyer's clerk, objected to\nher constant distractions, in spite of the interesting theme they were\ndiscussing.\n\n\"That strong cigar will harm you, Wladin; you had better put it down.\nWell, and why did you go to Besztercebánya, Mr. Mokry?\"\n\n\"I had a lot to do there, but, above all, I bought the suit I have on.\"\n\nHe looked admiringly at his dark blue suit for about the hundredth time\nthat evening.\n\n\"It is a very nice suit. What did you pay for it?\"\n\n\"I had it made to measure at Klener's, and went to try it on myself.\"\n\n\"What was the price?\"\n\n\"It is real Gács cloth, and quite impervious to rain; you should see it\nby daylight!\"\n\n\"Yes, of course, but what did it cost?\" asked the Polish lady, her\nthoughts still occupied with her husband.\n\n\"I saw the piece of cloth myself; this was the first length cut off it.\nIt has a peculiar look in the sunlight.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; but I asked the price of it.\"\n\nBut it was difficult to bring Mokry to think of other things when he was\nonce launched on the subject of his new suit.\n\n\"Klener has a tailor working for him, a certain Kupek, who used to work\nat one of the court tailors' in Vienna, and he said to me: 'Don't grudge\nthe money, Mr. Mokry, for this is such a durable stuff that your own\nskin will wear out first.' Please feel it.\"\n\n\"It's as soft as silk. Wladin, my dear, I think you had better change\nplaces with me. You are in a draught there each time the door is\nopened. What are you making such a face for? You surely don't mean to\nargue with me? Over you come now!\"\n\nThe beloved martyr changed places with his wife, and now Mrs.\nSzliminszky was on the opposite side of the table, next to Wibra; but he\nwas entirely taken up with Veronica, who was chattering to her heart's\ncontent. The clever young man, of whom it was said he would once be the\nfirst lawyer in Besztercebánya, was listening to the girl with as much\nattention as though a bishop were speaking, and would not for a moment\nhave taken his eyes off her.\n\nThey spoke quietly, as though they were discussing very important\nquestions, though they were in reality speaking of the most innocent\nthings. What did Veronica do at home? She read a good deal, and took\nlong walks. What did she read, and where did she walk? And Veronica gave\nthe titles of some books. Gyuri had read them all too, and they began\nexchanging notes regarding some of them, such as \"Elemér the Eagle,\"\n\"Iván Berend,\" \"Aranka Béldi.\" Gyuri considered Pál Béldi very stupid\nfor not accepting the title of prince when it was offered him. Veronica\nthought it was better he had not done so, for if he had, the novel would\nnever have been written.\n\nThen Gyuri began to question her about Glogova. Was it very dull?\nVeronica looked at him, surprised. How could Glogova be dull? It was as\nthough some ignorant person had asked if Paris were dull.\n\n\"Is there a wood there?\"\n\n\"A beautiful one.\"\n\n\"Do you ever go there?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Are you not afraid?\"\n\n\"Afraid of what?\"\n\n\"Well, you know, woods sometimes have inhabitants one might be afraid\nof.\"\n\n\"Oh, but the inhabitants of our woods are more afraid of me than I of\nthem.\"\n\n\"Can any one be afraid of you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes they are, because I catch them.\"\n\n\"The robbers?\"\n\n\"Don't be so silly, or I shall be cross!\"\n\n\"I should like to see what you look like when you are cross.\"\n\n\"Well, I shall be if you talk such rubbish again. I catch butterflies in\nthe wood.\"\n\n\"Are there pretty butterflies there? I had a collection when I was a\nstudent; I believe I have it still.\"\n\nAt this a desire for rivalry seized hold of Veronica.\n\n\"You should see my collection,\" she said. \"I have all kinds. Tigers,\nAdmirals, Apollos; only, it is such a pity, my Apollo has lost one of\nits wings.\"\n\n\"Have you a Hebe?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, it is nearly as big as the palm of my hand.\"\n\n\"And how big is that? Let me see it.\"\n\nVeronica spread out her hand on the table; it was not so very big after\nall, but fine and pink as a roseleaf. Gyuri took a match and began to\nmeasure it, and in doing so, accidentally touched her hand with his\nfinger, upon which she hastily drew it away and blushed furiously.\n\n\"It is very hot,\" she said, putting up her hand to her hot face, as\nthough she had drawn it away for that purpose.\n\n\"Yes, the room has got quite hot,\" broke in Mrs. Szliminszky. \"Unbutton\nyour coat, Wladin!\"\n\nWladin heaved a sigh of relief, and undid his coat.\n\nVeronica returned to the subject of the butterflies.\n\n\"I think butterfly catching must be the same to me as hunting is to a\nman.\"\n\n\"I am very fond of butterflies,\" answered Gyuri, \"because they only love\nonce.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have another reason for liking them.\"\n\n\"Perhaps because of their mustaches?\"\n\nVeronica turned her head away impatiently.\n\n\"Mr. Wibra, you are beginning to be unpleasant.\"\n\n\"Thank you for the compliment.\"\n\n\"What compliment?\"\n\n\"You say I am beginning to be unpleasant, which is as much as to say I\nwas pleasant till now.\"\n\n\"I see it is dangerous to talk with you, for you put words into my mouth\nI never intended saying. I shall not speak again.\"\n\n\"I'll never do it again, never, I assure you. Only do talk,\" pleaded\nGyuri.\n\n\"Do the butterflies really interest you?\"\n\n\"Upon my honor, they interest one more at this moment than lions and\ntigers.\"\n\n\"I think butterflies are so pretty--like a beautifully dressed woman.\nAnd what tasteful combinations of color! I always look at their wings as\nthough they were so many patterns of materials. For instance, look at a\nHebe, with its black and red under-wings, do not they match beautifully\nwith the yellow and blue-top wings! And then the Tiger, with its brown\nand yellow-spotted dress! Believe me, the renowned Worth might with\nadvantage take a walk in the woods, and learn the art of combining\nshades from the butterflies.\"\n\n\"Gently, Wladin!\" called out Mrs. Szliminszky at this moment. \"How many\nlungs have you? A three-kreutzer stamp is sufficient for local letters.\"\n\nWladin and Senator Fajka were wondering how matters would stand if they\nwere both very deaf, and Wladin was talking so loudly that his loving\nspouse felt bound to put in a word of remonstrance, and request him to\nhave some respect for his lungs.\n\n\"They are quite close to each other, and yet they shout as though they\nwere trying to persuade some one not to put a fifteen-kreutzer stamp on\na local letter. Oh dear! When will people be more sensible?\"\n\nAt that moment, Senator Konopka rose and drank to the health of the\nhost, the \"regenerator\" of Bábaszék. He spoke in exactly the same thin,\npiping voice as Mr. Mravucsán; when the guests closed their eyes, they\nreally believed the master of the house himself was speaking, and\nsounding his own praises; of course this caused great amusement. Upon\nthat up sprang the mayor, and answered the toast in Konopka's voice,\nwith just the same grimaces and movements he always made, and the\nmerriment rose in proportion. Kings do this too in another form, for at\nmeetings and banquets they pay each other the compliment of dressing up\nin each other's uniforms; and yet no one thinks of laughing at them.\n\nToast succeeded toast.\n\n\"You have let the dogs loose now,\" whispered Fajka to Konopka.\n\nMokry drank to the health of the lady of the house, and then Mravucsán\nstood up a second time to return thanks in his wife's name. He remarked\nthat, to their great disappointment, one of those invited had been\nunable to come, namely, Mrs. Müncz, who had at the last moment had an\nattack of gout in her foot, which was no wonder, considering the amount\nof standing and running about she did when there was a fair in their\ntown. Then they all emptied their glasses to the health of the old\nJewess.\n\nAfter the shouts of acclamation had died away, Wladin Szliminszky called\nout:\n\n\"Now it is my turn!\"\n\n\"Wladin, don't make a speech!\" cried his wife. \"You know it is bad for\nyour lungs to speak so loud.\"\n\nBut she could do nothing now to prevent him; a henpecked husband is\ncapable of everything; he will button or unbutton his coat, eat or drink\nto order, but refrain from making the speech his brain has conceived he\nwill not; at least, it has never yet been heard of in the annals of\nHungarian history.\n\n\"I take up my glass, gentlemen, to drink to the fairest flower of the\ncompany, beloved by God, Who on one occasion sent down His servant from\nHeaven, saying: 'Go down at once, Peter, with an umbrella; don't let the\nchild get wet.' Long life to Miss Veronica Bélyi!\"\n\nVeronica was as red as a rose, especially when the guests all got up one\nafter the other, and went and kissed her hand; some of them even knelt\nto do it, and pious Mrs. Mravucsán bent down and kissed the hem of her\ndress.\n\nGyuri thought at first on hearing Wladin's peculiar speech that the good\nman had gone mad, and now seeing every one following his example, was\nmore surprised than ever, and a strange feeling crept over him.\n\n\"What miracle is it your husband is referring to?\" he asked, turning to\nMrs. Szliminszky.\n\nThat good lady looked at him surprised.\n\n\"What! Don't you know the story? Why, it is impossible. It is even\nprinted in Slovak verse.\"\n\n\"What is printed?\"\n\n\"Why, the story of the umbrella ... Wladin, you are very hot, your face\nis the color of a boiled lobster. Shall I give you my fan?\"\n\n\"What about the umbrella?\" queried Gyuri impatiently.\n\n\"It is really strange you have never heard anything about it. Well, the\nstory runs, that when your fair neighbor was a little child, they once\nleft her out on the veranda of the priest's house. Her brother, the\npriest of Glogova, was in the church praying. A storm came on, it poured\nin torrents, and the child would have been wet through and have got\ninflammation of the lungs, or something of the kind, if a miracle had\nnot taken place. An old man appeared on the scene, no one knows from\nwhere; he seemed to have fallen from heaven, and he spread an umbrella\nover the child's head.\"\n\n\"My umbrella!\" burst unconsciously from the lawyer.\n\n\"What did you say?\"\n\n\"Nothing, nothing.\"\n\nHis blood coursed more quickly through his veins, his heart beat faster,\nhe raised his head quickly, with the result that he also knocked his\nglass over.\n\n\"A christening, another christening!\" called out every one.\n\n\"My best wishes,\" said Mr. Rafanidesz, turning to Mrs. Szliminszky, who\nblushed becomingly and told him not to talk nonsense.\n\nBut the young lawyer would not let her continue the conversation; he\ndrew his chair nearer to hers, and said:\n\n\"Please go on.\"\n\n\"Well, the gray-haired man disappeared, no one knew how nor where, and\nthose who saw him for a moment swore it was St. Peter.\"\n\n\"It was Müncz!\"\n\n\"Did you speak?\"\n\nGyuri bit his lip, and saw that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.\n\n\"Nothing, nothing; please go on.\"\n\n\"Well, St. Peter disappeared, and left the umbrella behind him.\"\n\n\"And does it still exist?\"\n\n\"I should think it does indeed. They keep it as a relic in the church of\nGlogova.\"\n\n\"Thank God!\"\n\nHe drew a deep breath, as though a great weight had fallen from him.\n\n\"Found!\" he murmured. He thought he would have fallen from his chair in\nhis joy.\n\n\"And to whom does it belong? To the Church?\" asked Gyuri.\n\n\"It may be yours once,\" said Mrs. Szliminszky. \"It will be Veronica's\nwhen she marries; the priest of Glogova told me so himself. 'It will\nbelong to my sister,' he said, 'unless she makes a present of it to the\nChurch when she marries.'\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said the lawyer, shaking his head. \"At least, I mean ... What\nam I saying? What were we speaking about? It is fearfully warm, I'm\nstifling. Please, Mr. Mravucsán, could we have the window open?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" and the mayor ran to open it.\n\n\"Button up your coat, Wladin!\"\n\nA fresh spring air entered by the window, and a slight breeze put out\nboth the candles.\n\n\"Kisses allowed,\" called out Klempa.\n\nA branch of lilac was just outside the window, and spread its delicious\nperfume through the room, decidedly more pleasant than the fumes of\ntobacco smoke which had filled it a minute before.\n\nMadame Krisbay, startled by the sudden darkness, gave vent to a little\nscream, and Klempa seized the opportunity to exclaim:\n\n\"I assure you it was not I!\"\n\nThere was a general confusion in the darkness, but Mrs. Szliminszky,\nwanting to prove she was above being troubled by such trifles, quietly\ncontinued her conversation with Gyuri.\n\n\"It is a pretty little legend, Mr. Wibra. I am not easily imposed upon,\nand, besides, we are Lutherans; but I must say it is a very pretty\nlegend. But the umbrella is really wonderful. Sick people are cured if\nthey stand under it; a dead man rose to life again when it touched him.\nIt is of no use your shaking your head, for it is true. I know the man\nhimself, he is still alive. Altogether the things that umbrella has done\nare wonderful, especially the fact that it has brought luck and riches\nto the priest of Glogova.\"\n\nA dark suspicion took possession of Gyuri, and when the candles were\nrelighted, it was to be seen he was as pale as death.\n\n\"Is the priest rich?\" he asked.\n\n\"Very rich,\" answered Mrs. Szliminszky.\n\nHe drew nearer to her, and suddenly seized hold of her hand, pressing it\nconvulsively. The good lady could not make out why. (If he had done so a\nminute sooner, she could have understood it, but the candles were alight\nnow!)\n\n\"He found something in the umbrella, did he not?\" he asked, panting.\n\nMrs. Szliminszky shrugged her white shoulders, half visible through the\nlace insertion of her dress.\n\n\"Why, what could he find in an umbrella? It is not a box, nor an iron\ncase. But for the last fourteen years people have come from great\ndistances to be married under the umbrella, and they pay generously for\nit. And then when a rich person is dying anywhere beyond the Bjela Voda,\nfrom the Szitnya right as far as Kriván, they send for the priest of\nGlogova to hear their confession, and after their death, to bury them\nunder the umbrella.\"\n\nVeronica, to whom the mayor's wife had been showing the embroidered\ntable-cloth, calling her attention to the fineness of the linen, now\ncaught a few words of the conversation.\n\n\"Are you speaking of our umbrella?\" she asked amiably, leaning toward\nthem.\n\nGyuri and Mrs. Szliminszky started.\n\n\"Yes, my dear,\" answered the latter, slightly confused.\n\nGyuri smiled mischievously.\n\n\"I see,\" said Veronica, \"you don't believe the story.\"\n\n\"No, I do not.\"\n\n\"Really?\" asked the girl reproachfully; \"and why?\"\n\n\"Because I never believe nonsense, and because ...\"\n\nHe had nearly said too much, but he kept back the words that rose to his\nlips when he saw how wounded the girl appeared at his incredulity. She\nsmiled, turned her head away, and gazed silently at her plate. Gyuri was\nsilent too, though he felt inclined to cry out:\n\n\"I am rich at last, for in the handle of that umbrella there are unknown\ntreasures.\"\n\nIt is remarkable that if good luck befalls a man, his first wish (for he\nstill has wishes, even if they are all fulfilled) is to communicate it\nto others; he would like trumpets sounded, heralds to be sent round to\nannounce it to the whole world. But then comes doubt, the everlasting\n\"perhaps.\" And so it was with Gyuri.\n\n\"What is the umbrella like, Miss Veronica?\" he asked.\n\nVeronica closed her lips firmly, as though she considered it unnecessary\nto answer him, then thought better of it, and said:\n\n\"It is not much to look at; it is of faded red stuff, looks a thousand\nyears old, and is patched all over.\"\n\n\"With a border of small green flowers?\"\n\n\"Have you seen it?\"\n\n\"No, I only asked.\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a border of green flowers on it.\"\n\n\"Could I see it?\"\n\n\"Certainly. Do you wish to?\"\n\n\"That is what I am going to Glogova for.\"\n\n\"Why, if you don't believe in it?\"\n\n\"Just for that very reason. If I believed in it I should not go.\"\n\n\"You are a heathen.\"\n\nShe drew her chair away from him, at which he at once became serious.\n\n\"Have I hurt you?\" he asked contritely.\n\n\"No, but you frighten me,\" and her lovely oval face expressed\ndisappointment.\n\n\"I will believe anything you like, only don't be afraid of me.\"\n\nVeronica smiled slightly.\n\n\"It would be a shame not to believe it,\" struck in Mrs. Szliminszky,\n\"for it is a fact--there is plenty to prove it. If you don't believe\nthat, you don't believe anything. Either the miracles in the Bible are\ntrue, and if so, this is true too, or ...\"\n\nBut she could not finish her sentence, for at that moment Madame Krisbay\nrose from the table, saying she was tired, and would like to retire to\nher room, and Mrs. Mravucsán led her and Veronica to two small rooms\nopening on to the courtyard. In the doorway Gyuri bowed to Veronica, who\nreturned it with a slight nod.\n\n\"Shall we start early in the morning?\" he asked.\n\nShe bowed with mock humility.\n\n\"As you like, Mr. Thomas,\" she said.\n\nGyuri understood the reference, and answered in the same strain:\n\n\"It depends upon how long the saints sleep.\"\n\nVeronica turned her head, and shook her fist playfully at him.\n\n\"I will pay you out!\" she said.\n\nGyuri could hardly take his eyes off her, she looked so pretty as she\nspoke. Let the saints look like that if they could!\n\nSoon after the Szliminszky pair started for home, accompanied by a man\ncarrying a lantern. Mrs. Szliminszky had made Wladin put on a light\nspring coat, hung a long cloak over his shoulders, tied a big woollen\nscarf round his neck, and having ordered him only to breathe through his\nnose, once they were out, she turned to Gyuri again.\n\n\"Yes, it is a beautiful legend, it made a great impression on me.\"\n\n\"Poor legends!\" returned Gyuri. \"If we were to pick some of them to\npieces, and take the romance out of them, their saintly odor, their\nmystery, what strange and simple truths would be left!\"\n\n\"Well, they must not be picked to pieces, that is all. Wladin, turn up\nthe collar of your coat.\"\n\nThe lawyer thought for a minute.\n\n\"Perhaps you are right,\" he said.\n\nAfter a short time Gyuri also asked to be shown to his room.\n\n\"The magnet has gone!\" muttered the lawyer's clerk.\n\nHardly had the door closed when Kukucska, the butcher, exclaimed:\n\n\"Now we are free!\"\n\nHe took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, thus showing the head of an\nox tatooed on his left arm, then winked knowingly at Mravucsán. The\nmayor seemed to understand the look, for he went to a cupboard and\npulled out one of the drawers, from which he took a pack of cards. The\nknave of spades was missing, but that did not make any difference to\nthe intelligent members of Bábaszék society, for they had once before\nplayed \"Preference\" with those cards, and the last player had simply\nreceived one card less when they were dealt out, though he was supposed\nto have the knave of spades, and it was called the \"spirit card.\" If\nthey were playing spades, the last player in imagination threw the knave\non it, saying: \"I play the spirit card!\" So now, in spite of this small\ndifficulty, they decided to play, and the game lasted till daylight. The\nSenators, the butcher, and the clergyman played, the lawyer's clerk\ndealt, and Klempa looked on, having no money to lose, and went from one\nplayer to the other, looking over their shoulders, and giving them\nadvice what to play. But one after the other sent him away, declaring he\nbrought them bad luck, which rather depressed him. So the poor\nschoolmaster wandered from one to the other, till at last he took a seat\nbetween the clergyman and the butcher, dropped his weary head on the\ntable, and went to sleep, his long beard doubled up, and serving as a\npillow. But he was to have a sad awakening, for that mischievous Pál\nKukucska, seeing the beard on the table, conceived the idea of sealing\nit there; and fetching a candle and sealing-wax, they dropped some on\nthe beard in three places, and Mravucsán pressed his own signet ring on\nit. Then they went on playing, until he should awake.\n\nOther incidents, and not very pleasant ones either, were taking place in\nthe house. Madame Krisbay, to whom the mayor's wife had given her own\nbedroom, would not go to bed with the enormous eider-down quilt over\nher, for she was afraid of being suffocated during the night. She asked\nfor a \"paplan\" (a kind of wadded bed cover), but Mrs. Mravucsán did not\npossess such a thing, so she brought in her husband's enormous fur-lined\ncloak and threw it over madame, which so frightened the poor nervous\nwoman that she was attacked by migraine, and the mayor's wife had to\nspend the night by her bed, putting horse-radish on her temples.\n\nAn unpleasant thing happened to Veronica too. As soon as she was alone\nin the Mravucsáns' best bedroom, she locked the door, hung a cloak on\nthe door-handle so that no one could look through the key-hole, drew the\ncurtains across the tiny windows which opened on to the courtyard, and\nthen began to undress. She had taken off the bodice of her dress and\nunfastened her skirt, when all at once she became aware of two bright\neyes watching her intently from under the bed. It was a kitten, and it\nwas gazing at her as intently and admiringly as though it had been a\nprince changed by some old witch into the form of a cat. Veronica,\nalarmed, caught up her skirt and bodice, and put them on again.\n\n\"Go along, you tiresome kitten,\" she said; \"don't look at me when I'm\nundressing.\"\n\nShe was such an innocent child, she was ashamed to undress before the\nkitten. She dressed again, and tried to drive it out of the room, but it\nhid itself under the bed, then jumped on a cupboard, and it was quite\nimpossible to get rid of it. Mrs. Mravucsán, hearing the noise from the\nnext room, called out:\n\n\"What is the matter, my dear?\"\n\n\"I can't drive the cat out.\"\n\n\"Never mind, she won't hurt you.\"\n\n\"But she always watches me,\" answered Veronica.\n\nShe put her candle out, and began to undress in the dark, but that\ntiresome cat walked into the middle of the room again, and her eyes\nshone more than ever.\n\n\"Wait a bit, you curious little thing,\" said Veronica. \"I'll get the\nbest of you yet.\"\n\nShe made a barricade of chairs, then got inside it, as though she were\nin a fortress, and began to undo her boots. Do you think that barricade\nmade any impression on the kitten? Not a bit of it. There she was again,\non the top of the chairs, from there one jump took her on to the\nwashing-stand, and another on to Veronica's bed. There she was seized\nupon and a shawl bound round her head.\n\n\"Now, kitty, stare at me if you can!\"\n\nAnd after that she managed to undress in peace.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nNIGHT BRINGS COUNSEL.\n\n\nWhile the two ladies were occupied with these trifles, and Klempa with\nhis beard sealed to the table slept the sleep of the just, Gyuri had\nalso retired to his bed, but found it impossible to sleep. It was not\nfrom indigestion, for Mrs. Mravucsán's excellent supper had not\ndisagreed with him; it was his brain which was hard at work, going over\nall the incidents that had taken place that day. He seemed to have lived\nthrough years in the last few hours. What an age it seemed since he had\nlooked for the umbrella in Mrs. Müncz's shop! And it was found quite\nunexpectedly. God had given it into the charge of an angel.\n\nFrom the umbrella his thoughts flew to the \"angel.\"\n\nShe was a nice little thing, he decided; not a bit unpleasant like other\ngirls of that age he knew, who were thoughtless, useless creatures.\nVeronica was an exception. And she seemed to have taken to him too.\n\nHe passed again in revision all her words, her movements, and as he went\non, he found among the smiles, the softened voice, the unwatched\nmoments, certain signs of coldness here and there, as though she were\nputting a restraint upon herself.\n\nBut he was so happy now, that he did not need the friendship of a silly\ngirl. He was a rich man now, a nabob beginning from to-day. He would\nlive like a prince henceforward, spend the winter in Budapest, or on the\nRiviera, in Monaco, and the summer at Ostend; in fact, he would be a\ngrand gentleman, and not even look at poor priests' sisters. (How\ntiresome it was, his thoughts would always return to Veronica.)\n\nSleep would not come, how could it be expected? One scheme after the\nother passed before his mind's eye, like the butterflies in the Glogova\nwoods. And he chased them all in turn. Oh! if it were only daylight, and\nhe could move on. His watch was ticking on the table beside his bed; he\nlooked at it, the hands pointed to midnight. Impossible! It must be\nlater than that; his watch must be slow! Somewhere in the distance a\ncock crew, as much as to say: \"Your watch is quite right, Mr. Wibra.\" He\nheard faint sounds of music proceeding from the \"Frozen Sheep\" in the\ndistance, and some one on his way home was singing a Slovak shepherd's\nsong.\n\nGyuri lighted a cigar, and sat down to smoke it and think things over.\nHow strangely the umbrella had been found--at least _he_ had not found\nit yet, it was not yet in his possession, and when he came to look at\nthe facts, he found he was not much nearer to it than he had been. Until\nnow he had supposed it had been thrown away as a useless rag, and he had\nhad little hope of finding it. And now, what had happened? Things were\nquite different to what they had imagined them; for as it turned out,\nthe umbrella was a treasure, a relic in a church. What was to be done\nabout it? What was he to say to the priest to-morrow? \"I have come for\nmy umbrella\"? The priest would only laugh at him, for, either he was\nbigoted and superstitious, in which case he would believe St. Peter had\nbrought the umbrella to his sister, or he was a Pharisee, and in that\ncase he would not be such a fool as to betray himself.\n\nThe wind was rising, and the badly fitting windows and door of the\nlittle room that had been allotted to him were rattling, and the\nfurniture cracked now and then. He could even hear the wind whistling\nthrough the Liskovina Wood, not far from the house. Gyuri blew out the\nlight and lay down again under the big eider-down quilt, and imagined\nhe saw the corpse Mr. Mravucsán had spoken of, hanging from a tree,\nwaving from side to side in the wind, and nodding its head at him,\nsaying: \"Oh, yes, Mr. Wibra, you'll be well laughed at in the parish of\nGlogova.\"\n\nThe lawyer tossed about on the snow-white pillows, from which an odor of\nspring emanated (they had been out in the garden to air the day before).\n\n\"Never mind,\" thought he, \"the umbrella is mine after all. I can prove\nit in a court of justice if necessary. I have witnesses. There are Mr.\nSztolarik, Mrs. Müncz and her sons, the whole town of Besztercebánya.\"\n\nThen he laughed bitterly.\n\n\"And yet, what am I thinking of? I can't prove it, for, after all, the\numbrella does not belong to me, but to the Müncz family, for the old man\nbought it. So only that which is in the handle belongs to me. But can I\ngo to the priest and say: 'Your reverence, in the handle of the umbrella\nis a check for 200,000 or 300,000 florins, please give it to me, for it\nbelongs of right to me'?\"\n\nThen Gyuri began to wonder what the priest would answer. He either\nbelieved the legend of the umbrella, and would then say: \"Go along, do!\nSt. Peter is not such a fool as to bring you a check on a bank from\nHeaven!\" Or if he did look in the handle and find the receipt, he would\nsay: \"Well, if he did bring it, he evidently meant it for me.\" And he\nwould take it out and keep it. Why should he give it to Gyuri? How was\nhe to prove it belonged to him?\n\n\"Supposing,\" thought our hero, \"I were to tell him the whole story,\nabout my mother, about my father, and all the circumstances attending\nhis death. Let us imagine he would believe it from Alpha to Omega; of\nwhat use would it be? Does it prove that the treasure is mine? Certainly\nnot. And even if it did, would he give it to me? A priest is only a man\nafter all. Could I have a lawsuit, if he would not give it me? What\nnonsense! Of course not. He might take the receipt out of the handle,\nand what proofs can I bring then that it was ever in it?\"\n\nThe perspiration stood on his forehead; he bit the bed-clothes in his\nhelpless rage. To be so near to his inheritance, and yet not be able to\nseize hold of it!\n\n\"Black night, give counsel!\" was Gyuri's prayer. And it is best, after\nall, to turn to the night for help. Gyuri was right to ask its advice,\nfor it is a good friend to thought. Among the Golden Rules should be\nwritten: \"Think over all your actions by night, even if you have decided\nby day what course to take!\" For a man has night thoughts and day\nthoughts, though I do not know which are the better. I rather think\nneither kind is perfect. For daylight, like a weaver, works its colors\ninto one's thoughts, and night covers them with its black wings. Both of\nthem paint, increase and decrease things--in one word, falsify them.\nNight shows the beloved one more beautiful than he is, it strengthens\none's enemies, increases one's troubles, diminishes one's joy. It is not\nkind of it; but night is sovereign, and is answerable to no one for its\nactions. Take things as they come, but do not put aside serious thought\nwhen you are seeking the truth. Though, of course, you do not really\nseek the truth; even if it comes to meet you, you get out of its way. I\nought to have said, do not despise the night when you are trying to find\nthe way out of a thing. Night will show you what to do, without your\neven noticing it. If it can do it in no other way, it brings you gentle\nsleep, and gives you advice in dreams.\n\nAfter a time the wind dropped, the music at the \"Frozen Sheep\" ceased,\nand Gyuri heard nothing but a rhythmic murmur, and all at once he seemed\nto be in the woods of Glogova, chasing butterflies with Veronica.\n\nAs they ran on among the bushes, an old man suddenly appeared before\nthem, with a golden crook, a glory round his head, and his hat hanging\nby a bit of string from his neck.\n\n\"Are you Mr. Wibra?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Yes; and you?\"\n\n\"I am St. Peter.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"I wish to sign a receipt for your happiness.\"\n\n\"For my happiness?\"\n\n\"I see you cannot get your umbrella, and my friend Gregorics has asked\nme to help you. So I am quite willing to sign a paper declaring that I\ndid not give the umbrella to the young lady.\"\n\n\"It is very good of you, but I have neither paper nor ink here. Let us\ngo back to the village.\"\n\n\"I have no time for that; you know I have to be at the gates of Heaven,\nand I can't stay away for long.\"\n\n\"Well, what am I to do, how am I to get my umbrella?\"\n\nSt. Peter turned his back, and began to walk back the way he had come,\nbut stood still beside a large oak-tree, and made a sign to Gyuri to\napproach. Gyuri obeyed.\n\n\"I'll tell you what, my friend, don't think too long about it, but marry\nVeronica, and then you will have the umbrella too.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said Gyuri, catching hold of the golden crook. \"Come and ask her\nbrother to give his permission.\"\n\nHe pulled hard at the crook, but at that moment a strong hand seemed to\npull him back, and he awoke.\n\nSome one was knocking at the door.\n\n\"Come in,\" he said sleepily.\n\nIt was the Mravucsáns' farm-servant.\n\n\"I've come for your boots,\" he announced.\n\nGyuri rubbed his eyes. It was day at last, the sun was smiling at him\nthrough the window. His thoughts were occupied with his dream, every\nincident of which was fresh in his mind. He thought he heard St. Peter's\nvoice again saying: \"Marry Veronica, my friend, and then you will have\nthe umbrella too.\"\n\n\"What a strange dream,\" thought Gyuri; \"and how very much logic it\ncontains! Why, I might have thought of that solution myself!\"\n\n\nBy the time Gyuri was dressed, it was getting late, and every member of\nthe Mravucsán household was on foot. One was carrying a pail to the\nstables, another a sieve, and near the gate which last night's wind had\npartly lifted off its hinges, Gyuri's coachman was examining the damage\ndone. Seeing his master advancing toward him, he took off his hat with\nits ostrich feathers (part of the livery of a Hungarian coachman is a\nkind of round hat, with two ends of black ribbon hanging from it at the\nback, and some small ostrich tips in it).\n\n\"Shall I harness the horses, sir?\"\n\n\"I don't know yet. Here, my good girl, are the ladies up?\"\n\n\"They are breakfasting in the garden,\" answered the maid he had\naccosted. \"Please walk this way.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you may harness, János.\"\n\nGyuri found the ladies seated round a stone table under a large\nwalnut-tree. They had finished breakfast, only madame was still nibbling\na bit of toast. He was received with ironical smiles, and Veronica\ncalled out:\n\n\"Here comes the early riser!\"\n\n\"That title belongs to me,\" said Mravucsán, \"for I have not been to bed\nat all. We played cards till daybreak. Klempa is still asleep with his\nbeard sealed to the table.\"\n\n\"A nice sort of thing for grown-up folks to do!\" remarked Mrs.\nMravucsán.\n\nGyuri shook hands with them all, and Veronica got up and made a deep\ncourtesy.\n\n\"Good-morning, early riser,\" she said. \"Why are you staring at me so?\"\n\n\"I don't know how it is,\" stammered Gyuri, gazing at the girl's\nbeautiful face, \"but you seem to me to have grown.\"\n\n\"In one night?\"\n\n\"You were quite a little girl yesterday.\"\n\n\"You appear to be dazed!\"\n\n\"I certainly am when I look at you.\"\n\n\"You seem to be sleepy still. Is this the time of day to get up?\"\n\nThe playful, gentle tone was delightful to Gyuri, and he began to be\nquite talkative.\n\n\"I fell asleep for a short time, and if the servant had not woke me, I\nshould be asleep still. Oh, if he had only waited five minutes longer!\"\n\n\"Had you such a pleasant dream?\" asked Mrs. Mravucsán. \"Will you take\nsome coffee?\"\n\n\"If you please.\"\n\n\"Won't you tell us your dream?\"\n\n\"I was going to marry--in fact, had got as far as the proposal.\"\n\n\"Did she refuse you?\" asked Veronica, raising her head, the beauty of\nwhich was enhanced by the rich coronet of hair, in which she had stuck a\nlovely pink.\n\n\"I don't know what would have happened, for at the critical moment the\nservant woke me.\"\n\n\"What a pity, we shall never know how it would have turned out!\"\n\n\"You shall know some time.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"I will tell you.\"\n\n\"How can you do that? Dreams cannot be continued from one night to\nanother like novels in a periodical.\"\n\nGyuri drank his coffee, lit a cigar, and from out the cloud of smoke he\nreplied in a mysterious voice, his eyes turned heavenward:\n\n\"There are such dreams, as you will see. And how did you sleep?\"\n\nThereupon Mrs. Mravucsán began to tell the story of Veronica's adventure\nwith the kitten. Every one laughed, poor Veronica was covered with\nblushes, and Mrs. Mravucsán, finding the opportunity a good one,\nlaunched upon a little lecture.\n\n\"My dear child, exaggeration is never good, not even in modesty. You\nwill have to get used to such things. What will you do when you are\nmarried? You will not be able to shut your husband out of your room.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" exclaimed Veronica. \"How can you say such dreadful things!\"\n\nAnd she jumped up, blushing furiously, and ran away to the\ngooseberry-bushes, where her dress got caught, and in trying to move on,\nthe gathers got torn. Thereupon there was a rush for needle and thread,\nand the confusion was heightened when the carriage drove up, the two\nhandsome black horses pawing the ground impatiently.\n\n(The lawyer's business must be a good one; he must have lied a lot to be\nable to buy such horses!)\n\nEvery member of the household had some task allotted to her. Anka must\nwrap up the ham in a cloth, Zsuzsa must run and fetch the fresh bread\nthat had been baked for the occasion. Some one else must bring knives\nand forks. Would they like a little fruit packed in the basket? The\nforeign lady would be glad of something of the kind. And should she put\na small pot of jam in too?\n\n\"But, my dear Mrs. Mravucsán, we shall be at home by dinner-time!\"\n\n\"And supposing something happens to prevent it? You never can know.\"\n\nAnd off she went to her storeroom, while the mayor tried to persuade\nthem to stay at least an hour longer; but it was of no use, the\ntravellers had made up their minds to start; not even the possibility of\nseeing Klempa wake up would induce them to change their plans.\n\nThey got into the carriage, the two ladies on the back seat, and Gyuri\non the box with the coachman, but his face turned toward the ladies.\nWhether he would hold out in that uncomfortable position till Glogova\nremained to be seen.\n\n\"To Glogova,\" said Gyuri to the coachman, and János cracked his whip and\nthe horses started, but hardly were they out of the yard, when the\nmayor's wife came tripping after them, calling out to them at the top of\nher voice to stop. They did so, wondering what had happened. But nothing\nserious was the matter, only Mrs. Mravucsán had unearthed a few apples\nin her storeroom, with which she filled their pockets, impressing upon\nthem that the beautiful rosy-cheeked one was for Veronica. Then they\nstarted again, with a great amount of waving of handkerchiefs and hats,\nuntil the house, with its smoking chimneys and its large walnut-tree,\nwas out of sight.\n\nAs they passed Mrs. Müncz's shop she was standing at the door in her\nwhite cap, nodding to them with her gray head, which seemed cut into two\nparts by the broad-rimmed spectacles. At the smithy they were hammering\naway at the priest's broken chaise, and farther on various objects which\nhad been left unsold at yesterday's fair were being packed in boxes, and\nthen put in carts to be taken home again. They passed in turn all the\ntiny houses, with their brightly-painted doors, on which the names of\nthe owners were printed in circles. At the last house, opposite the\nfuture Jewish burial-ground, two pistol-shots were fired.\n\nThe travellers turned their heads that way, and saw Mr. Mokry in his new\nsuit, made by the noted tailor of Besztercebánya, with his hat in one\nhand, and in the other the pistol he had fired as a farewell greeting.\nOn the other side of the road was the dangerous windmill, its enormous\nsails throwing shadows over the flowering clover-fields. Luckily it was\nnot moving now, and looked like an enormous fly pinned on the blue sky.\n\nThere was not a breath of wind, and the ears of wheat stood straight and\nstiff, like an army of soldiers. Only the sound of the horses' hoofs was\nto be heard, and the woods of Liskovina stretched before them like a\nnever-ending green wall.\n\n\n\n\nThe Third Devil\n\nPART V\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nMARIA CZOBOR'S ROSE, THE PRECIPICE, AND THE OLD PEAR-TREE.\n\n\nMadame Krisbay was very much interested in the neighborhood they were\ndriving through, and asked many questions. They passed a small chapel in\nthe wood, and Veronica explained that a rich innkeeper had once been\nkilled there by robbers, and the bereaved widow had built this chapel on\nthe spot.\n\n\"Perhaps out of gratitude?\" suggested Gyuri.\n\n\"Don't be so horrid,\" exclaimed Veronica.\n\nThe Liskovina Wood is quite like a park, with the exception that there\nis not much variety in the way of trees, the birch, the favorite tree of\nthe Slovaks, being predominant. But of flowers there were any amount.\nThe ferns grew to a great height, the Anthoxantum had flowered, and in\nits withered state filled the whole wood with its perfume. Among plants,\nas among people, there are some which are only pleasant and agreeable\nto others after their death. What a difference there is in the various\nkinds of plants! There is the gladiolus, the most important part of\nwhich is the bulb it hides under the earth; whoever eats it dreams of\nthe future.\n\nMuch simpler is the ox-eye daisy, for it will tell you without any\nceremonies if the person you are thinking of loves you very much, a\nlittle, or not at all; you have only to pull off its snow-white petals\none by one, and the last one tells you the truth.\n\nThe wild pink provides food for the bee, the lily serves as a\ndrinking-cup for the birds, the large dandelion is the see-saw of the\nbutterflies. For the Liskovina woods are generous, and provide beds for\nall kinds of insects, strawberries for children, nosegays for young\ngirls, herbs for old women, and the poisonous aconite, which the\npeasants in that part called the \"Wolf-killer.\"\n\nWhether it ever caused the death of a wolf is doubtful, for wolves have\ntheir fair share of sense, and probably, knowing something of botany,\nthey tell their cubs: \"Don't touch the Aconitum Lycotinum, children; it\nis better to eat meat.\"\n\nIt was delightful driving in the shady woods, though Madame Krisbay was\nalarmed each time a squirrel ran up a tree, and was in constant fear of\nthe robbers who had killed the rich innkeeper.\n\n\"Why, that was eighty years ago, madame!\"\n\n\"Well, and their sons?\"\n\nShe was restless till they had got clear of the wood and had come to a\nlarge barren plain, with here and there a small patch of oats, stunted\nin their growth.\n\nBut after that they came to another wood, the far-famed \"Zelena Hruska,\"\nin the shape of a pear. Supposing robbers were to turn up there!\n\nAnd Gyuri was just wishing for their appearance while madame was\nthinking with horror of them. As he sat face to face with the girl, he\ndecided to marry her--because of the umbrella. The girl was certainly\npretty, but even had she not been so, the umbrella was worth the\nsacrifice. St. Peter had told him what to do, and he would follow his\nadvice. Superstition, at which he had laughed the day before, had taken\npossession of him, and made a place for itself among his more rational\nthoughts. He felt some invisible power pushing him on to take this step.\nWhat power was it? Probably St. Peter, who had advised him in his dream\nto take it. But how was he to set to work? That was what was troubling\nhim the whole time. How convenient it would be if there were some\nromance nowadays, as in olden times or in novels; for instance, if\nrobbers were now to appear on the scene, and he could shoot them down\none after the other with his revolver, and so free Veronica, who would\nthen turn to him and say:\n\n\"I am yours till death!\"\n\nBut as matters were at present, he did not dare to take any steps in the\nright direction; the words he had so well prepared seemed to stick in\nhis throat. Doubts arose in his mind; supposing she had not taken a\nfancy to him! Supposing she were already in love! She must have seen\nother men besides himself, and if so, they _must_ have fallen in love\nwith her. Something ought to happen to help matters on a little.\n\nBut no robbers came, there probably were none; it was a poor\nneighborhood, nothing grew there, not even a robber.\n\nAfter they had passed the wood, they saw an old castle among the trees,\non the top of a hill. It was the Castle of Slatina, had formerly\nbelonged to the Czobors, and was now the property of the Princes of\nCoburg.\n\nThey had to stop at an inn to feed the horses, and Veronica proposed\ntheir going to look at the castle, of which an old man had charge; he\nwould show them over it. The innkeeper assured them some of the rooms\nwere just as the Czobors had left them; in the court were a few old\ncannon, and in the house a collection of curious old armor, and some\nvery interesting family portraits, among them that of a little girl,\nKatalin Czobor, who had disappeared from her home at the age of seven.\nVeronica was very interested in the child.\n\n\"And what happened to her?\" she asked.\n\n\"The poor child has never turned up to this day!\" sighed the innkeeper.\n\n\"And when was it she disappeared?\"\n\n\"About three hundred years ago,\" he answered with a smile, and then\naccompanied his guests up the mountain path that led to the castle.\n\nThey were silent on their return, only Madame Krisbay remarking:\n\n\"What a mouldy smell there was in there!\"\n\nVeronica had caught sight of a beautiful rose on a large bush near the\nhalf-ruined walls of the bastion.\n\n\"What an exquisite flower!\" she exclaimed.\n\nThe old caretaker had a legend about that too. From this spot beautiful\nMaria Czobor had sprung from the walls, and thrown herself down the\nprecipice, for her father wished her to marry an officer in the\nEmperor's army, and she was in love with a shepherd. The latter had\nplanted a rose-bush on this spot, and every year it bore one single\nblossom. Gyuri dropped behind the others, and begged the old man to give\nhim the rose.\n\n\"My dear sir, what are you thinking of? Why, the poor girl's spirit\nwould haunt me if I were to do such a thing!\"\n\nGyuri took out his purse and pressed two silver florins into the man's\nhand, upon which, without further ado, he took out his knife and cut\nthe rose.\n\n\"Won't the young lady's spirit haunt you now?\" asked Gyuri, smiling.\n\n\"No, because with part of the money I will have a Mass said for the\nrepose of her soul.\"\n\nGyuri ran after the ladies with the rose in his hand, and offered it to\nVeronica.\n\n\"Here is Maria Czobor's rose,\" he said. \"Will you give me your pink in\nexchange?\"\n\nBut she put her hands behind her back, and said coldly:\n\n\"How could you have the heart to pick it?\"\n\n\"I did it for your sake. Will you not exchange?\"\n\n\"No; I would not for the world wear that flower; I should think I had\nstolen it from that poor girl.\"\n\n\"Will you really not accept it?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\nGyuri threw the rose away, and it rolled down the hillside in the dust\nand dirt.\n\nVeronica gazed pityingly after the flower as long as it was visible,\nthen turned angrily to Gyuri.\n\n\"Is that the way to treat a flower? Had it hurt you in any way?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the lawyer shortly.\n\n\"Did it prick you?\"\n\n\"It informed me of a very unpleasant fact.\"\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\n\"It whispered the continuation of my last night's dream to me.\"\n\n\"What a little chatterbox!\"\n\nShe turned her big eyes upon Gyuri and spoke in a jesting tone.\n\n\"I should have had a refusal!\"\n\nVeronica threw back her head, and turned her eyes toward heaven.\n\n\"Poor Mr. Wibra!\" she exclaimed. \"What misfortune to be refused in a\ndream!\"\n\n\"Pray go on, make as much fun of it as you like,\" he said bitterly.\n\n\"And are you sure you would have been refused?\"\n\n\"Yes, now I am sure of it,\" he answered sadly. \"You might guess now of\nwhom I dreamed.\"\n\n\"Of me?\" she asked surprised, and the smile died away on her lips. \"Of\nme?\" she stammered again, then was silent, descending the hill quietly\nin madame's wake with bent head. She had lifted the skirt of her dress a\nlittle to prevent its dragging in the dust, and her little feet were\npartly visible as she tripped along with regular steps, treading on the\ngrass and flowers, which, however, were not crushed by her footsteps,\nbut rose again as she passed on.\n\nA tiny lizard crossed their path, its beautiful colors shining in the\nsunlight. But what a sad fate befell it! Just at that moment a giant\n(well known in Besztercebánya) came that way, murmuring: \"Why should it\nlive?\" and bringing down a heavy heel severed the poor lizard's head\nfrom its body.\n\nVeronica just then turned round, and saw the cruel action; she felt\ninclined to cry over the poor lizard, but did not dare to say anything,\nfor she herself began to be afraid of this Goliath, so she only murmured\nunder her breath: \"Wretch!\"\n\nWhen they were farther down the hill she saw before her the rose he had\nthrown away; there it lay, dirty and dusty, among the stones by the\nroadside, and, obeying a sudden impulse, she bent and picked it up,\nblowing the dust off its rosy petals, and then she placed it in the\nbosom of her dress, where it seemed as though it were in its right place\nat last. She did not say a word, nor did she look at that dreadful\nGoliath, but turned away her head, so that he could not see her face.\nBut Goliath was quite satisfied at seeing the rose where he had wished\nit to be, and out of gratitude would have liked to restore the lizard to\nlife, but that was of course impossible.\n\nAt the foot of the hill the carriage was waiting, and the travellers\ntook their places again, this time with an uncomfortable feeling.\nSilently they sat opposite each other, one looking to the right, the\nother to the left, and if their eyes happened to meet they hastily\nturned them away. When they spoke, their remarks were addressed to\nMadame Krisbay, who began to notice that something had happened.\n\nBut what? Only a few childish words to which their minds had given a\nmore serious meaning than they were meant to have, and had increased in\nsize as once the professor's narrow cell in Hatvan, which the devil\nenlarged to such an extent that the whole town had place in it. Well, in\nthose few words, everything was contained.\n\nBut now something else happened. I don't know how it was, but I think a\npin dropped, and at the same moment Veronica bent down as though to look\nfor it. In doing so the pink fell out of her hair into Gyuri's lap, and\nhe picked it up in order to return it to her. But she made him a sign to\nkeep it.\n\n\"If it _would_ not stay in my hair, and fell into your lap, you may as\nwell keep it.\"\n\n_Would_ it not have stayed in her hair? Was it quite an accident?\nthought Gyuri, as he smelt the flower. What a pleasant odor it had! Was\nit from her hair?\n\nNow they were driving beside the Brána, the far-famed Brána, which quite\nshuts this part of the country off from the rest of the world, like an\nimmense gate. That is why it is called the Brána, or gate. It is no\ncommon mountain, but an aristocrat among its kind, and in fine weather\nit wears a hat, for its summit is hidden in clouds. Several small\nstreams make their way down its side, flowing together at the foot, and\nmaking one broad stream.\n\n\"That is the Bjela Voda,\" explained Veronica to Madame Krisbay, \"we are\nnot far from home now.\"\n\nThey still had to drive through one wood, and then the little white\ncottages of Glogova would be before them. But this was the worst bit of\nthe road, crooked and curved, full of ruts and rocks, and so narrow that\nthere was hardly room for the carriage to pass.\n\nJános turned round and said with a shake of his head:\n\n\"The king himself would grow crooked here!\"\n\n\"Take care, János, that you don't upset us!\"\n\nJános got down from his seat, and fastened one of the wheels firmly, for\nthere was no brake to the carriage; and now the horses had to move at a\nfuneral pace, and sometimes the road was so narrow between two hills\nthat they could see nothing but the blue sky above them.\n\n\"This place is only fit for birds,\" muttered János.\n\n\"Don't you like this part of the country?\"\n\n\"It is like a pock-marked face,\" he replied. \"It is not the sort of\nplace one would come to to choose a wife.\"\n\nGyuri started. Had the man discovered his intentions?\n\n\"Why do you think so?\"\n\n\"My last master, the baron (János had been at some baron's before in\nSáros county), used to say to his sons, and he was a clever man too,\n'Never look for a wife in a place where there are neither gnats, good\nair, nor mineral springs!'\"\n\nAt this both Veronica and Gyuri were obliged to laugh.\n\n\"That's a real Sáros way of looking at things. But, you see, you have\nvexed this young lady.\"\n\n\"According to your theory I shall have to be an old maid!\" said\nVeronica.\n\nBut János vigorously denied the possibility of such a thing.\n\n\"Why, dear me, that is not likely; why ... you ...\"\n\nHe wanted to say something complimentary, but could not find suitable\nwords, and as chance would have it, his next words were nearer to\nswearing than to a compliment, for the shaft of the carriage broke. The\nladies were alarmed, and Gyuri jumped down from his seat to see the\nextent of the damage done. It was bad enough, for it had broken off just\nnear the base.\n\n\"What are we to do now?\" exclaimed János. \"I said this place was only\nfit for birds, who neither walk nor drive.\"\n\n\"Oh, that is nothing serious,\" said Gyuri, who at that moment was not to\nbe put out by a shaft, nor by a hundred shafts.\n\n\"Give me your axe, and you go and hold the horses. I'll soon bring you\nsomething to fasten the shaft to, and strengthen it.\"\n\nHe took the axe out of the tool-box under the coachman's seat, said a\nfew words to reassure the ladies, and then jumped the ditch by the side\nof the road.\n\nThere were some trees there, but they were as rare as the hairs on the\nhead of an old man. First came a birch, then a hazelnut bush, then a\nblack-thorn, then a bare piece of ground without any trees, and then\nagain a few old trees. So it was rather difficult to find a suitable\ntree; one was too big, another too small; so Gyuri went on and on in\nsearch of one, and got so far that soon the carriage was out of sight,\nand only Veronica's red sunshade was to be seen in the distance, like a\nlarge mushroom. At length his eyes fell on a young birch, which grew\nnear to a small precipice. It was too big for a seedling and too small\nfor a tree, but well-grown and promising. All the same it must be\nsacrificed, and down came the axe.\n\nBut hardly had two or three blows been struck, when a voice was heard,\ncrying out:\n\n\"Reta! Reta!\" (Help! Help!)\n\nGyuri started and turned round. Who had called? The voice seemed quite\nclose, but no one was visible far and near.\n\nAgain the call for help was repeated, and now it seemed to come out of\nthe earth, and Gyuri immediately concluded it came from the precipice,\nand ran toward it.\n\n\"Here I am!\" he called out. \"Where are you and what is the matter?\"\n\n\"I am down the precipice,\" was the answer; \"help me, for God's sake!\"\n\nGyuri looked down, and saw a figure there in a black coat, but he could\nnot see much of it, for it would have been dangerous to have gone too\nnear to the edge.\n\n\"How did you manage to get down there?\"\n\n\"I fell in yesterday evening,\" answered the man in the black coat.\n\n\"What! Yesterday evening! And can't you get out?\"\n\n\"It is impossible, for there is nothing to hold on to, and if I catch\nhold of any projecting bits, they give way, and I fall back with them.\"\n\n\"You are in a bad way altogether! And has no one passed here since\nthen?\"\n\n\"No one comes this way. I was prepared for the worst when I heard the\nsound of blows in the neighborhood. Thank God you came! Help me if you\ncan, good man, whoever you may be, and I will reward you!\"\n\n\"I will help you of course with the greatest pleasure, but I must think\nfirst how to manage it. If I let down the trunk of a small tree could\nyou climb up it?\"\n\n\"I am very weak from want of sleep and from hunger,\" answered the man,\nhis voice getting weaker from shouting.\n\n\"Poor fellow! Wait a moment!\"\n\nHe had suddenly remembered the apples Mrs. Mravucsán had put in his\npockets that morning.\n\n\"Hallo, there! Lookout! I am going to throw down a few apples to go on\nwith while I think over what I am to do.\"\n\nHe took the apples out of his pockets, and rolled them down one after\nthe other.\n\nAll of a sudden he remembered that Veronica's was among them. Supposing\nshe were vexed at his giving it away!\n\n\"Have you got them?\"\n\n\"Yes, thank you.\"\n\n\"Please don't eat the red one, it is not mine.\"\n\n\"Very well, I will not eat it.\"\n\n\"You seem to be of the better class?\"\n\n\"I am the parish priest of Glogova.\"\n\nGyuri, surprised, fell a step backward. How strange! The parish priest\nof Glogova! Could anything more unexpected have happened?\n\n\"I will get you out, your reverence; only wait a few minutes.\"\n\nBack he ran to the carriage, which was waiting in the valley below. From\nthis point the country round about looked like the inside of a poppy\nhead cut in two. He did not go quite up to the carriage, but as soon as\nhe was within speaking distance, shouted at the top of his voice to\nJános:\n\n\"Take the harness off the horses, and bring it here to me; but first tie\nthe horses to a tree.\"\n\nJános obeyed, grumbling and shaking his head. He could not make out what\nhis master needed the harness for. He had once heard a wonderful tale of\nolden times, in which a certain Fatépö Gábor (tree-felling Gábor) had\nharnessed two bears to a cart in a forest. Could Gyuri be going to do\nthe same?\n\nBut whatever it was wanted for, he did as his master told him, and\nfollowed him to the precipice. Here they fastened the various straps\ntogether, and let them down.\n\n\"Catch hold of them, your reverence,\" called out Gyuri, \"and we will\npull you up.\"\n\nThe priest did as Gyuri said, but even then it was hard work to get him\nup, for the ground kept giving way under his feet; however, at length\nthey managed it.\n\nBut what a state he was in, covered with dirt and dust; on his face\ntraces of the awful night he had passed, sleepless and despairing,\nsuffering the pangs of hunger. He hardly looked like a human being, and\nwe (that is, my readers and I) who knew him years before would have\nlooked in vain for the handsome, youthful face we remember. He was an\nelderly man now, with streaks of gray in his chestnut hair. Only the\npleasant, amiable expression in his thin face was the same. He was\nsurprised to see such a well-dressed young man before him--a rarity on\nthe borders of the Glogova woods.\n\n\"How can I show you my gratitude?\" he exclaimed, with a certain pathos\nwhich reminded one strongly of the pulpit.\n\nHe took a few steps in the direction of the stream, intending to wash\nhis hands and face, but he stumbled and felt a sharp pain in his back.\n\n\"I must have hurt myself last night, when I fell, I cannot walk very\nwell.\"\n\n\"Lean on me, your reverence,\" said Gyuri. \"Luckily my carriage is not\nfar off. János, you go on cutting down that tree, while we walk slowly\non.\"\n\nThey certainly did go slowly, for the priest could hardly lift his left\nfoot, and frequently stumbled over the roots of trees. The carriage was\nsome way off, so they had plenty of time for conversation, and every now\nand then they sat down to rest on the trunk of a fallen tree.\n\n\"Tell me, your reverence, how did you come to be in this part of the\ncountry late at night?\"\n\nAnd then the priest related how he had expected his sister home\nyesterday, who had gone to meet her governess. As time went on, and\nthere were no signs of them, he began to feel anxious, and toward\nevening became so restless that he did as he had often done before, and\nwalked to the borders of the little wood. He walked on and on, finding\nthe way by keeping his eye on the hills on both sides, and listened for\nthe sounds of wheels in the distance. All at once it occurred to him\nthat they might have gone round by the Pribalszky mill, which was a\nlonger but prettier way to Glogova, and Veronica, his sister, was fond\nof the shade there. Of course that was what they had done, and they must\nhave arrived at home long ago while he was looking for them. So the best\nway was to turn back at once, and in order to get home as soon as\npossible, he unfortunately struck across a side path. In his haste he\nmust have stepped too near to the edge of the precipice and had fallen\nin.\n\n\"My poor little sister!\" he sighed. \"How anxious she must be about me!\"\n\nGyuri would have liked to turn the priest's sorrow into joy.\n\n\"We will soon reassure the young lady, and your reverence will feel all\nright after a night's rest. In two or three days it will seem like an\namusing incident.\"\n\n\"But which might have ended in a horrible death if Divine Providence had\nnot sent you to help me.\"\n\n\"It really does seem as though Divine Providence had something to do\nwith it. The shaft of my carriage broke, or I should never have come\nnear that precipice.\"\n\n\"If I live to be a hundred I shall never forget your kindness to me, and\nyour name will always have a place in my prayers. But how thoughtless of\nme! I have not even asked you your name yet.\"\n\n\"Gyuri Wibra.\"\n\n\"The well-known lawyer of Besztercebánya? And so young! I am glad to\nmake the acquaintance of such an honorable man, sir, who is beloved in\nthe whole of Besztercebánya; but I should be much more pleased if a poor\nman now stood before me, to whom I could give a suitable reward. But how\nam I to prove my gratitude to you? There is nothing I possess which you\nwould accept.\"\n\nA smile played around Gyuri's mouth.\n\n\"I am not so sure of that. You know we lawyers are very grasping.\"\n\n\"Is there really something, or are you joking?\"\n\nThe lawyer did not answer immediately, but walked on a few steps toward\nan old wild pear-tree, which had been struck by lightning, and not far\nfrom which the carriage was standing.\n\n\"Well, yes,\" he answered then, slowly, almost in a trembling voice,\n\"there is something I would gladly accept from you.\"\n\n\"And what is it?\"\n\n\"It has just struck me that there is something in my carriage which you\nmight give me.\"\n\n\"In your carriage?\"\n\n\"Yes, something you do not know of yet, and which I should be very happy\nto possess.\"\n\nThe priest took him by the hand.\n\n\"Whatever it may be, it is yours!\"\n\nIn another minute they had reached the pear-tree.\n\n\"There is my carriage.\"\n\nThe priest looked that way, and saw, first a red sunshade, then a black\nstraw hat under it, with some white daisies in it, and beneath it a\nsweet, girlish face. It all seemed so familiar to him, the sunshade, the\nhat, and the face. He rubbed his eyes as though awaking from a dream,\nand then exclaimed, catching hold of the lawyer's arm:\n\n\"Why, that is my Veronica!\"\n\nThe lawyer smiled quietly and bowed.\n\n\"That is,\" went on the priest in his kind, gentle voice, \"for the\nfuture she is your Veronica, if you wish.\"\n\nBy this time Veronica had seen and recognized her brother, had jumped\nout of the carriage and run to meet him, calling out:\n\n\"Here we are, safe and sound. How anxious you must have been! And our\ncarriage is broken to bits; and oh! if you had only seen the horses! All\nsorts of things have happened, and I have brought Madame Krisbay.\"\n\nThe priest embraced her, and was glad she seemed to know nothing of his\naccident. How sensible of Gyuri not to have mentioned it!\n\n\"Yes, yes, my darling, you shall tell me everything in order later on.\"\n\nBut Veronica wanted to tell everything at once, the carriage accident in\nBábaszék, the supper at Mravucsáns' (oh, yes! she had nearly forgotten,\nMr. Mravucsán had sent his kind regards), then to-day's journey, the\nloss of her earring and its recovery ...\n\nThe priest, who was slowly beginning to understand things, here broke in\nupon her recital.\n\n\"And did you give the finder of it a reward?\"\n\nShe was silent at first at the unexpected question, then answered\nhurriedly:\n\n\"No, of course not, how can you think of such a thing? What was I to\ngive? Besides, he would not accept anything.\"\n\n\"I am surprised at that, for he has since then applied to me for a\nreward.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" said Veronica, casting a side-glance at Gyuri. Strange\ndoubts had arisen in her mind, and her heart began to beat.\n\n\"And what does he ask for?\" she asked in a low voice.\n\n\"He wants a good deal. He asks for the earring he found, and with it its\nowner. And I have promised him both!\"\n\nVeronica bent her head; her face was suffused with burning blushes, her\nbosom heaved.\n\n\"Well? Do you give no answer? Did I do right to promise, Veronica?\"\n\nGyuri took a step toward her, and said, in a low, pleading voice:\n\n\"Only one word, Miss Veronica!\" then stood back under the shade of the\npear-tree.\n\n\"Oh! I am so ashamed!\" said Veronica trembling, and bursting into tears.\n\nA breeze came up just then across the Brána, and shook the pear-tree,\nwhich shed its white petals, probably the last the old tree would bear,\nover Veronica's dress.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHREE SPARKS.\n\n\nMadame sits in the carriage, and can understand nothing of what is going\non. The young lady entrusted to her charge springs out of the carriage,\nruns up to a strange man in a long black coat, throws her arms round his\nneck, and then they all begin to talk with excited gestures, standing\nunder the pear-tree. Then her pupil comes back to the carriage, mild as\na lamb, arm in arm with the young man who had found her earring\nyesterday. All of this is so unexpected, so surprising. And while they\nare mending the broken shaft and reharnessing the horses, the man in the\nblack coat, who turns out to be the girl's brother, turns to her and\nwhispers in her ear:\n\n\"Your pupil has just engaged herself!\"\n\nGood gracious! When and where? Why, now, under the tree! Ah, Madame\nKrisbay, you feel you ought to faint now, partly because you are a\ncorrect woman, and consequently horrified at the way the event has taken\nplace, and partly because you have fallen among such strange people;\nbut your bottle of Eau de Cologne is quite at the bottom of your\ntravelling-bag, and so it will be better not to faint now. But it is\nvery shocking all the same! For though a tree is suitable for flirting\nunder, or for declarations of love, it is not the correct place to ask a\nparent or guardian for a girl's hand. The proper place for that\n(especially in novels) is a well-furnished drawing-room. If the girl is\nvery shy she runs out of the room; if not very shy she falls on her\nknees and asks the blessing of her parents or guardian, as the case may\nbe. But how is one to kneel under a tree? These were the thoughts that\nwere troubling Madame Krisbay, not Veronica. She, on the contrary, was\nthinking that one fine day she would return to this spot with her\nsketch-book, and draw the old tree as a souvenir.\n\nAll this time the carriage was rolling along the dusty road. There was\nno room for the coachman, so he had to follow on foot, and Gyuri took\nthe reins into his own hands, Veronica sitting on the box beside him. Oh\ndear! she thought, what would they think of her in the village as they\ndrove through?\n\nThe road was better now, and they could drive faster, so Gyuri loosened\nthe reins, and began to think over the events that had taken place. Was\nit a dream or not? No, it could not be, for there was Veronica sitting\nnear to him, and behind him Father János was talking to Madame Krisbay\nin the language of the Gauls. No, it was simple truth, though it seemed\nstranger than fiction. Who would have believed yesterday that before the\nsun set twice he would find his inheritance, and a wife into the\nbargain? Twenty-four hours ago he had not known of the existence of Miss\nVeronica Bélyi. Strange! And now he was trying to imagine what the world\nhad been like without her. It seemed impossible that he had not felt the\nwant of her yesterday. But the wheels were making such a noise, that he\nfound it difficult to collect his thoughts. Wonders had happened. One\nlegend, that of the umbrella, was done away with, but on its ruins\nanother had built itself up. Heaven and earth had combined to help him\nto his inheritance. Heaven had sent a dream and earth a protector.\n\nHis heart swelled as he thought of it. Oh, if the girl next him only\nknew to what a rich man she had promised her hand!\n\nAfter passing the Kopanyicza Hills, which seem like a screen to the\nentrance of the valley, Glogova, with its little white houses, lay\nbefore them.\n\n\"We are nearly at home now,\" said Veronica.\n\n\"Where is the Presbytery?\" asked Gyuri.\n\n\"At the end of the village.\"\n\n\"Tell me when to turn to the right or the left.\"\n\n\"Very well, Mr. Coachman! At present keep straight on.\"\n\nA smell of lavender pervaded the street, and the tidy little gardens\nwere filled with all sorts of flowers. In front of the houses children\nwere playing, and in most of the courtyards a foal was running about,\nwith a bell tied round its neck. Otherwise the village seemed quite\ndeserted, for all who could work were out in the fields, and the women,\nhaving cooked the dinner at home, had carried it out to their husbands.\nOnly on the grass-plot in front of the school-house was there life;\nthere the children were at play, and their greetings to those in the\ncarriage was in Hungarian.\n\nOf the villagers only the \"aristocratic\" were at home. At the threshold\nof a pretty little stone house stood Gongoly, much stouter than some\nyears before. In front of the smithy sat Klincsok, quietly smoking,\nwhile the smith mended a wheel.\n\n\"Hallo!\" he called out. \"So you've come back! Why, we were thinking of\nlooking out for another priest!\" Which showed that Father János' absence\nhad been noticed.\n\nHow Glogova had changed in the last few years! There was a tower to the\nchurch, the like of which was not to be seen except in Losoncz; only\nthat on the tower of Losoncz there was a weathercock. In the middle of\nthe village was a hotel, \"The Miraculous Umbrella,\" with Virginian\ncreeper climbing all over it, and near it a pretty little white house,\nlooking as though it were made of sugar; behind it a garden with a lot\nof young trees in it.\n\n\"Whose house is that?\" asked Gyuri, turning round.\n\n\"The owner is on the box-seat beside you.\"\n\n\"Really? Is it yours, Veronica?\"\n\nShe nodded her head.\n\n\"There is a small farm belonging to it,\" said Father János modestly.\n\n\"Well, we won't take it with us, but leave it here for your brother,\nshall we, Veronica?\"\n\nThen he turned to the priest again, saying:\n\n\"Veronica has a fortune worthy of a countess, but neither you nor she\nknows of it.\"\n\nBoth the priest and Veronica were so surprised at this announcement,\nthat they did not notice they were in front of the Presbytery, and Gyuri\nwould have driven on if Vistula, the old watch-dog, had not rushed out\nbarking with joy; and old Widow Adamecz called out, with the tears\nrolling down her face:\n\n\"Holy Mary! you have heard the prayers of your servant!\"\n\n\"Stop! here we are. Open the gate, Mrs. Adamecz.\"\n\nThe widow wiped away her tears, dropped her book, and got up to open the\ngate.\n\n\"Is dinner ready?\" asked Father János.\n\n\"Dinner? Of course not. Whom was I to cook for? We all thought your\nreverence was lost. I have not even lighted the fire, for my tears would\nonly have put it out again.\"\n\n\"Never mind, Mrs. Adamecz. I feel sure you were anxious on my account,\nbut now go and see about some dinner for us, for we are dying of\nhunger.\"\n\nVeronica had become suspicious at the widow's words, and began to storm\nher brother with questions; then burst out crying and turned her back\nupon Gyuri, declaring they were hiding something from her. So they were\nobliged to tell her the truth, and her poor little heart nearly broke\nwhen she thought of what her brother had gone through, and what danger\nhe had been in.\n\nWhile this was going on, Mrs. Adamecz was bustling about in the kitchen,\nand giving every one plenty of work to do. Both the maids were called in\nto help, and the farm-servant too.\n\n\"Come and whip this cream, Hanka. And you, Borbála, go and fetch some\nsalt. Is the goose plucked? Now, Mátyás, don't be so lazy, run and pick\nsome parsley in the garden. Dear me! How very thin the good lady is whom\nMiss Veronica has brought home with her. Did you see her? I shall have\nhard work to feed her up and make her decently fat. Give me a saucepan;\nnot that one, the other. And, Borbála, grate me some bread-crumbs. But\nthe young man is handsome. I wonder what he wants here? What did you\nsay? You don't know? Of course you don't know, silly, if I don't. But\nthis much is certain (between ourselves of course), there is something\nstrange in Miss Veronica's eyes. Something has happened, but I can't\nmake out what.\"\n\nWidow Adamecz thought of all sorts of things, both good and bad, but her\ncooking was excellent, and she gave them such a dinner, that even the\nlovers found their appetites.\n\nAfter dinner, Gyuri sent a man on horseback with a letter to Mr.\nSztolarik in Besztercebánya.\n\n     \"MY DEAR GUARDIAN:\n\n     \"I have great things to communicate to you, but at\n     present can only write the outlines. I have found the\n     umbrella, partly through Mrs. Müncz, partly by chance.\n     At present I am in Glogova, at the priest's house,\n     whose sister Veronica I have asked in marriage. She is\n     a very pretty girl; besides, there is no way of getting\n     at the money unless I marry her. Please send me by the\n     messenger two gold rings from Samuel Huszák's shop,\n     and the certificate of my birth; it must be among your\n     papers somewhere. I should like the banns to be\n     published the day after to-morrow.\n\n     \"I remain,\" etc.\n\nHe told the messenger to hurry.\n\n\"I'll hurry, but the horse won't!\"\n\n\"Well, use your spurs.\"\n\n\"So I would, but there are no spurs on sandals!\"\n\nThe horse was a wretched one, but all the same, next day they heard a\ncarriage stop at the door, and who should get out but Sztolarik himself.\nGreat man though he was, no one was glad to see him except the priest.\nVeronica felt frightened. She hardly knew why, but it seemed as though a\nbreath of cold air had entered with him. Why had he come here just now?\n\nThe old lawyer was very pleasant to her.\n\n\"So this is little Veronica?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Gyuri proudly.\n\nThe old gentleman took her small hand in his large one, and pinched her\ncheek in fatherly fashion. But no amount of pinching would bring the\nroses back just then. Her heart was heavy with fear. Why, oh, why had he\ncome?\n\nGyuri was surprised too, for Sztolarik hated to leave his home.\n\n\"Have you brought them?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nVeronica drew a breath of relief, for Gyuri had mentioned that he\nexpected the engagement rings from Besztercebánya.\n\n\"Give them to me,\" he said.\n\n\"Later on,\" answered the old lawyer. \"First of all I must speak to you.\"\n\nHe must speak to him first? Then he must have something to say which\ncould not be said after they had exchanged rings! Veronica again felt a\nweight on her heart. Gyuri got up discontentedly from his place next to\nVeronica, whose fingers began to play nervously with the work she had in\nher hands.\n\n\"Come across to my room then.\"\n\nGyuri's room was at the other end of the house, which was built in the\nshape of an L. It used to be the schoolroom before the new school was\nbuilt. (Widow Adamecz had learnt her A B C there.) The priest who had\nbeen there before Father János had divided the room into two parts by a\nnicely painted wooden partition, and of one half he had made a spare\nbedroom, of the other a storeroom.\n\nVeronica was feeling as miserable as she could, and her one wish at that\nmoment was to hear the two gentlemen's conversation, for everything\ndepended on that. Some demon who had evidently never been to school, and\nhad never learned that it was dishonorable to listen at doors or walls,\nwhispered to her:\n\n\"Run quickly, Veronica, into the storeroom, and if you press your ear to\nthe wall, you will be able to hear what they say.\"\n\nOff went Veronica like a shot. It is incredible what an amount of honey\na demon of that description can put into his words; he was capable of\npersuading this well-educated girl to take her place among the pickled\ncucumbers, basins of lard, and sacks of potatoes, in order to listen to\na conversation which was not meant for her ears.\n\nNot a sound was to be heard in the storeroom but the dripping of the fat\nfrom a side of bacon hanging from the rafters, and which the great heat\nthere was causing it to melt. Some of it even fell on her pretty dress,\nbut what did she care for that just then?\n\n\"So you have found out all about the umbrella,\" she heard Sztolarik say,\n\"but have you seen it yet?\"\n\n\"Why should I?\" asked Gyuri. \"I cannot touch its contents till after the\nwedding.\"\n\n\"Why not sooner?\"\n\n\"Because, for various reasons, I do not wish the story of the umbrella\nknown.\"\n\n\"For instance?\"\n\n\"First of all, because Father János would be the laughing-stock of the\nplace.\"\n\n\"Why do you trouble your head about the priest?\"\n\n\"Secondly, because it would give Veronica reason to think I am only\nmarrying her for the sake of the umbrella.\"\n\n\"But she will know it later on in any case.\"\n\n\"I shall never tell her.\"\n\n\"Have you any other reasons?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. I dare say they would not even give me the check; it is\nprobably not made out in any particular name; so how am I to prove to\nthem that it is mine? It really belongs to the person who has it in his\npossession. And perhaps they would not even give me the girl, for if her\nfortune is as large as we think it, she can find as many husbands as she\nhas fingers on her hands.\"\n\nVeronica felt giddy. It was as though they were driving nails into her\nflesh. She could not quite understand all they were talking about--of\numbrellas, receipts, large fortunes. What fortune? But this much she had\nbegun to understand, that she was only the means to some end.\n\n\"Well, well,\" began Sztolarik again after a short pause, \"the affair\nseems to be pretty entangled at present, but there is still worse to\ncome.\"\n\n\"What more can come?\" asked Gyuri in an uncertain voice.\n\n\"Don't do anything at present. Let us find out first of all whether you\nlove the girl.\"\n\nPoor little Veronica was trembling like a leaf in her hiding-place. She\nshut her eyes like a criminal before his execution, with a sort of\nundefined feeling that the blow would be less painful so. What would he\nanswer?\n\n\"I think I love her,\" answered Gyuri, again in that uncertain voice.\n\"She is so pretty, don't you think so?\"\n\n\"Of course. But the question is, would you in other circumstances have\nasked her to marry you? Answer frankly!\"\n\n\"I should never have thought of such a thing.\"\n\nA sob was heard in the next room, and then a noise as though some pieces\nof furniture had been thrown down.\n\nSztolarik listened for a few moments, and then, pointing to the wall,\nasked:\n\n\"Do you know what is on the other side?\"\n\n\"I think it is the storeroom.\"\n\n\"I thought I heard some one sob.\"\n\n\"Perhaps one of the servants saw a mouse!\"\n\nAnd that is how a tragedy looks from the next room when the wall is\nthin. If there is a thick wall it does not even seem so bad. One of the\nservants had seen a mouse, or a heart had been broken; for who was to\nknow that despair and fright only have one sound to express them?\n\nVeronica, with her illusions dispersed, ran out into the open air; she\nwished to hear no more, only to get away from that hated place, for she\nfelt suffocating; away, away, as far as she could go.... And this all\nseemed, from the next room, as though Widow Adamecz or Hanka had seen a\nmouse. But, however it may have seemed to them, they had forgotten the\nwhole thing in half a minute.\n\n\"You say it would never have occurred to you to marry her. So you had\nbetter not hurry with the wedding. Let us first see the umbrella and its\ncontents, and then we shall see what is to be done next.\"\n\nGyuri went on quietly smoking his cigarette and thought:\n\n\"Sztolarik is getting old. Fancy making such a fuss about it!\"\n\n\"I have thought it well over,\" he went on aloud, \"and there is no other\nway of managing it; I must marry the girl.\"\n\nSztolarik got up from his chair, and came and stood in front of the\nyoung man, fixing his eyes on him.\n\n\"But supposing you could get at your inheritance without marrying\nVeronica?\"\n\nGyuri could not help smiling.\n\n\"Why, I have just said,\" he exclaimed impatiently, \"that it cannot be\ndone, but even if it could, I would not do it, for I feel as though she\nalso had a right to the fortune, as it has been in her possession so\nlong, and Providence seems to have sent it direct to her.\"\n\n\"But supposing you could get at it through Veronica?\"\n\n\"That seems out of the question too.\"\n\n\"Really? Well, now listen to me, Gyuri, for I have something to tell\nyou.\"\n\n\"I am listening.\"\n\nBut his thoughts were elsewhere, as he drummed on the table with his\nfingers.\n\n\"Well,\" went on Sztolarik, \"when I went in to Huszák's this morning to\nbuy the two rings you wanted sent by the messenger (for I had no\nintention of coming here myself then), Huszák was not in the shop, so\nthe rabbit-mouthed young man waited on me. You know him?\"\n\nYes, Gyuri remembered him.\n\n\"I told him to give me two rings, and he asked whom they were for. So I\nsaid they were going a good distance. Then he asked where to, and I told\nhim to Glogova. 'Perhaps to the priest's sister?' he asked. 'Yes,' I\nsaid. 'She's a beauty,' he remarked. 'Why, do you know her?' asked I.\n'Very well,' he answered.\"\n\nGyuri stopped tapping, and jumped up excitedly.\n\n\"Did he say anything about Veronica?\"\n\n\"You shall hear in a minute. While he was wrapping up the rings he went\non talking. How had he got to know the priest's sister? 'I was in\nGlogova last year.' 'And what the devil were you doing in Glogova?'\n'Why, the villagers were having a silver handle made here for a\nwretched-looking old umbrella, which they keep in their church, and the\nstupid things were afraid to send the umbrella here for fear any one\nshould steal it, though it was not worth twopence; so I was obliged to\ngo there in order to fasten the handle on.'\"\n\n\"Why, this is dreadful!\" exclaimed Gyuri, turning pale.\n\nSztolarik smiled.\n\n\"That is only why I said, my friend, that we had better wait a bit\nbefore deciding anything.\"\n\n\"Let us go at once to Father János and ask him to show us the umbrella.\"\n\nHe could not wait a minute longer. He had been so near to his object,\nand now it was slipping from him again, like a Fata Morgana, which lures\nthe wanderer on to look for it.\n\nIt was easy to find the priest; he was feeding his pigeons in the\ngarden.\n\n\"Father János,\" began Gyuri, \"now Mr. Sztolarik is here he would like to\nlook at your wonderful umbrella. Can we see it?\"\n\n\"Of course. Mrs. Adamecz,\" he called out to the old woman, who was\nplucking a fowl at the kitchen door, \"will you bring me out the key of\nthe church, please?\"\n\nShe did as she was asked, and the priest, going on in front, led his\nvisitors through the church.\n\n\"This way, gentlemen, into the sacristy.\"\n\nAs they stepped in there it was before them! Pál Gregorics's old\numbrella smiled at them, and seemed like an old friend, only the handle,\nyes, the handle was unknown to them, for it was of silver.\n\nGyuri gazed at it speechlessly, and felt that the end was near. A demon\nwas behind him, constantly urging him on, and whispering: \"Go on, go on,\nand look for your inheritance!\" A second demon ran on before him,\nbeckoning and crying: \"Come along, it is this way!\"\n\nBut there was a third one, the liveliest of all, who followed in the\nwake of the second one, and each time Gyuri thought he had attained his\nend, this demon turned round, and laughed in his face, saying: \"There is\nnothing here!\"\n\nSztolarik kept his countenance, and carefully examined the handle of the\numbrella, as though he were admiring the work.\n\n\"Had it always this same handle?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh dear no, this is of real silver, and very finely chased. The\njeweller in Besztercebánya made it, and he is quite an artist. Just look\nat the style, and what taste is displayed in it. My parishioners had it\nmade last summer as a surprise for me while I was away at the baths. The\nold handle had been broken off, and it was almost impossible to make use\nof the umbrella. I expect it was Klincsok's idea, for he started the\ncollection. There are still plenty of good Christian hearts to be\nfound.\"\n\nThen he turned to Gyuri.\n\n\"I will introduce you to Klincsok, he is a very worthy man.\"\n\nGyuri wished the worthy Klincsok in Jericho, and he could even have\nfound him a companion for the journey, for behind him was the first\ndemon, again whispering: \"Go and look for your inheritance!\"\n\n\"But I suppose they kept the old handle?\" he asked.\n\n\"I do not think so,\" answered the priest. \"It was only of common wood; I\nbelieve Mrs. Adamecz asked Veronica for it.\"\n\n(It must have been the second demon speaking through the priest: \"The\nhandle of the umbrella is in Mrs. Adamecz's possession.\")\n\nSztolarik now became curious too.\n\n\"Who is Mrs. Adamecz?\" he asked.\n\n\"My old cook, who just now brought me the keys.\"\n\nMr. Sztolarik burst out laughing, the walls of the empty church\nre-echoing with the sound. When they were outside, and the priest had\ngone in with the keys, the old lawyer took the two rings out of the\npaper they were wrapped in and pressed them into Gyuri's palm, saying\nquaintly:\n\n\"According to your logic of half an hour ago, you must now marry old\nMrs. Adamecz, so go and ask for her hand at once.\"\n\nGyuri gave no answer to this cruel thrust, and went into the kitchen,\nwhere the widow was frying pancakes.\n\n\"I say, Mrs. Adamecz, where have you put the old handle of the church\numbrella?\"\n\nWidow Adamecz finished frying her pancake, put it on a wooden platter\nwith those she had already fried, and then turned round to see who was\nspeaking to her.\n\n\"What have I done with the old handle, my dear? Well, you see, this is\nhow it was. My little grandson, Matykó, got ill last year just at\ncabbage-cutting time--no, I believe it was earlier in the year ...\"\n\n\"I don't care when it was, only go on.\"\n\nWidow Adamecz quietly poured some more of the batter into the\nfrying-pan.\n\n\"Let me see, what was I saying? Ah, yes, I was speaking of Matykó. Well,\nit was the result of the staring.\"\n\n(The peasants think that if a child is much looked at and admired it\npines away.)\n\nGyuri began impatiently to tap with his foot on the floor.\n\n\"Will you tell me where it is?\"\n\n\"It is there under the table.\"\n\n\"What, the handle?\"\n\n\"No, the child.\"\n\nYes, there was Matykó, sitting on a basin turned upside down, a\nfat-faced, blue-eyed Slovak child, playing with some dried beans, its\nface still dirty from the pancakes it had eaten.\n\n\"Bother you, woman! Are you deaf?\" burst out the lawyer. \"I asked you\nabout the handle of the umbrella, not about the child.\"\n\nMrs. Adamecz tossed her head.\n\n\"Well, that's just what I am talking about. I tell you, they persisted\nin admiring Matykó, and the poor little angel was fading away. There is\nonly one remedy for that; you must take a burning stick, and let three\nsparks fall from it into a glass of water, and of this the child must\ndrink for three days. I did this, but it was of no use; the child went\non suffering and getting thinner from day to day, and my heart nearly\nbroke at the sight of him; for I have a very soft heart, as his\nreverence will tell you ...\"\n\n\"I don't doubt it for a minute, but for heaven's sake answer my\nquestion.\"\n\n\"I'm coming to it in a minute, sir. Just at that time they were having\nthe silver handle made to the umbrella, and our young lady, pretty\ndear, gave me the old handle. Why, thought I, that will be just the\nthing for Matykó; if three sparks from that holy wood are of no use,\nthen Matykó will be entered in the ranks of God's soldiers.\"\n\nAt the thought of little Matykó as one of God's soldiers her tears began\nto flow. It was lucky if none of them fell into the frying-pan.\n\n\"Mrs. Adamecz!\" exclaimed Gyuri, alarmed, his voice trembling. \"You\nsurely did not burn the handle?\"\n\nThe old woman looked at him surprised.\n\n\"How was I to get the three sparks from it if I did not burn it?\"\n\nGyuri fell back against the wall, the kitchen and everything in it swam\nbefore his eyes, the plates and basins seemed to be dancing a waltz\ntogether; a tongue of fire arose from the fireplace, bringing with it\nthe third demon, who exclaimed: \"There is nothing here!\"\n\nBut all at once he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was Sztolarik.\n\n\"It was, and is no more,\" he said. \"But never mind, Fate intended it to\nbe so. For the future you will not, at all events, run after a shadow,\nyou will be yourself again, and that is worth a good deal, after all.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nLITTLE VERONICA IS TAKEN AWAY.\n\n\nBut it was of no use Sztolarik preaching about the uselessness of\nworldly goods, for those worldly goods are very pleasant to have.\n\nWhen a favorite child dies, the members of the family always pronounce\nvery wise words, which are supposed to comfort one another, such as:\n\"Who knows how the child would have turned out? It might have come to\nthe gallows in time; perhaps it was better it had died now,\" etc. But\nfor all that, wisdom has never yet dried our tears.\n\nSztolarik said all he could think of to console Gyuri, but the young\nlawyer was quite cast down at the thought that his dreams would never\nnow be realized; his whole life was before him, dark and threatening.\nBut the world was the same as of old, and everything went just the same\nas though Widow Adamecz had never burned the handle of the umbrella.\n\nThe hands of the parish clock pointed to the Roman figure II., and the\nchimes rang out on the air; the servants laid the table for dinner,\nMrs. Adamecz brought in the soup, and his reverence led his guests into\nthe dining-room, and placed them right and left of Madame Krisbay, when\nall at once they noticed that Veronica was missing.\n\n\"I was just going to ask,\" said Madame Krisbay, \"if she had been with\nthe gentlemen?\"\n\n\"I thought she was with you,\" said the priest.\n\n\"I have not seen her for two hours.\"\n\n\"Nor I.\"\n\n\"Nor we.\"\n\n\"Perhaps she is in the kitchen?\"\n\nMadame Krisbay looked vexed, got up from her seat, and went into the\nkitchen to call her pupil, but returned at once with the remark that she\nhad not been seen there either.\n\n\"Where can she be?\" exclaimed the priest, and ran out to look for her,\nsending the servants to some of her favorite seats in the garden,\nthinking she might have gone there to read, and have forgotten the time.\n\nMrs. Adamecz grumbled in the kitchen, for the dinner was spoiling.\n\n\"Well, serve the dinner,\" said Father János, for, of course, he could\nnot keep his guests waiting, especially as Sztolarik wanted to return\nhome as soon as possible.\n\nSo the dishes were brought in one after the other, but still there was\nno sign of Veronica; and Hanka had returned with the news that no one\nhad seen her.\n\nGyuri sat in his place, pale and quiet.\n\n\"Perhaps she is in the apiary,\" suggested her brother, \"or perhaps\"\n(here he hesitated a minute, not knowing how to continue), \"perhaps\nsomething unpleasant has taken place between you?\"\n\nGyuri looked up surprised.\n\n\"Nothing has taken place between us,\" he said coldly.\n\n\"Then, Hanka, run across to the new house and look in the apiary. Please\nexcuse her, gentlemen, she is such a child still, and follows her own\nwhims. She is probably chasing a butterfly. Take some more wine, Mr.\nSztolarik.\"\n\nHe was trying to reassure himself, not his guests, as he sat there\nlistening to every sound, paying scant attention to the conversation,\nand giving many wrong answers.\n\nSztolarik asked if the bad weather this year had made much difference to\nthe harvest.\n\n\"One or two,\" answered the priest.\n\n\"Have you any other brothers or sisters?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nHis answers showed the perturbed state of his mind, and it was with\ndifficulty he kept his seat at table. At length the old lawyer said:\n\n\"Perhaps it would be better if your reverence were to go and look for\nMiss Veronica yourself; and I should be glad if you would send word to\nmy coachman that I wish to start as soon as possible, for it is a long\ndrive to Besztercebánya.\"\n\nThe priest seized the opportunity, and begging Madame Krisbay to excuse\nhim, hurried away, for he found Veronica's absence very strange, and was\nbeginning to get anxious. So, Madame Krisbay having retired, the two\ngentlemen were left alone, and a painful silence ensued. Gyuri was\ngazing with melancholy eyes at the canary, which was also silent now.\n\n\"You had better order your carriage, too,\" said Sztolarik, breaking the\nsilence at last. \"We could leave at the same time.\"\n\nGyuri murmured some unintelligible answer, and shook his head.\n\n\"But you will have to leave soon, for our part here is played out.\"\n\n\"I tell you it is impossible.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Don't you see that Veronica is lost?\"\n\n\"What does that matter to you? The umbrella handle is lost too.\"\n\nGyuri made an impatient gesture.\n\n\"What do I care about the umbrella?\"\n\n\"So it is the girl you want? You told me a different tale before\ndinner.\"\n\nGyuri turned round.\n\n\"I did not know then.\"\n\n\"And now you know?\"\n\n\"Yes, now I know,\" he answered shortly.\n\n\"And may I ask,\" said Sztolarik, \"when did Amor light this flaming fire?\nfor you did not seem to take much interest in the girl before her\ndisappearance.\"\n\n\"And yet it is causing me at the present moment all the tortures of\nhell. Believe me, my dear guardian, the loss of my inheritance seems to\nme a trifle beside the loss of Veronica.\"\n\nSztolarik was impressed by the apparent sincerity of Gyuri's sorrow.\n\n\"That's quite another thing,\" he said. \"If that is how you feel I will\nstay here with you. Let us go and look for the girl ourselves, and find\nout what she thinks on the subject.\"\n\nWhen they went out, they found great confusion reigning in the\ncourtyard, but Mrs. Adamecz was loudest in her lamentations.\n\n\"I knew this would be the end of it. A legend should never be tampered\nwith by a mortal's hand, or it will fall to pieces. Oh, our dear young\nlady! She was God's bride, and they wanted to make her the bride of a\nmortal, so God has taken her to Himself.\"\n\nSztolarik sprang toward her, and caught hold of her hand.\n\n\"What is that you say? Have you heard anything?\"\n\n\"Gundros, the cowherd, has just told us that he saw our young lady this\nmorning running straight toward the Bjela Voda, across the meadows, and\nher eyes were red, as though she had been crying. There is only one\nconclusion to be drawn from that.\"\n\nA lot of women and children were gathered round the kitchen door, and\none of them had also seen Veronica earlier than Gundros had.\n\n\"Did she look sad?\" asked Gyuri.\n\n\"She was crying.\"\n\n\"Oh dear!\" exclaimed Gyuri despairingly.\n\n\"We will look for her,\" Sztolarik assured him.\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Out in the meadows or in the village, for it is certain she must be\nsomewhere about, and we shall soon know where.\"\n\n\"That will not be so easy,\" sighed Gyuri, \"for we have no glass to show\nus things, as they have in fairy-tales.\"\n\n\"I'll have the whole village round us in a few minutes.\"\n\nGyuri shook his head doubtfully. Had Sztolarik gone mad to think he\ncould call all the people together from the fields, from the woods, from\neverywhere round about? But the old lawyer was as good as his word.\nVeronica must be found at any cost.\n\n\"Where is his reverence?\" he asked of the bystanders.\n\n\"He has gone to the pond where the hemp is soaked, to see if the young\nlady has fallen in there.\"\n\n\"Where is the bell-ringer?\"\n\n\"Here I am, sir.\"\n\n\"Go up at once into the tower, and ring the big bell.\"\n\n\"But there is no fire!\"\n\n\"That does not matter. If I order it to be done, you must do it. Do you\nknow me?\"\n\nOf course he knew Mr. Sztolarik, who had often been to Glogova since he\nhad been made President of the Courts. So off ran Pál Kvapka, and in a\nfew minutes the big fire-bell was tolling. There was no wind, and the\nsound was carried for miles around over the meadows, into the woods,\nover the mountains, and soon the people came running up from every side.\nIt was astonishing how soon the villagers were assembled round the\nPresbytery. Those who saw it will never see its like again, until the\nArchangel Gabriel sounds his trumpet at the last day.\n\nSztolarik gazed placidly at the crowd assembled around him.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"I have only to stand up in their midst and ask them if\nany of them have seen Veronica. But it will be quite unnecessary, for\nVeronica herself will soon be here. Look out of the window,\" he called\nup to the bell-ringer, \"and tell me if you can see the young lady.\"\n\n\"Yes, I can see her, she is running through the Srankós' maize-field.\"\n\n\"She lives!\" exclaimed Gyuri ecstatically, but his joy was soon at an\nend, for he thought: \"If there is nothing the matter with her she must\nhave run away from me.\"\n\nAnd he began to wonder if it would not have been better if she were\ndead, for then he could have believed she loved him, and could have\nloved her and sorrowed for her.\n\nThe bell-ringer still went on tolling the bell, so Sztolarik called up\nto him:\n\n\"Stop tolling, you fool, can't you? Show us which way the Srankós'\nmaize-field lies.\"\n\nThe bell-ringer pointed to the right.\n\n\"You run on in front, Gyuri, and try and get out of her what is the\nmatter with her.\"\n\nBut Gyuri was already gone, through the priest's garden, across Magát's\nclover-field, and his heart began to beat, for from there he could see\nVeronica in her green dress, without a hat, only a little red silk shawl\nround her shoulders. Across Szlávik's corn-field, then into Gongoly's\nmeadow, and they were face to face.\n\nThe girl drew a sobbing breath when she saw him, and began to tremble\nviolently.\n\n\"Where is the fire?\" she asked.\n\n\"Don't be frightened, there is no fire. My guardian had the bell rung so\nas to make you return home. Why did you run away?\"\n\nThe girl turned pale, and bit her lip.\n\n\"It is enough if I know the reason,\" she said in a low voice. \"Please\nleave me alone.\"\n\nAnd she turned round as though to return to the woods.\n\n\"Veronica, for heaven's sake don't torture me; what have I done?\"\n\nThe girl looked at him coldly, her eyes were like two bits of ice.\n\n\"Leave me alone,\" she said, \"what do you want with me?\"\n\nThe young man caught hold of her hand, and Veronica did her best to free\nherself from his grasp, but he would not let go her hand till he had\nforced a ring on to her finger.\n\n\"That is what I want,\" he said.\n\n\"That is what you want, is it?\" laughed the girl bitterly. \"And this is\nwhat I want!\" And she tore off the ring and threw it away, across the\nmeadow, into the grass. Poor Gyuri fell back a few steps.\n\n\"Oh!\" he exclaimed, \"why did you do it? Why?\"\n\n\"Do not try to deceive me any longer, Mr. Wibra. You should not put a\nring on my finger, but on the umbrella, for that is what you really want\nto marry.\"\n\nGyuri began to understand what had taken place.\n\n\"Good heavens! You listened to our conversation!\"\n\n\"Yes, I know all!\" said Veronica, blushing slightly. \"It is no good your\ndenying it.\"\n\n\"I don't wish to deny anything. But listen to me, please.\"\n\nThey walked quietly through the meadow, Gyuri talking, the girl\nlistening, while the thousands of insects which peopled the fields flew\naway before their feet. Gyuri related the story of his life, and of his\nfather's, of the supposed inheritance, of his search for it, and how he\nhad gathered the threads together till they led him to Bábaszék. The\ngirl listened to him, first with reproach in her eyes, then as judge,\ntrying to find out the truth, and as the story began to interest her\nmore and more, she became quite excited. Now she was neither plaintiff\nnor judge, only an interested listener, surprised that the threads led\nnearer and nearer to herself. Now Gyuri is speaking of Mrs. Müncz's son,\nnow Móricz is telling his story, which shows that the umbrella must be\nin Glogova. Then the forester's wife tells the tale of St. Peter's\nbringing the umbrella to the orphan child. A few more words and the\nstory was complete.\n\nVeronica knew all, and her eyes were swimming in tears.\n\n\"Oh, dear, how dreadful! Mrs. Adamecz burned the handle!\"\n\n\"God bless her for it!\" said Gyuri brightly, seeing the girl's\ndepression, \"for now at least I can prove to you that I love you for\nyourself alone.\"\n\nVeronica had taken off the small red shawl and was swinging it in her\nhand. Suddenly she caught hold of Gyuri's arm, and smiled at him through\nher tears.\n\n\"Do you really mean that you still want to marry me?\"\n\n\"Of course. What do you say to it?\"\n\n\"I say that ...\" She ceased speaking, for there was a queer feeling in\nher throat.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"That you are very volatile, and ...\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"And that ... Let us run back and look for my ring.\"\n\nWith that she turned, and ran as fast as she could to the part of the\nmeadow in which they had been standing when she threw the ring away.\nGyuri could hardly keep up with her.\n\nThey looked for the ring a long time, but it was not to be found. And\nsoon Father János appeared on the scene.\n\n\"I say, Gyuri, don't say anything about the umbrella to my brother.\"\n\n\"No, my darling, I will never mention it.\"\n\nHis reverence gave Veronica a good scolding.\n\n\"You naughty girl! Is that the way to behave? How you frightened us! Of\ncourse you were chasing a butterfly?\"\n\n\"No, I was running away from one, but it caught me.\"\n\n\"What, the butterfly?\"\n\n\"Yes, that ugly, big butterfly standing beside you.\"\n\nHis reverence understood as much as he was meant to, and set to work,\ntoo, to look for the ring. But they might have looked for it till\nDoomsday if Mr. Gongoly had not passed that way. Veronica had quite\ndespaired of finding the ring.\n\n\"Well, well, my dear,\" said the nabob of Glogova, shaking back his long\ngray hair, \"never mind, trust in Gongoly, he will find it for you. There\nis only one way to do it, so in an hour's time they will be making hay\nin this field.\"\n\n\nThough the grass was not two inches high (it had only been cut a\nfortnight before), Mr. Gongoly sent his men there to mow it, with the\nresult that next day the ring was safely resting on Veronica's finger.\nAnd for years the people spoke of the wonderful fact that in that year\nMr. Gongoly's meadow gave two crops of hay, and it was always mentioned\nif any one spoke disparagingly of the Glogova fields.\n\nWhat more am I to say? I think I have told my story conscientiously. All\nthe same there are some things that will never be known for certain; for\ninstance, what really became of Pál Gregorics' fortune, for there is no\nsign of it to this day. Was the supposed receipt in the handle of the\numbrella or not? No one will ever know, not even little Matykó, who\ndrank the water with three sparks in it. No king drinks such precious\nliquid as he did--if the story be true.\n\nThe legend of the holy umbrella is still believed in in those parts. Mr.\nSztolarik, who was fond of a gossip, certainly told his version of the\nstory, how old Müncz the Jew had made a present to Christianity of a\nholy relic, and so on; but the old belief was strongly rooted, and he\nwas only laughed at when he told his tale. And after all, there was\nsomething mystic and strange in the whole affair, and the umbrella had\nbrought worldly goods to every one, Gyuri included, for it had given him\nthe dearest little wife in the world. They were married very soon and\nnever had such a wedding taken place in Glogova before. According to\nVeronica's special wish, every one who had been at the Mravucsáns'\nsupper was invited to the wedding, for she wanted all those who had been\npresent at their first meeting to take part in their happiness. There\nwere a lot of guests from Besztercebánya too, among them the mother of\nthe bridegroom, in a black silk dress, the President of the Courts, the\nmayor, and lots of others. Then there were the Urszinyis from Kopanyica,\ntwo young ladies from Lehota in pink dresses, and Mrs. Müncz from\nBábaszék, with lovely golden earrings on.\n\nThere were so many different kinds of conveyances in Glogova that day,\nit would have taken a week to look at them all.\n\nDear me, what a lovely procession it was too; the peasants stood and\ngazed open-mouthed at all the people in their beautiful dresses, but\nmost of all at the bride, who walked at the head of the procession in a\nlovely white dress with a long veil and a wreath of orange-blossoms. Oh,\nhow pretty she was!\n\nBut the bridegroom was splendid too, in the same kind of dress in which\nthe king has his portrait painted sometimes. His sword, in a velvet\nsheath mounted in gold, clattered on the pavement as he walked up the\nchurch.\n\nThey stood in a semicircle round the altar, each lady with a nosegay of\nflowers in her hand, and perfumed to such an extent that the church\nsmelled like a perfumer's shop.\n\nIt was a little cool in the church, and the young ladies from Lehota\nwere seen to shiver now and then in their thin pink dresses; but\neverything went off very well.\n\nThe bridegroom spoke his \"yes\" in a loud, firm voice, the walls seemed\nto re-echo it, but the bride spoke it almost in a whisper, it sounded\nlike the buzzing of a fly.\n\nPoor child! She got so nervous toward the end of the ceremony that she\nbegan to cry. Then she looked for her handkerchief, but was there ever a\npocket in a wedding dress? She could not find it, so some one from\nbehind offered her one, then turned and said:\n\n\"Button up your coat, Wladin!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: The following typographical errors and spelling\ninconsistencies present in the original edition have been corrected.\n\nIn the Table of Contents, \"MARIA CZÓBOR'S ROSE\" was changed to \"MARIA\nCZOBOR'S ROSE\".\n\nIn the Introduction, \"strong satrical bent\" was changed to \"strong\nsatirical bent\".\n\nIn Part II, Chapter I, \"Believe me, Rosalia\" was changed to \"Believe me,\nRosália\", and a missing quotation mark was added after \"something in the\nwriting business\".\n\nIn Part II, Chapter III, \"PAL GREGORICS'S DEATH AND WILL\" was changed to\n\"PÁL GREGORICS'S DEATH AND WILL\".\n\nIn Part II, Chapter IV, \"appeared at Gáspar's house\" was changed to\n\"appeared at Gáspár's house\".\n\nIn Part III, Chapter II, \"OUR ROSALIA\" was changed to \"OUR ROSÁLIA\".\n\nIn Part III, Chapter IV, an extraneous quotation mark was removed after\n\"threatened with damage by hail!\"\n\nAt the head of Part IV, \"Intellectual Society in Babaszek\" was changed\nto \"Intellectual Society in Bábaszék\".\n\nIn Part IV, Chapter I, \"THE SUPPER AT THE MRAVUCSANS'\" was changed to\n\"THE SUPPER AT THE MRAVUCSÁNS'\", and a missing parenthesis was added\nafter \"Stay in your parish, Rafanidesz\".\n\nIn Part IV, Chapter II, extraneous quotation marks were removed after\n\"seize hold of it!\" and \"a small pot of jam in too?\"\n\nIn Part V, Chapter II, \"Visztula, the old watch-dog\" was changed to\n\"Vistula, the old watch-dog\".", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31945", "title": "St. Peter's Umbrella: A Novel", "author": "", "publication_year": 1895, "metadata_title": "St. Peter's Umbrella: A Novel", "metadata_author": "Kálmán Mikszáth", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:16.762160", "source_chars": 333015, "chars": 333015, "talkie_tokens": 83162}}
{"text": "Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n THE\n BARTLETT MYSTERY\n\n BY\n\n LOUIS TRACY\n\n Author of\n\n \"The Wings of the Morning,\" \"Number Seventeen,\"\n etc., etc.\n\n NEW YORK\n\n EDWARD J. CLODE\n\n\n\n\n COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY\n\n EDWARD J. CLODE\n\n All rights reserved\n\n PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\n_By_ LOUIS TRACY\n\n\n THE WINGS OF THE MORNING\n THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS\n THE WHEEL O' FORTUNE\n A SON OF THE IMMORTALS\n CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR\n THE MESSAGE\n THE STOWAWAY\n THE PILLAR OF LIGHT\n THE SILENT BARRIER\n THE \"MIND THE PAINT\" GIRL\n ONE WONDERFUL NIGHT\n THE TERMS OF SURRENDER\n FLOWER OF THE GORSE\n THE RED YEAR\n THE GREAT MOGUL\n MIRABEL'S ISLAND\n THE DAY OF WRATH\n HIS UNKNOWN WIFE\n THE POSTMASTER'S DAUGHTER\n THE REVELLERS\n DIANA OF THE MOORLAND\n NUMBER SEVENTEEN\n THE BARTLETT MYSTERY\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n CHAPTER                                               PAGE\n\n     I. A GATHERING AT A CLUB                            1\n    II. A DARING CRIME                                  12\n   III. WINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING               24\n    IV. FURTHER SURPRISES                               39\n     V. PERSECUTORS                                     54\n    VI. BROTHER RALPH                                   67\n   VII. STILL MERE MYSTERY                              81\n  VIII. THE DREAM FACE                                  92\n    IX. THE FLIGHT                                     102\n     X. CARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE                     115\n    XI. THE TWO CARS                                   128\n   XII. THE PURSUIT                                    140\n  XIII. THE NEW LINK                                   150\n   XIV. A SUBTLE ATTACK                                162\n    XV. THE VISITOR                                    173\n   XVI. WINIFRED DRIFTS                                181\n  XVII. ALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE                  191\n XVIII. THE CRASH                                      201\n   XIX. CLANCY EXPLAINS                                214\n    XX. IN THE TOILS                                   225\n   XXI. MOTHER AND SON                                 235\n  XXII. THE HUNT                                       245\n XXIII. \"HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS\n         AWAY--\"                                       257\n  XXIV. IN FULL CRY                                    269\n   XXV. FLANK ATTACKS                                  280\n  XXVI. THE BITER BIT                                  293\n XXVII. THE SETTLEMENT                                 304\n\n\n\n\nTHE BARTLETT MYSTERY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nA GATHERING AT A CLUB\n\n\nThat story of love and crime which figures in the records of the New\nYork Detective Bureau as \"The Yacht Mystery\" has little to do with\nyachts and is no longer a mystery. It is concerned far more intimately\nwith the troubles and trials of pretty Winifred Bartlett than with\nthe vagaries of the restless sea; the alert, well-groomed figure of\nWinifred's true lover, Rex Carshaw, fills its pages to the almost total\nexclusion of the portly millionaire who owned the _Sans Souci_. Yet,\nsuch is the singular dominance exercised by the trivial things of life\nover the truly important ones, some hundreds of thousands of people in\nthe great city on the three rivers will recall many episodes of the nine\ndays' wonder known to them as \"The Yacht Mystery\" though they may never\nhave heard of either Winifred or Rex.\n\nIt began simply, as all major events do begin, and, of course, at the\noutset, neither of these two young people seemed to have the remotest\nconnection with it.\n\nOn the evening of October 5, 1913--that is the date when the first entry\nappears in the diary of Mr. James Steingall, chief of the Bureau--the\nstream of traffic in Fifth Avenue was interrupted to an unusual degree\nat a corner near Forty-second Street. The homeward-bound throng going\nup-town and the equally dense crowd coming down-town to restaurants and\ntheater-land merely chafed at a delay which they did not understand, but\nthe traffic policeman knew exactly what was going on, and kept his head\nand his temper.\n\nA few doors down the north side of the cross street a famous club\nwas ablaze with lights. Especially did three great windows on the\nfirst floor send forth hospitable beams, for the spacious room within\nwas the scene of an amusing revel. Mr. William Pierpont Van Hofen,\nex-commodore of the New York Yacht Club, owner of the _Sans Souci_,\nand multi-millionaire, had just astonished his friends by one of the\neccentric jests for which he was famous.\n\nThe _Sans Souci_, notable the world over for its size, speed, and\nfittings, was going out of commission for the winter. Van Hofen had\nmarked the occasion by widespread invitations to a dinner at his club,\n\"to be followed by a surprise party,\" and the nature of the \"surprise\"\nwas becoming known. Each lady had drawn by lot the name of her dinner\npartner, and each couple was then presented with a sealed envelope\ncontaining tickets for one or other of the many theaters in New York.\nThus, not only were husbands, wives, eligible bachelors, and smart\ndébutantes inextricably mixed up, but none knew whither the oddly\nassorted pairs were bound, since the envelopes were not to be opened\nuntil the meal reached the coffee and cigarette stage.\n\nThere existed, too, a secret within a secret. Seven men were bidden\nprivately to come on board the _Sans Souci_, moored in the Hudson\noff the Eighty-sixth Street landing-stage, and there enjoy a quiet\nsession of auction bridge.\n\n\"We'll duck before the trouble gets fairly started,\" explained Van Hofen\nto his cronies. \"You'll see how the bunch is sorted out at dinner, but\nthe tangle then will be just one cent in the dollar to the pandemonium\nwhen they find out where they're going.\"\n\nOf course, everybody was acquainted with everybody else, or the joke\nmight have been in bad taste. Moreover, as the gathering was confined\nexclusively to the elect of New York society, the host had notified the\nDetective Bureau, and requested the presence of one of their best men\noutside the club shortly before eight o'clock. None realized better than\nhe that where the carcass is there the vultures gather, and he wanted no\nuntoward incident to happen during the confusion which must attend the\ndeparture of so many richly bejeweled ladies accompanied by unexpected\ncavaliers.\n\nThus it befell that Detective-Inspector Clancy was detailed for the\njob. Steingall and he were the \"inseparables\" of the Bureau, yet no two\nmembers of a marvelously efficient service were more unlike, physically\nand mentally. Steingall was big, blond, muscular, a genial giant whose\nqualities rendered him almost popular among the very criminals he\nhunted, whereas those same desperadoes feared the diminutive Clancy,\nthe little, slight, dark-haired sleuth of French-Irish descent. He,\nthey were aware instinctively, read their very souls before Steingall's\nhuge paw clutched their quaking bodies.\n\nIdle chance alone decided that Clancy should undertake the half-hour's\nvigil at the up-town club that evening. All unknowing, he became thereby\nthe controlling influence in many lives.\n\nAt eight o'clock an elderly man emerged from the building and edged\nhis way through the cheery, laughing people already grouped about the\ndoorway and awaiting automobiles. Mr. William Meiklejohn might have been\nbranded with the word \"Senator,\" so typical was he of the upper house\nat Washington. The very cut of his clothes, the style of his shoes, the\nglossiness of his hat, even the wide expanse of pearl-studded white\nlinen marked him as a person of consequence.\n\nA uniformed policeman, striving to keep the pavement clear of loiterers,\nrecognized and saluted him. The salute was returned, though its\nrecipient's face seemed to be gloomy, preoccupied, almost disturbed.\nTherefore he did not notice a gaunt, angular-jawed woman--one whose\ncarriage and attire suggested better days long since passed--who had\nbeen peering eagerly at the revellers pouring out of the club, and now\nstepped forward impetuously as if to intercept him.\n\nShe failed. The policeman barred her progress quietly but effectually,\nand the woman, if bent on achieving her purpose, must have either called\nafter the absorbed Meiklejohn or entered into a heated altercation with\nthe policeman when accident came to her aid.\n\nMrs. Ronald Tower, strikingly handsome, richly gowned and cloaked, with\nan elaborate coiffure that outvied nature's best efforts, was crossing\nthe pavement to enter a waiting car when she stopped and drew her hand\nfrom her escort's arm.\n\n\"Senator Meiklejohn!\" she cried.\n\nThe elderly man halted. He doffed his hat with a flourish.\n\n\"Ah, Helen,\" he said smilingly. \"Whither bound?\"\n\n\"To see Belasco's latest. Isn't that lucky? The very thing I wanted.\nPoor Ronald! I don't know what has become of him, or into what net he\nmay have fallen.\"\n\nThe Senator beamed. He knew that Ronald Tower was one of the eight\nbridge-players, but was pledged to secrecy.\n\n\"I only hailed you to jog your memory about that luncheon to-morrow,\"\nwent on Mrs. Tower.\n\n\"How could I forget?\" he retorted gallantly. \"Only two hours ago I\npostponed a business appointment on account of it.\"\n\n\"So good of you, Senator,\" and Mrs. Tower's smile lent a tinge of\nsarcasm to the words. \"I'm awfully anxious that you should meet Mr.\nJacob. I'm deeply interested, you know.\"\n\nMeiklejohn glanced rather sharply at the lady's companion, who, however,\nwas merely a vacuous man about town. It struck Clancy that the Senator\nresented this incautious using of names. The shabby-genteel woman,\nhovering behind the policeman, was following the scene with hawklike\neyes, and Clancy kept her, too, under close observation.\n\nThe Senator coughed, and lowered his voice.\n\n\"I shall be most pleased to discuss matters with him,\" he said. \"It\nwill be a pleasure to render him a service if you ask it.\"\n\nMrs. Tower laughed lightly. \"One o'clock,\" she said. \"Don't be late!\nCome along, Mr. Forrest. Your car is blocking the way.\"\n\nMr. Meiklejohn flourished his hat again. He turned and found himself\nface to face with the hard-featured woman who had been waiting and\nwatching for this very opportunity. She barred his further\nprogress--even caught his arm.\n\nHad the Senator been assaulted by the blue-coated guardian of law and\norder he could not have displayed more bewilderment.\n\n\"You, Rachel?\" he gasped.\n\nThe policeman was about to intervene, but it was the Senator, not the\nshabbily dressed woman, who prevented him.\n\n\"It's all right, officer,\" he stammered vexedly. \"I know this lady. She\nis an old friend.\"\n\nThe man saluted again and drew aside. Clancy moved a trifle nearer. No\none would take notice of such an insignificant little man. Though he had\nhis back to this strangely assorted pair, he heard nearly every syllable\nthey uttered.\n\n\"He is here,\" snapped the woman without other preamble. \"You must see\nhim.\"\n\n\"It is quite impossible,\" was the answer, and, though the words were\nfrigid and unyielding, Clancy felt certain that Senator Meiklejohn had\nto exercise an iron self-control to keep a tremor out of his utterance.\n\n\"You dare not refuse,\" persisted the woman.\n\nThe Senator glanced around in a scared way. Clancy thought for an\ninstant that he meant to dart back into the security of the club. After\nan irresolute pause, however, he moved somewhat apart from the crowd of\nsightseers. The two stood together on the curb, and clear of the flood\nof light pouring through the open doors. Clancy edged after them. He\ngathered a good deal, not all, of what they said, as both voices were\nharsh and tinged with excitement.\n\n\"This very night,\" the woman was saying. \"Bring at least five hundred\ndollars--If the police.... Says he will confess everything.... Do you\nget me? This thing can't wait.\"\n\nThe Senator did not even try now to conceal his agitation. He looked at\nthe gaping mob, but it was wholly absorbed in the stream of fashionable\npeople pouring out of the club, while the snorting of scores of\nautomobiles created a din which meant comparative safety.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" he muttered. \"I understand. I'll do anything in reason. I'll\ngive _you_ the money, and you----\"\n\n\"No. He means seeing you. You need not be afraid. He says you are going\nto Mr. Van Hofen's yacht at nine o'clock----\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\" broke in Meiklejohn, \"how can he possibly know that?\" Again\nhe peered at the press of onlookers. A dapper little man who stood near\nwas raised on tiptoe and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of a noted\nbeauty who had just appeared.\n\n\"Oh, pull yourself together!\" and there was a touch of scorn in the\nwoman's manner as she reassured this powerfully built man. \"Isn't he\nclever and fertile in device? Haven't the newspapers announced your\npresence on the _Sans Souci_? And who will stop a steward's tongue\nfrom wagging? At any rate, he knows. He will be on the Hudson in a small\nboat, with one other man. At nine o'clock he will come close to the\nlanding-stage at Eighty-sixth Street. There is a lawn north of the\nclubhouse, he says. Walk to the end of it and you will find him. You\ncan have a brief talk. Bring the money in an envelope.\"\n\n\"On the lawn--at nine!\" repeated the Senator in a dazed way.\n\n\"Yes. What better place could he choose? You see, he is willing to play\nfair and be discreet. But, quick! I must have your answer. Time is\npassing. Do you agree?\"\n\n\"What is the alternative?\"\n\n\"Capture, and a mad rage. Then others will share in his downfall.\"\n\n\"Very well. I'll be there. I'll not fail him, or you.\"\n\n\"He says it's his last request. He has some scheme----\"\n\n\"Ah, his schemes! If only I could hope that this will be the end!\"\n\n\"That is his promise.\"\n\nThe woman dropped the conversation abruptly. She darted through the\nline of cars and made off in the direction of Sixth Avenue. Senator\nMeiklejohn gazed after her dubiously, but her tall figure was soon lost\nin the traffic. Then, with bent head, and evidently a prey to harassing\nthoughts, he crossed Fifth Avenue.\n\nClancy sauntered after him, and saw him enter a block of residential\nflats in a side street. Then the detective strolled back to the club.\n\nMost of Van Hofen's guests had gone. The policeman grinned and muttered\nin Clancy's ear:\n\n\"The Senator's a giddy guy. Two of 'em at wanst. Mrs. Tower's a\ngood-looker, but I didn't think much of the other wan.\"\n\nClancy nodded. His black and beady eyes had just clashed with those of a\nnotorious crook, who suddenly remembered an urgent appointment\nelsewhere.\n\nFifteen minutes later Senator Meiklejohn returned. He entered the club\nwithout being waylaid a second time. Clancy consulted his watch.\n\n\"Keep a sharp lookout here, Mac,\" he said, _sotto voce_. \"While I was\naway just now Broadway Jim showed up. He's got cold feet, and there'll\nbe nothing more doing to-night, I think. Anyhow, I'm going up-town.\"\n\nIn Fifth Avenue he boarded a Riverside Drive bus. The weather was mild,\nand he mounted to the roof.\n\n\"Now, who in the world will Senator Meiklejohn meet on the\nlanding-stage?\" he mused. \"Seems to me the chief may be interested. Five\nhundred dollars, too! I wonder!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nA DARING CRIME\n\n\nIt was no part of Detective Clancy's business to pry into the private\naffairs of Senator Meiklejohn. Senators are awkward fish to handle,\nbeing somewhat similar to whales caught in nets designed to capture\nmackerel. But the Bureau is no respecter of persons. Men much higher up\nin politics and finance than William Meiklejohn would be disagreeably\nsurprised if they could read certain details entered opposite their\nnames in the _dossiers_ kept by the police department. Still, it\nbehooved Clancy to tread warily.\n\nAs it happened, he was just the man for this self-imposed duty. Two\nCeltic strains mingled in his blood, while American birth and training\nhad not only quickened his intelligence but imparted a quality of\nwide-eyed shrewdness to a daring initiative. When he and the bluff\nSteingall worked together the malefactor on whose heels they pressed had\na woeful time. As one blood-stained rascal put it in a bitter moment\nbefore the electric chair claimed him for the expiation of his last and\nworst crime:\n\n\"Them two guys give a reg'lar fellow no chanst. When they're trailin'\nyou every road leads straight to Sing Sing. The big guy has a punch like\nJess Willard, an' the lil 'un a nose like a Montana wolf.\"\n\nIt was Clancy's nose for the more subtle elements in crime which brought\nhim to the small châlet on the private pier at the foot of Eighty-sixth\nStreet that night. He could not guess what game he might flush, but he\nwas keen as a bloodhound in the chase.\n\nMeanwhile, Senator Meiklejohn encountered Ronald Tower the moment he\nre-entered the palatial club. By this time he seemed to have regained\nhis customary air of geniality, being one of those rather uncommon men\nwhose apparent characteristics are never so marked as when they are\nacting a part.\n\n\"H'lo, Ronnie,\" he cried affably, \"I met Helen as she left for the\ntheater. She has an inquiring mind, but I headed her off. By the way,\nwill you be at this luncheon to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Not I,\" laughed Tower. \"I'm barred. She says I have no head for\nbusiness, and some deep-laid plan for filling the family coffers is\nin hand.\"\n\nThe Senator obviously disliked these outspoken references to\nmoney-making. He squirmed, but smiled as though Tower had made an\nexcellent joke.\n\n\"Try and get the ukase lifted,\" he urged. \"I want you to be there.\"\n\n\"Nothing doing,\" and the other grinned. \"Helen says I resemble you in\neverything but brain power, Senator. I'm a good-looker as a husband, but\na poor mutt in Wall Street.\"\n\nThey laughed at the conceit. The two men were curiously alike in face\nand figure, though a close observer like Clancy would have classed them\nas opposite as the poles in character and temperament. Meiklejohn's\nfeatures were cast in the stronger mold. They showed lines which Ronald\nTower's placid existence would never produce. The Senator was suave,\ntoo. He seldom pressed a point to the limit.\n\n\"Helen's good opinion is doubly flattering,\" he said. \"She is a bright\nwoman, and knows how to command her friends.\"\n\nTower glanced at a clock in the hall.\n\n\"Time we were off,\" he announced. \"Come with me. I'm taking Johnny Bell,\nI think.\"\n\n\"Sorry. I have an important letter to write. But I'll join before the\ncrowd cuts in.\"\n\nThe Senator hurried up-stairs. He must take the journey alone, and\nsnatch an opportunity to attend that mysterious rendezvous while the\n_Sans Souci's_ gig was ferrying some of the bridge-players to\nthe yacht.\n\nOwing to a slight misunderstanding Tower missed the other man, and\ntraveled alone in his car. On that trivial circumstance hinged events\nwhich not only affected many lives but disturbed New York society more\nthan any other incident within a decade.\n\nFew among the thousands of summer promenaders who enjoy the magnificent\npanorama of the North River from the wooded heights of the Drive know of\nthe pier at Eighty-sixth Street. For one thing, the clubhouse itself is\nan unpretentious structure; for another, the narrow and winding stairway\nleading down the side of the cliff gives no indication of its specific\npurpose. Moreover, a light foot-bridge across the tracks is hardly\nnoticeable through the screen of trees and shrubs above, and the\nwater-front lies yet fifty yards farther on.\n\nAt night the approach is not well lighted. In fact, no portion of the\nbeautiful and precipitous riparian park is more secluded than the short\nstretch between the landing-stage and the busy thoroughfare on the\ncrest.\n\nThat evening, as has been seen, Mr. Van Hofen was taking no risks for\nhimself or his guests. A patrolman from the local precinct was stationed\nat the iron-barred gate on the landward end of the foot-bridge.\n\nClancy, on descending from the bus, stood for a few seconds and surveyed\nthe scene. The night was dark and the sky overcast, but the myriad\nlights on the New Jersey shore were reflected in the swift current of\nthe Hudson. The superb _Sans Souci_ was easily distinguishable. All her\nports were a-glow; lamps twinkled beneath the awnings on her after deck,\nand a boarding light indicated the lowered gangway.\n\nThe yacht was moored about three hundred feet from the landing-stage.\nHer graceful outlines were clearly discernible against the black, moving\nplain of the river. Just in that spot shone her radiance, lending a\nsense of opulence and security. For the rest, that part of New York's\ngreat waterway was dim and impalpable.\n\nTry as he might, the detective could see no small craft afloat. The\nyacht's gig, waiting at the clubhouse, was hidden from view. He sped\nrapidly down the steps, and found the patrolman.\n\n\"That you, Nolan?\" he said.\n\nThe man peered at him.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Clancy, is it?\" he replied.\n\n\"You know Senator Meiklejohn by sight?\"\n\n\"Sure I do.\"\n\n\"When he comes along hail him. Say 'Good evening, Senator.' I'll hear\nyou.\"\n\nClancy promptly moved off along the path which runs parallel with the\nrailway. Nolan, though puzzled, put no questions, being well aware he\nwould be told nothing more.\n\nThree gentlemen came down the cliff, and crossed the bridge. One was Van\nHofen himself. Now, the fates had willed that Ronald Tower should come\nnext, and alone. He was hurrying. He had seen figures entering the club,\nand wanted to join them in the gig.\n\nThe policeman made the same mistake as many others.\n\n\"Good evenin', Senator,\" he said.\n\nTower nodded and laughed. He had no time to correct the harmless\nblunder. Even so, he was too late for the boat, which was already well\naway from the stage when he reached it. He lighted a cigarette, and\nstrolled along the narrow terrace between river and lawn.\n\nClancy, on receiving his cue, followed Tower. An attendant challenged\nhim at the iron gate, but Nolan certified that this diminutive stranger\nwas \"all right.\"\n\nIt was on the tip of the detective's tongue to ask if Mr. Meiklejohn had\ngone into the clubhouse when he saw, as he imagined, the Senator's tall\nform silhouetted against the vague carpet of the river; so he passed on,\nand this minor incident contributed its quota to a tragic occurrence. He\nheard some one behind him on the bridge, but paid no heed, his wits\nbeing bent on noting anything that took place in the semi-obscurity of\nthe river's edge.\n\nMeanwhile, the patrolman, encountering a double of Senator Meiklejohn,\nwas dumbfounded momentarily. He sought enlightenment from the attendant.\n\n\"An', for the love of Mike, who was the first wan?\" he demanded, when\nassured that the latest arrival was really the Senator.\n\n\"Mr. Ronald Tower,\" said the man. \"They're like as two peas in a pod,\nain't they?\"\n\nNolan muttered something. He, too, crossed the bridge, meaning to find\nClancy and explain his error. Thus, the four men were not widely\nseparated, but Tower led by half a minute--long enough, in fact, to be\nat the north end of the terrace before Meiklejohn passed the gate.\n\nThere, greatly to his surprise, he looked down into a small motor-boat,\nwith two occupants, keeping close to the sloping wall. The craft and its\ncrew could have no reasonable business there. They suggested something\nsinister and furtive. The engine was stopped, and one of the men,\nhuddled up in the bows, was holding the boat against the pull of the\ntide by using a boathook as a punting pole.\n\nTower, though good-natured and unsuspicious, was naturally puzzled by\nthis apparition. He bent forward to examine it more definitely, and\nrested his hands on a low railing. Then he was seen by those below.\n\n\"That you?\" growled the second man, standing up suddenly.\n\n\"It is,\" said Tower, speaking with strict accuracy, and marveling now\nwho on earth could have arranged a meeting at such a place and in such\nbizarre conditions.\n\n\"Well, here I am,\" came the gruff announcement. \"The cops are after me.\nSome one must have tipped them off. If it was you I'll get to know and\neven things up, P. D. Q. Chew on that during the night's festivities, I\nadvise you. Brought that wad?\"\n\nTower was the last man breathing to handle this queer situation\ndiscreetly. He ought to have temporized, but he loathed anything in the\nnature of vulgar or criminal intrigue. Being quick-tempered withal, if\ndeliberately insulted, he resented this fellow's crude speech.\n\n\"No,\" he cried hotly. \"What you really want is a policeman, and there's\none close at hand--Hi! Officer!\" he shouted: \"Come here at once. There\nare two rascals in a boat--\"\n\nSomething swirled through the darkness, and his next word was choked in\na cry of mortal fear, for a lasso had fallen on his shoulders and was\ndrawn taut. Before he could as much as lift his hands he was dragged\nbodily over the railing and headlong into the river.\n\nClancy, forced by circumstances to remain at a distance, could only\noverhear Tower's share in the brief conversation. The tones in the voice\nperplexed him, but the preconcerted element in the affair seemed to\noffer proof positive that Senator Meiklejohn had kept his appointment.\nHe was just in time to see Tower's legs disappearing, and a loud splash\ntold what had happened. He was not armed. He never carried a revolver\nunless the quest of the hour threatened danger or called for a display\nof force. In a word, he was utterly powerless.\n\nSenator Meiklejohn, alive to the vital fact that some one on the terrace\nhad discovered the boat, hung back dismayed. He was joined by Nolan, who\ncould not understand the sudden commotion.\n\n\"What's up?\" Nolan asked. \"Didn't some wan shout?\"\n\nClancy, in all his experience of crime and criminals, had never before\nencountered such an amazing combination of unforeseen conditions. The\nboat's motor was already chugging breathlessly, and the small craft was\ncurving out into the gloom. He saw a man hauling in a rope from the\nstern, and well did he know why the cord seemed to be attached to a\nheavy weight. Not far away he made out the yacht's gig returning to the\nstage.\n\n\"_Sans Souci_ ahoy!\" he almost screamed. \"Head off that launch!\nThere's murder done!\"\n\nIt was a hopeless effort, of course, though the sailors obeyed\ninstantly, and bent to their oars. Soon they, too, vanished in the murk,\nbut, finding they were completely outpaced, came back seeking for\ninstructions which could not be given. The detective thought he was\nbewitched when he ran into Senator Meiklejohn, pallid and trembling,\nstanding on the terrace with Nolan.\n\n\"You?\" he shrieked in a shrill falsetto. \"Then, in heaven's name, who is\nthe man who has just been pulled into the river?\"\n\n\"Tower!\" gasped the Senator. \"Mr. Ronald Tower. They mistook him for\nme.\"\n\n\"Faith, an' I did that same,\" muttered the patrolman, whose slow-moving\nwits could assimilate only one thing at a time.\n\nClancy, afire with rage and a sense of inexplicable failure, realized\nthat Meiklejohn's admission and its now compulsory explanation could\nwait a calmer moment. The club attendant, attracted by the hubbub, raced\nto the lawn, and the detective tackled him.\n\n\"Isn't there a motor launch on the yacht?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, sir, but it'll be all sheeted up on deck.\"\n\n\"Have you a megaphone?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe man ran and grabbed the instrument from its hook, so Clancy bellowed\nthe alarming news to Mr. Van Hofen and the others already on board the\n_Sans Souci_ that Ronald Tower had been dragged into the river and\nprobably murdered. But what could they do? The speedy rescue of Tower,\ndead or alive, was simply impossible.\n\nThe gig arrived. Clancy stormed by telephone at a police station-house\nand at the up-river station of the harbor police, but such vain efforts\nwere the mere necessities of officialdom. None knew better than he that\nan extraordinary crime had been carried through under his very eyes, yet\nits daring perpetrators had escaped, and he could supply no description\nof their appearance to the men who would watch the neighboring ferries\nand wharves.\n\nVan Hofen and his friends, startled and grieved, came ashore in the gig,\nand Clancy was striving to give them some account of the tragedy without\nrevealing its inner significance when his roving glance missed\nMeiklejohn from the distraught group of men.\n\n\"Where is the Senator?\" he cried, turning on the gaping Nolan.\n\n\"Gee, he's knocked out,\" said the policeman. \"He axed me to tell you\nhe'd gone down-town. Ye see, some wan has to find Mrs. Tower.\"\n\nClancy's black eyes glittered with fury, yet he spoke no word. A blank\nsilence fell on the rest. They had not thought of the bereaved wife, but\nMeiklejohn had remembered. That was kind of him. The Senator always did\nthe right thing. And how he must be suffering! The Towers were his\nclosest friends!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nWINIFRED BARTLETT HEARS SOMETHING\n\n\nEarly next morning a girl attired in a neat but inexpensive costume\nentered Central Park by the One Hundred and Second Street gate, and\nwalked swiftly by a winding path to the exit on the west side at One\nHundredth Street.\n\nShe moved with the easy swing of one to whom walking was a pleasure.\nWithout hurry or apparent effort her even, rapid strides brought her\nalong at a pace of fully four miles an hour. And an hour was exactly the\ntime Winifred Bartlett needed if she would carry out her daily program,\nwhich, when conditions permitted, involved a four-mile detour by way of\nRiverside Drive and Seventy-second Street to the Ninth Avenue \"L.\" This\nmorning she had actually ten minutes in hand, and promised herself an\nadded treat in making little pauses at her favorite view-points on the\nHudson.\n\nTo gain this hour's freedom Winifred had to practise some harmless\nduplicity, as shall be seen. She was obliged to rise long before the\nrest of her fellow-workers in the bookbinding factory of Messrs. Brown,\nSon & Brown, an establishment located in the least inviting part of\nGreenwich Village.\n\nBut she went early to bed, and the beams of the morning sun drew her\nforth as a linnet from its nest. Unless the weather was absolutely\nprohibitive she took the walk every day, for she revelled in the\never-changing tints of the trees, the music of the songbirds, and the\ngambols of the squirrels in the park, while the broad highway of the\nriver, leading to and from she hardly knew what enchanted lands, brought\nvague dreams of some delightful future where daily toil would not claim\nher and she might be as those other girls of the outer world to whom\nexistence seemed such a joyous thing.\n\nWinifred was not discontented with her lot--the ichor of youth and good\nhealth flowed too strongly in her veins. But at times she was bewildered\nby a sense of aloofness from the rest of humanity.\n\nAbove all did she suffer from the girls she met in the warehouse.\nSome were coarse, nearly every one was frivolous. Their talk, their\nthinly-veiled allusions to a night life in which she bore no part,\npuzzled and disturbed her. True, the wild revels of which they boasted\ndid not sound either marvelous or attractive when analyzed. A couple of\nhours at the movies, a frolic in a dance hall, a quarrel about some\nyouthful gallant, violent fluctuations from arm-laced friendship to\nsparkling-eyed hatred and back again to tears and kisses--these joys\nand cankers formed the limited gamut of their emotions.\n\nFor all that, Winifred could not help asking herself with ever\nincreasing insistence why she alone, among a crude, noisy sisterhood of\na hundred young women of her own age, should be with them yet not of\nthem. She realized that her education fitted her for a higher place in\nthe army of New York workers than a bookbinder's bench. She could soon\nhave acquired proficiency as a stenographer. Pleasant, well-paid\nsituations abounded in the stores and wholesale houses. There was even\nsome alluring profession called \"the stage,\" where a girl might actually\nearn a living by singing and dancing, and Winifred could certainly sing\nand was certain she could dance if taught.\n\nWhat queer trick of fate, then, had brought her to Brown, Son & Brown's\nin the spring of that year, and kept her there? She could not tell. She\ncould not even guess why she dwelt so far up-town, while every other\ngirl in the establishment had a home either in or near Greenwich\nVillage.\n\nHeigho! Life was a riddle. Surely some day she would solve it.\n\nHer mind ran on this problem more strongly than usual that morning.\nStill pondering it, she diverged for a moment at the Soldiers' and\nSailors' Monument, and stood on the stone terrace which commands such a\nmagnificent stretch of the silvery Hudson, with the green heights of the\nNew Jersey shore directly opposite, and the Palisades rearing their\nlofty crests away to the north.\n\nSuddenly she became aware that a small group of men had gathered there,\nand were displaying a lively interest in two motor boats on the river.\nSomething out of the common had stirred them; voices were loud and\ngestures animated.\n\n\"Look!\" said one, \"they've gotten that boat!\"\n\n\"You can't be sure,\" doubted another, though his manner showed that he\nwanted only to be convinced.\n\n\"D'ye think a police launch 'ud be foolin' around with a tow at this\ntime o' day if it wasn't something special?\" persisted the first\nspeaker. \"Can't yer see it's empty? There's a cop pointin' now to the\nclubhouse.\"\n\n\"Good for you,\" pronounced the doubtful one. The pointing cop had\nclinched the argument.\n\n\"An' they're headin' that way,\" came the cry.\n\nOff raced the men. Winifred found that people on top of motor-omnibuses\nscurrying down-town were also watching the two craft. Opposite the end\nof Eighty-sixth Street such a crowd assembled as though by magic that\nshe could not see over the railings. She could not imagine why people\nshould be so worked up by the mere finding of an empty boat. She heard\nallusions to names, but they evoked no echo in her mind. At last,\napproaching a girl among the sightseers, she put a timid question:\n\n\"Can you tell me what is the matter?\" she said.\n\n\"They've found the boat,\" came the ready answer.\n\n\"Yes, but what boat? Why any boat?\"\n\n\"Haven't you read about the murder last night. Mr. Van Hofen, who owns\nthat yacht there, the _San Sowsy_, had a party of friends on board, an'\none of 'em was dragged into the river an' drowned. Nice goin's on. _San\nSowsy_--it's a good name for the whole bunch, I guess.\"\n\nWinifred did not understand why the girl laughed.\n\n\"What a terrible thing!\" she said. \"Perhaps it was only an accident;\nand sad enough at that if some poor man lost his life.\"\n\n\"Oh, no. It's a murder right enough. The papers are full of it. I was\nwalkin' here at nine o'clock with a fellow. It might ha' been done under\nme very nose. What d'ye know about that?\"\n\n\"It's very sad,\" repeated Winifred. \"Such dreadful things seem to be\nalmost impossible under this blue sky and in bright sunshine. Even the\nriver does not look cruel.\"\n\nShe went on, having no time for further dawdling. Her informant glanced\nafter her curiously, for Winifred's cheap clothing and worn shoes were\noddly at variance with her voice and manner.\n\nAt Seventy-second Street Winifred bought a newspaper, which she read\ninstead of the tiny volume of Browning's poems carried in her hand-bag.\nShe always contrived to have a book or periodical for the train\njourneys, since men had a way of catching her eye when she glanced\naround thoughtlessly, and such incidents were annoying. She soon learned\nthe main details of \"The Yacht Mystery.\" The account of Ronald Tower's\ndramatic end was substantially accurate. It contained, of course, no\nallusion to Senator Meiklejohn's singular connection with the affair,\nbut Clancy had taken care that a disturbing paragraph should appear\nwith the rest of a lurid write-up.\n\n\"Sinister rumors are current in clubland,\" read Winifred. \"These warrant\nthe belief that others beside the thugs in the boat are implicated in\nthe tragedy. Indeed, it is whispered that a man high in the political\nworld can, if he chooses, throw light on what is, at this writing, an\ninexplicable crime, a crime which would be incredible if it had not\nactually taken place.\"\n\nThe reporter did not know, and Clancy did not tell him, just what this\ninnuendo meant. The detective was anxious that Senator Meiklejohn should\nrealize the folly of refusing all information to the authorities, and\nthis thinly-veiled threat of publicity was one way of bringing him to\nhis senses.\n\nWinifred had never before come into touch, so to speak, with any deed of\ncriminal violence. She was so absorbed in the story of the junketing at\na fashionable club, with its astounding sequel in a locality familiar to\nher eyes, that she hardly noticed a delay on the line.\n\nShe did not even know that she would be ten minutes late until she saw\na clock at Fourteenth Street. Then she raced to the door of a big,\nmany-storied building. A timekeeper shook his head at her, but, punctual\nas a rule, on wet mornings she was invariably the first to arrive, so\nthe watch-dog compromised on the give-and-take principle. When she\nemerged from the elevator at the ninth floor her cheeks were still\nsuffused with color, her eyes were alight, her lips parted under the\nspell of excitement and haste. In a word, she looked positively\nbewitching.\n\nTwo people evidently took this view of her as she advanced into the\nworkroom after hanging up her hat and coat.\n\n\"You're late again, Bartlett,\" snapped Miss Agatha Sugg, a forewoman,\nwhose initials suggested an obvious nickname among the set of flippant\ngirls she ruled with a severity that was also ungracious. \"I'll not\nspeak to you any more on the matter. Next time you'll be fired. See?\"\n\nWinifred's high color fled before this dire threat. Even the few dollars\na week she earned by binding books was essential to the up-keep of her\nhome. At any rate this fact was dinned into her ears constantly, and\nformed a ready argument against any change of employment.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Miss Sugg,\" she stammered. \"I didn't think I had lost any\ntime. Indeed, I started out earlier than usual.\"\n\n\"Rubbish!\" snorted Miss Sugg. \"What're givin' me? It's a fine day.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Winifred timidly, \"but unfortunately I stopped a while on\nRiverside Drive to watch the police bringing in the boat from which Mr.\nTower was mur--pulled into the river last night.\"\n\n\"Riverside Drive!\" snapped the forewoman. \"Your address is East One\nHundred and Twelfth Street, ain't it? What were you doing on Riverside\nDrive?\"\n\n\"I walk that way every morning unless it is raining.\"\n\nMiss Sugg looked incredulous, but felt that she was traveling outside\nher own territory.\n\n\"Anyhow,\" she said, \"that's your affair, not mine, an' it's no excuse\nfor bein' late.\"\n\n\"Oh, come now,\" intervened a man's voice, \"this young lady is not so far\nbehind time as to cause such a row. She can pull out a bit and make up\nfor it.\"\n\nMiss Sugg wheeled wrathfully to find Mr. Fowle, manager on that floor,\ngazing at Winifred with marked approval. Fowle, a shifty-eyed man of\nthirty, compactly built, and somewhat of a dandy, seldom gave heed to\nany of the girls employed by Brown, Son & Brown. His benevolent attitude\ntoward Winifred was a new departure.\n\n\"Young lady!\" gasped the forewoman. She was in such a temper that other\nwords failed.\n\n\"Yes, she isn't an old one,\" smirked Fowle. \"That's all right, Miss\nBartlett, get on with your work. Miss Sugg's bark is worse than her\nbite.\"\n\nThough he had poured oil on the troubled waters his air was not\naltogether reassuring. Winifred went to her bench in a flurry of\ntrepidation. She dreaded the vixenish Miss Sugg less than the too\ncomplaisant manager. Somehow, she fancied that he would soon speak to\nher again; when, a few minutes later, he drew near, and she felt rather\nthan saw that he was staring at her boldly, she flushed to the nape of\nher graceful neck.\n\nYet he put a quite orthodox question.\n\n\"Did I get your story right when you came in?\" he said. \"I think you\ntold Miss Sugg that the harbor police had picked up the motor-boat in\nthat yacht case.\"\n\n\"So I heard,\" said Winifred. She was in charge of a wire-stitching\nmachine, and her deft fingers were busy. Moreover, she was resolved not\nto give Fowle any pretext for prolonging the conversation.\n\n\"Who told you?\"\n\nThe manager's tone grew a trifle less cordial. He was not accustomed to\nbeing held at arm's length by any young woman in the establishment whom\nhe condescended to notice.\n\n\"I really don't know,\" and Winifred began placing her array of work in\nsorted piles. \"Indeed, I spoke carelessly. No one told me. I saw a\ncommotion on Riverside Drive, and heard a man arguing with others that a\nboat then being towed by a police launch must be the missing one.\"\n\nFowle's whiff of annoyance had passed. He had jumped to the conclusion\nthat such an extremely pretty girl would surely own a sweetheart who\nescorted her to and from work each day. He did not suspect that every\njunior clerk downstairs had in turn offered his services in this regard,\nbut with such lack of success that each would-be suitor deemed Winifred\nconceited.\n\n\"I wish I had been there,\" he said. \"Do you go home the same way?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nWinifred was aware that the other girls were watching her furtively and\nexchanging meaning looks.\n\n\"You take the Third Avenue L, I suppose?\" persisted Fowle. Then Winifred\nfaced him squarely. For some reason her temper got the better of her.\n\n\"It is a house rule, Mr. Fowle,\" she said, \"that the girls are forbidden\nto talk during working hours.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" laughed Fowle. \"I'm in charge here, an' what I say goes.\"\n\nHe left her, however, and busied himself elsewhere. Apparently, he was\neven forgiving enough to call Miss Sugg out of the room and detain her\nall the rest of the morning.\n\nWinifred was promptly rallied by some of her companions.\n\n\"I must say this for you, Winnie Bartlett, you don't think you're the\nwhole shootin' match,\" said a stout, red-faced creature, who would have\nbeen more at home on a farm than in a New York warehouse, \"but it gets\nmy goat when you hand the mustard to Fowle in that way. If he made\ngoo-goo eyes at me, I'd play, too.\"\n\n\"I wish little Carlotta was a blue-eyed, golden-haired queen,\" sighed\nanother, a squat Neapolitan with the complexion of a Moor. \"She's give\nFowle a chance to dig into his pocketbook, believe me.\"\n\nThe youthful philosopher won a chorus of approval. All the girls liked\nWinifred. They even tacitly admitted that she belonged to a different\norder, and seldom teased her. Fowle's obvious admiration, however,\nimposed too severe a strain, and their tongues ran freely.\n\nThe luncheon-hour came, and Winifred hurried out with the others. They\npatronized a restaurant in Fourteenth Street. At a news-stand she\npurchased an evening paper, a rare event, since she had to account for\nevery cent of expenditure. Though allowed books, she was absolutely\nforbidden newspapers!\n\nBut this forlorn girl, who knew so little of the great city in whose\nlife she was such an insignificant item, felt oddly concerned in \"The\nYacht Mystery.\" It was the first noteworthy event of which she had even\na remote first-hand knowledge. That empty launch, its very abandonment\nsuggesting eeriness and fatality, was a tangible thing. Was she not one\nof the few who had literally seen it? So she invested her penny, and\nafter reading of the discovery of the boat--it was found moored to a\nwharf at the foot of Fort Lee--breathlessly read:\n\n     As the outcome of information given by a well-known Senator,\n     the police have obtained an important clue which leads\n     straight to a house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street.\n\n\"Well,\" mused Winifred, wide-eyed with astonishment. \"Fancy that! The\nvery street where I live!\"\n\nShe read on:\n\n     The arrest of at least one person, a woman, suspected of\n     complicity in the crime may occur at any moment. Detectives\n     are convinced that the trail of the murderers will soon be\n     clearer.\n\n     Every effort is being made to recover Mr. Tower's body, which,\n     it is conceivable, may have been weighted and sunk in the\n     river near the spot where the boat was tied.\n\nWinifred gave more attention to the newspaper report than to her frugal\nmeal. Resolving, however, that Miss Sugg should have no further cause\nfor complaint that day, she returned to the factory five minutes before\ntime. An automobile was standing outside the entrance, but she paid no\nheed to it.\n\nThe checker tapped at his little window as she passed.\n\n\"The boss wants you,\" he said.\n\n\"Me!\" she cried. Her heart sank. Between Miss Sugg and Mr. Fowle she had\nalready probably lost her situation!\n\n\"Yep,\" said the man. \"You're Winifred Bartlett, I guess. Anyhow, if\nthere's another peach like you in the bunch I haven't seen her.\"\n\nShe bit her lip and tears trembled in her eyes. Perhaps the gruff\nCerberus behind the window sympathized with her. He lowered his voice to\na hoarse whisper: \"There's a cop in there, an' a 'tec,' too.\"\n\nWinifred was startled out of her forebodings.\n\n\"They cannot want me!\" she said amazedly.\n\n\"You never can tell, girlie. Queer jinks happen sometimes. I wouldn't\nbat an eyelid if they rounded up the boss hisself.\"\n\nShe was sure now that some stupid mistake had been made. At any rate,\nshe no longer dreaded dismissal, and the first intuition of impending\ncalamity yielded to a nervous curiosity as she pushed open a door\nleading to the general office.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nFURTHER SURPRISES\n\n\nA clerk, one of the would-be swains who had met with chilling\ndiscouragement after working-hours, was evidently on the lookout for\nher. An ignoble soul prompted a smirk of triumph now.\n\n\"Go straight in,\" he said, jerking a thumb. \"A cop's waitin' for you.\"\n\nWinifred did not vouchsafe him even an indignant glance. Holding her\nhead high, she passed through the main office, and made for a door\nmarked \"Manager.\" She knocked, and was admitted by Mr. Fowle. Grouped\naround a table she saw one of the members of the firm, the manager, a\npoliceman, and a dapper little man, slight of figure, who held himself\nvery erect. He was dressed in blue serge, and had the ivory-white\nface and wrinkled skin of an actor. She was conscious at once of the\npenetration of his glance. His eyes were black and luminous. They\nseemed to pierce her with an X-ray quality of comprehension.\n\n\"This is the girl,\" announced Mr. Fowle deferentially.\n\nThe little man in the blue suit took the lead forthwith.\n\n\"You are Winifred Bartlett?\" he said, and by some subtle inter-flow of\nmagnetism Winifred knew instantly that she had nothing to fear from this\ndiminutive stranger.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, looking at him squarely.\n\n\"You live in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"With a woman described as your aunt, and known as Miss Rachel Craik?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nEach affirmative marked a musical crescendo. Especially was Winifred\nsurprised by the sceptical description of her only recognized relative.\n\n\"Well,\" went on Clancy, suppressing a smile at the girl's naïve\nastonishment, \"don't be alarmed, but I want you to come with me to\nMulberry Street.\"\n\nNow, Winifred had just been reading about certain activities in Mulberry\nStreet, and her eyebrows rounded in real amazement.\n\n\"Isn't that the Police Headquarters?\" she asked.\n\nFowle chuckled, whereupon Clancy said pleasantly:\n\n\"Yes. One man here seems to know the address quite intimately. But that\nfact need not set your heart fluttering. The chief of the Detective\nBureau wishes to put a few questions. That is all.\"\n\n\"Questions about what?\"\n\nWinifred's natural dignity came to her aid. She refused to have this\ngrave matter treated as a joke.\n\n\"Take my advice, Miss Bartlett, and don't discuss things further until\nyou have met Mr. Steingall,\" said Clancy.\n\n\"But I have never even heard of Mr. Steingall,\" she protested. \"What\nright have you or he to take me away from my work to a police-station?\nWhat wrong have I done to any one?\"\n\n\"None, I believe.\"\n\n\"Surely I have a right to some explanation.\"\n\n\"If you insist I am bound to answer.\"\n\n\"Then I do insist,\" and Winifred's heightened color and wrathful eyes\nonly enhanced her beauty. Clancy spread his hands in a gesture inherited\nfrom a French mother.\n\n\"Very well,\" he said. \"You are required to give evidence concerning the\ndeath of Mr. Ronald Tower. Now, I cannot say any more. I have a car\noutside. You will be detained less than an hour. The same car will bring\nyou back, and I think I can guarantee that your employers will raise no\ndifficulty.\"\n\nThe head of the firm growled agreement. As a matter of fact the staid\nrespectability of Brown, Son & Brown had sustained a shock by the mere\npresence of the police. Murder has an ugly aspect. It was often bound up\nin the firm's products, but never before had it entered that temple of\nefficiency in other guise.\n\nClancy sensed the slow fermentation of the pharisaical mind.\n\n\"If I had known what sort of girl this was I would never have brought a\npoliceman,\" he muttered into the great man's ear. \"She has no more to do\nwith this affair than you have.\"\n\n\"It is very annoying--very,\" was the peevish reply.\n\n\"What is? Assisting the police?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Didn't mean that, of course.\"\n\nThe detective thought he might do more harm than good by pressing for a\ndefinition of the firm's annoyance. He turned to Winifred.\n\n\"Are you ready, Miss Bartlett?\" he said. \"The only reason the Bureau has\nfor troubling you is the accident of your address.\"\n\nAlmost before the girl realized the new and astounding conditions which\nhad come into her life she was seated in a closed automobile and\nspeeding swiftly down-town.\n\nShe was feminine enough, however, to ply Clancy with questions, and he\nhad to fence with her, as it was all-important that such information as\nshe might be able to give should be imparted when he and Steingall could\nobserve her closely. The Bureau hugged no delusions. Its vast experience\nof the criminal world rendered misplaced sympathy with erring mortals\nalmost impossible. Young or old, rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, the\nstrange procession which passes in unending review before the police\nauthorities is subjected to impartial yet searching analysis. Few of the\nguilty ones escape suspicion, no matter how slight the connecting clue\nor scanty the evidence. On the other hand, Steingall and his trusty aid\nseldom made a mistake when they decided, as Clancy had already done in\nWinifred's case, that real innocence had come under the shadow of crime.\n\nSteingall shared Clancy's opinion the instant he set eyes on the new\nwitness. He gazed at her with a humorous dismay that was wholly genuine.\n\n\"Sit there, Miss Bartlett,\" he said, rising to place a chair for her.\n\"Please don't feel nervous. I am sure you understand that only those who\nhave broken the law need fear it. Now, _you_ haven't killed anybody,\nhave you?\"\n\nWinifred smiled. She liked this big man's kindly manner. Really, the\npolice were not such terrifying ogres when you came to close quarters\nwith them.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" she said, little guessing that Clancy had indulged in a\nJapanese grimace behind her back, thereby informing his chief that \"The\nYacht Mystery\" was still maintaining its claim to figure as one of the\nmost sensational crimes the Bureau had investigated during many a year.\n\nSteingall, wishing to put the girl wholly at ease, affected to consult\nsome notes on his desk, but Winifred was too wrought up to keep silent.\n\n\"The gentleman who brought me here told me that I would be required to\ngive evidence concerning the murder of Mr. Ronald Tower,\" she said.\n\"Believe me, sir, that unfortunate gentleman's name was unknown to me\nbefore I read it in this morning's paper. I have no knowledge of the\nmanner of his death other than is contained in the account printed here\nin this newspaper.\"\n\nShe proffered the newspaper purchased before lunch, which she still held\nin her left hand. The impulsive action broadened Steingall's smile. He\nwas still utterly at a loss to account for this well-mannered girl's\nqueer environment.\n\n\"Why,\" he cried, \"I quite understand that. Mr. Clancy didn't tell you we\nregarded you as a desperate crook, did he?\"\n\nWinifred yielded to the chief's obvious desire to lift their talk out of\nthe rut of formality. She could not help being interested in these two\nmen, so dissimilar in their characteristics, yet each so utterly unlike\nthe somewhat awesome personage she would have sketched if asked to\ndefine her idea of a \"detective.\" Clancy, who had taken a chair at the\nside of the table, sat on it as though he were an automaton built of\nsteel springs and ready to bounce instantly in any given direction.\nSteingall's huge bulk lolled back indolently. He had been smoking when\nthe others entered, and a half-consumed cigar lay on an ash-tray.\nWinifred thought it would be rather amusing if she, in turn, made things\ncomfortable.\n\n\"Please don't put away your cigar on my account,\" she said. \"I like the\nsmell of good tobacco.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cackled Clancy.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Steingall, tucking the Havana into a corner of his\nmouth. The two men exchanged glances, and Winifred smiled. Steingall's\nlook of tolerant contempt at his assistant was distinctly amusing.\n\n\"That little shrimp can't smoke, Miss Bartlett,\" he explained, \"so he is\nan anti-tobacco maniac.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't care to take poison, would you?\" and Clancy shot the words\nat Winifred so sharply that she was almost startled.\n\n\"No. Of course not,\" she agreed.\n\n\"Yet that is what that mountain of brawn does during fourteen hours out\nof the twenty-four. Nicotine is one of the deadliest poisons known to\nscience. Even when absorbed into the tissues in minute doses it corrodes\nthe brain and atrophies the intellect. Did you see how he grinned when\nyou described that vile weed as 'good tobacco'? Now, you don't know\ngood, meaning real, tobacco from bad, do you?\"\n\n\"I know whether or not I like the scent of it,\" persisted Winifred. She\nbegan to think that officialdom in Mulberry Street affected the methods\nof the court circles frequented by Alice and the Mad Hatter.\n\n\"Don't mind him,\" put in Steingall genially. \"He's a living example of\nthe close alliance between insanity and genius. On the tobacco question\nhe's simply cracked, and that is all there is to it. Now we're wasting\nyour time by this chatter. I'll come to serious business by asking a\nquestion which you will not find embarrassing for a good many years yet\nto come. How old are you?\"\n\n\"Nineteen last birthday.\"\n\n\"When were you born?\"\n\n\"On June 6, 1894.\"\n\n\"And where?\"\n\nWinifred reddened slightly.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nSteingall seemed to be immensely surprised, and Winifred proceeded\nforthwith to throw light on this singular admission, which was exactly\nwhat he meant her to do.\n\n\"That is a very odd statement, but it is quite true,\" she said\nearnestly. \"My aunt would never tell me where I was born. I believe it\nwas somewhere in the New England States, but I have only the vaguest\ngrounds for the opinion. What I mean is that aunty occasionally reveals\na close familiarity with Boston and Vermont.\"\n\n\"What is her full name?\"\n\n\"Rachel Craik.\"\n\n\"She has never been married?\"\n\nWinifred's sense of humor was keen. She laughed at the idea of \"Aunt\nRachel\" having a husband.\n\n\"I don't think aunty will ever marry anybody now,\" she said. \"She holds\nthe opposite sex in detestation. No man is ever admitted to our house.\"\n\n\"It is a small, old-fashioned residence, but very large for the\nrequirements of two women?\" continued Steingall. He took no notes, and\nmight have been discussing the weather, now that the first whiff of\nwonderment as to Winifred's lack of information about her birth-place\nhad passed.\n\n\"Yes. We have several rooms unoccupied.\"\n\n\"And unfurnished?\"\n\n\"Say partly furnished.\"\n\n\"Ever had any boarders?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"No servants, of course?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And how long have you been employed in Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown's\nbookbinding department?\"\n\n\"About six months.\"\n\n\"What do you earn?\"\n\n\"Eight dollars a week.\"\n\n\"Is that the average amount paid to the other girls?\"\n\n\"Slightly above the average. I am supposed to be quick and accurate.\"\n\n\"Well now, Miss Bartlett, you seem to be a very intelligent and\nwell-educated young woman. How comes it that you are employed in such\nwork?\"\n\n\"It was the best I could find,\" she volunteered.\n\n\"No doubt. But you must be well aware that few, if any, among the girls\nin the bookbinding business can be your equal in education, and, may I\nadd, in refinement. Now, if you were a bookkeeper, a cashier or a\ntypist, I could understand it; but it does seem odd to me that you\nshould be engaged in this kind of job.\"\n\n\"It was my aunt's wish,\" said Winifred simply.\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\nSteingall dwelt on the monosyllable.\n\n\"What reason did she give for such a singular choice?\" he went on.\n\n\"I confess it has puzzled me,\" was the unaffected answer. \"Although\naunty is severe in her manner she is well educated, and she taught me\nnearly all I know, except music and singing, for which I took lessons\nfrom Signor Pecci ever since I was a tiny mite until about two years\nago. Then, I believe, aunty lost a good deal of money, and it became\nnecessary that I should earn something. Signor Pecci offered to get me a\nposition in a theater, but she would not hear of it, nor would she allow\nme to enter a shop or a restaurant. Really, it was aunty who got me work\nwith Messrs. Brown, Son & Brown.\"\n\n\"In other words,\" said Steingall, \"you were deliberately reared to fill\na higher social station, and then, for no assignable reason, save a\nwhim, compelled to sink to a much lower level?\"\n\n\"I do not know. I never disputed aunty's right to do what she thought\nbest.\"\n\n\"Well, well, it is odd. Do you ever entertain any visitors?\"\n\n\"None whatever. We have no acquaintances, and live very quietly.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say that your aunt never sees any one but yourself and\ncasual callers, such as tradespeople?\"\n\n\"So far as I know, that is absolutely the case.\"\n\n\"Very curious,\" commented Steingall. \"Does your aunt go out much?\"\n\n\"She leaves the house occasionally after I have gone to bed at ten\no'clock, but that is seldom, and I have no idea where she goes. Every\nweek-day, you know, I am away from home between seven in the morning and\nhalf past six at night, excepting Saturday afternoons. If possible, I\ntake a long walk before going to work.\"\n\n\"Do you go straight home?\"\n\nWinifred remembered Mr. Fowle's query, and smiled again.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.\n\n\"Now last night, for instance, was your aunt at home when you reached\nthe house?\"\n\n\"No; she was out. She did not come in until half past nine.\"\n\n\"Did she go out again last night?\"\n\n\"I do not know. I was tired. I went to bed rather early.\"\n\nSteingall bent over his notes for the first time since Winifred\nappeared. His lips were pursed, and he seemed to be weighing certain\nfacts gravely.\n\n\"I think,\" he said at last, \"that I need not detain you any longer,\nMiss Bartlett. By the way, I'll give you a note to your employers to say\nthat you are in no way connected with the crime we have under\ninvestigation. It may, perhaps, save you needless annoyance.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said the girl. \"But won't you tell me why you have\nasked me so many questions about my aunt and her ways?\"\n\nSteingall looked at her thoughtfully before he answered: \"In the first\nplace, Miss Bartlett, tell me this. I assume Miss Craik is your mother's\nsister. When did your mother die?\"\n\nWinifred blushed with almost childish discomfiture. \"It may seem very\nstupid to say such a thing,\" she admitted, \"but I have never known\neither a father or a mother. My aunt has always refused to discuss our\nfamily affairs in any way whatever. I fear her view is that I am\nsomewhat lucky to be alive at all.\"\n\n\"Few people would be found to agree with her,\" said the chief gallantly.\n\"Now I want you to be brave and patient. A very extraordinary crime has\nbeen committed, and the police occasionally find clues in the most\nunexpected quarters. I regret to tell you that Miss Craik is believed to\nbe in some way connected with the mysterious disappearance, if not the\ndeath, of Mr. Ronald Tower, and she is being held for further\ninquiries.\"\n\nWinifred's face blanched. \"Do you mean that she will be kept in prison?\"\nshe said, with a break in her voice.\n\n\"She must be detained for a while, but you need not be so alarmed. Her\nconnection with this outrage may be as harmless as your own, though I\ncan inform you that, without your knowledge, your house last night\ncertainly sheltered two men under grave suspicion, and for whom we are\nnow searching.\"\n\n\"Two men! In our house!\" cried the amazed girl.\n\n\"Yes. I tell you this to show you the necessity there is for calmness\nand reticence on your part. Don't speak to any one concerning your visit\nhere. Above all else, don't be afraid. Have you any one with whom you\ncan go to live until Miss Craik is\"--he corrected himself--\"until\nmatters are cleared up a bit?\"\n\n\"No,\" wailed Winifred, her pent-up feelings breaking through all\nrestraint. \"I am quite alone in the world now.\"\n\n\"Come, come, cheer up!\" said Steingall, rising and patting her on the\nshoulder. \"This disagreeable business may only last a day or two. You\nwill not want for anything. If you are in any trouble all you need do is\nto let me know. Moreover, to save you from being afraid of remaining\nalone in the house at night, I'll give special instructions to the\npolice in your precinct to watch the place closely. Now, be a brave\ngirl and make the best of it.\"\n\nThe house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street would, of course, be an\nobject of special interest to the police for other reasons apart from\nthose suggested by the chief. Nevertheless, his kindness had the desired\neffect, and Winifred strove to repress her tears.\n\n\"Here is your note,\" he said, \"and I advise you to forget this temporary\ntrouble in your work. Mr. Clancy will accompany you in the car if you\nwish.\"\n\n\"Please--I would rather be alone,\" she faltered. She was far from\nMulberry Street before she remembered that she had said nothing about\nseeing the boat that morning!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nPERSECUTORS\n\n\nDuring the brief run up-town Winifred managed to dry her tears, yet the\nmystery and terror of the circumstances into which she was so suddenly\nplunged seemed to become more distressful the longer she puzzled over\nthem. She could not find any outlet from a labyrinth of doubt and\nuncertainty. She strove again to read the printed accounts of the crime,\nin order to wrest from them some explanation of the extraordinary charge\nbrought against her aunt, but the words danced before her eyes. At last,\nwith an effort, she threw the paper away and bravely resolved to follow\nSteingall's parting advice.\n\nWhen she reached the warehouse she was naturally the object of much\ncovert observation. Neither Miss Sugg nor Mr. Fowle spoke to her, but\nWinifred thought she saw a malicious smile on the forewoman's face. The\nhours passed wearily until six o'clock. She was about to quit the\nbuilding with her companions--many of whom meant bombarding her with\nquestions at the first opportunity--when she was again requested to\nreport at the office.\n\nA clerk handed her one of the firm's pay envelopes.\n\n\"What's comin' to you up to date,\" he blurted out, \"and a week's salary\ninstead of notice.\"\n\nShe was dismissed!\n\nSome girls might have collapsed under this final blow, but not so\nWinifred Bartlett. Knowing it was useless to say anything to the clerk,\nshe spiritedly demanded an interview with the manager. This was refused.\nShe insisted, and sent Steingall's letter to the inner sanctum, having\nconcluded that the dismissal was in some way due to her visit to the\ndetective bureau.\n\nThe clerk came back with the note and a message: \"The firm desire me to\ntell you,\" he said, \"that they quite accept your explanation, but they\nhave no further need of your services.\"\n\nExplanation! How could a humble employee explain away the unsavory fact\nthat the smug respectability of Brown, Son & Brown had been outraged by\nthe name of the firm appearing in the evening papers as connected, even\nin the remotest way, with the sensational crime now engaging the\nattention of all New York?\n\nWinifred walked into the street. Something in her face warned even the\nmost inquisitive of her fellow-workers to leave her alone. Besides, the\npoor always evince a lively sympathy with others in misfortune. These\nworking-class girls were consumed with curiosity, yet they respected\nWinifred's feelings, and did not seek to intrude on her very apparent\nmisery by inquiry or sympathetic condolence. A few among them watched,\nand even followed her a little way as she turned the corner into\nFourteenth Street.\n\n\"She goes home by the Third Avenue L,\" said Carlotta. \"Sometimes I've\nwalked with her that far. H'lo! Why's Fowle goin' east in a taxi! He\nlives on West Seventeenth. Betcher a dime he's after Winnie.\"\n\n\"Whadda ya mean--after her?\" cried another girl.\n\n\"Why, didn't you hear how he spoke up for her this mornin' when Ole\nMother Sugg handed her the lemon about bein' late?\"\n\n\"But he got her fired.\"\n\n\"G'wan!\"\n\n\"He did, I tell you. I heard him phonin' a newspaper. He made 'em wise\nabout Winnie's bein' pinched, and then took the paper to the boss. I was\nbelow with a packin' check when he went in, so I saw that with my own\neyes, an' that's just as far as I'd trust Fowle.\"\n\nThe cynic's shrewd surmise was strictly accurate. Fowle had, indeed,\nsecured Winifred's dismissal. Her beauty and disdain had stirred his\nlewd impulses to their depths. His plan now was to intercept her before\nshe reached her home, and pose as the friend in need who is the most\nwelcome of all friends. Knowing nothing whatsoever of her domestic\nsurroundings he deemed it advisable to make inquiries on the spot. His\ncrafty and vulpine nature warned him against running his head into a\nnoose, since Winifred might own a strong-armed father or brother, but no\none could possibly resent a well-meant effort at assistance.\n\nThe mere sight of her graceful figure as she hurried along with pale\nface and downcast eyes inflamed him anew when his taxi sped by. She\ncould not avoid him now. He would go up-town by an earlier train, and\nawait her at the corner of One Hundred and Twelfth Street.\n\nBut the wariest fox is apt to find his paw in a trap, and Fowle, though\nfoxy, was by no means so astute as he imagined himself. Once again that\nday Fate was preparing a surprise for Winifred, and not the least\ndramatic feature thereof connoted the utter frustration and undoing of\nFowle.\n\nAbout the time that Winifred caught her train it befell that Rex\nCarshaw, gentleman of leisure, the most industrious idler who ever\nextracted dividends from a business he cared little about, drove a\nhigh-powered car across the Harlem River by the Willis Avenue Bridge,\nand entered that part of Manhattan which lies opposite Randall's Island.\n\nThis was a new world to the eyes of the young millionaire. Nor was it\nmuch to his liking. The mixed citizenry of New York must live somewhere,\nbut Carshaw saw no reason why he and his dainty car should loiter in a\ndistrict which seemed highly popular with all sorts of undesirable\nfolks; so, after skirting Thomas Jefferson Park he turned west, meaning\nto reach the better roadway and more open stretches of Fifth Avenue.\n\nA too hasty express wagon, however, heedless of the convenience of\nwealthy automobilists, bore down on Carshaw like a Juggernaut car, and\nstraightway smashed the differential, besides inflicting other grievous\ninjuries on a complex mechanism. A policeman, the proprietor of a\nneighboring garage, and a greatly interested crowd provided an impromptu\njury for the dispute between Carshaw and the express man.\n\nThe latter put up a poor case. It consisted almost entirely of the\nbitter and oft-repeated plaint:\n\n\"What was a car like that doin' here, anyhow?\"\n\nThe question sounded foolish. It was nothing of the kind. Only the\nGoddess of Wisdom could have answered it, and she, being invisible, was\nnecessarily dumb.\n\nAt last, when the damaged car was housed for the night, Carshaw set out\nto walk a couple of blocks to the elevated railway, his main objective\nbeing dinner with his mother in their apartment on Madison Avenue. He\nfound himself in a comparatively quiet street, wherein blocks of cheap\nmodern flats alternated with the dingy middle-class houses of a by-gone\ngeneration. He halted to light a cigarette, and, at that moment, a girl\nof remarkable beauty passed, walking quickly, yet without apparent\neffort. She was pallid and agitated, and her eyes were swimming with\nill-repressed tears.\n\nAs a matter of fact, Winifred nearly broke down at sight of her empty\nabode. It was a cheerless place at best, and now the thought of being\nleft there alone had induced a sense of feminine helplessness which\novercame her utterly.\n\nCarshaw was distinctly impressed. In the first place, he was young and\ngood-looking, and human enough to try and steal a second glance at such\na lovely face, though the steadily decreasing light was not altogether\nfavorable. Secondly, he thought he had never seen any girl who carried\nherself with such rhythmic grace. Thirdly, here was a woman in distress,\nand, to one of Carshaw's temperament and upbringing, that in itself\nformed a convincing reason why he should wish to help her.\n\nHe racked his brain for a fitting excuse to offer his services. He could\nfind none. Above all else, Rex Carshaw was a gentleman.\n\nOf course, he could not tell that the way was being made smooth for\nknight-errantry by a certain dragon named Fowle. He did not even quicken\nhis pace, and was musing on the curious incongruity of the maid in\ndistress with the rather squalid district in which she had her being\nwhen he saw a man bar her path.\n\nThis was Fowle, who, with lifted hat, was saying deferentially: \"Miss\nBartlett, may I have a word?\"\n\nWinifred stopped as though she had run into an unseen obstruction. She\neven recoiled a step or two.\n\n\"What do you want?\" she said, and there was a quality of scorn, perhaps\nof fear, in her voice that sent Carshaw, now five yards away, into the\nopen doorway of a block of flats. He was an impulsive young man. He\nliked the girl's face, and quite as fixedly disliked Fowle's. So he\nadopted the now world-famous policy of watchful waiting, being not\ndevoid of a dim belief that the situation might evolve an overt act.\n\n\"I want to tell you how sorry I am for what happened to-day,\" said\nFowle, trying to speak sympathetically, but not troubling to veil the\nbold admiration of his stare. \"I tried hard to stop unpleasantness, and\neven risked a row with the boss. But it was no use. I couldn't do a\nthing.\"\n\n\"But why are you here?\" demanded Winifred, and those sorrow-laden eyes\nof hers might have won pity from any but one of Fowle's order.\n\n\"To help, of course,\" came the ready assurance. \"I can get you a far\nbetter job than stitchin' octavos at Brown's. You're not meanin' to stay\nhome with your folks, I suppose?\"\n\n\"That is kind of you,\" said Winifred. \"I may have to depend altogether\non my own efforts, so I shall need work. I'll write to you for a\nreference, and perhaps for advice.\"\n\nShe had unwittingly told Fowle just what he was eager to know--that she\nwas friendless and alone. He prided himself on understanding the ways of\nwomen, and lost no more time in coming to the point.\n\n\"Listen, now, Winnie,\" he said, drawing nearer, \"I'd like to see you\nthrough this worry. Forget it. You can draw down twice or three times\nthe money as a model in Goldberg's Store. I know Goldberg, an' can fix\nthings. An', say, why mope at home evenings? I often get orders for two\nfor the theaters an' vaudeville shows. What about comin' along down-town\nto-night? A bit of dinner an' a cabaret'd cheer you up after to-day's\nunpleasantness.\"\n\nWinifred grew scarlet with vexation. The man had always been a repulsive\nperson in her eyes, and, unversed though she was in the world's wiles,\nshe knew instinctively that his present pretensions were merely a cloak\nfor rascality. One should be fair to Winifred, too. Like every other\ngirl, she had pictured the Prince Charming who would come into her life\nsome day. But--Fowle! Her gorge rose.\n\n\"How dare you follow me here and say such vile things?\" she cried\nhysterically.\n\n\"What's up now?\" said Fowle in mock surprise. \"What have I said that you\nshould fly off the trolley in that way?\"\n\n\"I take it that this young lady is telling you to quit,\" broke in\nanother voice. \"Go, now! Go while the going is good.\"\n\nQuietly but firmly elbowing Fowle aside, Rex Carshaw raised his hat and\nspoke to Winifred.\n\n\"If this fellow is annoying you he can soon be dealt with,\" he said. \"Do\nyou live near? If so, he can stop right here. I'll occupy his mind till\nyou are out of sight.\"\n\nThe discomfited masher was snarling like a vicious cur. The first swift\nglance that measured the intruder's proportions did not warrant any\ndisplay of active resentment on his part. Out of the tail of his eye,\nhowever, he noticed a policeman approaching on the opposite side of the\nstreet. The sight lent a confidence which might have been lacking\notherwise.\n\n\"Why are you buttin' in?\" he cried furiously. \"This young lady is a\nfriend of mine. I'm tryin' to pull her out of a difficulty, but she's\ngot me all wrong. Anyhow, what business is it of yours?\"\n\nFowle's anger was wasted, since Carshaw seemed not to hear. Indeed, why\nshould a chivalrous young man pay heed to Fowle when he could gaze his\nfill into Winifred's limpid eyes and listen to her tuneful voice?\n\n\"I am very greatly obliged to you,\" she was saying, \"but I hope Mr.\nFowle understands now that I do not desire his company and will not seek\nto force it on me.\"\n\n\"Sure he understands. Don't you, Fowle?\" and Carshaw gave the\ndisappointed wooer a look of such manifest purpose that something had to\nhappen quickly. Something did happen. Fowle knew the game was up, and\nbehaved after the manner of his kind.\n\n\"You're a cute little thing, Winifred Bartlett,\" he sneered, with a\nmalicious glance from the girl to Carshaw, while a coarse guffaw\nimparted venom to his utterance. \"Think you're taking an easier road to\nthe white lights, I guess?\"\n\n\"Guess again, Fowle,\" said Carshaw.\n\nHe spoke so quietly that Fowle was misled, because the pavement rose and\nstruck him violently on the back of his head. At least, that was his\nfirst impression. The second and more lasting one was even more\ndisagreeable. When he sat up, and fumbled to recover his hat, he was\ncompelled to apply a handkerchief to his nose, which seemed to have been\nreduced to a pulp.\n\n\"Too bad you should be mixed up in this disturbance,\" Carshaw was\nassuring Winifred, \"but a pup of the Fowle species can be taught manners\nin only one way. Now, suppose you hurry home!\"\n\nThe advice was well meant, and Winifred acted on it at once. Fowle had\nscrambled to his feet and the policeman was running up. From east and\nwest a crowd came on the scene like a well-trained stage chorus rushing\nin from the wings.\n\n\"Now, then, what's the trouble?\" demanded the law, with gruff\ninsistency.\n\n\"Nothing. A friend of mine met with a slight accident--that's all,\" said\nCarshaw.\n\n\"It's--it's--all right,\" agreed Fowle thickly. Some glimmer of reason\nwarned him that an exposé in the newspapers would cost him his job with\nBrown, Son & Brown. The policeman eyed the damaged nose. He grinned.\n\n\"If you care to take a wallop like that as a friendly tap it's your\naffair, not mine,\" he said. \"Anyhow, beat it, both of you!\"\n\nCarshaw was not interested in Fowle or the policeman. He had been\nvouchsafed one expressive look by Winifred as she hurried away, and he\nwatched the slim figure darting up half a dozen steps to a small\nbrown-stone house, and opening the door with a latch-key. Oddly enough,\nthe policeman's attention was drawn by the girl's movements. His air\nchanged instantly.\n\n\"H'lo,\" he said, evidently picking on Fowle as the doubtful one of these\ntwo. \"This must be inquired into. What's your name?\"\n\n\"No matter. I make no charge.\"\n\nFowle was turning away, but the policeman grabbed him.\n\n\"You come with me to the station-house,\" he said determinedly. \"An' you,\ntoo,\" he added jerking his head at Carshaw.\n\n\"Have you gone crazy with the heat?\" inquired Carshaw.\n\n\"I hold you for fighting in the public street, an' that's all there is\nto it,\" was the firm reply. \"You can come quietly or be 'cuffed, just as\nyou like. Clear off, the rest of you.\"\n\nAn awe-stricken mob backed hastily. Fowle was too dazed even to\nprotest, and Carshaw sensed some hidden but definite motive behind\nthe policeman's strange alternation of moods. He looked again at the\nbrown-stone house, but night was closing in so rapidly that he could\nnot distinguish a face at any of the windows.\n\n\"Let us get there quickly--I'll be late for dinner,\" he said, and the\nthree returned by the way Carshaw had come.\n\nThus it was that Rex Carshaw, eligible young society bachelor, was drawn\ninto the ever-widening vortex of \"The Yacht Mystery.\" He did not\nrecognize it yet, but was destined soon to feel the force of its\nswirling currents.\n\nGazing from a window of the otherwise deserted house Winifred saw both\nher assailant and her protector marched off by the policeman. It was\npatent, even to her benumbed wits, that they had been arrested. The\ntailing-in of the mob behind the trio told her as much.\n\nShe was too stunned to do other than sink into a chair. For a while she\nfeared she was going to faint. With lack-lustre eyes she peered into a\ngulf of loneliness and despair. Then outraged nature came to her aid,\nand she burst into a storm of tears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nBROTHER RALPH.\n\n\nClancy forced Senator Meiklejohn's hand early in the fray. He was at the\nSenator's flat within an hour of the time Ronald Tower was dragged into\nthe Hudson, but a smooth-spoken English man-servant assured the\ndetective that his master was out, and not expected home until two or\nthree in the morning.\n\nThis arrangement obviously referred to the Van Hofen festivity, so\nClancy contented himself with asking the valet to give the Senator a\ncard on which he scribbled a telephone number and the words, \"Please\nring up when you get this.\"\n\nNow, he knew, and Senator Meiklejohn knew, the theater at which Mrs.\nTower was enjoying herself. He did not imagine for an instant that the\nSenator was discharging the mournful duty of announcing to his friend's\nwife the lamentable fate which had overtaken her husband. Merely as a\nperfunctory duty he went to the theater and sought the manager.\n\n\"You know Mrs. Ronald Tower?\" he said.\n\n\"Sure I do,\" said the official. \"She's inside now. Came here with Bobby\nForrest.\"\n\n\"Anybody called for her recently?\"\n\n\"I think not, but I'll soon find out.\"\n\nNo. Mrs. Tower's appreciation of Belasco's genius had not been disturbed\nthat evening.\n\n\"Anything wrong?\" inquired the manager.\n\nClancy's answer was ready.\n\n\"If Senator Meiklejohn comes here within half an hour, see that the lady\nis told at once,\" he said. \"If he doesn't show up in that time, send for\nMr. Forrest, tell him that Mr. Tower has met with an accident, and leave\nhim to look after the lady.\"\n\n\"Wow! Is it serious? Why wait?\"\n\n\"The slight delay won't matter, and the Senator can handle the situation\nbetter than Forrest.\"\n\nClancy gave some telephonic instruction to the man on night duty at\nheadquarters. He even dictated a paragraph for the press. Then he went\nstraight to bed, for the hardiest detectives must sleep, and he had a\nfull day's work before him when next the sun rose over New York.\n\nHe summed up Meiklejohn's action correctly. The Senator did not\ncommunicate with Mulberry Street during the night, so Clancy was an\nearly visitor at his apartment.\n\n\"The Senator is ill and can see no one,\" said the valet.\n\n\"No matter how ill he may be, he must see me,\" retorted Clancy.\n\n\"But he musn't be disturbed. I have my orders.\"\n\n\"Take a fresh set. He's going to be disturbed right now, by you or me.\nChoose quick!\"\n\nThe law prevailed. A few minutes later Senator Meiklejohn entered the\nlibrary sitting-room, where the little detective awaited him. He looked\nwretchedly ill, but his sufferings were mental, not physical. Examined\ncritically now, in the cold light of day, he was a very different man\nfrom the spruce, dandified politician and financier who figured so\nprominently among Van Hofen's guests the previous evening. Yet Clancy\nsaw at a glance that the Senator was armed at all points. Diplomacy\nwould be useless. The situation demanded a bludgeon. He began the attack\nat once.\n\n\"Why didn't you ring up Mulberry Street last night, Senator?\" he said.\n\n\"I was too upset. My nerves were all in.\"\n\n\"You told the patrolman at Eighty-sixth Street that you were hurrying\naway to break the news to Mrs. Tower, yet you did not go near her?\"\n\nMeiklejohn affected to consult Clancy's card to ascertain the\ndetective's name.\n\n\"Perhaps I had better get in touch with the Bureau now,\" he said, and a\nflush of anger darkened his haggard face.\n\n\"No need. The Bureau is right here. Let us get down to brass tacks,\nSenator. A woman named Rachel met you outside the Four Hundred Club at\neight o'clock as you were coming out. You had just spoken to Mrs. Tower,\nwhen this woman told you that you must meet two men who would await you\nat the Eighty-sixth landing-stage at nine. You were to bring five\nhundred dollars. At nine o'clock these same men killed Mr. Tower, and\nyou yourself admitted to me that they mistook him for you. Now, will you\nbe good enough to fill in the blanks? Who is Rachel? Where does she\nlive? Who were the two men? Why should you give them five hundred\ndollars, apparently as blackmail?\"\n\nClancy was exceedingly disappointed by the result of this thunderbolt.\nAny ordinary man would have shrivelled under its crushing impact. If\nthe police knew so much that might reasonably be regarded as secret,\nof what avail was further concealment? Yet Senator Meiklejohn bore up\nwonderfully. He showed surprise, as well he might, but was by no means\npulverized.\n\n\"All this is rather marvelous,\" he said slowly, after a long pause. He\nhad avoided Clancy's gaze after the first few words, and sank into an\narmchair with an air of weariness that was not assumed.\n\n\"Simple enough,\" commented the detective readily. Above all else he\nwanted Meiklejohn to talk. \"I was on duty outside the club, and heard\nalmost every word that passed between you and Rachel.\"\n\n\"Well, well.\"\n\nThe Senator arose and pressed an electric bell.\n\n\"If you don't mind,\" he explained suavely, \"I'll order some coffee and\nrolls. Will you join me?\"\n\nThis was the parry of a skilled duelist to divert an attack and gain\nbreathing-time. Clancy rather admired such adroitness.\n\n\"Sorry, I can't on principle,\" he countered.\n\n\"How--on principle?\"\n\n\"You see, Senator, I may have to arrest you, and I never eat with any\nman with whom I may clash professionally.\"\n\n\"You take risks, Mr. Clancy.\"\n\n\"I love 'em. I'd cut my job to-day if it wasn't for the occasional\nexcitement.\"\n\nThe valet appeared.\n\n\"Coffee and rolls for two, Phillips,\" said Meiklejohn. He turned to\nClancy. \"Perhaps you would prefer toast and an egg?\"\n\n\"I have breakfasted already, Senator,\" smiled the detective, \"but I may\ndally with the coffee.\"\n\nWhen the door was closed on Phillips, his master glanced at a clock on\nthe mantelpiece. The hour was eight-fifteen. Some days elapsed before\nClancy interpreted that incident correctly.\n\n\"You rose early,\" said the Senator.\n\n\"Yes, but worms are coy this morning.\"\n\n\"Meaning that you still await answers to your questions. I'll deal with\nyou fully and frankly, but I'm curious to know on what conceivable\nground you could arrest me for the murder of my friend Ronald Tower.\"\n\n\"As an accessory before the act.\"\n\n\"But, consider. You have brains, Mr. Clancy. I am glad the Bureau sent\nsuch a man. How can a bit of unthinking generosity on my part be\nconstrued as participation in a crime?\"\n\n\"If you explain matters, Senator, the absurdity of the notion may become\nclear.\"\n\n\"Ah, that's better. Let me assure you that my coffee will not affect\nyour fine sensibilities. Miss Rachel Craik is a lady I have known nearly\nall my life. I have assisted her, within my means. She resides in East\nOne Hundred and Twelfth Street, and the man about whom she was so\nconcerned last night is her brother. He committed some technical offense\nyears ago, and has always been a ne'er-do-well. To please his sister,\nand for no other reason, I undertook to provide him with five hundred\ndollars, and thus enable him to start life anew. I have never met the\nman. I would not recognize him if I saw him. I believe he is a desperate\ncharacter; his maniacal behavior last night seems to leave no room for\ndoubt in that respect. Don't you see, Mr. Clancy, that it was I, and not\npoor Tower, whom he meant attacking? But for idle chance, it is my\ncorpse, not Tower's, that would now be floating in the Hudson. You heard\nwhat Tower said. I did not. I assume, however, that some allusion was\nmade to the money--which, by the way, is still in my pocketbook--and\nTower scoffed at the notion that he had come there to hand over five\nhundred dollars. There you have the whole story, in so far as I can tell\nit.\"\n\n\"For the present, Senator.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"It should yield many more chapters. Is that all you're going to say?\nFor instance, did you call on Rachel Craik after leaving Eighty-sixth\nStreet?\"\n\nMeiklejohn's jaws closed like a steel trap. He almost lost his temper.\n\n\"No,\" he said, seemingly conquering the desire to blaze into anger at\nthis gadfly of a detective.\n\n\"Sure?\"\n\n\"I said 'no.' That is not 'yes.' I was so overcome by Tower's miserable\nfate that I dismissed my car and walked home. I could not face any one,\nleast of all Helen--Mrs. Tower.\"\n\n\"Or the Bureau?\"\n\n\"Mr. Clancy, you annoy me.\"\n\nClancy stood up.\n\n\"I must duck your coffee, Senator,\" he said cheerfully. \"Is Miss Craik\non the phone?\"\n\n\"No. She is poor, and lives alone--or, to be correct, with a niece, I\nbelieve.\"\n\n\"Well, think matters over. I'll see you again soon. Then you may be able\nto tell me some more.\"\n\n\"I have told you everything.\"\n\n\"Perhaps _I_ may do the telling.\"\n\n\"Now, as to this poor woman, Miss Craik. You will not adopt harsh\nmeasures, I trust?\"\n\n\"We are never harsh, Senator. If she speaks the truth, and all the\ntruth, she need not fear.\"\n\nIn the hall Clancy met the valet, carrying a laden tray.\n\n\"Do you make good coffee, Phillips?\" he inquired.\n\n\"I try to,\" smiled the other.\n\n\"Ah, that's modest--that's the way real genius speaks. Sorry I can't\nsample your brew to-day. So few Englishmen know the first thing about\ncoffee.\"\n\n\"Nice, friendly little chap,\" was Phillips's opinion of the detective.\nSenator Meiklejohn's description of the same person was widely\ndifferent. When Clancy went out, he, too, rose and stretched his stiff\nlimbs.\n\n\"I got rid of that little rat more easily than I expected,\" he\nmused--that is to say, the Senator's thoughts may be estimated in some\nsuch phrase. But he was grievously mistaken in his belief. Clancy was no\nrat, but a most stubborn terrier when there were rats around.\n\nWhile Meiklejohn was drinking his coffee the telephone rang. It was Mrs.\nTower. She was heartbroken, or professed to be, since no more selfish\nwoman existed in New York.\n\n\"Are you coming to see me?\" she wailed.\n\n\"Yes, yes, later in the day. At present I dare not. I am too unhinged.\nOh, Helen, what a tragedy! Have you any news?\"\n\n\"News! My God! What news can I hope for except that Ronald's poor,\nmaimed body has been found?\"\n\n\"Helen, this is terrible. Bear up!\"\n\n\"I'm doing my best. I can hardly believe that this thing has really\nhappened. Help me in one small way, Senator. Telephone Mr. Jacob and\nexplain why our luncheon is postponed.\"\n\n\"Yes, I'll do that.\"\n\nMeiklejohn smiled grimly as he hung up the receiver. In the midst of\nher tribulations Helen Tower had not forgotten Jacob and the little\nbusiness of the Costa Rica Cotton Concession! The luncheon was only\n\"postponed.\"\n\nAn inquiry came from a newspaper, whereupon he gave a curt order that no\nmore calls were to be made that day, as the apartment would be empty. He\ndressed, and devoted himself forthwith to the task of overhauling\npapers. He had a fire kindled in the library.\n\nHour after hour he worked, until the grate was littered with the ashes\nof destroyed documents. Sending for newspapers, he read of Rachel\nCraik's arrest. At last, when the light waned, he looked at his watch.\nShould he not face his fellow-members at the Four Hundred Club? Would it\nnot betray weakness to shirk the ordeal of inquiry, of friendly scrutiny\nand half-spoken wonder that he, the irreproachable, should be mixed up\nin such a weird tragedy. Once he sought support from a decanter of\nbrandy.\n\n\"Confound it!\" he muttered, \"why am I so shaky. _I_ didn't murder Tower.\nMy whole life may be ruined by one false step!\"\n\nHe was still pondering irresolutely a visit to the club when Phillips\ncame. The valet seemed flurried.\n\n\"There's a gentleman outside, sir, who insists on seeing you,\" he said\nnervously. \"He's a very violent gentleman, sir. He said if I didn't\nannounce him he----\"\n\n\"What name?\" interrupted Meiklejohn.\n\n\"Name of Voles, sir.\"\n\n\"Voles?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, but he says you'll recognize him better by the initials R. V.\nV.\"\n\nMen of Meiklejohn's physique--big, fleshy, with the stamp of success on\nthem--are rare subjects for nervous attacks. They seem to defy events\nwhich will shock the color out of ordinary men's cheeks, yet Meiklejohn\nfelt that if he dared encounter the eyes of his discreet servant he\nwould do something outrageous--shriek, or jump, or tear his hair. He\nbent over some papers on the table.\n\n\"Send Mr. Voles in,\" he murmured. \"If any other person calls, say I'm\nengaged.\"\n\nThe man who was ushered into the room was of a stature and demeanor\nwhich might well have cowed the valet. Tall, strongly built, altogether\nfitter and more muscular than the stalwart Senator, he carried with him\nan impression of truculence, of a savage forcefulness, not often clothed\nin the staid garments of city life. Were his skin bronze, were he decked\nin the barbaric trappings of a Pawnee chief, his appearance would be\nmore in accord with the chill and repellant significance of his\npersonality. His square, hard features might have been chiseled out of\ngranite. A pair of singularly dark eyes blazed beneath heavy and\nprominent eyebrows. A high forehead, a massive chin, and a well-shaped\nnose lent a certain intellectuality to the face, but this attribute was\nnegatived by the coarse lines of a brutal mouth.\n\nFrom any point of view the visitor must invite attention, while\ncompelling dislike--even fear. In a smaller frame, such qualities might\nescape recognition, but this man's giant physique accentuated the evil\naspect of eyes and mouth. Hardly waiting till the door was closed, he\nlaughed sarcastically.\n\n\"You are well fixed here, brother o' mine,\" he said.\n\nThe man whom he addressed as \"brother\" leaned with his hands on the\ntable that separated them. His face was quite ghastly. All his\nself-control seemed to have deserted him.\n\n\"You?\" he gasped. \"To come here! Are you mad?\"\n\n\"Need you ask? It will not be the first time you have called me a\nlunatic, nor will it be the last, I reckon.\"\n\n\"But the risk, the infernal risk! The police know of you. Rachel is\narrested. A detective was here a few hours ago. They are probably\nwatching outside.\"\n\n\"Bosh!\" was the uncompromising answer. \"I'm sick of being hunted. Just\nfor a change I turn hunter. Where's the mazuma you promised Rachel?\"\n\nMeiklejohn, using a hand like one in a palsy, produced a pocketbook and\ntook from it a bundle of notes.\n\n\"Here!\" he quavered. \"Now, for Heaven's sake----\"\n\n\"Just the same old William,\" cried the stranger, seating himself\nunceremoniously. \"Always ready to do a steal, but terrified lest the law\nshould grab him. No, I'm not going. It will be good nerve tonic for you\nto sit down and talk while you strain your ears to hear the tramp of\nhalf a dozen cops in the hall. What a poor fish you are!\" he continued,\nvoice and manner revealing a candid contempt, as Meiklejohn did indeed\nstart at the slamming of a door somewhere in the building. \"Do you think\nI'd risk my neck if I were likely to be pinched? Gad! I know my way\naround too well for that.\"\n\n\"But you don't understand,\" whispered the other in mortal terror. \"By\nsome means the detective bureau may know of your existence. Rachel\npromised to be close-lipped, but--\"\n\n\"Oh, take a bracer out of that decanter. At the present moment I am\nregistered in a big Fifth Avenue hotel, a swell joint which they\nwouldn't suspect in twenty years.\"\n\n\"How can that be? Rachel said you were in desperate need.\"\n\n\"So I was until I went through that idiot's pockets. He had two hundred\ndollars in bills and chicken-feed. I knew I'd get another wad from you\nto-night.\"\n\n\"Why did you want to murder me, Ralph?\"\n\n\"Murder! Oh, shucks! I didn't want to kill anybody. But I don't trust\nyou, William. I'm always expecting you to double-cross me. Last night it\nwas a lasso. To-night it is this.\" And he suddenly whipped out a\nrevolver.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nSTILL MERE MYSTERY\n\n\nMeiklejohn pushed his chair back so quickly that it caught the fender\nand brought down some fire-irons with a crash.\n\n\"More nerves!\" croaked his grim-visaged relative, but the revolver\ndisappeared.\n\n\"Tell me,\" said the tortured Meiklejohn; \"why have you returned to New\nYork? Above all, why did you straightway commit a crime that cannot fail\nto stir the whole country?\"\n\n\"That's better. You are showing some sort of brotherly interest. I came\nback because I was sick of mining camps and boundless sierras. I had a\nhankering after the old life--the theaters, dinners, race-meetings, wine\nand women. As to 'the crime,' I thought that fool was you. He called for\nthe cops.\"\n\n\"For the police! Why?\"\n\n\"Because my line of talk was a trifle too rough, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Did he know you were there to meet me?\"\n\n\"Can't say. The whole thing was over like a flash. I am quick on the\ntrigger.\"\n\n\"But if you had killed me what other goose would lay golden eggs?\"\n\n\"You forget that the goose was unwilling to lay any more eggs. I only\nmeant scaring you. To haul you neck and crop into the river was a good\nscheme. You see, we haven't met for some years.\"\n\n\"Then why--why murder Ronald Tower?\"\n\n\"There you go again. Murder! How you chew on the word. I never touched\nthe man, only to haul him into the boat and go through his pockets. I\nguess he had a weak heart, due to over-eating, and the cold water upset\nhim.\"\n\n\"But you left him in the river?\"\n\n\"Wrong every time. I chucked him into a barge and covered him tenderly\nwith a tarpaulin.\"\n\nMeiklejohn sprang upright. \"Good God,\" he cried, \"he may be alive!\"\n\n\"Sit down, William, sit down,\" was the cool response. \"If he's alive,\nhe'll turn up. In any case, he'll be found sooner or later. Shout the\nglad news now and you go straight to the Tombs.\"\n\nThis was obviously so true that the Senator collapsed into his chair\nagain, and in so doing disturbed the fire-irons a second time.\n\nThe incident amused the unbidden guest. \"I see you won't be happy till I\nleave you,\" he laughed, \"so let's go on with the knitting. That\ngirl--she is becoming a woman--what is to be done with her?\"\n\n\"Rachel takes every care--\"\n\n\"Rachel is excellent in her way. But she is growing old. She may die.\nThe girl is the living image of her mother. It's a queer world, and a\nsmall one at times. For instance, who would have expected your double to\nwalk onto the terrace at the landing-stage at nine o'clock precisely\nlast night? Well, some one may recognize the likeness. Inquiries might\nbe instituted. That would be very awkward for you.\"\n\n\"Far more awkward for you.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it. I've lived with my neck in the loop for eighteen\nyears. I'm getting used to it. But you, William, with your Senatorship\nand high record in Wall Street--really the downfall would be terrible!\"\n\n\"What can we do with her? Murder her, as you--\"\n\n\"The devil take you and your parrotlike repetition of one word!\" roared\nbrother Ralph, bringing his clenched fist down on the table with a bang.\n\"I never laid violent hands on a woman yet, whatever I may have done to\nmen. Who has reaped the reward of my misdeeds, I'd like to know--I, an\noutcast and a wanderer, or you, living here like Lord Tomnoddy? None of\nyour preaching to me, you smug Pharisee! We're six of one and half a\ndozen of the other.\"\n\nWhen this self-proclaimed adventurer was really aroused he dropped the\nrough argot of the plains. His diction showed even some measure of\nculture.\n\nMeiklejohn walked unsteadily to the door. He opened it. There was no one\nin the passage without.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" he said in a strangely subdued voice. \"What do you want?\nWhat do you suggest?\"\n\n\"This,\" came the instant reply. \"It was a piece of folly on Rachel's\npart to educate the girl the way she did. You stopped the process too\nlate. In a year or two Miss Winifred will begin to think and ask\nquestions, if she hasn't done so already. She must leave the\nEast--better quit America altogether.\"\n\n\"Very well. When this affair of Tower's blows over I'll arrange it.\"\n\nThe other man seemed to be somewhat mollified. He lighted a cigarette.\n\"That rope play was sure a mad trick,\" he conceded sullenly, \"but I\nthought you were putting the cops on my trail.\"\n\nA bell rang and the Senator started. Many callers, mostly reporters, had\nbeen turned away by Phillips already that day, but brother Ralph's\nuntimely visit had made the position peculiarly dangerous. Moreover,\nthe valet's protests had proved unavailing this time. The two heard his\napproaching footsteps.\n\nMeiklejohn's care-worn face turned almost green with fright, and even\nhis hardier companion yielded to a sense of peril. He leaped up, moving\ncatlike on his toes.\n\n\"Where does that door lead to?\" he hissed, pointing.\n\n\"A bedroom. But I've given orders--\"\n\n\"You dough-faced dub, don't you see you create suspicion by refusing to\nmeet people? And, listen! If this is a cop, bluff hard! I'll shoot up\nthe whole Bureau before they get me!\"\n\nHe vanished, moving with a silence and celerity that were almost uncanny\nin so huge a man. Phillips knocked and thrust his head in. He looked\nscared yet profoundly relieved.\n\n\"Mr. Tower to see you, sir,\" he said breathlessly.\n\n\"What?\" shrieked the Senator in a shrill falsetto.\n\n\"Yes, sir. It's Mr. Tower himself, sir.\"\n\n\"H'lo, Bill!\" came a familiar voice. \"Here I am! No spook yet, thank\ngoodness!\"\n\nMeiklejohn literally staggered to the door and nearly fell into Ronald\nTower's arms. Of the two men, the Senator seemed nearer death at that\nmoment. He blubbered something incoherent, and had to be assisted to a\nchair. Even Tower was astonished at the evident depth of his friend's\nemotion.\n\n\"Cheer up, old sport!\" he cried affectionately. \"I had no notion you\nfelt so badly about my untimely end, as the newspapers call it. I tried\nto get you on the phone, but you were closed down, the exchange said, so\nHelen packed me off here when she was able to sit up and take\nnourishment. Gad! Even my wife seems to have missed me!\"\n\nMany minutes elapsed before Senator Meiklejohn's benumbed brain could\nassimilate the facts of a truly extraordinary story. Tower, after being\nwhisked so unceremoniously into the Hudson, remembered nothing further\nuntil he opened his eyes in numb semi-consciousness in the cubbyhole of\na tug plodding through the long Atlantic rollers off the New Jersey\ncoast.\n\nWhen able to talk he learned that the captain of the tug _Cygnet_,\nhaving received orders to tow three loaded barges from a Weehawken pier\nto Barnegat City, picked up his \"job\" at nine-thirty the previous night,\nand dropped down the river with the tide. In the early morning he was\namazed by the sight of a man crawling from under the heavy tarpaulin\nthat sheeted one of the barges--a man so dazed and weak that he nearly\nfell into the sea.\n\n\"Cap' Rickards slowed up and took me aboard,\" explained Tower volubly.\n\"Then he filled me with rock and rye and packed me in blankets. Gee, how\nthey smelt, but how grateful they were! What between prime old whiskey\ninside and greasy wool outside I dodged a probable attack of pneumonia.\nWhen the _Cygnet_ tied up at Barnegat at noon to-day I was fit as a\nfiddle. Cap' Rickards rigged me out in his shore-going suit and lent me\ntwenty dollars, as that pair of blackguards in the launch had robbed me\nof every cent. They even took a crooked sixpence I found in London\ntwenty years ago, darn 'em! I phoned Helen, of course, but didn't\nrealize what a hubbub my sad fate had created until I read a newspaper\nin the train. When I reached home poor Helen was so out of gear that she\nhadn't told a soul of my escape. I do believe she hardly accepted my own\nassurance that I was still on the map. However, when I got her calmed\ndown a bit, she remembered you and the rest of the excitement, so I\nphoned the detective bureau and the club, and came straight here.\"\n\n\"That is very good of you, Tower,\" murmured Meiklejohn brokenly. He\nlooked in far worse plight than the man who had survived such a\ndesperate adventure.\n\n\"Well, my dear chap, I was naturally anxious to see you, because--but\nperhaps you don't know that those scoundrels meant to attack you, not\nme?\"\n\nMeiklejohn smiled wanly. \"Oh, yes,\" he said. \"The police found that out\nby some means. I believe the authorities actually suspected me of being\nconcerned in the affair.\"\n\nTower laughed boisterously. \"That's the limit!\" he roared. \"Come with me\nto the club. We'll soon spoil that yarn. What a fuss the papers made!\nI'm quite a celebrity.\"\n\n\"I'll follow you in half an hour. And, look here, Tower, this matter did\nreally affect me. There was a woman in the case. I butted into an old\nfeud merely as a friend. I think matters will now be settled amicably.\nAllow me to make good your loss in every way. If you can persuade the\npolice that the whole thing was a hoax--\"\n\nFor the first time Tower looked non-plussed. He was enjoying the\nnotoriety thrust on him so unexpectedly.\n\n\"Well, I can hardly do that,\" he said. \"But if I can get them to drop\nfurther inquiries I'll do it, Meiklejohn, for your sake. Gee! Come to\nlook at you, you must have had a bad time.... Well, good-by, old top!\nSee you later. Suppose we dine together? That will help dissipate this\nqueer story as to you being mixed up in an attack on me. Now, I must be\noff and play ghost in the club smoking-room.\"\n\nMeiklejohn heard his fluttering man-servant let Tower out. He tottered\nto a chair, and Ralph Voles came in noiselessly.\n\n\"Well, what about it?\" chuckled the reprobate. \"We seem to have struck\nit lucky.\"\n\n\"Go away!\" snarled the Senator, goaded to a sudden rage by the other\nman's cynical humor. \"I can stand no more to-day.\"\n\n\"Oh, take a pull at this!\" And the decanter was pushed across the table.\n\"Didn't Dr. Johnson once say that claret is the liquor for boys, port\nfor men, but he who aspires to be a hero should drink brandy? And you\nmust be a hero to-night. Get onto the Bureau and use the soft pedal.\nThen beat it to the club. You and Tower ought to be well soused in an\nhour. He's a good sport, all right. I'll mail him that sixpence if it's\nstill in my pants.\"\n\n\"Do nothing of the sort!\" snapped Meiklejohn. \"You're--\"\n\n\"Ah, cut it out! Tower wants plenty to talk about. His crooked sixpence\nwill fill many an eye, and the more he spiels the better it is for you.\nGee, but you're yellow for a two-hundred pounder! Now, listen! Make\nthose cops drop all charges against Rachel. Then, in a week or less,\nI'll come along and fix things about the girl. She's the fly in the\namber now. Mind she doesn't get out, or the howl about Mr. Ronald\nTower's trip to Barnegat won't amount to a row of beans against the\ntrouble pretty Winifred can give you. _Dios!_ It's a pity. She's a real\nbeauty, and that's more than any one can say for you, Brother William.\"\n\n\"You go to--\"\n\n\"That's better! You're reviving. Well, good-by, Senator! _Au revoir sans\nadieux!_\"\n\nThe big man swaggered out. Meiklejohn drank no spirits. He needed a\nclear brain that evening. After deep self-communing he rang up police\nheadquarters and inquired for Mr. Clancy.\n\n\"Mr. Clancy is out,\" he was told by some one with a strong, resonant\nvoice. \"Anything we can do, Senator?\"\n\n\"About that poor woman, Rachel Craik--\"\n\n\"Oh, she's all right! She gave us a farewell smile two hours ago.\"\n\n\"You mean she is at liberty?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Senator.\"\n\n\"May I ask to whom I am speaking?\"\n\n\"Steingall, Chief of the Bureau.\"\n\n\"This wretched affair--it's merely a family squabble between Miss Craik\nand a relative--might well end now, Mr. Steingall.\"\n\n\"That is for Mr. Tower and Mr. Van Hofen to decide.\"\n\n\"Yes, I quite understand. I have seen Mr. Tower, and he shares my\nopinion.\"\n\n\"Just so, Senator. At any rate, the yacht mystery is almost cleared up.\"\n\n\"I agree with you most heartily.\"\n\nFor the first time in nearly twenty-four hours Senator Meiklejohn looked\ncontented with life when he hung up the receiver. Therefore, it was well\nfor his peace of mind that he could not hear Steingall's silent comment\nas he, in turn, disconnected the phone.\n\n\"That old fox agreed with me too heartily,\" he thought. \"The yacht\nmystery is only just beginning--or I'm a Dutchman!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE DREAM FACE\n\n\nThat evening of her dismissal from Brown's, and her meeting with Rex\nCarshaw, Winifred opened the door of the dun house in One Hundred and\nTwelfth Street the most downhearted girl in New York. Suddenly, mystery\nhad gathered round her. Something threatened, she knew not what. When\nthe door slammed behind her her heart sank--she was alone not only in\nthe house, but in the world. This thought possessed her utterly when the\nexcitement caused by Carshaw and Fowle, and their speedy arrest, had\npassed.\n\nThat her aunt, the humdrum Rachel Craik, should have any sort of\nconnection with the murder of Ronald Tower, of which Winifred had\nchanced first to hear on Riverside Drive that morning, seemed the\nwildest nonsense. Then Winifred was overwhelmed afresh, and breathed to\nherself, \"I must be dreaming!\"\n\nAnd yet--the house was empty! Her aunt was not there--her aunt was held\nas a criminal! It was not a dream, but only like one, a waking nightmare\nfar more terrifying. Most of the rooms in the house had nothing but\ndust in them. Rachel Craik had preferred to live as solitary in teeming\nManhattan as a castaway on a rock in the midst of the sea.\n\nWinifred's mind was accustomed now to the thought of that solitude\nshared by two. This night, when there were no longer two, but only one,\nthe question arose strongly in her mind--why had there never been more\nthan two? Certainly her aunt was not rich, and might well have let some\nof the rooms. Yet, even the suggestion of such a thing had made Rachel\nCraik angry. This, for the first time, struck Winifred as odd.\nEverything was puzzling, and all sorts of doubts peeped up in her, like\nghosts questioning her with their eyes in the dark.\n\nWhen the storm of tears had spent its force she had just enough interest\nin her usual self to lay the table and make ready a meal, but not enough\ninterest to eat it. She sat by a window of her bedroom, her hat still on\nher head, looking down. The street lamps were lit. It grew darker and\ndarker. Down there below feet passed and repassed in multitudes, like\ndrops of the eternal cataract of life.\n\nWinifred's eyes rested often on the spot where Rex Carshaw had spoken to\nher and had knocked down Fowle, her tormentor. In hours of trouble, when\nthe mind is stunned, it will often go off into musings on trivial\nthings. So this young girl, sitting at the window of the dark and empty\nhouse, let her thoughts wander to her rescuer. He was well built, and\npoised like an athlete. He had a quick step, a quick way of talking, was\nused to command; his brow was square, and could threaten; he had the\ndeepest blue eyes, and glossy brown hair; he was a tower of strength to\nprotect a girl; and his wife, if he had one, must have a feeling of\nsafety. Thoughts, or half-thoughts, like these passed through her mind.\nShe had never before met any young man of Carshaw's type.\n\nIt became ten o'clock. She was tired after the day's work and trouble of\nmind. The blow of her dismissal, the fright of her interview with the\npolice, the arrest of her aunt--all this sudden influx of mystery and\ncare formed a burden from which there was no escape for exhausted nature\nbut in sleep. Her eyes grew weary at last, and, getting up, she\ndiscarded her hat and some of her clothes; then threw herself on the\nbed, still half-dressed, and was soon asleep.\n\nThe hours of darkness rolled on. That tramp of feet in the street grew\nthin and scattered, as if the army of life had undergone a repulse. Then\nthere was a rally, when the theaters and picture-houses poured out their\ncrowds; but it was short, the powers of night were in the ascendant, and\nsoon the last stragglers retreated under cover. Of all this Winifred\nheard nothing--she slept soundly.\n\nBut was it in a dream, that voice which she heard? Something somewhere\nseemed to whisper, \"She must be taken out of New York--she is the image\nof her mother.\"\n\nIt was a hushed, grim voice.\n\nThe room, the whole house, had been in darkness when she had thrown\nherself on the bed. But, somewhere, had she not been conscious of a\nlight at some moment? Had she dreamed this, or had she seen it? She sat\nup in bed, staring and startled. The room was in darkness. In her ears\nwere the words: \"She is the image of her mother.\"\n\nShe had heard them in some world, she did not know in which. She\nlistened with the keen ears of fear. Not a wagon nor a taxi any longer\nmoved in the street; no step passed; the house was silent.\n\nBut after a long ten minutes the darkness seemed to become pregnant with\na sound, a steady murmur. It was as if it came from far away, as if a\nbrook had spurted out of the granite of Manhattan, and was even more\nlike a dream-sound than those words which still buzzed in Winifred's\near. Somehow that murmur as of water in the night made Winifred think of\na face, one which, as far as she could remember, she had never\nconsciously seen--a man's face, brown, hard, and menacing, which had\nlooked once into her eyes in some state of semi-conscious being, and\nthen had vanished. And now this question arose in her mind: was it not\nthat face, hard and brown, which she had never seen, and yet once had\nseen--were not those the cruel lips which somewhere had whispered: \"She\nis the image of her mother?\"\n\nWinifred, sitting up in bed, listened to the steady, dull murmuring a\nlong time, till there came a moment when she said definitely: \"It is in\nthe house.\"\n\nFor, as her ears grew accustomed to its tone, it seemed to lose some of\nits remoteness, to become more local and earthly. Presently this sound\nwhich the darkness was giving out became the voices of people talking in\nsubdued undertones not far off. Nor was it long before the murmur was\nbroken by a word sharply uttered and clearly heard by her--a gruff and\nunmistakable oath. She started with fright at this, it sounded so near.\nShe was certain now that there were others in the house with her. She\nhad gone to bed alone. Waking up in the dead of the small hours to find\nmen or ghosts with her, her heart beat horribly.\n\nBut ghosts do not swear--at least such was Winifred's ideal of the\nspirit world. And she was brave. Nerving herself for the ordeal, she\nfound the courage to steal out of bed and make her way out of the room\ninto a passage, and she had not stood there listening two minutes when\nshe was able to be certain that the murmur was going on in a back room.\n\nHow earnest that talk was--how low in pitch! It could hardly be burglars\nthere, for burglars do not enter a house in order to lay their heads\ntogether in long conferences. It could not be ghosts, for a light came\nout under the rim of the door.\n\nAfter a time Winifred stole forward, tapped on a panel, and her heart\njumped into her mouth as she lifted her voice, saying:\n\n\"Aunty, is it you?\"\n\nThere was silence at this, as though they had been ghosts, indeed, and\nhad taken to flight at the breath of the living.\n\n\"Speak! Who is it?\" cried Winifred with a fearful shrillness now. A\nchair grated on the floor inside, hurried steps were heard, a key\nturned, the door opened a very little, and Winifred saw the gaunt face\nof Rachel Craik looking dourly at her, for she had frightened this\nmasterful woman very thoroughly.\n\n\"Oh, aunt, it _is_ you!\" gasped Winifred with a flutter of relief.\n\n\"You are to go to bed, Winnie,\" said Rachel.\n\n\"It is you! They have let you out, then?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Tell me what happened; let me come in--\"\n\n\"Go back to bed; there's a good girl. I'll tell you everything in the\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I am glad! I was so lonely and frightened! Aunt, what was it\nall about?\"\n\n\"About nothing; as far as I can discover,\" said Rachel Craik--\"a mere\nmare's-nest found by a set of stupid police. Some man--a Mr. Ronald\nTower--was supposed to have been murdered, and I was supposed to have\nsome connection with it, though I had never seen the creature in my\nlife. Now the man has turned up safe and sound, and the pack of noodles\nhave at last thought fit to allow a respectable woman to come home to\nher bed.\"\n\n\"Oh, how good! Thank heaven! But, you have some one in there with you?\"\n\n\"In here--where?\"\n\n\"Why, in the room, aunt.\"\n\n\"I? No, no one.\"\n\n\"I am sure I heard--\"\n\n\"Now, really, you must go to bed, Winifred! What are you doing awake at\nthis hour of the morning, roaming about the house? You were asleep half\nan hour ago--\"\n\n\"Oh, then, it was your light I saw in my sleep! I thought I heard a man\nsay: 'She is the image--'\"\n\n\"Just think of troubling me with your dreams at this unearthly hour! I'm\ntired, child; go to bed.\"\n\n\"Yes--but, aunt, this day's work has cost me my situation. I am\ndismissed!\"\n\n\"Well, a holiday will do you good.\"\n\n\"Good gracious--you take it coolly!\"\n\n\"Go to bed.\"\n\nA sudden din of tumbling weights and splintering wood broke out behind\nthe half-open door. For, within the room a man had been sitting on a\nchair tilted back on its two hind legs. The chair was old and slender,\nthe man huge; and one of the chair-legs had collapsed under the weight\nand landed the man on the floor.\n\n\"Oh, aunt! didn't you say that no one--\" began Winifred.\n\nThe sentence was never finished. Rachel Craik, her features twisted in\nanger, pushed the young girl with a force which sent her staggering, and\nthen immediately shut the door. Winifred was left outside in the\ndarkness.\n\nShe returned to her bed, but not to sleep. It was certain that her aunt\nhad lied to her--there was more in the air than Winifred's quick wits\ncould fathom. The fact of Rachel Craik's release did not clear up the\nmystery of the fact that she had been arrested. Winifred lay, spurring\nher fancy to account for all that puzzled her; and underlying her\nthoughts was the man's face and those strange words which she had heard\nsomewhere on the borders of sleep.\n\nShe fancied she had seen the man somewhere before. At last she recalled\nthe occasion, and almost laughed at the conceit. It was a picture of\nSitting Bull, and that eminent warrior had long since gone to the happy\nhunting-grounds.\n\nMeantime, the murmur of voices in the back room had recommenced and was\ngoing on. Then, towards morning, Winifred became aware that the murmur\nhad stopped, and soon afterward she heard the click of the lock of the\nfront door and a foot going down the front steps.\n\nRising quickly, she crept to the window and looked out. Going from the\ndoor down the utterly empty street she saw a man, a big swaggerer, with\nsomething of the over-seas and the adventurer in his air. It was Ralph\n\"Voles,\" the \"brother\" of Senator William Meiklejohn. But Winifred could\nnot distinguish his features, or she might have recognized the man she\nhad seen in her half-dreams, and who had said: \"She must be taken out of\nNew York--she is the image of her mother.\"\n\nVoles had hardly quitted the place before a street-car conductor, who\nhad taken temporary lodgings the previous evening in a house opposite,\nhurried out into the coldness of the hour before dawn. He seemed pleased\nat the necessity of going to work thus early.\n\n\"Oh, boy!\" he said softly. \"I'm glad there's somethin' doin' at last. I\nwas getting that sleepy. I could hardly keep me eyes open!\"\n\nWhen Detective Clancy came to the Bureau a few hours later he found a\nmemorandum to the effect that a Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of Chicago, stopping\nat a high-grade hotel in Fifth Avenue, had dined with Rachel Craik in a\nquiet restaurant, had parted from her, and met her again, evidently by\nappointment. The two had entered the house in One Hundred and Twelfth\nStreet separately shortly before midnight, and Voles returned to his\nhotel at four o'clock in the morning.\n\nClancy shook his head waggishly.\n\n\"Who'd have thought it of you, Rachel?\" he cackled. \"And, now that I've\nseen _you_, what sort of weird specimen can Mr. Ralph V. Voles, of\nChicago, be? I'll look him up!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE FLIGHT\n\n\nCarshaw and Fowle enjoyed, let us say, a short but almost triumphal\nmarch to the nearest police-station. Their escort of loafers and small\nboys grew quickly in numbers and enthusiasm. It became known that the\narrest was made in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street, and that street\nhad suddenly become famous. The lively inhabitants of the East Side do\nnot bother their heads about grammatical niceties, so the gulf between\n\"the yacht murder\" and \"the yacht murderers\" was easily bridged. The\nconnection was clear. Two men in a boat, and two men in the grip of\nthe law! It needed only Fowle's ensanguined visage to complete the\ncircle of reasoning. Consciousness of this ill-omened popularity\ninfuriated Carshaw and alarmed Fowle. When they arrived at the precinct\nstation-house each was inclined to wish he had never seen or heard of\nWinifred Bartlett!\n\nTheir treatment by the official in charge only added fuel to the flame.\nThe patrolman explained that \"these two were fighting about the girl\nwho lives in that house in East One Hundred and Twelfth,\" and this vague\nstatement seemed all-sufficient. The sergeant entered their names and\naddresses. He went to the telephone and came back.\n\n\"Sit there!\" he said authoritatively, and they sat there, Carshaw\ntrying to take an interest in a \"drunk\" who was brought in, and Fowle\nalternately feeling the sore lump at the back of his head and the sorer\ncartilage of his nose. After waiting half an hour Carshaw protested, but\nthe sergeant assured him that \"a man from the Bureau\" was _en route_ and\nwould appear presently. At last Clancy came in. That is why he was \"out\"\nwhen Senator Meiklejohn inquired for him.\n\n\"H'lo!\" he cried when he set eyes on Fowle. \"My foreman bookbinder! Your\nfolio looks somewhat battered!\"\n\n\"Glad it's you, Mr. Clancy,\" snuffled Fowle. \"You can tell these cops--\"\n\n\"Suppose _you_ tell me,\" broke in the detective, with a glance at\nCarshaw.\n\n\"Yes, Fowle, speak up,\" said Carshaw. \"You've a ready tongue. Explain\nyour fall from grace.\"\n\n\"There's nothing to it,\" growled Fowle. \"I know the girl, an' asked her\nto come with me this evening. She'd been fired by the firm, an'--\"\n\n\"Ah! Who fired her?\" Clancy's inquiry sounded most matter-of-fact.\n\n\"The boss, of course.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Well--this newspaper stuff. He didn't like it.\"\n\n\"He told you so?\"\n\n\"Yes. That is--the department is a bit crowded. He--er--asked me--Well,\nwe reckoned we could do without her.\"\n\n\"I see. Go on.\"\n\n\"So I just came up-town, meanin' to talk things over, an' find her a new\njob, but she took it all wrong.\"\n\nClancy whirled around on Carshaw. Evidently he had heard enough from\nFowle.\n\n\"And you?\" he snapped.\n\n\"I know nothing of either party,\" was the calm answer. \"I couldn't help\noverhearing this fellow insulting a lady, so put him where he\nbelongs--in the gutter.\"\n\n\"Mr. Clancy,\" interrupted the sergeant, \"you're wanted on the phone.\"\n\nThe detective was detained a good five minutes. When he returned he\nwalked straight up to Fowle.\n\n\"Quit!\" he said, with a scornful and sidelong jerk of the head. \"You got\nwhat you wanted. Get out, and leave Miss Bartlett alone in the future.\"\n\nFowle needed no second bidding.\n\n\"As for me?\" inquired Carshaw, with arched eyebrows.\n\n\"May I drop you in Madison Avenue?\" said Clancy. Once the police car was\nspeeding down-town he grew chatty.\n\n\"Wish I had seen you trimming Fowle,\" he said pleasantly. \"I've a notion\nhe had a finger in the pie of Winifred Bartlett's dismissal.\"\n\n\"It may be.\"\n\nCarshaw's tone was indifferent. Just then he was aware only of a very\ndefinite resentment. His mother would be waiting for dinner, and\nalarmed, like all mothers who own motoring sons. The detective looked\nsurprised, but made his point, for all that.\n\n\"I suppose you'll be meeting that very charming young lady again one of\nthese days,\" he said.\n\n\"I? Why? Most unlikely.\"\n\n\"Not so. Do you floor every man you see annoying a woman in the\nstreets?\"\n\n\"Well--er--\"\n\n\"Just so. Winifred interested you. She interests me. I mean to keep an\neye on her, a friendly eye. If you and she come together again, let me\nknow.\"\n\n\"Really--\"\n\n\"No wonder you are ready with a punch. You won't let a man speak.\nListen, now. The patrolman held you and Fowle because he had orders to\narrest, on any pretext or none, any one who seemed to have the remotest\nconnection with the house in One Hundred and Twelfth Street, where\nWinifred Bartlett lives with her aunt. You've read of the Yacht Mystery\nand the lassoing of Ronald Tower?\"\n\n\"Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Tower are my close friends.\"\n\n\"Exactly. Now, Rachel Craik, Winifred's aunt, was released from custody\nan hour ago. She would have been charged with complicity in the supposed\nmurder of Tower. I say 'supposed' because there was no murder. Mr. Tower\nhas returned home, safe and sound--\"\n\n\"By Jove, that's good news! But what a strange business it is! My mother\nwas with Helen Tower this morning, trying to console her.\"\n\n\"Good! Now, perhaps, you'll sit up and take notice. The truth is that\nthe mystery of this outrage on Tower is not--cannot be--of recent\norigin. I'm sure it is bound up with some long-forgotten occurrence,\npossibly a crime, in which the secret of the birth and parentage of\nWinifred Bartlett is involved. That girl is no more the niece of her\n'aunt' than I am her nephew.\"\n\n\"But one is usually the niece of one's aunt.\"\n\n\"I think you need a cigarette,\" said Clancy dryly. \"Organisms accustomed\nto poisonous stimulants often wilt when deprived too suddenly of such\nharmful tonics.\"\n\nCarshaw edged around slightly and looked at this quaint detective.\n\n\"I apologize,\" he said contritely. \"But the crowd got my goat when it\njeered at me as a murderer. And the long wait was annoying, too.\"\n\nClancy, however, was not accustomed to having his confidences slighted.\nHe was ruffled.\n\n\"Perhaps what I was going to say is hardly worth while,\" he snapped. \"It\nwas this. If, by chance, your acquaintance with Winifred Bartlett goes\nbeyond to-day's meeting, and you learn anything of her life and history\nwhich sounds strange in your ears, you may be rendering her a far\ngreater service than by flattening Fowle's nose if you bring your\nknowledge straight to the Bureau.\"\n\n\"I'll not forget, Mr. Clancy. But let me explain. It will be a miracle\nif I meet Miss Bartlett again.\"\n\n\"It'll be a miracle if you don't,\" retorted the other.\n\nSo there was a passing whiff of misunderstanding between these two, and,\nlike every other trivial phase of a strange record, it was destined to\nbulk large in the imminent hazards threatening one lone girl. Thus,\nClancy ceased being communicative. He might have referred guardedly to\nSenator Meiklejohn. But he did not. Oddly enough, his temperament was\nsingularly alike to Carshaw's, and that is why sparks flew.\n\nThe heart, however, is deceitful, and Fate is stronger than an irritated\nyoung man whose conventional ideals have been besmirched by being\nmarched through the streets in custody. The garage in which Carshaw's\nautomobile was housed temporarily was located near One Hundred and\nTwelfth Street. He went there on the following afternoon to see the\nmachine stripped and find out the exact extent of the damage. Yet he\npassed Winifred's house resolutely, without even looking at it. He\nreturned that way at half past six, and there, on the corner, was posted\nFowle--Fowle, with a swollen nose! There also was their special\npatrolman, with an eye for both!\n\nThe mere sight of Fowle prowling in unwholesome quest stirred upwrath\nin Carshaw's mind; and the heart, always subtle and self-deceiving,\nwhispered elatedly: \"Here you have an excuse for renewing an\nacquaintance which you wished to make yourself believe you did not\ncare to renew.\"\n\nHe walked straight to the door of the brown-stone house and rang. Then\nhe rapped. There was no answer. When he had rapped a second time he\nwalked away, but he had not gone far when he was almost startled to\nfind himself face to face with Winifred coming home from making some\npurchases, with a bag on her arm.\n\nHe lifted his hat. Winifred, with a vivid blush, hesitated and stopped.\nFrom the corner Fowle stared at the meeting, and made up his mind that\nit was really a rendezvous. The patrolman thought so, too, but he had\nnew orders as to these two.\n\n\"Pardon me, Miss Bartlett,\" said Carshaw. \"Ah, you see I know your name\nbetter than you know mine. Mine is Carshaw--Rex Carshaw, if I may\nintroduce myself. I have this moment tapped at your door, in the hope of\nseeing you.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" asked Winifred.\n\n\"Do you wish to forget the incident of yesterday evening?\"\n\n\"No; hence my stopping to hear what you have to say.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I am here to see to the repairing of my car--not in the\nhope of seeing _you_, you know\"--Carshaw said this with a twinkle in his\neye; \"though, perhaps, if the truth were known, a little in that hope,\ntoo. Then, there at the corner, I find the very man who molested you\nlast night looking at your house, and this spurred me to knock in order\nto ask a favor. Was I wrong?\"\n\n\"What favor, sir?\"\n\n\"That, if ever you have the least cause to be displeased with the\nconduct of that man in the future, you will consider it as _my_\nbusiness, and as an insult offered to _me_--as it will be after the\ntrouble of last night--and that you will let me know of the matter by\nletter. Here is my address.\"\n\nWinifred hesitated, then took the proffered card.\n\n\"But--\" she faltered.\n\n\"No; promise me that. It really is my business now, you know.\"\n\n\"I cannot write to you. I--don't--know you.\"\n\n\"Then I shall only have to stand sentinel a certain number of hours\nevery day before your house, to see that all goes well. You can't\nprevent me doing that, can you? The streets are free to everybody.\"\n\n\"You are only making fun.\"\n\n\"That I am not. See how stern and solemn I look. I shall stand sentinel\nand gaze up at your window on the chance of seeing your face. Will you\nshow yourself sometimes to comfort me?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you will.\"\n\n\"I'd better promise to write the letter--\"\n\n\"There now, that's a point for me!\"\n\n\"Oh, don't make me laugh.\"\n\n\"Point number two--for you have been crying, Miss Winifred!\"\n\n\"I?\"\n\n\"Yes, I'm sorry to say. Oh, I only wish--\"\n\n\"How do you know my name?\"\n\n\"What, the 'Winifred' and the 'Bartlett?' Winifred was always one of my\nfavorite names for a girl, and you look the name all through. Well,\nFowle and I were taken to the station-house last night, and in the\ncourse of the inquiry I heard your name, of course.\"\n\n\"Did they do anything to you for knocking down Mr. Fowle?\"\n\n\"No, no. Of course, they didn't do anything to me. In fact, they seemed\nrather pleased. Were you anxious, then, about me?\"\n\n\"I was naturally anxious, since it was I who--\"\n\n\"Ah, now, don't spoil it by giving a reason. You were anxious, that is\nenough; let me be proud, as a recompense. And now I want to ask you two\nfavors, one of them a great favor. The first is to tell me all you know\nabout this Fowle. And the second--why you look so sad and have been\ncrying. May we walk on a little way together, and then you will tell\nme?\"\n\nThey walked on together, and for a longer time than either of them\nrealized. Winifred was rather bewitched. Carshaw was something of a\nrevelation to her in an elusive quality of mind or manner which she in\nher heart could only call \"charming.\"\n\nShe spoke of life at Brown, Son & Brown's, in Greenwich Village. She\neven revealed that she had been crying because of dark clouds which had\ngathered round her of a sudden, doubts and fears for which she had no\nname, and because of a sort of dream the previous night in which she had\nseen a man's Indian face, and heard a hushed, grim voice say: \"She must\nbe taken out of New York--she is the image of her mother.\"\n\n\"Ah! And your mother--who and where is she?\" asked Carshaw.\n\n\"I don't know. I can't tell. I never knew her,\" answered Winifred\ndroopingly, with a shake of her head.\n\n\"And as to your father?\"\n\n\"I have no father. I have only my aunt.\"\n\n\"Winifred,\" said Carshaw solemnly, \"will you consider me your friend\nfrom this night?\"\n\n\"You are kind. I trust you,\" she murmured.\n\n\"A friend is a person who acts for another with the same zeal as for\nhimself, and who has the privilege of doing whatever seems good to him\nfor that other. Am I to regard myself as thus privileged?\"\n\nWinifred, who had never flirted with any young man in her life, fancied\nshe knew nothing about the rules of the game. She was confused. She\nveiled her eyes.\n\n\"I don't know--perhaps--we shall see,\" she stammered. Which was not so\nbad for a novice.\n\nThey parted with a warm hand-shake. Ten minutes later Carshaw was in a\ntelephone booth with Clancy's ear at the other end of the wire.\n\n\"I have just had a chat with Miss Bartlett,\" he began.\n\n\"Tut, tut! How passing strange!\" cackled the detective. \"The merest\nchance in the world, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"Yes. The miracle came off, so you're entitled to your gibe. But I have\nnews for you. It's about a dream and a face.\"\n\n\"Gee! Throw the picture on the screen, Mr. Carshaw.\"\n\nThen Carshaw spoke, and Clancy listened and bade him work more miracles,\neven though he might have to report such phenomena to the Psychical\nResearch Society. Next morning Carshaw, a hard man when offended,\nvisited Brown, Son & Brown, who had executed a large rebinding order for\nhis father's library, and Fowle was speedily out of a job. The\nex-foreman knew the source of his misfortune, and vowed vengeance.\n\nIn the evening, about half past six, Carshaw was back in One Hundred and\nTwelfth Street. There had been no promise of a meeting between him and\nWinifred--no promise, but, by those roundabout means by which people in\nsympathy understand each other, it was perfectly well understood that\nthey would happen to meet again that night.\n\nHe waited in the street, but Winifred did not appear. The brown-stone\nhouse was in total darkness. An hour passed, and the waiting was weary,\nfor it was drizzling. But Carshaw waited, being a persistent young man.\nAt last, after seven, a pang of fear shot through his breast. He\nremembered the girl's curious account of the dream-man.\n\nHe determined to knock at the door, relying on his wits to invent some\nexcuse if any stranger opened. But to his repeated loud knockings there\ncame no answer. The house seemed abandoned. Winifred was gone! Even a\nfriendly patrolman took pity on his drawn face and drew near.\n\n\"No use, sir!\" he confided. \"They've skipped. But don't let on _I_ told\nyou. Call up the Detective Bureau!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nCARSHAW TAKES UP THE CHASE\n\n\n\"Busy, Mr. Carshaw?\" inquired some one when an impatient young man got\nin touch with Mulberry Street after an exasperating delay.\n\n\"Not too busy to try and defeat the scoundrels who are plotting against\na defenseless girl,\" he cried.\n\n\"Well, come down-town. We'll expect you in half an hour.\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Clancy asked me--\"\n\n\"Better come,\" said the voice, and Carshaw, though fuming, bowed to\nauthority.\n\nIt is good for the idle rich that they should be brought occasionally\ninto sharp contact with life's realities. During his twenty-seven years\nRex Carshaw had hardly ever known what it meant to have a purpose\nbalked. Luckily for him, he was of good stock and had been well reared.\n\nThe instinct of sport, fostered by triumphs at Harvard, had developed an\ninnate quality of self-reliance and given him a physical hardihood which\nrevelled in conquest over difficulties. Each winter, instead of lounging\nin flannels at the Poinciana, he was out with guides and dogs in the\nNorthwest after moose and caribou.\n\nHe preferred polo to tennis. He would rather pass a fortnight in\noilskins with the rough and ready fisher-folk of the Maine coast than\ndon the white ducks and smart caps of his wealthy yachting friends. In a\nword, society and riches had not spoiled him. But he did like to have\nhis own way, and the suspicion that he might be thwarted in his desire\nto help Winifred Bartlett cut him now like a sword. So he chafed against\nthe seeming slowness of the Subway, and fuel was added to the fire when\nhe was kept waiting five minutes on arriving at police headquarters.\n\nHe found Clancy closeted with a big man who had just lighted a fat\ncigar, and this fact in itself betokened official callousness as to\nWinifred's fate. Hot words leaped from his lips.\n\n\"Why have you allowed Miss Bartlett to be spirited away? Is there no law\nin this State, nor any one who cares whether or not the law is obeyed?\nShe's gone--taken by force. I'm certain of it.\"\n\n\"And we also are certain of it, Mr. Carshaw,\" said Steingall placidly.\n\"Sit down. Do you smoke? You'll find these cigars in good shape,\" and he\npushed forward a box.\n\n\"But, is nothing being done?\" Nevertheless, Carshaw sat down and took a\ncigar. He had sufficient sense to see that bluster was useless and only\nmeant loss of dignity.\n\n\"Sure. That's why I asked you to come along.\"\n\n\"You see,\" put in Clancy, \"you short-circuited the connections the night\nbefore last, so we let you cool your heels in the rain this evening. We\nwant no 'first I will and then I won't' helpers in this business.\"\n\nCarshaw met those beady brown eyes steadily. \"I deserved that,\" he said.\n\"Now, perhaps, you'll forget a passing mood. I have come to like\nWinifred.\"\n\nClancy stared suddenly at a clock.\n\n\"Tick, tick!\" he said. \"Eight fifteen. _Nom d'un pipe_, now I\nunderstand.\"\n\nFor the first time the true explanation of Senator Meiklejohn's covert\nglance at the clock the previous morning had occurred to him. That wily\ngentleman wanted Winifred out of the house for her day's work before the\npolice interviewed Rachel Craik. He had fought hard to gain even a few\nhours in the effort to hinder inquiry.\n\n\"What's bitten you, Frog?\" inquired the chief.\n\nProbably--who knows?--but there was some reasonable likelihood that the\nSenator's name might have reached Carshaw's ears had not the telephone\nbell jangled. Steingall picked up the receiver.\n\n\"Long-distance call. This is it, I guess,\" and his free hand enjoined\nsilence. The talk was brief and one-sided. Steingall smiled as he\nreplaced the instrument.\n\n\"Now, we're ready for you, Mr. Carshaw,\" he said, lolling back in his\nchair again. \"The Misses Craik and Bartlett have arrived for the night\nat the Maples Inn, Fairfield, Connecticut. Thanks to you, we knew that\nsome one was desperately anxious that Winifred should leave New York.\nThanks to you, too, she has gone. Neither her aunt nor the other\ninterested people cared to have her strolling in Central Park with an\neligible and fairly intelligent bachelor like Mr. Rex Carshaw.\"\n\nCarshaw's lips parted eagerly, but a gesture stayed him.\n\n\"Yes. Of course, I know you're straining at the leash, but please don't\ngo off on false trails. You never lose time casting about for the true\nline. This is the actual position of affairs: A man known as Ralph V.\nVoles, assisted by an amiable person named Mick the Wolf--he was so\nchristened in Leadville, where they sum up a tough accurately--hauled\nMr. Ronald Tower into the river. For some reason best known to himself,\nMr. Tower treats the matter rather as a joke, so the police can carry\nit no further. But Voles is associated with Rachel Craik, and was in her\nhouse during several hours on the night of the river incident and the\nnight following. It is almost safe to assume that he counseled the\ngirl's removal from New York because she is 'the image of her mother.'\nOne asks why this very natural fact should render Winifred Bartlett an\nundesirable resident of New York. There is a ready answer. She might be\nrecognized. Such recognition would be awkward for somebody. But the girl\nhas lived in almost total seclusion. She is nineteen. If she is so like\nher mother as to be recognized, her mother must have been a person of no\nsmall consequence, a lady known to and admired by a very large circle of\nfriends. The daughter of any other woman, presumably long since dead,\nwho was not of social importance, could hardly be recognized. You follow\nthis?\"\n\n\"Perfectly.\" Carshaw was beginning to remodel his opinion of the Bureau\ngenerally, and of its easy-going, genial-looking chief in particular.\n\n\"This fear of recognition, with its certain consequences,\" went on\nSteingall, pausing to flick the ash off his cigar, \"is the dominant\nfactor in Winifred's career as directed by Rachel Craik. This woman,\nswayed by some lingering shreds of decent thought, had the child well\neducated, but the instant she approaches maturity, Winifred is set to\nearn a living in a bookbinding factory. Why? Social New York does not\nvisit wholesale trade houses, nor travel on the elevated during rush\nhours. But it does go to the big stores and fashionable milliners where\na pretty, well proportioned girl can obtain employment readily.\nMoreover, Rachel Craik would never 'hear of' the stage, though Winifred\ncan sing, and believes she could dance. And how prompt recognition might\nbe in a theater. It all comes to this, Mr. Carshaw: the Bureau's hands\nare tied, but it can and will assist an outsider, whom it trusts, who\nmeans rescuing Miss Bartlett from the exile which threatens her. We have\nlooked you over carefully, and think you are trustworthy--\"\n\n\"The Lord help you if you're not!\" broke in Clancy. \"I like the girl. It\nwill be a bad day for the man who works her evil.\"\n\nCarshaw's eyes clashed with Clancy's, as rapiers rasp in thrust and\nparry. From that instant the two men became firm friends, for the young\nmillionaire said quietly:\n\n\"I have her promise to call for help on me, first, Mr. Clancy.\"\n\n\"You'll follow her to Fairfield then?\" and Steingall sat up suddenly.\n\n\"Yes. Please advise me.\"\n\n\"That's the way to talk. I wish there was a heap more boys like you\namong the Four Hundred. But I can't advise you. I'm an official.\nSuppose, however, I were a young gentleman of leisure who wanted to\nbefriend a deserving young lady in Winifred Bartlett's very peculiar\ncircumstances. I'd persuade her to leave a highly undesirable 'aunt,'\nand strike out for herself. I'd ask my mother, or some other lady of\ngood standing, to take the girl under her wing, and see that she was\ncared for until a place was found in some business or profession suited\nto her talents. And that's as far as I care to go at this sitting. As\nfor the ways and means, in these days of fast cars and dare-devil\ndrivers who are in daily danger of losing their licenses--\"\n\n\"By gad, I'll do it,\" and Carshaw's emphatic fist thumped the table.\n\n\"Steady! This Voles is a tremendous fellow. In a personal encounter you\nwould stand no chance. And he's the sort that shoots at sight. Mick the\nWolf, too, is a bad man from the wild and woolly West. The type exists,\neven to-day. We have gunmen here in New York who'd clean up a whole\nsaloonful of modern cowboys. Voles and Mick are in Fairfield, but I've a\nnotion they'll not stay in the same hotel as Winifred and her aunt. I\nthink, too, that they may lie low for a day or two. You'll observe, of\ncourse, that Rachel Craik, so poverty-stricken that Winifred had to\nearn eight dollars a week to eke out the housekeeping, can now afford to\ntravel and live in expensive hotels. All this means that Winifred ought\nto be urged to break loose and come back to New York. The police will\nprotect her if she gives them the opportunity, but the law won't let us\nbutt in between relatives, even supposed ones, without sufficient\njustification. One last word--you must forget everything I've said.\"\n\n\"And another last word,\" cried Clancy. \"The Bureau is a regular old\nwoman for tittle-tattle. We listen to all sorts of gossip. Some of it is\nreal news.\"\n\n\"And, by jing, I was nearly omitting one bit of scandal,\" said\nSteingall. \"It seems that Mick the Wolf and a fellow named Fowle met in\na corner saloon round about One Hundred and Twelfth Street the night\nbefore last. They soon grew thick as thieves, and Fowle, it appears,\nwatched a certain young couple stroll off into the gloaming last night.\"\n\n\"Next time I happen on Fowle!\" growled Carshaw.\n\n\"You'll leave him alone. Brains are better than brawn. Ask Clancy.\"\n\n\"Sure thing!\" chuckled the little man. \"Look at us two!\"\n\n\"Anyhow, I'd hate to have the combination working against me,\" and with\nthis deft rejoinder Carshaw hurried away to a garage where he was\nknown. At dawn he was hooting an open passage along the Boston Post Road\nin a car which temporarily replaced his own damaged cruiser.\n\nWithin three hours he was seated in the dining-room of the Maples Inn\nand reading a newspaper. It was the off season, and the hotel contained\nhardly any guests, but he had ascertained that Winifred and her aunt\nwere certainly there. For a long time, however, none but a couple of\nGerman waiters broke his vigil, for this thing happened before the war.\nOne stout fellow went away. The other, a mere boy, remained and flecked\ndust with a napkin, wondering, no doubt, why the motorist sat hours at\nthe table. At last, near noon, Rachel Craik, with a plaid shawl draped\naround her angular shoulders, and Winifred, in a new dress of French\ngray, came in.\n\nWinifred started and cast down her eyes on seeing who was there.\nCarshaw, on his part, apparently had no eyes for her, but kept a look\nover the top of his newspaper at Rachel Craik, to see whether she\nrecognized him, supposing it to be a fact that he had been seen with\nWinifred. She seemed, however, hardly to be aware of his presence.\n\nThe girl and the woman sat some distance from him--the room was\nlarge--near a window, looking out, and anon exchanging a remark in\nquiet voices. Then a lunch was brought into them, Carshaw meantime\nburied in the newspaper except when he stole a glance at Winifred.\n\nHis hope was that the woman would leave the girl alone, if only for one\nminute, for he had a note ready to slip into Winifred's hand, beseeching\nher to meet him that evening at seven in the lane behind the church for\nsome talk \"on a matter of high importance.\"\n\nBut fortune was against him. Rachel Craik, after her meal, sat again at\nthe window, took up some knitting, and plied needles like a slow\nmachine. The afternoon wore on. Finally, Carshaw rang to order his own\nlate lunch, and the German boy brought it in. He rose to go to table;\nbut, as if the mere act of rising spurred him to further action, he\nwalked straight to Winifred. The hours left him were few, and his\nimpatience had grown to the point of desperateness now. He bowed and\nheld out the paper, saying:\n\n\"Perhaps you have not seen this morning's newspaper?\" At the same time\nhe presented her the note.\n\nMiss Craik was sitting two yards away, half-turned from Winifred, but at\nthis afternoon offer of the morning's paper she glanced round fully at\nWinifred, and saw, that as Winifred took the newspaper, she tried to\ngrasp with it a note also which lay on it--tried, but failed, for the\nnote escaped, slipped down on Winifred's lap, and lay there exposed.\n\nMiss Craik's eyebrows lifted a little, but she did not cease her\nknitting. Winifred's face was painfully red, and in another moment pale.\nCarshaw was not often at his wits' end, but now for some seconds he\nstood embarrassed.\n\nRachel Craik, however, saved him by saying quickly: \"The gentleman has\ndropped something in your lap, Winifred.\" Whereupon Winifred handed back\nthe unfortunate note.\n\nWhat was he to do now? If he wrote to Winifred through the ordinary\nchannels of the hotel she might, indeed, soon receive the letter, but\nthe risks of this course were many and obvious. He ate, puzzling his\nbrains, spurring all his power of invention. The time for action was\ngrowing short.\n\nSuddenly he noticed the German boy, and had a thought. He could speak\nGerman well, and, guessing that Rachel Craik probably did not understand\na word of it, he said in a natural voice to the boy in German:\n\n\"Fond of American dollars, boy?\"\n\n\"_Ja, mein Herr_,\" answered the boy.\n\n\"I'm going to give you five.\"\n\n\"You are very good, _mein Herr_,\" said the boy, \"beautiful thanks!\"\n\n\"But you have to earn them. Will you do just what I tell you, without\nasking for any reason?\"\n\n\"If I can, _mein Herr_.\"\n\n\"Nothing very difficult. You have only to go over yonder by that chair\nwhere I was sitting, throw yourself suddenly on the floor, and begin to\nkick and wriggle as though you had a fit. Keep it up for two minutes,\nand I will give you not five but ten. Will you do this?\"\n\n\"From the heart willingly, _mein Herr_,\" answered the boy, who had a\nsolemn face and a complete lack of humor.\n\n\"Wait, then, three minutes, and then--suddenly--do it.\"\n\nThe three minutes passed in silence; no sound in the room, save the\nclicking of Carshaw's knife and fork, and the ply of Rachel Craik's\nknitting-needles. Then the boy lounged away to the farther end of the\nroom; and suddenly, with a bump, he was on the floor and in the promised\nfit.\n\n\"Halloo!\" cried Carshaw, while from both Winifred and Rachel came little\ncries of alarm--for a fit has the same effect as a mouse on the nerves\nof women.\n\n\"He's in a fit!\" screamed the aunt.\n\n\"Please do something for him!\" cried Winifred to Carshaw, with a face of\ndistress. But he would not stir from his seat. The boy still kicked and\nwrithed, lying on his face and uttering blood-curdling sounds. This was\neasy. He had only to make bitter plaint in the German tongue.\n\n\"Oh, aunt,\" said Winifred, half risen, yet hesitating for fear, \"do help\nthat poor fellow!\"\n\nWhereupon Miss Craik leaped up, caught the water-jug from the table with\na rather withering look at Carshaw, and hurried toward the boy. Winifred\nwent after her and Carshaw went after Winifred.\n\nThe older woman turned the boy over, bent down, dipped her fingers in\nthe water, and sprinkled his forehead. Winifred stood a little behind\nher, bending also. Near her, too, Carshaw bent over the now quiet form\nof the boy.\n\nA piece of paper touched Winifred's palm--the note again. This time her\nfingers closed on it and quickly stole into her pocket.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE TWO CARS\n\n\n\"It is highly improper on my part to come here and meet you,\" said\nWinifred. \"What can it be that you have to say to me of such 'high\nimportance'?\"\n\nThe two were in the lane behind the church, at seven that same evening.\nWinifred, on some pretext, had escaped the watchful eyes of Rachel\nCraik, or fancied that she had, and came hurriedly to the waiting\nCarshaw. She was all aflutter with expectancy not untinged by fear, she\nknew not of what. The nights were beginning to darken early, and it was\ngloomy that evening, for the sky was covered with clouds and a little\ndrizzle was falling.\n\n\"You are not to think that there is the least hint of impropriety about\nthe matter,\" Carshaw assured her. \"Understand, please, Winifred, that\nthis is no lovers' meeting, but a business one, on which your whole\nfuture life depends. You cannot suppose that I have followed you to\nFairfield for nothing.\"\n\n\"How could you possibly know that I was here?\"\n\n\"From the police.\"\n\n\"The police _again_? What a strange thing!\"\n\n\"Yes, a strange thing, and yet not so strange. They are keenly\ninterested in you and your movements, for your good. And I, of course,\nstill more so.\"\n\n\"You are wonderfully good to care. But, tell me quickly, I cannot stay\nten minutes. I think my aunt suspects something. She already knows about\nthe note dropped to-day into my lap.\"\n\n\"And about the boy in the fit. Does she suspect that, too?\"\n\n\"What, was that a ruse? Good gracious, how artful you must be! I'm\nafraid of you--\"\n\n\"Endlessly artful for your sake, Winifred.\"\n\n\"You are kind. But tell me quickly.\"\n\n\"Winifred, you are in danger, from which there is only one way of escape\nfor you--namely, absolute trust in me. Pray understand that the dream in\nwhich you heard some one say, 'She must be taken away from New York' was\nno dream. You are here in order to be taken. This may be the first stage\nof a long journey. Understand also that there is no bond of duty which\nforces you to go against your will, for the shrewdest men in the New\nYork police have reason to think you are not who you imagine you are,\nand that the woman you call your aunt is no relative of yours.\"\n\n\"What reason have they?\" asked Winifred.\n\n\"I don't care--I don't know, they have not told me. But I believe them,\nand I want you to believe me. The persons who have charge of your\ndestiny are not normal persons--more or less they have done, or are\nconnected with wrong. There is no doubt about that. The police know it,\nthough they cannot yet drag that wrong into the light. Do you credit\nwhat I say?\"\n\n\"It is all very strange.\"\n\n\"It is _true_. That is the point. Have you, by the way, ever seen a man\ncalled Voles?\"\n\n\"Voles? No.\"\n\n\"Yet that man at this moment is somewhere near you. He came in the same\ntrain with you from New York. He is always near you. He is the most\nintimate associate of your aunt. Think now, and tell me whether it is\nnot a disturbing thing that you never saw this man face to face?\"\n\n\"Most disturbing, if what you say is so.\"\n\n\"But suppose I tell you what I firmly believe--that you _have_ seen him;\nthat it was _his_ face which bent over you in your half-sleep the other\nnight, and his voice which you heard?\"\n\n\"I always thought that it was no dream,\" said Winifred. \"It was--not a\nnice face.\"\n\n\"And remember, Winifred,\" urged Carshaw earnestly, \"that to-day and\nto-morrow are your last chances. You are about to be taken far\naway--possibly to France or England, as surely as you see those clouds.\nTrue, if you go, I shall go after you.\"\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"Yes, I. But, if you go, I cannot be certain how far I may be able to\ndefend and rescue you there, as I can in America. I know nothing of\nforeign laws, and those who have you in their power do. On that field\nthey may easily beat me. So now is your chance, Winifred.\"\n\n\"But what am I to do?\" she asked in a scared tone, frightened at last by\nthe sincerity blazing from his eyes.\n\n\"Necessity has no rules of propriety,\" he answered. \"I have a car here.\nYou should come with me this very night to New York. Once back there, it\nis only what my interest in you gives me the right to expect that you\nwill consent to use my purse for a short while, till you find suitable\nemployment.\"\n\nWinifred covered her face and began to cry. \"Oh, I couldn't!\" she\nsobbed.\n\n\"Don't cry,\" said Carshaw tenderly. \"You must, you know, since it is the\nonly way. You cry because you do not trust me.\"\n\n\"Oh! I do. But what a thing it is that you propose! To break with all my\npast on a sudden. I hardly even know you; last week I had not seen\nyou--\"\n\n\"There, that is mistrust. I know you as well as if I had always known\nyou. In fact, I always did, in a sense. Please don't cry. Say that you\nwill come with me to-night. It will be the best piece of work that you\never did for yourself, and you will always thank me for having persuaded\nyou.\"\n\n\"But not to-night! I must have time to reflect, at least.\"\n\n\"Then, when?\"\n\n\"Perhaps to-morrow night. I don't know. I must think it over first in\nall its bearings. To-morrow morning I will leave a letter in the office,\ntelling you--\"\n\n\"Well, if you insist on the delay. But it is dangerous, Winifred--it is\nhorribly dangerous!\"\n\n\"I can't help that. How could a girl run away in that fashion?\"\n\n\"Well, then, to-morrow night at eleven, precisely. I shall be at the end\nof this lane in my car, if your letter in the morning says 'Yes.' Is\nthat understood?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Let me warn you against bringing anything with you--any clothes or a\ngrip. Just steal out of the inn as you are. And I shall be just there at\nthe corner--at eleven.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I may not have the chance of speaking to you again before--\"\n\nBut Carshaw's pleading stopped short; from the near end of the lane a\ntall form entered it--Rachel Craik. She had followed Winifred from the\nhotel, suspecting that all was not well--had followed her, lost her, and\nnow had refound her. She walked sedately, with an inscrutable face,\ntoward the spot where the two were talking. The moment Carshaw saw this\nwoman of ill omen he understood that all was lost, unless he acted with\nbewildering promptness, and quickly he whispered in Winifred's ear:\n\n\"It must be to-night or never! Decide now. 'Yes' or 'No.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Winifred, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear.\n\n\"At eleven to-night?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she murmured.\n\nRachel Craik was now up to them. She was in a vile temper, but contrived\nto curb it.\n\n\"What is the meaning of this, Winifred? And who is this gentleman?\" she\nsaid.\n\nWinifred, from the habit of a lifetime, stood in no small awe of that\naustere woman. All the blood fled from the girl's face. She could only\nsay brokenly:\n\n\"I am coming, aunt,\" and went following with a dejected air a yard\nbehind her captor. In this order they walked till they arrived at the\ndoor of the Maples Inn, neither having uttered a single word to the\nother. There Miss Craik halted abruptly. \"Go to your room,\" she\nmuttered. \"I'm ashamed of you. Sneaking out at night to meet a strange\nman! No kitchen-wench could have behaved worse.\"\n\nWinifred had no answer to that taunt. She could not explain her motives.\nIndeed, she would have failed lamentably had she attempted it. All she\nknew was that life had suddenly turned topsy-turvy. She distrusted her\naunt, the woman to whom she seemed to owe duty and respect, and was\ninclined to trust a young man whom she had met three times in all. But\nshe was gentle and soft-hearted. Perhaps, if this Mr. Rex Carshaw, with\nhis earnest eyes and wheedling voice, could have a talk with \"aunty,\"\nhis queer suspicions--so oddly borne out by events--might be dissipated.\n\n\"I'm sorry if I seem to have done wrong,\" she said, laying a timid hand\non Rachel Craik's arm. \"If you would only tell me a little, dear. Why\nhave we left New York? Why--\"\n\n\"Do you want to see me in jail?\" came the harsh whisper.\n\n\"No. Oh, no. But--\"\n\n\"Obey me, then! Remain in your room till I send for you. I'm in danger,\nand you, you foolish girl, are actually in league with my enemies. Go!\"\n\nWinifred sped through the porch, and hied her to a window in her room on\nthe first floor which commanded a view of the main street. She could see\nneither Carshaw nor Aunt Rachel, the one having determined to lie low\nfor a few hours, and the other being hidden from sight already as she\nhastened through the rain to the small inn where Voles and Mick the Wolf\nwere located.\n\nThese worthies were out. The proprietor said they had hired a car and\ngone to Bridgeport. Miss Craik could only wait, and she sat in the\nlobby, prim and quiet, the picture of resignation, not betraying by a\nlook or gesture the passions of anger, apprehension, and impatience\nwhich raged in her breast.\n\nVoles did not come. An hour passed; eight struck, then nine. Once the\nword \"carousing\"! passed Miss Rachel's lips with an intense bitterness;\nbut, on the whole, she sat with a stiff back, patient as stone.\n\nThen after ten there came the hum and whir of an automobile driven at\nhigh speed through the rain-sodden main street. It stopped outside the\ninn. A minute later the gallant body of Voles entered, cigar in his\nmouth, and a look of much champagne in his eyes.\n\n\"What, Rachel, girl, you here!\" he said in his offhand way.\n\n\"Are you sober?\" asked Rachel, rising quickly.\n\n\"Sober? Never been really soused in my life! What's up?\"\n\nHe dropped a huge paw roughly on her shoulder, and her hard eyes\nsoftened as she looked at his face and splendid frame, for Ralph \"Voles\"\nwas Rachel Craik's one weakness.\n\n\"What's the trouble?\" he went on, seeing that her lips were twitching.\n\n\"You should have been here,\" she snapped. \"Everything may be lost. A man\nis down here after Winifred, and I've caught her talking to him in\nsecret.\"\n\n\"A cop?\" and Voles glanced around the otherwise deserted lobby.\n\n\"I don't know--most probably. Or he may be that same man who was walking\nwith her on Wednesday night in Central Park. Anyway, this afternoon he\ntried to hand her a note in offering her a newspaper. The note fell, and\nI saw it. Afterward he managed to get it to her in some way, though I\nnever for a moment let her out of my sight; and they met about seven\no'clock behind the church.\"\n\n\"The little cat! She beat you to it, Rachel!\"\n\n\"There is no time for talk, Ralph. That man will take her from us, and\nthen woe to you, to William, to us all. Things come out; they do, they\ndo--the deepest secrets! Man, man--oh, rouse yourself, sober yourself,\nand act! We must be far from this place before morning.\"\n\n\"No more trains from here--\"\n\n\"You could hire a car for your own amusement. Rush her off in that.\nSnatch her away to Boston. We may catch a liner to-morrow.\"\n\n\"But we can't have her seeing us!\"\n\n\"We can't help that. It is dark; she won't see your face. Let us be\ngone. We must have been watched, or how could that man have found us\nout? Ralph! Don't you understand? You must do something.\"\n\n\"Where's this spy you gab of? I'll--\"\n\n\"This is not the Mexican border. You can't shoot here. The man is not\nthe point, but the girl. She must be gotten away at once.\"\n\n\"Nothing easier. Off, now to the hotel, and be ready in half an hour.\nI'll bring the car around.\"\n\nRachel Craik wanted no further discussion. She reached the Maples Inn in\na flurry of little runs. Before the door she saw two glaring lights, the\nlamps of Carshaw's automobile. It was not far from eleven. Even as she\napproached the hotel, Carshaw got in and drove down the street. He drew\nup on a patch of grass by the roadside at the end of the lane behind\nthe church. Soon after this he heard a clock strike eleven.\n\nHis eyes peered down the darkness of the lane to see Winifred coming, as\nshe had promised. It was still drizzling slightly--the night was heavy,\nstagnant and silent. Winifred did not come, and Carshaw's brows puckered\nwith care and foreboding. A quarter of an hour passed, but no light\ntread gladdened his ear. Fairfield lay fast asleep.\n\nCarshaw could no longer sit still. He paced restlessly about the wet\ngrass to ease his anxious heart. And so another quarter of an hour wore\nslowly. Then the sound of a fast-moving car broke the silence. Down the\nroad a pair of dragon-eyes blazed. The car came like the chariots of\nSennacherib, in reckless flight. Soon it was upon him. He drew back out\nof the road toward his own racer.\n\nThough rather surprised at this urgent flight he had no suspicion that\nWinifred might be the cause of it. As the car dashed past he clearly saw\non the front seat two men, and in the tonneau he made out the forms of\ntwo women. The faces of any of the quartet were wholly merged in speed\nand the night, but some white object fluttered in the swirl of air and\nfell forlornly in the road, dropping swiftly in its final plunge, like a\nstricken bird. He darted forward and picked up a lady's handkerchief.\nThen he knew! Winifred was being reft from him again. He leaped to his\nown car, started the engine, turned with reckless haste, and in a few\nseconds was hot in chase.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE PURSUIT\n\n\nThe two automobiles rushed along the Boston Post Road, heading for\nBridgeport. The loud rivalry of their straining engines awoke many a\nwayside dweller, and brought down maledictions on the heads of all\nmidnight joy-riders.\n\nCarshaw knew the road well, and his car was slightly superior to the\nother in speed. His hastily evolved plan was to hold the kidnappers\nuntil they were in the main street of Bridgeport. There he could dash\nahead, block further progress, risking a partial collision if necessary,\nand refer the instant quarrel to the police, bidding them verify his\nversion of the dispute by telephoning New York.\n\nHe could only hope that Winifred would bear him out as against her\n\"aunt,\" and he felt sure that Voles and his fellow-adventurer dare not\nrisk close investigation by the law. At any rate, his main object at\npresent was to overtake the car in front, which had gained a flying\nstart, and thus spoil any maneuvering for escape, such as turning into a\nside road. In his enthusiasm he pressed on too rapidly.\n\nHe was seen, and his intent guessed. The leading car slowed a trifle in\nrounding a bend; as Carshaw careened into view a revolver-shot rang out,\nand a bullet drilled a neat hole in the wind-screen, making a noise like\nthe sharp crack of a whip. Simultaneously came a scream!\n\nThat must be Winifred's cry of terror in his behalf. The sound nerved\nhim anew. He saw red. A second shot, followed by a wilder shriek, spat\nlead somewhere in the bonnet. Carshaw set his teeth, gave the engine\nevery ounce of power, and the two chariots of steel went raging,\nreckless of consequences, along the road.\n\nThere must be a special Providence that looks after chauffeurs, as well\nas after children and drunkards, for at some places the road, though\nwide enough, was so dismal with shadow that if any danger lurked within\nthe darkness it would not have been seen in time to be avoided.\n\n\"Drunkenness\" is, indeed, the word to describe the state of mind of the\ntwo drivers by this time--a heat to be on, a wrath against obstacles, a\nstorm in the blood, and a light in the eyes. Voles would have whirled\nthrough a battalion of soldiers on the march, if he had met them, and\nwould have hissed curses at them as he pitched over their bodies. He\nknew how to handle an automobile, having driven one over the rough\ntracks of the Rockies, so this well-kept road offered no difficulties.\nFor five minutes the cars raged ahead, passed through a sleeping village\nstreet and down a hill into open country beyond.\n\nNo sound was made by their occupants, whose minds and purposes remained\ndark one to the other. Voles might have fancied himself chased by the\nflight of witches who harried Tam o' Shanter, while Carshaw might have\nbeen hunting a cargo of ghosts; only the running hum of the cars droned\nits music along the highway, with a staccato accompaniment of\nrevolver-shots and Winifred's appeals to heaven for aid. Meantime, the\nrear car still gained on the one in front. And, on a sudden, Carshaw was\naware of a shouting, though he could not make out the words. It was Mick\nthe Wolf, who had clambered into the tonneau and was bellowing:\n\n\"Pull up, you--Pull up, or I'll get you sure!\"\n\nNor was the threat a waste of words, for he had hardly shouted when\nagain a bullet flicked past Carshaw's head.\n\nJust then a bend of the road and a patch of woodland hid the two cars\nfrom each other; but they had hardly come out upon a reach of straight\nroad again when another shot was fired. Carshaw, however, was now\ncrouched low over the steering wheel, and using the hood of the car as a\nbreast-work; though, since he was obliged to look out, his head was\nstill more or less exposed.\n\nHe bated no whit of speed on this account, but raced on; still, that\nfiring in the dark had an effect upon his nerves, making him feel rather\nqueer and small, for every now and again at intervals of a few seconds,\nit was sure to come, the desperado taking slow, cool aim with the\nperseverance of a man plying his day's work, of a man repeating to\nhimself the motto:\n\n\"If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again.\"\n\nThose shots, moreover, were coming from a hand whose aim seldom\nfailed--a dead shot, baffled only by the unconquerable vibration. And\nyet Carshaw was untouched. He could not even think. He was conscious\nonly of the thrum of the car, the spurts of flame, the whistle of lead,\nthe hysterical frenzy of Winifred's plaints.\n\nThe darkness alone saved him, but the more he caught up with the\nfugitive the less was this advantage likely to stand him in good stead.\nAnd when he should actually catch them up--what then? This question\npresented itself now to his heated mind. He had no plan of action. None\nwas possible. Even in Bridgeport what could he do? There were two\nagainst one--he would simply be shot as he passed the other car.\n\nIt was only the heat of the hunt that had created in him the feeling\nthat he must overtake them, though he died for it; but when he was\nwithin thirty yards of the front car, and two shots had come dangerously\nnear in swift succession, a flash of reason warned him, and he\ndetermined to slacken speed a little. He was not given time to do this.\nThere was an outcry on the car in front from three throats in it.\n\nA mob of oxen, being driven to some market, blocked the road just beyond\na bend. The men in charge had heard the thunder of the oncoming racers,\nwith its ominous obbligato of screams and shooting. They had striven\ndesperately to whack the animals to the hedge on either side, and were\nbawling loud warnings to those thrice accursed gunmen whom they imagined\nchased by police. Their efforts, their yells, were useless. Sixty miles\nan hour demands at least sixty yards for safety. When Voles put hand and\nfoot to the brakes he had hardly a clear space of ten. An obstreperous\nbullock was the immediate cause of disaster. Facing the dragon eyes, it\ncharged valiantly!\n\nMick the Wolf, running short of cartridges, was about to ask Voles to\nslow down until he \"got\" the reckless pursuer, when he found himself\ndescribing a parabola backward through the air. He landed in the\nroadway, breaking his left arm.\n\nVoles had an extraordinary lurid oath squeezed out of his vast bulk as\nhe was forced onto the steering-wheel, the pillar snapping like a\ncarrot. Winifred and Rachel Craik were flung against the padded back of\nthe driving seat, but saved from real injury because of their crouching\nto avoid Mick the Wolf.\n\nVoles was as quick as a wildcat in an emergency like this. He was on his\nfeet in a second, with a leg over the door, meaning to shoot Carshaw ere\nthe latter could do anything to protect himself. But luck, dead against\nhonesty thus far, suddenly veered against crime. Carshaw's car smashed\ninto the rear of the heavy mass composed of crushed bullock and\nautomobile no longer mobile, and dislocated its own engine and feed\npipes. The jerk threw Voles heavily, and nearly, not quite, sprained his\nankle. So, during a precious second or two, he lay almost stunned on the\nleft side of the road.\n\nCarshaw, given a hint of disaster by the slightest fraction of time, and\nalready braced low in the body of his car, was able to jump unobserved\nfrom the wreck. As though his brain were illumined by a flash of\nlightning, he remembered that the signal handkerchief had fluttered from\nthe off side of the flying car, so he ran to the right, and grabbed a\nbreathless bundle of soft femininity out of the ruin.\n\n\"Winifred,\" he gasped.\n\n\"Oh, are you safe?\" came the strangled sob. So that was her first\nthought, his safety! It is a thrilling moment in a man's life when he\nlearns that his well-being provides an all-sufficing content for some\ndear woman. Come weal, come woe, Carshaw knew then that he was clasping\nhis future wife in his arms. He ran with her through a mob of frightened\ncattle, and discovered a gate leading into a field.\n\n\"Can you stand if I lift you over?\" he said, leaning against the bars.\n\n\"Of course! I can run, too,\" and, in maidenly effort to free herself,\nshe hugged him closer. They crossed the gate and together breasted a\nslight rise through scattered sheaves of corn-shucks. Meanwhile, Voles\nand the cattlemen were engaged in a cursing match until Rachel Craik,\nrecovering her wind, screamed an eldrich command:\n\n\"Stop, you fool! They're getting away. He has taken her down the road!\"\n\nVoles limped off in pursuit, and Mick the Wolf took up the fierce\nargument with the drivers. At that instant the wreck blazed into flame.\nRachel had to move quickly to avoid a holocaust in which a hapless\nbullock provided the burnt offering. The light of this pyre revealed the\ndistant figures of Winifred and Carshaw, whereupon the maddened Voles\ntried pot shots at a hundred yards. Bullets came close, too. One cut\nthe heel of Carshaw's shoe; another plowed a ridge through his motoring\ncap. Realizing that Voles would aim only at him, he told Winifred to run\nwide.\n\nShe caught his hand.\n\n\"Please--help!\" she breathed. \"I cannot run far.\"\n\nHe smothered a laugh of sheer joy. Winifred's legs were supple as his.\nShe was probably the fleeter of the two. It was the mother-instinct that\nspoke in her. This was her man, and she must protect him, cover him from\nenemies with her own slim body.\n\nSoon they were safe from even a chance shot. On climbing a rail fence,\nCarshaw led the girl clearly into view until a fold in the ground\noffered. Then they doubled and zigzagged. They saw some houses, but\nCarshaw wanted no explanation or parleying then and pressed on. They\nentered a lane, or driveway, and followed it. There came a murmuring of\nmighty waters, the voice of the sea; they were on the beach of Long\nIsland Sound. Far behind, in the gloom, shone a lurid redness, marking\nthe spot where the two cars and the bullock were being converted into\nardent gasses.\n\nCarshaw halted and surveyed a long, low line of blackness breaking into\nthe deep-blue plain of the sea to the right.\n\n\"I know where we are,\" he said. \"There's a hotel on that point. It's\nabout two miles. You could walk twenty, couldn't you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Winifred unthinkingly.\n\n\"Or run five at a jog-trot?\" he teased her.\n\n\"Well--er--\"\n\nShe blushed furiously, and thanked the night that hid her from his eyes.\nNo maid wishes a man to think she is in love with him before he has\nuttered the word of love. When next she spoke, Winifred's tone was\nreserved, almost distant.\n\n\"Now tell me what has caused this tornado,\" she said. \"I have been\nacting on impulse. Please give me some reasonable theory of to-night's\nmadness.\"\n\nIt was on the tip of Carshaw's tongue to assure her that they were going\nto New York by the first train, and would hie themselves straight to the\nCity Hall for a marriage license. But--he had a mother, a prized and\ndeeply reverenced mother. Ought he to break in on her placid and\nwell-balanced existence with the curt announcement that he was married,\neven to a wife like Winifred. Would he be playing the game with those\ngood fellows in the detective bureau? Was it fair even to Winifred that\nshe should be asked to pay the immediate price, as it were, of her\nrescue? So the fateful words were not uttered, and the two trudged on,\ntalking with much common sense, probing the doubtful things in\nWinifred's past life, and ever avoiding the tumult of passion which must\nhave followed their first kiss.\n\nIn due course an innkeeper was aroused and the mishap of a car\nexplained. The man took them for husband and wife; happily, Winifred did\nnot overhear Carshaw's smothered:\n\n\"Not yet!\"\n\nThe girl soon went to her room. They parted with a formal hand-shake;\nbut, to still the ready lips of scandal, Carshaw discovered the\nlandlord's favorite brand of wine and sat up all night in his company.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE NEW LINK\n\n\nSteingall and Clancy were highly amused by Carshaw's account of the\n\"second burning of Fairfield,\" as the little man described the struggle\nbetween Winifred's abductors and her rescuer. The latter, not so well\nversed in his country's history as every young American ought to be, had\nto consult a history of the Revolution to learn that Fairfield was\nburned by the British in 1777. The later burning, by the way, created a\npretty quarrel between two insurance companies, the proprietors of two\ngarages and the owner of a certain bullock, with Carshaw's lawyer and a\nBridgeport lawyer, instructed by \"Mr. Ralph Voles,\" as interveners.\n\n\"And where is the young lady now?\" inquired Steingall, when Carshaw's\nstory reached its end.\n\n\"Living in rooms in a house in East Twenty-seventh Street, a quiet place\nkept by a Miss Goodman.\"\n\n\"Ah! Too soon for any planning as to the future, I suppose?\"\n\n\"We talked of that in the train. Winifred has a voice, so the stage\noffers an immediate opening. But I don't like the notion of musical\ncomedy, and the concert platform demands a good deal of training, since\na girl starts there practically as a principal. There is no urgency.\nWinifred might well enjoy a fortnight's rest. I have counseled that.\"\n\n\"A stage wait, in fact,\" put in Clancy, sarcastically.\n\nBy this time Carshaw was beginning to understand the peculiar quality of\nthe small detective's wit.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, smiling into those piercing and brilliant eyes. \"There\nare periods in a man's life when he ought to submit his desires to the\nacid test. Such a time has come now for me.\"\n\n\"But 'Aunt Rachel' may find her. Is she strong-willed enough to resist\ncajoling, and seek the aid of the law if force is threatened?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am sure now. What she heard and saw of those two men during the\nmad run along the Post Road supplied good and convincing reasons why she\nshould refuse to return to Miss Craik.\"\n\n\"Why are you unwilling to charge them with attempted murder?\" said\nSteingall, for Carshaw had stipulated there should be no legal\nproceedings.\n\n\"My lawyers advise against it,\" he said simply.\n\n\"You've consulted them?\"\n\n\"Yes, called in on my way here. When I reached home after seeing\nWinifred fixed comfortably in Miss Goodman's, I opened a letter from my\nlawyers, requesting an interview--on another matter, of course. Meaning\nto marry Winifred, if she'll take me, I thought it wise to tell them\nsomething about recent events.\"\n\nSteingall carefully chose a cigar from a box of fifty, all exactly\nalike, nipped the end off, and lighted it. Clancy's fingers drummed\nimpatiently on the table at which the three were seated. Evidently he\nexpected the chief to play Sir Oracle. But the head of the Bureau\ncontented himself with the comment that he was still interested in\nWinifred Bartlett's history, and would be glad to have any definite\nparticulars which Carshaw might gather.\n\nClancy sighed so heavily on hearing this \"departmental\" utterance that\nCarshaw was surprised.\n\n\"If I could please myself, I'd rush Winifred to the City Hall for a\nmarriage license to-day,\" he said, believing he had fathomed the other's\nthought.\n\n\"I'm a bit of a Celt on the French and Irish sides,\" snapped Clancy,\n\"and that means an ineradicable vein of romance in my make-up. But I'm\na New York policeman, too--a guy who has to mind his own business far\nmore frequently than the public suspects.\"\n\nAnd there the subject dropped. Truth to tell, the department had to\ntread warily in stalking such big game as a Senator. Carshaw was a\nfriend of the Towers, and \"the yacht mystery\" had been deliberately\nsquelched by the highly influential persons most concerned. It was\nimpolitic, it might be disastrous, if Senator Meiklejohn's name were\ndragged into connection with that of the unsavory Voles on the flimsy\nevidence, or, rather, mere doubt, affecting Winifred Bartlett's early\nlife.\n\nWinifred herself lived in a passive but blissful state of dreams during\nthe three weeks. Perhaps, in her heart of hearts, she wondered if every\nyoung man who might be in love with a girl imposed such rigid restraint\non himself as Rex Carshaw when he was in her company. The unspoken\nlanguage of love was plain in every glance, in every tone, in the merest\ntouch of their hands. But he spoke no definite word, and their lips had\nnever met.\n\nMiss Goodman, who took an interest in the pretty and amiable girl, spent\nmany an hour of chat with her. Every morning there arrived a present of\nflowers from Carshaw; every afternoon Carshaw himself appeared as\nregularly as the clock and drank of Miss Goodman's tea. They were weeks\nof _Nirvana_ for Winifred, and, but for her fear of being found out and\nher continued lack of occupation, they were the happiest she had ever\nknown. Meantime, however, she was living on \"borrowed\" money, and felt\nherself in a false position.\n\n\"Well, any news?\" was always Carshaw's first question as he placed his\nhat over his stick on a chair. And Winifred might reply:\n\n\"Not much. I saw such-and-such a stage manager, and went from such an\nagent to another, and had my voice tried, with the usual promises. I'm\nafraid that even your patience will soon be worn out. I am sorry now\nthat I thought of singing instead of something else, for there are\nplenty of girls who can sing much better than I.\"\n\n\"But don't be so eager about the matter, Winifred,\" he would say. \"It is\nan anxious little heart that eats itself out and will not learn repose.\nIsn't it? And it chafes at being dependent on some one who is growing\nweary of the duty. Doesn't it?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't mean that,\" said Winifred with a rueful and tender smile.\n\"You are infinitely good, Rex.\" They had soon come to the use of\nChristian names. Outwardly they were just good friends, while inwardly\nthey resembled two active volcanoes.\n\n\"Now I am 'infinitely good,' which is really more than human if you\nthink it out,\" he laughed. \"See how you run to extremes with nerves and\nthings. No, you are not to care at all, Winnie. You have a more or less\ngood voice. You know more music than is good for you, and sooner or\nlater, since you insist on it, you will get what you want. Where is the\nhurry?\"\n\n\"You don't or won't understand,\" said Winifred. \"I know what I want, and\nmust get some work without delay.\"\n\n\"Well, then, since it upsets you, you shall. I am not much of an\nauthority about professional matters myself, but I know a lady who\nunderstands these things, and I'll speak to her.\"\n\n\"Who is this lady?\" asked Winifred.\n\n\"Mrs. Ronald Tower.\"\n\n\"Young--nice-looking?\" asked Winifred, looking down at the crochet work\nin her lap. She was so taken up with the purely feminine aspect of\naffairs that she gave slight heed to a remarkable coincidence.\n\n\"Er--so-so,\" said Carshaw with a smile borne of memories, which\nWinifred's downcast eyes just noticed under their raised lids.\n\n\"What is she like?\" she went on.\n\n\"Let me see! How shall I describe her? Well, you know Gainsborough's\npicture of the Duchess of Devonshire? She's like that, full-busted,\nwith preposterous hats, dashing--rather a beauty!\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said Winifred coldly. \"She must be awfully attractive. A\n_very_ old friend?\"\n\n\"Oh, rather! I knew her when I was eighteen, and she was _elancée_\nthen.\"\n\n\"What does _elancée_ mean?\"\n\n\"On the loose.\"\n\n\"What does _that_ mean?\"\n\n\"Well--a bit free and easy, doesn't it? Something of that sort. Smart\nset, you know.\"\n\n\"I see. Do _you_, then, belong to the smart set?\"\n\n\"I? No. I dislike it rather. But one rubs with all sorts in the grinding\nof the mill.\"\n\n\"And this Mrs. Ronald Tower, whom you knew at eighteen, how old was she\nthen?\"\n\n\"About twenty-two or so.\"\n\n\"And she was--gay then?\"\n\n\"As far as ever society would let her.\"\n\n\"How--did you know?\"\n\n\"I--well, weren't we almost boy and girl together?\"\n\n\"I wonder you can give yourself the pains to come to spend your precious\nminutes with me when that sort of woman is within--\"\n\n\"What, not jealous?\" he cried joyously. \"And of that _passée_ creature?\nWhy, she isn't worthy to stoop and tie the latchets of your shoes, as\nthe Scripture saith!\"\n\n\"Still, I'd rather not be indebted to that lady for anything,\" said\nWinifred.\n\n\"But why not? Don't be excessive, little one. There is no reason, you\nknow.\"\n\n\"How does she come to know about singing and theatrical people?\"\n\n\"I don't know that she does. I only assume it. A woman of the world,\ncutting a great dash, yet hard up--that kind knows all sorts and\nconditions of men. I am sure she could help you, and I'll have a try.\"\n\n\"But is she the wife of the Ronald Tower who was dragged by the lasso\ninto the river?\"\n\n\"The same.\"\n\n\"It is odd how that name keeps on occurring in my life,\" said Winifred\nmusingly. \"A month ago I first heard it on Riverside Drive, and since\nthen I hear it always. I prefer, Rex, that you do not say anything to\nthat woman about me.\"\n\n\"I shall!\" said Rex playfully. \"You mustn't start at shadows.\"\n\nWinifred was silent. After a time she asked:\n\n\"Have you seen Mr. Steingall or Mr. Clancy lately?\"\n\n\"Yes, a couple of days ago. We are always more or less in communication.\nBut I have nothing to report. They're keeping track of Voles and Mick\nthe Wolf, but those are birds who don't like salt on their tails. You\nknow already that the Bureau never ceases to work at the mystery of your\nrelation with your impossible 'aunt,' and I think they have information\nwhich they have not passed on to me.\"\n\n\"Is my aunty still searching for me, I wonder?\" asked Winifred.\n\n\"Oh, don't call her aunty--call her your antipodes! It is more than that\nwoman knows how to be your aunt. Of course, the whole crew of them are\nmoving heaven and earth to find you! Clancy knows it. But let them\ntry--they won't succeed. And even if they do, please don't forget that\nI'm here now!\"\n\n\"But why should they be so terribly anxious to find me? My aunty always\ntreated me fairly well, but in a cold sort of a way which did not betray\nmuch love. So love can't be their motive.\"\n\n\"Love!\" And Carshaw breathed the word softly, as though it were pleasing\nto his ear. \"No. They have some deep reason, but what that is is more\nthan any one guesses. The same reason made them wish to take you far\nfrom New York, though what it all means is not very clear. Time,\nperhaps, will show.\"\n\nThe same night Rex Carshaw sat among a set which he had not frequented\nmuch of late--in Mrs. Tower's drawing-room. There were several tables\nsurrounded with people of various American and foreign types playing\nbridge. The whole atmosphere was that of Mammon; one might have fancied\noneself in the halls of a Florentine money-changer. At the same table\nwith Carshaw were Mrs. Tower, another society dame, and Senator\nMeiklejohn, who ought to have been making laws at Washington.\n\nTower stood looking on, the most unimportant person present, and anon\nran to do some bidding of his wife's. Carshaw's only relation with Helen\nTower of late had been to allow himself to be cheated by her at bridge,\nfor she did not often pay, especially if she lost to one who had been\nsomething more than a friend. When he did present himself at her house,\nshe felt a certain gladness apart from the money which he would lose;\nwomen ever keep some fragment of the heart which the world is not\npermitted to scar and harden wholly.\n\nShe grew pensive, therefore, when he told her that he wished to place a\ngirl on the concert stage, and wished to know from her how best to\nsucceed. She thought dreamily of other days, and the slightest pin-prick\nof jealousy touched her, for Carshaw had suddenly become earnest in\nbroaching this matter, and the other pair of players wondered why the\ngame was interrupted for so trivial a cause.\n\n\"What is the girl's name?\" she asked.\n\n\"Her name is of no importance, but, if you must know, it is Winifred\nBartlett,\" he answered.\n\nSenator Meiklejohn laid his thirteen cards face upward on the table.\nThere had been no bidding, and his partner screamed in protest:\n\n\"Senator, what are you doing?\"\n\nHe had revealed three aces and a long suit of spades.\n\n\"We must have a fresh deal,\" smirked Mrs. Tower.\n\n\"Well, of all the wretched luck!\" sighed the other woman. Meiklejohn\npleaded a sudden indisposition, yet lingered while a servant summoned\nRonald Tower to play in his stead.\n\nCarshaw knew Winifred--that same Winifred whom he and his secret\nintimates had sought so vainly during three long weeks! Voles and his\narm-fractured henchman were recuperating in Boston, but Rachel Craik and\nFowle were hunting New York high and low for sight of the girl.\n\nFowle, though skilled in his trade, found well-paid loafing more to his\nchoice, for Voles had sent Rachel to Fowle, guessing this man to be of\nthe right kidney for underhanded dealings. Moreover, he knew Winifred,\nand would recognize her anywhere. Fowle, therefore, suddenly blossomed\ninto a \"private detective,\" and had reported steady failure day after\nday. Rachel Craik had never ascertained Carshaw's name, as it was not\nnecessary that he should register in the Fairfield Inn, and Fowle, with\na nose still rather tender to the touch, never spoke to her of the man\nwho had smashed it.\n\nSo these associates in evil remained at cross-purposes until Senator\nMeiklejohn, when the bridge game was renewed and no further information\nwas likely to ooze out, went away from Mrs. Tower's house to nurse his\nsickness. He recovered speedily. A note was sent to Rachel by special\nmessenger, and she, in turn, sought Fowle, whose mean face showed a\nblotchy red when he learned that Winifred could be traced by watching\nCarshaw.\n\n\"I'll get her now, ma'am,\" he chuckled. \"It'll be dead easy. I can make\nup as a parson. Did that once before when--well, just to fool a bunch of\npeople. No one suspects a parson--see? I'll get her--sure!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA SUBTLE ATTACK\n\n\nVoles was brought from Boston. Though Meiklejohn dreaded the man,\nconditions might arise which would call for a bold and ruthless\nrascality not quite practicable for a Senator.\n\nThe lapse of time, too, had lulled the politician's suspicions of the\npolice. They seemed to have ceased prying. He ascertained, almost by\nchance, that Clancy was hot on the trail of a gang of counterfeiters.\n\"The yacht mystery\" had apparently become a mere memory in the Bureau.\n\nSo Voles came, with him Mick the Wolf, carrying a left arm in splints,\nand the Senator thought he was taking no risk in calling at the up-town\nhotel where the pair occupied rooms the day after Carshaw blurted out\nWinifred's name to Helen Tower. He meant paying another visit that day,\nso was attired _de rigueur_, a fact at which Voles, pipe in mouth and\nlounging in pajamas, promptly scoffed.\n\n\"Gee!\" he cried. \"Here's the Senator mooching round again, dressed up to\nthe nines--dust coat, morning suit, boots shining, all the frills--but\nvisiting low companions all the same. Why doesn't the man turn over a\nnew leaf and become good?\"\n\n\"Oh, hold your tongue!\" said William. \"We've got the girl, Ralph!\"\n\n\"Got the girl, have we? Not the first girl you've said that about--is\nit, my wily William?\"\n\n\"Listen, and drop that tone when you're speaking to me, or I'll cut you\nout for good and all!\" said Meiklejohn in deadly earnest. \"If ever you\nhad need to be serious, it is now. I said we've got her, but that only\nmeans that we are about to get her address; and the trouble will be to\nget herself afterward.\"\n\n\"Tosh! As to that, only tell me where she is, an' I'll go and grab her\nby the neck.\"\n\n\"Don't be such a fool. This is New York and not Mexico, though you\ninsist on confounding the two. Even if the girl were without friends,\nyou can't go and seize people in that fashion over here, and she has at\nleast one powerful friend, for the man who beat you hollow that night,\nand carried her off under your very nose, is Rex Carshaw, a determined\nyoungster, and rich, though not so rich as he thinks he is. And there\nmust be no failure a second time, Ralph. Remember that! Just listen to\nme carefully. This girl is thinking of going on the stage! Do you\nrealize what that means, if she ever gets there? You have yourself said\nshe is the living image of her mother. You know that her mother was well\nknown in society. Think, then, of her appearing before the public, and\nof the certainty of her being recognized by some one, or by many, if she\ndoes. Fall down this time, and the game's up!\"\n\n\"The thing seems to be, then, to let daylight into Carshaw,\" said Voles.\n\n\"Oh, listen, man! Listen! What we have to do is to place her in a lonely\nhouse--in the country--where, if she screams, her screams will not be\nheard; and the only possibility of bringing her there is by ruse, not by\nviolence.\"\n\n\"Well, and how get her there?\"\n\n\"That has to be carefully planned, and even more carefully executed. It\nseems to me that the mere fact of her wishing to go on the stage may be\nmade a handle to serve our ends. If we can find a dramatic agent with\nwhom she is in treaty, we must obtain a sheet of his office paper, and\nwrite her a letter in his name, making an appointment with her at an\nempty house in the country, some little distance from New York. None of\nthe steps presents any great difficulty. In fact, all that part I\nundertake myself. It will be for you, your friend Mick, and Rachel Craik\nto receive her and keep her eternally when you once have her. You may\nthen be able so to work upon her as to persuade her to go quietly with\nyou to South America or England. In any case, we shall have shut her\naway from the world, which is our object.\"\n\n\"Poor stuff! How about this Carshaw? Suppose he goes with her to keep\nthe appointment, or learns from her beforehand of it? Carshaw must be\nwiped out.\"\n\n\"He must certainly be dealt with, yes,\" said Meiklejohn, \"but in another\nmanner. I think--I think I see my way. Leave him to me. I want this girl\nout of New York State in the first instance. Suppose you go to the\nOranges, in New Jersey, pick out a suitable house, and rent it? Go\nto-day.\"\n\nVoles raised his shaggy eyebrows.\n\n\"What's the rush?\" he said amusedly. \"After eighteen years--\"\n\n\"Will you never learn reason? Every hour, every minute, may bring\ndisaster.\"\n\n\"Oh, have it your way! I'll fix Carshaw if he camps on my trail a second\ntime.\"\n\nMeiklejohn returned to his car with a care-seamed brow. He was bound now\nfor Mrs. Carshaw's apartment.\n\nIf he was fortunate enough to find her in, and alone, he would take that\nfirst step in \"dealing with\" her son which he had spoken of to Voles. He\nmade no prior appointment by phone. He meant catching her unawares, so\nthat Rex could have no notion of his presence.\n\nMrs. Carshaw was a substantial lady of fifty, a society woman of the\ntype to whom the changing seasons supply the whole duty of man and\nwoman, and the world outside the orbit of the Four Hundred is a rumor of\nno importance.\n\nShe had met Senator Meiklejohn in so many places for so many years that\nthey might be called comrades in the task of dining and making New York\nlook elegant. She was pleased to see him. Their common fund of scandal\nand epigram would carry them safely over a cheerful hour.\n\n\"And as to the good old firm of Carshaw--prosperous as usual, I hope,\"\nsaid Meiklejohn, balancing an egg-shell tea-cup.\n\nMrs. Carshaw shrugged.\n\n\"I don't know much about it,\" she said, \"but I sometimes hear talk of\nbad times and lack of capital. I suppose it is all right. Rex does not\nseem concerned.\"\n\n\"Ah! but the mischief may be just there,\" said Meiklejohn. \"The rogue\nmay be throwing it all on the shoulders of his managers, and letting\nthings slide.\"\n\n\"He may--he probably is. I see very little of him, really, especially\njust lately.\"\n\n\"Is it the same little influence at work upon him as some months ago?\"\nasked Meiklejohn, bending nearer, a real confidential crony.\n\n\"Which same little influence?\" asked the lady, agog with a sense of\nsecrecy, and genuinely anxious as to anything affecting her son.\n\n\"Why, the girl, Winifred Bartlett.\"\n\n\"Bartlett! As far as I know, I have never even heard her name.\"\n\n\"Extraordinary! Why, it's the talk of the club.\"\n\n\"Tell me. What is it all about?\"\n\n\"Ah, I must not be indiscreet. When I mentioned her, I took it for\ngranted that you knew all about it, or I should not have told tales out\nof school.\"\n\n\"Yes, but you and I are of a different generation than Rex. He belongs\nto the spring, we belong to the autumn. There is no question of telling\ntales out of school as between you and him. So now, please, you are\ngoing to tell me _all_.\"\n\n\"Well, the usual story: A girl of lower social class; a young man's head\nturned by her wiles; the conventions more or less defied; business\nyawned at; mother, friends, everything shelved for the time being, and\nnothing important but the one thing. It's not serious, perhaps. So long\nas business is not _too_ much neglected, and no financial consequences\nfollow, society thinks not a whit worse of a young man on that\naccount--on one condition, mark you! There must be no question of\nmarriage. But in this case there _is_ that question.\"\n\n\"But this is merely ridiculous!\" laughed Mrs. Carshaw shrilly.\n\"Marriage! Can a son of mine be so quixotic?\"\n\n\"It is commonly believed that he is about to marry her.\"\n\n\"But how on earth has it happened that I never heard a whisper of this\npreposterous thing?\"\n\n\"It _is_ extraordinary. Sometimes the one interested is the last to hear\nwhat every one is talking about.\"\n\n\"Well, I never was so--amused!\" Yet Mrs. Carshaw's wintry smile was not\njoyous. \"Rex! I must laugh him out of it, if I meet him anywhere!\"\n\n\"That you will not succeed in doing, I think.\"\n\n\"Well, then I'll frown him out of it. This is why--I see all now.\"\n\n\"There you are hardly wise, to think of either laughing or frowning him\nout of it,\" said Meiklejohn, offering her worldly wisdom. \"No, in such\ncases there is a better way, take my word for it.\"\n\n\"And that is?\"\n\n\"Approach the girl. Avoid carefully saying one word to the young man,\nbut approach _the girl_. That does it, if the girl is at all decent, and\nhas any sensibility. Lay the facts plainly before her. Take her into\nyour confidence--this flatters her. Invoke her love for the young man\nwhom she is hurting by her intimacy with him--this puts her on her\nhonor. Urge her to fly from him--this makes her feel herself a martyr,\nand turns her on the heroic tack. That is certainly what I should do if\nI were you, and I should do it without delay.\"\n\n\"You're right. I'll do it,\" said Mrs. Carshaw. \"Do you happen to know\nwhere this girl is to be found?\"\n\n\"No. I think I can tell, though, from whom you might get the\naddress--Helen Tower. I heard your son talking to her last night about\nthe girl. He was wanting to know whether Helen could put him in the way\nof placing her on the stage.\"\n\n\"What! Is she one of those scheming chorus-girls?\"\n\n\"It appears so.\"\n\n\"But has he had the effrontery to mention her in this way to other\nladies? It is rather amusing! Why, it used to be said that Helen Tower\nwas his _belle amie_.\"\n\n\"All the more reason, perhaps, why she may be willing to give you the\naddress, if she knows it.\"\n\n\"I'll see her this very afternoon.\"\n\n\"Then I must leave you at leisure now,\" said Meiklejohn sympathetically.\n\nAn hour later Mrs. Carshaw was with Helen Tower, and the name of\nWinifred Bartlett arose between them.\n\n\"But he did not give me her address,\" said Mrs. Tower. \"Do you want it\npressingly?\"\n\n\"Why, yes. Have you not heard that there is a question of marriage?\"\n\n\"Good gracious! Marriage?\"\n\nThe two women laid their heads nearer together, enjoying the awfulness\nof the thing, though one was a mother and the other was pricked with\njealousy in some secret part of her nature.\n\n\"Yes--marriage!\" repeated the mother. Such an enormity was dreadful.\n\n\"It sounds too far-fetched! What will you do?\"\n\n\"Senator Meiklejohn recommends me to approach the girl.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps that is the best. But how to get her address? Perhaps if\nI asked Rex he would tell it, without suspecting anything. On the other\nhand, he might take alarm.\"\n\n\"Couldn't you say you had secured her a place on the stage, and make him\nsend her to you, to test her voice, or something? And then you could\nsend her on to me,\" said the elder woman.\n\n\"Yes, that might be done,\" answered Helen Tower. \"I'd like to see her,\ntoo. She must be extraordinarily pretty to capture Rex. Some of those\ncommon girls are, you know. It is a caprice of Providence. Anyway, I\nshall find her out, or have her here somehow within the next few days,\nand will let you know. First of all, I'll write Rex and ask him to come\nfor bridge to-night.\"\n\nShe did this, but without effect, for Carshaw was engaged elsewhere,\nhaving taken Winifred to a theater.\n\nHowever, Meiklejohn was again at the bridge party, and when he asked\nwhether Mrs. Carshaw had paid a visit that afternoon, and the address of\nthe girl had been given, Helen Tower answered:\n\n\"I don't know it. I am now trying to find out.\"\n\nThe Senator seemed to take thought.\n\n\"I hate interfering,\" he said at last, \"but I like young Carshaw, and\nhave known his mother many a year. It's a pity he should throw himself\naway on some chit of a girl, merely because she has a fetching pair of\neyes or a slim ankle, or Heaven alone knows what else it is that first\nturns a young man's mind to a young woman. I happen to have heard,\nhowever, that Winifred Bartlett lives in a boarding-house kept by Miss\nGoodman in East Twenty-seventh Street. Now, my name must not--\"\n\nHelen Tower laughed in that dry way which often annoyed him.\n\n\"Surely by this time you regard me as a trustworthy person,\" she said.\n\nSo Fowle had proven himself a capable tracker, and Winifred's\npersecutors were again closing in on her. But who would have imagined\nthat the worst and most deadly of them might be the mother of her Rex?\nThat, surely, was something akin to steeping in poison the assassin's\ndagger.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE VISITOR\n\n\n\"Are you Miss Winifred Bartlett?\" asked Mrs. Carshaw the next afternoon\nin that remote part of East Twenty-seventh Street which for the first\ntime bore the rubber tires of her limousine.\n\n\"Yes, madam,\" said Winifred, who stood rather pale before that large and\nelegant presence. It was in the front room of the two which Winifred\noccupied.\n\n\"But--where have I seen you before?\" asked Mrs. Carshaw suddenly, making\nplay with a pair of mounted eye-glasses.\n\n\"I cannot say, madam. Will you be seated?\"\n\n\"What a pretty girl you are!\" exclaimed the visitor, wholly unconscious\nof the calm insolence which \"society\" uses to its inferiors. \"I'm\ncertain I have seen you somewhere, for your face is perfectly familiar,\nbut for the life of me I cannot recall the occasion.\"\n\nMrs. Carshaw was not mistaken. Some dim cell of memory was stirred by\nthe girl's likeness to her mother. For once Senator Meiklejohn's\nscheming had brought him to the edge of the precipice. But the\ndangerous moment passed. Rex's mother was thinking of other and more\nimmediate matters. Winifred stood silent, scared, with a foreboding of\nthe meaning of this tremendous visit.\n\n\"Now, I am come to have a quiet chat with you,\" said Mrs. Carshaw, \"and\nI only hope that you will look on me as a friend, and be perfectly at\nyour ease. I am sorry the nature of my visit is not of a quite pleasant\nnature, but no doubt we shall be able to understand each other, for you\nlook good and sweet. Where have I seen you before? You are a sweetly\npretty girl, do you know? I can't altogether blame poor Rex, for men\nare not very rational creatures, are they? Come, now, and sit quite\nnear beside me on this chair, and let me talk to you.\"\n\nWinifred came and sat, with tremulous lip, not saying a word.\n\n\"First, I wish to know something about yourself,\" said Mrs. Carshaw,\ntrying honestly to adopt a motherly tone. \"Do you live here all alone?\nWhere are your parents?\"\n\n\"I have none--as far as I know. Yes, I live here alone, for the\npresent.\"\n\n\"But no relatives?\"\n\n\"I have an aunt--a sort of aunt--but--\"\n\n\"You are mysterious--'a sort of aunt.' And is this 'sort of aunt' with\nyou here?\"\n\n\"No. I used to live with her, but within the last month we\nhave--separated.\"\n\n\"Is that my son's doings?\"\n\n\"No--that is--no.\"\n\n\"So you are quite alone?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And my son comes to see you?\"\n\n\"He comes--yes, he comes.\"\n\n\"But that is rather defiant of everything, is it not?\"\n\nA blush of almost intense carmine washed Winifred's face and neck. Mrs.\nCarshaw knew how to strike hard. Every woman knows how to hurt another\nwoman.\n\n\"Miss Goodman, my landlady, usually stays in here when he comes,\" said\nshe.\n\n\"All the time?\"\n\n\"Most of the time.\"\n\n\"Well, I must not catechise you. No one woman has the right to do that\nto another, and you are sweet to have answered me at all. I think you\nare good and true; and you will therefore find it all the easier to\nsympathize with my motives, which have your own good at heart, as well\nas my son's. First of all, do you understand that my son is very much in\nlove with you?\"\n\n\"I--you should not ask me--I may have thought that he liked me.\nHas--he--told you so?\"\n\n\"He has never mentioned your name to me. I never knew of your existence\ntill yesterday. But it is so; he is fond of you, to such an unusual\nextent, that quite a scandal has arisen in his social set--\"\n\n\"Not about me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But there is nothing----\"\n\n\"Yes; it is reported that he intends to marry you.\"\n\n\"And is that what the scandal is about? I thought the scandal was when\nyou did not marry, not when you did.\"\n\nMrs. Carshaw permitted herself to be surprised. She had not looked for\nsuch weapons in Winifred's armory. But she was there to carry out what\nshe deemed an almost sacred mission, and the righteous can be horribly\nunjust.\n\n\"Yes, in the middle classes, but not in the upper, which has its own\nmoral code--not a strictly Biblical one, perhaps,\" she retorted glibly.\n\"With us the scandal is not that you and my son are friends, but that he\nshould seriously think of marrying you, since you are on such different\nlevels. You see, I speak plainly.\"\n\nWinifred suddenly covered her face with her hands. For the first time\nshe measured the great gulf yawning between her and that dear hope\ngrowing up in her heart.\n\n\"That is how the matter stands before marriage,\" went on Mrs. Carshaw,\nsure that she was kind in being merciless. \"You can conceive how it\nwould be afterwards. And society is all nature--it never forgives; or,\nif it forgives, it may condone sins, but never an indiscretion. Nor must\nyou think that your love would console my son for the great social loss\nwhich his connection with you threatens to bring on him. It will console\nhim for a month, but a wife is not a world, nor, however beloved, does\nshe compensate for the loss of the world. If, therefore, you love my\nson, as I take it that you do--do you?\"\n\nWinifred's face was covered. She did not answer.\n\n\"Tell me in confidence. I am a woman, too, and know--\"\n\nA sob escaped from the poor bowed head. Mrs. Carshaw was moved. She had\nnot counted on so hard a task. She had even thought of money!\n\n\"Poor thing! That will make your duty very hard. I wish--but there is no\nuse in wishing! Necessity knows no pity. Winifred, you must summon all\nyour strength of mind, and get out of this false position.\"\n\n\"What am I to do? What can I do?\" wailed Winifred. She was without means\nor occupation, and could not fly from the house.\n\n\"You can go away,\" said Mrs. Carshaw, \"without letting him know whither\nyou have gone, and till you go you can throw cold water on his passion\nby pretending dislike or indifference--\"\n\n\"But could I do such a thing, even if I tried?\" came the despairing cry.\n\n\"It will be hard, certainly, but a woman should be able to accomplish\neverything for the man she loves. Remember for whose sake you will be\ndoing it, and promise me before I leave you.\"\n\n\"Oh, you should give me time to think before I promise anything,\" sobbed\nWinifred. \"I believe I shall go mad. I am the most unfortunate girl that\never lived. I did not seek him--he sought me; and now, when I--Have you\nno pity?\"\n\n\"You see that I have--not only pity, but confidence. It is hard, but I\nfeel that you will rise to it. I, and you, are acting for Rex's sake,\nand I hope, I believe, you will do your share in saving him. And now I\nmust go, leaving my sting behind me. I am so sorry! I never dreamed that\nI should like you so well. I have seen you before somewhere--it seems to\nme in an old dream. Good-by, good-by! It had to be done, and I have done\nit, but not gladly. Heaven help us women, and especially all mothers!\"\n\nWinifred could not answer. She was choked with sobs, so Mrs. Carshaw\ntook her departure in a kind of stealthy haste. She was far more\nunhappy now than when she entered that quiet house. She came in\nbristling with resolution. She went out, seemingly victorious, but\nfeeling small and mean.\n\nWhen she was gone Winifred threw herself on a couch with buried head,\nand was still there an hour later when Miss Goodman brought up a letter.\nIt was from a dramatic agent whom she had often haunted for work--or\nrather it was a letter on his office paper, making an appointment\nbetween her and a \"manager\" at some high-sounding address in East\nOrange, New Jersey, when, the writer said, \"business might result.\"\n\nShe had hardly read it when Rex Carshaw's tap came to the door.\n\nAbout that same time Steingall threw a note across his office table to\nClancy, who was there to announce that in a house in Brooklyn a fine\nhaul of coiners, dies, presses, and other illicit articles, human and\ninanimate, had just been made.\n\n\"Ralph V. Voles and his bad man from the West have come back to New York\nagain,\" said the chief. \"You might give 'em an eye.\"\n\n\"Why on earth doesn't Carshaw marry the girl?\" said Clancy.\n\n\"I dunno. He's straight, isn't he?\"\n\n\"Strikes me that way.\"\n\n\"Me, too. Anyhow, let's pick up a few threads. I've a notion that\nSenator Meiklejohn thinks he has side-stepped the Bureau.\"\n\nClancy laughed. His mirth was grotesque as the grin of one of those\ncarved ivories of Japan, and to the effect of the crinkled features was\nadded a shrill cackle. The chief glanced up.\n\n\"Don't do that,\" he said sharply. \"You get my goat when you make that\nbeastly noise!\"\n\nThese two were beginning again to snap at each other about the Senator\nand his affairs, and their official quarrels usually ended badly for the\nother fellow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nWINIFRED DRIFTS\n\n\nWinifred, pale as death, rose to receive her lover, with that letter in\nher hand which made an appointment with her at a house in East Orange; a\nletter which she believed to have been written by a dramatic agent, but\nwhich was actually inspired by Senator Meiklejohn. It was the bait of\nthe trap which should put her once more in the power of Meiklejohn and\nhis accomplices.\n\nDuring a few tense seconds the girl prayed for power to play the bitter\npart which had been thrust upon her--to play it well for the sake of the\nman who loved her, and whom she loved. The words of his mother were\nstill in her ears. She had to make him think that she did not care for\nhim. In the last resort she had to fly from him. She had tacitly\npromised to do this woeful thing.\n\nFar enough from her innocent mind was it to dream that the visit of\nRex's mother had been brought about by her enemies in order to deprive\nher of a protector and separate her from her lover at the very time\nwhen he was most necessary to save her.\n\nCarshaw entered in high spirits. \"Well, I have news--\" he began. \"But,\nhello! What's the matter?\"\n\n\"With whom?\" asked Winifred.\n\n\"You look pale.\"\n\n\"Do I? It is nothing.\"\n\n\"You have been crying, surely.\"\n\n\"Have I?\"\n\n\"Tell me. What is wrong?\"\n\n\"Why should I tell _you_, if anything is wrong?\"\n\nHe stood amazed at this speech. \"Odd words,\" said he, looking at her in\na stupor of surprise, almost of anger. \"Whom should you tell but me?\"\n\nThis touched Winifred, and, struggling with the lump in her throat, she\nsaid, unsteadily: \"I am not very well to-day; if you will leave me now,\nand come perhaps some other time, you will oblige me.\"\n\nCarshaw strode nearer and caught her shoulder.\n\n\"But what a tone to me! Have I done something wrong, I wonder? Winnie,\nwhat is it?\"\n\n\"I have told you I am not very well. I do not desire your\ncompany--to-day.\"\n\n\"Whew! What majesty! It must be something outrageous. But what? Won't\nyou be dear and kind, and tell me?\"\n\n\"You have done nothing.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have. I think I can guess. I spoke of Helen Tower yesterday as\nof an old sweetheart--was that it? And it is all jealousy. Surely I\ndidn't say much. What on earth did I say? That she was like a\nGainsborough; that she was rather a beauty; that she was _elancée_ at\ntwenty-two. But I didn't mean any harm. Why, it's jealousy!\"\n\nAt this Winifred drew herself up to discharge a thunderbolt, and though\nshe winced at the Olympian effort, managed to say distinctly:\n\n\"There can be no jealousy where there is no love.\"\n\nCarshaw stood silent, momentarily stunned, like one before whom a\nthunderbolt has really exploded. At last, looking at the pattern of a\nfrayed carpet, he said humbly enough:\n\n\"Well, then, I must be a very unfortunate sort of man, Winifred.\"\n\n\"Don't believe me!\" Winifred wished to cry out. But the words were\nchecked on her white lips. The thought arose in her, \"He that putteth\nhis hand to the plow and looketh back--\"\n\n\"It is sudden, this truth that you tell me,\" went on Carshaw. \"Is it a\ntruth?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You are not fond of me, Winnie?\"\n\n\"I have a liking for you.\"\n\n\"That's all?\"\n\n\"That is all.\"\n\n\"Don't say it, dear. I suffer.\"\n\n\"Do you? No, don't suffer. I--can't help myself.\"\n\n\"You are sorry for me, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\n\"But how came I, then, to have the opposite impression so strongly? I\nthink--I can't help thinking--that it was your fault, dear. You made me\nhope, perhaps without meaning me to, that--that life was to be happy for\nme. When I entered that door just now no man in New York had a lighter\nstep than I, or a more careless heart. I shall go out of it--different,\ndear. You should not have allowed me to think--what I did; and you\nshould not have told me the truth so--quite so--suddenly.\"\n\n\"Sit down. You are not fair to me. I did not know you cared--\"\n\n\"You--you did not know that I cared? Come, that's not true, girl!\"\n\n\"Not so much, I mean--not quite so much. I thought that you were\nflirting with me, as I--perhaps--was flirting with you.\"\n\n\"Who is that I hear speaking? Is it Winifred? The very sound of her\nvoice seems different. Am I dreaming? She flirting with me? I don't\nrealize her--it is a different girl! Oh! this thing comes to me like a\nfalling steeple. It had no right to happen!\"\n\n\"You should sit down, or you should go; better go--better, better go,\"\nand Winifred clutched wildly at her throat. \"Let us part now, and let us\nnever meet!\"\n\n\"If you like, if you wish it,\" said Carshaw, still humbly, for he was\nquite dazed. \"It seems sudden. I am not sure if it is a dream or not. It\nisn't a happy one, if it is. But have we no business to discuss before\nyou send me away in this fashion? Do you mean to throw off my help as\nwell as myself?\"\n\n\"I shall manage. I have an offer of work here in my hands. I shall soon\nbe at work, and will then send the amount of the debt which I owe you,\nthough you care nothing about that, and I know that I can never repay\nyou for all.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is true, too, in a way. Am I, then, actually to go?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But you are not serious? Think of my living on, days and years, and not\nseeing you any more. It seems a pitiable thing, too. Even you must be\nsorry for me.\"\n\n\"Yes, it seems a pitiable thing!\"\n\n\"So--what do you say?\"\n\n\"Good-by. Go--go!\"\n\n\"But you will at least let me know where you are? Don't be quite lost to\nme.\"\n\n\"I shall be here for some time. But you won't come. I mustn't see you. I\ndemand that much.\"\n\n\"No, no. I won't come, you may be sure. And you, on your part, promise\nthat if you have need of money you will let me know? That is the least I\ncan expect of you.\"\n\n\"I will; but go. I will have you in my--memory. Only go from me now, if\nyou--love--\"\n\n\"Good-by, then. I do not understand, but good-by. I am all in, Winnie;\nbut still, good-by. God bless you--\"\n\nHe kissed her hand and went. Her skin was cold to his lips, and, in a\nnumb way, he wondered why. A moment after he had disappeared she called\nhis name, but in an awful, hushed voice which he could not hear; and she\nfell at her length on the couch.\n\n\"Rex! My love! My dear love,\" she moaned, and yet he did not hear, for\nthe sky had dropped on him.\n\nThere she lay a little while, yet it was not all pain with her. There is\none sweetest sweet to the heart, one drop of intensest honey, sweeter to\nit than any wormwood is bitter, which consoled her--the consciousness of\nself-sacrifice, of duty done, of love lost for love's sake. Mrs. Carshaw\nhad put the girl on what Senator Meiklejohn cynically called \"the heroic\ntack\"; and, having gone on that tack, Winifred deeply understood that\nthere was a secret smile in it, and a surprising light. She lay catching\nher breath till Miss Goodman brought up the tea-tray, expecting to find\nthe cheery Carshaw there as usual, for she had not heard him go out.\n\nInstead, she found Winifred sobbing on the couch, for Winifred's grief\nwas of that depth which ceases to care if it is witnessed by others. The\ngood landlady came, therefore, and knelt by Winifred's side, put her arm\nabout her, and began to console and question her. The consolation did no\ngood, but the questions did. For, if one is persistently questioned, one\nmust answer something sooner or later, and the mind's effort to answer\nbreaks the thread of grief, and so the commonplace acts as a medicine to\ntragedy.\n\nIn the end Winifred was obliged to sit up and go to the table where the\ntea-things were. This was in itself a triumph; and her effort to secure\nsolitude and get rid of Miss Goodman was a further help toward throwing\noff her mood of despair. By the time Miss Goodman was gone the storm was\nsomewhat calmed.\n\nDuring that sad evening, which she spent alone, she read once more the\nletter making the appointment with her at East Orange. Now, reading it a\nsecond time, she felt a twinge of doubt. Who could it be, she wondered,\nwhom she would have to see there? East Orange was some way off. A\nmeeting of this sort usually took place in New York, at an office.\n\nHer mind was not at all given to suspicions, but on reading over the\nletter for the third time, she now noticed that the signature was not in\nthe handwriting of the agent. She knew his writing quite well, for he\nhad sent her other letters. This writing was, indeed, something like\nhis, but certainly not his. It might be a clerk's; the letter was typed\non his office paper.\n\nTo say that she was actually disturbed by these little rills of doubt\nwould not be quite true. Still, they did arise in her mind, and left her\nnot perfectly at ease. The touch of uneasiness, however, made her ask\nherself why she should now become a singer at all. It was Carshaw who\nhad pressed it upon her, because she had insisted on the vital necessity\nof doing something quickly, and he had not wished her to work again with\nher hands. In reality, he was scheming to gain time.\n\nNow that they were parted she saw no reason why she should not throw off\nall this stage ambition, and toil like other girls as good as she. She\nhad done it. She was skilled in the bookbinding craft; she might do it\nagain. She counted her money and saw that she had enough to carry her\non a week, or even two, with economy. Therefore, she had time in which\nto seek other work.\n\nEven if she did not find it she would have not the slightest hesitation\nin \"borrowing\" from Rex; for, after all, all that he had was hers--she\nknew it, and he knew it. Before she went to bed she decided to throw up\nthe singing ambition, not to go to the appointment at East Orange, but\nto seek some other more modest occupation.\n\nAbout that same hour Rex Carshaw walked desolately to the apartment in\nMadison Avenue. He threw himself into a chair and propped his head on a\nhand, saying: \"Well, mother!\" for Mrs. Carshaw was in the room.\n\nHis mother glanced anxiously at him, for though Winifred had promised to\nkeep secret the fact of her visit, she was in fear lest some hint of it\nmight have crept out; nor had she foreseen quite so deadly an effect on\nher son as was now manifest. He looked care-worn and weary, and the\nmaternal heart throbbed.\n\nShe came and stood over him. \"Rex, you don't look well,\" said she.\n\n\"No; perhaps I'm not very well, mother,\" said he listlessly.\n\n\"Can I do anything?\"\n\n\"No; I'm rather afraid that the mischief is beyond you, mother.\"\n\n\"Poor boy! It is some trouble, I know. Perhaps it would do you good to\ntell me.\"\n\n\"No; don't worry, mother. I'd rather be left alone, there's a dear.\"\n\n\"Only tell me this. Is it very bad? Does it hurt--much?\"\n\n\"Where's the use of talking? What cannot be cured must be endured. Life\nisn't all a smooth run on rubber tires.\"\n\n\"But it will pass, whatever it is. Bear up and be brave.\"\n\n\"Yes; I suppose it will pass--when I am dead.\"\n\nShe tried to smile.\n\n\"Only the young dream of death as a relief,\" she said. \"But such wild\nwords hurt, Rex.\"\n\n\"That's all right, only leave me alone; you can't help. Give me a kiss,\nand then go.\"\n\nA tear wet his forehead when Mrs. Carshaw laid her lips there.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nALL ROADS LEAD TO EAST ORANGE\n\n\nThe next day Winifred set about her new purpose of finding some other\noccupation than that connected with the stage, though she rose from bed\nthat morning feeling ill, having hardly slept throughout the night.\n\nFirst, she read over once more the \"agent's\" letter, and was again\nconscious of an extremely vague feeling of something queer in it when\nshe reflected on the lateness of the hour of the rendezvous--eight in\nthe evening. She decided to write, explaining her change of purpose, and\ndeclining the interview with this nebulous \"client.\" She did not write\nat once. She thought that she would wait, and see first the result of\nthe day's search for other employment.\n\nSoon after breakfast she went out, heading for Brown's, her old\nemployers in Greenwich Village, who had turned her away after the yacht\naffair and the arrest of her aunt.\n\nAs she waited at the crossing where the cars pass, her eyes rested on a\nman--a clergyman, apparently--standing on the opposite pavement. He was\nnot at the moment looking that way, and she took little notice of him,\nthough her subconsciousness may have recognized something familiar in\nthe lines of his body.\n\nIt was Fowle in a saintly garb, Fowle in a shovel hat, Fowle interested\nin the comings and goings of Winifred. Fowle, moreover, in those days,\nfloated on the high tide of ease, and had plenty of money in his pocket.\nHe not only looked, but felt like a person of importance, and when\nWinifred entered a street-car, Fowle followed in a taxi.\n\nThere was a new foreman at Brown's now, and he received the girl kindly.\nShe laid her case before him. She had been employed there and had given\nsatisfaction. Then, all at once, an event with which she had nothing\nmore to do than people in China, had caused her to be dismissed. Would\nnot the firm, now that the whole business had blown over, reinstate her?\n\nThe man heard her attentively through and said:\n\n\"Hold on. I'll have a talk with the boss.\" He left her, and was gone ten\nminutes. Then he returned, with a shaking head. \"No, Brown's never take\nany one back,\" said he; \"but here's a list of bookbinding firms which\nhe's written out for you, and he says he'll give you a recommendation if\nany of 'em give you a job.\"\n\nWith this list Winifred went out, and, determined to lose no time,\nstarted on the round, taking the nearest first, one in Nineteenth\nStreet. She walked that way, and slowly behind her followed a clergyman.\nThe firm in Nineteenth Street wanted no new hand. Winifred got into a\nTwenty-third Street cross-town car. After her sped a taxi.\n\nAnd now, when she stopped at the third bookbinder's, Fowle knew her\nmotive. She was seeking work at the old trade. He was puzzled, knowing\nthat she had wished to become a singer, and being aware, too, of the\nappointment for the next night at East Orange. Had she, then, changed\nher purpose? Perhaps she was seeking both kinds of employment, meaning\nto accept the one which came first. If the bookbinding won out that\nmight be dangerous to the rendezvous.\n\nIn any case, Fowle resolved to nip the project in the bud. He would go\nlater in the day to all the firms she had visited, ask if they had\nengaged her, and, if so, drop a hint that she had been dismissed from\nBrown's for being connected with the crime committed against Mr. Ronald\nTower. A bogus clergyman's word was good for something, anyhow.\n\nFrom Twenty-third Street, where there was no work, Winifred made her way\nto Twenty-ninth Street, followed still by the taxi. Here things turned\nout better for her. She was seen by a manager who told her that they\nwould be short-handed in three or four days, and that, if she could\nreally produce a reference from Brown's he would engage her permanently.\nWinifred left him her address, so that he might write and tell her when\nshe could come.\n\nShe lunched in a cheap restaurant and walked to her lodgings. Color\nflooded her cheeks, but she was appalled by her loneliness, by the\nemptiness of her life. To bind books and to live for binding books, that\nwas not living. She had peeped into Paradise, but the gate had been shut\nin her face, and the bookbinding world seemed an intolerably flat and\nstale rag-fair in comparison.\n\nHow was she to live it through, she asked herself. When she went up to\nher room the once snug and homely place disgusted her. How was she to\nlive through the vast void of that afternoon alone in that apartment?\nHow bridge the vast void of to-morrow? The salt had lost its savor; she\ntasted ashes; life was all sand of the desert; she would not see him any\nmore. The resolution which had carried her through the interview with\nCarshaw failed her now, and she blamed herself for the murder of\nherself.\n\n\"Oh, how could I have done such a thing!\" she cried, bursting into\ntears, with her hat still on and her head on the table.\n\nShe had to write a letter to the \"agent,\" telling him that she did not\nmean to keep the rendezvous at East Orange, since she had obtained other\nwork, and with difficulty summoned the requisite energy. Every effort\nwas nauseous to her. Her whole nature was absorbed in digesting her one\ngreat calamity.\n\nNext morning it was the same. Her arms hung listlessly by her side. She\nevaded little domestic tasks. Though her clothes were new, a girl can\nalways find sewing and stitching. A certain shirtwaist needed slight\nadjustment, but her fingers fumbled a simple task. She passed the time\nsomehow till half past four. At that hour there was a ring at the outer\ndoor. In the absorption of her grief she did not hear it, though it was\n\"his\" hour. A step sounded on the stairs, and this she heard; but she\nthought it was Miss Goodman bringing tea.\n\nThen, brusquely, without any knock, the door opened, and she saw before\nher Carshaw.\n\n\"Oh!\" she screamed, in an ecstasy of joy, and was in his arms.\n\nThe rope which bound her had snapped thus suddenly for the simple reason\nthat Carshaw had promised never to come again, and was very strict, as\nshe knew, in keeping his pledged word. Therefore, until the moment when\nher distraught eyes took in the fact of his presence, she had not the\nfaintest hope or thought of seeing him for many a day to come, if ever.\n\nSeeing him all at once in the midst of her desert of despair, her reason\nswooned, all fixed principles capsized, and instinct swept her\ntriumphantly, as the whirlwind bears a feather, to his ready embrace.\nHe, for his part, had broken his promise because he could not help it.\nHe had to come--so he came. His dismissal had been too sudden to be\ncredible, to find room in his brain. It continued to have something of\nthe character of a dream, and he was here now to convince himself that\nthe dream was true.\n\nMoreover, in her manner of sending him away, in some of her words, there\nhad been something unreal and unconvincing, with broken hints of love,\neven as she denied love, which haunted and puzzled his memory. If he had\nmade a thousand promises he would still have to return to her.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, his face alight for joy as she moaned on his breast,\n\"what is it all about? You unreliable little half of a nerve, Winnie!\"\n\n\"I can't help it; kiss me--only once!\" panted Winifred, with tears\nstreaming down her up-turned face.\n\nCarshaw needed no bidding. Kiss her once! Well, a man should smile.\n\n\"What is it all about?\" he demanded, when Winifred was quite breathless.\n\"Am I loved, then?\"\n\nHer forehead was on his shoulder, and she did not answer.\n\n\"It seems so,\" he whispered. \"Silence is said to mean consent. But why,\nthen, was I not loved the day before yesterday?\"\n\nStill Winifred dared not answer. The frenzy was passing, the moral\nnature re-arising, stronger than ever, claiming its own. She had\npromised and failed! What she did was not well for him.\n\n\"Tell me,\" he urged, with a lover's eagerness. \"You'll have to, some\ntime, you know.\"\n\n\"You promised not to come. You promised definitely,\" said Winifred,\ndisengaging herself from him.\n\n\"Could I help coming?\" cried he. \"I was in the greatest bewilderment and\nmisery!\"\n\n\"So you will always come, even if you promise not to?\"\n\n\"But I won't promise not to! Where is the need now? You love me, I love\nyou!\"\n\nWinifred turned away from him, went to the window and looked out, seeing\nnothing, for the eyes of the soul were busy. Her lips were now firmly\nset, and during the minute that she stood there a rapid train of thought\nand purpose passed through her mind. She had promised to give him up,\nand she would go through with it. It was for him--and it was sweet,\nthough bitter, to be a martyr. But she recognized clearly that so long\nas he knew where to find her the thing could never be done. She made up\nher mind to be gone from those lodgings by that hour the next day, and\nto be buried from him in some other part of the great city. She would\nnever in that case be able to ask him for help to keep going, without\ngiving her address, but in a few days she would have work at the new\nbookbinder's. This well settled in her mind, she turned inward to him,\nsaying:\n\n\"Miss Goodman will soon bring up tea. Come, let us be happy to-day.\nYou want to know if I love you? Well, the answer is yes, yes; so\nnow you know, and can never doubt. I want you to stay a long time\nthis afternoon, and I invite you to be my dear, dear guest on one\ncondition--that you don't ask me why I told you that awful fib the\nday before yesterday, for I don't mean to tell you!\"\n\nOf course Carshaw took her again in his arms, and, without breaking her\nconditions, stayed with her till nearly six. She was sedately gay all\nthe time, but, on kissing him good-by, she wept quietly, and as quietly\nshe said to her landlady when he was gone:\n\n\"Miss Goodman, I am going away to-morrow--for always, I'm afraid.\"\n\nSoon after this six o'clock struck. At ten minutes past the hour Miss\nGoodman brought up two letters.\n\nWithout looking at the handwriting on the envelopes, Winifred tore open\none, laying the other on a writing-desk, this latter being from the\nagent in answer to the one she had written. She had told him that she\ndid not mean to keep the appointment at East Orange, and he now assured\nher that he had certainly never made any appointment for her at East\nOrange. The thing was some blunder. New York impresarios did not make\nappointments in East Orange. He asked for an explanation.\n\nPity that she did not open this letter before the other--or the other\nwas of a nature to drive the existence of the agent's letter--of any\nletter--out of her head; for days afterward that all-important message\nlay on the table unopened.\n\nThe note which Winifred did read was from the bookbinding manager who\nhad all but engaged her that day. He now informed her that he would have\nno use for her services. The clergyman in the taxi had followed very\neffectively on Winifred's trail.\n\nShe was stunned by this final blow. Her eyes gazed into vacancy. What\nshe was to do now she did not know. The next day she had to go away into\nstrange lodgings, with hardly any money, without any possibility of her\napplying again to Rex, without support of any sort. She had never known\nreal poverty, for her \"aunt\" had always more or less been in funds; and\nthe prospect appalled her. She would face it, however, at all costs,\nand, the bookbinding failing her, her mind naturally recurred, with a\ngasp of hope, to the singing.\n\nThere was the appointment at East Orange at eight. She looked at the\nclock; she might have time, though it would mean an instant rush. She\nwould go. True, she had written the agent to say that she would not, and\nhe might have so advised his client. But perhaps he had not had time to\ndo this, since she had written him so late. In any case, there was a\nchance that she should meet the person in question, and then she could\nexplain. Suddenly she leaped up, hurried on her hat and coat, and ran\nout of the house. In a few minutes she was at the Hudson Tube, bound for\nHoboken and East Orange.\n\nOf course it was a mad thing to leave an unopened letter on the table,\nbut just then poor Winifred was nearly out of her mind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE CRASH\n\n\nWhen Carshaw came, with lightsome step and heart freed from care--for in\nsome respects he was irresponsible as any sane man could be--to visit\nhis beloved Winifred next day, he was met by a frightened and somewhat\nincoherent Miss Goodman.\n\n\"Not been home all night! Surely you can offer some explanation further\nthan that maddening statement?\" cried he, when the shock of her news had\nsent the color from his face and the joy from his eyes.\n\n\"Oh, sir, I don't know what to say. Indeed, I am not to blame.\"\n\nMiss Goodman, kind-hearted soul, was more flurried now by Carshaw's\nmanner than by Winifred's inexplicable disappearance.\n\n\"Blame, my good woman, who is imputing blame?\" he blazed at her. \"But\nthere's a hidden purpose, a convincing motive, in her going out and not\nreturning. Give me some clue, some reason. A clear thought now, the\nright word from you, may save hours of useless search.\"\n\n\"How can I give any clues?\" cried the bewildered landlady. \"The dear\nyoung creature was crying all day fit to break her heart after the lady\ncalled--\"\n\n\"The lady! What lady?\"\n\n\"Your mother, sir. Didn't she tell you? Mrs. Carshaw was here the day\nbefore yesterday, and she must have spoken very cruelly to Winifred to\nmake her so downcast for hours. I was that sorry for her--\"\n\nNow, Carshaw had the rare faculty--rare, that is, in men of a\nhappy-go-lucky temperament--of becoming a human iceberg in moments of\ndanger or difficulty. The blank absurdity of Miss Goodman's implied\nassertion that Winifred had run away--though, indeed, running away was\nuppermost in the girl's thoughts--had roused him to fiery wrath.\n\nBut the haphazard mention of his mother's visit, the coincidence of\nWinifred's unexpectedly strange behavior and equally unexpected\ntransition to a wildly declared love, revealed some of the hidden\nsources of events, and over the volcano of his soul he imposed a layer\nof ice. He even smiled pleasantly as he begged Miss Goodman to dry her\neyes and be seated.\n\n\"We are at loggerheads, you see,\" he said, almost cheerfully. \"Just let\nus sit down and have a quiet talk. Tell me everything you know, and in\nthe order in which things happened. Tell me facts, and if you are\nguessing at probabilities, tell me you are guessing. Then we shall soon\nunravel the tangled threads.\"\n\nThus reassured, Miss Goodman took him through the records of the past\nforty-eight hours, so far as she knew them. After the first few words he\nrequired no explanations of his mother's presence in that middle-class\nsection of Manhattan. She had gone there in her stately limousine to awe\nand bewilder a poor little girl--to frighten an innocent out of loving\nher son and thus endangering her own grandiose projects for his future.\n\nIt was pardonable, perhaps, from a worldly woman's point of view. That\nthere were other aspects of it she should soon see, with a certain\ndefiniteness, the cold outlines of which already made his mouth stern,\nand sent little lines to wrinkle his forehead. He had spared her\nhitherto--had hoped to keep on sparing her--yet she had not spared\nWinifred! But who had prompted her to this heartless deed? He loved his\nmother. Her faults were those of society, her virtues were her own. She\nhad lived too long in an atmosphere of artificiality not to have lost\nmuch of the fine American womanliness that was her birthright. That\ncould be cured--he alone knew how. The puzzling query, for a little\nwhile, was the identity of the cruel, calculating, ruthless enemy who\nstruck by her hand.\n\nThere was less light shed on Winifred's own behavior. He recalled her\nwords: \"You want to know if I love you--yes, yes--I want you to stay a\nlong time this afternoon--don't ask me why I told you that awful fib--\"\n\nAnd then her confession to Miss Goodman: \"I am going away to-morrow--for\nalways, I'm afraid.\"\n\nWhat did that portend? Ah, yes; she was going to some place where he\ncould not find her, to bury herself away from his love and because of\nher love for him. It was no new idea in woman's heart, this. For long\nages in India sorrowing wives burned themselves to death on the funeral\npyres of their lords. Poor Winifred only reversed the method of the\nsacrifice--its result would be the same.\n\n\"But 'to-morrow'--to-day, that is. You are quite sure of her words?\" he\npersisted.\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir; quite sure. Besides she has left her clothes and letters,\nand little knick-knacks of jewelry. Would you care to see them?\"\n\nFor an instant he hesitated, for he was a man of refinement, and he\nhated the necessity of prying into the little secrets of his dear one.\nThen he agreed, and Miss Goodman took him from her own sitting-room to\nthat tenanted by Winifred. Her presence seemed to linger in the air.\nHis eyes traveled to the chair from which she rose with that glad\ncrooning cry when he came to her so few hours earlier.\n\nOn the table lay her tiny writing-case. In it, unopened, and hidden by\nthe discouraging missive from the bookbinder's, rested the note from the\ndramatic agent, with the thrice-important clue of its plain statement:\n\"I have made no appointment for you at any house near East Orange.\"\n\nBut Miss Goodman had already thrown open the door which led to\nWinifred's bedroom.\n\n\"You can see for yourself, sir,\" she said, \"the room was not occupied\nlast night. Nor that she could be in the house without me knowing\nit, poor thing. There are her clothes in the wardrobe, and the\ndressing-table is tidy. She's extraordinarily neat in her ways, is Miss\nBartlett--quite different from the empty-headed creatures girls mostly\nare nowadays.\"\n\nMiss Goodman spoke bitterly. She was fifty, gray-haired, and a hopeless\nold maid. This point of view sours the appearance of saucy eighteen with\nthe sun shining in its tresses.\n\nCarshaw swallowed something in his throat. The sanctity of this inner\nroom of Winifred's overwhelmed him. He turned away hastily.\n\n\"All right, Miss Goodman,\" he said; \"we can learn nothing here. Let us\ngo back to your apartment, and I'll tell you what I want you to do\nnow.\"\n\nPassing the writing-desk again he looked more carefully at its contents.\nA small packet of bills caught his eye. There were the receipts for such\nsimple articles as Winifred had bought with his money. Somehow, the mere\nact of examining such a list struck him with a sense of profanation. He\ncould not do it.\n\nHis eyes glazed. Hardly knowing what the words meant, he glanced through\nthe typed document from the bookbinder. It was obviously a business\nletter. He committed no breach of the etiquette governing private\ncorrespondence by reading it. So great was his delicacy in this respect\nthat he did not even lift the letter from the table, but noted the\naddress and the curt phraseology. Here, then, was a little explanation.\nHe would inquire at that place.\n\n\"I want you to telegraph me each morning and evening,\" he said to the\nlandlady. \"Don't depend on the phone. If you have news, of course you\nwill give it, but if nothing happens say that there is no news. Here is\nmy address and a five-dollar bill for expenses. Did Miss Bartlett owe\nyou anything?\"\n\n\"No, sir. She paid me yesterday when she gave me notice.\"\n\n\"Ah! Kindly retain her rooms. I don't wish any other person to occupy\nthem.\"\n\n\"Do you think, sir, she will not come back to-day?\"\n\n\"I fear so. She is detained by force. She has been misled by some one. I\nam going now to find out who that some one else is.\"\n\nHe drove his car, now rejuvenated, with the preoccupied gaze of one who\nseeks to pierce a dark and troubled future. From the garage he called up\nthe Long Island estate where his hacks and polo ponies were housed for\nthe winter. He gave some instructions which caused the man in charge to\nblink with astonishment.\n\n\"Selling everything, Mr. Carshaw!\" he said. \"D'ye really mean it?\"\n\n\"Does my voice sound as if I were joking, Bates?\"\n\n\"No-no, sir; I can't say it does. But--\"\n\n\"Start on the catalogue now, this evening. I'll look after you. Mr. Van\nHofen wants a good man. Stir yourself, and that place is yours.\"\n\nHe found his mother at home. She glanced at him as he entered her\nboudoir. She saw, with her ready tact, that questions as to his state of\nworry would be useless.\n\n\"Will you be dining at home, Rex?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes. And you?\"\n\n\"I--have almost promised to dine _en famille_ with the Towers.\"\n\n\"Better stop here. We have a lot of things to arrange.\"\n\n\"Arrange! What sort of things?\"\n\n\"Business affairs for the most part.\"\n\n\"Oh, business! Any discussion of--\"\n\n\"I said nothing about discussion, mother. For some years past I have\nbeen rather careless in my ways. Now I am going to stop all that. A good\nbusiness maxim is to always choose the word that expresses one's meaning\nexactly.\"\n\n\"Rex, you speak queerly.\"\n\n\"That shows I'm doing well. Your ears have so long been accustomed to\nfalsity, mother, that the truth sounds strangely.\"\n\n\"My son, do not be so bitter with me. I have never in my life had other\nthan the best of motives in any thought or action that concerned you.\"\n\nHe looked at her intently. He read in her words an admission and a\ndefense.\n\n\"Let us avoid tragedy, mother, at least in words. Who sent you to\nWinifred?\"\n\n\"Then she has told you?\"\n\n\"She has not told me. Women are either angels or fiends. This harmless\nlittle angel has been driven out of her Paradise in the hope that her\nbutterfly wings may be soiled by the rain and mud of Manhattan. Who sent\nyou to her?\"\n\n\"Senator Meiklejohn,\" said Mrs. Carshaw defiantly.\n\n\"What, that smug Pharisee! What was his excuse?\"\n\n\"He said you were the talk of the clubs--that Helen Tower--\"\n\n\"She, too! Thank you. I see the drift of things now. It was heartless of\nyou, mother. Did not Winifred's angel face, twisted into misery by your\nlies, cause you one pang of remorse?\"\n\nMrs. Carshaw rose unsteadily. Her face was ghastly in its whiteness.\n\n\"Rex, spare me, for Heaven's sake!\" she faltered. \"I did it for the\nbest. I have suffered more than you know.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear it. You have a good nature in its depths, but the\ncanker of society has almost destroyed it. That is why you and I are\nabout to talk business.\"\n\n\"I am feeling faint. Let matters rest a few hours.\"\n\nHe strode to the bell and summoned a servant. \"Bring some brandy and two\nglasses,\" he said when the man came.\n\nIt was an unusual order at that hour. Silently the servant obeyed.\nCarshaw looked out of the window, while his mother, true to her caste,\naffected nonchalance before the domestic.\n\n\"Now,\" said he when they were alone, \"drink this. It will steady your\nnerves.\"\n\nShe was frightened at last. Her hand shook as it took the proffered\nglass.\n\n\"What has happened?\" she asked, with quavering voice. She had never seen\nher son like this before. There was a hint of inflexible purpose in him\nthat terrified her. When he spoke the new crispness in his voice shocked\nher ears.\n\n\"Mere business, I assure you. Not another word about Winifred. I shall\nfind her, sooner or later, and we shall be married then, at once. But,\nby queer chance, I have been looking into affairs of late. The manager\nof our Massachusetts mills tells me that trade is slack. We have been\nrunning at a loss for some years. Our machinery is antiquated, and we\nhave not the accumulated reserves to replace it. We are in debt, and our\ncredit begins to be shaky. Think of that, mother--the name of Carshaw\npondered over by bank managers and discounters of trade bills!\"\n\n\"Senator Meiklejohn mentioned this vaguely,\" she admitted.\n\n\"Dear me! What an interest he takes in us! I wonder why? But, as a\nfinancial magnate, he understands things.\"\n\n\"Your father always said, Rex, that trade had its cycles--fat years and\nlean years, you know.\"\n\n\"Yes. He built up our prosperity by hard work, by spending less than\nhalf what he earned, not by living in a town house and gadding about in\nsociety. Do you remember, mother, how he used to laugh at your pretty\nlittle affectations? I think I own my share of the family brains,\nthough, so I shall act now as he would have acted.\"\n\n\"Do you wish to goad me into hysteria? What are you driving at?\" she\nshrieked.\n\n\"That is the way to reach the heart of the mystery--get at the facts,\neh? They're simple. The business needs three hundred thousand dollars to\ngive it solidity and staying power; then four or five years' good and\neconomical management will set it right. We have been living at the rate\nof fifty thousand dollars a year. For some time we have been executing\nsmall mortgages to obtain this annual income, expecting the business to\nclear them. Now the estates must come to the help of the business.\"\n\n\"In what way?\" she gasped.\n\n\"They must be mortgaged up to the hilt to pay off the small sums and\nfind the large one. It will take ten years of nursing to relieve them of\nthe burden. Not a penny must come from the mills.\"\n\n\"How shall we live?\" she demanded.\n\n\"I have arranged that. Your marriage settlement of two thousand five\nhundred dollars a year is secured; that is all. How big it seemed in\nyour eyes when you were a bride! How little now, though your real\nneeds are less! I shall take a sufficient salary as assistant manager\nwhile I learn the business. It means two thousand dollars a year for\nhousekeeping, and I have calculated that the sale of all our goods will\npay our personal debts and leave you and me five thousand each to set up\nsmall establishments.\"\n\nMrs. Carshaw flounced into a chair. \"You must be quite mad!\" she cried.\n\n\"No, mother, sane--quite sane--for the first time. Don't you believe me?\nGo to your lawyers; the scheme is really theirs. They are good business\nmen, and congratulated me on taking a wise step. So you see, mother, I\nreally cannot afford a fashionable wife.\"\n\n\"I am--choking!\" she gasped. For the moment anger filled her soul.\n\n\"Now, be reasonable, there's a good soul. Five thousand in the bank,\ntwenty-five hundred a year to live on. Why, when you get used to it you\nwill say you were never so happy. What about dinner? Shall we start\neconomizing at once? Let's pay off half a dozen servants before we sit\ndown to a chop! Eh, tears! Well, they'll help. Sometimes they're good\nfor women. Send for me when you are calmer!\"\n\nWith a look of real pity in his eyes he bent and kissed her forehead.\nShe would have kept him with her, but he went away.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"no discussion, you remember; and I must fix a whole heap\nof things before we dine!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nCLANCY EXPLAINS\n\n\nCarshaw phoned the Bureau, asking for Clancy or the chief. Both were\nout.\n\n\"Mr. Steingall will be here to-morrow,\" said the official in charge.\n\"Mr. Clancy asked me to tell you, if you rang up, that he would be away\ntill Monday next.\"\n\nThis was Wednesday evening. Carshaw felt that fate was using him ill,\nfor Clancy was the one man with whom he wanted to commune in that hour\nof agony. He dined with his mother. She, deeming him crazy after a\nsevere attack of calf-love, humored his mood. She was calm now,\nbelieving that a visit to the lawyers next day, and her own influence\nwith the mill-manager and the estate superintendent, would soon put a\ndifferent aspect on affairs.\n\nA telegram came late: \"No news.\"\n\nHe sought Senator Meiklejohn at his apartment, but the fox, scenting\nhounds, had broken covert.\n\n\"The Senator will be in Washington next week,\" said the discreet\nPhillips. \"At present, sir, he is not in town.\"\n\nCarshaw made no further inquiry; he knew it was useless. In the morning\nanother telegram: \"No news!\"\n\nHe set his teeth, and smilingly agreed to accompany his mother to the\nlawyers'. She came away in tears. Those serious men strongly approved of\nher son's project.\n\n\"Rex has all his father's grit,\" said the senior partner. \"In a little\ntime you will be convinced that he is acting rightly.\"\n\n\"I shall be dead!\" she snapped.\n\nThe lawyer lifted his hands with a deprecating smile. \"You have no\nsecrets from me, Mrs. Carshaw,\" he said. \"You are ten years my junior,\nand insurance actuaries give women longer lives than men when they have\nattained a certain age.\"\n\nCarshaw visited Helen Tower. She was fluttered. By note he had asked for\na _tête-à-tête_ interview. But his first words undeceived her.\n\n\"Where is Meiklejohn?\" he asked.\n\n\"Do you mean Senator Meiklejohn?\" she corrected him.\n\n\"Yes; the man who acted in collusion with you in kidnapping my intended\nwife.\"\n\n\"How dare you--\"\n\n\"Sit down, Helen; no heroics, please. Or perhaps you would prefer that\nRonald should be present?\"\n\n\"This tone, Rex--to me!\" She was crimson with surprise.\n\n\"You are right: it is better that Tower should not be here. He might get\na worse _douche_ than his plunge into the river. Now, about Meiklejohn?\nWhy did he conspire with you and my mother to carry off Winifred\nBartlett?\"\n\n\"I--don't know.\"\n\n\"Surely there was some motive?\"\n\n\"You are speaking in enigmas. I heard of the girl from you. I have never\nseen her. If your mother interfered, it was for your good.\"\n\nHe smiled cynically. The cold, far-away look in his eyes was bitter to\nher soul, yet he had never looked so handsome, so distinguished, as in\nthis moment when he was ruthlessly telling her that another woman\nabsorbed him utterly.\n\n\"What hold has Meiklejohn over you?\" he went on.\n\nShe simulated tears. \"You have no right to address me in that manner,\"\nshe protested.\n\n\"There is a guilty bond somewhere, and I shall find it out,\" he said\ncoldly. \"My mother was your catspaw. You, Helen, may have been spiteful,\nbut Meiklejohn--that sleek and smug politician--I cannot understand him.\nThe story went that owing to an accidental likeness to Meiklejohn your\nhusband was nearly killed. His assailant was a man named Voles. Voles\nwas an associate of Rachel Craik, the woman who poses as Winifred's\naunt. That is the line of inquiry. Do you know anything about it?\"\n\n\"Not a syllable.\"\n\n\"Then I must appeal to Ronald.\"\n\n\"Do so. He is as much in the dark as I am.\"\n\n\"I fancy you are speaking the truth, Helen.\"\n\n\"Is it manly to come here and insult me?\"\n\n\"Was it womanly to place these hounds on the track of my poor Winifred?\nI shall spare no one, Helen. Be warned in time. If you can help me, do\nso. I may have pity on my friends, I shall have none for my enemies.\"\n\nHe was gone. Mrs. Tower, biting her lips and clenching her hands in\nsheer rage, rushed to an escritoire and unlocked it. A letter lay there,\na letter from Meiklejohn. It was dated from the Marlborough-Blenheim\nHotel, Atlantic City.\n\n    \"Dear Mrs. Tower,\" it ran, \"the Costa Rica cotton concession is\n    almost secure. The President will sign it any day now. But\n    secrecy is more than ever important. Tell none but Jacob. The\n    market must be kept in the dark. He can begin operations\n    quietly. The shares should be at par within a week, and at five\n    in a month. Wire me the one word 'settled' when Jacob says he\n    is ready.\"\n\n\"At five in a month!\"\n\nMrs. Tower was promised ten thousand of those shares. Their nominal\nvalue was one dollar. To-day they stood at a few cents. Fifty thousand\ndollars! What a relief it would be! Threatening dressmakers, impudent\nracing agents asking for unpaid bets, sneering friends who held her\nI. O. U.'s for bridge losses, and spoke of asking her husband to settle;\nall these paid triumphantly, and plenty in hand to battle in the\nwhirlpool for years--it was a stake worth fighting for.\n\nAnd Meiklejohn? As the price of his help in gaining a concession granted\nby a new competitor among the cotton-producing States, he would be given\nfive shares to her one. Why did he dread this girl? That was a fruitful\naffair to probe. But he must be warned. Her lost lover might be\ntroublesome at a critical stage in the affairs of the cotton market.\n\nShe wrote a telegram: \"Settled, but await letter.\" In the letter she\ngave him some details--not all--of Carshaw's visit. No woman will ever\nreveal that she has been discarded by a man whom she boasted was tied to\nher hat-strings.\n\nCarshaw sought the detective bureau, but Steingall was away now, as well\nas Clancy. \"You'll be hearing from one of them\" was the enigmatic\nmessage he was given.\n\nEating his heart out in misery, he arranged his affairs, received those\ntwo daily telegrams from Miss Goodman with their dreadful words, \"No\nnews,\" and haunted the bookbinder's, and Meiklejohn's door hoping to see\nsome of the crew of Winifred's persecutors. At the bookbinder's he\nlearned of the visit of the supposed clergyman, whose name, however, did\nnot appear in the lists of any denomination.\n\nAt last arrived a telegram from Burlington, Vermont. \"Come and see me.\nClancy.\" Grown wary by experience, Carshaw ascertained first that Clancy\nwas really at Burlington. Then he instructed Miss Goodman to telegraph\nto him in the north, and quitted New York by the night train.\n\nIn the sporting columns of an evening paper he read of the sale of his\npolo ponies. The scribe regretted the suggested disappearance from the\ngame of \"one of the best Number Ones\" he had ever seen. The Long Island\nestate was let already, and Mrs. Carshaw would leave her expensive flat\nwhen the lease expired.\n\nEarly next day he was greeted by Clancy.\n\n\"Glad to see you, Mr. Carshaw,\" said the little man. \"Been here before?\nNo? Charming town. None of the infernal racket of New York about life in\nBurlington. Any one who got bitten by that bug here would be afflicted\nlike the Gadarene swine and rush into Lake Champlain. Walk to the hotel?\nIt's a fine morning, and you'll get some bully views of the Adirondacks\nas you climb the hill.\"\n\n\"Winifred is gone. Hasn't the Bureau kept you informed?\"\n\nClancy sighed.\n\n\"I've had Winifred on my mind for days,\" he said irritably. \"Can't you\nforget her for half an hour?\"\n\n\"She's gone, I tell you. Spirited away the very day I asked her to marry\nme.\"\n\n\"Well, well. Why didn't you ask her sooner?\"\n\n\"I had to arrange my affairs. I am poor now. How could I marry Winifred\nunder false pretenses?\"\n\n\"What, then? Did she love you for your supposed wealth?\"\n\n\"Mr. Clancy, I am tortured. Why have you brought me here?\"\n\n\"To stop you from playing Meiklejohn's game. I hear that you camp\noutside his apartment-house. You and I are going back to New York this\nvery day, and the Bureau will soon find your Winifred. By the way, how\ndid you happen onto the Senator's connection with the affair?\"\n\nTaking hope, Carshaw told his story. Clancy listened while they\nbreakfasted. Then he unfolded a record of local events.\n\n\"The Bureau has known for some time that Senator Meiklejohn's past\noffered some rather remarkable problems,\" he said, dropping his\nbantering air and speaking seriously. \"We have never ceased making\nguarded inquiries. I am here now for that very purpose. Some thirty\nyears ago, on the death of his father, he and his brother, Ralph Vane\nMeiklejohn, inherited an old-established banking business in Vermont.\nRalph was a bit of a rake, but local opinion regarded William as a\nsteady-going, domesticated man who would uphold the family traditions.\nThere was no ink on the blotter during upward of ten years, and William\nwas already a candidate for Congress when Ralph was involved in a\nscandal which caused some talk at the time. The name of a governess in a\nlocal house was associated with his, and her name was Bartlett.\"\n\nCarshaw glanced at the detective with a quick uneasiness, which Clancy\npretended not to notice.\n\n\"I have no proof, but absolutely no doubt,\" he continued, \"that this\nwoman is now known as Rachel Craik. She fell into Ralph Meiklejohn's\nclutches then, and has remained his slave ever since. Two years later\nthere was a terrific sensation here. A man named Marchbanks was found\nlying dead in a lakeside quarry, having fallen or been thrown into it.\nThis quarry was situated near the Meiklejohn house. Mrs. Marchbanks, a\nward of Meiklejohn's father, died in childbirth as the result of shock\nwhen she heard of her husband's death, and inquiry showed that all her\nmoney had been swallowed up in loans to her husband for Stock Exchange\nspeculation. Mrs Marchbanks was a noted beauty, and her fortune was\nestimated at nearly half a million dollars. It was all the more amazing\nthat her husband should have lost such a great sum in reckless gambling,\nseeing that those who remember him say he was a nice-mannered gentleman\nof the old type, devoted to his wife, and with a passion for cultivating\norchids. Again, why should Mrs. Marchbanks's bankers and guardians allow\nher to be ruined by a thoughtless fool?\"\n\nClancy seemed to be asking himself these questions; but Carshaw, so far\nfrom New York, and with a mind ever dwelling on Winifred, said\nimpatiently:\n\n\"You didn't bring me here to tell me about some long-forgotten mystery?\"\n\n\"Ah, quit that hair-trigger business!\" snapped Clancy. \"You just listen,\nan' maybe you'll hear something interesting. Ralph Vane Meiklejohn left\nVermont soon afterward. Twelve years ago a certain Ralph Voles was\nsentenced to five years in a penitentiary for swindling. Mrs.\nMarchbanks's child lived. It was a girl, and baptized as Winifred. She\nwas looked after as a matter of charity by William Meiklejohn, and\nentrusted to the care of Miss Bartlett, the ex-governess.\"\n\nCarshaw was certainly \"interested\" now.\n\n\"Winifred! My Winifred!\" he cried, grasping the detective's shoulder in\nhis excitement.\n\n\"Tut, tut!\" grinned Clancy. \"Guess the story's beginning to grip. Yes.\nWinifred is 'the image of her mother,' said Voles. She must be 'taken\naway from New York.' Why? Why did this same Ralph vanish from Vermont\nafter her father's death 'by accident'? Why does a wealthy and\ninfluential Senator join in the plot against her, invoking the aid of\nyour mother and of Mrs. Tower? These are questions to be asked, but not\nyet. First, you must get back your Winifred, Carshaw, and take care that\nyou keep her when you get her.\"\n\n\"But how? Tell me how to find her!\" came the fierce demand.\n\n\"If you jump at me like that I'll make you stop here another week,\" said\nClancy. \"Man alive, I hate humbug as much as any man; but don't you see\nthat the Bureau must make sure of its case before it acts? We can't go\nbefore a judge until we have better evidence than the vague hearsay of\ntwenty years ago. But, for goodness' sake, next time you grab Winifred,\nrush her to the nearest clergyman and make her Mrs. Carshaw, Jr.\nThat'll help a lot. Leave me to get the Senator and the rest of the\nbunch. Now, if you'll be good, I'll show you the house where your\nWinifred was born!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nIN THE TOILS\n\n\nEast Orange seemed to be a long way from New York when Winifred hastened\nto the appointment at \"Gateway House,\" traveling thither by way of the\nTube and the Lackawanna Railway.\n\nMore and more did it seem strange that a theatrical agent should fix on\nsuch a rendezvous, until a plausible reason suggested itself: possibly,\nsome noted impresario had chosen this secluded retreat, and the agent\nhad arranged a meeting there between his client and the great man whose\nOlympian nod gave success or failure to aspirants for the stage.\n\nThe letter itself was reassuringly explicit as to the route she should\nfollow.\n\n\"On leaving the station,\" it said, \"turn to the right and walk a mile\nalong the only road that presents itself until you see, on the left, a\nlarge green gate bearing the name 'Gateway House.' Walk in. The house\nitself is hidden by trees, and stands in spacious grounds. If you follow\nthese directions, you will have no need to ask the way.\"\n\nThe description of the place betokened that it was of some local\nimportance, and hope revived somewhat in her sorrowing heart at the\nimpression that perhaps, after all, it was better she had failed in\nfinding work at the bindery.\n\nNotwithstanding the charming simplicity of her nature, Winifred would\nnot be a woman if she did not know she was good-looking. The stage\noffered a career; work in the factory only yielded existence. Recent\nevents had added a certain strength of character to her sweet face; and\nMiss Goodman, who happened to be an expert dressmaker, had used the\ngirl's leisure in her lodgings to turn her nimble fingers to account.\nHence, Winifred was dressed with neat elegance, and the touch of winter\nkeenness in the air gave her a splendid color as she hurried out of the\nstation many minutes late for her appointment.\n\nWould she be asked to sing, she wondered? She had no music with her, and\nhad never touched a piano since her music-master's anxiety to train her\nvoice had been so suddenly frustrated by Rachel Craik. But she knew many\nof the solos from \"Faust,\" \"Rigoletto,\" and \"Carmen\"; surely, among\nmusical people, there would be some appreciation of her skill if tested\nby this class of composition, as compared with the latest rag-time\nmelody or gushing cabaret ballad.\n\nBusy with such thoughts, she hastened along the road, until she awoke\nwith a start to the knowledge that she was opposite Gateway House.\nCertainly the retreat was admirable from the point of view of a man\nsurfeited with life on the Great White Way. Indeed, it looked very like\na private lunatic asylum or home for inebriates, with its lofty walls\nstudded with broken glass, and its solid gate crowned with iron spikes.\n\nWinifred tried the door. It opened readily. She was surprised that so\npretentious an abode had no lodge-keeper's cottage. There were signs of\nfew vehicles passing over the weed-grown gravel drive, and such marks as\nexisted were quite recent.\n\nShe was so late, however, that her confused mind did not trouble about\nthese things, and she sped on gracefully, soon coming in full view of\nthe house itself. It was now almost dark, and the grounds seemed very\nlonely; but the presence of lights in the secluded mansion gave earnest\nof some one awaiting her there. She fancied she heard a noise, like the\nsnapping of a latch or lock behind her. She turned her head, but saw no\none. Fowle, hiding among the evergreens, had run with nimble feet and\nsardonic smile to bolt the gate as soon as she was out of sight.\n\nAnd now Winifred was at the front door, timidly pulling a bell. A man\nstrolled with a marked limp around the house from a conservatory. He was\na tall, strongly built person, and something in the dimly seen outline\nsent a thrill of apprehension through her.\n\nBut the door opened.\n\n\"I have come--\" she began.\n\nThe words died away in sheer affright. Glowering at her, with a queer\nlook of gratified menace, was Rachel Craik!\n\n\"So I see,\" was the grim retort. \"Come in, Winnie, by all means. Where\nhave you been all these weeks?\"\n\n\"There is some mistake,\" she faltered, white with sudden terror and\nnameless suspicions. \"My agent told me to come here--\"\n\n\"Quite right. Be quick, or you'll miss the last train home,\" growled the\nvoice of Voles behind her.\n\nRoughly, though not violently, he pushed her inside, and the door\nclosed.\n\nHe snapped at Rachel: \"She'd be yelling for help in another second, and\nyou never know who may be passing.\"\n\nNow, Winifred was not of the order of women who faint in the presence of\ndanger. Her love had given her a great strength; her suffering had\ndeepened her fine nature; and her very soul rebelled against the cruel\nsubterfuge which had been practised to separate her from her lover. She\nsaw, with the magic intuition of her sex, that the very essence of a\ndeep-laid plot was that Rex and she should be kept apart.\n\nThe visit of Mrs. Carshaw, then, was only a part of the same determined\nscheme? Rex's mother had been a puppet in the hands of those who carried\nher to Connecticut, who strove so determinedly to take her away when\nCarshaw put in an appearance, and who had tricked her into keeping this\nbogus appointment. She would defy them, face death itself rather than\nyield.\n\nIn the America of to-day, nothing short of desperate crime could long\nkeep her from Rex's arms. What a weak, silly, romantic girl she had been\nnot to trust in him absolutely! The knowledge nerved her to a fine\nscorn.\n\n\"What right have you to treat me in this way?\" she cried vehemently.\n\"You have lied to me; brought me here by a forged letter. Let me go\ninstantly, and perhaps my just indignation may not lead me to tell my\nagent how you have dared to use his name with false pretense.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" sang out Voles. \"The little bird pipes an angry note. Be\npacified, my sweet linnet. You were getting into bad company. It was the\nduty of your relatives to rescue you.\"\n\n\"My relatives! Who are they who claim kinship? I see here one who posed\nas my aunt for many years--\"\n\n\"Posed, Winnie?\"\n\nMiss Craik affected a croak of regretful protest.\n\nWinifred's eyes shot lightnings.\n\n\"Yes. I am sure you are not my aunt. Many things I can recall prove it\nto me. Why do you never mention my father and mother? What wrong have I\ndone to any living soul that, ever since you were mixed up in the attack\non Mr. Ronald Tower, you should deal with me as if I were a criminal or\na lunatic, and seek to part me from those who would befriend me?\"\n\n\"Hush, little girl,\" interposed Voles, with mock severity. \"You don't\nknow what you're saying. You are hurting your dear aunt's feelings. She\nis your aunt. I ought to know, considering that you are my daughter!\"\n\n\"Your daughter!\"\n\nNow, indeed, she felt ready to dare dragons. This coarse, brutal giant\nof a man her father! Her gorge rose at the suggestion. Almost fiercely\nshe resolved to hold her own against these persecutors who scrupled not\nto use any lying device that would suit their purpose.\n\n\"Yes,\" he cried truculently. \"Don't I come up to your expectations?\"\n\n\"If you are my father,\" she said, with a strange self-possession that\ncame to her aid in this trying moment, \"where is my mother?\"\n\n\"Sorry to say she died long since.\"\n\n\"Did you murder her as you tried to murder Mr. Tower?\"\n\nThe chance shot went home, though it hit her callous hearer in a way she\ncould not then appreciate. He swore violently.\n\n\"You're my daughter, I tell you,\" he vociferated, \"and the first thing\nyou have to learn is obedience. Your head has been turned, young lady,\nby your pretty Rex and his nice ways. I'll have to teach you not to\naddress me in that fashion. Take her to her room, Rachel.\"\n\nDriven to frenzy by a dreadful and wholly unexpected predicament,\nWinifred cast off the hand her \"aunt\" laid on her shoulder.\n\n\"Let me go!\" she screamed. \"I will not accompany you. I do not believe a\nword you say. If you touch me, I shall defend myself.\"\n\n\"Spit-fire, eh?\" she heard Voles say. There was something of a struggle.\nShe never knew exactly what happened. She found herself clasped in his\ngiant arms and heard his half jesting protest:\n\n\"Now, my butterfly, don't beat your little wings so furiously, or you'll\nhurt yourself.\"\n\nHe carried her, screaming, up-stairs, and pushed her into a large room.\nRachel Craik followed, with set face and angry words.\n\n\"Ungrateful girl!\" was her cry. \"After all I've done for you!\"\n\n\"You stole me from my mother,\" sobbed Winifred despairingly. \"I am sure\nyou did. You are afraid now lest some one should recognize me. I am 'the\nimage of my mother' that horrible man said, and I am to be taken away\nbecause I resemble her. It is you who are frightened, not I. I defy you.\nEven Mrs. Carshaw knew my face. I scorn you, I say, and if you think\nyour devices can deceive me or keep Rex from me, you are mistaken.\nBefore it is too late, let me go!\"\n\nRachel Craik was, indeed, alarmed by the girl's hysterical outpouring.\nBut Winifred's taunts worked harm in one way. They revealed most surely\nthat the danger dreaded by both Voles and Meiklejohn did truly exist.\nFrom that instant Rachel Craik, who felt beneath her rough exterior some\nreal tenderness for the girl she had reared, became her implacable foe.\n\n\"You had better calm yourself,\" she said quietly. \"If you care to eat,\nfood will soon be brought for you and Mr. Grey. He is your\nfellow-boarder for a few days!\"\n\nThen Winifred saw, for the first time, that the spacious room held\nanother occupant. Reclining in a big chair, and scowling at her, was\nMick the Wolf, whose arm Carshaw had broken recently.\n\n\"Yes,\" growled that worthy, \"I'm not the most cheerful company, missy,\nbut my other arm is strong enough to put that fellow of yours out o'\ngear if he butts in on me ag'in. So just cool your pretty lil head, will\nyou? I'm boss here, and if you rile me it'll be sort o' awkward for\nyou.\"\n\nHow Winifred passed the next few hours she could scarcely remember\nafterward. She noted, in dull agony, that the windows of the\nsitting-room she shared with Mick the Wolf were barred with iron.\nSo, too, was the window of her bedroom. The key and handle of the\nbedroom lock had been taken away. Rachel Craik was her jailer, a\nmaimed scoundrel her companion and assistant-warder.\n\nBut, when the first paroxysms of helpless pain and rage had passed, her\nfaith returned. She prayed long and earnestly, and help was vouchsafed.\nAppeal to her captors was vain, she knew, so she sought the consolation\nthat is never denied to all who are afflicted.\n\nNeither Rachel Craik, nor the sullen bandit, nor the loud-voiced rascal\nwho had dared to say he was her father, could understand the cheerful\npatience with which she met them next day.\n\n\"She's a puzzle,\" said Voles in the privacy of the apartment beneath. \"I\nmust dope out some way of fixin' things. She'll never come to heel\nagain, Rachel. That fool Carshaw has turned her head.\"\n\nHe tramped to and fro impatiently. His ankle had not yet forgotten the\nwrench it received on the Boston Post Road. Suddenly he banged a huge\nfist on a sideboard.\n\n\"Gee!\" he cried, \"that should turn the trick! I'll marry her off to\nFowle. If it wasn't for other considerations I'd be almost tempted--\"\n\nHe paused. Even his fierce spirit quailed at the venom that gleamed from\nRachel Craik's eyes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nMOTHER AND SON\n\n\nA telegram reached Carshaw before he left Burlington with Clancy. He\nhoped it contained news of Winifred, but it was of a nature that imposed\none more difficulty in his path.\n\n\"Not later than the twentieth,\" wired the manager of the Carshaw Mills\nin Massachusetts. Carshaw himself had inquired the latest date on which\nhe would be expected to start work.\n\nThe offer was his own, and he could not in honor begin the new era by\nbreaking his pledge. The day was Saturday, November 11. On the following\nMonday week he must begin to learn the rudiments of cotton-spinning.\n\n\"What's up?\" demanded Clancy, eying the telegram, for Carshaw's face had\nhardened at the thought that, perhaps, in the limited time at his\ndisposal his quest might fail. He passed the typed slip to the\ndetective.\n\n\"Meaning?\" said the latter, after a quick glance.\n\nCarshaw explained. \"I'll find her,\" he added, with a catch of the\nbreath. \"I must find her. God in Heaven, man, I'll go mad if I don't!\"\n\n\"Cut out the stage stuff,\" said Clancy. \"By this day week the Bureau\nwill find a bunch of girls who're not lost yet--only planning it.\"\n\nTouched by the misery in Carshaw's eyes, he added:\n\n\"What you really want is a marriage license. The minute you set eyes on\nWinifred rush her to the City Hall.\"\n\n\"Once we meet we'll not part again,\" came the earnest vow. Somehow, the\npert little man's overweening egotism was soothing, and Carshaw allowed\nhis mind to dwell on the happiness of holding Winifred in his arms once\nmore rather than the uncertain prospect of attaining such bliss.\n\nIndeed, he was almost surprised by the ardor of his love for her. When\nhe could see her each day, and amuse himself by playing at the pretense\nthat she was to earn her own living, there was a definite satisfaction\nin the thought that soon they would be married, when all this pleasant\nmake-believe would vanish. But now that she was lost to him, and\nprobably enduring no common misery, the complacency of life had suddenly\ngiven place to a fierce longing for a glimpse of her, for the sound of\nher voice, for the shy glance of her beautiful eyes.\n\n\"Now, let's play ball,\" said Clancy when they were in a train speeding\nsouth. \"Has any complete search of Winifred's rooms been made?\"\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"Did you look in every hole and corner for a torn envelope, a twisted\nscrap of paper, a car transfer, any mortal thing that might reveal why\nshe went out and did not return?\"\n\n\"I told you of the bookbinder's note--\"\n\n\"You sure did,\" broke in Clancy. \"You also went to the bookbinder s'teen\ntimes. Are you certain there was nothing else?\"\n\n\"No--I didn't like--how could I peer and pry--\"\n\n\"You'd make a bum detective. Imagine that poor girl crying her eyes out\nin a cold dark cell all because you were too squeamish to give her\nbelongings the once over!\"\n\nCarshaw was not misled by Clancy's manner. He knew that his friend was\nonly consumed by impatience to be on the trail.\n\n\"You've fired plenty of questions at me,\" he said quietly. \"Now it's my\nturn. I understand why you came to Burlington, but where is Steingall\nall this time?\"\n\n\"That big stiff! How do I know?\"\n\nIn a word, Clancy was uncommunicative during a whole hour. When the mood\npassed he spoke of other things, but, although it was ten at night when\nthey reached New York, he raced Carshaw straight to East Twenty-seventh\nStreet and Miss Goodman.\n\nThere, in a few seconds, he was reading the agent's genuine note to\nWinifred--that containing the assurance that no appointment had been\nmade for \"East Orange.\"\n\nThe letter concluded:\n\n     \"At first I assumed that a message intended for some other\n     correspondent had been sent to me by error. Now, on reperusal,\n     I am almost convinced that you wrote me under some\n     misapprehension. Will you kindly explain how it arose?\"\n\nClancy, great as ever on such occasions, refrained from saying: \"I told\nyou so.\"\n\n\"We'll call up the agent Monday, just for the sake of thoroughness,\" he\nsaid. \"Meanwhile, be ready to come with me to East Orange to-morrow at 8\nA.M.\"\n\n\"Why not to-night?\" urged Carshaw, afire with a rage to be up and doing.\n\n\"What? To sleep there? Young man, you don't know East Orange. Run away\nhome to your ma!\"\n\n\n\"Where have you been?\" inquired Mrs. Carshaw when her son entered. Her\nair was subdued. She had suffered a good deal these later days.\n\n\"To Vermont.\"\n\n\"Still pursuing that girl?\"\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"Have you found her?\"\n\n\"No, mother.\"\n\n\"Rex, have you driven me wholly from your heart?\"\n\n\"No; that would be impossible. Winifred would not wish it, callous as\nyou were to her.\"\n\n\"Do not be too hard on me. I am sore wounded. It is a great deal for a\nwoman to be cast into the outer darkness.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, mother, you are emerging into light. If your friends are so\nready to drop you because you are poor--with the exceeding poverty of\ntwenty-five hundred a year--of what value were they as friends? When you\nknow Winifred you will be glad. You will feel as Dante felt when he\nemerged from the Inferno.\"\n\n\"So you are determined to marry her?\"\n\n\"Unquestionably. And mark you, mother, when the clouds pass, and we are\nrich again, you will be proud of your daughter-in-law. She will bear all\nyour skill in dressing. Gad! how the women of your set will envy her\ncomplexion.\"\n\nMrs. Carshaw smiled wanly at that. She knew her \"set,\" as Rex termed the\nFour Hundred.\n\n\"Why is she called Bartlett?\" she inquired after a pause, and Rex looked\nat her in surprise. \"I have a reason,\" she continued. \"Is that her real\nname?\"\n\n\"Now,\" he cried, \"I admit you are showing some of your wonted\ncleverness.\"\n\n\"Ah! Then I am right. I have been thinking. Cessation from society\nduties is at least restful. Last night, lying awake and wondering where\nyou were, my thoughts reverted to that girl. I remembered her face. All\nat once a long-forgotten chord of memory hummed its note. Twenty years\nago, when you were a little boy, Rex, I met a Mrs. Marchbanks. She was a\nsweet singer. Does your Winifred sing?\"\n\nCarshaw drew his chair closer to his mother and placed an arm around her\nshoulder.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"Rex,\" she murmured brokenly, hiding her face, \"do you forgive me?\"\n\n\"Mother, I ask you to forgive me if I said harsh things.\"\n\nThere was silence for a while. Then she raised her eyes. They were wet,\nbut smiling.\n\n\"This Mrs. Marchbanks,\" she went on bravely, \"had your Winifred's face.\nShe was wealthy and altogether charming. Her husband, too, was a\ngentleman. She was a ward of the elder Meiklejohn, the present Senator's\nfather. My recollection of events is vague, but there was some scandal\nin Burlington.\"\n\n\"I know all, or nearly all, about it. That is why I was called to\nVermont. Mother, in future, you will work with me, not against me?\"\n\n\"I will--indeed I will,\" she sobbed.\n\n\"Then you must not drop your car. I have money to pay for that. Keep in\nwith Helen Tower, and find out what hold she has on Meiklejohn. You are\ngood at that, you know. You understand your quarry. You will be worth\ntwenty detectives. First, discover where Meiklejohn is. He has bolted,\nor shut himself up.\"\n\n\"You must trust me fully, or I shall not see the pitfalls. Tell me\neverything.\"\n\nHe obeyed. Before he had ended, Mrs. Carshaw was weeping again, but this\ntime it was out of sympathy with Winifred. Next morning, although it was\nSunday, her smart limousine took her to the Tower's house. Mrs. Tower\nwas at home.\n\n\"I have heard dreadful things about you, Sarah,\" she purred. \"What on\nearth is the matter? Why have you given up your place on Long Island?\"\n\n\"A whim of Rex's, my dear. He is still infatuated over that girl.\"\n\n\"She must have played her cards well.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed. One does not look for such skill in the lower orders. And\nhow she deceived me! I went to see her, and she promised better\nbehavior. Now I find she has gone again, and Rex will not tell me where\nshe is. Do you know?\"\n\n\"I? The creature never enters my mind.\"\n\n\"Of course not. She does not interest you, but I am the boy's mother,\nand you cannot imagine, Helen, how this affair worries me.\"\n\n\"My poor Sarah! It is too bad.\"\n\n\"Such a misfortune could not have happened had his father lived. We\nwomen are of no use where a headstrong man is concerned. I am thinking\nof consulting Senator Meiklejohn. He is discreet and experienced.\"\n\n\"But he is not in town.\"\n\n\"What a calamity! Do tell me where I can find him.\"\n\n\"I have reason to know that Rex would not brook any interference from\nhim.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, of course not. It would never do to permit his influence to\nappear. I was thinking that the Senator might act with the girl, this\nwonderful Winifred. He might frighten her, or bribe her, or something of\nthe sort.\"\n\nNow, Helen Tower was not in Meiklejohn's confidence. He was compelled to\ntrust her in the matter of the Costa Rica concession, but he was far too\nwise to let her into any secret where Winifred was concerned. Anxious to\nstab with another's hand, she thought that Mrs. Carshaw might be used to\npunish her wayward son.\n\n\"I'm not sure--\" She paused doubtfully. \"I do happen to know Mr.\nMeiklejohn's whereabouts, but it is most important he should not be\ntroubled.\"\n\n\"Helen, you used to like Rex more than a little. With an effort, I can\nsave him still.\"\n\n\"But he may suspect you, have you watched, your movements tracked.\"\n\nMrs. Carshaw laughed. \"My dear, he is far too much taken up with his\nWinifred.\"\n\n\"Has he found her, then?\"\n\n\"Does he not see her daily?\"\n\nHere were cross purposes. Mrs. Tower was puzzled.\n\n\"If I tell you where the Senator is, you are sure Rex will not follow\nyou?\"\n\n\"Quite certain.\"\n\n\"His address is the Marlborough-Blenheim, Atlantic City.\"\n\n\"Helen, you're a dear! I shall go there to-morrow, if necessary. But it\nwill be best to write him first.\"\n\n\"Don't say I told you.\"\n\n\"Above all things, Helen, I am discreet.\"\n\n\"I fear he cannot do much. Your son is so wilful.\"\n\n\"Don't you understand? Rex is quite unmanageable. I depend wholly on the\ngirl--and Senator Meiklejohn is just the man to deal with her.\"\n\nThey kissed farewell--alas, those Judas kisses of women! Both were\nsatisfied, each believing she had hoodwinked the other. Mrs. Carshaw\nreturned to her flat to await her son's arrival. If the trail at East\nOrange proved difficult he promised to be home for dinner.\n\n\"There will be a row if Rex meets Meiklejohn,\" she communed. \"Helen will\nbe furious with me. What do I care? I have won back my son's love. I\nhave not many years to live. What else have I to work for if not for his\nhappiness?\"\n\nSo one woman in New York that night was fairly well _content_. There may\nbe, as the Chinese proverb has it, thirty-six different kinds of\nmothers-in-law, but there is only one mother.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE HUNT\n\n\nSteingall, not Clancy, presented his bulk at Carshaw's apartment next\nmorning. He contrived to have a few minutes' private talk with Mrs.\nCarshaw while her son was dressing. Early as it was, he lighted a second\ncigar as he stepped into the automobile, for Carshaw thought it an\neconomy to retain a car.\n\n\"Surprised to see me?\" he began. \"Well, it's this way. We may drop in\nfor a rough-house to-day. Between them, Voles and 'Mick the Wolf,' own\nthree sound legs and three strong arms. I can't risk Clancy. He's too\nprecious. He kicked like a mule, of course, but I made it an order.\"\n\n\"What of the local police?\" said Carshaw.\n\n\"Nix on the cops,\" laughed the chief. \"You share the popular delusion\nthat a policeman can arrest any one at sight. He can do nothing of the\nsort, unless he and his superior officers care to face a whacking demand\nfor damages. And what charge can we bring against Voles and company?\nWinifred bolted of her own accord. We must tread lightly, Mr. Carshaw.\nReally, I shouldn't be here at all. I came only to help, to put you on\nthe right trail, to see that Winifred is not detained by force if she\nwishes to accompany you. Do you get me?\"\n\n\"I believe there is good authority for the statement that the law is an\nass,\" grumbled the other.\n\n\"Not the law. Personal liberty has to be safeguarded by the law.\nMillions of men have died to uphold that principle. Remember, too, that\nI may have to explain in court why I did so-and-so. Strange as it may\nsound, I've been taught wisdom by legal adversity. Now, let's talk of\nthe business in hand. It's an odd thing, but people who wish to do evil\ndeeds often select secluded country places to live in. I don't mind\nbetting a box of cigars that 'East Orange' means a quiet, old-fashioned\nlocality where there isn't a crime once in a generation.\"\n\n\"Some spot one would never suspect, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, in a sense. But if ever I set up as a crook--which is unlikely, as\nmy pension is due in eighteen months--I'll live in a Broadway flat.\"\n\n\"I thought the city police kept a very close eye on evil-doers.\"\n\n\"Yes, when we know them. But your real expert is not known; once held\nhe's done for. Of course he tries again, but he is a marked man--he has\nlost his confidence. Nevertheless, he will always try to be with the\ncrowd. There is safety in numbers.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that East Orange is a place favorable to our search?\"\n\n\"Of course it is. The police, the letter-carriers, and the storekeepers,\nknow everybody. They can tell us at once of several hundred people\nwho certainly had nothing to do with the abduction of a young lady.\nThere will remain a few dozens who might possibly be concerned in\nsuch an affair. Inquiry will soon whittle them down to three or four\nindividuals. What a different job it would be if we had to search a New\nYork precinct, which, I take it, is about as populous as East Orange.\"\n\nThis was a new point of view to Carshaw, and it cheered him\nproportionately. He stepped on the gas, and a traffic policeman at\nForty-second Street and Seventh Avenue cocked an eye at him.\n\n\"Steady,\" laughed Steingall. \"It would be a sad blow for mother if we\nwere held for furious driving. These blessed machines jump from twelve\nto forty miles an hour before you can wink twice.\"\n\nCarshaw abated his ardor. Nevertheless, they were in East Orange forty\nminutes after crossing the ferry.\n\nUnhappily, from that hour, the pace slackened. Gateway House had been\nrented from a New York agent for \"Mr. and Mrs. Forest,\" Westerners who\nwished to reside in New Jersey a year or so.\n\nIts occupants had driven thither from New York. Rachel Craik, heavily\nveiled and quietly attired, did her shopping in the nearest suburb, and\nhad choice of more than one line of rail. So East Orange knew them not,\nnor had it even seen them.\n\nIn nowise discouraged, the man from the Bureau set about his inquiry\nmethodically. He interviewed policemen, railway officials, postmen, and\ncabmen. Although the day was Sunday, he tracked men to their homes and\nled them to talk. Empty houses, recently let houses, houses tenanted by\npeople who were \"not particular\" as to their means of getting a living,\ndivided his attention with persons who answered to the description of\nVoles, Fowle, Rachel, or even the broken-armed Mick the Wolf; while he\nplied every man with a minutely accurate picture of Winifred.\n\nHither and thither darted the motor till East Orange was scoured and\nnoted, and among twenty habitations jotted in the detective's notebook\nthe name of Gateway House figured. It was slow work, this task of\nelimination, but they persisted, meeting rebuff after rebuff, especially\nin the one or two instances where a couple of sharp-looking strangers\nin a car were distinctly not welcome. They had luncheon at a local\nhotel, and, by idle chance, were not pleased by the way in which the\nmeal was served.\n\nSo, when hungry again, and perhaps a trifle dispirited as the day waned\nto darkness with no result, they went to another inn to procure a meal.\nThis time they were better looked after. Instead of a jaded German\nwaiter they were served by the landlord's daughter, a neat, befrilled\nyoung damsel, who cheered them by her smile; though, to be candid, she\nwas anxious to get out for a walk with her young man.\n\n\"Have you traveled far?\" she asked, by way of talk while laying the\ntable.\n\n\"From New York,\" said Steingall.\n\n\"At this hour--in a car?\"\n\n\"Yes. Is that a remarkable thing here?\"\n\n\"Not the car; but people in motors either whizz through of a morning\ngoing away down the coast, or whizz back again of an evening returning\nto New York.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" put in Carshaw, \"here is a pretty head which holds brains. It goes\nin for ratiocinative reasoning. Now, I'll be bound to say that this\npretty head, which thinks, can help us.\"\n\nA good deal of this was lost on the girl, but she caught the compliment\nand smiled.\n\n\"It all depends on what you want to know,\" she said.\n\n\"I really want to find a private prison of some sort,\" he said. \"The\nsort of place where a nice-looking young lady like you might be kept in\nagainst her will by nasty, ill-disposed people.\"\n\n\"There is only one house of that kind in the town, and that is out of\nit, as an Irishman might say.\"\n\n\"And where is it?\"\n\n\"It's called Gateway House--about a mile along the road from the depot.\"\n\nSteingall, inclined at first to doubt the expediency of gossip with the\ngirl, now pricked up his ears.\n\n\"Who lives in Gateway House?\" he asked.\n\n\"No one that I know of at the moment,\" she answered. \"It used to belong\nto a mad doctor. I don't mean a doctor who was mad, but----\"\n\n\"No matter about his sanity. Is he dead?\"\n\n\"No, in prison. There was a trial two years ago.\"\n\n\"Oh! I remember the affair. A patient was beaten to death. So the house\nis empty?\"\n\n\"It is, unless some one has rented it recently. I was taken through the\nplace months ago. The rooms are all right, and it has beautiful\ngrounds, but the windows frightened me. They were closely barred with\niron, and the doors were covered with locks and chains. There were some\nold beds there, too, with straps on them. Oh, I quite shivered!\"\n\n\"After we have eaten will you let us drive you in that direction in my\ncar?\" said Carshaw.\n\nShe simpered and blushed slightly. \"I've an appointment with a friend,\"\nshe admitted, wondering whether the swain would protest too strongly if\nshe accepted the invitation.\n\n\"Bring him also,\" said Carshaw. \"I assume it's a 'he.'\"\n\n\"Oh, that'll be all right!\" she cried.\n\nSo in the deepening gloom the automobile flared with fierce eyes along\nthe quiet road to Gateway House, and in its seat of honor sat the hotel\nmaid and her young man.\n\n\"That is the place,\" she said, after the, to her, all too brief run.\n\n\"Is this the only entrance?\" demanded the chief, as he stepped out to\ntry the gate.\n\n\"Yes. The high wall runs right round the property. It's quite a big\nplace.\"\n\n\"Locked!\" he announced. \"Probably empty, too.\"\n\nHe tried squinting through the keyhole to catch a gleam of interior\nlight.\n\n\"No use in doin' that,\" announced the young man. \"The house stands way\nback, an' is hidden by trees.\"\n\n\"I mean having a look at it, wall or no wall,\" insisted Carshaw.\n\n\"But the gate is spiked and the wall covered with broken glass,\" said\nthe girl.\n\n\"Such obstacles can be surmounted by ladders and folded tarpaulins, or\neven thick overcoats,\" observed Steingall.\n\n\"I'm a plumber,\" said the East Orange man. \"If you care to run back to\nmy place, I c'n give you a telescope ladder and a tarpaulin. But perhaps\nwe may butt into trouble?\"\n\n\"For shame, Jim! I thought you'd do a little thing like that to help a\ngirl in distress.\"\n\n\"First I've heard of any girl.\"\n\n\"My name is Carshaw,\" came the prompt assurance. \"Here's my card; read\nit by the lamp there. I'll guarantee you against consequences, pay any\ndamages, and reward you if our search yields results.\"\n\n\"Jim--\" commenced the girl reproachfully, but he stayed her with a\nsqueeze.\n\n\"Cut it out, Polly,\" he said. \"You don't wish me to start housebreaking,\ndo you? But if there's a lady to be helped, an' Mr. Carshaw says it's\nO.K., I'm on. A fellow who was with Funston in the Philippines won't\nsidestep a little job of that sort.\"\n\nPolly, appeased and delighted with the adventure, giggled. \"I'd think\nnot, indeed.\"\n\n\"It is lawbreaking, but I am inclined to back you up,\" confided\nSteingall to Carshaw when the car was humming back to East Orange. \"At\nthe worst you can only be charged with trespass, as my evidence will be\ntaken that you had no unlawful intent.\"\n\n\"Won't you come with me?\"\n\n\"Better not. You see, I am only helping you. You have an excuse; I, as\nan official, have none--if a row springs up and doors have to be kicked\nopen, for instance. Moreover, this is the State of New Jersey and\noutside my bailiwick.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the joker behind us may be useful.\"\n\n\"He will be, or his girl will know the reason why. He may have fought in\nevery battle in the Spanish War, but she has more pep in her.\"\n\nThe soldierly plumber was as good as his word. He produced the ladder\nand the tarpaulin, and a steel wrench as well.\n\n\"If you do a thing at all do it thoroughly. That's what Funston taught\nus,\" he grinned.\n\nCarshaw thanked him, and in a few minutes they were again looking at the\ntall gate and the dark masses of the garden trees silhouetted against\nthe sky. They had not encountered many wayfarers during their three\njourneys. The presence of a car at the entrance to such a pretentious\nplace would not attract attention, and the scaling of the wall was only\na matter of half a minute.\n\n\"No use in raising the dust by knocking. Go over,\" counseled Steingall.\n\"Try to open the gate. Then you can return the ladder and tarpaulin at\nonce. Otherwise, leave them in position. If satisfied that the house is\ninhabited by those with whom you have no concern, come away unnoticed,\nif possible.\"\n\nCarshaw climbed the ladder, sat on the tarpaulin, and dropped the ladder\non the inner side of the wall. They heard him shaking the gate. His head\nreappeared over the wall.\n\n\"Locked,\" he said, \"and the key gone. I'll come back and report\nquickly.\"\n\nJim, who had been nudged earnestly several times by his companion, cried\nquickly:\n\n\"Isn't your friend goin' along, too, mister?\"\n\n\"No. I may as well tell you that I am a detective,\" put in Steingall.\n\n\"Gee whizz! Why didn't you cough it up earlier? Hol' on, there! Lower\nthat ladder. I'm with you.\"\n\n\"Good old U. S. Army!\" said Steingall, and Polly glowed with pride.\n\nJim climbed rapidly to Carshaw's side, the latter being astride the\nwall. Then they vanished.\n\nFor a long time the two in the car listened intently. A couple of\ncyclists passed, and a small boy, prowling about, took an interest in\nthe car, but was sternly warned off by Steingall. At last they caught\nthe faint but easily discerned sound of heavy blows and broken woodwork.\n\n\"Things are happening,\" cried Steingall. \"I wish I had gone with them.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hope my Jim won't get hurt,\" said Polly, somewhat pale now.\n\nThey heard more furious blows and the crash of glass.\n\n\"Confound it!\" growled Steingall. \"Why didn't I go?\"\n\n\"If I stood on the back of the car against the gate, and you climbed\nonto my shoulders, you might manage to stand between the spikes and jump\ndown,\" cried Polly desperately.\n\n\"Great Scott, but you're the right sort of girl. The wall is too high,\nbut the gate is possible. I'll try it,\" he answered.\n\nWith difficulty, having only slight knowledge of heavy cars, he backed\nthe machine against the gate. Then the girl caught the top with her\nhands, standing on the back cushions.\n\nSteingall was no light weight for her soft shoulders, but she uttered no\nword until she heard him drop heavily on the gravel drive within.\n\n\"Thank goodness!\" she whispered. \"There are three of them now. I only\nwish I was there, too!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n\"HE WHO FIGHTS AND RUNS AWAY--\"\n\n\n\"I don't like the proposition, an' that's a fact,\" muttered Fowle,\nlifting a glass of whisky and glancing furtively at Voles, when the\ndomineering eyes of the superior scoundrel were averted for a moment.\n\n\"Whether you like it or not, you've got to lump it,\" was the ready\nanswer.\n\n\"I don't see that. I agreed to help you up to a certain point----\"\n\nVoles swung around at him furiously, as a mastiff might turn on a\nwretched mongrel.\n\n\"Say, listen! If I'm up to the neck in this business, you're in it over\nyour ears. You can't duck now, you white-livered cur! The cops know you.\nThey had you in their hands once, and warned you to leave this girl\nalone. If I stand in the dock you'll stand there, too, and I'm not the\nman to say the word that'll save you.\"\n\n\"But she's with her aunt. She's under age. Her aunt is her legal\nguardian. I know a bit about the law, you see. This notion of yours is\na bird of another color. Sham weddings are no joke. It will mean ten\nyears.\"\n\n\"Who wants you to go in for a sham wedding, you swab?\"\n\n\"You do, or I haven't got the hang of things.\"\n\nVoles looked as though he would like to hammer his argument into Fowle\nwith his fists. He forebore. There was too much at stake to allow a\nsudden access of bad temper to defeat his ends.\n\nHe was tired of vagabondage. It was true, as he told his brother long\nbefore, that he hungered for the flesh-pots of Egypt, for the life and\nease and gayety of New York. An unexpected vista had opened up before\nhim. When he came back to the East his intention was to squeeze funds\nout of Meiklejohn wherewith to plunge again into the outer wilderness.\nNow events had conspired to give him some chance of earning a fortune\nquickly, had not the irony of fate raised the winsome face and figure of\nWinifred as a bogey from the grave to bar his path.\n\nSo he choked back his wrath, and shoved the decanter of spirits across\nthe table to his morose companion. They were sitting in the hall of\nGateway House, about the hour that Carshaw and the detective, tired by\ntheir weary hunt through East Orange, sought the inn.\n\n\"Now look here, Fowle,\" he said, \"don't be a poor dub, and don't kick at\nmy way of speaking. _Por Dios!_ man, I've lived too long in the sage\ncountry to scrape my tongue to a smooth spiel like my--my friend, the\nSenator. Let's look squarely at the facts. You admire the girl?\"\n\n\"Who wouldn't? A pippin, every inch of her.\"\n\n\"You're broke?\"\n\n\"Well--er--\"\n\n\"You were fired from your last job. You're in wrong with the police. You\nadopted a disguise and told lies about Winifred to those who would\nemploy her. What chance have you of getting back into your trade, even\nif you'd be satisfied with it after having lived like a plute for\nweeks?\"\n\n\"That goes,\" said Fowle, waving his pipe.\n\n\"You'd like to hand one to that fellow Carshaw?\"\n\n\"Wouldn't I!\"\n\n\"Yet you kick like a steer when I offer you the girl, a soft, well-paid\njob, and the worst revenge you can take on Carshaw.\"\n\n\"Yes, all damn fine. But the risk--the infernal risk!\"\n\n\"That's where I don't agree with you. You go away with her and her\nfather--\"\n\n\"Father! You're not her father!\"\n\n\"You should be the first to believe it. Her aunt will swear it to you or\nto any judge in the country. Once out of the United States, she will be\nonly too glad to avail herself of the protection matrimony is supposed\nto offer. What are you afraid of?\"\n\n\"You talked of puttin' up some guy to pretend to marry us.\"\n\n\"Forget it. We can't keep her insensible or dumb for days. But, in the\ncompany of her loving father and her devoted husband, what can she do?\nWho will believe her? Depend on me to have the right sort of boys on the\nship. They'll just grin at her. By the time she reaches Costa Rica\nshe'll be howling for a missionary to come aboard in order to satisfy\nher scruples. You can suggest it yourself.\"\n\n\"I believe she'd die sooner.\"\n\n\"What matter? You only lose a pretty wife. There's lots more of the same\nsort when your wad is thick enough. Why, man, it means a three-months'\ntrip and a fortune for life, however things turn out. You're tossing\nagainst luck with an eagle on both sides of the quarter.\"\n\nFowle hesitated. The other suppressed a smile. He knew his man.\n\n\"Don't decide in a minute,\" he said seriously. \"But, once settled, there\nmust be no shirking. Make up your mind either to go straight ahead by my\norders or clear out to-night. I'll give you a ten-spot to begin life\nagain. After that don't come near me.\"\n\n\"I'll do it,\" said Fowle, and they shook hands on their compact.\n\n\nIt was not in Winifred's nature to remain long in a state of active\nresentment with any human being. A prisoner, watched diligently during\nthe day, locked into her room at night, she met Rachel Craik's grim\nespionage and Mick the Wolf's evil temper with an equable cheerfulness\nthat exasperated the one while mollifying the other.\n\nShe wondered greatly what they meant to do with her. It was impossible\nto believe that in the State of New Jersey, within a few miles of New\nYork, they could keep her indefinitely in close confinement. She knew\nthat her Rex would move heaven and earth to rescue her. She knew that\nthe authorities, in the person of Mr. Steingall, would take up the hunt\nwith unwearying diligence, and she reasoned, acutely enough, that a plot\nwhich embraced in its scope so many different individuals could not long\ndefy the efforts made to elucidate it.\n\nHow thankful she was now that she had at last written and posted that\nlong-deferred letter to the agent. Here, surely, was a clue to be\nfollowed--she had quite forgotten, in the first whirlwind of her\ndistress, the second letter which reached her in the Twenty-seventh\nStreet lodgings, but pinned her faith to the fact that her own note\nconcerning the appointment \"near East Orange\" was in existence.\n\nPerhaps her sweetheart was already rushing over every road in the place\nand making exhaustive inquiries about her. It was possible that he had\npassed Gateway House more than once. He might have seen amid the trees\nthe tall chimneys of the very jail against whose iron bars her spirit\nwas fluttering in fearful hope. Oh, why was she not endowed with that\npower she had read of, whose fortunate possessors could leap time and\nspace in their astral subconsciousness and make known their thoughts and\nwishes to those dear to them?\n\nShe even smiled at the conceit that a true wireless telegraphy did exist\nbetween Carshaw and herself. Daily, nightly, she thought of him and he\nof her. But their alphabet was lacking; they could utter only the\nthrilling language of love, which is not bound by such earthly things as\nsigns and symbols.\n\nYet was she utterly confident, and her demeanor rendered Rachel Craik\nmore and more suspicious. Since the girl had scornfully disowned her\nkinship, the elder woman had not made further protest on that score. She\nfrankly behaved as a wardress in a prison, and Winifred as frankly\naccepted the rôle of prisoner. There remained Mick the Wolf. Under the\ncircumstances, no doctor or professional nurse could be brought to\nattend his injured arm. The broken limb had of course been properly set\nafter the accident, but it required skilled dressing daily, and this\nWinifred undertook. She had no real knowledge of the subject, but her\nwillingness to help, joined to the instruction given by the man himself,\nachieved her object.\n\nIt was well-nigh impossible for this rough, callous rogue, brought in\ncontact with such a girl for the first time in his life, to resist her\ninfluence. She did not know it, but gradually she was winning him to her\nside. He swore at her as the cause of his suffering, yet found himself\nregretting even the passive part he was taking in her imprisonment.\n\nOn the very Sunday evening that Voles and Fowle were concocting their\nvile and mysterious scheme, Mick the Wolf, their trusted associate,\npartner of Voles in many a desperate enterprise in other lands, was\nsitting in an armchair up-stairs listening to Winifred reading from a\nbook she had found in her bedroom. It was some simple story of love and\nadventure, and certainly its author had never dreamed that his exciting\nsituations would be perused under conditions as dramatic as any pictured\nin the novel.\n\n\"It's a queer thing,\" said the man after a pause, when Winifred stopped\nto light a lamp, \"but nobody pipin' us just now 'ud think we was what we\nare.\"\n\nShe laughed at the involved sentence. \"I don't think you are half so bad\nas you think you are, Mr. Grey,\" she said softly. \"For my part, I am\nhappy in the belief that my friends will not desert me.\"\n\n\"Lookut here,\" he said with gruff sympathy, \"why don't you pull with\nyour people instead of ag'in' 'em. I know what I'm talkin' about. This\nyer Voles--but, steady! Mebbe I best shut up.\"\n\nWinifred's heart bounded. If this man would speak he might tell her\nsomething of great value to her lover and Mr. Steingall when they came\nto reckon up accounts with her persecutors.\n\n\"Anything you tell me, Mr. Grey, shall not be repeated,\" she said.\n\nHe glanced toward the door. She understood his thought. Rachel Craik was\npreparing their evening meal. She might enter the room at any moment,\nand it was not advisable that she should suspect them of amicable\nrelations. Assuredly, up to that hour, Mick the Wolf's manner admitted\nof no doubt on the point. He had been intractable as the animal which\nsupplied his oddly appropriate nickname.\n\n\"It's this way,\" he went on in a lower tone. \"Voles an' Meiklejohn are\nbrothers born. Meiklejohn, bein' a Senator, an' well in with some of the\ntop-notchers, has a cotton concession in Costa Rica which means a pile\nof money. Voles is cute as a pet fox. He winded the turkey, an' has\nforced his brother to make him manager, with a whackin' salary and an\ninterest. I'm in on the deal, too. Bless your little heart, you just\nstan' pat, an' you kin make a dress outer dollar bills.\"\n\n\"But what have I to do with all this? Why cannot you settle your\nbusiness without pursuing me?\" was the mournful question, for Winifred\nnever guessed how greatly the man's information affected her.\n\n\"I can't rightly say, but you're either with us or ag'in' us. If you're\non our side it'll be a joy-ride. If you stick to that guy, Carshaw--\"\n\nTo their ears, as to the ears of those waiting in the car at the gate,\ncame the sound of violent blows and the wrenching open of the door. In\nthat large house--in a room situated, too, on the side removed from the\nroad--they could not catch Carshaw's exulting cry after a peep through\nthe window:\n\n\"I have them! Voles and Fowle! There they are! Now you, who fought with\nFunston, fight for a year's pay to be earned in a minute. Here! use this\nwrench. You understand it. Use it on the head of any one who resists\nyou. These scoundrels must be taken red-handed.\"\n\nVoles at the first alarm sprang to his feet and whipped out a revolver.\nHe knew that a vigorous assault was being made on the stout door.\nRunning to the blind of the nearest window, he saw Carshaw pull out an\niron bar by sheer strength and use it as a lever to pry open a sash.\nTempted though he was to shoot, he dared not. There might be police\noutside. Murder would shatter his dreams of wealth and luxury. He must\noutwit his pursuers.\n\nRachel Craik came running from the kitchen, alarmed by the sudden\nhubbub.\n\n\"Fowle,\" he said to his amazed confederate, \"stand them off for a minute\nor two. You, Rachel, can help. You know where to find me when the coast\nis clear. They cannot touch you. Remember that. They're breaking into\nthis house without a warrant. Bluff hard, and they cannot even frame a\ncharge against you if the girl is secured--and she will be if you give\nme time.\"\n\nTrusting more to Rachel than to vacillating Fowle, he raced up-stairs,\nthough his injured leg made rapid progress difficult. He ran into a room\nand grabbed a small bag which lay in readiness. Then he rushed toward\nthe room in which Winifred and Mick the Wolf were listening with mixed\nfeelings to the row which had sprung up beneath.\n\nHe tried the door. It was locked. Rachel had the key in her pocket. A\ntrifle of that nature did not deter a man like Voles. With his shoulder\nhe burst the lock, coming face to face with his partner in crime, who\nhad grasped a poker in his serviceable hand.\n\n\"Atta-boy!\" he yelled. \"Down-stairs, and floor 'em as they come. You've\none sound arm. Go for 'em--they can't lay a finger on you.\"\n\nNow, it was one thing to sympathize with a helpless and gentle girl, but\nanother to resist the call of the wild. The dominant note in Mick the\nWolf was brutality, and the fighting instinct conquered even his pain.\nWith an oath he made his way to the hall, and it needed all of\nSteingall's great strength to overpower him, wounded though he was.\n\nIt took Carshaw and Jim a couple of minutes to force their way in. There\nwas a lively fight, in which the detective lent a hand. When Mick the\nWolf was down, groaning and cursing because his fractured arm was broken\nagain; when Fowle was held to the floor, with Rachel Craik, struggling\nand screaming, pinned beneath him by the valiant Jim, Carshaw sped to\nthe first floor.\n\nSoon, after using hand-cuffs on the man and woman, and leaving Jim in\ncharge of them and Mick the Wolf, Steingall joined him. But, search as\nthey might, they could not find either Winifred or Voles. Almost beside\nhimself with rage, Carshaw rushed back to the grim-visaged Rachel.\n\n\"Where is she?\" he cried. \"What have you done with her? By Heaven, I'll\nkill you--\"\n\nHer face lit up with a malignant joy. \"A nice thing!\" she screamed.\n\"Respectable folk to be treated in this way! What have we done, I'd like\nto know? Breaking into our house and assaulting us!\"\n\n\"No good talking to her,\" said the chief. \"She's a deep one--tough as\nthey make 'em. Let's search the grounds.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nIN FULL CRY\n\n\nPolly, the maid from the inn, waiting breathlessly intent in the car\noutside the gate, listened for sounds which should guide her as to the\nprogress of events within.\n\nSteingall left her standing on the upholstered back of the car, with her\nhands clutching the top of the gate. She did not descend immediately. In\nthat position she could best hear approaching footsteps, as she could\nfollow the running of the detective nearly all the way to the house.\n\nGreat was her surprise, therefore, to find some one unlocking the gate\nwithout receiving any preliminary warning of his advent. She was just in\ntime to spring back into the tonneau when one-half of the ponderous door\nswung open and a man appeared, carrying in his arms the seemingly\nlifeless body of a woman.\n\nIt will be remembered that the lamps of the car spread their beams in\nthe opposite direction. In the gloom, not only of the night but of the\nhigh wall and the trees, Polly could not distinguish features.\n\nShe thought, however, the man was a stranger. Naturally, as the rescuers\nhad just gone toward the point whence the newcomer came, she believed\nthat he had been directed to carry the young lady to the waiting car.\nHer quick sympathy was aroused.\n\n\"The poor dear!\" she cried. \"Oh, don't tell me those horrid people have\nhurt her.\"\n\nVoles who had choked Winifred into insensibility with a mixture of\nalcohol, chloroform, and ether--a scientific anesthetic used by all\nsurgeons, rapid in achieving its purpose and quite harmless in its\neffects--was far more surprised than Polly. He never expected to be\ngreeted in this way, but rather to be met by some helper of Carshaw's\nposed there, and he was prepared to fight or trick his adversary as\noccasion demanded.\n\nHe had carried Winifred down a servants' stairs and made his way out of\nthe house by a back door. The exit was unguarded. In this, as in many\nother country mansions, the drive followed a circuitous sweep, but a\npath through the trees led directly toward the gate. Hence, his passage\nhad neither been observed from the hall nor overheard by Polly.\n\nIt was in precisely such a situation as that which faced him now that\nVoles was really superb. He was an adroit man, with ready judgment and\nnerves of steel.\n\n\"Not much hurt,\" he said quietly. \"She has fainted from shock, I think.\"\n\nThough he spoke so glibly, his brain was on fire with question and\nanswer. His eyes glowered at the car and its occupant, and swept the\nopen road on either hand.\n\nTo Polly's nostrils was wafted a strange odor, carrying reminiscences of\nso-called \"painless\" dentistry. Winifred, reviving in the open air when\nthat hateful sponge was removed from mouth and nose, struggled\nspasmodically in the arms of her captor. Polly knew that women in a\nfaint lie deathlike. That never-to-be-forgotten scent, too, caused a\nwave of alarm, of suspicion, to creep through her with each heart-beat.\n\n\"Where are the others?\" she said, leaning over, and striving to see\nVoles's face.\n\n\"Just behind,\" he answered. \"Let me place Miss Bartlett in the car.\"\n\nThat sounded reasonable.\n\n\"Lift her in here, poor thing,\" said Polly, making way for the almost\ninanimate form.\n\n\"No; on the front seat.\"\n\n\"But why? This is the best place--oh, help, _help_!\"\n\nFor Voles, having placed Winifred beside the steering-pillar, seized\nPolly and flung her headlong onto the grass beneath the wall. In the\nsame instant he started the car with a quick turn of the wrist, for the\nengine had been stopped to avoid noise, and there was no time to\nexperiment with self-starters. He jumped in, released the brakes,\napplied the first speed, and was away in the direction to New York.\nPolly, angry and frightened, ran after him, screaming at the top of her\nvoice.\n\nVoles was in such a desperate hurry that he did not pay heed to his\nsteering, and nearly ran over a motor-cyclist coming in hot haste to\nEast Orange. The rider, a young man, pulled up and used language. He\nheard Polly, panting and shrieking, running toward him.\n\n\"Good gracious, Miss Barnard, what's the matter?\" he cried, for Polly\nwas pretty enough to hold many an eye.\n\n\"Is that you, Mr. Petch? Thank goodness! There's been murder done in\nGateway House. That villain is carrying off the young lady he has\nkilled. He has escaped from the police. They're in there now. Oh, catch\nhim!\"\n\nMr. Petch, who had dismounted, began to hop back New York-ward, while\nthe engine emulated a machine-gun.\n\n\"It's a big car--goes fast--I'll do my best--\" Polly heard him say, and\nhe, too, was gone. She met Carshaw and the chief half-way up the drive.\nTo them, in gasps, she told her story.\n\n\"Cool hand, Voles!\" said Steingall.\n\n\"The whole thing was bungled!\" cried Carshaw in a white heat. \"If Clancy\nhad been here this couldn't have happened.\"\n\nSteingall took the implied taunt coolly.\n\n\"It would have been better had I followed my original plan and not\nhelped you,\" he said. \"You or our East Orange friend might have been\nkilled, it is true, but Voles could not have carried the girl off so\neasily.\"\n\nCarshaw promptly regretted his bitter comment. \"I'm sorry,\" he said,\n\"but you cannot realize what all this means to me, Steingall.\"\n\n\"I think I can. Cheer up; your car is easily recognizable. We have a\ncyclist known to this young lady in close pursuit. Even if he fails to\ncatch up with Voles, he will at least give us some definite direction\nfor a search. At present there is nothing for us to do but lodge these\npeople in the local prison, telephone the ferries and main towns, and go\nback to New York. The police here will let us know what happens to the\ncyclist; he may even call at the Bureau. I can act best in New York.\"\n\n\"Do you mean now to arrest those in the house?\"\n\n\"Yes, sure. That is, I'll get the New Jersey police to hold them.\"\n\n\"On what charge?\"\n\n\"Conspiracy. At last we have clear evidence against them. Miss Polly\nhere has actually seen Voles carrying off Miss Bartlett, who had\npreviously been rendered insensible. If I am not mistaken in my man,\nFowle will turn State's evidence when he chews on the proposition for a\nfew hours in a cell.\"\n\n\"Pah--the wretch! I don't want these reptiles to be crushed; what I want\nis to recover Miss Bartlett. Would it not be best to leave them their\nliberty and watch them?\"\n\n\"I've always found a seven days' remand very helpful,\" mused the\ndetective.\n\n\"In ordinary crime, yes. But here we have Rachel Craik, who would suffer\nmartyrdom rather than speak; Fowle, a mere tool, who knows nothing\nexcept what little he is told; and a thick-headed brute named Mick the\nWolf, who does what his master bids him. Don't you see that in prison\nthey are useless. At liberty they may help by trying to communicate with\nVoles.\"\n\n\"I'm half inclined to agree with you. Now to frighten them. Keep your\nface and tongue under control; I'll try a dodge that seldom fails.\"\n\nThey re-entered the house. Jim was doing sentry-go in the hall. The\nprisoners were sitting mute, save that Mick the Wolf uttered an\noccasional growl of pain; his wounded arm was hurting him sorely.\n\n\"We're not going to worry any more about you,\" said Steingall\ncontemptuously as he unlocked the hand-cuffs with which he had been\ncompelled to secure Rachel and Fowle.\n\n\"Yes, you will,\" was the woman's defiant cry. \"Your outrageous\nconduct--\"\n\n\"Oh, pull that stuff on some one likely to be impressed by it. It comes\na trifle late in the day when Miss Winifred Marchbanks is in the hands\nof her friends and Voles on his way to prison. I don't even want you,\nRachel Bartlett, unless the State attorney decides that you ought to be\nprosecuted.\"\n\nThe woman's eyes gleamed like those of a spiteful cat. The detective's\ncool use of Winifred's right name, and of the name by which Rachel Craik\nherself ought to be known, was positively demoralizing. Fowle, too, was\ngreatly alarmed. The police-officer said nothing about not wanting him.\nWith Voles's superior will withdrawn, he began to quake again. But\nRachel was a dour New Englander, of different metal to a man from the\nEast Side.\n\n\"If you're speaking of my niece,\" she said, \"you have been misled by the\nhussy, and by that man of hers there. Mr. Voles is her father. I have\nevery proof of my words. You can bring none of yours.\"\n\nSteingall, eying Fowle, laughed. \"You will be able to tell us all about\nit in the witness-box, Rachel Bartlett,\" he said.\n\n\"How dare you call me by that name?\"\n\n\"Because it's your right one. Craik was your mother's name. If friend\nVoles had only kept his hands clean, or even treated you honorably, you\nmight now be Mrs. Ralph Meiklejohn, eh?\"\n\nHe was playing with her with the affable gambols of a cat toying with a\ndoomed mouse. Each instant Fowle was becoming more perturbed. He did not\nlike the way in which the detective ignored him. Was he to be swallowed\nat a gulp when his turn came?\n\nEven Rachel Craik was silenced by this last shot. She wrung her hands;\nthis stern, implacable woman seemed to be on the point of bursting into\ntears. All the plotting and devices of years had failed her suddenly. An\nedifice of deception, which had lasted half a generation, had crumbled\ninto nothingness. This man had callously exposed her secret and her\nshame. At that moment her heart was bitter against Voles.\n\nThe detective, skilled in the phases of criminal thought, knew exactly\nwhat was passing through the minds of both Rachel and Fowle. Revenge in\nthe one case, safety in the other, was operating quickly, and a crisis\nwas at hand.\n\nBut just then the angry voice of the East Orange plumber reached him:\n\"Just imagine Petch turnin' up; him, of all men in the world! An' of\ncourse you talked nicey-nicey, an' he's such an obligin' feller that he\nbeats it after the car! Petch, indeed!\"\n\nThere was a snort of jealous fury. Polly's voice was raised in protest.\n\n\"Jim, don't be stupid. How could I tell who it was?\"\n\n\"I'll back you against any girl in East Orange to find another string to\nyour bow wherever you may happen to be,\" was the enraged retort.\n\nThe detective hastened to stop this lovers' quarrel, which had broken\nout after a whispered colloquy. He was too late. Miss Polly was on her\ndignity.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Petch is a real man, anyhow,\" came her stinging answer. \"He's\nafter them now, and he won't let them slip through his fingers like you\ndid.\"\n\nThe sheer injustice of this statement rendered Jim incoherent. Petch was\nan old rival. When next they met, gore would flow in East Orange. But\nthe detective's angry whisper restored the senses of both.\n\n\"Can't you two shut up?\" he hissed. \"Your miserable quarrel has warned\nour prisoners. They were on the very point of confessing everything when\nyou blurted out that the chief rascal had escaped. I'm ashamed of you,\nespecially after you had behaved so well.\"\n\nHis rebuke was merited; they were abashed into silence--too late. When\nhe returned to the pair in the corner of the room he saw Rachel Craik's\nsour smile and Fowle's downcast look of calculation.\n\n\"A lost opportunity!\" he muttered, but faced the situation quite\npleasantly.\n\n\"You may as well remain here,\" he said. \"I may want you, and you should\nrealize without giving further trouble that you cannot hide from the\npolice. Come, Mr. Carshaw, we have work before us in East Orange. Miss\nWinifred should be all right by this time.\"\n\nRachel Craik actually laughed. She wondered why she had lost faith in\nVoles for an instant.\n\n\"I'll send a doctor,\" went on Steingall composedly. \"Your friend there\nneeds one, I guess.\"\n\n\"I'd sooner have a six-shooter,\" roared Mick the Wolf.\n\n\"Doctors are even more deadly sometimes.\"\n\nSo the detective took his defeat cheerfully, and that is the worst thing\na man can do--in his opponent's interests. He was rather silent as he\ntrudged with Carshaw and the others back to the train, however.\n\nHe was asking himself what new gibe Clancy would spring on him when the\nstory of the night's fiasco came out.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nFLANK ATTACKS\n\n\nSomewhat tired, having ridden that day to Poughkeepsie and back, Petch,\nnevertheless, put up a great race after the fleeing motor-car.\n\nHis muscles were rejuvenated by Polly Barnard's exciting news and no\nless by admiration for the girl herself. Little thinking that Jim, the\nplumber, was performing deeds of derring-do in the hall of Gateway\nHouse, he congratulated himself on the lucky chance which enabled him to\noblige the fair Polly. He dashed into the road to Hoboken, and found, to\nhis joy, that the dust raised by the passage of the car gave an\nunfailing clue to its route. Now, a well-regulated motor-cycle can run\nrings round any other form of automobile, no matter how many horses may\nbe pent in the cylinders, if on an ordinary road and subjected to the\nexigencies of traffic.\n\nVoles, break-neck driver though he was, dared not disregard the traffic\nregulations and risk a smash-up. He got the best out of the engine, but\nwas compelled to go steadily through clusters of houses and around\ntree-shaded corners. To his great amazement, as he was tearing through\nthe last habitations before crossing the New Jersey flats, he was hailed\nloudly from behind:\n\n\"Hi, you--pull up!\"\n\nHe glanced over his shoulder. A motor-cyclist, white with dust, was\nriding after him with tremendous energy.\n\n\"Hola!\" cried Voles, snatching another look. \"What's the matter?\"\n\nPetch should have temporized, done one of a hundred things he thought of\ntoo late; but he was so breathless after the terrific sprint in which he\novertook Voles that he blurted out:\n\n\"I know you--you can't escape--there's the girl herself--I see her!\"\n\n\"Hell!\"\n\nVoles urged on the car by foot and finger. After him pelted Petch, with\nset teeth and straining eyes. The magnificent car, superb in its\nenergies, swept through the night like the fiery dragon of song and\nfable, but with a speed never attained by dragon yet, else there would\nbe room on earth for nothing save dragons. And the motor-cycle leaped\nand bounded close behind, stuttering its resolve to conquer the monster\nin front.\n\nThe pair created a great commotion as they whirred past scattered houses\nand emerged into the keen, cold air of the marshland. A few cars met en\nroute actually slowed up, and heads were thrust out to peer in wonder.\nWomen in them were scared, and enjoined drivers to be careful, while men\nexplained laughingly that a couple of joy-riders were being chased by a\nmotor \"cop.\"\n\nIt was neck or nothing now for Voles, and when these alternatives\noffered, he never hesitated as to which should be chosen. He knew he was\nin desperate case.\n\nThe pace; the extraordinary appearance of a hatless man and a girl with\nher hair streaming wild--for Winifred's abundant tresses had soon shed\nall restraint of pins and twists before the tearing wind of their\ntransit--would create a tumult in Hoboken. Something must be done. He\nmust stop the car and shoot that pestiferous cyclist, who had sprung out\nof the ground as though one of Medusa's teeth had lain buried there\nthroughout the ages, and become a panoplied warrior at a woman's cry.\n\nHe looked ahead. There was no car in sight. He peered over his shoulder.\nThere was no cyclist! Petch had not counted on this frenzied race, and\nhis petrol-tank was empty. He had pulled up disconsolately half a mile\naway, and was now borrowing a gallon of gas from an Orange-bound car,\nexplaining excitedly that he was \"after\" a murderer!\n\nVoles laughed. The fiend's luck, which seldom fails the fiend's\nvotaries, had come to his aid in a highly critical moment. There\nremained Winifred. She, too, must be dealt with. Now, all who have\nexperienced the effect of an anesthetic will understand that after the\nmerely stupefying power of the gas has waned there follows a long period\nof semi-hysteria, when actual existence is dreamlike, and impressions of\nevents are evanescent. Winifred, therefore, hardly appreciated what was\ntaking place until the car stopped abruptly, and the stupor of cold\npassed almost simultaneously with the stupor of anesthesia.\n\nBut Voles had his larger plan now. With coolness and daring he might\nachieve it. All depended on the discretion of those left behind in\nGateway House. It was impossible to keep Winifred always in durance, or\nto prevent her everlastingly from obtaining help. That fool of a\ncyclist, for instance, had he contented himself with riding quietly\nbehind until he reached the ferry, would have wrecked the exploit beyond\nrepair.\n\nThere remained one last move, but it was a perfect one in most ways.\nWould Fowle keep his mouth shut? Voles cursed Fowle in his thought. Were\nit not for Fowle there would have been no difficulty. Carshaw would\nnever have met Winifred, and the girl would have been as wax in the\nhands of Rachel Craik. He caught hold of Winifred's arm.\n\n\"If you scream I'll choke you!\" he said fiercely.\n\nShaken by the chloroform mixture, benumbed as the outcome of an\nunprotected drive, the girl was physically as well as mentally unable to\nresist. He coiled her hair into a knot, gagged her dexterously with a\nsilk handkerchief--Voles knew all about gags--and tied her hands behind\nher back with a shoe-lace. Then he adjusted the hood and side-screens.\n\nHe did these things hurriedly, but without fumbling. He was losing\nprecious minutes, for the telephone-wire might yet throttle him; but the\nperiods of waiting at the ferry and while crossing the Hudson must be\ncircumvented in some way or other. His last act before starting the car\nwas to show Winifred the revolver he never lacked.\n\n\"See this!\" he growled into her ear. \"I'm not going to be held by any\ncop. At the least sign of a move by you to attract attention I'll put\nthe first bullet through the cop, the second through you, and the third\nthrough myself, if I can't make my get-away. Better believe that. I mean\nit.\"\n\nHe asked for no token of understanding on her part. He was stating only\nthe plain facts. In a word, Voles was born to be a great man, and an\nunhappy fate had made him a scoundrel. But fortune still befriended him.\nRain fell as he drove through Hoboken. The ferry was almost deserted,\nand the car was wedged in between two huge mail-vans on board the boat.\n\nHardened rascal though he was, Voles breathed a sigh of relief as he\ndrove unchallenged past a uniformed policeman on arriving at Christopher\nStreet. He guessed his escape was only a matter of minutes. In reality,\nhe was gone some ten seconds when the policeman was called to the phone.\nAs for Petch, that valorous knight-errant crossed on the next boat, and\nthe Hoboken police were already on the _qui vive_.\n\nEvery road into and out of New York was soon watched by sharp eyes on\nthe lookout for a car bearing a license numbered in the tens of\nthousands, and tenanted by a hatless man and a girl in indoor costume.\nQuickly the circles lessened in concentric rings through the agencies of\ntelephone-boxes and roundsmen.\n\nAt half past nine a patrolman found a car answering the description\nstanding outside an up-town saloon on the East Side. Examining the\nregister number he saw at once that blacking had been smeared over the\nfirst and last figures. Then he knew. But there was no trace of the\ndriver. Voles and Winifred had vanished into thin air.\n\nMrs. Carshaw, breakfasting with a haggard and weary son, revealed that\nSenator Meiklejohn was at Atlantic City. He kissed her for the news.\n\n\"Meiklejohn must wait, mother,\" he said. \"Winifred is somewhere in New\nYork. I cannot tear myself away to Atlantic City to-day. When I have\nfound her, I shall deal with Meiklejohn.\"\n\nThen came Steingall, and he and Mrs. Carshaw exchanged a glance which\nthe younger man missed.\n\nMrs. Carshaw, sitting a while in deep thought after the others had gone,\nrang up a railway company. Atlantic City is four hours distant from New\nYork. By hurrying over certain inquiries she wished to make, she might\ncatch a train at midday.\n\nShe drove to her lawyers. At her request a smart clerk was lent to her\nfor a couple of hours. They consulted various records. The clerk made\nmany notes on foolscap sheets in a large, round hand, and Mrs. Carshaw,\nseated in the train, read them many times through her gold-mounted\nlorgnette.\n\nIt was five o'clock when a taxi brought her to the Marlborough-Blenheim\nHotel, and Senator Meiklejohn was the most astonished man on the Jersey\ncoast at the moment when she entered unannounced, for Mrs. Carshaw had\nsimply said to the elevator-boy: \"Take me to Senator Meiklejohn's\nsitting-room.\"\n\nUndeniably he was startled; but playing desperately for high stakes had\nsteadied him somewhat. Perhaps the example of his stronger brother had\nsome value, too, for he rose with sufficient affability.\n\n\"What a pleasant _rencontré_, Mrs. Carshaw,\" he said. \"I had no notion\nyou were within a hundred miles of the Board Walk.\"\n\n\"That is not surprising,\" she answered, sinking into a comfortable\nchair. \"I have just arrived. Order me some sandwiches and a cup of tea.\nI'm famished.\"\n\nHe obeyed.\n\n\"I take it you have come to see me?\" he said, quietly enough, though\naware of a queer fluttering about the region of his heart.\n\n\"Yes. I am so worried about Rex.\"\n\n\"Dear me! The girl?\"\n\n\"It is always a woman. How you men must loathe us in your sane moments,\nif you ever have any.\"\n\n\"I flatter myself that I am sane, yet how could I say that I loathe\n_your_ sex, Mrs. Carshaw?\"\n\n\"I wonder if your flattery will bear analysis. But there! No serious\ntalk until I am refreshed. Do ring for some biscuits; sandwiches are apt\nto be slow in the cutting.\"\n\nThus by pretext she kept him from direct converse until a tea-tray, with\na film of _paté de fois_ coyly hidden in thin bread and butter, formed,\nas it were, a rampart between them.\n\n\"How did you happen on my address?\" he asked smilingly.\n\nIt was the first shell of real warfare, and she answered in kind: \"That\nwas quite easy. The people at the detective bureau know it.\"\n\nThe words hit him like a bullet.\n\n\"The Bureau!\" he cried.\n\n\"Yes. The officials there are interested in the affairs of Winifred\nMarchbanks.\"\n\nHe went ashen-gray, but essayed, nevertheless, to turn emotion into mere\namazement. He was far too clever a man to pretend a blank negation. The\nsituation was too strenuous for any species of ostrich device.\n\n\"I seem to remember that name,\" he said slowly, moistening his lips with\nhis tongue.\n\n\"Of course you do. You have never forgotten it. Let us have a friendly\nchat about her, Senator. My son is going to marry her. That is why I am\nhere.\"\n\nShe munched her sandwiches and sipped her tea. This experienced woman of\nthe world, now boldly declared on the side of romance, was far too\nastute to force the man to desperation unless it was necessary. He must\nbe given breathing-time, permitted to collect his wits. She was sure of\nher ground. Her case was not legally strong. Meiklejohn would discover\nthat defect, and, indeed, it was not her object to act legally. If\nothers could plot and scheme, she would have a finger in the pie--that\nwas all. And behind her was the clear brain of Steingall, who had camped\nfor days near the Senator in Atlantic City, and had advised the mother\nhow to act for her son.\n\nThere was a long silence. She ate steadily.\n\n\"Perhaps you will be good enough to state explicitly why you are here,\nMrs. Carshaw,\" said Meiklejohn at last.\n\nShe caught the ring of defiance in his tone. She smiled. There was to be\nverbal sword-play, and she was armed _cap-à-pie_.\n\n\"Just another cup of tea,\" she pleaded, and he wriggled uneasily in his\nchair. The delay was torturing him. She unrolled her big sheets of\nnotes. He looked over at them with well-simulated indifference.\n\n\"I have an engagement--\" he began, looking at his watch.\n\n\"You must put it off,\" she said, with sudden heat. \"The most important\nengagement of your life is here, now, in this room, William Meiklejohn.\nI mentioned the detective bureau when I entered. Which do you prefer to\nencounter--me or an emissary of the police?\"\n\nHe paled again. Evidently this society lady had claws, and would use\nthem if annoyed.\n\n\"I do not think that I have said anything to warrant such language to\nme,\" he murmured, striving to smile deprecatingly. He succeeded but\npoorly.\n\n\"You sent me to drive out into the world the girl whom my son loved,\"\nwas the retort. \"You made a grave mistake in that. I recognized her,\nafter a little while. I knew her mother. Now, am I to go into details?\"\n\n\"I--really--I--\"\n\n\"Very well. Eighteen years ago your brother, Ralph Vane Meiklejohn,\nmurdered a man named Marchbanks, who had discovered that you and your\nbrother were defrauding his wife of funds held by your bank as her\ntrustees. I have here the records of the crime. I do not say that your\nbrother, who has since been a convict and is now assisting you under the\nname of Ralph Voles, could be charged with that crime. Maybe 'murderer'\nis too strong a word for him where Marchbanks was concerned; but I do\nsay that any clever lawyer could send you and him to the penitentiary\nfor robbing a dead woman and her daughter, the girl whom you and he have\nkidnapped within the last week.\"\n\nHere was a broadside with a vengeance. Meiklejohn could not have endured\na keener agony were he facing a judge and jury. It was one thing to\nhave borne this terrible secret gnawing at his vitals during long years,\nbut it was another to find it pitilessly laid bare by a woman belonging\nto that very society for which he had dared so much in order to retain\nhis footing.\n\nHe bent his head between his hands. For a few seconds thoughts of\nanother crime danced in his surcharged brain. But Mrs. Carshaw's\nwell-bred syllables brought him back to sanity with chill\ndeliberateness.\n\n\"Shall I go on?\" she said. \"Shall I tell you of Rachel Bartlett; of the\nscandal to be raised about your ears, not only by this falsified trust,\nbut by the outrageous attack on Ronald Tower?\"\n\nHe raised his pallid face. He was a proud man, and resented her\nmerciless taunts.\n\n\"Of course,\" he muttered, \"I deny everything you have said. But, if it\nwere true, you must have some ulterior motive in approaching me. What is\nit?\"\n\n\"I am glad you see that. I am here to offer terms.\"\n\n\"Name them.\"\n\n\"You must place this girl, Winifred Marchbanks, under my care--where she\nwill remain until my son marries her--and make restitution of her\nmother's property.\"\n\n\"No doubt you have a definite sum in your mind?\"\n\n\"Most certainly. My lawyers tell me you ought to refund the interest as\nwell, but Winifred may content herself with the principal. You must hand\nher half a million dollars!\"\n\nHe sprang to his feet, livid. \"Woman,\" he yelled, \"you are crazy!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nTHE BITER BIT\n\n\nMrs. Carshaw focused him again through her gold-rimmed eye-glasses.\n\"Crazy?\" she questioned calmly. \"Not a bit of it--merely an old woman\nbargaining for her son. Rex would not have done it. After thrashing you\nhe would have left you to the law, and, were the law to step in, you\nwould surely be ruined. I, on the other hand, do not scruple to compound\na felony--that is what my lawyers call it. My extravagance and\ncarelessness have contributed to encumber Rex's estates with a heavy\nmortgage. If I provide his wife with a dowry which pays off the mortgage\nand leaves her a nice sum as pin-money, I shall have done well.\"\n\n\"Half a million! I--I repudiate your statements. Even if I did not, I\nhave no such sum at command.\"\n\n\"Yes, you have, or will have, which is the same thing. Shall I give you\ndetails of the Costa Rica cotton concession, arranged between you, and\nJacob, and Helen Tower? They're here. As for repudiation, perhaps I have\nhurried matters. Permit me to go through my story at some length,\nquoting chapter and verse.\"\n\nShe spread open her papers again, after having folded them.\n\n\"Stop this wretched farce,\" he almost screamed, for her coolness broke\nup his never too powerful nervous system. \"If--I agree--what guarantee\nis there--\"\n\n\"Ah! now you're talking reasonably. I can ensure the acceptance of my\nterms. First, where is Winifred?\"\n\nHe hesitated. Here was the very verge of the gulf. Any admission implied\nthe truth of Mrs. Carshaw's words. She did not help him. He must take\nthe plunge without any further impulsion. But the Senator's nerve was\nbroken. They both knew it.\n\n\"At Gateway House, East Orange,\" he said sullenly. \"I must tell you that\nmy--my brother is a dare-devil. Better leave me to----\"\n\n\"I am glad you have told the truth,\" she interrupted. \"She is not at\nGateway House now. Rex and a detective were there last night. There was\na fight. Your brother, a resourceful scoundrel evidently, carried her\noff. You must find him and her. A train leaves for New York in half an\nhour. Come back with me and help look for her. It will count toward your\nregeneration.\"\n\nHe glanced at his watch abstractedly. He even smiled in a sickly way as\nhe said:\n\n\"You timed your visit well.\"\n\n\"Yes. A woman has intuition, you know. It takes the place of brains. I\nshall await you in the hall. Now, don't be stupid, and think of\nrevolvers, and poisons, and things. You will end by blessing me for my\ninterference. Will you be ready in five minutes?\"\n\nShe sat in the lounge, and soon saw some baggage descending. Then\nMeiklejohn joined her. She went to the office and asked for a telegraph\nform. The Senator had followed.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" he asked suspiciously.\n\n\"I'm wiring Rex to say that you and I are traveling to New York\ntogether, and advising him to suspend operations until we arrive. That\nwill be helpful. You will not be tempted to act foolishly, and he will\nnot do anything to prejudice your future actions.\"\n\nHe gave her a wrathful glance. Mrs. Carshaw missed no point. A man\ndriven to desperation might be tempted to bring about an \"accident\" if\nhe fancied he could save himself in that way. But, clever as a mother\nscheming for her son's welfare proved herself, there was one thing she\ncould not do. Neither she nor any other human being can prevent the\nunexpected from happening occasionally. Sound judgment and astute\nplanning will often gain a repute for divination; yet the prophet is\ndecried at times. Steingall had discovered this, and Mrs. Carshaw\nexperienced it now.\n\nIt chanced that Mick the Wolf, lying in Gateway House on a bed of pain,\nhis injuries aggravated by the struggle with the detective, and his\ntemper soured by Rachel Craik's ungracious ministrations, found his\nthoughts dwelling on the gentle girl who had forgotten her own sorrows\nand tended him, her enemy.\n\nSuch moments come to every man, no matter how vile he may be, and this\nlorn wolf was a social castaway from whom, during many years, all\ndecent-minded people had averted their faces. His slow-moving mind was\napt to be dominated by a single idea. He understood enough of the Costa\nRican project to grasp the essential fact that there was money in it for\nall concerned, and money honestly earned, if honesty be measured by the\nethics of the stock manipulator.\n\nHe realized, too, that neither Voles nor Rachel Craik could be moved by\nargument, and he rightly estimated Fowle as a weak-minded nonentity. So\nhe slowly hammered out a conclusion, and, having appraised it in his\nnarrow circle of thought, determined to put it into effect.\n\nAn East Orange doctor, who had received his instructions from the\npolice, paid a second visit to Mick the Wolf shortly before the hour of\nMrs. Carshaw's arrival in Atlantic City.\n\n\"Well, how is the arm feeling now?\" he said pleasantly, when he entered\nthe patient's bedroom.\n\nThe answer was an oath.\n\n\"That will never do,\" laughed the doctor. \"Cheerfulness is the most\nimportant factor in healing. Ill-temper causes jerky movements and\ncareless--\"\n\n\"Oh, shucks,\" came the growl. \"Say, listen, boss! I've been broke up\ntwice over a slip of a girl. I've had enough of it. The whole darn thing\nis a mistake. I want to end it, an' I don't give a hoorah in Hades who\nknows. Just tell her friends that if they look for her on board the\nsteamer _Wild Duck_, loadin' at Smith's Pier in the East River, they'll\neither find her or strike her trail. That's all. Now fix these bandages,\nfor my arm's on fire.\"\n\nThe doctor wisely put no further questions. He dressed the wounded limb\nand took his departure. A policeman in plain clothes, hiding in a\nneighboring barn, saw him depart and hailed him: \"Any news, Doc?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" was the reply. \"If my information is correct you'll not be kept\nthere much longer.\"\n\nHe motored quickly to the police-station. Within the hour Carshaw, with\nfrowning face and dreams of wreaking physical vengeance on the burly\nframe of Voles, was speeding across New York with Steingall in his\nrecovered car. He simply hungered for a personal combat with the man who\nhad inflicted such sufferings on his beloved Winifred.\n\nThe story told by Polly Barnard, and supplemented by Petch, revealed\nvery clearly the dastardly trick practised by Voles the previous\nevening, while the dodge of smearing out two of the figures on the\nautomobile's license plate explained the success attained in traversing\nthe streets unnoticed by the police.\n\nSteingall was inclined to theorize.\n\n\"The finding of the car puzzled me at first, I admit,\" he said. \"Now,\nassuming that Mick the Wolf has not sent us off on a wild-goose chase,\nthe locality of the steamer explains it. Voles drove all the way to the\nEast Side, quitted the car in the neighborhood of the pier, deposited\nMiss Bartlett on board the vessel under some plausible pretext, and\nactually risked the return journey into the only part of New York where\nthe missing auto might not be noticed at once. He's a bold rogue, and no\nmistake.\"\n\nBut Carshaw answered not. The chief glanced at him sideways, and smiled.\nThere was a lowering fire in his companion's eyes that told its own\nstory. Thenceforward, the run was taken in silence. But Steingall had\ndecided on his next move. When they neared Smith's Pier Carshaw wished\nto drive straight there.\n\n\"Nothing of the sort,\" was the sharp official command. \"We have failed\nonce. Perhaps it was my fault. This time there shall be no mistakes.\nTurn along the next street to the right. The precinct station is three\nblocks down.\"\n\nSomewhat surprised by Steingall's tone, the other obeyed. At the\nstation-house a policeman, called from the men's quarters, where he was\nquietly reading and smoking, stated that he was on duty in the\nneighborhood between eight o'clock the previous evening and four o'clock\nthat morning. He remembered seeing a car, similar to the one standing\noutside, pass about 9.15 P.M. It contained two people, he believed, but\ncould not be sure, as the screens were raised owing to the rain. He did\nnot see the car again; some drunken sailors required attention during\nthe small hours.\n\nThe local police captain and several men in plain clothes were asked to\nassemble quietly on Smith's Pier. A message was sent to the river\npolice, and a launch requisitioned to patrol near the _Wild Duck_.\n\nFinally, Steingall, who was a born strategist, and whose long experience\nof cross-examining counsel rendered him wary before he took irrevocable\nsteps in cases such as this, where a charge might fail on unforeseen\ngrounds, made inquiries from a local ship's chandler as to the _Wild\nDuck_, her cargo, and her destination.\n\nThere was no secret about her. She was loading with stores for Costa\nRica. The consignees were a syndicate, and both Carshaw and Steingall\nrecognized its name as that of the venture in which Senator Meiklejohn\nwas interested.\n\n\"Do you happen to know if there is any one on board looking after the\ninterests of the syndicate?\" asked the detective.\n\n\"Yes. A big fellow has been down here once or twice. He's going out as\nthe manager, I guess. His name was--let me see now--\"\n\n\"Voles?\" suggested Steingall.\n\n\"No, that wasn't it. Oh, I've got it--Vane, it was.\"\n\nCarshaw, dreadfully impatient, failed to understand all this preliminary\nsurvey; but the detective had no warrant, and ship's captains become\ncrusty if their vessels are boarded in a peremptory manner without\njustification. Moreover, Steingall quite emphatically ordered Carshaw to\nremain on the wharf while he and others went on board.\n\n\"You want to strangle Voles, if possible,\" he said. \"From what I've\nheard of him he would meet the attempt squarely, and you two might do\neach other serious injury. I simply refuse to permit any such thing. You\nhave a much more pleasant task awaiting you when you meet the young\nlady. No one will say a word if you hug her as hard as you like.\"\n\nCarshaw, agreeing to aught but delay, promised ruefully not to\ninterfere. When the river police were at hand a nod brought several\npowerfully built officers closing in on the main gangway of the _Wild\nDuck_. The police-captain, in uniform, accompanied Steingall on board.\n\nA deck hand hailed them and asked their business.\n\n\"I want to see the captain,\" said the detective.\n\n\"There he is, boss, lookin' at you from the chart-house now.\"\n\nThey glanced up toward a red-faced, hectoring sort of person who\nregarded them with evident disfavor. Some ships, loading for Central\nAmerican ports at out-of-the-way wharves, do not want uniformed police\non their decks.\n\nThe two climbed an iron ladder. Men at work in the forehold ceased\noperations and looked up at them. Their progress was followed by many\ninterested eyes from the wharf. The captain glared angrily. He, too, had\nnoted the presence of the stalwart contingent near the gangway, nor had\nhe missed the police boat.\n\n\"What the--\" he commenced; but the detective's stern question stopped an\noutburst.\n\n\"Have you a man named Voles or Vane on board?\"\n\n\"Mr. Vane--yes.\"\n\n\"Did he bring a young woman to this ship late last night?\"\n\n\"I don't see--\"\n\n\"Let me explain, captain. I'm from the detective bureau. The man I am\ninquiring for is wanted on several charges.\"\n\nThe steady official tone caused the skipper to think. Here was no\ncringing foreigner or laborer to be brow-beaten at pleasure.\n\n\"Well, I'm--\" he growled. \"Here, you,\" roaring at a man beneath, \"go aft\nand tell Mr. Vane he's wanted on the bridge.\"\n\nThe messenger vanished.\n\n\"I assume there _is_ a young lady on board?\" went on Steingall.\n\n\"I'm told so. I haven't seen her.\"\n\n\"Surely you know every one who has a right to be on the ship?\"\n\n\"Guess that's so, mister, an' who has more right than the daughter of\nthe man who puts up the dough for the trip? Strikes me you're makin' a\nhash of things. But here's Mr. Vane. He'll soon put you where you\nbelong.\"\n\nAdvancing from the after state-rooms came Voles. He was looking at\nthe bridge, but the police-captain was hidden momentarily by the\nchart-room. He gazed at Steingall with bold curiosity. He had a foot\non the companion ladder when he heard a sudden commotion on the wharf.\nTurning, he saw Fowle, livid with terror, writhing in Carshaw's grasp.\n\nThen Voles stood still. The shades of night were drawing in, but he had\nseen enough to give him pause. Perhaps, too, other less palpable shadows\ndarkened his soul at that moment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nTHE SETTLEMENT\n\n\nThe chief disliked melodrama in official affairs. Any man, even a crook,\nought to know when he is beaten, and take his punishment with a stiff\nupper lip. But Voles's face was white, and in one of his temperament,\nthat was as ominous a sign as the bloodshot eyes of a wild boar.\nSteingall had hoped that Voles would walk quietly into the chart-room,\nand, seeing the folly of resistance, yield to the law without a\nstruggle. Perhaps, under other conditions, he might have done so. It was\nthe coming of Fowle that had complicated matters.\n\nThe strategic position was simple enough. Voles had the whole of the\nafter-deck to himself. In the river, unknown to him, was the police\nlaunch. On the wharf, plain in view, were several policemen, whose\nclothes in nowise concealed their character. On the bridge, visible now,\nwas the uniformed police-captain. Above all, there was Fowle, wriggling\nin Carshaw's grasp, and pointing frantically at him, Voles.\n\n\"Come right along, Mr. Vane,\" said Steingall encouragingly; \"we'd like a\nword with you.\"\n\nThe planets must have been hostile to the Meiklejohn family in that\nhour. Brother William was being badly handled by Mrs. Carshaw in\nAtlantic City, and Brother Ralph was receiving a polite request to come\nup-stairs and be cuffed.\n\nBut Ralph Vane Meiklejohn faced the odds creditably. People said\nafterward it was a pity he was such a fire-eater. Matters might have\nbeen arranged much more smoothly. As it was, he looked back, perhaps,\nthrough a long vista of misspent years, and the glance was not\nencouraging. Of late, his mind had dwelt with somewhat unpleasant\nfrequency on the finding of a dead body in the quarry near his Vermont\nhome.\n\nHis first great crime had found him out when he was beginning to forget\nit. He had walked that moment from the presence of a girl whose\nsorrowful, frightened face reminded him of another long-buried victim of\nthat quarry tragedy. He knew, too, that this girl had been defrauded by\nhim and his brother of a vast sum of money, and a guilty conscience made\nthe prospect blacker than it really was. And then, he was a man of\nfierce impulses, of ungovernable rage, a very tiger when his baleful\npassions were stirred. A wave of madness swept through him now. He saw\nthe bright prospect of an easily-earned fortune ruthlessly replaced by a\nmore palpable vision of prison walls and silent, whitewashed corridors.\nPerhaps the chair of death itself loomed through the red mist before his\neyes.\n\nYet he retained his senses sufficiently to note the police-captain's\nslight signal to his men to come on board, and again he heard\nSteingall's voice:\n\n\"Don't make any trouble, Voles. It'll be all the worse for you in the\nend.\"\n\nThe detective's warning was not given without good cause. He knew the\nfaces of men, and in the blazing eyes of this man he read a maniacal\nfury.\n\nVoles glanced toward the river. It was nearly night. He could swim like\nan otter. In the sure confusion he might--Then, for the first time, he\nnoticed the police launch. His right hand dropped to his hip.\n\n\"Ah, don't be a fool, Voles!\" came the cry from the bridge. \"You're only\nmaking matters worse.\"\n\nA bitter smile creased the lips of the man who felt the world slipping\naway beneath him. His hand was thrust forward, not toward the occupants\nof the bridge, but toward the wharf. Fowle saw him and yelled. A report\nand the yell merged into a scream of agony. Voles was sure that Fowle\nhad betrayed him, and took vengeance. There was a deadly certainty in\nhis aim.\n\nSteingall, utterly fearless when action was called for, swung himself\ndown by the railings. He was too late. A second report, and Voles\ncrumpled up.\n\nHis bold spirit had not yielded nor his hand failed him in the last\nmoment of his need. A bullet was lodged in his brain. He was dead ere\nthe huge body thudded on the deck.\n\nWhen Carshaw found Winifred in a cabin--to open the door they had to\nobtain the key from Voles's pocket--the girl was sobbing pitifully. She\nheard the revolver shots, and knew not what they betokened. She was so\nutterly shaken by these last dreadful hours that she could only cling to\nher lover and cry in a frightened way that went to his heart:\n\n\"Oh, take me away, Rex! It was all my fault. Why did I not trust you?\nPlease, take me away!\"\n\nHe fondled her hair and endeavored to kiss the tears from her eyes.\n\n\"Don't cry, little one!\" he whispered. \"All your troubles have ended\nnow.\"\n\nIt was a simple formula, but effective. When repeated often enough,\nwith sufficiently convincing caresses, she became calmer. When he\nbrought her on deck all signs of the terrible scene enacted there had\nbeen removed. She asked what had caused the firing, and he told her that\nVoles was arrested. It was sufficient. So sensitive was she that the\nmere sound of the dead bully's name made her tremble.\n\n\"I remember now,\" she whispered. \"I was sure he had killed you. I knew\nyou would follow me, Rex. When I saw you I forgot all else in the joy of\nit. Are you sure you are not injured?\"\n\nAt another time he would have laughed, but her worn condition demanded\nthe utmost forbearance.\n\n\"No, dearest,\" he assured her. \"He did not even try to hurt me. Now let\nme take you to my mother.\"\n\nThe captain, thoroughly scared by the events he had witnessed, came\nforward with profuse apologies and offers of the ship's hospitality.\nCarshaw felt that the man was not to blame, but the _Wild Duck_ held no\nattractions for him. He hurried Winifred ashore.\n\nSteingall came with them. The district police would make the official\ninquiries as a preliminary to the inquest which would be held next day.\nCarshaw must attend, but Winifred would probably be excused by the\nauthorities. He conveyed this information in scraps of innuendo.\nWinifred did not know of Voles's death or the shooting of Fowle till\nmany days had passed.\n\nFowle did not die. He recovered, after an operation and some months in a\nhospital. Then Carshaw befriended him, obtained a situation for him, and\ngave him money to start life in an honest way once more.\n\nThere was another scene when Mrs. Carshaw brought Meiklejohn to her\napartment and found Rex and Winifred awaiting them. Winifred, of course,\nhad never seen the Senator, and there was nothing terrifying to her in\nthe sight of a haggard, weary-looking, elderly gentleman. She was far\nmore fluttered by meeting Rex's mother, who figured in her mind as a\ndomineering, cruel, old lady, elegantly merciless, and gifted with a\ncertain skill in torture by words.\n\nMrs. Carshaw began to dispel that impression promptly.\n\n\"My poor child!\" she cried, with a break in her voice, \"what you have\nundergone! Can you ever forgive me?\"\n\nCarshaw, ignoring Meiklejohn, whispered to his mother that Winifred\nshould be sent to bed. She was utterly worn out. One of the maids should\nsleep in her room in case she awoke in fright during the night.\n\nWhen left alone with Meiklejohn he intended to scarify the man's soul.\nBut he was disarmed at the outset. The Senator's spirit was broken. He\nadmitted everything; said nought in palliation. He could have taken no\nbetter line. When Mrs. Carshaw hastened back, fearing lest her plans\nmight be upset, she found her son giving Winifred's chief persecutor a\nstiff dose of brandy.\n\nThe tragedy of Smith's Pier was allowed to sink into the obscurity of an\nordinary occurrence. Fowle's unhappily-timed appearance was explained by\nRachel Craik when her frenzy at the news of Voles's death had subsided.\n\nA chuckling remark by Mick the Wolf that \"There'd been a darned sight\ntoo much fuss about that slip of a girl, an' he had fixed it,\" alarmed\nher.\n\nShe sent Fowle at top speed to Smith's Pier to warn Voles. He arrived in\ntime to be shot for his pains.\n\nCarshaw and Winifred were married quietly. Their honeymoon consisted\nof the trip to Massachusetts when he began work in the cotton mill.\nMeiklejohn fulfilled his promise. When the Costa Rica cotton concession\nreached its zenith he sold out, resigned his seat in the Senate and\ntransferred to Winifred railway cash and gilt-edged bonds to the total\nvalue of a half a million dollars. So the young bride enriched her\nhusband, but Carshaw refused to desert his business. He will die a\nmillionaire, but he hopes to live like one for a long time.\n\nPetch and Jim fought over Polly. There was talk about it in East Orange,\nand Polly threw both over; the latest gossip is that she is going to\nmarry a police-inspector.\n\nMrs. Carshaw, Sr., still visits her \"dear friend,\" Helen Tower. Both of\nthem speak highly of Meiklejohn, who lives in strict seclusion. He is\nvery wealthy; since he ceased to strive for gold it has poured in on\nhim.\n\nWinifred secured an allowance for Rachel Craik sufficient to live on,\nand Mick the Wolf, whose arm was never really sound again, was given a\njob on the Long Island estate as a watcher.\n\nQuite recently, when the young couple came in to New York for a\nweek-end's shopping--rendered necessary by the establishment of day and\nnight nurseries--they entertained Steingall and Clancy at dinner in the\nBiltmore. Naturally, at one stage of a pleasant meal, the talk turned on\nthose eventful months, October and November, 1913. As usual, Clancy\nwaxed sarcastic at his chief's expense.\n\n\"He's as vain as a star actor in the movies,\" he cackled. \"Hogs all the\ncamera stuff. Wouldn't give me even a flash when the big scene was put\non.\"\n\nSteingall pointed a fat cigar at him.\n\n\"Do you know what happened to a frog when he tried to emulate a bull?\"\nhe said.\n\n\"I know what happened to a bull one night in East Orange,\" came the\nready retort.\n\n\"The solitary slip in an otherwise unblemished career,\" sighed the\nchief. \"Make the most of it, little man. If I allowed myself to dwell on\nyour many blunders I'd lie down and die.\"\n\nWinifred never really understood these two. She thought their bickering\nwas genuine.\n\n\"Why,\" she cried, \"you are wonderful, both of you! From the very\nbeginning you peered into the souls of those evil men. You, Mr. Clancy,\nseemed to sense a great mystery the moment you heard Rachel Craik speak\nto the Senator outside the club that night. As for you, Mr. Steingall,\ndo you know what the lawyers told Rex and me soon after our marriage?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am,\" said Steingall.\n\n\"They said that if you hadn't sent Rex's mother to Atlantic City we\nmight never have recovered a cent of the stolen money. Sheer bluff, they\ncalled it. We would have had the greatest difficulty in establishing a\nlegal case.\"\n\nSteingall weighed the point for a moment.\n\n\"Sometimes I'm inclined to think that the police know more about human\nnature than any other set of men,\" he said, at last, evidently choosing\nhis words with care. \"Perhaps I might except doctors. They, too, see us\nas we are. But the dry legal mind does not allow sufficiently for what\nis called in every-day speech a guilty conscience. In this case these\npeople knew they had done you and your father and mother a great wrong,\nand that knowledge was never absent from their thoughts. It colored\nevery word they uttered, governed every action. That's a heavy handicap,\nma'am. It's the deciding factor in the never-ending struggle between the\npolice and the criminal classes. The most callous crook walking Broadway\nin freedom to-night--a man who would scoff at the notion that he is\nbothered by any conscience at all--never passes a policeman without an\ninstinctive sense of danger. And that is what beats him in the long run.\nCrime may be a form of lunacy--indeed, I look on it in that light\nmyself--but, luckily for mankind, crime cannot stifle conscience.\"\n\nThe chief's tone had become serious; he appeared to awake to its gravity\nwhen he found the young wife's eyes fixed on his with a certain awe. He\nbroke off the lecture suddenly.\n\n\"Why,\" he cried, smiling broadly, and jerking the cigar toward Clancy,\n\"why, ma'am, if we cops hadn't some sort of a pull, what chance would a\nshrimp like him have against any one of real intelligence?\"\n\n\"That's what he regards as handing me a lemon for my Orange,\" grinned\nClancy.\n\nWinifred laughed. The curtain can drop on the last act of her adventures\nto the mirthful music of her happiness.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:\n\nMinor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,\nevery effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and\nintent.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31949", "title": "The Bartlett Mystery", "author": "", "publication_year": 1919, "metadata_title": "The Bartlett Mystery", "metadata_author": "Louis Tracy", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:16.974990", "source_chars": 354670, "chars": 354670, "talkie_tokens": 85595}}
{"text": "Produced by Tor Martin Kristiansen and the Online\nby The Internet Archive) In memory of Thomas A. Noster,\nAmerican Merchant Marine, from June 29, 1942-August 15,\n1945.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMerchantmen-at-Arms\n\n[Illustration: _Frontispiece_ MERCHANTMEN AT GUN PRACTICE]\n\n\n\n\nMerchantmen-at-Arms\n\nTHE BRITISH MERCHANTS' SERVICE IN THE WAR\n\nBY DAVID W. BONE\n\nDRAWINGS BY MUIRHEAD BONE\n\n\n          LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS\n          1919\n\n\n          _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\n          TO\n\n          ALGERNON C. F. HENDERSON\n\n          AS REPRESENTING A SYMPATHETIC AND UNDERSTANDING\n          GOVERNANCE IN AN IMPORTANT SECTION\n          OF THE BRITISH MERCHANTS'\n          SEA SERVICE\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  PART I\n\n                                            PAGE\n      I THE MERCHANTS' SERVICE\n          OUR FOUNDATION                       3\n          THE STRUCTURE                       14\n\n     II OUR RELATIONS WITH THE NAVY\n          JOINING FORCES                      21\n          AT SEA                              26\n          OUR WAR STAFF                       30\n\n    III THE LONGSHORE VIEW                    44\n\n     IV CONNECTION WITH THE STATE\n          TRINITY HOUSE, OUR ALMA MATER       53\n          THE BOARD OF TRADE                  61\n\n      V MANNING                               67\n\n\n  PART II\n\n     VI THE COASTAL SERVICES\n          THE HOME TRADE                      77\n          PILOTS                              87\n          LIGHTSHIPS                          91\n\n    VII 'THE PRICE O' FISH'                   97\n\n   VIII THE RATE OF EXCHANGE                 103\n\n     IX INDEPENDENT SAILINGS                 110\n\n      X BATTLEDORE AND SHUTTLECOCK           116\n\n     XI ON SIGNALS AND WIRELESS              120\n\n    XII TRANSPORT SERVICES                   125\n          INTERLUDE                          132\n          'THE MAN-O'-WAR'S 'ER 'USBAND'     134\n\n   XIII THE SALVAGE SECTION\n          THE TIDEMASTERS                    141\n          A DAY ON THE SHOALS                147\n          THE DRY DOCK                       156\n\n    XIV ON CAMOUFLAGE--AND SHIPS' NAMES      163\n\n     XV FLAGS AND BROTHERHOOD OF THE SEA     169\n\n\n  PART III\n\n    XVI THE CONVOY SYSTEM                    177\n\n   XVII OUTWARD BOUND                        184\n\n  XVIII RENDEZVOUS                           190\n\n    XIX CONFERENCE                           198\n\n     XX THE SAILING\n          FOG, AND THE TURN OF THE TIDE      205\n          'IN EXECUTION OF PREVIOUS ORDERS'  212\n\n    XXI THE NORTH RIVER                      217\n\n   XXII HOMEWARDS\n          THE ARGONAUTS                      224\n          ON OCEAN PASSAGE                   230\n          'ONE LIGHT ON ALL FACES'           236\n\n  XXIII 'DELIVERING THE GOODS'               244\n\n   XXIV CONCLUSION: 'M N'                    252\n\n\n  APPENDIX                                   255\n\n  INDEX                                      257\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n                                                    PAGE\n\n  MERCHANTMEN AT GUN PRACTICE              _Frontispiece_\n\n  THE CLYDE FROM THE TOWER OF THE CLYDE TRUST\n        BUILDINGS                                      xi\n\n  GRAVESEND: A MERCHANTMAN OUTWARD BOUND                3\n\n  THE BRIDGE OF A MERCHANTMAN                           7\n\n  THE OLD AND THE NEW: THE _MARGARET_ OF DUBLIN\n        AND R.M.S. _TUSCANIA_                          15\n\n  IN A MERCHANTMAN--BOMB-THROWER PRACTICE              21\n\n  A BRITISH SUBMARINE DETAILED FOR INSTRUCTION OF\n        MERCHANT OFFICERS                              31\n\n  THE D.A.M.S. GUNWHARF AT GLASGOW                     33\n\n  INSTRUCTIONAL ANTI-SUBMARINE COURSE FOR MERCHANT\n        OFFICERS AT GLASGOW                            39\n\n  THE LOSS OF A LINER                                  44\n\n  THE MERSEY FROM THE LIVER BUILDINGS, LIVERPOOL       49\n\n  THE MASTER OF THE GULL LIGHTSHIP WRITING THE LOG     53\n\n  AT GRAVESEND: PILOTS AWAITING AN INWARD-BOUND\n        CONVOY                                         59\n\n  TRANSPORTS LEAVING SOUTHAMPTON ON THE NIGHT\n        PASSAGE TO FRANCE                              67\n\n  LIVERPOOL: MERCHANTMEN SIGNING ON FOR OVERSEA\n        VOYAGES                                        69\n\n  THE RULER OF PILOTS AT DEAL                          77\n\n  A HEAVILY ARMED COASTING BARGE                       83\n\n  THE LAMPMAN OF THE GULL LIGHTSHIP                    93\n\n  MINESWEEPERS GOING OUT                               97\n\n  SOUTHAMPTON WATER                                   103\n\n  'OUT-BOATS' IN A MERCHANTMAN                        105\n\n  FIREMEN STANDING BY TO RELIEVE THE WATCH            111\n\n  QUEEN'S DOCK, GLASGOW                               116\n\n  THE BRIDGE-BOY REPAIRING FLAGS                      121\n\n  A TRANSPORT EMBARKING TROOPS FOR FRANCE             125\n\n  TRANSPORTS IN SOUTHAMPTON DOCKS                     129\n\n  THE _LEVIATHAN_ DOCKING AT LIVERPOOL                135\n\n  SALVAGE VESSELS OFF YARMOUTH, ISLE OF WIGHT         141\n\n  IN A SALVAGE VESSEL: OVERHAULING THE INSULATION\n        OF THE POWER LEADS                            145\n\n  A TORPEDOED MERCHANTMAN ON THE SHOALS: SALVAGE\n        OFFICERS MAKING A SURVEY                      151\n\n  A TORPEDOED SHIP IN DRY DOCK                        157\n\n  DAZZLE                                              163\n\n  AN APPRENTICE IN THE MERCHANTS' SERVICE             171\n\n  A STANDARD SHIP AT SEA                              177\n\n  BUILDING A STANDARD SHIP                            179\n\n  THE THAMES ESTUARY IN WAR-TIME                      184\n\n  DROPPING THE PILOT                                  187\n\n  EXAMINATION SERVICE PATROL BOARDING AN INCOMING\n        STEAMER                                       190\n\n  DAWN: CONVOY PREPARING TO PUT TO SEA                193\n\n  EVENING: PLYMOUTH HOE                               198\n\n  A CONVOY CONFERENCE                                 201\n\n  THE OLD HARBOUR, PLYMOUTH                           205\n\n  CONVOY SAILING FROM PLYMOUTH SOUND                  207\n\n  INWARD BOUND                                        217\n\n  A TRANSPORT LOADING                                 219\n\n  A CONVOY IN THE ATLANTIC                            224\n\n  THE BOWS OF THE _KASHMIR_ DAMAGED BY COLLISION      227\n\n  THE MAYFLOWER QUAY, THE BARBICAN, PLYMOUTH          233\n\n  EVENING: THE MERSEY FROM THE LANDING-STAGE          241\n\n  THE STEERSMAN                                       243\n\n  THE WORK OF A TORPEDO                               244\n\n  TRANSPORTS DISCHARGING IN LIVERPOOL DOCKS           245\n\n  TROOP TRANSPORTS DISEMBARKING AT THE\n        LANDING-STAGE, LIVERPOOL                      249\n\n  'M N'                                               252\n\n[Illustration: THE CLYDE FROM THE TOWER OF THE CLYDE TRUST BUILDINGS]\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nWRITTEN largely between the shipping crisis of 1917 and the surrender of\nGerman undersea arms at Harwich on November 20, 1918, this book is an\neffort to record a seaman's impressions of the trial through which the\nMerchants' Service has come in the war.\n\nIt is necessarily halting and incomplete. The extent of the subject is\nperhaps beyond the safe traverse of a mariner's dead reckoning. Policies\nof governmental control and of the economics of our management do not\ncome within the scope of the book except as text to the diary of\nseafaring. Out at sea it is not easy to keep the right proportions in\nforming an opinion of measures devised on a grand scale, and of the\noperation of which we see only a small part. Our slender thread of\ncommunication with longshore happenings is often broken, and\nunderstanding is warped by conjecture.\n\nIn pride of his ancient trade, the seaman may perceive an importance and\nvital instrumentality in the ships and their voyages that may not be so\nevident to the landsman. By this is the mariner constantly impressed:\nthat, without the merchant's enterprise on the sea--the adventure of his\nfinance, his ships, his gear, his men--the armed and enlisted resources\nof the State could not have prevailed in averting disaster and defeat.\n\nThe unique experiences of individual seamen--the trials of seafaring\nunder less favourable circumstances than was the writer's good\nfortune--the plaints and grievances of our internal affairs--are but\nlightly sketched. Many brother seamen may feel that the harassing and\noften despairing case of the average tramp steamer has not adequately\nbeen dealt with; that--in \"Outward Bound,\" as an instance--the writer\npresents a tranquil and idyllic picture which cannot be accepted as\ntypical. The bitter hardship of proceeding on a voyage under war\nconditions, with the same small crew that was found inadequate in\npeace-time, is hardly suggested; the extent of the work to be overtaken\nis perhaps camouflaged in that description of setting out. Reality would\nmore frequently show a vessel being hurried out of dock on the top of\nthe tide, putting to sea into heavy weather, with the hatchways open\nover hasty stowage, and all the litter of a week's harbour disroutine\nstanding to be cleared by a raw and semi-mutinous crew.\n\nCriticism on these grounds is just: but it was ever the seaman's custom\nto dismiss heavy weather--when it was past and gone--and recall only the\nfine days of smooth sailing. If the hard times of our strain and\nlabouring are not wholly over, at least we have fallen in with a more\nfavouring wind from the land. Conditions in the Merchants' Service are\nvastly improved since Germany challenged our right to pass freely on our\nlawful occasions. Relations between the owner and the seamen are less\nstrained. Remuneration for sea-service is now more adequate. The sullen\natmosphere of harsh treatment on the one hand, and grudging service on\nthe other, has been cleared away by the hurricane threat to our common\ninterests.\n\nThroughout the book there are some few extracts--all indicated by\nquotation marks--from the works of modern authors. The writer wishes to\nacknowledge their use and to mention the following: \"Trinity House,\" by\nWalter H. Mayo; \"The Sea,\" by F. Whymper; \"The Merchant Seamen in War,\"\nby L. Cope Cornford; \"Fleets behind the Fleet,\" by W. Macneile Dixon;\n\"North Sea Fishers and Fighters\" and \"Fishermen in Wartime,\" both by\nWalter Wood; the pages of the _Nautical Magazine_.\n\nThe grateful thanks of writer and artist are tendered to Rear-Admiral\nSir Douglas Brownrigg, Chief Naval Censor, and to Lord Beaverbrook and\nMr. Arnold Bennett, of the Ministry of Information, for facilities and\nkindly assistance in preparation of the work. The writer's indebtedness\nto his Owners for encouragement and for generous leave of absence\n(without which the book could not have been written) is especially\nacknowledged.\n\nMr. Muirhead Bone's drawings reproduced in this book were executed\nduring the war for the Ministry of Information with the co-operation of\nthe Admiralty. They are now in the possession of the Imperial War\nMuseum. With the exception of the illustrations on pages 44, 224, and\n252, these drawings were made on the spot.\n\n                                                      DAVID W. BONE\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\n[Illustration: GRAVESEND: A MERCHANTMAN OUTWARD BOUND]\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MERCHANTS' SERVICE\n\n\nOUR FOUNDATION\n\nALTHOUGH sea-interest of to-day finds an expression somewhat trite and\nfamiliar, the spell of the ships and the romance of voyaging drew an\ninstant and wondering recognition from the older chroniclers. With a\nsure sense of right emphasis, yet observing an austere simplicity, they\npreserved for us an eloquent and adequate impression of the vital power\nof the ships. One outstanding fact remains constantly impressed in their\nrecords--that our island gates are set fast on the limits of tide-mark,\nleaving no way out but by passage of the misty sea-line; there is no\ngangway to a foreign field other than the planking of our vessels.\n\nGrandeur of the fleets, the might of sea-ordnance, the intense dramatic\ndecision of a landing, stand out in the great pieces the early writers\nand painters designed. Brave kingly figures wind in and out against the\npredominant background of rude hulls and rigging and weathered sails.\nThe outline of the ships and the ungainly figures of the mariners are\ndefinitely placed to impel our thoughts to the distant sea-marches.\n\nHappily for us, the passengers of early days included clerks and learned\nmen on their pilgrimages, else we had known but little of bygone ship\nlife. With interest narrowed by bounds of the bulwarks, they noted and\nrecorded a worthy description. In the mystery of unknown seas, as in\ndetail of the sea-tackle and the forms and usages of the ship, they\npenned a perfect register: down to the tunnage of the butts, we know the\nships--to the 'goun of faldying' and the extent of their lodemanage, we\nrecognize the men.\n\nAt later date we come on the seaman and his ships recorded and portrayed\nwith a loving enthusiasm. Richard Hakluyt--\"with great charges and\ninfinite cares, after many watchings, toiles and travels, and wearying\nout\" of his weak body--sets out for us a wonderful chronicle of the\nshipping to his day. He grew familiarly acquainted with the chiefest\n'Captaines,' the greatest merchants, and the best mariners of our\nnation, and acquired at first hand somewhat more than common knowledge\nof the sea. He saw not only the waving banners of sea-warriors and the\nmagnificence of their martial encounters, but lauded victory in far\nvoyages, the opening to commerce of distant lands, the hardihood of the\nMerchant Venturers. He realized the value of the seaman to the nation,\nnot alone to fight battles on the sea, but as skilful navigators to\nfurther trade and intercourse. He was not ignorant \"that shippes are to\nlitle purpose without skillfull Sea-men; and since Sea-men are not bred\nup to perfection of skill in much lesse time than in the time of two\nprentiships; and since no kinde of men of any profession in the\ncommonwealth passe their yeres in so great and continuall hazard of\nlife; and since of so many, so few grow to gray heires; how needful it\nis that . . . these ought to have a better education, than hitherto they\nhave had.\"\n\nHis matchless patience and care and exactitude were only equalled by his\npride in the doings of the seamen and the merchants. With a joyful\nhumility he exults in the hoisting of our banners in the Caspian\nSea--not as robber marauders, but as peaceful traders under licence and\nambassade--at the station of an English Ligier in the stately porch of\nthe Grand Signior at Constantinople, at consulates at Tripolis and\nAleppo, in Babylon and Balsara--\"and which is more, at English Shippes\ncoming to anker in the mighty river of Plate.\" In script and tabulation\nhe glories in the tale of the ships, and sets out the names and stations\nof humble merchant supercargoes with the same meticulous care as the\nrank and titles of the Captain-General of the Armada.\n\nAlas! There was none to set a similarly gifted hand to the further\ncourse of his lone furrow. Purchas tried, but there was no great love of\nhis subject-matter to spread a glamour on the pages. Perhaps the\nmagnitude of the task, ever growing and gathering, and the minute and\nunwearying succession of Hakluyt's \"Navigations and Traffiques,\"\ndiscouraged and deterred less ardent followers. Of voyages and\nexpeditions and discoveries there are volumes enough, but few such\nintimate records as \"the Oathe ministered to the servants of the\nMuscovie company,\" or the instructions given by the Merchant Adventurers\nunto Richard Gibbs, William Biggatt, and John Backhouse, masters of\ntheir ships, have been written since Hakluyt turned his last page.\n\nAs outposts to our field, roving bands on a frontier that rises and\nfalls with the tide, the seamen were ever the first to apprehend the\nmutterings of war. With but little needed to set spark to the torch,\nthey came in to foreign seaport or littoral with a fine confidence in\ntheir ships and arms. Truculent perhaps, and overbearing in their pride\nof long voyaging over a mysterious and threatening sea, they were hardly\nthe ambassadors to aid settlement of a dispute by frank goodwill and\nprudence. Sailing outwith the confines of ordered government, their\nlawless outlook and freebooting found a ready rejoinder in restraint of\ntrade and arbitrary imprisonment. Long wars had their seed in tavern\nbrawls, enforcement \"to stoope gallant [lower topsail] and vaile their\nbonets\" for a puissant king or queen, brought a reckoning of strife and\nbloodshed.\n\nAlthough military sea-captains, the glory of their victories, the\nworthiness of their ships and appurtenances, figure largely on the pages\nof subsequent sea-history, not a great deal has been written of the\nsailor captains and their mates and crews. Later chroniclers were\nconcerned that their subjects should be grand and combatant: there was\nlittle room in their text for trading ventures, or for such humble\nrecitals as the tale and values of hogshead or caisse or bale. A line of\ndemarcation was slowly but inevitably ruling a division of our\nsea-forces. The service of the ships, devoted indifferently to\nsea-warfare or oversea trading--as the nation might be at war or\npeace--was in process of adjustment to meet the demands of a new\nsea-attack. The vessels were no longer merely floating platforms from\nwhich a military leader could direct a plan of rude assault and engage\nthe arms of his soldiery, leaving to the masters and seamen the duty of\nhandling the way of the ship. A new aristocracy had arisen from the\ndecks who saw, in the pull of their sails, a weapon more powerful than\nshock ordnance, and resented the dictation of landsmen on their own\nsea-province. Sea-warfare had become a contest, more of seamanship and\nmanoeuvre, less of stunning impact and a weight of military arms.\n\nIn division of the ships and their service, it may quite properly be\nclaimed that the Merchants' Service remained the parent trunk from\nwhich the new Navy--a gallant growing limb--drew sap and sustenance,\nperhaps, in turn, improving the growth of the grand old tree. Certainly\ntheir service was an offshoot, for, since Henry VIII ordered laying of\nthe first especial war keel, the sea-battles to the present day have\nbeen largely joined by the ships and men and furniture of the merchants,\ncarrying on in the historic traditional manner of a fight when there was\nfighting to be done, a return to trade and enterprise when the great\nsea-roads were cleared to commerce. Stout old Sir John Hawkins,\nFrobisher, Drake, Davis, Amadas, and Barlow were merchant masters,\nshrewd at a venture, in intervals of, and combination with, their deeds\nof arms. Only a small proportion of State ships were in issue with the\nmerchants' men to scourge the great Armada from our shores. Perhaps the\nexistence of such a vast reserve in ships and men delayed the progress\nof purely naval construction. Only with the coming of steam was the line\ndrawn sharply and definitely--the branch outgrowing the interlock of the\nparent stem.\n\nWith partial severance and division of the ships, the seamen--who had\nbeen for so long of one breed, laying down sail-needle and caulking-iron\nto serve ordnance and hand-cutlass or boarding-pike--had reached a\nparting of the ways, and become naval or mercantile as their habits lay.\nThe State war vessels, built and manned and maintained for strictly\nmilitary uses, increased in strength and numbers. Their officers and\ncrews developed a new seamanship and discipline that had little\ncounterpart on the commercial vessels. For a time the two services\nsailed, if not in company, within sight and hail of one another. On\noccasion they joined to effect glorious issues, but, with the last\nbroadside of war, courses were set that quickly swerved the fleets\napart.\n\nLonger terms of peace gave opportunity for development on lines that\nwere as poles apart. The Naval Service perfected and exercised their\nengines of war, and drilled and seasoned their men to automaton-like\nsubservience to their plans. A broadening to democratic freedom,\nquickened by familiar intercourse with other nationals, had effect with\nthe merchantmen in rousing a reluctance to a resort to arms; they\ndesired but a free continuance of trading relations. Although differing\nin their operations and ideals, both services were striving to enhance\nthe sea-power of the nation. Thomas Cavendish, Middleton, Monson,\nHudson, and Baffin--merchant masters--explored the unknown and extended\na field for mercantile ventures, but that field could have been but\nindifferently maintained if naval power had not been advanced to protect\nthe merchantmen in their voyaging.\n\n[Illustration: THE BRIDGE OF A MERCHANTMAN]\n\nAs their separation developed, relations grew the more distant between\nthe seamen. While certainly protecting the traders from any foreign\ninterference, the new Navy did little to effect a community of\ninterest with their sea-fellows. Prejudices and distrust grew up. State\njealousies and trade monopolies formed a confusion of interests and made\nfor strained relations between the merchants and the naval chancelleries\non shore. At sea, the arbitrary exercise of authority by the King's\nofficers was opposed by revolutionary instincts for a free sea on the\npart of the merchants' seamen. Forcible impressment to naval service was\nthe worst that could befall the traders' men. For want of energy or\nability to carry through the drudgery of early sea-training, the naval\nofficers took toll of the practised commercial seamen as they came in\nfrom sea. Bitter hardship set wedge to the cleavage. After long and\nperilous voyaging, absent from a home port for perhaps two or three\nyears, the homeward-bound sailor had little chance of being allowed a\nterm of liberty on shore--a brief landward turn to dissolve the salt\ncasing of his bones. Within sound of his own church bells, in sight of\nthe windmills and the fields and the home dwelling he had longed for, he\nwas haled to hard and rigorous sea-service on vessels of war. The\nrecords of the East India Company have frequent references to this cruel\nexercise of naval tyranny.\n\n          \"On Thursday morning the Directors received the\n          agreeable news of the safe arrival of the\n          _Devonshire_, Captain Prince, from Bengal. . . .\n          Her men have all been impressed by the Men-of-War\n          in the Downs, and other hands were put on board\n          to bring her up to her moorings in the River.\"\n\n          \". . . On Sunday morning the Purser of the\n          _William_, Captain Petre, arrived in town, who\n          brought advice of the said ship in the Downs,\n          richly laden, on Account of the Turkey Company:\n          the Ships of War in the Downs impressed all her\n          men, and put others on board to bring her up.\"\n\n          \"Notwithstanding the Report spread about, fourteen\n          days ago, that no more sailors would be impressed\n          out of the homeward-bound ships, several ships\n          that arrived last week had all their men taken\n          from them in the Downs.\"\n\nServing by turns, as his agility to dodge the gangs was rated, on King's\nship for a turn, then hauling bowline on a free vessel; forced and\nhunted and impressed, the shipmen had perhaps sorry records to offer the\nhistorian, then busy with the enthralling chronicles of fleet\nengagements and veiling with glamour the toll of battles. Perhaps it\nwas, after all, the better course to preserve a silence on the traders'\ndoings and leave to romantic conjecture a continuance of Hakluyt's\npatient story.\n\nSince the date of naval offgrowth, the chronicles have not often turned\non our commercial path. Lone voyages and encounters with the sea and\nstorm are minor enterprises to the sack of cities and the clash of arms\nat sea. Unlike the Naval Service, we merchants' men hold few recorded\ntitles to our keystone in the national fabric. The deeds and documents\nmay exist, but they are lost to us and forgotten in the files of musty\nledgers. The fruits of our efforts stand in the balances of commercial\nstructure, and are perhaps more enduring than a roll of record. But, if\nwe are insistent in our search, we may borrow from the naval charters,\nand read that not all the glory of our sea-history lies with the thunder\nof broadsides and the impact of a close boarding. Engagement with the\nelements--a contest with powers more cruel and implacable than keen\nsteel--efforts to further able navigation, the standard of our\nseamanship--drew notable recruits to the humbler sea-life. The small\ncrews and less lavish gear on the freighters brought the essentials of\nthe sea-trade to each individual of the ship's company. Idlers and\nlandsmen learned quickly and bitterly that their only claim to existence\non a merchant's ship lay in a rapid acquisition of a skill in\nseamanship. The lessons and the threats and enforcements did not come\nwholly from their superiors, to whose tyranny they might expose a sullen\nobstinance, and gain, perhaps, a measure of sympathy from their rude\nsea-fellows. Then--as later, in the keen sailing days of our clipper\nships--their hardest taskmasters were foremast hands, watchmates, the\nmen they lived with and ate with and worked with--bitter critics,\nunpersuadable, who saw only menace and a threat to their own safety in\nthe shipping of a man who could not do man's work. On the decks and\nabout the spars of a merchant vessel, each man of the few seamen carried\ntwo lives--his own and a shipmate's--in his ability to 'hand, reef, and\nsteer.' There was no place on board for a 'waister,' a 'swabber,'\nlongshoreman, or sea labourer. Every man had quickly to prove his\nability: the unrelenting sea gave time for few essays.\n\nFertility of resource, dexterity to serve at all duties, skill at\nhandling ship and canvas, were the results of sea-ship training. In the\nmerchantmen great opportunities offered for advancement in all branches\nof the seaman's art. Long voyaging was better exercise for a progression\nin navigation than the daily pilotage of the war vessels. Blake, in his\nearly days as a merchant supercargo, learnt his seafaring on rough\ntrading voyages, and his training could not have been other than sound\nto persist, through twenty years shore-dwelling as a merchant at\nBridgwater, until he was called from his counting-house to command our\nnaval forces. Dampier was a tarry foremast hand in his day: whatever we\nmay judge of his conduct, we can have nothing but admiration for his\nseamanship. Ill-equipped and short-handed, racked by sea-sores and\nscurvy, his expeditions were unparalleled as a triumph of merchant\nsea-skill. James Cook learned his trade on the grimy hull of an\neast-coast collier--to this day we are working on charts of his masterly\nsurveys.\n\nIn later years the merit of the trading vessels as sterling sea-schools\nwas equally plain. During intervals of combatant service, or as prelude\nto a naval career, training on the merchants' ships was eagerly sought\nby ardent naval seamen who saw the value of its resource in practical\nseamanship, in navigation, and weather knowledge. Great captains did not\ndisdain the measure of the instruction. They sent their heirs to sea in\ntrading vessels to draw an essence in practice from their sea-cunning.\nHardy, Foley, and Berry had borne a hand at the sheets and braces, and\nhad steered a lading of goods abroad, before they came to high command\nof the King's ships. Who knows what actions in the victories of\nCopenhagen, the Nile, and Trafalgar (hinged on the cast of the winds)\nwere governed by Nelson's early sea-lessons, under Master John Rathbone,\non the decks of a West India merchantman?\n\nFor long after, relations and interchange between the two Services were\nnot so intimate. Until coming of the Great War, with a mutual\nappreciation, we had little in common. Our friend and peacemaker--the\ninfluence of seafaring under square sail--languished a while, then died.\nIn steam-power, with its growth of development and intricacy of\napplication, we found no worthy successor to present as good an office.\nIn the long span of a hundred years of sea-peace we grew apart. The gulf\nbetween the two great Services widened to a breach that only the rigours\nof a world-conflict could reconcile.\n\nAs though exhausted by the indefinite sea-campaign of 1812, the Royal\nNavy lay on their oars and saw their commercial sea-fellows forge ahead\non a course that revolutionized sea-transport and sea-warfare alike. The\nLords of the Admiralty would listen to no deprecation of their gallant\nold wooden walls: steam propulsion was laughed at. To the Merchants'\nService they left the risk and the responsibility of venturing afar in\nthe rude new ships. In this wise, to us fell the honour of leading the\nState service to a new order of seafaring. Iron hulls and steam\npropulsion came first under our hands. It was not long before our new\ncommand of the sea was noted. Somewhat grudgingly, the conservative\nsea-mandarins were brought to a knowledge that their torpor was fatal.\nThe Navy stirred and lost little time in traversing the leeway. They\nprogressed on a path of experiment and probation suited to their needs,\nstriving to construct mightier vessels and to forge new and greater\narms. Exploring every avenue in their quest for aid and material, every\nbyway for furtherance of their aims, they drew strange road-fellows\nwithin their ranks, new workmen to the sea. The engines of their\nadoption called for crafty hands to serve and adjust them. Steam we knew\nin our time and could understand, but auxiliary mechanics outgrew the\nlimits of our comprehension; naval practice became a science outwith the\nbounds of our sea-lore, a new trade, whose only likeness to ours lay in\nits service on the same wide sea.\n\nParted from the need to draw arms, secure in the knowledge of adequate\nnaval protection, the Merchants' Service developed their ships and\ntackle in the ways of a free world trade. By shrewd engagement and\nindustry in the counting-house, diligence and forethought in the\nbuilding-yards, keen sailing and efficiency on the sea, the structure of\nour maritime supremacy was built up and maintained. Monopolies and\nhindering trade reservations and restrictions barred the way, but\nyielded to the spirit of our progress. Vested interests in seas and\ncontinents had to be fought and conquered, and there was room and scope\nfor lingering combative instincts in the keen competition that arose for\nthe world's carrying trade. Other nations came on the free seas, secure\nin the peace our arms had wrought, and entered the lists against us. The\nchallenge to our seafaring we met by skill and hardihood--keener and\nmore polished arms than the weapons of our sea-fathers. The coming of\ncompetitors spurred us to sea-deeds in the handling of our ships and\ncargoes, dispatch in the ports, and activity in the yards, that brought\nacknowledged victory to our flag. Every sense and thought that was in us\nwas used to further our supremacy. The craft and workmanship of the\nbuilders and enterprise of the merchants provided us with the most\nbeautiful of man's creations on the sea--the square-rigged sailing ship\nof the nineteenth century. With pride we sailed her. We, too, brought\nscience to our calling; rude, perhaps, and not readily defined save by a\nlong, hard pupilage. Not less than the calibre of the new naval ordnance\nwas the measure of our sail spread, not inferior to ironclad hulls the\nspeed and beauty of our clippers--we paralleled the roads of their\nstrategy by the masterly handling of a cloud in sail. With a regularity\nand precision as noted as our naval sea-brothers' advance in gunfire, we\nserved the trade and the mails, and spread the flood of emigration to\nthe rise and glory of the Empire.\n\nWith the decline of square sail, a new way of seafaring opened to us. In\nthe first of our steam pioneering, we took our yards and canvas with us,\nas good part of our sea-kit; a safe provision, as we thought, against\nthe inevitable failure we looked for in the new navigation. We were\nconservatively jealous of our gallant top hamper, and scorned the\npromise of a power that only dimly as yet we understood. But--the\npromise held. In a few years we became converts to the new order, in\nwhich we found a greater security, a more definite reliance, than in the\nangles of our sail plane. There was no longer a need for our precious\n'stand by,' and we unrigged the wind tackle and accepted our new\nshipmate, the marine engineer, as a worthy brother seaman. It was not\nonly the spars and the cordage and the sails we put ashore. With all\nthe gallant litter we unloaded, condemned to the junk-heap, went a part\nof our seamanship as closely woven to the canvas as the seams our hands\nhad sewn.\n\nIn steam practice, new problems required to be studied and resolved;\nchallenges to our vaunted sea-lore came up that called for radical\nrevision of older methods and ideas. Changes, as wide and drastic as the\nevolutions of a decade in sail, were presented in a swift succession of\nas many days. With eyes now turned from aloft to ahead, we retyped our\nseamanship to meet the altered conditions of the veer in our outlook.\nUnhelped, if unhindered, in our efforts, we adapted our calling to the\nsudden and revolutionary innovations in construction and power of the\nnew ships. We grew sensible of gaps in our knowledge, of voids in\neducation that our earlier handicraft had not revealed. Severed, by\npress of our sea-work, from the facilities for study that now offered\nadvancement to the landsman, we sought in alert and constant practice a\nsubstitute for technical instruction. By step and stride and canter we\njockeyed each new starter from the shipyards, and studied their paces\nand behaviour on the vexed testing courses of the open sea. If our\nmethods were rude in trial, they settled to efficiency in service. We\npaced in step with the rapid developments of the shipwright's art, the\nnot less active contrivance of the engineers. We kept no man waiting for\na sea-controller to his new and untried machine: there was no whistling\nfor a pilot on the grounds of our reaches. From oversea dredger and\nfrail harbour tug to the magnitude of an _Aquitania_, we were ever ready\nto board her on the launching ways and steer her to the limits of her\ndraught.\n\nA Hakluyt of the day would have a full measure for his enthusiasm in the\nshear of our keels on every sea, the flutter of our flags to all the\nwinds. By virtue of worthy vessels and good seamanship, the Red Ensign\nwas devoted to a world service; by good guardianship and commercial\nrectitude the Merchants' Service held charge of the world's wealth in\ntransport--the burden of the ships. All nations put trust in us for\nsea-carriage. The Spanish onion-grower on the slopes of Valencia, the\nJava sugar merchants, the breeders of Plata, looked to their harbours\nfor sight of our hulls to load their products. Greek boatmen took\npayment for their cases on a scrap of dingy paper; the tide-labourers of\nthe world demanded no earnest of their fees ere setting to work--our\nflag was their guarantor. The incoming of our ships brought throng to\nthe quay-sides of far seaports; the outgoing sent the prospering\nmerchants to the bank counters, to draw value from our skill in\nnavigation, our integrity, and sea-care.\n\n\nTHE STRUCTURE\n\nTHE avalanche of war found us, if unprepared, not unready. The\nMerchants' Service was in the most efficient state of all its long\nstory. Bounteous harvests had set a tide of prosperity to all parts of\nthe world. Trade had reached the summit of a register in volume and\naccount. The transport of the world's goods was busied as never before.\nWith every outward stern wash went a full lading of our manufactures--a\nbulk of coal, a mass of wrought steel; foam at the bows--returning,\nbrought exchange in food and raw materials, grist to the mills of our\ntoiling artisans--a further provision for continuation of our trading.\nThere were no idle keels swinging the tides in harbour for want of\nprofitable employment; no seamen lounging on the dockside streets\nawaiting a 'sight' to sign-on for a voyage. Bulk of cargoes exceeded the\ntonnage of the ships, and the riverside shipyards resounded to the busy\nclamour of new construction. Advanced systems of propulsion had emerged\nfrom tentative stages, were fully tried and proved, and owners were\nadding to their fleets the latest and largest vessels that art of\nshipwrights and skill of the engineers could supply. We were well built\nand well found and well employed in all respects, not unready for any\npart that called us to sea.\n\nOn such a stage the gage was thrown. Right on the heels of the courier\nwith challenge accepted, went the ships laden with a new and precious\ncargo--our gallant men-at-arms. Before a shot of ours was fired, the\nfirst blow in the conflict was swung by passage of the ships: throughout\nthe length of it, only by the sea-lanes could the shock be maintained.\n\nViewing the numbers and tonnage of the ships, the roll and character of\nthe seamen, we were not uneasy for the sea-front. With the most powerful\nwar fleet in the world boarding on the coasts of the enemy, we had\nlittle to fear. The transports and war-service vessels could be\nadequately safeguarded: the peaceful traders on their lawful occasions\ncould trust in international law of the civilized seas, on which no\ndestruction may be effected without cause, prefaced by examination. Of\nraiders and detached war units there might be some apprehension, but the\nWhite Ensign was abroad and watchful--it was impossible that the shafts\nof the enemy could reach us on the sea. For a time we set out on our\nvoyages and returned without interference.\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD AND THE NEW\n\nTHE _MARGARET_ OF DUBLIN AND R.M.S. _TUSCANIA_]\n\nAnon, an amazing circumstance shocked our blythe assurance. In a new\nwarfare, by traverse of a route we thought was barred, the impossible\nbecame a stern reality! While able, by power of their ships and skill\nand gallantry of the men, to keep the surface naval forces of the\nenemy doomed to ignoble harbour watch, the mightiest war fleet the seas\nhad ever carried was impotent wholly to protect us! Our Achilles heel\nwas exposed to merciless under-water attack, to a new weapon, deadly in\nprecision and difficult to counter or evade. Throwing to the winds all\nshreds of honour and conscionable restraint, all vestiges of a\nsea-respect for non-combatants and neutrals, the pacts and bounds of\ninternational law--the humane sea-usages that spared women and children\nand stricken wounded--the decivilized German set up the banners of a\nstark piracy, an ocean anarchy, to whose lieutenants the sea-wolves of\nan earlier age were but feeble enervated weaklings.\n\nPiracy, gloried in and undisguised, faced us. Well and definite! We had\nknown piracy in the long years of our sea-history: we had dealt with\ntheir trade to a full settlement at yard-arm or gallows. The course of\nour seafaring was not to be arrested by even the deep roots and deadly\npoison of this not unknown sea-growth: we had scaled the foul barnacles\nand cut the rank weeds before in the course of sea-development. If our\nways had become peaceful in the long years of unchallenged trading, our\nhabits were never less than combatant throughout a life of struggle with\nstorm and tide. Not while we had a ship and a man to the helm would we\nbe driven from the sea; our hard-won heritage was not to be delivered\nunder threat or operation of even the most surpassing frightfulness.\nJealousy for our seafaring, for our name as sailors, forbade that we\nshould skulk in harbour or linger behind the nets and booms. Our work,\nour livelihood, our proud sea-trade, our honour was on the open sea. Our\npride was this--that, in our action, we would be followed by the\nseafarers of the world. It was for no idle vaunt we boasted our\nsupremacy at sea. If we could take first place of the world's seamen in\ntime of peace, our station was to lead in war. We put out to sea--the\nneutrals followed. Had we held to port, German orders would have halted\nthe sea-traffic of the world. With no shield but our seamanship, no\nweapon but the keenness of our eyes, no power of defence or assault\nother than the swing of a ready helm, we met the pirates on the sea,\nwith little pretension in victory and no whining in defeat.\n\nChallenged to stand and submit, the _Vosges_ answered with a cant of the\nhelm and hoist of her flag, and stood on her way under a merciless hail\nof shot. Unarmed, outsped, there was little prospect of escape--only, in\nan obstinate sea-pride, lay acceptance of the challenge. With decks\nlittered by wreckage and wounded, bridge swept by shrapnel, water making\nthrough her torn hull, there was no thought to lay-to and droop the flag\nin surrender. When, at length, the ensign was shot away, there were men\nenough to hoist another. In hours their agony was measured, until, in\ndespair of completing his foul work, the enemy gave up the contest.\nReeking of the combat, the _Vosges_ foundered under her wounds. The sea\ntook her from her gallant crew, but they had not given up the\nship--their flag still fluttered at the peak as she went down.\n_Anglo-Californian_ fought a grim, silent fight for four hours, matching\nthe intensity of the German gunfire by the dogged quality of her mute\ndefiance. _Palm Branch_ turned away from galling fire at short range,\ndouble-banked the press in the stokehold, and cut and turned on her\ncourse to confuse the ranges. Her stern was shattered by shell, the\nlifeboats blown away; the apprentice at the wheel stood to his job with\nblood running in his eyes. Fire broke out and added a new terror to the\nsituation. There was no flinching. Through it all the engines turned\nsteadily, driven to their utmost speed by the engineers and firemen. A\none-sided affair--a floating hell for seamen to stand by, helpless, and\ntake a frightful gruelling! But they stood to it, and came to port.\n\nIf, under new and treacherous blows, our hearts beat the faster, there\nwas little pause, no stoppage, in the steady coursing of our\nsea-arteries. We fought the menace with the same spirit our old\nsea-fathers knew. Undeterred by the ghastly handicap against us--the\ngalling fetters of a policy that kept us unarmed, we pitted our brains\nand seamanship against the murderous mechanics of the enemy. To the new\nunder-water attack there were few adequate counter-measures in the\nrecords of our old seafaring. We revised the standard manual, drew text\nfrom old games, shield from the cuttlefish, models for our sweeps from\ndiscarded sea-tackle. Special devices, new plans, stern services were\ncalled for; we devised, we specialized--our readiness was never more\ninstant. Out of our strength we built up a new Service. Instruction and\nequipment came from the Royal Navy, but the men were ours. In the throes\nof our exertions the Merchants' Service repeated a tradition. The stout\naged tree shot forth another worthy limb--a second Navy--not less ardent\nor resourceful than the first offshoot, now grown to be our guardian.\n\nOur branches twined and interlocked in service of a joint endeavour.\nUnder the fierce blast of war we swayed and weighed together in shield\nof our ancient foundation. Within our ranks we had cunning fishers,\nkeen, resolute sea-fighters of the banks, to whom the coming of a\nstrange mechanical devil-fish offered a new zest to the chase, a famous\nnetting. Enrolled to Special Service, they engaged the enemy at his\ndoorstep and patrolled the areas of his outset. Undaunted by the odds,\ndeterred by no risk or threat, they ranged and searched the sea-channels\nand cleared the lanes for our safe passage. To detect, to warn, to meet\nand counter-charge the submarine in his depths, to safeguard the narrow\nseas from hazard of the mines, was all in the day's work of the\n_Temporary_ R.N.R.\n\nThroughout all the enrolments, the divisions, the changes, and the\ntraining for new and special duties, there was no easing of the engines:\nwe effected our adjustments and allotments under a full head of steam.\nAll that the enemy could do could not prevent the steady reinforcement\nof our arms, the passage of our men, the transport of our trade. The\nlong lines of our sea-communications remained unbroken, despite our\nlosses and the grim spectre of the raft and the open boat. It could not\nbe otherwise--and Britain stand. There could be no halt in the\nsea-traffic. Only from abroad could we draw supplies to raise the new\nleaguer of our island garrison; only by way of the sea could we retain\nand renew our strength.\n\nIn time the intolerable shackles of inactive resistance were struck from\nour hands. Somewhat tardily we were supplied with weapons of defence and\ninstructed in their use and maintainance. We went to school again, under\ntutelage of the Naval Service, and drew a helpful assistance from the\ntale of their courses since we had parted company. We were heartened by\nthe new spirit of co-operation with the fighting service. Ungrudgingly\nthey lent experts to direct our movement. They turned a stream of their\ninventive talent in the ways of gear and apparatus to protect our ships.\nThey shipped our ordnance, and supplied skilled gunners to leaven our\nrude crews. More, they helped to strip the veneer of convention that\nhampered us--our devotion to standard practice in rules and lights and\nequipment. We learned our lessons. Even though the peaceful years had\nlessened our fighting spring, we had lost no aptitude for service of the\nguns in defence of our rights, nor for measure to deceive or evade.\nArmed and alert, we returned to the sea, confident in the discard of a\nweight in our handicap. We could strike back, and with no feeble\nblow--as the pirates soon learned.\n\nThere were scores to settle. _Palm Branch_, belying her tranquil name,\ntook a payment in full for her shattered stern and the blood running in\nthe steersman's eyes. Keen eyes sighted a periscope in time. The helm\nwas put over and the white track raced across the stern, missing by\nfeet. Baffled in under-water attack, the enemy hove up from his depths\nto open surface fire. He never had opportunity. If look-out was good,\ngun action was as quick and ready in _Palm Branch_. Her first shot\nstruck the conning-tower, the second drove home on the submarine, which\nsank. While all eyes were focused on the settling wash and spreading\nscum of oil, a new challenge came and was as speedily accepted. A shell,\nfired by a second submarine at long range, passed over the steamer.\nSlewing round to a new target, the gunners kept up a steady return, shot\nfor shot. The submarine dropped farther astern, fearing the probe of a\nbracket: he angled his course to bring both his guns in action. Two\npieces against the steamer's one! At that, he fared no better. Firing\ncontinuously, eighty rounds in less than an hour, he registered not one\nhit.\n\nAt length _Palm Branch's_ steady, methodical search for the range had\neffect. Her gunners capped the day's fine shooting by a direct hit on\nthe submarine's after-gun, shattering the piece. At evens again--the\nU-boat ceased fire and drew off, possibly under threat of British\npatrols approaching at full speed, more probably for the good and\nsufficient reason that he had had enough.\n\nNot all our contests were as happily decided. If--shirking the issue of\nthe guns, with no zest for a square fight--the German went to his\ndepths, he had still the deadly torpedo to enforce a toll. The toll we\npaid and are paying, but there is no stoppage in the round by which the\nnation is fed and her arms served. The burden is heavy and our losses\ngreat, but we have not failed. We dare not fail.\n\n[Illustration: IN A MERCHANTMAN--BOMB-THROWER PRACTICE]\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nOUR RELATIONS WITH THE NAVY\n\n\nJOINING FORCES\n\nAFTER an interval of a hundred years, we are come to work together\nagain, banded, as in the days of the Armada, to keep the seas against a\nruthless challenger. In view of a new blood-bond between us, it is\ndifficult to write coldly of the causes that have kept us apart. Only by\npreface of an affirmation can it be made possible. Through all our\ndifferences, prejudices, envies--perhaps jealousies--there ran at least\none clear unsullied thread--our admiration for the Navy, our glory in\nits strength and power, our belief in its matchless efficiency.\n\nWe seamen, naval or mercantile, are a stout unmovable breed. Tenacity to\nour convictions is deeply rooted. The narrow trends of shipboard life\ngive licence to a conservatism that out-Herods Herod in intensity,\nunreason--in utter sophistry. We extend this atmosphere to our\nrelationships, to the associations with the beach, with other\nsea-services, with other ships--to the absurd pretensions of the other\nwatch. \"A sailorman afore a landsman, an' a shipmate afore all,\" may be\na useful creed, but it engenders a contentious outlook, an intolerance\ndifficult to reconcile. In the fo'c'sle, the upholding of a 'last ship'\nmay lead to a broken nose; aft, the officers may quarrel, wordily, over\nthe grades of their service; ashore, the captain may only reserve his\nconfidences for a peer of his tonnage; over all, the distance between\nthe Naval and Merchants' Services was immeasurable and complete.\n\nIf it was so to this date, it was perhaps more intense in the old days\nwhen common seafaring had not set as broad a distinction, as widely\ndivergent a sea-practice, as our modern services shew. That such a\ncontentious atmosphere existed we have ample witness. After experience\nas a merchants' man, Nelson wrote of his re-entry. \"I returned a\npractical seaman with a horror of the Royal Navy. . . . It was many\nweeks before I got the least reconciled to a man-o'-war, so deep was the\nprejudice rooted!\" We have no such noted record of a merchant seaman\nre-entering from the Navy. Doubtless the laxity and indiscipline he\nmight observe would produce a not dissimilar revulsion.\n\nIn the years that have elapsed since Nelson wrote, we have had few\nopportunities to compose our differences, to get on better terms with\none another. The course of naval development took the great war fleets\nhull down on our commercial horizon, beyond casual intercommunication.\nOn rare and widely separated occasions we fell into an expedition\ntogether, but the unchallenged power of the naval forces only served to\nheighten the barriers that stood between us. At the Crimea, in India, on\nthe Chinese and Egyptian expeditions, during the Boer War, we were\nimportant links in the venture, but no more important than the cargoes\nwe ferried. There was no call for any service other than our usual\nsea-work. The Navy saw to it that our comings and goings were\nunmolested. We were sea-civilians, purely and simply; there was nothing\nmore to be said about it.\n\nIf little was said, it was with no good grace we took such a station.\nThere were those who saw that seafaring could not thus arbitrarily be\ndivided. Other nations were stirring and striving to a naval strength\nand power, drawing aid and personnel from their mercantile services.\nSea-strength and paramountcy might not wholly come to be measured in\nterms of thickness of the armour-plating--in calibre of the great guns.\nAuxiliary services would be required. The Navy could no more work\nwithout us than the Army without a Service Corps.\n\nThe Royal Naval Reserve came as a link to our intercourse. Certain of\nour shipmates left us for a period of naval training. They came back\nchanged in many particulars. They had acquired a social polish, were\nperhaps less 'sailor-like' in their habits. As a rule they were\ndiscontented with the way of things in their old ships; the quiet rounds\nbored them after the crowded life in a warship. We were frequently\nreminded of how well and differently things were done in _the_ Service.\nPerhaps, in return, we took the wrong line. We made no effort to sift\ntheir experiences, to find out how we might improve our ways. Often our\ncomrade's own particular shrewdness was cited as a reason for the better\nways of naval practice. We were rather irritated by the note of\nsuperiority assumed, perhaps somewhat jealous. Had commissions been\ngranted on a competitive basis, we might have accepted such a tone, but\nwe had our own way of assessing sea-values, and saw no reason why we\nshould stand for these new airs. What was in it, what had wrought the\nchange, we were never at pains to investigate. It was enough for us to\nnote that, though his watch-keeping was certainly improved, our\nre-entered shipmate did not seem to be as efficient as a navigator or\ncargo supervisor as once we had thought him. All his talk of drills and\nguns and station-keeping considered, he seemed to have quite forgotten\nthat groundnuts are thirteen hundredweights to the space ton and ought\nnot to be stowed near fine goods!\n\nOn the other hand, he might reasonably be expected to see his old\nshipmates in a new light. Rude, perhaps. Of limited ideas. Tied to the\nold round of petty bickerings and small intrigues. He would note the\nwant of trusty brotherhood. His sojourn among better-educated men may\nhave roused his ideas to an appreciation of values that deep-sea life\nhad obscured. The lack of the discipline to which he had become\naccustomed would appal and disquiet him. In time he would be worn to the\nrut again, but who can say the same rut? Unconsciously, we were\ninfluenced by his quieter manners. In self-study we saw faults that had\nbeen unnoticed before his return. Reviewing our hard sea-life, we\nrecalled our exclusion from benefits of instruction that went a-begging\non the beach. We stirred. There might yet be time to make up the leeway.\n\nThe influence of naval training was never very pronounced among the\nseamen and firemen of the Merchants' Service who were attached to the\nR.N.R. Their periods of training were too short for them to be\npermanently influenced by the discipline of the Navy (or our\nindiscipline on their return to us may have blighted a promising\ngrowth!) On short-term training they were rarely allotted to important\nwork. The governing attitude was rather that they should be used as\nauxiliaries, mercantile handymen, in a ship. If there was a stowage of\nstores, cleaning up of bilges, chipping and scaling of iron rust--well,\nhere was mercantile Jack, who was used to that kind of work; who better\nfor the job? Generally, he returned to his old ways rather tired of Navy\n'fashion' and discipline, and one saw but little influence of his\ntemporary service on a cruiser. Usually, he was a good hand, to begin\nwith: he sought a post on good ships: with his papers in order we were\nvery glad to have him back.\n\nIn few other ways did we come in touch with the Navy. At times the\nmisfortune of the sea brought us into a naval port for assistance in our\ndistress. Certainly, assistance was readily forthcoming, a full measure,\nbut in a somewhat cold and formal way that left a rankling impression\nthat we were not--well, we were not perhaps desirable acquaintances. The\nnaval manner was not unlike that of a courteous prescribing chemist over\nhis counter. \"Have you had the pain--long?\" \"Is there any--coughing?\" We\nhad always the feeling that they were bored by our custom, were anxious\nto get back to the mixing of new pills, to their experiments. We were\nnot very sorry when our repairs were completed and we could sail for\nwarmer climates.\n\nWith the outbreak of war the R.N.R. was instantly mobilized. Their\noutgoing left a sensible gap in our ranks, a more considerable rift than\nwe had looked for. Example drew others on their trodden path, our\nmercantile seamen were keen for fighting service; the unheralded torpedo\nhad not yet struck home on their own ships. Commissions to a new entry\nof officers were still limited and capricious--the _Hochsee Flotte_ had\nnot definitely retired behind the booms at Kiel and Wilhelmshaven, to\nweave a web of murder and assassination. For a short term we sailed on\nour voyages, on a steady round, differing but little from our normal\npeace-time trade.\n\nA short term. The enemy did not leave us long secure in our faith in\ncivilized sea-usage. Our trust in International Law received a rude and\nshattering shock from deadly floating mine and racing torpedo. Paralysed\nand impotent to venture a fleet action, the German Navy was to be\nmatched not only against the commercial fleets of Britain and her\nAllies, but against every merchant ship, belligerent or neutral. There\nwas to be no gigantic clash of sea-arms; action was to be taken on the\nlines of Thuggery. The German chose his opponents as he chose his\nweapons. Assassins' weapons! The knife in the dark--no warning, no\nquarter, sink or swim! The 'sea-civilians' were to be driven from the\nsea by exercise of the most appalling frightfulness and savagery that\nthe seas had ever known.\n\nUnder such a threat our sea-services were brought together on a rapid\nsheer, a close boarding, in which there was a measure of confusion. It\ncould not have been otherwise. The only provision for co-operation, the\nR.N.R. organization, was directed to augment the forces of the Navy:\nthere was no anticipation of a circumstance that would sound a recall.\nOur machinery was built and constructed to revolve in one direction; it\ncould not instantly be reversed. Into an ordered service, ruled by the\nmost minute shades of seniority, the finest influences of precedence and\ntradition, there came a need to fit the mixed alloy of the Merchants'\nService. Ready, eager, and willing, as both Services were, to devote\ntheir energies to a joint endeavour, it took time and no small patience\nto resolve the maze and puzzle of the jig-saw. Naval officers detailed\nfor our liaison were of varied moulds. Not many of the Active List could\nbe spared; our new administrators were mostly recalled from fishing and\nfarming to take up special duties for which they had few qualifications\nother than the gold lace on their sleeves. Some were tactful and clever\nin appreciation of other values than a mere readiness to salute, and\nthose drew our affection and a ready measure of confidence. Others set\nup plumed Gessler bonnets, to which we were in no mood to bow. Only our\ndevotion to the emergency exacted a jerk of our heads. To them we were\ndoubtless difficult and trying. Our free ways did not fit into their\nschemes of proper routine. Accustomed to the lines of their own formal\nservice, to issuing orders only to their juniors, they had no guide to a\ncommercial practice whereby there can be a concerted service without the\nusages of the guard-room. They made things difficult for us without\neasing their own arduous task. They objected to our manners, our\nappearance, to the clothes we wore. Our diffidence was deemed\ntruculence: our reluctance to accept a high doctrine of subservience was\nmeasured as insubordination.\n\nThe flames of war made short work of our moods and jealousies,\nprejudices, and dislikes. A new Service grew up, the _Temporary_ R.N.R.,\nin which we were admitted to a share in our own governance and no small\npart in combatant operations at sea. The sea-going section found outlet\nfor their energy and free scope for a traditional privateering in their\nindividual ventures against the enemy. Patrolling and hunting gave high\npromise for their capacity to work on lines of individual control.\nMinesweeping offered a fair field for the peculiar gifts of seamanship\nthat mercantile practice engenders. Commissioned to lone and perilous\nservice, they kept the seas in fair weather or foul. Although stationed\nlargely in the narrow seas, there were set no limits to the latitude and\nlongitude of their employment. The ice of the Arctic knew them--riding\nout the bitter northern gales in their small seaworthy drifters,\nthrashing and pitching in the seaway, to hold a post in the chain of our\nsea-communications. In the Adriatic warmer tides lapped on their scarred\nhulls, but brought no relaxing variance to their keen look-out. For want\nof a match of their own size, they had the undying temerity to call\nthree cheers and engage cruiser ordnance with their pipe-stems! A\nservice indeed! If but _temporary_ in title, there is permanence in\ntheir record!\n\nCoincident with our actions on the sea--not alone those of our fighting\ncubs, but also those of our trading seamen--a better feeling came to\ncement our alliance. First in generous enthusiasm for our struggle\nagainst heavy odds, as they came to understand our difficulties, naval\nofficers themselves set about to create a happier atmosphere. We were\nadmitted to a voice in the league of our defence. Administration was\nadjusted to meet many of our grievances. Our capacity for controlling\nmuch of the machinery of our new movements was no longer denied. The\nshreds of old conservatism, the patches of contention and envy were\nscattered by a strong free breeze of reasoned service and joint effort.\n\nWe meet the naval man on every turn of the shore-end of our seafaring.\nWe have grown to admire him, to like him, to look forward to his coming\nand association in almost the same way that we are pleased at the\nboarding of our favoured pilots. He fits into our new scheme of things\nas readily as the Port Authorities and the Ship's Husband. The plumed\nbonnets are no longer set up to attract our awed regard: by a better way\nthan caprice and petulant discourtesy, the naval officer has won a high\nplace in our esteem. We have borrowed from his stock to improve our\nstore; better methods to control our manning, a more dispassionate\nbearing, a ready subordinance to ensure service. His talk, too. We use\nhis phrases. We 'carry on'; we ask the 'drill' for this or that; we\nspeak of our sailing orders as 'pictures,' our port-holes are become\n'scuttles.' The enemy is a 'Fritz,' a depth-charge a 'pill,' torpedoes\nare 'mouldies.' In speaking of our ships we now omit the definite\narticle. We are getting on famously together.\n\n\nAT SEA\n\nALTHOUGH our experience of their assured protection is clear and\ndefinite, our personal acquaintance with the larger vessels of the Navy\nis not intimate. Saving the colliers and the oilers and storeships that\nserve the Fleet, few of us have seen a 'first-rate' on open sea since\nthe day the Grand Fleet steered north to battle stations. The strength\nand influence of the distant ships was plain to us in the first days of\nthe war even if we had actually no sight of their grey hulls. While we\nwere able to proceed on our lawful occasions with not even a warning of\npossible interference, the mercantile ships of the enemy--being\nabroad--had no course but to seek the protection of a neutral port, not\nagain to put out to sea under their own colours.\n\nThe operation of a threat to shipping--at three thousand miles\ndistance--was dramatic in intensity under the light of acute contrast.\nEntering New York a few days after war had been declared, we berthed\nalongside a crack German liner. Her voyage had been abandoned: she lay\nat the pier awaiting events. At the first, we stared at one another\ncuriously. Her silent winches and closed hatchways, deserted decks and\npassages, were markedly in contrast to the stir and animation with which\nwe set about unloading and preparing for the return voyage. The few\nsullen seamen about her forecastle leant over the bulwarks and noted the\nfamiliar routine that was no longer theirs. Officers on the bridge-deck\neyed our movements with interest, despite their apparent unconcern. We\nwere respectfully hostile: submarine atrocities had not yet begun. The\nsame newsboy served special editions to both ships. The German officers\ngrouped together, reading of the fall of Liége. Doubtless they confided\nto one another that they would soon be at sea again. Five days we lay.\nAt eight o'clock 'flags,' our bugle-call accompanied the raising of the\nensign: the red, white, and black was hoisted defiantly at the same\ntime. We unloaded, re-loaded, and embarked passengers, and backed out\ninto the North River on our way to sea again. The _Fürst_ ranged to the\nwash of our sternway as we cleared the piers; her hawsers strained and\ncreaked, then held her to the bollards of the quay.\n\nTime and again we returned on our regular schedule, to find the German\nberthed across the dock, lying as we had left her, with derricks down\nand her hatchways closed. . . . We noted the signs of neglect growing on\nher; guessed at the indiscipline aboard that inaction would produce. For\na while her men were set to chipping and painting in the way of a good\nsea-custom, but the days passed with no release and they relaxed\nhandwork. Her topsides grew rusty, her once trim and clean paintwork\ntook on a grimy tint. Our doings were plain to her officers and crew: we\nwere so near that they could read the tallies on the mailbags we\nhandled: there were no mails from Germany. Loading operations, that\nincluded the embarkation of war material, went on by night and day: we\nwere busied as never before. The narrow water space between her hull and\nours was crowded by barges taking and delivering our cargo; the shriek\nof steam-tugs and clangour of their engine-bells advertised our stir and\nactivity. On occasion, the regulations of the port obliged the _Fürst_\nto haul astern, to allow working space for the Merritt-Chapman crane to\nswing a huge piece of ordnance to our decks. There were rumours of a\nconcealed activity on the German. \"She was coaling silently at night, in\npreparation for a dash to sea.\". . . \"German spies had their headquarters\nin her.\" The evening papers had a new story of her secret doings\nwhenever copy ran short. All the while she lay quietly at the pier; we\nrated her by her draught marks that varied only with the galley coal she\nburnt.\n\nAt regular periods her hopeless outlook was emphasized by our sailings.\nOfficers and crew could not ignore the stir that attended our departure.\nThey saw the 'blue peter' come fluttering from the masthead, and heard\nour syren roar a warning to the river craft as we backed out. We were\nladen to our marks and the decks were thronged with young Britons\nreturning to serve their country. The Fatherland could have no such\nhelp: the _Fürst_ could handle no such cargo. For her there could be no\nmovement, no canting on the tide and heading under steam for the open\nsea: the distant ships of the Grand Fleet held her in fetters at the\npier.\n\nWhile the Battle Fleet opened the oceans to us, we were not wholly safe\nfrom enemy interference on the high seas in the early stages of the war.\nGerman commerce raiders were abroad; there was need for a more tangible\nprotection to the merchants' ships on the oversea trade routes. The\nolder cruisers were sent out on distant patrols. They were our first\nassociates of the huge fleet subsequently detailed for our defence and\nassistance. We were somewhat in awe of the naval men at sea on our early\nintroduction. The White Ensign was unfamiliar. Armed to the teeth, an\nofficer from the cruiser would board us: the bluejackets of his boat's\ncrew had each a rifle at hand. \"Where were we from . . . where to . . .\nour cargo . . . our passengers?\" The lieutenant was sternly courteous; he\nwas engaged on important duties: there was no mood of relaxation. He\nreturned to his boat and shoved off with not one reassuring grin for the\npassengers lining the rails interested in every row-stroke of his\nwhaler. In time we both grew more cordial: we improved upon\nacquaintance. The drudgery and monotony of a lone patrol off a neutral\ncoast soon brought about a less punctilious boarding. Our\n_procès-verbal_ had unofficial intervals. \"How were things at home? . . .\nAre we getting the men trained quickly? . . . What about the Russians?\"\nThe boarding lieutenants discovered the key to our affections--the\nsecret sign that overloaded their sea-boat with newspapers and fresh\nmess. \"A fine ship you've got here, Captain!\" We parted company at ease\nand with goodwill. The boat would cast off to the cheers of our\npassengers. The great cruiser, cleared for action with her guns trained\noutboard, would cant in to close her whaler. Often her band assembled on\nthe upper deck: the favourite selections were 'Auld Lang Syne' and 'Will\nye no' come back again'--as she swung off on her weary patrol.\n\nSubmarine activities put an end to these meetings on the sea. Except\nwhile under ocean escort of a cruiser--when our relations by flag signal\nare studied and impersonal--we have now little acquaintance with\nvessels of that class. Counter-measures of the new warfare demand the\nservice of smaller vessels. Destroyers and sloops are now our protectors\nand co-workers. With them, we are drawn to a familiar intimacy; we are,\nperhaps, more at ease in their company, dreading no formal routine.\nAdmirals are, to us, awesome beings who seclude themselves behind\ngold-corded secretaries: commodores (except those who control our\nconvoys) are rarely sea-going, and we come to regard them as\nschoolmasters, tutors who may not be argued with; post-captains in\ncommand of the larger escorts have the brusque assumption of a\nsuper-seamanship that takes no note of a limit in manning. The\ncommanders and lieutenants of the destroyers and sloops that work with\nus are different; they are more to our mind--we look upon them as\nbrother seamen. Like ourselves, they are 'single-ship' men. They are\nneither concerned with serious plans of naval strategy nor overbalanced\nby the forms and usages of great ship routine. While 'the bridge' of a\ncruiser may be mildly scornful upon receipt of an objection to her\nsignalled noon position, the destroyer captain is less assured: he is\nmore likely to request our estimate of the course and speed. His\nseamanship is comparable to our own. The relatively small crew he\nmusters has taught him to be tolerant of an apparent delay in carrying\nout certain operations. In harbour he is frequently berthed among the\nmerchantmen, and has opportunity to visit the ships and acquire more\nthan a casual knowledge of our gear and appliances. He is ever a welcome\nvisitor, frank and manly and candid. Even if there is a dispute as to\nwhy we turned north instead of south-east 'when that Fritz came up,' and\nwe blanked the destroyer's range, there is not the air of superior\nreproof that rankles.\n\nIn all our relations with the Navy at sea there was ever little, if any,\nfriction. We saw no empty plumed bonnet in the White Ensign. We were\nproud of the companionship and protection of the King's ships. Our ready\nservice was never grudged or stinted to the men behind the grey guns;\nsuccour in our distress was their return. Incidents of our co-operation\nvaried, but an unchanging sea-brotherhood was the constant light that\nshone out in small occurrences and deathly events.\n\nDawn in the Channel, a high south gale and a bitter confused sea. Even\nwith us, in a powerful deep-sea transport, the measure of the weather\nwas menacing; green seas shattered on board and wrecked our fittings,\nhalf of the weather boats were gone, others were stove and useless. A\nbitter gale! Under our lee the destroyer of our escort staggered through\nthe hurtling masses that burst and curled and swept her fore and aft.\nHer mast and one funnel were gone, the bridge wrecked; a few dangling\nplanks at her davits were all that was left of her service boats. She\nlurched and faltered pitifully, as though she had loose water below,\nmaking through the baulks and canvas that formed a makeshift shield over\nher smashed skylights. In the grey of the murky dawn there was yet\ndarkness to flash a message: \"_In view of weather probably worse as wind\nhas backed, suggest you run for Waterford while chance, leaving us to\ncarry on at full speed._\" An answer was ready and immediate: \"_Reply.\nThanks. I am instructed escort you to port._\"\n\nThe Mediterranean. A bright sea and sky disfigured by a ring of curling\nblack smoke--a death-screen for the last agonies of a torpedoed\ntroopship. Amid her littering entrails she settles swiftly, the stern\nhigh upreared, the bows deepening in a wash of wreckage. Boats, charged\nto inches of freeboard, lie off, the rowers and their freight still and\nopen-mouthed awaiting her final plunge. On rafts and spars, the upturned\nstrakes of a lifeboat, remnants of her manning and company grip\nsafeguard, but turn eyes on the wreck of their parent hull. Into the\nring, recking nothing of entangling gear or risk of suction, taking the\nchances of a standing shot from the lurking submarine, a destroyer\nthunders up alongside, brings up, and backs at speed on the sinking\ntransport. Already her decks are jammed to a limit, by press of a\nkhaki-clad cargo she was never built to carry. This is final, the last\nturn of her engagement. The foundering vessel slips quickly and deeper.\n\"Come along, Skipper! You've got 'em all off! You can do no more!\n_Jump!_\"\n\n\nOUR WAR STAFF\n\nSOME years before the war we were lying at an East Indian port, employed\nin our regular trade. The military students of the Quetta Staff College\nwere in the district, engaged in practical exercise of their staff\nlessons. On a Sunday (our loading being suspended) they boarded us to\nwork out in detail a question of troop transport. It was assumed that\nour ship was requisitioned in an emergency, and their problem was to\nestimate the number of men we could carry and to plan arrangement of the\ntroop decks. Their inspection was to be minute; down to the sufficiency\nof our pots and pans they were required to investigate and figure out\nthe resources of our vessel. The officer students were thirty-four in\nnumber; at least we counted thirty-four who came to us for clue to the\nmysteries of gross and register and dead-weight tonnage. In parties they\nexplored our holds and accommodation, measured in paces for a rough\nsurvey, and prepared their plans. Their Commandant (a very famous\nsoldier to-day) permitted us to be present when the officers were\nassembled and their papers read out and discussed. In general it was\nestimated that the work of alteration and fitting the ship for troops\nwould occupy from eight to ten working days. Our quota--of all\nranks--averaged about eleven hundred men.\n\n[Illustration: A BRITISH SUBMARINE DETAILED FOR INSTRUCTION OF MERCHANT\nOFFICERS]\n\nThe work was sound and no small ingenuity was advanced in planning\nadaptations, but the spirit of emergency did not show an evidence in\ntheir careful papers. The proposed voyage was distinctly stated to be\nfrom Newhaven to Dieppe, and it seemed to us that the elaborate\naccommodation for a prison, a guard-room, a hospital, were somewhat\nambitious for a six-hour sea-passage. In conversation with the\nCommandant, we were of opinion that, to a degree, their work and pains\nwere rather needless. Carrying passengers (troops and others) was our\nbusiness; a trade in which we had been occupied for some few years. He\nagreed. He regarded their particular exercise in the same light as the\n'herring-and-a-half' problem of the schoolroom: it was good for the\nyoung braves to learn something of their only gangway to a foreign\nfield. \"Of course,\" he said, \"if war comes it will be duty for the Navy\nto supervise our sea-transport.\" We understood that their duty would be\nto safeguard our passage, but we had not thought of supervision in\noutfit. The Commandant was incredulous when we remarked that we had\nnever met a naval transport officer, that we knew of no plans to meet\nsuch an emergency as that submitted to his officers. It was evident that\nhis trained soldierly intendance could not contemplate a situation in\nwhich the seamen of the country had no foreknowledge of a war service;\nit was amazing to him that we were not already drilled for duties that\nmight, at any moment, be thrust upon us. Pointing across the dock to\nwhere two vessels of the Bremen Hansa Line were working in haste to\ncatch the tide, he affirmed that they would be better prepared: _their_\nplace in mobilization would be detailed, their duties and services made\nclear.\n\nWe knew of no plans for our employment in war service; we had no\nposition allotted to us in measures for emergency. We were sufficiently\nproud of our seafaring to understand a certain merit in this apparent\nlack of prevision: we took it as in compliment to the efficiency and\nresource with which our sea-trade was credited. Was it not on our\nrecords that the Isle of Man steamers transported 58,000 people in the\ndaylight hours of an August Bank Holiday. A seventy-mile passage.\nTrippers. Less amenable to ordered direction than disciplined troops. A\nday's work, indeed. Unequalled, unbeaten by any record to date in the\namazing statistics of the war. There was no need for supervision and\ndirection: we knew our business, we could pick up the tune as we\nmarched.\n\nWe did. On the outbreak of war we fell into our places in transport of\ntroops and military material with little more ado than in handling our\npeace-time cargoes. The ship on which the Staff students worked their\nproblems set out on almost the very route they had planned for her, but\nwith no prison or guard-room or hospital, and sixteen hundred troops\ninstead of eleven: the time taken to fit her (including discharge of a\ncargo) occupied exactly four days. We saw but little of the naval\nauthority.\n\n[Illustration: THE D.A.M.S. GUNWHARF AT GLASGOW]\n\nLater, in our war work, we made the acquaintance of the naval transport\nofficer. Generally, he was not intimate with the working of merchant\nships. His duties were largely those of interpretation. Through him\nAdmiralty passed their orders: it devolved on the mercantile shore staff\nof the shipping companies to carry these orders into execution. If, in\ntransport services, our marine superintendents and ships' husbands did\nnot share in the honours, it was not for want of merit. They could not\ncomplain of lack of work in the early days of the war when the transport\nofficer was serving his apprenticeship to the trade. The absence of a\nkeen knowledge and interest in commercial ship-practice at the transport\noffice made for complex situations; hesitancies and conflicting\norders added to the arduous business. Under feverish pressure a ship\nwould be unloaded on to quay space already congested, ballast be\ncontracted for--and delivered; a swarm of carpenters, working day and\nnight, would fit her for carriage of troops. At the eleventh hour some\none idly fingering a tide-table would discover that the vessel drew too\nmuch water to cross the bar of her intended port of discharge. (The\nmarine superintendent was frequently kept in ignorance of the vessel's\nintended destination.) Telegraph and telephone are handy--\"Requisition\ncancelled\" is easily passed over the wires! _As you were_ is a simple\norder in official control, but it creates an atmosphere of misdirection\nalmost as deadly as German gas. Only our tremendous resources, the sound\nability of our mercantile superintendents, the industry of the\ncontractors and quay staffs, brought order out of chaos and placed the\nvessels in condition for service at disposal of the Admiralty.\n\nDespite all blunders and vacillations our expedition was not unworthy of\nthe emergency. How much better we could have done had there been a\nconsidered scheme of competent control must ever remain a conjecture.\nFour years of war practice have improved on the hasty measures with\nwhich we met the first immediate call. Sea-transport of troops and\nmunitions of war has become a highly specialized business for naval\ndirectorate and mercantile executant alike. Ripe experience in the\nthundering years has sweetened our relations. The naval transport\nofficer has learnt his trade. He is better served. He has now an\nadequate executant staff, recruited largely from the Merchants' Service.\nWith liberal assistance he relies less on telegraph and telephone to\nadvance his work: our atmosphere is no longer polluted by the miasma of\nindecision, and by the chill airs of the barracks.\n\nOf our Naval War Staff, the transport officer was the first on the\nfield, but his duties were only concerned with ships requisitioned for\nsemi-naval service. For long we had no national assistance in our purely\ncommercial seafaring. Our sea-rulers (if they existed) were unconcerned\nwith the judicious employment of mercantile tonnage: some of our finest\nliners were swinging the tides in harbour, rusting at their\ncables--serving as prison hulks for interned enemies. Our service on the\nsea was as lightly held. We made our voyages as in peace-time. We had no\nmeans of communication with the naval ships at sea other than the\nuniversally understood International Code of Signals. Any measures we\ntook to keep out of the way of enemy war vessels, then abroad, were our\nown. We had no Intelligence Service to advise us in our choice of\nsea-routes, and act as distributors of confidential information. We were\nfar too 'jack-easy' in our seafaring: we estimated the enemy's sea-power\nover-lightly.\n\nIn time we learned our lesson. Tentative measures were advanced.\nAdmiralty, through the Trade Division, took an interest in our\nemployment. Orders and advices took long to reach us. These were first\ncommunicated to the War Risks Associations, who sent them to our owners.\nWe received them as part of our sailing orders, rather late to allow of\nconsidered efforts on our part to conform with their tenor. There was no\nchannel of direct communication. When on point of sailing, we projected\nour own routes, recorded them in a sealed memorandum which we left with\nour owners. If we fell overdue Admiralty could only learn of our route\nby application to the holders of the memorandum. A short trial proved\nthe need for a better system. Shipping Intelligence Officers were\nappointed at the principal seaports. At this date some small echo of our\ndemand for a part in our governance had reached the Admiralty. In\nselecting officers for these posts an effort was made to give us men\nwith some understanding of mercantile practice; a number of those\nappointed to our new staff were senior officers of the R.N.R. who were\nconversant with our way of business. (If they did, on occasion, project\na route for us clean through the Atlantic ice-field in May, they were\nopen to accept a criticism and reconsider the voyage.) With them were\nofficers of the Royal Navy who had specialized in navigation, a branch\nof our trade that does not differ greatly from naval practice. They\njoined with us in discussion of the common link that held few\nopportunities for strained association. Certainly we took kindly to our\nnew directors from the first; we worked in an atmosphere of confidence.\nThe earliest officer appointed to the West Coast would blush to know the\nhigh esteem in which he is held, a regard that (perhaps by virtue of his\ntact and courtesy) was in course extended to his colleagues of a later\ndate.\n\nThe work of the S.I.O. is varied and extensive. His principal duty is to\nplan and set out our oversea route, having regard to his accurate\ninformation of enemy activities. All Admiralty instructions as to our\nsea-conduct pass through his hands. He issues our confidential papers\nand is, in general, the channel of our communication with the Naval\nService. He may be likened to our signal and interlocking expert. On\nreceipt of certain advices he orders the arm of the semaphore to be\nthrown up against us. The port is closed to the outward-bound. His\noffices are quickly crowded by masters seeking information for their\nsailings: with post and telephone barred to us in this connection, we\nmust make an appearance in person to receive our orders. A tide or two\nmay come and go while we wait for passage. We have opportunity, in the\nwaiting-room, to meet and become intimate with our fellow-seafarers. It\nis good for the captain of a liner to learn how the captain of a North\nWales schooner makes his bread, the difficulties of getting decent yeast\nat the salt-ports; how the schooner's boy won't learn (\"indeed to\ngoodness\") the proper way his captain shows him to mix the dough!\n\nOn telegraphic advice the arm of the semaphore rattles down. The port is\nopen to traffic again. The waiting-room is emptied and we are off to the\nsea, perhaps fortified by the S.I.O.'s confidence that the cause of the\nstoppage has been violently removed from the sea-lines.\n\nUnder the pressure of ruthless submarine warfare we were armed for\ndefence. Gunnery experts were added to our war complement. A division\nfor organization of our ordnance was formed, the Defensively Armed\nMerchant Ships Department of the Admiralty. We do not care for long\ntitles; we know this division as the \"Dam Ships.\" Most of the officers\nappointed to this Service are R.N.R. They are perhaps the most familiar\nof the war staff detailed to assist us. Their duties bring them\nfrequently on board our ships, where (on our own ground) relations grow\nquickly most intimate and cordial. The many and varied patterns of guns\nsupplied for our defence made a considerable shore establishment\nnecessary, not alone for the guns and mountings, but for ammunition of\nas many marks as a Geelong wool-bale. In the first stages of our\nwar-harnessing, the supply of guns was limited to what could be spared\nfrom battlefield and naval armament. The range of patterns varied from\npipe-stems to what was at one time major armament for cruisers; we had\nodd weapons--_soixante-quinze_ and Japanese pieces; even captured German\nfield-guns were adapted to our needs in the efforts of the D.A.M.S. to\narm us. Standardization in mounting and equipment was for long\nimpossible. Our outcry for guns was cleverly met by the department. We\ncould not wait for weapons to be forged: by working 'double tides' they\nensured a twenty-four-hour day of service for the guns in issue, by a\nsystem that our ordnance should not remain idle during our stay in port.\nIncoming ships were boarded in the river, their guns and ammunition\ndismounted and removed to serve the needs of a vessel bound out on the\nsame tide. The problem of fitting a 12-pounder on a 4.7 emplacement\ntaxed the department's ingenuity and resource, but few ships were held\nin port for failure of their prompt action.\n\nWith the near approach to standardization in equipment (a state that\ncame with increased production of merchant-ship arms) the division was\nable to reorganize on more settled lines. New types of armament were\nissued to them and there was less adaptation for emplacements to be\nconsidered. With every ship fitted, the pressure on their resource was\neased, the new ships being constructed to carry guns as a regular part\nof their equipment. While their activities are now less confused by the\nnew methods, there is no reduction in their employment. Other defensive\napparatus has been placed in their hands for issue and control, and\ntheir principal port establishments have grown from small temporary\noffices to large well-manned depots. To the surface guns have been added\nhowitzers, bomb-throwers, and depth-charges for under-water action:\nsmoke-screen fittings and chemicals form a part of their stock in trade:\nthey issue mine-sinking rifles, and even control the supply of our\nzigzag clocks. The range of their work is constantly being extended.\nTheir duties include inspection to ensure that darkening ship\nregulations may not fail for want of preparation in port. Makeshift\nscreening at sea is dangerous.\n\nTheir establishments are at the principal seaports, with branch\nconnections and transport facilities for reaching the smaller harbours.\nThe gun-wharves may not present as splendid a spectacle as the huge\nstore-sheds of our naval bases, but they have at least the busy air of\nbeing well occupied, a brisk appearance of having few 'slow-dealing\nlines' on the shelves. Their permanent staff of armourers and\nconstructional experts are able to undertake all but very major repairs\nto the ordnance that comes under their charge. By express\ndelivery--heavy motor haulage--they can equip a ship on instant\nrequisition with all that is scheduled for her armament: down to the\nwaste-box and the gun-layer's sea-boots, they can put a complete\ndefensive outfit on the road almost before the clamour of a requesting\ntelephone is stilled.\n\nAnother of our staff is the officer in charge of our 'Otter'\ninstallation, an ingenious contrivance to protect us against the menace\nof moored mines. For deadly spheres floating on the surface we have a\ncertain measure of defence in exercise of a keen look-out, but our eyes\navail us not at all in detecting mines under water moored at the level\nof our draught. Our 'Otters' may be likened to blind sea-dolphins,\ntrained to protect our flanks, to run silently aside, fend the explosive\ncharges from our course, bite the moorings asunder, and throw the\nbobbing spheres to the surface.\n\nThe 'Otter' expert is invariably an enthusiast. He claims for his pets\nevery virtue. They run true, they bite surely: they can speak, indeed,\nin the complaint of their guide-wires when they are not sympathetically\ngoverned. While it is true that we curse the awkward 'gadgets' in their\nmultitude of tricks, denounce the insistence with which they dive for a\nsnug and immovable berth under our bilge keels--those of us who have\ncome through a hidden minefield share the expert's affection for the\nshiny fish-like monsters. We cannot see their operation: we have no\nknowledge of our danger till it is past and over, a dark shape with ugly\noutpointing horns, turning and spinning in the seawash of our wake.\n\n[Illustration: INSTRUCTIONAL ANTI-SUBMARINE COURSE FOR MERCHANT OFFICERS\nAT GLASGOW]\n\nAdoption of the convoy system has brought a host to our gangways. Our\nwar staff was more than doubled in the few weeks that followed the\nsinister April of 1917. If, at an earlier date, we had reasonable ground\nfor complaint that our expert knowledge of our business was\nstudiously ignored by the Admiralty, apparently they did not rate our\nability so lightly when this old form of ship protection was revived.\nThe additions to our staff included a large proportion of our own\nofficers, withdrawn from posts where their knowledge of merchant-ship\npractice was not of great value. In convoy, measures were called for\nthat our ordinary routine had not contemplated. The shore division of\nour new staff aid us in adapting our commercial sea-gear to the more\ninstant demands of war service. They 'clear our hawse' from turns and\ntwists in the chain of our landward connections. Repairs and\nadjustments, crew troubles, stores--that on a strict ruling may be\ndeemed private matters--became public and important when considered as\nvital to the sailing of a convoy. In overseeing the ships at the\nstarting-line, indexing and listing the varying classes and powers of\nthe vessels, the convoy section have no light task. To the longshore\ndivision, who compose and arrange the integrals of our convoys, we have\nadded a sea-staff of commodores, R.N. and R.N.R., who go to sea with us\nand control the manoeuvres and operations of our ships in station. For\nthis, not only a knowledge of squadron movements is required: the ruling\nof a convoy of merchantmen is complicated as much by the range of\ncharacter of individual masters as by the diverse capabilities of the\nships.\n\nIt was not until the spring of 1917 that Admiralty instituted a scheme\nof instruction in anti-submarine measures for officers of the Merchants'\nService. We were finding the defensive tune difficult to pick up as we\nmarched. The German submarine had grown to be a more complete and deadly\nwarship. Sinkings had reached an alarming height: a spirit almost of\nfatalism was permeating the sea-actions of some of our Service. Our guns\nwere of little avail against under-water attack. Notwithstanding the\ntricks of our zigzag, the torpedoes struck home on our hulls. If our luck\nwas 'in,' we came through: if we had bad fortune, well, our luck was 'out'!\nA considerable school--the bold 'make-a-dash-for-it-and-chance-the-ducks'\nsection of our fellows--did not wholly conform to naval instructions. In\nmany cases zigzag was but cursorily maintained; in darkening ship,\nmeasures were makeshift and inadequate.\n\nSchools for our instruction were set up at various centres, in\nconvenient seaport districts. At the first, attendance was voluntary,\nbut it was quickly evident to the Admiralty that certain classes of\nowners would give few facilities to their officers to attend, when they\nmight be more profitably employed in keeping gangway or in supervising\ncargo stowage. (The fatalistic spirit was not confined to the seagoers\namong us.) Attendance at the classes of instruction was made compulsory;\nit became part of our qualification for office that we should have\ncompleted the course.\n\nAlthough our new schooling occupies but five days, it is intensive in\nits scope and application. The cold print of our official instructions\nhas its limitations, and Admiralty circulars are not perhaps famous for\nlucidity. More can be done by a skilled interpreter with a blackboard in\na few minutes than could be gathered in half an hour's reading. At first\nassembly there is perhaps an atmosphere of boredom. Routine details and\na programme of operations are hardly welcome to masters accustomed to\ncommand. In a way, we have condescended to come among our juniors, to\nlisten with the mates and second mates to what may be said: we assume,\nperhaps, a detached air of constraint.\n\nIt is no small tribute to the lecturer that this feeling rarely persists\nbeyond the opening periods. Only the most perversely immovable can\nresist the interest of a practical demonstration. The classes are under\ncharge of an officer, R.N., who has had deep-sea experience of enemy\nsubmarine activities. Often he is of the 'Q-ship' branch, and can\nenliven his lectures with incidents that show us a side of the\nsea-contest with which not many are familiar. If we are informed of the\ndeadly advantage of the submarine, we are equally enlightened as to its\nlimitations. In a few minutes, by virtue of a plot on the blackboard,\nthe vantage of a proper zigzag is made clear and convincing. Points of\nview--in a literal sense--are expounded, and not a few of us recall our\nplacing of look-outs and register a better plan. Following the officer\nin charge, a lieutenant of the Submarine Service dissects his vessel on\nthe blackboard, carefully detailing the action in states of weather and\ncircumstance. The under-water manoeuvres of an attack are plotted out\nand explained in a practical way that no handbook could rival. The\npersonal magnetism of the expert rivets our attention; the routine of\nunder-seafaring gives us a good inkling of the manner of man we have to\nmeet and fight at sea; we are given an insight to the mind-working of\nour unseen opponent--the brain below the periscope is probed and\nexamined for our education.\n\nNothing could be better illustrative of the wide character of our\nseafaring than the range of our muster in the lecture-hall. Every type\nof our trade appears in the class that assembles weekly to attend the\ninstructional course. We have no grades of seniority or precedence. We\nare sea-republicans when we come to sit together in class. Hardy\ncoasting masters, commanders of Royal Mail Packets, collier mates,\nfreighter captains, cross-Channel skippers, we are at ease together in a\ncommon cause; on one bench in the classroom may be seafarers returned\nfrom foreign ports as widely distant as Shanghai and Valparaiso.\n\nFor instruction in gunnery and the use of special apparatus we come\nunder tuition of a type of seaman whom we had not met before. If the\nbackbone of the Army is the non-commissioned man, the petty officer of\nthe Royal Navy is no less the marrow of his Service. Unfortunately, we\nhave no one like him in the Merchants' Service. As Scots is the language\nof marine engines, the South of England accent may be that of the guns.\nThat liquid ü! \"Metal adapters, genelmen, lük. Metal adapters is made o'\nalüminium bronze. They are bored hoüt t' take a tübe, an' threaded on\nth' hoütside t' screw into th' base o' th' cartridge case--like this\n'ere. Genelmen, lük. . . .\" His intelligent demonstration of the gear\nand working of the types of our armament possesses a peculiar quality,\nas though he is trying hard to reduce his exposition to our level. (As a\nmatter of plain fact, he is.)\n\nThe instructional course closes on a note of confidence. We learn that\neven 'inexorable circumstance' has an opening to skilled evasion. We go\nafloat for a day and put into practice some measure of our schooling. At\nfire-control, with the guns, we exercise in an atmosphere of din and\nburnt cardboard, aiming at a hit with the fifth shot in sequence of our\nbracket. (An earlier bull's-eye would be bad application of our\nlectures.) A smoke-screen is set up for our benefit, and we turn and\ntwist in the artificially produced fumes and vapours in a practical\ndemonstration of defence. A sea-going submarine is in attendance and is\nopen to our inspection. Her officers augment the class instruction by\nactual showing. Every point in the maze of an under-water attack is\nemphasized by them in an effort to impress us with the virtue of the\ncounter-measures advised. It must be hard indeed for the submarine\nenthusiast (and they are all enthusiasts) to lay bare the 'weaknesses'\nof his loved machine. We feel for them almost as if we heard a man,\nunder pressure, admit that his last ship was unseaworthy.\n\n[Illustration: THE LOSS OF A LINER]\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LONGSHORE VIEW\n\n\nEARLY in November 1914, on return from the sea, I was invited to join\nHis Majesty's Forces.\n\n\". . . An' I can tell you this, mister,\" said the sergeant . . . \"it\nain't everybody as I asks t' join our corps. . . . Adjutant, 'e ses t'\nme this mornin', 'Looka here, Bates,' 'e ses, 'don't you go for to bring\nnone o' them scallywags 'ere! We don't want 'em! We won't 'ave 'em at\nany price,' 'e ses! . . . 'Wot we wants is proper men--men with chests,'\n'e ses!\"\n\nI felt somewhat commended; I trimmed more upright in carriage; he was\ncertainly a clever recruiter. I told him I had rather important work to\ndo. He said, with emphasis, that it must be more than important to keep\na MAN out of the Army--these days! In sound of shrieking\nnewsboys--\"_Ant--werp fallen! British falling back!_\"--I agreed.\n\nI asked him what he did with the men recruited. He was somewhat\nsurprised at my question, but told me that, when trained, they were sent\nacross to the Front--he was hoping to _return_ himself in the next\ndraft. He thought all this talk was needless, and grew impatient. I\nmentioned that the men couldn't very well swim over there. He glared\nscornfully. \"Swim? . . . Swim! . . . 'Ere! Wot th' hell ye gettin' at?\nYou gotta hellova lot t' say about it, anyway!\"\n\nI explained that my business was that of putting the troops and the guns\nand the gear o' war across; that the drafts couldn't get very far on the\nway without our assistance. He glanced at my soft felt hat, at my\nrainproof coat, my umbrella, my handbag--said, \"_Huh_\" and went off in\nsearch of a more promising recruit. His broad back, as he strode off\nswinging his cane, expressed an entire disapproval of my appearance and\nmy alleged business.\n\nGood honest sergeant! His course was a clear and straight one. He would\nhold no more truck with one who wouldn't take up a man's job. His \"Huh\"\nand the swing of his arm said plainly to me, \"Takin' th' boys across,\neh? A ---- fine excuse, . . . a rare ---- trick! Where's yer uniform? Why\nain't ye in uniform, eh? You can't do me with that story, mister! I'm an\nold Service man, I am. I been out t' India. I been on a troopship. I\nseen all them gold-lace blokes a-pokin' their noses about an' growsin'\nat th' way th' decks wos kep! _Huh!_ A damn slacker, mister! That's wot\nI think o' you!\"\n\n\nThe sergeant's attitude was not unreasonable. Where was our uniform?\nWhere was any evidence of our calling by which one could recognize a\nseaman on shore? A sea-gait, perhaps! But the deep-sea roll has gone out\nsince bilge-keels came to steady our vessels! Tattoo marks? These\ncunning personal adornments are now reserved to the Royal Artillery and\nofficers of the Indian Army! Tarry hands? Tar is as scarce on a modern\nsteamer as strawberries in December! Sea-togs? If there be a preference,\nwe have a fondness for blue serge, but blue serges have quite a vogue\namong bankers and merchants and other men of substance! Away from our\nships and the dockside waterfront, we are not readily recognizable; we\njoin the masses of other workers, we become members of the general\npublic. As such, we may lay claim to a common liberty, and look at our\nseafaring selves from an average point of longshore view.\n\n. . . The sea? Oh, we know a lot about it! It is in us. We pride\nourselves, an island race, we have the sea in our blood, we are born to\nit. Circumstances may have brought us to counting-house and ledger, but\nour heart is with the sea. We use, unwittingly, many nautical terms in\nour everyday life. We had been to sea at times, on a business voyage or\nfor health or pleasure. We knew the captain and the mates and the\nengineers. The chief steward was a friend, the bos'n or quartermaster\nhad shown us the trick of a sheepshank or a reef-knot or a short splice.\nTheir ways of it! Port and starboard for left and right, knots for\nmiles, eight bells, the watches, and all that! We returned from our\nsea-trip, parted with our good friends, feeling hearty and refreshed. We\nhummed, perhaps, a scrap of a sea-song at the ledgers. We regretted that\nour sea-day had come so quickly to an end. Anyway, we felt that we had\ngot to know the sea-people intimately.\n\nBut that was on their ground, on the sea and the ship, where they fitted\nto the scheme of things and were as readily understood and appreciated\nas the little round port-holes, the narrow bunks, the cunning tip-up\nwashstands, the rails for hand-grip in a storm. Their atmosphere, their\nstories, their habits, were all part of our sea-piece. Taken from their\nheaving decks and the round of a blue horizon, they seemed to go out of\nour reckoning. On shore? Of course they must at times come on shore, but\nsomehow one doesn't know much about them there. There are our\nneighbours. . . . Yes! Gudgeon's eldest boy, he is at sea--a mate or a\npurser. He has given over wearing his brass buttons and a badge cap now:\nwe see him at long intervals, when he comes home to prepare for\nexaminations. A hefty sort of lad--shouldn't think he would do much in\nthe way of study; a bit wild perhaps. Then Mrs. Smith's husband. Isn't\nhe at sea, a captain or a chief engineer, or something? He comes among\nus occasionally; travels to town, now and then, in our carriage. A\nhearty man--uses rather strong language, though! Has not a great deal to\nsay of things--no interest in politics, in the market, in the games.\nNever made very much of him. Don't see him at the clubs. Seems to spend\nall his time at home. At home! Oh yes; wasn't it only the other day his\nsmall daughter told ours her daddy was _going_ home again on Saturday!\n\nIn war, we are learning. There are no more games; contentious politics\nare not for these days; the markets and business are difficult and\nwayward. We are come to see our dependence on the successful voyages of\nMrs. Smith's husband. His coming among us, from time to time, is proof\nthat our links with the world overseas are yet unbroken, that there may\nstill be business to transact when we turn up at the office. Strangely,\nin the new clarity of a war vision, we see his broad back in our\nharvest-fields, as we had never noticed it before. He is almost one of\nour staff. He handles our goods, our letters, our gold, our securities,\nour daily bread. His business is now so near to us that----\n\nBut no! It cannot properly be done. We recall that there _is_ one way\nfor our ready recognition when we come on shore these days. We cannot\nappropriate a longshore point of view, we cannot conceal our seafaring\nand merge into the crowd. There _is_ a mark--our tired eyes, as we come\noff the sea! True, there are now, sadly, many tired eyes on the beach,\nbut few carry the distant focus, the peculiar intentness brought about\nby absence of perspective at sea. We cannot adopt a public outlook owing\nto this obliquity in our vision, we are barred by the persistence of\nthat vexed perspective in our views on shore.\n\nStill, the point may be raised that only in our actual seafaring are we\nrecognized. We are poor citizens, nomads, who have little part with\nsettled grooves and communal life on shore. The naval seaman is a known\nfigure on the streets. His trim uniform, the cut of his hair, the swing\nof a muscular figure, his high spirits, are all in part with a\nstereotyped conception. He is the sailor; Mercantile Jack has lost his\ntradition in attire and individuality, he has vanished from the herd\nwith his high-heeled shoes, coloured silk neckerchief, and sweet-tobacco\nhat.\n\nIn the round of shore communications there is exercise for assessing a\nmeasure of the other man's work: a large proportion of success hinges on\neasy fellowship, on an understanding and acquaintance not only with the\ntechnics of another's trade, but with his habits and his pursuits. All\ntrades, all businesses, all professions have relations, near or distant,\nwith the sea, but to them our grades and descriptions are dubious and\nuncertain. For this we are to blame. We are bad advertisers. We are\ncontent to leave our fraternization with the beach to the far distant\nday when we shall retire from the sea-service, 'swallow the anchor,' and\nsettle down to longshore life. We cannot join and rejoin the guilderies\non shore in the intervals of our voyaging. We preserve a grudging\nsilence on our seafaring, perhaps tint what pictures we do present in\nother lights than verity. The necessary aloofness of our calling makes\nfor a seclusion in our affairs: we make few efforts to remedy an\nestrangement; in a way, we adopt the disciplinary scourge of the\nflagellants, we glory in our isolation. If we share few of the\ninstitutions that exist for fellowship ashore, we have made no bid for\nadmittance: if the tide of intercourse leaves us stranded, we have put\nout no steering oar on the drift of the flood. We are somewhat\ndiffident. Perhaps we are influenced by a certain reputation that is\nstill attached to us. Are we the prodigals not yet in the mood to turn\nunto our fathers?\n\nStout old Doctor Johnson enlarged on the sea-life--of his day--with a\ndetermination and no small measure of accuracy. \"Sir,\" he said, \"a ship\nis worse than a gaol. There is in a gaol better air, better company,\nbetter conveniency of every kind; and a ship has the additional\ndisadvantage of being in danger. When men come to like a sea-life they\nare not fit to live on land. . . . Men go to the sea before they know\nthe unhappiness of that way of life; and when they have come to know it,\nthey cannot escape from it, because it is then too late to choose\nanother profession.\" At least he admitted the possibility of some of us\ncoming to _like_ a sea-life, though his postulate conveyed no high\nopinion of our intelligence in such a preference.\n\nWe have travelled far since the worthy Doctor's day. Not all his dicta\nmay stand. There is still, perhaps, greater danger in a ship than in\ngaol, but Johnson himself admitted that \"the profession of sailors has\nthe dignity of danger\"! For the rest, our air has become so good that\ninvalids are ordered to sea; our conveniences are notably improved, our\nships the last word in strength and comfort. Our company? Our company\nfits to the heave of our sea. If we have middling men for the trough, we\nhave bold gallants for the crest. We draw a wide range to our service.\nThe sea can offer a good career to a prizeman: we can still do\nmoderately well with the wayward boy, the parents' 'heart-break,' the\nlad with whom nothing can be done on shore. Steam has certainly given a\nnew gentility to our seafaring, but it cannot wholly smooth out the\nuneven sea-road. If we lose an amount of polish, of distinguished\nassociation, of education in our recruitment, we may gain just that\nessence that fits a man for our calling. Our company is, at any rate,\nstout and resolute, and, without that, we had long since been under\nGerman bondage.\n\n[Illustration: THE MERSEY FROM THE LIVER BUILDINGS, LIVERPOOL]\n\nThe war has brought a new prominence to our sea-trade. The public has\nbecome interested not alone in our sea-ventures, but in our landward\ndoings. The astonishing fact of our civilian combatance has drawn a\nrecognition that no years of peace could have uncovered. Not least of\nthe revelations that the world conflict has imposed is the vital\nimportance of the ships. Our naval fleets were ever talked of, read of,\ngloried in, as the spring of our national power, but not many saw the\ncore of our sea-strength in the stained hulls of the merchants' ships.\nThey were accepted without enthusiasm as an existing trade channel; they\nwere there on a round of business and trade, not dissimilar to other\ntransport services--the railways, road-carriage, the inland canals, the\nmoving-van, the messengers. They were ready to hand for service; so near\nthat their vital proportions were not readily apparent. Perhaps the\ngreatest compliment the public has paid to the Merchants' Service lay in\nthis abstract view. One saw an appreciation, perhaps unspoken, in the\nconsternation that greeted the first irregularity in delivery of the\noversea mails. Then, indeed, the importance of the ships was brought\nsharply home. It was incredible: it was unheard of. Mercantile practice\nand correspondence had outgrown all duplications and weatherly\nprecautions; the service was so sure and uninterrupted that no need\nexisted for a second string to the bow. Bills of exchange, indents,\ninvoices, the mail-letter, had long been confided to sea-carriage on one\nbottom. Pages could be written of the tangled skeins, the complex\nsituations, the confusion and congestion that were all brought about by\nextra mileage of an ocean voyage. Fortunes, not alone in hulls and\ncargo, lie with our wreckage on the floor of the channels.\n\nThe sea-front suddenly assumed an importance in the general view, as the\ndrain on our tonnage left vacant shelves in the bakehouse. Commodities\nthat, so common and plentiful, had been lightly valued, were out of\nstock--the ships had not come in! Long queues formed at the shop doors,\nseeking and questioning--their topic, the fortunes of the ships! The\ntable was rearranged in keeping with a depleted larder. Anxious eyes\nturned first in the morning to the list of our sea-casualties; the\nships, what of the ships? The valiant deeds of our armies, the tide and\ntoll of battles, could wait a second glance. Not all the gallantry of\nour arms could bring victory if our sea-communications were imperilled\nor restrained; on the due arrival of the ships centred the pivot of our\noperations.\n\nJoined to the fortune of the ships, interest was drawn to the seamen. A\nnew concern arose. Who were the mariners who had to face these deadly\nperils to keep our sea-lines unbroken? Were they trained to arms? How\ncould they stand to the menace that had so shocked our naval forces?\nDaily the toll rose. Savagery, undreamt of, succeeded mere shipwreck:\nmurder, assassination, mutilation became commonplace on the sea. Who\nwere the mercantile seamen; of what stock, what generation?\n\nTo a degree we were embarrassed at such new attention. The mystery of\nsea-life, we felt, had unbalanced the public view. Our stock, our\ngeneration, was the same as that of the tailors and the\ncandlestick-makers who were standing the enemy on his head on the\nFlanders fields; we differed not greatly from the haberdasher and the\nbaby-linen man who drove the Prussian Guard, the proudest soldier in\nEurope, from the reeking shambles of Contalmaison. Indeed, we had\nadvantage in our education for a fight. Our training, if not military,\nwas at least directed to mass operations in contest with power of the\nelements: torpedo and mine were but additions to the perils of our\nregular trade. If the clerk and the grocer could rise from ordered\npeaceful ways and set the world ringing with his gallantry and heroism,\nwe were poltroons indeed to flinch and falter at the familiar conduct of\nour seafaring. We felt that our share in warfare was as nothing to the\nblaze of fury on the battle-fronts, our sea-life was comparative comfort\nin contrast to the grisly horrors of the trenches.\n\nWith universal service, opportunity for acquaintance with our life and\nour work was extended beyond the numbers of chance passengers. The\nexodus oversea of the nation's manhood brought the landsman and the\nseaman together as no casual meeting on the streets could have done.\nMillions of our country-men, who had never dreamed of outlook on blue\nwater bounded by line of an unbroken horizon, have found themselves\nbrought into close contact with us, living our life, assisting in many\nof our duties, facing the same dangers. In such a firm fellowship and\ncommunion of interest there cannot but be a bond between us that shall\nsurvive the passage of high-water mark.\n\n[Illustration: THE MASTER OF THE GULL LIGHTSHIP WRITING THE LOG]\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nCONNECTION WITH THE STATE\n\n\nTRINITY HOUSE, OUR ALMA MATER\n\nOF all trades, seafaring ever required a special governance, a unique\nCode of Laws, suited to the seaman's isolation from tribunal and land\ncourt, to the circumstance of his constant voyaging. On sea, the\nseverance from ordered government, from reward as from penalty, was\nirremediable and complete. No common law or enactment could be enforced\non the wandering sea-tribesmen who owned no settled domicile, who\nresponded only to the weight of a stronger arm than their own, who had\nan impenetrable cloak to their doings in the mystery of distant seas.\nThe spirit and high heart that had called them to the dangers and\nvicissitudes of a sea-life would not brook tamely the dominance and\ninjunction of a power whose authority was, at sea, invisible--and even\nunder the land, could carry but little distance beyond high-water mark.\nTo the bold self-enterprise of the early sea-venturers, the unconfined\nocean offered a free field for a standard of strength, for a law of\nmight alone. Kings and Princes might rule the boundaries of the land,\nbut the sea was for those who could maintain a holding on the troubled\nwaters. Were the 'Rectores' not Kings on their own heaving decks, their\nprovince the round of the horizon, their subjects the vulgar\n'shippe-men,' their slaves the unfortunate weaker seafarers, whom chance\nor the fickle winds had brought within reach of their sea-arms? The\nsea-rovers were difficult to bridle or restrain. _Spurlos versenkt_\nmight well have been their motto--as that of later pirates. No trace!\nThe sea would tell no tales. They were alone on the breadth of the\nocean, no ordered protection was within hail, the land lay distant under\nrim of the sea-line. Blue water would wash over the face of robbery and\ncrime: the hazards of the sea could well account for a missing ship!\n\nReverse the setting and the same uncharity could similarly be masked. In\nturn, the humanity the seamen contemned was denied to them. Driven on\nshore, wrecked or foundered on coast or shoal, the laws they scorned\nwere powerless to shield or salve the wreckage of their vessels, to save\ntheir weary sea-scarred bodies. 'No trace' was equally a motto for the\ndwellers on the coast: blue water would wash as freely over their bloody\nevidence, the miserable castaways could be as readily returned to the\npitiless sea: an equal hazard of the deep could as surely account for\nmissing men!\n\nOnly special measures could control a situation of such a desperate\nnature, no ordinary governance could effect a settlement; no one but a\npowerful and kingly seafarer could frame an adjustment and post wardens\nto enforce a law for the sea. When Richard Coeur de Lion established\nour first Maritime Code, he had his own rude sea-experience to guide\nhim. On perilous voyaging to the Holy Land, he must have given more than\npassing thought to the trials and dangers of his rough mariners. Sharing\ntheir sea-life and its hardships, he noted the ship-measures and rude\nsea-justice with a discerning and humane appreciation. In all the\nrecords of our law-making there are few such intimate revelations of a\nminute understanding as his Rôles d'Oléron. The practice of to-day\nreflects no small measure of his wisdom; in their basic principles, his\ncharges still tincture the complex fabric of our modern Sea Codes.\nBottomry--the pledging of ship and tackle to procure funds for provision\nor repair; salvage--a just and reasonable apportionment; jettison--the\nsharing of another's loss for a common good; damage to ship or\ncargo--the account of liability: many of his ordinances stand unaltered\nin substance, if varied and amplified in detail.\n\nThe spirit of these mediæval Shipping Acts was devoted as well to\nrestrain the lawless doings of the seamen as to check the inhuman\nplunderings of the coast dwellers. The rights and duties of master and\nman were clearly defined: in the schedule of penalties, the master's\nforfeit was enhanced, as his was assumed to be the better intelligence.\nFor barratry and major sea-crimes, the penalty was death and\ndismemberment. All pilots who wrecked their charges for benefit of the\nlords of the sea-coast were to be hung on a gibbet, and so exhibited to\nall men, near the spot where the vessels they had misdirected were come\non shore. The lord of the foreshore who connived at their acts was to\nsuffer a dire fate. He was to be burned on a stake at his own\nhearthstone, the walls of his mansion to be razed, and the standing\nturned to a market-place for barter of swine! Drastic punishment!\nDoubtless kingly Richard drew abhorrence for the wrecker from his own\nbitter experience on the inhospitable rocky coast of Istria!\n\nLittle detail has come down to us of the means adopted to enforce these\njust acts. Of the difficulties of their enforcement we may judge a\nlittle from the character of the seamen as presented by contemporary\nchronicles. . . .\n\n          \"_Full many a draught of wyn had he drawe\n            From Burdeux-ward, whil that the chapman sleep.\n            Of nyce conscience took he no keep.\n            If that he foughte, and hadde the heigher hand,\n            By water he sent hem hoom to every land._\"\n\n. . . Thus Chaucer; but Chaucer was a Collector of Customs, and would\npossibly assess the stolen draught of Bordeaux as a greater crime than\nthrowing prisoners overboard! From evidence of the date, Richard's\nshipping laws seem to have been but lightly regarded by the lords of the\nforeshore. In the reign of King John, wrecking had become a practice so\ncommon that prescriptive rights to the litter of the beaches was\nincluded in manorial charters, despite the Rôle that . . . \"the pieces\nof the ship still to belong to the original owners, notwithstanding any\ncustom to the contrary . . . and any participators of the said wrecks,\nwhether they be bishops, prelates, or clerks, shall be deposed and\ndeprived of their benefices, and if lay people they are to incur the\npenalties previously recited.\"\n\nIt was surely by more than mere chance the churchmen were thus specially\nindicted! Perhaps it was by a temporal as well as a spiritual measure\nthat Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, strove to remove a\nreproach to the Church. He founded a Guild of sea-samaritans, a\nCorporation\n\n          \"of godly disposed men, who, for the actual\n          suppression of evil disposed persons bringing\n          ships to destruction by the shewing forth of false\n          beacons, do bind themselves together in the Love\n          of our Lord Christ, in the name of the Masters and\n          Fellows of Trinity Guild to succour from the\n          dangers of the sea all who are beset upon the\n          coasts of England, to feed them when ahungered and\n          athirst, to bind up their wounds, and to build and\n          light proper beacons for the guidance of\n          mariners.\"\n\nAn earnest and compassionate Charter: a merciful and honourable\nCommission.\n\nIn this wise was formed our Alma Mater, the ancient guild of shipmen and\nmariners of England. Subsequent charters advanced their titles as they\nenlarged their duties and charges. In 1514, Henry VIII confirmed their\nfoundation under style of . . . \"Master, Wardens, and Accistants of the\nGuild or Fraternity of the Most Glorious and Undivided Trinity, and of\nSt. Clement, in the Parish of Deptford Strond, in the County of Kent.\"\nSome years later, the 'accistants' were subdivided as Elder and Younger\nBrethren, the Foundation being familiarly referred to as the Corporation\nof Trinity House.\n\nIn early days, their efforts were directed in charity to stricken\nseafarers, in humane dispensation, in erection and maintenance of\nsea-marks, in training and provision of competent sea and coast\npilots--a line of endeavour directed by the Godly Primate, in his\nCommission. Beacons were built on dangerous points of the coast, keepers\nappointed to serve them, watchers detailed to observe the vessels as\nthey passed and restrain the activities of the wrecker. The magnitude\nof the task, the difficulties of their office, the powerful\ncounter-influences arrayed against their beneficent rôle, may be judged\nby an incident that occurred as late as little over a hundred and twenty\nyears ago. . . . \"When Ramsgate Harbour, as a port of refuge from storm\nand stress, was intended, and the business was before Parliament, a\npetition from the Lord of the Manor tended to accelerate matters. He\nrepresented to the House, while the Bill was depending, that, _as the\nwrecks on the coast belonged to him and formed a considerable part of\nhis property, he prayed that the Bill would not pass_!\"\n\nEstablished in charity for the guardianship of the coasts, the Brethren\nof Trinity passed to a supervision of the ships and the seamen. Although\na closely guarded Corporation, qualifications for entry were simply\nthose of sea-knowledge. The business of shipping, if more hazardous and\ndifficult on the sea, was less complicated in its landward connections\nthan is its modern conduct. The merchants were well content to be guided\nin their affairs by their sea-partners, the men who actually commanded\nand sailed the ships. The voyages, ship construction, refitment and\nvictualling were matters that could only be advised by the skilled\nseamen. Jealous for professional advancement, the Brethren of Trinity\nheld their ranks open only to skilled master seamen and to kindred\nsea-tradesmen--the shipwrights and rope-makers. While attracting leaders\nand statesmen to the higher and more ornamental offices, control was\nlargely vested in the Elder and Younger Brethren--technical advisers,\ncompetent to understand sea-matters.\n\nIn no small measure, the rise and supremacy of our shipping is due to\ntheir wise direction and control. They were the sole machinery of the\nState for control of the ships and the seaman. Survey and inspection of\nsea-stores, planning and supervision of ship construction, registry and\nmeasurement of vessels, had their beginning in the orderly efforts of\nthe Brethren. Examination of the competence of masters was part of their\nduties--as was their arbitration in crew disputes. They licensed and\nsupplied seafarers of all classes to the 'King's Ships,' tested their\nordnance and examined the ammunition. Their reading of the ancient\ncharter of their foundation was wide and liberal in its scope--\"_to\nbuild, and light proper beacons for the guidance of mariners_\" was their\nunderstanding. In construction and equipment and maintenance of\nsea-marks, in licence and efficient service of their coastal pilots,\nthey carried out to the letter the text of their covenant; in spirit,\nthey understood a guidance that was less material if equally important.\nTheir beacons were not alone standing structures of stone and lime, but\nworld-marks in precept and ordinance, in study and research. They held\nbright cressets aloft to illuminate the difficult seaways in the paths\nof navigation and science of the seafarer. They placed facilities for\nthe study of seamanship before the mariners and sought to advance the\nscience of navigation in line with the efforts of our sea-competitors.\nThe charts and maps of the day--most of them being rude Dutch draft\nsheets--were improved and corrected, and new surveys of the coastal\nwaters were undertaken at charge and patronage of the Brethren. Captain\nGreenville Collins, Hydrographer to Charles II, bears witness to their\nhigh ideals in presenting to the Corporation the fruits of his seven\nyears' labour in survey and charting of the coast. The preface to his\nwork is made noteworthy by his reference to the practice of the day--the\nhaphazard alterations on the charts that brought many a fine ship to\ngrief.\n\n         \". . . I then, as in Duty bound (being a Younger\n         Brother) did acquaint you with it, and most humbly\n         laid the Proposals before you; whereupon you were\n         pleased not only to approve of them, but did most\n         bountifully advance towards the charge of the work.\n         . . . I could heartily wish that it might be so\n         ordered by your Corporation, that all Masters of\n         Ships, both using Foreign and Home Voyages, might\n         be encouraged to bring you in their Journals, and a\n         Person appointed to inspect them; which would be a\n         great Improvement of Navigation, by imparting\n         their Observations and Discoveries of the true Form\n         and Prospect of the Sea Coast . . . and other\n         dangerous Places. . . . And that those Persons who\n         make and sell Sea Charts and Maps, were not allowed\n         to alter them upon the single Report of Mariners,\n         but with your approbation; by which means our Sea\n         Charts would be more correct and the common Scandal\n         of their Badness removed.\"\n\n\nIn all her enactments and activities, our Alma Mater ever preserved a\nworthy pride in her sons. Enthusiasm for a gallant profession, patronage\nfor advancement in sea-skill and learning, a keen and studied interest\nin whatever tended to elevate and ennoble the calling of the sea, were\nher inspiring sentiment. Even in wise reproof and cautionary advice, her\nwords were tempered by a brave note of pride--as though, under so many\ndifficulties and serious dangers, she gloried in our work being worthily\nundertaken. In charge to the seaman, Captain Collins continues his\nkindly preface:\n\n          \"It sometimes happens, and that too frequently,\n          that when Ships which have made long and dangerous\n          Voyages, and are come Home richly laden, have been\n          shipwrecked on their native Coast, whereby both\n          Merchants, Owners, and Mariners have been\n          impoverished. All our neighbours will acknowledge,\n          that no Nation abounds more with skilful and\n          experienced Seamen than our own; none meeting a\n          Danger with more Courage and Bravery . . . so a\n          Master of a ship has a very great Charge, and\n          ought to be a sober Man, as well as a skilful\n          Mariner: All Helps of Art, Care, and\n          Circumspection are to be used by him, that the\n          Lives of Mariners (the most useful of their\n          Majesties' Subjects at this juncture) and the\n          Fortunes of honest Merchants under his Care may be\n          preserved.\"\n\n[Illustration: AT GRAVESEND: PILOTS AWAITING AN INWARD-BOUND CONVOY]\n\nFor over three hundred years, our Alma Mater flourished as the spring of\nour seafaring--a noble and venerable Corporation, concerned solely and\nalone with the sea and the ships and the seamen. The Brethren saw only\none aim for their endeavours--the supremacy of the sea-trade, the\nbusiness by which the nation stood or fell. Nor was theirs an inactive\npart in all the long sea-wars and crises that reacted on our commerce.\nBefore a navy existed, the stout old master-seamen of Deptford Strond\nwere charged with the sea-defences of the capital. The new naval forces\ncame under their control at a later date, and we have the record of an\nefficiency in administration that showed prevision and thought well in\nadvance of that of their landward contemporaries. Piracy, privateering,\nthe restraints of rulers and princes, were dealt with in their day. At\ncritical turns in the courses of our naval conduct, it was to the\nsteersmen of Trinity that the Ministers of the State relied for\nprompt and seamanlike action. The 'sea to the seamen' was the rule.\nAdapting their resources to the needs of the day, the Brethren were held\nfast by no conventional restraint. They assisted peaceful developments\nin trade in the quieter years, but could as readily mobilize for war\nservice under threat of invasion, or turn their skilled activities to\nremoval of the sea-marks to prevent the sailing of a mutinous fleet. In\nthe long and stormy history of Trinity House there were many precedents\nto guide the action of the Brethren on the outbreak of war. As guardians\nof the sea-channels and the approaches to our coasts, they manned these\nmisty sea-trenches on the outbreak of war in 1914. Weaponless, by\nexercise of a skill in pilotage and a resolution worthy of great\ntraditions, the Trinity men have held that menaced line intact. That\nlittle has been said about their great work is perhaps a tradition of\ntheir service.\n\nWe are parted now. The Merchants' Service is no longer a studied and\nvalued interest of the ancient corporation. In an assured position as\narbiters between the State and the shipping industry, the Trinity\nBrethren could combine a just regard for the merchants' interest with a\ngenerous and understanding appreciation of the seamen's trials and\ndifficulties. If for no other reason than the record of past endeavours,\nthey should still control the personnel of the Merchants' Service, in\nregulating the scheme of our education, the scope of our qualification\nfor office, the grades of our service, the essence of our sea-conduct.\nBut in the fickle doldrums of the period when steam superseded sail as\nour motive power, we drifted apart. Shipping interests have become\ncomplicated with land ventures, as widely different from them as the\nmarine engine is from our former sail plan. In 1850 the Merchants'\nService was placed under control of the Board of Trade; we were handed\nover to a Board that is no Board--a department of the State with little,\nif any, sea-sentiment, and that is sternly resolved to repress all our\nefforts to regain a voice in the control of our own affairs.\n\n\nTHE BOARD OF TRADE\n\nIF we may claim the ancient Corporation of Trinity House as the Alma\nMater of the Merchants' Service, we may liken our comparatively new\ndirectorate, the Board of Trade, to our Alma step-Mater--an austere,\nbureaucratic dame, hard-working and earnest, perhaps, but lacking the\nkindly spirit of a sea-tradition. She is utterly out of touch and\nsympathy with a sea-sense--her arms, overstrained perhaps by the\ntremendous burden of charge upon charge that comes to her for\nsettlement, are never open to the seamen. Sullenly, we resent her\ndictation as that of a usurper--a lay impropriator of our professional\nheritage. Under her coldly formal direction, we may attend our affairs\nin diligence and prudence, but for us there is no motherly licence; she\nhas no pride in our doings (if one counts not the vicious insistence of\nher statistics)--we are only the stepchildren of her adoption, odd men\nof the huge and hybrid family over whom she has been set to cast a\nsuspicious, if guardian, eye. While Trinity House was concerned alone\nwith the conduct of shipping and sea-affairs, our new controllers of the\nBoard of Trade have interests in charge as widely apart as the feeding\nof draught-horses and the examination of a bankrupt cheesemonger. We are\nbut a Department. The sea-service of the nation, the key industry of our\nisland commerce, is governed by a subdivision in a Ministry that has\nlong outgrown the limits of a central and answerable control. Instead of\nsettlement by a contained and competent Ministry of Marine, our highly\ntechnical sea-conduct is ruled for us in queue with longshore affairs,\nsandwiched, perhaps, between horse-racing and the period of the dinner\ntable.\n\n          \"_The President of the Board of Trade has\n          intimated to the Stewards of the National Hunt\n          Committee that . . . it is not possible to sanction\n          a list of fixtures for the season._\"\n\n          \"Mr. Peto asked the President of the Board of\n          Trade whether his attention has been called to the\n          decision of Mr. Justice Rowlatt . . . in which\n          judgment was given for the plaintiff company,\n          owners of the steamship X----, sunk in collision,\n          due to steaming without lights.\"\n\n          \"_The President of the Board of Trade announces\n          modifications of the Lighting Order during the\n          present week, one effect being that the\n          prohibition of the serving of meals in hotels\n          after 9.30 p.m. is temporarily suspended._\"\n\nPerhaps we were rather spoilt by the pride that was in us when our\nseafaring was ruled by the appreciative Brethren of Trinity, and it may\nbe as a repressive measure of discipline the Board of Trade extends no\nparticular favour to our sea-trade, and has indeed gone further in being\nat pains to belittle our sea-deeds, and disparage a recognition of our\nstatus. Our controllers are anxious that their ruling of award and\nreward should suffer no comparison. For gallantry at sea, the grades of\ntheir recognition may vary from the Silver Medal (delivered, perhaps, as\nin a recent case, with the morning's milk) to a sextant or a pair of\nbinoculars.\n\nIn 1905 a very gallant rescue was effected by the men of the Liverpool\nsteamer _Augustine_. The crew of a Greek vessel were taken from their\nfoundering ship in mid-Atlantic under circumstances of great peril. Not\nonly was boat service performed in tempestuous weather, but the officers\nof _Augustine_ themselves jumped overboard to try to save the Greek\nseamen, who were too far exhausted to hold on to the life-lines and\nbuoys thrown to them. The King of Greece, in recognition of the\ngallantry and humanity displayed, signed a decree conferring on the\nBritish master and his officers the Gold Decoration of the Redeemer.\n\nA general view would be that this was an award quite appropriate to the\nservices rendered, an expression by the Greek Government that they\nwished to place the names of the gallant savers of their seamen on the\nRoll of their Honour. Our Board of Trade objected. Through the Foreign\nOffice, they appear to have informed the Greek Government that such\ndistinguished awards were unusual and might prove a source of\ndissatisfaction in future cases. Possibly they viewed the appearance of\na ribbon on the breast of a merchant seaman as an encroachment on the\nrights of their own permanent officials. The awards were not made;\nsilver medals were substituted, which Captain Forbes and his officers,\nlearning of the Board's action, did not accept. On a later occasion the\nsame unsympathetic influence was exercised; the Russian Order of St.\nStanislaus was withdrawn and replaced by a gold watch and chain!\n\nIn supervision of our qualifications as masters and mates, the Board of\nTrade has followed the lines of least resistance. It is true that they\nhave established certain standards in navigation and seamanship that we\nmust attain in order to hold certificates, but the training to these\nstandards has never been an interest of their Department. While our\nshipmate, the marine engineer, has opportunity in his apprenticeship on\nshore to complete his education, we are debarred from the same facility.\nApprenticed to the sea at from fourteen to sixteen years of age, our\nyouth bid good-bye to their school books and enter on a life of freedom\nfrom scholarly restraint--a 'kindergarten' in which their toys are\nhand-implements of the sea. There is no need to worry; there is no study\nrequired for four years; a week or two at the crammer's will suffice to\nsatisfy the Board of Trade when apprenticeship days were over. And the\nfault does not lie with the 'crammer.' Scholarly and able and competent,\nas most of them are, to impart a better and more thorough instruction,\nthe system of leaving all to the voyage's end offers to them no alternative\nbut to present the candidate for examination as rapidly as possible.\nSea-apprentices of late years did not often share in a scheme of instruction\nafloat. Rarely were they carried as complements to a full crew; for the\nmost part they were workmen in a scant manning--'greenhorns'--drudges\nto the whim of any grown man. In a rough measure, the standard of such\nseamanship as they _gathered_ was good--else we had been in ill case\nto-day--but it was without method or apprehension--a smattering--the\nonly saving grace of which lay in the ready resource that only seafaring\nengenders. The exactions of a busy working sea-life left little leisure\nfor self-advancement in study; the short, and ever shortening, intervals\nof a stay in port provided small opportunity for exercise of a helping\nhand from the shore. By deceptive short cuts that gave small\nenlightenment, by rules--largely mnemonic--we passed our tests and\nobtained our certificates. On shore, the landward youth fared better.\nThe spirit of the times provided a free and growing opportunity for the\nstudy of technics and advance of scientific craftsmanship. The Navy took\nfull advantage of this tide. The Board of Admiralty saw the futility of\nthe old system of sea-training, having regard to the complete alteration\nof the methods in seamanship and navigation. Naval education could no\nlonger be compensated by a schedule of bugle-calls and the exactitude of\na hammock-lashing. Concurrent with a sound sea-training, general\neducation was insisted upon. Zealously Admiralty guided their youth on a\npath that led to a culture and appreciation of values, wide in scope, to\nserve their profession. If it was essential, in the national interest,\nthat the general education and sea-training of naval officers should be\nso closely supervised, it was surely little less important that that of\nthe merchants' officers should receive some measure of attention. But\nfor the private efforts of some few shipowners, nothing on the lines of\na considered scheme was done. No assistance or advice or grant in aid\nwas made by the Board of Trade. While drawing to their coffers huge\nsums, accumulations of fines and forfeitures, deserters' wages, fees,\nthe unclaimed earnings of deceased seamen, they could afford no\nassistance to guide the youthful seaman through a course of right\ninstruction to a better sea-knowledge; they made no advances to place\nour education on a less haphazard basis. It may be cited as an evidence\nof _their_ indifference that a large proportion of unsuccessful\ncandidates for the junior certificates fail in a test of _dictation_.\n\nWith our entry to the war at sea in 1914, the same indifference was\nmanifest. There was no mobilization or registration of merchant seamen\nto aid a scheme of manning and to control the chaos that was very soon\nevident. Despite their intimate knowledge of the gap in our ranks made\nby the calling-up of the Naval Reserve--accentuated by the enlistment of\nmerchant seamen in the Navy--the Board of Trade could see no menace to\nthe sea-transport service in the military recruitment of our men. It was\napparently no concern of theirs that we sailed on our difficult voyages\nshort-handed, or with weak crews of inefficient landsmen, while so many\nof our skilled seamen and numbers of our sea-officers were marking time\nin the ranks of the infantry. Under pressure of events, it was not until\nNovember 1915 they took a somewhat hesitating step. This was their\nproclamation; it may be contrasted with Captain Greenville Collins's\npreface.\n\n\n\"MAINTENANCE OF BRITISH SHIPPING\n\n          \"At the present time the efficient maintenance of\n          our Mercantile Marine is of vital national\n          interest, and captains, officers, engineers, and\n          their crews will be doing as good service for\n          their country by continuing to man British ships\n          as by joining the army.\n\n                   \"THE PRESIDENT OF THE BOARD OF TRADE.\"\n\n\n\"AT the present time\"! Possibly our Board was writing in anticipation of\nthe completion of the Channel tunnel, or of a date when our men-at-arms\nand their colossal equipment, the food and furnishings of the nation,\nthe material aid to our Allies, could be transported by air. \"As good\nservice\"! An equality! An option! Was it a matter of simple balance that\na seaman on military service was using his hardily acquired\nsea-experience as wisely as in the conduct of his own skilled trade, as\nefficiently as in maintaining the lines of our oversea communications?\nEvents at this date were proving that we had no need to go ashore for\nfighting service.\n\nIn the first violence of unrestricted submarine warfare, the Board\nadvanced little, if any, assistance to the victims of German savagery.\nTheir machinery existed only to repatriate torpedoed crews under warrant\nas \"distressed British seamen\"; they were content to leave destitution,\nhunger--the rags and tatters of a body covering--to be relieved and\nrefitted by the charitable efforts of philanthropic Seamen's Societies.\nTo them--to the kindly souls who met us at the tide-mark--we give all\nhonour and gratitude, but it was surely a shirking of responsibility on\npart of our Board that placed the burden of our maintenance on the\ncommittee of a Seaman's Bethel. As a tentative measure, our controllers\nadvanced a scheme of insurance of effects--a business proposition, of\nwhich many took advantage. Later, this was altered to a gratuitous\ncompensation. Cases occurred in which distressed seamen had a claim\nunder both schemes: their foresight was not accounted to them. Although\nproof might be forthcoming of the loss of an outfit that the small\ncompensation could not cover, they could claim only on one or the other,\nthe insurance or the gratuitous compensation. It was evident that the\nBoard derived some measure of assistance from the examiners in\nbankruptcy on their staff.\n\nIn certain seaports--notably at Southampton--Sailors' Homes (built and\nendowed for the comfort and accommodation of the merchant seamen) were\npermitted, without protest, to be requisitioned by Admiralty for the\nsole use of their naval ratings. The merchantmen, on service of equal\nimportance and equal danger, were turned out to the streets, and our\nBoard took no action, registered no complaint.\n\nTo await popular clamour was evidently a guiding principle with our\ncontrollers. Their view was probably that we were private employees in\ntrading ventures, that their concern was only to see the sea-law carried\nout. Sea-law, however, was not in question in the case of the master and\nofficers of _Augustine_, and, if they could assume the right to\ninterfere in that personal matter, they accepted a position as curators\nof the personnel of the Merchants' Service. They cannot complain if our\nunderstanding of their duties does not agree with theirs. Deliberately,\nthey have asserted that our sea-conduct is within their province.\n\nAn extraordinary matter is the character and calibre of the Board's\nmarine officials. Unquestionably able and personally sympathetic as they\nare, it remains the more incomprehensible that our governance is so\nstupidly controlled. Perhaps their submissions fail of acceptance in the\ncouncils of a higher control--that has also to decide on horse-racing\nand bankruptcy. Under a less heavily encumbered Ministry, our affairs\nshould receive the consideration that is their due. It required but\nlittle experience of the new sea-warfare to establish our claim to be\nconsidered a national service with a mission and employment no less\nvital and combatant than that of the enlisted arms. Master and man, we\nhave earned the right to no small voice in the control of our own\naffairs. Our sea-interests are large enough to require a separate\nDepartment of the State, a Ministry of Marine, in which we should have a\npart.\n\nThe Board of Trade has failed us, they have proved unworthy of our\nconfidence. Quite lately they began to mobilize and register the\nmercantile seamen of the country. _Three years and nine months after the\noutbreak of war, they sounded the 'assembly' of the Merchants' Service._\nLet that be their epitaph!\n\n[Illustration: TRANSPORTS LEAVING SOUTHAMPTON ON THE NIGHT PASSAGE TO\nFRANCE]\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nMANNING\n\n\nSEA-LABOUR cannot be likened to employment on shore. Once signed and\nboarded and to sea, there can be no dismissal and replacement of the men\nsuch as may be seen any morning at the street gates of a workshop or\nshipyard. Good or bad, we are bound as shipmates for a voyage. Ordinary\nlaws and regulations cannot reach us in our sailing; we are given the\nMerchant Shipping Act for our guidance, the longest and wordiest Act on\nthe Statute Book, a measure that presupposes a discipline that no longer\nexists. Our ships, in size and power--our complement, in number and\ncharacter--have altered greatly beyond the views of the Act. That\nstatute, that in its day may have sufficed to set a standard of law and\norder to the moderate crews of our sailing ships, is utterly inadequate\nto control effectively the large ship's company of our modern steam\nvessels. The men, too, are changed--the sailormen, perhaps, not\ngreatly--but, with the thundering evolution of steam-power, we have\ndrawn grown men to the fires, ready-made men, uninfluenced by traditions\nof sea-service. We had no hand in their making--in the early years when\ndiscipline may be inculcated and character be formed. The drudgery and\nuninterest of their heavy work makes for a certain reaction that\nfrequently finds its expression in violence and criminal disorder. The\nshort voyage system and the grossly inadequate provisions of the Act\nafford no opportunity to guide the reaction in a less vicious direction.\nWe hailed as a benefactor to the sea the inventor of single topsails;\nthe statistics of our sea-fatalities give a definite date to their\nintroduction. Daily we pray for an inventor to emancipate our stokehold\ngangs.\n\nIt would be idle to pretend that, as master-seamen, we were not\ndisquieted by our manning problem, following upon the outbreak of war.\nWhile mobilization of the Army Reserve drew men from all industries in a\nproportion that did not affect seriously any one employment, the\ncalling-up of the Royal Naval Reserve strained our resources in men to\nthe utmost. Seamen, naval or mercantile, are of one great trade: the\nbalance of our activities being thrown suddenly and violently to one\nside of our engagement could not fail in disorganizing the other. Added\nto the outgoing of the retained Reserve seamen, recruitment of a new\nReserve to man Auxiliaries and Special Service vessels was almost\ninstantly begun. There were many applicants; the choice naturally fell\nupon our best men remaining. In and after August 1914, we were\nshort-handed in the Merchants' Service. We were, indeed more than\nshort-handed, for the loss of our steadiest men had effect in removing a\ncertain check upon indiscipline. We missed just that influence upon\nwhich, for want of adequate authoritative powers, we counted to preserve\nsome measure of subordinance in our ranks.\n\nLarge vessels were most seriously affected. The service of troop\ntransport suffered and was delayed. On occasion, there was the amazing\ninstance of some 1500 trained and disciplined troops standing by to\nawait the sobering-up and return to duty of a body of seamen and\nfiremen. Drunkenness is not yet accounted a crime, but the holding up of\nvital reinforcements was no petty fault. Under the Act we were empowered\nto inflict a fine of exactly five shillings on each offender. The\noffence that held 1500 soldiers in check was met by a mulct of two\nhalf-crowns.\n\n[Illustration: LIVERPOOL: MERCHANTMEN SIGNING ON FOR OVERSEA VOYAGES]\n\nThe Army and the Naval Authorities were startled, as at a situation they\nhad not contemplated. Masters and officers, if not actually challenged,\nwere deemed to be responsible for such a state of insubordination\namong their crews. While such an assumption was, to a degree, unjust, it\nis true that we were not wholly blameless. For the sake of a quiet\ncommercial life, we had accepted the difficulties of our manning without\nprotest. In this we erred. Had we been an independent and economically\nfearless body, we would, in the days before the war, have refused to\nproceed to sea with any less than the summary powers held by a\nmagistrate on shore to enforce law and order in his district. It is true\nthat no magisterial powers will prevent drunkenness, but that condition\non the ships was due directly to the general indiscipline that we were\nunable wholly to control.\n\nThe state of affairs called for more than a merely temporary measure,\nbut our controllers advanced no settlement--only they devised an\nexpedient. The situation was met, not by a firm action that would affect\nall merchant ships and seamen alike, but by a Defence of the Realm\nregulation that operated only when ships were chartered directly by\nGovernment. The opportunity to make the merchantmen's forecastle a place\nfor decent men to earn a living was passed by. While admitting, by their\nconcern, that the matter called for redress, Government could only take\naction in cases where their bureaucratic interests were threatened.\nVessels on purely commercial voyages, including carriage of the mails\nand millions in the nation's securities, were left without the\nregulation: we had to carry on as best we could. It entailed hardship on\nthe better-disposed members of our ships' companies: in whatever\nfashion, the work had to be carried on: we taxed our steady men to the\nlimit. The effect upon them may be judged when they realized that the\ndelinquency of their shipmates, whose duty they had undertaken, was\nassessed at the price of a pound of 'Fair Maid' tobacco.\n\nWhile the quality of our men was thus affected, we suffered in their\ndiminished numbers. Without a protest from our governing body, the Board\nof Trade, the army took a toll of our seamen. Thus early, it was not\nrealized that we merchantmen would have to fight for our ships and our\nlives at sea. The drums of field-war set up a note that was heard\noutside of six fathoms of blue water; large numbers of our seamen and\nmany ships' officers joined up for military service. There was a certain\nmeasure of compensation afforded by the industrial situation ashore. As\nthe magnitude of the world conflict was realized, nervous employers of\nlabour reduced their staffs. All workmen suffered, the building trades\nbeing perhaps most affected. As needs must, we were open to recruit\nable-bodied men: we had to make seamen, and that quickly. Masons,\nbrick-layers, tilers, slaters--they reached tide-mark in their quest for\nemployment. We were glad enough to sign them on to make up our\ncomplements. At the first they were not of great value. Unused to the\nsea and ship-life, they had to be nursed through stormy weather: a\nsource of anxiety to the watch-keeper when the seas were up. In time\nthey became moderately efficient. As good tradesmen, they had a\nself-respect that could be encouraged: they were not difficult to\ncontrol.\n\nOf these, perhaps 50 per cent. made a second voyage, but not more than\n10 per cent. remained at sea permanently. Their reasons for returning to\nthe beach were always the same. Not the hard work or the seas appalled\nthem, but the class of men with whom they had to live and work. Some of\nour recruits had other objects in view than a desire for a sea-life. At\nports abroad, notably in the United States, they deserted. Strict as the\nFederal machinery is for regulating immigration into the United States,\nthere appeared to be no keen desire on the part of the authorities to\nembarrass the improper entry of our men. It was not difficult to assign\na cause for their laxity. Technically, the men were seamen. Our Uncle\nSam was stirring towards true sea-power--the acquisition of large\nmercantile fleets. The native American could see no prosperous\ncommercial career in the forecastle: only from abroad might labour be\nobtained for operation of the ships. We had done the same in our time.\nDesertions were not confined to the landsmen of our crews. A situation\narose quickly, in which it became profitable for our men to desert\nabroad and re-sign on another ship at an enhanced pay. As though to\nfacilitate their breach of agreement, it was not long before the United\nStates Seamen's Act came into force. By some international process that\nwe seamen are not yet able to understand, this Act became operative on\nevery vessel entering an American port. It establishes, for all seamen,\nthe 'right to quit.' Strangely, our men did not all abandon ship. Some\nstirring of the patriotism that, later, became pronounced among them\nmust have had effect in restraining wholesale disembarkation.\nShort-handed by perhaps an eighth of a full crew, we made our return\nvoyages. By shift and expedient, we kept a modest head of steam. The\nloss was almost wholly at the fires. Stewards were set to deck duties\nand the look-out, the released sailormen went below to the stokehold--on\noccasion, passengers were recruited on board to bear a hand. Perhaps the\npublic grumbled at receiving their letters an hour or two behind time.\n\nIt is not easy to advance reasons for the new and better spirit that\ncame to us coincident with the appearance of German savagery at sea.\nRestrictions of the supply of drink had effect in enabling us to\ncommence a voyage under good conditions, without brawling and bloodshed\nin the forecastle. An atmosphere of determination was, perhaps,\nintroduced by the tales of undying heroism in the trenches that reached\nus. The losses in ships served partially to supplement the numbers of\nmen available: a choice could be made in engagement of a crew. Over all,\nthere was the menace to our seafaring--the threat and challenge to our\nsea-pride, as compelling and remedial as the draught of a free breeze.\nIn his action, the enemy made many miscalculations; not the least was\nwhen he roused a spirit of readiness to service in our merchantmen; he\nblew more than the acrid fumes into us with the shattering explosion of\nhis torpedoes.\n\nIf we may claim a patriotic influence acting upon our white seamen as\nreason for good service in the war, how shall we assess the lascar's\nquiet employment in a conflict that, perhaps, only dimly he understood?\nOf its operation he could have no ignorance. _Schrecklichkeit_ was\nparticularly to be employed against the native seaman. Shell and torpedo\ntook toll of his numbers, but there was little hesitancy when he was\ninvited to sign for further voyages. It was ever a point of prophecy\nwith his detractors in the days of peace that he would be found wanting\nunder stress. Not boldly or magnificently or in a spirit of vainglory,\nbut in a manner that is not the less impressive because few have spoken\nof it, he has given them the lie.\n\nThe attitude of the naval authorities in regard to our manning is\npeculiar. They seem to be unable to think of ships' crews in any other\nterms than that of their own large complements. There is one part in the\nlectures of our instructional course that never fails to arouse rude\nmerriment among the master-seamen attending--as it produces a shamefaced\nattitude on part of the naval lecturer (now intimate with our\ndifficulties). In instructions for detailing our men to 'action\nstations' the phrases occur: \"a party to be detached for attention to\nwounded,\" \"a party to serve hoses at fire stations,\" \"an ammunition\nsupply party,\" \"party to put the provisions and blankets in the boats.\"\nIn practice, we are also working the guns, attending the navigation,\nspotting the fall of shot, keeping post at wheel and look-out. The\naverage cargo vessel rarely carries more than eight men on deck: we\ncannot afford to have many wounded!\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\n[Illustration: THE RULER OF PILOTS AT DEAL]\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE COASTAL SERVICES\n\n\nTHE HOME TRADE\n\n          \"_We're a North-country ship, an' a deep-water crew.\n                   A--way, i-oh!\n            Ye can stick t' th' coast, but we're damned if we do.\n                   An' we're bound t' Rio Grande!_\"\n\n\nSO we sang--sounding a bravery at the capstan as we hove around and\nraised anchor to begin a voyage. We had our ideas. We were foreign-going\nsailors, putting out on a far venture. In pride of our seafaring--of\nrounding the Horn, of crossing Equator, perhaps of a circumnavigation--we\nlooked down upon the coaster. He was a hoveller, a tidesman, a\nmud-raker--his anchors could shew no coral on the flukes as they came\nawash. We carried these ideas to the beach. Deliberately, we produced an\natmosphere that is unjust to the cross-channel man.\n\nThe oversea voyage possesses a greater appeal to the imagination. Long\ndistances, variation of the climes, storm and high ocean seas--a burthen\nof goods brought from a far country, all contribute to make an\nimpression that the tale of a coasting voyage could not produce.\nFamiliarity, perhaps, has robbed the short-carriers' sea-trip of what\nshreds of romance existed. In tide and out, the smaller vessels have\ngrown to the sight as almost part of the familiar quays and wharves they\nfrequent. A voyage from Tyne to the Thames or from Glasgow to Liverpool\nis so common and everyday that little remark is excited. We are\nunconcerned at its incident; the gale that wrecked a collier on the\nBlack Middens may have blown a tile or two from our roof; the fog that\nbound the Antwerp boat for a tide is, perhaps, the same that held us in\nthe City for an hour over time. We may entertain our friends with\nrecital of a sea-voyage, but we have not a great deal to say of a\nChannel passage.\n\nAt war, this focus of the public outlook has persisted. The threat to\nour sea-communications, to the source by which the nation gains its\ndaily bread, has drawn an intense interest to the fortunes of the ships,\nbut that interest has rarely been extended to the coasting vessels and\nthe seamen who man them; there is little said of the work of the coastal\npilots, on whose skill and local knowledge so much depends. We are\nconcerned for our _Britannics_ and _Justitias_, but the fate of the\n_Sarah Pritchard_ of Beaumaris, or the escape of _Boy Jacob_ are small\nevents in relation to the toll of our tonnage. Their utility has not\nbeen brought before us in the same way as the direct service of the\ngreat ocean carriers. It is not difficult to understand that a breakdown\nof that source of supply would mean starvation and disaster. Our\ndependence on the coasting vessels is not so apparent. The vital needs\nserved by them are, in part, obscured. We are, perhaps, satisfied that\nalternative channels exist for passage of the tonnage they transport:\nroad and rail are open for inland carriage.\n\nThe situation is not quite so clear. Pressure at the rail-heads, at the\ncollieries, at the steelworks and the manufactories, has thrown a burden\non our island railways that they are unable to bear. But for the service\nof the coasters and the resolution of the home-trade seamen, the block\nto our traffic could not have been other than fatal. By relieving the\ncongestion on the lines, they made possible the expansion of our output\nof munitions. Millions of tons that would otherwise have been put upon\nland transport (and have lain to swell the accumulations), are brought\nto tide-mark to be handled and cleared and ferried between home ports\nand across the channels by the coasting vessels. The Fleet is coaled\nand stored almost entirely by sea. Our men in France and Flanders are\ncarried and fed and refitted by light-draught steamers. Power is\ntransmitted to our Allies from British coalfields by our grimy colliers.\nConstant voyaging, dispatch at the ports of lading and discharge,\nseagoing through all weathers, make huge the total of their tonnage, but\ntheir individual cargoes rank small against the mammoth burdens of the\noversea merchantmen. The sea-ants (however busily they throng the ports)\nare seldom remarked; their work is carried on in the shadow of more\nspectacular and lengthy voyaging. On occasion, a stray beam of popular\nrecognition is turned on the smaller craft--as when _Wandle_ steams up\nThames after her gallant fight, or when _Thordis_ (Bell, master) rams\nand sinks a U-boat--but the light is quickly slewed again to illuminate\nthe seafaring of the oversea vessels. Similarly--with the men--interest\nhas centred on the deep-water mariner; the coasting masters and their\ncrews, together with the pilots, are little heard of. Their navigations,\nsteering by the land on a short passage of a tide or two, have not the\ncompelling emphasis of long voyaging on distant seas. Chroniclers of our\ndeeds and fates have set out the drawn agony of the raft and the open\nboat in mid-Atlantic; they are less insistent on the tragedies (as\nbitter and prolonged) of inshore waters. Perhaps they are influenced by\na common misconception that succour is ever ready at hand in the narrow\nsea. There are the lifeboats on the coast, patrols on keen look-out in\nthe channels, vessels are ever passing up and down the fairways; the\nland, in any case, is not far distant. Such assurance has but slender\nwarrant. Gallant, unselfish, and thorough as are the services of the\nlifeboatmen, their operations in the main are intended to serve known\nwrecks and strandings. A flare in the darkness or a flash of gunfire in\nthe channels is now no special signal; the new sea-casualty gives little\ntime or warning for a muster of resources. The ready succour of the\npatrols is, perhaps, more instant and alert, but the channel seaways\ncover an area that no system could place under a quartered post or\nguard. No vigilance could prevent the capture of _Brussels_ and the\nmartyrdom of Captain Fryatt; the crew of the _Nelson_ smack were for\nover thirty hours adrift in the narrow seas ere they were sighted and\nrescued. In the busy waters of the Irish Sea, three men of the ketch\n_Lady of the Lake_ made ten miles in eight hours under oars, after their\nvessel had been sunk by gunfire. A weary progress, with ships passing\nnear and far, but none daring too close the boat that might, for all\nthey know, be trap for an enemy mine or torpedo.\n\nIt is time we ceased to sing that Rio Grande chanty: an _amende_ is\noverdue.\n\nWhile we, the foreign-going men, have our 'ins and outs' of the most\ndangerous seas--serving our turn in the front-line sea-trenches, then\nretiring to a rest in safer and more distant waters--the coastal seaman\nhas no such relief. His daily duty lies in the storm-centre, in the\nvery midst of the sea-war. From harbour mouth to the booms of his port\nof entry, no course can be steered that does not drive his keel through\nminable areas and across the ranges of lurking submarines.\n\nThe new sea-warfare has developed a scheme of offence that renders our\ninshore waters peculiarly fraught with peril to navigators. The\ncoast-line is no longer a defence and protection; rather, by limiting\nsea-room in manoeuvre, the shoals and rock-bound beach have turned\nally to the enemy. Sea-mark and headland provide a guide in estimating\nthe run of a torpedo; note of a point definite, on which sea-routes\nconverge, is of value to a submarine commander. Even in the shallower\nwaters--depths in which a torpedo attack would be difficult--an equally\ndeadly offence may be maintained. The run of the sea-bottom in the\nchannels offering a good hold to slipped mine-moorings, it was not long\nbefore the enemy had adapted submarines to continue the minelaying that\nour command of the surface had stopped. While new and larger U-boats are\nsent abroad on the trade routes, special submarines, less encumbered by\nthe stores and equipment that longer passages would demand, make\nfrequent visits to the fairways to sow a freight of mines. No section of\nthe channels holds sanctuary for the coaster. Close inshore, as in the\noffing, is all a danger area, open to the stealthy visits of the\nsubmarine minelayers. Right on the Mersey Bar, the Liverpool pilot\nsteamer went up with a loss of forty lives; remote West Highland bays\nhave echoed to the crash of mines exploded; seaward of the Irish banks,\nthe deeps are alike dangerous. Counter-measures there are (services as\nefficient and resourceful in life-saving as those of the enemy are\ncunning and viciously ingenious in murder), but even the gallantry and\nskill and untiring efforts of our minesweepers cannot wholly clear the\nimmense water-spaces. Mechanical contrivances--the Otters--are valuable,\nand aid in fending the mines, but (the sea-bottom being foul with\nwreckage) they are often a danger to their carriers. There is ever the\nharassing uncertainty which no vigilance may allay. The sheer relief of\npassing over the hundred-fathom line to the comparative safety of the\ndeeps of ocean is never experienced by the cross-channel captain.\n\nFavoured by their light draught and smaller proportions, the coasters\nare perhaps less exposed to successful torpedo attack than their larger\nand deeper ocean sisters. In the early days of submarine activity, the\nenemy was loath to use his deadlier and more expensive weapon on the\nsmall craft. He relied on gunfire to produce effects. The channel seas\nwere not then as well patrolled as now by armed auxiliaries: he could\nhave a leisurely exercise in frightfulness at little risk to\nhimself--there was no return to his fire--it was an easy target\npractice. _Cottingham_ was shelled at short ranges when off the Bristol\nChannel. Unarmed and outdistanced, the master stopped his engines,\nlowered the two boats, and abandoned ship. The shelling continued, but\nwas directed on the sinking ship; the submarine commander evidently\nthought the bitter wintry weather would accomplish a more refined\n_Schrecklichkeit_ than the summary execution of his shell-bursts. In the\nheavy battery of a sou'west gale, the boats drove apart. The master's\nboat was sighted by a patrol, and the crew of six rescued after some\nhours' exposure. The mate's boat came ashore at Portliskey in Wales,\nbottom up and shattered; of the seven men who had manned her there was\nno trace. Six of _Cottingham's_ crew survived the bitter weather--six\nhardy seamen were spared to return to service afloat. The German became\ndissatisfied with a frightfulness that murdered only half a merchant\nship's crew when it was possible to murder all. It was not enough to\ndestroy the ships and leave the seamen to the wind and sea and bitter\nweather. If they were not to be driven from their calling by fear, there\nwere other measures--sure, definite, final. There was to be no weakness\namong the apostles of the new creed, no shrinking, no humanity--British\nseamen were to follow their shattered ships to the litter of the channel\nbottom. The _Kölnische Zeitung_ set forth that \"in future, our German\nsubmarines and aircraft would wage war against British mercantile\nvessels without troubling themselves in any way about the fate of the\ncrews.\" The _Kölnische Zeitung_ could not have been well informed. Their\nsubmarine commanders troubled themselves greatly about the fate of our\ncrews. They shelled the boats in many subsequent attacks. They expended\nammunition in efforts to secure that no further seafaring would be\npossible to their victims. Sheer individual murder took the place of an\nillegal act of war. \". . . We were unarmed, a slow ship. The submarine\nhit us with a shot on the bow and then ran up the signal to take to the\nlifeboats. We did so, and several shots were fired at the _Palermo_.\nThey did not take effect, however, and a torpedo was sent into her side.\nShe sank within a few minutes. Whether the fact that he had to use a\ntorpedo to send our vessel to the bottom angered the commander I do not\nknow, but the submarine came directly alongside of our lifeboats. The\ncommander was on the deck, and yelled, 'Where is the captain of that\nship?' The captain stood up and made his way to the side where the\nGerman was standing. The German held his revolver close to our captain's\nhead. 'You will never bring _another ship across this ocean_,' he said,\nusing several oaths, then he pulled the trigger. Our captain fell dead,\nand we were permitted to continue.\"\n\nThe new campaign was directed particularly against the coasters and\nfishermen. The procedure was simple. No great speed or gun-range was\nrequired. There was no risk, if a good look-out was kept for patrols and\nwar craft. The helpless, unarmed vessel, outsped and hulled, was\nbrought-to within easy range, and shelling could be continued to\naugment the confusion of boat-lowering in a seaway. If by resolution and\nfine seamanship the boats were got away, there was further target\npractice with shrapnel or machine-gun. The schooner _Jane Williamson_ of\nArklow was attacked without warning. The first shot smashed one of her\nboats, the second killed one of the crew. At shouting distance--a\nhundred yards range--point-blank under the submarine's gun--there could\nbe no question of defence or escape. The remaining five hands put over\nthe second boat, tumbled into her and shoved clear. To hit the boat the\nsubmarine's gun must have been slewed deliberately from the larger\ntarget: bad shooting could not have occurred. Afloat and helpless, a\nshell struck her, killing one man outright, mortally wounding the master\nand another, and damaging the frail row-boat. The Germans beckoned the\nboat to them, but it was only to laugh at the throes of the dying men.\nThe U-boat submerged, leaving the three survivors to ship oars and face\nthe long weary pull towards the distant land. The _William_ was sunk by\ngunfire; the gun's crew of the U-boat then loaded shrapnel and turned\nthe gun on the open boat, wounding a man of the crew. _Redcap_ was\nhauling her trawl when without any warning shrapnel burst on board.\nThere was no challenge, the fishermen had made no attempt to get under\nway and escape. Busied with the gear, all hands were grouped together,\nwhen the shell exploded among them. One hand was killed instantly, the\nmate's leg was blown off, two seamen were wounded. Under fire, the\nsurvivors put the boat over and removed the wounded; the Germans gave no\nthought to their distress, but centred rapid fire on the trawler, sunk\nher, and disappeared.\n\n[Illustration: A HEAVILY ARMED COASTING BARGE]\n\nWhen guns were served to merchant ships, the coasters shared in their\nissue. Encounters with enemy submarines were no longer one-sided and\nhopeless. Effects could not be secured by the Germans at so small a\ncost. Frequently the effects were those that the submarine commander was\nmost anxious to avoid. _Atalanta_ picked up the crew of _Maréchal de\nVillars_, then fought off the U-boat that had sunk that vessel. Watchers\non the coastal headlands saw many a running fight between handy little\nhome-traders and the under-sea pirates. Nor were the fishermen slow in\naction. Once armed for defence, they proved that they could use their\nweapons with skill and precision. Off Aberdeen in stormy weather, a\nGerman submarine hove up from his depths for practice on a fleet of\ntrawlers. It was to be a _Redcap_ diversion: rapid fire, shrapnel, boats\nthrown out hastily, common shell on the hulls of the trawlers--wholesale\ndestruction. But there was a mistake. A 'watch-dog' was among the\nfleet--_Commissioner_, armed and alert. At an opportune moment she cut\nher gear adrift, canted under speed and helm, returned the U-boat's fire\nand sank her in five rounds. Submarine commanders soon realized that\n'diversions' were risky, the target could now hit back. It was safer to\nsubmerge when within range of anything larger than a row-boat. Even the\nsailing barges acquired a sting. In proportion to her tonnage, _Drei\nGeschwister_--a captured German, refitted to our coastal service--is\nprobably the heaviest armed vessel afloat.\n\nIn channel waters, look-outs must not be confined to the round of the\nsea. To the U-boat's gunfire and torpedo, to the menace of moored and\ndrifting mines, is added a danger that rarely threatens the oversea\ntrader--an attack from the air. Striking distance from enemy bases has\ngiven opportunity for exercise of aircraft. Zeppelin and seaplane have\ntheir turns of activity in the North Sea and the Straits. Steering a\ncareful course in a sea 'foul with floating mines,' the Cork steamship\n_Avocet_ was attacked by three aeroplanes. The action lasted for over\nhalf an hour. Bombs exploded alongside, the bridge and upper decks were\nscarred and pitted by a hail of machine-gun bullets. The master and mate\nkept the aircraft at a respectful height by using their rifles--the only\narms carried. By skilful handling, Captain Brennell saved his ship. He\nis probably the only seaman who has steered a deliberate course between\na 'fall' of bombs; swinging on starboard helm, 'three bombs missed the\nstarboard bow and three the port quarter by at most seven feet.' The\n_Birchgrove_ was attacked by two seaplanes carrying torpedoes--a novel\nadaptation. Again the use of ready helm proved a moving ship a difficult\ntarget. Both torpedoes missed. Less fortunate was the _Franz Fischer_,\nan ex-German collier. Anchored off the Kentish Knock, the night black\ndark, the thunder of a Zeppelin's engines was heard overhead. Before\nthere was time to extinguish all lights, the huge airship was able to\ntake up a position for attack. One heavy bomb sufficed. _Franz Fischer_\nreeled to a tremendous explosion, heeled over, and sank. Only three\nsurvived of her crew of sixteen.\n\nConstant sea-perils are enhanced by war measures in the channels. On\nopen sea there is less confusion; the issue is narrowed to contest\nbetween ship and submarine and the hazard of a derelict or floating\nmine--there is ample sea-room in which to 'back and fill.' The coaster\nhas a harder task. His navigational problem is complicated by the eight\nhundred odd pages of 'Notices to Mariners'--the amends and addends and\ncancellations of Admiralty instructions relating to the seafaring of the\ncoast. Inner channels are confused by 'friendly' minefields or by\nalteration of the buoyage; aids to navigation are suspended or\nrearranged on scant notice; coastwise lights are put out or have their\npowers reduced to small efficiency in the mists and grey weather.\nUnmarked wrecks, growing daily in numbers, litter the sea-bottom; areas\nare to be avoided to leave a fair field for the hunters; zigzag courses\nin close proximity to the land sustain a constant anxiety. Above all,\nnavigation without lights increases the danger to all merchantmen and to\nthe patrols and naval craft that crowd the seaways of the coast.\n\nThrough all that the enemy can set against them, the home-trade vessels\nproceed on their voyages. Their losses are heavy in numbers (if the sum\nof their tonnage be not great), but the press of short sea-carriers that\npasses up Channel or down shews no evidence that frightfulness achieves\nan effect in holding them, loath, at their moorings. There is freight\nenough for all. Every vessel that has a sound keel and a helm to steer\nher is actively employed. Old craft and odd are come on the sea to serve\nturn in our emergency. Barges and inland watermen, Hudson Bay sloops,\nwhilom pleasure craft, mud-hoppers reshelled, hulks even, are used; if\nthey can neither sail nor steam, the ropemakers can supply a\nhawser--there is trade and bargain for a tow. After peace-years of\ngrinding competition with the freight-grabbing steam coasters, the\nsailing craft of the smaller ports have found a new prosperity, from\nwhich no risks can daunt them. Sailmakers and rigging-cutters, the block\nand spar makers, have taken up their old tools again, and the gallant\nlittle topsail schooners, brigantines, cutters, and ketches are out\nunder canvas.\n\nThe German boast that he can achieve victory by submarine policy could\nbe nowhere more plainly refuted than in the War Channel that extends\nfrom the Thames to the Tyne. The evidence is there for all to judge. The\nseaway is foul with wrecks, foundered on beach and sandbar--the tide\nvexed by under-water obstructions. Topmast spars with whitened cordage\nwhipping in the wind stand out above the swirl of the tides; a shattered\nbow-section or gaunt listed shell of a wrecked vessel sets the turn to a\nnew shoal drift; crazy funnels, twisted and arake by the broken hulls\nbelow, stud the angles of the buoyage that marks the fairway. Disaster\nto our shipping is plainly shewn, grouped in a way that no figures or\nstatistics could rival. But there is other evidence. Daybreak in the\nChannel gives light to a progress of seaworthy craft that seems in no\nway diminished by the worst that the enemy can do. He has failed,\ndespite the sinister sea-marks that litter the fairway. Down the river\nestuaries and out from the sea-harbour and roadstead, the coasters still\njoin in company through the channels. An unending procession; the grey\nseascape is never free of their whirling smoke-wreaths. Passing and\nturning in the deeps, they steam close to the red-rusted, shattered\nhulls of their sister ships. The gaunt masses of tortured steel stand\nout as monuments to an indomitable spirit--or to an influence that calls\ntheir sea-mates out to steer by the loom of their wreckage.\n\n\nPILOTS\n\nIF we may count antiquity and precedence a claim, the pilot is the real\nsenior of our trade. Before the ship and her tackling--the rude coracle,\nsetting across the river bars or steering on a short passage by\nsea-marks on the coast, before the oversea venturer with his guide in\nsun and star--the lodesman, who marked the deeps and the shallows.\n\nThe pilot's departure and boarding are definite and well-marked\nincidents in the course of a voyage, and have a significance and\ninterest few other ship-happenings claim. He is our last and first\nconnection with the shore. His leaving is attended by a sober emotion, a\ncompound of regret and impatience; regret that his sure support is\nwithdrawn--impatience to go ahead to open sea. He backs over the rail\nand lurches down the swaying side-ladder to his dinghy to an\naccompaniment of cordial good-byes. Passengers crowd the bulwarks to\nwatch his small boat go a-bobbing in the stern-wash as we gather way. It\nhardly occurs to them that their farewell letters, now in his\nweather-stained bag, may be for days or weeks unposted; to them he is\nthe last post--the link is snapped, the voyage now really begun.\n\nThere may be masters who affect a fine aloofness when the pilot boards\nthem on incoming, others who preserve a detached air--but there are few\nwho do not feel relief in answering the cheerful hail--'All well aboard,\nCaptain?'--as the pilot puts a cautious testing foot on the side-ladder.\nHere is the voyage practically at an end with the coming of an expert in\nlocal navigation. The anxiety of a landfall is over. The channel buoys,\nport hand and starboard, stretch out ahead to mark definite limits to\nshoal and sandbank; familiar landmarks loom up through the drift of\ndistant city haze; the outer lightship curtsies in the swell, beckoning\nus into port to resume the brief round of longshore life. After a\nlengthy period of silence and detachment, we are again in touch with the\naffairs of the beach; the news of the day and of weeks past is told to\nus in intervals of steering orders--sailor news, edited by a competent\nunderstanding of our professional interests. The tension of the voyage\nis unconsciously relaxed. We are in good hands. The engines turn\nsteadily and we come in from sea.\n\nIf the pilot was ever a welcome attendant in the peaceful days, his\nservices in the war earn for him an even warmer appreciation. War\nmeasures in their operation have rendered our seaports difficult of\nentry. The buoyage has, perhaps, been reset in the interval of a\nvoyage's absence. Boom defences and examination areas exist, channels\nare closed or obstructed; certain of the lightships or floating marks\nmay be withdrawn on short warning. Amid all our doubts and\nuncertainties, we look for the one assured sea-mark on the unfamiliar\nbars--the red-and-white emblem of a pilot vessel on her boarding\nstation. Undeterred by the risk of mine or torpedo while marking time on\ntheir cruising ground, the pilots are constantly on the alert to board\nthe incoming vessels as they approach from seaward. No state of the\nweather drives the cutter from her station to seek shelter in safer\nwaters. If the seas are too high for boatwork, she steams ahead and\noffers a lead to a quieter section of the fairway where boarding may be\nattempted.\n\nTurn and turn of the pilots in service can no longer be effected. The\neven balances of their roster (that worked so well in peace-time) have\nbeen rudely disturbed by war. The steady round of duty, in which every\nman knew the date of his relief, has given place to a state of 'feast\nand famine'; all hands are frequently mustered to meet the sudden and\nunheralded demands of an inward-bound convoy, or the limited\naccommodation of the cutter is taxed and overloaded by the release of\npilots from an outward mass sailing.\n\nThere are grades of pilotage--from that of the rivers and protected\nwaters to the more hazardous voyages between coastal ports. It is,\nperhaps, to the sea-pilots of Trinity we are most intimately drawn.\nWhile the river pilot is with us for the short term of the tide, the\nTrinity man is of our ship's company for a day or days. His valued local\nknowledge is at our service to set and steer fair courses in the\nperplexing tangents of unfamiliar tideways; operations of the\nminesweepers and patrols--that alter and multiply beyond counting in the\ncourse of a voyage abroad--are a plain book to him. If we meet disaster\nin the channels, we have a prompter at our elbow to advise a favourable\nbeaching. We have a peer to confide in throughout our difficulties.\nAfter days of anxious watchkeeping on the bridge we are well served by a\ncompetent relief.\n\nShip movements in the western waters are controlled by the naval\nauthorities in a manner that allows of independent sailings, but the\nTrinity pilots' duties lie in the Channel and the North Sea, where a\nmore exacting regime is in force. From the Downs to the north, measures\nadopted for protection of the ships call for a time-table of sailings\nand arrivals that can only be adhered to by the pilot's aid. A 'War\nChannel' is established, a sea-lane of some two hundred and eighty miles\nthat has constantly to be swept and cleared in advance of the traffic.\nNavigation in the channel obstructs an efficient search for mines;\nsweeping operations interfere with the passage of the ships. No small\namount of control and management is necessary to reconcile conflicting\nactions and expedite the safe conduct of the shipping. Latterly,\nsailings were restricted to the hours of daylight; a system of sectional\npassages is enforced, by which all vessels are scheduled to make a\nprotected anchorage before nightfall. An effect of this is to group the\nvessels in large scattered convoys, forming a pageant of shipping that\neven the busiest days of peace-time could not rival.\n\nIn all the story of the Downs, the great roadstead can rarely have\npresented such a scene as when, on a chill winter morning, we lay at\nanchor awaiting passage. Overnight, we had come in under convoy from the\nwestward, eighteen large ships, to swell the tonnage that had gathered\nfrom the Channel ports. From Kingsdown to the Gull, there was hardly\nwater-space to turn a wherry. Even in the doubtful holding ground of\nTrinity Bay some large ships were anchored, and the fairway through the\nRoads was encroached upon by more than one of us--despite the summary\nsignals from the Guardship. All types were represented in our assembly;\nwe boasted a combination in dazzle paint to set us out, and our signal\nflags carried colour to the mastheads to complete the variegations of\nour camouflage. Troop transports from the States, standard cargo ships,\nmunition carriers come over in the night from the French ports,\nhigh-sided empty colliers returning to the north for further loads,\ndeep-laden freighters for London, ammunition and store ships for the\nFleet, coasters and barges, made up the mercantile shipping riding at\nanchor, while naval patrols and harbour craft under way gave movement to\nthe spectacle. Snow had fallen, and the uplands above Deal and Walmer\nhad white drifts in the quartered fields. To seaward, we could see twin\nwreaths of smoke blowing low on the water, marking the progress of a\nflotilla of minesweepers, on whose operations we waited. A brisk north\nwind held out our signal flags, shewing our ports of destination, and\nthe pilot cutter, busily serving men on the inward bound, took note of\nour demands. In time, the punt delivered our pilot, and we hove short,\nawaiting a signal from the Guardship that would release the traffic.\n\nThe teeth of the Goodwins had bared to a snarl of broken water that\nshewed the young flood making when movement began among the ships. Long\nexperience had accustomed the pilots to the ways of the minesweepers,\nand when the clearing signal 'Vessels may proceed' was hoisted at the\nyard-arm of the Guardship, there were few anchors still to be raised.\nCrowding out towards the northern gateway, we found ourselves in close\nformation. Variations of speeds rendered the apparent confusion\ndifficult to steer through, but the action of a kindred masonry among\nthe pilots seemed to clear the narrow sea-lane. There was little easing\nof speed; with only a few hours of winter daylight to work in, shipping\nwas being driven at its utmost power to make the most of the precious\ntime. 'All out,' stoking up and setting a stiff smoke-screen over the\nseascape, we thinned out to a more comfortable formation, while the\nsmaller craft, taking advantage of the rising tide, cut the inner angles\nof the channel to keep apace.\n\nWith flood tide to help us, we made good progress. The press of shipping\ngradually dropped astern till only the troop transport, our\nsea-neighbours of the convoy, kept company with us. Satisfied with the\nspeed made, the pilot reckoned up the mileage and the tide. We were for\nHull and, with luck, he expected to make Yarmouth Roads before darkness\nand the Admiralty regulations obliged us to bring up. Like all who serve\nthe tide, he was prepared for an upset to his plans. \"Not much use\nfiguring things out in these days, Capt'n,\" he said. \"A lot o'\nhappenings come our way. In spite o' these fellows out there\"--he\npointed to a group of destroyers lining out on our seaward beam--\"the\nU-boat minelayers get in on the channels to lay 'eggs'; as fast as we\ncan sweep them up, sometimes. But\"--cheerfully--\"they don't always get\nback for another load: saw the bits o' one being towed into Harwich last\nweek.\"\n\nHappenings came our way. At the Edinburgh Channel, where the troop\ntransports parted company and turned away for London, we were halted by\nan urgent signal from a spurring torpedo-boat. 'Ships bound north to\nanchor instantly,' was the reading of her flags; we rounded to and\nobeyed. In groups and straggling units, we were joined by the larger\nnumber of the fleet that had left the Downs with us. Some few were for\nthe Thames and steamed ahead in wake of the troop-ships, but the most\nwere bound for east-coast ports and anchored near the Channel Lightship.\nTwo hours of precious daylight were lost to us as we rode out the last\nof the flood. High water came and we swung around on the cant of the\nwind. The pilot grew visibly impatient. The traverse of his reckoning\nlessened in mileage with every hasty step or two up and down the bridge.\nYarmouth Roads receded into the morrow; Lowestoft (if the chief could\ncrack her up to thirteen) was possible, but unlikely. Time passed, with\nno clearing signal--we were to be 'nipped' on the long stretch with no\nprospect but to dodge into Hollesay Bay before black night came.\n\nBy some mysterious agency, the coasters developed a foreknowledge of\npermission to proceed. Feathers of white steam curled from their\nwindlasses, and their anchors were awash before the block was signalled\nclear. They had start of us. Less handily, we got under way and stood on\ninto the Black Deep, where the smaller craft were throwing green smoke\nin their efforts to get ahead. The tide had now turned ebb to set us on\nour way. As we surged past the channel buoys the pilot was reassured.\nThe prospect of windy Lowestoft Roads beckoned him on with every coaster\nwe overhauled and passed; the outlook improved as we timed our passage\nbetween the sea-marks. Off the Sunk, we came on the cause of our\nstoppage. The pilot noted a new wreck on the sands, one that had not\nbeen there when last he steered over this route. Beached at high water,\nhe said. She had not been long on. The wreck lay listed on a spit of\nthe sandbank. Her bows were blown open, exposing the interior of\nforecastle and forehold. Neutral colours were painted on her topside;\nthe boats were gone and dangling boat-falls streamed alongside in the\ntideway. There was no sign of life on her, but a patrol drifter was\nstanding by with a crowd of men on her decks. Out to seaward a flotilla\nof minesweepers was busily at work. Turning no more than a curious eye\non the mined neutral, the pilot paid attention to the steering. That we\nwere over a mined area had no grave concern for him. Relying on the\nminesweepers, he kept course and speed--the channel was reported clear.\n\n\nLIGHTSHIPS\n\nDEVOTED to the service of humanity, in a bond that linked all seafarers,\nlightships and isolated sea-beacons were regarded as exempted from the\noperation of warlike acts. The claim of the 'beacons established for the\nguidance of mariners' rested upon a high conception of world-wide\nservice to mankind. Their duties were not directed to military uses or\nto favouring alone the nation who manned them. Their upkeep was met by a\nuniversal levy. Their warning beams were not withdrawn from foreign\nvessels; no effort was made to establish the nationality of a ship in\ndistress ere setting portfire to the signal-gun to call out the\nlifeboat. On rare occasions sea-rovers interfered with the operation of\nthe guide-marks. Retribution overtook them; they were outlawed by even\nthe loose opinion of the period. There is surely more than legend in the\nballad of Sir Ralph the Rover; if death by shipwreck was not actually\nhis fate, it is at least the penalty adjudged to him by popular acclaim.\nSmeaton, in his Folio, records an instance of reparation for a similar\n'diversion.'\n\n          \"Lewis the Fourteenth being at war with England\n          during the proceeding with this building, a French\n          privateer took the men at work upon the Eddystone\n          Rock, together with their tools, and carried them\n          to France, and the Captain was in expectation of a\n          reward for the achievement. While the captives lay\n          in prison, the transaction reached the ears of\n          that monarch. He immediately ordered them to be\n          released and the captors to be put in their place:\n          declaring that though he was at war with England,\n          he was not at war with mankind. He therefore\n          directed the men to be sent back to their work\n          with presents, observing that the Eddystone\n          Lighthouse was so situated as to be of equal\n          service to all nations having occasion to navigate\n          the Channel.\"\n\nA lightship is as peaceful and immobile as the granite blockstones of a\nlighthouse. She requires an even greater protection, exposed as she is\nto dangers on the sea that do not threaten the landward structure. She\nis incapable of offence or defence. Unarmed, save for the signal-gun\nthat is only used to warn a vessel from the sands or to summon\nassistance to a ship in distress, she can offer no resistance to a show\nof force. She is moored to withstand the strongest gales, and cannot\nreadily disengage her heavy ground-tackle. She has no efficient means of\npropulsion; parted from her stout anchors, she would drive helplessly on\nto the very shoals she had been set to guard. To all seafarers, in war\nas in peace, she should appeal as a sea-mark to be spared and protected;\nin the service of humanity, she is exposed to danger enough--to the\nfurious gales from which she may not run.\n\nUnlike the Grand Monarch, the Germans are bitterly at war with mankind.\nAs one of their first war acts at sea, they shelled the Ostend\nLightship. Like the Lamb, she was using the water; the Wolf would suffer\nno protestation of her innocency. Was she not floating placidly on the\nsame tides that served the German coast?\n\nIn view of his subsequent atrocities in torpedoing hospital ships and\nshelling rafts and open boats, it is probable that our light-vessels\nwould have been similarly destroyed by the enemy, but that his submarine\ncommanders found under-water navigation required as accurate a check as\nin coasting on the surface. The fury of the Wolf was, in his own\ninterest, tardily suppressed. He recognized that the value of the\nlightships in establishing a definite position was an asset to him.\nWithal--his 'fix' decided--he had no qualms in sowing mines in the area\nof these signposts; nor did he stay his hand in the case of a sea-mark\nthat was not vital to his plans. Two lightships on the east coast were\nblown up by mines; one, off the coast of Ireland, was deliberately\ntorpedoed.\n\n[Illustration: THE LAMPMAN OF THE GULL LIGHTSHIP]\n\nThe menace of the German sea-mine remains the greatest war danger to\nwhich the lightships are exposed. Zeppelin and seaplane pay visits to\nthe coastal waters, but the sea is wide for a chance missile from the\nair, and no great success has attended their bombing efforts. But the\nenemy mine has no instant aim. Full-charged and deadly, its activity is\nnot confined--as the British mine is--to the area of the mooring. Their\nminelayers, creeping in to the fairways in cloak of the darkness, are\nanxious to settle their cargo of high explosive as quickly as possible.\nNot all of the mines they sow hold to the hastily slipped 'sinkers' till\ndisaster to our shipping or the untiring search of the minesweepers\nreveals their presence. Many break adrift and surge in the tideways,\nmoving as the set of the current takes them. Vessels under way, by keen\nlook-out and ready helm, can sight and avoid the drifting spheres, but\nthe lightships have no power to steer clear. Moored on the offset of\na shoal or sandbank (their position, indeed, a guide to the minelayer),\ntheir broad bows offer contact to all flotsam that comes down on swirl\nof the tide. The authorities were unwilling to expose their men to a\ndanger that could not be evaded, however gallant the shipmen or skilled\ntheir seamanship. It was not a seagoing risk that could be met; no\nadequate protection consistent with the lightship's mission could be\ndevised. As the submarine war became intensified, the more distant\nvessels were withdrawn; new routes were set to divert shipping from the\nouter passages; only those floating sea-marks are now maintained whose\nremoval would entail disaster to the traffic that passes by night and\nday.\n\nHolding station in waters that are patrolled and, in part, protected,\nthe Trinity men who form the crews of the lightships have readjusted\ntheir manning. A large proportion of the able-bodied men have joined the\nnaval forces, leaving the older hands (and some few who have a physical\ndisability) to tend the lights. War risks still remain, for the German\nminelayers have followed the shipping to the inner channels, but the\ngreybeards have grown stolid and immovable in a service that was never\nat any time a safe and equable calling. They have become sadly familiar\nwith the new sea-warfare--with disaster to the shipping in the channels.\nWhile they have incident enough, in the movement and activity of patrols\nand war craft, in the ceaseless sweeping of the channels, to judge our\nsea-power and take pride in its strength, they have all too frequent\nexperience of the murderous under-water mechanics of the enemy. Living\nin the midst of sea-alarms, the old placid tedium of their 'sixty days'\nhas given place to an excitement that even the monotonous rounds of\ntheir small ship-life cannot suppress. The men on the 'Royal Sovereign'\nwere observers of the terrific power of the sea-mine; three ships in\nsight being blown to small wreckage within an hour. 'Shambles' jarred to\ndistant torpedoings off the Bill. The 'South Goodwin' saw _Maloja_\nbrought up in her stately progress by a thundering explosion, then\nwatched her list and settle in the stormy seaway; a second crash and\nupheaval drew the eyes of the watch on deck to the fate of the _Empress\nof Fort William_ as she was hastening to succour the people of the\ndoomed liner. Up Channel and down, the lightshipmen were observers of\nthe toll exacted by the enemy--the price we paid for the freedom of the\nseas.\n\nBut not all their observations of sea-casualties brought gloom to the\ndog-watch reckoning. If there remained no doubt of the intensity and\npower of German submarine activity, they were equally assured of the\nefficiency of our surface offence, and the deadly precision of our own\nunder-water counter-measures. On occasion, there were other sea-dramas\nenacted under the eyes of the lightshipmen--short, swift engagements\nthat set an oily scum welling over the clean sea-space of the channel,\nor an affair of rapid gunfire that cleared a pest from the narrow\nwaters. There is at least one instance of a lightship having a\ncommanding, if uncomfortable, station in an action between our drifters\nand a large enemy submarine. The lampman of the 'Gull' had a front view.\n. . . \"Misty weather, it was. Day was just breakin', about seven o' th'\nmornin' when I see him. I see him just over there--a little t' th'\nnor'ard o' that wreckage on th' Sands. A big fella, about th' size o'\nthem oil-barges as passes hereabouts. I didn't make him out at\nfirst--account o' th' mornin' haze, but there was somethin' over there\nwhere no ship didn't oughta be. I calls down th' companion--'Master,' I\nsays, 'there's somethin' on th' north end o' th' Sands.' He comes up an'\nhas a look. Then we made 'im out what he was, a big German sub.--but he\nhadn't no flag flyin'. Jest then we hears firin', an' th' shells goes\nover us an' lands nigh him. They was three drifters jes' come out o' th'\nDowns t' start sweepin' an', all three, they goes for him like\nbilly-o--firin' as they comes. We was right atween them an' th' shots\npasses over th' lightship. One as was short just pitches clear an\n'undred yards ahead o' us. Two guns he had--th' sub.--an' they didn't\nhalf make a din as they goes at it--_bang-bang-bang!_ Th' drifters\npasses us, goin' a full clip. The first one, she got hit a-top th'\nwheelhouse, but they didn't stop for nothin'. The' keeps bangin' away\nwith th' gun. . . . Yes. Some shots landed hereabouts, but we was busy\nwatchin' th' drifters. . . . I see their shots hittin', too. I see one\nblaze up on th' submarine's deck, an' one o' his guns didn't talk back\nno more. Th' drifters was steerin' straight for him. I dunno how one o'\nthem didn't go ashore herself--near it, she was. The sub. was hard on by\nthis time, an' he stands high--with a list, too, but fightin' away like\nhe was afloat.\n\n\"Two more drifters come up an' they joins in, an' th' shells goes\n_who-o-o-o!_ overhead again. Then a destroyer, he comes tearin' along at\nfull speed, an' he puts th' finishin' touch to him. There was an\nexplosion on th' submarine, an' th' nex' we see--we see his men tumblin'\nout o' him overside t' th' Sands. . . . Them up t' their middles in th'\nwater an' holdin' their hands up.\"\n\nThe lampman was, of his service, a trained observer. He said nothing of\nthe scene on the deck of the lightship--the watch tumbling up from\nbelow, their clothing hastily thrown on--the questioning, the alarmed\ncries. His concern was directed to the happenings on spit of the Sands.\n\"Some shots landed hereabouts,\" he said; but his interest was on the\nGoodwins.\n\n[Illustration: MINESWEEPERS GOING OUT]\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n'THE PRICE O' FISH'\n\n\nTHE inshore patrol hailed us and reported the channel clear as far as\nthe Nore, and we stood on at full speed, making the most of the short\nwinter daylight. Past the Elbow buoy, we met the minesweepers returning\nfrom a sweep of their section. They were steaming in two columns, line\nahead, and we sheered a little to give them room; within the reading of\nour Admiralty instructions, they were a 'squadron in formation,' to\nwhose movements we were advised to give way. They passed close. The\nleader of the port column was _Present Help_; we read the name on a gilt\nscroll that ornamented her wheelhouse. For the rest, she was trim in a\ncoat of iron-grey, with her port and number painted over. A small gun--a\nsix-pounder, perhaps--was mounted on her bows, and she carried a\nweather-stained White Ensign aloft. She scurried past us, pitching to\nour bow wash in an easy sidling motion that set her wheelhouse glasses\nflashing a cheery message. The skipper leaned from an open doorway, in\nan attitude of ease that, somehow, assured us of his day's work being\nwell done--with no untoward happenings. He waved his cap to our\ngreeting. _Present Help_ and her sisters went by, and we returned to our\ncourse in the fairway.\n\n\"These lads,\" said the pilot, waving his arm towards the fast-receding\nflotilla. \"If it wasn't for these lads, Capt'n, you and I wouldn't feel\nexactly comfortable on the bridge in channel waters. Two went up this\nweek, and one a little while agone.\" He turned his palms upward and\nraised both arms in an expressive gesture. . . . \"Three gone, one with\nall hands, but only one merchant ship done in by mines hereabouts in the\nlast month. (_Starboard, a little, quartermaster!_) . . . I dunno how we\ncould carry on without them. Out there in all weathers, clearing the\nfairways and--Gad!--it takes some doing. . . . I was talking to one of\nthe skippers in Ramsgate the other day. Saying what I'm\nsaying--(_Steady, now, steady's you go!_)--what I'm saying now, and all\nhe said was--'Right, pilot,' he says. 'If you feels that way, remember\nit when we gets back to th' fishin' in peace-time, an'--for th' Lord's\nsake--keep clear o' our gear when th' nets is down! I lost a tidy lot o'\ngear,' he says, 'with tramps an' that bargin' about on th' fishin'\ngrounds.'. . . He didn't think nothing of this minesweeping. His mind\nwas bent on his nets and the fish again.\" A pause, while he conned the\nship on a steady course, then, reflectively, \"An' there's some\nfolks--there's folks ashore growling about the price o' fish!\"\n\nOf courage in the war, on land as on sea, there are few records\ncomparable to the silent devotion of the fishermen. The heat of attack\nand fury of battle may call out a reckless heroism that has no bounds to\nindividual gallantry, but the sustained courage required for a lone\naction under heavy odds--every turn of the engagement being assessed and\nunderstood--is of a rarer quality; mere physical health and high spirit\ncannot generate it; tradition of a sea-inherence and long self-training\nalone can bring it forth. That the fishermen (inured to a life of bold\nhazard and hardship) would offer valuable service in emergency was never\ndoubted, but that the level of their gallantry should reach such\nheights, even those who knew them were hardly prepared to assume. And we\nwere weak in our judgment, for their records held ample evidence by\nwhich we should have been able to predict a bravery in war action no\nless notable than their courage in the equally perilous ways of their\ntrade. For a lifetime at war with the sea, wresting a precarious living\nfrom the grudging depths, their skill and resolution required no\nstimulus under the added stress of sea-warfare. In the fury of the\nchannel gales, shipwreck and disaster called forth the same spirit of\ndogged endurance and elevating humanity that marks their new seafaring\nunder arms. The countless instances of their service to vessels in\ndistress, to torpedoed merchantmen and warships, in the records of\nstrife, are but repetitions of their sea-conduct throughout the years of\ntheir trading. When Rozhdestvensky's panic-stricken gunlayers opened\nfire on the 'Gamecock' fleet on the Dogger, the story of that outrage\nwas distinguished by the same heroism of the trawlermen that ennobles\ntheir diary to-day. When the _Crane_ was sinking, the crew of _Gull_,\nthemselves suffering under fire, boarded her to rescue the survivors. . . .\n\"When they got on board the _Crane_ they found the living members of the\ncrew lying about injured. The vessel was in total darkness, and it was\nknown that at any moment she might founder; yet Costello (the _Gull's_\nboatswain) went below to the horrible little forecastle to bring up\nLeggatt's dead body. Smith (the second hand), who took charge of the\n_Crane_ when the skipper was killed, refused to leave her till every man\nhad been taken off. Rea (the engineer) showed unyielding courage when,\nin spite of the fact that the little ship was actually foundering, he\ngroped back to the engine-room, which was in total darkness, to reach\nthe valves. The stokehold was flooded with water, and Rea could do\nnothing. He went on deck, where the skipper was lying dead, and all the\nsurvivors, except the boy, were wounded.\"\n\nIn all its bearings, the comradely action of the _Gull_ was but a\nforeshadowing of _Gowan Lea's_ assistance to _Floandi_ in the raid by\nAustrian cruisers on the drifter line in the Adriatic. The circumstances\nwere curiously alike--the actual occurrence, the individual deeds. We\nhave Skipper Nichols refusing to leave until his wounded were embarked,\nand Engineman Mobbs groping (as Rea did) through the scalding steam of\n_Floandi's_ wrecked engine-room to reach the stokehold and draw the\nfires. Then, as in the Russians' sea-panic of October 1904, the\nfishermen (fighting seamen now) came under a sudden and murderous\ngunfire at close range. Overpowered by heavy armament, there was no\nflinching, no surrender. _Gowan Lea_ headed for the enemy with her one\nsix-pounder spitting viciously. The issue was not considered--though\nSkipper Joseph Watt must have had no doubt that he was steering his\ndrifter towards certain destruction. Her gun was quickly put out of\naction. Her funnel and wheelhouse were riddled and shot to pieces. Water\nmade on her through shot-holes in the hull. On the gun-platform, her\ngunlayer struggled to repair the mechanism of the breech--his leg\ndangling and shattered. Shell-torn and incapable of further attack, she\ndrifted out of the line of fire. Bad as was her own condition, there\nwere others in worse plight. _Floandi_ had come under direct point-blank\nfire, and her decks were a shambles. Out of control--her main steam-pipe\nbeing shot through--seven dead or badly wounded, and only three\nremaining to work her, she was in dire need of assistance. Skipper Watt\nobserved the distress of his sea-mate and steered _Gowan Lea_ down to\nher to offer the same brotherhood as of the _Gull_ to _Crane_. The\nanalogy is peculiarly complete: the boarding, the succour to the\nwounded, the reverent handling of the dead. Not as a new spirit born of\nthe stress of war, but as the outcome of an age-old tradition, Gowan Lea\nstood by.\n\nAfter four years of warfare at sea, serving under naval direction and\ndiscipline, one would have expected the fisherman sailing under the\nWhite Ensign to lose at least a certain measure of his former\ncharacter--to have become a naval seaman in his habits of thought, in\nhis actions, his outlook. Four years of constant service! A long term!\nHe has come under a control that differs as poles apart from the free\ndays of 'fleeting' and 'single boating.' He is set to service in\nunfamiliar waters and abnormal climates, but the habits of the old trade\nstill cling to him. New gear comes to his hands--sweeps, depth-keepers,\nexplosive nets, hydrophones, and paravanes--but he regards them all as\nadaptations to his fishing service. He is unchanged. He is still\nfishing; that his 'catch' may be a huge explosive monster capable of\ndestroying a Dreadnought does not seem to have imposed a new turn to his\nthoughts. He is apart from the regular naval service. The influence of\nhis familiar little ship, the association of his kindred shipmates, the\ntechnics of a common and unforgettable trade, have proved stronger than\nthe prestige of a naval uniform. In his terms and way of speech, he\ndraws no new farrago from his brassbound shipmate. Did not the skipper\nof the duty patrol hail _Aquitania_ on her approach to the Clyde booms\nand advise the captain? . . . 'Tak' yeer _bit boatie_ up atween thae twa\ntrawlers!'\n\nThe devotion and gallantry and humanity of the fishermen is not confined\nto the enlisted section who man the patrol craft and minesweepers. The\nregular trade, the old trade, works under the same difficulties and\ndangers that ever menaced the ingathering of the sea-fishery. Serving on\nthe sea in certain areas, the older men and the very young still\ncontrive to shoot the nets and down the trawls. Their contribution to\nthe diminished food-supply of the country is not gained without loss;\n'the price o' fish' is too often death or mutilation or suffering under\nbitter exposure in an open boat. The efforts of the enemy to stop our\nfood-supply are directed with savage insistence towards reducing the\nrations drawn from the deeps of the sea; brutality and vengeful fury\nincrease in intensity as the days pass and the indomitable fishermen\nreturn and return to their grounds. In August 1914, fast German cruisers\nand torpedo-boats raided our fleets on the Dogger Bank. Twenty fishing\nvessels were sunk, their crews captured. There was no killing. \". . .\nThe sailors [of the torpedo-boat] gave us something to eat and drink,\nand we could talk and were pretty free,\" said the skipper of _Lobelia_.\nLater, on being taken ashore \". . . with German soldiers on each side of\nus, and the women and boys and girls shouting at us and running after us\nand pelting us, we were marched through the streets of Wilhelmshaven to\na prison.\" Hardship, abuse! Now ridicule! \". . . The Germans stripped\nus of everything we had. . . . But they were not content with that--they\ndisfigured us by cutting one half of the hair of our heads off and one\nhalf of the moustache, cropping close and leaving the other half on,\nmaking you as ugly as they could. . . . It was a nasty thing to do; but\nwe made the best of it, and laughed at one another.\"\n\nHardship, abuse, ridicule! The fishermen still served their trade at\nsea. Now, brutality! The third hand of _Boy Ernie_ details the callous\nprecision of German methods in September 1915. The smack was unarmed.\n\". . . It was very heavy and deliberate fire. [There were two enemy\nsubmarines.] The shots . . . were coming on deck and going through the\nsails. We threw the boat overboard and tumbled into her. . . . I started\nsculling the boat away from the smack, all the time under fire; but the\nGermans were not content with firing shells at a helpless craft--they\nnow turned a machine-gun on to defenceless fishermen in a boat on the\nopen sea. . . . The boat was getting actually riddled by the machine-gun\nfire, and before I knew what was happening, I was struck by a bullet on\nthe right thigh, and began to bleed dreadfully. . . . The smack was\nblown to pieces and went down. This was the work of one of the\nsubmarines--while she was sinking the smack the other was firing on us.\"\n\nThroughout all the malevolent and calculated campaign of destruction,\nthe fishermen remain steadfast to their old traditions of humanity. When\n_Vanilla_ is torpedoed without warning and vanishes in a welter of\nbroken gear, her sea-mate, _Fermo_, dodging a second torpedo, steams to\nthe wreckage to rescue the survivors--but finds none. In a heavy gale,\n_Provident_ of Brixham risks her mast and gear, gybing to close the\nsinking pinnace of the torpedoed _Formidable_, and rescue the exhausted\nseventy-one men who crowded her. The instances of fisher help to\nmerchantmen in peril are uncounted and uncountable.\n\nIn the distant days when the Sea Services were classed apart, each in\nits own trade and section--working by a rule that admitted no\nco-partnery--we foreign traders had little to do with those whom (in our\narrogance) we deemed the 'humble' fishermen. In the mists of the channel\nwaters, we came upon them at their trawls or nets. Their floats and\nbuoys obstructed our course; the small craft, heading up on all angles,\nconfused the operation of a 'Rule of the Road.' Impatient of an\nalteration that took us miles from a direct course, we felt somewhat\nresentful of their presence on the sea-route. That they were gathering\nand loading a cargo under stress and difficulty that contrasted with\n_our_ easy stowage in the shelter of a dock or harbour, did not occur to\nus; they were obstructionists, blocking our speedy passage with their\nwarps and nets and gear. Although most masters grudgingly steered clear,\nthere were those in our ranks who elected to hold on through the fleets,\nunconcerned by the confusion and risk to the fishermen's gear that\ntheir passage would occasion. There were angry shouts and protests; the\ngear and nets were often the sole property of the fishermen; serious\nlosses were sustained.\n\nAt war, we have incurred debts. When peace comes and the seas are free\nagain, we shall have memories of what we owe to the fishermen in all the\nvaried services they have paid to us. The minesweepers toiling in the\nchannels, that we may not meet sudden death; patrols riding out bitter\nweather in the open to warn us from danger, to succour and assist the\nremnants of our manning when a blow goes home. War has purged us of many\nold arrogant ways. When next we meet the fishing fleet at peaceful work\nin the channels, we shall recall the emotion and relief with which we\nsighted their friendly little hulls bearing down to protect us in a\nmenaced seaway. We shall 'keep clear o' th' gear when th' nets is\ndown.'\n\n[Illustration: SOUTHAMPTON WATER]\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTHE RATE OF EXCHANGE\n\n\nTHE Bank of England official, who had been a close attendant on the\nbridge during the early part of the voyage, seems now to be reassured.\nWe are nearing land again. Another day should see us safely berthed at\nNew York, where--his trust discharged--a pleasant interval should open\nto him ere returning to England. The gold and securities on board are\nreason for his passage; he is with us as our official witness, should\nthe activity of an enemy raider compel us to throw the millions\noverboard. Nothing has happened. The 'danger zone' has been passed\nwithout event. Stormy weather on the Grand Banks has given way to light\nairs and a smooth sea as we steer in to make our landfall.\n\nTogether on the navigation bridge, we are discussing the shipment.\n\". . . It is the exchange, Captain,\" he says. \"The exchange is against\nus. These huge war purchases in the States cannot be balanced by the\nmoderate exports we are able to send over. When we left Liverpool the\nsovereign was worth four dollars, seventy-one cents in America. I don't\nknow where it is going to end. We can't make securities. There must be a\nlim----\" Drumming of the wireless telephone cuts in on his words.\n\"Operator wishes to know if he can leave the 'phones, sir? Says he has\nto see you.\"\n\nThe bridge messenger turns aside inquiringly, holding out the receiver\nof the telephone as a context to his words. The request, that would have\naroused an instant disquiet six days ago, now appears trivial and\nnormal. There may be receipts to be signed. Approaching port the\noperator will be completing his accounts. We are unconcerned and resume\nour conversation until he arrives.\n\nHe is insistent that it cannot be due to atmospherics. \"A queer\nbusiness, sir. Thought it best to report instead of telephoning. Some\nstation addressing a message to ABMV [all British merchant vessels], and\nanother trying to jam it out. Can't get more than the prefix, when\njamming begins. No, not atmospherics. I've taken ABMV, though distant,\ntwice in this watch, and, looking up the junior's jottings for the last\nwatch, I see he had traces. Whatever is jamming the message out is\ncloser to us than the sender. I dunno what to make of it!\"\n\n\"You mean that a message from a land station to us is being interfered\nwith, deliberately, from somewhere near at hand?\"\n\nHe produces the slip of his junior's scribbles. Among the jumble of\nnoughts and crosses, there is certainly a hastily scrawled ABMV, then\nx's and x's. \"What else, sir? At first I thought it was\natmospherics--x's were fierce last watch--but x's can't happen that way\ntwice running!\"\n\n\"All right! Carry on again. Let me know at once if anything further.\nGear to be manned continuously from now on. Keep your junior at hand.\"\n\n[Illustration: 'OUT-BOATS' IN A MERCHANTMAN]\n\nA queer business! We trim the possibilities in our mind. It is now\nnearly dark. As we go, we should make Nantucket Lightship at daybreak;\nour usual landfall on the voyage. There is not much to work on. 'A\nmessage being sent, and some one making unusual efforts to prevent\nreceipt.' A raider? It is now some months since _Kronprinz Wilhelm_ was\ndriven into Norfolk; she cannot surely, have escaped internment.\n_Karlsruhe?_ Nothing has been heard of her for a long term. A submarine?\nPerhaps _Deutschland_, with his torpedo-tubes refitted and a gun\nmounted? He knows the way; he could carry oil enough to reach the coast,\ndo a strafe, and sneak into a port for internment. . . . Figuring on the\nchart, measuring distance and course and speed, it comes to us that\nenemy action would best succeed off Nantucket or the Virginia Capes. We\nresolve to cut in between the two, to make the land below Atlantic City,\nand take advantage of territorial waters. If there is no serious\nintention behind the jamming of the wireless, there will be no great\nharm done--we shall only lose ten hours on the passage; if a raider\nis out, we shall, at least, be well off the expected route. We pass the\norders.\n\nA quiet night. We are steering into the afterglow of a brilliant sunset.\nThe mast and rigging stand out in clear black outline against lingering\ndaylight as we swing south four points. The look-out aloft turns from\nhis post and scans the wake curving to our sheer; anon, he wonders at\nthe coming of a mate to share his watch. Passengers, on a stroll, note\nunusual movement about the boat-deck, where the hands are swinging out\nlifeboats and clearing the gear. As the carpenter and his mates go the\nrounds, screwing blinds to the ports and darkening ship, other\npassengers hurry up from below and join the groups on deck; an\nexcitement is quickly evident. They had thought all danger over when, in\nthirty degrees west, we allowed them to discard the cumbersome\nlife-jackets that they had worn since leaving the Mersey. And\nnow--almost on the threshold of security and firm land--again the\nenervating restrictions and routine, the sinister preparations, the\natmosphere of sudden danger. Rumours and alarms fly from lip to lip; we\ndeem it best to publish that the wireless has heard the twitter of a\nstrange bird.\n\nBefore midnight, the bird is identified. Our theories and conjectures\nare set at rest. The operator, changing his wave-length suddenly from\n600 to 300 metres, succeeds in taking a message. '_From Bermuda_'--of\nall places--'_to ABMV German armed submarine left Newport eighth stop\ntake all precautions ends_.' A submarine! And we had thought the limits\nof their activity stopped at thirty degrees west. Even the Atlantic is\nnot now broad enough! The definite message serves to clear our doubts. A\nsubmarine from Newport will certainly go down off Nantucket. Our course\nshould now take us ninety miles south of that. There remains the measure\nof his activity. A fighting submarine that can navigate such a distance\nis new to us. His speed and armament are unknown. We can hardly gauge\nhis movements by standards of the types we know. We are unarmed; our\nseventeen knots top speed may not be fast enough for an unknown\nsuper-submarine. Crowded as we are by civilian passengers, we cannot\nstand to gunfire. A hit will be sheer murder. It is a problem! We return\nto the deck and make three figures of that ninety miles.\n\nThe pulse of the ship beats high in the thrust and tremor of the\nengines, now opened out to their utmost speed; the clean-cut bow wave\nbreaks well aft, shewing level and unhindered progress. In the calm\nweather, the whirl of our black smoke hangs low astern, joining the sea\nand sky in a dense curtain; we are prompted by it to a wish for misty\nweather when day breaks--to make a good screen to our progress. Though\ndark, the night is clear. A weak moon stands in the east, shedding\nsufficient light to brighten the lift. We overhaul some west-bound\nvessels in our passage and warn them by signal. Two have already taken\nBermuda's message and are alert, but one has no wireless, and is heading\nup across our course. We speak her; her lights go out quickly, and she\nturns south after us.\n\nDaybreak comes with the thin vapours of settled weather that may turn to\na helpful haze under the warm sun. We zigzag in a wide S from the first\ngrey half-light, for we are now due south of the Lightship. In the\nsmooth glassy surface of the sea we have an aid to our best defence--the\nmeasure of our eyes. We note a novel vigilance in the watchkeepers, a\nsuppressed anxiety that was not ours in the infinitely more dangerous\nwaters of the channels. The unusual circumstance of zigzagging and\nstraining look-out for a periscope almost in American waters has gripped\nus. Every speck of flotsam is scanned in apprehension. The far-thrown\ncurl of our displacement spitting on the eddy of the zigzag, throws up a\nfeather that calls for frequent scrutiny. We have no lack of unofficial\nassistance in our look-out. From early morning, the passengers are\nastir--each one entrammelled in a life-jacket that reminds them\ncontinually of danger. For the children, it is a new game--a source of\nmerriment--but their elders are gravely concerned. Gazing constantly\noutboard and around, they add eyes to our muster. Every hour that passes\nwithout event seems to increase the tension; the size and numbers of\nenemy vessels grow with the day. A telegraph-cable ship at work is\nhailed as 'a raider in sight'--a Boston sea-tug, towing barges south, is\ntaken for a supply-ship with submarines in tow.\n\nThe wireless operator reports from time to time. The 'humming bird'\n(whoever he is) has ceased jamming. The air is full of call and\ncounter-call. Halifax is working with an unknown sea-station--long\nmessages in code. Coastal stations are joined in the 'mix-up.' Cape Cod\nis offering normal 'traffic' to the American steamer _St. Paul_, as\nthough there was no word of anything happening within reach of the\nradio. It is all very perplexing. Perhaps the Bermuda message was a\nhoax; some 'neutral' youth on the coast may have been working an\nunofficial outfit, as had been done before. Anon, an intercepted message\ncomes through. A Hollands steamer sends out '_S.O.S._ . . . _S.O.S._. . .'\nbut gives no name or position. Then there is silence; nothing working,\nbut distant mutterings from Arlington.\n\nThroughout the day we swing through calm seas, shying at each crazy\nangle of the zigzag in a turn that slows the measured beat of the\nengines. Night coming and the haze growing in intensity, we use the\nlead--sounding at frequent intervals--and note the lessening depth that\nleads us in to the land. At eight, we reach six fathoms--the limit of\nAmerican territorial waters. It is with no disguised relief we turn\nnorth and steer a straight course.\n\nAlthough now less concerned with the possibility of enemy interference,\nwe have anxiety enough in the navigation of a coastal area in hazy\nweather. We reduce speed. The mist has deepened to a vapour that hangs\nlow in the direction of the shore. House lights glimmer here and there,\nbut only by the lead are we able to keep our distance. A glow of light\nover Atlantic City shews itself mistily through a rift in the haze and\ngives an approximation of our latitude, but it is Barnegat's\nquick-flashing lighthouse beam that establishes our confidence and\nenables us to proceed at better speed. We shew no lights. For all we are\nin American waters, we have not forgotten _Gulflight_ and _Nebraskan_\nand other international 'situations'; we look for no consideration from\nthe enemy and preserve a keen look-out. Vessels pass us in the night\nbound south with their deck lights ablaze, but we stand on up the coast\nwith not a glimmer to show our presence. Turning wide out to the\nshoal-water off Navesink, we sight the pilot steamer lying to. We switch\non all lights and steer towards her.\n\nIt is not often one finds the New York pilots unready, but our sudden\narrival has taken them aback. We have to wait. Daybreak is creeping in\nwhen the yawl comes alongside with our man. He is an old\nSwedish-American whom we had long suspected of pro-German leanings, but\nthe relief and enthusiasm on his honest old face is undisguised. \"Gott!\nI am glat to see yo, Cabtin,\" he calls. \"Dere vas a rumour dat yo vas\ndown too! Yoost now, ven yo signal de name of de ship, I vas\nglat--glat!\" He is full of his news; there are rumours and rumours. 'The\nWhite Star mailboat is down,' 'a Prince liner is overdue,' 'there are\nfears for a Lamport and Holt boat.' In view of our safe arrival, he is\nprepared to discount the rumours. What is certain is that U 53 has\narrived in these waters, and has already sunk six large ships off\nNantucket.\n\n\nA day later we turn to the commercial pages of the _New York Herald_.\nOur arrival is reported, and it seems that the sovereign is now worth\n$4.72 1/16!\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nINDEPENDENT SAILINGS\n\n\nUNTIL nearly three years of war had gone on, we sailed independently as\n'single' ships, setting our speeds and courses and conforming only to\nthe general route instructions of the Admiralty. The submarine menace\ndid not come upon us in a sudden intensity. Its operation was gradually\nunfolded and counter-measures were as methodically advanced to meet it.\nThe earliest precaution took the form of a wide separation of the ships,\nbranching the sea-routes apart on the sound theory that submarines would\nhave voyaging to do to reach their victims. While this was a plan of\nvalue on the high seas, it could not be pursued in the narrower waters\nof the channels. Destroyers in sufficient numbers not being available to\npatrol these waters, fishing craft--trawlers and drifters--were\ncommissioned to that service. Being of moderate speed, their activities\nwere not devoted to a mass operation, by which they could group the\nmerchantmen together for protection. The custom was still to separate\nthem as widely as possible, each zigzagging on her own plan. Until the\nconvoy system was established, measures for our protection did not take\nthe form of naval escorts sailing in our company: such vessels were only\nprovided for transports or for ships on military service: vessels on\ncommercial voyages were largely left to their own resources when clear\nof harbour limits.\n\n[Illustration: FIREMEN STANDING BY TO RELIEVE THE WATCH]\n\nThat all sea-going vessels should carry a wireless installation was one\nof the first measures enforced by Admiralty. The magnificent resources\nof the Marconi Company, though strained, were equal to the task. There\nwas a life-labour alone in the technical education of their operators,\nbut they drilled the essentials of their practice into landward youths\nin a few months--blessed them with a probationer's licence--and sent\nthem to sea. It is idle to speculate on what we could have done without\nthis communication with the beach: it is inconceivable that we could\nhave served the sea as we have done. Throughout the length of channel\nwaters, we were constantly in visual touch with the patrols, but in the\nmore open seas we relied on the wireless to keep us informed of enemy\nactivities. At first, we were lavish in its use. The air was scored by\nmessages--'back chat' was indulged in by the operators. An _S.O.S._ (and\nthey were frequent) was instant signal for a confusion of\ninquiries--a battery of call and counter call--that often prevented the\nready succour of a vessel in distress. We grew wiser. We put a seal on\nthe switch. Regulations came into force to restrain unnecessary\n'sparking'; we sat in to listen and record, and only to speak when we\nwere spoken to.\n\nCodes were issued by the Admiralty for use at sea. Their early\ncryptogram was easily decoded by friend and enemy alike. Knowing that\ncertain words would assuredly be embodied in the text of a message\n(words such as, _from_--_latitude_--_report_--_submarine_--_master_), it\nwas not difficult to decipher a code of alphabetical sequence. There\nwere famous stories of traitors and spies, but our authoritative\nsimplicity was responsible for the occasional leakage of information. At\nthis date, 1915-16, wireless position-detectors came into use by the\nenemy. A spark-group, repeated after an interval, could give a fair\napproximation of distance and course and speed. More than ever it was\nnecessary to maintain silence when at sea. Withal, the air was still in\nstrong voice. At regular periods the great longshore radios threw out\nwar warnings to guide us in a choice of routes and warn us away from\nmined areas. Patrols and war craft kept up an incessant, linking report.\nDistress signals hissed into the atmosphere in urgent sibilance, then\nfaltered and died away. On occasion, the high note of a _Telefunken_ set\ninvited a revealing confidence that would lead us, 'chicky-chicky,' to\nthe block. We were well served by Marconi.\n\nExtension of the power of enemy submarines brought new practice to our\nseafaring. We had made the most of a passage by the land, steering so\nclose that the workers in the fields paused in their toil and waved us\non; but the new under-water craft crept in as close, and mined the\nfairways. We were ordered to open sea again, to steer the shortest\ncourse by which we could reach a depth of water that could not be mined.\nZigzag progress now assumed the importance that was ever its right. It\nhad been but cursorily maintained. The 'shortest distance between two\npoints' had, for so long, been our rule that many masters were unwilling\nto steer in tangents. On passage in the more open sea, they were soon\nconverted to a belief in the efficacy of a crazy course. Statistics of\nour losses proved the virtue of the tangent: of a group of six vessels\nsunk in a certain area only one--a very slow vessel--was torpedoed while\nmaintaining a zigzag. Extracts from the diary of a captured submarine\ncommander were circulated among us, giving ground for our confidence, in\nthe frequent admissions of failure--\"owing to a sudden and unexpected\nalteration of course.\"\n\nStill, we were unarmed. If, by zigzag and a keen look-out, we were\nfortunate in evading torpedo attack, the submarine had by now mounted a\nsurface armament, and we were exposed to another equally deadly offence.\nFor our protection, Admiralty placed a new type of warship on the\nroutes approaching the channels. Built originally for duty as\nminesweepers, the sloops were faster and more heavily armed than the\ndrifters. They patrolled in a chain of five or six over the routes that\nwe were instructed to use. During the daylight hours we were rarely out\nof sight of one or other of the vessels forming the chain. Our route\norders were framed towards a definite point of departure into the high\nseas when darkness came. There, the patrol of the sloops ended: we had\nthe hours of the night to make our offing and, by daybreak again, were\nassumed to be clear of the 'danger zone.' But the 'danger zone' was\nbeing extended swiftly; it was not always possible to traverse the area\nin the dark hours of a night: only the fast liners could stretch out a\nspeed that would serve. Profiting by experience that was constantly\ngrowing, the _Reichsmarineamt_ constructed larger submarines capable of\nremaining long at sea, and of operating in ocean areas that could not\nadequately be patrolled. Twelve, fifteen--then twenty degrees of\nlongitude marked their activity advancing to the westward: they went\nsouth to thirty-five: in time the Mediterranean became a field for their\nefforts. Gunfire being the least expensive, they relied on their deck\narmament to destroy unarmed shipping. The patrols were but rarely in\nsight; the submarine became a surface destroyer. There was no necessity\nfor submergence on the ocean routes: under-water tactics were held in\nreserve for use against fast ships--the slower merchantmen were\nbrought-to in a contest that was wholly in favour of the U-boat. In a\nheavy Atlantic gale, _Cabotia_ was sunk by gunfire, 120 miles from land.\nShe had not the speed to escape. Despite the heavy seas that swept over\nthe submarine and all but washed the gunner from the deck, the enemy was\nable to keep up a galling fire that ultimately forced the master to\nabandon his ship. _Virginia_ was fired upon at midnight when steering\nfor the Cerigo Channel. Notwithstanding the courage of Captain Coverley,\nwho remained on board to the last, there could be but one end to the\ncontest. _Virginia_ was sunk. A strong ship; the enemy had to expend two\nof his torpedoes to destroy her.\n\nAgainst such attacks only one measure could be advocated--the measure we\nhad for so long been demanding. It was impossible to patrol adequately\nall the areas of our voyaging. Guns were served to us and we derived a\nconfidence that the enemy quickly appreciated. We did not expect wholly\nto reduce his surface action, but we could and did expose him to the\nrisk he had come so far out to sea to avoid. On countless occasions our\nnew armament had effect in keeping him to his depths, with the\nconsequent waste of his mobile battery power. Even in gun action he\ncould no longer impose his own speed power on a slow ship. Under\nconditions that he judged favourable to his gunnery, the submarine\ncommander still exercised his ordnance--usually after a torpedo had\nfailed to reach its mark. Many of the hazards were against us, but our\nweapons brought the contest to a less unequal balance. If we did present\nthe larger target, we had--in our steady emplacement--a better platform\nfrom which to direct our fire. From the first it was a competition of\nrange and calibre. Six-pounders led to twelves; these in turn gave way\nto 4.7's. Anon, the enemy mounted a heavier weapon, to which we replied\nby a new type of 4-inch, sighted to 13,000 yards.\n\nThus armed and equipped, we were in better condition to meet the enemy\nin our independent sailings. He was again obliged largely to return to\nthe use of his torpedoes, with all the maze of under-water approach that\nthat form of attack involved. If outranged in a surface action, we had\nour smoke-producing apparatus to set up a screen to his shell-fire, and\nthat form of defence had the added value of forcing him to proceed at a\nhigh and uneconomical speed to press an attack. Some of our gun actions\nresulted in destruction of a sea-pest, but all--however\nunsuccessful--contributed to lessen his power of offence. Every torpedo\nfired, every hour of submergence, every knot of speed expended in a\nchase, was so far a victory for us as to hasten the date when he would\nbe obliged to head back to his base. His chances of survival in that\npassage through the patrols and the nets and mines could not be\nconsidered as good.\n\n[Illustration: QUEEN'S DOCK, GLASGOW]\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nBATTLEDORE AND SHUTTLECOCK\n\n  \"_All vessels are prohibited from approaching within four miles\n          of Rathlin Island between sunset and sunrise_\"\n\n\nIN view of Admiralty instructions, we are 'proceeding as\nrequisite'--turning circles, dodging between Tor Point and Garron\nHead--and awaiting daybreak to make a passage through Rathlin Sound.\nSteering south from the Clyde, we had reached Skullmartin when the\nwireless halted us. Enemy activity off the south coast of Ireland had\nbecome intensified, and all traffic from west-coast ports was ordered to\nproceed through the North Channel. In groups and singles, the ships from\nLiverpool and the Bristol Channel join us, and we make a busy\nchannel-way of the usually deserted coastal waters. We show no lights,\nbut the moon-ray reveals us, sharply defined, as we pass and repass on\nthe lines of our courses. We keep well within the curve of the coast\nuntil the light grows in the east, then turn finally to the north. The\nsun comes up as we reach Fair Head, and we stand on towards the entrance\nof the Sound.\n\nIn the first hour of official clearance, the North Channel is busy with\nthe traffic. Outside as well as within, ships have been gathering in\nanticipation of Admiralty sunrise. The seaway over by the mainland shore\nis scored and lined by passage of the inward-bound vessels, all pressing\non at their best speed to make their ports before nightfall. A strong\nebb tide runs through, favouring our company of outward-bounders. We\nswing past Rue Point in a rip and whirl that gives the helmsman cause\nfor concern, cross the bight of the Bay at a speed our builders never\ncontemplated, and round the west end of the Island before the sun has\nrisen high.\n\nIt is fine weather in the Atlantic. Only the slight heave of an\nunder-running swell, and the rips and overfalls of the tide, mark the\nsmooth surface of the sea: the light north airs that come and go have no\nstrength to ruffle the glassy patches. Everything promises well for\nspeedy progress. The engines are opened out to their utmost capacity.\nAlready we have drawn ahead of the press of shipping that marked time\nwith us on the other side of the channel. Our only peer, a large Leyland\nliner, has opened out abeam of us and the whirl of black smoke at his\nfunnel-tip shows that he is prepared to make and keep the pace. 'To\nproceed at such a time as to reach 56° 40' North, 11° West, by\nnightfall'--is the reading of our new route orders. We shall have need\nof the favour of the elements if we are to reel off 200 miles between\nnow and 10 p.m. Anon, we pass Oversay and the Rhynns of Islay and head\nfor a horizon that has no blue mountain-line to break the level thread\nof it. Our sea-mates of the morning are hull down behind us--the slower\nvessels already turning west on the inner arms of the fan formation that\nis devised to keep us widely separated in the 'danger area.' Only the\nLeyland boat remains with us. We steer on a similar mean course, but the\nangles of our independent zigzags make our progress irregular in\ncompany. At times we sheer a mile or more apart, then close perceptibly\nto crossing courses. She has perhaps the better speed, but her stoking\nis irregular. Drawing ahead for a term, she shows us her broad sternwash\nin a flurry of disturbed water; then comes the cleaning of the fires--we\npull up and regain a station on her beam.\n\nSo, till afternoon, we keep in company--pressing through the calm seas\nat a speed that augurs well for our timely arrival in 11° West. We sight\nfew vessels. A lone drifter on patrol speaks us and reports no enemy\nsighted in the area: an auxiliary cruiser with a destroyer escorting her\npasses south on the rim of the landward horizon. A drift of smoke astern\nof us hangs in the clear air, then resolves to a fast Cunarder that\nspeedily overhauls and passes us. As though impressed by the mail-boat's\nprogress, our sea-mate puts a spurt on and maintains a better speed than\nany she has shown since morning. She draws ahead and we are left with\nclear water to exercise the cantrips of our zigzag.\n\nAn _allo_ is intercepted by the wireless in the dog-watch. (We have\ncoined a new word to report an enemy submarine in sight, a word that\ncannot offer a key to our codes.) It comes from the Cunarder, now out of\nsight ahead. We figure the radius on the chart, and bear off six points\non a new course to keep well clear of the area. The Leyland liner is by\nnow well ahead and we note she has turned to steer west. There is a\nslight difference in our courses and we draw together again as we steam\non. The wireless operator now reports that a vessel near at hand has\nacknowledged the Cunarder's _allo_. Shortly a man-o'-war sloop appears\nin sight and passes north at high speed, steering towards the position\nwe are avoiding.\n\nThe second officer keeps a keen look-out. He has had bitter experience\nof the power of an enemy submarine and is anxiously desirous that it\nshould not be repeated. A 'check' on the distant sea-line (that we had\ntaken for the peak of a drifter's mizen) draws his eye. He reports a\nsubmarine in sight--broad on the port bow. The circle of our telescope\nshows the clean-cut horizon ruling a thread on the monotint of sea and\nsky. Sweeping the round, a grey pinnacle leaps into the field of view.\nIt is over-distant for ready recognition. Only by close scrutiny,\nobserving a hair-line that rises and falls on either side of the grey\nupstanding point, are we able to recognize our enemy. He is pressing on\nat full speed, trusting to our casual look-out, that he may secure a\nfavourable position to submerge and attack. Our fine confidence with\nwhich we have anticipated such a meeting gives place to a more sober\nmood. Though not yet in actual danger, there is the former _allo_ to be\nthought of--the possibilities of a combination. Quick on recognition, we\nalter course, steering to the north again. The gun, already manned, is\nbrought to the 'ready,' and the intermittent crackle of the wireless\nsends out an urgent warning. The Leyland steamer starts away at first\nsight of our signals: ahead, grey smoke on the horizon marks where the\npatrol sloop has gone hull-down.\n\nA spurt of flame throws out from the distant submarine. He has noted our\nsudden alteration of course and knows that he has now no prospect of\nreaching torpedo range unobserved. His shell falls short by about a\nthousand yards. We reply immediately at our extreme elevation, but\ncannot reach him. The next exchange is closer--he is evidently\noverhauling us at speed. Mindful of our limited fifty rounds, we\ntelephone to the gun-layer to reserve his fire until he has better\nprospect of a hit. Two shots to our one; the enemy persists though he\ndoes not now seem to be closing the range. Our seventh shot pitches\nclose to him, and ricochets. There is a burst of flame on his\ndeck--whether from his gun or the impact of our shell we shall never\nknow; when the spume and spray fall away he has dived.\n\nSuddenly, it is recalled to us that we have been, for over half an hour,\nsteering into the radius of the Cunarder's _allo_. The patrol sloop has\nturned to close us and is rapidly approaching. A decision has quickly to\nbe made. If we stand on to keep outside torpedo range of our late\nantagonist, we may blunder into the sights of number two. North and east\nand west are equally dangerous: we may turn south-east, but our course\nis for the open sea. The sloop sheers round our stern and thunders up\nalongside. Receiving our information, her helm goes over and she swings\nout to investigate the area we have come from. We decide to steer to the\nnorth-west as the shortest way to the open sea.\n\nWe have the luck of the cast. As we ease helm to our new course, the\nship jars and vibrates--a thundering explosive report comes to our ears.\nThe Leyland liner close on our starboard quarter has taken a torpedo and\nlies over under a cloud of spume and debris.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nON SIGNALS AND WIRELESS\n\n\nFOR war conditions our methods and practice of signalling were woefully\ndeficient. In sailing-ship days the code was good enough; we had no need\nfor Morse and semaphore. We had time to pick and choose our signals and\nsend them to the masthead in a gaudy show of reds and blues and yellows.\nOur communications, in the main, were brief and stereotyped. \"What ship?\nWhere from? How many days out? Where bound? Good-bye--a pleasant\npassage!\" Occasionally there was a reference to a coil of rope or a\ntierce of beef, but these were garrulous fellows. The ensign was dipped.\nWe had 'spoken'; we would be reported 'all well!'\n\nGood enough! There were winches to clean and paint, bulwarks to be\nchipped and scaled, that new poop 'dodger' to be cut and sewn. \"Hurry\nup, there, you sodgerin' young idlers! Put the damned flags in the\nlocker, and get on with the _work_!\"\n\nWith steam and speed and dispatch increasing, we found need for a\nquicker and more instant form of signal correspondence. New queries and\nsubjects for report grew on us, and we had to clip and abbreviate and\nshorthand our methods to meet the lessening flag-sight of a passing\nship. We altered the Code of Signals, adding vowels to our flag\nalphabet. We cut out phrases like 'topgallant studding sail boom' and\n'main spencer sheet blocks,' and introduced 'fiddley gratings' and\n'foo-foo valve.' Even with all our trimming, the book was tiresome and\ninadequate. We began to fumble with Morse and semaphore, with\nflashlights and wig-wags and hand-flags.\n\nWe did it without a proper system. As a titbit to our other 'snippings,'\nmedicine, the Prayer Book, the law, ship's business, the breeches buoy,\nship-cookery! Fooling about with flags and tappers and that, was all\nvery well for the watch below, but there was _work_ to be done--the\nbinnacles to be polished, the sacred _suji-mudji_ to be slapped on and\nwashed off!\n\nHesitating and slipshod and inexact as we were, at least we made, of our\nown volition, a start; a start that might, under proper and specialized\ndirection, have made an efficient and accurate addition to the sum of\nour sea-lore. But we were wedded to titbits. Late on the tide, as\nusual, the Board of Trade woke up to what was going on. They added a\n'piece' to our lessons, without thought or worry as to the provision of\nfacilities for right instruction. We crammed hard for a few days, fired\nour shot at the right moment, and forgot all about it.\n\n[Illustration: THE BRIDGE-BOY REPAIRING FLAGS]\n\nWithal, in our own amending way, we were enthusiastic. We learned the\ntrick of _Ak_ and _Beer_ and _Tok_ and _Pip_. We slapped messages at one\nanother (in the dog-watches), in many of which a guess was as good a\ntranslation as any. Our efforts received tolerating and amused\nrecognition from naval officers (secure in possession of scores of\nhighly trained signal ratings). If we came, by chance, across an affable\nBritish warship, she would perhaps masthead an E (exercise), to show\nthat there was no ill-feeling. Then was the time to turn out our star\nman, usually the junior-est officer, and set him up to show that we were\nnot such duffers, after all! Alas! The handicaps that came against us!\nThe muddled backgrounds (camouflage, as ever was!), the fatal\nbackthought to a guess at the last word! The call and interfering\ncounter-call from reader to writer, and writer to reader, and, finally,\nthe sad admission--an inevitable _Eye_, _emmer_, _eye_ (I.M.I.--please\nrepeat), when our scrawl and jumble of conjectural letters would not\nmake sense! We have yet a mortifying memory of such an incident, in\nwhich a distant signalman spelt out to us, clearly and distinctly, \"_Do\nyou speak English?_\"\n\nUnder the stress of war we have improved. Fear for the loss of important\ninformation has spurred us to keener appreciation. If you promise not to\nflirt the flags backhanded (a most damnably annoying habit of superior,\n_flic-flac_ Navy men) we can read you in at ten or twelve words a\nminute. For single-ship work, that was good enough; if we had a press of\nsignalling to attend, we could make up for our busy time in leisurely\nintervals. But convoy altered that. In the Naval Service a signalman\nhas nothing whatever to do in the wide world but attend to signals. It\nis his only job: a highly trained speciality. With us the demands of\nship work on our bare minimum crews do not allow of a duty signaller; he\nmust bear a hand with the rest to straighten out the day's work. In\nconvoy, with signals flying around like crows at the harvest, we found\nour way of it unworkable. It resolved itself to what used to be called a\n'grand rally' in pantomime--all hands on the job, and the officer of the\nwatch neglecting a keen look-out to see that note of the message was\nkept properly.\n\nThe naval authorities took counsel. The experiment had been a 'try on,'\nin which they (with their large staff of special signalmen) had assessed\nour ability as greater than their own! It was decided to train\nsignalmen--R.N.V.R.--for our service. Pending their formation and\ndevelopment, we were given skilled assistance from the crews of our\nocean escorts. But for our gun ratings, and they mostly R.N.R., we had\nno experience of the regular Navy man in our muster. He spun a bit,\ntrimming the grass, before he found rest and a level. With us only for a\nvoyage, we did not get to know him very well, but in all he was\ncompetent enough.\n\nOne we had, from H.M.S. _Ber--Sharpset_, Private Henry Artful, R.M.L.I.\nDrouthy, perhaps, but a good hand. At the end of sailing day, when the\nflags were made up and stowed, he came on the bridge.\n\n\"Fine night, sir!\" We assented, curiously; democratic and all as we are,\nit is rather unusual for our men to be so--so sociable. \"Larst capt'in I\nwos with, sir, 'e allus gimme a drink after th' flag wos stowed.\"\n\nWe stared, incredulous. \"What! Do you say the captain of _Sharpset_ gave\nyou a drink when your work was done?\" He started in affright. \"Not the\ncapt'in o' _Sharpset_, sir! Oh no, sir!--Gawd!--No! Th' capt'in o' th'\nlarst merchant ship wot I wos signallin' in!\"\n\nHis horror, genuine and unconcealed, at our suggestion of such an\nunheard-of transaction, gave illustration alike of the discipline in His\nMajesty's ships and, sadly, the lack of it in ours.\n\nIn time our quickly trained R.N.V.R.'s joined. They came from Crystal\nPalace, these new shipmates. Clean fellows--smart. Bacon-curers,\nCambridge men, lawyers, shopmen, clerks, haberdashers--trimmed and able\nand willing to carry on, and lacking only a little ship practice, and a\nturn of sea-legs, to fit them for a gallant part in delivering the\ngoods. With their coming we are introduced to a line of longshore life\nthat had escaped us. There is talk and ado of metropolitan habits and\nstyles, of 'Maudlen' and high life, of music scores, the latest revue,\nthe quips of the music-halls. (\"When Pa--says--_turn_\" is now the\ncorrect aside, when Commodore gives executive for a new angle on the\nzigzag!)\n\nAt the first we were somewhat concerned at the apparent 'idleness' of\nour signalman. He was on our books for but one employment--the business\nof flags and signals. In intervals of his special duties he made an odd\npicture on the bridge of a merchant ship--a man without a 'job.' The\nfiremen, on deck to trim ventilators, would take a peep at him as at\nsome strange alien; seamen, passing fore and aft on their reliefs, would\nnod confidently. \"Still diggin' wet sand, mate? . . . Wish I 'ad your\njob!\" There were days when he was busy enough--'windmilling' with the\nhand-flags, or passing hours in hoist and rehoist when Commodore was\nsharpening the convoy to a precision in manoeuvre, but on open sea his\nday was not unduly crowded. There were odd hours of 'stand-by' under\nscreen of the weather-cloth, intervals of leisure which he might use as\nhe liked, provided he kept a ready ear for the watch officer's call.\nReading was usual. In this his taste was catholic. _Tit-Bits_ and _My\nDream Novelettes_ found favour; one had back numbers of the _Surveyor\nand Municipal and County Engineer_, old volumes of _Good Words_ from the\nBethel box found a way to the bridge; we saw a pocket volume of Greek\nverse that belonged to the bold lad who altered our signalled 'will' to\n'shall'!\n\nFor all his leisured occupation he was quick enough when the call of\n\"_Signals_\" brought him to business. His concentration on the speciality\nof the flags brought an accuracy to our somewhat haphazard system of\nsignalling. We benefited in more than his immediate work by promoting\nhis instruction of our young seamen. Spurred, perhaps, by the knowledge\nof our quondam haberdasher's efficiency, the boys improved rapidly under\nhis tuition. We paid a modest bonus on results. We are looking forward.\nWe shall not have our duty signalman with us when there is 'peace bacon'\nto be cured.\n\nAnother new shipmate who has signed with us is the wireless operator,\nthe lieutenant of Signor Marconi, our gallant _salvator_ in the war at\nsea. If we may claim for our sea-service a foremost place in national\ndefence, it is only by grace of our wireless we register a demand.\nWithout it, we were undone. No other system of communication would have\nserved us in combat with the submarine; _spurlos versenkt_, without\npossibility of discovery, would have been the triumph of the enemy. If\nto one man we seamen owe a debt unpayable, Marconi holds the bond.\n\nUnthinking, we did not accept our new shipmate with enthusiasm. Before\nthe war he could be found on the lordly liners, tapping out all sorts of\nmessages, from the picture-post-card-like greetings of extravagant\npassengers to the deathless story of _Titanic_ and _Volturno_. We looked\nupon him as a luxury, only suited to the large passenger vessels. We\ncould see no important work for him in the cargo-carriers; we could get\non very well without a telegraph to the beach. A week of war was\nsufficient to alter our views; we were anxious to have him sign with us.\nAlthough he is now an important member of the crew, his reception at\nfirst was none too cordial. The apparent ease and comfort of his office\nrankled in contrast to the rigours of the bridge and the hardships of\nthe engine-room. His duties--specialized to one operation--we deemed\nunfairly light in comparison with our jack-of-all-trades routine. In\nport, he was a lordling--no man his master--able to come and go as the\nmood took him. Frankly, we were jealous. Who was this to come among us\nwith the airs of a full-blown officer, and yet not a dog-watch at sea?\nMessed in the cabin too, and strutted about the decks with his hands in\nhis pockets, as bold and unconcerned as any first-class passenger! We\nwere puzzled to place him. He talked airily of ohms and static leaks,\nampere-hours and anchor-gaps, and yet, in an unguarded moment, had he\nnot told us of his experiences in a Manchester broker's office, that\ncould have been no more than six months ago? The airs of him! Absurd\nassumption of an official confidence between the Old Man and himself, as\nif _he_ had the weight of the ship's safety on his narrow shoulders! As\nfor his baby-brother assistant--that kid with the rosy cheeks--everybody\nknows that all he does is to screw up his 'jimmy fixin's' and sit down\ngood and comfortable to read \"The Rosary,\" with his dam mufflers on his\nears! _Huh!_\n\nBut we are wiser now! Here is a text for our conversion. It is a record\nof a wireless conversation between a merchantman attacked and a British\ndestroyer steaming to her assistance from somewhere out of sight.\n\n\"Are you torpedoed?\"\n\n\"Not yet. . . . Shots in plenty hitting. Several wounded. Shrapnel, I\nbelieve. Broken glass all round me.\"\n\n\"Keep men below. Stick it, old man!\"\n\n\"Yes, you bet. Say, the place stinks of gunpowder. Am lying on the\nfloor. . . . I have had to leave 'phones. My gear beginning to fly\naround with concussion. . . . Captain is dead. . . .\"--an\ninterval--\"Submarine has dived! Submarine has dived!\"\n\nYes, we are wiser now! We admit him to full fellowship at sea. And on\nland, too! We admit him the right to trip it in Kingsway or the Strand,\nwith his kid gloves, and his notebook, and his neat uniform, for his\nrecord has shown that it does not require a four-years' apprenticeship\nto build up a stout heart; that on his 'jimmy fixin's' and their proper\nworking depends a large measure of our safety; and if the crack does\ncome and the air is thick with hurtling debris, broken water and acrid\nsmoke, our first look will be aloft to see if his aerial still stands.\nWe do him and baby brother the honour that we shall not concern\nourselves to wonder whether they be ready at their posts!\n\n[Illustration: A TRANSPORT EMBARKING TROOPS FOR FRANCE]\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nTRANSPORT SERVICES\n\n\nTHE first State control of the merchants' ships began with the\ntransports employed to convey the Expeditionary Force to France in the\nearly days of August 1914. Vessels of all sizes and classes were\ncommandeered at the dockside to serve in the emergency. The\ncomparatively short distance across the channels did not call for\nelaborate preparation and refitment: the times would admit of no delay.\nShips on the point of sailing on their trading voyages were held in\ndock, their cargo discharged in quantity to make space for troops and\ntheir equipment. Lining-up on the quays and in the littered dock-sheds,\ntroops awaited the stoppage of unloading operations. With the last sling\nof the 'tween-deck lading passed to the shore, they marched on board. As\nthe tide served, the vessels steamed out of dock and turned, away from\ntheir normal routes, towards the coast of France.\n\nTo serve as ballast weight, the stowage of cargo in the lower holds was\nfrequently left in place for the term of the vessel's troop service.\nMonths, perhaps a year later, the merchandise arrived at its\ndestination. Consignees would wonder at its tardy delivery--they could\nsee no record of its itinerary as shewn by the bills of lading, unless\nthey read into the fine prefix--'War: the King's Enemies: restraints of\nRulers and Princes'--the romance of its voyaging with the heroes of\nMons.\n\nTo transport the overseas troops from India and Canada and Australia,\ndifferent measures were necessary. The ships requisitioned for this\nservice had to be specially fitted for the longer voyage. The State was\nlavish and extravagant under the sudden pressure of events. The\nmany-handed control at the ports made for an upheaval and dislocation of\nshipyard labour that did not hasten the urgent dispatch of the vessels.\nThe hysteria of the times gave excuse for a squandering of valuable\nship-tonnage that was without parallel. Large liners, already fitted for\ncarriage of passengers, were employed as prison and internment ships.\nCurious situations arose in the disposal of others. At the north end, a\nlarge vessel might suddenly be requisitioned and taken from her\ntrade--with all the consequent confusion and relay; by day and night the\nwork of fitting her would go on. South, a vessel of similar size and\nbuild might be found, having her troop-fittings removed, in preparation\nfor an ordinary trading voyage. Still, if the end justifies the means,\nthe ultimate results were not without credit. The garrison troops from\nMalta and Egypt and Gibraltar and South Africa were moved with a\ncelerity that is unexampled; a huge contingent from India was placed on\nthe field in record time. A convoy of thirty-one merchantmen brought\nCanadian arms to our assistance: Australians, in thirty-six ships,\ncrossed the Indian Ocean to take up station in Egypt. The unsubsidized\nand singular enterprise of the merchants was proving its worth: as vital\nto the success of our cause as the great war fleet, the merchants' ships\naided to stem the onrush in France and Flanders.\n\nConsiderations of economy followed upon the excited measures with which\nthe first transport of available troops was effected. In the period of\ntraining and preparation for the long offensive, the Transport\nDepartment had opportunity to organize their work on less stressful\nlines. It was well that there was breathing-space at this juncture.\nEnemy interference, that had so far been almost wholly a surface threat\nto our communications, grew rapidly to a serious menace from under\nwater. The engagement and organization of naval protection underwent an\nimmediate revisal. Heavily armed cruisers and battleships could afford\nlittle protection against the activity of the German submarines, now at\nlarge in waters that we had thought were overdistant for their peculiar\nmanoeuvres. Destroyers and swift light craft were needed to sail with\nthe transports.\n\nThe landing at Gallipoli, under the guns of the enemy, was a triumph for\nthe Transport Service. In the organization and disposal of the ships,\nthe control and undertaking that placed them in sufficient numbers in\ncondition for their desperate venture, the Department redeemed any\nearlier miscalculations. The efficient service of the merchant masters\nand seamen was equally notable. Under heavy fire from the batteries on\nshore they carried out the instructions given to them in a manner that\nwas \"astonishingly accurate\" and impressed even the firebrands of the\nnaval service. Strange duties fell to the merchant seamen on that day.\nCompelled by the heavy draught of their ships to remain passive\nspectators of the deeds of heroism on the beach, they saw \". . . whole\ngroups swept down like corn before a reaper, and to realize that among\nthese groups were men who only a short time before had bid us good-bye\nwith a smile on their lips, was a bitter experience.\n\n\"Our vessel was used to re-embark the wounded, and we stood close\ninshore to make the work of boating them off less hazardous. We had\nthree doctors on board, but no nurses or orderlies, and the wounded were\nbeing brought on board in hundreds, so it was a relief to us to doff our\ncoats and lend a hand. We had to bury the dead in batches; officers and\nmen were consigned to the deep together. On one occasion the number was\nexceptional, and the captain broke down while reading the service. . . .\"\nIt was surely a bond of real brotherhood that brought the shattered\nremnants of the complement she had landed earlier in the day to meet\ntheir last discharge at the hands of the troopship's seamen--their\ncommittal to the deep at the broken words of the vessel's master.\n\nWhile the transport of troops in the Channel and the narrow seas was\nnot, at any time, seriously interfered with, the movements of the larger\nocean transports were not conducted without loss. _Royal Edward_ was the\nfirst transport to be torpedoed. She went down with the sacrifice of\nover a thousand lives. The power of the submarine had been over-lightly\nestimated by the authorities: measures of protection were inadequate.\nImproved U-boats were, by now, operating in the Mediterranean, and their\ncommanders had quickly acquired a confidence in their power. More\ndestroyers were required to escort the troopships.\n\nBy a rearrangement of forces a more efficient measure of naval\nprotection was assured. Although the provision of a swift escort did not\nalways prevent the destruction of ships, the loss of life on the\noccasion of the sinking of a transport was sensibly reduced by the\npresence of accompanying destroyers. The skill and high gallantry of\ntheir commanders was largely instrumental in averting complete and\nterrible disaster. As the numbers of ships were reduced by enemy action\nthere came the need to pack the remaining vessels to a point of\noverloading. Boat equipment on the ships could not be other than\ninadequate when the certified complement of passengers was exceeded by\n100 per cent. In any case, the havoc of a torpedo left little time to\nput the huge numbers of men afloat. With no thought of their own\nhazard--bringing up alongside a torpedoed vessel and abandoning the\nsafeguard of their speed and manoeuvring power--the destroyer men\naccepted all risks in an effort to bring at least the manning of their\ncharge to port.\n\nEvery casualty added grim experience to the sum of our resources in\navoiding a great death-roll. Life-belts that we had thought efficient\nwere proved faulty of adjustment and were condemned: methods of\nboat-lowering were altered to meet the danger of a sudden list: the run\nof gangway and passage to the life-apparatus was cleared of impediment.\nWhen on a passage every precaution that could be taken towards a ready\nalert was insisted upon. Despite the manly grumbling of the very young\nmilitary officers on board, certain irksome regulations were enforced.\nLife-belts had to be worn continuously; troops were only allowed below\ndecks at stated hours; systems of drill, constantly carried through,\nleft little leisure for the officers and men. Although no formal drill\ncan wholly meet the abnormal circumstances of the new sea-casualty, we\nleft nothing undone to prepare for eventualities. That our efforts were\nnot useless was evident from the comparatively small loss of life that\nhas resulted from late transport disasters.\n\nThe system of escort varies largely in the different seas. Homeward from\nCanada and, latterly, from the United States the troopships are formed\nin large convoys under the ocean escort of a cruiser. On arrival at a\nposition in the Atlantic within working distance of the destroyers'\nrange of steaming, the convoy is met by a flotilla of fast destroyers\nwho escort the ships to port. For transport work in the Mediterranean no\nsuch arrangement could be operated. Every sea-mile of the great expanse\nis equally a danger zone. Usually, vessels of moderate speed are\naccompanied by sloops or armed drifters, but the fast troopships require\ndestroyers for their protection. The long courses call for relays, as\nthe destroyers cannot carry sufficient fuel. Marseilles to Malta, Malta\nto Suda Bay, Suda Bay to Salonika--a familiar voyage of three\nstages--required the services of no less than five destroyers. The\nnumbers of our escorting craft were limited: it called for keen\nforesight on the part of the Naval Staff and unwearying sea-service on\nthat of the war craft to fit their resources to our demands.\n\n[Illustration: TRANSPORTS IN SOUTHAMPTON DOCKS]\n\nIn the narrow seas, with the patrols more numerous and closely linked,\nthe short-voyage transports proceed on a time-table of sailings that\nkeeps them constantly in touch with armed assistance. The vessels are\nmostly of light draught and high speed. Whilom railway and pleasure\ncraft, they make their voyages with the exactitude of the\nrail-connections they served in the peaceful days. Although many of them\nare built and maintained (and certificated by the Board of Trade) for\nsmooth-water limits only, the emergency of the times has given\nopportunity of proof that their seaworthy qualities are underestimated\nby the authorities. The high gales and dangerous short seas of the\nChannel are no deterrent to their voyages; under the pressure of the\ncontinual call for reinforcements on the Western Front, and serving the\nline of route from England to the Continent, to Marseilles and beyond,\nthey stand no hindrance. They are specially the objects of enemy\nattention. Their high speed and rapid turning power enables them to run\nmoderately free of torpedo attack--though the attempts to sink them by\nthis weapon are frequent enough--but in the German sea-mines they have a\nmenace that cannot so readily be evaded. Many have fallen victims to\nthis danger, but the ready succour of the patrols has prevented heavy\nloss of life. Though armed for defence, they have not had many\nopportunities for gun action. Their keen stems are weapon enough, as\nCaptain Keith considered when he drove _Queen Alexandra_ at full speed\ninto an enemy submarine, sinking him, and nipping a piece of his shorn\nhull for trophy.\n\nSouthampton is the principal base for the smaller transports. Large\nvessels--the _Olympic_ and her sisters--come and go from the port, but\nit is by the quick turns of the smaller vessels that the huge traffic of\nthe base is cleared. Tramping through the streets of the ancient town to\nturn in at the dock gates, company after company of troops file down the\nquayside to embark on the great adventure. The small craft are berthed\nat the seaward end of the docks, and the drifting white feathers at\ntheir funnel-tips marks steam up in readiness for departure. The\ndrab-grey of their hulls and decks is quickly lined by ochre tint of\nkhaki uniforms. There is no halt to the long lines of marching men, save\non the turn of the stream to another gangway. By long practice, the\nNaval Transport Staff and the embarkation officers have brought their\nduties to a finished routine. There is not here the muster, the\nenumeration, the interminable long-drawn march and counter-march on the\nwharf-side, that is the case with the larger ocean transports. Crossing\nthe gangway, carrying pack and equipment, the troops settle down on the\ndecks in a closely packed mass.\n\nAnon, with no undue advertisement, the transports unmoor from the quay\nand steam down Southampton Water. Off St. Helens, the night covers them\nand they steal out swiftly on the Channel crossing.\n\n\nINTERLUDE\n\nBUT for the flat-topped dwellings, the domes and minarets, of the town\nthat stands in the alluvial valley, Suda Bay is not unlike a Highland\nloch in its loneliness and rugged grandeur. The high surrounding\nmountains, the lofty snow-capped summit of Psiloriti standing up in the\neast, the bare hill-side sloping to the water with no wooded country to\nbreak the expanse of rock and heath, the lone roadway by the fringe of\nthe sea that leads to the wilds, are all in likeness to the prospect of\na remote Sutherland landscape. The darkling shadows on the water, the\nplay of sun and cloud on the distant uplands, completes the picture;\nsheep on the hill-side set up plaintive calls that echo over the Bay.\n\nThe heavy westerly gale that was reason for our being signalled in from\nsea has blown itself out, and the water of the Bay stands still and\nplacid. All that is left of the furious squalls of yesterday has not\nstrength to keep us wind-rode in the anchorage, and we cast about to the\nvagaries of the drift.\n\nWe were bound down from Salonika to Marseilles when ordered in. We had\nexpected to meet the relieving escort of destroyers at the Cerigo\nChannel, but the bad weather had prevented them from proceeding at any\nbut a slow speed, and there was no prospect of their arrival at the\nrendezvous. So we turned south to seek protection behind the booms at\nSuda Bay. We are a packed ship. The shortage of transports has had\neffect in crowding the vessels in service to a point far beyond the\nlimits of their accommodation. We have had to institute a\nwatch-and-watch system among our huge complement. While a proportion are\nseeking rest below, others crowd the upper decks, passing the time as\nbest they may until their turn of the hammocks comes round.\n\nThe fine weather after the late gale has brought every one on deck. The\ndoings of the ships in the anchorage have interest for the landsmen.\nNaval cutters and whalers are out under oars for exercise, and thrash up\nand down the Bay with the long steady sweep of practised rowers. Our\nescort of two destroyers arrives--their funnels white-crusted from the\nheavy weather they have experienced on passage from Malta. They engage\nthe flagship with signals, then steam alongside an oiler to take fuel\nfor the return voyage. A message from the senior officer is signalled to\nus to have steam raised, to proceed to sea at midnight.\n\nStanding in from the Gateway, a British submarine comes up the Bay. She\nmoves slowly, as though looking for the least uncomfortable berth in the\nanchorage. The oil-ship, having already the two destroyers alongside,\ncannot offer her a place: she will have to lie off and await her turn.\nWe put a signal on her, inviting her people to tie up alongside and\ncome stretch their legs on our broad decks. Instant compliance. She\nturns on a long curve, rounds our stern, and her wires are passed on\nboard.\n\nThe commander of the submarine gazes about curiously as he comes on\nboard. He confesses that he has had no intimate acquaintance with\nmerchants' ships. The huge number of our passengers impresses him,\naccustomed as he is to the small manning of his own vessel. Standing on\nthe navigation bridge, we look out over the decks below at the\nkhaki-clad assembly. The ship seems brimming over with life and\nanimation. There is no corner but has its group of soldiers. They are\neverywhere; in the rigging, astride the derricks, over the top of boats\nand rafts they are stretched out to the sun. Mess-cooks with their gear\npush their way through the crowds; there is constant movement--the men\nfrom aft barging forward, the fore-end troops blocking the gangways as\nthey saunter aft. Noisy! Snatches of song, hails, and shouts--the\ninterminable games of 'ouse with '_Clikety-clik_ and _blind-forty_'\nresounding in the many local dialects of the varied troops. High in\nspirit! We are the leave-ship, and they are bound home for a\nlong-desired furlough after the deadly monotony of trench-keeping on the\nDoiran Front.\n\n\"Gad! What a crowd,\" he says. \"I had no idea you carried so many. They\nlook so big--and so awkward in a ship. Of course, on a battleship we\nmuster a lot o' men, twelve hundred in the big 'uns, but--somehow--one\nnever sees them about the decks unless at divisions or that. Perhaps\nit's khaki does it; one gets accustomed to blue in a ship.\"\n\nA 'diversion' has been arranged for the afternoon. Dinner over, all\ntroops are mustered to a boat drill that includes the lowering of the\nboats. Since leaving Salonika there has been no such opportunity as now\noffers. Despite foreknowledge of the time of assembly it is a long\nproceeding. Our complement is made up of small details--a handful of men\nfrom every battalion on the Front. Officers set to their control are\ndrawn from as many varied branches of the service. The valued personal\n'grip' of non-commissioned officers is not at our disposal. There is no\nsuch order and discipline as would be the case if we were manned by\ncomplete battalions. The routine of military movements seems dull and\nlifeless at sea, however efficient it may prove on land. We are long on\nthe job.\n\nBy dint of check and repetition the grouping of the men at their boat\nstations is brought to a moderate proficiency. The seamen at the boats\nswing out and lower, and we set the boats afloat, each with a full\ncomplement of troops. Embarked, and left to their own resources--with\nonly one ship's rating to steer--the men make a better show. The\ndivision of the mass into smaller bodies induces a rivalry and spirit\nof competition: they swing the oars sturdily and make progress to and\nfro on the calm water of the Bay.\n\nWith the boats away full-loaded, we take stock of the numbers still\nmustered on the deck. Considerably reduced, they are still a host. The\nboat deck, the forecastle head, the poop--are all lined over by the\nwaiting men: the empty boat-chocks and the dangling falls inspire a mood\nof disquiet. Standing at ease, they seem to be facing towards the\nbridge. Doubtless they are wondering what we think of it all. The\nsubmarine's commander has been with us at our station during the muster.\nWe look at one another--thoughtfully.\n\n\n'THE MAN-O'-WAR 'S 'ER 'USBAND'\n\nA SENSE of security is difficult of definition. Largely, it is founded\nupon habit and association. It is induced and maintained by familiar\nsurroundings. On board ship, in a small world of our own, we seem to be\ncontained by the boundaries of the bulwarks, to be sailing beyond the\ninfluences of the land and of other ships. The sea is the same we have\nknown for so long. Every item of our ship fitment--the trim arrangement\nof the decks, the set and rake of mast and funnel, even the furnishings\nof our cabins--has the power of impressing a stable feeling of custom,\nnormal ship life, safety. It requires an effort of thought to recall\nthat in their homely presence we are endangered. Relating his\nexperiences after having been mined and his ship sunk, a master confided\nthat the point that impressed him most deeply was when he went to his\nroom for the confidential papers and saw the cabin exactly in everyday\naspect--his longshore clothes suspended from the hooks, his umbrella\nstanding in a corner as he had placed it on coming aboard.\n\nSoldiers on service are denied this aid to assurance. Unlike us, they\ncannot carry their home with them to the battlefield. All their scenes\nand surroundings are novel; they may only draw a reliance and comfort\nfrom the familiar presence of their comrades. At sea in a ship there is\na yet greater incitement to their disquiet. The movement, the limitless\nsea, the distance from the land, cannot be ignored. The atmosphere that\nis so familiar and comforting to us, is to many of them an environment\nof dread possibilities.\n\n[Illustration: THE _LEVIATHAN_ DOCKING AT LIVERPOOL]\n\nIt is with some small measure of this sense of security--tempered by our\nknowledge of enemy activity in these waters--we pace the bridge. Anxiety\nis not wholly absent. Some hours past, we saw small flotsam that may\nhave come from the decks of a French mail steamer, torpedoed three days\nago. The passing of the derelict fittings aroused some disquiet, but\nthe steady routine of our progress and the constant friendly presence of\nfamiliar surroundings has effect in allaying immediate fears. The rounds\nof the bridge go on--the writing of the log, the tapping of the glass,\nthe small measures that mark the passing of our sea-hours. Two days out\nfrom Marseilles--and all well! In another two days we should be\napproaching the Canal, and then--to be clear of 'submarine waters' for a\nterm. Fine weather! A light wind and sea accompany us for the present,\nbut the filmy glare of the sun, now low, and a backward movement of the\nglass foretells a break ere long. We are steaming at high speed to make\nthe most of the smooth sea. Ahead, on each bow, our two escorting\ndestroyers conform to the angles of our zigzag--spurring out and\nswerving with the peculiar 'thrown-around' movement of their class.\nLook-out is alert and in numbers. Added to the watch of the ship's crew,\nmilitary signallers are posted; the boats swung outboard have each a\nparty of troops on guard.\n\nAn alarmed cry from aloft--a half-uttered order to the steersman--an\nexplosion, low down in the bowels of the ship, that sets her reeling in\nher stride!\n\nThe upthrow comes swiftly on the moment of impact. Hatches, coal,\nshattered debris, a huge column of solid water go skyward in a hurtling\nmass to fall in torrent on the bridge. Part of a human body strikes the\nawning spars and hangs--watch-keepers are borne to the deck by the\nweight of water--the steersman falls limply over the wheel with blood\npouring from a gash on his forehead. . . . Then silence for a stunned\nhalf-minute, with only the thrust of the engines marking the heart-beats\nof the stricken ship.\n\nUproar! Most of our men are young recruits: they have been but two days\non the sea. The torpedo has gone hard home at the very weakest hour of\nour calculated drill. The troops are at their evening meal when the blow\ncomes, the explosion killing many outright. We had counted on a\nproportion of the troops being on the deck, a steadying number to\nbalance the sudden rush from below that we foresaw in emergency.\nHurrying from the mess-decks as enjoined, the quick movement gathers way\nand intensity: the decks become jammed by the pressure, the gangways and\npassages are blocked in the struggle. There is the making of a\npanic--tuned by their outcry, \"_God!_ _O God!_ _O Christ!_\" The swelling\nmurmur is neither excited nor agonized--rather the dull, hopeless\nexpression of despair.\n\nThe officer commanding troops has come on the bridge at the first alarm.\nHis juniors have opportunity to take their stations before the\nstruggling mass reaches to the boats. The impossibility of getting among\nthe men on the lower decks makes the military officers' efforts to\nrestore confidence difficult. They are aided from an unexpected quarter.\nThe bridge-boy makes unofficial use of our megaphone. \"Hey! Steady up\nyou men doon therr,\" he shouts. \"Ye'll no' dae ony guid fur yersels\ncroodin' th' ledders!\"\n\nWe could not have done it as well. The lad is plainly in sight to the\ncrowd on the decks. A small boy, undersized. \"Steady up doon therr!\" The\neffect is instant. Noise there still is, but the movement is arrested.\n\nThe engines are stopped--we are now beyond range of a second\ntorpedo--and steam thunders in exhaust, making our efforts to control\nmovements by voice impossible. At the moment of the impact the\ndestroyers have swung round and are casting here and there like hounds\non the scent: the dull explosion of a depth-charge--then another, rouses\na fierce hope that we are not unavenged. The force of the explosion has\nbroken connections to the wireless room, but the aerial still holds and,\nwhen a measure of order on the boat-deck allows, we send a message of\nour peril broadcast. There is no doubt in our mind of the outcome. Our\nbows, drooping visibly, tell that we shall not float long. We have\nnearly three thousand on board. There are boats for sixteen\nhundred--then rafts. Boats--rafts--and the glass is falling at a rate\nthat shows bad weather over the western horizon!\n\nOur drill, that provided for lowering the boats with only\nhalf-complements in them, will not serve. We pass orders to lower away\nin any condition, however overcrowded. The way is off the ship, and it\nis with some apprehension we watch the packed boats that drop away from\nthe davit heads. The shrill ring of the block-sheaves indicates a\ntension that is not far from breaking-point. Many of the life-boats\nreach the water safely with their heavy burdens, but the strain on the\ntackles--far beyond their working load--is too great for all to stand to\nit. Two boats go down by the run. The men in them are thrown violently\nto the water, where they float in the wash and shattered planking. A\nthird dangles from the after fall, having shot her manning out at\nparting of the forward tackle. Lowered by the stern, she rights,\ndisengages, and drifts aft with the men clinging to the life-lines. We\ncan make no attempt to reach the men in the water. Their life-belts are\nsufficient to keep them afloat: the ship is going down rapidly by the\nhead, and there remains the second line of boats to be hoisted and swung\nover. The chief officer, pausing in his quick work, looks to the bridge\ninquiringly, as though to ask, \"How long?\" The fingers of two hands\nsuffice to mark our estimate.\n\nThe decks are now angled to the deepening pitch of the bows. Pumps are\nutterly inadequate to make impression on the swift inflow. The chief\nengineer comes to the bridge with a hopeless report. It is only a\nquestion of time. How long? Already the water is lapping at a level of\nthe foredeck. Troops massed there and on the forecastle-head are\napprehensive: it is indeed a wonder that their officers have held them\nfor so long. The commanding officer sets example by a cool nonchalance\nthat we envy. Posted with us on the bridge, his quick eyes note the\nflood surging in the pent 'tween-decks below, from which his men have\nremoved the few wounded. The dead are left to the sea.\n\nHelp comes as we had expected it would. Leaving _Nemesis_ to steam fast\ncircles round the sinking ship, _Rifleman_ swings in and brings up\nalongside at the forward end. Even in our fear and anxiety and distress,\nwe cannot but admire the precision of the destroyer captain's\nmanoeuvre--the skilful avoidance of our crowded life-boats and the men\nin the water--the sudden stoppage of her way and the cant that brings\nher to a standstill at the lip of our brimming decks. The troops who\nhave stood so well to orders have their reward in an easy leap to\nsafety. Quickly the foredeck is cleared. _Rifleman_ spurts ahead in a\nrush that sets the surrounding life-boats to eddy in her wash. She takes\nup the circling high-speed patrol and allows her sister ship to swing in\nand embark a number of our men.\n\nIt is when the most of the life-boats are gone we realize fully the\ngallant service of the destroyers. There remain the rafts, but many of\nthese have been launched over to aid the struggling men in the water.\nHalf an hour has passed since we were struck--thirty minutes of frantic\nendeavour to debark our men--yet still the decks are thronged by a\npacked mass that seems but little reduced. The coming of the destroyers\nalters the outlook. _Rifleman's_ action has taken over six hundred. A\nsensible clearance! _Nemesis_ swings in with the precision of an\nexpress, and the thud and clatter of the troops jumping to her deck sets\nup a continuous drumming note of deliverance. Alert and confident, the\nnaval men accept the great risks of their position. The ship's bows are\nentered to the water at a steep incline. Every minute the balance is\nweighing, casting her stern high in the air. The bulkheads are by now\ntaking place of keel and bearing the huge weight of her on the water. At\nany moment she may go without a warning, to crash into the light hull of\nthe destroyer and bear her down. For all the circling watch of her\nsister ship, the submarine--if still he lives--may get in a shot at the\nstanding target. It is with a deep relief we signal the captain to bear\noff. Her decks are jammed to the limit. She can carry no more. _Nemesis_\nlists heavily under her burdened decks as she goes ahead and clears.\n\nForty minutes! The zigzag clock in the wheelhouse goes on ringing the\nangles of time and course as though we were yet under helm and speed.\nFor a short term we have noted that the ship appears to have reached a\npoint of arrest in her foundering droop. She remains upright as she has\nbeen since righting herself after the first inrush of water. Like the\nlady she always was, she has added no fearsome list to the sum of our\ndistress. The familiar bridge, on which so many of our safe sea-days\nhave been spent, is canted at an angle that makes foothold uneasy. She\ncannot remain for long afloat. The end will come swiftly, without\nwarning--a sudden rupture of the bulkhead that is sustaining her weight.\nWe are not now many left on board. Striving and wrenching to man-handle\nthe only remaining boat--rendered idle for want of the tackles that have\nparted on service of its twin--we succeed in pointing her outboard, and\nawait a further deepening of the bows ere launching her. Of the\nmilitary, the officer commanding, some few of his juniors, a group of\nother ranks, stand by. The senior officers of the ship, a muster of\nseamen, a few stewards, are banded with us at the last. We expect no\nfurther service of the destroyers. The position of the ship is\nover-menacing to any approach. They have all they can carry. Steaming at\na short distance they have the appearance of being heavily overloaded;\neach has a staggering list and lies low in the water under their deck\nencumbrance. We have only the hazard of a quick out-throw of the\nremaining boat and the chances of a grip on floating wreckage to count\nupon.\n\nOn a sudden swift sheer, _Rifleman_ takes the risk. Unheeding our\nwarning hail, she steams across the bows and backs at a high speed: her\nrounded stern jars on our hull plates, a whaler and the davits catch on\na projection and give with the ring of buckling steel--she turns on the\nthrow of the propellors and closes aboard with a resounding impact that\nsets her living deck-load to stagger.\n\nWe lose no time. Scrambling down the life-ropes, our small company\nendeavours to get foothold on her decks. The destroyer widens off at the\nrebound, but by clutch of friendly hands the men are dragged aboard. One\nfails to reach safety. A soldier loses grip and goes to the water. The\nchief officer follows him. Tired and unstrung as he must be by the\ndevoted labours of the last half-hour, he is in no condition to effect a\nrescue. A sudden deep rumble from within the sinking ship warns the\ndestroyer captain to go ahead. We are given no chance to aid our\nshipmates: the propellors tear the water in a furious race that sweeps\nthem away, and we draw off swiftly from the side of the ship.\n\nWe are little more than clear of the settling fore-end when the last\nbuoyant breath of _Cameronia_ is overcome. Nobly she has held afloat to\nthe debarking of the last man. There is no further life in her. Evenly,\nsteadily, as we had seen her leave the launching ways at Meadowside, she\ngoes down.\n\n[Illustration: SALVAGE VESSELS OFF YARMOUTH, ISLE OF WIGHT]\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nTHE SALVAGE SECTION\n\n\nTHE TIDEMASTERS\n\nIF Royal Canute, King of England and Denmark, with his train of servile\nearls and thanes, could revisit the scene of his famous object-lesson,\nhe would learn a new value in the tide. Suitably, he might improve his\nhomily by presentation of the salvage tidemasters, harnessing the rise\nand fall of the stubborn element to serve their needs and heave a\nfoundered vessel to sight and service. He would note the cunning\nguidance of strain and effort, their exact timing of the ruled and\nordered habits of the sea. As a moral, he could quote that, if tide may\nnot be ordered to command, it can at least be governed and impressed to\nperformance of a mighty service.\n\nRecovery of ships, their gear and cargo, is no longer wholly an\napplication of practised seamanship. The task is burdened and\ncomplicated by powers and conditions that call for auxiliary arts. It is\ntrue that the salvage officer's ground, his main asset, is the knowledge\nand ability to do a seamanlike 'job o' work' when the time and tide are\nopportune; he must have a seaman's training in the ways of the wind and\nthe sea and be able properly to assess the weather conditions under\nwhich alone his precarious work is possible. A scientist of a liberal\nand versatile type (not perhaps exhaustive in his scope and range), he\nis able to draw the quantum of his needs from a wide and varied summary.\nTogether with his medical exemplar, he has developed a technique from\ncrude remedies and imperfect diagnoses to application of fine science.\nHe must have a sure knowledge of the anatomy of his great steel\npatients, be versed in the infinite variety and intricacy of ship\nconstruction, and the valves and arteries of their power; be able to pen\nand plan his formulæ for weight-lifting--the stress and strain of it,\ndown to the calibre of the weakest link. A super-tidesman, he must know\nto an inch the run of bottom, the swirl and eddy, the value of flood and\nebb and springs, for the tide--Canute's immutable recalcitrant--is his\ngreatest assistant, a familiar _Genius maris_ whom he conjures from the\ndeeps of ocean to do his bidding. Shrewd! He is a keen student of the\npsychology of the distressed mariner; again, like the medical man, he\nmust set himself to extract truth from the tale that is told. His\ntreatment must be prescribed, not to meet a case as presented, but as\nhis skilled knowledge of the probabilities warrants. Tactful, if he is\nto meet with assistance in his difficult work, he must assume the\nsympathy of one seaman to another in distress. What, after all, does it\nmatter if he agree heartily that \"the touch was very light, we were\ngoing dead slow,\" when, from his divers' reports, he knows that the\nwhole bottom is 'up'?\n\nIn the handling of his own men there must be a combination of rigour and\nreason. Salvage crews are a hardy, tempestuous race who have no ordinary\nregard for the niceties of law and order; their work is no scheduled and\ndefined occupation with states and margins; they are servants to tide\nand weather alone; they are embarked on a venture, on a hazard, a\nlottery. To such men, administering, under his direction, the heroic but\ndestructive remedies of high explosive and compressed air, there cannot\nbe a normal allowance for the economic use of gear and material. He must\nknow the right and judicial discount to be made that will meet the\nconflicting demands of the expenses department and the results\ncommittee. Above all, he must be of an infinite patience, of the mettle\nthat is not readily discouraged. In the great game of seafaring his hand\nholds the king of disappointment and the knaves of frustration and\ndiscouragement. But he has other cards; he holds an ace in stability and\ndetermination.\n\nCalm days and smooth seas may lure him to surpassing effort, to work\nthrough the tides in feverish energy, making the most of favoured\nopportunity. The scattered and interrupted work of months has perhaps\nbeen geared and bound, the tackle rigged and set for a final dead lift.\nBuoyancy is figured out and assured; the pumps are in place, throbbing\nand droning out, throwing steady streams from the weight of water that\nso long has held the foundered wreck in depth. The work has been long\nand trying, but an end to difficulty is in sight. Given a day or two of\ncontinued fine weather, the sea and the rocks will have to surrender\ntheir prisoner.\n\nComes a darkling to windward and the sea stirs uneasily; jets and spurts\nof broken water appear over the teeth and spit of rocky ledges. The\nsalvors look around with calculating eyes and note the signs of a\nweather break. Still, there is no slackening of effort; there may be\ntime to complete the work before the sea rises to interfere; if\nanything, the omens only call for another spur to the flank, a new sting\nto the lash.\n\nBeaten to the knees, the gear and tackle swaying perilously in breaking\nseas, the lifting-barges thundering at their curbs, the pumps groaning\nand protesting their inability to overcome the lap of blue water, there\nis no alternative but to abandon the work and return to harbour. From\nthe beach the salvage officer may watch his labour of weeks--or\nmonths--savagely undone in an hour or two of storm and fury of the sea!\n\nIt is a great catalogue, that schedule of virtues and accomplishments.\nTo it must be added, as a supplement, that he must be a 'made' man--made\nin a long hard pupilage in a stern school that appraises strictly on\nresults. It is of little use to show that, in theory, a certain course\nwas right and proper, when the broad but damning fact remains that the\nproperty is still in Davy Jones his locker, and likely--there to remain.\nMany are called, but few are chosen. The salvage service has no room for\nthe merely mediocre officer: the right man goes inevitably to his proper\nplace, the wrong one goes back to a junior, and less responsible, post\nat sea.\n\nIt is doubtful if the Naval Service could produce the type required.\nTheir candidate would be, to a degree, inelastic. He would be an\nexcellent theorist, a sound executant, a strict disciplinarian; but his\ntraining and ideas would fit ill to the wide range of conflicting\ninterests, and the shutting out of all manoeuvre, however skilled and\nstimulating--but that of securing a maximum of result by a minimum of\neffort. Perhaps it was for these reasons our salvage services before the\nwar were almost wholly mercantile and commercial. Certainly, most\nAdmiralty efforts in this direction were confined to ports and harbours\nwhere method could be ordered and controlled by routine; their more\narduous and unmanageable cases on the littoral were frequently handed\nover to the merchantmen--not seldom after naval efforts had been\nunavailing. Among the protestations of our good faith to the world in\ntime of peace, it may be cited that we made no serious provision for a\nsuccession of maritime casualties; there was no specially organized and\nequipped Naval Salvage Service. True, there were the harbour gear,\ndivers, a pump or two, and appliances and craft for attending submarine\naccidents, but their energies were bent largely to humane purposes--to\nmarine first aid. Of major gear and a trained personnel to control\nequipment and operation there was not even a nucleus. Salvage was valued\nat a modest section of the \"Manual on Seamanship\" (written by a\nmercantile expert), and a very occasional lecture at the Naval College.\nAt war, and the toll of maritime disaster rising, the need grew quickly\nfor expert and special service. There was no longer a relative and\nprofitable balance to be struck between value of sea-property and cost\nof salvage operations. A ship had become beyond mere money valuation; as\nwell assess the air we breathe in terms of finance. No cost was high if\na keel could be added to our mercantile fleets in one minute less than\nthe time the builders would take to construct a new vessel. The call was\nfor competent ship-surgeons who could front-rank our maritime C Threes.\nBy whatever skill and daring and exercise of seamanship, the wrecks must\nbe returned to service. Happily, there was no necessity to go far\nafield; the merchants' salvage enterprise, like the merchants' ships and\nthe merchants' men, was ready at hand for adoption.\n\n[Illustration: IN A SALVAGE VESSEL: OVERHAULING THE INSULATION OF THE\nPOWER LEADS]\n\nThe Salvage Section, Admiralty, is a dignified caption and has an almost\nimperial address, but, camouflages and all, it is not difficult to see\nthe hem of old sea-worn garments of our mercantile companies peeping out\nbelow the gold braid. If in peace-time they did wonders, war has made\ntheir greatest and most successful efforts seem but minor actions\ncompared to their present-day victories. The practice and experience\ngained in quick succession of 'cases' has tuned up their operations to\nthe highest pitch of efficiency. New and more powerful appliances have\ncome to their hands; a skilled and technical directorate has liberated\ninitiative. Strandings, torpedo or mine damage, fire, collisions--frequently\na compound of two or three--or all five--provide them with occasion for\nevery shift of ingenuity, every turn of resource. There is no stint to\nthe gear, and no limits to invention, or device, if there is a\npossibility of a damaged ship being brought to the dry docks. Is it not\non record that an obstinate, stranded ship, driven high on the beach,\nwas finally relaunched on the crest of an artificially created 'spring'\ntide, the wash and suction of a high-speed destroyer, plying and\ncircling in the shallows?\n\nMany new perils are added to the risks and hazards of their normally\ndangerous work. Casualties that call for their service are rarely\nlocated in safe and protected waters; open coast and main channels are\nthe marches of the Salvage Section, where the enemy has a keen and ready\neye for a 'potting' shot by which he may prevent succour of a previous\nvictim. The menace of sea-mines is particularly theirs; the run and\nswirl of Channel tides has strength to weigh a stealthy mooring and\ncarry a power of destruction up stream and down. They have a new and\ndeadly danger to be guarded against in the ammunition and armament of\ntheir stricken wards. Many have gone down at 'action stations,' and\ncarry 'hair-sprung' explosive charges, the exact condition and activity\nof which are usually a matter for conjecture. It calls for a courage of\nno ordinary measure to grope and stumble under water amid shattered\nwreckage for the safety-clutch of the charges, or grapple in the mud and\nlitter for torpedo firing-levers. This the pioneer of the divers must\ndo, as the first and most important of his duties.\n\nWith skill enhanced by constant and encouraged practice, they set out to\nbind the wounds and raise our damaged ships to a further lease of\nsea-activity. So definite and sure are their methods, so skilled and\nrapid their execution, they steam ahead of reconstruction and crowd the\nwaiting-room at the dry-dock gates. Lined up at the anchorage awaiting\ntheir turn, the recovered vessels may be crippled and bent, and showing\ntorsion and distress in the list, and staggering trim with which they\nswing flood and ebb. They may rest, halting, on the inshore shallow\nflats, but, laid by for a term of repair, their day is to come again.\nThe Salvage Section has reclaimed their rent and stranded hulls from the\nmisty sea-Front; the Repair Section, working day and night, will hammer\nand bind and reframe the gaps of their steel; the Sea Section will take\nthem out on the old stormy road, sound and seaworthy, with the flag at\nthe peak once more.\n\n\nA DAY ON THE SHOALS\n\nTHE rigger was engaged at second tucks of a five-inch wire-splicing job,\nand hardly looked in the direction we indicated. \"Them,\" he said.\n\"Them's crocks wot we don't want nothin' more t' do with! Two on 'em's\ngot frozen mutton. High? Excelsi-bloody-or! . . . an' that feller as is\ndown by th' 'ead--Gawd! 'e don't 'arf smell 'orrible!\" A pause, while he\nhammered down the strands and found fault with his assistant, gave us\ntime to disentangle the negatives of his opening. \"Grain, she 'as--an'\nof all th' ruddy messes wot I ever see--she gets it! We 'ad four days at\n'er--out there 'n th' Padrig Flats, an' she sickened nigh all 'ands! . . .\nNow we're well quit o' 'er, an' th' longshore gangs is unloadin' th'\nbulk, in nosebags an' gas 'elmets, t' get 'er a-trim for th' dry dock!\"\n\nAs we passed alee of the grain-carrier there was no doubt of the truth\nof the rigger's assurance. Steam-pumps on her fore-deck were forcing a\nsickly mixture of liquid batter through hoses to a barge alongside, and\nthe overpowering stench of the mess blew down to us and set eyes and\nnoses quickening with instant nausea. The men on the barges were garbed\nin odd headgear, high cowls with staring circular eyepieces, and each\ncarried a knapsack cylinder on his back. Clouds of high-pressure steam\nfrom the winches and pumps threw out in exhaust, and the hooded,\nghost-like figures of the labourers passed and repassed in drifts of\nwhite vapour. To the hiss and rumble of machines, clamour of\nblock-sheaves and chain and piston joined action to make a setting of\n_Inferno_, the scene might well be imagery for a stage of unholy rites.\n\nPast her, we turned to the clean salt breeze again and stood on to the\nopen sea. The salvage officer, a Commander, R.N.R., joined us at the\nrail. \"What about that now? Sa--lubrious?\" he said.\n\nWe wondered how men could be got to work in such an atmosphere, how it\nwas possible to handle such foul-smelling litter in the confined holds.\n\n\"Oh! We go through that all right. A bit inconvenient and troublesome,\nperhaps, working in a restricting gas-rig; but now, the chemists have\ncome to our assistance and we can sweeten things up by a dose of\nanti-stink. . . . But you won't see that to-day. Our 'bird' has got no\ncargo, only clean stone ballast--a soft job.\"\n\nThe 'soft job' had had a rough time, a combination and chapter of sea\nand war hazard. Inward bound from the United States with a big cargo, a\nGerman torpedo had found a mark on her. She settled quickly by the\nstern, but the undamaged engines worked her gallantly into a small\nseaport where she brought up with her main deck awash. There she was\nlightened of her precious load, temporary baulks and patches were\nclamped and bolted to her riven shell-plate, and she set off again on a\nshort coastwise voyage to the nearest port where definite and\nsatisfactory repair could be effected. Off the Heads, the enemy again\ngot sights on her. Crippled, and steaming at slow speed to ease strain\non the bulkheads, she made a 'sitting' target for a second torpedo, that\nshattered rudder and stern-post and sheared the propellor from the\nshaft.\n\n\"We came on her just before dark,\" said the commander. . . . \"Some of\nthe crew were in the boats, close by, but the captain and a Trinity\npilot and others were still aboard. She was down astern to the counter\nand up forward like a ruddy unicorn. We got fast and started to tow.\nTow?--Might as well have taken on the Tower Bridge. There was no way of\nsteering her, and a strong breeze from the south'ard blew her head down\nagainst all we could do. . . . Anyway, we hung on, and at daylight in\nthe morning the wind let up on us a bit, and we guided her drift--that's\nabout all we could do--inshore, till she took the bottom on good ground\na little north of the Westmark Shoal. We filled her up forrard as the\nweather was looking bad--a good weight of water to steady her through a\ngale. She's lain out there for two months now. We've had a turn or two\nat her occasionally--shoring up the after bulkheads and that, while we\nhad weather chances. _Titan_ has been out at her since yesterday\nmorning. . . . It looks good and healthy now.\" He cast an eye around\nappreciatively at the calm sea and quiet sky, the gorse-banked cliffs\ndimmed by a promising summer haze, at seagulls lazily drifting on the\ntide or becking and bowing in the glassy ripples of our wash. \"Good and\nhealthy; I like to see these old 'shellbacks' sitting low and not\nshrilling overhead with all sail set. . . . If this weather holds I\nshouldn't wonder if we get the old bus afloat on high tide to-day!\"\n\nClear of harbour limits and heading out to the shoals, a brisk rigging\nof gear and tackle brings action to the decks of the salvage steamer.\nAlready we had thought the narrow confines from bulwark to bulwark\ncongested by the bulk of appliances, but, from hole and corner and\ncunning stowage, further coils and shoots and lengths of flexible,\narmoured hose are dragged and placed in readiness for operations.\nDerricks are topped up and purchases rove for handling the heavy\ntwelve-inch motor-pumps. Hawsers are uncovered and coiled clear, stout\nfenders thrown over in preparation for a grind alongside the wreck.\nMindful of possibilities, the engineer-lieutenant and his artificers go\nover the insulation of their power leads in minute search for a leak in\nthe cables that may occasion a short circuit later on. The terminals and\ncouplings are buffed and polished with what seems exaggerated and\nneedless precision--but this is salvage, where sustained effort is only\npossible in the rare and all-too-brief union of favourable tide and\nweather conditions. A cessation of the steady throw of the pumps,\nhowever instant and skilful the adjustment, may mean the loss of just\nthat finite measure in buoyancy that could spring the weight of\nthousands in tons. Second chances are rarely given by a grudging and\njealous sea; there must be no hitch in the gear, no halt in weighing the\nmass.\n\nA drift of lazy smoke on the sea-rim ahead marks our rendezvous, where\n_Titan_ and a sisterly tug-boat are already at work on the wreck. A\nscreen of motor-patrols are rounding and lining out in the offing, with\na thrust of white foam astern that shows their speed. Coastwise, a\nconvoy of merchant ships zigzag in confusing angles on their way to sea,\nguarded by spurring destroyers and trawler escort. Seaplanes are out,\nhawking with swoop and wheel for sight of strange fish. The seascape is\nbusy with a shipping that must remind the coastguard and lightkeepers of\nold and palmy days when square sail was standard at sea. The Westmark\nShoal lies some distance from the normal peace-time track of direct\nsteaming courses. It lies in the bight of a bay, where rarely steamers\nclosed the land. Sailing ships, close-hauled and working a tack inshore,\nor fisher craft on their grounds, had long been the only keels to sheer\nwater in the deeps, but war practice has renewed our acquaintance with\nmany old sea-routes and by-paths, and we are back now to charts and\ncourses that have long been out of our reckoning.\n\nThe tide is at low-water slack, and whirls and eddies mark the run over\nshallows. At easy speed and handing the lead, we approach the wreck. Her\nweathered hull, gilt and red-rusted by exposure to sun and wind and sea,\nstands high and bold against the deep blue of a summer sky. Masts and\nrigging and cordage are bleached white, like tracery of a phantom ship.\nThe green sea-growth on her underbody fans and waves in the tide,\nshowing long voyaging in the crust and stage of it. She lies well and\nsteadily, with only a slight list to seaward that marks the gradient on\nwhich she rests. Through fracture on the stern and counter, the twisted\nand shattered frames and beams and angles can be seen plainly. Sunlight,\nin slanting rays, shines through the rents and fissures of the upper\ndeck, and plays on the free flood that washes in and out of the exposed\nafter hold; seaweed and flotsam surges on the tide, clinging to the\njagged, shattered edges of the plating, and breaking away to lap in the\ndark recesses. To eyes that only know the lines and mould of sightly,\nseaworthy vessels, she seems a hopeless and distorted mass of standing\niron--a sheer hulk, indeed, fit only for a lone sea-perch to gull and\ngannet and cormorant. It appears idle for the salvors to plan and strive\nand wrestle for such a prize, but their keen eyes are focused to values\nnot readily apparent. \"A fine ship,\" says the commander, now happily\nassured that his 'soft job' has suffered no worse than a weathering on\nthe ledge that his skill has secured her. \"A job o' work for the\nrepairers, certainly . . . but they will set her up as good as new in a\nthird of the time it would take to build a substitute!\"\n\n[Illustration: A TORPEDOED MERCHANTMAN ON THE SHOALS: SALVAGE OFFICERS\nMAKING A SURVEY]\n\nWe anchor at a length or two to seaward. There is not yet water\nalongside for our draught, but _Titan_, drawing less, is berthed at her\nstern and their men are taking advantage of low water to pin and tomp\nand strengthen the rearmost bulkhead that must now do duty for the\ndemolished stern section. A boat from _Titan_ brings the officer\nin charge, and he greets his senior with no disguised relief. A serious\nleak has developed in one of the compartments that they had counted on\nfor buoyancy. . . . \"Right under the bilge, and ungetatable, with all\nthat rubble in th' holds. A good job you brought out these extra pumps.\nWe should manage now, all right!\"\n\nTechnical measures are discussed and a plan of operations agreed. At\nhalf-flood there will be water for us alongside, and a 'lift' can be\ntried. Number one hold is good and tight, but still has a bulk of water\nto steady her on the ledge; number two is clear and buoyant; three has\nthe obstinate leak; the engine-room is undamaged, but water makes\nthrough in moderate quantity. Number four--\"the bulkhead is bulged in\nlike the bilge of a cask, but that cement we put down last week has set\npretty well, and the struts and braces should hold.\" Number five? There\nis no number five, most of it lies on deep bottom off the Heads, some\nmiles away!\n\nWith his colleague, the commander puts off to the wreck, to assess the\nprospects, and we have opportunity to note the inboard trim of her\nderelict posts and quarters. Davits, swung outboard as when the last of\nher crew left her, stand up in unfamiliar dejection, the frayed ends and\nbights of the boat-falls dangling overside and thrumming on the rusty\nhull. The boat-deck shows haste and urgency in the litter of spars and\ntackle thrown violently aside: a seaman's bag with sodden pitiful rags\nof apparel lies awry on the skids, marking some cool and forethinking\nmariner denied a passage for his goods. Living-rooms and crew quarters\nshow the indications of sudden call, in open desks--a book or two cast\nside, quick-thrown bedspreads, an array of clothing on a line; the\nrange-guards in the cook's galley have caught the tilt of pots and\nmess-kits as they slid alee in the grounding. The bridge, with chart and\nwheelhouse open to the wind and spray, and sea-gear adrift and\ndisordered, strikes the most desolating note in the abandon of it all.\nTenantless and quiet, the same scene would be commonplace and understood\nin dock or harbour, with neighbourly shore structures to point a reason\nfor absence of ship-life, but out here--the clear horizon of an open sea\nin view around, with vessels passing on their courses, the desertion of\nthe main post seems final and complete, with no navigator at the guides\nand no hand at the wheel.\n\nThe flood tide making over the shoals sets in with a _thrussh_ of broken\nwater alee of the wreck. The salvors' cutter, from which the mate is\nsounding and marking bottom, spins in widening circles in the eddies and\nshows the strength of early springs. As yet the stream binds the wreck\nhard to the bank, setting broad on from seaward, but relief will come\nwhen the spent water turns east on the last of the flood. Survey\ncompleted, the salvage officers clamber to the deck again. The leak in\nnumber three is their only concern; if that can be overcome, there seems\nno bar to a successful programme. The commander questions the mate as to\nthe depth of water alongside, is assured of draught, and signals his\nvessel to heave up and come on. The strength and onrush of the tidal\nrace makes the manoeuvre difficult, and it is on second attempt, with\na wide sweep and backing on plane of the current, she drives unhandily\nto position. The impact of her boarding, for all the guardian fenders,\njars and stirs the wreck, but brings a confident look to the salvors'\nfaces; as readily shaken as that, they assure themselves the responding\nhull will come off with 'a bit of a pinch' on the angle of withdrawal\nthat they have planned on the tidal chart.\n\nWith hawsers and warps barely fast, the great pumps are hove up in air\nand swung over the hatchway of the doubtful hold. But for the general\norder to carry on, there are few directions and little admonition. Every\nman of the busy group of mechanics and riggers has 'a brick for the\nwall,' and the wriggling lengths of armoured hose are coupled and\nlaunched over the coamings as quickly as the massive motors are lowered.\nFoundering with splash and gurgle, like uncouth sea-monsters in their\nappanage of tortuous rubber tentacles, the sheen of their polished bulk\nlooms through the green translucent flood of solid seawater, the grave\nand surely augmented tide that they are trimmed to master. Again, the\nseeming hopelessness of the task, the handicap of man against element,\npresents a doubt to one's mind. Two shell-like casings of steel, a line\nof piping and cab-tyre coils for power leads--to compete with the\ninfiltration of an ocean; there are even small fish darting in the flood\nof it, a radiating Medusa floats in and out the weltering 'tween-decks,\nwaving loathsome feelers as though in mockery of human efforts!\n\nLike a war-whoop to the onslaught the dynamos of the salvage vessel\nstart motion, and hum in _crescendo_ to a high tenor tone; the\nvibrations of their speed and cycle are joined in conduct to the empty\nhull of the wreck, and she quickens with a throb and stir as of her\narteries coursing. There is no preparatory trickle at outboard end of\nthe hose ejections; with a rush and roar, a clean, solid flood pours\nover, an uninterrupted cascade at seven tons from each per minute!\n\nThe carpenter sounds the depth with rod and chalked lanyard, then lowers\na tethered float to water-level of the flooded compartment. In this way\nhe sets a starting mark for the competition, a gauge for the throw of\nthe pumps. In interest with the issue, the salvage men gather round the\nhatchway, and all eyes are turned to the bobbing cork disc to note the\nprogress of the contest. Stirring and drifting to slack of the line, the\nfloat seems serenely indifferent to its important motion; wayward and\nbuoyant, it trims, this way and that, then steadies suddenly on a taut\nrestraint; slowly it seems to rise in the water as though drawn by an\ninvisible hand. It spins a little to lay of the cord, then hangs,\nmoisture dropping and forming rings on the glassy surface of the well!\nBy no seeming effort but the pulse-like quiver of the hose, the level\nfalls away. A bolt-head on the plating shows under water, then tips an\nupper edge above; a minute later the round is exposed and drying in a\nslant of the sun.\n\nThe tense regard with which we have scanned the guide-mark gives way to\njest and relief when it is seen that drainage is assured; a facetious\nmechanic at the hose-end makes motions as of pulling a bar handle to\ndraw a foaming glass. \"Sop it up, old sport!\" says the rigger, patting\nthe pipes. \"Sop it up an' spit! Ol' Neptune ain't arf thusty!\"\n\nDuring our engagement, _Titan_ has not been idle. There remains only an\nhour or two of flood tide and much has to be done. Leaving steam-pumps\nto cope with the more moderate leakage at the after section, she has\nhauled forward on the rising tide on the shoal side of the wreck. At the\nbows she has applied suction to the prisoned water in the fore holds,\nand a new stream pours overside in foaming ejection. The roar and throb\nof her power motors adds further volume and vibration to the rousing\ntreatment by which the nerves of the stranded hulk seem braced. Stirred\nby the new life on her, the old ship may well forget she has no stern\nand only part a bottom. Already the decks, gaunt and red-rusted as they\nare, take on a cheering look of service and animation. The seamen in the\nrigging and workmen crowded round the hatchways might be the dockers\nboarded for a day's work on the loading, and only the thunder of the\nmotors and crash of the sluicing torrent remain foreign to a normal\nship-day.\n\nThe sun has gone west when the tidal current surging past shows a change\nin direction. We throw sightly flotsam overboard and note the drift that\ntakes the refuse astern. No longer the green slimy plates of the hull\nshow above water, the tide has lapped their sea-growth and ripples high\non a cleaner surface. With high water approaching we draw near the point\nof balance in buoyancy, and the salving tenders tighten up headfasts and\nstern ropes in readiness for a slip or drag. The sea-tug that has till\nnow been a quiet partner in operations, smokes up and backs in astern to\npass a hawser to the wreck. She drops away with a good scope, and lies\nhandy to tow at orders.\n\nTirelessly, droning and throbbing with insistent monotony, the pumps\ncontinue their labour and draw the weight of water that holds the wreck\ndown. At number three hold the flood below is no longer a still and\nplacid well. The penned and mastered water seethes and whirls in\nimpotent fury at the suction that draws and churns only to expel. Some\nsolid matter, seaweed perhaps, has drifted to the leak and stems a\nvolume of the incoming water; there seems a prospect that a single pump\nmay keep the level.\n\nIn somewhat tense expectancy, we await a crisis in the operations. There\nis a feeling that all these masterly movements should lead to a\nspectacular resurrection--a stir and tremor in the frame of her,\nreviving sea-throes, a lurch, a list, a mighty heave, and a staggering\nrelaunch to the deeps.\n\nPrecise and businesslike, modern salvage avoids such a flourishing end\nto their labours. As skilful surgeons, they object strongly to\nexcitement. Their frail and tortured sea-patients can rarely stand more\nthan gentle suasion. As surely as the tide they work by, the factors of\nweight and displacement and trim have been figured and calculated. . . .\nThe commander draws our attention to a quiet and steady rise in the\nbows, the knightheads perceptibly edging nearer to a wisp of standing\ncloud. Without a jar or surge the wreck becomes a floating ship; she\nlists a little, as the towing hawser creaks and strains, and we draw off\ngently to seaward.\n\n\nTHE DRY DOCK\n\nA DOWNPOUR of steady, insistent rain makes quagmire of the paths on the\ndockside, and the half-light of a cheerless early morning gives little\nguidance to progress among the raffle of discarded ship-gear that lies\nabout the yard. Stumbling over shores and stagings, skirting gaunt\nmounds of damaged plates and angles, we reach the sea-gate where the\nship victims of mine and torpedo are moored in readiness for treatment\nin the great sea-hospital. In the uncertain light and under wet lowering\nskies, they make a dismal picture. The symmetry of conventional\ndocking--ships moored in line and heading in the same direction--that is\nan orderly feature of the harbours, is not possible in the overcrowded\nbasin. There is need to pack the vessels closely. They lie at awkward\nangles, the stern of one overhanging the bows of another. Masts and\nfunnels and deck erections, upstanding at varied rakes, emphasize the\nconfused berthing and draw the eye to the condition of the mass of\ndamaged shipping. Not all of the vessels are shattered hulks. A number\nare here for hull-cleaning or overhaul, but their high sides with the\nrust and barnacles and weedy green scum, make as drab a feature in the\ncombination as the listed hulls of the cripples.\n\n[Illustration: A TORPEDOED SHIP IN DRY DOCK]\n\nThough nominally daylight, the arc-lamps of the pier-head still splutter\nin wet contacts and spread a sickly glow over the oilskin-clad group of\ndockmen and officials gathered to enter the ships. A chill breeze from\nthe sea blows in and carries reek and cinder of north-country coal to\nthicken the lash of the rain. The waft comes from heeling dock tugs\nthat strain at their hawsers, spurring the muddy tide to froth in their\ntask of moving the helpless vessels in the basin. The long expanse of\nflooded dock, brimming to the uppermost ledge, lies open for their\nentry; the bruised and shattered stern of a large ship is pointed over\nthe sill at an awkward angle that marks an absence of steam-power aboard\nto control her wayward sheer. The dockmaster, in ill mood with her\ncantrips, roars admonition and appeal to the smoking tugs to \"lie over\nt' s'uth'ard and right her!\" By check, and the powerful heave of a shore\ncapstan, she warps in and straightens to the line of the docks. As she\ndraws on to her berth the high bows of a second cripple swing over from\nthe tiers, and the tugs back out to fasten on and drag her to the gate.\n\nWith entry of the ships, the glistening pier-head becomes thronged by\ntidesmen and their gear; like a drill-yard, with the lusty stamp of the\nmarching lines of dockmen trailing heavy hawsers and handing check and\nhauling ropes. In an hour or so the gangs of the ship-repair section\nwill be ready to 'turn to' at the new jobs, and the ships must be\nsettled and ready against the wail of the starting 'buzzer.' Shrill\nwhistle signals, orders and hails add to the stir of the labourers, and\nclatter of the warping capstan joins in with ready chorus. Not least of\nthe medley is the bull roar of the harassed dockmaster, who finds a need\nin the press for more than one pair of hands at the reins to guide and\nhalt his tandem charges.\n\nThe ships are marked in company, to settle bow to stern, with no room to\nspare, in the length of the dock. Conduct must be ruled in duplicate to\nexact the full measure of utility from every foot of space. On the last\ntide a pair of sound ships were floated out to service, braced and bound\nand refitted for further duty as stout obverse to the 'Sure Shield.'\nKeel-blocks and beds for the new patients have been set up and\nrearranged in the brief interval of occupancy, and now, quick on the\nwash of the outgoers, are new cases for the shearing plate-cutters and\nthe swing of hammers.\n\nMindful to conserve their precious dry-dock space to the limit of good\nservice, the repair section select the vessels with rare judgment. It is\nno haphazard turn of the wheel that brings an American freighter,\nshattered in stern section, to the same operating-table as an east-coast\ntramp (having her engines in scrap, boilers fractured, and the frames of\nher midships blown to sea-bottom). The combined measure of their length\nand the similarity of extent in hull damage has brought them to the one\nline of blocks. Odd cases, and regular ship-cleaning and minor repairs\nmay be allotted to single-ship dry docks, but here, in sea-hospital with\na twin-berth, there is a need for parallel treatment. The two ships must\nbe considered as one, and all efforts be promoted towards refloating\nthem, when hull repairs are completed, on one opening of the sea-gate.\n\nIn this, strangely, they are assisted by the enemy. True, his\naccommodation could well be spared, but it does have an influence on\nrepair procedure. The exact and uniformly graded proportions of the\nenemy explosive reproduces a correspondingly like extent and nature in\nship damage. Location and sea-trim may vary the fractures in proportion\nto resistance but, with the vessels on the blocks together, working time\nmay be adjusted to these conditions and a balance be struck that will\nfurther a simultaneous completion.\n\nSo the dockmaster ranges his pair on the centre line of the keel-blocks,\nsets tight the hawsers that hold them in position, and bars the\nsea-entry with a massive caisson. Presently he passes an order to the\npumpman, and the power-house echoes to the easy thrust of his giant\nengine.\n\nThe keel-blocks have been set to meet the general lines of the vessels,\nwith only a marginal allowance for the contour of damaged plating. To\nremedy any error divers, with their gear and escort, are ready on the\ndockside, and they go below with first fall in the water-level. The\ncarpenters straggle out from sheltered corners and bear a hand. Riggers\nand dockmen have placed the ships, and it remains for the 'tradesmen' to\nbed them down and prop against a list by shores and blocks. They are ill\ncontent with the vile weather and their job in the open, where the rain\nlashes down pitilessly, soaking their working clothes. Doubtless they\nenvy the dry divers their suits of proofed rubber, when they are called\non to manhandle the heavy timber shores from the mud and litter of the\ndockside and launch them out towards the steel sides of the settling\nvessels. There the tide-workers on deck secure them by lanyards, and the\nspars hang in even order, sighted on doublings of the plates, ready to\npin the ships on a steady keel when the water drains away.\n\nWith the timbers held in place, the carpenters split up to small parties\nand stand by to set a further locking strain by prise of block and\nwedge. The dockmaster blows a whistle signal at the far end of the\nbasin, and casts up his hand as though arresting movement; the thrust of\nthe main pump stills, and he swings his arm. At the sign, the carpenters\nram home . . . the thunder of their forehammers on the hardwood wedges\nrings out in chorus that draws a quavering echo from the empty,\nhard-pressed hulls.\n\nSettled and bedded and pinned, the ships are left till the water drains\naway and to await the coming of the shipwrights and repairing gangs. The\ncarpenters shoulder their long-handled top-mauls and scatter to a\nshelter from the steady, continuous downpour. Up from the floors with\ntheir work completed, the divers doff their heavy head-gear and sit a\nwhile, _resting_ comfortably under the thrash of the same persistent\nrain. Anon, their awkward garb discarded, they walk off, striding with a\ncrook at the knees, like farmer folk on ploughed land. The great pumps\nnow pulsate at full speed, drawing water to their sluices in an eddying\ncurrent that spins the flotsam and bares ledge after ledge of the solid\ndock masonry. From gaping wounds of the crippled vessels a full tide of\nseawater gushes and spurts to join the troubled wash below. The beams\nand side-planking, and temporary measures of the salvage section,\nuncover and come to sight, showing with what patience and laborious care\nthe divers have striven to stem an inrush.\n\nOn the second ship the receding water-line exposes the damage to her\nengine- and boiler-rooms. A litter of coal and oily scum showers from\nangles of the wrecked bunker and stokehold to the floor of the dock, and\nleaves the fractured beams and tubes to stand out in gaunt twist and\ndeformity. Through the breaches the shattered cylinders and broken\ncolumns of the engines lie distorted in a piled raffle of wrenched pipe\nsections, valves and levers, footplates, skeleton ladders, and shafting.\nThe mass of distorted metal has still a shine and token of polish, and\nthese signs of late care and attention only serve to make the ruin seem\nthe more complete and irremediable.\n\nAn hour later a strident power syren sounds out from roof of the repair\n'shops.' The workmen, hurrying to 'check in' at the gates, scarcely\nglance at their new jobs on the blocks of the dry-dock. To them it seems\nquite a commonplace that the round of their industry should suffer no\nhalt, that the two seaworthy ships they completed yesterday should be so\nquickly replaced by the same type of casualty for their attention. The\nmagnitude of the task--the vast extent of plating to be sheared and\nrebuilt, the beams to be withdrawn or straightened in place, the litter\nto be cleared--holds no misgivings. Short on the stroke of 'turn to'\nthey straggle down the dockside to start the round anew. With critical\neye, foremen and surveyors chalk off the cypher of their verdicts on the\nrusted displaced remnants; the gangs apportion and assemble with tools\nand gear; the huge travelling cranes rumble along on their railways, and\nlower slings and hooks in readiness for a load of damaged steel.\n\nWith the men lined out to the gangways and filing down the dock steps,\nchain linking in trial over the crane sheaves, and the bustle of\npreparation on ship and shore, everything seems set for an instant\nbeginning--but no hammer falls as yet. There is, first, a sad freight to\nbe discharged; not all the crew of the ship with the wrecked engines\nhave gone to the pay-table. Three sombre closed wagons are waiting by\nthe dockside, and towards them down the long gangways from the ship, the\nbodies of an engineer and some of the stokehold crew are being carried.\nThe weltering flood that held them has drained to the dock, and busy\nhands have searched in the wreckage where they died at their post.\n\nWe have no flags to honour, no processional march to accompany our dead.\nTheir poor bodies, dripping and fouled, are draped in a simple coarse\nshroud that hardly conceals the line of their mangled limbs. Awkwardly\nthe carriers stumble on the sodden planking and rest arms and knees on\nthe guiding hand-lines. The workmen pause on the ship and gangways and\nlook respectfully, if curiously, at the limp burdens as they are carried\nby.\n\nHere and there a man speaks of the dead, but the most are silent, with\nlowering looks, set teeth--a sharp intake of the breath. . . . Who\nknows? Perhaps the spirits of the murdered seamen may come by a payment\nat the hands of the shipwright gangs. The best monument to their memory\nwill stand as another keel on the deep--a quick ripost to the enemy, in\nhis victim repaired and strengthened and returned to sea.\n\nLowering looks, set teeth, a hissing intake of the breath are the right\naccompaniment to a blow struck hard home; the thunder of hammers and\ndrills, the hiss and sparkle of shearing cutters, that breaks out when\nthe wagons have gone, marks a start to their monument!\n\n[Illustration: DAZZLE]\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nON CAMOUFLAGE--AND SHIPS' NAMES\n\n\nEARLY in the war the rappel of 'Business as usual' was as deadly at sea\nas elsewhere. Arrogant and super-confident in our pride of sea-place, we\nmade little effort to trim and adapt our practice to rapidly altering\nconditions; there were few visible signs to disquiet us, we hardly\ndeviated from our peaceful sea-path, and had no concern for\ninterference. We carried our lights ablaze, advertised our doings in\nplain wireless, announced our sailings and arrivals, and even devoted\nmore than usual attention to keeping our ships as span in brave new\npaint and glistening varnish as the hearts of impressionable passengers\ncould desire.\n\nWe had difficulties with our manning. The seamen were off, at first tuck\nof drum, to what they reckoned a more active part in the great game of\nwar--the strictly Naval Service--and we were left with weak crews of new\nand raw hands to carry on the sea-trade. So, from the very first of it,\nwe engaged in a moral camouflage in our efforts to keep up appearances,\nand show the neutrals with whom we did business that such a thing as war\ncould hardly disturb the smooth running of our master machine--the\nMerchants' Service!\n\nSome there were among us who saw the peril in such prominence, and took\nmodest (and somewhat hesitating) steps to keep out of the limelight, by\nsetting lonely courses on the sea, restraining the comradely gossip of\nwireless operators, and toning down appearances from brilliant polish to\nthe more sombre part suiting a sea in war-time. Deck lights were painted\nover and obscured, funnel and masts were allowed to grey to neutral\ntints, the brown ash that discomposes fine paint at sea was looked upon\nwith a new and friendly eye. The bias of chief mates (in a service where\npromotion is the due for a clean and tidy ship) was, with difficulty,\novercome, and a new era of keen look-out and sea-trim started.\n\nThere was but moderate support for these bold iconoclasts who dared thus\nto affront our high fetish. Ship painting and decoration and upkeep were\nsacrosanct rites that even masters must conform to; the enactments of\nthe Medes and Persians were but idle rules, mere by-laws, compared to\nthe formulæ and prescriptions that governed the tone of our pantry\ncupboards and the shades of cunning grain-work. We were peaceful\nmerchantmen; what was the use of our dressing up like a parish-rigged\nman-o'-war? As to the lights--darkening ship would upset the passengers;\nthere would be rumours and apprehension. They would travel in less\n'nervous' vessels!\n\nThe mine that shattered _Manchester Commerce_ stirred the base of our\nhappy conventions; the cruise of the _Emden_ set it swaying perilously;\nthe torpedoes that sank _Falaba_ and _Lusitania_ blew the whole sham\nedifice to the winds, and we began to think of our ships in other terms\nthan those of freight and passenger rates. Our conceptions of peaceful\nmerchantmen were not the enemy's!\n\nWe set about to make our vessels less conspicuous. Grey! We painted our\nhulls and funnels grey. In many colours of grey. The nuances of our\ncoatings were accidental. Poor quality paint and variable untimely\nmixings contributed, but it was mainly by crew troubles (deficiency and\nincapacity) that we came by our first camouflage. As needs must, we\npainted sections at a time--a patch here, a plate or two there--laid on\nin the way that real sailors would call 'inside-out'! We sported suits\nof many colours, an infinite variety of shades. Quite suddenly we\nrealized that grey, in such an ample range--red-greys, blue-greys,\nbrown-greys, green-greys--intermixed on our hulls, gave an excellent\nlow-visibility colour that blended into the misty northern landscape.\n\nBolshevik now in our methods, we worked on other schemes to trick the\nmurderer's eye. Convention again beset our path. The great god\nSymmetry--whom we had worshipped to our undoing--was torn from his high\nplace. The glamour of Balances, that we had thought so fine and\nshipshape, fell from our eyes, and we saw treachery in every regular\ndisposition. Pairs--in masts, ventilators, rails and stanchions,\nboat-groupings, samson posts, even in the shrouds and rigging--were\nspies to the enemy, and we rearranged and screened and altered as best\nwe could, in every way that would serve to give a false indication of\nour course and speed. Freighters and colliers (that we had scorned\nbecause of ugly forward rake of mast and funnel) became the leaders of\nour fashion. We wedged our masts forward (where we could) and slung a\ngaff on the fore side of the foremast; we planked the funnel to look\nmore or less upright; we painted a curling bow wash over the propellor\nand a black elaborate stern on the bows. We trimmed our ships by the\nhead, and flattered ourselves that, Janus-like, we were heading all\nways!\n\nFew, including the enemy, were greatly deceived. At that point where\nalterations of apparent course were important--to put the putting Fritz\noff his stroke--the deck-houses and erections with their beamwise fronts\nor ends would be plainly noted, and a true line of course be readily\ndeduced. With all our new zeal, we stopped short of altering standing\nstructures, but we could paint, and we made efforts to shield our\nweakness by varied applications. Our device was old enough, a return to\nthe chequer of ancient sea-forts and the line of painted gun-ports with\nwhich we used to decorate our clipper sailing ships. (That also was a\ncamouflage of its day--an effort to overawe Chinese and Malay pirates by\nthe painted resemblance to the gun-deck of a frigate.) We saw the\neye-disturbing value of a bold criss-cross, and those of us who had\npaint to spare made a 'Hobson-jobson' of awning spars and transverse\nbulkheads.\n\nThese were our sea-efforts--rude trials effected with great difficulty\nin the stress of the new sea-warfare. We could only see ourselves from a\nsurface point of view, and, in our empirics, we had no official\nassistance. During our brief stay in port it was impossible to procure\nday-labouring gangs--even the 'gulls' of the dockside were busy at sea.\nOn a voyage, gun crews and extra look-outs left few hands of the watch\navailable for experiments; in any case, our rationed paint covered\nlittle more than would keep the rust in check. We were relieved when new\nstars of marine coloration arose, competent shore concerns that, on\nGovernment instruction, arrayed us in a novel war paint. Our rough and\namateurish tricks gave way to the ordered schemes of the dockyard; our\nships were armed for us in a protective coat of many colours.\n\nUpon us like an avalanche came this real camouflage. Somewhere behind it\nall a genius of pantomimic transformation blazed his rainbow wand and\nfixed us. As we came in from sea, dazzle-painters swarmed on us,\nbespattered creatures with no bowels of compassion, who painted over our\ncherished glass and teakwood and brass port-rims--the last lingering\nevidences of our gentility. Hourly we watched our trim ships take on the\nhues of a swingman's roundabouts. We learned of fancy colours known only\nin high art--alizarin and grey-pink, purple-lake and Hooker's green. The\ndesigns of our mantling held us in a maze of expectation. Bends and\necartelés, indents and rayons, gyrony and counter-flory, appeared on our\ntopsides; curves and arrow-heads were figured on boats and davits and\ndeck fittings; apparently senseless dabs and patches were measured and\nimprinted on funnel curve and rounding of the ventilators; inboard and\noutboard we were streaked and crossed and curved.\n\nWith our arming of guns there was need for instruction in their service\nand maintenance; artificial smoke-screens required that we should be\nefficient in their use; our Otters called for some measure of seamanship\nin adjustment and control. So far all governmental appliances for our\ndefence relied on our understanding and operation, but this new\nprotective coloration, held aloof from our confidence, it was quite\nself-contained, there was no rule to be learnt; we were to be shipmates\nwith a new contrivance, to the operation of which we had no control. For\nwant of point in discussion, we criticized freely. We surpassed\nourselves in adjectival review; we stared in horror and amazement as\neach newly bedizened vessel passed down the river. In comparison and\nsimile we racked memory for text to the gaudy creations. \"Water running\nunder a bridge.\". . . \"Forced draught on a woolly sheep's back.\". . .\n\"Mural decoration in a busy butcher's shop.\". . . \"Strike _me_ a rosy\nbloody pink!\" said one of the hands, \"if this 'ere don't remind me o'\njaundice an' malaria an' a touch o' th' sun, an' me in a perishin' dago\n'orspittel!\"\n\nWhile naming the new riot of colour grotesque--a monstrosity, an\noutrage, myopic madness--we were ready enough to grasp at anything that\nmight help us in the fight at sea. We scanned our ships from all points\nand angles to unveil the hidden imposition. Fervently we hoped that\nthere would be more in it than met our eye--that our preposterous livery\nwas not only an effort to make Gargantuan faces at the Boche! Only the\nmost splendid results could justify our bewilderment.\n\nOut on the sea we came to a better estimate of the value of our novel\nwar-paint. In certain lights and positions we seemed to be steering odd\ncourses--it was very difficult to tell accurately the line of a vessel's\nprogress. The low visibility that we seamen had sought was sacrificed to\nenhance a bold disruption of perspective. While our efforts at\ndeception, based more or less on a one-colour scheme of greys, may have\nrendered our ships less visible against certain favouring backgrounds of\nsea and sky, there were other weather conditions in which we would stand\nout sharply revealed. Abandoning the effort to cloak a stealthy\nsea-passage, our newly constituted Department of Marine Camouflage\ndecked us out in a bold pattern, skilfully arranged to disrupt our\nperspective, and give a false impression of our line of course. With a\ntorpedo travelling to the limit of its run--striking anything that may\nlie in its course, range is of little account. Deflection, on the other\nhand, is everything in the torpedo-man's problem--the correct estimation\nof a point of contact of two rapidly moving bodies. He relies for a\nsolution on an accurate judgment of his target's course; it became the\nbusiness of the dazzle-painters to complicate his working by a feint in\ncolour and design. The new camouflage has so distorted our sheer and\ndisrupted the colour in the mass as to make our vessels less easy to\nhit. If not invisible against average backgrounds, the dazzlers have\ndone their work so well that we are at least partially lost in every\nelongation.\n\nThe mystery withheld from us--the system of our decoration--has done\nmuch to ease the rigours of our war-time sea-life. In argument and\ndiscussion on its origin and purpose we have found a topic, almost as\nunfailing in its interest as the record day's run of the old sailing\nships. We are agreed that it is a brave martial coat we wear, but are\ndivided in our theories of production. How is it done? By what shrewd\nsystem are we controlled that no two ships are quite alike in their\nsplendour? We know that instructions come from a department of the\nAdmiralty to the dockyard painters, in many cases by telegraph. Is there\na system of abbreviations, a colourist's shorthand, or are there\nmaritime Heralds in Whitehall who blazon our arms for the guidance of\nthe rude dockside painters? It can be worked out in fine and sonorous\nproportions:\n\n                         For s.s. CORNCRIX\n\n          _Party per pale, a pale; first, gules, a fesse\n          dancette, sable; second, vert, bendy, lozengy,\n          purpure cottised with nodules of the first; third,\n          sable, three billets bendwise in fesse, or: sur\n          tout de tout, a barber's pole cockbilled on a\n          sinking gasometer, all proper._ For motto: \"_Doing\n          them in the eye._\"\n\nOne wonders if our old conservatism, our clinging to the past, shall\npersist long after the time of strife has gone; if, in the years when\nwar is a memory and the time comes to deck our ships in pre-war symmetry\nand grace of black hulls and white-painted deck-work and red funnels and\nall the gallant show of it, some old masters among us may object to the\nchange.\n\n\"Well, have it as you like,\" they may say. \"I was brought up in the good\nold-fashioned cubist system o' ship painting--fine patterns o' reds an'\ngreens an' Ricketts' blue, an' brandy-ball stripes an' that! None o'\nyour damned newfangled ideas of one-colour sections for me! . . .\n_Huh!_. . . And black hulls, too! . . . Black! A funeral outfit! . . .\nNo, sir! I may be wrong, but anyway, I'm too old now to chop and change\nabout!\"\n\nIf we have become reconciled to the weird patterns of our war-paint,\nevery instinct of seafaring that is in us rebels against the new naming\nof our ships. Is it but another form of camouflage--like the loving\nIndian mother abusing her dear children for deception of a malicious\nlistening Djinn? _War Cowslip_, _War Dance_, _War Dreamer!_ War Hell!\nAre our new standard ships being thus badly named, that the enemy may\nlook upon them as pariahs, unworthy of shell or torpedo? Perhaps, as a\nthoughtful war measure, it may be chargeful of pregnant meaning; our new\nwar names for the ships may be germane to some distant world movement,\nthe first tender shoot of which we cannot yet recognize! More than\nlikely, it is the result of the fine war-time frolic of fitting the\ncubest of square pegs in the roundest of holes. How is it done? Is\nthere, in the hutments of St. James's Park, an otherwise estimable and\nblameless greengrocer, officially charged with the task of finding names\nfor vessels, 015537-68 inclusive, presently on the Controller's lists\nand due to be launched?\n\nWe sailors are jealous for our vessels. Abuse us if you will, but have a\ncare for what you may say of our ships. We alone are entitled to call\nthem bitches, wet brutes, stubborn craft, but we will stand for no such\nliberties from the beach; strikes have occurred on very much less\nsufficient ground. Ridicule in the naming of our ships is intolerable.\nIf _War_ is to be the prefix, why cannot our greengrocer find suitable\nwords in the chronicles of strife? Can there be anything less martial\nthan the _War Rambler_, _War Linnet_, _War Titmouse_, _War Gossamer_?\nWhy not the _War Teashop_, the _War Picture House_, the--the--the _War\nLollipop_? Are we rationed in ships' names? Is there a Controller of\nMarine Nomenclature? The thing is absurd!\n\nIf our controllers had sense they would see the danger in thus flouting\nour sentiment; they would value the recruiting agency of a good name;\nthey would recognize that the naming of a ship should be done with as\ngreat care as that of an heir to an earldom. Is the torpedoed bos'n of\nthe _Eumaeus_ going to boast of a new post on the _War Bandbox_? What\nare the feelings of the captain of a _Ruritania_ when he goes to the\nyards to take over a _War Whistler_? Why _War_? If sober, businesslike\nargument be needed, it is confusing; it introduces a repetition of\ninitial syllable that makes for dangerous tangles in the scheme of\ndirection and control.\n\nIt is all quite unnecessary. There are names and enough. Fine names!\nSeamanlike names! Good names! Names that any sailor would be proud to\nhave on his worsted jersey! Names that he would shout out in the\nmarket-place! Names that the enemy would read as monuments to his\ninfamy! Names of ships that we knew and loved and stood by to the bitter\nend.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nFLAGS AND BROTHERHOOD OF THE SEA\n\n\nUNLIKE the marches of the land, with guard and counterguard, we had no\nfrontiers on the sea. There were no bounds to the nations and their\ncontinents outside of seven or ten fathoms of blue water. We all\ntravelled on the one highway that had few by-paths on which trespassers\nmight be prosecuted. And our highway was no primrose path, swept and\ngarnished and safeguarded; it had perils enough in gale and tempest,\nfog, ice, blinding snow, dark moonless nights, rock and shoal and\nsandbar. Remote from ordered assistance in our necessity, we relied on\nfavour of a chance passer-by, on a fallible sea-wanderer like ourselves.\nSo, for our needs, we formed a sea-bond, an International Alliance\nagainst our common hazards of wind and sea and fire, an assurance of\nsuccour and support in emergency and distress. Out of our hunger for\nsea-companionship grew a union that had few rules or written compacts,\nand no bounds to action other than the simply humane traditions and\ncustoms of the sea. There were no statutory penalties for infringement\nof the rules unwritten; we could not, as true seamen, conceive so black\na case. We had no Articles of our Association, no charters, no\ncovenants; our only documents were the International Code of Signals and\nthe Rule of the Road at Sea. With these we were content; we understood\nfaith and a blood-bond as brother seamen, and we put out on our\nadventures, stoutly warranted against what might come.\n\nIn the Code of Signals we had a language of our own, more immediate and\nattractive than Volapük or Esperanto. The dire fate of the builders of\nthe Tower held no terror for us, for our intercourse was that of sight\nand recognition, not of speech. Our code was one of bright colours and\nbold striking design--flags and pendants fluttering pleasantly in the\nwind or, in calmer weather, drooping at the halyards with a lift for\ncloser recognition. The symbol of our masonry was a bold red pendant\nwith two vertical bars of white upon it. We had fine hoists for hail and\nfarewell; tragic turn of the colours for a serious emergency, hurried\ntwo-flag sets for urgent calls, leisurely symbols of three for finished\nperiods.\n\n'_Can you_' required three flags to itself; _me_ or _I_ or _it_ came all\nwithin our range. We told our names and those of our ports by a long\ncharge of four; we could cross our _t's_ and dot our _i's_ by beckon of\na single square. We lowered slowly and rehoisted ('knuckles to the\nstaff, you young fool!') our National Ensign, as we would raise our hat\nashore. It was all an easy, courteous and graceful mode of converse,\nlinguistically and grammatically correct, for we had no concern with\naccent or composition, taking our polished phrases from the book. It\nsuited well the great family of the sea, for, were we a Turk of Galatz\nand you an Iceland brigantine, we could pass the time of day or tell one\nanother, simply and intelligibly, the details of our ports and ladings.\nDistance, within broad limits, was small hindrance to our gossip; there\nwere few eyes on the round of the sea, to read into our confidences. We\ncould put a hail ashore, too. Passing within sight of San Miguel, we\ncould have a message on the home doorsteps on the morrow, by hoisting\nour 'numbers'; the naked lightkeeper on the Dædalus could tell us of the\nnorthern winds by a string of colours thrown out from the upper gallery.\n\nGood news, bad news, reports, ice, weather, our food-supply, the wages\nof our seamen, the whereabouts of pirates and cannibals, the bank rate,\nhigh politics (we had S.L.R. for Nuncio)--we had them all grouped and\nclassed and ready for instant reference. Medicine, stocks, the law\n(G.F.H., King's Bench; these sharps who never will take a plain seaman's\nclear word on salvage or the weather, or the way the fog-whistle was\nduly and properly sounded!) Figures! We could measure and weigh and\ndivide and subtract; we could turn your Greek _Daktylas_ into a Japanese\n_Cho_ or _Tcho_, or Turkish _Parmaks_ into the _Draas_ of Tripoli! Some\nfew world measures had to be appendixed; a _Doppelzentner_ was Z.N.L.\nWhat is a _Doppelzentner_?\n\nAs evidence of our brotherly regard, our peaceful intent, we had few\nwarlike phrases. True, we had hoists to warn of pirates, and we could\nbeg a loan, by signal, of powder and cannon-balls--to supplement our\nfour rusty Snyders, with which we could defend our property, but there\nwas no group in our international vocabulary that could read, \"I am\ntorpedoing you without warning!\" Seamanlike and simple, we saw only one\nform of warfare at sea, and based our signals on that. \"Keep courage! I\nam coming to your assistance at utmost speed!\". . . \"I shall stand by\nduring the night!\". . . \"Water is gaining on me! I am sinking!\" . . .\n\"Boat is approaching your quarter!\" These, and others alike, were our\nwar signals, framed to meet our ideas of the greatest peril we might\nencounter in our conflict with the elements.\n\n[Illustration: AN APPRENTICE IN THE MERCHANTS' SERVICE]\n\nOf all this we write in a sad past tense. Our sea-bond is shattered.\nThere is no longer a brotherhood on the sea. The latest of our\nrecruits has betrayed us. The old book is useless, for it contains no\nreading of the German's avowal, \"Come on the deck of my submarine. I am\nabout to submerge!\" . . . \"Stand by, you helpless swine in the boats, while\nI shell you and scatter your silly blood and brains!\"\n\nNo longer will the receipt of a call of distress be the instant signal\n(whatever the weather or your own plight) for putting the helm over. We\nhave shut the book! We are grown hardened and distrustful. S.O.S. may be\nthe fiend who has just torpedoed a crowded Red Cross, and endeavours by\nhis lying wireless to lure a Samaritan to the net. A heaving boat, or a\nlone raft with a staff and a scrap, may only be closed with fearful\ncaution; they may be magnets for a minefield.\n\n          \". . . still he called aloud, for he was in the\n          track of steamers. And presently he saw a steamer.\n          She carried no lights, but he described her form,\n          a darker shape upon the sea and sky, and saw the\n          sparks volley from her funnel.\n\n          \"He shrieked till his voice broke, but the steamer\n          went on and vanished. The Irishman was furiously\n          enraged, but it was of no use to be angry. He went\n          on calling. So did the other four castaways, but\n          their cries were growing fainter and less\n          frequent.\n\n          \"Then there loomed another steamer, and she, too,\n          went on. By this time, perhaps, an hour had gone\n          by, and the Arab firemen had fallen silent. The\n          Irishman could see them no longer. He never saw\n          them again. A third steamer hove in sight, and\n          she, too, went on. The Irishman cursed her with\n          the passionate intensity peculiar to the seaman,\n          and went on calling. It was a desperate\n          business. . . .\"\n\n\nThe shame of it!\n\n_Lusitania_, _Coquet_, _Serapis_, _Thracia_, _Mariston_, _The Belgian\nPrince_, _Umaria_ . . .\n\n          \". . . The commanding officer of the submarine,\n          leaning on the rail of the conning-tower, looked\n          down upon his victims.\n\n          \"Crouched upon the thwarts in the sunlight, up to\n          their knees in water, which, stained crimson, was\n          flowing through the shell-holes in the planking,\n          soaked with blood, holding their wounds, staring\n          with hunted eyes, was the heap of stricken men.\n\n          \"The German ordered the boat away. The shore was\n          fifteen miles distant. . . .\"\n\nHe ordered the boat away! The shame of it! The abasing, dishonouring\nshame of it!\n\nBitterly, tarnished--we realize our portion in the guilt, our share in\nthis black infamy--that seamen should do this thing!\n\nWhat of the future? What will be the position of the German on the sea\nwhen peace returns, let the settlement by catholic conclave be what it\nmay?\n\nSailorfolk have long memories! Living a life apart from their\nland-fellows, they have but scant regard for the round of events that,\non the shore, would be canvassed and discussed, consented--and\nforgotten. There is no busy competing commercial intrigue, no fickle\nmarket, no grudging dalliance on the sea. We stand fast to our own old\nsea-justice; we have no shades of mercy or condonation, no degrees of\ntolerance for this bastard betrayer of our unwritten sea-laws. No\nbrotherhood of the sea can be conceived to which he may be re-admitted.\nNot even the dethronement of the Hohenzollern can purge the deeds of his\nmarine Satraps, for their crimes are individual and personal and\nprofessional.\n\nIn the League of Nations a purged and democratic Germany may have a\nstation, but there is no redemption for a Judas on the sea. There, by\nevery nation, every seafarer, he will remain a shunned and abhorred\nIshmael for all time.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\n[Illustration: A STANDARD SHIP AT SEA]\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nTHE CONVOY SYSTEM\n\n\nEARLY in 1917 the losses of the merchants' ships and men had assumed a\nproportion that called for a radical revision of the systems of naval\nprotection. Concentrating their energies on but one specific form of sea\noffence, the enemy had developed their submarine arm to a high point of\nefficiency. Speed and power and lengthy sea-keeping qualities were\nattained. To all intents and purposes the U-boats had become surface\ndestroyers with the added conveniency of being able to disappear at\nsight. They conducted their operations at long distance from the land\nand from their bases. The immense areas of the high seas offered a\npeculiar facility for 'cut-and-run' tactics: the system of independent\nsailings of the merchantmen provided them with a succession of victims,\ntimed in a progression that allowed of solitary disposal.\nNotwithstanding the matured experience of submarine methods gained by\nmasters, the rapid evolution of counter-measures by the Royal Navy, the\ncourage and determination of all classes of seafarers, our shipping and\nthat of our Allies and the neutral nations was being destroyed at a rate\nthat foreshadowed disaster.\n\nSchemes of rapid ship construction were advanced, lavish expenditure\nincurred, plans and occupation designed--all to ensure a replacement of\ntonnage at a future date. More material in point of prompt effect were\nthe efforts of the newly formed Ministry of Shipping to conserve\nexisting tonnage by judicious and closely controlled employment. All but\nsternly necessary sea-traffic was eliminated: harbour work in loading\nand unloading was expedited: the virtues of a single control enhanced\nthe active agency of the merchants' ships--now devoted wholly to State\nservice. Joined to the provisional and economic measures of the bureaux,\nAdmiralty reorganized their methods of patrol and sea-supervision of the\nships. The entry of the United States into the world war provided a\nconsiderable increase of naval strength to the Allied fleets. Convoy\nmeasures, that before had been deemed impracticable, were now possible.\nDestroyers and sloops could be released from fleet duties and were\navailable as escorts. American flotillas crossed the Atlantic to protect\nthe sea-routes: Japanese war craft assisted us in the Mediterranean.\n\nIn the adoption of the convoy system the Royal Navy was embarking on no\nnew venture. Modern ships and weapons may have brought a novel\ncomplication to this old form of sea-guardianship, but there is little\nin seafaring for which the traditions of the Naval Service cannot offer\ntext and precedent. The constant of protection by convoy has remained\nunaltered by the advance of armament and the evolution of strange war\ncraft: the high spirit of self-sacrifice is unchanged. When, in October\n1917, the destroyers _Strongbow_ and _Mary Rose_ accepted action and\nfaced three German cruisers, their commanders--undismayed by the\ntremendous odds--reacted the parts of the common sea-dramas of the\nNapoleonic wars. The same obstinate courage and unconquerable sea-pride\nforbade them to desert their convoy of merchantmen and seek the safety\nthat their speed could offer. H.M.S. _Calgarian_, torpedoed and sinking,\nhad yet thought for the convoy she escorted. Her last official signal\ndirected the ships to turn away from the danger.\n\n[Illustration: BUILDING A STANDARD SHIP]\n\nThe convoy system did not spring fully served and equipped from the\nearlier and less exacting control. Tentative measures had to be devised\nand approved, a large staff to be recruited and trained. The clerical\nwork of administration was not confined to the home ports; similar\nadjustment and preparation had to be conducted in friendly ports abroad.\nAs naval services were adapted to the new control, the system was\nextended. The comparatively simple procedure of sending destroyer\nescorts to meet homeward-bound convoys became involved with the timing\nand dispatch of a mercantile fleet sailing from a home port. The escorts\nwere ordered out on a time-table that admitted of little derangement.\nSailing from a British port with a convoy of outward-bound vessels, the\ndestroyers accompanied that fleet to a point in the Atlantic. There the\nconvoy was dispersed, and the destroyers swung off to rendezvous with a\nsimilar convoy of inward-bound vessels. While the outgoing merchantmen\nwere allowed to proceed independently after passing through the most\ndangerous area, the homeward-bound vessels were grouped to sail in\ncompany from their port abroad. An ocean escort was provided--usually a\ncruiser of the older class--and there was opportunity in the longer\nvoyage for the senior officer to drill the convoy to some unity and\nprecision in manoeuvre.\n\nThe commander of the ocean escort had no easy task in keeping his\ncharges together. The age-old difficulty of grouping the ships in the\norder of their sailing (now steaming) powers has not diminished since\nLord Cochrane, in command of H.M.S. _Speedy_, complained of the\n'fourteen sail of merchantmen' he convoyed from Cagliari to Leghorn. In\nthe first enthusiasm of a new routine, masters were over-sanguine in\nestimation of the speed of their ships. The average of former passages\noffered a misleading guide. While it was possible to average ten and a\nhalf knots on a voyage from Cardiff to the Plate, proceeding at a speed\nthat varied with the weather (and the coal), station could not easily be\nkept in a ten-knot convoy when--at the cleaning of the fires--the steam\nwent 'back.' Swinging to the other extreme (after experience of the\nguide-ship's angry signals), we erred in reserving a margin that\nretarded the full efficiency of a convoy. Our commodores had no small\ndifficulty in conforming to the date of their convoy's arrival at a\nrendezvous. The 'cruising speed' of ten knots, that we had so blithely\ntaken up when sailing from an oversea port, frequently toned down to an\naverage of eight--with all the consequent derangement of the destroyers'\nprogramme at the home end; a declared nine-knot convoy would romp home\nat ten, to find no escort at the rendezvous.\n\nIn time, we adjusted our estimate to meet the new demands. Efforts of\nthe Ministry of Shipping to evolve an order in our voyaging that would\nreduce irregularities had good results. The skilfully thought-out\nappointment of the ships to suitable routes and trades had effect in\nproducing a homogeneity that furthered the employment of our resources\nto the full. The whole conduct of our seafaring speedily came within the\nrange of governmental control, as affecting the timely dispatch and\narrival of the convoys. The quality of our fuel, the state of the hull,\ncompetence of seamen, formed subject for close investigation. The rate\nof loading or discharge, the urgency of repairs and refitment, were no\nlonger judged on the note of our single needs; like the states of the\nweather and the tide, they were weighed and assessed in the formula that\ngoverned our new fleet movements.\n\nThe system of convoy protection had instant effect in curbing the\nactivities of the U-boats. They could no longer work at sea on the lines\nthat had proved so safe for them and disastrous for us. To get at the\nships they had now to come within range of the destroyers' armament.\nHydrophones and depth-charges reduced their vantage of submersion. The\nrisks of sudden rupture of their plating by the swiftly moving keel of\nan escorting vessel did not tend to facilitate the working of their\ntorpedo problem. In the coastal areas aircraft patrolled overhead the\nconvoys, to add their hawk-sight to the ready swerve of the destroyers.\nThe chances of successful attack diminished as the hazard of discovery\nand destruction increased. Still, they were no fainthearts. The German\nsubmarine commanders, brutal and hell-nurtured, are no cowards. The\ntemptation of a massed target attracted them, and they sought, in the\nconfusion of the startled ships, a means of escape from the destroyers\nwhen their shot into the 'brown' had run true.\n\nConvoy has added many new duties to the sum of our activities when at\nsea. Signals have assumed an importance in the navigation. The flutter\nof a single flag may set us off on a new course at any minute of the\nday. Failure to read a hoist correctly may result in instant collision\nwith a sister ship. We have need of all eyes on the bridge to keep apace\nwith the orders of the commodore. In station-keeping we are brought to\nthe practice of a branch of seamanship with which not many of us were\nfamiliar. Steaming independently, we had only one order for the engineer\nwhen we had dropped the pilot. 'Full speed ahead,' we said, and rang a\ntriple jangle of the telegraph to let the engineer on watch know that\nthere would be no more 'backing and filling'--and that he could now nip\ninto the stokehold to see to the state of the fires. Gone--our easy\nways! We have now to keep close watch on the guide-ship and fret the\nengineer to adjustments of the speed that keep him permanently at the\nlevers. The fires may clag and grey down through unskilful stoking--the\nsteam go 'back' without warning: ever and on, he has to jump to the\ngaping mouth of the voice-tube: \"Whit? Two revolutions? Ach! Ah cannae\ngi' her ony mair!\"--but he does. Slowly perhaps, but surely, as he\ncoaxes steam from the errant stokers, we draw ahead and regain our place\nin the line. No small measure of the success of convoy is built up in\nthe engine-rooms of our mercantile fleets.\n\nSteaming in formation at night without lights adds to our 'grey heires.'\nThe menace of collision is ever present. Frequently, in the darkness, we\nhave no guide-ship in plain sight to regulate our progress. The\nadjustments of speed, that in the daytime kept us moderately well in\nstation, cannot be made. It is best to turn steadily to the average\nrevolutions of a former period, and keep a good look-out for the broken\nwater of a sister ship. On occasion there is the exciting medley of\nencountering a convoy bound the opposite way. In the confusion of wide\ndispersal and independent alterations of course to avert collision,\nthere is latitude for the most extraordinary situations. An incident in\nthe Mediterranean deserves imperishable record: \"We left Malta, going\neast, and that night it was inky dark and we ran clean through a\nwest-bound convoy. How there wasn't an accident, God only knows. We had\nto go full astern to clear one ship. She afterwards sidled up alongside\nof us and steamed east for an hour and a half. Then she hailed us\nthrough a megaphone: 'Steamer ahoy! Hallo! Where are you bound to?'\n'Salonika,' we said. 'God Almighty,' he says. 'I'm bound to Gibraltar.\nWhere the hell's _my_ convoy?'\"\n\n[Illustration: THE THAMES ESTUARY IN WAR-TIME]\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nOUTWARD BOUND\n\n\nCUSTOMS clerks--may their name be blessed--are worth much more than\ntheir mere weight in gold. We do not mean the civil servants at the\nCustom House, who listen somewhat boredly to our solemn Oath and\nCompearance. Doubtless they, too, are of value, but our concern is with\nthe owner's shipping clerk who attends our hesitating footsteps in the\nwalk of ships' business when we come on shore. He greets us on arrival\nfrom overseas, bearing our precious letters and the news of the firm: he\nhas the devious paths of our entry-day's course mapped out, down to the\ntrain we may catch for home. As an oracle of the port, there is nothing\nhe does not know: the trains, the week's bill at the 'Olympeambra,' the\nquickest and cheapest way to send packages to Backanford, suitable\nlodging in an outport, the standing of the ship laundries, the merits of\nthe hotels--he has information about them all. During our stay in port\nhe attends to our legal business. He speeds us off to the sea again,\nwith all our many folios in order.\n\nIn peace, we had a settled round that embraced the Custom House for\nentry, the Board of Trade for crew affairs, the Notary for 'Protest.'\n(\". . . and experienced the usual heavy weather!\") War has added to our\nvisiting-list. We must make acquaintance with the many naval authorities\nwho control our movements; the Consuls of the countries we propose to\nvisit must see us in person; it would be discourteous to set sail\nwithout a p.p.c. on the Dam-ship and Otter officers. Ever and on, a new\nbureau is licensed to put a finger in our pie: we spend the hours of\nsailing-day in a round of call and counter-call. The Consul wishes to\n_visé_ our Articles--the Articles may not be handed over till we produce\na slip from the Consul, the Consul will grant no slip till we have seen\nthe S.I.O. \"Have we identity papers for every member of the crew, with\nphotograph duly authenticated?\"--\"We are instructed not to grant\npassports!\" Back and forward we trudge while the customs clerk at our\nside tells cheerfully of the very much more trying time that fell to\nCaptain Blank.\n\nBy wile and industry and pertinacity he unwinds the tangle of our\nlongshore connections. He reconciles the enmity of the bureaux, pleads\nfor us, apologizes for us, fights for us, engages for us. All we have to\ndo is to sign, and look as though the commercial world stood still,\nawaiting the grant of that particular certificate. Undoubtedly the\ncustoms clerk is worth his weight in red, red gold!\n\nOn a bright summer afternoon we emerge from the Custom House. We have\ncompleted the round. In the case which the clerk carries we have\nauthority to proceed on our lawful occasions. Customs have granted\nclearance; our manifests are stamped and ordered; the Articles of\nAgreement and the ship's Register are in our hands. The health of our\nport of departure is guaranteed by an imposing document. Undocking\npermit, vouchers for pilotage and light dues, discharge books,\nsea-brief, passports, and store-sheets, are all there for lawful\nscrutiny. In personal safe-keeping, we have our sea-route ordered and\nplanned. The hard work is done. There is no more _business_--nothing to\ndo but to go on board and await the rise of tide that shall float us\nthrough the river channels to sea.\n\nCargo is stowed and completed; the stevedores are unrigging their gear\nwhen we reach the ship. Our coming is noted, and the hatch foremen (in\nanticipation of a 'blessing') rouse the dockside echoes with carefully\nphrased orders to their gangs: \"T' hell wit' yes, now! Didn't Oi tell\nye, Danny Kilgallen, that _th' Cyaptin_ wants thim tarpolyan sames\nturned fore an' aff!\" (A shilling or two for him!)--\"Beggin' yer pardon,\nsir--I don't see th' mate about--will we put them fenders below _for ye_\nbefore we close th' hatch?\" (Another _pourboire_!)--Number three has\nfinished his hatchway, but his smiling regard calls for suitable\nacknowledgment. (After all, we shall have no use for British small\ncoinage out West!) The head foreman, dear old John, is less ambitious.\nAll he wants is our understanding that he has stowed her tight--and a\nshake of the hand for good luck. Firmly we believe in the good luck that\nlies in the hand of an old friend. \"'Bye, John!\"\n\nIn groups, as their work is finished, the dockers go on shore, and leave\nto the crew the nowise easy task of clearing up the raffle, lashing\ndown, and getting the lumbered decks in something approaching sea-trim.\nFortunately, there is time for preparation. Usually, we are dragged to\nthe dock gates with the hatches uncovered, the derricks aloft, and the\nstowers still busy blocking off the last slings of the cargo. This time\nthere will be no hurried (and improper) finish--the stevedores hurling\ntheir gear ashore at the last minute, slipping down the fender lanyards,\nscurrying to a 'pier-head jump,' with the ship moving through the lock!\nSome happy chance has brought completion within an hour or two of\ntide-time. The mate has opportunity to clear ship effectively, and we\nhave leisure to plot and plan our sea-route (in anticipation of hasty\nchart glances when we get outside) before the pier-master hails\nus--\"Coom along wi' t' _Massilia_!\"\n\nTugs drag us through the inner gates, pinch and angle our heavy hull in\nthe basin, and enter us into the locks. The massive gates are swung\nacross, the sluices at the river-end eased to an outflow and, slowly,\nthe great lock drains to the river level. The wires of our quay-fasts\ntauten and ring out to the tension of the outdraft, as we surge in the\npent water-space and drop with the falling level. Our high bridge view\nover the docks and the river is pared in inches by our gradual descent;\nthe deck falls away under cope of the rough masonry; our outlook is\nturned upwards to where the dockmaster signals his orders. The ship\nseems suddenly to assume the proportions of a canal-boat in her contrast\nwith the sea-scarred granite walls and the bulk of the towering gates.\n\nAt level with the flood, the piermen heave the outer lock-gates open for\nour passage. We back out into the river, bring up, then come ahead,\ncanting to a rudder pressure that sheers us into the fairway. The river\nis thronged by vessels at anchor or under way, docking and undocking on\nthe top of the tide, and their manoeuvres make work for our pilot. At\neasy speed we work a traverse through the press at the dock entrances\nand head out to seaward.\n\n[Illustration: DROPPING THE PILOT]\n\nEvening is drawing on as we enter the sea-channels--a quiet close to a\nfine summer day. Out on the estuary it is hard to think of war at sea.\nShrimpers are drifting up on the tide, the vivid glow of their tanned\ncanvas standing over a mirrored reflection in the flood. The deep of the\nfairway is scored by passage of coasting steamers, an unending\nprocession that joins lightship to lightship in a chain of transport.\nThe sea-reaches look in no way different from the peaceful channels we\nhave known so long, the buoys and the beacons we pass in our courses\nseem absurdly tranquil, as though lacking any knowledge that they are\nsignposts to a newly treacherous sea. Only from the land may one draw a\nnote of warning--on shore there are visible signs of warfare. The\nsearchlights of the forts, wheeling over the surface of the channels,\nturn on us and steady for a time in inspection. Farther inland, ghostly\nshafts and lances are sweeping overhead, in ceaseless scrutiny of the\nquiet sky.\n\nAt a bend in the fairway we close and speak the channel patrol steamer\nand draw no disquieting impression from her answer to our hail. The port\nis still open and we may proceed on our passage to join convoy at ----.\nAn escort will meet us in 1235 and conduct us to 5678. 'Carry on!'\n\nIt is quite dark when we round the outer buoy and reduce speed to drop\nour pilot. The night is windless and a calm sea gives promise of a good\npassage. We bring up close to the cutter, and, shortly, with a stout\n'Good-bye,' the pilot swings overside and clambers down the long\nside-ladder to his boat. We shut off all lights and steer into the\nprotecting gloom of the night.\n\n[Illustration: EXAMINATION SERVICE PATROL BOARDING AN INCOMING STEAMER]\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nRENDEZVOUS\n\n\nALMOST hourly they round the Point, turning in from seaward with a fine\nswing and thrash of propellors to steer a careful course through the\nboom defences. Screaming gulls wheel and poise and dive around them,\nexulting to welcome the new-comers in, and the musical clank and rattle\nof anchor cables, as the ships bring up in the Roads, mark emphatic\nperiods to this--the short coasting section of the voyage.\n\n\"Safe here!\" sing the chains, as they link out over the open hawse.\n\"Thus far, anyway, in spite of fog and coast danger, of mine and\nsubmarine,\" and the brown hill-side joins echo to the clamour of the\nwheeling gulls, letting all know the ships have come in to join the\nconvoy.\n\nThe bay, that but a day ago lay broad and silent and empty, now seems to\nnarrow its proportions as each high-sided merchantman comes in; the\nhills draw nearer with every broad hull that anchors, wind-rode, in the\nblue of the bay. As if in key with the illusion, the broad expanse of\nshallow, inshore water, that before gave distance to the hills, now\nsheds its power, cut and furrowed as it becomes by thrash and wake of\ntugs and launches all making out to serve the larger vessels.\n\nOn the high mound of the harbour-master's look-out, keen eyes note all\nmovements in the bay. The signal-mast and yard bear a gay setting of\nflags and symbols, and rapid changes and successions show the yeoman of\nsignals and his mates at work, recording and replying, taking mark and\ntally of the ships as they arrive. Up and down goes the\nred-and-white-barred answering pendant to say that it is duly\nnoted--\"_War Trident_, _Marmion_, and _Pearl Shell_ report arrival\"--or\nthe semaphore arms, swinging smartly, tell H.M.S. _03xyz_ that\npermission to enter harbour (she having safely escorted the trio to\nport) is approved.\n\nOut near the entrance to the bay, where the 'gateships' of the boom\ndefences show clear water, the patrol steamer of the Examination Service\nlays-to, challenging each incoming vessel to state her name and\nparticulars. These, in turn, are signalled to the shore and the yeoman\nwrites: \"Begins war trident for norfolk va. speed nine knots is ready\nfor sea stop marmion for Bahia reports steering engine broken down will\nrequire ten hours complete repairs stop pearl shell nine and half\nshort-handed one fireman two trimmers report agents stop ends.\"\n\nIf room is scanty, the convoy office has at least an atmosphere in\nkeeping with its mission. Nestling close under the steep brow of the\nharbour-master's look-out, it was, in happier days, the life-boat\ncoxswain's dwelling, and a constant reminder of sea-menace and emergency\nalmost blocks the door--the long boat-house and launch-ways of the\nlife-boat. Four square and solid, the little house only has windows\noverlooking the bay, as if attending strictly to affairs at sea and\nhaving no eyes for landward doings; the peering eaves face straight out\ntowards the 'gateships' as though even the stone and lime were intent on\nthe sailing of the convoys, whose order and formation are arranged\nwithin their walls. The upper room has a desk or two, a telephone, a\nchart table, and a typewriter, and here the port convoy officer and his\nassistants trim and index and arrange the ships in order of their\nsailing. At the window a seaman-writer is typing out 'pictures' for the\nnext sailing--signal tables, formation and dispersal diagrams, call\nsigns, zigzags, constantly impressing that Greenwich Mean Time is the\nthing (no Summer Time at sea), and that courses are True, _not_\nMagnetic. The clack and release of his machine seem quite a part of\nconversation between the convoy officer and his lieutenant; the whole is\nso apparently disjointed in references to this ship and that, to repairs\nand tides, and shortage of 'hands' and water-supply and turns in the\nhawse, and even Spanish influenza! To one accustomed to single-ship\nwork the whole is mildly bewildering, and one readily understands that\nsailing a merchant convoy calls for more than the simple word of\ncommand.\n\n\"_War Trident_, nine knots,\" reads the junior, from a signal slip.\n\"_Marmion_, a doubtful starter--steering-gear disabled. _Pearl Shell_,\nthree stokehold hands short.\"\n\n\"_Trident_ only nine! That be damned for a yarn!\" says his senior,\nreaching for the slip. \"Nine will reduce the speed of the whole convoy a\nknot. She must be good for more--new ship, isn't she?\"\n\n\"Yes. One of these new standards--built for eleven knots and chocked up\nafterwards with fancy gear and 'gadjets' to rob the boilers.\"\n\n\"Lemme see--nine knots\"--turning to the pages of a tide-book, the convoy\nofficer makes a rough sum of it. \"High water at Oysterpool--so--arrived\nhere--distance--and seventy-one. Why, he's come on from Oysterpool at\nten, no less, and that's not allowing for the zigzag either!\"\n\nThe lieutenant looks round for his cap. Clearly there is a definite\n'drill' for captains who come on from Oysterpool at ten and declare\ntheir speed as nine, and he is ready when the P.C.O. passes orders. \"All\nright. You go off and see the captain. Try to get him to spring at least\nhalf a knot. I expect he's allowing a bit for 'coming up,' and going\neasy till he knows his new ship. . . . I'll 'phone _Pearl Shell's_\nagents and warn 'em to hustle round for firemen. _Marmion?_ Yes. Board\n_Marmion_ on your way back. Wants ten hours--she should be able to keep\nher sailing.\" A year agone there would have been but moderate and\npassive interest in the varying troubles of the ships and their crews,\nbut much water has flowed over the Red Ensign since then, and we are\nlearning.\n\nThe convoy lieutenant goes down a winding path to the boat-slip and\nboards his launch to set off for the Roads. The morning, that broke fair\nand unclouded, has turned grey; a damp sea-mist is wandering over the\nbay in thin wraiths and feathers, but sunlight on the brown of the\ndistant hills promises a clearing as the day draws on. Fishing-smacks,\ndelayed by want of wind, are creeping in to the market steps under sweep\nof their long oars, and their lazy canvas rustles, and the booms and\nsheet-blocks creak as the wash of the picket-launch sets them swaying.\nIn from the sea channels, with their sweeps still wet and glistening,\ncome the _Agnes Whitwell_, _Fortuna_, the _Dieudonné_, and _Brother\nFred_, each with a White Ensign aloft and a naked grey gun on their high\nbows. They are late in their return, and one can guess at deadly iron\nspheres stirred from the depths of the fairways, thrown buoyant in the\nwash astern, and destroyed by crack of gunfire. The commodore of the\nsisterly pairs, a young lieutenant of Reserve, waves a cheery greeting\nas we pass.\n\n[Illustration: DAWN: CONVOY PREPARING TO PUT TO SEA]\n\nAnd now the Roads, windless and misty, the anchored merchantmen swung at\ndifferent angles, in their gay fantasy of dazzle-paint, borrowing\nfurther motley from the mist, and leering grotesquely through the thin\nvapours. But for her lines, undeniably fine and graceful, _War Trident_\nis the standardest of standards. Dazzle-painters have slapped their\nspite at her in lurid swathes and, not content, have draped her sheer in\nharlequin crenellations. Her low pipe-funnel upstands in rigid\nperpendicular. (\"Chief! Pit yer haun' up an' feel if th' kettle's\nbilin'!\") No masts break the long length of her, saving only a midship\nsignal-pole that serves her wireless aerials and affords a hod-like\nperch for the look-out aloft. She is stark new, smooth of plating, and\nshowing even the hammer-strokes on her rivets. Through the thin paint on\nher sides, marks and symbols of construction appear, the letters of her\nstrakes painted in firm white, with here and there an unofficial\nshipyard embellishment--\"Good old Jeemy Quin,\" or \"Tae hell wi' the\nKiser!\" She is ready for sea, and life-boats and davits, swung outboard,\ntower overhead as the picket-launch draws up at her gaunt side. She is\nin ballast trim, and it is evident that her standard carpenters hold\nstrictly to a rule that ignores a varying freeboard--the side ladder is\nshort by eight feet, and only by middling the rungs (a leap at the\nbottom, a long swaying climb, and a drag at the top) are we able to\nclamber on board.\n\nA special 'drill' for conducting affairs with masters of brand-new ships\nshould be devised immediately by Admiralty, and the mildest of\nLow-Church curates (trimmed by previous dire tortures to the utter limit\nof exasperation) be provided, on whom officials may be well practised.\nUsually the master has been hurried out of port by the last rivet driven\nhome, with strange officers and the very weakest of new crews, in a ship\njam-full of the newest 'gadjets,' and the least possible reserve of gear\nto work them. Quickly and bitterly the fourth sentence of Confession at\nMorning Prayer is recalled to him--the things undone crowd round, and\nthere is nothing in the bare hull to serve as a makeshift. The engines\nand _auxiliaries_ (that, with a builder's man at every bearing, worked\nwell on trials) now develop tricks and turns to keep the chief engineer\nand his fledgling juniors on the run; the mate cries \"Kamerad\" to all\nsuggestions, pointing to his hopeless watch of one. (Eight deck: four in\na watch, less one helmsman and two look-outs, equals one.) Add to the\nsum of difficulties that the captain has probably been ashore since he\nlost his last ship, and finds the new tactics and signals and zigzags\nunfamiliar; through it all the want of familiar little trifles and\nfixings (that go so far to help a ready action), sustains a feeling of\nirritation.\n\nIt is little wonder that the convoy lieutenant goes warily, and, indeed,\nbut for the brilliant inspiration of using the 'last ship,' it seems\nprobable that the convoy will have to proceed at _Trident's_ modest\nnine knots. Bluntly, the captain is in undisguised ill-humour. He has\nbeen on deck practically since leaving the builder's yard, and his weary\neyes suggest a need for prompt sleep. His room, still reeking of new\npaint and varnish, is in some disorder, and shows traces of an anxious\npassage along the coast. 'Notices to Mariners' lie open at the minefield\nsketches, with a half-smoked pipe atop to keep the pages open; chart\nupon chart is piled (for want of a rack) on bed and couch; oilskins,\ncrumpled as when drawn off, hang over the edge of a door--not a peg to\nhang them on; an open sextant case, jammed secure by pillows, lies on\nthe washstand lid; books of sailing directions, a taffrail log, some red\nsocket-flares, are heaped awry in a corner of the room; the whole an\nevidence that lockers and minor ship conveniences are not yet\nstandardized. Pray goodness he may have a stout honest thief of a chief\nmate, able and willing to find a baulk or two of timber, and a few nails\nand brass screws and copper tacks and a curtain-rod or two and a bolt of\ncanvas!\n\nThe convoy lieutenant, unheeding a somewhat surly return of his\ngreeting, produces Convoy Form No. AX, and starts in cheerfully to fill\nthe vacant columns. \"Tonnage, captain?--register will do. Crew? Guns?\nCoal?--consumpt. at speeds. Revolutions per half-knot?\" The form\ncompleted, he hands it over for signature, thus tactfully drawing the\ncaptain's attention to the secretarial work he has done for him. \"What's\nthe speed? Nine and a half?\" \"Speed!\" answers the Old Man. \"Hell! This\nbunch of hair-springs can't keep out of her own way! Speed? The damned\nfunnel's so low we can't get draught to burn a cigarette-paper; and\nthese new pumps they've given her! . . . Well, we might do nine, but\nonly in fine weather, mind you. Nine knots!\"\n\n\"You'll have to do better for this convoy, captain. There's not a ship\nunder nine and a half; but there may be a bunch of eight-knotters going\nout in five days.\"\n\n\"Nothing under nine and a half! What? Why, there's _Pearl Shell_ came in\nwith us. She hasn't a kick above nine. When I was in the old _Collonia_,\nwe. . . .\"\n\n\"The _Collonia_? A fine ship, Gad! Were you in her, captain, when she\nwas strafed? Let's see--Mediterranean, wasn't it?\" The captain nods\npleasantly, as if accepting a compliment.\n\n\"_Umm!_ Mediterranean--troops--a hell of a job to get them off. Lost\nsome, though\"--regretfully.\n\nThe convoy lieutenant turns a good card. \"Must be a change to come down\nto ten knots, captain, after a crack ship like _Collonia_. What could\nshe do? Sixteen?\"\n\n\"Oh no. We could get an eighteen-knot clip out of her--more, if we\nwanted!\" (If _War Trident's_ speed be low and doubtful, the Old Man can\nsafely pile the knots on his stricken favourite.) \"_She_ was a ship, not\na damned parish-rigged barge like this--a poverty-stricken hulk\nthat. . . .\"\n\n\"Yes. I heard about her from Benson, of _War Trumpet_. He sailed in last\nconvoy. Said he was glad he wasn't appointed here.\"\n\n\"Wasn't appointed here, be damned! Didn't have the chance. Why, that\nship of his isn't in the same class at all. The _Trident_ can steer,\nanyway, and when we get things fixed up. . . . She has the hull of a\nfine ship. If only we could get a decent funnel on her. . . . Here, I'll\ntry her at your nine and a half knots! I'll bet _War Trumpet_ can't do a\nkick above nine!\"\n\n\nBe it noted that the convoy officers have the wavy gold lace of the\nR.N.R. for their rank stripes; plain half-inch ones of the Royal Navy\nmight have had to let the convoy sail at nine, after all--not knowing\nthe 'grip' of the 'last ship.'\n\n[Illustration: EVENING: PLYMOUTH HOE]\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nCONFERENCE\n\n\n\"A LAUNCH will be sent off at 3 p.m., S.T., to bring masters on shore\nfor conference. You are requested to bring\"--etc. So reads the notice,\nand p.m. finds the coxswain of the convoy office picket-boat steaming\nand backing from ship to ship, and making no secret of his disapproval\nof a scheme of things that keeps him waiting (tootling, perhaps, an\nimpatient blast), while leisurely shipmasters give final orders to their\nmates at the gangways. (\"That damned ship's cat in the chart-room again,\nsir!\")\n\nMore ships have come in since the clearing of the morning mist, and calm\nweather and vagaries of the tide have combined to crowd the ships in the\nanchorage into uncomfortably close quarters; perhaps, after all, it\nwould be rather the counter-swing of that River Plate boat, anchoring\nclose abeam (\"Given me a foul berth, damn him!\"), than the insanitary\nways of the ship's cat that kept the captain, one leg over the rail, so\nlong in talk with his mate.\n\nNever, since the days of sailing ships and the leisurely deep-sea\nparliaments in the ship-chandler's back room, have we been brought so\nmuch together. The bustle and dispatch of steamer work, in pre-war days,\nkept us apart from our sea-fellows; there were few forgatherings where\nwe could exchange views and experiences and abuse 'square-heads' and\ndamn the Board of Trade. Now, the run of German torpedoes has banded us\ntogether again, and in convoy and their conferences, we are coming to\nknow one another as never before. At first we were rather reserved, shy\nperhaps, and diffident, one to another. Careless, in a way, of longshore\ncriticism and opinion, we were somewhat concerned that conduct among our\npeers should be dignified and seaworthy; then, the fine shades of\nprecedence--largely a matter of the relative speeds of our commands--had\nto average out before the 'master' of an east-coast tramp and the\n'captain' of an R.M.S. found joint and proper equality. In this again,\nthe enemy torpedo served a turn, and we are not now surprised to learn\nthat the 'captain' of a modest nine-knot freighter had been (till she\nwent down with the colours apeak) 'master' of His Majesty's Transport of\n16,000 tons.\n\nSo we crowd up together in the convoy launch, and introduce ourselves,\nand talk a while of our ships and crews till stoppage of the engines and\nclatter of hardwood side-ladders mark another recruit, sprawling his way\ndown the high wall-side of a ballasted ship. The coxswain sighs relief\nas he pockets his list--the names all now ticked off in order of their\nboarding--and puts his helm over to swing inshore. \"A job o' work,\" he\nsays. \"Like 'unt th' slipper, this 'ere! 'Ow can I tell wot ships they\nis, names all painted hover; an' them as does show their names is only\ndamn numbers!\"\n\nIn pairs, colloguing as we go, we mount the jetty steps and find a way\nto the conference-room. We make a varied gathering. Some few are in\ntheir company's service uniform, but most of us, misliking an array but\ngrudgingly tolerated in naval company, wear longshore clothes and, in\nour style, affect soft felt hats and rainproof overcoats. Not very\ngallant raiment, it is true, but since brave tall hats and plain brass\nbuttons and fancy waistcoats and Wellingtons went out with the lowering\nof the last single topsail, we have had no convention in our attire. In\nconference we come by better looks--bareheaded, and in stout blue serge,\nwe sit a-row facing the blackboard on which our 'drills' are chalked.\nMany find a need for eyeglasses, the better to read the small typescript\n(uniformly bad) handed round to us, that sets forth our stations and\nthe order of our sailing, and one wonders if the new look-out has\nbrought us at last to the hands of the opticians; certainly, our eyes\nare 'giving' under the strain.\n\nOf all the novel routine that war has brought to seafaring, convoy work\nis, perhaps, the most apart from our normal practice. We have now to\nthink of concerted action, outboard the limits of our own bulwark; we\nhave become subject to restriction in our sailing; we conform to\nmovements whose purpose may not, perhaps, be plainly apparent. Trained\nand accustomed to single and undisputed command, it was not easy to\nalter the habits of a lifetime at sea. We were autocrats in our small\nsea-world, bound only by our owner's instruction to proceed with\nprudence and dispatch. We had no super-captain on the sea to rule our\nlines and set our courses and define our speeds. We made 'eight bells!'\n\nBut the 'bells' we made and the courses we steered and the rate we sped\ncould not bring all of us safely to port. They gave us guns--and we used\nthem passing well--but guns could not, at that date, deflect torpedoes,\nand ships went down. Then came convoy and its success, and we had to\npocket our declarations of independence, and steer in fleets and\ncompany; and gladly enough, too, we availed ourselves of a union in\nstrength, though it took time to custom us to a new order at sea.\n\nAt first we were resentful of what, ill-judging, we deemed interference.\nWere we not master mariners, skilled seamen, able to trim and handle our\nships in any state or case? And if, on our side, the great new machine\nrevolved a turn or two uneasily, it is true that the naval spur-wheel\nwas not itself entirely free of grit. The naval officers, who drilled us\ndown, were at first distant and superior; masters were a class,\nforgotten since sail went out, who had now no prototype in His Majesty's\nService; there was no guide to the standard of association. Having\nlittle, if any, knowledge of merchant-ship practice, naval officers\nexpected the same many-handed efficiency as in their own service. Crew\ntroubles were practically unknown in their experience; all coal was\n'Best Welsh Navigation'; all ships, whatever their lading, turned, under\nhelm, apace! Gradually we learned--as they did. We saw, in practice,\nthat team work and not individual smartness was what counted in convoy;\nthat, be our understanding of a signal as definite and clear as the loom\nof the Craig, it was imperative, for our own safety, that the reading of\nout-wing and more distant ships should be as ready and accurate. In\nthis, our convoy education, the chief among our teachers were the\ncommodores, R.N. and R.N.R., who came to sea with us, blest, by a happy\nstar, with TACT!\n\n[Illustration: A CONVOY CONFERENCE]\n\nSo, we learned, and now sit to listen, attentively and with respect, to\nwhat the King's Harbour Master has to say about our due and timely\nmovements in forming up in convoy. On him, also, the happy star has\nshone, and we are conscious of an undernote that admits we are all good\nmen and true and know our work. One among us, a junior by his looks,\ndissents on a movement, and not all-friendly eyes we turn on him; but he\nis right, all the same, and the point he raises is worthy the discussion\nthat clears it. Our ranks are evidence of a world-wide league of\nseafarers against German brutality. While his frightfulness has barred\nthe enemy for ever from sea-brotherhood, it has had effect in banding\nthe world's seamen in a closer union. We are not alone belligerents\ndevising measures of warfare; in our international gathering we\nrepresent a greater movement than a council of arms. British in\nmajority, with Americans, Frenchmen, a Japanese, a Brazilian--we are at\nwar and ruling our conduct to the sea-menace, but among us there are\nneutrals come to join our convoy; peaceful seamen seeking a place with\nus in fair trade on the free seas. Two Scandinavian masters and a\nSpaniard listen with intent preoccupation to the lecture--a recital in\nEnglish, familiar to them as the Esperanto of the sea.\n\nThe K.H.M.'s careful and detailed routine has a significance not\nentirely connected with our sailing of the morrow; in a way it impresses\none with the extent of our sea-empire. Most of us have taken station as\nhe orders, have all the manoeuvres by rote, but even at this late\ndate, there are those among us, called from distant seas, to whom the\ninstructions are novel. For them, we say, the emphasis on clearing hawse\novernight, the definition of G.M.T., the exactitude of zigzag, and the\nnecessity of ready answer to signals. We are old stagers now, _we_ know\nall these drills, _we_-- Damn! We, too, are becoming superior! In turn,\nthe commodore who is to sail with us has his say. Signals and look-out,\nthe cables of our distance, wireless calls, action guns and\nsmoke-screen, the rubbish-heap, darkening ship, fog-buoys and\nhydroplanes, he deals with in a fine, confident, deep sea-voice. Only on\nquestion of the hearing of sound-signals in fog do we throw our weight\nabout, and we make reminiscent tangents not wholly connected with the\npoint at issue. Yarn-spinners, courteously recalled from their\ndigressions, wind up somewhat lamely, and commodore goes on to deal with\nlate encounters with the enemy in which a chink in our armour was bared.\nMethods approved to meet such emergencies are explained, and his part is\nclosed by attention to orders detailed for convoy dispersal. The\ncommander of the destroyer escort has a few words for us; a brief detail\nof the power of his under-water armament, a request for a 'fair field in\naction.' Conference comes to an end when the shipping intelligence\nofficer has explained his routes and given us our sailing orders.\n\nTill now we have been actually an hour and a half without smoking, and\nour need is great. As one man we fumble for pipes and tobacco (a few\nlordly East-Indiamen flaunt cheroots), and in the fumes and at our ease\narrange, in unofficial ways, the small brotherly measures that may help\nus at sea.\n\n\"Oh yes, _Chelmsford_, you're my next ahead. Well, say, old man, if it\ncomes fog, give me your brightest cargo 'cluster' to shine\nastern--daytime, too--found it a good----\" \"Fog, egad! What about fog\nwhen we are forming up? Looked none too clear t' the south'ard as we\ncame ashore!\"\n\nSomewhat late, we realize that not a great deal has been said about\nweather conditions for the start-off. The port convoy officer is still\nabout, but all he can offer is a pious hope and the promise that he will\nhave tugs on hand to help us out. \"No use 'making almanacks' till the\ntime comes,\" says our Nestor (a stout old greybeard who has been twice\ntorpedoed). \"We shall snake into column all right, and, anyhow, we're\nall bound the same way!\" \"What about towing one another out?\" suggests a\njunior, and, the matter having been brought to jest, we leave it at\nthat.\n\nThe caretaker jangles his keys and, collecting our 'pictures,' we go out\nto the quayside, where thin rain and a mist shroud the harbour basin,\nand the dock warehouses loom up like tall clippers under sail. The\ncoxswain comes, clamping in heavy sea-boots and an oilskin, to tell that\nthe launch is at the steps, ready to take us off. Two of us have\nbusiness to conclude with our agent, and remain on the jetty to see our\nfellows crowd into shelter of the hood and the launch back out. We call\ncheerfully, one to another, that we shall meet at Bahia or New York or\nCalcutta or Miramichi, and the mist takes them.\n\nUp the ancient cobbled street we come on an old church and, the rain\nincreasing to a torrent, we shelter at the porch. Who knows, curiosity\nperhaps, urges us farther and we step quietly down-level to the old\nstone-flagged nave. The light is failing, and the tombs and monuments\nare dim and austere, the inscriptions faint and difficult to read. A\nline of Drakes lie buried here, and tablets to the memory of old\nsea-captains (whose bones may lie where tide is) are on the walls. A\nsculptured medallion of ships on the sea draws our attention and we\nread, with difficulty, for the stone is old and the lines faint and\nworn.\n\n         \". . . INTERRED YE BODY OF EDMOND LEC----, FORMERLY\n         COMMANDER OF HER MAJ---- SHIP YE _LINN FRIGOT_,\n         17-- . . . A FRENCH CORVAT FROM WHOM HE PROTECTED A\n         LARGE FLEET OF MERCHANT SHIPS ALL INTO SAFETY. . .\n         . AND BRAVELY HE GAVE YE ENEMY BATTEL AND FORCED\n         HIM TO BEAR AWAY WITH MUCH DAMMAGE. . . .\"\n\n\nWe looked at one another. A good charge to take to sea in 1918! Quietly\nwe closed the door and came away.\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD HARBOUR, PLYMOUTH]\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nTHE SAILING\n\n\nFOG, AND THE TURN OF THE TIDE\n\nRAINY weather overnight has turned to fog, and the lighthouse on the\nPoint greets breaking dawn with raucous half-minute bellows. Less\nregular and insistent, comes a jangle of anchor-bells, breaking in from\ntime to time, ship after ship repeating, then subsiding a while until\nthe syren of a moving tugboat--as if giving time and chorus to the\ndin--sounds a blast, and sets the look-outs on the anchored ships to\ntheir clangour again. From the open sea distant reedy notes tell that\nthe minesweeping flotilla is out and at work, clearing the course for\ndraught of the out-bound convoy, and searching the misty sea-channels\nfor all the enemy may have moored there. The 'gateships' of the boom\ndefences rasp out jarring discords to warn mariners of their bobbling\nfloats and nets. Inshore the one sustained and solemn toll of bell at\nthe pier-head measures out time to the sum of a dismal dayspring.\n\nBy all the sound of it, it is ill weather for the sailing of a convoy.\nIn time of peace there would not be a keel moving within harbour limits\nthrough such a pall. \"Call me when the weather clears,\" would be the\neasy order, and we would turn the more cosily to blanket-bay, while the\nanchor-watch would pace athwart overhead, in good content, to await the\nraising of the curtain. Still and all, it is yet early to assess the\nrigour of the fog. Sound-signals, started late in the coming of it,\nbecame routine and mechanical, and persist--through clearing--till their\nneed is more than over. The half-light of breaking day has still to\nbrighten and diffuse; who knows; perhaps, after all, this may be only\nthat dear and fond premise of hopeful sailormen--the pride o' the\nmorning!\n\nThe elder fishermen (the lads are out after the mines) have no such\noptimism. Roused by the habits of half a century, they turn out for a\npipe and, from window and doorway, assure one another that their idle\n'stand-by' decreed by harbour-master for outgoing of the convoy, is\nlittle hardship on a morning like this. \"'Ark t' them bells,\" they say,\nthumb over shoulder. \"All 'ung up. Thick as an 'edge out there, an' no\nroom t' back an' fill. There won't be no move i' th' Bay till 'arf-ebb,\nmy oath!\"\n\nBut they are wrong in that, if right in their estimation of the weather\nand congestion in the roads, for we are at war, and the port convoy\nofficer, hurrying to his launch, is already sniffing for the bearings of\nthe leader of the line. Prudently he has mapped their berths as they\ncame in to anchor, and has, at least, a serviceable, if rough, chart to\nguide him on his rounds.\n\n[Illustration: CONVOY SAILING FROM PLYMOUTH SOUND]\n\nSo far there are no reports from the sea-patrols that would call for an\ninstant alteration of the routes, and for that the P.C.O. has a thankful\nheart. A 'hurrah's nest,' a panic on Exchange, a block at the Bank\ncrossing, would be feeble comparison to the confusion he might look for\nin a combination of dense fog, counter-mandates, and a congested\nroadstead, for, even now, the ships to form up the next convoy are\nthrashing their way down the coast and (Article XVI of the Rule of the\nRoad being lightly held by in war-time) may be expected off the\n'gateships' before long. To them, as yet, the port is 'closed,' but\nevery distant wail from seaward sets him anxiously wondering whether it\nbe a minesweeper signalling a turn to his twin or a distant\ndeep-waterman, early on the tide, standing in for the land. The sailor's\nmorning litany--\"Who wouldn't sell a farm and go to sea\"--is near to him\nas he turns up the collar of his oilskin and gives a rough course to\nhis coxswain. \"South, s'west, and ease her when you hear th' Bell buoy.\n_British Standard_ first--she's lying close south of it.\" Turning out,\nthe picket-boat sets her bows to the grey wall of mist and her wash and\nroundel of the screws (that on a clear busy day would scarce be noted)\nsound loud and important in the silence of the bay. The coxswain,\ncunning tidesman, steers a good course and reduces speed with the first\ntoll of the buoy. The clamour of its iron tongue seems out of all\nrelation to the calm sea and the cause is soon revealed. Silently,\nclosely in line ahead, four grey destroyers break the mist, fleet\nswiftly across the arc of vision ahead, and disappear. \"Near it,\" says\nthe coxswain (and now sounds a blast of _his_ whistle). \"Them fellers\nain't 'arf goin' it!\" Cautiously he rounds the buoy, noting the gaslight\ncrown shining yet, though pale and sickly in the growing day. Out now,\nin seven fathoms, the lingering inshore fog has given place to a mist,\nthrough which the ships loom up in sombre grey silhouette. Full speed\nfor a turn or two brings the launch abeam of a huge oil-tanker that,\nsharp to the tick of Greenwich Mean Time, already has her Convoy\nDistinguishing Flags hoisted and the windlass panting white steam to\nraise anchor. A small flag in the rigging assures the P.C.O. that the\npilots have boarded in good time, and it is with somewhat of growing\nsatisfaction that he hails the bridge and asks the captain to 'carry\non!'\n\nDoubts and hesitancies that may have lingered in the prudent captain's\nmind are dispelled by the P.C.O.'s appearance. \"It is decided, then,\nthat the orders stand,\" and there is at least a certain relief in his\ntone as he orders, \"Weigh anchor!\"\n\nThe _British Standard_ is deep-loaded, in contrast to the usual empty\nwar-time outward bound, but her lading is clean salt water, no less, run\ninto her compartments on the sound theory that Fritz, by a strafe, may\nonly 'change the water in the tanks.' Homeward, from the west, there\nwill be no such fine assurance, for a torpedo may well set her ablaze\nfrom stem to stern, and the enemy takes keen and peculiar delight in\nsuch _Schrecklichkeit_. Still, there is little thought to that; _British\nStandard_ is to lead the line, and her anchor comes to the hawse and she\nbacks, then comes ahead again, swinging slowly under helm towards the\nsound of 'gateships'' hand-horns. High on the stern emplacement her men\nare uncovering her gun and clearing the ranges, and the long grey barrel\nis trained out to what will be the sun-glare side of the first tangent\nof her sea-course. Close astern of her comes _War Ordnance_, her pushful\nyoung captain having taken heed of the sounds of _Standard's_ weighing.\n\"Good work,\" says the P.C.O. cheerfully, and cons his rough chart for\nthe whereabouts of Number Three.\n\nAs though the devil in the wind had heard him, down comes the fog\nagain, dense this time, a thick blanket-curtain of it that shuts off\nthe misty stage on which the prompter had hoped, passably, to complete\nhis dispatch of the fleet.\n\nThe compass again. \"East 'll do,\" and the launch slips through the grey\nof it. All around in the roadstead the clank of cable linking over the\nspurs, and hiss and thrust of power windlasses are indication that\n_British Standard's_ movement has given signal to weigh, that it is\nplain to the others--\"Convoy will proceed in execution of previous\norders.\" A propellor, thrashing awash in trial, looms up through the fog\nahead, but 'East' has brought the launch wide of her mark, and\n_Massilia_ is answer to the P.C.O.'s hail. _Massilia_ is Number Four,\nbut needs must when the fog drives, so he advises the captain to get\nunder way and head out.\n\nNumber Three has stalled badly and is hot in a burst of graceless\nprofanity from bridge to forecastle-head, and (increasing in volume and\nblood-red emphasis) from there to the chain-locker. There is a foul\nstow. Her nip-cheese builders have pared the locker-space to the\nmathematical limit (to swell her carrying tonnage), and the small crew\nthat her nip-cheese owners have put on her are unable to range the\ntiers. Twenty fathoms of chain remain yet under water, the locker is\njammed, and the mate, roughed (and through a megaphone, too), from the\nbridge, is calling on strange deities to take note that, 'of all the\ndamn ships he ever sailed in. . . .' The pilot calls out from the bridge\nthat they are going to pay out and restow, and the convoy officer,\nblessing the forethought that had bade him send off Number Four, swings\noff to speed the succession.\n\nHigh water has made and the tide ebbs, swinging the ships yet anchored\ntill they head inshore, and adding to the pilots' worry of narrowed\nvision the need to turn short round in crowded waters. For this the tugs\nhave been sent out in readiness, and the convoy launch has a busy\nmission in casting about to find and set them to the task of towing the\nlaggards round. It is nothing easy, in the fog and confusion of moving\nships, to back the _Seahorse_ in and harness her by warp and hawser, but\nwith every vessel, canted, that straightens to her course, the press is\nlightened by so much sea-room cleared. Gradually the hail and\ncounter-hail, hoarse order and repeat, whistle-signals, protest of\nstraining tow-ropes, die away with the lessening note of each sea-going\npropeller.\n\nTo Number Three again, last of the line and out of her station, the\nconvoy officer seeks to return. The fog is denser than ever, and the\nechoes of the bay, now transferred to seaward, augment the uneasy\nshort-blast mutterings where the ships, closed up at the narrow\n'gateway,' are slowing and backing to drop their pilots. In his traverse\nof the anchorage the coxswain has lost bearing of the _Cinderella_ and\nsteers a zigzag course through the murk. The sun has risen, brightening\nthe overhead but proving (in sea glare and misty daze) an ally to the\nveil. No sound of heaving cable or thunder of escaping steam that would\nmark a vessel hurrying to get her anchor and make up for time lost is to\nbe heard. Frankly puzzled, the coxswain stops his engines. \"Must 'a\nsailed, sir,\" he says at length. \"There ain't nothin' movin' this end o'\nth' bay.\"\n\nThe convoy officer nods. \"_Mmm!_ She may have gone on, while we were\ndragging _Marmion_ clear of th' stern of that 'blue funnel' boat. A good\njob. Well, carry on! Head in--think that was th' pier-head bell we heard\nabeam!\"\n\nAt easy speed the launch turns and coxswain bends to peer at the\nswinging compass-card. As one who has held out to a job o' work\ncompleted, the P.C.O. stretches his arms and yawns audibly and\nwhole-hearted. \"A good bath now and a bite o' breakfast and-- Oh, hell!\nWhat's that astern?\"\n\nThe turn in the wake has drawn his eye to a grey blur in the glare of\nthe mist. An anchored ship!\n\nKeeping the helm over, the coxswain swings a wide circle and steadies on\nthe mark. \"Damn if it ain't her!\" he says, as the launch draws on.\n\nThe _Cinderella_ lies quiet with easy harbour smoke rising straight up\nfrom her funnel and no windlass party grouped on the forecastle-head;\nquiet, as if fog and convoy and the distant reverberations of her sister\nships held no concern for her. To the P.C.O.'s surprised and somewhat\nindignant hail there is returned a short-phrased assurance that the\nruddy anchor is down--and is going to remain down! \"Think I'm going out\nin this to hunt my place in the pack? No damn fear!\" says the captain.\n\"Why, I can scarce see who's hailing me, less a line o' ships barging\nalong!\"\n\nThe pilot, in a tone that suggests he has already 'put out an oar'--with\nlittle effect--joins in to reassure. \"Clearin' outside now, captain. I\nhaven't heard th' lighthouse syren for twenty minutes or more! The\nfog'll be hangin' here in harbour a bit.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye! But it's here we are, pilot--not outside yet. A clearing out\nthere doesn't show us th' leading marks, and I'll not risk it. I've no\nfancy for nosing into th' nets and booms. I know where I am here, and I\nwon't stir a turn--unless\"--bending over the light screen towards the\nlaunch--\"unless you lead ahead!\"\n\nThe convoy officer is somewhat embarrassed. Certainly the weather is as\nthick as a hedge; there is no 'drill' of convoy practice that empowers\nhim to order risks to be taken--navigation of the ships is not his\nprovince. It is enough for him to arrange and advise and assist. If he\nleads out and anything _does_ happen?\n\nStill, it is maddening to think of one hitch in a good\nprogramme--'almost a record, too!' He looks at his watch and notes that\nonly fifty minutes have elapsed since _British Standard_ weighed.\n\n\"Oh, hell! Right, captain,\" he says. \"Heave up and I'll give you a lead\nout to clear weather!\"\n\n\n'IN EXECUTION OF PREVIOUS ORDERS'\n\nWE are Number Four in the line; _Vick--beer--code_ is our address, and\nwe steam somewhat faster than the fog warrants to keep touch with our\nnext ahead. She, in turn, is packing close up on the leader, and if, in\nthe strict ruling of a 'line ahead,' we are stepping out a trifle wide,\nat least we keep in company. The farthest we can see is the thrash of\nfoam, white in the grey, of _War Ordnance's_ propeller--a good moving\nmark, that, though faint, draws the eye by the lead of broken water.\nNearer, we have a steering-guide in her hydroplane, cutting and dancing\nunder the bows and throwing a sightly feather of spray. The sea is flat\ncalm, save for our leader's wake--a broad ribbon of troubled water\nthrough which we steer. Our eyes, now limited in range by the fog, seem\nto focus readily on trifles; for want of major objects, roving glances\ntake in driftwood and ship-litter, and turn on minute patches of seaweed\nwith an interest that a wider range would dissipate. Spurring,\nblack-crested puffins come at us from under the misty pall, floating\nstill, as if set in glass, till our bow wash plays out and sets them,\nsquawking in distress, to an ungainly splutter on the surface, or\ndipping swiftly to show white under-feathers and the widening rings of\ntheir dive.\n\nAstern of us, a medley of sound and steering-signals marks the gateway\nof the harbour where our followers are striving to drop their pilots and\njoin in convoy; one loud trumpeter is drawing up at speed and showing,\nby the frequency of her whistle-blasts, anxiety to sight our wake. The\nlighthouse syren roars a warning of shoal-water out on the landward\nbeam, a raucous discord of two weird notes. These, with the rare\nmournful wail of our leader, are our guiding sounds, but we have sight\nnow and then of the destroyer escort passing and turning mistily on the\nrim of our narrowed vision, like swift sheep-dogs folding the stragglers\nof a scattered flock.\n\nThe fog, that settled dense and deep as we got under way, shows a little\nsign and promise of thinning, a small portent that draws our eyes to the\nlift above the funnel. There is no wind, but our smoke-wrack, after\ncurving with our speed to masthead height, seems turned by light upper\ndraughts to the eastward. The sun has risen and peers mistily over the\ntop of the grey curtain that surrounds us. The day is warming up. Pray\nfortune, a stout west wind may come out of it all, to clear the muck and\ngive us one good honest look at one another, when we are due for that\n'six-point' turn to the south'ard!\n\nTo keep in station on our pacemaker, we call for constant alterations in\nthe speed--a range of revolutions that rattles up scale and down, like\nfirst lessons on the piano, and sets the engineers below to a plaintive\nverge of tears. The junior officer at the voice-pipe looks reflective,\nafter each order he passes, as though comparing the quality of the reply\nwith the last sulphurous rejoinder. The fog has added to our starting\nvagaries and postponed a happy understanding, but we shall do better\nlater on when we have gauged and discovered--and pitied--the tiresome\nvacillations of the _other_ ships!\n\nMeantime, as best we can, we chase the sheering hydroplane ahead that\nseems endowed with every chameleon gift of the classic gods. It\nvanishes, invisible, in a drift of fog, and though we con a course as\nsteady as a cat on eggs, a clearing comes to show us its white feather\nbroad on the bows and edging off at an angle to dip under the thick of\nthe mist! It drops down to us; we sheer aside and slow a pace, and it\nlingers and dallies sportively abeam. It slips suddenly ahead, with a\nrush and a rip, as though, like a child among the daisies, it recalls a\nparent in advance.\n\nThe trumpeter astern has come up and sighted our wake and fog-buoy, and\nthe clamour of her questing syren is stilled. She looms up close on our\nquarter, a huge menacing bulk of sheering steel with the foam thundering\nunder her bows and curling and shattering on her grey hull. _They_ have\ngreat difficulty in adjusting to our speed. She slows and fades back\ninto the mist, grows again from gloomy shadow to threatening detail,\nsteadies at a point for a few minutes, and resumes the round of her\nprevious motions in irritating cycle. \"Whatever can be the matter with\nthem?\" (We take the stout point of a position as steady as the Rock, and\ngrow scornful of their clumsy efforts to keep station.) \"_Huh!_ These\ngold-laced London men! Why can't they steady up a bit? Why can't\nthey----\" We note that our steering-mark and the wash of _War\nOrdnance's_ propeller are no longer in sight ahead, and set in to count\nthe beats of the screw. \". . . t'-one, t'-two, t'-three, t'-- _Hell!_\nDidn't we order seventy? Go full speed!\" Jumping to the tube, the junior\nattends. \"_I_ said seven-owe, sir, but he thought I said six-four! Says\nth' bl--, th' engines working, sir--can't hear properly!\"\n\nGrudgingly, as though loath to give us our sight again, the fog clears.\nThe first of the tantalizing rift in the curtain is signalled by the\nhigh look-out, who calls that he can see the topmasts of our near\nneighbours piercing the low-lying vapours. The sun shines through,\nshowing now and then a clear-cut limb in place of the luminous misshapen\nbrightening that has been with us since sunrise. In fits and starts the\nfog thins, and thickens again, at the will of wandering airs.\n\nA west wind comes away, freshens, and stirs the vapour till it whips\nclose overhead in wraiths and streamers, raises here and there a fold on\nthe distant horizon, then dies again. Growing in vigour, the breeze\nreturns; a gallant breath that ruffles the smooth of the sea and sweeps\nthe round of it, routing the lingering flurries that settle, dust-like,\nwhen the mass is cleared.\n\nThe clearing of our outlook produces a curious confusion to the eye. We\nhave become accustomed to a limited range in sight, and the sudden\nchange to distant vision, in which there is no standard of position, no\nmark to judge by, effects an illusion as of a photographer's plate\ndeveloping. Fragments, wisps, and sections of the sea-rim appear,\nbreaking through as the fog lifts, and seeming strangely high and\nforeign in position. Topmasts and a funnel-wreath of black smoke loom up\nalmost in mid-air; the water-line of a ship's hull grows to sight, low\nin the plane as though dangerously close. Distant, obscure, and blurred\nformations sharpen suddenly to detail and show our destroyer escort as\nalmost suspended in mirage, floating in air. Piece by piece, the plate\ndevelops in sensible gradation, fitting and joining with exactitude; the\nships ahead take up their true proportions, the sea-horizon runs to a\ndefinite hard line. Mast and funnel and spar stand out against the piled\nand shattered fog-bank, whose rear-guard lingers, sinking but slowly and\nsullenly, on the rim of the eastern horizon.\n\nThe fog cleared, and a busy seascape in sight, we shake ourselves\ntogether and take heed of appearances. Our convoy signal hangs damp and\ntwisted on the halyards, and needs to be cleared to blow out for\nrecognition; the mirrored arc-lamp that we turned astern to aid the\ntrumpeter is switched out. With the fog-buoy we are less urgent; it will\nbe time enough to haul it aboard when we are assured the new-born breeze\nis healthy and likely to remain with us. The press of work about the\ndecks has lessened with the hawsers and docking gear stowed away.\nSea-trim is the order now--a war sea-trim, in which the boats, swung\noutboard and ready for instant use, rafts tilted to a launching angle,\nhoses rigged to lead water, and crew at the guns, form a constant\nreminder (if that be needed) of lurking under-water peril. In marked\ncontrast to less exciting days, when we could afford to disregard\nwhatever might go on behind us, we place look-outs to face all ways. The\nenemy may gamble on our occupation with the view ahead, but, with a new\nwar wariness, we have grown eyes to search the sea astern.\n\nIn the clearing weather we become sensitive to the strict and proper\nreading of our sailing orders. There must be no more faults in the\nvoice-tube to let us down from confidence in our right to a sudden\nsense of guilt. We adjust our station in the line by sextant angles of\nthe leader, measuring his height to fractions, and set an ear to the\nnote of our engine-beats to ensure a steady gait.\n\nClearing our motes, we turn a purged and critical eye on our fellows,\nnow all clear of the mist, and steaming in sight. To far astern, where\nthe land lies and the sun plays on wet roof and flashing window-pane, a\nlong line of ships snakes out in procession, their smoke blowing and\ncurling merrily alee to join the cumulus of the foundering fog-banks.\nThere are gaps and kinks in our formation that would, perhaps, call for\nangry signals in a line of battle, but the laggards are closing up in\nhasty order to right the wayward tricks of sound and distance in the\nfog. If not quite ruled and ordered to figures of our text, at least we\nconform to the spirit, and are all at sea together, steering out on our\nventures.\n\nOur distance run, _British Standard_ puts her helm over and turns out.\nForewarned, all eyes have been focused on the line of her masts, and her\nsheer gives signal for a general cut and shuffle. We change partners.\nCurtsying to full rudder pressure, we join the dance, and swing to her\nmeasure, adjusting speed to mark time while other important leaders of\ncolumns draw up abeam. The flat bright sea is cut and curved by\nthrashing wakes as the convoy turns south. Ahead and abeam, round and\nabout, the destroyers wheel and turn, fan in graceful formation and\nswerve quickly on their patrolling courses.\n\nWe are less expert in the figures of our cotillion. It cannot be\npretended that we slip into our convoy stations with anything\napproaching their speed and precision. We are too varied in our types,\nin turning periods, in the range of our dead-weight, to manoeuvre\nalike. Most of us have but a slender margin of speed to draw on, and,\n'all bound the same way,' the spurt to an assigned position proves the\nstern a long chase. The fog, at starting, has thrown many of us out of\nour proper turn, and we zigzag, unofficially, this way and that, to gain\nour stations without reduction of speed. In the confusion to our surface\neyes, there is this consoling thought--that the same perplexing\nevolutions (calling for frequent appeals to the high gods for\nenlightenment as to the 'capers' of the _other_ fellows) have, at least,\nno better meaning in the reflected angles of a periscope.\n\nNow the hum and drone that has puzzled us in the fog reveals itself as\nthe note of a covey of seaplanes searching the waters ahead. They have\ncome out at first sign of a clearing, and now fly low, trimming and\nbanking in their flight like gannets at the fishing. A winking electric\nhelio on one of them spits out a message to the leader of the\ndestroyers, and she flashes answer and acknowledgment as readily as\nthough the seaplane were a sister craft. A huge coastal airship thunders\nout across the land to join our forces. She grows to the eye as though\nexpanding visibly, and noses down to almost masthead height in a sharp\nand steady-governed decline; abeam, she turns broad on, manoeuvring\nwith ease and grace, and the sunlight on her silvered sides glints and\nsparkles purely, as though to shame the motley camouflage of the ships\nbelow.\n\nThe commodore poises the baton as his ship draws up to her station. Till\nnow we have steamed and steered 'in execution of previous orders' and,\nconsidering the dense fog and the press of ships at the anchorage and\npilot-grounds, we have not been idle or neglectful. Now we are in sea\norder, and, with the ships closing up in formation, we attend our senior\nofficer's signals as to course and speed. A string of flags goes up,\nfluttering to the yard of his ship, and we fret at the clumsy fingers\nthat cannot get a similar hoist as quickly to ours. Anon, on all the\nships, a gay setting of flags repeats the message, and we stand by to\ntake measure and sheer of a tricky zigzag, at tap of the baton.\n\nThe line of colour droops and fades quickly to the signalman's\ngathering; the convoy turns and swings into the silver-foil of the\nsun-ray.\n\n[Illustration: INWARD BOUND]\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nTHE NORTH RIVER\n\n\nTHE broad surface of the Hudson is scored by passage of craft of all\ntrades and industries. Tugs and barges crowd the waterway in unending\nsuccession, threading their courses in a maze of harbour traffic;\nhigh-sided ferry-boats surge out from their slips and angle across the\ntide--crab-wise--towards the New Jersey shore; laden ocean steamers hold\nto the deeps of the fairway on their passage to the sea. Up stream and\ndown, back and across, sheering in to the piers and wharves, the harbour\ntraffic seems constantly to be scourged and hurried by the lash of an\nunseen taskmaster. The swift outrunning current adds a movement to the\nbusy plying of the small craft--a hastening sweep to their progress,\nthat suggests a driving power below the yellow tide. The stir of it! The\nthrash of screw and lapping of discoloured water, the shriek of\nimpatient whistle-blasts, the thunder of escaping steam!\n\nAs we approach from seaward, there is need for caution. The railway\ntugmen--who live by claims for damages from ocean steamers--are alert\nand determined that we shall not pass without a suitable parting of\ntheir hawsers, damage to barges, strain to engines and towing\nappliances. Off the Battery, they sidle to us in coy appeal, but we\ncarry bare steerageway. As the pilot says: \"Thar ain't nothin' doin'!\"\nWe disengage their ardent approach, and make a slow progress against the\ntide to our loading-berth. There, we drop in towards the pier-head and\nangle our bows alongside the guarding fenders. A flotilla of panting\ntugboats takes up station on our inshore side and 'punches' into\nus--head on--to shove our stern round against the full pressure of the\nstrong ebb tide. The little vessels seem absurdly small for their task.\nThey 'gittagoin',' as instructed by the pilot, and wake the dockside\nechoes with the strain of their energy. White steam spurts from the\nexhausts with every thrust of their power. The ferry-boats turning in to\ntheir slips come through the run of a combined stern wash that sets them\non the boarding with a heavy impact. Power tells. Our stern wavers, then\nwe commence to bear up-stream in a perceptible measure. The Hudson\nthrows a curl of eddying water to bar our progress, but we pass\nup--marking our progress by the water-side of the west shore. Anon, the\nthunder of the tugs' pulsations eases, then stops: they back away, turn,\nand speed off on a quest for other employment--while we move ahead, out\nof the run of the tide, and make fast at the pier.\n\nOur ship is keenly in demand. The dockers are there, ready with gear and\ntackle to board and commence work. The wharf superintendent hails us\nfrom the dockside before the warps are fast. He is anxious to know the\namount of ballast coal to be shifted from the holds before he can\ncommence loading. \"Toosday morning, capt'n,\" he adds, as reason for his\nanxiety--\"Toosday morning--an' she's gotta go!\" Tuesday, eh! And this is\nSaturday morning! They will have to hustle to do it.\n\n[Illustration: A TRANSPORT LOADING]\n\n'Hustle'--as once he told us--is the superintendent's maiden name.\nAlready the narrow water-space between us and our neighbour is jammed\ntight by laden barges, brought in to await our coming. Billets of steel,\nrough-cast shells, copper ingots, bars of lead and zinc are piled ready\nfor acceptance. The shed on our inshore tide is packed by lighter and\nmore perishable cargo, all standing to hand for shipment. Preparation\nfor our rapid dispatch is manifest and complete. Before the pilot is off\nthe ship with his docket signed, the blocks of our derricks are rattling\nand the stevedores are setting up their gear for an immediate start.\nBarred, on the sea-passage, from communication by wireless, we have been\nunable to give a timely advice of our condition to the dock. The factor\nof the coal to be shifted--till now unknown to them--is the first of\nmany difficulties. We have no cargo to discharge (having crossed in\nballast trim), but--the storms of the North Atlantic calling for a\nweight to make us seaworthy--we have a lading of coal sufficient to\nsteam us back to our home port. This has all to be raised from the holds\nand stowed in the bunker spaces: the holds must be cleaned for\nfood-stuffs: for grain in bulk there is carpenter-work in fitting the\nmidship boards to ensure that our cargo shall not shift. Tuesday morning\nseems absurdly near!\n\nWith a thud and jar to clear the stiffening of a voyage's inaction, our\ndeck winches start in to their long heave that shall only end with the\nclosing of the hatches on a laden cargo. The barges haul alongside at\nthe holds that are ready for stowage and loading begins. The slings of\nheavy billets pass regularly across the deck and disappear into the void\nof the open hatchways. In the swing and steady progression there seems\nan assurance that we shall keep the sailing date, but our energy is\nmeasured by the capacity of the larger holds. In them there is the bulk\nof fuel to be handled. The superintendent concentrates the efforts of\nhis gangs on this main issue: the loading of the smaller compartments is\nonly useful in relieving the congestion of the barges overside.\n\nUnder his direction the coalmen set to work at their hoists and stages\nand soon have the baskets swinging with loads from the open hatchways.\nThe coal thunders down the chutes to the waiting barges, and raises a\nsmother of choking dust. The language of South Italy rings out in the\ndin and clatter. \"Veera, veera,\" roars the stageman (not knowing that he\nis passing an ancient order on a British ship). It is a fine start.\nAntonio and Pasquali and their mates are fresh: they curse and praise\none another alternately and impartially: they seem in a fair way to earn\ntheir tonnage bonus by having the holds cleared before the morning.\n\nIt is almost like an engagement in arms. Good leadership is needed.\nThere are grades and classes in the army of dockers; groups as clearly\nspecialized in their work as the varied units that form an army corps.\nItalian labourers handle the coal; coloured men are employed for the\nheavy and rough cargo work; the Irish are set to fine stowage. There is\nlittle infringement of the others' work. Artillery and infantry are not\nmore set apart in their special duties than the grades of the dockers.\nCertainly there is a rivalry between the coloured men and the Irish--the\nline that divides the cargo is perhaps lightly drawn. \"Hey! You nigger!\nYou gitta hell out o' this,\" says Mike. The coloured man bides his time.\nThe thunder of the winches pauses for an instant--he shouts down the\nhatchway: \"Mike! Ho, Mike!\" An answering bellow sounds from below. \"Ah\nsay, Mike! When yo' gwine back hom' t' fight fo' King Gawge?\"\n\nSunday morning, the 'macaroni' gangs knock off work for a term. The\nholds are cleared, but our fuel has again to be hove up from the barges\nand stowed in the bunkers. That can be done while loading is in\nprogress. Meantime--red-eyed and exhausted--the coalmen troop ashore and\nleave the ship to one solitary hour of Sunday quiet. At seven the\nturmoil of what the superintendent calls a 'fair start' begins.\nOvernight a floating-tower barge for grain elevation has joined the\nwaiting list of our attendant lighters. She warps alongside and turns\nher long-beaked delivery-pipes on board; yellow grain pours through and\nspreads evenly over the floor-space of our gaping holds. Fore and aft we\nbreak into a full measure of activity. The loading of the cargo is not\nour only preparation for the voyage. The fittings of the 'tween-decks,\nthrown about in disorder by the coal-gangs, have to be reconstructed and\nthe decks made ready for troops. Cleaning and refitting operations go on\nin the confusion of cargo work: conflicting interests have to be\nreconciled--the more important issues expedited--the fret of interfering\nactions turned to other channels. At the shore end of the gangways there\nis riot among the workers. Stores and provisions are delivered by the\ntruckmen with an utter disregard for any convenience but their own. The\nnarrow roadway through the shed is blocked and jammed by horse and motor\nwagons that, their load delivered, can find no way of egress. Cargo work\non the quayside comes to a halt for want of service. The dockers roar\nabuse at the truckmen, the truckmen--in intervals of argument with their\nfellows--return the dockers' obloquy with added embellishment. The\n'house-that-Jack-built' situation is cleared by the harassed\npier-foreman. The shed gates are drawn across: outside the waiting\ncharioteers stand by, their line extended to a block on the Twenty-Third\nStreet cars.\n\n\nThe roar and thrust and rattle of the straining winches ceases on Monday\nevening. We are fully stowed: even our double-bottom tanks--intended for\nwater-ballast alone--carry a load of fuel oil to help out the\ndifficulties of transport. The superintendent goes around with his chest\nthrown out and draws our attention to the state of affairs--the ship\ndrawing but eighteen inches short of her maximum draught, and the\n'tween-decks cleared and fitted. \"Fifty-four working hours, capt'n,\" he\nsays proudly. It is no mean work!\n\nThe silence of the ship, after the din and uproar of our busy week-end,\nseems uncanny. The dock is cleared of all our attendant craft, and the\nstill backwater is markedly in contrast to the churned and troubled\nbasin that we had known. From outside the dock a distant subdued murmur\nof traffic on the streets comes to us. Cross-river ferries cant into a\nneighbouring slip, and the glow of their brilliant lights sets a\nreflection on the high facades of the water-front buildings. Overhead,\nthe sky is alight with the warm irradiance of the great city. Ship-life\nhas become quiescent since the seamen bundled and put away their gear\nafter washing decks. Only the dynamos purr steadily, and an occasional\ntattoo on the stokehold plates tells of the firemen on duty to raise\nsteam. In the unfamiliar quiet of the night and absence of movement in\nthe dock there is countenance to a mood of expectancy. It seems\nunreasonable that we should so lie idle after the past days of strenuous\nexertion in preparing for sea. The flood in the North River, dancing\nunder the waterside lights, invites us out to begin the homeward voyage.\nWhy wait?\n\nWe are not yet ready. In our lading we have store of necessities to\ncarry across the sea. Food, munitions and furniture of war, copper,\narms, are packed tightly in the holds: power-fuel for our warships lies\nin our tanks. There is still a further burthen to be embarked--we wait a\ncargo of clear-headed, strong-limbed, young citizens bound east to bear\narms in the Crusade.\n\nThey come after midnight. There are no shouts and hurrahs and\nflag-waving. A high ferry-boat crosses from the west shore and cants\ninto the berth alongside of us. The dock shed, now clear of goods, is\nused for a final muster. Encumbered by their heavy packs, they line out\nto the gangways and march purposely on board. The high-strung mimicry of\njest and light heart that one would have looked for is absent. There is\nno boyish call and counter-call to cloak the tension of the moment.\nStolidly they hitch their burdens to an easier posture, say '_yep_' to\nthe call of their company officer, and embark.\n\nThe troops on board, we lose no time in getting under way. Orders are\ndefinite that we should pass through the booms of the Narrows at\ndaybreak, and join convoy in the Lower Bay with the utmost dispatch. We\nback out into the North River, turn to meet the flood-tide, and steer\npast the high crown of Manhattan.\n\n[Illustration: A CONVOY IN THE ATLANTIC]\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nHOMEWARDS\n\n\nTHE ARGONAUTS\n\nTHE boat guard (one post, section A) stir and grow restive as the hour\nof their relief draws on. Till now they have accepted wet quarters, the\nreeling ship, black dark night with fierce squalls of rain and sleet, as\nall a part of the unalterable purgatory of an oversea voyage. With a\nprospect of an end to two hours' spell of acute discomfort, of hot\n'kawfee,' dry clothes, and a snug warm bunk, their spirits rise, and\nthey show some liveliness. Muffled to the ear-tips in woollens and heavy\nsodden greatcoats, their rifles slung awkwardly across the bulge of\nill-fitting cork life-belts, they shift in lumbering movement from foot\nto foot, or pace--two steps and a turn--between the boat-chocks of their\npost. A thunder of shattering salt spray lashes over from break of a sea\non the foredeck, and they dodge and dive for such poor shelter as the\nwing of the bridge affords.\n\nScraps of their protest to the fates carry to our post in breaks of the\nwind \"Aw, you guys! Say! Wisha was back 'n li'l old N'yok, ringin' th'\ndial 'n a Twanny-Thoid Street car!\" \"Whaddya mean--a Scotch highball?\nGee! I gotta thoist f'r all th' wet we soak!\" \"Bettcha Heinie's goin'a\npay _me_ cents an' dallers f'r this!\" \". . . an' a job claenin' me\nroifle. . . . th' sargint, be damn but, he . . . .\"\n\n\"Cut it! Less talk 'round there!\" orders their duty officer from\nsomewhere in the darkness; the talk ceases, though stamp and bustle of\nexpectant relief persist, and we are recalled to survey and reflection\non the gloom ahead.\n\nMidnight now, and no sign of a change! Anxiously we scan sea and sky for\nhope or a promise--not a token! A squall of driving sleet has passed\nover, and has left the outlook moderately clear, but a quick-rising bank\nof hard clouds in the nor'east threatens another, and a heavier, by the\nlook, soon to follow. A moonless night, not a star shines through the\nsullen upper clouds to mark even a flying break in the lift of it. A\nhopeless turn for midnight, showing no relief, no prospect!\n\nAhead, the dark bulk of our column leader sways and thrashes through the\nspiteful easterly sea, throwing the wash broad out and taking the spray\nhigh over bow and funnel. In turn, we lurch and drive at the same sea\nthat has stirred her, and find it with strength enough to lash over and\nfill the fore-deck abrim. Weighed down forward, we throw our stern high,\nand the mad propeller thrashes in air, jarring every bolt and rivet in\nher. We cant to windward, joggling in an uneasy lurch, then throw\nswiftly on a sudden list that frees the decks of the encumbering water.\nWe ease a pace or two as the propeller finds solid sea to churn, steady,\nthen gather way to meet the next green wall. With it the squall breaks\nand lashes furiously over us, driving the icy slants of hard sleet to\nour face, cutting at our eyes in vicious persistence. Joined to the\nwind-burst, a heavy sea shatters on fore-end of the bridge, and ring of\nthe steel bulkhead sounds in with the crash of broken water that floods\non us.\n\nIn this succession the day and half the night have passed. No 'let-up'\nin the round of it. Furious wind-bursts marking time on the face of a\nsteady gale. Rain--and now sleet. Sleet! Who ever heard of icy sleet in\nNorth Atlantic, this time of the year? Gad! Every cursed thing seems to\nweigh in against us on this voyage! The weather seems in league with the\nenemy to baulk our passage. Every cursed thing! Head winds and heavy\nseas all the way. Fog! These horse transports having to heave-to, and\nforcing the rest of the convoy to head up and mark their damned time!\nAnd now this, just when we were looking for a 'slant' to make the land!\nMaddening!\n\nThe bridge is astir with the change of the watch. A fine job they make\nof it! Like a burst of damned schoolboys! Oilskin-clad clumsy ruffians\nbarging up the ladders, trampling and stumbling in their heavy\nsea-boots, across and about, peering to find their mates! Are they all\nblind? Why can't they arrange set posts for eight bells? Why can't they\nlook where--\"Th' light, damn you! Dowse that light! _Huh!_ Some blasted\nidiot foul of that binnacle-screen again! Th' way things are done on\nthis ship! Egad! Would think we were safe in th' Ship Canal, instead of\ndodging submar----\" A slat of driving spray cuts over and we dip quickly\nunder edge of the weather-screen.\n\nThe second officer arrives to stand his watch, and the Third, who goes\nbelow, is as damnably cheerful and annoying as the other is dour.\n\"North, --ty-four east, th' course. She's turning seven-six just now,\nbut you'll have to reduce shortly--drawing up on our next ahead.\nSeven-three or four sh'd keep her in station. _Neleus_ ahead there, two\ncables. Rotten weather all th' watch. Squalls, my hat! There's another\nbig 'un making up now! Th' Old Man over there--like a bear with a\nsore--raisin' hell 'bout----\"\n\n\"Oh, a--ll right! Needn't make a song and dance of it! North, --ty-four\neast? Right!\" Picking up binoculars, the Second scans the black of it\nahead, as though now definitely set for business.\n\nThe watch is taken over and all seems settled, but the Third is not yet\ncompletely happy. He gloats a while over the Second's gloomy outlook,\nand yawns in that irritating _arpeggio_, the foretaste of a good sound\nsleep. \"Oh, d'ya read in orders 'bout th' zigzag for th' morning\nwatch?--a new stunt, fours and sixes; start in at----\"\n\n\"Oh, g'rr out! How can a man keep a watch, you chewin' th' rag? Yes,\nI--read--the orders!\" _S-snap!_\n\n\"_Huh!_ A pair of them!\" It comes to us that something will have to be\nsaid about the way the damned bridge is relieved in this ship!\n\nInto the chart-room, to fumble awkwardly for light ('_T'tt!_ That switch\nout of order again!') and search for a portent in the jeering glassy\nface of the aneroid. _Tip, tip, whap!_ The cursed thing is falling\nstill. 'Twenty-nine owe two--half an inch since ten o'clock! Whatever\ncan be behind all this? That damn glass was never right, anyway!'\n\n[Illustration: THE BOWS OF THE _KASHMIR_ DAMAGED BY COLLISION]\n\nDrumming of the wireless-cabin telephone sounds out, and we listen to a\nbrief account of Poldhu's war warning. An S.O.S. has been heard, but a\nshore station has accepted it. (They can identify the ship--might be the\nharping of a Fritz.) There is a long code message through, and the\nquartermaster brings it--a jumble of helplessly ugly consonants that\nlooks as though the German Fleet, at last, is out--but resolves (after a\nwearisome cryptic wrestle) to back-chat that has little of interest for\nus. Poldhu has the reports of the day--mines and derelicts, wreckage,\nthe patrols, and enemy submarines in the channels. Chart work for a\nwhile. The wrecks and the derelicts are figured and placed, and we dally\nwith the subs, plotting and measuring to find a clue to their movements.\n'Fifteen hours at six, and ten to come or go! _Mmm!_ That 'll be the\nsame swine working to the nor'east. Hope he makes a good course into the\nminefield! This one is solo--and that! A ghastly bunch, anyway!' We\nproject a line of our course, but hesitate at position. 'Not one decent\nobservation in the last three days. Only a muggy guess at a horizon.\nDead-reckoning? Of course, there is our dead-reckoning, but--but--wonder\nwhere the commodore got his position from? Must have added on th' day of\nth' month, or fingers and toes or something! Damned if we can see how,\nat twelve knots, we could be where----'\n\nThe outspread chart, glaring white under the electric light, with a maze\nof heights and soundings, grows strangely indistinct, and it calls for\nan effort to set the counts and figures in their places. We realize that\nwandering thought and a warm chart-room are not the combination for\nwakefulness. So, on deck again, to steady up at the doorway and wonder\nwhy the night has become suddenly as hellish black as the pit!\n\nThe second officer has found his composure at the bottom of a cup of\nsteaming coffee, and seems mildly astonished that we are unable to pick\nup _Neleus_ in the darkness ahead. \"Quite plain, sir, when these squalls\npass. A bit murky while they blow over, but--see her clear enough, sir.\nReduced two revolutions, and keeping good station on her at that!\"\nSomewhat slowly (for we have been afoot since six yesterday morning) our\neyes focus to the gloom and line out the sea and sky in their shaded\nproportions. _Neleus_ grows out of the sombre opacous curtain--a\ndefinite guide with the sea breaking white in her wake. Dark patches of\nsmoke-wrack, around and about, mark bearings on the sea-line where our\nsisters of the convoy are forging through. The next astern has dropped\nbadly in cleaning fires, and is now throwing a whirl of green smoke in\nthe effort to regain her station. The sea seems to have lessened since\nlast we viewed it. Our hot coffee may have had effect in producing a\nmore impressionable frame of mind, but certainly the weather is no\nworse. The rain and sleet have beaten out a measure of the toppling\nsea-crests. We see the forecastle-head, black and upstanding, for longer\nperiods, and only broken spray flies over, where, but a little ago, were\ngreen whelming seas. A sign of modest content comes from the boat-deck,\nwhere the guards are humming, \"_Over there, over there, over there! Th'\nYanks are coming!_\"\n\nThe duty officer (troops) comes to us to pass the time of the morning.\nHe salutes with punctilio. (He has not yet learned that we are only a\ndamn civilian, camouflaged, and not entitled to such respect.) It is\nreported to him that one of the ship's boats had been badly damaged by a\nsea during the night. \"In event of--of an accident, is it in orders that\nthe troops allocated [his word] to that boat shall not go in any other?\"\n\nGood lad! For all that darkness and the gale, he looks very fine and\nbold, standing stiffly, if somewhat unsteadily, demanding detail of the\nBirkenhead Drill! We assure him that there will be no immediate need for\nregrouping the men, that measures have already been taken to repair the\ndamaged planking, that half an hour of daylight will serve us--and turn\nthe talk to less disquieting affairs. He is very keen. Till now he has\nnever been farther out to sea than the Iron Steamboat Company would take\nhim--to Coney Island or the more subdued delights of the Hook. A\nNew-Yorker, he tempers quite natural vaunts to be the more in keeping\nwith the great and impending trial that awaits. For all that, he is\ngravely concerned that we should recognize his men as good and\ntrue--\"the best ever, yessa!\" With a good experience of their conduct,\nunder trying conditions, we assent.\n\n\". . . They kin number us up all they wanna, but we're the--th N' Yok\nNational Guard--a right good team! Down there on th' Mexican barder, we\nsure got trimmed, good and planny! Hot! My! Saay, cap'n, I guess-- Ah\nwell, a' course you've been through some heat, too--but it was sure some\nwarm hell down there! Yes--sir!\" A bright lad!\n\nHis words recall to us a windy afternoon on Fifth Avenue, in the days\nwhen our Uncle Sam was dispassionate and neutral. Flags whipping noisily\nin the high breeze, the crowds, the bands, and the long khaki column in\nfours winding towards the North River ferries to embark for Mexico, on a\ntask that called for inhuman restraint. Newsboys were shouting aloud the\nperil of Verdun, and the thought came to us then--\"Will that stream of\nmanhood ever march east?\" And now, under our feet and in our charge,\nfourteen hundred--\"the best ever, yessa!\"--are bound east by every\nthrust of the screw, and out on the heaving waste of water around us are\nfifteen thousand more; and the source is sure, and the stream, as yet,\nis but trickling.\n\n\nON OCEAN PASSAGE\n\nTHE weather has certainly moderated. In but an hour the sea has gone\ndown considerably. There is no longer height enough in the tumble of it\nto throw us about like a Deal lugger. We steam on a more even keel; the\njar and racket of the racing propeller has altered to a steady rhythmic\npulse-beat that thrusts our length steadily through the water. At times\nthe rain lashes over and shuts out sight of our neighbours, but we have\nopportunity to regulate our station in the lengthening intervals between\nthe squalls. Improvement in the wind and sea has brought our somewhat\nscattered fleet into better and closer order. The rear horse-transports\nhave come up astern and seem to have got over the steering difficulties\nthat their high topsides and small rudder-immersion effected in the\nheavier sea. Only the barometer shows no inclination to move, in keeping\nwith the better conditions--the rain, perhaps, is keeping the mercury\nlow.\n\nIt seems plain sailing for a while. The Second can look out for her; no\nuse having too many good men on the bridge. We are only in the way out\nhere, stamping and turning on the wet foot-spars, or throwing bowlines\nin the 'dodger' stops to pass the night. Four bells--two a.m.--the time\ngoes slowly! We are somewhat footsore. Perhaps, sea-boots off, a seat\nfor a minute or two in the chart-room may ease our limbs for the long\nday that lies before us.\n\nA long day, and the best part of another long day before we reach port!\nA wearisome stretch of it! We ought to have some system of relief. Why\nnot? Why not take a relief? The chief officer is as good a man as the\nmaster. Why not let him run the bus for a spell? Oh, just--just--just a\nrotten way we have of doing! In the Navy they make no bones about\nturning over to their juniors; why should we make it so hard for our--\n\"_Says it is hazy, sir! Told me to let you know he hasn't seen any of\nthe ships for over an hour!_\"\n\nWhatever is the man talking about! \"_Ships?_\" What ships? \"_An hour?_\"\n\nThe quartermaster, in storm-rig of dripping oilskin, stands sheepish in\nthe doorway. \"Aff-past-three, sir,\" he says.\n\n\"_Htt!_\" In drowsy mood we don oilskin and sea-boots. Overhead the rain\nis drumming, heavy and persistent, on the deck. A glance at the\nbarometer shows an upward spring. _Tip, tip, tip_--a good glass, that!\nWell-balanced! The Second is apologetic, almost as though his was the\nhand that had accidentally turned the tap. \"Been like this for over an\nhour, sir! Was always hoping it would pass off, but there has been no\nsign of clearing. Would have called you sooner, but thought it would\nlift. I've kept her steady at average revolutions for the last eight\nhours' run--seven-three. Haven't seen a thing since shortly after you\nwent below.\" A query brings answer that the fog-buoy has been streamed\nand gun's crew cautioned to a sharp look-out astern. Not that there is\ngreat need; our sailing experience has been that A---- will drop astern\nwhen 'the gas is turned down!'\n\nThe wind has fallen and has hauled to south. It is black dark, with a\nheavy continuous downpour of rain. The air is milder, and the sea around\nhas a glow of luminous milky patches. So, it is to be southerly\nweatherly for making the land! It might be worse! At least, this thrash\nof heavy rain will 'batten hatches' on a rise of the sea, and make a\ngood parade-ground for our destroyer escort when they join company. We\nshould be able to shove along at better speed when daylight comes. The\nmist or the haze or whatever combination it may be, is puzzling. From\nthe outlook it is not easy to gauge the range of our vision. Near us the\nwash from our bows is sharply defined by phosphorescence in the broken\nwater, a white scum churns and curls alongside, brightening suddenly in\npatches as though our passage had set spark to the fringe. Outboard the\nopen sea merges away into the gloomy sky with no horizon, no ruling of a\ndivision. We seem to be steaming into a vertical face of vapour. There\nis no sound from the ships around us, not a light glimmers in the\ndarkness. The eerie atmosphere through which we pass has effect on the\nnight-life of the ship. On deck there is an inclination to move quietly,\nto preserve a silence in keeping with the weird spell that seems to\nenviron us. There is no longer chatter and small talk among the duty\ntroops; they sit about, huddled in glistening _ponchos_, peering out at\nthe ghostly glow on the water. From far down in the bowels of the ship\nthe rattle of a stoker's shovel on the plates rings out in startling\nclamour, and rouses an instant desire to suppress the jarring note. It\nseems impossible that there can be ships in our company--vessels moving\nwith us through mystic seas. We peer around, on all the bearings, but\nsee nothing on our encircling wall. Smell? We nose at the air, seeking a\nwaft of coal-smoke, but the rain is beating straight down, basting the\nfunnel-wraiths on the flat of the sea.\n\nAn average of eight hours' steaming, seven-three revolutions, may be no\ngood guide, considering the racing and the plunging we have gone\nthrough. In proper station we ought to see the loom of _Neleus_ ahead,\nor, at least, the wash of her fog-buoy. It is important that we should\nbe in good touch at daybreak. We go full speed for a turn or two and\npost an officer in the bows to scan for our leader.\n\nNew and vexing problems come at us as time draws on. We are due to start\na zigzag, 'in execution of previous orders,' before the day breaks. We\nsee a royal 'hurrah's nest'--a rough house--before us if we lay off\nwithout a proper sight of our fellows. So far there has come no negative\nto our orders; we are somewhat concerned. A message cannot have been\nmissed, surely! \"Nothing through yet, sir,\" is the wakeful assurance\nfrom the wireless operator. \"X's fierce with this rain, but should get\nany near message all right.\"\n\nAt eight bells we come in sight of one unit of the convoy. She shows\nup, broad off on our lee bow, in a position we had hardly looked for.\nThere is little to see. A darkling patch, a blurred shadow, in the face\nof sea and sky, with a luminous curl of broken water astern. We cannot\nidentify her in the darkness; flashing signals are barred in the\nsubmarine areas; we must wait daylight for recognition. She should be\n_Neleus_, but a hair-line on our steering-card may have brought us to\nthe leader of the outside column. In any case we are in touch, and it is\nwith some relief we ease speed to a close approximation of hers. Anon,\nour anxiety about the zigzag is dispelled by a message from the\ncommodore, cancelling former orders. He has sat tight on it to nearly\nthe last minute, hoping for a clearance.\n\n[Illustration: THE MAYFLOWER QUAY, THE BARBICAN, PLYMOUTH]\n\nWith the coming of the chief officer's watch we feel that the 'day' is\nbeginning. Twelve to four are unholy hours that belong to no proper\norder of our reckoning. They are past the night, and have no kinship\nwith the day: bitter, tedious, helpless spaces of time that ought only\nto be passed in slumber and oblivion. By five, and the lift greying,\nthere is something in the movement about the decks that suggests an\nawakening of the ship to busy life and action, after the sullen torpor\nof an uneasy night. The troop 'fatigue men' turn out to their duties,\nand traffic to the cooking-galleys goes on, even under the unceasing\ndownpour that falls on us. The guard get busy on their rounds,\nchallenging the men as they step out of the companionways, to show their\nlife-belts in order and properly adjusted. Complaint and discussion are\nfrequent, but the guard are firm in their insistence. \"I should worry!\"\nis the strange request, appeal, exhortation, demand, reply, aside, that\npunctuates each meeting on the decks below. In nowise influenced by the\nsinister import of the questioning, the duty troops on the boat-deck\nwaken up. The spirit of matutinal expression descends on them, despite\nthe rain, and they whistle cheerful 'harmonic discords,' till barked to\nsilence by Sergeant 'Jawn.'\n\nThe watch on deck trail hoses and deck-scrubbers from the racks and set\nabout preparations for washing down, bent earnestly on their standard\nrites though the heavens fall! The carpenter and his mate are assembling\ntheir gear and tools, awaiting better daylight to get on with their\nrepairs to the damaged lifeboats. On the bridge we seem congested. Extra\n'day' look-outs obstruct our confined gangways and the bulk of their\nweather harness, plus life-belts and megaphones, restricts a ready\nmovement. In preparation for busy daylight, the signalmen put out their\nbunting on the lettered hooks, and ease off the halyards that are set\n'bar-tight' by the soaking rain. There is, withal, an air of freshness\nin the morning bustle that comes in company with the dawn.\n\nWith gloom sufficient for our signal needs (and light enough for\nprotection) we flash a message to our consort. She is _Neleus_, and\nanswers that she has other vessels of the convoy in sight to leeward. We\nsheer into our proper position astern of her and find the outer column\nshowing through the mist in good station. On our report that we had no\nothers in sight, _Neleus_ alters course perceptibly to converge on the\ncommodore, and daylight coming in finds us steaming in misty but visible\ntouch with the other columns. The horse transports have dropped astern,\nand one is bellowing for position. She gets a word or two on the\n'buzzer,' comes ahead, and lets go the whistle lanyard.\n\nIf commodore's reckoning is right, we should now be on the destroyer\nrendezvous, but our wireless operator, who has been listening to the\ntwitter of the birds, assures us that they are yet some distance off. We\nhope for a clearing to enable them to meet us without undue search; it\nwill not be a simple matter to join company in the prevailing weather\nconditions, particularly as we are working on four days of\ndead-reckoning. By seven o'clock there is no sign of the small craft,\nand we note our ocean escort closing in to engage the commodore with\nsignals. The rain lessens and turns to a deep Scotch mist, our range of\nvision is narrowed to a length or two. Anon, our advance guardship sets\nher syren sounding dismal wails at long intervals, as she swings over\nfrom wing to wing of the convoy.\n\nBy what mysterious channel does information get about a ship? Is there a\nvoice in the aerials? Are ears tuned to the many-tongued whisperings of\nrivet and shell-plate, that all hands have an inkling of events? The\nrendezvous is an official secret; the coming of the destroyers is\nsupposedly unknown to all but the master, the navigators, and the\nwireless operator, but it is not difficult to see a knowing expectancy\nin the ranks of our company. Despite the wet and clammy mist, ignoring\nthe dry comforts of the ''tween-decks,' the troops crowd the upper\npassages and hang long over the rails and bulwarks, pointing and\nshouting surmise and conjecture to their mates. The crew are equally\nsensitive. Never were engine-room and stokehold ventilators so\ntirelessly trimmed to the wind. At frequent intervals, one or other of\nthe grimy firemen ascends to the upper gratings, cranks the cowls an\ninch or two this way or that, then stands around peering out through the\nmist for first sight of a welcome addition to our numbers. The official\nship look-outs are infected by a new keenness, and every vagary in the\nwind that exposes a glimpse of our neighbours is greeted by instant\nhails from the crow's nest.\n\nEight bells again! The watch is changed and, with new faces on the\nbridge, the length of our long spell is painfully recalled. With\nsomething of envy we note the posts relieved and the men gone below to\ntheir hours of rest. \"What a life!\" The wail of the guardship's syren\nfits in to our mood--_Wh-o-o-owe!_\n\nQuick on the dying note a new syren throws out a powerful reedy blast,\nsounding from astern. Thus far on the voyage, with fog so long our\nportion, we have come to know the exact whistle-notes of our neighbours,\ndown to the cough and steam splutter of the older ships. This is new--a\nstranger--a musical chime that recalls the powerful tug-boats on the\nHudson. Our New-Yorker troops are quick to recognize the homely note.\n\"Aw! Saay!\" is the chorus. \"Lissen! Th' _Robert E. Lee_!\"\n\nThe rear ships of the convoy now give tongue--a medley of confused\nreverberations. No reply comes to their tumult, but a line of American\ndestroyers emerges from the mist astern and steams swiftly between the\ncentre columns. There is still a long swell on the sea and they lie over\nto it, showing a broad strake of composition. They are bedizened in\ngaudy dazzle schemes, and the mist adds to the weird effect. The Stars\nand Stripes flies at each peak, standing out, board-like, from the speed\nof their carriers. As they pass, in line ahead, a wild tumult of\nenthusiasm breaks out among the troops. They join in a full-voiced\nanthem, carried on from ship to ship, \"The Star-spangled Banner!\"\n\n\n'ONE LIGHT ON ALL FACES'\n\nA SLIGHT lift in the mist, edging from sou'west in a freshening of the\nwind, extends our horizon to include all ships of the convoy. With this\nmodest clearing, the shield of vapour that has cloaked us from\nobservation since early morning is withdrawn. Although still hazy, there\nis sight enough for torpedo range through a periscope, and the\nlong-delayed zigzag is signalled by the commodore.\n\nThere is no time lost in settling to the crazy courses. At rise of the\nmist we are steaming through the flat grey sea in parallel columns, our\nlines ruled for us by the wakes of our leaders. The contrasts of build\nand tonnage, the variegations of our camouflage, are dulled to a drab\nuniformity by the lingering mist, and we make a formal set-piece in the\nseascape, spaced and ordered and defined. The angle of the zigzag\ndisturbs our symmetry. As one movement, on the tick of time, we swing\nover into an apparent confusion, like the flush of a startled covey. We\nmake a pattern on the smooth sea with our stern wash. Wave counters wave\nand sets up a running break on the surface that draws the eye by its\nsimilarity to a sheering periscope; not for the first time we turn our\nglasses on the ripples, and scan the spurt of broken water in\napprehension.\n\nOur escort is now joined by British sloops returning from their deep-sea\npatrols. The faster American destroyers spur out on the wings and far\nahead, leaving the less active warships to trudge and turn in rear of\nthe convoy. With our new additions, ship by ship steering to the east,\nwe make a formidable international gathering on the high seas, a\npowerful fleet bringing the Pilgrim sons back over the weary sea-route\nof their fathers' _Mayflower_!\n\nHaving far-flung scouts to safeguard our passage, there seems no reason\nfor concern about our navigation, but the habits of a sea-routine urge\nus to establish a position--to right the uncertainty of four days'\ndead-reckoning. The mist still hangs persistently about us, but there is\na prospect that the sun may break through. The strength of the wind\nkeeps the upper vapours moving, but ever there are new banks to close up\nwhere a glimpse of clear vision shows a 'pocket' in the clouds. The\nwestering sun brightens the lift and plays hide-and-seek behind the\nfilmy strata. Time and again we stand by for an observation, but, should\na nebulous limb of the sun shine through, the horizon is obscured--when\nthe sea-line clears to a passable mark, the sun has gone! A vexing round\nof trial after trial! We put away the sextant, vowing that no\ntantalizing promise shall tempt us. \"Bother the sun! 'We should worry!'\nWe have got an approximation by soundings, we can do without--we-- _Look\nout, there!_\"--we are hurrying for the instrument again and tapping\n'stand by' to the marksman at the chronometer!\n\nAt length a useful combination of a clean lower limb and a definite\nhorizon gives opportunity for contact, and it is with a measure of\nsatisfaction we figure the result on the chart, and work back to earlier\nsoundings for a clue to the latitude. Busied with pencil and dividers,\nour findings are disturbed by gunfire--the whine of a slow-travelling\nshell is stifled by a dull explosion that jars the ship!\n\nOn deck again; the men on the bridge have eyes turned to the inner\ncolumn. The rearmost transport of that line has a high upheaval of\ndebris and broken water suspended over her; it settles as we watch, and\nleaves only a wreath of lingering dust over the after part of the ship;\nshe falls out of line, listing heavily; puffs of steam on her whistle\npreface the signal-blasts that indicate the direction from which the\nblow was struck. From a point astern of us a ruled line of disturbed\nwater extends to the torpedoed ship--the settling wake of the missile!\nThe smack and whine of our bomb-thrower speaks out a second time, joined\nby other vessels opening fire.\n\nEvents have brought our ship's company quickly to their stations. The\nchief officer stands, step on the ladder, awaiting orders. \"Right! Lay\naft! Cease fire, unless you have a sure target! Look out for the\ndestroyers blanking the range!\" He runs along, struggling through the\nmass of troops. The men are strangely quiet; perhaps the steady beat of\nour engines measures out assurance to them--as it does to us. Their\nwhite-haired colonel has come to the bridge, and stands about quietly.\nOther officers are pushing along to their stations. There is not more\nthan subdued and controlled excitement in a low murmur. The men below\ncrowd up the companionways from the troop-decks. In group and mass, the\nship seems packed to overflowing by a drab khaki swarm; the light on all\nfaces turned on the one cant, arms pointing in one direction, rouses a\nhaunting disquiet. However gallant and high of heart, they are standing\non unfamiliar ground--at sea, in a ship, caged! If--\n\nTwo destroyers converge on us at frantic speed, tearing through the flat\nsea with a froth in their teeth. As the nearest thunders past, her\ncommander yells a message through his megaphone. We cannot understand.\nBusied with manoeuvres of the convoy, with the commodore's signal for\na four-point turn, we miss the hail, and can only take the swing and\nwave of his arms as a signal to get ahead--\"Go full speed!\" The jangle\nof the telegraph is still sounding, when we reel to a violent shock. The\nship lists heavily, every plate and frame of her ringing out in clamour\nwith the impact of a vicious sudden blow. She vibrates in passionate\nconvulsion on recovery, masts oscillate like the spring of a\nwhip-shaft, the rigging jars and rattles at the bolts, a crash of broken\nglass showers from the bridge to the deck below!\n\nThe murmur among the troops swells to a higher note, there is a crowding\nmass-movement towards the boats. The guard is turned to face inboard.\nThe colonel is impassive; only his eyes wander over the restless men and\nnote the post of his officers. He turns towards us, inquiringly. What is\nit to be? His orderly bugler is standing by with arm crooked and trumpet\nhalf raised.\n\nOur lips are framing an order, when a second thundering shock jars the\nship, not less in violence and shattering impact than the first. A high\nhurtling column of water shoots up skyward close astern of the ship. We\nsuppress the order that is all but spoken, stifle the words in our\nthroat. We are not torpedoed! Depth-charges! The destroyers' work! At a\nsign, the bugler sounds out \"_Still!_\" and slowly the tumult on deck is\narrested.\n\nThe commodore's _half-right_ has been instantly acted on, and we are\nsteadied on a new course, bearing away at full speed, with the torpedoed\nhorse transport and the racing, circling destroyers astern. Suddenly our\nbows begin to swing off to port, falling over towards the outer column.\nThe helmsman has the wheel hard over against the sheer; we realize that\nour steering-gear has gone; the second depth-charge has put us out of\ncontrol. We swing on the curve of a gathering impetus--it is evident\nthat the rudder is held to port; converging on us at full speed, the\nrear ship of the outer column steams into the arc of our disorder!\n\nThe signalman is instant with his 'not under command' hoist, the crew\nare scattered to throw in emergency gear, but there is no time to arrest\nthe sheer. The first impulse is to stop and go astern. If we arrest the\nway of the ship, a collision is inevitably assured, but the impact may\nbe lessened to a side boarding, to damage that would not be vital; if we\nswing as now, we may clear--our eye insists we should clear. If our\ntired eyes prove false, if the strain of a long look-out has dulled\nperception, our stem will go clean into her--we shall cut her down!\nReason and impulse make a riot of our brain. The instinct to haul back\non the reins, to go full astern on the engines, is maddening. Our hand\ncurves over the brass hood of the telegraph, fingers tighten vice-like\non the lever; with every nerve in tension, we fight the insane desire to\nring up and end the torturing conflict in our mind!\n\nA confusion of minor issues comes crowding for settlement, small stabs\nto jar and goad in their trifling. There is a call to carry on\nside-actions. Every bell on the bridge clamours for attention. The\nengine-room rings up, the chief officer telephones from aft that the\nstarboard chain has parted, the rudder jammed hard to port. From the\nupper spars, the signalman calls out a message from an approaching\ndestroyer--\"What is the matter? Are you torpedoed?\" Through all, we\nswing out--swiftly, inexorably!\n\nTroops and look-outs scurry off the forecastle-head, in anticipation of\na wrecking blow. On the other ship, there is outcry and excitement. She\nhas altered course and her stern throws round towards us, further\nencroaching on the arc of our manoeuvre. So near we are, we look\nalmost into the eyes of her captain as we head for the bridge. Troops,\nthe boat-guard, are scrambling aboard from the out-swung lifeboats,\ntheir rifles held high. On her gun-platform the gunners slam open their\nbreech, withdraw the charge, and hurry forward to join the mass of men\namidships. All eyes are centred on the narrowing space of clear water\nthat separates us, on our high sheering stem that cuts through her\nout-flung side-wash.\n\nStrangely the movement seems to be all in our sweeping bow. The other\nvessel appears stationary, inert--set motionless against the flat\nbackground of misty cloud; our swinging head passes point upon point of\nthe chequered camouflage on her broadside; subconsciously we mark the\ncolours of her scheme--red and green and grey. We clear her line of\nboats, and sway through the length of her after-deck--waver at the\nstern-house, then cover the grey mounting of her gun-emplacement. In\ninches we measure the rails and stanchions on her quarter, as our\nupstanding bow drives on. Tensely expectant, our mind trembles on the\ncrash that seems inevitable.\n\nIt does not come. Our eye was right--we clear her counter! With some\nfathoms to spare we sheer over the thrash of her propellers, the horizon\nruns a line across our stem, we have clear yielding blue water under the\nbows!\n\nThe illusion of our sole movement is reversed as the mass of the other\nvessel bears away from us. The unbroken sea-line offers no further mark\nto judge our swing; we seem to have become suddenly as immobile as a\npier-head, while our neighbour starts from our forefoot in an apparent\noutrush, closing and opening the line of her masts and funnels like\nshutting and throwing wide the panels of a door.\n\nWith no indecision now we pull the lever over hood of the telegraph. One\ncase is cleared; there still remains the peril of the lurking submarine.\nThe destroyers are busy on the chase, manoeuvring at utmost speed and\nexploding depth-charges in the area. We are now some distance from them\nbut the crash of their explosion sends an under-running shock to us\nstill. Our sheer has brought us broadside on to the position from which\nthe enemy loosed off his torpedo. At full astern we bring up and swing\nover towards the receding convoy. If we are barred from carrying on a\nzigzag by the mishap to our helm, we can still put a crazy gait on her\nby using the engines. Backing and coming ahead, we make little progress,\nbut at least we present no sitting target.\n\nReports come through from aft that the broken chain, springing from a\nfractured link, has jammed hard under the quadrant; the engineers are at\nwork, jacking up to release the links; they will be cleared in ten\nminutes! The chief asks for the engines to be stopped; sternway is\nputting purchase on the binding pressure of the rudder. Reluctantly we\nbring up and lie-to. In no mood to advertise our distress, we lower the\n'not under command' signals, and summon what patience may be left to us\nto await completion of repairs.\n\nA long 'ten minutes!' Every second's tick seems fraught with a new\nanxiety. Fearfully we scan the sea around, probing the line of each\nchance ripple for sight of an upstanding pin-point. Anon, steam pressure\nrises and thunders through the exhaust, throwing a battery of spurting\nwhite vapour to the sky, and letting even the sea-birds know we are\ncrippled and helpless.\n\nThe torpedoed ship still floats, though with a dangerous list and her\nstern low in the water. A sloop is taking her in tow, and we gather\nassurance of her state in the transport's boats still hanging from the\ndavits; they have not abandoned. She falters at the end of the long\ntow-rope and sheers wildly in the wake of her salvor. The convoy has\nvanished into the grey of the east, and only a lingering smoke-wreath\nmarks the bearing where they have entered the mist. The sun has gone,\nleaving but little afterglow to lengthen twilight; it will soon be dark.\nApparently satisfied with their work the destroyers cease fire; whether\nthere is oil on their troubled waters we cannot see. They linger a\nwhile, turning, then go on in the wake of the convoy. One turns north\ntowards us, with a busy windmiller of a signalman a-top the\nbridge-house. \"_What is the matter? Do you wish to be towed?_\" We\nexplain our case, and receive an answer that she will stand by, \"_but\nuse utmost dispatch effect repair_.\"\n\n'Use utmost dispatch'! With every minute, as the time passes, goes our\nchance of regaining our station in the convoy; we are in ill content to\nlinger! We have a liking for our chief engineer--a respect, an\nadmiration--but never such a love as when he comes to the bridge-ladder,\ngrimy, and handling his scrap of waste. \"They're coupling up now! A job\nwe had! Chain jammed and packed under th' quadrant, like it had been set\nby a hydraulic ram! If that one landed near Fritz, he'll trouble us no\nmore!\"\n\n[Illustration: EVENING: THE MERSEY FROM THE LANDING-STAGE]\n\nWith the engines turning merrily, and helm governance under our hand, we\nregain composure. Our task is yet none too easy. Even at our utmost\nspeed we cannot now rejoin the convoy before nightfall; snaking through\nthe ships in the dark to take up station offers another harassing night\nout! Still, it might be worse--much worse! We think of the torpedoed\nship towing so slowly abeam--of the khaki swarm on our decks, 'the\nlight on all faces turned on one cant.' Surely our luck is in! The\ninfection of the measured beat in our progress recalls a job unfinished;\nwe step into the chart-room and take up pencil and dividers.\n\n[Illustration: THE STEERSMAN]\n\n[Illustration: THE WORK OF A TORPEDO]\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\n'DELIVERING THE GOODS'\n\n\nOCTOBER on the Mersey is properly a month of hazy autumn weather, but\nthe few clear days seem to gain an added brilliance from their rarity,\nand present the wide estuary in a vivid, clear-cut definition. The\ndistant hills of North Wales draw nearer to the city, and stand over the\nslated roofs of the Cheshire shore as though their bases were set in the\npeninsula. Seaward the channel buoys and the nearer lightships are\nsharply distinct, cutting the distant sea-line like the topmast spars of\nships hull down. Every ripple and swirl of the tide is exaggerated by\nthe lens of a rare atmosphere; the bow wash of incoming vessels is\nthrown upward as by mirage.\n\n[Illustration: TRANSPORTS DISCHARGING IN LIVERPOOL DOCKS]\n\nOn such a day a convoy bears in from the sea, rounding the lightships\nunder columns of drifting smoke. Heading the merchantmen, the destroyers\nand sloops of the escort steam quickly between the channel buoys and\npass in by New Brighton at a clip that shows their eagerness to complete\nthe voyage. A sloop detaches from the flotilla and rounds-to off the\nlanding-stage. Her decks are crowded by men not of her crew. Merchant\nseamen are grouped together at the stern, and a small body of Uncle\nSam's coloured troops line the bulwarks in attitudes of ease and\ncomfort. They are a happy crowd, and roar jest and catchword to the\npassengers on the crossing ferries. The merchantmen are less boisterous.\nThey watch the preparations of the bluejackets for mooring at the stage\nwith a detached professional interest; some of them gaze out to the\nnor'ard where the transports of the convoy are approaching. Doubtless\ntheir thoughts are with the one ship missing in the fleet--their ship.\nThe sloop hauls alongside the stage and a gangway is passed aboard.\nNaval transport officers and a major of the U.S. Army staff are waiting,\nand engage the commander of the man-of-war in short conversation. The\nmen are disembarked and stand about in straggling groups. There is\nlittle to be said by the sloop's commander. \"A horse transport torpedoed\nyesterday. No! No losses. Tried to tow her for a bit, but had to cast\noff. She went down by the stern.\"\n\nThe trooper horse-tenders are marshalled in some order and pass over to\nthe waiting-rooms under charge of the American officer. With a word or\ntwo and a firm handshake to the sloop's commander, the master of the\ntorpedoed ship comes ashore and joins his men. No word of command! He\njerks his head in the direction of the Liver Buildings and strides off.\nThe seamen pick up their few bundles of sodden clothing and make after\nhim, walking in independent and disordered groups. As they straggle\nalong the planking of the stage, a military band--in full array--comes\nmarching down from the street-way. They step out in fine swing, carrying\ntheir glittering brasses. \"Here, Bill,\" says one of the seamen, hitching\nhis shoulder towards the burdened drummers, \"who said we was too late\nfor th' music!\"\n\nThe transports have come into the river. Every passing tug and\nferry-boat gives _rrr--oot_ on her steam-whistle to welcome them as they\nround-to off the docks and landing-stage. Loud bursts of cheer and\nanswering cheer sound over the water. The wide river, so lately clear of\nshipping, seems now narrowed to the breadth of a canal by the huge\nproportions of the liners bringing up in the tideway. The bizarre\nstripes and curves and the contrasted colours of their dazzle schemes\nstand out oddly against the background of the Cheshire shore. It is not\neasy to disentangle the lines of the ships in the massed grouping of\nfunnel and spar and high topsides. They are merged into a bewildering\ncomposition with only the mastheads and the flags flying at the trucks\nto guide the eye in attempting a count. Fifteen large ships, brimming at\nthe bulwarks with a packed mass of troops, all at a deep draught that\nmarks their load below decks of food and stores and munitions.\n\nThe landing-stage becomes rapidly crowded by disembarkation officers and\ntheir staffs. Transport wagons and cars arrive at the south end and run\nquietly on the smooth boarding to their allotted stands. A medical unit,\ngagged with fearsome disinfectant pads, musters outside their temporary\nquarters. Most prominent of all, tall men in their silver and blue, a\nsergeant and two constables of the City police stand by--the official\nembodiment of law and order.\n\nA flag is posted by the stage-men at the north end, and its flutter\ncalls an answering whistle-blast from the nearest transport. Steadily\nshe disengages from the press of ships and closes in towards the shore.\nThe tugs guiding her sheer strain at the hawsers and lie over in a cant\nthat shows the tremendous weight of their charge. A row-boat dances in\nthe wash of their screws as it is backed in to the liner's bows to pass\na hawser to the stage. Sharp, short blasts indicate the pilot's orders\nfrom the bridge: the stage-master keeps up a commentary on the\nmanoeuvres through a huge megaphone. Stir and bustle and high-spirited\nmovement! The troops that pack the liner's inshore rails give tongue to\nexcited gaiety. A milkgirl (slouch hat, trousers and gaiters complete)\npasses along the stage on her way to the restaurant and is greeted with\nacclaim, \"Thatta gel--thatta goil--oh, you kid!\" The policemen come in\nfor it: \"Aw, say! Looka th' guys 'n tha lodge trimmings. What's th'\nsecret sign, anyway!\" An embarrassed and red-faced junior of the\nTransport Service is forced to tip it and accept three cheers for \"th'\nBrissh Navy!\"\n\nThe opening bars of 'The Star-spangled Banner' brings an instant stop to\ntheir clamour. The troops spring to attention in a way that we had not\nobserved before in their own land. The spirit of patriotism, pronounced\nin war! 'God Save the King' keeps them still at attention. As strong as\nwar and patriotism--the spirit of a new brotherhood in arms!\n\nThe transport makes fast and high gantries are linked to a position on\nthe stage and their extensions passed on board. The stage-men make up\ntheir heaving-lines and move off to berth a second vessel at the south\nend. The tide is making swiftly in the river, and there must be no delay\nif the troops are to be disembarked and the ships cast off in time to\ndock before high water has passed.\n\n[Illustration: TROOP TRANSPORTS DISEMBARKING AT THE LANDING-STAGE,\nLIVERPOOL]\n\nViewed from the low tidal stage, almost at a level with the water, the\nship--that had appeared so delicate of line in the river--assumes a new\nand stronger character at close hand. The massive bulk of her, towering\nalmost overhead, dwarfs the surrounding structures. The shear that gave\nher beauty at a distance is lost in the rapid foreshortening of her\nlength: her weathered plating, strake upon strake bound by a pattern\nof close rivet-work, attracts the eye and imposes an instant impression\nof strength and seaworthiness. On her high superstructure the figures of\nmen seem absurdly diminished. The sense of their control of such a\nvessel is difficult of realization. Pouring from her in an apparently\nendless stream of khaki, her living cargason passes over the gangways.\n\nThey move rapidly from the ship to the shore. Waiting-sheds and the\nupper platforms are soon littered by their packs and equipment, and the\ntroops squat on the roadway to await formation of their group. Large\nbodies are marched directly to the riverside station to entrain for\ncamp, but the assortment and enumeration of most of the companies and\ndetachments is carried through on the broad planking of the stage. In\nand out the mustered files of men, transport cars make a noisy\ntrumpeting progress, piled high with baggage and stores, and each\ncrowned by a waving party of high-spirited soldiers. A second transport\nis brought in at the other end of the stage, and adds her men to the\nthrong of troops at the water-side. The disembarkation staff have work\nwith the sheep and the goats. There is the natural desire to learn how\n'th' fellers' got on in the other ship, and the two ships' complements\nare mixed in a fellowship that makes a tangle of the 'nominal rolls' and\ndrives the harassed officers to an outburst of profanity. Ever and on, a\nblock occurs on the gangways where the inevitable 'forgetters' are\nstruggling back through the press of landing men, to search for the\ntrifles of their kit.\n\nA prolonged blast of her siren warns the military officers that the\nfirst transport is about to cast off, and the movement of the troops is\naccelerated to a hurried rush and the withdrawal of the gangways. The\nwaiting tugs drag the ship from the stage, and she moves slowly\ndown-stream to dock at the Sandon entrance, there to discharge the\nburden of her packed holds. Another huge vessel takes her place, canting\nin at the north end, and shortly sending out more men to the already\ncongested landing. She carries two full battalions, and they are\ndisembarked with less confusion than the former varied details. Forming\nfours, and headed by their own band, they march off up the long\nbridgeway to the city streets.\n\nThe tide is approaching high water and the pilots are growing anxious\nlest they should lose opportunity of docking on the tide. Already the\ndock gates are open, and the smaller vessels of the convoy have dropped\nout of the river into the basins. With three ships disembarked and a\nfourth drawing alongside, the Naval Transport officers decide that they\ncan handle no more men on the stage, and send the remaining steamers to\nland their men in dock. There, with the troops away, an army of dockers\ncan get to work to unload the store of their carriage from overseas.\n\n[Illustration: 'M N']\n\n\n\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n'M N'\n\n\nSHIMMERING in gilt sunlit threads, the grey North Sea lay calm and\nplacid, at peace with the whip of the winds after days of storm and\nheavy weather. The sun had come up to peer over a low curtain of vapour\nthat hung in the east. Past the meridian, the moon stood clear-cut in\nthe motionless upper sky. The ring of quiet sea accepted the presence of\nthe waiting ships as of friendly incomers, familiar to the round of the\nmisty horizon. Two British destroyers, a flotilla of motor-vessels,\ndrifters--the brown sails of Thames barges appearing, then vanishing, in\nthe wisps of fickle vapour. A breathless dawn. Sun, the silver moon, the\ngrey flat sea bearing motionless ships, were witness to the drama--the\ngiving up of the murder craft, the end of piracy.\n\nGrowing out of the mist, a squadron of British light cruisers and their\nconvoy approached the rendezvous where the destroyers lay in readiness\nto take over charge of the German submarines. Two enemy transports under\ntheir commercial flags, headed the line of the water-snakes. Aircraft\ncircled overhead and turned and returned on the line of progress. The\nleading ships swung out on approaching the destroyers and engaged them\nby signal. The destroyers weighed anchor and proceeded to carry out\ntheir orders. Each carried a number of officers and men to be placed\naboard the submarines, to accept their surrender, to direct their\nfurther passage to within the booms at Harwich.\n\nThe commander of _Melampus_ focused his glasses on the eleventh\nsubmarine of the long straggling line. The U-boat had a wash over his\nscrews and was apparently steaming ahead to overtake his fellows, now\nfading into the mist in the direction of their prison gates.\n\n\"Our group,\" he said: then, to the signalman, \"Tell him to stop\ninstantly!\"\n\nThe bluejacket stood out on the sparring of the bridge and signalled\nwith his hand-flags. The submarine still moved ahead at speed, his\nexhaust panting at pressure. The German commander could not (or would\nnot) understand, and it was necessary to hoist 'M N' of the\nInternational Code. The two flags were sufficient: he threw his engines\nastern and brought up to await further orders. His followers arrived on\nthe station. Some cast anchor, others slowed and stopped. All took note\nof the flags--St. Andrew's cross over blue and white checquers, hoisted\nat the destroyer's yard-arm--and obeyed the summary signal.\n\n'M N!' International Code! The old flags of the days when there was\npeace on the sea, when the German commercial ensign was known and\nfamiliar and respected in the seaports of the world!\n\nHow many of the Germans would understand the full significance of the\nhoist that brought them to a standstill--the import of the flags\ndrooping in the windless air--the beckoning of the coloured fabric that\nended their murder trade. The day had long passed since they had used\nthis warning signal for a procedure in law and order. No 'M N' to\n_Lusitania_ before littering the Irish Sea with wreckage and the pitiful\nbodies of women and small children: no signal to _Arabic_ or _Persia_:\nno warning to _Belgian Prince_, to _California_, to all the long and\nghastly list: no summons to the hospital ships--alight and blazoned to\nadvertise their humane mission. And now--their ensign dishonoured, their\nname as seamen condemned to the everlasting tale of infamy, their proud\ncommercial seafaring destroyed--to come in with the blood on their\nhands, and render and submit to the mandate of a two-flag hoist!\n\n'M N!' The Code of the Nations! The summons to peaceful seafarers! 'Stop\ninstantly!' Disobey at your peril! At last, at long last, the Freedom of\nthe Seas--the security of the ships--the safety of all who pass on their\nlawful occasions--completely re-established by the flaunt of the old\nflags!\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\nCOMPELLED by the nature of their work to be long absent from home ports,\nseamen are frequently in ignorance of the current of longshore opinion.\nNewspapers do not reach out to the sea-routes (as yet), and the media of\nGuild Gazettes and Association Reporters come somewhat late on the tide\nof an appreciation. The tremendous historical importance of the Nation's\nThanks to its Fighting Forces (in which the Merchants' Service was\nincluded) has not adequately been realized by the merchantmen. Some do\nnot even know of it. For these reasons--not in a spirit of 'pride above\ndesert'--the writer quotes the following:\n\nThe Resolution of Parliament of October 29, 1917, placed upon record--\n\n          \"That the thanks of this House be accorded to the\n          officers and men of the Mercantile Marine for the\n          devotion to duty with which they have continued to\n          carry the vital supplies to the Allies through\n          seas infested with deadly perils.\"\n\nA year later, an equally generous appreciation of the work of the\nMerchants' Service was issued by the Board of Admiralty.\n\n          \"On the occasion of the first Meeting of the Board\n          of Admiralty after the signing of the German\n          Armistice, their Lordships desire, on behalf of\n          the Royal Navy, to express their admiration and\n          thanks to the Owners, Masters, Officers, and Crews\n          of the British Mercantile Marine, and to those\n          engaged in the Fishing Industry, for the\n          incomparable services which they have rendered\n          during the War, making possible and complete the\n          Victory which is now being celebrated.\n\n          \"The work of the Mercantile Marine has been\n          inseparably connected with that of the Royal Navy,\n          and without the loyal co-operation of the former,\n          the enemy's Submarine Campaign must inevitably\n          have achieved its object. The Mercantile Marine\n          from the beginning met this unprecedented form of\n          warfare with indomitable courage, magnificent\n          endurance, and a total disregard of danger and\n          death, factors which the enemy had failed to take\n          into account and which went far towards defeating\n          his object.\n\n          \"In no small measure also has the success achieved\n          against the submarine been due to the interest\n          taken by Owners in the defensive equipment of\n          their ships, and to the ability, loyalty, and\n          technical skill displayed by Masters and Officers\n          in carrying out Admiralty regulations which,\n          though tending to the safety of the vessels from\n          submarine risks, enormously increased the strain\n          and anxiety of navigation. The loyal observance of\n          these precautions has been the more commendable\n          since the need for absolute secrecy, on which\n          safety largely depended, has prevented the reasons\n          for their adoption being in all cases disclosed.\n\n          \"Further, the Convoy System, which has played such\n          an important part in frustrating the designs of\n          the enemy and securing the safe passage of the\n          United States Army, could never have attained its\n          success but for the ability and endurance\n          displayed by Masters, Officers, and crews of the\n          Merchant Service forming these Convoys. This\n          system has called for the learning and practising\n          of a new science--that of station-keeping--the\n          accuracy of which has depended in no small measure\n          on the adaptability and skill of the Engineers and\n          their Departments.\n\n          \"Their Lordships also desire to acknowledge the\n          ready response of Owners to the heavy calls made\n          on the Merchant Service for Officers and men to\n          meet the increasing requirement of the Navy. On\n          board our ships of every type, from the largest\n          Dreadnought down to the smallest Patrol Boat are\n          to be found Officers and men of the Merchant Navy\n          who have combined with those of the Royal Navy in\n          fighting the enemy and defeating his nefarious\n          methods of warfare at sea.\n\n          \"The Merchant Service and the Royal Navy have\n          never been so closely brought together as during\n          this War. In the interests of our glorious Empire\n          this connection must prove a lasting one.\"\n\nThe Resolution of Parliament of August 6, 1919, placed upon record--\n\n          \"That the thanks of this House be accorded to the\n          officers and men of the Mercantile Marine for the\n          fine and fearless seamanship by which our people\n          have been preserved from want and our cause from\n          disaster.\"\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  ABERDEEN, 82\n\n  Admiralty, xiii, 11, 32, 35-37, 41, 42, 64, 110, 113, 144, 178, 195,\n      255\n\n  Adriatic, 25, 99\n\n  _Agnes Whitwell_, 192\n\n  Aleppo, 4\n\n  \"Allo,\" 118, 119\n\n  Amadas, 6\n\n  _Anglo-Californian_, 18\n\n  Antwerp, 45, 78\n\n  _Aquitania_, 13, 100\n\n  _Arabic_, 253\n\n  Arctic Ocean, 25\n\n  Arklow, 82\n\n  Arlington, 108\n\n  Armada, The Great, 4, 6\n\n  _Atalanta_, 82\n\n  Atlantic, 107, 117, 128, 178, 218, 224, 225\n\n  Atlantic City, 104, 109\n\n  _Augustine_, 62, 63, 66\n\n  Australia, 126\n\n  Austrian Navy, 99\n\n  _Avocet_, 85\n\n\n  BABYLON, 4\n\n  Backhouse, John, 5\n\n  Baffin, 6\n\n  Bahia, 191, 204\n\n  Balsara, 4\n\n  Barlow, 6\n\n  Barnegat Lighthouse, 109\n\n  Beaumaris, 78\n\n  Beaverbrook, Lord, xiii\n\n  _Belgian Prince_, 173, 253\n\n  Bell, Captain, 79\n\n  Bengal, 9\n\n  Bennett, Arnold, xiii\n\n  Bermuda, 107, 108\n\n  Berry, 11\n\n  Biggatt, William, 5\n\n  _Birchgrove_, 85\n\n  Black Middens, 78\n\n  Blake, 10\n\n  Board of Trade, 61-66, 121, 131, 185\n\n  Boer War, 22\n\n  Boom defences, 100, 191, 206\n\n  Bordeaux, 55\n\n  Boston, 108\n\n  _Boy Ernie_, 101\n\n  _Boy Jacob_, 78\n\n  Bremen Hansa Line, 31\n\n  Brennell, Captain, 85\n\n  Bridgwater, 10\n\n  Bristol Channel, 80, 116\n\n  _Britannic_, 78\n\n  _British Standard_, 209, 210, 211, 215\n\n  Brixham, 101\n\n  _Brother Fred_, 192\n\n  Brownrigg, Rear-Admiral Sir Douglas, xiii\n\n  _Brussels_, 79\n\n\n  _Cabotia_, 114\n\n  Cagliari, 181\n\n  Calcutta, 204\n\n  _Calgarian_, 178\n\n  _California_, 253\n\n  _Cameronia_, 140\n\n  Canada, 126, 128\n\n  Canute, 141, 142\n\n  Cape Cod, 108\n\n  Cardiff, 181\n\n  Caspian Sea, 4\n\n  Cats, 198-99\n\n  Cavendish, Thomas, 6\n\n  Cerigo Channel, 114, 132\n\n  Channel, The, 88, 89, 95, 96, 131, 147\n\n  Charles II, 57\n\n  Chaucer, 55\n\n  _Chelmsford_, 204\n\n  Cheshire, 244, 247\n\n  China, 22, 165\n\n  _Cinderella_, 210, 211\n\n  Clyde, xi, 100, 116\n\n  Cochrane, Lord, 181\n\n  Collins, Captain Greenville, 57, 58, 64\n\n  _Collonia_, 196\n\n  _Commissioner_, 82\n\n  Coney Island, 230\n\n  Constantinople, 4\n\n  Contalmaison, 51\n\n  Cook, James, 10\n\n  Copenhagen, 11\n\n  _Coquet_, 173\n\n  Cork, 85\n\n  Cornford, L. Cope, xiii\n\n  Costello (boatswain of _Gull_, trawler), 99\n\n  _Cottingham_, 80, 81\n\n  Coverley, Captain, 114\n\n  _Crane_, 99\n\n  Crimea, 22\n\n  Crystal Palace, 122\n\n  Cunard Line, 118, 119\n\n  Custom House, 184, 185\n\n\n  DÆDALUS Light, 170\n\n  Dampier, 10\n\n  Davis, 6\n\n  Deal, 77, 89, 230\n\n  Deptford, 56, 58\n\n  _Deutschland_, 104\n\n  _Devonshire_ (East Indiaman), 9\n\n  Dieppe, 31\n\n  _Dieudonné_, 192\n\n  Dixon, W. Macneile, xiii\n\n  Dogger Bank, 99\n\n  Doiran, 133\n\n  Downs, The, 9, 88-90, 96\n\n  Drake, 6\n\n  _Drei Geschwister_, 85\n\n  Dublin, 15\n\n\n  EAST India Company, 9\n\n  Eddystone Lighthouse, 91\n\n  Egypt, 22, 126\n\n  Elbow Buoy, 97\n\n  _Emden_, 164\n\n  _Empress of Fort William_, 95\n\n  Esperanto, 169, 203\n\n\n  FAIR Head, 117\n\n  _Falaba_, 164\n\n  _Fermo_, 101\n\n  Fishermen, 98-102, 206, 255\n\n  Flanders, 51, 79, 126\n\n  _Floandi_, 99\n\n  Foley, 11\n\n  Forbes, Captain, 63\n\n  Foreign consuls, 185\n\n  _Formidable_, 101\n\n  _Fortuna_, 192\n\n  France, 125, 126\n\n  _Franz Fischer_, 85\n\n  Frobisher, 6\n\n  Fryatt, Captain, 79\n\n  _Fürst_, 27, 28\n\n\n  GALATZ, 170\n\n  Gallipoli, 127\n\n  \"Gamecock\" Fleet, 99\n\n  Garron Head, 116\n\n  German Navy, 17, 24, 26, 28, 41, 253\n    Crimes on the sea, 170-74, 253\n      Fishing-boats, 79, 100, 101\n      Hospital ships, 92, 173, 253\n      Lightships, 92\n      Merchantmen, 17, 81, 82, 85, 114, 164, 173\n      Mines, 92, 95\n      Rafts and open boats, 92\n      Submarine minelayers, 80, 92\n      _See under_ Merchants' Service: German _Schrecklichkeit_, and\n          Submarine piracy\n    Submarines, 17-20, 37, 41-43, 79-86, 95, 96, 107-9, 113-15, 118-19,\n      173, 177, 181, 182, 237-40, 252-53, 255-56\n\n  Gibbs, Richard, 5\n\n  Gibraltar, 126, 183\n\n  Glasgow, 33, 39, 78, 116\n\n  Goodwin Sands, 89, 96\n\n  _Gowan Lea_, 99, 100\n\n  Grand Banks, 103\n\n  Gravesend, 3, 59\n\n  Greece, King of, 63\n\n  Greenwich Mean Time, 191\n\n  _Gulflight_, 109\n\n  _Gull_ (trawler), 99\n\n\n  HAKLUYT, Richard, 4, 5, 9\n\n  Halifax, 108\n\n  Hardy, 11\n\n  Harwich, xi, 90, 253\n\n  Hawkins, Sir John, 6\n\n  Henderson, Algernon C. F., v\n\n  Henry VIII, 6\n\n  Hohenzollern, 174\n\n  Hollesay Bay, 90\n\n  Holy Land, 54\n\n  Horn, Cape, 77\n\n  Hudson, 6\n\n  Hudson Bay, 86\n\n  Hudson River, 217, 218\n\n  Hull, 90\n\n\n  ICELAND, 170\n\n  Imperial War Museum, xiii\n\n  India, 22, 126\n\n  International Code of Signals, 169\n\n  Islay, 117\n\n  Isle of Man, 32\n\n  Istria, 55\n\n\n  _Jane Williamson_, 82\n\n  Japan, 178\n\n  Java, 13\n\n  Johnson, Dr., 47-48\n\n  _Justitia_, 78\n\n\n  _Karlsruhe_, 104\n\n  _Kashmir_, 227\n\n  Keith, Captain, 131\n\n  Kiel, 24\n\n  King John, 55\n\n  Kingsdown, 89\n\n  King's Harbour Master, 203\n\n  Kingsway, 124\n\n  _Kölnische Zeitung_, 81\n\n  _Kronprinz Wilhelm_, 104\n\n\n  _Lady of the Lake_, 79\n\n  Lamport and Holt Line, 109\n\n  Langton, Stephen, Archbishop of Canterbury, 55\n\n  Leggatt (of _Crane_), 99\n\n  Leghorn, 181\n\n  _Leviathan_, 135\n\n  Leyland Line, 117, 118, 119\n\n  Liége, 27\n\n  Lightships, 57, 91-96\n    Gull Lightship, 53, 89, 93, 96\n    Ostend Lightship, 92\n    Royal Sovereign Lightship, 95\n    Shambles Lightship, 95\n    South Goodwin Lightship, 95\n\n  _Linn_ (\"frigot\"), 204\n\n  Liver Buildings, 49, 247\n\n  Liverpool, 62, 69, 78, 103, 116, 135, 245, 249\n\n  _Lobelia_, 100\n\n  London, 89, 213\n\n  Louis XIV, of France, 91\n\n  Lowestoft, 90\n\n  _Lusitania_, 164, 173, 253\n\n\n  MALAY pirates, 165\n\n  _Maloja_, 95\n\n  Malta, 126, 128, 132, 182\n\n  Manchester, 124\n\n  _Manchester Commerce_, 164\n\n  Manhattan, 223\n\n  \"Manual on Seamanship,\" 144\n\n  Marconi, 123\n\n  Marconi Company, 110\n\n  _Maréchal de Villars_, 82\n\n  _Margaret_, 15\n\n  _Mariston_, 173\n\n  Maritime Code, 54 _seq._\n\n  _Marmion_, 191, 192, 211\n\n  Marseilles, 128, 131, 132\n\n  _Mary Rose_, 178\n\n  _Massilia_, 186, 210\n\n  _Mayflower_, 236\n\n  Mayo, Walter H., xiii\n\n  Meadowside, 140\n\n  Mediterranean, 30, 114, 127, 128, 178, 182, 196\n\n  _Melampus_, 253\n\n  Merchant Adventurers, 4, 5\n\n  Merchants' Service:\n    Growth, 3-5;\n    parent of Navy, 6, 18;\n    Imperial significance, xii, 10, 12, 14, 15, 126;\n    unrecognized work, 10, 46 _seq._;\n    educational function, 11;\n    introduction of steamships, 11, 12, 13;\n    international supremacy, 12, 13;\n    outbreak of Great War, 14, 24, 163;\n    submarine piracy, 17, 18 _seq._, 51, 177, _passim_;\n    arming of, 19, 37 _seq._, 113-5;\n    differences with Navy, 7, 21-25;\n    reconciliation, 25 _seq._;\n    liaison with Navy, 14, 18-19, 21-43, 120-3, 134, 191, 197, 199-203,\n      255-6 _passim_;\n    commerce-raiders, 28, 51;\n    Naval War Staff, 30 _seq._;\n    transporting of troops, 14, 30 _seq._, 44, 45, 125-40, 223, 224-51;\n    popular recognition of, and the longshore view, 46 _seq._, 254;\n    discipline, 64, 68-71;\n    wanted, a Ministry of Marine, 66;\n    manning, 68-73;\n    German _Schrecklichkeit_, 72, 73, 80-85, 92, 173, 203, 209;\n    coastal Services, 77-86;\n    war-time navigation, 85-6, 87-95;\n    traditions, 4, 5, 9-13, 23, 98, 99-100;\n    signals and wireless, 110-3, 120-4, 169-70, 191;\n    destroyer escort, 29-30, 126-8, 178, 203, 235;\n    torpedoing of a transport, 137-40, 237-40;", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31953", "title": "Merchantmen-at-arms : the British merchants' service in the war", "author": "", "publication_year": 1919, "metadata_title": "Merchantmen-at-arms : the British merchants' service in the war", "metadata_author": "David W. Bone", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:17.258494", "source_chars": 505718, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 119731}}
{"text": "Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This ebook was\nproduced from scanned images of public domain material at\nInternet Archive.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n_THE_ CATHEDRALS OF NORTHERN SPAIN\n\n[Illustration: Bookcover]\n\n[Illustration: inside cover]\n\n_The Cathedral Series_\n\n_The following, each 1 vol., library\n12mo, cloth, gilt top, profusely illustrated.\n$2.50_\n\n_The Cathedrals of Northern\nFrance BY FRANCIS MILTOUN_\n\n_The Cathedrals of Southern\nFrance BY FRANCIS MILTOUN_\n\n_The Cathedrals of England BY MARY J. TABER_\n\nThe following, each 1 vol., library\n12mo, cloth, gilt top, profusely illustrated.\nNet, $2.00\n\n_The Cathedrals and Churches\nof the Rhine BY FRANCIS MILTOUN_\n\n_The Cathedrals of Northern\nSpain BY CHARLES RUDY_\n\n_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY\nNew England Building, Boston, Mass._\n\n[Illustration: LEON CATHEDRAL\n\n(_See page 154_)]\n\n\n\n\nThe Cathedrals of\nNorthern Spain\n\nTHEIR HISTORY AND THEIR\nARCHITECTURE; TOGETHER\nWITH MUCH OF INTEREST CONCERNING\nTHE BISHOPS, RULERS,\nAND OTHER PERSONAGES IDENTIFIED\nWITH THEM\n\nBY\n\nCHARLES RUDY\n\nIllustrated\n\nBOSTON L. C. PAGE &\nCOMPANY MDCCCCVI\n\n_Copyright, 1905_\nBY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY\n(INCORPORATED)\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\nPublished October, 1905\n\n_COLONIAL PRESS\nElectrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.\nBoston, U. S. A._\n\n\n_TO ALL TRUE\nLOVERS OF SPAIN,\nOTHERWISE CALLED\nHISPANÓFILOS_\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIt is _à la mode_ to write prefaces. Some of us write good ones, others\nbad, and most of us write neither good nor bad ones.\n\nThe chapter entitled \"General Remarks\" is the real introduction to the\nbook, so in these lines I shall pen a few words of self-introduction to\nsuch readers as belong to the class to whom I have dedicated this\nvolume.\n\nMy love for Spain is unbounded. As great as is my love for the people,\nso great also is my depreciation for those who have wronged her, being\nher sons. Who are they? They know that best themselves.\n\nSpain's architecture is both agreeable and disagreeable, but it is all\nof it peculiarly Spanish. A foreigner, dropping as by accident across\nthe Pyrenees from France, can do nothing better than criticize all\narchitectural monuments he meets with in a five days' journey across\nSpain with a Cook's ticket in his pocketbook. It is natural he should do\nso. Everything is so totally different from the pure (_sic_) styles he\nhas learned to admire in France!\n\nBut we who have lived years in Spain grow to like and admire just such\ncomplex compositions as the cathedrals of Toledo, of Santiago, and La\nSeo in Saragosse; we lose our narrow-mindedness, and fail to see why a\npure Gothic or an Italian Renaissance should be better than an Iberian\ncathedral. As long as harmony exists between the different parts, all is\nwell. The moment this harmony does not exist, our sense of the\nartistically beautiful is shocked--and the building is a bad one.\n\nPersonality is consequently ever uppermost in all art criticism or\nadmiration. But it should not be influenced by the words pure, flawless,\netc. Were such to be the case, there would be but one good cathedral in\nSpain, namely, that of Leon, a French temple built by foreigners on\nSpanish soil. Yet nothing is less Spanish than the cathedral of Leon.\n\nUnder the circumstances, it is necessary, upon visiting Spain, to\ndiscard foreignisms and turn a Spaniard, if but for a few days.\nOtherwise the tourist will not understand the country's art monuments,\nand will be inclined to leave the peninsula as he entered it, not a\nwhit the wiser for having come.\n\nTo help the traveller to understand the whys and wherefores of Spanish\narchitecture, I have written the \"Introductory Studies.\" I hope they\nwill enable him to become a Spaniard, or, at least, to join the\nenthusiastic army of _Hispanófilos_.\n\nC. RUDY.\n\nMADRID, _July, 1905_\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER                               PAGE\n\nPART I. INTRODUCTORY STUDIES\n\nI. General Remarks                      11\n\nII. Historical Arabesques               18\n\nIII. Architectural Arabesques           35\n\nIV. Conclusion                          66\n\nPART II. GALICIA\n\nI. Santiago de Campostela               75\n\nII. Corunna                             89\n\nIII. Mondoñedo                          95\n\nIV. Lugo                               102\n\nV. Orense                              110\n\nVI. Tuy                                120\n\nVII. Bayona and Vigo                   131\n\nPART III. THE NORTH\n\nI. Oviedo                              137\n\nII. Covadonga                          145\n\nIII. Leon                              150\n\nIV. Astorga                            167\n\nV. Burgos                              174\n\nVI. Santander                          188\n\nVII. Vitoria                           192\n\nVIII. Upper Rioja                      196\n\nIX. Soria                              209\n\nPART IV. WESTERN CASTILE\n\nI. Palencia                            219\n\nII. Zamora                             230\n\nIII. Toro                              244\n\nIV. Salamanca                          251\n\nV. Ciudad Rodrigo                      269\n\nVI. Coria                              278\n\nVII. Plasencia                         284\n\nPART V. EASTERN CASTILE\n\nI. Valladolid                          293\n\nII. Avila                              302\n\nIII. Segovia                           312\n\nIV. Madrid-Alcalá                      321\n\nV. Sigüenza                            335\n\nVI. Cuenca                             342\n\nVII. Toledo                            349\n\nAppendix                               369\n\nIndex                                  387\n\n[Note of Transcriber of the ebook]\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n                                                PAGE\n\nLeon Cathedral (_See page 154_)        _Frontispiece_\n\nCloister Stalls in a Monastic Church at Leon      48\n\nTypical Retablo (Palencia)                        50\n\nMudejar Architecture (Sahagun)                    64\n\nSantiago and Its Cathedral                        82\n\nChurch of Santiago, Corunna                       92\n\nGeneral View of Mondoñedo                         96\n\nMondoñedo Cathedral                               98\n\nNorthern Portal of Orense Cathedral              116\n\nTuy Cathedral                                    128\n\nOviedo Cathedral                                 140\n\nCloister of Oviedo Cathedral                     144\n\nApse of San Isidoro, Leon                        164\n\nBurgos Cathedral                                 180\n\nCrypt of Santander Cathedral                     190\n\nCloister of Nájera Cathedral                     202\n\nSanta Maria la Redonda, Logroño                  204\n\nWestern Front of Calahorra Cathedral             207\n\nCloister of Soria Cathedral                      212\n\nPalencia Cathedral                               226\n\nZamora Cathedral                                 238\n\nToro Cathedral                                   248\n\nOld Salamanca Cathedral                          260\n\nNew Salamanca Cathedral                          266\n\nCuidad Rodrigo Cathedral                         272\n\nFaçade of Plasencia Cathedral                    288\n\nWestern Front of Valladolid Cathedral            300\n\nTower of Avila Cathedral                         310\n\nSegovia Cathedral                                316\n\nSan Isidro, Madrid                               326\n\nAlcalá de Henares Cathedral                      332\n\nToledo Cathedral                                 360\n\n\n\n\n_PART I_\n\n_Introductory Studies_\n\n\n\n\n_The Cathedrals of Northern Spain_\n\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL REMARKS\n\n\nHistory and architecture go hand in hand; the former is not complete if\nit does not mention the latter, and the latter is incomprehensible if\nthe former is entirely ignored.\n\nThe following chapters are therefore historical and architectural; they\nare based on evolutionary principles and seek to demonstrate the motives\nof certain artistic phenomena.\n\nMany of the ideas superficially mentioned in the following essays will\nbe severely discussed, for they are original; others are based on two\nexcellent modern historical works, namely, \"The History of the Spanish\nPeople,\" by Major Martin Hume, and \"Historia de España,\" by Señor Rafael\nAltamira. These two works can be regarded as the _dernier mot_\nconcerning the evolution of Spanish history.\n\nUnluckily, however, the author has been unable to consult any work on\narchitecture which might have given him a concise idea of the story of\nits gradual evolution and development, and of the different art-waves\nwhich flowed across the peninsula during the stormy period of the middle\nages, which, properly speaking, begins with the Arab invasion of the\neighth century and ends with the fall of Granada, in the fifteenth.\n\nSeveral works on Spanish architecture have been written (the reader will\nfind them mentioned elsewhere), but none treats the matter from an\nevolutionary standpoint. On the contrary, most of them are limited to\nthe study of a period, of a style or of a locality; hence they cannot\nclaim to be a _dernier mot_. Such a work has still to be written.\n\nBe it understood, nevertheless, that the author does not pretend--_Dios\nme libre!_--to have supplied the lack in the following pages. In a\ncouple of thousand words it would be utterly impossible to do so. No; a\ncomplete, evolutionary study of Spanish architecture would imply years\nof labour, of travel, and of study. For so much on the peninsula is\nhybrid and exotic, and yet again, so much is peculiar to Spain alone.\nThus it is often most difficult to determine which art phenomena are\nnatural--that is, which are the logical results of a well-defined art\nmovement--and which are artificial or the casual product of elements\nutterly foreign to Spanish soil.\n\nWillingly the author leaves to other and wiser heads the solving of the\nabove riddle. He hopes, nevertheless, that they (those who care to\nundertake the mentioned task) will find some remarks or some\nobservations in the following chapters to help them discover the real\ntruth concerning the Spaniard's love, or his insensibility for\narchitectural monuments, as well as his share in the erection of\ncathedrals, palaces, and castles.\n\nSpanish architecture--better still, architecture in Spain--is peculiarly\nstrange and foreign to us Northerners. We admire many edifices in\nIberia, but are unable to say wherefore; we are overawed at the\nmagnificence displayed in the interior of cathedral churches and at a\nloss to explain the reason.\n\nAs regards the former, it can be attributed to the Oriental spirit still\nthrobbing in the country; not in vain did the Moor inhabit Iberia for\nnearly eight hundred years!\n\nThe powerful influence of the Church on the inhabitants, an influence\nthat has lasted from the middle ages to the present day, explains the\nother phenomenon. Even to-day, in Spain, the Pope is supreme and the\nprinces of the Church are the rulers.\n\nDoes the country gain thereby? Not at all. Andalusia is in a miserable\nstate of poverty, so are Extremadura, La Mancha, and Castile. Not a\npenny do the rich, or even royalty, give to better the country people's\npiteous lot; neither does the Church.\n\nIt is nevertheless necessary to be just. In studying the evolutionary\nhistory of architecture in Spain, we must praise the tyranny of the\nChurch which spent the millions of dollars of the poor in erecting such\nmarvels as the cathedral of Toledo, etc., and we must ignore the\nsweating farmer, the terror-stricken Jew, the accused heretic, the\ndisgraced courtier, the seafaring conquistador, who gave up their all to\nbuy a few months' life, the respite of an hour.\n\nAnd the author has striven to be impartial in the following pages. Once\nin awhile his bitterness has escaped the pen, but be it plainly\nunderstood that not one of his remarks is aimed against Spain, a country\nand a people to be admired,--above all to be pitied, for they, the\npeople, are slaves to an arrogant Church, to a self-amusing royalty, and\nto a grasping horde of second-rate politicians.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nHISTORICAL ARABESQUES\n\n\nThe history of Spain is, perhaps, more than that of any other nation,\none long series of thrilling, contradictory, and frequently\nincomprehensible events.\n\nThis is not only due to the country's past importance as a powerful\nfactor in the evolution of our modern civilization, but to the\nunforeseen doings of fate. Fate enchained and enslaved its people,\nmoulded its greatness and wrought its ruin. Of no other country can it\nso truthfully be said that it was the unwitting tool of some higher\ndestiny. Most of the phenomena of its history took place in spite of the\npeople's wishes or votes; neither did the different art questions,\nstyles, periods, or movements emanate from the people. This must be\nborne in mind.\n\nThe Romans were the first to come to Spain with a view to conquering the\nland, and to organizing the half-savage clans or tribes who roamed\nthrough the thickets and across the plains. But nowhere did the great\nrulers of the world encounter such fierce resistance. The clans were\nextremely warlike and, besides, intensely individual. They did not only\noppose the foreigner's conquest of the land, but also his system of\norganization, which consisted in the submission of the individual to the\nstate.\n\nThe clans or tribes recognized no other law than their own sweet will;\nthey acted independently of each other, and only on rare occasions did\nthey fight in groups. They were local patriots who recognized no\nfatherland beyond their natal vale or village.\n\nThis primary characteristic of the Spanish people is the clue to many of\nthe subsequent events of the country's history. Against it the Romans\nfought, but fought in vain, for they were not able to overcome it.\n\nChristianity dawned in the East and was introduced into Spain, some say\nby St. James in the north, others by St. Peter or St. Paul in the south.\n\nThe result was astonishing: what Roman swords, laws, and highroads had\nbeen unable to accomplish (as regards the organization of the savage\ntribes) Christianity brought about in a comparatively short lapse of\ntime.\n\nThe reason is twofold. In the first place, the new form of religion\ntaught that all men were equal; consequently it was more to the taste of\nthe individualistic Spaniard than the state doctrines of the Roman\nEmpire.\n\nSecondly, it permitted him to worship his deity in as many forms\n(saints) as there were days in the year; consequently each village or\ntown could boast of its own saint, prophet, or martyr, who, in the minds\nof the citizens, was greater than all other saints, and really the god\nof their fervent adoration.\n\nHence Christianity was able to introduce into the Roman province of\nHispania a social organization which was to exert a lasting influence on\nthe country and to acquire an unheard-of degree of wealth and power.\n\nWhen the temporal domination of Rome in Spain had dwindled away to\nnothing, other foreigners, the Visigoths, usurped the fictitious rule.\nTheir state was civil in name, military in organization, and\necclesiastical in reality.\n\nThey formed no nation, however, though they preserved the broken\nfragments of the West Roman Empire. The same spirit of individualism\ncharacterized the tribes or people, and they swore allegiance to their\nlocal saint (God) and to the priest who was his representative on earth\n(Church)--but to no one else.\n\nConsequently it can be assumed that the Spanish nation had not as yet\nbeen born; the controlling power had passed from the hands of one\nforeigner to those of another: only one institution--the Church--could\nclaim to possess a national character; around it, or upon its\nfoundations, the nation was to be built up, stone by stone, and turret\nby turret.\n\n\nThe third foreigner appeared on the scene. He was doubtless the most\nimportant factor in the formation of the Spanish nation.\n\nIt is probable that the Church called him over the Straits of Gibraltar\nas an aid against Rodrigo, the last Visigothic king, who lost his throne\nand his life because too deeply in love with his beautiful Tolesian\nmistress.\n\nLegends explain the Moor's landing differently. Sohail, as powerfully\nnarrated by Mr. Cunninghame-Graham, is one of these legends, beautifully\nfatalistic and exceptionally interesting. According to it, the destiny\nof the Moors is ruled by a star named Sohail. Whither it goes they must\nfollow it.\n\nIn the eighth century it happened that Sohail, in her irregular course\nacross the heavens, was to be seen, a brilliant star, from Gibraltar.\nObeying the stellar call, Tarik landed in Spain and moved northwards at\nthe head of his irresistible, fanatic hordes. The star continued its\nnortherly movement, visible one fine night from the Arab tents pitched\non the plains between Poitiers and Tours. The next night, however, it\nwas no longer visible, and Charles Martel drove the invading Moors back\nto the south.\n\nCenturies went by and Sohail appeared ever lower down on the southern\nhorizon. One night it was only visible from Granada, and then Spain saw\nit no more. That same day--'twas in the fifteenth century--Boabdil el\nChico surrendered the keys of Granada, and the Arabs fled, obeying the\nretreating star's call.\n\nTo-day they are waiting in the north of Africa for Sohail to move once\nagain to the north: when she does so, they will rise again as a single\nman, and regain their passionately loved Alhambra, their beautiful\nkingdom of Andalusia.\n\nTradition is fond of showing us a nucleus of fervent Christian patriots\nobliged by the invading Arab hordes to retire to the north-western\ncorner of the Iberian peninsula. Here they made a stand, a last glorious\nstand, and, gradually increasing in strength, they were at last able to\ndrive back the invader inch by inch until he fled across the straits to\ntrouble Iberia no more.\n\nNothing is, however, less true. The noblemen and monarchs of Galicia,\nLeon, and Oviedo--later of Castile, Navarra, and Aragon--were so many\npetty lords who, fighting continually among themselves, ruled over\nfragments of the defeated Visigothic kingdom. At times they called in\nthe Arab enemy--to whom in the early centuries they paid a yearly\ntribute--to help them against the encroachments of their brother\nChristians. Consequently they lacked that spirit of patriotism and of\nnational ambition which might have justified their claims to be called\nmonarchs or rulers of Spain.\n\nThe Church was no better. Its bishops were independent princes who ruled\nin their dioceses like sovereigns in their palaces; they recognized no\nsupreme master, not even the Pope, whose advice was ignored, and whose\norders were disobeyed.\n\nIt was not until the twelfth or thirteenth century that the Christian\nincursions into Moorish territory took the form of patriotic crusades,\nin which fervent Christians burnt with the holy desire of weeding out of\nthe peninsula the Saracen infidel.\n\nThis holy crusade was due to the coming from France and Italy of the\nCluny monks. Foreigners,--like the Romans, the Church, the Visigoths,\nand the Moors,--they created a situation which facilitated the union of\nthe different monarchs, prelates, and noblemen, by showing them a common\ncause to fight for. Besides, anxious to establish the supreme power of\nthe Pope in a land where his authority was a dead letter, they crossed\nthe Pyrenees and broke the absolute power of the arrogant prelates.\n\nThe result was obvious: the Church became uniform throughout the\ncountry, and its influence waxed to the detriment of that of the\nnoblemen. Once again the kings learnt to rely upon the former, thus\nputting an end to the power of the latter. Once more the Church grew to\nbe an ecclesiastical organization in which the role of the prelates\nbecame more important as time went on.\n\nIn short, if the coming of the Moors retarded for nearly six hundred\nyears the birth of the Spanish nation, this birth was directly brought\nabout by the political ability of the Cluny monks; the Moors, on the\nother hand, exerted a direct and lasting influence on the shaping and\nmoulding of the future nation.\n\nChristian Spain, at the time of the death of the pious warrior-king San\nFernando, was roughly divided into an eastern and a western half, into\nthe kingdom of Castile (and Leon) and that of Aragon. The fusion of\nthese two halves by the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabel, two hundred\nyears later, marks the date of the birth of Spain as a nation.\n\nIt is true, nevertheless, that the people had little or no voice in the\narrangement of matters. They were indifferent to what their crowned\nrulers were doing, and ignorant of the growing power, wealth, and\nlearning of the prelates. All they asked for was individual liberty and\npermission to pray to the God of their choice. Neither had as yet the\nspirit of patriotism burned in their breasts, and they were utterly\ninsensible to any and all politics which concerned the peninsula as a\nunity.\n\nBut the Church-state had successfully evolutionized, and Catholic kings\nsat on the only available throne. The last Moor had been driven from the\npeninsula, the Jews had been expelled from the Catholic kingdom, and the\nInquisition--now that the Church could no longer direct its energy\nagainst the infidel--strengthened the Pope's hold on the land and\nincreased the importance and magnificence of the prelates themselves.\n\n\nA word as to heresy (the Reformation) and the Inquisition. The latter\nwas not directed against the former, for it would have been impossible\nfor the people to accept the reformed faith in the fifteenth century.\nFor the Spaniard the charm of the Christian religion was that it placed\nhim on an equal footing with all men; hence, it flattered his love of\npersonal liberty and his self-consciousness or pride. The charm of\nCatholicism was that it enabled him to adore a local deity in the shape\nof a martyred saint; thus, it flattered his vanity as a clansman, and\nhis spirit of individualism.\n\nIt was not so much the God of Christianity he worshipped as Our Lady of\nthe Pillar, Our Lady of Sorrows, of the Camino, etc., and he obeyed less\nreadily the archbishop than the custodian priest of his particular\nsaint, of whom he declared \"that he could humiliate all other saints.\"\n\nConsequently Protestantism, which tended to kill this local worship by\nupholding that of a collective deity, could never have taken a serious\nhold of the country, and it is doubtful if it ever will.\n\nOn the other hand--as previously remarked--the Spanish Inquisition\nhelped to centralize the Church's power and obliged the people to accept\nits decisions as final. The effect of Torquemada's policy is still to be\nfelt in Spain--could it be otherwise?\n\n\nHad successive events in this stage of Spain's history followed a normal\ncourse, and had the education of the people been fostered by the state\ninstead of being cursed by the Church, it is more than probable that the\nmap of Europe would have been different to-day from what it is. For the\nSpanish people would have learnt to think as patriots, as a nation; they\nwould have developed their country's rich soil and thickly populated\nthe vast _vegas_; they would have taken the offensive against foreign\nnations, and would have chased and battled the Moor beyond the Straits\nof Gibraltar.\n\nIt was not to be, however. An abnormal event was to take place--and did\ntake place--which repeated in fair Iberia the retrograde movement\ninitiated by the Arab invasion 750 years earlier.\n\nA foreigner was again the cause of this new phenomenon, a harebrained\nGenoese navigator whom the world calls a genius because he was\nsuccessful, but who was an evil genius for the new-born Spanish nation,\none who was to load his adopted country with unparalleled fame and glory\nbefore causing her rapid and clashing downfall.\n\nChristopher Columbus came to Spain from the east; he sailed westwards\nfrom Spain and discovered--for Spain!--two vast continents.\n\nThe importance of this event for Spain is apt to be overlooked by those\nwho are blinded by the unexpected realization of Columbus's daring\ndreams. It was as though a volcanic eruption had taken place in a virgin\nsoil, tossing earth and grass, layers and strata of stone, hither and\nthither in utter confusion, impeding the further growth of young\nplantlets and forbidding the building up of a solid national edifice.\n\nInstead of devoting their energies to the interior organization of the\ncountry, Spaniards turned their eyes to the New World. In exchange for\nthe gold and precious stones which poured into the land, they gave that\nwhich left the country poor and weak indeed: their blood and their\nlives. The bravest and most intrepid leaders crossed the seas with their\nfollowers, and behind them sailed thousands upon thousands of hardy\nadventurers and soldiers.\n\nBut the Spaniards could not colonize. They lacked those qualities of\ncollectivity which characterized Rome and England. The individualistic\nspirit of the people caused them to go and to come as they chose without\npossessing any ambition of establishing in the newly acquired\nterritories a home and a family; neither did the women folk\nemigrate--and hence the failure of Spain as a colonizing power.\n\nOn the other hand, those who had sailed the seas to the Spanish main,\nand had hoarded up a significant treasure, invariably returned, not to\nSpain exactly, but to their native town or village. Upon arriving home,\ntheir first act was to bequeath a considerable sum to the Church, so as\nto ease their conscience and to assure themselves homage, respect, and\nunrestrained liberty.\n\nThe effects produced by this phenomenon of individualism were manifold.\nThey exist even to-day, so lasting were they.\n\nA new nobility was created--wealthy, powerful, and generally arrogant\nand unscrupulous, which replaced the feudal aristocracy of the middle\nages.\n\nSecondly, oligarchy--or better still, _caciquismo_, an individualistic\nform of oligarchy--sprung up into existence, and rapidly became the bane\nof modern Spain; that is, ever since the Bourbon dynasty ruled the\ncountry's fate. As can easily be understood, this _caciquismo_ can only\nflourish there where individualism is the leading characteristic of the\npeople.\n\nThirdly, all hopes of the country's possessing a well-to-do middle\nclass--stamina of a wealthy nation, and without which no people can\nattain a national standard of wealth--vanished completely away.\n\nLastly the Church, which had become wealthy beyond the dreams of the\nCluny monks, retained its iron grip on the country, and retarded the\nliberal education of the masses. To repay the fidelity of servile\nCatholics, it canonized legions of local prophets and martyrs, and\norganized hundreds of gay annual _fiestas_ to honour their memory. The\nignorant people, flattered at the tribute of admiration paid to their\ndeities, looked no further ahead into the growing chaos of misery and\npoverty, and were happy.\n\nThe crash came--could it be otherwise? Beyond the seas an immense\nterritory, hundreds of times larger than the natal _solar_, or mother\ncountry, stretched from the Atlantic to the Pacific; at home, a\nstillborn nation lay in an arid meadow beside a solemn church, a\nfrivolous, selfish throne, and a mute and gloomy brick-built convent.\n\nThe Spanish Armada sailed to England never to return, and Philip II.\nbuilt the Escorial, a melancholy pantheon for the kings of the Iberian\npeninsula.\n\nOne by one the colonies dropped off, fragments of an illusory empire,\nand at last the mother country stood once more stark naked as in the\ndays before Columbus left Palos harbour. But the mother's face was no\nlonger young and fresh like an infant's: wrinkles of age and of\nsuffering creased the brow and the chin, for not in vain was she, during\ncenturies, the toy of unmerciful fate.\n\n\nSuch is, in gigantic strides, the history of Spain.\n\nThe volcanic eruption in the fifteenth century has left, it is true,\nindelible traces in the country's soil. Nevertheless, on the very day\nwhen the treaty of Paris was signed and the last of the Spanish colonies\n_de ultramar_ were lost for ever, that day a Spanish nation was born\nagain on the disturbed foundations of the old.\n\nThere is no denying it: when Ferdinand and Isabel united their kingdoms\na nation was born; it fell to pieces (though apparently not until a\nlater date) when Columbus landed in America.\n\nAnarchy, misrule, and oppression, ignorance and poverty, now frivolity\nand now austerity at court, fill the succeeding centuries until the\ncoronation of Alfonso XII. During all those years, but once did\nSpain--no longer a nation--shine forth in history with an even greater\nbrilliancy than when she claimed to be mistress of the world. But, on\nthis occasion, when she opposed, in brave but disbanded groups, the\ninvasion of the French legions, she gave another proof of the\nindividualistic instincts of the race, as opposed to all social and\ncompact organization of the masses.\n\nThe Carlist wars need but a passing remark. They were not national; they\nwere caused by the ambitions of rulers and noblemen, and fought out by\nthe inhabitants of Navarra and the Basque Provinces who upheld their\n_fueros_, by paid soldiery, and by _aldeanos_ whose houses and families\nwere threatened.\n\n\nNew Spain was born a few years ago, but so far she has given no proof of\nvitality. As it is, she is cumbered by traditions and harassed by\nmemories. She must fight a sharp battle with existing evil institutions\nhanded down to her as a questionable legacy from the past.\n\nIf she emerge victorious from the struggle, universal history will hear\nher name again, for the country is not _gastado_ or degenerate, as many\nwould have us believe.\n\nIf she fail to throw overboard the worthless and superfluous ballast, it\nis possible that the ship of state will founder--and then, who knows?\n\nIn the meantime, let us not misjudge the Spaniard nor throw stones at\nhis broken glass mansion. To help us in this, let us remember that\nunexpected vicissitudes, entirely foreign to his country, were the cause\nof his illusory grandeur in the sixteenth century. Besides, no more\nardent a lover of individual (not social) freedom than the Spaniard\nbreathes in this wide world of ours--excepting it be the Moor.\n\nUnder the circumstances he is to be admired--even pitied.\n\n\n\n\n\nARCHITECTURAL ARABESQUES\n\n_Preliminaries_\n\n\nThe different periods mentioned in the preceding chapter are\ncharacterized by a corresponding art-movement.\n\nThe germs of these movements came invariably from abroad. In Spain they\nlingered, were localized and grew up, a species of hybrid plants in\nwhich the foreign element was still visible, though it had undergone a\nseries of changes, due either to the addition of other elements, to the\ninventive genius of the artist-architect, or else peculiar to the\nlocality in which the building was erected.\n\nOther conclusive remarks arrived at in the foregoing study help to\nexplain the evolution of church architecture. Five were the conclusions:\n(1) The power and wealth of the Church, (2) the influence exerted by\nforeigners on the country's fate, (3) the individualistic spirit of the\nclanspeople, (4) the short duration of a Spanish nation, nipped in the\nbud before it could bloom, and (5) the formation of an oligarchy\n(_caciquismo_) which hindered the establishment of an educated\n_bourgeoisie_.\n\nThe first of the above conclusive observations needs no further remarks,\nconsidering that we are studying church architecture. It suffices to\nindicate the great number of cathedrals, churches, hermitages,\nmonasteries, convents, cloisters, and episcopal palaces to be convinced\nof the Church's influence on the country and on the purses of the\ninhabitants.\n\nThe Spaniard, psychologically speaking, is no artist; it is doubtful if\nilliterate and uneducated people are, and the average inhabitant of\nSpain forms no exception to this rule. His artistic talents are\nexclusively limited to music, for which he has an excessively fine ear.\nBut beauty in the plastic arts and architecture leave him cold and\nindifferent; he is influenced by mass, weight, and quantity rather than\nby elegance or lightness, and consequently it is the same to him whether\na cathedral be Gothic or Romanesque, as long as it be dedicated to the\ndeity of his choice.\n\nThe difference between Italian and Iberian is therefore very marked.\nEven the landscapes in each country prove it beyond a doubt. In Italy\nthey are composed of soft rolling lines; the colours are varied,--green,\nred, and blue; the soil is damp and fruitful. In Spain, on the contrary,\neverything is dry, arid, and savage; blue is the sky, red the brick\nhouses, and grayish golden the soil; the inhabitants are as savage as\nthe country, and the proverbial \"_ma é piu bello_\" of the Italian does\nnot bother the former in the slightest.\n\nAll of which goes to explain the Spaniard's insensibility to the plastic\narts, as well as (for instance) the universal use of huge _retablos_ or\naltar-pieces, in which size and bright colours are all that is required\nand the greater the size, the more clashing the colours, the better.\n\nNeither is it surprising that the Spaniard created no architectural\nschool of his own. All he possesses is borrowed from abroad. His love of\nByzantine grotesqueness and of Moorish geometrical arabesques is\ninherited, the one from the Visigoths, and the other directly from the\nMoors. The remaining styles are northern and Italian, and were\nintroduced into the country by such foreigners--monks and artists--as\ncrowded to Spain in search of Spanish gold.\n\nThese artists (it is true that some, and perhaps the best of them, were\nSpaniards) did not work for the people, for there was no _bourgeoisie_.\nThey worked for the wealthy prelates, for the aristocracy, and for the\n_caciques_. These latter had sumptuous chapels decorated, dedicated an\naltar to such and such a deity, and erected a magnificent sepulchre or\nseries of sepulchres for themselves and their families.\n\nThis peculiar phenomenon explains the wealth of Spanish churches in\nlateral chapels. Not a cathedral but has about twenty of them; not a\nchurch but possesses its half a dozen. Moreover, some of the very finest\nexamples of sepulchral art are not to be found in cathedrals, but in\nout-of-the-way village churches, where some _cacique_ or other laid his\nbones to rest and had his effigy carved on a gorgeous marble tomb.\n\nThese chapels are built in all possible styles and in all degrees of\nsplendour and magnificence, according to the generosity of the donor.\nHere they bulge out, deforming the regular plan of the church, or else\nthey take up an important part of the interior of the building. There\nthey are Renaissance jewels in a Gothic temple, or else ogival marvels\nin a Romanesque building. They are, as it were, small churches--or\nimportant annexes like that of the Condestable in Burgos, possessing a\ndome of its own--absolutely independent of the cathedral itself, rich in\ndecorative details, luxurious in the use of polished stone and metal, of\nagate and golden accessories, of gilded friezes, low reliefs, and\npainted _retablos_. They constitute one of the most characteristic\nfeatures of Spanish religious architecture and art in general, and it is\nabove all due to them that Iberia's cathedrals are museums rather than\nsolemn places of worship.\n\nBut the Spanish people did not erect them; they were commanded by vain\nand death-fearing _caciques_, and erected by artists--generally\nforeigners, though often natives. The people did not care nor take any\ninterest in the matter; so long as the village saint was not insulted,\nnor their individual liberty (_fuero_) infringed upon, the world, its\nartists and _caciques_, could do as it liked.\n\nThis insensibility helped to hinder the formation of a national style.\nBesides, as the duration of the Spanish nation was so exceedingly short,\nthere was no time at hand to develop a national art school. In certain\nlocalities, as in Galicia, a prevailing type or style was in common use,\nand was slowly evolving into something strictly local and excellent.\nThese types, together with Moorish art, and above all _Mudejar_ work,\nmight have evolved still further and produced a national style. But the\nnation fell to pieces like a dried-up barrel whose hoops are broken, and\nthe nation's style was never formed.\n\nBesides, contemporary with the birth of the nation was the advent of the\nRenaissance movement. This was the _coup de grâce_, the final blow to\nany germs of a Spanish style, of a style composed of Christian and Islam\nprinciples and ideals:\n\n    \"Es wär zu schön gewesen,\n     Es hätt' nicht sollen sein!\"\n\nUnder the circumstances, the art student in Spain, however enthusiastic\nor one-sided he may be, cannot claim to discover a national school. He\nmust necessarily limit his studies to the analysis of the foreign art\nwaves which inundated the land; he must observe how they became\nlocalized and were modified, how they were united both wisely and\nridiculously, and he must point out the reasons or causes of these\nmedleys and transformations. There his task ends.\n\nOne peculiarity will strike him: the peninsula possesses no pure Gothic,\nRomanesque, or Renaissance building. The same might almost be stated as\nregards Moorish art. The capitals of the pillars in the mezquita of\nCordoba are Latin-Romanesque, torn from a previous building by the\ninvading Arab to adorn his own temple. The Alhambra, likewise, shows\nanimal arabesques which are Byzantine and not Moorish. Nevertheless,\nArab art is, on the whole, purer in style than Christian art.\n\nThis transformation of foreign styles proves: (1) That though the\nSpanish artist lacked creative genius, he was no base imitator, but\nsought to combine; he sought to give the temple he had to construct that\nheavy, massive, strong, and sombre aspect so well in harmony with the\nreligious and warlike spirit of the different clanspeople; and (2) that\nthe same artist failed completely to understand the ideal of soaring\nogival, of simple Renaissance, or of pure Romanesque (this latter he\nunderstood better than either of the others). For him, they--as well as\nIslam art--were but elements to be made use of. Apart from their\nconstructive use, they were superfluous, and the artist-architect was\nblind to their ethical object or æsthetical value. With their aid he\nbuilt architectural wonders, but hybrid marvels, complex, grand,\nluxurious, and magnificent.\n\nBe it plainly understood, nevertheless, that in the above paragraphs no\ncontempt for Spanish cathedrals is either felt or implied. Facts are\nstated, but no personal opinion is emitted as to which is better, a pure\nGothic or a complicated Spanish Gothic. In art there is really no\nbetter; besides, comparisons are odious and here they are utterly\nsuperfluous.\n\n_Cathedral Churches_\n\nBefore accompanying the art student in his task of determining the\ndifferent foreign styles, we will do well to examine certain general\ncharacteristics common to all Spanish cathedrals. We will then be able\nto understand with greater ease the causes of the changes introduced\ninto pure styles.\n\nThe exterior aspect of all cathedrals is severe and massive, even naked\nand solemn. Neither windows nor flying buttresses are used in such\nprofusion as in French cathedrals, and the height of the aisles is\ngreater. The object is doubtless to impart an idea of strength to the\nexterior walls by raising them in a compact mass. An even greater effect\nis obtained by square, heavy towers instead of elegant spires. (Compare,\nhowever, chapters on Leon, Oviedo, Burgos, etc.) The use of domes\n(_cimborios_, lanterns, and cupolas) is also frequent, most of them\nbeing decidedly Oriental in appearance. The apse is prominent and\ngenerally five-sided, warlike in its severe outline. Stone is invariably\nused as the principal constructive element,--granite, _berroqueña_ (a\nsoft white stone turning deep gray with age and exposure), and _sillar_\nor _silleria_ (a red sandstone cut into similar slabs of the size and\naspect of brick). Where red sandstone is used, the weaker parts of the\nbuildings are very often constructed in brick, and it is these\nlast-named cathedrals that are most Oriental in appearance, especially\nwhen the brick surface is carved into _Mudejar_ reliefs.\n\nTaken all in all, the whole building often resembles a castle or\nfortress rather than a temple, in harmony with the austere, arid\nlandscape, and the fierce, passionate, and idolatrous character of the\nclanspeople or inhabitants of the different regions.\n\nThe principal entrance is usually small in comparison to the height and\ngreat mass of the building. The pointed arch--or series of arches--which\ncrowns the portal, is timid in its structure, or, in other words, is but\nslightly pointed or not at all.\n\nThe interior aspect of the church is totally different. As bare and\nnaked as was the outside, so luxurious and magnificent is the inside.\nInvoluntarily mediæval Spanish palaces come to our mind: their gloomy\nappearance from the outside, and the gay _patio_ or courtyard behind the\nheavy, uninviting panels of the doors. The Moors even to this day employ\nthis system of architecture; its origin, even in the case of Christian\nchurches, is Oriental.\n\nLeaving aside all architectural considerations, which will be referred\nto in the chapters dedicated to the description of the various\ncathedrals, let us examine the general disposition of some of the most\ninteresting parts of the Spanish church.\n\nThe aisles are, as a rule, high and dark, buried in perpetual shadow.\nThe lightest and airiest part of the building is beneath the _croisée_\n(intersection of nave and transept), which is often crowned by a\nhandsome _cimborio_.\n\nThe nave is the most important member of the church, and the most\nimpressive view is obtained by the visitor standing beneath the\n_croisée_.\n\nTo the east of him, the nave terminates in a semicircular chapel, the\nfarther end of which boasts of an immense _retablo_; to the west, the\nchoir, with its stalls and organs, interrupts likewise the continuity of\nthe nave. Both choir and altar are rich in decorative details.\n\nBehind the high altar runs the ambulatory, joining the aisles and\nseparating the former from the apse and its chapels. The rear wall of\nthe high altar (in the ambulatory) is called the _trasaltar_, where a\nsmall altar is generally situated in a recess and dedicated to the\npatron saint, that is, if the cathedral itself be dedicated to the\nVirgin, as generally happens.\n\nSometimes an oval window pierces the wall of the _trasaltar_ and lets\nthe light from the apsidal windows enter the high altar; this\narrangement is called a _transparente_.\n\nThe choir, as wide as the nave and often as high, is rectangular; an\naltar-table generally stands in the western extremity, which is closed\noff by a wall. The rear of this wall (facing the western entrance to the\ntemple) is called the _trascoro_, and contains the altar or a chapel;\nthe lateral walls are also pierced by low rooms or niches which serve\neither as chapels or as altar-frames.\n\nThe placing of the choir in the very centre of the church, its width and\nheight, and its enclosure on the western end by a wall, render\nimpossible a view of the whole building such as occurs in Northern\ncathedrals, and upon which the impression of architectural grandeur and\nmajesty largely depends. It was as though Spanish architects were\nutterly foreign to the latter impression, or wilfully murdered it by\nsubstituting another more to their taste, namely, that of magnificence\nand sumptuousness. Nowhere--to the author's knowledge--is this\nimpression more acutely felt than in a Spanish cathedral, viewed from\nbeneath the _croisée_.\n\nGlittering brilliancy, dazzling gold, silver, or gilt, polished marble,\nagate, and jasper, and a luxuriance of vivid colours meet the visitor's\neyes when standing there. The effect is theatrical, doubtless, but it\nimpresses the humble true believer as Oriental splendour; and what, in\nother countries, might be considered as grotesque and unhealthy art,\nmust in Spain be regarded as the very essence of the country's worship,\nthe very _raison d'être_ of the cathedral. Neither can it be considered\nas unhealthy: with us in the North, our _religious awe_ is produced by\nthe solemn majesty of rising shafts and long, high, and narrow aisles;\nthis fails to impress the Iberian of to-day; and yet, the same sentiment\nof _religious awe_, of the terrible unknown, be it saint, Saviour,\nVirgin, or God, is imparted to him by this brilliant display of\nincalculable wealth.\n\nTo produce this magnificence in choir and high altar, decorative and\nindustrial art were given a free hand, and together wrought those\nwonders of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries which\nplaced Spain in a prominent position in the history of art. Goldsmiths\nand silversmiths, masters of ironcraft, sculptors in stone and wood,\npainters and _estofadores_, together with a legion of other artists and\nartisans of all classes and nationalities, worked together in unison to\ncreate both choir and high altar.\n\nTherefore, from an artistic point of view, the Spanish cathedral is for\nthe foreigner a museum, a collection of art objects, pertaining, most of\nthem, to the country's industrial arts, for which Iberia was first among\nall nations.\n\n\nCHOIR STALLS.--Space cannot allow us to classify this most important\naccessory of Spanish cathedrals. Carved in walnut or oak, now simple and\nsevere, now rich and florid, this branch of graphic art in low relief\nconstitutes one of Spain's most legitimate glories. It is strange that\nno illustrated work dedicated exclusively to choir stalls should have\nbeen published in any language. The tourist's attention must\nnevertheless be drawn to this part of religious buildings; it must\nnot escape his observation when visiting cathedral and parish churches,\nand above all, monastical churches.\n\n[Illustration: CLOISTER STALLS IN A MONASTIC CHURCH AT LEON]\n\n\nRETABLO.--The above remarks hold good here as well, when speaking about\nthe huge and imposing altar-pieces so universally characteristic of\nSpain.\n\nThe eastern wall of the holy chapel in a cathedral is entirely hidden\nfrom top to bottom by the _retablo_, a painted wooden structure\nresembling a huge honeycomb. It consists of niches flanked by gilded\ncolumns. According to the construction of these columns, now Gothic\nshafts, now Greek or composite, now simple and severe, the period to\nwhich the _retablo_ belongs is determined.\n\nGenerally pyramidically superimposed, these niches, of the height,\nbreadth, and depth of an average man, contain life-size statues of\napostle or saint, painted and decorated by the _estofadores_ in\nbrilliant colours (of course, as they are intended to be seen from a\ndistance!), in which red and blue are predominant, and which produce a\ngorgeous effect _rehaussé_ by the gilt columns of the niches. (Compare\nwith the Oriental taste of _Mudejar_ work in ceilings or\n_artesonados_.)\n\nThe whole _retablo_, in the low reliefs which form the base, and in the\nstatues or groups in the niches, represents graphically the life of the\nSaviour or the Virgin, of the patron saint or an apostle; some of them\nare of exquisite execution and of great variety and movement; in others,\ngreater attention has been paid to the decoration of the columns or\nshafts by original floral garlands, etc. Foment, Juni, and Berruguete\nare among the most noted _retablo_ sculptors, but space will not permit\nof a more prolific classification or analysis.\n\n\nGOLD AND SILVERSMITHS.--The vessels used on the altar-table, effigies of\nsaints, processional crosses, etc., in beaten gold and silver, are well\nworth examination. So is also the cathedral treasure, in some cases of\nan immense value, both artistic and intrinsic. Cloths, woven in coloured\nsilks, gold, and precious stones, are beautiful enough to make any art\nlover envious.\n\nThe central niche of the _retablo_, immediately above the altar-table,\nis generally occupied by a massive beaten silver effigy, the artistic\nvalue of which is unluckily partially concealed beneath a heap of\nvaluable cloths and jewels.\n\n[Illustration: TYPICAL RETABLO (PALENCIA)]\n\nBut where the silversmith's art is purest and most lavishly pronounced\nis in the _sagrarios_. These are solid silver carved pyramids about two\nor three feet high: they represent miniature temples or thrones with\nshafts or columns supporting arches, windows, pinnacles, and cupolas. In\nthe interior, an effigy of the saint, or the Virgin, etc., to whom the\ncathedral is dedicated, is to be seen seated on a throne.\n\nIn all cases the workmanship of these miniature temples is exquisite,\nand has brought just fame to Spain's fifteenth and sixteenth century\nsilversmiths.\n\n\nIRONCRAFT.--Last to be mentioned, but not least in importance, are the\nartisans who worked in iron. They brought their trade up to the height\nof a fine art of universal fame; their artistic window _rejas_, in the\nhouses and palaces of the rich, are the wonder of all art lovers, and so\nalso are the immense _rejas_ or grilles which close off the high altar\nand the choir from the transept, or the entrance to chapels from the\naisles. Though this art has completely degenerated to-day, nevertheless,\na just remark was made in the author's hearing by an Englishman, who\nsaid:\n\n\"Even to-day, Spaniards are unable to make a bad _reja_.\"\n\n\nThe reader's and tourist's attention has been called to the salient\nartistic points of a Spanish cathedral. They must be examined one by\none, and they will be admired; the view of the ensemble will puzzle and\namaze him, yet it will be wise for him not to criticize harshly the lack\nof _unity of style_. Frequently the choir stalls are ogival, the\n_retablo_ Renaissance, the _rejas_ plateresque, and the general\ndecoration of columns, etc., of the most lavish grotesque.\n\nThis in itself is no sin, neither artistic nor ethical, as long as the\n_religious awe_ comes home to the Spaniard, for whom these cathedrals\nare intended. Besides, it is an open question whether the monotony of a\npure style be nobler than a luxurious moulding together of all styles.\nThe whole question is, do the different parts harmonize, or do they\nproduce a _criard_ impression.\n\nThe answer in all cases is purely personal. Yet, even if unfavourable,\nthe utility of the art demonstration must be borne in mind and\nconsidered as well. And as regards the Spaniard, the utility does exist\nbeyond a doubt.\n\n\n_Architectural Styles_\n\nLet us now follow the art student in his task. He will determine the\ndifferent styles, and, to make the matter clearer, he will employ a\nrhetorical figure:\n\nThere is an island in the sea. Huge breakers roar on the beach and dash\nagainst the rocky cliffs. Second, third, and fourth breakers of varying\nstrength and energy race with the first, and are in their turn pushed\nrelentlessly on from behind until they ripple in dying surf on the\ngolden sands and boil in white spray in hidden clifts and caves. With\nthe years that roll along the island is shaped according to the will of\nthe waves.\n\nSpain, figuratively speaking, is that island, or a peninsula off the\nsouthwestern coast of the Old World, barred from France by the\nimpassable Pyrenees, and forming the link between Africa and Europe:\nthe first stepping-stone for the former in its northern march, the last\nextremity or the rear-guard of the latter.\n\nThe breakers represent the different art movements which, born in\ncountries where _compact_ nations were fighting energetically for an\nexistence and for an ideal, flooded with terrible force the civilized\nlands of the middle ages, and sought to outdo and conquer their rivals.\n\nThese breakers were: from the east, early Christian (both Latin-Lombard\nand Byzantine); from the north, Gothic; from the south, Arab, or, to be\nmore accurate, Moorish. The first two were advocates of one\ncivilization, the Christian or Occidental; the latter was the\npropagandist of another, the Neo-Oriental or Mohammedan.\n\nThe Renaissance was but a second or third breaker coming from the east,\nwhich breathed new life into antiquated constructive and decorative\nelements by adapting them to a new religion or faith.\n\nLater architectural forms were but the periodical revival or combination\nof one or another of the already existing elements.\n\nSpain, thanks to her unique position, was the point where all these\ncontradictory waves met in a final endeavour to crush their opponents.\nIn Spain, Byzantine pillars fought against Lombard shafts, and Gothic\npinnacles rose haughtily beside the horseshoe arch and the _arc brisé_.\nIn Spain Christianity grappled with the Islam faith and sent it bleeding\nback to the wilds of Africa; in Spain the polygon, circle, and square\nstruggled for supremacy and lost their personality in the complex\nblending of the one with the other, and minarets, cupolas, and spires\ncombined in bizarre fantasy and richness of decoration to serve the\nambitions of mighty prelates, fanatic kings, and death-fearing noblemen.\n\n\nSuch is, rhetorically speaking, the history of architecture of Spain.\nCathedrals had a _cachet_ of their own, either national (in certain\ncharacteristics) or else local. But the elements of which they were\ncomposed were foreign. That is, excepting in the case of Spanish-Moorish\nart.\n\nMoorish art! In the second volume (Southern Spain), the author of these\nlines will dedicate several paragraphs to the art of the Moors in Spain.\nSuffice to assert in the present chapter the following statements.\n\n(1) Moorish art in Spain is peculiar to the Arabs who inhabited the\npeninsula during seven hundred years. Consequently this art, born on\nIberian soil, cannot be regarded as foreign.\n\n(2) Much of what is called Moorish art owes its existence to the\nChristians, to the Muzarabs and Jews who inhabited cities which were\ndependent upon or belonged to the Moors. In the same way, much of the\nOriental taste of the Spanish Christians was inherited from the Moors\nand received in Spain the generic name of _Mudejar_.\n\n(3) The art of the Moors, though largely used in Spain, especially in\nthe south, rarely entered into cathedral structures, though often\nnoticeable in churches, cloisters, and in decorative motives.\n\n(4) The Moors learnt more art motives in Spain than they introduced into\nthe country.\n\nThese and many other points of interest will have to be neglected in the\npresent chapter. For the cathedrals of the north are (as regards the\nideal which brought about their erection) radically opposed to Moorish\nart.\n\nPrehistoric Roman and Visigothic (?) art are equally unimportant in this\nstudy, as neither the one nor the other constructed any Christian temple\nstanding to-day. That is to say, cathedral; for Visigothic or early\nLatin and Byzantine Romanesque churches do exist in Asturias, and a\nnotable specimen in Venta de Baños. They are peculiarly strange\nedifices, and it is to be regretted that they are not cathedrals, for\ntheir study would be most interesting, not only as regards Iberian art,\nbut above all as regards the history of art in the middle ages. So far,\nthey have been completely neglected, and, unfortunately, are but little\nknown abroad.\n\n\nROMANESQUE.--The origin of Romanesque is greatly discussed. Some\nattribute it to Italy, others to France; others again are of the\nconviction that all Christian (religious) art previous to the birth of\nGothic is Romanesque, etc., etc. The most plausible theory is that the\nstyle in question evolved out of the early Latin-Christian (basilique)\nstyle, at the same time borrowing many decorative details from the\nByzantine-Christian style.\n\nIn Spain, pre-Romanesque Christian architecture (or Visigothic) shows\ndecided Byzantine influence, more so, probably, than in any other\nEuropean country. This peculiarity influences also Romanesque, both\nearly and late. It is not strange, either, considering that an important\ncolony of _Bizantinos_ (Christians) settled in Eastern Andalusia during\nthe Visigothic period.\n\nIn the tenth century churches, and in the eleventh cathedrals, commenced\nto be erected in Northern Spain. Byzantine influence was very marked in\nthe earlier monuments.\n\nWas Romanesque a foreign style? Was it introduced from Italy or France,\nor was it a natural outcome or evolutionary product of decadent early\nChristian architecture? In the latter case there is no saying where it\nevolved, possibly to the north or to the south of the Pyrenees, possibly\nto the east or to the west of the Alps. What is more, the Pyrenees in\nthose days did not serve as a strict frontier line like to-day; on the\ncontrary, both Navarra and Aragon extended beyond the mountainous wall,\nand the dukes of Southern France occasionally possessed immense\nterritories and cities to the south of the Pyrenees.\n\nBe that as it may, Romanesque, as a style, first dawned in Spain in the\ntenth and eleventh centuries. Its birth coincided with that of the\npopular religious crusade against the Moor who had inhabited the\npeninsula during four centuries; it coincided also with the great\nchurch-erecting period of Northern Spanish history, when the Alfonsos of\nCastile created bishoprics (to aid them in their political ambitions) as\neasily as they broke inconvenient treaties and savagely murdered\nfriends, relatives, and foes alike. Consequently, many were the\nRomanesque cathedrals erected, and though the greater part were\ndestroyed later and replaced by Gothic structures, several fine\nspecimens of the former style are still to be seen.\n\nNeedless to say, Romanesque became localized; in other words, it\nacquired certain characteristics restricted to determined regions.\nGalician Romanesque and that of Western Castile, for instance, are\nalmost totally different in aspect: the former is exceedingly poetical\nand possesses carved wall decorations both rich and excellent; the\nlatter is intensely strong and warlike, and the decorations, if\nemployed at all, are Byzantine, or at least Oriental in taste.\n\n\nTRANSITION.--Many of the cathedrals of Galicia belong, according to\nseveral authors, to this period in which Romanesque strength evolved\ninto primitive Gothic or ogival airiness. In another chapter a personal\nopinion has been emitted denying the accuracy of the above remark.\n\nThere is no typical example of Transition in Spain. Ogival changes\nintroduced at a later date into Romanesque churches, a very common\noccurrence, cannot justify the classification of the buildings as\nTransition monuments.\n\nNor is it surprising that such buildings should be lacking in Spain. For\nGothic did not evolve from Romanesque in the peninsula, but was\nintroduced from France. A short time after its first appearance it swept\nall before it, thanks to the Cluny monks, and was exclusively used in\nchurch-building. In a strict sense it stands, moreover, to reason that\nthe former (Transition) can only exist there where a new style emerges\nfrom an old without being introduced from abroad.\n\n\nOGIVAL ART.--The thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries are,\nproperly speaking, those of the great northern art wave which spread\nrapidly through the peninsula, bending all before its irresistible will.\nRomanesque churches were destroyed or modified (the introduction of an\nambulatory in almost all Romanesque buildings), and new cathedrals\nsprung up, called into existence by the needs and requirements of a new\npeople, a conquering, Christian people, driving the infidel out of the\nland, and raising the Holy Cross on the sacred monuments of the Islam\nreligion.\n\nThe changements introduced into the new style tended to give it a more\nsevere and defiant exterior appearance than in northern churches,--a\nscarcity of windows and flying buttresses, timidly pointed arches, and\nsolid towers. Besides, round-headed arches (vaultings and horizontal\nlines) were indiscriminately used to break the vertical tendency of pure\nogival; so also were Byzantine cupolas and domes.\n\nThe solemn, cold, and naked cathedral church of Alcalá de Henares is a\nfine example of the above. Few people would consider it to belong to the\nsame class as the eloquent cathedral of Leon and the no less imposing\nsee of Burgos. Nevertheless, it is, every inch of it, as pure Gothic as\nthe last named, only, it is essentially Spanish, the other two being\nFrench; it bears the sombre _cachet_ of the age of Spanish Inquisition,\nof the fanatic intolerant age of the Catholic kings.\n\n\nLATER STYLES.--Toward the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the\nsixteenth centuries, Italian Renaissance entered the country and drove\nGothic architecture out of the minds of artists and patronizing\nprelates.\n\nBut Italian Renaissance failed to impress the Spaniard, whose character\nwas opposed to that of his Mediterranean cousin; so also was the general\naspect of his country different from that of Italy. Consequently, it is\nnot surprising that we should find very few pure Renaissance monuments\non the peninsula. On the other hand, Spanish Renaissance--a florid form\nof the Italian--is frequently to be met with; in its severest form it is\ncalled _plateresco_.\n\nIn the times of Philip II., Juan Herrero created his style (Escorial),\nof which symmetry, grandeur in size, and poverty in decoration were the\nleading characteristics. The reaction came, however, quickly, and\nChurriguera introduced the most astounding and theatrical grotesque\nimaginable.\n\nThe later history of Spanish architecture is similar to that of the rest\nof Europe. As it is, the period which above all interests us here is\nthat reaching from the eleventh to the sixteenth centuries, embracing\nRomanesque, ogival, and plateresque styles. Of the cathedrals treated of\nin this volume, all belong to either of the two first named\narchitectural schools, excepting those of Valladolid, Madrid, and, to a\ncertain extent, the new cathedral of Salamanca and that of Segovia.\n\n\nMUDEJAR ART.--Previous to the advent of Italian Renaissance in Spain, a\nnew art had been created which was purely national, having been born on\nthe peninsula as the complex product of Christian and Islam elements.\nThis art, known by the generic name of _Mudejar_, received a mortal blow\nat the hands of the new Italian art movement. Consequently, the only\nschool which might have been regarded as Spanish, degenerated sadly,\nsharing the fate of the new-born nation.\n\nRather than a constructive style, the _Mudejar_ or Spanish style is\ndecorative. With admirable variety and profusion it ornamented brick\nsurfaces by covering them with reliefs, either geometrical (Moorish) or\nGothic, either sunk into the wall or else the latter cut around the\nformer.\n\nThe aspect of these _Mudejar_ buildings is peculiar. In a ruddy plain\nbeneath a dazzling blue sky, these red brick churches gleam thirstily\nfrom afar. Shadows play among the reliefs, lending them strength and\nvigour; the _alminar_ tower stands forth prominently against the sky and\ncontrasts delightfully with the cupola raised on the apse or on the\n_croisée_.\n\nAmong the finest examples of _Mudejar_ art, must be counted the\nbrilliantly coloured ceilings, such as are to be seen in Alcalá, Toledo,\nand elsewhere. These _artesonados_, without being Moorish, are,\nnevertheless, of a pronounced Oriental taste. A geometrical pattern is\ncarved on the wood of the ceiling and brilliantly painted. Prominent\nsurfaces are preferably golden in hue, and such as are sunk beneath the\nlevel are red or blue. The effect is dazzling.\n\n[Illustration: MUDEJAR ARCHITECTURE (SAHAGUN)]\n\nUnluckily, but little attention has been paid out of Spain to\n_Mudejar_ art, and it is but little known. Even Spanish critics do not\nagree as to the national significance of this art, and it is a great\npity, as unfortunately the country can point to no other art phenomena\nand claim them to be Spanish. How can it, when the nation had not as yet\nbeen born, and, once born, was to die almost simultaneously, like a moth\nthat flies blindly and headlong into an intense flame?\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nCONCLUSION\n\n\nSpain geographically can be roughly divided into two parts, a northern\nand southern, separated by a mountain chain, composed of the Sierras de\nGuaderrama, Gredos, and Gata to the north of Madrid.\n\nSuch a division does not, however, explain the historical development of\nthe Christian kingdoms from the eighth to the fifteenth centuries, nor\nis it advisable to adopt it for an architectural study.\n\nDuring the great period of church-building, the nine kingdoms of Spain\nformed four distinct groups: Galicia, Asturias, Leon, and Castile;\nNavarra and Aragon; Barcelona and Valencia; Andalusia.\n\nThe first group gradually evolved until Castile absorbed the remaining\nthree kingdoms, and later Andalusia as well; the second and third groups\nsuccumbed to the royal house of Aragon.\n\nFrom an architectural point of view, there are three groups, or even\nfour: Castile, Aragon, the Mediterranean coast-line, and Andalusia. In\nthe last three the Oriental influence is far more pronounced than in the\nfirst named.\n\nFurther, Spain is divided into nine archbishoprics: four corresponding\nto Castile (Santiago, Burgos, Valladolid, and Toledo); one to Aragon\n(Zaragoza); two to the Mediterranean coast (Tarragon and Valencia); and\ntwo to Andalusia (Sevilla and Granada).\n\nIt was the author's object to preserve as far as possible in the\nfollowing chapters and in the general subdivision of his work, not only\nthe geographical, but the historical, architectural, and ecclesiastical\ndivisions as well. Better still, he sacrificed the first when\nincompatible with the latter three.\n\nBut--and here the difficulty arose--what title should be chosen for each\nof the two volumes which were to be dedicated to Spain? Because two\nvolumes were necessary, considering the eighty odd cathedrals to be\ndescribed.\n\n\"Cathedrals of Northern Spain\" as opposed to \"Cathedrals of Southern\nSpain\"--was one of the titles. \"Gothic cathedrals of Spain\"--as opposed\nto \"Moorish Cathedrals of Spain\"--was another; the latter had to be\ndiscarded, as only one Moorish mezquita converted into a Christian\ntemple exists to-day, namely, that of Cordoba.\n\nThere remained, therefore, the first title.\n\nThe first volume, discarding Navarra and Aragon (in the north), is\ndedicated to Castile, as well as its four archbishoprics.\n\nThe narrow belt of land, running from east to west, from Cuenca to\nCoria, to the south of the Sierra de Guaderrama, and constituting the\narchbishopric of Toledo, has been added to the region lying to the north\nand to the northwest of Madrid.\n\nMoreover, to aid the reader, the present volume has been divided into\nparts, namely: Galicia, the North, and Castile; the latter has been\nsubdivided into western and eastern, making in all four divisions.\n\n(1) _Galicia._ Santiago de Campostela is, from an ecclesiastical point\nof view, all Galicia. Thanks to this spirit, the entire region shows a\ndecided uniformity in the style of its churches, for that of Santiago\n(Romanesque) served as a pattern or model to be adopted in the remaining\nsees. The character of the people is no less uniform, and the Celtic\ninheritance of poetry has drifted into the monuments of the Christian\nreligion.\n\nThe episcopal see of Oviedo falls under the jurisdiction of Santiago;\nthe Gothic cathedral shows no Romanesque motives excepting the Camara\nSagrada, and has therefore been included in--\n\n(2) _The North._ With the exception of Oviedo, all the bishoprics in\nthis group fall under the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Burgos. The\ntwo finest Gothic temples in Northern Spain pertain to this group:\nBurgos and Leon.\n\nThere is, however, but little uniformity in this northern region, for\nSantander and Vitoria have but little in common with the remaining sees.\n\n(3) _Western Castile._ A certain degree of uniformity is seen to exist\namong the sees of Western Castile, namely, the warlike appearance of the\nByzantine Romanesque edifices. Besides, the use of sandstone and brick\nis here universal, and the immense plain of Old Castile to the north of\nthe Sierra de Gata, and of Northern Extremadura to the south of the same\nrange, have a peculiar ruddy aspect, dry and Oriental (African?), that\nis perfectly delightful.\n\nThe sees to the north of the mentioned mountain chain belong to\nValladolid; those of the south to Toledo.\n\n(4) _Eastern Castile_ extends from Valladolid in the north\n(archbishopric) to Toledo in the south (archbishopric), from Avila in\nthe west to Sigüenza in the east, and to Cuenca in the extreme southeast\nof New Castile.\n\n\nIn the middle ages the Christian kings of Asturias (Galicia?) grew more\nand more powerful, and their territory stretched out to the south and to\nthe east.\n\nOn the Miño River, Tuy and Orense were frontier towns, to populate\nwhich, bishoprics were erected. To the south of Oviedo, and almost on a\nline with the two Galician towns, Astorga, Leon and Burgos were strongly\nfortified, and formed an imaginary line to the north of which ruled\nChristian monarchs, and to the south Arab emirs.\n\nBurgos at the same time served as fortress-town against the rival kings\nof Navarra to the north and east; the latter, on the other hand,\nfortified the Rioja against Castile until at last it fell into the\nhands of the latter. Then Burgos, no longer a frontier town, grew to be\ncapital of the new-formed kingdom of Castile.\n\nSlowly, but surely, the Arabs moved southwards, followed by the\nimplacable line of Christian fortresses. At one time Valladolid,\nPalencia, Toro, and Zamora formed this line. When Toledo was conquered\nit was substituted by Coria, Plasencia, Sigüenza, and, slightly to the\nnorth, by Madrid, Avila, Segovia, and Salamanca. At the same time\nSigüenza, Segovia, Soria, and Logroño formed another strategic line of\nfortifications against Aragon, whilst in the west Plasencia, Coria, Toro\nand Zamora, Tuy, Orense, and Astorga kept the Portuguese from Castilian\nsoil. In the extreme southwest Cuenca, impregnable and highly\nstrategical, looked eastwards and southwards against the Moor, and\nnorthwards against the Aragonese.\n\nIn all these links of the immense strategical chain which protected\nCastile from her enemies, the monarchs were cunning enough to erect sees\nand appoint warrior-bishops. They even donated the new fortress-cities\nwith special privileges or _fueros_, in virtue of which settlers came\nfrom all parts of the country to inhabit and constitute the new\nmunicipality.\n\nSuch--in gigantic strides--is the story of most of Castile's world-famed\ncities. In each chapter, dates, anecdotes, and more details are given,\nwith a view to enable the reader to become acquainted not only with the\necclesiastical history of cities like Burgos and Valladolid, but also\nwith the causes which produced the growing importance of each see, as\nwell as its decadence within the last few centuries.\n\n\n\n\n_PART II_\n\n_Galicia_\n\n\n\n\n\nSANTIAGO DE CAMPOSTELA\n\n\nWhen the Christian religion was still young, St. James the Apostle--he\nwhom Christ called his brother--landed in Galicia and roamed across the\nnorthern half of the Iberian peninsula dressed in a pilgrim's modest\ngarb and leaning upon a pilgrim's humble staff. After years of wandering\nfrom place to place, he returned to Galicia and was beheaded by the\nRomans, his enemies.\n\nThis legend--or truth--has been poetically interwoven with other legends\nof Celtic origin, until the whole story forms what Brunetière would call\na _cycle chevaleresque_ with St. James--or Santiago--as the central\nhero.\n\nAccording to one of these legends, it would appear that the apostle was\npersecuted by his great enemy Lupa, a woman of singular beauty whom the\nascetic pilgrim had mortally offended. Thanks to certain accessory\ndetails, it is possible to assume that Lupa is the symbol of the \"God\nwithout a name\" of Celtic mythology, and it is she who finally venges\nherself by decapitating the pilgrim saint.\n\nThe disciples of St. James laid his corpse in a cart, together with the\nexecutioner's axe and the pilgrim's staff. Two wild bulls were then\nharnessed to the vehicle, and away went cart and saint. As night fell\nand the moon rose over the vales of Galicia, the weary animals stopped\non the summit of a wooded hill in an unknown vale, surrounded by other\nhillocks likewise covered with foliage and verdure.\n\nThe disciples buried the saint, together with axe and staff, and there\nthey left him with the secret of his burial-ground.\n\nThis must have happened in the first or second century of the Christian\nera. Six hundred years later, and one hundred years after the Moors had\nlanded in Andalusia, one Theodosio, Bishop of Iria (Galicia), took a\nwalk one day in his wide domains accompanied by a monk. Together they\nlost their way and roamed about till night-fall, when they found\nthemselves far from home.\n\nStars twinkled in the heavens as they do to this day. Being tired, the\nbishop and his companion dreamt as they walked along--at least it\nappears so from what followed--and the stars were so many miraculous\nlights which led the wanderers on and on. At last the stars remained\nmotionless above a wooded hill standing isolated in a beautiful vale.\nThe prelate stopped also, and it occurred to him to dig, for he\nattributed his dreams to a supernatural miracle. Digging, a coffin was\nrevealed to him, and therein the saintly remains of St. James or\nSantiago.\n\nGiving thanks to Him who guides all steps, Theodosio returned to Iria,\nand, by his orders, a primitive basilica was erected some years later on\nthe very spot where the saint had been buried, and in such a manner as\nto place the high altar just above the coffin. A crypt was then dug out\nand lined with mosaic, and the coffin, either repaired or renewed, was\nlaid therein,--some say it was visible to the hordes of pilgrims in the\ntenth and eleventh centuries.\n\nThe shrine was then called Santiago de Campostela.--Santiago, which\nmeans St. James, and Campostela, field of stars, in memory of the\nmiraculous lights the Bishop of Iria and his companion had perceived\nwhilst sweetly dreaming.\n\nThe news of the discovery spread abroad with wonderful rapidity.\nMonasteries, churches, and inns soon surrounded the basilica, and within\na few years a village and then a city (the bishop's see was created\nprevious to 842 A. D.) filled the vale, which barely fifty years earlier\nhad been an undiscovered and savage region.\n\nThroughout the middle ages, from the eleventh to the fifteenth\ncenturies, Santiago de Campostela was the scene of pilgrimages--not to\nsay crusades--to the tomb of St. James. From France, Italy, Germany, and\nEngland hundreds and thousands of men, women, and children wandered to\nthe Galician valley, then one of the foci of ecclesiastical significance\nand industrial activity. The city, despite its local character, wore an\ninternational garb, much to the benefit of Galician, even Spanish, arts\nand literature. It is a pity that so little research has been made\nconcerning these pilgrimages and the influences they brought to bear on\nthe history of the country. A book treating of this subject would be a\nhighly interesting account of one of the most important movements of the\nmiddle ages.\n\nThe Moors under Almanzor pillaged the city of Santiago in 999; then they\nretreated southwards, as was their wont. The Norman vikings also visited\nthe sacred vale, attracted thither by the reports of its wealth; but\nthey also retreated, like the waves of the sea when the tide goes out.\n\nAfter the last Arab invasion, an extemporaneous edifice was erected in\nplace of the shrine which had been demolished. It did not stand long,\nhowever, for the Christian kings of Spain, whose dominions were limited\nto Asturias, Leon, and Galicia, ordered the construction of a building\nworthy of St. James, who was looked upon as the god of battles, much\nlike St. George in England.\n\nSo in 1078 the new cathedral, the present building, was commenced, and,\nas the story runs, it was built around the then existing basilica, which\nwas left standing until after the vault of the new edifice had been\nclosed.\n\nThe history of Spain at this moment helped to increase the religious\nimportance of Santiago. The kingdom of Asturias (Oviedo) had stretched\nout beyond its limits and died; the Christian nuclei were Galicia, Leon,\nand Navarra. In these three the power of the noblemen, and consequently\nof the bishops and archbishops, was greater than it had ever been\nbefore. Each was lord or sovereign in his own domains, and fought\nagainst his enemies with or without the aid of the infidel Arab armies,\nwhich he had no compunction in inviting to help him against his\nChristian brothers. Now and again a king managed to subdue these\naristocratic lords and ecclesiastical prelates, but only for a short\ntime. Besides, nowhere was the independent spirit of the noblemen more\naccentuated than in Galicia; nowhere were the prelates so rebellious as\nin Santiago, the Sacred City, and none attained a greater height of\npersonal power and wealth than Diego Galmirez, the first archbishop of\nSantiago, and one of the most striking and interesting personalities of\nSpanish history in the twelfth century, to whom Santiago owes much of\nher glory, and Spain not little of her future history.\n\nThe twelfth and thirteenth centuries were thus the period of Santiago's\ngreatest fame and renown. Little by little the central power of the\nmonarchs went southwards to Castile and Andalusia, and little by little\nSantiago declined and dwindled in importance, until to-day it is one\ncity more of those that have been and are no longer.\n\nFor the city's history is that of its cathedral, of its shrine. With the\nbirth of Protestantism and the death of feudal power, both city and\ncathedral lost their previous importance: they had sprung into life\ntogether, and the existence of the one was intricately interwoven with\nthat of the other.\n\n\nThe stranger who visits Santiago to-day does not approach it fervently\nby the Mount of Joys as did the footsore pilgrims in the middle ages. On\nthe contrary, he steps out of the train and hurries to the cathedral\nchurch, which sadly seems to repeat the thoughts of the city itself, or\nthe words of Señor Muguira:\n\n\"To-day, what am I? An echo of the joys and pains of hundreds of\ngenerations; a distant rumour both confused and undefinable, a last\nsunbeam fading at evening and dying on the glassy surface of sleeping\nwaters. Never will man learn my secrets, never will he be able to open\nmy granite lips and oblige them to reveal the mysterious past.\"\n\nAs is generally known, the cathedral is a Romanesque building of the\neleventh and twelfth centuries mutilated by posterior additions and\nrecent ameliorations (_sic_). It was begun in 1078, and, though finished\nabout 150 years later, no ogival elements drifted into the construction\nuntil long after its completion. As will be seen later on, it served as\nthe model for most of Galicia's cathedrals. On the other hand, it is\ngenerally believed to be an imitation--as regards the general\ndisposition--of St. Saturnin in Toulouse: a combatable theory, however,\nas the churches were contemporaneous.\n\nSeen from the outside, the Cathedral of Santiago lacks harmony; few\nremains of the primitive structure are to be discovered among the many\nlater-date additions and reforms. The base of the towers and some fine\nblinded windows, with naïve low reliefs in the semicircular tympanum,\nwill have to be excepted.\n\nThe Holy Door--a peculiarly placed apsidal portal on the eastern\nfront--is built up of decorative elements saved from the northern and\nwestern façades when they were torn down.\n\n[Illustration: SANTIAGO AND ITS CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe best portal is the Puerta de la Plateria, opening into the southern\narm of the transept. It is, unluckily, depressed and thrown into the\nbackground by the cloister walls on the left, and by the Trinity Tower\non the right. Nevertheless, both handsome and sober, it can be counted\namong the finest examples of its kind--pure Romanesque--in Spain, and is\nrendered even more attractive by the peculiar Galician poetry which\ninspired its sculptors.\n\nImmediately above the panels of the door, which are covered with\ntwelfth-century metal reliefs, there is a stone plaque or low relief,\nrepresenting the Passion scene; to the left of it is to be seen a\nkneeling woman holding a skull in her hand. Evidently it is a weeping,\npenitent Magdalene. The popular tongue has invented a legend--perhaps a\ntrue one--concerning this woman, who is believed to symbolize the\nadulteress. It appears that a certain hidalgo, discovering his wife's\nsins, killed her lover by cutting off his head; he then obliged her to\nkiss and adore the skull twice daily throughout her life,--a rather\ncruel punishment and a slow torture, quite in accordance with the\nmystic spirit of the Celts.\n\nThe apse of the church, circular in the interior, is squared off on the\noutside by the addition of chapels. As regards the plateresque northern\nand western façades, they are out of place, though the former might have\npassed off elsewhere as a fairly good example of the severe\nsixteenth-century style.\n\nThe general plan of the building is Roman cruciform; the principal nave\nis high, and contains both choir and high altar; the two aisles are much\nlower and darker, and terminate behind the high altar in an ambulatory\nwalk. The width of the transept is enormous, and is composed of a nave\nand two aisles similar in size to those of the body of the church. The\n_croisée_ is surmounted by a dome, which, though not Romanesque, is\ncertainly an advantageous addition.\n\nExcepting the high altar with its _retablo_, the choir with its none too\nbeautiful stalls, and the various chapels of little interest and less\ntaste, the general view of the interior is impressively beautiful. The\nheight of the central nave, rendered more elegant by the addition of a\nhandsome Romanesque triforium of round-headed arches, contrasts\nharmoniously with the sombre aisles, whereas the bareness of the\nwalls--for all mural paintings were washed away by a bigoted prelate\nsomewhere in the fifteenth century--helps to show off to better\nadvantage the rich sculptural decorations, leaf and floral designs on\ncapitals and friezes.\n\nThe real wonder of the cathedral is the far-famed Portico de la Gloria,\nthe vestibule or narthex behind the western entrance of the church, and\nas renowned as its sculptural value is meritorious.\n\nSo much has already been written concerning this work of art that really\nlittle need be mentioned here. Street, who persuaded the British\nGovernment to send a body of artists to take a plaster copy of this\nstrange work, could not help declaring that: \"I pronounce this effort of\nMaster Mathews at Santiago to be one of the greatest glories of\nChristian art.\"\n\nAnd so it is. Executed in the true Romanesque period, each column and\nsquare inch of surface covered with exquisite decorative designs,\nelaborated with care and not hastily, as was the habit of later-day\nartists, the three-vaulted rectangular vestibule between the body of the\nchurch and the western extremity where the light streams in through the\nrose window, is an immense allegory of the Christian religion, of human\nlife, and above all of the mystic, melancholy poetry of Celtic Galicia.\nBuried in half-lights, this song of stone with the statue of the Trinity\nand St. James, with the angels blowing their trumpets from the walls,\nand the virtues and vices of this world symbolized by groups and by\npersons, is of a sincere poetry that leaves a lasting impression upon\nthe spectator. Life, Faith, and Death, Judgment and Purgatory, Hell and\nParadise or Glory, are the motives carved out in stone in this unique\nnarthex, so masterful in the execution, and so vivid in the tale it\ntells, that we can compare its author to Dante, and call the Portico de\nla Gloria the \"Divina Commedia\" of architecture.\n\nAt one end there is the figure of a kneeling man, the head almost\ntouching the ground in the body's fervent prostration in front of the\ngroup representing Glory, Trinity, and St. James. Is it a\ntwelfth-century pilgrim whom the artist in a moment of realistic\nenthusiasm has portrayed here, in the act of praying to his Creator and\ninvoking his mercy? Or is it the portrait of the artist, who, even after\ndeath, wished to live in the midst of the wonders of his creation? It is\nnot positively known, though it is generally supposed to be Maestro\nMateo himself, kneeling in front of his Glory, admiring it as do all\nvisitors, and watching over it as would a mother over her son.\n\nIf the chapels which surround the building have been omitted on account\nof their artistic worthlessness, not the same fate awaits the cloister.\n\nOf a much later date than the cathedral itself, having been constructed\nin the sixteenth century, it is a late Gothic monument betraying\nRenaissance additions and mixtures; consequently it is entirely out of\nplace and time here, and does not harmonize with the cathedral. Examined\nas a detached edifice, it impresses favourably as regards the height and\nlength of the galleries, which show it to be one of the largest\ncloisters in Spain.\n\nThe cathedral's crypt is one of its most peculiar features, and\ncertainly well worth examining better than has been heretofore done. It\nis reached by a small door behind the high altar (evidently used when\nthe saint's coffin was placed on grand occasions on the altar-table) or\nby a subterranean gallery leading down from the Portico de la Gloria, a\ngallery as rich in sculptural decorations as the vestibule itself.\n\nThe popular belief in Galicia is that in this crypt the cathedral\nreflects itself, towers and all, as it would in the limpid surface of a\nlake. Hardly; and yet the crypt is a nude copy of the ground floor\nabove, with the corresponding naves and aisles and apsidal chapels. The\nheight of the crypt is surprising, the architectural construction is\npure Romanesque,--more so than that of the building itself,--and just\nbeneath the high altar the shrine of St. James is situated where it was\nfound in the ninth century.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nCORUNNA\n\n\nCorunna, seated on her beautiful bay, the waters of which are ever\nwarmed by the Gulf Stream, gazes out westwards across the turbulent\nwaves of the ocean as she has done for nearly two thousand years.\n\nBrigandtia was her first known name, a centre of the Celtic druid\nreligion. The inhabitants of the town, it is to-day believed,\ncommunicated by sea with their brethren in Ireland long before the\ncoming of the Phœnicians and Greeks who established a trading post\nand a tin factory, and built the Tower of Hercules.\n\nThe Roman conquest saved Brigandtium from being great before her time.\nFor the Latin people were miserable sailors, and gazed with awe into the\nwaves of the Atlantic. For them Brigandtia was the last spot in the\nworld, a dangerous spot, to be shunned. So they left her seated on her\nbeautiful bay beside the Torre de Hercules, and made Lugo their capital.\n\nIn the shuffling of bishops and sees in the fifth and sixth centuries,\nCorunna was forgotten. Unimportant, known only for its castle and its\ntower, it passed a useless existence, patiently waiting for a change in\nits favour.\n\nThis change came in the fifteenth century as a result of the discovery\nof America. Since then, and with varying success, the city has grown in\nimportance, until to-day it is the most wealthy and active of Galicia's\ntowns, and one of the largest seaports on Spain's Atlantic coast.\n\nIts history since the sixteenth century is well known, especially to\nEnglishmen, who, whenever their country had a rupture with Spain, were\nquick in entering Corunna's bay. From here part of the Invincible Armada\nsailed one day to fight the Saxons and to be destroyed by a tempest; ten\nyears later England returned the challenge with better luck, and her\nfleets entered the historical bay and burned the town. During the war\nwith Napoleon, General Moore fought the French in the vicinity and lost\nhis life, whereas a few years earlier an English fleet defeated, just\noutside the bay, a united French and Spanish squadron.\n\nTo-day, the old city on the hill looks down upon the new one below; the\nformer is poetic and artistic, the latter is straight-lined, industrial,\nand modern. Nevertheless, the aspect of the city denies its age, for it\nis more modern than many cities that are younger. What is more,\ntradition does not weigh heavily on its brow, and depress its\ninhabitants, as is the case in Lugo and Tuy and Santiago. The movement\non the wharves, the continual coming and going of vessels of all sizes,\ncommerce, industry, and other delights of modern civilization do not\ngive the citizens leisure to ponder over the city's two thousand years,\nnor to preoccupy themselves about art problems. Moreover, the tourist\nwho has come to Spain to visit Toledo and Sevilla hurries off inland,\ngladly leaving Corunna's streets to sailors and to merchants.\n\nThere are, nevertheless, two churches well worth a visit; one is the\nColegiata (supposed to have been a bishopric for a short time in the\nthirteenth century) or suffragan church, and the other the Church of\nSantiago. The latter has a fine Romanesque portal of the twelfth\ncentury, reminding one in certain decorative details of the Portico de\nla Gloria in Santiago. The interior of the building consists of one nave\nor aisle spanned by a daring vault, executed in the early ogival style;\ndoubtless it was originally Romanesque, as is evidently shown by the\ncapitals of the pillars, and was most likely rebuilt after the terrible\nfire which broke out early in the sixteenth century.\n\nSanta Maria del Campo is the name of the suffragan church dedicated to\nthe Virgin. The church itself was erected to a suffragan of Santiago in\n1441. The date of its erection is doubtful, some authors placing it in\nthe twelfth and others in the thirteenth century. Street, whom we can\ntake as an intelligent guide in these matters, calls it a\ntwelfth-century church, contemporaneous with and perhaps even built by\nthe same architect who built that of Santiago de Campostela. Moreover,\nthe mentioned critic affirms this in spite of a doubtful inscription\nplaced in the vault above the choir, which accuses the building of\nhaving been completed in 1307.\n\n[Illustration: CHURCH OF SANTIAGO, CORUNNA]\n\nThe primitive plan of the church was doubtless Romanesque, of one nave\nand two aisles. As in Mondoñedo and Lugo, the former is surmounted by\nan ogival vault, and the aisles, lower in height, are somewhat depressed\nby the use of Romanesque _plein-cintré_ vaultings. The form of the\nbuilding is that of a Roman cross with rather short arms; the apse\nconsists of but one chapel, the lady-chapel. As regards the light, it is\nhorrible, for the window in the west is insignificant and, what is more,\nhas recently been blinded, though only Heaven knows why. The towers\nemerging from the western front are unmeaning, and not similar, which\ndetracts from the harmony of the whole. As regards the different\nfaçades, the western has been spoilt quite recently; the northern and\nsouthern are, however, Romanesque, though not pure, as ogival arches are\nused in the decoration of the tympanum.\n\nIn other words, the Church of Santiago at Corunna is more important,\nfrom an archæological point of view, than the Colegiata. The fishing\nfolk do not think so, however; they care but little for such secondary\ndetails, and their veneration is entirely centred in the suffragan\nchurch--\"one of the three Virgins,\" as they call her to whom it is\ndedicated. To them this particular Mary is the _estrella del mar_ (sea\nstar), and she is the principal object of their devotion. It is\nstrange--be it said in parenthesis--how frequently in Galicia mention is\nmade of stars: they form a most important feature of the country's\nsuperstitions. Blood will out--and Celtic mythology peeps through the\nChristian surface in spite of centuries of true belief.\n\n\n\n\n\nMONDOÑEDO\n\n\nA Village grown to be a city, and yet a village. A city without history\nor tradition, and a cathedral that has been spoilt by the hand of time,\nand above all by the hands of luckless artists called upon to rebuild\ndeteriorated parts.\n\nTo the north of Lugo, at a respectable distance from the railway which\nruns from the latter to Corunna, and reached either by means of a stage\nor on horseback, Mondoñedo passes a sleeping existence in a picturesque\nvale surrounded by the greenest of hills. Rarely bothered by the tourist\nwho prefers the train to the stage, it procures for the art lover many\nmoments of delight--that is, if he will but take the trouble to visit\nthe cathedral, the two towers of which loom up in the vale, and though\nrather too stumpy to be able to lend elegance to the ensemble, add a\npoetic charm to the valley and to the village itself.\n\nHow on earth did it ever occur to any one to raise the church at\nMondoñedo to a bishopric? Surely the sees in Galicia were badly\nshuffled; and yet, where can a quieter spot be found in this wide world\nof ours for the contemplation of a cathedral--and a Romanesque one, to\nboot!\n\nIt is to the Norman vikings that is due the establishment of a see in\nthis lonely valley. Until the sixth century it had been situated in\nMindunietum of the Romans, when it was removed to Ribadeo, remaining\nthere until late in the twelfth century. Both these towns were seaports,\nand both suffered from the cruel incursions and piratical expeditions of\nthe vikings, and so after the total pillage of the church in Ribadeo,\nthe see was removed inland out of harm's way, to a village known by the\nname of Villamayor or Mondoñedo. There it has remained till the present\nday, ignored by the tourist who \"has no time,\" and who follows the\nbeaten track established by Messrs. Cook and Company, in London.\n\n[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF MONDOÑEDO]\n\nAs will have been seen, Mondoñedo is a city without history, and without\na past; doubtless it will for ever remain a village without a future.\nIts doings, its _raison d'être_, are summed up in the cathedral that\nstands in its centre, just as in Santiago, though from different\nmotives.\n\nIt is, perhaps, the most picturesque spot in Galicia, a gently sloping\nlandscape buried in a violet haze, reminding one of Swiss valleys in the\nquiet Jura. Besides, the streets are silent and often deserted, the\nvillage inn or _fonda_ is neither excellent nor very bad, and as for the\nvillagers, they are happy, simple, and hospitable dawdlers along the\npaths of this life.\n\nAccording to a popular belief, the life of one man, a bishop named Don\nMartin (1219-48), is wrapped up in Mondoñedo's cathedral, so much so, in\nfact, that both their lives are one and the same. He began building his\nsee; he saw it finished and consecrated it--_construxit, consumavit et\nconsacravit_; then he died, but the church and his name lived on.\n\nModern art critics disagree with the above belief; the older or\nprimitive part of the church dates from the twelfth and not from the\nthirteenth century. Originally, as can easily be seen upon examining the\nolder part of the building, it was a pure Romanesque basilica, the nave\nand the two aisles running up to the transept, where they were cut off,\nand immediately to the east of the latter came the apse with three\nchapels, the lady-chapel being slightly larger than the lateral ones.\n\nIn the primitive construction of the building--and excepting all\nlater-date additions, of which there are more than enough--early Gothic\nand Romanesque elements are so closely intermingled that one is perforce\nobliged to consider the monument as belonging to the period of\nTransition, as being, perhaps, a unique example of this period to be met\nwith in Galicia or even in Spain. Of course, as in the case of the other\nGalician cathedrals, the original character of the interior, which if it\nhad remained unaltered would be both majestic and imposing, has been\ngreatly deformed by the addition of posterior reforms. The form of the\napse has been completely changed by the introduction of an ambulatory or\ncircular apsidal aisle dating at least from the fifteenth century, as\nshown by the presence of the late Gothic and Renaissance elements.\n\n[Illustration: MONDOÑEDO CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe general plan is rectangular, 120 feet long by seventy-one wide, and\nseen from the outside is solid rather than elegant, a fortress rather\nthan a temple. The height of the nave, crowned by a Gothic vaulting, is\nabout forty-five feet; a triforium (ogival) runs around the top. The\nlateral aisles are slightly more than half as high and covered by a\nRomanesque vaulting reposing on capitals and shafts of the finest\ntwelfth century execution.\n\nThe original basilica form of the church has, unluckily, been altered by\nthe additional length given to the arms of the transept, and, as\nmentioned already, by the ambulatory walk characteristic of Spanish\ncathedrals; the workmanship of the latter, though lamentably out of tune\nin this old cathedral, is, taken by itself, better than many similar\nadditions in other churches.\n\nThe western façade, which is the only one worthy of contemplation, is as\ngood an example of Romanesque, spoilt by the addition at a recent date\nof grotesque and bizarre figures and monsters, as can be seen anywhere.\n\nThe buttresses are more developed than in either Lugo or Santiago, and\nthough these bodies, from a decorative point of view, were evidently\nintended to give a certain seal of elegance to the ensemble, the\nstunted towers and the few windows in the body of the church only help\nto heighten its fortress-like aspect.\n\nIn a previous paragraph it has been stated that this cathedral is\nperhaps a unique example of the period of Transition (Romanesque and\nearly Gothic). It is an opinion shared by many art critics, but\npersonally the author of these lines is inclined to consider it as an\nexample of the Galician conservative spirit, and of the fight that was\nmade in cathedral chapters _against_ the introduction of early Gothic.\nFor the temple at Santiago was Romanesque; therefore, according to the\nnarrow reasoning peculiar to Galicia, that style was the _best_ and\nconsequently _good enough_ for any other church. As a result, we have in\nthis region of Spain a series of cathedrals which are practically\nRomanesque, but into the structure of which ogival elements have\nfiltered. Further, as there is no existing example of a finished Gothic\nchurch in Galicia, it is rather difficult to speak of a period of\nTransition, by which is meant the period of passing from one style to\nanother. In Galicia, there was no passing: the conservative spirit of\nthe country, the poetry of the Celtic inhabitants, and above all of\ntheir artists, found greater pleasure in Romanesque than in Gothic, and\nconsequently the cathedrals are Romanesque, with slight Gothic\nadditions, when these could combine or submit in arrangement to the\nheavier Romanesque principles of architecture.\n\nLater, in other centuries, the spirit of architecture had completely\ndied out in Spain, and the additions made in these days are so many\nlamentable signs of decadence. Not so the ogival introduction in\nRomanesque churches, which in many cases improved the Romanesque\nappearance.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nLUGO\n\n\nWhat Santiago was as regards ecclesiastical politics, Lugo, one of the\nthree cities on the Miño River, was as regards civil power. It was the\nnominal capital of Galicia, and at one time, in the reign of Alfonso the\nChaste, it was intended to make it the capital of the nascent Spanish\nkingdom, but for some reason or other Oviedo was chosen instead as being\nmore suitable. Since then the city of Lugo has completely fallen into\nruins and insignificance.\n\nIt first appears in history when the Romans conquered it from the Celts.\nIt was their capital and their Holy City; in its centre was Lupa's\nBower, where the Romans built a magnificent temple to Diana. Some\nmosaics of this edifice have been discovered recently, and the peculiar\ndesigns prove beyond a doubt that the mythological attributions of the\nCelts were made use of and intermingled with those of the Latin\nrace--not at all a strange occurrence, as Lupa and Diana seem to have\nenjoyed many common qualities.\n\nUnder the Roman rule, the city walls, remains of which are still\nstanding in many places, were erected, and Locus Augusti became the\ncapital of the northern provinces.\n\nAll through the middle ages, when really Oviedo had usurped its civil,\nand Santiago its religious significance, Lugo was still considered as\nbeing the capital of Galicia, a stronghold against Arab incursions, and\na hotbed of unruly noblemen who lost no opportunity in striking a blow\nfor liberty against the encroaching power of the neighbouring kingdom of\nAsturias, and later on of Leon. When at last the central power of the\nChristian kings was firmly established in Leon and Castile, in Lugo the\nfamous message of adhesion to the dynasty of the Alfonsos was voted, and\nthe kingdom of Galicia, like that of Asturias, faded away, the shadow of\na name without even the right to have its coat of arms placed on the\nnational escutcheon.\n\nThe ecclesiastical history of the city of Lugo is neither interesting\nnor does it differ from that of other Galician towns. Erected to a see\nin the fifth century, its cathedral was a primitive basilica destroyed\nby the Moors in one of their powerful northern raids in the eighth\ncentury. The legendary bishop Odoario lost no time in building a second\nbasilica, which met the same fate about two hundred years later, in the\ntenth century. Alfonso the Chaste, one of the few kings of Asturias to\ntake a lively interest in Galician politics, ordered either the\nreconstruction of the old basilica or the erection of a new temple.\n\nThose were stormy times for the city: between the rise and stand of\nambitious noblemen, who, pretending to fight for Galicia's freedom,\nfought for their own interests, and the continual encroachments of the\nproud prelates on the rights and privileges of the people, barely a year\npassed without Lugo being the scene of street fights or sieges. As in\nSantiago, one prince of the Church lost his life, murdered by the\nfaithful (_sic_) flocks, and many, upon coming to take possession of\ntheir see, found the city gates locked in their faces, and were obliged\nto conquer the cathedral before entering their palace.\n\nThe new basilica suffered in consequence, and had to be entirely rebuilt\nin the twelfth century. The new edifice is the one standing to-day, but\nhow changed from the primitive building! Thanks to graceless additions\nin all possible styles and combinations of styles, the Romanesque origin\nis hardly recognizable. Consequently, the cathedral church of Lugo,\nwhich otherwise might have been an architectural jewel, does not inspire\nthe visitor with any of those sentiments that ought to be the very\nessence of time-worn religious edifices of all kinds.\n\nThe general disposition of the church is Roman cruciform; the arms of\nthe cross are exceedingly short, however, in comparison to their height;\nthe _croisée_ is surmounted by a semicircular vaulting (Spanish\nRomanesque).\n\nThe nave shows decided affinity to early Gothic, as shown by the ogival\narches and vaulting. The presence of the ogival arches (as well as those\nof the handsome triforium, perhaps the most elegant in Galicia) shows\nthis church to be the first in Galicia to have submitted to the\ninfiltration of Gothic elements. This peculiarity is explained by the\nfact that, in 1129, the erection of the cathedral was entrusted to one\nMaestro Raimundo, who stipulated that, in the case of his death before\nthe completion of the church, his son should be commissioned to carry on\nthe work. He died, and his son, a generation younger and imbued with the\nnewer architectural theories, even went so far as to alter his father's\nplans; he built the nave higher than was customary in Romanesque\nchurches, and gave elegance to the whole structure by employing the\npointed arch even in the triforium, otherwise a copy of that of\nSantiago.\n\nThe most curious and impressive part of the building is that constructed\nby Maestro Raimundo, father, namely the aisles, especially that part of\nthem to the right and left of the choir; they are, with the _croisée_,\nthe best interior remains of the primitive Romanesque plans: short, even\nstumpy, rather dark it is true, for the light that comes in by the\nnarrow windows is but poor at its best, they are, nevertheless, rich in\ndecorative designs. The wealth of sculptural ornaments of pure\nRomanesque in these aisles is perhaps the cathedral's best claim to the\ntourist's admiration, and puts it in a prominent place among the\nRomanesque cathedrals of Spain.\n\nNot the same favourable opinion can be emitted when it is a question of\nthe exterior. The towers are comparatively new; the apse--with the\npeculiar and salient addition of an octagonal body revealing Renaissance\ninfluence--is picturesque, it is true, but at the same time it has\nspoilt the architectural value of the cathedral as a Romanesque edifice.\n\nThe northern façade, preceded by an ogival porch so common in Galicia,\ncontains a portal of greater beauty than the Puerta de la Plateria in\nSantiago, and stands forth in greater prominence than the other named\nexample of twelfth-century art, by not being lost among or depressed by\nflanking bodies of greater height and mass. As regards the sculptural\nornamentation of the door itself, it is felt and not only portrayed: the\nChrist standing between the immense valves of the _vesica piscis_ which\ncrowns the portal is an example of twelfth-century sculpture. The\niron-studded panels of the doors have already been praised by Street,\nwho placed their execution likewise in the twelfth century.\n\nExcepting this portal--a marvel in its class with its rounded tympanum\nrichly ornamented--the portion of the building doubtless more strongly\nimbued than any other with the general spirit of the edifice is that\npart of the apse independent of the octagonal addition previously\nmentioned, and which is dedicated to \"_La Virgen de los Ojos\nGrandes_\"--the Virgin of the Large Eyes. (She must have been\nAndalusian!) Of the true apse, the lower part has ogival arched windows\nof singular elegance; the upper body, also semicircular in form, but\nslightly smaller, has round-headed windows. Both the ogival windows of\nthe first and the Romanesque windows of the second harmonize\nwonderfully, thanks to the lesser height and width of the upper row. The\nbuttresses, simple, and yet alive with a gently curving line, are well\nworth noticing. It is strange, nevertheless, that they should not reach\nthe ground, but only support the upper body, and unite it with the\nlower, forming thus a sort of crown for the latter's benefit.\n\nPersonally--and the author must be excused if he emit his opinion--he\nconsiders the old apse of the cathedral in Lugo to be one of the finest\npieces of architecture to be met with in Galicia. It belongs to what has\nbeen called the period of Transition (compare previous remarks in\nanother chapter concerning this style), and yet it has a character of\nits own not to be found elsewhere, and the harmony of ogival and\nRomanesque has been so artfully revealed that it cannot fail to appeal\nto the tourist who contemplates it carefully.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nORENSE\n\n\nComing by rail from Lugo or Monforte toward Tuy and Vigo, the train\nsuddenly escapes from the savage cañon where the picturesque Miño rushes\nand boils beside the road, and emerges into a broad and fertile valley\nwhere figs, grapes, and olives grow in profusion. This valley is broad,\nits soil is of golden hue, and the sky above it is as brilliantly blue\nas a sapphire. In its centre Orense, heavy Orense, which claims as its\nfounder a Greek hero fresh from the pages of the Iliad, basks in the sun\nbeside the beautiful Miño; the while its cathedral looms up above the\nroofs of the surrounding houses.\n\nThe history of the town is as agitated as any in Galicia and shows the\nsame general happenings. The Romans appreciated it for its sulphur baths\nand called it Auria (golden) from the colour of the soil, of the water,\nand perhaps also on account of certain grains of gold discovered in the\nsands of the Miño.\n\nThe Suevos, who dominated Galicia and proved so beneficial to Tuy, did\nnot ignore the importance of Orense: one of the first bishoprics, if not\n_the_ first historical one in Galicia, was that of Orense, dating from\nbefore the fourth century, at least such is the opinion of to-day.\n\nMore than any other Galician city, excepting Tuy, it suffered from the\nArab invasions. Entirely destroyed, razed to the ground upon two\noccasions, it was ever being rebuilt by the returning inhabitants who\nhad fled. Previous to these Arab incursions the cathedral had been\ndedicated to St. Martin de Tours (France), and yearly pilgrimages took\nplace to the Galician shrine, where some relics belonging to the saint\nwere revered. But with the infidels these relics, or whatever they were,\nwere dispersed, and the next century (the eleventh) saw the new\ncathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mother (?). Besides, the inhabitants\nseemed to have forgotten the patronage of St. Martin, he who protects\nthe vine-grower's _métier_--and this in spite of the fact that the\nvalley of Orense is and was famous above all Galician regions for the\ncultivation of vines. Even Froissart, the French historian, could not\nspeak of the town without mentioning its wine. He passed a season in the\nvalley, accompanying, I believe, the Duke of Lancaster and his English\nsoldiers. The wine was so good and strong, wrote the historian, that the\nsoldiers clamoured for it; after they had drunk a little they toppled\nover like ninepins.\n\nThe Arabs defeated and thrown out of the peninsula, the vikings' last\nbusiness trip to Galicia over, and the Portuguese arms driven to the\nvalley of Braga beyond the Miño, Orense settled down to a peaceful life,\nthe monotony of which was broken now and again--as it usually was in\nthis part of the country--by squabbles between noblemen, prelates, and\nthe _bons bourgeois_. If no prince of the Church was killed here, as\nhappened in Lugo, one at least died mysteriously in the hands of his\nenemies. Not that it seemed to have mattered much, for said bishop\nappears to have been a peculiar sort of spiritual shepherd, full of\nvice, and devoid of virtue, some of whose doings have been\ncaricatured--according to the popular belief--in the cornices and\nfriezes of the convent of San Francisco.\n\nOtherwise, peace reigned in the land, and Orense passed a quiet\nexistence, a circumstance that did not in the slightest add to its\nimportance, either as an art, commercial, or industrial centre. To-day,\nfull of strangers in summer, who visit the sulphurous baths as did the\nRomans, and empty in winter, it exists without living, as does so many a\nSpanish town.\n\nNevertheless, with Vigo and Corunna, it is one of the cities with a\nfuture still before it. At least, its situation is bound to call\nattention as soon as ever the country is opened up to progress and\ncommerce.\n\nThe cathedral of Orense, like those of Tuy, Santiago, and Lugo, was\nerected in a _castro_. These _castros_ were circular dips in the ground,\nsurrounded by a low wall, which served the druids as their place of\nworship. The erection of Christian churches in these sacred spots proves\nbeyond a doubt that the new religion became amalgamated with the old,\nand even laid its foundations on the latter's most hallowed _castros_.\n\nPerhaps the question presents itself as to why a cathedral was erected\nin Orense previous to any other city. From a legend it would appear\nthat the king of the Suevos, Carrarick, had a son who was dying; thanks\nto the advice of a Christian monk, a disciple of St. Martin, and, one is\ninclined to think, fresh from Tours, the king dipped his son in the\nbaths of Orense, invoking at the same time the help of St. Martin. Upon\npulling his offspring out of the water, he discovered that he had been\nmiraculously cured. The grateful monarch immediately became a stout\nChristian, and erected a basilica--destroyed and rebuilt many a time\nduring the dark ages of feudalism and Arab invasion--in honour of his\nson's saviour. What is more wonderful still is that, soon afterward, the\nrelics of the French saint were cherished in Orense without its being\npositively known whence they came!\n\nThe present cathedral, the date of the erection of which is a point of\ndiscussion to-day, is generally believed to have been built on the spot\noccupied by the primitive basilica. It is dedicated to Santa Maria la\nMadre according to the official (doubtful?) statement, and to St. Martin\nof Tours, Apostle of Gaul, according to the popular version.\n\nThe general appearance of the cathedral proclaims it to have been begun,\nor at least planned, in the twelfth century, and not, as Baedeker\nstates, in 1220. As a twelfth-century church we are not obliged to\nconsider it for more reasons than one, and especially because, as we\nhave seen, the twelfth century was the great period of Galician\nchurch-building. It was in this century that the northwest shone forth\nin the history of Spain as it had not done before, nor has done since.\n\nThe church is another Romanesque specimen, but less pure in its style\nthan any of the others mentioned so far: the ogival arch is prevalent,\nbut rather as a decorative than as an essentially constructive element.\nAs it is, it was commenced at least fifty years after the cathedral of\nLugo, and though both are twelfth-century churches, the one is an early\nand the other presumably a late one; the employment of the ogival arch\nto a greater degree in Orense than in Lugo is thus easily explained.\n\nIn short, the cathedral of Orense is another example of the peculiar\nRomanesque of Galicia, which, withstanding the invasion of Gothic,\ncreated a school of its own, pretty in details, bold in harmony, though\nit be a hybrid school after all.\n\nThe influence of the cathedral of Santiago is self-evident in the\ncathedral of Orense. How could it be otherwise, when the bishop Don\nDiego, who sat on the chair, was a great friend and a continual visitor\nof that other Don Diego in Santiago who erected the primate cathedral of\nGalicia?\n\nThis influence is above all to be seen in the Portico del Paraiso, an\ninterior narthex leading from the western front to the body of the\nchurch. It is a handsome area of Romanesque sculpture covered by an\nogival vaulting, and would be an important monument if its rival and\nprototype in Santiago were not greater, both as regards its perfection\nof design, and the grand idea which inspired it.\n\nOf the three doors which lead into the cathedral, the western is crowned\nby three rounded arches reposing on simple columns. The tympanum as a\ndecorative element is lacking, as is also the low relief, which is\nusually superimposed above the upper arches. The latter are, however,\ncarved in the most elaborate manner. As regards the other two portals,\nthe northern and southern, their composition, as far as generalities are\nconcerned, is the same as the western, excepting that they are\nsurrounded by a depressed semicircular arch in relief, the whole of a\nprimitive design.\n\n[Illustration: NORTHERN PORTAL OF ORENSE CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe towers of the cathedral are not old. The general impression of the\nbuilding from the outside--unluckily it cannot be contemplated from any\ndistance, as the surrounding houses impede it--is agreeable. To be\nespecially observed are some fine fourteenth-century (?) windows which\nshow ogival pattern, but either of timid execution or else of a bold\nendeavour on the artist's part to subdue solemn Gothic to the Romanesque\ntraditions of the country.\n\nThe interior has been restored and changed many a time. In its original\nplan it consisted of two aisles and a nave with a one-aisled transept,\nand, just as in Lugo, an apse formed by three semicircles, of which the\ncentral was the largest, and contained the high altar. To-day, though\nthe general appearance or disposition of the church (Roman cruciform\nwith exceedingly short lateral arms) is the same, an ambulatory walk\nsurrounds the high altar, which has been moved nearer the transept in\nthe principal nave. The vaulting is ogival, reposing on solid and\nsevere shafts; the aisles are slightly lower than the central nave, and\nthe _croisée_ is surmounted, as in Santiago, by a handsome cupola\nsimilar in construction to that of Valencia, though more reduced in\nsize, and of a less elegant pattern.\n\nThe lack of triforium is to be noted, and its want is felt.\n\nThe northern aisle has no chapels let into its exterior wall, but a long\nrow of sepulchres and sepulchral reliefs to replace them. Some of them\nare severe and beautiful. The choir has finely carved stalls, and the\nGothic _retablo_ is the only one of its kind in Galicia, and one of the\nbest in Spain.\n\nMany more details could be given concerning the worthy cathedral of\nOrense, second only in richness of certain elements to that of Santiago.\nThe additions, both in Romanesque and ogival styles, are better than in\nmost other cathedrals in Galicia, though, as far as Renaissance is\nconcerned, Galicia showed but little love for Italia's art. This was due\nto the regional Celtic taste of the inhabitants, or else to the marked\nsigns of art decadence in this part of Spain, when the Renaissance was\nintroduced into the country.\n\nAs regards the cloister,--small and rather compact in its\ncomposition,--it is held by many to be a jewel of the fifteenth century\nin the ogival style, handsome in its general outlines, and beautiful in\nits wealth of sculptural decoration.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTUY\n\n\nThe last Spanish city on the Miño, the Rhine of Galicia, as beautiful as\nits German rival, and as rich in architectural remains, both military\nand ecclesiastical, is Tuy, the Castellum Tude of the Romans, lying\nhalf-way on the main road from Braga (Portugal) to Lugo and Astorga in\nSpain.\n\nThe approach to the city by rail from Orense is simply superb. The\nvalley of the Miño is broad and luxuriant, with ruins of castles to the\nright and to the left, ahead and behind; in the distance, time-old Tuy,\nthe city of a hundred misfortunes, is seated on an isolated hill, the\nsummit of which is crowned by a fortress-cathedral of the twelfth\ncentury.\n\nTuy sits on her hill, and gazes across the river at Valença do Minho,\nthe rival fortress opposite, and the first town in Portugal. A handsome\nbridge unites the enemies--friends to-day. Nevertheless, the cannons'\nmouths of the glaring strongholds are for ever pointed toward each\nother, as though wishing to recall those days of the middle ages when\nTuy was the goal of Portuguese ambitions and the last Spanish town in\nGalicia.\n\nBefore the Romans conquered Iberia, Tuy, which is evidently a Celtic\nname, was a most important town. This is easily explained by its\nposition, a sort of inland Gibraltar, backed by the Sierra to the rear,\nand crowning the river which brought ships from the ocean to its\nwharves. The city's future was brilliant.\n\nMatters changed soon, however. The Romans drew away much of its power to\ncities further inland, as was their wont. The castle remained standing,\nas did the walls, which reached on the northern shores of the river down\nto Guardia, situated in the delta about thirty miles away. Remains of\nthe cyclopean walls which crown the mountain chain on the Spanish side\nof the Miño are still to be seen to-day, yet they give but a feeble idea\nof the city's former strength.\n\nAfter the Romans had been defeated by the invasion of savage tribes from\nthe north, Tuy became the capital of the Suevos, a tribe opposed to the\nVisigoths, who settled in the rest of Spain, and for centuries waged a\ncruel war against the kings whose subjects had settled principally in\nGalicia and in the north of Portugal.\n\nThe power of the Suevos, who were seated firmly in Tuy, was at last\ncompletely broken, and the capital, its inhabitants fighting\nenergetically to the end, was at length conquered. It was the last\nstronghold to fall into the hands of the conquerors. A century later\nWitiza, the sovereign of the Visigoths, made Tuy his capital for some\nlength of time, and the district round about is full of the traditions\nof the doings of this monarch. Most of these legends denigrate his\ncharacter, and make him appear cruel, wilful, and false. One of them,\nconcerning Duke Favila and Doña Luz, is perhaps the most popular.\nAccording to it, Witiza fell in love with the former's wife, Doña Luz,\nand, to remove the husband, he heartlessly had his eyes put out, on the\ncharge of being ambitious, and of having conspired against the throne.\nThe fate that awaited Doña Luz, who defended her honour, was no better,\naccording to this legend.\n\nAfter the return of Witiza to Toledo, the city slowly lost its\nimportance, and since then she has never recovered her ancient fame.\n\nLike the remaining seaports of Galicia,--or such cities as were situated\nnear the ocean,--Tuy was sacked and pillaged by Arabs and vikings alike.\nThe times were extremely warlike, and Galicia, from her position, and on\naccount of the independent spirit of the noblemen, was called upon to\nsuffer more than any other region, and Tuy, near the ocean, and a\nfrontier town to boot, underwent greater hardships than any other\nGalician city. Of an admirable natural position, it would have been able\nto resist the attacks of Gudroed and Olaf, of the Portuguese noblemen\nand of Arab armies, had it been but decently fortified. The lack of such\nfortifications, however, and the neglect and indifference with which it\nwas, as a rule, regarded by the kings of Asturias, easily account for\nits having fallen into the hands of enemies, of having been razed more\nthan once to the ground, of having been the seat of ambitious and\nconspiring noblemen who were only bent on thrashing their neighbours,\nChristians and infidels alike.\n\nIn the sixth century Tuy had already been raised to the dignity of a\ncity, but until after the eleventh century the prelates of the church,\ntyrants when the times were propitious, but cowardly when danger was at\nhand, were continually removing their see to the neighbouring villages\nand mountains to the rear. They left their church with surprising\nalacrity and ease to the mercy of warriors and enemies, to such an\nextent, in fact, that neither are documents at hand to tell us what\nhappened exactly in the darker ages of mediæval history, nor are the\nexisting monuments in themselves sufficient to convince us of the\nvicissitudes which befell the city, its see, and the latter's flocks.\n\nSince the last Arab and Norseman raid, matters seemed to have gone\nbetter with fair Tuy, for, excepting the continual strife between\nPortuguese and Galician noblemen, who were for ever gaining and losing\nthe city on the Miño, neither infidels nor pirates visited its wharves.\nIt was then that the foundations of the present cathedral were laid, but\nnot without disputes between the prelates (one of whom was taken\nprisoner, and had to give a handsome ransom to be released) and the\nnoblemen who called themselves seigneurs of the city. Between the\nclaims and struggles of these two factions, those who suffered most were\nthe citizens themselves, who had nothing to gain and everything to lose.\nBetween the bishops who pretended to possess the whole city, and the\nnoblemen who endeavoured to leave the prelates without a groat, the\nignored inhabitants of the poorer quarters of the town passed a\nmiserable life.\n\nSince the middle ages, or better still, since the time when the Miño\nbecame definitely the frontier line between Spain and Portugal, the city\nof Tuy has been heard of but little. Few art students visit it to-day,\nand yet it is one of the most picturesquely situated cities in Galicia,\nor even in Spain. Its cathedral, as well as the Pre-Roman, Roman,\nGothic, and middle age remains,--most of them covered over with heaps of\ndust and earth,--are well worth a visit, being highly interesting both\nto artists and to archæological students.\n\nIn short, Tuy on her hill beside the Miño, glaring across an iron bridge\nat Portugal, is a city rich in traditions and legends of faded hopes and\npast glories. Unluckily for her, cities of less historical fame are\nbetter known and more admired.\n\nAs has already been mentioned, the cathedral crowns the hill, upon the\nslopes of which the city descends to the river; moreover, the edifice\noccupies the summit only,--a _castro_, as explained in a previous\nchapter. Therefore, for proofs are lacking both ways, it is probable\nthat the present building was erected on the same spot where the many\nbasilicas which we know existed and were destroyed in one or another of\nthe many sieges, stood in bygone days.\n\nThe present cathedral dedicated to the Virgin Mary, like that in Orense,\nwas most likely begun in the first half of the twelfth century;\nsuccessive earthquakes suffered by the city, especially that felt in\nLisbon in 1755, obliged the edifice to be repaired more than once, which\naccounts for many of the base additions which spoil the ensemble.\n\nFrom the general disposition of the building, which is similar in many\ndetails to the cathedral at Lugo, it has been thought probable that\nMaestro Raimundo (father?) was the builder of the church; definite\nproofs are, however, lacking.\n\nThe ground-plan is rectangular, with a square apse; the interior is\nRoman cruciform, consisting of a nave and two aisles; the transept, like\nthat of Santiago, is also composed of a nave and two aisles; the four\narms of the cross are all of them very short, and almost all are of the\nsame length. Were it not for the height of the nave, crowned by a\nRomanesque triforium of blinded arches, the interior would be decidedly\nugly. However, the height attained gives a noble aspect to the whole,\nand what is more, renders the ensemble curious rather than beautiful.\n\nThe large and ungainly choir spoils the general view of the nave,\nwhereas the continuation of the aisles, broad and light to the very\napse, where, facing each aisle, there is a handsome rose window which\nthrows a flood of coloured light into the building, cannot be too highly\npraised.\n\nThe walls are devoid of all decoration, and if it were not for the\nchapels, some of which in default of pure workmanship are richly\nornamented, this see of Tuy would have to pass as a very poor one\nindeed.\n\nThe roof of the building has been added lately, doubtless after one of\nthe many earthquakes. It is of a simple execution, neither good nor bad,\ncomposed of a series of slightly rounded arches with pronounced ribs.\n\nIt is outside, however, that the tourist will pass the greater part of\nhis time. Unluckily, the houses which closely surround the building\nforbid a general view from being obtained of any but the western front,\nyet this is perhaps a blessing, for none of the other sides are worthy\nof special notice.\n\nAs mentioned, the appearance of the church is that of a fortress rather\nthan of a temple, or better still, is that of a feudal castle. The\ncrenelated square tower on the western front is heavy, and no higher\nthan the peaked and simple crowning of the handsome Romanesque window\nabove the narthex; the general impression is that of resistance rather\nthan of faith, and the lack of all decoration has caused the temple to\nbe called sombre.\n\nThe handsome narthex, the summit of which is crenelated like the tower,\nis the simplest and noblest to be found in Galicia, and is really\nbeautiful in its original severity. Though dating from a time when\nflorid ogival had taken possession of Spain, the artist who erected it\n(it is posterior to the rest of the building--early fifteenth\ncentury) had the good taste to complete it simply, without\ndecoration, so as to render it homogeneous with the rest of the\nbuilding. It is also possible that there were no funds at hand for him\nto erect it otherwise!\n\n[Illustration: TUY CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe doors stand immediately behind this narthex. The portal is carved or\ndecorated in an elaborate late Romanesque style, one of the most richly\nornamented porticos belonging to this school in Spain, and a handsome\npage in the history of Galician art in the twelfth century. The low\nreliefs above the door and in the tympanum of the richly carved arcade,\nare _felt_ and are admirably executed.\n\nThe northern entrance to the building is another fine example of\ntwelfth-century Spanish, or Galician Romanesque. Though simpler in\nexecution than the western front, it nevertheless is by some critics\nconsidered purer in style (earlier?) than the first mentioned.\n\nThe tower which stands to the left of the northern entrance is one of\nthe few in the Romanesque style to be seen in northern Spain; it is\nsevere in its structure and pierced by a series of round-headed windows.\n\nThe cloister dating from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries is\nanother of Galicia's monuments well worth a visit, which proves the\nlocal mixture of Romanesque and ogival, and is, perhaps, the last\nexample on record, as toward the fifteenth century Renaissance elements\nhad completely captured all art monuments.\n\nSuch is the cathedral of Tuy, a unique example of Galician Romanesque in\ncertain details, an edifice that really ought to be better known than it\nis.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nBAYONA AND VIGO\n\n\nThe prettiest bay in Galicia is that of Vigo, which reaches inland to\nRedondela--a village seated, as it were, on a Swiss lake, with two\nimmense viaducts passing over its head where the train speeds to Tuy and\nSantiago. There is no lovelier spot in all Spain.\n\nThe city of Vigo, with its suffragan church on the hillside, is a modern\ntown dedicated to commerce; its wharves are important, and the water in\nthe bay is deep enough to permit the largest vessels afloat to enter and\nanchor. The art student will not linger here, however, but will go by\nboat to Bayona outside the bay and to the south near the Portuguese\nfrontier.\n\nHere, until quite recently, stood for an unknown length of time the\nsuffragan church which has now been removed to Vigo. But Bayona, once\nupon a time the most important seaport in Galicia, is a ruin to-day, a\ndelightful ruin, and one of the prettiest in its ensemble, thanks to the\nbeautiful and weird surroundings.\n\nIts history extends from the times of the Phœnicians, Greeks, and\nRomans,--even earlier, as remains of lake-dwellers have been found. This\nstatement is not an exaggeration, though it may appear to be one, for\nthe bay is as quiet as a lake.\n\nAfter the defeat of the Armada, Bayona was left a prey to Drake and his\nworthy companions. They dealt the city a death-blow from which it has\nnever recovered, and Vigo, the new, the commercial, has usurped its\nimportance, as it did its church, which once upon a time, as is\ngenerally believed, was a bishopric.\n\nThe present ruinous edifice of Bayona is peculiarly Galician and shows\nthe same characteristics as the remaining cathedrals we have spoken\nabout so far. It was ordained in 1482 by the Bishop of Tuy. The windows\nof the nave (clerestory) are decidedly pointed or ogival; those of the\naisles are pure Romanesque. The peculiar feature is the use of animal\ndesigns in the decorative elements of the capitals,--a unique example\nin Galicia, where only floral or leaf motives were used in the best\nperiod of Romanesque. The design to be noticed here on one of the\ncapitals is a bird devouring a toad, and it is so crudely and rustically\ncarved that one is almost inclined to believe that a native of the\ncountry conceived and executed it.\n\n\n\n\n_PART III_\n\n_The North_\n\n\n\n\n\nOVIEDO\n\n\n\"Oviedo was born of a religious inspiration; its first building was a\ntemple (monastery?), and monks were its first inhabitants.\"\n\nIn the valley adjoining Cangas, in the eighth century, the most\nimportant village in Asturias, a religious sect erected a monastery.\nFroila or Froela, one of the early noblemen (now called a king, though\nhe was no king in those days) who fought against the Moors, erected in\nthe same century a church in the vicinity of Cangas (in Oviedo?),\ndedicating it to the Saviour; he also built a palace near the same spot.\nHis son, Alfonso the Chaste, born in this palace, was brought up in a\nconvent near Lugo in Galicia. Upon becoming king he hesitated whether to\nestablish his court in Lugo, or in the new village which had been his\nbirthplace, namely Oviedo. At length, remembering perhaps his father's\nlove for the country near Cangas, he established it in the latter place\nin the ninth century, and formed the kingdom of Asturias as opposed to\nthat of Galicia; the capital of the new kingdom was Oviedo.\n\n\"The king gave the city to the Saviour and to the venerable church built\nby his father, and which, like a sun surrounded by its planets, he\nplaced within a circle of other temples.\n\n\"He convocated an ecclesiastical council with a view to establish a\nprimate see in Oviedo; he maintained an assembly of prelates who lent\nlustre to the church, and he gave each a particular residence; the\nspiritual splendour of Oviedo eclipsed even the brilliancy of the\nthrone.\"\n\nThis was in 812, and the first bishop consecrated was one Adulfo.\n\nThe subsequent reign of Alfonso was signalized by the discovery in\nGalicia of the corpse of St. James the Apostle. The sovereign, it\nappears, showed great interest in the discovery, established a church on\nthe sacred spot, and generously donated the nascent town. Not without\nreason did posterity celebrate his many Christian virtues by calling\nhim the Chaste, _el Casto_.\n\nTwo hundred years only did Oviedo play an important part in the history\nof Spain as capital of the Christian Kingdom. In 1020 its civil\ndignities were removed by Alfonso V. to Leon in the south. From then on\nthe city remained important only as the alleged cradle of the new\ndynasty, and its church--that of the Salvador--was used as the pantheon\nof the kings.\n\nIn the twelfth century the basilica was in a ruinous state, and almost\ncompletely destroyed. The fate of the Romanesque edifice which was then\nbuilt was as short as the city's glory had been ephemeral, for in 1380\nit was destroyed by flames, and in its place the first stone of the\npresent building was laid by one Bishop Gutierre. One hundred and\nseventy years later the then reigning prelate placed his coat of arms on\nthe spire, and the Gothic monument which is to-day admired by all who\nvisit it was completed.\n\nThe history of the city--an ecclesiastical and civil metropolis--is\ndevoid of interest since the tenth century. It was as though the streets\nwere too crowded with the legends of the fictitious kingdom of Asturias,\nto be enabled to shake off the depression which little by little spread\nover the whole town.\n\nApart from its cathedral, Oviedo and the surrounding country possesses\nmany of the earliest religious monuments in Spain, dating from the\neighth century. These, on account of their primary Romanesque and\nbasilica style, form a chapter apart in the history of ecclesiastical\narchitecture, and ought to be thoroughly studied. This is not the place,\nhowever, to speak about them, in spite of their extreme age and the\ngreat interest they awaken.\n\nNothing could be more graceful than the famous tower of the cathedral of\nOviedo, which is a superb Gothic _flèche_ of well-proportioned elements,\nand literally covered over and encrusted with tiny pinnacles. Slender\nand tapering, it rises to a height of about 280 feet. It is composed of\nfive distinct bodies, of which the penultimate betrays certain\nRenaissance influences in the triangular cornices of the windows, etc.;\nthis passes, however, entirely unperceived from a certain distance. The\nangles formed by the sides of the tower are flanked by a pair of slender\nshafts in high relief, which tend to give it an even more majestic\nimpression than would be the case without them.\n\n[Illustration: OVIEDO CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe cathedral itself is a late ogival building belonging to the\nfifteenth century; though it cannot compare in fairy-like beauty with\nthat of Leon, nor in majesty with that of Burgos, it is nevertheless one\nof the richest Gothic structures in Spain, especially as regards the\ndecoration of the interior.\n\nThe western front is entirely taken up by the triple portal, surmounted\nby arches that prove a certain reluctance on the builder's part to make\nthem pointed; the northern extremity of the front is devoid of a tower,\nthough the base be standing. It was originally intended to erect a\nsecond _flèche_ similar to the one described, but for some reason or\nother--without a doubt purely financial--it was never built.\n\nOf the three portals, that which corresponds to the central nave is the\nlarger; it is flanked by the only two statuettes in the whole front,\nnamely, by those of Alfonso the Chaste and Froela, and is surmounted by\na bold low relief. The arches of the three doors are richly carved with\nogival arabesques, and the panels, though more modern, have been wrought\nby the hand of a master.\n\nTaken all in all, this western front can be counted among the most\nsombre and naked in Spain, so naked, in fact, that it appears rather as\nthough money had been lacking to give it a richer aspect than that the\nartist's genius should have been so completely devoid of decorative\ntaste or imagination.\n\nThe interior of the Roman cruciform building, though by no means one of\nthe largest, is, as regards its architectural disposition, one of the\nmost imposing Gothic interiors in Spain. High, long, and narrow, the\ncentral nave is rendered lighter and more elegant by the bold triforium\nand the lancet windows of the upper clerestory wall. The wider aisles,\non the other hand, are dark in comparison to the nave, and tend to give\nthe latter greater importance.\n\nThis was doubtless the intention of the primitive master who terminated\nthe aisles at the transept by constructing chapels to the right and to\nthe left of the high altar and on a line with it. The sixteenth-century\nbuilders thought differently, however, and so the aisles were prolonged\ninto an apsidal ambulatory behind the high altar. This part of the\nbuilding is far less pure in style than the primitive structure, and the\nchapels which open to the right and to the left are of a more recent\ndate, and consequently even more out of harmony than the plateresque\nambulatory. The three rose windows in the semicircular apse are richly\ndecorated with ogival nervures, and correspond, one to the nave and one\nto each of the aisles; they belong to the primitive structure, having\nilluminated the afore-mentioned chapels.\n\nStanding beneath the _croisée_, under a simple ogival vaulting, the ribs\nof which are supported by richly carved capitals and elegant shafts, the\ntourist is almost as favourably impressed by the view of the high altar\nto the east and of the choir to the west, as is the case in Toledo. For\nin Oviedo begins that series of Gothic churches in which the æsthetic\nimpression is not restricted to architectural or sculptural details\nalone, but is also produced by the blinding display of metal, wood, and\nother decorative accessories.\n\nThe _retablo_--a fine Gothic specimen--stands boldly forth against the\nlight coming from the apse in the rear, while on the opposite side of\nthe transept handsome, deep brown choir stalls peep out from behind a\nmagnificent iron _reja_. So beautiful is the view of the choir's\nensemble that the spectator almost forgives it for breaking in upon the\ngrandeur of the nave.\n\nThe chapels buried in the walls of the north aisle have most of them\nbeen built in too extravagant a manner; the south aisle, on the other\nhand, is devoid of such characteristic rooms, but contains some highly\ninteresting tomb slabs.\n\nThe cloister to the south of the church is a rich and florid example of\nlate ogival; it is, above all, conspicuous for the marvellous variety of\nits decorative motives, both as regards the sculptural scenes of the\ncapitals (which portray scenes in the lives of saints and Asturian\nkings, and are almost grotesque, though by no means carved without fire\nand spirit) and the fretwork of the arches which look out upon the\ngarth.\n\nThe Camara Santa, or treasure-room, is an annex to the north of the\ncathedral, and dates from the ninth or tenth century; it is small, and\nwas formerly used as a chapel in the old Romanesque building torn down\nin 1380. Beside it, in the eleventh century, was constructed another and\nlarger room in the same style, with the characteristic Romanesque\nvaulting, the rounded windows, and the decorative motives of the massive\npillars and capitals.\n\n[Illustration: CLOISTER OF OVIEDO CATHEDRAL]\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nCOVADONGA\n\n\nTo the battle of Covadonga modern Spain owes her existence, that is, if\nwe are to believe the legends which have been handed down to us, and\nwhich rightfully or wrongfully belong to history. Under the\ncircumstances, it is not surprising that the gratitude of later monarchs\nshould have erected a church on the site of the famous battle, and\nshould have raised it to a collegiate church.\n\nCovadonga lies in the vicinity of Oviedo, in a ravine lost in the heart\nof the Picos de Europa; it is at once the Morgarten and Sempach of\nSpanish history, and though no art monuments, excepting the above named\nmonastic church and two Byzantine-Romanesque tombs, are to be seen,\nthere is hardly a visitor who, having come as far north as Oviedo, does\nnot pay a visit to the cradle of Spanish history.\n\nNor is the time lost. For the tourist who leaves the capital of\nAsturias with the intention of going, as would a pilgrim, to Covadonga\n(by stage and not by rail!) will be delightfully surprised by the weird\nand savage wildness of the country through which he is driven.\n\nFollowing the bed of a river, he enters a ravine; up and up climbs the\nroad bordered by steep declivities until at last it reaches a wall--a\n_cul-de-sac_ the French would call it--rising perpendicularly ahead of\nhim. Half-way up, and on a platform, stands a solitary church; near by a\nsmall cave, with an authentic (?) image of the Virgin of Battles and two\nold sepulchres, is at first hidden from sight behind a protruding mass\nof rock.\n\nThe guide or cicerone then explains to the tourist the origin of Spanish\nhistory in the middle ages, buried in the legends, of which the\nfollowing is a short extract.\n\nPelayo, the son of Doña Luz and Duke Favila, who, as we have seen, was\nkilled by Witiza in Tuy, fled from Toledo to the north of Spain, living\namong the savage inhabitants of Asturias.\n\nA few years later, when Rodrigo, who was king at the time, and by some\nstrange coincidence Pelayo's cousin as well, lost the battle of\nGuadalete and his life to boot, the Arabs conquered the whole peninsula\nand placed in Gijon, a seaport town of Asturias, a garrison under the\ncommand of one Munuza. The latter fell desperately in love with Pelayo's\nsister Hermesinda, whom he had met in the village of Cangas. Wishing to\nget the brother out of the way, he sent him on an errand to Cordoba,\nexpecting him to be assassinated on the road. But Pelayo escaped and\nreturned in time to save his sister; mad with wrath and swearing eternal\nrevenge, he retreated to the mountainous vales of Asturias, bearing\nHermesinda away with him. He was joined by many refugee Christians\ndissatisfied with the Arab yoke, and aided by them, made many a bold\nincursion into the plains below, and grew so daring that at length\nMunuza mustered an army two hundred thousand (!) strong and set out to\npunish the rebel.\n\nUp a narrow pass between two high ridges went the pagan army, paying\nlittle heed to the growing asperity and savageness of the path it was\ntreading.\n\nSuddenly ahead of the two hundred thousand a high sheet of rock rose\nperpendicularly skywards; on a platform Pelayo and his three hundred\nwarriors, who somehow or other had managed to emerge from a miraculous\ncave where they had found an effigy of the Virgin of Battles, made a\nlast stand for their lives and liberties.\n\nImmediately a shower of stones, beams, trunks, and what not was hurled\ndown into the midst of the heathen army by the three hundred warriors.\nConfusion arose, and, like frightened deer, the Arabs turned and fled\ndown the path to the vale, pushing each other, in their fear, into the\nprecipice below.\n\nThen the Virgin of Battles arose, and wishing to make the defeat still\nmore glorious, she caused the whole mountain to slide; an avalanche of\nstones and earth dragged the remnants of Munuza's army into the ravine\nbeneath. So great was the slaughter and the loss of lives caused by this\ndefeat, that \"for centuries afterward bones and weapons were to be seen\nin the bed of the river when autumn's heat left the sands bare.\"\n\nThis Pelayo was the first king of Asturias, the first king of Spain,\nfrom whom all later-date monarchs descended, though neither in a direct\nnor a legitimate line, be it remarked in parenthesis. The tourist will\nbe told that it is Pelayo's tomb, and that of his sister, that are still\nto be seen in the cave at Covadonga. Perhaps, though no documents or\nother signs exist to bear out the statement. At any rate, the sepulchres\nare old, which is their chief merit. The monastical church which stands\nhard by cannot claim this latter quality; neither is it important as an\nart monument.\n\n\n\n\n\nLEON\n\n\nThe civil power enjoyed by Oviedo previous to the eleventh century moved\nsouthwards in the wake of Asturias's conquering army. For about a\ncentury it stopped on its way to Toledo in a fortress-town situated in a\nwind-swept plain, at the juncture of two important rivers.\n\nLeon was the name of this fortress, one of the strategical points, not\nonly of the early Romans, but of the Arabs who conquered the country,\nand later of the nascent Christian kingdom of Asturias. In the tenth\ncentury, or, better still, toward the beginning of the eleventh, and\nafter the final retreat of the Moors and their terrible general\nAlmanzor, Leon became the recognized capital of Asturias.\n\nWhen the Christian wave first spread over the Iberian peninsula in the\ntime of the Romans, the fortress Legio Septima, established by\nTrajanus's soldiers, had already grown in importance, and was considered\none of the promising North Spanish towns.\n\nThe inhabitants were among the most fearless adherents of the new faith,\nand it is said that the first persecution of the martyrs took place in\nLeon; consequently, it is not to be wondered at that, as soon as\nChristianity was established in Iberia, a see should be erected on the\nblood-soaked soil of the Roman fortress. (First known bishop, Basilides,\n252 A. D.)\n\nMarcelo seems to have been the most stoically brave of the many Leonese\nmartyrs. A soldier or subaltern in the Roman legion, he was daring\nenough to throw his sword at the feet of his commander, who stood in\nfront of the regiment, saying:\n\n\"I obey the eternal King and scorn your silent gods of stone and wood.\nIf to obey Cæsar is to revere him as an idol, I refuse to obey him.\"\n\nStoic, with a grain of sad grandeur about them, were his last words when\nAgricolanus condemned him to death.\n\n\"May God bless you, Agricolano.\"\n\nAnd his head was severed from his body.\n\nThe next religious war to be waged in and around Leon took place\nbetween Christians and the invading Visigoths, who professed a doctrine\ncalled Arrianism. Persecutions were, of course, ripe again, and the\nstory is told of how the prior of San Vicente, after having been\nbeheaded, appeared in a dream to his cloister brethren trembling behind\ntheir monastic walls, and advised them to flee, as otherwise they would\nall be killed,--an advice the timid monks thought was an explicit order\nto be immediately obeyed.\n\nThe conversion of Recaredo to Christianity--for political reasons\nonly!--stopped all further persecution; during the following centuries\nLeon's inhabitants strove to keep away the Arab hordes who swept\nnorthwards; now the Christians were overcome and Allah was worshipped in\nthe basilica; now the Asturian kings captured the town from Moorish\nhands, and the holy cross crowned the altar. Finally the dreaded infidel\nAlmanzor burnt the city to the ground, and retreated to Cordoba. Ordoño\nI., following in his wake, rebuilt the walls and the basilica, and from\nthenceforward Leon was never again to see an Arab army within its gates.\n\nProsperity then smiled on the city soon to become the capital of the\nkingdom of Asturias. The cathedral church was built on the spot where\nOrdoño had erected a palace; the first stone was laid in 1199.\n\nThe traditions, legends, and historical events which took place in the\nkingdom's capital until late in the thirteenth century belong to Spanish\nhistory, or what is known as such. Ordoño II. was mysteriously put to\ndeath, by the Counts of Castile, some say; Alfonso IV.--a monk rather\nthan a king--renounced his right to the throne, and retired to a convent\nto pray for his soul. After awhile he tired of mumbling prayers and,\ncoming out from his retreat, endeavoured to wrest the sceptre from the\nhands of his brother Ramiro. But alas, had he never left the cloister\ncell! He was taken prisoner by his humane brother, had his eyes burnt\nout for the pains he had taken, and died a few years later.\n\nNot long after, Alfonso VII. was crowned Emperor of Spain in the church\nof San Isidoro, an event which marks the climax of Leon's fame and\nwealth. Gradually the kings moved southwards in pursuit of the\nretreating Moors, and with them went their court and their patronage,\nuntil finally the political centre of Castile and Leon was established\nin Burgos, and the fate that had befallen Oviedo and Lugo visited also\nthe one-time powerful fortress of the Roman Legio Septima.\n\nTo-day? A dormant city on a baking plain and an immense cathedral\npointing back to centuries of desperate wars between Christians and\nMoors; a collegiate church, far older still, which served as cathedral\nwhen Alfonso VII. was crowned Emperor of Spain.\n\n_Pulchra Leonina_ is the epithet applied to the beautiful cathedral of\nLeon, dedicated to the Ascension of Our Lady and to Nuestra Señora de la\nBlanca.\n\nThe first stone was laid in 1199, presumably on the spot where Ordoño I.\nhad erected his palace; the construction of the edifice did not really\ntake place, however, until toward 1250, so that it can be considered as\nbelonging to the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries.\n\n\"Two hundred years only did the temple enjoy a quiet life. In the\nsixteenth century, restorations and additions were begun; in 1631 the\nsimple vault of the _croisée_ fell in and was replaced by an absurd\ndome; in 1694 Manuel Conde destroyed and rebuilt the southern front\naccording to the style then in vogue, and in 1743 a great number of the\narches of the aisles fell in. Different parts of the building were\ncontinually tumbling down, having become too weak to support the heavier\nmaterials used in the construction of additions and renovations.\"\n\nThe cathedral was closed to the public by the government in 1850 and\nhanded over to a body of architects, who were to restore it in\naccordance with the thirteenth-century design; in 1901 the interior of\nthe building had been definitely finished, and was opened once more to\nthe religious cult.\n\nThe general plan of the building is Roman cruciform, with a semicircular\napse composed of five chapels and an ambulatory behind the high altar.\n\nAs peculiarities, the following may be mentioned: the two towers of the\nwestern front do not head the aisles, but flank them; the transept is\nexceptionally wide (in Spanish cathedrals the distance between the high\naltar and the choir must be regarded as the transept, properly speaking)\nand is composed of a broad nave and two aisles to the east and one to\nthe west; the width also of the church at the transept is greater by\ntwo aisles than that of the body itself,--a modification which produces\na double Roman cross and lends exceptional beauty to the ensemble, as it\npermits of an unobstructed view from the western porch to the very apse.\n\nAttention must also be drawn to the row of two chapels and a vestibule\nwhich separate the church from the cloister (one of the most celebrated\nin Spain as a Gothic structure, though mixed with Renaissance motives\nand spoilt by fresco paintings). Thanks to this arrangement, the\ncathedral possesses a northern portal similar to the southern one. As\nregards the exterior of the building, it is a pity that the two towers\nwhich flank the aisles are heavy in comparison to the general\nconstruction of the church; had light and slender towers like those of\nBurgos or that of Oviedo been placed here, how grand would have been the\neffect! Besides, they are not similar, but date from different periods,\nwhich is another circumstance to be regretted.\n\nThe second bodies of the western and southern façades also clash on\naccount of the Renaissance elements, with their simple horizontal lines\nopposed to the vertical tendency of pure Gothic. But then, they also\nwere erected at a later date.\n\nExcepting these remarks, however, nothing is more airily beautiful and\nelegant than the superb expression of the _razonadas locuras_ (logical\nnonsense) of the ogival style in all its phases, both early and late, or\neven decadent. For examples of each period are to be found here,\ncorresponding to the century in which they were erected.\n\nThe ensemble is an astonishing profusion of high and narrow windows, of\nwhich there are three rows: the clerestory, the triforium, and the\naisles. Each window is divided into two by a column so fragile that it\nresembles a spider's thread. These windows peep forth from a forest of\nflying buttresses, and nowhere does the mixture of pinnacles and painted\npanes attain a more perfect eloquence than in the eastern extremity of\nthe polygonal apse.\n\nThe western and southern façades--the northern being replaced by the\ncloister--are alike in their general design, and are composed of three\nportals surmounted by a decidedly pointed arch which, in the case of the\ncentral portals, adorns a richly sculptured tympanum. The artistic\nmerit of the statuary in the niches of both central portals is devoid of\nexceptional praise, that of the southern façade being perhaps of a\nbetter taste. As regards the stone pillar which divides the central door\ninto two wings, that on the south represents Our Lady of the Blanca, and\nthat on the west San Froilan, one of the early martyr bishops of Leon.\n\nExcepting the Renaissance impurities already referred to, each portal is\nsurmounted by a row of five lancet windows, which give birth, as it\nwere, to one immense window of delicate design.\n\nPenetrating into the interior of the building, preferably by the lateral\ndoors of the western front, the tourist is overcome by a feeling of awe\nand amazement at the bold construction of aisles and nave, as slender as\nis the frost pattern on a spotless pane. The full value of the windows,\nwhich are gorgeous from the outside, is only obtained from the interior\nof the temple; those of the clerestory reach from the sharp ogival\nvaulting to the height of the triforium, which in its turn is backed by\nanother row of painted windows; in the aisles, another series of panes\nrose in the sixteenth century from the very ground (!), though in\nrecent times the bases have unluckily been blinded to about the height\nof a man.\n\nThe pillars and columns are of the simplest and most sober construction,\nso simple that they do not draw the spectator's attention, but leave him\nto be impressed by the great height of nave and aisles as compared with\ntheir insignificant width, and above all by the profuse perforation of\nthe walls by hundreds upon hundreds of windows.\n\nUnluckily, the original pattern of the painted glass does not exist but\nin an insignificant quantity: the northern window, the windows of the\nhigh altar, and those of the Chapel of St. James are about the only ones\ndating from the fifteenth century that are left standing to-day; they\nare easily recognizable by the rich, mellow tints unattained in modern\nstained glass.\n\nAs accessories, foremost to be mentioned are the choir stalls, which are\nof an elegant and severe workmanship totally different from the florid\ncarving of those in Toledo. The high altar, on the other hand, is devoid\nof interest excepting for the fine ogival sepulchre of King Ordoño II;\nthe remaining chapels, some of which contain art objects of value, need\nnot claim the tourist's special attention.\n\nBy way of conclusion: the cathedral of Leon, restored to-day after years\nof ruin and neglect, stands forth as one of the master examples of\nGothic workmanship, unrivalled in fairy-like beauty and, from an\narchitectural point of view, the very best example of French ogival to\nbe met with in Spain.\n\nMoreover, those who wrought it, felt the real principles of all Gothic\narchitecture. Many are the cathedrals in Spain pertaining to this great\nschool, but not one of them can compare with that of Leon in the way the\nessential principle was _felt_ and _expressed_. They are all beautiful\nin their complex and hybrid style, but none of them can claim to be\nGothic in the way they are built. For wealth, power, and luxury in\ndetails is generally the lesson Spanish cathedrals teach, but they do\nnot give their lancets and shafts, their vertical lines and pointed\narches, the chance to impress the visitor or true believer with those\nsentiments so peculiar to the great ogival style.\n\nThe cathedral of Leon is, in Spain, the unique exception to this rule.\nSave only those constructive errors or dissonances previously referred\nto, and which tend to counteract the soaring characteristic, it could be\nconsidered as being pure in style. Nevertheless, it is not only the\ntruest Gothic cathedral on the peninsula, but one of the finest in the\nworld.\n\nAt the same time, it is no less true that it is not so Spanish as either\nthe Gothic of Burgos or of Toledo.\n\n\nIn 1063 the King of Leon, Fernando I., signed a treaty with the Arab\ngovernor of Sevilla, obliging the latter to hand over to the Catholic\nmonarch, in exchange for some other privileges, the corpse of San\nIsidoro. It was conveyed to Leon, where a church was built to contain\nthe remains of the saint; the same building was to serve as a royal\npantheon.\n\nAbout a century later Alfonso VII. was battling against the pagans in\nAndalusia when, in the field of Baeza, the \"warlike apparition of San\nIsidoro appeared in the heavens and encouraged the Christian soldiers.\"\n\nThanks to this divine aid, the Moors were beaten, and Alfonso VII.,\nreturning to Leon, enriched the saint's shrine, enlarged it, and raised\nit to a suffragan church, destined later to serve as the temporary see\nwhile the building of the real cathedral was going on.\n\nIn 1135 Alfonso VII. was crowned Emperor of the West Roman Empire with\nextraordinary pomp and splendour in the Church of San Isidoro. The\napogee of Leon's importance and power coincides with this memorable\nevent.\n\nThe emperor's sister, Sancha, a pious infanta, bequeathed her vast\nfortune as well as her palace to San Isidoro, her favourite saint; the\nchurch in Leon became, consequently, one of the richest in Spain, a\nprivilege it was, however, unable to retain for any length of time.\n\nIn 1029, shortly after the erection of the primitive building, its front\nwas sullied, according to the tradition, by the blood of one Count\nGarcia of Castile. The following is the story:\n\nThe King of Asturias at the time was Bermudo II., married to Urraca, the\ndaughter of Count Sancho of Castile. Political motives had produced this\nunion, for the Condes de Castile had grown to be the most important and\npowerful feudal lords of the kingdom.\n\nTo assure the count's assistance and friendship, the king went even\nfurther: he promised his sister Sancha to the count's son Garcia, who\nlost no time in visiting Leon so as to become acquainted with his future\nspouse.\n\nThree sons of the defeated Count of Vela, a Basque nobleman whom the\nCounts of Castile had put to death, were in the city at the time.\nPretending to be very friendly with the young _fiancé_, they conspired\nagainst his life, and, knowing that he paid matinal visits to San\nIsidoro, they hid in the portal one day, and slew the youth as he\nentered.\n\nThe promised bride arrived in haste and fell weeping on the body of the\nmurdered man; she wept bitterly and prayed to be allowed to be buried\nwith her sweetheart. Her prayer was, of course, not granted: so she\nswore she would never marry. She was not long in breaking this oath,\nhowever, for a few months later she wedded a prince of the house of\nNavarra.\n\nThe present state of the building of San Isidoro is ruinous, thanks to a\nstroke of lightning in 1811, and to the harsh treatment bestowed upon\nthe building by Napoleon's soldiers during the War for Independence\n(1808).\n\nSeen from the outside, the edifice is as uninteresting as possible; the\nlower part is constructed in the early Latin Romanesque style; the\nupper, of a posterior construction, shows a decided tendency to early\nGothic.\n\nThe apse was originally three-lobed, composed of three identical chapels\ncorresponding to the nave and aisles; in the sixteenth century the\ncentral lobe was prolonged and squared off; the same century saw the\nerection of the statue of San Isidoro in the southern front, which\nspoiled the otherwise excellently simple Romanesque portal.\n\nIn the interior of the ruin--for such it is to-day--the only peculiarity\nto be noted is the use of the horseshoe arches in the arcades which\nseparate the aisles from the nave, as well as the Arab dentated arches\nof the transept. It is the first case on record where, in a Christian\ntemple of the importance of San Isidoro, Arab or pagan architectural\nelements were made use of in the decoration; that is to say, after the\ninvasion, for previous examples were known, having most likely\npenetrated into the country by means of Byzantine workmen in the fifth\nand sixth centuries. (In San Juan de Baños.)\n\n[Illustration: APSE OF SAN ISIDORO, LEON]\n\nInstead of being lined with chapels the aisles are covered with mural\npaintings. These frescoes are of great archæological value on account of\ntheir great age and the evident Byzantine influence which characterizes\nthem; artistically they are unimportant.\n\nThe chief attraction of the building is the pantheon, a low, square\nchapel of six arches, supported in the centre by two gigantic pillars\nwhich are crowned by huge cylindrical capitals. Nothing more depressing\nor gloomy can be seen in the peninsula excepting the pantheon in the\nEscorial; it is doubtful which of the two is more melancholy. The pure\nOriental origin (almost Indian!) of this pantheon is unmistakable and\nhighly interesting.\n\nThe fresco paintings which cover the ceiling and the massive ribs of the\nvaulting are equally morbid, representing hell-scenes from the\nApocalypse, the massacre of the babes, etc.\n\nOnly one or two of the Romanesque marble tombs which lined the walls\nare remaining to-day; the others were used by the French soldiers as\ndrinking-troughs for their cavalry horses!\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nASTORGA\n\n\nThe Asturica Augusta of the Romans was the capital of the northern\nprovinces of Asturias and the central point of four military roads which\nled to Braga, Aquitania, Saragosse, and Tarragon.\n\nDuring the Visigothic domination, and especially under the reign of\nWitiza, Astorga as well as Leon, Toledo, and Tuy were the only four\ncities allowed to retain their walls.\n\nAccording to some accounts, Astorga was the seat of the earliest\nbishopric in the peninsula, having been consecrated in the first century\nby Santiago or his immediate followers; historically, however, the first\nknown bishop was Dominiciano, who lived about 347 A. D.\n\nIn the fourth and fifth centuries several heresies or false doctrines\nwere ripe in Spain. Of one of these, _Libelatism_, Astorga was the\ncentre; the other, _Priscilianism_, originally Galician, found many\nadherents in the fortress-town, more so than elsewhere, excepting only\nTuy, Orense, and Palencia.\n\n_Libelatism._--Its great defender was Basilides, Bishop of Astorga.\nStrictly speaking, this faith was no heresy, but a sham or fraud which\nspread out beyond the Pyrenees to France. It consisted in denying the\nnew faith; those who proclaimed it, or, in other words, the Christians,\nwho were severely persecuted in those days, pretended to worship the\nLatin gods so as to save their skins. With this object in view, and to\nbe able to prove their sincerity, they were obliged to obtain a\ncertificate, _libelum_ (libel?), from the Roman governor, stating their\nbelief in Jupiter, Venus, etc. Doubtless they had to pay a tax for this\ncertificate, and thus the Roman state showed its practical wisdom: it\nwas paid by cowards for being tyrannical. But then, not all Christians\nare born martyrs.\n\n_Priscilianism._--Of quite a different character was the other heresy\npreviously mentioned. It was a doctrine opposed to the Christian\nreligion, proud of many adherents, and at one time threatening danger to\nthe Holy Roman Catholic Church. Considering that it is but little known\nto-day (for after a lingering life of about three or four centuries in\nGalicia it was quite ignored by philosophers and Christians alike), it\nmay be of some use to transcribe the salient points of this doctrine, in\ncase some one be inclined to baptize him or herself as prophet of the\nnew religion. It was preached by one Prisciliano in the fourth century,\nand was a mixture of Celtic mythology and Christian faith.\n\n\"Prisciliano did not believe in the mystery of the Holy Trinity; he\nbelieved that the world had been created by the devil (perhaps he was\nnot wrong!) and that the devil held it beneath his sway; further, that\nthe soul is part of the Divine Essence and the body dependent upon the\nstars; that this life is a punishment, as only sinful souls descend on\nearth to be incarnated in organic bodies. He denied the resurrection of\nthe flesh and the authenticity of the Old Testament. He defended the\ntransmigration of souls, the invocation of the dead, and other ideas,\ndoubtless taken from native Galician mythology. To conclude, he\ncelebrated the Holy Communion with grape and milk instead of with wine,\nand admitted that all true believers (his true believers, I suppose,\nfor we are all of us true believers of some sort) could celebrate\nreligious ceremonies without being ordained curates.\"\n\nSinfosio, Bishop of Astorga in 400, was converted to the new religion.\nBut, upon intimation that he might be deprived of his see, he hurriedly\nturned Christian again, putting thus a full stop to the spread of\nheresy, by his brave and unselfish act.\n\nToribio in 447 was, however, the bishop who wrought the greatest harm to\nPriscilianism. He seems to have been the divine instrument called upon\nto prove by marvellous happenings the true religion: he converted the\nKing of the Suevos in Orense by miraculously curing his son; when\nsurrounded by flames he emerged unharmed; when he left his diocese, and\nuntil his return, the crops were all lost; upon his return the\nchurch-bells rang without human help, etc., etc. All of which doings\nproved the authenticity of the true religion beyond a doubt, and that\nToribio was a saint; the Pope canonized him.\n\nDuring the Arab invasion, Astorga, being a frontier town, suffered more\nthan most cities farther north; it was continually being taken and\nlost, built up and torn down by the Christians and Moors.\n\nTerrible Almanzor conquered it in his raid in the tenth century, and\nutterly destroyed it. It was rebuilt by Veremundo or Bermudo III., but\nnever regained its lost importance, which reverted to Leon.\n\nWhen the Christian armies had conquered the peninsula as far south as\nToledo, Astorga was no longer a frontier town, and rapidly fell asleep,\nand has slept ever since. It remained a see, however, but only one of\nsecondary importance.\n\nIt would be difficult to state how many cathedral churches the city\npossessed previous to the eleventh century. In 1069 the first on record\nwas built; in 1120 another; a third in the thirteenth century, and\nfinally the fourth and present building in 1471.\n\nIt was the evident intention of the architect to imitate the _Pulchra\nLeonina_, but other tastes and other styles had swept across the\npeninsula and the result of the unknown master's plans resembles rather\na heavy, awkward caricature than anything else, and a bastard mixture of\nGothic, plateresque, and grotesque styles.\n\nThe northern front is by far the best of the two, boasting of a rather\ngood relief in the tympanum of the ogival arch; some of the painted\nwindows are also of good workmanship, though the greater part are modern\nglass, and unluckily unstained.\n\nIts peculiarities can be signalized; the windows of the southern aisle\nare situated above the lateral chapels, while those of the northern are\nlower and situated in the chapels. The height and width of the aisles\nare also remarkable--a circumstance that does not lend either beauty or\neffect to the building. There is no ambulatory behind the high altar,\nwhich stands in the lady-chapel; the apse is rounded. This peculiarity\nreminds one dimly of what the primitive plan of the Oviedo cathedral\nmust have resembled.\n\nBy far the most meritorious piece of work in the cathedral is the\nsixteenth-century _retablo_ of the high altar, which alone is worth a\nvisit to Astorga. It is one of Becerra's masterpieces in the late\nplateresque style, as well as being one of the master's last known works\n(1569).\n\nIt is composed of five vertical and three horizontal bodies; the niches\nin the lower are flanked by Doric, those of the second by Corinthian,\nand those of the upper by composite columns and capitals. The polychrome\nstatues which fill the niches are life-size and among the best in Spain;\ntogether they are intended to give a graphic description of the life of\nthe Virgin and of her Son.\n\nIn some of the decorative details, however, this _retablo_ shows evident\nsigns of plateresque decadence, and the birth of the florid grotesque\nstyle, which is but the natural reaction against the severity of early\nsixteenth-century art.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nBURGOS\n\n\nBurgos is the old capital of Castile.\n\nCastile--or properly Castilla--owed its name to the great number of\ncastles which stood on solitary hills in the midst of the plains lying\nto the north of the Sierra de Guaderrama; one of these castles was\ncalled Burgos.\n\nUnlike Leon and Astorga, Burgos was not known to the Romans, but was\nfounded by feudal noblemen in the middle ages, most likely by the Count\nof Castilla prior to 884 A. D., when its name first appears in history.\n\nSituated almost in the same line and to the west of Astorga and Leon, it\nentered the chain of fortresses which formed the frontier between the\nChristian kingdoms and the Moorish dominion. At the same time it looked\nwestwards toward the kingdom of Navarra, and managed to keep the\nambitious sovereigns of Pamplona from Castilian soil.\n\nDuring the first centuries which followed upon the foundation of the\nvillage of Burgos at the foot of a prominent castle, both belonged to\nthe feudal lords of Castile, the celebrated counts of the same name.\nThis family of intrepid noblemen grew to be the most important in\nNorthern Spain; vassals of the kings of Asturias, they broke out in\nfrequent rebellion, and their doings alone fill nine of every ten pages\nof mediæval history.\n\nOrduño III.--he who lost the battle of Valdejunquera against the Moors\nbecause the noblemen he had ordered to assist refrained from doing\nso--enticed the Count of Castile, together with other conspirators, to\nhis palace, and had them foully murdered. So, at least, saith history.\n\nThe successor to the title was no fool. On the contrary, he was one of\nthe greatest characters in Spanish history, hero of a hundred legends\nand traditions. Fernan Gonzalez was his name, and he freed Castile from\nowing vassalage to Asturias, for he threw off the yoke which bound him\nto Leon, and lived as an independent sovereign in his castle of Burgos.\nThis is the date of Castile's first appearance in history as one of the\nnuclei of Christian resistance (in the tenth century).\n\nNevertheless, against the military genius of Almanzor (the victorious),\nFernan Gonzalez could do no more than the kings of Leon. The fate that\nbefell Santiago, Leon, and Astorga awaited Burgos, which was utterly\ndestroyed with the exception of the impregnable castle. After the Arab's\ndeath, hailed by the Christians with shouts of joy, and from the pulpits\nwith the grim remark: _\"Almanzor mortuus est et sepultus et in\ninferno_,\" the strength of Castile grew year by year, until one Conde\nGarcia de Castilla married one of his daughters to the King of Navarra\nand the other to Bermudo III. of Leon. His son, as has already been seen\nin a previous chapter, was killed in Leon when he went to marry\nBermudo's sister Sancha. But his grandson, the recognized heir to the\nthrone of Navarra, Fernando by name, inherited his grandfather's title\nand estates, even his murdered uncle's promised bride, the sister of\nBermudo. At the latter's death some years later, without an heir, he\ninherited--or conquered--Leon and Asturias, and for the first time in\nhistory, all the Christian kingdoms of the peninsula were united\nbeneath one sceptre.\n\nCastile was now the most powerful state in the peninsula, and its\ncapital, Burgos, the most important city north of Toledo.\n\nTwo hundred years later the centralization of power in Burgos was an\naccomplished fact, as well as the death in all but name of the ancient\nkingdom of Leon, Asturias, and Galicia. Castile was Spain, and Burgos\nits splendid capital (1230, in the reign of San Fernando).\n\nThe above events are closely connected with the ecclesiastical history,\nwhich depends entirely upon the civil importance of the city.\n\nA few years after Fernando I. had inaugurated the title of King of\nCastile, he raised the parish church of Burgos to a bishopric (1075) by\nremoving to his new capital the see that from time immemorial had\nexisted in Oca. He also laid the first stone of the cathedral church in\nthe same spot where Fernan Gonzalez had erected a summer palace,\nprevious to the Arab raid under Almanzor. Ten years later the same king\nhad the bishopric raised to an archiepiscopal see.\n\nSan Fernando, being unable to do more than had already been done by his\nforefather Fernando I., had the ruined church pulled down, and in its\nplace he erected the cathedral still standing to-day. This was in 1221.\n\nSo rapidly was the main edifice constructed, that as early as 1230 the\nfirst holy mass was celebrated in the altar-chapel. The erection of the\nremaining parts took longer, however, for the building was not completed\nuntil about three hundred years later.\n\nBurgos did not remain the sole capital of Northern Spain for any great\nlength of time. Before the close of the thirteenth century, Valladolid\nhad destroyed the former's monopoly, and from then on, and during the\nnext three hundred years, these two and Toledo were obliged to take\nturns in the honour of being considered capital, an honour that depended\nentirely upon the caprices of the rulers of the land, until it was\ndefinitely conferred upon Madrid in the seventeenth century.\n\nAs regards legends and traditions of feudal romance and tragedy, hardly\na city excepting Toledo and Salamanca can compete with Burgos.\nHistorical events, produced by throne usurpers and defenders, by\ncontinual strife, by the obstinacy of the noblemen and the perfidy of\nthe monarchs,--all interwoven with beautiful dames and cruel\nwarriors--are sufficiently numerous to enable every house in and around\nBurgos to possess some secret or other, generally gruesome and\nlicentious, which means chivalrous. The reign of Peter the Cruel and of\nhis predecessor Alfonso, the father of four or five bastards, and the\nlover of Doña Leonor; the heroic deeds of Fernan Gonzalez and of the Cid\nCampeador (Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar); the splendour of the court of Isabel\nI., and the peculiar constitution of the land with its Cortes, its\nconvents, and monasteries,--all tend to make Burgos the centre of a\nchivalrous literature still recited by the people and firmly believed in\nby them. Unluckily their recital cannot find a place here, and we pass\non to examine the grand cathedral, object of the present chapter.\n\n\nThe train, coming from the north, approaches the city of Burgos. A low\nhorizon line and undulating plains stretch as far as the eye can reach;\nin the distance ahead are two church spires and a castle looming up\nagainst a blue sky.\n\nThe train reaches the station; a mass of houses and, overtopping the\nroofs of all buildings, the same spires as seen before, lost as it were\nin a forest of pinnacles, emerging from two octagonal lanterns or\ncimborios. In the background, on a sandy hill, are the ruins of the\ncastle which once upon a time was the stronghold of the Counts of\nCastile.\n\nBurgos! Passing beneath a four-hundred-year-old gateway--Arco de Santa\nMaria--raised by trembling bourgeois to appease a monarch's wrath, the\nvisitor arrives after many a turn in a square situated in front of the\ncathedral.\n\nA poor architectural element is this western front of the cathedral as\nregards the first body or the portals. Devoid of all ornamentation, and\nconsequently naked, three doors or portals, surmounted by a peculiar\negg-shaped ogival arch, open into the nave and aisles. Originally they\nwere richly decorated by means of sculptural reliefs and statuary, but\nin the plateresque period of the sixteenth century they were demolished.\nThe two lateral doors leading into the aisles are situated beneath the\n275 feet high towers of excellent workmanship.\n\n[Illustration: BURGOS CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe central door is surmounted by a plateresque-Renaissance pediment\nimbedded in an ogival arch (of all things!); the side doors are crowned\nby a simple window.\n\nVastly superior in all respects to the lower body are the upper stories,\nof which the first is begun by a pinnacled balustrade running from tower\nto tower; in the centre, between the two towers, there is an immense\nrosace of a magnificent design and embellished by means of an ogival\narch in delicate relief; the windows of the tower, as well as in the\nsuperior bodies, are pure ogival.\n\nThe next story can be considered as the basement of the towers, properly\nspeaking. The central part begins with a prominent balustrade of statues\nthrown against a background formed by twin ogival windows of exceptional\nsize. The third story is composed, as regards the towers, of the last of\nthe square bodies upon which the flèche reposes; these square bases are\nunited by a light frieze or perforated balustrade which crowns the\ncentral part of the façade and is decorated with ogival designs.\n\nLast to be mentioned, but not least in importance, are the _flèches_.\nThough short in comparison to the bold structure at Oviedo, they are,\nnevertheless, of surprising dignity and elegance, and richly ornamented,\nbeing covered over with an innumerable amount of tiny pinnacles\nencrusted, as it were, on the stone network of a perforated pyramid.\n\nThe northern façade is richer in sculptural details than the western,\nthough the portal possesses but one row of statues. The rosace is\nsubstituted by a three-lobed window, the central pane of which is larger\nthan the lateral two.\n\nAs this northern façade is almost fifteen feet higher than the\nground-plan of the temple,--on account of the street being much\nhigher,--a flight of steps leads down into the transept. As a\nRenaissance work, this golden staircase is one of Spain's marvels, but\nit looks rather out of place in an essentially Gothic cathedral.\n\nTo avoid the danger of falling down these stairs and with a view to\ntheir preservation, the transept was pierced by another door in the\nsixteenth century, on a level with the floor of the building, and\nleading into a street lower than the previous one; it is situated on the\neast of the prolonged transept, or better still, of the prolonged\nnorthern transept arm.\n\nOn the south side a cloister door corresponds to this last-named portal.\nThough the latter is plateresque, cold and severe, the former is the\nrichest of all the portals as regards sculptural details; the carving of\nthe panels is also of the finest workmanship. Beside it, the southern\nfront of the cathedral coincides perfectly with the northern; like the\nPuerta de la Plateria in Santiago, it is rendered somewhat insignificant\nby the cloister to the right and by the archbishop's palace to the left,\nbetween which it is reached by a paved series of terraces, for on this\nside the street is lower than the floor of the cathedral. The impression\nproduced by this alley is grand and imposing, unique in Spain.\n\nNeither is the situation of the temple exactly east and west, a rare\ncircumstance in such a highly Catholic country like Spain. It is Roman\ncruciform in shape; the central nave contains both choir and high altar;\nthe aisles are prolonged behind the latter in an ambulatory.\n\nThe lateral walls of the church, enlarged here and there to make room\nfor chapels of different dimensions, give an irregular outline to the\nbuilding which has been partly remedied by the free use of buttresses,\nflying buttresses, and pinnacles.\n\nThe first impression produced on the visitor standing in either of the\naisles is that of size rather than beauty; a close examination, however,\nof the wealth of statues and tombs, and of the sculptural excellence of\nstone decoration, will draw from the tourist many an exclamation of\nwonder and delight. Further, the distribution of light is such as to\nrender the interior of the temple gay rather than sombre; it is a pity,\nnevertheless, that the stained glasses of the sixteenth century see were\nall destroyed by a powder explosion in 1813, when the French soldiers\ndemolished the castle.\n\nThe unusual height of the choir mars the ensemble of the interior; the\nstalls are lavishly carved, but do not inspire the same feeling of\nwonderful beauty as do those of Leon and Toledo, for instance; the\n_reja_ or grille which separates the choir from the transept is one of\nthe finest pieces of work in the cathedral, and, though massive, it is\nsimple and elegant.\n\nThe _retablo_ of the high altar, richly gilt, is of the Renaissance\nperiod; the statues and groups which fill the niches are marvellously\ndrawn and full of life. In the ambulatory, imbedded in the wall of the\n_trascoro_, there are six plaques in low relief; as sculptural work in\nstone they are unrivalled in the cathedral, and were carved, beyond a\ndoubt, by the hand of a master. The _croisée_ and the Chapel of the\nCondestable are the two chief attractions of the cathedral church.\n\nThe last named chapel is an octagonal addition to the apse. Its walls\nfrom the exterior are seen to be richly sculptured and surmounted by a\nlantern, or windowed dome, surrounded by high pinnacles and spires\nplaced on the angles of the polygon base. The _croisée_ is similar in\nstructure, but, due to its greater height, appears even more slender and\naerial. The towers with their _flèches_, together with these original\noctagonal lanterns with their pinnacles, lend an undescribable grace,\nelegance, and majesty to what would otherwise have been a rather\nunwieldy edifice.\n\nThe Chapel of the Condestable is separated from the ambulatory (in the\ninterior of the temple) by a good grille of the sixteenth century, and\nby a profusely sculptured door. The windows above the altar are the only\nones that retain painted panes of the sixteenth century. Among the other\nobjects contained in this chapel--which is really a connoisseur's\ncollection of art objects of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries--can\nbe mentioned the two marvellously carved tombs of the Condestable and of\nhis wife.\n\nThe _croisée_, on the other hand, has been called the \"cathedral's\ncathedral.\" Gazing skyward from the centre of the transept into the high\n_cimborio_, and admiring the harmony of its details, the wealth of\ndecorative elements, and the no less original structure of the dome,\nwhose vault is formed by an immense star, one can understand the epithet\napplied to this majestic piece of work, a marvel of its kind.\n\nStrange to say, the primitive cupola which crowned the _croisée_ fell\ndown in the sixteenth century, the date also of Burgos's growing\ninsignificance in political questions. Consequently, it was believed by\nmany that the same fate produced both accidents, and that the downfall\nof the one necessarily involved the decadence of the other.\n\nTo conclude: The Gothic cathedral of Burgos is, with that of Leon and\nperhaps that of Sevilla, the one which expresses in a greater measure\nthan any other on the peninsula the true ideal of ogival architecture.\nLess airy, light, and graceful than that of Leon, it is, nevertheless,\nmore Spanish, or in other words, more majestic, heavier, and more\nimposing as regards size and weight. From a sculptural point of\nview--stone sculpture--it is the first of all Spanish Gothic cathedrals,\nand ranks among the most elaborate and perfect in Europe.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nSANTANDER\n\n\nThe foundation of Santander is attributed to the Romans who baptized it\nHarbour of Victory. Its decadence after the Roman dominion seems to have\nbeen complete, and its name does not appear in the annals of Spanish\nhistory until in 1187, when Alfonso, eighth of that name and King of\nCastile, induced the repopulation of the deserted hamlet by giving it a\nspecial _fuero_ or privilege. At that time a monastery surrounded by a\nfew miserable huts seems to have been all that was left of the Roman\nseaport; this monastery was dedicated to the martyr saints Emeterio and\nCeledonio, for it was, and still is, believed that they perished here,\nand not in Calahorra, as will be seen later on.\n\nThe name of the nascent city in the times of Alfonso VIII. was Sancti\nEmetrii, from that of the monastery or of the old town, but within a\nfew years the new town eclipsed the former in importance and, being\ndedicated to St. Andrew, gave its name to the present city\n(San-t-Andres, Santander).\n\nAs a maritime town, Santander became connected with all the naval events\nundertaken by young Castile, and later by Philip II., against England.\nKings, princes, princess-consorts, and ambassadors from foreign lands\ncame by sea to Santander, and went from thence to Burgos and Valladolid;\nfrom Santander and the immediate seaports the fleet sailed which was to\ntravel up the Guadalquivir and conquer Sevilla; in 1574 the Invincible\nArmada left the Bay of Biscay never to return, and from thence on until\nnow, Santander has ever remained the most important Spanish seaport on\nthe Cantabric Sea.\n\nIts ecclesiastical history is uninteresting--or, rather, the city\npossesses no ecclesiastical past; perhaps that is one of the causes of\nits flourishing state to-day. In the thirteenth century the monastical\nChurch of San Emeterio was raised to a collegiate and in 1775 to a\nbishopric.\n\nThe same unimportance, from an art point of view, attaches itself to the\ncathedral church. No one visits the city for the sake of the heavy,\nclumsy, and exceedingly irregularly built temple which stands on the\nhighest part of the town. On the contrary, the great attraction is the\nfine beach of the Sardinero which lies to the west of the industrial\ntown, and is, in summer, the Brighton of Spain. The coast-line, deeply\ndentated and backed by the Cantabric Mountains, is far more delightful\nand attractive than the Gothic cathedral structure of the thirteenth\ncentury.\n\nConsequently, little need be said about it. In the interior, the height\nof the nave and aisles, rendered more pronounced by the pointed ogival\narches, gives the building a somewhat aerial appearance that is belied\nby the view from without.\n\n[Illustration: CRYPT OF SANTANDER CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe square tower on the western end is undermined by a gallery or tunnel\nthrough which the Calle de Puente passes. To the right of the same, and\nreached by a flight of steps, stands the entrance to the crypt, which is\nused to-day as a most unhealthy parish church. This crypt of the late\ntwelfth century or early thirteenth shows a decided Romanesque tendency\nin its general appearance: it is low, massive, strong, and crowned by\na semicircular vaulting reposing on gigantic pillars whose capitals are\nroughly sculptured. The windows which let in the little light that\nenters are ogival, proving the Transition period to which the crypt\nbelongs; it was originally intended as the pantheon for the abbots of\nthe monastery. But unlike the Galician Romanesque, it lacks an\nindividual _cachet_; if it resembles anything it is the pantheon of the\nkings in San Isidoro in Leon, though in point of view of beauty, the two\ncannot be compared.\n\nThe form of the crypt is that of a perfect Romanesque basilica, a nave\nand two aisles terminating a three-lobed apse.\n\nIn the cathedral, properly speaking, there is a baptismal font of\nmarble, bearing an Arabic inscription by way of upper frieze; it is\nsquare, and of Moorish workmanship, and doubtless was brought from\nCordoba after the reconquest. Its primitive use had been practical, for\nin Andalusia it stood at the entrance to some mezquita, and in its\nlimpid waters the disciples of Mahomet performed their hygienic and\nreligious ablutions.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nVITORIA\n\n\nIf the foreigner enter Spain by Irun, the first cathedral town on his\nway south is Vitoria.\n\nGazteiz seems to have been its Basque name prior to 1181, when it was\nenlarged by Don Sancho of Navarra and was given a _fuero_ or privilege,\ntogether with its new name, chosen to commemorate a victory obtained by\nthe king over his rival, Alfonso of Castile.\n\nFortune did not smile for any length of time on Don Sancho, for\nseventeen years later Alfonso VIII. incorporated the city in his kingdom\nof Castile, and it was lost for ever to Navarra.\n\nAs regards the celebrated _fueros_ given by the last named monarch to\nthe inhabitants of the city, a curious custom was in vogue in the city\nuntil a few years ago, when the Basque Provinces finally lost the\nprivileges they had fought for during centuries.\n\nWhen Alfonso VIII. granted these privileges, he told the citizens they\nwere to conserve them \"as long as the waters of the Zadorria flowed into\nthe Ebro.\"\n\nThe Zadorria is the river upon which Vitoria is situated; about two\nmiles up the river there is a historical village, Arriago, and a no less\nhistorical bridge. Hither, then, every year on St. John's Day, the\ninhabitants of Vitoria came in procession, headed by the municipal\nauthorities, the bishop and clergy, the clerk of the town hall, and the\nsheriff. The latter on his steed waded into the waters of the Zadorria,\nand threw a letter into the stream; it flowed with the current toward\nthe Ebro River. An act was then drawn up by the clerk, signed by the\nmayor and the sheriff, testifying that the \"waters of the Zadorria\nflowed into the Ebro.\"\n\nTo-day the waters still flow into the Ebro, but the procession does not\ntake place, and the city's _fueros_ are no more.\n\nIn the reign of Isabel the Catholic, the Church of St. Mary was raised\nto a Colegiata, and it is only quite recently, according to the latest\ntreaty between Spain and Rome, that an episcopal see has been\nestablished in the city of Vitoria.\n\nDocuments that have been discovered state that in 1281--a hundred years\nafter the city had been newly baptized--the principal temple was a\nchurch and castle combined; in the fourteenth century this was\ncompletely torn down to make room for the new building, a modest ogival\nchurch of little or no merit.\n\nThe tower is of a later date than the body of the cathedral, as is\neasily seen by the triangular pediments which crown the square windows:\nit is composed of three bodies, as is generally the case in Spain, the\nfirst of which is square in its cross-section, possessing four turrets\nwhich crown the angles; the second body is octagonal and the third is in\nthe form of a pyramid terminating in a spire.\n\nThe portal is cut into the base of the tower. It is the handsomest front\nof the building, though in a rather dilapidated state; the sculptural\ndecorations of the three arches, as well as the aerial reliefs of the\ntympanum, are true to the period in which they were conceived.\n\nThe sacristy encloses a primitive wooden effigy of the Virgin; it is of\ngreater historic than artistic value. There is also a famous picture\nattributed now to Van Dyck, now to Murillo; it represents Christ in the\narms of his mother, and Mary Magdalene weeping on her knees beside the\nprincipal group. The picture is known by the name of Piety or La Piedad.\n\nThe high altar, instead of being placed to the east of the transept, as\nis generally the case, is set beneath the _croisée_, in the circular\narea formed by the intersection of nave and transept. The view of the\ninterior is therefore completely obstructed, no matter where the\nspectator stands.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nUPPER RIOJA\n\n\nTo the south of Navarra and about a hundred miles to the west of Burgos,\nthe Ebro River flows through a fertile vale called the Rioja, famous for\nits claret. It is little frequented by strangers or tourists, and yet it\nis well worth a visit. The train runs down the Ebro valley from Miranda\nto Saragosse. A hilly country to the north and south, well wooded and\ngently sloping like the Jura; nearer, and along the banks of the stream,\n_huertas_ or orchards, gardens, and vineyards offer a pleasant contrast\nto the distant landscape, and produce a favourable impression,\nespecially when a village or town with its square, massive church-tower\npeeps forth from out of the foliage of fruit-trees and elms.\n\nSuch is Upper Rioja--one of the prettiest spots in Spain, the Touraine,\none might almost say, of Iberia, a circular region of about twenty-five\nmiles in radius, containing four cities, Logroño, Santo Domingo de la\nCalzada, Nájera, and Calahorra.\n\nThe Roman military road from Tarragon to Astorga passed through the\nRioja, and Calahorra, a Celtiberian stronghold slightly to the south,\nwas conquered by the invaders after as sturdy a resistance as that of\nNumantia itself. It was not totally destroyed by the conquering Romans\nas happened in the last named town; on the contrary, it grew to be the\nmost important fortress between Leon and Saragosse.\n\nWhen the Christian religion dawned in the West, two youths, inseparable\nbrothers, and soldiers in the seventh legion stationed in Leon, embraced\nthe true religion and migrated to Calahorra. They were beheaded after\nbeing submitted to a series of the most frightful tortures, and their\ntunics, leaving the bodies from which life had escaped, soared skywards\nwith the saintly souls, to the great astonishment of the Roman\nspectators. The names of these two martyr saints were Emeterio and\nCeledonio, who, as we have seen, are worshipped in Santander; besides,\nthey are also the patron saints of Calahorra.\n\nThe first Bishop of Calahorra took possession of his see toward the\nmiddle of the fifth century; his name was Silvano. Unluckily, he was the\nonly one whose name is known to-day, and yet it has been proven that\nwhen the Moors invaded the country two or three hundred years later, the\nsee was removed to Oviedo, later to Alava (near Vitoria, where no\nremains of a cathedral church are to be seen to-day), and in the tenth\ncentury to Nájera. One hundred years later, when the King of Navarra,\nDon Garcia, conquered the Arab fortress at Calahorra, the wandering see\nwas once more firmly chained down to the original spot of its creation\n(1030; the first bishop _de modernis_ being Don Sancho).\n\nNear by, and in a vale leading to the south from the Ebro, the Moors\nbuilt a fortress and called it Nájera. Conquered by the early kings of\nNavarra, it was raised to the dignity of one of the cathedral towns of\nthe country; from 950 (first bishop, Theodomio) to 1030 ten bishops held\ntheir court here, that is, until the see was removed to Calahorra. Since\nthen, and especially after the conquest of Rioja by Alfonso VI. of\nCastile, the city's significance died out completely, and to-day it is\nbut a shadow of what it previously had been, or better still, it is an\nignored village among ruins.\n\nStill further west, and likewise situated in a vale to the south of the\nEbro, Santo Domingo de la Calzada ranks as the third city. Originally\nits parish was but a suffragan church of Calahorra, but in 1227 it was\nraised to an episcopal see. Quite recently, in the beginning of the\nnineteenth century, when church funds were no longer what they had been,\nonly one bishop was appointed to both sees, with an alternative\nresidence in either of the two, that is to say, one prelate resided in\nCalahorra, his successor in Santo Domingo, and so forth and so on. Since\n1850, however, both villages--for they are cities in name only--have\nlost all right to a bishop, the see having been definitely removed to\nLogroño, or it will be removed there as soon as the present bishop dies.\nBut he has a long life, the present bishop!\n\nThe origin of Santo Domingo is purely religious. In the eleventh and\ntwelfth centuries a pious individual lived in the neighbourhood whose\nlife-work and ambition it was to facilitate the travelling pilgrims to\nSantiago in Galicia. He served as guide, kept a road open in winter and\nsummer, and even built bridges across the streams, one of which is still\nexisting to-day, and leads into the town which bears his name.\n\nHe had even gone so far as to establish a rustic sort of an inn where\nthe pilgrims could pass the night and eat (without paying?). He also\nconstructed a church beside his inn. Upon dying, he was canonized Santo\nDomingo de la Calzada (Domingo was his name, and _calzada_ is old\nSpanish for highroad). The Alfonsos of Castile were grateful to the\nhumble saint for having saved them the expense and trouble of looking\nafter their roads, and ordained that a handsome church should be erected\non the spot where previously the humble inn and chapel had stood. Houses\ngrew up around it rapidly and the dignity of the new temple was raised\nin consequence.\n\nOf the four cities of Upper Rioja, the only one worthy of the name of\ncity is Logroño, with its historical bridge across the Ebro, a bridge\nthat was held, according to the tradition, by the hero, Ruy Diaz Gaona,\nand three valiant companions against a whole army of invading Navarrese.\n\nThe name Lucronio or Logroño is first mentioned in a document toward\nthe middle of the eleventh century. The date of its foundation is\nabsolutely unknown, and all that can be said is that, once it had fallen\ninto the hands of the monarchs of Castile (1076), it grew rapidly in\nimportance, out-shining the other three Rioja cities. It is seated on\nthe southern banks of the Ebro in the most fertile part of the whole\nregion, and enjoys a delightful climate. Since 1850 it has been raised\nto the dignity of an episcopal see.\n\nAs regards the architectural remains of the four cities in the Upper\nRioja valley, they are similar to those of Navarra, properly speaking,\nthough not so pure in their general lines. In other words, they belong\nto the decadent period of Gothic art. Moreover, they have one and all\nbeen spoiled by ingenious, though dreadful mixtures of plateresque,\nRenaissance, and grotesque decorative details, and consequently the real\nremains of the old twelfth and thirteenth century Gothic and Romanesque\nconstructions are difficult to trace.\n\n_Nájera._--Absolutely nothing remains of the old Romanesque church built\nby the king Don Garcia. A new edifice of decadent Gothic, mixed with\nRenaissance details, and dating from the fifteenth century, stands\nto-day; it contains a magnificent series of choir stalls of excellent\nworkmanship, and similar to those of Burgos. The cloister, in spite of\nthe Arab-looking geometrical tracery of the ogival arches, is both light\nand elegant.\n\nThis cathedral was at one time used as the pantheon of the kings of\nNavarra. About ten elaborate marble tombs still lie at the foot of the\nbuilding.\n\n_Santo Domingo de la Calzada._--The primitive ground-plan of the\ncathedral has been preserved, a nave and two aisles showing Romanesque\nstrength in the lower and ogival lightness in the upper tiers. But\notherwise nothing reminds one of a twelfth or thirteenth century church.\n\nThe cloister, of the sixteenth century, is a handsome\nplateresque-Renaissance edifice, rather small, severe, and cold. The\ngreat merit of this church lies in the sepulchral tombs in the different\nchapels, all of which were executed toward the end of the fifteenth and\nduring the first years of the seventeenth centuries, and any one wishing\nto form for himself an idea of this particular branch of Spanish\nmonumental art must not fail to examine such sepulchres as those of\nCarranza, Fernando Alfonso, etc.\n\n[Illustration: CLOISTER OF NÁJERA CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe effigy of the patron saint (Santo Domingo) is of painted wood\nclothed in rich silver robes, which form a striking antithesis to the\nsaint's humble and modest life. The chapel where the latter lies is\nclosed by a gilded iron _reja_ of plateresque workmanship. The saint's\nbody lies in a simple marble sepulchre, said to have been carved by\nSanto Domingo himself, who was both an architect and a sculptor. The\ntruth of this version is, however, doubtful.\n\nOf the square tower and the principal entrance no remarks need be made,\nfor both are insignificant. The _retablo_ of the high altar has been\nattributed to Foment, who constructed those of Saragosse and Huesca. The\nattribution is, however, most doubtful, as shown by the completely\ndifferent styles employed by the artist of each. Not that the _retablo_\nin the Church of Santo Domingo is inferior to Foment's masterworks in\nAragon, but the decorative motives of the flanking columns and low\nreliefs would prove--in case they had been executed by the Aragonese\nFoment--a departure from the latter's classic style.\n\nIn one of the niches of the cloister, in a simple urn, lies the heart of\nDon Enrique, second King of Castile of that name, the half-brother (one\nof the bastards mentioned in a previous chapter and from whom all later\nSpanish monarchs are descended) of Peter the Cruel. The latter was\nmurdered by his fond relative, who usurped the throne.\n\n_Logroño._--In 1435 Santa Maria la Redonda was raised to a suffragan\nchurch of Santo Domingo de la Calzada; about this date the old building\nmust have been almost entirely torn down, as the ogival arches of the\nnave are of the fifteenth century; so also are the lower windows which,\non the west, flank the southern door.\n\nExcepting these few remains, nothing can bring to the tourist's mind the\nfifteenth-century edifice, and not a single stone can recall the\ntwelfth-century church. For the remaining parts of the building are of\nthe sixteenth, seventeenth, and successive centuries, and to-day the\ninterior is being enlarged so as to make room for the see which is to be\nremoved here from Santo Domingo and Calahorra.\n\n[Illustration: SANTA MARIA LA REDONDA, LOGROÑO]\n\nThe interior is Roman cruciform with a high and airy central nave, in\nwhich stands the choir, and on each hand a rather dark aisle of much\nsmaller dimensions.\n\nThe _trascoro_ is the only peculiarity possessed by this church. It is\nlarge and circular, closed by an immense vaulting which turns it into a\nchapel separated from the rest of the church (compare with the Church of\nthe Pillar of Saragosse).\n\nTrue to the grotesque style to which it belongs, the whole surface of\nwalls and vault is covered with paintings, the former apparently in oil,\nthe latter frescoes. Vixés painted them in the theatrical style of the\neighteenth century.\n\nFrom the outside, the regular features of the church please the eye in\nspite of the evident signs of artistic decadence. The two towers, high\nand slender, are among the best produced by the period of decadence in\nSpain which followed upon Herrero's severe style, if only the uppermost\nbody lacked the circular linterna which makes the spire top-heavy.\n\nBetween the two towers, which, when seen from a distance, gain in beauty\nand lend to the city a noble and picturesque aspect, the façade,\nproperly speaking, reaches to their second body. It is a hollow, crowned\nby half a dome in the shape of a shell which in its turn is surmounted\nby a plateresque cornice in the shape of a long and narrow scroll.\n\nThe hollow is a peculiar and daring medley of architectural elegance and\nsculptural bizarrerie and vice versa. From Madrazo it drew the\nexclamation that, since he had seen it, he was convinced that not all\nmonuments belonging to the grotesque style were devoid of beauty.\n\nThe date of the erection of the western front is doubtless the same as\nthat of the _trascoro_; both are contemporaneous--the author is inclined\nto believe--with the erection of the Pillar in Saragosse; at least, they\nresemble each other in certain unmistakable details.\n\n_Calahorra._--The fourth of the cathedral churches of Upper Rioja is\nthat of Calahorra. After the repopulation of the town by Alfonso VI. of\nCastile in the eleventh century, the bodies of the two martyr saints\nEmeterio and Celedonio were pulled up out of a well (to be seen to-day\nin the cloister) where they had been hidden by the Christians, when\nthe Moors conquered the fortress, and a church was built near the same\nspot. Of this eleventh-century church nothing remains to-day.\n\n[Illustration: WESTERN FRONT OF CALAHORRA CATHEDRAL]\n\nIn the twelfth century, a new building was begun, but the process of\nconstruction continued slowly, and it was not until two hundred years\nlater that the apse was finally finished. The body of the church, from\nthe western front (this latter hideously modern and uninteresting) to\nthe transept, is the oldest part,--simple Gothic of the thirteenth\ncentury.\n\nThe numerous chapels which form a ring around the church have all been\ndecorated in the grotesque style of the eighteenth century, and with\ntheir lively colours, their polychrome statues, and overdone\nornamentation, they offer but little interest to the visitor. The\n_retablo_ of the high altar is one of the largest to be seen anywhere;\nbut the Renaissance elegance of the lower body is completely drowned by\nthe grotesque decoration of the upper half, which was constructed at a\nlater date.\n\nThe choir stalls are fine specimens of that style in which the artist\npreferred an intricate composition to simple beauty. Biblical scenes,\nsurrounded and separated by allegorical personages and symbolical lines\nin great profusion, show the carver's talent rather than his artistic\ngenius.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nSORIA\n\n\nThe Duero River, upon leaving its source at the foot of the Pico de\nUrbión (near Vinuesa), flows eastward for about fifty miles, then\nsouthward for another fifty miles, when it turns abruptly westward on\nits lengthy journey across the Iberian peninsula.\n\nThe circular region, limited on three sides by the river's course, is\nthe historical field of Soria--part of the province of the same name,\nNumantia, Rome's great enemy and almost the cause of her ruin, lay\nsomewhere in this part of the country, though where is not exactly\nknown, as the great Scipio took care to destroy it so thoroughly that\nnot even a stone remains to-day to indicate where the heroic fortress\nstood.\n\nIn the present day, two cities and two cathedrals are seated on the\nbanks of the Duero within this circle; the one is Soria, the other Osma.\nThe latter was a Roman town, an early episcopal see, and later an Arab\nfortress; the former was founded by one of the Alfonsos toward the end\nof the eleventh century, as a frontier fortress against Aragon to the\neast, the Moors to the south, and Navarra to the north.\n\nThe town grew apace, thanks to the remarkable _fueros_ granted to the\ncitizens, who lived as in a republic of their own making--an almost\nunique case of self-government to be recorded in the middle ages.\n\nThe principal parish church was raised to a suffragan of Osma in the\ntwelfth century. Since then, there has been a continual spirit of\nrivalry between the two cities, for the former, more important as a town\nand as the capital of a province, could not bend its head to the\necclesiastical authority of a village like Osma. Throughout the middle\nages the jealousy between the two was food for incessant strife. Pope\nClement IV., at Alfonso VIII.'s instigation, raised the Collegiate at\nSoria to an episcopal see independent of Osma, but the hard-headed\nchapter of the last named city refused to acknowledge the Pope's order,\nand no bishop was elected or appointed.\n\nThis bitter hatred between the two rivals was the origin of many an\namusing incident. Upon one occasion the Bishop of Osma, visiting his\nsuffragan church in Soria, had the house in which he was stopping for\nthe night burnt about his ears. He moved off to another house, and on\nthe second night this was also mysteriously set on fire. His lordship\ndid not await the third night, afraid of what might happen, but bolted\nback to his episcopal palace at Osma.\n\nIn 1520 the chapter of the Collegiate in Soria sent a petition to the\ncountry's sovereign asking him to order the erection of a new church in\nplace of the old twelfth-century building, and in another part of the\ntown. The request was not granted, however, so what did the wily chapter\ndo? It ordered an architect to construct a chapel in the very centre of\nthe church, and when it was completed, admired the work with great\nenthusiasm, excepting only the pillar in front of it which obstructed\nthe uninterrupted view. This pillar was the real support of the church,\nand though the chapter was told as much (as though it did not know it!)\nthe architect was ordered to pull it down. After hesitating to do so,\nthe latter acceded: the pillar was pulled down, and with it the whole\nchurch tumbled down as well! But the chapter's game was discovered, and\nit was obliged to rebuild the cathedral on the same spot and with the\nsame materials.\n\nConsequently, the church at Soria is a sixteenth-century building of\nlittle or no merit, excepting the western front, which is the only part\nof the old building that did not fall down, and is a fine specimen of\nCastilian Romanesque, as well as the cloister, one of the handsomest,\nbesides being one of the few twelfth-century cloisters in Spain, with a\ndouble row of slender columns supporting the round-headed arches. This\nmodification of the conventional type lends an aspect of peculiar\nlightness to the otherwise heavy Romanesque.\n\nAs regards the settlement of the strife between Soria and Osma, the see\nis to-day a double one, like that of Madrid and Alcalá. Upon the death\nof the present bishop, however, it will be transported definitely to\nSoria, and consequently the inhabitants of the last named city will at\nlast be able to give thanks for the great mercies Allah or the True God\nhas bestowed upon them.\n\n[Illustration: CLOISTER OF SORIA CATHEDRAL]\n\n_Osma._--From an historical and architectural point of view, Osma,\nthe rival city on the Duero River, is much more important than Soria.\n\nAccording to the tradition, St. James preached the Holy Gospel, and\nafter him St. Peter (or St. Paul?), who left his disciple St. Astorgio\nbehind as bishop (91 A. D.). Twenty-two bishops succeeded him, the\ntwenty-third on the list being John I., really the first of whose\nexistence we have any positive proof, for he signed the third council in\nToledo in the sixth century. In the eighth century, the Saracens drove\nthe shepherd of the Christian flock northward to Asturias, and it was\nnot until 1100 that the first bishop _de modernis_ was appointed by\nArchbishop Bernardo of Toledo. The latter's choice fell on Peter, a\nvirtuous French monastic monk, who was canonized by the Pope after his\ndeath, and figures in the calendar as St. Peter of Osma.\n\nWhen the first bishop took possession of his see, he started to build\nhis cathedral. Instead of choosing Osma itself as the seat, however, he\nselected the site of a convent on the opposite banks of the Duero (to\nthe north), where the Virgin had appeared to a shepherd. Houses soon\ngrew up around the temple and, to distinguish it from Osma, the new\ncity was called Burgo de Osma, a name it still retains.\n\nIn 1232, not a hundred years after the erection of the cathedral, it was\ntotally destroyed, excepting one or two chapels still to be seen in the\ncloister, by Juan Dominguez, who was bishop at the time, and who wished\nto possess a see more important in appearance than that left to him by\nhis predecessor, St. Peter.\n\nThe building as it stands to-day is small, but highly interesting. The\noriginal plan was that of a Romanesque basilica with a three-lobed apse,\nbut in 1781 the ambulatory walk behind the altar joined the two lateral\naisles.\n\nTwo of the best pieces of sculptural work in the cathedral are the\n_retablo_ of the high altar, and the relief imbedded in the wall of the\n_trascoro_--both of them carved in wood by Juan de Juni, one of the best\nCastilian sculptors of the sixteenth century. The plastic beauty of the\nfigures and their lifelike postures harmonize well with the simple\nRenaissance columns ornamented here and there with finely wrought\nflowers and garlands.\n\nThe chapel where St. Peter of Osma's body lies is an original rather\nthan a beautiful annex of the church. For, given the small dimensions of\nthe cathedral, it was difficult to find sufficient room for the chapels,\nsacristy, vestuary, etc. In the case of the above chapel, therefore, it\nwas necessary to build it above the vestuary; it is reached by a flight\nof stairs, beneath which two three-lobed arches lead to the sombre room\nbelow. The result is highly original.\n\nThe same remarks as regard lack of space can be made when speaking about\nthe principal entrance. Previously the portal had been situated in the\nwestern front; the erection of the tower on one side, and of a chapel on\nthe other, had rendered this entrance insignificant and half blinded by\nthe prominent tower. So a new one had to be erected, considered by many\nart critics to be a beautiful addition to the cathedral properly\nspeaking, but which strikes the author as excessively ugly, especially\nthe upper half, with its balcony, and a hollow arch above it, in the\nshadows of which the rose window loses both its artistic and its useful\nobject. So, being round, it is placed within a semicircular sort of\n_avant-porche_ or recess, the strong _contours_ of which deform the\nimmense circle of the window.\n\nTo conclude: in the cathedral of Osma, bad architecture is only too\nevident. The tower is perhaps the most elegant part, and yet the second\nbody, which was to give it a gradually sloping elegance, was omitted,\nand the third placed directly upon the first. This is no improvement.\n\nPerhaps the real reason for these architectural mishaps is not so much\nthe fault of the architects and artists as that of the chapter, and of\nthe flock which could not help satisfactorily toward the erection of a\nworthy cathedral. Luckily, however, there are other cathedrals in Spain,\nwhere, in spite of reduced funds, a decent and homogeneous building was\nerected.\n\nThe cloister, bare on the inner side, is nevertheless a modest Gothic\nstructure with acceptable lobulated ogival windows.\n\n\n\n\n_PART IV_\n\n_Western Castile_\n\n\n\n\n\nPALENCIA\n\n\nThe history of Palencia can be divided into two distinct parts,\nseparated from each other by a lapse of about five hundred years, during\nwhich the city was entirely blotted out from the map of Spain.\n\nThe first period reaches from before the Roman Conquest to the\nVisigothic domination.\n\nOriginally inhabited by the Vacceos, a Celtiberian tribe, it was one of\nthe last fortresses to succumb to Roman arms, having joined Numantia in\nthe terrible war waged by Spaniards and which has become both legendary\nand universal.\n\nUnder Roman rule the broad belt of land, of which Palencia, a military\ntown on the road from Astorga to Tarragon, was the capital, flourished\nas it had never done before. Consequently it is but natural that one of\nthe first sees should have been established there as soon as\nChristianity invaded the peninsula. No records are, however, at hand as\nregards the names of the first bishops and of the martyr saints, as\nthick here as elsewhere and as numerous in Spain as in Rome itself. At\nany rate, contemporary documents mention a Bishop Toribio, not the first\nto occupy the see nor the same prelate who worked miracles in Orense and\nAstorga. The Palencian Toribio fought also against the Priscilian\nheresy, and was one of the impediments which stopped its spread further\nsouthward. Of this man it is said that, disgusted with the heresy\npractised at large in his Pallantia, he mounted on a hill, and,\nstretching his arms heavenwards, caused the waters of the river to leave\ntheir bed and inundate the city, a most efficacious means of bringing\nloitering sheep to the fold.\n\nNowhere did the Visigoths wreak greater vengeance or harm on the\nIberians who had hindered their entry into the peninsula than in\nPalencia. It was entirely wrecked and ruined, not one stone remaining to\ntell the tale of the city that had been. Slowly it emerged from the\nwreck, a village rather than a town; once in awhile its bishops are\nmentioned, living rather in Toledo than in their humble see.\n\nThe Arab invasion devastated a second time the growing town; perhaps it\nwas Alfonso I. himself who completely wrecked it, for the Moorish\nfrontier was to the north of the city, and it was the sovereign's\ntactics to raze to the ground all cities he could not keep, when he made\na risky incursion into hostile country.\n\nSo Palencia was forgotten until the eleventh century, when Sancho el\nMayor, King of Navarra, who had conquered this part of Castile,\nreëstablished the long-ignored see. He was hunting among the weeds that\ncovered the ruins of what had once been a Roman fortress, when a boar\nsprang out of cover in front of him and escaped. Being light of foot,\nthe king followed the animal until it disappeared in a cave, or what\nappeared to be such, though it really was a subterranean chapel\ndedicated to the martyrs, or to the patron saint of old Pallantia,\nnamely, San Antolin.\n\nThe hunted beast cowered down in front of the altar; the king lifted his\narm to spear it, when lo, his arm was detained in mid-air by an\ninvisible hand! Immediately the monarch prostrated himself before the\nmiraculous effigy of the saint; he acknowledged his sacrilegious sin,\nand prayed for forgiveness; the boar escaped, the monarch's arm fell to\nhis side, and a few days later the see was reëstablished, a church was\nerected above the subterranean chapel, and Bernardo was appointed the\nfirst bishop (1035). After Sancho's death, his son Ferdinand, who, as we\nhave seen, managed to unite for the first time all Northern Spain\nbeneath his sceptre, made it a point of honour to favour the see his\nfather had erected a few months before his death, an example followed by\nall later monarchs until the times of Isabel the Catholic.\n\nA surprising number of houses were soon built around the cathedral, and\nthe city's future was most promising. Its bishops were among the\nnoble-blooded of the land, and enjoyed such exceptional privileges as\ngave them power and wealth rarely equalled in the history of the middle\nages. But then, the city had been built for the church and not the\nchurch for the city, and it is not to be marvelled at that the prelates\nbore the title of \"_hecho un rey y un papa_\"--king and pope. The greater\npart of these princes, it is true, lived at court rather than in their\nepiscopal see, which is, perhaps, one of the reasons why Palencia failed\nto emulate with Burgos and Valladolid, though at one time it was the\nresidence of some of the kings of Castile.\n\nMoreover, being only second in importance to the two last named cities,\nPalencia was continually the seat of dissident noblemen and thwarted\nheirs to the throne; because these latter, being unable to conquer the\ncapital, or Valladolid, invariably sought to establish themselves in\nPalencia, sometimes successfully, at others being obliged to retreat\nfrom the city walls. The story of the town is consequently one of the\nmost adventurous and varied to be read in Spanish history, and it is due\nto the side it took in the rebellion against Charles-Quint, in the time\nof the Comuneros, that it was finally obliged to cede its place\ndefinitely to Valladolid, and lost its importance as one of the three\ncities of Castilla la Vieja.\n\nIt remains to be mentioned that Palencia was the seat of the first\nSpanish university (Christian, not Moorish), previous to either that of\nSalamanca or Alcalá. In 1208 this educational institution was founded by\nAlfonso VIII.; professors were procured from Italy and France, and a\nbuilding was erected beside the cathedral and under its protecting wing.\nIt did not survive the monarch's death, however, for the reign of the\nlatter's son left but little spare time for science and letters, and in\n1248 it was closed, though twenty years later Pope Urbano IV. futilely\nendeavoured to reëstablish it. According to a popular tradition, it owed\nits definite death to the inhabitants of the town, who, bent upon\nvenging an outrage committed by one of the students upon a daughter of\nthe city, fell upon them one night at a given signal and killed them to\nthe last man.\n\nIn the fourteenth century, the cathedral, which had suffered enormously\nfrom sieges and from the hands of enemies, was entirely pulled down and\na new one built on the same spot (June, 1321). The subterranean chapel,\nwhich had been the cause of the city's resurrection, was still the\ncentral attraction and relic of the cathedral, and, according to another\nlegend, no less marvellous than that of Toribio, its genuineness has\nbeen placed definitely (?) without the pale of skeptic doubts. It\nappears that one Pedro, Bishop of Osma (St. Peter of Osma?), was praying\nbefore the effigy of San Antolin when the lights went out. The pious\nyet doubting prelate prayed to God to give him a proof of the relic's\nauthenticity by lighting the candles. To his surprise (?) and glee, the\ncandles lit by themselves!\n\n\nLet us approach the city by rail. The train leaves Venta de Baños, a\njunction station with a village about two miles away possessing a\nseventh-century Visigothic church which offers the great peculiarity of\nhorseshoe arches in its structure, dating from before the Arab invasion.\n\nImmediately upon emerging from the station, the train enters an immense\nrolling plain of a ruddy, sandy appearance, with here and there an\nisolated sand-hill crowned by the forgotten ruins of a mediæval castle.\n\nThe capital of this region is Palencia.\n\nThe erection of the cathedral church of the town was begun in 1321; it\nwas dedicated to the Mother and Child, and to San Antolin, whose chapel,\ndevoid of all artistic merit, is still to be seen beneath the choir.\n\nThis edifice was finished toward 1550. The same division as has been\nobserved in the history of the city can be applied to the temple: at\nfirst it was intended to construct a modest Gothic church of red\nsandstone; the apse with its five chapels and traditional ambulatory was\nerected, as well as the transept and the high altar terminating the\ncentral nave. Then, after about a hundred years had passed away, the\noriginal plan was altered by lengthening the body of the building.\nConsequently the chapel of the high altar was too small in comparison\nwith the enlarged proportions, and it was transformed into a parish\nchapel. Opposite it, and to the west of the old transept, another high\naltar was constructed in the central nave, and a second transept\nseparated it from the choir which followed.\n\nIn other words, and looking at this curious monument as it stands\nto-day, the central nave is surmounted by an ogival vaulting of a series\nof ten vaults. The first transept cuts the nave beneath the sixth, and\nthe second beneath the ninth vault. (Vault No. 1 is at the western end\nof the church.) Both transepts protrude literally beyond the general\nwidth of the building. The choir stands beneath the fourth and fifth\nvaults, and the high altar between the two transepts, occupying the\nseventh and eighth space. Beneath the tenth stands the parish chapel or\nex-high altar, behind which runs the ambulatory, on the off-side of\nwhich are situated the five apsidal chapels. Consequently the second\ntransept separates the old from the new high altar.\n\n[Illustration: PALENCIA CATHEDRAL]\n\nIn spite of the low aisles and nave, and the absence of sculptural\nmotives so pronounced in Burgos, the effect produced on the spectator by\nthe double cross and the unusual length as compared with the width is\nagreeable. The evident lack of unity in the Gothic structure is\nrecompensed by the original and pleasing plan.\n\nThe final judgment that can be emitted concerning this cathedral church,\nwhen seen from the outside, is that it shows the typical Spanish-Gothic\ncharacteristic, namely, heaviness as contrasted to pure ogival\nlightness. There is poverty in the decorative details, and solemnity in\nthe interior; the appearance from the outside is of a fortress rather\nthan a temple, with slightly pointed Gothic windows, and a heavy and\nsolid, rather than an elegant and light, general structure. Only the\ncathedral church of Palencia outgrew the original model and took the\nstrange and exotic form it possesses to-day, without losing its\nfortress-like aspect.\n\nThough really built in stone (see the columns and pillars in the\ninterior), brick has been largely used in the exterior; hence also the\nimpossibility of erecting a pure Gothic building, and this is a remark\nthat can be applied to most churches in Spain. The buttresses are heavy,\nthe square tower (unfinished) is Romanesque or _Mudejar_ in form rather\nthan Gothic, though the windows be ogival. There is no western façade or\nportal; the tower is situated on the southern side between the true\ntransepts.\n\nOf the four doorways, two to the north and two to the south, which give\naccess to the transepts, the largest and richest in sculptural\ndecoration is the Bishop's Door (south). Observe the geometrical designs\nin the panels of the otherwise ogival and slightly pointed doorway. The\nother portal on the south is far simpler, and the arch which surmounts\nit is of a purer Gothic style; not so the geometrically decorated panels\nand the almost Arabian frieze which runs above the arches. This frieze\nis Moorish or Mudejar-Byzantine, and though really it does not belong in\nan ogival building, it harmonizes strangely with it.\n\nIn the interior of the cathedral the nakedness of the columns is\npartially recompensed by the richness in sculptural design of some\nsepulchres, as well as by several sixteenth-century grilles. The huge\n_retablo_ of the high altar shows Gothic luxuriousness in its details,\nand at the same time (in the capitals of the flanking columns) nascent\nplateresque severity.\n\nPerhaps the most interesting corner of the interior is the _trascoro_,\nor the exterior side of the wall which closes the choir on the west.\nHere the patronizing genius of Bishop Fonseca, a scion of the celebrated\nCastilian family, excelled itself. The wall itself is richly sculptured,\nand possesses two fine lateral reliefs. In the centre there is a Flemish\ncanvas of the sixteenth century, of excellent colour, and an elegantly\ncarved pulpit.\n\nIn the chapter-room are to be seen some well-preserved Flemish\ntapestries, and in an apsidal chapel is one of Zurbaran's mystic\nsubjects: a praying nun. (This portrait, I believe, has been sold or\ndonated by the chapter, for, if I am not mistaken, it is to be seen\nto-day in the art collection of the Spanish royal family.)\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nZAMORA\n\n\nWhatever may have been the origin of Zamora, erroneously confounded with\nthat of Numantia, it is not until the ninth century that the city, or\nfrontier fortress, appears in history as an Arab stronghold, taken from\nthe Moors and fortified anew by Alfonso I. or by his son Froila, and\nnecessarily lost and regained by Christians and Moors a hundred times\nover in such terrible battles as the celebrated and much sung _día de\nZamora_ in 901. In 939 another famous siege of the town was undertaken\nby infidel hordes, but the strength of the citadel and the numerous\nmoats, six it appears they were in number, separated by high walls\nsurrounding the town, were invincible, and the Arab warriors had to\nretreat. Nevertheless, between 900 and 980 the fortress was lost five\ntimes by the Christians. The last Moor to take it was Almanzor, who\nrazed it to the ground and then repopulated it with Arabs from\nAndalusia.\n\nPreviously, in 905, the parish church had been raised to an episcopal\nsee; the first to occupy it being one Atilano, canonized later by Pope\nUrbano II.\n\nTen years after this bishop had taken possession of his spiritual\nthrone, he was troubled by certain religious scruples, and, putting on a\npilgrim's robe, he distributed his revenues among the parish poor and\nleft the city. Crossing the bridge,--still standing to-day and leading\nfrom the town to Portugal,--he threw his pastoral ring into the river,\nswearing he would only reoccupy the lost see when the ring should have\nbeen given back into his hands; should this happen, it would prove that\nthe Almighty had pardoned his sins.\n\nFor two years he roamed about visiting shrines and succouring the poor;\nat last one day he dreamed that his Master ordered him to repair\nimmediately to his see, where he was sorely needed. Returning to Zamora,\nhe passed the night in a neighbouring hermitage, and while supping--it\nmust have been Friday!--in the belly of the fish he was eating he\ndiscovered his pastoral ring.\n\nThe following day the church-bells were rung by an invisible hand, and\nthe pilgrim, entering the city, was hailed as a saint by the\ninhabitants; the same invisible hands took off his pilgrim's clothes and\ndressed him in rich episcopal garments. He took possession of his see,\ndying in the seventh year of his second reign.\n\nAlmanzor _el terrible_, on the last powerful raid the Moors were to\nmake, buried the Christian see beneath the ruins of the cathedral, and\nerected a mezquita to glorify Allah; fifteen years later the city fell\ninto the hands of the Christians again, and saw no more an Arab army\nbeneath its walls.\n\nIt was not, however, until 125 years later that the ruined episcopal see\nwas reëstablished _de modernis_, the first bishop being Bernardo (1124).\n\nBut previous to the above date, an event took place in and around Zamora\nthat has given national fame to the city, and has made it the centre of\na Spanish Iliad hardly less poetic or dramatic than the Homerian legend,\nand therefore well worth narrating as perhaps unique in the peninsula,\nnot to say in the history of the middle ages.\n\nWhen Fernando I. of Castile died in 1065, he left his vast territories\nto his five children, bequeathing Castile to his eldest son Sancho,\nGalicia to Garcia, Leon to Alfonso, Toro to Elvira, and Zamora to\nUrraca, who was the eldest daughter, and, with Sancho, the bravest and\nmost intrepid of the five children.\n\nAccording to the romance of Zamora, she, Doña Urraca, worried her\nfather's last moments by trying to wheedle more than Zamora out of him;\nbut the king was firm, adding only the following curse:\n\n     _\"'Quien os la tomara, hija,_\n      _¡La mi maldición le caiga!'--_\n      _Todos dicen amén, amén,_\n      _Sino Don Sancho que calla.\"_\n\nWhich in other words means: \"Let my curse fall on whomsoever endeavours\nto take Zamora from you.... Those who were present agreed by saying\namen; only the eldest son, Don Sancho, remained silent.\"\n\nThe latter, being ambitious, dethroned his brothers and sent them flying\nacross the frontier to Andalusia, then Moorish territory. Toro also\nsubmitted to him, but not so Zamora, held by the dauntless Urraca and\nthe governor of the citadel, Arias Gonzalo. So it was besieged by the\nroyal troops and asked to surrender, the message being taken by the\ngreat Cid from Don Sancho to his sister. She, of course, refused to give\nup the town. Wherefore is not known, but the fact is that the Cid, the\nablest warrior in the hostile army, after having carried the embassy to\nthe Infanta, left the king's army; the many romances which treat of this\nsiege accuse him of having fallen in love with Doña Urraca's lovely\neyes,--a love that was perhaps reciprocated,--who knows?\n\nIn short, the city was besieged during nine months. Hunger, starvation,\nand illness glared at the besieged. On the point of surrendering, they\nwere beseeched by the Infanta to hold out nine days longer; in the\nmeantime one Vellido Dolfo, famous in song, emerged by the city's\npostern gate and went to King Sancho's camp, saying that he was tired of\nserving Doña Urraca, with whom he had had a dispute, and that he would\nshow the king how to enter the city by a secret path.\n\nAccording to the romances, it would appear that the king was warned by\nthe inhabitants themselves against the traitorous intentions of Vellido.\n\"Take care, King Sancho,\" they shouted from the walls, \"and remember\nthat we warn you; a traitor has left the city gates who has already\ncommitted treason four times, and is about to commit the fifth.\"\n\nThe king did not hearken, as is generally the case, and went out walking\nwith the knight who was to show him the secret gate; he never returned,\nbeing killed by a spear-thrust under almost similar circumstances to\nSiegfried's.\n\nThe father's curse had thus been fulfilled.\n\nThe traitor returned to the city, and, strange to say, was not punished,\nor only insufficiently so; consequently, it is to-day believed that the\nsister of the murdered monarch had a hand in the crime. Upon Vellido's\nreturn to the besieged town, the governor wished to imprison him--which\nin those days meant more than confinement--but the Infanta objected; it\nis even stated that the traitor spoke with his heartless mistress,\nsaying: \"It was time the promise should be fulfilled.\"\n\nIn the meanwhile, from the besieging army a solitary knight, Diego\nOrdoñez, rode up to the city walls, and accusing the inhabitants of\nfelony and treason, both men and women, young and old, living and dead,\nborn and to be born, he challenged them to a duel. It had to be\naccepted, and, according to the laws of chivalry, the challenger had to\nmeet in single combat five champions, one after another, for he had\ninsulted, not a single man, but a community.\n\nThe gray-haired governor of the fortress reserved for himself and his\nfour sons the duty of accepting the challenge; the Infanta beseeched him\nin vain to desist from his enterprise, but he was firm: his mistress's\nhonour was at stake. At last, persuaded by royal tears, according to the\nromance, he agreed to let his sons precede him, and, only in case it\nshould be necessary, would he take the last turn.\n\nThe eldest son left the city gates, blessed by the weeping father; his\nhelmet and head were cleft in twain by Diego Ordoñez's terrible sword,\nand the latter's ironical shout was heard addressing the governor:\n\n\"Don Arias, send me hither another of your charming sons, because this\none cannot bear you the message.\"\n\nA second and third son went forth, meeting the same fate: but the\nlatter's wounded horse, in throwing its rider, ran blindly into Ordoñez\nand knocked him out of the ring; the duel was therefore judged to be a\ndraw.\n\nSeveral days afterward Alfonso, the dead king's younger brother, hurried\nup from Toledo, and after swearing in Burgos that he had had nothing to\ndo with the felonious murder, was anointed King of Castile, Leon, and\nGalicia. His brave sister Urraca lived with him at court, giving him\nuseful advice, until she retired to a convent, and at her death left her\npalace and her fortune to the Collegiate Church at Leon.\n\nThe remaining history of Zamora is one interminable list of revolts,\nsieges, massacres, and duels. As frontier fortress against Portugal in\nthe west, its importance as the last garrison town on the Duero was\nexceptional, and consequently, though it never became important as a\nmetropolis, as a stronghold it was one of Castile's most strategical\npoints.\n\n\nThe best view of the city is obtained from the southern shore of the\nDuero; on a low hill opposite the spectator, the city walls run east and\nwest; behind them, to the left, the castle towers loom up, square and\nByzantine in appearance; immediately to the right the cathedral nave\nforms a horizontal line to where the _cimborio_ practically terminates\nthe church. Thus from afar it seems as though the castle tower were part\nof the religious edifice, and the general appearance of the whole city\nsurrounded by massive walls cannot be more warlike. The colour also of\nthe ruddy sandstone and brick, brilliant beneath a bright blue sky, is\ncharacteristic of this part of Castile, and certainly constitutes one of\nits charms. What is more, the landscape is rendered more exotic or\nAfrican by the Oriental appearance of the whole town, its castle, and\nits cathedral.\n\nThe latter was begun and ended in the twelfth century; the first stone\nwas laid in 1151, and the vaults were closed twenty-three years later,\nin 1174; consequently it is one of the unique twelfth-century churches\nin Spain completed before the year 1200. It is true that the original\nedifice has been deformed by posterior additions and changes dating from\nthe fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.\n\nExcepting these abominable additions, the primitive building is\nRomanesque; not Romanesque as are the cathedrals we have seen in\nGalicia, but Byzantine, or military Romanesque, showing decided\nOriental influences. Would to Heaven the cathedral of Zamora were to-day\nas it stood in the twelfth century!\n\n[Illustration: ZAMORA CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe form of the church is that of a basilica. Like the cathedral of\nPalencia, it lacks a western front; the apse is semicircular,\nstrengthened by heavy leaning buttresses; the upper, towerless rim of\nthis same body is decorated with an ogival festoon set off by means of\nthe primitive pinnacles of the top of the buttresses. The northern\n(Renaissance or plateresque) front is, though beautiful and severe in\nitself, a calamity when compared with the Romanesque edifice, as is also\nthe new and horrid clock-tower.\n\nThe view of the southern end of the transept, as seen from the left, is\nthe most imposing to be obtained of the building. Two flights of steps\nlead up to the Romanesque portal, flanked by three simple pillars, which\nsupport three rounded arches deeply dentated(!). Blind windows, similar\nin structure to the portal, occupy the second body of the façade, and\nare surmounted in their turn by a simple row of inverted crenelated\nteeth, showing in their rounded edges the timid use of the horseshoe\narc. The superior body is formed by two concentric and slightly ogival\narches embedded in the wall.\n\nThe greatest attraction, and that which above all gives a warlike aspect\nto the whole building, is the _cimborio_, or lantern of the _croisée_.\nFlanked by four circular turrets, which are pierced by round-topped\nwindows and surmounted by Oriental domes that add a stunted, solid\nappearance to the whole, the principal cupola rises to the same height\nas the previously mentioned turrets. The whole is a marvel of simple\narchitectural resource within the narrow limits of the round-arched\nstyle. What is more, though this cupola and that of Santiago belong to\nthe same period, what a world of difference between the two! Seen as\nindicated above, the _factura_ of the whole is intensely Oriental\n(excepting the addition of the triangular cornices emerging from beneath\nthe cupola), and, it may be said in parenthesis, exceptionally fine.\nBesides, the high walls of the aisles, as compared with the stunted\ngrowth of the _cimborio_, and with the compact and slightly angular form\nof the entire building, lend an unrivalled aspect of solidity, strength,\nand resistance to the twelfth-century cathedral church, so\nintrinsically different from that of Santiago.\n\nThe interior is no less peculiar, and particularly so beneath the\nlantern of the _croisée_. The latter is composed of more than a dozen\nwindows, slightly ogival in shape, though from the outside the pillars\nof the flanking turrets support round-headed arches; these windows are\nseparated from each other by simple columns or shafts. Again, what a\ndifference between this solid and simple _cimborio_ and the marvellous\nlantern of the cathedral at Burgos! Two ages, two generations, even two\nideals, are represented in both; the earlier, the stronger, in Zamora;\nthe later, the more aerial and elaborate, in Burgos.\n\nAnother Romanesque characteristic is the approximate height of nave and\naisles. This circumstance examined from within or from without is one of\nthe causes of the solid appearance of the church; the windows of the\naisles--unimportant, it is true, from an artistic point of view--are\nslightly ogival; those of the nave are far more primitive and\nround-headed.\n\nThe transept, originally of the same length as the width of the church,\nwas prolonged in the fifteenth century. (On the south side also?... It\nis extremely doubtful, as the southern façade previously described is\nhardly a fifteenth-century construction; on the other hand, that on the\nnorth side is easily classified as posterior to the general construction\nof the building.)\n\nFurther, the western end, lacking a façade, is terminated by an apse,\nthat is, each aisle and the central nave run into a chapel. The effect\nof this _double apse_ is highly peculiar, especially as seen from\nwithin, with chapels to the east and chapels to the west.\n\nThe _retablo_ is of indifferent workmanship; the choir stalls, on the\nother hand, are among the most exquisitely wrought--simple, sober, and\nnatural--to be seen in Spain, especially those of the lower row.\n\nThe chapels are as usual in Spanish cathedrals, as different in style as\nthey are in size; none of those in Zamora can be considered as artistic\njewels. The best is doubtless that which terminates the southern aisles\non the western end of the church, where the principal façade ought to\nhave been placed. It is Gothic, rich in its decoration, but showing here\nand there the decadence of the northern style.\n\nThe cloister--well, anywhere else it might have been praised for its\nplateresque simplicity and severity, but here!--it is out of date and\nplace.\n\nTo conclude, the general characteristics of the cathedral of Zamora are\nsuch as justify the opinion that the edifice, especially as its\nByzantine-Oriental and severe primitive structure is concerned, is one\nof the great churches that can still be admired in Spain, in spite of\nthe reduced size and of the additions which have been introduced.\n\n     NOTE.--To the traveller interested in church architecture, the\n     author wishes to draw attention to the parish church of La Magdalen\n     in Zamora. The northern portal of the same is one of the most\n     perfect--if not the most perfect--specimen of Byzantine-Romanesque\n     decoration to be met with in Spain. It is perhaps unique in the\n     world. At the same time, the severe Oriental appearance of the\n     church, both from the outside and as seen from within, cannot fail\n     to draw the attention of the most casual observer.\n\n\n\n\n\nTORO\n\n\nTo the west of Valladolid, on the river Duero, Toro, the second of the\ntwo great fortress cities, uplifts its Alcázar to the blue sky; like\nZamora, it owed its fame to its strategic position: first, as one of the\nChristian outposts to the north of the Duero against the Arab\npossessions to the south, and, secondly, as a link between Valladolid\nand Zamora, the latter being the bulwark of Christian opposition against\nthe ever encroaching Portuguese.\n\nTwin cities the fortresses have been called, and no better expression is\nat hand to denote at once the similarity of their history, their\nnecessary origin, and their necessary decadence.\n\nNevertheless, Toro appears in history somewhat later than Zamora, having\nbeen erected either on virgin soil, or upon the ruins of a destroyed\nArab fortress as late as in the tenth century, by Garcia, son of\nAlfonso III. At any rate, it was not until a century later, in 1065,\nthat the city attained any importance, when Fernando I. bequeathed it to\nhis daughter Elvira, who, seeing her elder brother's impetuous\nambitions, handed over the town and the citadel to him.\n\nThroughout the middle ages the name of Toro is foremost among the\nimportant fortresses of Castile, and many an event--generally tragic and\nbloody--took place behind its walls. Here Alfonso XI. murdered his uncle\nin cold blood, and Don Pedro el Cruel, after besieging the town and the\ncitadel held in opposition to him by his mother, allowed her a free exit\nwith the gentlemen defenders of the place, but broke his word when they\nwere on the bridge, and murdered all excepting his widowed mother!\n\nIn the days of Isabel the Catholic, Toro was taken by the kings of\nPortugal, who upheld the claims of Enrique IV's illegitimate daughter,\nJuana la Beltranaja. In the vicinity of the town, the great battle of\nPelea Gonzalo was fought, which gave the western part of Castile to the\nrightful sovereigns. This battle is famous for the many prelates and\ncurates who, armed,--and wearing trousers and not frocks!--fought like\nChristians (!) in the ranks.\n\nIn Toro, Cortes was assembled in 1505 to open Queen Isabel's testament,\nand to promulgate those laws which have gone down in Spanish history as\nthe Leyes de Toro; this was the last spark of Toro's fame, for since\nthen its fate has been identical with that of Zamora, forty miles away.\n\nStrictly speaking, it is doubtful if Toro ever was a city; at one time\nit seems to have possessed an ephemeral bishop,--at least such is the\npopular belief,--who must have reigned in his see but a short time, as\nat an early date the city was submitted to the ecclesiastical\njurisdiction of Astorga. Later, when the see was reëstablished in\nZamora, the latter's twin sister, Toro, was definitely included in the\nnew episcopal diocese.\n\nBe that as it may, the Catholic kings raised the church at Toro to a\ncollegiate in the sixteenth century (1500?) because they were anxious to\ngain the good-will of the inhabitants after the Portuguese invasion.\n\nBuilt either toward the end of the twelfth or the beginning of the\nthirteenth century, Santa Maria la Mayor, popularly called _la\ncatedral_, closely resembles the cathedral church at Zamora. The style\nis the same (Byzantine-Romanesque), and the impression of strength and\nsolidity produced by the warlike aspect of the building is even more\npronounced than in the case of the sister church.\n\nThe general plan is that of a basilica, rectangular in shape, with a\nthree-lobed apse, the central lobe being by far the largest in size, and\na transept which protrudes slightly beyond the width of the church. This\ntransept is situated immediately in front of the apse; the _croisée_ is\nsurmounted by the handsome _cimborio_, larger than that at Zamora,\npierced by twice as many round-topped windows, but lacking a cupola, as\ndo also the flanking towers, which are flat-topped. Above and between\nthese latter, the cone-shaped roof of the _cimborio_, properly speaking,\nis sloping and triangular in its cross-section.\n\nThis body, less Oriental in appearance than the one in Zamora, impresses\none with a feeling of greater awe, thanks to the great diameter as\ncompared with the foreshortened height. Crowning as it does the apse\n(from the proximity of the transept to the head of the church), the\n_croisée_, and the two wings of the transept, the cupola in question\nproduces a weird and incomprehensible effect on the spectator viewing it\nfrom the southeast. The more modern tower, which backs the _cimborio_,\nlends, it is true, a certain elegance to the edifice that the early\nbuilders were not willing to impart. The ensemble is, nevertheless,\npeculiarly Byzantine, and, with the mother-church in Zamora, which it\nresembles without copying, it stands almost unique in the history of\nart.\n\nThe lateral doors, not situated in the transept, are located near the\nfoot of the church. The southern portal is the larger, but the most\nsimple; the arch which crowns it shows a decided ogival tendency, a\ncircumstance which need not necessarily be attributed to Gothic\ninfluence, as in many churches prior to the introduction of the ogival\narch the pointed top was known, and in isolated cases it was made use\nof, though purely by accident, and not as a constructive element.\n\nThe northern door is smaller, but a hundred times richer in sculptural\ndesign. It shows Byzantine influence in the decoration, and as a\nByzantine-Romanesque portal can figure among the best in Spain.\n\n[Illustration: TORO CATHEDRAL]\n\nIt has been supposed that the western front of the building possessed at\none time a narthex, like the cathedral Tuy, for instance. Nothing\nremains of it, however, as the portal which used to be here was done\naway with, and in its place a modern chapel with a fine Gothic _retablo_\nwas consecrated.\n\nSeen from the interior, the almost similar height of the nave and\naisles, leaves, as in Zamora, a somewhat stern and depressing impression\non the visitor; the light which enters is also feeble, excepting beneath\nthe _linterna_, where \"the difficulty of placing a circular body on a\nsquare without the aid of supports (_pechinas_) has been so naturally\nand perfectly overcome that we are obliged to doubt of its ever having\nexisted.\"\n\nGothic elements, more so than in Zamora, mix with the Romanesque\ntraditions in the decoration of the nave and aisles; nevertheless, the\nelements of construction are purely Romanesque, excepting the central\napsidal chapel which contains the high altar. Restored by the Fonseca\nfamily in the sixteenth century, it is ogival in conception and\nexecution, and contains some fine tombs of the above named aristocratic\nfamily. But the chapel passes unnoticed in this peculiarly exotic\nbuilding, where solidity and not grace was the object sought and\nobtained.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nSALAMANCA\n\n\nThe very position of Salamanca, immediately to the north of the chain of\nmountains which served for many a century as a rough frontier wall\nbetween Christians and Moors, was bound to ensure the city's importance\nand fame. Its history is consequently unique, grander and more exciting\nthan that of any other city; the universal name it acquired in the\nfourteenth century, thanks to its university, can only be compared with\nthat of Bologna, Paris, and Oxford.\n\nConsequently its fall from past renown to present insignificance was\ntremendous, and to-day, a heap of ruins, boasting of traditions like\nToledo and Burgos, of two cathedrals and twenty-four parish churches, of\ntwice as many convents and palaces, of a one-time glorious university\nand half a hundred colleges,--Salamanca sleeps away a useless existence\nfrom which it will never awaken.\n\nIts history has still to be penned. What an exciting and stirring\naccount of middle age life in Spain it would be!\n\nThe Romans knew Salamantia, and the first notice handed down to us of\nthe city reads like a fairy story, as though predicting future events.\n\nAccording to Plutarch, the town was besieged by Hannibal, and had to\nsurrender. The inhabitants were allowed to leave, unarmed, and taking\naway with them only their clothes; the men were searched as they passed\nout, but not so the women.\n\nTogether men and women left the town. A mile away they halted, and the\nwomen drew forth from beneath their robes concealed weapons. Together\nthe men and the women returned to their town and stealthily fell upon\ntheir foes, slaughtering them in considerable numbers. Hannibal was so\n\"enchanted\" (!) with the bravery displayed by the women, that he drew\naway his army from the town, leaving the patriotic inhabitants to settle\nagain their beloved Salamanca.\n\nThe Western Goths, upon their arrival in Spain, found Salamanca in a\nflourishing state, and respected its episcopal see, the origin of which\nis ignored. The first bishop we have any record of is Eleuterio, who\nsigned the third Council of Toledo in 589.\n\nThe Arabs treated the city more harshly; it was in turn taken and\ndestroyed by infidels and Christians; the former sacking frontier towns,\nthe latter destroying all fortresses they could not hold.\n\nIn the eighth century no bishop seems to have existed in Salamanca; in\nthe tenth, date of a partial reëstablishment of the see, seven prelates\nare mentioned; these did not, however, risk their skins by taking\npossession of their chair, but lived quietly in the north, either in\nSantiago--farther north they could not go!--or else in Leon and Burgos.\nThe eleventh century is again devoid of any ecclesiastical news\nconnected with the see of Salamanca; what is more, the very name of the\ncity is forgotten until Alfonso VI. crossed the Guaderrama and fixed his\ncourt in Toledo. This bold step, taken in a hostile country far from the\ncentre of the kingdom and from his base of operations, obliged the\nmonarch to erect with all speed a series of fortresses to the north; as\na result, Salamanca, Segovia, and Avila, beyond the Guaderrama\nMountains, and Madrid to the south, were quickly populated by\nChristians.\n\nThis occurred in 1102; the first bishop _de modernis_ was Jeronimo, a\nFrench warrior-monk, who had accompanied his bosom friend el Cid to\nValencia, had fought beside him, and had been appointed bishop of the\nconquered see. Not for any length of time, however, for as soon as el\nCid died, the Moors drove the Christians out of the new kingdom, and the\nbishop came to Leon with the Cristo de las Batallas,--a miraculous cross\nof old Byzantine workmanship, supposed to have aided the Cid in many a\nbattle,--as the only _souvenir_ of his stay in the Valencian see.\n\nThe next four or five bishops fought among themselves. At one time the\ncity had no fewer than two, a usurper, and another who was not much\nbetter; the Pope deprived one of his dignity, the king another, the\ninfluential Archbishop of Santiago chose a third, who was also\ndeposed--the good old times!--until at last one Berengario was\nappointed, and the ignominious conflict was peacefully settled.\n\nThe inhabitants of the city at the beginning were a strong, warlike\nmedley of Jews (these were doubtless the least warlike!), Arabs,\nAragonese, Castilian, French, and Leonese. Bands of these without a\ncommander invaded Moorish territory, sacking and pillaging where they\ncould. On one occasion they were pursued by an Arab army, whose general\nasked to speak with the captain of the Salamantinos. The answer was,\n\"Each of us is his own captain!\" words that can be considered typical of\nthe anarchy which reigned in Spain until the advent of Isabel and\nFerdinand in the fifteenth century.\n\nIf the bishops fought among themselves, and if the low class people\nlived in a state of utter anarchy, the same spirit spread to--or\nemanated from--the nobility, of whom Salamanca had more than its share,\nespecially as soon as the university was founded. The annals of no other\ncity are so replete with family traditions and feuds, which were not\nonly restricted to the original disputers, to their families and\nacquaintances, but became generalized among the inhabitants themselves,\nwho took part in the feud. Thus it often happened that the city was\ndivided into two camps, separated by an imaginary line, and woe betide\nthe daring or careless individual who crossed it!\n\nOne of the most dramatic of these feuds--a savage species of\nvendetta--was the following:\n\nDoña Maria Perez, a Plasencian dame of noble birth, had married one of\nthe most powerful noblemen in Salamanca, Monroy by name, and upon the\nlatter's death remained a widowed mother of two sons. One of them asked\nand obtained in marriage the hand of a noble lady who had refused a\nsimilar proposition made by one Enriquez, son of a Sevillan aristocrat.\nThe youth's jealousy and anger was therefore bitterly aroused, and he\nand his brother waited for a suitable opportunity in which to avenge\nthemselves. It soon came: they were playing Spanish ball, _pelota_, one\nday with the accepted suitor, when a dispute arose as to who was the\nbetter player; the two brothers fell upon their victim and foully\nmurdered him. But afraid lest his brother should venge the latter's\ndeath, they lay in wait for him behind a street corner, and as he came\nalong they rapidly killed him as they had his brother. Then they fled\nacross the frontier to Portugal.\n\nThe two corpses had in the meantime been carried on a bier by the crowds\nand laid down in front of Doña Maria's house; the latter stepped out on\nthe balcony, with dishevelled hair; an angry murmur went from one end of\nthe crowd to the other, and a universal clamour arose: vengeance was on\nevery one's lips. But Doña Maria commanded silence.\n\n\"Be calm,\" she said, \"and take these bodies to the cathedral. Vengeance?\nFear not, I shall venge myself.\"\n\nAn hour later she left the town with an escort, apparently with a view\nto retire to her estates near Plasencia. Once well away from the city,\nshe divulged her plan to the escort and asked if they were willing to\nfollow her. Receiving an affirmative reply, she tore off her woman's\nclothes and appeared dressed in full armour; placing a helmet on her\nhead, she took the lead of her troops again, and set out for the\nPortuguese frontier.\n\nThe strange company arrived on the third day at a Portuguese frontier\ntown, where they were told that two foreigners had arrived the night\nbefore. By the description of the two Spaniards, Doña Maria felt sure\nthey were her sons' murderers, and consequently she and her escort\napproached the house where the fugitives were passing the night. Placing\nthe escort beneath the window, she stealthily entered the house and\nstole to the brothers' room; then she slew them whilst they were\nsleeping, and, rushing to the window, threw it open, and, spearing the\nheads of her enemies on her lance, she showed them to her retinue, with\nthe words:\n\n\"I'm venged! Back to Salamanca.\"\n\nSilently, at the head of her troops, and bearing the two heads on her\nlance, Doña Maria returned to Salamanca. Entering the cathedral, she\nthrew them on the newly raised slabs which covered her sons' remains.\n\nEver after she was known as Doña Maria _la brava_, and is as celebrated\nto-day as she was in the fifteenth century, during the abominable reign\nof Henry IV. And so great was the feud which divided the city into two\ncamps, that it lasted many years, and many were the victims of the\ngigantic vendetta.\n\nThe city's greatest fame lay in its university, founded toward 1215, by\nAlfonso IX. of Leon, who was jealous of his cousin Alfonso VIII. of\nCastile, the founder of the luckless university of Palencia.\n\nThe fate of the last named university has been duly mentioned elsewhere;\nthat of Salamanca was far different. In 1255 the Pope called it one of\nthe four lamps of the world; strangers--students from all corners of\nEurope--flocked to the city to study. Perhaps its greatest merit was the\nstudy of Arabic and Arabian letters, and it has been said that the study\nof the Orient penetrated into Europe through Salamanca alone.\n\nWhat a glorious life must have been the university city's during the\napogee of her fame! Students from all European lands, dressed in the\npicturesque costume worn by those who attended the university, wended\ntheir way through the streets, singing and playing the guitar or the\nmandolin; they mingled with dusky noblemen, richly dressed in satins and\nsilks, and wearing the rapier hanging by their sides; they flirted with\nthe beautiful daughters of Spain, and gravely saluted the bishop when he\nwas carried along in his chair, or rode a quiet palfrey. At one time the\ncourt was established in the university city, lending a still more\nbrilliant lustre to the every-day life of the inhabitants, and to the\nsombre streets lined with palaces, churches, colleges, convents, and\nmonasteries.\n\nGone! To-day the city lies beneath an immense weight of ruins of all\nkinds, that chain her down to the past which was her glory, and impede\nher from looking ahead into her future with ambitions and hopes.\n\nThe cathedrals Salamanca can boast of to-day are two, an old one and a\ncomparatively new one; the latter was built beside the former, a\npraiseworthy and exceptional proceeding, for, instead of pulling down\nthe old to make room for the new, as happens throughout the world, the\ncathedral chapter convocated an assembly of architects, and was\nintelligent enough--another wonder!--to accept the verdict that the old\nbuilding, a Romanesque-Byzantine edifice of exceptional value, should\nnot be demolished. The new temple was therefore erected beside the\nformer, and, obeying the art impulses of the centuries which witnessed\nits construction, is an ogival church spoilt--or bettered--by\nRenaissance, plateresque, and grotesque decorative elements.\n\n\n_The Old Cathedral._--The exact date of the erection of the old see is\nnot known; toward 1152 it was already in construction, and 150 years\nlater, in 1299, it was not concluded. Consequently, and more than in the\ncase of Zamora and Toro, the upper part of the building shows decided\nogival tendencies; yet in spite of these evident signs of transition,\nthe ensemble, the spirit of the building, is, beyond a doubt,\nRomanesque-Byzantine, and not Gothic.\n\n[Illustration: OLD SALAMANCA CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe plan of the church is the same as those of Zamora, Toro, and Coria:\na nave and two aisles cut short at the transept, which is slightly\nprolonged beyond the width of the body of the church; there is no\nambulatory walk, but to the east of the transept are three chapels in a\nthree-lobed apse, the central lobe larger than the others and containing\nthe high altar; the choir was placed (originally) in the centre of the\nnave, and a _cimborio_ crowns the _croisée_, this latter being a\npeculiarity of the three cathedral churches of Zamora, Toro, and\nSalamanca.\n\nUnluckily, the erection of the new building as an annex of the old one\nrequired (as in Plasencia, though from different reasons) the demolition\nof certain parts of the latter; as, for instance, the two towers of the\nwestern front, the northern portal as well as the northern half of the\napse, and the corresponding part of the transept. Parts of these have\neither been surrounded or replaced by the new building.\n\nThe narthex and the western end are still preserved. They are of the\nsame width as the nave, for, beneath the towers, of which one seems to\nhave been far higher than the other, each of the aisles terminates in a\nchapel. Byzantine in appearance, the two western doors are,\nnevertheless, crowned by an ogival arch, and flanked by statuettes of\nthe same style. The façade, repaired and spoilt, is of Renaissance\nseverity.\n\nThe interior of the building is more impressive than that of either\nZamora or Toro; this is due to the absence of the choir,--removed to the\nnew cathedral,--which permits an uninterrupted view of the whole church,\nwhich does not occur in any other temple throughout Spain. Romanesque\nstrength and gloominess is clearly discernible, whereas the height of\nthe central nave (sixty feet) is rendered stumpy in appearance by the\nalmost equal height of the aisles. The strength and solidity of the\npillars and columns, supporting capitals and friezes of a peculiar and\ndecided Byzantine taste (animals, dragons, etc.), show more keenly than\nin Galicia the Oriental influence which helped so thoroughly to shape\nCentral Spanish Romanesque.\n\nOf the chapels, but one deserves special mention, both as seen from\nwithout and from within, namely, the high altar, or central apsidal\nchapel. Seen from without, it is of perfect Romanesque construction,\nexcepting the upper row of rose windows, which are ogival in their\ntraceries; inside, it contains a mural painting of an exceedingly\nprimitive design, and a _retablo_ in low reliefs enchased in ogival\narches; it is of Italian workmanship.\n\nOf the remaining chapels, that of San Bartolomé contains an alabaster\nsepulchre of the Bishop Diego de Anaya--one of the many prelates of\nthose times who was the possessor of illegitimate sons; the bodies of\nmost of the latter lie within this chapel, which can be regarded not\nonly as a family pantheon, but as a symbol of ecclesiastical greatness\nand human weakness.\n\nThe windows which light up the nave are round-headed, and yet they are\ndelicately decorated, as is rarely to be seen in the Romanesque type.\nThe aisles, on the contrary, are not lit up by any windows.\n\nLike the churches of Zamora and Toro, the whole cathedral resembles a\nfortress rather than a place of worship. The simplicity of the general\nstructure, the rounded turrets buried in the walls, serving as leaning\nbuttresses, the narrow slits in the walls instead of windows, lend an\nindisputable aspect of strength. The beautiful, the really beautiful\nlantern, situated above the _croisée_, with its turrets, its niches, its\nthirty odd windows, and its elegant cupola, is an architectural body\nthat wins the admiration of all who behold it, either from within the\nchurch or from without, and which, strictly Byzantine in conception\n(though rendered peculiarly Spanish by the addition of certain elements\nwhich pertain rather to Gothic military art than to church\narchitecture), is unique--to the author's knowledge--in all Europe. Less\npure in style, and less Oriental in appearance than that of Zamora, it\nwas nevertheless, created more perfect by the artistic conception of the\narchitect, and consequently more finished or developed than those of\nToro and Zamora. Without hesitation, it can claim to be one of\nSalamanca's chief attractions.\n\nThe thickness of the walls (ten feet!), the admirable simpleness of the\nvaulting, and the general aspect from the exterior, have won for the\nchurch the name of _fortis Salamantini_.\n\n\n_The New Cathedral._--It was begun in 1513, the old temple having been\njudged too small, and above all too narrow for a city of the importance\nof Salamanca.\n\nOver two hundred years did the building of the present edifice last; at\ntimes all work was stopped for years, no funds being at hand to pay\neither artists or masons.\n\nThe primitive plan of the church, as proposed by the congress of\narchitects, was Gothic of the second period, with an octagonal apse; the\nlower part of the church, from the foot to the transept, was the first\nto be constructed.\n\nThe upper part of the apse was not begun until the year 1588, and the\nartist, imbued with the beauty of Herrero's Escorial, squared the apse\nwith the evident intention of constructing turrets on the exterior\nangles, which would have rendered the building symmetrical: two towers\non the western front, a cupola on the _croisée_, and two smaller turrets\non the eastern end.\n\nThe building as it stands to-day is a perfect rectangle cut in its\nlength by a nave (containing the choir and the high altar), and by two\naisles, lower than the nave and continued in an ambulatory walk behind\nthe high altar.\n\nThe same symmetry is visible in the lateral chapels: eight square\n_huecos_ on the exterior walls of the aisles, five to the west, and\nthree to the east of the transept, and three in the extreme eastern wall\nof the apse.\n\nMagnificence rather than beauty is the characteristic note of the new\ncathedral. The primitive part--pure ogival with but little\nmixture--contrasts with the eastern end, which is covered over with the\nmost glaring grotesque decoration; most of the chapels are spoiled by\nthe same shocking profusion of super-ornamentation; the otherwise\nmajestic cupola, the high altar, and the choir--all suffer from the same\ndefect.\n\nThe double triforium--one higher than the other--in the clerestory\nproduces a most favourable impression; this is heightened by the wealth\nof light, which, entering by two rows of windows and by the _cimborio_,\nfalls upon the rich decoration of friezes and capitals. The general view\nof the whole building is also freer than in most Spanish cathedrals,\nand this harmony existing in the proportions of the different parts\nstrikes the visitor more favourably, perhaps, than in the severer\ncathedral at Burgos.\n\n[Illustration: NEW SALAMANCA CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe exterior of the building reflects more truthfully than the interior\nthe different art waves which spread over Spain during the centuries of\nthe temple's erection. In the western front, the rich Gothic portal of\nthe third period, the richest perhaps in sculptural variety of any on\nthe peninsula, contrasts with the high mongrel tower, a true example of\nthe composite towers so frequently met with in certain Spanish regions.\nThe second body of the same façade (western) is highly interesting, not\non account of its ornamentation, which is simple, but because of the\nsolid, frank structure, and the curious fortress-like turrets embedded\nin the angles.\n\nThe flank of the building, seen from the north--for on the south side\nstand the ruins of the old cathedral--is none too homogeneous, thanks to\nthe different styles in which the three piers of windows--of chapels,\naisles, and clerestory--have been constructed. The ensemble is\npicturesque, nevertheless: the three rows of windows, surmounted by the\nhuge cupola and half-lost among the buttresses, certainly contribute\ntoward the general elegance of the granite structure.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nCIUDAD RODRIGO\n\n\nIn the times of the Romans, the country to the west of Salamanca seems\nto have been thickly populated. Calabria, situated between the Agueda\nand Coa Rivers, was an episcopal see; in its vicinity Augustábriga and\nMiróbriga were two other important towns.\n\nOf these three Roman fortresses, and perhaps native towns, before the\ninvasion, not as much as a stone or a legend remains to relate the tale\nof their existence and death.\n\nToward 1150, Fernando II. of Castile, obeying the military requirements\nof the Reconquest, and at the same time wishing to erect a\nfortress-town, which, together with Zamora to the north, Salamanca to\nthe west, and Coria to the south, could resist the invasion of Spain by\nPortuguese armies, founded Ciudad Rodrigo, and twenty years later raised\nthe church to an episcopal see, a practical means of attracting\nGod-fearing settlers. Consequently, the twelfth-century town, inheriting\nthe ecclesiastical dignity of Calabria, if the latter ever possessed it,\nbesides being situated in the same region as the three Roman cities\npreviously mentioned, can claim to have been born a city.\n\nOne of the early bishops (the first was a certain Domingo) was the\nfamous Pedro Diaz, about whom a legend has been handed down to us. This\nlegend has also been graphically illustrated by an artist of the\nsixteenth century; his painting is to be seen to the right of the\nnorthern transept door in the cathedral.\n\nPedro Diaz seems to have been a worldly priest, \"fond of the sins of the\nflesh and of good eating,\" who fell ill in the third year of his reign.\nHis secretary, a pious servant of the Lord, dreamt he saw his master's\nsoul devoured by demons, and persuaded him to confess his sins. It was\ntoo late, for a few days later he died; his death was, however, kept a\nsecret by his menials, who wished to have plenty of time to make a\ngenerous division of his fortune. When all had been settled to their\nliking, the funeral procession moved through the streets of the city,\nand, to the surprise of all, the dead bishop, resurrected by St.\nFrancis of Assisi, at the time in Ciudad Rodrigo, opened the coffin and\nstood upon the hearse. He accused his servants of their greed, and at\nthe same time made certain revelations concerning the life hereafter.\nHis experiences must have been rather pessimistic, to judge by the\nbishop's later deeds, for, having been granted a respite of twenty days\nupon this earth, he \"fasted and made penitence,\" doubtless eager to\nescape a second time the tortures of the other world.\n\nOther traditions concerning the lives and doings of the noblemen who\ndisputed the feudal right or _señorio_ over the town, are as numerous as\nin Plasencia, with which city Ciudad Rodrigo has certain historical\naffinities. The story of the Virgen Coronada, who, though poor, did not\nhesitate in killing a powerful and wealthy libertine nobleman whom she\nwas serving; the no less stirring account of Doña Maria Adan's vow that\nshe would give her fair daughter's hand to whomsoever venged her wrongs\non the five sons of her husband's murderer, are among the most tragic\nand thrilling. There are many other traditions beside, which constitute\nthe past's legacy to the solitary city near the Portuguese frontier.\n\nIt was in the nineteenth century that Ciudad Rodrigo earned fame as a\nbrave city. The Spanish war for independence had broken out against the\nFrench, who overran the country, and passed from Bayonne in the Gascogne\nto Lisbon in Portugal. Ciudad Rodrigo lay on the shortest route for the\nFrench army, and had to suffer two sieges, one in 1810 and the second in\n1812. In the latter, Wellington was the commander of the English forces\nwho had come to help the Spanish chase the French out of the peninsula;\nthe siege of the town and the battle which ensued were long and\nterrible, but at last the allied English and Spanish won, with the loss\nof two English generals. The Iron Duke was rewarded by Spanish Cortes,\nwith the title of Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo, together with the honours of\ngrandee of Spain, which are still retained by Wellington's descendants.\n\n[Illustration: CUIDAD RODRIGO CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe cathedral church of Ciudad Rodrigo is a twelfth-century building, in\nwhich the Romanesque style, similar to those of Zamora and Toro, fights\nwith the nascent ogival style. Notwithstanding these remarks,\nhowever, the building does not pertain to the Transition period, but\nrather to the second or last period of Spanish Romanesque. This is\neasily seen by the basilica form of the church, the three-lobed apse,\nthe lack of an ambulatory walk, and the apparently similar height of\nnave and aisles.\n\nThe square tower, surmounted by a cupola, at the foot of the church, as\nwell as the entire western front, dates from the eighteenth century; it\nis cold, anti-artistic, utterly unable to appeal to the poetic instincts\nof the spectator.\n\nBehind the western front, and leading directly into the body of the\nchurch, is a delightful Romanesque narthex which doubtlessly served as\nthe western façade prior to the eighteenth-century additions. It is\nseparated from the principal nave by a door divided into two by a solid\npediment, upon which is encrusted a statue of the Virgin with Child in\nher arms. The semicircular arches which surmount the door are finely\nexecuted, and the columns which support them are decorated with handsome\ntwelfth-century statuettes. There is a great similarity between this\nportal and the principal one (del Obispo) in Toro: it almost seems as\nthough the same hand had chiselled both, or at least traced the plan of\ntheir decoration.\n\nOf the two doors which lead, one on the south and the other on the\nnorth, into the transept, the former is perhaps the more perfect\nspecimen of the primitive style. Both are richly decorated; unluckily,\nin both portals, the rounded arches have been crowned in more recent\ntimes by an ogival arch, which certainly mars the pureness of the style,\nthough not the harmony of the ensemble.\n\nTo the left of these doors, a niche has been carved into the wall to\ncontain a full-length statue of the Virgin; this is an unusual\narrangement in Spanish churches.\n\nThe exterior of the apse retains its primitive _cachet_; the central\nchapel, where the high altar is placed, was, however, rebuilt in the\nsixteenth century by Tavera, the Cardinal-Archbishop of Toledo, who had\nat one time occupied the see of Ciudad Rodrigo. It is a peculiar mixture\nof Gothic and Romanesque, of pointed windows and heavy buttresses; the\nflat roof is decorated by means of a low stone railing or balustrade\ncomposed of elegantly carved pinnacles.\n\nTo conclude: excepting the western front and the central lobe of the\napse, the tower and the ogival arch surmounting the northern and\nsouthern portals, the cathedral of Ciudad Rodrigo is one of the most\nperfectly preserved Romanesque buildings to the south of Zamora and\nToro. It is less grim and warlike than the two last-named edifices, and\nyet it is also a fair example of severe and gloomy (though not less\nartistic!) Castilian Romanesque. Its _croisée_ is not surmounted by the\nheavy cupola as in Salamanca and elsewhere, and it is perhaps just this\nsuppression or omission which gives the whole building a far less\nOriental appearance than the others mentioned heretofore.\n\nIn the inside, the choir occupies its usual place. Its stalls, it is\nbelieved, were carved by Alemán, the same who probably wrought those\nsuperb seats at Plasencia. It is doubtful if the same master carved\nboth, however, but were it so, the stalls at Ciudad Rodrigo would have\nto be classified as older, executed before those we shall examine in a\nfuture chapter.\n\nThe nave and two aisles, pierced by ogival windows in the clerestory and\nround-headed windows in the aisles, constitute the church; the\n_croisée_ is covered by means of a simple ogival vaulting; the arches\nseparating the nave from the aisles are Romanesque, as is the vaulting\nof the former. It was originally the intention of the chapter to\nbeautify the solemn appearance of the interior by means of a triforium\nor running gallery. Unluckily, perhaps because of lack of funds, the\ntriforium was never begun excepting that here and there are seen\nremnants of the primitive tracing.\n\nWith the lady-chapel profusely and lavishly ornamented, and quite out of\nplace in this solemn building, there are five chapels, one at the foot\nof each aisle and two in the apse, to the right and left of the\nlady-chapel. They all lack art interest, however, as does the actual\n_retablo_, which replaces the one destroyed by the French; remnants of\nthe latter are to be seen patched up on the cloister walls.\n\nThis cloister to the north of the church is a historical monument, for\neach of the four sides of the square edifice is an architectural page\ndiffering from its companions. Studying first the western, then the\nsouthern, and lastly the two remaining sides, the student can obtain an\nidea of how Romanesque principles struggled with Gothic before dying\ncompletely out, and how the latter, having reached its apogee,\ndeteriorated into the most lamentable superdecoration before fading away\ninto the naked, straight-lined features of the Renaissance so little\ncompatible with Christian ideals.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nCORIA\n\n\nTo the west of Toledo and to the south of the Sierra de Gata, which,\nwith the mountains of Gredo and the Guaderrama, formed in the middle\nages a natural frontier between Christians and Moors, lies, in a\npicturesque and fertile vale about twenty miles distant from the nearest\nrailway station, the little known cathedral town of Coria. It is\nsituated on the northern shores of the Alagón, a river flowing about ten\nmiles farther west into the Tago, near where the latter leaves Spanish\nterritory and enters that of Portugal.\n\nCaurium, or Curia Vetona, was its name when the Romans held Extremadura,\nand it was in this town, or in its vicinity, that Viriato, the Spanish\nhero, destroyed four Roman armies sent to conquer his wild hordes. He\nnever lost a single battle or skirmish, and might possibly have dealt a\ndeath-blow to Roman plans of domination in the peninsula, had not the\ntraitor's knife ended his noble career.\n\nTheir enemy dead, the Romans entered the city of Coria, which they\nimmediately surrounded by a circular wall half a mile in length, and\ntwenty-six feet thick (!). This Roman wall, considered by many to be the\nmost perfectly preserved in Europe, is severely simple in structure, and\nflanked by square towers; it constitutes the city's one great\nattraction.\n\nThe episcopal see was erected in 338. The names of the first bishops\nhave long been forgotten, the first mentioned being one Laquinto, who\nsigned the third Toledo Council in 589.\n\nTwo centuries later the Moors raised Al-Kárica to one of their capitals;\nin 854 Zeth, an ambitious Saracen warrior, freed it from the yoke of\nCordoba, and reigned in the city as an independent sovereign.\n\nLike Zamora and Toro, Coria was continually being lost and won by\nChristians and Moors, with this difference, that whereas the first two\ncan be looked upon as the last Christian outposts to the north of the\nDuero, Coria was the last Arab stronghold to the north of the Tago.\n\nToward the beginning of the thirteenth century, the strong fortress on\nthe Alagón was definitely torn from the hands of its independent\nsovereign by Alfonso VIII., after the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa. A\nbishop was immediately reinstated in the see, and after five centuries\nof Mussulman domination, Coria saw the standard of Castile waving from\nits citadel.\n\nAs happened with so many other provincial towns in Spain, the\ncentralization of power to the north of Toledo shoved Coria into the\nbackground; to-day it is a cathedral village forgotten or completely\nignored by the rest of Spain. Really, it might perhaps have been better\nfor the Arabs to have preserved it, for under their rule it flourished.\n\nIt is picturesque, this village on the banks of the Alagón: a heap or\nbundle of red bricks surrounded by grim stone walls, over-topped by a\ncathedral tower and citadel,--the whole picture emerging from a prairie\nand thrown against a background formed by the mountains to the north and\nthe bright blue sky in the distance.\n\nArab influence is only too evident in the buildings and houses, in the\nAlcázar, and in the streets; unluckily, these remembrances of a happy\npast depress the dreamy visitor obliged to recognize the infinite\nsadness which accompanied the expulsion of the Moors by intolerant\ntyrants from the land they had inhabited, formed, and moulded to their\ntaste. Nowhere is this so evident as in Coria, a forgotten bit of\nmediæval Moor-land. The poet's exclamation is full of bitterness and\nresignation when he exclaims:\n\n\"Is it possible that this heap of ruins should have been in other times\nthe splendid court of Zeth and Mondhir!\"\n\n\nAs an architectural building, the cathedral of Coria is a parish church,\nwhich, removed to any other town, would be devoid of any and all beauty.\nIn other words, the impressions it produces are entirely dependent upon\nits local surroundings; eliminate these, and the temple is worthless\nfrom an artistic or poetical point of view.\n\nIt was begun in 1120, most likely by Arab workmen; it was finished\ntoward the beginning of the sixteenth century. Honestly speaking, it is\na puzzle what the artisans did in all those long years; doubtless they\nslept at their task, or else decades passed away without work of any\nkind being done, or again, perhaps only one mason was employed at a\ntime.\n\nThe interior is that of a simple Gothic church of one aisle, 150 feet\nlong by fifty-two wide and eighty-four high; the high altar is situated\nin the rounded apse; in the centre of the church the choir stalls of the\nfifteenth century obstruct the view of the walls, decorated only by\nmeans of pilasters which pretend to support the Gothic vaulting.\n\nTo the right, in the altar chapel, is a fine marble sepulchre of the\nsixteenth century, in which the chasuble of the kneeling bishop\nportrayed is among the best pieces of imitative sculpture to be seen in\nSpain.\n\nTo the right of the high altar, and buried in the cathedral wall, a door\nleads out into the _paseo_,--a walk on the broad walls of the city, with\na delightful view southwards across the river to the prairie in the\ndistance. Where can a prettier and more natural cloister be found?\n\nThe western façade is never used, and is surrounded by the old\ncemetery,--a rather peculiar place for a cemetery in a cathedral church;\nthe northern façade is anti-artistic, but the tower to the right has\none great virtue, that of comparative height. Though evidently intended\nto be Gothic, the Arab taste, so pronounced throughout this region, got\nthe better of the architect, and he erected a square steeple crowned by\na cupola.\n\nYet, and in spite of criticism which can hardly find an element worthy\nof praise in the whole cathedral building, the tourist should not\nhesitate in visiting the city. Besides, the whole region of Northern\nExtremadura, in which Coria and Plasencia lie, is historically most\ninteresting: Yuste, where Charles-Quint spent the last years of his\nlife, is not far off; neither is the Convent of Guadalupe, famous for\nits pictures by the great Zurbaran.\n\nAs for Coria itself, it is a forgotten corner of Moor-land.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nPLASENCIA\n\n\nThe foundation of Plasencia by King Alfonso VIII. in 1178, and the\nerection of a new episcopal see twelve years later, can be regarded as\nthe _coup de grâce_ given to the importance of Coria, the twin sister\nforty miles away. Nevertheless, the Royal City, as Plasencia was called,\nwhich ended by burying its older rival in the most shocking oblivion,\nwas not able to acquire a name in history. Founded by a king, and handed\nover to a bishop and to favourite courtiers, who ruled it indifferently\nwell, not to say badly, it grew up to be an aristocratic town without a\n_bourgeoisie_. Its history in the middle ages is consequently one long\nseries of family feuds, duels, and tragedies, the record of bloody\nhappenings, and acts of heroic brutality and bravery.\n\nIn 1233 a Moorish army conquered it, shortly after the battle of Alarcos\nwas lost to Alfonso VIII., at that time blindly in love with his\nbeautiful Jewish mistress, Rachel of Toledo. But the infidels did not\nremain master of the situation, far less of the city, for any length of\ntime, as within the next year or so it fell again into the hands of its\nfounder, who strengthened the walls still standing to-day, and completed\nthe citadel.\n\nThe population of the city, like that of Toledo, was mixed. Christians,\nJews, and Moors lived together, each in their quarter, and together they\nused the fertile _vegas_, which surround the town. The Jews and Moors\nwere, in the fifteenth century, about ten thousand in number; in 1492\nthe former were expelled by the Catholic kings, and in 1609 Philip III.\nsigned a decree expelling the Moors. Since then Plasencia has lost its\nmunicipal wealth and importance, and the see, from being one of the\nrichest in Spain, rapidly sank until to-day it drags along a weary life,\nimpoverished and unimportant.\n\nThe Jewish cemetery is still to be seen in the outskirts of the town;\nArab remains, both architectural and irrigatory, are everywhere present,\nand the quarter inhabited by them, the most picturesque in Plasencia,\nis a Moorish village.\n\nThe city itself, crowning a hill beside the rushing Ierte, is a small\nToledo; its streets are narrow and winding; its church towers are\nnumerous, and the red brick houses warmly reflect the brilliancy of the\nsouthern atmosphere. The same death, however, the same inactivity and\nlack of movement, which characterize Toledo and other cities, hover in\nthe alleys and in the public squares, in the fertile _vegas_ and silent\n_patios_ of Plasencia.\n\nThe history of the feuds between the great Castilian families who lived\nhere is tragically interesting: Hernan Perez killed by Diego Alvarez,\nthe son of one of the former's victims; the family of Monroye pitched\nagainst the Zuñigas and other noblemen,--these and many other traditions\nare among the most stirring of the events that happened in Spain in the\nmiddle ages.\n\nEven the bishops called upon to occupy the see seem to have been slaves\nto the warlike spirit that hovered, as it were, in the very atmosphere\nof the town. The first prelate, Don Domingo, won the battle of Navas de\nTolosa for his protector, Alfonso VIII. When the Christian army was\nwavering, he rushed to the front (with his naked sword, the cross having\nbeen left at home), at the head of his soldiers, and drove the already\ntriumphant Moors back until they broke their ranks and fled. The same\nbishop carried the Christian sword to the very heart of the Moorish\ndominions, to Granada, and conquered neighbouring Loja. The next\nprelate, Don Adán, was one of the leaders of the army that conquered\nCordoba in 1236, and, entering the celebrated _mezquita_, sanctified its\nuse as a Christian church.\n\nThe history of the cathedral church is no less interesting. The\nprimitive see was temporarily placed in a church on a hill near the\nfortress; this building was pulled down in the fifteenth century, and\nreplaced by a Jesuit college.\n\nToward the beginning of the fourteenth century a cathedral church was\ninaugurated. Its life was short, however, for in 1498 it was partially\npulled down to make way for a newer and larger edifice, which is to-day\nthe unfinished Renaissance cathedral visited by the tourist.\n\nParts of the old cathedral are, however, still standing. Between the\ntower of the new temple and the episcopal palace, but unluckily\nweighted down by modern superstructures, stands the old façade, almost\nintact. The grossness of the structural work, the timid use of the\nogival arch, the primitive rose window, and the general heaviness of the\nstructure, show it to belong to the decadent period of the Romanesque\nstyle, when the artists were attempting something new and forgetting the\nlessons of the past.\n\nThe new cathedral is a complicated Gothic-Renaissance building of a nave\nand two aisles, with an ambulatory behind the high altar. Not a square\ninch but what has been hollowed out into a niche or covered over with\nsculptural designs; the Gothic plan is anything but pure Gothic, and the\nRenaissance style has been so overwrought that it is anything but\nItalian Renaissance.\n\nThe façade of the building is imposing, if not artistic; it is composed\nof four bodies, each supported laterally by pillars and columns of\ndifferent shapes and orders, and possessing a _hueco_ or hollow in the\ncentre, the lowest being the door, the highest a stained glass window,\nand the two central ones blind windows, which spoil the whole. The\nfloral and Byzantine (Arab?) decoration of pillars and friezes is of\na great wealth of varied designs; statuettes are missing in the niches,\nproving the unfinished state of the church.\n\n[Illustration: FAÇADE OF PLASENCIA CATHEDRAL]\n\nThree arches and four pillars, sumptuously decorated, uphold each of the\nclerestory walls, which are pierced at the top by a handsome triforium\nrunning completely around the church. The _retablo_ of the high altar is\nrichly decorated, perhaps too richly; the _reja_, which closes off the\nsacred area, is of fine seventeenth-century workmanship.\n\nThe choir stalls are of a surprising richness, carved scenes covering\nthe backs and seats. They are famous throughout the country, and the\ngenius, above all the imagination, of the artist who executed them (his\nname is unluckily not known, though it is believed to be Alemán) must\nhave been notable. Pious when carving the upper and visible seats, he\nseems to have been exceedingly ironical and profane when sculpturing the\ninside of the same, where the reverse or the caustic observation\nproduced in the carver's mind has been artfully drawn, though sometimes\nwith an undignified grain of indecency and obscenity not quite in\nharmony with our Puritanic spirit of to-day.\n\n\n\n\n_PART V_\n\n_Eastern Castile_\n\n\n\n\n\nVALLADOLID\n\n\nThe origin of Valladolid is lost in the shadows of the distant past. As\nit was the capital of a vast kingdom, it was thought necessary, as in\nthe case of Madrid, to place its foundation prior to the Roman invasion;\nthe attempt failed, however, and though Roman ruins have been found in\nthe vicinity, nothing is positively known about the city's history prior\nto the eleventh century.\n\nWhen Sancho II. fought against his sister locked up in Zamora, he\noffered her Vallisoletum in exchange for the powerful fortress she had\ninherited from her father. In vain, and the town seated on the Pisuerga\nis not mentioned again in historical documents until 1074, when Alfonso\nVI. handed it over, with several other villages, to Pedro Ansurez, who\nmade it his capital, raised the church (Santa Maria la Mayor) to a\nsuffragan of Palencia, and laid the first foundations of its future\ngreatness. In 1208 the family of Ansurez died out, and the _villa_\nreverted to the crown; from then until the reign of Philip IV.\nValladolid was doubtless one of the most important cities in Castile,\nand the capital of all the Spains, from the reign of Ferdinand and\nIsabel to that of Philip III.\n\nConsequently, the history of Valladolid from the thirteenth to the\nsixteenth century is that of Spain.\n\nIn Valladolid, Peter the Cruel, after three days' marriage, forsook his\nbride, Doña Blanca de Bourbon, and returned to the arms of his mistress\nMaria; several years later he committed most of his terrible crimes\nwithin the limits of the town. Here Maria de Molina upheld her son's\nright to the throne during his minority, and in Valladolid also, after\nher son's death, the same widow fought for her grandson against the\nintrigues of uncles and cousins.\n\nIsabel and Alfonso fought in Valladolid against the proclamation of\ntheir niece, Juana, the illegitimate daughter of Henry IV., as heiress\nto the throne; the citizens upheld the Catholic princess's claims, and\nit is not surprising that when the princess became queen--the greatest\nSpain ever had--she made Valladolid her capital, in gratitude to the\nloyalty of its inhabitants.\n\nIn Valladolid, Columbus obtained the royal permission to sail westwards\nin 1492, and, upon his last return from America, he died in the selfsame\ncity in 1506; here also Berruguete, the sculptor, created many of his\n_chefs-d'œuvres_ and the immortal Cervantes appeared before the law\ncourts and wrote the second part of his \"Quixote.\"\n\nUnlucky Juana _la Loca_ (Jane the Mad) and her husband Felipe _el\nHermoso_ (Philip the Handsome) reigned here after the death of Isabel\nthe Catholic, and fifty years later, when Philip II. returned from\nEngland to ascend the Spanish throne, he settled in Valladolid, until\nhis religious fanaticism or craze obliged him to move to a city nearer\nthe Escorial. Then he fixed upon Madrid as his court. Being a religious\nman, nevertheless, and conscious of a certain love for Valladolid, his\nnatal town, he had the suffragan church erected to a cathedral in 1595,\nappointing Don Bartolomé de la Plaza to be its first bishop. At the same\ntime, he ordered Juan de Herrero, the severe architect of the Escorial,\nto draw the plans and commence the building of the new edifice.\n\nThe growing importance of Madrid, and the final establishment in the\nlast named city of all the honours which belonged to Valladolid, threw\nthe city seated on the Pisuerga into the shade, and its star of fortune\nslowly waned. But not to such a degree as that of Salamanca or Burgos,\nfor to-day, of all the old cities of Castile, the only one which has a\nlife of its own, and a commercial and industrial personality, is\nValladolid, the one-time capital of all the Spains, and now the seat of\nan archbishopric. It began by usurping the dignity of Burgos; then it\nrose to greater heights of fame than its rival, thanks to the discovery\nof America, and finally it lost its _prestige_ when Madrid was crowned\nthe _unica villa_.\n\nThe general appearance of the city is peculiarly Spanish, especially as\nregards the prolific use of brick in the construction of churches and\nedifices in general. It is presumable that the Arabs were possessors of\nthe town before the Christian conquest, though no documental proofs are\nat hand. The etymology of the city's name, Medinat-el-Walid, is purely\nArabic, Walid being the name of a Moorish general.\n\nIf the cathedral church was erected as late as the sixteenth century, it\nmust not be supposed that the town lacked parish churches. On the\ncontrary, there is barely a city in Spain with more religious edifices\nof all kinds, and the greater part of them of far more architectural\nmerit than the cathedral itself. The astonishing number of convents is\nremarkable; many of them date from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,\nand are, consequently, Romanesque with a good deal of Byzantine taste\nabout them, or else they belong to the period of Transition. Taken all\nin all, they are really the only architectural attractions to be\ndiscovered in the city to-day. The traditions which explain the\nfoundation of some of these are among the most characteristic in\nValladolid, and a thread of Oriental romance is more predominant among\nthem than elsewhere. A good example of one of these explains the\nfoundation of the large convent of the Mercedes.\n\nDoña Leonor was the wife of one Acuña, a fearless (?) knight. The King\nof Portugal unluckily fell in love with Doña Leonor, and, wishing to\nmarry her, had her previous marriage annulled and placed her on his\nthrone. Acuña fled from Portugal and came to Valladolid, where, with\nunparalleled sarcasm, he wore a badge on his hat proclaiming his\ndishonour.\n\nBoth Acuña and the King of Portugal died, and Doña Leonor, whose morals\nwere none too edifying, fell in love with a certain Zuñiguez; the\ndaughter of these two was handed over to the care of a knight, Fernan by\nname, and Doña Leonor ordered him to found a convent, upon her death,\nand lock up her daughter within its walls; the mother was doubtless only\ntoo anxious to have her daughter escape the ills of this life. Unluckily\nshe counted without the person principally concerned, namely, the\ndaughter, for the latter fell secretly in love with her keeper's nephew.\nShe thought he was her cousin, however, for it appears she was passed\noff as Fernan's daughter. Upon her mother's death she learnt her real\norigin, and wedded her lover. In gratitude for her non-relationship with\nher husband, she founded the convent her mother had ordered, but she\nherself remained without its walls!\n\nThe least that can be said about the cathedral of Valladolid, the\nbetter. Doubtless there are many people who consider the building a\nmarvel of beauty. As a specimen of Juan de Herrero's severe and majestic\nstyle, it is second to no other building excepting only that great\nmasterwork, the Escorial, and perhaps parts of the Pillar at Saragosse.\nBut as an art monument, where beauty and not Greco-Roman effects are\nsought, it is a failure.\n\nThe original plan of the building was a rectangle, 411 feet long by 204\nwide, divided in its length by a nave and two aisles, and in its width\nby a broad transept situated exactly half-way between the apse and the\nfoot of the church. The form was thus that of a Greek cross; each angle\nof the building was to be surmounted by a tower, and the _croisée_ by an\nimmense cupola or dome. (Compare with the new cathedral in Salamanca.)\nThe lateral walls of the aisles were to contain symmetrical chapels, as\nwas also the apse.\n\nFrom the foregoing it will be seen that symmetry and the Greco-Roman\nstraight horizontal line were to replace the ogival arch and the\ngenerally vertical, soaring effect of Gothic buildings.\n\nThe architect died before his monument was completed, and Churriguera,\nthe most anti-artistic artist that ever breathed,--according to the\nauthor's personal opinion,--was called upon to finish the edifice: his\ntrade-mark covers almost the entire western front, where the second body\nshows the defects into which Herrero's severe style degenerated soon\nafter his death.\n\nOf the four towers and the cupola which were to render the capitol of\nValladolid \"second in grandeur to none excepting St. Peter's at Rome,\"\nonly one tower was erected: it fell down in 1841, and is being reërected\nat the present time.\n\nIn the interior the same disparity is everywhere visible, as well as in\nthe unfinished state of the temple. Greek columns are prevalent, and,\ncontrasting with their simplicity, the high altar, as grotesque a body\nas ever was placed in a holy cathedral, attracts the eye of the vulgar\nwith something of the same feeling as a blood-and-thunder melodrama.\nNeedless to say, the art connoisseur flees therefrom.\n\n[Illustration: WESTERN FRONT OF VALLADOLID CATHEDRAL]\n\nTo the rear of the building the remains of the Romanesque Church of\nSanta Maria la Mayor are still to be seen; what a difference between\nthe rigid, anti-artistic conception of Herrero, ridiculized by\nChurriguera, and left but half-completed by successive generations of\nmoneyless believers, and the simple but elegant features of the old\ncollegiate church, with its tower still standing, a Byzantine _recuerdo_\nof the thirteenth century.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nAVILA\n\n\nTo the west of Madrid, in the very heart of the Sierra de Gredos, lies\nAvila, another of the interesting cities of Castile, whose time-old\nmansions and palaces, built of a gray granite, lend a solemn and almost\nrepulsively melancholic air to the city.\n\nPerhaps more than any other town, Avila is characteristic of the middle\nages, of the continual strife between the noblemen, the Church, and the\ncommon people. The houses of the aristocrats are castles rather than\npalaces, with no artistic decoration to hide their bare nakedness; the\ncathedral is really a fortress, and not only apparently so, as in\nSalamanca and Toro, for its very apse is embedded in the city walls, of\nwhich it forms a part, a battlemented, turreted, and warlike projection,\nsure of having to bear the brunt of an attack in case of a siege.\n\nLike the general aspect of the city is also the character of the\ninhabitant, and it is but drawing it mildly to state that Avila's sons\nwere ever foremost in battle and strife. Kings in their minority were\nbrought hither by prudent mothers who relied more upon the city's walls\nthan upon the promises of noblemen in Valladolid and Burgos; this trust\nwas never misplaced. In the conquest of Extremadura and of Andalusia,\nalso, the Avilese troops, headed by daring warrior-prelates, played a\nmost important part, and, as a frontier fortress, together with Segovia,\nagainst Aragon to the east, it managed to keep away from Castilian\nterritory the ambitions of the monarchs of the rival kingdom.\n\nAvela of the Romans was a garrison town, the walls of which were partly\nthrown down by the Western Goths upon their arrival in the peninsula.\nPreviously, San Segundo, one of the disciples of the Apostles who had\nvisited Bética (Andalusia), preached the True Word in Avila, and was\ncreated its first bishop--in the first century. During the terrible\npersecution of the Christians under the reign of Trajanus, one San\nVicente and his two sisters, Sabina and Cristeta, escaped from Portugal\nand came to Avila, hoping to be hospitably received. All in vain; their\nheads were smashed between stones, and their bodies left to rot in the\nstreets. An immense serpent emerged from the city walls and kept guard\nover the three saintly corpses. The first to approach was a Jew, drawn\nhither by curiosity; he was immediately enveloped by the reptile's body.\nOn the point of being strangled, he pronounced the word, \"Jesus\"--and\nthe serpent released him. So grateful was the Jew at being delivered\nfrom death that he turned Christian and erected a church in honour of\nSan Vicente, Sabina, and Cristeta, and had them buried within its walls.\n\nThis church subsisted throughout the dark ages of the Moorish invasion\nuntil at last Fernando I. removed the saintly remains to Leon in the\neleventh century. The church was then destroyed, and, it is believed,\nthe present cathedral was built on the same spot.\n\nThe Moors, calling the city Abila, used it as one of the fortresses\ndefending Toledo on the north against the continual Christian raids;\nwith varying success they held it until the end of the eleventh century,\nwhen it finally fell into the hands of the Christians, and was\nrepopulated a short time before Salamanca toward the end of the same\ncentury.\n\nDuring the centuries of Moorish dominion the see had fallen into the\ncompletest oblivion, no mention being made of any bishops of Avila; the\necclesiastical dignity was reëstablished immediately after the final\nconquest of the region to the north of the Sierra of Guaderrama, and\nthough documents are lacking as to who was the first prelate _de\nmodernis_, it is generally believed to have been one Jeronimo, toward\nthe end of the eleventh century.\n\nThe city grew rapidly in strength; settlers came from the north--from\nCastile and Leon--and from the east, from Aragon; they travelled to\ntheir new home in bullock-carts containing household furniture,\nagricultural and war implements, wives, and children.\n\nIn the subsequent history of Spain Avila played an important part, and\nmany a stirring event took place within its walls. It was besieged by\nthe Aragonese Alfonso el Batallador, whose army advanced to the attack\nbehind its prisoners, sons of Avila. Brothers, fathers, and relatives\nwere thus obliged to fire upon their own kin if they wished to save\ntheir city. The same king, it is said, killed his hostages by having\ntheir heads cut off and boiled in oil, as though severed heads were\ncapable of feeling the delightful sensation of seething oil!\n\nOf all the traditions as numerous here as elsewhere, the prettiest and\nmost improbable is doubtless that of Nalvillos, a typical chevalier of\nromance, who fell desperately in love with a beautiful Moorish princess\nand wedded her. She pined, however, for a lover whom in her youth she\nhad promised to wed, and though her husband erected palaces and bought\nslaves for her, she escaped with her sweetheart. Nalvillos followed the\ncouple to where they lay retired in a castle, and it was surrounded by\nhim and his trusty followers. The hero himself, disguised as a seller of\ncurative herbs, entered the apartment where his wife was waiting for her\nlover's return, and made himself known. The former's return, however,\ncut matters short, and Nalvillos was obliged to hide himself. The\nMoorish girl was true to her love, and told her sweetheart where the\nChristian was hiding; brought out of his retreat, he was on the point of\nbeing killed when he asked permission to blow a last blast on his\nbugle--a wish that was readily conceded by the magnanimous lover. The\nresult? The princess and her sweetheart were burnt to death by the\nflames ignited by Nalvillos's soldiers. The Christian warrior was, of\ncourse, able to escape.\n\nIn 1455 the effigy of Henry IV. was dethroned in Avila by the prelates\nof Toledo and other cities, and by an assembly of noblemen who felt that\nfeudalism was dying out, and were anxious to strike a last blow at the\nweak king whom they considered was their enemy.\n\nThe effigy was placed on a throne; the Archbishop of Toledo harangued\nthe multitude which, silent and scowling, was kept away from the throne\nby a goodly number of obedient mercenary soldiers. Then the prelate tore\noff the mock crown, another of the conspirators the sceptre, another the\nroyal garments, and so on, each accompanying his act by an ignominious\ncurse. At last the effigy was torn from the throne and trampled under\nthe feet of the soldiers. Alfonso, a boy of eleven, stepped on the dais\nand was proclaimed king. His hand was kissed by the humble (!) prelates\nand noblemen, who swore allegiance, an oath they had not the slightest\nintention of keeping, and did not keep, either.\n\nPhilip III.'s decree expelling Moors from Spain, was, as in the case of\nPlasencia, the _coup de grace_ given to the city's importance; half the\npopulation was obliged to leave, and Avila never recovered her lost\nimportance and influence. To-day, with only about ten thousand\ninhabitants, thrown in the background by Madrid, it manages to keep\nalive and nothing more.\n\nThe date when the erection of the cathedral church of Avila was begun is\nutterly unknown. According to a pious legend, it was founded by the\nthird bishop, Don Pedro, who, being anxious to erect a temple worthy of\nhis dignity, undertook a long pilgrimage to foreign countries in search\nof arms, and returned to his see in 1091. Sixteen years later, according\nto the same tradition, the present cathedral was essentially completed,\na bold statement that cannot be accepted because in manifest\ncontradiction with the build of the church.\n\nAccording to Señor Quadrado, the oldest part of the building, the apse,\nwas probably erected toward the end of the twelfth century. It is a\nmassive, almost windowless, semicircular body, its bare walls\nunsupported by buttresses, and every inch of it like the corner-tower of\na castle wall, crenelated and flat-topped.\n\nThe same author opines that the transept, a handsome, broad, and airy\nogival nave, dates from the fourteenth century, whereas the western\nfront of the church is of a much more recent date.\n\nBe that as it may, the fact is that the cathedral of Avila, seen from\nthe east, west, or north, is a fortress building, a huge, unwieldy and\nanti-artistic composition of Romanesque, Gothic, and other elements. The\nwestern front, with its heavy tower to the north, and the lack of such\nto the south, appears more gloomy than ever on account of the obscure\ncolour of the stone; the façade above the portal is of one of the most\npeculiar of artistic conceptions ever imagined; above the first body or\nthe pointed arch which crowns the portal comes the second body, divided\nfrom the former by a straight line, which supports eight columns\nflanking seven niches; on the top of this unlucky part comes an ogival\nwindow. The whole façade is narrow--one door--and high. The effect is\ndisastrous: an unnecessary contortion or misplacement of vertical,\nhorizontal, slanting, and circular lines.\n\nThe tower is flanked at the angles by two rims of stone, the edges of\nwhich are cut into _bolas_ (balls). If this shows certain _Mudejar_\ntaste, so, also, do the geometrical designs carved in relief against a\nbackground, as seen in the arabesques above the upper windows.\n\nThe northern portal, excepting the upper arch, which is but slightly\ncurved and almost horizontal, and weighs down the ogival arches, is far\nbetter as regards the artist's conception of beauty; the stone carving\nis also of a better class.\n\nReturning to the interior of the building, preferably by the transept,\nthe handsomest part of the church, the spectator perceives a double\nambulatory behind the high altar; the latter, as well as the choir, is\nlow, and a fine view is obtained of the ensemble. The central nave,\nalmost twice as high and little broader than the aisles, is crowned by a\ndouble triforium of Gothic elegance.\n\nSeen from the transept, it would appear as though there were four aisles\non the west side instead of two, a peculiar deception produced by the\nlateral opening of the last chapels, exactly similar in construction\nto the arch which crowns the intersection of the aisles and transept.\n\n[Illustration: TOWER OF AVILA CATHEDRAL]\n\nIn the northern and southern extremity of the transept two handsome\nrosaces, above a row of lancet windows, let in the outside light through\nstained panes.\n\nThe impression produced by the interior of the cathedral is greatly\nsuperior to that received from without. In the latter case curiosity is\nabout the only sentiment felt by the spectator, whereas within the\ntemple does not lack a simple beauty and mystery.\n\nAs regards sculptural details, the best are doubtless the low reliefs to\nbe seen to the rear of the choir, as well as several sepulchres, of\nwhich the best--and one of the best Renaissance monuments of its kind in\nSpain--is that of the Bishop Alfonso Tostado in the ambulatory. The\n_retablo_ of the high altar is also a magnificent piece of work of the\nsecond half of the fifteenth century and the beginning of the\nsixteenth.\n\n\n\n\n\nSEGOVIA\n\n\nAvila's twin sister, Segovia, retains its old Celtiberian name; it\nretains, also, the undeniable proofs of Roman domination in its\nfar-famed aqueduct and in its amphitheatre.\n\nAccording to the popular tradition, San Hierateo, the disciple of St.\nPaul, was the first bishop in the first century, but probably the see\nwas not erected until about 527, when it is first mentioned in a\nTolesian document; the name of the first bishop (historical) is Peter,\nwho was present at the third Council in Toledo (589).\n\nThe local saint is one San Fruto, who, upon the approach of the Saracen\nhosts, gathered together a handful of fugitives and retired to the\nmountains; his brother Valentine and his sister Engracia (of Aragonese\nfame?) died martyrs to their belief. San Fruto, on the other hand, lived\nthe life of a hermit in the mountains and wrought many miracles, such\nas splitting open a rock with his jack-knife, etc. The most miraculous\nof his deeds was the proof he gave to the Moors of the genuineness of\nthe Catholic religion: on a tray of oats he placed the host and offered\nit to a mule, which, instead of munching oats and host, fell on its\nknees, and perhaps even crossed itself!\n\nDisputed by Arabs and Christians, like all Castilian towns, Segovia\nlagged along until it fell definitely into the hands of the latter. A\nChristian colony seems, nevertheless, to have lived in the town during\nthe Arab dominion, because the documents of the time speak of a Bishop\nIlderedo in 940.\n\nThe exact year of the repopulation of Segovia is not known, but\ndoubtless it was a decade or so prior to either that of Salamanca or\nAvila.\n\nNeither was the warlike spirit of the inhabitants inferior to that of\ntheir brethren in the last named cities. It was due to their bravery\nthat Madrid fell into the hands of the Christians toward 1110, for,\narriving late at the besieging camp, the king, who was present, told\nthem that if they wished to pass the night comfortably, there was but\none place, namely, the city itself. Without a moment's hesitation the\ndaring warriors dashed at the walls of Madrid, and, scaling them, took a\ntower, where they passed the night at their ease, and to their monarch's\ngreat astonishment.\n\nIn 1115, the first bishop _de modernis_, Don Pedro, was consecrated, and\nthe cathedral was begun at about the same time. Several of the\nsuccessive prelates were battling warriors rather than spiritual\nshepherds, and fought with energy and success against the infidel in\nAndalusia. One, Don Gutierre Girón, even found his death in the terrible\ndefeat of the Christian arms at Alarcon.\n\nThe event which brought the greatest fame to Segovia was the erection of\nits celebrated Alcázar, or castle, the finest specimen of military\narchitecture in Spain. Every city had its citadel, it is true, but none\nwere so strong and invulnerable as that of Segovia, and in the stormy\ndays of Castilian history the monarchs found a safe retreat from the\nattacks of unscrupulous noblemen behind its walls.\n\nUntil 1530 the old cathedral stood at the back of the Alcázar, but in a\nrevolution of the Comuneros against Charles-Quint, the infuriated mob,\nanxious to seize the castle, tore down the temple and used its stones,\nbeams, stalls, and railings as a means to scale the high walls of the\nfortress. Their efforts were in vain, for an army came to the relief of\nthe castle from Valladolid; a general pardon was, nevertheless, granted\nto the population by the monarch, who was too far off to care much what\nhis Spanish subjects did. After the storm was over, the hot-headed\ncitizens found themselves with a bishop and a chapter, but without a\nchurch or means wherewith to erect a new one.\n\nThe struggles between city and fortress were numerous, and were the\ncause, in a great measure, of the town's decadence. Upon one occasion,\nIsabel the Catholic infringed upon the citizens' rights by making a gift\nof some of the feudal villages to a court favourite. The day after the\nnews of this infringement reached the city, by a common accord the\ncitizens \"dressed in black, did not amuse themselves, nor put on clean\nlinen; neither did they sweep the house steps, nor light the lamps at\nnight; neither did they buy nor sell, and what is more, they boxed their\nchildren's ears so that they should for ever remember the day.\" So great\nwere the public signs of grief that it has been said that \"never did a\nrepublic wear deeper mourning for the loss of its liberties.\"\n\nThe end of the matter was that the queen in her famous testament revoked\nher gift and returned the villages to the city.\n\nThe old cathedral was torn down in November, 1520, and it was not until\nJune, 1525, that the bishop, who had made a patriotic appeal to all\nSpaniards in behalf of the church funds, laid the first stone of the new\nedifice. Thirty years later the building was consecrated.\n\nNowhere else can a church be found which is a more thorough expression\nof a city's fervour and enthusiasm. It was as though the sacrilegious\nact of the enraged mob reacted on the penitent minds of the calmed\ncitizens, for rich and poor alike gave their alms to the cathedral\nchapter. Jewels were sold, donations came from abroad, feudal lords gave\nwhole villages to the church, and the poor men, the workmen, and the\npeasants gave their pennies. Daily processions arrived at Santa Clara,\nthen used as cathedral church, from all parts of the diocese. To-day\nthey were composed of tradesmen, of _Zünfte_, who gave their offerings\nof a few pounds; to-morrow a village would bring in a cartload of\nstone, of mortar, of wood, etc. On holidays and Sundays the repentant\ncitizens, instead of amusing themselves at the dance or bull-fight,\ncarted materials for their new cathedral's erection, and all this they\ndid of their own free will.\n\n[Illustration: SEGOVIA CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe act of consecrating the finished building constituted a grand\nholiday. The long aqueduct was illuminated from top to bottom, as was\nalso the cathedral tower, and every house in the city. During a week the\nholiday-making lasted with open-air amusements for the poor and banquets\nfor the rich.\n\nThe date of the construction of the new building was contemporaneous\nwith that of Salamanca, and the architect was, to a certain extent, the\nsame. It is not strange, therefore, that both should resemble each other\nin their general disposition. What is more, the construction in both\nchurches was begun at the foot (west), and not in the east, as is\ngenerally the case. The oldest part of the building is consequently the\nwestern front, classic in its outline, but showing among its ogival\ndetails both the symmetry and triangular pediment of Renaissance art.\nThe tower, higher than that of Sevilla, and broader than that of Toledo,\nis simple in its structure; it is Byzantine, and does not lack a\ncertain _cachet_ of elegance; the first body is surmounted by a dome,\nupon which rises the second,--smaller, and also crowned by a cupola. The\ntower was twice struck by lightning and partly ruined in 1620; it was\nrebuilt in 1825, and a lightning conductor replaced the cross of the\nspire.\n\nThough consecrated, as has been said, in 1558, the new temple was by no\nmeans finished: the transept and the eastern end were still to be built.\nThe latter was finished prior to 1580, and in 1615 the Renaissance dome\nwhich surmounts the _croisée_ was erected by an artist-architect, who\nevidently was incapable of giving it a true Gothic appearance.\n\nThe apse, with its three harmonizing _étages_ corresponding to the\nchapels, aisles, and nave, and flanked by leaning buttresses ornamented\nwith delicate pinnacles, is Gothic in its details; the ensemble is,\nnevertheless, Renaissance, thanks to a perfect symmetry painfully\npronounced by naked horizontal lines--so contradictory to the spirit of\ntrue ogival. Less regularity and a greater profusion of buttresses, and\nabove all of flying buttresses, would have been more agreeable, but the\ntimes had changed and new tastes had entered the country.\n\nNeither does the broad transept, its façade,--either southern or\nnorthern,--and the cupola join, as it were, the eastern and the western\nhalf of the building; on the contrary, it distinctly separates them, not\nto the building's advantage.\n\nThe interior is gay rather than solemn: the general disposition of the\nparts is as customary in a Gothic church of the Transition\n(Renaissance). The nave and transept are of the same width; the lateral\nchapels, running along the exterior walls of the aisles, are\nsymmetrical, as in Salamanca; the ambulatory separates the high altar\nfrom the apse and its seven chapels.\n\nThe pavement of the church is of black and white marble slabs, like that\nof Toledo, for instance; as for the stained windows, they are numerous,\nand those in the older part of the building of good (Flemish?)\nworkmanship and of a rich colour, which heightens the happy expression\nof the whole building.\n\nThe cloister is the oldest part of the building, having pertained to the\nprevious cathedral. After the latter's destruction, and the successful\nerection of the new temple, the cloister was transported stone by stone\nfrom its old emplacement to where it now stands. It is a handsome and\nrichly decorated Gothic building, containing many tombs, among them\nthose of the architects of the cathedral and of Maria del Salto. This\nMary was a certain Jewess, who, condemned to death, and thrown over the\nPeña Grajera, invoked the aid of the Virgin, and was saved.\n\nAnother tomb is that of Prince Don Pedro, son of Enrique II., who fell\nout of a window of the Alcázar. His nurse, according to the tradition,\nthrew herself out of the window after her charge, and together they were\npicked up, one locked in the arms of the other.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nMADRID-ALCALÁ\n\n\nThough Madrid was proclaimed the capital of Spain in the sixteenth\ncentury, it was not until 1850 that its collegiate church of San Isidro\nwas raised to an episcopal see.\n\nThe appointment met with a storm of disapproval in the neighbouring town\nof Alcalá de Henares, the citizens claiming the erection of the\necclesiastical throne in their own collegiate, instead of in Madrid.\nTheir reasons were purely historical, as will be seen later on, whereas\nthe capital lacked both history and ecclesiastical significance.\n\nTo pacify the inhabitants of Alcalá, and at the same time to raise\nMadrid to the rank of a city, the following arrangement was made: the\nnewly created see was to be called Madrid-Alcalá; the bishop was to\npossess two cathedral churches, and both towns were to be cities.\n\nSuch is the state of affairs at present. The recent governmental\nclosure of the old cathedral in Alcalá has deprived the partisans of the\ndouble see of one of their chief arguments, namely, the possession of a\nworthy temple, unique in the world as regards its organization.\nConsequently, it is generally stated that the title of Madrid-Alcalá\nwill die out with the present bishop, and that the next will simply be\nthe Bishop of Madrid.\n\n\n_Madrid_\n\nThe city of Madrid is new and uninteresting; it is an overgrown village,\nwith no buildings worthy of the capital of a kingdom. From an\narchitectural point of view, the royal palace, majestic and imposing,\nthough decidedly poor in style, is about the only edifice that can be\nadmired.\n\nIn history, Madrid plays a most unimportant part until the times of\nPhilip II., the black-browed monarch who, intent upon erecting his\nmausoleum in the Escorial, proclaimed Madrid to be the only capital.\nThat was in 1560; previously Magerit had been an Arab fortress to the\nnorth of Toledo, and the first in the region now called Castilla la\nNueva (New Castile), to distinguish it from Old Castile, which lies to\nthe north of the mountain chain.\n\nMost likely Magerit had been founded by the Moors, though, as soon as it\nhad become the capital of Spain, its inhabitants, who were only too\neager to lend their town a history it did not possess, invented a series\nof traditions and legends more ridiculous than veracious.\n\nOn the slopes of the last hill, descending to the Manzanares, and beside\nthe present royal palace, the Christian conquerors of the Arab fortress\nin the twelfth century discovered an effigy of the Virgin, in an\n_almudena_ or storehouse. This was the starting-point for the traditions\nof the twelfth-century monks who discovered (?) that this effigy had\nbeen placed where it was found by St. James, according to some, and by\nthe Virgin herself, according to others; what is more, they even\nestablished a series of bishops in Magerit previous to the Arab\ninvasion.\n\nNo foundations are of course at hand for such fabulous inventions, and\nif the effigy really were found in the _almudena_, it must have been\nplaced there by the Moors themselves, who most likely had taken it as\ntheir booty when sacking a church or convent to the north.\n\nThe patron saint of Madrid is one Isidro, not to be confounded with San\nIsidoro of Leon. The former was a farmer or labourer, who, with his\nwife, lived a quiet and unpretentious life in the vicinity of Madrid, on\nthe opposite banks of the Manzanares, where a chapel was erected to his\nmemory sometime in the seventeenth century. Of the many miracles this\nsaint is supposed to have wrought, not one differs from the usual deeds\nattributed to holy individuals. Being a farmer, his voice called forth\nwater from the parched land, and angels helped his oxen to plough the\nfields.\n\nSave the effigy of the Virgin de la Almudena, and the life of San\nIsidro, Madrid has no ecclesiastical history,--the Virgin de la Atocha\nhas been forgotten, but she is only a duplicate of her sister virgin.\nConvents and monasteries are of course as numerous as elsewhere in\nSpain; brick parish churches of a decided Spanish-Oriental appearance\nrear their cupolas skyward in almost every street, the largest among\nthem being San Francisco el Grande, which, with San Antonio de la\nFlorida (containing several handsome paintings by Goya), is the only\ntemple worth visiting.\n\nAs regards a cathedral building, there is, in the lower part of the\ncity, a large stone church dedicated to San Isidro; it serves the stead\nof a cathedral church until a new building, begun about 1885, will have\nbeen completed.\n\nThis new building, the cathedral properly speaking, is to be a tenth\nwonder; it is to be constructed in granite, and its foundations stand\nbeside the royal palace in the very spot where the Virgin de la Almudena\nwas found, and where, until 1869, a church enclosed the sacred effigy;\nthe new building is to be dedicated to the same deity.\n\nUnluckily, the erection of the new cathedral proceeds but slowly; so far\nonly the basement stones have been laid and the crypt finished. The\nfunds for its erection are entirely dependent upon alms, but, as the\nreligious fervour which incited the inhabitants of Segovia in the\nsixteenth century is almost dead to-day, it is an open question whether\nthe cathedral of Madrid will ever be finished.\n\nThe temporary cathedral of San Isidro was erected in the seventeenth\ncentury; its two clumsy towers are unfinished, its western front,\nbetween the towers, is severe; four columns support the balcony, behind\nwhich the cupola, which crowns the _croisée_, peeps forth.\n\nInside there is nothing worthy of interest to be admired except some\npictures, one of them painted by the Divino Morales. The nave is light,\nbut the chapels are so dark that almost nothing can be seen in their\ninterior.\n\nThis church, until the expulsion of the Jesuits, was the temple of their\norder, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul; adjoining it a Jesuit school\nwas erected, which has been incorporated in the government colleges.\n\n\n_Alcalá de Henares_\n\nAbout twenty miles to the east of Madrid lies the one-time glorious\nuniversity city of Alcalá, famous above all things for having been the\ncradle of Cervantes, and the hearth, if not the home, of Cardinal\nCisneros.\n\nIts history and its decadence are of the saddest; the latter serves in\nmany respects as an adequate symbol of Spain's own tremendous downfall.\n\n[Illustration: SAN ISIDRO, MADRID]\n\nThe Romans founded Alcalá; it was their Complutum, of which some few\nremains have been discovered in the vicinity of the modern city. Yet,\nnotwithstanding this lack of substantial evidence, the inhabitants of\nthe region still proudly call themselves Complutenses.\n\nWhen the West Goths were rulers of the peninsula, the Roman monuments\nmust have been completely destroyed, for all traces of the strategic\nstronghold were effaced from the map of Spain. The invading Arabs,\npossessing to a certain degree both Roman military instinct and\nforesight, built a fortress on the spot where the State Archives\nBuilding stands to-day. This castle was used by them as one of Toledo's\nnorthern defences against the warlike Christian kings.\n\nIn the twelfth century the fortress fell into the hands of the\nChristians; in the succeeding centuries it was strongly rebuilt by the\ncardinal-archbishops of Toledo, who used it both as their palace and as\ntheir stronghold.\n\nOutside the bastioned and turreted walls of the castle, the new-born\ncity grew up under its protecting shadows. Known by the Arabic name of\nits fortress (Al-Kalá), it was successively baptized Alcalá de San\nJusto, Alcalá de Fenares, and since the sixteenth century, Alcalá de\nHenares (_heno_, old Spanish _feno_, meaning hay). Protected by such\npowerful arms as those of the princes of the Church, it grew up to be a\nsecond Toledo, a city of church spires and convent walls, but of which\nonly a reduced number stand to-day to point back to the religious\nfervour of the middle ages.\n\nThe world-spread fame acquired by Alcalá in the fifteenth century was\ndue to the patronage of Cardinal Cisneros, who built the university, at\none time one of the most celebrated in Europe, and to-day a mere\nskeleton of architectural beauty.\n\nThe same prelate raised San Justo to a suffragan church; its chapter was\ncomposed only of learned professors of the university, as were also its\ncanons; Leon X. gave it the enviable title of La Magistral, the Learned,\nwhich points it out as unique in the Christian world. The Polyglot\nBible, published in the sixteenth century, and famous in all Europe, was\nworked out by these scholars under Cisneros's direction, and the\nfavoured city outshone the newly built Madrid twenty miles away, and\nrivalled Salamanca in learning, and Toledo in worldly and religious\nsplendour.\n\nMadrid grew greater and greater as years went by, and consequently\nAlcalá de Henares dwindled away to the shadow of a name. The university,\nthe just pride of the Complutenses, was removed to the capital; the\ncathedral, for lack of proper care, became an untimely ruin; the\nepiscopal palace was confiscated by the state, which, besides repairing\nit, filled its seventy odd halls with rows upon rows of dusty documents\nand governmental papers.\n\nTo-day the city drags along a weary, inactive existence: soldiers from\nthe barracks and long-robed priests from the church fill the streets,\nand are as numerous as the civil inhabitants, if not more so; convents\nand cloisters of nuns, either grass-grown ruins or else sombre grated\nand barred edifices, are to be met with at every step.\n\nStrangers visit the place hurriedly in the morning and return to Madrid\nin the afternoon; they buy a tin box of sugar almonds (the city's\nspecialty), carelessly examine the university and the archiepiscopal\npalace, gaze unmoved at some Cervantes relics, and at the façade of the\ncathedral. Besides, they are told that in such and such a house the\nimmortal author of Don Quixote was born, which is a base, though\ncomprehensible, invention, because no such house exists to-day.\n\nThat is all; perchance in crossing the city's only square, the traveller\nnotices that it can boast of no fewer than three names, doubtless with a\nview to hide its glaring nakedness. These three names are Plaza de\nCervantes, Plaza Mayor, and Plaza de la Constitución, of which the\nlatter is spread out boldly across the town hall and seems to invoke the\nremembrance of the ephemeral efforts of the republic in 1869.\n\nIn the third century after the birth of Christ, two infants, Justo and\nPastor, preached the True Word to the unbelieving Roman rulers of\nComplutum. The result was not in the least surprising: the two infants\nlost their baby heads for the trouble they had taken in trying to\ntrouble warriors.\n\nBut the Vatican remembered them, and canonized Pastor and Justo.\nHundreds of churches, sown by the blood of martyrs, grew up in all\ncorners of the peninsula to commemorate pagan cruelty, and to induce all\nmen to follow the examples set by the two babes.\n\nNo one knew, however, where the mortal remains of Justo and Pastor were\nlying. In the fourth century their resting-place was miraculously\nrevealed to one Austurio, Archbishop of Toledo, who had them removed to\nhis cathedral. They did not stay long in the primate city, for the\ninvasion of the Moors obliged all True Believers to hide Church relics.\nThus, Justo and Pastor wandered forth again from village to village,\nrunning away from the infidels until they reposed temporarily in the\ncathedral of Huesca in the north of Aragon.\n\nIn Alcalá their memory was kept alive in the parish church dedicated to\nthem. But as the city grew, it was deemed preferable to build a solid\ntemple worthy of the saintly pair, and Carillo, Archbishop of Toledo,\nhad the old church pulled down and began the erection of a larger\nedifice. This took place in the middle of the fifteenth century, when\nXimenez de Cisneros, who ruled the fate of Spain and its church, gave it\nthe ecclesiastical constitution previously mentioned.\n\nFifty years later the weary bodies of the two infants were brought back\nin triumph to their native town amid the rejoicings and admiration of\nthe people, and were placed in the cathedral of San Justo, then a\ncollegiate church of Toledo.\n\nA few years ago the cathedral church of San Justo was denounced by the\nstate architect and closed. To-day it is a dreary ruin, with tufts of\ngrass growing among the battlements. The chapter, depriving the hoary\nbuilding of its high altar, its precious relics and paintings, its\nstalls and other accessories, installed the cathedral in the Jesuit\ntemple, an insignificant building in the other extremity of the town.\nRecently the abandoned ruin has been declared a national monument, which\nmeans that the state is obliged to undertake its restoration.\n\nLa Magistral is a brick building of imposing simplicity and severity in\nits general outlines. Its decorative elements are ogival, but of true\nSpanish nakedness and lack of elegance. Though Renaissance principles\nhave not entered into the composition, as might have been supposed,\nconsidering the date of the erection, nevertheless, the lack of flying\nbuttresses, the scarcity of windows, the undecorated angles of the\nwestern front, the barren walls, and flat-topped, though slightly\nsloping, roofs prove that the \"simple and severe style\" is latent in the\nminds of artists.\n\n[Illustration: ALCALÁ DE HENARES CATHEDRAL]\n\nThe apse is well developed, and the _croisée_ surmounted by a cupola;\nthe tower which flanks the western front is massive; it is decorated\nwith blind arches and ogival arabesques.\n\nThe ground plan of the building is Latin Cruciform; the aisles are but\nslightly lower than the nave and join in the apse behind the high altar\nin an ambulatory walk. The crypt, reached by two Renaissance doors in\nthe _trasaltar_, is spacious, and contains the bodies of San Justo and\nSan Pastor.\n\nThe general impression produced on the mind of the tourist is sadness.\nThe severity of the structure is heightened by the absence of any\ndistracting decorative elements, excepting the fine _Mudejar_ ceiling to\nthe left upon entering.\n\nIn the reigning shadows of this deserted temple, two magnificent tombs\nstand in solitude and silence. They are those of Carillo and Cardinal\nCisneros, the latter one of the greatest sons of Spain and one of her\nmost contradictory geniuses. His sepulchre is a gorgeous marble monument\nof Renaissance style, surrounded by a massive bronze grille of excellent\nworkmanship, a marvel of Spanish metal art of the sixteenth century.\nThe other sepulchre is simple in its ogival decorations, and the\nprostrate effigy of Carillo is among the best to be admired by the\ntourist in Iberia.\n\nCarillo's life was that of a restless, ambitious, and worldly man. When\nhe died, he was buried in the Convent of San Juan de Dios, where his\nillegitimate son had been buried before him, \"for,\" said the\narchbishop-father, \"if in life my robes separated me from my son, in\ndeath we shall be united.\"\n\nBut he reckoned without his host, or rather his successor, the man whose\nremains now lie beside his own in the shadows of the great ruin. \"For,\"\nsaid Cisneros, \"the Church must separate man from his sin even in\ndeath.\" So he ordered the son to be left in the convent, and the father\nto be brought to the temple he had begun to erect.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nSIGÜENZA\n\n\nThe origin of the fortress admirably situated to the north of\nGuadalajara was doubtless Moorish, though in the vicinity is Villavieja,\nwhere the Romans had established a town on the transverse road from\nCadiz to Tarragon, and called by them Seguncia, or Segoncia.\n\nWhen the Christian religion first appeared in Spain, it is believed that\nSigüenza, or Segoncia, possessed an episcopal see; nothing is positively\nknown, however, of the early bishops, until Protogenes signed the third\nCouncil of Toledo in 589.\n\nIt is believed that in the reign of Alfonso VI., he who conquered Toledo\nand the region to the south of Valladolid and as far east as Aragon,\nSigüenza was repopulated, though no mention is made of the place in the\nearlier chronicles of the time. All that is known is that a bishop was\nimmediately appointed by Alfonso VII. to the vacancy which had lasted\nfor over two hundred years, during which Sigüenza had been one of the\nprovincial capitals of the Kingdom of Toledo. The first known bishop was\nDon Bernardo.\n\nThe history of the town was never of the most brilliant. In the times of\nAlfonso VII. and his immediate successors it gained certain importance\nas a frontier stronghold, as a check to the growing ambitions of the\nroyal house of Aragon. But after the union of Castile and Aragon, its\nimportance gradually dwindled; to-day, if it were not for the bishopric,\nit would be one historic village more on the map of Spain.\n\nIn the reign of Peter the Cruel, its castle--considered with that of\nSegovia to be the strongest in Castile--was used for some time as the\nprison palace for that most unhappy princess, Doña Blanca, who, married\nto his Catholic Majesty, had been deposed on the third day of the\nwedding by the heartless and passionate lover of the Padilla. She was at\nfirst shut up in Toledo, but the king did not consider the Alcázar\nstrong enough. So she was sent off to Sigüenza, where it is popularly\nbelieved, though documents deny it, that she died, or was put to death.\n\nThe city belonged to the bishop; it was his feudal property, and passed\ndown to his successors in the see. Of the doings of these\nprelate-warriors, the first, Don Bernardo, was doubtless the most\nstriking personality, lord of a thousand armed vassals and of three\nhundred horse, who fought with the emperor in almost all the great\nbattles in Andalusia. It is even believed he died wielding the naked\nsword, and that his remains were brought back to the town of which he\nhad been the first and undisputed lord.\n\nThe strong castle which crowns the city did not possess, as was\ngenerally the case, an _alcalde_, or governor; it was the episcopal\npalace or residence, a circumstance which proves beyond a doubt the\ndouble significance of the bishop: a spiritual leader and military\npersonage, more influential and wealthy than any prelate in Spain,\nexcepting the Archbishops of Toledo and Santiago.\n\nDuring the French invasion in the beginning of the nineteenth century,\nSigüenza had already lost its political significance. The invaders\noccupied the castle, and, as was their custom, threw documents and\narchives into the fire, to make room for themselves, and to spend the\nwinter comfortably.\n\nConsequently, the notices we have of the cathedral church are but\nscarce. The fourth bishop was Jocelyn, an Englishman who had come over\nwith Eleanor, Henry II.'s daughter, and married to the King of Castile.\nHe (the bishop) was not a whit less warlike than his predecessors had\nbeen; he helped the king to win the town of Cuenca, and when he died on\nthe battle-field, only his right arm was carried back to the see, to the\nchapel of St. Thomas of Canterbury, which the dead prelate had founded\nin the new cathedral, and it was buried beneath a stone which bears the\nfollowing inscription:\n\n    \"_Hic est inclusa Jocelini præsulis ulna._\"\n\nFrom the above we can conclude that the cathedral must have been begun\nprevious to the Englishman's coming to Spain, that is, in the beginning\nof the twelfth century. Doubtless the vaulting was not closed until at\nleast one hundred years later; nevertheless, it is one of the unique and\nat the same time one of the handsomest Spanish monuments of the\nTransition period.\n\nThe city of Sigüenza, situated on the slopes of a hill crowned by the\ncastle, is a village rather than a town; there are, however, fewer spots\nin Spain that are more picturesque in their old age, and there is a\ncertain uniformity in the architecture that reminds one of German towns;\nthis is not at all characteristic of Spain, where so many styles mix and\nmingle until hardly distinguishable from each other.\n\nThe Transition style--between the strong Romanesque and the airy\nogival--is the city's _cachet_, printed with particular care on the\nhandsome cathedral which stands on the slope of the hill to the north of\nthe castle.\n\nTwo massive square towers, crenelated at the top and pierced by a few\nround-headed windows, flank the western front. The three portals are\nmassive Romanesque without floral or sculptural decoration of any kind;\nthe central door is larger and surmounted by a large though primitive\nrosace. The height of the aisles and nave is indicated by three ogival\narches cut in relief on the façade; here already the mixture of both\nstyles, of the round-arched Romanesque and the pointed Gothic, is\nclearly visible--as it is also in the windows of the aisles, which are\nRomanesque, and of the nave, which are ogival--in the buttresses, which\nare leaning on the lower body, and flying in the upper story, uniting\nthe exterior of the clerestory with that of the aisles. (Compare with\napse of the cathedral of Lugo.)\n\nThe portal of the southern arm of the transept is an ugly addition, more\nmodern and completely out of harmony with the rest. The rosace above the\ndoor is one of the handsomest of the Transition period in Spain, and the\nstained glass is both rich and mellow.\n\nThe interior shows the same harmonious mixture of the stronger and more\nsolemn old style, and the graceful lightness of the newer. But the\nhesitancy in the mind of the architect is also evident, especially in\nthe vaulting, which is timidly arched.\n\nThe original plan of the church was, doubtless, purely Romanesque: Roman\ncruciform with a three-lobed apse, the central one much longer so as to\ncontain the high altar.\n\nIn the sixteenth century, however, an ambulatory was constructed behind\nthe high altar, joining the two aisles, and the high altar was removed\nto the east of the transept.\n\nWhat a pity that the huge choir, placed in the centre of the church,\nshould so completely obstruct the view of the ensemble of the nave and\naisles, separated by massive Byzantine arches between the solid pillars,\nwhich, in their turn, support the nascent ogival vaulting of the high\nnave! Were it, as well as the grotesque _trascoro_--of the unhappiest\nartistic taste--anywhere but in the centre of the church, what a\nsplendid view would be obtained of the long, narrow, and high aisles and\nnave in which the old and the new were moulded together in perfect\nharmony, instead of fighting each other and clashing together, as\nhappened in so many Spanish cathedral churches!\n\nOne of the most richly decorated parts of the church is the sacristy, a\nsmall room entirely covered with medallions and sculptural designs of\nthe greatest variety of subjects. Though of Arabian taste (_Mudejar_),\nno Moorish elements have entered into the composition, and consequently\nit is one of the very finest, if not the very best specimen, of\nChristian Arab decoration.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nCUENCA\n\n\nTo the east of Toledo, and to the north of the plains of La Mancha,\nCuenca sits on its steep hill surrounded by mountains; a high stone\nbridge, spanning a green valley and the rushing river, joined the city\nto a mountain plateau; to-day the mediæval bridge has been replaced by\nan iron one, which contrasts harshly with the somnolent aspect of the\nlandscape.\n\nNever was a city founded in a more picturesque spot. It almost resembles\nGöschenen in Switzerland, with the difference that whereas in the last\nnamed village a white-washed church rears its spire skyward, in Cuenca a\nlarge cathedral, rich in decorative accessories, and yet sombre and\nsevere in its wealth, occupies the most prominent place in the town.\n\nOf the origin of the city nothing is known. In the tenth and the\neleventh centuries Conca was an impregnable Arab fortress. In 1176 the\nunited armies of Castile and Aragon, commanded by two sovereigns,\nAlfonso VIII. of Castile and Alfonso II. of Aragon, laid siege to the\nfortress, and after nine months' patience, the Alcázar surrendered.\nAccording to the popular tradition, it was won by treachery: one Martin\nAlhaxa, a captive and a shepherd by trade, introduced the Christians\ndisguised with sheepskins into the city through a postern gate.\n\nAs the conquest of Cuenca had cost the King of Castile such trouble (his\nAragonese partner had not waited to see the end of the siege), and as he\nwas fully conscious of its importance as a strategical outpost against\nAragon to the north and against the Moors to the south and east, he laid\nspecial stress on the city's being strongly fortified; he also gave\nspecial privileges to such Christians as would repopulate, or rather\npopulate, the nascent town. A few years later Pone Lucio III. raised the\nchurch to an episcopal see, appointing Juan Yañez, a Tolesian Muzarab,\nto be its first bishop (1183).\n\nUnlike Sigüenza, a feudal possession of the bishop, Cuenca belonged\nexclusively to the monarch of Castile; the castle was consequently held\nin the sovereign's name by a governor,--at one time there were even four\nwho governed simultaneously. Between these governors and the inhabitants\nof the city, fights were numerous, especially during the first half of\nthe fifteenth century, the darkest and most ignoble period of Castilian\nhistory.\n\nThe story is told of one Doña Inez de Barrientos, granddaughter of a\nbishop on her mother's side, and of a governor on that of her father. It\nappears that her husband had been murdered by some of the wealthiest\ncitizens of the town. Feigning joy at her spouse's death, the widow\ninvited the murderers to her house to a banquet, when, \"_después de\nopípara cena_ (after an excellent dinner), they passed from the lethargy\nof drunkenness to the sleep of eternity, assassinated by hidden\nservants.\" The following morning their bodies hung from the windows of\nthe palace, and provoked not anger but silent dread and shivers among\nthe terror-stricken inhabitants.\n\nWith the Inquisition, the siege by the English in 1706, the invasion of\nthe French in 1808, Cuenca rapidly lost all importance and even\npolitical significance. To-day it is one of the many picturesque ruins\nthat offer but little interest to the art traveller, for even its old\nage is degenerated, and the monuments of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and\nfifteenth centuries have one and all been spoilt by the hand of time,\nand by the less grasping hand of _restauradores_--or\narchitect-repairers.\n\nThe Byzantine character, the Arab taste of the primitive inhabitants,\nhas also been lost. Who would think, upon examining the cathedral, that\nit had served once upon a time as the principal Arab mosque? Entirely\nrebuilt, as were most of the primitive Arab houses, it has lost all\ntraces of the early founders, more so than in other cities where the\nArabs remained but a few years.\n\nThe patron saint of Cuenca is San Julian, one of the cathedral's first\nbishops, who led a saintly life, giving all he had and taking nothing\nthat was not his, and who retired from his see to live the humble life\nof a basket-maker, seated with willow branches beneath the arches of the\nhigh bridge, and preaching saintly words to teamsters and mule-drivers\nas they approached the city, until his death in 1207.\n\nIn the same century the Arab mosque was torn down and the new cathedral\nbegun. It is a primitive ogival (Spanish) temple of the thirteenth\ncentury, with smatterings of Romanesque-Byzantine. Unlike the cathedral\nof Sigüenza, it is neither elegant, harmonious, nor of great\narchitectural value; its wealth lies chiefly in the chapels, in the\ndoors which lead to the cloister, in the sacristy, and in the elegant\nhigh altar.\n\nThe cloister door is perhaps one of the finest details of the cathedral\nchurch: decorated in the plateresque style general in Spain in the\nsixteenth century, it offers one of the finest examples of said style to\nbe found anywhere, and though utterly different in ornamentation to the\nsacristy of Sigüenza, it nevertheless resembles it in the general\ncomposition.\n\nThe nave, exceedingly high, is decorated by a blind triforium of ogival\narches; the aisles are sombre and lower than the nave. On the other\nhand, the transept, broad and simple, is similar to the nave and as long\nas the width of the church, including the lateral chapels. The _croisée_\nis surmounted by a _cimborio_, insignificant in comparison to those of\nSalamanca, Zamora, and Toro.\n\nThe northern and southern extremities of the transept differ from each\nother as regard style. The southern has an ogival portal surmounted by a\nrosace; the northern, one that is plateresque, the rounded arch,\ndelicately decorated, reposing on Corinthian columns.\n\nThe eastern end of the church has been greatly modified--as is clearly\nseen by the mixture of fifteenth-century styles, and not to the\nadvantage of the ensemble. Byzantine pillars, and even horseshoe arches,\nmingle with Gothic elements.\n\nOf the chapels, the greater number are richly decorated, not only with\nsepulchres and sepulchral works, but with paintings, some of them by\nwell-known masters.\n\nTaken all in all, the cathedral of Cuenca does not inspire any of the\nsentiments peculiar to religious temples. Not the worst cathedral in\nSpain, by any means, neither as regards size nor majesty, it\nnevertheless lacks conviction, as though the artist who traced the\nprimitive plan miscalculated its final appearance. The additions, due to\nnecessity or to the ruinous state of some of the parts, were luckless,\nas are generally all those undertaken at a posterior date.\n\nThe decorative wealth of the chapels, which is really astonishing in so\nsmall a town, the luxurious display of grotesque elements, the presence\nof a fairly good _transparente_, as well as the rich leaf-decoration of\nByzantine pillars and plateresque arches, give a peculiar _cachet_ to\nthis church which is not to be found elsewhere.\n\nThe same can be said of the city and of the inhabitant. In the words of\nan authority, \"Cuenca is national, it is Spanish, it is a typical rural\ntown.\" Yet, it is so typical, that no other city resembles it.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTOLEDO\n\n\nA forest of spires and _alminar_ towers rising from a roof-covered hill\nto pierce the distant azure sky; a ruined cemetery surrounded on three\nsides by the rushing Tago as it cuts out a foaming path through\nfoothills, and stretching away on the fourth toward the snow-capped\nSierra de Gredo in the distance, beyond the fruitful prairies and the\nintervening plains of New Castile.\n\nSuch is Toledo, the famous, the wonderful, the legend-spun primate city\nof all the Spains, the former wealthy capital of the Spanish Empire!\n\nMadrid usurped all her civic honours under the reign of Philip II., he\nwho lost the Armada and built the Escorial. Since then Toledo, like\nAlcalá de Henares, Segovia, and Burgos, has dragged along a forlorn\nexistence, frozen in winter and scorched in summer, and visited at all\ntimes of the year by gaping tourists of all nationalities.\n\nEven the approach to the city from the mile distant station is\npeculiarly characteristic. Seated in an old and shaky omnibus, pulled by\nfour thrashed mules, and followed along the dusty road by racing\nbeggars, who whine their would-be French, \"_Un p'it sou, mouchieur_,\"\nwith surprising alacrity and a melancholy smile in their big black eyes,\nthe visitor is driven sharply around a bluff, when suddenly Toledo, the\nmysterious, comes into sight, crowning the opposite hill.\n\nAt a canter the mules cross the bridge of Alcántara and pass beneath the\ngateway of the same name, a ponderous structure still guarding the\ntime-rusty city as it did centuries ago when Toledo was the Gothic\nmetropolis. Up the winding road, beneath the solemn and fire-devastated\nwalls of the Alcázar, the visitor is hurriedly driven along; he\ndisappears from the burning sunlight into a gloomy labyrinth of\nill-paved streets to emerge a few minutes later in the principal square.\n\nA shoal of yelling, gesticulating interpreters literally grab at the\ntourist, and in ten seconds exhaust their vocabulary of foreign words.\nAt last one walks triumphantly off beside the newcomer, while the\nothers, with a depreciative shrug of the shoulders and extinguishing\ntheir volcanic outburst of energy, loiter around the square smoking\ncigarettes.\n\nIt does not take the visitor long to notice that he is in a great\narchæological museum. The streets are crooked and narrow, so narrow that\nthe tiny patch of sky above seems more brilliant than ever and farther\naway, while on each side are gloomy houses with but few windows, and\nmonstrous, nail-studded doors. At every turn a church rears its head,\nand the cheerless spirit of a palace glares with a sadly vacant stare\nfrom behind wrought-iron _rejas_ and a complicated stone-carved blazon.\nRarely is the door opened; when it is, the passer catches a glimpse of a\nsun-bathed courtyard, gorgeously alive with light and many flowers. The\neffect produced by the sudden contrast between the joyless street and\nthe sunny garden, whose existence was never dreamt of, is delightful and\nnever to be forgotten; from Théophile Gautier, who had been in Northern\nAfrica, land of Mohammedan harems, it wrung the piquant exclamation:\n\"The Moors have been here!\"\n\nEvery stick, stone, mound, house, lantern, and what not has its legend.\nIn this humble _posada_, Cervantes, whose ancestral castle is on yonder\nbluff overlooking the Tago, wrote his \"_Ilustre Fregona_.\" The family\nhistory of yonder fortress-palace inspired Zorilla's romantic pen, and a\nthousand and one other objects recall the past,--the past that is\nToledo's present and doubtless will have to be her future.\n\nGone are the days when Tolaitola was a peerless jewel, for which Moors\nand Christians fought, until at last the Believers of the True Faith\ndrove back the Arabs who fled southward from whence they had emerged.\nLong closed are also the famous smithies, where swords--Tolesian blades\nthey were then called--were hammered so supple that they could bend like\na watchspring, so strong they could cleave an anvil, and so sharp they\ncould cut an eiderdown pillow in twain without displacing a feather.\n\nDistant, moreover, are the nights of _capa y espada_ and of miracles\nwrought by the Virgin; dwindled away to a meagre shadow is the princely\nmagnificence of the primate prelates of all the Spains, of those\nspiritual princes who neither asked the Pope's advice nor received\norders from St. Peter at Rome. Besides, of the two hundred thousand\nsouls proud to be called sons of Toledo in the days of Charles-Quint,\nbut seventeen thousand inhabitants remain to-day to guard the nation's\ngreat city-museum, unsullied as yet by progress and modern civilization,\nby immense advertisements and those other necessities of daily life in\nother climes.\n\nThe city's history explains the mixture of architectural styles and the\nbizarre modifications introduced in Gothic, Byzantine, or Arab\nstructures.\n\nLegends accuse Toledo of having been mysteriously founded long before\nthe birth of Rome on her seven hills. To us, however, it first appears\nin history as a Roman stronghold, capital of one of Hispania's\nprovinces.\n\nSt. James, as has been seen, roamed across this peninsula; he came to\nToledo. So delighted was he with the site and the people--saith the\ntradition--that he ordained that the city on the Tago should contain the\nprimate church of all the Spains.\n\nThe vanquished Romans withdrew, leaving to posterity but feeble ruins to\nthe north of the city; the West Goths built the threatening city walls\nwhich still are standing, and, having turned Christians, their King\nRecaredo was baptized in the river's waters, and Toledo became the\nflourishing capital of the Visigothic kingdom (512 A.D.).\n\nThe Moors, in their northward march, conquered both the Church and the\nstate. Legends hover around the sudden apparition of Berber hordes in\nAndalusia, and accuse Rodrigo, the last King of the Goths, of having\noutraged Florinda, a beautiful girl whom he saw, from his palace window,\nbathing herself in a marble bath near the Tago,--the bath is still shown\nto this day,--and with whom he fell in love. The father, Count Julian,\nGovernor of Ceuta, called in the Moors to aid him in his righteous work\nof vengeance, and, as often happens in similar cases, the allies lost no\ntime in becoming the masters and the conquerors.\n\nNearly four hundred years did the Arabs remain in their beloved\nTolaitola; the traces of their occupancy are everywhere visible: in the\nstreets and in the _patios_, in fanciful arabesques, and above all in\nSanta Maria la Blanca.\n\nThe Spaniards returned and brought Christianity back with them. They\nerected an immense cathedral and turned mosques into chapels without\naltering the Oriental form.\n\nJews, Arabs, and Christians lived peacefully together during the four\nfollowing centuries. Together they created the _Mudejar_ style tower of\nSan Tomas and the Puerta de Sol. Pure Gothic was transformed, rendered\neven more insubstantial and lighter, thanks to Oriental decorative\nmotives. In San Juan de los Reyes, the _Mudejar_ style left a unique\nspecimen of what it might have developed into had it not been murdered\nby the Renaissance fresh from Italy, where Aragonese troops had\nconquered the kingdom of the Two Sicilies.\n\nWith the first Philips--and even earlier--foreign workmen came over to\nToledo in shoals from Germany, France, Flanders, and Italy. They also\nhad their way, more so than in any other Spanish city, and their tastes\nhelped to weld together that incongruous mass of architectural styles\nwhich is Toledo's alone of all cities. Granada may have its Alhambra,\nand Cordoba its mosque; Leon its cathedral and Segovia its Alcázar, but\nnone of them is so luxuriously rich in complex grandeur and in the\nexcellent--and yet frequently grotesque--confusion of all those art\nwaves which flooded Spain. In this respect Toledo is unique in Spain,\nunique in the world. Can we wonder at her being called a museum?\n\nThe Alcázar, which overlooks the rushing Tago, is a symbol of Toledo's\npast. It was successively burnt and rebuilt; its four façades, here\nstern and forbidding, there grotesque and worthless, differ from each\nother as much as the centuries in which they were built. The eastern\nfaçade dates from the eleventh, the western from the fifteenth, and the\nother two from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.\n\nBut other arts than those purely architectural are richly represented in\nToledo. For Spain's capital in the days following upon the fall of\nGranada was a centre of industrial arts, where both foreign and national\nworkmen, heathen, Jews, and Christians mixed, wrought such wonders as\nhave forced their way into museums the world over; besides, Tolesian\nsculptors are among Spain's most famous.\n\nAs regards painting, one artist's life is wrapped up in that of the\nwonderful city on the Tago; many of his masterworks are to be seen in\nToledo's churches and in the provincial museum. I refer to Domenico\nTheotocopuli, he who was considered a madman because he was a genius,\nand who has been called _el Greco_ when really he ought to have been\ncalled _el Toledano_.\n\n\nIf Toledo is the nation's architectural museum, the city's cathedral,\nthe huge imposing Gothic structure, is, beyond a doubt, an incomparable\nart museum. Centuries of sculptors carved marble and _berroqueña_;\narmies of artisans wrought marvels in cloths, metals, precious stones,\nglass, and wood, and a host of painters, both foreign and national, from\nGoya and Ribera to the Greco and Rubens, painted religious compositions\nfor the sacristy and chapels.\n\nConsequently, and besides the architectural beauty of the primate church\nof Spain, what interests perhaps more keenly than the study of the\ncathedral's skeleton, is the study of the ensemble, of that wealth of\ndecorative designs and of priceless art objects for which the temple is\nabove all renowned.\n\nPrevious to the coming of the Moors in the eighth century, a humble\ncathedral stood where the magnificent church now lifts its\nthree-hundred-foot tower in the summer sky. It had been built in the\nsixth century and dedicated to the Virgin, who had appeared in the\nselfsame spot to San Ildefonso, when the latter, ardent and vehement,\nhad defended her Immaculate Honour before a body of skeptics.\n\nThe Moors tore down or modified the cathedral, and erected their\nprincipal mosque in its stead. When, three hundred years later, they\nsurrendered their Tolaitola to Alfonso VI. (1085), they stipulated for\nthe retention of their _mezquita_, a clause the king, who had but little\ntime to lose squabbling, was only too glad to allow.\n\nThe following year, however, King Alfonso went off on a campaign,\nleaving his wife Doña Constanza and the Archbishop Don Bernardo to look\nafter the city in his absence. No sooner was his back turned, when, one\nfine morning, Don Bernardo arrived with a motley crowd of goodly\nChristians in front of the mosque. He knocked in the principal door,\nand, entering, threw out into the street the sacred objects of the Islam\ncult. Then the Christians proceeded to set up an altar, a crucifix, and\nan image of the Virgin; the archbishop hallowed his work, and in an hour\nwas the smiling possessor of his see. Strange to say, Don Bernardo was\nno Spaniard, but a worthy Frenchman.\n\nThe news of this outrage upon his honour brought Alfonso rushing back to\nToledo, vowing to revenge himself upon those who had seemingly made him\nbreak his royal word; on the way he was met by a committee of the Arab\ninhabitants, who, clever enough to understand that the sovereign would\nreinstate the mosque, but would ever after look upon them as the cause\nof his rupture with his wife and his friend the prelate, asked the king\nto pardon the evil-doers, stating that they renounced voluntarily their\nmosque, knowing as they did that the other conditions of the surrender\nwould be sacredly adhered to by his Majesty.\n\nThanks to this noble (cunning) attitude on the part of the outraged\nMoors, the latter were able to live at peace within the walls of Toledo\nwell into the seventeenth century.\n\nToward the beginning of the thirteenth century Fernando el Santo was\nKing of Castile, and his capital was the city on the Tago. The growing\nnation was strong and full of ambition, while the coming of the Cluny\nmonks and Flemish and German artisans had brought Northern Gothic\nacross the frontiers. So it occurred to the sovereign and his people to\nerect a primate cathedral of Christian Spain worthy of its name. In 1227\nthe first stone was laid by the pious warrior-king. The cathedral's\noutline was traced: a Roman cruciform Gothic structure of five aisles\nand a bold transept; two flanking towers,--of which only the northern\nhas been constructed, the other having been substituted by a cupola of\ndecided Byzantine or Oriental taste,--and a noble western façade of\nthree immense doors surmounted by a circular rosace thirty feet wide.\n\nThe size of the building was in itself a guarantee that it would be one\nof the largest in the world, being four hundred feet long by two hundred\nbroad, and one hundred feet high at the intersection of transept and\nnave.\n\n[Illustration: TOLEDO CATHEDRAL]\n\nIt took 250 years for the cathedral to be built, and even then it was\nnot really completed until toward the middle of the eighteenth century.\nIn the meantime the nation had risen to its climax of power and wealth,\nand showered riches and jewels upon its great cathedral. Columbus\nreturned from America, and the first gold he brought was handed over to\nthe archbishop; foreign artisans--especially Flemish and\nGerman--arrived by hundreds, and were employed by Talavera, Cisneros,\nand Mendoza, in the decoration of the church. Unluckily, additions were\nmade: the pointed arches of the façade were surmounted by a rectangular\nbody which had nothing in common with the principle set down when the\ncathedral was to have been purely ogival.\n\nThe interior of the church was also enlarged, especially the high altar,\nthe base of which was doubled in size. The _retablo_ of painted wood was\nerected toward the end of the fifteenth century, as well as many of the\nchapels, which are built into the walls of the building, and are as\ndifferent in style as the saints to whom they are dedicated.\n\nAs time went on, and the rich continued sending their jewels and relics\nto the cathedral, the Treasury Room, with its pictures by Rubens, Dürer,\nTitian, etc., and with its _sagrario_,--a carved image of Our Lady,\ncrowning an admirably chiselled cone of silver and jewels, and covered\nover with the richest cloths woven in gold, silver, silk, and precious\nstones,--was gradually filled with hoarded wealth. Even to-day, when\nSpain has apparently reached the very low ebb of her glory, the\ncathedral of Toledo remains almost intact as the only living\nrepresentative of the grandeur of the Church and of the arts it fostered\nin the sixteenth century.\n\nAlmost up to the beginning of the nineteenth century the building was\ncontinually being enlarged, modified, and repaired. Six hundred years\nsince the first stone had been laid! What vicissitudes had not the\ncountry seen--and how many art waves had swept over the peninsula!\n\nGothic is traceable throughout the building: here it is flamboyant,\nthere rayonnant. Here the gold and red of _Mudejar_ ceilings are\nexquisitely represented, as in the chapter-room; there Moorish influence\nin _azulejos_ (multicoloured glazed tiles) and in decorative designs is\nto be seen, such as in the horseshoe arches of the triforium in the\nchapel of the high altar. Renaissance details are not lacking, nor the\nsevere plateresque taste (in the grilles of the choir and high altar),\nand neither did the grotesque style avoid Spain's great cathedral, for\nthere is the double ambulatory behind the high altar, that is to say,\nthe _transparente_, a circular chapel of the most gorgeous\nultra-decoration to be found anywhere in Spain.\n\nSigns of decadence are unluckily to be observed in the cathedral to-day.\nThe same care is no longer taken to repair fallen bits of carved stone;\npigeon-lamps that burn little oil replace the huge bronze lamps of other\ndays, and no new additions are being made. The cathedral's apogee has\nbeen reached; from now on it will either remain intact for centuries, or\nelse it will gradually crumble away.\n\nSeen from the exterior, the cathedral does not impress to such an extent\nas it might. Houses are built up around it, and the small square to the\nsouth and west is too insignificant to permit a good view of the\nensemble.\n\nNevertheless, the spectator who is standing near the western façade,\neither craning his neck skyward or else examining the seventy odd\nstatues which compose the huge portal of the principal entrance, is\noverawed at the immensity of the edifice in front of him, as well as\namazed at the amount of work necessary for the decorating of the portal.\n\nThe Puerta de los Leones, or the southern entrance giving access to the\ntransept, is perhaps of a more careful workmanship as regards the\nsculptural decoration. The door itself, studded on the outside with\nnails and covered over with a sheet of bronze of the most exquisite\nworkmanship in relief, is a _chef-d'œuvre_ of metal-stamping of the\nsixteenth century, whilst the wood-carving on the interior is among the\nfinest in the cathedral.\n\nThe effect produced on the spectator within the building is totally\ndifferent. The height and length of the aisles, which are buried in\nshadows,--for the light which enters illuminates rather the chapels\nwhich are built into the walls between the flying\nbuttresses,--astonishes; the _factura_ is severe and beautiful in its\ngrand simplicity.\n\nNot so the chapels, which are decorated in all manner of styles, and\nornamented in all degrees of lavishness. The largest is the Muzarab\nchapel beneath the dome which substitutes the missing tower; except the\ndome, this chapel, where the old Gothic Rite (as opposed to the\nGregorian Rite) is sung every day in the year, is constructed in pure\nGothic; it contains a beautiful Italian mosaic of the Virgin as well as\nfrescoes illustrating Cardinal Cisneros's African wars, when the\nbattling prelate thought it was his duty to bear the crucifix and\nSpanish rights into Morocco as his royal masters had carried them into\nGranada.\n\nThe remaining chapels, some of them of impressive though generally\ncomplex structure, will have to be omitted here. So also the sacristy\nwith its wonderful picture by the Greco, and the chapter-room with the\nportraits of all the archbishops, the elegant carved door, and the\nwell-preserved _Mudejar_ ceiling, etc. And we pass on to the central\nnave, and stand beneath the _croisée_. To the east the high altar, to\nthe west the choir, claim the greater part of our attention. For it is\nhere that the people centred their gifts.\n\nThe objects used on the altar-table are of gold, silver, jasper, and\nagate; the _monstrance_ in the central niche of the altar-piece is also\nof silver, and the garments worn by the effigy are woven in gold, silk,\nand precious stones. The two immense grilles which close off the high\naltar and the eastern end of the choir are of iron, tin, and copper,\ngilded and silvered, having been covered over with black paint in the\nnineteenth century so as to escape the greedy eyes--and hands!--of the\nFrench soldiery. The workmanship of these two _rejas_ is of the most\nsober Spanish classic or plateresque period, and though the black has\nnot as yet been taken off, the silver and gold peep forth here and\nthere, and show what a brilliancy must have radiated from these\nelegantly decorated bars and cross-bars in the eighteenth century.\n\nThe three tiers of choir stalls, carved in walnut, are among the very\nfinest in Spain, both as regards the accomplished craftsmanship and the\nastonishing variety in the composition. The two organs, opposite each\nother and attaining the very height of the nave, are the best in the\npeninsula, whilst the designs of the marble pavement, red and white in\nthe high altar, and black and white in the choir, only add to the\nluxurious effect produced by statues, pulpits, and other accessories,\neither brilliantly coloured, or else wrought in polished metal or stone.\n\nThe altar-piece itself, slightly concave in shape, is the largest, if\nnot the best, of its kind. It is composed of pyramidically superimposed\nniches flanked by gilded columns and occupied by statues of painted and\ngilded wood. The effect from a distance is dazzling,--the reds, blues,\nand gold mingle together and produce a multicoloured mass reaching to\nthe height of the nave; on closer examination, the workmanship is seen\nto be both coarse and naïve,--primitive as compared to the more finished\n_retablos_ of Burgos, Astorga, etc.\n\nTo conclude: The visitor who, standing between the choir and the high\naltar of the cathedral, looks at both, stands, as it were, in the\npresence of an immense riddle. He cannot classify: there is no purity of\none style, but a medley of hundreds of styles, pure in themselves, it is\ntrue, but not in the ensemble. Besides, the personality of each has been\nlost or drowned, either by ultra-decoration or by juxtaposition. A\ncollective value is thus obtained which cannot be pulled to pieces, for\nthen it would lose all its significance as an art unity--a complex art\nunity, in this case peculiar to Spain.\n\nNeither is repose, meditation, or frank admiration to be gleaned from\nsuch a gigantic _potpourri_ of art wonders, but rather a feeling--as far\nas we Northerners are concerned--of amazement, of stupor, and of an\nutter impossibility to understand such a luxurious display of idolatry\nrather than of faith, of scenic effect rather than of discreet prayer.\n\nBut then, it may just be this idolatry and love of scenic effect which\nproduces in the Spaniard what we have called _religious awe_. We feel it\nin a long-aisled Gothic temple; the Spaniard feels it when standing\nbeneath the _croisée_ of his cathedral churches.\n\nThe whole matter is a question of race.\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n_Appendices_\n\n\n\n\n_Archbishoprics and Bishoprics of Northern Spain_\n\n\nII\n\n_Dimensions and Chronology_\n\nASTORGA\n\nSee dedicated to Saviour and San Toribio.\n\nLegendary (?) erection of see, 1st century (oldest in peninsula).\n\nFirst historical bishop, Dominiciano, 347 A. D.\n\nDuring Arab invasion see was being continually destroyed and rebuilt.\n\n1069, first cathedral (on record) was erected.\n\n1120, second cathedral was erected.\n\nXIIIth century, third cathedral was erected.\n\n1471, fourth (present) cathedral was begun; terminated XVIth century.\n\nXVth and XVIth century ogival; imitation of that of Leon.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Northern front, plateresque retablo.\n\n\nAVILA\n\nDedicated to San Salvador.\n\nFirst bishop (legendary?), San Segundo, in Ist century.\n\nSee destroyed during Arab invasion.\n\nFirst bishop after Reconquest, Jeronimo in XIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nDate of foundation and erection unknown.\n\nLegendary foundation, 1091; finished in 1105 (?).\n\nLate XIIth century Spanish Gothic fortress church.\n\nApse XIIth century; transept XIVth century.\n\nWestern front XVth century; tower late XIVth century.\n\n* * *\n\nWidth of transept and of nave, 30 feet.\n\nWidth of aisles, 25 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Exterior of apse, nave and transept with rose\nwindows, tomb of Bishop Tostada.\n\n\nBURGOS\n\nSee dedicated to the Holy Mary and Son.\n\nBishopric erected, 1075; archbishopric, 1085.\n\nFirst bishop, Don Simón; first archbishop, Gomez II.\n\n* * *\n\nPresent cathedral begun, 1221.\n\nFirst holy mass celebrated in altar-chapel, 1230.\n\nBuilding terminated 300 years later (1521).\n\nXIIIth-XIVth century Spanish ogival.\n\n* * *\n\nLength (excluding Chapel of Condestable), 273 feet.\n\nLength of transept, 195 feet; width, 32 feet.\n\nHeight of lantern crowning croisée, 162 feet.\n\nHeight of western front, 47 feet.\n\nHeight of towers, 273 feet; width at base, 19 feet.\n\nWidth of nave, 31 feet; of aisles, 19 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: The ensemble, interior decoration, lantern on\ncroisée, the Chapel of the Condestable, choir, high altar, etc. (With\nthat of Toledo, the richest cathedral in Spain.)\n\n\nCALAHORRA\n\nSee dedicated to San Emeterio and San Celedonio, martyrs.\n\nBishopric erected Vth century; first bishop, Silvano.\n\nDaring Arab invasion see removed to Oviedo (750).\n\nRemoved to Alava in IXth century; in Xth century, to Nájera.\n\nIn 1030, moved again to Calahorra; first bishop, Don Sancho.\n\nSince XIXth century, one bishop appointed to double see Calahorra-Santo\nDomingo de la Calzada.\n\nThis double see to be removed to Logroño.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral begun in XIIth century; terminated in XIVth century.\n\nXIIIth century Gothic (body of church only).\n\nWestern front of a much later date.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attraction: Choir-stalls.\n\n\nCIUDAD RODRIGO\n\nSee dedicated to the Virgin and Child.\n\nOrigin of bishopric in Calabria under Romans (legendary?).\n\nFoundation of city in 1150; erection of see, 1170.\n\nFirst bishop, Domingo, 1170.\n\nSee nominally suppressed in 1870; in reality the suppression has not\ntaken place as yet.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral church begun toward 1160.\n\nXIIth century Romanesque-Gothic edifice.\n\nTower and western front date from XVIIIth century.\n\nLady-chapel from XVIth century.\n\nBuilding suffered considerably from French in 1808.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Romanesque narthex, cloister, choir-stalls,\nRomanesque doors leading into transept.\n\n\nCORIA\n\nSee dedicated to Santa Maria.\n\nDate of erection, 338.\n\nFirst known bishop, Laquinto, in 589.\n\nDuring Moorish domination the bishopric entirely destroyed.\n\nSee reëstablished toward beginning XIIIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral church begun in 1120.\n\nTerminated in XVIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nIs an unimportant village church rather than a cathedral.\n\nOne aisle, 150 feet long, 52 feet wide, 84 feet high.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Paseo, or cloister walk; in lady-chapel, sepulchre of\nXVIth century.\n\n\nCUENCA\n\nSee dedicated to the Virgin.\n\nErected in 1183.\n\nFirst bishop, Juan Yañez.\n\n* * *\n\nXIIIth century ogival church greatly deteriorated, in a ruinous state.\n\nTower which stood on western end fell down recently.\n\n* * *\n\nLength of building, 312 feet; width, 140 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Cloister door, chapels.\n\n\nLEON\n\nSee dedicated to San Froilan and Santa Maria de la Blanca.\n\nDate of erection not known.\n\nFirst known bishop, Basilides, 252 A.D.\n\nDuring Arab invasion, see existed on and off.\n\n* * *\n\nFirst stone of present cathedral laid in 1199.\n\nThe building did not begin until 1250; terminated end of XIVth century.\n\nXIIth century French ogival.\n\nVaulting above croisée fell down in 1631.\n\nSouthern front rebuilt in 1694.\n\nWhole cathedral partly ruined in 1743.\n\nClosed to public by government in 1850.\n\nReopened in 1901.\n\n* * *\n\nTotal length, 300 feet; width, 130 feet; height of nave, 100 feet.\n\nHeight of northern tower, 211 feet; of southern, 221 feet.\n\nLength of each side of cloister, 97 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: The ensemble, windows, choir-stalls, cloister.\n\n\nLOGROÑO\n\nSee dedicated to the Holy Virgin.\n\nCompare Calahorra.\n\n* * *\n\nSanta Maria raised to collegiate church in 1435.\n\nOld building torn down in same year, excepting some few remains.\n\nPresent church begun in 1435; not terminated yet.\n\nEnlargements being introduced at the present date.\n\nBelongs to Spanish-Grotesque.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Western front, trascoro, towers.\n\n\nLUGO\n\nSee dedicated to the Mother and Child.\n\nBishopric erected in Vth century; first bishop, Agrestio, in 433.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral began in 1129; completed in 1177.\n\nXIIth century Galician Romanesque spoilt by posterior additions.\n\nBuilding greatly reformed in XVIth to XVIIIth centuries.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: The ensemble (interior), western portal, exterior of\napse.\n\n\nMADRID-ALCALÁ\n\nSee erected in 1850.\n\nMADRID\n\nTemporary cathedral dedicated to San Isidro.\n\nSeventeenth century building of no art merit.\n\nNew cathedral dedicated to the Virgen de la Almudena.\n\nIn course of construction; begun in 1885.\n\nALCALÁ\n\nDedicated to Santos Justo and Pastor; called la Magistral.\n\nIn a ruinous state; closed, and see temporarily removed to Jesuit\ntemple.\n\nConstructed in XVth century, and raised to suffragan in same century.\n\nSevere and naked (gloomy) Spanish-Gothic.\n\nInterior of building cannot be visited.\n\n\nMONDOÑEDO\n\nSee dedicated to the Virgin.\n\nBishopric removed here from Ribadeo, late XIIth century.\n\nFirst (or second) bishop, Don Martin, about 1219.\n\n* * *\n\nFoundation of cathedral dates probably from XIIth century.\n\nXIIIth century Galician Romanesque structure.\n\nGreatly spoilt by posterior additions.\n\nAmbulatory dates from XVth or XVIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nRectangular in form; 120 feet long by 71 wide.\n\nHeight of nave, 45 feet; of aisles, 28 feet.\n\n\nORENSE\n\nSee dedicated to St. Martin of Tours and St. Mary Mother.\n\nBishopric erected previous to IVth century (?).\n\n* * *\n\nErection of present building begun late XIIth century.\n\nProbably terminated late XIIIth century.\n\nXIIIth century, Galician Romanesque with pronounced ogival mixture.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Portico del Paraiso, western portal, decoration of\nthe interior.\n\n\nOSMA\n\nSee dedicated to San Pedro de Osma.\n\nLegendary (?) erection of see in 91 A. D.\n\nFirst bishop, San Astorgio.\n\nFirst historical bishop, Juan I, in 589.\n\nDestruction of see during Arab invasion.\n\nSee restored, 1100; first bishop, San Pedro de Osma.\n\n* * *\n\nXIIth century cathedral destroyed in XIIIth century, excepting a few\nchapels.\n\nErection of new cathedral begun in 1232; terminated, beginning XIVth\ncentury.\n\nXIIIth century Romanesque-Gothic (not pure).\n\nAmbulatory introduced in XVIIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Retablo, reliefs of trasaltar.\n\n\nOVIEDO\n\nSee dedicated to the Mother and Child.\n\nBishopric erected, 812; first bishop, Adulfo.\n\n* * *\n\nUntil XIIth century cathedral was a basilica; destroyed.\n\nRomanesque edifice erected in XIIth century; destroyed 1380.\n\nPresent edifice begun 1380; completed 1550.\n\nXVth century ogival (French?).\n\nDecoration of the interior terminated XVIIth century.\n\nTower and spire, XVIth century.\n\nCamara Santa dates from XIIth century; a remnant of the early Romanesque\nedifice.\n\n* * *\n\nTotal length, 218 feet; width, 72 feet.\n\nHeight of nave, 65 feet; of aisles, 33 feet.\n\nHeight of tower, 267 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Flèche, decoration of the interior, rosaces in apse,\nGothic retablo, cloister, Camara Santa.\n\n\nPALENCIA\n\nSee dedicated to Mother and Child and San Antolin, martyr.\n\nDate of erection unknown; IId or IIId century.\n\nOne of the earliest bishops, San Toribio.\n\nDuring the Arab invasion city and see completely destroyed.\n\nFirst bishop after Reconquest, Bernardo, in 1035.\n\n* * *\n\nXVth century florid Gothic building.\n\nErection begun in 1321.\n\nEastern end finished prior to 1400.\n\nCentury later western end begun on larger scale.\n\nTemple completed in 1550.\n\n* * *\n\nTotal length, 405 feet.\n\nWidth (at transept), 160 feet.\n\nHeight (of nave), 95 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: The ensemble (interior and exterior), Bishop's Door,\nchoir-stalls, trascoro.\n\n\nPLASENCIA\n\nDedicated to the Holy Virgin.\n\nErection of see 12 years after foundation city (1190).\n\nFirst bishop, Domingo; second, Adam; both were warrior prelates.\n\n* * *\n\nOld cathedral (few remains left) commenced in beginning XIVth century.\n\nPartially destroyed to make room for--\n\nNew cathedral, commenced in 1498.\n\nXVIth century Renaissance-Gothic edifice.\n\nUltra-decorated and ornamented in later centuries.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Choir-stalls, western entrance, decorative motives,\nsepulchres.\n\n\nSALAMANCA\n\nBishopric existed in Vth century. First known bishop, Eleuterio (589).\n\nVIIIth century, devoid of notices concerning see.\n\nXth century, 7 bishops mentioned--living in Leon or Oviedo.\n\nXIth century, no news, even name of city forgotten.\n\nFirst bishop _de modernis_, Jeronimo of Valencia (1102).\n\n* * *\n\nOld cathedral still standing; city possesses therefore two cathedrals.\n\nOLD CATHEDRAL\n\nDedicated to St. Mary (Santa Maria de la Sede).\n\nIn 1152 already in construction; not finished in 1299.\n\nXIIth or XIIIth century, Castilian Romanesque with ogival mixture.\n\nNave, 33 feet wide, 190 feet long, 60 feet high.\n\nAisles, 20 feet wide, 180 feet long, 40 feet high.\n\nThickness of walls, 10 feet.\n\nPart of cathedral demolished to make room for new in 1513.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Cimborio, central apsidal chapel, and retablo.\n\n\nNEW CATHEDRAL\n\nDedicated to the Mother and Saviour.\n\nBegun in 1513; not completed until XVIIIth century.\n\nOriginally Late Gothic building. Plateresque, Herrera and grotesque\nadditions.\n\nCompare churches of Valladolid and Segovia.\n\n* * *\n\nRectangular in shape; 378 feet long, 181 feet wide.\n\nHeight of nave, 130 feet; that of aisles, 88 feet.\n\nWidth of nave, 50 feet; of aisles, 37 feet.\n\nLength (and width) of chapels, 28 feet; height, 54 feet.\n\nHeight of tower, 320 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Western façade, decorative wealth, ensemble.\n\n\nSANTANDER\n\nSee dedicated to San Emeterio, martyr, and to the Virgin.\n\nMonastical church of San Emeterio raised to collegiate in XIIIth\ncentury.\n\nBishopric erected in 1775.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral church built in XIIIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attraction: Crypt, fount.\n\n\nSANTIAGO\n\nSee dedicated to St. James, patron saint of Spain.\n\nBishopric erected previous to 842; first bishop, Sisnando.\n\nArchbishopric erected XIIth century; first archbishop, Diego Galmirez.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral church begun, 1078; terminated, 1211.\n\nXIIth century Romanesque building.\n\nExterior suffered grotesque and plateresque repairs, XVIIth century.\n\nCloister dates from 1530.\n\n* * *\n\nLength, 305 feet; width (at transept), 204 feet.\n\nHeight of nave, 78 feet; of aisles, 23 feet; of cupola, 107 feet; of\ntower (de la Trinidad), 260 feet; of western towers, 227 feet.\n\nLength of each side of cloister, 114 feet; width, 19 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: The ensemble (interior), Portico de la Gloria, crypt,\ncloister, southern portal.\n\n\nSANTO DOMINGO DE LA CALZADA\n\nSee dedicated to Santo Domingo de la Calzada.\n\nBishopric dates from 1227.\n\nCompare Calahorra.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral church begun toward 1150.\n\nTerminated, 1250.\n\nXIIth-XIIIth century Romanesque-Gothic structure.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attraction: The retablo, XVth and XVIth sepulchres.\n\n\nSEGOVIA\n\nSee dedicated to San Fruto and the Virgin.\n\nFirst bishop (legendary?), San Hierateo, in Ist century.\n\nSee known to have existed in 527.\n\nFirst historical bishop, Peter (589).\n\nDuring Arab invasion only one bishop mentioned, Ilderedo, 940.\n\nFirst bishop after the Reconquest, Don Pedro, in 1115.\n\n* * *\n\nFirst stone of present cathedral laid, 1525.\n\nCathedral consecrated, 1558; finished in 1580.\n\nCupola erected in 1615.\n\nGothic-Renaissance building.\n\nTower struck by lightning and partly ruined, 1620.\n\nRebuilt (tower) in 1825.\n\n* * *\n\nTotal length, 341 feet; width, 156 feet.\n\nHeight of dome, 218 feet.\n\nWidth of nave and transept, 44 feet; aisles, 33 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Old cloister, apse, tower.\n\n\nSIGÜENZA\n\nSee dedicated to Mother and Child.\n\nFirst known bishop, Protogenes, in VIth century.\n\nDuring Arab invasion no mention is made of see.\n\nFirst bishop after Reconquest, Bernardo (1195).\n\nFourth bishop an Englishman, Jocelyn.\n\n* * *\n\nDate of erection of the cathedral unknown.\n\nProbably XIIth or XIIIth century Romanesque-Gothic edifice.\n\nAmbulatory added in XVIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nLength of building, 313 feet; width, 112 feet.\n\nHeight of nave, 68 feet; of aisles, 63 feet.\n\nCircumference of central pillar, 50 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Western front, sacristy, rose window in southern\ntransept arm.\n\n\nSORIA\n\nSee to be moved here from Osma.\n\nChurch dedicated to St. Mary.\n\nRaised to suffragan of Osma in XIIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nXVIth century, Gothic-plateresque building.\n\nXIIth century, western front; Castilian Romanesque.\n\nXIIth century, Romanesque cloister.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Western front, cloister.\n\n\nTOLEDO\n\nSee dedicated to the Virgin Mother and her Apparition to San Ildefonso.\n\nBishopric erected prior to 513 A. D.\n\nOne of first bishops is San Ildefonso.\n\nDuring Arab domination see remains vacant.\n\nFirst archbishop, Don Bernardo (1085).\n\nPrimate cathedral of all the Spains since XVth century.\n\n* * *\n\nFirst stone of present building laid in 1227.\n\nChurch completed in 1493.\n\nAdditions, repairs, etc., dating from XVIth-XVIIIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nLength, 404 feet; width, 204 feet; height of tower, 298 feet.\n\nHeight of nave, 98 feet.\n\nHeight of principal door, 20 feet; width, 7 feet.\n\nDiameter of rose window in western front, 30 feet.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: The ensemble, decorative and industrial accessories,\nchapter-room, sacristy, paintings, bell-tower, etc. (The richest\ncathedral in Spain.)\n\n\nTORO\n\nCollegiate Church dedicated to St. Mary.\n\n* * *\n\nExistence of bishopric cannot be proven, though believed to have been\nerected during first decade of Reconquest in Xth century.\n\nIs definitely made a suffragan of Zamora in XVIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral--or collegiate--erected end of XIIth or beginning of XIIIth\ncentury.\n\nCastilian Romanesque building.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Military aspect of building, height of walls, massive\ncimborio.\n\n\nTUY\n\nSee dedicated to the Virgin Mary.\n\nBishopric erected in VIth century.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral erected in first half XIIth century.\n\nSuffered greatly from earthquakes, especially in 1755.\n\nXIIth century Galician Romanesque in spoilt conditions.\n\nWestern porch or narthex dates from XVth century.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: Western front, northern portal, cloister.\n\n\nVALLADOLID\n\nSanta Maria la Antigua raised to suffragan of Palencia, 1074.\n\nChurch built in XIIth century, Castilian Romanesque.\n\nRuins still to be seen to rear of--\n\nSanta Maria la Mayor. Seat of archbishopric since 1850.\n\nBishopric established, 1595; first bishop, Don Bartolomé.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral begun in 1585 by Juan de Herrera.\n\nContinued XVIIth century by Churriguera.\n\nEscorial style spoilt by grotesque decoration.\n\nTower falls down in 1841; new one being erected.\n\n* * *\n\nRectangular in shape; length, 411 feet; width, 204 feet.\n\nTransept half-way between apse and western front.\n\nCroisée surmounted by cupola.\n\nOnly one of four towers was constructed.\n\n\nVITORIA\n\nSee dedicated to Santa Maria.\n\nSt. Mary erected to collegiate, XVth century.\n\nBishopric erected in XIXth century.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral church erected in XIVth century.\n\nXIVth century Late Gothic structure of no art interest.\n\nTower of XVIth and XVIIth centuries.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attraction: In sacristy a canvas called Piety.\n\n\nZAMORA\n\nSee dedicated to San Atilano and the Holy Mother.\n\nBishopric established 905; first bishop, San Atilano.\n\nDestroyed by Moors in 998; vacancy not filled until 1124.\n\nFirst bishop _de modernis_, Bernardo.\n\n* * *\n\nCathedral commenced 1151; vaulting terminated 1174.\n\nXIIth century Castilian Romanesque.\n\n* * *\n\nChief attractions: The cimborio, southern entrance.\n\n\n\n_A List of the Provinces of Spain and of the Middle Age States or\nKingdoms from which they have evolved._\n\n   _Principal Kingdoms_ _Conquered States_ _Present-day Provinces_\n\n    Castile              Galicia            La Coruña*\n                                            Lugo*\n                                            Orense*\n                                            Pontevedra*\n                         Asturias*          Oviedo*\n                         Leon               Leon*\n                                            Palencia*\n                                            Zamora*\n                         Basque Provinces   Guipuzcua*\n                                            Vizcaya*\n                                            Alava*\n                         Rioja              Logroño*\n                         Old Castile        Santander*\n                                            Burgos*\n                                            Soria*\n                                            Valladolid*\n                                            Avila*\n                                            Segovia*\n                                            Salamanca*\n                         New Castile        Madrid*\n                                            Guadalajara*\n                                            Toledo*\n                                            Cuenca*\n                                            Ciudad Real*\n                         Extremadura        Caceres*\n                                            Badajoz\n                         Andalusia          Sevilla\n                                            Huelva\n                                            Cadiz\n                                            Cordoba\n                                            Jaen\n                         Granada            Granada\n                                            Malaga\n                                            Almeria\n                         Murcia             Murcia\n                                            Albacete\n    Aragon               Aragon             Zaragoza\n                                            Huesca\n                                            Teruel\n                         Cataluña           Barcelona\n                                            Gerona\n                                            Lerida\n                                            Tarragona\n                         Valencia           Valencia\n                                            Alicante\n                                            Castellón\n                         Navarra            Navarra (Pamplona)\n\n     NOTES\n\n     The star (*) indicates the provinces treated of in this volume; the\n     remainder will be treated of in Volume II.\n\n     Two provinces have not been mentioned: that of the Balearic Isles\n     (belonged to the old kingdom of Aragon), and that of the Canary\n     Isles (belonged to the old kingdom of Castile).\n\n     Dates have not been indicated. For so complicated was the evolution\n     of the different states (regions) throughout the Middle Ages, that\n     a series of tables would be necessary, as well as a series of\n     geographical maps.\n\n     The above list, however, shows Spain (minus Portugal) at the death\n     of Fernando (the husband of Isabel) in 1516, as well as the\n     component parts of Castile and Aragon. The division of Spain into\n     provinces dates from 1833.\n\n     A bishopric does not necessarily coincide with a province. Thus,\n     the Province of Lugo has two sees (Lugo and Mondoñedo); on the\n     other hand, three Basque Provinces have but one see (Vitoria).\n\n     Excepting in the case of Navarra, whose capital is Pamplona, the\n     different provinces of Spain bear the name of the capital. Thus the\n     capital of the Province of Madrid is Madrid, and Jaen is the\n     capital of the province of the same name.\n\n\n\n\n_Bibliography_\n\n\nEspaña, sus Monumentos y Artes, su Naturaleza é Historia:\n\n  Burgos, by R. Amador de los Rios.\n\n  Santander, by R. Amador de los Rios.\n\n  Navarra y Logroño, Vol. III., by P. de Madrazo.\n\n  Soria, by N. Rabal.\n\n  Galicia, by M. Murguia.\n\n  Alava, etc., by A. Pirala.\n\n  Extremadura, by N. Diaz y Perez.\n\nRecuerdos y Bellezas de España:\n\n  Castilla La Nueva, by J. M. Quadrado.\n\n  Asturias y Leon, by J. M. Quadrado.\n\n  Valladolid, etc., by J. M. Quadrado.\n\n  Salamanca, by J. M. Quadrado.\n\nEspagne et Portugal, by Baedeker.\n\nHistoria del Pueblo Español (Spanish translation), by Major M. Hume.\n\nHistoria de España, by R. Altamira.\n\nToledo en la Mano, by S. Parro.\n\nEstudios Historico-Artisticos relativos á Valladolid, by Marti y Monsó.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nAcuña, Don, 297, 298.\n\nAdán, Maria, 271;\n  Don, Bishop of Plasencia, 287, 376.\n\nAdulfo, Bishop of Oviedo, 138, 375.\n\nAfrican Wars, 364.\n\nAgrestio, Bishop of Lugo, 373.\n\nAgricolanus, 151.\n\nAgueda River, 269.\n\nAlagón River, 278, 280.\n\nAlarcos, Battle of, 284, 314.\n\nAlava, 198, 371.\n\nAlcalá (_See_ Alcalá de Henares).\n\nAlcalá de Fenares (_See_ Alcalá de Henares).\n\nAlcalá de Henares, 61, 64, 212, 223, 321, 322, 326-334, 349;\n  Churches of (_See_ under Churches); University of, 328.\n\nAlcalá de San Justo (_See_ Alcalá de Henares).\n\nAlcántara, Bridge of, 350.\n\nAlcázar (Cuenca), 343,   (Segovia) 314, 320, 355, (Toledo) 336, 350, 356.\n\nAlemán, 275, 289.\n\nAlfonso, 307.\n\nAlfonso I., 221, 230.\n\nAlfonso II., 343.\n\nAlfonso III., 245.\n\nAlfonso IV., 153.\n\nAlfonso V., 139, 294.\n\nAlfonso VI., 198, 206, 233, 237, 253, 293, 335, 358, 359.\n\nAlfonso VII., 153, 154, 161, 162, 336.\n\nAlfonso VIII., 188, 192, 193, 210, 223, 258, 280, 284, 286, 338, 343.\n\nAlfonso IX., 258.\n\nAlfonso XI., 179, 245.\n\nAlfonso the Chaste, 102, 104, 137, 138, 139, 141.\n\nAlfonsos, Dynasty of, 103, 200.\n\nAlfonso el Batallador, 305.\n\nAl-Kalá (_See_ Alcalá de Henares).\n\nAlhambra, The, 22, 41, 355.\n\nAlhaxa, Martin, 343.\n\nAl-Kárica (_See_ Coria).\n\nAlmanzor, 79, 150, 152, 171, 176, 177, 230, 232.\n\nAlps, The, 58.\n\nAltamira, Rafael, 14.\n\nAlvarez, Diego, 286.\n\nAmerica, 29, 32, 90, 295, 296, 360.\n\nAnaya, Diego de, Tomb of, 263.\n\nAndalusia, 16, 22, 66, 67, 76, 81, 161, 191, 303, 314, 337, 354.\n\nAnsurez, Pedro, 293;\n  Family of, 294.\n\nAquitania, 167.\n\nArabs and Arab Invasions, 23, 38, 71, 79, 80, 111, 112, 114, 123, 124,\n147, 148, 152, 170, 177, 221, 225, 253, 254, 280, 296, 313, 323, 327,\n354, 370, 371, 372, 375, 378, 379.\n\nAragon, 23, 25, 58, 66, 67, 68, 71, 203, 210, 303, 305, 331, 335, 336,\n342, 343.\n\nArco de Santa Marta (Burgos), 180.\n\nArmada, The, 31, 90, 132, 189, 349.\n\nArriago, 193.\n\nArrianism, 153.\n\nAstorga, 70, 71, 120, 167-173, 174, 176, 197, 219, 220, 246, 369;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nAsturias, 57, 66, 70, 79, 103, 104, 123, 138, 139, 146, 147, 148, 150,\n153, 162, 167, 175, 176, 177, 213.\n\nAsturica Augusta (_See_ Astorga).\n\nAugustábriga, 269.\n\nAuria (_See_ Orense).\n\nAusturio, Archbishop of Toledo, 331.\n\nAvila, 70, 71, 253, 302-311, 312, 313, 370;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishop);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\n\nBaeza, 161.\n\nBaedeker, 115.\n\nBarcelona, 66.\n\nBarrientos, Inez de, 344.\n\nBartolomé, Bishop of Valladolid, 381.\n\nBasilides, Bishop of Astorga, 168.\n\nBasilides, Bishop of Leon, 151, 372.\n\nBasque Provinces, 33, 192.\n\nBay of Biscay, 189.\n\nBayona, 131, 132;\n  Church of (_See_ under Churches).\n\nBayonne in Gascogne, 272.\n\nBecerra, 172.\n\nBerengario, 254.\n\nBermudo II., 162.\n\nBermudo III., 171, 176.\n\nBernardo, Bishop of Palencia, 222, 375.\n\nBernardo, Bishop of Sigüenza, 336, 337, 379.\n\nBernardo, Archbishop of Toledo, 213, 358, 359, 379.\n\nBernardo, Bishop of Zamora, 232.\n\nBerruguete, 50, 295.\n\nBética (_See_ Andalusia).\n\nBishops and Archbishops (Basilides), 168;\n  Astorga (Dominiciano), 167, 369;\n  Avila (Jeronimo), 370, (Pedro) 308, (San Segundo) 370, (Tostada) 370;\n  Burgos (Don Simón), 370, (Gomez II.) 370;\n  Calahorra (Don Sancho), 198, 371, (Silvano) 371;\n  Cuidad Rodrigo (Domingo), 270, 371, (Pedro Diaz) 270;\n  Coria (Laquinto), 279, 372;\n  Cuenca (Juan Yañez), 343, 372;\n  Iria (Theodosio), 76, 77, 78;\n  Leon (Basilides), 151, 272;\n  Lugo (Agrestio), 373, (Odoario) 104;\n  Mondoñedo (Martin), 97, 374;\n  Osma, 211, (Juan I.) 214, 375, (Pedro) 224, 375, (San Astorgio) 375;\n  Orense (Diego), 116;\n  Oviedo (Adulfo), 138, (Gutierre) 139;\n  Palencia (Bernardo), 222, 375, (San Toribio) 375;\n  Plasencia (Adán), 287, 376, (Domingo) 286, 376;\n  Salamanca (Eleuterio), 253, 376, (Jeronimo) 254, 305, 376;\n  Santiago, 254, 337, (Diego Galmirez) 80, 116, 377, (Sisnando), 377;\n  Segovia (Don Pedro), 312, 314, 378, (Ilderedo) 313, 378, (San Hierateo),\n    312, 378;\n  Sigüenza (Austurio), 331, (Bernardo) 336, 337, 379, (Jocelyn) 338, 379,\n    (Protogenes) 335, 379;\n  Toledo, 307, 331, 337, (Bernardo) 213, 358, 359, 379, (Carillo) 331, 334,\n    (Ildefonso) 358, 379, (Tavera) 274; Tuy, 132;\n  Valladolid (Bartolomé), 381, (Bernardo) 232;\n  Zamora (San Atilano), 231, 381.\n\n\"Bishop's Door\" (Palencia Cathedral), 228, 376.\n\nBlanca de Bourbon, 294, 336.\n\nBoabdil el Chico, 22.\n\nBologna, 251.\n\nBourbon, Blanca de, 294, 336.\n\nBourbon Dynasty, 30.\n\nBraga, 112, 120, 167.\n\nBrigandtia (_See_ Corunna).\n\nBrunetière, 75.\n\nBurgos, 39, 43, 67, 69, 70, 71, 154, 174-180, 186, 189, 196, 223, 237, 251,\n   253, 296, 303, 349, 370;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nBurgo de Osma, 214.\n\n\nCadiz 335.\n\nCalabria, 269, 270, 371.\n\nCalahorra, 188, 197, 198, 199, 204, 206, 371;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nCalle de Puente, 190.\n\nCamara Sagrada, 69.\n\nCamara Santa (Oviedo), 144, 375.\n\nCangas, 137, 138, 147.\n\nCantabric Mountains, 190.\n\nCantabric Sea, 189.\n\nCarillo, Archbishop of Toledo, 331, 334;\n  Tomb of, 333, 334.\n\nCarlist Wars, 33.\n\nCarranza, 203.\n\nCarrarick, King of the Suevos, 114.\n\nCastellum Tude (_See_ Tuy).\n\nCastile, 16, 23, 25, 59, 66-77, 81, 103, 154, 174-177, 189, 192, 198,\n200, 201, 206, 221, 233, 245, 280, 294, 296, 302, 305, 336, 343.\n\nCastile, Counts of, 253, 279, 312, 335.\n\nCathedrals, Astorga, 167-173, 367, 369;\n  Avila, 302-311, 370;\n  Burgos, 62, 141, 156, 161, 174-187, 202, 227-241, 267, 367-370;\n  Calahorra, 206-208, 373, 378;\n  Canterbury (St. Thomas), 338;\n  Ciudad Rodrigo, 269-277, 371;\n  Coria, 261, 278, 283, 372;\n  Huesca, 203, 331;\n  Leon, 62, 141, 150-166, 171, 372;\n  Lugo, 99, 102-109, 113, 115, 117, 340, 373;\n  Madrid, San Isidro and Virgen de la Almudena, 321, 326, 373;\n  Mondoñedo, 95-101, 374;\n  Nájera, 201-202;\n  Orense, Santa Maria la Madre, 110-119, 126, 374;\n  Osma, 212-216, 374, 375;\n  Nuestra Señora de la Blanca (_See_ Leon);\n  Oviedo, 137-144, 156, 172, 182, 375;\n  Pulchra Leonina (_See_ Leon);\n  Palencia, 219-229, 239, 375;\n  Plasencia, 275, 284-289, 376;\n  Rome (St. Peter's), 300;\n  Salamanca, Old and New Cathedrals, 251-268, 275, 299, 317, 346, 376, 377;\n  Santiago, Santiago de Campostela, 75-88, 92, 99, 100, 106, 107, 113, 116,\n    118, 127, 240, 241, 377;\n  Santander, 188-191, 377;\n  Segovia, 312-320, 377, 378;\n  Sevilla, 187;\n  Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 202-204, 378;\n  Sigüenza, 335-341, 346, 379;\n  Tours, St. Martin, 374;\n  Tuy, Santa Maria la Madre, 113, 120-130, 249, 380;\n  Valladolid, 293-301, 377, 380;\n  Vitoria, 192-195, 381;\n  Zamora, 230-243, 247, 248, 249, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 275, 346, 381;\n  Toledo, 16, 64, 143, 159, 161, 184, 317, 319, 332, 349-368, 371, 379;\n  Toulouse, St. Saturnin, 82;\n  Toro, Santa Maria la Mayor, 244-250, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 273,\n    275, 346, 380.\n\nCeledonio, 188, 197, 206.\n\nCelts, The, 84, 102.\n\nCervantes, 295, 326, 352.\n\nCharles-Quinte, 223, 283, 314, 353.\n\nChoir Stalls, 48, 49.\n\nChurches: Alcalá de Henares, La Magistral, 328, 332, 374;\n  San Justo, 328, 332;\n  Burgos, Chapel of the Condestable, 39, 185, 370, 371;\n  Bayona and Vigo, 131-133;\n  Corunna (Colegiata), 91, 93, Church of Santiago, 93, 94,\n    Santa Maria del Campo, 92;\n  Cordoba, The Mosque, 41, 68;\n  Cuenca, 342-348, 372;\n  Leon, San Isidoro, 153, 163, 191, Chapel of St. James, 159,\n    Santa Maria la Blanca, 372, Santa Maria la Redonda, San Froilan, 372;\n  Logroño, 204, Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 204;\n  Madrid, San Antonio de la Florida, 324, San Francisco el Grande, 324,\n    San Isidro, 321, 325, 373;\n  Oviedo, Salvador, 139;\n  Palencia, San Antolin, 375;\n  Rioja, Santa Maria la Redonda, 204-206, San Juan de Baños, 165;\n  Santander, San Emeterio, 189, 377;\n  Saragosse, Church of the Pillar, 205, 206, 299,\n    Santo Domingo de la Calzada, 202-204, 378;\n  Soria, 209-212, 379;\n  Segovia, Santa Clara, 316;\n  Toledo, San Juan de las Reyes, 355, Santa Maria la Blanca, 354,\n    San Tomas, 355, Puerta de Sol, 355;\n  Valladolid, Santa Maria la Mayor, 293, 300, 381,\n    Santa Maria la Antiqua, 380, Venta de Baños, 57;\n  Zamora, La Magdalen, 243.\n\nChurriguera, 63, 300, 301, 381.\n\nCid, The Great, 234, 254.\n\nCid Campeador (Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar), 179.\n\nCisneros, Cardinal, 326, 328, 331, 334, 361, 364;\n  Tomb of, 333, 334.\n\nCiudad Rodrigo, 269-277, 371;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nClement IV., 210.\n\nCluny Monks, The, 24, 30, 60, 359.\n\nCoa River, 269.\n\nColumbus, Christopher, 28, 31, 32, 295, 360.\n\nComplutum (Alcalá), 327, 330.\n\nComplutenses, 327-329.\n\nComuneros, The, 314.\n\nConca (_See_ Cuenca).\n\nConde, Manuel, 154.\n\nCondestable, Chapel of the (Burgos), 39, 185, 370, 371;\n  Tomb of (Burgos), 186.\n\nConstanza, Doña, 358.\n\nConvent of Guadalupe, 283.\n\nConvent of the Mercedes (Valladolid), 297.\n\nConvent of San Juan de Dios, 334.\n\nCordoba, 147, 152, 191, 279, 286;\n  Mosque of, 41, 68, 355.\n\nCoria, 68, 71, 269, 278-283, 284, 372;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  Roman Wall of, 279.\n\nCoronada, 271.\n\nCortez, 246, 272.\n\nCorunna, 89, 90, 91, 113;\n\nChurches of, 89-94.\n\nCouncil of Toledo, 253, 279, 312, 335.\n\nCounts of Castile, 153, 162, 163, 174, 175, 180.\n\nCovadonga, 145, 146, 149;\n  Battle of, 145.\n\nCristeta, 303.\n\n\"Cristo de las Batallas\" (Salamanca), 254.\n\nCuenca, 68, 70, 71, 342-348, 372;\n  Alcázar, 343; Battle of, 338;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Church of (_See_ under Churches).\n\nCunninghame-Graham, Mr., 21.\n\nCuria Vetona, or Caurium (_See_ Coria).\n\n\nDel Obispo (Portal in Toro Cathedral), 273.\n\nDel Salto, Maria, Tomb of, 320.\n\nDiana, Temple to, 102, 103.\n\nDiaz, Pedro, Bishop of Ciudad Rodrigo, 270.\n\nDolfo, Vellido, 234, 235.\n\nDomingo, Bishop of Ciudad Rodrigo, 270, 371.\n\nDomingo, Bishop of Plasencia, 286, 376.\n\nDominguez, Juan, Bishop of Osma, 214, 375.\n\nDominiciano, Bishop of Astorga, 167, 369.\n\nDrake, Sir Francis, 132.\n\nDuero River, 209, 213, 237, 244, 279.\n\nDuke of Lancaster, 112.\n\nDürer, 361.\n\n\nEleanor (Daughter of Henry II.), 338.\n\nEarly Christian Art, 54.\n\nEastern Castile, 70.\n\nEbro River, 193, 196, 198, 199, 200.\n\nEleuterio, Bishop of Salamanca, 253, 376.\n\nElvira, 233, 245.\n\nEngland, 29, 31, 78, 90, 189, 295.\n\nEngracia (of Aragon), 312.\n\nEnrique II., King of Castile, 204, 320.\n\nEnrique IV., 245.\n\nEnriquez, Don, 256.\n\nEscorial (Madrid), 31, 62, 165, 265, 295, 299, 322, 349.\n\nExtremadura, 16, 69, 278, 303.\n\n\nFavila, Duke, 122, 146.\n\nFelipe el Hermoso (Philip the Handsome), 295.\n\nFerdinand, 25, 32, 255.\n\nFernan, Knight, 298.\n\nFernando I., 161, 176-178, 222, 232, 245, 304.\n\nFernando II., 269.\n\nFernando Alfonso, 203.\n\nFernando el Santo, 359.\n\nFlorinda, 354.\n\nFlanders, 355.\n\nFoment, 50, 203, 204.\n\nFonseca, Bishop, 229;\n  Family, 249.\n\nFrance, 24, 53, 57, 58, 78, 168, 224, 355.\n\nFroila (or Froela), 137, 141, 230.\n\nFroissart, 112.\n\n\nGalicia, 23, 40, 60, 66, 68, 75, 76, 79, 80, 88, 90, 96, 97, 98, 100,\n102, 103, 104, 105, 107, 109, 110, 111, 112, 116, 118, 120, 121, 122,\n123, 125, 128, 130, 131, 132, 137, 138, 169, 177, 199, 233, 238.\n\nGalician Romanesque Art, 59.\n\nGalmirez, Diego, Archbishop of Santiago, 80, 377.\n\nGarcia, Count of Castile, 162, 163, 176, 233.\n\nGarcia, Don, King of Navarra, 198, 201.\n\nGarcia, Son of Alfonso III., 245.\n\nGasteiz (_See_ Vitoria).\n\nGautier, Théophile, 351.\n\nGermany, 78, 355.\n\nGibraltar, 22;\n  Straits of, 21, 28.\n\nGijon, 147.\n\nGirón, Don Gutierre, 314.\n\nGold and Silversmiths, 50-51.\n\nGomez II., Bishop of Burgos, 370.\n\nGonzalez, Fernan, 175, 176, 177, 179.\n\nGonzalo, Arias, 233.\n\nGöschenen in Switzerland, 342.\n\nGoya, 325, 357.\n\nGranada, 22, 67, 287, 355, 356, 365.\n\nGreco, 357, 365.\n\nGredo Mountains, 278.\n\nGreeks, The, 89, 132.\n\nGuadalajara, 335.\n\nGuadalete, Battle of, 147.\n\nGuadalquivir, 189.\n\nGuaderrama Mountains, 253, 278.\n\nGuardia, 121.\n\nGudroed, 123.\n\nGutierre, Bishop of Oviedo, 139.\n\n\nHannibal, 252.\n\nHarbour of Victory, 188.\n\nHenry IV., 258, 294, 307.\n\nHermesinda, 147.\n\nHerrero, 62, 205, 265, 295, 299, 300, 301, 381.\n\nHuesca, Cathedral of, 203, 331.\n\nHume, Martin, 14.\n\n\nIerte River, 286.\n\nIlderedo, Bishop of Segovia, 313, 378.\n\nIldefonso, Bishop of Toledo, 379.\n\nInquisition, The, 26, 27, 344.\n\nIreland, 89.\n\nIria, 76, 77.\n\nIroncraft, 51, 52.\n\nIrun, 192.\n\nIsabella, 25, 32, 255.\n\nIsabel the Catholic, 193, 222, 245, 246, 294, 295, 315.\n\nItaly, 24, 37, 57, 58, 62, 78, 224, 355.\n\n\nJeronimo, Bishop of Avila, 370.\n\nJeronimo, Bishop of Salamanca, 254, 305, 376.\n\nJesuit School (Madrid), 326.\n\nJocelyn, Bishop of Sigüenza, 338, 379.\n\nJohn I., 213.\n\nJuan I., Bishop of Osma, 214, 375.\n\nJuana, 294.\n\nJuana la Beltranaja, 245.\n\nJuana la Loca, 295.\n\nJulian, Count, 354.\n\nJuni, Juan de, 50, 214.\n\nJura, The, 97, 196.\n\n\nLa Magistral, Church of (Alcalá de Henares), 328, 332, 374.\n\nLa Mancha, 16, 342.\n\nLancaster, Duke of, 112.\n\nLaquinto, Bishop of Coria, 279, 372.\n\nLas Navas de Tolosa, 280.\n\nLeon, 23, 25, 43, 66, 69, 70, 79, 80, 103, 139, 150-166, 167, 171, 174,\n175, 176, 177, 197, 233, 253, 254, 304, 305, 355, 372, 376;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  King of, 161.\n\nLeon X., 328.\n\nLeonese, The, 254.\n\nLeonor, Doña, 179, 297, 298.\n\n\"Leyes de Toro,\" 246.\n\nLibelatism, 167, 168.\n\nLisbon, 126, 272.\n\nLocus Augusti (_See_ Lugo).\n\nLogroño, 71, 197, 199, 200, 204, 371, 373;\n  Church of (_See_ under Churches).\n\nLoja, 287.\n\nLucio III., 343.\n\nLugo, 90, 91, 93, 95, 102-109, 110, 112, 120, 137, 154, 373;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nLupa, 75, 76, 102, 103.\n\nLuz, Doña, 122, 146.\n\n\nMadrazo, 206.\n\nMadrid, 66, 68, 71, 178, 212, 253, 293, 295, 296, 313, 314, 321-326,\n328, 329, 349, 373;\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  Churches of (_See_ under Churches).\n\nMaestro Mateo, 87.\n\nMaestro Raimundo, 106, 126.\n\nMagerit, 322, 323.\n\nMunuza, 147, 148.\n\nManzanares River, 323, 324.\n\nMarcelo, 151.\n\nMartin, Bishop of Mondoñedo, 97, 374.\n\nMartel, Charles, 22.\n\nMedinat-el-Walid, 296.\n\nMendoza, 361.\n\nMindunietum, 96.\n\nMiño River, 70, 102, 110, 111, 112, 120, 121, 124, 125.\n\nMiranda, 196.\n\nMiróbriga, 269.\n\nMolina, Maria de, 294.\n\nMondoñedo, 93, 95-101, 374;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nMonroy Family, 256, 286.\n\nMonforte, 110.\n\nMoore, General, 90.\n\nMoorish Art, 55, 56.\n\nMoors, The, 22, 24, 25, 26, 28, 34, 38, 55, 56, 59, 71, 76, 79, 104,\n137, 153, 154, 161, 171, 175, 198, 207, 210, 230, 232, 251, 254, 279,\n281, 285, 287, 304, 305, 308, 313, 323, 331, 343, 352, 354, 357, 358,\n359, 381.\n\nMorales, Divino, 326.\n\nMorgarten, 145.\n\nMorocco, 364.\n\nMosque of Cordoba, 41, 68, 355.\n\nMount of Joys, 81.\n\nMudejar Art, 63-65.\n\nMuguira, 81.\n\nMurillo, 195.\n\n\nNájera, 197, 198, 201, 202, 371;\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nNalvillos, 306, 307.\n\nNapoleon, 90, 164.\n\nNavarra, 23, 33, 58, 66, 68, 70, 80, 174, 176, 192, 196, 198, 201, 202, 210.\n\nNavas de Tolosa, Battle of, 286.\n\nNeustra Señora de la Blanca (_See_ Cathedral of Leon).\n\nNew World, The (_See_ America).\n\nNorman Vikings, 79, 96, 112, 123, 124.\n\nNorth, The, 69.\n\nNumantia, 197, 209, 219, 230.\n\n\nOdoario, Bishop of Lugo, 104.\n\nOgival Art, 61.\n\nOlaf, 123.\n\nOld Castile, Plain of, 69.\n\nOrdoñez, Diego, 235, 236.\n\nOrdoño I., 152, 153, 154.\n\nOrdoño II., 153, 159.\n\nOrduño III., 175.\n\nOrense, 70, 71, 110-119, 120, 168, 170, 220, 374;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  Portico del Paraiso, 116, 374.\n\nOsma, 209, 210, 212-216, 374-379;\n  Bishops of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nOviedo, 23, 43, 69, 70, 80, 102, 103, 137-144, 145, 150, 154, 198, 371, 375;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  Church (_See_ under Churches).\n\nOxford, 251.\n\n\nPadilla, Maria de, 294, 336.\n\nPalencia, 71, 168, 219-229, 258, 293, 375;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  \"Bishop's Door,\" 228, 376;\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  University of, 223-224, 258.\n\nPallantia, 220, 221.\n\nPalos Harbour, 32.\n\nPamplona, 174.\n\nParis, 251;\n  Treaty of, 32.\n\nPedro, Prince Don, 320.\n\nPedro, Bishop of Avila, 308.\n\nPedro, Bishop of Osma, 224, 375.\n\nPedro, Bishop of Segovia, 378.\n\nPelayo, 146, 147, 148, 149.\n\nPelea Gonzalo, Battle of, 245.\n\nPeña Grajera, 320.\n\nPerez, Doña Maria, 256, 257, 258.\n\nPerez, Hernan, 286.\n\nPeter, Bishop of Segovia, 312, 314, 378.\n\nPeter the Cruel, 179, 204, 245, 294, 336.\n\nPhilip II., 31, 62, 189, 295, 322, 349.\n\nPhilip III., 285, 308.\n\nPhilip IV., 294.\n\nPhilip the Handsome, 295.\n\nPhœnicians, The, 89, 132.\n\nPicos de Europa, 145.\n\nPico de Urbión, 209.\n\n\"Piedad\" (Pity), 195.\n\nPillar at Saragosse, 299.\n\nPisuerga, 293, 296.\n\nPlasencia, 71, 257, 261, 271, 283, 284-289, 308, 376;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nPlaza, Bartolomé de la (Bishop of Valladolid), 295.\n\nPlaza de Cervantes (Alcalá), 330.\n\nPlaza de la Constitución (Alcalá), 330.\n\nPlaza Mayor (Alcalá), 330.\n\nPlutarch, 252.\n\nPoitiers, 22.\n\nPolyglot Bible, The, 328.\n\nPortico de la Gloria (Santiago), 85-88, 92, 378.\n\nPortico del Paraiso (Orense), 116, 374.\n\nPortugal, 120, 122, 125, 231, 256, 278;\n  King of, 297, 298.\n\nPortuguese, The, 112, 123, 124, 244, 246.\n\nPriscilianism, 167, 168, 169, 170, 220.\n\nPrisciliano, 169.\n\nProtogenes, Bishop of Sigüenza, 335, 379.\n\nPuerta de la Plateria (Santiago), 83, 107, 183.\n\nPuerta de la Sol (Toledo), 355.\n\nPuerta de los Leones (Toledo), 363.\n\nPulchra Leonina (_See_ Cathedral of Leon).\n\nPyrenees, 53, 58, 59, 168.\n\n\nQuadrado, Señor, 308.\n\nQuixote, Don, 330.\n\n\nRachel of Toledo, 285.\n\nRamiro, 153.\n\nRecaredo, 152, 354.\n\nReconquest, The, 269, 370, 375, 379, 380.\n\nRedondela, 131.\n\nReformation, The, 26.\n\nRenaissance, 54, 62;\n  Italian, 63.\n\nRetablo, 49-50.\n\nRhine, The, 120.\n\nRibadeo, 96, 374.\n\nRibera, 357.\n\nRioja, The Upper, 70, 196, 197, 198, 200, 201, 206.\n\nRodrigo, 146.\n\nRodrigo Diaz de Vivar (Cid Campeador), 179.\n\nRodrigo, King of Visigoths, 21, 354.\n\nRomanesque Art, 57-58, 59.\n\nRomans, The, 18, 19, 24, 75, 89, 96, 102, 112, 113, 120, 121, 132, 150,\n174, 188, 252, 293, 303, 326, 335, 353, 371.\n\nRome, 29, 220, 353.\n\nRubens, 357, 361.\n\nRuy Diaz Gaona, 200.\n\n\nSabina, 303.\n\nSalamanca, 71, 178, 223, 251, 268, 269, 296, 302, 305, 313, 376;\n  Bishop (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  University of, 258, 259.\n\nSan Antolin, 221, 224, 225, 375.\n\nSan Antonio de la Florida, 324.\n\nSan Astorgio, Bishop of Osma, 375.\n\nSan Atilano, Bishop of Zamora, 231, 381.\n\nSan Bartolomé (Salamanca), Chapel of, 263.\n\nSan Celedonio, 371.\n\nSancha, 162, 163, 176.\n\nSancho, Bishop of Calahorra, 198, 371.\n\nSancho, Count of Castile, 162, 233, 234, 293.\n\nSancho, Don, of Navarra, 192.\n\nSancho el Mayor, King of Navarra, 221, 222.\n\nSancti Emetrii, 188.\n\nSan Emeterio, 188, 197, 206, 371, 377.\n\nSan Emeterio, Church of (Santander), 189.\n\nSan Fernando, 25, 177-178.\n\nSan Francisco, Convent of, 113.\n\nSan Francisco el Grande (Madrid), 324.\n\nSan Froilan, 158, 372.\n\nSan Fruto, 312, 378.\n\nSan Hierateo, 312, 378.\n\nSan Ildefonso, Bishop of Toledo, 358, 379.\n\nSan Isidro (of Madrid), 324.\n\nSan Isidro, Church of (Madrid), 321, 325.\n\nSan Isidoro, Church of (Leon), 153, 162, 163, 164, 191, 324.\n\nSan Isidoro, 161, 162, 164.\n\nSan Juan de Baños, 165.\n\nSan Juan de Dios, Convent of, 334.\n\nSan Juan de los Reyes (Toledo), 355.\n\nSan Julian, 345.\n\nSan Justo, 330, 331, 333, 374.\n\nSan Justo, Church of (Alcalá de Henares), 328.\n\nSan Pastor, 330, 331, 333, 374.\n\nSan Salvador, 370.\n\nSan Segundo, 303.\n\nSanta Clara (Segovia), 316.\n\nSanta Maria de la Blanca (Leon), 372.\n\nSanta Maria la Blanca (Toledo), 354.\n\nSanta Maria la Madre (Orense), 114.\n\nSanta Maria la Madre (Tuy), 120-130.\n\nSanta Maria la Redonda, 204.\n\nSantander, 69, 188-191, 197, 277;\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nSantiago, 75-88, 91, 92, 97, 102, 103, 104, 116, 131, 167, 176, 199, 377;\n  Archbishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nSan Tomas (Toledo), 355.\n\nSanto Domingo, 203.\n\nSanto Domingo de la Calzada, 197, 199, 200, 202-204, 371. 378;\n  Church of (_See_ under Churches).\n\nSan Toribio (Astorga), 369;\n  (Palencia), 375.\n\nSan Vicente, 152, 303.\n\nSaracens, The, 213, 312.\n\nSaragosse, 67, 167, 196, 197, 203;\n  Church (_See_ under Churches).\n\nSardinero, 190.\n\nScipio, 209.\n\nSegovia, 71, 253, 303, 312, 313, 325, 349, 378;\n  Bishop (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nSeguncia (or Segoncia), _See_ Sigüenza.\n\nSempach, 145.\n\nSevilla, 67, 91, 161, 189, 317;\n  Cathedral of, 187.\n\nSierra de Guaderrama, 66, 68, 174, 305.\n\nSierra de Gredos, 66, 302, 349.\n\nSierra de Gata, 66, 69, 278.\n\nSigüenza, 70, 71, 335-341, 343, 379;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nSilvano, Bishop of Calahorra, 198, 371.\n\nSimón, Bishop of Burgos, 370.\n\nSinfosio, 170.\n\nSisnando, Bishop of Santiago, 377.\n\nSohail, 21-22.\n\nSoria, 71, 209-212, 213, 379;\n  Church of (_See_ under Churches).\n\nState Archives Building (Alcalá), 327.\n\nStreet, 87, 107.\n\nSt. Astorgio, 213.\n\nSt. Francis of Assisi, 271.\n\nSt. James, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 88, 138, 213, 323, 353;\n  Chapel of (Leon), 159.\n\nSt. Martin, 111, 114.\n\nSt. Martin of Tours (Cathedral), 374.\n\nSt. Paul, 312.\n\nSt. Peter, 213, 352.\n\nSt. Peter's at Rome, 300.\n\nSt. Thomas of Canterbury, Chapel of, 338.\n\nSt. Saturnin (Toulouse), 82.\n\nSuevos, 111, 122;\n  King of, 114, 170.\n\n\nTago River, 278, 280, 349, 352, 353, 354, 356, 359.\n\nTalavera, 361.\n\nTarik, 22.\n\nTarragon, 67, 167, 197, 219, 335.\n\nTavera, Bishop of Toledo, 274.\n\nTheodomio, 198.\n\nTheodosio, Bishop of Iria, 76, 77, 78.\n\nTheotocopuli, Domenico, 357.\n\nTitian, 361.\n\nTolaitola (_See_ Toledo).\n\nToledo, 67, 68, 70, 71, 91, 123, 146, 150, 167, 171, 178, 237, 251, 278,\n280, 285, 286, 304, 307, 322, 327, 328, 329, 335, 342, 349-368, 379;\n  Alcázar, 336, 350, 356;\n  Archbishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral (_See_ under Cathedrals);\n  Council of, 213, 253, 279, 312, 335.\n\nTomb, Bishop Tostado, 311, 370;\n  Carillo (Alcalá), 333, 334;\n  Cisneros (Alcalá), 333, 334;\n  Condestable, 186;\n  Diego de Anaya (Salamanca), 263;\n  Maria del Salto, 320;\n  Prince Don Pedro, 320.\n\nToribio, 170, 220, 224.\n\nToro, 71, 233, 244-250, 279, 302, 380;\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nTorquemada, 27.\n\nTostado, Bishop, Tomb of, 311, 370.\n\nTours, 22, 114.\n\nTower de la Trinidad (Santiago), 83, 378.\n\nTower of Hercules, 89, 90.\n\nTrajanus, 151, 303.\n\nTransition Art, 60.\n\nTuy, 70, 71, 91, 110, 111, 120-130, 131, 146, 167, 168, 380;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\n\nUniversity of Alcalá de Henares, 328.\n\nUniversity of Palencia, 223, 224, 258.\n\nUniversity of Salamanca, 258, 259.\n\nUrbano II., 231.\n\nUrbano IV., 224.\n\nUrraca, Doña, 162, 233, 234, 235, 236.\n\n\nVacceos, 219.\n\nValdejunquera, Battle of, 175.\n\nValencia, 66, 67, 254.\n\nValencia Cupola, 118.\n\nValença do Minho, 120.\n\nValentine, 312.\n\nValladolid, 67, 70, 71, 72, 178, 189, 223, 244, 293-301, 303, 314, 335, 380;\n  Bishop of (_See_ under Bishops);\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nVallisoletum, 293.\n\nVan Dyck, 195.\n\nVela, Count of, 163.\n\nVenta de Baños, 57, 225.\n\nVeremundo, 171.\n\nVigo, 110, 113, 131-133;\n  Church of (_See_ under Churches).\n\nVillamayor, 96.\n\nVillavieja, 335.\n\nVinuesa, 209.\n\nVirgin de la Atocha, 324.\n\nVirgin de la Almudena, 324, 325, 374.\n\nViriato, 278.\n\nVisigoths, The, 20, 24, 122, 152, 220, 327, 353.\n\nVitoria, 69, 192-195, 381;\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\n\nWar for Independence, 164.\n\nWellington, Duke of, 272.\n\nWestern Castile, 69; Art of, 59.\n\nWitiza, 122, 123, 146, 167.\n\n\nYañez, Juan, Bishop of Cuenca, 343, 372.\n\nYuste, 283.\n\n\nZadorria River, 193.\n\nZamora, 71, 230-243, 244, 246, 269, 279, 293, 380;\n  Cathedral of (_See_ under Cathedrals).\n\nZaragoza (_See_ Saragosse).\n\nZeth, 279.\n\nZorilla, 352.\n\nZurbaran, 229, 283.\n\nZuñigas, 286.\n\nZuñiguez, 298.\n\n\n\n[Note of Transcriber of the ebook]\n\nChanges made:\n\nSIGUENZA => SIGÜENZA {2}\n\nAl-Karica => Al-Kárica {1}\n\nAlargón => Alagón\n\nBartolome => Bartolomé\n\nGuadalquiver => Guadalquivir\n\nIsidore => Isidoro {2 page 163}\n\nProtogones => Protogenes {2}\n\nTheodosia => Theodosio {1 index}\n\ndia de Zamora => día de Zamora {1}\n\ndespues de opípera cena => después de opípara cena {1}\n\nNeustra Señora => Nuestra Señora {1 index}\n\nDel Obisco => Del Obispo {1 index}\n\nMaria Del Sarto => Maria Del Salto {2}\n\nManuza => Munuza {1 index}\n\nConstitutión => Constitución {1 index}\n\nTalaitola => Tolaitola {1 index}\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Cathedrals of Northern Spain, by Charles Rudy", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31965", "title": "The Cathedrals of Northern Spain\r\nTheir History and Their Architecture; Together with Much of Interest Concerning the Bishops, Rulers and Other Personages Identified with Them", "author": "", "publication_year": 1906, "metadata_title": "The Cathedrals of Northern Spain", "metadata_author": "Charles Rudy", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:17.508339", "source_chars": 418986, "chars": 418986, "talkie_tokens": 101809}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by Chuck Greif and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images\ngenerously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)\n\n\n\n      file which includes the numerous original illustrations.\n      See 31966-h.htm or 31966-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31966/31966-h/31966-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31966/31966-h.zip)\n\n\n      http://www.archive.org/details/cathedralsofspai00gadeiala\n\n\n\n\nCATHEDRALS OF SPAIN\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nNEW CATHEDRAL]\n\n[Illustration: SALAMANCA]\n\n\nCATHEDRALS OF SPAIN\n\nby\n\nJOHN ALLYNE GADE\n\nFully Illustrated\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBoston and New York\nHoughton Mifflin Company\nThe Riverside Press Cambridge\n1911\n\nCopyright, 1911, by John A. Gade\nAll Rights Reserved\n\nPublished February 1911\n\n\n\nTO\nTHE LAST CHÂTELAINE\nOF FROGNER HOVEDGAARD\n\nIN REVERENCE, GRATITUDE\nAND AFFECTION\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn the last dozen years many English books on Spain have appeared. They\nhave dealt with their subject from the point of view of the artist or\nthe historian, the archæologist, the politician, or the mere sight-seer.\nThe student of architecture, or the traveler, desiring a more intimate\nor serious knowledge of the great cathedrals, has had nothing to consult\nsince Street published his remarkable book some forty years ago. There\nhave been artistic impressions, as well as guide-book recitations, by\nthe score. Some have been excellent, though few have surpassed the older\nones of Dumas, père, and Gautier, or Baedeker's later guide-book. A year\nago appeared the second and last volume of Señor Lamperez y Romea's\n\"Historia de la Arquitectura Cristiana Española en la Edad Media,\" a\nwork so comprehensive and scholarly that it practically stands alone.\n\nIt has seemed to me that certain buildings, and especially cathedrals,\ncannot be properly studied quite apart from what surrounds them, or from\ntheir past history. To look comprehendingly up at cathedral vaults and\nspires, one must also look beyond them at the city and the people and\ntimes that created them. In some such setting, the study of Avila,\nSalamanca the elder and the younger, Burgos, Toledo, Leon, Segovia,Seville, and \nGranada is here attempted, in the hope it will not prove\ntoo technical for the ordinary traveler, nor too superficial for the\nstudent of architecture. The cathedrals selected cover nearly all\nperiods of Gothic art, as interpreted in Spain, as well as the earlier\nRomanesque and succeeding Renaissance, with which the Gothic was\nmingled. All the great churches were the work of different epochs and\nconsequently contain several styles of architecture. The series here\ndescribed is very incomplete, but the book would have grown too bulky\nhad it included Santiago da Compostella with its heavenly portal, and\nBarcelona or Gerona, Lerida or Tudela.\n\nWhether we read a page of Cervantes, or gaze on one of Velasquez's\nfaces, or wander through one of the grand cathedrals of Spain, we\nrealize that this great world-empire has never ceased to exist in\nmatters of art, but still in the twentieth century must rouse our wonder\nand admiration. In barren deserts, on parched and lonely plains, amid\nhovels crumbling to decay, still stand the monuments of Spain's\ngreatness. But if nowhere else in the world can one find such glorious\nworks of art surrounded by such squalor, let us draw from the past the\npromise of a revival in Spain of all that constitutes the true greatness\nof a nation. In the fourth century, Bishop Hosius of Cordova was, from\nevery point of view, the first living churchman--Cordova itself became,\nunder the Ammeyad Caliphs in the tenth century, the most civilized, the\nmost learned, and the loveliest capital in Europe. Three hundred years\nlater, Alfonso X of Castile was not only a distinguished linguist and\npoet, but the greatest astronomer and lawgiver of his age. When the\nSpanish people have once more made education as general as it was under\nthe accomplished Arabs, and adopted the division of power insisted on\nin a letter from Bishop Hosius to the Emperor Constantius, \"Leave\necclesiastical affairs alone.... We are not allowed to rule the earth,\"\nthey will take the rank their character and genius deserve among the\nnations. Their cathedrals will then stand in an environment befitting\ntheir grandeur, a society which will help them to transmit to coming\ngenerations the noblest, imperishable hopes of humanity.\n\nJOHN ALLYNE GADE.\n\nNEW YORK CITY.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n      I. SALAMANCA          1\n\n     II. BURGOS            31\n\n    III. AVILA             65\n\n     IV. LEON              89\n\n      V. TOLEDO           119\n\n     VI. SEGOVIA          165\n\n    VII. SEVILLE          189\n\n   VIII. GRANADA          237\n\n         BOOKS CONSULTED  267\n\n         INDEX            269\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nNEW CATHEDRAL OF SALAMANCA (page 24)                       _Frontispiece_\n\nCATHEDRALS OF SALAMANCA: The towers of the old and new buildings       3\n\nCATHEDRALS OF SALAMANCA: Plans                                         6\n\nTHRESHING OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF SALAMANCA                              10\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SALAMANCA: The Tower of the Cock                         16\n\nSALAMANCA: From the Vega                                              28\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS: West front                                       33\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS: Plan                                             36\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS: View of the nave                                 40\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS: Lantern over the crossing                        46\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS: The Golden Staircase                             50\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS: The Chapel of the Constable                      54\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS: The spires above the house-tops                  58\n\nCATHEDRAL OF AVILA                                                    67\n\nCATHEDRAL OF AVILA: Plan                                              68\n\nCATHEDRAL OF AVILA: Exterior of the apse turret                       72\n\nAVILA: From outside the walls                                         80\n\nCATHEDRAL OF AVILA: Main entrance                                     86\n\nCATHEDRAL OF LEON: From the southwest                                 91\n\nCATHEDRAL OF LEON: Plan                                               94\n\nCATHEDRAL OF LEON: Looking up the nave                                98\n\nCATHEDRAL OF LEON: Rear of apse                                      104\n\nCATHEDRAL OF TOLEDO                                                  121\n\nCATHEDRAL OF TOLEDO: Plan                                            124\n\nCATHEDRAL OF TOLEDO: The choir stalls                                140\n\nCATHEDRAL OF TOLEDO: Chapel of Santiago, tombs of Alvaro\nde Luna and his spouse                                               158\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEGOVIA                                                 167\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEGOVIA: Plan                                           170\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEGOVIA: From the Plaza                                 176\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE: The Giralda, from the Orange Tree Court        191\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE: Plan                                           194\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE: Gateway of Perdon in the Orange Tree Court     210\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE AND THE GIRALDA                                 228\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA: West front                                     239\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA: Plan                                           242\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA: The exterior cornices of the Royal Chapel      248\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA: The reja enclosing the\nRoyal Chapel and tombs of the Catholic Kings                         256\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA: The tombs of the Catholic Kings,\nof Philip and of Queen Juana                                         262\n\n\n\n\n\nSALAMANCA\n\n[Illustration: Photo by Author\n\nCATHEDRALS OF SALAMANCA\n\nThe towers of the old and new buildings]\n\n\n\n\nCATHEDRALS OF SPAIN\n\n\n\n\n\nSALAMANCA\n\n    In quella parte ove surge ad aprire\n      Zeffiro dolce le novelle fronde,\n      Di che si vede Europa rivestire.\n\n    _Paradiso_, c. XII, l. 46.\n\n\n\nNowhere else in Spain, and certainly in few places outside her borders,\ncan one take in the whole architectural development of successive styles\nand ages so comprehensively as in Salamanca. Byzantine and Romanesque,\nGothic from its first fire to the last flicker and coldness of the\nashes, and the triumphant domination of the reborn classicism,--all are\nmassed together here.\n\nContrasts are eloquent to belittle or magnify. Here two cathedrals stand\nside by side, the older from the days of the Kingdom, a mere chapel in\nsize compared to the larger and later expression of Imperial Spain. A\nDavid beside a Goliath, simple power by the side of ponderous\nself-assurance. Rude in its simplicity, seemingly unconscious of its\ngreat inheritance and the genius it embodies, the old church stands a\nmonument of early virile effort, in strength and poetry akin to the\nwind-swept rocks round which still whisper mysterious Oriental legends.\nThe huge bulk that overshadows it betrays exhausted vigor and a decadent\nform. Here is simplicity by complexity, majestic sobriety close to\nwanton magnificence, poise by restlessness; each speaks the language of\nthe age that conceived and brought it forth. Proximity has compelled the\nodiousness of comparison, for you can never see the later Cathedral\napart from the old. You are haunted by the salience of their divergency,\nthe importance of their contrasts, until their meaning becomes so far\nclear to you that the solid blocks of the ancient temple seem to\nsymbolize the Church Militant and Triumphant. That indomitable spirit\ndid not meet you under the mighty arches of the newer church, but go\ninto the hushed perfection of those abandoned walls and walk along the\ndismantled nave and you will repeat the old epithet coupled with the\ncity, \"Fortis Salamanca!\"\n\nThis once famous town lay in a curious setting as seen from the\ncock-tower in the month of August. Here and there were rusty,\ncopper-colored fields, where the plow had just furrowed the surface.\nThere were vineyards in which the sandy, white mounds were tufted by the\ndeep emerald of the grape-vines, but the prevailing color was the yellow\nstraw of harvested fields. These were a busy scene,--laborers were\ndriving their oxen harnessed to primitive carts and treading out the\ngrain as in olden times. They made their rounds between the high yellow\ncones built up of grain-stalks and filled the hot air with golden dust.\n\nThis is Salamanca of to-day, seemingly robbed of all but her rich\nvowels. The whole city, like her two cathedrals, bears traces of the\ndynasties that have swept over her. Their footprints are everywhere.\nHannibal's legions passed through Roman Salmantica on their victorious\nmarch to Rome, and the city soon afterwards became a military station in\nthe province of Lusitania. Plutarch praises the valor of her women. Age\nafter age generals have built her bridges and the towers and walls that\nsurround the valley and the three hills, on one of which stands her\nsupreme mediæval creation.\n\nFrom the eighth century Salamanca became an apple of discord between\nMoslem bands and the forces of early Castilian kings, Crescent and Cross\nconstantly supplanting each other on her turrets. Not until the latter\nhalf of the eleventh century, in the days of King Alfonso VI, were the\nMoors driven south of Leon, and Salamanca could at last claim to be body\nand soul Christian. The safety of the city was finally assured by\nAlfonso's conquest of Toledo.\n\nThe university, destined to become so famous, was founded by Alfonso IX\nabout 1230. Among the Arab rulers in Spain, there were not a few as\neager as their co-believers in eastern Islam to learn all that the\ncivilized world could teach in art and science. The Caliphate of Cordova\nhad from the tenth century drawn to its schools and academies\nproficients in astronomy, mathematics, and jurisprudence, as well as in\nthe more graceful arts of music, rhetoric, and poetry. The monks of\nCluny, belonging to the Order of Saint Benedict, then the most\ninfluential in Europe, now became domiciled in Salamanca under the\nprotection of King Alfonso. They contributed the arts of France,\npreëminently architecture, and the training of their order as\ninstructors and veracious compilers of historical annals to the learning\nand skill already established by the followers of Mahomet in several\ncities of the Spanish Peninsula. Thus the science and arts of the Orient\njoined forces with those of the Occident within the strong walls of\nSalamanca and founded there an illustrious seat of learning. Only three\nuniversities, Oxford,[1] Paris, and Bologna, could boast a greater age,\nbut Salamanca soon attained such eminence as to rank with these by papal\ndecree among the \"four lamps of the world.\" In the sixteenth century,\nshe numbered over seven thousand scholars. Among those destined to\nbecome famous in the world's history were Saint Dominic, Ignatius\nLoyola, Fray Luis of Leon, and Calderon.\n\nTo-day solitude and intellectual stagnation reign in the halls and\ncourts of this once renowned university. In a few half-empty\nlecture-rooms the rustic now receives an elementary education, as he\nlistens to the cathedral chimes across the sunlit courtyard.\n\nWithin the crumbling crenelations of the ancient battlements twenty-four\nonce large parishes are more or less abandoned or laid waste with their\nconvents, monasteries, and palaces.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLANS OF NEW AND OLD CATHEDRALS OF SALAMANCA\n\n    A. Old Cathedral.\n    B. New Cathedral.\n    C, C. Crossing.\n    D. Cloisters.\n    E. Choir.\n    F. Apse.\n    G, G. Apsidal Chapels.\n    H. Altar.]\n\nThe history of Salamanca's ecclesiastical architecture is connected with\nthe campaigns which were carried on in Castile and Leon at the end of\nthe eleventh and the beginning of the twelfth centuries. These had\nestablished the dominion of King Alfonso VI, and the great influence\nof the distinguished immigrant prelates of the French orders. King\nAlfonso left Castile to his daughter Urraca, who, with her husband,\nCount Raymond of Burgundy, settled in Salamanca. The old city, which had\nsuffered so long and terribly from the successive fortunes of war and\nits quickly shifting masters, was once more to feel the blessings of law\nand order. To replace its sad depopulation, Count Raymond allotted the\nvarious portions of the city to newcomers of the most different\nnationalities,--Castilians, Gallegos, Mozarabes, Basques, and Gascons.\nAmong them were naturally pilgrims and monks, who played an important\npart in every colonizing enterprise of the day, introducing new ideas,\narts, and craftsmen's skill. After his conquest of Toledo, Alfonso VIplaced on \nthe various episcopal thrones of his new dominion Benedictine\nmonks of Cluny,--men of unusual ability and energy. The great Bernard,\nwho had been crowned Archbishop of Toledo, had brought with him many\nbrethren from the mother house, whose patrimony was architecture. Among\nthem was a young Frenchman from Périgueux in Aquitaine, Jeronimo\nVisquio, whose ability as organizer and builder, up to the time of his\ndeath in 1120, left great results wherever he labored, and most\nespecially in Salamanca. He was the personification of the Church\nMilitant of his time,--fighting side by side with the most romantic hero\nof Spanish history and legend, confessing him on his death-bed, and\nfinally consigning him to his tomb. Jeronimo was transferred from the\nSee of Valencia to that of Zamora, to which Salamanca was subject, and\nshortly afterwards Salamanca was elevated to episcopal dignity by Pope\nCalixtus II, Count Raymond's brother. Even in the days of the Goths, we\nfind mention of prelates of Salamanca who voiced their ideas in the\nCouncils of Toledo, and later followed, for such scanty protection as it\noffered, the Court of the early Castilian kings. In calling Jeronimo to\nSalamanca, Raymond had, however, a very different purpose in mind from\nthat of attaching to his court an already celebrated churchman. He\nunderstood the vital importance of building up within his city a\npowerful episcopal seat with a great church. Grants and other assistance\nwere at once given the churchman and were in fact continued through\nsuccessive reigns until, with indulgences, benefices, and privileges, it\ngrew to be a feudal power. As late as the fifteenth century, the workmen\nof the Cathedral were exempted from tributes and duties by the Spanish\nkings.[2] During the first years of Jeronimo's activity and the earliest\nwork on the building, we find curious descriptions of how the Moorish\nprisoners were put to work on the walls, even to the number of \"five\nhundred Moslem carpenters and masons.\"\n\nThe Cathedral stands upon one of the hills of the old city. The exact\ndate of its inception, as well as the name of the original architect, is\ndoubtful, but it is certain that it was begun not long after the year\n1100. At Jeronimo's death it could not have been far advanced, but the\ncrossing and the Capilla Mayor could be consecrated and employed for\nservices in the middle of the century, and the first cloisters were\nbuilt soon after. The nave and side aisles followed, their arches being\nclosed in the middle of the thirteenth century. The lantern was probably\nplaced over the crossing as late as the year 1200. Following an order\ninverse to that pursued by later Gothic architects, the Romanesque\nbuilders finished their work with the eastern end.\n\nIts building extended over long periods marked by a gain in confidence\nand skill and a development of architectural style, so that in its\nstones we may read a most interesting story of different epochs, and to\nserious students of church-building, the old Cathedral of Salamanca is\npossibly the most interesting edifice in Spain. It is magnificent in its\nearly, virile manhood. The tracing of the many and varied influences is\nas fascinating as it is bewildering. Every student and authority on the\nsubject has a new conception or some definite final conclusion in regard\nto its many surprising elements. No student of Spanish architecture has\nstudied its origin with greater insight or knowledge than Señor Don\nLamperez y Romea in his recent luminous work on Spanish ecclesiastical\narchitecture.\n\nTo say that the old Cathedral was wholly a French importation would be\nunjust; to speak of it as sprung entirely from native precedents and\ninspiration would show equal ignorance. No, there were many and subtle\ninfluences affecting its original conception and formation; first of all\nand naturally, those derived from Burgundy, now only partially visible,\nas for instance the vaulting of the nave. These precedents have been\naltered or concealed in the evolution of the building. Byzantine\ninfluences follow,--most obvious in the magnificent dome crowning the\ncrossing. The School of Aquitaine of course made itself felt through\nBishop Jeronimo as well as several of his successors. Great portions are\nGothic, slightly visible in some of the later exterior work, but\nthroughout in the last interior portions of the great arches and vaults.\n\nAfter carefully considering all these influences and going to their\nroots, we may conclude that the old Cathedral of Salamanca is both in\nplan and structure a Romanesque church of the Burgundian School built on\nSpanish soil by French monks from Cluny, who in their new surroundings\nwere strongly affected by Byzantine and Oriental influences and possibly\nby the original Spanish or Moorish development of the dome. At a later\ndate, under Aquitaine bishops, certain forms of vaulting characteristic\nof their region were adopted as well as devices to bring about the\ntransition between the circular dome and the square base.\n\nStrange to say it is a Romanesque church erected at the time when what\nare regarded as the finest Gothic cathedrals were being built in France.\nThe Spaniard clung more tenaciously to the older style, which in many\nways adapted itself better to his climate and requirements, while it\neasily flowed into native streams of inspiration to form with them a\nmighty whole. The church is neither French nor Spanish nor Arab nor\nItalian in its various composition, but distinctly Romanesque in\nspirit.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by Author\n\nTHRESHING OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF SALAMANCA]\n\nThe plan is in general that of the old basilica: a nave with side aisles\nof five bays, a crossing prolonged one bay to the south beyond the side\naisle, while to the east the nave and side aisles all terminate in a\nsemicircular apsidal chapel. A portion of the southern wall of the huge\nnew Cathedral replaces the northern one of the old church by encroaching\non its side aisle. A flight of eighteen broad stone steps occupies the\nnorthern bay of the old Cathedral's crossing and leads from its\nconsiderably lower pavement up to the level of the new one. To the south\nlie the great cloisters. It was a plan which for its time was\nundoubtedly as magnificent in scale as it seemed diminutive and\ninsignificant in the sixteenth century when the new Cathedral was built.\n\nThe massiveness on which the old Romanesque builders depended to obtain\ntheir elevations and support the great weight is most impressive. The\nouter walls have in some places a thickness of ten feet and the piers\nare much larger in section than those of the new Cathedral which carry\nvaults soaring far above the roof of the earlier structure. The choir\nhad formerly blocked the clear run of the nave; to the good fortune of\nthe old church and the injury of the new, this was removed to the latter\nwhen it was sufficiently advanced to receive it. Unfortunately, the plan\nof the west front was very radically disturbed by the building of the\nnew Cathedral, the two old towers flanking the entrance being removed\nand a narrow passage, which leads into the nave through the immense\nlater masses of masonry, taking the place of the old entrance. The nave\nis 33 feet wide, 190 feet long and 60 feet high; the side aisles are 20\nfeet broad, 180 feet long and 40 feet high, thus surprisingly high in\nproportion to the nave.\n\nThe main piers which subdivide nave and side aisles are most\ninteresting, as their greater portion belongs to the original structure.\nThey are faced by semicircular shafts which carry simple, unmolded,\ntransverse ribs in the central aisle. A small additional columnar\nsection is seen in the angles of the piers, supporting in an awkward\nposition, with the assistance of the interposed corbel, molded, diagonal\nvaulting ribs. Columns, reaching to about two thirds of the height of\nthe tall shafts of the nave, carry the arches separating nave from side\naisles. The undecorated base-molds of the total composite piers are all\nsupported upon a heavy, widely projecting, common drum, a curious\nremnant of the earlier single Byzantine pillar of but one body and base.\n\nThe capitals are among the great glories of the edifice. They are\nremarkable from every point of view, and among the finest Byzantine\nextant, comparable to the best of Saint Mark's or of Sancta Sofia. The\nacanthus leaves are carved with all the jewel-like sparkle and crispness\nand the play of light and shade of the best period; the life and spring\nof a living stem are in them. Their oriental parentage is apparent at a\nglance. Much of the carving is alive with all the fancy and imagination\nof the day,--beasts and monsters, real and mythical animals, masks and\ncontorted human figures and devils interlace on the bells and peer out\nfrom the foliage. The execution is quite unrestrained. It has a\ndivergency which must have had its unconscious origin in the different\nantique caps serving again in the early Byzantine edifices. The ancient\ncarvers must have realized the full importance of sculptural relief in\ntheir poorly lighted edifices. Again, the corbels which carry the\ndiagonal ribs are formed by crude contorted beings and animals, in some\ninstances bearing figures leaning against the lower surfaces of the\ndiagonal ribs and intended still further to conceal its faulty spring.\nAt the intersections of the diagonal ribs are bosses with figures at the\nsalient points.\n\nWith an astonishment verging on incredulity, we look up at the vaulting\nsupported by these piers. In place of the great Burgundian barrel vaults\nabove the nave and semicircular arches between nave and side aisles,\nthere are pointed Gothic transverse arches and quadripartite vaulting of\nlow spring and simplest sections, but nevertheless ogival. It is evident\nboth by the appearance of shafts, as well as by other indications, that\nit could not have been the original construction, but rather one reached\nat a later day when the new art was supplanting the old, a substitution\nfor the original Romanesque vaulting; the upper windows and the most\nglorious lantern are all constructed in the Romanesque style to which\nthe Spanish builders clung so long and tenaciously in preference to the\nsubtle and nervous French Gothic which suited neither their temperament\nnor conditions. The church must originally have been carried out in\ntheir more native art, which they better understood.\n\nThe western termination of the church is formed by three semicircular\napses crowned by semicircular vaults. In the central one, closed from\nthe transept by a simple iron reja, stands the high altar backed by a\ngreat Gothic retablo of fifty-five panels and crowned in the vaulting by\na most remarkable painting. In the walls of the niches is a series of\ntombs of persons with varying claims to our interest and esteem. Its\noriginal exclusiveness in the reception of royal princes of pure lineage\ngave way in the thirteenth century to admit princesses and bastards.\nHere lies the Dean of Santiago and Archdeacon of Salamanca, a natural\nson of the King of Leon. His mother, owing to her short-comings, got no\nfarther than the cloister vaults. Some one has extracted from the\narchives of the old Cathedral the origin of the ancient mural decoration\nabove the high altar. On the 15th of December, 1445, the Chapter engaged\nthe services of Nicholas Florentino, painter, who for a consideration of\n75,000 maravedis \"of current white Castilian money, which is worth two\nold white ones and three new,\" promised to complete the painting \"from\ntop to bottom.\" On a rich blue background the Supreme Judge stands in\nthe centre; to the right, is a regiment of the dead clad in white\nraiment, graciously welcomed by angels with trumpets; on the left, the\ndamned are being hustled into hell by devils. As a well-preserved\nexample of very ancient Spanish painting, it certainly is of intrinsic\nvalue and interest and recalls the naïve representations of early\nItalian artists.\n\nIt is unusually well lighted for a Romanesque church, which is naturally\nowing to the dome and not to the various windows or roses. There is no\ntriforium, but the side walls, transepts, and apses are pierced by\nopenings of true Romanesque type. The thick masonry has been most\ntimidly pierced for narrow, round-headed slits of light, with splayed\njambs and colonettes engaged to their sides carrying the typically\nornamented archmolds enframing the whole. The stone mullions of the two\nremaining roses are equally timid and typical, but have not suffered\nlike the windows from the encroachment of the new edifice.\n\nThe pavement undulates like that of Saint Mark's. High above the\ncrossing of nave and transepts rises the tower flooding the church with\nlight and internally as well as externally expressing one of the\ngrandest architectural conceptions of the Spanish Peninsula.\n\nSuperlatives can alone describe the Torre del Gallo,--truly a product\nand glory of Spanish soil. Many writers have argued its similarity to\nthe domes of Aquitaine churches, to Saint Front of Périgueux and others,\nbut it is distinctly different from and far superior to those with which\nit has been compared in the magnificently interposed members of the\ndrum, which shed light into the church through their openings and raise\nthe cupola high enough to make of it a finely proportioned, crowning\nmember. The cupola alone, certainly not the general disposition, may be\nregarded as a copy of earlier examples.\n\nThe internal and external cores have been admirably managed, the outer\none being much higher to be in correct proportion to the surrounding\nmasonry which it crowns. The interior transition from the square to the\nround base, twenty-eight feet in diameter, is rather clumsily managed.\nThe successive masonry courses of the angles step out in Byzantine\nfashion in front of each other. The four piers of the crossing, upon\nwhich the pendentives descend, are no larger than the main piers of the\nnave. Above the pendentives which stand out, in their undecorated\nmasonry, the circle is girdled by a carved cyma, above which rises a\ndouble arcade of sixteen arches, each arch flanked by strong and simple\ncolumns with Byzantine caps of barely indicated foliage. Powerful,\nintermediate columnar shafts separate the superimposed arcades and carry\non their caps the sixteen ribs that shoot upwards and meet in the great\nfloral boss at the apex of the inner dome. The lower arcades are\nsemicircular, the upper, trefoiled, while the intermediate shafts are\nbroken by two band-courses. All the moldings, and especially the\nenergetic, muscular ribs, are splendidly simple and vigorous in their\nundecorated profiles. The lower arcade is blind, the upper admits light\nthrough timidly slender apertures, with the exception of every fourth\narch, which coincides with an exterior turret.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SALAMANCA\n\nThe Tower of the Cock]\n\nExternally the lantern is even more remarkable than internally. As seen\nfrom within, it is faced alternately by four tympanums and four turrets.\nThese are broken by long, narrow, round-headed openings, vivified by\nball moldings ornamenting the heavy rounding of their splays. The\ntympanums, as well as the windows between them, and the turrets are\nflanked by a series of Romanesque columns. Their grouping, the deep\nreveals and resulting shadows, the play of light and shade brought out\nin the foliage of their various caps, which is but indicated in the\nsimple manner of the style, and the adjacent moldings, all give a most\narchaic impression. The roofing of the turrets, as well as that of the\nouter dome, suggests a stone coat-of-mail. The flags are laid in\nscallops or stepped rows, like the scales of a fish, giving a far\ntighter joint than the stone channels covering the roofing of Avila\nCathedral. The outline of the dome is that of a cone with a slightly\nmodulated curve, perhaps unconsciously affected by a Moorish\ndelineation. The angles are marked by bold crockets. Above, crowning the\napex, perches the cock, gayly facing whatever part of the heavens the\nwind blows from. There is an everlasting triumph in it all, reminding\none not a little of that won at a later date in Santa Maria del Fiore.\nSalamanca holds the religious triumph of a militant age; Florence, the\nsacred glory of an artistic one. The lofty aspiration, boldly hewn in\nthe Spanish fortress, is no less admirable than the constructive genius\nrounded in Brunelleschi's dome.\n\nThe remainder of the interior is now singularly undecorated and severe.\nThe entrance has been so much transformed by later additions that, in\nplace of the original portal and vestibule, there remains only a\nvestibule considerably narrower than the nave, compressed on one side by\nthe huge towers of the new Cathedral, and on the other by later\nalterations. The two older towers which contained, one the chimes and\nthe other the dwelling of the Alcaide, have quite disappeared. The\nvestibule has excellent allegorical sculptures and Gothic statuary.\n\nThe northern aisle still has a few mural paintings, but the larger part\nof those which once illuminated the bare walls were washed off by a\nbigoted prelate in the fifteenth century and the present gray of the\nstone, as seen in the dim light, looks cold compared to the rich gold of\nthe exterior masonry bathed in sunshine. The excellence of the vaulting\nis such that to-day hardly a fissure or crack is visible. The old\npavement consists of great rectangles marked by red sandstone borders\nand bluestone centre slabs, the size of a grave, with central dowels for\nlifting and closing. In the southern transept-arm leading to the\ncloisters, some of the original windows are still preserved with their\nfine columns, archivolts, and carved moldings. The ribs of the vaults\nare decorated by zigzag ornamentation, and here a few magnificent old\ntombs remain intact in their ancient niches.\n\nThere is, properly speaking, no exterior elevation of the whole\nstructure. The western front is hidden by the modernization, the north\nand south, by the new Cathedral, the cloisters, and squalid, encumbering\nwalls and chapels. From the \"Patio Chico\" alone, the old structure can\nbe seen unobstructed. The curves of the apses bulge out like\nfull-bellied sails, their great masonry surfaces broken by the small\nwindows, which are cut with enormous splays and encased and arched by\ntypical Romanesque features, the windows protected by heavy Moorish\ngrilles. Engaged shafts run up the sides of the central apse to below a\nquatrefoil gallery, originally a shelter for the archers stationed to\ndefend the building. Two fortress-towers formed the eastern angles north\nand south; the one to the north was removed in building the new\nCathedral. A scaled turret, broken by later Gothic pediments, crosses\nthe one remaining. Above all soars the dome, the inspiration of our\ngreatest American Romanesque temple, Trinity Church in Boston.\n\nAt the end of the twelfth century the houses of a sacrilegious Salamanca\ngentleman were confiscated and given to the Cathedral Chapter, who\nforthwith began the cloisters upon their site. They lie to the south and\nthus came to be planned and built into the original fabric and with\nRomanesque arches and wooden roof. They were practically entirely\nrebuilt in the fifteenth century and again restored in the eighteenth.\nCurious, elaborate, vaulted chapels--in one of which the Mozarabic rite,\nthe ancient Gothic ritual prolonged under Moslem rule, is still\noccasionally celebrated--adjoin it to the east and south. Recently, old\nByzantine niches and tombs, some of great interest, have been uncovered\nin the outer walls.\n\n\nII\n\n\"Most Reverend Father in Christ, Lord Cardinal, our much beloved and\nvery dear Friend; We the King and the Queen of Castile, of Leon, and of\nAragon, Sicily, etc., send this to salute you, as one whom we love and\nesteem highly, and to show we desire God may give life, health, and\nhonor, even to the extent of your own desire. We inform you that the\nCity of Salamanca is one of the most notable, populous, and principal\ncities of our kingdoms, in which there is a society of scholars, and\nwhere all sciences may be studied, and to which people from all states\ncontinually come. The Cathedral Church of the said city is very small,\ndark, and low, to such an extent that the divine services cannot be\ncelebrated in such a manner as they should be, especially during\nfeast-days when a large concourse of people streams to the Cathedral,\nand by the Grace of God, the said city increases and enlarges day by\nday. And considering the extreme narrowness of the said Church, the\nAdministrator and Dean and Chapter have agreed to rebuild it, making it\nas large as is necessary and convenient, according to the population of\nthe said city. This furthermore as the form and the fabric of the said\nChurch cannot be rebuilt without disfigurement. And in order to build\nbetter and promptly, as the said Church has a very small income, it is\nnecessary that our most Holy Father concede some indulgences in the form\nthat the Bishops of Vadajos and Astorga, our agents and emissaries to\nyour Court, will tell your Reverend Fatherhood, and we request you to\nbeseech His Holiness to concede the said indulgences. Therefore we\naffectionately beg you to undertake the matter in the manner which we\naffectionately supplicate, because our Lord will be served, and the\nDivine Service increased, and we will receive it from you in peculiar\ngratitude. Regarding this, we wrote details to the said bishops. We beg\nyou to give them credit and favor. Most Reverend Father in Christ, Lord\nCardinal, our very dear and beloved friend, may God our Lord at all\ntimes especially guard and favor your Reverend Fatherhood.\n\n\"I, THE KING, I, THE QUEEN.\n\nSEVILLE, the 17th day of February, in the ninety-first year.\"\n\nThat was the way the Catholic Kings wrote to the Cardinal of Angers to\nmake plain to him that the plain, dark, small, old Cathedral was no\nlonger in keeping with their glory or the times, and to begin the\nmovement for a larger edifice. The stern simplicity of the ancient\nChurch was indeed out of harmony with the brilliance and craving for\nlavish display and magnificent proportions which characterize the age of\nFerdinand and Isabella.\n\nPope Innocent VIII answered the appeal in the year 1491, granting\npermission for the transference of the services to a larger edifice more\nfitting the congregation of Salamanca, now at the zenith of its\nprosperity and academic renown. In 1508 Ferdinand passed through\nSalamanca, and was again sufficiently fired by religious zeal to issue\nthe following order: \"The King to the Master Mayor of the works of the\nChurch of Seville. Since it has now to be decided how the Church of\nSalamanca may be made, in order that its design may be made as it ought,\nI consent that you be present there. I charge and command you instantly\nto leave all other things, and come to the said City of Salamanca, that,\njointly with the other persons who are there, you may see the site where\nthe said Church has to be built, and may make a drawing for it, and in\nall things may give your judgment how it may be most suited to theDivine Worship \nand to the ornature of the said Church; which, having\ncome to pass, then your salary shall be paid, which I shall receive\nreturn for in this service. Done in Valladolid, the 23d day of November,\n1509.\"\n\nThe famous Master of Toledo, Anton Egas, received a similar summons\n(served in his absence on his two maids), but neither architect seems to\nhave been over-zealous in carrying out the royal commands, for next year\nQueen Juana, Ferdinand's daughter, growing impatient, writes again: \"Ifind it \nnow good, as I command you, that immediately that this my letter\nshall be made known to you, without making any excuse or delay, you go\nto the said City of Salamanca.\"\n\nThis produced the desired result, for the two delinquent architects\nhurried to the city, studied the conditions, and, after considerable\nsquabbling with each other and the Chapter, many drawings, and a lengthy\nreport, agreed to disagree. This was too much for the Bishop, and\nwithout further ado he summoned on the 3d of September, 1512, a famous\nconclave of all the celebrated architects in Spain to pass on the report\nof Egas of Toledo and Rodriguez of Seville and settle the matter. Here\nsat besides Egas, Juan Badajos, Juan Gil de Hontañon, Alfonso\nCovarrubias, Juan de Orazco, Juan de Alava, Juan Tornero, Rodrigo de\nSarabia and Juan Campero. The matter was thrashed out both as to site\nand form and a final report sent in, stating the result of their\ndeliberations, \"and as they were much learned and skilful men, and\nexperienced in their art, their opinion ought certainly to be acted on.\"\nHowever, to leave no further doubt, every one of them swore \"by God and\nSaint Mary, under whose protection the Church is, and upon the sign of\nthe Cross, upon which they all and each of them put their hands bodily,\nthat they had spoken the entire truth, which each of them did, saying,\n'So I swear, and Amen.'\" This settled the business. Three days\nafterwards, Juan Gil de Hontañon, the later builder of Segovia and\nrebuilder of the dome of Seville, was named Maestro Mayor and Juan\nCampero, his apprentice.\n\nOn a stone of the main façade there still stands an inscription\nrecording the solemn laying of the corner-stone on the 12th of May,\n1513. It was dedicated to the Mother and the Saviour. The wisest of the\nresolutions passed by this wisest of architectural bodies was the\nrecommendation to leave the old edifice undisturbed.\n\nWork was immediately started on the western entrance front and continued\nwith untiring energy by Juan Gil until his death in 1531. His two sons\nassisted him, and they were all constantly guided and aided by a body of\nthe most eminent Spanish architects who yearly visited the edifice. On\nthe death of Maestro Alvaro, six years later, Juan's son, Rodrigo Gil,\nwas selected as Maestro Mayor. He naturally tried to carry out all his\nfather had planned, building with equal rapidity and no less excellence.\nBy 1560 the work had been carried as far towards the east as the\ncrossing. Amid immense popular rejoicing, and with ecclesiastical pomp,\nthe Holy Sacrament was moved from the old Basilica to the new. \"Pio III\npapa, Philippe II rege, Francisco Manrico de Lara episcopo, ex vetere ad\nhoc templum facta translatio xxv mart. anno a Christo nato MDLX.\" This\nof course gave a new impetus to the work, and arch after arch, chapel on\nchapel, rapidly grew through the next decades. The bigoted Philip\nnaturally looked on with favoring eye.[3] Twice the work languished, but\nwas resumed through the waning period of the Gothic style. The new\nclassicism was triumphantly replacing the dying art, and the builders of\nSalamanca were sorely perplexed whether or not to make a radical\ndeparture to the newer style. Most fortunately, the conclave called\ntogether at this critical moment remained loyal to the original\nconception, and the Renaissance only took possession in ornamentation\nand the dome. Not until 1733 was the final \"translation\" celebrated.\nLater, earthquakes and lightning shook down both dome and tower, so that\npractically it was not till the nineteenth century that the last mortar\nwas dry. The building spanned a long and glorious epoch in the city's\nhistory, from a time when her imperial master ruled the world until a\nforeign upstart trampled her under foot.\n\nThe plan of the new Cathedral, like that of Seville, is an enormous\nrectangle of ten bays, resembling a huge mosque, 378 feet long by 181\nfeet wide. It consists of nave and double side aisles without projecting\ntransept; square chapels fill the outer aisles as well as the bays of\nthe eastern termination. After much discussion it was decided that the\nnave (130 feet high) should be about one third higher than the first\nside aisles; the chapels are 54 feet in height.\n\nThe choir blocks the third and fourth bays of the nave, while the\nCapilla Mayor occupies the eighth. Over the sixth soars the lantern. The\nplatform of the Patio Chico separates the sacristy and the old Cathedral\nthat practically abuts the entire southern front. At the southwestern\nangle, the intersection of the two cathedrals is hidden by the gigantic\ntower. The northern front is admirably free, the whole structure being\nvisible on its high granite platform. The western front is entered\nthrough the great triple doorway, the central being that of the\nNacimiento; the northern, through the Puerta de las Ramos, the southern,\nthrough the Puerta del Patio Chico.\n\nGlancing at the plan as a whole, one cannot but deplore that a\nconception of such daring proportions with no limitation of time nor\nmoney, having centuries and the wealth of the Indies to draw on, was not\nconceived with that most perfect of all Gothic developments, the\nsemicircular apsidal termination. The Spanish, as well as the customary\nEnglish eastern end, can never, from any standpoint of ingenuity or\nbeauty, be comparable to the amazing conceptions of Rheims or Amiens or\nParis.\n\nThe interior effect is expressed in one word,--\"grandiloquence.\" It is a\ntrue child of the age which conceived it, and the spirit which informed\nits erection. If the fabric of the old Cathedral is essentially\nRomanesque, with later Gothic ornamentation and constructional features,\nthe new is entirely Gothic, with Renaissance additions. The spirit and\nform are Gothic,--Spanish Gothic,--and one of its last sighs. The fire\nwas extinct. By display and sculptural fire-works, by bold flaunting of\nmechanical mastery, a last trial and glorious failure were made in an\nattempt to emulate the marvelous structural logic and simplicity which\nhad marked the Gothic edifices of an earlier age.\n\nThe blending of the two styles does not jar, but has been effected with\na harmony scarcely to be expected. If one were not hampered with an\narchitectural education, one could admire it all, instead of criticizing\nand wondering why a Renaissance lantern is raised upon a Gothic crown,\nand why a fine Renaissance balustrade above Gothic band-courses\nseparates the nave arches from its clerestory, while those of the side\naisles are separated by a Gothic one. The interior fabric itself is\nfine: it is more in detail, in the stringiness and multiplicity of\nmoldings, in the fineness, subdivision, and elaboration of carvings and\nornament that one feels the advancing degeneration. From being frank and\nsimple, it has become insincere and profuse.\n\nThe Gothic window openings, which had been steadily developing larger\nand bolder up to their culmination in the glorious conservatory of Leon,\nhad again grown smaller and more fitted to the climate. In Salamanca\nthey are small and high up. Nave and side aisles both carry\nclerestories; that of the nave consisting of seventy-two windows in\nalternate bays of three windows and two windows with circle above, that\nof the side aisle, of one large window subdivided within its own field.\nThe chapel walls are also pierced by smaller openings. Some have good\nthough not excellent coloring.\n\nThe form of the Renaissance lantern is not infelicitous, either from the\ninside or outside. It was first built by Sacchetti. The double base is\noctagonal, with corners strengthened by columns and pilasters and\nexecuted with much artistic skill. Were it not for the vulgar interior\ncoloring and ornamentation of cherubs, scrolls, and scallop shells,\ncontorted, disproportionate, and unmeaning, its high, brilliantly\nlighting semicircle might be pleasing. Horrible decoration fills the\npanels of the octagonal base. The dome itself is almost as gaudily\ncolored.\n\nThe interior is built of a clear gray stone on which sparing employment\nof color in certain places is most effective. Thus in the bosses of the\nvaulting ribs throughout, in the capitals of the piers of nave and\ntransept, in the very elaborate fan-vaulting of the Capilla Mayor, and\nin the soffits of nave-clerestory, the blue and gold contrasts finely\nwith the cold gray surfaces. Renaissance medallions decorate the\nspandrels of the nave, but those of the side aisles bear the\ncoats-of-arms of the Cathedral and the City of Salamanca. A differently\ndesigned fan-vaulting spreads over every chapel. Great rejas enclose\nchoir and Capilla Mayor from the transept. The rear of the choir is\nbadly mutilated by a Baroque screen, while the sides and back of the\nhigh altar still consist of the rough blocks which have been waiting for\ncenturies to be carved. The choir-stalls are very late eighteenth\ncentury, a mass of over-elaborate detail, as fine as Grinling Gibbon's\ncarving, and if possible even more remarkable in the detail.\n\nThe west and north façades are, for a Spanish cathedral, singularly free\nand unencumbered. The west faces the old walls of the university. The\nentire composition is overshadowed by the tremendous tower that looms up\nfor miles around in the country. It is indeed \"Salamanca qui érige ses\nclochers rutilants sur la nudité inexorable du désert.\" Though it has\nnothing to do with the rest of the composition, it is a happy mixture of\nthe two styles; the massive base is as high as the roofing of the nave,\nblessedly bare and severe beside the restlessness of the adjoining\nscreen. A clock and a few panels are all that break it. Classical\nbalconies run round it above and below the first bell-story, the sides\nof which are decorated with a Corinthian order and broken by round\narched openings. A similar order decorates the drum of the cupola, while\nGothic crocketed pyramids break the transition at angles. At the peak of\nthe lantern, three hundred and sixty feet in the air, soars the\ntriumphant emblem of the Church of Christ. That man of architectural\ninfamy, Churriguera, erected it, showing in this instance an\nextraordinary restraint.\n\nThe façade belongs to the first period of the Cathedral, and portions of\nit are Juan Gil de Hontañon's work, though the later points to Poniente.\nIt is interesting to compare it with the last Gothic work in France,\nwith, for instance, Saint-Ouen at Rouen. The end of the style in the two\ncountries is totally different--one expiring in a mass of glass and\ntracery, the other, in a meaningless jumble of ornamentation, of cusped\nand broken and elliptical arches and carving incredible in its delicacy.\nOne can scarcely believe it to be stone. The Spanish, though not wild in\nits extravagance, yet lacks all sense of restraint. The front is\ncomposed of a screenwork of three huge arches, within which three\nportals leading to the aisles form the main composition, the whole\ncrowned by a series of crocketed pinnacles. A plain fortress-like pier,\nresembling the remnant of an old bastion, terminates it to the north.\nGreat buttresses separate the portals. Around them are deep reveals and\narchivolt; somewhat recalling French examples in their forms; above them\nis an inexhaustible effort in stone. There are myriads of brackets and\ncanopies, some few having statues. There are enough coats-of-arms to\nsupply whole nations with heraldic emblems, and recessed moldings of\nremarkable and exquisite workmanship and crispness of foliage. Some of\nthe bas-reliefs, as those of the Nativity and Adoration, are very fine.\nThe Virgin in the pillar separating the doors of the central entrance\ngathers the folds of her robe about her with a queenly grace and\ndignity.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nSALAMANCA\n\nFrom the Vega]\n\nThe whole doorway on its great scale is a remarkable work of the\ntransition from Gothic to Renaissance. While the treatment of the\nfigures has a naturalism already entirely Renaissance, the main bulk of\nthe ornamental detail is still in its feeling quite Gothic.\n\nFrom the steps of the Palazzo del Goberno Civil, the northern front\nstretches out before you above the bushy tops of the acacia trees in the\nPlaza del Colegio Viejo. The demarcations are strong in the horizontal\ncourses of the balconies which crown the walls of the nave and\nside-aisle chapels,--the two lower quite Gothic. The thrust of the naves\nis met by great buttresses flying out over the roofs of the side aisles,\nand there, as well as above the buttresses of the chapel walls,\npinnacles rise like the masts in a great shipyard. The whole organism of\nthe late Spanish Gothic church lies open before you. The long stretch of\nthe three tiers of walls is broken by the face of the transept, the door\nof which is blocked, while the surrounding buttresses and walls are\ncovered with canopies and brackets, all vacant of statues. In place of\nthe condemned door, there is one leading into the second bay, the Puerta\nde los Ramos or de las Palmas, in feeling very similar to the main doors\nof the west. Its semicircular arches support a relief representing\nChrist entering Jerusalem. A circular light flanked by Peter and Paul\ncomes above, and the whole is encased in a series of broken arches\nfilled with the most intricate carving.\n\nThe grand and the grandiloquent Cathedral seem to gaze out over the town\nand the vast plain of the old kingdom of Leon and to listen. It is a\ngolden town, of a dignity one gladly links with the name of Castile. It\nis a city--or what is left of it after the firebrands of Thiebaut, of\nNey, and of Marmont--of the sixteenth century, of convents and churches\nand huge ecclesiastical establishments. They rise like amber mountains\nabove the squalid buildings crumbling between them, and stand in grilled\nand latticed silence. Las Dueñas lies mute on one side and on the other\nSan Esteban, where the great discoverer pleaded his cause to deaf ears.\nIn the evening glow their brown walls gain a depth and warmth of color\nlike the flush in the dark cheeks of Spanish girls.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nBURGOS\n\n[Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF BURGOS\n\nWest front]\n\n    Whereat he wondred much, and gan enquere\n    What stately building durst so high extend\n    Her lofty towres unto the starry sphere.\n\n    _The Faerie Queene_, book I, c. x, lvi.\n\n\n\nThe best view of the spires of Burgos is from the ruined walls of the\nCastillo high above the city. From these crumbling ramparts, pierced and\ngouged by a thousand years of assault and finally rent asunder by the\npowder of the Napoleonic armies, you look directly down upon the\nmistress of the city and the sad and ardent plain. A stubbly growth,\nmore like cocoa matting than grass, covers the unroofed floor beneath\nyour feet. From this Castle, Ferdinand Gonzales ruled Castile, and here\nthe Cid led Doña Zimena, and Edward I of England Eleanor of Castile, to\nthe altar. The only colors brightening the melancholy hillside are here\nand there the brilliant blood-stain of the poppy, the gold of the\ndandelion, and the episcopal purple of the thistle. Below and beyond,\nstretches a sea of shaded ochre, broken in the foreground by the\ncorrugations of the many roofs turned by time to the brownish tint of\nthe encircling hillocks and made to blend in one harmony with its\nmonochrome bosom. Fillets of silver pierce the horizon, glittering as\nthey wind nearer between over-hanging birches and poplars. The deep,\nguttural, roar of the great Cathedral's many voices rises in majestic\nand undisputed authority from the valley below, now and again joined by\nthe weaker trebles of San Esteban and San Nicolas. Regiments of soldiers\nmarch with regular clattering step through holy precincts and up and\ndown the crooked lanes and squares; barracks and parade-grounds occupy\nconsecrated soil,--still Santa Maria la Mayor raises her voice to\ncommand obedience and proclaim her undivided dominion over the plains of\ndrowsy, old Castile.\n\nFrom this height, one does not notice the transformation of the Gothic\ninto seventeenth-century edifices, nor the changes wrought by later\ncenturies. In the glare of the dazzling sun, the tremulous atmosphere,\nand the lazy, curling smoke of the many chimneys, Burgos still seems\nBurgos of the Middle Ages, the royal city, mistress of the castles and\nsweeping plains, and the Cathedral is her stronghold.\n\nShe is very old,--tradition says, founded by Count Diego Rodriguez of\nAlava with the assistance of an Alfonso who ruled in Christian Oviedo\ntowards the end of the ninth century. For many years his descendants, as\nwell as the lords of the many castles strewn along the lonely hills\nnorth of the Sierra de Guadarrama, owed allegiance to Leon and the\nkingdom of the Asturias. Burgos finally threw off the yoke, and chose\njudges for rulers, until one of them, Ferdinand Gonzalez, assumed for\nhimself and his successors the proud title of \"Conde of Castile.\" Under\nhis great-grandson, Ferdinand I, Castile and Leon were united in 1037,\nthus laying the foundations of the later monarchy. Burgos became a\ncapital city. Against the dark background of mediæval history and\ninterwoven with many romantic legends, there stands out that greatest of\nSpanish heroes, the Cid Campeador. This Rodrigo Diaz was born near\nBurgos. The lady Zimena whom he married was daughter of a Count Diego\nRodriguez of Oviedo, probably a descendant of the founder of the city.\nIn the presence of the knights and nobles of Burgos, the Cid forced\nAlfonso VI to swear that he had no part in the murder of King Sancho,\nand in the royal city he was then elected King of Castile by the Commons\n(1071). Alfonso never forgave the Cid this humiliation, and later exiled\nhim. To the Burgalese of to-day, he seems as living and real as he was\nto mediæval Castilians. Spanish histories and children will tell you of\ntwo things that make Burgos immortal--her Cathedral, and her motherhood\nto Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar.[4]\n\nThe importance of the city as a Christian centre becomes evident at the\nend of the eleventh century (1074), when it receives its own bishop, and\nshortly afterwards, fully equipped, convokes a church council to protest\nagainst the supplanting by the Latin of the earlier Mozarabic rite, so\ndear to the hearts of the people. The same Alfonso transferred his\ncapital to the newly conquered Toledo and, contemporaneous with the\ngreat prosperity of Burgos during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,\nthere was endless jealousy as to precedence, first between Burgos and\nToledo and afterwards between these and Valladolid. Burgos reaches the\nzenith of her power in the reign of Saint Ferdinand and the first half\nof the thirteenth century, though as late as 1349, Alfonso XI, in the\nassembled Cortes, still recognizes Burgos's claim as \"first city\" by\ncalling on her to give her voice first,--\"prima voce et fide,\" saying\n_he_ would then speak for Toledo. Not long after, Valladolid overshadows\nthem both.\n\nThe greatness of Burgos is that of the old Castilian kingdom; with its\nextinction came hers. Her flowering and expansion were contemporaneous\nwith the most splendid period of Gothic art. Her day was a glorious one,\nbefore bigotry had laid its withering hand upon the arts, and while the\nrich imagination and skilled hands of Moorish and Jewish citizens still\nennobled and embellished their capital city.\n\n\nII\n\nThe present Cathedral is singularly picturesque and by far the most\ninteresting of the three great Gothic Cathedrals of Spain,--Leon,\nToledo, and Burgos. The interest is mainly due to her vigorous organism,\nan outcome of more essentially Spanish predilections (as well as a\nnatural interpretation of the French importations) than we find in\neither of the sister churches. Later additions and ornamentation have\nnaturally concealed and disfigured, but the old body is still there,\nadmirable, fitting, and sane.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLAN OF BURGOS CATHEDRAL\n\n    A. Chapel of Santa Thecla.\n    B. Chapel of Santa Anna.\n    C. Chapel of the Holy Birth.\n    D. Chapel of the Annunciation.\n    E. Chapel of Saint Gregory.\n    F. Chapel of the Constable.\n    G. Chapel of the Parish of St. James.\n    H. Chapel of Saint John.\n    I. Chapel of Saint Catherine.\n    K. Chapel of Jean Cuchiller.\n    L. Chapter House.\n    M. Sacristy.\n    N. Minor Sacristy.\n    O. Chapel of Saint Henry.\n    P. Altar.\n    Q. Choir.\n    R. Chapel of the Presentation of the Virgin.\n    S. Choir.\n    T. Golden Staircase.\n    U. Door of the Pellegeria.\n    X. Door of the Sarmental.\n    Y. Door of the Perdon.\n    Z. Door of the Apostles.]\n\nBurgos Cathedral is built upon a hillside, her walls hewn out of and\nclimbing the sides of the mountain, making it necessary either from\nnorth or south to approach her through long flights of stairs. What she\nloses in freedom and access, she certainly gains in picturesqueness. She\nis flesh of the flesh and blood of the blood of the city, scaling its\nheights like a great mother and drawing after her the surrounding houses\nwhich nestle to her sides. She would not gain in majesty by standing\nfree in an open square, nor by receiving the sunlight on all sides. And\nso, though many later additions hide much of the early fabric, they\ncombine with it to form a picturesque whole, a wonderful jewelled\ncasket, a sparkling diadem set high on the royal brow of the city, such\nas possibly no other city of its size in Christendom can boast.\n\nIt was King Alfonso VI who at the end of the eleventh century gave his\npalace-ground for the erection of a Cathedral for the new Episcopal See.\nWe know nothing of its design, nor whether it occupied exactly the same\nsite as the later building. The early one must, however, have been a\nRomanesque Church;--what might not a later Romanesque Cathedral have\nbeen!--for the style had arrived at a point of vitally interesting\npromise and national development, when it was forced to recoil before\nthe foreign invaders, the Benedictines and Cistercians.\n\nTwo great names are linked to the founding of the present Cathedral of\nBurgos, Saint Ferdinand and Bishop Maurice. The latter was bishop from\n1213 to 1238, and probably an Englishman who came to Burgos in the train\nof the English Queen, Eleanor Plantagenet.[5] He was sent to Speyer as\nambassador from the Spanish Court to bring back the Princess Beatrice\nas bride for Saint Ferdinand. Maurice's mission took him through those\nparts of Germany and France where the enthusiasm for cathedral-building\nwas at its height, and he had time to admire and study a forest of\nexquisite spires, newly reared, particularly while the young lady given\nhim in charge was sumptuously entertained by King Philip Augustus.\nNaturally he returned to his native city burning with ardor to begin a\nsimilar work there, and probably brought with him master-builders and\nskilful artists of long training in Gothic church-building.\n\nQueen Berengaria and King Ferdinand met the Suabian Princess at the\nfrontier of Castile. The first ceremony was the conference of the Order\nof Knighthood, in the presence of all the \"ricos hombres\" (ruling men),\nthe cavaliers of the kingdom with their wives and the burgesses. The\nsword was taken from the altar and girded on by the right noble lady\nBerengaria. We read that the other arms had been blessed by Bishop\nMaurice and were donned by the King with his own hands, no one else\nbeing high enough for the office. Three days later Ferdinand was married\nto \"dulcissimam Domicellam\" in the old Cathedral by the Bishop of Burgos\nwithout protest from the Primate of Castile, Archbishop Rodrigo of\nToledo. This took place in 1219, and two years after King and Bishop\nlaid the corner-stone of the new edifice.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS\n\nView of the nave]\n\nThe work must have been spurred on by all the religious ardor which\nfired the first half of the thirteenth century, for only nine years\nlater services were held in the eastern end of the building. The good\nBishop was laid to rest in the old choir, where he still lies\nundisturbed, though to-day it is the Capilla Mayor. By the middle of the\ncentury, the great bulk of the old structure must have been well\nadvanced. The lower portions of the towers and the eastern termination\nare fourteenth-century work; the spires themselves, fifteenth. A\nmultitude of changes and additions, new chapels and buildings,\ngradually, as years went on, transformed the primitive plan from its\nfirst harmony and beauty to a confused mass of aisles, vaults, and\nchapels. When we compare the present fabric with the early plan, we see\nwith what masterly skill and simplicity the original one was conceived.\n\nAll that is left or can be seen of this first structure is splendid.\nThough built in the second period of the great northern style, it has\nnone of the lightness of the French churches which were going up\nsimultaneously, nor even that of Spanish Leon or Toledo. It has heavy\nsupporting walls and is of the family of the early French with a\nmagnificently powerful and efficient system of piers and buttresses. It\nis not free from a certain Romanesque feeling in its general lines, its\nwindows, and in many of its details. Though a splendid type of Gothic\nconstruction, this first church is a convincing proof that the nervous,\nsubtle, fully developed system was foreign to Spanish taste. The\ncomplicated solutions, the intricate planning, were not in accordance\nwith their temper nor predilections. Rheims may be said to express the\nradical temper of its French builders, Burgos, the conservative Spanish.\nIn Spain, construction and artistic principles did not go hand in hand\nin the glorious manner they were wont to in France. Burgos seems much\nmore emotional than sensitive. Riotous excess and empty display take the\nplace of restrained and appropriate decoration. The organic dependence\nwhich should exist between sculpture and architecture, so invariably\npresent in the early French church, is lacking in Burgos. A careful\nanalysis is interesting. It reveals the fusion of foreign elements, the\nsevere monastic of the Cistercians and the later sumptuous secular\nstyle, the florid intricacy of the German, the glory of the Romanesque,\nthe dryness of its revival and the bombast of the Plateresque, all more\nor less transformed by what Spaniards could and would do. In its\nconstruction and buttresses, it recalls Sens and Saint-Denis; in its\nnave, Chartres; in its vaulting, the Angevine School. The symmetry of\nthe early plan is fascinating, and Señor Lamperez y Romea's sincere and\nbeautiful reconstruction must be a faithful reproduction. It makes the\nside aisles quite free, the broad transepts to consist of two bays,\nwhile the crossing is carried by piers heavy enough to support an\nordinary vault but not a majestic lantern. Five perfectly formed radial\nchapels surround the polygonal ambulatory and are continued towards the\ncrossing by three rectangular chapels on each side. The vaulting of nave\nand transepts is throughout sexpartite; that of the side aisles,\nquadripartite. Most of this has, as will be seen, been profoundly\nmodified.\n\nThe old structure is the kernel of the present church. It consists of a\ncentral nave of six bays up to a strongly marked crossing and three\nbeyond, terminating in a pentagonal apse. The side aisles are decidedly\nlower and continue across the transept round the apse. These again are\nflanked on the west by the chapel churches of Santa Tecla, Santa Anna,\nand the Presentacion, as well as by a number of other smaller, vaulted\ncompartments. Only two of the radial chapels outside the polygonal\nambulatory remain, the others having been altered or supplanted by the\ngreat Chapels of the Constable, of Santiago, Santa Catarina, Corpus\nChristi, and the Cloisters. The western front is entered by a triple\ndoorway corresponding to nave and side aisles; the southern transept, by\nan incline 40 feet wide, broken by 28 steps. On reaching the door of the\nnorthern transept, one finds the ground risen outside the church some 26\nfeet above the level of the inner pavement, and instead of descending by\nthe interior staircase, one wanders far to the northeast, there to\ndescend to a portal in the north of the eastern transept. The whole\nchurch is about 300 feet long, and in general 83 feet wide, the\ntransepts, 194 feet.\n\nThe piers under the crossing, as well as those of the first bay inside\nthe western entrance, are much larger than the others, in order to\nsupport the additional weight of crossing and towers, and the piers,\nabutting aisle and transept walls, are also unusually strong. The\ninterior pillars are of massive cylindrical plan, of well-developed\nFrench Gothic type, solid, but kept from any appearance of heaviness by\ntheir form and by eight engaged columns. The ornamented bases are high\nand of characteristic Gothic moldings. The finely carved capitals carry\nsquare abaci in the side aisles and circular ones in the nave. Both\nabaci and bases have been placed at right angles to the arches they\nsupport. The three engaged pier columns facing the nave carry the\ntransverse and diagonal groining ribs, while the wall ribs are met by\nshafts on each side of the clerestory windows.\n\nThe four main supports at the angles of the crossing are rather towers\nthan piers. In the original structure, they were probably counterparts\nof those supporting the inner angles of the tower between nave and side\naisles, with a fully developed system of shafts for the support of the\nvarious groining ribs. With the collapse of the old crossing and the\nconsequent erection of an even bulkier and far more weighty\nsuperstructure, tremendous circular supports upon octagonal bases were\nsubstituted. They are thoroughly Plateresque in feeling, 50 feet in\ncircumference and delicately fluted and ribbed as they descend, with\nRenaissance ornaments on the pedestals and similar statues under Gothic\ncanopies, evidently inserted in their faces as a compromise to the\nsurrounding earlier style.\n\nGlancing up at the superstructure and vaulting, there is a great\nconsciousness of light and joy,--a feeling that it would have been\nwell-nigh perfect, if the choir and its rejas could only have remained\nin their old proper place east of the crossing, instead of sadlycongesting a \nnave magnificent in length and size. The brightness is due,\npartly to the stone itself, almost white when first quarried from\nOntoria, and partly to the uncolored glass in the greater portion of the\nclerestory. Here and there the masonry has the mellow tones of\nmeerschaum, shaded with pinkish and lava-gray tints, but the effect is\nrather that of ancient marble than of limestone. The interior, compared\nto Toledo, is a bride beside a nun. Granting the loss of original\nsimplicity and a rather distressing mixture of two styles, the\ncombination has been handled with a skill and genius peculiarly Spanish\nand therefore picturesque. The austerity of the French prototype has\nbeen replaced by joyousness and regal splendor. If we examine carefully\nthe older portions of the interior structure and carving as well as the\ntraces of parts that have disappeared, we feel how very French it is,\nand undoubtedly erected without assistance from Moorish hands. The\nvaulting is like some of the French, very rounded, especially in the\nside aisles. It is all plain excepting under the dome and the vaults\nimmediately abutting, where additional ribs were evidently added at a\nlater time. The vaulting ribs of the main arches start unusually low\ndown, almost on a level with the top of the triforium windows, giving\nthe church relatively a much lower effect than Leon or the French Rheims\nor Amiens.\n\nBoth triforium and clerestory are very fine, especially in the nave,\nwhere, although they have undergone alterations, these are less radical\nthan in the Capilla Mayor. The triforium, which is early\nthirteenth-century work, is strikingly singular. Its narrow gallery is\ncovered by a continuous barrel vault parallel to the nave. Six slender\ncolumns divide its seven arches, while above them are trefoil and\nquatrefoil penetrations contained within a segmental arch, broken by\ncarved heads. The fine old shafts, separating the trefoiled or\nquatrefoiled arcade, are hidden by crocketed pinnacles and a traceried\nbalcony. The triforium east of the crossing has only four arches, with\nmuch later traceried work above. The charming old simplicity is of\ncourse lost wherever gaudy carving has been added, but the oldest\nportions belong decidedly to the early Gothic work of northern France.\nAbove rises the clerestory in its early vigor, with comparatively small\nwindows, consisting of two arches and a rose.\n\nProbably the crossing had originally a vault somewhat more elaborate\nthan the others, or, possibly, even a small lantern. To emphasize the\ncrossing, both internally and externally, was always a peculiar delight\nto Spanish builders. This characteristic was admirably adapted to\nRomanesque churches and in the Gothic was still felt to be essential,\nbut Burgos shared the fate of Seville and the new Cathedral of\nSalamanca. The old writer, Cean Bermudez, relates that \"the same\ndisaster befell the crossing of Burgos that had happened to Seville,--it\ncollapsed entirely in the middle of the night on the 3d of March, 1539.\nAt that time the Bishop was the Cardinal D. Fray Juan Alvarez de Toledo,\nfamous for the many edifices which he erected and among them S. Esteban\nof Salamanca. Owing to the zeal of the Prelate and the Chapter and the\npiety of the generous Burgalese, the rebuilding began the same year.\nThey called upon Maestro Felipe, who was assisted in the planning and\nconstruction by Juan de Vallejo and Juan de Castanela, architects of the\nCathedral. Felipe died at Toledo, after completing the bas-reliefs of\nthe choir stalls. The Chapter honored his memory in a worthy manner, for\nthey placed in the same choir under the altar of the Descent from the\nCross this epitaph: 'Philippus Burgundio statuarius, qui ut manu\nsanctorum effigies, ita mores animo exprimebat: subsellis chori\nstruendis itentus, opere pene absoluto, immoritur.'\"[6]\n\nIn place of the old dome rose one of the most marvelous and richest\nstructures in Spain, a crowning glory to the heavenly shrine. It is at\nonce a mountain of patience and a burst of Spanish pomp and pride. It is\nthe labor of giants, daringly executed and lavishly decorated. \"The work\nof angels,\" said Philip II. Nothing less could have called forth such an\nexclamation from those acrimonious lips and jaded eyes. The men who\ndesigned and erected it were the best known in Spain. There was Philip,\nthe Burgundian sculptor with exquisite and indefatigable chisel, who had\ncome to Spain in the train of the Emperor. Vallejo, one of the famous\ncouncil that sat at Salamanca, had with Castanela erected the triumphal\narch which appeased Charles's wrath kindled against the citizens of\nBurgos, and is even to-day, after the Cathedral, the city's most\nfamiliar landmark. In the year 1567, twenty-eight years after the\nfalling of the first lantern, the new one towered completed in its\nplace. It was a magnificent attempt at a blending, or rather a\nreconciliation, of the Renaissance and the Gothic. There is the\ncharacter of one and the form of the other. Gothic trefoil arches and\ntraceries are carried by classical columns. Renaissance balustrades and\npanels intermingle with crockets and bosses, and Florentine panels and\nstatues with Gothic canopies. They are so interwoven that the careful\nstudent of architecture feels himself in a nightmare of styles and\ndifferent centuries. It was of course an undertaking doomed to failure.\n\nThe outline is octagonal. Above the pendentives, forming the transition\nof the octagon, comes a double frieze of armorial bearings (those of\nBurgos and Charles V) and inscriptions, and a double clerestory,\nseparated and supported by classical balustraded passages; the window\nsplays and heads are a complete mass of carving and decorations. The\nvaulting itself contains within its bold ribs and segments an infinite\nvariety of stars, as if one should see the panes of heaven covered with\nfrosty patterns of a clear winter morning.\n\nThéophile Gautier's description of it is interesting as an expression of\nthe effect it produced on a man of artistic emotions rather than trained\narchitectural feeling: \"En levant la tête,\" he says, \"on aperçoit une\nespèce de dôme formé par l'intérieur de la tour,--c'est un groupe de\nsculpture, d'arabesques, de statues, de colonettes, de nervures, de\nlancettes, de pendentifs, a vous donner le vertige. On regarderait deux\nans qu'on n'aurait pas tout vu. C'est touffu comme un chou, fenestré\ncomme une truelle à poisson; c'est gigantesque comme une pyramide et\ndélicat comme une boucle d'oreille de femme, et l'on ne peut comprendre\nqu'un semblable filigrane puisse se soutenir en l'air depuis des\nsiècles.\"\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS\n\nLantern over crossing]\n\nThe work immediately around and underneath this gigantic effort is\nreally the earliest part of the church, for, as was usual, the portion\nindispensable for services was begun first. The transepts, the abutting\nvaults, the southern and possibly the northern entrance fronts,\nundoubtedly all belong to the work carried so rapidly forward by Bishop\nMaurice's contagious enthusiasm. The work of the transepts is very\nsimilar to that in the nave, but, in the former, one obtains really a\nmuch finer view of the receding bays north and south than in the nave\nwith its choir obstruction. The huge rose of the south transept, placed\ndirectly under the arch of the vaulting, is a splendid specimen of a\nGothic wheel. Its tracery is composed of a series of colonettes\nradiating from centre to circumference, every two of which form, as it\nwere, a separate window tracery of central mullion, two arches and upper\nrose. The other windows of the transepts are, barring their later\nalterations, typically thirteenth-century Gothic, high and narrow with\ncolonettes in their jambs. While the glazing of the great southern rose\nis a perfect burst of glory, that of the northern transept arm is later\nand very mediocre.\n\nThere is a little chapel opening to the east out of the northern\ntransept arm which is full of interest from the fact that it belongs to\nthe original, early thirteenth-century structure. Probably there was a\ncorresponding one in the southern arm, with groining equally remarkable.\nThe northern transept arm is filled by the great Renaissance \"golden\nstaircase\" leading to the Puerta de la Coroneria, now always closed. It\nmust have been a magnificent spectacle to see the purple and scarlet\nrobes of priest and prelate sweep down the divided arms of the stair\nuniting in the broad flight at the bottom. Such an occasion was the\nmarriage in 1268 of the Infante Ferdinand, son of Alfonso the Wise, to\nBlanche of France, a niece of Saint Louis. The learned monarch ever had\na lavish hand, and he spared no expense to dazzle his distinguished\nguests, among whom were the King of Aragon and Philip, heir to the\nFrench throne. Ferdinand was first armed chevalier by his father, and\nthe marriage was then celebrated in the Cathedral of Burgos with greater\npomp and magnificence than had ever before been seen in Spain.\n\nThe gilt metal railing is as exquisite in workmanship as in design,\ncarried out by Diego de Siloé, who was the architect of the Cathedral in\nthe beginning of the sixteenth century. There is also a lovely door in\nthe eastern wall of the southern transept, now leading to the great\ncloisters. The portal itself is early work of the fourteenth century,\nwith the Baptism of Christ in the tympanum, the Annunciation and David\nand Isaiah in the panels, all of early energy and vitality, as full of\nfeeling as simplicity. And the extraordinary detail of the wooden doors\nthemselves, executed a century and a half later by order of the\nquizzical-looking old Bishop of Acuna, now peacefully sleeping in the\nchapel of Santa Anna, is as beautiful an example of wood-carving as we\nhave left us from this period. If Ghiberti's door was the front gate of\nparadise, this was certainly worthy to be a back gate, and well worth\nentering, should the front be found closed.\n\nThe choir occupies at present as much as one half the length of nave\nfrom crossing to western front, or the length of three bays. With its\nmassive Corinthian colonnade, masonry enclosure and rejas rising to the\nheight of the triforium, it is a veritable church within a church. The\nstalls, mostly Philip of Burgundy's work from about the year 1500,\nsurround the old tomb of the Cathedral's noble founder. As usual, the\ncarvings are elaborate scenes from Bible history and saintly\nlore,--over the upper stalls, principally from the old Testament, and\nabove the lower, from the New.\n\nA very remarkable family of German architects have left their indelible\nstamp upon Burgos Cathedral. In 1435 a prominent Hebrew of the tribe of\nLevi died as Bishop of the See, and was succeeded by his son, Alfonso de\nCartagena. Alfonso not only followed in his father's footsteps, but\nbecame one of the most renowned churchmen in Spain during the early\nyears of Ferdinand of Aragon. And he looks it too, as he lies to-day\nnear the entrance to his old palace, in fine Flemish lace, mitre covered\nwith pearls, and sparkling, jewelled crozier. As Chancellor of Spain,\nAlfonso was sent to the Council of Basle, and thereafter, like his\npredecessor Maurice, he returned to Burgos, bringing with him visions of\nchurch-building such as he had never dreamed of before and the architect\nJuan de Colonia.\n\nThe Plateresque style was rapidly developing towards the effulgence so\nin harmony with Spanish taste. Interwoven and fused with the work Juan\nwas familiar with from his native country, he and his sons, Simon and\nDiego, encouraged and royally assisted by Alfonso and his successor, D.\nLuis of Acuna, set about to erect some of the most striking and\nwonderful portions of Burgos Cathedral,--the towers of the façade, the\nfirst lantern and the Chapel of the Constable.\n\nThe Chapel of Don Pedro Fernandez de Velasco, Count of Haro and\nConstable of Castile, was not erected with pious intent, but to the\nimmortal fame of the Constable and his wife. In the centre of the\nchapel-church on a low base lie the Count and Countess. The white\nCarrara of the figures is strangely vivid against the dark marble on\nwhich they rest, and all is colored by the sunlight striking down\nthrough the stained glass. It is very regal. The Constable is clad in\nfull Florentine armor, his hands clasping his sword and his mantle about\nhis shoulders. The carving of the flesh and the veining, and especially\nthe strong knuckles of the hands, are astonishing. The fat cushions of\nthe forefinger and thumb seem to swell and the muscles to contract in\ntheir grip on the cross of the hilt. The robe of his spouse, Doña Mencia\nde Mendoza, is richly studded with pearls, her hand clasps a rosary,\nwhile, on the folds of her skirt, her little dog lies peacefully curled\nup.\n\nThe plan of the chapel is an irregular hexagon. It should have been\noctagonal, but the western sides have not been carried through and end\nin a broad-armed vestibule, which by rights should be the radial chapel\nupon the extreme eastern axis of the whole church. Above the vaulting\nearly German pendentives are inserted in the three faulty and five true\nangles in order to bring the plan into the octagonal vaulting form. The\nbuilder seems almost to have made himself difficulties that he might\nsolve them by a tour-de-force. A huge star-fish closes the vault. The\nrecumbent statues face an altar. The remaining sides are subdivided by\ntypically Plateresque band-courses and immense coats-of-arms of the Haro\nand Mendoza families. The upper surfacing is broken by a clerestory with\nexquisite, old stained glass. It is melancholy to see tombs of such\nsplendid execution crushed by meaningless, empty display, out of all\nscale, vulgar, gesticulating, and theatrical, especially so when one\nnotices with what extraordinary mechanical skill much of the detail has\nbeen carved. It thrusts itself on your notice even up to the vaulting\nribs, which the architect, not satisfied to have meet, actually crossed\nbefore they descend upon the capitals below.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS\n\nThe Golden Staircase]\n\nThe reja closing the chapel off from the apse is among the finest of the\nRenaissance, the masterpiece of Cristobal Andino, wrought in the year\n1523. Curiously enough, the supporters of the shield above might have\nbeen modeled by Burne-Jones instead of the mediæval smith.\n\nThe interior could not always have been as light and cheerful as at\npresent, for probably all the windows were more or less filled with\nstained glass from the workshops of the many \"vidrieros\" for which\nBurgos was so renowned that even other cathedral cities awarded her the\ncontracts for their glazing. The foreign masters of Burgos were\naccustomed to see their arches and sculpture mellowed and illumined by\nrainbow lights from above, and surely here too it was of primary\nimportance.\n\nAfter the horrible powder explosion of 1813, when the French soldiers\nblew up the old fortress, making the whole city tremble and totter, the\nagonized servants of the church found the marble pavements strewn with\nthe glorious sixteenth-century crystals that had been shattered above.\nThey were religiously collected and, where possible, reinserted in new\nfields.\n\nChapels stud the ground around the old edifice. The Cloisters, a couple\nof chapels north of the chevet and small portions here and there, rose\nwith the transepts and the original thirteenth-century structure, but\nall the others were erected by the piety or pride of later ages or have\nbeen transformed by succeeding generations. Their vaulting illustrates\nevery period of French and German Gothic as well as Plateresque art,\nwhile their names are taken from a favorite saint or biblical episode or\nthe illustrious founders. The fifteenth century was especially sedulous,\nbuilding chapels as a rich covering for the splendid Renaissance tombs\nof its spiritual and temporal lords. They are carved with the admirable\nskill and genius emanating once more from Italy. The Castilian Constable\nand his spouse, Bishop Alfonso de Cartagena (in the Capilla de la\nVisitacion), Bishop Antonia de Velasco, the eminent historian-archbishop\n(in the Sacristia Nueva), are splendid marbles of the classic revival.\nThey must all have been portraits: for instance Bishop Gonzalvo de\nLerma, who sleeps peacefully in the Chapel of the Presentacion; his fat,\npursed lips and baggy eyelids are firmly closed, and his soft, double\nchin reposes in two neat folds upon the jeweled surplice. So, too,\nFernando de Villegas, who lies in the north transept and whose scholarly\nface still seems to shine with the inner light which prompted him to\ngive his people the great Florentine's Divine Comedy.\n\nThe poetry and romance that cling to these illustrious dead are equally\npresent as you pass through the lovely Gothic portal into the cloisters\nwhich fill the southeastern angle of the church and stand by the figures\nof the great Burgalese that lie back of the old Gothic railings in many\nniches of the arcades. To judge from the inscriptions they would, if\nthey could speak, be able to tell us of every phase in their city's\nreligious and political struggles, from the age of Henry II down to the\ndecay of Burgos. Saints, bishops, princes, warriors, and architects lie\nbeneath the beautiful, double-storied arcade. Here lies Pedro Sanchez,\nthe architect, Don Gonzalo of Burgos, and Diego de Santander, and here\nstand the effigies of Saint Ferdinand and Beatrice of Suabia. The very\nfirst church had a cloister to the west of the transept, now altered\ninto chapels. For some reason, early in the fourteenth century, the\npresent cloister was built east of the south transept and with as lovely\nGothic arches as are to be found in Spain. We read of great church and\nstate processions, marching under its vaults in 1324, so then it must\nhave been practically completed. Later on the second story was added,\nmuch richer and more ornate than the lower. The oldest masonry, with its\ndelicate tracery of four arches and three trefoiled roses to each\narcade, seems to have been virtually eaten away by time. New leaves and\nmoldings are being set to-day to replace the old. The pure white, native\nstone, so easy to carve into spirited crockets and vigorous strings\nsimilar to the old, stands out beside the sooty, time-worn blocks, as\nthe fresh sweetness of a child's cheek laid against the weather-beaten\nfurrows of the grand-parent. A careful scrutiny of all the details shows\nin what a virile age this work was executed. The groining ribs are of\nfine outline, the key blocks are starred, the foliage is spirited both\nin capitals and in the cusps of the many arches, the details are\ncarefully molded and distributed, and the early statues in the internal\nangles and in places against the groining ribs are of rich treatment,\nstrong feeling, and in attitude equal to some of the best French Gothic\nof the same period. The door that leads out of the cloisters into the\nold sacristy with the Descent from the Cross in its tympanum is truly a\nbeautiful piece of this Gothic work.\n\nWhile these cloisters lie to the east, the broad terraces leading to the\nglorious, southern transept entrance are flanked to the west by the\nArchbishop's Palace, whose bare sides, gaudy Renaissance doorway and\nmonstrous episcopal arms, repeated at various stages, hide the entire\nsouthwestern angle of the church.\n\nBetween the cloisters and the Archbishop's Palace at the end of the\nbroad terraces, rises the masonry facing the southern transept arm. It\nbelongs, together with that of the northern, to the oldest portions of\nthe early fabric erected while Maurice was bishop and a certain\n\"Enrique\" architect, and shows admirable thirteenth-century work. The\nSarmentos family, great in the annals of this century, owned the ground\nimmediately surrounding this transept arm. As a reward for theirconcession of it \nto the church, the southern portal was baptized the\n\"Puerta del Sarmental,\" and they were honored with burial ground within\nthe church's holy precincts. It cannot be much changed, but stands\nto-day in its original loveliness.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by A. Vadillo\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS\n\nThe Chapel of the Constable]\n\nA statue of the benign-looking founder of the church stands between the\ntwo doors, which on the outer sides are flanked by Moses, Aaron, Saint\nPeter and Saint Paul, and the two saints so beloved by Spaniards, Saint\nJames and Saint Philip. The archivolts surrounding the tympanum are\nfilled by a heavenly host of angels, all busied with celestial\noccupations, playing instruments, swinging censers, carrying candelabra,\nor flapping their wings. Both statues and moldings are of character and\noutline similar to French work of this best period, nevertheless of a\ncertain distinctly Spanish feeling. The literary company of the tympanum\nis full of movement and simple charm. In the lowest plane are the twelve\nApostles, all, with the exception of two who are conversing, occupied\nwith expounding the Gospels; in the centre is Christ, reading to four\nEvangelists who surround him as lion, bull, eagle and angel; finally,\nhighest up, two monks writing with feverish haste in wide-open folios,\nwhile an angel lightens their labor with the perfume from a swinging\ncenser.\n\nIt is sculpture, rich in effect, faithful in detail and of strong\nexpression, admirably placed in relation to the masonry it ornaments. It\nhas none of the whimsical irrelevancy to surroundings characterizing so\nmuch of the work to follow, nor its hasty execution. It is not\nmeaningless carving added indefinitely and senselessly repeated, but\nevery bit of it embellishes the position it occupies. Above the portal\nthe stonework is broken and crowned by an exquisite, early rose window\nand the later, disproportionately high parapet of angels and\nfree-standing quatrefoiled arches and ramps.\n\nThe northern doorway, almost as rich in names as in sculpture, is as\nfine as the southern, so far below it on the hillside. It is called the\nDoorway of the Apostles from the twelve still splendidly preserved\nstatues, six of which flank it on each side. It is also named the Door\nof the Coroneria, but to the Burgalese it is known simply as the Puerta\nAlta, or the \"high door.\" The door proper with its frame is a later\nmakeshift for the original, thirteenth-century one. On a base-course in\nthe form of an arcade with almost all its columns likewise gone, stand\nin monumental size the Twelve Apostles. The drapery is handled\ndifferently on each figure, but with equal excellence; the faces, so\nfull of expression and character, stand out against great halos and\nrepresent the apostles of all ages. Similar in treatment to the southern\ndoor, the archivolts here are filled with a series of fine statues.\nThere are angels in the two inner arches and in the outer, and the naked\nfigures of the just are rising from their sepulchres in the most\nastonishing attitudes. The tympanum is also practically a counterpart of\nthe southern one, only here in its centre the predominating figure of\nthe Saviour is set between the Virgin and Saint John.\n\nAs the Puerta Alta is so high above the church pavement, and ingress\nwould in daily use have proved difficult, the great door of the\nPellejeria was cut in the northeastern arm of the transept at the end of\nthe furriers' street, and down a series of moss-grown, cobblestone\nplanes the Burgalese could gain entrance to their church from this side.\nThe great framework of architecture which encases it is so astonishingly\ndifferent from the work above and around it that one can scarcely\nbelieve it possible that they belong to one and the same building. It is\na tremendous piece of Plateresque carving, as exquisite as it is out of\nplace, erected through the munificence of the Archbishop Don Juan\nRodriguez de Fonseca in 1514 by the architect Francisco de Colonia. It\nmight have stood in Florence, and most of it might have been set against\na Tuscan church at the height of the Renaissance. There is everywhere an\noverabundance of luxurious detail and rich carving. Between the\nentablatures and columns stand favorite saints. The Virgin and Child are\nadored by a very well-fed, fat-jowled bishop and musical angels. In one\nof the panels the sword is about to descend on the neck of the kneeling\nSaint John. In another, some unfortunate person has been squeezed into a\nhot cauldron too small for his naked body, while bellows are applied to\nthe fagots underneath it and hot tar is poured on his head. While the\nwhole work is thoroughly Renaissance, there is here and there a curious\nGothic feeling to it, from which the carvers, surrounded and inspired by\nso much of the earlier art, seem to have been unable to free themselves.\nThis appears in the figure ornamentation in the archivolts around the\ncircular-headed opening, the angel heads that cut it as it were into\ncusps and the treatment and feeling of some of the figures in the larger\npanels.\n\nThe exterior of Santa Maria is very remarkable. It is a wonderful\nhistory of late Gothic and early Renaissance carving. The only clearing\nwhence any freedom of view and perspective may be had is to the west, in\nfront of the late fifteenth-century spires, but wherever one stands,\nwhether in the narrow alleys to the southeast, or above, or below in the\nsloping city, the three great masses that rise above the cathedral roof,\nof spires, cimborio, and the Constable's Lantern, dominate majestically\nall around them. If one stands at the northeast, above the terraces\nthat descend to the Pellejeria door, each of the three successive series\nof spires that rise one above the other far to the westward might be the\nsteeple of its own mighty church. The two nearest are composed of an\ninfinite number of finely crocketed turrets, tied together by a sober,\nRenaissance bulk; that furthest off shoots its twin spires in Gothic\nnervousness airily and unchecked into the sky, showing the blue of the\nheavens through its flimsy fabric. Between them, tying the huge bulk\ntogether, stretch the buttresses, the sinews and muscles of the\norganism, far less marked and apparent, however, than is ordinarily the\ncase. At various stages above and around, crowning and banding towers,\nchapels, apse, naves, and transepts, run the many balconies. They are\nRenaissance in form, but also Gothic in detail and feeling. Like the\nmasts of a great harbor, an innumerable forest of carved and stonytrunks rise \nfrom every angle, buttress, turret, and pier. In among them,\nfacing their carved trunks and crowning their tops, peeping out from the\nmyriads of stony branches, stands a heavenly legion of saints and\nmartyrs. Crowned and celestial kings and angels people this petrified\nforest of such picturesque and exuberant beauty.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by A. Vadillo\n\nCATHEDRAL OF BURGOS\n\nThe spires above the house-tops]\n\nThe general mass that rises above the roofs, now flat and covered with\nreddish ochre tiles, is, whatever may be the defects of its detail,\nalmost unique in its lavish richness. The spires rest upon the\nhouse-tops of Burgos like the jeweled points of a monarch's crown. The\ndetail is so profuse that it well-nigh defies analysis. It seems as if\nthe four corners of the earth must for generations have been ransacked\nto find a sufficient number of carvers for the sculpture. The closer one\nexamines it, the more astonishing is the infinite labor. Rich, crocketed\ncornices support the numerous, crowning balconies. Figure on figure\nstands against the many sides of the four great turrets that brace the\nangles of the cimborio, against the eight turrets that meet its octagon,\non the corners of spires, under the parapets crowning the transepts,\nunder the canopied angles of the Constable's Lantern, on balconies, over\nrailings, and on balustrades. Crockets cover the walls like feathers on\nthe breast of a bird. It surely is the temple of the Lord of Hosts, the\nnumber of whose angels is legion. It is confused, bewildering, over-done\nand spectacular, lacking in character and sobriety, sculptural\nfire-works if you will, a curious mixture of the passing and the coming\nstyles, but nevertheless it is wonderful, and the age that produced it,\none of energy and vitality. Curiously enough, the transepts have no\nflying, but mere heavy, simple buttresses to meet their thrusts. The\nornamentation of the lower wall surfaces is in contrast to the\nsuperstructure, barren or meaningless. On the plain masonry of the lower\nwalls of the Constable's Chapel stretch gigantic coats-of-arms. Knights\nsupport their heads as well as the arms of the nobles interred within.\nLife-sized roaring lions stand valiantly beside their wheels like\nimmortally faithful mariners. Above, an exquisitely carved, German\nGothic balustrade acts as a base for the double clerestory. The angle\npinnacles are surrounded by the Fathers of the Church and crowned by\nangels holding aloft the symbol of the Cross. The gargoyles look like\npeacefully slumbering cows with unchewed cuds protruding from their\nstony jaws. Tufts of grass and flowers have sprung from the seeds borne\nthere by the winds of centuries.\n\nOutside the Chapel of Sant Iago are more huge heraldic devices: knights\nin full armor and lions lifting by razor-strops, as if in some test of\nstrength, great wheels encircling crosses. Above them, gargoyles leer\ndemoniacally over the heads of devout cherubim. In the little street of\nDiego Porcello, named for the great noble who still protects his city\nfrom the gate of Santa Maria, nothing can be seen of the great church\nbut bare walls separated from the adjacent houses by a dozen feet of\ndirty cobblestones. Ribs of the original chapels that once flanked the\neastern end, behind the present chapels of Sant Iago and Santa Catarina,\nhave been broken off flat against the exterior walls, and the cusps of\nthe lower arches have been closed.\n\nThus the fabric has been added to, altered, mutilated or embellished by\nforeign masters as well as Spanish hands. Who they all were, when and\nwhy they wrought, is not easy to discover. Enrique, Juan Perez, Pedro\nSanchez, Juan Sanchez de Molina, Martin Fernandez, Juan and Francisco de\nColonia and Juan de Vallejo, all did their part in the attempt to make\nSanta Maria of Burgos the loveliest church of Spain.\n\nThe mighty western façade rises in a confined square where acacia trees\nlift their fresh, luxuriant heads above the dust. The symmetry of the\ntowers, the general proportions of the mass, the subdivisions and\nrelationship of the stories, the conception as a whole, clearly show\nthat it belongs to an age of triumph and genius, in spite of the\ndisfigurements of later vandals, as well as essentially foreign masters.\nIt is of queenly presence, a queen in her wedding robes with jewels all\nover her raiment, the costliest of Spanish lace veiling her form and\ndescending from her head, covered with its costly diadem.\n\nNorth and south the towers are very similar and practically of equal\nheight, giving a happily balanced and uniform general appearance. The\nlowest stage, containing the three doorways leading respectively into\nnorth aisle, nave, and south aisle, has been horribly denuded and\ndisfigured by the barbarous eighteenth century, which boasted so much\nand created so little. It removed the glorious, early portico, leaving\nonly bare blocks of masonry shorn of sculpture. No greater wrong could\nhave been done the church. In the tympanum above the southern door, the\nvandals mercifully left a Coronation of the Virgin, and in the northern\none, the Conception, while in the piers, between these and the central\nopening, four solitary statues of the two kings, Alfonso VI and Saint\nFerdinand, and the two bishops, Maurice and Asterio, are all that remain\nof the early glories. The central door is called the Doorway of Pardon.\n\nOne can understand the bigotry of Henry VIII and the Roundheads, which\nin both cases wrought frightful havoc in art, but it is truly\nincomprehensible that mere artistic conceit in the eighteenth century\ncould compass such destruction. The second tier of the screen facing the\nnave, below a large pointed arch, is broken by a magnificent rose. Above\nthis are two finely traceried and subdivided arches with eight statues\nset in between the lowest shafts. The central body is crowned by an\nopen-work balustrade forming the uppermost link between the towers. The\nVirgin with Child reigns in the centre between the carved inscription,\n\"Pulchra es et decora.\" Three rows of pure, ogival arches, delicate, and\nattenuated, break the square sides of the towers above the entrance\nportals; blind arches, spires and statues ornament the angles.\nThroughout, the splays and jambs are filled with glittering balls of\nstone. Inscriptions similar in design to that finishing the screen which\nhides the roof lines crown the platform of the towers below the base of\nthe spires.\n\nThe towers remained without steeples for over two hundred years until\nthe good Bishop Alfonso de Cartagena, returning to his city in 1442 from\nthe Council of Basle, brought with him the German, Juan de Colonia.\nBishop Alfonso was not to see their completion, for he died fourteen\nyears later, but his successor, Don Luis de Acuna, immediately ordered\nthe work continued and saw the figures of Saint Peter and Saint Paul\nplaced on the uppermost spires, three hundred feet above the heads of\nthe worshipping multitude.\n\nThe spires themselves, essentially German in character, are far from\nbeautiful, perforated on all sides by Gothic tracery of multitudinous\ndesigns, too weak to stand without the assistance of iron tie rods, the\nangles filled with an infinite number of coarse, bold crockets breaking\nthe outlines as they converge into the blue.\n\nWhen prosperity came again to Burgos, as to many other Spanish cities,\nit was owing to the wise enactments of Isabella the Catholic. The\nconcordat of 1851 enumerated nine archbishoprics in Spain, among which\nBurgos stands second on the list.\n\nSuch is Burgos, serenely beautiful, rich and exultant, the apotheosis of\nthe Spanish Renaissance as well as studded with exquisitely beautiful\nGothic work. She is mighty and magnificent, speaking perhaps rather to\nthe senses than the heart, but in a language which can never be\nforgotten. Although various epochs created her, radically different in\ntheir means and methods, still there is a certain intangible unity in\nher gorgeous expression and a unique picturesqueness in her dazzling\npresence.\n\n\n\n\n\nAVILA\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF AVILA]\n\n    I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze\n    With forms of saints and holy men who died,\n    Here martyred and hereafter glorified;\n    And the great Rose upon its leaves displays\n    Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays\n    With splendor upon splendor multiplied.\n\n    _Longfellow._\n\n\nThe Cathedral of San Salvador is the strongest link in the chain that\nencircles the city of Avila,--\"cuidad de Castilla la vieja.\" Avila lies\non a ridge in the corner of a great, undulating plain, clothed with\nfields of grain, bleached light yellow at harvest, occasional groups of\nilex and straggling pine and dusty olives scrambling up and down the\nslopes. Beyond is the hazy grayish-green of stubble and dwarfed\nwoodland, with blue peaks closing the horizon. To the south rises the\nSierra Gredos, and eastwards, in the direction of Segovia, the Sierra de\nGuadarrama. The narrow, murky Adaja that loiters through the upland\nplain is quite insufficient to water the thirsty land. Thistles and\nscrub oak dot the rocky fields. Here and there migratory flocks of sheep\nnibble their way across the unsavory stubble, while the dogs longingly\nturn their heads after whistling quails and the passing hunter.\n\nThe crenelated, ochre walls and bastions that, like a string of amber\nbeads, have girdled the little city since its early days, remain\npractically unbroken, despite the furious sieges she has sustained and\nthe battles in which her lords were engaged for ten centuries. As many\nas eighty-six towers crown, and no less than ten gateways pierce, the\nwalls which follow the rise or fall of the ground on which the city has\nbeen compactly and narrowly constructed for safest defense. It must look\nto-day almost exactly as it did to the approaching armies of the Middle\nAges, except that the men-at-arms are gone. The defenses are so high\nthat what is inside is practically hidden from view and all that can be\nseen of the city so rich in saints and stones[7] are the loftiest spires\nof her churches.\n\nTo the Romans, Avela, to the Moors, Abila, the ancient city, powerfully\ngarrisoned, lay in the territory of the Vaccæi and belonged to the\nprovince of Hispania Citerior. During three later centuries, from time\nto time she became Abila, and one of the strongest outposts of Mussulman\ndefense against the raids of Christian bands from the north. Under both\nGoths and Saracens, Avila belonged to the province of Merida. At a very\nearly date she boasted an episcopal seat, mentioned in church councils\nconvoked during the seventh century, but, during temporary ascendencies\nof the Crescent, she vanishes from ecclesiastical history. For a while\nAlfonso I held the city against the Moors, but not until the reign of\nAlfonso VI did she permanently become \"Avila del rey,\" and the\nquarterings of her arms, \"a king appearing at the window of a tower,\"\nwere left unchallenged on her walls.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLAN OF AVILA CATHEDRAL\n\n    A. Capilla Mayor.    B. Crossing.\n    C. Cloisters.\n    D. Towers.\n    E. Main Entrance.\n    F. Northern Portal.]\n\nBy the eleventh century the cities of Old Castile were ruined and\ndepopulated by the ravages of war. Even the walls of Avila were\nwell-nigh demolished, when Count Raymond laid them out anew and with the\nblessing of Bishop Pedro Sanchez they rose again in the few years\nbetween 1090 and the turning of the century. The material lay ready to\nhand in the huge granite boulders sown broadcast on the bleak hills\naround Avila, and from these the walls were rebuilt, fourteen feet thick\nwith towers forty feet high. The old Spanish writer Cean Bermudez\ndescribes this epoch of Avila's history.\n\n\"When,\" he says, \"Don Alfonso VI won Toledo, he had in continuous wars\ndepopulated Segovia, Avila and Salamanca of their Moorish inhabitants.\nHe gave his son-in-law, the Count Don Raymond of the house of Burgundy,\nmarried to the Princess Doña Urraca, the charge to repeople them. Avila\nhad been so utterly destroyed that the soil was covered with stones and\nthe materials of its ruined houses. To rebuild and repopulate it, the\nCount brought illustrious knights, soldiers, architects, officials and\ngentlemen from Leon, the Asturias, Vizcaya and France, and from other\nplaces. They began to construct the walls in 1090, 800 men working from\nthe very beginning, and among them were many masters who came from Leon\nand Vizcaya. All obeyed Casandro Romano and Florin de Pituenga, Masters\nof Geometry, as they are called in the history of this population, which\nis attributed to the Bishop of Oviedo, D. Pilayo, who lived at that time\nand who treats of these things.\"\n\nDuring these perilous years, Count Raymond wisely lodged his masons in\ndifferent quarters of the city, grouping them according to the locality\nthey came from, whether from Cantabria, the Asturias, or the territory\nof Burgos.\n\nA nobility, as quarrelsome as it was powerful, must have answered Count\nRaymond's call for new citizens, for during centuries to come, the\nstreets, like those of mediæval Siena and Florence, constantly ran with\nthe blood of opposing factions. Warring families dared walk only certain\nstreets after nightfall, and battles were carried on between the\ndifferent castles and in the streets as between cities and on\nbattlefields. In the quarrels between royal brothers and cousins, Avila\nplayed a very prominent part. The nurse and protectress of their tender\nyears, and the guardian of their childhood through successive reigns of\nCastilian kings, she became a very vital factor in the fortunes of\nkings, prelates, and nobles. In feuds like those of Don Pedro and his\nbrother Enrique II, she was a turbulent centre. Great figures in Spanish\nhistory ruled from her episcopal throne, especially during the\nthirteenth century. There was Pedro, a militant bishop and one of the\nmost valiant on the glorious battlefield of Las Navas; Benilo, lover of\nand beloved by Saint Ferdinand; and Aymar, the loyal champion of Alfonso\nthe Wise through dark as well as sunny hours.\n\nThe Jews and the Moriscoes here, as wherever else their industrious\nfingers and ingenious minds were at work, did much more than their share\ntowards the prosperity and development of the city. The Jews especially\nbecame firmly established in their useful vocations, filling the king's\ncoffers so abundantly that the third of their tribute, which he granted\nto the Bishop, was not appreciably felt, except in times of armament\nand war. With the fanatical expulsion of first one, and then the other,\nrace, the city's prosperity departed. Their place was filled by the\nbloodhounds of the Inquisition, who held their very first, terrible\ntribunal in the Convent of Saint Thomas, blighting the city and\nsurrounding country with a new and terrible curse. The great rebellion\nunder the Emperor Charles burst from the smouldering wrath of Avila's\nindignant citizens, and in 1520 she became, for a short time, the seat\nof the \"Junta Santa\" of the Comuneros.\n\nIt is still easy to discern what a tremendous amount of building must\nhave gone on within the narrow city limits during the early part of its\nsecond erection. The streets are still full of bits of Romanesque\narchitecture, palaces, arcades, houses, balconies, towers and windows\nand one of the finest groups of Romanesque churches in Spain. Of lesser\nsinew and greater age than San Salvador, they are now breathing their\nlast. San Vicente is almost doomed, while San Pedro and San Segundo are\nfast falling.\n\nBut San Salvador remains still unshaken in her strength,--a fortress\nwithin a cathedral, a splendid mailed arm with its closed fist of iron\nreaching through the outer bastions and threatening the plains. It is a\nbold cry of Christian defiance to enemies without. If ever there was an\nembodiment in architecture of the church militant, it is in the\nCathedral of Avila. Approaching it by San Pedro, you look in vain for\nthe church, for the great spire that loomed up from the distant hills\nand was pointed out as the holy edifice. In its place and for the\neastern apse, you see only a huge gray bastion, strong and secure,\ncrowned at all points by battlements and galleries for sentinels and\nfighting men,--inaccessible, grim, and warlike. A fitting abode for the\nmen who rather rode a horse than read a sermon and preferred the\nbreastplate to the cassock, a splendid epitome of that period of Spanish\nhistory when the Church fought instead of prying into men's souls. It\nwell represents the unification of the religious and military officesdevolving \non the Church of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries in\nCastile,--a bellicose house rather than one of prayer.\n\nAll the old documents and histories of the Church state that the great\nCathedral was started as soon as the city walls were well under way in\n1091 and was completed after sixteen years of hard work. Alvar Garcia\nfrom Estrella in Navarre is recorded as the principal original\narchitect, Don Pedro as the Bishop, and Count Raymond as spurring on the\n1900 men at work, while the pilgrims and faithful were soliciting alms\nand subscriptions through Italy, France, and the Christian portions of\nthe Spanish Peninsula.\n\nOf the earliest church very little remains, possibly only the outer\nwalls of the great bastion that encloses the eastern termination of the\npresent edifice. This is much larger than the other towers of defense,\nand, judging from the excellent character of its masonry, which is\ntotally different from the coarse rubble of the remaining city walls and\ntowers, it must have been built into them at a later date, as well as\nwith much greater care and skill. Many hypotheses have been suggested,\nas to why the apse of the original church was thus built as a portion of\nthe walls of defense. All seem doubtful. It was possibly that the\naltar might come directly above the resting-place of some venerated\nsaint, or perhaps to economize time and construction by placing the apse\nin a most vulnerable point of attack where lofty and impregnable masonry\nwas requisite.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF AVILA\n\nExterior of the apse turret]\n\nThe church grew towards the west and the main entrance,--the transepts\nthemselves, and all work west of them, with the advent of the new style.\nWe thus obtain in Avila, owing to the very early commencement of its\napse, a curious and vitally interesting conglomeration of the Romanesque\nand Gothic. Practically, however, all important portions of the\nstructure were completed in the more vigorous periods of the Gothicstyle with \nthe resulting felicitous effect.\n\nThe building of the apse or the chevet westward must, to judge from its\nstyle, have advanced very slowly during the first hundred years, for its\ngeneral character is rather that of the end of the twelfth and beginning\nof the thirteenth centuries (the reign of Alfonso VIII) than of the pure\nRomanesque work which was still executed in Castile at the beginning of\nthe twelfth century. A great portion of the early Gothic work is, apart\nfrom its artistic merit, historically interesting, as showing the first\ntentative, and often groping, steps of the masters who wished to employ\nthe new forms of the north, but followed slowly and with a hesitation\nthat betrayed their inexperience. Arches were spanned and windows\nbroken, later to be braced and blocked up in time to avert a\ncatastrophe. The transepts belong to the earliest part of the fourteenth\ncentury. We have their definite dates from records,--the northern arm\nrose where previously had stood a little chapel and was given by the\nChapter to Dean Blasco Blasquez as an honorable burial place for himself\nand his family, while Bishop Blasquez Davila, the tutor of Alfonso IX\nand principal notary of Castile, raised the southern arm immediately\nafterwards. He occupied the See for almost fifty years, and must have\nseen the nave and side aisles and the older portions, including the\nnorthwestern tower, all pretty well constructed. This tower with its\nunfinished sister and portions of the west front are curiously enough\nlate Romanesque work, and must thus have been started before the nave\nand side aisles had reached them in their western progress. The original\ncloisters belonged to the fourteenth century, as also the northern\nportal. Chapels, furnishings, pulpits, trascoro, choir stalls, glazing,\nall belong to later times, as well as the sixteenth-century mutilations\nof the front and the various exterior Renaissance excrescences.\n\nIt is interesting to infer that the main part of the fabric must\nvirtually have been completed in 1432, when Pope Eugenio IV published a\nbull in favor of the work. Here he only speaks of the funds requisite\nfor its \"preservation and repair.\" We may judge from such wording the\ncondition of the structure as a whole.\n\nThe most extraordinary portion of the building is unquestionably its\n\"fighting turret\" and eastern end. This apse is almost unique in Spanish\narchitectural history and deeply absorbing as an extensive piece of\nRomanesque work, not quite free from Moorish traces and already\nemploying in its vaulting Gothic expedients. It may be called \"barbaric\nGothic\" or \"decadent Romanesque,\" but, whatever it is termed, it will be\nvitally interesting and fascinating to the student of architectural\nhistory.\n\nExternally the mighty stone tower indicates none of its interior\ndisposition of chapels or vaulting. The black, weather-stained granite\nof its bare walls is alternately broken by slightly projecting pilasters\nand slender, columnar shafts. They are crowned by a corbel table and a\nhigh, embattled parapet, that yielded protection to the soldiers\noccupying the platform immediately behind, which communicated with the\npassage around the city walls. This is again backed by a second wall\nsimilarly crowned. The narrowest slits of windows from the centres of\nthe radiating, apsidal chapels break the lower surfaces, while double\nflying buttresses meet, at the level of the triforium and above the\nclerestory windows, the thrusts of the upper walls.\n\nThe plan is most curious, and on account of its irregularity as well as\ncertain inconsistencies, it is difficult to guess how far it was\noriginally conceived in its present form, or what alterations were made\nin the earlier centuries. Some changes must have been made in its\nvaulting. The chevet or Capilla Mayor, which at first very properly\ncontained the choir, is surrounded by a double ambulatory, outside of\nwhich the thick walls are pierced by nine apsidal chapels. It is\nprobable that these were originally constructed by the engineers to\nlighten the enormous bulk of the outer masonry. They are not quite\nsemicircles in plan, and are vaulted in various simple ways. Where ribs\noccur, they meet in the key of the arch separating chapel from\nambulatory. The piers round the apse itself are alternately\nmonocylindrical and composite; the intermediate ones, subdividing\nunequally the \"girola,\" are lofty, slender columns, while those of the\nexterior are polygonal in plan, with shafts against their faces. Some of\nthe caps are of the best Romanesque types, and composed of animals,\nbirds, and leaves, while others, possibly substituted for the original\nones, have a plain bell with the ornamentation crudely applied in color.\n\nThe Capilla Mayor has both triforium and clerestory of exquisite early\nwork. Dog-tooth moldings ornament the archivolts. Mohammedan influence\nhad asserted itself in the triforium, which is divided by slender shafts\ninto two windows terminating in horseshoe arches, while the clerestory\nconsists of broad, round, arched openings.\n\nThe construction and balance of the apse thrusts were doubtless\noriginally of a somewhat different nature from what we find at present,\nas may easily be observed from the materials, the function and positions\nof the double flying buttresses. They may have been added as late as\nthree centuries after the original fabric. Lamperez y Romea's\nobservations in regard to this are most interesting:--\n\n\"We must observe in the two present orders of windows, that the lower\nwas never built for lights and its construction with double columns\nforming a hollow space proves it a triforium. That it was actually so is\nfurther abundantly proved by several circumstances: first, by a parapet\nor wall which still exists below the actual roof and which follows the\nexterior polygonal line of the girola, as well as by some\nsemi-Romanesque traceries which end in the wall of the Capilla Mayor,\nand finally, by a continuous row of supports existing in the thickness\nof the same wall below a gutter, separating the two orders of windows.\nThese features, as well as the general arrangement of the openings,\ndemonstrate that there was a triforium of Romanesque character,\noccupying the whole width of the girola, which furthermore was covered\nby a barrel vault. Above this came the great platform or projecting\nbalcony, corresponding to the second defensive circuit. Military\nnecessity explains this triforium; without it, there would be no need of\na system of continuous counterthrusts to that of the vaults of the\ncrossing. If we concede the existence of this triforium, various obscure\npoints become clear.\"\n\nThe Capilla Mayor has four bays prior to reaching the pentagonal\ntermination. The vaulting of the most easterly bay connects with that of\nthe pentagon, thus leaving three remaining bays to vault; two form a\nsexpartite vault, and the third, nearest the transept, a quadripartite.\nAll the intersections are met by bosses formed by gilded and spreading\ncoats-of-arms. The ribs do not all carry properly down, two out of the\nsix being merely met by the keystones of the arches between Capilla\nMayor and ambulatory. The masonry of the vaulting is of a reddish stone,\nwhile that of the transepts and nave is yellow, laid in broad, white\njoints.\n\nIn various portions of the double ambulatory passage as well as some of\nthe chapels, the fine, deep green and gold and blue Romanesque coloring\nmay still be seen, giving a rich impression of the old barbaric splendor\nand gem-like richness so befitting the clothing of the style. Other\nportions, now bare, must surely all have been colored. The delicate,\nslender shafts, subdividing unequally the ambulatory, have really no\ncarrying office, but were probably introduced to lessen the difficulty\nof vaulting the irregular compartments of such unequal sides. Gothic art\nwas still in its infancy, and the splendid grasp of the vaulting\ndifficulties and masterly solution of its problems exemplified in so\nmany later ambulatories, had not as yet been reached. Here we have about\nthe first fumbling attempt. The maestro is still fighting in the dark\nwith unequal thrusts, sides and arches of different widths, and a desire\nto meet them all with something higher and lighter than the old\ncontinuous barrel vault. A step forward in the earnest effort toward\nhigher development, such as we find here, deserves admiration. The\nprofiles of the ribs are simple, undecorated and vigorous, as were all\nthe earliest ones; in the chapels, or rather the exedras in the outer\nwalls, the ribs do not meet in a common boss or keystone, its advantages\nnot as yet being known to the builders. A good portion of the old\nroof-covering of the Cathedral, not only over the eastern end, but\npretty generally throughout, has either been altered, or else the\npresent covering conceals the original.\n\nThus it is easy to detect from the outside, if one stands at the\nnorthwestern angle of the church and looks down the northern face, that\nthe upper masonry has been carried up by some three feet of brickwork,\nevidently of later addition, on top of which comes the present covering\nof terra-cotta tiles. The old roof-covering here of stone tiles, as also\nabove the apse, rested directly on the inside vaults, naturally\ndamaging them by its weight, and not giving full protection against the\nweather. The French slopes had in some instances been slavishly copied,\nbut the steep roofs requisite in northern cathedrals were soon after\nabandoned, being unnecessary in the Spanish climate. Over the apse of\nAvila, there may still be found early thirteenth-century roofing,\nconsisting of large stone flags laid in rows with intermediary grooves\nand channels, very much according to ancient established Roman and\nByzantine traditions. Independent superstructure above the vault proper,\nto carry the outside covering, had not been introduced when this roofing\nwas laid.\n\nIn its early days many a noted prelate and honored churchman was laid to\nrest within the holy precinct of the choir in front of the high altar or\nin the rough old sepulchres of the surrounding chapels. With the moving\nof the choir, and probably also a change in the church ceremonies, came\na rearrangement of the apse and the Capilla Mayor's relation to the new\nrites.\n\nThe retablo back of the high altar, consisting of Plateresque ornament,\nbelongs for the most part to the Renaissance. The Evangelists and church\nfathers are by Pedro Berruguete (not as great as his son, the sculptor\nAlfonso), Juan de Borgoña and Santos Cruz. In the centre, facing theambulatory \nbehind, is a fine Renaissance tomb of the renowned Bishop\nAlfonso Tostada de Madrigal. He is kneeling in full episcopal robes,\ndeeply absorbed either in writing or possibly reading the Scriptures.\nThe workmanship on mitre and robe is as fine as the similar remarkable\nwork in Burgos, while the enclosing rail is a splendid example of the\nblending of Gothic and Renaissance.\n\nThe glass in the apse windows is exceptionally rich and magnificently\nbrilliant in its coloring. It was executed by Alberto Holando, one of\nthe great Dutch glaziers of Burgos, who was given the entire contract in\n1520 by Bishop Francisco Ruiz, a nephew of the great Cardinal Cisneros.\n\nSuch, in short, are the characteristics of the chevet of the Cathedral\nof Avila, constructed in an age when its builders must have worked in a\nspirit of hardy vigor with the trowel in one hand and the sword in the\nother. As we see it to-day, it imparts a feeling of mystery, and its\noriental splendor is enhanced by the dim, religious light.\n\nIn entering the crossing, we step into the fullness of the Gothic\ntriumph. The vaults have been thrown into the sky to the height of 130\nfeet. It is early Gothic work, with its many errors and consequent\nretracing of steps made in ignorance. The great arches that span the\ncrossing north and south had taken too bold a leap and subsequently\nrequired the support of cross arches. The western windows and the great\nroses at the end of the transepts, with early heavy traceries, proved\ntoo daring and stone had to be substituted for glass in their apertures;\nthe long row of nave windows have likewise been filled with masonry.\nDespite these and many similar penalties for rashness, the work is as\ndignified as it is admirable. Of course the proportions are all small in\ncomparison with such later great Gothic churches as Leon and Burgos, the\nnave and transepts here being merely 28 to 30 feet wide, the aisles only\n24 feet wide. Avila is but an awkward young peasant girl if compared\nwith the queenly presence of her younger sisters. Nevertheless Avila is\nin true Spanish peasant costume, while Leon and Burgos are tricked out\nin borrowed finery. The nave is short and narrow, but that gives an\nimpression of greater height, and the obscurity left by the forced\nsubstitution of stone for glass in the window spaces adds to the\nsolemnity. The nave consists of five bays, the aisle on each side of it\nrising to about half its height. The golden groining is quadripartite,\nthe ribs meeting in great colored bosses and pendents, added at periods\nof less simple taste. In the crossing alone, intermediary ribs have been\nadded in the vaulting.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nAVILA\n\nFrom outside the walls]\n\nThe walls of the transept underneath the great blind wheels to the north\nand south are broken by splendid windows, each with elaborate tracery\n(as also the eastern and western walls), heavy and strong, but finely\ndesigned. The glazing is glorious, light, warm, and intense. The walls\nof the nave, set back above the lowest arcade some eighteen inches, have\ntriforium and clerestory, and above this again, they are filled quite up\nto the vaulting with elaborate tracery, possibly once foolhardily\nconceived to carry glass. Each bay has six arches in both triforium and\nclerestory, all of simple and early apertures. The glazing of the\nclerestory is white, excepting in one of the bays. In this single\ninstance, a simple, geometric pattern of buff and blue stripes is of\nwonderfully harmonious and lovely color effect.\n\nThe shafts that separate nave from side aisles are still quite\nRomanesque in feeling,--of polygonal core faced by four columns and\neight ribs. The capitals are very simple with no carving, but merely a\ngilded representation of leafage, while the base molds carry around all\nbreaks of the pier. It may be coarse and crude in feeling and execution,\ncertainly very far from the exquisite finish of Leon, nevertheless the\ninfancy of an architectural style, like a child's, has the peculiar\ninterest of what it holds in promise. Like Leon, the side aisles have\ndouble roofing, allowing the light to penetrate to the nave arcade and\nforming a double gallery running round the church.\n\nMany of the bishops who were buried in the choir in its old location\nwere, on its removal to the bay immediately west of the crossing, also\nmoved and placed in the various chapels. The sepulchre of Bishop Sancho\nDavila is very fine. Like his predecessors, he was a fighting man. His\nepitaph reads as follows:--\n\n\"Here lies the noble cavalier Sancho Davila, Captain of the King Don\nFernando and the Queen Doña Isabel, our sovereigns, and their alcaide of\nthe castles of Carmona, son of Sancho Sanches, Lord of San Roman and of\nVillanueva, who died fighting like a good cavalier against the Moors in\nthe capture of Alhama, which was taken by his valor on the 28th of\nFebruary in the year 1490.\"\n\nThe pulpits on each side of the crossing, attached to the great piers,\nare, curiously enough, of iron, exquisitely wrought and gilded. The one\non the side of the epistle is Gothic and the other Renaissance, the body\nof each of them bearing the arms of the Cathedral, the Agnus Dei, and\nthe ever-present lions and castles. The rejas, closing off choir and\nCapilla Mayor in the customary manner, are heavy and ungainly. On the\nother hand, the trascoro, that often sadly blocks up the sweep of the\nnave, is unusually low and comparatively inconspicuous. It contains\nreliefs of the life of Christ, from the first half of the sixteenth\ncentury, by Juan Res and Luis Giraldo. The choir itself is so compact\nthat it only occupies one bay. The chapter evidently was a modest one.\nThe stalls are of elaborate Renaissance workmanship. The verger now in\ncharge, with the voice of a hoarse crow, reads you the name of the\ncarver as the Dutchman \"Cornelis 1536.\"\n\nStrange to say, there are no doors leading, as they logically should,\ninto the centre of the arms of the transept. Through some perversity,\naltars have taken their place, while the northern and southern entrances\nhave been pushed westward, opening into the first bays of the side\naisles. The southern door leads to a vestibule, the sacristy with fine\nGothic vaulting disfigured by later painting, a fine fifteenth-centurychapel and \nthe cloisters. None of this can be seen from the front, as it\nis hidden by adjoining houses and a bare, pilastered wall crowned by a\ncarved Renaissance balustrade. The galleries of the present cloisters\nare later Gothic work with Plateresque decorations and arches walled up.\n\nAvila Cathedral is, as it were, a part and parcel of the history of\nCastile during the reigns of her early kings, the turbulent times when\nself-preservation was the only thought, any union of provinces far in\nthe future, and a Spanish kingdom undreamed of. She was a great church\nin a small kingdom, in the empire she became insignificant. Much of her\nhistory is unknown, but in the days of her power, she was certainly\nassociated with all great events in old Castile. Her influence grew\nwith her emoluments and the ever-increasing body of ecclesiastical\nfunctionaries. In times of war, she became a fortress, and her bishop\nwas no longer master of his house. The Captain-General took command of\nthe bastions, as of those of the Alcazar, and soldiers took the place of\npriests in the galleries. She was the key to the city, and on her flat\nroofs the opposing armies closed in the final struggle for victory.\n\nThe Cathedral has, in fact, only an eastern and a northern elevation,\nthe exterior to the west and south being hidden by the huge tower and\nthe confused mass of chapels and choir which extend to the walls and\nhouses.\n\nThe western entrance front is noble and dignified in its austere\nseverity; probably as old as the clerestory of the nave, it is a grim\nsentinel from the first part of the fourteenth century. With the\nexception of the entrance, it speaks the Romanesque language, although\nits windows and some of its decoration are pointed. It is magnificent\nand impressive, very Spanish, and almost unique in the Peninsula. Four\nmighty buttresses subdivide the composition; between these is the\nentrance, and to the north and south are the towers which terminate the\naisles.\n\nThe southern tower has never been finished. The northern is full of\ninspiration. It is broken at two stages by double windows, the upper\nones of the belfry being crowned by pediments and surmounted by rich,\nsunk tracery. The piers terminate in hexagonal pinnacles, while the\ntower, as well as the rest of the front, is finished with a battlement.\nThe later blocking up of this, as well as the superimposed roofing, is\nvery evident and disturbing. All the angles of buttresses, of windows,\narches, splays, and pyramids,--those also crowning the bulky piers that\nmeet the flying buttresses,--are characteristically and uniquely\ndecorated with an ornamentation of balls. It softens the hard lines,\nsplashing the surface with infinite series of small, sharp shadows and\nmaking it sparkle with life and light. The angles recall the blunt, blue\nteeth of a saw.\n\nThe main entrance, as well as the first two bays of the naves underneath\nthe towers, must originally have been of different construction from the\npresent one. Inside the church, these bays are blocked off from nave and\nside aisles by walls, on top of which they communicate with each other\nas also with the eastern apse by galleries, probably all necessary for\nthe defense of troops in the early days. Possibly a narthex terminated\nthe nave back of the original entrance portal underneath the present\nvaulted compartment.\n\nThe main entrance door is indeed a strange apparition. In its whiteness\nbetween the sombre tints of the martial towers, it rises like a spectre\nin the winding-sheets of a later age. It is distressingly out of place\nand time in its dark framework.\n\n\"But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and of silver,\nbut also of wood and of earth, and some to honor, and some to dishonor.\"\n\nThe semicircular door is crowned by a profusely subdivided, Gothic\narchivolt and guarded by two scaly giants or wild men that look, with\ntheir raised clubs, as if they would beat the life out of any one who\nshould try to enter the holy cavern. Saints Peter and Paul float on\nclouds in the spandrels. Above rises a sixteenth-century composition of\nmasks and canopied niches. The Saviour naturally occupies the centre,\nflanked by the various saints that in times of peril protected the\nchurch of Avila: Saints Vincente, Sabina and Cristela, Saint Segundo and\nSanta Teresa. In the attic in front of a tremendous traceried cusp, with\nopenings blocked by masonry, the ornamentation runs completely riot.\nSaint Michael, standing on top of a dejected and doubled-up dragon,\nlooks down on figures that are crosses between respectable caryatides\nand disreputable mermaids. It is certainly as immaterial as unknown,\nwhen and by whom was perpetrated this degenerate sculpture now\nshamelessly disfiguring a noble casing. The strong, early towers seem in\ntheir turn doubly powerful and eloquent in their simplicity and one\nwishes the old Romanesque portal were restored and the great traceries\nabove it glazed to flood the nave with western sunlight.\n\nThe northeastern angle is blocked by poor Renaissance masonry, the\nexterior of the chapels here being faced by a Corinthian order and\nbroken by circular lights.\n\nThe northern portal is as fine as that of the main entrance is paltry.\nThe head of the door, as well as the great arch which spans the recess\ninto which the entire composition is set, is, curiously enough,\nthree-centred, similar to some of the elliptical ones at Burgos and\nLeon. A lion, securely chained to the church wall for the protection of\nworshipers, guards each side of the entrance. Under the five arches\nstand the twelve Apostles, time-worn, weather-beaten and mutilated, but\nsplendid bits of late thirteenth-century carving. For they must be as\nearly as that. The archivolts are simply crowded with small figures of\nangels, of saints, and of the unmistakably lost. In the tympanum the\nSaviour occupies the centre, and around Him is the same early, naïve\nrepresentation of figures from the Apocalypse, angels, and the crowned\nVirgin.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF AVILA\n\nMain entrance]\n\nTwo years before Luther, a true exponent of Teutonic genius, had nailed\nhis theses to the door of a cathedral in central Germany, there was born\nin the heart of Spain as dauntless and genuine a representative of hercountry's \ngenius. Each passed through great storm and stress of the\nspirit, and finally entered into that closer communion with God, from\nwhich the soul emerges miraculously strengthened. Do not these bleak\nhills, this stern but lovely Cathedral, rising _per aspera ad astra_,\ntypify the strong soul of Santa Teresa? A great psychologist of our day\nfinds the woman in her admirable literary style. Prof. James further\naccepts Saint Teresa's own defense of her visions: \"By their fruits ye\nshall know them.\" These were practical, brave, cheerful, aspiring, like\nthis Castilian sanctuary, intolerant of dissenters, sheltering and\ncaring for many, and leading them upward to the City which is unseen,\neternal in the heavens.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nLEON\n\n[Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF LEON\n\nFrom the southwest]\n\n    Look where the flood of western glory falls\n    Through the great sunflower disk of blazing panes\n    In ruby, saffron, azure, emerald stains.\n\n    _Holmes._\n\n\nIn the year 1008 the ancient church of Leon witnessed a ceremony\nmemorable for more reasons than one. It was conducted throughout\naccording to Gothic customs, King, Queen, nobility and ecclesiastics all\nbeing present, and it was the first council held in Spain since the Arab\nconquest whose acts have come down to us. The object was twofold: to\nhold a joyous festival in celebration of the rebuilding of the city\nwalls, which had been broken down some years before by a Moslem army,\nand to draw up a charter for a free people, governing themselves, for\nSpain has the proud distinction of granting municipal charters one or\ntwo hundred years before the other countries of Europe. For three\ncenturies of Gothic rule, the kings of Leon, Castile and other provinces\nhad successfully resisted every attempt at encroachment from the Holy\nSee and, in session with the clergy, elected their own bishops, until in\n1085 Alfonso VI of Castile takes the fatal step of sending Bernard\nd'Azeu to receive the pallium and investiture as Bishop of Toledo from\nthe hands of Gregory VII. From this time forth, kings are crowned,\nqueens repudiated, and even the hallowed Gothic or Mozarabic ritual is\nset aside for that of Rome by order of popes.\n\nIn 1135 Santa Maria of Leon is the scene of a gorgeous pageant. An\nAlfonso, becoming master of half Spain and quarter of France, thinks he\nmight be called Emperor as well as some others, and within the Cathedral\nwalls he receives the new title in the presence of countless\necclesiastics and \"all his vassals, great and small.\" The monarch's robe\nwas of marvelous work, and a crown of pure gold set with precious stones\nwas placed on his head, while the King of Navarre held his right hand\nand the Bishop of Leon his left. Feastings and donations followed, but,\nwhat was of vastly more importance, the new Emperor confirmed the\ncharters granted to various cities by his grandfather.\n\nAgain a great ceremony fills the old church. Ferdinand, later known as\nthe Saint, is baptized there in 1199. A year or two later, Innocent III\ndeclares void the marriage of his father and mother, who were cousins,\nand an interdict shrouds the land in darkness. Several years pass during\nwhich the Pope turns a deaf ear to the entreaties of a devoted husband,\nthe King of Leon, to their children's claim, the intercession of Spanish\nprelates, and the prayers of two nations who had good cause to rejoice\nin the union of Leon and Castile. Then a victim of the yoke, which Spain\nhad voluntarily put on while Frederic of Germany and even Saint Louis ofFrance \nwere defending their rights against the aggressions of the Holy\nSee, the good Queen Berenzuela, sadly took her way back to her father's\nhome, to the King of Castile.\n\nHis prerogative once established, Innocent III looked well after his\nobedient subjects. When Spain was threatened by the most formidable of\nall Moorish invasions, he published to all Christendom a bull of crusade\nagainst the Saracens, and sent across the Pyrenees the forces which had\nbeen gathering in France for war in Palestine. Rodrigo, Archbishop of\nToledo, preached the holy war and led his troops, in which he was joined\nby the bishops of Bordeaux, Nantes, and Narbonne at the head of their\nmilitia. Germany and Italy sent their quota of knights and soldiers of\nfortune, and this concourse of Christian warriors, speaking innumerable\ntongues, poured through mountain defiles and ever southward till they\nmet in lofty Toledo and camped on the banks of the Tagus. Marches,\nskirmishes, and long-drawn-out sieges prelude the great day. The hot\nSpanish summer sets in, the foreigners, growing languid in the arid\nstretches of La Mancha, and disappointed at the slender booty meted out\nto them, desert the native army, march northwards and again cross the\nPyrenees to return to their homes. It was thus left to the Spaniards,\nled by three kings and their warlike prelates, to defeat a Moslem army\nof half a million and gain the glorious victory of Las Navas de Tolosa\non the sixteenth of August, 1212.\n\nWith Rome's firm grasp on the Spanish Peninsula came temples no less\nbeautiful than those the great Mother Church was planting in every\nportion of her dominion north of the Pyrenees,--Leon, Burgos, Toledo and\nValencia rose in proud challenge to Amiens, Rheims, Beauvais and\nChartres.\n\nLeon may be called French,--yes, unquestionably so, but that is no\ndetraction or denial of her native \"gentileza.\" She may be the very\nembodiment of French planning, her general dimensions like those of\nBourges; her portals certainly recall those of Chartres, and the\nplanning of her apsidal chapels, her bases, arches, and groining ribs,\nremind one of Amiens and Rheims; but nevertheless this exotic flower\nblooms as gloriously in a Spanish desert as those that sprang up amid\nthe vineyards or in the Garden of France.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLAN OF LEON CATHEDRAL\n\n    A. Capilla Mayor.\n    B. Choir.\n    C. Crossing.\n    D. Tombs.\n    E. Trascoro.\n    F. Towers.\n    G. Cloisters.]\n\nLeon is almost as old as the history of Spain. In the first century\nafter Christ, the seventh Roman legion, on the order of Augustus,\npitched their tents where the city now stands, built their customary\nrectangular enclosure with its strong walls and towers, happily seconded\nby the nature of the surrounding country. From here the wild hordes of\nthe Asturias could be kept in check. The city was narrowly built in the\nfork of two rivers, on ground allowing neither easy approach nor\nexpansion, so that the growth has, even up to the twentieth century,\nbeen within the ancient walls, and the streets and squares are in\nconsequence narrow and cramped. On many of the blocks of those old walls\nmay still be seen carved in the clear Roman lettering, \"Legio septima\ngemina, pia, felix.\" The name of Leon is merely a corruption first used\nby the Goths of the Roman \"Legio.\" Roman dominion survived the empire\nfor many years, being first swept away when the Gothic hordes in the\nmiddle of the sixth century descended from the north under the\nconqueror, Loevgild. Its Christian bishopric was possibly the first in\nSpain, founded in the darkness of the third century, since which time\nthe little city can boast an unbroken succession of Leonese bishops,\nalthough a number, during the turbulent decades of foreign rule, may not\nactually have been \"in residence.\" The Moslem followed the Goth, and\nruled while the nascent Christian kingdom of the Asturias was slowly\ngaining strength for independence and the foundation of an episcopal\nseat. In the middle of the eighth century, the Christians wrested it\nfrom the Moors. On the site of the old Roman baths, built in three long\nchambers, King Ordoño II erected his palace (he was reconstructing for\ndefense and glory the walls and edifices of the city) and in 916\npresented it with considerable ground and several adjacent houses to\nBishop Frumonio, that he might commence the building of the Cathedral on\nthe advantageous palace site in the heart of the city. Terrible Moorish\ninvasions occurred soon after, involving considerable damage to the\ngrowing Byzantine basilica. In 996 the Moors swept the city with fire\nand sword, and again, three years later, it fell entirely into the hands\nof the great conqueror Almanzor, who remained in possession only just\nthe same time, for we may read in the old monkish manuscripts that in\n1002 from the Christian pulpits of Castile and Leon the proclamation was\nmade: \"Almanzor is dead, and buried in Hell.\"\n\nLeon could boast of being the first mediæval city of Europe to obtain\nself-government and a charter of her own, and she became the scene of\nimportant councils during the eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth\ncenturies. In the eleventh century, under the great Ferdinand I, who\nunited Castile and Leon, work on the basilica was pushed rapidly\nforward. French influence was predominant in the early building\noperations, for Alfonso VI of Castile, who assumed the title of Emperor\nof Spain, had two French wives, each of whom brought with her a batch of\nzealous and skillful church-building prelates.\n\nThe church was finally consecrated in 1149. About twenty-five years ago,\nthe Spanish architect, D. Demetrio de los Rios, in charge of the work of\nrestoration on the present Cathedral, discovered the walls and\nfoundations of the ancient basilica and was able to determine accurately\nits relation to the later Gothic church. The exact date when this was\nbegun is uncertain,--many writers give 1199. Beyond a doubt the\nfoundations were laid out during the reign of Alfonso IX, early in the\nthirteenth century, when Manrique de Lara was Bishop of the See of Leon\nand French Gothic construction was at the height of its glory. It is\nthus a thirteenth-century church, belonging principally to the latter\npart, built with the feverish energy, popular enthusiasm, and\nunparalleled genius for building which characterizes that period and\nstamps it as uniquely glorious to later constructive ages. Though\nsmaller than most of the immense churches which afterwards rose under\nSpanish skies, Leon remained in many respects unsurpassed and unmatched.\n\n    \"Sevilla en grandeza, Toledo en riqueza,\n     Compostella en fortaleza, está en sutileza\n     Santa Maria de Regla.\"\n\nIn the middle of the thirteenth century, after the consecration of the\nnew church, a famous council of all the bishops of the realm was held in\nthe little town of Madrid, and there the faithful were exhorted, and\nthe lukewarm admonished with threats, to contribute by every means to\nthe successful erection of Leon's Cathedral. Indulgences, well worth\nconsideration, were granted to contributors, at the head of whom for a\nliberal sum stood the king, Alfonso X.\n\nBut Leon, capital of the ancient kingdom, was doomed before long to feel\nthe bitterness of abandonment. The Castilian kings followed the retreat\nsouthward of the Moorish armies, and the history of the capital of Leon,\nwhich, during the thirteenth century, had been the history of the little\nkingdom, soon became confined within the limits of her cathedral walls.\nBurgos, a mighty rival, soon overshadowed her. The time came when the\nBishop of Leon was merely a suffragan of the Archbishop of Burgos, and\nher kings had moved their court south to Seville. The city of Leon was\nlost in the union of the two kingdoms.\n\nThe fortunes of the Cathedral have been varied and her reverses great.\nHer architects risked a great deal and the disasters entailed were\nproportionate. Though belonging preëminently in style to the glorious\nthirteenth century, her building continued almost uninterruptedly\nthroughout the fourteenth. We have in succession Maestro Enrique, Pedro\nCebrian, Simon, Guillen de Rodan, Alonzo Valencia, Pedro de Medina, and\nJuan de Badajoz, working on her walls and towers with a magnificent\nrecklessness which was shortly to meet its punishment. Although Bishop\nGonzalez in 1303 declared the work, \"thanks be to God, completed,\" it\nwas but started. The south façade was completed in the sixteenth\ncentury, but as early as 1630 the light fabric began to tremble, then\nthe vaulting of the crossing collapsed and was replaced by a more\nmagnificent dome. Many years of mutilations and disasters succeeded. The\nsouth front was entirely taken down and rebuilt, the vaulting of aisles\nfell, great portions of the main western façade, and ornamentation here\nand there was disfigured or destroyed by the later alterations in\noverconfident and decadent times, until, in the middle of the eighteenth\ncentury, very considerable portions of the original rash and exquisite\nfabric were practically ruined. There came, however, an awakening to the\noutrages which had been committed, and from the middle of the nineteenth\ncentury to the present day, the work of putting back the stones in their\noriginal forms and places has steadily advanced to the honor of Leon andglory of \nSpain, until Santa Maria de Regla at last stands once more in\nthe full pristine lightness of her original beauty.\n\nThe plan of Leon is exceedingly fine, surpassed alone among Spanish\nchurches by that of Toledo. Three doorways lead through the magnificent\nwestern portal into the nave and side aisles of the Church. These\nconsist of five bays up to the point where the huge arms of the transept\nspread by the width of an additional bay. In proportion to the foot of\nthe cross, these arms are broader than in any other Spanish cathedral.\nThey are four bays in length, the one under the central lantern being\ntwice the width of the others, thus making the total width of the\ntransepts equal to the distance from the western entrance to their\nintersection. The choir occupies the fifth and sixth bays of the nave.\nTo the south, the transept is entered by a triple portal very similar in\nscale and richness to the western. The eastern termination of the\nchurch is formed by a choir of three and an ambulatory of five bays\nrunning back of the altar and trascoro, and five pentagonal apsidal\nchapels. The sacristy juts out in the extreme southwestern angle. The\nnorthern arm of the huge transepts is separated from the extensive\ncloisters by a row of chapels or vestibules which to the east also lead\nto the great Chapel of Santiago. All along its eastern lines the church\nwith its dependencies projects beyond the city walls, one of its massive\ntowers standing as a mighty bulwark of defense in the extreme\nnortheastern angle.\n\n[Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF LEON\n\nLooking up the nave]\n\nIt is a plan that must delight not only the architect, but any casual\nobserver, in its almost perfect symmetry and in the relationship of its\nvarious parts to each other. It belonged to the primitive period of\nFrench Gothic, though carried out in later days when its vigor was\nwaning. It has not been cramped nor distorted by initial limitation of\nspace or conditions, nor injured by later deviations from the original\nconception. It is worthy of the great masters who planned once for all\nthe loveliest and most expressive house for the worship of God. Erected\non the plains of Leon, it was conceived in the inspired provinces of\nChampagne and the Isle de France.\n\nIt has a total length of some 308 feet and a width of nave and aisles of\n83. The height to the centre of nave groining is 100 feet. The western\nfront has two towers, which, curiously enough, as in Wells Cathedral,\nflank the side aisles, thus necessitating in elevation a union with the\nupper portions of the façade by means of flying buttresses.\n\nThere is a fine view of the exterior of the church from across the\nsquare facing the southwestern angle. A row of acacia plumes and a\nmeaningless, eighteenth-century iron fence conceal the marble paving\nround the base, but this foreground sinks to insignificance against the\nsoaring masses of stone towers and turrets, buttresses and pediments,\nstretching north and east. Both façades have been considerably restored,\nthe later Renaissance and Baroque atrocities having been swept away in a\nmore refined and sensitive age, when the portions of masonry which fell,\nowing to the flimsiness of the fabric, were rebuilt. The result has,\nhowever, been that great portions, as for instance in the western front\nand the entire central body above the portals, jar, with the chalky\nwhiteness of their surfaces by the side of the time-worn masonry. They\nlack the exquisite harmony of tints, where wind and sun and water have\nswept and splashed the masonry for centuries.\n\nThe two towers that flank the western front in so disjointed a manner\nare of different heights and ages. Both have a heavy, lumbering quality\nentirely out of keeping with the aerial lightness of the remainder of\nthe church. It is not quite coarseness, but rather a stiff-necked,\npompous gravity. Their moldings lack vigor and sparkle. The play of\nfancy and sensitive decorative treatment are wanting. The northern tower\nis the older and has an upper portion penetrated by a double row of\nround and early pointed windows. An unbroken octagonal spire crowns it,\nthe angles of the intersection being filled by turrets, as uninteresting\nas Prussian sentry-boxes. The southern tower, though lighter and more\nornamented, has, like its sister, extremely bald lower surfaces, the\nfour angles in both cases being merely broken by projecting buttresses.\nThe lowest story was completed in the fourteenth century. It was added\nto in successive centuries by Maestro Jusquin and Alfonso Ramos, but its\ngreat open-work spire, of decided German form, probably much influenced\nby Colonia's spires at Burgos, was first raised in the fifteenth\ncentury.\n\nIt is a complete monotonous lacework of stone, not nearly as spirited as\nsimilar, earlier, French work. The spire is separated from the bald base\nby a two-storied belfry, with two superimposed openings on each surface.\nGothic inscriptions decorate the masonry and the huge black letters\nspell out \"Deus Homo--Ave Maria, Gratia plena.\"\n\nAt the base, between these huge, grave sentinels, stands the magnificent\nold portico with the modern facing of the main body of the church above\nit. This screen of later days, built after the removal of a hideously\nout-of-keeping Renaissance front, is contained within two buttresses\nwhich meet the great flying ones. In fact, looking down the stone gorge\nbetween these buttresses and the towers, one sees a mass of pushing and\npropping flying buttresses springing in double rows above the roof of\nthe side aisles towards the clerestories of the nave. The screen itself\ncontains, immediately above the portico, an arcade of four subdivided\narches, corresponding to the triforium, and above it a gorgeous rose\nwindow. It is the best type of late thirteenth or early\nfourteenth-century wheel of radial system, very similar in design to the\nwestern wheel of Notre Dame de Paris and the great western one of\nBurgos. Springing suddenly into being in all its developed perfection,\nit can only be regarded as a direct importation from the Isle de France.\nThe ribs of the outer circle are twice as many as those of the inner,\nthus dividing the glass surfaces into approximately equal breadth of\nfields. This and the rose of the southern transept are similar, and both\nare copies of the original one still extant in the north transept. A\nfine cornice and open-work gallery surmount the composition, flanked by\ncrocketed turrets and crowned in the centre by a pediment injurious in\neffect and of Italian Renaissance inspiration. The gable field is broken\nby a smaller wheel, and in an ogival niche are statues of the\nAnnunciation.\n\nThe portico is the most truly splendid part of the Cathedral. Erected at\nthe end of the thirteenth or beginning of the fourteenth century, much\nof its Gothic sculpture is unsurpassed in Spain. A perfect museum of art\nand a history in magnificent carving. The composition as a whole recalls\nagain unquestionably Chartres. It consists of three recessed arches\nhooding with deep splays the three doorways which lead into nave and\nside aisles. Between the major arches are two smaller, extremely pointed\nones, the most northerly of which encases an ancient columnar shaft\ndecorated with the arms of Leon and bearing the inscription, \"locus\nappellationis.\" Beneath it court was long held and justice administered\nby the rulers of Leon during the Middle Ages.\n\nThe arches of the porches are supported by piers, completely broken and\nsurrounded by columnar shafts and niches carrying statues on their\ncorbels. These piers stand out free from the jambs of the doors and\nwall surfaces behind, and thus form an open gallery between the two.\nAround and over all is an astounding and lavish profusion of\nsculpture,--no less than forty statues. The jambs and splays, the\nshafts, the archivolts, the moldings and tympanums are covered with\ncarving, varied and singularly interesting in the diversity of its\nperiod and character. Part of it is late Byzantine with the traditions\nof the twelfth century, while much is from the very best vigorous Gothic\nchisels, and yet some, later Gothic. Certain borders, leafage, and vine\nbranches are Byzantine, and so also are some of the statues, \"retaining\nthe shapeless proportions and the immobility and parched frown of the\nByzantine School, so perfectly dead in its expression, offering,\nhowever, by its garb and by its contours not a little to the study of\nthis art, and so constituting a precious museum.\" Again, other statues\nhave the mild and venerable aspect of the second period of Gothic work.\nThe oldest are round the most northerly of the three doorways. Every\nwalk of life is represented. There is a gallery of costumes; and most\nvarying emotions are depicted in the countenances of the kings and\nqueens, monks and virgins, prelates, saints, angels, and bishops.\nSeparating the two leaves of the main doorway, stands Our White Lady.\nBut if the statues are interesting, the sculpture of the archivolts and\nthe personages and scenes carved on the fields of the tympanums far\nsurpass them.\n\nMrs. Wharton says somewhere, \"All northern art is anecdotic,--it is an\nancient ethnological fact that the Goth has always told his story that\nway.\" Nothing could be more \"anecdotic\" than this sculpture. The\nnorthern tympanum gives scenes from the Life of Christ, the Visitation,\nthe Nativity, the Adoration of the Magi, and the Flight into Egypt. In\nthe southern, are events from the life of the Virgin Mary; but the\ncentral one, and the archivolts surrounding it, contain the most\nspirited bits. The scene is the Last Judgment, with Christ as the\ncentral figure. Servants of the Church of various degrees are standing\non one side with expressions of beatitude nowise clouded by the fate of\nthe miserable reprobates on the other. In the archivolts angels ascend\nwith instruments and spreading wings, embracing monks or gathering\norphans into their bosoms, while the lost with horrid grimaces are\ndescending to their inevitable doom. Not even the great Florentine could\ndepict more realistically the feelings of such as had sinned grievously\nin this world.\n\nThe long southern side of the church has for its governing feature the\nwide transept termination, which in its triple portal, triforium arcade,\nand rose is practically a repetition of the west. The central body is\nall restored. The original, magnificent old statues and carving have,\nhowever, been set back in the new casings around and above the main\nentrance. An old Leonese bishop, San Triolan, occupies in the central\ndoor the same position as \"Our White Lady\" to the west, while the\nSaviour between the Four Evangelists is enthroned in the tympanum.\n\n[Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF LEON\n\nRear of apse]\n\nOne obtains a most interesting study in construction by standing behind\nthe great polygonal apse, whence one may see the double rows of flying\nbuttresses pushing with the whole might of the solid piers behind them\nagainst the narrow strips of masonry at the angles of the choir. From\nevery buttress rise elegantly carved and crocketed finials. Marshalled\nagainst the cobalt of the skies, they body forth an array of shining\nlances borne by a heavenly host. The balconies, forming the cresting to\nthe excessively high clerestory, are entirely Renaissance in feeling,\nand lack in their horizontal lines the upward spring of the church\nbelow. Almost all of this eastern end, breaking through the city walls,\nis, with the possible exception of the roof, part of the fine old\nstructure, in contrast to the adjoining Plateresque sacristy.\n\nIt is generally from the outside of French cathedrals that one receives\nthe most vivid impressions. Though the mind may be overcome by a feeling\nof superhuman effort on entering the portals of Notre Dame de Paris, yet\nthe emotion produced by the first sight of the queenly, celestial\nedifice from the opposite side of the broad square is the more powerful\nand eloquent. Not so in Spain,--and this in spite of the location of the\nchoirs. It is not until you enter a Spanish church that its power and\nbeauty are felt.\n\nThe audacious construction of Leon, which one wonders at from the square\noutside, becomes well-nigh incredible when seen from the nave. How is it\npossible that glass can support such a weight of stone? If Burgos was\nbold, this is insane. It looks as unstable as a house of cards, ready\nfor a collapse at the first gentle breeze. Can fields of glass sustain\nthree hundred feet of thrusts and such weights of stone? It is a\nculmination of the daring of Spanish Gothic. In France there was this\ndifference,--while the fields of glass continued to grow larger and\nlarger, the walls to diminish, and the piers to become slenderer, the\naid of a more perfectly developed system of counterthrusts to the\nvaulting was called in. In Spain we reach the maximum of elimination in\nthe masonry of the side walls at the end of the thirteenth century, and\nin the Cathedral of Leon, whereas later Gothic work, as in portions of\nBurgos and Toledo, shows a sense of the futile exaggeration towards\nwhich they were drifting, as well as the impracticability of so much\nglass from a climatic point of view.\n\nInternally, Leon is the lightest and most cheerful church in Spain. The\ngreat doorways of the western and southern fronts, as well as that to\nthe north leading into the cloisters, are thrown wide open, as if to add\nto the joyousness of the temple. Every portion of it is flooded with\nsweet sunlight and freshness. It is the church of cleanliness, of light\nand fresh air, and above all, of glorious color. The glaziers might have\nsaid with Isaiah, \"And I will make thy windows of agates and thy gates\nof carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones.\" The entire walls\nare a continuous series of divine rainbows.\n\nThe side walls of the aisles for a height of some fourteen feet to the\nbottom of their vaulting ribs, the triforium, commencing but a foot\nabove the arches which separate nave from side aisles, and immediately\nabove the triforium, forty feet of clerestory,--all is glass, emerald,\nturquoise, and peacock, amber, straw, scarlet, and crimson, encased in a\nmost delicate, strangely reckless, and bold-traceried framework of\nstained ivory. Indeed, the jeweled portals of Heaven are wide open when\nthe sun throws all the colors from above across the otherwise colorless\nfields of the pavement. \"The color of love's blood within them glows.\"\nThere is glazing of many centuries and all styles. In some of the\ntriforium windows are bits of glass, which, after the destruction or\nfalling of the old windows, were carefully collected, put together, and\nused again in the reglazing. Some of it is of the earliest in Spain,\nprobably set by French, Flemish, or German artisans who had immigrated\nto practise their art and set up their factories on Spanish soil\nadjacent to the stone-carvers' and masons' sheds under the rising walls\nof the great churches. Like all skilled artisans of their age, the\nsecret of their trade, the proper fusing of the silica with the\nalkalies, was carefully guarded and handed down from father to son or\nmaster to apprentice. They were chemists, glaziers, artists, colorists,\nand glass manufacturers, all in one. The heritage was passed on in those\ndays, when the great key of science which opens all portals had not yet\nbecome common property. Some of the oldest glass is merely a crude\nmosaic inlay of small bits and must date back to early thirteenth\ncentury. Coloring glass by partial fusion was then first practised and\nsoon followed by the introduction of figures and themes in the glass,\nand the acquisition of a lovely, homogeneous opalescence in place of the\npurely geometrical patterns. Scriptural scenes or figures painted, as\nthe Spanish say, \"en caballete,\" became more and more general. The best\nof the Leon windows are from the fifteenth century, when the glaziers'\nshops in the city worked under the direction of Juan de Arge, Maestro\nBaldwin, and Rodrigo de Ferraras, and its master colorists were at work\nglazing the windows of the Capilla Mayor, the Capilla de Santiago, and a\nportion of those of the north transept. \"Ces vitreaux hauts en couleur,\nqui faisaient hésiter l'œil émerveillé de nos pères entre la rose du\ngrand portail et les ogives de l'abside.\" The glazing has gone on\nthrough centuries; even to-day the glaziers at Leon are busy in their\nshops, making the sheets of sunset glow for their own and other Spanish\ncathedrals.\n\nIn some of the side aisles, they have, alas, during recent decades\nplaced some horrible \"grisaille\" and geometrically patterned\nwindows,--in frightful contrast to the delightful thirteenth-century\nlegends of Saint Clement and Saint Ildefonso, or that most absorbing\nrecord of civic life depicted in the northern aisle. In studying the\nwindows of Leon, Lamperez y Romea's observations on Spanish glazing are\nof interest: \"In the fourteenth century the rules of glazing in Spain\nwere changed. Legends had fallen into disuse and the masters had learned\nthat, in the windows of the high nave, small medallions could not be\nproperly appreciated. They were then replaced by large figures, isolated\nor in groups, but always one by one in the spaces determined by the\ntracery. The coloring remained strong and vivid. The study of nature,\nwhich had so greatly developed in painting and in sculpture, altered the\ndrawing little by little, the figures became more modeled and lifelike,\nand were carried out with more detail. At the same time the coloring\nchanged by the use of neutral tints, violet, brown, light blues, rose,\netc. Many of the old windows are of this style. And so are the majority\nof the windows of Avila, Leon, and Toledo, as it lasted in Spain\nthroughout the fifteenth century, and others which preserve the\ncomposition of great figures and strong coloring, although there may be\nnoticed in the drawings greater naturalism and modeling.\"\n\nThese rules differed slightly from those followed in France, where, with\nthe exception of certain churches in the east, the windows of the\nthirteenth century were richer in decoration, more luscious in coloring\nand more harmonious in their tones than those of the fourteenth. There\nis little in this later century that can compare with the\nthirteenth-century series of Chartres figures.\n\nThe Leonese windows are perhaps loveliest late in the afternoon, when\nthe saints and churchmen seem to be entering the church through their\nblack-traceried portals, and, clad in heavenly raiment, about to descend\nto the pavement,--\n\n    As softly green,\n    As softly seen,\n    Through purest crystal gleaming,\n\nthere to people the aisles and keep vigil at the altars of God to the\ncoming of another day.\n\nThere are, fortunately, scarcely any other colors or decorations,--or\naltars off side aisles,--that might divert the attention from the\nrichness of glass. The various vaulting has the jointing of its\nstonework strongly marked, but, with the exception of the slightly\ngilded bosses, no color is applied. The glory of the glass is thus\nenhanced. Owing to the great portions of masonry which have been\nrebuilt, this varies in its tints, but the old was, and has remained, of\nsuch an exquisitely delicate creamy color that the new interposed\nstonework merely looks like a lighter, fresher shade of the old. The\nrestoration has been executed with rare skill and artistic feeling.\n\nIn studying the inner organism and structure of the edifice, one soon\nsees how recklessly the original fabric was constructed and in how many\nplaces it had to be rebuilt, strengthened and propped,--indeed,\nimmediately after its completion. Here, as was the general custom in the\ngreater early Gothic cathedrals, the building began with the choir and\nCapilla Mayor, to be followed by the transepts, the portions of the\nedifice essential to the service. The choir was probably temporarily\nroofed over and the nave and side aisles followed. The exterior façades,\nportals, and upper stories of the towers were carried out last of all by\nthe aid of indulgences, contributions, alms and concessions.\n\nIn old manuscripts and documents which record the very first work on the\ncathedrals we find the one in charge called \"Maestro,\"--or _magister\noperis_, _magister ecclesiae_, _magister fabricae_, but not till\nthe sixteenth century does the appellation \"arquitecto\" appear.\nHis pay seems to have varied, both in amount and in form of\nemolument,--sometimes it was good hard cash, often a very poor or\ndubious remuneration, handed out consequently with a more lavish hand;\nsometimes grants, and again royal favor. Generally the architect entered\ninto a stipulated agreement with the Cathedral Chapter, both as to his\ntime and services, before he began his work. We find Master Jusquin\n(1450-69) receiving from the Chapter of Leon not only a daily salary but\nalso annual donations of bushels of wheat, pairs of gloves, lodgings,\npoultry, other supplies, and the use of certain workmen.\n\nLeon's unquestionable French parentage is, if possible, even more\nobvious in the interior than in the exterior. The piers between nave and\nside aisles are cylindrical in plan, having in their lowest section on\ntheir front surface three columns grouped together that continue\nstraight up through triforium and clerestory and carry the transverse\nand diagonal ribs of the nave. They have further one column on each side\nof the axis east and west and, strange to say, only one toward the side\naisles, which thus lack continuous supports for their diagonal ribs. The\nouter walls of the side aisles are formed by a blind arcade of five\narches, surmounted by a projecting balcony or corridor and a clerestory\nsubdivided by its tracery into four arches and three cusped circles. The\nnave triforium consists of a double arcade with a gallery running\nbetween (one of the very rare examples in Spain). Each bay has in the\ntriforium four open and two closed arches, surmounted by two\nquatrefoils. The clerestory rises above, divided by marvelously slender\nshafts into six compartments and three cusped circles in the apex of the\narch. Here shine, in dazzling raiment and with ecstatic expressions, the\nsaints and martyrs ordered in the fifteenth century from Burgos for the\nsum of 20,000 maravedis.\n\nThroughout all the glazed wall surfaces we find evidence of the anxiety\nthat overtook their reckless projectors. All but the upper cusps of the\nwindows of the side aisles have been filled in by masonry, painted with\nsaints and evangelists in place of the translucent ones originally\nplaced here. The lower portions of the triforium lights have been\nblocked up and also the two outer arches of the clerestory. The light,\nclustered piers and slender, double flying buttresses could not\naccomplish the gigantic task of supporting the great height above. Nor\ncould the ingenious strengthening of the stone walls (consisting of\nashlar inside and out, facing intermediate rubble) by iron clamps supply\nthe requisite firmness.\n\nIt seems doubly unfortunate that the choir stalls should occupy the\nposition they do here, when there is such liberal space in the three\nbays east of the crossing in front of the altar. The stone of their\nexterior backing is cold and gray beside the ochre warmth of the\nsurrounding piers. The classic Plateresque statues and bas-reliefs, as\nwell as the exquisitely carved, Florentine decoration, seems strangely\nout of place under the Gothic loveliness above. The trascoro itself is\nwarmer in color, but of the extravagant later period. Its pilasters,\nspandrels, and band-courses are filled with elaborate and fine\nFlorentine ornamentation, while the niches themselves, with high reliefs\nrepresenting the Annunciation, the Nativity, and the Adoration of the\nMagi, are not quite free from a certain Gothic feeling. Above, great\nstatues of Church Fathers weigh heavily on the delicate work and smaller\nscale below.\n\nThe carving of the double tier of walnut choir stalls is at once\nrestrained and rich. Beautiful Gothic tracery surmounts in both tiers\nthe figures that fill the panels above the seats. Below are characters\nfrom the Old Testament,--Daniel, Jeremiah, Abel, David busily playing\nhis harp, Joshua \"Dux Isri,\" Moses with splendid big horns and tablets,\nTobias with his little fish slit up the belly. Above stand firmly\nfull-length figures of the Apostles and saints. With the exception of\nsome of the work near the entrance, which is practically Renaissance in\nfeeling, all this carving is late Gothic from the last part of the\nfifteenth century and executed by the masters Fadrique, John of Malines,\nand Rodrigo Aleman. Two of the stalls, more elevated and pronounced than\nthe rest, are for the hereditary canons of the Cathedral, the King of\nLeon and the Marquis of Astorga. Excellent as they are, these stalls are\nnot nearly so rich in design nor beautiful in execution as the Italian\nRenaissance choir stalls, in the Convent of San Marcos directly outside\nthe city walls, carved some decades later by the Magister Guillielmo\nDosel.\n\nThe crossing is splendidly broad, the transepts appearing, as one\nglances north and south, as much the main arms of the cross as do the\nnave and choir. The southern arm is quite new, having been completely\nrebuilt by D. Juan Madrazo and D. Demetrio Amador de los Rios. The\nglazing of its window and the arabesques cannot be compared to those of\nthe original fabric in the northern arm. The four piers of the crossing,\nthough slender and graceful, carry full, logical complements of shafts\nfor the support of the various vaulting ribs, intersecting at their\napexes.\n\nThe retablo above the high altar is in its simplicity as refreshing as\nthe light and sunniness of the church. In place of the customary gaudy\ncarving, it merely consists of a series of painted fifteenth-century\ntablets set in Gothic frames. Simple rejas close the western bays and a\nflorid Gothic trasaltar, the eastern termination. Directly back of the\naltar lies a noble and dignified figure, the founder of the church, King\nOrdoño II. At his feet is a little dog, looking for all the world like\na sucking pig in a butcher's window. And above him is an ancient and\nmost curious Byzantine relief of the Crucifixion. The lions and castles\nof his kingdom surround the old king. The greater portion of the carving\nmust belong to the oldest in the church.\n\nIn looking at the vaulting and considering the difficulty of planning\nthe \"girola\" or ambulatory, one realizes that such construction could\nonly be the outcome of many years of study, experiment and inspiration.\nPerfection means long previous schooling and experience. The apsidal\nchapels that radiate from it have glass differing in excellence. Here\nand there frescoes of the thirteenth century line these earliest walls.\nIt is surprising in how many different places old sepulchres are to be\nfound, all more or less similar in their general design and belonging to\nthe period of transition from the Byzantine to the Gothic, yet each\ndenoting the building period of the place where it stands. Some of the\nsubjects of the carving are most curious: a hog playing the bagpipes,\nthe devil in the garb of a father confessor, tempting a penitent; or\nagain, a woman suckling an ass. Saint Froila lies on one side of the\naltar. Not only his sanctity but even his authenticity were disputed by\nvarious disbelievers in the city, prior to his being brought to this\nfinal resting-place. The matter was decided by placing the body in\nquestion on an ass's back, whereupon the sagacious animal took his holy\nburden to the spot where it deserved burial.\n\nIn the Capilla de Nuestra Señora del Dado, or \"of the die,\" stands a\nVirgin with the face of the Christ child ever bleeding, it is said,\nsince the time when an unlucky gambler in a fit of despair threw his\ndice against the Babe.\n\nDirectly opposite Ordoño's tomb lies the Countess Sancha, who, in a\nburst of religious enthusiasm, decided to leave her considerable worldly\ngoods to the Church instead of to her nephew. This was more than he\ncould stand, and he murdered her. Below her figure he is represented,\nreceiving his just reward in being torn to pieces by wild horses.\n\nTo the north, a florid Gothic portal leads on a higher level to the\nChapel of Santiago. This has been, and is still being, restored. Its\nthree vaults are differently arched, the ribs not being carried down\nagainst the side walls to the floor, but met by broad corbels supported\nby curious figures. The stonework is cold and gray in comparison to the\nchurch proper.\n\nSeparating the northern entrance from the cloisters is a row of chapels,\nleading one into the other and crowded with tombs and sculpture. There\nare few more complete cloisters in Spain. Large and elaborate, they are\na curious mixture of the old Gothic and the Renaissance restorations of\nthe sixteenth century. Ancient Gothic tombs, their archivolts crowded\nwith angels, pierce the interior walls, while the vaults themselves are\nmost elaborately groined, the arches and vaulting being later filled\nwith Renaissance bosses and rosettes. In the sunny courtyard are piled\nup the Renaissance turrets and sculptures that once usurped on the\nfaçades the places of the older Gothic ornamentation. The northern\nportal itself is practically hidden by the chapels and cloisters. It is\nfine Gothic work. A Virgin and Child form a mullion in its centre, while\nvery worldly-looking women parade in its archivolts. Everywhere are the\narms of the United Kingdoms. A great portion of the ancient tapestry\nblue and Veronese red coloring is still preserved, throwing out the old\nGothic figures in their true tints.\n\nThis aerial tabernacle, so rich and yet so simple, lies in the heart of\na city so fabulously old that the Cathedral itself belongs rather to its\nlater days. The old houses and streets have a dryness and close smell\nlike that in the ancient sepulchres of parched countries. Monuments and\nwalls and turrets of Rome crumble around the houses and vaults of\nByzantium. The naïve frescoes and carvings of the eighth and ninth\ncenturies seem to look down with childlike wonder and amazement on the\npedestrians now crowding the patterned pavements, or pressing against\nthe shady sides of the time-worn arches.\n\nThe worshipers who tread the narrow lanes leading to and from the altar\nhave changed, but little else. The square, mediæval castles with their\nangular towers still command the approach of the main thoroughfares. The\ncrabbed old watchman with lantern and stick under his cape treads his\ndoddering gait across the courtyards through the night hours, crying\nafter the peal of the bell above, \"Las doce han dado y sereno,\" \"Las\ntrece han dado y aleviendo,\" \"Las quince han dado y nublano,\" just as in\nthe middle ages, so that the good peasant may know time and weather and\nmerely turn in his bed, if neither crops nor creatures need care.\n\nSanta Maria de Regla too stands to-day as she stood in the middle ages,\na monument to the care and affection of her children. She has the same\nspirituality, harmony of proportions, slenderness, and purity of lines,\nand she looks down and blesses us to-day with the same serenity and\nqueenly grace which she wore in the fourteenth century. She is the\nfinest Gothic cathedral in Spain.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nTOLEDO\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF TOLEDO]\n\nI withdrew at once with the Morisco into the cloisters of the\nCathedral.--_Don Quixote._\n\n\n\nThe peace of death is over Toledo, unbroken by any invasion of modern\nthought or new architecture since her last deep sighs mingled with the\ndistant echoes of the middle ages. But she still wears the mantle of her\nimperial glory. She sleeps in the fierce, beating sunlight of the\ntwentieth century like the enchanted princess of fairy tales,\nundisturbed by, and unconscious of, the world around her.\n\nThe atmosphere is transparent; the sky spreads from lapis-lazuli to a\ncobalt field back of the snow-capped, turquoise Sierra de Gredo\nmountains, while a clear streak of lemon color throws out the sharp\nsilhouette of the battlements and towers.\n\nThere is sadness and desolation in the decay, a pathetically forlorn and\ntragical widowhood, strangely affecting to the senses.\n\n    A blackened ruin, lonely and forsaken,\n    Already wrapt in winding-sheets of sand;\n    So lies Toledo till the dead awaken,--\n    A royal spoil of Time's resistless hand.\n\nToledo! The name rings with history, romance and legend. Enthralling\nimages of the past rise before one and vanish like the ghosts of\nMacbeth. Capital of Goth, of Moslem, and of Christian; mightiest of\nhierarchical seats,[8] city of monarch and priest, she has worn a double\ndiadem. Gautier says, \"Jamais reine antique, pas même Cléopatre, qui\nbuvait des perles, jamais courtisane Vénitienne du temps de Titien n'eut\nun écrin plus étincelant, un trousseau plus riche que Notre Dame de\nTolède.\" But the flame of life which once burned warm and bright is now\nextinct and all her glory has vanished. Neglected churches, convents,\npalaces, and ruins lie huddled together, a stern and solemn vision of\nthe past, waiting with the silence of the tomb, broken only by the\ncontinual tolling of her hoarse bells.\n\nThe city has a superb situation. Once seen, it is forever impressed upon\nthe memory. The hills on which it stands rise abruptly from the\nsurrounding campagna, which bakes brown and barren and crisp under the\nscorching rays of the sun, and stretches away to the distant mountains,\nvast and uninterrupted in its solitude and dreariness. It is \"pobre de\nsolemnidad,\"--solemnly poor, as runs the touching phrase in Spanish.\nThere is no joy and freshness of vegetation, no glistening of wet\nleaves, no scent of flowers. You read thirst in the plains, hunger in\nthe soil-denuded hills. All is naked and bare, without a softening line\nor gentler shadow, lying fallow in spring, unwatered in drought, and\nungarnered at harvest time.\n\nThe Tagus rushes round the city in the shape of a horseshoe, confining\nand protecting it as the Wear does the towers of Durham. It boils and\neddies 'twixt its narrow, rocky confines, hurrying from the gloomy\nshadows to the sunshine below, through which it slowly sweeps, murky and\ncoffee-colored, to the horizon, no life between its flat banks, no\ncommerce to mark it as a highway.\n\nYou pass over the high-arched Alcantara Bridge, which the Campeador and\nhis kinsman, Alvar Fanez, crossed with twelve hundred horsemen at their\nback, to demand justice from their sovereign. A broad terrace crawls\nlike a serpent up the steep incline to the city gates. A forest of\nsoaring steeples rises above you, topped by the square bulk of the\nAlcazar.\n\nThe city smells sleepy. The narrow streets, or rather alleys, of the\ntown wind tortuously around the stucco façades, with no apparent\nstarting-point or destination, as confused as a skein of worsted after a\nkitten has played with it. Thus were they laid out by the wise Arabs, to\nafford shade at all hours of the day. At every corner, one runs into\nsome detail of historical or artistic interest,--history and\narchitecture here wander hand in hand.\n\nHuge, wooden doors, closely studded with scallop nails as big as a man's\nfist, proud escutcheons of noble races lost to all save Spain's history;\ncharming glimpses of interior courtyards and gardens glittering fresh in\ntheir emerald coloring, and sweet with the scent of orange blossoms;\nGothic crenelations, Renaissance ironwork and railing, and Moorish\ncapitals and ornamentation, all pell-mell, the styles of six centuries\noften appearing in the same building. More than a hundred churches and\nchapels and forty monasteries crumble side by side within the small\nradius of the city. Half of its area was once covered by religious\nbuildings or mortmain property.\n\n\nII\n\nThe church, be it a grand cathedral or the humble steeple of some little\nhamlet, is always the connecting link between past and present. It has\nbeen the highest artistic expression of the people, and it remains an\neloquent witness to continuity and tradition. It is what makes later\nages most forcibly \"remember,\" for it seeks to embody and satisfy the\ngreatest need of the human heart.\n\nThe history of a great cathedral church of Spain is so closely connected\nwith the civil life of its city that one cannot be thoroughly studied\nwithout some familiarity with the other. Spanish cathedrals differ in\nthis respect from their great English and French sisters. In England,\ncathedrals were built and owned by the clergy, they belonged to the\npriests, they were surrounded and hedged in from the outside world by\ntheir extensive lawns and cloisters, refectories, chapter houses,\nbishops' palaces, and numerous monastic buildings. They were shut off\nfrom the rest of the world by high walls. In France, the cathedrals were\nthe centre of civic life; their organs were the heart-throbs of the\npeople; their bells were notes of warning. The very houses of the\nartisans climbed up to their sides and nestled for protection between\nthe buttresses of the great Mother Church. Notre Dame d'Amiens, for\ninstance, was the church of a commune, what Walter Pater calls a\n\"people's church.\" They belonged to the people more than to the clergy.\nThey were a civil rather than an ecclesiastical growth, essentially the\nlayman's glory.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLAN OF TOLEDO CATHEDRAL\n\n    A. Chapel of Saint Blase.\n    B. Chapel of the Parish of Saint Peter.\n    C. Octagon.\n    D. Chapel of the Virgin of the Sanctuary.\n    E. Large Sacristy.\n    F. Court of the Hall of Accounts.\n    G. Chapel of the New Kings.\n    H. Chapel of the Master of Santiago, D. Alvaro de Luna.\n    I. Chapel of Saint Ildefonso.\n    K. Chapter House.\n    L. Chapel of the Old Kings or of the Holy Cross.\n    M. Capilla Mayor.\n    N. Chapel of the Tower or of the Dean.\n    O. Mozarabic Chapel.\n    P. Choir.\n    Q. Portal of the Lions.\n    R. Portal of the Olive, or Gate of La Llana.\n    S. Portal of the Choir.\n    T. Portal of the Little Bread.\n    V. Portal of the Visitation.\n    W. Portal of the Tower or Gate of Hell.\n    X. Portal of the Scriveners or of Judgment.]\n\nIn Spain, the church belonged to both. Municipal and ecclesiastical\nhistory were one and the same, going hand in hand in bloody strife or\npeaceful union,--the city was the body, the cathedral its animating\nsoul. The cathedrals were meant, not for prayer alone, but to live\nin,--they were for festivals, meetings, thanksgivings, for surging,\nexcited crowds. The church was an _imperium in imperio_. It was the\nrallying place in all great undertakings or excitements. Here the Cortes\noften met, the great church conclaves assembled, the mystical Autos or\nsacred plays were performed, in them soldiers gathered, prepared for\nbattle, edicts were published, sovereigns were first proclaimed, and\nallegiance was sworn; kings were christened, anointed, and buried. The\ntroubled murmurings of the lower classes were here first voiced. They\nwere the art galleries; here were displayed their finest paintings,\nstatues and tapestries; they were even museums of natural history, and\nexhibited the finest examples of their wood-carving and glass-work, and\nthe iron and silversmith's arts. It is thus easy to see that the\npolitical history of Toledo becomes vital in connection with its\nCathedral church.\n\nThe history of Toledo dates back to Roman days,--we find Pliny referring\nto the city as the metropolis of Carpentania. She was among the first\ncities of Spain to embrace Christianity. All the barbarians, with the\nexception of the Franks, were Arians, but the last Gothic ruler in Spain\nto withstand the Roman faith was Leovgild, who reigned in the last half\nof the sixth century. He was also their first able administrator, the\nfirst who consistently strove to bring order out of the chaos of warring\ntribes and conflicting authorities. Contemporaries describe his palace\nat Toledo, his throne and apparel, and his council chamber, as of truly\nroyal magnificence. It was reserved to his son Reccared to change the\nhistory of Spain by publicly announcing his conversion to the Roman\nfaith before a council of Roman and Arian bishops held in Toledo in 587,\nat the same time inviting them to exchange their views fearlessly and,\nas many as would, to follow him. The Goths were never difficult to\nconvert, and many of the bishops and of the lords who were present\nembraced the Catholic faith, to which a majority of the people already\nbelonged. Gregory the Great, hearing of the success of Reccared's gentle\nand liberal proselytism, wrote to him: \"What shall I do at the Last\nJudgment when I arrive with empty hands, and your Excellency followed by\na flock of faithful souls, converted by persuasion?\" He summoned a third\ncouncil at Toledo in 589, and in concert with nearly seventy bishops,\nregulated the rites and discipline of the Church, at the same time\nexcluding the Jews from all employments. In royal Toledo Reccared was\nanointed with holy oil, and he substituted the Latin for the Gothic\ntongue in divine service, where Isidore was the first to use it. In\ndaily life Latin soon replaced Gothic. King Wamba built the great walls\nround the city, and King Roderick held his glorious tournament inside\nthem.\n\nGreater than any fame of Gothic monarch was that of the Church Councils\nwhich met here to determine the course of early dogma and shape the\ndestinies of the larger part of Christendom.\n\nThe most salient figure during the rule of the Gothic kings was Saint\nIldefonso, who quite overshadows his royal contemporaries. In 711 the\nMoors conquered the city, which then became a dependency of the Caliphs\nof Damascus and Bagdad until a Moorish prince shook off the foreign\nyoke. Independent Arab princes ruled, with Toledo as capital of their\nempire, until Alfonso VI, King of Castile and Leon, in 1085, finally\nconquered it for himself and his successors.\n\nDuring the reigns of the early Castilian kings, we find names connected\nwith the city's history which became famous all over Spain. The Cid was\nthe city's first Alcaide. Alfonso el Batallador and Pedro el Cruel stand\nout in sombre relief, and Toledo was the cradle of the dramatic\nComunidades' rising, and the scene of the noble death of their patriotic\nleader Padella. The streets ran with blood, and the walls spoke of\nglorious resistance before the Flemish emperor had crushed the liberties\nof the people.\n\nWe have a description of the brilliant pageant of Ferdinand and\nIsabella's entry after defeating the king of Portugal. \"The Prince of\nAragon was in full armour on his war horse and Isabella riding a\nbeautiful mule, splendidly caparisoned, the bridle being held by two\nnoble pages. Followed by their gorgeous retinue they rode slowly towards\nthe Cathedral, while the highest dignitaries of the Church, the\narchbishop, himself a mitred king, the canons, and the clergy, in their\npontifical garments, preceded by the Cross, came forth from the Puerta\ndel Perdon to receive them. On each side of the arch above the doorway\nwere two angels, and in the centre a young maiden richly clothed, with a\ngolden crown on her head, to represent the image of 'La Bendita Madre de\nDios, nuestra Señora.' When Ferdinand and Isabella and all the company\nhad gathered around, the angels began to sing. The following day the\ntrophies of war were presented to the Cathedral.\"\n\nDuring the period immediately following the reign of the Catholic Kings,\nToledo reached her highest prosperity. She numbered as many as 200,000\ninhabitants;--to-day she has only 20,000. Glorious processions swept\nthrough her streets, the proud knights of the military orders of\nAlcantara, Calatrava, and Santiago, black-robed Dominican inquisitors,\nexecutioners, royal chaplains and major-domos, the Councils of the\nIndies, Castilian grandees, Roman princes and cardinals, brawling\nFlemish and Burgundian nobles, German landsknechts, and great Catholic\nambassadors.\n\nToledo received her death-blow when Philip II, unable to brook the\nhaughty claims of the Toledan archbishops, and feeling his power second\nto theirs, finally, in 1560, moved the capital of his realm to Madrid.\nToledo's annals grew dark. So merciless was the Tribunal of the\nInquisition that under its vigilant eye 3327 processes were disposed of\nin little more than a year. So Toledo fell from her former greatness.\n\nThe site of the Cathedral in the very heart of the city is by no means\ndominant. The church lies so low that even the spire is inconspicuous in\nthe landscape. On three sides adjacent buildings completely bar all\nview or approach. The only free perspective is on the fourth side, from\nthe steps of the Ayuntamiento across the square.\n\nThe inscription above the door of the city hall, with its trenchant\nadvice to the magistrates, is well worth notice:--\n\n    Nobles discretos varones,\n    Qui gobernais a Toledo\n    En aquatos escalones\n    Codicia, temor y miedo.\n    Por los comunes provechos\n    Deschad los particulares\n    Puez vos hezo Dios pilares\n    De tan requisimos lechos\n    Estat vermes y derechos.[9]\n\nIn the streets, the _alcazerias_ which wind around the sides of the\nCathedral, the rich silk guild traded. Here were shipped the goods that\nfreighted vessels sailing for the American colonies.\n\nDuring the Visigothic reign in Toledo, the Cathedral site was occupied\nby a Christian temple. It was transformed by the Moors after their\noccupancy of the city into their principal mosque; there they were still\npermitted to carry on their worship, according to the terms of the\ntreaty made on their surrender of the city to King Alfonso IV in 1085. A\nyear afterwards King Alfonso went off on a campaign, leaving the\ncapital in charge of his French queen, Constance, and the Archbishop\nBernard, recently sent to Toledo at the King's request by the Abbot of\nCluny. No sooner was King Alfonso outside the city walls than the\nregents turned the Moors out of the church. The Archbishop arrived with\na throng of Christian citizens, battered down the main entrance, threw\nthe Moslem objects of worship into the gutters, and set in their place\nthe Cross and the Virgin Mary. When the news of this outrage reached the\nears of the King, he returned in wrath to Toledo, swearing he would burn\nboth wife and prelate who had dared to break the oath he had so solemnly\nsworn. The Moslems, sagely fearing later vengeance would be wreaked upon\nthem should they permit matters to take their course, besought the\nreturning sovereign to restrain his wrath while they released him from\nhis oath,--\"Whereat he had great joy, and, riding on into the city, the\nmatter ended peacefully.\"\n\nThe appearance of this fanatic Cluny monk is of the greatest importance\nas heralding a new influence in the development and history of Spanish\necclesiastical architecture. His coming marks the introduction of a\nforeign style of building and a revolution in the previous national\nmethods, known as \"obra de los Godos,\" or work of the Goths. Further,\nwith the gradual arrival of French ecclesiastics from Cluny and Citeaux,\ncame also a greater interference from Rome in the management of the\nSpanish Church, and a radical limitation of the former power of the\nPeninsula's arrogant prelates. Owing to the new influence, the Italian\nmass-book was soon presented in place of the ancient Gothic ritual and\nbreviary. The foreign churchmen likewise aided in uniting sovereign,\nclergy, and nobility in common cause against the Saracen infidels now so\nfirmly ensconced in the Peninsula. Spanish art had previously felt only\nnational influences; now, through the door opened by the monks, it\nreceived potent foreign elements.\n\nSpain had been far too much occupied with internal strife and political\ndissension to have had breathing spell or opportunity for the\ndevelopment of the fine arts and the building of churches. The passion\nfor building which the French monks brought with them awoke entirely\ndormant qualities in the Spaniard, which in the early Romanesque, but\nespecially in the Gothic edifices, produced beautiful, but essentially\nexotic fruits. First in the days of the Renaissance the architecture\nshowed features which might be termed original and national. With the\nCluniacs came not only French artisans but Flemish, German, and Italian,\nall taking a hand in, and lending their influences to the great works of\nthe new art.\n\nNothing remains of the old Moorish-Christian house of worship. It was\ntorn down by order of Saint Ferdinand (he had laid the foundation stone\nof Burgos as early as 1221), who laid the corner stone of the present\nedifice with great ceremony, assisted by the Archbishop, in the month of\nAugust, 1227 (seven years prior to the commencement of Salisbury and\nAmiens). The building was practically completed in 1493, during the\nreign of Ferdinand and Isabella, the most illustrious epoch of Spanish\nhistory. Additions and alterations injurious to the harmony and symmetry\nof the building were made till the end of the seventeenth century, and\nagain continued during the eighteenth. It thus represents the\narchitectural inspiration and decadence of nearly six hundred years.\nIn style it belongs to the group of three great churches, Burgos, Toledo\nand Leon, which were based upon the constructional principles and\ndecorative features termed Gothic. In some respects these churches\nembodied to a highly developed extent the organic principles of the\nstyle, in others, they fell far short of a clear comprehension of them.\nNone of them had the beauty or the purity of the greatest of their\nFrench sisters. Burgos may be said to be most consistently Gothic in all\nits details, but neither Toledo nor Leon was free from the influence of\nMoorish art, which was indeed developing and flowering under Moslem rule\nin the south of the Peninsula, at the time when Gothic churches were\nlifting their spires into the blue of northern skies under the guidance\nand inspiration of the French masters. In many respects the Gothic could\nnot express itself similarly in Spain and France,--climatic conditions\ndiffered, and, consequently, the architecture which was to suit their\nneeds. In France, Gothic building tended towards a steadily increasing\nelimination of all wall surfaces. The weight and thrusts, previously\ncarried by walls, were met by a more and more skillfully developed\nframework of piers and flying buttresses. Such a development was not\npractical for Spain nor was it understood. The widely developed fields\nfor glass would have admitted the heat of the sun too freely, whereas\nthe broad surfaces of wall-masonry gave coolness and shade. Nor were the\nsharply sloping roofs for the easy shedding of snow necessary in Spain.\nIn French and English Gothic churches, the light, pointed spire is the\nornamental feature of the composition, whereas in the Spanish, with a\nfew exceptions, the towers become heavy and square.\n\nNone of the three Cathedrals in question impresses us as the outcome of\nSpanish architectural growth, but seems rather a direct importation.\nThey have the main features of a style with which their architects were\nfamiliar and in which they had long since taken the initial steps. They\nare working with a practically developed system, whose infancy and early\ngrowth had been followed elsewhere.\n\nWhile in the twelfth, and the early portion of the thirteenth century,\nFrenchmen were gradually evolving the new system of ecclesiastical\narchitecture, the Spaniards, destined to surpass them, were to all\npurposes still producing nothing but Romanesque buildings, borrowing\ncertain ornamental or constructional features of the new style, but in\nso slight and illogical a degree, that their style remained based upon\nits old principles. They employed the pointed arch between arcades and\nvaulting, and unlike the French, threw a dome or cimborio over the\nintersection of nave and transepts. In some instances we find a regular\nFrench quadripartite vault at the crossing, but such changes are not\nsufficient to term the cathedrals of the period (Tudela, Tarragona,\nZamora, and Lerida) Gothic. They remain historically, rather than\nartistically, interesting. With the second quarter of the thirteenth\ncentury, comes the change.\n\nIn style Toledo corresponds most closely to the early Gothic of the\nnorth of France. Its plan reminds one forcibly of Bourges, though it is\nfar more ambitious in size. Owing to the long period of its building, it\nbears late Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque features, while traces of\nMoorish influence are not wanting.\n\nThe Cathedral of Toledo was built in an imaginative, creative and\npassionate age,--an age when the ordinary mason was a master builder as\nwell as sculptor, stimulated by local affection, pride and piety. The\nresults of his work were tremendous,--his finished product was a\nstorehouse of art. Artists of all nations had a hand in the work.\nBermudez mentions 149 names of those who embellished the Cathedral\nduring six centuries. Here worked Borgoña, Berruguete, Cespedes, and\nVillalpando, Copin, Vergara Egas, and Covarrubias. It is rather\ndifficult to analyze their genius. They were not naturally artists, as\nwere the French and Italians; they did not create as easily, but were\nrather stimulated by a more naïve craving for vast dimensions. With this\nwe find interwoven in places the sparkling, jewel-like intricacy and\nplay of light and shade so natural to the Moorish artisan, and the\nsombre, overpowering solemnity of the warlike Spanish cavalier.\n\nIt is necessary for a people at all times to find expression for its\næsthetic life. Architecture, like literature, reflects the sentiments\nand tendencies of a nation's mind. As truly as Don Quixote, Don Juan, or\nthe Cid express them, so do the stories told by Toledo, Leon, or Burgos.\nThey reproduce the passions, the dreams, the imagination, and the\nabsurdities of the age which created them.\n\nToledo's first architect, who superintended the work for more than half\na century, was named Perez (d. 1285). He was followed by Rodrigo,\nAlfonso, Alvar Gomez, Annequin de Egas, Martin Sanchez, Juan Guas, and\nEnrique de Egas. Hand in hand with the architects, worked the high\npriests.\n\nThe Archbishop of Toledo is the Primate of Spain. Mighty prelates have\nsat on that throne, and the chapter was once one of the most celebrated\nin the world. The Primate of Toledo has the Pope as well as the King of\nSpain for honorary canons, and his church takes precedence of all others\nin the land. The offices attached to his person are numerous. As late as\nthe time of Napoleon's conquest of the city, fourteen dignitaries,\ntwenty-seven canons, and fifty prebends, besides a host of chaplains and\nsubaltern priests, followed in the train of the Metropolitan. At the\nclose of the fifteenth century, his revenues exceeded 80,000 ducats\n(about $720,000), while the gross amount of those of the subordinate\nbeneficiaries of his church rose to 180,000. This amount, or 12,000,000\nreals, had not decreased at the beginning of the nineteenth century. In\nthe middle ages he was followed by more horse and foot than either the\nGrand Master of Santiago or the Constable of Castile. When he threw his\ninfluence into the balance, the pretender to the throne was often\nvictorious. He held jurisdiction over fifteen large and populous towns\nbesides numbers of inferior places.\n\nMany who occupied the episcopal throne of Toledo ruled Spain, not only\nby virtue of the prestige their high office gave them, but through\nextraordinary genius and remarkable attainments. They were great alike\nin war and in peace. Many of them combined broadness of view and real\nlearning with purity of morals. They founded universities and libraries,\nframed useful laws, stimulated noble impulses, corrected abuses, and\npromoted reforms. Popes called them to Rome to ask their advice in\naffairs of the Church. Bright in the history of Spain shine the names of\nsuch prelates as Rodriguez, Tenorio, Fonseca, Ximenez, Mendoza, Tavera,\nand Lorenzana.\n\nFrom the tenth to the sixteenth centuries Castile was far less bigoted\nthan other European nations, for, of all the daughters of the Mother\nChurch, Spain was the most independent. Her kings and her primate were\nnaturally her champions, ever ready and defiant. King James I even went\nso far as to cut out the tongue of a too meddlesome bishop. From early\nGothic days to the time when Ferdinand began to dream of Spain as a\npower beyond the Iberian Peninsula, no kingdom in Europe was less\ndisposed to brook the interference of the Pope. Ferdinand and Isabella\nthwarted him in insisting upon their right to appoint their own\ncandidates for the high offices of the Spanish church, and the Pope was\nobliged to give way.\n\nThe figure we constantly encounter in the thrilling tilts between Rome\nand Spanish prelates is the Archbishop of Toledo. Like Richelieu and\nWolsey, Ximenez and Mendoza towered above their time, and their great\nspirits still seem present within their church. Ximenez, better known in\nEnglish as Cardinal Cisneros, rose to his high office much against his\nwill from the obscurity of a humble monk. The peremptory orders of the\nPope were necessary to make him leave his cell and become successively\nArchbishop of Toledo, Grand Chancellor of Castile, Inquisitor General,\nCardinal, Confessor to Queen Isabella, Minister of Ferdinand the\nCatholic, and Regent of the Kingdom of Charles V. He was \"an austere\npriest, a profound politician, a powerful intellect, a will of iron, and\nan inflexible and unconquerable soul; one of the greatest figures in\nmodern history; one of the loftiest types of the Spanish character.\nNotwithstanding the greatness thrust upon him, he preserved the austere\npractices of the simple monk. Under a robe of silk and purple, he wore\nthe hard shirt and frock of St. Francis. In his apartments, embellished\nwith costly hangings, he slept on the floor, with only a log of wood for\nhis pillow. Ferdinand owed to him that he preserved Castile, and Charles\nV, that he became King of Spain. He did not boast when, pointing to the\nCordon of St. Francis, he explained, 'It is with this I bridle the pride\nof the aristocracy of Castile.'\"[10]\n\nHistory may accuse him of the unpardonable expulsion of the Moriscos,\nand the retention of the Inquisition as well as its introduction into\nthe New World,--but what he did was done from the strength of his\nconvictions and according to what, in the light of his age, seemed the\nbest for his country and his Church. He was perhaps even greater as a\nSpaniard than as a churchman. His conceptions were all grand, and he was\nas versatile as he was great. Victor in the greatest of all Spanish\ntoils, he executed the polyglot version of the Scriptures, the most\nstupendous literary achievement of his age. Fitting his greatness is the\nsimplicity of his epitaph:--\n\n    Condideram musis Franciscus grande lyceum,\n      Condor in exiguo nunc ego sarcophago.\n    Praetextam junxi sacco, galeamque galero,\n      Frater, Dux, Praesul, Cardineusque pater.\n    Quin virtute mea junctum est diadema cucullo,\n      Cum mihi regnanti paruit Hesperia.\n\nThe figure of Cardinal Mendoza stands out clear and strong in the final\nstruggle with Granada. It was he who first planted the Cross where the\nCrescent had waved for six centuries, and he was the first to counsel\nIsabella to assist the great discoverer. His keen intellect made him\nlend a ready ear and friendly hand to the rapid development of the\nscience of his time and the fast-spreading taste for literature.\n\nAnd so the line of Toledo's illustrious bishops continues,--leaders of\nthe church militant, like the Montagues and Capulets, they fought from\nthe mere habit of fighting, but they seldom stained their swords in an\nunworthy cause.\n\n\n\nThere is a great discrepancy between the interior and the exterior of\nthe Cathedral. The former is as grand as the latter is insignificant and\nunworthy. The scale is tremendous. Only Milan and Seville cover a\ngreater area, if the Cathedral is considered in connection with its\ncloisters. Cologne comes next to it in size. It runs from west to east,\nwith nave and double side aisles, ending in a semicircular apse with a\ndouble ambulatory. As is characteristic of Spanish churches, it is\nastonishingly wide for its length,--being 204 feet wide and 404 feet\nlong. The nave is 98 feet high and 44 feet wide, while the outer aisles\nare respectively 26 and 32 feet across.\n\nThe exterior, with the exception of the ornamental portions of the\nportals and a few carvings, is all built of a Berroqueña granite. The\ninterior is of a kind of mouse-colored limestone taken from the quarries\nof Oliquelas near Toledo. Like many limestones, it is soft when first\nquarried, but hardens with time and exposure.\n\nThe impression of the exterior is strangely disappointing. Imposing and\nmassive, but irregular, squat, and encumbered by surrounding edifices\nclinging to its masonry. An indifferent husk, encasing a noble interior.\nOnly one tower is completed, and no two portions of the decoration are\nsymmetrical. The exterior has no governing scheme, no \"idée maîtresse,\"\nno individual style, and is the outgrowth of no definite period.\nSuccessive generations of peace or war have enriched or destroyed its\nmasonry. You stop with an exclamation of admiration in front of certain\ndetails of the exterior; before others, you only feel astonishment. The\nwant of order and unity in the execution of its various portions and\nelevations is distressing.\n\nOrder and harmony may be preserved, even where an edifice is carried on\nby successive ages, each of which imparts to its work the stamp of its\nown developing skill and imagination. Very few of the great cathedrals\nwere begun and completed in one style. Most of the great French churches\nshow traces of the earlier Norman or Romanesque; most of the English\nGothic, traces of the Norman or of the different periods of English\nGothic architecture; but one dominating scheme has been followed by the\nconsecutive architects. The lack of such a governing and restraining\nprinciple is felt in the exterior of Toledo. Further than this, although\nsuccessive wars and religious fanaticism have with their destructive\nfury injured so many of the beautiful statues and exquisite carvings and\nmuch of the stained glass of the French and English religious\nestablishments, still the architecture itself has in the main been left\nundisturbed. In Toledo, there is hardly a portion of the early structure\nand decoration of the lower, visible part of the Cathedral which has not\nbeen altered or torn down by the various architects of the last three\ncenturies.\n\nAs an obvious result, the portions of the exterior which are interesting\nare individual features, and not a unified scheme; and they are\ninteresting historically, rather than in relation to or in dependence\nupon one another.\n\nThe west front, which is the principal façade, the various doorways and\ncompleted tower form the most interesting portions of the exterior.\n\nThe west front is flanked by two projecting towers, dissimilar in\ndesign. To the south is the uncompleted one, containing the Mozarabic\nchapel,[11] roofed by an octagonal cupola and surmounted by a lantern,\nstrangely betraying in exterior form its Byzantine ancestry.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF TOLEDO\n\nThe choir stalls]\n\nTo the north rises the spire which commands the city and the Cathedral\nof Toledo. It was begun in 1380 and completed in sixty years,--no long\ntime when we take into account its size and detail and the carefulness\nof its construction. Rodrigo Alfonso and Alvar Gomez were the\narchitects, and the Cardinals Pedro Tenorio and Tavera directed the\nwork. Although it lacks the soaring grace of the towers of Burgos, it\npossesses quiet strength and a majestic dignity, and the transitions\nbetween its various stories have been executed with a skill scarcely\nless than that shown in the older tower of Chartres. It is in fact full\nof a character of its own. Divided into three parts, it rises to a\nheight of some three hundred feet and terminates in a huge cross. The\nprincipal building material is the hard but easily carved Berroqueña\ngranite, with certain portions finished in marble and slate. The lower\npart, which is square, has its faces pierced by interlacing Gothic\narches, windows of different shapes, ornamental coats-of-arms and marble\nmedallions. It is crowned by a railing and, at the corners where the\ntransition to the hexagon occurs, by stone pyramids. The central part is\nhexagonal in plan and ornamented by arches and crocketed finials. Above\nit rises the slate spire terminating under the cross in a conical\npyramid, added after a fire in the year 1662. The spire is curiously and\nuniquely encircled by three collars of pointed iron spikes, intended to\nsymbolize the crowns of thorns.\n\nThe great bells of the Cathedral peal from this tower, among them the\nhuge San Eugenio, better known, though, by the name \"Campana gorda,\" or\nthe Big-bellied Bell, weighing 1543 arobes (about 17 tons) and put up\nthe same day it was cast in the year 1753. Its fame is shown by the old\nlines, which enumerate the wonders of Spain as the--\n\n    Campana la de Toledo,\n    Iglesia la de Leon,\n    Reloj el de Benavente,\n    Rollos los de Villalon.[12]\n\nFifteen shoemakers could sit under it and draw out their cobbler's\nthread without touching each other. A legend relates that \"the sound of\nit reached, when first it was rung, even to heaven. Saint Peter fancied\nthat the tones came from his own church in Rome, but on ascertaining\nthat this was not the case, and that Toledo possessed the largest of all\nbells, he got angry and flung down one of his keys upon it, thus causing\na crack in the bell which is still to be seen.\"\n\nNot only does the hoarse croak of Gorda's voice remind the tardy\nworshiper of the approaching hour of prayer, but it tells each and all\nof the \"barrio\" where the fire is raging. Though the prudent Toledan may\nnot know the art of signing his name or reading his Pater Noster, full\nwell he knows, whenever Gorda speaks, whether the danger is at his own\ndoor or at his neighbor's.\n\nThe lower portion of the façade between the towers is composed of a fine\ntriple portal dating from 1418 to 1450, which, despite later changes, is\nstill an excellent piece of Gothic work. It contains over seventy\nstatues. Above, the façade is composed of an ornamental screen\ninexpressive of the structure and the internal arrangement of the\nedifice. A railing separated the \"lonja,\" or enclosure immediately in\nfront of the entrances, from the street outside. The central entrance\nis the Gate of Pardon; to the north is the Gate of the Tower, also\ncalled the Gate of Hell; to the south is the Gate of the Scriveners or\nof Judgment. The middle door is the largest and most important. For\ncenturies the steps leading to it have been climbed and descended by the\npregnant women of Toledo, to insure an easy parturition.\n\nThe doors themselves are covered with most interesting bronze work,\nshowing how far the Spaniards had in later centuries developed the art\nof their skillful Saracenic predecessors. The arch of the Gate of Pardon\nis exquisitely formed and its moldings and recesses are profusely\ndecorated with finely chiseled figures and ornaments. Each of the three\ndoors is surmounted by a relief, that over the Pardon representing the\nVirgin presenting the chasuble to Saint Ildefonso, who is kneeling at\nher feet.\n\nThe Scriveners' Gate derives its name from having been the door of entry\nfor the scriveners when they came to the Cathedral to take their oath,\nbut, though they had a gate for their own particular use, they did not\nseem to enjoy an especially good reputation. According to an old verse,\ntheir pen and paper would drop from their hands to dance an independent\nfandango long before their souls ever entered the Kingdom of Heaven.\n\nAbove the door is an inscription commemorative of the great exploits of\nthe Catholic Sovereigns and Cardinal Mendoza and of the expulsion of the\nJews from the Kingdoms of Castile, Aragon and Sicily.\n\nThe principal feature above the doors is a classical gable which extends\nthe whole width of the façade, its field filled with colossal pieces of\nsculpture representing the Last Supper. Our Lord and the Apostles are\nseated, each in his own niche. It recalls the carving over the northeast\nentrance of Notre Dame du Puy. Nothing could be more ineffective and out\nof place than to crown this portion of the Gothic building with a Greek\ngable end. Finally, above the gable, with a curious pair of arches built\nout in front of it, comes a circular rose almost thirty feet in\ndiameter, of early fourteenth-century work, this again being surmounted\nby late eighteenth-century Baroque additions.\n\nThere are two doorways on the south side. The Gate of the Lions, which\nforms the southern termination to the transept, is of course named from\nthe lions standing over the enclosing rail directly in front of it, each\nsupporting its shield. Here you have a bit of the finest work of the\nexterior, a most exquisite specimen of the Gothic work of the fifteenth\ncentury. Its detail and finish are remarkable, and few pieces of Spanish\nsculpture of its time surpass it in elegance and grace. The larger\nfigures are most interesting, varying greatly in execution and\ncharacter. Those of the inner arches are stiff and still struggling for\nfreedom from tradition, but of admirably carved drapery,--while the\nbishops in the niches to the right and left have faces radiating\nkindness and patriarchal benignity, faces we meet and bless in our own\nwalks of life to-day. The bronze Renaissance doors are as fine as their\nsetting,--splendid examples of the metal stamping of the sixteenth\ncentury, and the wooden carving on their inner surfaces is equally fine.\nThe bronze knocker might easily have come from the workshop of the great\nFlorentine goldsmith.\n\nThe Gate of La Llana, west of the Gate of the Lions, is as ludicrous in\nits eighteenth-century dress as the gable of the west façade.\n\nOn the north side of the church we find three gates; in the centre,\nforming the northern entrance to the transept, the Puerta del Reloi[c],\nand east and west of it, the Puerta de Santa Catalina, and the Puerta de\nla Presentacion.\n\n\nIV\nYou leave the outside with a feeling of distress at having viewed a\npatchwork of architectural composition, feebly decorating and badly\nexpressing a noble and mighty frame. You enter into a light of celestial\nsoftness and purity. It seems an old and faded light. As soon as you\nregain vision in the cool, refreshing twilight, you experience the\nlong-deferred exultation. You are amid those that pray,--the poor and\nsorrowing, those that would be strengthened. Here voices sink to a\nreverent whisper, for curiosity is hushed into awe. \"I could never\nfathom how a man dares to lift up his voice to preach in a\ncathedral,--what has he to say that will not be an anti-climax?\" says\nRobert Louis Stevenson, and you are struck by the force of his remark\nwhen you compare the droning voice coming from one corner of the\nbuilding with the glorious expression of man's faith rising above and\naround you. The quiet majesty and silent eloquence of the one\naccentuates the feebleness of the other.\n\nFor the interior is as simple and restrained and the planning as logical\nand lucid as the exterior is blameworthy and unreasonable. Here is\nrhythm and harmony. The constructive problems have been ingeniously\nmastered, and the carved and decorated portions subordinated to the\ngigantic scheme of the great monument. The sculptures are limited to\ntheir respective fields. Structural and artistic principles go hand in\nhand. Eloquently the carvings speak the language of the time,--they\nbecome a pictorial Bible, open for the poor man to read, who has no\nknowledge of crabbed, monastic letters. They are the language of true\nreligion, the religion that may change but can never die.\n\nThe plan is unquestionably the _grand_ feature of the Cathedral; the\nbeauty and scale of it challenge comparison with those of all other\nchurches in Christendom. The vaulting and its development, the\nconcentration of the thrust upon the piers and far-leaping flying\nbuttresses are unquestionably on such a scale and of such character as\nto place it among the mightiest, if not the most pure and well-developed\nGothic edifices. It is like a giant that knows not the strength of his\nlimbs nor the possibilities in his mighty frame.\n\nYou do not feel the great height of the nave, owing to the immensity of\nall dimensions and the great circumference of the supporting piers. The\nnave and the double side aisles on each side are all of seven bays. The\ntransept does not project beyond the outer aisles. The plan proper has\nthus, at a rough glance, the appearance of a basilica and seems to lack\nthe side arms of the Gothic cross. The choir consists of one bay, and\nthe chevet formed by an apse to the choir of five bays. Both aisles\ncontinue around the chevet. Outside these again, and between the\nbuttresses of the main outer walls, lie the different chapels, the\ngreat cloister and the different compartments and dependencies belonging\nto church and chapel,--a tremendous development, accumulation,\ngrowth,--a city in itself. The cloisters, as well as almost all the\nchapels, were added after the virtual completion of the Cathedral\nproper.\n\nThe chevet is the keynote of the plan, and the solution of the problem,\nhow to vault the different compartments lying between the three\nconcentric circular terminations beyond the choir. Their vaulting shows\nconstructive skill and ingenuity of the highest order. The architects\nsolved the problem with a simplicity and grandeur which places their\ngenius on a level with that of the greatest of French builders. There\nare no previous examples of Spanish churches where similar problems have\nbeen dealt with tentatively. We are thus forced to acknowledge that the\nschooling for, and consequent mastery of, the problem, must have been\ngained on French soil. The central apse is surrounded by four piers, the\ntwo aisles are separated by eight, and the outer wall is marked by\nsixteen points of support. The bays in both aisles are vaulted\nalternately by triangular and virtually rectangular compartments. The\nvista from west to east is perfectly preserved, and the distance from\ncentre to centre of every second pair of outer piers is as nearly as\npossible the same as that of the inner row. The outer wall of the\naisles, except where the two great chapels of Santiago and San Ildefonso\nare introduced, was pierced alternately by small, square chapels\nopposite the triangular, vaulting compartments and circular chapels\nopposite the others.\n\nIn the cathedrals of Notre Dame de Paris, Saint Remi of Rheims, and in\nLe Mans, we find intermediate triangular vaulting compartments\nintroduced, but they are either employed with inferior skill or in a\ndifferent form. In none of these cathedrals do they call for such\nunstinted admiration as those of the architect of Toledo. They just fall\nshort of the happiest solution. In Saint Remi, for instance, we have\nintermediate trapezoids instead of rectangles, the inner chord being\nlonger than the exterior.\n\nThe seventy-two well-molded, simple, quadripartite vaults of the whole\nedifice (rising in the choir to about one hundred, and, in the inner and\nouter aisles, to sixty and thirty-five feet) are supported by\neighty-eight piers. The capitals of the engaged shafts, composed of\nplain foliage, point the same way as the run of the ribs above them.\nSimple, strong moldings compose the square bases. The great piers of the\ntransept are trefoiled in section. The outer walls of the main body of\nthe church are pierced by arches leading into uninteresting, rectangular\nchapels, some of them decorated with elaborate vaulting. In the outer\nwall of the intermediate aisle is a triforium, formed by an arcade of\ncusped arches, and above this, quite close to the point of the vault, a\nrose window in each bay. The clerestory, filling the space above thegreat arches \non each side of the nave, is subdivided into a double row\nof lancet-pointed windows, surmounted by a rosette coming directly under\nthe spring of the vault.\n\nThe treatment of the crossing of transept and nave is in Toledo, as in\nall Spanish churches, emphatic and peculiar. The old central lantern of\nthe cruciform church was retained and developed in their Gothic as well\nas in their Renaissance edifices, and was permitted illogically to break\nthe Gothic roof line. The lantern of Ely is the nearest reminder we have\nof it in English or French Gothic. In Spain the \"cimborio\" became an\nimportant feature and made the croisée beneath it the lightest portion\nof the edifice. It shed light to the east and west of it, into the high\naltar and the choir.\n\nThe position of the choir is striking and distressing. Its rectangular\nbody completely fills the sixth and seventh bays of the nave,\ninterrupting its continuity and spoiling the sweep and grandeur of the\nedifice at its most important point. It sticks like a bone in the\nthroat. Any complete view of the interior becomes impossible, and its\nimpressive majesty is belittled. One constantly finds the choir of\nSpanish cathedrals in this position, which deprives them of the fine\nperspective found in northern edifices. In Westminster Abbey, strangely\nenough, the choir is similarly placed, and there, as here, it is as if\nthe hands were tied and the breath stifled, where action should be\nfreest.\n\nThis peculiar position of the choir was owing to the admission of the\nlaity to the transept in front of the altar. In earlier days the choir\nwas adjacent to and facing the altar, the singers and readers being\nthere enclosed by a low and unimportant rail. The short, eastern apses\nof the Spanish cathedrals and the undeveloped and insufficient room for\nthe clergy immediately surrounding the altar almost necessitated this\ndivorce of the choir. In France and England the happier and more logical\nalternative was resorted to, of providing sufficient space east of the\nintersection of the transept for all the clergy.\n\nThe rectangular choir of Toledo is closed at the east by a magnificent\niron screen; at the west, by a wall called the \"Trascoro,\" acting as a\nbackground to the archbishop's seat. A doorway once pierced its centre\nbut was blocked up for the placing of the throne.\n\nIf the position of the choir is unfortunate, its details are among the\nmost remarkable and glorious of their time and country. The only\nentrance is through the great iron parclose or reja at the east. This,\nas well as the corresponding grille work directly opposite, closing off\nthe bay in front of the high altar, are wonderful specimens of the\niron-worker's craft, splendid masterpieces of an art which has never\nbeen excelled since the days of its mediæval guilds. The master Domingo\nde Cespedes erected the grille in the year 1548. The framework seems to\nbe connected by means of tenons and mortices, while the scrolls are\nwelded together. The larger moldings are formed of sheet iron, bent to\nthe shape required and flush-riveted to their light frames. Neither the\ngeneral design nor the details (both Renaissance in feeling) are\nespecially meritorious, but the thorough mastery of the material is most\nastonishing. The stubborn iron has been wrought and formed with as much\nease and boldness as if it had been soft limestone or plaster. It is\ncharacteristic of the age that the craftsman has not limited himself to\none material. Certain portions of the smaller ornaments are of silver\nand copper. Originally their shining surfaces, as well as the gilding of\nthe great portion of the principal iron bars, must have touched the\nwhole with life and color. It was all covered with black paint in the\ntime of the Napoleonic wars to escape the greedy hands of La Houssaye's\nvictorious mob, and the gates still retain the sable coat that protected\nthem.\n\nEven a more glorious example of Spanish craftsmanship is found in the\nchoir stalls which surround us to the north and south and west as soon\nas we enter. Here we are face to face with the finest flowering of\nSpanish mediæval art. Théophile Gautier, generalizing upon the whole\ncomposition, says: \"L'art gothique, sur les confins de la Renaissance,\nn'a rien produit de plus parfait ni de mieux dessiné.\" The whole\ntreatment of the work is essentially Spanish.\n\nThe stalls, the \"silleria,\" are arranged in two tiers, the upper reached\nby little flights of five steps and covered by a richly carved, marble\ncanopy, supported by slender Corinthian columns of red jasper and\nalabaster. All the stalls are of walnut, fifty in the lower row, seventy\nin the upper, exclusive of the archbishop's seat. The right side of the\naltar, that is, the right side of the celebrant looking from the altar,\nis called the side of the Gospel,--the left, the side of the Epistle.\nThe great carvings, differing in the upper and lower stalls in period\nand execution, are the work of three artists. The carvings of the lower\nrow were executed by Rodriguez in 1495, those of the upper, on the\nGospel side, by Alonso Berruguete, and those on the side of the Epistle,\nby Philip Vigarny (also called Borgoña), both of the latter about fifty\nyears later (in 1543).\n\nThe reading desk of the upper stalls forms the back of the lower and\naffords the field for their sculptural decoration. The subjects are the\nConquest of Granada and the Campaigns of Ferdinand and Isabella. We are\nshown in the childish and picturesque manner in which the age tells its\nstory, the various incidents of the war, all its situations and groups,\nits curious costumes, arms, shields, and bucklers, and even the names of\nthe fortresses inscribed on their masonry. We can recognize the Catholic\nmonarchs and the great prelate entering the fallen city amid the\ngrief-stricken infidels.\n\nThe spirit of the work is distinctly that of the period which has gone\nbefore, without any intimations of that to come. It has the character of\nthe German Gothic, recalling Lucas of Holland and his school. If it has\na grace and beauty of its own, there is also a childish grotesqueness\nwithout any of the self-assured mastery, so soon to spread its Italian\nlight. The imagination and composition are there, but not the\nexecution,--the mind, but not the hand.\n\nThe carvings of the upper stalls were executed by their masters in\ngenerous rivalry and in a spirit that shows a decided classic influence.\n\nMany curious accounts of the time describe the excitement which\nprevailed during their execution and the various favor they found in the\neyes of different critics. Looking at them, one's thoughts revert to\nthat glorious dawn in which Cellini and Ghiberti and Donatello labored.\nThe inscription says of the two artists, \"Signatum marmorea tum ligna\ncaelavere hinc Philippus Burgundio, ex adverso Berruguetus Hispanus:\ncertaverunt tum artificum ingenia; certabunt semper spectatorum\njudicia.\"\n\nBerruguete's work (on the Gospel side) shows distinct traces of Michael\nAngelo's influence and his study in Italian ateliers with Andrea del\nSarto and Baccio Bandinelli.[13] The nervous vigor of the Italian giant\nand the purity of style which looked back at Greece and Rome, are\napparent.\n\nThe subjects of Vigarny's work, as also of Berruguete's, are taken from\nthe Old Testament. They have a more subtle charm, more grace and\nfreedom. Some of them show strength and an unerring hand, others,\ndelicacy and exquisite subtleness. Where the Maestro Mayor of Charles V\nis powerful and energetic, Vigarny is imaginative and rich.\n\nComparing the upper and lower rows of panels, we must see what\nremarkable steps had been taken in so short a time by the sculptors. A\nlightness of execution, a victorious self-reliance, seems to follow\nclose on the steps of tentative, even if conscientious, effort. The\ncarving, the bold relief of the chiseling, have a vividness and\nintensity of expression, surpassing some of the best work of Italy and\nFrance.\n\nThe niches in the marble canopy above the upper row of stalls are filled\nwith figures standing almost in full relief, and representing the\ngenealogy of Christ.\n\nThe outer walls of the choir are also completely covered with sculpture.\nIt is thoroughly Gothic in character, crude, and fumbling for\nexpression, consisting of arcades with niches above containing\nalto-relievo illustrations of Old Testament scenes and characters. You\nrecognize the Garden of Eden, Abraham with agonized face, Isaac, Jacob,\npassages from Exodus, and other familiar scenes. Many of the panels\ndepict further the small, everyday occurrences and incidents so loved by\nmediæval artists, and so full of earnest, religious feeling. Crowning it\nall, amid the pinnacles, are a whole flock of angels, quite prepared for\nAscension Day. It is all very similar to the early fourteenth-century\nwork in French cathedrals.\n\nThe bay in front of the high altar, forming with it the Capilla Mayor,\nand the choir are closed from the transept by a huge reja as fine as the\none facing it, and the work of the Spaniard Francesco Villalpando\n(1548).[14]\n\nThe Capilla Mayor originally consisted of the one bay to the east of the\ntransept, the adjacent terminating portion of the nave being the chapel\ncontaining the tombs of the kings. The great Cardinal Ximenez received\nIsabella's permission to remove the dividing wall in case he could\naccomplish the task without disturbing any of the monarchs' coffins. The\nwalls all round, both internally and externally, are completely covered\nwith sculpture. Many of the figures are faithful portraits; many of the\ngroups tell an interesting story. On the Gospel side there are two\ncarvings, one over the other, the upper representing Don Alfonso VIII,\nand the lower, the shepherd who guided the monarch and his army to the\nrenowned plains of Las Navas de Tolosa, where the battle was fought\nwhich proved so glorious to Christian arms. One likewise sees the statue\nof the Moor, Alfaqui Abu Walid, who threw himself in the path of King\nAlfonso and prevailed upon him to forgive Queen Constance and Bishop\nBernard for the expulsion of the Moors from their mosque, contrary to\nthe king's solemn oath.\n\nAll around us lie the early rulers of the House of Castile, Alfonso VII,\nSancho the Deserted, and Sancho the Brave, the Prince Don Pedro de\nAguilar, son of Alfonso XI, and the great Cardinal Mendoza. Below in the\nvault lie, by the sides of their consorts, Henry II, John I, and Henry\nIII.\n\nAt the end of the chapel, acting as a background to the altar, you find\na composition constantly met in and characteristic of Spanish\ncathedrals. The huge \"retablo\" is nothing but a meaningless, gaudy and\nsensational series of carved and decorated niches. It is carved in\nlarchwood and merely reveals a love of the cheap and tawdry display of\nthe decadent florid period of Gothic.\nBack of the retablo and the high altar, you are startled by the most\nhorrible and vulgar composition of the church. Nothing but the mind of\nan idiot could have conceived the \"transparente.\"[15] It has neither\norder nor reason. The whole mass runs riot. Angels and saints float up\nand down its surface amid doughy clouds. The angel Raphael\ncounterbalances the weight of his kicking feet by a large goldfish which\nhe is frantically clutching. It is a piece of uncontrolled, imbecile\ndecoration, perpetrated to the everlasting shame of Narciso Tomé in the\nfirst half of the eighteenth century.\n\nNothing except the choir and Capilla Mayor disturb the simplicity of\nthe aisles and the great body of the church. All other monuments or\ncompositions are found in the numerous rooms and chapels leading from\nthe outer aisles or situated between the lower arches of the outside\nwalls. There are many of them, some important, others trivial. The\nMozarabic chapel, in the southwest corner of the cathedral, is the oneplace in \nthe world where you may still every morning hear the quaint old\nVisigothic or Mozarabic ritual recited. The chapel was constructed under\nCardinal Ximenez in 1512 for the double purpose of commemorating the\ntolerance of the Moors, who during their dominion left to the Christians\ncertain churches in which to continue their own worship, and also to\nperpetuate the use of the old Gothic ritual. It is most curious, almost\nbarbaric: \"The canons behind, in a sombre flat monotone, chant responses\nto the officiating priest at the altar. The sound combines the\nenervating effect of the hum of wings, whirr of looms, wooden thud of\npedals, the boom and rush of immense wings circling round and round.\" It\nis strange to hear this echo a thousand years old of a magnanimous act\nin so intolerant an age.\n\nIn the eleventh century King Alfonso, at the insistence of Bernard and\nConstance, and the papal legate Richard, decided to abolish the use of\nthe old Gothic ritual and to introduce the Gregorian rite. The Toledans\nthreatened revolt rather than abandon their old form of worship. The\nKing knew no other method of decision than to leave the question to two\nchampions. In single combat the Knight of the Gothic Missal, Don Juan\nRuiz de Mantanzas, killed his adversary while he himself remained\nunhurt. At a second trial, where two bulls were entrusted with the\nperplexing difficulty, the Gothic bull came off victor. Councils were\nheld and the Pope still persevered in his determination to abolish the\nold Spanish service book. Outside the walls of the city, in front of the\nKing and churchmen and amid the entire populace of Toledo, a great fire\nwas built, and the two mass-books were thrown into it. When the flames\nhad died down, only the Gothic mass-book was found unscathed. Only after\nmany years, when traditions had gradually altered and even much of the\ntext had become meaningless to the clergy, did the Roman service book\nbecome universally introduced into Toledan houses of worship.\n\nTwo other chapels are of especial interest: those of Saint Ildefonso and\nSantiago. Saint Ildefonso, who became metropolitan in 658, is second\nonly in honor to Saint James of Compostella; he was unquestionably the\nmost favored of Toledo's long line of bishops.\n\nThree natives of Narbonne had dared to question the perpetual virginity\nof Our Lady. Saint Ildefonso gallantly took up her defense and proved it\nbeyond doubt or questioning in his treatise \"De Virginitate Perpetua\nSanctae Mariae adversus tres Infideles.\" It was a crushing vindication\nand a discourse of much reason and scriptural light. Shortly afterwards\nthe Bishop, together with the King and court, went to the Church of\nSaint Leocadia to give public thanks. As soon as the multitude had had\nsufficient time to kneel at the saint's tomb, a group of angels appeared\namid a cloud and surrounded by sweet scents. Next the sepulchre opened\nof its own accord. Calix relates, \"Thirty men could not have moved the\nstone which slid slowly from the mouth of the tomb. Immediately Saint\nLeocadia arose, after lying there three hundred years, and holding out\nher arm, she shook hands with Saint Ildefonso, speaking in this voice,\n'Oh, Ildefonso, through thee doth the honor of My Lady flourish.' All\nthe spectators were silent, being struck with the novelty and the\ngreatness of the miracle. Only Saint Ildefonso, with Heaven's aid,\nreplied to her. Now the virgin Saint looked as if she wished to return\ninto the tomb and she turned around for that purpose, when the King\nbegged of Saint Ildefonso that he would not let her go until she left\nsome relic of her behind, for a memorial of the miracle and for the\nconsolation of the city. And as Saint Ildefonso wished to cut a part of\nthe white veil which covered the head of St. Leocadia, the King lent him\na knife for that purpose, and this must have been a poniard or a dagger,\nthough others say it was a sword. With this the saint cut a large piece\nof the blessed veil, and while he was giving it to the King, at the same\ntime returning the knife, the saint shut herself up entirely and covered\nherself in the tomb with the huge stone.\"\n\nBut even this was not a sufficient expression of gratitude to satisfy\nSaint Mary, for next week she herself came down to enjoy matins with\nSaint Ildefonso in the Cathedral. She sat in his throne and listened to\nhis discourse with both pleasure and edification. A celestial host\ndispensed music in the choir, music of heaven, hymns, David's psalms and\nchants, such as never had been heard before, either in Seville or in\nToledo. To cap it all, the Virgin made her favorite a splendid present\nof a chasuble worked by the angels with which she invested him with her\nown hands before she said good-bye. You may still kiss your fingers\nafter having touched the sacred slab upon which the Virgin stood and\nabove which run the words of the Psalmist: \"Adorabimus in loco ubi\nsteterunt pedes ejus.\" The chapel is, similarly to the screens around\nthe choir, of fourteenth-century work.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF TOLEDO\n\nChapel of Santiago, tombs of D. Alvaro de Luna and his spouse]\n\nThe Chapel of Santiago was erected by Count Alvaro de Luna, for more\nthan thirty years the real sovereign of Castile. It is most elaborately\ndecorated throughout with rich Gothic work, interwoven with sparkling\nfiligree of Saracenic character. The tombs of the Lunas are of interest\nbecause of the great Count. His own is not the original one. The first\nmausoleum which he erected to himself was so constructed that the\nrecumbent effigy or automaton could, when mass was said, slowly rise,\nclad in full armor, and remain kneeling until the service was ended,\nwhen it would slowly resume its former posture. This was destroyed at\nthe instigation of Alvaro's old enemy, Henry of Aragon, who remained\nunreconciled even after the death of his old minister. At each corner of\nAlvaro's tomb kneels a knight of Santiago, at his feet a page holds his\nhelmet, his own hands are crossed devoutly over the sword on his breast,\nand the mantle of his order is folded about his shoulders. His face\nwears an expression of sadness.\n\nAlvaro began his career as a page in the service of Queen Catharine\n(Plantagenet). He ended it as Master of Santiago, Constable of Castile,\nand Prime Minister of John II, whom he completely ruled for thirty-five\nyears. He lived in royal state, became all-powerful and arrogant. His\ndiplomacy effected the marriage of Henry II and Isabella of Portugal,\nbut he later incurred the enmity of Isabella, was accused of high\ntreason, found guilty, and executed in the square of Valladolid. Pius II\nsaid of him, \"He was a very lofty mind, as great in war as he was in\npeace, and his soul breathed none but noble thoughts.\"\n\nAnd thus we may continue all around the Cathedral, past the successive\nchapels, vestries, sanctuaries and treasuries,--the architecture and\nsculpture of each connected with great events and telling its own story\nof dark tragedy or lighter romance.\n\nIn one, the Spanish banners used to be consecrated before leading the\nhosts against the Moors; in another, Spain now keeps her priceless\ntreasures under the locks of seven keys hanging from the girdles of an\nequal number of canons. There are silver and gold and pearl and precious\njewels sufficient to set on foot every stagnant Spanish industry. The\n8500 pearls of the Virgin's cape might alone feed a province for no\nshort time. They are buried in the dark. Outside in the light, the\nchildren of Spain are starving and without means of obtaining food. At\none's elbow the whine of the beggar is continually heard, till one\nrecalls Washington Irving's words: \"The more proudly a mansion has been\ntenanted in the days of its prosperity, the humbler are its inhabitants\nin the days of her decline, and the palace of the king commonly ends in\nbeing the resting-place of the beggar.\"\n\nHere and there, in the interior as in the exterior, we find, mixed with\nor decorating the Gothic, Moorish and Renaissance details and the later\nextravagances which followed the decline of the Gothic. Even where the\ncarvers are expressing themselves in Gothic or Renaissance details, we\nfrequently observe an extreme richness, a love of chiaroscuro, of\nsparkling jewel-like light and shade, and intricately woven\nornamentation which betrays the influence of the Arab. We see the\nMorisco, a kind of fusion of French and Moorish, in many places. The\ntriforium of the choir is decidedly Moorish in its design, although it\nis Gothic in all its details and has carvings of heads and of the\nordinary dog-tooth enrichment instead of merely conventionalized leaf\nand figure ornament. It consists of a trefoil arcade. In the spandrels\nbetween its arches are circles with heads and, above these, triangular\nopenings pierced through the wall. The moldings of all the openings\ninterpenetrate, and the whole arcade has the air of intricate ingenuity\nso usual in Moorish work. Again, in the triforium of the inner aisle we\nfind Moorish influence,--the cusping of the arcade is not enclosed\nwithin an arch but takes a distinct horseshoe outline, the lowest cusp\nnear the cap spreading inward at the base. We see Moorish tiles, we find\nMoorish cupolas as in the Mozarabic chapel, and Moorish doorways, as the\nexquisite one leading into the Sala Capitular,--here and there and\neverywhere, we suddenly come upon details betraying the Arab intimacy.\n\nThe children of the Renaissance also embellished in their new manner,\nnot only in the magnificent carvings of the choir but in a variety of\nplaces, for instance, the doors themselves contained within the Moorish\nmolds leading to the Sala just mentioned, the entire chapel of St. Juan,\nthe Capilla de Reyes Nuevos, portions of the Puerta del Berruguete, and\nthe bronze doors of the Gate of the Lions.\n\nAgain, on the capitals and bases of many of the piers, with the\nexception of those of the central nave, Byzantine influence may be seen.\n\nSo each age, according to its best ken, dealt with the Cathedral. In\namong the varying styles of architectural decoration, the sister arts\nembellish the stone surfaces or are hung upon them. There are paintings\nby Titian, Giovanni Bellini, and Rubens, by El Greco, Goya, and Ribera;\nItalian and Flemish tapestries, and frescoes too. Probably the greater\nportion of the main walls were covered with them, for here and there\ntraces are still to be seen and a tree of Jesse remains in the tympanum\nof the south transept, and near it an enormous painting of Saint\nChristopher.\n\nWhile the \"Tresorio\" may have been the treasure-house of the clergy, the\nchurch itself was that of the people. Here was their art museum, here\nwere their galleries. The decorations became the primers from which they\nlearnt their lessons. Here they would meet in the afternoon hour as the\nlight fell aslant sapphire and ruby, through the clerestory openings. It\nwould light up their treasures with strange, unearthly glory and form\naureoles and haloes of rainbow splendor over the heads of their beloved\nsaints. Cool amethyst and emerald and warmer amber and gold touched the\ndarkest corners, and a gold and purple glory illuminated the high altar.\n\nSome of the earlier glass is as fine as any to be found in Europe. The\ndepth and intensity of the colors are remarkable. Probably none of it\nwas Spanish, but all was imported from France, Belgium, or Germany. The\nglass in the rose of the north transept and in the eastern windows of\nthe transept clerestory can hold its own beside that of the cathedrals\nof Paris and Amiens. The subject scheme of the rose in the north\ntransept is truly noble. The earliest glass is that in the nave (a\nlittle later than 1400), and this is Flemish. The windows of the aisles\nare at least a century later. Their composition is simple and broad, the\ncoloring rich and deep, and the interior dusk of the church enhances the\nvalue of the sunlight filtering through the glass.\n\nBetter than to descend into the immense crypt below the Cathedral, with\nits eighty-eight massive piers corresponding to those above, is it to\nstray into the broken sunlight of the green and fragrant cloister\narcade.\n\nBishop Tenorio procured the site for the church from the Jews, who here,\nright under the walls of the Christian church, held their market. A\nfresco adjoining the gate explains by what means. It represents on a\nladder a fiendish-looking Jew who has cut the heart out of a beautiful,\ncrucified child and is holding the dripping dagger in his hand. This\nfresco stirred up the fury of the Christian populace to the point ofburning the \nJewish market, houses and shops, which then were annexed by\nthe Bishop. The fine, two-story Gothic arcade of the cloisters encloses\na sun-splashed garden filled with fragrant flowers. Around the walls of\nthe lower arcade are a series of very mediocre frescoes. The\narchitecture itself is not nearly as interesting as that of the\ncloisters of Salamanca. It ought particularly to be so in this portion\nof the church, for here is the very climate and place for the courtyard\nlife of the Spaniard.\n\n\nV\n\nSo lies the Cathedral, crumbling in the sunlight of the twentieth\ncentury. Beautiful, but strange and irreconcilable to all that is around\nher, she alone, the Mother Church, stands unshaken, lonely and\nmelancholy, but grand and solemn in the midst of the paltry and tawdry\nhappenings of to-day. She has served giants, and now sees but a race of\ndwarfs; princes have prostrated themselves at her altars, where now only\nbeggars kneel. Her walls whisper loneliness, desertion, widowed\nresignation.\n\n     NOTE.--In connection with the remarks on page 160, a Catholic\n     friend has pointed out how rarely, when Peter has been robbed,\n     ostensibly to pay Paul, Paul (otherwise the Poor) has derived any\n     benefit from it. It is willingly conceded that Henry VIII bestowed\n     much of the wealth derived from the dissolution of the religious\n     houses on his own favorites, and recent disclosures in France show\n     as scandalous a diversion of some of the funds similarly obtained.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nSEGOVIA\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEGOVIA]\n\n    Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,\n    The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.\n\n    _Gray._\n\n\nOnce upon a time, long, long ago, in the days of the Iberians, there was\na city and its name was Segovia. It is now so old that all of it, with\nthe exception of the great heap of masonry which crowns its summit, has\npractically crumbled into a mountain of ruins. The pile still stands,\ndominating the plain and facing the setting sun, triumphant over time\nand decay,--the Cathedral of Saint Mary and Saint Froila. Though Mary\nwas the holier of the two patrons, owing to whose protection the church\nstands to-day so well preserved, still Froila was in certain respects no\nless remarkable. The Segovians of his day saw him split open a rock with\nhis jackknife and prove to the Moslems then ruling his city, beyond all\ndoubt, the validity of his Christian faith.\n\nBut long before saints and cathedrals, the Romans, recognizing the\ntenacious and commanding position as a military stronghold of the rock\nof Segovia, which rises precipitously from the two valleys watered by\nthe Erasma and Clamores, pitched their camp upon its crest, renaming it\nSegobriga. The city was fortified, and under Trajan the truly\nmagnificent aqueduct was built, either by the Romans or the devil, to\nsupply the city with the waters of the Fonfria mountains. A beautiful\nSegovian had at this early time grown weary of carrying her jugs up the\nsteep hills from the waters below and promised the devil she would marry\nhim, if he only would in a night's time once and for all bring into the\ncity the fresh waters of the eastern mountains. She was worth the labor,\nand the suitor accepted the contract. Fortunately the Church found the\narcade incomplete, the devil having forgotten a single stone, and the\nmaid was honorably released from her part of a bargain, the execution of\nwhich had profited her city so greatly. Segovia still carries on her\nshield this \"Puente del diabolo,\" with the head of a Roman peering above\nit.\n\nThe strong position of the city made it an envied possession to whatever\nconqueror held the surrounding country. It lay on the borderland,\nconstantly disputed with varying fortune by Christian and Moslem. Under\nthe dominion of the early Castilian kings, and even under the triumphant\nMoors, the youthful church prospered and grew, for in the government of\ntheir Christian subjects, the Mohammedans here, as elsewhere, showed\nthemselves temperate and full of common sense. The invaders had, indeed,\neverywhere been welcomed by the numerous Jews settled in Spanish cities,\nwho under the new rulers exchanged persecution for civil and religious\nliberty. Prompt surrender and the payment of a small annual tax were the\nonly conditions made, to confirm the conquered, of whatever race or\nreligion, in the possession of all their worldly goods, perfect freedom\nof worship and continued government by their own laws under their own\njudges.\n\nIn the eleventh century, Segovia was included in the great Amirate of\nToledo, but the Castilian kings grew stronger, till in 1085 they were\nable to recapture Toledo. The singularly picturesque contours of the\ncity are due to the various races which fortified her. Iberians were\nprobably the first to strengthen their hill from outside attack,--the\nRomans followed, building upon the foundations of the old walls, and\nChristian and Moslem completed the work, until the little city was\ncompactly girdled by strong masonry, broken by some three to four score\nfighting towers and but few gates of entrance. Alfonso the Wise was one\nof the great Segovian rulers and builders. He strengthened her bastions,\nadded a good deal to the walls of her illustrious fortress, and in 1108\ngave the city her first charter. A few years later Segovia was elevated\nto a bishopric.\n\nLong before the earliest cathedral church, the Alcazar was the most\nconspicuous feature in the landscape, and it still holds the second\nplace. Erected on the steep rocks at the extreme eastern end of the\nalmond-shaped hill, it stands like a chieftain at the head of his\nwarriors, always ready for battle, and first to meet any onslaught.\nSeveral Alfonsos, as well as Sanchos, labored upon it during the\nperilous twelfth century. Here the kings took up their abode in the\nhappy days when Segovia was capital of the kingdom, and even in later\ntimes it sheltered such illustrious travelers as the unfortunate Prince\nCharles of England, and Gil Blas, when out of suits with fortune.\n\nThe first Cathedral was erected on the broad platform east of the\nAlcazar, directly under the shadow of its protecting walls. The\never-reappearing Count Raymond of Burgundy was commissioned by his\nfather-in-law, the King, to repopulate Segovia after the Moorish\ndevastations, and he rebuilt its walls, as he was doing for the\nrecaptured cities of Salamanca and Avila. The battlements were repaired,\nand northerners from many provinces occupied the houses that had been\ndeserted.\n\nTo judge from the ruins as well as from well-preserved edifices,\nRomanesque days must have been full of great architectural activity. One\nis constantly reminded of Toledo in climbing up and down the narrow\nstreets, where one must often turn aside or find progress barred by\nRomanesque and Gothic courtyards or smelly culs-de-sac. Everywhere are\nRomanesque portals and arches, palaces and the apses and circular\nchapels of the age, bulging beyond the sidewalks into the cobblestones\nof the street. They seem indeed venerable. Some of the old palaces\npresent a curious all-over design executed in Moorish manner and with\nMoorish feeling. It is carved into the sidewalk, showing in relief a\ngeometrical, circular pattern, each circle filled with a quantity of\nsmall Gothic lancets, surely difficult both to design and to execute.\nSome of the old parish churches stand with their deep splays,\nround-headed arches and windows and broad, recessed portals almost as\nperfectly preserved as a thousand years ago. The Romanesque style died\nlate and hard. Even in the thirteenth century, the city could boast\nthirty such parish churches. To-day they seem fairly prayer-worn. Beyond\ntheir towers stretch the plains in every direction, seamed by stone\nwalls and dotted with gray rocks. Olive and poplar groves cluster round\nthe small hillocks, rising here and there like camels' backs.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLAN OF SEGOVIA CATHEDRAL\n\n    A. Capilla Mayor.\n    B. Choir.\n    C. Crossing.\n    D. Sacristy.\n    E. Cloisters.\n    F. Tower.]\n\nAs long as the welfare and development of the city depended on strong\nnatural fortifications, Segovia remained intact. To the twelfth and\nthirteenth centuries belongs her glory. Her power passed with the middle\nages and their chivalry, and in the sixteenth century she was a dead\ncity.\n\nVillages, convents and churches lie scattered over the plain, the houses\ncrowded together for protection against the blazing, scorching, pitiless\nsun. Standing by itself is the ancient and severe church, where many a\nknight-templar kept his last vigil before turning his back on the plains\nof Castile, and apart sleeps the monastery where Torquemada was once\nprior. They all crumble golden brown against the horizon.\n\nMany a bloody fray or revolution upset the city during the middle ages.\nThe minority of Alfonso XI witnessed one of the worst. The revolt which\nbroke out in so many of the Spanish cities against the Emperor Charles\nV, proved most fatal to the Cathedral of Segovia.\n\nThe first Romanesque Cathedral had been built in honor of St. Mary,\nunder the walls of the Alcazar, during the first half of the twelfth\ncentury. It was consecrated in 1228 by the papal legate, Juan, Bishop of\nSabina. Some two hundred and fifty years later, a new and magnificent\nGothic cloister was added to it by Bishop Juan Arias Davila, and\nlikewise a new episcopal palace more fitting times of greater luxury and\nmagnificence. This palace, despite the coming translation of the\nCathedral itself, remained the abode of the bishops for the three\nfollowing centuries. In the new cloisters a banquet of reconciliation\nwas celebrated in 1474 by Henry IV and the Catholic Kings. It was held\non the very spot whence Isabella had started in state on a journey\nproving so eventful in the history not only of Castile but of the entire\nPeninsula and countries beyond. Three years after the furious struggle\nwhich took place around the entrance of the Alcazar, Charles V issued\nthe following proclamation:--\n\n\"The King: To the Aldermen, Justices, Councillors, Knights, Men-at-arms,\nOfficials, and good Burghers of the city of Segovia. The reverend Father\nin Christ, Bishop of the church of this city, has told me how he and the\nChapter of his church believe that it would be well to move the\nCathedral church to the plaza of the city on the site of Santa Clara,\nand that the parish of San Miguel of the plaza should be incorporated in\nthe Cathedral church; and this, because when the said Cathedral church\nis placed in a situation where the divine services may be more\nadvantageously held, our Saviour will be better served and the people\nwill receive much benefit and the city become much ennobled; it appears\nto me good that this plan should be carried out, desiring the good and\nennoblement and welfare of the said city because of the loyalty and\nservices I have always found in it, therefore I command and request that\nyou unite with the said Bishop or his representative and the Chapter of\nsaid church and all talk freely together about this and see what will be\nbest for the good of the said city, and at the same time consider the\nassistance that the said city could itself render, and after discussion,\nforward me the results of your combined judgment, in order that I\nbetter may see and decide what will be for the best service of Our Lord,\nOurselves, and the welfare of the city. Dated in Madrid, the 2d day of\nOctober, in the year 1510.--I, the King.\"\n\nWhile the discussion of the feasibility and expense of commencing an\nentirely new cathedral upon a new site nearer the heart of the city was\nat its height, the revolt of the Comunidades broke out, in 1520, and\nswept away in its burning and pillaging course the Romanesque edifice.\nThis stood at the entrance to the fortress, where the fight naturally\nraged hottest. Only a very few of the most sacred images, relics and\nbones were carried to safety within the walls of the Alcazar before the\nold pile had been practically destroyed. Segovia was without a Cathedral\nchurch.\n\nIn the centre of the city, on the very crest of the hill, lay the only\nclearing within the walls. Here at one end of the plaza was the site of\nthe convent mentioned by Emperor Charles, which had long sheltered the\nnuns of Santa Clara. They had abandoned it for other quarters, and the\nadjacent convent of San Miguel had become unpopular and was dwindling\ninto insignificance. Both could thus in this most free and commanding\nlocation give way to a new and larger cathedral, distant from what would\nalways prove the rallying point of civic strife. Following the mighty\nwave of revolt which had swept the city, came a great receding wave of\nreligious enthusiasm to atone in holy fervor for the impious act\nrecently committed. Citizen and noble alike proposed to build an edifice\nwhich would be much more to the glory of Saint Mary than the shrine\nwhich they had so recently pulled down. Lords gave whole villages;\nwomen, their jewels; and the citizens, the sweat of their brows. We find\nin the archives of the Cathedral the following entry by the Canon Juan\nRidriguez[b]:\n\n\"On June 8th, 1522, ... by the consent and resolution of the Lord Bishop\nD. Diego de Rovera and of the Dean and Chapter of the said church, it\nwas agreed to commence the new work of the said church to the glory of\nGod and in honor of the Virgin Mary and the glorious San Frutos and all\nsaints, taking for master of the said work Juan Gil de Hontañon, and for\nhis clerk of the works Garcia de Cubillas. Thursday, the 8th of June,\n1552, the Bishop ordered a general procession with the Dean and Chapter,\nclergy and all the religious orders.\"\n\nThe corner stone was laid and the masonry started at the western end\nunder the most renowned architect of the age. Juan Gil had already\nworked on the old Segovian Cathedral, but had achieved his great fame on\nthe new Cathedral of Salamanca, started ten years previously, whose\nwalls were rising with astounding rapidity. His clerk was almost equally\nskilled, always working in perfect harmony with his master and carrying\nout his designs without jealousy during the \"maestro's\" many illnesses\nand journeys to and from Salamanca. Garcia lived to work on the church\nuntil 1562, and the old archives still hold many drawings from his\nskillful hand.\n\nThe two late Gothic Cathedrals are so similar in many points that they\nare immediately recognizable as the conception of the same brain.\nSegovia is, however, infinitely superior, not only in the magnificent\ndevelopment of the eastern end with its semicircular apse, ambulatory,\nand radiating apsidal chapels, as compared with the square termination\nof Salamanca, but, throughout, in the restrained quality of its detail\nand the refinement of its ornamentation. How far the abrupt and\nuninteresting apsidal termination of Salamanca was Juan Gil's fault, it\nis difficult to say, for we find records of its having been imposed upon\nhim by the Chapter as well as of his having drawn a circular apse.\nFortunately, the Segovian churchmen had the common sense to leave their\narchitect alone in most artistic matters and allow him to make the head\nof the church either \"octagonal, hexagonal, or of square form.\" Where\nSalamanca has been coarsened by the new style, Segovia seems inspired by\nits fidelity to the old.\n\nThe similarity of the two churches is visible throughout. The general\ninterior arrangements are much alike. The stone of the two interiors is\nof nearly the same color, and the formation and details of the great\npiers are strikingly similar. There is the same thin, reed-like descent\nof shafts from upper ribs, the same, almost inconspicuous, small leaves\nfor caps, and, in both, the bases terminate at different heights above\nthe huge common drum, which is some three feet high. Externally, there\nare analogous buttresses, crestings, pinnacles and parapets, and a\nconcealment of roof structure, but there is none of the vanity of\nSalamanca in the sister church of Segovia. The last great Gothic church\nof Spain, though deficient in many ways, was not lacking in unity nor\nsincerity. The flame went out in a magnificent blaze.\n\nSuch faithfulness and love as possessed Juan Gil for his old Gothic\nmasters seems well-nigh incredible. He designed, and during his\nactivity there of nine years, raised the greater portions of Segovia in\nan age when Gothic building was practically extinct, when Brunelleschi\nwas building Santa Maria del Fiore, and the classic revival was in full\nmarch. Segovia and Spaniards were as tardy in forswearing their Gothic\nallegiance as they had been their Romanesque. Not until the beginning of\nthe sixteenth century does the reborn classicism victoriously cross the\nPyrenees, and then only in minor domestic buildings. The last\nmanifestations of Gothic church-building in Spain were neither weak nor\ndecadent, but virile, impressive and logical. Segovia Cathedral may be\nsaid to be the last great monument in Spain, not only of Gothic, but of\necclesiastical art. Thereafter came the deluge of decadence or\npetrification. What must not the power of the Church, as well as the\nreligious enthusiasm of the populace, have been during this\nextraordinary sixteenth century! It is almost incredible that this tiny\ncity, in a weak little kingdom, and so few miles from Salamanca, had the\nspirit for an undertaking of the size of this Cathedral church, so soon\nafter Salamanca had entered on her architectural enterprise. Either of\nthe two seems beyond the united power of the kingdom.\n\nEven more remarkable than the starting of Segovia in the Gothic style at\nso late a date, was the fact that the architects succeeding Juan Gil,\nwho were naturally tempted to embody their own ideas and to employ the\nnew style then in vogue, should nevertheless have faithfully adhered to\nthe original conception and completed in Gothic style all constructive\nand ornamental details everywhere except in the final closing of the\ndome and a few minor exterior features. Naturally the Gothic of the\nsixteenth century was not that of the thirteenth,--not that of Leon or\nToledo, nor even of Burgos,--it had been modified and lost in spirit,\nbut still its origin was undeniable.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEGOVIA.\n\nFrom the Plaza.]\n\nIn 1525 Segovia was fairly started. House after house that impeded the\nprogress of the work was destroyed, until up to a hundred of them had\nbeen razed. Santa Clara was kept for the services until the very last\nmoment, when a sufficient portion of the new building was ready for\ntheir proper celebration.\n\nIt was unusual to start with the western end, the apse and its\nsurrounding arches being the portion necessary for services. In Segovia,\nhowever, as well as in the new Salamancan Cathedral, the great western\nfront was the earliest to rise. Gil did not live to finish it, but it is\nevident that, as long as he directed, the work drew the attention of the\nentire artistic fraternity of the Peninsula. We find constant mention in\nold documents of the visits and the praise of illustrious architects,\namong them Alfonso de Covarrubias, Juan de Alava, Enrique de Egas, and\nFelipe de Borgoña. Gil's clerk-of-the-works, Cubillas, succeeded him as\n\"maestro,\" and under him the western front with its tower, the\ncloisters, and the nave and aisles as far as the crossing, were\nvirtually completed by 1558. Aside from the manual labor, \"it had taken\nmore than forty-eight collections of maravedis\" to bring it to this\npoint. The magnificent old cloisters erected by Bishop Davila beside the\nold Cathedral in 1470, had been spared the fury of the mob, and in 1524\nthey were moved stone by stone to the southern flank of the new\nCathedral. This would have been a remarkable feat of masonry in our\nage, and, for the sixteenth century, it was astonishing. Not a stone was\nchipped nor a piece of carving broken. Juan de Compero took the whole\nfabric apart and put it together again, as a child does a box of wooden\nblocks.\n\nThe 15th of August, 1558, when the first services were held in the\nCathedral, was the greatest day in Segovia's history. Quadrado, probably\nquoting from old accounts, tells us, \"The divine services were then held\nin the new Temple. People came to the festival from all over Spain, and\nmusic, from all Castile. At twilight on August 14th, 1558, the tower was\nilluminated with fire-works, the great aqueduct, with two thousand\ncolored lights, and the reflection of the city's lights alarmed the\ncountry-side for forty leagues round. The following day, the Assumption\nof Our Lady, there was an astonishing procession, in which all the\nparishes took part and the community offered prizes for the best\ndisplay. The procession went out by the gate of Saint Juan, and, after\ngoing all around the city, returned to the plaza, where the sacrament\nwas being borne out of Santa Clara. There was a bull-fight,\npole-climbing, a poetical competition and comedies. The generosity of\nthe donations corresponded to the pomp of the occasion. Ten days\nafterwards the bones were taken from the old church and reinterred in\nthe new one, among which were those of the Infante Don Pedro, Maria del\nSalto, and different prelates.\"\n\nThe bones of the two former were laid to rest under the arches of the\ncloister. Don Pedro was a little son of King Henry II who had been\nplaying on one of the iron balconies in front of the Alcazar windows,\nand, while his nurse's back was turned, pitched headlong over the\nprecipice into eternity and the poplar trees three hundred feet below.\nThe nurse, who knew full well it would be a question of only a few hours\nbefore she followed her princely charge, anticipated her fate and jumped\nafter him. Maria del Salto (\"of the leap\") was a beautiful Jewess who,\nhaving been taken in sin, was forced to jump from another of Segovia's\nsteep promontories. Bethinking herself of the Virgin Mary as a last\nresource, she invoked her assistance while in mid-air, and the blessed\nsaint immediately responded, causing the Jewess to alight gently and\nunharmed. It was naturally a great pious satisfaction to the Segovians\nto carry to the new edifice such cherished bones.\n\nWith services in the church, the building was well under way. Juan Gil's\nson, Rodrigo Gil, had worked on Salamanca as well as very ably assisted\nCubillas. Upon the latter's death, in 1560, Rodrigo became maestro\nmayor. Three years later, when the corner stone of the apse was laid,\nthe Chapter seems to have seriously discussed the advisability of\nfinally deviating from the original Gothic plans and building a\nRenaissance head. It was, however, left to Rodrigo, who loyally adhered\nto his father's original designs, and when he died in 1577, there was\nfortunately but little left to do. Indeed, most of what followed in\nconstruction, repair or decoration was rather to the detriment than\nembellishment of the church. It was consecrated in 1580. Chapels were\nadded to the trasaltar by Rodrigo's successor, Martin Ruiz de Chartudi;\nthe lantern above the crossing was raised by Juan de Mogaguren in 1615;\nfive years later, the northern porch was erected and Renaissance\nfeatures invaded the edifice. Like most Spanish churches, it has been\nconstantly worked upon and never completed.\n\nThe plan is admirable,--at once dignified and harmonious, and the\nsemicircular Romanesque termination is striking. The total length is\nsome 340 feet, its entire width, some 156; the nave is 43 and the side\naisles are 32 feet wide. It is thus logical, symmetrical, and fully\ndeveloped in all its members. Beyond the side aisles stretches a row of\nchapels separated from each other by transverse walls. As the transepts,\nwhich are of the same width as the nave, do not project beyond the\nchapels of its outer aisles, the Latin cross disappears in plan. The\nnave, aisles and chapels consist of five bays up to the crossing crowned\nby the great dome. Beyond this comes the vault of the Capilla Mayor and\nthe semicircular apse surrounded by a seven-bayed ambulatory, or\n\"girola,\" and an equal number of radiating pentagonal chapels. The\nchevet is clear in arrangement and noble in expression. Entrances lead\nlogically into the nave and side aisles of the western front and into\nthe centres of the northern and southern transepts, while cloisters\nwhich abut to the south are entered through the fifth chapel. When\nSegovia was built, Spaniards were thoroughly reconciled to the idea of\nplacing the choir west of the crossing and the Capilla Mayor east, and\nconsequently the latter was designed no larger than was requisite for\nits offices, and a space was frankly screened off between it and the\nchoir for the use of the officiating clergy. The third and fourth bays\nof the nave contained the choir.\n\nAs one enters the church, there is a consciousness of joy and order. The\nstone surfaces are just sufficiently warmed and mellowed by the\nglorious light from above. The piers are very massive and semicircular\nin plan; the foliage at their heads underneath the vaulting is so\ndelicate and unpronounced that it scarcely counts as capitals. The walls\nof the chapels in the outer aisles, as well as round the ambulatory, are\npenetrated by narrow, round-headed windows, as timid and attenuated as\nthose of an early Romanesque edifice; the walls of the inner aisle, by\ntriple, lancet windows; and the clerestory of the nave, by triple,\nround-headed ones. Under them, in the apse, is a second row of\nround-headed blind windows. None of them have any tracery whatever. The\nglass is of great brilliancy of coloring and exceptional beauty, but the\ndesigns are as poor as the glazing is glorious. In the smaller windows,\nthe subjects represent events in the Old Testament; in the larger,\nscenes from the New. Around the apse much of the old, stained glass has\nbeen shamefully replaced by white, so as to admit more light into this\nportion of the building.\n\nThere is no triforium, but a finely carved late Gothic balcony runs\naround the nave and transepts below the clerestory. In the transepts,\nthis is surmounted by a second one underneath the small roses which\npenetrate their upper wall surfaces. Both nave and side aisles are\nlofty, the vaulting rising in the former to a height of about 100 feet\nand, in the latter, to 80 feet, while the cupola soars 330 feet above.\nThe vaulting itself is most elaborate and developed. While the early\nGothic edifices have only the requisite functional transverse, diagonal\nand wall ribs, we now find every vault covered with intermediate ones of\nmost intricate designs. Especially over the Capilla Mayor in its\nambulatory chapels and around the lantern, this ornamentation becomes\nprofuse,--everywhere ribs are met by bosses and roses. The general\neffect of the endless cutting up of the vaults into numberless\ncompartments by the complicated system of lierne ribs is one of\nrestlessness. One misses the logical simplicity of the thirteenth and\nfourteenth centuries and is reminded of the decadent surfacing of late\nGerman work and the ogee, lierne ribs of some of the late English, in\nwhich the true ridges can no longer be distinguished from the false.\n\nLooking up into the dome over the crossing, we see that the pendentives\ndo not rise directly above the four arches, but spring some fifteen feet\nhigher up above a Gothic balustrade which is surmounted by elliptical\narches pierced by circular windows. The dome, disembarrassed of the ribs\nwhich still cling to some of its predecessors, is finely shaped,--a\nthorough Renaissance piece of work. Light streams down through the\nbull's eye under the lantern.\n\nThere is considerable difference in the design as well as workmanship ofthe many \nrejas. Tremendous iron rails, surely not as fine as those of\nSeville, Granada, or Toledo, but still very remarkable, close the three\nsides of the Capilla Mayor and the front of the choir. The emblematical\nlilies of the Cathedral rise in rows one beside the other, as one sees\nthem in a florist's Easter windows. Rejas close off similarly all the\nouter chapels from the side aisles.\n\nAmong the very few portions of the old Cathedral which remained intact\nafter the fury of the Comunidades, were the choir stalls and an\nexquisite door. The former were placed in the new choir and the latter\nbecame an entrance to the transplanted cloisters. It was indeed\nfortunate that these stalls were spared, for they are among the most\nexquisite in Spain and excelled by few in either France or Germany.\n\nWood-carving had long been a favorite art in Spain, one in which the\nSpaniards learned to excel under the skillful tutelage of the great\nmasters from Germany and Flanders. The foreign carvers settled\nprincipally in Burgos, where there grew up around them apprentices eager\nto fill the churches with statues, retablos, choir stalls, and organ\nscreens executed in wood. The art of carving became highly honored. An\nearly ordinance of Seville referring to wood-carving, masonry and\nbuilding, esteems it \"a noble art and self-contained, that increaseth\nthe nobleness of the King and of his kingdom, that pacifieth the people\nand spreadeth love among mankind conducing to much good.\" In the\nnumerous panels of cathedral choir stalls, there was a wonderful\nopportunity for relief work and the play of the fertile imagination and\nchildlike expressiveness of the middle ages. Curious freaks of fancy,\ntheir extraordinary conceptions of Biblical scenes, the events and\npersonages of their own day, could all be portrayed and even carved with\nwonderful skill. Leonard Williams, in his \"Art and Crafts of Older\nSpain,\" tells us that \"the silleria consists of two tiers, the _sellia_\nor upper seats with high backs and a canopy, intended for the canons,\nand the lower seats or _sub-sellia_ of simpler pattern with lower backs,\nintended for the _beneficados_. At the head of all is placed the throne,\nlarger than the other stalls, and covered in many cases by a canopy\nsurmounted by a tall spire.\"\n\nFew of the many Gothic stalls are finer than those of Segovia. The\ncontrast with the work above them, as well as with that which backs onto\nthem, is doubly distressing. The tremendous organs above are a mass of\ngilding and restless Baroque ornamentation, while their rear is covered\nby multicolored strips of stone which would have looked vulgar and gaudy\naround a Punch and Judy show and here enframe the four Evangelists. The\nchapels and high altar are uninteresting, decorated in later days in\noffensive taste. Apart from these furnishings, which play but a small\npart, it is rare and satisfying to survey an interior in which there has\nbeen so much decorative restraint, in which the constructive and\narchitectural lines dominate the merely ornamental ones, and where\nharmony, severity and excellent proportions go hand in hand. Were it not\nfor the cupola and a few minor details, there would be added to these\nmerits, unity of style.\n\nThe cloisters are rich and flamboyant, but nevertheless more restrained\nthan those of Salamanca. They are elaborately subdivided, carved and\nfestooned, and, in the bosses of the arches, they carry the arms of\ntheir original builder, Bishop Arias Davila. Just inside their entrance\nlie three of the old architects, Rodrigo Gil de Hontañon, Campo Aguero,\nand Viadero. The old well in the centre is covered with a grapevine, and\nnothing could be lovelier than the deep emerald leaves dotted with\npurple fruit growing over the white and yellow stonework.\n\nFew Spanish cathedrals can be seen to such advantage as Segovia, its\nsituation is so unusual and fortunate. In mediæval towns closely packed\nwithin their city walls, there could be but little room or breathing\nspace either for palace or hovel, and the buildings adjacent to a\ncathedral generally nestled close to its sides. The plaza of Segovia is\nunusually large compared to the area of the little city. The clearing\naway of Santa Clara and San Miguel and all the smaller surrounding\nedifices condemned for the Cathedral site, left much room also in front\nof the western entrance for a fine broad platform as well as an\nunobstructed view from the opposite side of the square. Most of the\nflights of granite steps leading to it from the streets below are now\nclosed by iron gates and overgrown with grass and weeds. The days of the\ngreat processions are past, when the various trades, led by their bands\nof musicians, filed up to deliver their offerings towards the\nconstruction, and the staircases are no longer thronged by devout\nSegovian citizens anxious to see the daily progress of the work. The\nplatform is paved with innumerable granite slabs which in the old\nCathedral covered the tombs of the city's illustrious citizens, whose\nnames may still be easily deciphered.\n\nTaken as a whole, the façade is bald and void of charm. It is neither\ngood nor especially faulty, of a certain strength, but without interest\nor merit. It is logically subdivided by five pronounced buttresses\nmarking the nave, side aisles and outer row of chapels. Their relative\nheights and the lines of their roofing are clearly defined. To the\nnorth, a rather insignificant turret terminates the façade, while to the\nsouth rises the lofty tower, three hundred and forty-five feet above the\nwhole mountain of masonry, the most conspicuous landmark in the\nlandscape of Segovia. It consists of a square base of sides thirty-five\nfeet wide, broken by six rows of twin arches; the first, the third and\nthe sixth are open, the last is a belfry. The present dome curves from\nan octagonal Renaissance base, the transitional corners being filled\nwith crocketed pyramids similar to the many crowning buttresses and\npiers at all angles of the church below. The dome and lantern are almost\nexact smaller counterparts of those crowning the crossing. They were put\nup by the same architect, Mogaguren, who certainly could not have been\nover-gifted with artistic imagination. The tower had varying\nfortunes,--much to the distress of the citizens, it has been twice\nstruck by lightning. The wooden structure and lead covering were burned\nand melted by the fire which followed the first catastrophe, but\nfortunately it was soon put out by the rain which saved the Cathedral\nand city. After the second thunderbolt, in 1809, the surmounting cross\nwas replaced by a lightning-rod.\n\nThe nave is entered by the Perdon portal, which, under a Gothic arch, is\nsubdivided into two elliptical openings. Peculiarly late Gothic railings\nhere, as elsewhere, crown the masonry and conceal the tiling of the\nsloping roofs.\n\nRounding the church to the south, we find the view obstructed by the\ncloisters and sacristy; only the façade of the transept, ascended from\nthe lower ground by a flight of steps, remains visible. The southern\ndoorway is quite denuded, and even its buttresses rise without as much\nas a corbel to soften their lines. When one has, however, dodged through\nthe tortuous, narrow, malodorous streets and come out opposite the apse\nand northern flank, the whole bulk of the logical organic body of the\nchurch becomes visible with its larger squat and higher lofty domes\ntowering into the blue. To the same Renaissance period as the two domes\nbelongs the classical portal of Pedro Brizuela, leading to the northern\ntransept. The view from the northeast is particularly fine. Every\nportion of the structure is expressed by the exterior lines. One above\nthe other rise chapels, ambulatory, apse, transepts and lanterns, each\nlevel crowned by its sparkling balustrade. The sky is jagged by the\ncrocketed spires which terminate the flying buttresses, the piers and\nthe angles of the wall surface. Here the Latin cross may be seen, and\nthe sub-divisions of every portion of the interior. There is no\ndeception nor trickery. It is simple and straightforward. Its artistic\nmerits may be small, the forest of carved turrets rising all around the\napse, tiresome, but this final impression of Spanish Gothic was\nthoroughly sincere.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nSEVILLE\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE\n\nThe Giralda, from the Orange Tree Court]\n\n    \"Wen Gott lieb hat, dem giebt er ein Haus in Sevilla.\"\n\n\nSeville is ever youthful, for the blood which courses in her veins\nabsorbs the sunlight. Venice is the city of dreamy love, Naples, of\nindolence, Rome, of everlasting age, but Seville keeps an eternal youth.\n\nWhat picturesqueness, what color, what passion blend with memories of\nAndalusia!\n\n    All sunny land of love!\n    When I forget you, may I fail    To ... say my prayers!\n\nAnd Seville is the queen of Andalusia, of noble birth, proud and\nbeautiful. Distinctly feminine in her subtle, indefinable charm, like a\nwoman she changes with her surroundings, and her mutability adds to her\nfascination. We never fathom nor quite know her, for she is one being as\nshe slumbers in the first chalky light of morning, another, in the\nresplendent nakedness of noontide, overarched by the indigo firmament,\nand yet another, in the happy laughter of evening when her mantle has\nturned purple and her throbbing life is more felt than seen. The roses,\nhyacinths and crocuses have closed in sleep, but the orange groves, the\nacacia, and eucalyptus, jasmine, lemon, and palm trees and hedges of box\nfill the air with heavy, aromatic perfume. To the exiled Moors she was\nso sweet in all her moods that they said, \"God in His justice, having\ndenied to the Christians a heavenly paradise, has given them in exchange\nan earthly one.\" With the oriental languor of her ancestors, she keeps\nthe freshness and sparkle of the dewy morn. She is as gay and full of\nyouthful vitality as her Toledan sister is old and worn and haggard.\nWhile Toledo is sombre and funereal, Seville is alive with the tinkling\nof silver fountains, the strumming of guitars and mandolins, and the\nsongs of her women. She lies rich and splendid on the bosom of the\ncampagna, fruitfulness and plenty within her embattled walls. \"She is a\nstrange, sweet sorceress, a little wise perhaps, in whom love has\ndegenerated into desire; but she offers her lovers sleep, and in her\narms you will forget everything but the entrancing life of dreams.\"\n\nAndalusia and Seville justly claim an ancient and royal pedigree, which\nthrough all the vicissitudes of centuries has still left its stamp upon\nthem. Andalusia was the Tarshish of the Bible, whither Jonah rose to\nflee. Her commerce is spoken of in Jeremiah, Isaiah, the Psalms, and the\nChronicles: \"Tarshish was thy merchant by reason of the multitude of all\nkind of riches, with silver, iron, tin, and lead they traded in thy\nfairs\" (Ezekiel xxvii, 12).\n\nIn passing the Straits of Hercules, Seville and Ceuta alone caught\nOdysseus' eye:--\n\n                Tardy with age\n    Were I and my companions, when we came\n    To the Strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd\n    The bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man.\n    The walls of Seville to my right I left,\n    On th' other hand already Ceuta past.\n\n    _Inferno_, xxvi. 106-110.\n\nThe honor of founding the city of Seville seems to be shared by Hercules\nand Julius Cæsar. In the popular mind of the Sevillians, as well as\nthrough an unbroken chain of mediæval historians and ballad-makers,\nHercules is called its father. Monuments throughout the city bear\nwitness to its founders. On one of the gates recently demolished the\ninscription ran,--\n\n    Condidit Alcides, Renovavit Julius urbem.\n    Restituit Christo Fernandus tertius heros.\n\nThe Latin verses were later paraphrased in the Castilian tongue over the\nGate of Zeres:--\n\n    Hercules me edifico,\n    Julio Cesar me cerco,\n    de meno y torres altes\n    y el rey santo me ganó,\n    Con Garci Perez de Vargas.\n\n\"Hercules built me, Julius Cæsar surrounded me with walls and high\ntowers, the Holy King conquered me by Garcia Perez de Vargas.\" Statues\nof the founder and protector still stand in various parts of the city.\n\nIn the second century B. C., the shipping of Seville made it one of the\nmost important trade centres of the Mediterranean. Phœnicians and\nGreeks stopped here to barter. In 45 B. C., Rome stretched forth her\ngreedy hand, and Cæsar entered the town at the head of his victorious\nlegion. Eighty-two years later the Romans formed the whole of southern\nSpain into the \"Provincia Bætica.\" With its formation into a Roman\ncolony, Seville's historical background begins to stand out clearly and\nits riches are sung by the ancients. \"Fair art thou, Bætis,\" says\nMartial, \"with thine olive crown and thy limpid waters, with the fleece\nstains of a brilliant gold.\" The whole province contained what later\nbecame Sevilla, Huelva, Cadiz, Cordova, Jaen, Granada and Almeria.\nSeville, or Hispalis, became the capital and was accordingly fortified\nwith walls and towers, garrisoned and supplied with water from aqueducts\nand adorned with Roman works of art. After the spread of Christianity\nduring the later Emperors, Seville was important enough to be made the\nseat of a bishop.\n\nWith the fall of Rome, Hispalis was overrun by hordes of Goths and\nVandals. They held possession of the country until they were conquered\nin 711 by the Moors, who, after crossing the strait between Africa and\nEurope, gradually spread northward through the Iberian peninsula. The\nGoths made Hispalis out of the Roman Hispalia, and the Arabians in their\nturn, unable to pronounce the p, formed the name into Ixbella, of which\nthe Castilians made Seville.\n\nTo the Moors, Andalusia was the Promised Land flowing with milk and\nhoney. What was lacking, their genius and husbandry soon supplied. The\nland which they found uncultivated soon became a garden filled with\nexotic flowers and rich fruits, while they adorned its cities with the\nnoblest monuments of their taste and intelligence. They divided their\nterritory (el Andalus) into the four kingdoms of Seville, Cordova, Jaen,\nand Granada, which still exist as territorial divisions. To-day the\nthree latter contain only the ruins of a great past. Seville alone\nremains in many respects a perfectly Moorish city. Her courts, her\nsquares, the streets and houses, the great palace and the tower are\nessentially Arabian and bear witness to the magnificence of her ancient\nmasters.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLAN OF SEVILLE CATHEDRAL\n\n    A. The Giralda.\n    B. Royal Chapel.\n    C. Chapter House.\n    D. Sacristy.\n    E. Old Sacristy.\n    F. Colombina Library.\n    G. Portal of the Perdon.\n    H. Courtyard of the Orange Trees.\n    I. The Sagrario.\n    J. Portal of the Orange Trees.\n    K. Choir.\n    L. Capilla Mayor.\n    M. Portal of the Lonja (San Cristobal).\n    N. Portal of the Palos.\n    O. Portal of the Campanillas.\n    P. Portal of the Bautismo.\n    Q. Puerta Mayor.\n    R. Portal of the Nacimiento.\n    S. Trascoro.\n    T. Dependencias de la Hermandad.\n    U. Portal of the Sagrario.\n    V. Portal of the Lagarto.\n    X. Tomb of Fernando Colon.]\n\nThey had lost all the rest of Spain except Granada before Cordova and\nJaen surrendered, and finally Seville fell into the hands of Ferdinand\nIII of Castile in 1248, and its Christian period began. Three hundred\nthousand followers of the detested faith were banished from Seville, and\nslowly the power of the Catholic Church began to rise and the\nagricultural beauty and industry of the surrounding province to wane.\n\nThe city was divided into separate districts for the different races,\nthe canals were dammed up, the water-works fell to pieces, the valley\nwas left untilled, and fruit trees were unpruned and unwatered. Hides\nbleached in the sun and webs rotted on the looms, sixty thousand of\nwhich had woven beautiful silk fabrics in the palmy days of the Moors.\n\nFerdinand the Holy was a great king, of a saintliness and greatness\nstill acknowledged by the soldiers of Seville. After eight centuries\nthey still lower their colors as they march past the great shrine of the\nThird Ferdinand, in the church which he purged from Mohammedanism and\ndedicated to the worship of the Christians' God and the Holy Virgin.\n\nAfter him, Seville became the theatre of momentous deeds and events that\nhad a far-reaching influence on the history of the country. Into her lap\nwas poured the riches of the New World; within her halls Queen Isabella\nlaid the foundation of her united kingdom; from Seville came the\nintellectual stimulus that revived the arts and letters of the whole\nPeninsula. Here were born and labored Pedro Campaña, Alejo Fernandez,\nLuis de Vargas, the several Herreras, Francisco de Zurbaran, Alfonso\nCano, Diego de Silva Velasquez, Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, and Miguel\nFlorentino. The riches of the western world made of Seville a second\nFlorence, where art found ready patrons, and literature, cultivated\nprotectors. She rivaled the great schools of Italy and the Netherlands,\nbut out of her secret council chambers came the Institution of the Holy\nOffice, the scourge that withered the nation. In the latter half of the\nsixteenth century, forty-five thousand people were put to death in the\narchbishopric of Seville. Finally, under Philip II, Seville and her\ngreat church rose to stupendous wealth and power.\n\n\"When Philip II died, loyal Seville honored the departed king by a\nmagnificent funeral service in the Cathedral. A tremendous monument was\ndesigned by Oviedo. On Nov. 25th, 1598, the mourning multitude flocked\nto the dim Cathedral while the people knelt upon the stones, and the\nsolemn music floated through the air. There was a disturbance among a\npart of the congregation. A man was charged with deriding the imposing\nmonument and creating disorder. He was a tax-gatherer and ex-soldier of\nthe city named Don Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. Some of the citizens\ntook his side, for there was a feud between the civil and the\necclesiastical authorities in Seville. The brawler was expelled from the\ncathedral,--but he had his revenge. He composed a satirical poem upon\nthe tomb of the King which was read everywhere in the city:--\n\n    _To the Monument of the King of Seville_\n\n    I vow to God I quake with surprise,\n    Could I describe it, I would give a crown,\n    And who, that gazes on it in the town\n    But starts aghast to see its wondrous size;\n    Each part a million cost, I should devise:\n    What pity 'tis, ere centuries have flown,\n    Old time will mercilessly cast it down!\n    Thou rival'st Rome, O Seville, in my eyes!\n    I bet, the soul of him who's dead and blest,\n    To dwell within this sumptuous monument,\n    Has left the seats of sempiternal rest!\n    A fellow tall, on deeds of valour bent,\n    My exclamation heard. \"Bravo,\" he cried,\n    \"Sir Soldier, what you say is true, I vow!\n    And he who says the contrary has lied!\"\n    With that he pulls his hat upon his brow,\n    Upon his sword-hilt he his hand doth lay,\n    And frowns--and--nothing does, but walks away!\"[16]\n\nFar more ineffaccable even than the record left by Philip's life upon\nthe history of Seville and Spain is that of this immortal soldier and\nscribbler, who \"believed he had found something better to do than\nwriting comedies.\"\n\nThe soft, sonorous syllables of Guadalquivir (from the Arabic\nWad-el-Kebir, or The Great River) would picture to the imaginative eye a\nriver far more poetic than the sluggish stream that loiters across the\nwide plain and fruitful valley until it pierces the amber girdle of\ncrenelated walls and embattled towers which enclose the treasures of\nSeville. On its broad bosom have swept the barks and galleys of\nPhœnicia and Greece, of Roman, Goth, and Moor. On its shores Columbus\nlowered the sails of his caravel and presented Spain with a new world on\nPalm Sunday, 1493; Pizarro and Cortez here first embarked their greedy\nand daring adventurers; hither Pizarro returned with hoards of gold and\nsilver treasures from Mexico and Peru, for the Council of the Indies\nrestricted all the trade of the colonies to the port of Seville. The\nvalley through which the river descends is sheltered from the cold\ntablelands lying northward by the Sierra Moreña chain. Gray olive trees,\nwaving pastures, and fields of grain cover its slopes. A soft, tempered\nwind whispers through the grassy meadows of La Tierra de Maria\nSantissima, and the atmosphere is so dry and clear that far away against\nthe horizon objects stand out in clear silhouette. So vivid are the\ncolors that the smoky olive groves, the orange and lemon-colored walls,\nthe fir trees, the chalky white of the stucco, the fleshy, prickly\nleaves of the cacti, and the tall standards of the aloes seem\nphotographed on the brain.\n\nIn a fair and fruitful land lies the city, and her spires pierce a\nsmokeless, unspotted sky.\n\nIn the heart of the city, set down in the very centre of her life of\nsong and laughter and childish simplicity, surrounded by crooked streets\nand great airy courts, in the widest sunlit square, lies her Cathedral.\n\nThe first impression made by a building is generally not only the most\ndistinct but the truest. That produced by Seville's Cathedral is its\nimmensity of scale.\n\n    Toledo la rica,\n    Salamanca la fuerta,\n    Leon la bella,\n    Oviedo la sacra,\n    Sevilla la grande,\n\nruns the Spanish saying. The size is overpowering. Each of the four side\naisles is nearly as broad and high as the nave of Westminster Abbey,\nwhile the arcades of Seville's nave have twice the span. To the\nimpressionable sensitiveness of Théophile Gautier it was like a mountain\nscooped out, a valley turned topsy-turvy. Notre Dame de Paris might walk\nerect under the frightful height of the middle nave; pillars as large as\ntowers appear so slender that you catch your breath as you look up at\nthe far-away, vaulted roof they support.\n\nHere are the first impressions of two early Spanish writers. Cean\nBermudez finds that, \"seen from a certain distance, it resembles a\nhigh-pooped and beflagged ship, rising over the sea with harmonious\ngrouping of sails, pennons, and banners, and with its mainmast towering\nover the mizzenmast, foremast, and bowsprit.\" Caveda is struck by \"the\ngeneral effect, which is truly majestic. The open-work parapets which\ncrown the roofs; the graceful lanterns of the eight winding stairs that\nascend in the corners to the vaults and galleries; the flying buttresses\nthat spring lightly from aisle to nave, as the jets of a cascade from\ncliff to cliff; the slender pinnacles that cap them; the proportions of\nthe arms of the transept and of the buttresses supporting the side\nwalls; the large pointed windows to which they belong, rising over each\nother, the pointed portals and entrances,--all these combine in an\nalmost miraculous effect, although they lack the wealth of detail, the\nairy grace, and the delicate elegance that characterize the cathedrals\nof Leon and Burgos.\"\n\nSuch are the varying impressions of ancient critics. To the student's\nquestion, \"To what period of architecture does the Cathedral of Seville\nbelong?\" we must answer, \"To no period, or rather to half a dozen.\"\nAuthorities and writers will give completely different information, and\nSeville has found more willing and loving chroniclers than any other of\nSpain's churches. Gallichan classes it as the \"largest Gothic cathedral\nin the world,\" and Caveda calls it \"a type of the finest Spanish Gothic\narchitecture.\"\n\nThe interior of the main body of the church is pure, severe Gothic, the\nsacristy major, highly developed Renaissance; the main portions of the\nexterior are what might be termed for want of a better word \"Spanish\nRenaissance--plateresco\"; other details are Moorish, classical, late\nflorid Gothic, rococo, and so forth. As if to add to the incongruity of\nthe architectural hodge-podge, it is surrounded by shafts of old Roman\ncolumns as well as Byzantine pillars from the original mosque, sunk deep\ninto the ground and connected with iron chains. The total impression to\nany student of architecture is one of outraged law and order,\ncomposition and unity. Recalling the carefully membered and distinctly\ndeveloped plan of the great Gothic churches of France, the expressive\nexteriors of the huge Renaissance cathedrals of Italy, the satisfying\nperspective of English monastic temples, one feels the hopelessness of\nattempting a comparison between this huge, impressive undertaking and\nany accepted standards or schools. It is something so entirely different\nand apart, a mighty and unbridled effort which cannot be classified nor\ngrouped with other churches, nor studied by methods of earlier\narchitectural training. It is full of romance,--a building romantic as\nthe Cid, a child of architectural fervor or even architectural furor.\nCenturies of Spanish history and religion and the various temperaments\nof different and inspired races have created it and fostered its\ngrowth. Like many of its sister churches, the artisans that labored on\nit were gathered from different lands and their work stretches through\ncenturies of time and architectural thought. There is the sparkling,\noriental fancy of the Mudejar, the classic training of the Italian, the\nbrilliant color and technique of the Fleming and Dutchman, the skilled\nand masterful chiseling of the German, and the restless pride and\ndomination of the Spaniard. You find it expressed in every way,--on\ncanvas, in wood and clay and stone, on plaster and in glass. It is a\nmuseum of art from the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries, with\nportions still waiting for the work of the twentieth. The artists range\nfrom Juan Sanches de Castro, \"the morning star of Andalusia,\" in 1454,\nto Francisco Goya, the last of the great Spanish painters.\n\nIt is colossal, incongruous, mysterious, and elusive. It breathes the\nspirit of the middle ages with all their piety and loyalty to church and\ncrown, and their unparalleled ardor in building religious temples.\nGazing at it, you feel the same religious fervor that flung the arches\nof Amiens and Chartres high into the northern air and rounded the dome\nof Santa Maria del Fiore under Lombardy's azure vault.\n\nIf you stand in the Calle del Gran Capitan, or better, the Plaza del\nTriumfo, best of all, near the gateway of the Patio de las Banderas,\nwhere the Cathedral and the Giralda pile up in front of you,\nunquestionably you have before you Spain's mightiest architectural work,\na sight as impressive as the view from the marble pavement of the\nPiazzetta by the Adriatic.\n\nThe lofty tower is entirely oriental. The walls of the Cathedral which\nrise from a broad paved terrace consist below of a classical screen,\nwhose surface is broken by a Corinthian order carrying a Renaissance\nbalustrade and topped by heavy, meaningless stone terminations. Windows\nwith Italian Renaissance frames pierce the ochre masonry. Above rises a\nconfusion of buttresses, kettle-shaped domes, and Renaissance lanterns,\nsimple, massive walls, some portions entirely bare, others overloaded\nwith delicate Gothic interlacings full of Spanish feeling; flowers and\nrosettes, broad blazons and coats-of-arms,--above all, a forest of\nGothic towers, finials, crockets, parapets, and rails peculiarly Spanish\nin carving and treatment. There is practically no sky line. The interior\nof the nave and aisle vaulting are entirely concealed externally by the\nparapets and walls.\n\nSo lacking in sobriety is the first view!--but you are ready to echo the\nSpanish saying,--\n\n    Quien no ha visto Sevilla\n    No ha visto maravilla.[17]\n\nor the words of Pope, \"_There_ stands a structure of majestic fame!\"\n\nThe Spanish Christians in Seville, like those who obtained possession of\nother Moorish strongholds, first appropriated the old Arab mosque for\ntheir house of worship. Later, when it no longer sufficed, they and\ntheir fellow-believers elsewhere built the new cathedral on, around, or\nadjacent to, the old consecrated walls. Like all other churches from\nwhich Islam had been driven, the great mosque of Seville was dedicated\nto Santa Maria de la Sede. The famous Moorish conqueror, Abu Jakub\nJusuf, had laid the foundation stones of his mosque and tower in 1171,\nbuilding his walls with the materials left by imperial Rome, and laying\nout orange courtyard and walls in a manner befitting his power and the\ntraditions of his race. It belongs to what architectural writers have\nfor convenience called the second period of the Spanish Arabs, between\n1146 and about 1250, under the Almohaden dynasty. This was the period of\nthe Moors' greatest constructive energy,--they no longer blindly copied\nthe ancient architecture of Byzantium, but endeavored to create a bold\nand independent art of their own.\n\nAfter the capture of Seville in 1248, Ferdinand at once consecrated the\nmosque to Christian service, and it was used without alteration until it\nbegan to crumble. Its general plan was probably very much like the one\nin Cordova, a great rectangle filled with a forest of columns: its high\nwalls of brick and clay supported by buttresses and crowned with\nbattlements enclosed an adjacent courtyard with fountain and rows of\norange trees, abutted by the bell or prayer tower. The courtyard and\ntower remain with but slight changes or additions; portions of the\nfoundation walls, the northeast and west porticos, decorative details\nand ornamentation still to be found on the Christian church are all\nMoorish. The plan and general structure have been restricted by the\nlines of the old Moorish foundations. There are no documents extant that\ngive a trustworthy account of what portions of the old mosque were\nallowed to remain when the Christians finally decided to rebuild, but\nthe most cursory glance at the outline of the Cathedral shows how\norganically it has been bound by what was retained. The mosque must have\nbeen built on as large and magnificent a scale as the one which still\namazes us in Cordova. The peculiar, oblong, quadrilateral form was\nprobably common to both.\n\nOn the 8th of July, 1401, the Cathedral Chapter issued the challenge to\nthe Catholic world which to the more practical piety of to-day rings\nwith a true mediæval fervor. Verily a faith that could remove mountains!\nThe inspired Chapter proclaimed they could build a church of such size\nand beauty that coming ages should call them mad to have undertaken it.\nAnd their own fat pockets were the first to be emptied of half their\nstipends. The pennies of the poor, grants from the crown, indulgences\npublished throughout the kingdom, all went to satisfy the ever-grasping\nbuilding fund.\n\nIn 1403 the work of tearing down and commencing afresh on the old\nfoundations was begun. These measured about some 415 feet in length by\n278 feet in width. The old mosque or the present church proper is now\nonly the central edifice in a rectangle of about 600 by 500 feet. This\nis the size of a village, with its courts, its tower, the great library\nof the Cathedral Chapter where books were collected from all over the\nlettered world by the son of Columbus, the parroquia or parish church,\nthe endless row of chapels, some larger than ordinary churches, the\nsacristy, the chapter house and offices. It became the largest church of\nthe middle ages, covering 124,000 square feet; Milan covers only 90,000,\nToledo, 75,000, and Saint Paul's in London, 84,000. Among the churches\nof all ages, Saint Peter's, with an area of 162,000 square feet, alone\nexceeds it in size.\n\nIn 1506, under the archbishops Alfonso Rodriguez and Gonzalo de Rojas,\nthe building was completed. For a century the work had been carried on\nwith such reckless haste that inferior building methods had been\nemployed, which led to subsequent disasters. On December 28, 1511, to\nthe consternation of the devout workmen, the great central dome fell in\nduring an earthquake, carrying with it or weakening many of the vaults\nand much of the masonry below. After the earthquake, some of the large\npiers supporting the great crossing as well as the adjacent ones were\nfound filled with the most carelessly laid rubble and earth, with no\ncarrying power nor resistance. About 1520 the building might in the main\nbe said to be finished. Externally it has never been completed, although\nin the nineteenth century the west front was finished and its central\ndoorway ornamented. An extensive restoration which took place in 1882\nwas interrupted by the second earthquake of 1888, during which the dome\nagain fell in. To-day it is all rebuilt.\n\nThe entrance is at the west end. The plan, as I have said, was governed\nby the old basilica-shaped mosque. The transepts do not project beyond\nthe chapels of the side aisles, and at the east end it differs from most\nSpanish churches in having a square termination instead of an apse. Also\nalong the east wall chapels have been built between the buttresses\nsimilar to those between the north and south sides. The central portions\nof the east end open into the great Capilla Real. There are nine\ndoorways to the church.\n\nIn studying the plan, it is interesting to note what Mr. Ferguson has\nindicated, that similarly to what is found in the Indian Jain temples,\nthe diagonal of the aisle compartments has the same length as the width\nof the nave. The original documents and accounts of the church, which\nhave disappeared, were probably burnt among Philip II's papers destroyed\nby the great Madrid fire.\n\nScarcely two of the Cathedral's many biographers agree as to its\narchitects, its historic precedents or what part of the work was\nactually inspired by earlier Spanish architecture and national builders.\nNaturally Spanish writers attribute workmanship, precedents and builders\nall to their own Peninsula, while the different foreign authorities vary\nin their estimates. Distinctly Spanish features of construction as well\nas ornamentation are found side by side with others which unquestionably\ncame from masters trained beyond the Pyrenees. In various places\nvaulting is found thoroughly German in its complexity and florid detail.\nSeveral authorities point out the resemblances between Milan and\nSeville, not that the ornamentation of the frosted and encrusted Italian\nmisconception can be intelligently compared with the Plateresque\ncarving, but there is a certain mixture of local and foreign feeling in\nboth. In Seville French and German feeling seems to be struggling under\nSpanish fetters, just as in Lombardy the German seems to be laboring\nwith Italian comprehension of Gothic, finally abandoning the inorganic\nscheme for a lovely, riotous, and marvelous attempt at carving to which\nthe material no longer placed any limitations.\n\nThe Spanish architect of the middle ages was placed in a novel\nsituation, and his art had very peculiar and unusual influences bearing\nupon it. Gothic methods of construction and ornamentation had slowly\nspread over the country with the growing sovereignty of Aragon and\nCastile, and in spite of the corresponding decline of the Arab kingdoms,\nMoorish art began to work hand in hand, as far as was possible, with the\nforms of the Christian invader, although the hostility between the races\nhindered any extensive fusion of the two. They began, however, to\ninfluence each other for good or bad and to flourish side by side. The\nresult might be called architectural volapük. In Seville it is certain\nthat, whatever the nationality of the original architect and however\nincongruous and expressionless the exterior may finally have become, the\ninterior is less exotic, less unquestionably a French importation, than\nin either of the great Gothic churches of Toledo or Burgos. When we\nrecall the organic completeness, the truthful exterior expression, of\ninterior lines and construction in the greatest Gothic cathedrals of\nFrance, we turn with sadness to the outer form of so fair a soul as that\nof Santa Maria of Seville, the work of the most famous architects of her\nage. Some attribute the original plans of the church to Alfonso\nRodriguez, others to Alfonso Martinez, who was Maestro Mayor of the\nchapter in 1396, others again to Pedro Garcia; a long list of names\nfollows: Juan the Norman, Juan de Hoz, Alfonso Ruiz, Ximon, Alfonso\nRodriguez, and Gonzalo de Rojas, Pedro Mellan, Miguel Florentin, Pedro\nLopez, Henrique de Egas, Juan de Alava, Jorge Fernandez Alleman, Juan\nGil de Hontañon and the masters who after the earthquake hurried to\nSeville from their buildings in Toledo, Jaen, Vittoria, and other\nplaces. Casanova is the last of her many architects.\n\nCorrectly speaking, there is no façade. The Cathedral runs from west to\neast, the western or main entrance portal being pierced by three ogival\ndoorways, the Puerta Mayor with a modern relief of the Assumption, the\nPuerta del Nacimento or de San Miguel to the south, and the Puerta del\nBautizo or de San Juan to the north. Saint Miguel has a relief of the\nNativity of Christ, Saint Juan, one representing Saint John baptizing.\nIn the moldings surrounding these, are very exquisite little figures of\nearly sixteenth-century work executed in terra-cotta. They are full of\nthe best Gothic feeling, splendidly fitted to their spaces, alive with\nthe expression of the imaginative period of their sculptor, Pedro\nMillan. Above and around the door of San Juan is a Gothic tracery of the\nmost elaborate character.\n\nOne cannot refrain from comparing the sculptural work of these three\ndoorways. Riccardo Bellver's modern Assumption over the central doorway\nis as congealed as the terra-cotta sculptures above and around the side\nportals are admirable. They are unquestionably among the most\ninteresting bits of relief as well as figure sculpture of their kind\nproduced in Spain during the fifteenth century. Pedro Millan stands out\nas a great mediæval master, not only from the consummate skill with\nwhich the drapery is treated but from the living, breathing personality\nand attitudes of the men and women around him, which we still gaze at in\nthe truth of their curious, naïve, fifteenth-century light.\n\nAs the whole western façade was not completed in its present form until\n1827, much of its work is as poor as it is modern.\n\nThere are two entrances to the eastern end, richly decorated with fine\nterra-cotta statues and reliefs of angels, patriarchs, and Biblical\nfigures, attributed to Lope Marin. In the northern façade there are\nthree,--one classical and of very little interest leading to the parish\nchurch; the second is the Puerto de los Naranjos.\n\nIn the Puerta del Lagarto, where the Giralda abuts the Cathedral, there\nhangs a poor stuffed crocodile, once sent by a Sultan of Egypt in token\nof admiration to Saint Ferdinand. The beast, having died on his way from\nthe Nile, could never crawl in the basins of the Alcazar gardens, but\nfound a resting-place under the shelves of the Columbina library.\n\nOn the opposite side of the orange-tree court is the Puerta del Perdon.\nThe Florentine relief above, representing the crouching traders as they\nwere driven from the Temple, naturally spoils the effectiveness of the\nmagnificent Moorish portal below. Its horseshoe curve, with delicate\nMoorish interlacing, arabesques, frieze and bronze doors, is a curious\nand striking note of a bygone age, leading as it does to the walled and\nfragrant courtyard of its builders, and the fountain where they made\ntheir ablutions. Later Renaissance statues of the Annunciation and Saint\nPeter and Saint Paul, as well as Florentine pilasters and ornament,\nflank the Moorish moldings in an utterly meaningless manner.\n\nOn the south is the gate of San Cristobal, or of the Lonja, finished\nonly a few years ago.\n\nIn and out of these many entrances the populace stream, to worship, to\nwhisper, to gossip, to rest, to bargain, to beg, and to make love. The\nwhole drama of life in its conglomerate population goes on within the\nwalls of the Cathedral. It is the most frequented thoroughfare, where\nthe people enter as often with a song on their lips as with a prayer.\nThe great edifice with all the ceremonial of its religious services is\nwoven into their life, as is the sound of the guitars and castanets that\necho within its portals and courtyards. The church and her children are\nnot strangers. The Sevillian does not approach her altars with religious\nawe and fear, but with a childish trust; he kneels down before them as\nmuch at home as when rolling his cigarette on the bench of his café. The\nCathedral, like the houses nestling and crumbling around it, opens wide\nand hospitable gates that lead to the refreshing shade and comfort\nwithin.\n\nThe western front is practically the only one which presents the\nCathedral unobscured by adjacent buildings climbing up its sides or\nstruggling between the buttresses,--or which is not concealed by\nenclosing screenwork. To the north the walls of the Orange Court block\nthe view; to the east, the high screen; and to the south, the chapter\nhouse and the Dependencias de la Hermanidad and the sacristy. The mass\nof domes with supporting flying buttresses, ramps and finials above it,all \nremind one curiously of a transplanted and ecclesiasticized\nChambord.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE\n\nGateway of Perdon in the Orange Tree Court]\n\nAs the plan conforms to the conditions of the old rectangular mosque and\nhas neither projecting transepts nor semicircular chevet, it can\nscarcely be called Gothic. It consists of nave and double side\naisles,--the nave 56 feet wide from centre to centre of the columns and\n145 feet high, and the inner side aisles 40 wide and about 100 high.\nOutside these is another aisle filled with various chapels.\n\nAt the crossing of the nave and transept, we have the typical, small\nSpanish octagonal dome,--in this instance covering possibly what was in\nthe original mosque a central octagonal court. It is a construction\nrising some hundred and seventy feet above the level of the eye,\nadmitting light below its spring into what in the French Gothic edifices\nwould usually be the gloomiest portions of the building.\n\nThe side aisles differ slightly in width, the two lateral ones being\nfilled with various chapels. There are nine bays, separated by\nthirty-six clustered pillars, some of them perfect towers in their huge\nand massive strength. Their detail and outline are excellent, all of the\ngreatest simplicity and restraint. The delicate engaged shafts which\nsurround the huge supports of fifteen feet diameter terminate below the\nvaulting ribs in delicately interlaced palm-leaf caps. Nothing is\nconfused or intricate. Sixty-eight compartments spring from the various\npiers with a loftiness reminding one of Cologne. The groining differs\nvery much. The greater portion is admirably plain, of simple\nquadripartite design; other parts are fanciful and elaborate, recalling\nflorid German prototypes. The five central vaults forming the cross\nunder the dome alone have elaborate fan-vaulting; the geometrical design\nis as excellent as its detail. The richness given this central and most\ncorrect portion of the great roofing is all the more effective by\ncontrast with the plain, unelaborated groins of the surrounding vaults.\nThe petals of the flower, the very holy of holies, between the choir\nand the Capilla Mayor, before the high altar, are what is most beautiful\nand enriched.\nThe lighting is very unusual, and better than either Leon or Toledo.\nNinety-three windows are filled with the most glorious glass. There are\ntwo clerestories to light the body of the church, one in the walls of\nthe second side aisle, admitting light above the roofs of the chapels,\nthe second in the nave. Added to this come the huge lights of the five\nrose windows.\n\nIn Seville, as in Toledo and many of the other great Spanish cathedrals,\nthe general view of the interior is blocked, and the majesticeffectiveness of \nthe columnar rows marred, by the placing of the great\nchoir in the centre of the edifice.\n\nBut the interior effect is nevertheless one of the most inspiring\nproduced by the imagination and hands of man. All truly majestic\nconceptions are simple and, though we may at times wonder at the secret\nof their power, we always find their enduring grandeur due to a hidden\nsimplicity. This is true of the Parthenon, of the Venus of Milo, and the\nSistine Madonna. Whoever enters the Cathedral of Seville is struck first\nof all by its simplicity. The tremendous scale of the interior is\nunperceived, owing to the just proportion between all the parts. There\nis height as well as width, massiveness and strength, boldness and\nlight. None of the detail is petty or too elaborate, but simple and\neffective, making a harmony in all its parts. Even the furniture carries\nout the tremendous boldness and grandeur of the edifice. Bells, choir\nbooks, candles, altar chests, are all on the same grandiose scale. It\nhas true majesty in its simplicity of direct, honest appeal, and a\nproud unconsciousness, because it is free from the artificiality which\nis invariably vulgar. The truly beautiful woman needs none of the\ndevices of art. The shafts and vaults and string courses in Seville's\nCathedral need little ornamentation to bring out their beauty; they are\nin fact as effective as the elaborate carving of Salamanca and Segovia.\nSeville preaches a great lesson to our twentieth century, of peace, rest\nand completeness. It has room for all its children; they may kneel at\neighty-two different shrines and find romance or encouragement or the\nconsolation they are seeking. Some churches are strangely secular in\ntheir restlessness of feeling, while others breathe an atmosphere full\nof poetry, exaltation and the infinite peace of the Gospels. Seville's\nreligion is for the humble and simple as much as for the grandee. It is\nnot only the great cathedral church of the archbishop and bishop, the\neleven dignitaries, forty canons, twenty prebendaries, twenty minor\ncanons, twenty veinteneros, twenty chaplains and the host of a choir,\nbut the beloved home of the poor, miserable, starving sons and daughters\nof Santa Maria de la Sede.\n\nAlthough architecturally the injurious effect of placing choir and high\naltar in the middle of the church cannot be overstated, from the point\nof view of ritual, of closely uniting the officiating body with the\nworshipers, it is undoubtedly a far happier arrangement than where the\nprayers and psalms proceed from the extreme apsidal termination. In the\nformer case the religious guidance seems to emanate from the very soul\nof the edifice, and to reach all humble worshipers in the remotest nooks\nand corners.\n\nThe Spanish nature craves the sensuous and theatrical in religious\nrites, and not far-away but intimately, as part and parcel of it. In the\ntime of the great ecclesiastical power of the bishopric of Seville\n20,000 pounds of wax were burned every year, 500 masses were daily\ncelebrated at the 80 altars, and the wine consumed in the yearly\nsacrament amounted to 18,750 litres. Seville's children wished to be\nclose to the glare and flicker of the wax candles and torches and to\nhear distinctly the unintelligible Latin service. Seek the shade of the\ncathedral when the July sun is burning outside, or during one of the\nnights of Holy Week, when the great Miserere of Eslava is sung, and you\nwill find it the most thronged spot in all Seville. In the words of\nHavelock Ellis: \"Profoundly impressive,--around the choir an impassive\nmass, in the rest of the church characteristic Spanish groups crouched\nat the bases of the great clustered shafts, and chatted and used their\nfans familiarly, as if in their own homes, while dogs ran about\nunmolested. The vast church lent itself superbly to the music and the\nscene. It was a scene stranger than the designs of Martin, as bizarre as\nsomething out of Poe or Baudelaire. In the dim light the huge piers\nseemed larger and higher than ever, while the faint altar lights dimly\nlit up the iron screen of the Capilla Mayor, as in Rembrandt's\nconception of the Temple of Jerusalem. In the scene of enchantment one\nfelt that Santa Maria of Seville had delivered up the last secret of her\nmystery and romance.\"\n\nIf you enter the church from the west through the main portal, or the\nPuerta Mayor, the whole length of the nave is broken by various\nstructures. On the axis, under the second vault, is the tomb of\nFernando Colon; the fourth and fifth vaults contain the choir; the sixth\ncomes under the dome; the seventh and eighth take in the Capilla Mayor\nand Sacristia Alta; back of the ninth and terminating the eastern end,\nrises the great Renaissance royal chapel (Capilla Real). Fernando Colon\ndeserves to live not only in Seville's history but in the memory of all\nSpain, first and foremost for being his father's son (by his mistress\nBeatrix Enrigues), and, secondly, for leading a most pious and studious\nlife and devoting his time and fortune while traversing Europe during\nthe first half of the sixteenth century, to the purchase of the most\nvaluable books and manuscripts of the time. These he united into the\nfamous Columbina Library and presented to the Cathedral Chapter. The\nenormous wooden tabernacle erected every Passion Week over the great\nDiscoverer's son, to reach the very arches of the vaults overhead, is as\nhideous as the inscription is touching. Three caravels are inlaid on the\nslab, between which runs the legend, \"A Castilla y a Leon mundo nuevo\ndie Colon\"[a] (To Castile and Leon Columbus gave a new world), and the\nfollowing inscription: \"Of what avails it that I have bathed the entire\nuniverse in my sweat, that I have thrice passed through the new world,\ndiscovered by my father, that I have adorned the banks of the gentle\nBati and preferred my simple tastes to riches, in order to gather around\nthee the divinities of the Castalian Spring and offer thee the treasures\nalready gathered by Ptolemy, if thou in passing this stone in Seville,\ndost not at least give a greeting to my father and a thought to me.\"\n\nDirectly back of Fernando Columbus' tomb rises the rear surface or\ntrascoro of the choir. The choir, which occupies the fourth and fifth\nbays, is enclosed by the most elaborate walls, except at the entrance to\nthe east, where it is screened by the remarkable iron reja. This, as\nwell as the rejas of the choir, is in design and workmanship a marvelous\nexample of mediæval craft, quite as fine as the screens of Toledo and\nGranada and the best work of the German forgers and guilds. The design,\nfrom 1519, harmonizes splendidly with the ironwork facing it. Its\ngilding must have improved as each century has toned it down. Now in the\nevening hours when it catches the reflection of some light, the spikes\nlook like angels' spears rising flame-like out of the mysterious\ntwilight and guarding the holy places beyond.\n\nThe choir, placed so nearly under the dome, naturally suffered greatly\nby its fall. A portion of the 127 stalls has been so well restored that\nit is difficult to distinguish the old from the new. \"Nufro Sanchez,\nsculptor, whom God guarded, made this choir in the year 1475.\" The\nsubjects are as usual from the New and Old Testaments, and the character\nof the carving constantly betrays Moorish influence. The pillars as well\nas the canopies and the figures themselves are possibly entirely Gothic,\nbut one glance at the gaudily inlaid backs shows Arab workmanship. Along\nthe outer sides of the choir around the four little stonework niches,\nwhich serve as smaller chapels, the Gothic carving (some of it executed\nin transparent alabaster), works more happily than usual in combination\nwith the later Plateresque or Renaissance, here containing the fine\nfeeling of the Genoese school. One piece of sculpture stands out from\nall the rest, viz., the Virgin, carved by Montañes. Her hands are of\nsuch exquisite girlish delicacy, of such immature and dimpled softness,\nthat one cannot pass them by without a feeling of delight.\n\nThe organs, which form a part of the choir, have an incredible number of\npipes and stops. According to a remarkable old tale, they were filled\nwith air by the choir boys, who walked back and forth over tilting\nplanks placed on the bellows. Whether or no the boys still have this\nhappy outlet for their ecclesiastic activities, the music means little\nto the Spaniard, and their design still less to the architect's eye.\n\nThe Capilla Mayor faces the choir, merely separated from it by the space\nlying directly under the dome and forming the intersection of nave and\ntransepts. As the church services constantly require the simultaneous\nuse of the choir and the high altar of the Capilla Mayor, a portion of\nthe intermediate space or \"entre los dos Coros\" is roped off during\nservice time for the clergy to pass from one to the other. The Spanish\ntaste for pomp and magnificence centres in all its extravagance about\nthe high altar, while a more subdued richness characterizes the\nsurrounding stone and iron work which encloses the sanctuary on all\nsides. Not only on the front, complementing and balancing admirably the\nfacing reja of the choir, but on the western ends of the sides, immense\nornamental iron screens bar the way. The front one is quite overpowering\nin size, rising some seventy-five feet above the altar. The Spaniard was\nequal to any undertaking in the days of early Hapsburg splendor under\nthe pious Reyes Catolicos. With the aid of Sancho Munoz and Diego de\nYorobo, a Dominican Friar, Francesco de Salamanca designed them (1518)\nand then superintended the welding, gilding and the final erection in\n1523.\n\nThe east end of the Capilla Mayor is formed by the magnificent retablo,\nalmost four thousand square feet in size. One is immediately struck by\nits immense proportions and the infinite amount of carving bestowed on\nit. Its great scheme was conceived in 1482 by the Flemish sculptor\nDancart, evidently a man of prolific and versatile imagination. If we\ntry to compare it with the work of English churches, we might best liken\nit to the great altar screens. This and the retablo at Toledo are\nprobably the richest specimens of mediæval woodwork in existence.\nPortions of the execution are somewhat inferior to the conception, and\nyet the artists who labored on it with loving skill until the middle of\nthe following century carried out all their work with a richness and\ndelicacy which make it not only a representative piece of late Gothic\nsculpture but one of the most magnificent specimens of this branch of\nSpanish art. Its various portions embrace the whole period of florid\nGothic from its earlier, more restrained expression to the very last\nstroke of the art, when wood was mastered and carved into incredible\nfiligree work as if it had been as soft and pliable as silver leaf.\nEverything that could be carved is there, figures, foliage, tracery,\nmoldings and mere conventionalized ornament. The central portions are of\nthe earlier fifteenth century, the outer ones, of the late sixteenth,\nexecuted under Master Marco Jorge Fernandez. The wood is principally\nlarch, with minor portions of chestnut and pine. The whole field is\ndivided by slender shafts and laboriously carved bands into forty-four\ncompartments representing in high and low relief various scenes from the\nlife of Christ and the Virgin Mary. In the centre is Santa Maria de la\nSede, the patron saint of the church, surmounted by a Crucifixion with\nSaint John and the Virgin on either side.\n\nBetween the retablo and the rear wall enclosing the rectangle of the\nCapilla Mayor, there is a dark space known as the Sacristia Alta, where\nis preserved the Tablas Alfonsinas[18] brought from Constantinople to\nParis by Saint Ferdinand's son, Alfonso.\n\nSeville ranks high among the churches of Spain in the beauty of its\ncarving. The stone screen that forms the rear of the retablo is filled\nwith admirable Gothic terra-cotta statues, saints, virgins, bishops,\nmartyrs and prelates executed with a little of the curious rigidity of\nthe Dutch School still awaiting its Renaissance emancipation, but with\nfaces full of holy devotion. The modeling is correct and the treatment\nof the drapery excellent.\n\nWithin the enclosure of the Capilla Mayor, there is still to be seen at\ncertain times of the year, a ceremony which has been performed for\ncenturies, and which is certainly the most unique religious rite\ncelebrated in any Christian church. To the Saxon it is most\nextraordinary. During the last three days of the Carnival or after the\nFeast of Corpus Domini, we may see boys dressed in costumes perform a\ndance before the high altar of the Cathedral. Children, so the tale\nruns, danced, skipped and shouted for joy when the city of Seville was\nfinally taken from the Mohammedans, and these childish demonstrations so\ntouched the hearts of the clergy who entered the city with the\nconquering army, that they resolved that succeeding generations of boys\nshould perpetuate them forever. Of all the festivals and religious\nprocessions culminating in or outside Saint Mary's shrine, surely none\ncan give her so much pleasure as the sight of these little boys dancing\nand singing in her honor.\n\nThis naïf and charming ceremonial is part of the Mozarabic Ritual, the\nwork of Saint Isidore, a metropolitan of Seville a hundred years before\nthe arrival of the Saracens. In his early years, when his elder brother\nLeander ruled the Gothic Church with stern hand, Isidore had time and\ntalents to master in his cloistered seclusion so much art and science\nthat he became the Admirable Crichton of his day. His work on \"The\nOrigin of Things\" shows the profundity of his knowledge, his history of\nthe Goths is beyond doubt his most valuable legacy to us, but what\nendeared him above all to his countrymen was the Mozarabic Rite, of\nwhich he composed both breviary and music. The Benedictine monks of\nCluny, those architects and chroniclers, who had been obliged to\nsacrifice their Gallican liturgy for the Roman, could not rest satisfied\nuntil they had imposed it on the Peninsula. They were supported in this\ntruly foreign aggression by Constance of Burgundy, Queen of Alfonso VI,\nand by the masterful Gregory VII, himself a Benedictine. And so Saint\nIsidore's quaint old hymn with the accompanying melody was banished from\nall but one or two favored chapels. Fortunately Cardinal Ximenez became\nits enthusiastic and powerful protector. He endowed in the Cathedral of\nToledo a special chapel and had thirteen priests trained for the\nservice, \"Mozarabes sodales.\" In Ximenez' time a German, Peter\nHagenbach, first printed \"missale secundum regulam beati Isidori dictum\nMozarabes,\" what Saint Isidore called \"those fleeting sounds so hard to\nnote down.\" His breviary was the first Roman one to be used in Spanish\nchurches.\n\nTo enumerate the endless rows of chapels with their countless treasures\nand chaste or tawdry architecture and decoration would be tiresome and\nunprofitable,--with a plan and guide-book, one may pass them in review.\n\"Sixty-seven of the great sculptors and thirty-eight of the painters\nhere display to the astonished and incredulous eye the masterpieces of\ntheir hand,\" says one. Here is almost every painter belonging to the\ngreat Sevillian school of painting of the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies. They form a veritable museum or a series of small museums,\neach chapel being a separate room of masterpieces. But here, as in the\nmuseum, there are good and bad paintings and statues, and only the\nexcellent are worth attention. They are better worth studying here than\nelsewhere, for they have been left in the surroundings for which they\nwere intended and painted. Spain's great religious artist did not paint\nhis Madonnas so full of distracting and sensuous loveliness for the\nwalls of the Prado; their smiles, human and pathetic, were for the\naltars and panels of sanctuaries. Here is the light in which they were\nstudied and for which they were colored; here are the walls and frames\nwhich were intended to surround them; they are in the company they\nwould choose, and they were painted with the same religious devotion\nthat inspires the prayers now offered before them. The painter's\ninspiration sprang from the fervor of his faith.\n\nThree of the paintings are lovely above all others. Two are Murillo's,\nnamely the Angel de la Guarda and the San Antonio of the baptistery; the\nthird is the Deposition from the Cross, by Pedro de Campana (or more\ncorrectly Kempeneer), hanging in the great sacristy. This is the\npainting, Spanish historians will tell you, Murillo loved so well that\nwhenever he was downhearted he would stand in front of it for hours, and\nbecome lost to all around him, even forgetting his own Madonnas. One day\nthe sacristan asked him impatiently, why he so often stood there\nstaring. \"I am waiting,\" Murillo answered, \"till those holy men have\ntaken the Saviour down from the Cross.\" It hangs well lighted over one\nof the altars of the Sacristy. Few faces have ever been painted which\nconvey depth and intensity of feeling in a more affecting way. The\nagonized faces of the women at the foot of the Cross express all an\ninnocent human heart can feel of compassion, heart-wrung sorrow and\ndespair. The ecstasy with which Saint Anthony, who is kneeling in\nprayer, gazes at the Child Jesus has seldom been surpassed in reality\nand power. Entirely lifted beyond the earthly sphere, his features\nkindle with ardent piety and divine love. The angels surrounding the\nInfant Jesus have a simplicity of expression which never escapes those\nwho have loved and studied children. The coloring is unique and of a\ntruly penetrating softness. All the little details of the miserable cell\nin which the saint is kneeling are rendered with the vigorous reality\nso characteristic of the Spanish school, while in the upper part of the\npainting one seems to see even the dust particles floating in the rays\nof sunlight. The shadows have a marvelous transparency.\n\nThe Angel de la Guarda, or Guardian Angel, is one of the master's very\nbest works. The purples and yellows of the angel's vesture have kept\ntheir depth and richness through all the centuries in which the colors\nhave been drying.\n\nThere might be a guide-book dealing with the paintings of the Cathedral\nalone. How differently it is decorated from the great Gothic cathedrals\nof the present Anglican Church! In Seville as in Florence, all the fine\narts seemed to flower and come to perfection during the sixteenth\ncentury. Sculpture and painting were employed to embellish architecture,\nas in the ancient days of Greece. The sister arts walked once more hand\nin hand. The figures in stone and still more in terra-cotta which adorn\nthe exterior porches and the more decorative portions of the interior\nare unusually fine. Many of the bishops, saints and kings have an\nunmistakable Renaissance feeling. Take, for instance, such a statue as\nthe Virgin del Reposo, so dear to the Sevillians,--you feel in all the\nhandling the period of transition. Such sculptors as Miguel Florentin,\nJuan Marin, and Diego de Pesquera must have been influenced by Italy\nwhen they carved the statues which adorn the Cathedral of Seville.\n\nThe contact with Italy and the many Italian workmen gradually induced\nfaithlessness to the earlier Gothic ideals of the founders and builders\nof the church. The great Maestro Mayor of Toledo Cathedral, Henrique de\nEgas, was among the first to introduce restraint in Spanish building\nafter the fanaticism of the later flamboyant. In the time of Ferdinand\nand Isabella, a well-known Toledan published a Spanish abridgment of\nVitruvius; this in conjunction with the influence of many foreign\nartists led the way to classical building. Granada was soon resurrected\nas a Greek-Roman \"Centralbau\" and even the crossing of Gothic Burgos was\nunfortunately restored by Borgoña after classic models.\n\nThe new foreign movement found expression in architecture, in sculpture\nand in painting, often with the most extraordinary attempts to employ\nthe new without discarding the old. Grotesque and fantastic ornaments\ncrown illogical construction.\n\nThe royal chapel, the chapter house, the sagrario and the great sacristy\nare examples of the new-born style. The first two are magnificent\nspecimens of Spanish Renaissance. Each of them is a fine church in\nitself, and they can only be classed as chapels because they bear that\nrelation and are proportioned to the immense mother church of Seville.\n\nThe walls of the Capilla Real form the eastern termination to the\nCathedral, and the chapel is very properly planned upon the axe of the\nchurch and entered through a splendidly decorated lofty arch. It is\nabout 81 by 59 feet in plan, and 113 feet high to the lantern crowning\nthe really fine dome. A round altar at its eastern extremity is closed\noff by a typically impressive reja. The architecture is of the\nmagnificence of Saint Peter's in Rome, and not unlike it in detail.\nEight Corinthian pilasters support the dome, breaking the wall space\ninto panels and carrying the richest classical cornice surmounted by\nfine statues of the Apostles, Evangelists and kings. The chapel takes\nits name from being the burial place of the royal house. Along its walls\nare the tombs of Saint Ferdinand's consort, of Alfonso the Learned and\nhis mother, Beatrice of Suabia, and the beautiful Doña Maria de Padilla,\nthe mistress of Pedro the Cruel. He himself is buried below in the vault\nwith many other of the royal princes. In the centre of the chapel Saint\nFerdinand lies in full armor with a crown on his head. Three times a\nyear he is shown to the soldiers of Spain, who march past with sounding\nbugles and lowered banners.\n\nThe chapel was planned and built by Martin Ganza during the reign of\nCharles V. Shortly after the defeat of the Moors, an earlier royal one\nwas built upon the same site and added to the old mosque. When the great\nnew Cathedral was planned, the Chapter begged permission to remove\ntemporarily the bodies of the royal personages interred in the\nchapel,--the holy King Ferdinand, his mother and son. This petition was\ngranted by Queen Joanna on condition that they would rebuild it on a\nmore fitting scale at as early a date as possible. The Chapter\npreferred, however, to expend all its means and energies on the great\nvaulting of the Cathedral rather than on the new royal sepulchre, and\nthis was not rebuilt until Charles V finally lost patience over the\nnegligent and disrespectful manner in which the remains of his forbears\nwere treated and wrote to the Chapter, in 1543, commanding them \"to\nstart the work without any delay whatsoever, and to bring it to\ncompletion as rapidly as possible, and to execute the work as\nexcellently as befitted its royal guests.\" That the workmen made no\ndelay in obeying the royal commands is shown by the fact that the walls\nwere well up as early as 1566 and finished shortly afterwards.\n\nNone of the Spanish cathedrals have a better type of Plateresque\narchitecture and decoration than the sacristy, built during the first\nhalf of the seventeenth century. The plan is that of a Greek cross, 70\nby 40 feet, and about 120 feet high. Its dome, spanning the great\ncentral vault, is a distinct feature in any comprehensive exterior view\nof the Cathedral. The Sacristy is filled with curious and priceless\nrelics, treasures, and vestments belonging to the church. As Santa Justa\nand Santa Rufina are in a manner the patron saints of Seville, their\npicture by Goya hanging here is of interest. Both of them hold vessels\nof the character of soup dishes; and their faces, taken from Seville\nmodels, are of decidedly earthly types.\n\nTo the west of the façade as you enter, lies the large sagrario, or\nparish church. It is a building entirely by itself, 112 feet long, with\na single nave spanned by a dangerously bold barrel vault.\n\nHere and there among the chapels you come suddenly on famous subjects by\ngreat masters, names renowned in Spanish history or striking works of\nart. Learning and statesmanship are honored in great Mendoza's monument:\nthe silent mailed effigies of the Guzmans commemorate the thrilling\nexploits of Spanish arms. What sympathies are stirred as you stand\nuncovered before the tomb of the great and deeply wronged Discoverer! We\nhear again the passionate appeals and the vain pleadings of his\nundaunted faith. The living head was left to whiten within prison\nwalls; its effigy is now proudly carried on the four gorgeous shoulders\nof the Spanish states; the poor bones, after their weary travels from\nValladolid to the Carthusian monastery of Las Cuevas, from Hispaniola to\nHavana, have finally found a resting-place within the very walls where\nthey were once treated with such contumely,--for here lies the Great\nAdmiral, Cristoforo Colon.\n\nYou pass paintings by Alfonso Cano, Ribera, Zurbaran, Greco and\nGoya,--Murillo's Immaculate Conception, better known than all his other\nworks; Montañez' exquisite Crucifixion, canvases by Valdes, Herrera,\nBoldan and Roelas. There are subjects curious and out of keeping with\nour present artistic sentiments, saints walking about with their heads\ninstead of breviaries under their arms, dresses more fitting for the\nballroom than the wintry scenery amid which they are worn, marriage\nceremonies of the Virgin, Adam and Eve, entirely forgetful of their lost\nEden in the contemplation of the Virgin's halo, keys with quaint old\nArab inscriptions: \"May Allah render eternal the dominion of Islam in\nthis city,\" saints with removable hair of spun gold and jointed limbs,\nothers snatched from quiet altar service to plunge into the turmoil of\nbattle on the saddle bow of reigning kings. Verily a museum of\nhistorical curiosities as well as of the fine arts, satisfying\nsensational cravings as well as the finer artistic sense.\n\nThe structure is revealed to us through a light of unearthly sweetness.\nNone of the Spanish cathedrals are more satisfactorily lighted, for\nSeville has neither the brilliant clarity of some of the northern\nchurches, which robs them of a certain mystery and awe, nor has it the\nsinister obscurity of some of the southern, where both structure and\ndetail are half lost in shadows, as in Barcelona.\n\nThe light from the cimborio and from the two rows of windows as well as\nthe doors penetrates every chapel with its rainbow hues; it reveals the\nwhole majestic structure, the lofty spring of the arches, the glittering\nironwork of the screens, the titanic strength and simple caps of the\ncolumns, and breathes celestial life into the army of saints and\nmartyrs. It gives a soul to it all. The effect produced by the early\nmorning and late afternoon light is very different. Santa Maria de la\nSede, like all her earthly sisters, has a variety of expressions. At\ntimes she burns with animation, even a remnant of earthly passion may\nglow in her holy countenance, and again she is cold, impassive and\nnunlike in her gray garb of renunciation.\n\nAccording to an Andalusian proverb, the rays of the sun have no evil\npower where the voice of prayer is heard. For this reason, only a few of\nthe highest windows are screened by semi-transparent curtains, and the\nlight pours in unbroken through most of their brilliant tints--down the\nnave in deep blood reds and indigo blues. The greater portion of the\nglass is unusually rich in coloring,--perhaps too florid, but typical of\nthe Flemish School of glass-painting. Ninety-three windows were stained\nduring the first half of the sixteenth century, for which the church\npaid the painters the large sum of 90,000 ducats. The earliest ones are\nby Micer and Cristobal Aleman, who in 1538 introduced in Seville real\nstained glass. Aleman's, representing the Ascension of Christ, Mary\nMagdalen, and the Awakening of Lazarus, the Entry into Jerusalem, the\nDescent of the Holy Ghost and the Apostles, all in the transept,\ntogether with those by his brother Arnao de Flanders, are thebest,--better than \nmost Flemish windows of the time in any European\ncathedral. True, they are somewhat heavy in outline and the coloring\nlacks softness and restraint in tone, but they have great depth,\nexcellency of drawing and power of expression in faces and figures.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE\n\nIllustration: AND THE GIRALDA]\n\nThe little chapel, the Capilla de los Doncelles, contains a magnificent\nsheet of glass representing the Resurrection of Christ, painted by\nCarlos de Bruges, one of the great Flemish artists. A whole school of\nforeign painters seem to have gathered round these famous \"vidrieros,\"\nmany of them working in their shops. Among the best known are Arnao de\nVergara, Micer Enrique Bernardino de Celandra and Vicente Menardo.\n\n\nThe Giralda is incomparable, a unique expression of feminine strength.\nShe is as oriental and mysterious as the Sphinx, or might be likened to\na great sultana in enchanted sleep. Though her majestic head has towered\nfor centuries beside her Christian sister, they still seem as\nirreconcilable as their faiths a thousand years ago. It has been a\nstrange companionship. The oriental loveliness and splendor of the\nGiralda, like that of Seville, are best felt at the twilight hour, when\nher jewels sparkle in the last rays of the setting sun. With the waning\nlight the coloring becomes purple, then indigo, while the silhouette\nstill stands out in startling clearness and strength against the\nspotless blue of the evening sky. You feel as if the whole mountain of\nmasonry were slowly but surely leaning more and more from its base and\nabout to bury you in its fall. The vermilion and ochre coloring are like\nthe petals of the rose. Nowhere is the surface uniform, but passes\ngradually from light cream and buff through warmer amber to brilliant\norange and carmine and crimson lake, even to the color of the\npomegranate's heart. The exquisite surface of delicate tinting, mellowed\nby the storms and suns of centuries, is everywhere relieved by the\nbrilliant sparkle, the delicate play of light and shade, of the Moorish\ndesigns. When the low rays of the Andalusian sun illumine the Giralda,\njust touched here and there with dots of molten gold like the orange\ntrees from whose green bed it rises, you see the boldest creation of\nMoorish imagination in all its splendor. The great Cathedral itself\nbecomes a modest nun with rich, but sombre, cape over her shoulders,\nbeside this dazzling creature glowing with Saracenic fire.\n\nThe Giralda is the greatest of all the monuments of that enlightened\ncivilization. She is so different from any other tower that comparison\nbecomes difficult. There is a robustness, an appearance of adequate\nsolidity and strength which are lacking in the Italian towers of Saint\nMark's, of Pistoja, or of Florence. This holds true even in relation to\nother Moorish towers, or such edifices as the Mosque at Cordova, the\nAlcazar at Seville, or the pillared halls of Granada; all other Moorish\nwork seems to have a certain feminine weakness, a timidity and\ninsecurity, when compared with the tower which dominates Maria\nSantissima. The Giralda is your first and last impression of this\ncorner of the world, for it embodies all the grace and strength that can\nbe combined in architecture. Old Spanish authorities assert that it was\nin the very year when believers throughout Christendom were anxiously\nexpecting the end of the world that the Moslem infidels began to build\ntheir huge monument. More probably it was started about the year 1185,\nas the prayer tower or minaret of the mosque which was then rapidly\nprogressing. The Spanish historian Gayangos says that it was completed\nby Jabar or Gever in 1196, during the reign of the illustrious Almohad\nruler, Abu Jakub Jusef, the same monarch who erected the Mesquita at\nCordova. Other authorities insist that its original purpose was as an\nobservatory,--but although it may have been used for astronomical\npurposes, it was certainly erected as a tower from which the muezzin\ncould call the faithful to prayer in the Mosque of Seville. While\nbuilding it, Gever claims to have invented algebra.\n\nThe original tower has undergone skillful but of course detrimental\nchanges from the hands of later generations. We have descriptions and\nrepresentations of it prior to the changes made in 1500. The main Arab\nstructure was, like almost all Mohammedan prayer-towers, surmounted by a\nsmaller tower and capped by a spire. It was about 250 feet high, and on\nits summit an iron standard supported, before the earthquake of 1395,\nfour enormous balls of brass. King Alfonso the Wise, in his \"Cronica de\nEspaña,\" describing Seville in the thirteenth century, says that \"when\nthe sun shone upon these balls, they emitted so fierce a light that they\nmight be seen a day's journey away from the city.\" When Seville was\ntaken by Saint Ferdinand in 1248, the tower was standing in the full\nglory of its original conception. The thought that it might fall into\nthe hands of the conquerors so horrified its builders that they were\nonly prevented from destroying it by Saint Ferdinand's threat that, if a\nsingle brick were removed, not an infidel in Seville should keep his\nhead.\n\nThe Giralda had already lost the Byzantine crown which it had worn\nproudly for five hundred years when, in 1595, it came near total\ndestruction, and was only saved during the terrible earthquake and storm\nwhich almost destroyed the city by the interposition of its special\nprotectresses, the potter girls of Triana, Santa Justa and Santa Rufina.\nThere are pictures which show us these blessed Virgins supporting the\ntower while the wind devils with distended cheeks are blowing on its\nsides with all their might and main. We are not only grateful to them\nfor this timely intervention, but very glad it cost them so little\nexertion, for we find them shortly afterwards holding the tower in their\nhands as lightly as a filigree casket. The architects who restored it\nabout twenty years ago fortunately refrained from all attempts at\nimproving or renovating its sunburned, wind-swept surface.\n\nThe Giralda is as strong as it looks. The huge walls have a thickness of\neight feet below, diminishing to seven feet in the upper stories. The\nheight to the very top of the crowning figure is 308 feet. In the\nfoundations are bricks, rubble, and huge blocks of earlier Roman and\nVisigothic masonry; even Latin inscriptions are found immured. The\nMoors, like all other builders, used the materials readiest at hand;\nthe rejected building stones of one generation become the corner stones\nof the next.\n\nBelow the Renaissance addition with which the tower was terminated in\n1568, the broad sides of the shaft had been broken by the Arabs in the\nsimplest and most felicitous manner. The brickwork was treated in three\npanels with the corner borders very properly broader and stronger than\nthe two intermediate ones. The panels, which could not be of a happier\ndepth, are filled down to eighty feet of the ground with varying Moorish\narabesque patterns; the figured diaper-work on all sides is broken in\nthe two outer panels by blind cusped arches, and in the central\npatterns, by Moorish windows of the \"ajuiez\" variety. Their double\narches are subdivided by small Byzantine columns; these again are framed\nwithin larger cusped and differently broken horseshoe curves. Small\nRenaissance balconies have at a later date been placed below the\nwindows. The small niches comprising the total Moorish composition\nsparkle throughout with life and charm, and, though no two are alike,\nthey form a harmonious whole. The Arab seemed to have an instinctive\naversion from tedious repetition. He would always vary the design just\nenough to satisfy his imagination and creative faculty, but never\nsufficiently to disturb the harmony of the general scheme. As with the\nwindows, so also with the arabesques. They begin at slightly varying\nheights on the different sides of the tower, so that the windows may\nproperly meet the different elevations of the interior stair. Their\npatterns are not quite the same, neither on the various sides of the\ntower nor at different heights on the same side. The decoration\nemployed is admirably fitted to a large surface which would have been\nweakened by strong cutting or deep relief. Considering what Arab art\nachieved within prescribed limits, the student of Christian art may well\ndeplore that the Koran, in its abhorrence of idol-worship, forbade its\nfollowers in any way to reproduce human or animal forms. Forever\ndebarred all the wider possibilities of movement and poetry these would\nhave given them for interior decoration, Moorish art necessarily\nstagnated to mere conventionalization of floral and natural subjects.\nThese are well adapted to exterior mural surfacing. When we look at the\nfancifully handled geometric patterns on the Giralda, we can only\nrejoice that the frescoes added by the later Renaissance artists in the\nupper arches and along some of the lower surfaces have been washed away\nby time. They were ineffective; all that remains of Moorish is\nmagnificent. A small arcade, running the width of each side in its\nsingle panel, terminates the Moorish work.\n\nIt is almost to be regretted that the Renaissance top has been so well\ndone, for its barbarous exotism is sufficient to condemn it. It has\nexcellently fulfilled a dastardly purpose.\n\nThe original Moorish termination was taken down by the architect,\nFrancisco Ruiz, who was commissioned by the Cathedral Chapter in 1568 to\ngive it a more fitting crown. His design consists of three stages\nreaching to a height of about a hundred feet. The first, of the same\nwidth as the shaft below, is pierced by openings \"to let out the sweet\nsounds of the bells inside.\" The second stage consists of a double tier\nof considerably smaller squares pierced by wide arches. Around the four\nsides of its upper frieze runs the inscription so legible that all\nSevillians who know how may read, \"Nomen Domini Fortissima Turris\"\n(Proverbs, xviii, 10). The third stage consists of a double lantern\nsurmounted by a soaring Seraphim, bearing in one hand the banner of\nConstantine and in the other the Roman palm of conquest. The\n\"Girardello\" was cast in gilded bronze by Bartolomé Morel in the year\n1568. Intended to symbolize Faith, the name, a diminutive of Giralda, or\nweathercock, is most inappropriate. Despite her enormous size and\nweight, the faintest zephyr blowing down from the Sierra Moreña sets her\nturning on the spire she treads so lightly, whereupon the crowds of\nhawks resting on Girardello disperse in noisy scolding.\n\nDumas gazed at her in wonder and admiration. \"C'est merveilleux,\" he\nsaid, \"de voir tourner dans un rayon de soleil cette figure d'or aux\nailes deployées, qui semble, comme un oiseau céleste fatigué d'une\nlongue course, avoir choisi pour se reposer un instant le point le plus\nproche du ciel.\"\n\nThe great bells of the tower, all baptized with holy oil, a custom very\nfrequent in Spain, are dear to the hearts of those whom they daily call\nto rest and prayer. As they strike the hours, passers-by look up to see\ntheir great tongues protrude. Their sweet peal is heard in the most\ndistant quarters of the city, and beyond on the waters of the\nGuadalquivir and in the fertile valley through which it flows. The deep\nresonant note of Santa Maria is the last sound we hear before falling\nasleep.\n\nInside you may ascend to the very summit by steps so broad and easy\nthat two horses abreast may go as far as the platform of the bells.\nBelow you lies the city with its scattered white buildings that once\nhoused half a million, and beyond, the valley that enfolded twelve\nthousand villages. Though dwindled and changed, time has dealt gently\nwith Seville. There is gay laughter in her sunny streets and the olive\ngroves echo with rippling song. Just under your feet throbs the heart of\nit all. Though repeatedly struck by lightning, the great Cathedral still\nstands, an everlasting symbol of the Church, triumphant and eternal.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nGRANADA\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA\n\nWest front]\n\n    Kennst du das Land we die Citronen blühn,\n    Im dunkeln Land die Goldorangen glühn,\n    Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht,\n    Die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht?\n\n    GOETHE'S _Wilhelm Meister_.\n\n    Thus being entred, they behold arownd\n    A large and spacious plaine, on every side\n    Strewed with pleasauns, whose fayre grassy grownd\n    Mantled with greene, and goodly beautifide\n    With all the ornaments of Floraes pride.\n\n    _Faerie Queene_, book 2, c. xii.\n\n\n\nThe first stars shone pale in the fields of upper air over walls and\ntowers wrapt in the mystery of twilight which softened every outline and\ncast a kindly veil over the decay of a thousand years. The air was\noppressively sweet with the fragrance exhaled by southern vegetation on\na summer evening. The roses had climbed to the top of the walls, where\nthey could cool their flushed cheeks on the marble copings of the\nbattlements. The myrtle and ivy trembled in the evening breeze, and\nthrough the broken casements the aloes whispered to the sweet-breathing\norange trees in the courtyards. The martlet twittered in the branches.\nOn all sides was heard in cool silvery continuity the gurgle and plash\nof streams which, issuing from mountain snows, had wound their loitering\nway through fields of violets and forget-me-nots to the \"large and\nspacious plaine\" of the Vega. The fairy palace of the Alhambra, the\nAcropolis that once held forty thousand defenders of the faith, crowns\nand encircles the hill. From its watch-tower the nightingales pour forth\nlovers' songs, plaintive and passionate, heightening the enchantment of\na scene unsurpassed in natural loveliness and the charm of a romantic\npast.\n\nThe hillsides undulating from the vermilion ramparts of the Alhambra are\nclad with graceful elms, with orange and pomegranate trees bearing deep\nred and golden fruit and with the mulberry's glistening olive green.\nHere and there are open spaces between the groves; fields of roses and\nlilies. The Darro and the Xenil flow by the foot of the hill, and from\ntheir banks for almost thirty miles stretches the Vega. At the base of\nthe fortress, between the rivers, lies the city of Granada,--\n\n    The artist's and the poet's theme,\n    The young man's vision, the old man's dream,--\n    Granada, by its winding stream,\n    The City of the Moor.\n\nOut on the plain the settlement becomes gradually sparser, the houses\nmore scattered. White stucco walls are interspersed with plots of green\ngarden, the ochre houses are smaller shining patches amid the\nyellow-flowering fig-cactus and the regularly planted olive groves,\nuntil finally the eye must search for the farmhouse hidden among\nvineyards, orchards and waving fields of corn. The gleaming villas and\nfarmhouses still look as they did to the Moor, like \"oriental pearls set\nin a cup of emeralds.\"\n\nThe endless plain, once the fertile bosom of fourteen cities,\ninnumerable strong castles and high watch-towers, is shut in from the\noutside world like a very Garden of Eden, by the mountain walls of the\nAlpujarras and Sierra Alhama. Far away on the horizon the barrier is\nbroken at a single point, the Loja gorge. This was once guarded by\nsentinels ever on the watch for the distant gleam of Christian lances to\nlight the fires that signaled approaching danger to the distant citadel.\nMost Spanish cities were densely built within high walls, but Granada\nfelt so secure in her mountain fortress that her dwellings were strewn\nbroadcast over the plain. Behind the walls of the Alhambra, on a second\nslope wooded with cypress, the brilliant towers of the Generaliffe gleam\nagainst the dark foliage. Beyond, across the whole southern sweep, rises\nthe chalky, hazy blue of the Sierra Nevada, capped with glittering,\neverlasting snow. Gazing up from the valley below, one might fancy it a\nwhite veil thrown back from the lovely features of the landscape.\n\nThus lies Granada, a verdant and perfumed valley wrapt in the soft\nmystery of its hazy atmosphere,--\"Grenade,--plus éclatante que la fleur\net plus savoureuse que le fruit, dont elle porte le nom, semble une\nvierge paresseuse qui s'est couchée au soleil depuis le jour de la\ncréation dans un lit de bruyères et de mousse, défendue par une muraille\nde cactus et d'aloes,--elle s'endort gaiement aux chansons des oiseaux\net le matin s'éveille souriante au murmure de ses cascatelles.\"[19]\n\nMore than any other spot on earth, Granada seems haunted by memories of\nbygone glory. The wide plains, now inhabited by less than seventy-five\nthousand, once swarmed with over half a million souls. The artist feels\npoignantly the charm of those long centuries of Arabian Days and Nights\nthat were forever blotted out by the zeal of the Christian sword. The\nruined temples still attest the thrift and industry, the refinement and\nlearning of the vanished race; the squalid poverty that has replaced it\nis deaf and blind to the records of ancient grandeur, but the traveler\nand the historian may still be thrilled by the struggle that destroyed\n\"the most voluptuous of all retirements\" and feel there as nowhere else\nthe relentless power of the most Catholic Kings, the pathos of the Moor.\n\nGranada is a very old city, and like Cordova and Seville, it was one of\nthe principal Moorish centres; in fact after their fall, the industries\nand culture which had been theirs went to swell the inheritance of\nGranada. Its name has always been associated with the scarlet-blossoming\ntree which covers its slopes, whose fruit the Catholic sovereigns\nproudly placed in the point of their shield, with stalks and leaves and\nshell open-grained. During the Roman occupation, a settlement had been\nmade on the wooded slopes at the foot of the Sierra Nevada and called\nGranatum (pomegranate). The Goths in their turn swept over the peninsula\nuntil, in 711, they were driven out of the valley by the advancing Arab\nhordes. These transformed the name given it by the Romans to Karnattah.\nSeven hundred and eighty-two years passed before the Crescent set\nforever on the Iberian peninsula. Dynasties had succeeded one another in\nthe various kingdoms formed of larger and smaller portions of southern\nand central Spain, but in the north, hardy monarchs had founded more\nstable thrones on the ruins of the Gothic Empire, and they were eagerly\nwatching the advancing decay, the domestic discord of the Mohammedan\npower and grasping every opportunity for the aggrandizement of their own\nstates.\n\n[Illustration: KEY OF PLAN OF GRANADA CATHEDRAL\n\n    A. Sagrario.\n    B. Royal Chapel.\n    C. Capilla Mayor.\n    D. Choir.\n    E. Door of the Perdon.\n    F. Door of St. Jeronimo.\n    G. Main Entrance.]\n\nIn the tenth century, the Moorish power was at its zenith. During the\neleventh, Granada had become strong enough to break away from the\ncaliphate of Cordova. There the Almorvides and Almohades dynasties had\nalternated while the Nasrides ruled in the kingdom and city of Granada\nuntil the luckless Boabdil surrendered its keys.\n\nDuring the last three centuries of Moorish rule, the northern Cross cast\nan ever longer shadow before it. Alfonso of Aragon advanced to within\nthe walls of the outer forts in 1125, and in the two and a half\ncenturies following, tribute was exacted by the crown of Castile. The\nMoors of Cordova were more hardy and warlike than the Arabs of Granada.\nThe arts of peace flourished with this latter poetical, artistic and\ncommercial race, who as time went on became less and less able to defend\nthemselves against the fanaticism and skill of the Spanish armies. Like\nHannibal's soldiers on the fertile plains of Lombardy, they had become\nenervated in the luxury of their beautiful valley. When their imprudent\nruler answered the Castilian envoys who had come to collect the usual\ntribute, \"that the Kings of Granada who paid tribute were dead, and that\nthe mint now only coined blades of scimeters and heads of lances,\" the\nhour of Granada's destiny had struck. The smiling valley became for ten\nyears a field of blood and carnage, after which its devastation was\nrelentlessly completed by the Holy Office of the Inquisition.\n\nFerdinand and Isabella entered the last stronghold of the Moors in the\nvery year when the history of the civilized world was changing its\ncourse. Its helmsman, Columbus, was received in the Castilian camp\noutside the walls of the beleaguered city. On the second of January,\n1492, Hernando, Bishop of Avila, raised the Christian Cross beside the\nbanner of Castile on the ramparts of the highest tower of the Alhambra;\nfour days later, on the day of the Kings and the festival of the\nEpiphany, Ferdinand and Isabella entered the city.\n\n\"The royal procession advanced to the principal mosque, which had been\nconsecrated as a cathedral. Here the sovereigns offered up prayers and\nthanksgivings and the choir of the royal chapel chanted a triumphant\nanthem, in which they were joined by the courtiers and cavaliers.\nNothing could exceed the thankfulness to God of the pious King Ferdinand\nfor having enabled him to eradicate from Spain the empire and name of\nthat accursed heathen race, and for the elevation of the Cross in that\ncity where the impious doctrines of Mohamed had so long been\ncherished.\"[20]\n\nBells were rung and masses celebrated in gratitude throughout the\nChristian world. As far away as Saint Paul's in London town, a special\nTe Deum was chanted by order of the good King Henry the Seventh. Spain\nhad reached the summit of her glory, before which yawned the abyss.\n\nAnd now in the name of Christ the Inquisition was established and one of\nits chief offices founded; in His name the Jews were driven out,\nChristian oaths and covenants broken, and the peaceful Moorish\ninhabitants hounded from their hearths. Under Philip III, in 1609, their\nlast descendants were banished from the realm.\n\nNo scene of chivalry during the middle ages displayed a more brilliant\nand bloody pageant than the battlefield of Granada. It was the\nculmination of the work of Spain's greatest rulers,--the great crisis in\nher history.\n\n    Here gallants held it little thing for ladies' sake to die,\n    Or for the Prophet's honour, or pride of Soldenry.\n    For here did Valour flourish and deeds of warlike might\n    Ennobled lordly palaces in which was our delight.[21]\n\nGazing over this famous plain, the Vega, that \"Pearl of Price,\" with its\ncourtyards now desolate, its gardens parched and well-nigh calcined by\nthe sun, one recalls Voltaire's words: \"Great wrongs are always recent\nwounds!\" and long years have passed since the iron heel of Austria set\nits first impress on the soil.\n\nJames Howell, the English traveler and busybody in the capital at the\ntime Prince Charles went surreptitiously wooing, writes home in 1623,\nafter visiting Granada: \"Since the expulsion of the Moors, it is also\ngrown thinner, and not so full of corn; for those Moors would grub up\nwheat out of the very tops of the craggy hills, yet they used another\ngrain for their bread, so that the Spaniard had nought else to do but go\nwith his ass to the market and buy the corn of the Moors.\"\n\nOnly once more does Granada's name emerge from the oblivion of\nages,--when the Iron Duke occupied the city during the Peninsular War.\nHe covered with a kindly hand some of her barrenness, planting English\nelms beneath her fortress.\n\n\nII\n\nIn the heart of a crumbling mass of chalky, chrome-colored walls and\nvermilion roofs, rises the dome of the Cathedral. Here, as in Seville,\nthe ground once sanctified to Moslem prayer was cleansed by the\nCatholics from the pollution of the Moor, and the Christian edifice was\nreared on the foundations of the Mohammedan mosque. As already noted,\none of the first religious acts of the conquerors was the consecration,\nin January, 1492, of the ancient mosque, which thereafter was used for\nChristian worship under the direction of the wise and tolerant Talavera,\nas first Bishop of Granada. The new building was not begun until the\nyear 1523, an exceedingly late date in cathedral-building,--a time when\nthe great art was slowly dying down, and, in northern countries,\nflickering in its last flamboyancy.\n\nOn March 25, 1525, the corner stone was laid of the new Cathedral of\nSanta Maria de la Encarnacion. It was planned on a much more elaborate\nscale than the previous mosque, which, however, continued to be\nindependently used as a Christian church until the middle of the\nseventeenth century and was not demolished till the beginning of the\neighteenth, to make room for the new sagrario, or parish church, of\nSanta Maria de la O.\n\nThe old mosque was of the usual type of Moslem house of prayer, its\neleven aisles subdivided by a forest of columns and resembling in\ngeneral aspect the far greater mosque of Cordova. Prior to the actual\ncommencement of the new Cathedral, though not to its design, the Royal\nChapel was erected, between the years 1506 and 1517, and when the\nCathedral was built, it became its southern, lateral termination and by\nfar the most magnificent and interesting portion of the interior. It was\nplanned and executed by the original designer of the church, and even\nafter this was finished, the Royal Chapel remained, like the chapel of\nSaint Ferdinand of Seville, an independent church with its own Chapter\nand clergy and independent services.\n\nAbout a dozen master-builders, almost all working under foreign\ninfluence, are known as the architects of the great Spanish cathedrals.\nThey seem generally to have worked more or less in conjunction with each\nother, several being employed on the same building, or called in turn to\nadvise in one place or superintend in another. Sometimes a whole body of\nthem reported together, or several of them were jointly consulted by a\ncathedral chapter.\n\nThe original conception of the Cathedral of Granada was the work of\nEnrique de Egas of Brussels, who, when he was commissioned by the new\nChapter to plan a fitting memorial to the final triumph of Christianity\nover Islam in Spain, was among the most celebrated builders of his day.\nHe had already succeeded his father as Maestro Mayor of the Cathedral of\nToledo when, just before his death, in 1534, he executed the Royal\nChapel of Granada Cathedral, as well as built the hospital of Santa Cruz\nin the same city. The Colegio de Santa Cruz at Valladolid was also his\nwork, and he had been summoned with other leading architects to decide\nthe best mode of procedure in Seville Cathedral after the disastrous\ncollapse of its dome. At times he was giving advice in both Saragossa\nand Salamanca. Enrique de Egas' designs were accepted in 1523. He had\nhardly proceeded further in two years than to lay out the general plan\nof the Cathedral, when, either through misunderstanding or some\ncontroversy, he was supplanted in his office by the equally celebrated\nDiego de Siloé. Like Egas, his activity was not confined to Granada, but\nextended to Seville and Malaga.\n\nIn the year 1561, two years before Siloé's death, the building was\nsufficiently completed to be opened for public worship, and consequently\non August 17th of that year it was solemnly consecrated. The foundations\nand lower portion of the northern tower were executed about this time by\nSiloé's successor, Juan de Maeda. The tower was completed and partially\ntaken down again during the following twenty years by Ambrosio de Vico.\nThen follows the main portion of the exterior work, especially the west\nfaçade (of the first half of the seventeenth century), by the\ncelebrated, not to say notorious, Alfonso de Cano, and José Granados.\nThe decoration of the interior, the addition of chapels and the building\nof the sagrario were continued through the latter part of the\nseventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth centuries.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA\n\nThe exterior cornices of the Royal Chapel]\n\nThe building operations thus extended over a period of two hundred and\nfifty years. Alfonso de Cano's reputation was of various kinds; the son\nof a carpenter and a native of Granada, as soon as his talents were\nrecognized, he was apprenticed to the great Montañes. To judge from\ncontemporaneous accounts, he must have been as hot-headed and\nquarrelsome as the Florentine goldsmith of similar talents and\nversatility. He was always ready to exchange the paint-brush or chisel\nfor his good sword, and there was scarcely a day during the years of his\nconnection with the Cathedral in which he was not enjoying a hot\ncontroversy with the Chapter. His favor with the weak monarch and the\npowerful ruling Conde-Duc was so great that they had the audacity to\nappoint him a prebendary of the Chapter after he had been forced to fly\nfrom justice in Valladolid on a charge of murder, as well as for having\nbeaten his wife on his return from a meeting of the ecclesiastical body.\nThe Chapter deprived him of his office as soon as they dared, which was\nsix years after his appointment.\n\nEgas' original plan, like the work he actually carried out in the Royal\nChapel, was undoubtedly for a Gothic edifice, as this style was\nunderstood and executed in Spain. From the fact that the original Gothic\nintention was abandoned for a Spanish Renaissance church, many\nauthorities give the date of its commencement as 1529, when Diego de\nSiloé's Renaissance work was under way. In the end of the fifteenth and\nbeginning of the sixteenth centuries, the great turning-point had come.\nItalian influences were beginning to predominate over earlier styles and\nthe last exquisite flames of the Gothic fire were slowly dying out to\ngive place to the heavy Renaissance structure of ecclesiastical\ninspiration. Spaniards who had returned fresh from Italian soil and\ntutelage evolved with their ornate sense and characteristic love for\nmagnificence, the style, or rather decorative treatment, which marks the\nfirst stage of Spanish Renaissance architecture called \"Estilo\nPlateresco.\" This is a happy name for it, its derivation being from\n\"plata,\" or silver plate, and indicating that architects were attempting\nto decorate the huge superficial spaces on their churches with the same\nintricacy and sparkle as the silversmiths were hammering on their\nornaments. There was evolved the same lace-like quality, the same\nsparkling light and shade. Wonderful results were indeed obtained by the\nstone-cutters of the sixteenth century.\n\nThe Cathedral of Granada is not at all remarkable. Its interest is\nderived from the city of which it is the chief Christian edifice and the\ngreat bodies which it contains; to students of architecture it is in a\nmanner a connecting link between the Gothic building of the middle ages\nand the modern revival of classical building methods.\n\nIt is the death of the old and the birth of the new; it marks the advent\nof stagnant, uninspired formalism in constructive forms. Its sarcophagi\nand much of its decoration are both in design and execution most\nexquisite and appropriate examples of Renaissance art in Spain. Its easy\nvictory in decorative forms was owing to the fact that there had\npractically been evolved little or no Spanish ornamental design outside\nof that produced by the ingenuity and peculiar skill of the Moors. The\ninfluence of Moorish design is long traceable in Christian decoration.\nThe Spanish nature craves rich adornment in all material. The art of the\ngreat sculptors who, like Berruguete, returned at the beginning of the\nnew century with inspiration gained in the workshops of the Florentine\nMichael Angelo, soon found a host of pupils and followers. Not only in\nstone, but in wood, metal, plaster, and on canvas, the new forms were\ncarried to a gorgeous profusion never dreamt of before. Charles V stands\nout amid its glories in as clear relief as in the tumult of the\nbattlefield. The decline and frigid formality did not set in until the\nreign of his unimpassioned and repulsive son. The grandest epoch in\nSpain's history thus corresponds to the most inspired period of its\nsculpture. The first architects of this period worked on Granada\nCathedral; the work of the greatest sculptor, the Burgundian Vigarny, is\nfound in inferior form on the retablo of the Royal Chapel. In Spain,\nwhere the climate made small window openings desirable, the churches\noffered great wall spaces to the sculptor. The splendid portals, window\nframes, turrets and parapets, the capitals and string courses and niches\nall became rich fields for Spanish interpretation of the exquisite art\nof Lombardy.\n\nThe new art first found tentative expression in decorative forms, then\nin more radical and structural changes. The world-empire of which\nFerdinand had dreamed, and which his grandson almost possessed, placed\nuntold wealth and the art of every kingdom at the disposal of Spain.\n\nGranada Cathedral has a strange exterior, meaningless except in certain\nportions, which are essentially Spanish. To the Granadines it is as\nmarvelous as Saint Peter's to the Romans. Its view is obstructed on all\nsides by a maze of crumbling walls, yellow hovels, and shop fronts\nshockingly modern and out of keeping. It is all very, very provincial.\nThe stream of the world has left it behind and its pageants and glories\nhad departed centuries ago. Donkeys heavily laden with baskets of market\nproduce stand--personifications of wronged and unremonstrating\npatience--hitched to the iron rails before its main portals. Goats\nbrowse on the grass in its courtyards, and are milked between the\nbuttresses. Immediately to the south of it lies the old episcopal\npalace, where the archbishop preached the sermons criticized by the\ningenuous Gil Blas.\n\nThe main entrance is to the west. This front is the latest portion of\nthe building with the exception of certain portions of the interior.\nThough not as corrupt as some of the surgical decorations in the\ntrascoro, it is the heaviest and least interesting part of the church.\nIt bears no relation to the sides of the building, but seems to have\nbeen clapped on like a mask. The central portion is subdivided into\nthree huge bays, the spring of the arch, which rises from the\nintermediate piers, being considerably higher in the centre than those\nof the two to the north and south. Diego de Siloé probably designed the\ncomposition, intending that it should be flanked and terminated by great\ntowers. Three stages, rising to a height of some 185 feet, stand to the\nnorth. Corinthian and Ionic orders superimpose a Doric entablature over\na plain and restrained base. Arches frame more or less meaningless and\nunpierced designs between the pilasters and engaged columns of the\norders. The whole is as painfully dry as the transfer of a student's\ncompass from a page of Vignola. Old cuts and descriptions represent this\nnorthern tower crowned by an octagonal termination with a height of 265\nfeet. Despite the apparent massiveness of the substructure, this soon\nmade the whole so alarmingly insecure that it was pulled down. The\npresent tower scarcely reaches above the broken lines and flat surfaces\nof the roof tiles and, particularly at a distance, has the effect of a\nhuge buttress. The southern tower was never erected, but in place of it\nthe front was supported by a makeshift portion of base. The northern\ntower is the work of Maeda, the façade principally by Cano, although\nmuch of the sculpture, such as the Incarnation over the central doorway,\nand the Annunciation and Assumption over the side portals, are by other\ninferior eighteenth-century sculptors.\n\nStatues, cartouches and ornamental medallions relieve the paneled\nsurfaces of the stonework, the masonry of which has been laid and\njointed with the utmost conceivable mechanical skill. The whole central\ncomposition fizzles out in a meaningless mass of parapets and variously\ncarved stone terminations. One feels as if the original designer had\nstarted on such a gigantic scale that he either had to give up finishing\nhis work proportionately or keep on till it reached the sky,--he wisely\nchose the former alternative.\n\nIn Granada, as in most of the Spanish cathedrals, the decoration of the\ndoorways and portals forms one of the principal features of exterior\ninterest. Their ornamentation, with that of the parapets crowning the\nouter walls of chapels and aisles, is practically all that relieves the\nhuge surfaces of ochre masonry. The walls themselves indicate in no\nmanner the interior construction; the windows which pierce them are very\nlow and narrow and Gothic in outline. The north and south façades,--if\ndespite their many obstructions they may be spoken of as such,--differ\nradically. The northern is to a great extent executed in the same\nponderous magnificence as the western. Two doorways pierce it, the\nPuerta de San Jeronimo with mediocre sculpture by Diego de Siloé and his\npupil and successor, Juan de Maeda, and the Puerta del Perdon, leading\ninto the transept. The decoration of this doorway is as good pure\nRenaissance work as was executed in Spain during the first quarter of\nthe sixteenth century. It consists of a double Corinthian order crowned\nby a broken pediment. The shafts of both orders are wreathed. The\npilasters, the moldings of the arch, the archivolt and jambs are all, in\nthe lower order, most profusely covered with exquisite designs,\nadmirably fitted to their respective fields, full of imagination and\nvirility. They are as good as the best corresponding work in Italy.Above the \narch key of the main door, splendidly treated bas-reliefs of\nFaith and Justice support from the spandrels an inscription recounting\nthe defeat of the Moors. The frieze band of both lower and upper orders\nis profusely filled with ornament, while small cherubs in excellent\nscale replace the conventional volutes of the Corinthian capitals. In\nthe upper order the niches have unfortunately been left uncompleted. A\nbas-relief of God the Father fills the semicircle of the main arch;\nMoses and David occupy the lunettes.\n\nThe huge pilasters or buttresses of the church which run up east and\nwest of the entire composition are decorated with the enormous imperial\nshields of Charles V, overshadowing in their vulgar predominance all the\nexquisitely proportioned and delicate detail adjacent to them.\n\nSome of the bays on the southern side of the Cathedral can be better\nseen, as a small courtyard separates them from the adjacent building,\nthe episcopal palace. The others are choked by the Capilla del Pulgar,\nthe Royal Chapel and the sagrario.\n\nThis side of the church exhibits in its balustrades, its ornamentation\nand the crocketed terminations and finials to the exterior buttresses,\nwhat is far more interesting in the Plateresque style of Spain than the\npurely borrowed and imitative features of the west and northern fronts.\nHere appear in jeweled play of light and shade, in all their imaginative\nand exquisite intricacy, those forms of carved string courses which were\ndeveloped by the Spanish Renaissance and were essentially Spanish and\nnational. You feel somewhere back of it the Moorish influence. It\npresents all the richness, the magnificence and exuberant fancy which\ncharacterizes the spirit in which its masters worked. The labor it\ninvolved must have been enormous. The splendor of the solid lacework ten\nto twelve feet high is thrown out by contrast with the naked walls which\nit crowns.\n\nThe Capilla del Pulgar, which blocks the most westerly corner of the\nsouth elevation, was named in honor of Hernan Peres del Pulgar, the site\nof whose brave exploit it marks. In 1490, during the last siege of\nGranada, he determined on a deed which should outdo all feats of heroism\nand defiance ever performed by Moslem warriors. At dead of night, some\nauthorities say he was on horseback, others that he swam the\nsubterranean channel of the Darro, he penetrated to the heart of the\nenemy's city and fastened with his dagger to the door of their principal\nmosque a scroll bearing the words \"Ave Maria.\" Before this insult to\ntheir faith had been discovered, he had regained Ferdinand's camp.\n\nA double superimposed arcade faces the southern side of the sagrario:\nthe lower story has been brutally closed and defaced by modern\nadditions, almost concealing its original carving. The upper story,\nhowever, which forms a balcony, strongly recalls by its fancifully\ntwisted shafts, elliptical arches and Gothic traceried balustrade,\nsimilar early Renaissance work at Blois, where the Gothic and early\nItalian work were so charmingly blended.\n\nThe Royal Chapel is entered through an Italian Renaissance doorway of\ngood general design and decoration, but the Spanish cornice and\nbalustrade crowning the outer walls are much more interesting in\ndetails. The principal member consists of a band of crowned and\nencircled F's and Y's, the initials of the Catholic Kings. It is broken\nover the window by three gigantic coats-of-arms. To the left is\nFerdinand's individual device of a yoke, the \"yugo,\" with the motto\n\"Tato Mota\" (Tanto Monta) tantamount, assumed as a mark of his equality\nwith the Castilian Queen; to the right Isabella's device of a bundle of\narrows or \"flechas,\" the symbol of union. In the centre is the common\nroyal shield, proudly adopted after the union of the various kingdoms of\nthe Peninsula had been cemented. The Eagle of Saint John the Evangelist\nand the common crown surmount the arms of Castile and Leon, of Aragon,\nSicily, Navarre, and Jerusalem and the pomegranate of Granada.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA\n\nThe reja enclosing the Royal Chapel and tombs of the Catholic Kings]\n\nThe various roofs of the Cathedral are covered with endless rows of\ntiles, which in the furrowed, overlapping irregularity of their surfaces\nadd to the general play of light and shade. Above them all spreads the\numbrella-shaped dome which crowns the Capilla Mayor.\n\nAt the period when Gothic church-building was disappearing, we find not\na few edifices where the old and new styles are curiously blended. A\nRenaissance façade added in later days might encase a practically\ncomplete Gothic interior. In Granada, with the exception of the Royal\nChapel, very little of the interior contained traces of the expiring\nstyle. In the Cathedral proper, it is principally found in a groined\nvaulting of the different bays, which is covered with varying and most\nelaborate schemes of ornamental Gothic ribs, which seem strangely\nincongruous to the architect as he looks up from the classical shafts in\nthe expectation of finding a corresponding form of building and\ndecoration in the later vaulting.\n\nThe general plan of the church is more Renaissance than Gothic,\nexhibiting rather the form of the \"Rundbau\" than the \"Langbau\" of the\nLatin cross. Its main feature is likewise the great dome rising above\nand lighting the Capilla Mayor. The Spanish cimborio has at last reached\nits fullest development in the Renaissance lantern.\n\nThe church is divided into nave and double side aisles, outside of which\nis a series of externally abutting chapels. East and west it contains\nsix bays. The choir blocks up the fifth and sixth bays of the nave, and\nin the customary Spanish manner it is separated from the high altar in\nthe Capilla Mayor by the croisée of the transept. Back of this, forming\nthe eastern termination, runs an ambulatory.\n\nThe vaulting, one hundred feet high, is carried by a series of gigantic\nwhite piers consisting of four semi-columns of Corinthian order with\ntheir intersecting angles formed by a triple rectangular break. The\nvaulting springs from above a full entablature and surmounting\npedestals, the latter running to the height of the arches dividing the\nvarious vaulting compartments. The church is about 385 feet long and 220feet \nwide.\n\nThe choir is uninteresting; the carving of its stalls and organs in\nnowise comparing with the \"silleria\" of Seville or Burgos. The Capilla\nMayor, the principal feature of the interior, is circular in form, and\nseparated from the nave by a splendid \"Arco Toral.\" The dome, which\nrises to a height of 155 feet, is carried by eight Corinthian piers. In\ngeneral scheme it is pure Italian Renaissance, of noble and harmonious\nproportions and very richly decorated. At the foot of the pilasters\nstand colossal statues of the Apostles. Higher up there is a series of\nmost remarkable paintings by Alfonso Cano and some of his pupils. Cano's\nrepresent seven incidents in the life of the Virgin,--the Annunciation,\nVisitation, Nativity, Assumption, etc. Though some of his carvings, and\nespecially the dignified and noble Virgin in the sacristy, are\nadmirable, still, to judge from this series, it was as a painter that he\nexcelled. They show, too, how essentially Spanish he was, like his great\nmaster, Montañez. The careless, lazy quality of his temperament is\nsufficiently apparent, but he cannot be denied a place among the great\nmasters of Spanish painting who immediately preceded the all-eclipsing\nglory of Velasquez, Murillo, and Ribera.\n\nThe lights of the dome which rises over the paintings are filled with\nvery lovely stained glass, representing scenes from the Passion by the\nDutchmen, Teodor de Holanda, and Juan del Campo. On the two sides of the\nchoir below are colossal heads of Adam and Eve carved by Cano and\nkneeling figures of Ferdinand and Isabella.\n\nThere are endless chapels outside the outer aisles, but, in spite of\nsome good bits of sculpture and painting here and there, one longs to\nsweep them out of the way and free the edifice from their encumbrance.\n\nThe interior of the great sagrario is an expressionless jumble of the\nlater Renaissance decadence,--and it is a shame that no more fitting\narchitecture surrounds the tomb of the good Talavera, here laid to rest\nby his friend Tendilla, the first Alcaide of the Alhambra, with the\ninscription over his tomb, \"Amicus Amico.\"\n\nThe general color scheme in the interior of the Cathedral is white and\ngold. One feels that it is handsome, even harmonious and magnificent,\nbut that all the mystery and religious awe that pervaded the great\nchurches of the previous centuries have vanished forever.\n\nThe Royal Chapel, although the oldest part of the building, should be\nconsidered last of all, as it is by far the most interesting portion and\nleaves an impression so vivid as to overshadow all other parts of the\ngreat edifice. It is situated between the sagrario and the Sacristia and\nis entered through the southern arm of the transept. The chapel itself\nis the very last Gothic efflorescence from which the spirit has fled,\nleaving only empty form. It consists of a single big nave flanked by\nlower chapels. The ornamentally ribbed vaulting with gilt bosses and\nkeystones is carried by clustered shafts engaged in its side walls. The\nshafts are too thin and the capitals too meagre. A broader and more\ngenerous string course runs, at the height of the capitals, across the\nwall surfaces between the upper clerestory and the lower arcades.\nPortions of this reveal a strong Moorish influence, as the manner in\nwhich the great Gothic lettering is employed to decorate the band.\nSimilarly to the invocations to Allah running round the walls of the\nAlhambra, we read here that \"This chapel was founded by the most\nCatholic Don Fernando and Doña Isabel, King and Queen of the Españos[d],\nof Naples, of Sicily, and Jerusalem, who conquered this kingdom and\nbrought it back to the faith, who acquired the Canary Isles and Indies,\nas well as the cities of Ican, Tripoli, and Bugia; who crushed heresy,\nexpelled Moors and Jews from these realms, and reformed religion. The\nQueen died Tuesday, November 26, 1504. The King died January 25, 1516.\nThe building was completed 1517.\" Enrique de Egas had, at Ferdinand's\norder, commenced building two years after Isabella's death. The grandson\nenlarged it later, finding it \"too small for so much glory.\"\n\nThe high altar with its retablo and the royal sarcophagi are separated\nfrom the rest of the chapel by the most stupendous and magnificent iron\nscreen or reja ever executed. Spaniards have here surpassed all their\nearlier productions in this their master craft. Not even the screens of\nthe great choir and altar of Seville or Toledo can compare with it. With\nthe possible exception of the curious Biblical scenes naively\nrepresented by groups of figures near the apex, which still tell their\nstory in true Gothic style, it is a burst of Renaissance, or Plateresque\nglory. It is not likely that the crafts, with all their mechanical\nskill, will ever again produce a work of such artistic perfection. It\nrepresents the labor of an army of skilled artisans,--all the sensitive\nfeeling in the finger-tips of the Italian goldsmith, the most cunning\nart of the German armorer and a combination of restraint and boldness in\nthe Spanish smith and forger. The difficulty naturally offered by the\nmaterial has also restrained the artisan's hand and imagination from\nrunning riot in vulgar elaboration. The design, made by Maestro\nBartolomé of Jaen in 1523, is as excellent as the technique is\nastonishing. It may be said that in grandeur it is only surpassed by the\nfame of the Queen whose remains lie below. The material is principally\nwrought iron, though some of the ornaments are of embossed silver plate\nand portions of it gilded as well as colored. Bartolomé's design\nconsists in general of three superimposed and highly decorated rows of\ntwisted iron bars with molded caps and bases. Each one must have been a\nmost massive forging, hammered out of the solid iron while it was red\nhot. The vertically aspiring lines of the bars are broken by horizontal\nrows of foliage, cherubs' heads and ornamentation, as well as two broad\nbands of cornices with exquisitely decorated friezes. Larger pilasters\nand columns form its panels, the central ones of which constitute the\ndoorway and enclose the elaborate arms of Ferdinand and Isabella and\nthose of their inherited and conquered kingdoms. The screen is crested\nby a rich border of pictorial scenes, of flambeaux and foliated\nRenaissance scrollwork, above which in the centre is throned the\ncrucified Saviour adored by the Virgin and Saint John. The crucifix\nrises to the height of the very capitals which carry the lofty vaulting.\n\nInside the reja, a few steps above the tombs, rises Philip Vigarny's, or\nBorgoña's, elaborate reredos. To the Protestant sense this is gaudy and\ntheatrical, a strikingly garish note in the solemnity and grandeur of\nthe chapel. To the right and left of its base are, however, most\ninteresting carvings, among them the kneeling statues of Ferdinand and\nIsabella. Behind the former is his victorious banner of Castile. The\nfigures are vitally interesting as contemporaneous portraits of the\nmonarchs, aiming to reproduce with fidelity their features and every\ndetail of their dress. There is also a series of bas-reliefs portraying\nincidents in the siege of Granada,--the Cardinal on a prancing charger,\nbehind him a forest of lances, the lurid, flaming sky throwing out in\nsharp silhouette the pierced walls and rent battlements. The Moors, very\nmuch like dogs shrinking from a beating, are being dragged to the\nbaptismal font;--the gesticulating prelates hold aloft in one hand the\ncross and in the other, the sword, for the tunicked figures to make\ntheir choice. The scene has been described by Sir W. Stirling Maxwell,\nwho tells us \"that in one day no less than three thousand persons\nreceived baptism at the hands of the Primate, who sprinkled them with\nthe hyssop of collective regeneration.\"\n\nAgain, in another, the cringing Boabdil is presenting the keys of the\ncity to the \"three kings.\" Isabella is on a white genet, and Mendoza,\nlike the old pictures of Wolsey, on a trapped mule. Ferdinand is there\nin all his magnificence; the knights, the halberdiers and horsemen, all\nthe details of the dramatic moment, full of the greatest imaginable\nhistoric and antiquarian interest, perpetuated by one who was probably\nan eye-witness of the scene.\n\n[Illustration: Photo by J. Lacoste, Madrid\n\nCATHEDRAL OF GRANADA\n\nThe tombs of the Catholic Kings, of Philip and of Queen Juana.]\n\nAt the foot of the altar, in the centre of the chapel, stand the tombs\nof Ferdinand and Isabella and of Philip and Joan. They are as gorgeous\nspecimens of sepulchral monuments as the reja is of an ecclesiastical\niron screen. Both sarcophagi are executed in the softest flushed\nalabaster; that of Ferdinand and Isabella by the Florentine Dominico\nFancelli; that of their daughter and her son by the Barcelonian\nBartolomé Ordenez, \"The Eagle of Relief,\" who carved his blocks at\nCarrara. The tomb of poor crazy Jane, and the unworthy, handsome husband\nwhom she doted on to the extent of carrying his body with her throughout\nthe doleful wronged insanity of her later years, is somewhat more\nelevated than that of the Catholic Kings, though its general design is\nvery similar. Philip of Austria sleeps vested with the Order of the\nGolden Fleece.\n\nIsabella's celebrated will begins with her desire that her body may be\ntaken to Granada and there laid to rest in the Franciscan monastery of\nSanta Isabella in the Alhambra, with a simple tomb and inscription: \"but\nshould the King, my lord, prefer a sepulchre in some other place, then\nmy will is that my body be there transported, and laid where he can be\nplaced by my side, that the union we have enjoyed in this world, and\nwhich through the mercy of God may be hoped for again when our souls are\nin heaven, may be symbolized by our bodies being side by side on earth.\"\nThe humble burying-ground designated by Isabella, and where she was\nfirst laid to rest with the simple rites she desired, was, however, no\nfitting place for the grandparents of Imperial Charles. Here, in the\nCathedral's principal chapel, he had them laid in the year 1525.\n\nThe sarcophagus consists of three stages, containing the ornamental\nmotives so characteristic of the best sculpture of the Italian\nRenaissance. No other form of statuary brought out their skill and\ngenius so fully as a sepulchral monument. Medallions, statues, niches,saints, \nangels, griffins and garlands are all woven into a magnificent\nbase to receive the recumbent effigies. Apostles and bas-reliefs of\nscenes from the life of Christ surround the base, while winged griffins\nbreak the angles. Above are the four Doctors of the Church, the arms of\nthe Catholic Kings and the proud and simple epitaph, \"Mahometicē\nsectē prostratores et hereticē pervicaciē extinctores:\nFernandus Aragonium et Helisabetha Castellē, vir et uxor unanimes,\ncatholici appelati, marmoreo clauduntur tumulo.\"[22] In tranquil crowned\ndignity above lie Ferdinand in his mantle of knighthood, his sword\nclasped over his armored breast, and Isabella with the cross of her\ncountry's patron saint. The recumbent figures are extremely fine; the\nfaces, which are portraits, convey all we know of their prototypes'\ncharacteristics. Ferdinand's proud, pursed lips whisper his selfish\narrogance, his iron will, and the greatness and fulfillment of his\ndreams. The hard, masterful jaw confirms the character given him by the\nshrewd French cynic as one of the most thorough egotists who ever sat on\na throne, as well as that of his English son-in-law, who knew enough to\ncall him \"the wisest king that ever ruled Spain.\"\n\nBeside Ferdinand sleeps his lion-hearted consort. It is her lofty soul\nwhich broods over the sepulchre and heightens the feeling of reverence\nalready inspired by reja and sarcophagus. She is still the brightest\nstar that ever rose in the Spanish firmament and shone in clear radiance\nabove even the lights of Ximenez, of Columbus, or the Great Captain. Her\nsmile is now as cold and her look as placid as moonlight sleeping on\nsnow.\n\nNoble, tender-hearted and true, dauntless, self-sacrificing and\nfaithful, she rose supreme in every relation of life and the great\ncrisis of her people's history. \"In all her revelations of Queen or\nWoman,\" said Lord Bacon, \"she was an honour to her sex, and the corner\nstone of the greatness of Spain.\"\n\nStanding before her tomb, on the battlefield of her victorious armies,\nthe clear perspective and calm judgment of four centuries still declare\nher \"of rare qualities,--sweet gentleness, meekness, saint-like,\nwife-like government, the Queen of earthly queens.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS CONSULTED\n\n\nDE AMICIS, EDMONDO. _Spain._\n\nBAEDEKER, KARL. _Spain (Guidebook)._\n\nBERMUDEZ, CEAN. _Descripcion Artistica de la Catedral de Sevilla._\n\nBERMUDEZ, CEAN. _Noticias de los Arquitectos y Arquitectura de España._\n\nCAVEDA, JOSÉ. _Ensayo Historico sobre los diversos Generos de\nArquitectura._\n\nDIDIER. _Année en Espagne._\n\nDUMAS, ALEXANDRE, PÈRE. _De Paris à Cadiz._\n\nELLIS, HAVELOCK. _Macmillan's_, May, 1903 (vol. 88).\n\nFORD, RICHARD. _The Spaniards and their Country._\n\nFORD, RICHARD. _Gatherings in Spain._\n\nGAUTIER, THÉOPHILE. _Voyage En Espagne._\n\nHARE, A. J. C. _Wanderings in Spain._\n\nHAY, JOHN. _Castilian Days._\n\nHUME, M. A. S. _The Spanish People._\n\nHUME AND BURKE. _History of Spain._\n\nHUTTON, EDWARD. _The Cities of Spain._\n\nHUTTON, EDWARD. _Studies in Lives of the Saints._\n\nIRVING, WASHINGTON. _Alhambra._\n\nJUNGHAENDEL, MAX. _Die Baukunst Spanien's._\n\nLAMPEREZ Y ROMEA, D. VICENTE. _Estudio sobre las Catedrales Españas._\n\nLAMPEREZ Y ROMEA, D. VICENTE. _Historia de la Arquitectura Cristiana\nEspañola en la Edad Media._\n\nLUND, L. _Spanske tilstande i nutid og fortid._\n\nLYNCH, HANNAH. _Toledo, the Story of a Spanish Capital._\n\nMEAGHER, JAMES L. _The Great Churches of the World._\n\nMOORE, CHARLES HERBERT. _Development and Character of Gothic\nArchitecture._\n\nNORTON, CHARLES ELIOT. _Church-building in the Middle Ages._\n\nORCAJO, DON PEDRO. _Historia de la Catedral de Burgos._\n\nPEYRON, JEAN FRANÇOIS. _Essays on Spain._\n\nPRESCOTT, W. H. _Ferdinand and Isabella._\n\nQUADRADO, D. JOSÉ MA. _España, sus Monumentos y Artes--su Naturaleza e\nHistoria_.\n\nRUDY, CHARLES. _The Cathedrals of Northern Spain_.\n\nROSE, H. J. _Among the Spanish People_.\n\nROSSEEUW DE ST. HILAIRE, E. F. A. _Histoire D'espagne_.\n\nST. REYNALD. _La Nouvelle Revue_, 1881, \"L'espagne Musulmane.\"\n\nSCHMIDT, K. E. _Sevilla_.\n\nSMITH. _Architecture of Spain_.\n\nSTREET, G. E. _Gothic Architecture in Spain_.\n\nWORT, TALBOT D. _Brochure Series of Arch. Illustration_, 1903 (vol. 9).\n\nWYATT, SIR MATHEW DIGBY. _An Architect's Note-book in Spain_.\n\n(OFFICIAL PUBLICATION). _Los Monumentos Arquitectonicos de España_.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nAaron, 54.\n\nAbel, 110.\n\nAbu Jakub Jusuf, 203, 231.\n\nAbraham, 153.\n\nAcropolis, 240.\n\nAcuna, Bishop of, 48, 49, 62.\n\nAdaja, 67.\n\nAdam, 227, 259.\n\nAdriatic, 201.\n\nAfrica, 194.\n\nAguero, Campo, 184.\n\nAlava, Juan de, 22, 177, 207.\n\nAlcides, 193.\n\nAlcaide, 127, 259.\n\nAlcantara, Bridge of, 123.\n\nAlcantara, Order of, 128.\n\nAlcazar of Avila, 84.\n\nAlcazar of Segovia, 169, 171, 172, 173.\n\nAlcazar of Seville, 209, 230.\n\nAlcazar of Toledo, 123.\n\nAlcazerias, Toledo, 129.\n\nAleman, Christobal, 228.\n\nAlfaqui Abu Walid, 154.\n\nAlfonso, architect of Toledo, 135, 141.\n\nAlfonso I, 68, 127, 243.\n\nAlfonso III, 37.\n\nAlfonso IV, 129, 130, 156.\n\nAlfonso VI, 5, 7, 37, 61, 68, 69, 91, 96, 127, 220.\n\nAlfonso VII, 155.\n\nAlfonso VIII, 73, 154.\n\nAlfonso IX, 5, 6, 74, 96.\n\nAlfonso X, The Wise, 47, 70, 97, 169, 219, 225, 231.\n\nAlfonso XI, 36, 155, 171.\n\nAlfonso, King, 34.\n\nAlfonso de Cartagena, Bishop, 49, 52, 62.\n\nAlfonsinas, Tablas, 219.\n\nAlhambra, 240, 241, 244, 259, 260, 263.\n\nAlleman, Jorge Fernandez, 207.\n\nAlmanzor, 95.\n\nAlmeria, 194.\n\nAlmohaden, 203, 243.\n\nAlmorvides, 243.\n\nAlpujarras, 241.\n\nAlvarez of Toledo, Juan, 44.\n\nAlvaro, Maestro, 23.\n\nAmiens, Cathedral of, 25, 43, 93, 94, 124, 131, 163, 201.\n\nAndalusia, 122, 191, 192, 194, 201.\n\nAndino, Cristobal, 51.\n\nAngelo, Michael, 153, 251.\n\nAngers, Bishop of, 20.\n\nAngevine School, 40.\n\nAnna, Sta., 41, 48.\n\nAntonio, St., 222.\n\nApostles, 144, 229.\n\nAquitaine, 7, 10, 15.\n\nAragon, King of, 48, 127.\n\nAragon, Province of, 19, 122, 143, 207, 256.\n\nArge, Juan de, 107.\n\nArnao de Flanders, 229.\n\nAstorga, 20.\n\nAsterio, Bishop of, 61.\n\nAsturias, 34, 69, 70, 94, 95.\n\nAugustus, Emperor, 94.\n\nAvila, Cathedral of, 65-87.\n\nAymar, 70.\n\nAyuntamiento, Toledo, 129.\n\nAzeu, Bernard of, 91.\n\n\nBacon, Lord, 265.\n\nBadajoz, Juan, 22, 97.\n\nBagdad, 127.\n\nBætica, Provincia, 193.\n\nBætis, 193, 215.\n\nBaldwin, Maestro, 107.\n\nBanderas, Seville, Patio de las, 201.\n\nBandinelli, Baccio, 153.\n\nBarcelona, 228.\n\nBartolomé of Jaen, 261.\n\nBasle, Council of, 49, 62.\n\nBaudelaire, 214.\n\nBautizo, Seville, door of, 208.\n\nBeatrice of Suabia, 53, 223.\n\nBeauvais, Cathedral of, 93.\n\nBelgium, 162.\n\nBellini, Giovanni, 162.\n\nBellver, Riccardo, 208.\n\nBenavente, Cathedral of, 142.\n\nBenedict, St., 5.\n\nBenedictines, 37, 220.\n\nBenilo, 70.\n\nBerenzuela, Queen, 92.\n\nBermudez, Cean, 44, 45, 69, 134, 199.\n\nBernard, Archbishop of Toledo, 7, 130, 154, 156.\n\nBerroqueña, 138, 141.\n\nBerruguete, Alfonso, 79, 134, 151, 153, 250.\n\nBerruguete, Pedro, 79.\n\nBlanche of France, 47.\n\nBlas, Gil, 169, 252.\n\nBlasquez Dean Blasco, 74.\n\nBlois, 256.\n\nBoabdil, 243, 262.\n\nBoldan, 227.\n\nBologna, University of, 6.\n\nBordeaux, 93.\n\nBorgoña, 224.\n\nBorgoña, Juan de, 79, 134.\n\nBorgoña, Philip, 151, 152, 177, 262.\n\nBoston, 18.\n\nBourges, Cathedral of, 94, 134.\n\nBrizuela, Pedro, 187.\n\nBruges, Carlos de, 229.\n\nBrunelleschi, 176.\n\nBrussels, 247.\n\nBugia, 260.\n\nBurgos, Cathedral of, 30-63, 80, 81, 86, 93, 97, 101, 105, 106, 111,\n131, 132, 134, 141, 177, 183, 199, 207, 224, 258.\n\nBurgos, Bishopric of, 122.\n\nBurgundy, School of, 10, 13.\n\nBurne-Jones, 50.\n\n\nCadiz, 194.\n\nCæsar, Julius, 193.\n\nCalderon, 6.\n\nCaliphs, 4.\n\nCalix, 157.\n\nCalatrava, Order of, 128.\n\nCalixtus III, Pope, 8.\n\nCampaña, Pedro, 195.\n\nCampero, Juan, 22.\n\nCampo, Juan del, 259.\n\nCanary Isles, 260.\n\nCano, Alfonso, 195, 227, 248, 258, 259.\n\nCantabria, 70.\n\nCapulet, 138.\n\nCapitan, Calle del Gran, 201.\n\nCarlos de Bruges, 229.\n\nCarmona, 82.\n\nCarpentania, 124.\n\nCasanova, 208.\n\nCastanela, Juan de, 44, 45.\n\nCastile, Province of, 6, 19, 30, 33, 34, 68, 72, 74, 92, 95, 122, 127,\n135, 136, 143, 159, 171, 172, 178, 207, 215, 219, 243, 244, 256, 264.\n\nCatalina, Toledo, Puerta de Sta., 145.\n\nCatarina, Burgos, Chapel of, 41, 60.\n\nCatharine Plantagenet, Queen, 159.\nCatholic Kings, 20, 128, 143, 172, 217, 242, 256.\n\nCaveda, 199, 200.\n\nCebrian, Pedro, 97.\n\nCelandra, Enrique Bernardino de, 229.\n\nCellini, 152.\n\nCervantes, 196.\n\nCespedes, Domingo de, 134, 150.\n\nCeuta, 192.\n\nChambord, 210.\n\nChampagne, 99.\n\nCharles V, Emperor, 45, 46, 71, 137, 153, 171, 172, 173, 225, 251, 254,\n263.\n\nCharles, Prince of England, 169, 245.\n\nChartres, Cathedral of, 40, 93, 94, 102, 109, 141, 201.\n\nChartudi, Martin Ruiz de, 179.\n\nChico, Patio, 18, 24, 25.\n\nChristopher, St., 162.\n\nChronicles, 192.\n\nChurriguera, 28.\n\nCid, Campeador, 33, 123, 127, 134, 200.\n\nCisneros, Cardinal, 80.\n\nCistercians, 40.\n\nCiteaux, 130.\n\nClamores, 167.\n\nClara, Sta., 172, 173, 177, 185.\n\nClement, St., 102.\n\nCluny, 5, 7, 10, 130, 131, 220.\n\nCologne, 138, 211.\n\nColonia, Diego de, 49.\n\nColonia, Francisco de, 57, 60.\n\nColonia, Juan de, 49, 60, 62, 101.\n\nColonia, Simon de, 49.\n\nColumbina Library, 209, 215.\n\nColumbus, 197, 204, 215, 216, 227, 244, 265.\n\nCompero, Juan de, 178.\n\nCompostella, St. James of, 157.\n\nCompostella, Cathedral of, 96.\n\nComuneros, 71.\n\nComunidades, 127, 173, 182.\n\nConstable, Burgos, Chapel of, 41, 49, 57, 58.\n\nConstance, Queen, 130, 154, 156, 220.\n\nConstantine, 235.\n\nConstantinople, 219.\n\nCopin, 134.\n\nCordova, Caliphate of, 5, 194, 195, 203, 204, 230, 231, 242, 243, 247.\n\nCornelis, 83.\n\nCoroneria, Burgos, Puerta de la, 47, 56.\n\nCorpus Christi, Burgos, Chapel of, 41.\n\nCorpus Domini, Feast of, 219.\n\nCortes, 36, 125.\n\nCortez, 197.\n\nCouncil of the Indies, 197.\n\nCouncils, 126, 157.\n\nCovarrubias, Alfonso, 22, 134, 177.\n\nCristela, St., 86.\n\nCristobal, Seville, Gate of St., 209.\n\nCruz, Granada, Hospital of Sta., 247.\n\nCruz, Valladolid, Colegio de, 247.\n\nCruz, Santos, 79.\n\nCubillas, Garcia de, 174, 177, 179.\n\nCuevas, Monastery of Las, 227.\n\n\nDado, Chapel of Nuestra Señora del, 114.\n\nDamascus, 2.\n\nDancart, 218.\n\nDaniel, 112.\n\nDarro, 240, 255.\n\nDavid, 3, 48, 112, 158, 254.\n\nDavila, Bishop Blasquez, 74.\n\nDavila, Juan Arias, 171, 177, 184.\n\nDavila, Sancho, 82.\n\nDenis, Abbey of St., 40.\n\nDominican, 128, 218.\n\nDominic, St., 6.\n\nDonatello, 152.\n\nDoncelles, Seville, Capilla de los, 229.\n\nDueñas, Convent of Las, 30.\n\nDuke, Iron, 245.\n\nDurham, 123.\n\nDumas, Alexandre, 241.\n\n\nEden, Garden of, 241.\n\nEdward I, 33.\n\nEgas, Annequin de, 135.\n\nEgas, Anton de, 21, 22, 134.\n\nEgas, Enrique de, 135, 177, 207, 224, 247, 248, 249, 260.\n\nEgypt, 209.\n\nEleanor of Castile, 33.\n\nEleanor Plantagenet, 37.\n\nEllis, Havelock, 214.\n\nEly, Cathedral of, 148.\n\nEngland, 33, 124, 149.\n\nEnrique, Architect, 54, 60, 97.\n\nEnrique II, 70.\n\nEnriquez, Beatrix, 215.\n\nErasma, 167.\n\nEslava, 214.\n\nEsteban, Burgos, Church of San, 34.\n\nEsteban, Salamanca, Church of San, 30, 44.\n\nEstrella, 72.\n\nEugenio IV, 74.\n\nEugenio, St., 141.\n\nEurope, 162, 194, 215.\n\nEve, 227, 259.\n\nExodus, 153.\n\nEzekiel, 192.\n\n\nFancelli, Dominico, 263.\n\nFanez, Alvar, 123.\n\nFerdinand I, 34, 95.\nFerdinand III, St., 37, 48, 53, 61, 70, 92, 131, 193, 195, 203, 209,\n219, 224, 225, 231, 232, 249.\n\nFerdinand of Aragon, 20, 49, 82, 127, 128, 136, 137, 152, 244, 251, 256,\n259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 265.\n\nFerdinand, Infante, 47.\n\nFerguson, 206.\n\nFernandez, Alejo, 195.\n\nFernandez, Marco Jorge, 218.\n\nFernandez, Martin, 60.\n\nFlanders, 183.\n\nFlorence, 70, 196, 223, 230.\n\nFonfria, 167.\n\nFonseca, Bishop Don Juan Rodriguez de, 56, 136.\n\nFrance, 28, 44, 47, 69, 72, 92, 94, 109, 123, 132, 133, 149, 153, 162,\n183, 200, 207.\n\nFrancesco de Salamanca, 218.\n\nFrancis, St., 137.\n\nFranciscan Monastery, 263.\n\nFrederic of Germany, 92.\n\nFriola, St., 114, 167.\n\nFront of Périgueux, St., 15.\n\nFrumonio, Bishop, 95.\n\nFrutos, St., 174.\n\nGallichan's Story of Seville, 197, 199.\n\nGallo, Torre del, 15.\n\nGanza, Martin, 225.\n\nGarcia, Alvar, 72.\n\nGarcia, Pedro, 207.\n\nGautier, Théophile, 46, 122, 151, 199.\n\nGayangos, 231.\n\nGeneraliffe, 241.\n\nGermany, 93, 162, 183.\n\nGever, 231.\n\nGhiberti, 48, 152.\n\nGibbon, Grinling, 27.\n\nGil de Hontañon, Juan, 22, 23, 28, 174, 175, 176, 177, 179, 207.\n\nGil de Hontañon, Rodrigo, 23, 179, 184.\n\nGiralda, 201, 209, 229, 230, 232, 234, 235.\n\nGiraldo, Luis, 83.\n\nGoethe, 239.\n\nGoliath, 3.\n\nGomez, Alvar, 136, 141.\n\nGonzales, Bishop, 97.\n\nGonzales, Ferdinand, 33, 34.\n\nGonzalo, Don, 53.\n\nGorda, 142.\n\nGoya, 162, 201, 226, 227.\n\nGranada, Cathedral of, 182, 216, 224, 237-265.\n\nGranada, Province of, 122, 138, 152, 194, 195, 230.\n\nGranados, José, 248.\n\nGray, Thomas, 167.\n\nGreco, El, 162, 227.\n\nGredos, Sierra, 67, 121.\n\nGreece, 153, 197, 223.\n\nGregory the Great, 126.\n\nGregory VII, 91, 220.\n\nGuadalquivir, 197, 235.\n\nGuadarrama, Sierra de, 34, 67.\n\nGuarda, Angel de la, 222, 223.\n\nGuas, Juan, 135.\n\nGuzman, 226.\n\n\nHagenbach, Peter, 221.\n\nHannibal, 5, 243.\n\nHapsburg, 217.\n\nHare, 264.\n\nHavana, 227.\n\nHell, Toledo, Gate of, 143.\n\nHenry of Aragon, 159.\n\nHenry II, 53, 155, 160, 178.\n\nHenry III, 155.\n\nHenry IV, 172.\n\nHenry VII, 244.\n\nHenry VIII, 61, 164.\n\nHercules, 192, 193.\n\nHermanidad, Dependencias de la, 210.\n\nHernando, 244.\n\nHerrera, 195, 227.\n\nHispalis, 194.\n\nHispania, Citerior, 68.\n\nHispaniola, 227.\n\nHolanda, Teodor de, 259.\n\nHolando, Alberto, 80.\n\nHoly Office, 196, 243.\n\nHoussaye, La, 151.\n\nHowell, James, 245.\n\nHoz, Juan de, 207.\n\nHuelva, 194.\n\n\nIago, Burgos, Chapel of St., 60.\n\nIberian Peninsula, 136.\n\nIldefonso, St., 108, 127, 143, 147, 157, 158.\n\nIldefonso, Toledo, Chapel of St., 157.\n\nIndies, 128, 260.\n\nInnocent III, 20, 92, 93.\n\nInquisition, 128, 243, 244.\n\nIrving, Washington, 160, 244.\n\nIsaac, 153.\n\nIsabella, 20, 62, 82, 127, 128, 131, 136, 137, 138, 152, 154, 195, 224,\n244, 256, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264.\n\nIsabella, Granada, Monastery of Sta., 263.\n\nIsabella of Portugal, 160.\n\nIsaiah, 48, 106, 192.\n\nIsidore, 126, 220, 221.\n\nIslam, 202, 227, 247.\n\nIsle-de-France, 99, 102.\n\nItaly, 72, 93, 153, 196, 200, 223, 254.\n\nIxbella, 194.\n\n\nJacob, 153.\n\nJaen, 194, 195, 208, 260.\n\nJain Temples, 205.\n\nJames I, 136.\n\nJames, St., 54.\n\nJames, Professor, 87.\n\nJanera, Cathedral of, 153.\n\nJeremiah, 112.\n\nJeronimo, Granada, Puerta de, 254.\n\nJerusalem, 29, 214, 229, 256.\n\nJesse, Tree of, 162.\n\nJohn, St., 55, 57, 208, 219, 256, 262.\n\nJohn the Baptist, Toledo, Hospital of St., 153.\n\nJohn I, 155.\n\nJohn II, 159.\n\nJonah, 192.\n\nJoshua, 112.\n\nJuan, Don, 134.\n\nJuan, Bishop of Sabina, 171.\n\nJuan, Toledo, chapel of St., 161.\n\nJuan, Seville, door of St., 208.\n\nJuana, Queen, 21, 225, 263.\n\nJudgment, Last, 126.\n\nJunta, Santa, 71.\n\nJusta, Sta., 226, 232.\n\nJusquin, Maestro, 101, 110.\n\n\nKarnattah, 242.\n\nKempeneer, 222.\n\nKoran, 234.\n\n\nLagarto, Seville, door of, 209.\n\nLamperez y Romea, Señor D., 9, 40, 76, 108.\n\nLara, Bishop Manrique, 96.\n\nLatin, 126, 187, 193, 232.\n\nLazarus, 229.\n\nLeander, 220.\n\nLeocadia, Sta., 157, 158.\n\nLeon, Cathedral of, 26, 36, 39, 43, 80, 81, 82, 86, 90, 117, 132, 134,\n142, 177, 198, 199, 212, 256.\n\nLeon, Kingdom of, 5, 6, 19, 30, 34, 69, 127, 215.\n\nLerida, Cathedral of, 133.\n\nLerma, Bishop Gonzalvo da, 52.\n\nLions, Toledo, gate of, 144, 161.\n\nLlana, Toledo, gate of, 145.\n\nLockhart, 245.\n\nLoevgild, 94, 126.\n\nLoja, 241.\n\nLombardy, 201, 206, 243, 251.\n\nLondon, 204, 244.\n\nLonja, Seville, gate of, 209.\n\nLopez, Pedro, 207.\n\nLorenzana, 136.\n\nLouis, St., 47, 92.\n\nLucas of Holland, 152.\n\nLuis, Fray, 6.\n\nLuna, Count Alvaro de, 159.\n\nLuther, 86.\n\nLusitania, 5.\n\n\nMadrid, 96, 128, 173, 206.\n\nMadrigal, Tostada de, 79.\n\nMaeda, Juan de, 248, 253, 254.\n\nMagi, adoration of the, 104.\n\nMalaga, 248.\n\nMancha, La, 93.\n\nManrico de Lara, Francisco, 23.\n\nMans, Cathedral of Le, 148.\n\nMantanzas, D. Juan Ruiz, 156.\n\nMaria, Burgos, gate of Sta., 60.\n\nMaria, de la Encarnacion, Sta., Granada, 246.\n\nMaria, Burgos, Sta. Maria la Mayor, 34, 57, 60.\n\nMaria, Leon, Sta., 92, 96, 98, 116.\n\nMaria del Fiore, Sta., 17, 176, 201.\n\nMaria, de la O., Sta., 246.\n\nMaria de la Sede, Seville, Sta., 203, 207, 213, 214, 219, 228, 230.\n\nMary, Virgin, 104, 130, 157, 158, 167, 171, 173, 174, 179, 195, 217,\n219, 220, 227, 258, 262.\n\nMary Magdalen, 229.\n\nMarin, Juan, 223.\n\nMarin, Lope, 209.\nMarks, St., 12, 15, 230.\n\nMarmont, 30.\n\nMartial, 193.\n\nMartin, 214.\n\nMaurice, Bishop, 37, 46, 49, 54, 61.\n\nMaxwell, Sir W. Stirling, 262.\n\nMedina, Pedro de, 97.\n\nMediterranean, 122, 193.\n\nMeister Wilhelm, 239.\n\nMellan, Pedro, 207, 208.\n\nMenardo, Vicente, 229.\n\nMendoza, Doña Mencia de, 50.\n\nMendoza, 136, 138, 143, 155, 226, 262.\n\nMerida, 68.\n\nMesquita, 231.\n\nMexico, 197.\n\nMicer, 228.\n\nMichael, St., 86.\n\nMiguel, Florentino, 196, 207, 223.\n\nMiguel, San, 172, 173, 185.\n\nMiguel, Seville, Door of St., 208.\n\nMilan, Cathedral of, 138, 204, 206.\n\nMilo, Venus of, 212.\n\nMiserere, 214.\n\nMohamed, 244.\n\nMolina, Juan Sanchez de, 60.\n\nMontagues, 138.\n\nMontañez, 217, 227, 249, 258.\n\nMoses, 54, 112, 254.\n\nMogaguren, Juan de, 179, 186.\n\nMunoz, Sancho, 217.\n\nMurillo, 196, 222, 227, 258.\n\n\nNacimiento, Seville, doors of, 207.\n\nNacimiento, Salamanca, door of, 25.\n\nNantes, 93.\n\nNaples, 191, 260.\n\nNapoleon, 135.\n\nNaranjos, Seville, door of the, 209.\n\nNarbonne, 93, 157.\n\nNasrides, 243.\n\nNavarre, 72, 92, 256.\n\nNavas de Tolosa, Las, 70, 93, 154.\n\nNetherlands, 196.\n\nNevada, Sierra, 241, 242.\n\nNey, 30.\n\nNicholas, Church of, Burgos, 34.\n\nNicholas Florentino, 14.\n\nNile, 209.\n\nNorman, Juan de, 207.\n\n\nOdysseus, 192.\n\nOliquelas, 139.\n\nOntoria, 42.\n\nOrazco, Juan de, 22.\n\nOrdoñez, Bartolomé, 263.\n\nOrdoño, King, 95, 113, 114.\n\nOuen of Rouen, Cathedral of St., 28.\n\nOviedo, 34, 196, 198.\n\nOxford, University of, 6.\n\n\nPadella, 127, 225.\n\nPalazzo del Goberno Civil, Salamanca, 28.\n\nPardon, Burgos, Door of, 61.\n\nPardon, Granada, Door of, 254.\n\nPardon, Segovia, Door of, 185.\n\nPardon, Seville, Door of, 209.\n\nPardon, Toledo, Door of, 126, 143.\n\nParis, 219.\n\nParis, University of, 6.\n\nParis, Cathedral of, 25, 101, 105, 148, 163, 199.\n\nParthenon, 212.\n\nPater, Walter, 125.\n\nPaul, St., 30, 54, 62, 85, 142, 209, 164.\n\nPaul's, London, St., 204, 244.\n\nPedro, Avila, Church of St., 71.\n\nPedro, Bishop of Avila, Don, 72.\n\nPedro de Aguilar, 155.\n\nPedro el Cruel, 127, 225.\n\nPedro of Castile, Don, 70.\n\nPedro, Infante, Don, 178.\n\nPellejeria, Burgos, Door of, 56, 58.\n\nPeninsular War, 246.\n\nPerez, 135.\n\nPerez, Juan, 60.\n\nPerez de Vargas, Garcia, 193.\n\nPérigueux, 7.\n\nPeru, 197.\n\nPesquera, Diego de, 223.\n\nPeter, St., 30, 54, 62, 85, 142, 209, 164.\n\nPeter's, Rome, St., 205, 224, 251.\n\nPhilip, 48.\n\nPhilip I (of Austria), 263.\n\nPhilip II, 23, 45, 128, 196, 197, 206.\n\nPhilip III, 245.\n\nPhilip of Burgundy, Sculptor, 44, 45, 48.\n\nPhilip, St., 54.\n\nPhœnicia, 197.\n\nPhœnicians, 193.\n\nPiazzetta, Venice, 201.\n\nPilayo, Bishop of Oviedo, Don, 69.\n\nPituenga, Florin de, 69.\n\nPius II, 160.\n\nPius III, 23.\n\nPistoja, 230.\n\nPizarro, 197.\n\nPlaza del Colegio Viejo, Salamanca, 5.\n\nPliny, 128.\n\nPlutarch, 125.\n\nPoe, 214.\n\nPoitou, 137.\n\nPorcello, Diego, 60.\n\nPoniente, 28.\n\nPortugal, 127.\n\nPrado, 221.\n\nPresentacion, Burgos, Chapel of, 41, 52.\n\nPresentacion, Toledo, Puerta de la, 145.\n\nPsalms, 192.\n\nPtolemy, 215.\n\nPulgar, Capilla del, 255.\n\nPulgar, Herman Perez del, 255.\n\nPyrenees, 93, 176, 206.\n\nPuy, Notre Dame de, 144.\n\n\nQuadrado, 178.\n\nQuixote, 134.\n\n\nRamos, Alfonso, 101.\n\nRamos, door of, 25, 29.\n\nRaphael, Angel, 155.\n\nRaymond, Count of Burgundy, 7, 8, 69, 70, 72, 170.\n\nReal, Seville, Capilla, 205, 224.\n\nReccared, 126.\n\nReloi, Toledo, gate of, 145.\n\nRembrandt, 214.\n\nRios, D. Demetrio de los, 96.\n\nReposo, Virgin del, 223.\n\nReye Nuevos, Toledo, chapel of, 161.\n\nRes, Juan, 83.\n\nRheims, Cathedral of, 25, 39, 43, 93, 94, 148.\n\nRibera, 162, 221, 258.\n\nRichard, papal legate, 156.\n\nRichelieu, 136.\n\nRidriguez, Canon Juan, 174.\n\nRodan, Guillen de, 97.\n\nRoderick, King, 126.\n\nRodrigo, architect of Toledo, 135.\n\nRodrigo, Archbishop, 93.\n\nRodrigo de Ferrara, 107.\n\nRodriguez, Archbishop of Seville, 205.\n\nRodriguez, Bishop, 136.\n\nRodriguez of Alava, Count Diego, 34.\n\nRodriguez, Maestro of Seville, 22, 207.\n\nRodriguez, Sculptor, 151.\n\nRoelas, 227.\n\nRojas, Gonzalo de, 205, 207.\n\nRomano, Casandro, 69.\n\nRome, 5, 93, 116, 130, 135, 142, 143, 191, 193, 197, 224.\n\nRoundheads, 61.\n\nRovera, D. Diego de, 174.\n\nRoyal Chapel, Granada, 247, 249, 251, 255, 256, 257, 259.\n\nRubens, 162.\n\nRufina, Sta., 226, 232.\n\nRuiz, Alfonso, 207.\n\nRuiz, Bishop Francisco, 80.\n\nRuiz, Francisco, 234.\n\n\nSabina, St., 86.\n\nSacchetti, 26.\n\nSalamanca, city of, 69.\n\nSalamanca, council of, 45.\n\nSalamanca, Cathedral of, 3-30, 44, 163, 170, 174, 175, 176, 177, 179,\n184, 198, 213, 248.\n\nSalmantica, 5.\n\nSalisbury, Cathedral of, 131.\n\nSalto, Maria del, 178, 179.\n\nSalvador, Avila, Cathedral of San, 67, 71.\n\nSancha, Countess, 114.\n\nSanches de Castro, Juan, 201.\n\nSanchez, Martin, 135.\n\nSanchez, Nufro, 216.\n\nSanchez, Bishop Pedro, 69.\n\nSanchez, Architect Pedro, 53, 60.\n\nSancho the Brave, 155.\n\nSancho the Deserted, 155.\n\nSantander, Diego de, 53.\n\nSantiago, bishopric of, 122.\n\nSantiago, Burgos, chapel of, 41.\n\nSantiago, Leon, chapel of, 99, 107, 115.\n\nSantiago, order of, 128, 135, 159.\n\nSantiago, Toledo, chapel of, 147, 157, 159.\n\nSanto, Andrea del, 153.\n\nSarabia, Rodrigo de, 22.\n\nSarmental, Puerta del, 54.\n\nSarmentos, family of, 54.\n\nScriveners, Toledo, gate of, 143.\n\nSegovia, city of, 67, 69.\n\nSegovia, Cathedral of, 165-187, 213.\n\nSegundo, St., 86.\n\nSegundo, Avila, church of San, 71.\n\nSens, Cathedral of, 40.\n\nSeville, Cathedral of, 24, 44, 96, 97, 138, 158, 182, 183, 189-236, 242,\n248, 258, 260.\n\nSeville, bishopric of, 122.\n\nSicily, kingdom of, 19, 143, 256, 260.\n\nSiena, 70.\n\nSierra Alhama, 241.\n\nSierra Gredos, 67, 122.\n\nSierra de Guadarrama, 34, 67.\n\nSierra Moreña, 198, 235.\n\nSierra Nevada, 241, 242.\n\nSiloé, Diego de, 49, 248, 249, 252, 254.\n\nSilva, Diego da, 195.\n\nSimon, architect, 97.\n\nSistine Madonna, 212.\n\nSofia, St., 12.\n\nStevenson, R. L., 145.\n\nSuabia, 53, 225.\n\n\nTagus, 93, 122.\n\nTalavera, 246, 259.\n\nTarragon, bishopric of, 122.\n\nTarragona, Cathedral of, 133.\n\nTarshish, 192.\n\nTavera, 136, 141.\n\nTecla, Sta., 41.\n\nTendilla, 259.\n\nTenorio, 136, 141, 163.\n\nTeresa, Sta., 86, 87.\n\nTheotocopuli, Jorge Manuel, 140.\n\nThiebaut, 30.\n\nThomas, convent of St., 71.\n\nTierra de Maria Santissima, 198.\n\nTitian, 162.\n\nToledo, Cathedral of, 36, 39, 42, 93, 96, 106, 108, 121-164, 170, 177,\n182, 192, 198, 204, 207, 212, 216, 218, 223, 247, 260.\n\nToledo, council of, 8, 126.\n\nToledo, province of, 23, 169.\n\nTomé, Narciso, 155.\n\nTornero, Juan, 22.\n\nTorquemada, 171.\n\nTrajan, 167.\n\nTriana, 232.\n\nTrinity, Boston, church of, 18.\n\nTriolan, San, 104.\n\nTripoli, 260.\n\nTriumfo, Seville, Plaza del, 201.\n\nTudela, Cathedral of, 133.\n\n\nUrraca, Doña, 69.\n\n\nVaccæi, 68.\n\nVadajos, Bishop of, 20.\n\nVergara, Arnao de, 229.\n\nVargas, Luis de, 195.\n\nValdes, 227.\n\nVallejo, Juan de, 44, 45, 60.\n\nValencia, See of, 7, 93, 122.\n\nValencia, Alonzo, 97.\n\nValladolid, City of, 21, 23, 160, 227, 248, 249.\n\nValladolid, Cathedral of, 36, 122.\n\nVega, 240, 245.\n\nVelasco, Don Pedro Fernandez, Count of Haro, 49, 50.\n\nVelasco, Bishop Antonia de, 52.\n\nVelasquez, 196, 258.\n\nVenice, 191.\n\nVergara, 134.\n\nViadero, 184.\n\nVicente, Avila, Church of, 71.\n\nVico, Ambrosio de, 248.\n\nVigarny, Philip (Borgoña), 151, 153, 251, 262.\n\nVignola, 252.\n\nVillalon, Cathedral of, 143.\n\nVillalpando, 134, 154.\n\nVillanueva, 82.\n\nVillegas, Fernando de, 52.\n\nVincente, St., 86.\n\nViscaya, 69.\n\nVisitacion, Burgos, Capilla de, 52.\n\nVisquio, Jeronimo, 7, 8, 10.\n\nVitruvius, 224.\n\nVittoria, 208.\n\nVoltaire, 245.\n\n\nWamba, 126.\n\nWear, 123.\n\nWells, Cathedral of, 99.\n\nWestminster Abbey, 149, 198.\n\nWharton, Mrs., 103.\n\nWilliams, Leonard, 183.\n\nWolsey, 136, 262.\n\n\nXenil, 240.\n\nXimenez, 136, 154, 156, 221, 261, 265.\n\nXimon, 207.\n\n\nYorobo, Diego de, 218.\n\n\nZamora, cathedral of, 133.\n\nZamora, See of, 7.\n\nZaragoza, bishopric, 122, 248.\n\nZeres, gate of, 193.\n\nZimena Doña, 33.\n\nZurbaran, 195, 227.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] The precedence of Oxford was established by the decree of Constance\nof 1414.\n\n[2] Ego comes Raimundus una pariter cum uxore mea Orraca filia Adefonsi\nregis, placuit nobis ut propter amorem Dei et restaurationem ecclesie S.\nMarie Salamantine sedis et propter animas nostras vel de parentum\nnostrorum vobis domino Jeronimo pontefici et magistro nostro quatinus\nsaceremus vobis sicut et facimus cartulam donationis vel ut ita decam\nbonifacti.\n\n[3] Though to the city itself, in which he had been married, he dealt\nthe death-blow when he moved his Court from Toledo to Valladolid and\nestablished a bishopric at Valladolid (in 1593), which had previously\nbeen subject to Salamanca.\n\n[4] According to Doctor Döllinger, \"a faithless and cruel freebooter.\"\nAs a daring and successful \"condottiere,\" he was dear to his\nliberty-loving contemporaries, who protested against any encroachments\nfrom Rome or curtailment of their civil rights by native rulers.\n\n[5] Married to Alfonso III of Castile.\n\n[6] Cean Bermudez, _Noticias de los Arquitectos y Arquitectura de\nEspaña_, vol. i, p. 208.\n\n[7] Avila santos y cantos.\n\n[8] Spain is divided into nine archbishoprics. In Castile are those of\nSantiago, Burgos, Valladolid, and Toledo; in Aragon, Zaragoza; on the\nMediterranean, Taragon and Valencia; and in Andalusia, Seville and\nGranada.\n\n[9]\n\n    Ye men so noble and so bright,\n    Who from your elevated height\n    Do rule Toledo's avarice,\n    And govern fear and cowardice.\n    Of costly bed, the Lord of Hosts\n    Hath made ye to the corner posts.\n    Leave private interests behind,\n    Show truth and justice to mankind,\n    To common good yourselves do bind.\n\n\n\n[10] Poitou, _Spain and its People_.\n\n[11] The work of Jorge Manuel Theotocopuli, son of the great painter.\n\n[12]\n\n    Bell of Toledo,\n    Church of Leon,\n    Clock of Benavente,\n    Columns of Villalon.\n\n\n[13] He is also the sculptor of the marvelous tomb of Cardinal Janera in\nthe hospital of St. John the Baptist at Toledo.\n\n[14] The cost of this reja was 250,000 reales.\n\n[15] \"Transparente,\" really meaning transparent, allowing the passage of\nlight. The composition took its name from the little closed glass or\ncrystal window placed directly back of the altar, and which thus pierced\na portion of the decorated wall surface behind the altar.\n\n[16] From William Gallichan's _Story of Seville_.\n\n[17]\n\n    He who has not seen Seville,\n    Has not seen a marvel.\n\n\n[18] The great astronomical work, performed by that wonder of learning,\nAlfonso X of Castile, in concert with Arab and Jewish men of science.\n\n[19] _Impressions de Voyage_, Alexandre Dumas.\n\n[20] Washington Irving's _Granada_.\n\n[21] Lockhart's _Spanish Ballads_.\n\n[22] Hare's _Queen of Queens_.\n\n\nNotes of the transcriber of this etext:\n\n[a] Probably \"A Castilla y a León mundo nuevo dió Colon\" (note of ebook\ntranscriber).\n\n[b] Probably Canon Juan Rodriguez.\n\n[c] Should be Puerta del Reloj.\n\n[d] Probably means Españas.\n\n\nChanges made:\n\ncolonnettes => colonettes\n\nNarciso Tome => Narciso Tomé {1}\n\nVaccaei => Vaccæi {1 index}\n\nPerigueux =>Périgueux {1 index}\n\nBaetica => Bætica {1 index}\n\nBaetis => Bætis {1 index}\n\nDean Blasco Blasques => Dean Blasco Blasquez {1 page 74}\n\nGuadalquiver => Guadalquivir {2 page 197 & 235}\n\nJuan Gil de Houtañon => Juan Gil de Hontañon {1}\n\nBartolomé of Iaen => Bartolomé of Jaen {1 page 261}\n\nPellegeria => Pellejeria {1 plan of Burgos Cathedral}\n\nPintuenga => Pituenga {1 page 69}\n\nReyos Nuevos => Reyes Nuevos {1 index}\n\nReyos Catolicos => Reyes Catolicos {1 page 217}\n\nDemetrio de los Reos => Demetrio de los Rios\n\nRepiso, Virgin del => Reposo, Virgin del {1 index}\n\nDiego de Silhoé => Diego de Siloé {page 48 & index\n\nPhilip Vigarni => Philip Vigarny {page 151, 153, 251, 262 index}\n\nVillalpondo => Villalpando {page 134 & 154}\n\nXimenes => Ximenez {2 page 265 & index}\n\nJuan de Maedo => Juan de Maeda {1 page 248}\n\nGayangoz => Gayangos {1 index}\n\nGuaz => Guas {1 page 135}\n\nMaria, de la Incarnacion => Maria, de la Encarnacion {1 index}\n\nMugaguren, Juan de => Mogaguren, Juan de {1 index}\n\nRez, Juan => Res, Juan {1 index}\n\nRojas, Gonsalo de => Rojas, Gonzalo de {1 index}\n\nSachetti => Sacchetti {1 index}\n\nSalamantica => Salmantica {1 index}\n\nVaga, Luis de => Vargas, Luis de {page 195 & index}", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31966", "title": "Cathedrals of Spain", "author": "", "publication_year": 1911, "metadata_title": "Cathedrals of Spain", "metadata_author": "John A. Gade", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:17.549892", "source_chars": 431361, "chars": 431361, "talkie_tokens": 102302}}
{"text": "Produced by Joseph R. Hauser and The Online Distributed\n\n\n\n\n\n                   DRESSED GAME AND POULTRY\n\n\n\n\n  +----------------------------------------------------------+\n  | WORKS BY MRS. DE SALIS.                                  |\n  |                                                          |\n  |                                                          |\n  | SAVOURIES À LA MODE. Eighth Edition. Fcp.                |\n  | 8vo. 1_s._                                               |\n  |                                                          |\n  | ENTRÉES À LA MODE.  Fourth Edition. Fcp.                 |\n  | 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._                                         |\n  |                                                          |\n  | SOUPS AND DRESSED FISH À LA MODE.                        |\n  | Second Edition. Fcp. 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._                    |\n  |                                                          |\n  | SWEETS AND SUPPER DISHES À LA MODE.                      |\n  | Fcp. 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._                                    |\n  |                                                          |\n  | OYSTERS À LA MODE; or, the Oyster and over               |\n  | One Hundred Ways of Cooking it; to which are added a few |\n  | Recipes for Cooking all kinds of Shelled Fish. Second    |\n  | Edition. Fcp. 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._                           |\n  |                                                          |\n  | DRESSED VEGETABLES À LA MODE. Fcp.                       |\n  | 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._                                         |\n  |                                                          |\n  | DRESSED GAME AND POULTRY À LA MODE.                      |\n  | Fcp. 8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._                                    |\n  |                                                          |\n  |                                                          |\n  | London: LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO                            |\n  +----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n                    DRESSED GAME AND POULTRY\n\n\n                          _À LA MODE_\n\n\n                               BY\n\n                          MRS DE SALIS\n\n\n\n\n     AUTHORESS OF 'SAVOURIES À LA MODE' 'ENTRÉES À LA MODE'\n     'SOUPS AND DRESSED FISH À LA MODE' 'OYSTERS À LA MODE'\n         'SWEETS À LA MODE' AND 'VEGETABLES À LA MODE'\n\n\n                  'One loves the pheasant wing\n                   And one the leg'\n                                              POPE\n\n\n\n\n                             LONDON\n                    LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.\n              AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16^{th} STREET\n                              1888\n                     _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\n                           PRINTED BY\n            SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE\n                             LONDON\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nAt this the sporting season of the year, I venture to offer to the\npublic another of my little series in the form of Dressed Game and\nPoultry. No doubt many of the recipes are well known, but it has been my\naim to collect from _all_ the culinary preserves such recipes that from\npersonal experience I know to be good. All the known and unknown tomes\non the gourmet's art have been consulted, and I have to thank the\nauthors for this assistance to my work, as well as those _cordons bleus_\nfrom whom I have practically learnt some few of them.\n\nI shall be very pleased to correspond with any of my readers who may\nwish to discourse on matters relative to the dinner table and its\nadjuncts, floral decorations among the number.\n\n                                              H. A. DE SALIS.\n\nHAMPTON LEA, SUTTON,\nSURREY, 1888.\n\n\n\n\nDRESSED GAME AND POULTRY\n\nÀ LA MODE.\n\n\nBlackbird Pie.\n\nStuff the birds with the crumb of a French roll soaked in a little milk,\nwhich put in a stewpan with 1-1/2 ounces of butter, a chopped shalot,\nsome parsley, pepper, salt, a grate of nutmeg, and the yolks of two\nsmall eggs. Stir over the fire till it becomes a thick paste, and fill\nthe insides of the birds with it. Line the bottom of the pie-dish with\nfried collops of rump steak, and place the birds on them neatly. Add\nfour hard-boiled yolks of eggs, and pour gravy all over, cover with puff\npaste, and bake for one hour and a quarter.\n\n\nBlanquette of Chicken.\n\nCut the meat from a cold boiled fowl, in small pieces. Stew down the\nbones in one pint of water, a bouquet garni, add a little salt and white\npepper to taste. Then strain the stock, add to it three or four peeled\nmushrooms finely minced, and let them cook in this sauce; when done put\nin the pieces of fowl to warm through, thicken with the yolks of two\neggs. Add lemon juice and serve hot.\n\n\nBlanquette of Chicken aux Concombres.\n\nBoil a chicken and cut it into neat joints. Cut a cucumber in pieces and\nfry in butter, put them in a little stock, which reduce; have reduced\nhalf a pint of velouté sauce with a few trimmings of cucumber in it.\nPour this through a tammy over the fowls, set it on the fire, and as\nsoon as it bubbles add a liaison of three yolks of eggs, work in a\nlittle butter and lemon juice, drain the pieces of cucumber in a cloth,\nthrow them in, and serve them in an open vol au vent, garnished with\nflowers of puff paste.\n\n\nCapilotade of Fowl or Turkey.\n\nTake the remains of a cold fowl or turkey, and cut it into neat joints.\nChop up three or four mushrooms, some parsley, a shalot, and a piece of\nbutter the size of a walnut, and let all fry together for a short time;\nthen moisten with a little good-flavoured stock, and thicken with flour.\nAdd salt to taste, let the sauce boil well, put in the pieces of bird\nfor a few minutes; take them out, arrange them on a dish, pour the sauce\nover, and serve.\n\n\nChicken à la Bonne Femme.\n\nCut up a chicken into joints, warm up three onions and three turnips in\nbutter; when brown add the pieces of fowl. Season with salt and pepper,\nsauté over the fire for ten minutes. Then stir in two tablespoonfuls of\nflour, and five minutes after add a tumblerful of stock, a wineglass of\nwhite wine, a bouquet of mixed herbs, and half a pound of peeled\ntomatoes, with all the pips carefully removed. Cook over a slow fire for\ntwenty-five minutes, add about half a pound of mushrooms peeled and cut\nup to the size of a shilling, leave it on the fire for ten minutes; take\nout the bouquet of herbs, season with an ounce of finely-chopped\nparsley, dish up the pieces of chicken in a pyramid, and pour the sauce\nand vegetables over.\n\n\nBraised Drumsticks of Chicken.\n\nBraise the drumsticks, and arrange them uprightly in tent fashion, and\nall around and between the drumsticks should be finely chopped salad.\nAlternate slices of tongue and ham should be placed at the edge of the\nsalad, and the border of the dish ornamented with thin rounds of\nbeetroot.\n\n\nChickens Chiringrate.\n\nCut off the feet of a chicken, break the breastbone flat, but be careful\nnot to break the skin. Flour it and fry it in butter, drain all the fat\nout of the pan, but leave the chicken in. Make a farce from half a pound\nof fillet of beef, half a pound of veal, ten ounces of cooked ham, a\nshalot, a bouquet garni, and a piece of carrot, pepper, and salt; cook\nin stock, and then pass it through a sieve, and lay this farce over the\nchicken. After stewing the chicken for a quarter of an hour, make a rich\ngravy from the stock, and add a few mushrooms and two spoonfuls of port\nwine; boil all up well, and pour over and around the chicken.\n\n\nChicken à la Continental.\n\nBeat up two eggs with butter, pepper, salt, and lemon-juice; then cut up\nthe fowls, dip them in the egg paste, and roll them in crumbs and fried\nparsley. Fry in clarified dripping, and pour over the dish any white or\ngreen vegetable ragoût, made hot; grate Parmesan over all.\n\n\nChicken à la Davenport.\n\nStuff a fowl with a forcemeat made of the hearts and livers, an anchovy,\nthe yolk of a hard-boiled egg, one onion, a little spice, and a little\nshred veal-kidney fat. Sew up the neck and vent, brown the fowl in the\noven, then stew it in stock till tender. Serve with white mushroom\nsauce.\n\n\nChicken à l'Italienne.\n\nPass a knife under the skin of the back, and cut out the backbone\nwithout injuring the skin or breaking off the rump, draw out the\nbreastbone and break the merrythought; flatten the fowl and put two\nskewers through it. Put it into a marinade of oil, sliced onion,\neschalot, parsley, thyme, and a bay leaf, spice, pepper, and salt, in\nwhich let them soak a few hours. Broil them before the fire; when done,\ndish the fowls, garnish them with hot pickle, serve them with a brown\nItalian sauce over, with a few onions in it.\n\n\nChicken à la Matador.\n\nCut a chicken into fillets and neat joints. Mince finely a Spanish onion\nand stew it with two ounces of butter, a few drops of lemon, pepper, and\nsalt; when it has been stewed for half an hour, pass it through a tammy,\nand mix in with it a good tablespoonful of aspic jelly. Mask the chicken\nwith this, and warm up the chicken in the bain-marie.\n\n\nFillets of Chicken à la Cardinal.\n\nCook some fillets of chicken in butter, and when done place them in a\ncircle round an entrée dish, with a mushroom between each fillet. Fill\nthe centre with Allemagne sauce, to which has been added some lobster\nand crayfish butter to make it red. Garnish with crayfish tails if\nhandy.\n\n\nFried Chicken à la Orly.\n\nCut up a chicken into joints. Season with salt, pepper, parsley, a\nbayleaf, and lemon juice, sprinkle with flour and fry in butter; dip\nsome sliced onions into flour and fry. When done, dish up the chicken in\na pyramid, garnish with the fried onions and cover with tomato sauce.\n\n\nFried Chicken à la Suisse.\n\nRoast a chicken and cut it into fillets and neat joints. Sprinkle some\nfinely minced herbs, mignonette pepper, and salt over them. Let them\nremain for an hour, then dip them in frying batter and fry. Serve with\nfried parsley and tomato purée.\n\n\nFricassee of Chicken.\n\nAmerican Recipe.\n\nClean, wash, and cut up the fowls. Lay them in salt and water for half\nan hour. Put them in a saucepan with enough cold water to cover them and\nhalf a pound of salt pork cut into thin strips. Cover closely and let\nthem heat very slowly. Then stew for over an hour, if the fowls _are\ntender_; if not they may take from three to four hours. They must be\ncooked _very slowly_. When tender, add a chopped onion, a shalot,\nparsley, and pepper. Cover closely again, and when it has heated to\nboiling, stir in a teacupful of milk, to which have been added two\nbeaten eggs and two tablespoonfuls of flour. Boil up and add an ounce of\nbutter. Arrange the chickens neatly in an entrée dish, pour the gravy\nover and serve.\n\n\nFritôt of Chicken aux Tomates.\n\nTake the remains of a boiled fowl and cut into pieces the size of a\nsmall cutlet. Shake a little flour over them and put them aside. Prepare\na batter made of half a pound of Vienna flour, the yolk of one egg, half\na gill of salad oil, and a gill of light coloured ale. Mix all these\ntogether lightly till it will mask the tip of your finger, add half a\npint of purée of tomato, and mix well together. Dip the chicken cutlets\ninto this batter, masking them well, and then put them in good lard and\nfry, and place them on a wire sieve as they are cooked, keeping them\nnear the fire to keep them hot and crisp. Dish piled in a pyramid with\ntomatoes whole and tomato sauce round.\n\n\nChicken Nouilles au Parmesan.\n\nTake a large fowl, and when trussed put a lump of butter inside it, and\ncover the breast with fat bacon. Put it into a stewpan with an onion, a\ncarrot, a piece of celery; cover with water and boil slowly for fifty\nminutes. Garnish the dish on which it is served with a pint of Nouilles\nboiled in a stewpan of boiling water for twenty minutes, drained, and\nthen put into another saucepan with two ounces of butter. Sprinkle in\ntwo ounces of Parmesan cheese and warm up for five minutes, then garnish\nthe fowl with them, and pour over it a pint of rich Béchamel sauce, in\nwhich two ounces of Parmesan cheese has been mixed. The Nouilles are\nmade by mixing half a pound of butter with three eggs till it becomes a\nthick smooth paste, roll it out very thin, cut it into strips an inch\nwide, and place four or five of these on the top of each other, shred\nthem in thin slices like Julienne vegetables, and drain them.\n\n\nChicken Pudding à la Reine.\n\nTake the meat from a cold fowl and pound it in a mortar, after removing\nthe skin and sinews. Boil in light stock a couple of good tablespoonfuls\nof rice. When it is done and has soaked up the rice, add the pounded\nchicken to it, with a gill of cream, pepper, and salt. If not moist\nenough, add a little more cream. Butter a plain mould, fill it with the\nrice and chicken, tie a pudding cloth closely over, and put the mould\ninto a stewpan of hot water to boil for an hour. The water should only\nreach about three-quarters up the mould. When done, turn it out and\nserve a good white mushroom sauce round it.\n\n\nChicken and Rice.\n\nPollo con Arroz (Spanish Recipe).\n\nCut a fowl into joints, wipe quite dry, and trim neatly. Put a wineglass\nof the best olive oil in a stewpan, let it get hot. Put in the chicken,\nstir and turn the joints and sprinkle with salt. When the chicken is a\ngolden brown add some chopped onions, one or two red chillies, and fry\nall together. Meanwhile have ready four tomatoes cut in quarters, and\ntwo teacupfuls of rice well washed. Mix these with the chicken and pour\nin a very small quantity of broth and stew till the rice is cooked and\nthe broth dried up. Sprinkle a little chopped parsley and serve in a\ndeep dish without a cover, as the steam must not be kept in.\n\n\nChicken in Savoury Jelly.\n\nTake a large chicken and roast it. Boil a calf's foot to a strong jelly,\ntake out the foot and skim off the fat; beat up the whites of two eggs\nand mix them with a quarter of a pint of white wine vinegar, the juice\nof one lemon, a little salt, a tablespoonful of tarragon vinegar, and a\nclaret-glassful of sherry. Put these to the jelly, and when it has\nboiled five or six minutes strain it through a jelly bag till clear.\nThen put a little into an oblong baking tin (big enough for a\nhalf-quartern loaf), and when it is nearly set put in the chicken with\nits breast downwards; the chicken having been masked all over with white\nsauce, in which aspic has been well mixed, and ornamented with a device\nof truffles cut in stars and kite shapes. When the chicken is in, fill\nup the mould gradually with the remainder of the jelly. Let it stand for\nsome hours, or place it on ice before turning it out.\n\n\nChicken with Spinach.\n\nPoach nicely in the gravy five or six eggs. Dress them on flattened\nballs of spinach round the dish and serve the fowl in the centre,\nrubbing down the liver to thicken the gravy and liquor in which the fowl\nhas been stewed, which pour over it for sauce, skimming it well.\nMushrooms, oysters, and forcemeat balls should be put into the sauce.\n\n\nChicken Stewed Whole.\n\nFill the inside of a chicken with large oysters and mushrooms and fasten\na tape round to keep them in. Put it in a tin pan with a cover, and put\nthis into a large boiling pot with boiling water, which must not quite\nreach up to the top of the pan the chicken is in. Keep it boiling till\nthe chicken is done, which would be in about an hour's time after it\nbegins to simmer. Remove the scum occasionally, and replenish with water\nas it boils away; take all the gravy from it and put it into a small\nsaucepan, keeping the chicken warm. Thicken the gravy with butter,\nflour, and add two tablespoonfuls of chopped oysters, the yolks of two\neggs boiled hard and minced fine, some seasoning, and a gill of cream.\nBoil five minutes and dish the fowls.\n\n\nCôtelettes à l'Ecarlate.\n\nMake a stiff forcemeat from the breast of a fowl or pheasant, or the two\nbreasts of partridge or grouse. Cut some slices of tongue into cutlet\nshapes. Take some more tongue, pound and pass it through a sieve and mix\nit with the forcemeat. Season with a little cayenne and mushroom\nflavour. Butter and fill up some cutlet moulds with the forcemeat, and\nsteam them in the oven. Then turn out the cutlets and place them on a\nbaking sheet. Glaze them and replace them in the oven for a few seconds.\nDish up alternately a cutlet of tongue with a cutlet of forcemeat; sauce\nthe whole with chaud-froid sauce, and garnish with chopped aspic and\nvery small red tomatoes.\n\n\nForced Capon.\n\nCut the skin of a capon down the breast, carefully slip the knife down\nso as to take out all the meat, and mix it with a pound of beef suet cut\nsmall. Beat this together in a marble mortar, and take a pint of large\noysters cut small, two anchovies, a shalot, a bouquet garni, a little\nmignonette pepper, and the yolks of four eggs. Mix all these well\ntogether, and lay it on the bones; then draw the skin over it, and sew\nup. Put the capon into a cloth, and boil it an hour and a quarter. Stew\na dozen oysters in good gravy thickened with a piece of butter rolled in\nflour; take the capon out of the cloth, lay it in its dish, and pour the\nsauce over it.\n\n\nCapon à la Nanterre.\n\nMake a stuffing with the liver of the capon, a dozen roasted chestnuts,\na piece of butter, parsley, green onions, very little garlic, two yolks\nof eggs, salt and pepper. Stuff the capon, and then roast it, covering\nit with buttered paper. When it is cooked, brush it over with the yolk\nof an egg diluted in a little lukewarm batter; sprinkle breadcrumbs over\nall, and let it brown, and serve with a sharp sauce.\n\n\nBraised Ducks à la St. Michel.\n\nRub some flour and oil over a couple of ducks, and brown them in the\noven for a short time. Mix together a cup of Chablis wine and a cup of\nbroth, season with pepper and salt; braise the ducks till they are\ntender. Chop some mushrooms, chives, and parsley; mix these in the broth\nin which the ducks were braised. Put the ducks to keep warm before the\nfire whilst the sauce 'reduces.' Dredge in a very little flour, and send\nup the ducks with the sauce round them.\n\n\nDuck à la Mode.\n\nDivide two ducks into quarters, and put them in a stewpan, and sprinkle\nover them flour, pepper, and salt. Put into the stewpan several pieces\nof butter, and fry the ducks till a nice brown colour. Remove the frying\nfat, and pour in half a pint of gravy and half a pint of port wine,\nsprinkle in more flour, add a bouquet garni, three minced shalots, an\nanchovy, and a dust of cayenne. Let them stew for twenty minutes, then\nplace them on a dish, remove the herbs, clear off the fat, and serve\nwith the sauce over them.\n\n\nBraised Duck à la Nivernaise.\n\nLine a braisingpan with slices of bacon, add the duck, cover it with\nbacon, and season with a bouquet of parsley, carrots, thyme, and bay\nleaves; moisten with stock and the same quantity of claret; fix the lid\nvery tightly on the pan, and simmer over a slow fire, with hot coals on\nthe lid of the stewpan. Cut up some turnips into balls, cook them in\nbutter till brown, drain and simmer in brown thickening, moistened with\na little stock. When the duck is cooked, dish up, and garnish with the\nturnips.\n\n\nDevilled Duck or Teal.\n\nIndian Recipe.\n\nTake a pound of onions, a piece of green ginger, and six chillies.\nReduce them to a pulp, then add two teaspoonfuls of mustard, pepper,\nsalt, cayenne, and chutney, two tablespoonfuls of ketchup, and half a\nbottle of claret. Cut up the duck or teal, and put it into the sauce,\nand let it simmer for a long time--the duck having been previously\nroasted.\n\n\nDuck à la Provence.\n\nRub the duck over with lemon-juice, fry it in butter for a few minutes;\nsprinkle it with flour; then add sufficient stock to cover it, one\ntablespoonful of ketchup, one carrot; cut up two onions, two cloves, a\nbouquet garni, pepper, and salt. Let this stew for an hour; then take\nout the duck, strain the gravy, and remove all fat, and add plenty of\nmushrooms. Put in some stoned and scalded olives, which boil up for ten\nminutes and dish up with the duck. The olives should have been soaked\nthree hours previously.\n\n\nDuck.\n\nCanard à Purée Perto.\n\nTake a pint of freshly shelled peas, boil them in a little thin stock,\nand rub them through a sieve; stew a duck in stock with a little salt, a\ndozen peppercorns, half a clove of garlic, six small onions, a bayleaf,\nand bouquet garni. When done, pass the same through a sieve, and add to\nit the purée of peas; reduce the whole to the consistency of thick\ncream. Serve the duck with the purée over it.\n\n\nSalmi of Duck.\n\nTake the giblets of a duck and the flesh off the carcase, and the bones,\nand stew them in equal quantities of claret and stock, salt, pepper, and\nthree shalots. Reduce and simmer till it is thick, then pass through a\nsieve, and take it off the fire before it boils. Cut up the duck into\nneat pieces and lay it in the stewpan with the gravy. Squeeze juice of\nstrained orange over it, and serve en pyramide.\n\n\nStewed Duck and Turnips.\n\nBrown the duck in a stewpan with some butter, peel and cut some young\nturnips into equal sizes, and brown in the same butter; stir in a little\npowdered sugar, reduce some stock to a thin brown sauce, season with\nsalt, pepper, a bouquet of parsley, chives, half a head of garlic, and a\nbayleaf. Stew the duck in this sauce, and when half cooked add the\nturnips, turn the duck from time to time, being careful not to break the\nturnips, cook slowly, and skim off all grease and serve.\n\n\nRoast Goose Stuffed with Chestnuts.\n\nPrepare a goose and stuff it with a mixture of minced bacon, the liver,\nsalt, pepper, grated nutmeg, and chestnuts, which have been previously\ncooked and peeled. Baste the goose well whilst roasting. When cooked,\nserve with its own gravy, and sprinkle with salt, pepper, and the juice\nof a lemon.\n\n\nGoose à la Royale.\n\nHaving boned the goose, stuff it with the following forcemeat:--Twelve\nsage leaves, two onions, and two apples, all shred very fine. Mix with\nfour ounces grated bread, four ounces of beef suet, two glasses of port\nwine, a grate of nutmeg, pepper, and salt to taste, the grated peel of a\nlemon, and the beaten yolks of four eggs; sew up the goose and fry in\nbutter till a light brown, and put it into two quarts of good stock and\nlet it stew for two hours, and till the liquor is nearly consumed; then\ntake up the goose, strain the liquor and take off the fat, add a\nspoonful of lemon pickle, the same of browning and port wine, a\nteaspoonful of essence of anchovy, a little cayenne and salt, boil it up\nand pour over the goose.\n\n\nGame and Macaroni.\n\nPut some ounces of macaroni into boiling stock, then add any game cut\ninto small joints three parts cooked. Add some lean raw ham, chopped\nmushrooms, pepper, and salt.\n\n\nGame Pie.\n\nTake ten ounces of veal and the same of veal fat, and chop it very fine,\nseason with pepper, salt, and cayenne. Arrange this as a lining round a\nchina raised pie mould. Fill in with fillets of grouse, pheasant,\npartridge, and hare, strips of tongue, ham, hard-boiled yolks of eggs,\nbutton mushrooms, pistachio nuts, truffles, and pâté de foie gras; cover\nin with more of the mince, then put a paste on the top for cooking it\nin. Bake from two and a half to three hours. Remove the paste and fill\nthe mould up with clarified meat jelly, partly cold; let this set.\nOrnament the top with chopped aspic and alternate slices of lemon and\ncucumber round. Croûtons of red and yellow aspic should be arranged at\nthe base of the mould.\n\n\nGame Rissoles au Poulet à la Carême.\n\nRoll out very thin three-quarters of a pound of Brioche paste. Place\nupon it, two inches from the edge, minced fowl or game, prepared as for\ncroquets, and rolled up between two teaspoons in balls the size of a\nnutmeg. Place these an inch from each other; egg the paste all round and\nfold the edge of it over the balls of mince. Press it firmly down, and\nwith a paste stamp two inches wide cut the rissoles, keeping the mince\nballs exactly in the centre of each. Lay them on a hot tin that the\npaste may rise and fry them in lard not too hot, turning them with a\nskewer. They will become quite round. When of a good golden colour drain\nthem and serve directly, and dish up in a pyramid.\n\n\nSalad of Game à la Francatelli.\n\nBoil eight eggs hard; shell them, and cut a thin slice off the bottom of\neach, cut each into four lengthwise. Make a very thin flat border of\nbutter about one inch from the edge of the dish the salad is to be\nserved on, fix the pieces of egg upright close to each other, the yolk\noutside, or alternately the white and yolk, lay in the centre a layer of\nfresh salad, and, having cut a freshly roasted young grouse into eight\nor ten pieces, prepare a sauce as follows: Put a spoonful of eschalots\nfinely chopped in a basin, one ditto of castor sugar, the yolk of one\negg, a teaspoonful of chopped parsley, tarragon, and chervil, and a\nlittle salt. Mix in by degrees four spoonfuls of oil and two of white\nvinegar. When well mixed put it on ice, and when ready to serve up whip\na gill of cream, which lightly mix with it. Then lay the inferior parts\nof the grouse on the salad, sauce over so as to cover each piece, then\nlay over the salad and the remainder of the grouse, sauce over, and\nserve. The eggs can be ornamented with a little dot of radish or\nbeetroot on the point. Anchovy and gherkin, cut into small diamonds, may\nbe placed between.\n\n\nGrouse in Aspic.\n\nRoast a brace of grouse, and skin them, and mask them with brown sauce\nin which aspic has been mixed. Cut some pistachio kernels into pretty\nshapes and ornament the birds. Take a large square tin mould (a baking\ntin will do), pour in a layer of pale aspic, and when it is all but cold\nplace the grouse on it breast downward, one turned one way and one the\nother, then gradually fill it up with the aspic, and put on ice. Turn\nout and decorate the base with chopped aspic, truffles, parsley, and\ntomatoes.\n\n\nCroustades of Grouse à la Diable.\n\nCut some fillets of grouse into cutlet shapes, also some slices of fried\nbread; sprinkle the latter with grated Parmesan cheese. Put the fillets\nof grouse on the cheesed bread. Mask them with a purée of tomatoes and a\ntiny dust of cayenne, then add a little more grated Parmesan, a little\nparsley, some breadcrumbs, and little pieces of butter. Salamander over\nand serve hot.\n\n\nGrouse à l'Ecossaise.\n\nTake a brace of grouse; put three ounces of good dripping or butter\ninside each, but not in the crop. Put them down to roast, and baste till\ncooked. Have a slice of toast in the pan under them just before they are\ncooked. Parboil the liver, pound with butter, salt, and cayenne, and\nspread it on the toast.\n\n\nGrouse à la Financière.\n\nTake a brace of grouse; boil the livers for a few minutes, and pound\nthem in a mortar with three ounces of butter, a little salt, pepper, a\ngrate of nutmeg, one tablespoonful of breadcrumbs, and three or four\nmushrooms. Stuff the grouse with this, truss and roast them, and baste\nplentifully. Take some sauce espagnole, add a few mushrooms and a dust\nof cayenne. Let all boil up together and serve with the grouse.\n\n\nFriantine of Grouse.\n\nCut with two cutters, one larger than the other, twelve thin flat pieces\nof pastry, put on the centre of the largest a tablespoonful of quenelle\nmeat and spread it out; in the centre of this put a tablespoonful of the\nbreast of a grouse, cut up with two ounces of lean ham. Mix well and put\nit into a stewpan with three-quarters of a pint of white cream sauce.\nWarm up and let it get cold. Cover this with the smaller sized pieces of\npastry, having wetted the inside of each with yolk of egg to make them\nadhere to the lowest pastry, press down tightly with the smallest\ncutters, and cut the bottom pastry to the size of the smaller cutter.\nEgg and breadcrumb. Arrange them in a frying basket and fry in boiling\nlard a nice brown. Serve garnished with fried parsley.\n\n\nGrouse Kromesquis.\n\nTake the remains of cold grouse and mince it very fine. Mix with it a\ncouple of tablespoonfuls of grated ham or tongue. Divide into small\nsausage shapes, dip each in batter, fry a pale golden colour and serve\nvery hot, garnished with crisped parsley.\n\n\nGrouse Marinaded.\n\nGerman Recipe.\n\nHang the birds as long as possible, then pluck and draw them and wipe\ntheir insides with a soft cloth. Mince an onion; take about a dozen\npeppercorns, twenty juniper berries, three bayleaves, and put these into\na gill of vinegar. Let the grouse soak in this for three days, turning\nthem two or three times daily, and pouring the marinade over them. Stuff\nthe birds with turkey forcemeat and lard the breasts. Place them in\nfront of a clear fire, baste constantly, and serve with slices of lemon\nround the dish.\n\n\nGrouse au Naturel.\n\nGrouse should be wiped inside, but never washed. Have a brisk fire, and\nwhen the bird is trussed, place it before a brisk fire, and before it is\ntaken down the breast should be basted with a little butter, and frothed\nand browned before it is sent up. A good sized grouse requires nearly\nthree-quarters of an hour to cook it. Serve fried breadcrumbs and bread\nsauce with grouse.\n\n\nGrouse Pie.\n\nTake two or three grouse, cut off the wings and legs, and tuck the\ndrumsticks in through a slit in the thigh; singe the birds; split them\nin halves; season them with pepper and salt. Place some pieces of very\ntender beefsteak at the bottom of a pie dish, add chopped mushrooms,\nparsley, shalot, and two teaspoonfuls of chutnee sauce, and sprinkle\nover the steak. Place the halves of the grouse neatly on the top; add a\nlittle more seasoning; moisten with sufficient gravy made from the\nnecks, legs, and wings. Cover with puff paste, and bake for about an\nhour and a half.\n\n\nPressed Grouse.\n\nBoil a brace of grouse till very tender; season, and then take away all\nthe meat and pull it out very fine, removing all skin. Add to the liquor\nin which they were boiled a tablespoonful of gelatine for each three\npounds of grouse, and keep stirring it in the boiling liquor till it is\nquite dissolved; place the grouse in a deep tin basin, and pour the\nliquor over it whilst hot; stir it well, so that the meat may become\nthoroughly saturated with the liquor, then turn a plate over it, put on\na heavy weight, let it get cold, and turn out. It may be made ornamental\nby boiling eggs hard, halving them, and putting the flat side on the\nbasin or mould in which the grouse has to be pressed.\n\n\nGrouse Salad.\n\nCut up a brace of cold grouse, and let them marinade in two\ntablespoonfuls of salad oil and the juice of a lemon, with a little salt\nand pepper, and let them remain in this for three hours. Pound the yolk\nof a hard-boiled egg very smooth, and mix it well with the yolk of a raw\negg, a teaspoonful of salt, a little pepper, a dust of cayenne, and half\na teaspoonful of finely-chopped onion, pouring in gradually drop by drop\nsome fine salad oil; stir constantly, and, as it thickens, add a little\ntarragon vinegar, then add more oil and vinegar till there is enough\nsauce. Put some shred lettuce on a dish, place some marinaded grouse on\nit, pour the dressing over, and garnish with fillets of anchovies,\nslices of hard-boiled eggs, and sprigs of chervil. Chop up some savoury\njelly, and place round it like a wreath.\n\n\nScallops of Grouse à la Financière.\n\nTake a brace of grouse, remove the skin, take off all the flesh, and\nscrape the flesh into very fine shreds. Chop up all the bones and necks,\nand put them into a saucepan with an onion, five sprigs of thyme, three\nof parsley, and a small carrot; cover with water, and let it boil slowly\nfor three hours, skimming when it boils. Make a mixture of about half a\npint of stock and two ounces of butter, and let boil. When the stock\nboils take 3-1/4 ounces of fine Vienna flour, and stir it well over the\nfire for about three minutes; then add the yolks of three eggs, stirring\nover the fire again. Take it then from the saucepan, and place it on a\nplate to get cool; then pound the shredded grouse till quite fine, using\na gill of cream; now pass it through a fine sieve. Take a plain round\nmould, holding a pint and a half, butter it, and ornament with truffles\ncut in devices. Cut up three or four mushrooms, and mix in with the\ngrouse panada, and fill the mould. Place buttered paper over it, and let\nit steam for half an hour; then turn out and let it get cold, and when\ncold cut it into a number of scallops of the same size. Egg and\nbreadcrumb them, dip them in clarified butter, and fry a pale gold\ncolour, and serve on a border of mashed potatoes. Make a sauce as\nfollows:--Boil one glass of Marsala in half a pint of brown sauce for\nfive minutes; place in the centre of them some mushrooms, truffles, and\ncockscombs, and pour sauce over these, but do not put the sauce over the\nscallops.\n\n\nGrouse Soufflé.\n\nTake the breasts of two grouse already cooked, pound them in a mortar\nwith two ounces of fresh butter and a very small piece of onion. Pass\nthem through a sieve, add four eggs, beat the whites to a stiff froth,\nseason with a little salt and dust of cayenne. Place it in a soufflé\ndish, and bake it in a quick oven.\n\n\nTimbale of Grouse à la Vitellius.\n\nSimmer a slice of tongue in a stewpan till nearly cooked. Cut it up into\nfine dice, and put it back into the saucepan with four truffles, four\ntomatoes, and an ounce of butter; add a little cornflour to thicken it.\nMoisten with half a pint of stock and a gill of claret. Reduce this,\nskim off all the fat; then add some finely-minced grouse, a sprig of\nparsley, and six anchovies which have been soaked in milk. Warm these\nover a slow fire, but do not let them boil; when done, pour into a fancy\nmould lined with light puff paste. Bake, turn out, and serve very hot,\ngarnished with crisped parsley.\n\n\nTo Cook Hare.\n\nThe great object in cooking a hare is to keep it as moist as possible,\nand therefore the hare must not be put too close to the fire in the\nfirst stage of roasting. Prepare a stuffing of quarter of a pound of\nbeef suet, chopped finely, two ounces of uncooked ham, a teaspoonful of\nchopped parsley, and two teaspoonfuls of dried mixed savoury herbs; add\nto this a quarter of the rind of a lemon, chopped very fine, a dust of\ncayenne pepper, salt, five ounces of breadcrumbs, and two whole eggs.\nPound this in the mortar. The liver may be minced and pounded in with\nthese ingredients if fresh. Place the stuffing in the hare, and place at\na distance from the fire; have plenty of dripping melted in the dripping\npan, and basting should go on and be continued from the very first. Then\nas the hare is getting on, baste with good milk, and then baste well\nwith butter; put the hare near the fire so as to froth the butter, and\nat the same time dredge the hare with some flour, so as to get a good\nbrown colour, and serve good rich gravy _round_ it with half a glass of\nport wine in a tureen, and currant jelly should be handed with it.\n\n\nHare Cutlets à la Chef.\n\nTake a freshly-killed hare, save the blood, paunch and skin it. Roast\nit, then cut off the fillets and cut them aslant and flatten them. Put\nthe bones of the hare into a saucepan with two onions sliced, one\ngood-sized carrot, a tiny piece of garlic, two cloves, and a bouquet\ngarni, and one bayleaf. Moisten with a glass of white wine, and let all\nthis steep and stew for an hour; then pass through a sieve, add a\nquarter of a boiled Spanish onion, and thicken with the blood of the\nhare. Make some hare stuffing, and moisten with some of the sauce, and\nmake it into cutlets. To form cutlets similar to the fillet cutlets,\nplace them in a frying-pan, and let them poach in water. Place the hare\nfillets and the stuffing cutlets in the pan and fry to a good colour in\nclarified butter. Put a small piece of the small bones of the hare in\nevery cutlet and dish them in a crown. Fill the centre with a mixture of\nsmall onions, mushrooms, and small pieces of bacon, cut into dice which\nhave been stewed in some of the sauce. Hand red currant jelly with this\ndish.\n\n\nHare en Daube.\n\nFrench Recipe.\n\nThe hare must not be too high; cut it into pieces as for jugged hare.\nRub into a stewpan a bit of bacon cut into squares; put the hare into\nit, together with thyme, bayleaf, spices, salt, pepper, and as much\ngarlic as will go on the point of a knife. Add a little bacon rind\nblanched and cut into the shape of lozenges. When the whole has a\nuniform colour, moisten with a good glass of white wine, put on a close\nlid, and stew for four hours upon hot cinders. When ready to be served,\npour away the lard, the spice, and the fat, and add a little essence of\nham, and send to table hot.\n\n\nHare Derrynane Fashion.\n\nTake three or four eggs, a pint of new milk, a couple of handfuls of\nflour, three yolks. Make them into a batter, and when the hare is\nroasting baste it well, repeating the operation till the batter thickens\nand forms a coating all over the hare. This should be allowed to brown\nbut not to burn.\n\n\nFilet de Lièvre à la Muette.\n\nCut a hare into fillets and stew them with a mince of chickens' livers,\ntruffles, shalots in a rich brown gravy with a tumblerful of champagne\nin it.\n\n\nGâteaux de Lièvre.\n\nMince the best parts of a hare with a little mutton suet. Season the\nmince highly with herbs and good stock. Pound it in a mortar with some\nred currant jelly and make up into small cakes with raw eggs. Flour and\nfry them and dish them in a pyramid.\n\n\nHare à la Matanzas.\n\nPaunch, skin, and clean a hare marinaded in vinegar for a couple of days\nwith four onions sliced, three shalots, a couple of sprigs of parsley,\npepper and salt. After two days take the hare out and drain it. Farce it\nwith a stuffing made of the flesh of a chicken, three whole eggs, the\nliver, and a slice of bacon, all finely chopped, mixed and seasoned with\npepper, salt, and a bouquet garni. Now put the hare in a stewpan with\nslices of bacon all over it, some sliced carrots, two onions stuck with\ncloves, and half a pint of consommé. Put some live coals on the lid of\nthe saucepan and let it cook for three hours.\n\n\nHare à la Mode.\n\nSkin the hare and cut it up in into joints and lard with fine fillets of\nbacon; place in an earthenware pot, with some slices of salt pork,\nchopped bacon, salt, mixed spice, a piece of butter, and half a pint of\nport wine; lay two or three sheets of buttered paper over it; fix on the\nlid tightly and simmer over a slow fire. When nearly done, stir in the\nblood, boil up and serve.\n\n\nJugged Hare.\n\nHave a wide-mouthed stone jar, and put into it some good brown gravy\nfree from fat. Next cut up the hare into neat joints; fry these joints\nin a little butter to brown them a little. Have the jar made hot by\nplacing it in the oven, and have a cloth ready to tie over its mouth.\nPut the joints already browned into the jar, and let it stand for\nfifteen minutes on the dresser. After this has stood some time untie the\njar and add the gravy, with a dust of cinnamon, six cloves, two\nbayleaves, and the juice of half a lemon. The gravy should have onion\nmade in it, and should be thickened with a little arrowroot. A\nwineglassful of port should be added, and a good spoonful of red currant\njelly should be dissolved in it. Next place the jar up to its neck in a\nlarge saucepan of boiling water, only taking care the jar is well tied\ndown. Let it remain in the boiling water from an hour to an hour and a\nhalf. Stuffing balls, made with the same as the stuffing for roast hare,\nrolled into small balls the size of marbles and thrown into boiling fat,\nshould be served with it.\n\n\nTo Roast Landrail.\n\nThis bird should be trussed like a snipe, and roasted quickly at a brisk\nbut not a fierce fire for about fifteen or sixteen minutes. It should be\ndished on fried breadcrumbs, and gravy served in a tureen.\n\n\nCroustade of Larks.\n\nBone two dozen larks, season, and put into each a piece of pâté de foie\ngras (truffled). Roll the larks up into a ball, put them in a pudding\nbasin, season them with salt and pepper, and pour three ounces of\nclarified butter over them, and bake in a hot oven for a quarter of an\nhour. Dish them in a fried bread croustade, made by cutting the crust\nfrom a stale loaf about eight inches long, which must be scooped out in\nthe centre and fried in hot lard or butter till it is a good brown.\nDrain it, and then place it in the centre of a dish, sticking it there\nwith a little white of egg. Put it into the oven to get hot; then put\nthe larks into it, and let it get cold. Garnish with truffles and aspic\njelly.\n\n\nLarks à la Macédoine.\n\nTake a dozen larks, fill them with forcemeat made of livers, a little\nveal and fat bacon, a dessertspoonful of sweet herbs; pepper and salt to\ntaste, and pound all well together in a mortar, and then stuff the birds\nwith it. Lay the larks into a deep dish, pour over them a pint of good\ngravy, and bake in a moderate oven for a quarter of an hour. Have a\npyramid of mashed potatoes ready, and arrange the larks round it, and\ngarnish with a macédoine of mixed vegetables.\n\n\nLark Pie.\n\nPluck, singe, and flatten the backs of two dozen larks, pound the trail\nand livers in a mortar with scraped bacon and a little thyme, stuff the\nlarks with this, and wrap each in a slice of fat bacon. Line a plain\nmould with paste, fill it with the larks, sprinkle them with salt and\npepper, spread butter all over them, and add two small bayleaves; cover\nwith paste, and bake for two hours and a quarter. Can be eaten hot or\ncold. It must be turned out of the mould.\n\n\nSalmi of Larks à la Macédoine, cold.\n\nTake a dozen larks, bone and stuff them with pâté de foie gras, and make\nthem as nearly as possible of the same size and shape. Make half a pint\nof brown sauce, adding a glass of sherry, a little mushroom ketchup, and\nan ounce of glaze; boil together, and reduce one half, adding a couple\nof spoonfuls of tomato juice; pass through a sieve, and, when nearly\ncold, add a gill of melted aspic. Mask the larks, and place them in a\nsauté pan, and cook them; take them out and remove neatly any surplus\nsauce, and dish them in the entrée dish in a circle. Take the contents\nof a tin of macédoine of vegetables boiled tender in a quart of water,\nadd a dust of salt, a saltspoonful of sugar, and a piece of butter the\nsize of a walnut; strain off, and, when cold, toss them in two\ntablespoonfuls of liquid aspic jelly. This macédoine should be piled up\nhigh and served in the centre. Garnish with chopped aspic round the\nlarks, and sippets of aspic beyond this.\n\n\nLark Puffs.\n\nMake some puff paste, and take half a dozen larks, and brown them in a\nstewpan with a little butter; then take them out and drain them, and put\ninto the body of each bird a small lump of fresh butter, a little piece\nof truffle, pepper and salt, and a tablespoonful of thick cream. Truss\neach lark, and wrap it in a slice of fat bacon; cover it with puff\npaste rolled out to the thickness of a quarter of an inch, and shape it\nneatly; put the puffs in a buttered tin, and bake in a brisk oven for\nten minutes.\n\n\nLeveret à la Minute.\n\nSkin, draw, and cut a leveret into joints; toss in a saucepan with\nbutter, salt, pepper, and a bouquet garni. When nearly cooked, add some\nchopped mushrooms, eschalots, parsley, a tablespoonful of flour, a gill\nof stock, and a gill of claret; as soon as it boils, pour into a dish\nand serve.\n\n\nLeveret à la Noël.\n\nTake a leveret, cut off the fillets and toss them in the oven in a\nsauté-pan in butter; when cold, slice these fillets in shreds as for\nJulienne vegetables. Shred likewise some truffles, mushrooms, and\ntongue, and bind these together with two tablespoonfuls of good stock,\nin which a glass of port has been put, two cloves, the peel of a Seville\norange, and a few mushrooms; thicken with butter and flour and tammy.\nMake some game forcemeat with the legs, and with it line some little\nmoulds; fill up the empty space with the shredded game and vegetables\nand then cover with a layer of forcemeat. Poach these moulds in a deep\nsauté-pan, and when done dish them up round a ragoût composed of\ntruffles, mushrooms, quenelles, and cockscombs. Sauce the entrée with\ngravy made from the bones and thickened. This entrée may be served cold,\nwhen it should be mixed with aspic, and garnished with it also.\n\n\nSalmi of Moor Fowl or Wild Duck.\n\nCarve the birds very neatly, and strip every particle of skin and fat\nfrom the legs, wings, and breasts, braise the bodies well and put them\nwith the skin and other trimmings into a very clean stewpan. Add two or\nthree sliced shalots, a bayleaf, a small blade of mace and a few\npeppercorns, then pour in a pint of good veal gravy, and boil briskly\ntill reduced nearly half, strain the gravy, pressing the bones well,\nskim off the fat, add a dust of cayenne and squeeze in a few drops of\nlemon; heat the game very gradually in it, but it must not be allowed to\nboil. Place sippets of fried bread round the dish, arrange the birds in\na pyramid, give the same a boil and pour over. A couple of wineglasses\nof port or claret should be mixed with the gravy.\n\n\nOrtolans in Cases.\n\nBone as many ortolans as are required, have ready about three rashers of\nbacon chopped fine, which must be put into a sauté-pan with two shalots,\none bayleaf, a bouquet garni, half a teaspoonful of black pepper and\nsalt to taste. These must be fried till coloured; then add half a pound\nof calf's liver, cut small, and fried till brown; next place them in a\nmortar and pound them well, add the yolks of three hard boiled eggs and\nsome truffle cuttings, pound again, and pass through a sieve; stuff the\nortolans with this forcemeat, roll them up, and place them in a\nwell-oiled paper case, and then bake in a quick oven. Pour over each\ncase before serving a gravy made from the bones and trimmings of the\nbirds, half a pint of rich gravy and a glass of claret, which should be\nreduced one half: send to table as hot as possible.\n\n\nOrtolans à la Périgourdine.\n\nCover the ortolans with slices of bacon, and cook them in a bain-marie\nmoistened with stock and lemon juice. Take as many truffles as there are\nortolans, scoop out the centres and boil them in champagne (Saumur will\ndo). When done, pour a little purée of game into each truffle, add the\nortolans, warm for a few seconds in the oven, and serve.\n\n\nOrtolans aux Truffes.\n\nTake as many even large-sized truffles as ortolans; make a large round\nhole in the middle of each truffle, and put in it a little chicken\nforcemeat. Cut off the heads, necks, and feet of the birds, season with\nsalt and pepper, and lay each bird on its back in one of the truffles.\nArrange them in a stewpan, lay thin slices of bacon over them, pour over\nthem some good stock, into which a gill of Madeira has been poured, and\nthen simmer them very gently for twenty-five minutes. Dish the ortolans\non toast, and strain the gravy over them.\n\n\nPartridges à la Barbarie.\n\nTruss the birds, and stuff them with chopped truffles and rasped bacon,\nseasoned with salt and pepper and a tiny dust of cayenne. Cut small\npieces of truffles in the shape of nails; make holes with a penknife in\nthe breasts of the birds; widen the holes with a skewer, and fill them\nwith the truffles; let this decoration be very regular. Put them into a\nstewpan with slices of bacon round them, and good gravy poured in enough\nto cover the birds. When they have been stewed for twenty minutes glaze\nthem; dish them up with a Financière sauce (see 'Entrées à la Mode').\n\n\nPartridge Blancmanger aux Truffes.\n\nBoil a brace of partridges and let them get cold. Melt about a pint of\naspic jelly and take a plain round quart mould and pour about a gill of\naspic jelly into it to mask it by turning the mould round and round in\nthe hands till the inside has been entirely covered by the jelly, pour\naway any that does not adhere, and place the mould on ice at once. Cut a\nfew large truffles in slices and ornament the bottom of the mould with a\nstar, pour on about two tablespoonfuls of a little cold liquid aspic.\nPut into a stewpan a pint of aspic and whisk it till it becomes white as\ncream, then mask the mould with this; pour in enough to half fill it,\nthen turn it round and round, covering all the inside of the mould,\npouring out any superfluity. Skin the partridges and cut off all the\nmeat and chop it up: then pound it with a gill of cream in the mortar,\nand then rub through a fine wire sieve. Place this in a large stewpan,\nadd half a pint of cream, and mix it with the partridge meat. Collect\nthe aspic jelly, melt it, and whip it up and add it to the partridge;\nthen fill the mould with this and pour in a little liquid aspic; place\non ice. To serve this, dip it into warm water the same as a mould of\njelly, turn it out, and garnish with aspic croûtons alternately with\nvery small tomatoes; around the top arrange a wreath of chervil.\n\n\nPartridges à la Béarnaise.\n\nWipe the inside of the partridges with a damp cloth. Cut off the heads,\nand truss the legs like boiled fowls. Put them into a stewpan with two\ntablespoonfuls of oil and a piece of garlic the size of a pea, and shake\nthem over a clear fire till slightly browned all over. Then pour over\nthem two tablespoonfuls of strong stock, one glassful of sherry, and two\ntablespoonfuls of preserved tomatoes, with a little salt and plenty of\npepper. Simmer all gently together until the partridges are done enough,\nand serve very hot. The sauce should be highly seasoned.\n\n\nBlanquette of Partridge aux Champignons.\n\nRaise the flesh of a cold partridge, take off the skin; cut the flesh\ninto scallops; put some velouté sauce in a stewpan with half a basket of\nmushrooms skinned and sliced. Reduce the sauce till very thick, adding\nenough cream to make it white. Throw it over the partridge scallops, to\nwhich add a few mushrooms.\n\n\nBroiled Partridges.\n\nTake off the heads and prepare them as if for the spit. Break down the\nbreast bone and split them entirely up the back and lay them flat. Shred\nan eschalot as fine as possible and mix it with breadcrumbs. Dip the\npartridges in clarified butter and cover inside and outside with the\ncrumbs. Broil them over a clear fire, turning them frequently for a\nquarter of an hour, and serve them up with mushroom sauce.\n\n\nChartreuse of Partridges.\n\nBoil some carrots and turnips separately, and cut them into pieces two\ninches long and three quarters of an inch in diameter. Braise a couple\nof small summer cabbages, drain well, and stir over the fire till quite\ndry; then roll them on a cloth and cut them into pieces about two inches\nlong and an inch thick. Roast a brace of partridges, and cut them into\nneat joints. Butter a plain entrée mould, line it at the bottom and the\nsides with buttered paper to form a sort of wall, then fill it up with\ncabbage and the pieces of partridge in alternate layers. Steam the\nchartreuse to make it hot, turn it out of the mould upon an entrée dish,\nand garnish with turnips, carrots, and French beans. Send good brown\nsauce to table with it.\n\n\nPartridges aux Choux.\n\nTruss a brace of partridges for boiling, and mince about half a pound of\nfat bacon or pork, and put it into a saucepan on the fire; when it is\nboiling, immerse the birds quickly, and sauté them till nicely coloured.\nHave ready a small savoy, which has been well washed and drained, chop\nit up and place it in the saucepan with the partridges, a bouquet garni,\ntwo pork sausages, pepper and salt to taste; add about half a pint of\nstock, and let all simmer together for two and a half hours. When ready\nto serve, remove the bouquet garni, and serve the chopped cabbage round\nthe birds, and the sausages split and divided into four pieces each.\n\n\nCold Glazed Fillets of Partridge.\n\nRoast a brace of partridges, fillet them, pound the meat from the\ncarcases in a mortar with truffles and mushrooms; simmer the bones in\nsome vin de Grave, with truffle trimmings, shalots, and a bayleaf, which\nreduce on the fire to about three-quarters the quantity; squeeze through\na cloth, add two tablespoonfuls of clear stock to it, and stir half of\nit into the pounded meat; mix it thoroughly, and stir it until it boils;\npass it through a tammy, and leave to get cold. Arrange the fillets,\nwith a tomato cut the same shape between each one, in a circle round an\nentrée dish; fill the centre with the purée, cover the whole with the\nremainder of the sauce, and garnish with croûtons of aspic jelly.\n\n\nPartridges à la Cussy.\n\nRemove all the bones from the birds except the thigh bones and legs,\nstuff them with a forcemeat composed of chopped sweetbread, mushrooms,\ntruffles, and cockscombs which have been boiled; sew up the birds to\ntheir original shape, hold them over hot coals till the breasts are\nquite firm, and cover them with buttered paper. Line a stewpan with a\nslice of ham, two or three onions, carrots, a bouquet garni, a little\nscraped bacon, the partridge bones which have been pounded, salt, and\npepper; moisten with stock. As soon as the vegetables get soft, add the\npartridges, and simmer over a slow fire. When done, dish up the birds,\npass the sauce through a tammy, skim off the fat, reduce, and add a few\ntruffles or slices of mushrooms, and pour over the partridges.\n\n\nPartridges with Mushrooms.\n\nTake a brace of birds, and prepare about half a pound of button\nmushrooms, and place them in a stewpan with an ounce and a half of\nmelted butter; add a slight sprinkling of salt and cayenne, and let them\nsimmer for about nine minutes, then turn out all into a plate, and when\nquite cold put it into the bodies of the partridges; sew and truss them\nsecurely and roast them in the usual way, and serve either mushroom\nsauce round them, or they can be served up with their own gravy only,\nand bread sauce handed.\n\n\nPartridge Pie.\n\nCut the breasts and legs off two or three birds, sprinkle them with\npepper and salt, and cook them in the oven smothered in butter, and\ncovered with a buttered paper. Pound the carcases, and make them into\ngood gravy, but do not thicken it.\n\nTake the livers of the birds with an equal quantity of calf's liver,\nmince both, and toss them in butter over the fire for a minute or two;\nthen pound them in a mortar with an equal quantity of bacon, two shalots\nparboiled, with pepper, salt, powdered spice, and sweet herbs to taste.\nWhen well pounded, pass it through a sieve; put a layer of forcemeat\ninto a pie-dish, arrange the pieces of partridge on it, filling up the\ninterstices with the forcemeat; then pour in as much gravy as is\nrequired, put on the paste cover, and bake for an hour. When done, a\nlittle more boiling hot gravy may be introduced through the hole in the\ncentre of the crust. A little melted aspic jelly may be added to the\ngravy.\n\n\nPartridge Pudding.\n\nTake a brace of well-kept partridges, cut them into neat joints and skin\nthem; line a quart pudding basin with suet crust, place a thinnish slice\nof rump steak at the bottom of the dish cut into pieces, put in the\npieces of partridge, season with pepper and salt, and pour in about a\npint of good dark stock well clarified from fat, then put on the cover\nand boil in the usual way.\n\n\nPartridges à la Reine.\n\nTruss a brace of partridges for boiling, fill them with good game\nforcemeat, with two or three truffles cut up in small pieces, and tie\nthin slices of fat bacon over them. Slice a small carrot into a stewpan\nwith an onion, four or five sticks of celery, two or three sprigs of\nparsley, and an ounce of fresh butter. Place the partridges on these,\nbreasts uppermost, pour over them half a pint of good stock, cover with\na round of buttered paper, and simmer as gently as possible till the\npartridges are done enough. Strain the stock, free it carefully from\ngrease, thicken it with a little flour and as much browning as is\nnecessary; flavour with a little cayenne, half a dozen drops of essence\nof anchovy, and a tablespoonful of sherry. Stir this sauce over a gentle\nfire till it is on the point of boiling, then pour it over the\npartridges already dished up on toast, and serve instantly.\n\n\nSalmi of Partridge à la Chasseur.\n\nTake a couple of cold roast partridges--they should be rather\nunder-cooked--cut into neat joints, removing all skin and sinew, and lay\nthe pieces in a stewpan with four tablespoonfuls of salad oil, six\ntablespoonfuls of claret, the strained juice of a lemon, salt, pepper,\nand cayenne to taste.\n\nSimmer gently for a few minutes till the salmi is hot throughout, then\nserve directly. Garnish with fried sippets.\n\n\nScalloped Partridges.\n\nTake the fillets of a brace of partridges, sauté them in butter till\nfirm, drain them, and put in some good game stock and two tablespoonfuls\nof Allemagne sauce; when boiling put in the scalloped partridges, with\ntwo or three peeled mushrooms, a small piece of butter, and the juice of\nhalf a lemon. Dish up the scallops in a circle, and fill the same in the\ncentre.\n\n\nPartridges à la Sierra Morena.\n\nTake a brace of partridges properly trussed; cut into dice one inch\nthick a little less than half a pound of bacon, and put them in the\nstewpan; cut two large onions in quarters, take six whole black peppers,\na little salt, one bayleaf, half a gill of vinegar, one gill of port\nwine, one gill of water, one tablespoonful of salad oil, and put all\nthese ingredients into the stewpan; put on the lid, and cover the\nstewpan with half a sheet of brown kitchen paper; put the stewpan on a\nslow fire to stew for two hours; then take out the partridges and dish\nthem and put round some of the quarters of onions which have been\nstewed. Pass the gravy through a sieve and send to table.\n\n\nPartridge Soufflé.\n\nRoast a partridge, chop and pound the flesh in a mortar with a few\nspoonfuls of Béchamel sauce and a small piece of butter. Season well;\nmix with this four eggs, and strain the whole through a sieve into a\nbasin. Beat the whites of the eggs stiffly, and mix lightly with the\npurée. Put all into the soufflé dish, and let it bake in the oven for\ntwenty minutes. Cover the top with a piece of paper to prevent its\nburning.\n\n\nPartridge Soufflé.\n\nAnother way.\n\nSkin a brace of cold roast partridges, cut off all the meat, and pound\nit in a mortar with the birds' livers; warm up in a saucepan with a\nlittle reduced stock, and pass through a tammy. Break up the bones and\nput them into a saucepan with a good brown sauce and stock, and reduce\ntill nearly a glaze; add the partridge purée and half an ounce of\nbutter, two yolks of eggs, and the two whites whipped, which must be\nstirred in gradually; pour into a soufflé dish, and bake as soon as the\nsoufflé has risen sufficiently. Serve it _at once_.\n\n\nPerdreaux en Surprise.\n\nTake two roasted partridges, cut out the whole of the breasts in a\nsquare piece, so as to make a square aperture, clean away all the\nspongy substance from the interior, and make a _salpicon_ to be put\ninside the birds as follows:--Cut into very small dice the flesh taken\nout of the birds, also some truffles and pepper and salt. Put these into\na little velouté sauce, and with this stuff the birds. Dip them into\neggs and breadcrumbs put some bits of butter all over, and fry them of a\nnice colour. Dish up and serve with Espagnole sauce.\n\n\nStewed Partridges.\n\nLard a brace of partridges, and place them in a stewpan with onions,\ncarrots, rashers of bacon, a bouquet garni, and equal quantities of\nstock and light claret, and simmer over a slow fire, skimming\nconstantly. When done, dish up the partridges, reduce the sauce, and\npass through a sieve and pour over the birds.\n\n\nPartridge à la Toussenel.\n\nTake a brace of partridges, stuff them with the livers of the birds\nminced up together with butter and some truffles which have been cooked\nin champagne; wrap each bird up in a figleaf or vineleaf, and over these\nplace a sheet of buttered paper. Then put the birds on the spit, and\nroast till about three-fourths cooked; then take off the spit, and under\nthe four members of each bird spread a mixture of breadcrumb worked into\na farce with pepper, butter, parsley, shalot, and grated nutmeg. Replace\nthe birds on the spit, and let them finish roasting, basting them\ncontinually alternately with broth and champagne. These drippings, to\nwhich the grated peel of one lemon and the juice of a Seville orange are\nadded, form the sauce to be served with it.\n\n\nPartridge Tartlets.\n\nBouchées de Perdreaux.\n\nTake the breasts of two cooked partridges, about six ounces, and cut\ninto very small pieces. Mince two ounces of lean ham, one truffle, and\nsix mushrooms; stir this mixture into a gill of white sauce. Butter nine\nsmall moulds, line them neatly with this mixture, smooth well over with\na hot wet knife, fill in with minced partridge, coat them neatly over\nthe top with the quenelle meat, steam them for twenty minutes; dish on a\ncircle of mashed potato, pour good white sauce over and round them, and\nserve French beans or tomatoes in the centre.\n\n\nPartridge à la Vénitienne.\n\nPut a brace of partridges into a stewpan with butter, two glasses of\nChablis, and two glasses of stock, add a bouquet garni, very little\ngarlic, two cloves, salt and pepper; let them simmer gently. Take them\noff when done, pass the gravy through a sieve, add a little butter and\nflour to thicken it, a small piece of glaze, a little cayenne and salt.\nPour the sauce over the partridges, and cover over all with two\nspoonfuls of grated Parmesan cheese; put a few breadcrumbs and pieces of\nclarified butter on this, and set the whole on a baking sheet in the\noven. Brown the birds well, and serve with sauce espagnole or sauce\npiquante.\n\n\nPintail.\n\nThis bird should be roasted at a clear quick fire, well floured when\nfirst laid down, turned briskly, and basted with butter _constantly_. It\ntakes about twenty-five minutes to roast, and then it should be laid\ndown before the fire for two or three more, when it will yield a very\nrich gravy. Score the breast, and sprinkle a little cayenne on it, and\nsend cut lemon up to table to hand with it.\n\n\nBoiled Pheasant.\n\nCover with buttered paper and simmer as gently as possible till it is\ndone enough. Pour either celery, horseradish, oyster, or soubise sauce\nover it, and serve more in a tureen.\n\n\nBoudins of Pheasant à la Richelieu.\n\nTake a cold pheasant and pick the meat from it; remove the skin and\nsinews, and pound the flesh in a mortar to a smooth paste. Mix its\nweight with the same quantity of pounded potatoes or panada and six\nounces of fresh butter. Mix these thoroughly, pound them together, and\nseason highly with salt and cayenne, and a trifle of mace. Bind together\nwith the yolks of four eggs, one at a time, two tablespoonfuls of white\nsauce, and last of all two tablespoonfuls of boiled onions chopped\nsmall. Spread this mixture out on a dish, and make it up into small\ncutlets about three inches long, two inches wide, and a quarter of an\ninch thick. Drop these carefully into very hot water, and poach them\ngently for a few minutes. The water must not boil. Take them up, drain,\nand let them get cold; then egg and breadcrumb them, and fry them in hot\nbutter a nice pale colour. Make a gravy by peeling and frying four\nonions in butter till lightly browned, dredge an ounce of flour over\nthem, and pour upon them half a pint of stock, a glassful of claret, the\nbones of the pheasant, and pepper and salt. Simmer over fire for twenty\nminutes, strain through sieve, and it is ready for use. Serve the\nboudins in a circle with the gravy round.\n\n\nPheasant à la Bonne Femme.\n\nPut a well-hung pheasant in a buttered stewpan with three ounces of good\nbeef dripping and six ounces of ham cut into dice. Let the pheasant fry\nover fire till it is nicely and lightly browned, then add a\ntablespoonful of chutnee and three large Spanish onions cut in rings;\ncover the saucepan, and let it simmer till all are cooked. Take up the\nbird and put it on a dish, beat the onions over the fire for ten\nminutes, season with pepper and salt, and serve round the pheasant.\n\n\nPheasant à la Brillat-Savarin.\n\nHang a pheasant till tender, pluck, draw, and lard it carefully. Bone\nand draw two woodcocks, keep the trail separate, throw away the\ngizzards, chop up the meat with beef marrow which has been cooked by\nsteam, scraped bacon, pepper, salt, mixed herbs and truffles; fill the\npheasant with this stuffing, which fix in with a piece of bread the\nshape of a cork and tie it round with fine thread. Lay a thick slice of\nbread two inches broader than the pheasant in the dripping pan; pound\nthe tail of the woodcock in a mortar with truffles, add anchovy, a\nlittle scraped bacon, and a lump of fresh butter; spread a thick layer\non the bread, roast the pheasant over it so as to catch all the dripping\nand dish up on it.\n\n\nCrème of Pheasants à la Moderne.\n\nTake two pheasants, remove the skin from the breast, and cut from each\nthe two large fillets and the two under ones; remove every particle of\nthe white flesh that did not come away with the fillets, leaving the\nlegs and pinions on the carcases.\n\nSpread each fillet on a board and with a knife scrape the flesh from the\nskin of the fillet. When the flesh is removed from the four large\nfillets and from the four smaller ones, and little remnants gathered\nfrom the carcases, place them in a mortar and pour in a gill of cream\nand pound well for a few minutes, then rub through clean wire sieve,\nplace it back in the mortar and keep adding, a gill at a time, more\ncream until one pint of cream is used up; now take two plain cylinder\nmoulds, well buttered and ornamented according to fancy with truffles\n(or small dariole moulds may be used), fill carefully and place a piece\nof buttered paper on the top of the mould or moulds, and place them in a\nstewpan with about a pint of boiling water and let them simmer very\ngently for twenty minutes and turn out. Make a sauce to serve with this\ndish of the carcases, &c., mixed with rich Béchamel sauce, and when\ndished there should be a garnish of peas, mushrooms, or shred truffles.\n\n\nPheasant Cutlets.\n\nTake a well-hung young pheasant, cut it when prepared into neat joints.\nTake out the bones carefully and shape the joints into cutlets; flatten\nthese with the cutlet-bat, season rather highly and cover them thickly\nwith egg and finely-grated breadcrumbs. Put the bones and trimmings into\na saucepan with a carrot, a turnip, an onion, a handful of parsley, a\nbouquet garni, a bayleaf, pepper, salt, and as much water as will cover\nthem. Let them stew slowly till the flavour of the herbs is drawn out,\nthen thicken gravy and strain. Fry the cutlets in hot fat till a bright\nbrown. Serve on a hot dish in a circle with one of the small bones stuck\ninto each cutlet; pour the gravy round.\n\n\nGalantine of Pheasant à la Mode.\n\nBone a pheasant, cut off the legs and press what is left of the leg\ninside, and cut away any sinews. Take three-quarters of a pound of\nsausage meat, a dozen oysters, three or four truffles, a slice of\ntongue, and three rashers of fat bacon. Cut the truffles into _small_\ndice, also the tongue and bacon. Mix all together with the sausage meat,\nadding a little cayenne pepper, half a teaspoonful of herbs mixed, half\nan ounce of melted gelatine, and two yolks of eggs. Mix well together,\nand spread over the pheasant evenly. Then roll it up lengthways and\ntightly in a cloth and place it in saucepan to boil for an hour, then\ntake it out and remove the cloth carefully. To serve this dish, cut it\nup into thin slices and dish them in a circle, letting one piece overlap\nthe other uniformly all round. Place a little cress salad compressed\ninto a ball on the top, and at the base a few croûtons of aspic jelly at\nan equal distance apart, and a little chopped aspic between. Sprinkle a\nlittle over the salad ball at the top.\n\n\nFritôt of Crème of Pheasant.\n\nTake eight tartlet tins, not too large, butter them, and fill about\nthree parts full of crème of pheasant and place them in the oven for a\nfew minutes. When quite firm to the touch, remove them from oven, and\nwhen cold dip each one into a light batter and fry in clean lard of a\nlight brown. The batter should be made with half a pound of Vienna\nflour, the half of a yolk of egg, a dessertspoonful of salad oil, and a\ngill of pale ale. Mix all these together lightly till it will mask the\npoint of one's finger; if too thick, add a drop or two more ale. Serve\nwith brown or mushroom sauce. Send this dish very hot to table.\n\n\nPartridge à la Crème.\n\nSee Pheasant ditto.\n\n\nFritôt of Partridge à la Crème.\n\nSee Pheasant ditto.\n\n\nPheasant and Macaroni.\n\nPull the flesh with two forks from a cold roast pheasant. Put the bones\nand trimmings into a saucepan with enough water to cover them, and let\nthem simmer till it is much reduced. Add two shalots, a little salt and\npepper, a grate of nutmeg, a gill of mushroom ketchup and the same of\nMarsala. Thicken with flour and butter, and let all simmer gently for\ntwenty minutes; strain it, and put it back into the saucepan for it to\nboil up. Just before the pheasant is to be served, put the meat into the\ngravy and let it warm through without boiling. After it is dished, place\nround it some macaroni made as follows:--Have two pints of boiling\nwater, into which plunge four ounces of macaroni, add pepper and salt,\nand simmer gently for twenty minutes. Drain it, and put it into a pint\nof good stock, with a little salt, a teaspoonful of unmixed mustard and\na dust of cayenne. Let it all boil till the macaroni is tender, then add\na tablespoonful of Parmesan cheese and an ounce of butter. Toss it over\nfire till all is well mixed, then serve.\n\n\nPheasant Pie with Oysters.\n\nBoil a pheasant till almost done; it will finish cooking in the pie.\nMake as much gravy as the size of the bird will require, add half a cup\nof milk, season and thicken it. Make a good pie-crust, and then put the\npieces of pheasant in a pie-dish, which must be hot. Scatter some raw\noysters among the pieces of pheasant, pour over all enough gravy to fill\nthe dish to the depth of one inch, and cover it with the crust, which\nmust be pressed against the edge so that it will adhere. Let it bake for\nhalf an hour. After it is cooked, pour in remainder of the gravy in the\nslit in the top of the crust.\n\n\nPheasant des Rois.\n\nHave a pound of the best preserved truffles, such as can be obtained at\nBenoist's, in Wardour Street, stew them in a mixture of a quarter of a\npound of butter, a large tablespoonful of finest Lucca oil, and half a\npound of bacon fat scraped into shreds. Thoroughly cook the truffles, so\nthat a silver fork can be stuck into them without pushing hard. Stuff a\npheasant with them and sew it up. Cover the breast with a slice of fat\nbacon, and put two or three slices beneath it. Place round the pheasant\npieces of veal and ham cut into small cubes the size of dice, add a few\ncarrots, an onion or two, salt and pepper. Pour on it a claretglassful\nof Chablis, cover the saucepan, place it on a slow fire and use the\nsalamander, then let it stew for an hour. When ready to serve, strain\nthe same, removing all grease, and pour over the bird.\n\n\nPheasant à la Sainte Alliance.\n\nAn expensive dish.\n\nTake a well-hung cock pheasant and truss it for roasting. Farce it with\na stuffing made of two woodcocks' flesh and internals (or snipes')\nfinely minced with two ounces of fresh butter, some salt, pepper, and a\npinch of cayenne, a bouquet garni finely powdered, and as many chopped\ntruffles as will be required to fill the pheasant. Truss the bird and\nroast, basting it well with fresh butter. Whilst roasting, lay in the\npan a round of toast, upon which a little of the stuffing has been\nspread, and serve the bird on it. Bread sauce and brown gravy should be\nhanded round with it.\n\n\nSalmi of Pheasant.\n\nHalf roast a pheasant, and when it is nearly cold cut it into neat\njoints, removing the skin. Put the bones and trimmings into a saucepan\nwith an ounce of fresh butter, a bayleaf, and a bouquet garni, and stir\nthese over a slow fire till lightly brown, then pour over half a pint of\nEspagnole sauce and a glassful of claret. Let all simmer for a quarter\nof an hour. Strain the gravy, skim it carefully, add a pinch of cayenne\nand the juice of half a lemon, then put it back into the saucepan with\nthe pieces of game. Heat these up slowly. When cooked, dish up and pour\nthe hot sauce over them and garnish with fried sippets. A little orange\njuice and a lump of sugar is an improvement to the sauce.\n\n\nPheasant Stewed with Cabbage.\n\nTruss a pheasant for boiling. Divide a large cabbage into quarters, soak\nthem after cutting off the stalks, plunge them into boiling water and\nboil for about ten minutes. Take them out, drain them and press all the\nwater from them, then put them into the stewpan. Lay the pheasant well\nin the cabbage, add six ounces of good bacon, half a pound of Bologna\nsausage, three pork sausages, some parsley, a bayleaf, a bouquet garni,\none carrot, an onion stuck with four cloves, a shalot, and some pepper.\nPour in as much stock as will cover the whole, and cover the pan closely\nand bring to a boil and let it simmer slowly for an hour. Then take out\nthe bird and the meat and keep them warm whilst the cabbage is drained,\npeppered, and salted, and steamed over fire till dry. Then place it on\na dish, arrange the pheasant on it and all the other adjuncts round it.\nServe poivrade sauce in a tureen.\n\n\nPheasant Stuffed with Oysters.\n\nTruss a pheasant for roasting and fill it with forcemeat made of two\ndozen oysters pounded in the mortar, with a tablespoonful of brown\nbreadcrumbs, half an ounce of fresh butter, a dessertspoonful of lemon\njuice, a boned anchovy, and a little cayenne. Mix these ingredients\nthoroughly and bind them with the yolk of an egg. Cover the bird with\nthin slices of fat bacon tied on securely, and roast before a clear\nfire. When done, dish up with clear gravy, and hand bread sauce in a\ntureen with it.\n\n\nPheasant Stuffed with Tomatoes.\n\nTruss a pheasant for roasting, and fill it with a forcemeat made of six\ntomatoes pounded in the mortar, with a tablespoonful of breadcrumbs, a\nshalot, a mushroom, half a clove of garlic, a teaspoonful of parsley,\nand half an ounce of butter, pepper and salt to taste. Bind together\nwith the yolk of an egg. Cover the bird with slices of bacon and roast\nbefore a clear fire. Mushroom or tomato sauce may be served in a tureen\nwith it. Partridge and grouse are also very delicious stuffed in this\nway.\n\n\nPheasant en Surprise.\n\nTake a pheasant, remove the skin from the breast and take away all the\nmeat, removing any gristle there may be, and place it in a mortar. Have\nready half a pint of good cream, and begin by pouring half the quantity\nover the pheasant and pound together for a few minutes, then rub it\nthrough a clean wire sieve. When passed, put it back into the mortar,\nadd the remainder of the cream gradually into the fowl, stirring it\nround so that they blend together perfectly. Fill a mould with this\nmixture and twist a bit of buttered paper round the top; then fold a\nsheet of paper several times and place it in a stewpan, put about half a\npint of boiling water into the stewpan, or more according to size of it,\nand let all simmer gently for twenty minutes. Add a little salt and a\ndust of cayenne pepper. Turn this out and mix with it half a pint of\nwhite aspic jelly. Have ready some very clear aspic jelly, and colour it\nred. Take a pretty shaped jelly mould, pour in a little of the red aspic\nto about rather more than a quarter of the mould. When this is cool, put\nin the pheasant and aspic mixture, and place on ice for four hours; when\nproperly frozen, turn out, and garnish the top with a wreath of fresh\nchervil leaves. Serve chopped aspic in little mounds round the base\nalternately with mounds of mayonnaise salad or tomatoes.\n\n\nPheasant à la Suisse.\n\nTake the remains of a cold pheasant, cut it into neat joints. Salt and\npepper these highly, and strew over it finely chopped onion and\nparsley. Cover them with oil, and squeeze over them the juice of a\nlemon. Turn the pieces every now and then, and let them remain till they\nhave imbibed the flavour, then dip the pieces in a batter made of four\nounces of flour, with as much milk added as will make a thick batter.\nStir into it half a wineglassful of brandy and an egg, the white and\nyolk beaten to a froth. This batter should rest for an hour in a warm\nplace before using. Fry the pieces of chicken in the batter, and send it\nup piled on a dish garnished with fried parsley.\n\n\nPheasant à la Tregothran.\n\nBone a pheasant and stuff it with the meat from four woodcocks or six\nsnipe, cut it up, and chop up some truffles and make it into forcemeat.\nFry the trail of the woodcock or snipe in a little butter, and place on\nlittle rounds of fried bread and arrange round the dish. Stew the bones\nof the woodcocks or snipe to make the gravy, reduce it, and add a glass\nof Marsala to the broth and serve in a boat.\n\n\nPheasant à la Victoria.\n\nTake a quarter of a pound of bacon, cut it up in pieces (frying the\nbacon first), add a small clove of garlic, a small shalot, a bayleaf,\nhalf a carrot, half a turnip, half a dozen stewing oysters, and salt and\npepper to taste. Stew over the fire, and when cooked pound it all\ntogether with a few more oysters and pass through a wire sieve. Stuff a\npheasant with this, and place it in a stewpan with carrots and turnips;\nlet all stew till tender, well basting it with its own stock. Serve\nwith rich Espagnole sauce or oyster sauce on a croustade of potato.\n\n\nPigeons à la Duchesse.\n\nSplit a couple of pigeons in halves, remove the breast bones and beat\nthem flat, sauté them with two ounces of butter, pepper and salt. Press\nthem flat between two plates with a weight on them, and when the pigeons\nare cold spread the quenelle meat over the cut side of the birds; then\negg and breadcrumb them and fry in fat. Dish in a circle with brown\nsauce round and a macédoine of vegetables in the centre.\n\n\nPigeons à la Financière.\n\nTake four pigeons, truss and braise them in stock, then glaze them, dish\nthem up against a block of fried bread. Pour round half a pint of\nFinancière sauce, and garnish with small quenelles of forcemeat,\ntruffles, mushrooms, and cockscombs in the centre.\n\n\nPigeons à la Merveilleuse.\n\nBlanch a brace of pigeons, and beat the backs so as to spread out the\nbreasts, boil them in equal quantities of stock and Chablis, season with\nsalt and pepper, a sprig of parsley, two shalots, and two cloves; when\ncooked, take them out of the stewpan, and cook some mushrooms, twelve\nshelled crayfish, and a little flour in the sauce of the pigeons, boil\nfor half an hour, reduce and thicken the sauce with yolks of egg and\ncream, season with finely chopped parsley and pour over the pigeons,\nand serve garnished with the heads of the crayfish.\n\n\nBallotines of Pigeon à la Moderne.\n\nTake four boned pigeons, cut them lengthways in two, and make a farce of\nhalf a pound of pork sausage meat, half a spoonful of chopped truffles,\nthe same of mushrooms, a few pieces of tongue cut into dice shapes, a\nbouquet garni, pepper and salt, and one yolk of an egg, all well mixed\ntogether. Then divide it into eight equal parts, and fill the halves of\nthe pigeons with it; make them into round balls, cutting off the feet.\nTie each piece of pigeon in a little bit of calico, and braise them till\nnicely tender. Then let them cool, tie them up tightly, and let them get\nquite cold; place one of the feet in each ballotine, and arrange them on\na sauté-pan. Take off the calico, make them hot and glaze them, and\nserve with mushrooms and peas, and with a rich brown sauce over them.\n\n\nPigeons en Poqueton.\n\nPut some pâté de foie gras forcemeat, or any other forcemeat, into a\nsmall stewpan, and spread it all over at the bottom and sides, rubbing\nthe stewpan first with butter. Put in a couple of pigeons trussed for\nroasting, some sweetbreads and tongue cut into neat pieces, and some\nbutton mushrooms; arrange all these tastily in the pan, place some more\nforcemeat on the top, cover it over with slices of bacon, and bake it in\na gentle oven. Before closing it, pour some good gravy inside. The\npigeons should be seasoned with pepper and salt, and just rubbed with\ngarlic. When it is cooked, take it from the oven, and turn it carefully\nout into its dish, and pour a very rich sauce over it.\n\n\nPigeon en Ragoût de Crevettes.\n\nPrepare a couple of pigeons, cut them in half, and put them in a stewpan\nwith a glass of Sauterne, half a pint of stock, a sprig of parsley, two\ncloves, pepper, salt, and a shalot; simmer till cooked, strain the\ngravy. Now put an ounce of butter with a dozen button mushrooms and two\nor three dozen skinned prawns into a saucepan with a tablespoonful of\nflour and the gravy the pigeons were stewed in; simmer this for half an\nhour, then thicken it with a gill of cream and two yolks of eggs, add\nsome finely chopped parsley and a grate of nutmeg. Dish up the pigeons\nwith the mushrooms and prawns in the centre.\n\n\nPigeons au Soleil.\n\nTake a couple of roasted pigeons and put them into a marinade of an\nounce of butter, four shalots, an onion, and a carrot cut up into dice,\na little parsley, a bayleaf, a little thyme, and a clove; put them into\na stewpan and fry till they are of a light brown, then moisten with a\nlittle vinegar and water. When they have simmered for half an hour in\nthe marinade let them cool, drain, and put them into a batter made of\nfour spoonfuls of flour, a little salt, a little olive oil, and moisten\nwith a sufficient quantity of water and two beaten whites of eggs; then\nfry them a good colour, and serve up with fried parsley in the middle,\nwith a poivrade or piquant sauce around.\n\n\nPigeons à la Soussell.\n\nBone four pigeons, and make a forcemeat of some fillet of veal, some ham\nfat, some grated breadcrumbs, mushrooms, truffles, a shalot, a bouquet\ngarni, a little cayenne, pepper and salt, mixed with butter cooked over\nthe fire and then pounded in a mortar; put some of this forcemeat into\nthe pigeons and stew them gently for half an hour. Take the pigeons out\nand mask them well with more of the forcemeat, brush some beaten egg\nover each, and put them in the fryingpan and fry them in good dripping.\nTake the gravy they were stewed in, skim off all fat, thicken well with\na liaison of cream and eggs, season with a little pepper and salt, and\nmix all together. Make a mound of spinach purée in the centre of the\ndish, and place the pigeons around, standing up against the purée. Take\nsome very small boiled tomatoes, of a good shape, make a wreath round\nthe base, place a few button mushrooms on the top of the spinach, and\npour the sauce all round.\n\n\nGrey Plovers Cooked in Brandy.\n\nAfter trussing the plovers, flatten them and warm them in a stewpan with\na little melted bacon fat, a bouquet garni, two onions, three mushrooms,\nand two or three truffles (the latter may be left out). As soon as they\nbegin to colour, add half a pint of brandy and toss over a quick fire\ntill the brandy is in flames; as soon as the flames go out, moisten with\ngravy and simmer over a slow fire. When the birds are done, skim off all\ngrease, add the juice of a lemon, and serve hot.\n\n\nGolden Plover.\n\nTrim, truss, leaving the inside in, cover with fat bacon, and roast or\nbake for twenty minutes. Put a piece of well-buttered toast one-third of\nan inch thick to catch the trails. Dress grey plovers exactly the same.\n\n\nGolden Plover aux Champignons.\n\nTake three golden plover, chop up the trails with parsley, shalots,\nsalt, pepper, and scraped bacon, and stuff the plover with it; cover the\nbreasts with slices of bacon and roast. When done, serve on stewed\nmushrooms.\n\n\nFried Plover with English Truffles.\n\nTruss three plover for roasting, lay them breast downwards in a stewpan\nwith plenty of butter, enough to entirely cover the breasts. Put in nine\nor ten well-washed raw truffles pared very thin and cut into slices\nabout the size of a florin. Add a bayleaf, pepper and salt. Stir over a\nbrisk fire for ten minutes, then pour in a pint of stock mixed with a\nspoonful of flour and a glass of sherry. Simmer by side of fire for\ntwenty minutes, skimming carefully. Dish up the birds, and then boil the\nsauce till it is thick and smooth, add the strained juice of a lemon, a\nlump of sugar, and a few drops of some XL colouring, and pour over the\nbirds.\n\n\nStuffed Pullet.\n\nBone the pullet, stuff with forcemeat made with minced veal, egg, ham,\nonions, foie gras, and mushrooms. First warm the veal, onion, and ham\nin melted butter, then add the mushrooms and foie gras, moisten with\nstock and boil. Stir in two yolks of eggs and a teaspoonful of lemon\njuice before taking off the fire, season with a little salt, pepper, and\na pinch of nutmeg. After stuffing the fowl with this mixture, sew it up,\nturn the skin of the neck half over the head and cut off part of the\ncomb, which will give it the appearance of a turtle's head. Blanch and\nsinge four chickens' feet, cut off the claws and stick two where the\nwings ought to be and two in the thighs, so as to look like turtle's\nfeet. Stew the pullet with a little ham, onions, and carrots, tossed\npreviously in butter, moisten with stock, skim occasionally. When done,\ncut the string where it is sewn, lay it on its back in a dish, garnish\nthe breast with sliced truffles cut in fancy shapes, and place a\ncrayfish tail to represent the turtle's tail.\n\nVelouté sauce may be handed with this dish, or it may be eaten cold and\ngarnished with aspic.\n\n\nQuails à la Beaconsfield.\n\nPut, having trussed, six quails in a stewpan wrapped in slices of bacon.\nMoisten with two spoonfuls of stock, a bouquet garni, two bayleaves and\na clove, pepper and salt to taste. Stew them for twenty minutes over a\nvery slow fire. Drain them well, make a purée of peas in which a\ntablespoonful of aspic jelly has been mixed. Mask each quail with the\npurée, dish them in a crown shape with little rolls of bacon in front of\neach, have a few truffles or mushrooms cooked and placed in the centre,\nand pour over the quails a rich brown sauce.\n\n\nQuails en Caisse.\n\nBone six quails and halve them, take the bones and trimmings and stew\nthem in some stock with two carrots, one onion, one shalot, a bayleaf, a\nsmall piece of lean ham, a small piece of parsley, pepper and salt. This\nmust be reduced, and then strained. Make a forcemeat of the quails'\nlivers, a small piece of calf's liver, and half their quantity of bacon.\nPut these into a sauté-pan with a couple of shalots and an ounce of\nbutter, and toss them over the fire for five minutes, then pass this\nmixture through a sieve. Have the paper cases ready oiled, and place at\nthe bottom a layer of this farce, having already stuffed the half quails\nwith it. The stuffed half quails, rolled, must now be put into the cases\nwith a thin slice of very fat bacon over them. They must now be baked in\nthe oven for about twelve minutes. Remove the bacon, and pour over the\ngravy, which must be thickened with flour rolled in butter. Strew a\nlittle very nicely minced parsley over each case.\n\n\nCompôte of Quails.\n\nTake six quails, cut the claws off, and truss them with the legs inside.\nCut eight pieces of bacon rolled up like corks, blanch them to draw out\nany salt, and fry them till they are of a light brown; take them out and\nput in the quails, which must be stewed till they begin to be of a light\nbrown, then remove them. Make a thickening with flour and butter, and\nput it into a good gill of veal stock; add a bouquet garni, some small\nonions and mushrooms. Skim the sauce well, and strain it over the\nquails, then dish the bacon, mushrooms, and small onions, and send up\nhot.\n\n\nQuails and Green Peas.\n\nCook the quails in a stewpan with a slice of veal and a slice of ham,\ncarrots, onions, and a bouquet garni; cover with rashers of bacon and\nbuttered paper; place hot coals on the lid, and, when done, dish up the\nquails with green peas in the centre which have been cooked in butter.\n\n\nBoudins of Rabbit à la Reine.\n\nCut the meat from a young very fine rabbit, which put into some reduced\nBéchamel sauce. When cold, roll it into large boudins the shape of\nsausages, egg and breadcrumb, and fry. Serve under them velouté sauce.\n\n\nBoiled Rabbit à la Maintenon.\n\nCut a young rabbit into neat joints, and put them in a stewpan with\nenough white stock just to cover them; add a bouquet garni, a stick of\ncelery, a shalot, an onion, a few peppercorns, a carrot, and six\nmushrooms. Let all simmer slowly for half an hour, or it might be a\nlittle longer, then take them up and drain them; then cut as many pieces\nof white foolscap paper as there are pieces of rabbit, butter them,\nsprinkle the pieces of rabbit, and lay on each a little piece of fat\nbacon, then roll them in the paper and broil over a fire till the bacon\nhas had time to cook. Serve in the papers. Thicken the gravy in the\nusual way, and serve it in a tureen.\n\n\nGalantine of Rabbit.\n\nTake a couple of young rabbits, bone, and lay them on a linen cloth; lay\nover them a good meat stuffing seasoned to taste, putting over this\nstuffing, which should be laid on about the thickness of a crown, first\na layer of ham cut in slices, and then a layer of hard eggs. Cover these\nlayers with a little forcemeat, roll up the meat, taking care not to\ndisplace the layers, and cover it with thin slices of fat bacon,\nwrapping the whole in a cloth; wind some packthread round it and let it\nboil three hours in stock, adding salt and coarse pepper, some roots and\nonions, a large bunch of parsley, shalots, a clove of garlic, cloves,\nthyme, bayleaves, and basil. Allow this to cool, take off the cloth, and\nserve cold.\n\n\nGibelotte de Lapin.\n\nCut a rabbit into pieces. Sauté it in two ounces of butter, add an\nonion, two shalots, and a pint of poivrade sauce; put it in the oven for\none hour, being careful not to burn it. Small pieces of cauliflower and\ncroûtons of fried bread should garnish this dish.\n\n\nFillets of Rabbit with Cucumber Sauce.\n\nCut two cucumbers into thin slices and soak them in vinegar, with\npepper, salt, and a bayleaf, for two hours, then half roast the rabbit,\ntake the skin off, and fillet it. Make a sauce of white stock, and put\nthe pieces of rabbit into it with the cucumber until it is quite done.\nArrange the pieces of rabbit in a circle, put the cucumber in the\nmiddle, and pour the sauce over the fillets. Fried sippets should\ngarnish this dish.\n\n\nFricandeau of Rabbit.\n\nTake the fleshy portion of a good-sized rabbit, lard the flesh and lay\nit in a deep baking dish, cover it with some highly flavoured stock.\nPlace a piece of buttered paper over the dish, and bake in a moderate\noven till it is tender, basting it frequently. Lift the rabbit out and\nkeep it hot whilst the gravy is boiling to thicken. Spread a teacupful\nof good tomato sauce on a hot dish, lay the rabbit on it, hold a\nsalamander over the larding to crisp it, and pour the gravy over all.\n\n\nRabbit Fritters.\n\nCut the meat from a cold rabbit into small pieces, put them in a\npie-dish and sprinkle over them parsley, chives, thyme, and a clove of\ngarlic, all chopped very fine, salt, pepper, and a bayleaf; pour over\nall a glass of Chablis and the juice of a lemon. Let the pieces of\nrabbit soak in this for two hours, then take them out, dredge them well\nover with flour, and throw them into boiling fat till of a nice golden\ncolour. Remove and drain them, pile them high in an entrée dish, and\npour round the following sauce. Take the liquor the rabbit has been\nsoaked in, add half a pint of stock and a little thickening of flour and\nbutter, and let it boil well. Then strain through a sieve, put in a\ntablespoonful of piccalilli chopped fine, or some chutnee, give another\nboil, and serve.\n\n\nRabbit Klösse.\n\nTake a cold dressed rabbit, mince all the meat, mix in with it an equal\nquantity of bread soaked in milk squeezed dry. Cut two slices of bacon\ninto small squares, and fry slowly. Add the minced meat and stir in two\neggs, and let it cook a few minutes. Turn it out on a dish to cool, and\nadd one more egg. Form it into balls the size of an egg, then drop them\ninto boiling water, and boil until set. Lift them out very tenderly,\npile them up in a pyramid on a dish, and garnish them with fried\npotatoes. Send a sharp sauce to table with them.\n\n\nRabbits en Papillote.\n\nMince up some parsley, mushrooms, shalot, a clove of garlic, a slice of\nbacon, with salt and pepper to taste. Mix this in a little gravy on the\nfire to form a paste. Cut a rabbit into neat fillets and joints. Cover\neach with the paste, then wrap a thin slice of fat bacon and fix each\npiece neatly in an oiled paper. Cook them slowly in the oven, and serve\nin papers.\n\n\nRabbit Pie à la Provençale.\n\nTake two small rabbits, cut them into joints, and lay them in a saucepan\nwith two carrots, two onions, a clove of garlic, a bunch of herbs, and a\npound of pickled pork (the belly). Boil in a very little water for half\nan hour, take out the rabbits and drain them, also drain the pork and\nplace it at the bottom of a well-buttered pie-dish, and then lay the\npieces of rabbit on it. Pour on a wine-glassful of Sauterne or vin de\nGrave, and strew over it some Spanish pimento. Pour in some good batter,\nand bake in a quick oven for half an hour. Reduce the liquor in which it\nwas cooked and add the strained juice of a lemon. The sauce should be\nhanded with it.\n\n\nRabbit Pilau.\n\nCut up a young rabbit into ten or twelve pieces. Rub each piece into a\nsavoury pudding made as follows. Extract the juice of two onions, mix a\nteaspoonful of salt with it, half a teaspoonful of powdered ginger, and\nthe juice of a lemon. Boil half a pound of rice in a quart of broth till\nit is half cooked. Have ready four ounces of good dripping, and fry the\npieces of rabbit in it, with two sliced onions. When they are brown\nremove them. Place the meat into a deep jar. Lay the onions on it and\ncover with the rice, add four cloves, eight peppercorns, some salt, and\na little lemon peel cut very thinly, and pour half a pint of milk over;\nplace some folds of paper over the jar and bake in the oven, adding a\nlittle broth when the rabbit is half cooked. When done, pile the rice on\na dish, and lay the pieces of rabbit on the top and serve very quickly.\n\n\nRabbit Pudding.\n\nCut a rabbit into ten or twelve pieces, put these into a stewpan with a\nlittle pepper and salt, pour on as much boiling water as will cover\nthem, and let them simmer for half an hour. Take them up and put in\ntheir place the head and liver of rabbit with some bacon rind and simmer\nfor an hour, strain and skim it, and let it get cool. Line a pie-dish\nwith suet crust, and then put in the pieces of rabbit with four ounces\nof fat bacon cut into narrow strips, pour in a cupful of the cool gravy,\nlay on the cover, and boil in the usual way. N.B.--The brains may be\nmixed in with the liver.\n\n\nRabbit à la Tartare.\n\nBone a rabbit, cut it into pieces, and let it marinade for six hours in\nparsley, mushrooms, a clove of garlic, chives, all chopped very fine,\nwith pepper, salt, and the best salad oil. Dip each piece of rabbit in\nbreadcrumbs and broil, sprinkling the pieces with the marinade. Serve\nTartare sauce over it or with it.\n\n\nThe Wanderer's Rabbit.\n\nNo. 1.\n\nDivide a rabbit into pieces of convenient size, put them into a saucepan\nin which half a dozen slices of bacon are cooking. As soon as the meat\nis beginning to brown, pour a wineglass and a half of brandy into the\nsaucepan, and set fire to it. When the fire has burnt out, add a little\npepper, salt, a bayleaf, and a bit of thyme, and let it simmer by the\nside of the fire till the brandy has nearly dried up, then serve.\n\n\nThe Wanderer's Rabbit.\n\nNo. 2.\n\nDivide a couple of rabbits into quarters, adding plenty of pepper and\nsalt. Slightly fry them in a saucepan in bacon fat and flour. Add\nsufficient stock and two glasses of Sauterne, and let it stew on a\nmoderate fire. When done, squeeze an orange over the dish just before\nserving up.\n\n\nStewed Roebuck Cutlets.\n\nSprinkle the cutlets with salt and pepper, cook them in a saucepan with\nmelted butter. When half done, turn them, add a little flour, moisten\nwith equal quantities of white wine and stock, season with chopped\neschalots, parsley, and blanched mushrooms; remove the cutlets when\ndone, place them round an entrée dish, reduce the sauce, pass it through\na tammy, and pour over the cutlets.\n\n\nSnipe à la Minute.\n\nPluck three snipes and truss them for roasting. Put the snipes head\ndownwards in a saucepan with two ounces of melted butter, two finely\nchopped shalots, a dessertspoonful of chopped parsley, pepper and salt\nto taste. Shake the saucepan over the fire till the birds are lightly\nbrowned, pour over them as much good stock and sherry as will just cover\nthem. Add the strained juice of half a lemon and a small piece of finely\ngrated crust. Simmer till birds are done, dish them, and pour over them\nsome good strong beef gravy, and serve quickly.\n\n\nSnipe Pie.\n\nTake eight snipe for a moderately sized pie; cut them into neat pieces.\nMake a forcemeat of ham, chicken, tongue, seasoned with a little sweet\nherbs, pepper, salt, cayenne, some breadcrumbs, and mushrooms chopped\nfine. Mix all together with the yolks of a couple of eggs, then place in\nthe pie-dish a layer of snipe, then forcemeat, then snipe again, and\nthen forcemeat, till the dish is full. Pour in some good gravy, and put\nit in the oven to bake. When it is done, raise the paste cover and pour\nin some more gravy. This pie may be eaten hot or cold.\n\n\nSnipe Pie à la Danoise.\n\nParboil the birds in broth and Chablis, seasoned with pepper, salt, a\ngrated onion, and a grate of nutmeg. Make a forcemeat of finely scraped\nbeef, say one pound, also four ounces of fat pork. Pound and mix well\ntogether with a little butter and the crumb of a roll soaked in broth,\nseason with grated onion, pepper, mushrooms and gherkins chopped fine,\nand add a little broth. Line a dish with this forcemeat, put in the\nsnipe, and bake it for an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes. Serve\nwith a sauce made of half a pint of good stock, a gill of Chablis, a\nlittle water, and a piece of butter rolled in flour, and stirred till\nsmooth; when it begins to boil slice in pickled gherkins.\n\n\nSnipe Raised Pie (Hot).\n\nCut four snipes in two lengthwise, remove the gizzards, put the trails\naside, and season the birds with salt and cayenne. Fry the birds in\nbutter for ten minutes and then stand them to drain in the cool till\nwanted. Make a forcemeat of four ounces of calf's liver, four ditto fat\nbacon cut small, melt the latter over a quick fire, and then add the\nliver and season the mixture with pepper, salt, and herbs. When these\nare cooked, let them get cold, and then pound them in the mortar with\nthe trails of the birds. Now pass all through a sieve. Line a buttered\npie-mould with raised crust paste, and put in a layer of the forcemeat\nat the bottom of the mould, leaving it hollow in the centre. Put half\nthe pieces of snipe in a circle upon the forcemeat, and place a little\nball of forcemeat upon them, put in the rest of the birds and put a\nlayer of forcemeat over all. Fill the hollow in the centre with bread\nwhich has been covered with fat bacon, put the pastry cover on, and\nbake. When done, take off the cover, remove bread and fill its place\nwith scallopped truffles. Pour good brown sauce over all, pile truffles\non the top, and serve. This can also be made in a china raised pie-case.\n\n\nSnipe Soufflé.\n\nRoast three or four snipe, remove all the meat from the bones, put it\ninto a mortar, and pound it well with two ounces of cooked rice, one\nounce of butter, a little pepper and salt, and one gill and a half of\nglaze. Pass through hair sieve and add the yolks of four eggs whipped to\na stiff froth; put it into a mould and bake in a quick oven. Serve with\na good gravy round, made from the bones and trimmings, the juice of half\na lemon, and a glass of port wine; thicken with butter and cornflour.\n\n\nSnipes à la Superlative.\n\nMake a forcemeat of three ounces of fat bacon, three ounces of fowl's\nliver, and cut both into pieces an inch square. Fry the bacon over a\nsharp fire, move it about constantly, and in three or four minutes add\nthe liver. When it is half done, mince it with the bacon, season, and\nadd half a clove of garlic and pound all smoothly in a mortar. Pass\nthrough wire sieve. When quite cold, roll out half of it with a little\nflour, form it into a thick band, and arrange it in a circle at the\nbottom of a dish. Take four partially roasted snipes, split them open\ndown the back, and spread the forcemeat a quarter of an inch thick over\nthe inside of each. Place the birds in the middle of the dish, and cover\nthem with some of the forcemeat, smooth with a hot knife and put the\ndish into a quick oven, wipe away all fat, pour truffle sauce over the\nsnipe, and serve.\n\n\nTeal Pudding.\n\nTake three teal, season the birds with salt and cayenne, and divide them\ninto neat pieces. Cut up a pound of rump steak into pieces about an inch\nin size, season, and dredge them lightly with flour. Line a\npudding-basin with good suet paste rolled out to half an inch thickness.\nPlace in a layer of steak and a layer of teal, and repeat till the dish\nis full, then fill in with three-quarters of a pint of good gravy, and\nput the cover on in the usual way. Plunge it into boiling water and keep\nit boiling till done. Serve it in the basin it is cooked in, with a\nnapkin pinned round it.\n\n\nSalmi of Teal.\n\nPut in a stewpan three ounces of butter and one good spoonful of flour,\nlet them melt together, stirring till it becomes a nice brown; add by\ndegrees a gill of good stock and as much red wine, two whole shalots\n(taken out after), a full bouquet, pepper, and a little salt; put in the\nbody and bones of the bird, from which you have previously detached the\nlimbs and meat. Let all boil slowly for half an hour, pass all through\ncolander, and put gravy alone back in stewpan on the fire, and just when\non the point of boiling put in the pieces of teal and take the stewpan\noff the fire; add a little lemon juice, put the lid on, and leave it on\nthe hob for half an hour.\n\n\nStewed Teal.\n\nTruss the birds, putting aside the hearts, livers, and gizzards, and\ndredge them with flour, then place them in a saucepan with a piece of\nbutter, and let them brown equally, taking care of the gravy which oozes\nfrom them. Let them get cold, then carve them in such a way that the\nwings and legs can be taken off with a piece of breast adhering to it.\nBreak the bodies of the birds into small pieces, and stew them with the\nlivers, &c., in as much stock as will cover them, till the gravy becomes\ngood and strong, then strain it, season with cayenne, salt, a glassful\nof claret, and a little Seville orange juice. Directly it begins to\nboil, put in the fleshy portion of the birds and let simmer till they\nare thoroughly heated, but do not let the gravy boil. Cut slices of\nbread large enough for a leg and wing to lie upon, fry till lightly\nbrowned, arrange them neatly, and pour sauce over them. Garnish with\nsliced lemon.\n\n\nDevilled Turkey Drumsticks.\n\nScore the drumsticks down parallel with the bone, and insert in the\nslices thus made a mixture made with one ounce of butter, a good\nteaspoonful of French mustard, a little cayenne, and a salt-spoonful of\nblack pepper. Mix all this thoroughly together and spread the mixture\ninto the cuts, then rub the drumsticks with butter, and grill over a\nfierce fire.\n\n\nTurkey en Daube.\n\nPut slices of bacon in a braising-pan, lard the breast and thighs of a\nturkey trussed for boiling, and place the turkey on the slices of bacon;\nput into the pan a slice of ham and a calf's foot broken into small\npieces, with the trimmings of the turkey, two onions stuck with four\ncloves, three carrots, and a bouquet garni. Put slices of bacon over the\nturkey, put some melted butter over, and cover with three rounds of\nbuttered paper and let it simmer for five hours; take it from the fire\nand leave it for half an hour, strain the gravy and boil it down. Beat\nan egg into a saucepan, and pour the jellied gravy into this, whip it\nwell, then put it on the fire, bring it to the boil, and then draw it to\nthe side of the fireplace, cover it with the lid with hot coals on it,\nand let it remain for half an hour; strain again, and with this jelly\ncover the turkey.\n\n\nVenison Cutlets.\n\nTrim the cutlets the same as you would mutton cutlets, melt a little\nbutter on a plate, dip each cutlet in the butter, and dust them slightly\nwith flour, then in beaten egg, and roll them in breadcrumbs. Fry them\nin hot lard for ten minutes, take them out of the lard and lay them on a\nflat dish covered with paper; put them before the fire for a few minutes\nto free them from grease. Dish them up, and pour Financière sauce round\nthe cutlets.\n\n\nVenison Cutlets à l'Américaine.\n\nCut the cutlets very small, and arrange them en couronne. Make an\nEspagnole sauce, and flavour it with bayleaves, garlic, half a pound of\nred currant jelly, and a glass of Madeira.\n\n\nHaricot of Venison.\n\nTake a neck or shoulder of venison, and cut the meat of the shoulder in\npieces two inches square and the neck in thick cutlets. Fry these pieces\nwith two ounces of butter in a stewpan over a brisk fire until they are\nbrowned, then pour off all grease, shake in a little flour, and stir\ntogether, moisten with sufficient stock to cover the meat, season with\npepper and salt, and stir over fire till it boils. Remove it then to the\ncorner of the stove to allow it to throw up its scum, which remove. Wash\nand scrape three carrots, and with a vegetable scoop cut out all the\npink from the carrots in round balls, and boil them in water for half an\nhour. Cut out some balls of turnip in the same manner, and boil for\nfifteen minutes. Strain the vegetables and add them to the stew, with a\nglass of port wine and two ounces of red currant jelly. When the meat\nand vegetables are thoroughly cooked, and the stew well skimmed, dish it\nup very quickly.\n\n\nVenison Pasty.\n\nStew the venison, remove all the bones, sinew, and skin, cutting off the\nfat and putting it aside. Make the paste in the usual way, and cover the\nedge and sides of a pasty dish: then put in the pieces of venison,\npacking it closely together, pepper and salt it well. Cover it with the\npaste and then bake it, which will take about four hours. Pour in at the\ntop three-quarters of a pint of venison gravy which has been made from\nthe bones and trimmings, two shalots, a gill of port wine, and a\ntablespoonful of ketchup.\n\n\nVenison Puffs.\n\nCut some cold venison into very thin shavings, mix a tablespoonful of\nred currant jelly with some rich brown sauce, and put on the venison\npieces. Have ready some light puff paste, roll it out thin and divide it\nin pieces, put some of the meat in each, and form them into puffs. Brush\nwith white of egg, and bake quickly a delicate brown colour.\n\n\nSalmis of Widgeon.\n\nTake two widgeon that have been cooked, cut them up into neat pieces,\nbreak up the bones and put them into brown stock with some minced\nshalots, pepper and salt, and let them simmer very slowly for half an\nhour, then add a glass of port wine, half a teaspoonful of Clarence's\ncayenne sauce, and a squeeze of orange. Let it all boil up for about a\nquarter of an hour, and add an ounce of butter into which a little flour\nhas been rubbed; let it thicken, then strain, pour the gravy over the\ncold pieces of bird, and bring slowly to the boil and serve with fried\nsippets. Some button mushrooms added to the gravy are a great\nimprovement. Widgeon may be cooked in as many ways as teal, using the\nsame recipes, substituting widgeon for teal.\n\n\nFillets of Wild Ducks with Olives.\n\nRoast a couple of wild ducks and cut off the fillets in the usual way,\nscore the skin, dish the fillets in a circle and put into the centre\nsome stoned olives. Send clear brown gravy in a tureen with them.\n\n\nWild Fowl with Bigarade Sauce.\n\nRoast a couple of wild fowl, cut off flesh from each side of the breast,\nand from sides under the wings. Score the skin, and dish the fillets in\na circle with a little Bigarade sauce poured over them.\n\n\nWoodcock à la Chasseur.\n\nTruss a brace of cocks and put them down before a clear fire for fifteen\nminutes, then take them away and cut them into neat joints. Put the\ninferior pieces with three minced shalots, a bouquet garni, and half a\nhead of garlic into a saucepan with a wineglassful of good gravy,\nanother of wine, a tablespoonful of mushroom ketchup, and the strained\njuice of half a lemon, and let all simmer for ten minutes. Remove the\ngizzards from the trail, and pound them in a mortar with a piece of\nshalot, a little butter, pepper, and salt, and then rub through a sieve\nand spread them upon small pieces of fried bread cut into the shape of\nhearts. Put the joints of the woodcocks into a separate saucepan, strain\nthe gravy on them, and let them heat gently; they must not boil. Place\nthem on a dish, put the fried bread with the trail round them, pour the\ngravy over all, and serve hot.\n\n\nWoodcock à la Lucullus.\n\nRoast the woodcocks in the usual way, and catch the trail on a toast.\nWhilst the birds are still under-dressed, pour over them a little melted\nbutter with which the yolk of an egg and a little cream has been mixed.\nSprinkle grated breadcrumbs over, brown with a salamander, and serve\nwith brown gravy.\n\n\nWoodcock à la Périgueux.\n\nTruss a brace of woodcocks, cover them with layers of bacon and put them\ninto a stewpan with as much richly flavoured stock as will barely cover\nthem, and add a glassful of Madeira. Let them simmer till done enough,\ndrain, dish them, and pour over some Périgueux sauce.\n\n\nWoodcock à la Provençale.\n\nFillet a brace of woodcock, soak them in salad oil seasoned with black\npepper, some cloves, and a pounded head of garlic. Place the bones on a\nstewpan with some salad oil, six shalots, a head of garlic, a bayleaf,\nand a bouquet garni. When brown, add a dessert-spoonful of flour, a\ntumblerful of Chablis, and a pint of stock. Reduce to half the quantity,\nand pass through a tammy. Sauté the fillets in warm oil; when done,\nplace them in a circle on an entrée dish with a fried bread sippet\nbetween each, stir a little lemon juice into the sauce, and pour over\nthe fillets.\n\n\nWoodcock en Surprise.\n\nTake two livers of fowls and the trails of some cold woodcocks. Chop\nvery finely two shalots, a sprig of parsley, and eight flap mushrooms,\nand fry in butter. When nearly cooked, put in the trail and livers to\nfry with the vegetables. After, pound all together in a mortar, and\nseason with salt and pepper. Cut some neat slices of bread about two\ninches square, and fry them a pale colour, then spread on them the liver\nand trail forcemeat. Place them into the oven to colour, then dish them\nup with the woodcocks made into a salmi over them, with a good rich\nbrown sauce flavoured with claret round.\n\n\nSalmi of Woodcocks à la Lucullus.\n\nTake three woodcocks, which must be roasted very under-done. Take out\nthe trail, and add to it either three fowl livers or their equivalent in\npâté de foie gras. Make a farce with a dozen mushrooms chopped very\nfine, a shalot, a sprig of parsley, both chopped fine. Fry these in a\nlittle butter, then add the trails and livers or pâté de foie gras to\nfry with them; when done, pound all in a mortar and season with salt,\npepper, and a dust of cayenne. As three woodcocks will give six fillets,\ncut six bits of bread of the same size and fry them of a nice colour.\nThen spread the farce equally divided over the six croustades, put them\ninto the oven, and when of a good colour put them between each of the\nfillets. Make the sauce from the bones and cuttings of the birds, add\nsix spoonfuls of Espagnole sauce and a glass of Marsala. The fillets\nshould be kept in the hot sauce whilst the croustades are cooking, so as\nto prevent their getting dry, then warm them up without boiling, as\nboiling would spoil the dish.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\nBlackbird pie, 1\n\nBlanquette of chicken, 1\n  -- -- -- aux concombres, 2\n\n\nCapilotade of fowl, 2\n\nChicken, blanquette of, 1, 2\n  -- à la bonne femme, 2\n  -- drumsticks, braised, 3\n  -- chiringrate, 3\n  -- à la Continental, 4\n  -- à la Davenport, 4\n  -- à l'Italienne, 4\n  -- à la Matador, 5\n  -- à la Cardinal, fillets of, 5\n  -- fried à la Orly, 5\n  -- -- à la Suisse, 5\n  -- fricassee, 6\n  -- fritôt aux tomates, 6\n  -- nouilles au Parmesan, 7\n  -- pudding à la Reine, 7\n  -- rice, 8\n  -- in savoury jelly, 8\n  -- with spinach, 9\n  -- stewed whole, 9\n\nCapon fried, 10\n  -- à la Nanterre, 11\n\nCôtelettes à l'Ecarlate, 10\n\n\nDucks braised, 11\n  -- à la mode, 11\n  -- à la Nivernaise, 12\n  -- devilled, 12\n\nDucks à la Provence, 12\n  -- à purée perto, 13\n  -- salmi of, 13\n  -- stewed with turnips, 13\n\n\nGame and macaroni, 14\n  -- pie, 15\n  -- rissoles, 15\n  -- salad of, 16\n\nGoose stuffed with chestnuts, 14\n  -- à la Royale, 14\n\nGrouse in aspic, 16\n  -- croustades of, au diable, 17\n  -- à l'Ecossais, 17\n  -- à la Financière, 17\n  -- friantine of, 18\n  -- kromesquis, 18\n  -- marinaded, 18\n  -- au naturel, 19\n  -- pie, 19\n  -- pressed, 20\n  -- salad, 20\n  -- scallops of, à la Financière 21\n  -- soufflé, 22\n  -- timbale of, 22\n\n\nHare, to cook, 22\n  -- cutlets à la chef, 23\n  -- en daube, 24\n  -- Derrynane fashion, 24\n  -- à la Matanzas, 25\n  -- à la mode, 25\n  -- jugged, 26\n\n\nLandrail, 26\n\nLarks, croustade of, 26\n  -- à la Macédoine, 27\n  -- pie, 27\n  -- puffs, 29\n  -- salmi of, cold, 28\n\nLeveret à la minute, 29\n  -- à la Noël, 29\n\nLièvre, filet de, à la Muette, 24\n  -- gâteaux de, 25\n\n\nMoorfowl, salmi of, 30\n\n\nOrtolans in cases, 30\n  -- à la Périgourdine, 31\n  -- aux truffes, 31\n\n\nPartridges à la Barbarie, 31\n  -- blancmanger and truffles, 32\n  -- à la Béarnaise, 33\n  -- blanquette of, 33\n  -- broiled, 33\n  -- chartreuse of, 34\n  -- aux choux, 34\n  -- cold fillets of, 35\n  -- à la Cussy, 35\n  -- with mushrooms, 36\n  -- pie, 38\n  -- pudding, 37\n  -- à la Reine, 37\n  -- salmi of, au chasseur, 38\n  -- scalloped, 38\n  -- à la Sierra Morena, 38\n  -- soufflé, 39\n  -- stewed, 40\n  -- à la Toussenel, 40\n  -- tartlets, 41\n  -- à la Vénitienne, 41\n\nPintail, 42\n\nPheasant, boiled, 42\n\nPheasants, boudins of, 42\n  -- à la bonne femme, 43\n  -- à la Brillat-Savarin, 43\n  -- crème of, à la moderne, 44\n  -- cutlets, 45\n  -- galantine of, 45\n  -- fritôt, 46\n  -- and macaroni, 46\n  -- pie with oysters, 47\n  -- des Rois, 48\n  -- à la Sainte-Alliance, 48\n  -- salmi of, 49\n  -- stewed with cabbage, 49\n  -- stuffed with oysters, 50\n  -- -- -- tomatoes, 50\n  -- en surprise, 51\n  -- à la Suisse, 51\n  -- à la Tregothran, 52\n  -- à la Victoria, 52\n\nPigeons à la duchesse, 53\n  -- à la financière, 53\n  -- à la merveilleuse, 53\n  -- ballotines of, 54\n  -- en poqueton, 54\n  -- en ragoût de crevettes, 55\n  -- au soleil, 55\n  -- à la Soussel, 56\n\nPlovers in brandy, 56\n  -- golden, 57\n  -- -- aux champignons, 57\n  -- aux truffes, 57\n\nPullet, stuffed, 57\n\n\nQuails à la Beaconsfield, 58\n  -- en caisse, 59\n  -- compôte of, 59\n  -- and green peas, 60\n\n\nRabbit, boudins of, 60\n  -- à la Maintenon, 60\n  -- galantine of, 61\n  -- gibelotte of, 61\n  -- fillets of, with cucumber, 61\n  -- fricandeau of, 62\n  -- fritters, 62\n  -- klösse, 63\n  -- en papillote, 63\n  -- pie à la Provençale, 63\n  -- pilau, 64\n  -- pudding, 64\n  -- à la Tartare, 65\n  -- à la Wanderer, 65\n\nRoebuck cutlets, 66\n\n\nSnipe à la minute, 66\n  -- pie, 66\n  -- -- à la Danoise, 67\n  -- hot raised, 67\n  -- soufflé, 68\n  -- à la superlative, 68\n\n\nTeal, devilled, 12\n  -- pudding, 69\n\nTeal, salmi of, 69\n  -- stewed, 70\n\nTurkey drumsticks, devilled, 70\n  -- en daube, 71\n\n\nVenison cutlets, 71, 72\n  -- haricot, 72\n  -- pastry, 72\n  -- puffs, 72\n\n\nWidgeon, salmi of, 73\n\nWild ducks, fillets of, 74\n\nWildfowl à la Bigarade, 74\n\nWoodcock au chasseur, 74\n  -- à la Lucullus, 75\n  -- à la Périgueux, 75\n  -- en surprise, 75\n  -- salmi à la Lucullus, 76\n\n\n\n\n                PRINTED BY\n  SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE\n                  LONDON\n\n\n\n\n +----------------------------------------------------------+\n | Transcriber's Notes:                                     |\n | Left inconsistent hyphenation in place                   |\n | Page 44: Changed trail to tail                           |\n | Index: Corrected page number for Pigeons à la financière |\n +----------------------------------------------------------+", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "31982", "title": "Dressed Game and Poultry à la Mode", "author": "", "publication_year": 1888, "metadata_title": "Dressed Game and Poultry à la Mode", "metadata_author": "Mrs. De Salis", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:17.798342", "source_chars": 116058, "chars": 116058, "talkie_tokens": 30246}}
{"text": "Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. (This file was\nInternet Archive.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBORDER RAIDS AND REIVERS.\n\n\n\n\n  BORDER RAIDS\n  AND\n  REIVERS\n\n\n  BY\n  ROBERT BORLAND\n\n  _MINISTER OF YARROW_\n\n\n  DALBEATTIE: THOMAS FRASER.\n  MDCCCXCVIII.\n\n\n\n  PRINTED AT THE COURIER AND HERALD OFFICES,\n  DUMFRIES,\n  FOR\n  THOMAS FRASER, DALBEATTIE.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nPREFACE                                                           xv.\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE AULD ENEMY.\n                                                                PAGE.\n\nExtent of Border reiving--Plunder and reprisal--All classes\nimplicated--Double dose of original sin--Victims of an evil\nfate--Invasions--Threatened annexation of Scotland--Edward's\ntwofold policy--Sacking of Berwick--Feeling of\nhostility produced--Edward visits Scone and carries off\nScottish Sceptre and Crown--Douglas and Edward Bruce--\nBorderers animated by a spirit of revenge                        1-14\n\n\nII.\n\nPERCY'S PENNON.\n\nBattle of Otterburn--Chief combatants--How the encounter was\nbrought about--Destruction of the Abbeys--Meeting of the\nScots at Aberdeen--Scottish army assembles at Yetholm--\nMethod of attack determined upon--Earl Douglas marches\nthrough Northumberland--Ravages Durham--Returns to\nNewcastle--Hotspur and Douglas--Otterburn--Preparations for\nbattle--The English assault--The Douglas slain--Hotspur\ntaken prisoner--Humanity of Borderers                           15-32\n\n\nIII.\n\nPOOR AND LAWLESS.\n\nCondition of Scotland--Ancient monasteries--Description of\ncountry by Æneas Sylvius--Ignorance of the people--Laws\ncannot be enforced--The Barons supreme--Law against\nharbouring thieves--Every man's hand against his neighbour--\nPledges demanded--Banished north of the Forth--Scottish\nBorderers forbidden to marry daughters of \"broken men\"\nin England--No respect paid to the law--Execrable murders\ncommitted--Without religion--Hand-fasting                       33-54\n\n\nIV.\n\nRAIDS AND FORAYS.\n\nInvasions constantly occurring--Many lives sacrificed--How\nthe reivers conducted their expeditions--Leslie's account--\nTracked by bloodhounds--Froissart's description of\nBorderers--Invasion by Earl of Hertford--Raid by Sir Ralph\nEure--Battle of Ancrum Moor--Lord Dacre's devastations--\nBorderers retaliate--Horrid cruelties practised--Raid of\nthe Reidswire--Indignation of English Queen--Morton's\nconcessions                                                     55-80\n\n\nV.\n\nWARDENS OF THE MARCHES.\n\nGenerally officers of high rank--Scottish King limited in\nhis choice--Wardens invested with arbitrary powers--Bonds\nof alliance--Of little or no value--Ignored when\nconvenient--Wardens well remunerated--Duties pertaining to\nthe office                                                      81-96\n\n\nVI.\n\nTHE DAY OF TRUCE.\n\nArrangements for dealing with offenders--Of a primitive\ncharacter--Prisoners could not be detained in custody--Often\ntook \"leg-bail\"--Day of Truce every month--Date and place\nmade known by proclamation--The meeting of the Wardens--\nRegulations for conduct of business--Administering the\noath--Three ways of trying cases--Bogus bills--Value of\ngoods--Bills \"fouled\" or \"cleared\"--The hot-trod--\nBaughling--Lord Russell shot--Foster's explanations            97-115\n\n\nVII.\n\nTHE DEADLY FEUD.\n\nOrigin of the expression--Feuds of everyday occurrence--\nOccasioned by trifling circumstances--Inherited--Made the\nadministration of the law difficult--Feud betwixt the Kers\nand Scotts--How occasioned--The Maxwells and Johnstones--A\ndisastrous feud--Battle of Dryfe Sands--Murder of Johnstone--\nLord Maxwell imprisoned--Returns to the Borders--Betrayed by\nEarl of Caithness--Beheaded in Edinburgh--Ker of Cessford\nslain--Pursuit of his murderers--How feuds staunched--Bonds\nof Assurance--Marriage--Pilgrimage--Assythment                116-135\n\n\nVIII.\n\nTHE THIEVES DAUNTONED.\n\nThe \"Family Tree\"--Man's first right--The King connives at\nBorder reiving--The Wardens often indifferent--The King's\nvisit to Dumfries--Tytler's account of what transpired--The\nTurnbulls of Rule Water punished--The Earl of Mar in\nHawick--Lack of trees and halters--Queen Mary at Jedburgh--\nThe Earl of Bothwell--John Elliot of Park--The Queen visits\nHermitage--Struck down with fever--The suppression of\nLiddesdale--Buccleuch and Ferniherst--Mangerton destroyed--\nThe whole district given to the flames--Geordie Bourne--\nFound guilty of March treason--Executed--Milder measures--\nThe Tower of Netherby--Cary's success                         136-154\n\n\nIX.\n\nLIDDESDALE LIMMERS.\n\nBorder keeps and peels--Description of them--Hermitage--\nLord Soulis--Nine-stane-rig--Black Knight of Liddesdale--\nRamsay of Dalhousie starved to death--Armstrongs and\nElliots--Maitland's \"Complaynt\"--Took everything that\ncame to hand--The clan system--Names of Border clans--\nTo-names--Debateable land--The Scotch dyke--Cary's raid--\nDriven to bay                                                 155-180\n\n\nX.\n\nAFTER THE HUNTING.\n\nJames V.--Border barons put in ward--Sets out for the\nBorders--Hunts in Meggat--Eighteen score of deer slain--\nCockburn of Henderland--Border Widow's Lament--Adam Scott,\n\"King of Thieves\"--Johnie Armstrong--The loving letter--\nBasely betrayed--Pitscottie's account--Maxwell's\ncomplicity--Ballad--_Blackmeal_--Increase of Border\nlawlessness                                                   181-200\n\n\nXI.\n\nTHE CORBIE'S NEST.\n\nGeneral characteristics of Border reivers--Kinmount\nWillie--Descendant of laird of Gilnockie--Encouraged\nto commit depredations on English border--Present at\nMarch meeting at Dayholm--Captured by Salkeld on his way\nhome--Imprisoned in Carlisle--Violation of Border law--The\nbold Buccleuch determines to effect his rescue--\nArrangements made at a horse race at Langholm--Meeting at\nTower of Morton--Marches on Carlisle--Breaks into the\nCastle--Carries off the prisoner--Relieves him of his\nirons--Names of principal assistants--Scrope indignant--\nAddresses the Privy Council--Buccleuch on his defence--\nElizabeth demands his surrender--James complies               201-219\n\n\nXII.\n\nFLAGELLUM DEI.\n\nInternational complications--The Queen difficult to\npacify--Her letter to James--Scrope invades Liddesdale--\nHis conduct defended--Buccleuch retaliates--Invades\nTynedale--Account of his depredations--_Flagellum Dei_--\nSupported by King and Council--Elizabeth peremptorily\ndemands his surrender--Places himself as a prisoner in\nthe hands of Sir William Bowes--The Governor of Berwick\nafraid to undertake his safe custody--Surrender of Sir\nRobert Ker--Lives with Sir Robert Cary on terms of\nintimacy and friendship--Buccleuch returns to Liddesdale--\nAdopts a new policy--Incurs the displeasure of the\nreivers--Inaugurates a new era in Border history--Appears\nbefore the Queen                                              220-236\n\n\nXIII.\n\nMINIONS OF THE MOON.\n\nThe kindly feeling with which the more famous reivers\nregarded--Auld Wat of Harden--At the \"Raid of Falkland\"--\nThe consequences of this episode--Carries off 300 oxen\nand kye, a horse and a nag, from Gilsland--Large demands\non his hospitality--\"Wat o' Harden's coo!\"--The sow-backed\nhay stack--Destroys the town of Bellinghame--Marries Mary\nScott of Dryhope--His son slain by one of the Scotts of\nGilmanscleuch--The feast of spurs--Goes in pursuit of the\nCaptain of Bewcastle--Revenge!--Willie Scott--His raid on\nElibank--Taken prisoner--\"Muckle-mou'd Meg\"--Priest or\nhangman--A wise choice. \"Jock o' the Syde\"--Prisoner in\nNewcastle--Rescued by his friends--Pursued by the English--\nMake good their escape.--\"Christie's Will\"--Two delicate\ncolts--Lord Traquair--Lord Durie kidnapped--Scott's account\nof the incident--Description of balladist--Christie's Will\ncarries important papers to Charles I.--Entrapped at\nCarlisle on his return--Spurs his horse over parapet of\nbridge.--Willie of Westburnflat--Tried at Selkirk--Breaks\nin pieces the oaken chair--Threatens to clear the court--\nDissuaded by his friends--Executed in due form of law--\nArmstrong's good-night                                        237-266\n\n\nXIV.\n\nUNDER THE BAN.\n\nState of the Borders--Decadence of Romanism--A strong hand\nneeded--The Celtic Church--Its influence permanent--The\nScots indifferent to fulminations of their spiritual\nsuperiors--Excommunicatio major--Excommunicatio minor--\nMonition of Cursing by Archbishop of Glasgow                  267-279\n\n\nXV.\n\nTHE TRIUMPH OF LAW.\n\n\"Broken men\" drafted off to Belgic wars--Græmes banished to\nIreland--Buccleuch invested with arbitrary powers--Thieves\nexecuted without ceremony--The Union of the Crowns--The\neffect highly beneficial--Firm hand laid on the ring-leaders\nof Border strife--New spirit infused into the\nadministration--The name _Middleshires_ substituted for\n_Borders_--The law impartially administered--A happy era--\nParochial system of education--Schools before the\nReformation--Educational condition of the Borders--John\nKnox's scheme--Beneficial results--Teaching and influence of\nthe Church--Religious state of the Borders--Decision of the\nCommission--Difficulties in the way--Thomas Boston--The\nunploughed field--Victory achieved                            280-298\n\n\nXVI.\n\nTHE HARVEST OF PEACE.\n\nGreat changes effected in habits and character of the\npeople--Easily explained--\"Broken men\" expatriated--How\nreiving was regarded--Border ethics--Right to rob the\nEnglish--Statistics of crime--The Tweed Act--A hard\nschool--Grim and dour--Services rendered by Borderers--\nGreat feature of Border life--Birthplace of poetry--The\nold ballads--A priceless inheritance--James Thomson, the\nauthor of \"The Seasons\"--Sir Walter Scott--Hogg--Leyden--\nBurns probably sprung from a Border stock--The name\n\"Burness\"--A Western Mecca--Rural population decreasing--\nConclusion                                                    299-310\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe object we have had in view in the following pages has been (1) to\nindicate briefly the causes which produced Border reiving; (2) to show the\nextent to which the system was ultimately developed; (3) to describe the\nmeans adopted by both Governments for its suppression; (4) to illustrate\nthe way in which the _rugging and riving_--to use a well-known phrase--was\ncarried on; (5) to explain how these abnormal conditions were in the end\neffectually removed; and (6) to set forth in brief outline some of the\nmore prominent traits in the lives and characters of the men who were most\nclosely identified with this extraordinary phase of Border life.\n\nWe have to acknowledge our indebtedness for much of the information\nconveyed in the following pages to Scott's \"Border Antiquities\" and\n\"Border Minstrelsy,\" Nicolson's \"Leges Marchiarum,\" Pitcairn's \"Criminal\nTrials,\" \"Calendar of Border Papers\" (recently published), \"Cary's\nMemoirs\"--Froissart, Godscroft, Pitscottie, Pinkerton--and host of other\nwriters on Border themes.\n\nIt is in no spirit of mock-modesty we acknowledge how inadequately the\nobject we have had in view has been realised. The subject is so large and\nmany-sided that we have found it difficult to compress within the compass\nof a single volume anything like an adequate outline of a theme which is\nat once so varied and interesting.\n\nIn coming to the consideration of this subject, there is one fact which it\nis well the reader should carefully bear in mind, and that is, that from\nthe peculiar circumstances in which Borderers were placed in early times,\nthe only alternative they had was either to _starve or steal_. The\nrecognition of this fact will at least awaken our sympathy, if it does not\nalways command our approval, when we come to consider the lives and\ncharacters of the Border Reivers.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE AULD ENEMY.\n\n  \"Near a Border frontier, in the time of war,\n  There's ne'er a man, but he's a freebooter.\"--SATCHELLS.\n\n\nThere are few more remarkable phenomena in the political or social life of\nScotland than what is familiarly known as \"Border Reiving.\" In olden times\nit prevailed along the whole line of the Borders from Berwick to the\nSolway, embracing the counties of Berwick, Roxburgh, Selkirk, Peebles, and\nDumfries. During a period of some three or four hundred years these\ndistricts were chiefly inhabited by hordes of moss-troopers, who made it\nthe chief business of their lives to harry and despoil their English\nneighbours. On every convenient opportunity the Scottish reivers crossed\nthe Border, and carried off whatever came readiest to hand--horses, cows,\nsheep, \"insight and outsight,\" nothing coming amiss to them unless it was\neither too heavy or too hot. Those on the English side who were thus\ndespoiled were not slow to retaliate, and generally succeeded, to some\nextent, in making good the losses they sustained. This system of plunder\nand reprisal ultimately attained an extraordinary development. All\nclasses, from the Chief of the clan to the meanest serf over whom he\nruled, were engaged in it. Indeed it must be frankly admitted that the\nmost notorious thieves were often those who had least excuse for indulging\nin such nefarious practices--gentlemen in high position like the Scotts,\nKers, Johnstones, and Maxwells, and who in many cases had been chosen by\nthe Government to repress the reiving propensities of their clans and\nfollowers.\n\nSome who have made a superficial acquaintance with this remarkable phase\nof Border life have rushed to the conclusion that the great Border Chiefs,\nand those over whom they exercised a kind of patriarchal authority, must\nhave been dowered with a \"double dose of original sin.\" In proof of this\nit is pointed out that a widely different state of affairs prevailed in\nother parts of the country, for example in Fife, and the Lothians, and\ngenerally speaking, throughout the whole of the west of Scotland, and\nconsequently the only way in which they can account for the singular\ncondition of the Borders is by predicating an essentially lower moral\ntype. We do not believe that this theory, plausible though it may appear,\nwill bear a moment's serious consideration. No doubt among the \"broken\nmen\" of the Debateable land, and in some parts of Liddesdale, you will\nfind a considerable number of disreputable characters whose only law was\nthe length of their own swords. But it is a mistake to suppose that such\nindividuals represent the general type of the inhabitants of the\nBorderland. The very fact that these men had no Chief to represent them\nshows that they had, so to speak, fallen out of the ranks.\n\nThe solution of this problem must be sought in another direction. It will\nbe found by a careful study of the history of the country that Border\nreiving was, to a considerable extent, the result of a concatenation of\ncircumstances over which the inhabitants of these districts had little or\nno control. They were the victims of an evil fate. It was not merely their\nproximity to the English Border which occasioned their misdeeds. It is an\ninteresting and significant fact that, till near the close of the 13th\ncentury, the Border Counties were as law-abiding as any other part of the\nrealm. Petty skirmishes were, no doubt, of frequent occurrence, as might\nbe expected; but the deep rooted aversion to the English which\ncharacterises the subsequent period of Scottish history had hardly at that\ntime any real existence. How the change was brought about will become\napparent as we bring under review some salient facts in Scottish history\nwhich have a direct and immediate bearing on the question before us.\n\nIt must be borne in mind that for a period of more than three hundred\nyears Scotland was kept in a condition of political distraction by the\ninsane desire on the part of the English Government to reduce it to a\nstate of vassalage. When this policy was first determined on everything\nseemed favourable to its speedy realisation. When Alexander III., a wise\nand gracious King, under whose reign the country had greatly prospered,\nwas accidentally killed when hunting in the neighbourhood of Kinghorn, the\nCrown reverted to his grand-daughter, the Maid of Norway, who was then a\nchild of tender years. At this unfortunate juncture Edward I. of England\nresolved that the two countries should be united under one Sovereign; at\nleast this was the object of his ambition. He was fully convinced that so\nlong as Scotland maintained her political independence, England would have\nto reckon with a powerful adversary. If he could only succeed, by fair\nmeans or foul, in gaining Scotland over as a fief of England, then the\ncountry as a whole would enjoy the immunities and benefits naturally\naccruing to its position as an island. England would thus be in an\nimmensely more advantageous position to resist foreign invasion, and its\ninfluence and power as an aggressive force would be indefinitely\nincreased. The object aimed at was an exceedingly desirable one.\nUnfortunately it was a sane policy insanely pursued. Had the English King\nonly been gifted with more self-restraint, had he but been prepared to\nwait patiently the natural development of events, and not to have struck\nthe iron _before_ it was hot, he might have succeeded in gaining his end,\na result which would have changed the whole complexion and current of\nScottish history. Whether this would have been better or worse, more to\nour own advantage and the advantage of Great Britain, as a whole, is one\nof those points about which there may be considerable difference of\nopinion. Many have regretted that the Union of the Crowns was not effected\nin the 14th century rather than in the 17th, as such a consummation would\nhave saved the country much, both of bloodshed and treasure. It may be so.\nIt cannot be denied that from a purely material point of view it might\nhave been better had Scotland gracefully complied with the wishes of\nEdward. But man cannot live by bread alone. There are higher and better\nthings in the life of a people than mere material well-being, and in view\nof these it was well that Scotland maintained her independence. The record\nof her achievements, when contending against the most overwhelming odds,\nand the example of those heroic personalities, which mark the progress of\nher history, have been a perennial fountain of inspiration to the Scottish\npeople, have made them what they are. While, therefore, there may be some\ncause for regret, on the ground of political expediency, that the union of\nthe two countries was so late in being effected, yet on other and higher\ngrounds there is just reason for thankfulness that things took the course\nthey did. What would Scotland have been without its Wallace or Bruce? or\nwhat would it have been apart from the long and arduous struggle through\nwhich it was destined to pass ere it gained an assured and thoroughly\nindependent political position? The long years of struggle and desolating\nwarfare constitute an important factor in the social and intellectual\nevolution of the nation. The best qualities of the Scottish character and\nintellect were developed in the seething maelstrom of political strife and\ninternecine war. It may be that \"the course of Providence is also the\norbit of wisdom.\"\n\nEdward in trying to bring Scotland under his sway pursued a two-fold\npolicy. He endeavoured to prevent as far as possible all union among the\nmost powerful Scottish barons. He arrayed their private and selfish\nambition against the love of their country. He sowed dissension in their\ncouncils, and richly rewarded their treachery. Those who dared to oppose\nhis well-laid schemes were treated with unmitigated severity. His success\nin this respect was complete. He had the satisfaction of seeing the\ncountry torn to pieces by contending factions. His way was now open for\napplying more drastic measures. He raised a powerful army and invaded\nScotland. The town of Berwick was then an important centre of commerce,\nand he was determined at all hazards to make himself master of the city.\n\"He despatched a large division, with orders to assault the town, choosing\na line of march which concealed them from the citizens; and he commanded\nhis fleet to enter the river at the same moment that the great body of the\narmy, led by himself, were ready to storm. The Scottish army fiercely\nassaulted the ships, burnt three of them, and compelled the rest to\nretire; but they in their turn were driven back by the fury of the land\nattack. Edward himself, mounted on horseback, was the first who leaped the\ndyke; and the soldiers, animated by the example and presence of their\nKing, carried everything before them. All the horrors of a rich and\npopulous city, sacked by an inflamed soldiery, and a commander thirsting\nfor vengeance, now succeeded. _Seventeen thousand persons_, without\ndistinction of age or sex, were put to the sword; and for two days the\ncity ran with blood like a river. The churches, to which the miserable\ninhabitants fled for sanctuary, were violated and defiled with blood,\nspoiled of their sacred ornaments, and turned into stables for the English\ncavalry.\"[1]\n\nThis ruthless massacre produced a profound sensation all over the country,\nbut more especially on the Borders, and had much to do in creating that\nbitter feeling of hostility with which the English were ever afterwards\nregarded. To harass and despoil them was looked upon almost as a sacred\nduty. This miserable butchery of the inoffensive lieges instantly led to\nreprisals. Under the Earls of Ross, Menteith, and Athole, the Scottish\narmy crossed the English Border, and ravaged with merciless severity the\ndistricts of Redesdale and Tynedale. The monasteries of Lanercost and\nHexham were given to the flames, towns and villages destroyed, and the\nsurrounding country laid waste. The Scots returned laden with booty. But\nthe success which had crowned their arms was of doubtful utility. It only\nserved to fan the flame of vengeful ire in the breast of the English King,\nwho now resolved on the complete subjugation of the country. He marched\nagainst Dunbar with an army of ten thousand foot, and a thousand heavy\narmed horse. The Scots opposed his progress with an army much superior in\npoint of numbers, and occupying a position of great strategic importance\non the heights above Spot. As the English army had necessarily to deploy\nin passing along the valley it was supposed that the ranks had somehow\nfallen into confusion. The Scots precipitately rushed upon the enemy, only\nto find, to their dismay, that the English army was under the most perfect\ndiscipline, and ready for the attack. After a short resistance the\nScottish columns were thrown into inextricable confusion, and were routed\nwith great slaughter, leaving ten thousand brave soldiers dead in the\nfield. History has a strange knack of repeating itself. Three hundred and\nfifty years after, the Scottish covenanters committed a similar blunder at\nthe same place when opposing the progress of Oliver Cromwell, and with an\nequally disastrous result. The progress of Edward now partook of the\nnature of a triumphal march. He threw his army upon Edinburgh, and in the\ncourse of eight days made himself master of the Castle. He then proceeded\nto Perth, where he received the submission of Baliol, who seemed anxious\nto rid himself of an office the duties of which he was constitutionally\nunfit to discharge. The King continued his march to Aberdeen, and from\nthence to Elgin, without resistance. The nobles hurried into his presence\nto tender their submission. With indecent haste they renounced the\nalliance with Bruce, and took the oath of fealty to the destroyer of their\ncountry's liberties. It was a dark and tragic hour in Scottish history.\n\nAs Edward returned on his way to Berwick, where he proposed holding a\nParliament, he visited Scone, and took with him the \"famous and fatal\nstone\" upon which for many ages the Scottish Kings had been crowned and\nanointed. \"This, considered by the Scots as the national Palladium, along\nwith the Scottish Sceptre and Crown, the English monarch placed in the\nCathedral of Westminster as an offering to Edward the Confessor, and as a\nmemorial of what he deemed his absolute conquest of Scotland, a conquest\nwhich, before a single year elapsed, was entirely wrested from him.\"[2]\n\nWe must now pass rapidly over one of the most eventful and stirring\nperiods of Scottish history, during which Wallace and Bruce, by almost\nsuperhuman efforts, succeeded in delivering the country from the\ndomination and control of England. The battle of Bannockburn gave the\nfinal blow to the lofty pretensions of the English monarch. He began to\nrealise that the conquest of Scotland was not to be effected so easily as\nhe had at one time vainly thought. But unfortunately this splendid victory\ndid not result in inaugurating a reign of peace and goodwill between the\ntwo countries. After all that the Scottish people had suffered at the\nhands of their enemies, it was impossible for them to remain quiescent.\nThey were determined on revenge. Hence we find that in the early autumn of\n1314 Douglas and Edward Bruce were despatched across the eastern march,\nand ravaged with fire and sword the counties of Northumberland and Durham.\nThey even penetrated into Yorkshire, plundered the town of Richmond, and\ndrove away a large booty of cattle, and made many prisoners. The\ninhabitants of the north of England were paralysed with fear. Walsingham\ndeclares that a hundred Englishmen would not hesitate to fly from two or\nthree Scottish soldiers, so grievously had their wonted courage deserted\nthem.\n\nAnother army of Scottish soldiers marched through Redesdale and Tynedale,\n\"marking their progress by the black ashes of the towns and villages.\"\n\nIn the spring of the following year this predatory mode of warfare was\nagain resumed, and Northumberland and the principality of Durham ravaged.\nA great quantity of plunder was collected, and the inhabitants compelled\nto redeem their property by paying a high tribute. The army of Bruce\nseemed invincible, and the northern counties of England were made to pay\ndearly for the temerity of the king in venturing to challenge the\npatriotism and prowess of the Scottish people.\n\nThese events produced a profound impression on the people as a whole,\nespecially on the dwellers on the Scottish Border. The sacking of Berwick,\nand the indiscriminate slaughter of its inhabitants, whose only offence\nwas that they refused to open their gates to the usurper, were not soon\nforgotten, and engendered in the Border mind an undying hatred of England.\nIt is not to be wondered at that the inhabitants of the Scottish Border\nshould seldom either think or speak of the English except as their \"auld\nenemies.\" To despoil them became, if not a religious, at least a patriotic\nduty. These circumstances to which reference has been made, and others of\na kindred nature, may account, in some degree at least, for the\nextraordinary fact that the Border mosstrooper never seems to have been\nashamed of his calling. On the contrary he gloried in it. In his eyes it\nwas honourable and worthy. The undaunted bearing of the Bold Buccleuch,\nfor example, and his cavalier manner in dealing with the English wardens,\nshowed how thoroughly he enjoyed the work in which he was engaged. Eure\ntells how, on one occasion, he sent his cousin, Henry Bowes, to confer\nwith this famous freebooter on some question in dispute, but Buccleuch\n\"scorned to speak with him, and gathered his forces; and if my said cousin\nhad not wisely foreseen and taken time to have come away he had been\nstayed himself. Two several messages were sent from Buccleuch from out his\ncompany that were in the field, part to have stayed with him and those\nthat were with him. Not long since some of his men having stolen in my\nMarch, my men following their trade were stayed of his officer of\nHermitage, their horses taken and themselves escaped on foot.\"[3]\n\nThe English warden had evidently considerable difficulty in accounting\nfor Buccleuch's attitude, for we find in a letter written to Burghley a\nfew days after this happened that he is disposed to attribute his enmity\nto England to his zeal for Romanism. \"His secret friends,\" he says, \"say\nhe is a papist; his surest friends in court are papists about the Queen,\nand labour his grace with the King. He strengthened himself much of late,\nand secretly says he will not stir till some certainty of the Spaniards\narrive. To England he is a secret enemy, mighty proud, publishing his\ndescent to be from Angus, and laboureth to be created Earl, and claimeth\nhis blood to be partly royal. His poverty is great, all which concurring\nwith his pride and Spanish religion, I leave to your honourable wisdom to\ncensure.\"\n\nThis picture is certainly painted in strong colours. The one point in it\nwhich is really significant, however, is that Buccleuch was \"a secret\nenemy to England.\" This may be said of nine-tenths of the Border reivers.\nIt was not the mere love of plunder or mischief which impelled them to\nprosecute their calling. They were animated by a spirit of revenge. Times\nalmost without number the armies of England had crossed the Border,\nburning villages and homesteads, destroying the crops, carrying off goods\nand cattle, leaving those whom they had thus ruthlessly despoiled to the\ntender mercies of an uncertain climate and an impoverished soil, from\nwhich even at the best they had difficulty in extracting a bare\nsubsistence.\n\nThe English were, comparatively speaking, rich and powerful. They could\ncommand great forces, against which it was in vain, in most cases, for the\nScottish Borderers to contend. Hence when they were assailed they drove\ntheir cattle into the recesses of mountain or forest, burned or otherwise\ndestroyed what they could not remove--so that the enemy might be enriched\nas little as possible--and betook themselves to some distant shelter,\nwhere they awaited the course of events. As soon as the enemy had\nwithdrawn, they returned to their places of abode, which, though\ndestroyed, were easily reconstructed--the work of rebuilding being done in\na day or two--and then they set about recouping themselves for the losses\nthey had sustained by making incursions on the English Border, and\ncarrying off every thing they could lay their hands on. This system of\nplunder and reprisal went on merrily along the whole line of the Borders\nfor many generations. All the great Border families were involved in it,\nand devoted themselves to the work with a zeal and enthusiasm which left\nnothing to be desired. They doubtless felt that in plundering the English\nthey were not only enriching themselves, but promoting the interests of\ntheir country, and paying back a long standing and heavily accumulating\ndebt.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nPERCY'S PENNON.\n\n  \"It fell about the Lammas time\n    When Yeomen wonne their hay,\n  The doughty DOUGLAS 'gan to ride\n    In England to take a prey.\"\n\n                                   BATTLE OF OTTERBURN.\n\n\nThe Battle of Otterburn, which took place in the autumn of 1388, is\nwithout question one of the most interesting episodes in Border history,\nand is especially significant as an illustration of the prowess and\nchivalry of the Border Chiefs. The chief combatants on the Scottish side\nwere the Earls of Douglas, Moray, March, and Crawford, the Lord\nMontgomery, and Patrick Hepburn of Hales, and his son. On the English side\nwere Sir Henry (Hotspur) and Sir Ralph Percy, sons of the Earl of\nNorthumberland; the Seneschal of York, Sir Ralph Langley, Sir Matthew\nRedman, governor of Berwick, Sir Robert Ogle, Sir Thomas Grey, Sir Thomas\nHatton, Sir John Felton, Sir John Lillburne, Sir William Walsingham, and\nmany others, all good men and true. The circumstances which brought about\nthis famous encounter are worth recalling, as they shed an interesting\nlight on the history of the period, as well as on the manners and customs\nof the age. The Scots, with the aid of their French allies, under the\ncommand of Sir John de Vienne, had made frequent successful incursions\nupon the English Borders, ravaging with fire and sword considerable\ndistricts of the country, both to the east and west of the frontier. This\nnaturally led to retaliating expeditions. At last the state of affairs\nbecame so desperate that the young King, Richard II., determined to invade\nScotland, and mete out summary punishment on the depredators. An army of\nextraordinary power and splendour was assembled; and the King, attended by\nhis uncles and all the principal nobles of the kingdom, set out for the\nScottish Border. If he expected to reap a rich harvest of booty by this\ninvasion of the Scottish kingdom he was doomed to bitter disappointment.\nAs he passed through Liddesdale and Teviotdale at the head of his army he\nfound that the country had been cleared of everything that could be\nconveniently carried off. The cattle had been driven into the forest and\nmountain fastnesses; all the goods and chattels had been secured in places\nof safety; nothing was left but the green crops, and these being trampled\nupon were rendered practically worthless. But most wonderful of all--he\nnever could come within sight of the enemy! The whole region through which\nhe passed was lonely and desolate as a wilderness. The reason of this was\nthat the French and Scots forces had fallen back upon Berwick, the\ncommander of the Scots army being unwilling to hazard the fate of the\ncountry by an encounter with such an overwhelmingly superior force. The\nFrench commander, De Vienne, was impatient, and bitterly disappointed at\nnot being permitted to attack the invaders. The Earl of Douglas, in order\nto demonstrate the hopelessness of an encounter, conveyed him to a lofty\neminence, commanding a mountain pass through which the English army was at\nthat moment defiling, and where unseen themselves, they could see its\nimposing array. The Scottish leader pointed out the number and discipline\nof the men-at-arms, and the superiority of the equipments of the archers,\nand then asked the French Knight whether he could recommend the Scots to\nencounter such a numerous and completely accoutred army with a few\nill-trained Highland bowmen, and their light-armed prickers mounted on\nlittle hackneys. He could not but admit the risk was too great. \"But yet,\"\nsaid he, \"if you do not give the English battle they will destroy your\ncountry.\" \"Let them do their worst,\" replied Douglas, \"they will find but\nlittle to destroy. Our people have all retired into the mountains and\nforests, and have carried off their flocks and herds and household stuff\nalong with them. We will surround them with a desert, and while they never\nsee an enemy they shall never stir a bow-shot from their standards\nwithout being overpowered with an ambush. Let them come on at their\npleasure, and when it comes to burning and spoiling you shall see which\nhas the worst of it.\" \"But what will you do with your army if you do not\nfight,\" said De Vienne; \"and how will your people endure the distress and\nfamine and plunder which must be the consequences of the invasion?\" \"You\nshall see that our army shall not be idle,\" was the reply; \"and as for our\nScottish people, they will endure pillage, and they will endure famine,\nand every other extremity of war, but they will not endure English\nmasters.\"\n\nThe wisdom of this course was proved by subsequent results. The English\narmy by the time it reached Edinburgh had got into the most desperate\nstraits owing to the scarcity of provisions. Multitudes perished from\nwant, and to escape total destruction a retreat was ordered through those\nvery districts \"which their own merciless and short-sighted policy had\nrendered a blackened desert.\"\n\nThere is one important fact brought before us in this connection which\ndemands a passing notice. The Reformers have often been severely censured\nfor the wholesale destruction of the ancient Abbeys so intimately\nassociated with the \"fair humanities\" of the ritual and worship of the\nChurch of Rome. The saying attributed to Knox, about pulling down the\nrookeries to prevent the crows building, has served as a convenient text\nfor many a philippic on the iconoclastic spirit and tendency of\nProtestantism. But the truth is that Knox had as little sympathy with what\nhe calls the \"rascal multitude,\" which sometimes engaged in this kind of\nwork, as any of those opposed to him. Our Abbeys for the most part owe\ntheir destruction not to Reforming zeal, but to Catholic England's\ncupidity and revenge. The beautiful Abbeys of Melrose, Dryburgh, and\nNewbattle were given to the flames by the English soldiers at this time,\nand the wanton destruction of these noble edifices created in the Scottish\nmind a feeling of deep and bitter hostility. Jedburgh, too, owes its\ndestruction not to Scottish iconoclasm, but to English invasion. It was\npillaged and partly burned by the Earl of Surrey in the year 1523, and its\ndestruction was practically completed by the Earl of Hereford twenty-two\nyears afterwards; so that, so far at least as the Border Abbeys are\nconcerned, the charge so often preferred against the Reformers is a base\nand stupid calumny.\n\nIt was this invasion of the English army which led the Scottish nobles to\norganise the expedition which may be said to have terminated so gloriously\nat Otterburn. \"The Scots,\" says Godscroft, \"irritated herewith boyled with\ndesire and revenge, being at that time very flourishing with strong youth,\nand never better furnished with commanders.\" The barons did not think it\npolitic, for various reasons, to take the King into their confidence. He\nwas of an essentially pacific disposition, and moreover was well stricken\nin years, and it is almost certain, had the matter been laid before him,\nhe would have opposed the movement to the utmost of his power. His sons,\nhowever, were prepared to give every encouragement and assistance, and the\nbarons in order to allay suspicion, and especially to prevent the English\ngetting to know their purposes and plans, assembled at a great feast in\nAberdeen and took counsel together. But, as Froissart says, \"Everything is\nknown to them who are diligent in their inquiries.\" The English nobles\nsent spies to Aberdeen, who, appearing in the guise of heralds and\nminstrels, became familiar with the plans of the Scottish barons, and\nspeedily carried the information back to their own country. When the\nScottish army ultimately assembled at Yetholm, close to the English\nBorder, the English lords were well informed on nearly every point on\nwhich information could be desired. Such a muster had not been seen, so it\nwas said, for sixty years. \"There were twelve hundred spears, and forty\nthousand other men and archers. These lords were well pleased on meeting\nwith each other, and declared they would never return to their homes\nwithout making an inroad on England, and to such an effect as would be\nremembered for twenty years.\"[4]\n\nThe English had arranged that, if the Scots entered the country through\nCumberland and Carlisle, they would ride into Scotland by Berwick and\nDunbar, for they said, theirs is an open country that can be entered\nanywhere, but ours is a country with strong and well fortified towns and\ncastles. It was therefore important they should know what route the Scots\nhad determined upon. To ascertain this they sent a spy to the Scots' camp\nthat he might report to them not only their intentions, but their speeches\nand actions. The English squire who came on this errand had a singular and\nexciting experience. He tied his horse to a tree in the neighbourhood of\nthe church, where the barons were assembled, and entered into the church,\nas a servant following his master. When he came out he went to get his\nhorse, but to his consternation the animal had disappeared, \"for a\nScotsman (for they are all thieves) had stolen him.\"[5] He went away,\nsaying nothing about his loss, a circumstance which at once excited\nsuspicion. One who saw him remarked, \"I have witnessed many wonderful\nthings, but what I now see is equal to any; that man yonder has, I\nbelieve, lost his horse, and yet he makes no inquiries after it. On my\ntroth, I doubt much if he belongs to us; let us go after him, and see\nwhether I am right or not.\" He was immediately apprehended, brought back,\nand examined. He was told that if he tried to deceive them he would lose\nhis head, but if he told the truth he would be kindly treated. Being in\ndread of his life, he divulged all he knew, and especially explained with\nminuteness of detail the plans which had been concocted by his compatriots\nfor the invasion of Scotland. \"When the Scottish lords heard what was said\nthey were silent; but looked at each other.\"\n\nIt was now resolved to divide the army into two sections; one section, and\nthat much the larger of the two, to go into England through Cumberland,\nthe other to proceed along the valley of the Tyne to Durham. The latter\ncompany, under the command of the Earl of Douglas, made a rapid march\nthrough Northumberland, keeping a \"calm sough\" all the way, but as soon as\nthey got into the neighbourhood of Durham the fiends of war were let\nloose. The first intimation the garrison in Newcastle had that the enemy\nwas within their gates, was the dense volumes of smoke which ascended from\nburning towns and homesteads. Having gathered together an immense quantity\nof booty, the Scots set out on their return journey, and crossing the Tyne\nassaulted Newcastle, filling the ditches with hay and faggots, hoping\nthereby to have drawn out the enemy to the open fields. But the English,\nbeing in doubt as to the real strength of the Scots' army, were afraid to\nchallenge an encounter. But Sir Henry Percy, better known as _Hotspur_,\nbeing desirous to try his valour, offered to fight the Douglas in single\ncombat. \"They mounted on two faire steeds, and ran together with sharp\nground spears at outrance; in which encounter the Earl Douglas bore Percie\nout of his saddle. But the English that were by did rescue him so that he\ncould not come at himself, but he snatched away his spear with his guidon\nor wither; and waving it aloft, and shaking it, he cried aloud that he\nwould carry it into Scotland as his spoil.\"[6] The account which Froissart\ngives of this notable encounter differs in some particulars from the\nforegoing. He says:--\"The sons of the Earl of Northumberland, from their\ngreat courage, were always the first barriers, when many valiant deeds\nwere done with lances hand to hand. The Earl of Douglas had a long\nconflict with Sir Henry Percy, and in it, by gallantry of arms, won his\npennon, to the great vexation of Sir Henry and the other English.\" The\nEarl of Douglas said, \"I will carry this token of your prowess with me to\nScotland, and place it on the tower of my castle at Dalkeith that it may\nbe seen from far.\" \"By God, Earl of Douglas,\" replied Sir Henry, \"you\nshall not even carry it out of Northumberland; be assured you shall never\nhave the pennon to brag of.\" \"You must come then,\" answered Earl Douglas,\n\"this night and seek for it. I will fix your pennon before my tent, and\nshall see if you venture to take it away.\" As the balladist has vigorously\nput it--\n\n  He took a long spear in his hand,\n    Shod with the metal free,\n  And for to meet the Douglas there,\n    He rode right furiouslie.\n\n  But O how pale his lady look'd,\n    Frae aff the castle wa',\n  When down before the Scottish spear\n    She saw proud Percy fa'.\n\n  \"Had we twa been upon the green,\n    And never an eye to see,\n  I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;[7]\n    But your sword sall gie wi' me.\"\n\n  \"But gae ye up to Otterbourne,\n    And wait there dayis three;\n  And, if I come not ere three dayis end,\n    A fause knight ca' ye me.\"\n\n  \"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;\n    'Tis pleasant there to be;\n  But there is nought at Otterbourne,\n    To feed my men and me.\n\n  \"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,\n    The birds fly wild from tree to tree;\n  But there is neither bread nor kail,\n    To fend[8] my men and me.\n\n  \"Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,\n    Where you shall welcome be;\n  And, if ye come not at three dayis end,\n    A fause lord I'll ca' thee.\"\n\n  \"Thither will I come,\" proud Percy said,\n    \"By the might of our Ladye!\"\n  \"There will I bide thee,\" said the Douglass,\n    \"My troth I plight to thee.\"\n\n  They lighted high on Otterbourne,\n    Upon the bent sae brown;\n  They lighted high on Otterbourne,\n    And threw their pallions down.\n\n  And he that had a bonnie boy,\n    Sent out his horse to grass;\n  And he that had not a bonnie boy,\n    His ain servant he was.\n\n\nThe Earl of Douglas having withdrawn his gallant troops to Otterburn, in\nthe parish of Elsdon, some thirty-two miles from Newcastle, and within\neasy reach of the Scottish Border, was strongly urged to proceed towards\nCarlisle, in order to join the main body of the army; but he thought it\nbest to stay there some three or four days at least, to \"repell the\nPercy's bragging.\" To keep his soldiers from wearying, he set them to take\nsome gentlemen's castles and houses that lay near, a work which was\ncarried out with the greatest alacrity and goodwill. They also\nstrengthened and fortified the camp where it was weak, and built huts of\ntrees and branches. Their baggage and servants they placed at the entrance\nof a marsh, which lay near the Newcastle road; and driving their cattle\ninto the marsh land, where they were comparatively safe, they waited the\ndevelopment of events.\n\nNor were they long kept in suspense. The English having discovered that\nthe Scottish army was comparatively small, resolved at once to risk an\nencounter. Sir Henry Percy, when he heard that the Scottish army did not\nconsist of more than three thousand men, including all sorts, became\nfrantically excited, and cried out--\"To horse! to horse! for by the faith\nI owe to my God, and to my lord and father, I will seek to recover my\npennon, and to beat up their quarters this night.\" He set out at once,\naccompanied by six hundred spears, of knights and squires, and upwards of\neight thousand infantry, which he said would be more than enough to fight\nthe Scots.\n\nIf Providence is always on the side of the heaviest battalion, as Napoleon\nwas wont to affirm, then the Scots on this occasion are in imminent danger\nof having \"short shrift.\" But it has been found that the fortunes of war\ndepend on a variety of circumstances that are frequently of more\nimportance than the number of troops, either on the one side or the other.\nDiscipline and valour, when combined with patriotism and pride-of-arms,\nhave accomplished feats which the heaviest battalions are sometimes\nimpotent to achieve. We by no means wish to imply that the English were\ndeficient in these desirable qualities; far from it. They were splendidly\nled, and in the encounter displayed the most heroic qualities; but they\nwere matched by a small body of men, of the most dauntless courage and\ninvincible determination who were thoroughly inured to battle, and ever\nready at the call of duty, to encounter the most powerful foes. The Scots\nwere taken by surprise. Some were at supper, and others had gone to rest\nwhen the alarm was given that the English were approaching.\n\n  But up then spake a little page,\n    Before the peep of dawn--\n  \"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,\n    For Percy's hard at hand.\"\n\n  \"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!\n    Sae loud I hear ye lie;\n  For Percy had not men yestreen,\n    To dight my men and me.\n\n  \"But I have dream'd a dreary dream,\n    Beyond the Isle of Sky;\n  I saw a dead man win a fight,\n    And I think that man was I.\"\n\n  He belted on his guid braid sword,\n    And to the field he ran;\n  But he forgot the helmit good,\n    That should have kept his brain.\n\n\nThe battle now raged in earnest. A bright warm day had been followed by a\nclear still moonlight night. \"The fight,\" says Godscroft, \"was continued\nvery hard as among noble men on both sides, who did esteem more of glory\nthan life. Percy strove to repair the foil he got at Newcastle, and the\nEarl Douglas did as much labour to keep the honour he had won. So in\nunequal numbers, but both eager in mind, they continued fighting a great\npart of the night. At last a cloud covering the face of the moon, not\nbeing able to discern friend from foe, they took some respite for a while;\nbut so soon as the cloud was gone, the English gave so hard a charge,\nthat the Scots were put back in such sort, that the Douglas standard was\nin great peril to have been lost. This did so irritate him, that he\nhimself in the one wing, and the two Hepburns (father and son) in the\nother, pressing through the ranks of their own men, and advancing to the\nplace where the greatest peril appeared, renewed a hard conflict, and by\ngiving and receiving many wounds, they restored their men into the place\nfrom whence they had been beaten, and continued the fight till the next\nday at noon.\"[9] Foremost, in the thick of the fray, was the dauntless\nDouglas, laying about him on every side with a mace of iron, which two\nordinary men were not able to lift, \"and making a lane round about\nwheresoever he went.\"\n\n  When Percy wi' the Douglas met\n    I wat he was fu' fain!\n  They swakked their swords till sair they swat,\n    And the blood ran down like rain.\n\n\"Thus he advanced like another Hector, thinking to recover and conquer the\nfield, from his own prowess, until he was met by three spears that were\npointed at him: one struck him on the shoulder, another on the stomach,\nnear the belly, and the third entered his thigh. He could never disengage\nhimself from these spears, but was borne to the ground fighting\ndesperately. From that moment he never rose again. Some of his knights and\nsquires had followed him, but not all; for though the moon shone it was\nrather dark. The three English lances knew they had struck down some\nperson of considerable rank, but never thought it was Earl Douglas: had\nthey known it they would have been so rejoiced that their courage would\nhave been redoubled, and the fortune of the day had consequently been\ndetermined to their side. The Scots were ignorant also of their loss till\nthe battle was over, otherwise they would certainly, from despair, have\nbeen discomfited.\"[10]\n\nWhen at last the dying Douglas was discovered by his kinsman, James\nLindsay and John and Walter Sinclair, and was asked how he fared, he\nreplied, \"I do well dying as my predecessors have done before; not on a\nbed of lingering sickness, but in the field. These things I require you as\nmy last petitions; First, that ye keep my death close both from my own\nfolk, and from the enemy; then that ye suffer not my standard to be lost,\nor cast down; and last that ye avenge my death, and bury me at Melrose\nwith my father. If I could hope for these things, I should die with the\ngreater contentment, for long since I heard a prophecy that a dead man\nshould win a field, and I hope in God it shall be I.\"[11]\n\n  \"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep,\n     Take thou the vanguard of the three,\n   And hide me by the bracken bush,\n    That grows on yonder lilye lee.\n\n  \"O bury me by the bracken bush,\n     Beneath the blooming brier,\n   Let never living mortal ken,\n    A kindly Scot lies here.\"[12]\n\nThrowing a shroud over the prostrate body of the wounded and dying\nsoldier, that the enemy might not discover who it was that had fallen,\nthey raised the standard and shouted lustily \"a Douglas! a Douglas!\" and\nrushed with might and main upon the English host. Soon the English ranks\nbegan to waver, and when at last it was known that Hotspur had been taken\nprisoner by the Earl of Montgomery, \"The enemy fled and turned their\nbacks.\" According to Godscroft there were 1840 of the English slain, 1040\ntaken prisoners, and 1000 wounded. The losses on the Scottish, according\nto the same historian, were comparatively trifling, amounting only to 100\nslain and 200 taken prisoners.\n\n  This deed was done at Otterbourne\n    About the breaking of the day,\n  Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush,\n    And the Percy led captive away.\n\n\nThere are several incidents connected with this famous battle that are\nworthy of special notice, but one in particular demands a passing word.\nThe Bishop of Durham, at the head of ten thousand men, appeared on the\nfield almost immediately after the battle had ended. The Scots were\ngreatly alarmed, and scarcely knew how, in the circumstances,--having so\nmany prisoners and wounded to attend to,--they were to meet this\nformidable host. They fortified their camp, having only one pass by which\nit could be entered; made their prisoners swear that, whether rescued or\nnot, they would remain their prisoners; and then they ordered their\nminstrels to play as merrily as possible. The Bishop of Durham had\nscarcely approached within a league of the Scots when they began to play\nsuch a concert that \"it seemed as if all the devils in hell had come\nthither to join in the noise,\" so that those of the English who had never\nbefore heard such were much frightened. As he drew nearer, the noise\nbecame more terrific--\"the hills redoubling the sound.\" The Bishop being\nimpressed with the apparent strength of the camp, and not a little alarmed\nat the discordant piercing sounds which proceeded from it, thought it\ndesirable to retreat as speedily as possible, as it appeared to him that\nthere were greater chances of loss than gain. \"He was affrighted with the\nsound of the horns.\"\n\nThus ended one of the most notable battles on record. The flower of the\nchivalry of both nations took part in it, and never did men acquit\nthemselves with greater credit. Indeed it is generally admitted that the\nvalour displayed on both sides has rarely, if ever, been surpassed. But\nperhaps most notable of all was the kindness and consideration displayed\ntowards those who had been wounded or taken prisoner. The former were\ntended with the greatest care; and as for the latter, the most of them\nwere permitted to go back to their homes, after having given their word of\nhonour that they would return when called upon. Not more than four hundred\nprisoners were carried into Scotland, and some of these were allowed to\nregain their liberty by naming their own ransom.\n\nMany severe accusations have been brought against Scotsmen, and especially\nBorderers, for their cruelty and inhumanity in time of war. It is perhaps\npossible to make good this indictment; but we do not believe that in\nregard to such matters the Scots were worse than their neighbours. And if\nthey had great vices, they had also splendid virtues. They were brave,\ntruthful, courteous, too ready perhaps to draw the sword on the slightest\nprovocation, but as has been shown in the present instance, they were\nincapable of taking a mean advantage of a fallen foe. They loved fighting\nfor its own sake, as well as for the sake of the \"booty,\" but when the\nbattle was over they cherished few resentments. The splendid qualities,\nphysical and moral, so conspicuously brought to view in the battle of\nOtterburn cannot fail to suggest what a magnificent country Scotland might\nhave become many centuries ago had she only been blessed with wise Kings\nand a strong Government.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nPOOR AND LAWLESS.\n\n  \"Mountainous and strange is the country,\n    And the people rough and savage.\"\n\n\nWe have seen that the feeling of hatred to the English which prevailed on\nthe Scottish Borders was due to some extent to the memory of the wrongs\nwhich the Borderers had suffered at the hands of their hereditary enemies.\nThat this feeling had something to do with the existence and development\nof the reiving system, must be apparent to every student of history and of\nhuman nature. It was the most natural thing in the world that the dwellers\non the Scottish Border should seek to retaliate; and as the forces at\ntheir command were seldom powerful enough to justify their engaging in\nopen warfare, they resorted to the only other method of revenge which held\nout to them any hope of success.\n\nBut while this aspect of the situation ought to be kept prominently in\nview, there are other factors of the problem which must not be overlooked.\nIn the Middle Ages the district of country known as the Borders must have\npresented a very different appearance from what it does at the close of\nthe 19th century. The Merse, which is now, for the most part, in a high\nstate of cultivation, and capable of bearing the finest crops, was then in\na comparatively poor condition, looked at from an agricultural point of\nview. The soil in many places was thin, poor, and marshy. Drainage was\nunknown, and the benefits accruing from the rotation of crops, and the\nsystem of feeding the soil with artificial manures, so familiar in these\ndays of high farming, were then very inadequately appreciated. Perhaps an\nexception to this statement ought to be made in favour of the land held\nand cultivated by the great religious houses, such as Melrose, Jedburgh,\nand Kelso. The tenants on these lands enjoyed special privileges and\nimmunities, and were thus able to prosecute their labour not only with\nmore skill, but with a greater certainty of success. It is sometimes said\nthat the monks knew where to pitch their camps; that they appropriated to\ntheir own use and benefit the fairest and richest parts of the country;\nbut, as Lord Hailes very pertinently remarks, \"When we examine the sites\nof ancient Monasteries, we are sometimes inclined to say with the vulgar,\nthat the clergy in former times always chose the best of the land, and\nthe most commodious habitations, but we do not advert, that religious\nhouses were frequently erected on waste grounds, afterwards improved by\nthe art and industry of the clergy, who alone had art and industry.\"[13]\nThe land held by these houses was cultivated on more or less scientific\nprinciples. \"Within the precincts of the wealthier abbeys,\" says Skelton,\n\"an active industrial community was housed. The prescribed offices of the\nchurch were of course scrupulously observed: but the energies of the\nsociety were not exclusively occupied with, nor indeed mainly directed to,\nthe performance of religious duties. The occupants of the monasteries wore\nthe religious garb; but they were road-makers, farmers, merchants,\nlawyers, as well as priests.... The earliest roads in Scotland that\ndeserved the name were made by the Monks and their dependents; and were\nintended to connect the religious houses as trading societies with the\ncapital or nearest seaport. A decent public road is indispensable to an\nindustrial community: and a considerable portion of the trade of the\ncountry was in the hands of the religious orders. The Monks of Melrose\nsent wool to the Netherlands; others trafficked in corn, in timber, in\nsalmon.... Each community, each order, as was natural, had its\ncharacteristic likings and dislikings. One house turned out the best\nscholars and lawyers, another the finest wool and the sweetest mutton; one\nwas famed for poetry and history, another for divinity or medicine.\"[14]\nIt would therefore be nearer the truth to say that the monks made the\ndistricts in which they lived rich and fertile; than that they found them\nso, and took possession of them in consequence.\n\nBut beyond the sphere of these monastic institutions, the state of matters\nfrom an agricultural point of view could hardly have been worse. This was\nmainly due to the fact that, so far as Berwickshire and some parts of\nDumfriesshire are concerned, the tiller of the soil was never sure that he\nwould have the privilege of reaping his harvest. By the time the grain was\nready for the sickle an English army might invade the country and give the\ncrops to the flames. This happened so frequently, and the feeling of\ninsecurity thus became so great, that husbandry at times was all but\nabandoned. There can be no doubt that this was one prime factor in\ncreating the poverty which was so long a marked and painful feature of the\nlife of the Scottish Borders.\n\nOn the other hand, there was a considerable extent of country, extending\nfrom Jedburgh to Canobie, which was practically unfit for cultivation. The\nRoyal Forest of Ettrick was of great extent, and was reserved as a happy\nhunting ground for the Court and its minions. Along the banks of the\nTeviot and the Liddle, embracing a considerable portion of Roxburgh and\nDumfries, the extent of land capable of cultivation was by no means great,\neven though it had been found practical, or politic, to put it under the\nploughshare. This region is one of the most mountainous in the South of\nScotland, and in ancient times abounded in quaking bogs and inaccessible\nmorasses. This district naturally became the favourite haunt of the Border\nreiver. Here he could find ways and means either of securing his own\ncattle, or those he had \"lifted,\" from the search of the enemy by driving\nthem into some inaccessible retreat, the entrance to which it was\ndifficult, if not impossible, for strangers to discover.\n\nOf the general condition of the country at this time a vivid picture has\nbeen given by Æneas Sylvius, one of the Piccolomini, afterwards Pius II.,\nwho visited Scotland in the year 1413. He thus writes:--\"Concerning\nScotland he found these things worthy of repetition. It is an _island\njoined_ to England, stretching two hundred miles to the North, and about\nfifty broad: a cold country, fertile of few sorts of grain, and generally\nvoid of trees, but there is a sulphureous stone dug up which is used for\nfiring. The towns are unwalled, the houses commonly built without lime,\nand in villages roofed with turf, while a cow's hide supplies the place of\na door. The commonalty are poor and uneducated, have abundance of flesh\nand fish, but eat bread as a dainty. The men are small in stature, but\nbold; the women fair and comely, and prone to the pleasures of love,\nkisses being esteemed of less consequence than pressing the hand is in\nItaly. The wine is all imported; the horses are mostly small ambling nags,\nonly a few being preserved entire for propagation; and neither curry-combs\nnor reins are used. From Scotland are imported into Flanders hides, wool,\nsalt, fish, and pearls. _Nothing gives the Scots more pleasure than to\nhear the English dispraised._ The country is divided into two parts, the\ncultivated lowlands, and the region where agriculture is not used. The\nwild Scots have a different language, and sometimes eat the bark of trees.\nThere are no wolves. Crows are new inhabitants, and therefore the tree in\nwhich they build becomes royal property. At the winter, when the author\nwas there, the day did not exceed four hours.\"\n\nThat there are several inaccuracies in this account goes without saying,\nbut they are just such mistakes as a person making a hurried run through\nthe country would very naturally commit. Wolves and crows were much more\nplentiful at that period than the inhabitants wished, as may be seen from\nvarious Acts of Parliament which were passed in order to promote their\ndestruction. But the general description of the country here given agrees,\nin its main details, with other contemporary records, and presents a truly\ndismal picture of the poverty of the people.\n\nEven as late as the 16th century there were few well-formed roads, other\nthan those already mentioned. There were no posts, either for letters or\nfor travelling. Education was confined to the library of the Convent,\nwhere the sons of the barons were taught dialectic and grammar. Society\nconsisted mainly of the agricultural class, who were half enslaved to the\nlords of the soil, and obliged to follow them in war. The people were\nfearfully rude and ignorant, much more so than the English--in this\nrespect, indeed, contrasting unfavourably with almost any other European\nState. Few of them could either read or write; even the most powerful\nbarons were often unable to sign their names. As might be expected in such\na condition of society, the nobles exercised great oppression on the poor.\nThe Government of the country was a mere faction of the nobility as\nagainst all the rest. It is said that when a man had a suit at law he felt\nhe had no chance without using \"influence.\" Was he to be tried for an\noffence, his friends considered themselves bound to muster in arms around\nthe court to see that he got justice; that is, to get him off unpunished\nif they could. Men were accustomed to violence in all forms as to their\ndaily bread. \"The hail realm of Scotland was sae divided in factions that\nit was hard to get any peaceable man as he rode out the hie way, to\nprofess himself openly, either to be a favourer to the King or Queen. All\nthe people were castin sae lowss, and were become of sic dissolute minds\nand actions, that nane was in account but he that could either kill or\nreive his neighbours.\"[15]\n\nSuch facts as these indicate in a remarkable way the extraordinary\nweakness of the executive government. It is abundantly evident that the\nScottish Parliament was most exemplary in passing measures for the\nprotection and amelioration of the people, but as Buchanan naively\nremarks, \"There was ane Act of Parliament needed in Scotland, a decree to\nenforce the observance of the others.\" The King's writ did not run in many\ndistricts of the country. The unfortunate element in the situation was\nthat it did not always coincide with the interests of the nobles to see\nthat the decrees of the Estates were carried into effect; and as a general\nrule what did not happen to accord with their humour was set aside as of\nno moment. The consequence was that many Acts of Parliament, relating\nespecially to the abnormal condition of the Borders, were no sooner passed\nthan they were treated as practically obsolete. This accounts for the\ncurious fact that we find the legislature returning again and again, at\nbrief intervals, to the consideration of the same questions, and issuing\norders which might as well never have been recorded. When the counsels of\na nation are thus divided, and especially when those who are charged with\nthe administration of the law pay no regard to it, in their own persons,\nit would be a marvel if lawlessness in its multifarious forms did not\nbecome the dominant characteristic of the great body of the people. That\nthis was the result produced is painfully evident. The great barons were\npractically supreme within their own domains, for while the execution of\nthe laws might nominally pertain to the Sovereign, the soldiers belonged\nto their Chiefs, and were absolutely at their command. Laws which cannot\nbe enforced at the point of the sword must in the nature of the case\nremain practically inoperative. This unfortunate condition of affairs was\na fruitful source of misery and mischief, especially on the Borders, where\nthe prevalence of the clan-system conferred on the Chiefs the most\narbitrary and far-reaching powers. Had there been any possibility of\nbringing the Border barons under effective governmental control \"the\nthefts, herschips, and slaughters,\" for which this district was so long\nnotorious, would have been in great part prevented. These men not only\nincited to crime, but standing as they did between the ruler and the\nruled, they threw the ægis of their protection over the lawless and\ndisobedient.\n\nIf only that nation is to be reckoned happy which has few laws, but is\naccustomed to obey them, then Scotland, and the Borders in particular,\nmust have been in a most unfortunate condition during a lengthened period\nof its history. The laws passed were numerous; the obedience rendered most\ndifficult to discover. But while these enactments rarely succeeded in\nproducing the results aimed at, they are, notwithstanding, exceedingly\nvaluable to the historian because of the interesting light they cast on\nthe conditions and habits of the people. In the year 1567, in the first\nParliament of James VI., an important Act was passed, entitled \"Anent\nTheft and Receipt of Theft, Taking of Prisoners by Thieves, or Bands for\nRansoms, and Punishment of the same.\" It relates especially to the\nSheriffdoms of Selkirk, Roxburgh, Peebles, Dumfries, and Edinburgh, \"and\nother inhabitants of the remanent Shires of the Realm,\" bearing that it is\nnot unknown of the continual theft, reif, and oppression committed within\nthe bounds of the said Sheriffdoms, by thieves, traitors, and other\nungodly persons, having neither fear of God nor man, which is the chief\ncause of the said thefts. And that the said thieves and \"broken men\"\ncommit daily \"thefts, reifs, herschips, murders, and fire raisings\" upon\nthe peaceable subjects of the country, \"besides also takes sundrie of\nthem,\" detains them in captivity as prisoners, ransoms them, \"or lettis\nthem to borrowis for their entrie again.\" In like manner, it is said,\ndivers subjects of the inland, take and sit under their assurance paying\nthem blackmail, and permitting them to \"reif, herrie, and oppress their\nnichtbouris\" with their knowledge and in their sight, without resistance\nor contradiction.\n\nTo remove these inconveniences it was statute and ordained that whoever\nreceipted, fortified, maintained, or gave meat, harbourage, or assistance\nto any thieves in their theftuous stealing or deeds, either coming\nthereto, or passing therefrom, or intercommunes or trysts with them,\nwithout licence of the keeper of the country, where the thief remains\nshall be called therefore at particular diets \"criminally other airt and\npairt in their theftuous deeds,\" or proceeded against civilly, after\nfifteen days warning, \"without diet or tabill.\" It was further ordained\nunder pain of lese majesty, that no true and faithful lieges taken by\nthese men should be holden to enter to them, all bonds to the contrary\nnotwithstanding. And if anyone should happen to take and apprehend any of\nthe said thieves, either in passing to commit said theft, or in the actual\ndoing thereof, or in their returning thencefrom, he was in no case to set\nthem at liberty; but to present them before the Justice, and his deputies\nin the tolbooth of Edinburgh, within fifteen days, \"gif their takeris\njustifye them not to the death them selfis.\" Further, it was ordained that\nnone take assurance, or sit under assurance of said thieves, or pay them\nblackmail, or give them meat or drink, under pain of death. In like\nmanner when thieves repaired to steal or reive within the incountry the\nlieges were commanded to rise, cry, and raise the fray and follow them,\ncoming or going, on horse and foot, for recovery of the goods stolen, and\napprehending of their persons, under pain of being held partakers in the\nsaid theft. It was also added that if any open and notorious thief came to\na house, the owner of the house might apprehend him without reproach.[16]\n\nThese enactments are at once minute and comprehensive, and had the power\nto enforce them corresponded in any degree with the good intentions of\nthose who framed them, there would have been a considerable change\nproduced in the affairs of the Border. But the truth is these so-called\nstatutes were but little better than mere \"pious opinions,\" reflecting\ncredit on those responsible for them, but producing no impression, or next\nto none, on the country. Not many years after the passing of these Acts we\nfind the Estates busy at work again passing measure after measure for the\nquieting of the disordered subjects on the Borders, for the staunching of\ntheft and slaughter, and the punishment of \"wicked thieves and limmers.\"\nThings had gone from bad to worse. Every man's hand was against his\nneighbour. Clan rose against clan; the Scotts and the Kerrs, the Maxwells\nand Johnstones, were constantly embroiled in petty warfare, the results\nof which, however, were sometimes most disastrous. \"The broken\nmen\"--Græmes, Armstrongs, Bells, and other inhabitants of the Debateable\nland--finding it either unsafe or inconvenient to commit such frequent\n\"herschips\" on the English border, betook themselves with all their\naccustomed enthusiasm to the plundering of their Scottish neighbours. They\nare described as \"delighting in all mischief, and maist unnaturally and\ncruelly wasting and destroying, harrying and slaying, their own\nneighbours.\" The Privy Council at last determined to deal with these\nmatters, and arranged to sit on the first day of every month in the year\nfor this purpose. Trial and injunction was to be taken of the diligence\ndone in the execution of things directed the month preceding, and of\nthings necessary and expedient to be put in execution during the next\nmonth to come, and that a special register be kept of all that shall\nhappen to be done and directed in matters concerning the quietness and\ngood rule of the Borders. But to make assurance doubly sure it was also\nordained at the same time that all landlords and bailies of the lands,\nshould find sufficient caution and surety, under pain of rebellion, to\nbring all persons guilty of \"reife, theft, receipt of theft, depredations,\nopen and avowed fire-raisings, upon deadly feud, protected and maintained\nby their masters,\" before \"our sovereign lord's Justice,\" to underlie the\nlaw for the same. Failing their doing so, the landlords and bailies were\nbound to satisfy the party skaithed, and to refund, content, and pay to\nthem their \"herschips and skaithes.\" And further, the chief of the clan,\nin the bounds where \"broken men\" dwell, and to which \"broken men\" repair\nin their passing to steal and reive, or returning therefrom, shall be\nbound to make the like stay and arrestment, and publication as the\nlandlords or bailies, and be subject to the like redress, criminal and\ncivil, in case of their failure and negligence. In addition to the\nforegoing ordinances, it was resolved that all Captains, Chiefs, and\nChieftains of the clans, dwelling on the lands of divers landlords, shall\nenter pledges for those over whom they exercise authority, upon fifteen\ndays' notice, before his Highness and his secret Council, said pledges to\nbe placed as his Highness shall deem convenient--\"for the good rule in\ntime coming, according to the conditions above written whereunto the\nlandlords and bailies are subject; under the pain of the execution of the\nsaid pledges to the death, and no redress made by the persons offended for\nwhom the pledges lie.\"\n\nWe also learn from another Act of Parliament, passed at the same time,\nthat all pledges received for the good rule and quietness of the Border\nshall be placed on the north side of the water of Forth, without exception\nor dispensation; and the pledges for the good rule of the Highlands and\nIsles, to be placed on the south side of the same water of Forth.\n\nBut one of the most extraordinary Acts passed by this Parliament was an\nAct forbidding the Scottish Borderers to marry the daughters of the\n\"broken men\" or thieves of England, as it was declared this was \"not only\na hindrance to his Majesty's service and obedience, but also to the common\npeace and quietness betwixt both the Realms.\" It was therefore statute and\nordained \"that nane of the subjects presume to take upon hand to marrie\nwith onie English woman, dwelling in the opposite Marches, without his\nHighness' express licence, had and obtained to that effect, under the\ngreat Seal; under the paine of death, and confiscation of all his goods\nmoveable; and this be a special point of dittay in time cumming.\"\n\nThese enactments were doubtless well meant, and under ordinary\ncircumstances might have been expected to bring about beneficial results;\nbut unfortunately they were treated with callous indifference. No\nimprovement was effected. The \"broken men\" were not to be intimidated by\nsuch measures. They laughed at Parliament, and scorned the laws. This is\nbrought out in the most conclusive manner in the records of the State\nPaper Office, as we shall have occasion to point out in succeeding\nchapters. But proof of another kind lies ready to hand. An Act of\nParliament was passed in 1593, just six years after those already noticed,\nin which complaint is made of the rebellious contempt of his Highness'\nsubjects who, without regard of their dutiful obedience, pass daily to the\nhorn, \"for not finding of law surety;\" and \"for not subscribing of\nassurances in matter of feud,\" and for \"dinging and stricking his\nMajesty's messengers,\" in execution of their offices. Notice is also taken\nof some who nightly and daily reive, foray, and commit open theft and\noppression: \"for remead whereof, our said Sovereign Lord, ordains the Acts\nand laws made before to be put to execution, and ratifies and approves the\nsame in all points.\" It was further ordained that no respite or remission\nwas to be granted at any time hereafter to any person or persons that pass\nto the horn for \"theft, reif, slauchter, burning or heir-shippe, while the\nparty skaithed be first satisfied; and gif ony respite or remission shall\nhappen to be granted, before the partie grieved be first satisfied, the\nsamin shall be null and of nane avail, be way of exception or reply,\nwithout any further declaritour; except the saidis remissiones and\nrespittes be granted, for pacifying of the broken Countries and\nBorders.\"[17]\n\nThese may be regarded as fair samples of the long list of measures passed\nat different times by the Scottish Parliament for the regulation of\nBorder affairs during the reign of the Jameses. In reading them one is\nforcibly reminded of a remark made by one of the English wardens, that\n\"things were very tickle on the Scottish Border.\" No respect was paid to\nthe law, either by the Chiefs or their clansmen. In the preface to Cary's\nMemoirs, these Scottish Borderers are described as \"equalling the Caffirs\nin the trade of stealing, and the Hottentots in ignorance and brutality.\"\nThis savage indictment is borne out by Sir William Bowes who, in a letter\nto Burghley in the year 1593--nearly forty years after the\nReformation--thus writes:--\"The opposite wardens and officers being always\nBorderers bred and dwelling there, also cherish favourites and strengthen\nthemselves by the worst disposed, to support their factions. And as they\nare often changed by the King for their misdemeanours, the new man always\nrefuses to answer for attempts before his time. Cessford the warden cannot\nanswer for the whole Middle March, but must seek to Fernihirst for one\npart, and Buccleuch for Teviotdale.\n\n\"_Execrable murders are constantly committed_, whereof 4 new complaints\nwere made to the lords in the few days they were here, and 3 others this\nmonth in Atholstonmoor. The gentlemen of the Middle March recount out of\ntheir memories nearly 200 Englishmen, miserably murdered by the Scots,\nsince the tenth year of her Majesty's reign, for which no redress hath at\nall been made.... I have presumed to testify this much to your lordship\nmore tediously than I should; yet will be ready to do more particularly,\nif you direct me. Praying you to receive from some other, equally heedful\nof truth--and in meantime trusting you will cover my name from undeserved\noffence--I pray God to make you an instrument under our gracious sovereign\nto cure the aforesaid gangrene thus noisomely molesting the foot of this\nkingdom.\"[18]\n\nThis \"gangrene\" was of long standing, and as we shall find was not to be\neasily eradicated.\n\nBut while poverty,--largely due to circumstances over which the people had\nno control,--and lawlessness,--the result of the inherent weakness of the\ncentral government,--had much to do in creating that condition of affairs\non the Borders which we have briefly described, there were other and\nperhaps more potent causes which demand consideration. Foremost among\nthese was the almost entire absence of the restraints and sanctions of\nreligion. In one of the Acts of Parliament already noticed it is\nsignificantly declared that one of the principal causes of the lawlessness\nof the Borders was that \"they had neither the fear of God nor man.\" To\nthose familiar with certain phases of Border history this may appear\nsomewhat anomalous. At an early period in the religious life of Scotland\nthis district was brought under the influence of the Evangel by St. Aidan\nand St. Cuthbert. That the work of these missionaries was signally\nsuccessful, is shown in the large number of churches planted all over the\nBorderland. After the time of Queen Margaret, whose influence in certain\ndirections was almost marvellously potent, the great religious houses of\nthe Borders rose in rapid succession, such as Melrose, Kelso, and\nJedburgh, each a centre and source of religious and social wellbeing. The\nmoral life of the people, notwithstanding the existence of such beneficent\ninstitutions, may have been of an indifferent character; but what the\nstate of matters might have been, had those places, and what they\nrepresented, never been in existence at all, it is impossible to conceive.\nIt was a true instinct which led the people to regard the Abbey of\nHaddington as the \"Lamp of the Lothians.\" And the same designation might\nhave been applied with equal appropriateness to every Abbey in the\ncountry. Those places for many generations represented all that was\nhighest and best in the thought and life of Mediævalism. Here law and\norder were supreme. Round those religious houses industrial, orderly\ncommunities sprang up, whose influence was felt throughout the length and\nbreadth of the land. The Monasteries may deserve all that was said of\nthem in later times, but, throughout a considerable period of their\nhistory, their influence was almost wholly beneficial. Scotland owes much\nto them, and there is no reason why the fact should not be generously\nrecognised. It is no doubt true that, for some considerable time before\nthe Reformation, those great institutions had sadly degenerated. \"Jeshurun\nwaxed fat and kicked.\" The time came when they had, perforce, to yield to\nthose disintegrating processes which usually herald the advent of reform.\nThe old order changeth. The new wine of a democratic Protestantism, in\nwhich the claims of the individual, his right to think for himself, and\nform his own judgments, are prominent ingredients, agreed but\nindifferently with the old bottles of an earlier Faith and Polity. And so\nthe Monasteries disappeared.\n\nBut it was long ere the new light of the Reformation made itself\npractically felt on the Borders. When the influences which had hitherto\nbeen so potent ceased to operate, a condition of religious and moral chaos\nsupervened. Hundreds of churches were left without ministers. Whole\ndistricts practically lapsed into barbarism. For at least fifty years\nafter the Reformation, the Scottish Borders were to all intents and\npurposes out-with the influence of the Church. Even as late as the\nCovenanting period their condition had not greatly improved. \"We learn,\"\nsays Sir Walter Scott, \"from a curious passage in the life of Richard\nCameron, a fanatical preacher during what is called the time of\n'persecution,' that some of the Borderers retained till a late period\ntheir indifference about religious matters. After having been licensed at\nHaughead, in Teviotdale, he was, according to his biographer, sent first\nto preach in Annandale. 'He said, How can I go there? I know what sort of\npeople they are.' But Mr Welch said, 'Go your way, Ritchie, and set the\nfire of hell to their tails.' He went, and the first day he preached on\nthe text--_How shall I put thee among the children, &c._ In the\napplication he said, 'Put you among the children! the offspring of thieves\nand robbers! we have all heard of Annandale thieves.' Some of them got a\nmerciful cast that day, and told afterwards that it was the first field\nmeeting they had ever attended, and that they went out of mere curiosity,\nto see a minister preach in a tent, and people sit on the ground.\"[19]\n\nDuring the period of religious decadence, prior to the Reformation, a\nremarkable custom, not unknown elsewhere, prevailed on the Borders. Owing\nto the scarcity of clergymen, especially in the Vales of Ewes, Esk, and\nLiddle, the rites of the church were only intermittently celebrated, a\ncircumstance which gave rise to what was known as _Hand-fasting_. Loving\ncouples who met at fairs and other places of public resort agreed to live\ntogether for a certain period, and if, when the _book-a-bosom_ man, as the\nitinerant clergyman was called, came to pay his yearly visit to the\ndistrict, they were still disposed to remain in wedlock they received the\nblessing of the church; but if it should happen that either party was\ndissatisfied, then the union might be terminated, on the express\ncondition, however, that the one desiring to withdraw should become\nresponsible for the maintenance of the child, or children, which may have\nbeen born to them. \"The connection so formed was binding for one year\nonly, at the expiration of which time either party was at liberty to\nwithdraw from the engagement, or in the event of both being satisfied the\n'hand-fasting' was renewed for life. The custom is mentioned by several\nauthors, and was by no means confined to the lower classes, John Lord\nMaxwell and a sister of the Earl of Angus being thus contracted in January\n1577.\"[20]\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nRAIDS AND FORAYS.\n\n  \"Then forward bound both horse and hound,\n     And rattle o'er the vale;\n   As the wintry breeze through leafless trees\n     Drives on the pattering hail.\n\n  \"Behind their course the English fells\n     In deepening blue retire;\n   Till soon before them boldly swells\n     The muir of dun Redswire.\"\n\n                                   LEYDEN.\n\n\nTo give anything like an adequate account of the various raids and forays,\non the one side of the Border and the other, would fill many volumes.\nThese raids, as we have already noticed, began at an early period, and\nwere carried on almost without intermission for at least three hundred\nyears. The Armstrongs and Elliots in Liddesdale, and many of the other\nnoted clans in Merse and Teviotdale, were \"always riding.\" As an English\nwarden remarks in one of his despatches to the Government:--\"They lie\nstill never a night\"--a statement which may be accepted as literally true.\nAt some point or other along the Border line, invasions either on the\npart of the Scots or English were constantly occurring. In this respect,\nmore especially during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the Scots were\nperhaps the principal offenders. But as a general rule their invasions,\nthough frequent, were on a comparatively small scale, partaking rather of\nthe nature of forays than of raids. They would hurriedly cross the Border\nof an evening, drive together as many cattle or sheep as they could find,\nand then hasten back with all possible speed to their own country.\nSometimes, if they were compelled to go a considerable distance inland,\nthey would hide during the day in some quiet glen, within the enemy's\nterritory, and then sally forth as soon as the moon lent her kindly aid,\nand accomplish with the utmost expedition the task which had brought them\nthither. It is said that these incursions were marked with the desire of\nspoil rather than of slaughter, a statement which may be true so far as\nforays generally are concerned, but which certainly does not apply to the\nmore important raids. These latter incursions were marked with every\nelement of ferocity and bloodshed. In some of the raids conducted by\nCessford and Buccleuch, in the 15th century, in Redesdale and Tynedale,\nmany lives were sacrificed, and all who offered resistance were put to the\nsword. Hertford, Wharton, and others, in their raids upon the Scottish\nBorder seemed often more intent on shedding blood than securing booty.\nThe statement that these incursions were marked with a desire of spoil\nrather than bloodshed must therefore be accepted _cum grano salis_.\n\nIt would seem that the season of year most favourable to reiving was\nbetween Michaelmas and Martinmas. The reason of this is not difficult to\ndiscover. The reivers in their expeditions hardly ever went on foot. They\nrode small hackneys--hardy, well-built animals--on which they cantered\nover hill and dale, moor and meadow, a circumstance which gained for them\nthe name of _hobylers_. In the late autumn the moors and mosses were drier\nthan at any other season of the year, which made riding, in certain\ndistricts especially, a much more easy and expeditious undertaking. Then\nthe winter supply had to be secured. The beef tub required replenishing,\nand as the \"mart\" was rarely ever fed at home it had to be sought for\nelsewhere. It was a case of all hands to work, and every available horse\nor rider was brought into requisition.\n\nLeslie has given a graphic description of the methods adopted by the\nBorder reivers to secure their booty. Everything was gone about in the\nmost orderly and deliberate manner. He says that the reivers never told\ntheir beads with so much devotion as when they were setting out on a\nmarauding expedition, and expected a good booty as a recompense of their\ndevotion! \"They sally out of their own borders in troops, through\nunfrequented ways and many intricate windings. In the day time they\nrefresh themselves and their horses in lurking places they had pitched on\nbefore, till they arrive in the dark at those places they have a design\nupon. As soon as they have seized upon their booty, they, in like manner,\nreturn home in the night; through blind ways and fetching many a compass.\nThe more skilful any captain is to pass through these wild deserts,\ncrooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the thickest mists and darkness,\nhis reputation is the greater, and he is looked upon as a man of an\nexcellent head, and they are so very cunning, that they seldom have their\nbooty taken from them, unless sometimes, when by the help of bloodhounds,\nfollowing them exactly upon the track, they may chance to fall into the\nhands of their adversaries. When being taken they have so much persuasive\neloquence, and so many smooth and insinuating words at command, that if\nthey do not move their judges, nay and even their adversaries, to have\nmercy, yet they incite them to admiration and compassion.\"\n\nSuch a skilful \"Captain,\" as is here referred to, was the famous Hobbie\nNoble, who terminated his adventurous career in \"Merrie Carlisle,\" where\nso many famous freebooters, at one time or other, have paid the last\npenalty of the law. Speaking of himself, he says:--\n\n  \"But will ye stay till the day gae down,\n    Until the night come o'er the ground,\n  And I'll be a guide worth ony twa\n    That may in Liddisdale be found!\n\n  \"Though the night be dark as pick and tar,\n    I'll guide ye o'er yon hill sae hie;\n  And bring ye a' in safety back,\n    If ye'll be true and follow me.\"\n\n\nBut the skill of the leader of the foray was not always sufficient to\nbring his followers safely back to their homes and families. When the\nbloodhounds were put on the track it was often a matter of the greatest\ndifficulty for the thieves to elude their pursuers.\n\n  \"The russet bloodhound wont, near Annand's stream,\n  To trace the sly thief with avenging foot\n  Close as an evil conscience.\"\n\n\nThese useful animals were kept at different points along the Border, and\nas they rendered most important services, we are not surprised to learn\nthat a good sleuth-hound often sold as high as a hundred crowns.\n\nIt may be interesting, before proceeding to give an account of some of the\nmore famous raids, to glance briefly at the manner in which the raiders\nwere armed and accoutred for the fray. Froissart has given the following\naccount of the Scottish Borderers, and Scottish soldiers generally, as\nthey appeared towards the close of the fourteenth century. \"The Scots,\" he\nsays, \"are bold, hardy, and much inured to war. When they make their\ninvasions into England, they march from twenty to four-and-twenty leagues\nwithout halting, as well by night as by day; for they are all on\nhorseback, except the camp followers, who are on foot. The knights and\nesquires are mounted on large bay horses, the common people on little\nGalloways. They bring no carriages with them, on account of the mountains\nthey have to pass in Northumberland; neither do they carry with them any\nprovisions of bread and wine, for the habits of sobriety are such in time\nof war that they will live a long time on flesh half sodden, without\nbread, and drink the river water without wine. They have therefore no\noccasion for pots or pans, for they dress the flesh of their cattle in the\nskins after they have taken them off; and being sure to find plenty of\nthem in the country which they invade, they carry none with them. Under\nthe flaps of his saddle each man carries a broad plate of metal, behind\nthe saddle a little bag of oatmeal. When they have eaten too much of the\nsodden flesh, and their stomach appears weak and empty, they place this\nplate over the fire, mix with water their oatmeal, and when the plate is\nheated they put a little of the paste upon it and make a thin cake like a\ncracknel or biscuit, which they eat to warm their stomachs; it is\ntherefore no wonder they perform a longer day's march than other soldiers.\nIn this manner the Scots entered England, destroying and burning\neverything as they passed. They seized more cattle than they knew what to\ndo with. Their army consisted of four thousand men at arms, knights, and\nesquires, well mounted, besides twenty thousand men, bold and hardy, armed\nafter the manner of their country, and mounted upon little hackneys that\nare never tied up or dressed, but are turned immediately after the day's\nmarch to pasture on the heath or in the field.\"[21]\n\nIt may be said that this description--which, it may be remarked, is as\ngraphic in outline as it is minute in detail--applies rather to the\nregular army than to those undisciplined marauding bands which infested\nthe Borders, and to which the name \"reivers\" or \"mosstroopers\" is usually\nassigned. This is no doubt true. At the same time, it must not be\nforgotten that many of the more important raids were undertaken by large\nbodies of troops, numbering sometimes three or four thousand men. This\nmuch at least is certain that the Border reiver was always well mounted,\nand well armed with lance or spear, which, on occasion, he could use with\nmuch dexterity and skill. With a steel cap on his head, a jack slung over\nhis shoulders, a pistol or hagbut at his belt, he was ever ready for the\nfray, and prepared to give or take the hardest blows. He was naturally\nfond of fighting. Like Dandie Dinmont's terriers he never could get enough\nof it, and must have found life peculiarly irksome when he was compelled\nto desist from his favourite pastime. He lived in the saddle, and was as\nunaccustomed to the ordinary occupations of the world as the wild Arab of\nthe desert.\n\nEven to enumerate the raids and forays on the one side or the other, of\nwhich some record has been left either in the Histories of the two\nKingdoms, or in the archives of the State Paper Office, would be an almost\nendless task, and moreover would serve no really useful purpose. The\ndetails of the \"burnings,\" \"herschips,\" and \"slaughters,\" which were the\nnecessary concomitants of these invasions, are much the same in all cases.\nIt is a dreary tale of theft and oppression, bloodshed and murder. The\nfollowing incidents may be taken as fairly illustrative examples.\n\nDuring the reign of Henry VIII. the relations between the two kingdoms\nwere often of a most unsatisfactory and unsettled character. This was due\nto a variety of causes, partly political and partly religious. The same\ndifficulties cropped up in the subsequent reigns of Edward, Mary, and\nElizabeth, and the consequence was that war clouds were ever hanging, dark\nand threatening, on the horizon. The mutual antagonism between the two\ncountries fostered the raiding tendencies of both kingdoms. The Scots were\nintent on despoiling their more wealthy neighbours, and the English never\nmissed an opportunity of humiliating and crippling their ancient foes.\n\nTwo of the most destructive invasions, or raids, on the part of the\nEnglish were conducted by the Earl of Hertford and Sir Ralph Eure. The\nformer invaded the country both by sea and land. Edinburgh and Leith\nsuffered severely. The Abbey and Palace of Holyrood were given to the\nflames. All along the east coast, and southwards as far as Merse and\nTeviotdale, marked the steps of the retreating and relentless invaders.\nHenry's savage instructions were faithfully carried out. When Hertford set\nout on this expedition he was commanded \"to put all to fire and sword, to\nburn Edinburgh town, and to raze and deface it; when you have sacked it,\nand gotten what you can out of it, as that it may remain for ever a\nperpetual memory of the vengeance of God lighted upon it, for their\nfalsehood and disloyalty. Do what you can out of hand, and without long\ntarrying, to beat down and overthrow the Castle, sack Holyrood-house, and\nas many towns and villages about Edinburgh as ye conveniently can; sack\nLeith and burn and subvert it, and all the rest, putting man, woman, and\nchild to fire and sword, without exception, where any resistance shall be\nmade against you; and this done, pass over to the Fife land, and extend\nthe extremities and destructions in all towns and villages whereunto you\nmay reach conveniently, and not forgetting amongst all the rest so to\nspoil and turn upside down the Cardinal's town of St. Andrews, as the\nupper stone may be the nether, and not one stick stand by another, sparing\nno creature alive within the same, specially such as in friendship or\nblood be allied to the Cardinal.\"[22]\n\nThis hideous policy on the part of the English King was fruitful mainly of\nbitter memories. He did not accomplish the object he had in view, but he\ncertainly succeeded in engendering in the Scottish mind a feeling of the\nmost bitter hostility. It produced, however, one good result. It alienated\nfrom the English monarch some of those nobles who had for some time been\nwavering in their allegiance to the Scottish throne, and had been, either\nsecretly or openly, lending their aid to further the machinations of the\nEnglish government.\n\nBut destructive as Hertford's invasion proved (which has been well\ndescribed as only a foray on a large scale), it was totally eclipsed by\nthe raid undertaken by Sir Ralph Eure in the following year, 1544. He\ncrossed the Scottish Border with a considerable army, and laid waste\nnearly the whole of Merse and Teviotdale, reducing that large and\nimportant district to a blackened desert. Jedburgh and Kelso were burnt\nto the ground, and the surrounding country plundered and destroyed. \"The\nwhole number of towns, towers, stedes, barnekins, parish churches,\nbastel-houses, seized, destroyed, and burnt, in all the Border country,\nwas an hundred and ninety-two, Scots slain four hundred, prisoners taken\neight hundred and sixteen, nolt ten thousand three hundred and eighty-six,\nsheep twelve thousand four hundred and ninety-six, gayts (goats) two\nhundred, bolls of corn eight hundred and fifty, insight gear--an\nindefinite quantity.\n\n\"The great part of these devastations were committed in the Mers and\nTeviotdale.... The other commanders of chief note, besides Sir Ralph Eure,\nwere Sir Brian Laiton and Sir George Bowes. On the 17th July, Bowes,\nLaiton, and others burnt Dunse, the chief town of the Mers, and John\nCarr's son with his garrison entered Greenlaw, and carried off a booty of\ncattle, sheep, and horses. On the 19th of the same month, the men of\nTyndale and Ridsdale, returning from a road into Tiviotdale, fought with\nthe laird of Ferniherst and his company, and took himself and his son John\nprisoners. On July 24th the Wark garrison, the Captain of Norham Castle,\nand H. Eure, burnt long Ednim, made many prisoners, took a bastel-house\nstrongly kept, and got a booty of forty nolt and thirty horses, besides\nthose on which their prisoners were mounted, each on a horse. August 2d,\nthe captain of Norham burnt the town of Home, hard to the castle gates,\nwith the surrounding stedes. September 6th, Sir Ralph Eure burnt Eikford\nchurch and town, the barnekyn of Ormiston, and won by assault the Moss\nTower, burnt it, and slew thirty-four people within it; he likewise burnt\nseveral other places in that neighbourhood, and carried off more than five\nhundred nolt and six hundred sheep, with a hundred horseload of spoils got\nin the tower. September 27th, the men of the east and part of the middle\nmarch won the church of Eccles by assault, and slew eight men in the abbey\nand town, most part gentlemen of head sirnames; they also took several\nprisoners, and burnt and spoiled the said abbey and town. On the same day\nthe garrison of Berwick brought out of the east end of the Mers six\nhundred bolls of corn, and took prisoner Patrick Home, brother's son to\nthe laird of Ayton. November 5th, the men of the middle march burnt\nLessudden, in which were sixteen strong bastel-houses, slew several of the\nowners, and burnt much corn. November 9th, Sir George Bowes and Sir Brian\nLaiton burnt Dryburgh, a market town, all except the church, with much\ncorn, and brought away a hundred nolt, sixty nags, an hundred sheep, and\nmuch other booty, spoilage, and insight-gear.\"[23]\n\nThis record is an instructive one. It shows how these merciless raiders\nwere dominated by the spirit of destruction and revenge. Nothing was\nspared which it was possible for them to destroy. This invasion must have\nproved peculiarly vexatious and disheartening to the Scottish Borderers.\nFlodden had left them terribly crippled. The damage they had sustained was\nnot only of a material kind--the loss of men and resources--it was also,\nto a certain extent, moral and intellectual. They had become utterly\ndisheartened, and it was some considerable time before they regained their\nwonted confidence and intrepidity:\n\n  \"Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!\n    The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:\n  The flowers of the forest, that fought aye the foremost,\n    The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.\n\n  \"We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe milking;\n    Women and bairns are heartless and wae:\n  Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning--\n    The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.\"\n\n\nThe darkest part of the night precedes the dawn. Help was forthcoming from\nan unexpected quarter. Henry had promised to give Eure a grant of all the\nland he could conquer in Merse, Teviotdale, and Lauderdale, and it so\nhappened that the greater part of the district named belonged to Angus,\nwho was then in disgrace at the Scottish Court, and for some time had been\ncurrying favour with the English King. When he learned what had taken\nplace, his indignation was unbounded. He swore that \"if Ralph Eure dared\nto act upon the grant, he would write his sasine, or instrument of\npossession, on his skin with sharp pens and bloody ink.\" Scotland has not\nunfrequently been deserted by her nobles at the most critical periods of\nher history, but just as often has she been saved by their valour and\npatriotism. On the present occasion, Angus was not moved to action,\nperhaps, by any really patriotic feeling. Had his own interests not been\nimperilled, he would in all probability have remained an idle spectator of\nthe ruin and devastation which, like a flood, was rushing over the land.\nBe this as it may, he acted with promptitude and effect. Having been\njoined by the Regent, who brought with him a small and hastily-gathered\nforce, Angus challenged the English army at Melrose; and, though at first\nhe was compelled to retreat, he hung upon the rear of the enemy until,\njoined by Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch and the redoubtable Norman Leslie,\nhe gave them battle on Ancrum Moor. The English, flushed with confidence\nby their former successes, rushed precipitately upon the Scottish army,\nbelieving that their ranks had fallen into confusion, and were preparing\nfor flight. It was not long ere they were undeceived. The Scots were ready\nfor the encounter, and in a short time completely routed the formidable\nhost by which they were assailed. The battle speedily became a slaughter.\nSir Ralph Eure and Sir Brian Layton both lay dead on the field, a thousand\nprisoners were taken, among them being many persons of rank, for whom high\nransoms were exacted. It is said that the peasantry of the neighbourhood,\nhitherto only spectators of the short conflict, drew near to intercept and\ncut down the English; and women, whose hearts had been steeled against the\nfugitives by their atrocious barbarities, joined in the pursuit, and\nspurred on the conquerors by calling upon them to \"remember Broomhouse.\"\nOne of these heroines has been immortalized. Her monument may still be\nseen in the neighbourhood of Ancrum. On it were inscribed the following\nlines:--\n\n  \"Fair maiden Lilliard lies under this stane,\n  Little was her stature, but great was her fame;\n  Upon the English loons she laid many thumps,\n  And when they cutted off her legs she fought upon her stumps.\"\n\n\nSome may be disposed to think that the devastations caused by Hertford and\nSir Ralph Eure must be exceptional; that the raiding and reiving must have\ngone on much more quietly than such accounts would lead us to suppose. But\nthis is not so. The Borders were kept in a constant state of turmoil. They\nhad no sooner recovered from one invasion than they were subjected to\nanother. Long before Hertford's time, for example, Lord Dacre, one of the\nEnglish wardens, made a succession of the most disastrous raids on the\nScottish Border, and carried off immense quantities of booty. He was\nexultant over his good fortune. Writing under date October 29, 1513, he\nsays:--\"On Tewsday at night last past, I sent diverse of my tennents of\nGillislande to the nombre of lx. personnes in Eskdalemoor upon the Middill\nMerches, and there brynt vii. howses, tooke and brougth away xxxvj. head\nof cattle and much insight. On weddinsday at thre of the clok efter noon,\nmy broder Sir Christopher assembled diverse of the kings subjects beyng\nunder my reull, and roode all night into Scotland, and on Thurisday, in\nthe mornynge, they began upon the said Middill Merchies and brynt\nStakeheugh, with the hamletts belonging to them, down, Irewyn bwrne, being\nthe chambrelain of Scotland owne lands and undre his reull, continewally\nbirnyng from the Breke of day to oone of the clok after noon, and there\nwan, tooke and brought awey cccc. hede of cattell, ccc. shepe, certaine\nhorses and verey miche insight, and slew two men, hurte and wounded\ndiverse other persones and horses, and then entered Ingland ground again\nat vij. of the clok that night.\"[24]\n\nSuch a record as this ought to have given great satisfaction to the\nGovernment. Lord Dacre had evidently done his utmost to impoverish and\nruin the unfortunate Scottish Borderers. But the English appetite at this\ntime was not easily satisfied. Naturally enough Dacre's invasion led to\nreprisals, and so successful had the Scots been in their forays on the\nopposite Border that the English Government blamed their representative\nfor not having prevented these raids. In reply to these rather unjust\ncomplaints, Dacre wrote saying that \"for oone cattell taken by the Scotts\nwe have takyn, won and brought awey out of Scotland a hundreth; and for\noone shepe two hundreth of a surity. And has for townships and housis,\nburnt in any of the said Est, Middill, and West Marches within my reull,\nfro the begynnyng of this warr unto this daye,... I assure your lordships\nfor truthe that I have and hes caused to be burnt and distroyed sex times\nmoo townys and howsys within the West and Middill Marches of Scotland, in\nthe same season then is done to us, as I may be trusted, and as I shall\nevidently prove. For the watter of Liddall being xij. myles of length,...\nwhereupon was a hundreth pleughs;... the watter of Ewse being viij. myles\nof length in the said Marches, whereupon was vii. pleughs,... lyes all\nand every of them waist now, noo corn sawn upon the said ground.... Upon\nthe West marches I have burnt and distroyed the townships of Annand\n(together with thirty-three others mentioned in detail), and the Water of\nEsk from Stabulgorton down to Cannonby, being vi. myles in lenth, whereas\nthere was in all tymes passed four hundreth ploughes and above, which are\nnow clearly waisted and noo man duelling in any of them in this daye, save\noonly in the towrys of Annand Steepel and Walghapp (Wauchope).\"[25]\n\nAs might be expected these inroads were not allowed to pass unredressed,\nas the Scots never missed an opportunity of retaliating. During the latter\nhalf of the fifteenth century they were considerably weakened by the\nsuccessive wars in which they were compelled to engage in their own\ndefence; but we find that a century later, during the reign of Elizabeth,\nthey had completely recovered, and made their power felt in no uncertain\nmanner. They raided upon the opposite Border without intermission,\nplundering all and sundry, sparing only those who were prepared to pay\nthem blackmail, \"that they might be free from their cumber.\" The English\nwardens were comparatively helpless, owing to their lack of men and horses\nto defend the Marches. The Scottish reivers were not easily captured; and\nwhen it came to an encounter, unless matched against a greatly superior\nforce, they almost invariably gave a good account of themselves. We find\nEure affirming, in a letter to Cecil, under date May, 1596, that the\nspoils of his March amounted to the sum of £120,000, \"the redress for\nwhich is so cunningly delayed that the Queen's service is ruined.\"[26] Sir\nRobert Cary, who was warden of the East March, has a still more doleful\ntale to relate. He says that when he applied to the opposite warden for\nredress he \"got nothing but fair words.\" He furnished his Government with\na note of the \"slaughters, stouthes, and reafes,\" committed within his\nwardenry, which shows that the Scottish reivers were ever ready to make\nthe most of their opportunities. The following is the suggestive list:--\n\n\"Nicolos Bolton of Mindrum slain in daylight at his own plough by Sir\nRobert Kerre of the Spielaw and his servants.\n\n\"Thomas Storie of Killam slain there by night by Sir Robert Kerre and his\nservants.\n\n\"John Selby of Pawston slain by the Burnes defending his own goods in his\nown house there.\n\n\"John Ewart of Corham slain on English ground at the rescue of Englishmen\nbringing their own goods.\n\n\"'Reafes.'--In Hethpoole in daylight by the Davisons, Yonges, and Burnes\nof 40 kyen and oxen, and hurting Thomas and Peter Storye, &c., in peril of\ntheir lives. Another there by daylight by the Kerres, Yonges, and Taites,\nof 46 head of neate, shooting John Gray with a 'peice' in peril of death,\nand hurting one of the Brewhouses following, and taking his horse. In\nWest Newton in daylight by James Davidson of the Burnyrigge, &c., of 5\nhorse and mares; another there at night taking up 2 horses, 20 neate, and\ninsight worth 20 nobles.\n\n\"On Thomas Routledge of Killam, at night, by the Yonges, of 30 kyen and\noxen. On Adam Smith of Brigge mylle at night by the Kerres, Yonges,\nBurnes, &c., of 20 neate, and 5 horse and mares. In Cowpland, by the\nYonges, Burnes, and Kerres on Gilbert Wright, 'by cutting up his doores\nwith axes,' of 30 neate, 4 horses and mares, and insight worth £10. In\nHaggeston by the Yonges, Halles, Pyles, and Amysleyes, 'by cutting up\ntheir doores with axes,' of 30 neate, 5 naegs, and hunting 4 men in peril\nof death. On Ralph Selby, of West wood, by the Yonges, &c., 'by breaking\nhis tower,' and taking 3 geldings worth £60 sterling 'and better.'\"[27]\n\nThen follows a long list of \"Stouthes,\" which it would only be a weariness\nto repeat. These incidents had all occurred in this March within a brief\nperiod, and may be accepted as an illustration of what was going on almost\nevery day in the year within the respective wardenries. This game, it may\nbe said, was indulged in with equal spirit and pertinacity on both sides.\nWe read of two men in the Middle March in England coming into Liddesdale\nand carrying off 30 score kye and oxen, 31 score sheep and \"gait,\" 24\nhorse and mares, and all their insight--\"the people being at their\nschellis, lipning for no harme, and wounded twa puir men to their deid.\"\nAt the same time, Captain Carvell, with 2000 \"waigit\" men, by Lord\nScrope's special command, burnt \"six myle of boundis in Liddisdale, tuik\nsindrie puir men and band them twa and twa in leisches and cordis, and\nthat 'naikit,' taking awa a 1000 kye and oxen, 2000 sheep and 'sex scoir\nof hors and merris,' to the great wrak of the puir subjects.\"[28]\n\nThese forays, it must be admitted, were sometimes conducted in the most\nrelentless and cruel spirit. We read, for example, of one \"Sowerby,\" near\nColdbeck, having his house broken into, and himself most cruelly used.\n\"They set him on his bare buttocks upon an hote iron, and then they burned\nhim with an hote girdle about his bellie, and sundry other parts of his\nbody, to make him give up his money, which they took, under £4.\"[29]\n\nSome of the most interesting episodes in Border history were not the\noutcome of any deep laid scheme, but the result of some sudden and\nunexpected emergency. It was difficult for the inhabitants of the opposite\nMarches to come into close contact without the greatest danger of an\noutbreak of hostilities. Individual families were often on friendly terms,\nand were ready even to assist each other on occasion. The Scots sometimes\nbrought the English to help them to rob those who lived in their own\nneighbourhood; and the English, on the other hand, were equally ready to\navail themselves of the assistance of those on the opposite Border when\nthey had a similar object in view. But when they came together in their\nhundreds or thousands, as they sometimes did on a \"Day of Truce,\" then it\nwas a matter of supreme difficulty to keep them from flying at each\nother's throats. Feeling ran high, and a word, a look, was sometimes\nsufficient to change an otherwise peaceful meeting into one of turmoil and\nbloodshed.\n\nOne notable instance of this kind is known as the \"Raid of the Reidswire.\"\nSir John Foster, the English warden, and Sir John Carmichael, the warden\non the opposite March, had a meeting for the regulation of Border affairs,\non the 7th July, 1575. Each warden was attended by his retinue, and by the\narmed clans inhabiting the district. As the balladist describes it:\n\n  \"Carmichael was our warden then,\n     He caused the country to convene;\n   And the Laird's Wat, that worthy man,\n     Brought in that sirname weil beseen:\n   The Armestranges, that aye ha'e been\n     A hardy house, but not a hail,\n   The Elliots' honours to maintaine,\n     Brought down the lave o' Liddisdale.\n\n  \"Then Tividale came to wi' spied;\n     The Sheriffe brought the Douglas down,\n   Wi' Cranstane, Gladstain, good at need,\n     Baith Rewle water and Hawick town,\n   Beanjeddart bauldly made him boun,\n     Wi' a' the Trumbills, strong and stout;\n   The Rutherfoords with grit renown,\n     Convoy'd the town of Jedbrugh out.\"\n\n\nThe two parties had apparently met on the best of terms. Mirth and good\nfellowship prevailed. The pedlars erected their temporary booths, and sold\ntheir wares. The gathering presented the appearance of a rural fair. No\none could have suspected that so much bad feeling was hidden under such a\nfair exterior, and ready to burst forth in a moment with volcanic fury.\nYet such was the case. A dispute arose betwixt the two wardens about one\nFarnsteen, a notorious English freebooter, against whom a bill had been\n\"filed\" by a Scottish complainer. Foster declared that he had fled from\njustice, and could not be found. Carmichael regarded this statement as a\npretext to avoid making compensation for the felony. He bade Foster \"play\nfair.\" The English warden was indignant. Raising himself in the saddle,\nand stretching his arm in the direction of Carmichael, he told him to\nmatch himself with his equals!\n\n  \"Carmichael bade them speik out plainlie,\n     And cloke no cause for ill nor good;\n   The other, answering him as vainlie,\n     Began to reckon kin and blood:\n\n  He raise, and raxed him where he stood,\n    And bade him match with him his marrows;\n  Then Tindaill heard them reason rude,\n    And they loot off a flight of arrows.\"\n\n\nThe cry was raised, \"To it, Tynedale,\" and immediately the merry meeting\nwas turned into a Donnybrook fair, where hard blows were given and\nreceived. The Scots at first had the worst of the encounter, and would\nhave been completely routed had it not been for two circumstances. The men\nof Tynedale, conscious of their superior strength, began to rifle the\n\"merchant packs,\" and thus fell into disorder. At this juncture a band of\ncitizens of Jedburgh, armed with fire-arms, unexpectedly, but most\nopportunely, appeared on the scene, and in a short time the skirmish ended\nin a complete victory for the Scots. Sir John Heron was slain, and Sir\nJohn Foster and many other Englishmen of rank taken prisoner.\n\n  \"But after they had turned backs,\n    Yet Tindaill men they turn'd again,\n  And had not been the merchant packs,\n    There had been mae of Scotland slain.\n\n  But, Jesu! if the folks were fain\n    To put the bussing on their thies;\n  And so they fled, wi' a' their main,\n    Down ower the brae, like clogged bees.\"\n\n\nThe prisoners were sent to Dalkeith, where for a short time they were\ndetained in custody by the Earl of Morton. He ultimately dismissed them\nwith presents of falcons, which gave rise to a saying on the Borders that\nfor once the Regent had lost by his bargain, as he had given live hawks\nfor dead herons,--alluding to the death of Sir John Heron.\n\n  \"Who did invent that day of play,\n     We need not fear to find him soon;\n   For Sir John Forster, I dare well say,\n     Made us this noisome afternoon.\n   Not that I speak preceislie out,\n     That he supposed it would be perril;\n   But pride, and breaking out of feuid\n     Garr'd Tindaill lads begin the quarrel.\"\n\n\n\"The Queen of England,\" says Ridpath, \"when informed of these proceedings,\nwas very much incensed, and sent orders to her Ambassador, Killigrew, who\nhad a little before gone to Scotland, to demand immediate satisfaction for\nso great an outrage. Killigrew was also directed to inform the Regent that\nthe Queen had ordered the Earl of Huntingdon, who was then president of\nthe Council at York and lieutenant of the northern counties, to repair to\nthe Borders for the trial and ordering of the matter; and that she\nexpected that Morton would meet him in person for that effect. Morton,\never studious to gratify Elizabeth, readily agreed to the proposal. The\ntwo Earls accordingly met at Fouldean, near the Berwick boundary, and\ncontinued their conferences there for some days, in the course of which\nMorton made such concessions, and agreed to such conditions of redress, as\nentirely healed the offence. Carmichael, who was considered as the\nprincipal offender, was sent as a prisoner into England, and detained a\nfew weeks at York; but the English Court being now convinced that\nForrester had been in the wrong in the beginning of the fray, the Scottish\nwarden was dismissed with honour, and gratified with a present to\neffectuate the restitution of goods which Morton had engaged should be\nmade by the subjects of Scotland, he summoned all on this side of the\nForth to attend him with twenty days' provision of victuals in an\nexpedition to the Borders, but this summons sufficed to awe the offenders\nto make of themselves the restitution required.\"[30]\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nTHE WARDENS OF THE MARCHES.\n\n  \"The widdefow wardanis tuik my geir,\n    And left me nowthir horse nor meir,\n   Nor erdly guid that me belangit;\n    Now, walloway! I mon be hangit.\"\n\n                                   PINKERTON.\n\n\nOwing to the peculiar circumstances in which the Borders were placed, it\nwas found necessary, for the preservation of order, and the detection and\npunishment of crime, to appoint special officers, or wardens, armed with\nthe most extensive powers. On either side of the Border there were three\nMarches, lying opposite each other, called the East, West, and Middle\nMarches. The wardens were, as a general rule, officers of high rank,\nholding special commissions from the Crown. The English government had\nlittle difficulty in finding gentlemen of high station and proved ability\nto undertake the duties of such an office; but in Scotland the King was\nconsiderably circumscribed in his choice, as the Border Chiefs were\naccustomed to carry things with a high hand, and in any arrangements\nrelating to the management of affairs in their own districts, their wishes\nand interests had, perforce, to be respected. The office of warden was\nregarded as belonging, by a kind of prescriptive or hereditary right, to\none or other of the more prominent and powerful Border families. This\npolicy was fraught with many disadvantages, and, it must be frankly\nadmitted, produced the very evils it was designed to suppress. The\nScottish wardens had other objects in view besides the maintenance of a\ncertain semblance of law and order in the districts over which they ruled.\nThey seldom lost sight of their own pecuniary interests, and frequently\nprostituted their high office to secure their own ends. The wardens\nthemselves were often the principal offenders.\n\nIn the East March the warden was most generally either an Earl of Home or\na Ker of Cessford. The Middle March was long under the supervision of the\nEarls of Bothwell and the Lords of Buccleuch. The West March was usually\nrepresented either by a Johnstone or a Maxwell.\n\nThe Scottish wardens, though invested with the most arbitrary powers,\nfound it politic to enter into bonds of alliance with the neighbouring\nChiefs, in order not only to increase their influence and power within\ntheir own wardenries, but to add to their authority when called upon to\ndeal with questions of a more general nature. This fact reveals\nunmistakably the weakness of the central government of the country at\nthis period, and indicates the important part which was played by the\nnobility in the administration of the affairs of the nation.\n\nSeveral of these \"Bonds\" have been preserved. Some of them are too lengthy\nfor quotation, but the following one--which is comparatively brief--may be\ntaken as a fair sample of the whole. It is subscribed by the Lairds of\nBuccleuch, Hunthill, Bon-Jeddart, Greenhead, Cavers, and Redheugh, in\nfavour of Sir Thomas Ker of Fernihirst, and runs as follows:--\"We\nundersigned, inhabitants of the Middle March of this realm opposite\nEngland, understanding how it has pleased the King's majesty our sovereign\nlord to make and constitute Sir Thomas Ker of Fernihirst Knight his\nHighness warden and justice over all the Middle March, and acknowledging\nhow far we are in duty bound to the service by our counsel and forces to\nbe employed in the assistance of his said warden in all things tending to\nthe good rule and quietness of the said Middle March, and setting forth of\nhis Highness authority against these traitors, rebels, and other\nmalefactors to their due punishment, and defence and safety of true men.\nTherefore we be bound and obliged, and by the tenor hereof binds and\nobliges us, and every one of us, that we should truly serve the King's\nMajesty our sovereign lord, and obey and assist his said warden, in the\npremiss, and shall concur with others in giving of our advice and\ncounsel, or with our forces in pursuit or defence of the said thieves,\ntraitors, rebels, and other malefactors disobedient to our sovereign\nlord's authority, or disturbers of the public peace and quietness of the\nrealm, as we shall be charged or warned by open proclamations, missives,\nbailies, or other the like accustomed forms as we will answer to his\nHighness upon our obedience at our highest charge and peril, if we shall\nbe found remiss or negligent, we are content to be repute held and\nesteemed as favourers and partakers with the said thieves, traitors,\nrebels, and malefactors in their treasonable and wicked deeds, and to be\ncalled, pursued, and punished therefor, according to these laws in example\nof others.\"[31]\n\nThere can be no doubt that these \"Bonds\" were often contracted in good\nfaith; that is to say, those who subscribed them were honestly desirous to\nfulfil, both in the spirit and letter, the obligations thus undertaken. It\nis, however, worthy of remark that those who had thus sworn allegiance to\nthe warden had not infrequently ends of their own to serve, which\nconflicted with their duty to the representatives of law and order.\nThieves were harboured, or at least allowed to remain unmolested, on the\nestates, or within the jurisdiction, of those who had thus professedly\nbanded themselves together for their detection and punishment. The result\nwas that the subscribers to the \"Bond\" were occasionally reported to the\ngovernment for their delinquencies, and prosecuted and punished for their\nbreach of faith. Thus we find that on one occasion Walter Ker of Cessford,\nJames Douglas of Cavers, George Rutherford of Hunthill, and Ker of\nDolphingstone were convicted of art and part of the favour and assistance\nafforded to Robert Rutherford, called Cokburn, and John Rutherford, called\nJok of the Green, and their accomplices, rebels and at the horn;\npermitting them to pass within their bounds continually for divers years\npast; for not using their utmost endeavour to hinder them from committing\nsundry slaughters, stouth-reifs, thefts and oppressions on the King's poor\nlieges, nor ejecting the said rebels, their wives and their children, from\ntheir bounds and bailiaries, but knowingly suffering them to pass within\ntheir limits and to remain therein beyond the space of twelve hours, to\ncommit sundry crimes during the time of their passing and reset within the\nshire in which they dwelt, thereby breaking, transgressing, and violating\ntheir obligation and \"Bond\" to the King, and incurring the pains contained\nin the said \"Bond.\"[32]\n\nIt is remarkable, considering the reputation enjoyed by the Borderers for\nbeing true to their word, that such occurrences should have to be so\nfrequently complained of.\n\nUnfortunately, the wardens were as little animated by a high sense of\nhonour as those who had solemnly pledged themselves to support them in the\ndischarge of the duties of their office. They frequently, and in some\ncases almost systematically, exercised the powers conferred on them, not\nin trying to preserve the public peace, but in wreaking vengeance on their\nenemies. A striking instance of this is to be seen in the conflict which\nwas so long waged between the Johnstones and the Maxwells, and which\nproduced endless misery and mischief throughout a wide area.\n\nAll things considered, the wardens were well remunerated for such services\nas they were able to render. The usual fee appears to have been £100 per\nannum. In 1527 the Earl of Angus had £100 for the East and a similar sum\nfor the Middle March. In 1553 the Warden's fee was £500, but he had to\nsurrender the one half of the \"escheats\" to the authorities. When William\nKer of Cessford was appointed warden of the Middle March and keeper of\nLiddesdale, his salary for the former office was £100, and for the latter\n£500. But these sums represented but a small part of the actual income.\nThey were also allowed forage and provision for their retinue, which\nconsisted of a guard of horsemen. They had in addition a portion of the\n\"unlaws\" or fines imposed in the warden courts, and at certain periods\nthese must have amounted to a large sum. The law ordained that \"the\nescheat of all thieves and trespassers that are convict of their movable\ngoods, ought and should pertain to the warden for his travail and labours,\nto be used and disposed by him at his pleasure in time coming. The warden\nought and should take and apprehend all and sundry our sovereign Lord's\nlieges turning and carrying nolt, sheep, horses, or victuals furth of this\nrealm into England, and bring their persons to the King's justice, to be\npunished therefor; and all their goods may he escheat: the one half\nthereof to be applied to the King's use, and the other half to the warden\nfor his pains.\" In addition to this, the wardens had a large share of the\nplunder of the various forays upon the English Border, which they either\nconducted in person, or winked at when undertaken by their retainers or\ndependants. In the \"Border Papers\" we are informed that on Sunday, the\n17th April, 1597, the Lord Buccleuch, Keeper of Liddesdale, accompanied by\ntwenty horse and a hundred foot, burned at noonday three onsets and\ndwelling-houses, barns, stables, oxhouses, &c., to the number of twenty,\nin the head of Tyne, cruelly burning in their houses seven innocent men,\nand \"murdered with the sword\" fourteen which had been in Scotland, and\nbrought away the booty, the head officer with trumpet being there in\nperson.[33] This was a frequent occurrence, especially with Buccleuch, who\nwas never quite happy when not plundering and oppressing \"the auld enemy.\"\nFrom a pecuniary point of view, not to speak of other advantages, the\noffice of warden was a highly desirable one, and was consequently eagerly\nsought after by the Border Chiefs.\n\nThe duties pertaining to this office may be described as of a twofold\nnature--the maintenance of law and order, and the protection of the\ndistricts against the encroachments and inroads of the enemy. \"In the\nfirst capacity,\" as has been remarked, \"besides their power of control and\nministerial administration, both as head stewards of all the crown\ntenements and manors within their jurisdiction, and as intromitting with\nall fines and penalties, their judicial authority was very extensive. They\nheld courts for punishment of high treason and felony, which the English\nBorder laws classed under the following heads:--\n\nI. The aiding and abetting of any Scottishman, by communing, appointment,\nor otherwise, to rob, burn, or steal, within the realm of England.\n\nII. The accompanying personally, of any Scottishman, while perpetrating\nany such offences.\n\nIII. The harbouring, concealing, or affording guidance and protection to\nhim after the fact.\n\nIV. The supplying Scottishmen with arms and artillery, as jacks, splents,\nbrigantines, coats of plate, bills, halberds, battle-axes, bows and\narrows, spears, darts, guns, as serpentines, half-haggs, harquibusses,\ncurrys, cullivers, hand-guns, or daggers, without special licence of the\nLord-warden.\n\nV. The selling of bread and corn of any kind, or of dressed leather, iron,\nor other appurtenances belonging to armour, without special licence.\n\nVI. The selling of horses, mares, nags, or geldings to Scottish men,\nwithout licence as aforesaid.\n\nVII. The breach of truce, by killing or assaulting subjects and liege-men\nof Scotland.\n\nVIII. The assaulting of any Scottishman having a regular pass or\nsafe-conduct.\n\nIX. In time of war the giving tidings to the Scottish of any exploit\nintended against them by the warden or his officers.\n\nX. The conveying coined money, silver or gold, also plate or bullion, into\nScotland, above the value of forty shillings at one time.\n\nXI. The betraying (in time of war) the counsel of any other Englishman\ntending to the annoyance of Scotland, in malice to the party, and for his\nown private advantage.\n\nXII. The forging the coin of the realm.\n\nXIII. The making appointment and holding communication with Scotchmen, or\nintermarrying with a Scottish woman, without licence of the wardens, and\nthe raising of no fray against them as in duty bound.\n\nXIV. The receiving of Scottish pilgrims with their property without\nlicence of the wardens.\n\nXV. The failing to keep the watches appointed for the defence of the\ncountry.\n\nXVI. The neglecting to raise in arms to the fray, or alarm raised by the\nwardens or watches upon the approach of public danger.\n\nXVII. The receiving or harbouring Scottish fugitives exiled from their own\ncountry for misdemeanours.\n\nXVIII. The having falsely and unjustly _fould_ (_i.e._, found true and\nrelevant) the bill of any Scotchman against an Englishman, or having borne\nfalse witness on such matters.\n\nXIX. The having interrupted or stopped any Englishman pursuing for\nrecovering of his stolen goods.\n\nXX. The dismissing any Scottish offender taken red-hand (_i.e._, in the\nmanner) without special license of the Lord-warden.\n\nXXI. The paying of black-mail, or protection money, whether to English or\nScottish man.\"[34]\n\nThe significance of these provisions cannot be mistaken. They reveal the\nanxiety of the English government to prevent, as far as possible, all\nintercourse with Scottish Borderers. The offences referred to in the\nforegoing list amounted to what is known as March Treason. Those who were\naccused of this crime were tried by a jury, and if found guilty were put\nto death without ceremony. \"This was a very ordinary consummation,\" says\nSir Walter Scott, \"if we can believe a story told of Lord William Howard\nof Naworth. While busied deeply with his studies, he was suddenly\ndisturbed by an officer who came to ask his commands concerning the\ndisposal of several moss-troopers who had just been made prisoners.\nDispleased at the interruption, the warden answered heedlessly and\nangerly, 'hang them in the devil's name;' but when he laid aside his book,\nhis surprise was not little, and his regret considerable, to find that his\norders had been literally fulfilled.\"[35]\n\nThe duties devolving upon the Scottish wardens were not, in all respects,\nthe same as those which the English wardens were called upon to discharge.\nThis was due to some extent to the fact that the jurisdiction of the\nScottish wardens was circumscribed by the hereditary rights and privileges\nof the great families who, within their own territories, exercised supreme\ncontrol. In addition to this, the hereditary judges had the power of\nrepledging; that is to say, they could reclaim any accused person from\ncourts of co-ordinate jurisdiction, and try him by their feudal authority.\nBut while the power of the wardens was thus considerably circumscribed,\nthey never hesitated, when they had the chance, to mete out summary\npunishment to all offenders. If a thief was caught red-handed, or if the\nevidence against him appeared at all conclusive, he was at once, and\nwithout ceremony, strung up on the nearest tree, or thrown into the\n\"murder\" pit. Indeed, the execution not unfrequently preceded the trial--a\ncircumstance which seems to have given rise to the well-know proverb about\n\"Jeddart Justice.\" On both sides of the Border, the same haste to get rid\nof offenders was a noted feature of the times. This is evident from the\nwell-known English proverb which runs thus--\n\n  \"I oft have heard of Lydford law,\n   Where in the morn men hang and draw,\n      And sit in judgment after.\"\n\nThe sitting in judgment, either before or after, was a formality that\nmight often have been dispensed with, as the evidence submitted was seldom\ncarefully sifted, or weighed. To be suspected, or accused, was regarded as\nalmost tantamount to a plea of guilty. Such a method as this would hardly\npass muster in our modern and more finical age; still it is probable that\nsubstantial justice was usually done. If those who were condemned were not\nalways guilty of the particular crimes laid to their charge, their general\nrecord was sufficiently bad to warrant their being thus summarily dealt\nwith.\n\nThere was, moreover, a practical difficulty in the way of minute\ninvestigation being made into each individual case. The number of those\naccused of various offences under the Border laws was often so great as to\nrender an investigation of this kind all but impossible. There were few\nplaces of strength where prisoners could be retained in order to await\ntheir trial, and so it became necessary to deal with them as expeditiously\nas possible. \"The Borderers,\" it has been said, \"were accustomed to part\nwith life with as little form as civilized men change their garments.\"\n\nThe mode of punishment was either by hanging or drowning. \"Drowning,\" says\nSir Walter Scott, \"is a very old mode of punishment in Scotland, and in\nGalloway there were pits of great depth appropriated to that punishment\nstill called murder-holes, out of which human bones have occasionally been\ntaken in great quantities. This points out the proper interpretation of\nthe right of 'pit and gallows' (in law Latin, _fossa et furca_), which\nhas, less probably, been supposed the right of imprisoning in the pit or\ndungeon, and that of hanging. But the meanest baron possessed the right of\nimprisonment. The real meaning is, the right of inflicting death either\nby hanging or drowning.\"[36]\n\nBut the warden had other duties to discharge of a still more important\nnature than those already described. In time of war he was captain-general\nwithin his own wardenry, and was invested with the power of calling\nmusters of all the able-bodied men between the age of sixteen and sixty.\nThese men were suitably armed and mounted according to their rank and\ncondition, and were expected to be ready either to defend their territory\nagainst invasion, or, if necessary, to invade the enemy's country. The\nancient rights and customs which the warden was expected to observe on\nsuch occasion have been thus summarised:--\n\n\"I. All intercourse with the enemy was prohibited.\n\nII. Any one leaving the company during the time of the expedition was\nliable to be punished as a traitor.\n\nIII. It was appointed that all should alight and fight on foot, except\nthose commanded by the general to act as cavalry.\n\nIV. No man was to disturb those appointed to array the host.\n\nV. If a soldier followed the chase on a horse belonging to his comrade,\nthe owner of the horse enjoyed half the booty; and if he fled upon such a\nhorse, it was to be delivered to the sheriff as a waif on his return home,\nunder pain of treason.\n\nVI. He that left the host after victory, though for the purpose of\nsecuring his prisoner, lost his ransom.\n\nVII. Any one seizing his comrade's prisoner was obliged to find security\nin the hands of the warden-serjeant. Disputed prisoners were to be placed\nin the hands of the warden, and the party found ultimately wrong to be\namerced in a fine of ten pounds.\n\nVIII. Relates to the evidence in case of such dispute. He who could bring\nhis own countrymen in evidence, of whatsoever quality, was preferred as\nthe true captor; failing this mode of proof, recourse was had to the\nprisoner's oath.\n\nIX. If the prisoner was of such a rank as to lead a hundred men, he was\neither to be dismissed upon security or ransomed, for the space of fifteen\ndays, without leave of the warden.\n\nX. He who dismounted a prisoner was entitled to half of his ransom.\n\nXI. Whosoever detected a traitor was entitled to a reward of one hundred\nshillings; whoever aided his escape, suffered the pain of death.\n\nXII. Relates to the firing of beacons in Scotland: the stewards of\nAnnandale and Kirkcudbright were liable in the fine of one merk for each\ndefault in the matter.\n\nXIII. He who did not join the army of the country upon the signal of the\nbeacon lights, or who left it during the English invasion without lawful\nexcuse, his goods were forfeited, and his person placed at the warden's\nwill.\n\nXIV. In the case of any Englishman being taken in Scotland, he was not\nsuffered to depart under any safe conduct save that of the King or warden;\nand a similar protection was necessary to enable him to return and treat\nof his ransom.\n\nXV. Any Scottishman dismissing his prisoner, when a host was collected\neither to enter England or defend against invasion, was punished as a\ntraitor.\n\nXVI. In the partition of spoil, two portions were allowed to each bowman.\n\nXVII. Whoever deserted his commander and comrades, and abode not in the\nfield to the uttermost, his goods were forfeited, and his person liable to\npunishment as a traitor.\n\nXVIII. Whoever bereft his comrade of horse, spoil, or prisoner, was liable\nin the pains of treason, if he did not make restitution after the right of\nproperty became known to him.\"[37]\n\nThese military regulations, at once minute and comprehensive, were drawn\nup by William, Earl of Douglas, with the assistance of some of the most\nexperienced Marchmen; and, with the necessary alterations, were adopted by\nthe English--thus indicating that they were thoroughly in harmony with the\nmilitary spirit of the age on both sides of the Border.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nTHE DAY OF TRUCE.\n\n  \"Our wardens they affixed the day,\n    And as they promised so they met.\n    Alas! that day I'll ne'er forget!\"\n\n                                   OLD BALLAD.\n\n\nThe arrangements made for dealing with offences against Border law, though\nof a primitive, were by no means of an ineffective, character. All things\nconsidered, they were perhaps as good as could have been devised in the\ncircumstances. During the period when Border reiving was most rampant,\nthough the population was by no means sparse, little or no provision had\nbeen made for detaining prisoners in custody. The jails were few and far\nbetween, and such as were available were generally in such an insecure and\nruinous state that, unless strongly guarded, they were almost useless for\nthe purpose for which they existed. But imprisonment had other\ninconveniences which militated against its being resorted to with much\nfrequency. Prisoners had to be provided for when under \"lock and key,\"\nand, as provisions were difficult to procure, it was generally found more\nadvantageous to leave those who had broken the laws to \"fend\" for\nthemselves until such times as they were wanted. As might be expected in\nsuch circumstances, the accused person not unfrequently took \"leg-bail,\"\nand passed into another district, or, perhaps, crossed the Border, and\nsought refuge among the enemies of his country and his clan. This\nexpedient, in those lawless and disordered times, was no doubt\noccasionally successful--for the nonce--but sooner or later the evil-doer\nwas either betrayed by the enemy, or, resuming his old habits--which was\nalmost a necessity--brought himself under the special notice of the warden\nof the district to which he had fled. He thus placed himself, as it were,\nbetween two fires, and made further immunity from prosecution practically\nimpossible. When it came to the knowledge of the warden that an accused\nperson had passed into another wardenry, he at once certified the warden\nopposite, requiring him to apprehend and deliver the prisoner with all\npossible speed; and he was bound, after receiving this notice, to make\nproclamation throughout his wardenry \"by the space of six days after of\nthe said fugitive,\" and also to certify the other two wardens of the realm\n\"to proclaim the fugitive throughout all the bounds of their wardenries,\nso that none could proclaim ignorance, or excuse themselves when charged\nwith the wilful receipt of the aforesaid fugitive so proclaimed.\"\n\nThe duty thus laid upon the wardens of searching for fugitives was one\nwhich was generally undertaken _con amore_, not merely on account of the\nfact that it was naturally agreeable to these officers to detect and\npunish crime, but also because in such circumstances it was greatly to\ntheir advantage to do so. A law was passed ordaining that when a fugitive\nentered with his goods into the opposite realm, the warden who captured\nhim, and handed him over to be punished for his offence, _was entitled to\nretain the goods for his labour_. Should he not succeed in apprehending\nthe fugitive, then the goods had to be returned to the warden of the realm\nfrom which they came. This was a wise arrangement, and on the whole proved\nfairly effective.\n\nAs offences against the law were numerous and frequent, it was statute and\nordained that a \"Day of Truce\" should be held every month, or oftener,\nwhen the wardens of the Marches opposite each other should meet for the\ndiscussion and adjustment of their respective claims, and the punishment\nof evil-doers. The date and place of this meeting was made known to the\ninhabitants of the Marches by proclamation being made in all the market\ntowns. Notice was also sent to the lords, knights, esquires, and\ngentlemen, commanding them, along with a sufficient number of their\ntenants and servants, well mounted and fully armed, to repair the night\nbefore and attend upon the warden at the day of truce.[38]\n\nEarly on the morning of the following day this imposing cavalcade might be\nseen wending its way towards the place of rendezvous. This was generally\nsome convenient spot near the Border, most frequently on the Scottish\nside. When the wardens and their friends came within hailing distance of\neach other, a halt was called, and the English warden sent forward four or\nfive gentlemen of good repute to demand from the Scottish warden \"that\nassurance might be kept\" until the sunrise of the following day. According\nto a statement made on the authority of Sir Robert Bowes, the reason of\nthis particular form of procedure was \"because the Scots did always send\ntheir ambassadors first into England to seek for peace after a war.\nTherefore both the particular days of truce are usually kept either at\nplaces even on the confines of the Marches, or else at places within the\nrealm of Scotland, and also the English warden and other officers were\nalways used to send first for the assurance as aforesaid.\"\n\nWhen assurance had been given by the Scottish warden, a number of Scottish\ngentlemen passed over to the other side to demand from the English warden\nassurance on his part. These preliminary precautions having been duly\nobserved, the two parties met, and the business which had brought them\ntogether was at once entered upon. The wardens did not always attend these\nmeetings in person, their duties occasionally necessitating their\nremaining at home, but when unable to be present themselves they were\nrepresented by deputies--men of influence and good social position--who\nwere thoroughly qualified to deal with any important question that might\narise.\n\nThe regulations for the conduct of business at these meetings were\ncarefully drawn out, and, as a general rule, strictly observed. The\nEnglish warden named six Scottish gentlemen to act on his side, and the\nScottish warden the same number of Englishmen to act as the English\nassize. These men, who thus constituted the jury, were carefully chosen.\nNo murderer, traitor, fugitive, infamous person, or betrayer of one party\nto another could bear office, or give evidence, but only good and lawful\nmen deserving of credit and unsuspected.\n\nEach warden, in the presence of the opposite warden and the inhabitants of\nboth the Marches, \"Swore by the High God that reigneth above all Kings and\nRealms, and to whom all Christians owe obedience, that he shall (in the\nname of God) do, exercise and use his office without respect of person,\nMalice, Favour, or Affection, diligently or undelayedly, according to his\nVocation or Charge that he beareth under God and his Prince, and he shall\ndo justice upon all Complaints presented unto him, upon every Person\ncomplained upon under this Rule. And that, when any complaint is referred\nunto him, to swear, fyle, and deliver upon his Honour, he shall search,\nenquire, and redress the same at his uttermost power: And that, if it\nshall happen in so doing to quit and absolve the persons complained upon\nas Clean and Innocent: Yet if he shall any ways get sure Knowledge of the\nvery Offender, he shall declare him foul of the Offence, and make lawful\nRedress and Delivery thereof, albeit the very Offender be not named in the\nComplaint: And this Oath of the Wardens not only to be made at the first\nMeeting hereafter to ensue, but also to be made every Year once solemnly,\nas aforesaid, at the first Meeting after _Mid-summer_, to put them in the\nbetter Remembrance of their Duties, and to place the fear of God in their\nHearts.\"[39]\n\nThe following oath was also administered to the jury:--\"Ye shall truly\nenquire, and true deliverance make between the Queen's Majesty, and the\nprisoners at the Bar, according to the evidence that shall be given in\nthis Court. As God keep you and Holydome.\"[40]\n\nThese formalities having been duly observed, the trial of the prisoners\nwas then proceeded with. Bills were presented on the one side, and on the\nother, setting forth with considerable fulness of detail the nature and\nextent of the damages that had been sustained. The prisoners against whom\nthese indictments had been made were then called to answer the charges\npreferred against them.\n\nThere were at least three ways in which these cases could be tried. In the\nfirst place, the bill might be acquitted _on the honour of the warden_.\nBut should it afterwards be found that the warden in acquitting the bill\nhad proceeded on imperfect information, and had acquitted upon his honour\na bill that was in reality \"foul,\" then the complainant was at liberty to\nprosecute a new bill, and demand that justice should be done. The case was\nthen tried by a jury who \"fyled\" or \"cleared\" the bill at their\ndiscretion. When a bill was \"fyled,\" that is to say declared true, the\nword \"foul\" was written on the margin, and when it was \"cleared,\" the word\n\"clear\" was inserted.\n\nBut further, bills might be _tried by inquest or assize_, which was the\nmethod most frequently adopted, such cases being decided by the juries on\ntheir own knowledge, and on the evidence sworn to in open court.\n\nThe third way of dealing with bills was by a \"_Vower_.\" The significance\nof this method is fully explained by Sir Robert Bowes, who says:--\"The\ninquest or assise of Scotlande, notwithstanding their othe, would in no\nwyse fynde a bill to be true, nor fyll any Scottis man upon an\nEnglishman's complaynte unles the Englishman could fynde an inhabitant of\nScotlande, that would avow openly to the inquest, or secretlye to the\nwarden, or some of the inquest, that the complaynte was treue, and the\npartie complayned upon culpable thereof, otherwise althoughe the matter\nwas ever so notoryously knowne by the Englishman, their evydence would not\nserve to secure a conviction.\"\n\nIt frequently happened, on the occasion of these meetings, that \"bogus\"\nbills were presented, a custom which gave the officials a great deal of\nunnecessary labour. The commissioners, in referring to this reprehensible\npractice, remark that \"it hath been perceived of late that, since the\norder was begun by the Warden to speire, fyle, and deliver, upon their\nHonour, that some ungodly Persons have made complaint, and billed for\nGoods lost where none was taken from them, and so troubled the Wardens,\ncausing them to speire and search for the Thing that was never done.\"[41]\nIt was therefore statute and ordained that all persons guilty of this\noffence should be delivered to the opposite warden to be punished,\nimprisoned, and fined at the discretion of the same warden whom he had\ntroubled.\n\nAnother formidable difficulty with which the wardens had to contend on\nthese occasions, was in estimating the value of the goods for which\nredress was claimed. In making up a bill the complainant was strongly\ntempted to put an absurd value on the gear, or cattle, which had been\nstolen from him. Had he always got as much as he claimed he would soon\nhave been enormously enriched by the loss of his property! The\ncommissioners were therefore under the necessity of drawing out a scale of\ncharges for the guidance of the warden courts. The following are the\nprices fixed by this tribunal:--\"Every Ox, above Four Year old, Fourty\nShillings Sterling; every Cow, above Four Year old, Thirty Shillings\nSterling; and every Young Cow, above Two Years old, Twenty Shillings\nSterling; every other Beast, under Two Years old, Ten Shillings Sterling;\nevery old Sheep, Six Shillings Sterling; and every Sheephogge, Three\nShillings Sterling; every old Swine, above One Year old, Six Shillings\nSterling; every young Swine, Two Shillings Sterling; every Goat, above One\nYear old, Five Shillings Sterling; every young Goat, Two Shillings\nSterling; and every Double Toope to be valued after the rate of the\nSingle.\"[42]\n\nThese prices, judged by the standard of the present day, seem absurdly\nlow, but they may be accepted as representing the average rate of prices\nobtainable, three hundred years ago, for the various classes of stock\nmentioned.\n\nIt was the duty of the wardens to have the offenders in custody, against\nwhom bills had been presented, in readiness to answer, and in case the\nbills were \"fouled\" he was bound to deliver them up to the opposite\nwarden, by whom they were imprisoned until they had paid a _single and two\ndoubles_, that is to say, treble the value of the estimated goods in the\nbill. To produce these men was generally the most difficult part of the\nwarden's duty. He could not keep them in confinement until the day of\ntruce, for, independently they were sometimes persons of power and rank,\ntheir numbers were too great to be retained in custody. The wardens,\ntherefore, usually took bonds from the Chief, kinsmen, or allies of the\naccused party, binding him or them to enter him prisoner within the iron\ngate of the warden's castle, or else to make him forthcoming when called\nfor. He against whom a bill was twice fouled, was liable to the penalty of\ndeath. If the offender endeavoured to rescue himself after being lawfully\ndelivered over to the opposite warden, he was liable to the punishment of\ndeath, or otherwise at the warden's pleasure, as being guilty of a breach\nof the assurance.[43]\n\nIt would seem to have been customary on a day of truce to enumerate the\nvarious bills \"fouled\" on either side, and then to strike a balance,\nshowing on which side most depredations had been committed. It\noccasionally happened that the claims of both parties were so numerous\nand complicated, the same person frequently appearing both as plaintiff\nand defendant, that it was deemed prudent to draw a veil over the whole\nproceedings, and give satisfaction to neither party, thus wiping out, as\nit were, with a stroke of the pen, and without further parleying, all the\nclaims which had been lodged. This mode of procedure, arbitrary though it\nmay appear, did not, as a rule, result in serious injustice being done to\neither party.\n\nThe offences dealt with were of a varied character. Reiving was only one\nof the many ways in which the Borderers sought to enrich themselves at the\nexpense of their neighbours in the opposite March. They had an eye to the\nland as well as to the cattle. It was customary for them not only to\npasture their stock on the enemy's territory, but to sow corn, cut down\nwood, and go hunting and hawking for pleasure as well as profit. Sir\nRobert Cary, one of the most vigorous of the English wardens, was\ndetermined that hunting without leave should not be carried on in his\nwardenry. He wrote to the laird of Ferniherst, the warden opposite,\nexplaining his views, but, \"notwithstanding this letter,\" he says, \"within\na month after they came and hunted as they used to do without leave, and\ncut down wood and carried it away. I wrote to the warden, and told him I\nwould not suffer one other affront, but if they came again without leave\nthey would dearly aby[44] it. For all this they would not be warned; but\ntowards the end of the summer they came again to their wonted sports. I\nsent my two deputies with all speed they could make, and they took along\nwith them such gentlemen as were in their way, with my forty horse, and\nabout one of the clock they came to them, and set upon them; some hurt was\ndone, but I gave special order they should do as little hurt, and shed as\nlittle blood, as they possibly could. They observed my command, only they\nbroke all their carts, and took a dozen of the principal gentlemen that\nwere there, and brought them to me to Witherington, where I lay. I made\nthem welcome, and gave them the best entertainment I could. They lay in\nthe castle two or three days, and so I sent them home--they assuring me\nthat they would never again hunt without leave, which they did truly\nperform all the time.\"[45]\n\nThis firm, but kindly method, was entirely satisfactory; and, had the\nBorders only been blessed with a succession of Carys in the various\nwardenries, the probability is that Border reiving would never have\nattained such portentous dimensions.\n\nBut despite the masterful management of men like Cary, such questions as\nthose we have mentioned continued to occupy the time and attention of the\nwarden courts. The freebooters on the Border never considered too closely\nthe minute shades of difference between _meum_ and _tuum_, and were\ndifficult to persuade that depasturing, or cutting wood in a neighbour's\nplantation, was a matter of any real importance. They were at all times\ndisposed to put a liberal construction on the words--\"The earth is the\nLord's and the fulness thereof.\" Their somewhat loose interpretation of\nthis ancient Hebrew maxim occasioned them no end of vexation and trouble.\n\nBut the settlement of Border affairs on the day of truce did not interfere\nwith the ancient custom which entitled the person who was robbed to follow\nhis goods on what was called the _hot-trod_, and mete out summary\npunishment to the offender--provided he could overtake him. The warden\nalso was enjoined, in the Act of 1563, to pursue and chase in hot-trod,\nunto such time or place as the fugitives or offender be apprehended, to\nbring him again within his own jurisdiction to be punished for the\noffence, \"as appertaineth;\" \"and that without let, trouble, or impediment\nto be made or done to him by any of the inhabitants of that realm wherein\nhe pursueth.\" And if any person should make resistance to the said warden\nin the foresaid pursuit he was to be billed for, and delivered to the\nwarden. In the following of the said chase, in the manner aforesaid, it\nwas thought convenient, and ordained, that the pursuer shall, at the first\ntown he cometh by of the opposite realm, or the first person he meeteth\nwith, give knowledge of the occasion of his chase, and require him to go\nwith him in the said pursuit. If the offender was caught red-handed he was\nexecuted; but if the desire for gain was stronger than the thirst for\nblood, then he was held at ransom. The prey was followed with hound and\nhorn, hue and cry, the pursuers carrying on the point of their spears a\nlighted piece of turf.\n\nThe business of the warden courts was conducted with despatch. When all\nthe bills had been either \"fouled\" or \"cleared,\" those who had been found\nguilty of \"March Treason\" were brought up for sentence. The lord warden\ncalled on him whose office it was to see the prisoners suffer, and thus\naddressed him:--\"I command you in the Queen's Majesty's name that ye see\nexecution done upon these prisoners, according to the Law of the Marches,\nat your peril.\" Then addressing the prisoners he said:--\"Ye that are\nadjudged by the Law of the Realm to die, remember that ye have but a short\ntime to live in this world; therefore earnestly call to God, with penitent\nhearts, for mercy and forgiveness of your sinful lives; repent ye have\nbroken God's commandments, and be sorry therefor, and for that ye did not\nfear the breach and dangers of the Law, therefore your bodies must suffer\nthe pain of death, provided to satisfy the reward of your Fact in this\nworld; yet the salvation of your soul's health for the world to come,\nstands in the great mercy of Almighty God: Wherefore do ye earnestly\nrepent and ask mercy for your sins, now when ye are living, put your Trust\nto be saved by the merits of Christ's passion; and think in your hearts if\nye were able to recompence them ye have offended, ye would do it; and\nwhere you are not able, ask Forgiveness. Have such faith in God's Mercy as\nDismas the Thief and Man-Murderer had that hang at Christ's Right hand,\nwhen he suffered his Passion for the Redemption of Mankind: Whose Faith\nwas so great he should be saved, his Sins were remitted, tho' he had but\nshort time of Repentance, and he enjoyed Heaven. Therefore despair not in\nGod's Mercy, though your sins be great, for God's Mercy exceedeth all his\nWorks. Set apart all Vanities of this World, and comfort you in Heavenly\nthings; and doubt not but, if ye so do, ye shall inherit Everlasting Joy\nin the Kingdom of Heaven. And thus I commit you to the Mercy of God,\nwishing your Deaths may be an Example to all Parents to bring up their\nChildren in the Fear of God, and Obedience of the Laws of this Realm.\"[46]\n\nWith these suitable admonitions ringing in their ears, the condemned\nprisoners were led forth to execution.\n\nThe business of the court having been finished, the wardens retired after\ntaking a courteous leave of each other.\n\nThese meetings, attended as they were by a large number of people, who\ncame either on business or pleasure, were frequently broken up by sudden\noutbursts of tumult and disorder. _Baughling_, or brawling, was a common\noccurrence, and loud words and angry looks naturally led to more serious\nencounters. We have already noticed the incident of the Reidswire, but\nthis was by no means an isolated case. In the month of July, 1585, at a\nday of truce between Sir John Foster and Ker of Ferniherst, Lord Russell,\na young man of great promise, and of the most amiable disposition, was\nsuddenly shot dead by an unknown hand. This lamentable incident gave rise\nto much bitterness of feeling on both sides of the Border. Foster wrote to\nWalsingham, saying, that he and the opposite warden had met for the\nredress of attempts committed on both sides, Russell being present to\nattend to particular causes of his own, \"where it chanced a sudden\naccident and tumult to arise among the rascals of Scotland and England\nabout a little pyckery among themselves, and we meaning no harm did sit\nthe most of the day calling bills, and my Lord Russell among us. The said\nLord Russell rose and went aside from us, with his own men, and there\nbeing in talk with a gentleman, was suddenly shot with a gun and slain in\nthe midst of his own men, to the great discomfort of me and his poor\nfriends in this country, and never a man either of England or Scotland but\nhe. Alas! that the mischievous chance should happen for him to be killed\nwith a shot, and none but him, which is the greatest discomfort that ever\ncame upon me.\"[47]\n\nNo hint is here given of any suspicion that Ker of Ferniherst was\nimplicated in the death of this young man. Hence we are surprised to find\nthat, on the day after this letter was written, Sir John Foster drew up a\nstatement in which he gives an entirely different complexion to the\nincident. He asserts that it was not an accident. \"Had it been an\naccident,\" he says, \"or sudden breaking by rascals, as there was no such\nmatter, the gentlemen of Scotland with their drums, fife, shot, and such\nas carried the 'ensigne' and 'penseller,' would have tarried with the\nwarden; so that it appeareth plainly it was a 'pretended matter'\nbeforehand, for the wardens sitting quietly calling their bills, the\nwarden of England thinking no harm, the party of Scotland seeing the time\nserve for their 'former desire,' suddenly broke, striking up an alarm with\nsound of drum and fife, and gave the charge upon us--in which charge the\nLord Russell was cruelly slain with shot, and so divers gentlemen of\nScotland with their footmen and horsemen and whole force, followed and\nmaintained their chase four miles within the Realm of England, and took\nsundry prisoners and horses, and carried them into Scotland, which they\ndeny to deliver again.\"[48]\n\nThis statement contradicts, in almost every particular, the asseverations\ndeliberately made in the letter written the day before, and shows that\neven a gentleman in Sir John Foster's high position, with a deservedly\ngreat reputation for fair dealing, was capable, when occasion demanded, of\ntwisting facts, or even inventing them, to suit his own ends, or the\ninterest of the government he represented. It has been suggested that the\nEnglish secretary, knowing that Ferniherst was an intimate friend of\nArran, saw that by laying the blame of Lord Russell's death on the\nshoulders of the former, he might thereby procure the disgrace of this\nhated minister. Be this as it may, such conflicting assertions, made by\nthe same person almost at the same time, should lead us to accept with a\nmodified confidence other statements of a similar kind, as the spirit of\nparty is no friend to the love of truth.\n\nBut despite the drawbacks and dangers attaching to such gatherings for the\nsettlement of Border affairs, the day of truce was an institution of great\npublic utility. It is difficult to see how, apart from such an\narrangement, even the semblance of civilized life could have been\nmaintained. The Borders really constituted an _imperium in imperio_, and\nthe wardens, when presiding over their monthly convention, were to all\nintents and purposes absolute rulers within their own prescribed domain.\nIt was generally found that when warden courts, or days of truce, were\nregularly held, good rule and order, at least judged by the ordinary\nBorder standard, were well maintained throughout the entire district.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nTHE DEADLY FEUD.\n\n          \"At the sacred font, the priest\n  Through ages left the master hand unblest\n  To urge with keener aim the blood incrusted spear.\"\n\n                                   LEYDEN.\n\n\nThe difficulties with which the Borderers had to contend were of a varied\ncharacter. They had to be constantly on the watch against the aggressions\nand incursions of their enemies on the opposite Marches. But it frequently\nhappened that their most dangerous and inveterate foes were to be found\namongst their own countrymen. This was the case more especially when\nblood-feuds arose, setting family against family, and clan against clan.\nAn interesting, if not very luminous, account of the origin of the \"Feud\"\nis given by Burghley in a report submitted by him to the English\ngovernment, in which he deals with what he calls the \"Decays of the\nBorders.\" He says:--\"Deadly Foed, the word of enmytie on the Borders,\nimplacable without the blood and whole family destroyed, whose etymologie\nI know not where better to fetch than from Spiegelius in his _Lexicon\nJuris, in Verbo_ 'feydum:' he saith it is an old Teutch word whereof is\nderived by Hermanus Nivoranus (?) _faydosum Hostis publicus_; 'foed'\n_enim, Bellum significat_.\" He further points out that the Scottish\nwardens, being native Borderers, are \"extraordinarilye adicted to\nparcialities, favour of their blood, tenantes and followers,\" and\nconsequently he holds they should be disqualified for office.[49]\n\nThe evils resulting from these deadly-feuds would have been comparatively\ntrifling had it been possible to limit the consequences to the persons\nmore immediately concerned. Owing, however, to the system of clanship\nwhich prevailed on the Borders, the whole sept became involved in the\nfeud. \"If one of the clan,\" says Sir Walter Scott, \"chanced either to slay\na man, or commit any similar aggression, the chief was expected to defend\nhim by all means, legal or illegal. The most obvious and pacific was to\npay such fine or _amende_, or assythement, as it was called, as might\npacify the surviving relations, or make up the feud. This practice of\nreceiving an atonement for slaughter seems also to have been part of the\nancient Celtic usages; for it occurs in the Welch laws of Howell Dha, and\nwas the very foundation of the Irish Brehon customs. The vestiges of it\nmay be found in the common law of Scotland to this day. But poor as we\nhave described the Border chief, and fierce as he certainly was by\neducation and office, it was not often that he was either able or disposed\nto settle the quarrels of his clansmen in a manner so amicable and\nexpensive. War was then resorted to; and it was the duty of the chief and\nclan who had sustained the injury to seek revenge by every means in their\npower, not only against the party who had given the offence, but, in the\nphrase of the time and country, against all his name, kindred,\nmaintainers, and upholders. On the other hand, the chief and clan to whom\nthe individual belonged who had done the offence, were equally bound in\nhonour, by every means in their power, to protect their clansman, and to\nretaliate whatever injury the opposite party might inflict in their thirst\nof vengeance. When two clans were involved in this species of private\nwarfare, which was usually carried on with the most ferocious animosity on\nboth sides, they were said to be at deadly feud, and the custom is justly\ntermed by the Scottish parliament most heathenish and barbarous.... In\nthese deadly feuds, the chiefs of clans made war, or truce, or final peace\nwith each other, with as much formality, and as little sincerity, as\nactual monarchs.\"[50]\n\nFeuds of the most bitter and hostile character were an every-day\noccurrence. The Herons, Fenwicks, Shafftownes, Charletons, and Milbornes,\non the English side of the Border, were all at feud at the same time. And\non the Scottish side the Elwoods (Elliots), Armstrongs, Nixons, Crosiers,\nTrumbles, and Olivers were, during the same period, at \"daggers drawn,\"\nand thirsting for each other's blood. The misery which such feuds created\ncan hardly be over-estimated. The sense of personal security was\ncompletely destroyed. Mutual trust, the primary condition of social life,\nwas rendered practically impossible. And, as might be expected, the most\ntrivial circumstances often gave rise to the most implacable hostility. A\nsingular instance of this is referred to by John Cary in one of his\ncommunications to Burghley. He says:--\"Your honour remembers hearing long\nsince of the great road by the Scotts 'as Will Haskottes and his fellowes'\nmade in Tynedale and Redesdale, taking up the whole country and nearly\nbeggaring them for ever. On complaint to the Queen and Council, there was\nsome redress made with much ado and many meetings. Buccleuch and the\nScotts made some 'bragges and crackes' as that the country durst not take\nits own; but the Charletons being the 'sufficientest and ablest' men on\nthe borders, not only took their own goods again, but encouraged their\nneighbours to do the like and not be afraid--'which hath ever since stuck\nin Buccleuch's stomack.'... Mary! he makes another quarrell, that long\nsince in a war tyme, the Tynedale men should goe into his countrey, and\nthere they took his grandfather and killed divers of his countrye, _and\nthat they took away his grandfather's shworde_, and never let him have it\nyet synce. This sayeth he is the quarrell.\"[51]\n\nNor did lapse of time tend to soften the animosities. The feud was\ninherited along with the rest of the family property. It was handed down\nfrom generation to generation. The son and grandson maintained it with a\nbitterness which, in some cases, seemed year by year to grow more intense.\nIt affected more or less a man's whole social relationships, and gave rise\nto endless animosities and heart-burnings. Feuds were not unknown in other\ndistricts of the country, but owing to the feeble and ineffective manner\nin which the law was generally administered, they prevailed to a greater\nextent on the Borders,--and were characterised by a more vengeful\nspirit,--than in any other part of the kingdom.\n\nHence it was found that the existence of such feuds made the\nadministration of the law, such as it was, a matter of supreme difficulty.\nIt is said that it was hardly possible for any gentleman of the country to\nbe of a jury of life and death if any of those at feud were indicted, \"as\nthey were grown so to seek blood that they would make a quarrel about the\ndeath of their grandfather, and kill any of the name.\" It was, therefore,\nfound necessary to appoint special nobles and barons belonging to some\ndistant part of the country, to sit in judgment in those cases in which\nthe accused was at feud with the warden. On two occasions when courts were\nbeing held at Jedburgh, it was found expedient to issue proclamations in\nthe King's name,--\"That na maner of persons tak upon hand to invaid ane an\nuther for ald feid or new, now cumand to this present air or passand\ntharfra, and induring the tyme thairof under the pane of dede; and that na\nmaner of persone or persons beir wapins except kniffis at their beltis,\nbot alanerlie our soverane lordis household, the justice, constable,\nmerschell, compositouris, thair men and houshald, schireff, crounaris and\nthair deputis, under the pane of escheting of the wapins and punishing of\nthe persons beraris therof.\"[52] Owing to the disturbed condition of the\ncountry, such precautions were much needed, although it must be admitted\nthat they did not always secure the end desired.\n\nMany of the Border feuds present features of great interest alike to the\nsociologist and the historian. They afford interesting glimpses of the\ncondition of society in this part of the realm, and disclose the dominant\npassions by which the lives and characters of those more immediately\nconcerned were shaped and determined. Throughout the greater part of the\n16th century a fierce feud raged between two of the most noted and\npowerful Border families--the Scotts and the Kers. The circumstances which\ngave rise to this deadly feud form an interesting chapter in the history\nof the Borders.\n\nDuring the minority of James V. the Earl of Angus controlled the\ngovernment of the country, and in his own interests, and for the\nfurtherance of his own ends, kept a watchful eye on the movements of the\nyoung King. In the year 1525, James, accompanied by Angus, and other\nmembers of the court, came south to Jedburgh, \"and held justice aires\nquhair manie plaintes cam to him of reiff, slauchter and oppression, bot\nlittle justice was used bot the purse, for thir was manie in that countrie\nwar the Earl of Angus' kin and friendis, that got favourable justice,\nquhairof the king was not content, nor non of the rest of the lordis that\nwar about him, for they wold have justice equally used to all men; bot the\nEarl of Angus and the rest of the Douglass' rulled yitt still as they\npleased, and no man durst find fault with their proceidingis; quhairat the\nking was heartilie displeased, and would fain have been out of their\nhandis, and for that effect he writt are secreitt letter to the laird of\nBuccleugh, desiring him effectuouslie that he wold come with all his\nforces, kin and freindis, and all that he might ax, and meit him at\nMelrose, at his home coming, and thair to tak him out of the Douglas'\nhandis, and put him at libertie, to use himself among the rest of the\nlordis as he thought expedient.\"[53] Buccleuch at once convened his \"kin\nand freindis,\" and all who were prepared to take part with him, to the\nnumber of six hundred spears, and set out for Melrose to await the coming\nof the King. Home, Cessford, and Fernieherst, who were of the King's\ncompany, had returned home. Buccleuch and his followers made their\nappearance, arranged in order of battle, on Halidon Hill, overlooking the\nTweed, near Melrose bridge. When Angus saw them he wondered what the\nhostile array portended. But when he discovered that Buccleuch was\nsupported only by numbers of Annandale thieves, he took heart of grace,\nand said to the King--\"Sir, yonder is the laird of Buccleuch, and the\nthieves of Annerdaill with him, to unbesett your grace in the way, bot I\navow to God, Sir, they sall aither fight or flie. Thairfor, Sir, ye sall\ntarrie here, and my brither George with yow, and any other quhom yeu\npleas, and I sall pas and put yon thieves aff the ground, and red the\ngaitt to your grace, or else die thairfor.\"[54]\n\nThe conflict now began in earnest. Buccleuch and his men stoutly resisted\nthe onslaught of Angus, and for a time the issue seemed uncertain. But\nHome, Cessford, and Fernieherst, having got wind of the affair, returned,\nsupported by four score spears, \"and sett on freschlie on the utmost wing,\non the laird of Buccleughis field, and shortly bare them to the ground,\nquhilk caused the laird of Buccleugh to flie; on whom thair followed ane\nchaise be the lairdis of Sesfoord and Pherniherst, in the quhilk chaise\nthe laird of Sesfoord was slain with ane cassin spear, be ane called Evan,\nservand of the laird of Buccleughis.\"[55]\n\nThere seems nothing remarkable about such an incident as this. That\nCessford should have been accidentally slain by one of Buccleuch's\nservants was no doubt a regrettable incident, but those who play bowls\nmust be prepared for rubbers. This, unfortunately, was not the view\nentertained by the Kers, who henceforth were at deadly feud with\nBuccleuch. All efforts to bring about a reconciliation were in vain. The\nKers thirsted for vengeance, and were determined to \"bide their time.\"\nTwenty-six long years had come and gone, and one day as the laird of\nBuccleuch was passing along one of the streets of Edinburgh, little\nsuspecting the fate which awaited him, he was fatally stabbed by the\ndescendant of Cessford. The Borderers had many faults, but certainly they\ncannot be charged with having had short memories!\n\nBut a still more striking illustration of the disastrous consequences of\nthe deadly feud is to be found in the case of the Johnstones and Maxwells,\ntwo of the most prominent and powerful families in Dumfriesshire. These\ntwo families were strong enough, had they been united, to have kept the\nwhole district in good order; but unfortunately they were often at feud,\nwith the result that not only their own interests, but the interests of\nthe community as a whole, were ruthlessly sacrificed. It is worthy of note\nthat one of the principal causes of the frequent and disastrous feuds\nbetween the representatives of the two families, was the frequency with\nwhich the office of warden was conferred, first on the one, and then on\nthe other, without any good reason being assigned by the King for the\nadoption of this shuttle-cock policy. This office was naturally much\ncoveted, as it was not only a source of revenue, which in those days was a\nmost important consideration, but a condition of influence and power. It\nmust, therefore, have been peculiarly irritating for the warden to be\nsummarily called upon to resign his office almost before he had begun to\nreap the rewards pertaining to it. And when he saw his rival basking in\nthe sunshine of the royal favour, from which he had been suddenly and\ncapriciously excluded, his feelings may be more easily imagined than\ndescribed. Nor did it greatly tend to soothe his wounded feelings to\nreflect that the person by whom he had been superseded would be certain\nbefore long to be hurled from his proud eminence and another put in his\nplace. The whole system was pernicious, and was the source of no end of\nmischief and bad blood.\n\nThe origin of this famous feud may be briefly related. John, seventh Lord\nMaxwell, has been well described as one of those men whom a daring and\nrestless temperament and their crimes \"have damned to eternal fame.\" After\nthe death of the Regent Morton, he succeeded in securing a charter to the\nEarldom of Morton--his mother, Lady Beatrix Douglas, being the Regent's\nsecond daughter. It was not his good fortune, however, to enjoy for a\nlengthened period either the title, or the domains attached to it. In\nJanuary, 1585, four years after he had come into possession, Parliament\nrescinded the Attainder, and declared that the title and the estates were\nto be conferred on the Regent Morton's lawful heir. Maxwell was declared a\nrebel, mainly owing to his religious views--he being a warm adherent of\nthe Romish Church--and Johnstone was commissioned to apprehend him. Though\nhe had the assistance of two bands of hired soldiers, Maxwell proved more\nthan a match for him, took him prisoner, and set fire to Lochwood Castle,\nas it was savagely remarked, \"that Lady Johnstone might have light to put\non her hood.\" This unexpected blow fell on the laird of Johnstone with\ncrushing effect. In the following year he died of a broken heart. It is\nto these circumstances that we must attribute the origin of the deadly\nfeud between the two clans, and especially between their chiefs.\n\nBut Maxwell, though gaining this important victory, was not allowed to\nescape. He was ultimately taken prisoner, but afterwards regained his\nliberty, on condition that he left the country. He went to Spain, and\noffered his services to \"His Catholic Majesty,\" who was then busily\nengaged in fitting out the _Invincible Armada_, by which he hoped to\noverwhelm both England and Scotland. Lord Maxwell--so little was he\nanimated by the spirit of patriotism--entered into the scheme _con amore_.\nBeing furnished with ample means, he returned to Scotland in 1588 to levy\nmen on the Borders to assist his new sovereign. His prefidious designs\nwere fortunately discovered, and ere he could make good his escape, he was\nsurprised by the King in Dumfries, taken prisoner, and his wardenship of\nthe West Marches bestowed on his powerful rival, the laird of Johnstone.\nEverything might have gone on smoothly at this juncture had the King only\nbeen gifted with a little firmness and foresight. He was anxious, however,\nto conciliate his Roman Catholic subjects, and he seems to have come to\nthe conclusion that, reasonable conditions being imposed, he might\naccomplish this end by restoring Maxwell to favour and office. This was a\nfatal blunder, and produced disastrous results. Though the two rival\nchiefs were induced to enter into a bond of alliance to support each other\nin their lawful quarrels, as might have been expected, it was not long\nbefore circumstances arose which brought them again into deadly conflict.\nThe Johnstones seemed to have concluded that they were at liberty to harry\nand despoil at their pleasure, so long as they left unmolested any of the\nname of Maxwell. Acting upon this principle, they made a raid upon\nNithsdale, and committed sundry depredations on Lord Sanquhar, the lairds\nof Drumlanrig, Closeburn, and Lagg, and killed eighteen persons who had\n\"followed their own goods.\" Such a fierce and unprovoked assault could not\nwell be allowed to go unpunished, and so a commission was given to Lord\nMaxwell to pursue the Johnstones with all hostilities. Johnstone hearing\nof this, at once adopted measures for his protection. He summoned to his\naid the Scotts of Teviotdale, and the Grahams and Elliots of Eskdale, as\nwell as \"divers Englishmen, treasonably brought within the realm, armed in\nplain hostility.\" Maxwell, however, determined not to be beat, entered\ninto \"Bonds of Manrent\" with Sanquhar, Drumlanrig, and several others, who\nhad suffered at the hands of Johnstone, to maintain each other's quarrels.\n\nActing upon his commission, Maxwell summoned Johnstone to surrender, but\nthis he refused to do, on the ground that the warden had acted illegally\nin entering into \"Bonds\" with the persons above-mentioned. As it was\nclearly impossible to settle the question by diplomatic means, the warden\ndespatched Captain Oliphant with some troops to Lochmaben, to await his\narrival in Annandale. The Johnstones, who were on the alert, coming\nsuddenly upon them, killed the captain, and a number of his soldiers, and\nburned the Kirk of Lochmaben, where some of Oliphant's men had fled for\nrefuge. Lord Maxwell now entered the field in person. He expected to raise\nthe different towns in his aid; but Johnstone, acting on the principle\nthat \"a 'steek' in time saves nine,\" attacked him at once, scattered his\nforces, and slew Lord Maxwell, \"and sundry gentlemen of his name.\" This\naffair took place December, 1593, and is well known as the Battle of Dryfe\nSands. \"Lord Maxwell,\" it is said, \"a tall man, and heavy in armour, was\nin the chase overtaken and stricken from his horse. The report went that\nhe called to Johnstone, and desired to be taken (prisoner), as he had\nformerly taken his (Johnstone's) father: but was unmercifully used; and\nthe hand that reached forth cut off; but of this I can affirm nothing.\nThere, at all events, the Lord Maxwell fell, having received many wounds.\nHe was a nobleman of great spirit, humane, courteous, and more learned\nthan noblemen commonly are; but aspiring and ambitious of rule.\"\n\nIn this contest the Maxwells suffered severely. They were cut down in\nscores in the streets of Lockerbie. It is said that those who escaped bore\non them to their dying hour marks of the fatal day, which occasioned the\nproverbial phrase of \"a Lockerby lick,\" to denote a frightful gash over\nthe face or skull. So dreadful was the carnage in this disastrous \"bout of\narms\" that it is alleged by numerous historians that at least 700 of the\nMaxwells and their adherents were slain. Two aged thorns long marked the\nspot where Maxwell met his fate, known in the district as \"Maxwell's\nThorns.\" They were carried away by a flood some fifty years ago, but have\nbeen replaced by two others, now enclosed in a railing.\n\n\"It is evident, then,\" remarks Pitcairn, \"according to the sentiments of\nthose times, inherited from their earliest years, which 'grew with their\ngrowth and strengthened with their strength,' that natural duty and filial\npiety required such a feud should become hereditary, and behoved should be\nhanded down from one generation to another. The attempts by the King and\nhis Council to procure an effectual reconciliation, although strenuously\nmade and often repeated, at length proved abortive. The re-appointment of\nthe Laird of Johnstone to be warden of the West Marches, in 1596, appears\nto have served as a signal for the resumption of mutual aggressions.\"[56]\nIt would seem that Johnstone held the office at this time for a period of\nthree years, but as his wardenry had got into a most unsatisfactory\ncondition, he was superseded by Sir John Carmichael, his appointment being\nnotified to Lord Scrope, by James VI., on the 26th December, 1599.\nCarmichael was murdered by Thomas Armstrong, \"son of Sandies Ringan,\" in\nthe following year, and Johnstone was again appointed to this ill-fated\noffice. All this time the feud raged as fiercely as ever. Various attempts\nwere made to bring about an agreement, but nothing came of them. At length\nthrough the influence of mutual friends, a private meeting was arranged.\nSolemn pledges were given and exchanged, and Lord Maxwell and Sir James\nJohnstone met on the 6th of April, 1608, each accompanied only by a single\nattendant. The principals having removed some distance to discuss their\naffairs, a quarrel arose between the two attendants, and when Sir James\nJohnstone turned round to admonish them to keep the peace, Lord Maxwell\nsuddenly drew his pistol, and fired at him, and shot him through the back\nwith two bullets.\n\nThis cold-blooded murder, made all the more heinous by the circumstances\nin which it was perpetrated, was amply revenged. Lord Maxwell was\napprehended, and put in ward in the Castle of Edinburgh. He contrived,\nhowever, to escape, and went abroad, where he remained for four years. He\nreturned to the Borders, but finding that his crime was remembered\nagainst him, had instantly to prepare for embarkation to Sweden.\nUnfortunately for himself, he was persuaded by his kinsman, the Earl of\nCaithness, to abandon this project. He was lured to Castle Sinclair, where\nhe was promised shelter and secrecy. He was not long there before he was\nbetrayed by his friend, taken prisoner, and brought to Edinburgh and\nbeheaded. \"It may be gratifying to know that the Earl of Caithness\nobtained no reward for his traitorous conduct; but, on the contrary, his\ntreachery served as a source of constant reproach to him and his\nfamily.\"[57]\n\n\"Thus was finally ended, by a salutary example of severity, 'the foul\ndebate' betwixt the Maxwells and the Johnstones, in course of which each\nfamily lost two chieftains; one by dying of a broken heart, one in the\nfield of battle, one by assassination, and one by the sword of the\nexecutioner.\"[58]\n\nThe history of the Borders unfortunately affords too many examples of the\ndeplorable consequences arising from the prevalency and frequency of such\nfeuds. Many were compelled to live in constant terror of the dagger of the\nassassin, never knowing the moment when they might be stricken down by an\nunseen hand. At the same time it may be remarked that those who were\nguilty of the crime of murder found it a matter of extreme difficulty to\nescape punishment. The \"avenger of blood\" was ever on the track, and\nthough for a time, by means of various disguises, the culprit might elude\npursuit, he had sooner or later to pay the penalty of his misdeeds.\n\nIn the year 1511 Sir Robert Ker of Cessford was slain at a Border meeting\nby three Englishmen--Heron, Starhead, and Lillburn. The English monarch\ndelivered up Lillburn to justice, but the other two made good their\nescape. Starhead fled for refuge to the very centre of England, and there\nlived in secrecy and upon his guard. Two dependants of the murdered warden\nwere deputed by Andrew Ker of Cessford to revenge his father's death. They\ntravelled through England in various disguises till they discovered the\nplace of Starhead's retreat, murdered him in his bed, and brought his head\nto their master, by whom, in memorial of their vengeance, it was exposed\non the cross of Edinburgh. Heron would have shared the same fate had he\nnot spread abroad a report of his having died of the plague, and caused\nhis funeral obsequies to be performed.\n\nVarious expedients were resorted to in order to terminate the feuds which\nprevailed. A common method was to get the Chiefs and Chieftains of the\nopposing clans to subscribe what were called \"bonds of assurance.\" There\ncan be no doubt that this might often have proved a most effective\nmeasure, had the parties concerned only been willing to let bygones be\nbygones. But it was found that the old sores were not easily healed.\nDespite the utmost precautions, animosities which had been suppressed for\na time--kept as it were in abeyance--would assert themselves in a most\nunexpected manner, and with redoubled force, and create a still more\ndistracting condition of affairs.\n\nPrior to the Reformation, feuds were sometimes terminated by an appeal to\nthe religious sensibilities of the persons more immediately concerned.\nThey were induced to make pilgrimages to noted shrines--the shrine of St.\nNinian being a favourite resort--where, under the influence of religious\nthoughts and feelings, they might be induced to take a more kindly view of\nthose with whom they were at feud, and make some reparation for the injury\nthey had inflicted. How far this method succeeded it is difficult to\ndetermine, but the likelihood is that it was quite as effective as any\nother.\n\nAmong the Chiefs, or clans, feuds were sometimes brought to an end by a\ncontract of marriage between a leading gentleman of one clan and a\ndaughter of the principal house of the other. This was the plan adopted by\nthe Scotts and Kers, and which, after some vexatious delays, proved\nentirely successful.\n\nBut if it was found that none of the above methods of terminating the feud\ncould be conveniently applied, then resort was had, as has already been\nhinted, to still simpler means. An atonement was made by the payment of a\nsum of money called \"assythment,\" which was sometimes found sufficient to\nrestore good feeling, and bring together in a spirit of amity families\nthat had been at feud with each other.\n\nBut these and other means of putting an end to the feud proved, perhaps,\nin the majority of cases, of little or no avail. The parties concerned\npreferred, generally, to fight it out to the bitter end, utterly\nindifferent to consequences.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nTHE THIEVES DAUNTONED.\n\n  \"Revenge! revenge! auld Wat 'gan cry;\n    Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!\n  We'll ne'er see Teviotside again,\n    Or Willie's death revenged sall be.\"\n\n\nThe intermittent and ineffective manner in which the law was generally\nadministered on the Borders was the occasion, if not the cause, of much of\nthe turbulence and lawlessness which prevailed. The Border thieves were\nnow and then placed under the most rigid surveillance, and their misdeeds\nvisited with condign punishment; but for the most part they were left to\nwork out their own sweet will, none daring to make them afraid.\n\nThis method of treatment could not be expected to produce beneficial\nresults. It had exactly the opposite effect. Respect for the law was\ncompletely destroyed. Those who were called upon, as the phrase goes, \"to\nunderlie the law,\" had no sense of shame when their wrongdoing was brought\nhome to them. They no doubt felt the inconvenience of being punished, by\nfine or imprisonment, for their misdeeds; but there was no moral stigma\nattaching to imprisonment, or to almost any other form of punishment.\nThat a man's father had been hanged for cattle-stealing, or for the\nslaughter of those who had dared to resist him when he went on a foraging\nexpedition, might engender a feeling of resentment, but it was not in the\nleast likely to create a feeling of shame. Such incidents as these were\nregarded with philosophical indifference. We remember once hearing a\ndistinguished Borderer remark that the ancient history of nearly all the\ngreat Border families had been faithfully chronicled in \"Pitcairn's\nCriminal Trials!\" A careful study of that interesting and valuable\ncompilation will go far to corroborate the remark. The \"Family Tree\" is a\nphrase which has an altogether peculiar significance on the Borders. It\nsuggests ideas and reflections which are not usually associated with\ngenealogy.\n\nBut when all has been said on this phase of the question which either envy\nor malice can suggest, every sympathetic and well-informed student of\nBorder history will readily admit that the Borderers, bad as they were,\nwere really more sinned against than sinning. Carlyle has somewhere\nremarked that a man's first _right_ is to be well governed. It is,\nperhaps, unusual to regard our rights from this point of view, yet there\ncan be no doubt that good government is an essential requisite of society,\nand one of the greatest blessings of the individual life. This boon was\none which, for many generations, the Borderers did not enjoy. They were\nencouraged to commit crime one day, and punished for it the next. This is\ndoubtless a strong assertion, but we think it is one that can be amply\nproved. It was the policy of James VI., for example, to keep on the best\npossible terms with Queen Elizabeth, in order not to endanger his chance\nof succession, and consequently he was naturally anxious to keep his\nturbulent subjects on the Borders as well in hand as possible. But that he\nsecretly sympathised with them, and encouraged them in their predatory\nincursions on the English Border, hardly admits of serious doubt. Sir John\nFoster, writing in 1586, says: \"The King doth write to the Laird of\nCessford to do justice, and yet in the meantime he appointeth others to\nride and break the Border, and doth wink thereat.\"[59] We find Hunsdon\nwriting in the same strain. \"I am at this present credibly advertised,\" he\nsays, \"from one of good intelligence that what fair weather soever the\nKing makes, he means no good towards her Majesty, nor her subjects, and\nthat at this present, there is some practice in hand, whatsoever it\nis--and he doth assure me that those of Liddesdale, Ewesdale, Eskdale, and\nAnnandale, being 400 horse that came to Hawden brigges where they took\naway the goods and burnt 4 houses, was not without the King's knowledge,\nbut not meant to be done in that place.\"[60] In another communication, in\nwhich he alludes to the coming of the King to the Borders with a large\narmy, ostensibly to punish the thieves, he remarks, that he thought it\nvery strange that the King should come with so great a company for the\nsuppressing of a few thieves, when there was not one of them, either in\nLiddesdale or Teviotdale, that he might not have had brought to him, had\nhe so wished it. He hints that these great outrages would never have been\nattempted without the King's \"privitie\"--\"for it was given forth,\" he\nsays, \"that the Earl Bothwell's riding to Branksome and Hawick, where he\nholds as many of Liddesdale before him as it pleased him to send for, that\nit was to cause them of Liddesdale to be answerable to justice to England\nfor such outrages as they had sundry times committed; but the sequel did\nmanifest the cause of his going thither. For presently after, his said\nson-in-law, the Laird of Buccleuch, made a 'roade' with 300 horse into the\nWest March at two of the clock in the after-noon, with a trumpet and\ngydon, and spoiled the country about Bewcastle in warlike manner till\nsun-set. The trumpet was my Lord Bothwell's, and the goods was carried to\nArmitage at my Lord Bothwell's officers' commandment. So as I have just\ncause to think that this 'roade' was done by my Lord Bothwell's\nappointment, and I am sure he durst not have done it without the King's\nprivity, I will not say commandment.\"[61]\n\nThese are only a few of many illustrations of a similar kind which may be\nfound scattered through the pages of the \"State Papers,\" and while we must\nbe careful not to accept such statements as in every instance worthy of\nabsolute credence, yet the circumstances would seem to warrant our\nregarding them, in many cases at least, as well founded. When the King and\nhis lieutenants thus secretly connived at, and encouraged, the\ndepredations of the reivers, we need hardly wonder that they engaged in\nthe work of plundering with an almost total absence of compunction.\n\nHad the sphere of their operations been always strictly confined to the\nEnglish Border, the likelihood is that neither King, nor Regent, would\nhave sought to \"daunton\" them. But there were times when it was difficult\nfor the Scottish reivers to earn a decent livelihood by harassing and\nspoiling \"the auld enemy,\" owing to the watchfulness and strength of those\ndwelling within the opposite Marches; and as there was a danger of their\ntalents becoming feeble through disuse, they naturally turned their\nattention to their own more wealthy neighbours and friends. That there is\n\"honour among thieves\" is a proposition that is sometimes called in\nquestion; but we find that the spirit of a really helpful friendship\noccasionally manifested itself in curious ways. When a family, or clan,\ncontemplated a raid upon a neighbour's property, it was customary to\nsecure the assistance of the thieves on the opposite Border. In\n\"Pitcairn's Criminal Trials\" there are numerous allusions to the\nprosecutions of famous Scottish reivers for the inbringing of Englishmen\nto assist them in the work of plunder. This was one of the offences\ncharged against Cockburn of Henderland, and which, no doubt, weighed\nheavily with his judges in consigning him to the gallows.\n\nWhen the reivers thus turned their attention to their own countrymen, and\nwith the assistance of English allies began to despoil them, it was felt\nthat strong measures must be adopted for their suppression and punishment.\nThe Border reivers regarded the law with a feeling akin to contempt. They\nwere disposed to look upon the statutes of the realm as so many old wives'\nfables; and, truth to speak, they were often of not much more account. The\npolicy of the wardens was too frequently one of mere self-aggrandizement,\nand so long as their individual interests were not imperilled they looked\non with a kind of placid indifference at the misdoings of those whom it\nwas their duty, if not their interest, to control. When James VI. came to\nDumfries, to \"daunton the thieves\" in that district of the country, his\ntime was mainly occupied in meting out summary punishment to men of high\nsocial position, whose \"thefts, herschips, and slaughters\" had become\nnotorious, and cried aloud for vengeance. There were, no doubt, many of\nthe commonality as well, who at this time were made to suffer for their\ncrimes, but as these cases were generally dealt with by subordinate\nofficials, they do not come so prominently before us. \"Nothing is more\nremarkable,\" says Sir Herbert Maxwell, \"than the light thrown on the\nsocial state of Scotland at this time by the justiciary records. By far\nthe larger part of the criminals dealt with at the King's 'justice aires'\nwere men of good position, barons and landowners, burgesses or provosts of\nburghs. The humbler offenders were dealt with by the sheriff or at the\nbaron's courts, and do not appear; but the following extracts from the\nrecords of the short reign of James IV., in which the culprits are all\nlandowners, or members of their families, in Dumfriesshire or Galloway,\nillustrate the difficulty of maintaining order when the upper classes were\nso unruly.\" Here a list of names is appended, in which such well-known\npersonages as Murray, Jardine, Herries, Bell, Dinwoodie, Lindsay, Douglas,\n&c., appear. These men stand charged with high treason,\nforethought--felony, slaughter, horse-stealing, and other heinous\noffences. Some were pardoned, others respited, the horse-stealer was\ncalled upon to make restitution,--a severe sentence,--and Lindsay of\nWauchope, who had slain a messenger-at-arms, was condemned to death, and\nhis estates forfeited. In the accounts of expenditure incurred by the King\nduring this visit to Dumfries some curious items appear. Here are a few\nsamples. _Item_, to the man that hangit the thieves at the\nHallirlaws,--xiiijs. _Item_, for ane raip to hang them in ...--viijd.\n_Item_, to the man that hangit the thieves in Canonby, be the King's\ncommand ...--xiiijs. But all the details are not of this gruesome\ncharacter. The work of hanging, needful as it was, could give but \"sma'\npleasure\" even to a King, and so we find that entertainment of another\nkind was plentifully provided for the youthful monarch. \"He was attended\nin his progress,\" says Tytler, \"by his huntsmen, falconers, morris\ndancers, and all the motley and various minions of his pleasure, as well\nas by his judges and ministers of the law; and whilst troops of the\nunfortunate marauders were seized and brought in irons to the encampment,\nexecutions and entertainments appear to have succeeded each other with\nextraordinary rapidity.\"[62]\n\nNot long after the King made another visit to the Borders, coming on this\noccasion also with a considerable following, to the Water of Rule, to\n\"daunton\" the Turnbulls, whose excesses had filled the minds of the more\npeaceful inhabitants with a feeling of terror. Leslie, in his own quaint\nand picturesque style, thus describes the incident:--\"The King raid furth\nof Edinburgh, the viij. of November one the nycht, weill accumpaneit to\nthe watter of Roulle, quhair he tuik divers brokin men and brocht thame to\nJeduart; of quhom sum was justifyeit, and the principallis of the\ntrubillis [Turnbulls] come in lyning claythis, with nakitt sordis in thair\nhandis and wyddyis [ropes] about thair neckis, and pat thame in the Kingis\nwill; quha wes send to divers castells in ward, with sindrie utheris of\nthat cuntrey men also, quhair throchout the bordouris wes in greiter\nquietnes thairefter.\"[63]\n\nWe find that the Regents, when occasion demanded, were no less severe in\ntheir treatment of the unfortunate marauders. It would seem that about the\nmiddle of the sixteenth century the Borders had attained to an almost\nunexampled degree of lawlessness. Murder, robbery, and offences of all\nkinds prevailed to an intolerable extent. It is said that men who had been\npublicly outlawed walked abroad, deriding the terrors of justice. Hawick,\na burgh of ancient renown, was the centre of these crimes. The Earl of Mar\nmade a sudden and rapid march upon the town, encompassed it with his\nsoldiers, and made a proclamation in the market place forbidding any one,\non pain of death, to receive or shelter a thief. He apprehended\nfifty-three of the most noted outlaws, eighteen of whom, strange to state,\nhe was under the necessity of drowning for \"lack of trees and halters.\"\nSix were hanged in Edinburgh, and the rest either acquitted or put in\nprison. This sharp and salutary lesson was evidently laid to heart, as we\nlearn that, for some time after, extraordinary quietness prevailed.\n\nIn a few years, however, the state of matters on the Borders seems to have\ngone from bad to worse. The Scotts and the Ellwoods (Elliots) were at\ndeadly feud, and as the result of their frequent and violent quarrels the\nwhole district was thrown into confusion and disorder. Queen Mary had\nrecently returned from France; and, hearing how things were going in this\ndistracted part of her realm, came to Jedburgh to hold court in person.\nFor more than a week she was busily engaged in hearing a great variety of\ncases that were brought before her, and imposing various modes and degrees\nof punishment on the offenders. It was on this occasion she made her\nfamous visit to Hermitage Castle, in Liddesdale. The Earl of Bothwell had\nbeen stationed there for some time, in order if possible to \"daunton\" the\n\"wicked limmers\" by whom the district had long been infested. One day when\nin pursuit of a party of Elliots, having got considerably ahead of his\ncompany, he encountered a famous mosstrooper, John Elliot of Park, the\n\"little Jock Elliot\" of Border song (?), and drawing a \"dag\" or pistol\nfired at him, wounding him severely in the thigh. The gallant marauder\nturned upon his assailant, and, with a two-handed sword, which he wielded\nwith amazing dexterity, bore him to the ground, leaving him to all\nappearance dead. Some have been wicked enough to wish that this _coup\nd'epée_ had been more effective, as both Queen and country would have been\nspared much trouble and many heart burnings had Elliot's well-aimed blow\nfallen with more deadly effect. Mary, hearing that her favourite courtier\nlay ill at Hermitage, resolved to pay him a friendly visit. Leaving\nJedburgh early in the morning, in the company of her brother Murray, and\nother officers, she rode by way of Hawick over the hills to Liddesdale--a\ndistance of twenty miles. The road was rough, and not without its hazards,\nespecially to one unacquainted with the district--the ground near the\nwatershed being full of quaking bogs and treacherous morasses. There is a\nplace still known as the \"Queen's Mire,\" near the head of the Braidlie\nburn, where the palfrey on which her Majesty was riding came to grief. Not\nlong ago a bit of a silver spur was found at this spot, which is not\nunreasonably regarded as a relic of the Queen's disaster.\n\nAfter watching by the bed of the sufferer for the space of two hours, the\nQueen resumed her journey, reaching Jedburgh the same night. This long\nand exciting ride, which has exposed the memory of the fair Queen to many\nsevere animadversions, was followed by a violent fever, which brought her\nto the gates of death. She herself did not expect to recover. Calling her\nnobles around her couch she enjoined them to live in unity and peace with\neach other, and to employ their utmost diligence in the government of the\ncountry, and the education of her son. But the end was not yet.\nFotheringay, with its tragic memories, and not the quiet Border town where\nshe then lay, was to witness the close of her sublimely pathetic career.\n\nThe unsettled condition of the country after the battle of Langside, and\nthe Queen's flight into England, made the Border reivers more than ever\nbold and lawless. They seemed to think that their opportunity had come,\nand that they might shake themselves free from the embarrassing restraints\nof constituted authority. But they were speedily made to feel that the\nhand of the Regent was even heavier than that of the King. The Earl of\nMurray, realizing that repressive measures were urgently needed, mustered\na force of 4000 horse and foot and marched into Teviotdale, where he was\nspeedily joined by Scott of Buccleuch, Home, Ker of Cessford, Ker of\nFerniherst, and other gentlemen. After consulting together it was resolved\nto burn and destroy Liddesdale; and Buccleuch and Ferniherst were deputed\nto undertake the work. This resolution, as might have been expected,\ncreated consternation and dismay amongst the leaders of the clans, who\ncame to the Regent entreating him to stay his hand, and graciously pardon\ntheir offences. Murray was not unwilling to do so, provided they would\ngive assurances and pledges of their future conduct.\n\nIt was found impossible, however, to come to terms. The sureties offered\ndid not satisfy the Regent, and he at once set about the wholesale work of\ndestruction which he had formerly planned. He was determined to do the\nwork thoroughly when he had begun. Everything that would burn was given to\nthe flames. Not a single house was left standing. He spent a Sunday night\nin the castle of Mangerton, and when he left next morning he had the\nsatisfaction of seeing it reduced to a heap of ruins. This destructive\ninvasion must have taxed the energies of his large army, as it is said\nthat the Armstrongs and Elliots had fifty keeps and castles on the banks\nof the Liddle. It is one thing, however, to destroy the rookeries; it is\nanother and totally different thing to exterminate the crows. The Border\nthieves were not difficult to accommodate. They were inured to hardship.\nIt was a necessity of their mode of life. Their \"peels\" and \"towers\" might\nbe in ruins, but it never seemed to have occurred to them to go elsewhere,\nat least for any length of time. As soon as the avenging army had\nwithdrawn, they were back to their old haunts, and in a short time had\nthem as comfortable as ever. When a community has been demoralized by long\ncontinued misgovernment, the mere application of brute force does not go\nfar in the way of restraining them, or helping them toward a better mode\nof life--a lesson which governments are often slow to learn.\n\nBut this work of \"dauntoning the thieves\" was also occasionally undertaken\nby the wardens with considerable heartiness, more especially when dealing\nwith unfortunate culprits from the opposite wardenry. Sir Robert Cary\nfrequently distinguished himself in this way. In his chatty and\ninteresting \"Memoirs,\" he tells a story of one _Geordie Bourne_, whom he\ncaused to be hanged on account of his villainies. It is to be hoped that\nthe picture he has drawn of this man is not representative of the reivers\nas a whole, as it is hardly possible to conceive of a more consummate\nscoundrel. We shall let the warden tell the story in his own words. He\nsays:--\"This gallant with some of his associates, would, in a bravery,\ncome and take goods in the East March. I had that night some of the\ngarrison abroad. They met with this Geordie and his fellows driving off\ncattle before them. The garrison set upon them, and with a shot killed\nGeordie Bourne's uncle, and he himself bravely resisting, till he was sore\nhurt in the head, was taken. After he was taken, his pride was such as he\nasked who it was that durst avow that night's work? But when he heard it\nwas the garrison, he was then more quiet. But so powerful and awful was\nthis Sir Robert Car and his favourites, as there was not a gentleman in\nthe East March that durst offend them. Presently, after he was taken, I\nhad most of the gentlemen of the March come to me, and told me that now I\nhad the ball at my foot, and might bring Sir Robert Car to what condition\nI pleased; for this man's life was so near and dear to him, as I should\nhave all that heart could desire for the good and quiet of the country and\nmyself, if upon any condition I would give him his life. I heard them and\ntheir reasons; notwithstanding, I called a jury the next morning, and he\nwas found guilty of March treason. Then they feared that I would cause him\nto be executed that afternoon, which made them come flocking to me that I\nshould spare his life till the next day; and if Sir Robert Car came not\nhimself to me, and made me not such proffers as I could not but accept,\nthen I should do with him what I pleased. And, further, they told me\nplainly that if I should execute him before I heard from Sir Robert Car,\nthey must be forced to quit their houses and fly the country; for his fury\nwould be such against me and the March I commanded, as he would use all\nhis power and strength to the utter destruction of the East March. They\nwere so earnest with me, that I gave them my word he should not die that\nday. There was post upon post sent to Sir Robert Car; and some of them\nrode to him themselves to advertise him in what danger Geordie Bourne was;\nhow he was condemned, and should have been executed that afternoon, but,\nby their humble suit, I gave them my word that he should not die that day;\nand therefore besought him that he would send to me with all speed he\ncould, to let me know that he would be next day with me to offer good\nconditions for the safety of his life. When all things were quiet and the\nwatch set at night, after supper, about ten of the clock, I took one of my\nmen's liveries and put it about me, and took two other of my servants with\nme in their liveries, and we three, as the warden's men, came to the\nProvost Marshal's, where Bourne was, and were let into his chamber. We sat\ndown by him, and told him that we were desirous to see him, because we\nheard he was stout and valiant and true to his friend; and that we were\nsorry our master could not be moved to spare his life. He voluntarily of\nhimself said that he had lived long enough to do so many villainies as he\nhad done, and withal told us that he had lain with above forty men's\nwives, what in England, what in Scotland; and that he had killed seven\nEnglishmen with his own hand, cruelly murdering them; that he had spent\nhis whole time in whoring, drinking, stealing, and taking deep revenge for\nslight offences. He seemed to be very penitent, and much desired a\nminister for the comfort of his soul. We promised him to let our master\nknow his desire, who, we knew, would presently grant it. We took our leave\nof him, and presently I took order that Mr Selby, a very worthy honest\npreacher, should go to him, and not stir from him till his execution the\nnext morning; for after I had heard his own confession, I was resolved no\nconditions should save his life; and so took order that, at the gate's\nopening next morning, he should be carried to execution, which accordingly\nwas performed.\"[64]\n\nMilder measures were sometimes adopted, and proved surprisingly\nefficacious--in certain circumstances. Before Sir Robert Cary was warden\nof the East March he was deputy to Lord Scrope, his brother-in-law, who\nwas warden of the West March, with his headquarters in Carlisle. On one\noccasion, when occupying this subordinate position, intelligence was\nbrought to him that two Scotsmen had killed a churchman in Scotland, and\nthat they had been relieved or sheltered by one of the Græmes of Netherby.\nCary determined to surprise the fugitive Scots, and about two o'clock one\nmorning surrounded the Tower of Netherby with twenty-five horsemen. As he\napproached he saw a boy riding from the house as fast as his horse could\ncarry him. Thomas Carelton came to him and said, \"Do you see that boy that\nrideth away as fast? He will be in Scotland within this half hour, and he\nis gone to let them know that you are here, and the small number you have\nwith you; and that if they make haste, on a sudden they may surprise us,\nand do with us what they please.\" But Cary was not to be frightened. He\nsoon gathered together three or four hundred horse from the surrounding\ndistrict and as many foot, and presently set to work to get to the top of\nthe strong tower into which the Scots had fled for refuge. The Scots,\nseeing how things were going, pled for mercy. \"They had no sooner opened\nthe iron gate,\" says Cary, \"and yielded themselves my prisoners, but we\nmight see four hundred horse within a quarter of a mile coming to their\nrescue, and to surprise me and my small company; but of a sudden they\nstayed, and stood at gaze. Then had I more to do than ever, for all our\nBorderers came crying with full mouths, 'Sir, give us leave to set upon\nthem, for these are they that have killed our fathers, our brothers, our\nuncles, and our cousins; and they are come, thinking to surprise you, upon\nweak grass nags,[65] such as they could get on a sudden; and God will put\nthem into your hands, that we may take revenge of them for much blood that\nthey have spilled of ours.' I desired that they would be patient and wise,\nand bethought myself, if I should give them their wills, there should be\nfew or none of them (the Scots) that would escape unkilled (there were so\nmany deadly feuds among them), and therefore I resolved with myself to\ngive a fair answer, but not to give them their desire. So I told them that\nif I were not there myself, they might do what pleased themselves; but\nbeing present, if I should give them leave, the blood that had been spilt\nthat day would lie very heavy on my conscience, and therefore I desired\nthem, for my sake, to forbear; and if the Scots did not presently make\naway with all the speed they could upon my sending to them, they should\nthen have their wills to do what they pleased. They were ill satisfied\nwith my answer, but durst not disobey. I sent with speed to the Scots, and\nbade them pack away with all the speed they could, for if they stayed the\nmessengers' return, there should few of them return to their own home.\nThey made no stay, but they were turned homewards before the messenger had\nmade an end of his message. Thus, by God's mercy and by my means, there\nwere a great many lives spared that day.\"[66]\n\nThus ended happily what might otherwise have proved a disastrous\nencounter. Such incidents tend to prove that the Borderers might have been\ngoverned with comparative ease had they only been dealt with in a firm but\nkindly spirit. The rough usage to which they were frequently subjected at\nthe hands of the government made them reckless, and not unnaturally led\nthem to regard the law not as a friend, but as an enemy.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nLIDDESDALE LIMMERS.\n\n  \"_Wicked thieves and limmers._\"\n\n                                   ACT OF PARLIAMENT.\n\n\n  \"Thir limmer thieves, they have good hearts,\n    They nevir think to be o'erthrown;\n  Three banners against Weardale men they bare,\n    As if the world had been their own.\"\n\n                                   ROOKHOPE RYDE.\n\n\nThough reiving may be said to have been a characteristic of the\ninhabitants along the whole Border line from Berwick to the Solway, yet it\nwas only in the district known as Liddesdale where it attained, what we\nmight designate, its complete development as a thoroughly organized\nsystem. This part of Roxburghshire is, to a certain extent, detached from\nthe rest of the county by reason of the fact that it lies south of the\nrange of hills which form the watershed between the Solway and the German\nOcean. This picturesque and interesting district, so famous in Border song\nand story, is of a somewhat triangular shape, and at present forms one of\nthe largest parishes in the south of Scotland, measuring some twenty miles\nby fourteen. It is bounded by England on the south, by Dumfriesshire on\nthe west, and by the parishes of Teviothead, Hobkirk, and Southdean on\nthe north. The upper, or northern, portion is mountainous and bleak. Some\nof the hills along its boundaries are high and precipitous, the lofty\npeaks of Millenwood Fell and Windhead attaining an elevation of close on\n2000 feet. Tudhope hill, which forms a landmark for ships at sea, is 1830\nfeet high. The lower end of the district is less mountainous, but the\nwhole country is wild and bare, except in the valleys, which are clothed\nin the richest green, and are sunny and sheltered.\n\nAlong the banks of the Hermitage and the Liddle--the latter stream giving\nits name to the district--the keeps and peels of the Border reivers were\nthickly and picturesquely planted. These towers, many of which have been\nhappily preserved, form one of the most striking features of the Border\nlandscape. As a general rule they were built in some situation of great\nnatural strength, on a precipice, or close to the banks of a stream, or\nsurrounded by woods and morasses, which made them difficult of access. The\nposition in which they were generally placed indicated at a glance the\npursuits and apprehensions of their inhabitants. It is said that when\nJames VI. approached the castle of Lochwood, the ancient seat of the\nJohnstones, he exclaimed that \"the man who built it must have been a knave\nin his heart.\"\n\nThe principal part of these strongholds consisted of a large square tower,\ncalled a \"keep,\" having walls of immense thickness, which could be easily\ndefended against any sudden or desultory assault. The residencies of the\ninferior Chiefs, called \"peels\" or \"bastel-houses,\" were generally built\non a much smaller scale, and consisted merely of a high square tower,\nsurrounded by an outer wall, which served as a protection for cattle at\nnight. In these places the rooms were placed, one above the other, and\nconnected by a narrow stair, which was easily blocked up or defended, so\nthat it was possible for the garrison to hold out for a considerable\nperiod, even after the lower storey had been taken possession of by the\nenemy. In such circumstances the usual device was for the assailants to\nheap together quantities of wetted straw, and set fire to it in order to\ndrive the defenders from storey to storey, and thus compel them to\nsurrender.\n\n\"In each village or town,\" says Sir Walter Scott, \"were several small\ntowers having battlements projecting over the side walls, and usually an\nadvanced angle or two, with shot-holes for flanking the doorway, which was\nalways defended by a strong door of oak, studded with nails, and often by\nan interior door of iron. These small peel-houses were ordinarily\ninhabited by the principal feuars and their families. Upon the alarm of\napproaching danger, the whole inhabitants thronged from their miserable\ncottages, which were situated around, to garrison these places of\ndefence. It was then no easy matter for an hostile party to penetrate into\nthe village, for the men were habituated to the use of bow and fire-arms;\nand the towers being generally so placed that the discharge from one\ncrossed that from another, it was impossible to assault any of them\nindividually.\"\n\nIn the middle of the sixteenth century there were no fewer than sixteen of\nthese bastel-houses in the village of Lessudden, a fact which shows that\nthe inhabitants of the Border were compelled to live under somewhat\npeculiar conditions. To follow the ordinary occupations of life was, in\nmost cases, all but impossible.\n\nOne of the most important strongholds on the Borders was Hermitage, a\nwell-built castle, placed near the watershed, on the banks of a\nswift-flowing mountain stream--the Hermitage water, which joins the Liddle\na little above the village of Newcastleton. This famous Border tower was\nbuilt and fortified by Walter, Earl of Menteith, in the beginning of the\nthirteenth century. It was a royal fortress, built and maintained for the\ndefence of the Kingdom. Numerous interesting associations cluster around\nits mouldering walls. It has, unhappily, been the scene of many a\nblood-curdling tragedy. Could its massive walls only recount the deeds\nwhich have been done under their shadow, they would many a strange tale\nunfold. Hermitage was long associated with the name of Lord Soulis, a\nfiend in human form, whose crimes have been painted in blackest hues, and\nto whom tradition has ascribed almost every conceivable kind and degree of\nwickedness. He seems, at least, to have been utterly destitute of the\ndivine quality of mercy.\n\n  \"The axe he bears, it hacks and tears;\n    'Tis form'd of an earth-fast flint;\n  No armour of knight, tho' ever so wight,\n    Can bear its deadly dint.\n\n  No danger he fears, for a charm'd sword he wears,\n    Of adderstone the hilt;\n  No Tynedale knight had ever such might,\n    But his heart-blood was spilt.\"\n\nHe invited the young laird of Mangerton to a feast, and treacherously\nmurdered him. The \"Cout of Keeldar,\" also, was drowned by the retainers of\nLord Soulis in a pool near the castle, being held down in the water by the\nspears of his murderers.\n\n  \"And now young Keeldar reach'd the stream,\n    Above the foamy linn;\n  The Border lances round him gleam,\n    And force the warrior in.\n\n  The holly floated to the side,\n    And the leaf on the rowan pale;\n  Alas! no spell could charm the tide,\n    Nor the lance of Liddesdale.\n\n  Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course\n    Along the lily lee;\n  But home came never hound nor horse,\n    And never home came he.\n\n  Where weeps the birch with branches green,\n    Without the holy ground,\n  Between two old gray stones is seen\n    The warrior's ridgy mound.\n\n  And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train,\n    Within yon castle's wall,\n  In a deadly sleep must aye remain,\n    Till the ruin'd towers down fall.\n\n  Each in his hunter's garb array'd,\n    Each holds his bugle horn;\n  Their keen hounds at their feet are laid\n    That ne'er shall wake the morn.\"\n\nTradition says that, when the people complained to the King of the\natrocities committed by Lord Soulis, he said to them in a fit of\nirritation--\"Go, boil Lord Soulis and ye list, but let me hear no more of\nhim.\" No sooner said than done--\n\n  \"On a circle of stones they placed the pot,\n    On a circle of stones but barely nine;\n  They heated it red and fiery hot,\n    Till the burnish'd brass did glimmer and shine.\n\n  They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead,\n    A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;\n  They plunged him in the cauldron red,\n    And melted him, lead, and bones and all.\n\n  At the Skelfhill, the cauldron still\n    The men of Liddesdale can show;\n  And on the spot where they boil'd the pot\n    The spreat and the deer-hair ne'er shall grow.\"\n\nAt a place called the \"Nine Stane Rig\" there may still be seen a circle of\nstones where it is supposed this gruesome tragedy was enacted. The\n\"cauldron red,\" in which Lord Soulis was boiled, is now in the possession\nof the Duke of Buccleuch. The Nine Stane Rig derived its name from an old\nDruidical circle of upright stones, nine of which remained to a late\nperiod. Two of these are particularly pointed out as those that supported\nthe iron bar upon which the fatal cauldron was suspended.\n\nThe castle of Hermitage ultimately passed into the possession of the\nDouglasses, and became the principal stronghold of the \"Black Knight of\nLiddisdale,\" a natural son of the good Lord James Douglas, the trusted\nfriend and companion of Bruce. In the year 1342 it was the scene of the\nfollowing terrible tragedy:\n\nSir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, a brave and patriotic Scottish baron,\nwho had specially distinguished himself in the wars with England, was\nappointed governor of the castle of Roxburgh and Sheriff of Teviotdale.\nDouglas, who had formerly held the office of Sheriff, was enraged when he\nheard what had occurred, and vowed revenge against Ramsay, his old\ncompanion in arms. He came suddenly upon him with a strong party of his\nvassals while he was holding his court in the church of Hawick. Ramsay,\nsuspecting no harm, invited Douglas to take a seat beside him. The\nferocious warrior, drawing his sword, rushed upon his victim, wounded him,\nthrew him across his horse, and carried him off to the remote and\ninaccessible castle of Hermitage. There he was thrown into a dungeon, and\nleft to perish of hunger. It is said that his miserable existence was\nprolonged for seventeen days by some particles of corn which fell from a\ngranary above his prison. Tytler, in commenting on this abominable crime,\njustly remarks:--\"It is a melancholy reflection that a fate so horrid\nbefell one of the bravest and most popular leaders of the Scottish nation,\nand that the deed not only passed unrevenged, but that its perpetrator\nreceived a speedy pardon, and was rewarded by the office which led to the\nmurder.\"\n\nIn later times Hermitage is chiefly associated with the names of Bothwell\nand Buccleuch. It is still in the possession of the latter noble family,\nand is one of the most interesting of all the old Border castles.\n\nIn the olden time Liddesdale was chiefly inhabited by two numerous and\npowerful families--the Armstrongs and the Elliots. The laird of Mangerton\nwas the head of the former, and the laird of Redheugh of the latter. Both\nfamilies were, almost without exception, notorious freebooters. Reiving\nwas the business of their lives. They were inspired, if not with a noble,\nat least with an overmastering enthusiasm for their nefarious calling.\nThey were strongly of opinion that all property was common by the law of\nnature, and that the greatest thief was the man who had the presumption\nto call anything his own! Might was right.\n\n  \"They may take who have the power,\n  And they may keep who can.\"\n\nIt was, no doubt, a simple rule, but the consequences resulting from its\napplication were not always of an agreeable description.\n\nIt is said that the original name of the Armstrongs was _Fairbairn_, and\nthat the change of name was brought about by a curious incident. The King\non one occasion asked a Fairbairn to help him to mount his horse.\nStretching out his arm, he caught the King by the thigh, and lifted him\ninto his saddle. From henceforth he was known by the name of _Armstrong_.\n\nThe name \"Elliot\" has undergone considerable changes. It is spelled in\nsome of the older documents in at least seventy or eighty different ways,\nthe most common being Ellwood, Elwald, Elwand, Hellwodd, Halliot, Allat,\nElliot. It is remarkable that in many districts in the south of Scotland\nthe name is still pronounced \"Allat,\" though this is one of the older\nforms in which it appears.\n\nThe Elliots and Armstrongs and other inhabitants of Liddesdale attained an\nunenviable notoriety. The picture which Maitland has drawn of these\n\"Liddesdale Limmers\" may be here and there too highly coloured; yet those\nwho are most familiar with the facts of Border history will be the first\nto admit that it is, on the whole, a fairly accurate description. It is\nentitled, \"A Complaynt against the Thieves of Liddesdale\"--\n\n  \"Of Liddesdale the common thieves,\n  Sae pertly steals now and reives,\n    That nane may keep\n    Horse, nolt, nor sheep\n  For their mischieves.\n\n  They plainly through the country rides,\n  I trow the mickle devil them guides,\n    Where they onset\n    Ay in their gait,\n    There is no yett,\n  Nor door them bides.\n\n  They leave richt nocht wherever they gae;\n  There can nae thing be hid them frae;\n    For gif men wald\n    Their houses hald,\n    Then wax they bald\n  To burn and slay.\n\n  They thieves hae near hand herrit hail,\n  Ettrick Forest and Lauderdale;\n    Now are they gane\n    To Lothiane,\n    And spares nane\n  That they will wail.\n\n  Bot common taking of blackmail,\n  They that had flesh, and bread, and ale,\n    Now are sae wrackit,\n    Made bare and naikit,\n    Fain to be slaikit,\n  With water caill.\n\n  They thieves that steals and turses[67] hame,\n  Ilk ane o' them has ane to-name,\n    Will i' the Laws,\n    Hab o' the Shaws,\n    To mak bare wa's\n  They think nae shame.\n\n  They spulyie puir men o' their packs,\n  They leave them nocht on bed or balks,[68]\n    Baith hen and cock,\n    With reel and rock,\n    The Laird's jock,\n  All with him taks.\n\n  They leave not spindle, spoon, nor speit,\n  Bed, blanket, bolster, sark, nor sheet,\n    John o' the Park\n    Rypes kist and ark;\n    For all sic wark\n  He is richt meet.\n\n  He is weel kenned, Jock o' the Syde--\n  A greater thief did never ride;\n    He never tires\n    For to break byres;\n    O'er muir and mires,\n  Ower guid ane guid.\n\n  Of stouth though now they come guid speed,\n  That nother of God or man has dread;\n    Yet or I dee,\n    Some shall them see\n    Hing on a tree,\n  While they be dead.\"\n\n\nIt is evident from this graphic account that these \"Liddesdale limmers\"\nwere not particular as to their booty. They carried off everything that\ncame to hand, on the principle, perhaps, that if they had no particular\nuse for some of the things they appropriated, they were at least leaving\ntheir enemies poorer than when they found them. We read of one John Foster\nof Heathpool, servant to Sir John Foster, complaining of John Elliot of\nthe Heughehouse, Clement Croser, \"Martin's Clemye,\" John Croser, \"Eddie's\nJohn,\" Gib Foster of Fowlesheiles, &c., to the number of thirty, \"who\nstole six oxen, 6 kye, 4 young nowte, ane horse, a nag, a sword, a steil\ncap, a dagger and knives, 2 spears, 2 dublets, 2 pair of breeches, a\ncloke, a jerkyne, a woman's kertle and a pair of sleaves, 9 kerchers, 7\nrailes, 7 partlettes, 5 pair of line(n) sheitis, 2 coverlettes; 2 lynne\nsheits; a purs and 6/- in monie; a woman's purs and 2 silke rybbons; a\nwindinge clothe; a feather bed; a cawdron, a panne, 4 bond of hempe, a\npair of wool cards, 4 children's coates, &c., &c.\"[69]\n\nThe list of goods here \"appropriated\" by John Elliot and his friends is an\ninteresting one, as it shows \"that all was fish that came to their\nnet\"--not even the \"winding cloth\" being discarded when ransacking the\nhouse. We also find an account of one Robert Rutherford of Todlaw\nproducing a \"remission for art and part of the theft of certain cuschies\nof silk, sheits, fustiane, linen cloths, scarfs, fustiane, scarfs, and\nother clothes, furth of the Kirk of Jedworthe--Robert Turnbull of\nBlindhalche becoming surety to satisfy parties.\"[70] Sacrilege was of\nfrequent occurrence. We also find the following entry in\nPitcairn:--\"Remission to Edward Tayt, for the thiftwise breking of the\nKirk of Hendirland, and takin away of certaine guids, gold and silver, fra\nSir Wilzeame Jurdane.\" This happened in the year 1493, which points to the\nfact that at that date the church of Henderland, which stood on the\nrounded eminence near Henderland farm house, where \"Perys and Marjorie\nCockburn\" have found their last resting place, was then in existence. This\nplace of worship must have disappeared about the time of the Reformation.\n\nThese items of information, curious though they may appear, must not be\nregarded as abnormal instances of the rapacity of the Liddesdale thieves,\nor \"limmers\"--to use the designation of an old Act of the Scottish\nParliament. They simply denote ordinary incidents of Border reiving.\n\"Kist\" and \"ark\" were made to yield up their treasures. \"Insight gear\"\nincluded everything to be found within the four walls of the house. The\nvery children were sometimes carried off! When the thieves had completed\ntheir task those whom they had plundered were occasionally left in a state\nof absolute destitution. They might congratulate themselves when they\nwere able to keep their clothes on their backs! Some, indeed, were not so\nfortunate; and, after an encounter with the thieves, were compelled to\nface the rigour of a severe climate with an exceedingly primitive outfit.\n\nIt is interesting to find that the clan system prevailed on the Borders,\nespecially in the south-west portion of the district. In Liddesdale, in\nthe district known as the Debateable land, and along the shores of the\nSolway, the inhabitants were grouped into clans, many of them numerous and\npowerful. According to Skene, \"the word clan signifies children or\ndescendants, and the clan name thus implies that the members of it are, or\nwere supposed to be, descended from a common ancestor or eponymus, and\nthey were distinguished from each other by their patronymics, the use of\nsurnames in the proper sense of the term being unknown among them. These\npatronymics, in the case of the _Caenncine_, or chief, and the\n_Ceanntighs_, or heads of the smaller septs, indicated their descent from\nthe founder of the race or sept; those of the members of it who were of\nthe kin of the Chief or Chieftain showed the personal relation; while the\ncommonality of the clan simply used a derivative form of the name of the\nclan, implying merely that they belonged to it.\"[71]\n\nThis form of government, so essentially patriarchal in its nature, is at\nonce the most simple and universal. It is derived from the most primitive\nidea of authority exercised by a father over his family. Among nations of\na Celtic origin this system was universal. Indeed, it is generally held\nthat it is a system peculiar to Celtic tribes. How it came to be\nestablished on the Borders is a question which is not easily solved. Sir\nWalter Scott is of opinion that the system was originally derived from the\ninhabitants of the western portion of Valentia, who remained unsubdued by\nthe Saxons, and by those of Reged, and the modern Cumberland. He says that\nthe system was not so universal on the eastern part of the Marches, or on\nthe opposite Borders of England. There were many families of distinction\nwho exercised the same feudal and territorial authority that was possessed\nby other landlords throughout England. But in the dales of Rede and Tyne,\nas well as in the neighbouring county of Cumberland, the ancient custom of\nclanship prevailed, and consequently the inhabitants of those districts\nacted less under the direction of their landlords than under that of the\nprincipal men of their name.[72]\n\nIt is important that this fact should be kept steadily in mind, as the\nmode of government, of living, and of making war, adopted by the Borderers\non both sides, seems to have been in great measure the consequence of the\nprevailing system of clanship.\n\nIt is the simplest of all possible systems of government. The Chief was\nnot only the legislator and captain and father of the tribe, but it was to\nhim that each individual of the name looked up for advice, subsistance,\nprotection, and revenge.\n\nIn \"Skene's Acts of Parliament\" a Roll of the Border clans is given, from\nwhich it would appear that there were SEVENTEEN distinct septs, or\nfamilies, mostly in the south-western portion of the Scottish Borders. The\n_Middle March_ was inhabited by Elliots, Armstrongs, Nicksons, and\nCrosiers. The _West March_ by Scotts, Beatisons, Littles, Thomsones,\nGlendinnings, Irvinges, Belles, Carrutherses, Grahams, Johnstones,\nJardines, Moffettes, and Latimers. These clans are described as having\n\"Captaines, Chieftaines, quhome on they depend, oft-times against the\nwilles of their Landislordes.\" \"Ilk ane o' them,\" according to Maitland,\nhad a to-name, or _nickname_, as it is commonly called now-a-days. This\nwas a matter of necessity, as otherwise it would have been exceedingly\ndifficult to distinguish the different members of the sept. These to-names\nare often suggestive and amusing, as most of them are based on some\nphysical or moral peculiarity. In the year 1583 Thomas Musgrave sent an\ninteresting letter to Burghley, Chancellor to Queen Elizabeth, in which he\ngives a list of the Armstrongs and Elliots. \"I understand,\" he says, \"that\nyour lordship is not well acquainted with the names of the waters, and\nthe dwelling places of the riders and ill-doers both of England and\nScotland.... May it please, therefore, your lordship to understand, that\nthe ryver Lyddal is a fayre ryver, and hath her course doun by Lyddisdall,\nso as the dale hath the name of the ryver.... I shall therefore set downe\nthe Ellottes of the head of Lyddall as my skyll will afforde, that your\nlordship may know the better when their deeds shall come in question. The\nEllotes of Lyddisdall:--Robin Ellot of the Redheugh, Chiefe of the\nEllottes; Will Ellot of Harskarth his brother; Gebbe Ellot his brother;\nAdam Ellot of the Shaws; Arche Ellot called Fyre the brayes; Gybbe Ellot\nof the Shawes; Gorth Simson; Martin Ellot called Rytchis Martin. All these\nare Robin Ellotes brethren, or his men that are daly at his commandement.\nThe grayne of the Ellotes called the Barneheedes:--Joke Ellot called Halfe\nloges. The grayne of the Ellottes of the Bark:--Sims Johne Ellot of the\nPark; Will Ellot, gray Willie; Hobbe Ellot called Scotes Hobbe; Johne\nEllot of the Park; Jem Ellote called gray Wills Jeme; Hobbe Ellot called\nHobbs Hobbe. The grayne of Martin Ellot of Bradley:--Gowan Ellot called\nthe Clarke; Hobbe Ellot his brother; Arche Ellot his brother; Joke Ellot\ncalled Copshawe; John Ellot of Thornesope; Will Ellot of the Steele; Dand\nEllot of the Brandley; John Ellot of the same; Seme Ellot of Hardin. All\ntheise Ellots and manie more of them are at Robin Ellot's commandment and\ndwell betwixt the Armstrongs in Lyddisdall and Whethough town--fewe of\nthem marryed with Englishe women.\" Then follows a long list of the\n\"Armstrongs of Mangerton,\" and of the \"Howse of Whetaughe Towre.\" Some of\nthe names in the list are amusingly suggestive--\"Seme Armestronge lord of\nMangerton marryed John Foster's daughter of Kyrshopefoot; Joke Armestronge\ncalled the \"lord's Joke\" dwelleth under Dennyshill besides Kyrsope in\nDenisborne, and married Anton Armestrong's daughter of Wylyare in\nGilsland; Johne Armestronge called \"the lordes Johne,\" marryet Rytche\nGrayme's sister.... Thomas Armestrong called \"the lordes Tome.\"... Runyon\nArmestrong called \"the lordes Runyon.\"... Thom Armestronge Sims Thom,\nmarryed Wat Storyes daughter of Eske, called Wat of the Hare ends.\"[73]\n\nWe also read of \"Thomas Abye,\" \"Gawins Will,\" \"Red Andrew,\" \"Bangtale,\"\n\"Ould Hector of Harlaw,\" \"Stowlugs,\" \"Cokespoole,\" \"Skinabake,\" \"Carhand,\"\n\"Hob the Tailor,\" \"Redneb,\" &c.\n\nAmong the Elliots we find such to-names as \"Long John,\" \"John the Child,\"\n\"John Cull the spade,\" \"Bessie's Wife's Riche,\" \"Robin the Bastard of\nGlenvoren,\" &c. One of the family of Nixon was known as \"Ill Drooned\nGeordie,\" a name which seems to indicate that the person who bore it had\nhad at one time or another a narrow escape from what perhaps was his\nrighteous doom. \"Wynking Will,\"[74] \"Wry-Crag,\" \"David the Leddy,\" and\n\"Hob the King,\" are sufficiently explicit.\n\nThese are a fair sample of the _to-names_ by which the thieves of\nLiddesdale were distinguished. It must be admitted, however, that many of\nthem are not quite so respectable as those given, and would hardly admit\nof reproduction in a modern book. The men to whom they were assigned must\nhave been regarded, one would naturally suppose, as utterly disreputable\ncharacters, even by those who associated with them in the invidious\ncalling to which they were devoted.\n\nIt is probable that the men of Liddesdale were to a certain extent\ncorrupted by their propinquity to the lawless hordes which inhabited the\nDebateable land. This was a tract of country lying between the Esk and the\nSark, of some fifty or sixty square miles in extent, which was regarded as\nbelonging neither to the one kingdom nor the other. Here the \"Genius of\nMisrule,\" for many generations, held all but undisputed sway. The Græmes,\nLittles, and Bells, and other \"broken men\" of equally unenviable\nreputation, found in this district a convenient centre for conducting\ntheir marauding exploits. It was a matter of no moment to them whether\ntheir victims belonged to the one country or the other. They were as\ndestitute of patriotism as of the other virtues. When they were hard\ndriven by the English, they claimed the protection of the Scottish warden;\nand when he in his turn had accounts to settle with them, they appealed to\nhis English rival in office to shield them from vengeance. In this way\nthey often succeeded in escaping the punishment due to their misdeeds,\nwhere others, less happily circumstanced, would have been speedily\ncompelled to \"underlie the law.\" In course of time this state of matters\nbecame intolerable, and it was resolved by the Scottish Council in the\nyear 1552 that this district should be divided, the one part to be placed\nunder the jurisdiction of England, the other under that of Scotland.\nAccordingly, a Commission, on which were representatives of both nations,\nwas appointed to settle, if possible, this long-standing difficulty. These\ncommissioners were allowed the utmost freedom of judgment in fixing upon a\nproper boundary line, as both governments were agreed that minor\ndifficulties, as to the extent of territory to be allocated to the one\ncountry or the other, should not be allowed to stand in the way. The final\ndecision was not so easily arrived at as might, in the circumstances, have\nbeen expected. The Scots drew the line considerably to the south, the\nEnglish to the north, of the boundary finally agreed upon. After\nconsiderable discussion, a line was ultimately fixed which satisfied both\nparties, and a turf dyke was built, stretching from the Sark to the Esk,\nwhich is still known as the Scots Dyke.\n\nThis was an important step. The boundary was finally settled. The wardens\nknew the precise limits to which their power and authority extended, and\nwere thus in a position to discharge the duties of their office with more\nassured certainty of success. But, as might have been anticipated, the\nfixing of a boundary line did not eradicate, or even to any great extent\nrestrain, the thieving propensities of the lawless inhabitants of this\ndistrict. The Debateable land continued to nourish \"ane great company of\nthieves and traitores, to the great hurt and skaith of the honest lieges\"\nas in times by-past. But a good beginning had been made in fixing the\nboundaries, and in course of time more favourable results ensued.\n\nIt would be unwarrantable to assert that the Liddesdale thieves attained\ntheir unenviable notoriety entirely owing to their intimate association\nwith the fierce banditti to whom reference has been made. The Armstrongs\nand Elliotts needed no encouragement in the carrying on of their nefarious\nbusiness of plunder. They were evidently heartily in love with their\ncalling, and were never happier than when engaged in a marauding\nexpedition. But apart from the fact that \"evil communications corrupt good\nmanners,\" the near neighbourhood of the Debateable land constituted an\nindirect incentive to crime. In the great deer forests of the Highlands\nthere are what are called \"sanctuaries,\" or places to which the deer may\nresort to escape the huntsman. We are told that when they are disturbed on\nthe mountains, they at once make for the protected area, where they know\nthey are safe from pursuit. The Debateable land constituted for\ngenerations just such a \"sanctuary,\" or place of refuge for Border\nthieves. Here they were comparatively safe. The district formed a little\nkingdom by itself. Within this region the law was comparatively powerless.\n\nBut we find that the \"Liddesdale limmers\" were occasionally driven to bay\nin the most effectual manner. Sir Robert Cary on one occasion gave them a\nsalutary lesson, which they did not soon forget. The Armstrongs\nespecially, a powerful and turbulent clan, had long carried things with a\nhigh hand on the English Border, burning, despoiling, and slaying to their\nhearts' content. This state of matters had at last become intolerable, and\nCary determined to have it out with them. He called the gentlemen of the\nneighbourhood together, and acquainted them with the miseries which had\nbeen brought upon the people by the rapacity and cruelty of the\nLiddesdale thieves. They advised him to apply to the Queen and Council for\nassistance, but this he was unwilling to do, as he thought he was quite\nable, with the resources at his command, to effectually suppress the\nlawless horde which had wrought such havoc within his wardenry. He\nsays:--\"I told them my intention what I meant to do, which was, 'that\nmyself, with my two deputies, and the forty horse that I was allowed,\nwould, with what speed we could, make ourselves ready to go up to the\nwastes, and there we would entrench ourselves, and lie as near as we could\nto the outlaws; and, if there were any brave spirits among them, that\nwould go with us, they should be very welcome, and fare and lie as well as\nmyself: and I did not doubt before the summer ended to do something that\nshould abate the pride of these outlaws.'\" With this comparatively small\nforce he set out for Liddesdale. He built a fort on a hill in the\nimmediate vicinity of Tarras moss, into which the thieves, when they\nlearned of his approach, had fled for refuge. Here Cary and his men stayed\nfrom the middle of June till near the end of August. The country people\nsupplied him with provisions, being well paid for anything they brought to\nhim. \"The chief outlaws,\" he says, \"at our coming, fled their houses where\nthey dwelt, and betook themselves to a large and great forest, (with all\ntheir goods,) which was called the Tarras. It was of that strength, and\nso surrounded with bog and marsh grounds, and thick bushes and shrubs, as\nthey feared not the force nor power of England or Scotland, so long as\nthey were there. They sent me word, that I was like the first puff of a\nhaggis, hottest at the first, and bade me stay there as long as the\nweather would give me leave. They would stay in the Tarras-wood, till I\nwas weary of lying in the waste; and when I had had my time, and they no\nwhit the worse, they would play their parts, which should keep me waking\nnext winter. Those gentlemen of the country that came not with me, were of\nthe same mind; for they knew, (or thought at least,) that my force was not\nsufficient to withstand the fury of the outlaws. The time I stayed at the\nfort I was not idle, but cast, by all means I could, how to take them in\nthe great strength they were in. I found a means to send a hundred and\nfifty horsemen into Scotland, (conveighed by a muffled man, not known to\nany of the company,) thirty miles within Scotland; and the business was so\ncarried, that none in the country took any alarm at this passage. They\nwere quietly brought to the backside of the Tarras, to Scotland-ward.\nThere they divided themselves into three parts, and took up three passages\nwhich the outlaws made themselves secure of, if from England side they\nshould at any time be put at. They had their scouts on the tops of hills,\non the English side, to give them warning if at any time any power of men\nshould come to surprise them. The three ambushes were safely laid, without\nbeing discovered, and, about four o'clock in the morning, there were three\nhundred horse, and a thousand foot, that came directly to the place where\nthe scouts lay. They gave the alarm; our men broke down as fast as they\ncould into the wood. The outlaws thought themselves safe, assuring\nthemselves at any time to escape; but they were so strongly set upon on\nthe English side, as they were forced to leave their goods, and to betake\nthemselves to their passages towards Scotland. There was presently five\ntaken of the principal of them. The rest, seeing themselves, as they\nthought, betrayed, retired into the thick woods and bogs, that our men\ndurst not follow them, for fear of losing themselves. The principal of the\nfive, that were taken, were two of the eldest sons of Sim of Whittram.\nThese five they brought me to the fort, and a number of goods, both of\nsheep and kine, which satisfied most part of the country, that they had\nstolen them from....\n\nThus God blessed me in bringing this great trouble to so quiet an end; we\nbroke up our fort, and every man retired to his own house.\"[75]\n\nJudging from this account, one is led to suppose that the force which Cary\nhad at his command was comparatively small. He tells us that he took a\nlist of those that offered to go with him, and found that with his\nofficers, gentlemen, and servants there would be about two hundred good\nmen and horse; a competent number he thought for such a service. But we\nfind in a letter which he sent to Cecil that he speaks of having \"a 1000\nhorse and foot.\"[76] But whatever may have been the strength of the forces\nat his command, it is quite certain that, on this occasion at least, he\nproved himself more than a match for the \"Lewd Liddesdales.\"\n\nThe tradition of this famous raid, which was long preserved in the\ndistrict, differs considerably from the account here given. \"The people of\nLiddesdale have retained,\" says the editor of the \"Border Minstrelsy,\"\n\"the remembrance of _Cary's raid_,\" as they call it. \"They tell that,\nwhile he was besieging the outlaws in the Tarras, they contrived, by ways\nknown only to themselves, to send a party into England, who plundered the\nwarden's lands. On their return, they sent Cary one of his own cows,\ntelling him that, fearing he might fall short of provisions during his\nvisit to Scotland, they had taken the precaution of sending him some\nEnglish beef.\"\n\nThe anecdote is worth preserving, as it indicates how anxious the\nLiddesdale reivers were to forget one of the most unpleasant episodes in\ntheir history, or at least to make their discomfiture appear in as\nfavourable a light as possible.\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nAFTER THE HUNTING.\n\n  \"_Efter the hunting the King hanged Johnie Armstrong._\"\n\n                                   PITSCOTTIE.\n\n\n  \"Here is ane cord baith grit and lang,\n    Quhilk hangit Johne Armstrang,\n    Of gude hempt soft and sound,\n  Gude haly pepil, I stand ford,\n  Whaevir beis hangit wi' this cord,\n    Neidis never to be drowned!\"\n\n                                   SIR DAVID LINDSAY.\n\n\nWe have already seen that the Armstrongs were a numerous and powerful\nclan, and that for a considerable period they had been known on the\nBorders as \"notour thieves and limmers.\" They levied blackmail over a wide\ndistrict, and appropriated whatever came readiest to hand with a sublime\nindifference either to neighbourhood or nationality.\n\n  \"They stole the beeves that made them broth\n  From Scotland and from England both.\"\n\n\nKing James V. having succeeded in shaking himself free from the tyranny of\nthe Douglasses, resolved that he would \"daunton\" the Border thieves, by\nmaking them feel the weight of his sword. He made an excellent beginning.\nHe imprisoned the Earls of Bothwell and Home, Lord Maxwell Scott, Ker of\nFerniherst, Scott of Buccleuch, Polworth, Johnston, and Mark Ker.[77] It\nmust have been quite evident to the young King, and his counsellors, that\nso long as these Chiefs were at liberty it would be a bootless errand to\nproceed against those who owned them allegiance. The ringleaders must\nfirst of all be disposed of, and so they were put in ward, there to await\nhis Majesty's pleasure. This measure was not devised, as some suppose, for\nthe purpose of crushing the nobility. It is absurd to infer that James, a\nyouth of seventeen, had projected a deep political plan of this nature.\nThe outrages which these men had committed during his minority had excited\nhis lively resentment, and he was determined that they should no longer\nmaintain bands of lawless followers at the public expense. This necessary\nmeasure for the pacification of the Borders was wisely devised, and\npromptly executed, and must have produced a deep impression, if not a\nwholesome fear, in the minds of those whom it was intended to influence.\n\nIt was in the month of June, 1529, that James set out for Meggatdale,\naccompanied by eight thousand men, lords, barons, freeholders, and\ngentlemen, all well armed, and carrying with them a month's provisions.\nThe King commanded all gentlemen that had \"doggis that were guid\" to\nbring them with them to hunt \"in the said bounds.\" The Earls of Huntley,\nArgyle, and Athol, brought their deerhounds with them, and hunted with his\nMajesty. They came to Meggat, near St. Mary's Loch, and, during their\nshort stay in this district, eighteen score of deer were slain.\n\nThe tradition is that on this occasion the King captured William Cockburn\nof Henderland, a famous freebooter, and hanged him over his own gate. It\nis quite certain, however, that in regard to this matter the tradition is\nunreliable. In \"Pitcairn's Criminal Trials\" we find it stated, under date\nMay 26th--nearly a month before the King left Edinburgh--that \"William\nCockburne of Henderland was convicted (in presence of the King) of High\nTreason committed by him, in bringing Alexander Forrestare and his son,\nEnglishmen, to the plundering of Archibald Somervile: And for treasonably\nbringing certain Englishmen to the lands of Glenquhome: And for Common\nTheft, Common Reset of Theft, outputting and inputting thereof.--Sentence.\nFor which causes and crimes he has forfeited his life, lands, and goods,\nmoveable and immoveable, which shall be escheated to the\nKing.--Beheaded.\"[78] Such is the brief but authentic record. It\nestablishes beyond controversy the fact that Cockburn was apprehended, and\ntried, before the King had left Edinburgh on his famous expedition. The\ntradition that he was hanged over his own gate, must therefore be set\naside.\n\nThe Cockburns were an old and well-known family. One of the Scotts of\nBuccleuch married a daughter of the house, which, on the principle of\nheredity, may help to explain the well-known reiving propensities of some\nbranches of this famous clan. In \"Pitcairn's Criminal Trials,\" where so\nmuch of the ancient history of the great Border families may be read, if\nnot with pleasure, at least not without profit, mention is made of various\nCockburns who distinguished themselves as daring and successful\nfreebooters. In the old churchyard of Henderland there is still to be seen\na large slab bearing the inscription--\"Here lyis Perys of Cockburne and\nHys wife Marjory.\" There is no date on the tombstone, but the likelihood\nis that this \"Perys of Cockburne\" was a descendant of the William Cockburn\nwhose fate we have just mentioned.\n\nBut the most interesting tradition in connection with this family relates\nto the well-known ballad, \"The Border Widow's Lament,\" one of the most\nbeautiful, and certainly the most pathetic, of all the Border ballads. It\nhas been supposed to describe the feelings of Cockburn's widow when her\nhusband was put to death by the King.\n\n  \"My love he built me a bonnie bower,\n  And clad it a' wi' lilye flour,\n  A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,\n  Than my true love he built for me.\n\n  There came a man, by middle day,\n  He spied his sport, and went away;\n  And brought the King that very night,\n  Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.\n\n  He slew my knight, to me sae dear;\n  He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear;\n  My servants all for life did flee,\n  And left me in extremitie.\n\n  I sew'd his sheet, making my mane;\n  I watch'd the corpse, myself alane;\n  I watch'd his body, night and day;\n  No living creature came that way.\n\n  I took his body on my back,\n  And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;\n  I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,\n  And happ'd him with the sod sae green.\n\n  But think na ye my heart was sair,\n  When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;\n  O think na ye my heart was wae,\n  When I turned about, awa' to gae?\n\n  Nae living man I'll love again,\n  Since that my lovely knight is slain;\n  Wi' yae lock o' his yellow hair,\n  I'll chain my heart for evermair.\"\n\n\nThis exquisite ballad has probably no connection with Cockburn of\nHenderland,--we feel strongly convinced it has not,--but it is none the\nless interesting, as it is a composition which can well afford to be\nregarded apart altogether from its traditional associations.\n\nThere is another tradition which it may be as well to notice in passing.\nIt is said that, after hanging Cockburn, the King proceeded to Tushielaw\nto deal in like manner with Adam Scott, well known on the Borders as \"The\nKing of Thieves.\" His castle stood on the spur of a hill opposite the\nRankleburn, on the west side of the river Ettrick, commanding a wide\nout-look in almost every direction. Near it was the famous \"Hanging Tree,\"\nwhich was accidentally destroyed by fire only a few years ago, where the\nunlucky captives of this noted outlaw were unceremoniously suspended in\norder to prevent their giving further annoyance. It is said that, on one\nof the branches, a deep groove was worn by the swaying to and fro of the\nfatal rope. It would have been most fitting had this cruel marauder been\nput to death where so many of his victims ended their career. But in this\ninstance the tradition, that this actually happened, has been proved to be\nwithout any foundation in fact. We find in \"Pitcairn\" an account of Adam\nScott's trial and execution in Edinburgh. On the 18th May, 1529--just two\ndays after Cockburn had \"justified the law\"--\"Adam Scott of Tuschilaw was\nConvicted of art and part of theftuously taking _Black-maill_, from the\ntime of his entry within the Castle of Edinburgh, in Ward, from John\nBrown, Hoprow: And of art and part of theftuously taking _Black-maill_\nfrom Andrew Thorbrand and William, his brother: And of art and part of\ntheftuously taking of _Black-maill_ from the poor Tenants of Hopcailzow:\nAnd of art and part of theftuously taking _Blackmaill_, from the poor\nTenants of Eschescheill.\" Then follows the significant\nword--\"Beheaded.\"[79]\n\nThe King, therefore, when he passed the castle of Tushielaw with his\nretinue, on his way to Teviotdale to meet Johnie Armstrong, must have had\nthe satisfaction of knowing that Adam Scott had gone \"where the wicked\ncease from troubling.\"\n\nHe had sent a loving letter, written with \"his ain hand sae tenderly,\" to\nthe laird of Gilnockie, requesting him to meet his \"liege lord\" at a place\ncalled Carlenrig on the Teviot, some nine miles above Hawick. Various\naccounts have been given by historians, both ancient and modern, as to the\nmeans adopted by the King to bring about Armstrong's capture and\nexecution. Leslie, for example, informs us that \"all this summer the King\ntook great care to pacify the Borders with a great army, and caused\nforty-eight of the most noble thieves, with Johnie Armstrong, their\ncaptain, to be taken and hanged on growing trees.\" He says that \"George\nArmstrong, brother of the said Johnie, was pardoned and reserved alive,\n_to tell on the rest_, which he did, and in course of time they were\napprehended by the King, and punished according to their deserts.\"[80]\nPinkerton, who evidently bases his account largely on the information\nsupplied by Leslie, enters more fully into particulars. He alleges that\n\"by the assistance of George, his brother, who was pardoned on condition\nof betraying the others, John Armstrong, the chief of the name, whose\nrobberies had elevated him to opulence and power, was captured and\nsuffered the fate of a felon.\"[81] These statements, definite though they\nare, ought not to be lightly accepted, as the strongest reasons may be\nadvanced against this supposition. In the first place, we ought to\nremember that, however many sins and shortcomings the Border reivers may\nbe accused of, breach of faith can hardly be reckoned one of them.\n\"Hector's Cloak\" was a phrase of peculiar opprobrium. It was regarded as\nthe symbol of meanness and perfidy. That this one instance of betrayal\nshould have been so long remembered, and so thoroughly detested, is an\nunmistakable indication that the Border thieves, bad as they were in many\nrespects, were not without a high sense of honour in matters of this kind.\nIt is hardly conceivable, therefore, that Armstrong's brother could have\nbeen guilty of his betrayal. Strong proof would require to be forthcoming\nin support of such a statement; and this is precisely what the historians\ndo not give us.\n\nBut there are other and more cogent arguments against this view. George\nArmstrong was under no necessity of betraying his brother in order to save\nhimself. He could easily have escaped had he been minded to do so. The\nKing's authority did not extend beyond the Scottish Border. It is morally\ncertain, had Armstrong and his friends ever suspected that James would\nhave treated them as he did, they would either have taken refuge in their\nown strongholds and defied him, or crossed the Border into England, where\nthey would have been comparatively safe from pursuit. That they did\nneither, but voluntarily came before the King, is strong evidence in\nfavour of the supposition that they were enticed by fair promises to place\nthemselves within his power. The very fact that Armstrong neither sought\nnor obtained a safe conduct goes to prove that he had the most implicit\nconfidence in the clemency, if not the goodwill, of his sovereign. There\nwas no betrayal on the part of anyone, save the King himself. This is\nclearly brought to view in the peculiarly graphic and fascinating account\nwhich \"Pitscottie\" has given of this memorable incident. He says:--\"Efter\nthis hunting the King hanged Johnie Armstrong, laird of Gilnockie, quhilk\nmonie Scottis man heavilie lamented, for he was ane doubtit man, and als\nguid are chiftane as ever was upon the borderis, aither of Scotland or of\nEngland. And albeit he was ane lous leivand man, and sustained the number\nof xxiiij. weill horsed able gentlemen with him, yitt he nevir molested no\nScottis man. Bot it is said, from the Scottis border to Newcastle of\nEngland, thair was not ane of quhatsoevir estate bot payed to this John\nArmstrong ane tribut to be frie of his cumber, he was sae doubtit in\nEngland. So when he entred in befoir the King, he cam verie reverentlie,\nwith his foresaid number verie richlie apparrelled, trusting, that in\nrespect he had cum to the Kingis grace willinglie and voluntarilie, not\nbeing tain nor apprehendit be the King, he sould obtaine the mair favour.\nBot when the King saw him and his men so gorgeous in their apparrell, and\nso many braw men under ane tirrantis commandement, throwardlie, he turned\nabout his face, and bad tak that tirrant out of his sight, saying, 'Quhat\nwantis yon knave that a King should have.' But when Johnie Armstronge\nperceaved that the King kindled in ane furie againes him, and had no hope\nof his lyff, notwithstanding of many great and fair offeris, quhilk he\nofferred to the King, that is, that he sould sustene himself with fourtie\ngentlemen, ever readie to awaitt upon his majestie's service, and never\ntak a pennie of Scotland, nor Scottis man. Secondlie, that there was not\nane subject in England, duik, earle, lorde, or barrun, bot within ane\ncertane day he sould bring ony of them to his majesty, either quick or\ndead. He seing no hope of the Kingis favour towards him, said verrie\nproudlie, 'I am bot ane fooll to seik grace at ane graceles face. But had\nI knawin, sir, that ye wad have taken my lyff this day, I sould have leved\nupon the borderis in disphyte of King Harie and yow baith; for I knaw King\nHarie wold doun weigh my best hors with gold to knaw that I were\ncondemned to die this day.' So he was led to the scaffold, and he and his\nmen hanged. This being done, the King returned to Edinburgh, the xxiiij.\nday of July, and remained meikle of that winter in Edinburgh.\"[82]\n\nThis interesting and picturesque account is corroborated by another\nhistorian, who says: \"On the eighth of June the principalls of all the\nsurnames of the clannes on the Borders came to the King upon hope of a\nproclamation proclaimed in the King's name that they sould all get their\nlyves, if they would come in and submit themselves to the King's will, and\nso upon this hope Johnie Armstrang, who keipit the castle of Langhame (a\nbrother of the laird of Mangerton's, a great thieff and oppressor, and one\nthat keiped still with him four-and-twenty well-horsed men), came to the\nKing, and another called Ill Will Armstrong, another stark thieff, with\nsundrie of the Scotts and Elliotts, came all forward to the campe where\nthe King was in hopes to get their pardons. But no sooner did the King\npersave them, an that they were cum afarre off, when direction was given\npresentlie to enclose them round about, the which was done accordinglie,\nand were all apprehendit, to the number of threttie fyve persons, and at a\nplace called Carlaverocke[83] Cheapell, were all committed to the\ngallowes. One Sandy Scot, a prowd thieff, was brunt because it was provin\nthat he haid brunt a pure widowes house, together with sum of her\nchildren. The English people were exceeding glade when they understood\nthat John Armstrang was executed, for he did great robberies and stealing\nin England, menteaning 24 men in houshold evorie day upon rieff and\noppression. The rest delyvered pledges for their good demeanare in tymes\nto cum.\"[84]\n\nThere can be little doubt that Armstrong was cruelly betrayed, not by his\nbrother, but by the King--a circumstance which seriously reflects on his\nhonour and good name.\n\nThe suggestion has been made that this expedition against the laird of\nGilnockie was undertaken by James at the instigation of Lord Maxwell, who\nwas then a ward in Edinburgh. It is certainly a somewhat suspicious\ncircumstance that three days after Armstrong's execution Maxwell received\nfrom the King the gift of all the property, moveable and immoveable, which\npertained to \"umquhill Johne Armstrang, bruther to Thomas Armstrang of\nMayngerton, and now perteining to our souverane lord be reason of eschete\nthrow justefying of the said umquhill Johnie to the deid for thift\ncommitted be him.\"[85]\n\nAs might be expected, when all the circumstances were taken into\nconsideration, the execution of Armstrong and his followers produced a\nprofound sensation, and a deep and bitter feeling of resentment. It was\nlong believed by the peasantry of the district that, to mark the injustice\nof the deed, the trees on which they were hanged, withered away. On purely\nabstract grounds it may be argued that Armstrong and his men richly\ndeserved the punishment meted out to them, but this fact does not\nexonerate the King from the charge of treachery and deceit which has\njustly been brought against him. The measures he adopted to capture the\nquarry were unworthy of a puissant monarch with eight thousand well armed\nmen under his command. He might well have paid more respect to the\nprinciples of honour and fair play.\n\nIt is interesting to find that the version of Armstrong's capture and\nexecution given in the famous ballad agrees substantially with the\naccounts of Pitscottie and Anderson. There, we are told, that the King\nsent a \"loving letter\" to Armstrong, inviting him to a conference.\n\n  The King he wrytes a luving letter,\n    With his ain hand sae tenderly,\n  And he hath sent it to Johnie Armstrang,\n    To cum and speik with him speedily.\n\n\nThis communication evidently excited no suspicion, and extensive\npreparations were at once made to extend to his Majesty a kind and hearty\nwelcome. It was even hoped that he might be induced to dine at Gilnockie!\n\n  The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene;\n    They were a gallant cumpanie--\n  \"We'll ride and meet our lawful King,\n    And bring him safe to Gilnockie.\n\n  \"Make kinnen[86] and capon ready, then,\n    And venison in great plentie;\n  We'll welcum here our royal King;\n    I hope he'll dine at Gilnockie!\"\n\n  They ran their horse on the Langholme howm,\n    And brak their spears wi' mickle main;\n  The ladies lukit frae their lofty windows--\n    \"God bring our men weel hame again!\"\n\n  When Johnie cam before the King,\n    Wi' a' his men sae brave to see,\n  The King he movit his bonnet to him;\n    He ween'd he was a King as well as he.\n\nAccording to the balladist, it would seem that Armstrong's ruin was\nbrought about by the princely style in which he appeared before his\nsovereign. The King, highly displeased, turned away his head, and\nexclaimed--\n\n  \"Away, away, thou traitor strang!\n    Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be!\n  I grantit never a traitor's life,\n    And now I'll not begin wi' thee.\"\n\nThis unexpected outburst of indignation led Armstrong at once to realise\nthe perilous position in which he found himself placed. He now felt that,\nif his life was to be spared, he must use every means in his power to\nmove the King to clemency. Consequently he promised to give him\n\"four-and-twenty milk white steeds,\" with as much good English gold \"as\nfour of their braid backs dow[87] bear;\" \"four-and-twenty ganging mills,\"\nand \"four-and-twenty sisters' sons\" to fight for him; but all these\ntempting offers were refused with disdain. As a last resource, he said--\n\n  \"Grant me my life, my liege, my King!\n    And a brave gift I'll gie to thee--\n  All between here and Newcastle town\n    Sall pay their yeirly rent to thee.\"\n\nThis was no idle boast. So powerful had Armstrong become that, it is said,\nhe levied black-mail--(which is only another form of the word\n\"_black-meal_,\" so-called from the conditions under which it was\nexacted)--over the greater part of Northumberland. But even the prospect\nof increasing his revenue by accepting this tribute was not sufficient to\nturn the King aside from his purpose. He was bent on Armstrong's\ndestruction, a fact which now became painfully evident to the eloquent and\ngenerous suppliant. Enraged at the baseness of the King, he turned upon\nhim and gave vent to the pent up feelings of his heart--\n\n  \"Ye lied, ye lied, now King,\" he says,\n    \"Altho' a King and Prince ye be!\n  For I've luved naething in my life,\n    I weel dare say it, but honesty--\n\n  \"Save a fat horse, and fair woman,\n    Twa bonny dogs to kill a deir,\n  But England suld have found me meal and mault,\n    Gif I had lived this hundred yeir!\n\n  \"She suld have found me meal and mault,\n    And beef and mutton in a' plentie;\n  But never a Scots wyfe could have said,\n    That e'er I skaith'd her a puir flee.\n\n  \"To seik het water beneith cauld ice,\n    Surely it is a greit folie--\n  I have asked grace at a graceless face,\n    But there is nane for my men and me![88]\n\n  \"But had I kenn'd ere I cam frae hame,\n    How thou unkind wadst been to me!\n  I wad have keepit the Border side,\n    In spite of all thy force and thee.\n\n  \"Wist England's King that I was ta'en,\n    O gin a blythe man he wad be!\n  For anes I slew his sister's son,\n    And on his briest bane brak a trie.\"\n\nThe balladist then proceeds to give a minute description of the dress worn\nby the redoubtable freebooter on this occasion--of his girdle, embroidered\nand bespangled with gold, and his hat, with its nine targets or tassels,\neach worth three hundred pounds. All that he needed to make him a king was\n\"the sword of honour and the crown.\" But nothing can now avail.\n\n  \"Farewell! my bonny Gilnock hall,\n    Where on Esk side thou standest stout!\n  Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair,\n    I wad hae gilt thee round about.\"\n\n  John murdered was at Carlinrigg,\n    And all his gallant companie;\n  But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae,\n    To see sae mony brave men die.\n\n\nIt was a foul deed, foully done. The King was no doubt determined, as it\nis said, to \"make the rush bush keep the cow,\" and perhaps to a certain\nextent he succeeded, as some time after this, Andrew Bell kept ten\nthousand sheep in Ettrick Forest, and they were as safe as if they had\nbeen pasturing in Fife or the Lothians. But the murder of Armstrong in no\nway daunted the other members of that notable clan. Many of them took\nrefuge on the English side of the Border, and for years waged a successful\npredatory warfare against their _quondam_ Scottish neighbours. In 1535,\nfor example, we find that \"Christopher Armstrong, Archibald his son,\nIngram Armstrong, Railtoun, Robert and Archibald Armstrong there, John\nElwald, called _Lewis John_, William, son of Alexander Elwald, and Robert\nCarutheris, servants to the laird of Mangerton; John Forrestare, called\n_Schaikbuklar_, Ninian Gray his servant, Thomas Armstrong in Greneschelis,\n_Lang Penman_, servant of one called _Dikkis Will_. Thomas Armstrong of\nMangerton, and Symeon Armstrong, called _Sim the Larde_\" and several\nothers, were denounced rebels, and their whole goods escheated for not\nunderlying the law for having stolen from John Cockburn of Ormiston\nseventy \"drawand oxen\" and thirty cows; and for art and part of\ntraitorously taking and carrying off three men-servants of the said John,\nbeing the keepers of the said castle, and \"detaining them against their\nwill for a certain space;\" and further \"for art and part of the Stouthreif\nfrom them of their clothes, whingars, purses and certain money\ntherein.\"[89] Indeed the depredations of the clan after the execution of\nGilnockie were on the most extensive scale. On the 21st February, 1536,\nSymon Armstrong was \"convicted of art and part of the theft and\nconcealment of two oxen from the laird of Ormistone, furth of the lands of\nCraik, and a black mare from Robert Scott of Howpaslot, furth of the lands\nof Wolcleuche; committed during the time he was in the King's ward, about\nLammas 1535. _Item_, of art and part of the theft and concealment of five\nscore of cows and oxen from the said laird of Ormistone, stolen furth of\nthe said lands of Craik; committed by _Evil-willit Sandie_, and his\naccomplices, in company with Thomas Armstrong, _alias Greneschelis_, and\nRobert Carutheris, servants of the said Symon, and certain Englishmen, at\nhis command, common Thieves and Traitors, on July 27, 1535. _Item_, of art\nand part of the traitorous _Fire-raising_ and _Burning of the Town of\nHowpaslot_; And of art and part of the Theft and Concealment the same time\nof sixty cows and oxen belonging to Robert Scott of Howpaslot and his\nservants; committed by Alexander Armstrong, in company with Robert\nHenderson, _alias Cheyswame_,[90] Thomas Armstrong, _alias_ Grenescheles,\nhis servants, and their accomplices, common Thieves and Traitors, of his\ncausing and assistance, during the time he was within the King's ward,\nupon October 28, 1535. _Item_, of art and part of the theft and\nconcealment of certain sheep from John Hope and John Hall, the King's\nshepherds, furth of the lands of Braidlee in the Forest; committed during\nthe time he was within the said ward. _Item_, for art and part of the\ntreasonable assistance given to Alexander Armestrang, called _Evil-willit\nSandy_, a sworn Englishman, and sundry other Englishmen his accomplices,\nof the names of Armestrangis, Niksounis, and Crosaris, in their\ntreasonable acts. SENTENCE--To be drawn to the gallows and HANGED\nthereupon: And that he shall forfeit his life, lands, possessions, and all\nhis goods, moveable and immoveable, to the King, to be disposed of at his\npleasure.\"[91] In the following month John Armstrong, _alias Jony of\nGutterholes_, and Christopher Henderson were hanged for \"Common Herschip\nand Stouthreif, Murder and Fire-raising.\" These items give but a faint\nidea of the extent to which the Armstrongs carried on their depredations.\n\nBut, perhaps, a still more serious result of the unwise policy adopted by\nJames in his treatment of the Armstrongs, was the destruction of that\nfeeling of loyalty to the Scottish Crown, which had hitherto been, in some\nmeasure at least, a characteristic of the Borderers. Henceforth not only\nthe Armstrongs, but many others besides, were ready to place their arms\nand their lives at the service of the English government, and to take part\nwith their ancient foes in oppressing and despoiling their own countrymen.\nIn the battle of Ancrum Moor in 1546, there was a considerable contingent\nof Scottish Borderers fighting under the standard of Lord Eure, and it was\nonly after the tide of war had turned in favour of the Scots that they\nthrew away the badge of foreign servitude and helped to complete the\nvictory. It maybe said that in acting thus they were moved simply by\nconsiderations of personal advantage. Be this as it may, the incident\nclearly shows that their attachment to King and country had been all but\ncompletely destroyed. Had James acted with ordinary discretion and\nforesight he might at once have secured the end he had in view, and at the\nsame time have won over to his side, and to the side of law and order, a\nbody of men whose crimes were due rather to the peculiarity of their\ncircumstances than to their own inherently evil dispositions. He had a\ngreat opportunity, but he failed conspicuously to take advantage of it. He\nlearned, when it was too late, that force, when not wisely applied, may\nproduce greater evils than those it seeks to remedy.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nTHE CORBIE'S NEST.\n\n  \"Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,\n    Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie?\"\n  \"We gang to berry a corbie's nest\n  That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.\"\n\n                                   KINMONT WILLIE.\n\n\nThe incidents in the predatory warfare so long carried on by the dwellers\non both sides of the Border were not all of a painful or tragic character.\nThe spirit of fun sometimes predominated over the more selfish and\naggressive instincts. There was a grim kind of humour characteristic of\nthe Border reiver. He certainly was not disposed to laugh on the slightest\nprovocation,--his calling was much too serious for that,--but when he once\nrelaxed, his mirth was not easily controlled. And, however degrading his\noccupation may have been in its general tendency, there was often\ndisplayed among the Border thieves, even among the very worst of them, a\nspirit of the most splendid heroism, which helps to redeem the system from\nthe general contempt in which it is regarded by the moralist of modern\ntimes. Many of the leaders were not only men of undaunted courage, but of\nconsiderable military genius. In a later age, under other and happier\nconditions, they would have won renown on many a well-fought battlefield.\nThey possessed the qualities, physical and moral, of which great soldiers\nare made. The Bold Buccleuch, Little Jock Elliot, Johnie Armstrong of\nGilnockie, and his kinsman, Willie of Kinmont--not to mention other names\nwhich readily occur to the mind in this connection--were men dowered by\nnature with great courage and resource. They were strong of arm and\ndauntless of heart. We do not seek to justify their deeds. These were\nreprehensible enough, judged by almost any standard you may apply to them.\nBut just as some people find it impossible to smother a certain sneaking\nkind of admiration of the Devil, so magnificently delineated in Milton's\n\"Paradise Lost\"--a being who seems possessed of almost every quality save\nthat of consecrating his varied endowment to worthy ends--so in like\nmanner it is difficult to withhold a certain meed of admiration for some\nof the \"nobil thieves\" whose names stand out prominently in, if they\ncannot always be said to adorn, this long chapter of Border history. They\nwere undoubtedly men of ability, energy, and force of character, who would\nhave won their spurs in almost any contest into which they had chosen to\nenter.\n\nOne of the most notable of this band was the famous Kinmont Willie,\nrenowned in Border song and story. He was an Armstrong, a descendant of\nthe laird of Gilnockie, whom James VI. put to death at Carlinrig in such\ngraceless fashion. He, like all his race, was a notorious freebooter. The\nEnglish Border, more especially the West and Middle Marches, suffered much\nat his hands. He had a large and well armed following, and conducted his\nmarauding expeditions with an intrepidity and skill which created a\nfeeling of dismay among the subjects of his oppression. Nor did it matter\nmuch to him where, or on whom, he raided. The King's treachery at\nCarlinrig had destroyed--at least so far as the Armstrongs and their\nfriends were concerned--the last lingering spark of patriotism. Their hand\nwas now turned against every man, English and Scottish alike. They had\nbecome pariahs, outcasts, whose only ambition was revenge. But bad as\nKinmont was, and his record is of the worst, it might be said of him, as\nit was said of one of the greatest and best men Scotland has ever\nproduced, that \"he never feared the face of man.\" He was always to the\nfront, dealing out hard blows; courting danger, but never dreaming of\ndefeat. He cared as little for the warden as for the meanest and most\ndefenceless subject of the realm. Scrope tells us, for example, that on\none occasion \"certain goods were stolen by Scottish men from one of the\nJohnstones, a kinsman of the laird Johnstone being warden, whereupon the\nfray arose, and the warden himself, with his company and friends, pursued\nthe same. But Kinmont and his complices being in the way to resist them,\nthe warden and his company returned again to Annand, the which he taketh\nin very yll parts.\"[92]\n\nIt was no doubt a sore point with the warden that he should be thus\ninterfered with in this masterful fashion, and one can readily sympathise\nwith him in his chagrin. Such an incident shows that Kinmont and his\nfriends were in a position to set the constituted authorities at defiance,\nand conduct their reiving \"without let or hindrance.\" The warden, however,\nwas not altogether free from blame for this state of matters. He seems to\nhave given the thieves every encouragement as long as they confined their\ndepredations to the English Border. Scrope, in a letter to Walsingham,\ninforms him that \"as well in the tyme of my being with you, as also synce\nmy return home, manye and almost nightlie attemptates have been committed\nin Bewcastle and elsewhere within this wardenrie, as well by the\nLiddesdales as also by the West Wardenrie of Scotland, specially Kinmont,\nhis sonnes and complices; who ... are nevertheless at their pleasure\nconversaunte and in company with the warden, and no part reprehended for\ntheir doynges.\" Hunsdon, another English warden, even goes the length of\nsuggesting that the King himself (James VI.) privately encouraged Kinmont\nin his evil doing. He says that four hundred horse came to \"Hawden\nbrigges,\" and took up the town and burned divers houses, whereat the King\nwas very angry, \"because it was done there--for he would have had it to be\ndone in some part of my wardenry. Since the taking up of Hawden brigg,\nWill of Kinmont, who was the principal man who was at it, hath been with\nthe King in his cabinet above an hour, and at his departure the King gave\nhim 100 crowns, as littell as he hath. What justis wee are to looke for\natt the King's hands lett her Majestie judge!\"[93]\n\nThus encouraged by the warden and the King, it is not to be wondered at\nthat Kinmont should have thrown himself with great enthusiasm into the\nwork of harassing and plundering all who came within his power.\n\nBut his name might have remained in comparative obscurity, notwithstanding\nhis depredations, had it not been for an extraordinary incident which\noccurred, and for which he was in no way directly responsible.\n\nThe dramatist has said that some men are born great, and that others have\ngreatness thrust upon them. We are not prepared to say that only the\nlatter part of the statement applies to the subject of our sketch, for,\ndespite his evil-doing, Kinmont was a man of much natural ability--ability\namounting almost to genius. But that he had \"greatness thrust upon him\"\nwill be readily conceded. His name will always remain associated with one\nof the most thrilling incidents in Border history. The circumstance which\nmade him famous was this. He had been present at Dayholm, near\nKershopefoot, on the occasion of a day of truce, in the month of March, in\nthe year 1596. The business which called them together having been\nfinished, he was returning home, accompanied by a few of his friends,\nalong the banks of the Liddle, when he was suddenly attacked by a body of\ntwo hundred English Borderers, led by Salkeld, the deputy of Lord Scrope,\nthe warden of the East March, chased for some miles, captured, tied to the\nbody of his horse and thus carried in triumph to Carlisle castle.\n\n  They band his legs beneath the steed,\n    They tied his hands behind his back;\n  They guarded him, fivesome on each side,\n    And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.\n\n  They led him thro' the Liddel-rack,\n    And also through the Carlisle sands;\n  They brought him to Carlisle castell,\n    To be at my Lord Scrope's commands.\n\nThis proceeding was clearly in direct violation of Border law, which\nguaranteed freedom from molestation to all who might be present at a\nwarden court, or day of truce, betwixt sunrise on the one day and sunrise\non the next. We can easily understand the overmastering desire of the\nwarden's deputy to lay Kinmont \"by the heels,\" as he had long been\nnotorious for his depredations on the English Border, but it is incumbent\non the representatives of the law that they should honour it in their own\npersons, and, however many crimes might be laid to the charge of the\nfamous freebooter, he was justly entitled to enjoy the freedom, which a\nwise legal provision had secured, even to the greatest offenders. The\nexcuse given by Scrope for this manifest breach of Border law is an\nexceedingly lame one. He says:--\"How Kinmont was taken will appear by the\nattestations of his takers, which, if true, 'it is held that Kinmont did\nthereby break the assurance that daye taken, and for his offences ought to\nbe delivered to the officer against whom he offended, to be punished\naccording to discretion.' Another reason for detaining him is his\nnotorious enmity to this office, and the many outrages lately done by his\nfollowers. He appertains not to Buccleuch, but dwells out of his office,\nand was also taken beyond the limits of his charge, so Buccleuch makes the\nmatter a mere pretext to defer justice, 'and do further indignities.'\"[94]\n\nThat Kinmont had broken the assurance taken at the warden court is an\nassertion in support of which neither has \"takers,\" nor Scrope give a\nscintilla of proof. Had such a thing really happened, there surely would\nhave been no difficulty in establishing the fact; but this is not done, or\neven attempted to be done, by those whose interest it was to prove the\naccusation up to the hilt. The other reasons adduced for this\nunwarrantable proceeding will not bear serious consideration. That Kinmont\nbore no goodwill to Scrope or those associated with him in his office, may\nbe taken for granted; and that he and his friends and associates had been\nguilty of many outrages on the English Border, goes without saying. But a\nslight examination of the excuses will be sufficient to show that they are\nmere subterfuges. The point in dispute is carefully left out of view by\nthe English warden. No doubt Kinmont richly deserved to suffer the utmost\npenalty of the law on the ground of his misdemeanours; but he had been\npresent at the warden court, where he would never have gone had he not\nfelt sure that he was amply protected from arrest by the law to which we\nhave referred. It may be said that nearly every man present on that\noccasion, irrespective of nationality, might have been apprehended on the\nsame general grounds. To use an expressive Scottish phrase--\"they were all\ntarred with the same stick.\" It was therefore a direct violation, not only\nof the spirit, but of the letter of Border law, for Salkeld to take\nKinmont prisoner. Scrope was clearly in the wrong--a fact of which he\nhimself seems dimly conscious--as he displayed an amount of temper and\nirritability in dealing with the case which seemed to indicate that he\nfelt the weakness of his position. On the other hand, the \"rank reiver,\"\nwho had been thus suddenly and unceremoniously \"clapped in jail,\" accepted\nthe situation with a singular amount of philosophical indifference. He\nfelt sure that the deed would not go unavenged, that his friends, and he\nhad many of them, would leave no stone unturned in order to effect his\nrelease. The balladist finely represents him as saying--\n\n  My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,\n    And whae will dare this deed avow?\n  Or answer by the Border law?\n    Or answer to the bold Buccleuch?\n\n  \"Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!\n    There's never a Scot shall set thee free;\n  Before ye cross my castle yate,\n    I vow ye shall take farewell o' me.\"\n\n  \"Fear na ye that, my lord,\" quo' Willie;\n    \"By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope,\" he said,\n  \"I never yet lodged in hostelrie,\n    But I paid my lawing before I gaed.\"\n\nAn account of what had happened was speedily conveyed to Branxholme, where\nthe Bold Buccleuch was residing. When he heard what had occurred he was\nhighly indignant. The picture drawn by the balladist is graphic in the\nextreme. For intense realism it has rarely ever been surpassed--\n\n  He has ta'en the table wi' his hand,\n    He garr'd the red wine spring on hie--\n  \"Now Christ's curse on my head,\" he said,\n    But avenged on Lord Scroope I'll be!\n\n  \"O is my basnet a widow's curch?\n    Or my lance a wand o' the willow-tree?\n  Or my arm a ladye's lilye hand,\n    That an English lord should lightly me!\n\n  \"And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,\n    Against the truce of Border tide?\n  And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch\n    Is Keeper here on the Scottish side?\n\n  \"And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie,\n    Withouten either dread or fear?\n  And forgotten that the bold Buccleuch\n    Can back a steed, or shake a spear?\n\n  \"O were there war between the lands,\n    As well I wot that there is none,\n  I would slight Carlisle castell high,\n    Though it were builded of marble stone.\n\n  \"I would set that castell in a low,\n    And sloken it with English blood!\n  There's never a man in Cumberland,\n    Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.\n\n  \"But since nae war's between the lands,\n    And there is peace, and peace should be;\n  I'll neither harm English lad or lass,\n    And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!\"\n\nBefore resorting to extreme measures Buccleuch did everything in his power\nto bring about an amicable settlement of the case. He first of all applied\nto Salkeld for redress; but Salkeld could only refer him to Lord Scrope,\nwho declared that Kinmont was such a notorious malefactor that he could\nnot release him without the express command of Queen Elizabeth. Buccleuch\nthen brought the matter under the consideration of James, who made an\napplication through an ambassador, for Kinmont's release; but this also\nproved unavailing.\n\nIt looked as if the imprisoned freebooter was likely to pay his \"lodging\nmail\" in a very unpleasant fashion. The English government seemed\ndetermined to detain him until such times as they could conveniently put a\nperiod to his career by hanging him on Haribee hill. But Buccleuch, while\nanxious to effect his purpose, if possible by constitutional means, was\ndetermined that Kinmont should be rescued, whatever might be the method he\nwas under the necessity of adopting. To accomplish his purpose he was\nprepared to \"set the castle in a low, and sloken it with English blood.\"\nThis threat was regarded as a mere piece of bravado. The castle was\nstrongly garrisoned and well fortified. It was in the centre of a populous\nand hostile city, and under the command of Scrope, who was regarded as one\nof the bravest soldiers in England. The Bold Buccleuch, however, was not\neasily daunted. He had a strong arm and a brave heart, and he knew that he\ncould summon to his aid a small band of followers as brave and resolute as\nhimself. On a dark tempestuous night, two hundred of his bravest followers\nmet him at the tower of Morton, a fortalice in the Debatable land, on the\nwater of Sark, some ten miles or so from Carlisle. Their plans had been\ncarefully considered and determined upon a day or two before, when they\nhad met at a horse race near Langholm. The Armstrongs, of course, were\nready to adventure their lives in such a laudable undertaking, and the\nGræmes, to whom Will of Kinmont was related by marriage, were also forward\nwith promises of assistance. They were all well mounted--\n\n  With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,\n  And gleuves of green, and feathers blue--\n\nand carried with them scaling ladders and crowbars, hand-picks and axes,\nprepared to take the castle by storm. The rain had been falling heavily,\nand the Esk and the Eden were in roaring flood, but boldly plunging\nthrough their turbid waters they soon came within sight of the \"Corbie's\nNest\" which they had come to \"herry,\" and--\n\n  The first o' men that we met wi',\n    Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde?\n\n  \"Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?\"\n    Quo' fause Sakelde; \"Come tell to me?\"\n  \"We go to hunt an English stag,\n    Has trespass'd on the Scots countrie.\"\n\n  \"Where be ye gaun, ye marshall men?\"\n    Quo' fause Sakelde; \"Come tell me true!\"\n  \"We go to catch a rank reiver,\n    Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch.\"\n\nBut the troublesome questions of the \"fause Sakelde\" were speedily cut\nshort by the lance of Dickie of Dryhope, who led the band--\n\n  Then nevir a word had Dickie to say,\n    Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.\n\nThe way was now clear for the advance upon the castle. Everything seemed\nfavourable to the success of their hazardous undertaking. The heavens were\nblack as pitch, the thunder rolled loud and long, and the rain descended\nin torrents--\n\n  \"But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,\n  When we came beneath the castle wa'.\"\n\nWhen Buccleuch and his men reached the castle they were dismayed to find\nthat the ladders they had brought with them were too short; but finding a\npostern they undermined it, and soon made a breach big enough for a\nsoldier to pass through. \"In this way a dozen stout fellows passed into\nthe outer court (Buccleuch himself being fifth man who entered,) disarmed\nand bound the watch, wrenched open the postern from the inside, and thus\nadmitting their companions, were masters of the place. Twenty-four\ntroopers now rushed to the castle jail, Buccleuch meantime keeping the\npostern, forced the door of the chamber where Kinmont was confined,\ncarried him off in his irons, and sounding their trumpet, the signal\nagreed on, were answered by loud shouts and the trumpet of Buccleuch,\nwhose troopers filled the base court. All was now terror and confusion,\nboth in town and castle. The alarum-bell rang and was answered by his\nbrazen brethren of the cathedral and the town house; the beacon blazed\nupon the top of the great tower; and its red, uncertain glare on the\nblack sky and the shadowy forms and glancing armour of the Borderers,\nrather increased the terror and their numbers. None could see their enemy\nto tell their real strength.\"[95]\n\nThe suddenness of the attack and the terrific noise made by Buccleuch and\nhis troopers as they laid siege to the castle, created confusion and\ndismay amongst the defenders of the stronghold. Lord Scrope, with\ncommendable prudence, kept close within his chamber. He was convinced, as\nhe afterwards declared, that there were at least five hundred Scots in\npossession of the castle.\n\nKinmont, as he was borne triumphantly forth on the broad shoulders of Red\nRowan, shouted a lusty \"good night,\" to his bewildered lordship.\n\n  Then Red Rowan has hente him up\n  The starkest man in Teviotdale--\n  \"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,\n  Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.\"\n\n  \"Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!\n    My gude Lord Scroope, farewell he cried--\n  I'll pay you for my lodging maill,\n    When first we meet on the Border side.\"\n\n  Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,\n    We bore him down the ladder lang;\n  At every stride Red Rowan made,\n    I wot the Kinmont aims play'd clang!\n\n  \"O mony a time\" quo' Kinmont Willie,\n    \"I've prick'd a horse out oure the furs;\n  But since the day I back'd a steed,\n    I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!\"\n\n\nHaving now successfully accomplished their purpose, Buccleuch and his men\nmoved off towards the place where they had left their horses, and in a\nshort time they were safely back on Scottish soil--\n\n  Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden Water,\n    Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim,\n  And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,\n    And safely swam them through the stream.\n\n  He turn'd them on the other side,\n    And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he--\n  \"If ye like na my visit in merry England,\n    In fair Scotland come visit me.\"\n\nA cottage on the roadside between Longtown and Langholm, which stands\nclose to the Scotch Dyke, is still pointed out as the residence of the\nsmith who was employed, on this occasion, to knock off Kinmont Willie's\nirons. It is said that when Buccleuch arrived he found the door locked,\nthe family in bed, and the knight of the hammer so sound a sleeper, that\nhe was only wakened by the Lord Warden thrusting his long spear through\nthe window, and nearly spitting both Vulcan and his lady.\n\nThe rescue of Kinmont Willie--a most notable feat from whatever point of\nview it may be regarded--made Buccleuch one of the most popular heroes of\nthe age. It was declared on all hands that nothing like it had been\naccomplished since the days of Sir William Wallace.\n\nAccording to a statement made in the \"Border Papers,\" Buccleuch was\nassisted in effecting Kinmont's rescue by Walter Scott of Goldielands;\nWalter Scott of Harden; Will Elliot of Gorronbye; John Elliot of\nCopeshawe; the laird of Mangerton; the young laird of Whithaugh and his\nson; three of the Calfhills, Jock, Bighames, and one Ally, a bastard;\nSandy Armstrong, son to Hebbye; Kinmont's Jock, Francie, Geordie, and\nSandy, all brethern, the sons of Kinmont; Willie Bell, \"Redcloak,\" and two\nof his brethren; Walter Bell of Goddesby; three brethren of Tweda,\nArmstrongs; young John of the Hollows, and one of his brethren; Christie\nof Barngleish and Roby of Langholm; the Chingles; Willie Kange and his\nbrethren with their \"complices.\"\n\nThe breaking of the castle, and the rescue of Kinmont, completely upset\nthe equanimity of my Lord Scrope. His indignation almost unmanned him. He\nwrote a long letter to the Privy Council describing the circumstances, and\ndenouncing Buccleuch and his accomplices, in no measured terms. He\nentreated the Council to induce her Majesty to call upon the King of\nScotland to deliver up Buccleuch \"that he might receive such punishment as\nher Majesty might find that the quality of his offence merited.\" He\nassured their lordships that \"if her Majesty shall give me leave it shall\ncost me both life and living, rather than such an indignity to her\nHighness, and contempt to myself, shall be tolerated.\" From the\nsubsequent correspondence on this subject, which was of a voluminous\nnature, one can easily see that Scrope was more concerned about the\nindignity to himself than the contempt which had been offered to her\nMajesty. He seems to have found it more difficult than he at first\nanticipated to move the government to take prompt and effective action.\nBuccleuch, as may be readily supposed, had a good deal to say in his own\ndefence. He argued, and with considerable cogency, that Kinmont's capture\nand imprisonment constituted a gross violation of Border law, and that he\nhad not made any attempt at his rescue until he had exhausted every other\nmeans of accomplishing his purpose. He also pointed out that the\nrepresentations which he had made had been received with scant courtesy,\nand that even the remonstrance of the King had been treated with contempt.\nFurther, he showed that his Borderers had committed no outrage either on\nlife or property, although they might have made Scrope and his garrison\nprisoners, and sacked the city.\n\nThese considerations ought to have weighed heavily in Buccleuch's favour,\nbut Elizabeth would listen to no excuses. She demanded his immediate\nsurrender. For a time James refused to comply, and was warmly supported by\nthe whole body of his council and barons, even the ministers of the Kirk\nwere strongly opposed to surrender. Had the King been able to act with as\nmuch freedom as some of his predecessors, it is morally certain that this\ndemand would have been indignantly repelled, but in the circumstances he\nhad to proceed with caution, as he was afraid that resistance might lead\nto unpleasant results. And so, bowing to the inevitable, Buccleuch was\nsurrendered--at least he was for a time put in ward in Blackness.\n\nThe letter which Elizabeth addressed to James on this occasion is written\nthroughout in the most passionate language. It is evident that Her Majesty\nhad great difficulty in controlling her feelings. After soundly rating her\n\"Dear brother\" on the attitude he had assumed, she says:--\"Wherefore, for\nfine, let this suffice you, that I am as evil treated by my named _friend_\nas I could be by my known _foe_. Shall any castle or habytacle of mine be\nassailed by a night larcin, and shall not my confederate send the offender\nto his due punishment? Shall a friend stick at that demand that he ought\nrather to prevent? The law of kingly love would have said, nay: and not\nfor persuasion of such as never can or will stead you, but dishonour you\nto keep their own rule, lay behind you such due regard of me, and in it of\nyourself, who, as long as you use this trade, will be thought not of\nyourself ought, but of conventions what they will. For, commissioners I\nwill never grant, for an act that he cannot deny that made; for what so\nthe cause be made, no cause should have done that. And when you with a\nbetter weighed judgment shall consider, I am assured my answer shall be\nmore honourable and just; which I expect with more speed, as well for you\nas for myself.\n\nFor other doubtful and litigious causes in our Border, I will be ready to\npoint commissioners, if I shall find you needful; but for this matter of\nso villainous a usage, assure you I will never be so answered, as hearers\nshall need. In this and many other matters, I require your trust to our\nambassador, which faithfully will return them to me. Praying God for your\nsafe keeping. Your faithful and loving sister, E. R.\"\n\nSuch plain speaking might not be relished by the Scottish King, but the\ninterests at stake were too great to enable him to disregard it. He was in\nthorough sympathy with Buccleuch, but he dare not resist further, and so\npacified the angry Queen by yielding her demands.\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\nFLAGELLUM DEI.\n\n  \"Then out and spak the nobil King,\n  And round him cast a wilie ee--\n  Now, had they tongue, Sir Walter Scott,\n  Nor speak of reif nor felonie:\n  For, had every honest man his awin kye,\n  A right puir clan thy name wad be!\"\n\n                                   BALLAD OF THE OUTLAW MURRAY.\n\n\nWhile reflecting great credit on the prowess of the Bold Buccleuch, the\nrescue of Kinmont Willie gave rise to many serious local as well as\ninternational complications. As we have seen, the English Queen was deeply\noffended. She resented the high-handed and arbitrary manner in which the\nrelease of this famous prisoner had been effected. It constituted a gross\ninsult to the Crown, and she was determined that those responsible for the\ndeed should suffer for their temerity. The anger of Elizabeth was no\ntrifling matter under any circumstances, but to James, whose courage was\nnever a conspicuous quality, it was dreaded in the last degree. He simply\nquailed before the storm, and hastened to tender his humble submission.\nThe Queen received his assurances of contrition with commendable\ngraciousness. Yet it would seem she was not quite satisfied. Buccleuch had\nbeen put in ward, but he had not been, as was demanded, surrendered to the\nEnglish government, and satisfaction was apparently out of the question\nuntil this condition had been complied with. She expostulated with James\non the impropriety of the course he had seen fit to adopt, and gave him an\ninteresting lecture on the manner in which he ought to discharge the\nduties of his high office. \"For the punishment given to the offender,\" she\nsays, \"I render you many thanks; though I must confess, that without he be\nrendered to ourself, or to our warden, we have not that we ought. And,\ntherefore, I beseech you, consider the greatness of my dishonour, and\nmeasure his just delivery accordingly. Deal in this case like a king, that\nwill have all this realm and others adjoining see how justly and kindly\nyou both will and can use a prince of my quality; and let not any dare\npersuade more for him than you shall think fit, whom it becomes to be\nechoes to your actions, no judgers of what beseems you.\n\nFor Border matters, they are so shameful and inhuman as it would loathe a\nking's heart to think of them. I have borne for your quiet too long, even\nmurders committed by the hands of your own wardens, which, if they be\ntrue, as I fear they be, I hope they shall well pay for such demerits, and\nyou will never endure such barbarous acts to be unrevenged.\n\nI will not molest you with other particularities; but will assure myself\nthat you will not easily be persuaded to overslip such enormities, and\nwill give both favourable ear to our ambassador, and speedy redress, with\ndue correction for such demeanour. Never think them mete to rule, that\nguides without rule.\n\nOf me make this account, that in your world shall never be found a more\nsincere affection, nor purer from guile, nor fuller fraught with truer\nsincerity than mine; which will not harbour in my breast a wicked conceit\nof you, without such great cause were given, as you yourself could hardly\ndeny; of which we may speed, I hope, _ad calendas Græcas_.\n\nI render millions of thanks for such advertisements as this bearer brought\nfrom you; and see by that, you both weigh me and yourself in a right\nbalance; for who seeks to supplant one, looks next for the other.\"\n\nThese wise and weighty admonitions were no doubt received in a becoming\nspirit. But James was not prepared at once to comply with the demand that\nBuccleuch should be handed over to the tender mercies of his enemies.\nBuccleuch was a special favourite. He was disposed, therefore, to shield\nhim as long as he could conveniently do so, with any degree of safety to\nhimself and his own interests. Negotiations were carried on between the\ntwo governments for a period of eighteen months, and everything might have\nbeen amicably settled had the wardens, and others in authority, only\nconducted themselves with a reasonable amount of discretion. Scrope,\nespecially was dying to be revenged on those who had subjected him to such\ngreat indignity; and consequently, a few months after the castle of\nCarlisle had been broken into by Buccleuch, he gathered together two\nthousand men and marched into Liddesdale, where he and his followers\ncreated great devastation. They burned, so the Scottish commissioners\nallege, \"24 onsettes of houses, and carried off all the goods within four\nmiles of bounds. They coupled the men their prisoners 'tua and tua\ntogeather in leashe like doggis. Of barnis and wemen, three or four\nscoore, they stripped off their clothis and sarkis, leaving them naked in\nthat sort, exposit to the injurie of wind and weather, whereby nyne or\ntenne infantes perished within eight daies thereafter.'\"\n\nThe answer of the English commissioners to this indictment indicates, at\nleast, the grounds on which Scrope regarded himself as justified in\nundertaking this invasion of Liddesdale. The reasons adduced are\nplausible, if not always convincing. \"It is no novelty,\" they say, \"but an\nancient custom, for the English warden to assist his opposite, and the\nkeeper of Liddesdale, to ride on and 'herrie' such thieves, and on\noccasion to do so at his own hand.... Buccleuch, besides (1) surprising\nthe second fortress of the Queen's Border; (2) slaying 24 of her subjects,\nincluding 16 of her soldiers; (3) has bound himself with all the notorious\nriders in Liddesdale, Eskdale, and Ewesdale, and after asserting that he\npaid 'out of his own purse' half of the sworn bill of Tyndale of £800,\nwhich the King commanded him to answer, joined himself with the Ellotts\nand Armstrongs, to plunder Tyndale for demanding the balance, slaying in\ntheir own houses 7 of the Charletons and Dodds the chief claimants. And\nbeing imprisoned by the King, he made a sporting time of it, hunting and\nhawking, and on his release did worse than ever, maintaining his 'coosens'\nWill of Hardskarth, Watt of Harden, &c., to murder, burn, and spoile as\nbefore.\n\nThe people under his charge, Ellotts, Armstrongs, Nicksons, &c., have of\nlate years murdered above 50 of the Queen's good subjects, many in their\nown houses, on their lawful business at daytime--as 6 honest Allandale men\ngoing to Hexham market, cut in pieces. For each of the last 10 years they\nhave spoiled the West and Middle Marches of £5000. In short, they are\nintolerable, and redress being unattainable, though repeatedly demanded by\nthe Queen and warden, the justifiable reprisal ordered by her Majesty in\nnecessary defence of her own Border, cannot in equity be called an\ninvasion, but rather 'honourable and neighbourlike assistance,' to\nmaintain the inviolable amitie between the princes and realms, against\nthe proud violaters thereof in eyther nation.... To conclude--this action\nof the Lord Scrope's is to be reputed and judged a 'pune,' an ancient\nBorder tearme, intending no other than a reprisall, which albeit of late\nyears her Majesty's peacable justice hath restrained.\"\n\nThere is much in a name. This invasion of Liddesdale, resulting in the\nburning of numerous homesteads, the slaughter of many women and children,\naccompanied by barbarities of the most revolting description, is\neuphoniously described by the commissioners as \"honourable and\nneighbourlike assistance.\" The women and bairns, who were led in leashes\nlike so many dogs, were no doubt duly grateful to my Lord Scrope and his\nminions for their kindly attentions! The absurdity of such a verdict is\nsurely unique.\n\nIt would appear that Buccleuch's enforced absence from the Borders, after\nthe taking of Carlisle castle, was of brief duration. He was soon back in\nhis old haunts, and at his old trade. What had happened in the interim was\nnot likely to enhance his feeling of regard for Scrope, and those who were\naiding and abetting him in this matter. He was determined to avenge the\ncruel raid which had been made upon Liddesdale. Along with Sir Robert Ker\nof Cessford, another renowned freebooter, he marched into Tynedale with\nfifty horse and a hundred foot, burned at noonday three hundred onsteads\nand dwelling houses; also barns, stables, ox houses, &c., to the number of\ntwenty; and murdered \"with the sworde\" fourteen who had been to Scotland,\nand brought away their booty. The English warden was utterly helpless. He\ndare not lift a finger to stay the progress of the invaders. He gave vent\nto his feelings in a letter to Burghley, in which he says--\"To defend such\nlike incursions, or rather invasions, with sorrow as formerly I declare to\nyour lordship the weak state of Tindale, for there was not 6 able horse to\nfollow the fray 'upon the shoute,' though in daytime, and where as\nreported to me, there were 300 able foot, 'or better,' there was not a\nhundred of this following, 'and those naked.' This piteous state increases\nsince my coming, and I cannot see how to amend it, leaving this to your\nwisdom, 'wishing to God' I had never lived to serve where neither her\nMajesty nor her officer is obeyed; fearing unless assisted by her\nMajesty's forces, Tyndale will be laid waste as other parts of the March\nare.\"[96]\n\nOne cannot restrain a certain feeling of commiseration for the English\nwarden, who was so shamefully neglected by his government, and so\nmiserably supported in the discharge of his duties by those dwelling\nwithin his wardenry. The complaint which Eure here makes is one which was\noften made by the wardens on the English Border. They were frequently\nleft in a comparatively helpless condition, having neither men, horses,\nnor money sufficient for their purposes. The knowledge of this fact no\ndoubt encouraged the Scots to pursue their nefarious calling with a\nboldness and persistency, which, at first sight, appear somewhat\nextraordinary.\n\nBuccleuch, when charged with the atrocities here so minutely described,\nhad a good deal to say in his own defence. He avowed that his inroad on\nTynedale was fully justified. He says--\"60 English entered Liddesdale by\nnight, slew 2 men, and drove many sheep and cattle, when the fray arising,\nhe with neighbouring gentlemen 'followed the chace with the dog,' and put\nthe first men he met making resistance, to the sword. The rest of the\nspoil, taken to sundry houses in Tindale, was therein held against him by\nthe stealers, and though he offered them life and goods, if the cattle\nwere delivered, he had to force entry by the firing of doors, when the\nhouses were burned 'besides his purpose,' with the obstinate people who\nrefused to yield on trust.\"[97]\n\nThis plausible story, the main facts of which, however, are admitted by\nthe English warden, did not go far to pacify the Queen of England. She\nthreatened the utmost penalties unless Buccleuch and Ker were delivered\nup to her. The time had gone past for further \"excuses, deferrings, and\nlingerings.\" It is said her resentment had reached such a pitch that, with\nher concurrence, a plan was formed to _assassinate_ Buccleuch.\n\nThough the Queen had at first been opposed to the appointment of a\nCommission for the consideration of some of the more important questions\nwhich had arisen between the two kingdoms, owing mainly to Buccleuch's\nexploits, she ultimately yielded the point, and it is an interesting and\nsignificant fact that during the time of the sitting of the Commission\nBuccleuch was busily engaged in ravaging with fire and sword some of the\nfairest districts within the English Border. The magnitude of his offences\nhad evidently impressed them. They hardly knew what to say about him. In\nthe first paragraph of the report which they issued we read:--\"We have\naccomplished the treaty of the Border causes with all the diligence\npossible, though not to so great advantage to the realm as we desired. Yet\nwe have revived articles of the former treaties discontinued, supplied\nmany old defects, and made new ordinances. Slaughters we were forced to\nleave as they were (the Scots protesting that they could not, under their\ninstructions, deal with them); but we trust as the punishment is left to\nthe princes, her Majesty will so consider the same, that it shall be found\nfar better that we have left that article at large, than if we had\ncondiscended to any meane degree of correccion for so barbarous acts ...\nspecially by Baklugh, who is _flagellum Dei_ to his miserably distressed\nand oppressed neighbours.\"[98]\n\nBut, however distressing Buccleuch's conduct may have been to the English\nmembers of the Commission, it is evident that neither King nor Council in\nScotland was disposed to regard him as a \"scourge of God.\" He went up to\nEdinburgh at this time, when things seemed to be going so much against him\nin the Commission, and had an interview with James, and so obtained his\nfavourable countenance, that \"they laughed a long time on the purpose.\"\nThe Council took an equally favourable view of the situation, affirming\nthat \"it was found that his last invasion of England was just, for\n'repetition' of goods stolen a short time before, and the slaughter was\nbut of special malefactors, enemies to the public weal and quiet of both\ncountries.\"\n\nElizabeth, however, took a different view of the matter, and put her foot\ndown with such purpose and determination that James speedily became\nconvinced that he must either surrender his favourite, or involve the\ncountry in a war with England. The latter alternative was out of the\nquestion, as it might have imperilled his claim to the succession, and so\nBuccleuch was compelled to place himself as a prisoner in the hands of\nSir William Bowes, who conducted him to Berwick, and put him in ward,\nthere to await the Queen's pleasure. Sir John Cary was then governor of\nthe town, and it was with much perturbation and many misgivings that he\nundertook the safe custody of such a notorious and masterful captive. In a\npathetic letter which he addressed to Lord Hunsdon, he says--\"I entreat\nyour lordship that I may not become the jailor of so dangerous a prisoner,\nor, at least, that I may know whether I shall keep him like a prisoner or\nno? for there is not a worse or more dangerous place in England to keep\nhim in than this; it is so near his friends, and besides, so many in this\ntown willing to pleasure him, and his escape may be so easily made; and\nonce out of the town he is past recovery. Wherefore I humbly beseech your\nhonor let him be removed from hence to a more secure place, 'for I protest\nto the Almighty God, before I will take the charge to keep him here, I\nwill desire to be put in prison myself, and to have a keeper of me!' For\nwhat care soever be had of him here, 'he shall want no furtherance\nwhatsoever wit of man can devise, if he himself list to make an escape.'\nSo I pray your lordship, 'even for God's sake and for the love of a\nbrother,' to relieve me from this danger.\"[99]\n\nThis passionate appeal, to be relieved from the responsibility of taking\ncharge of Buccleuch, does not seem to have received much attention.\nBuccleuch remained under Cary's guardianship, and, needless to say, proved\nhimself one of the most tractable of prisoners. He could not well have\nacted otherwise, for he must by this time have become fully convinced that\nElizabeth was determined to have her way, and that, in the peculiar\ncircumstances in which the Scottish King was placed, he could ill afford\nto thwart her wishes. Sir Robert Ker was also induced to place himself in\nthe hands of the English authorities. Strange to relate, he was placed in\ncharge of Sir Robert Cary, with whom he lived for a considerable time on\nthe most intimate and friendly terms. \"Contrary to all men's\nexpectations,\" says Cary, \"Sir Robert Car chose me for his guardian, and\nhome I brought him to my own house after he was delivered to me. I lodged\nhim as well as I could, and took order for his diet, and men to attend on\nhim; and sent him word, that (although by his harsh carriage towards me,\never since I had that charge, he could not expect any favours, yet)\nhearing so much goodness of him, that he never broke his word; if he would\ngive me his hand and credit to be a true prisoner, he would have no guard\nset upon him, but would have free liberty for his friends in Scotland, to\nhave ingress and regress to him as often as he pleased. He took this very\nkindly at my hands, accepted of my offer, and sent me thanks.\n\nSome four days passed; all which time his friends came unto him, and he\nkept his chamber. Then he sent to me, and desired me I should come and\nspeak with him, which I did; and after long discourse, charging and\nrecharging one another with wrongs and injuries, at last, before our\nparting, we became good friends, with great protestations on his side,\nnever to give me occasion of unkindness again. After our reconciliation,\nhe kept his chamber no longer, but dined and supped with me. I took him\nabroad with me, at least thrice a-week, a-hunting, and every day we grew\nbetter friends. Bocleugh, in a few days after, had his pledges delivered,\nand was set at liberty. But Sir Robert Car could not get his, so that I\nwas commanded to carry him to York, and there to deliver him prisoner to\nthe archbishop, which accordingly I did. At our parting he professed great\nlove unto me for the kind usage I had shown him, and that I would find the\neffects of it upon his delivery, which he hoped would be shortly.\"[100]\n\nSir Robert Ker was as good as his word. After he had regained his freedom,\nby the delivery of the pledges demanded, he returned to his duties as\nwarden of the East March, and seems to have conducted himself to the\nentire satisfaction of his generous opponent. Cary says that they often\nmet afterwards at days of truce, and that he had as good justice as he\ncould have desired--their friendship remaining unbroken to the end.\n\nThe fortunes of the \"Bold Buccleuch,\" after his imprisonment in Berwick,\nwere of a varied, but by no means of an unpleasant character. He returned\nto his duties as Keeper of Liddesdale, and applied himself with energy and\nability to the arduous task of keeping his unruly charge, as far as\npossible, within due bounds of law. This was an almost impossible\nundertaking, as the Armstrongs and Elliots and other \"broken men\" of the\ndistrict had been so long accustomed to a lawless life that they quickly\nresented any interference with their liberty. The change which had come\nover the spirit of Buccleuch's dream was not at all to their liking, and\nconsequently they turned against him, and assailed him with much\nbitterness. He was \"in contempt with them\" because of his just dealing\nwith Cary. They would gladly have shaken off his yoke, and were privately\nworking for his overthrow, that they might have the \"raynes louse\" again.\nBut difficult as the task was, Buccleuch was not easily turned aside from\nhis purpose. He had evidently become convinced that a change of policy was\ndesirable in the interests of the country, and he was determined to carry\nit out, however formidable might be the opposition with which he had to\ncontend. The fact is significant, and ought to be carefully borne in mind.\nBuccleuch's indiscretions during the earlier part of his official life\nwere manifold, and severely reprehensible. The only defence which can be\noffered in his behalf is, that he was placed in a position of great\nresponsibility before he was old enough to appreciate to the full extent\nthe consequences of his actions. His extreme youth, fiery temperament, and\nfervid patriotism, account for many things in his life which otherwise\nwould be difficult either to explain or justify. But if he sinned greatly,\nhe also repented sincerely. It is really to him we owe the first impulse\nin the social regeneration of the Borders. From 1597 onwards, he\ncontributed more towards the establishment of good order in the district\nover which he presided--and it was infinitely the worst district in the\ncountry--than any other man of his time. It may be said, indeed, that in\nhim many of the finest qualities of the Scottish Borderer came to full\nfruition. He was brave, resolute, independent, quick to resent injuries,\nbut withal, warm-hearted and generous. We do not greatly wonder at the\nlarge place he has filled in the traditional story of the country. His was\na powerful and fascinating personality, and though, from a national point\nof view, the sphere of his activities was comparatively limited, his name\nis not unworthy of being associated with some of the greatest names in\nScottish history.\n\nTowards the close of the year 1599 he went to London to make his peace\nwith the Queen. In a letter to Cecil, written by Sir Robert Cary, we have\nstriking testimony given of the change which had taken place in\nBuccleuch's attitude towards the English government. \"He will be\ndesirous,\" Cary says, \"to kiss the Queen's hand: which favour of late he\nhath very well deserved, for since my coming into these parts, I do assure\nyour honour he is the only man that hath run a direct course with me for\nthe maintenance of justice, and his performance hath been such as we have\ngreat quietness with those under his charge. Nor have I wanted present\nsatisfaction for anything by his people: and he has had the like from me.\nThere is not an unsatisfied bill on either side between us.\"[101]\n\nConsidering the terms of this letter, we are not surprised to learn that\nthe \"Bold Buccleuch\" was received at Court with considerable favour. If it\nbe true that Elizabeth at one time was privy to a plot to assassinate him,\nshe must surely have had some qualms of conscience when at last this\n\"stark reiver\" stood before her. The scene is a memorable one. The Queen\ndemanded of him, with one of those lion-like glances which used to throw\nthe proudest nobles on their knees, how he dared to storm her castle, to\nwhich the Border baron replied--\"What, madam, is there that a brave man\nmay not dare?\" The rejoinder pleased her; and, turning to her courtiers,\nshe exclaimed--\"Give me a thousand such leaders, and I'll shake any throne\nin Europe!\"\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\nMINIONS OF THE MOON.\n\n  \"Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen of the shade,\n  Minions of the Moon.\"--FALSTAFF.\n\n\n  \"_Reparabit Cornua Phoebe._\"--MOTTO: HARDEN FAMILY.\n\n\n  \"The siller moon now glimmers pale;\n  But ere we've crossed fair Liddesdale,\n  She'll shine as brightlie as the bale\n         That warns the water hastilie.\n\n  \"O leeze me on her bonny light!\n  There's nought sae dear to Harden's sight:\n  Troth, gin she shone but ilka night,\n         Our clan might live right royallie.\"\n\n                                   FEAST OF SPURS.\n\n\nThe more famous reivers whose names have been handed down in the\ntraditions, poetry, and history of the Scottish Border, are seldom\nregarded with any very pronounced feelings of aversion. The Armstrongs,\nElliots, Græmes, Stories, Burneses, and Bells; the Scotts, Kers, Maxwells,\nand Johnstones--whose depredations have been recorded with much fulness of\ndetail in the annals of the country, were no doubt quite as bad as they\nhave been described. They cannot be acquitted of grave moral\ndelinquencies, judged even by the standard of the age in which they lived.\nBut at this distance of time many are disposed to regard their\ndepredations and lawless life, if not with a kindly, at least with an\nindulgent eye. It must be frankly admitted that there was an element of\ngenuine heroism in their lives, which goes far to redeem them from the\ncontempt with which, under other conditions, we would have been compelled\nto regard them. What they did was, as a general rule, done openly, and\nevidently with a certain sub-conscious feeling that their actions, if\nrightly understood, were not altogether blame-worthy. Their reiving was\ncarried on under conditions which developed some of the best as well as\nworst elements of their nature and manhood. The Border reiver, whatever he\nwas, can certainly not be described as cowardly. He carried his life in\nhis hands. He never knew when he went on a foraging expedition, whether he\nmight return. The enemy with which he had to contend was vigilant and\npowerful. Before he could drive away the cattle, he had, first of all, to\nsettle accounts with the owner. He might be worsted in the encounter, and\ninstead of securing his booty, he might find himself a captive, with the\ncertainty of being strung up on the nearest tree, or drowned in some\nconvenient pool. Such incidents were of almost every day occurrence.\nReiving was therefore one of the most exciting and hazardous of\noccupations, demanding on the part of those engaged in it, a strong arm\nand a dauntless spirit. The burglar who sneaks up to a house while the\ninmates are asleep, and plies his nefarious calling in silence and under\nshade of night, and is ready to start off, leaving everything behind him,\nthe moment the alarm is raised, is a contemptible miscreant, for whom the\ngallows is almost too mild a form of punishment. But the Border reiver was\nmade of different metal; was, indeed, a man of an essentially higher type.\nHe was prepared to fight for every hoof or horn he wished to secure. It\nwas a trial of skill, of strength, of resource, with the enemy. No doubt\nhe had occasionally to ride during the night, aided only by the mild rays\nof the moon. The way was often long, the paths intricate, and the dangers\nmanifold; but he was also prepared, under the full blaze of the noonday\nsun, to challenge those he had come to despoil, to protect and retain\ntheir property if they could. It was open and undisguised warfare on a\nminiature scale. This, of course, was not true of _all_ the reivers on the\nBorders. Some of them were hardly worthy of their profession. There are\nblack sheep in every trade--men who represent the baser qualities of their\nkind, and who bring discredit on their associates.\n\nIn looking back over the long list of famous reivers there are many names\nwhich, somehow or other, we are disposed to regard with a more or less\nkindly feeling. This may be difficult to explain, but the fact is\nundeniable. Perhaps the feeling is due, to a certain extent at least, to\nthe fact that, despite the mode of life adopted by these men, they\nrepresented many really admirable qualities, both of intellect and heart.\nJohnie Armstrong of Gilnockie, for example, was one of the most notorious\nof the clan to which he belonged, and yet he was evidently regarded as a\ngreat hero, who had been most shamefully treated by the King. It is also\ninteresting to find that he had a high opinion of himself. He prided\nhimself on his _honesty_. However much injury he had inflicted on the\nunfortunate Englishmen, who had to bear the brunt of his onslaughts, it\ngives him infinite pleasure and satisfaction to affirm that \"he had never\nskaithed a Scots wife a puir flee.\" It is possible, too, that his tragic\nend may have something to do with the kindly feeling with which his memory\nis cherished, though this in itself is not sufficient to account for the\nplace he occupies in the Valhalla of Border heroes.\n\nIn the same way a halo of romance has gathered round the name of the \"Bold\nBuccleuch,\" whose spirit of chivalry has gone far to redeem his memory\nfrom opprobrium. The penetrating eye of the English Queen was quick to\ndiscern in him qualities of a high order which only required the proper\nsphere for their development. He may well be regarded as a truly great\nman who was compelled by the circumstances in which he found himself\nplaced, to devote his time and talents to tasks which were quite unworthy\nof his genius. Hence, when the opportunity occurred, he speedily proved\nhimself not only a great leader of men, but a most potent factor in the\nsocial and moral regeneration of the district with which he was so\nintimately associated.\n\nBut of all the Border reivers whose names have been handed down in song\nand story, none is regarded with more kindly, we might almost say\naffectionate interest, than that of \"Auld Wat of Harden.\" For many years\nhe played an important part in Border affairs, and was always to the front\nin harassing and despoiling the English. We have already noticed the\nassistance he gave his near kinsman, the \"Bold Buccleuch,\" in the assault\non Carlisle castle, when Kinmont Willie was so gallantly rescued from\nimprisonment. But, four years prior to this event, in the year 1592, he\ntook part, under the leadership of Bothwell, in the famous \"Raid of\nFalkland,\" when the King was surprised in his Palace, and would have had\nshort shrift from the Borderers, had not timely warning been given him of\nhis danger. This escapade entailed on the laird of Harden somewhat serious\nconsequences. An order was issued by the King, with the consent of the\nLords of his Council, to demolish the _places, houses, and fortalices_ of\nHarden and Dryhoip, pertaining to the said Walter Scott. The order runs\nthus--\"Apud Peiblis, xiij die mensis Julij, anno lxxxxij (1592)--The\nKingis Majestie, with aduise of the Lordis of his Secreit Counsale, Gevis\nand grantis full pouer and Commission, expres bidding and charge, be thir\npresentis, to his weil-belouitt Williame Stewart of Tracquair, to DIMOLEIS\nand cause to be dimoleist and cassin doun to the ground, _the place and\nhoussis of_ TYNNEIS, quhilkis pertenit to James Stewart sumtyme of\nTynneis; as alswa, the lyke pouer and commissioun, expres bidding and\ncharge, to Walter Scott of Gouldielandis and Mr Iedeon Murray, conjunctlie\nand seuerallie, to dimoleis and caus be dimoleist and cassin doun to the\nground, _the placeis, houssis, and fortalices of_ HARDEN _and_ DRYHOIP,\npertening to Walter Scott of Harden, quha, with the said James Steuart,\nwes arte and parte of the lait tresonabill fact, perpetrat aganis his\nhienes awin persone at Falkland: And that the foirsaidis personis caus the\npremisses be putt in execution with all convenient expeditioun in signne\nand taikin of the foirsaidis uthiris personis tressounable and unnaturall\ndefection and attemptat, committit be thame in manner foirsaid. As thay\nwill ansuer to his hienes upon thair obedience.\"[102]\n\nThis was a severe blow to the laird of Harden, but he doubtless bore it\nwith that fine philosophical indifference for which he was distinguished.\nThe motto of the Harden family, \"We'll hae moonlight again,\" breathes the\nspirit of optimism, and indicates that the reverses of fortune were never\nregarded as irreparable. Hope sprang eternal in the Harden breast!\n\nBut Auld Wat was never disposed to linger unduly, even when courting the\nsmile of the capricious Goddess. He believed in himself, and relied mainly\nfor his good fortune on his own energy and skill. He was a man of the\nworld--keen, subtle, far-seeing, energetic--never allowing the grass to\ngrow under his feet. He believed in taking time by the forelock--in making\nhay while the sun shone. Rarely did he ever miss a favourable opportunity\nof increasing \"his goods and gear.\" And his reiving was carried on in no\npaltry or insignificant fashion. He was a man of large ideas, and he\ncarried them out on a splendid scale. For example, we find that in 1596 he\nran a day foray into Gilsland, and carried off \"300 oxen and kye, a horse\nand a nag.\" This was a large addition to make to his stock, and one cannot\nhelp thinking that the \"dell\" in front of Harden castle, where he kept his\ncaptured nowte, must have often been unduly crowded. But then it ought be\nremembered that the demands on his hospitality were numerous and not\nalways easily met. He had a numerous body of retainers, as was befitting a\nman of his position, who had to be kept in \"horse meat and man's meat,\"\nand having so many to provide for, his large herds often disappeared with\ngreat rapidity. The result was that he was constantly under the necessity\nof crossing the Border in order to replenish his stock. It is related that\non one occasion he overheard the town herd calling out to some one, as he\nwas passing, to \"send out Wat o' Harden's coo.\" \"Wat o' Harden's coo!\" the\nold reiver indignantly exclaimed, \"My sang, I'll soon mak ye speak of Wat\no' Harden's kye,\" and so he at once gathered his forces, marched into\nNorthumberland, and before long he was seen on his way back driving before\nhim a big herd of cows and a basson'd bull. On his way he passed a large\nsow-backed haystack. Turning round in his saddle and looking at it\nwistfully, he said, in a regretful tone of voice, \"If ye had four feet, ye\nwadna stand long there!\"\n\nIt is perhaps to this successful foray that Lord Eure refers in a letter\naddressed to Cecil under date July 15, 1596, in which he says:--\"Watt\nEllatt, _alias_ Watt of Harden, with other East Tividale lairds had 300 or\n400 able horsemen, laying an ambush of 300 or 400 foote, brake a day\nforray a myle beneathe Bellinghame, spoiled the townes men in\nBellinghame, brake the crosse, toke all the cattell upp the water to the\nnumber thre or fower hundred beastes at the leaste, hath slaine three men\nof name and wounded one allmoste to deathe, fired noe houses. The fray\nrose and being brought to me at Hexhame about ixº or xº houers in the\nmorning, I rose myself with my household servuantes, caused the beacons to\nbe fired and sent the fray eche way rounde aboute me, and yet could not\nmake the force of the countrie iiij{xx} horsemen and some six score\nfootmen. I followed with the horsemen within twoe or three myles of\nScotland, and except Mr Fenwick of Wellington, together with the Keaper of\nTindale, Mr Henry Bowes, ther was not one gentleman of the Marche to\naccompanie me, or mett me at all; and when all our forces were togeither,\nwe could not make twoe hundredth horsse, nor above twoe hundredth\nfootmen.... With shame and greife I speake it' the Scottes went away\nunfought withall.\"[103]\n\nIt will thus be seen that within a few months this famous freebooter had\ntransferred from English soil some six or seven hundred head of cattle. No\ndoubt like his neighbours, who were engaged in the same precarious line of\nbusiness, he had many unsuccessful raids to recount, but he was certainly\none of the most wary and successful of the reivers on the Scottish side of\nthe Border.\n\nSir Walter Scott, who was a descendant of Wat of Harden, has an\ninteresting note in his \"Border Minstrelsy\" regarding the family. \"Of this\nBorder laird,\" he says, \"commonly called _Auld Wat of Harden_, tradition\nhas preserved many anecdotes. He was married to Mary Scott, celebrated in\nsong by the title of 'The Flower of Yarrow.' By their marriage contract,\nthe father-in-law, Philip Scott of Dryhope, was to find Harden in horse\nmeat and man's meat at his Tower of Dryhope for a year and a day; but five\nbarons pledge themselves, that, at the expiry of that period, the\nson-in-law should remove without attempting to continue in possession by\nforce! A notary-public signed for all the parties to the deed, none of\nwhom could write their names. The original is still in the charter-room of\nthe present Mr Scott of Harden. By 'The Flower of Yarrow' the Laird of\nHarden had six sons; five of whom survived him, and founded the families\nof Harden (now extinct), Highchesters (now representing Harden), Reaburn,\nWool, and Synton. The sixth son was slain at a fray, in a hunting match,\nby the Scotts of Gilmanscleuch. His brothers flew to arms; but the old\nlaird secured them in the dungeon of his tower, hurried to Edinburgh,\nstated the crime, and obtained a gift of the land of the offenders from\nthe Crown. He returned to Harden with equal speed, released his sons, and\nshowed them the charter. 'To horse, lads!' cried the savage warrior, 'and\nlet us take possession! The lands of Gilmanscleuch are well worth a dead\nson.'\"\n\nHogg's description of \"Auld Wat\" as he set out for Edinburgh on this\noccasion is humourously realistic:\n\n  And he's awa' to Holyrood,\n    Amang our nobles a',\n  With bonnet lyke a girdle braid,\n    And hayre lyke Craighope snaw.\n\n  His coat was of the forest green,\n    Wi' buttons lyke the moon;\n  His breeks were o' the guid buckskyne,\n    Wi' a' the hayre aboon.\n\n  His twa hand sword hang round his back,\n    An' rattled at his heel;\n  The rowels of his silver spurs\n    Were of the Rippon steel;\n\n  His hose were braced wi' chains o' airn,\n    An' round wi' tassels hung:\n  At ilka tramp o' Harden's heel,\n    The royal arches rung.\n\n\n  Ane grant of all our lands sae fayre\n    The King to him has gien;\n  An' a' the Scotts o' Gilmanscleuch\n    Were outlawed ilka ane.\n\nBut Harden's best fortune came to him with his wife--the far-famed \"Flower\nof Yarrow.\"\n\n  This beautous flower, this rose of Yarrow,\n  In nature's garden has no marrow.\n\nSo sang Allan Ramsay. And since his day the charms of \"Yarrow's Rose\" have\ninspired many a more or less tuneful ode. But Mary Scott's beauty was,\nafter all, not her greatest gift. She was wise beyond most of her sex,\nand skilful to a degree in the management of her husband. We find, for\nexample, that instead of remonstrating with him on his culpable negligence\nin allowing the larder to become depleted, she quietly set before him when\nhe came to dinner a pair of clean spurs! The hint thus indirectly conveyed\nwas quite sufficient. Immediately her worthy spouse was in the saddle and\nriding as fast as his nag could carry him towards the English fells. It is\ninteresting to know that the spurs that were thus suggestively served up\nfor dinner are still in the possession of the family, being carefully\npreserved among Lord Polwarth's treasures at Mertoun House.\n\nBut while Wat of Harden could look after his own interests, he was never\nunmindful of the interests of others. When the Captain of Bewcastle came\nover to Ettrick \"to drive a prey,\" and carried off Jamie Telfer's kye, he\nrendered splendid service in rescuing the herd from the hand of the\nspoiler. Though Telfer, with \"the tear rowing in his ee,\" pled with the\nCaptain to restore his property, he was only laughed at for his pains--\n\n  \"The Captain turned him round and leugh,\n    Said--\"Man, there's naething in thy house,\n  But ae auld sword without a sheath\n    That hardly now would fell a mouse.\"\n\nTelfer first of all applied for assistance at Stobs Ha', evidently\nthinking that he had some special claim on \"Gibby Elliot,\" but he was\nunceremoniously turned from the door, and told to go to \"Branksome\" and\n\"seek his succour where he paid blackmail.\" When Buccleuch heard what had\ntaken place, he cried--\n\n  \"Gar warn the water, braid and wide,\n  Gar warn it sune and hastilie!\n  They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,\n  Let them never look in the face o' me!\"\n\n\nAuld Wat and his sons having also been informed of the Captain's raid,\nlost no time in getting out their steeds and hurrying after the English\nreiver. Over the hills, down near the Ritterford on the Liddel, the melee\nbegan. The Captain was determined to drive Jamie Telfer's kye into England\ndespite the opposition of the Scotts, but he was made to pay dearly for\nhis temerity.--\n\n  Then til't they gaed, wi' heart and hand,\n  The blows fell thick as bickering hail;\n  And mony a horse ran masterless,\n  And mony a comely cheek was pale.\n\nWillie Scott, the son of Buccleuch, was left dead on the field. When\nHarden saw him stretched on the ground \"he grat for very rage.\"--\n\n  \"But he's ta'en aff his gude steel cap,\n    And thrice he's waved it in the air--\n  The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white\n    Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair.\n\n  \"Revenge! revenge!\" Auld Wat 'gan cry;\n    \"Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!\n  We'll ne'er see Teviotside again,\n    Or Willie's death revenged sall be.\"\n\nThe conflict was speedily ended. The Captain of Bewcastle was badly\nwounded, and taken prisoner; his house was ransacked, his cattle driven\noff, and Jamie Telfer returned to the \"Fair Dodhead\" with thirty-three\ncows instead of ten.--\n\n  \"When they cam' to the fair Dodhead,\n    They were a wellcum sight to see!\n  For instead of his ain ten milk kye,\n    Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.\n\n  And he has paid the rescue shot,\n    Baith wi' goud and white monie:\n  And at the burial o' Willie Scott,\n    I wat was mony a weeping ee.\"\n\n\nThe eldest son of Wat of Harden was destined to become as famous as his\nfather, though in a different way. He had evidently, from what we learn of\nhim, inherited all the reiving tendencies of his race. But the difficulty\nof crossing the Border had been considerably increased. Buccleuch, the\nKeeper of Liddesdale, had changed his tactics. He had now begun to use his\nutmost endeavour to bring about a better understanding, and a better state\nof feeling, between the two countries. Willie Scott no doubt realised that\na raid on the English Border, though successful, might now get the whole\nfamily into serious trouble. But the kye \"were rowting on the loan and the\nlea,\" and something had to be done to augment the quickly vanishing herd.\nHe took into his confidence a farmer, who lived on the banks of the\nEttrick--William Hogg--well known as the \"Wild Boar of Fauldshope.\" This\nredoubtable reiver was a progenitor of the Ettrick Shepherd, whose family,\nit is said, possessed the lands of Fauldshope, under the Scotts of Harden,\nfor a period of 400 years. He was a man of prodigious strength, courage,\nand ferocity, and ever ready for the fray. For some reason or other he had\na strong antipathy to Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, the picturesque ruins\nof whose Castle may still be seen on the banks of the Tweed, a mile or two\nabove Ashiesteel. That young Harden could have no particular liking for\nhim is easily understood, as he was one of the men who had been\ncommissioned by the government to destroy Harden castle as a punishment\nfor the part taken by his father in the Raid of Falkland. Sir Gideon had a\nsplendid herd of cattle pasturing on the green slopes above the Tweed, and\nso Willie Scott resolved, with the assistance of his powerful coadjutor,\nto transfer as many of them as possible to his own pastures. The night was\nset, the expedition was carefully planned, and fortune seemed to smile\nupon the project. But--\n\n  The best laid schemes o' mice and men\n           Gang aft a glee.\n\nSome one was good enough to convey to Sir Gideon a hint of what was on\nfoot, and he at once took measures to give the thieves, when they came, a\nwarm reception. After a sharp encounter, Willie Scott was taken prisoner,\nand thrown into the dungeon of the Castle, with his hands and feet\nsecurely bound. He knew quite well the fate which awaited him on the\nmorrow. He would be led forth to the gallows, and there made to pay the\nforfeit of his life. A better lot, however, was in store for him. A good\nangel, in the person of Lady Murray, interfered on his behalf. She had\nbeen anxiously considering how she could save his life. Her plans were\nspeedily formed, and in the morning she ventured to lay them before her\nirate husband. As Hogg has humorously described the scene--\n\n  The lady o' Elibank raise wi' the dawn,\n    An' she waukened Auld Juden, an' to him did say,--\n  \"Pray, what will ye do wi' this gallant young man?\"\n    \"We'll hang him,\" quo Juden, \"this very same day.\"\n\n  \"Wad ye hang sic a brisk an' gallant young heir,\n    An' has three hamely daughters aye suffering neglect?\n  Though laird o' the best of the forest sae fair,\n    He'll marry the warst for the sake o' his neck.\n\n  \"Despise not the lad for a perilous feat;\n    He's a friend will bestead you, and stand by you still;\n  The laird maun hae men, an' the men maun hae meat,\n    An' the meat maun be had be the danger what will.\"\n\n\nThe plan thus suggested seemed feasable. It might really be the wisest\ncourse to pursue, at least so Sir Gideon was disposed to think, and no\ntime was lost in bringing the matter to an issue. Young Scott was at once\nbrought into the hall, the terms on which his life was to be spared were\nbriefly stated, and he was afforded an opportunity of seeing the young\nlady whom fortune had thus strangely thrown in his way. One glance\nsufficed. The features of Sir Gideon's daughter, known to fame as\n\"Muckle-mou'd Meg,\" were not attractive. The condemned culprit felt that\neven the gallows was preferable to such an objectionable matrimonial\nalliance.\n\n  \"Lead on to the gallows, then,\" Willie replied,\n    \"I'm now in your power, and ye carry it high;\n  Nae daughter of yours shall e'er lie by my side;\n    A Scott, ye maun mind, counts it naething to die.\"\n\nThese were brave words, bravely spoken. Sir Gideon, however, had made up\nhis mind as to the course he meant to pursue, and Willie Scott was at once\nled forth to make his acquaintance with the \"Hanging Tree.\" But when he\ndrew near and saw the fatal rope dangling in the wind, his courage began\nto fail him. The prospect was far from inviting, and he pled for a few\ndays respite to think on his sins, \"and balance the offer of freedom so\nkind.\" But the old laird was inexorable. He simply said to him, \"There is\nthe hangman, and there is the priest, make your choice.\" Thus driven to\nbay, Willie saw that further parleying would not avail, and so he thought\nhe had better make the best of a bad business. As he thought over the\nmatter, he began to discover certain traits in the young lady's person and\ncharacter of a more or less pleasing description. He concluded that,\nafter all, he might do worse than wed with the daughter of Elibank.--\n\n  \"What matter,\" quo' he, \"though her nose it be lang,\n    For noses bring luck an' it's welcome that brings.\n\n  There's something weel-faur'd in her soncy gray een,\n    But they're better than nane, and ane's life is sae sweet;\n  An' what though her mou' be the maist I hae seen,\n    Faith muckle-mou'd fok hae a luck for their meat.\"\n\n\nThus everything ended happily, and young Harden had cause to bless the day\nhe found himself at the mercy of Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank. Seldom,\nindeed, has Border reiver been so beneficently punished!\n\n  An' muckle guid bluid frae that union has flowed,\n    An' mony a brave fellow, an' mony a brave feat;\n  I darena just say they are a' muckle mou'd,\n    But they rather have still a guid luck for their meat.\n\n\nSuch is the tradition, as Hogg has given it in his humourous poem. It goes\nwithout saying that the poet has embellished and enlarged the story to\nsuit his own purposes. But the tradition has generally been regarded as\nhaving some considerable basis of fact. Satchells, in his History of the\nScotts, thus refers to Auld Wat of Harden and his famous son--\n\n  \"The stout and valiant Walter Scott\n  Of Harden who can never die,\n  But live by fame to the tenth degree;\n  He became both able, strong, and stout,\n  Married Philip's daughter, squire of Dryhope,\n  Which was an ancient family,\n  And many broad lands enjoyed he;\n  Betwixt these Scotts was procreat,\n  That much renowned Sir William Scott,\n  I need not to explain his name,\n  Because he ever lives by fame;\n  He was a man of port and rank,\n  He married Sir Gideon Murray's daughter of Elibank.\"\n\n\nThe fortunes of other famous reivers have formed the theme of many a\nstirring ballad. The so-called historical data on which many of these\nballads are professedly based, may often, no doubt, be truthfully\ndescribed as more imaginary than real, nevertheless the picture which the\nballadist has drawn is often deeply interesting, and subserves an\nimportant end by indicating the feeling with which these men and their\ndeeds were usually regarded.\n\nIn a history of Border reiving such side-lights as the ballads afford may\nbe profitably utilized.\n\nMaitland, in his celebrated poem on the Thieves of Liddesdale, makes\nallusion to a well known character who is known to fame as \"Jock o' the\nSyde.\" He was nephew to the \"Laird of Mangerton,\" and cousin to the\n\"Laird's Ain Jock,\" and had all the enthusiasm of his race for the calling\nto which the members of his clan seem to have devoted their somewhat\nremarkable talents.--\n\n  He never tyris\n  For to brek byris\n  Our muir and myris\n  Ouir gude ane guide.\n\nIt is said that he assisted the Earl of Westmoreland in his escape, after\nhis unfortunate insurrection with the Earl of Northumberland, in the\ntwelfth year of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. But according to the\nballadist his career, on one occasion, had well nigh terminated\ndisastrously. In the company of some of his friends he had made a raid\ninto Northumberland. Here he was taken prisoner by the warden, and thrown\ninto jail at Newcastle, there to \"bide his doom.\" He knew that he would\nnot have long to wait. Not much time was wasted in considering the various\nitems of the indictment, more especially when the accused was a well-known\nthief. \"Jeddart justice\" was not confined to the small burgh on the\nScottish Border. It was as popular, at that time, in England as anywhere\nelse, as many a Scottish reiver has known to his cost. The friends of the\nprisoner were fully aware that if he was to be saved from the gallows, not\none moment must be lost. A rescue party was speedily organized. The laird\nof Mangerton, accompanied by a few friends--the Laird's Jock, the Laird's\nWat, and the famous Hobbie Noble (an Englishman who had been banished from\nBewcastle)--started off for Newcastle with all speed, determined to bring\nthe prisoner back with them, quick or dead. To allay suspicion and avoid\ndetection, they shod their horses \"the wrang way\"--putting the tip of the\nshoe behind the frog--and arrayed themselves like country lads, or \"corn\ncaugers[104] ga'en the road.\" When they reached Cholerford, near Hexham,\nthey alighted and cut a tree--\"wi' the help o' the light o' the moon\"--on\nwhich were fifteen nogs or notches, by which they hoped \"to scale the wa'\no' Newcastle toun.\" But, as so often happened in like circumstances, this\nimprovised ladder was \"three ells too laigh.\" Such trifles, however,\nrarely ever proved disconcerting. The bold reivers at once determined to\nforce the gate. A stout porter endeavoured to drive them back, but--\n\n  \"His neck in twa the Armstrongs wrang;\n    Wi' fute or hand he ne'er played pa!\n  His life and his keys at once they hae ta'en,\n    And cast his body ahint the wa'.\"\n\n\nThe path being now clear they speedily made their way to the prison, where\nthey found their friend groaning under fifteen stones of Spanish iron\n(nothing short of this would have availed to keep a stark Scottish reiver,\nfed on oatmeal, within the confines of a prison cell), carried him off,\nirons and all, set him on a horse, with both feet on one side, and rode\noff with the fleetness of the wind in the direction of Liddesdale:\n\n  \"The night tho' wat, they didna mind,\n    But hied them on fu' merrilie,\n  Until they cam' to Cholerford brae,\n    Where the water ran like mountains hie.\"\n\n\nDashing into the stream they soon reached the opposite bank. The English,\nwho were in hot pursuit, when they reached the Tyne, which was rolling\nalong in glorious flood, durst not venture further. They were filled with\nchagrin when they saw the prisoner, loaded as he was with fifteen stones\nof good Spanish iron, safe on the other side. They had sustained a double\nloss. The prisoner was gone, and he had taken his valuable iron chains\nwith him. The land-sergeant, or warden's officer, taking in the situation\nat a glance, cried aloud--\n\n                             \"The prisoner take,\n  But leave the fetters, I pray, to me.\"\n\nTo which polite request the Laird's ain Jock replied--\n\n                           \"I wat weel no,\n  I'll keep them a'; shoon to my mare they'll be,\n  My gude bay mare--for I am sure,\n  She bought them a' right dear frae thee.\"\n\n\nNo Liddesdale reiver was ever likely to part with anything in a hurry,\nleast of all to give it up to an Englishman.\n\nThe Armstrongs, almost without exception, were noted thieves. They seem to\nhave possessed a rare genius for reiving. Their plans were generally so\nwell formed, and carried out with such a fine combination of daring and\ncunning, that the \"enemy\" almost invariably came off \"second best.\" One of\nthe last, and most noted of this reiving clan, was _William Armstrong_, a\nlineal descendant of the famous Johnie of Gilnockie, who was known on the\nBorders by the name of _Christie's Will_, to distinguish him from the\nother members of his family and clan. He flourished during the reign of\nCharles I., a circumstance which shows that moss-trooping did not\naltogether cease at the union of the Crowns. It is related that, on one\noccasion, Christie's Will had got into trouble, and was imprisoned in the\nTolbooth of Jedburgh. The Lord High Treasurer, the Earl of Traquair, who\nwas visiting in the district, was led to enquire as to the cause of his\nconfinement. The prisoner told him, with a pitiful expression of\ncountenance, that he had got into grief for stealing two _tethers_\n(halters). The eminent statesman was astonished to hear that such a\ntrivial offence had been so severely punished, and pressed him to say if\nthis was the only crime he had committed. He ultimately reluctantly\nacknowledged that there were two _delicate colts_ at the end of them! This\nbit of pleasantry pleased his lordship, and through his intercession the\nculprit was released from his imprisonment.\n\nIt was a fortunate thing for Lord Traquair that he acted as he did. A\nshort time afterwards he was glad to avail himself of the services of the\nman whom he had thus been the means of setting at liberty. The story is\none of the most romantic on record, and amply justifies the adage that\n\"truth is stranger than fiction.\" A case, in which the Earl was deeply\ninterested, was pending in the Court of Session. It was believed that the\njudgment would turn on the decision of the presiding judge, who has a\ncasting vote in the case of an equal division among his brethren. It was\nknown that the opinion of the president was unfavourable to Traquair; and\nthe point was, therefore, to keep him out of the way when the question\nshould be tried. In this dilemma the Earl had recourse to Christie's Will,\nwho at once offered his services to _kidnap_ the president. He discovered\nthat it was the judge's usual practice to take the air on horseback, on\nthe sands of Leith, without an attendant. One day he accosted the\npresident, and engaged him in conversation. His talk was so interesting\nand amusing that he succeeded in decoying him into an unfrequented and\nfurzy common, called the Frigate Whins, where, riding suddenly up to him,\nhe pulled him from his horse, muffled him in a large cloak which he had\nprovided, and rode off with the luckless judge trussed up behind him.\nHurrying across country as fast as his horse could carry him, by paths\nknown only to persons of his description, he at last deposited his heavy\nand terrified burden in an old castle in Annandale, called the Tower of\nGraham. The judge's horse being found, it was concluded he had thrown his\nrider into the sea; his friends went into mourning, and a successor was\nappointed to his office. Meanwhile the disconsolate president had a sad\ntime of it in the vault of the castle. His food was handed to him through\nan aperture in the wall, and never hearing the sound of human voice, save\nwhen a shepherd called his dog, by the name of _Batty_, and when a female\ndomestic called upon _Maudge_, the cat. These, he concluded, were\ninvocations of spirits, for he held himself to be in the dungeon of a\nsorcerer. The law suit having been decided in favour of Lord Traquair,\nChristie's Will was directed to set the president at liberty, three months\nhaving elapsed since he was so mysteriously spirited away from the sands\nat Leith. Without speaking a single word, Will entered the vault in the\ndead of night, again muffled up in the president's cloak, set him on a\nhorse, and rode off with him to the place where he had found him. The joy\nof his friends, and the less agreeable surprise of his successor, may be\nmore easily imagined than described, when the judge appeared in court to\nreclaim his office and honours. All embraced his own persuasion that he\nhad been spirited away by witchcraft; nor could he himself be convinced to\nthe contrary, until, many years afterwards, happening to travel in\nAnnandale, his ears were saluted once more with the sounds of _Maudge_ and\n_Batty_--the only notes which had reached him during his long confinement.\nThis led to the discovery of the whole story, but in those disorderly\ntimes it was only laughed at as a fair _ruse de guerre_.[105]\n\nThe victim of this extraordinary stratagem was Sir Alexander Gibson,\nbetter known as Lord Durie. He became a Lord of Session in 1621, and died\nin 1646, so that the incident here related must have taken place betwixt\nthese periods.\n\nThe version of this incident, given in the well, known ballad \"Christie's\nWill,\" if not so romantic as the foregoing, is certainly more amusing. The\nballadist represents Lord Traquair as \"sitting mournfullie,\" afraid lest\nthe vote of the Court of Session would make him bare at once of land and\nliving--\n\n  \"But if auld Durie to heaven were flown,\n    Or if auld Durie to hell were gane,\n  Or ... if he could be but ten days stoun ...\n    My bonnie braid lands would still be my ain.\n\n\nAt this juncture Christie's Will offers his services--\n\n  \"O, mony a time, my Lord,\" he said,\n    \"I've stown the horse frae the sleeping loun;\n  But for you I'll steal a beast as braid,\n    For I'll steal Lord Durie frae Edinburgh toun.\"\n\n  \"O, mony a time, my Lord,\" he said,\n    \"I've stown a kiss frae a sleeping wench;\n  But for you I'll do as kittle a deed,\n    For I'll steal an auld lurdane off the bench.\"\n\n  He lighted at Lord Durie's door,\n    And there he knocked maist manfullie;\n  And up and spake Lord Durie sae stour,\n    \"What tidings, thou stalwart groom, to me?\"\n\n  \"The fairest lady in Teviotdale,\n    Has sent, maist reverent sir, for thee.\n  She pleas at the Session for her land a' hail,\n    And fain she would plead her cause to thee.\"\n\n  \"But how can I to that lady ride\n    With saving of my dignitie?\"\n  \"O a curch and mantle ye may wear,\n    And in my cloak ye sall muffled be.\"\n\n  Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face,\n    He mounted the judge on a palfrey fyne;\n  He rode away, a right round pace,\n    And Christie's Will held the bridle reyne.\n\n  The Lothian Edge they were not o'er,\n    When they heard bugles bauldly ring,\n  And, hunting over Middleton Moor,\n    They met, I ween, our noble king.\n\n  When Willie looked upon our king,\n    I wot a frightened man was he!\n  But ever auld Durie was startled more,\n    For tyning of his dignitie.\n\n  The king he crossed himself, I wis,\n    When as the pair came riding bye--\n  \"An uglier croon, and a sturdier loon,\n    I think, were never seen with eye.\"\n\n  Willie has hied to the tower of Græme,\n    He took auld Durie on his back,\n  He shot him down to the dungeon deep,\n    Which garr'd his auld banes gae mony a crack.\n\n\n  The king has caused a bill be wrote,\n    And he has set it on the Tron--\n  \"He that will bring Lord Durie back\n    Shall have five hundred merks and one.\"\n\n  Traquair has written a braid letter,\n    And he has seal'd it wi' his seal,\n  \"Ye may let the auld Brock out o' the poke;\n    The land's my ain, and a's gane weel.\"\n\n  O Will has mounted his bony black,\n    And to the tower of Græme did trudge,\n  And once again, on his sturdy back,\n    Has he hente up the weary judge.\n\n  He brought him to the Council stairs,\n    And there full loudly shouted he,\n  \"Gie me my guerdon, my sovereign liege,\n    And take ye back your auld Durie!\"\n\n\nImportant as this service was, it was not the only one that Christie's\nWillie rendered to the Earl of Traquair. He was sent, on one occasion,\nwith important papers to Charles I., and received an answer to deliver,\nwhich he was strictly charged to place in the hands of his patron. \"But in\nthe meantime,\" says Sir Walter Scott, \"his embassy had taken air, and\nCromwell had despatched orders to entrap him at Carlisle. Christie's Will,\nunconscious of his danger, halted in the town to refresh his horse, and\nthen pursued his journey. But as soon as he began to pass the long, high,\nand narrow bridge that crosses the Eden at Carlisle, either end of the\npass was occupied by parliamentary soldiers, who were lying in wait for\nhim. The Borderer disdained to resign his enterprise, even in these\ndesperate circumstances; and at once forming his resolution, spurred his\nhorse over the parapet. The river was in high flood. Will sunk--the\nsoldiers shouted--he emerged again, and, guiding his horse to a steep\nbank, called the Stanners, or Stanhouse, endeavoured to land, but\nineffectually, owing to his heavy horseman's cloak, now drenched in water.\nWill cut the loop, and the horse, feeling himself disembarrassed, made a\ndesperate exertion, and succeeded in gaining the bank. Our hero set off,\nat full speed, pursued by the troopers, who had for a time stood\nmotionless in astonishment, at his temerity. Will, however, was well\nmounted; and, having got the start, he kept it, menacing with his pistols,\nany pursuer who seemed likely to gain on him--an artifice which succeeded,\nalthough the arms were wet and useless. He was chased to the river Esk,\nwhich he swam without hesitation, and, finding himself on Scottish ground,\nand in the neighbourhood of friends, he turned on the northern bank, and\nwith the true spirit of the Borderer, invited his followers to come\nthrough and drink with him. After this taunt he proceeded on his journey,\nand faithfully accomplished his mission.\"[106]\n\nIf Christie's Will may be regarded as the last Border freebooter of any\nnote, it is evident that the peculiar genius of the family to which he\nbelonged survived in full vigour to the end.\n\nBut the last of the Armstrongs who paid the penalty of death for his\nmisdeeds was _Willie of Westburnflat_. It is said that a gentleman of\nproperty, having lost twelve cows in one night, raised the country of\nTeviotdale, and traced the robbers into Liddesdale, as far as the house of\nWestburnflat. Fortunately, perhaps, for his pursuers, Willie was asleep\nwhen they came, and consequently without much difficulty they secured him,\nand nine of his friends. They were tried in Selkirk, and though the jury\ndid not discover any direct evidence against them to convict them of the\nspecial fact, they did not hesitate to bring in a verdict of guilty, on\nthe ground of their general character as \"notour thieves and limmers.\"\nWhen sentence was pronounced, Willie sprang to his feet, and laying hold\nof the oaken chair on which he had been sitting, broke it in pieces, and\ncalled on his companions who were involved in the same doom, to stand\nbehind him and he would fight his way out of Selkirk with these weapons.\nBut, strange to relate, they held his hands, and besought him to let them\n_die like Christians_. They were accordingly executed in due form of law.\nThis incident is said to have happened at the last circuit court held in\nSelkirk.[107]\n\nWillie Armstrong, as he stood under the gallows-tree, might appropriately\nhave sung the lines composed by _Ringan's Sandi_, a relative of his own,\nwho was executed for the murder of Sir John Carmichael, the warden of the\nMiddle Marches--\n\n  This night is my departing night,\n    For here nae langer must I stay;\n  There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,\n    But wishes me away.\n\n  What I have done through lack of wit,\n    I never, never can recall;\n  I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;\n    Good night, and joy be with you all!\n\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\nUNDER THE BAN.\n\n  The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,\n  He called for his candle, his bell, and his book!\n  In holy anger, and pious grief,\n  He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!\n  He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed;\n  From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head;\n  He cursed him in sleeping, that every night\n  He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright;\n  He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking,\n  He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking;\n  He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying;\n  He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying;\n  He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!\n  Never was heard such a terrible curse!\n  But what gave rise to no little surprise,\n  Nobody seemed one penny the worse.\n\n                                   THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS.\n\n\nAs might be expected, the existence of such an extraordinary phenomenon as\nBorder reiving did not escape the attention of the Church. Such a peculiar\nstate of affairs could not be regarded with favour, or treated with\nindifference. It may be said, no doubt, that the continued existence of\nsuch an abnormally lawless and chaotic condition of society on the Borders\nindicated that the ecclesiastical authorities were either singularly\ninept, or reprehensibly careless. Why was some attempt not made long\nbefore to curb the lawless spirit of the Border reivers? With the\nexception of the \"monition of cursing\" by Gavin Dunbar, Archbishop of\nGlasgow, little or nothing seems to have been done by the Church to stem\nthe tide of Border lawlessness.\n\nIn dealing, however, with this phase of the question, there are several\nconsiderations which ought to be borne in mind. First of all, it ought to\nbe remembered that while Border reiving was carried on with more or less\npersistence for some hundreds of years it did not attain really portentous\ndimensions till well on towards the close of the fifteenth century. Prior\nto the time of the Jameses, the two countries may be said to have been\nalmost constantly at war. Invasion followed invasion, on the one side and\non the other, with a kind of periodic regularity. From the time of James\nI., onwards to the union of the Crowns in 1603, such invasions, at least\non the same large and destructive scale, became less frequent; though, in\nthe intervals of peace, the Borderers kept themselves busy harassing and\ndespoiling each other. This period of comparative calm, it may be\nremarked, is also synchronous with the decadence of Romanism. From the\ntime of Queen Margaret, of pious memory, to the death of Robert III., the\nRomish Church enjoyed a period of signal prosperity. Abbeys and\nmonasteries, many of them buildings of great architectural beauty, were\nerected in different parts of the country, and became important centres of\nmoral and religious authority and influence. Whatever opinion may be\nentertained regarding Romanism, whether regarded from an ecclesiastical or\ntheological standpoint, the majority of fairly unprejudiced students will\nbe ready to admit that the system was, in many respects, admirably adapted\nto the circumstances of the country at that particular stage of its\ndevelopment. A strong hand was needed to curb and guide the lawless and\nturbulent factions of which the nation was composed. It is more than\ndoubtful if, under any other ecclesiastical system--bad as things\nwere--the same beneficent results would have been attained.\n\nBut powerful as the Romish Church was in the country, in the heyday of its\nprosperity, it never attained the same undisputed sway in Scotland which\nmarked its history in other countries, especially on the Continent. The\nreason of this is not difficult to discover, though it must be sought for\nfar back in the religious history of the people. The Celtic Church,\nfounded by St. Columba, was neither in doctrine nor polity exactly on\nRoman Catholic lines. It sought in the East rather than in the West, in\nEphesus rather than Rome, its ideals of worship and doctrine. Romanism\nsucceeded in establishing itself only after a long and arduous struggle.\nAnd when at last victory had been achieved, and the Church in Scotland\nhad been Romanized, it was discovered that while the form had changed, the\nspirit of the older Church still survived, and when occasion arose, made\nitself felt in no uncertain manner. There can be no question that the\ninfluence of the Celtic Church continued long after the Church itself had\npassed away. It is a noteworthy fact that neither the rulers of the\npeople, nor those over whom they exercised authority, were prepared to\nsubmit implicitly to the dictation of the Romish see. Their obedience to\nthe great temporal head of the Catholic religion was never either servile\nor unlimited. They were prepared to take their own way in many things,\ntreating often with much indifference the fulminations of their spiritual\nsuperiors. Many illustrations of this tendency may be found in the history\nof the country. On one occasion, for example, William the Lion appointed\nhis chaplain to the Bishopric of St. Andrews. An English monk was chosen\nby the Chapter to the same office, and thus a complete deadlock was\nbrought about. What was to be done? The ecclesiastical authorities\nappealed to the Pope, who was indignant when he learned that the authority\nof the Church was being thus rudely trampled upon. He conferred legatine\npowers on the Archbishop of York, and the Bishop of Durham, to \"direct the\nthunder of excommunication\" against the King in the event of contumacy.\nBut notwithstanding the extreme gravity of the situation the King\nstubbornly refused to yield. He not only set the papal authority at\ndefiance, but he banished from the country those who dared to yield to the\npapal favourite.\n\nThis is not, by any means, an isolated instance of stubborn and successful\nresistance to the authority of the Church. The same thing, in other\ncircumstances, occurred again and again, with the result that the terrors\nof excommunication ceased to be dreaded.\n\nThis, of course, was especially the case during the decadent period of the\nCatholic _regime_. There are numerous indications in the literature of the\nfifteenth and sixteenth centuries of this weakening of the ecclesiastical\nauthority. The picture which Sir David Lindsay has drawn of the condition\nof the Church at this period is no mere spiteful exaggeration, but may be\naccepted as substantially accurate. Nothing could well more clearly\nindicate how thoroughly the Church had failed to keep in touch with the\nintellectual life of the nation, or guide and control its moral and\nspiritual activities.\n\nIt was during this period of weakness, almost of total moral collapse,\nthat the Archbishop of Glasgow took it upon him to excommunicate the\nBorder thieves. Had the same vigorous measure been adopted at an earlier\nperiod, the result might have been more favourable. As it was, the\nlaunching of this ecclesiastical thunderbolt really created more\namusement than consternation. It was regarded simply as the growl of a\ntoothless lion. In no circumstances were the Border reivers easily\nintimidated. Their calling had made them more or less indifferent to the\nclaims alike of Church and State. They had never had much affection for\nthe king, and they had, perhaps, still less for the priest. Having shaken\nthemselves free, to a large extent at least, from the control of the\nState, they were not prepared to put their neck under the yoke of an\necclesiastical authority which even the best men of the age had ceased to\nvenerate. But the Archbishop felt that he had a duty to discharge, and he\napplied himself to the task with commendable vigour. It may be well to\nexplain that there are two forms of excommunication--_excommunicatio\nmajor_ and _excommunicatio minor_. The former mode of excommunication is\none of which we in these days happily know nothing, as it can only be\neffectively carried out with the approval and assistance of the State,\nwhich in modern times would never be granted. But the latter form is still\ncommon. It has been retained in the Church as a point of discipline, or,\nto use a well known and significant theological phrase, as a _poena\nmedicinalis_. The major excommunication was a frightful weapon, and might\nwell be dreaded. Those who suffered the greater excommunication were\nexcluded from the Mass, from burial in consecrated ground, from\necclesiastical jurisdiction, and practically from all intercourse with\ntheir fellow Christians. They were, in short, handed over body and soul to\nthe devil.\n\nThe \"Monition of Cursing,\" issued by the Archbishop of Glasgow against the\nBorder thieves, was ordered to be read from every pulpit in the diocese,\nand circulated throughout the length and breadth of the Borders. It is a\ncurious document, and will, doubtless, be read with interest, if not with\nprofit. It was expressed in the following terms:--\n\n\"GUDE FOLKS, heir at my Lord Archibischop of Glasgwis letters under his\nround sele, direct to me or any uther chapellane, makand mensioun, with\ngreit regrait, how hevy he beris the pietous, lamentabill, and dolorous\ncomplaint that pass our all realme and cummis to his eris, be oppin voce\nand fame, how our souverane lordis trew liegis, men, wiffis and barnys,\nbocht and redemit be the precious blude of our Salviour Jhesu Crist, and\nlevand in his lawis, ar saikleslie[108] part murdrist, part slayne, brynt,\nheryit, spulzeit and reft, oppinly on day licht and under silens of the\nnicht, and thair takis[109] and landis laid waist, and thair self banyst\ntherfra, als wele kirklandis as utheris, be commoun tratouris,\nrevaris,[110] theiffis, duelland in the south part of this realme, sic as\nTevidale, Esdale, Liddisdale, Ewisdale, Nedisdale, and Annanderdaill;\nquhilkis hes bene diverse ways persewit and punist be the temperale swerd\nand our Soverane Lordis auctorite, and dredis nocht the samyn.\n\n\"And thairfoir my said Lord Archibischop of Glasgw hes thocht expedient to\nstrike thame with the terribill swerd of halykirk, quhilk thai may nocht\nlang endur and resist; and hes chargeit me, or any uther chapellane, to\ndenounce, declair and proclame thaim oppinly and generalie cursit, at this\nmarketcroce, and all utheris public places.\n\n\"Heirfor throw the auctorite of Almichty God, the Fader of hevin, his Son,\nour Salviour, Jhesu Crist, and of the Halygaist; throw the auctorite of\nthe Blissit Virgin Sanct Mary, Sanct Michael, Sanct Gabriell, and all the\nangellis; Sanct John the Baptist, and all the haly patriarkis and\nprophets; Sanct Peter, Sanct Paull, Sanct Andro, and all haly appostillis;\nSanct Stephin, Sanct Laurence, and all haly mertheris[111]; Sanct Gile,\nSanct Martyn, and all haly confessouris; Sanct Anne, Sanct Katherin, and\nall haly virginis and matronis; and of all the sanctis and haly cumpany of\nhevin; be the auctorite of our Haly Fader the Paip and his cardinalis, and\nof my said Lord Archibischop of Glasgw, be the avise and assistance of my\nlordis, archibischop, bischopis, abbotis, priouris, and utheris prelatis\nand ministeris of halykirk, I DENOUNCE, PROCLAMIS, and DECLARIS all and\nsindry the committaris of the said saikles murthris, slauchteris,\nbrinying, heirschippes, reiffis, thiftis, and spulezeis, oppinly apon day\nlicht and under silence of nicht, alswele within temporale landis as\nkirklandis; togither with thair part takaris, assistaris, supplearis,\nwittandlie resettaris of thair personis, the gudes reft and stollen be\nthaim, art or part thereof, and their counsalouris and defendouris, of\nthair evil dedis generalie cursit, waryit,[112] aggregeite, and\nreaggregeite, with the greit cursing.\n\n\"I CURSE thair heid and all the haris of thair heid; I CURSE thair face,\nthair ene, thair mouth, thair neise, thair toung, thair teith, thair crag,\nthair schulderis, thair breist, thair hert, thair stomok, thair bak, thair\nwame, thair armes, thair leggis, thair handis, thair feit, and everilk\npart of thair body, frae the top of thair heid to the soill of thair feit,\nbefoir and behind, within and without. I CURSE thaim gangand, and I CURSE\nthaim rydand; I CURSE thaim standand, and I CURSE thaim sittand; I CURSE\nthaim etand, I CURSE thaim drinkand; I CURSE thaim walkand,[113] I CURSE\nthaim sleepand; I CURSE thaim rysand, I CURSE thaim lyand; I CURSE thaim\nat hame, I CURSE thaim fra hame; I CURSE thaim within the house, I CURSE\nthaim without the house; I CURSE thair wiffis, thair banris, and thair\nservandis participand with thaim in thair deides. I WARY[114] thair\ncornys, thair catales, thair woll, thair scheip, thair horse, thair swyne,\nthair geise, thair hennys, and all thair quyk gude.[115] I WARY thair\nhallis, thair chalmeris, thair kechingis, thair stabillis, thair barnys,\nthair biris, thair bernyardis, thair cailyardis, thair plewis, thair\nharrowis, and the gudis and housis that is necessair for thair\nsustentatioun and weilfair. All the malesouns and waresouns[116] that ever\ngat warldlie creatur sen the begynnyng of the warlde to this hour mot\nlicht apon thaim. The maledictioun of God, that lichtit apon Lucifer and\nall his fallowis, that strak thaim frae the hie hevin to the deip hell,\nmot licht apon thaim. The fire and the swerd that stoppit Adam fra the\nyettis of Paradise, mot stop thaim frae the gloir of Hevin, quhill[117]\nthai forbere and mak amendis. The malesoun that lichtit on cursit Cayein,\nquhen he slew his bruther just Abell saiklessly, mot licht on thaim for\nthe saikles slauchter that thai commit dailie. The maledictioun that\nlichtit apon all the warlde, man and beist, and all that ever tuk life,\nquhen all wes drownit be the flude of Noye, except Noye and his ark, mot\nlicht apon thame and droune thame, man and beist, and mak this realm\ncummirles[118] of thame for thair wicket synnys. The thunnour and\nfireflauchtis[119] that [Greek: x]et doun as rane apon the cities of\nZodoma and Gomora, with all the landis about, and brynt thame for thair\nvile synnys, mot rane apon thame, and birne thaim for oppin synnys. The\nmalesoun and confusioun that lichtit on the Gigantis for thair oppressioun\nand pride, biggand the tour of Babiloun, mot confound thaim and all thair\nwerkis, for thair oppin reiffs and oppressioun. All the plagis that fell\napon Pharao and his pepill of Egipt, thair landis, corne and cataill, mot\nfall apon thaim, thair takkis, rowmys[120] and stedingis, cornys and\nbeistis. The watter of Tweid and utheris watteris quhair thai ride mot\ndroun thaim, as the Reid Sey drownit King Pharao and his pepil of Egipt,\npersewing Godis pepill of Israell. The erd mot oppin, riffe and\ncleiff,[121] and swelly thaim quyk[122] to hell, as it swellyit cursit\nDathan and Abiron, that ganestude Moeses and the command of God. The wyld\nfyre that byrnt Thore and his fallowis to the nowmer of twa hundreth and\nfyty, and utheris 14,000 and 700 at anys, usurpand aganis Moyses and\nAraon, servandis of God, mot suddanely birne and consume thaim dailie\nganestandand the commandis of God and halykirk. The maledictioun that\nlichtit suddanely upon fair Absolon, rydand contrair his fader, King\nDavid, servand of God, throw the wod, quhen the branchis of ane tre\nfred[123] him of his horse and hangit him be the hair, mot licht apon\nthaim, rydand agane trewe Scottis men, and hang thaim siclike that all the\nwarld may se. The maledictioun that lichtit apon Olifernus, lieutenant to\nNabogodonoser, makand weir and heirschippis apon trew cristin [_sic_] men;\nthe maledictioun that lichtit apon Judas, Pylot, Herod, and the Jowis that\ncrucifyit Our Lord, and all the plagis and trublis that lichtit on the\ncitte of Jherusalem thairfor, and upon Symon Magus for his symony, bludy\nNero, cursit Ditius Makcensius, Olibruis, Julianus, Apostita and the laiff\nof the cruell tirrannis that slew and murthirit Cristis haly servandis,\nmot licht apon thame for thair cruell tiranny and murthirdome of cristin\npepill. And all the vengeance that ever wes takin sen the warlde began for\noppin synnys, and all the plagis and pestilence that ever fell on man or\nbeist, mot fall on thaim for thair oppin reiff, saiklesse slauchter and\nschedding of innocent blude. I DISSEVER and PAIRTIS thaim fra the kirk of\nGod, and deliveris thaim quyk to the devill of hell, as the Apostill Sanct\nPaull deliverit Corinthion. I INTERDITE the places thay cum in fra divine\nservice, ministracioun of the sacramentis of halykirk, except the\nsacrament of baptissing allanerllie;[124] and forbiddis all kirkmen to\nschriffe or absolve thaim of thaire synnys, quhill[125] they be first\nabsolyeit of this cursing. I FORBID all cristin man or woman till have\nony cumpany with thaime, etand, drynkand, spekand, prayand, lyand,\ngangand, standand, or in any uther deid doand, under the paine of deidly\nsyn. I DISCHARGE all bandis, actis, contractis, athis, and obligatiounis\nmade to thaim be ony persounis, outher of lawte,[126] kyndenes or manrent,\nsalang as thai susteine this cursing; sua that na man be bundin to thaim,\nand that thai be bundin till all men. I TAK fra thame and cryis doune all\nthe gude dedis that ever thai did or sall do, quhill thai ryse frae this\ncursing. I DECLARE thaim partles[127] of all matynys, messis, evinsangis,\ndirigeis or utheris prayeris, on buke or beid; of all pilgrimagis and\nalmouse dedis done or to be done in halykirk or be cristin pepill,\nenduring this cursing.\n\n\"And, finally, I CONDEMN thaim perpetualie to the deip pit of hell, to\nremain with Lucifeir and all his fallowis, and thair bodeis to the\ngallowis of the Burrow Mure, first to be hangit, syne revin and ruggit\nwith doggis, swyne and utheris wyld beists, abhominable to all the warld.\nAnd thir candillis gangis frae your sicht, as mot[128] thair saulis gang\nfra the visage of God, and thair gude fame fra the warld, quhill thai\nforbeir thair oppin synnys foirsaidis and ryse frae this terribill\ncursing, and mak satisfaction and pennance.\"[129]\n\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\nTHE TRIUMPH OF LAW.\n\n  'Tis clear a freebooter doth live in hazard's train,\n  A freebooter's a cavalier that ventures life for gain,\n  But since King James the Sixth to England went,\n  There's been no cause of grief or discontent,\n  And he that hath transgressed the law since then,\n  Is no freebooter but a thief from men.\n\n                                   SATCHELL.\n\n\nWhen we turn our attention to the study of the causes which ultimately\nresulted in the abolition of Border reiving, we find that this desirable\nend was brought about, to a considerable extent at least, by a change of\nenvironment. Conditions were gradually created which made the old system\nnot only undesirable, but unnecessary, both from a political and economic\npoint of view. An important step was taken when Buccleuch, at the\ninstigation of \"the powers that be,\" drafted off large numbers of the\n\"broken men\" to the Belgic wars. In the campaigns which were then being\nconducted in the Low Countries, these hardy, valiant Borderers no doubt\ngave a good account of themselves; but, so far as can be ascertained, few\nof them ever returned to \"tell the tale.\" Still more drastic measures\nwere adopted in order to get rid of the Græmes, who inhabited the\nDebateable land, and whose depredations had provoked a bitter feeling of\nresentment on both sides of the Border. It seemed hopeless to expect any\nimprovement in their habits so long as they were allowed to remain where\nthey were, and so they were banished from the country, shipped across the\nchannel to the Emerald Isle, where it is to be hoped they found a\ncongenial sphere, and sufficient scope for their abilities. Perhaps in\ncourse of time they settled down to a more orderly, if less exciting, mode\nof life than that to which they had hitherto been accustomed.\n\nBut, notwithstanding the removal of these lawless men from the Borders, it\nwas found that those who had been left at home were either unwilling or\nunable to abandon their reiving habits. The disease had long been chronic,\nand those responsible for the government of the country began to realise\nthat the cure was not to be effected in any instantaneous fashion. Time\nand patience were alike necessary in order to the successful\naccomplishment of the end desiderated. The task of restoring order, more\nespecially in the Liddesdale district, was committed to the able hands of\nthe \"Bold Buccleuch.\" When he returned from abroad he was invested with\nthe most arbitrary powers to execute justice on the malefactors, and he\nwent about his work in the most resolute and business-like manner. Well\nknown thieves were apprehended and immediately put to death. There were no\nprisons to lodge them in, and as it would have been, in most cases, a\nsheer waste of time to subject them to any form of trial--most of them\nbeing well known depredators who gloried in their crimes--they were\nexecuted without ceremony. In this way large numbers of the worst\ncharacters were disposed of, and a wholesome fear created in the minds of\nthose who were fortunate enough to escape the gallows. If Buccleuch, in\nhis rash and impetuous youth, was responsible for much of the mischief\ndone on the Borders, he amply atoned for his indiscretions by the splendid\nservices he now rendered to the State in suppressing lawlessness, and\ninaugurating, in this distracted region, the reign of law and order. His\nname will remain indissolubly associated with one of the most eventful and\nstirring periods in Border history, and we feel certain that the fame of\nhis prowess will not suffer from a more minute acquaintance with the\nvaried incidents of his remarkable career.\n\nBut the main factors in the social and moral regeneration of the Borders\nwere--\n\n     (1) The Union of the Crowns.\n\n     (2) The Planting of Schools.\n\n     (3) The Restoration of the Church.\n\n\nThis order may not represent, and we do not think it does represent, the\nrelative value of the influences which produced the radical and\nsignificant change which now took place in the habits and life of the\npeople on both sides of the Border. But it will best suit our purpose to\nconsider these agencies in the order stated.\n\nFor a period of wellnigh four hundred years it had been the ambition of\nsuccessive English monarchs to reduce Scotland to a state of vassalage.\nFrom the time of Edward this object was never altogether lost sight of.\nAgain and again the project seemed on the eve of accomplishment, but some\nuntoward event always occurred to render the scheme abortive. Doubtless,\nhad the union of the Crowns taken place at an earlier period, both\ncountries would have escaped some unpleasant and regrettable experiences.\nThere can be no doubt that the hostility which marked the relationships of\nthe two nations, had--at least from an economic point of view--an\ninjurious effect on the people of Scotland. Industry in all its branches\nwas crippled by the constant turmoil which prevailed. The Scottish kings,\nmoreover, were \"cribb'd, cabin'd, confin'd\" by the ambitions and\njealousies of a turbulent and factious nobility, who, in their relations\nto the State, were too frequently dominated by unpatriotic and selfish\nmotives. Had it been possible for the sovereign to lay a strong hand on\nhis nobles, and compel them to pay more regard to imperial interests than\nto their own private ends and petty jealousies, all might have been well.\nBut such a course was often practically impossible. The barons were all\npowerful within their own domain, and when it served their purposes they\nseldom hesitated even to usurp the authority of the king. This abnormal\ncondition of affairs made the government of the country a matter of\nextreme difficulty, and gave rise to endless trouble and vexation. No\ndoubt it may legitimately be argued that, painful as this state of matters\nundoubtedly was, it was after all better that the Scottish nation should\nhave retained its independence, with all the drawbacks attaching thereto,\nthan that it should have conceded the demand of England for annexation.\nThe difficulties of the situation were the making of the people. This may\nbe frankly admitted. But, at the same time, it was a good thing for the\ncountry when at last the Scottish king ascended the English throne, and\nbecame the ruler of both nations. A new era was thus inaugurated, an era\nof progressive wellbeing in nearly every department of national life.\n\nIt is worthy of note that, for a few years before James succeeded to the\nthrone of England, his feeling towards the Scottish Borderers had become\nconsiderably modified. Whether this was due to the influence of the\nreproachful letters on the state of the Borders addressed to him by\nElizabeth, or to the additional subsidy of £2000 per annum, now guaranteed\nto him out of the English exchequer, is a question about which there may,\nlegitimately, be difference of opinion. In any case he now saw that it\nwould be advantageous, from a personal as well as from a national point of\nview, to curb as far as he possibly could the lawless propensities of the\nreiving fraternity. In so doing he was wisely anticipating the time when\nhe would be responsible for good rule on both sides of the Border. It may\nthus be said that even the prospect of the union of the Crowns under James\nhad a beneficial effect. Coming events cast their shadows before. It led\nto the adoption of a wiser policy in regard to this particular part of the\nrealm, with the result that for some years prior to 1603, a noticeable\nimprovement had taken place in Border affairs. The wardens had become more\nanxious than before to discharge the duties of their high office with\nimpartiality, and to use their utmost endeavour to restrain the more\nlawless spirits among the clansmen over whom they exercised authority.\nCrime was at once more expeditiously and severely punished. A firm hand\nwas laid on the ringleaders in Border strife; and though these men were\nnot easily daunted, and chafed bitterly under the restraints laid upon\nthem by those in authority, yet they were soon made to realise that a new\nspirit was being infused into the administration, and that in consequence\nreiving was becoming an increasingly difficult and perilous business. But\ngreat social revolutions are not brought about in a day; and, as we shall\nsee, it was long ere the Borders settled down into their present normal\ncondition.\n\nWhen James ascended the throne of England, the change which had been\nsilently taking place in the management of Border affairs became at once\nmore marked and widespread. The effect of this event was unmistakable in\nevery department of the national life. It created, no doubt, considerable\nbitterness and jealousy in certain sections of society in England, as it\nwas believed that the King was unduly partial to his own countrymen in the\nbestowment of his favours. This was certainly not the case, as James was\nfar more anxious to conciliate his English subjects than to favour his\nnative land. It would have been well for him, and his successors in\noffice, had he discharged his duty to Scotland with less regard to English\nprejudices.\n\nHe was determined, however, at all hazards to suppress Border reiving. Ten\ndays after his arrival in London he issued a proclamation requiring all\nthose guilty of _the foul and insolent outrages_ lately committed on the\nBorders, to submit themselves to his mercy before the twentieth of June,\nunder penalty of being excluded from it for ever. Two days after this\nproclamation had been made he emitted another, declaring his fixed\nresolution to accomplish the union of the two realms; in consequence of\nwhich, the bounds possessed by the rebellious Borderers should no more be\nthe _extremities_ but the _middle_, and the inhabitants thereof reduced to\na perfect obedience. He said that he had found in the hearts of his best\ndisposed subjects of both realms, a most earnest desire for this union;\nand he undertook, with the advice and consent of the Estates of both\nParliaments, to bring it about. In the meantime he declared that he\nconsidered the two kingdoms _as presently united_; and required his\nsubjects to view them in the same light, and in consequence thereof, to\nabstain from mutual outrages and injuries of whatever kind, under the\npenalty of his highest displeasure and of suffering the strictest rigour\nof justice.[130]\n\nIn pursuance of this policy, and in order to extinguish all past\nhostilities between his kingdoms, the King prohibited the name of\n_Borders_ any longer to be used, substituting in its place the name\n_Middleshires_. He also ordered all the places of strength, with the\nexception of the habitations of noblemen and barons, to be demolished;\ntheir iron gates to be converted into ploughshares; and the inhabitants\nwere enjoined to betake themselves to agriculture and other works of\npeace.\n\nBut these severe measures, accompanied as they were by the summary\nexecution of large numbers of the worst characters on the Borders, who, as\nwe have seen, were sent to the gallows without ceremony, would not have\nbeen sufficient of themselves to eradicate the evil. More potent\ninfluences, however, were brought into operation. The law was now\nadministered, not spasmodically as before, but with a continuity and\nimpartiality hitherto unknown and unattainable. It was the interest of the\nKing and of the Government to repress disorder, to punish the lawless and\ndisobedient, and to establish order and good rule throughout both\nkingdoms; and the consequence was that, in course of time, the Border\nreivers were made to realise that they must, perforce, abandon their old\nhabits and betake themselves to a new mode of life. This desirable end was\nnot attained without difficulty. Border reiving did not altogether cease\nfor nearly a hundred years after the union of the Crowns; but the\nbeginning of the seventeenth century inaugurated the period of its\ndecline.\n\n\"The succession of James to the Crown of England,\" Ridpath remarks, \"and\nboth kingdoms thus devolving on one sovereign, was an event fruitful of\nblessing to each nation. The Borders, which for many ages had been almost\na constant scene of rapine and devastation, enjoyed, from this happy era,\na quiet and order which they had never before experienced; and the island\nof Britain derived from the union of the two Crowns, a tranquility and\nserenity hitherto unknown, and was enabled to exert its whole native\nforce. National prejudices, and a mutual resentment, owing to a series of\nwars betwixt the kingdoms, carried on for centuries, still however\nsubsisted, and disappointed James' favourite scheme of an entire and\nindissoluble union. From the same source also arose frequent disputes and\nfeuds upon the Marches, which by the attention of the sovereign were soon\nand easily composed; and are not of moment enough to merit a particular\nrelation. But it required almost a hundred years, though England and\nScotland were governed all the time by a succession of the same princes,\nto wear off the jealousies and prepossessions of the formerly hostile\nnations, and to work such a change in their tempers and views, as to admit\nof an incorporating and an effectual union.\"[131]\n\nBut another and most important agent in the pacification and social\nregeneration of the Borders was the development, under the fostering care\nof the Church, of what is known as the Parochial system of education. The\nRoman Catholic Church in earlier times was not, as has sometimes been\nerroneously supposed, inimical to the intellectual culture of the nation.\nIn its palmy days it undertook the work of educating the people with an\nenthusiasm which commands the respect of most unbiased students of our\nnational history.\n\nIn this respect the monasteries, especially, rendered important services\nto the community. Long before the Reformation there were at least three\nclasses of schools in Scotland--the \"Sang Schools,\" connected with the\nCathedrals or more important Churches--the \"Grammar Schools,\" which were\nfounded in the principal burghs in the country--and the \"Monastic\nSchools,\" which were, as the name implies, connected with the monasteries.\n\"The interest in education,\" says Prof. Story, \"which had distinguished\nthe Columban Church, was not seriously impaired by its amalgamation with\nthe Church of Rome. It survived in active force, and before the foundation\nof any of the existing public schools of England (the oldest of which is\nWinchester, founded in 1387), we find the charge of the schools of\nRoxburghshire intrusted in 1241 to the monks of Kelso, over whom was an\nofficial called 'The Rector of the Schools.'\"[132]\n\nBut for a considerable period prior to the Reformation, the interest of\nthe Roman Catholic Church in education, as well as in regard to the moral\nand spiritual well-being of the people, had become enfeebled. The\nmonasteries had ceased to be, what they were in earlier times, centres of\ngracious intellectual and spiritual influence. And nowhere was this more\nconspicuously the case than on the Borders. The lawlessness of the clans\nreacted on the life of the Church, and instead of the Church overcoming\nthe malign and disintegrating influences by which it was assailed, it was\nunhappily overcome by them. Education in all its branches was shamefully\nneglected. The most eminent barons in the land were often unable even to\nwrite their own names. When they were under the necessity of adhibiting\ntheir signatures to deed or charter, the pen had to be guided by the hand\nof the notary. In these circumstances it is not difficult to imagine how\ndensely ignorant the great body of the people must have been.\n\nWhatever may be said for or against the Reformation, there will be a\ngeneral consensus of opinion, among educationists especially, that the\nscheme propounded by John Knox for the education of the people is in many\nrespects an ideal one. It is thus outlined in the Book of Discipline:--\"Of\nnecessitie therefore we judge it, that every several kirk have one\nschoolmaister appointed, such a one at least as is able to teach grammar\nand the Latin tongue, if the town be of any reputation. If it be upland\nwhere the people convene to the doctrine but once in the week, then must\neither the reader or the minister there appointed take care of the\nchildren and youth of the parish, to instruct them in the first\nrudiments, especially in the Catechism [Calvin's Catechism] as we have it\nnow translated in the Book of Common Order, called the Order of Geneva.\nAnd furder, we think it expedient, that in every notable town, and\nspecially in the town of the superintendent, there be erected a Colledge,\nin which the arts, at least logick and rhetorick, together with the\ntongues, be read by sufficient masters, for whom honest stipends must be\nappointed. As also that provision be made for those that be poore, and not\nable by themselves nor by their friends to be sustained at letters, and in\nspecial these that come from landward.\"[133]\n\nUnfortunately, owing to the rapacity of the nobles, this splendid scheme\nof national education was not carried out in its entirety. But though the\nenlightened views which the Reformers thus endeavoured to impress both\nupon the Parliament and the country were not so heartily and widely\nadopted as they should have been, a beginning was made in the\nestablishment of parochial schools, and by this means the benefits of\neducation were brought within the reach of the great body of the people.\nIt has been justly remarked that if the counsel of the Reformers had been\nfollowed, no country in the world would have been so well supplied as\nScotland with the means of extending the benefits of a liberal education\nto every man capable of intellectual improvement.\n\nThe state of the Borders, however, for at least fifty years after the\nReformation, was such as to make it difficult in some places, and all but\nimpossible in others, to establish and maintain parochial schools. But in\ncourse of time, as things began to improve, owing to the more systematic\nand impartial administration of the law, the work of training the youth of\nthe district was entered upon with energy and enthusiasm. The beneficial\nresults of the new regime in matters educational soon became apparent.\nCrime steadily decreased. The old reiving habits were gradually, if with\ndifficulty, abandoned, and increased attention was given to the peaceful\npursuits of agriculture and other industries; and out of the social chaos\nwhich had so long been a notorious feature of Border life, a healthy,\nvigorous, law-abiding community was evolved.\n\nBut the most potent factor in the pacification and moral regeneration of\nthe Borders was the influence and teaching of the Church. The religious\ncondition of the people in this part of the country, both before and after\nthe Reformation, can only be described as utterly deplorable. The fierce\nfighting Border clans had practically broken with institutional religion\nin all its forms. It is frequently said of them, and not without good\nreason, that they feared neither God nor man. They delighted in robbing\nand burning churches, and held both priest and presbyter in high disdain.\nJohnie Armstrong of Gilnockie is credited with having destroyed, during\nthe course of his career, no fewer than fifty-two parish churches. The\npicture of the religious condition of the Borders, as reflected in the\nState Papers, is well fitted to awaken painful reflections. Eure, for\nexample, in a letter addressed to Queen Elizabeth, in the year 1596,\nsays:--\"Another most grievous decay is the 'want of knowledge of God,'\nwhereby the better sort forget oath and duty, let malefactors go without\nevidence, and favour a partie belonging to them or their friends. The\nchurches mostly ruined to the ground, ministers and preachers 'comfortless\nto come and remain where such heathenish people are,' so there are neither\nteachers nor taught.\"[134] In a still more doleful strain the Bishop of\nDurham describes the irreligious condition of the Borders. \"Diverse\npersons,\" he says, \"under pretext of danger to their persons, and some\nthrough a careless regard of their conscience toward their flocks, besides\nalso other out of a continual corruption of their patrons, turn residence\ninto absence, whereby the people are almost totally negligent and ignorant\nof the truth professed by us, and so the more subject to every subtile\nseducer.\"[135] So completely, indeed, had religious teaching fallen into\nabeyance that one writer even goes the length of affirming that \"many die,\nand cannot say the Lord's Prayer.\"[136]\n\nThe Commission appointed to inquire into the state of affairs on the\nBorders, after the breaking of Carlisle castle by Buccleuch, and to\ndiscover, if possible, some remedy for the clamant evils which prevailed,\nsuggested in the first paragraph of their report \"that ministers be\nplanted at every Border Church to inform the lawless people of their duty,\nand watch over their manners--the principals of each parish giving their\nprime surety for due reverence to the pastor in his office; the said\nchurches to be timely repaired.\"[137]\n\nThe propriety and wisdom of this deliverance will not be seriously\nquestioned by those who have some knowledge of the motives and principles\nby which human life is moulded and governed. Religion is the bulwark of\nsociety and the State--the necessary condition alike of their existence\nand wellbeing. It was therefore clearly perceived by those responsible for\nthe social and moral wellbeing of this much distracted region that some\neffective measures must be adopted to revive the religious life of the\npeople. The task was none of the easiest. Ruined churches had to be\nrestored; ministers had to be found, and \"honest stipends\" provided; and\nthe community from an ecclesiastical point of view reorganized. And, as\nmight be expected, the changes contemplated were not easily or quickly\neffected. Old habits are not readily abandoned, and consequently it took\nmany years to raise the general religious life of the Borders to the level\nof that of other districts of the country where the conditions, to begin\nwith, were more favourable. Even in the beginning of the eighteenth\ncentury, when that renowned minister, the Rev. Thomas Boston, began his\npastorate in Ettrick, the state of matters from a religious point of view\nwas such as might well have appalled the stoutest heart. His parishioners\nwere rude and lawless to a degree. We are told that on Sundays some of\nthem went, not to church, but to the churchyard, and tried to drown the\nvoice of the preacher by producing all sorts of discordant sounds; and\neven those who ventured within the walls ostensibly to worship, would rise\nup during the service with \"rude noise and seeming impatience,\" and leave\nthe building. The condition of this parish--and others in the district\nwere probably not much better--has been not inaptly described as \"an\nunploughed field covered with tangled weeds and thorns, and sheltering\nmany foul creatures.\" But the morals of the people, under the influence of\nthe faithful ministrations of Boston, were gradually reformed, and the\ndesert was made to bud and blossom like the rose. And what was effected\nin this particular district may be taken as a fair sample of the good work\naccomplished by the Church throughout the whole length of the Borders. Its\ninfluence was potent and far-reaching, and mighty to the pulling down of\nthe strongholds of evil. \"How did it happen,\" says a modern writer, \"that\nthe raiding and reiving race which inhabited the Borders became so\npeaceful and law-abiding? That were a long tale to tell, but the credit of\nit belongs to those preachers Sir Walter was too superfine and cavalier to\nunderstand. In this work his own great-grandfather, for nineteen years the\nfaithful and diligent minister of Yarrow, bore his own part, and, though\nthe great-grandson owed his genius to his mother, the minister's\ngrand-daughter, he failed to appreciate the most characteristic treasure\nof his inheritance. He remembered that Richard Cameron--founder of the\nCameronians, sternest of Presbyterian sects--was once chaplain to the\nHarden Scotts, but he could see no heroism in the uncompromising preacher,\nwho had dared to rebuke Harden's too compliant faith and indulgent temper.\nYet over Annandale, throughout Moffatdale, thence flowing over into the\nForest, the name of Cameron was one of power. The heroic strain in him\nsuited the mood of the ancient reivers, who loved strength and iron in the\nblood. But the Scotts had ridden and lorded it over the Marches too long\nto love iron in any blood save their own. Their feud with the preachers\nbegan early, for John Welsh, Knox's son-in-law, was persecuted out of\nSelkirk, whither he had gone to convert the souters and reform the\nfreebooters of the Forest, by a Scott of Headshaw. But the man who ought\nhere to be placed foremost is a man who became minister of Ettrick three\nyears before John Rutherford, Scott's ancestor, died--Thomas Boston.\nCotter Morrison quoted some of his fierce sayings with the horror of a son\nof light suddenly confronting an altogether incredible darkness. But no\nman ignorant of the deeds of Boston can judge his speech. In some of his\nwords there is a wonderful tenderness, in his acts a marvellous integrity,\nand in his thought a rare power to move the hearts, stir the consciences,\nand awaken the intellects of his people. It was a brave thing to make the\nstern Presbyterian discipline a reality among these men of the Forest, in\nwhom the old reiving instinct was still strong, at once kept alive and\nglorified by the ballads which were known in every cottage, and recited at\nevery hearth. But the man was patient and strong enough to do it; nothing\nwas too minute to escape his eye; nothing was too inveterate to silence or\ntoo ancient to overcome his religion.\"[138] It is undoubtedly to the\ninfluence of such preachers, men of faith and character, scholarship and\ngenius, that Borderers owe many of the best qualities, both of intellect\nand heart, for which, in later times, they have become distinguished.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\nTHE HARVEST OF PEACE.\n\n  When this loose behaviour I throw off,\n  And pay the debt I never promised,\n  By how much better than my word I am,\n  By so much shall I falsify men's hope;\n  And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,\n  My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,\n  Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes,\n  Than that which hath no foil to set it off.\n\n                                   SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\nTo those familiar with the history of Border reiving it may appear, on the\nfirst glance, somewhat inexplicable that in those districts where the\nsystem was most deeply rooted there should now be found one of the most\norderly and law-abiding communities in the country. The old leaven, it\nwould seem, has worked itself out, and that, too, with a rapidity and\nthoroughness which some may find difficult to reconcile with the modern\ndoctrine of heredity. The laws of evolution, whether in the physical or\nsocial sphere, may operate with the precision and certainty of destiny,\nbut the changes effected are brought about slowly, and with well-graded\nregularity. No doubt fifty or a hundred years is a considerable period\nmeasured by the standard of the individual life, but it is a brief term in\nthe history of a nation or people. While considerable changes may take\nplace in the course of a century, yet these are often of a more or less\nsuperficial character, affecting only to a limited extent the thoughts,\nhabits, and customs of a community. In the present instance, however, the\nchanges which took place in the life of the Border clans seem to have been\nas thorough as they were rapid. In a comparatively short time the Borders,\nfrom being one of the most lawless and disorderly districts in the\ncountry, became an example to both kingdoms in honesty, sobriety, and true\npatriotism. Such epithets as \"brutal Borderers\" and \"lewd Liddesdales,\" so\nfreely banded about in earlier times, especially by the English wardens,\nspeedily lost their significance. Those lawless reivers, whom neither\nwarden nor king could effectively control, were not difficult to induce,\nwhen the proper time came, to turn their swords into ploughshares and\ntheir spears into pruning hooks, and to settle down to a well-ordered,\nindustrious, and peaceful mode of life. This phenomenon may doubtless be\naccounted for on purely natural principles. The explanation, indeed, is\nnot difficult to discover. As we have already seen, the worst characters,\nthe \"broken men\"--those who had no chiefs who could be made responsible\nfor their good behaviour--were expatriated--sent to Holland and\nelsewhere--and consequently ceased to give further trouble. And it may be\nsaid in regard to those who remained that while they had spent the best\npart of their lives in appropriating the goods and chattels of their\nEnglish neighbours, they were not by any means the depraved and degraded\nwretches they have so often been described. Far from it. These men for the\nmost part believed, rightly or wrongly, that in despoiling and harassing\ntheir English neighbours they were rendering an important service to their\ncountry. They looked upon their reiving as being of the nature of\nreprisal. Time and again they had been hunted and harried by their \"auld\nenemies,\" and they thought it no sin, whenever they found an opportunity,\nto carry the war into the enemies' camp. Moreover, it seems to have been\nan article of their creed--one of the \"fundamentals\"--that all property\nwas common by the laws of nature, a doctrine which, even at the present\nday, is sometimes propounded with considerable show of logic by budding\nBorder politicians. Their ethical system was simplicity itself. Might was\nright. The spoil belonged by natural law to the man who could either take\nor keep it. Of course it may be said that such notions are opposed to the\nfoundation principles of all social and moral life. This may be conceded.\nBut the fact that the Border reivers looked at things from a different\npoint of view--while it may not mitigate the offence abstractly\nconsidered--had an important bearing and influence on their own moral life\nand character. There can be no doubt that it saved them from utter\ndemoralization. He that doubteth is damned. But the Borderers were fully\nconvinced that their action in plundering and despoiling those who lived\nin the opposite Marches was commendable and right. Johnie Armstrong may be\ntaken as a faithful exponent of Border ethics when he says:--\n\n  For I've loved naething in my life,\n  I weel dare say it, but _honesty_.\n\nHe leaves us in no doubt as to what he means by the assertion. He does not\ndeny that he took everything he could lay his hands on from the\nunfortunate English. He glories in the fact. It never occurs to him that\nhe ought to feel ashamed of his conduct. But he avers that though he had\nlived for a hundred years never a Scot's wife could have said that \"ere he\nhad skaithed her a puir flee.\" It was right to rob the English; it was\ndisgraceful to turn your hand against anyone belonging to your own\ncountry. Here we have the ethical system of the Border reiver in a\nnutshell.\n\nBut lawless as the Borders may have been in the olden time, they certainly\ndo not at the present day bear many traces of their evil past. The Border\ncounties, judging from the statistics of the Police and Sheriff Courts,\nhave an excellent record, whether we consider the number or the nature of\nthe cases dealt with. The following statistics speak for themselves:--\n\n                             Average Number of Convictions\n      County.   Population.      for the last five years.\n                                  M.      F.     Total.\n  Selkirk          10,101        315      37     352\n  Roxburgh         34,537        589     105     694\n  Berwick          32,406        287      56     343\n  Dumfries         61,274        539      74     613\n  Peebles          14,761        284      41     325\n\nBut these statistics would appear still more favourable were it not for\nthe existence of what is known as the \"Tweed Act,\" which is responsible\nfor a considerable proportion of the crime charged against the Border\ncounties. In the county of Peebles, for example, fully 17 per cent. of the\nconvictions recorded are under this exceptional statute. It is a law which\nis often fiercely denounced both by poachers and politicians, and of which\nfew others have much that is kindly to say, with the exception perhaps of\nthe riparian proprietors; but no really serious attempt has as yet been\nmade to have the Tweed and its tributaries brought under the general law\nof the land. But notwithstanding the existence of this fruitful source of\ncrime, the Borders compare not unfavourably with other districts. The\npopulation of Caithness, for instance, is only a little over 4000 higher\nthan that of Berwick, and we find that the average number of convictions\nin that county for the past five years is 419, a fact which shows that the\ninhabitants of the south are quite as well conducted as those in the far\nnorth.\n\nIt is also worthy of note that the offences dealt with are for the most\npart of a petty nature. There are comparatively few cases of theft, or\noffences against the person. It may therefore be said that the Borders\nhave emerged from the evil conditions of the past, bearing few traces, if\nany, of their former lawlessness. It was no doubt a hard school in which\nBorderers were trained, and, perhaps, as has been remarked, some of them\nare a trifle grim, and dour, and unsociable, deficient to some extent in\nthe softer and kindlier virtues characteristic of the inhabitants of the\nwestern seaboard; but, considering the experiences through which they have\npassed, they have no reason to be ashamed of themselves.\n\nAnd if Borderers have deficiencies arising out of the adverse\ncircumstances with which they had so long to contend, they have also\noutstanding excellencies which have brought them well to the front in the\nrace of life. They are brave, outspoken, independent. They think and act\nwith energy and decision. They believe in themselves, rely upon their own\nresources, and where the struggle is most severe they almost invariably\ngive a good account of themselves. Their contributions in modern times to\nthe social and intellectual life of the nation have been considerable,\nand of a high quality. In agriculture, in commerce, in statesmanship, in\nwarfare, and in many other departments, they have rendered important\nservices. The Scotts and Kers and Elliots--names intimately associated\nwith Border reiving in all its phases--have long held a foremost place in\nthe political and social life of the country.\n\nBut the great feature of Border life in more modern times has been the\nalmost marvellous efflorescence of the spirit of poesy, which has\nconferred on the district a unique distinction and an imperishable charm.\nIt may seem strange that the home of the reiver should have become the\nbirthplace of poetry and song; yet a moment's reflection will suffice to\nshow that here are to be found all the conditions which make life a\ntragedy and beget the feeling for it. The rough adventurous life of the\nBorder reiver, with its constant peril and hairbreadth escapes, formed, as\nit were, a fitting compost for the cultivation of the tragic muse. And\nwhat ballads have sprung from this soil watered by the very heart's blood\nof its people! \"The Dowie Dens of Yarrow,\" \"The Douglas Tragedy,\" \"Johnie\nArmstrong,\" \"Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead,\" \"The Border Widow's\nLament,\" \"The Flowers of the Forest\"--not to mention many others of almost\nequal merit--have taken possession of the imaginative and emotional life\nof the nation, and become part and parcel of its very being. Indeed, the\ninfluence of this varied body of balladic lore on the thought and life and\ncharacter of the Scottish people can hardly be over-estimated. Spenser, to\nwhose sublime genius we are indebted for the \"Faery Queen,\" is known to\nfame as \"the poet's poet.\" It is a high distinction, and not unworthily\nbestowed. But in a still higher sense it may be said that the Border\nballads have been a perennial fountain of poetic inspiration to all lovers\nof the Muse. Rough and rugged though many of them are, yet they are\ndowered with that potent spell which at once captivates the heart and\nawakens within it the deepest and tenderest emotions of which it is\ncapable. Here, if anywhere, we find the Helicon of Scotland.\n\nWe may regret, with R. L. Stevenson, that the names of the old balladists\nhave disappeared from the roll of fame. It would have been interesting to\nknow who the singers were; but we may be thankful that the songs they sung\nhave come down to our later age. They are a priceless inheritance, a\nglorious legacy. In these ballads the rugged cactus of Border life has\nburst into the most gorgeous blossom.\n\nBut this is not all. The ballad period, rich as it is in all the higher\nelements of dramatic and poetic suggestiveness, was but the beginning of\nan era of song, which has secured for the Borderland an unique\ndistinction. In the beginning of the eighteenth century there was born in\nthe manse of Ednam, in the neighbourhood of Kelso, one of the most\nrenowned of Border poets, James Thomson, the author of \"The Seasons,\" \"The\nCastle of Indolence,\" \"Rule Britannia,\" and other pieces. His early youth\nwas spent in the parish of Southdean, and here among the green rolling\nhills, and by the quiet streams, he stored his mind and imagination with\nthose images of natural beauty which in later times, in a far-off city, he\nembodied in immortal verse. His services to the poetic literature of his\nage and country have been tardily, and often very inadequately,\nappreciated. To him mainly belongs the credit of bringing the minds of men\nback to nature and reality as the only genuine sources of poetic\ninspiration. He was the forerunner of Cowper, and Burns, and\nWordsworth--the pioneer in a new and profoundly significant movement.\n\nAfter a considerable interval, Scott, Hogg, and Leyden appear on the\nscene--names that will for ever remain enshrined in Border song and story.\nScott was a Borderer of Borderers, a descendant of Auld Wat of Harden and\nMary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow. His grandfather, on the maternal side,\nwas Professor Rutherford, a famous man in his day, the scion of an old\nBorder stock, renowned, like the Harden family, in the annals of reiving.\n\nHogg and Leyden occupy a place of honourable distinction in the life and\nliterature of the Borders. \"Kilmeny\" is a masterpiece of imaginative\ngenius, and has won for its author a fame which the lapse of time will not\nseriously impair. John Leyden, more renowned as a scholar and antiquary\nthan a poet, gave evidence of the possession of powers which, had he been\nspared, would have secured for him a foremost place among the most\nbrilliant men of his age. These services which the Borders have thus\nrendered to the literature of the country have been valuable and important\nin a high degree.\n\nAnd--if we dare suggest it--it is not altogether improbable that even\nBurns himself was sprung of a Border stock. We find in the \"Border\nPapers,\" from which much of our information regarding Border reiving has\nbeen drawn, that the name \"Burness\" frequently occurs. The family bearing\nthis patronymic was well known in Liddesdale and the Debateable land, and\nthe various branches of the family, like the Armstrongs and Elliots, were\ndistinguished for their reiving propensities. The grandfather of the poet\nfound a home in Argyleshire, and Burns' father, as is well known, hailed\nfrom Kincardineshire. The removal from the Borders of a representative of\nthe family may be easily accounted for. Reference has already been made to\na law which was passed by the Scottish Parliament enacting that the\nvarious families and clans on the Borders should find pledges for their\ngood behaviour. These \"pledges\" were sent north of the Forth, and were\nstrictly prohibited from returning to their former haunts. It is just\npossible that in this way an ancestor of Burns may have been called to\nleave the Border district in the interests of his family or clan. This\nmuch at least is certain, the name is one which was common on the Borders\nin those times of which we write. But whatever truth there may be in the\nsuggestion we have made (it would be foolish to dogmatise in the absence\nof authentic information), Burns furnishes many points of resemblance to\nthe distinctive traits of Border character in the olden time. His\ndisregard of conventionality in all its forms, combined with his\naggressive sense of independence, mark him out as of the true Border type.\n\nThis district, once so famous as the favourite haunt of the reiver, may\nnow be described as one of the most peaceful in the country. Every year it\nattracts an increasing number of tourists, who come from almost every part\nof the world to visit its numerous shrines. To the literary and\nprofessional classes it has become a kind of Mecca, to which they feel\nconstrained to resort once and again for intellectual refreshment and\ninspiration. The glamour which Scott, Wordsworth, and Hogg--and many other\ntuneful poets--have thrown around its green hills and bosky glens has\ngiven it an air of enchantment to which the poetic temperament especially\nis keenly sensitive. The pity is that in modern times, owing to a variety\nof causes, the population in the rural districts has been steadily\ndecreasing. The fine hardy, thrifty, yeomen race is disappearing. Small\nholdings have been consolidated, and the big farm--in too many cases--is\nheld by a non-resident tenant, who interests himself little, or not at\nall, in the social and moral well-being of those whom he is under the\nnecessity of employing. This evil is one of long standing. In the\nStatistical Account of Yarrow, published in 1833, Dr Russell remarks\nthat--\"out of forty-five farms in the parish, twenty are _led_ farms. On\nmany of these were formerly large families, with servants and cottagers,\nand there are five such lying adjacent,--a state of things the more to be\nregretted, when its only advantage is a trifling addition of rent, and the\nsaving of outlay on farm buildings.\" Well may it be said--\n\n  \"Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,\n  Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:\n  Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade,\n  A breath can make them, as a breath has made:\n  But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,\n  When once destroyed, can never be supplied.\"\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] Tytler's History, vol. I., page 43.\n\n[2] Tytler's History, vol. I., page 46.\n\n[3] Border Papers, vol. II., page 130.\n\n[4] Froissart, vol. II., p. 362.\n\n[5] Ib.\n\n[6] Godscroft, p. 98.\n\n[7] Hide.\n\n[8] Fend--Support.\n\n[9] Godscroft, pp. 99-100.\n\n[10] Froissart, Vol. II., p. 369.\n\n[11] Godscroft, p. 100.\n\n[12] Douglas was buried at Melrose beside his father.\n\n[13] Hailes' Annals, p. 111.\n\n[14] Maitland of Lethington, vol. I., pp. 69-71.\n\n[15] History of James VI.\n\n[16] Skene's Acts of Parliament.\n\n[17] Skene's Acts of Parliament.\n\n[18] Border Papers, vol. II., pp. 80-81.\n\n[19] Intro. Border Minstrelsy, pp. cxc.-cxci.\n\n[20] Armstrong's Liddisdale, p. 81.\n\n[21] Froissart, vol. I., p. 18.\n\n[22] Taylor's History, vol. I., p. 583.\n\n[23] Ridpath's Border History, p. 550.\n\n[24] Quoted by Sir Herbert Maxwell, Hist. Dumfries and Galloway, p. 958-9.\n\n[25] Quoted by Sir Herbert Maxwell, Hist. Dumfries and Galloway, p.\n159-60.\n\n[26] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 131.\n\n[27] Border Papers, vol. II., pp. 147-8.\n\n[28] Border Papers, vol. II., p. 181.\n\n[29] Ib., vol. I., p. 143.\n\n[30] Ridpath's Border History, p. 651.\n\n[31] _Vide_ Border Antiquities, vol. II., App. p. xlvii.\n\n[32] Pitcairn's Crim. Tr., vol. I., p. 288.\n\n[33] Border Papers, vol. II., p. 299.\n\n[34] Scott's Border Antiquities, Intro. pp. xcii.-xciii. _Vide_ also\nNicholson's Border Laws, where these particulars are given more in detail,\npp. 127-129, also pp. 143-144.\n\n[35] Border Antiquities, p. 104.\n\n[36] Border Antiquities, Intro. p. xcvii.\n\n[37] Border Antiquities, Intro, pp. xcviii.-c.\n\n[38] Armstrong's Liddisdale, p. 18.\n\n[39] Leges Marchiarum, p. 88.\n\n[40] Ib., p. 122.\n\n[41] Leges Marchiarum, p. 88.\n\n[42] Leges Marchiarum, p. 94.\n\n[43] _Vide_ Introduction Border Antiquities, p. cviii.\n\n[44] Suffer for it.\n\n[45] Cary's Memoirs, p. 112.\n\n[46] Leges Marchiarum, p. 124.\n\n[47] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 188.\n\n[48] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 189.\n\n[49] Border Papers, vol. II., p. 163.\n\n[50] Border Antiquities, Intro. pp. xlvi.-xlviii.\n\n[51] Border Papers, vol. II., pp. 37-38.\n\n[52] Armstrong's Liddesdale, p. 70.\n\n[53] Pitscottie, p. 319.\n\n[54] Ib., p. 319.\n\n[55] Piscottie, p. 321.\n\n[56] Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. iii., p. 31.\n\n[57] _Vide_ Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. iii., p. 31.\n\n[58] Scott's Border Minstrelsy.\n\n[59] Border Papers, vol. i., p. 252.\n\n[60] Border Papers, vol. i., p. 284.\n\n[61] Border Papers, vol. i., p. 285.\n\n[62] Tytler, vol. ii., p. 275.\n\n[63] Leslie, p. 82.\n\n[64] Cary's Memoirs, pp. 72-74.\n\n[65] Horse newly taken from the grass.\n\n[66] Cary's Memoirs, pp. 45-51.\n\n[67] Carries.\n\n[68] Rafters.\n\n[69] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 348.\n\n[70] Pitcairn's Crim. Tr., vol. I., p. 37.\n\n[71] Celtic Scotland, vol. III. p.\n\n[72] _Vide_ Intro. Border Antiquities.\n\n[73] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 121.\n\n[74] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 121.\n\n[75] Cary's Memoirs, pp. 103-110.\n\n[76] Border Papers, vol. II., p. 763.\n\n[77] Pinkerton.\n\n[78] Pitcairn's Crim. Tr., vol. I., p. 154.\n\n[79] Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. I., p. 145.\n\n[80] Leslie's History, p. 143.\n\n[81] Pinkerton's History, vol. II., p. 307.\n\n[82] Pitscottie, p. 342-3.\n\n[83] Carlenrig.\n\n[84] Anderson MS. Adv. Lib. f. 154.\n\n[85] Reg. Sec. Big., vol. 8f., 195.\n\n[86] Rabbits.\n\n[87] Are able to bear.\n\n[88] It is said that this and the three preceding stanzas were among those\nSir Walter Scott most delighted to quote.\n\n[89] Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. i., p. 171.\n\n[90] Cheese belly.\n\n[91] Pitcairn's Criminal Trials, vol. i., pp. 172-3.\n\n[92] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 97.\n\n[93] Border Papers, vol. I., p. 282.\n\n[94] Border Papers, vol. II., p. 115.\n\n[95] Tytler, vol. iv. p. 244.\n\n[96] Border Papers, vol. ii., p. 299.\n\n[97] Border Papers, vol. ii., p. 313.\n\n[98] Border Papers, vol. ii., p. 319.\n\n[99] Border Papers, vol. ii. 420.\n\n[100] Cary's Memoirs, pp. 82-3.\n\n[101] Border Papers, vol. ii., p. 631.\n\n[102] Pitcairn's Crim. Tr., vol. i., p. 276.\n\n[103] Border Papers, vol. II., p. 359.\n\n[104] Carriers.\n\n[105] Border Minstrelsy, vol. iv. pp. 91-94.\n\n[106] Border Minstrelsy, vol. iv. pp. 95-96.\n\n[107] Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. p. 402.\n\n[108] Innocently.\n\n[109] Farms.\n\n[110] Rievers, robbers.\n\n[111] Martyrs.\n\n[112] Execrated.\n\n[113] Waking.\n\n[114] Execrate.\n\n[115] Live stock.\n\n[116] Curses and execreations.\n\n[117] Uunti.\n\n[118] Disencumbered.\n\n[119] Lightning.\n\n[120] Places.\n\n[121] May the earth open, split and cleave.\n\n[122] Swallow them alive.\n\n[123] Freed.\n\n[124] Only.\n\n[125] Until.\n\n[126] Loyalty.\n\n[127] Without part in.\n\n[128] So may.\n\n[129] Mr Armstrong has printed the above in his 'History of Liddesdale,\n&c.,' from the 'State Papers of Henry VIII.,' vol. iv., note, pp. 417-419.\n\n[130] Ridpath's Border History, p. 704.\n\n[131] Ridpath's Border History, p. 706.\n\n[132] Apostolic Ministry of the Scottish Church, p. 211.\n\n[133] Book of Discipline, chap. vii.\n\n[134] Border Papers, vol. i. p. 125.\n\n[135] Border Papers, vol. ii. p. 323.\n\n[136] Border Papers, vol. i. p. 494.\n\n[137] Border Papers, vol. ii. p. 316.\n\n[138] Principal Fairbairn.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _underscore_.\n\nSuperscripted letters are shown in {brackets}.\n\nAdditional spacing after some of the quotes is intentional to indicate\nboth the end of a quotation and the beginning of a new paragraph as\npresented in the original text.\n\nFootnote 71 does not contain a page number in the orignal.\n\nFootnote 117 reads \"Uunti\" in the text, although it most likely should\nbe \"Until.\"\n\nSome quotes are opened with marks but are not closed. Obvious errors\nhave been silently closed, while those requiring interpretation have\nbeen left open.\n\nThe following misprints have been corrected:\n  \"neigbourhood\" corrected to \"neighbourhood\" (page 21)\n  \"my my\" corrected to \"my\" (page 29)\n  \"neigbours corrected to \"neighbours\" (page 40)\n  \"lord s\" corrected to \"lord's\" (page 45)\n  \"fourand\" corrected to \"four-and\" (page 195)\n  \"the the\" corrected to \"the\" (page 209)\n  \"philosopical\" corrected to \"philosophical\" (page 243)\n  \"implicity\" corrected to \"implicitly\" (page 270)\n  \"fiercly\" corrected to \"fiercely\" (page 303)\n  \"deficiences\" corrected to \"deficiencies\" (page 304)\n  \"Dnmfries\" corrected to \"Dumfries\" (footnote 25)\n\nOther than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in\nspelling and hyphenation usage have been retained.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Border Raids and Reivers, by Robert Borland", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32005", "title": "Border Raids and Reivers", "author": "", "publication_year": 1898, "metadata_title": "Border Raids and Reivers", "metadata_author": "Robert Borland", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:19.955617", "source_chars": 434608, "chars": 434608, "talkie_tokens": 102860}}
{"text": "Produced by Richard J. Shiffer and the Online Distributed\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this\ntext as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings\nand other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an\nobvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.]\n\n\n\n\n  A NARRATIVE\n\n  OF THE\n\n  SHIPWRECK,\n\n  CAPTIVITY AND SUFFERINGS\n\n  OF\n\n  HORACE HOLDEN AND BENJ. H. NUTE;\n\n  WHO WERE CAST AWAY IN THE\n\n  AMERICAN SHIP MENTOR,\n\n  ON THE\n\n  PELEW ISLANDS,\n\n  IN THE YEAR 1832;\n\n  _AND FOR TWO YEARS AFTERWARDS WERE SUBJECTED TO\n  UNHEARD OF SUFFERINGS AMONG THE BARBAROUS\n  INHABITANTS OF_\n\n  LORD NORTH'S ISLAND.\n\n\n  BY HORACE HOLDEN.\n\n\n  BOSTON:\n  RUSSELL, SHATTUCK, AND CO.\n  1836.\n\n\n\n  ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1836,\n  BY HORACE HOLDEN.\n  IN THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT OF MASSACHUSETTS.\n\n\n  STEREOTYPED BY\n  SHEPARD, OLIVER, AND CO.\n\n\n\n\n  TO\n\n  JOHN PICKERING, ESQ.\n\n  Of Boston,\n\n  AND TO\n\n  WILLIAM R. RODMAN, ESQ.\n\n  Of New Bedford,\n\n  To whom the author is under the greatest obligations\n  for their countenance and assistance,\n  this little work is gratefully\n  INSCRIBED\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: DESCRIPTION OF THE PROCESS OF TATTOOING.]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe islands now known by geographers under the general name of\n_Polynesia_, have for some time past attracted the attention of the\nscientific and commercial world. Few opportunities, however, occur of\nobtaining information respecting any of them except those which are\nresorted to for commercial purposes. With a view, therefore, to the\ncollecting of all the necessary materials for the history of their soil,\nclimate, productions, and other particulars, especially of such of them\nas have not already been visited by the civilized people of Europe and\nAmerica, it is desirable to preserve all authentic accounts of them,\neven of those which are of inferior importance.\n\nThe following unpretending Narrative contains such an account of one of\nthem, commonly called _Lord North's Island_, but sometimes known by the\nname of _Nevil's Island_ and _Johnston's Island_. It is situated in\nabout lat. 3° 2-3/4' N., and, according to the most correct\ncalculations, about long. 131° 4-1/4' E.\n\nThis island has been stated, in geographical works of authority, to be\nuninhabited; but Horsburg's India Directory (vol. ii. p. 497, edit. of\n1827) correctly says it is inhabited, and that the natives \"will\nsometimes come off to ships passing near.\" And it will accordingly be\nfound, by the present Narrative, that it has a population of between\nthree and four hundred inhabitants, as nearly as could be estimated by\nthe American seamen, whose captivity and sufferings are the subject of\nthis work; the island itself being, according to their judgment also,\nabout three quarters of a mile long and half a mile in breadth.\n\nThe materials of this Narrative were furnished by Horace Holden, one of\nthe seamen above mentioned, who, with his companion, Benjamin Nute, was\ndetained as a captive by the islanders for two years; during which time\nhe and his companion acquired the language so far as to converse in it\nwith ease. This afforded them the means of knowing and observing many\nthings which would escape the mere passing voyager; and whatever\nstatements are here made, the editor has every reason to believe may be\nentirely relied upon.\n\nIn order to complete the little collection of facts in relation to this\npeople--who may justly be called a new people, as no white man has ever\nbefore been upon their territory--a specimen of their language is added\nto the Narrative. This has been made under many disadvantages; but no\nsmall labor has been bestowed upon it, in order to render it of use, so\nfar as was practicable, in elucidating the affinity of these islanders\nto others in that quarter of the world. It is now universally agreed\namong the learned, that language affords the surest test of the\naffinities of nations; and it is greatly to be desired that more\nattention should be bestowed upon this subject by the intelligent\nnavigators of the United States, and especially by the scientific young\nmen of our navy, who, under the permission of the government, would have\nthe most ample means of augmenting the stores of general science, while\nat the same time they would confer honor upon their country.\n\nThe editor forbears to add any thing further in relation to the contents\nof this little volume. But he cannot dismiss the work without again\nexpressing the high sense of gratitude felt by the two seamen in\nquestion, to the benevolent individuals of their own country, and\nothers, who have relieved their sufferings; and this he subjoins in an\nextract from a note on that subject by H. Holden:--\n\n     \"In addition to the gentlemen mentioned in the Narrative, we are\n     under great obligations to Mr. Stephen Oliphant and his son, and\n     their clerk, of New York, who were residents at Canton when we\n     arrived there. Mr. Oliphant kindly furnished us with a room, food,\n     and other necessaries, and gave us our passage from Canton to New\n     York in his ship called the Morrison, commanded by captain\n     Lavender, from whom also we experienced every attention.\n\n     \"The respected American missionary at Canton, Mr. Edwin Stevens,\n     rendered us many friendly services; and from the English physician,\n     who was formerly in the East India Company's service there, but\n     whose name I do not recollect, we received every attention and\n     medical aid that could have been bestowed on his nearest friends.\n\n     \"We are also much indebted to Mr. Bradford and Mr. Robert E.\n     Apthorp, both of Boston, for their many acts of kindness. To the\n     latter gentleman, then a resident at Canton, I cannot sufficiently\n     express my obligations; he interested himself much in obtaining\n     money, clothing, and other necessaries for us, to make our\n     situation comfortable during our stay in Canton and on our passage\n     home.\n\n     \"To the many friends whom we have found since our return to our own\n     country we can never be sufficiently grateful. Among these I cannot\n     omit to mention Mr. J. N. Reynolds, author of the interesting\n     Account of the Voyage of the Potomac, who has taken the most lively\n     interest in our case, and Mr. Joseph P. Bradley, of Boston, to\n     whose untiring zeal and benevolence I feel myself to be indebted\n     more than I am able to express.\n\n                                                       HORACE HOLDEN\"\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nEquipment and departure of the ship Mentor from the port of New\nBedford, Massachusetts.--The ship's company.--Arrival at\nFayal.--Passage down the Cape de Verd islands, and round the cape of\nGood Hope, to the Indian ocean.--Cruising among the islands, and\narrival at the port of Coupang, in Timor.--A violent storm.--The ship\nstrikes on a coral reef off the Pelew islands.--Alarm and distressing\nsituation of the ship's company, and sudden loss of eleven of their\nnumber.--The survivors preserved upon a dry part of the reef\n                                                                      13\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe situation of the survivors of the ship's company upon the reef\nduring the night.--A canoe filled with savage natives approaches the\nreef; intercourse with them; and description of their persons and\nterrific appearance.--Their pilfering of the articles saved, and\nplundering of the ship.--Several canoes arrive.--Mr. Nute's resolute\nconduct towards the natives.--The ship's company pursue their course,\nin their boat, towards an island, on which they land after severe\nsuffering\n                                                                      29\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nA canoe, with two natives, approaches the island.--Communication\nopened with them.--A great number of canoes, filled with armed\nnatives, suddenly arrive; rough treatment of the captain by one of\nthe chiefs.--They all arrive at the harbor of the island, which\nproved to be one of the Pelew islands.--Description of the island and\nits inhabitants.--Consultation of the chiefs respecting the ship's\ncompany.--Result of the consultation\n                                                                      41\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nAn extraordinary and unexpected meeting with a person not a\nnative.--Happy result of the meeting.--Acquisition of the Pelew\nlanguage.--Dissensions between two portions of the natives.--Three of\nthe ship's company separated and carried to a place remote from\nthe rest.--Attempt to construct a boat, in order to leave\nthe island.--The natives agree to release them all for a\ncompensation.--Solemnities observed by the natives on the\noccasion.--Tools used in making the boat; transportation of timber,\n&c.--The plan abandoned, and a canoe substituted for the\nboat.--Another festival\n                                                                      55\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe natives become anxious to aid the ship's company in leaving the\nisland.--Terms on which they agreed to release them.--Departure from\nthe Pelew islands.--Necessity of returning the same night.--Detention\na month longer; and final departure\n                                                                      68\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nRegret at having undertaken the voyage in boats.--Storm, and damage\nin consequence of it.--Loss of the canoe and the provisions on\nboard.--Danger of perishing from famine.--On the fifteenth day, when\nnearly exhausted with fatigue and hunger, they discover a small\nisland.--Approach of eighteen canoes filled with natives, who make\nprisoners of them all.--Cruelty of the natives; and return with their\nprisoners to the island.--Reception there.--The prisoners\ndistributed among the captors\n                                                                      74\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nThe island, to which they were carried, proves to be Lord North's\nisland, called by the natives _To´bee_.--Account of the island and\nits inhabitants.--Their manners and customs\n                                                                      81\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nA ship discovered at a small distance from the island.--The natives\nprepare to go on board of her.--Captain Barnard and Bartlet Rollins,\nafter being severely beaten, are allowed to go with the natives in\ntheir canoes, and thus effect their escape; the rest of the Mentor's\npeople are still forcibly detained on the island.--Their hopes of\nbeing taken on board of the same ship are suddenly blasted.--Their\ndespondency on that disappointment.--Return of the natives from the\nship; their rage, and quarrels about the division of the articles\nprocured on board of her.--They threaten to wreak their vengeance on\nthe Mentor's people that remained with them.--Their cruel treatment\nof them.--A storm destroys the cocoa-nut trees and causes a scarcity\nof food\n                                                                      95\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe natives compel the Mentor's people to be tattooed.--Description\nof that painful operation.--They also oblige them to pluck their\nbeards, &c.--Another vessel passes by the island; and, afterwards, a\nthird comes in sight and remains for three days; the Mentor's people\nare closely guarded at these times.--The melancholy fate of William\nSedon; and the barbarous murder of Peter Andrews.--Attack on H.\nHolden, who is protected by one of the natives, and escapes.--B. Nute\nand others are protected by the female natives from the fury of the\nmen.--Death of one of the Pelew chiefs.--Another of the Pelew people\nis detected in stealing, and is punished in their manner.--Death of\nMilton Hewlet and Charles C. Bouket; leaving now only B. Nute, H.\nHolden, and the other Pelew chief, named _Kobak_, who all remained in\na feeble and helpless condition.--Filthy practices of the\nnatives.--Friendship of the surviving Pelew chief\n                                                                     101\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe feeble and exhausted condition of the survivors, Nute and\nHolden.--The natives consent to release them from labor, but refuse\nthem food; and they obtain permission to leave the island in the\nfirst vessel, for a compensation to be made to the natives.--They\ncrawl about from place to place, subsisting upon leaves, and\noccasionally begging a little food of the natives, for two\nmonths.--Their sudden joy at hearing of a vessel coming towards the\nisland.--It proves to be the British barque Britannia, captain Short,\nbound to Canton.--They are taken on board the Britannia, November 27,\n1834, and treated with the kindest attention.--Their joy and\ngratitude at this happy termination of their sufferings.--They\ngradually recover their health so far as to take passage for America,\nin the ship Morrison, bound for New York, where they arrive May 5,\n1835.--Acknowledgments for their kind reception at New York and\nBoston\n                                                                     111\n\n\n\n\nNARRATIVE, &c.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n     Equipment and departure of the ship Mentor from the port of New\n     Bedford, Massachusetts.--The ship's company.--Arrival at\n     Fayal.--Passage down the Cape de Verd islands, and round the cape\n     of Good Hope, to the Indian ocean.--Cruising among the islands, and\n     arrival at the port of Coupang, in Timor.--A violent storm.--The\n     ship strikes on a coral reef off the Pelew islands.--Alarm and\n     distressing situation of the ship's company, and sudden loss of\n     eleven of their number.--The survivors preserved upon a dry part of\n     the reef.\n\n\nI was born in the town of Hillsborough, in the state of New Hampshire,\non the 21st of July, 1810. My father's name was Phineas Holden. My\nparents were in moderate circumstances, and derived their chief support\nfrom a small farm. From the time to which my earliest recollections\nextend, until I was about ten years of age, our little circle,\nconsisting of our parents, their three sons and two daughters, enjoyed a\nlarge share of the pleasures of a New England home. We were all\naccustomed to labor, but our exertions to secure a respectable\nmaintenance were richly rewarded by each other's approving smiles, and\nby that contentment, without which blessings, however great or numerous,\nare bestowed upon us in vain.\n\nBut, in early life, and in the midst of our enjoyments, we were called\nupon to experience a loss which nothing on earth can supply. My father,\nafter a painful sickness of long continuance, died, and left us with no\nother earthly protector than our affectionate mother; who, had her\nability and means been adequate to our support, or equal to her maternal\nfondness and anxiety, would have saved us from every hardship, and\nsupplied all our reasonable desires. But, having no means of support\nexcept our own industry, we were at that tender age thrown upon the\nworld, and compelled to provide for ourselves as Providence might best\nenable us. I labored at different occupations until the age of\ntwenty-one; when, finding myself unable, by reason of an impaired\nconstitution, to do more than provide for myself, and feeling desirous\nto contribute my share towards the maintenance of our surviving parent,\nI resolved upon making the experiment of a voyage at sea.\n\nI accordingly left the place of my nativity, sundered the many ties that\nbound me to home and friends, and, in July, 1831, entered on board the\nship Mentor, at the port of New Bedford, Massachusetts, for a whaling\nvoyage to the Indian ocean. The ship was owned by William R. Rodman,\nEsquire, an eminent merchant of that place, to whose benevolence, since\nmy return home, I acknowledge myself to be deeply indebted. We sailed on\nthe day of my enlistment; and I soon found myself upon the bosom of the\ngreat deep, and at the mercy of an element to which I had been but\nlittle accustomed.\n\nThe whole ship's company of the Mentor consisted of twenty-two; namely,\nEdward C. Barnard, captain; Thomas M. Colesworthy, first mate; Peter\nO'Connor, second mate; Benjamin F. Haskell, David Jenkins, and Jacob\nFisher, boat-steerers; Peter Andrews, steward; John Mayo, cook; and\nHoratio Davis, Bartlet Rollins, William Jones, Thomas Taylor, Lewis\nBergoin, Charles C. Bouket, Calvin Alden, Milton Hulet, William Sedon,\nJames Meder, James Blackmore, John Baily, Benjamin H. Nute, (my\ncompanion in suffering,) and myself, seamen.\n\nAfter leaving port, nothing remarkable occurred during the first part of\nour voyage. Having succeeded in obtaining a small quantity of oil, we\ntouched at Fayal, one of the Azores, or Western islands, to leave the\noil and replenish our stores. We left Fayal on the following day. Our\ncourse was down the Cape de Verd islands; and, without any accident\nworth relating, we passed round the cape of Good Hope, through the\nstraits of Madagascar, and found ourselves in the Indian ocean.\n\nWe continued to cruise among the small islands for some time; but being\nunsuccessful in the object of our voyage, it was deemed advisable to\nmake for Java. We ran the whole length of the island of Java, passing\nthrough the straits of Sandal-Wood Island, to the island of Timor, and\ntouched at the port of Coupang, where we remained about five days, took\nin wood and water, and replenished our small stores. After leaving that\nplace we attempted to pass through the straits of Timor, with a view of\ngaining the Pacific ocean; but owing to adverse winds, and the strong\ncurrents setting against us, we were compelled to abandon the\nundertaking; and accordingly altered our course. We intended to have\ntouched at Ternate, the principal of the Moluccas or Spice islands; but\nwe passed it, running down the island of Morty, (or Mortay) to its\nfurthermost point. Seeing no port at which we could stop, we altered our\ncourse, intending to make for some of the Ladrone islands, which we knew\nto be in possession of the Spanish.\n\nI must here observe, that soon after leaving the island of Mortay,\nthere came on a violent storm, which lasted the whole of three days and\nnights. During all this time we were unable to take an observation. This\nled to the melancholy disaster, which was the commencement of\nmisfortunes and sufferings, too great to be adequately conceived of by\nany but those who experienced them. The violence of the storm compelled\nus to take in all the sails except the top-sail, (which was close\nreefed,) foresail, and foretop-mast stay-sail.\n\nWe were sailing in this manner, not apprehending danger, when, about\neleven o'clock at night, on the 21st of May, 1832, just at the time of\nrelieving the watch, the ship struck with great violence upon what we\nafterwards found to be the coral reef extending to the northward and\neastward of the Pelew islands. The ship ran directly upon the rocks, and\nstruck three times in quick succession, the waves dashing over and\naround us with tremendous violence.\n\nAt this awful moment I was in my berth, in the steerage. When the ship\nstruck the third time, so great was the shock that I was thrown from my\nberth against the opposite side of the steerage; but, soon recovering\nmyself, I rushed upon deck. There all was confusion, horror and dismay.\nThe ship, immediately after striking the third time, swung round so as\nto bring her starboard side to the windward, and was in a moment thrown\nupon her beam ends. While in this awful condition, with the waves\ncontinually breaking over us, threatening to overwhelm us in a watery\ngrave, or dash us in pieces against the rocks, the captain came upon\ndeck, and inquired of the second mate, \"Where are we?\" The reply was, \"I\ndon't know, but I think there is land to leeward.\" There was no time for\ndeliberation; it seemed that the immediate destruction of the ship was\ninevitable.\n\nIn the midst of this confusion I heard the mate give orders for lowering\nthe larboard quarter boat. His directions were immediately complied\nwith, and ten of the crew threw themselves into it, thinking it more\nsafe thus to commit themselves to the mercy of the waves, than to\nremain on board with the prospect of a certain and speedy termination of\ntheir existence. But there are reasons which force upon the mind the\npainful conviction, that their departure from the ship at that time\nproved fatal to them all. As the oars were fastened to the sides of the\nboat, some one asked for a knife or hatchet, with which to cut them\nloose. The request was complied with; and, quitting their hold upon the\nship, they parted from us, and we never saw them more!\n\nAs some doubts have existed in the minds of those interested in the fate\nof our shipmates who took to the boat in the manner just described, it\nis deemed advisable here to state my reasons for entertaining the\nopinion above expressed. Far would it be from me to desire to extinguish\nany well-founded hopes of their having survived; but a knowledge of the\nfollowing facts renders it too certain, that they must all have\nperished, soon after their departure from the ship. The next morning the\nremains of a boat in every respect similar to that in which they\nembarked, were distinctly seen on the rocks, at the distance of about\nfifty yards from the ship, bottom up, and with her sides stove in. The\nwater being clear and shallow, we could see that she was held there by a\nharpoon and lance, which constituted a part of the fishing implements,\nor crafts, in the boat when she left. These were apparently stuck into\nthe crevices of the coral rock (of which the whole reef is composed)\neither by accident or design; and the presumption is, that she became\nfast in that place, and that the waves swept that portion of our\ncompanions in suffering into a watery grave. But this, though a\nmelancholy subject of reflection, is not without some circumstances of\nconsolation; for, admitting that they thus met their fate, they were\nsaved from that extremity of suffering which some of the ship's crew\nwere destined to experience. Were such a death, or the pains of\ncaptivity endured by my associates and myself, to be the only\nalternatives, I have doubted whether I should not prefer the former. To\nbe far from kindred and friends, among a people but one grade above the\nmost ferocious beasts, sick at heart, and deprived of necessary food,\nstripped of our clothing, and subjected to unheard-of severities,--to\nendure all this, was to purchase a continuance of life at a dear rate.\n\nSoon after the departure of the first boat, the captain, thinking it\nimpossible for the ship to hold together till morning, ordered his own\nboat to be let down. This could be effected only by the united exertions\nof the whole of the remaining part of the crew. Some of the men, and\nmyself among the rest, had resolved upon remaining on the ship to the\nlast; and, considering it impossible for a boat to live, we earnestly\nexpostulated with the captain, for the purpose of persuading him not to\nhazard the experiment. But he seemed to think it best to make it, and\nwith great earnestness entreated the men to assist him in lowering his\nboat. As this was a time when but little attention could be paid to the\ndistinctions usually kept up on board, I suggested that it might be well\nto cut away the masts, believing that this would relieve the ship, and\ncause her to lie easier upon the rock. This was the more necessary on\naccount of her position being such as to render it next to impossible to\nlet down the boat. The proposal was acceded to; and, seizing an axe, I\nassisted in cutting away the masts and rigging. This, to some extent,\nhad the desired effect; and we were enabled, at length, by great\nexertion, to lower the boat. The captain, Charles C. Bouket, William\nSedon, and William Jones, immediately placed themselves in it, and\ncommenced preparing to leave us. In compliance with his request, a rope\nwas fastened round the waist of the captain, so that should the boat be\ndestroyed, as there was reason to apprehend she would be, there might be\nsome chance of rescuing him from the waves. They were furnished with the\nnecessary nautical instruments, log-book, a bag of clothing, a small\nquantity of bread in a tin tureen, and a keg of water. The boat was at\nthis time suspended by her falls, and, with a view of letting themselves\ndown, the captain stood in the stern, and Bouket in the forward part of\nthe boat, both having hold of the falls. Sedon still held on by the\nboat's lashing. Jones had nothing in his hands. At this conjuncture, a\ntremendous sea broke into the boat, and dashed it in pieces;--so entire\nwas the destruction, that not a fragment was afterwards seen. Jones was\nsoon after seen floating in the water apparently dead. Sedon, in\nconsequence of having hold of the boat's fastenings, saved himself by\nclimbing into the ship. Bouket, being an expert swimmer, on finding\nhimself in the sea, swam round to the leeward side of the ship, caught\nhold of some part of the rigging, and thus escaped. The captain was\ndrifted away to the distance of nearly one hundred and fifty yards. It\nwas with the utmost difficulty that we retained our hold on the rope\nwhich had been fastened to him; but at length we succeeded in drawing\nhim in. On hearing his cries for assistance, forgetting our own danger,\nwe redoubled our exertions, and soon drew him on board. He was much\nexhausted, but fortunately had received no fatal injury.\n\nAfter the failure of this attempt, and having in so short a time lost\none half our number, it was agreed upon, after due consultation to\nremain upon the wreck till daylight should reveal to us more fully our\nsituation. In this state of suspense and suffering, we clung to the\nrigging, and with much difficulty kept ourselves from being washed away.\nOur situation and prospects during that awful night were such, that no\nray of hope was permitted to penetrate the dreary prospect around us;\nour thoughts and feelings, wrought up to the highest degree of\nexcitement by the horrors of our situation, continually visited the\nhomes we had quitted,--probably forever,--and offered up prayers for the\ndear friends we had left behind. Every succeeding wave that dashed over\nus threatened to sweep us into an untried eternity; and while we\nimpatiently awaited approaching day, we committed our spirits to Him who\nalone could control the raging elements.\n\nAt daybreak, we discovered that a part of the reef, apparently about\nthree miles off to the leeward, was dry; and this, though but of small\nconsequence, afforded us some comfort. In a short time we discovered\nland at the distance of twenty or thirty miles, in an eastwardly\ndirection. This, though we were ignorant of the character of the\ninhabitants--if indeed it should turn out to be the residence of human\nbeings--presented to our minds the possibility of escape; and without\nany delay we prepared, as well as we could, to abandon the vessel. There\nremained but one boat, and that was in a poor condition for conveying\nus, eleven in number, so great a distance. But, as no choice was left\nus, the boat was soon prepared; and when the sun was about two hours\nhigh, we had completed our arrangements. We took into the boat one small\nchest of bread, some water, a quantity of wearing apparel, a canister of\ngunpowder, one musket, a brace of pistols, three cutlasses, and a\ntinder-box. In this frail bark, and with these poor means of subsistence\nand defence, with little to rely upon but the mercy of Providence, we\ntook leave of the ship; not without feelings of deep sorrow, and with\nsmall hopes of improving our forlorn condition.\n\nOn leaving the ship we steered directly for the reef above mentioned,\nand without much difficulty landed and drew up our boat. This proved to\nbe, as we had previously conjectured, a part of the reef upon which we\nhad been wrecked; and we soon ascertained that the portion of the rock\nabove water was but about sixteen rods long, and quite narrow, but\nsufficiently large to afford us a secure footing for the little time we\nhad to stay upon it. It was our first, and almost our only object, to\nremain here until we could render our arrangements more perfect, and\neither put to sea with less hazard, or make our passage to the land,\nwhich was still distinctly visible. As yet but little time had been\nafforded us for calm reflection; and it was now a question of serious\nimportance, whether it would be most prudent to encounter the billows in\nthe crazy boat which was our chief dependence, upon the open sea, with\nour scanty means of subsistence, or to throw ourselves into the hands,\nand upon the mercy of whatever race of beings might chance to inhabit\nthe island. In favor of the former plan it was suggested that we might\nbe seen, and taken up by some vessel cruising in those seas, and thus\nsaved from captivity or death among a barbarous people; and, on the\nother hand, it was maintained, that a chance among the savages of those\nislands would be preferable to the risk of going to sea in a boat which\nwas in all respects unseaworthy, and with only a few pounds of bread,\nand but little water, for our subsistence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n     The situation of the survivors of the ship's company upon the reef\n     during the night.--A canoe filled with savage natives approaches\n     the reef; intercourse with them; and description of their persons\n     and terrific appearance.--Their pilfering of the articles saved,\n     and plundering of the ship.--Several canoes arrive.--Mr. Nute's\n     resolute conduct towards the natives.--The ship's company pursue\n     their course, in their boat, towards an island, on which they land\n     after severe suffering.\n\n\nHappily, by the goodness of the allwise Disposer of events, the\nunfortunate can avail themselves of a thousand sources of comfort,\nwhich, by those in prosperous circumstances, are either overlooked or\nneglected. We were upon a barren rock, in the midst of a waste of\nwaters, far from kindred and friends, and the abodes of civilized man;\nthe ship which had been our home, and on board of which we had embarked\nwith high hopes, lay within sight, a useless wreck; still we were\nenabled to enjoy a moment of relief, if not of actual pleasure, derived\nfrom an event, which, though trifling in itself, is worthy of being\nrecorded.\n\nWe succeeded in taking an eel, a few crabs, and a small quantity of\nsnails. Having our fire-works with us, we collected a sufficient number\nof sticks, with a few pieces of drift-wood which had lodged upon the\nrock, to make a fire; with this we cooked our fish and snails; and, with\na small allowance of bread, we made what we then thought a sumptuous\nrepast! After we had finished our meal, we began to prepare for the\nnight. We erected a tent with some of our clothes and pieces of canvas,\nat a little distance from the boat; and, when night came on, a part of\nour number kept watch, and the rest soon lost all consciousness of their\nmisfortunes in sleep. About midnight those who had watched took their\nturn at resting; and in the morning we found ourselves considerably\nrefreshed; though an increased activity of our minds served only to\nbring home a more vivid picture of the horrors of the previous night,\nand of our present condition.\n\nProvidence, it would seem, had ordained that we should not long remain\nundetermined as to the course to be adopted; for before sunrise we\ndiscovered a canoe within a short distance of us, containing twenty-two\nof the inhabitants of the neighboring island. They approached to within\npistol-shot of where we stood, and there lay on their oars for some\ntime, looking at us, and manifesting no small degree of fear. Thinking\nit best to be on friendly terms with them, we attached a shirt to one of\nour oars, and hoisted it as a token of a wish, on our part, to regard\nand treat them as friends. This had the desired effect; and they\nimmediately rowed up to the rock. Manifesting great pleasure, they left\ntheir canoe and rushed towards the place where the principal part of our\nboat's crew were standing, bringing with them cocoa-nuts, and a small\nquantity of bread made of the cocoa-nut boiled in a liquor extracted\nfrom the trunk of the tree. At that time, I was standing near the tent,\nat a little distance from my companions, and was an anxious spectator of\nthe scene. Their appearance excited my astonishment, and I was filled\nwith horror by the sight of beings apparently human, and yet almost\ndestitute of the ordinary marks of humanity. They were entirely naked.\nEach one was armed with a spear and tomahawk; some had battle-axes. They\nwere fantastically tattooed on different parts of their bodies. Their\nhair, naturally coarse and black, like that of the Indians of America,\nwas very long, and hung loosely over their shoulders, giving them a\nsingular and frightful appearance. Their teeth were entirely black;\nrendered so, as we afterwards found, by chewing what they call\n\"_abooak_.\"[1] The reader can judge of our feelings on finding ourselves\nin the hands of beings of this description. Our confidence in the\nhonesty of our visiters did not improve on further acquaintance.\n\nNo sooner had they landed, than they commenced their depredations upon\nthe few articles, which at that time constituted all our earthly riches.\nThe nautical instruments, the musket, and a part of our clothing, they\nimmediately appropriated to their own benefit. Fortunately a part of our\nclothing, the powder, and the cutlasses we had succeeded in concealing\nin a crevice of the rock. Taking with them their booty, they\nprecipitately got into their canoe, and, beckoning to us, evidently with\na view of inducing us to follow them, they steered directly for the\nwreck. Their first appearance, and this strong manifestation of their\nthievish disposition, so far from inclining us to cultivate their\nacquaintance any further, had given us an irresistible inclination to\navoid them. Our minds were not long in coming to the conclusion, that an\nopen sea, with Heaven to protect us, would be far preferable to a chance\namong beings like those. Accordingly, with the least possible delay, we\nlaunched our boat, and putting into it such things of value as we had\nsaved, once more, surrounded by new difficulties and dangers, committed\nourselves to the mercy of the waves.\n\nThe island before mentioned being now distinctly visible, we steered in\na direction towards it; though we found it necessary to go a somewhat\ncircuitous course, in order to avoid the reef. By the time we had\nsucceeded in getting into deep water, the natives had been to the ship,\nand were returning with the five muskets which we had left on board.\nThey soon passed us with great rapidity, and evidently with the\nintention of escaping with their booty unharmed. The cause of their\nprecipitancy will soon be explained.\n\nJust at this time there came in sight a number of canoes, perhaps\nthirty, filled with natives, who seemed no less intent upon plunder than\nthose with whom we had already formed a disagreeable acquaintance. Their\nlanguage was to us entirely unintelligible, but we could gather from\ntheir somewhat significant gestures, that they most of all desired to\npossess themselves of fire-arms. They beckoned to us to go with them,\nand seemed quite anxious to avail themselves of our assistance; but we\nwere not less so to escape; and with the hope of being able to do so,\nwe continued to row towards the island. Some of them remained near us,\nwhile the rest made for the ship. At length, all, except those in one\ncanoe, left us, and joined their companions. These seemed particularly\nfond of our company, partly on account, as we afterwards learned, of\ntheir suspecting that we had something of value concealed about us, and\npartly for the purpose of making us their prisoners, and in that way\ngaining some advantage over the others. After a while they offered, with\nan appearance of friendship, to render us some assistance by towing our\nboat; and after some deliberation we concluded to throw them a line.\nThis greatly facilitated our progress, as their canoe, being made very\nlight, skimmed over the water with incredible swiftness. No sooner was\nthis arrangement completed than a chief, and one other of the natives,\nleft their canoe and took their station with us; the chief with a\nsomewhat offensive familiarity seating himself in the stern of the boat,\nnear the captain. We were not long in doubt concerning the motive which\nhad led them to this act of condescension. Our bread was contained in a\nsmall chest, which had been placed in the bottom of the boat; this\nseemed to have excited their curiosity to the highest pitch, as they\nkept their eyes almost constantly upon it, and endeavored to persuade\nthe captain to give them a chance to examine its contents. He declined\ngratifying them, thinking it better to keep their anxiety alive, rather\nthan to expose to them the comparative worthlessness of the little that\nremained with us, of either the comforts or necessaries of life.\n\nProbably owing to this show of resistance on our part, when we had\napproached to within five or six miles of the island, at a signal given\nby the chief, the sail of their canoe was suddenly dropped; and, seizing\nour powder canister, he jumped overboard and swam to the canoe. His\ncompanion, following the example of the thievish chief, seized a bundle\nof clothing and was making off with it; whereupon Mr. Nute, who had not\nyet become entirely reconciled to the fashion of going without clothes,\nlike our new acquaintances, and conceiving that it might be well to\ninsist upon having the rights of property respected, caught hold of the\nbundle and retained it. Upon this they immediately hauled us alongside,\nand seized upon our oars; here again we had occasion to offer some\nresistance to their supposed right to plunder us, and we succeeded in\nkeeping possession of these; the only remaining means of saving\nourselves from premature death and a watery grave.\n\nThey had by this time become so exasperated, that we considered it\naltogether desirable to get ourselves out of the reach of their war\nclubs, spears, and battle-axes; and we took measures accordingly. We\nwere still held fast to their canoe, and so completely within their\nreach that it required not a little courage to make any attempt to leave\nthem; but Mr. Nute, whose resolution had been wrought up by the previous\ncontest, took a knife and deliberately cut the line. Our intention was\nto throw ourselves astern, and then, by tacking directly about, and\nsteering in the wind's eye, to escape from them, or at least to give\nthem, for a time, some better employment than that of robbing their poor\nand suffering victims. This we succeeded in accomplishing; not however\nwithout the expense of much toil, and some blows, which they dealt out\nat parting, with so much severity, that we shall not soon lose the\nrecollection of their barbarous conduct towards us. Mr. Nute, by his\nintrepidity, seemed to have rendered himself an object of their\nparticular dislike; they beat him unmercifully, for his resolution in\nretaining the bundle of clothes, and sundering the only cord that bound\nus to our tormentors.\n\nHaving but three oars, our progress was by no means as rapid as we could\nhave desired; but perceiving that in going against the wind we had the\nadvantage of our pursuers, and knowing that our only safety was in\nflight, we exerted our utmost strength, and soon had the satisfaction of\nleaving them at a safe distance from us. They seemed determined not to\npart with us, and continued to pursue us till about four o'clock, P. M.\nIt was with the greatest difficulty that we kept clear of them; at times\nit seemed impossible; and in this situation we could fully realize the\nforce of the scriptural sentiment, \"all that a man hath he will give for\nhis life.\" Finding them too near us, and evidently intent upon taking\nvengeance for the crime we had committed in attempting to escape, though\nour wardrobe had been reduced to a few necessary articles of clothing,\nwe resorted to the expedient of parting even with these, by casting one\nthing at a time upon the water, rightly judging that they might be\ndetained in picking them up, and hoping by this management to keep our\ndistance from them.\n\nAfter they left us, we continued our course, which was directly into the\nopen sea, until about sunset, when we discovered land ahead, apparently\nat the distance of forty miles. We continued to row on till about three\no'clock in the morning, when we found that we were in shoal water, and\nnear breakers. We contrived to throw the bight of a rope over a point\nof rock which was about eight feet under water, and we there remained\nuntil daylight. We then let go our hold, and pulled for land. At about\nfour o'clock in the afternoon we succeeded in landing on a small island\ndistant from the main land about half a mile, and drew our boat upon the\nbeach. By this time our strength had become much exhausted, and we were\nsuffering beyond description from the want of water. Our first efforts\nwere made to find some means for quenching our thirst; and, to our\ninexpressible joy, we soon found a spring, which, in that extremity of\nour sufferings, was of more value than a mine of gold. Poor Sedon was\nleft lying in the boat in a state of complete prostration. We carried\nhim some water, and he soon revived.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] In Keate's Account of the Pelew Islands this word is written\n_pook_.--_Edit._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n     A canoe, with two natives, approaches the island.--Communication\n     opened with them.--A great number of canoes, filled with armed\n     natives, suddenly arrive; rough treatment of the captain by one of\n     the chiefs.--They all arrive at the harbor of the island, which\n     proved to be one of the Pelew islands.--Description of the island\n     and its inhabitants.--Consultation of the chiefs respecting the\n     ship's company.--Result of the consultation.\n\n\nHaving satisfied our most pressing wants, we next set ourselves at work\nto obtain food. We had with us a part of the bread brought from the\nwreck, and the preparation given us by the natives composed of the\ncocoa-nut pulverized and mixed with the sweet liquor extracted from the\ntree. Putting these together into a bucket-full of water, we made out\nthe materials for a supper, which, though not of a kind to suit the\ndelicate palate, was devoured with thankfulness and a good relish.\nFeeling refreshed and invigorated by our meal, we gathered ourselves\ninto a group on the beach, and passed our moments of relaxation in\nconversing upon the melancholy vicissitudes through which we had passed,\nand the gloomy prospect which was at that unpromising moment spread out\nbefore us. Should we find it possible to procure the means of\nsubsistence, it was thought best to remain where we were for a day or\ntwo, not knowing what reception we should meet with, were we to throw\nourselves into the hands of the inhabitants of the main island, and\nfeeling an unconquerable reluctance to come in contact with beings\nscarce less ferocious than beasts of prey. But fortune having commenced\nmaking us the sport of painful incidents, soon subjected us to another\nannoyance.\n\nA canoe containing two living beings, in the form of men, in a state of\nnakedness, was seen, from where we sat, putting off from a point of land\nwhich projected into the sea a small distance below us. They had\nevidently discovered us, and were approaching the spot where we were,\nfor the purpose of making themselves acquainted with us and our\ncondition. When within hailing distance they stopped, and seemed afraid\nto come nearer. Thinking it best to be on friendly terms with them, we\nbeckoned to have them approach. This seemed to please them; and, to\nmanifest a friendly disposition, they held up a fish. To show them that\nwe were inclined to reciprocate any acts of kindness, to the extent of\nour ability, we held up a crab which we had caught. Upon this they\nimmediately came near to where we stood. We presented to each one a\njackknife, and indicated by signs, that they were at liberty to take any\nthing we had. They appeared highly gratified, and their conduct was\ninoffensive. In a short time they returned to their canoe, and made\nsigns to us to follow them; we thought best to do so, and accordingly\nsoon placed our effects in the boat, and followed them towards a sort of\nharbor at no great distance. In consequence of the lightness of their\ncanoe and their dexterity in managing it, they were soon ahead of us,\nand, turning round a point of land, they were speedily withdrawn from\nour view.\n\nIn a few minutes they returned, accompanied by a large number of\ncanoes--the water seemed to be literally covered by this miniature\nfleet. The natives were all armed, much like those with whom we first\nbecame acquainted.\n\nThis instantaneous movement was occasioned, as we afterwards learned, by\nan alarm given by the two natives who had visited us on the small\nisland. Intelligence of the fact, that a boat's crew of strange looking\nbeings, as we doubtless appeared to them, had landed upon their\nterritory, was given by sounding a shell. This aroused the multitude,\nand caused them to come out, to satisfy their curiosity, and assist in\nconducting us safely and speedily to a place of security. A large war\ncanoe made directly towards us; and, on coming alongside, the head chief\nsprung into our boat, seized the captain by the shoulder, and struck him\nseveral times with a war-club; in the mean while giving him to\nunderstand, that it was his will and pleasure to have us row, with all\nconvenient despatch, to the place whence they had issued. He then\ncommenced swinging his club over our heads with great apparent ferocity,\nfor the purpose, as it seemed, of awing us into submission; occasionally\nstriking some of our number. After pretty thoroughly convincing us that\nin this case our only course was submission, he began to strip us of our\nclothing. While this was going on, his associates in arms and mischief\nkept their canoe close alongside, and, standing up, held their spears in\na position to enable them to pierce us through in an instant, if there\nhad been any occasion for so doing.\n\nWe were soon in their miserable harbor; and, it being low water, we were\ncompelled to leave our boat, and wade to the tableland through the mud.\nOur appearance, as the reader will naturally conclude, was not very\ncreditable to the land which gave us birth; but since our destitute and\nmiserable condition was not our choice, we could do no less than be\nthankful that it was no worse; and, making the best of it, we suffered\nourselves to be ushered into the presence of the dignitaries of the\nisland, in the way they thought most proper. We were conducted to a\nplatform, on a rise of land at a little distance from the harbor, on\nwhich were seated those who had power to dispose of us as they pleased.\nThis platform was twelve or fifteen feet square, and was situated\nbetween two long buildings, called \"_pyes_.\" These, as we afterwards\nlearned, were used by the chiefs as places of carousal, and as a sort of\nharem for their women. They were constructed in a rude manner, of bamboo\nsticks, and covered with leaves. They were sixty or seventy feet in\nlength, and about twenty-four in width.\n\nThat something like a correct conception of this scene may be formed by\nthe reader, it may be well to give, in this place, a brief account of\nthe appearance, manners, and customs of the natives of this island. This\nwas the island known to navigators as Baubelthouap, the largest of the\ngroup of the Pelew islands. It lies not far from the eighth degree of\nnorth latitude, is about one hundred and twenty miles in length, and\ncontains probably not far from two thousand inhabitants.[2]\n\nThe men were entirely naked. They always go armed, in the way before\ndescribed, and carry with them a small basket, containing generally the\nwhole amount of their movable property. The women wear no other clothing\nthan a sort of apron (fastened to the waist by a curiously wrought\ngirdle) extending nearly to the knees, and left open at the sides. The\nmaterial of these garments (if such they can be called) is the bark of a\ntree called by them \"_karamal_.\" This tree grows from thirty to forty\nfeet high, and is two or three feet in circumference. The hair of both\nmales and females is worn long; it is coarse and stiff, and of a color\nresembling that of the natives of North America. They make free use of\nthe oil extracted from the cocoa-nut; with this they anoint their\nbodies, considering it the extreme of gentility to have the skin\nentirely saturated with it. Their arms, and sometimes the lower parts of\nthe body and legs, are ingeniously tattooed. Their complexion is a light\ncopper. Their eyes have a very singular appearance, being of a reddish\ncolor. Their noses were somewhat flat, but not so flat as those of the\nAfricans; nor are their lips so thick. They are excessively fond of\ntrinkets. It would cause a fashionable lady of America to smile, to\nobserve the pains taken by those simple daughters of nature to set off\ntheir persons. In their ears they wear a sort of ornament made of a\npeculiar kind of grass, which they work into a tassel; this is painted\nand richly perfumed. In their noses they wear a stem of the _kabooa_\nleaf, which answers the double purpose of an ornament and a smelling\nbottle; and their arms, in addition to being tattooed in the manner\nabove mentioned, are adorned with a profusion of shells. Our fair\nreaders may judge how much we were amused, on finding that the\ncopper-colored females of the island cut up our old shoes into\nsubstitutes for jewelry, and seemed highly delighted with wearing the\nshreds suspended from their ears.\n\nOur further acquaintance with this extraordinary people confirmed us in\nthe opinion, that the ceremony of marriage is unpractised and unknown\namong them. The chiefs appropriate to themselves as many females as they\nplease, and in the selection they exercise this despotism over the\naffections without regard to any other laws than those of caprice.\nReserving a more particular account of their manners, customs and mode\nof living for another place, I content myself with observing at this\ntime, that the people of these islands, generally speaking, are in the\nrudest state imaginable. It is true that some sense of propriety, and\nsome regard to the decencies of life, were observable; nor did they\nappear entirely destitute of those feelings which do honor to our\nnature, and which we should hardly expect to find in a people so rude\nand barbarous.\n\nSuch were the beings among whom Providence had cast our lot; and to\nthink of remaining with them to the end of life, or for any great length\nof time, was like the contemplation of imprisonment for life in the\ngloomy cells of a dungeon.\n\nFrom the rudely constructed wharf near the spot where we left our boat,\nwe were conducted into the presence of a number of the chiefs, who were\nseated upon the platform above mentioned. The natives eagerly pressed\nforward to obtain a sight of us. That curiosity peculiar to the better\nportion of our race was, on this occasion, manifested by the females of\nthe island. They clustered around us, and, placing their hands upon our\nflesh, seemed greatly to wonder that it should differ so much from their\nown. The fashion of wearing a skin so white as ours, seemed to them, no\ndoubt, to be an offence against the taste and refinement of their\nportion of the world. To go at large without being tattooed, was to\ncarry with us the palpable proofs of our vulgarity; and, to our sorrow,\nwe were afterwards compelled to conform to the custom of the barbarians\nin this respect, and shall carry with us to the grave the marks of their\nwell-meant, though cruel operation upon our bodies.\n\nJudging from appearances, our case had become a concern of great\nimportance. The chiefs seemed to have had under discussion the question,\nwhether we were to be treated as enemies, and subjected to the process\nof beheading upon the block of the executioner, (which was there in\nreadiness before our eyes) or regarded as friends, and welcomed to their\nrude hospitalities. Unable as we were to understand a word of their\nlanguage, or to say any thing by way of explanation or defence, the\nreader will conceive, better than we could describe, our painful\nsituation. For a time we considered our case as hopeless. The women, who\nseemed to have taken an interest in our welfare, after observing, for a\ntime, what was going on among the chiefs, began to utter their cries and\nlamentations, as if greatly distressed on our account. Their grief had\nthe appearance of being sincere; they wept, and in a variety of ways\nexpressed emotions of deep and heart-felt solicitude. Whether this was\ntheir manner of interceding in our behalf, to avert some impending\ncalamity, or was expressive of their regret on account of our doom\nhaving been already sealed, it was impossible for us to determine. Nor\ndid we ever know the amount of our obligations to those female strangers\nfor the interest taken in our welfare. A termination was put to our\nsuspense, however, in the course of an hour.\n\nAt the close of the consultation, a large bowl was brought to us, filled\nwith sweetened water, and richly ornamented with shells, so arranged as\nto form a sort of hieroglyphical characters. We drank of the contents of\nthe bowl, in compliance with their request, from a richly wrought cup\nmade of a cocoa-nut shell. This act of hospitality was regarded as a\nfavorable indication of a friendly disposition on their part towards us;\nand our hopes were afterwards confirmed; for no sooner had we finished\ndrinking, than the natives prepared to conduct us away. We afterwards\nlearned, that a messenger had been despatched to a neighboring town, or\nsettlement, to consult their prophetess in regard to the proper manner\nof disposing of us; and that she had directed them to send us to her. Of\nthis important personage a more particular account will be given\nhereafter; suffice it, for the present, to say, that the respect paid to\nher by the natives of the island was of the most profound character, and\nher authority over them was almost unlimited.\n\nWe were conducted, through an inconsiderable place, to the town where\nthe prophetess resided. In this place there were several\ndwelling-houses, scattered about without regard to order; and, besides\nthe dwelling of the prophetess, two of their long buildings, or \"pyes,\"\ngave it not a little importance in the estimation of these rude and\nuncultivated beings. We were halted in front of one of the \"pyes,\" and\ndirectly opposite the house of the prophetess. Here, again, we were\nreminded of the fact, that we were in the presence of our superiors, as\nto power, by the platform on which were placed our judges, the chiefs,\nand the block standing near them, for the purpose of execution.\n\nWe were soon surrounded by a vast crowd of the natives, eager to see us,\nand to learn something of the nature of beings so different from\nthemselves.\n\nA short time after our arrival, a quantity of food was brought from the\nhouse of the prophetess, and placed in the centre of the platform. This\nconsisted of a hog's head, boiled in sea-water, highly seasoned with\ncayenne and aromatic herbs, a plentiful supply of yams, and a large bowl\nof sweetened water. This meal was abundant and delicious; and we partook\nof it with an excellent relish.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] This island is not always laid down by name on our common maps, nor\nmentioned in geographical works. In the best _charts_ it is called\n_Baubelthouap_. In the chart prefixed to the fifth volume of _Burney's\nChronological History of the Voyages and Discoveries in the South Sea_,\nit is called \"Panloq or Babelthoup.\" In the map accompanying the late\nedition of Malte Brun's Geography, (in 4to) it is carelessly printed\n_Banbeltbonap_.--_Edit._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n     An extraordinary and unexpected meeting with a person not a\n     native.--Happy result of the meeting.--Acquisition of the Pelew\n     language.--Dissensions between two portions of the natives.--Three\n     of the ship's company separated and carried to a place remote from\n     the rest.--Attempt to construct a boat, in order to leave the\n     island.--The natives agree to release them all for a\n     compensation.--Solemnities observed by the natives on the\n     occasion.--Tools used in making the boat; transportation of timber,\n     &c.--The plan abandoned, and a canoe substituted for the\n     boat.--Another festival.\n\n\nAn interesting incident now occurred. Just at the time when the servant\nof the prophetess brought out the materials for our repast, we observed,\nat a little distance, a singular looking being approaching us. His\nappearance was that of a man of sixty. His hair was long and gray,\nunlike that of the natives. His legs, arms, and breast were tattooed.\nHis step was quick and firm; his motions indicating that he felt himself\na person of not a little importance. His teeth were entirely gone, and\nhis mouth was black with the use of \"kabooa.\" Judge of our emotions on\nhearing this strange being address us in broken English! His first\nexclamation was--\"My God, you are Englishmen!\" He immediately said, \"You\nare safe now;\" but he gave us to understand, that it was next to a\nmiracle that we had escaped being killed on the water.\n\nThis person was by birth an Englishman, and had been on the island about\ntwenty-nine years. He told us that he had been a hatter by trade, and\nthat his name was Charles Washington. He had been a private in the\nBritish naval service, on board the Lion man-of-war. Cruising in those\nseas, he had, while on duty, been guilty of some trifling offence; and,\napprehending that he should be severely punished for it, had left the\nship, and taken up his residence upon the island. He seemed to be\ncontented with his situation, and had no desire to return to his native\ncountry. He had attained to great celebrity, and was the sixth chief\namong them. His authority seemed great, and he exercised it with\nexemplary discretion.\n\nObserving the provisions before us, he told us that they were for our\nuse, and desired us to partake of whatever we preferred. Seeing that we\nwere likely to be somewhat annoyed by the crowd of young persons who had\ncollected around us, he swung his battle-axe over their heads, and\ngiving them to understand that we belonged to _him_, immediately caused\nthem to disperse.\n\nArrangements were soon made for our accommodation. A part of one of the\n\"pyes\" was appropriated to our use, and we were furnished with mats, and\nother things for our comfort and convenience. Here we remained for about\na month, and were regularly supplied by the natives with a sufficiency\nof provisions of various kinds, such as hogs, goats, fish, yams,\ncocoa-nuts, bread-fruit, preserved almonds, and occasionally with sweet\npotatoes.\n\nA change seemed now to have come over us. We were, it is true, amongst a\nrude and barbarous people, cut off from all intercourse with the rest of\nthe world, and deprived of many things which we had been accustomed to\nregard as essential to our happiness; but even then we found many\nreasons for being grateful to the Disposer of events. Our actual wants\nwere supplied; and the natives soon evinced a disposition to consider us\nfriends, and treat us as such. To the latest day of our lives we shall\nremember some of them with heartfelt respect and affection; and, most of\nall, regret our inability to requite them for the favors which they\nvoluntarily bestowed upon us. Especially should we rejoice to revisit\nthat lonely spot of earth, and carry with us, to those children of\nnature, the means of civilization, and the blessings of Christian faith\nand Christian morality. And should the government of enlightened America\never see proper to extend to them some proof of its regard, it would\nafford us unspeakable pleasure to have it in our power to communicate to\nthem the exalted principles, which might incline this highly favored\nnation to the performance of so noble a deed.\n\nFinding it important to be able to converse with the natives, we\nimproved every opportunity to become acquainted with their language.\nHaving but little to occupy our attention, it was not long before we had\nacquired a tolerable knowledge of it; and we found our situation much\nmore pleasant as we became familiar with it. Our great object was, as\nthe reader will naturally suppose, to contrive some way of escape. Our\nonly means of accomplishing this was by friendly and amicable\nnegotiation, and to make them understand our wishes, and convince them\nthat it would be for their interest to aid us in returning to our native\nland, were essential to our success.\n\nWe had not long been with them before we became acquainted with the\nfact, that upon the opposite end of the island there was another tribe,\nand that the two divisions of the inhabitants were not on the most\nfriendly terms with each other. Intelligence had in some way been\ncommunicated to those who lived remote from the spot where fortune had\nthrown us, that we were desirous of leaving the island; and, probably\nwith a view of gaining some advantage, they sent to us a message,\ninforming us of their willingness to assist in constructing a boat\nsufficiently large to convey us across the water. The persons\ncommissioned to make this proposal, and to persuade us to go to them,\nwere two Englishmen, who, as we afterwards learned, had been on the\nisland for several years, and were left there by English vessels. The\nparticulars of their history we were unable to obtain.\n\nAn offer of that kind, coming as it did from their enemies, and being in\nitself calculated to offend the pride of those into whose hands we had\nfallen, greatly excited their feelings of animosity; and, in consequence\nof our having manifested some desire to satisfy our own minds on the\nsubject, we were closely watched. On the whole, however, we had no\nreason to regret this state of things; for on finding that their\nneighbors were disposed to assist us, a spirit of emulation was aroused\namong them, and for a time we had some hopes that the excited energies\nof this tiny nation would lead to the performance of some exploit,\nwhich, in the end, might place at our disposal the means of\ndeliverance.\n\nOur maintenance had by this time become so great a tax upon their\nresources, that it was found expedient to cause some of our number to be\nremoved to a settlement about a mile distant. Mr. Nute, Mr. Rollins, and\nmyself were accordingly selected, and under a strong escort taken to the\nplace. This did not please us, as we preferred remaining with our\ncompanions; but either expostulation or resistance would have involved\nus in worse difficulties, and we submitted. In our new situation we were\nwell supplied with provisions, and kindly treated. We were allowed to\nvisit our friends at the other town, and spent our time as agreeably as\ncould be expected under the circumstances.\n\nPreviously to this, some steps had been taken towards constructing a\nsort of boat or vessel to convey us home. Finding the natives disposed\nto part with us, for a stipulated consideration, and to render us any\nassistance in their power, we left no means unemployed to induce them\nto exert themselves to the utmost; and, to their credit be it said, it\nwas more owing to their inability than to their want of inclination that\nwe were not entirely successful. An account of their proceedings cannot\nfail of being interesting.\n\nAfter much deliberation, and many consultations upon the momentous\nsubject, it was agreed to commence operations. Their prophetess had been\nduly consulted, and the assistance of their divinity had been implored\nwith great formality. Before they ventured upon the undertaking, it was\ndeemed advisable to hold a festival. An event of so much importance\ncould not be suffered to transpire without being duly solemnized.\nTradition furnished no account of any thing equal to this attempt!\nAccordingly large quantities of provisions were brought from various\nparts of the island, and an immense concourse of men, women, and\nchildren, attended the feast. On our part we had little confidence in\nthe success of the plan; but, be that as it might, we were far from\nbeing displeased with their efforts to carry it into execution, and\nshared with them the festivities of the occasion, with not a little\npleasure.\n\nThis part of the business having been duly attended to, the time had\ncome for united and vigorous action; and accordingly the whole male\npopulation of that region repaired to the woods, to procure timber. In\nthe mean time the females, animated by a spirit of emulation, betook\nthemselves to the task of making mats, to serve as sails to our vessel,\nwhen it should be completed. In fine, the whole resources of the\ncountry, of every kind, were taxed to the last extremity, to accomplish\nthe work.\n\nConsidering the means they had for carrying the plan into execution, it\nis surprising that they accomplished as much as they did. The best tools\nwe had were a few old inch chisels, which served as substitutes for the\nbroad-axe, in manufacturing trees into planks, and afterwards fitting\nthem to their places. There were a few spikes on the island, but we had\nneither auger nor gimlet.\n\nWhen news had been received that the timber was ready in the woods,\norders were given to have it brought together. Seldom had we witnessed a\nmore novel scene than that presented by the natives when they brought\nfrom the forests the rudely prepared materials for the boat. They were\nseen coming in from all quarters with loads of timber on their\nshoulders, of every size and shape that could be conceived of, and\ncausing the hills and vales to resound with their shouts.\n\nIn due time the work of putting together the materials commenced. We\nsucceeded in laying a sort of keel, and at length contrived to erect a\nkind of frame, which, though it might not be regarded as a first-rate\nspecimen of naval architecture, nevertheless looked somewhat like the\nbeginning of a water-craft. But when we came to the more difficult part\nof the business, that of putting on the planks, we found that not only\nour skill, but that of the whole nation, was completely baffled. We were\ncompelled to abandon the undertaking; and despaired of ever being able\nto succeed in building any thing of the kind.\n\nDuring all this time the natives were sanguine in the belief that they\nshould succeed, and repeatedly assured us that they could accomplish the\nwork. Their sorrow and mortification, on being obliged to give it up,\nwere great; for they seemed to realize, that now they must have fallen\nin our estimation, and thought that we should be anxious to avail\nourselves of the assistance of their enemies, who, as they well knew,\nwere extremely anxious to get us into their hands. The captain did not\nattempt to conceal his wish to go to the other part of the island. This\ngreatly increased their dissatisfaction; and their murmurs became\nfrequent and loud. After considerable expostulation, they proposed to\nmake a _canoe_ sufficiently large to convey us away; and, having some\nconfidence in the practicability of the plan, we consented to wait and\nassist them in their endeavors to supply us with this substitute for the\nmore respectable craft we had contemplated building. After duly\nconsulting the old prophetess, the principal chiefs were assembled, and\nhaving agreed to take for the purpose the largest bread-fruit tree on\nthe island, the people were called upon to meet at the spot where it\nstood, and assist in cutting it down.\n\nMatters of so great importance required deliberation in the operation of\nplanning out the work,--but the accomplishment of an undertaking like\nthat of felling so large a tree, with tools even less adapted to the\nbusiness than the teeth of a beaver, was one that took several days. At\nlength the herculean task was performed, and the tree fell! But judge of\nour feelings on finding that the trunk, which we had hoped to render so\nuseful in conveying us to some place from which we could obtain a\npassage to our native land, had, in falling, become so split as to be\ngood for nothing! It seemed to us that a cruel fate had ordained, that\nno labor of our hands should prosper. Another tree was selected, and\nwith that we were more successful. We then commenced digging it out, and\nbringing it to a proper shape. The old chisels were now put in\nrequisition; and, in twenty-eight days from the time we began, we had\nsucceeded in bringing that part of our labor to a close. Of the other\ntree we made two wide planks, which we fastened to the upper edges of\nthe canoe, thereby adding very considerably to its capacity. Two months\nmore were consumed in fitting up our canoe with sails, and getting it\nready for sea.\n\nHaving proceeded thus far, it was deemed proper by the natives to have\nanother festival; and, as our labors, in this instance, had been\nattended with better success, extraordinary preparations were made for a\nfeast that should do honor to the occasion. An immense quantity of fish\nhad been obtained; the females brought large quantities of bread-fruit,\ncocoa-nuts, and yams; and the toil of months was forgotten in the\nuniversal joy which then prevailed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n     The natives become anxious to aid the ship's company in leaving the\n     island.--Terms on which they agreed to release them.--Departure\n     from the Pelew islands.--Necessity of returning the same\n     night.--Detention a month longer; and final departure.\n\n\nBy this time the natives had become nearly as anxious to part with us as\nwe had ever been to leave them; and being mutually desirous to be rid of\neach other's company, we lost no time in preparing for our departure.\nOur object now was to get into the open sea, with the hope of falling in\nwith some vessel on its passage to China or elsewhere, and thus be able,\nafter a while, to find a conveyance to America. Provisions were\nfurnished us by the natives; but we greatly needed a compass, and with\nmuch difficulty obtained one. Captain Wilson, who had been shipwrecked\nthere many years before, left his compass with one of the chiefs, whom\nwe finally succeeded in inducing to part with it. It had become much\nimpaired by time and improper usage, but served as a tolerable guide.[3]\n\nIt is proper here to state the particulars of our agreement with the\nnatives of this island. They had, as before related, furnished us with\nthe means of subsistence, and with comfortable lodgings; and, for the\npurpose of enabling us to return home, had been at great expense in\nfitting up a craft, such as they thought would answer to convey us\nwherever we pleased to go. According to their notions, we were persons\nof sufficient consequence in the estimation of our countrymen, to\nfulfil any engagement we might make with them, and to the extent to\nwhich, in our necessity, we were compelled to go, in order to obtain the\nobject which we had in view, should the government consider itself\nbound; and it would be no less an act of justice than of humanity, to\nsecure the friendship and confidence of these islanders; so that, should\nothers unfortunately fall into their hands, their lives and property\nmight be respected. It is also important, that those who engage in\ncommercial pursuits should have every protection extended to them. It\nwould cost the government but a mere trifle to secure an amicable\nunderstanding with these islanders; and it is but reasonable to hope\nthat no time will be lost in making the attempt.\n\nSituated as we were, we did not feel ourselves at liberty to expostulate\nagainst the obvious unreasonableness of their demands. We were, in\ntruth, indebted to them for our maintenance while among them, and for\nthe assistance they rendered us in fitting up our craft; and, as a\nsuitable requital for these favors, and to remunerate them for their\nhospitality, we solemnly assured them, that, should fortune so far\nprosper us, as to enable us once more to reach our native country, we\nwould send to them two hundred muskets, ten casks of powder, with a\ncorresponding quantity of balls and flints. Besides this, we gave them\nassurances of having several articles of ornament, such as beads, belts,\ncombs, and trinkets of various kinds.\n\nOn the 27th of October, 1832, we set sail, having the boat in which we\nhad escaped from the ship, and which we had repaired as well as we were\nable, and the canoe which had been constructed by the natives especially\nfor our use. It was agreed, that three of our number, viz. Davis, Meder,\nand Alden, should remain on the island as hostages, and that three of\nthe natives (two chiefs, and one of the common class) should accompany\nus, to see that the agreement made with them should be faithfully\nexecuted. Fearing that the natives residing on the other part of the\nisland might come upon us and prevent our going, we took our departure\nin the night. We soon found that our boats leaked so badly that it would\nbe next to madness to proceed, and we returned in the course of the\nnight. Our unexpected return gave great offence; but we insisted that to\ngo to sea in that condition would be certain destruction. They at length\nconsented to assist in repairing the canoe and boat, and to suffer us to\nremain long enough to complete our arrangements more to our mind.\n\nWe were detained by these operations about a month, and then again took\nour leave of the spot where we had remained so long against our will;\nthough we would not conceal the fact, that the rude kindness of the\nnatives had so entirely overbalanced their faults, that, on parting with\nthem, we experienced emotions of regret, and were quite overpowered with\na sense of our obligations to them for the many favors which they had\nbestowed upon us. They had regarded and treated us as beings of a higher\norder than themselves; and our conduct had inspired them with a\nveneration and confidence almost unbounded. As a proof of this, three\nof their number were committed to our care, and were entirely willing to\nplace themselves at our disposal.\n\nSeven of our number now took the canoe, viz., Bouket, Sedon, Andrews,\nHulet, and the three natives. Captain Barnard, Rollins, Nute, and myself\npreferred the ship's boat. We were accompanied on our passage the first\nday by a large number of the natives. At night, as we had then succeeded\nin getting beyond the reef, they left us, and we continued our course.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] The Englishman before mentioned, Charles Washington, told us that\nthis compass was left there about _thirty_ years before, which was the\ntime when captain _James_ Wilson, of the ship Duff, was there. But from\ncircumstances it appeared that he was mistaken as to the time, and that\nit was one which had belonged to captain _Henry_ Wilson, who was\nshipwrecked there in the Antelope, in 1783, and of whose voyage and\ndisasters a most interesting and well-known account was published by Mr.\nKeate. Its preservation for about fifty years is certainly\nremarkable.--_Edit._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n     Regret at having undertaken the voyage in boats.--Storm, and damage\n     in consequence of it.--Loss of the canoe and the provisions on\n     board.--Danger of perishing from famine.--On the fifteenth day,\n     when nearly exhausted with fatigue and hunger, they discover a\n     small island.--Approach of eighteen canoes filled with natives, who\n     make prisoners of them all.--Cruelty of the natives; and return\n     with their prisoners to the island.--Reception there.--The\n     prisoners distributed among the captors.\n\n\nWe had not proceeded far before we had reasons for regretting, that we\nhad entered upon the perilous undertaking of navigating the waters of\nthat region in boats so poorly adapted to the purposes we had in view.\nThere came on a violent storm of rain, the wind blowing hard, and the\nwaves threatening to swallow us each moment of the night. To our dismay,\nthe rudder of the canoe, owing to the imperfect manner in which it had\nbeen constructed, was unshipped, and for a time the destruction of those\non board seemed inevitable. Fortunately we continued to keep company.\nBy great exertion we made out to replace the rudder in the morning, and\nthen proceeded. In the course of the day the rudder was again unshipped;\nbut, with less difficulty than before, we succeeded in fastening it to\nits place with ropes, so that it answered tolerably well as a substitute\nfor a better one. Happy would it have been for us, if this had been the\nworst of the disasters of our voyage. Our mast next went by the board;\nand during the whole of the next night, we lay drifting at the mercy of\nthe winds and waves. In the mean time the canoe sprung a leak, and we\nfound it impossible to bail out the water as fast as it came in. In this\nextremity we lost no time in shifting all our lading into one end of the\ncanoe; and by tearing up our old clothes, and stuffing them into the\ncrack, we at length stopped the leak. In this sad plight we continued\non, meeting with no very serious accident till the fifth day from the\ntime of leaving the island; when, just at the setting of the sun, owing\nto some mismanagement, a light puff of wind capsized the canoe!\nFortunately no one was drowned. All but three swam to our boat; those\nwho remained continued through the night to cling to the canoe. With\ngreat difficulty we kept our boat from being stove in pieces by coming\nin contact with the canoe. During all this time it rained very hard, and\nnever had we experienced a more dismal night. In the morning we tried to\nget the canoe right side up; but finding that impossible, we concluded\nto abandon it entirely. We took from it a few cocoa-nuts, and, as our\nlast resort, all took refuge in the boat. We saved the compass, and did\nnot so much regret the loss of the canoe, as it had cost us already an\nincalculable amount of anxiety, toil, and suffering.\n\nBut new difficulties now stared us in the face. Most of our provisions\nhad been lost by the upsetting of the canoe, and we had but a very small\nquantity of water. It was therefore deemed expedient to divide among us\nthe means of subsistence remaining. We had four cocoa-nuts for each\nperson, and a few pieces over, which were distributed equally. At this\ntime no objects were seen, except a few sea birds. We continued in this\ncondition for nine days and nights, with actual starvation before us, as\nthe most probable end of our anxieties and sufferings. We were about\nsettling down into a state of confirmed despair, when, to our\ninexpressible joy, we discovered land apparently about ten miles off. We\nexerted all our remaining strength to reach it. When within six miles we\nsaw, approaching us, a fleet of eighteen canoes, filled with the natives\nof the small island we were approaching.\n\nAt first the small canoes came near us, for the purpose of ascertaining\nwho and what we were. The appearance of these natives was such as to\nexcite at once our astonishment and disgust. Like the inhabitants of the\nisland we had left, they were entirely naked; and, as our subsequent\nexperience proved, they were infinitely more barbarous and cruel. Very\nsoon the large canoes came up, when the wretches commenced their\noutrages. They attacked us with brutal ferocity, knocking us overboard\nwith their clubs, in the mean time making the most frightful grimaces,\nand yelling like so many incarnate devils. They fell upon our boat and\nimmediately destroyed it, breaking it into splinters, and taking the\nfragments into their canoes. While this was going on we were swimming\nfrom one canoe to another, entreating them by signs to spare our lives\nand permit us to get into their canoes. This they for a long time\nrefused, beating us most unmercifully, whenever we caught hold of any\nthing to save ourselves from sinking.\n\nAfter they had demolished our boat, and kept us in that condition for\nsome time, they allowed us to get on board. They then compelled us to\nrow towards the land. They stripped us of all our clothing immediately\nafter we were taken in; and the reader may form some idea of our\ndistress in this condition, under a burning sun, from the fact, that\nbefore night our shoulders were blistered, by being thus exposed to the\nheat.\n\nOn approaching land we discovered no habitation; but after going round a\npoint of the island, we saw near the beach a row of small and badly\nconstructed huts. We were compelled to jump from the canoes into the\nwater and wade to the shore. By this time the beach was lined with women\nand children, who caused the air to resound with the most horrid yells\nand screams. Their gestures and violent contortions of countenance\nresembled the frantic ravings of Bedlamites.\n\nThe reception we met with on land was no more agreeable than that upon\nthe water. Judging from the treatment we had received from the females\nof the island which we had left, it was hoped that the gentler sex would\nextend to us some proof of their commiseration; but in this we were\nsadly disappointed. If possible, they were more cruel than their inhuman\nlords and masters. We were soon separated from each other, and dragged\nabout from place to place; our brutal captors, in the mean time,\ncontending with each other to see who should have us as his property.\nFrequent contests of this kind occurred; in one of which, during the\nfirst day, I was knocked down. The question of ownership was at length\nsettled, and we were retained by those into whose hands we had at first\nfallen. Some of us were taken to their house of worship, called by them\nVerre-Yarris--literally, God's house, where they went through with some\nof their religious ceremonies, and we received a few mouthfuls of food,\nwhich was the first we had tasted through the day.\n\nIt was my good fortune to be retained by one who, compared with the\nother natives, was humane. His name was _Pahrahbooah_; the female head\nof the family was called Nahkit; and they had four children. I went by\nthe name of _Tee´mit_; and Benjamin Nute by the name of _Rollo_. The\ncaptain was also fortunate in falling into the hands of a friend of my\nmaster, who treated him with comparative kindness. He was valued the\nmore highly also on account of being a large, fleshy man--they judging\nof these things by the size and appearance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n     The island, to which they were carried, proves to be Lord North's\n     island, called by the natives _To´bee_.--Account of the island and\n     its inhabitants.--Their manners and customs.\n\n\nIt may now be proper in this place to give some account of the place\nwhere our unhappy lot was cast, and of its rude and miserable\ninhabitants. It will be impossible to convey a correct idea of their\nignorance, poverty, and degradation; but some conception may be formed,\nby imagining what the condition of beings must necessarily be, when\nwholly separated from the rest of their species, stripped of all the\nrefinements of life, and deprived of all means and opportunities for\nimprovement.\n\nWe were now upon the small piece of land called by the natives _To´bee_,\nbut known to navigators by the name of _Lord North's Island_, situated\nbetween the third and fourth degrees of north latitude, and in longitude\none hundred and thirty-one degrees twenty minutes east. It is also\nknown by the name of _Nevil's Island_ and _Johnston's Island_; and it\nhas been hitherto considered by navigators and others as uninhabited.\nThis is not surprising; as we were told by the natives, that no white\nman had ever visited the place; though it seemed, from the pieces of\niron in their possession, and from other circumstances, that they had\nhad some communication with the Spaniards and Portuguese in that quarter\nof the world.[4] Like many other islands in those seas, this is\nsurrounded by a coral reef, which is from an eighth to one half of a\nmile wide; but outside of the reef the water is apparently fathomless,\nthe water being as blue as it is in the middle of the ocean; and the\nlargest vessels may in many places approach within a quarter of a mile\nof the beach. The whole island rises so little above the level of the\nsea, that the swell often rolls up to a considerable distance inland.\nIt is about three quarters of a mile in length, and not far from half a\nmile in width. There were upon it three villages, situated on the\nshores, and containing, in all, between three and four hundred souls, at\nthe time when we were taken there; but the number was considerably\ndiminished by famine and disease before we left.\n\nThe inhabitants are in a state of entire barbarism and ignorance. The\nmen wear a sort of girdle or belt made of the bark of a tree. This is\ngirded round the loins so as to leave one end to hang loose behind, the\nother is brought forward and fastened to the belt in front. This is\ntheir only clothing. The females, after arriving at the age of\nwomanhood, wear an apron made of the leaves of a plant, by them called\n_kurremung_, split into fine strips and plaited. This extends from the\nloins nearly to the knees. Some few wear rings upon their wrists made of\nwhite shells, and some had this kind of ornament made of turtle-shell.\nIn their ears, which are always bored, they sometimes wear a leaf; and\nround their necks a necklace made of the shell of the cocoa-nut, and a\nsmall white shell, called _keem_ shell. The children go entirely naked.\nThe complexion of these islanders is a light copper color; much lighter\nthan the Malays, or the Pelew islanders; which last, however, they\nresemble in the breadth of their faces, high cheek bones, and broad\nflattened noses. They do not color their teeth, by chewing any thing, as\nmany of those islanders do; but their teeth are so strong that they can\nhusk a cocoa-nut with them instantly.\n\nTheir principal food is the cocoa-nut. They occasionally succeed in\nprocuring fish, though the supply obtained during our residence there\nwas exceedingly small. Their fish-hooks are made of turtle-shell, and\nnot well contrived for the purpose; but we could not induce them to use\nour hooks, till they had heated them and altered their form so that they\nwould not hold the fish. They did this, because they said that Yarris\n(God) would be angry with them, if they used our hooks without preparing\nthem according to their fashion. Sometimes they are so fortunate as to\nobtain a sea-turtle; five only were taken during the two years we were\nthere. The turtle, I may add, has something of a sacred character with\nthem. They also raise small quantities of a vegetable somewhat\nresembling the yam; but while we were with them they were unsuccessful\nin cultivating it. These constitute the slender means of their support;\nand they are thus barely kept from actual death by famine, but on the\nvery verge of starvation. When any one of them begins to fail, for want\nof food, so that his death is pretty certain, they inhumanly turn him\noff from among them, to starve to death.\n\nTheir religion is such as might be expected among a people in their\ncondition. Their place of worship is a rudely constructed building, or\nhut, about fifty feet long and thirty wide. In the centre, suspended\nfrom the roof, is a sort of altar, into which they suppose their deity\ncomes to hold converse with the priest. Rudely carved images are placed\nin different parts of the building, and are supposed to personate their\ndivinity. As nearly as could be ascertained by us, they supposed that\nthe object of their worship was of like passions with themselves,\ncapricious and revengeful. During the time we were with them, they\nattributed to his displeasure their want of success in taking fish as\nthey had done in former times, and the unfruitfulness of their\nbread-fruit and cocoa trees.\n\nTheir religious ceremonies are singular. In the commencement the priest\nwalks round the altar and takes from it a mat devoted to the purpose,\nwhich is laid upon the ground. He then seats himself upon it, and begins\nto hoot, in the mean time throwing himself into a variety of attitudes,\nfor the purpose of calling down the divinity into the altar. At\nintervals the congregation sing, but immediately stop when the priest\nbreaks out in his devotions. By the side of the altar is always placed a\nlarge bowl, and six cocoa-nuts. After the incantation is gone through,\nand the divinity is supposed to be present, the bowl is turned up, and\nfour of the nuts are broken and put in it, two being reserved for the\nexclusive use of a priest by them called also \"_yarris_.\" As soon as the\nnuts are broken, one of the company begins to shout, and, rushing to the\ncentre, seizes the bowl, and drinks of the milk of the nut, generally\nspilling a considerable part of it upon the ground. After this a few\npieces are thrown to the images, and the remainder are eaten by the\npriests. This closes the ceremony; after which they indulge in any\nrecreations that chance to please them best.\n\nWhile we were on the island several earthquakes happened, and some of\nthem pretty severe. On those occasions the natives were much terrified;\nthey would not let their children speak a word; and they said among\nthemselves--_zahbee´too Yarris_, _To´bee yettah´men_, that is, Yarris\n(God) is coming and To'bee (the name of the island) will sink. They were\nalso very much alarmed at thunder and lightning; and used to say at such\ntimes, _Yarris tee´tree_, God is talking. I do not know how they would\nbe affected by an eclipse, as none happened, that I noticed, while we\nremained there.\n\nI will here mention some other things in respect to their customs and\nusages, as they now occur to me.\n\nTheir implements of war are spears and clubs; they have no bows and\narrows. Their spears are made of the wood of the cocoa-nut trees; the\npoints of them are set with rows of sharks' teeth; and, being at the\nsame time very heavy and from ten to twenty feet long, are formidable\nweapons.\n\nTheir canoes are made of logs which drift to their island from other\nplaces, there being no trees on it large enough for that purpose; they\nare hollowed out with great labor, and are of very clumsy workmanship;\nto prevent their oversetting, they are fitted up with outriggers, like\nthose of the Pelew islanders. A sketch of one is given in the\naccompanying engraving.\n\nThey kindle their fires, as they informed me, by rubbing two pieces of\nwood together, as is common in the islands of the Pacific ocean; and\nthey cook their turtle or other meat, (when they are so fortunate as to\nhave any,) as well as their vegetables, by covering them with heated\nstones. I should state, however, that during the whole time we staid\namong them, fire was always preserved in some part of the island, so\nthat there was no necessity for kindling it in the manner here\nmentioned.\n\nLike other savage people, they reckon time by moons; I could not learn\nthat they ever reckoned by any other period, except, indeed, when\nspeaking of two or three days.\n\nThey take pride in their hair, and are particularly careful about it,\nwashing and cleansing it almost every day. They do not color it,\nhowever, as the natives of some islands are said to do; but they moisten\nit with the juice pressed out from the cocoa-nut, which gives it a very\nglossy appearance; and it is frequently so long as to reach down to\ntheir waist.\n\nTheir mode of salutation is, to clasp each other in their arms, and\ntouch their noses together, as is practised in many other islands.\n\nWe found no musical instruments of any kind among them. They sometimes,\non particular occasions, would sing or bawl out something like a rude\ntune; but we could not understand it. We frequently tried to teach them\nto whistle, and their awkward attempts to do it amused us; but they\nnever were able to learn how it was done.\n\nIn their names, I could not find that they had any thing like a family\nname, but only a single one, (corresponding to our christian names,) as\nis the case, I believe, throughout the islands of the Pacific. I could\nnot learn, that the names were significant either of animals or other\nobjects, as the Indian names of America are, and I never found any two\npersons of the same name. The names of the members of the family with\nwhich I lived were as follows:--\n\nPahrahboo´ah, the father of the family.\n\nNah'kit, the mother.\n\nBuhwur´timar, the eldest child, a son, ten or twelve years old.\n\nKobaw´ut, the second, a daughter.\n\nKobahnoo´uk, the third, a daughter.\n\nWah´rebo, the fourth, a son.\n\nThe children do not address their parents by any word corresponding to\nfather or mother, papa or mamma, but by their names. Their parents treat\nthem on the footing of equality; they are generally well behaved, and\nare never punished, except occasionally when impatient for their food.\n\nTheir language appears to be different from those of the other islands\nin that quarter; we found that the three natives of the Pelew islands,\nthat accompanied us, could not understand any thing they said; though I\nobserved afterwards, occasionally, a resemblance in two or three words.\nThe reader will, however, be enabled to judge for himself, by means of a\nshort vocabulary of common words which will be found at the end of this\nnarrative. I may add, that the Pelew chiefs had never heard of Lord\nNorth's island; but they are acquainted with the _Caroline_ islands.\n\nA detail of all that befell us would serve only to give pain to the\nbenevolent, or at most to show how much human beings can endure. I shall\nattempt but little more than to describe the sufferings of a day;\nobserving once for all, that for the term of two long years we\nexperienced the same privations, and were subjected to the same brutal\ntreatment; life, during all that time, being no better than the constant\nsuccession of the most acute sufferings.\n\nThis island, unlike the Pelews, is one of the most horrible and wretched\non the face of the globe. The only product of its soil worth mentioning\nis the cocoa-tree; and those are of so dwarfish and miserable a growth\nas to bear but very few nuts. These few, however, constitute the food of\nthe inhabitants, with the exception of a species of fish caught\noccasionally near the shore. The only animals or creeping things known\non the island are lizards and mice, and, during our stay there, scarcely\na solitary sea-fowl was known to have alighted on the island, and but\nfew fish were taken by the natives.\n\nThe character of the inhabitants much resembles that of the island\nitself. Cowardly and servile, yet most barbarous and cruel, they\ncombine, in their habits, tempers, and dispositions, the most\ndisgusting and loathsome features that disgrace humanity. And, what may\nbe regarded as remarkable, the female portion of the inhabitants\noutstrip the men in cruelty and savage depravity; so much so, that we\nwere frequently indebted to the tender mercies of the men for escapes\nfrom death at the hands of the women. The indolence of the natives,\nwhich not even the fear of starvation itself can rouse to exertion,\nprevents their undertaking the least toil, although a little labor, well\napplied, might be made to render them infinitely more comfortable.[5]\n\nStrange as it may appear, it is nevertheless true, that, notwithstanding\nthey are in this miserable condition, with no prospect of its ever being\nimproved, they are of the opinion that they are highly favored. This can\nbe accounted for in no other way than by the fact, that they are\nentirely ignorant of all that lies beyond the narrow limits of their\nobservation. They know nothing of any other portion of the globe, than\nthe mere speck of barren land upon which by some accident they were\nthrown, and where they remain, to drag out a wretched existence. Their\ntraditions do not extend further back than to about a hundred years;\nand, to their simple minds, it seems like a splendid effort of mind to\nbe able to relate, with tolerable accuracy, the time-hallowed stories\ntold them by their parents. Whether they could in any way be improved by\ninstruction, is a question which it would be difficult to answer. They\nseem to be doomed to remain, as one of the last links in the chain that\nconnects our race with the mere animal part of the creation.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[4] They occasionally wore a kind of broad hat, called by them _shappo_,\nand sometimes _shambaráro_; which are evidently derived from the\nPortuguese _chapeo_ (or possibly the French _chapeau_) and the Spanish\n_sombrero_.--_Edit._\n\n[5] Some of these remarks are taken from the New York Sun of May 30,\n1835; for which paper the substance of them was furnished by Mr. Nute\nand myself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n     A ship discovered at a small distance from the island.--The natives\n     prepare to go on board of her.--Captain Barnard and Bartlet\n     Rollins, after being severely beaten, are allowed to go with the\n     natives in their canoes, and thus effect their escape; the rest of\n     the Mentor's people are still forcibly detained on the\n     island.--Their hopes of being taken on board of the same ship are\n     suddenly blasted.--Their despondency on that\n     disappointment.--Return of the natives from the ship; their rage,\n     and quarrels about the division of the articles procured on board\n     of her.--They threaten to wreak their vengeance on the Mentor's\n     people that remained with them.--Their cruel treatment of them.--A\n     storm destroys the cocoa-nut trees and causes a scarcity of food.\n\n\nWe were captured and taken to the island December 6, 1832; and on the\nthird day of February, 1833, two months wanting three days, captain\nBarnard and Bartlet Rollins effected their escape. Compared with the\nremainder of our captivity, our privations and sufferings up to that\ntime were less severe. But at no time did we have sufficient food to\nsatisfy the cravings of hunger! The very crumbs that fall from an\nordinary table would have been to us a luxury; the swine of America are\nbetter fed than we were, on the most fortunate day of our residence upon\nthat island.\n\nIt was on the day above mentioned that a ship was discovered a short\ndistance from the island, and the natives immediately collected, and\nprepared to go to it, in order to obtain iron, or some other articles of\nvalue. Hope once more visited us. To escape was, of course, our strong\ndesire and intention. Accordingly, when the canoes put off we attempted\nto go. Our savage masters interposed their authority, and by menaces and\nblows prevented us. Many of us were severely beaten, and all but two\nwere detained by the brutal force of the savages. At length captain\nBarnard and Rollins, after being severely beaten, were allowed to\naccompany the natives to the ship, and succeeded in effecting their\nescape. Trusting to the humanity of the captain and crew, we for some\ntime confidently expected, that they would contrive some way of enabling\nus to join them. They were in sight about three hours; at one time they\nwere so near that we could distinctly see the hands on board; but judge\nof our feelings when we saw the vessel pursuing her course! Our\nexpectations were all blasted in a moment, and our minds, which had been\ngladdened by the hope of once more enjoying the society of civilized\nbeings, of once more reaching the shores of our beloved country, sunk\nback into a state of despair; we wept like children.\n\nThe natives, when they returned from the vessel, brought with them a\nsmall quantity of iron hoops, and a few articles of some little value,\nbut they were highly dissatisfied with the amount received, and greatly\nenraged. The division of the property caused much difficulty, and they\nquarrelled about it for several days. Those of us who remained, though\ninnocent, were the greatest sufferers. They held us accountable for the\nconduct of those who had left, and vented the malignity of their\nunfeeling hearts upon us. We were given to understand, that now our doom\nwas fixed; that we should remain with them, and die the victims of our\ntormentors! Alas! it was but too true, that such was to be the fate of\nall but two of our number! We were destined to see one after another of\nour fellow-sufferers sink under the constantly increasing severity of\nthe burdens imposed upon them, and perish either from actual starvation,\nor by the blows of the savages.\n\nAfter the departure of the captain and Rollins, we were treated with\nmuch greater severity than we had been before. Generally we were aroused\nfrom our broken slumbers about sunrise, and compelled to go to work; we\nwere usually employed in cultivating a species of vegetable somewhat\nresembling the yam, and called by them \"_koreï_.\" This root is raised in\nbeds of mud, which are prepared by digging out the sand, and filling the\nplace with mould. The whole of this labor was performed with the hands.\nWe were compelled day after day to stand in the mud from morning till\nnight, and to turn up the mud with our hands. Frequently we were\nrequired to do this without receiving a morsel of food till about noon,\nand sometimes we were left without any thing to eat till night. At best\nwe could get no more than a small piece of cocoa-nut, hardly a common\nsized mouthful, at a time, and if, either from exhaustion or any other\ncause, we neglected to perform the required amount of labor, our\npittance of food was withheld altogether.\n\nFrom this plain and unexaggerated account it will be seen, that our\ncondition at best was bad enough; but a misfortune befell us which\nrendered it still worse. About four months from the time of our landing\non that dreary spot, there was a violent storm, which came very near\nsweeping away the whole of the means of support which remained for the\nmiserable inhabitants. The wind blew down many of the best cocoa trees,\nand materially injured the fruit on such as were left standing. Besides\nthis, the low places in which they raised the root, by them called\n\"_korei_,\" were mostly filled with sand, and famine stared us all in the\nface.\n\nThey attributed this misfortune to the anger of their god, and did not\nfail to use such means as they thought best calculated to appease him;\nand the calamity greatly added to our sufferings. Besides subjecting us\nto still more severe deprivations, we were compelled (though hardly able\nto drag our limbs from place to place) to labor in repairing the damage\ndone by the storm. We were employed for months in carrying in our arms\nand on our shoulders pieces of the coral rock, in order to form a sort\nof seawall to prevent the waves from washing away the trees; and this\ndrudgery, considering that we were naked, under a burning sun, and\nreduced to nothing but skin and bones, was too severe to admit of any\nthing like an adequate description. Our flesh, or, to speak more\nproperly, our skin--for flesh we had none--was frequently so torn by the\nsharp corners of the rock, and scorched by the sun, as to resemble more\nthat of the rhinoceros than of human beings.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n     The natives compel the Mentor's people to be tattooed.--Description\n     of that painful operation.--They also oblige them to pluck their\n     beards, &c.--Another vessel passes by the island; and, afterwards,\n     a third comes in sight and remains for three days; the Mentor's\n     people are closely guarded at these times.--The melancholy fate of\n     William Sedon; and the barbarous murder of Peter Andrews.--Attack\n     on H. Holden, who is protected by one of the natives, and\n     escapes.--B. Nute and others are protected by the female natives\n     from the fury of the men.--Death of one of the Pelew\n     chiefs.--Another of the Pelew people is detected in stealing, and\n     is punished in their manner.--Death of Milton Hewlet and Charles C.\n     Bouket; leaving now only B. Nute, H. Holden, and the other Pelew\n     chief, named _Kobak_, who all remained in a feeble and helpless\n     condition.--Filthy practices of the natives.--Friendship of the\n     surviving Pelew chief.\n\n\nA new trial now awaited us. The barbarous beings among whom our lot had\nbeen cast, deemed it important that we should be _tattooed_, and we were\ncompelled to submit to the distressing operation. We expostulated\nagainst it--we entreated--we begged to be spared this additional\naffliction; but our entreaties were of no use. Those savages were not\nto be moved, and we were compelled to submit; and that the reader may\nform some idea of the painful process, I will here give a brief account\nof it.\n\nWe were in the first place securely bound down to the ground, and there\nheld fast by our tormentors. They then proceeded to draw with a sharp\nstick the figures designed to be imprinted on the skin. This done, the\nskin was thickly punctured with a little instrument made of sharpened\nfish bones, and somewhat resembling a carpenter's adz in miniature, but\nhaving teeth, instead of a smooth, sharp edge. This instrument was held\nwithin an inch or two of the flesh, and struck into it rapidly with a\npiece of wood, applied to it in such a manner as to cause it to rebound\nat every stroke. In this way our breasts and arms were prepared; and\nsubsequently the ink, which was made of a vegetable found on the island\ncalled by them the \"_savvan_,\" was applied. The operation caused such an\ninflammation of our bodies, that only a portion could be done at one\ntime; and as soon as the inflammation abated another portion was done,\nas fast as we could bear it, till our bodies were covered. It was\neffectually done; for to this day the figures remain as distinct as they\nwere when first imprinted, and the marks will be carried by us to the\ngrave. They were exceedingly anxious to perform the operation upon our\nfaces; but this we would not submit to, telling them that sooner than\nhave it done we would die in resisting them. Among themselves, the\noldest people had the greatest quantity of tattooing, and the younger\nclass less.\n\nBesides the operation of _tattooing_, they compelled us to pluck the\nhair from different parts of the body, and to pluck our beards about\nevery ten days, which was extremely painful; and at every successive\noperation the beard grew out harder and stiffer.\n\nAbout seventeen days after the captain and Rollins left, we saw a vessel\nto the windward; but the natives did not attempt to visit it. Five\nmonths afterwards another came in sight, and remained for three days\nnear the island. At one time we could distinctly see the men on board;\nbut we were kept on shore and closely guarded. Several canoes visited\nthe ship, and brought back a few pieces of iron, fish-hooks, glass\nbottles, &c. We tried, but in vain, to escape. It seemed to us, that we\nwere doomed to remain on that dreary spot, to wear out our remaining\nstrength in hopeless bondage, and to submit to the control of brutal\nmasters, whose tender mercies were cruelties. Death, in any form, would\nhave been a relief, and often did we see moments when it would have been\nwelcomed as the best of friends! To some of our companions it did come,\nthough dreadful in the manner, yet as a not unwelcome alternative.\n\nAbout a year after we first arrived at the island, William Sedon became\nso reduced as to deprive us of all hopes of his recovery. He looked like\na skeleton; and, at last, was so entirely exhausted by hunger, as to be\nunable to walk, or even to rise from the ground. He continued, however,\nto crawl from place to place, until all his remaining strength was\nnearly gone, when the inhuman monsters placed him in an old canoe, and\nsent him adrift on the ocean! Gladly would his unhappy shipmates have\nextended to him the last sad offices of friendship; that poor\nconsolation was denied both him and us! My heart bleeds at the\nrecollection of our separation and his melancholy fate--when we saw him\nanxiously turn his languid eyes towards those who were doomed still to\nlinger on the borders of the grave! Our sighs were breathed almost in\nsilence, and our tears were shed in vain!\n\nIt may be observed here, that it is not their custom to deposit the\nbodies of any of their dead in the earth, except very young children.\nThe bodies of grown people, after death, are laid in a canoe and\ncommitted to the ocean.\n\nIt was soon our lot to part with another of our companions, Peter\nAndrews. He was accused by the natives of some trifling offence, and put\nto death. The savages knocked him down with their clubs, and then\ndespatched him in the most cruel and most shocking manner. I was at this\ntime at a distance from the place where he was killed. My master was\nabsent; and upon my hearing a noise in the direction of the place where\nthe foul business was transacted, and suspecting that all was not right,\nI started to see what was going on. I was near the beach when I saw a\nnumber of the savages coming towards the spot where I stood, dragging\nalong the lifeless and mangled body of our comrade! One of them\napproached me behind, and knocked me down with his club. The body of\nAndrews was thrown into the sea, and it seemed to be their determination\nto destroy the whole of us. I warded off the blows aimed at me as well\nas I could, and recovering myself, ran towards the hut of my master. He\nhad not yet returned; but, fortunately, an old man, who had previously\nshown some regard for me, and who was the particular friend of my\nmaster, happened at that moment to be passing; and seizing the man who\nhad pursued me, held him fast. I escaped and ran into the hut, and\ncrawled up through an aperture in the floor into the chamber under the\nroof. I seized an old box and covered up the hole through which I had\nascended; but this was not sufficient to detain, for any great length of\ntime, the wretches who were thirsting for my blood. They soon succeeded\nin displacing the box, and one of them seized me; but just as he was\npulling me from my place of refuge, my master returned with several of\nhis friends, and rescued me from the clutches of my enemies.\n\nIn the mean time Nute and the rest of our companions were at the\n\"_Tahboo_,\" a place of public resort, where, for the only time, the\nfemales rendered our people any assistance. They concealed the men under\nsome mats, and kept them there till the fury of the natives had in a\nmeasure subsided.\n\nWe were next called upon to part with one of the Pelew _chiefs_ who had\ncome with us. He died of absolute starvation, and, according to custom,\nwas committed to the waves in an old canoe. In a short time after this,\nthe Pelew private (who had also come with us) was detected in the crime\nof taking a few cocoa-nuts without leave; for which offence he had his\nhands tied behind him, and was put into a canoe and sent adrift; which\nwas their usual method of punishment for offences of different kinds.\n\nAbout a year and seven months from the commencement of our captivity\nMilton Hewlet died, and, like the others, was, according to the custom\nof the natives, committed to the ocean. A short time afterwards Charles\nC. Bouket, having become so reduced by his sufferings as to be unable to\nhelp himself, was (horrible to relate!) placed in a canoe, while still\nalive, and committed to the mercy of the ocean. Thus did one after\nanother of our companions sink under the weight of their sufferings, and\nperish without any alleviation of their wretchedness. Nute and myself,\nwith our friend _Kobac_, the other Pelew chief, were all that remained;\nand we were constantly expecting that the next hour would end our\nexistence.\n\nThe idea of death, however, had now become familiar; and often did we\ndesire the release from suffering which that alone could afford.\nNothing, as it now appears to us, but the kind interposition of\nProvidence, could have continued our lives, and have given us the power\nof endurance to hold out so long as we did. We were frequently so\nreduced as to be unable to walk, and were forced to drag ourselves on\nour hands and knees to some place where we could lie down under the\nshade of a bush, and take rest. But the small comfort to be obtained in\nthis way was greatly lessened by the annoyance of musquetoes, which\ncould attack us with impunity in our helpless and feeble condition.\nBesides this, our flesh had so fallen away, that on lying down, our\nbones would actually pierce through the skin, giving us the most severe\npain. After we were tattooed, the parts operated upon were, for a long\ntime, running sores; and when exposed to the sun, the pain was\nexcruciating.\n\nIt has been already said, that the natives were indolent, filthy and\ndegraded, but the half has not been told; and some things which we\nwitnessed cannot be related. The intercourse of the sexes was\nunrestrained by any law; and the decencies of life were almost entirely\nneglected. Instead of taking pains to keep clean, they seemed to be not\nunwilling to have their heads overrun with vermin; and however\nincredible it may seem, it is a disgusting truth, that they are\naccustomed to eat them; and particular care seems to be taken to keep\nthose loathsome animals in the heads of the children. But I forbear any\nfurther particulars.\n\nI have already said, that only two of the crew of the Mentor, namely,\nNute and myself, remained alive, with the exception of captain Barnard\nand Rollins, who had fortunately escaped. The Pelew chief had become\nstrongly attached to us, and we take pleasure in stating the fact, that\nhis faithfulness and affection had greatly endeared him to us. He seemed\nmore like a brother than a barbarian; and most gladly would we have\nsaved him from those sufferings which, no doubt, before this time, have\nterminated his life. Alas! it was not in our power to administer to his\nrelief; and when we last saw him he was but just alive.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n     The feeble and exhausted condition of the survivors, Nute and\n     Holden.--The natives consent to release them from labor, but refuse\n     them food; and they obtain permission to leave the island in the\n     first vessel, for a compensation to be made to the natives.--They\n     crawl about from place to place, subsisting upon leaves, and\n     occasionally begging a little food of the natives, for two\n     months.--Their sudden joy at hearing of a vessel coming towards the\n     island.--It proves to be the British barque Britannia, captain\n     Short, bound to Canton.--They are taken on board the Britannia,\n     November 27, 1834, and treated with the kindest attention.--Their\n     joy and gratitude at this happy termination of their\n     sufferings.--They gradually recover their health so far as to take\n     passage for America, in the ship Morrison, bound for New York,\n     where they arrive May 5, 1835.--Acknowledgments for their kind\n     reception at New York and Boston.\n\n\nHaving thus briefly related the story of our captivity and sufferings,\nit only remains to give an account of our escape from this barbarous\npeople. We continued to survive the horrible sufferings to which we were\nconstantly subjected, and to serve our tyrannical masters, in despite of\nour agonies of body and mind, till the beginning of the autumn of 1834;\nat which time we had become so emaciated, feeble, and sickly, that we\nfound it impossible any longer even to attempt to labor. By this time we\nhad acquired a sufficient knowledge of their tongue to converse fluently\nwith the natives, and we informed our masters, that our feeble condition\nrendered it impossible for us to attempt to do any thing more. We also\nreasoned the matter with them, telling them that death was our\ninevitable doom, unless we were allowed to relax our labor; that if we\ndied we could be of no service to them, but if allowed a respite, and we\nlived, and could be put on board a vessel, they should be liberally\nrewarded.\n\nWith much difficulty we at length persuaded our masters to allow us to\nquit labor, and obtained from them a promise to be put on board the\nfirst vessel that should come to the island. But, at the same time, they\ninformed us, that if we ceased to work, they should cease to furnish the\nmiserable allowance of cocoa-nut on which we had before subsisted, and\nthat we must either labor or starve. We deemed death as welcome in one\nshape as in another, and relinquished our labors and our pittance of\nfood together.\n\nWe were thus literally turned out to die! We crawled from place to\nplace, subsisting upon leaves, and now and then begging of the natives a\nmorsel of cocoa-nut. In this way we contrived to live for about two\nmonths, when the joyful intelligence was brought to us that a vessel was\nin sight, and was coming near the island! Hope once more revisited our\ndespairing hearts, and seemed to inspire us with renewed strength and\nanimation.\n\n[Illustration: ESCAPE TO THE BRITANNIA.]\n\nAfter taxing our exhausted powers to the utmost, we persuaded the\nnatives to prepare for visiting the vessel; and throwing our emaciated\nbodies into their canoes, we made for the ship with all possible\ndespatch. The vessel proved to be the British barque Britannia, captain\nShort, bound to Canton. Our reception on board is faithfully described\nin the following certificate given by captain Short, the original of\nwhich is still in my possession:\n\n                                   \"LINTIN, 29th December, 1834.\n\n     \"This is to certify, that on the 27th day of November, 1834, off\n     the small island commonly called Lord North's by the English,\n     situated in latitude 3° 3' north, and longitude 131° 20' east, on\n     board the British barque Britannia, bound to Canton river, we\n     observed about ten or eleven canoes, containing upwards of one\n     hundred men, approaching the vessel, in a calm, or nearly so, with\n     the intention of coming alongside. But having the small complement\n     of thirteen men, it was considered most prudent to keep them off,\n     which was effected by firing a few six pound shots in a contrary\n     direction from the boats, some of which were then within\n     pistol-shot. At the same time hearing cries in our own language,\n     begging to be taken on board, the boat was despatched away to know\n     the cause. The boat returned to the ship, and reported an American\n     on board one of them. She was then sent back, having strict\n     orders to act with caution, and the man got from the canoe into the\n     sea, and was taken up by the ship's boat, and brought on board. He\n     then stated in what manner he came there, and said he had another\n     of his countrymen in another canoe. I said if we could get some of\n     the boats dispersed, that every assistance should be rendered for\n     the liberty of the other man. Accordingly they did so, all but\n     three. The ship's boat was then despatched in search, and soon\n     found the other man. He was brought on board, but in a most\n     deplorable condition with fever, from the effects of a miserable\n     subsistence. These two poor fellows were quite naked, under a\n     burning sun. They appeared to bear all the marks of their long\n     servitude, and I should suppose two or three days would have been\n     the end of the last man taken on board, but from this act of\n     Providence. It appears that these men were wrecked in the ship\n     Mentor, on the Pelew islands, and were proceeding with their\n     commander to some Dutch settlement, in one of the Pelew island\n     canoes, when they got to the afore-mentioned island, and were\n     detained by the natives; and that captain Edward C. Barnard had got\n     on board some ship, and reached Canton river shortly after their\n     detention at the island; which has been confirmed by the different\n     masters now at the port of Lintin.\n\n     \"The statement given in to me by the two men runs thus:--That they\n     were wrecked May 21st, 1832, on the Pelew islands, and detained on\n     Lord North's island 6th December, 1832. The two men's names are\n     Benjamin H. Nute and Horace Holden. I should thank any ship master\n     now in port, acquainted with the circumstance, to confirm it by his\n     signature, in order to make some provision for those men, should\n     they require it. But from the disposition and liberality of those\n     American gentlemen coming forward, that are already acquainted with\n     the circumstance, perhaps it will be unnecessary. At the same time\n     I shall be very willing to draw up any form, or in any other way\n     that I may forward their views, according to the opinion of their\n     American friends. I should hope that every vessel passing in the\n     direction of the afore-mentioned island, passing any of their\n     boats, will give them a trifle. I gave them what articles those two\n     men thought most beneficial, and should have held a closer\n     communication with them had I been better manned and armed.\n\n                                   HENRY SHORT, Barque Britannia.\"\n\nNever shall we find words to express our joy at once more finding\nourselves in the company of civilized men! Nor can we be too grateful to\ncaptain Short, and his officers and crew, for their kind attentions\nduring our passage to Lintin. Every thing in their power was done to\nrestore our health and strength, and to render us comfortable. On\narriving at Lintin we found ourselves sufficiently recovered to be able\nto pass up the river to Canton. We remained there, at the factories,\nunder medical treatment, until the ship Morrison, of New York, was ready\nto sail; when we took passage in her for our native country, and arrived\nin New York on the 5th day of May, 1835.\n\nIn New York we found many kind friends, who took a lively interest in\nour behalf. We would particularly acknowledge a debt of gratitude which\nwe owe to Mr. John Munson, who opened his hospitable dwelling for our\nreception, and with whom we tarried for several weeks. Assisted by the\nhumane and philanthropic citizens of New York, we have been enabled to\nreach Boston. Here Providence has raised us up warm friends, through\nwhose assistance we have been rendered as comfortable as could under any\ncircumstances have been expected.\n\nIn compliance with the solicitations of many respectable gentlemen, the\nforegoing narrative is submitted to the public, with the hope that it\nmay not be entirely uninteresting, and not without use. Every statement\nmay be relied upon as strictly true; and it is believed, that, simple\nand unadorned as is our story, it may serve to afford some information\nof a little spot hitherto supposed to be uninhabited, and to present to\nview of the curious and intelligent some knowledge of a portion of our\nrace among whom no white man has ever before lived.\n\nTo captain Barnard the author of the statements in this narrative is\nunder great obligations for his uniformly kind treatment previous to the\nloss of the Mentor, and during the whole time we were together. We have\nno reason to doubt, that he did all in his power to obtain our release\nfrom captivity at the time when he was himself so fortunate as to\nescape; and not the least blame is to be imputed to him on account of\nthe disasters that befell us.\n\nOf the twenty-two persons who composed the ship's company of the Mentor\nwhen she sailed from New Bedford, only _four_ have returned. It has been\nreported, that one of the three who was left at the Pelew islands\nescaped a few months since. If such be the case only two remain there;\nand it is hoped that some measures will soon be adopted, either by the\ngovernment or by humane individuals, to rescue them from their painful\nand distressing situation.\n\nI cannot close this narrative without expressing the most heart-felt\ngratitude to that kind Providence which has sustained us under trials\nand sufferings the most severe, and returned us to our homes and\nfriends. And may those who have been to us friends indeed, find an ample\nreward for their generosity, in the consciousness of having been\ninfluenced by those sentiments and feelings which best adorn and dignify\nthe human character!\n\n  BOSTON, NOVEMBER, 1835.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\nVOCABULARY OF THE LANGUAGE OF LORD NORTH'S ISLAND.\n\n\nThe language of the inhabitants of Lord North's island appears to be a\nnew and hitherto unknown dialect of the Polynesian family of languages.\nAccording to the preceding Narrative, it was wholly unintelligible to\nthe _Pelew_ chiefs who accompanied the crew of the Mentor when they were\nmade captives. To judge by the _numerals_, and a few other words, which\nhave been collected by travellers, it has a near affinity to the\ndialects of the neighboring _Caroline_ islands.\n\nIn the selection of words for the following vocabulary, we have\nprincipally followed the list of English words in Keate's Account of the\nPelew Islands, but have added several from the Empress Catherine's\nVocabulary; distinguishing by SMALL CAPITALS all the words which\ncorrespond to those in that Vocabulary. Some short dialogues are\nsubjoined to the vocabulary.\n\nThe orthography adopted is that of the _English_ language; it being the\nmost useful to such of our navigators as may chance to visit Lord\nNorth's island or those in its vicinity. It is only necessary to state\nparticularly, that _ay_ is to be pronounced like _aye_, or _ah-ee_; _g_,\nalways hard, as in _go_; _ng_, in the middle of a word, as it is at the\nend; as, for example, in the English word _hanger_, and not as in the\nword anger, (ang-ger;) and _zh_ is to be pronounced like _s_ in\n_pleasure_, or the French _j_.\n\nIt is proper to remark, that the words of the language here given, not\nhaving been furnished by _natives_ of the island, are to be received\nrather as approximations than as perfectly exact specimens of the\nlanguage; but the comparisons made with kindred dialects lead us to\nbelieve, that they are as exact as are usually obtained from similar\nsources. Two years' residence in the island strongly impressed the\nlanguage in the memory of the unfortunate captives.\n\n     And, mah.\n\n     Arm. (_See_ Hand.)\n\n     BACK, tukkalek´.\n\n     BAD, tuhmah´.\n\n     Bamboo, sheel, _or_ shil.[6]\n\n     BEARD, koosum. (_See_ Hair.)\n\n     BELLY, mish´ee-um.\n\n     Belt, (worn by the men,) tap´pah.\n\n     Big, yennup.\n\n     Bird, kar´rum.\n\n     BLACK, wayzer´ris, (wah-ee-zerris.)\n\n     Boat, prow, (prah-oo.)\n\n     BONE, cheel.\n\n     BOY. (_See_ Man.)\n\n     Brass, mullebah´dee.\n\n     Breast (of a female,) toot.[7]\n\n     Brother, biz´zheem, _or_ biz´zhim.\n\n     Canoe, (_the same as_ Boat.)\n\n     CHILD, (_of two or three years old_,) lah´bo.\n\n     Clouds, kotcho.\n\n     Cocoa-nut, (_when ripe_,) kahrah´pah; (_when very young_,) soob;\n     (_when the husk is so hard as to require breaking with a stone_,)\n     chou, _or_ chah-oo.\n\n     Cold, makkrazm´.\n\n     Come, (_verb, the same as to go_,) mo´rahbeeto.\n\n     Copper, (_the same as_ Brass.)\n\n     Cord, (small line) kreel.\n\n     Darkness, klo-wayzer´ris.\n\n     DAY, yahro, (_the same as_ Sun.)\n\n     DEAD, poo´ruk.\n\n     Dirt, yuhbur´.\n\n     Drink, (_verb_,) lim´mah.\n\n     DUST. (_See_ Dirt.)\n\n     Eat, muk´kah.\n\n     FATHER, wur´teemum; (_used also for_ Friend.)\n\n     FINGERS, kay´muk, (_the same as_ Hand.)\n\n     FIRE, yah, _or_ yahf.\n\n     Fish, ee´kah.\n\n     Fish-hook, kah-oo eekah.\n\n     Fishing net, shibbo´.\n\n     Fly, (_the insect_,) lahng.\n\n     Foot, petchem´; (_applied to the_ foot, leg, _and_ thigh.)\n\n     Friend. (_See_ Father.)\n\n     GIRL, pah´chik vay-ee´vee; (_literally_, a little woman.)\n\n     Go. (_See_ Come.)\n\n     GOOD, yissung.\n\n     GOD, yarris. (_They had images of twelve gods._)\n\n     GRASS, waw´ree.\n\n     HAIR, (_of the head_,) chim. (_See_ Beard.)\n\n     HAND, kay´muk. (_See_ Fingers.)\n\n     HEAD, mitch´eemum.\n\n     HERE, atid´dee, _or_ ettid´dee.\n\n     HOUSE. (_See_ Hut.)\n\n     Hungry, surmah´.\n\n     Hut, _or_ house, yim.\n\n     I, (myself,) nang.\n\n     Iron, pahng-ul; _also_ pishoo.\n\n     Iron hoop, chee´pah; (i. e. _pieces of iron hoops, of which they\n     make knives, &c._)\n\n     Kill, (_verb_,) mah´tee.\n\n     Large. (_See_ Big.)\n\n     Laugh, (_verb_,) mee´mee.\n\n     LEAF, (_of a cocoa-nut tree_,) trillah.\n\n     Leg. (_See_ Foot.)\n\n     LIGHTNING, visseeg´.\n\n     Little. (_See_ Small.)\n\n     Lizard, peelel´.\n\n     MAN, mah´ree, _or_ mah.\n\n     Many, pee´pee.\n\n     MILK, toot. (_See_ Breast.)\n\n     My, mine; e. g. _my cocoa-nut_, kahrah´pah ah nang.\n\n     Moon, muk´kum.\n\n     Mother, mish´erum.\n\n     Mouse. (_See_ Rat.)\n\n     Musquetoe, lahm.\n\n     Near to, yah peteh´to, _or_ petetto.\n\n     Night, neebo´; (_also_ by night.)\n\n     No, taw, _or_ tah-oo.\n\n     Numerals. (_See the list at the end of this vocabulary._)\n\n     Oar. (_See_ Paddle.)\n\n     Old, (i. e. from twenty years upwards,) mahzoo´-ee; very old,\n     mahzoo-ee ah va; _also_, butchee butch chim, _literally_, the hair\n     is white.\n\n     Paddle, vettel.\n\n     People, pee´pee ah mah´ree; _literally_, many men.\n\n     Rain, (it rains,) oot; it does not rain, taw oot.\n\n     Rat, tum´meeum.\n\n     Reef (of rocks,) ahrah´-oo.\n\n     Rope, tah´ree. (_See_ Cord.)\n\n     Sand, (or shoal in the sea,) pee. _This word means simply the\n     sand._\n\n     Sea, (salt water,) taht.\n\n     Shark, po.\n\n     Ship, waw´wee.\n\n     Short, yuhmoat´, _or_ yah moat´.\n\n     Sick, makkah´kes; I am not sick, nang tay makkah´kes.\n\n     Sister, mee´ang-um.\n\n     Sleep, mus´see, _or_ mummah teed´ee.\n\n     Small, pah´chik; very small, (as a grain of sand,)\n     pahchik-gitchee-gee.\n\n     Son, (or daughter,) lah´bo. (_See_ Child.)\n\n     Stars, vish.\n\n     STONE, vahs.\n\n     Storm, pee´pee oot; i. e. much rain.\n\n     Strong, (in good health,) yuhkayl´.\n\n     Sun, yah´ro.\n\n     Tahboo´, _the religious interdiction called_ tahboo, _which is\n     common in the islands of the Pacific ocean, and which is also used\n     in Lord North's island._\n\n     Talk, (_verb_,) tee´tree; e. g. tee´tree Inglish, talk English;\n     tee´tree To´bee, talk To´bee, or the language of the island.\n\n     Tattoo, (_verb_,) ver´ree-ver´-ree.\n\n     There, a-tur´nah.\n\n     Thou, _or_ you, gur.\n\n     Thunder, pah; pah zah tee´tree, it thunders; _literally_, the\n     thunder speaks. _When it thunders, they say_, Yarris tee´tree, God\n     is speaking.\n\n     To-morrow, waw´rah-zoo´rah.\n\n     Tree. (_See_ Wood.)\n\n     Turtle, wah´ree.\n\n     WATER, (fresh,) tah´roo.\n\n     ----, (salt,) taht.\n\n     Whale, kahs.\n\n     What; (what is that,) mahtah´men ah menno.\n\n     WHITE, butch´ee butch.\n\n     Why, bah.\n\n     WIND, yang.\n\n     Woman, vay-ee´vee; a young woman, wer´ree-wedg vay-ee´vee.\n\n     Wood, (trees,) tummutch´ee; tabur´rah eek´ah, the stem _or_ trunk.\n\n     Yellow, arrang´.\n\n     Yes, ee´lah.\n\n     Yesterday, rollo; yesterday night, rollo neebo´.\n\n     You, _or_ thou, gur.\n\n\nNUMERALS\n\n  One,       yaht\n  Two,       guhloo´\n  Three,     yah\n  Four,      vahn\n  Five,      neem\n  Six,       yah-woar´\n  Seven,     yah-veesh´\n  Eight,     yah-wah´\n  Nine,      yah-too´\n  Ten,       yah-saik´ (sake)\n  Eleven,    sa-kum ah soo´\n  Twelve,    sa-kum ah goo-o´\n  Thirteen,  sa-kum ah sa-roo´\n  Fourteen,  sa-kum ah vah´oo\n  Fifteen,   sa-kum ah leemo´\n  Sixteen,   sa-kum ah wahroo´\n  Seventeen, sa-kum ah weeshoo´\n  Eighteen,  sa-kum ah wahrew´\n  Nineteen,  sa-kum ah tee-o´\n  Twenty,    sa-kum ah gloo-o´\n\n  Ten,       saik\n  Twenty,    goowaik´\n  Thirty,    sa-reek´\n  Forty,     vah-eek´\n  Fifty,     leemaik (leemake)\n  Sixty,     woar-eek´\n  Seventy,   vesheek´\n  Eighty,    wahreck´\n  Ninety,    tew-week´\n  Hundred,   surbung; &c.[8]\n\nThe inhabitants of Lord North's island seldom count above a hundred; but\nwhen they wish to express a larger number they do it by a repetition of\nthe syllable _saik_, (ten,) in this manner:--sakum ah saik, ah saik, ah\nsaik, &c.\n\nIn counting cocoa-nuts, they use the following numerals:--\n\n  One,    soo\n  Two,    goo-o´\n  Three,  sa-roo´\n  Four,   vah´o\n  Five,   leemo´\n  Six,    woarroo\n  Seven,  veeshoo´\n  Eight,  tee-oo\n  Nine,   wahrew´\n  Ten,    saik\n\nIn counting fish they have still a different set of numbers:--\n\n  Seemul eekah, one fish\n  Gwimmul eekah, two fishes\n  Sreemul eekah, three fishes\n  Vahmul eekah, four fishes\n  Neemul eekah, five fishes\n  Waw´remul eekah, six fishes\n  Vish-ee ahmul eekah, seven fishes\n  War´remul eekah, eight fishes\n  Too-ee´mul eekah, nine fishes\n  Saik eekah, ten fishes\n\n\nDIALOGUES IN THE LANGUAGE OF LORD NORTH'S ISLAND.\n\n     Tee´mit, tay too attee´dee, nang ver´ree-ver´ree gur; mah´ree\n     To´bee tay ver´ree-ver´ree man Inglish mo´ree pooruk; zahbee´to\n     Yarris yettah´men man Inglish.\n\n          Horace, come here, for I am going to tattoo you; if To´bee man\n          does not tattoo Englishman he will die; Yarris (God) will come\n          and Englishman will go immediately out of sight; i. e. be\n          destroyed.\n\nThey perform the process of tattooing by means of a little instrument,\nmade either of a thin, flat fish-bone, or of the wing bone of a large\nsea-bird. The blade of the instrument (as it may be called) is about an\ninch long; it is fixed upon a little handle, about four inches in\nlength, and the whole instrument may be compared to a carpenter's adz,\nin miniature; except that the edge, instead of being straight, and\nsmooth for cutting, is made into teeth for puncturing the skin. This\nlittle instrument is held in the left hand, with the edge or teeth\ndirectly over the place to be punctured, and successive blows are then\nstruck upon it, with a small stick of iron-wood, resembling a drumstick,\nand of about two pounds' weight, until the coloring matter is\nsufficiently pricked into the skin.[9]\n\nBefore commencing the operation they mix the coloring liquid (before\ndescribed, page 102) in a cocoa-nut shell. They then compel you to lie\ndown upon the ground in such a position that the part of the body which\nis to be tattooed shall lie uppermost. After this, with a slender,\nflexible stick dipped in the liquid, they mark out upon the body the\nfigures that are to be imprinted in the skin; then they dip the teeth of\nthe tattooing instrument in the liquid, and by successive strokes, as\nabove mentioned, prick it into the skin, till it is completed to their\ntaste. During the operation you are surrounded by men, women, and\nchildren, all singing a kind of chorus or song adapted to the occasion;\nand if any complaint escapes you, from the severe treatment of the\noperators, (of whom there are generally two,) the whole company strikes\nup a louder strain, apparently as if rejoicing. The spirited wood cut\naccompanying this volume gives a very correct representation of this\nimportant ceremony.\n\n\nAfter captain Barnard and Rollins escaped from the island, the natives\nwould often ask of Holden and Nute where they thought _Peeter Inglish_\n(their name for the captain) was;[10] they were answered, that he was on\nhis passage to England. They would then say,--\n\n     Ah! Peeter Inglish taw borobeeto Inglish; Peeter Inglish yepee´lif\n     tang ah nee mah´ree ah To´bee ah pahng-ul; Peeter Inglish mo´ree\n     poo´ruk woar ah taht; Peeter Inglish tee´tree tee´tree mah´ree\n     To´bee pee´pee pee´pee ah pahng-ul, pee´pee ah lego´, pee´pee ah\n     mullebah´dee; shaik, man Inglish yepee´lif tuhmah´; mah´ree ah\n     To´bee zah so zah tee´tree Yarris, waurwa ah Inglish cher prow tay\n     beeto woar Inglish.\n\n          Ah! the captain will never get to England; the captain was a\n          thief; he had not given To´bee man any iron, and he would die\n          at sea; the captain talked, and talked with To´bee men, (that\n          they should have) much iron, great many clothes, and much\n          brass; for shame! Englishmen (are) all thieves and bad men;\n          To´bee men (are) very angry; (we) will speak to God, and he\n          will make the ship founder at sea, and the captain never will\n          arrive in England.\n\nWhenever Holden or Nute expressed a wish to go to England, the natives\nwould say to them,--\n\n     Gur zah beeto Inglish bah? Taw ah muk´kah woar Inglish; gur zah\n     beeto Inglish, gur mo´ree poo´ruk; mah´ree Inglish muk´kah ketch´ee\n     etch´ee, omah ah yahpuk gur mum´mee tee´dee ah To´bee, yevvers\n     mah´ree To´bee yissung ah mukkah.\n\n          What do you (wish to) go to England for? There is nothing to\n          eat in England; if you go to England you will die; Englishmen\n          eat rats and snails and filth; if you stay in To´bee you will\n          live; To´bee men have very good (food) to eat.\n\n\n_Dialogue between Horace Holden and his master Pahrahbooah._\n\n     _H._ Pahrahbooah, gur zah wosheeto ah nang woar ah prow, nang zah\n     beeto Inglish; nang zah mum´mah tee´dee ah To´bee zah pooruk, taw\n     ah muk´kah woar To´bee; woar Inglish pee´pee ah muk´kah, pee´pee,\n     pee´pee; gur zah wosheeto ah nang woar ah prow nang zah lee ah gur\n     pee´pee ah pahng-ul, pee´pee ah lego´, pee´pee ah mullebah´dee; gur\n     tay wosheeto ah nang zah poo´ruk woar ah To´bee, gur taw ah pishoo.\n\n          _H._ Pahrahbooah, if you will put me on board of a ship I will\n          go to England; if I remain at To´bee (Lord North's) I shall\n          die, for there is nothing to eat on To´bee; in England, much\n          food, much, much; and if you will put me on board of a ship, I\n          will give you much iron, many clothes, and much brass; if you\n          do not put me (on board) I shall die on To´bee, and you (will\n          get) no iron.\n\n     _P._ Hah, nang tay wosheeto ah gur; gur tee´tree tuhmah; gur tang\n     ah nee nang ah pahng-ul; Peeter Inglish yepee´lif, gur yepee´lif,\n     mah´ree ah Inglish yepee´lif, senah-messen´; tuhmah man Inglish;\n     gur mummah tee´dee woar To´bee, zah pooruk ah To´bee.\n\n          _P._ Ah! I will not let you go; you talk bad; you will not\n          give me any iron; Peeter Inglish is a thief, you are a thief,\n          all Englishmen (are) thieves and liars; Englishmen (are) bad\n          men; you (are) to stay on To´bee, to die on To´bee.\n\n\n_Another Dialogue between the same persons._\n\n     _P._ Tee´mit, gur zah beeto Inglish gur zahnee mah´ree To´bee ah\n     pahng-ul, yennup way´sa teberëe´kah yennup ah tepo´ee ah waus´sa,\n     ah lego´, kah-oo eekah, zis ah pishoo´ ah teet ah tuv´vatif, ah\n     mullebah´dee, zah beeto To´bee zah lee wur´teemum ah gur?\n\n          _P._ Horace, if you go to England will you give the men of\n          To´bee iron of a large size, as big as a stick of wood, and\n          big axes, and knives, and cloth, and fish-hooks, an anvil and\n          hammer, and needles, a trunk, and brass, and then come back to\n          To´bee and give them to your father?\n\n     _H._ Ee´lah, nang zah beeto Inglish nang zahnee mahree To´bee ah\n     pahng-ul yennup, ah tepo´-ee, ah waus´sa, ah lego´, kah-oo eekah,\n     zis ah pishoo´, ah teet, ah tuv´vatif, ah mullebah´dee, zah beeto\n     To´bee, zah lee wur´teemum ah nang.\n\n          _H._ Yes, I will go to England, and I will give to the men of\n          To´bee iron of a large size, and big axes, and knives, and\n          cloth, and fish-hooks, an anvil, and needles, and trunks, and\n          brass, and then come back to To´bee and give them to my\n          father.\n\n     _P._ Gur zah beeto Inglish gur dee mum´mah tee´dee woar Inglish,\n     taw borobee´to To´bee, gur zah yuh-woon; tuhmah taw muhpeer klo\n     dung-ah-rang-us.\n\n          _P._ If you go to England you will stop (sleep) there, and not\n          return to To´bee; this (will be) bad and not friendly, and you\n          will be a bad man.\n\n     _H._ Nang zah beeto Inglish, nang dak mum´mah teedee woar Inglish,\n     nang zah beeto To´bee.\n\n          _H._ If I go to England I will not stop (sleep) there, but\n          return to To´bee immediately.\n\n     _P._ Gur too-ay-go´rah beeto Inglish, gur mo´ree pooruk woar ah\n     taht, gur tay beeto To´bee.\n\n          _P._ You do not know the way to England; you will die (or be\n          lost) at sea, and not come to To´bee.\n\n     _H._ Hah! nang yego´rah beeto Inglish, taw mo´ree pooruk woar ah\n     taht.\n\n          _H._ Aye, I do know the way to England; I shall not die (or be\n          lost) at sea.\n\n     _P._ Gur ahnee ah prow woar Inglish, pee´pee ah pahng-ul, ah lego´,\n     kahrahpah, ah vay-ee´vee pee´pee, ah mahree pee´pee, ah lah´bo?\n\n          _P._ Have you got ships in England, and a great deal of iron,\n          and cloths and cocoa-nuts, and many men, women, and children?\n\n     _H._ Eelah, nang yuhwo´ ah prow woar Inglish, pee´pee ah pahng-ul,\n     ah lego´, kahrahpah ah vay-ee´vee, pee´pee ah mah´ree, pee´pee ah\n     lah´bo.\n\n          _H._ Yes, I have got ships in England, much iron, and cloths,\n          and cocoa-nuts, and women, and a great many men and children.\n\n     _P._ Gur mukkah woar Inglish pee´pee?\n\n          _P._ Do you eat in England a plenty?\n\n     _H._ Eelah, nang mukkah woar Inglish pee´pee.\n\n          _H._ Yes, in England I eat a plenty, (or much.)\n\n     _P._ Tee´mit, gur zah beeto Inglish woshee´to ah pahng-ul woshee´to\n     ah lego´, ah mullebah´dee, ah tepo-ee, ah kah-oo eekah, mo´ree\n     To´bee zah lee mah´ree To´bee, gur muhpeer, gur yissung ah mah´ree,\n     muhpeer muhpeer.\n\n          _P._ Horace, if you go to England, and fetch us iron, and\n          cloths, and brass, and axes, and fish-hooks, to To´bee, and\n          give them to To´bee men, you (will be) our friend, a very\n          good man, a very great friend; (_literally_, a friend, a\n          friend.)\n\n     _H._ Eelah, nang zah beeto Inglish, nang wosheeto ah pahng-ul,\n     wosheeto ah lego´, ah mullebah´dee, ah tepo-ee, ah kah-oo eekah,\n     woar To´bee zah lee mah´ree To´bee.\n\n          _H._ Yes, (if) I go to England I will fetch you iron, and\n          fetch cloths and brass, and axes and fish-hooks, to To´bee,\n          and give them to the people of To´bee.\n\n     _P._ Tee´mit, gur zah beeto Inglish gur tay beeto To´bee, mah´ree\n     To´bee zah tee´tree Yarris, gur moree pooruk.\n\n          _P._ Horace, if you go to England and do not come back to\n          To´bee, the men of To´bee will talk to God and you will die.\n\n     _H._ Nang zah beeto Inglish, nang de mummah tee´dee, ah turt zah\n     beeto To´bee.\n\n          _H._ I will go to England and stop a short time, (i. e. sleep\n          there,) and shall return to To´bee.\n\n     _P._ Tee´mit, gur zah beeto venne Yarris, gur tay beeto, gur mo´ree\n     pooruk.\n\n          _P._ Horace, if you do not go to Yarris´ house, (i. e. the\n          place of worship,) you will die.\n\n     _H._ Tur pay; nang zah beeto.\n\n          _H._ Wait a minute; I will go.\n\n     Verrah mahtah gur?\n\n          What is your name?\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] No bamboo grows on Lord North's island, but it frequently drifts\nashore, and the natives make knives of it.\n\n[7] Used also by the Pelew Islanders.\n\n[8] _Numerals of the Caroline Islands, from the Missionary Voyage to the\nSouthern Pacific Ocean, 4to, London, 1799._\n\n  One,    iota\n  Two,    rua\n  Three,  toloo\n  Four,   tia\n  Five,   leema\n  Six,    honoo\n  Seven,  fizoo\n  Eight,  wartow,\n  Nine,   shievo\n  Ten,    segga\n\n[9] Tattooing instruments may be seen in the valuable East India museum,\nat Salem; and perhaps in some of the museums in Boston.\n\n[10] What the import of this name _Peeter_ was, we are unable to\ndetermine. They gave the same appellation to a character of great\ncelebrity in their history, whose entire name was _Peeter Kart_; and\nwho, according to their traditions, came from the island of Ternate,\nmany years ago, and gave them their religion and such simple arts as\nthey possessed. They said he was of a copper color, like themselves.\n\n\n[Transcriber's Notes:\n\nThe transcriber made these changes to the text to correct obvious\nerrors:\n\n  1. The author was inconsistent in his use of accents with some of the\n     words in the language of Lord North's island. This inconsistency\n     remains as originally published.\n  2. Some of the last words of the native's dialogue was moved to\n     the previous page for readibility.  This occured on the following\n     pages:\n            130 text moved to page 129\n            131 text moved to page 130\n            133 text moved to page 132\n  3. The illustration \"Escape to Britannia\" has been moved from between\n     page 114 and 115 to page 113.\n\nEnd of Transcriber's Notes]", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32012", "title": "A Narrative of the Shipwreck, Captivity and Sufferings of Horace Holden and Benj. H. Nute\r\nWho were cast away in the American ship Mentor, on the Pelew Islands, in the year 1832; and for two years afterwards were subjected to unheard of sufferings among the barbarous inhabitants of Lord North's island", "author": "", "publication_year": 1836, "metadata_title": "A Narrative of the Shipwreck, Captivity and Sufferings of Horace Holden and…", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:20.089227", "source_chars": 143751, "chars": 143751, "talkie_tokens": 34545}}
{"text": "Produced by Meredith Bach, Irma Spehar and the Online\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 EUREKA:\n                              A PROSE POEM.\n\n                                   BY\n\n                              EDGAR A. POE.\n\n                                NEW-YORK:\n                             GEO. P. PUTNAM,\n                    OF LATE FIRM OF “WILEY & PUTNAM,”\n                              155 BROADWAY.\n\n                              MDCCCXLVIII.\n\n\n        ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848,\n                            BY EDGAR A. POE,\n           In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the\n                     Southern District of New-York.\n\n                        LEAVITT, TROW & CO Prs.,\n                             33 Ann-street.\n\n\n                       WITH VERY PROFOUND RESPECT,\n                         This Work is Dedicated\n                                   TO\n                         ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nTo the few who love me and whom I love—to those who feel rather than to\nthose who think—to the dreamers and those who put faith in dreams as in\nthe only realities—I offer this Book of Truths, not in its character of\nTruth-Teller, but for the Beauty that abounds in its Truth; constituting\nit true. To these I present the composition as an Art-Product alone:—let\nus say as a Romance; or, if I be not urging too lofty a claim, as a\nPoem.\n\n_What I here propound is true_:—therefore it cannot die:—or if by any\nmeans it be now trodden down so that it die, it will “rise again to the\nLife Everlasting.”\n\nNevertheless it is as a Poem only that I wish this work to be judged\nafter I am dead.\n\nE. A. P.\n\n\n\n\nEUREKA:\n\nAN ESSAY ON THE MATERIAL AND SPIRITUAL UNIVERSE.\n\n\nIt is with humility really unassumed—it is with a sentiment even of\nawe—that I pen the opening sentence of this work: for of all conceivable\nsubjects I approach the reader with the most solemn—the most\ncomprehensive—the most difficult—the most august.\n\nWhat terms shall I find sufficiently simple in their\nsublimity—sufficiently sublime in their simplicity—for the mere\nenunciation of my theme?\n\nI design to speak of the _Physical, Metaphysical and Mathematical—of the\nMaterial and Spiritual Universe:—of its Essence, its Origin, its\nCreation, its Present Condition and its Destiny_. I shall be so rash,\nmoreover, as to challenge the conclusions, and thus, in effect, to\nquestion the sagacity, of many of the greatest and most justly\nreverenced of men.\n\nIn the beginning, let me as distinctly as possible announce—not the\ntheorem which I hope to demonstrate—for, whatever the mathematicians may\nassert, there is, in this world at least, _no such thing_ as\ndemonstration—but the ruling idea which, throughout this volume, I shall\nbe continually endeavoring to suggest.\n\nMy general proposition, then, is this:—_In the Original Unity of the\nFirst Thing lies the Secondary Cause of All Things, with the Germ of\ntheir Inevitable Annihilation_.\n\nIn illustration of this idea, I propose to take such a survey of the\nUniverse that the mind may be able really to receive and to perceive an\nindividual impression.\n\nHe who from the top of Ætna casts his eyes leisurely around, is affected\nchiefly by the _extent_ and _diversity_ of the scene. Only by a rapid\nwhirling on his heel could he hope to comprehend the panorama in the\nsublimity of its _oneness_. But as, on the summit of Ætna, _no_ man has\nthought of whirling on his heel, so no man has ever taken into his brain\nthe full uniqueness of the prospect; and so, again, whatever\nconsiderations lie involved in this uniqueness, have as yet no practical\nexistence for mankind.\n\nI do not know a treatise in which a survey of the _Universe_—using the\nword in its most comprehensive and only legitimate acceptation—is taken\nat all:—and it may be as well here to mention that by the term\n“Universe,” wherever employed without qualification in this essay, I\nmean to designate _the utmost conceivable expanse of space, with all\nthings, spiritual and material, that can be imagined to exist within the\ncompass of that expanse_. In speaking of what is ordinarily implied by\nthe expression, “Universe,” I shall take a phrase of limitation—“the\nUniverse of stars.” Why this distinction is considered necessary, will\nbe seen in the sequel.\n\nBut even of treatises on the really limited, although always assumed as\nthe _un_limited, Universe of _stars_, I know none in which a survey,\neven of this limited Universe, is so taken as to warrant deductions from\nits _individuality_. The nearest approach to such a work is made in the\n“Cosmos” of Alexander Von Humboldt. He presents the subject, however,\n_not_ in its individuality but in its generality. His theme, in its last\nresult, is the law of _each_ portion of the merely physical Universe, as\nthis law is related to the laws of _every other_ portion of this merely\nphysical Universe. His design is simply synœretical. In a word, he\ndiscusses the universality of material relation, and discloses to the\neye of Philosophy whatever inferences have hitherto lain hidden _behind_\nthis universality. But however admirable be the succinctness with which\nhe has treated each particular point of his topic, the mere multiplicity\nof these points occasions, necessarily, an amount of detail, and thus an\ninvolution of idea, which precludes all _individuality_ of impression.\n\nIt seems to me that, in aiming at this latter effect, and, through it,\nat the consequences—the conclusions—the suggestions—the speculations—or,\nif nothing better offer itself the mere guesses which may result from\nit—we require something like a mental gyration on the heel. We need so\nrapid a revolution of all things about the central point of sight that,\nwhile the minutiæ vanish altogether, even the more conspicuous objects\nbecome blended into one. Among the vanishing minutiæ, in a survey of\nthis kind, would be all exclusively terrestrial matters. The Earth would\nbe considered in its planetary relations alone. A man, in this view,\nbecomes mankind; mankind a member of the cosmical family of\nIntelligences.\n\nAnd now, before proceeding to our subject proper, let me beg the\nreader’s attention to an extract or two from a somewhat remarkable\nletter, which appears to have been found corked in a bottle and floating\non the _Mare Tenebrarum_—an ocean well described by the Nubian\ngeographer, Ptolemy Hephestion, but little frequented in modern days\nunless by the Transcendentalists and some other divers for crotchets.\nThe date of this letter, I confess, surprises me even more particularly\nthan its contents; for it seems to have been written in the year _two_\nthousand eight hundred and forty-eight. As for the passages I am about\nto transcribe, they, I fancy, will speak for themselves.\n\n“Do you know, my dear friend,” says the writer, addressing, no doubt, a\ncontemporary—“Do you know that it is scarcely more than eight or nine\nhundred years ago since the metaphysicians first consented to relieve\nthe people of the singular fancy that there exist _but two practicable\nroads to Truth_? Believe it if you can! It appears, however, that long,\nlong ago, in the night of Time, there lived a Turkish philosopher called\nAries and surnamed Tottle.” [Here, possibly, the letter-writer means\nAristotle; the best names are wretchedly corrupted in two or three\nthousand years.] “The fame of this great man depended mainly upon his\ndemonstration that sneezing is a natural provision, by means of which\nover-profound thinkers are enabled to expel superfluous ideas through\nthe nose; but he obtained a scarcely less valuable celebrity as the\nfounder, or at all events as the principal propagator, of what was\ntermed the _de_ductive or _à priori_ philosophy. He started with what he\nmaintained to be axioms, or self-evident truths:—and the now well\nunderstood fact that _no_ truths are _self_-evident, really does not\nmake in the slightest degree against his speculations:—it was sufficient\nfor his purpose that the truths in question were evident at all. From\naxioms he proceeded, logically, to results. His most illustrious\ndisciples were one Tuclid, a geometrician,” [meaning Euclid] “and one\nKant, a Dutchman, the originator of that species of Transcendentalism\nwhich, with the change merely of a C for a K, now bears his peculiar\nname.\n\n“Well, Aries Tottle flourished supreme, until the advent of one Hog,\nsurnamed ‘the Ettrick shepherd,’ who preached an entirely different\nsystem, which he called the _à posteriori_ or _in_ductive. His plan\nreferred altogether to sensation. He proceeded by observing, analyzing,\nand classifying facts—_instantiæ Naturæ_, as they were somewhat\naffectedly called—and arranging them into general laws. In a word, while\nthe mode of Aries rested on _noumena_, that of Hog depended on\n_phenomena_; and so great was the admiration excited by this latter\nsystem that, at its first introduction, Aries fell into general\ndisrepute. Finally, however, he recovered ground, and was permitted to\ndivide the empire of Philosophy with his more modern rival:—the savans\ncontenting themselves with proscribing all _other_ competitors, past,\npresent, and to come; putting an end to all controversy on the topic by\nthe promulgation of a Median law, to the effect that the Aristotelian\nand Baconian roads are, and of right ought to be, the solo possible\navenues to knowledge:—‘Baconian,’ you must know, my dear friend,” adds\nthe letter-writer at this point, “was an adjective invented as\nequivalent to Hog-ian, and at the same time more dignified and\neuphonious.\n\n“Now I do assure you most positively”—proceeds the epistle—“that I\nrepresent these matters fairly; and you can easily understand how\nrestrictions so absurd on their very face must have operated, in those\ndays, to retard the progress of true Science, which makes its most\nimportant advances—as all History will show—by seemingly intuitive\n_leaps_. These ancient ideas confined investigation to crawling; and I\nneed not suggest to you that crawling, among varieties of locomotion, is\na very capital thing of its kind;—but because the tortoise is sure of\nfoot, for this reason must we clip the wings of the eagles? For many\ncenturies, so great was the infatuation, about Hog especially, that a\nvirtual stop was put to all thinking, properly so called. No man dared\nutter a truth for which he felt himself indebted to his soul alone. It\nmattered not whether the truth was even demonstrably such; for the\ndogmatizing philosophers of that epoch regarded only _the road_ by which\nit professed to have been attained. The end, with them, was a point of\nno moment, whatever:—‘the means!’ they vociferated—‘let us look at the\nmeans!’—and if, on scrutiny of the means, it was found to come neither\nunder the category Hog, nor under the category Aries (which means ram),\nwhy then the savans went no farther, but, calling the thinker a fool\nand branding him a ‘theorist,’ would never, thenceforward, have any\nthing to do either with _him_ or with his truths.\n\n“Now, my dear friend,” continues the letter-writer, “it cannot be\nmaintained that by the crawling system, exclusively adopted, men would\narrive at the maximum amount of truth, even in any long series of ages;\nfor the repression of imagination was an evil not to be counterbalanced\neven by _absolute_ certainty in the snail processes. But their certainty\nwas very far from absolute. The error of our progenitors was quite\nanalogous with that of the wiseacre who fancies he must necessarily see\nan object the more distinctly, the more closely he holds it to his eyes.\nThey blinded themselves, too, with the impalpable, titillating Scotch\nsnuff of _detail_; and thus the boasted facts of the Hog-ites were by no\nmeans always facts—a point of little importance but for the assumption\nthat they always _were_. The vital taint, however, in Baconianism—its\nmost lamentable fount of error—lay in its tendency to throw power and\nconsideration into the hands of merely perceptive men—of those\ninter-Tritonic minnows, the microscopical savans—the diggers and pedlers\nof minute _facts_, for the most part in physical science—facts all of\nwhich they retailed at the same price upon the highway; their value\ndepending, it was supposed, simply upon the _fact of their fact_,\nwithout reference to their applicability or inapplicability in the\ndevelopment of those ultimate and only legitimate facts, called Law.\n\n“Than the persons”—the letter goes on to say—“Than the persons thus\nsuddenly elevated by the Hog-ian philosophy into a station for which\nthey were unfitted—thus transferred from the sculleries into the parlors\nof Science—from its pantries into its pulpits—than these individuals a\nmore intolerant—a more intolerable set of bigots and tyrants never\nexisted on the face of the earth. Their creed, their text and their\nsermon were, alike, the one word ‘_fact_’—but, for the most part, even\nof this one word, they knew not even the meaning. On those who ventured\nto _disturb_ their facts with the view of putting them in order and to\nuse, the disciples of Hog had no mercy whatever. All attempts at\ngeneralization were met at once by the words ‘theoretical,’ ‘theory,’\n‘theorist’—all _thought_, to be brief, was very properly resented as a\npersonal affront to themselves. Cultivating the natural sciences to the\nexclusion of Metaphysics, the Mathematics, and Logic, many of these\nBacon-engendered philosophers—one-idead, one-sided and lame of a\nleg—were more wretchedly helpless—more miserably ignorant, in view of\nall the comprehensible objects of knowledge, than the veriest unlettered\nhind who proves that he knows something at least, in admitting that he\nknows absolutely nothing.\n\n“Nor had our forefathers any better right to talk about _certainty_,\nwhen pursuing, in blind confidence, the _à priori_ path of axioms, or of\nthe Ram. At innumerable points this path was scarcely as straight as a\nram’s-horn. The simple truth is, that the Aristotelians erected their\ncastles upon a basis far less reliable than air; _for no such things as\naxioms ever existed or can possibly exist at all_. This they must have\nbeen very blind, indeed, not to see, or at least to suspect; for, even\nin their own day, many of their long-admitted ‘axioms’ had been\nabandoned:—‘_ex nihilo nihil fit_,’ for example, and a ‘thing cannot act\nwhere it is not,’ and ‘there cannot be antipodes,’ and ‘darkness cannot\nproceed from light.’ These and numerous similar propositions formerly\naccepted, without hesitation, as axioms, or undeniable truths, were,\neven at the period of which I speak, seen to be altogether\nuntenable:—how absurd in these people, then, to persist in relying upon\na basis, as immutable, whose mutability had become so repeatedly\nmanifest!\n\n“But, even through evidence afforded by themselves against themselves,\nit is easy to convict these _à priori_ reasoners of the grossest\nunreason—it is easy to show the futility—the impalpability of their\naxioms in general. I have now lying before me”—it will be observed that\nwe still proceed with the letter—“I have now lying before me a book\nprinted about a thousand years ago. Pundit assures me that it is\ndecidedly the cleverest ancient work on its topic, which is ‘Logic.’ The\nauthor, who was much esteemed in his day, was one Miller, or Mill; and\nwe find it recorded of him, as a point of some importance, that he rode\na mill-horse whom he called Jeremy Bentham:—but let us glance at the\nvolume itself!\n\n“Ah!—‘Ability or inability to conceive,’ says Mr. Mill very properly,\n‘is _in no case_ to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth.’ Now,\nthat this is a palpable truism no one in his senses will deny. _Not_ to\nadmit the proposition, is to insinuate a charge of variability in Truth\nitself, whose very title is a synonym of the Steadfast. If ability to\nconceive be taken as a criterion of Truth, then a truth to _David_ Hume\nwould very seldom be a truth to _Joe_; and ninety-nine hundredths of\nwhat is undeniable in Heaven would be demonstrable falsity upon Earth.\nThe proposition of Mr. Mill, then, is sustained. I will not grant it to\nbe an _axiom_; and this merely because I am showing that _no_ axioms\nexist; but, with a distinction which could not have been cavilled at\neven by Mr. Mill himself, I am ready to grant that, _if_ an axiom _there\nbe_, then the proposition of which we speak has the fullest right to be\nconsidered an axiom—that no _more_ absolute axiom _is_—and,\nconsequently, that any subsequent proposition which shall conflict with\nthis one primarily advanced, must be either a falsity in itself—that is\nto say no axiom—or, if admitted axiomatic, must at once neutralize both\nitself and its predecessor.\n\n“And now, by the logic of their own propounder, let us proceed to test\nany one of the axioms propounded. Let us give Mr. Mill the fairest of\nplay. We will bring the point to no ordinary issue. We will select for\ninvestigation no common-place axiom—no axiom of what, not the less\npreposterously because only impliedly, he terms his secondary class—as\nif a positive truth by definition could be either more or less\npositively a truth:—we will select, I say, no axiom of an\nunquestionability so questionable as is to be found in Euclid. We will\nnot talk, for example, about such propositions as that two straight\nlines cannot enclose a space, or that the whole is greater than any one\nof its parts. We will afford the logician _every_ advantage. We will\ncome at once to a proposition which he regards as the acme of the\nunquestionable—as the quintessence of axiomatic undeniability. Here it\nis:—‘Contradictions cannot _both_ be true—that is, cannot cöexist in\nnature.’ Here Mr. Mill means, for instance,—and I give the most forcible\ninstance conceivable—that a tree must be either a tree or _not_ a\ntree—that it cannot be at the same time a tree _and_ not a tree:—all\nwhich is quite reasonable of itself and will answer remarkably well as\nan axiom, until we bring it into collation with an axiom insisted upon a\nfew pages before—in other words—words which I have previously\nemployed—until we test it by the logic of its own propounder. ‘A tree,’\nMr. Mill asserts, ‘must be either a tree or _not_ a tree.’ Very\nwell:—and now let me ask him, _why_. To this little query there is but\none response:—I defy any man living to invent a second. The sole answer\nis this:—‘Because we find it _impossible to conceive_ that a tree can be\nany thing else than a tree or not a tree.’ This, I repeat, is Mr. Mill’s\nsole answer:—he will not _pretend_ to suggest another:—and yet, by his\nown showing, his answer is clearly no answer at all; for has he not\nalready required us to admit, _as an axiom_, that ability or inability\nto conceive is _in no case_ to be taken as a criterion of axiomatic\ntruth? Thus all—absolutely _all_ his argumentation is at sea without a\nrudder. Let it not be urged that an exception from the general rule is\nto be made, in cases where the ‘impossibility to conceive’ is so\npeculiarly great as when we are called upon to conceive a tree _both_ a\ntree and _not_ a tree. Let no attempt, I say, be made at urging this\nsotticism; for, in the first place, there are no _degrees_ of\n‘impossibility,’ and thus no one impossible conception can be _more_\npeculiarly impossible than another impossible conception:—in the second\nplace, Mr. Mill himself, no doubt after thorough deliberation, has most\ndistinctly, and most rationally, excluded all opportunity for exception,\nby the emphasis of his proposition, that, _in no case_, is ability or\ninability to conceive, to be taken as a criterion of axiomatic\ntruth:—in the third place, even were exceptions admissible at all, it\nremains to be shown how any exception is admissible _here_. That a tree\ncan be both a tree and not a tree, is an idea which the angels, or the\ndevils, _may_ entertain, and which no doubt many an earthly Bedlamite,\nor Transcendentalist, _does_.\n\n“Now I do not quarrel with these ancients,” continues the letter-writer,\n“_so much_ on account of the transparent frivolity of their logic—which,\nto be plain, was baseless, worthless and fantastic altogether—as on\naccount of their pompous and infatuate proscription of all _other_ roads\nto Truth than the two narrow and crooked paths—the one of creeping and\nthe other of crawling—to which, in their ignorant perversity, they have\ndared to confine the Soul—the Soul which loves nothing so well as to\nsoar in those regions of illimitable intuition which are utterly\nincognizant of ‘_path_.’\n\n“By the bye, my dear friend, is it not an evidence of the mental slavery\nentailed upon those bigoted people by their Hogs and Rams, that in spite\nof the eternal prating of their savans about _roads_ to Truth, none of\nthem fell, even by accident, into what we now so distinctly perceive to\nbe the broadest, the straightest and most available of all mere\nroads—the great thoroughfare—the majestic highway of the _Consistent_?\nIs it not wonderful that they should have failed to deduce from the\nworks of God the vitally momentous consideration that _a perfect\nconsistency can be nothing but an absolute truth_? How plain—how rapid\nour progress since the late announcement of this proposition! By its\nmeans, investigation has been taken out of the hands of the ground-moles,\nand given as a duty, rather than as a task, to the true—to the _only_ true\nthinkers—to the generally-educated men of ardent imagination. These\nlatter—our Keplers—our Laplaces—‘speculate’—‘theorize’—these are the\nterms—can you not fancy the shout of scorn with which they would be\nreceived by our progenitors, were it possible for them to be looking\nover my shoulders as I write? The Keplers, I repeat, speculate—theorize—and\ntheir theories are merely corrected—reduced—sifted—cleared, little by\nlittle, of their chaff of inconsistency—until at length there stands\napparent an unencumbered _Consistency_—a consistency which the most\nstolid admit—because it _is_ a consistency—to be an absolute and an\nunquestionable _Truth_.\n\n“I have often thought, my friend, that it must have puzzled these\ndogmaticians of a thousand years ago, to determine, even, by which of\ntheir two boasted roads it is that the cryptographist attains the\nsolution of the more complicate cyphers—or by which of them Champollion\nguided mankind to those important and innumerable truths which, for so\nmany centuries, have lain entombed amid the phonetical hieroglyphics of\nEgypt. In especial, would it not have given these bigots some trouble to\ndetermine by which of their two roads was reached the most momentous and\nsublime of _all_ their truths—the truth—the fact of _gravitation_?\nNewton deduced it from the laws of Kepler. Kepler admitted that these\nlaws he _guessed_—these laws whose investigation disclosed to the\ngreatest of British astronomers that principle, the basis of all\n(existing) physical principle, in going behind which we enter at once\nthe nebulous kingdom of Metaphysics. Yes!—these vital laws Kepler\n_guessed_—that is to say, he _imagined_ them. Had he been asked to point\nout either the _de_ductive or _in_ductive route by which he attained\nthem, his reply might have been—‘I know nothing about _routes_—but I\n_do_ know the machinery of the Universe. Here it is. I grasped it with\n_my soul_—I reached it through mere dint of _intuition_.’ Alas, poor\nignorant old man! Could not any metaphysician have told him that what he\ncalled ‘intuition’ was but the conviction resulting from _de_ductions or\n_in_ductions of which the processes were so shadowy as to have escaped\nhis consciousness, eluded his reason, or bidden defiance to his capacity\nof expression? How great a pity it is that some ‘moral philosopher’ had\nnot enlightened him about all this! How it would have comforted him on\nhis death-bed to know that, instead of having gone intuitively and thus\nunbecomingly, he had, in fact, proceeded decorously and\nlegitimately—that is to say Hog-ishly, or at least Ram-ishly—into the\nvast halls where lay gleaming, untended, and hitherto untouched by\nmortal hand—unseen by mortal eye—the imperishable and priceless secrets\nof the Universe!\n\n“Yes, Kepler was essentially a _theorist_; but this title, _now_ of so\nmuch sanctity, was, in those ancient days, a designation of supreme\ncontempt. It is only _now_ that men begin to appreciate that divine old\nman—to sympathize with the prophetical and poetical rhapsody of his\never-memorable words. For _my_ part,” continues the unknown\ncorrespondent, “I glow with a sacred fire when I even think of them, and\nfeel that I shall never grow weary of their repetition:—in concluding\nthis letter, let me have the real pleasure of transcribing them once\nagain:—‘_I care not whether my work be read now or by posterity. I can\nafford to wait a century for readers when God himself has waited six\nthousand years for an observer. I triumph. I have stolen the golden\nsecret of the Egyptians. I will indulge my sacred fury._’”\n\nHere end my quotations from this very unaccountable and, perhaps,\nsomewhat impertinent epistle; and perhaps it would be folly to comment,\nin any respect, upon the chimerical, not to say revolutionary, fancies\nof the writer—whoever he is—fancies so radically at war with the\nwell-considered and well-settled opinions of this age. Let us proceed,\nthen, to our legitimate thesis, _The Universe_.\n\nThis thesis admits a choice between two modes of discussion:—We may\n_as_cend or _de_scend. Beginning at our own point of view—at the Earth\non which we stand—we may pass to the other planets of our system—thence\nto the Sun—thence to our system considered collectively—and thence,\nthrough other systems, indefinitely outwards; or, commencing on high at\nsome point as definite as we can make it or conceive it, we may come\ndown to the habitation of Man. Usually—that is to say, in ordinary\nessays on Astronomy—the first of these two modes is, with certain\nreservation, adopted:—this for the obvious reason that astronomical\n_facts_, merely, and principles, being the object, that object is best\nfulfilled in stepping from the known because proximate, gradually onward\nto the point where all certitude becomes lost in the remote. For my\npresent purpose, however,—that of enabling the mind to take in, as if\nfrom afar and at one glance, a distinct conception of the _individual_\nUniverse—it is clear that a descent to small from great—to the outskirts\nfrom the centre (if we could establish a centre)—to the end from the\nbeginning (if we could fancy a beginning) would be the preferable\ncourse, but for the difficulty, if not impossibility, of presenting, in\nthis course, to the unastronomical, a picture at all comprehensible in\nregard to such considerations as are involved in _quantity_—that is to\nsay, in number, magnitude and distance.\n\nNow, distinctness—intelligibility, at all points, is a primary feature\nin my general design. On important topics it is better to be a good deal\nprolix than even a very little obscure. But abstruseness is a quality\nappertaining to no subject _per se_. All are alike, in facility of\ncomprehension, to him who approaches them by properly graduated steps.\nIt is merely because a stepping-stone, here and there, is heedlessly\nleft unsupplied in our road to the Differential Calculus, that this\nlatter is not altogether as simple a thing as a sonnet by Mr. Solomon\nSeesaw.\n\nBy way of admitting, then, no _chance_ for misapprehension, I think it\nadvisable to proceed as if even the more obvious facts of Astronomy were\nunknown to the reader. In combining the two modes of discussion to which\nI have referred, I propose to avail myself of the advantages peculiar to\neach—and very especially of the _iteration in detail_ which will be\nunavoidable as a consequence of the plan. Commencing with a descent, I\nshall reserve for the return upwards those indispensable considerations\nof _quantity_ to which allusion has already been made.\n\nLet us begin, then, at once, with that merest of words, “Infinity.”\nThis, like “God,” “spirit,” and some other expressions of which the\nequivalents exist in all languages, is by no means the expression of an\nidea—but of an effort at one. It stands for the possible attempt at an\nimpossible conception. Man needed a term by which to point out the\n_direction_ of this effort—the cloud behind which lay, forever\ninvisible, the _object_ of this attempt. A word, in fine, was demanded,\nby means of which one human being might put himself in relation at once\nwith another human being and with a certain _tendency_ of the human\nintellect. Out of this demand arose the word, “Infinity;” which is thus\nthe representative but of the _thought of a thought_.\n\nAs regards _that_ infinity now considered—the infinity of space—we often\nhear it said that “its idea is admitted by the mind—is acquiesced in—is\nentertained—on account of the greater difficulty which attends the\nconception of a limit.” But this is merely one of those _phrases_ by\nwhich even profound thinkers, time out of mind, have occasionally taken\npleasure in deceiving _themselves_. The quibble lies concealed in the\nword “difficulty.” “The mind,” we are told, “entertains the idea of\n_limitless_, through the greater _difficulty_ which it finds in\nentertaining that of _limited_, space.” Now, were the proposition but\nfairly _put_, its absurdity would become transparent at once. Clearly,\nthere is no mere _difficulty_ in the case. The assertion intended, if\npresented _according_ to its intention and without sophistry, would run\nthus:—“The mind admits the idea of limitless, through the greater\n_impossibility_ of entertaining that of limited, space.”\n\nIt must be immediately seen that this is not a question of two\nstatements between whose respective credibilities—or of two arguments\nbetween whose respective validities—the _reason_ is called upon to\ndecide:—it is a matter of two conceptions, directly conflicting, and\neach avowedly impossible, one of which the _intellect_ is supposed to be\ncapable of entertaining, on account of the greater _impossibility_ of\nentertaining the other. The choice is _not_ made between two\ndifficulties;—it is merely _fancied_ to be made between two\nimpossibilities. Now of the former, there _are_ degrees—but of the\nlatter, none:—just as our impertinent letter-writer has already\nsuggested. A task _may_ be more or less difficult; but it is either\npossible or not possible:—there are no gradations. It _might_ be more\n_difficult_ to overthrow the Andes than an ant-hill; but it _can_ be no\nmore _impossible_ to annihilate the matter of the one than the matter of\nthe other. A man may jump ten feet with less _difficulty_ than he can\njump twenty, but the _impossibility_ of his leaping to the moon is not a\nwhit less than that of his leaping to the dog-star.\n\nSince all this is undeniable: since the choice of the mind is to be made\nbetween _impossibilities_ of conception: since one impossibility cannot\nbe greater than another: and since, thus, one cannot be preferred to\nanother: the philosophers who not only maintain, on the grounds\nmentioned, man’s _idea_ of infinity but, on account of such\nsupposititious idea, _infinity itself_—are plainly engaged in\ndemonstrating one impossible thing to be possible by showing how it is\nthat some one other thing—is impossible too. This, it will be said, is\nnonsense; and perhaps it is:—indeed I think it very capital\nnonsense—but forego all claim to it as nonsense of mine.\n\nThe readiest mode, however, of displaying the fallacy of the\nphilosophical argument on this question, is by simply adverting to a\n_fact_ respecting it which has been hitherto quite overlooked—the fact\nthat the argument alluded to both proves and disproves its own\nproposition. “The mind is impelled,” say the theologians and others, “to\nadmit a _First Cause_, by the superior difficulty it experiences in\nconceiving cause beyond cause without end.” The quibble, as before, lies\nin the word “difficulty”—but _here_ what is it employed to sustain? A\nFirst Cause. And what is a First Cause? An ultimate termination of\ncauses. And what is an ultimate termination of causes? Finity—the\nFinite. Thus the one quibble, in two processes, by God knows how many\nphilosophers, is made to support now Finity and now Infinity—could it\nnot be brought to support something besides? As for the\nquibblers—_they_, at least, are insupportable. But—to dismiss them:—what\nthey prove in the one case is the identical nothing which they\ndemonstrate in the other.\n\nOf course, no one will suppose that I here contend for the absolute\nimpossibility of _that_ which we attempt to convey in the word\n“Infinity.” My purpose is but to show the folly of endeavoring to prove\nInfinity itself or even our conception of it, by any such blundering\nratiocination as that which is ordinarily employed.\n\nNevertheless, as an individual, I may be permitted to say that _I\ncannot_ conceive Infinity, and am convinced that no human being can. A\nmind not thoroughly self-conscious—not accustomed to the introspective\nanalysis of its own operations—will, it is true, often deceive itself by\nsupposing that it _has_ entertained the conception of which we speak. In\nthe effort to entertain it, we proceed step beyond step—we fancy point\nstill beyond point; and so long as we _continue_ the effort, it may be\nsaid, in fact, that we are _tending_ to the formation of the idea\ndesigned; while the strength of the impression that we actually form or\nhave formed it, is in the ratio of the period during which we keep up\nthe mental endeavor. But it is in the act of discontinuing the\nendeavor—of fulfilling (as we think) the idea—of putting the finishing\nstroke (as we suppose) to the conception—that we overthrow at once the\nwhole fabric of our fancy by resting upon some one ultimate and\ntherefore definite point. This fact, however, we fail to perceive, on\naccount of the absolute coincidence, in time, between the settling down\nupon the ultimate point and the act of cessation in thinking.—In\nattempting, on the other hand, to frame the idea of a _limited_ space,\nwe merely converse the processes which involve the impossibility.\n\nWe _believe_ in a God. We may or may not _believe_ in finite or in\ninfinite space; but our belief, in such cases, is more properly\ndesignated as _faith_, and is a matter quite distinct from that belief\nproper—from that _intellectual_ belief—which presupposes the mental\nconception.\n\nThe fact is, that, upon the enunciation of any one of that class of\nterms to which “Infinity” belongs—the class representing _thoughts of\nthought_—he who has a right to say that he thinks _at all_, feels\nhimself called upon, _not_ to entertain a conception, but simply to\ndirect his mental vision toward some given point, in the intellectual\nfirmament, where lies a nebula never to be resolved. To solve it,\nindeed, he makes no effort; for with a rapid instinct he comprehends,\nnot only the impossibility, but, as regards all human purposes, the\n_inessentiality_, of its solution. He perceives that the Deity has not\n_designed_ it to be solved. He sees, at once, that it lies _out_ of the\nbrain of man, and even _how_, if not exactly _why_, it lies out of it.\nThere _are_ people, I am aware, who, busying themselves in attempts at\nthe unattainable, acquire very easily, by dint of the jargon they emit,\namong those thinkers-that-they-think with whom darkness and depth are\nsynonymous, a kind of cuttle-fish reputation for profundity; but the\nfinest quality of Thought is its self-cognizance; and, with some little\nequivocation, it may be said that no fog of the mind can well be greater\nthan that which, extending to the very boundaries of the mental domain,\nshuts out even these boundaries themselves from comprehension.\n\nIt will now be understood that, in using the phrase, “Infinity of\nSpace,” I make no call upon the reader to entertain the impossible\nconception of an _absolute_ infinity. I refer simply to the “_utmost\nconceivable expanse_” of space—a shadowy and fluctuating domain, now\nshrinking, now swelling, in accordance with the vacillating energies of\nthe imagination.\n\n_Hitherto_, the Universe of stars has always been considered as\ncoincident with the Universe proper, as I have defined it in the\ncommencement of this Discourse. It has been always either directly or\nindirectly assumed—at least since the dawn of intelligible\nAstronomy—that, were it possible for us to attain any given point in\nspace, we should still find, on all sides of us, an interminable\nsuccession of stars. This was the untenable idea of Pascal when making\nperhaps the most successful attempt ever made, at periphrasing the\nconception for which we struggle in the word “Universe.” “It is a\nsphere,” he says, “of which the centre is everywhere, the circumference,\nnowhere.” But although this intended definition is, in fact, _no_\ndefinition of the Universe of _stars_, we may accept it, with some\nmental reservation, as a definition (rigorous enough for all practical\npurposes) of the Universe _proper_—that is to say, of the Universe of\n_space_. This latter, then, let us regard as “_a sphere of which the\ncentre is everywhere, the circumference nowhere_.” In fact, while we\nfind it impossible to fancy an _end_ to space, we have no difficulty in\npicturing to ourselves any one of an infinity of _beginnings_.\n\nAs our starting-point, then, let us adopt the _Godhead_. Of this\nGodhead, _in itself_, he alone is not imbecile—he alone is not impious\nwho propounds—nothing. “_Nous ne connaissons rien_,” says the Baron de\nBielfeld—“_Nous ne connaissons rien de la nature ou de l’essence de\nDieu:—pour savoir ce qu’il est, il faut être Dieu même._”—“We know\nabsolutely _nothing_ of the nature or essence of God:—in order to\ncomprehend what he is, we should have to be God ourselves.”\n\n“_We should have to be God ourselves!_”—With a phrase so startling as\nthis yet ringing in my ears, I nevertheless venture to demand if this\nour present ignorance of the Deity is an ignorance to which the soul is\n_everlastingly_ condemned.\n\nBy _Him_, however—_now_, at least, the Incomprehensible—by Him—assuming\nhim as _Spirit_—that is to say, as _not Matter_—a distinction which, for\nall intelligible purposes, will stand well instead of a definition—by\nHim, then, existing as Spirit, let us content ourselves, to-night, with\nsupposing to have been _created_, or made out of Nothing, by dint of his\nVolition—at some point of Space which we will take as a centre—at some\nperiod into which we do not pretend to inquire, but at all events\nimmensely remote—by Him, then again, let us suppose to have been\ncreated——_what_? This is a vitally momentous epoch in our\nconsiderations. _What_ is it that we are justified—that alone we are\njustified in supposing to have been, primarily and solely, _created_?\n\nWe have attained a point where only _Intuition_ can aid us:—but now let\nme recur to the idea which I have already suggested as that alone which\nwe can properly entertain of intuition. It is but _the conviction\narising from those inductions or deductions of which the processes are\nso shadowy as to escape our consciousness, elude our reason, or defy our\ncapacity of expression_. With this understanding, I now assert—that an\nintuition altogether irresistible, although inexpressible, forces me to\nthe conclusion that what God originally created—that that Matter which,\nby dint of his Volition, he first made from his Spirit, or from\nNihility, _could_ have been nothing but Matter in its utmost conceivable\nstate of——what?—of _Simplicity_?\n\nThis will be found the sole absolute _assumption_ of my Discourse. I use\nthe word “assumption” in its ordinary sense; yet I maintain that even\nthis my primary proposition, is very, very far indeed, from being really\na mere assumption. Nothing was ever more certainly—no human conclusion\nwas ever, in fact, more regularly—more rigorously _de_duced:—but, alas!\nthe processes lie out of the human analysis—at all events are beyond the\nutterance of the human tongue.\n\nLet us now endeavor to conceive what Matter must be, when, or if, in its\nabsolute extreme of _Simplicity_. Here the Reason flies at once to\nImparticularity—to a particle—to _one_ particle—a particle of _one_\nkind—of _one_ character—of _one_ nature—of _one size_—of one form—a\nparticle, therefore, “_without_ form and void”—a particle positively a\nparticle at all points—a particle absolutely unique, individual,\nundivided, and not indivisible only because He who _created_ it, by dint\nof his Will, can by an infinitely less energetic exercise of the same\nWill, as a matter of course, divide it.\n\n_Oneness_, then, is all that I predicate of the originally created\nMatter; but I propose to show that this _Oneness is a principle\nabundantly sufficient to account for the constitution, the existing\nphænomena and the plainly inevitable annihilation of at least the\nmaterial Universe_.\n\nThe willing into being the primordial particle, has completed the act,\nor more properly the _conception_, of Creation. We now proceed to the\nultimate purpose for which we are to suppose the Particle created—that\nis to say, the ultimate purpose so far as our considerations _yet_\nenable us to see it—the constitution of the Universe from it, the\nParticle.\n\nThis constitution has been effected by _forcing_ the originally and\ntherefore normally _One_ into the abnormal condition of _Many_. An\naction of this character implies rëaction. A diffusion from Unity, under\nthe conditions, involves a tendency to return into Unity—a tendency\nineradicable until satisfied. But on these points I will speak more\nfully hereafter.\n\nThe assumption of absolute Unity in the primordial Particle includes\nthat of infinite divisibility. Let us conceive the Particle, then, to be\nonly not totally exhausted by diffusion into Space. From the one\nParticle, as a centre, let us suppose to be irradiated spherically—in\nall directions—to immeasurable but still to definite distances in the\npreviously vacant space—a certain inexpressibly great yet limited number\nof unimaginably yet not infinitely minute atoms.\n\nNow, of these atoms, thus diffused, or upon diffusion, what conditions\nare we permitted—not to assume, but to infer, from consideration as well\nof their source as of the character of the design apparent in their\ndiffusion? _Unity_ being their source, and _difference from Unity_ the\ncharacter of the design manifested in their diffusion, we are warranted\nin supposing this character to be at least _generally_ preserved\nthroughout the design, and to form a portion of the design itself:—that\nis to say, we shall be warranted in conceiving continual differences at\nall points from the uniquity and simplicity of the origin. But, for\nthese reasons, shall we be justified in imagining the atoms\nheterogeneous, dissimilar, unequal, and inequidistant? More\nexplicitly—are we to consider no two atoms as, at their diffusion, of\nthe same nature, or of the same form, or of the same size?—and, after\nfulfilment of their diffusion into Space, is absolute inequidistance,\neach from each, to be understood of all of them? In such arrangement,\nunder such conditions, we most easily and immediately comprehend the\nsubsequent most feasible carrying out to completion of any such design\nas that which I have suggested—the design of variety out of\nunity—diversity out of sameness—heterogeneity out of\nhomogeneity—complexity out of simplicity—in a word, the utmost possible\nmultiplicity of _relation_ out of the emphatically irrelative _One_.\nUndoubtedly, therefore, we _should_ be warranted in assuming all that\nhas been mentioned, but for the reflection, first, that supererogation\nis not presumable of any Divine Act; and, secondly, that the object\nsupposed in view, appears as feasible when some of the conditions in\nquestion are dispensed with, in the beginning, as when all are\nunderstood immediately to exist. I mean to say that some are involved in\nthe rest, or so instantaneous a consequence of them as to make the\ndistinction inappreciable. Difference of _size_, for example, will at\nonce be brought about through the tendency of one atom to a second, in\npreference to a third, on account of particular inequidistance; which is\nto be comprehended as _particular inequidistances between centres of\nquantity, in neighboring atoms of different form_—a matter not at all\ninterfering with the generally-equable distribution of the atoms.\nDifference of _kind_, too, is easily conceived to be merely a result of\ndifferences in size and form, taken more or less conjointly:—in fact,\nsince the _Unity_ of the Particle Proper implies absolute homogeneity,\nwe cannot imagine the atoms, at their diffusion, differing in kind,\nwithout imagining, at the same time, a special exercise of the Divine\nWill, at the emission of each atom, for the purpose of effecting, in\neach, a change of its essential nature:—so fantastic an idea is the\nless to be indulged, as the object proposed is seen to be thoroughly\nattainable without such minute and elaborate interposition. We perceive,\ntherefore, upon the whole, that it would be supererogatory, and\nconsequently unphilosophical, to predicate of the atoms, in view of\ntheir purposes, any thing more than _difference of form_ at their\ndispersion, with particular inequidistance after it—all other\ndifferences arising at once out of these, in the very first processes of\nmass-constitution:—We thus establish the Universe on a purely\n_geometrical_ basis. Of course, it is by no means necessary to assume\nabsolute difference, even of form, among _all_ the atoms irradiated—any\nmore than absolute particular inequidistance of each from each. We are\nrequired to conceive merely that no _neighboring_ atoms are of similar\nform—no atoms which can ever approximate, until their inevitable\nrëunition at the end.\n\nAlthough the immediate and perpetual _tendency_ of the disunited atoms\nto return into their normal Unity, is implied, as I have said, in their\nabnormal diffusion; still it is clear that this tendency will be without\nconsequence—a tendency and no more—until the diffusive energy, in\nceasing to be exerted, shall leave _it_, the tendency, free to seek its\nsatisfaction. The Divine Act, however, being considered as determinate,\nand discontinued on fulfilment of the diffusion, we understand, at once,\na _rëaction_—in other words, a _satisfiable_ tendency of the disunited\natoms to return into _One_.\n\nBut the diffusive energy being withdrawn, and the rëaction having\ncommenced in furtherance of the ultimate design—_that of the utmost\npossible Relation_—this design is now in danger of being frustrated, in\ndetail, by reason of that very tendency to return which is to effect its\naccomplishment in general. _Multiplicity_ is the object; but there is\nnothing to prevent proximate atoms, from lapsing _at once_, through the\nnow satisfiable tendency—_before_ the fulfilment of any ends proposed in\nmultiplicity—into absolute oneness among themselves:—there is nothing to\nimpede the aggregation of various _unique_ masses, at various points of\nspace:—in other words, nothing to interfere with the accumulation of\nvarious masses, each absolutely One.\n\nFor the effectual and thorough completion of the general design, we thus\nsee the necessity for a repulsion of limited capacity—a separative\n_something_ which, on withdrawal of the diffusive Volition, shall at the\nsame time allow the approach, and forbid the junction, of the atoms;\nsuffering them infinitely to approximate, while denying them positive\ncontact; in a word, having the power—_up to a certain epoch_—of\npreventing their _coalition_, but no ability to interfere with their\n_coalescence_ in any respect _or degree_. The repulsion, already\nconsidered as so peculiarly limited in other regards, must be\nunderstood, let me repeat, as having power to prevent absolute\ncoalition, _only up to a certain epoch_. Unless we are to conceive that\nthe appetite for Unity among the atoms is doomed to be satisfied\n_never_;—unless we are to conceive that what had a beginning is to have\nno end—a conception which cannot _really_ be entertained, however much\nwe may talk or dream of entertaining it—we are forced to conclude that\nthe repulsive influence imagined, will, finally—under pressure of the\n_Unitendency collectively_ applied, but never and in no degree _until_,\non fulfilment of the Divine purposes, such collective application shall\nbe naturally made—yield to a force which, at that ultimate epoch, shall\nbe the superior force precisely to the extent required, and thus permit\nthe universal subsidence into the inevitable, because original and\ntherefore normal, _One_.—The conditions here to be reconciled are\ndifficult indeed:—we cannot even comprehend the possibility of their\nconciliation;—nevertheless, the apparent impossibility is brilliantly\nsuggestive.\n\nThat the repulsive something actually exists, _we see_. Man neither\nemploys, nor knows, a force sufficient to bring two atoms into contact.\nThis is but the well-established proposition of the impenetrability of\nmatter. All Experiment proves—all Philosophy admits it. The _design_ of\nthe repulsion—the necessity for its existence—I have endeavored to show;\nbut from all attempt at investigating its nature have religiously\nabstained; this on account of an intuitive conviction that the principle\nat issue is strictly spiritual—lies in a recess impervious to our\npresent understanding—lies involved in a consideration of what now—in\nour human state—is _not_ to be considered—in a consideration of _Spirit\nin itself_. I feel, in a word, that here the God has interposed, and\nhere only, because here and here only the knot demanded the\ninterposition of the God.\n\nIn fact, while the tendency of the diffused atoms to return into Unity,\nwill be recognized, at once, as the principle of the Newtonian Gravity,\nwhat I have spoken of as a repulsive influence prescribing limits to the\n(immediate) satisfaction of the tendency, will be understood as _that_\nwhich we have been in the practice of designating now as heat, now as\nmagnetism, now as _electricity_; displaying our ignorance of its awful\ncharacter in the vacillation of the phraseology with which we endeavor\nto circumscribe it.\n\nCalling it, merely for the moment, electricity, we know that all\nexperimental analysis of electricity has given, as an ultimate result,\nthe principle, or seeming principle, _heterogeneity_. _Only_ where\nthings differ is electricity apparent; and it is presumable that they\n_never_ differ where it is not developed at least, if not apparent. Now,\nthis result is in the fullest keeping with that which I have reached\nunempirically. The design of the repulsive influence I have maintained\nto be that of preventing immediate Unity among the diffused atoms; and\nthese atoms are represented as different each from each. _Difference_ is\ntheir character—their essentiality—just as _no-difference_ was the\nessentiality of their source. When we say, then, that an attempt to\nbring any two of these atoms together would induce an effort, on the\npart of the repulsive influence, to prevent the contact, we may as well\nuse the strictly convertible sentence that an attempt to bring together\nany two differences will result in a development of electricity. All\nexisting bodies, of course, are composed of these atoms in proximate\ncontact, and are therefore to be considered as mere assemblages of more\nor fewer differences; and the resistance made by the repulsive spirit,\non bringing together any two such assemblages, would be in the ratio of\nthe two sums of the differences in each:—an expression which, when\nreduced, is equivalent to this:—_The amount of electricity developed on\nthe approximation of two bodies, is proportional to the difference\nbetween the respective sums of the atoms of which the bodies are\ncomposed._ That _no_ two bodies are absolutely alike, is a simple\ncorollary from all that has been here said. Electricity, therefore,\nexisting always, is _developed_ whenever _any_ bodies, but _manifested_\nonly when bodies of appreciable difference, are brought into\napproximation.\n\nTo electricity—so, for the present, continuing to call it—we _may_ not\nbe wrong in referring the various physical appearances of light, heat\nand magnetism; but far less shall we be liable to err in attributing to\nthis strictly spiritual principle the more important phænomena of\nvitality, consciousness and _Thought_. On this topic, however, I need\npause _here_ merely to suggest that these phænomena, whether observed\ngenerally or in detail, seem to proceed _at least in the ratio of the\nheterogeneous_.\n\nDiscarding now the two equivocal terms, “gravitation” and “electricity,”\nlet us adopt the more definite expressions, “_attraction_” and\n“_repulsion_.” The former is the body; the latter the soul: the one is\nthe material; the other the spiritual, principle of the Universe. _No\nother principles exist._ _All_ phænomena are referable to one, or to the\nother, or to both combined. So rigorously is this the case—so thoroughly\ndemonstrable is it that attraction and repulsion are the _sole_\nproperties through which we perceive the Universe—in other words, by\nwhich Matter is manifested to Mind—that, for all merely argumentative\npurposes, we are fully justified in assuming that matter _exists_ only\nas attraction and repulsion—that attraction and repulsion _are_\nmatter:—there being no conceivable case in which we may not employ the\nterm “matter” and the terms “attraction” and “repulsion,” taken\ntogether, as equivalent, and therefore convertible, expressions in\nLogic.\n\nI said, just now, that what I have described as the tendency of the\ndiffused atoms to return into their original unity, would be understood\nas the principle of the Newtonian law of gravity: and, in fact, there\ncan be little difficulty in such an understanding, if we look at the\nNewtonian gravity in a merely general view, as a force impelling matter\nto seek matter; that is to say, when we pay no attention to the known\n_modus operandi_ of the Newtonian force. The general coincidence\nsatisfies us; but, upon looking closely, we see, in detail, much that\nappears _in_coincident, and much in regard to which no coincidence, at\nleast, is established. For example; the Newtonian gravity, when we think\nof it in certain moods, does _not_ seem to be a tendency to _oneness_ at\nall, but rather a tendency of all bodies in all directions—a phrase\napparently expressive of a tendency to diffusion. Here, then, is an\n_in_coincidence. Again; when we reflect on the mathematical _law_\ngoverning the Newtonian tendency, we see clearly that no coincidence has\nbeen made good, in respect of the _modus operandi_, at least, between\ngravitation as known to exist and that seemingly simple and direct\ntendency which I have assumed.\n\nIn fact, I have attained a point at which it will be advisable to\nstrengthen my position by reversing my processes. So far, we have gone\non _à priori_, from an abstract consideration of _Simplicity_, as that\nquality most likely to have characterized the original action of God.\nLet us now see whether the established facts of the Newtonian\nGravitation may not afford us, _à posteriori_, some legitimate\ninductions.\n\nWhat does the Newtonian law declare?—That all bodies attract each other\nwith forces proportional to their quantities of matter and inversely\nproportional to the squares of their distances. Purposely, I have here\ngiven, in the first place, the vulgar version of the law; and I confess\nthat in this, as in most other vulgar versions of great truths, we find\nlittle of a suggestive character. Let us now adopt a more philosophical\nphraseology:—_Every atom, of every body, attracts every other atom, both\nof its own and of every other body, with a force which varies inversely\nas the squares of the distances between the attracting and attracted\natom._—Here, indeed, a flood of suggestion bursts upon the mind.\n\nBut let us see distinctly what it was that Newton _proved_—according to\nthe grossly irrational definitions of _proof_ prescribed by the\nmetaphysical schools. He was forced to content himself with showing how\nthoroughly the motions of an imaginary Universe, composed of attracting\nand attracted atoms obedient to the law he announced, coincide with\nthose of the actually existing Universe so far as it comes under our\nobservation. This was the amount of his _demonstration_—that is to say,\nthis was the amount of it, according to the conventional cant of the\n“philosophies.” His successes added proof multiplied by proof—such proof\nas a sound intellect admits—but the _demonstration_ of the law itself,\npersist the metaphysicians, had not been strengthened in any degree.\n“_Ocular_, _physical_ proof,” however, of attraction, here upon Earth,\nin accordance with the Newtonian theory, was, at length, much to the\nsatisfaction of some intellectual grovellers, afforded. This proof arose\ncollaterally and incidentally (as nearly all important truths have\narisen) out of an attempt to ascertain the mean density of the Earth. In\nthe famous Maskelyne, Cavendish and Bailly experiments for this purpose,\nthe attraction of the mass of a mountain was seen, felt, measured, and\nfound to be mathematically consistent with the immortal theory of the\nBritish astronomer.\n\nBut in spite of this confirmation of that which needed none—in spite of\nthe so-called corroboration of the “theory” by the so-called “ocular and\nphysical proof”—in spite of the _character_ of this corroboration—the\nideas which even really philosophical men cannot help imbibing of\ngravity—and, especially, the ideas of it which ordinary men get and\ncontentedly maintain, are _seen_ to have been derived, for the most\npart, from a consideration of the principle as they find it\ndeveloped—_merely in the planet upon which they stand_.\n\nNow, to what does so partial a consideration tend—to what species of\nerror does it give rise? On the Earth we _see_ and _feel_, only that\ngravity impels all bodies towards the _centre_ of the Earth. No man in\nthe common walks of life could be _made_ to see or to feel anything\nelse—could be made to perceive that anything, anywhere, has a perpetual,\ngravitating tendency in any _other_ direction than to the centre of the\nEarth; yet (with an exception hereafter to be specified) it is a fact\nthat every earthly thing (not to speak now of every heavenly thing) has\na tendency not _only_ to the Earth’s centre but in every conceivable\ndirection besides.\n\nNow, although the philosophic cannot be said to _err with_ the vulgar in\nthis matter, they nevertheless permit themselves to be influenced,\nwithout knowing it, by the _sentiment_ of the vulgar idea. “Although the\nPagan fables are not believed,” says Bryant, in his very erudite\n“Mythology,” “yet we forget ourselves continually and make inferences\nfrom them as from existing realities.” I mean to assert that the merely\n_sensitive perception_ of gravity as we experience it on Earth, beguiles\nmankind into the fancy of _concentralization_ or _especiality_\nrespecting it—has been continually biasing towards this fancy even the\nmightiest intellects—perpetually, although imperceptibly, leading them\naway from the real characteristics of the principle; thus preventing\nthem, up to this date, from ever getting a glimpse of that vital truth\nwhich lies in a diametrically opposite direction—behind the principle’s\n_essential_ characteristics—those, _not_ of concentralization or\nespeciality—but of _universality_ and _diffusion_. This “vital truth” is\n_Unity_ as the _source_ of the phænomenon.\n\nLet me now repeat the definition of gravity:—_Every atom, of every body,\nattracts every other atom, both of its own and of every other body_,\nwith a force which varies inversely as the squares of the distances of\nthe attracting and attracted atom.\n\nHere let the reader pause with me, for a moment, in contemplation of the\nmiraculous—of the ineffable—of the altogether unimaginable complexity of\nrelation involved in the fact that _each atom attracts every other\natom_—involved merely in this fact of the attraction, without reference\nto the law or mode in which the attraction is manifested—involved\n_merely_ in the fact that each atom attracts every other atom _at all_,\nin a wilderness of atoms so numerous that those which go to the\ncomposition of a cannon-ball, exceed, probably, in mere point of number,\nall the stars which go to the constitution of the Universe.\n\nHad we discovered, simply, that each atom tended to some one favorite\npoint—to some especially attractive atom—we should still have fallen\nupon a discovery which, in itself, would have sufficed to overwhelm the\nmind:—but what is it that we are actually called upon to comprehend?\nThat each atom attracts—sympathizes with the most delicate movements of\nevery other atom, and with each and with all at the same time, and\nforever, and according to a determinate law of which the complexity,\neven considered by itself solely, is utterly beyond the grasp of the\nimagination of man. If I propose to ascertain the influence of one mote\nin a sunbeam upon its neighboring mote, I cannot accomplish my purpose\nwithout first counting and weighing all the atoms in the Universe and\ndefining the precise positions of all at one particular moment. If I\nventure to displace, by even the billionth part of an inch, the\nmicroscopical speck of dust which lies now upon the point of my finger,\nwhat is the character of that act upon which I have adventured? I have\ndone a deed which shakes the Moon in her path, which causes the Sun to\nbe no longer the Sun, and which alters forever the destiny of the\nmultitudinous myriads of stars that roll and glow in the majestic\npresence of their Creator.\n\n_These_ ideas—conceptions such as _these_—unthoughtlike\nthoughts—soul-reveries rather than conclusions or even considerations\nof the intellect:—ideas, I repeat, such as these, are such as we can\nalone hope profitably to entertain in any effort at grasping the great\nprinciple, _Attraction_.\n\nBut now,—_with_ such ideas—with such a _vision_ of the marvellous\ncomplexity of Attraction fairly in his mind—let any person competent of\nthought on such topics as these, set himself to the task of imagining a\n_principle_ for the phænomena observed—a condition from which they\nsprang.\n\nDoes not so evident a brotherhood among the atoms point to a common\nparentage? Does not a sympathy so omniprevalent, so ineradicable, and so\nthoroughly irrespective, suggest a common paternity as its source? Does\nnot one extreme impel the reason to the other? Does not the infinitude\nof division refer to the utterness of individuality? Does not the\nentireness of the complex hint at the perfection of the simple? It is\n_not_ that the atoms, as we see them, are divided or that they are\ncomplex in their relations—but that they are inconceivably divided and\nunutterably complex:—it is the extremeness of the conditions to which I\nnow allude, rather than to the conditions themselves. In a word, is it\nnot because the atoms were, at some remote epoch of time, even _more\nthan together_—is it not because originally, and therefore normally,\nthey were _One_—that now, in all circumstances—at all points—in all\ndirections—by all modes of approach—in all relations and through all\nconditions—they struggle _back_ to this absolutely, this irrelatively,\nthis unconditionally _one_?\n\nSome person may here demand:—“Why—since it is to the _One_ that the\natoms struggle back—do we not find and define Attraction ‘a merely\ngeneral tendency to a centre?’—why, in especial, do not _your_\natoms—the atoms which you describe as having been irradiated from a\ncentre—proceed at once, rectilinearly, back to the central point of\ntheir origin?”\n\nI reply that _they do_; as will be distinctly shown; but that the cause\nof their so doing is quite irrespective of the centre _as such_. They\nall tend rectilinearly towards a centre, because of the sphereicity with\nwhich they have been irradiated into space. Each atom, forming one of a\ngenerally uniform globe of atoms, finds more atoms in the direction of\nthe centre, of course, than in any other, and in that direction,\ntherefore, is impelled—but is _not_ thus impelled because the centre is\n_the point of its origin_. It is not to any _point_ that the atoms are\nallied. It is not any _locality_, either in the concrete or in the\nabstract, to which I suppose them bound. Nothing like _location_ was\nconceived as their origin. Their source lies in the principle, _Unity_.\n_This_ is their lost parent. _This_ they seek always—immediately—in all\ndirections—wherever it is even partially to be found; thus appeasing, in\nsome measure, the ineradicable tendency, while on the way to its\nabsolute satisfaction in the end. It follows from all this, that any\nprinciple which shall be adequate to account for the _law_, or _modus\noperandi_, of the attractive force in general, will account for this law\nin particular:—that is to say, any principle which will show why the\natoms should tend to their _general centre of irradiation_ with forces\ninversely proportional to the squares of the distances, will be admitted\nas satisfactorily accounting, at the same time, for the tendency,\naccording to the same law, of these atoms each to each:—_for_ the\ntendency to the centre _is_ merely the tendency each to each, and not\nany tendency to a centre as such.—Thus it will be seen, also, that the\nestablishment of my propositions would involve no _necessity_ of\nmodification in the terms of the Newtonian definition of Gravity, which\ndeclares that each atom attracts each other atom and so forth, and\ndeclares this merely; but (always under the supposition that what I\npropose be, in the end, admitted) it seems clear that some error might\noccasionally be avoided, in the future processes of Science, were a more\nample phraseology adopted:—for instance:—“Each atom tends to every other\natom &c. with a force &c.: _the general result being a tendency of all,\nwith a similar force, to a general centre_.”\n\nThe reversal of our processes has thus brought us to an identical\nresult; but, while in the one process _intuition_ was the\nstarting-point, in the other it was the goal. In commencing the former\njourney I could only say that, with an irresistible intuition, I _felt_\nSimplicity to have been the characteristic of the original action of\nGod:—in ending the latter I can only declare that, with an irresistible\nintuition, I perceive Unity to have been the source of the observed\nphænomena of the Newtonian gravitation. Thus, according to the schools,\nI _prove_ nothing. So be it:—I design but to suggest—and to _convince_\nthrough the suggestion. I am proudly aware that there exist many of the\nmost profound and cautiously discriminative human intellects which\ncannot _help_ being abundantly content with my—suggestions. To these\nintellects—as to my own—there is no mathematical demonstration which\n_could_ bring the least additional _true proof_ of the great _Truth_\nwhich I have advanced—_the truth of Original Unity as the source—as the\nprinciple of the Universal Phænomena_. For my part, I am not so sure\nthat I speak and see—I am not so sure that my heart beats and that my\nsoul lives:—of the rising of to-morrow’s sun—a probability that as yet\nlies in the Future—I do not pretend to be one thousandth part as sure—as\nI am of the irretrievably by-gone _Fact_ that All Things and All\nThoughts of Things, with all their ineffable Multiplicity of Relation,\nsprang at once into being from the primordial and irrelative _One_.\n\nReferring to the Newtonian Gravity, Dr. Nichol, the eloquent author of\n“The Architecture of the Heavens,” says:—“In truth we have no reason to\nsuppose this great Law, as now revealed, to be the ultimate or simplest,\nand therefore the universal and all-comprehensive, form of a great\nOrdinance. The mode in which its intensity diminishes with the element\nof distance, has not the aspect of an ultimate _principle_; which always\nassumes the simplicity and self-evidence of those axioms which\nconstitute the basis of Geometry.”\n\nNow, it is quite true that “ultimate principles,” in the common\nunderstanding of the words, always assume the simplicity of geometrical\naxioms—(as for “self-evidence,” there is no such thing)—but these\nprinciples are clearly _not_ “ultimate;” in other terms what we are in\nthe habit of calling principles are no principles, properly\nspeaking—since there can be but one _principle_, the Volition of God. We\nhave no right to assume, then, from what we observe in rules that we\nchoose foolishly to name “principles,” anything at all in respect to the\ncharacteristics of a principle proper. The “ultimate principles” of\nwhich Dr. Nichol speaks as having geometrical simplicity, may and do\nhave this geometrical turn, as being part and parcel of a vast\ngeometrical system, and thus a system of simplicity itself—in which,\nnevertheless, the _truly_ ultimate principle is, _as we know_, the\nconsummation of the complex—that is to say, of the unintelligible—for is\nit not the Spiritual Capacity of God?\n\nI quoted Dr. Nichol’s remark, however, not so much to question its\nphilosophy, as by way of calling attention to the fact that, while all\nmen have admitted _some_ principle as existing behind the Law of\nGravity, no attempt has been yet made to point out what this principle\nin particular _is_:—if we except, perhaps, occasional fantastic efforts\nat referring it to Magnetism, or Mesmerism, or Swedenborgianism, or\nTranscendentalism, or some other equally delicious _ism_ of the same\nspecies, and invariably patronized by one and the same species of\npeople. The great mind of Newton, while boldly grasping the Law itself,\nshrank from the principle of the Law. The more fluent and comprehensive\nat least, if not the more patient and profound, sagacity of Laplace, had\nnot the courage to attack it. But hesitation on the part of these two\nastronomers it is, perhaps, not so very difficult to understand. They,\nas well as all the first class of mathematicians, were mathematicians\n_solely_:—their intellect, at least, had a firmly-pronounced\nmathematico-physical tone. What lay not distinctly within the domain of\nPhysics, or of Mathematics, seemed to them either Non-Entity or Shadow.\nNevertheless, we may well wonder that Leibnitz, who was a marked\nexception to the general rule in these respects, and whose mental\ntemperament was a singular admixture of the mathematical with the\nphysico-metaphysical, did not at once investigate and establish the\npoint at issue. Either Newton or Laplace, seeking a principle and\ndiscovering none _physical_, would have rested contentedly in the\nconclusion that there was absolutely none; but it is almost impossible\nto fancy, of Leibnitz, that, having exhausted in his search the physical\ndominions, he would not have stepped at once, boldly and hopefully, amid\nhis old familiar haunts in the kingdom of Metaphysics. Here, indeed, it\nis clear that he _must_ have adventured in search of the treasure:—that\nhe did not find it after all, was, perhaps, because his fairy guide,\nImagination, was not sufficiently well-grown, or well-educated, to\ndirect him aright.\n\nI observed, just now, that, in fact, there had been certain vague\nattempts at referring Gravity to some very uncertain _isms_. These\nattempts, however, although considered bold and justly so considered,\nlooked no farther than to the generality—the merest generality—of the\nNewtonian Law. Its _modus operandi_ has never, to my knowledge, been\napproached in the way of an effort at explanation. It is, therefore,\nwith no unwarranted fear of being taken for a madman at the outset, and\nbefore I can bring my propositions fairly to the eye of those who alone\nare competent to decide upon them, that I here declare the _modus\noperandi_ of the Law of Gravity to be an exceedingly simple and\nperfectly explicable thing—that is to say, when we make our advances\ntowards it in just gradations and in the true direction—when we regard\nit from the proper point of view.\n\nWhether we reach the idea of absolute _Unity_ as the source of All\nThings, from a consideration of Simplicity as the most probable\ncharacteristic of the original action of God;—whether we arrive at it\nfrom an inspection of the universality of relation in the gravitating\nphænomena;—or whether we attain it as a result of the mutual\ncorroboration afforded by both processes;—still, the idea itself, if\nentertained at all, is entertained in inseparable connection with\nanother idea—that of the condition of the Universe of stars as we _now_\nperceive it—that is to say, a condition of immeasurable _diffusion_\nthrough space. Now a connection between these two ideas—unity and\ndiffusion—cannot be established unless through the entertainment of a\nthird idea—that of _irradiation_. Absolute Unity being taken as a\ncentre, then the existing Universe of stars is the result of\n_irradiation_ from that centre.\n\nNow, the laws of irradiation are _known_. They are part and parcel of\nthe _sphere_. They belong to the class of _indisputable geometrical\nproperties_. We say of them, “they are true—they are evident.” To demand\n_why_ they are true, would be to demand why the axioms are true upon\nwhich their demonstration is based. _Nothing_ is demonstrable, strictly\nspeaking; but _if_ anything _be_, then the properties—the laws in\nquestion are demonstrated.\n\nBut these laws—what do they declare? Irradiation—how—by what steps does\nit proceed outwardly from a centre?\n\nFrom a _luminous_ centre, _Light_ issues by irradiation; and the\nquantities of light received upon any given plane, supposed to be\nshifting its position so as to be now nearer the centre and now farther\nfrom it, will be diminished in the same proportion as the squares of the\ndistances of the plane from the luminous body, are increased; and will\nbe increased in the same proportion as these squares are diminished.\n\nThe expression of the law may be thus generalized:—the number of\nlight-particles (or, if the phrase be preferred, the number of\nlight-impressions) received upon the shifting plane, will be _inversely_\nproportional with the squares of the distances of the plane.\nGeneralizing yet again, we may say that the diffusion—the scattering—the\nirradiation, in a word—is _directly_ proportional with the squares of\nthe distances.\n\n\nFor example: at the distance B, from the luminous centre A, a certain\nnumber of particles are so diffused as to occupy the surface B. Then at\ndouble the distance—that is to say at C—they will be so much farther\ndiffused as to occupy four such surfaces:—at treble the distance, or at\nD, they will be so much farther separated as to occupy nine such\nsurfaces:—while, at quadruple the distance, or at E, they will have\nbecome so scattered as to spread themselves over sixteen such\nsurfaces—and so on forever.\n\nIn saying, generally, that the irradiation proceeds in direct proportion\nwith the squares of the distances, we use the term irradiation to\nexpress _the degree of the diffusion_ as we proceed outwardly from the\ncentre. Conversing the idea, and employing the word “concentralization”\nto express _the degree of the drawing together_ as we come back toward\nthe centre from an outward position, we may say that concentralization\nproceeds _inversely_ as the squares of the distances. In other words, we\nhave reached the conclusion that, on the hypothesis that matter was\noriginally irradiated from a centre and is now returning to it, the\nconcentralization, in the return, proceeds _exactly as we know the force\nof gravitation to proceed_.\n\nNow here, if we could be permitted to assume that concentralization\nexactly represented the _force of the tendency to the centre_—that the\none was exactly proportional to the other, and that the two proceeded\ntogether—we should have shown all that is required. The sole difficulty\nexisting, then, is to establish a direct proportion between\n“concentralization” and the _force_ of concentralization; and this is\ndone, of course, if we establish such proportion between “irradiation”\nand the _force_ of irradiation.\n\nA very slight inspection of the Heavens assures us that the stars have a\ncertain general uniformity, equability, or equidistance, of distribution\nthrough that region of space in which, collectively, and in a roughly\nglobular form, they are situated:—this species of very general, rather\nthan absolute, equability, being in full keeping with my deduction of\ninequidistance, within certain limits, among the originally diffused\natoms, as a corollary from the evident design of infinite complexity of\nrelation out of irrelation. I started, it will be remembered, with the\nidea of a generally uniform but particularly _un_uniform distribution of\nthe atoms;—an idea, I repeat, which an inspection of the stars, as they\nexist, confirms.\n\nBut even in the merely general equability of distribution, as regards\nthe atoms, there appears a difficulty which, no doubt, has already\nsuggested itself to those among my readers who have borne in mind that I\nsuppose this equability of distribution effected through _irradiation\nfrom a centre_. The very first glance at the idea, irradiation, forces\nus to the entertainment of the hitherto unseparated and seemingly\ninseparable idea of agglomeration about a centre, with dispersion as we\nrecede from it—the idea, in a word, of _in_equability of distribution in\nrespect to the matter irradiated.\n\nNow, I have elsewhere[1] observed that it is by just such difficulties\nas the one now in question—such roughnesses—such peculiarities—such\nprotuberances above the plane of the ordinary—that Reason feels her way,\nif at all, in her search for the True. By the difficulty—the\n“peculiarity”—now presented, I leap at once to _the_ secret—a secret\nwhich I might never have attained _but_ for the peculiarity and the\ninferences which, _in its mere character of peculiarity_, it affords me.\n\n    [1] “_Murders in the Rue Morgue_”—p. 133.\n\nThe process of thought, at this point, may be thus roughly sketched:—I\nsay to myself—“Unity, as I have explained it, is a truth—I feel it.\nDiffusion is a truth—I see it. Irradiation, by which alone these two\ntruths are reconciled, is a consequent truth—I perceive it. _Equability_\nof diffusion, first deduced _à priori_ and then corroborated by the\ninspection of phænomena, is also a truth—I fully admit it. So far all is\nclear around me:—there are no clouds behind which _the_ secret—the great\nsecret of the gravitating _modus operandi_—can possibly lie hidden;—but\nthis secret lies _hereabouts_, most assuredly; and _were_ there but a\ncloud in view, I should be driven to suspicion of that cloud.” And now,\njust as I say this, there actually comes a cloud into view. This cloud\nis the seeming impossibility of reconciling my truth, _irradiation_,\nwith my truth, _equability of diffusion_. I say now:—“Behind this\n_seeming_ impossibility is to be found what I desire.” I do not say\n“_real_ impossibility;” for invincible faith in my truths assures me\nthat it is a mere difficulty after all—but I go on to say, with\nunflinching confidence, that, _when_ this _difficulty_ shall be solved,\nwe shall find, _wrapped up in the process of solution_, the key to the\nsecret at which we aim. Moreover—I _feel_ that we shall discover _but\none_ possible solution of the difficulty; this for the reason that, were\nthere two, one would be supererogatory—would be fruitless—would be\nempty—would contain no key—since no duplicate key can be needed to any\nsecret of Nature.\n\nAnd now, let us see:—Our usual notions of irradiation—in fact _all_ our\ndistinct notions of it—are caught merely from the process as we see it\nexemplified in _Light_. Here there is a _continuous_ outpouring of\n_ray-streams_, and _with a force which we have at least no right to\nsuppose varies at all_. Now, in any such irradiation _as\nthis_—continuous and of unvarying force—the regions nearer the centre\nmust _inevitably_ be always more crowded with the irradiated matter than\nthe regions more remote. But I have assumed _no_ such irradiation _as\nthis_. I assumed no _continuous_ irradiation; and for the simple reason\nthat such an assumption would have involved, first, the necessity of\nentertaining a conception which I have shown no man _can_ entertain, and\nwhich (as I will more fully explain hereafter) all observation of the\nfirmament refutes—the conception of the absolute infinity of the\nUniverse of stars—and would have involved, secondly, the impossibility\nof understanding a rëaction—that is, gravitation—as existing now—since,\nwhile an act is continued, no rëaction, of course, can take place. My\nassumption, then, or rather my inevitable deduction from just\npremises—was that of a _determinate_ irradiation—one finally\n_dis_continued.\n\nLet me now describe the sole possible mode in which it is conceivable\nthat matter could have been diffused through space, so as to fulfil the\nconditions at once of irradiation and of generally equable distribution.\n\nFor convenience of illustration, let us imagine, in the first place, a\nhollow sphere of glass, or of anything else, occupying the space\nthroughout which the universal matter is to be thus equally diffused, by\nmeans of irradiation, from the absolute, irrelative, unconditional\nparticle, placed in the centre of the sphere.\n\nNow, a certain exertion of the diffusive power (presumed to be the\nDivine Volition)—in other words, a certain _force_—whose measure is the\nquantity of matter—that is to say, the number of atoms—emitted; emits,\nby irradiation, this certain number of atoms; forcing them in all\ndirections outwardly from the centre—their proximity to each other\ndiminishing as they proceed—until, finally, they are distributed,\nloosely, over the interior surface of the sphere.\n\nWhen these atoms have attained this position, or while proceeding to\nattain it, a second and inferior exercise of the same force—or a second\nand inferior force of the same character—emits, in the same manner—that\nis to say, by irradiation as before—a second stratum of atoms which\nproceeds to deposit itself upon the first; the number of atoms, in this\ncase as in the former, being of course the measure of the force which\nemitted them; in other words the force being precisely adapted to the\npurpose it effects—the force and the number of atoms sent out by the\nforce, being _directly proportional_.\n\nWhen this second stratum has reached its destined position—or while\napproaching it—a third still inferior exertion of the force, or a third\ninferior force of a similar character—the number of atoms emitted being\nin _all_ cases the measure of the force—proceeds to deposit a third\nstratum upon the second:—and so on, until these concentric strata,\ngrowing gradually less and less, come down at length to the central\npoint; and the diffusive matter, simultaneously with the diffusive\nforce, is exhausted.\n\nWe have now the sphere filled, through means of irradiation, with atoms\nequably diffused. The two necessary conditions—those of irradiation and\nof equable diffusion—are satisfied; and by the _sole_ process in which\nthe possibility of their simultaneous satisfaction is conceivable. For\nthis reason, I confidently expect to find, lurking in the present\ncondition of the atoms as distributed throughout the sphere, the secret\nof which I am in search—the all-important principle of the _modus\noperandi_ of the Newtonian law. Let us examine, then, the actual\ncondition of the atoms.\n\nThey lie in a series of concentric strata. They are equably diffused\nthroughout the sphere. They have been irradiated into these states.\n\nThe atoms being _equably_ distributed, the greater the superficial\nextent of any of these concentric strata, or spheres, the more atoms\nwill lie upon it. In other words, the number of atoms lying upon the\nsurface of any one of the concentric spheres, is directly proportional\nwith the extent of that surface.\n\n_But, in any series of concentric spheres, the surfaces are directly\nproportional with the squares of the distances from the centre._[2]\n\n    [2] Succinctly—The surfaces of spheres are as the squares of\n    their radii.\n\nTherefore the number of atoms in any stratum is directly proportional\nwith the square of that stratum’s distance from the centre.\n\nBut the number of atoms in any stratum is the measure of the force which\nemitted that stratum—that is to say, is _directly proportional_ with the\nforce.\n\nTherefore the force which irradiated any stratum is directly\nproportional with the square of that stratum’s distance from the\ncentre:—or, generally,\n\n_The force of the irradiation has been directly proportional with the\nsquares of the distances._\n\nNow, Rëaction, as far as we know anything of it, is Action conversed.\nThe _general_ principle of Gravity being, in the first place, understood\nas the rëaction of an act—as the expression of a desire on the part of\nMatter, while existing in a state of diffusion, to return into the Unity\nwhence it was diffused; and, in the second place, the mind being called\nupon to determine the _character_ of the desire—the manner in which it\nwould, naturally, be manifested; in other words, being called upon to\nconceive a probable law, or _modus operandi_, for the return; could not\nwell help arriving at the conclusion that this law of return would be\nprecisely the converse of the law of departure. That such would be the\ncase, any one, at least, would be abundantly justified in taking for\ngranted, until such time as some person should suggest something like a\nplausible reason why it should _not_ be the case—until such period as a\nlaw of return shall be imagined which the intellect can consider as\npreferable.\n\nMatter, then, irradiated into space with a force varying as the squares\nof the distances, might, _à priori_, be supposed to return towards its\ncentre of irradiation with a force varying _inversely_ as the squares of\nthe distances: and I have already shown[3] that any principle which will\nexplain why the atoms should tend, according to any law, to the general\ncentre, must be admitted as satisfactorily explaining, at the same time,\nwhy, according to the same law, they should tend each to each. For, in\nfact, the tendency to the general centre is not to a centre as such, but\nbecause of its being a point in tending towards which each atom tends\nmost directly to its real and essential centre, _Unity_—the absolute\nand final Union of all.\n\n    [3] Page 44.\n\nThe consideration here involved presents to my own mind no embarrassment\nwhatever—but this fact does not blind me to the possibility of its being\nobscure to those who may have been less in the habit of dealing with\nabstractions:—and, upon the whole, it may be as well to look at the\nmatter from one or two other points of view.\n\nThe absolute, irrelative particle primarily created by the Volition of\nGod, must have been in a condition of positive _normality_, or\nrightfulness—for wrongfulness implies _relation_. Right is positive;\nwrong is negative—is merely the negation of right; as cold is the\nnegation of heat—darkness of light. That a thing may be wrong, it is\nnecessary that there be some other thing in _relation_ to which it _is_\nwrong—some condition which it fails to satisfy; some law which it\nviolates; some being whom it aggrieves. If there be no such being, law,\nor condition, in respect to which the thing is wrong—and, still more\nespecially, if no beings, laws, or conditions exist at all—then the\nthing can_not_ be wrong and consequently must be _right_. Any deviation\nfrom normality involves a tendency to return into it. A difference from\nthe normal—from the right—from the just—can be understood as effected\nonly by the overcoming a difficulty; and if the force which overcomes\nthe difficulty be not infinitely continued, the ineradicable tendency to\nreturn will at length be permitted to act for its own satisfaction. Upon\nwithdrawal of the force, the tendency acts. This is the principle of\nrëaction as the inevitable consequence of finite action. Employing a\nphraseology of which the seeming affectation will be pardoned for its\nexpressiveness, we may say that Rëaction is the return from the\ncondition of _as it is and ought not to be_ into the condition of _as it\nwas, originally, and therefore ought to be_:—and let me add here that\nthe _absolute_ force of Rëaction would no doubt be always found in\ndirect proportion with the reality—the truth—the absoluteness—of the\n_originality_—if ever it were possible to measure this latter:—and,\nconsequently, the greatest of all conceivable reactions must be that\nproduced by the tendency which we now discuss—the tendency to return\ninto the _absolutely original_—into the _supremely_ primitive. Gravity,\nthen, _must be the strongest of forces_—an idea reached _à priori_ and\nabundantly confirmed by induction. What use I make of the idea, will be\nseen in the sequel.\n\nThe atoms, now, having been diffused from their normal condition of\nUnity, seek to return to——what? Not to any particular _point_,\ncertainly; for it is clear that if, upon the diffusion, the whole\nUniverse of matter had been projected, collectively, to a distance from\nthe point of irradiation, the atomic tendency to the general centre of\nthe sphere would not have been disturbed in the least:—the atoms would\nnot have sought the point _in absolute space_ from which they were\noriginally impelled. It is merely the _condition_, and not the point or\nlocality at which this condition took its rise, that these atoms seek to\nre-establish;—it is merely _that condition which is their normality_,\nthat they desire. “But they seek a centre,” it will be said, “and a\ncentre is a point.” True; but they seek this point not in its character\nof point—(for, were the whole sphere moved from its position, they would\nseek, equally, the centre; and the centre _then_ would be a _new_\npoint)—but because it so happens, on account of the form in which they\ncollectively exist—(that of the sphere)—that only _through_ the point in\nquestion—the sphere’s centre—they can attain their true object, Unity.\nIn the direction of the centre each atom perceives more atoms than in\nany other direction. Each atom is impelled towards the centre because\nalong the straight line joining it and the centre and passing on to the\ncircumference beyond, there lie a greater number of atoms than along any\nother straight line—a greater number of objects that seek it, the\nindividual atom—a greater number of tendencies to Unity—a greater number\nof satisfactions for its own tendency to Unity—in a word, because in the\ndirection of the centre lies the utmost possibility of satisfaction,\ngenerally, for its own individual appetite. To be brief, the\n_condition_, Unity, is all that is really sought; and if the atoms\n_seem_ to seek the centre of the sphere, it is only impliedly, through\nimplication—because such centre happens to imply, to include, or to\ninvolve, the only essential centre, Unity. But _on account of_ this\nimplication or involution, there is no possibility of practically\nseparating the tendency to Unity in the abstract, from the tendency to\nthe concrete centre. Thus the tendency of the atoms to the general\ncentre _is_, to all practical intents and for all logical purposes, the\ntendency each to each; and the tendency each to each _is_ the tendency\nto the centre; and the one tendency may be assumed _as_ the other;\nwhatever will apply to the one must be thoroughly applicable to the\nother; and, in conclusion, whatever principle will satisfactorily\nexplain the one, cannot be questioned as an explanation of the other.\n\nIn looking carefully around me for rational objection to what I have\nadvanced, I am able to discover _nothing_;—but of that class of\nobjections usually urged by the doubters for Doubt’s sake, I very\nreadily perceive _three_; and proceed to dispose of them in order.\n\nIt may be said, first: “The proof that the force of irradiation (in the\ncase described) is directly proportional to the squares of the\ndistances, depends upon an unwarranted assumption—that of the number of\natoms in each stratum being the measure of the force with which they are\nemitted.”\n\nI reply, not only that I am warranted in such assumption, but that I\nshould be utterly _un_warranted in any other. What I assume is, simply,\nthat an effect is the measure of its cause—that every exercise of the\nDivine Will will be proportional to that which demands the exertion—that\nthe means of Omnipotence, or of Omniscience, will be exactly adapted to\nits purposes. Neither can a deficiency nor an excess of cause bring to\npass any effect. Had the force which irradiated any stratum to its\nposition, been either more or less than was needed for the purpose—that\nis to say, not _directly proportional_ to the purpose—then to its\nposition that stratum could not have been irradiated. Had the force\nwhich, with a view to general equability of distribution, emitted the\nproper number of atoms for each stratum, been not _directly\nproportional_ to the number, then the number would _not_ have been the\nnumber demanded for the equable distribution.\n\nThe second supposable objection is somewhat better entitled to an\nanswer.\n\nIt is an admitted principle in Dynamics that every body, on receiving an\nimpulse, or disposition to move, will move onward in a straight line, in\nthe direction imparted by the impelling force, until deflected, or\nstopped, by some other force. How then, it may be asked, is my first or\nexternal stratum of atoms to be understood as discontinuing their\nmovement at the circumference of the imaginary glass sphere, when no\nsecond force, of more than an imaginary character, appears, to account\nfor the discontinuance?\n\nI reply that the objection, in this case, actually does arise out of “an\nunwarranted assumption”—on the part of the objector—the assumption of a\nprinciple, in Dynamics, at an epoch when _no_ “principles,” in\n_anything_, exist:—I use the word “principle,” of course, in the\nobjector’s understanding of the word.\n\n“In the beginning” we can admit—indeed we can comprehend—but one _First\nCause_—the truly ultimate _Principle_—the Volition of God. The primary\n_act_—that of Irradiation from Unity—must have been independent of all\nthat which the world now calls “principle”—because all that we so\ndesignate is but a consequence of the rëaction of that primary act:—I\nsay “_primary_” act; for the creation of the absolute material particle\nis more properly to be regarded as a _conception_ than as an “_act_” in\nthe ordinary meaning of the term. Thus, we must regard the primary act\nas an act for the establishment of what we now call “principles.” But\nthis primary act itself is to be considered as _continuous Volition_.\nThe Thought of God is to be understood as originating the Diffusion—as\nproceeding with it—as regulating it—and, finally, as being withdrawn\nfrom it upon its completion. _Then_ commences Rëaction, and through\nRëaction, “Principle,” as we employ the word. It will be advisable,\nhowever, to limit the application of this word to the two _immediate_\nresults of the discontinuance of the Divine Volition—that is, to the two\nagents, _Attraction_ and _Repulsion_. Every other Natural agent depends,\neither more or less immediately, upon these two, and therefore would be\nmore conveniently designated as _sub_-principle.\n\nIt may be objected, thirdly, that, in general, the peculiar mode of\ndistribution which I have suggested for the atoms, is “an hypothesis and\nnothing more.”\n\nNow, I am aware that the word hypothesis is a ponderous sledge-hammer,\ngrasped immediately, if not lifted, by all very diminutive thinkers,\nupon the first appearance of any proposition wearing, in any particular,\nthe garb of _a theory_. But “hypothesis” cannot be wielded _here_ to any\ngood purpose, even by those who succeed in lifting it—little men or\ngreat.\n\nI maintain, first, that _only_ in the mode described is it conceivable\nthat Matter could have been diffused so as to fulfil at once the\nconditions of irradiation and of generally equable distribution. I\nmaintain, secondly, that these conditions themselves have been imposed\nupon me, as necessities, in a train of ratiocination _as rigorously\nlogical as that which establishes any demonstration in Euclid_; and I\nmaintain, thirdly, that even if the charge of “hypothesis” were as fully\nsustained as it is, in fact, unsustained and untenable, still the\nvalidity and indisputability of my result would not, even in the\nslightest particular, be disturbed.\n\nTo explain:—The Newtonian Gravity—a law of Nature—a law whose existence\nas such no one out of Bedlam questions—a law whose admission as such\nenables us to account for nine-tenths of the Universal phænomena—a law\nwhich, merely because it does so enable us to account for these\nphænomena, we are perfectly willing, without reference to any other\nconsiderations, to admit, and cannot help admitting, as a law—a law,\nnevertheless, of which neither the principle nor the _modus operandi_ of\nthe principle, has ever yet been traced by the human analysis—a law, in\nshort, which, neither in its detail nor in its generality, has been\nfound susceptible of explanation _at all_—is at length seen to be at\nevery point thoroughly explicable, provided only we yield our assent\nto——what? To an hypothesis? Why _if_ an hypothesis—if the merest\nhypothesis—if an hypothesis for whose assumption—as in the case of that\n_pure_ hypothesis the Newtonian law itself—no shadow of _à priori_\nreason could be assigned—if an hypothesis, even so absolute as all this\nimplies, would enable us to perceive a principle for the Newtonian\nlaw—would enable us to understand as satisfied, conditions so\nmiraculously—so ineffably complex and seemingly irreconcileable as those\ninvolved in the relations of which Gravity tells us,—what rational being\n_could_ so expose his fatuity as to call even this absolute hypothesis\nan hypothesis any longer—unless, indeed, he were to persist in so\ncalling it, with the understanding that he did so, simply for the sake\nof consistency _in words_?\n\nBut what is the true state of our present case? What is _the fact_? Not\nonly that it is _not_ an hypothesis which we are required _to adopt_,\nin order to admit the principle at issue explained, but that it _is_ a\nlogical conclusion which we are requested _not_ to adopt if we can avoid\nit—which we are simply invited to _deny if we can_:—a conclusion of so\naccurate a logicality that to dispute it would be the effort—to doubt\nits validity beyond our power:—a conclusion from which we see no mode of\nescape, turn as we will; a result which confronts us either at the end\nof an _in_ductive journey from the phænomena of the very Law discussed,\nor at the close of a _de_ductive career from the most rigorously simple\nof all conceivable assumptions—_the assumption, in a word, of Simplicity\nitself_.\n\nAnd if here, for the mere sake of cavilling, it be urged, that although\nmy starting-point is, as I assert, the assumption of absolute\nSimplicity, yet Simplicity, considered merely in itself, is no axiom;\nand that only deductions from axioms are indisputable—it is thus that I\nreply:—\n\nEvery other science than Logic is the science of certain concrete\nrelations. Arithmetic, for example, is the science of the relations of\nnumber—Geometry, of the relations of form—Mathematics in general, of the\nrelations of quantity in general—of whatever can be increased or\ndiminished. Logic, however, is the science of Relation in the\nabstract—of absolute Relation—of Relation considered solely in itself.\nAn axiom in any particular science other than Logic is, thus, merely a\nproposition announcing certain concrete relations which seem to be too\nobvious for dispute—as when we say, for instance, that the whole is\ngreater than its part:—and, thus again, the principle of the _Logical_\naxiom—in other words, of an axiom in the abstract—is, simply,\n_obviousness of relation_. Now, it is clear, not only that what is\nobvious to one mind may not be obvious to another, but that what is\nobvious to one mind at one epoch, may be anything but obvious, at\nanother epoch, to the same mind. It is clear, moreover, that what,\nto-day, is obvious even to the majority of mankind, or to the majority\nof the best intellects of mankind, may to-morrow be, to either majority,\nmore or less obvious, or in no respect obvious at all. It is seen, then,\nthat the _axiomatic principle_ itself is susceptible of variation, and\nof course that axioms are susceptible of similar change. Being mutable,\nthe “truths” which grow out of them are necessarily mutable too; or, in\nother words, are never to be positively depended upon as truths at\nall—since Truth and Immutability are one.\n\nIt will now be readily understood that no axiomatic idea—no idea founded\nin the fluctuating principle, obviousness of relation—can possibly be so\nsecure—so reliable a basis for any structure erected by the Reason, as\n_that_ idea—(whatever it is, wherever we can find it, or _if_ it be\npracticable to find it anywhere)—which is _ir_relative altogether—which\nnot only presents to the understanding _no obviousness_ of relation,\neither greater or less, to be considered, but subjects the intellect,\nnot in the slightest degree, to the necessity of even looking at _any\nrelation at all_. If such an idea be not what we too heedlessly term “an\naxiom,” it is at least preferable, as a Logical basis, to any axiom ever\npropounded, or to all imaginable axioms combined:—and such, precisely,\nis the idea with which my deductive process, so thoroughly corroborated\nby induction, commences. My _particle proper_ is but _absolute\nIrrelation_. To sum up what has been here advanced:—As a starting point\nI have taken it for granted, simply, that the Beginning had nothing\nbehind it or before it—that it was a Beginning in fact—that it was a\nbeginning and nothing different from a beginning—in short that this\nBeginning was——_that which it was_. If this be a “mere assumption” then\na “mere assumption” let it be.\n\nTo conclude this branch of the subject:—I am fully warranted in\nannouncing that _the Law which we have been in the habit of calling\nGravity exists on account of Matter’s having been irradiated, at its\norigin, atomically, into a limited[4] sphere of Space, from one,\nindividual, unconditional, irrelative, and absolute Particle Proper, by\nthe sole process in which it was possible to satisfy, at the same time,\nthe two conditions, irradiation, and generally-equable distribution\nthroughout the sphere—that is to say, by a force varying in direct\nproportion with the squares of the distances between the irradiated\natoms, respectively, and the Particular centre of Irradiation_.\n\n    [4] Limited sphere—A sphere is _necessarily_ limited. I prefer\n    tautology to a chance of misconception.\n\nI have already given my reasons for presuming Matter to have been\ndiffused by a determinate rather than by a continuous or infinitely\ncontinued force. Supposing a continuous force, we should be unable, in\nthe first place, to comprehend a rëaction at all; and we should be\nrequired, in the second place, to entertain the impossible conception of\nan infinite extension of Matter. Not to dwell upon the impossibility of\nthe conception, the infinite extension of Matter is an idea which, if\nnot positively disproved, is at least not in any respect warranted by\ntelescopic observation of the stars—a point to be explained more fully\nhereafter; and this empirical reason for believing in the original\nfinity of Matter is unempirically confirmed. For example:—Admitting, for\nthe moment, the possibility of understanding Space _filled_ with the\nirradiated atoms—that is to say, admitting, as well as we can, for\nargument’s sake, that the succession of the irradiated atoms had\nabsolutely _no end_—then it is abundantly clear that, even when the\nVolition of God had been withdrawn from them, and thus the tendency to\nreturn into Unity permitted (abstractly) to be satisfied, this\npermission would have been nugatory and invalid—practically valueless\nand of no effect whatever. No Rëaction could have taken place; no\nmovement toward Unity could have been made; no Law of Gravity could have\nobtained.\n\nTo explain:—Grant the _abstract_ tendency of any one atom to any one\nother as the inevitable result of diffusion from the normal Unity:—or,\nwhat is the same thing, admit any given atom as _proposing_ to move in\nany given direction—it is clear that, since there is an _infinity_ of\natoms on all sides of the atom proposing to move, it never can actually\nmove toward the satisfaction of its tendency in the direction given, on\naccount of a precisely equal and counterbalancing tendency in the\ndirection diametrically opposite. In other words, exactly as many\ntendencies to Unity are behind the hesitating atom as before it; for it\nis a mere sotticism to say that one infinite line is longer or shorter\nthan another infinite line, or that one infinite number is greater or\nless than another number that is infinite. Thus the atom in question\nmust remain stationary forever. Under the impossible circumstances which\nwe have been merely endeavoring to conceive for argument’s sake, there\ncould have been no aggregation of Matter—no stars—no worlds—nothing but\na perpetually atomic and inconsequential Universe. In fact, view it as\nwe will, the whole idea of unlimited Matter is not only untenable, but\nimpossible and preposterous.\n\nWith the understanding of a _sphere_ of atoms, however, we perceive, at\nonce, a _satisfiable_ tendency to union. The general result of the\ntendency each to each, being a tendency of all to the centre, the\n_general_ process of condensation, or approximation, commences\nimmediately, by a common and simultaneous movement, on withdrawal of the\nDivine Volition; the _individual_ approximations, or coalescences—_not_\ncöalitions—of atom with atom, being subject to almost infinite\nvariations of time, degree, and condition, on account of the excessive\nmultiplicity of relation, arising from the differences of form assumed\nas characterizing the atoms at the moment of their quitting the Particle\nProper; as well as from the subsequent particular inequidistance, each\nfrom each.\n\nWhat I wish to impress upon the reader is the certainty of there\narising, at once, (on withdrawal of the diffusive force, or Divine\nVolition,) out of the condition of the atoms as described, at\ninnumerable points throughout the Universal sphere, innumerable\nagglomerations, characterized by innumerable specific differences of\nform, size, essential nature, and distance each from each. The\ndevelopment of Repulsion (Electricity) must have commenced, of course,\nwith the very earliest particular efforts at Unity, and must have\nproceeded constantly in the ratio of Coalescence—that is to say, _in\nthat of Condensation_, or, again, of Heterogeneity.\n\nThus the two Principles Proper, _Attraction_ and _Repulsion_—the\nMaterial and the Spiritual—accompany each other, in the strictest\nfellowship, forever. Thus _The Body and The Soul walk hand in hand_.\n\nIf now, in fancy, we select _any one_ of the agglomerations considered\nas in their primary stages throughout the Universal sphere, and suppose\nthis incipient agglomeration to be taking place at that point where the\ncentre of our Sun exists—or rather where it _did_ exist originally; for\nthe Sun is perpetually shifting his position—we shall find ourselves\nmet, and borne onward for a time at least, by the most magnificent of\ntheories—by the Nebular Cosmogony of Laplace:—although “Cosmogony” is\nfar too comprehensive a term for what he really discusses—which is the\nconstitution of our solar system alone—of one among the myriad of\nsimilar systems which make up the Universe Proper—that Universal\nsphere—that all-inclusive and absolute _Kosmos_ which forms the subject\nof my present Discourse.\n\nConfining himself to an _obviously limited_ region—that of our solar\nsystem with its comparatively immediate vicinity—and _merely_\nassuming—that is to say, assuming without any basis whatever, either\ndeductive or inductive—_much_ of what I have been just endeavoring to\nplace upon a more stable basis than assumption; assuming, for example,\nmatter as diffused (without pretending to account for the diffusion)\nthroughout, and somewhat beyond, the space occupied by our\nsystem—diffused in a state of heterogeneous nebulosity and obedient to\nthat omniprevalent law of Gravity at whose principle he ventured to make\nno guess;—assuming all this (which is quite true, although he had no\nlogical right to its assumption) Laplace has shown, dynamically and\nmathematically, that the results in such case necessarily ensuing, are\nthose and those alone which we find manifested in the actually existing\ncondition of the system itself.\n\nTo explain:—Let us conceive _that_ particular agglomeration of which we\nhave just spoken—the one at the point designated by our Sun’s centre—to\nhave so far proceeded that a vast quantity of nebulous matter has here\nassumed a roughly globular form; its centre being, of course, coincident\nwith what is now, or rather was originally, the centre of our Sun; and\nits periphery extending out beyond the orbit of Neptune, the most remote\nof our planets:—in other words, let us suppose the diameter of this\nrough sphere to be some 6000 millions of miles. For ages, this mass of\nmatter has been undergoing condensation, until at length it has become\nreduced into the bulk we imagine; having proceeded gradually, of course,\nfrom its atomic and imperceptible state, into what we understand of\nvisible, palpable, or otherwise appreciable nebulosity.\n\nNow, the condition of this mass implies a rotation about an imaginary\naxis—a rotation which, commencing with the absolute incipiency of the\naggregation, has been ever since acquiring velocity. The very first two\natoms which met, approaching each other from points not diametrically\nopposite, would, in rushing partially past each other, form a nucleus\nfor the rotary movement described. How this would increase in velocity,\nis readily seen. The two atoms are joined by others:—an aggregation is\nformed. The mass continues to rotate while condensing. But any atom at\nthe circumference has, of course, a more rapid motion than one nearer\nthe centre. The outer atom, however, with its superior velocity,\napproaches the centre; carrying this superior velocity with it as it\ngoes. Thus every atom, proceeding inwardly, and finally attaching itself\nto the condensed centre, adds something to the original velocity of that\ncentre—that is to say, increases the rotary movement of the mass.\n\nLet us now suppose this mass so far condensed that it occupies\n_precisely_ the space circumscribed by the orbit of Neptune, and that\nthe velocity with which the surface of the mass moves, in the general\nrotation, is precisely that velocity with which Neptune now revolves\nabout the Sun. At this epoch, then, we are to understand that the\nconstantly increasing centrifugal force, having gotten the better of the\nnon-increasing centripetal, loosened and separated the exterior and\nleast condensed stratum, or a few of the exterior and least condensed\nstrata, at the equator of the sphere, where the tangential velocity\npredominated; so that these strata formed about the main body an\nindependent ring encircling the equatorial regions:—just as the exterior\nportion thrown off, by excessive velocity of rotation, from a\ngrindstone, would form a ring about the grindstone, but for the solidity\nof the superficial material: were this caoutchouc, or anything similar\nin consistency, precisely the phænomenon I describe would be presented.\n\nThe ring thus whirled from the nebulous mass, _revolved_, of course,\n_as_ a separate ring, with just that velocity with which, while the\nsurface of the mass, it _rotated_. In the meantime, condensation still\nproceeding, the interval between the discharged ring and the main body\ncontinued to increase, until the former was left at a vast distance from\nthe latter.\n\nNow, admitting the ring to have possessed, by some seemingly accidental\narrangement of its heterogeneous materials, a constitution nearly\nuniform, then this ring, _as_ such, would never have ceased revolving\nabout its primary; but, as might have been anticipated, there appears to\nhave been enough irregularity in the disposition of the materials, to\nmake them cluster about centres of superior solidity; and thus the\nannular form was destroyed.[5] No doubt, the band was soon broken up\ninto several portions, and one of these portions, predominating in mass,\nabsorbed the others into itself; the whole settling, spherically, into a\nplanet. That this latter, _as_ a planet, continued the revolutionary\nmovement which characterized it while a ring, is sufficiently clear; and\nthat it took upon itself also, an additional movement in its new\ncondition of sphere, is readily explained. The ring being understood as\nyet unbroken, we see that its exterior, while the whole revolves about\nthe parent body, moves more rapidly than its interior. When the rupture\noccurred, then, some portion in each fragment must have been moving\nwith greater velocity than the others. The superior movement prevailing,\nmust have whirled each fragment round—that is to say, have caused it to\nrotate; and the direction of the rotation must, of course, have been the\ndirection of the revolution whence it arose. _All_ the fragments having\nbecome subject to the rotation described, must, in coalescing, have\nimparted it to the one planet constituted by their coalescence.—This\nplanet was Neptune. Its material continuing to undergo condensation, and\nthe centrifugal force generated in its rotation getting, at length, the\nbetter of the centripetal, as before in the case of the parent orb, a\nring was whirled also from the equatorial surface of this planet: this\nring, having been ununiform in its constitution, was broken up, and its\nseveral fragments, being absorbed by the most massive, were collectively\nspherified into a moon. Subsequently, the operation was repeated, and a\nsecond moon was the result. We thus account for the planet Neptune, with\nthe two satellites which accompany him.\n\n    [5] Laplace assumed his nebulosity heterogeneous, merely that\n    he might be thus enabled to account for the breaking up of the\n    rings; for had the nebulosity been homogeneous, they would not\n    have broken. I reach the same result—heterogeneity of the\n    secondary masses immediately resulting from the atoms—purely\n    from an _à priori_ consideration of their general\n    design—_Relation_.\n\nIn throwing off a ring from its equator, the Sun re-established that\nequilibrium between its centripetal and centrifugal forces which had\nbeen disturbed in the process of condensation; but, as this condensation\nstill proceeded, the equilibrium was again immediately disturbed,\nthrough the increase of rotation. By the time the mass had so far shrunk\nthat it occupied a spherical space just that circumscribed by the orbit\nof Uranus, we are to understand that the centrifugal force had so far\nobtained the ascendency that new relief was needed: a second equatorial\nband was, consequently, thrown off, which, proving ununiform, was\nbroken up, as before in the case of Neptune; the fragments settling into\nthe planet Uranus; the velocity of whose actual revolution about the Sun\nindicates, of course, the rotary speed of that Sun’s equatorial surface\nat the moment of the separation. Uranus, adopting a rotation from the\ncollective rotations of the fragments composing it, as previously\nexplained, now threw off ring after ring; each of which, becoming broken\nup, settled into a moon:—three moons, at different epochs, having been\nformed, in this manner, by the rupture and general spherification of as\nmany distinct ununiform rings.\n\nBy the time the Sun had shrunk until it occupied a space just that\ncircumscribed by the orbit of Saturn, the balance, we are to suppose,\nbetween its centripetal and centrifugal forces had again become so far\ndisturbed, through increase of rotary velocity, the result of\ncondensation, that a third effort at equilibrium became necessary; and\nan annular band was therefore whirled off as twice before; which, on\nrupture through ununiformity, became consolidated into the planet\nSaturn. This latter threw off, in the first place, seven uniform bands,\nwhich, on rupture, were spherified respectively into as many moons; but,\nsubsequently, it appears to have discharged, at three distinct but not\nvery distant epochs, three rings whose equability of constitution was,\nby apparent accident, so considerable as to present no occasion for\ntheir rupture; thus they continue to revolve as rings. I use the phrase\n“_apparent_ accident;” for of accident in the ordinary sense there was,\nof course, nothing:—the term is properly applied only to the result of\nindistinguishable or not immediately traceable _law_.\n\nShrinking still farther, until it occupied just the space circumscribed\nby the orbit of Jupiter, the Sun now found need of farther effort to\nrestore the counterbalance of its two forces, continually disarranged in\nthe still continued increase of rotation. Jupiter, accordingly, was now\nthrown off; passing from the annular to the planetary condition; and, on\nattaining this latter, threw off in its turn, at four different epochs,\nfour rings, which finally resolved themselves into so many moons.\n\nStill shrinking, until its sphere occupied just the space defined by the\norbit of the Asteroids, the Sun now discarded a ring which appears to\nhave had _eight_ centres of superior solidity, and, on breaking up, to\nhave separated into eight fragments no one of which so far predominated\nin mass as to absorb the others. All therefore, as distinct although\ncomparatively small planets, proceeded to revolve in orbits whose\ndistances, each from each, may be considered as in some degree the\nmeasure of the force which drove them asunder:—all the orbits,\nnevertheless, being so closely coincident as to admit of our calling\nthem _one_, in view of the other planetary orbits.\n\nContinuing to shrink, the Sun, on becoming so small as just to fill the\norbit of Mars, now discharged this planet—of course by the process\nrepeatedly described. Having no moon, however, Mars could have thrown\noff no ring. In fact, an epoch had now arrived in the career of the\nparent body, the centre of the system. The _de_crease of its nebulosity,\nwhich is the _in_crease of its density, and which again is the\n_de_crease of its condensation, out of which latter arose the constant\ndisturbance of equilibrium—must, by this period, have attained a point\nat which the efforts for restoration would have been more and more\nineffectual just in proportion as they were less frequently needed. Thus\nthe processes of which we have been speaking would everywhere show signs\nof exhaustion—in the planets, first, and secondly, in the original mass.\nWe must not fall into the error of supposing the decrease of interval\nobserved among the planets as we approach the Sun, to be in any respect\nindicative of an increase of frequency in the periods at which they were\ndiscarded. Exactly the converse is to be understood. The longest\ninterval of time must have occurred between the discharges of the two\ninterior; the shortest, between those of the two exterior, planets. The\ndecrease of the interval of space is, nevertheless, the measure of the\ndensity, and thus inversely of the condensation, of the Sun, throughout\nthe processes detailed.\n\nHaving shrunk, however, so far as to fill only the orbit of our Earth,\nthe parent sphere whirled from itself still one other body—the Earth—in\na condition so nebulous as to admit of this body’s discarding, in its\nturn, yet another, which is our Moon;—but here terminated the lunar\nformations.\n\nFinally, subsiding to the orbits first of Venus and then of Mercury, the\nSun discarded these two interior planets; neither of which has given\nbirth to any moon.\n\nThus from his original bulk—or, to speak more accurately, from the\ncondition in which we first considered him—from a partially spherified\nnebular mass, _certainly_ much more than 5,600 millions of miles in\ndiameter—the great central orb and origin of our solar-planetary-lunar\nsystem, has gradually descended, by condensation, in obedience to the\nlaw of Gravity, to a globe only 882,000 miles in diameter; but it by no\nmeans follows, either that its condensation is yet complete, or that it\nmay not still possess the capacity of whirling from itself another\nplanet.\n\nI have here given—in outline of course, but still with all the detail\nnecessary for distinctness—a view of the Nebular Theory as its author\nhimself conceived it. From whatever point we regard it, we shall find it\n_beautifully true_. It is by far too beautiful, indeed, _not_ to possess\nTruth as its essentiality—and here I am very profoundly serious in what\nI say. In the revolution of the satellites of Uranus, there does appear\nsomething seemingly inconsistent with the assumptions of Laplace; but\nthat _one_ inconsistency can invalidate a theory constructed from a\nmillion of intricate consistencies, is a fancy fit only for the\nfantastic. In prophecying, confidently, that the apparent anomaly to\nwhich I refer, will, sooner or later, be found one of the strongest\npossible corroborations of the general hypothesis, I pretend to no\nespecial spirit of divination. It is a matter which the only difficulty\nseems _not_ to foresee.[6]\n\n    [6] I am prepared to show that the anomalous revolution of the\n    satellites of Uranus is a simply perspective anomaly arising\n    from the inclination of the axis of the planet.\n\nThe bodies whirled off in the processes described, would exchange, it\nhas been seen, the superficial _rotation_ of the orbs whence they\noriginated, for a _revolution_ of equal velocity about these orbs as\ndistant centres; and the revolution thus engendered must proceed, so\nlong as the centripetal force, or that with which the discarded body\ngravitates toward its parent, is neither greater nor less than that by\nwhich it was discarded; that is, than the centrifugal, or, far more\nproperly, than the tangential, velocity. From the unity, however, of the\norigin of these two forces, we might have expected to find them as they\nare found—the one accurately counterbalancing the other. It has been\nshown, indeed, that the act of whirling-off is, in every case, merely an\nact for the preservation of the counterbalance.\n\nAfter referring, however, the centripetal force to the omniprevalent law\nof Gravity, it has been the fashion with astronomical treatises, to seek\nbeyond the limits of mere Nature—that is to say, of _Secondary_ Cause—a\nsolution of the phænomenon of tangential velocity. This latter they\nattribute directly to a _First_ Cause—to God. The force which carries a\nstellar body around its primary they assert to have originated in an\nimpulse given immediately by the finger—this is the childish phraseology\nemployed—by the finger of Deity itself. In this view, the planets, fully\nformed, are conceived to have been hurled from the Divine hand, to a\nposition in the vicinity of the suns, with an impetus mathematically\nadapted to the masses, or attractive capacities, of the suns themselves.\nAn idea so grossly unphilosophical, although so supinely adopted, could\nhave arisen only from the difficulty of otherwise accounting for the\nabsolutely accurate adaptation, each to each, of two forces so seemingly\nindependent, one of the other, as are the gravitating and tangential.\nBut it should be remembered that, for a long time, the coincidence\nbetween the moon’s rotation and her sidereal revolution—two matters\nseemingly far more independent than those now considered—was looked\nupon as positively miraculous; and there was a strong disposition, even\namong astronomers, to attribute the marvel to the direct and continual\nagency of God—who, in this case, it was said, had found it necessary to\ninterpose, specially, among his general laws, a set of subsidiary\nregulations, for the purpose of forever concealing from mortal eyes the\nglories, or perhaps the horrors, of the other side of the Moon—of that\nmysterious hemisphere which has always avoided, and must perpetually\navoid, the telescopic scrutiny of mankind. The advance of Science,\nhowever, soon demonstrated—what to the philosophical instinct needed\n_no_ demonstration—that the one movement is but a portion—something\nmore, even, than a consequence—of the other.\n\nFor my part, I have no patience with fantasies at once so timorous, so\nidle, and so awkward. They belong to the veriest _cowardice_ of thought.\nThat Nature and the God of Nature are distinct, no thinking being can\nlong doubt. By the former we imply merely the laws of the latter. But\nwith the very idea of God, omnipotent, omniscient, we entertain, also,\nthe idea of _the infallibility_ of his laws. With Him there being\nneither Past nor Future—with Him all being _Now_—do we not insult him in\nsupposing his laws so contrived as not to provide for every possible\ncontingency?—or, rather, what idea _can_ we have of _any_ possible\ncontingency, except that it is at once a result and a manifestation of\nhis laws? He who, divesting himself of prejudice, shall have the rare\ncourage to think absolutely for himself, cannot fail to arrive, in the\nend, at the condensation of _laws_ into _Law_—cannot fail of reaching\nthe conclusion that _each law of Nature is dependent at all points upon\nall other laws_, and that all are but consequences of one primary\nexercise of the Divine Volition. Such is the principle of the Cosmogony\nwhich, with all necessary deference, I here venture to suggest and to\nmaintain.\n\nIn this view, it will be seen that, dismissing as frivolous, and even\nimpious, the fancy of the tangential force having been imparted to the\nplanets immediately by “the finger of God,” I consider this force as\noriginating in the rotation of the stars:—this rotation as brought about\nby the in-rushing of the primary atoms, towards their respective centres\nof aggregation:—this in-rushing as the consequence of the law of\nGravity:—this law as but the mode in which is necessarily manifested the\ntendency of the atoms to return into imparticularity:—this tendency to\nreturn as but the inevitable rëaction of the first and most sublime of\nActs—that act by which a God, self-existing and alone existing, became\nall things at once, through dint of his volition, while all things were\nthus constituted a portion of God.\n\nThe radical assumptions of this Discourse suggest to me, and in fact\nimply, certain important _modifications_ of the Nebular Theory as given\nby Laplace. The efforts of the repulsive power I have considered as made\nfor the purpose of preventing contact among the atoms, and thus as made\nin the ratio of the approach to contact—that is to say, in the ratio of\ncondensation.[7] In other words, _Electricity_, with its involute\nphænomena, heat, light and magnetism, is to be understood as proceeding\nas condensation proceeds, and, of course, inversely as density proceeds,\nor the _cessation to condense_. Thus the Sun, in the process of its\naggregation, must soon, in developing repulsion, have become excessively\nheated—perhaps incandescent: and we can perceive how the operation of\ndiscarding its rings must have been materially assisted by the slight\nincrustation of its surface consequent on cooling. Any common experiment\nshows us how readily a crust of the character suggested, is separated,\nthrough heterogeneity, from the interior mass. But, on every successive\nrejection of the crust, the new surface would appear incandescent as\nbefore; and the period at which it would again become so far encrusted\nas to be readily loosened and discharged, may well be imagined as\nexactly coincident with that at which a new effort would be needed, by\nthe whole mass, to restore the equilibrium of its two forces,\ndisarranged through condensation. In other words:—by the time the\nelectric influence (Repulsion) has prepared the surface for rejection,\nwe are to understand that the gravitating influence (Attraction) is\nprecisely ready to reject it. Here, then, as everywhere, _the Body and\nthe Soul walk hand in hand_.\n\n    [7] See page 70.\n\nThese ideas are empirically confirmed at all points. Since condensation\ncan never, in any body, be considered as absolutely at an end, we are\nwarranted in anticipating that, whenever we have an opportunity of\ntesting the matter, we shall find indications of resident luminosity in\n_all_ the stellar bodies—moons and planets as well as suns. That our\nMoon is strongly self-luminous, we see at her every total eclipse, when,\nif not so, she would disappear. On the dark part of the satellite, too,\nduring her phases, we often observe flashes like our own Auroras; and\nthat these latter, with our various other so-called electrical\nphænomena, without reference to any more steady radiance, must give our\nEarth a certain appearance of luminosity to an inhabitant of the Moon,\nis quite evident. In fact, we should regard all the phænomena referred\nto, as mere manifestations, in different moods and degrees, of the\nEarth’s feebly-continued condensation.\n\nIf my views are tenable, we should be prepared to find the newer\nplanets—that is to say, those nearer the Sun—more luminous than those\nolder and more remote:—and the extreme brilliancy of Venus (on whose\ndark portions, during her phases, the Auroras are frequently visible)\ndoes not seem to be altogether accounted for by her mere proximity to\nthe central orb. She is no doubt vividly self-luminous, although less so\nthan Mercury: while the luminosity of Neptune may be comparatively\nnothing.\n\nAdmitting what I have urged, it is clear that, from the moment of the\nSun’s discarding a ring, there must be a continuous diminution both of\nhis heat and light, on account of the continuous encrustation of his\nsurface; and that a period would arrive—the period immediately previous\nto a new discharge—when a _very material_ decrease of both light and\nheat, must become apparent. Now, we know that tokens of such changes are\ndistinctly recognizable. On the Melville islands—to adduce merely one\nout of a hundred examples—we find traces of _ultra-tropical_\nvegetation—of plants that never could have flourished without immensely\nmore light and heat than are at present afforded by our Sun to any\nportion of the surface of the Earth. Is such vegetation referable to an\nepoch immediately subsequent to the whirling-off of Venus? At this epoch\nmust have occurred to us our greatest access of solar influence; and,\nin fact, this influence must then have attained its maximum:—leaving out\nof view, of course, the period when the Earth itself was discarded—the\nperiod of its mere organization.\n\nAgain:—we know that there exist _non-luminous suns_—that is to say, suns\nwhose existence we determine through the movements of others, but whose\nluminosity is not sufficient to impress us. Are these suns invisible\nmerely on account of the length of time elapsed since their discharge of\na planet? And yet again:—may we not—at least in certain cases—account\nfor the sudden appearances of suns where none had been previously\nsuspected, by the hypothesis that, having rolled with encrusted surfaces\nthroughout the few thousand years of our astronomical history, each of\nthese suns, in whirling off a new secondary, has at length been enabled\nto display the glories of its still incandescent interior?—To the\nwell-ascertained fact of the proportional increase of heat as we descend\ninto the Earth, I need of course, do nothing more than refer:—it comes\nin the strongest possible corroboration of all that I have said on the\ntopic now at issue.\n\nIn speaking, not long ago, of the repulsive or electrical influence, I\nremarked that “the important phænomena of vitality, consciousness, and\nthought, whether we observe them generally or in detail, seem to proceed\n_at least in the ratio of the heterogeneous_.”[8] I mentioned, too, that\nI would recur to the suggestion:—and this is the proper point at which\nto do so. Looking at the matter, first, in detail, we perceive that not\nmerely the _manifestation_ of vitality, but its importance, consequence,\nand elevation of character, keep pace, very closely, with the\nheterogeneity, or complexity, of the animal structure. Looking at the\nquestion, now, in its generality, and referring to the first movements\nof the atoms towards mass-constitution, we find that heterogeneousness,\nbrought about directly through condensation, is proportional with it\nforever. We thus reach the proposition that _the importance of the\ndevelopment of the terrestrial vitality proceeds equably with the\nterrestrial condensation_.\n\n    [8] Page 36.\n\nNow this is in precise accordance with what we know of the succession of\nanimals on the Earth. As it has proceeded in its condensation, superior\nand still superior races have appeared. Is it impossible that the\nsuccessive geological revolutions which have attended, at least, if not\nimmediately caused, these successive elevations of vitalic character—is\nit improbable that these revolutions have themselves been produced by\nthe successive planetary discharges from the Sun—in other words, by the\nsuccessive variations in the solar influence on the Earth? Were this\nidea tenable, we should not be unwarranted in the fancy that the\ndischarge of yet a new planet, interior to Mercury, may give rise to yet\na new modification of the terrestrial surface—a modification from which\nmay spring a race both materially and spiritually superior to Man. These\nthoughts impress me with all the force of truth—but I throw them out, of\ncourse, merely in their obvious character of suggestion.\n\nThe Nebular Theory of Laplace has lately received far more confirmation\nthan it needed, at the hands of the philosopher, Compte. These two have\nthus together shown—_not_, to be sure, that Matter at any period\nactually existed as described, in a state of nebular diffusion, but\nthat, admitting it so to have existed throughout the space and much\nbeyond the space now occupied by our solar system, _and to have\ncommenced a movement towards a centre_—it must gradually have assumed\nthe various forms and motions which are now seen, in that system, to\nobtain. A demonstration such as this—a dynamical and mathematical\ndemonstration, as far as demonstration can be—unquestionable and\nunquestioned—unless, indeed, by that unprofitable and disreputable\ntribe, the professional questioners—the mere madmen who deny the\nNewtonian law of Gravity on which the results of the French\nmathematicians are based—a demonstration, I say, such as this, would to\nmost intellects be conclusive—and I confess that it is so to mine—of the\nvalidity of the nebular hypothesis upon which the demonstration depends.\n\nThat the demonstration does not _prove_ the hypothesis, according to the\ncommon understanding of the word “proof,” I admit, of course. To show\nthat certain existing results—that certain established facts—may be,\neven mathematically, accounted for by the assumption of a certain\nhypothesis, is by no means to establish the hypothesis itself. In other\nwords:—to show that, certain data being given, a certain existing result\nmight, or even _must_, have ensued, will fail to prove that this result\n_did_ ensue, _from the data_, until such time as it shall be also shown\nthat there are, _and can be_, no other data from which the result in\nquestion might _equally_ have ensued. But, in the case now discussed,\nalthough all must admit the deficiency of what we are in the habit of\nterming “proof,” still there are many intellects, and those of the\nloftiest order, to which _no_ proof could bring one iota of additional\n_conviction_. Without going into details which might impinge upon the\nCloud-Land of Metaphysics, I may as well here observe that the force of\nconviction, in cases such as this, will always, with the right-thinking,\nbe proportional to the amount of _complexity_ intervening between the\nhypothesis and the result. To be less abstract:—The greatness of the\ncomplexity found existing among cosmical conditions, by rendering great\nin the same proportion the difficulty of accounting for all these\nconditions _at once_, strengthens, also in the same proportion, our\nfaith in that hypothesis which does, in such manner, satisfactorily\naccount for them:—and as _no_ complexity can well be conceived greater\nthan that of the astronomical conditions, so no conviction can be\nstronger—to _my_ mind at least—than that with which I am impressed by an\nhypothesis that not only reconciles these conditions, with mathematical\naccuracy, and reduces them into a consistent and intelligible whole, but\nis, at the same time, the _sole_ hypothesis by means of which the human\nintellect has been ever enabled to account for them _at all_.\n\nA most unfounded opinion has become latterly current in gossiping and\neven in scientific circles—the opinion that the so-called Nebular\nCosmogony has been overthrown. This fancy has arisen from the report of\nlate observations made, among what hitherto have been termed the\n“nebulæ,” through the large telescope of Cincinnati, and the\nworld-renowned instrument of Lord Rosse. Certain spots in the firmament\nwhich presented, even to the most powerful of the old telescopes, the\nappearance of nebulosity, or haze, had been regarded for a long time as\nconfirming the theory of Laplace. They were looked upon as stars in that\nvery process of condensation which I have been attempting to describe.\nThus it was supposed that we “had ocular evidence”—an evidence, by the\nway, which has always been found very questionable—of the truth of the\nhypothesis; and, although certain telescopic improvements, every now and\nthen, enabled us to perceive that a spot, here and there, which we had\nbeen classing among the nebulæ, was, in fact, but a cluster of stars\nderiving its nebular character only from its immensity of distance—still\nit was thought that no doubt could exist as to the actual nebulosity of\nnumerous other masses, the strong-holds of the nebulists, bidding\ndefiance to every effort at segregation. Of these latter the most\ninteresting was the great “nebulæ” in the constellation Orion:—but this,\nwith innumerable other mis-called “nebulæ,” when viewed through the\nmagnificent modern telescopes, has become resolved into a simple\ncollection of stars. Now this fact has been very generally understood as\nconclusive against the Nebular Hypothesis of Laplace; and, on\nannouncement of the discoveries in question, the most enthusiastic\ndefender and most eloquent popularizer of the theory, Dr. Nichol, went\nso far as to “admit the necessity of abandoning” an idea which had\nformed the material of his most praiseworthy book.[9]\n\n    [9] “_Views of the Architecture of the Heavens._” A letter,\n    purporting to be from Dr. Nichol to a friend in America, went\n    the rounds of our newspapers, about two years ago, I think,\n    admitting “the necessity” to which I refer. In a subsequent\n    Lecture, however, Dr. N. appears in some manner to have gotten\n    the better of the necessity, and does not quite _renounce_ the\n    theory, although he seems to wish that he could sneer at it as\n    “a purely hypothetical one.” What else was the Law of Gravity\n    before the Maskelyne experiments? and who questioned the Law of\n    Gravity, even then?\n\nMany of my readers will no doubt be inclined to say that the result of\nthese new investigations _has_ at least a strong _tendency_ to overthrow\nthe hypothesis; while some of them, more thoughtful, will suggest that,\nalthough the theory is by no means disproved through the segregation of\nthe particular “nebulæ,” alluded to, still a _failure_ to segregate\nthem, with such telescopes, might well have been understood as a\ntriumphant _corroboration_ of the theory:—and this latter class will be\nsurprised, perhaps, to hear me say that even with _them_ I disagree. If\nthe propositions of this Discourse have been comprehended, it will be\nseen that, in my view, a failure to segregate the “nebulæ” would have\ntended to the refutation, rather than to the confirmation, of the\nNebular Hypothesis.\n\nLet me explain:—The Newtonian Law of Gravity we may, of course, assume\nas demonstrated. This law, it will be remembered, I have referred to the\nrëaction of the first Divine Act—to the rëaction of an exercise of the\nDivine Volition temporarily overcoming a difficulty. This difficulty is\nthat of forcing the normal into the abnormal—of impelling that whose\noriginality, and therefore whose rightful condition, was _One_, to take\nupon itself the wrongful condition of _Many_. It is only by conceiving\nthis difficulty as _temporarily_ overcome, that we can comprehend a\nrëaction. There could have been no rëaction had the act been infinitely\ncontinued. So long as the act _lasted_, no rëaction, of course, could\ncommence; in other words, no _gravitation_ could take place—for we have\nconsidered the one as but the manifestation of the other. But\ngravitation _has_ taken place; therefore the act of Creation has ceased:\nand gravitation has long ago taken place; therefore the act of Creation\nhas long ago ceased. We can no more expect, then, to observe _the\nprimary processes_ of Creation; and to these primary processes the\ncondition of nebulosity has already been explained to belong.\n\nThrough what we know of the propagation of light, we have direct proof\nthat the more remote of the stars have existed, under the forms in which\nwe now see them, for an inconceivable number of years. So far back _at\nleast_, then, as the period when these stars underwent condensation,\nmust have been the epoch at which the mass-constitutive processes began.\nThat we may conceive these processes, then, as still going on in the\ncase of certain “nebulæ,” while in all other cases we find them\nthoroughly at an end, we are forced into assumptions for which we have\nreally _no_ basis whatever—we have to thrust in, again, upon the\nrevolting Reason, the blasphemous idea of special interposition—we have\nto suppose that, in the particular instances of these “nebulæ,” an\nunerring God found it necessary to introduce certain supplementary\nregulations—certain improvements of the general law—certain retouchings\nand emendations, in a word, which had the effect of deferring the\ncompletion of these individual stars for centuries of centuries beyond\nthe æra during which all the other stellar bodies had time, not only to\nbe fully constituted, but to grow hoary with an unspeakable old age.\n\nOf course, it will be immediately objected that since the light by which\nwe recognize the nebulæ now, must be merely that which left their\nsurfaces a vast number of years ago, the processes at present observed,\nor supposed to be observed, are, in fact, _not_ processes now actually\ngoing on, but the phantoms of processes completed long in the Past—just\nas I maintain all these mass-constitutive processes _must_ have been.\n\nTo this I reply that neither is the now-observed condition of the\ncondensed stars their actual condition, but a condition completed long\nin the Past; so that my argument drawn from the _relative_ condition of\nthe stars and the “nebulæ,” is in no manner disturbed. Moreover, those\nwho maintain the existence of nebulæ, do _not_ refer the nebulosity to\nextreme distance; they declare it a real and not merely a perspective\nnebulosity. That we may conceive, indeed, a nebular mass as visible at\nall, we must conceive it as _very near us_ in comparison with the\ncondensed stars brought into view by the modern telescopes. In\nmaintaining the appearances in question, then, to be really nebulous, we\nmaintain their comparative vicinity to our point of view. Thus, their\ncondition, as we see them now, must be referred to an epoch _far less\nremote_ than that to which we may refer the now-observed condition of at\nleast the majority of the stars.—In a word, should Astronomy ever\ndemonstrate a “nebula,” in the sense at present intended, I should\nconsider the Nebular Cosmogony—_not_, indeed, as corroborated by the\ndemonstration—but as thereby irretrievably overthrown.\n\nBy way, however, of rendering unto Cæsar _no more_ than the things that\nare Cæsar’s, let me here remark that the assumption of the hypothesis\nwhich led him to so glorious a result, seems to have been suggested to\nLaplace in great measure by a misconception—by the very misconception of\nwhich we have just been speaking—by the generally prevalent\nmisunderstanding of the character of the nebulæ, so mis-named. These he\nsupposed to be, in reality, what their designation implies. The fact is,\nthis great man had, very properly, an inferior faith in his own merely\n_perceptive_ powers. In respect, therefore, to the actual existence of\nnebulæ—an existence so confidently maintained by his telescopic\ncontemporaries—he depended less upon what he saw than upon what he\nheard.\n\nIt will be seen that the only valid objections to his theory, are those\nmade to its hypothesis _as_ such—to what suggested it—not to what it\nsuggests; to its propositions rather than to its results. His most\nunwarranted assumption was that of giving the atoms a movement towards a\ncentre, in the very face of his evident understanding that these atoms,\nin unlimited succession, extended throughout the Universal space. I have\nalready shown that, under such circumstances, there could have occurred\nno movement at all; and Laplace, consequently, assumed one on no more\nphilosophical ground than that something of the kind was necessary for\nthe establishment of what he intended to establish.\n\nHis original idea seems to have been a compound of the true Epicurean\natoms with the false nebulæ of his contemporaries; and thus his theory\npresents us with the singular anomaly of absolute truth deduced, as a\nmathematical result, from a hybrid datum of ancient imagination\nintertangled with modern inacumen. Laplace’s real strength lay, in fact,\nin an almost miraculous mathematical instinct:—on this he relied; and in\nno instance did it fail or deceive him:—in the case of the Nebular\nCosmogony, it led him, blindfolded, through a labyrinth of Error, into\none of the most luminous and stupendous temples of Truth.\n\nLet us now fancy, for the moment, that the ring first thrown off by the\nSun—that is to say, the ring whose breaking-up constituted Neptune—did\nnot, in fact, break up until the throwing-off of the ring out of which\nUranus arose; that this latter ring, again, remained perfect until the\ndischarge of that out of which sprang Saturn; that this latter, again,\nremained entire until the discharge of that from which originated\nJupiter—and so on. Let us imagine, in a word, that no dissolution\noccurred among the rings until the final rejection of that which gave\nbirth to Mercury. We thus paint to the eye of the mind a series of\ncöexistent concentric circles; and looking as well at _them_ as at the\nprocesses by which, according to Laplace’s hypothesis, they were\nconstructed, we perceive at once a very singular analogy with the atomic\nstrata and the process of the original irradiation as I have described\nit. Is it impossible that, on measuring the _forces_, respectively, by\nwhich each successive planetary circle was thrown off—that is to say, on\nmeasuring the successive excesses of rotation over gravitation which\noccasioned the successive discharges—we should find the analogy in\nquestion more decidedly confirmed? _Is it improbable that we should\ndiscover these forces to have varied—as in the original\nradiation—proportionally to the squares of the distances?_\n\nOur solar system, consisting, in chief, of one sun, with sixteen planets\ncertainly, and possibly a few more, revolving about it at various\ndistances, and attended by seventeen moons assuredly, but _very_\nprobably by several others—is now to be considered as _an example_ of\nthe innumerable agglomerations which proceeded to take place throughout\nthe Universal Sphere of atoms on withdrawal of the Divine Volition. I\nmean to say that our solar system is to be understood as affording a\n_generic instance_ of these agglomerations, or, more correctly, of the\nulterior conditions at which they arrived. If we keep our attention\nfixed on the idea of _the utmost possible Relation_ as the Omnipotent\ndesign, and on the precautions taken to accomplish it through difference\nof form, among the original atoms, and particular inequidistance, we\nshall find it impossible to suppose for a moment that even any two of\nthe incipient agglomerations reached precisely the same result in the\nend. We shall rather be inclined to think that _no two_ stellar bodies\nin the Universe—whether suns, planets or moons—are particularly, while\n_all_ are generally, similar. Still less, then, can we imagine any two\n_assemblages_ of such bodies—any two “systems”—as having more than a\ngeneral resemblance.[10] Our telescopes, at this point, thoroughly\nconfirm our deductions. Taking our own solar system, then, as merely a\nloose or general type of all, we have so far proceeded in our subject as\nto survey the Universe under the aspect of a spherical space, throughout\nwhich, dispersed with merely general equability, exist a number of but\ngenerally similar _systems_.\n\n    [10] It is not _impossible_ that some unlooked-for optical\n    improvement may disclose to us, among innumerable varieties of\n    systems, a luminous sun, encircled by luminous and non-luminous\n    rings, within and without and between which, revolve luminous\n    and non-luminous planets, attended by moons having moons—and\n    even these latter again having moons.\n\nLet us now, expanding our conceptions, look upon each of these systems\nas in itself an atom; which in fact it is, when we consider it as but\none of the countless myriads of systems which constitute the Universe.\nRegarding all, then, as but colossal atoms, each with the same\nineradicable tendency to Unity which characterizes the actual atoms of\nwhich it consists—we enter at once upon a new order of aggregations. The\nsmaller systems, in the vicinity of a larger one, would, inevitably, be\ndrawn into still closer vicinity. A thousand would assemble here; a\nmillion there—perhaps here, again, even a billion—leaving, thus,\nimmeasurable vacancies in space. And if now, it be demanded why, in the\ncase of these systems—of these merely Titanic atoms—I speak, simply, of\nan “assemblage,” and not, as in the case of the actual atoms, of a more\nor less consolidated agglomeration:—if it be asked, for instance, why I\ndo not carry what I suggest to its legitimate conclusion, and describe,\nat once, these assemblages of system-atoms as rushing to consolidation\nin spheres—as each becoming condensed into one magnificent sun—my reply\nis that μελλοντα ταυτα—I am but pausing, for a moment, on the awful\nthreshold of _the Future_. For the present, calling these assemblages\n“clusters,” we see them in the incipient stages of their consolidation.\nTheir _absolute_ consolidation is _to come_.\n\nWe have now reached a point from which we behold the Universe as a\nspherical space, interspersed, _unequably_, with _clusters_. It will be\nnoticed that I here prefer the adverb “unequably” to the phrase “with a\nmerely general equability,” employed before. It is evident, in fact,\nthat the equability of distribution will diminish in the ratio of the\nagglomerative processes—that is to say, as the things distributed\ndiminish in number. Thus the increase of _in_-equability—an increase\nwhich must continue until, sooner or later, an epoch will arrive at\nwhich the largest agglomeration will absorb all the others—should be\nviewed as, simply, a corroborative indication of the _tendency to One_.\n\nAnd here, at length, it seems proper to inquire whether the ascertained\n_facts_ of Astronomy confirm the general arrangement which I have thus,\ndeductively, assigned to the Heavens. Thoroughly, they _do_. Telescopic\nobservation, guided by the laws of perspective, enables us to understand\nthat the perceptible Universe exists as _a cluster of clusters,\nirregularly disposed_.\n\nThe “clusters” of which this Universal “_cluster of clusters_” consists,\nare merely what we have been in the practice of designating\n“nebulæ”—and, of these “nebulæ,” _one_ is of paramount interest to\nmankind. I allude to the Galaxy, or Milky Way. This interests us, first\nand most obviously, on account of its great superiority in apparent\nsize, not only to any one other cluster in the firmament, but to all the\nother clusters taken together. The largest of these latter occupies a\nmere point, comparatively, and is distinctly seen only with the aid of a\ntelescope. The Galaxy sweeps throughout the Heaven and is brilliantly\nvisible to the naked eye. But it interests man chiefly, although less\nimmediately, on account of its being his home; the home of the Earth on\nwhich he exists; the home of the Sun about which this Earth revolves;\nthe home of that “system” of orbs of which the Sun is the centre and\nprimary—the Earth one of sixteen secondaries, or planets—the Moon one of\nseventeen tertiaries, or satellites. The Galaxy, let me repeat, is but\none of the _clusters_ which I have been describing—but one of the\nmis-called “nebulæ” revealed to us—by the telescope alone, sometimes—as\nfaint hazy spots in various quarters of the sky. We have no reason to\nsuppose the Milky Way _really_ more extensive than the least of these\n“nebulæ.” Its vast superiority in size is but an apparent superiority\narising from our position in regard to it—that is to say, from our\nposition in its midst. However strange the assertion may at first appear\nto those unversed in Astronomy, still the astronomer himself has no\nhesitation in asserting that we are _in the midst_ of that inconceivable\nhost of stars—of suns—of systems—which constitute the Galaxy. Moreover,\nnot only have _we_—not only has _our_ Sun a right to claim the Galaxy as\nits own especial cluster, but, with slight reservation, it may be said\nthat all the distinctly visible stars of the firmament—all the stars\nVisible to the naked eye—have equally a right to claim it as _their_\nown.\n\nThere has been a great deal of misconception in respect to the _shape_\nof the Galaxy; which, in nearly all our astronomical treatises, is said\nto resemble that of a capital Y. The cluster in question has, in\nreality, a certain general—_very_ general resemblance to the planet\nSaturn, with its encompassing triple ring. Instead of the solid orb of\nthat planet, however, we must picture to ourselves a lenticular\nstar-island, or collection of stars; our Sun lying excentrically—near\nthe shore of the island—on that side of it which is nearest the\nconstellation of the Cross and farthest from that of Cassiopeia. The\nsurrounding ring, where it approaches our position, has in it a\nlongitudinal _gash_, which does, in fact, cause _the ring, in our\nvicinity_, to assume, loosely, the appearance of a capital Y.\n\nWe must not fall into the error, however, of conceiving the somewhat\nindefinite girdle as at all _remote_, comparatively speaking, from the\nalso indefinite lenticular cluster which it surrounds; and thus, for\nmere purpose of explanation, we may speak of our Sun as actually\nsituated at that point of the Y where its three component lines unite;\nand, conceiving this letter to be of a certain solidity—of a certain\nthickness, very trivial in comparison with its length—we may even speak\nof our position as _in the middle_ of this thickness. Fancying ourselves\nthus placed, we shall no longer find difficulty in accounting for the\nphænomena presented—which are perspective altogether. When we look\nupward or downward—that is to say, when we cast our eyes in the\ndirection of the letter’s _thickness_—we look through fewer stars than\nwhen we cast them in the direction of its _length_, or _along_ either of\nthe three component lines. Of course, in the former case, the stars\nappear scattered—in the latter, crowded.—To reverse this explanation:—An\ninhabitant of the Earth, when looking, as we commonly express ourselves,\n_at_ the Galaxy, is then beholding it in some of the directions of its\nlength—is looking _along_ the lines of the Y—but when, looking out into\nthe general Heaven, he turns his eyes _from_ the Galaxy, he is then\nsurveying it in the direction of the letter’s thickness; and on this\naccount the stars seem to him scattered; while, in fact, they are as\nclose together, on an average, as in the mass of the cluster. _No_\nconsideration could be better adapted to convey an idea of this\ncluster’s stupendous extent.\n\nIf, with a telescope of high space-penetrating power, we carefully\ninspect the firmament, we shall become aware of _a belt of clusters_—of\nwhat we have hitherto called “nebulæ”—a _band_, of varying breadth,\nstretching from horizon to horizon, at right angles to the general\ncourse of the Milky Way. This band is the ultimate _cluster of\nclusters_. This belt is _The Universe_. Our Galaxy is but one, and\nperhaps one of the most inconsiderable, of the clusters which go to the\nconstitution of this ultimate, Universal _belt_ or _band_. The\nappearance of this cluster of clusters, to our eyes, _as_ a belt or\nband, is altogether a perspective phænomenon of the same character as\nthat which causes us to behold our own individual and roughly-spherical\ncluster, the Galaxy, under guise also of a belt, traversing the Heavens\nat right angles to the Universal one. The shape of the all-inclusive\ncluster is, of course _generally_, that of each individual cluster which\nit includes. Just as the scattered stars which, on looking _from_ the\nGalaxy, we see in the general sky, are, in fact, but a portion of that\nGalaxy itself, and as closely intermingled with it as any of the\ntelescopic points in what seems the densest portion of its mass—so are\nthe scattered “nebulæ” which, on casting our eyes _from_ the Universal\n_belt_, we perceive at all points of the firmament—so, I say, are these\nscattered “nebulæ” to be understood as only perspectively scattered, and\nas part and parcel of the one supreme and Universal _sphere_.\n\nNo astronomical fallacy is more untenable, and none has been more\npertinaciously adhered to, than that of the absolute _illimitation_ of\nthe Universe of Stars. The reasons for limitation, as I have already\nassigned them, _à priori_, seem to me unanswerable; but, not to speak of\nthese, _observation_ assures us that there is, in numerous directions\naround us, certainly, if not in all, a positive limit—or, at the very\nleast, affords us no basis whatever for thinking otherwise. Were the\nsuccession of stars endless, then the background of the sky would\npresent us an uniform luminosity, like that displayed by the\nGalaxy—_since there could be absolutely no point, in all that\nbackground, at which would not exist a star._ The only mode, therefore,\nin which, under such a state of affairs, we could comprehend the _voids_\nwhich our telescopes find in innumerable directions, would be by\nsupposing the distance of the invisible background so immense that no\nray from it has yet been able to reach us at all. That this _may_ be so,\nwho shall venture to deny? I maintain, simply, that we have not even the\nshadow of a reason for believing that it _is_ so.\n\nWhen speaking of the vulgar propensity to regard all bodies on the Earth\nas tending merely to the Earth’s centre, I observed that, “with certain\nexceptions to be specified hereafter, every body on the Earth tended not\nonly to the Earth’s centre, but in every conceivable direction\nbesides.”[11] The “exceptions” refer to those frequent gaps in the\nHeavens, where our utmost scrutiny can detect not only no stellar\nbodies, but no indications of their existence:—where yawning chasms,\nblacker than Erebus, seem to afford us glimpses, through the boundary\nwalls of the Universe of Stars, into the illimitable Universe of\nVacancy, beyond. Now as any body, existing on the Earth, chances to\npass, either through its own movement or the Earth’s, into a line with\nany one of these voids, or cosmical abysses, it clearly is no longer\nattracted _in the direction of that void_, and for the moment,\nconsequently, is “heavier” than at any period, either after or before.\nIndependently of the consideration of these voids, however, and looking\nonly at the generally unequable distribution of the stars, we see that\nthe absolute tendency of bodies on the Earth to the Earth’s centre, is\nin a state of perpetual variation.\n\n    [11] Page 62.\n\nWe comprehend, then, the insulation of our Universe. We perceive the\nisolation of _that_—of _all_ that which we grasp with the senses. We\nknow that there exists one _cluster of clusters_—a collection around\nwhich, on all sides, extend the immeasurable wildernesses of a Space _to\nall human perception_ untenanted. But _because_ upon the confines of\nthis Universe of Stars we are compelled to pause, through want of\nfarther evidence from the senses, is it right to conclude that, in fact,\nthere _is_ no material point beyond that which we have thus been\npermitted to attain? Have we, or have we not, an analogical right to the\ninference that this perceptible Universe—that this cluster of\nclusters—is but one of _a series_ of clusters of clusters, the rest of\nwhich are invisible through distance—through the diffusion of their\nlight being so excessive, ere it reaches us, as not to produce upon our\nretinas a light-impression—or from there being no such emanation as\nlight at all, in these unspeakably distant worlds—or, lastly, from the\nmere interval being so vast, that the electric tidings of their presence\nin Space, have not yet—through the lapsing myriads of years—been enabled\nto traverse that interval?\n\nHave we any right to inferences—have we any ground whatever for visions\nsuch as these? If we have a right to them in _any_ degree, we have a\nright to their infinite extension.\n\nThe human brain has obviously a leaning to the “_Infinite_,” and fondles\nthe phantom of the idea. It seems to long with a passionate fervor for\nthis impossible conception, with the hope of intellectually believing it\nwhen conceived. What is general among the whole race of Man, of course\nno individual of that race can be warranted in considering abnormal;\nnevertheless, there _may_ be a class of superior intelligences, to whom\nthe human bias alluded to may wear all the character of monomania.\n\nMy question, however, remains unanswered:—Have we any right to infer—let\nus say, rather, to imagine—an interminable succession of the “clusters\nof clusters,” or of “Universes” more or less similar?\n\nI reply that the “right,” in a case such as this, depends absolutely\nupon the hardihood of that imagination which ventures to claim the\nright. Let me declare, only, that, as an individual, I myself feel\nimpelled to the _fancy_—without daring to call it more—that there _does_\nexist a _limitless_ succession of Universes, more or less similar to\nthat of which we have cognizance—to that of which _alone_ we shall ever\nhave cognizance—at the very least until the return of our own particular\nUniverse into Unity. _If_ such clusters of clusters exist, however—_and\nthey do_—it is abundantly clear that, having had no part in our origin,\nthey have no portion in our laws. They neither attract us, nor we them.\nTheir material—their spirit is not ours—is not that which obtains in any\npart of our Universe. They could not impress our senses or our souls.\nAmong them and us—considering all, for the moment, collectively—there\nare no influences in common. Each exists, apart and independently, _in\nthe bosom of its proper and particular God_.\n\nIn the conduct of this Discourse, I am aiming less at physical than at\nmetaphysical order. The clearness with which even material phænomena are\npresented to the understanding, depends very little, I have long since\nlearned to perceive, upon a merely natural, and almost altogether upon a\nmoral, arrangement. If then I seem to step somewhat too discursively\nfrom point to point of my topic, let me suggest that I do so in the hope\nof thus the better keeping unbroken that chain of _graduated impression_\nby which alone the intellect of Man can expect to encompass the\ngrandeurs of which I speak, and, in their majestic totality, to\ncomprehend them.\n\nSo far, our attention has been directed, almost exclusively, to a\ngeneral and relative grouping of the stellar bodies in space. Of\nspecification there has been little; and whatever ideas of _quantity_\nhave been conveyed—that is to say, of number, magnitude, and\ndistance—have been conveyed incidentally and by way of preparation for\nmore definitive conceptions. These latter let us now attempt to\nentertain.\n\nOur solar system, as has been already mentioned, consists, in chief, of\none sun and sixteen planets certainly, but in all probability a few\nothers, revolving around it as a centre, and attended by seventeen moons\nof which we know, with possibly several more of which as yet we know\nnothing. These various bodies are not true spheres, but oblate\nspheroids—spheres flattened at the poles of the imaginary axes about\nwhich they rotate:—the flattening being a consequence of the rotation.\nNeither is the Sun absolutely the centre of the system; for this Sun\nitself, with all the planets, revolves about a perpetually shifting\npoint of space, which is the system’s general centre of gravity. Neither\nare we to consider the paths through which these different spheroids\nmove—the moons about the planets, the planets about the Sun, or the Sun\nabout the common centre—as circles in an accurate sense. They are, in\nfact, _ellipses—one of the foci being the point about which the\nrevolution is made_. An ellipse is a curve, returning into itself, one\nof whose diameters is longer than the other. In the longer diameter are\ntwo points, equidistant from the middle of the line, and so situated\notherwise that if, from each of them a straight line be drawn to any one\npoint of the curve, the two lines, taken together, will be equal to the\nlonger diameter itself. Now let us conceive such an ellipse. At one of\nthe points mentioned, which are the _foci_, let us fasten an orange. By\nan elastic thread let us connect this orange with a pea; and let us\nplace this latter on the circumference of the ellipse. Let us now move\nthe pea continuously around the orange—keeping always on the\ncircumference of the ellipse. The elastic thread, which, of course,\nvaries in length as we move the pea, will form what in geometry is\ncalled a _radius vector_. Now, if the orange be understood as the Sun,\nand the pea as a planet revolving about it, then the revolution should\nbe made at such a rate—with a velocity so varying—that the _radius\nvector_ may pass over _equal areas of space in equal times_. The\nprogress of the pea _should be_—in other words, the progress of the\nplanet _is_, of course,—slow in proportion to its distance from the\nSun—swift in proportion to its proximity. Those planets, moreover, move\nthe more slowly which are the farther from the Sun; _the squares of\ntheir periods of revolution having the same proportion to each other, as\nhave to each other the cubes of their mean distances from the Sun_.\n\nThe wonderfully complex laws of revolution here described, however, are\nnot to be understood as obtaining in our system alone. They _everywhere_\nprevail where Attraction prevails. They control _the Universe_. Every\nshining speck in the firmament is, no doubt, a luminous sun, resembling\nour own, at least in its general features, and having in attendance upon\nit a greater or less number of planets, greater or less, whose still\nlingering luminosity is not sufficient to render them visible to us at\nso vast a distance, but which, nevertheless, revolve, moon-attended,\nabout their starry centres, in obedience to the principles just\ndetailed—in obedience to the three omniprevalent laws of revolution—the\nthree immortal laws _guessed_ by the imaginative Kepler, and but\nsubsequently demonstrated and accounted for by the patient and\nmathematical Newton. Among a tribe of philosophers who pride themselves\nexcessively upon matter-of-fact, it is far too fashionable to sneer at\nall speculation under the comprehensive _sobriquet_, “guess-work.” The\npoint to be considered is, _who_ guesses. In guessing with Plato, we\nspend our time to better purpose, now and then, than in hearkening to a\ndemonstration by Alcmæon.\n\nIn many works on Astronomy I find it distinctly stated that the laws of\nKepler are _the basis_ of the great principle, Gravitation. This idea\nmust have arisen from the fact that the suggestion of these laws by\nKepler, and his proving them _à posteriori_ to have an actual existence,\nled Newton to account for them by the hypothesis of Gravitation, and,\nfinally, to demonstrate them _à priori_, as necessary consequences of\nthe hypothetical principle. Thus so far from the laws of Kepler being\nthe basis of Gravity, Gravity is the basis of these laws—as it is,\nindeed, of all the laws of the material Universe which are not referable\nto Repulsion alone.\n\nThe mean distance of the Earth from the Moon—that is to say, from the\nheavenly body in our closest vicinity—is 237,000 miles. Mercury, the\nplanet nearest the Sun, is distant from him 37 millions of miles. Venus,\nthe next, revolves at a distance of 68 millions:—the Earth, which comes\nnext, at a distance of 95 millions:—Mars, then, at a distance of 144\nmillions. Now come the eight Asteroids (Ceres, Juno, Vesta, Pallas,\nAstræa, Flora, Iris, and Hebe) at an average distance of about 250\nmillions. Then we have Jupiter, distant 490 millions; then Saturn, 900\nmillions; then Uranus, 19 hundred millions; finally Neptune, lately\ndiscovered, and revolving at a distance, say of 28 hundred millions.\nLeaving Neptune out of the account—of which as yet we know little\naccurately and which is, possibly, one of a system of Asteroids—it will\nbe seen that, within certain limits, there exists an _order of interval_\namong the planets. Speaking loosely, we may say that each outer planet\nis twice as far from the Sun as is the next inner one. May not the\n_order_ here mentioned—_may not the law of Bode—be deduced from\nconsideration of the analogy suggested by me as having place between the\nsolar discharge of rings and the mode of the atomic irradiation_?\n\nThe numbers hurriedly mentioned in this summary of distance, it is folly\nto attempt comprehending, unless in the light of abstract arithmetical\nfacts. They are not practically tangible ones. They convey no precise\nideas. I have stated that Neptune, the planet farthest from the Sun,\nrevolves about him at a distance of 28 hundred millions of miles. So far\ngood:—I have stated a mathematical fact; and, without comprehending it\nin the least, we may put it to use—mathematically. But in mentioning,\neven, that the Moon revolves about the Earth at the comparatively\ntrifling distance of 237,000 miles, I entertained no expectation of\ngiving any one to understand—to know—to feel—how far from the Earth the\nMoon actually _is_. 237,000 _miles_! There are, perhaps, few of my\nreaders who have not crossed the Atlantic ocean; yet how many of them\nhave a distinct idea of even the 3,000 miles intervening between shore\nand shore? I doubt, indeed, whether the man lives who can force into his\nbrain the most remote conception of the interval between one milestone\nand its next neighbor upon the turnpike. We are in some measure aided,\nhowever, in our consideration of distance, by combining this\nconsideration with the kindred one of velocity. Sound passes through\n1100 feet of space in a second of time. Now were it possible for an\ninhabitant of the Earth to see the flash of a cannon discharged in the\nMoon, and to hear the report, he would have to wait, after perceiving\nthe former, more than 13 entire days and nights before getting any\nintimation of the latter.\n\nHowever feeble be the impression, even thus conveyed, of the Moon’s real\ndistance from the Earth, it will, nevertheless, effect a good object in\nenabling us more clearly to see the futility of attempting to grasp such\nintervals as that of the 28 hundred millions of miles between our Sun\nand Neptune; or even that of the 95 millions between the Sun and the\nEarth we inhabit. A cannon-ball, flying at the greatest velocity with\nwhich such a ball has ever been known to fly, could not traverse the\nlatter interval in less than 20 years; while for the former it would\nrequire 590.\n\nOur Moon’s real diameter is 2160 miles; yet she is comparatively so\ntrifling an object that it would take nearly 50 such orbs to compose one\nas great as the Earth.\n\nThe diameter of our own globe is 7912 miles—but from the enunciation of\nthese numbers what positive idea do we derive?\n\nIf we ascend an ordinary mountain and look around us from its summit, we\nbehold a landscape stretching, say 40 miles, in every direction; forming\na circle 250 miles in circumference; and including an area of 5000\nsquare miles. The extent of such a prospect, on account of the\n_successiveness_ with which its portions necessarily present themselves\nto view, can be only very feebly and very partially appreciated:—yet the\nentire panorama would comprehend no more than one 40,000th part of the\nmere _surface_ of our globe. Were this panorama, then, to be succeeded,\nafter the lapse of an hour, by another of equal extent; this again by a\nthird, after the lapse of another hour; this again by a fourth after\nlapse of another hour—and so on, until the scenery of the whole Earth\nwere exhausted; and were we to be engaged in examining these various\npanoramas for twelve hours of every day; we should nevertheless, be 9\nyears and 48 days in completing the general survey.\n\nBut if the mere surface of the Earth eludes the grasp of the\nimagination, what are we to think of its cubical contents? It embraces a\nmass of matter equal in weight to at least 2 sextillions, 200\nquintillions of tons. Let us suppose it in a state of quiescence; and\nnow let us endeavor to conceive a mechanical force sufficient to set it\nin motion! Not the strength of all the myriads of beings whom we may\nconclude to inhabit the planetary worlds of our system—not the combined\nphysical strength of _all_ these beings—even admitting all to be more\npowerful than man—would avail to stir the ponderous mass _a single inch_\nfrom its position.\n\nWhat are we to understand, then, of the force, which under similar\ncircumstances, would be required to move the _largest_ of our planets,\nJupiter? This is 86,000 miles in diameter, and would include within its\nperiphery more than a thousand orbs of the magnitude of our own. Yet\nthis stupendous body is actually flying around the Sun at the rate of\n29,000 miles an hour—that is to say, with a velocity 40 times greater\nthan that of a cannon-ball! The thought of such a phænomenon cannot well\nbe said to _startle_ the mind:—it palsies and appals it. Not\nunfrequently we task our imagination in picturing the capacities of an\nangel. Let us fancy such a being at a distance of some hundred miles\nfrom Jupiter—a close eye-witness of this planet as it speeds on its\nannual revolution. Now _can_ we, I demand, fashion for ourselves any\nconception so distinct of this ideal being’s spiritual exaltation, as\n_that_ involved in the supposition that, even by this immeasurable mass\nof matter, whirled immediately before his eyes, with a velocity so\nunutterable, he—an angel—angelic though he be—is not at once struck into\nnothingness and overwhelmed?\n\nAt this point, however, it seems proper to suggest that, in fact, we\nhave been speaking of comparative trifles. Our Sun, the central and\ncontrolling orb of the system to which Jupiter belongs, is not only\ngreater than Jupiter, but greater by far than all the planets of the\nsystem taken together. This fact is an essential condition, indeed, of\nthe stability of the system itself. The diameter of Jupiter has been\nmentioned:—it is 86,000 miles:—that of the Sun is 882,000 miles. An\ninhabitant of the latter, travelling 90 miles a day, would be more than\n80 years in going round a great circle of its circumference. It occupies\na cubical space of 681 quadrillions, 472 trillions of miles. The Moon,\nas has been stated, revolves about the Earth at a distance of 237,000\nmiles—in an orbit, consequently, of nearly a million and a half. Now,\nwere the Sun placed upon the Earth, centre over centre, the body of the\nformer would extend, in every direction, not only to the line of the\nMoon’s orbit, but beyond it, a distance of 200,000 miles.\n\nAnd here, once again, let me suggest that, in fact, we have _still_ been\nspeaking of comparative trifles. The distance of the planet Neptune from\nthe Sun has been stated:—it is 28 hundred millions of miles; the\ncircumference of its orbit, therefore, is about 17 billions. Let this be\nborne in mind while we glance at some one of the brightest stars.\nBetween this and the star of _our_ system, (the Sun,) there is a gulf of\nspace, to convey any idea of which we should need the tongue of an\narchangel. From _our_ system, then, and from _our_ Sun, or star, the\nstar at which we suppose ourselves glancing is a thing altogether\napart:—still, for the moment, let us imagine it placed upon our Sun,\ncentre over centre, as we just now imagined this Sun itself placed upon\nthe Earth. Let us now conceive the particular star we have in mind,\nextending, in every direction, beyond the orbit of Mercury—of Venus—of\nthe Earth:—still _on_, beyond the orbit of Mars—of Jupiter—of\nUranus—until, finally, we fancy it filling the circle—17 _billions of\nmiles in circumference_—which is described by the revolution of\nLeverrier’s planet. When we have conceived all this, we shall have\nentertained no extravagant conception. There is the very best reason for\nbelieving that many of the stars are even far larger than the one we\nhave imagined. I mean to say that we have the very best _empirical_\nbasis for such belief:—and, in looking back at the original, atomic\narrangements for _diversity_, which have been assumed as a part of the\nDivine plan in the constitution of the Universe, we shall be enabled\neasily to understand, and to credit, the existence of even far vaster\ndisproportions in stellar size than any to which I have hitherto\nalluded. The largest orbs, of course, we must expect to find rolling\nthrough the widest vacancies of Space.\n\nI remarked, just now, that to convey an idea of the interval between our\nSun and any one of the other stars, we should require the eloquence of\nan archangel. In so saying, I should not be accused of exaggeration;\nfor, in simple truth, these are topics on which it is scarcely possible\nto exaggerate. But let us bring the matter more distinctly before the\neye of the mind.\n\nIn the first place, we may get a general, _relative_ conception of the\ninterval referred to, by comparing it with the inter-planetary spaces.\nIf, for example, we suppose the Earth, which is, in reality, 95 millions\nof miles from the Sun, to be only _one foot_ from that luminary; then\nNeptune would be 40 feet distant; _and the star Alpha Lyræ, at the very\nleast_, 159.\n\nNow I presume that, in the termination of my last sentence, few of my\nreaders have noticed anything especially objectionable—particularly\nwrong. I said that the distance of the Earth from the Sun being taken at\n_one foot_, the distance of Neptune would be 40 feet, and that of Alpha\nLyræ, 159. The proportion between one foot and 159 has appeared,\nperhaps, to convey a sufficiently definite impression of the proportion\nbetween the two intervals—that of the Earth from the Sun and that of\nAlpha Lyræ from the same luminary. But my account of the matter should,\nin reality, have run thus:—The distance of the Earth from the Sun being\ntaken at one foot, the distance of Neptune would be 40 feet, and that of\nAlpha Lyræ, 159——_miles_:—that is to say, I had assigned to Alpha Lyræ,\nin my first statement of the case, only the 5280_th_ _part_ of that\ndistance which is the _least distance possible_ at which it can actually\nlie.\n\nTo proceed:—However distant a mere _planet_ is, yet when we look at it\nthrough a telescope, we see it under a certain form—of a certain\nappreciable size. Now I have already hinted at the probable bulk of many\nof the stars; nevertheless, when we view any one of them, even through\nthe most powerful telescope, it is found to present us with _no form_,\nand consequently with _no magnitude_ whatever. We see it as a point and\nnothing more.\n\nAgain;—Let us suppose ourselves walking, at night, on a highway. In a\nfield on one side of the road, is a line of tall objects, say trees, the\nfigures of which are distinctly defined against the background of the\nsky. This line of objects extends at right angles to the road, and from\nthe road to the horizon. Now, as we proceed along the road, we see these\nobjects changing their positions, respectively, in relation to a certain\nfixed point in that portion of the firmament which forms the background\nof the view. Let us suppose this fixed point—sufficiently fixed for our\npurpose—to be the rising moon. We become aware, at once, that while the\ntree nearest us so far alters its position in respect to the moon, as to\nseem flying behind us, the tree in the extreme distance has scarcely\nchanged at all its relative position with the satellite. We then go on\nto perceive that the farther the objects are from us, the less they\nalter their positions; and the converse. Then we begin, unwittingly, to\nestimate the distances of individual trees by the degrees in which they\nevince the relative alteration. Finally, we come to understand how it\nmight be possible to ascertain the actual distance of any given tree in\nthe line, by using the amount of relative alteration as a basis in a\nsimple geometrical problem. Now this relative alteration is what we call\n“parallax;” and by parallax we calculate the distances of the heavenly\nbodies. Applying the principle to the trees in question, we should, of\ncourse, be very much at a loss to comprehend the distance of _that_\ntree, which, however far we proceeded along the road, should evince _no_\nparallax at all. This, in the case described, is a thing impossible; but\nimpossible only because all distances on our Earth are trivial\nindeed:—in comparison with the vast cosmical quantities, we may speak of\nthem as absolutely nothing.\n\nNow, let us suppose the star Alpha Lyræ directly overhead; and let us\nimagine that, instead of standing on the Earth, we stand at one end of a\nstraight road stretching through Space to a distance equalling the\ndiameter of the Earth’s orbit—that is to say, to a distance of 190\n_millions of miles_. Having observed, by means of the most delicate\nmicrometrical instruments, the exact position of the star, let us now\npass along this inconceivable road, until we reach its other extremity.\nNow, once again, let us look at the star. It is _precisely_ where we\nleft it. Our instruments, however delicate, assure us that its relative\nposition is absolutely—is identically the same as at the commencement of\nour unutterable journey. _No_ parallax—none whatever—has been found.\n\nThe fact is, that, in regard to the distance of the fixed stars—of any\none of the myriads of suns glistening on the farther side of that awful\nchasm which separates our system from its brothers in the cluster to\nwhich it belongs—astronomical science, until very lately, could speak\nonly with a negative certainty. Assuming the brightest as the nearest,\nwe could say, even of _them_, only that there is a certain\nincomprehensible distance on the _hither_ side of which they cannot\nbe:—how far they are beyond it we had in no case been able to ascertain.\nWe perceived, for example, that Alpha Lyræ cannot be nearer to us than\n19 trillions, 200 billions of miles; but, for all we knew, and indeed\nfor all we now know, it may be distant from us the square, or the cube,\nor any other power of the number mentioned. By dint, however, of\nwonderfully minute and cautious observations, continued, with novel\ninstruments, for many laborious years, _Bessel_, not long ago deceased,\nhas lately succeeded in determining the distance of six or seven stars;\namong others, that of the star numbered 61 in the constellation of the\nSwan. The distance in this latter instance ascertained, is 670,000 times\nthat of the Sun; which last it will be remembered, is 95 millions of\nmiles. The star 61 Cygni, then, is nearly 64 trillions of miles from\nus—or more than three times the distance assigned, _as the least\npossible_, for Alpha Lyræ.\n\nIn attempting to appreciate this interval by the aid of any\nconsiderations of _velocity_, as we did in endeavoring to estimate the\ndistance of the moon, we must leave out of sight, altogether, such\nnothings as the speed of a cannon-ball, or of sound. Light, however,\naccording to the latest calculations of Struve, proceeds at the rate of\n167,000 miles in a second. Thought itself cannot pass through this\ninterval more speedily—if, indeed, thought can traverse it at all. Yet,\nin coming from 61 Cygni to us, even at this inconceivable rate, light\noccupies more than _ten years_; and, consequently, were the star this\nmoment blotted out from the Universe, still, _for ten years_, would it\ncontinue to sparkle on, undimmed in its paradoxical glory.\n\nKeeping now in mind whatever feeble conception we may have attained of\nthe interval between our Sun and 61 Cygni, let us remember that this\ninterval, however unutterably vast, we are permitted to consider as but\nthe _average_ interval among the countless host of stars composing that\ncluster, or “nebula,” to which our system, as well as that of 61 Cygni,\nbelongs. I have, in fact, stated the case with great moderation:—we have\nexcellent reason for believing 61 Cygni to be one of the _nearest_\nstars, and thus for concluding, at least for the present, that its\ndistance from us is _less_ than the average distance between star and\nstar in the magnificent cluster of the Milky Way.\n\nAnd here, once again and finally, it seems proper to suggest that even\nas yet we have been speaking of trifles. Ceasing to wonder at the space\nbetween star and star in our own or in any particular cluster, let us\nrather turn our thoughts to the intervals between cluster and cluster,\nin the all comprehensive cluster of the Universe.\n\nI have already said that light proceeds at the rate of 167,000 miles in\na second—that is, about 10 millions of miles in a minute, or about 600\nmillions of miles in an hour:—yet so far removed from us are some of\nthe “nebulæ” that even light, speeding with this velocity, could not\nand does not reach us, from those mysterious regions, in less than 3\n_millions of years_. This calculation, moreover, is made by the elder\nHerschell, and in reference merely to those comparatively proximate\nclusters within the scope of his own telescope. There _are_ “nebulæ,”\nhowever, which, through the magical tube of Lord Rosse, are this instant\nwhispering in our ears the secrets of _a million of ages_ by-gone. In a\nword, the events which we behold now—at this moment—in those worlds—are\nthe identical events which interested their inhabitants _ten hundred\nthousand centuries ago_. In intervals—in distances such as this\nsuggestion forces upon the _soul_—rather than upon the mind—we find, at\nlength, a fitting climax to all hitherto frivolous considerations of\n_quantity_.\n\nOur fancies thus occupied with the cosmical distances, let us take the\nopportunity of referring to the difficulty which we have so often\nexperienced, while pursuing _the beaten path_ of astronomical\nreflection, _in accounting_ for the immeasurable voids alluded to—in\ncomprehending why chasms so totally unoccupied and therefore apparently\nso needless, have been made to intervene between star and star—between\ncluster and cluster—in understanding, to be brief, a sufficient reason\nfor the Titanic scale, in respect of mere _Space_, on which the Universe\nis seen to be constructed. A rational cause for the phænomenon, I\nmaintain that Astronomy has palpably failed to assign:—but the\nconsiderations through which, in this Essay, we have proceeded step by\nstep, enable us clearly and immediately to perceive that _Space and\nDuration are one_. That the Universe might _endure_ throughout an æra\nat all commensurate with the grandeur of its component material portions\nand with the high majesty of its spiritual purposes, it was necessary\nthat the original atomic diffusion be made to so inconceivable an extent\nas to be only not infinite. It was required, in a word, that the stars\nshould be gathered into visibility from invisible nebulosity—proceed\nfrom nebulosity to consolidation—and so grow grey in giving birth and\ndeath to unspeakably numerous and complex variations of vitalic\ndevelopment:—it was required that the stars should do all this—should\nhave time thoroughly to accomplish all these Divine purposes—_during the\nperiod_ in which all things were effecting their return into Unity with\na velocity accumulating in the inverse proportion of the squares of the\ndistances at which lay the inevitable End.\n\nThroughout all this we have no difficulty in understanding the absolute\naccuracy of the Divine _adaptation_. The density of the stars,\nrespectively, proceeds, of course, as their condensation diminishes;\ncondensation and heterogeneity keep pace with each other; through the\nlatter, which is the index of the former, we estimate the vitalic and\nspiritual development. Thus, in the density of the globes, we have the\nmeasure in which their purposes are fulfilled. _As_ density\nproceeds—_as_ the divine intentions _are_ accomplished—_as_ less and\nstill less remains _to be_ accomplished—so—in the same ratio—should we\nexpect to find an acceleration of _the End_:—and thus the philosophical\nmind will easily comprehend that the Divine designs in constituting the\nstars, advance _mathematically_ to their fulfilment:—and more; it will\nreadily give the advance a mathematical expression; it will decide that\nthis advance is inversely proportional with the squares of the distances\nof all created things from the starting-point and goal of their\ncreation.\n\nNot only is this Divine adaptation, however, mathematically accurate,\nbut there is that about it which stamps it _as divine_, in distinction\nfrom that which is merely the work of human constructiveness. I allude\nto the complete _mutuality_ of adaptation. For example; in human\nconstructions a particular cause has a particular effect; a particular\nintention brings to pass a particular object; but this is all; we see no\nreciprocity. The effect does not re-act upon the cause; the intention\ndoes not change relations with the object. In Divine constructions the\nobject is either design or object as we choose to regard it—and we may\ntake at any time a cause for an effect, or the converse—so that we can\nnever absolutely decide which is which.\n\nTo give an instance:—In polar climates the human frame, to maintain its\nanimal heat, requires, for combustion in the capillary system, an\nabundant supply of highly azotized food, such as train-oil. But\nagain:—in polar climates nearly the sole food afforded man is the oil of\nabundant seals and whales. Now, whether is oil at hand because\nimperatively demanded, or the only thing demanded because the only thing\nto be obtained? It is impossible to decide. There is an absolute\n_reciprocity of adaptation_.\n\nThe pleasure which we derive from any display of human ingenuity is in\nthe ratio of _the approach_ to this species of reciprocity. In the\nconstruction of _plot_, for example, in fictitious literature, we\nshould aim at so arranging the incidents that we shall not be able to\ndetermine, of any one of them, whether it depends from any one other or\nupholds it. In this sense, of course, _perfection_ of _plot_ is really,\nor practically, unattainable—but only because it is a finite\nintelligence that constructs. The plots of God are perfect. The Universe\nis a plot of God.\n\nAnd now we have reached a point at which the intellect is forced, again,\nto struggle against its propensity for analogical inference—against its\nmonomaniac grasping at the infinite. Moons have been seen _revolving_\nabout planets; planets about stars; and the poetical instinct of\nhumanity—its instinct of the symmetrical, if the symmetry be but a\nsymmetry of surface:—this _instinct_, which the Soul, not only of Man\nbut of all created beings, took up, in the beginning, from the\n_geometrical_ basis of the Universal irradiation—impels us to the fancy\nof an endless extension of this system of _cycles_. Closing our eyes\nequally to _de_duction and _in_duction, we insist upon imagining a\n_revolution_ of all the orbs of the Galaxy about some gigantic globe\nwhich we take to be the central pivot of the whole. Each cluster in the\ngreat cluster of clusters is imagined, of course, to be similarly\nsupplied and constructed; while, that the “analogy” may be wanting at no\npoint, we go on to conceive these clusters themselves, again, as\n_revolving_ about some still more august sphere;—this latter, still\nagain, _with_ its encircling clusters, as but one of a yet more\nmagnificent series of agglomerations, _gyrating_ about yet another orb\ncentral _to them_—some orb still more unspeakably sublime—some orb, let\nus rather say, of infinite sublimity endlessly multiplied by the\ninfinitely sublime. Such are the conditions, continued in perpetuity,\nwhich the voice of what some people term “analogy” calls upon the Fancy\nto depict and the Reason to contemplate, if possible, without becoming\ndissatisfied with the picture. Such, _in general_, are the interminable\ngyrations beyond gyration which we have been instructed by Philosophy to\ncomprehend and to account for, at least in the best manner we can. Now\nand then, however, a philosopher proper—one whose phrenzy takes a very\ndeterminate turn—whose genius, to speak more reverentially, has a\nstrongly-pronounced washerwomanish bias, doing every thing up by the\ndozen—enables us to see _precisely_ that point out of sight, at which\nthe revolutionary processes in question do, and of right ought to, come\nto an end.\n\nIt is hardly worth while, perhaps, even to sneer at the reveries of\nFourrier:—but much has been said, latterly, of the hypothesis of\nMädler—that there exists, in the centre of the Galaxy, a stupendous\nglobe about which all the systems of the cluster revolve. The _period_\nof our own, indeed, has been stated—117 millions of years.\n\nThat our Sun has a motion in space, independently of its rotation, and\nrevolution about the system’s centre of gravity, has long been\nsuspected. This motion, granting it to exist, would be manifested\nperspectively. The stars in that firmamental region which we were\nleaving behind us, would, in a very long series of years, become\ncrowded; those in the opposite quarter, scattered. Now, by means of\nastronomical History, we ascertain, cloudily, that some such phænomena\nhave occurred. On this ground it has been declared that our system is\nmoving to a point in the heavens diametrically opposite the star Zeta\nHerculis:—but this inference is, perhaps, the maximum to which we have\nany logical right. Mädler, however, has gone so far as to designate a\nparticular star, Alcyone in the Pleiades, as being at or about the very\nspot around which a general _revolution_ is performed.\n\nNow, since by “analogy” we are led, in the first instance, to these\ndreams, it is no more than proper that we should abide by analogy, at\nleast in some measure, during their development; and that analogy which\nsuggests the revolution, suggests at the same time a central orb about\nwhich it should be performed:—so far the astronomer was consistent. This\ncentral orb, however, should, dynamically, be greater than all the orbs,\ntaken together, which surround it. Of these there are about 100\nmillions. “Why, then,” it was of course demanded, “do we not _see_ this\nvast central sun—_at least equal_ in mass to 100 millions of such suns\nas ours—why do we not _see_ it—_we_, especially, who occupy the mid\nregion of the cluster—the very locality _near_ which, at all events,\nmust be situated this incomparable star?” The reply was ready—“It must\nbe non-luminous, as are our planets.” Here, then, to suit a purpose,\nanalogy is suddenly let fall. “Not so,” it may be said—“we know that\nnon-luminous suns actually exist.” It is true that we have reason at\nleast for supposing so; but we have certainly no reason whatever for\nsupposing that the non-luminous suns in question are encircled by\n_luminous_ suns, while these again are surrounded by non-luminous\nplanets:—and it is precisely all this with which Mädler is called upon\nto find any thing analogous in the heavens—for it is precisely all this\nwhich he imagines in the case of the Galaxy. Admitting the thing to be\nso, we cannot help here picturing to ourselves how sad a puzzle the _why\nit is so_ must prove to all _à priori_ philosophers.\n\nBut granting, in the very teeth of analogy and of every thing else, the\nnon-luminosity of the vast central orb, we may still inquire how this\norb, so enormous, could fail of being rendered visible by the flood of\nlight thrown upon it from the 100 millions of glorious suns glaring in\nall directions about it. Upon the urging of this question, the idea of\nan actually solid central sun appears, in some measure, to have been\nabandoned; and speculation proceeded to assert that the systems of the\ncluster perform their revolutions merely about an immaterial centre of\ngravity common to all. Here again then, to suit a purpose, analogy is\nlet fall. The planets of our system revolve, it is true, about a common\ncentre of gravity; but they do this in connexion with, and in\nconsequence of, a material sun whose mass more than counterbalances the\nrest of the system.\n\nThe mathematical circle is a curve composed of an infinity of straight\nlines. But this idea of the circle—an idea which, in view of all\nordinary geometry, is merely the mathematical, as contradistinguished\nfrom the practical, idea—is, in sober fact, the _practical_ conception\nwhich alone we have any right to entertain in regard to the majestic\ncircle with which we have to deal, at least in fancy, when we suppose\nour system revolving about a point in the centre of the Galaxy. Let the\nmost vigorous of human imaginations attempt but to take a single step\ntowards the comprehension of a sweep so ineffable! It would scarcely be\nparadoxical to say that a flash of lightning itself, travelling\n_forever_ upon the circumference of this unutterable circle, would\nstill, _forever_, be travelling in a straight line. That the path of our\nSun in such an orbit would, to any human perception, deviate in the\nslightest degree from a straight line, even in a million of years, is a\nproposition not to be entertained:—yet we are required to believe that a\ncurvature has become apparent during the brief period of our\nastronomical history—during a mere point—during the utter nothingness of\ntwo or three thousand years.\n\nIt may be said that Mädler _has_ really ascertained a curvature in the\ndirection of our system’s now well-established progress through Space.\nAdmitting, if necessary, this fact to be in reality such, I maintain\nthat nothing is thereby shown except the reality of this fact—the fact\nof a curvature. For its _thorough_ determination, ages will be required;\nand, when determined, it will be found indicative of some binary or\nother multiple relation between our Sun and some one or more of the\nproximate stars. I hazard nothing however, in predicting, that, after\nthe lapse of many centuries, all efforts at determining the path of our\nSun through Space, will be abandoned as fruitless. This is easily\nconceivable when we look at the infinity of perturbation it must\nexperience, from its perpetually-shifting relations with other orbs, in\nthe common approach of all to the nucleus of the Galaxy.\n\nBut in examining other “nebulæ” than that of the Milky Way—in surveying,\ngenerally, the clusters which overspread the heavens—do we or do we not\nfind confirmation of Mädler’s hypothesis? We do _not_. The forms of the\nclusters are exceedingly diverse when casually viewed; but on close\ninspection, through powerful telescopes, we recognize the sphere, very\ndistinctly, as at least the proximate form of all:—their constitution,\nin general, being at variance with the idea of revolution about a common\ncentre.\n\n“It is difficult,” says Sir John Herschell, “to form any conception of\nthe dynamical state of such systems. On one hand, without a rotary\nmotion and a centrifugal force, it is hardly possible not to regard them\nas in a state of _progressive collapse_. On the other, granting such a\nmotion and such a force, we find it no less difficult to reconcile their\nforms with the rotation of the whole system [meaning cluster] around any\nsingle axis, without which internal collision would appear to be\ninevitable.”\n\nSome remarks lately made about the “nebulæ” by Dr. Nichol, in taking\nquite a different view of the cosmical conditions from any taken in this\nDiscourse—have a very peculiar applicability to the point now at issue.\nHe says:\n\n“When our greatest telescopes are brought to bear upon them, we find\nthat those which were thought to be irregular, are not so; they approach\nnearer to a globe. Here is one that looked oval; but Lord Rosse’s\ntelescope brought it into a circle.... Now there occurs a very\nremarkable circumstance in reference to these comparatively sweeping\ncircular masses of nebulæ. We find they are not entirely circular, but\nthe reverse; and that all around them, on every side, there are volumes\nof stars, _stretching out apparently as if they were rushing towards a\ngreat central mass in consequence of the action of some great\npower_.”[12]\n\n    [12] I must be understood as denying, _especially_, only the\n    _revolutionary_ portion of Mädler’s hypothesis. Of course, if\n    no great central orb exists _now_ in our cluster, such will\n    exist hereafter. Whenever existing, it will be merely the\n    _nucleus_ of the consolidation.\n\nWere I to describe, in my own words, what must necessarily be the\nexisting condition of each nebula on the hypothesis that all matter is,\nas I suggest, now returning to its original Unity, I should simply be\ngoing over, nearly verbatim, the language here employed by Dr. Nichol,\nwithout the faintest suspicion of that stupendous truth which is the key\nto these nebular phænomena.\n\nAnd here let me fortify my position still farther, by the voice of a\ngreater than Mädler—of one, moreover, to whom all the data of Mädler\nhave long been familiar things, carefully and thoroughly considered.\nReferring to the elaborate calculations of Argelander—the very\nresearches which form Mädler’s basis—_Humboldt_, whose generalizing\npowers have never, perhaps been equalled, has the following observation:\n\n“When we regard the real, proper, or non-perspective motions of the\nstars, we find _many groups of them moving in opposite directions_; and\nthe data as yet in hand render it not necessary, at least, to conceive\nthat the systems composing the Milky Way, or the clusters, generally,\ncomposing the Universe, are revolving about any particular centre\nunknown, whether luminous or non-luminous. It is but Man’s longing for a\nfundamental First Cause, that impels both his intellect and his fancy\nto the adoption of such an hypothesis.”[13]\n\n    [13] Betrachtet man die nicht perspectivischen eigenen\n    Bewegungen der Sterne, so scheinen viele gruppenweise in ihrer\n    Richtung entgegengesetzt; und die bisher gesammelten Thatsachen\n    machen es auf’s wenigste nicht nothwendig, anzunehmen, dass\n    alle Theile unserer Sternenschicht oder gar der gesammten\n    Sterneninseln, welche den Weltraum füllen, sich um einen\n    grossen, unbekannten, leuchtenden oder dunkeln Centralkörper\n    bewegen. Das Streben nach den letzten und höchsten\n    Grundursachen macht freilich die reflectirende Thätigkeit des\n    Menschen, wie seine Phantasie, zu einer solchen Annahme\n    geneigt.\n\nThe phænomenon here alluded to—that of “many groups moving in opposite\ndirections”—is quite inexplicable by Mädler’s idea; but arises, as a\nnecessary consequence, from that which forms the basis of this\nDiscourse. While the _merely general direction_ of each atom—of each\nmoon, planet, star, or cluster—would, on my hypothesis, be, of course,\nabsolutely rectilinear; while the _general_ path of all bodies would be\na right line leading to the centre of all; it is clear, nevertheless,\nthat this general rectilinearity would be compounded of what, with\nscarcely any exaggeration, we may term an infinity of particular\ncurves—an infinity of local deviations from rectilinearity—the result of\ncontinuous differences of relative position among the multitudinous\nmasses, as each proceeded on its own proper journey to the End.\n\nI quoted, just now, from Sir John Herschell, the following words, used\nin reference to the clusters:—“On one hand, without a rotary motion and\na centrifugal force, it is hardly possible not to regard them as in a\nstate of _progressive collapse_.” The fact is, that, in surveying the\n“nebulæ” with a telescope of high power, we shall find it quite\nimpossible, having once conceived this idea of “collapse,” not to\ngather, at all points, corroboration of the idea. A nucleus is always\napparent, in the direction of which the stars seem to be precipitating\nthemselves; nor can these nuclei be mistaken for merely perspective\nphænomena:—the clusters are _really_ denser near the centre—sparser in\nthe regions more remote from it. In a word, we see every thing as we\n_should_ see it were a collapse taking place; but, in general, it may be\nsaid of these clusters, that we can fairly entertain, while looking at\nthem, the idea of _orbitual movement about a centre_, only by admitting\nthe _possible_ existence, in the distant domains of space, of dynamical\nlaws with which _we_ are unacquainted.\n\nOn the part of Herschell, however, there is evidently _a reluctance_ to\nregard the nebulæ as in “a state of progressive collapse.” But if\nfacts—if even appearances justify the supposition of their being in this\nstate, _why_, it may well be demanded, is he disinclined to admit it?\nSimply on account of a prejudice;—merely because the supposition is at\nwar with a preconceived and utterly baseless notion—that of the\nendlessness—that of the eternal stability of the Universe.\n\nIf the propositions of this Discourse are tenable, the “state of\nprogressive collapse” is _precisely_ that state in which alone we are\nwarranted in considering All Things; and, with due humility, let me here\nconfess that, for my part, I am at a loss to conceive how any _other_\nunderstanding of the existing condition of affairs, could ever have made\nits way into the human brain. “The tendency to collapse” and “the\nattraction of gravitation” are convertible phrases. In using either, we\nspeak of the rëaction of the First Act. Never was necessity less obvious\nthan that of supposing Matter imbued with an ineradicable _quality_\nforming part of its material nature—a quality, or instinct, _forever_\ninseparable from it, and by dint of which inalienable principle every\natom is _perpetually_ impelled to seek its fellow-atom. Never was\nnecessity less obvious than that of entertaining this unphilosophical\nidea. Going boldly behind the vulgar thought, we have to conceive,\nmetaphysically, that the gravitating principle appertains to Matter\n_temporarily_—only while diffused—only while existing as Many instead of\nas One—appertains to it by virtue of its state of irradiation\nalone—appertains, in a word, altogether to its _condition_, and not in\nthe slightest degree to _itself_. In this view, when the irradiation\nshall have returned into its source—when the rëaction shall be\ncompleted—the gravitating principle will no longer exist. And, in fact,\nastronomers, without at any time reaching the idea here suggested, seem\nto have been approximating it, in the assertion that “if there were but\none body in the Universe, it would be impossible to understand how the\nprinciple, Gravity, could obtain:”—that is to say, from a consideration\nof Matter as they find it, they reach a conclusion at which I\ndeductively arrive. That so pregnant a suggestion as the one just quoted\nshould have been permitted to remain so long unfruitful, is,\nnevertheless, a mystery which I find it difficult to fathom.\n\nIt is, perhaps, in no little degree, however, our propensity for the\ncontinuous—for the analogical—in the present case more particularly for\nthe symmetrical—which has been leading us astray. And, in fact, the\nsense of the symmetrical is an instinct which may be depended upon with\nan almost blindfold reliance. It is the poetical essence of the\nUniverse—_of the Universe_ which, in the supremeness of its symmetry, is\nbut the most sublime of poems. Now symmetry and consistency are\nconvertible terms:—thus Poetry and Truth are one. A thing is consistent\nin the ratio of its truth—true in the ratio of its consistency. _A\nperfect consistency, I repeat, can be nothing but an absolute truth._ We\nmay take it for granted, then, that Man cannot long or widely err, if he\nsuffer himself to be guided by his poetical, which I have maintained to\nbe his truthful, in being his symmetrical, instinct. He must have a\ncare, however, lest, in pursuing too heedlessly the superficial symmetry\nof forms and motions, he leave out of sight the really essential\nsymmetry of the principles which determine and control them.\n\nThat the stellar bodies would finally be merged in one—that, at last,\nall would be drawn into the substance of _one stupendous central orb\nalready existing_—is an idea which, for some time past, seems, vaguely\nand indeterminately, to have held possession of the fancy of mankind. It\nis an idea, in fact, which belongs to the class of the _excessively\nobvious_. It springs, instantly, from a superficial observation of the\ncyclic and seemingly _gyrating_, or _vorticial_ movements of those\nindividual portions of the Universe which come most immediately and most\nclosely under our observation. There is not, perhaps, a human being, of\nordinary education and of average reflective capacity, to whom, at some\nperiod, the fancy in question has not occurred, as if spontaneously, or\nintuitively, and wearing all the character of a very profound and very\noriginal conception. This conception, however, so commonly entertained,\nhas never, within my knowledge, arisen out of any abstract\nconsiderations. Being, on the contrary, always suggested, as I say, by\nthe vorticial movements about centres, a reason for it, also,—a _cause_\nfor the ingathering of all the orbs into one, _imagined to be already\nexisting_, was naturally sought in the same direction—among these cyclic\nmovements themselves.\n\nThus it happened that, on announcement of the gradual and perfectly\nregular decrease observed in the orbit of Enck’s comet, at every\nsuccessive revolution about our Sun, astronomers were nearly unanimous\nin the opinion that the cause in question was found—that a principle was\ndiscovered sufficient to account, physically, for that final, universal\nagglomeration which, I repeat, the analogical, symmetrical or poetical\ninstinct of Man had predetermined to understand as something more than a\nsimple hypothesis.\n\nThis cause—this sufficient reason for the final ingathering—was declared\nto exist in an exceedingly rare but still material medium pervading\nspace; which medium, by retarding, in some degree, the progress of the\ncomet, perpetually weakened its tangential force; thus giving a\npredominance to the centripetal; which, of course, drew the comet nearer\nand nearer at each revolution, and would eventually precipitate it upon\nthe Sun.\n\nAll this was strictly logical—admitting the medium or ether; but this\nether was assumed, most illogically, on the ground that no _other_ mode\nthan the one spoken of could be discovered, of accounting for the\nobserved decrease in the orbit of the comet:—as if from the fact that we\ncould _discover_ no other mode of accounting for it, it followed, in any\nrespect, that no other mode of accounting for it existed. It is clear\nthat innumerable causes might operate, in combination, to diminish the\norbit, without even a possibility of our ever becoming acquainted with\none of them. In the meantime, it has never been fairly shown, perhaps,\nwhy the retardation occasioned by the skirts of the Sun’s atmosphere,\nthrough which the comet passes at perihelion, is not enough to account\nfor the phænomenon. That Enck’s comet will be absorbed into the Sun, is\nprobable; that all the comets of the system will be absorbed, is more\nthan merely possible; but, in such case, the principle of absorption\nmust be referred to eccentricity of orbit—to the close approximation to\nthe Sun, of the comets at their perihelia; and is a principle not\naffecting, in any degree, the ponderous _spheres_, which are to be\nregarded as the true material constituents of the Universe.—Touching\ncomets, in general, let me here suggest, in passing, that we cannot be\nfar wrong in looking upon them as the _lightning-flashes of the cosmical\nHeaven_.\n\nThe idea of a retarding ether and, through it, of a final agglomeration\nof all things, seemed at one time, however, to be confirmed by the\nobservation of a positive decrease in the orbit of the solid moon. By\nreference to eclipses recorded 2500 years ago, it was found that the\nvelocity of the satellite’s revolution _then_ was considerably less than\nit is _now_; that on the hypothesis that its motions in its orbit is\nuniformly in accordance with Kepler’s law, and was accurately determined\n_then_—2500 years ago—it is now in advance of the position it _should_\noccupy, by nearly 9000 miles. The increase of velocity proved, of\ncourse, a diminution of orbit; and astronomers were fast yielding to a\nbelief in an ether, as the sole mode of accounting for the phænomenon,\nwhen Lagrange came to the rescue. He showed that, owing to the\nconfigurations of the spheroids, the shorter axes of their ellipses are\nsubject to variation in length; the longer axes being permanent; and\nthat this variation is continuous and vibratory—so that every orbit is\nin a state of transition, either from circle to ellipse, or from ellipse\nto circle. In the case of the moon, where the shorter axis is\n_de_creasing, the orbit is passing from circle to ellipse and,\nconsequently, is _de_creasing too; but, after a long series of ages, the\nultimate eccentricity will be attained; then the shorter axis will\nproceed to _in_crease, until the orbit becomes a circle; when the\nprocess of shortening will again take place;—and so on forever. In the\ncase of the Earth, the orbit is passing from ellipse to circle. The\nfacts thus demonstrated do away, of course, with all necessity for\nsupposing an ether, and with all apprehension of the system’s\ninstability—on the ether’s account.\n\nIt will be remembered that I have myself assumed what we may term _an\nether_. I have spoken of a subtle _influence_ which we know to be ever\nin attendance upon matter, although becoming manifest only through\nmatter’s heterogeneity. To this _influence_—without daring to touch it\nat all in any effort at explaining its awful _nature_—I have referred\nthe various phænomena of electricity, heat, light, magnetism; and\nmore—of vitality, consciousness, and thought—in a word, of spirituality.\nIt will be seen, at once, then, that the ether thus conceived is\nradically distinct from the ether of the astronomers; inasmuch as theirs\nis _matter_ and mine _not_.\n\nWith the idea of a material ether, seems, thus, to have departed\naltogether the thought of that universal agglomeration so long\npredetermined by the poetical fancy of mankind:—an agglomeration in\nwhich a sound Philosophy might have been warranted in putting faith, at\nleast to a certain extent, if for no other reason than that by this\npoetical fancy it _had_ been so predetermined. But so far as\nAstronomy—so far as mere Physics have yet spoken, the cycles of the\nUniverse are perpetual—the Universe has no conceivable end. Had an end\nbeen demonstrated, however, from so purely collateral a cause as an\nether, Man’s instinct of the Divine _capacity to adapt_, would have\nrebelled against the demonstration. We should have been forced to regard\nthe Universe with some such sense of dissatisfaction as we experience in\ncontemplating an unnecessarily complex work of human art. Creation would\nhave affected us as an imperfect _plot_ in a romance, where the\n_dénoûment_ is awkwardly brought about by interposed incidents external\nand foreign to the main subject; instead of springing out of the bosom\nof the thesis—out of the heart of the ruling idea—instead of arising as\na result of the primary proposition—as inseparable and inevitable part\nand parcel of the fundamental conception of the book.\n\nWhat I mean by the symmetry of mere surface will now be more clearly\nunderstood. It is simply by the blandishment of this symmetry that we\nhave been beguiled into the general idea of which Mädler’s hypothesis is\nbut a part—the idea of the vorticial indrawing of the orbs. Dismissing\nthis nakedly physical conception, the symmetry of principle sees the end\nof all things metaphysically involved in the thought of a beginning;\nseeks and finds in this origin of all things the _rudiment_ of this end;\nand perceives the impiety of supposing this end likely to be brought\nabout less simply—less directly—less obviously—less artistically—than\nthrough _the rëaction of the originating Act_.\n\nRecurring, then, to a previous suggestion, let us understand the\nsystems—let us understand each star, with its attendant planets—as but a\nTitanic atom existing in space with precisely the same inclination for\nUnity which characterized, in the beginning, the actual atoms after\ntheir irradiation throughout the Universal sphere. As these original\natoms rushed towards each other in generally straight lines, so let us\nconceive as at least generally rectilinear, the paths of the\nsystem-atoms towards their respective centres of aggregation:—and in\nthis direct drawing together of the systems into clusters, with a\nsimilar and simultaneous drawing together of the clusters themselves\nwhile undergoing consolidation, we have at length attained the great\n_Now_—the awful Present—the Existing Condition of the Universe.\n\nOf the still more awful Future a not irrational analogy may guide us in\nframing an hypothesis. The equilibrium between the centripetal and\ncentrifugal forces of each system, being necessarily destroyed upon\nattainment of a certain proximity to the nucleus of the cluster to which\nit belongs, there must occur, at once, a chaotic or seemingly chaotic\nprecipitation, of the moons upon the planets, of the planets upon the\nsuns, and of the suns upon the nuclei; and the general result of this\nprecipitation must be the gathering of the myriad now-existing stars of\nthe firmament into an almost infinitely less number of almost infinitely\nsuperior spheres. In being immeasurably fewer, the worlds of that day\nwill be immeasurably greater than our own. Then, indeed, amid\nunfathomable abysses, will be glaring unimaginable suns. But all this\nwill be merely a climacic magnificence foreboding the great End. Of this\nEnd the new genesis described, can be but a very partial postponement.\nWhile undergoing consolidation, the clusters themselves, with a speed\nprodigiously accumulative, have been rushing towards their own general\ncentre—and now, with a thousand-fold electric velocity, commensurate\nonly with their material grandeur and with the spiritual passion of\ntheir appetite for oneness, the majestic remnants of the tribe of Stars\nflash, at length, into a common embrace. The inevitable catastrophe is\nat hand.\n\nBut this catastrophe—what is it? We have seen accomplished the\ningathering of the orbs. Henceforward, are we not to understand _one\nmaterial globe of globes_ as constituting and comprehending the\nUniverse? Such a fancy would be altogether at war with every assumption\nand consideration of this Discourse.\n\nI have already alluded to that absolute _reciprocity of adaptation_\nwhich is the idiosyncrasy of the divine Art—stamping it divine. Up to\nthis point of our reflections, we have been regarding the electrical\ninfluence as a something by dint of whose repulsion alone Matter is\nenabled to exist in that state of diffusion demanded for the fulfilment\nof its purposes:—so far, in a word, we have been considering the\ninfluence in question as ordained for Matter’s sake—to subserve the\nobjects of matter. With a perfectly legitimate reciprocity, we are now\npermitted to look at Matter, as created _solely for the sake of this\ninfluence_—solely to serve the objects of this spiritual Ether. Through\nthe aid—by the means—through the agency of Matter, and by dint of its\nheterogeneity—is this Ether manifested—is _Spirit individualized_. It is\nmerely in the development of this Ether, through heterogeneity, that\nparticular masses of Matter become animate—sensitive—and in the ratio of\ntheir heterogeneity;—some reaching a degree of sensitiveness involving\nwhat we call _Thought_ and thus attaining Conscious Intelligence.\n\nIn this view, we are enabled to perceive Matter as a Means—not as an\nEnd. Its purposes are thus seen to have been comprehended in its\ndiffusion; and with the return into Unity these purposes cease. The\nabsolutely consolidated globe of globes would be _objectless_:—therefore\nnot for a moment could it continue to exist. Matter, created for an end,\nwould unquestionably, on fulfilment of that end, be Matter no longer.\nLet us endeavor to understand that it would disappear, and that God\nwould remain all in all.\n\nThat every work of Divine conception must cöexist and cöexpire with its\nparticular design, seems to me especially obvious; and I make no doubt\nthat, on perceiving the final globe of globes to be _objectless_, the\nmajority of my readers will be satisfied with my “_therefore_ it cannot\ncontinue to exist.” Nevertheless, as the startling thought of its\ninstantaneous disappearance is one which the most powerful intellect\ncannot be expected readily to entertain on grounds so decidedly\nabstract, let us endeavor to look at the idea from some other and more\nordinary point of view:—let us see how thoroughly and beautifully it is\ncorroborated in an _à posteriori_ consideration of Matter as we actually\nfind it.\n\nI have before said that “Attraction and Repulsion being undeniably the\nsole properties by which Matter is manifested to Mind, we are justified\nin assuming that Matter _exists_ only as Attraction and Repulsion—in\nother words that Attraction and Repulsion _are_ Matter; there being no\nconceivable case in which we may not employ the term Matter and the\nterms ‘Attraction’ and ‘Repulsion’ taken together, as equivalent, and\ntherefore convertible, expressions in Logic.”[14]\n\n    [14] Page 37.\n\nNow the very definition of Attraction implies particularity—the\nexistence of parts, particles, or atoms; for we define it as the\ntendency of “each atom &c. to every other atom” &c. according to a\ncertain law. Of course where there are _no_ parts—where there is\nabsolute Unity—where the tendency to oneness is satisfied—there can be\nno Attraction:—this has been fully shown, and all Philosophy admits it.\nWhen, on fulfilment of its purposes, then, Matter shall have returned\ninto its original condition of _One_—a condition which presupposes the\nexpulsion of the separative ether, whose province and whose capacity are\nlimited to keeping the atoms apart until that great day when, this ether\nbeing no longer needed, the overwhelming pressure of the finally\ncollective Attraction shall at length just sufficiently predominate[15]\nand expel it:—when, I say, Matter, finally, expelling the Ether, shall\nhave returned into absolute Unity,—it will then (to speak paradoxically\nfor the moment) be Matter without Attraction and without Repulsion—in\nother words, Matter without Matter—in other words, again, _Matter no\nmore_. In sinking into Unity, it will sink at once into that Nothingness\nwhich, to all Finite Perception, Unity must be—into that Material\nNihility from which alone we can conceive it to have been evoked—to have\nbeen _created_ by the Volition of God.\n\n    [15] “Gravity, therefore, must be the strongest of forces.”—See\n    page 39.\n\nI repeat then—Let us endeavor to comprehend that the final globe of\nglobes will instantaneously disappear, and that God will remain all in\nall.\n\nBut are we here to pause? Not so. On the Universal agglomeration and\ndissolution, we can readily conceive that a new and perhaps totally\ndifferent series of conditions may ensue—another creation and\nirradiation, returning into itself—another action and rëaction of the\nDivine Will. Guiding our imaginations by that omniprevalent law of laws,\nthe law of periodicity, are we not, indeed, more than justified in\nentertaining a belief—let us say, rather, in indulging a hope—that the\nprocesses we have here ventured to contemplate will be renewed forever,\nand forever, and forever; a novel Universe swelling into existence, and\nthen subsiding into nothingness, at every throb of the Heart Divine?\n\nAnd now—this Heart Divine—what is it? _It is our own._\n\nLet not the merely seeming irreverence of this idea frighten our souls\nfrom that cool exercise of consciousness—from that deep tranquillity of\nself-inspection—through which alone we can hope to attain the presence\nof this, the most sublime of truths, and look it leisurely in the face.\n\nThe _phænomena_ on which our conclusions must at this point depend, are\nmerely spiritual shadows, but not the less thoroughly substantial.\n\nWe walk about, amid the destinies of our world-existence, encompassed by\ndim but ever present _Memories_ of a Destiny more vast—very distant in\nthe by-gone time, and infinitely awful.\n\nWe live out a Youth peculiarly haunted by such dreams; yet never\nmistaking them for dreams. As Memories we _know_ them. _During our\nYouth_ the distinction is too clear to deceive us even for a moment.\n\nSo long as this Youth endures, the feeling _that we exist_, is the most\nnatural of all feelings. We understand it _thoroughly_. That there was a\nperiod at which we did _not_ exist—or, that it might so have happened\nthat we never had existed at all—are the considerations, indeed, which\n_during this youth_, we find difficulty in understanding. Why we should\n_not_ exist, is, _up to the epoch of our Manhood_, of all queries the most\nunanswerable. Existence—self-existence—existence from all Time and to\nall Eternity—seems, up to the epoch of Manhood, a normal and\nunquestionable condition:—_seems, because it is_.\n\nBut now comes the period at which a conventional World-Reason awakens us\nfrom the truth of our dream. Doubt, Surprise and Incomprehensibility\narrive at the same moment. They say:—“You live and the time was when you\nlived not. You have been created. An Intelligence exists greater than\nyour own; and it is only through this Intelligence you live at all.”\nThese things we struggle to comprehend and cannot:—_cannot_, because\nthese things, being untrue, are thus, of necessity, incomprehensible.\n\nNo thinking being lives who, at some luminous point of his life of\nthought, has not felt himself lost amid the surges of futile efforts at\nunderstanding, or believing, that anything exists _greater than his own\nsoul_. The utter impossibility of any one’s soul feeling itself inferior\nto another; the intense, overwhelming dissatisfaction and rebellion at\nthe thought;—these, with the omniprevalent aspirations at perfection,\nare but the spiritual, coincident with the material, struggles towards\nthe original Unity—are, to my mind at least, a species of proof far\nsurpassing what Man terms demonstration, that no one soul _is_ inferior\nto another—that nothing is, or can be, superior to any one soul—that\neach soul is, in part, its own God—its own Creator:—in a word, that\nGod—the material _and_ spiritual God—_now_ exists solely in the diffused\nMatter and Spirit of the Universe; and that the regathering of this\ndiffused Matter and Spirit will be but the re-constitution of the\n_purely_ Spiritual and Individual God.\n\nIn this view, and in this view alone, we comprehend the riddles of\nDivine Injustice—of Inexorable Fate. In this view alone the existence of\nEvil becomes intelligible; but in this view it becomes more—it becomes\nendurable. Our souls no longer rebel at a _Sorrow_ which we ourselves\nhave imposed upon ourselves, in furtherance of our own purposes—with a\nview—if even with a futile view—to the extension of our own _Joy_.\n\nI have spoken of _Memories_ that haunt us during our youth. They\nsometimes pursue us even in our Manhood:—assume gradually less and less\nindefinite shapes:—now and then speak to us with low voices, saying:\n\n“There was an epoch in the Night of Time, when a still-existent Being\nexisted—one of an absolutely infinite number of similar Beings that\npeople the absolutely infinite domains of the absolutely infinite\nspace.[16] It was not and is not in the power of this Being—any more\nthan it is in your own—to extend, by actual increase, the joy of his\nExistence; but just as it _is_ in your power to expand or to concentrate\nyour pleasures (the absolute amount of happiness remaining always the\nsame) so did and does a similar capability appertain to this Divine\nBeing, who thus passes his Eternity in perpetual variation of\nConcentrated Self and almost Infinite Self-Diffusion. What you call The\nUniverse is but his present expansive existence. He now feels his life\nthrough an infinity of imperfect pleasures—the partial and\npain-intertangled pleasures of those inconceivably numerous things which\nyou designate as his creatures, but which are really but infinite\nindividualizations of Himself. All these creatures—_all_—those which you\nterm animate, as well as those to whom you deny life for no better\nreason than that you do not behold it in operation—_all_ these creatures\nhave, in a greater or less degree, a capacity for pleasure and for\npain:—_but the general sum of their sensations is precisely that amount\nof Happiness which appertains by right to the Divine Being when\nconcentrated within Himself_. These creatures are all, too, more or less\nconscious Intelligences; conscious, first, of a proper identity;\nconscious, secondly and by faint indeterminate glimpses, of an identity\nwith the Divine Being of whom we speak—of an identity with God. Of the\ntwo classes of consciousness, fancy that the former will grow weaker,\nthe latter stronger, during the long succession of ages which must\nelapse before these myriads of individual Intelligences become\nblended—when the bright stars become blended—into One. Think that the\nsense of individual identity will be gradually merged in the general\nconsciousness—that Man, for example, ceasing imperceptibly to feel\nhimself Man, will at length attain that awfully triumphant epoch when he\nshall recognize his existence as that of Jehovah. In the meantime bear\nin mind that all is Life—Life—Life within Life—the less within the\ngreater, and all within the _Spirit Divine_.”\n\n    [16] See pages 102-103—Paragraph commencing “I reply that the\n    right,” and ending “proper and particular God.”\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n155 Broadway, NEW YORK. 142 Strand, LONDON.\n\nOf late firm of WILEY & PUTNAM.\n\n\nNew Works in Press,\n\nOr recently published, by\n\nGEORGE P. PUTNAM,\n\n155 Broadway, New York.\n\n\nG. P. PUTNAM has the pleasure of announcing that, agreeably to his\ncontract with the distinguished author, he has now in the course of\npublication\n\n_A new, uniform, and complete edition_\n\nOF THE\n\nWorks of Washington Irving,\n\nRevised and enlarged by the Author,\n\n_In Twelve Elegant Duodecimo Volumes_,\n\nBeautifully printed with new type, and on superior paper, made expressly\nfor the purpose.\n\n\nThe first volume of the Series will be\n\nThe Sketch-Book,\n\ncomplete in one volume,\n\nwhich will be ready on the first day of September.\n\n\nKnickerbocker’s History of New York,\n\nwith revisions and copious additions,\n\nwill be published on the 1st of October.\n\n\nThe Life and Voyages of Columbus,\n\nVol. I. on the 1st of November,\n\nand the succeeding volumes will be issued on the first day of each month\nuntil completed;—as follows:\n\n  _The Sketch-Book, in one volume.\n  Knickerbocker’s New York, in one volume.\n  Tales of a Traveller, in one volume.\n  Bracebridge Hall, in one volume.\n  The Conquest of Grenada, in one volume.\n  The Alhambra, in one volume.\n  The Spanish Legends, in one vol.\n  The Crayon Miscellany, in one vol.—Abbotsford, Newstead,\n    The Prairies, &c.\n  Life and Voyages of Columbus, and The Companions of Columbus, 2 vols.\n  Adventures of Captain Bonneville, one vol.\n  Astoria, one volume._\n\n\nThe Illustrated Sketch-Book.\n\nIn October will be published,\n\nThe Sketch-Book.\n\nBY WASHINGTON IRVING.\n\nOne volume, square octavo.\n\nIllustrated with a series of highly-finished Engravings on wood, from\nDesigns by Darley and others, engraved in the best style by Childs,\nHerrick, &c. This edition will be printed on paper of the finest\nquality, similar in size and style to the new edition of “Halleck’s\nPoems.” It is intended that the illustrations shall be superior to any\nengravings on wood yet produced in this country, and that the mechanical\nexecution of the volume, altogether, shall be worthy of the author’s\nreputation. It will form an elegant and appropriate gift-book for all\nseasons.\n\n\nThe Illustrated Knickerbocker,\n\nWith a series of Original Designs, in one vol., octavo, is also in\npreparation.\n\n\nMr. Putnam has also the honor to announce that he will publish at\nintervals (in connexion, and uniform with the other collected writings),\n\n_Mr. Irving’s New Works_,\n\nnow nearly ready for the press: including\n\nThe Life of Mohammed; The Life of Washington; new volumes of\nMiscellanies, Biographies, &c.\n\n    ⁂ This being the first uniform and complete edition of Mr.\n    Irving’s works, either in this country or in Europe, the\n    publisher confidently believes that the undertaking will meet\n    with a prompt and cordial response. To say this, is perhaps\n    superfluous and impertinent; for it is a truism that no\n    _American_ book-case (not to say _library_) can be well filled\n    without the works of Washington Irving; while the English\n    language itself comprises no purer models of composition.\n\n\nG. P. Putnam has also made arrangements for the early commencement of\nnew works or new editions of the works of\n\n  _Miss C. M. Sedgwick,\n  Prof. A. Gray,\n  Leigh Hunt,\n  Chas. Fenno Hoffman,\n  Mrs. E. Oakes Smith,\n  Thomas Carlyle,\n  George H. Calvert,\n  Mrs. C. M. Kirkland,\n  R. Monckton Milnes,\n  J. Bayard Taylor,\n  Mary Howitt,\n  Mrs. Jameson,\n  S. Wells Williams,\n  W. M. Thackeray,\n  Charles Lamb,\n  A. J. Downing,\n  Thos. Hood,\n  Elliot Warburton_.\n\n\nThe following new works are now ready, or will be published this season:\n\nI.\n\nSophisms of the Protective Policy.\n\nTranslated from the French of F. Bastiat. With an introduction by\nFrancis Lieber, LL.D. Professor in South Carolina College, Editor of the\nEncyclopedia Americana, &c. 12mo. 75 cents.\n\n    “It is a book not for the million but for millions, and we\n    believe if a copy could be put into the hands of every\n    school-boy in the Union, the next generation would be\n    inconceivably wiser, richer, and happier than the\n    present.”—_Mirror._\n\nII.\n\nGrecian and Roman Mythology:\n\nWith original illustrations. Adapted for the use of Universities and\nHigh Schools, and for popular reading. By M. A. Dwight. With an\nintroduction by Tayler Lewis, Professor of Greek, University of New\nYork. 12mo. (On 1st September.)\n\nAlso a fine edition in octavo, with illustrations.\n\n    ⁂ This work has been prepared with great care, illustrated with\n    20 effective outline drawings, and is designed to treat the\n    subject in an original, comprehensive, and unexceptionable\n    manner, so as to fill the place as a text book which is yet\n    unsupplied; while it will also be an attractive and readable\n    table book for general use. It will be at once introduced as a\n    text book in the University of New York and other colleges and\n    schools.\n\nIII.\n\nEureka: a Prose Poem.\n\nOr the Physical and Metaphysical Universe.\n\nBy Edgar A. Poe, Esq. Handsomely printed, 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents.\n\n    “A most extraordinary Essay. We shall be greatly surprised if\n    this work does not create a most profound sensation among the\n    literary and scientific classes.”—_New York Express._\n\nIV.\n\nOriental Life Illustrated.\n\nBeing a new edition of Eöthen, or Traces of Travel in the East. With\nfine illustrations on Steel. 12mo. elegantly bound, $1 50.\n\n    ⁂ This new and unique volume, superbly illuminated by Mapleson,\n    and comprising original articles by distinguished writers, will\n    be the most elegant and recherché book of the kind ever\n    produced in this country. It will be ready in October.\n\nA new and superior edition of the PEARLS OF AMERICAN POETRY will also be\npublished this season.\n\nV.\n\nThe Book of Dainty Devices.\n\nIn an elegant small folio volume.\n\nLays of the Western World.\n\nVI.\n\nDr. Klipstein’s Anglo-Saxon Course of Study.\n\nIn uniform 12mo. volumes.\n\nI.\n\nA Grammar of the Anglo-Saxon Language. By Louis F. Klipstein, AA.LL.M.\nand PH.D., of the University of Giessen.\n\n    ⁂ This work recommends itself particularly to the attention of\n    every American student who “glories in his Anglo-Saxon descent”\n    or Teutonic lineage, as well as of all who desire an\n    acquaintance with a language which lies as the foundation of\n    the English, and throws a light upon its elements and\n    structure, derivable from no other source. Of the importance\n    and interesting nature of the study there can be no doubt, and\n    we agree with those who think that the time is coming when it\n    will be considered “utterly disgraceful for any well-bred\n    Englishman or American” to have neglected it. With regard to\n    the merits of Dr. Klipstein’s Grammar, we will only say, that\n    it has been already adopted as a text-book in some of the\n    leading Institutions of our country.\n\n[The following are also in press.]\n\nII.\n\nAnalecta Anglo-Saxonica, with an Introductory Ethnographical Essay,\nCopious Notes, Critical and Explanatory, and a Glossary in which are\nshown the Indo-Germanic and other Affinities of the Language. _By the\nsame._\n\nIn this work appear the fruits of considerable research, and, we may\nadd, learning. The Ethnology of Europe is succinctly, but clearly\nillustrated, the Anglo-Saxon language completely analysed, revealing the\nutmost harmony of combination from its elements, its forms and roots\ncompared with those in kindred dialects and cognate tongues, its\nposition in the Teutonic family and Indo-Germanic range established, and\nthe genuine relation of the English to its great parent properly set\nforth. To those who are fond of the comparative study of language, the\nGlossary will prove an invaluable aid, apart from its particular object.\n\nIII.\n\nNatale Sancti Gregorii Papæ.—Ælfric’s Homily on the Birth-day of St.\nGregory, and Collateral Extracts from King Alfred’s version of Bede’s\nEcclesiastical History and the Saxon Chronicle, with a full rendering\ninto English, Notes Critical and Explanatory, and an Index of Words. _By\nthe same._\n\nIV.\n\nExtracts from the Anglo-Saxon-Gospels, a Portion of the Anglo-Saxon\nParaphrase of the Book of Psalms, and other Selections of a Sacred Order\nin the same Language, with a Translation into English, and Notes\nCritical and Explanatory. _By the same._\n\nThese two works are prepared in such a way as in themselves, with the\naid of the Grammar, to afford every facility to the Anglo-Saxon Student.\nÆlfric’s Homily is remarkable for beauty of composition, and interesting\nas setting forth Augustine’s Mission to the “Land of the Angles.”\n\nV.\n\nTha Halgan Godspel on Englisc—the Anglo-Saxon Version of the Holy\nGospels. Edited by Benjamin Thorpe, F.S.A. _Reprinted by the same. Now\nready._\n\nThis, the earliest “English” version of the Four Gospels, will be found\ninteresting to the antiquarian and theologian, as well as serviceable to\nthe student in his investigations of the language. The Text, besides the\nusual but unbroken division, appears, with the Rubrics, as read in the\nearly Anglican Church.\n\n\n_Nearly Ready._\n\nDr. Bosworth’s Compendious Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. Small 8vo.\n\nVII.\n\nStudy of Modern Languages.\n\nPart First; French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, German, and English.\n\nBy L. F. Klipstein, AA.LL.M. and Ph.D. One Vol. Imperial 8vo. 75 cents\npaper; $1 00 cloth.\n\nThis work, which is intended equally for the simultaneous and the\nseparate study of the languages that it sets forth, and which is adapted\nas well for the native of Germany, France, Italy, Spain, or Portugal, as\nfor him to whom English is vernacular, in the acquirement of any one of\nthe other tongues besides his own, will be found an acceptable manual\nnot only to the tyro, but to the more advanced scholar. The reading\nportion of the matter is interesting, and the text in every case\nremarkably correct, while the Elementary Phrases, forms of Cards,\nLetters, Bills of Exchange, Promissory Notes, Receipts, &c., in the six\nlanguages, constitute what has long been a desideratum from the American\npress. For the comparative study of the _Romanic_ tongues the work\naffords unusual facilities.\n\nVIII.\n\nPedestrian Tour in Europe.\n\nViews a-Foot; or Europe seen with Knapsack and Staff.\n\nBy J. Bayard Taylor.\n\nA new edition with an additional chapter, and a sketch of the author in\npedestrian costume, from a drawing by T. Buchanan Read. 12mo. Cloth.\n\nIX.\n\nA New Edition of\n\nClarke’s Shakspeare Concordance.\n\nA Complete Concordance to Shakspeare: being a Verbal Index to ALL the\nPASSAGES in the Dramatic Works of the Poet. By Mrs. Cowden Clarke.\n\n“Order gave each thing view.”\n\nOne large Vol. comprising 2560 closely printed columns,—(indicating\n_every word and passage_ in Shakspeare’s Works). Price $6. Cloth.\n\n    “The result of sixteen years of untiring labor. The different\n    editions of Shakspeare have been carefully collated by the\n    compiler, and every possible means taken to insure the\n    correctness of the work. As it now stands, a person can find a\n    particular passage in Shakspeare by simply remembering one word\n    of it, and is also referred to the act and scene of the play in\n    which it occurs. As a mere dictionary of Shakspearian language\n    and phrases, it is of great value; but it is also a dictionary\n    of his thoughts and imaginations. It altogether supersedes the\n    volumes of Twiss and Ayscough, and should be on every student’s\n    shelves”—_Boston Courier._\n\n    ⁂ This extraordinary work is printed in London and the price\n    there _at present_ is £2. 5s. 0d. or about $12. A large part of\n    the edition having been purchased for this market, it is\n    furnished here for the very low price of $6, bound in cloth.\n\n_Also—By same Author._\n\nThe Book of Shakspeare Proverbs.\n\n18mo. 75 cts.\n\n\n_Dr. Lieber’s Poetical Address to the American Republic._\n\n16mo. 25 cents.\n\nThe West:\n\nA Metrical Epistle.\n\nBY FRANCIS LIEBER.\n\n    ⁂ Dr. Lieber, the distinguished Professor of Political Economy\n    in South Carolina College, Author of “Political Ethics,” &c.,\n    has just sailed for his native country—Germany—with the view of\n    aiding in the great cause of Constitutional and Rational\n    Freedom. This little volume proves that he has well studied\n    that subject during his long residence in this his adopted\n    country—and his able and valuable opinions on American Society\n    and Progress, carry with them a peculiar interest at this time.\n\n\nRECENT PUBLICATIONS.\n\nAlexander.—Commentary on the Earlier Prophecies of Isaiah. By Prof. J.\nA. Alexander. Royal 8vo. cloth, $3.\n\nAlexander.—Commentary on the Later Prophecies of Isaiah. By Prof. J. A.\nAlexander. Royal 8vo. cloth, $2 50.\n\nAncient Moral Tales, from the Gesta Romanorum, &c. 1 vol. 12mo. green\ncloth.\n\n    “A quiet humor, a quaintness and terseness of style, will\n    strongly recommend them.”—_English Churchman._\n\nArchitecture.—Hints on Public Architecture; issued under the Direction\nof the “Smithsonian Institution.” Imperial 4to. with Illustrations. (In\npreparation.)\n\n    This work will contain numerous and valuable illustrations,\n    including two perspective views of the buildings of the\n    Smithsonian Institution. The Appendix will contain the results\n    of a research under the auspices of the Institution to test the\n    properties of the most important building materials throughout\n    the United States.\n\nBastiat.—Sophisms of the Protective Policy. Translated from the French\nof F. Bastiat. With an Introduction, by Francis Lieber, LL.D., Professor\nin South Carolina College, Editor of the Encyclopædia Americana, &c.,\n&c. 12mo. 75 cts.\n\nBibliotheca Sacra and Theological Review. Conducted by B. B. Edwards and\nE. A. Park, Professors at Andover, with the Special Aid of Dr. Robinson\nand Professor Stuart. Published quarterly in February, May, August, and\nNovember $4 per annum. Vols. 1, 2, 3, and 4, 8vo. cloth, each $4.\n\n    “This is, perhaps, the most ambitious journal in the United\n    States. We use the word in a good sense, as meaning that there\n    is no journal among us which seems more laudably desirous to\n    take the lead in literary and theological science. Its handsome\n    type and paper give it a pleasing exterior; its typographical\n    errors, though sufficiently numerous, are so comparatively few,\n    as to show that it has the advantage of the best American\n    proof-reading; while for thoroughness of execution in the\n    departments of history and criticism, it aims to be\n    pre-eminent.”—_N. Y. Churchman._\n\nBurton.—The Anatomy of Melancholy. By Burton. New and beautiful edition,\nwith Engravings. 1 vol. royal 8vo. cloth, $2 50.\n\n    ⁂ This is one of those sterling old works which were written\n    for “all time,” full of learning, humor, and quaint conceits.\n    No library can be complete without it.\n\nCalvert.—Scenes and Thoughts in Europe. By an American. 1 vol. 12mo.\ngreen cloth, 50 cents.\n\n    “His descriptions of scenery, his remarks on art, his accounts\n    of the different people among whom he sojourned, are all\n    good.”—_Cincinnati Gazette._\n\nCarlyle.—The French Revolution: a History. By Thomas Carlyle. 2 vols.\n12mo. green cloth, $2.\n\n    “His French Revolution is considered one of the most remarkable\n    works of the age—as at once the poetry and philosophy of\n    history.”—_Hunt’s Merchants’ Mag._\n\nCarlyle.—Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell. By Thos. Carlyle. 2\nvols. 12mo. green cloth, $2 50.\n\n    “A work more valuable as a guide to the study of the singular\n    and complex character of our pious revolutionist, our religious\n    demagogue, our preaching and praying warrior, has not been\n    produced.”—_Blackwood’s Magazine._\n\nCarlyle.—Past and Present: Chartism. By Thomas Carlyle. 1 vol. 12mo.\ngreen cloth, $1\n\n    “To say that the book is replete with instruction, thought, and\n    quaint fancy, is unnecessary: but we may mention it as one,\n    _par excellence_, which should be read at the present\n    juncture.”-_Tribune._\n\nChaucer and Spenser.—Selections from the Poetical Works of Geoffrey\nChaucer. By Charles D. Deshler. Spenser, and the Faery Queen. By Mrs. C.\nM. Kirkland. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 13.\n\n—— The same, extra gilt, $1 50.\n\n    “A portion of their writings are presented in a beautiful and\n    convenient form, and with the requisite notes and\n    modifications.”—_Home Journal._\n\nCoe.—Studies in Drawing, in a Progressive Series of Lessons on Cards;\nbeginning with the most Elementary Studies, and Adapted for Use at Home\nand Schools. By Benjamin H. Coe, Teacher of Drawing. In Ten\nSeries—marked 1 and 10—each containing about eighteen Studies. 25 cents\neach.\n\n    The design is:\n\n    I.—To make the exercises in drawing highly interesting to the\n    pupil.\n\n    II.—To make drawings so simple, and so gradually progressive,\n    as to enable any teacher, whether acquainted with drawing or\n    not, to instruct his pupils to advantage.\n\n    III.—To take the place of one-half of the writing lessons, with\n    confidence that the learner will acquire a knowledge of writing\n    in less than time is usually required.\n\n    IV.—To give the pupils a bold, rapid, and artist-like style of\n    drawing.\n\nColeridge.—Biographia Literaria; or, Biographical Sketches of my\nLiterary Life and Opinions. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge. From the 2d\nLondon edition, Edited by H. N. Coleridge. 2 vols. 12mo. green cloth,\n$2.\n\nCortez.—Letters and Despatches of Hernando Cortez. Translated by Hon.\nGeorge Folsom. 1 vol. 8vo. $1 25.\n\nDana.—A System of Mineralogy, comprising the most Recent Discoveries. By\nJames D. Dana. Woodcuts and copperplates, 8vo. cloth, $3 50.\n\nDowning.—Cottage Residences; or, a Series of Designs for Rural Cottages\nand Cottage Villas, and their Gardens and Grounds; adapted to North\nAmerica. By A. J. Downing. Numerous plates, 3d edition, 8vo. cloth, $2.\n\nDowning.—A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening\nadapted to North America; with Remarks on Rural Architecture. By A. J.\nDowning. Plates, 2d edition, thick 8vo. cloth, $3 50.\n\nDowning.—The Fruits and Fruit Trees of America; or, the Culture,\nPropagation, and Management, in the Garden and Orchard, of Fruit Trees\ngenerally. By A. J. Downing. Plates, 9th edition, revised, 12mo. cloth,\n$1 50.\n\n—— The same, 8vo. cloth, $2 50.\n\n—— The same, with 80 superb Illustrations, drawn and beautifully colored\nby Paris Artists, royal 8vo. half morocco, top edge gilt. New edition\nshortly.\n\nDwight.—Grecian and Roman Mythology; with original Illustrations.\nAdapted for the Use of Universities and High Schools, and for Popular\nReading. By M. A. Dwight. With an Introduction by Tayler Lewis,\nProfessor of Greek, University of New York. 12mo. [In September.\n\n—— Also a fine edition in octavo, with Illustrations.\n\n    ⁂ This work has been prepared with great care, illustrated with\n    twenty effective outline drawings, and is designed to treat the\n    subject in an original, comprehensive, and unexceptionable\n    manner, so as to fill the place as a text-book which is yet\n    unsupplied; while it will also be an attractive and readable\n    table-book for general use. It will be at once introduced as a\n    text-book in the University of New York, and other colleges and\n    schools.\n\nFord.—The Spaniards and their Country. By Richard Ford. 1 vol. 12mo.\ngreen cloth, 87 cents.\n\n    “The best description of national character and manners of\n    Spain that has ever appeared.”—_Quarterly Review._\n\n    “The volumes appear to treat of almost everything save the\n    graver questions of religion and politics, which may possibly\n    be taken up hereafter. In one respect it has the advantage over\n    more directly historical works—it portrays the Spanish\n    character, as well as country, with fidelity.”—_Commercial\n    Advertiser._\n\nFouqué.—Undine, a Tale; and Sintram and his Companions, a Tale. From the\nGerman of La Motte Fouqué. 1 vol. 12mo. green cloth. 50 cts.\n\n    “The style and execution of this delightful romance are very\n    graceful.”—_Hawkins’s Germany._\n\n    “Fouqué’s romances I always recommend—especially the wild,\n    graceful, and touching Undine.”—_Sarah Austin._\n\nFrench.—Historical Collections of Louisiana. By B. F. 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By Elliot Warburton. 1 vol. 12mo. green cloth, $1.\n\n    “This delightful work is, from first to last, a splendid\n    panorama of Eastern scenery, in the full blaze of its\n    magnificence.”—_London Morning Post._\n\n\n_A valuable Work for Libraries._\n\nNow Ready. 8vo. $1 in paper, or $1 25 half bound.\n\nAn Alphabetical Index to Subjects treated in the Reviews, and other\nPeriodicals, to which no Indexes have been Published.\n\n⁂ This volume comprises an Index to all articles in 560 volumes of the\nmost important periodical works.\n\n\nPOPULAR VOLUMES FOR PRESENTATION,\n\n_Elegantly bound in extra cloth, gilt edges._\n\n  Chaucer and Spenser                         $1 50\n  Fairfax’s Tasso’s Jerusalem Delivered        1 50\n  Fouqué’s Undine, and Sintram                 1 00\n  Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield, with plates  1 00\n  Hervey’s Book of Christmas                   1 00\n  Howitt’s (Mary) Ballads and Poems            1 00\n  Hood’s Prose and Verse                       1 25\n  Hunt’s Imagination and Fancy                 1 00\n  —— Italian Poets                             1 75\n  Keats’s Poems                                1 25\n  Lamb’s Dramatic Specimens                    1 50\n  Lamb’s Essays of Elia                        1 25\n  THE SYBIL; or, New Oracles from the Poets.\n    By Mrs. Gilman. An elegant and attractive\n    book                                       1 50\n\n\nILLUSTRATED JUVENILES.\n\nFACTS AND FANCIES. By Miss Sedgwick. 16mo. with cuts, cloth .50\n\nGLIMPSES OF THE WONDERFUL.—An entertaining Account of Curiosities of\nNature and Art. First, Second, and Third Series, with numerous fine\nIllustrations engraved in London. Square 16mo. cloth, each .75\n\nHOME TREASURY, THE; Comprising new versions of Cinderella, Beauty and\nthe Beast, Grumble and Cheery, The Eagle’s Verdict, The Sleeping Beauty.\nRevised and illustrated. Small 4to .50\n\nMORALS AND MANNERS; or, Hints for our Young People. By Miss Sedgwick.\n16mo .25\n\nYOUNG NATURALIST’S RAMBLES—through many Lands, with an account of the\nprincipal Animals and Birds of the Old and New Continents. Cloth .50\n\n\nGeorge P. Putnam\n\n(OF THE LATE FIRM OF WILEY AND PUTNAM),\n\nHas taken the new and commodious premises,\n\n155 BROADWAY, NEW YORK\n\n(_Next building to that of the late Firm_),\n\nAnd continues the business of\n\n_PUBLISHING_,\n\nAND THE\n\nIMPORTATION OF FOREIGN BOOKS,\n\nAS ABOVE, AND AT\n\nPUTNAM’S AMERICAN LITERARY AGENCY, 142 _Strand_,\n\nLONDON\n\n[ESTABLISHED IN 1838].\n\n\nArrangements have been made to secure at the London Agency the services\nof an experienced and competent Bibliographer, so that the business of\nexecuting SPECIAL ORDERS FOR THE TRADE AND PUBLIC INSTITUTIONS may be\nthoroughly regulated, and all parties giving such orders, may be fully\nsatisfied both with regard to _expedition_ and _economy_.\n\nThe interests of Public Institutions, and those ordering _Books in\nquantities_ will receive special attention, while it is also intended\nthat any one ordering _a single volume_ from Europe, may receive it\npromptly (if procurable), without disappointment or unnecessary expense.\n\nMr. PUTNAM believes that his _twelve years’ experience_ abroad in\npurchasing Books for the American market, will be of service to those\nwho may favor him with orders.\n\n⁂ Correspondence established with PARIS, ROME, LEIPSIC, BRUSSELS, and\nall the principal cities on the Continent. All American Publications on\nthe best terms, by the quantity or singly.\n\nN. B.—CATALOGUES of extensive collections of _Foreign and American\nBooks_, on all subjects may be had on application.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32037", "title": "Eureka: A Prose Poem", "author": "", "publication_year": 1848, "metadata_title": "Eureka: A Prose Poem", "metadata_author": "Edgar Allan Poe", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:20.548855", "source_chars": 268033, "chars": 268033, "talkie_tokens": 63183}}
{"text": "Produced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Cover art]\n\n\n\n\n[Frontispiece: \"Now kick his shins\"]\n\n\n\n\n\nJIMMY KIRKLAND\n\nAND THE\n\nPLOT FOR A PENNANT\n\n\nBY\n\nHUGH S. FULLERTON\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATED BY\n\nCHARLES PAXSON GRAY\n\n\n\n\nPHILADELPHIA\n\nTHE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY\n\nPUBLISHERS\n\n\n\n\nCopyright, 1915, by\n\nJOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY\n\n\nPRINTED IN  U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\n  To\n\n  CHARLES A. COMISKEY\n\n  The man to whom, more than all others, the honesty\n  and high standard of professional baseball is\n  due, this little volume is dedicated with the sincere\n  regard of a student to his preceptor.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER\n\n      I.  PANTHERS OR BEARS?\n     II.  A MIRACLE CALLED MCCARTHY\n    III.  HOPE FOR THE BEARS\n     IV.  \"KOHINOOR\" MEETS BETTY\n      V.  THE TEMPTER\n     VI.  ADONIS MAKES A DEAL\n    VII.  MCCARTHY MEETS HELEN\n   VIII.  IN THE DEEPER WATERS\n     IX.  BALDWIN GETS INTO THE PLOT\n      X.  WILLIAMS CAUGHT IN THE NET\n     XI.  MCCARTHY IN DISGRACE\n    XII.  MCCARTHY DEFIES BALDWIN\n   XIII.  MCCARTHY BALKS THE PLOTTERS\n    XIV.  \"TECHNICALITIES\" ON THE JOB\n     XV.  BALDWIN BAITS A TRAP\n    XVI.  MCCARTHY MAKES A CALL\n   XVII.  THE FIGHT IN THE CAFÉ\n  XVIII.  TWO MISSING MEN\n    XIX.  SWANSON TO THE RESCUE\n     XX.  HIDDEN FOES\n    XXI.  FAIR PLAY\n   XXII.  A VICTORY AND A DEFEAT\n  XXIII.  KIDNAPPED\n   XXIV.  BAITING A TRAP\n    XXV.  MCCARTHY DISAPPEARS\n   XXVI.  BALDWIN SHOWS HIS HAND\n  XXVII.  SEARCHING\n XXVIII.  WILLIAMS STANDS EXPOSED\n   XXIX.  FOUND\n    XXX.  A RACE TO SAVE THE DAY\n   XXXI.  THE PLOTTERS FOILED\n  XXXII.  REJOICING\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\"NOW KICK HIS SHINS\" . . . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece\n\nBALDWIN STARED AT THE SLENDER YOUTH\n\nTHE MEN LEAPED OUT\n\n\"FOURTEEN MILES IN TWENTY-ONE MINUTES\"\n\n\n\n\nJIMMY KIRKLAND AND A PLOT FOR A PENNANT\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n_Panthers or Bears?_\n\nThe defeat in the opening game of the final series of the season\nbetween the Panthers and Bears had been a hard blow to the championship\nhopes of the Bears, and its effect was evident in the demeanor of the\nplayers and those associated with them.  It was the second week in\nSeptember.  Since early in May the Blues, the Panthers and the Bears,\nconceded to be the three strongest teams in the league, had struggled\nday by day almost upon even terms, first one team leading by a narrow\nmargin, then another, until the interest of the country was centered\nupon the battle for supremacy.\n\nThen, with the Blues holding the lead by the narrowest of margins,\nMaloney, their premier pitcher, strained his arm, and the Blues, in\ndespair, battled the harder only to overtax the strength of the\nremaining pitchers, so that the team dropped rapidly into third place,\nstill hoping against hope to get their crippled pitching staff back\ninto condition for the finish.\n\nIt seemed that the four-game series between the Bears and Panthers\nprobably would prove the crisis of the year's efforts, and decide the\nquestion of supremacy.  On the eve of the commencement of that series\nthe Bear hopes had received a shock.  Carson, the heaviest batter, the\nspeediest base runner and one of the most brilliant outfielders in the\nleague, had fractured a leg in sliding to a base, and was crippled so\nseriously that all hope of his recovery in time to play again that year\nwas abandoned.\n\nUntil the day the news that Carson could not play again during the\nseason became public, the Bears had been favorites, but with their\nhardest batter crippled, and Holleran, the substitute, known to be weak\nagainst curve pitching, their hope seemed destroyed.  Manager William\nClancy, of the Bears, his kindly, weather-beaten face wearing a\ntroubled expression, in place of his customary cheerful grin, was\ninvestigating.  The defeat of the Bears in the first game with the\nPanthers had revealed to all the vital weakness of the holders of the\nchampionship, and Clancy, as he sat nibbling the end of his penholder\nin the writing room of the hotel, faced a discouraging situation.\n\nAcross the table from him a slender girl, attired in a close-fitting\nstreet gown, was writing rapidly, covering many sheets of hotel\nstationery with tall, angular hieroglyphics as she detailed to her\ndearest friend at home the exciting events of the day.\n\n\"Betty,\" said Manager Clancy, looking up, \"if you and Ellen are ever\ngoing to get ready you'll have to start.\"\n\n\"I'm ready now, Mr. Clancy,\" the girl responded brightly, lifting her\nhead until she revealed the perfect curve of her firm chin, and smiled,\n\"I left Mother Clancy in the rooms sewing on some buttons.  She will be\nready soon.\"\n\nAt that moment a slender youth, easy in movement, almost graceful in\nhis confident carriage, entered the hotel lobby.  Something in his\nbearing gave evidence that he was accustomed to association with\npersons of refinement.  His closely cropped, curling hair, sandy to the\npoint of redness, attracted attention to his well-formed head, set well\nupon a pair of shoulders so wide as to give him the appearance of\nstrength, in spite of the slenderness of his waist and the lightness of\nhis body.  His face was freckled and the uplift of his nose added to\nthe friendly impression created by his blue eyes.  His clothes were\nalmost threadbare and his shoes were worn, but his linen was clean and\nhis appearance neat.  The youth hesitated, glancing from group to group\nof the players, as if trying to decide which one to approach.\n\n\"Silent\" Swanson, the giant shortstop, who had earned his nickname\nbecause he was the noisiest player on the field, was standing talking\nwith \"Noisy\" Norton, the second baseman, so called because he seldom\nspoke either on or off the field, and Adonis Williams, the star\nleft-handed pitcher of the team.  The newcomer's eyes fell upon this\ngroup, and his face lighted as he observed that Williams's hair was\nonly a shade darker than his own.  As if deciding quickly, he walked\ntoward the group.\n\n\"You are Williams, are you not?\" he inquired easily, smiling in a\nfriendly manner.\n\n\"That's my name, but most people add a mister to it,\" responded\nWilliams sneeringly.\n\nThe red-headed youth flushed and the smile died out of his eyes.\n\n\"I beg pardon, Mister Williams,\" he said, quietly; \"I was seeking\nManager Clancy.  Perhaps you can tell me where to find him?\"\n\n\"It isn't very hard to find Clancy,\" responded Williams.  \"We can't\nlose him.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you would be so kind as to point him out to me.  I never have\nhad the pleasure of meeting Mr. Clancy.\"\n\nNeither of them had observed that Swanson and Norton had drawn aside to\npermit the girl who had been in the writing room to pass on her way to\nthe elevator.  Evidently she overheard the youth's inquiry, for she\nhesitated just as Williams laughed in an ugly manner and said:\n\n\"If you don't know him you'd better peddle yourself somewhere else.  He\nwon't be in a mood to talk to hoboes to-night.\"\n\nBefore the slender youth could speak, the girl stepped forward and said\nquietly:\n\n\"Pardon me, but I overheard you inquiring for Manager Clancy.  He is in\nthe writing room.\"\n\nHer brown eyes flashed with anger, her lips were set tight and her\nsun-browned cheeks flushed as she passed quickly on toward the\nelevator, not waiting to respond to the thanks of the slender youth,\nwho had removed his hat quickly to utter his gratitude.  Then, turning\ntoward Williams, who stood flushed and angry, his blue eyes narrowed\nand he said:\n\n\"Just for that, I'll kick you on the shins in the club house and dare\nyou to fight.\"\n\n\"What?  You will, huh?\" spluttered the astounded pitcher.\n\nHe would have said more, but before he could recover, the newcomer,\nsmiling oddly, turned and walked toward the writing room and held out\nhis hand to the famous Clancy, for six years leader of the Bears.\n\nThe slender youth stood with extended hand while Manager Clancy gazed\nup from his writing.\n\n\"Mr. Clancy?\" he asked, smiling.\n\n\"Yes.  Sit down,\" responded Clancy, his intention of rebuffing the\nintruder changing as he saw the smile.  \"What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"I read in the evening papers,\" replied the youth, still smiling\neasily, \"that Carson broke a leg, and that, to win the pennant, you\nmust find an outfielder who can hit.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you also read that I'd like to find a diamond about the size\nof my head,\" responded Clancy, sarcastically.\n\n\"The paper also said that you might switch Pardridge from third base to\nthe outfield if you could find a hard-hitting infielder.\"\n\n\"Possibly the paper also said that if I found the diamond I'd move my\ngold mine to make room for it.\"  Clancy restrained himself from further\ncomment, feeling uncertain because of the quiet confidence of his\nvisitor.\n\nThere was a pause, the veteran manager studying his caller and the\nslender youth sat smiling as if expecting Clancy to resume the\nconversation.\n\n\"Well?\" said Clancy, glancing at his half-finished letter as if to hint\nthat his time was entirely too valuable to be wasted discussing\nacademic impossibilities with entire strangers.\n\n\"Well,\" replied the visitor, smiling, \"I'm it.\"\n\n\"You're what?\" asked the astonished manager.\n\n\"The third baseman who can hit.\"\n\n\"When shall I move the gold mine?\"  Clancy's voice was dangerously\nquiet.\n\n\"To-morrow, if you like.\"\n\nClancy sat gazing at his visitor as if undecided as to whether he\nshould explode in wrath, laugh at some joke too deep for him, or\nbelieve the slender youth was in earnest.\n\n\"Say, kid,\" he said slowly after studying the youth for a moment, \"I\nadmire your nerve, anyhow.  If you have half the confidence on a ball\nfield that you have off it, you'll be a wonder.  Where did you ever\nplay ball?\"\n\nA troubled expression came over the boy's face.\n\n\"Mr. Clancy,\" he said, quietly, \"if you take me you'll have to do it\nwithout asking questions.  I can play ball, and it's up to me to make\ngood at something.  All I ask is a chance to prove to you I can play.\nIt will not cost you a cent to find out.\"\n\n\"Done anything?\" Clancy asked, sharply.\n\n\"Criminal?  No,\" responded the boy, flushing.\n\n\"Ever signed a professional contract?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nClancy studied him as if trying to decide what to do.  Then, raising\nhis voice, he called:\n\n\"Oh, Sec.  Come here a minute.\"\n\nA tall man, his hair gray, his face wearing a frown of perpetual worry,\ncame from the hotel lobby.\n\n\"Mr. Tabor,\" said Clancy, without rising, \"this is Mr. Jimmie McCarthy,\nwho is to have a try-out with us at third base.  Room him with the\nplayers.  You aren't stopping anywhere else, are you?\"\n\nThe last question was directed to the surprised youth.\n\n\"No--I'm broke,\" answered the youth, flushing quickly.\n\n\"I'll fix you up in a moment,\" said the secretary in friendly tones as\nhe shook hands with the youth.  \"Wait until I finish settling up with\nthe baggage man.\"\n\nThe secretary hastened from the room, and the boy turned impulsively to\nthe manager.\n\n\"Mr. Clancy,\" he said in a tone of gratitude, \"I want to thank you--I\ndon't know how.  I was broke--ball playing is about all I'm good at.\nHow did you know I didn't want to use my own name?\"\n\n\"I figured you might want to forget it for a time, anyhow,\" said\nClancy.  \"McCarthy is a good name and it fits your eyes.\"\n\n\"I can't tell you how grateful I am,\" said the boy impetuously.  \"I'll\nmake good for you.  I've failed trying to make a living.  Baseball is\nthe only thing they taught me at college that I'm good at, and when I\nread that you needed a third baseman I\"----\n\n\"College man, eh?\" asked Clancy quickly.  \"Well, I won't hold that\nagainst you or tip it off.  Don't thank me.  If you make good I'll be\nthe one to give thanks.\"\n\nThe youth turned to follow the secretary as if to hide a little mist\nthat came into his eyes, and he left Manager Clancy gazing thoughtfully\nafter him and nibbling the end of his penholder.\n\n\"It would be a miracle,\" said Clancy to himself.  \"But I've got a hunch\nit will come true.  He's bred right--tell it from his looks.  He's\ngame, light on his feet; good shoulders, and--and--and a pair of eyes.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n_A Miracle Called McCarthy_\n\nThirty thousand persons, banked in the great grandstands and massed\nupon the field seats, roared with increasing excitement as from every\ndirection solid streams of humanity poured toward the park to witness\nthe second game of the series between the Bears and the Panthers.\n\nThe batting practice of the teams had ended and the Bears trotted out\nupon the field.\n\n\"Who is that red-head practicing at third?\" inquired \"Chucky\" Rice, the\nveteran reporter of the Panthers.\n\n\"Name is McCarthy, a busher Clancy picked up somewhere.  He is to have\na trial this fall--after the pennant fight is over,\" said Koerner, of\nthe _Globe_, who traveled with the Bears.\n\n\"Looks sweet on ground balls,\" commented Rice, watching the slender,\ngraceful athlete, who was occupying Pardridge's place at third base.\n\"Where did Clancy find him, Tech?\"\n\nThe question was addressed to \"Technicalities\" Feehan, the odd little\nreporter who had traveled with the Bears for twenty years.\n\n\"I have not been informed,\" responded Feehan, adjusting his glasses and\nwatching McCarthy closely.  \"He came to the hotel last night and asked\nfor a try-out.  Did you see him hit?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Rice.  \"Hits right-handed and he cracked two on the\nnose.  Will he play?\"\n\n\"Clancy hardly will take a chance with him at this stage,\" replied\nKoerner.\n\nMcCarthy tossed his glove to the veteran third baseman and ran toward\nthe plate to bat grounders to the infielders.  He was not aware of the\nfact, but Clancy had been watching him keenly during the entire\npractice and had asked Kennedy, the star catcher, to keep an eye on the\nrecruit and report how he liked his actions.\n\n\"Handles himself like a ball player,\" commented the catcher.  \"He hit a\ncurve ball {22} with a snap swing that had a lot of drive in it and he\ngets the ball away like a flash when it hits his hands.\"\n\n\"He takes things easily,\" said the manager.  \"I haven't seen him fight\na ball yet.  Blocks it down and recovers in plenty of time.  If this\ngame didn't mean so much\"----\n\nThe game went against the Bears from the start, the break of the luck\nseeming always to favor the Panthers.  Twice, with runners perched on\nsecond and third, Holleran had hit feeble grounders to the infield, one\nresulting in a runner being caught at the home plate and one in an easy\nout at first that finished an inning in which the Bears had threatened\nto amass a half dozen runs.\n\nThe seventh inning started with the Panthers leading 3 to 1, and the\nBears seemingly beaten beyond hope of recovery.  An error, followed\nquickly by a base on balls and a successful sacrifice bunt put Bear\nrunners on second and third bases with but one out and Holleran coming\nto the bat.  Clancy signaled him, and an instant later Umpire Maxwell\nannounced:\n\n\"McCarthy batting for Holleran.  McCarthy will play third base,\nPardridge in left field.\"\n\nMcCarthy came to the batter's box quickly, swinging a long, light bat.\nHe let a fast ball cut across the plate just at his shoulders and only\nglanced inquiringly at the umpire when it was called a strike.  The\nnext one was a quick-breaking curve, seemingly coming straight at him.\nHe stepped slightly forward, snapped the long bat against the ball and\ndrove it down the left field foul line; two runners sprinted across the\nplate, and the score was tied.\n\n\"That auburn baby can hit them curves,\" commented Rice.  \"He certainly\ncalled the turn and waded into that one.\"\n\nThe game went into the ninth, then the tenth, the pitchers working\nharder and harder and the teams batting behind them without a break to\nbring the victory that meant so much to them.\n\nJimmy McCarthy was the first batter for the Bears.  From an unknown\nrecruit he had become the sensation of the game, and thousands were\nasking who he was.  Twice he had hit Cooke's fast \"hook curve,\" and hit\nit hard, and Cooke, remembering, shook his head as his catcher signaled\nfor another curve.  The recruit watched him, and, with a sudden jerk of\nhis belt, he stepped into position.  The first ball was fast and across\nhis shoulders, as Cooke had placed it twice before.  This time instead\nof taking the first strike McCarthy met the ball squarely and drove it\non the line over the first baseman's head.  He turned first base, going\nat top speed, although already McKeever, the Panther's right fielder,\nknown as one of the greatest throwers in the league, was in position to\nfield the ball.\n\nThe roar that arose from the crowd was chopped short as McCarthy\nsprinted for second base.  An instant of tense uncertainty was followed\nby a swelling murmur of protest, disappointment and rage.\n\nFrom the dust cloud just commencing to settle around second base two\nforms were emerging, and, as the dust drifted away, the crowd had a\nglimpse of a tableau.  Tommy Meegher, second baseman of the Panthers,\nwas disentangling his stocky form from the knot of arms and legs, and\narising from the prostrate body of McCarthy, whose desperate slide had\nturned a base hit into a two-bagger.  Stooping over them, his hands\noutspread, signifying that the runner had reached the base in safety,\nwas Randy Ransom, crouching, in order better to see under the dust\ncloud raised by the hurtling bodies of the players.\n\nA salvo of grudging applause greeted McCarthy as he arose and brushed\nthe dust from his gray striped traveling uniform, an outburst that was\nfollowed by a frenzied spasm of enthusiasm from the Bear followers.\n\nOn the Bears' bench Manager Clancy grinned for the first time in three\ndays.\n\n\"I believe that kid will do,\" he said to Kennedy.  \"He called the turn\non that fast ball, just met it, and turned first on his stride.  He\nslid under Meegher clean.  Lay one down now,\" he added, addressing the\norder to Norton.\n\nThe skill of Noisy Norton as a sacrifice hitter was well known to the\nspectators in the stands, but better known to the tense, anxious\ninfielders of the Panthers, who crouched, watching his every motion as\nhe came to the batter's position.  Norton stepped into position,\nshortened his hold upon the bat and glanced quickly around the infield\nas if noting the position of each man.  Suddenly he started, as if in\nsurprise, and glanced toward the Bears' bench.  Manager Clancy nodded\nhis head affirmatively and again Norton crouched, shortening his grip\nupon the bat still more, and slowly churned the inoffensive air with\nit.  The Panther infielders, alert to detect the plan of attack to be\ntried by the Bears, had caught the rapid exchange of glances, and they\ncrept a step or two closer to the batter, poising ready to leap forward\nto field any ball pushed toward them from Norton's bat.\n\nThe plan of assault to be tried seemed clear to the thousands of\nspectators.  It appeared certain that a sacrifice bunt was to be\nattempted; that the third baseman of the Panthers was to pretend to\nfield the ball, but that, instead, he would return to third base the\nmoment Norton bunted, permitting Cooke, the pitcher, to try to reach\nthe ball in time to throw to third to catch McCarthy there instead of\nthrowing to first to retire Norton.\n\nCooke pitched fast and straight over the plate, intending to make\nNorton push the ball back to him, or into the air for a fly out.\nNorton, however, struck viciously, but without making an effort to hit\nthe ball, swinging his bat in order to handicap the catcher in his\neffort to catch the ball and make a throw.  McCarthy had started at\nfull speed the instant Cooke had commenced to wind up to pitch the\nball, and was in full flight toward third base.  Before Nixon's throw,\ndelayed and hampered by Norton's tactics in striking, reached third,\nMcCarthy slid behind the base, his feet outstretched to hook the bag as\nhe threw his body outward to prevent Randall, the third baseman, from\nexercising his deadly skill in blocking runners away from the base.\n\nA moment later Norton drove a long fly to the outfield, and McCarthy,\nwaiting until it was caught, sprinted across the plate with what proved\nto be the winning run.\n\n\"Crossed--and by a busher,\" lamented Kincaid, of the Panthers, as the\nteams started off the field after the finish of the game, walking\nslowly because of the press of humanity overflowing from the stands.\n\n\"What do you think of that kid, Slats?\" inquired Manager Clancy, as\nthey walked together toward the club house.\n\n\"He's a ball player, if he don't swell,\" responded Hartman,\nlaconically.  \"He pulled that steal of third wise.  He figured we\nwouldn't expect a busher to try to steal at that stage--and we didn't.\nHe's a wise head for a kid.\"\n\n\"Looks good to me,\" replied Clancy.  \"He slipped Norton a signal not to\nhit, but to let him steal--and I almost fell off the bench when I saw\nit.  I expected him to toss the game away.\"\n\n\"Where'd you get him?\" demanded Hartman.\n\n\"He wished himself onto me,\" grinned Clancy.  \"He told me he could play\nball and I believed him.\"\n\nA swarm of reporters descended upon the headquarters of the visiting\nteam, striving to discover something of the history of the slender,\nred-haired youngster whose coming had revived the waning pennant hopes\nof the Bears.  McCarthy was not to be found.  He had slipped away after\ndinner without telling anyone his plans.  The reporters descended upon\nManager Clancy, demanding information concerning his find.\n\n\"It's a secret, boys,\" responded Clancy to their insistent questions.\n\"He is nom de plume and habeas corpus.  The only place I ever heard of\nhim playing ball was in Cognito.\"\n\n\"Suppress the comedy and ease us the legit,\" pleaded Riley, who wrote\ntheatricals when he was not inventing English in the interest of\nbaseball.  \"I can't find any record that will fit him.\"\n\n\"Boys,\" said the veteran manager, growing serious, \"I don't know a\nthing more about him than you do.  I don't know where he ever played;\nit never was in organized ball, or I would know where he comes from and\nwho he is.  He strolled in here last night, told me he could play ball\nand wanted a chance to show me that he could.\"\n\n\"That was considerable demonstration to-day,\" commented Rice.  \"How do\nyou know he's square?\"\n\n\"By looking at him,\" replied Clancy steadily.  \"If I needed any more\nevidence, he was offered $500 to sign a Panther contract after to-day's\ngame and told them he'd stick to me--and we haven't even talked about\nsalary.\"\n\n\"What'll we call him?\" asked one reporter.\n\n\"Say,\" replied Clancy, enthusiastically, \"I dreamed last night that I\nhad found a pot of gold wrapped up in a million-dollar bill, with a\ndiamond as big as my hand on top of it.  Call him Kohinoor.\"\n\nSo Kohinoor McCarthy sprang into fame in a day as the mystery of the\nleague.\n\n\n\n\n\n_Hope for the Bears_\n\nThe Bears were joyous again.  They scuffled, joked, laughed and romped\njoyously as the team gathered in the railway station to make a hurried\ndeparture for the city of the Pilgrims on the evening after the final\ngame of the series with the Panthers.  Three victories out of four\ngames played with the Panthers instead of the dreaded three defeats had\nlifted the Bears back practically to even terms with their rivals.  All\nthey had hoped for after the injury of Carson was to divide the series\nwith the Panthers, and it was due to the sudden appearance of Kohinoor\nMcCarthy that the victories were made possible.\n\nAll the notoriety that suddenly was thrust upon McCarthy had failed to\naffect him, although Manager Clancy watched his \"find\" anxiously, and\npleaded with the newspaper men not to spoil him.  No trace of the\ndreaded affliction known as \"swelled head\" had revealed itself, and\nbecause McCarthy was able to laugh over the wild stories printed\nconcerning him, Clancy breathed more easily.\n\nDuring the celebration McCarthy, who had made it possible, stood apart\nfrom the others, feeling a little lonely.  McCarthy stood watching\nthem, smiling at their antics with a feeling that he was an intruder.\nThe truth was that the Bears had welcomed him from the start.  He had\nwon their admiration on the field and the undying friendship of Silent\nSwanson by his conduct in the club house on the afternoon after the\nclose of his first game.  It was that incident that made for him a chum\nand an enemy, who were destined to play a big part in his career.\n\nWhen the players raced off the field after that victory, striving to\nescape being engulfed in the torrent of humanity that poured from the\nstands, McCarthy was caught, with a few others, and delayed.  When he\nreached the club house the substitutes and the reserve pitchers already\nwere splashing and spluttering under the showers.  McCarthy walked to\nwhere Adonis Williams, already stripped to the waist, was preparing to\ntake his shower, and without a word he kicked the pitcher on the shins,\na mere rap, but administered so as to leave no doubt as to its purpose.\n\n\"Here----.  What did you do that for?\" demanded Williams.\n\n\"I told you in the hotel, when you insulted me, that I'd do it.  Will\nyou fight?\"\n\nMcCarthy's blue eyes had grown narrower, and a colder blue tint came\ninto them.\n\n\"I'll break you in pieces, you ---- ---- ---- you,\" Williams spluttered\nwith rage.\n\n\"Drop that talk and fight,\" challenged McCarthy, stepping into a\nfighting attitude.\n\nJust then McCarthy received help from an unexpected source.  Swanson,\nthe giant of the team, broke through the circle of players that had\nformed in expectation of seeing a fight.\n\n\"You're all right, Bo,\" he roared, throwing his huge arm around the\nshoulders of the recruit.  \"You're perfectly all right, but he won't\nfight you.\"\n\n\"I'll smash\"----\n\n\"Naw, you won't, Adonis,\" said the giant, contemptuously.  \"I think he\ncan lick you, anyhow, but you had it coming.  Now kick his other shin,\nand after that Adonis will apologize.\"\n\nThe suggestion raised a laugh, and eased the situation.  The battle\nlight in McCarthy's face changed to a smile.\n\n\"I'll forego the kick,\" he said.  \"I had to make good after what I told\nyou in the hotel.  I'm perfectly willing to let it drop and be friends.\"\n\nHe extended his hand frankly, but Williams, still scowling, did not\ntake it.\n\n\"Never mind the being friends part of it,\" he said.  \"But if you don't\nwant trouble, just lay away from me after this.\"\n\n\"Here, young fellow,\" said Clancy, who had arrived at the club house in\ntime to see the finish of the altercation; \"I'll do all the fighting\nfor this club.  Understand?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied McCarthy, slowly, without attempting to explain.\n\n\"What do you think of my gamecock, Bill?\" asked Swanson,\nenthusiastically.  \"Adonis insulted him in the hotel last night and the\nkid promised to kick him on the shins.  He was just making good.  He\noffered to shake hands and call it all off, but Adonis wouldn't do it.\nHe's my roommate from now on.  I'll have to take him to keep him from\nfighting every one.\"\n\nThe giant's remark caused another laugh, as his record for fights\nduring his earlier career as a ball player had given him a reputation\nwhich obviated all necessity of fighting.\n\nThe majority of the Bears had accepted McCarthy as one of their own\nkind after that, and Swanson adopted him.  With Swanson he seemed at\nhome, but the others found him a trifle shy and retiring.  He was\nfriendly with all excepting Williams and Pardridge, who resented his\noccupation of third base while pretending to be pleased.  Yet with the\nexception of Swanson and Kennedy he made no close friends.  The\nadmiration of the rough, big-hearted Swede shortstop for the recruit\napproached adoration and he was loud and insistent in voicing his\npraises of McCarthy.\n\nThe train which was bearing the Bears away from the city of the\nPanthers drew slowly out of the great station, plunged through a series\nof tunnel-like arches under the streets, and rattled out into the\nsuburbs, gathering speed for the long night run.  Inside the cars the\nplayers were settling themselves for an evening of recreation.  Card\ngames were starting, the chess players were resuming their\nsix-month-long contest, and McCarthy sought his berth and sat alone,\nstriving to read.  In the berth just ahead of his seat the quartette\ncommenced to sing.\n\nThe Bears possessed a quartette with some musical merit and musical\nknowledge.  Kennedy, the quiet, big catcher, had a good baritone voice\nand it showed training.  Norton, who seldom spoke, but always was ready\nto sing, led, and Swanson was the bass, his voice deep and organ-like,\nmaking up in power and richness much that it lost in lack of training.\nMadden, the tenor, was weak and uncertain yet, as Swanson remarked, \"He\ncan't sing much, but he is a glutton for punishment.\"\n\nWhen the quartette started to sing, McCarthy dropped his book and sat\ngazing out into the gathering twilight, listening to the strong,\nhealthy voices.  Lights commenced to flash out from the farm houses and\nthe haze settled in waving curtains over the ponds and the lowlands.\nHe was lonely, homesick at thought of other voices and other scenes and\nthe joyousness of his new comrades seemed to depress rather than to\nlift his spirits.\n\nBerths were being prepared for the night.  Already in several the weary\nand the lame were reclining, reading.  Others, worn by the strain of\nthe day's game, were getting ready to draw their curtains.  The trainer\nand his assistant were passing quietly from berth to berth, working\nupon aching arms and bruised muscles, striving to keep their valuable\nlive stock in condition to continue the struggle.\n\nThe quartette sang on and on, regardless of the lack of an audience,\nfor no one in the car appeared to be listening.  They sang tawdry\n\"popular\" songs for the most part, breaking into a ribald ragtime\nditty, followed by a sickly sentimental ballad.\n\nKennedy's voice, without warning, rose strong and clear almost before\nthe final chord of the song over which the quartette had been in\ntravail had died away.  Kennedy had a habit, when he wearied of the\nsongs they sang, of singing alone some song the others did not know;\nsome quaint old ballad, or oftener a song of higher class.  For a\nmoment the others strove vainly to follow.  Then silence fell over them\nas Kennedy's voice rose, clearer and stronger, as he sang the old words\nof Eileen Aroon.\n\n\"Dear were her charms to me.\"\n\nHis voice was pregnant with feeling.\n\n\"Dearer her laughter--free.\"\n\nKennedy was singing as if to himself, but as he sang a voice, strong\nand fresh, like a clear bell striking into the music of chimes, joined\nhis and sang with him the words:\n\n\"Dearer her constancy.\"\n\nThe card players suddenly lost interest in their game, dropped their\nhands and turned to see who was singing.  Players who had been reading\nand those who had been vainly striving to sleep poked their heads\nbetween curtains of the berths, the better to listen.\n\nOn and on through the haunting, half-pathetic minors of the old song\nthe clear, sweet tenor and the strong, well-modulated voice of Kennedy\ncarried the listeners.  McCarthy, leaning toward the window and gazing\nout upon the moonlight as if under its spell, sang on in ignorance of\nthe interest his voice had aroused in the car.\n\nThe song ended.  For a moment the silence in the car was so complete\nthat the clicking of the wheels upon the fish plates sounded sharply.\nThen Swanson, with a yell, broke the spell.  Hurdling the back of the\nberth he descended upon the startled McCarthy, who seemed dazed and\nbewildered by the outburst and the pattering applause that it started.\n\n\"Yeh, Bo,\" yelled Swanson, giving his diamond war cry.  \"Yeh, Bo,\nyou're a bear.  Hey, you folks, throw Maddy out of the window and make\nroom for this red-headed Caruso.  Why didn't you tell me you could\nsing?  The quartette is filled at last!\"\n\nFlushed and laughing in his embarrassment, McCarthy was borne up the\naisle and deposited in the place of honor in the quartette.\n\nSuddenly the scuffling and boisterous laughter ceased, and the players\ndrew aside, apologetically, to make room for an eager, bright-eyed\ngirl, whose face was flushed with pleasure, but who advanced toward\nMcCarthy without a trace of embarrassment.  McCarthy, glancing at her,\nrecognized the girl who had directed him to Manager Clancy on the\nevening of his first appearance in the Bear camp.\n\n\"I was coming to say good-night to father,\" she said quickly, \"and I\nheard you sing.  I want to thank you.\"\n\nShe extended her hand and smiled.  McCarthy stared at her in a\nbewilderment.  Some memory of long ago stirred within him.  He recalled\nin a flash where he had seen the face before; the face that had come\ninto his boyhood at one of its unhappiest hours.  He had dreamed of the\nface, and the memory of the kind brown eyes, filled with sympathetic\ntenderness, never had left him.  She was the same girl.  He realized\nsuddenly that he was staring rudely and strove to stammer some reply to\nher impulsive thanks.\n\n\"Oh, I say,\" he protested.  \"It was nothing--I wasn't thinking\"----\n\n\"You sang it beautifully,\" she interrupted.\n\n\"The song is one of my favorites.  I did not know Mr. Kennedy knew it.\"\n\n\"Used to sing it at home,\" said Kennedy, as if indifferent.\n\n\"Thank you,\" McCarthy stammered, partly recovering his poise.  \"It is\ngood of you to like it.  I seldom sing at all.  The song made me forget\nwhere I was.\"\n\n\"You must sing for us,\" she said simply.  \"The boys will make you.  I\nam certain that after you feel more at home among us you will give us\nthat pleasure.  Good-night--and thank you again.\"\n\nThe girl smiled and McCarthy, stuttering in his effort to reply,\nmanaged to mutter good-night as she passed into the next car.\n\n\"It's a pink Kohinoor now,\" said the relentless Swanson, as he observed\nthe flushed face of the recruit.  \"All fussed up, isn't he?\"\n\n\"Oh, cut it out,\" retorted McCarthy, striving to cover his\nembarrassment by ball field conversational methods.  \"A fellow might be\nexpected to be a little bit embarrassed with a lot of big stiffs like\nyou standing around and never offering to introduce a fellow.\"\n\n\"I forgot it, Kohinoor,\" said Kennedy quickly.  \"I forgot you never had\nmet her.  She is Betty Tabor, Sec's daughter, and one of the best\nlittle women in the world.  Even Silent is a gentleman when she is with\nthe team.\"\n\n\"I'm always a gent, Bo,\" declared Swanson indignantly.  \"I took a night\nschool course in etiquette once.  Any one that ain't a gent when she is\naround I'll teach to be a gent--and this is the perfessor.\"\n\nHe exhibited a huge, red fist and smote the cushions of the berth with\na convincing thud.\n\n\"I'll introduce you properly to-morrow,\" volunteered Kennedy.  \"Come on\nand get into the quartette.  We'll try you out.\"\n\nMcCarthy surrendered more to conceal his agitation than because he felt\nlike singing.\n\nThe quartette sang until the bridge players grew weary of the game and\nthe tired athletes who preferred sleep to the melody howled\nimprecations upon the vocalists.\n\nFor a long time after McCarthy climbed into his berth he remained\nstaring into the darkness, striving to recall the outlines of a face\nset with a pair of friendly brown eyes that lighted with a look of\neager appreciation.  He remembered the little dimples at the corners of\nthe mouth, and the wealth of soft, brown hair that framed the oval of\nher face.  He blushed hotly in the darkness at the thought of his own\nrather threadbare raiment, and he decided that he would evade an\nintroduction until he could secure money from Manager Clancy and\nrecover the clothes he had left in an express office.\n\nHe found himself striving to compare her face with that of another.\n\n\"She is not as pretty as Helen is,\" he told himself.  \"But it's\ndifferent somehow.  Helen never seemed to feel anything or to\nunderstand a fellow, and I'm sure Betty--Betty?  I wonder if that is\nher real name--I'll sing for her as often as she will listen.\"\n\nAnd, after a long reviewing of the past that was proving such a mystery\nand which the baseball reporters were striving in vain to explore,\nMcCarthy muttered: \"I've made a fool of myself,\" and turned over and\nslept.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n_\"Kohinoor\" Meets Betty_\n\nThe train was speeding along through the upper reaches of a beautiful\nvalley when McCarthy awoke.  As he splashed and scraped his face in the\nwashroom he found himself torn between desire to hasten the\nintroduction which Kennedy had promised and to avoid meeting the girl.\nHe glanced down at his worn garments, wondering whether or not the girl\nhad observed them.  He went forward to the dining car with sudden\ndetermination to avoid the introduction.  The dining car was crowded,\nand the table at which Swanson was eating was filled.  McCarthy\nstopped, looked around for a vacant seat.  There seemed to be only\none--and at that table Miss Betty Tabor was breakfasting with Manager\nClancy and his wife.\n\n\"Good morning,\" said the girl, smiling brightly.  \"There is a seat\nhere.  My father had to hurry away.  Mr. Clancy will introduce us.\"\n\nClancy suspended his operations with his ham and eggs long enough to\nsay:\n\n\"Miss Taber, Mr. McCarthy.  Kohinoor, this is the old lady.\"\n\n\"I heard Mr. McCarthy sing last night,\" said the girl, acknowledging\nthe informal presentation.  \"He sings well.\"\n\n\"So I should guess,\" remarked Clancy dryly.  \"Swanson has been\nbellowing his praise of it until everyone on the train thinks we have\ngrabbed a grand opera star who can hit 400.\"\n\nMcCarthy found himself talking with Miss Taber and Mrs. Clancy and\nlaughing at the quaint half brogue of the manager's buxom wife as if\nthey had known each other all their lives.  Clancy himself had little\nto say.  The conversation had drifted to discussion of the country\nthrough which the train was running and McCarthy suddenly ceased\ntalking.\n\n\"I always have loved this part of the valley,\" said Miss Taber.  \"When\nI was a little girl father brought me on a trip and I remember then\npicking out a spot on the hills across the river where, some day, I\nwanted to live.  I never pass it without feeling the old desire.  Have\nyou been through this country before?\"\n\nThe question was entirely natural, but McCarthy reddened as he admitted\nit was his first trip.\n\n\"And what part of the world do you come from?\" asked Mrs. Clancy.\n\n\"I'm from the West,\" he responded.  \"Probably that is why I admire this\ngreen country so much.\"\n\n\"What is your home town?\" persisted Mrs. Clancy.\n\nMiss Taber, scenting an embarrassing situation, strove to change the\nsubject, but Mrs. Clancy refused to be put off.\n\n\"Why is it you are ashamed of your home and play under another name,\nboy?\" she demanded.\n\n\"Why do you think my name isn't McCarthy?\" he parried.\n\n\"The McCarthys aren't a red-headed race,\" she said, her brogue\nbroadening.  \"Ye have Irish in ye, but ye're not Irish.  Is baseball\nsuch a disgraceful business ye are ashamed to use your name?\"\n\n\"Of course not, Mrs. Clancy,\" he responded indignantly.  \"It is a good\nenough business--but--but--Oh, I can't explain.\"\n\n\"This mystery business is a big drawing card,\" remarked Manager Clancy,\nendeavoring to ease the situation.  \"They flock to see him because each\none can make up his own story.  Let him alone, mother.  Don't spoil the\ngate receipts.\"\n\n\"Let him alone, is it?\" she asked, turning upon her husband.  \"'Tis for\nhis own sake I'm speaking.  They'll be saying you've done something bad\nand wicked and are afraid to use your own name.\"\n\n\"What isn't true cannot hurt anyone,\" he replied quickly.  \"I have not\ncommitted any crimes.\"\n\n\"Mother is a good deal right about it,\" remarked Clancy quietly.  \"A\nbaseball player is a public person.  The fans are likely to say\nanything about a player, and the less they know the more they will\ninvent.\"\n\n\"I believe Mother Clancy is right,\" said Miss Taber, seeing that her\neffort to turn the conversation had failed.\n\n\"But there really isn't anything to tell--anything any one would be\ninterested in.  It's a private matter,\" protested McCarthy.\n\n\"Listen, boy,\" said the manager's wife.  \"I've been with the boys these\nmany years.  They are all my boys, even the bad ones, and I don't want\nany of them talked about.\"\n\n\"There is nothing to talk about,\" he contended, irritated by the\npersistency of the manager's wife.\n\n\"They're already saying things,\" she responded, leaning forward.\n\"They're a saying that you've done something crooked--that you've\nthrown ball games----\"\n\n\"Oh,\" ejaculated Miss Taber.  \"They wouldn't dare!\"\n\n\"I'd like to have someone say that to me,\" McCarthy said, flushing with\nanger.\n\n\"Hold on, mother,\" interrupted Clancy.  \"I'm managing this team----Let\nup on him.  Where do you hear that kind of talk?\"\n\n\"I heard it in the stands,\" she argued earnestly.  \"They were saying\nyou knew all about it.  If you deny it they'll tell another story and\nif you keep quiet they'll think its a confession.  Tell them what you\nare and where you came from, boy.\"\n\nHer voice was pleading and her interest in his welfare was too real not\nto affect him.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Mother Clancy,\" he said gratefully, unconsciously adopting\nthe term he had heard Betty Tabor use.  \"There is nothing I can tell\nthem--or anyone--now.\"\n\n\"It's sorry I am, Jimmy,\" she responded sadly.  \"If it's anything ye\ncan tell me come to me.\"\n\n\"I see I have another adopted son,\" remarked Clancy teasingly as he\nwinked at Miss Tabor.  \"Ellen mothers them all, as soon as she learns\ntheir first names--even the Swede.\"\n\n\"'Tis proud I'd be to have a son like Sven,\" she said, defendingly.\n\nThe breakfast ended rather quietly and McCarthy returned to his seat in\nthe players' car dispirited.  In his heart he knew that Mrs. Clancy had\nspoken the truth.  He knew, too, that Betty Tabor held the same opinion\nand, somehow, her opinion of him counted more than that of all the\nothers.\n\n\"If I only could explain,\" he kept thinking.  \"They have no right to\nask,\" he argued with himself.  \"Why do they suspect a man just because\nhe refuses to tell them all his private affairs?\"\n\nMcCarthy was settling himself to resume reading when Adonis Williams\ncame down the aisle and sat down in the other half of the seat.\nWilliams looked at him patronizingly for an instant, and in a rather\nsneering tone said:\n\n\"Just a friendly little tip, young fellow.  Keep off my preserves and\nyou'll get along better with this club.\"\n\n\"I don't quite understand you,\" replied McCarthy, his eyes narrowing\nwith the anger aroused by the air of superiority assumed by the pitcher.\n\n\"I was watching you during breakfast,\" said Williams.  \"Don't get it\ninto your head that because you happened to play a couple of good games\nof ball you can run this club and do as you please.\"\n\n\"Hold on a minute,\" retorted McCarthy, flushing with anger.  \"If you\nhave any grievance against me say so.  Don't beat around the bush.  I\ndon't know what you are talking about.\"\n\n\"I wanted to tip you off to keep away from the young woman you ate\nbreakfast with.\"\n\nMcCarthy's eyes flashed angrily, and he started to rise, but controlled\nhimself with an effort.\n\n\"Only muckers discuss such things,\" he said, coldly.\n\n\"Well, we're going to discuss it,\" retorted Williams, who rapidly was\nworking himself into a rage.  \"That young lady is going to be my wife,\nand I don't care to have her associating with every hobo ball player\nthat joins the team.\"\n\nMcCarthy clenched his fists and started to his feet, but gritted his\nteeth and kept control of his temper.  \"You're to be congratulated--if\nit is true,\" he said slowly, his tone an insult.  \"Men cannot fight\nover a woman and not have her name dragged into it.  Drop that part of\nit and to-night I'll insult you and give you a chance to fight.\"\n\n\"Any time you please,\" replied Williams, rather taken aback.  \"I think\nyou're yellow and won't dare fight.\"\n\nHe swaggered down the aisle, leaving McCarthy angry, helpless and\nraging.  He was boiling with inward anger when Swanson slid down into\nthe seat with him as the train entered the suburbs of the Pilgrim City.\n\n\"Smatter, Bo?\" asked Swanson, quickly observing that something was\nwrong.  \"I saw Williams talking with you.  Has he been trying to bluff\nyou?  Don't mind him.  He has been as sore as a Charley horse ever\nsince you joined the team, and he won't overlook a chance to start\ntrouble.\"\n\n\"He has started it all right,\" replied McCarthy, savagely.  \"We're\ngoing to fight to-night and I'll\"----\n\n\"Steady, Bo, steady,\" warned Swanson, dropping his voice.  \"That's his\ngame, is it?  He won't fight any one.  He heard Clancy warn you not to\nfight and he is trying to get you in bad.  I know his way.\"\n\n\"I told him I'd fight,\" responded McCarthy, worriedly.  \"Now I'll have\nto.  I don't know anything I'd enjoy better.\"\n\n\"I'd like to second you and make you do it,\" responded the giant.  \"But\nit would be playing into his hands if you punched him.  Leave him to\nme.  I'll fix his clock.\"\n\nSwanson's methods were all his own.  The repairing of Williams's\ntimepiece took place in the big auto 'bus that carried the players from\nthe train to their hotel.  Swanson, wise with long experience in such\nmatters, secured a seat across the 'bus from Williams, and when the\nvehicle rolled onto smoother streets he addressed the pitcher.\n\n\"Hey, Adonis,\" he said in tones Manager Clancy could not fail to hear,\n\"trying to take out your grouch on Kohinoor, eh?  You lay off him or\ncount me in on anything that comes off.\"\n\n\"That sneak been tattling and crying for help, eh?\" sneered Williams.\n\"I wasn't going to hurt him.\"\n\n\"You're right, you're not,\" retorted Swanson.  \"He didn't tell me.  I\nsaw you trying to start something with him, and I've seen you do it to\ntoo many other kids not to know what you were up to.\"\n\n\"Who's talking fight?\" demanded Clancy sharply, turning to scan the\nplayers until his eyes rested upon Williams's flushed and angry face.\n\n\"Nobody is going to fight,\" said Swanson easily.  \"Adonis has been\ntrying to bully Kohinoor and stir him up.  I guess he thought he could\nput over his bluff because you told Kohinoor not to fight.\"\n\n\"Adonis, you cut that stuff out or I'll take a hand in it myself,\" said\nClancy, whose ability and willingness to fight had earned him a\nreputation during his playing days.  \"You've had a grouch for a week or\nmore.  As for you, Kohinoor, don't think you can fight your way through\nthis league.  The first thing you have to do is to learn to stand\npunishment and keep your temper.\"\n\n\"No fresh prison pup can swell up and try to cut into my affairs,\"\nmuttered Williams, sullen under the rebuke.\n\nMcCarthy sprang up to avenge the fresh insult, but before he could act\nor speak he was forestalled.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Clancy sharply.  \"So you're the fellow who has been making\nthat kind of talk?  I've been trying to find out where it came from.\nOne more bit of that kind of conversation will cost you a bunch of\nsalary.\"\n\n\"I've heard it everywhere,\" muttered Williams, taken aback by the\nsudden defense of the recruit by the manager.\n\n\"Well, don't hear any more of it,\" snapped Clancy, and McCarthy,\nfeeling he had emerged with the honors, discretely maintained silence.\n\n\"What started Adonis after you this morning?\" asked Swanson, as he\nhurled garments around the room and wrought disaster to the order of\nhis trunk as he hunted pajamas.\n\n\"Guess he was just trying to start something,\" responded McCarthy,\nstill reading.\n\n\"Girl?\" inquired Swanson.\n\n\"What makes you think that?\"\n\n\"He was mad when he saw you at breakfast with Betty.  He's jealous of\neveryone who talks to her.\"\n\n\"She's a dandy girl,\" said McCarthy, generously.  \"I don't much blame a\nfellow for being jealous when he is engaged to a girl like that.\"\n\n\"Engaged to Betty Tabor?  That stiff?\" ejaculated Swanson.  \"Say, did\nhe spring a line of talk like that on you?  Why, he has been crazy\nabout her for three years, but she knows what he is, and she won't talk\nto him any more than to be polite.\"\n\n\"I thought it was odd,\" commented McCarthy, his heart becoming\nstrangely lighter.\n\n\"Don't make any mistake, though,\" added Swanson earnestly, as he turned\nout the lights.  \"You've stirred up a bad enemy.  He won't fight you\nopenly; but keep an eye on him.\"\n\nSwanson's warning fell upon deaf ears.  McCarthy's attack of blues was\ncured, and he fell asleep to the music of street car wheels that seemed\nto say: \"She isn't engaged, she isn't engaged,\" as they rolled past the\nhotel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n_The Tempter_\n\nThe Bears were coming into their hotel after the first game of the\nseries with the Pilgrims.  The throng in the lobby pressed forward,\nforming a lane through which they were compelled to run the gauntlet of\ncurious and admiring eyes.  Easy Ed Edwards was smiling sardonically as\nhe noted the little display of hero-worship, and he watched the\nprocession of battle-stained athletes until Adonis Williams entered.\nThe handsome, arrogant pitcher was laughing as he strutted for the\nbenefit of the onlookers, but, as his eyes met the cold, steady gaze of\nthe gambler, his laugh gave way to a look of alarm.  Edwards nodded\ncoldly and motioned with his head for the player to come to him.\nWilliams crossed the lobby to the cigar stand and held out his hand.\nEdwards did not seem to observe the extended hand, but turned coldly to\nthe case and said:\n\n\"Have a cigar?\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Williams, nervously.  \"What brings you out here, Ed?\"\n\n\"Business,\" replied the gambler chillingly.  \"Business concerning\nyou--and others.  Come to my room to-night.\"\n\n\"Can't--I was going out.  Had an engagement,\" Williams faltered, as he\ndropped his eyes to avoid meeting those of Edwards.\n\n\"I want you in my room to-night,\" said Edwards coldly, ignoring the\nrefusal.\n\n\"You seem to think you have a mortgage on my life,\" said Williams,\nangered by the tone and manner of the gambler.\n\n\"Well--on your baseball life, I have,\" responded the gambler without\nchanging a muscle of his face.\n\nThe pitcher started to flare into anger, then paled and his eyes\ndropped under the gambler's steady gaze.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, uncertainly, \"I've got to dress, I'll see you later.\"\n\n\"Better drop in early.  You'll probably pitch to-morrow and you must\nkeep in condition.\"  Edwards' tone was ironic as he added for the\nbenefit of the clerk who was handing him his change: \"The race is\ngetting warm and you can't be too careful of your condition.\"\n\nWhat happened in the gambler's room that evening was never known to any\nsave the two who were present, but shortly after 11 o'clock Williams\ncame downstairs white and shaking with passion, and went in to the bar.\nHe emerged nearly an hour later, flushed and unsteady, just in time to\nencounter Manager Clancy, his wife, Miss Taber and McCarthy, chatting\nand laughing as the men bade the women good-night at the elevators.\nClancy, catching sight of him, remarked:\n\n\"Hello, Adonis.  Better hit the hay.  You work to-morrow.\"\n\nWilliams turned away and said: \"All right.\"  But when the manager and\nMcCarthy entered the elevator Williams returned to the barroom, and\nwhen, at 1 o'clock, the bar closed, he went unsteadily to his room,\nafter informing the bartender that he was the best pitcher in the world.\n\nThe Bears faced the Pilgrims for the third game of the series before a\nhuge Saturday crowd, attracted by the announcement that Puckett, the\nstar pitcher of the Pilgrims would pitch against Adonis Williams.  The\nteams battled brilliantly for three innings, although Williams was wild\nand unsteady.  Twice sharp work by the infielders prevented the\nPilgrims from scoring, and when the fourth inning commenced the crowd\nwas cheering the Pilgrims wildly and encouraging them to drag down the\nBears from their proud position at the head of the-league.  Manager\nClancy, crouching forward near the players' bench, was watching\nWilliams closely, and every few moments his worried frown and quick\ngesture showed that he was not pleased with the manner in which his\nbest left-hander was working.  Between innings the manager talked in\nlow tones with Kennedy, who was catching, seeking to discover why\nWilliams seemed wild and what was the matter with his curve ball.\n\n\"Get out there and warm up a bit, Will,\" said Clancy to Wilcox, his\nreliable veteran.  \"They're likely to get after Adonis any minute.\"\n\nTo those in the stands it seemed as if Williams was pitching just as\nwell as was his rival, but both teams knew that he was not in his best\nform, and that it was luck and fast fielding, rather than good\npitching, that was saving him from being batted hard.  The Pilgrims\nattacked him in each inning with confidence born of the certainty that\nsooner or later their hard drives would begin to fall in safe ground,\nwhile the Bears played the harder to prevent the start of a rally.\n\nThe break came in the sixth inning.  A base on balls to the first\nbatter gave the Pilgrims the opening for which they had been waiting\nand they rushed to the assault like soldiers upon a breached wall.\nDouglass, the next batter, hit a line single to right so hard that the\nrunner going from first was compelled to stop at second.  Instead of\ndelaying and steadying himself while planning a system of defense,\nWilliams commenced pitching as rapidly as he could get the ball away\nfrom his hand.  Almost before the batter was in position he pitched a\nfast ball straight over the plate and the batter bunted down toward\nshortstop.  McCarthy was racing upon the ball, ready to scoop it in\nperfect position for a throw.  Williams attempted to field the ball\nwhich either McCarthy or Swanson could have handled.  Williams touched\nthe ball with his groping fingers just before McCarthy, stooping and\ngoing at full speed, scooped it and tried to snap it to second base.\nThe ball left his hand just as he crashed with terrific force into\nWilliams.  Both men reeled and went down, stunned and dazed.  The ball\nflew wild and rolled on into right field.  One Pilgrim progressed to\nthe plate.  Douglass, who had been on first, dived safely to third,\nwhile only Swanson's fast recovery drove the batter back to first.\n\nWilliams arose, hurt and furious, and while McCarthy was striving to\nstruggle to his feet the pitcher aimed a vicious blow at his head.\nSwanson's arm was interposed just in time to stop the blow, and before\nWilliams could strike again players of both teams and the umpires\nrushed in and prevented further hostilities.  The shaken and bruised\nplayers recovered and resumed play in a short time, and another safe\nhit and an out sent two more of the Pilgrims scurrying across the\nplate.  Against the three run lead caused by the mix-up between the\npitcher and third baseman the Bears fought desperately.  Puckett was\npitching one of his cleverest, most studious games and, although the\nBears strove again and again to start a counter rally, he held them\nhelpless and the Pilgrims won the game 3 to 1.\n\nA sore and disappointed team crowded into the big auto 'bus after the\ngame.  They were depressed and silent, for the Panthers had won and the\nteams again practically were tied for the lead of the championship\nrace.  This knowledge that they had thrown away a game to a second\ndivision team which they expected to beat four times was bad enough,\nbut that the Pilgrims should have won from Williams for the first time\nin two seasons made the dose more bitter.  No word of blame for any one\nwas uttered.  But McCarthy, bruised and nursing a cut on his forehead,\ngrieved and refused to be comforted.\n\n\"That was a great play you tried to make, Kohinoor,\" remarked Manager\nClancy just before the 'bus reached the hotel.  \"I like to see a player\ntry to get the runners nearest home.  If you had forced that fellow at\nsecond, as you tried to do when Adonis cut into the play, the next hit\nnever would have got through the infield, and the chances are we'd have\nhad a double play and won the game.\"\n\nThese were the first words of praise Manager Clancy ever had said to\nhim, and he felt better.\n\nThe players had been invited to attend a performance at a theater that\nevening.  After dinner they were grouped around the lobby of the hotel,\nwhen Edwards strolled through, going toward the desk.  Manager Clancy\nglanced at him in surprise and a worried look came over his face.\n\n\"I wonder what that crook is doing out here?\" he remarked to a group of\nplayers.  \"You fellows keep away from him.  It's worth a player's\nreputation for honesty to be seen with him.\"\n\nAs Edwards turned from the desk he glanced quickly at Williams, caught\nhis eye and beckoned slightly with his head.  Williams suddenly pleaded\nthat he was too weary to attend the performance and remained in the\nhotel, declaring his intention of retiring early.  As soon as Manager\nClancy, escorting the women of the party, left the hotel, Williams\nascended to Edwards' room.\n\n\"See here, Ed,\" he said, \"you're putting me in a dickens of a hole.\nClancy is sore on you.  He said he would fine any player who talked to\nyou.  I was afraid he'd see you tip me to come up.  If he gets on I'll\nlose a bunch of salary.  I had to sneak to come up here.\"\n\n\"I wanted to talk to you,\" replied the gambler.  \"I told you last night\nthat the Panthers must win this pennant.  I stand to lose close to\n$80,000 if they don't.  Of course they may beat you, but I want to make\nit a sure thing and clean up on it.\"\n\n\"You ought to be feeling better about it to-day,\" said the pitcher, in\nan aggrieved tone.  \"We lost to a dub club with me pitching.  What more\ndo you want?\"\n\n\"It wasn't your fault that you lost,\" retorted the gambler coldly.\n\"You tried hard to win it and you might have won if you had kept away\nfrom that bunted ball.\"\n\n\"I'd have thrown him out at first easily if that four-flush third\nbaseman hadn't bumped me,\" snapped Williams, his pride hurt.\n\n\"Sure you would,\" sneered the gambler.  \"You'd have thrown me out of\nabout $160,000 just to have a better average.  You had a chance to lose\nthat game without any trouble and you're sore because you did lose it.\"\n\n\"Why shouldn't I be?\" demanded Williams.  \"If we win my part of the\nworld's series money will be close to $4,000--enough to settle what I\nowe you and pay my bills.\"\n\n\"Now look here, Williams,\" said the gambler, laying aside his cigar and\nleaning forward across the table.  \"You stand to win just enough to pay\nyour debts and you'll be broke all winter, without a sou to show for a\nyear's work.  If the Bears lose I'll cancel all you owe me and make you\na present of as much as the winning players get out of the world's\nseries.  You get me?\"\n\n\"Why, you d--d crook.\"  Williams leaped from his seat threateningly.\n\"You want me to throw the championship?\"\n\n\"Sit down, you fool,\" snarled the gambler, viciously.  \"Do you want me\nto let Clancy know who tipped it off that Carson's leg was broken?  Do\nyou want me to tell him you got $500 for tipping it to that Panther\nbunch of gamblers?\"\n\n\"Now listen to sense,\" continued Edwards, more quickly, \"you saw to-day\nhow easily you can lose a game and blame the other fellow.  You can use\nyour head and get rich instead of being in debt.  If you don't like\nMcCarthy, all you have to do is to make him lose games for you.  The\npapers will yell, 'Hard luck,' you'll get money and I'll clean up a\nfortune.\"\n\n\"You can't make a crook of me,\" whined Williams.  \"Wanting me to throw\ndown a bunch of good fellows\"----\n\n\"Oh, shut up.  You make me sick,\" sneered the gambler.  \"All you have\nto do is to make a sure thing out of a doubtful one.  You'll be\nprotecting yourself and getting even with a fellow you hate.\"\n\n\"I won't do it.\"  Williams was at bay and defiant.\n\n\"All right,\" said Edwards sharply, \"then to-morrow Clancy will get some\nnews that will start something.\"\n\n\"Aw, say, Ed, you wouldn't cross a fellow like that?\" whined Williams.\n\n\"Wouldn't I?  Perhaps you think I'll let go of all that money and not\nfight?  I'm starting home to-morrow.  I won't see you any more.  I am\ndepending on you to deliver--or I'll protect myself.\"\n\n\"I won't do it.\"  Williams was desperately defiant.\n\n\"Yes you will--when you think it over,\" Edwards replied easily.  \"Let's\nhave a drink.\"  He rang the bell and smoked in silence while Williams\nsat sullenly defiant.\n\n\"I tell you I wouldn't do it for all the money in the game,\" declared\nthe pitcher.\n\n\"Here comes the boy,\" said the gambler.  \"I'll watch the score of the\nnext game you pitch to see what you do.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n_Adonis Makes a Deal_\n\nThe after theater crowd was trooping into the lobby of the hotel in\nlaughing, chattering groups and drifting steadily toward the café, in\nwhich already gay parties were gathered at the tables.  Manager Clancy\nand his wife, with Secretary Taber and his daughter, came together and\nthey stood undecided, the men urging that they go to the restaurant for\na lunch before retiring, and Miss Taber, laughing, declaring that too\nmuch pleasure in one day was bad for them.  At that moment Williams, a\nlittle flushed, swaggered across the lobby, and, lifting his hat,\nadvanced toward the group.  The girl smiled pleasantly in response to\nhis greeting, but as he spoke again she stiffened indignantly and\nretired a step involuntarily, as she saw he had been drinking.\n\n\"So you prefer that red-headed prison bird to me?\" he asked in sneering\ntones.\n\nBetty Tabor flushed, then turned pale and facing the handsome, half\ndrunken fellow, she gazed at him steadily until, in spite of his\nswaggering attitude, he grew uneasy and dropped his eyes.  Then she\nspoke.  She spoke just one word, vibrant with all the scorn and anger\nin her being.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nWithout a glance at him she turned and stepped into the waiting car,\nleaving Williams staring blankly in the elevator well.  The cold scorn\nof the girl's single word had stung him more deeply than a volume of\nrebuke would have done.  Half maddened by jealousy and drink he turned\nto cross the lobby, forgetting to replace his hat, and Clancy, whose\nattention had been attracted by the pitcher's pursuit of the girl,\ngrasped him by the shoulder and said sternly:\n\n\"Williams, if you take another drink to-night it will cost you a\nmonth's pay.\"\n\nThe manager turned to rejoin his wife, and Williams, seething with what\nhe considered a double dose of injustice, walked unsteadily across the\nlobby.  He sat down and meditated over his wrongs.  He thought of\nEdwards and his offer and rising quickly he walked to the telegraph\noffice and wrote a message, for which he paid as he handed it to the\nnight operator.  Clancy, who had been talking with friends, was waiting\nfor an elevator and saw his pitcher writing the message.  His forehead\nknitted into a worried frown as he turned and slowly walked toward the\nelevator again, whistling, as was his habit when he was seriously\ndisturbed.  Clancy determined to watch his left-hander.  He did not\nspeak of the matter to anyone, having decided to await developments.\nHe watched Williams closely during the remaining games against the\nPilgrims, which the Bears won easily, and during the trip to the city\nof the Maroons, where Williams was to pitch the opening game of the\nseries.\n\nThe Bears and Panthers were fighting upon an unchanged basis, only a\nfraction of a game separating them in the league standing.  With but\neighteen more games remaining on the schedule for the Bears, and\nnineteen for the Panthers, the race was becoming more desperate each\nday and the nervous strain was commencing to tell upon some of the men.\nClancy was nursing his players, knowing that one disheartening defeat\nmight mean a break that would lead to a succession of downfalls.  The\nmore he watched Williams the stronger his conviction that something was\namiss.  Williams was not acting naturally and his demeanor when with\nthe other players was a puzzle to Clancy.\n\nHe selected Williams as the pitcher in the first game against the\nMaroons with the purpose, being determined to find whether or not the\npitcher was in condition, and he sent Wilcox, his best right-handed\npitcher, out to warm up so as to be ready to rescue Williams at the\nfirst sign of distress.\n\n\"What's the matter with Adonis?\" inquired Manager Clancy, as his\ncatcher and principal adviser returned to the bench after the second\ninning.\n\n\"His curve is breaking slow and low and on the inside corner of the\nplate to the right-handers,\" replied Kennedy.  \"I can't make him keep\nit high and out.\"\n\n\"Make him use his fast one or he'll get Kohinoor killed with one of\nthose line smashes,\" ordered Clancy quietly.  \"Watch him closely, and\nif he is loafing, signal me.\"\n\nThe third inning and the fourth reeled away without a score, and in the\nfirst half of the fifth a base on balls, a steal by Norton and a\ncrashing drive by Pardridge gave the Bears a score and the lead.\nCaton, one of the heaviest hitters of the Maroons, started their half\nof the inning, and as he stepped into position Kennedy crouched and\nsignaled.  Williams shook his head quickly and pitched a curve that\nbroke on the inside corner of the plate.  Caton drove the ball with\nterrific force straight at McCarthy, who managed to knock it down and\nhold the batter to one base.  The next batter sacrificed, and Ellis, a\nright-handed slugger, came to bat.  Again Kennedy signaled for a fast\nsidearm ball, pitched high, and again Williams shook his head and\ncurved one over the plate.  Ellis struck the ball with one hand and\nsent a carroming down to Swanson, who failed in a desperate effort to\nthrow out the runner.  With men on first and third the Bears' first and\nthird baseman came close to the plate to cut off the runner, while the\nshortstop and second baseman remained in position to make a double play\nor to catch the runner stealing.  Burley, the giant first baseman of\nthe Maroons, was at bat, a man noted for his ability to hit any ball\npitched close to him.  Williams sent a strike whizzing over the plate.\nAgain the catcher ordered a fast ball, and he pitched a curve that\nBurley fouled off for the second strike.  Kennedy, perplexed and\nanxious, ran down to consult with the pitcher.  Williams sullenly\nassented to the order to pitch high and out and waste two balls.\nInstead, he threw a curve, low, close to the batter's knees and barely\ntwisting.  Before Kennedy's cry of anger rose the bat crashed against\nthe ball, which flashed down the third-base line, struck McCarthy on\nthe arm, then on the jaw, and he went down like a poled ox, the ball\ncarroming away toward the stand.  Before it was recovered one Maroon\nhad scored and the others were perched on second and third.\n\nTime was called and players rushed to assist the injured third baseman.\nKennedy threw off his mask and ran to the bench.\n\n\"I signaled him and told him to pitch fast and waste two,\" he said to\nManager Clancy.  \"He nodded that he would and then crossed me and\nlobbed up an easy curve inside the plate.\"\n\n\"Don't say a word,\" cautioned Clancy, as McCarthy, still dazed, but\nrecovering, was helped to his feet.  \"Keep ordering him to pitch fast\nand outside.  Signal me if he disobeys again.\"\n\nMcCarthy got onto his feet unsteadily, while the trainer worked with\nhis numb and aching arm.  He winced with pain as he tried to throw to\nsee how badly his arm was damaged.  While he was walking slowly back to\nthe bag, testing his arm anxiously, McCarthy had the second shock.  The\ncheering in the stands drew his attention, and as he glanced toward the\ncrowd he saw a girl.  She was sitting in one of the field boxes between\ntwo men and she was staring straight at him.  McCarthy lifted his cap,\nas if acknowledging the tribute to the crowd, but really in salutation\nto the girl, who flushed angrily.  A wave of resentment stirred\nMcCarthy.  He strove to think that she had failed to recognize him, yet\nfeeling that the cut was deliberate.\n\nPlay had been resumed, but McCarthy's mind was not upon it.  A sharp\nyell from Swanson aroused him from his reverie just in time to see a\nslow, easy bounding ball coming toward him.  He leaped forward, fumbled\nthe ball an instant, recovered and threw wild.  Two runners dashed\nhome, the batter reached second.  McCarthy was thoroughly unnerved.  A\nfew moments later he permitted an easy fly ball to fall safe in left\nfield without touching it.  His errors gave the Maroons two more\nscores, and, although the Bears rallied desperately late in the game,\nit was too late, and they were beaten 5 to 3.\n\nA sullen crowd of players climbed into their 'bus under punishment of\nthe jeers of the crowd that gathered to see them start back to their\nhotel.  McCarthy, with his shoulder and head aching, but with his heart\naching worse, sat with his chin drawn down into the upturned collar of\nhis sweater, refusing to be comforted.  The Bears were in second place,\nhalf a game behind the Panthers, and he, McCarthy, had lost the game.\nWilliams was smiling as if pleased and McCarthy blazed with anger.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n_McCarthy Meets Helen_\n\n\"Come to the hotel parlor at eight this evening.  I wish to see you.\"\n\nThe note, hastily scribbled on hotel letter paper, was awaiting him\nwhen Kohinoor McCarthy entered the hotel after the disastrous game.  He\nrecognized the angular scrawled writing at a glance.  Since the moment\nhis eyes had met those of Helen Baldwin during the game he had been\nthinking hard.  Her behavior had hurt him and the thought that she\ndeliberately had refused to recognize him stung his pride.  The note\nproved she had recognized him on the field.  Either she was ashamed of\nhis profession or did not want the men with her to know that she knew\nhim.\n\nMcCarthy ate a hurried dinner and paced the lobby of the hotel.  He was\nanxious to meet the girl, yet he felt a dread of it, an uncertainty as\nto the grounds on which their acquaintanceship should be resumed.  For\nnearly half an hour he waited, growing more impatient with every minute\nand wondering whether there had been a mistake.  His mind was busy\nframing a form of greeting.  When last they met it had been as\naffianced lovers.  Now----  A rustle of soft garments brought him to\nhis feet and he stepped forward with outstretched hand to meet the\ntall, slender girl who came leisurely from the hallway.  Her mass of\nlight, fair hair framed a face of perfect smoothness.\n\n\"Helen,\" he exclaimed quickly, \"this is a pleasant surprise.\"\n\n\"I wish to talk with you, Larry,\" she replied without warmth, as she\nextended a limp hand, sparkling with jewels.\n\n\"It is good to see you, Helen,\" he exclaimed, a bit crestfallen because\nof her manner.  \"What brings you East?  I was nearly bowled over when I\nsaw you to-day.  I thought you did not know me, but I see you did.\"\n\n\"Surely you did not expect me to bow to you there,\" she responded.\n\"Did you desire all those people to know that I had acquaintances in\nthat--that class?\"\n\n\"Then you chose to cut me deliberately?\" he asked.\n\n\"Don't be foolish, Larry,\" she replied.  \"A girl must think of herself\nand I did not choose to have my companions learn that I was acquainted\nwith persons in that--profession, do you call it?\"\n\n\"Well, if you are ashamed of my profession\"--he said hotly.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" she interrupted him.  \"I simply did not desire to have\npeople see me speak to a person who earns his living sliding around in\nthe dirt on his face.  That is what I wanted to see you about.  What\nnew prank is this?  Are you seeking notoriety?\"\n\n\"I am earning my living,\" he said.  \"Baseball is the only thing I could\ndo well enough to make money.\"\n\n\"Earn your living?\" The girl's surprise was sincere.  \"You haven't\nbroken with your Uncle Jim, have you?\"\n\nThe girl's eyes grew wider with surprise, and her tone indicated\nconsternation.\n\n\"I have--or, rather, he has--cut me off,\" the boy explained rather\nsullenly.  \"I tried to find a job--thought it would be easy here in the\nEast, but no one wanted my particular brand of ability, and I tried\nsomething I knew I could do.\"\n\n\"Then you--then your uncle\"--the girl's consternation was real, and she\nhesitated.  \"Then our engagement\"----\n\n\"I thought that was broken before I left,\" he replied.  \"You said you\nwouldn't marry me at all if I told Uncle Jim.\"\n\n\"I thought you would be sensible,\" she argued.  \"Everyone at home\nthinks you are sulking somewhere in Europe because of a quarrel with\nme.  Why didn't you write to me?\"\n\n\"After our last interview it did not seem necessary,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, Larry,\" the girl said, pouting, \"you've spoiled it for both of us.\nIf you had done as I wanted you to do everything would have been happy,\nand now you humiliate me and all your friends by earning your living\nplaying with a lot of roughs.\"\n\n\"They're a pretty decent lot of fellows,\" he responded indignantly.\n\n\"Why did you do it?\" she demanded, on the verge of tears from\ndisappointment and annoyance.\n\n\"I quarreled with Uncle Jim,\" he admitted.  \"I told him I wanted to\nmarry you, and he told me that if I continued to see you he'd cut me\noff.\"\n\n\"And you lost your temper and left?\" she concluded.\n\n\"Just about that,\" he confessed.  \"He told me I was dependent upon him,\nand said I'd starve if I had to make my own living.  Of course, I could\nnot stand that\"----\n\n\"Of course,\" she interjected stormily.  \"I told you that he hated all\nour family, but that if we were married he would forgive you.\"\n\n\"I couldn't cheat him that way,\" he replied with some heat.  \"Besides\nyou had broken with me.  I knew he hated your uncle--but I thought if\nhe knew you\"----\n\n\"He would have,\" she said, \"if you had given him a chance.\"\n\n\"I told him I could make my living--a living for both if you would have\nme,\" he confessed.\n\n\"Playing ball?\"  Her tone was bitter.  \"And you had an idea you would\ncome East and make your fortune and come back and claim me?\"\n\n\"I did have some such idea when I left,\" he confessed.  \"It wasn't\nuntil I was broke and unable to find work that I realized how hopeless\nit was to think of you.\"\n\n\"I couldn't bear being poor, Larry,\" the girl spoke with some feeling.\n\n\"We were poor once.  Be sensible.  Go back home and make up with Mr.\nLawrence--and when I return\"----\n\n\"I am making a good salary,\" he said steadily.  \"I can support two.  If\nyou care enough\"----\n\n\"I couldn't marry a mere ball player,\" she said, shrugging with disdain.\n\n\"You used to like it when I played at the ranch and at college,\" he\nretorted angrily.\n\n\"That was different,\" she argued.  \"There you were a hero--but here you\nare a mere professional.\"\n\n\"But you attend games,\" he protested.\n\n\"I had to to-day.  I am on my way to visit Uncle Barney for the summer,\nand his friend insisted upon taking us to the game.\"\n\n\"Oh, see here, Helen,\" he protested.  \"He's your uncle, but everyone\nknows he is crooked in politics and in business.  Why do you accept his\nmoney?\"\n\n\"He is very good to me--and I cannot bear to be poor again.\"\n\n\"Then you will not\"----\n\n\"Be reasonable, Larry,\" she interrupted.  '\"You know I cannot marry a\npoor man.\"\n\n\"Then it was only the money you cared for,\" he said bitterly.  \"Uncle\nJim said it was, and I quarreled with him for saying it--and it was\ntrue.\"\n\n\"You put it coarsely,\" she said coldly.  \"You cannot expect me to give\nup the luxuries Uncle Barney provides for me and marry a ball player.\nUnless you make it up with your uncle I shall consider myself free.\"\n\nA stifled exclamation, like a gasp of surprise, startled them, and a\nrustle of retreating garments in the adjoining parlor caused McCarthy\nto step quickly to the doorway.  He was just in time to recognize the\ngown.  He realized that Betty Tabor had overheard part of the\nconversation, and he wondered how much.\n\n\"Some eavesdropper, I suppose,\" Miss Baldwin remarked carelessly.\n\n\"She came by accident, probably to read, and departed as soon as she\nrealized it was a private conversation,\" he said warmly.\n\n\"Then you know her?\" she asked quickly.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, realizing he had betrayed undue interest in the\ndefense.\n\n\"Who is she?\" the girl demanded.\n\n\"One of the women with the team, daughter of the secretary,\" he\nexplained, striving to appear unconcerned.\n\n\"Is she pretty?\"\n\n\"Why--yes--I don't know.  She is very pleasant and nice looking.\"\n\n\"Rather odd, isn't it, a woman traveling with a lot of tough ball\nplayers?\"\n\n\"You are unjust,\" he exclaimed indignantly.  \"She is with her father\nand Mrs. Clancy.  Besides, the ball players are not tough--at least\nnone of them is while she is with the club.\"\n\n\"You seem ready to rush to her defense,\" she remarked with jealous\naccents.\n\n\"Of course, I cannot let you think she is not a nice girl.\"\n\n\"Of course not\"----her tone was sarcastic.  \"Traveling around the\ncountry with a crowd of men and eavesdropping in hotel parlors.\"\n\n\"She would not do such a thing.  You must not speak of her in that\nway,\" he stormed indignantly.\n\n\"I congratulate her upon having captured so gallant a champion,\" she\nmocked.\n\nThey were verging upon a sharper clash of words when a big man, heavy\nof jaw and red of face, strolled into the parlor, not taking the\ntrouble to remove his hat.\n\n\"Oh, here you are, Helen,\" he said.  \"I've been looking everywhere.\nTime to start or we'll be late to bridge.\"\n\n\"Uncle Barney,\" said the girl, rising, \"this is Mr.--oh, I forget.\nWhat is it you call yourself now?--McCarthy.  I knew him when he was at\ncollege.  He plays on some baseball team--one of those we saw to-day.\nMr. McCarthy, this is my uncle, Mr. Baldwin.\"\n\n\"I have heard of you often, Mr. Baldwin,\" said McCarthy coolly,\nalthough fearful that Baldwin might remember him.\n\n\"You're McCarthy, the new third baseman, eh?\" asked Baldwin, without\noffering his hand and merely glancing at the boy.  \"Saw you play\nto-day.  Too bad you threw that game away.\"\n\n\"I\"----McCarthy started to offer defense.\n\n\"We must be going, Helen,\" said Baldwin.\n\nThe girl extended her hand carelessly.\n\n\"We hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again,\" she said.\n\nBaldwin, with a curt nod to the player, turned to leave the parlor and\nMcCarthy, seizing the opportunity, said:\n\n\"As a favor, Helen, do not reveal my identity.  Your uncle did not\nrecognize me as the boy he saw play on the Shasta View team.\"\n\n\"You need not fear,\" she responded rapidly.  \"And, Larry, please be\nsensible.  Go home and make it up with Mr. Lawrence--and you may hope.\nAnd,\" she added in a low tone, \"beware of that girl.\"\n\nShe hurried after her uncle, who had stopped and turned impatiently,\nleaving McCarthy staring after her and frowning.  After all, he thought\nbitterly, his uncle was right.  All she cared for was the money and not\nfor him.  He had quarreled with his uncle, his best friend, who had\ntaken care of him since his childhood and who had made him his heir--on\naccount of her.  He was free.  Yes, he was free.\n\nHe found himself wondering that he was happy instead of bitter over the\nloss of Helen Baldwin.  He knew now he never had loved her.  With a\nthrill of gladness came the thought of Betty Tabor.  His jaw set, the\nfighting look came into his blue eyes and he saw his way clearly.  He\nwas not free.  His duty was to the Bears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n_In the Deeper Waters_\n\nTwo defeats at the hands of the Maroons sent the Bears into the final\ngame of the series desperately determined to win.  Their pitching staff\nwas exhausted from the effort to stop the team which they had expected\nto beat easily.\n\nThe game was a brilliant exhibition of defensive playing on the part of\nthe Bears, who were driven back by the hard hitting of the Maroons.  In\nspite of the fierce batting of the Maroons the magnificent defensive\nwork of the Bears held their rivals to two runs, while by their\nbrilliant and resourceful attack and skilful inside work they had\nscored three runs on five scattered hits, and at the start of the\neighth inning were holding grimly to their lead of one run.\n\nMcCarthy, spurred by determination to redeem himself for the errors of\nthe preceding games, was giving a wonderful exhibition of third-base\nplay.  The knowledge that Helen Baldwin, her uncle and a group of\nfriends were sitting in one of the field boxes directly behind him\nurged him to greater efforts.  It was his long hit in the sixth inning,\nfollowed by a clever steal of third, that had enabled the Bears to gain\nthe lead which they were holding by their fast work on the infield.\n\nThe Bears failed to score in their half of the eighth, and the Maroons\nopened with a fierce assault upon Klinker that threatened to break down\nthe Bears' inner wall of defense.  Swanson's brilliant stop and throw\nof a vicious drive checked the bombardment, but a safe drive and a\ntwo-base hit went whizzing through beyond the finger tips of the diving\ninfielders, and there were runners on second and third bases, one out\nand a hit needed to turn the tide in favor of the Maroons again.\n\nThe infield was drawn close in the hope of cutting off the runner from\nthe home plate.  It was desperate baseball, and, as the infielders\nadvanced to the edge of the grass, each man knew that a line smash, a\nhard-driven bounder between them, or even a fumble, probably meant the\ndestruction of their pennant hopes.\n\nThe ball was hit with terrific force straight at McCarthy, who threw up\nhis hands and blocked desperately.  The ball tore through his hands,\nstruck his knee with numbing force and rolled a few feet away.  He\npounced upon it and like a flash hurled it to Kennedy at the plate, so\nfar ahead of the runner who was trying to score that he turned back\ntoward third, with Kennedy in pursuit.  Swanson had come up to cover\nthird, and the runner from second base stood at the third bag watching\nthe play, ready to dash back if the runner, trapped between third and\nthe plate, managed to elude the pursuers and regain third base.\nKennedy passed the ball to Swanson, and as the runner turned back,\nSwanson threw to McCarthy, who had fallen in behind Kennedy, leaving\nthe pitcher to cover the plate if the runner broke through in that\ndirection.  The runner started to dodge, but McCarthy, without an\ninstant's hesitation, leaped after him and drove him hard back toward\nthird base, so hard that the runner went on over the bag and ten feet\nbeyond before he could stop.  Like a flash McCarthy leaped sideways,\ntouched the other runner who was starting back to second base, and,\nwith a fierce dive, he threw his body between the base and the runner\nwho had overslid it and tagged him.\n\nBefore he could scramble to his feet to claim the double play he heard\nClancy, excited in spite of his long experience, shouting: \"Good\nboy--nice work.\"  As the umpire waved both runners out the crowd,\nbewildered for an instant by the rapidity with which McCarthy had\nexecuted the coup, commenced to understand and broke into a thundering\nround of applause as he limped toward the bench.\n\nWith that attack staved off, the Bears held the Maroons safe in the\nninth and closed the final Western trip of the team with a hard-earned\nvictory.  They started homeward that evening with confidence renewed\nand the men hopeful.\n\nThe Bears were scheduled to stop en route to the home grounds to play a\nseries of three games against the Travelers, a team low in the standing\nof the clubs, but one of the most dangerous of all.  It was a slow but\nheavy-hitting aggregation, and at times more dreaded than were the\nstronger clubs.  The series was a critical one for the Bears as, after\nthat, they would return to the home grounds to play all the other\ngames, with the exception of two against the Blues.\n\nMcCarthy was happier and more interested than he had been since he\njoined the Bears.  Restlessly he awaited an opportunity to talk with\nBetty Tabor.  Since his interview with Helen Baldwin he had been\nstrangely jubilant for a young man who had just been discarded by the\ngirl to whom he was engaged.  He wondered how much of the conversation\nBetty Tabor had overheard, and worried about it.  He wanted to explain\nto her who Miss Baldwin was and how he had happened to be talking with\nher, yet he knew it would seem presumptuous for him to broach the\nsubject.  Why should Betty Tabor think enough of him to be jealous?\nYet, in spite of this, he decided that, at the first opportunity, he\nwould mention meeting Helen Baldwin.\n\nHe went to bed annoyed and with an odd sense of being wronged.  He\ndetermined to see the girl at breakfast and almost decided to confide\nin her the secret of his past life.  But he did not see her at\nbreakfast.  After a restless night he was among the first in the dining\ncar and he loitered, but the girl, usually one of the earliest risers,\nslept late, and when the train reached the city of the Travelers she\nwent with Manager Clancy and his wife in a taxicab, while McCarthy was\nbundled with the other players into the big auto 'bus.  He failed to\ncatch a glimpse of her during luncheon and was in a bad humor when the\nteam made an early start for the ball park.\n\nThe game was a runaway for the Bears.  They piled up such a large score\nduring the early innings that Manager Clancy was able to take out\nMorgan in the sixth and send Shelby, a second-string pitcher, to finish\nthe game, saving up more strength and skill to use at the finish.\n\nIt was a jubilant crowd of players that returned to the hotel after the\ngame.  They sang and laughed and were happy again.  They had won, and\nduring the afternoon the Panthers, overconfident, had suffered two\ndefeats by the Maroons, leaving the teams again practically tied for\nthe lead.\n\nMcCarthy spent the evening loitering around the hotel lobbies, still\nhoping for an opportunity to see Miss Tabor, and she failed to appear\nat dinner and was not with Mr. and Mrs. Clancy when they started out\nfor a car ride.  He wandered aimlessly around until, abandoning his\nquest, he went to his room disconsolately.  It was not yet eleven\no'clock, but Swanson was preparing for sleep.  As McCarthy came into\nthe room he stopped to laugh.  The giant shortstop was in his pajamas,\non his back in the bed.  With one bare foot he was holding a sheet of\npaper against the head board, and with a pencil grasped between the\ntoes of the other foot he was laboriously striving to write.\n\n\"What was you trying to do, Silent?\" asked McCarthy, laughing harder.\n\n\"Figuring my share of the World's Series receipts,\" responded Swanson,\nlaboring harder.  \"Clancy said he'd fine any one of us caught with a\npencil in his hand doping out these statistics,\" said Swanson, \"and I\njust had to know.\"\n\nThey were ready to settle down for the night when the telephone rang in\nthe connecting room.  The door between the rooms was ajar, and Swanson\nsprang from bed to respond to the call.\n\n\"Hello!\" he said.  \"Hello!  Yes, this is Williams's room, but he isn't\nin just now.  What?  Oh, yes, I understand.  I'll tell him.\nHello--hold a minute, here he is now.\"\n\n\"Hey, Adonis,\" Swanson called to the pitcher, who was just entering the\nroom from the hallway.  \"Someone wants you.\"\n\nHe handed the receiver to Williams carelessly and walked back into the\nroom, where McCarthy was stretched upon the bed reading.  His face was\nworking rapidly as if trying to tell McCarthy something by lip signals.\n\n\"I'm tired,\" said Swanson in a loud tone; \"let's sleep late in the\nmorning.\"  Then approaching McCarthy's bed he said in a whisper:\n\"Listen.  Try to catch what he says.\"\n\n\"Hello!  Yes, this is Williams,\" said the pitcher brusquely.  Then his\nvoice changed suddenly.  \"Yes, Ed, I know you.  To-night?  Aw, say, Ed,\nI've got to have sleep!  Can't it wait?  I'll be there in a quarter of\nan hour.\"\n\nHe hurried out of the room, and before the door slammed behind him\nSwanson had leaped from bed and was dressing with great haste.\n\n\"Kohinoor, that was Easy Ed Edwards calling him.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" inquired McCarthy.\n\n\"Get a move on yourself,\" ordered the giant.  \"Something is up and I\nwant to know what it is.  Wait a minute,\" he added as if by sudden\ninspiration, and ran to the telephone.\n\n\"Hello,\" he said to the operator.  \"Can you tell me where that call for\nMr. Williams came from just now?  He has forgotten which hotel he is to\nmeet his friend at.  Thank you,\" he said after a moment's wait.\n\n\"Hurry.  He's going to the Metropolis Hotel,\" he ordered.  \"We must\ncatch up with him.\"\n\nThey dressed with the speed of men accustomed to changing clothing four\nor five times a day, and before Williams had been five minutes on his\nway they were racing for the elevator.  Swanson, hastily leaping into a\nwaiting taxicab, ordered the driver to make all possible speed to the\ncorner nearest the Metropolis Hotel.\n\n\"What is up?\" asked McCarthy, as they settled back in the cushions of\nthe taxi as it lurched over the pavement.\n\n\"There is something funny going on in this ball club,\" said Swanson.\n\"And I am going to find out what it is.  Whatever it is, Williams is\nmixed up in it.  I want to find out why he is meeting Edwards to-night\nand what is up.\"\n\n\"What do you think?\" asked McCarthy.\n\n\"I haven't got it figured out,\" said Swanson, scratching his head.\n\"There has been something wrong for two weeks.  Ever since you joined\nthe club Williams hasn't been natural.  He acts mysterious off the\nfield and worse than that on it.  He has only won one of his last three\ngames, and ought to have lost them all the way he pitched.\"\n\nThe taxi jerked to a stop at the corner opposite the hotel, and\nSwanson, after reconnoitering carefully, led the way across the street\nand into the café.\n\n\"I used to know this place like a book when I was hitting the booze,\"\nhe said.  \"They'll be in here--or I don't know Williams.  Let's take\nthe corner booth so we can see who comes in and goes out.\"\n\nFive minutes later two men came through the swinging doors from the\nhotel lobby.  Swanson could see them, but McCarthy was out of the range\nof vision.  Swanson drew back deeper into the booth.\n\n\"Who is it?\" inquired McCarthy in a whisper.\n\n\"Sh--h!  It's Williams and Edwards.  They're going into the booth next\nto us.  Put your ear close to the partition.  I'd give a farm to hear\nthem.\"\n\nThe players sipped their soft drinks, while in turn they strove to hear\nwhat was passing in the next booth.  Occasionally they could\ndistinguish a voice, but the words were unintelligible.  Ten minutes of\nvain listening ensued.  Then a heavy man in evening clothes hurried\ninto the café, and after a hasty glance into the booths entered the one\nin which Edwards and Williams were waiting.\n\n\"I wonder who that fat man is?\" whispered Swanson.\n\n\"It's a lucky thing he didn't recognize me,\" replied McCarthy in low\ntones.  \"That's Barney Baldwin, the broker and politician, one of the\nbig men of this part of the country--and a crook.\"\n\n\"Whew,\" whistled Swanson.  \"Let's sneak.  We can't hear anything--and\nthe water is getting deep.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n_Baldwin Gets into the Plot_\n\nThe events that led up to the midnight conference between Barney\nBaldwin, Ed Edwards and Adonis Williams in the booth at the Metropolis\nHotel that night would have been of vast interest to several millions\nof baseball enthusiasts had they known of them.\n\nThey started with the arrival of Easy Ed Edwards in the city of the\nTravelers.  He had run down to watch the game between the Bears and the\nTravelers in rather a pleasant frame of mind.  His plans for a huge\ngambling coup seemed to be working out well, and, with the Panthers\nholding a lead of a game and a half, with but eleven more games to be\nplayed, he was adding to his line of wagers.  The double defeat of the\nPanthers and the easy victory of the Bears had placed a new aspect on\nthe league race, with the Bears again favorites.  Edwards had left the\nbaseball park in the middle of the game in a frenzy of anger.  It was\ntoo late now for him to attempt to lay off his bets, and he stood to\nlose more than $100,000 if his plans to have the Panthers win the\npennant from the Bears went astray.  It was in this mood that he\nreturned to the hotel and commenced to make drastic plans.  In the\nlobby of the hotel he encountered Barney Baldwin.\n\n\"Hello, Barney,\" he said, shaking hands with the broker.  \"What brings\nyou down?\"\n\n\"Hello, Ed,\" replied the big man cordially.  \"Let's have a drink.  I've\nbeen away a month out West visiting the family.  Brought my niece on\nEast with me.  Just got home and heard that things are going wrong, so\nI ran over here last night to see what sort of cattle have been\nbreaking up my political fences while I've been gone.  What brings you\nover here?\"\n\n\"Baseball--ran down to see the game to-day.  Rotten game.\"\n\n\"Didn't know you were interested in baseball,\" said the politician.\n\"I'm pretty well satisfied with the situation--both my clubs up there\nfighting for the lead, and I'm getting it coming and going.\"\n\n\"Both your clubs?\" ejaculated the gambler.  \"I knew you had some stock\nin some club.  How much of the Bears and Panthers do you own?\"\n\n\"Well, I can control both in a pinch.  I don't pay much attention to\nthem.  I let the fellows I hire as presidents of the clubs do the\nworrying.\"\n\n\"If you own both these clubs you and I can do a little business,\" said\nthe gambler, lowering his voice.  \"Come on up to my rooms and we'll\nhave our drinks sent up there where we can talk.\"\n\n\"I haven't much time, Ed,\" protested Baldwin.  \"I want to meet some of\nthe boys down here and learn how the political situation is stacking\nup.\"\n\nThey ascended to Edwards's rooms and when they were seated the gambler\nrang for wine, and, leaning forward, said:\n\n\"You want your man, Hoskins, to go to the Senate when the Legislature\nmeets this winter?\"\n\n\"Why--not exactly--my political plans are rather indefinite.  Hoskins\nis an acceptable man\"----\n\n\"Oh, chop it,\" said the gambler sharply.  \"There's no use for us to try\nto fool each other.  You want to put Hoskins over and you know you're\ngoing to have a deuce of a time crowding him through.\"\n\n\"Admitting that to be the case, what then?\"\n\n\"I think I can push it over for you,\" the gambler said easily.  \"Up\nhome I've got four members of the Legislature where they will do what I\nsay--and perhaps can handle two others.  With those four your man would\ngo over--if you've lined up as many members as the papers say you have.\"\n\n\"Rather early to count noses,\" Baldwin started to protest.  \"We may\nline up several others\"----\n\n\"Nothing doing!\" exclaimed Edwards sharply.  \"You've got all you\ncan--the others are lined up either with the high brows or against you\nunder Mullins.  I can deliver four, possibly six, of Mullin's votes\nthat he counts as sure.\"\n\n\"What do you want out of it?\"  The politician was interested at last.\n\n\"Does it make any difference to you whether the Bears or the Panthers\nwin?\" Edwards put the question as if casually.\n\n\"It don't make any difference to me,\" Baldwin retorted curtly.  \"I'm\nnot a bit interested in baseball--except to make money out of the\nteams.  I bought the stock as part of a political deal--to help someone\nout--and it turned out a good investment.  What has that to do with it?\"\n\n\"Baldwin,\" said the gambler, leaning forward again and speaking in low\ntones, \"you see to it that the Panthers beat the Bears out in that\npennant race, and I'll deliver you at least five votes for your man.\"\n\n\"That's easy,\" remarked Baldwin.  \"I can turn that quickly enough, but\nI don't see where you get off.\"\n\n\"You make it a sure thing and I'll tend to my own part of it,\" said the\ngambler.  \"I'll get mine, but I'm not so certain you can do it as\neasily as you think.\"\n\n\"Why not--don't both clubs belong to me?\"\n\n\"Sure they do,\" said the gambler, \"but baseball is a hard thing to\nmonkey with.  You've got to handle it carefully, for if the fact came\nout we'd be in such hot water we'd both scald.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Baldwin testily.  \"I'll call the presidents in,\nexplain what I want and let them do it.\"\n\n\"Keep off that stuff,\" warned the gambler.  \"You don't seem to know\nmuch about this game.  If you tried to tell Clancy to lose this pennant\nhe'd run straight to some reporter, and the whole country would be up\nin arms.  I shouldn't wonder if they'd lynch you.\"\n\n\"Then how do you propose having it done?\" asked the political boss, for\nonce willing to listen to advice.  He had no qualms of conscience.  To\nhim baseball meant a game, and the fact that hundreds of thousands of\npersons in all parts of the country were vitally interested either in\nthe Bears or the Panthers did not count with him.  He only sought the\neasiest and safest way to accomplish his ends without arousing\nsuspicion.\n\n\"I have one of the Bears fixed,\" said Edwards.  \"But I'm afraid of him.\nHe is crooked and willing to deliver, but he is yellow--lacks\ncourage--and he is likely to fail to deliver just when I need him most.\nThe first thing I want you to do is to help stiffen this fellow's\nbackbone.  After that we'll try to get at someone else.  If you say\nit's all right and promise to protect them we will find it easier.\"\n\n\"This must be a big thing for you, Edwards,\" suggested Baldwin as\nanother drink was served and the waiter departed.\n\n\"I don't mind telling you that if the Bears win I'll almost be\nsmashed,\" replied the gambler angrily.  \"I was fool enough to play the\ngame myself.  I picked the Panthers to win and made a lot of scattering\nbets all summer.  Then Carson, the Bears' third baseman, broke a leg.\nThey tried to keep it quiet as long as possible.  I had a friend in the\nclub who tipped off to me an hour after it happened that Carson's leg\nwas smashed in two places.  I jumped right in and plunged, thinking\nthat without Carson the Bears hadn't a chance.  Then along comes this\nblanked red-head and turns it all upside down.\"\n\n\"What red-head?\"\n\n\"McCarthy--that kid third baseman.  He's been winning games right along\nthat they ought to have lost, and it looks as if the Bears will win out\nanyhow--unless you can stop them.\"\n\n\"McCarthy, eh?\" Baldwin smiled patronizingly for the first time.  \"My\nboy, don't worry.  You may know baseball better than I do--but you've\nhit something I know about.  I think I can handle this McCarthy.  I\nbelieve you can get ready to deliver those votes.  I must be going now.\"\n\n\"I'm going to send for that pitcher I've got fixed, to-night,\" said\nEdwards.\n\n\"Have him down about ten, or a little later,\" suggested Baldwin\ngenially as he arose to leave.\n\nIt was the arrival of Baldwin in the barroom to attend the meeting with\nAdonis Williams and Easy Ed Edwards that Silent Swanson and Kohinoor\nMcCarthy saw--and it was well for McCarthy's peace of mind that he did\nnot hear what transpired at that meeting.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n_Williams Caught in the Net_\n\nBaldwin, by nature, was pompous and patronizing.  In his capacity as\npolitical boss, representing certain more or less questionable\nfinancial interests, he distributed political patronage with an air of\none bestowing great favors personally.\n\nBaldwin's rise to riches and to a certain degree of power had been a\nstrange one.  He had been a bartender, and had by a certain selfish\neconomy and \"touching the till\" acquired sufficient money to purchase\nthe saloon in which he was employed from the honest German who had\ntrusted him almost to the verge of bankruptcy.  Certain wealthy men and\nsome others interested in public utilities had seen in Baldwin a proper\ncatspaw, and, in a small way, had used him in politics.  From that he\nhad developed quickly into an official collector of graft money from\ndisorderly houses, saloons, and gamblers.\n\nBaldwin had become more and more independent financially and more\npowerful politically as he learned the game.  He was shrewd and quick\nto learn.  His share of the collections became larger and larger until\nin time he was admitted to the higher circle of graft, and, having\nserved his apprenticeship, he had others to collect for him and take\nthe greater risk of going to prison.  Eventually, by cunning catering\nto big interests, he became the political boss of his city, stockholder\nin several public utilities, and head of a brokerage firm, which he\nmaintained more to account for his possession of wealth than to do\nbusiness, although favored in many instances in bond deals.  His\npurchase of stock in baseball clubs had been incidental.  He knew\nlittle of the game and cared less.  He was satisfied with the large\nreturns on the stock and avoided publicity in advertising himself as\nowner of either team through fear of causing an increase in the demand,\n\"Where did you get it?\"\n\nEasy Ed Edwards, while waiting in the booth of the Metropolis Café, had\ntold Adonis Williams the name of the man for whom they were waiting.\n\n\"Now get wise, Adonis,\" he advised, in friendly tones.  \"I'll tip you\nto something no one outside a few is on to.  Baldwin owns this club\nyou're pitching for, and he owns the Panthers.  I had it from him\nto-night that he wants the Panthers to win the pennant this season.\nYou toss off a game or two to help him and you'll be strong with him\nfor life.  You know he holds this State in his vest pocket.\"\n\n\"Ain't I trying my best?\" said Williams.  \"Clancy won't let me work\noften now.  He was working me to death until a couple of weeks ago and\nnow he's always saving me for some other team.  I asked him to get in\nto-morrow.  Maybe I'll work.  If I do I'll make good and lose it.\"\n\n\"Here he comes now,\" said Edwards in a low tone as Baldwin came\npompously into the barroom in search of them.  \"I'll talk and let you\nhear what he wants.\"\n\n\"Ah, here we are,\" said Baldwin pompously, as he discovered them.\n\"Order a bottle of wine, Ed, and introduce me to your friend.\"\n\nHe already was well warmed with drink and looser and less cautious in\nhis conversation than customary.\n\n\"Glad to meet you, Williams,\" he said as Edwards went through the\nformalities of introduction.  \"I've seen you pitch.  Had a good season?\"\n\n\"Fair,\" said Williams, striving to appear modest.  \"I've won twenty-six\nand lost eleven--some of them tough ones, especially lately.\"\n\n\"Sorry to spoil your record, my boy,\" said Baldwin patronizingly, \"but\nyou must lose a few more for the interests of all concerned.\"\n\n\"Not so loud, Baldwin,\" warned Edwards.\n\n\"All right, all right,\" assented Baldwin unvexed.  \"Let's have another\nbottle.\n\n\"Now, young fellow,\" he continued in a low tone when the drink was\nserved, \"you know who I am.  I don't forget my friends.  That's my\nmotto.  Anyone who does anything that helps me, or helps a friend of\nmine\"----\n\nHe paused to wave his hand indicating that Edwards was the friend.\n\nThe man was half drunk and too loose with his talk to please the more\ncautious gambler.\n\n\"Adonis here is all right,\" said the gambler suavely.  \"I don't blame\nhim for being a little bit cautious.  You see, Barney, Adonis wasn't\nsure the big men behind the game wanted it to go that way and I don't\nblame him.  I wanted him to understand how the owners feel.\"\n\n\"I'm wise, I guess,\" said Williams, warming with the wine.  \"All I need\nis the chance, and I'll make the Panthers win it.\"\n\n\"You understand,\" Baldwin said pompously, \"it won't do at all for\nowners to have anything to do with the games; that's the reason I don't\ncare to have my name mentioned in connection with the Bears or the\nPanthers, but in this case it is to all our interests to have the\nPanthers win.  My boy, I'll take care of you well, if you deliver the\ngoods.\"\n\n\"You may count on me.  We have ten more games to play, and I ought to\nwork three, maybe four.  I can lose two or three and make it a cinch.\"\n\n\"That's the talk,\" said Baldwin genially.  \"You know which side your\nbread is buttered on.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" remarked Edwards, \"he does--but he wants it on both sides.  He's\nhad chances already to end this race, and won instead of losing.\"\n\n\"I couldn't help it,\" retorted Williams.  \"You know, Ed, I tried to\nlose, but that red-headed four-flush was lucky enough to keep me from\nit.  You know I don't dare to make it too raw.  Clancy might get\nsuspicious.\"\n\n\"This McCarthy seems to be the trouble maker all 'round,\" suggested\nBaldwin.  \"With him eliminated it ought to be easy, hadn't it?\"\n\n\"Him a good ball player!\" ejaculated Williams angrily.  \"Say, he's a\nbum.  He's just lucky.\"\n\n\"I don't want any more such luck,\" sneered Edwards.  \"The next time\nyou're in there you lose the game right--you hear?  Let them get a big\nbunch of runs right quick so no one can save the game.\"\n\n\"Maybe Clancy won't let me pitch,\" objected the star whiningly.  \"I\ncan't make him let me pitch.\"\n\n\"I'll see to that,\" said Baldwin casually.  \"I'll see the president in\nthe morning and have him tell this Clancy to let you pitch.  Then he'll\nput you in.\"\n\n\"Don't be too certain of that,\" said Edwards.  \"Clancy usually runs the\nteam to suit himself--and he plays to win.\"\n\n\"You leave that to me,\" replied Baldwin complacently.  \"I usually get\nwhat I want.  Meantime, I think I can fix this young fellow Mac.  I'll\nhave a little talk with him in the morning.\"\n\n\"Don't let him find out that you know either of us,\" warned Edwards.\n\"He's a pretty cagey young fellow from what I hear.\"\n\n\"Trust me for that,\" said the big man.  \"I've handled wise fish before\nnow, and landed them without using a net.\"\n\n\"You know anything about him?\" inquired Williams.\n\n\"Yes--and no.  Anyhow I am pretty close to someone--a woman--who knows\nhim and knows all about him.\"\n\n\"I wish I did,\" snarled Williams, now growling mean from the effects of\ndrink.  \"Who's the woman?\"\n\n\"She's someone whose name won't appear in this matter,\" replied the\npolitician reprovingly.  \"She's a relative of mine.  I think he is in\nlove with her and she turned him down cold.  Let's have another bottle\nand break up the party.\"\n\n\"He was in love with her?\" asked Williams eagerly, as a plan for\nrevenge flashed through his mind.\n\n\"I believe so,\" said Baldwin carelessly.  \"Family affair.  Never heard\nthe details.  Of course she couldn't marry a fellow of that class.\"\n\nThe three men emerged from the booth, Williams and Baldwin flushed and\nunsteady from the drink, Edwards cold and revealing not a trace of the\nwine.\n\n\"Williams, you'd better go out the front door,\" he said quietly.  \"It\nwouldn't do for you to be seen around the lobby with us at this hour.\"\n\nFifteen minutes later Swanson and McCarthy, in their beds, heard\nWilliams enter the adjoining room unsteadily and hastily prepare for\nbed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n_McCarthy in Disgrace_\n\nEvents crowded upon each other rapidly the following day.  The first\nwas a telephone call soon after breakfast that summoned Manager Clancy\nto the Metropolis Café.\n\n\"Hello, Mac,\" said Clancy gladly.  \"How you hittin' em?  Haven't seen\nyou in an age.  How's tricks?\"\n\n\"Pretty good, Bill.  You're looking fine,\" replied McMahon, manager of\nthe café, who in his youth had played ball on the team with the now\nfamous Clancy.  \"I was worried about something I heard this morning and\nthought I'd send for you.  I couldn't come up.\"\n\n\"What is it?  Let's have a drink--make mine grape juice.\"\n\n\"When I came down this morning Johnny, the night man, told me one of\nyour players was in here until after midnight last night,\" said the old\nball player.\n\n\"Which one?\" demanded the manager angrily.\n\n\"He didn't know him, except that he was a ball player.  He was a\nsandy-haired fellow, rather slender and wiry looking.\"\n\n\"McCarthy--maybe,\" said the manager thoughtfully and worried.  \"I\ndidn't think that bird would do it.  Something funny.\"\n\nHe had leaped at the identification.\n\n\"That isn't the worst of it, Bill,\" continued McMahon, \"that fellow was\nwith Easy Ed Edwards and a big fat guy in a dress suit.\"\n\n\"What?\" demanded Clancy, starting indignantly.  \"Sure of that?\"\n\n\"Johnny knows Ed Edwards.  They sat in the booth over there and had\nfour quarts of wine, and the player was pretty well lighted up when\nthey got out.\"\n\n\"Thanks, Mac,\" said Clancy worriedly.  \"This is tough news at this\nstage of the game.  I'll have to take a look into it.\"\n\nClancy, his weather-beaten face furrowed with a heavy frown, walked\nslowly back to the hotel.\n\nPresident Bannard, of the Bears, was waiting for him in the lobby.\n\n\"Good morning, Bill,\" he said.  \"You're out early.  I wanted to see\nyou.\"\n\n\"Had some business downtown and went out an hour or so ago,\" replied\nthe manager.  \"What's the woe?\"\n\n\"Who's going to pitch to-day?\" asked the president.\n\n\"I don't know.  I never decide in advance,\" responded the manager\ncarelessly.  \"Guess it will be either Wilcox or Williams--whichever one\nlooks best warming up.\"\n\n\"If it's all the same to you,\" said the president diplomatically, \"I\nwish you'd let Williams work.\"\n\n\"Why?\" demanded Clancy, on the defensive in an instant.\n\n\"It's this way, Bill,\" explained the president.  \"You know I don't own\nthis club.  I've got most of my money in it, but another fellow has\ncontrol of the stock.  He is going to the game and he asked me to let\nWilliams pitch, as he never has seen him work.\"\n\n\"Williams hasn't been very steady in his last three games,\" remarked\nthe manager thoughtfully.  \"I don't want to risk this pennant to please\nanyone, no matter if he owns the whole league.\"\n\n\"Well, you said yourself that your choice was between Williams and\nWilcox, so I can't see it makes any difference.\"\n\n\"You know I don't like to announce pitchers ahead of time,\" said the\nmanager.\n\n\"It seems to me the owner ought to have a right\"----\n\n\"Now look here, Bannard,\" said Clancy sharply, \"when I signed this\ncontract it was with the agreement that I was to run the business on\nthe ball field and let your end of it alone.  I'm perfectly willing to\noblige a stockholder, but I'm going to win this pennant, and I'll do\nwhat I please with the playing end of the game.  If Adonis looks good\nwarming up he'll go in, if he don't I'll send someone else to the\nslab--and that goes.\"\n\n\"Well--have it your own way\"; the president had surrendered entirely to\nthe aggressive manager.  \"Put him in if you can, and if you can't I'll\nexplain that he wasn't right--twisted himself or something.\"\n\nClancy went to his room puzzled and annoyed and, as usual, he sought\nadvice and enlightenment by consulting Mrs. Clancy, whose abundant good\nnature and portliness formed a striking contrast with his seriousness\nand slenderness.\n\n\"Willie,\" she said, laying down her sewing after Clancy had stood at\nthe window, whistling and gazing out for ten minutes without saying a\nword.  \"Well, Willie--who has broken a leg or sprung a Charlie horse\nnow?\"\n\n\"Nothing much, mother,\" said the big manager quietly.  \"Nothing\nmuch--just worrying a little over the way things are going.\"\n\n\"Bill Clancy,\" she ejaculated indignantly.  \"Do you think you can fool\nanyone with that talk?  Do you think I could live with you eighteen\nyears, come next Martinmas, and not know when you're in trouble?  Tell\nyour old lady what it is.\"\n\n\"Sure, mother,\" he said fondly, coming to put his arm around her waist.\n\"Haven't you enough troubles of your own?\"\n\n\"Me have troubles?\"  She was indignant.  \"Nothing troubles me but\nworrying over those pesky boys of yours.  What's wrong now, Willie?\"\n\n\"One of the boys out skylarking last night--and drinking.\"\n\n\"Saints forgive him,\" she said piously, but with a note of relief.\n\"Sure you'll not be fining the poor boy?  Perhaps he needed a drink or\ntwo to keep up his courage.\"\n\n\"Nothing like that, mother,\" he replied seriously.  \"This was one of\nthe young fellows out with some gamblers drinking wine till past\nmidnight.  It looks serious.\"\n\n\"Now, Bill Clancy, you just send for that boy to come right up here and\ntalk it over.  Tell him he must behave and explain what it means to all\nthe boys.  Then you'll shame him and he'll be a good boy.  They're all\ngood boys,\" she protested earnestly, \"only they do try a poor woman.\"\n\n\"I guess that's the best plan, mother,\" he said.  \"You trot over into\nthe other room and I'll have him up.\"\n\n\"Which one is it this time, Willie?\"\n\n\"McCarthy!\"\n\n\"McCarthy--why, Willie, he wouldn't--there's some mistake.  That poor\nboy wouldn't do such a thing.  And him grieving his heart out because\nBetty Tabor won't treat him well any more.  That's what's the trouble,\nWillie.\"\n\n\"We'll see what it is,\" said the manager, checking her flow of defense\ncurtly.  \"I'll have him up.  You run into the other room with the\nsewing and--don't listen.\"\n\nHis telephone call found McCarthy in his room, and the young third\nbaseman promptly ascended to the manager's apartment and entered\ninnocently.\n\n\"Good morning, Boss,\" he said, following the burlesque style of\ngreeting used by the Bears to their manager.\n\n\"Good morning,\" said Clancy curtly, as he scrutinized the face of the\nplayer for signs of a debauch and found the blue eyes clear and fresh.\n\n\"You wanted to see me?\" inquired McCarthy, thrown a little off his easy\nbearing.\n\n\"Yes--where were you last night?\"\n\n\"I--in my room\"--he suddenly remembered the excursion with Swanson.  \"I\nwas out for a while,\" he concluded lamely.\n\n\"Were you in the café of the Metropolis Hotel late?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" confessed McCarthy, bridling at the tone employed by the\nmanager.  \"I was in there.\"\n\n\"Drinking?\"\n\n\"Yes--lemonade.\"\n\n\"Nothing stronger?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"No wine?\"\n\n\"No--I'm not in the wine class.\"\n\n\"Who were you with?\"\n\n\"You're the manager,\" said McCarthy quietly, although he was rebellious\ninwardly.  \"You may ask me anything you want to about myself or my\nactions--but you surely don't expect me to tell on anyone else?\"\n\n\"I don't want you to tell on any ball player--but who were you with?\"\n\n\"I'm not at liberty to tell.\"\n\n\"You needn't tell me--I know,\" said the manager angrily.  \"You got up\nout of bed to go there to meet Easy Ed Edwards--and you were with him\nwhile three of you drank four quarts of wine.\"\n\nFor an instant McCarthy clenched his hands until the nails bit into the\npalms, and a flood of angry color flashed into his face.  With an\neffort he controlled himself.\n\n\"You've got everything backwards,\" he said at last, gazing straight at\nthe angry manager.  \"I can't explain just now--but you'll find out some\nday--and apologize.\"\n\nHe turned without another word and left the room.  Clancy, who had\nexpected angry denials, threats, perhaps a personal encounter, sat\ngazing at the closed door, and then to himself he said:\n\n\"It looks bad, but hanged if I don't believe him.  No fellow could lie\nand look like that.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n_McCarthy Defies Barney Baldwin_\n\n\"Pardridge, playing third base in place of McCarthy, Holleran in left.\nMorton and Kennedy, battery for the Bears.\"\n\nThis announcement, bawled by a battery of megaphone men in front of the\ncrowded stands that afternoon was the first intimation that McCarthy\nhad of the contemplated action of Manager Clancy in taking him out of\nthe game.  He sprang from the end of the bench, where he was tying his\nshoes, toward the manager, an angry exclamation on his lips, and his\nblue eyes flashing as they narrowed to the battle slit.  Swanson, who\nwas sitting next him, fondling a bat, seized McCarthy with his\ntremendous grip and jerked him back to his seat.\n\n\"Steady, boy, steady,\" the big Swede cautioned.  \"Take your medicine.\nShow your gameness.\"\n\n\"I'm laid off,\" said McCarthy as if astonished.  \"It isn't right.  He's\nlaying me off for something he thinks I did\"----\n\n\"Don't quit--be game,\" cautioned Swanson.  \"Tell me about it to-night.\"\n\nMcCarthy was miserable, and his face revealed it.  Swanson, hardened by\nyears of facing such little tragedies, of seeing the hearts of young\nplayers broken under such punishment, sympathized, but preserved a\ncheerful demeanor as he selected his bats and prepared for the battle.\n\n\"Buck up, Jimmy boy,\" said Swanson, sitting down beside him and\npretending to be retying his shoe laces.  \"We'll win this one anyhow,\nand to-night we'll have a talk with Clancy after he cools down.  I can\nsquare things with him.\"\n\nThe comforting words of the kindly, big shortstop helped McCarthy.\nClancy did not look toward the youngster, who sat huddled in his heavy\nsweaters on the opposite end of the bench watching the game and going\nover and over in his mind the circumstances that had led to his\npunishment and banishment from the team.\n\nThe game proceeded rapidly.  The Bears scored a run in the second\ninning on Swanson's long drive against the left field fence for three\nbases, and a fly to the outfield, on which Swanson came by sliding\nunder the catcher.  In the fourth the Travelers evened up the score on\nan error by Pardridge, who, off his balance by his sudden change of\nposition, threw wild and allowed a runner to score from second base.\nThe score remained tied until the fifth, neither team being able to hit\nthe opposing pitcher's delivery hard enough to send home a run.  Then\nPardridge misplayed an easy bounder and, recovering, hurled wildly\ntoward second base, striving to force out a runner coming down from\nfirst.  His throw went on high and far into right field, one runner\nscored, the batter was perched on second and the crowd was in a tumult,\nthinking that the inevitable break had come.  A crashing base-hit sent\nhome another runner, and with the score 3 to 1 against them the Bears\nfaced one of the supreme tests of nerve of the season.\n\nGamely they rallied in the fifth and again in the sixth inning, but\nfailed to reach even terms again as Carver, the best pitcher of the\nTravelers, was holding them by clever work.  Each time they forced men\nto within reaching distance of the plate he settled, and using more\nspeed, checked the attacks and made the game one sequence of\ndisappointments for the Bears.\n\nThe seventh inning proved uneventful, although the crowd arose and\nstood to urge the Travelers to make certain the victory and \"rooted\"\nwith the unholy glee that all crowds show over the downfall of a\nchampion.\n\nThe eighth commenced.  A base on balls paved the way and gave the Bears\na chance to exhibit their resourceful style of attack which had\noverthrown so many opposing teams.  The Travelers played deep,\nbelieving that with two runs needed to tie the score the Bears would\nnot attempt to sacrifice, and Noisy Norton hooked his bat around\nquickly, dropped a bunt down the third-base line, and beat the ball to\nfirst base before Pickett, the third baseman of the Travelers, who had\nbeen caught asleep, could reach the ball.\n\nMcCarthy glanced toward the seat where Edwards, the gambler, sat.  Easy\nEd's face was hard and set.  He gripped the front of the box.  The\ngambler's iron nerve was shaken.  Swanson rushed to the plate, swinging\ntwo bats, and crouching, he pushed his bat back and forth as if\ndetermined to lay down a sacrifice bunt.  The Traveler infield crept\ncloser to stop the bunt.  One ball was pitched wide.  Again Swanson\ncrouched, and as the second pitched ball came whizzing up he made a\nsharp, quick lunge; the ball went like a flash across first base, as\nDavis dived vainly toward it, rolled onto foul ground, and before the\nright fielder could retrieve the ball as it glanced along the front of\nthe stands, two runs were across the plate and the score was tied.\n\nMcCarthy looked again.  Edwards's usually stony face was writhing with\nfury and disappointment as he leaned forward.  The panic had seized the\nTravelers.  The infield was pulled close to intercept the runner at the\nplate, and the shortstop, over anxious to make the play, fumbled the\neasy grounder.  Before the inning closed five runs were across the\nplate; the Bears had snatched victory from defeat, and they clung to\ntheir lead and won 6 to 3.\n\nAs the last batter for the Travelers went out on a long fly to the\nBears' center fielder, McCarthy saw Edwards rise and hurl his cigar\nviciously against the floor of the box, then turn to gaze long and\nearnestly toward the Bear bench.  Suddenly he gave a nod of his head\nand McCarthy, following the line of the gambler's gaze, saw Williams\nflush and then pale, as he turned to help the bat-boy pack the clubs.\n\nMcCarthy had intended to follow Swanson's suggestion and to plan with\nSwanson what course to adopt in explaining to Manager Clancy how\nmatters stood, but he did not have the opportunity.  Waiting in the\nlobby of the hotel when he returned, he found Barney Baldwin, who\naccosted him.\n\n\"You're McCarthy, the fellow my niece, Miss Baldwin, introduced me to,\naren't you?\" he asked pompously, pretending to be uncertain of the\nidentity.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, young fellow, I want to have a quiet little talk with you.  Come\nup to my room at the Metropolis as soon as you get dressed.  It's\nimportant.\"\n\nThey talked for a few minutes and McCarthy promised to come to the\nMetropolis after dinner.  He hastened to his room, and to his\ndisappointment found that Swanson had dressed hastily and already was\ngone.  Nor did the big Swede come to dinner, and McCarthy was compelled\nto leave the hotel without seeing him in order to keep his engagement\nwith Baldwin.\n\nHe was ushered into a pretentious apartment in the Metropolis, where\nBaldwin was awaiting him, with a bottle of wine in the cooler at the\nside of the table and a box of choice cigars at hand.\n\n\"Sit down, my boy, sit down,\" urged Baldwin cordially.  \"Have a drink\nand a cigar.\"\n\n\"Thanks--I'll smoke.  I'm not drinking,\" said McCarthy quietly.  \"You\nwanted to see me?\"\n\n\"Yes.  You see I called Helen up over the long distance to-day and had\nquite a talk with her about you.  She dropped a few hints before she\nleft and I wanted to hear more of you.\"\n\n\"Then she told you who I am?\"\n\n\"She told me you were a young man of good family and that you were\nplaying under an assumed name--but, of course, having promised, she\nwouldn't tell more.\"\n\n\"Now, I know how it is.  You're in some trouble at home and just\nbull-headed enough to refuse to give in.  I admire you for it, my\nboy--but it is youthful folly.  Helen tells me she was engaged to you,\nbut broke off the engagement because you wouldn't go back home and quit\nbaseball.  Now I want to see the thing in the right light.  You come\nand run down to my summer place with me to-morrow, spend a week or two\nthere with Helen, get things straightened out, and meanwhile I'll act\nas peacemaker and fix things up so you can go home and eat the fatted\ncalf.\"\n\n\"You've tackled a tough job,\" said McCarthy, grinning in spite of\nhimself at the mental picture of his uncle receiving overtures in his\nbehalf from Barney Baldwin, his bitterest enemy.\n\n\"I'm certain it is a mere trifle when looked at in the right light,\"\nurged Baldwin.  \"I can explain things.  I'll wire your people that you\nare visiting with us, and we'll forget all about this baseball\nfoolishness.  Better come along.\"\n\n\"I thank you for your good intentions, Mr. Baldwin,\" replied McCarthy\nquietly, \"but it is impossible.  In the first place, the plan you\nsuggest would be about the worst possible--and more important than\nthat, I can't quit the team until it wins the pennant.\"\n\n\"Now we're getting down to cases, my boy,\" said Baldwin, smoking\neasily.  \"I want you to go, for your own sake, but I also want you to\ngo because I don't want the Bears to win that pennant.  They haven't\ntreated you right, and they can't blame you if you quit.\"\n\n\"You want me to throw the pennant race?\" demanded McCarthy angrily.\n\"That's why you want me to leave the team, is it?  I'll see you in\nh---- first--I'm in bad with the manager--but I won't quit the team.\"\n\n\"Now, now, my boy,\" interrupted Baldwin soothingly.  \"Take a sensible\nview of it.  It's for the best interests of all concerned.  It don't\nmean anything to you if you run back home, square yourself with the\nfamily--and quit interfering with our plans.\"\n\n\"You're a crook, Baldwin,\" said the third baseman threateningly.  \"My\nuncle, James Lawrence, always said you were a crook and a thief, and\nnow I know it.  I wouldn't quit now for all his money and all yours\ntogether.  I'll stick to the team and we'll win this pennant in spite\nof you and your rotten gang.\"\n\nThe effect of his words caused him to stop in surprise and alarm.  The\nbig man, who had been sipping his wine, suddenly grew apoplectic and\nsat staring at him.  Baldwin stared at the slender youth as if at a\nghost.  Suddenly he lurched forward as if to arise, and emitted a\ntorrent of oaths.\n\n[Illustration: Baldwin stared at the slender youth]\n\n\"You Jim Lawrence's nephew?\" he half screamed.  \"You his boy?  Well, by\n----, I'll break you.  I'll fix you--I'll\"----\n\nHe pitched forward as if in a fit, and McCarthy, after ringing for\nassistance, waited until the house physician had revived the big man,\nthen hurried back to his hotel, puzzled and excited and vaguely alarmed\nover the developments of the evening.\n\nSwanson was not yet in the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n_McCarthy Balks the Plotters_\n\nIt was past two o'clock when McCarthy was awakened from his troubled\nsleep by the entrance of Swanson.\n\n\"Hello, Silent,\" said McCarthy sleepily.  \"What time is it?\"\n\n\"Past two,\" said the shortstop, for once seeming unwilling to talk.\n\"Better get to sleep--you'll be in again to-day.\"\n\n\"Where have you been?\" asked McCarthy, wide awake in an instant and\ninterested.\n\n\"Trailing,\" replied Swanson.  \"I've found out a few things.  Meanwhile\nI had a talk with Clancy.  You little squarehead, why didn't you tell\nhim I was with you?  Do you want to get yourself in bad by some fool\nnotion of protecting me?  I couldn't tell him what we were doing--but I\ntold him you were with me, that you weren't drinking, and that you\nweren't with Edwards.\"\n\n\"What have you been doing all night?\" asked McCarthy, restored to\nhappiness by the tidings.\n\n\"Finding out things.  I trailed Williams downtown right after the game.\nHe had dinner with Edwards in a private room.  I couldn't find out what\nhappened, but Williams came out looking as if he had been jerked\nthrough a knot hole.  Then Edwards met that fat party that had you in\nhis room.\"\n\n\"Is he in it, too?\" asked McCarthy.\n\n\"Yes--who and what is he?\"\n\n\"His name is Baldwin.  He's a big politician and broker here in the\nEast and I knew him out West, where he owns a ranch.\"\n\n\"What did he want with you?\"\n\n\"He wanted me to quit the team and run back home.  I told him where he\ngot off.  The idea of asking me to quit the boys now, when they may\nneed me!\"\n\n\"I can imagine what you said,\" laughed Swanson.  \"Did you kick him on\nthe shins and try to make him fight?\"\n\n\"I wanted to,\" replied McCarthy savagely.  \"I can't see where he gets\ninto this affair at all.  There's something queer all round.\"\n\n\"Listen, Kohinoor,\" said Swanson.  \"Someone wants to beat the Bears out\nof this pennant, and whoever it is is turning every trick possible to\nbeat us.  I suspect they've got to Williams and that he is trying to\nthrow games, and I've been working all night trying to get the goods on\nhim.  We can't run to Clancy with a yarn like that unless we're ready\nto prove it.  Now go to sleep and get ready to win to-morrow's\ngame--to-day's, rather.\"\n\nMcCarthy lay staring, sleepless, into the darkness, his brain whirling\nas he strove to penetrate the maze of intrigue and plotting of which he\nseemed the center.  Half an hour passed, then, as he turned in bed, a\nsleepy voice from the next bed asked:\n\n\"Asleep, Kohinoor?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then quit worrying.  I had a talk with Betty Tabor to-night, and you\nneedn't worry.  She don't believe all she hears.\"\n\n\"What did she say, Silent?\" asked McCarthy, sitting up in bed suddenly.\n\n\"Aw, go to sleep,\" responded Swanson, as he rolled over, chuckling at\nthe manner in which McCarthy had betrayed his interest.\n\nIt was nearly noon when Swanson and McCarthy descended to the hotel\nlobby in better frames of mind.\n\nManager Clancy, serious and worried, was talking with a gray-haired man\nand a younger man.  McCarthy observed them and grew uncomfortable under\ntheir close scrutiny as the three turned toward him and focussed their\neyes upon him.  He felt relieved when the smaller man shook his head\npositively and was not surprised a moment later when Clancy came\nforward toward him and said frankly:\n\n\"Forget it, Kohinoor.  Case of mistaken identity.\"  He grasped\nMcCarthy's hand and gave it a crunching grip as he added: \"When you get\nready to tell me what you know I want to hear it.\"\n\nThe manager did not attempt any further apology, but McCarthy felt as\nif a load had been lifted from his mind.\n\n\"I can't make any charges until I have proof,\" he replied steadily.\n\"If ever I can back up what I suspect, I'll tell you--first.\"\n\n\"Swanson explained partly,\" said the manager.  \"I understand.  Get in\nthere to-day and hustle.\"\n\nIt was the final game of the trip and the Bears, with confidence\nrenewed, went into it determined to rush the attack and win quickly.\nWhen the batting practice started McCarthy was surprised to find Lefty\nWilliams pitching to batters.  He faced Williams and hit the first ball\nhard and straight over second base.  Williams was lobbing the ball\neasily, as if warming up.  Twice Clancy called to him to quit pitching\nto batters, and he shouted back that his shoulder felt a little stiff\nand he wanted to limber it up easily.  McCarthy stepped to the plate\nagain.  Up to that time Williams had not pitched a fast ball, but he\nwound up quickly and flashed a fast-breaking ball straight at\nMcCarthy's head.  The third baseman dropped flat and the ball, just\ngrazing the top of his head, carried away his cap.  He knew Williams\nhad tried to hit him.  He remembered his part in the deeper game he and\nSwanson were playing, and he decided not to reveal the fact that he was\naware of Williams's intent.  He leaped back into batters' position and\nyelled:\n\n\"Keep that bean ball for the game.  You'll need it.\"\n\nHe saw that Williams was white and shaken, and the next ball came\nfloating over the plate without speed.  McCarthy swung at it, without\nattempting to hit it.  Another slow one floated over the plate and\nagain McCarthy made a burlesque swing, missing the ball a foot.\nWilliams flushed scarlet and stepping quickly back into position he\ndrove a straight fast ball at the batter.  McCarthy was on his guard.\nDrawing back slightly he allowed the ball to touch his shirt, and when\nWilliams, angrier than ever, hurled another fast one at him he stepped\nback and drove it to left field for a clean hit.\n\nAs he hit the ball he heard Clancy call angrily to Williams to come off\nthe slab, and the pitcher, white with anger at the contempt the recruit\nhad shown for his pitching, sullenly obeyed.\n\n\"That fellow tried three times to bean you,\" said Swanson in low tones\nas they walked to their positions after retiring runless in the first\ninning.\n\n\"I know it,\" said McCarthy.  \"I coaxed him along.  I think we can make\nhim pitch to-day by telling him that we don't think he can.\"\n\nThe plan was adopted.  For two innings the shortstop and third baseman\nharassed the pitcher.\n\nUnder the running fire of taunts, criticisms and sarcasm Williams\npitched harder and harder, furious at his teammates, and venting his\nanger upon opposing batsmen.\n\n\"Say, you guys,\" remarked Kennedy on the bench after the fourth inning.\n\"Have some pity on me.  You've got Adonis so mad he's smashing my mitt\nwith his speed.  Better ease off on him or you'll have him in the air.\"\n\nThe Bears had accumulated two runs and seemed winning easily in the\nfifth, when, before a runner was out, McCarthy, cutting across in front\nof Swanson to scoop an easy-bounding ball, played it too carelessly,\nfumbled and allowed the first batter to reach first base.  The error\nwas common enough, but allowing the first batter to reach a base on an\neasy chance was serious at that stage of the game.  Williams turned\nupon McCarthy and gave him a violent rebuke.  McCarthy was not in a\nposition to respond.  He saw that, in spite of his angry words,\nWilliams seemed pleased by the error.  An instant later a drive whizzed\npast him and then another screamed by him en route to left field.  A\nrun was across the plate, runners on first and third and no one out.\n\n\"Trying to toss off this one?\" demanded Swanson angrily.  \"You big\nstiff, pitch ball.\"\n\nThe next batter sacrificed, and again Williams broke the ball low and\ninside the plate to a right-handed hitter.  The ball came like a shot\nat McCarthy, who dived at it.  It rolled away toward Swanson, who\nrecovered just in time to throw out the runner at first, but another\nrun had counted and the score was tied.  Another hit screeched past\nMcCarthy, another run counted and the Travelers were one run ahead\nbefore the attack could be stopped.\n\nThe Travelers held their advantage to the eighth, when, rallying\ndesperately, the Bears drove home two runs by sheer force of hitting\nand the ninth found them hanging to a one-run lead.  They failed to\nincrease their advantage in the first half of the inning and took the\nfield determined to hold their lead.  McCarthy was puzzled.  He thought\nClancy knew what was happening on the field and had expected each\ninning that the manager would rebuke Williams when they returned to the\nbench.  Instead Clancy had remained strangely silent.\n\nTuttle, the first batter for the Travelers in the ninth inning, hit a\nfierce bounder down the third-base line.  McCarthy, knowing Tuttle to\nbe a right field hitter, was swung a little wide from the base.  He\nthrew himself out toward the line, his hands extended to the full\nlimit, and the ball stuck in one outstretched hand.  Scrambling to his\nfeet he threw hard and fast to first, retiring the speedy runner by a\nstep.  The next batter hit fiercely between third and short and\nSwanson, by a great play, retrieved the ball back on the edge of the\ngrass, but could not throw the runner out.  The next batter, a\nright-hander, hit a vicious single past McCarthy and there were runners\non second and first.\n\nMcCarthy felt the next drive would be toward him.  He believed Williams\nwas striving to lose the game, and that he was pitching so as to compel\nthe batters to hit in the direction of third base so that the baseman\nand not he would be held responsible for the defeat.  He gritted his\nteeth and crouched, waiting, as Watson, the heaviest-hitting\nright-handed batter in the league, faced Williams.  Crouching, he saw\nKennedy signal for a fast ball high and outside the plate, and then saw\na straight easy ball sail toward the batter, low and inside.  Watson\nswung.  McCarthy saw a flash of light and threw up his hands just in\ntime to keep the ball from hitting him.  The ball broke through his\nhands and rolled a few feet away.  His hands were numb to the wrists\nfrom the terrific shock.  He stood still one trice.  Then he saw the\nrunners were stopped, bewildered.  They had lost sight of the ball, so\nrapidly had it traveled and had stopped, thinking he had caught it.  He\nleaped after the ball, framing the play as he touched the spinning\nsphere.  He could have run back to third base and forced out one, but\ninstead, as his numbed fingers gripped the sphere, he saw the\npossibility of a double play and threw fast and straight to Swanson, on\nsecond base, forcing out the runner coming from first.  Swanson,\ncatching the idea of the play in an instant, hurled the ball back to\nMcCarthy, who grabbed it and touched out the runner coming from second,\ncompleting a double play that brought the crowd to its feet in applause\nand saved the game.\n\nMcCarthy heard the cheers, but he was cold with suppressed anger as he\nwalked to where Williams was standing, and said:\n\n\"Williams, you're a d----d crook.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n_\"Technicalities\" on the Job_\n\nThe Bears were going home holding grimly to their claim upon first\nplace in the league race.  With but seven games remaining to be played\nall were against clubs already beaten, and five of the seven were\nagainst clubs considerably weaker in every department.  Two games were\nto be played off the home grounds.\n\nThe statisticians were busy calculating that the Bears had a decided\nadvantage in the race, yet they were not happy in the homecoming.  The\nride home was only a few hours long, and they had caught the train\nimmediately after the sensational finish of the final game with the\nTravelers in order to reach home and get settled by midnight.\n\nSwanson and McCarthy sat together as the train pulled out, talking in\nlow tones.\n\n\"I think Clancy is onto him,\" said Swanson.  \"Just sit tight.  It isn't\nour move yet.  The Boss acted queerly on the bench to-day and has been\nwatching Williams all the time, while pretending not to.  I'm going to\nmingle and see if any of the other fellows are wise to him.\"\n\nHardly had Swanson left the seat than McCarthy was surprised by\n\"Technicalities\" Feehan, who sat down in the seat vacated by the\nshortstop.\n\nFeehan was one of the odd characters developed by the national game, a\nreporter who had traveled with the Bear teams for so many years the\nplayers regarded him as a sort of venerable pest who hadn't seen a ball\nplayer since Williamson's day, and never such a catcher as Mike Kelly,\na first baseman like Comisky or a fielder like Tip O'Neil.  He\nsometimes was called \"Four Eyes,\" from the fact that he wore large,\nsteel-rimmed glasses of great thickness, and his other name was\n\"Technicalities.\"\n\nHe was not at all interested in baseball, excepting as a business.  His\nchief interest was in the Children's Crusades, and he had spent eight\nyears of his spare time in libraries all over America digging out data\nfor his history of those remarkable pilgrimages which he had written\nand rewritten half a dozen times.  Not being a baseball fan he was\neminently fair and unprejudiced, and the players thought more of the\nquiet, studious fellow than they did of the excitable and the partisan\nreporters who joined their sports and their woes.\n\n\"Mr. McCarthy,\" he said seriously, \"did you observe anything strange in\nto-day's game?\"\n\n\"Several strange things,\" assented McCarthy.  \"Among them that error I\nmade early in the game.\"\n\n\"I mean things of an unusual nature,\" persisted Technicalities.  \"I was\nstruck by an odd phenomenon and thought perhaps you noticed it.  I find\nit more perplexing as I study my score books.\"\n\n\"What was it?\" inquired McCarthy, cautious not to betray any interest.\n\n\"Did you, for instance, observe anything strange about the hits in your\ndirection?\"\n\n\"I noticed that those that didn't have cayenne pepper on them were\nwhite hot and came like greased lightning,\" laughed McCarthy.  \"I\nexpected to find my right leg playing left field any minute.\"\n\n\"I was speaking numerically, although, of course, the speed of the hits\nenters into the phenomenon.\"\n\n\"They did seem to be coming my way rapidly,\" agreed the third baseman.\n\n\"In to-day's game I find,\" continued the statistician, \"that there were\neighteen batted balls hit in the direction of third base.  You had five\nassists and one error and caught two line drives.  I do not include\nfoul balls, of which six line drives went near third base.  Of these\neighteen batted balls, fourteen were hit by right-handed batters and\nfour by left-handers.  The fourteen right-handed batters hit balls\npitched inside the plate, the four left-handers hit balls outside the\nplate, that is, outside to them, so that practically every ball batted\ntoward you was pitched to the inside of the plate, that is, the\ncatcher's left.  I have checked these statistics and find them correct.\"\n\n\"Well, what of it?\" asked McCarthy.\n\n\"In the preceding games--in which you played third and in which\nWilliams has pitched--I find that an average of twelve and a fraction\nbatted balls per game have been hit toward third base, exclusive of\nfouls.  In the games in which you have played and in which Williams has\nnot pitched the average is six and a trifling fraction.  You have\naveraged seven and one-fourth chances per game--legitimate\nchances--with Williams pitching, and a trifle under three chances per\ngame when he was not pitching.  Does it not seem remarkable?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" assented McCarthy.  \"I never studied such statistics.\"\n\n\"The phenomenon is the more remarkable,\" added the strange little man,\n\"because the average chances per game of the third basemen of five\nleagues, two majors and three Class AA for the last five years has been\n2 and 877-998.  It is impossible to construe the figures to mean but\none of two things.\"\n\n\"What are they?\" asked McCarthy, curiously interested.\n\n\"Either it is mere coincidence or Williams is deliberately trying to\nlose this pennant and to make you shoulder the blame.\"\n\n\"That's a pretty stiff charge,\" remarked McCarthy, amazed at the\ndeductions of the reporter, which fitted so well the suspicion,\ngradually becoming a certainty to his mind.\n\n\"Either he is pitching purposely to make the opposing batters hit balls\nat you,\" insisted Feehan, \"or it just happened--and things do not just\nhappen in baseball with that regularity.\"\n\n\"Possibly he is wild and can't get the ball over the plate.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" persisted Feehan, \"he has perfect control.  If he\ndid not possess control he could not pitch so many balls to the same\nplace.\"\n\n\"I'm immensely grateful,\" said McCarthy, touched by the kindness of the\nodd reporter.  \"It's good of you and I shan't forget it.\"\n\n\"I deserve no thanks,\" insisted Feehan.  \"It's merely in the line of\nsquare dealing and justice--and, speaking of justice, McCarthy, did you\never take interest in the Children's Crusades?  Let me show you some of\nthe data I dug up recently\"----\n\nHe delved into his little bag, which was his constant companion, and,\ndrawing forth a mass of scattered, disordered notes, he went into\nraptures of enthusiasm while describing to the player some new features\nof the disappearance of the French children and of the sojourn of\nhundreds of them as slaves in African harems.\n\nA great throng of admirers was waiting in the station to welcome the\nBears back from their successful trip.  Swanson and McCarthy finally\nescaped from the crowd, and, jumping into a taxicab, were whirled to\nthe hotel, where Swanson had secured rooms for both.\n\nThe hour was growing late, but after they had deposited their baggage\nin their rooms, Swanson proposed a walk and a late supper.  It was\nMcCarthy's first visit to the city which he represented upon the ball\nfield and its magnificence and greatness made him forget the worries\nand troubles of which he seemed the center.  He even forgot to detail\nto his chum his strange interview with the reporter until they were\nseated in a quiet nook of one of the great restaurants.  Then, in\nresponse to some jesting allusion to the Children's Crusades by\nSwanson, he told the big shortstop of the array of statistics Feehan\nhad presented.\n\n\"He's a square little guy,\" said Swanson.  \"And he's got more brains in\nthat funny-looking little head of his than this whole bunch has.  He\ndopes things out pretty nearly right, and when he is convinced that he\nis right he goes the limit.  Between us there is a certain left-handed\npitcher who is in hot water right now and don't know it.  Speaking of\nthe devil,\" he added quickly, \"there's his wings flapping, and look who\nhe is with--across the far corner there, at the little table.\"\n\nMcCarthy's eyes followed the route indicated and suddenly he lost\ninterest in his food.  At a small table were Williams, Secretary\nTabor--and Betty Tabor.\n\nMcCarthy was silent and moody during the walk back to the hotel and\nseemed to have lost interest in the great glaring city, which was just\ncommencing to dim its illumination for the night.  They were in bed\nwith the lights out when Swanson said:\n\n\"Cut out the worrying, kid.  I wouldn't have a girl no one else wanted.\nBesides, either her father has been told by Clancy to watch that crook\nor else Betty Tabor is stringing him along to learn something.  She\ndespises Williams, and she wouldn't laugh at him or eat with him unless\nshe had a purpose in it.\"\n\nMcCarthy could have blessed him for the words, but he assumed a dignity\nhe did not feel and said:\n\n\"I don't see why I should be especially interested.\"\n\n\"Cut out the con stuff, Bo,\" laughed Swanson, relapsing into his old\ncareless baseball phraseology.  \"You dope around like a chicken with\nthe pip and look at her like a seasick guy seeing the Statue of Liberty\nand then think no one is onto you.\"\n\nReply seemed inadvisable, so McCarthy grunted and rolled over.  There\nwas a silence and then Swanson added:\n\n\"And say, Bo, this Williams is in trouble.  There's me and you on his\ntrack.  Clancy is wise and watching him.  Old Technicalities has him\ndoped crooked in the figures, and now Betty Tabor is smiling at him to\nget the facts--he hasn't a chance.  It's darn hard to fix a baseball\ngame.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n_Baldwin Baits a Trap_\n\n\"Willie says that one petticoat will ruin the best ball club that ever\nlived, but lands knows that if some of us women don't get busy right\naway there's one ball club that's goin' to be ruined without any\nrustlin' skirts to be blamed.\"\n\nMrs. William Clancy, her ample form loosely enveloped in a huge,\nflowered kimono, dropped her fancy work into her lap and fanned herself\nwith a folded newspaper.\n\n\"Why, Mother Clancy,\" ejaculated Betty Tabor, sitting on a stool by the\nwindow of the Clancy apartment, \"one would think to hear you talk that\nwe had lost the pennant already.\"\n\n\"Now, there's Willie,\" continued Mrs. Clancy, ignoring the protest,\n\"goin' round with a grouch on all the time like he could bite nails in\ntwo.  There's that nice McCarthy boy frettin' his heart out because you\nhaven't treated him nicely, and Swanson worryin' about something.  And\nthere's Williams sneakin' round like he'd been caught robbin' a hen\nroost.\"\n\n\"Mother Clancy,\" protested the girl, reddening, \"you have no right to\nsay I haven't been treating Mr. McCarthy well.  A girl cannot throw\nherself at a man--especially an engaged man.\"\n\n\"How do you know he's engaged?\" demanded Mrs. Clancy.  \"Lands sakes, I\nhaven't heard him announcing his engagement, and he looks at you across\nthe dining room as sad as a calf chewing a dish rag.\"\n\n\"I overheard--I saw the girl,\" admitted Betty Tabor, blushing as she\nbowed her pretty head over her work.  \"She was telling him she wouldn't\nmarry him if he continued to play ball--besides, Mr. Williams met her\nuncle, and he said they were engaged.\"\n\n\"Is she pretty?\" demanded Mrs. Clancy.\n\n\"Beautiful,\" admitted Miss Tabor.  \"She's tall and fair and graceful,\nand she had on such a wonderful gown all trimmed\"----\n\n\"It looks to me,\" interrupted Mrs. Clancy, cutting off the description\nof the dressmaking details heartlessly, \"as if someone was just\njealous.\"\n\n\"Why, Mother Clancy,\" said the girl, shocked and red, \"you must think\nme perfectly frightful to believe I'd act that way.\"\n\n\"Oh, girls your age are all fools,\" said Mrs. Clancy complacently.  \"I\nreckon I was myself at your age.  Why, if Willie even spoke to another\ngirl I'd go out and hunt up two beaux just to show him I didn't care.\nYou went out with Williams when we came in last night, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Yes; he asked papa and me to late supper,\" the girl admitted.  \"But it\nreally wasn't what you think.  I wanted to find out something from\nhim--something that's been worrying me.\"\n\n\"Did you find out?\" asked the older woman skeptically.\n\n\"I don't know, Mother Clancy.\"  The girl's face grew troubled.  \"I'm\nworried.  I know Mr. Williams hasn't any money.  Papa says he is so\nreckless he always is in debt, and lately, whenever he talks to me, he\ntalks about the big sums he's going to have.  I asked papa what it was,\nand he only grunted.\"\n\n\"He'd better pitch a lot better than he has been if he's counting on\nany of that world's series money,\" remarked Mrs. Clancy savagely.\n\"McCarthy saved yesterday's game twice.\"\n\n\"You think Mr. Williams didn't want to win the game?\"  The girl's voice\nwas tense with anxiety.\n\n\"I hate to say it--but it looked that way.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mother Clancy, I haven't dared to say a word to anyone about it,\"\nsaid the girl hesitatingly, \"but I've been afraid for days.  He said\nsomething to me that almost frightened me.  He hinted that Mr. McCarthy\nwas losing games on purpose.  I didn't believe it--and somehow I got\nthe idea Mr. Williams was betting on the Panthers.\"\n\n\"Now, you just keep your mouth shut about this,\" replied Mrs. Clancy,\npressing her lips together determinedly.  \"I've had that same idea, and\nI think that's what's worryin' Willie.  You just lead that fellow on to\ntalk and I'll put a bug in Willie's ear.  Only,\" she added, \"Willie is\nlikely to snap my head off for buttin' into his business.  He's got to\nknow, though.\"\n\nClancy came into the apartment soon afterward and Betty Tabor, making a\nhasty excuse, gathered up her fancy work.\n\n\"It's going to rain,\" remarked Clancy resignedly.  \"I think the game\nwill be called off.  If the game's off, I've got tickets to a theatre,\nand you and mother and I can go.  Which one of the boys shall I ask to\ngo with us?\"\n\n\"If you don't mind,\" replied Betty Tabor steadily, \"ask Mr. Williams.\"\n\nThe rain came down steadily and before one o'clock the contest was\ncalled off.  The postponement was believed to lessen slightly the\nchances of the Bears to win the pennant, and they lounged dismally\naround the hotel, watching the bulletin board record the fact that the\nPanthers were winning easily, giving them the lead in the race by a\nsmall fraction in percentage.\n\nManager Clancy, his wife and Betty Tabor, with Williams rode away in a\ntaxicab to the theatre.  McCarthy declined Swanson's proposal to play\nbilliards, and, going to their rooms, he commenced to read.  Presently\nfive of the players trooped in, led by Swanson, to play poker, and,\nshoving McCarthy's bed aside, ignoring his protests, they dragged out\nchairs and tables and started the game.  Scarcely had they started when\nthe telephone bell rang and Swanson answered:\n\n\"No, he's not up here,\" he said.  \"No.  Who wants him?  All right, put\nthem on.  Hello!  Who is this?  Oh, all right.  No, Williams isn't\nhere.  Yes, I'm sure.  He went out with the manager an hour ago--to a\ntheatre, I think.  All right.  I'll tell him.\"\n\n\"Fellows,\" he said, as he hung up the receiver, \"some friends want\nWilliams to meet them as soon as he can.  He'll know where.  Fellow\nsays it's important.\"\n\nHe glanced meaningly at McCarthy, who nodded to show that he\nunderstood, and as he sat down he remarked:\n\n\"Kohinoor, I guess it's up to us to go to a show or something to-night.\"\n\n\"All right,\" replied McCarthy, striving vainly to continue his reading,\nwhile puzzling over the fresh development.\n\nAt that same instant there was an acrimonious conversation in progress\nin the room from which the telephone summons for Williams had just\ncome.  Easy Ed Edwards hung up after his brief talk with the player at\nthe other end of the line, an ugly gleam in his cold eyes.\n\n\"He isn't there,\" he reported to Barney Baldwin, who was sitting by the\ntable, jangling the ice in a high-ball glass.  \"Either he's trying to\ncross us or he's playing wise and keeping his stand-in with the\nmanager.\"\n\n\"Sure he isn't trying to cross us?\" asked Baldwin.  \"He won yesterday's\ngame instead of losing as he agreed to do.\"\n\n\"He tried hard enough to lose it,\" sneered the gambler.  \"He tossed up\nthe ball and those dubs couldn't beat him.  I tell you you've got to\nhandle that red-headed kid at third base as you promised you would.  He\nsaved that game twice.  We've got to get rid of him.\"\n\n\"He's stubborn,\" snarled Baldwin.  \"I tried to get him to quit the team\nand go back home.  He's as bull-headed as his uncle, and that's the\nlimit.\"\n\n\"You know who he is?\" queried the gambler in surprise.  \"Why don't you\ntell the newspaper boys and show him up.  That would finish him.  He's\nunder cover with his identity, and if we can prove he hasn't any right\nto play with the Bears they'll have to throw out the games he's won.\"\n\n\"That's just the trouble,\" replied Baldwin bitterly.  \"He's straight as\na string.  He never played ball except at college.  We can't tell who\nhe is because that would prove he's all right and make him stronger\nthan ever.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" inquired the gambler.\n\n\"He's the nephew of old Jim Lawrence, of Oregon, one of the richest men\nout there.  Lawrence is his guardian.  They had some sort of a run-in\nand the boy left.\"\n\n\"How do you know these things?\" demanded the gambler.\n\n\"The boy and my niece were sweethearts at home.  I coaxed her to tell\nme when I discovered she knew him.  They were engaged once, I\nunderstand, but it was broken off.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Edwards determinedly, \"get your niece on the job.  If\nanyone can handle that fellow a woman can.\"\n\n\"Oh, I say,\" protested Baldwin, with a show of indignation, \"I can't\nask her to get into anything like this.\"\n\n\"She probably was willing enough to get into it until she thought the\nboy didn't have any money,\" replied Edwards coldly.  \"I don't want the\ngirl to do anything wrong.  Just get her to make up with this McCarthy,\nor whatever his name is, and get him away from this ball team for a\nweek.  Baldwin, this is getting to be a serious matter with me, and\nwith you, too, if you want to hold your political power.\"\n\n\"All right, all right,\" said Baldwin hastily.  \"Maybe I can persuade\nthe girl to help us out.  I'll try.\"\n\n\"You'd better succeed--if you want to send your man to the Senate,\"\nsaid Edwards threateningly.\n\n\"I'll go right away,\" assented the politician.\n\nBaldwin arose leisurely, went down to his limousine that was waiting\nand ordered the man to drive home, although it was his custom to remain\ndowntown until late.  At home he sent at once for his niece, and, after\na brief talk, during which he was careful to hint that McCarthy had\nmade overtures toward reconciliation with his uncle, the girl went to\nthe telephone.\n\nMcCarthy, summoned to the telephone, talked for a few moments and, as\nthe poker game broke up, he called Swanson aside and said:\n\n\"You'll have to go alone to-night.  I've got to make a call.\"\n\n\"Who is she?\" asked Swanson insinuatingly.\n\n\"Barney Baldwin's niece--and at his house.\"\n\n\"Run on, Kohinoor,\" said the big shortstop.  \"I'll take Kennedy with me\nand if I'm not mistaken you'll find out more than I will.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n_McCarthy Makes a Call_\n\nIt was a little past seven o'clock, when McCarthy, arrayed in what\nSwanson referred to as his \"joy rags,\" which had been rescued from\nimpound in an express office after his first renewal of prosperity,\ncame out of the hotel.  He was undecided, wavering as to whether or not\nit was wise for him to keep the appointment to call on Helen Baldwin.\n\nThey had met during his college career, and, after a courtship that was\na whirlwind of impetuosity on his side, she had agreed to marry him.\nHe recalled now, with rather bitter recollections of his own blindness,\nher seemingly careless curiosity regarding the extent of the Lawrence\nwealth and his own expectations.  He had told her how, when his father\nhad died, Jim Lawrence had taken him to rear as his own child and heir.\n\nThe boy had grown older and broadened with his short experience in the\nworld outside the protecting circle that had been round him in\npreparatory school and in college, and he determined to write that\nnight to his guardian the letter he had so long delayed and to\napologize and admit that he had been headstrong and foolish.\n\nDuring the long ride uptown to the city residence of the Baldwins he\nhad time to think clearly.  He knew that Barney Baldwin was wealthy,\nbut he was unprepared for the magnificence of the garish house, set\ndown amid wide lawns in the most exclusive part of the River Drive\nsection.\n\nHelen Baldwin entered the room in a few moments, and McCarthy gazed at\nher in admiring surprise.\n\nShe came forward with both hands outstretched, smiling, a strangely\ntransformed girl from the cold, half-scornful one with whom he had\nparted only a short time before.\n\n\"I wanted to see you so much, Larry,\" she said.  \"I have been so blue\nand depressed since I--since we--since we last met.  Why didn't you\ncall?\"\n\n\"I only reached the city last night,\" he replied as he took a seat\nbeside her on a divan.  \"And--well, Helen, I hardly thought you would\nwish to see me.\"\n\n\"You foolish boy,\" she chided.  \"Don't you know yet that you must never\ntake a girl at her word?  Of course, I was annoyed to find you playing\nbaseball with a professional team, but I didn't mean we never were to\nmeet again.\"\n\n\"I thought your ultimatum settled all that,\" he answered, ill at ease.\n\"It was rather a shock to find that you cared more for what I was than\nfor what I am.\"\n\n\"You know, Larry, that you placed me in a painful position.  It isn't\nas if I were a rich girl, able to share with the man I love.  My father\nand mother are not rich, and Uncle Barney has supplied me with\neverything.  He has spoiled me--and I would make a wretched wife for a\npoor man.\"\n\n\"I would not have proposed marriage,\" said McCarthy quietly, \"unless I\nhad thought I would be able to provide for you as well as your uncle\ncould.  When circumstances were changed I could not ask you to\nsacrifice yourself unless you were willing--unless you cared enough for\nme to adapt yourself to the circumstances.\"\n\n\"But, Larry, aren't you going to quit all this foolishness and go back?\nHaven't you been reconciled with Mr. Lawrence?\" she asked in surprise.\n\n\"I expect to go back after the season is over and tell him how sorry I\nam that I caused him trouble.\"\n\n\"Please go, Larry.  You'll go to please me, won't you?\" she said\nappealingly.\n\n\"I cannot see why it would please you to have me quit now, when I'm\nmost needed,\" he replied stiffly.  \"Surely you cannot know what you are\nasking.\"\n\n\"It is such a little thing I ask,\" she pouted, \"I'm sure you would if\nyou loved me.\"\n\nThe girl's eyes were filling.  She had found him easy to handle by that\nappeal only a few short months before, but now, as he saw her, he was\nseized with a desire to laugh, as he realized that she was acting.  The\nwords of Swanson: \"You'll find out more than we will,\" flashed into his\nmind, and he determined to meet acting with acting.\n\n\"Perhaps, Helen,\" he said softly, \"if you could explain just why you\nwant me to quit playing I could see my way to do it.\"\n\n\"That is being a sensible boy,\" she said, bathing her eyes with a bit\nof lace.  \"I don't like to see you making an exhibition of yourself\nbefore a crowd--for money.\"  She shrugged her beautiful shoulders\ndisdainfully.\n\n\"Is that all?\" he asked quietly.\n\n\"All?  Isn't it enough?  And then there's Mr. Lawrence.  I know he is\nworrying about you.\"\n\n\"Any other reasons?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Then there's Uncle Barney\"----\n\n\"What has Barney Baldwin to do with it?\"  His voice was sharp, and the\ngirl hesitated under his steady scrutiny.\n\n\"You mustn't speak that way of my uncle,\" she said reprovingly.  \"I'm\nsure he's only interested in you because of me.  He says it is\nimperative that you do not play any more with the Bears.\"\n\n\"Then Barney Baldwin ordered you to telephone for me to come here?\" he\nasked harshly.\n\n\"He merely wanted me to persuade you to quit that ridiculous game and\ngo back to Mr. Lawrence right away.  He was only trying to save you.\"\n\nFor an instant he sat staring at the girl steadily.  Then he said\nslowly:\n\n\"What a fool I've been.\"\n\n\"Oh, Larry, Larry!\" she exclaimed, frightened by his manner.  \"What's\nthe matter--is anything wrong?\"\n\n\"Nothing wrong,\" he said, laughing mirthlessly.  \"Nothing wrong.  You\nmay tell your uncle, with my compliments, that I will continue to play\nwith the Bears to the end of the season, and that, in spite of him and\nhis dirty work we will win that pennant.\"\n\nHe arose and passed into the hall without a backward glance, ignoring\nthe sobs of the girl, who buried her face in her handkerchief and wept\ngracefully, telling him between sobs that he was cruel.  He took his\nhat from the servant and strode rapidly down the steps, his mind a\nturmoil of emotions.\n\nHow far did the plot to beat the Bears out of the pennant extend?  How\nmany were in it?  Gradually he commenced to draw connected thoughts\nfrom the chaos of his brain.  He realized that he was the storm center\nof a plot and that he was dealing with dangerous enemies.\n\nThe girl he had left so abruptly continued her stifled, stagey sobs\nuntil she heard the front door close.  Then she sat up quickly, glanced\nat her features in a wall mirror, brushed back a lock of ruffled hair\nand rubbed her eyes lightly with her kerchief.\n\n\"How he has changed,\" she said to herself.  \"He is getting masterful,\nand three months ago one pout was enough.  I could almost love\nhim--even without old Jim Lawrence's money.\n\n\"At any rate,\" she said, looking at the handsome solitaire on her\nfinger, \"I can keep the ring.  He never mentioned it.  I must go tell\nUncle Barney.\"\n\nShe ran lightly up the stairs to the den where Baldwin, smoking\nimpatiently, was waiting for her.\n\n\"Well?\" he inquired.  \"Did you land him?\"\n\n\"Don't speak so vulgarly, Uncle Barney,\" the girl replied.  \"No, I did\nnot.  He has grown stubborn.  He told me to tell you he intended to\nkeep on playing to the end of the season, and that they would win--I've\nforgotten what he said they would win.  Does it make much difference,\njust these few more games?\"\n\n\"Does it make any difference?\" he stormed.  \"Any difference--why, you\nfool, my whole political future may be ruined by that red-headed idiot.\nGet out of here.  I'm going to telephone.\"\n\nThe girl, weeping in earnest now, hurried from the room as Barney\nBaldwin seized the telephone.  A moment later he was saying:\n\n\"Hello, Ed.  She fell down.  He's stubborn and says he'll keep on\nplaying.  You'd better see your man and break that story in the\nnewspaper.  What?  They got him?  Where?  Well, then, they've got the\nwrong man.  McCarthy left my house not five minutes ago.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n_The Fight in the Café_\n\nSwanson left the hotel intending to pursue his volunteer detective work\nonly a few moments after McCarthy started uptown to respond to the\ninvitation of Miss Baldwin.  He had remained lounging around the lobby\ntalking with Kennedy, the big catcher, until he saw Williams leave the\nhotel by a side entrance and enter a street car.  Then he signaled\nKennedy and they strolled out together and caught the next car.\n\n\"It's Williams we're going to trail,\" was the only hint Swanson would\ngive at the start.\n\n\"Williams?\" snorted Kennedy.  \"You told me there was a chance for a\nscrap.  That guy won't fight.\"\n\n\"Maybe those he's going to see will,\" replied Swanson encouragingly.\n\nSwanson did not know then that, only a short time before he made his\narrangement with Kennedy, Williams had pleaded over the telephone to\nEdwards that he was afraid to meet him that evening, as requested,\nbecause he thought Clancy might discover the fact and that Clancy was\nalready suspicious.  Williams pretended alarm and convinced Edwards\nthat there was danger of someone following the pitcher, and on his way\nto keep the appointment to meet the athlete he had drawn into the toils\nof the conspiracy, he stopped at his gambling room and ordered Jack, a\nbig ex-prizefighter, to follow him to the meeting place and to keep\nwatch during the conference.\n\nIt was growing dark when Edwards strolled slowly across town toward the\nrendezvous.  Williams's fear of being upbraided when he met the gambler\non that evening was unfounded.  The gambler was convinced that the\npitcher had made every effort to lose the game and that he had been\nbalked only by luck and the fielding of McCarthy.  He wanted to learn\nfrom Williams whether or not there was any other player on the team who\ncould be bribed into assisting in the plot.\n\nSwanson and Kennedy trailing cautiously saw Williams jump off the car\nand walk along the sidewalk, and, after riding past him, they descended\nand walked along the opposite side of the street, keeping close in the\nshadows of the tall buildings.  A block further downtown they saw\nWilliams stop, look around suspiciously as if to see whether or not\nanyone was following him, then turn up the side street and enter a\ncafé.  Swanson quickly led the way.  They passed the saloon on the\nopposite side of the street, and after walking half a block they\nretraced their steps and stopped in a doorway opposite the entrance.\n\n\"Let's wait here and see who goes in,\" suggested Swanson.\n\n\"Whom do you expect him to meet?\" inquired Kennedy.\n\n\"Edwards,\" vouchsafed Swanson grudgingly.  \"He has been meeting that\ncrook for ten days now, and I want to find out what they're up to.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you tell me before?\" demanded Kennedy.  \"I'd kick his head\noff\"----\n\n\"We hadn't the goods on him,\" explained Swanson.  \"That's what I want\nyou for.  If we can prove he's up to some crooked work\"----\n\nThe big Swede menacingly folded his ponderous paw into a fist and\nflexed his biceps.\n\n\"Do you think he's trying to throw games?  He's been pitching funny\nball lately,\" asked Kennedy.  \"I've had to fight him in every game to\nget him to pitch fast.\"\n\n\"What I think and what I can prove are different things,\" growled the\nshortstop.  \"I've got my suspicions.  Now we're after proof.  Come on.\nIf he was to meet anyone there the one he was to meet is in ahead of\nhim.\"\n\nThe players walked to the corner, crossed the street and went into the\nsaloon without an effort at concealment.  The place appeared empty,\nsave for a bartender who was washing glasses behind the bar, and a\nheavy, coarse-featured man lounging near the end of the bar with a\nhalf-consumed high ball before him.\n\n\"Gimme a beer,\" ordered Swanson, throwing a coin onto the bar; \"what\nyou have, Ben?\"\n\n\"Make it two,\" replied Kennedy.\n\nThere was no sign of Williams, and only a narrow doorway, leading\nsomewhere toward the rear, gave a clue as to his probable egress from\nthe barroom.\n\nThe bartender, having rung up the amount of the sale on the cash\nregister, exchanged a few words in a low tone with the man at the end.\nThen he strolled back and stood near where Swanson and Kennedy were\nwasting time over their drinks.\n\n\"We were expecting to meet a friend here to-night,\" remarked Swanson,\ndeciding to take a new tack with the bartender.  \"Rather tall, slender\nyoung fellow.  Has anyone been in?\"\n\n\"Young fellow came in a while ago something like that,\" replied the\nbartender.  \"Seemed to be expecting someone, but turned around and went\nout.  Maybe that was him.\"\n\nThey knew he was lying, and Swanson, without changing expression, said:\n\n\"Must have thought he was in the wrong place, or too early.  Maybe\nhe'll come back.  We'll stick around awhile.\"\n\nHad they known what was transpiring in the private room just beyond the\ndoorway their interest would have been greater.  The big man who had\nstood at the end of the bar had gone at the first opportunity and was\nreporting to Easy Ed Edwards, who grew venomous with hate, while\nWilliams sat shaking with fright.\n\n\"I knew they'd get on.  If they report to Clancy I'm done for,\" he said.\n\n\"Shut up,\" ordered the gambler angrily.  \"They haven't seen you and\nthey don't know I'm here.  Who are they, Jack?\"\n\n\"I don't know dem,\" said the ex-fighter.  \"Dey's a big, husky lookin'\nguy, a Dutchman, I guess, wid a blue suit\"----\n\n\"It's Swanson,\" said Williams.  \"He's been looking at me as if he knew\nsomething for two or three days.  He has followed me here.\"\n\n\"De oder one is a smaller, wiry sort o' guy.  Got on a light suit\"----\n\n\"It must be McCarthy,\" whined Williams.  \"He's always with Swanson.\nThey're looking for me.  I wish I had kept out of this.\"\n\n\"Listen,\" ordered Edwards coldly.  \"This fellow McCarthy is the one we\nwant.  If we can get him out of the way it'll be easy and I can get\neven with that big, fat lobster, Baldwin, for trying to double cross\nme.  Jack, you go out there and get in a mix-up with them and take a\npoke at the little fellow that'll keep him from playing ball for a\nweek.  Is the bartender a friend of yours?\"\n\n\"One of me best pals,\" replied the ex-fighter.  \"Leaf it to me.  I'll\nland de punch dat'll fix dat fresh, young guy.\"\n\nThe fighter strolled back to the barroom and resumed his stand at the\nend of the bar, eyeing the two ball players.  As he tapped the bar the\nbartender walked to him.\n\n\"I'm goin' to start somethin',\" said Jack in a low tone.  \"Ed wants me\nto punch de head offen dat youngest one.\"\n\n\"That big guy looks hard to handle,\" commented the bartender.  \"Make it\nquick.  I don't like no rough house here.  The license ain't any too\nsafe now.\"\n\n\"I'm going back to see what's there,\" whispered Kennedy to Swanson.\n\"You stick here.  I'll bluff it through.\"\n\nHe walked toward the door leading back from the bar and started to pass\nthrough it.\n\n\"Here, young feller,\" said the bartender, \"where you goin'?\"\n\n\"Washroom,\" replied Kennedy, keeping on through the door.\n\n\"Naw you don't.  Come back outen there,\" ordered the fighter angrily.\n\n\"Who appointed you boss?\" asked Kennedy belligerently.\n\n\"Well, I'm boss anywhere I goes,\" declared the big fellow.  \"Youse stay\nouten there.  D'ye hear?\"\n\nHe grabbed the ball player by the arm--and at that instant Kennedy\nswung.  His fist caught the bruiser squarely on the mouth and he reeled\nback, then, with a bellow of rage, he sprang at Kennedy.\n\nWith a roar of anger Swanson hurled himself into the fray.  Kennedy's\nfist had caught the ex-fighter and cut his cheek open and blood spurted\nupon both as they fought, the frail partition swaying under their\nweight.  Swanson leaped with his arm drawn for a knock-out blow, just\nas Jack's right caught Kennedy upon the jaw and dropped him to the\nfloor helpless.  The blow the Swede had aimed at the fighter hit him\nupon the shoulder and slid over his head, and Jack, whirling, faced his\nnew adversary.  Swanson sprang to close quarters with the giant and his\nfist thudded home.  Jack, groggy and already half spent from his\nexertions, clinched and hung on.  The Swede, now a man gone mad with\nthe lust of battle, shook him off, hurled the giant backward against\nthe partition, and, crouching, he prepared to swing his right, waiting\nfor the opening to the jaw, while Jack, groggy and half dazed, covered\nhis head with his arms and swayed.  The blow never landed.  Suddenly it\nseemed to Swanson as if the worlds were crashing around his head.\nBright stars danced before his eyes, his knees gave way beneath him,\nand with a foolish laugh he sank to the floor and rolled, helpless,\nbeside his fallen comrade.  His last recollection was of hearing a\ntelephone bell jangling somewhere.\n\nThe ringing of the telephone bell that Swanson heard as he lapsed into\nunconsciousness was the call of Barney Baldwin for Ed Edwards.  The\ngambler, who, with his frightened companion, had heard the sounds of\nthe terrific struggle in the barroom sink into silence, spoke rapidly\nfor an instant, then, as Baldwin said: \"They've got the wrong man,\" he\nhung up the receiver with an oath and leaped toward the doorway.  He\nemerged upon a tableau showing his slugger, half dazed and hanging to\nthe partition for support, two figures inert upon the floor and the\nbartender coolly walking back toward the bar, carrying a heavy\nbung-starter in his hand, that explained the sudden ending of the fight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n_Two Missing Men_\n\nThe disappearance of Silent Swanson and Ben Kennedy brought\nconsternation to the ranks of the Bears, consternation that increased\nas the hour for starting the first game of the series against the\nJackrabbits drew near.  McCarthy, returning to the rooms after his\nsurprising interview with Helen Baldwin, was determined to tell his\nchum all that had taken place and to explain as well as was possible\nthe position in which he found himself.  He planned to urge Swanson to\ngo with him to Clancy, and for that reason he postponed taking the\nmanager into his confidence.\n\nHe hastened downstairs to breakfast, half expecting to find his chum\nwaiting for him in the dining room with an account of the night's\nevents.  He finished breakfast in a troubled state of mind, and, after\nwandering around the lobby for nearly an hour in the vain hope that\nSwanson would appear, he encountered Noisy Norton, who appeared\ndisturbed and distressed.\n\n\"Say,\" said Norton, \"seen Kennedy?\"\n\n\"No--seen Swanson?\"\n\n\"They went out together,\" said Norton, with an unusual burst of\nconversation.\n\n\"Didn't Kennedy come home either?\" asked McCarthy in fresh alarm.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThey sat silent for some time, then Noisy said:\n\n\"Something wrong.\"\n\n\"What'll we do?\" asked McCarthy anxiously.\n\n\"Tell Clancy,\" said Norton, with an effort.\n\nThey ascended the elevator together and rapped at Clancy's door.\n\n\"Mr. Clancy,\" said McCarthy, when the manager had bade them enter, \"I\nought to have come to you before.  Swanson and Kennedy are missing.\nThey didn't come in last night--and we're worried.\"\n\n\"Where were they?\" demanded the manager quickly.\n\n\"I was going with Swanson on an errand last night,\" said McCarthy.  \"We\nwere working on that matter that caused trouble the other day.  Then I\nhad a telephone call and went to see a--a friend of mine.  Swanson said\nhe'd take Kennedy with him.  They left the hotel together, Norton tells\nme, and they haven't come home.\"\n\n\"Either of them drinking?\" asked Clancy sharply.\n\n\"Beer--sometimes--not often,\" said Norton.\n\n\"Swanson hasn't been drinking at all,\" declared McCarthy.  \"Neither of\nthem would go off on a tear at this stage of the game.\"\n\n\"You're right, Kohinoor,\" said Clancy worriedly.  \"It's something else.\nThey'll show up, all right.  Thank you for telling me, boys, and don't\nsay anything about it.\"\n\nIn spite of their silence, however, the rumor that the star catcher and\nthe shortstop were missing spread through the team.  By noon the\nplayers were openly discussing the whereabouts of the two players.\nClancy showed his anxiety.\n\n\"Can't you tell me where they were going, Kohinoor?\" he asked.  \"I\ndon't want to press you to reveal anything you don't want to, but I'm\nafraid those boys are in trouble.\"\n\n\"I haven't any idea where they were going,\" replied McCarthy.  \"I know\nthat they were watching a certain fellow, and that a gambler named\nEdwards was mixed up in it.\"\n\n\"You've told me plenty,\" said the manager in low tones.  \"I have\nsuspected it all along.  I'm afraid they're run afoul of Edwards and\nthat he has managed to get them into trouble.\"\n\n\"If he has he has his nerve,\" said McCarthy.  \"Look over there.  He\njust came in with a party of friends.  I know the big man.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" inquired the manager, watching the party just entering one\nof the field boxes.\n\n\"That's Barney Baldwin, the political boss,\" explained McCarthy.\n\n\"Is he in this thing, too?\" inquired Clancy, starting with surprise.\n\n\"Yes, at least I think so.  You see, I know his niece.  It was at his\nhouse I went to call last night.  I discovered that he ordered his\nniece to call me and had her try to persuade me to quit the team right\naway.\"\n\n\"Look here, Kohinoor,\" said the manager, drawing him aside so the other\nplayers could not hear, \"I'm sorry you didn't tell me this before.  It\nlooks worse and worse all the time.  He wanted you to quit--and now two\nof my men disappear.  You'll have to play short to-day, and we'll send\nPardridge to third.  Get in there and hustle.\"\n\nSmith, the big spitball pitcher of the Bears, who had been held in\nreserve, was chosen to pitch, and for three innings the teams fought\nfor the opening without a real chance to score.  The cunning of Clancy\nwas shown in his choice of the big pitcher, whose speed and spitball\nkept the Jackrabbit batters hitting toward right field or sending slow,\neasy bounders down toward the pitcher.  He had chosen Smith in order to\nprotect the weakened third base side of the infield, and his plan\nworked well until the fourth inning, when Egbert, one of the speediest\nof the Jackrabbit sprinters, hit a spitball on top and sent a slow,\nweak roller toward third base.  Pardridge made a desperate effort to\nfield the ball, but fell short, and the Jackrabbits discovered the weak\nplace in the defense.  Two bunts rolled down the third-base line in\nsuccession, and, although Pardridge, playing close in a desperate\neffort to stop that style of attack, managed to throw out the second\nbunter, runners were on second and third with but one out when\n\"Buckthorne\" Black smashed a long hit over center for three bases and\nscored an instant later on a sharp, slashing hit through Noisy Norton.\nThe three runs seemed to spell the doom of the Bears, and they came in\nfrom the field angry, hot and desperate.  The roar of the crowd grew\nstronger when the score board showed the Panthers were winning their\ngame--5 to 1--from the Blues.\n\nMcCarthy was first at bat in that inning.  As he selected his bat he\nglanced toward the stand and grew hot with rage at seeing Baldwin\nlaughing until red in the face and slapping Ed Edwards on the back.\nThe gambler's usually stony face wore a smile of relief.  McCarthy\nwalked to the plate, pushed the first ball pitched down the third-base\nline and outsprinted the ball to first.  Norton strove to bring him\nhome, but his long-line drive went straight to the left fielder, and\nwhen Holleran struck out it seemed as if the chance to score was lost\nfor that inning.  McCarthy stood still, a few feet off first base, and,\nas Randall wound up to pitch, he started at top speed for second base.\nJackson, catching for the Jackrabbits, saw him, grabbed the ball and\nleaped into position to throw.  Like a flash McCarthy stopped and\ndanced a step or two back toward first base, as if daring the catcher\nto throw the ball.  Jackson pretended to throw to first, and, as\nMcCarthy edged a step closer the base the catcher saw there was no\nchance to catch him, and slowly relaxing from throwing position, he\ntook a step forward and started to toss the ball back to his pitcher.\nIn that instant McCarthy acted.  He leaped forward, and, before Jackson\ncould recover and spring back into throwing position, the fleet Bear\nwas nearing second base, making a beautifully executed delayed steal.\nJackson threw, although it was too late.  The ball, hurled over\nhastily, broke through the second baseman's hands and rolled twenty\nfeet toward center field.  McCarthy turned second at full speed and\nraced for third, while Reilly tore after the ball, and, picking it up,\nmade a fast, low throw toward third.  Again the ball escaped the\nbaseman, and McCarthy, without the loss of a stride, turned third base\nand raced home, sliding under Jackson as he reached for the high-thrown\nball.\n\nThe game had settled down to a desperate series of attacks by the\nBears, and a stubborn defense on the part of the Jackrabbits.  In the\nsixth and again in the seventh the Bears forced the attack, but each\ntime they fell short of scoring, and the eighth inning came with the\nscore 3 to 1 against them.  Lucas, who was catching in Kennedy's place,\nopened that inning, and the Bears' hope arose when he, the weakest\nhitter on the team, was hit by a pitched ball.  Smith drove a hard\nbounder toward first, but O'Meara knocked down the ball and reached the\nbase in time to retire the big, lumbering pitcher, letting Lucas reach\nsecond.  Jacobsen struck out, and McCarthy, gritting his teeth, came to\nbat.  One strike and one ball had been called when, looking toward the\nbench for a signal from Clancy, he saw a sight that made his heart\njump.  In that fleeting glance he had seen Swanson, in uniform, coming\nonto the bench through the little doorway under the stands.\n\nSwanson's eye was black and a strip of plaster extended from under his\ncap onto his forehead.  His face was swollen and discolored and a\nbandage covered his head, showing under his cap.\n\nIf he only could get on first base, McCarthy told himself, there was\nhope, and, as the ball sped toward him he poked out his bat, dropped\nanother bunt toward third base, and, by a terrific burst of speed he\nbeat it to first base, sending Lucas to third.\n\n\"Swanson batting for Holleran.  Swanson will play shortstop, McCarthy\nthird base, Pardridge in left field.\"\n\nMcCarthy had determined to steal second base, but the chance never\npresented.  The first ball that came whizzing toward the plate Swanson\nhit.  It went like a rocket far out to left center field.  Two speedy\noutfielders glanced at the flying ball, then turned and sprinted for\nthe outer barriers.  The ball soared on and on, and with a crash struck\nagainst the sign over the left field seats and fell back into the\nthrong in the bleachers, and while the crowd cheered and groaned three\nBears trotted around the bases to the plate.\n\nSwanson, running slowly and painfully, crossed the plate, with the\nscore that put the Bears in the lead.  He did not stop.  Straight\ntoward the box where Edwards and Baldwin sat, he went.  His face was\nterrible.  They saw him coming, and Baldwin, apologetic with fear, half\narose, as if to cry for help.  The gambler, white but still keeping his\nnerve, shrank back a trifle, but held his seat.  Swanson walked\nstraight to them.  For an instant he towered over them threateningly,\nthen he said:\n\n\"Good afternoon, gentlemen, I hope you're glad to see me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n_Swanson to the Rescue_\n\nWhen Silent Swanson aroused himself from the effects of the blow on the\nhead from the beer mallet in the hands of the treacherous bartender, he\nsat up feebly and found himself in semi-darkness.\n\n\"Someone crowned me with a crowbar,\" he muttered to himself as his\nbrain gradually began to work normally.  \"They must have kicked me\nafter I went down.\"\n\nA faint groan from the heavy shadows near him startled him into a\nrealization of what had happened.  He felt around for a moment and his\nfingers touched the body of a man huddled against a wall.\n\n\"It must be Ken--and he's hurt,\" he muttered, and crept toward his\ncompanion.  Swanson worked over him, shaking and speaking to him and\npresently Kennedy stirred and sat up against the wall.\n\n\"Where are we?  What happened?\" he inquired in a bewildered manner.\n\n\"Search me,\" replied Swanson mournfully.  \"I was just getting ready to\nswing the haymaker on that big fellow when the house fell.  I think\nsomeone beaned me from behind with a brick and then kicked us around.\nOuch--my ribs feel stoved in.\"\n\n\"I'm sore all over,\" moaned Kennedy.  \"That fellow didn't do it all by\nhimself, did he?\"\n\n\"I have a dim recollection of hearing someone tell him to fix us\nright,\" replied Swanson.  \"I may have dreamed it.\"\n\n\"Let's get out of here,\" urged Swanson suddenly.  \"If some watchman\nfinds us here we'll be pinched, and it will make a nice story for the\nreporters.\"\n\n\"Where do you think we are?\" asked Kennedy, striving to get to his feet\nand groaning with every move.\n\n\"In the alley back of the joint we were in,\" replied Swanson.  \"They\nmust have dragged us to the back door and dumped us.\"\n\nHe had managed to get upon his feet, assisted Kennedy to arise, and\nslowly and with many groans they went toward the mouth of the alley.\n\n\"Let's go around to the front door and clean out that place,\" urged\nSwanson, growing angry.\n\nBoth men were commencing to recover from the effects of the cruel\ntreatment they had endured, and, as their injured muscles loosened\ntheir anger arose.  They made their way painfully around the block and\nto the entrance of the saloon.  It was locked and the place was in\ntotal darkness.  Swanson shook the barred doors without result, then\nstood gazing blankly against the glass.\n\n\"Say, Ken, we must have been knocked out for quite a while,\" he\nremarked thoughtfully.  \"No one is here.  They probably closed up as\nsoon as they threw us out--and we haven't a bit of proof against\nanyone.\"\n\n\"Wonder what time it is?\" groaned Kennedy.  \"We've got to get to bed if\nwe want to play.\"\n\n\"Holy Mackerel,\" exclaimed Swanson, using his favorite form of\nswearing.  \"I forgot!  That's it!  Ken, after we were knocked out they\nbeat us to keep us from playing.  Come on.  We've got to forget about\nfighting and get ready to play.  I'll get even with someone for this.\"\n\nSwanson was thinking rapidly as they limped slowly along the darkened\nstreets in search of a night prowling cabman or taxi-cab, keeping a\nsharp lookout for policemen, fearing they might be arrested because of\ntheir battered condition.\n\n\"We've got to get to somewhere we can be patched up and get some\nsleep,\" he repeated, urging Kennedy, whose sufferings made their\nprogress slow.  \"We've got to keep those crooks from finding out where\nwe are.  Let them think they've finished us and then show up in time to\nplay.\"\n\n\"I don't think I can play, Silent,\" moaned Kennedy.  \"I can't drag\nmyself much farther.\"\n\nHe was making a brave effort to keep on, and for another block Swanson\nhalf supported him.  Then he gave up and sat down upon the curbing.\n\n\"Sit here,\" said Swanson quickly.  \"There is an all-night drug store a\ncouple of blocks down; I'll find a cab there.\"\n\nHe limped away as rapidly as possible, and, almost before Kennedy\nrealized it, he returned in a taxicab.\n\n\"Caught him just starting home,\" explained Swanson, as he half lifted\nKennedy into the tonneau.  \"He says there is a hospital less than a\nmile from here where we can get treatment.\"\n\nThe bruised and battered players groaned and swore under their breath,\nwhile the cab made a rapid trip to the hospital, and half an hour later\nthey were resting easily in a private room, their wounds were being\nwashed and dressed and a young doctor was working hard to relieve their\nsufferings.\n\n\"We've got to play ball this afternoon, Doc,\" said Swanson, watching\nthe surgeon cut and wash the hair from the wound on his scalp.  \"Fix us\nup right.\"\n\n\"You'll not play ball this week,\" said the surgeon cheerfully.  \"Your\nfriend over there will be all right in a couple of days.  He's badly\nbruised and his hand is sprained, but not seriously.  He's sorer than\nyou are, but by morning you'll be a cripple.\"\n\n\"But, Doc, we've got to play,\" pleaded Swanson.  \"You've got to fix us\nup.\"\n\n\"I'll do all I can,\" remarked the surgeon.  \"But your right arm is\nbadly wrenched and bruised.  The cuts won't hurt, but one of your eyes\nwill be out of commission for three or four days.  Whose mule kicked\nyou?\"\n\nSwanson, pledging the doctor to secrecy, revealed part of the truth.\n\n\"You won't be able to play,\" he advised his patients, \"and Kennedy must\ntake two days off at least.\"\n\n\"I've got to play, Doc,\" responded Swanson, \"if it's on one leg; I've\ngot to.\"\n\nIt was a few minutes past noon when Swanson awoke with a start.  The\nnurse was in the room, moving about quietly, and Kennedy still slept,\nmoving and muttering in his sleep, as if dreaming of the battle.  He\nremained quiet for a few moments, and then said:\n\n\"Nurse, please bring me my clothes.\"\n\n\"You must wait until after breakfast,\" she said, coming to the bedside.\n\"Dr. Anderson was here a short time ago, and said I was to give you\nyour breakfast when you awoke, then call him.\"\n\n\"But I'm in a hurry,\" protested the player.  \"I can't wait.  They'll be\nanxious about us.\"\n\n\"The doctor said he would give you treatment and massage, so that you\ncould get out more quickly,\" she responded.  \"I'll bring breakfast and\nthen call him.\"\n\nKennedy, feeling much refreshed, but too sore and stiff to move without\nsuffering, was awakened for breakfast, and he and Swanson discussed the\nsituation in low tones as they ate.\n\nIt was past one o'clock before Swanson commenced to worry about the\nfailure of the doctor to come.  After fuming and fretting for more than\nhalf an hour he rang for the nurse and sent her in quest of Dr.\nAnderson.  She returned soon and reported that he had been summoned\nsuddenly to assist in performing an important operation, but that he\nprobably would return soon.  Not until two o'clock had passed did\nSwanson commence to become seriously disturbed at the failure of the\ndoctor to appear.  A short nap had refreshed him somewhat, and when\nKennedy announced that it was past two o'clock he waited a few moments,\nthen commenced ringing the call bell by his bedside to summon the\nnurse.  There was no response, and growing angry and impatient, he rang\nagain and again.\n\n\"If I only had a pair of pants,\" wailed the helpless giant, \"I'd break\nout.\"\n\nHe climbed out of bed and searched the room.  In his impatience he\nbumped his wounded head, and blood flowed afresh from under the\nbandages, and with a movement of his arm he smeared it over his face.\nThe giant Swede was working himself into a fury.  Every few moments he\nrang the bell, and a few moments before three o'clock the nurse, calm\nand appearing as if nothing unusual was happening, came in.\n\n\"Did you ring?\" she inquired.\n\nSwanson started to explode, but stood looking at her in helpless fury.\n\n\"Get me my clothes,\" he ordered in tones that frightened the girl,\ntrained as she was to the outbursts of patients.\n\n\"Get me my clothes,\" he repeated.\n\n\"It is against orders,\" she said hesitatingly.  \"You cannot go until\nthe doctor\"----\n\n\"Get me my clothes,\" he half screamed.  \"If my clothes aren't here in\nfive minutes I'm going this way.\"\n\nThe nurse, thoroughly alarmed by the fury of the big man, ran from the\nroom, and, within five minutes she returned with another nurse to\nsupport her.\n\n\"Where are my clothes?\" he demanded in an awful voice.\n\n\"It's against orders,\" said the older nurse firmly.  \"You cannot leave\nwithout permission from the doctor in charge.\"\n\nFor an instant it seemed as if Swanson would forget himself and become\nviolent.  With an effort he controlled his anger and sank back upon the\npillows.\n\n\"All right,\" he said resignedly, \"let me telephone to the boss and\nexplain.\"\n\n\"You are not going to quit, Silent?\" demanded Kennedy, starting up in\nbed.  \"I'll go myself\"----\n\nThe quick wink that Swanson gave him stopped the catcher's angry\nexpostulation.\n\n\"That's a good boy!\" said the nurse pleasantly.  \"There isn't any use\nto fret.  I'll bring you the telephone.\"\n\nThe telephone was brought, and, when the nurse left the room Swanson\ncalled up the hotel at which they lived.\n\n\"That you, Joe?\" he said rapidly.  \"This is Silent--yes, in hospital.\nSend a taxi to the corner as fast as you can get it here.  I'll be\nwatching.\"\n\nHe cut off the carriage clerk's curious questions by hanging up the\nreceiver.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" whispered Kennedy from his bed.\n\n\"I'm going out of here,\" said Swanson.  He crept out of bed, and with\nhis face pressed against the window, watched the corner four floors\nbelow until a taxicab stopped there and waited.  Then, drawing a sheet\nover his night gown, he opened the door cautiously.\n\nThe receiving clerk had a glimpse of a ferocious looking ghost, garbed\nin a white sheet, and with face smeared with blood, racing down the\nhallway, and before her screams could bring help, Swanson had run\nlimpingly across the street, leaped into the taxi and was shouting\norders to the driver to get him to the ball park.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n_Hidden Foes_\n\nThe disappearance and dramatic reappearance of Swanson and Kennedy, who\nwas released from the hospital after the game, was the sensation of the\ncountry for twelve hours; then it was paled into insignificance by a\nnew sensation that caused a wave of indignation and an insistent demand\nfor proof from all parts of the country and left the Bears dazed by the\nseries of events that crowded upon them.\n\nThe second sensation was the printing of an article in one of the\nforemost papers of their city in which the charge was made that one\nmember of the Bear team had been bribed; indeed, had been put on the\nteam with the sole end that he might throw games and force the\nchampionship upon the Panthers.\n\nThe article created a furore which caused the public to forget the\nmysterious circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Swanson and\nKennedy.\n\nAlthough no name was mentioned, the facts set forth fitted only\nMcCarthy, the new third baseman, and rallied all the admirers of the\nlithe red-headed boy to his side and set loose a storm of anger and\nsuspicion directed upon him by those who criticised his playing or\nopposed him through prejudice.\n\nManager Clancy, after an anxious evening and night trying to get at the\nfacts of the case of Swanson and Kennedy, and getting Kennedy out of\nthe hospital, was the first of the Bears to see the new attack.  He\nread the entire article from end to end, and going to his apartment he\ntelephoned for McCarthy, Swanson, Kennedy and Secretary Tabor to come\nto his rooms at once.\n\nManager Clancy was waiting, striding up and down the room restlessly\nand as the three players entered, he unceremoniously shooed his wife\ninto the next room before she had a chance to defend her boys.\n\n\"Fellows,\" said the manager quietly, \"I sent for you because you seem\nto know more what's going on than the others do.  I suppose none of you\nhas read this article in this morning's paper.  I'll read it to you.\"\n\nAs he read, the players began to look one at the other and ejaculations\nof surprise and anger came from them.  When Clancy reached the portion\nof the article telling of the player joining the Bears, McCarthy sprang\nfrom his chair.\n\n\"Why,\" he exclaimed, flushing angrily, \"why, he means me.\"\n\n\"It's a d----n shame,\" roared Swanson.  \"I'll wring his neck.\"\n\n\"Let me finish,\" said Clancy, and completed the reading.  At the end\nthe players broke into excited questions and threats and Clancy said:\n\n\"Now, see here, boys; we're against a tough proposition.  This article\nis just part of it.  I wanted to talk things over with you fellows.\nI've sent for Technicalities, and want to find out a few things from\nhim.  Now you fellows tell me all you know.  By the way, you needn't\nshy at using Williams's name.  I'm not saying he's guilty, but I know\nhe's the one you have been watching.\"\n\nDetail by detail they described to the manager the events of the\npreceding days.\n\n\"Keep quiet about all that.  The case is one we can't beat except on\nthe ball field.  Every one of us is certain that Edwards has bribed\nWilliams and that he has lined up this big politician, Barney Baldwin,\nand now they've dished up this story about McCarthy to try to drive him\nout of the game.  Are you game to stand what the crowd will do to you\nto-day, Kohinoor?\"\n\n\"I'll play,\" replied McCarthy grimly.\n\n\"Better stuff your ears with cotton if we're losing,\" advised the\nmanager.  \"This crowd will turn on you in a second and accuse you of\nmore than the paper did, if you make an error or two.  It will be worse\nif you stay out of the game.  Then they'll think the story is true and\nthat I've laid you off for throwing games.  I have a plan.  I'm going\nto act as if I believe McCarthy is trying to throw games.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said McCarthy, gripping the manager's hand gratefully, just\nas a knock sounded on the door and Technicalities Feehan entered.\n\n\"I regret exceedingly my absence when you wanted me, Mr. Clancy,\" he\nsaid.  \"I have just returned and have been reading this absurd article\nreflecting upon the integrity of Mr. McCarthy.\"\n\n\"What do you think of it?\" asked Swanson.\n\n\"Absurd.  The figures prove directly the contrary.  Let me read to you\nsome of my recent calculations\"----\n\n\"Never mind--never mind,\" protested Clancy.  \"Save them for the paper.\nWhat I wanted to find out is who is this fellow Barney Baldwin?\"\n\n\"Baldwin,\" said Feehan calmly, \"is a politician, accused of much\ncrooked work.  I do not know that he ever has been convicted\"----\n\n\"Meantime,\" remarked Feehan calmly, \"I shall attempt to discover the\nrelations existing between Mr. Edwards, the gamester, and this person\nwho wrote this attack.  I shall have some statistics to show the\neditor\"----\n\n\"Never mind the statistics,\" said Clancy, cutting off Feehan before he\ncould bestride his hobby, \"I want you to find out who was back of the\nfellow who wrote that article; whether anyone bribed him to do it.  I'm\nbeginning to think we are dealing with bigger men than Ed Edwards.\n\n\"Now see here, fellows,\" he added frowning worriedly, \"we're up against\nthe toughest proposition we ever tackled, but we can beat it.  The best\nway to beat them is to pretend we don't suspect a thing and let them\nwork out their own schemes\"----\"Hello, come in,\" he called in response\nto a rap on the door.  \"Oh, it's you, Bannard!  How are you?  I'm just\nhaving a little talk with the boys.  How are things to-day?\"\n\nHe feigned an indifferent manner.\n\n\"Pretty good, Bill.  Team all right?\" asked the president.  \"I heard\ntwo of the boys got mixed up in a barroom scrap.\"\n\n\"I was just warning them about that,\" said Clancy.  \"These are the two\n(he pointed to Kennedy and Swanson).  I was warning them that a lot of\ntough mugs in this burg are likely to get excited over baseball these\ndays and ball players ought to stick close to the hotel.\"\n\n\"Glad they're not much hurt,\" said Bannard easily, looking at the\nbattered athletes.  \"How is the pitching staff?  By the way, who is\nworking to-day?\"\n\n\"It's Williams's turn,\" said Clancy steadily.  \"Why?\"\n\n\"Why, that's what I came to see about,\" replied the president frankly.\n\"That friend of mine--the one I spoke to you about the other day--wants\nto see him pitch.  I'm starting West at noon and I told him I'd ask you\nas a favor.  He was pretty sore because you didn't put him in the other\ntime I asked you.\"\n\n\"All right.  Always glad to oblige when possible,\" said Clancy grimly.\n\n\"Why didn't you ask who his friend is?\" inquired Swanson when Bannard\ndeparted.\n\n\"Bonehead, fool, slow thinker,\" said Clancy.  \"I ought to bench myself\nfor not thinking of it.  I'll find out the first time I see him.\"\n\nThe players laughed nervously and departed from the room.  Scarcely had\nMcCarthy and Swanson reached their quarters when the telephone girl\ncalled to tell McCarthy an important call had been coming in for half\nan hour.\n\n\"Very well, connect me,\" said McCarthy.\n\nHe recognized Helen Baldwin's voice, and it shook with emotion, as she\nmade certain she was talking to him.\n\n\"Oh, Larry,\" she said, \"I must see you!  I must--to-night, if possible!\nPlease come!\"\n\n\"What is the matter, Helen?\" he asked anxiously.  \"It's impossible to\ncome to-night--and after the last\"----\n\n\"I know, I know, Larry,\" she said rapidly.  \"Please, please forget all\nthat.  I didn't understand!  I didn't know!  I've found out something\nthat showed me how bad and wicked I have been.  I didn't mean to bring\nharm to you\"----\n\n\"Uncle came home,\" she said.  \"He'd been drinking.  He made terrible\nthreats against you.\"\n\n\"I'll be up to-night,\" said McCarthy.\n\n\"Better look out--it's a trap,\" warned Swanson, who had heard McCarthy\npromise to call that night.\n\n\"There's something wrong up there,\" replied McCarthy.  \"I'm going to\nBaldwin's house to-night.\"\n\nThey went downstairs talking in low tones.  On the parlor floor Betty\nTabor was sitting reading.  She had scarcely spoken to McCarthy since\nthe day she had heard him in conversation with Helen Baldwin.\nImpulsively she dropped her book and came toward him with her hand\noutstretched.\n\n\"Mr. McCarthy,\" she said rapidly, \"I wanted to tell you--I do not\nbelieve a word of these horrible things the paper says about you.  It\nis hateful!  I told them they were false.  I didn't think they'd dare\ntell others\"----\n\n\"Them?\" inquired McCarthy.  \"Then you've heard this story before?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she admitted.  \"I refused to listen--I knew there was not a word\nof truth in the stories.  I knew you were honest\"----\n\n\"I thank you very much, Miss Tabor,\" he said quietly.  \"I shall not\nneed to ask who told you.\"\n\n\"I only wanted you to know I believed in you,\" she said simply, and as\nhe looked into her eyes, she lowered them with a quick blush and\nhastened to recover her book.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n_Fair Play_\n\nThirty thousand persons were packed into the big stands on the Bears'\nPark, and ten thousand others camped in the outer field seats when the\nteams ran out to play that day.\n\nA few loyalists applauded McCarthy as he trotted along with the other\nplayers, but the ripple of applause died suddenly as if the friends he\nhad in the crowd feared to start a counterstorm of criticism and abuse.\n\nThe great crowd was strangely quiet, although a hum of comment spread\nthrough the stands when the Bears took the fielding practice and\nJacobson, the pitcher, practiced at third base, while McCarthy remained\nnear the stands idly warming up a recruit pitcher.  The buzz arose to a\nhum of excitement.  Reporters, deserting the press box, swarmed down\nunder the stands and crowded to the entrance at the rear of the Bears'\nbench, calling for Clancy, who went to speak with them.\n\n\"Why isn't McCarthy in the game?\" demanded the spokesman, who already\nhad written that McCarthy was suspended and out of the game.\n\n\"He is in the game,\" replied Clancy innocently.  \"Why shouldn't he be?\"\n\nFor an instant the reporters stood undecided, then sprinted back to\ntheir posts, to change what they had written and alter the line-up.\n\nBill Tascott, the umpire, swaggered out to the plate, dusted the\nrubber, while the megaphones announced the batteries, and, at that\ninstant McCarthy, jerking his glove from his belt, hurled his catcher's\nmitt to the bench and trotted out to third base, as Jacobson walked\ntoward the bench.\n\nThe little scattering applause that greeted him grew and grew until the\ncrowd applauded heartily and gave round after round of applause for the\nthird baseman.  It was the American spirit of fair play and justice\nrevealing itself, and the crowd, accepting Manager Clancy's confidence\nin his third baseman, rendered its verdict of not guilty in cheers.\n\nThe Jackrabbits had figured cunningly that McCarthy would be unnerved\nby the strain of the situation, and \"Hooks\" O'Leary, the manager, had\nordered that the attack be directed upon him.  The first batter pushed\na slow, twisting bounder down the third-base line and McCarthy, racing\nforward, scooped the ball with one hand and still running, snapped it\nunderhand to first base ten feet ahead of the runner.  He knew that his\nfeat was mere bravado and that he had taken a reckless and useless\nchance, but the crowd needed no further convincing, but broke into a\ncrashing testimonial of applause, and he knew he was safe so far as\ntheir confidence in him was involved.\n\nThe game developed into a panic, then the rout of the Rabbits and the\ntriumphant Bears rushed to victory by a score of 11 to 2.  And, while\nthey were winning, the Panthers won one game by a wide margin and lost\nthe second after a fierce pitcher's duel, 2 to 1, leaving the Bears a\nfull game in the lead of the pennant race, with but five games to play,\nwhile the Panthers played four.\n\n\"The place to contradict baseball stories,\" remarked Clancy, grimly, in\nthe club house, as the players were dressing after the victory, \"is on\nthe ball field.  If we had lost to-day we would have been a bunch of\ncrooks, but as we won, we're all honest.\"\n\nHe glanced quickly toward where Williams was dressing, but the pitcher\nkept his eyes averted and seemed not to hear the remark.\n\n\"And Kohinoor,\" the manager added, \"I give it to you for nerve in\npulling off that circus stuff in the first inning.  But if you do it\nagain it'll cost you a bunch of your salary.\"\n\nMcCarthy found a note in his key box when he returned to the hotel.  He\nhad torn it open to read when Miss Betty Tabor, who had returned from\nthe grounds with Mrs. Clancy, came laughing and almost dancing across\nthe lobby toward the group of players, leaving her portly, but no less\nelated companion, to pant along behind her.\n\n\"Oh, it was glorious, boys!\" she said.  \"I never was so excited in my\nlife as when you made those four runs in the third inning.  And Mother\nClancy was so wrought up she dropped three stitches in her fancy work\nand had to work all the rest of the game picking them out.\"\n\n\"She has a frightful case of nerves,\" said Swanson sarcastically.  \"I\nbelieve she'd break a needle if we won the world's championship the\nlast inning of the deciding game.\"\n\nThey laughed joyously as the girl turned to McCarthy and said frankly:\n\n\"I am so glad for your sake, Mr. McCarthy.  I was so angry I could have\nturned and told some of the people behind me what I thought of them\nbefore the game started, but when you fielded that first ball they\ncheered you--and that made up for it.\"\n\n\"They should have heard what Mr. Clancy had to say about it,\" he\nlaughed, and then growing serious said, \"It is kind of you, Miss Tabor.\nI am glad to know someone had faith in me.\"\n\nThey were standing a little apart from the group, which was slowly\nmoving toward the elevators, chattering excitedly as school boys and\ngirls.  The feeling of relief from the anxiety and suspicion that had\nfallen upon them gave rise to exuberance.\n\n\"Mr. Clancy is taking us for an auto ride all around the city\nto-night,\" said Miss Tabor.  \"Shall I ask him to invite you to come\nwith us?  There's an extra seat.\"\n\n\"It's awfully good of you,\" he said in genuine regret.  \"I wish I\ncould--but I have an engagement.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she said, her tones chilling quickly.  \"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Miss Tabor,\" he pleaded eagerly, \"please do not think I do not want to\ngo\"----\n\n\"Did I hint such a thing?\" she inquired, with an air of innocent\nindifference.\n\nHe could not fence with her upon that basis and after a moment of idle\nexchange of formalities she turned to join Mrs. Clancy and McCarthy\nwent to his room.  Swanson was stretched upon the bed, reading\nnewspapers, and flinging each sheet at random as he finished scanning\nits contents.\n\n\"Darn the luck,\" said McCarthy, hurling his glove and shoes toward his\ntrunk.\n\n\"Did his 'ittle tootsie wootsy treat him mean?\" asked Swanson in his\nmost exasperating tones.\n\n\"Aw shut up, you big dub,\" snapped McCarthy angrily, resorting to ball\nplayers' repartee to cover his feelings.\n\n\"Maybe his lovey dovey is just jealous and will forgive her 'ittle\npet,\" taunted the giant.  \"Petty mustn't mind what lovey says in her\nnotes.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Swanson, with vast relief when he found Swanson was barking\nup the wrong tree, \"I forgot all about the note.\"\n\nHe dragged the missive from his pocket and scanned it hastily, then\ntossed it across to Swanson.\n\n\"Date is off,\" he announced joyously.  \"Needn't watch me to-night.\"\n\nSwanson read:\n\n\"Dear Larry:\n\n\"Don't come to-night.  Uncle will be here--with friends--and I'm\nafraid.  I must see you soon as possible.  Will try to arrange to meet\nyou somewhere to-morrow.  I will telephone. H.\"\n\nAnd while Swanson read the note McCarthy was at the telephone.\n\n\"Miss Tabor,\" he was saying eagerly, \"this is Mr. McCarthy.  I find my\nengagement for this evening is canceled.  Please ask Mr. Clancy if I\nmay go.  Please.  Yes, I said please.  Shall I say it again?\"\n\n\"And, Miss Tabor, if that spare seat is in the tonneau----  No, Mrs.\nClancy should sit with her husband.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\n_A Victory and a Defeat_\n\nAnother crowd of enormous size greeted the Bears as they raced onto the\nball field early the next afternoon to play the doubleheader that was\nto complete the season's series against the Jackrabbits.\n\nThe paper that had printed the attack upon the team had given space to\na partial retraction, and, although the players did not know it, the\nreporter who had written the article had been suspended during an\ninvestigation that was inspired because Technicalities Feehan had,\nafter overwhelming two editors with his statistics, convinced them that\nno basis of truth existed for such charges.\n\nThe Bears were happy and confident.  With a full game the advantage and\nonly five more games to play, and those comparatively easy; with the\npitching staff in good condition, they considered the pennant as won.\n\nMcCarthy and Swanson almost had forgotten to keep watch upon Williams.\nThey despised him, and in the club house and on the field they ignored\nhim completely.  Several of the other players, although they knew\nnothing of the plot, had come to ignore the pitcher, and he shunned\nthem all.  He seemed nervous and laboring under a heavy strain.  Two or\nthree times he started toward Clancy as if to speak to him, but each\ntime the manager, who was watching him, turned away to address another\nplayer.  Finally, Williams seemed to gather his courage, and with a\npretense of indifference he sauntered toward Clancy, who was talking\nwith several of the players.\n\n\"Which game do I work, Bill?\" he asked, tossing his glove down and\npicking up a bat.\n\n\"I think I'll save you for the first game of the World's Series,\nAdonis,\" replied Clancy.  \"It's a shame to waste you beating these dub\nclubs.\"\n\nThe hidden sarcasm in the words stung.  The pitcher started, then\nrallied and said:\n\n\"What have you got it in for me about?  Haven't I worked my head off to\nwin for your team?\"\n\n\"I haven't made any kick,\" responded Clancy shortly.  \"When I have a\nkick coming I'll make it good and strong.\"\n\n\"I'm not joking, Bill,\" the pitcher persisted.  \"My arm is good, and a\nlot of my friends are wondering why I don't work when it's my turn.\"\n\n\"Tell them,\" said Clancy very quietly, \"that I have only one third\nbaseman, and that I don't want him killed.\"\n\nWilliams's eyes were opened.  He felt beneath the bitter calmness of\nthe manager's voice the fact that Clancy knew--at least part of the\ntruth.  His jaw dropped and his face went white.  Clancy, with a short\nlaugh, started to run away.\n\n\"Then I don't work to-day?\"  Alarm, pleading and a note of despair in\nhis tones as if he realized what the manager's decision meant to him.\n\n\"No, not to-day,\" replied Clancy, watching him sharply.\n\nHe turned away with exaggerated carelessness, and the rat-faced,\ncold-eyed man in the stands, who had been watching them closely,\ngritted out an oath and turned to Barney Baldwin, who was sitting\nbeside him:\n\n\"He isn't going to let Williams pitch,\" He said.  \"We're done for,\nBaldwin.\"\n\nThe politician turned purple with rage.\n\n\"Well, by ----, Edwards,\" he snarled, \"we'll see about this.  I'll put\nthis over or know why.\"\n\nThe first game of the afternoon was a romp for the Bears.  They scored\nearly, and by clean hitting and dashing play on the bases, piled up\ntallies until the opponents were hopelessly defeated before the fifth\ninning.  The game was a stern chase from that to the finish, and the\nBears, scoring steadily, won, 9 to 2.\n\nInstead of being elated by the victory Clancy seemed worried.  On the\nbench he was fretful and uneasy.\n\n\"Don't you fellows take any wide chances in the next game,\" he decreed\nwhile the pitchers were warming up for the final battle against the\nJackrabbits.  \"We want this game.  I'm sending Wilcox in to win it.\nWho's that young bird the Rabbits are warming up?  Hoskins, eh?\nBusher?  Well, watch him.  These young fellows with nothing but a\nstrong arm are dangerous as the deuce at this time of the year.\"\n\nUnlike their manager, the players were confident.  Their easy victory\nin the first game, the fact that Wilcox, their best right-handed\npitcher, was to start the game against an unknown and untried \"busher\"\nfresh from some small team and nervous through desire to win his first\ngame, made it seem as if victory should be easy.\n\nThey blanked the Jackrabbits easily in the first inning, and, obedient\nto orders, attacked the pitching of the youngster, Hoskins, with every\nart known to them.  They coached noisily, they waited at the plate,\nthey crowded close to the plate and they ran at the ball.\n\n\"What's that bird got?\" demanded Clancy as each batter returned to the\nbench.  \"Nothin', eh?  Nothing, and you swingin' your bat like you was\nstirrin' apple butter?  Nothin'?  Say, you fellows get busy and make a\nrun or two.\"\n\nIn spite of the orders, the abuse and criticism heaped upon them by the\nanxious manager, the Bears were not able to hit the balls offered by\nthe tall, cool youngster picked up by the Jackrabbits from some obscure\nclub.  He had steadied from his early symptoms of stage fright and was\npitching beautifully.  His curve ball angled across the plate, his\nspeed jumped high across the shoulders of the batters.  The fifth\ninning came with the score nothing to nothing.\n\nThe players no longer were confident.  The batters no longer came back\nto the bench with reports that the pitcher \"had nothing,\" but they grew\nserious and anxious and silent.  They tried bunting, but the\nJackrabbits were prepared and checked the assault.  They changed, and\ninstead of waiting they hit the first ball pitched.  They realized now\nthat they were engaged in a contest with a pitcher of merit, for they\nknew the difference between hitting unluckily and hitting good pitching.\n\nWilcox, a quiet, studious pitcher, was among the first to realize that\nthe youngster was pitching well.\n\n\"Get a run for me, fellows,\" he begged.  \"This kid has a world of stuff\non the ball.  Just meet that fast one--poke it, and it may go over\nsafe.  Get a run for me and we'll trim them.\"\n\nThe veteran was pitching slowly, cautiously.  Two or three times the\nJackrabbits threatened to score, but each time Wilcox put another twist\non the ball and stopped them.  Inning after inning he pleaded with his\nfellows to make a run, and Clancy stormed and grew sarcastic with each\nfailure.\n\n\"Get him this time, fellows; finish it up,\" begged Clancy when the\nJackrabbits had been blanked.  Norton was the first batter.  He chopped\nhis bat with a short stroke and sent a safe hit flying to right.  A\nsacrifice pushed him along to second base and the crowd commenced to\ncheer as Pardridge came to bat.  The big fellow drove his bat crashing\nagainst the first ball.  It went on a line almost straight toward\nsecond base.  Norton was tearing for the plate when O'Neill, the\nJackrabbit second baseman, running across, leaped and stretched out one\nhand.  The ball stuck in his extended glove, he came down squarely on\nsecond base and the triumphant scream of the crowd ended in a gasp of\ndisappointment at the realization that a double play had balked the\nBears' attack and ended the inning.\n\nThe Jackrabbits, aroused by their narrow escape, attacked with new\nvigor.  A fumble gave them the opening.  Despite the most determined\nefforts of Wilcox they forced a run across the plate and the Bears were\nthrown back under a handicap.\n\nMcCarthy was the first batter.  He crowded close to the plate,\ndetermined to force the young pitcher to earn his victory.  He refused\nto hit until two strikes and three balls had been called, and then,\nshortening his grip upon his bat, he hit the straight, fast ball\nsharply to center for a base.  Instead of sacrificing, Swanson received\norders to hit and run and, although he was thrown out at first base,\nMcCarthy reached second, and Babbitt, the first baseman, came to bat.\nHoskins appeared nervous.  The strain was telling upon the youngster,\nand Babbitt hit the first ball.  From the sound of the bat hitting the\nball, McCarthy knew the hit was not on the ground, and as he started\nhomeward a glance showed him that Merode, the speedy little center\nfielder, was running back into the deep field with his eye on the ball.\nIt was a fly-out unless Merode muffed, and McCarthy, knowing that such\na muff happens only four or five times a season, returned and perched\nupon second base, ready to sprint for third the instant the ball struck\nthe fielder's hands.  The thought flashed through his brain that the\nBlues had released Merode because of a weak arm and a habit of lobbing\nthe ball back to the infielders instead of throwing it back with all\nhis power.  The ball fell into the upstretched hands of the outfielder.\nMcCarthy leaped and raced for third base.  He knew that Merode would\nnot throw there because of his weak arm and the length of the throw, so\nhe swung a little outside the base path, slowed up as he turned third,\nand glanced toward the field.  The ball was coming in.  Merode had\nthrown it slowly and carelessly toward the shortstop.  McCarthy leaped\nforward toward the plate.  The shortstop, running out to meet the slow\nthrow, heard the cry of alarm from the fielders and the roar of\nexcitement from the crowd.  He knew what was happening.  He grabbed the\nball, whirled and threw like a shot to the plate.  McCarthy was\ntwo-thirds of the way home; but the ball, striking the ground, bounded\ninto the hands of the catcher six feet ahead of him.  Like a flash\nMcCarthy hurled his body inside the line, with one foot outstretched to\ntouch the goal.  He had out-guessed the catcher.  His foot, stretched\nout, felt the sharp jar of some object, then struck the plate, and,\nrolling over and over, he arose covered with dust.\n\nThe crowd was roaring.  Nine out of ten thought McCarthy had counted\nwith the tying run, but Bill Tascott, crouching over the plate, jerked\nhis thumb over his shoulder, signaling that the runner was out and the\nBears beaten.\n\nLike flood waters breaking a dam, the crowd surged from the stands,\nshouting, screaming, threatening.  A thousand men, mad with\ndisappointment, swarmed around the umpire, pushing, shoving, shaking\nfists and screaming.  McCarthy pushed his way hurriedly into the mob,\nwhich was growing more and more threatening.\n\n\"Let him alone.  He was right,\" he cried loudly.  \"The ball touched my\nfoot as I slid in.\"\n\nThose who heard him stopped, and in an instant the danger was over.\nThe crowd, subsiding suddenly, began to melt away.  Tascott grinned as\nhe turned to McCarthy.\n\n\"That was tough luck, Kohinoor,\" he said.  \"I was pulling for you to\nbeat the ball, and you had it beat, but your leg kicked up and hit the\nball as you slid.  I'd have given a month's salary to call you safe.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n_Kidnapped_\n\n\"Train leaves at 11.30, Kohinoor,\" said Swanson as McCarthy came up to\ntheir rooms after dinner that evening.  \"Let's play billiards until it\ngoes.\"\n\n\"Can't,\" replied McCarthy shortly.  \"I've got to make that call\nto-night.  There's something wrong up there at Baldwin's, Silent.  The\ngirl writes to-day that Baldwin will not be home this evening and that\nshe must see me to give me important news.\"\n\n\"Sure you can trust her?\" asked the big shortstop.  \"Don't take any\nchances.\"\n\n\"There's no danger in going to one of the finest homes on the drive to\ncall on a young woman,\" laughed McCarthy.\n\n\"I'll get away as soon as possible and tackle you for fifty points,\nthree cushions, before we start for the train,\" promised McCarthy.\n\"You hang around.\"\n\nMcCarthy had puzzled for two days over the odd conduct of Helen\nBaldwin, and her brief note, appointing that evening for the call, had\nfailed to bring any solution of the riddle.  He knew now that the girl\nwith whom he had imagined himself in love was selfish and shallow, but\nhe could not believe her criminal, nor did he for an instant think that\nshe was a part of the conspiracy to rob the Bears of their\nchampionship.  That he was in any danger he did not consider possible.\nHe went uptown determined to hasten the interview as much as possible\nand arrived at the Baldwin mansion shortly after eight o'clock.\n\nPresently Helen Baldwin came.  She was wearing a dark street gown and\nher face was pale, dark rings under her eyes showing that she had been\nsuffering.\n\n\"Larry,\" she said quietly, \"you'll think me hateful and wicked.  I have\nhad a terrible time these last two days, and I have been thinking.\n\n\"I wanted to tell you I was a foolish, vain girl.  I didn't love you; I\nwas in love with the thought of being mistress to James Lawrence's\nfortune.  I was conceited and silly and never thought of any one but\nmyself; but I did like you, Larry--I do.  You will believe that, will\nyou not?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said simply.\n\n\"I thought baseball was just a silly game,\" she went on, as if each\nword cost her a pang.  \"I couldn't understand why you gave up so much;\nwhy you insisted upon staying with the team.  I didn't know that here\nin the East it is a great business and that hundreds of thousands of\npeople take it so seriously.  Uncle Barney asked me to get you to quit,\nand I told him you would.  My vanity was hurt when you refused.\"\n\n\"You found out what it means for me to quit?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.  Uncle Barney came home in a terrible rage.  He had been drinking\nand when he saw me he swore about you.  He swore he'd fix you.\"\n\nHer voice sank to a frightened whisper.\n\n\"He was only bluffing--I beg pardon; only talking,\" he said, striving\nto soothe her.\n\n\"I didn't know until then that I really cared, Larry,\" she went on.\n\"He frightened me.  I asked him questions, and he told me what he and\nsome others have been doing to keep your club from winning.\"\n\n\"What did he tell you?\" he asked quickly.\n\n\"He said they had one of your pitchers, I think he said, fixed, and\nthat he had paid some other players to hurt you and to hurt Mr. Wilcox,\nI think he said.  He wanted me to get you to come to meet me somewhere,\nand they'd kidnap you and someone else--Mr. Swanson, I believe it was.\"\n\n\"He's a kindly fellow,\" commented McCarthy coldly, an angry light\ngleaming in his blue eyes.  \"Did he say where this was to take place?\"\n\n\"No.  He tried to get me to write you to meet me at some place he\nnamed.  He said I needn't go there, just get you to come.  I told him I\nwould.  When he went to sleep I telephoned you because I was so\nfrightened.  To-day we had a terrible quarrel.  I refused to write to\nyou to meet me at the place he named.\"\n\nHer terror was so evident that her words were not necessary to add\nconviction.\n\nMcCarthy laughed a short, rasping laugh.\n\n\"It's a good joke on him,\" he explained.  \"If he and his thugs are\nhunting for me all over the city and I here in his own home, safe; the\nlast place he would look for me.\"\n\n\"You mustn't wait,\" she urged anxiously.  \"You mustn't wait here,\nLarry.  He is drinking and I do not know what he might do if he came\nhome and found you here.  You must go now.\"\n\n\"I'll run back to the hotel and pick up my bodyguard, Swanson,\" he said\nsteadily, and with an attempt at indifference of manner, \"I think I'll\nbe safe.\"\n\n\"You'll kiss me goodbye, Larry,\" she pleaded.  \"She wouldn't care--if\nshe knew.\"\n\n\"She?\" he asked.  \"What do you mean?\"\n\nHe was astonished and curious to learn how the girl knew anything of\nhis growing regard for Betty Tabor.\n\n\"I knew, I knew,\" she repeated.  \"I knew it the first time we met--I\nknew there was another girl\"----\n\n\"I'm certain I did not hint at such a thing,\" he replied with an\nattempt at dignified bearing.  \"I have not even told her.\"\n\n\"Good-bye,\" she said.  \"I hope you're happy, Larry, and please don't\nthink I meant to do wrong.\"\n\nShe clung to him weeping until he put away her hands and went out.  The\ngirl threw herself face downward upon the lounge and sobbed, this time\nfrom a sense of loneliness and perhaps of loss.\n\nMcCarthy descended the stairs and walked rapidly through the darkened\nlawn to the street.  In spite of his pretense of believing there was no\ndanger he found himself nervous.  He walked two blocks toward the\nstreet car line, when a taxicab swerved toward the sidewalk.\n\n\"Taxi, sir, taxi?\" asked the driver.  \"Take you downtown, sir?\"\n\nMcCarthy hesitated an instant.  If he hurried back to the hotel and\nfound Swanson he would rid himself of the nervous dread of something\nintangible which he could not explain.\n\n\"How much downtown?\" he asked, stopping near the taxicab, which had\ncome to a full stop.\n\n\"Take you down for half rates, sir; I'm going that way.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said McCarthy.\n\nHe walked to the side of the car, and turned the handle to step within.\nThe instant he entered the car he felt himself seized and jerked\ndownward while a pair of hands gripped at his throat.  A vicious blow\nstruck him on the back of the neck.  Twisting, fighting, squirming, he\nstruggled to free himself from the hands that were throttling him.  His\nknees found a grip upon the floor of the car, and bracing himself, he\njerked loose from one of the men, and struck wildly at the shape he saw\nsilhouetted against the opposite window.  His fist met flesh with a\ncrunching sound.\n\n\"I'll kill you for that,\" gritted someone, striking him.  In the half\nlight of the interior McCarthy saw an object descending.  He threw up\nan arm to protect his head, and with a crunching blow a heavy blackjack\nfell upon his arm.  He seized the weapon and jerked it from the hand\nthat had held it, but it fell to the floor of the cab.\n\nMcCarthy had struggled to his feet, bowing as his head struck the roof.\nOne man, seated, kicked at him and hurt him cruelly.  He was standing,\nwith the car door swinging wide, while the car lurched and raced along\na rough street.\n\nCurses, groans, cries of pain and anger came from the interior as the\nplayer, battling against two unknown opponents, fought on.  All three\nof the participants in the battle at forty miles an hour, were hampered\nby the smallness of the interior.\n\nMcCarthy strove to tear himself from the arms and legs that struck and\nkicked him, to get his head out of the window to raise the alarm.\n\nAgain and again he cried.  Then suddenly the car lurched around a\ncorner at a mad pace, tipping onto two wheels and skidding sickeningly.\nAt that instant one of his assailants drove his feet against his body,\nand, as the car lurched wildly, McCarthy broke loose, grasped\nfrantically for something to save himself, plunged from the machine,\nstruck upon the asphalt of the side street into which the car had\nwhirled, slid along it to the gutter and lay a huddled heap.\n\nThe car stopped quickly and whirled back to where he lay.  The men\nleaped out, one cursing and frothing, the other urging silence and\nhaste.  Between them they lifted the half-conscious player and shoved\nhim into the bottom of the car.\n\n[Illustration: THE MEN LEAPED OUT]\n\n\"Hurry up, Fred,\" urged the quiet man to the driver.  \"These fellows\ndown at the corner are coming.  Jump in, Jack.\"\n\nThey leaped back into the taxi, and the man called Jack said viciously:\n\n\"There--you, that'll teach you\"--He kicked the prostrate player.\n\n\"Cut that out,\" ordered the quiet man, quickly.  \"You needn't murder\nhim; he's fixed.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\n_Baiting a Trap_\n\nEvents that preceded and led up to the desperate encounter between\nMcCarthy and the two strangers in the dark interior of a racing taxicab\nseemed to have been dictated by fate.  At the end of the doubleheader\nbetween the Jackrabbits and Bears, Easy Ed Edwards had hurriedly laid\nnew plans to save himself.  The gambler had watched both contests,\nbelieving all the time that the result of the games ended his final\nhope of winning the bets, and, facing ruin, he had welcomed his new\nlease upon hope with the determination of resorting to desperate\nmeasures to achieve his end.  He realized that unless he acted at once\nall his plotting had failed.  After the defeat of the Bears in the\nsecond game he left the grounds, hastened downtown in a taxi and at\nonce telephoned to both Adonis Williams and Barney Baldwin to meet him\nat his rooms.  Baldwin responded at once to the gambler's summons and\nentered the rooms blustering.\n\n\"You've a frightful nerve, Edwards,\" snarled the angry politician.\n\"Understand, I do not take orders from cheap gamblers.\"\n\n\"You needn't try storming at me,\" said the gambler quietly.  \"I'm onto\nyou.  You may ring over such a bluff as that in politics, but not with\nme.  You don't seem to understand.\"\n\n\"I don't think you can deliver any votes anyhow,\" said Baldwin\nsullenly.  \"I've nothing but your word for it.\"\n\n\"That's all the security I ever needed,\" said the gambler\nsuperciliously.  \"But never mind about the votes--you're going to help\nme.\"\n\n\"I've done all I can\"----\n\n\"No, you haven't.  I want you to go to-morrow morning and join the\nBears and I want you to see to it that Williams pitches one of those\ngames against the Blues.  He'll lose it this time.  I've thrown a scare\ninto him and he'll do it, even if he gives himself away.\"\n\n\"I tell you I can't,\" snarled Baldwin.  \"President Bannard is the only\none who knows I own the club\"----\n\n\"Take your stock with you.  That proves you own it.\"\n\n\"And Bannard is out of town.  Clancy wouldn't pay any attention to\nme\"----\n\n\"You own this club,\" said Edwards.  \"You can do what you please with\nit, and you're going to do it.\"\n\n\"You talk as if you owned me!\"  Baldwin was purple with anger.\n\n\"I do,\" said the gambler coldly.  \"It would look good in print to have\nthe people know that Barney Baldwin, the crooked politician, owns both\nthe Bears and the Panthers, wouldn't it?\"\n\n\"You have no proof\"----\n\n\"Haven't I?  I saved both your notes.  You're a fool, Baldwin.  You\nwrite letters.  I have two mentioning McCarthy and Williams.  I\nwouldn't have any trouble getting them printed.  Any sporting editor in\nthe city would give a thousand dollars for such proof.\"\n\n\"Look here, Ed,\" expostulated Baldwin, \"there isn't any use for us to\nquarrel.  We're both in this thing\"----\n\n\"Now you're talking sense,\" said the gambler.  \"We haven't any time to\nlose.  The club leaves town at 11.30 to-night.\"\n\n\"What do you want me to do?\" gasped Baldwin helplessly.\n\n\"You're pretty strong with Captain Raferty, of the North Nineteenth\nStreet police, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Yes--I've done him some favors.\"\n\n\"Well, I want you to fix it with him that when I bring a prisoner in\nto-night some time he's to be locked downstairs and kept until you\ntelephone to let him loose.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" asked Baldwin, alarmed.\n\n\"I'm going to do something myself,\" replied the gambler sharply.  \"I've\ntried a lot of you fellows and you've all fallen down.  Now I'm going\nto get this McCarthy and put him out of the way.\"\n\n\"You're taking an awful risk\"----\n\n\"It's a sure thing the other way, and I'm desperate,\" the gambler cut\nhim short.  \"When you get that fixed you catch the first train and\nfollow the team.  You get Clancy in the morning and force him to let\nWilliams pitch one of the games down there.  Wilcox is worked out now,\nand if we can make sure Williams will pitch one game, that will force\nClancy to pitch Wilcox again, and he'll be beaten sure.  With McCarthy\nout of the game, as he will be, the Bears haven't a chance.  They're\nhalf a game ahead, but if they lose two out of three and the Panthers\nwin one out of their remaining two games, the Panthers beat them out on\npercentage, and the Panthers ought to win both games.\"\n\n\"You haven't cornered McCarthy yet?\" asked the politician.\n\n\"No,\" admitted Edwards.  \"He left the hotel nearly two hours ago and\nsaid he'd be back before ten o'clock.  I have two men watching him, and\nthey're to let me know where he is and what he is doing.  I ought to\nhave heard from them before now.\"\n\nThe telephone rang at that instant.\n\n\"This is it now,\" said Edwards in low tones.  \"Hello!\" he said, taking\nup the receiver.  \"Yes--you, Jack?  All right.  You have?  Where?  All\nright.  I'll join you as fast as I can get there.  Don't let him reach\nthe hotel if I'm late--you understand?\"\n\n\"What do you think of that?\" he asked, turning to Baldwin.  \"Of all the\ngall--where do you think that fellow McCarthy was?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"No wonder Jack had such a hard time locating him.  He was at your\nhouse.\"\n\n\"I have a taxi waiting downstairs,\" said Edwards quickly.  \"Come on,\nI'll drop you at the police station.  We'll bring in the prisoner\nbefore you've been there very long.\"\n\n\"How are you going to get him?\" inquired Baldwin, as the taxi dodged in\nand out among traffic.\n\n\"I've got Big Jack, the fighter, trailing McCarthy,\" said the gambler,\nlaughing mirthlessly.  \"He's sore on ball players since that scrap with\nSwanson and Kennedy the other night, and he'll welcome a chance to get\nhis hands on one.\"\n\n\"He won't hurt him, will he?\" asked Baldwin nervously.\n\n\"No, he won't hurt him,\" replied the gambler with scornful sarcasm.\n\"Not a bit.  He'll probably take him in his lap and sing him to sleep.\"\n\n\"This is dangerous business,\" objected Baldwin nervously.  \"We might\nall get into trouble.\"\n\n\"We're all in trouble now,\" snapped Edwards.  \"You leave the trouble\nend of it to me.\"\n\nThe taxi slackened its pace as it approached the police station and\nBaldwin climbed out under the lights that marked it as the home of the\npaid guardians of the people's rights and liberties.\n\n\"Don't fall down this time,\" warned the gambler.  \"If this don't go\nthrough, the newspapers will have some fine information to print in the\nnext few days.\"\n\n\"I'll fix it, Ed, I'll frame it all right,\" replied Baldwin nervously.\n\nThe mention of his name and the imposing manner he had assumed won for\nhim immediate entrance to the captain's private room, and after ten\nminutes of earnest conversation, Baldwin emerged, the gray-haired\nofficial with the gilt stars and chevrons escorting him and shaking\nhands with him at the street door.\n\n\"Don't forget, Raferty,\" said Baldwin importantly.  \"I want him kept\nclose until I can get the proof we need.  Don't let any lawyers or\nreporters get near him and keep your cops from gossiping.  You won't\nlose anything by it, Raferty.  Drop down and see me sometime.  I'd like\nto talk the political situation over with you.  You understand?\"\n\nMeantime the taxicab, with Edwards inside, had raced across the upper\nportion of the city to the place where Big Jack was pacing the shadowy\npart of the sidewalk half a block from Baldwin's home.\n\n\"He hasn't come out yet,\" Jack reported, stepping into the light as the\ntaxi slowed down and crept along near the gutter.\n\n\"Jump in,\" said Edwards.  \"Run over across the street, and step in the\nshadow there,\" he ordered the chauffeur.\n\n\"There he comes now, out the gate.  Follow him.\"\n\nFive minutes later McCarthy stepped into the trap laid by the gambler\nand, ten minutes after he lurched out of the machine, he was carried\nhalf unconscious, into the basement door of the police station and\ndeposited roughly upon the bench in the \"cozy corner.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\n_McCarthy Disappears_\n\nSilent Swanson was jabbing billiard balls around the table as if\nventing his irritability upon the innocent spheres of ivory.\n\n\"Why so cruel to the relics of departed generations of ball players?\"\ninquired Kennedy, who was cuddled up in cushioned settee watching.\n\n\"Waiting for Kohinoor.\"\n\n\"Where has he gone?\" inquired Kennedy carelessly.\n\n\"Skirting again,\" explained Swanson.  \"He ought to be back before\nlong,\" added Swanson, jabbing the balls harder and stopping to look at\nhis watch.  \"It's five past ten now, and he said he'd cut the call\nshort.\"\n\n\"Think any sane guy would quit a pretty girl to spend an evening with\nyou?\" inquired Kennedy insultingly, having decided to wile away the\ntime by ragging his big teammate.\n\n\"I've a hunch something is wrong with Kohinoor,\" said Swanson.  \"He\ntold me he'd break away early and shoot me some billiards before train\ntime.  He didn't say just when, but I expected him back by ten.\"\n\n\"Why don't you sue him for divorce if he neglects you?\" suggested\nKennedy, again seeking to start an argument.\n\nSwanson consulted his watch with gloomy foreboding and declined to\nengage in repartee.\n\n\"Better come drag along down to the train,\" suggested Kennedy.  \"I'll\nbuy the gas wagon to haul us.  Your little playmate is safe enough.\"\n\n\"I'll hang around here,\" replied Swanson without spirit.\n\n\"All right,\" Kennedy remarked, rising and stretching himself.  \"I'm\ngoing to dig along and get into the hay before that old rattler starts.\nI want some sleep.  Most of the fellows already have gone.\"\n\nSwanson resumed his gloomy pastime of making fancy shots on the\nbilliard table.  When he looked at his watch again it marked ten-thirty.\n\nHe strolled upstairs to the lobby, scanned the writing room and smoking\nrooms for a sign of McCarthy and then, with a sudden anxiety, he\nhurried to the telephone and called the Baldwin residence number.\n\n\"Is this Miss Baldwin speaking?\" he inquired, using his off-the-field\nmanner.\n\n\"Is my friend, Mr. McCarthy, there?\" he inquired when she responded in\nthe affirmative.  \"I was to meet him, and he has not appeared.\"\n\n\"Hasn't he arrived at the hotel?\" he girl inquired in quick alarm.  \"He\nleft here more than three-quarters of an hour ago.  Has something\nhappened to him?\"\n\n\"I don't know, miss,\" said Swanson.  \"I got anxious waiting for him----\nYou're sure he left your house that long ago?\"\n\n\"About that--I'm not certain,\" she said.  \"He was only here a short\ntime.\"\n\n\"I expect he had to wait for a car, or else went straight to the\nstation without stopping here,\" said Swanson, striving to quiet the\nevident alarm of the girl, although his own misgivings were growing.\n\"He left the house alone, did he?\"\n\n\"Who are you?  Are you a friend of his?\" asked the girl anxiously.\n\n\"Yes, I'm Swanson, his chum,\" replied the shortstop.  \"You needn't\nworry, miss, he'll be all right.  I'm sorry I worried you about it.\"\n\nHe hung up the receiver and made a hasty tour of the hotel, descended\nto the billiard room, peeped into the bar and hurried through the\nwriting and lounging rooms.\n\n\"Five after eleven,\" he muttered to himself, as he turned from the\ndesk.  \"Kohinoor has found he was late and stayed on the car to the\nstation.  I'll grab a taxi and hurry down.\"\n\n\"If he comes in tell him I've gone,\" he called to the clerk as he\nhurried out.\n\nA quarter of an hour later Swanson hurried into the great train shed\nwhere the train was waiting to bear the Bears on their final trip of\nthe season.  Most of the athletes already had sought their berths to\nattempt to get to sleep before the train started, as the ride was a\nshort one and the hours of sleep too few.\n\n\"Kohinoor down yet?\" asked Swanson in a low tone, as he came near the\ntrainer.\n\n\"Haven't seen him,\" replied the trainer.  \"I put his baggage in his\nberth.  There's a card game in the smoking room, maybe he's in there.\"\n\n\"I'll watch for him at the gate,\" said Swanson, \"he may turn up yet.\"\n\nWorried and alarmed, Swanson swung back along the train and took his\nstand where he could watch the entrances to the station and the great\nclock at the same time.  Three minutes remained before time for the\ntrain to start.  There was a flurry in the crowd at the gates, and a\nman broke through to race for the train.  Swanson's heart leaped.  He\nstarted to meet the newcomer, then, with a sickening feeling, he saw\nthat it was not McCarthy, but Williams.\n\n\"Seen Kohinoor?\" inquired Swanson, as Williams hurried past.\n\n\"Not since dinner.  Isn't he here?\" inquired Williams, stopping and\ndropping his grip.\n\n\"Haven't seen him,\" replied Swanson, watching Williams closely for\nsymptoms of guilt, and finding none.\n\n\"I expected it,\" said Williams nastily.  \"Maybe that story about him\ntrying to throw games is straight after all.\"\n\n\"That's what a lot of them will say if he don't show up to-morrow,\"\nreflected Swanson.\n\nThe warning cry of all aboard sounded.  The big shortstop hesitated an\ninstant, and gave a despairing glance toward the gates, just being\nclosed.\n\n\"It won't do for both of us to miss this game,\" he muttered as he\nturned and ran along the platform.  The porter was just closing the\nvestibule doors and the train was gathering speed as the big shortstop\nswung aboard, went into the now deserted smoking room and sank down,\nstaring blankly out of the window at the rushing lights.\n\nBefore the train reached the city of the Blues the news that McCarthy\nwas missing had spread through the car of the Bears.  The consternation\nthat followed the rumor grew as the berths were made up and it became a\ncertainty that the third baseman was not with the team.  Swanson had\ninformed Manager Clancy early in the morning of the events of the\npreceding evening so far as he knew them.  They had not told anyone,\nbut every member of the team knew, and they gathered in little groups.\nWilliams was circulating around the car, talking with different players.\n\n\"Look at him,\" said Swanson to Clancy.  \"He hates McCarthy and he was\nthe one who told them first that Kohinoor was not with us.  He guessed\nit when I asked him last night if he had seen him.\"\n\n\"It's queer,\" the voice of Pardridge came from the berth behind them.\n\"It's a funny thing that all this sort of trouble in the team started\nwhen that red-headed tramp joined us.\"\n\n\"They'll all be talking that way,\" said Swanson gloomily.  \"They wait\nfor a chance to knock.\"\n\n\"Something may have happened to delay him,\" said the manager in tones\nthat showed he did not believe his own hopeful words.  \"Maybe he went\nto the wrong station, or had an accident.  Have you looked at the\npapers?\"\n\n\"Yes.  Nothing in them about any accident.  I'm still hoping he'll be\nin at noon, catching that early morning train.\"\n\n\"I hope for a telegram from him anyway, when we get to the hotel,\"\nreplied the manager.\n\nBut McCarthy did not show up, nor was there any telegram from him\nawaiting when the team reached their hotel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\n_Baldwin Shows His Hand_\n\n\"There's a swarm of reporters down in the lobby all excited over\nMcCarthy,\" announced Swanson as, in obedience to orders, he, with\nKennedy, Norton and Technicalities Feehan, gathered in Clancy's room\nsoon after breakfast.\n\n\"Let them wait,\" replied Clancy.  \"They've been calling up here every\nfive minutes.\"\n\nBriefly each of the players recounted the little they had seen or heard\nduring the preceding evening, Swanson giving his account of his\nengagement with McCarthy, his telephone conversation with Miss Baldwin,\nof her evident sincerity when she informed him as to McCarthy's\ndeparture from the house and of his vain wait.\n\n\"But what could have happened?\" asked Kennedy.  \"You're sure he got out\nof the house?  It's only two blocks to the street car line and three to\nthe elevated on lighted streets, you say.  If he was hit by an\nautomobile or held up by robbers it would have been in the newspapers.\"\n\n\"Manager Clancy,\" said Feehan softly from his perch upon a trunk, which\ngave him the aspect of a huge owl, \"I have been giving consideration to\na plan.  Unless Mr. McCarthy should arrive on the 11.45 train I shall\ncatch the noonday express for home, arriving there shortly after five,\nto put my plan into effect.\"\n\n\"But you cannot neglect your work, Feehan,\" protested the manager.\n\"It's fine of you to offer it, but you've got yourself to think of.\"\n\n\"I have a premonition,\" responded the reporter solemnly, \"or what Mr.\nSwanson so graphically expresses as a 'hunch,' that the story at the\nother end is bigger than the story of the contest.  Besides, Mr.\nHardner has kindly consented to report the game of to-day for my paper\nas well as his own.\"\n\n\"What's your theory, Technicalities?\" asked Clancy gratefully.\n\n\"Only one of two things are probable,\" explained Feehan.  \"Either\nMcCarthy left of his own accord or because of threats made to him or\nelse he has been kidnapped by certain--ah--interests, let us say,\ndesirous of preventing the Bears from winning the championship emblem.\"\n\n\"Ah, Kohinoor wouldn't quit, and they couldn't scare him,\" growled\nSwanson.\n\n\"Precisely, Mr. Swanson.  The statistics prove beyond doubt that he is\nnot concerned in the losing of games, putting aside the fact that the\nyoung man undoubtedly is honest and sincere.  That leaves us only one\npremise, the other having been found untenable.  Mr. McCarthy has been\nkidnapped.\"\n\n\"I can't figure how they could take him in a public street or from a\nstreet car,\" interposed Clancy.\n\n\"I have calculated that,\" said the reporter.  \"Either he is in the\nBaldwin home and Miss Baldwin ah--er--falsified or he was attacked\nbetween her uncle's home and the street car line two and one-half\nblocks distant.\"\n\n\"How do you propose finding him?\" asked Clancy.\n\n\"I shall arrive at 5.11,\" replied the peculiar little man of news\nquietly.  \"Before six o'clock I shall have one of the best detective\nagencies in the world scouring the city.\"\n\nThe train came steaming into the station on time and the shortstop and\nthe reporter crowded closer to the gates, watching the stream of\nhurrying passengers rushing through the narrow gates and spreading,\nfan-like, across the great floor.  Suddenly Swanson's elbow jarred\nagainst the reporter's body, causing the frail statistician to wince.\n\n\"Look there!\" said Swanson in excited whispers.\n\n\"Where--who?\" inquired Feehan, striving to focus his heavy glasses upon\nthe position indicated by his companion.\n\n\"It's Baldwin--the big fellow with the cane and the small satchel.  See\nhim?\"\n\n\"I see a big man.  I never saw Baldwin,\" responded the reporter.  \"Now,\nwhat can he be doing over here?\"\n\n\"I'm going to find out,\" replied Swanson, his jaw setting pugnaciously.\n\"McCarthy isn't on that train or he'd have been out among the first,\nand they're almost all out now.  Good luck to you, Feehan, and wire me\nthe minute you locate Kohinoor.\"\n\n\"I will,\" promised the reporter.  \"What you've got to do is to win that\ngame to-day without him.  I'll have him here to-morrow if he hasn't\nbroken a leg.\"\n\nSwanson leaped into the taxi immediately behind that into which he had\nseen Baldwin climb, and ordered the driver to follow the other vehicle.\nHis surprise hardly could have been greater than when the short pursuit\nof Baldwin ended at the hotel from which he had come, unless it was\nthat which came over him when, upon following the big man to the desk,\nhe heard Baldwin order the clerk to send his card to Manager Clancy.\n\nSwanson's surprise, however, was little more than that experienced by\nManager Clancy when the bell boy delivered Baldwin's card.\n\n\"Send him right up,\" he said, and as the boy turned he said to himself:\n\"Now, what the dickens does that fellow want with me?\"\n\nBaldwin entered the room pompously, and walked toward the Bears'\nmanager with his pudgy hand extended.\n\n\"Ah, Clancy,\" he said patronizingly.  \"I'm Mr. Baldwin.  I've seen you\noften on the field, but never had the occasion to meet you before.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Clancy, ignoring the hand, \"I've heard of you often,\nBaldwin, in various connections.  You wanted to see me?\"\n\n\"Yes; matter of business,\" said the big man.  \"Fact is, Clancy, I ran\nover from home purposely to have a little confidential talk with you.\"\n\n\"Depends upon what it is whether it's confidential or not,\" said\nClancy; \"I can't pledge myself not to tell the newspaper boys,\nespecially if you've come to give me a third baseman.\"\n\n\"Hasn't McCarthy shown up?\" inquired the politician quickly.\n\n\"No,\" responded Clancy coldly.  \"Didn't happen to see him over in town,\ndid you?\"\n\n\"No, no.  Fact is, Clancy, I never have paid much attention to my ball\nplayers.\"\n\n\"Your ball players?\"  It was Clancy's turn to be astonished.\n\n\"Yes, yes; Clancy, I supposed you knew.  I've owned the controlling\ninterest in the Bears for a number of years.  That's what I came to see\nyou about.\"\n\n\"You own the Bears?\"  Clancy's tone was between surprise and disbelief.\n\n\"Certainly, certainly.  Now, I haven't taken any active interest in\nthem for several reasons until lately.  Truth is things aren't going to\nsuit me, and I have decided to take a hand myself.\"\n\n\"You have?\" asked Clancy.  \"Well, you may own this club, but I'm d----d\nif you can run it while I'm manager.\"\n\n\"I'm not trying to run it, Clancy,\" replied the big man, unruffled.\n\"Don't fly off that way.  I just decided to use the owner's prerogative\nof consulting the manager.\"\n\n\"All right, Mr. Baldwin,\" replied Clancy, puzzled and mollified.  \"I\ndid not know--you see it's a new idea--I didn't even know you owned\nstock.\"\n\nClancy was sparring for time in which to collect his thoughts, which\nwere sadly scattered by the unexpected developments.\n\n\"Thought you might not be convinced,\" said Baldwin easily, \"so I\nbrought the documents along.  Look over them and be convinced I own the\nclub.  They cost me a pretty neat pile, but I'm satisfied.  You've made\n'em pay me.\"\n\nHe tossed over the book of stock certificates, and Clancy, who owned a\nfew shares of stock himself, realized their genuineness as he looked\nthrough them while planning his next move.\n\n\"I congratulate you,\" he said, handing back the forms.  \"I own a couple\nmyself, so I know what they pay.  Well, what have you to suggest, Mr.\nBaldwin?  We're having a hard time winning this race, and if I seemed\ncurt, blame it on worries.  I have plenty.\"\n\n\"Naturally we all want to win,\" said Baldwin pompously.  \"Now, as to\nbehavior, I'm told Swanson and Kennedy aren't behaving themselves.\"\n\n\"They're all right,\" argued Clancy, feeling from Baldwin's tone that he\nhad not yet reached the point.\n\n\"I heard they had a fight in a barroom.\" Baldwin spoke with an effort\nof sternness.  \"That won't do, Clancy.  And now McCarthy is missing.\nThen there's another thing.\"\n\nBaldwin hesitated as if thinking how best to state his case, and Clancy\neyed him closely, feeling that the real object of the interview was\ncoming, \"I'm not at all pleased with the way you are working your\npitchers.\"\n\n\"A fellow makes blunders sometimes,\" replied Clancy, with a meekness\nastounding in him.\n\n\"That's what I wanted to talk to you about,\" went on Baldwin blandly.\n\"Who do you propose pitching to-day and to-morrow?\"\n\nIn a flash Clancy understood.  It was Baldwin who had been urging\nBannard to have Williams pitch.  He saw through Baldwin's motives and\nplanned quickly how to meet them.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, frowning as if worried, \"it's a tough game.  You see,\nthe fans never forgive a fellow if he guesses wrong at this time in a\nrace.  I planned to use Williams in one game and Morgan the other.  You\nsee the Blues hit right-handers harder than they do left-handers.\"\n\n\"So I understand,\" a gleam of cunning and triumph came into the eyes of\nthe politician.  \"Morgan and Williams ought to beat them, I think.\"\n\n\"Yes, they ought--I'm a little afraid of Morgan.\"  Clancy was drawing\nthe owner out.  \"He hasn't shown speed in his last two games.\"\n\n\"Then Williams is in fine form?\"  The triumph and satisfaction in the\nbig man's voice were unmistakable.\n\n\"He's good,\" replied Clancy.  \"He ought to best them sure.\"\n\n\"Will you pitch him to-day or to-morrow?\" asked Baldwin, completely\nthrown off his guard.  \"I'm anxious to make certain he will pitch.\"\n\n\"Of course he'll pitch, Mr. Baldwin,\" replied the manager.  \"I've got\nto pitch him and he's my best man.\"\n\n\"All right, Clancy, all right,\" said the owner genially.  \"I'm glad I\nhad this conference with you.  I was afraid you were angry with\nWilliams or something and would not let him work.  Glad to see you have\ngood judgment.\"\n\nHe went out and as the door closed he removed his hat, and, wiping his\nbrow, smiled a smile of great relief over the fact that his purpose had\nbeen accomplished without trouble.  Had he been able to see through the\ndoor he would have seen Clancy, the veins of his neck standing out\npurple, his face convulsed with rage, standing, shaking his fist toward\nthe door and muttering:\n\n\"Yes, I'll pitch Williams.  I'll pitch Williams, and by ---- he'll win.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\n_Searching_\n\nBetty Tabor had remained at the hotel in the home town with Mrs. Clancy\nwhen the Bears went to play their two-game series with the Blues.\n\nMrs. Clancy had refused positively to engage in any baseball\nconversation or to debate with Miss Tabor the chances of the Bears\nwinning the championship.\n\n\"Heavens knows it's hard enough to be married to a baseball man,\" she\nsaid as she bit a thread, \"him makin' base hits in his sleep and\nworrying the little hair he has left off his head, without havin' a\ngirl that ought to be thinkin' of dresses and hats wantin' to din\nbaseball into my ears all day.  My dear, never marry a ball player.\"\n\n\"You appear to be pretty well satisfied with yours, Mother Clancy,\"\nteased the girl.  \"Maybe I'll find one as fine some day\"----\n\n\"I'm thinkin' you've found yours now,\" replied Mrs. Clancy, without\nglancing up from her work.  \"A nice bye, too, although they do say the\nred-headed ones are hot tempered.\"\n\n\"Why, Mother Clancy!  How dare you!\" the girl expostulated, reddening.\n\n\"If you're thinkin' to deceive Ellen Clancy, you're sore mistaken,\"\nreplied the manager's wife.  \"My Willie says I can tell when young\npeople are in love before they know it themselves, an' ye and the\nred-headed McCarthy boy has all the symptoms.  'Tis a nice boy he is,\ntoo, and you'll be doin' well.\"\n\n\"But after ye've been married as long as we have ye'll not be wantin'\nto see many ball games.  Many's the time I've begged Willie to quit it\nand get a little house out in the country, with a bit of green grass\nand maybe a flower bed and a little garden and a porch, and maybe a\nchicken yard, and let me end my days in peace, out of the sound of\ncrowds and yellin' maniacs.  Eighteen year I've ridden with him on cars\nsmellin' of arnica, and with the train dust an' cinders in me eyes an'\nhair, and I long for peace.  Only one season I've missed--'twas when\nlittle Mar-rtin was born\"----\n\nShe snuffled a little and dropped her work to wipe her eyes hastily.\nIt was fifteen years since their only baby had come and gone in a short\nyear, to leave them closer to each other, but each with a heart pain\nthat never ceased.\n\nA bell boy interrupted her lecture to bring in a card, and Mrs. Clancy,\nglancing at it, passed it over to Miss Tabor.\n\n\"'Tis for you, Betty girl,\" she said.  \"And, Mother of Mary, she'll see\nus this way\"----\n\nBetty Tabor sat staring at the card, at first puzzled, then in a panic\nof mingled emotions.\n\n\"Tell her to come up,\" she said.  \"I'll see her here.  Mother Clancy,\ndon't you dare hide.\"\n\nThe girl hastily arranged her hair and straightened the room, and a few\nminutes later, when the boy ushered the visitor into the apartments,\nshe was self-possessed and cool.  She arose as the door opened, and\nstarted forward to meet her guest, but stopped staring as the color\nfaded from her face and then slowly heightened.\n\n\"You are Miss Tabor?\" inquired the visitor, her voice trembling from\nexcitement and nervousness.\n\n\"Yes.  You are Miss Helen Baldwin; you desired to see me?\"\n\nThe sight of the girl she had seen talking with Kohinoor McCarthy in\nthe hotel parlor, shortly after he joined the club, had shaken her\ncomposure.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Tabor,\" Helen Baldwin cried, sinking into a chair and giving\nway to her emotions.  \"I had to come--I had nowhere else to go--and\nthey told me over the telephone only you and Mrs. Clancy were here and\nall the men of the team away.\"\n\n\"If it is baseball business,\" replied Miss Tabor, \"perhaps you'd better\nsee Mrs. Clancy.  I'll call her\"----\n\n\"No! no! no!\" expostulated the girl, drying her eyes.  \"It is you I\nmust see.  Have you heard anything from Mr. McCarthy?\"\n\n\"I have no especial reason to hear from Mr. McCarthy,\" said Miss Tabor,\nfreezing slowly.  \"I suppose he is with the team.\"\n\n\"He isn't!  He isn't!\" pleaded the girl.  \"He has disappeared----\nHaven't you seen the papers?\"\n\n\"Mr. McCarthy disappeared!  Where?  When?\"  Betty Tabor had forgotten\nher jealousy in her startled alarm.  \"He isn't with the team?\"\n\n\"I read it in the papers,\" sobbed Helen Baldwin.  \"He was at my house\nlast evening.  He left there--and he has disappeared.  I hoped you\nmight know.\"\n\n\"At your house?\"  Betty Tabor's alarm struggled with her jealousy.\n\"And he's gone?  Let me see the paper.\"\n\n\"I haven't seen him, Miss Baldwin,\" she said, after glancing at the\npaper.  \"We thought he had gone with the team.  Tell me what you know.\nPerhaps we may help you.  You were engaged to him, were you not?\"\n\n\"We were--once,\" sobbed Helen Baldwin.  \"But that's all over.  I did\nhim a wrong.  I never loved him--that way--and it's all my fault he's\nin trouble now.\"\n\nBetty Tabor's heart leaped with a joy that overwhelmed all other\nemotions.  Her cold attitude toward Helen Baldwin changed, and, sinking\nupon the seat beside the sobbing girl, she put her arm around her.\n\n\"There, there,\" she said comfortingly, as a mother might, forgetting\nthat Helen Baldwin was older that she.  \"You must not blame yourself.\nTry to tell me what happened last evening.  Perhaps we may know what to\ndo.\"\n\nSlowly, with interruptions by hysterical moments, Helen Baldwin told\nthe story of her unconscious part in the conspiracy; of her alarm for\nthe safety of McCarthy; how she had sent for him and warned him, and of\nSwanson's telephone call.\n\n\"You'd better go home, dear, and rest,\" Betty said finally.  \"There is\nnothing we can do.  The men will have started the search early this\nmorning and notified the police.  He will return.\"\n\nHelen Baldwin, calmed and reassured by the brave pretense of the\nyounger woman, prepared to go home.  Betty Tabor assisted her to\nrearrange her disordered fair hair, murmuring her admiration for it as\nshe worked.  For the first time a smile came to the troubled face of\nHelen Baldwin, and when she was ready to go she kissed Betty and held\nher at arm's length.\n\n\"You're very good and unselfish,\" she said in low tones.  \"I hope you\nand he are very happy.\"\n\n\"Why, Miss Baldwin,\" exclaimed Betty, blushing, \"there is nothing\nbetween us.  He is scarcely a friend\"----\n\n\"I know, dear,\" replied the taller girl, kissing her again.  \"He is a\nvery good and lovable boy, and very impetuous.  He really loves you.\"\n\nShe smiled a trifle wanly and turning, left the room.\n\nBetty Tabor turned with a sigh, just in time to see Mrs. Clancy making\nviolent gestures through a small crack in the door.\n\n\"You didn't ask her,\" exclaimed the exasperated Mrs. Clancy.  \"You\ndidn't ask her!\"\n\n\"Ask her what?\" inquired Betty in surprise.  \"You heard what we talked\nabout?\"\n\n\"Every word.  I listened shamelessly,\" replied the manager's wife.\n\"'Tis my curiosity will kill me.  You didn't ask her one word about who\nMcCarthy is.  And she knows all about him!\"\n\n\"I didn't think--I forgot,\" said Betty, hurrying to gather her work and\nbelongings in preparation for leaving.\n\n\"Where are you going, child?\" asked Mrs. Clancy.\n\n\"I'm going to dress and get an automobile to make the rounds of all the\nhospitals.  He may be hurt and in one.\"\n\n\"Glory be!  I never thought of it!  Dress fast, darlin', an' I'll go\nwith you.\"\n\nThey returned, weary and discouraged.  They had not found a trace of\nthe missing boy.  Scarcely had they reached their rooms than another\ncall for Miss Tabor came, and a few minutes later Technicalities Feehan\nentered.\n\n\"Mr. Feehan, what are you doing here?\" both women exclaimed in chorus.\n\n\"I'm searching for Mr. McCarthy,\" responded Feehan.  \"I reached the\ncity shortly after five o'clock, and, having concluded my arrangements\nfor finding Mr. McCarthy, it occurred to me that, having an evening of\nidleness, I might devote it to no better purpose than in escorting you\nladies to some place of amusement.\"\n\n\"To a theatre, with a tragedy like this happening to one of our boys!\"\nexclaimed Miss Tabor indignantly.\n\n\"Rest assured, Miss Tabor,\" he replied, \"we can do nothing, and\neventually Mr. McCarthy will be found.\"\n\n\"How?  Who is looking for him while we waste time?\" she asked hotly.\n\n\"My arrangements,\" he stated quietly, \"did not include useless running\naround.  I called upon our managing editor, laid the figures and\nconclusive data before him, and convinced him that, besides securing an\nexcellent news story, he can serve the team and the ends of right and\njustice by seeking Mr. McCarthy.\"\n\n\"Well, what did he do?\" demanded Mrs. Clancy, sadly out of patience\nwith his deliberate manner and rather flamboyant style of expression.\n\n\"As a result of his interest in the matter,\" replied Technicalities,\n\"eight of the most highly trained men of his staff--men who know the\ncity better than anyone who lives in it does--are seeking Mr. McCarthy\nwith orders to find him to-night.\"\n\n\"How did to-day's game come out?\" inquired Miss Tabor, relieved.  \"I\nalmost forgot the game.\"\n\n\"Our team was defeated, 8 to 6,\" replied Feehan quietly.  \"McCarthy's\nabsence already has cost us one game, and I greatly fear that unless he\nplays to-morrow the Bears are defeated in the championship contest.\"\n\n\"Glory be!  I've dropped two more stitches!\" said Mrs. Clancy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\n_Williams Stands Exposed_\n\n\"Now here's a bally nice mess of figures,\" said Kennedy, holding half a\ndozen much-marked-upon sheets of writing paper in his inky fingers, and\nlooking across the table at Swanson, Norton and Holleran.\n\n\"What are you figuring, Ken?\" asked Holleran.\n\n\"I've been trying to figure out this pennant race,\" said Kennedy\nirritably.  \"Here we seem to be half a game ahead of the Panthers, and\nyet, just because it rained on them yesterday, and they didn't have to\nplay but one game of their doubleheader, we've got to win two games to\nbeat them out if they win their one game to-day.\"\n\nHe handed across a sheet of paper upon which was written:\n\n                   W.  L.  P.C.\n  Bears..........  89  59  .600\n  Panthers.......  91  61  .599\n\n\n\"Well, ain't we ahead of them?\" asked Swanson, studying the figures.\n\n\"Yes, but look here.  Supposing they win to-day and we win, we'll still\nbe ahead.  But supposing they win to-day and we win, and then we lose\nto-morrow.  Look at this.\"\n\nHe handed over another slip of paper, upon which was written:\n\n                   W.  L.  P.C.\n  Panthers.......  92  61  .601\n  Bears..........  90  60  .600\n\n\n\"If we don't win both these games, or if it don't rain here to-day, or\nup home to-morrow, and keep us from playing, they beat us out by ten\nthousandths, or thirteen hundred thousandths.  Didn't I always say\nthirteen was an unlucky number?\"\n\n\"I wonder who Clancy will send in to pitch to-day?\" asked Kennedy,\nidly.  \"Wilcox hasn't had enough rest.  I suppose he'll be saved for\nto-morrow.  Jacobson isn't right, and Morgan worked yesterday and got\nhis trimmings.  I suppose it'll be Williams.\"\n\nAn ugly laugh greeted his sarcastic remark, and Norton opened his lips\nas if to speak, but, thinking better of it, closed them again.\n\nAt that moment a bell boy came into the writing room, paging Williams.\nA quick exchange of glances between the players resulted and Swanson\nasked, \"Who wants Mr. Williams?\"\n\n\"Mr. Clancy, sir,\" said the boy.  \"He wants Mr. Williams in his room at\nonce.\"\n\n\"Didn't I tell you?\" said Kennedy, in mock triumph.\n\n\"Say, fellows,\" added Swanson.  \"I'd give a month's pay to hear what\ncomes off up in that room.  Clancy was on his ear this morning when I\ncame down.  He'd been awake half the night, trying to get some word\nfrom Kohinoor, and he was pretty well worked up.  You know when he gets\nstarted to telling a fellow what he thinks of him he does it so the\nfellow believes it himself.\"\n\n\"He sure can explain a fellow's shortcomings,\" said Kennedy.  \"Look,\nthe boy has found Williams and he is going up.  He looks scared to\ndeath.\"\n\n\"Mamma, but I'd like to be among those present,\" said Swanson.  \"There\nwill be several developments.  Hadn't we better put mattresses under\nClancy's window for Williams to light on?\"\n\nMeantime, in Manager Clancy's room a scene was being staged that\nfulfilled all the expectations of the players.  Williams entered the\nroom with a swaggering pretense of ignorance of the nature of the\nsummons.\n\n\"Morning, Manager,\" he said with an effort at innocent playfulness.\n\"How's things?\"\n\n\"Sit down, you crook!\"\n\nClancy had arisen as Williams entered.  He shot the order at the\npitcher viciously and without warning, and, as he spoke, he stepped\npast the player, and locked the door.\n\nWilliams had gone pale.  His mouth dropped open.  He started to say\nsomething, choked and sat down.\n\n\"What--what do you mean?\" he managed to stammer as Clancy came close\nand stood over him threateningly.\n\nAfter his first outburst of rage Clancy was strangely quiet, speaking\nin low tones, vibrating with repressed feeling.  From the moment Barney\nBaldwin had revealed to him his ownership of the Bears, and had issued\nhis positive orders that Williams should pitch the game, Clancy had\nbeen fighting within himself, studying to find some plan of vengeance\nthat would strike all the plotters.  Never for an instant had he\nconsidered the thought of permitting the championship to be surrendered\nby the orders of the owner.\n\n\"Williams,\" he said, \"you're a never-to-be-sufficiently-spit-upon cur.\nYou're the lowest, yellowest dog in the world.  I've known for two\nweeks that you have been trying to lose the pennant for us.\"\n\n\"Shut up!\" he snapped, lifting his voice sharply as the pitcher\nattempted to speak.  \"I know what you've done and what you plan to do.\nI know who is back of you\"----\n\nThe pitcher cowered under the scathing denunciation and started as if\nto rise.\n\n\"Who--who's been telling you this stuff?\" he quavered, terror-stricken.\n\n\"You--you rat.\"  Clancy's scorn stung like a lash and Williams\nquivered.  \"I know everything.  I've waited and watched when you\nthought you were putting something over.  I've waited for a chance to\nget you\"----\n\nHe paused a moment, while Williams, palsied with terror, sat unable to\nanswer.\n\n\"And I've got you, Williams!\"\n\nHe shot the sentence at the pitcher, who half started from his seat,\nlifting his hands as if to protect himself from attack.\n\n\"I'm not going to choke you to death, I wouldn't soil my hands on you,\"\nsaid the manager with a scornful laugh.\n\n\"What are you going to do, Bill?\" William's voice quivered.\n\n\"I'm going to make you pitch to-day's game,\" said the manager quietly.\n\nA gasp of amazement and relief came from Williams.\n\n\"You're going to pitch to-day's game, Williams,\" the manager repeated.\n\"And you're going to win it.  You're going to win it, or if you don't\nwin I'll tell the crowd you were bribed, and I'll let the crowd handle\nyou.  They'll tear you to pieces, Williams, and kick the pieces around\nthe diamond--and I'll help them do it.\"\n\n\"You won't do anything to me if I win?\" pleaded the pitcher.\n\n\"No; I won't do a thing to you,\" said Clancy, and he spat as if to\nrelieve himself of a bad taste, as he turned and went out, locking the\ndoor.\n\n\"Good God, look at Clancy,\" whispered Swanson in awed tones as the\nmanager stepped out of the elevator a minute or two later.  \"He's in\nhis blackest form.  I honestly pity Williams.\"\n\n\"Swanson,\" said Clancy sharply.\n\n\"What is it, Boss?\" asked Swanson anxiously.\n\n\"Nothing,\" snapped Clancy, \"I want you to do something.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\n\"Williams is locked in my room.  You watch the door.  If he breaks out\nkill him.\"\n\nHe turned and stalked away like a man in a trance, leaving the big\nshortstop staring after him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\n_Found_\n\nTechnicalities Feehan was directing the hunt for Kohinoor McCarthy, the\nmissing third baseman of the Bears, even though it appeared to the two\nwomen that he was wasting time.  His easy confidence and certainty that\nMcCarthy would be found inspired something of the same spirit in Mrs.\nClancy and in Betty Tabor, and they found themselves enjoying the light\nsummer opera to which he had taken them, and later had laughed at his\nquaint, droll tales of baseball and stories of his own experiences\nduring his long years of travel with the team.\n\nFeehan had found an appreciative audience at last, and it was half\nafter eleven before he broke off suddenly and announced that at\nmidnight he was to get reports of the results of the search and offer\nhis own services in the effort to find the missing player.\n\n\"I will telephone you when I reach the office whether anything has been\nascertained,\" he promised, as he left them at their apartments.  \"After\nthat I will not disturb you until seven o'clock, unless McCarthy is\nfound.  We must find him and get him to the station to catch the train\nat 6.35 or our effort is wasted in so far as baseball is concerned,\nalthough, of course, that will not cause us to cease our efforts.\"\n\n\"You'll telephone me the moment you have news?\" asked Miss Tabor.  \"Any\ntime--I shall not sleep much, any news--good--or bad.\"\n\nFeehan found the office force in the throes of getting out an edition,\nand he sidled through the hurrying, jostling office force to the city\neditor.\n\n\"Any news?\" he asked quietly.\n\n\"Hello, Technicalities.  Nothing yet.  You take the case.\"\n\nFeehan hurried to his desk, instructed the telephone girls to connect\nall reporters working on the McCarthy case with his desk, then\nextracted a mass of papers from various pockets and commenced to study\nand compile his unending statistics.\n\nThe reporters engaged in the search were under instructions to report\nat once any trace of the missing player and to report once an hour\ntheir whereabouts and progress.  Every five or ten minutes one\nreported, and Feehan, laying aside his work, answered the call and\nsuggested new lines of investigations.\n\nTwo o'clock came.  The office was growing quieter.  Weary news\ngatherers slipped into their coats and departed quietly.  Copy readers\nand editors completed their tasks and went away.\n\nThree o'clock came, and Feehan was busy tabulating the statistics of\nsome player in a far-off league, when the telephone rang.  By some\ninspiration he knew a trail had been found and he reached for the\ninstrument with more haste than he had shown, his seventh sense\nspurring him on.\n\n\"Hello!  Yes--that you, Jimmy?\"\n\n\"I've hit a trail.\"\n\nThe voice was that of little Jimmy Eames, the most tireless and\npersistent member of the force of news hounds employed by the paper.\n\n\"Where?\"  Feehan was as calm as if only recording a fly out.\n\n\"North Ninetieth Street Police Station,\" said Eames rapidly.  \"I picked\nup a clue over on the other side of the city--inside police dope.  Man\ntaken there last night in taxi.  I'm off for there.\"\n\nFeehan pocketed his statistics and prepared for action.  His voice had\nceased to drag.  He uttered commands in sharp, quick words.  Briefly he\ndetailed to each man as he called on the telephone the nature of\nEames's discovery.  \"Get to North Ninetieth Street Station.\"\n\nThirty-five minutes after Eames flashed the first word to the office,\nCramer, the star police reporter, announced over the telephone.\n\n\"McCarthy is in the black hole at North Ninetieth street.  Orders from\ncaptain.  No one permitted to see him.  Not booked.  Sergeant in charge\ndon't know what he is accused of.\"\n\n\"Get him out.  Report in ten minutes.\"\n\n\"Two hours and a half to get him out and put him on that train,\" Feehan\nmuttered.\n\nIt was twelve minutes before Cramer called again.\n\n\"Sergeant says he dares not turn the fellow loose.  Don't know he is\nMcCarthy.  Says orders are strict to keep him and to keep everyone away\nfrom him.\"\n\n\"Is he hurt?\"\n\n\"Turnkey says he has cut in head and bruised, but all right.\"\n\n\"Pound him--pound the sergeant; make him act.  Scare him!  Who is the\ncaptain?\"\n\n\"Raferty.\"\n\n\"I'll reach him by 'phone.\"  Feehan hung up the receiver.  \"Joe,\" he\nsaid to the night man, \"raise Minette, the office lawyer.  Lives\nsomewhere up that way.  His home is only a short distance from Judge\nManasse's house.  Ask him for a writ of habeas corpus or something.\"\n\nFeehan was rapidly calling numbers.  In fifteen minutes he had aroused\nCaptain Raferty.\n\n\"Raferty,\" said the little man, \"sorry to disturb you, but you've got a\nman in the black hole in your station that we want.\"\n\n\"Can't be done.  Orders to hold him.\"\n\n\"Orders from whom?\"\n\n\"Higher up.\"\n\n\"How high?\"\n\n\"None of your business.\"\n\n\"Raferty, I'm going to the top,\" said Feehan quickly.  \"If that man\nisn't out by six o'clock, you'll be broken.\"\n\n\"What's all this fuss about some skate?\" Raferty was alarmed.  \"It\nain't any of my business.  I'm told to hold him and not book him and I\ndo it.  What have you got it in for me for?\"\n\n\"You'd better get to the station and get that man out or you'll have\nthis sheet all over you,\" threatened Feehan, transformed.  \"I'm going\nhigher now.\"\n\nHe cut off the spluttering police captain in the midst of a snarling\ncomplaint, half whine, half defiance.\n\nHalf an hour of hard work brought the indignant superintendent of\npolice to the telephone.  He curtly declined to interfere, denied all\nknowledge of any such prisoner, and hung up the receiver while Feehan\nwas expostulating with him.\n\nThe mild mannered, gentle little reporter was rising to the emergency.\nHe wiped his forehead free from the beads of sweat and looked at his\nwatch.  It was two minutes to five when the night man reported again.\n\n\"Minette's on his way to the station,\" he said.  \"He'll try to get\nJudge Manasse to order the release, and he is carrying ten thousand\ndollars in securities as a bond.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said Feehan rapidly.  \"Give me Gracemont 1328,\" he called\nquickly.\n\n\"Going after the mayor?\" inquired the night man casually.  \"He'll be\nsore as a boil.  Orders are not to disturb him after midnight.\"\n\n\"I've got to get him,\" said Feehan.  \"We can't fall down now after\nwe've located McCarthy.\"\n\nThere was no reply to the call for the mayor's telephone number, and\nwhile waiting, Feehan slipped to another telephone and called the hotel\nat which the ball players lived, asking for the Clancy apartments.\nBetty Tabor answered the summons.\n\n\"We've found him,\" said Feehan.  \"He's alive and well.\"\n\n\"Where is he?\" asked the girl breathlessly.\n\n\"He's in a cell at the North Ninetieth Street Police Station--about\nhalf a mile from your hotel.  I want you to do something.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked.  \"Hurry--I haven't undressed.  Is there\nanything I can do?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said.  \"He's locked up and we're tearing the town to pieces\ntrying to get him out of the station.  It may be an hour--and he must\ncatch that train.  Can you arrange at your hotel to have a fast taxi to\ntake him to the railroad station when he gets out, if there is a chance\nto catch the train?\"\n\n\"Wait--yes, yes,\" she said eagerly.  \"The manager here has a fast\nmachine that he has been letting me use.  I'll get it.  The garage is\nonly a few doors.\"\n\n\"You'll take him yourself?\" he said in surprise.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said.  \"I must hurry.\"\n\nAgain and again Feehan urged the telephone girl to try to get a reply\nto the call for the mayor.  Beads of sweat stood upon his face, as he\nbegged her to try again and summoned the manager to his assistance.  He\nglanced at his watch.  It was eight minutes to six o'clock.\n\n\"I must get him,\" he told the telephone girl for the dozenth time.\n\n\"Sorry--no one will answer,\" she said wearily.  \"I've tried--wait a\nminute, there's someone now.\"\n\n\"Hello,\" said a hearty voice.\n\n\"Your Honor\"--Feehan's voice was pregnant with pleading--\"this is\nFeehan, the baseball writer.\"\n\n\"Hello, Feehan,\" came the quick response.  \"Why aren't you with the\nteam, or did you just get in to honor me with this early call?\"\n\n\"Your Honor,\" pleaded Feehan, recalling suddenly that the mayor was an\nardent baseball \"fan.\"  \"I've been searching for McCarthy.  He's in the\nNorth Ninetieth Street Station, held without being booked.  I've been\ntrying for hours to get him out so he can join the team.\"\n\n\"What charge?\" demanded the mayor sharply.\n\n\"No charge.  He is being held to keep him from playing.  If he doesn't\ncatch this morning's train the pennant is lost.\"\n\n\"Here's where I make a pinch hit, then,\" said the mayor sharply.\n\nFeehan heard the receiver bang down.  With a sigh of relief he hung up\nhis receiver and grinned at Joe.\n\n\"He's a baseball fan,\" was all the explanation he offered.\n\nAn anxious wait ensued, then Cramer telephones:\n\n\"McCarthy just got out, mayor's orders.  Pretty well bunged up, but\nsays he can play.  He's gone with some girl in an auto.  She was\nwaiting for him.\"\n\nFeehan glanced at his watch.  It was 6.23.\n\n\"Twelve minutes for two and a half miles,\" he muttered.  \"They'll just\nmake it.\"\n\nAnd with a sigh he picked up his scattered sheets and muttered:\n\n\"Let's see, what did this fellow Houseman hit last season?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\n_A Race to Save the Day_\n\nKohinoor McCarthy, emerging from his cell into the fetid atmosphere of\nthe receiving room of the police station, was met by Cramer, who broke\nfrom the group of reporters, lawyers and police officials stirred to\nactivity at that early hour by the frantic efforts of Technicalities\nFeehan.  His head was rudely bandaged and his discolored face was\nswollen and cut.\n\nThere was no time for questionings.\n\n\"Hurry, McCarthy,\" said Cramer.  \"There is an automobile outside\nwaiting to take you to the station.  You have about a quarter of an\nhour to catch the train.\"\n\nMcCarthy, with a word of thanks, hastened through the station, leaped\ndown the steps with an agility that proved his injuries did not affect\nhis speed, and sprang to the car.\n\nThe morning sun was just commencing to reach down into the cavern of\nthe street into which the car leaped, and it shone directly in their\neyes.  The car lurched around a corner and swung into the avenue for\nthe race to the station.  At that instant the girl's veil flapped back,\nrevealing her face.\n\n\"Betty!\" exclaimed McCarthy.  \"You\"----\n\n\"You didn't know me?\" she asked as she steadied the car and increased\nits pace over the smooth asphalt.\n\n\"Why are you here?  What are you doing?\" he asked in astonishment.\n\n\"I had to come,\" she replied swiftly.  \"There was no one else.  We must\ncatch the train.  Don't talk, please.\"\n\nHe leaned back wearily and watched the street as it seemed to flow past\nthem.\n\n\"How much time have we?\" he asked above the roaring of the wind.\n\n\"The train leaves at 6.35,\" she called back, without lifting her eyes.\n\"Watch for clocks.\"\n\nShe had increased the speed gradually and the light car jumped as it\nstruck a cross-town street-car track.  Suddenly the car jolted, slid to\na quick stop and with an exclamation of despair the girl strove to\nreverse and killed the engine.\n\n\"The street is closed below,\" she said.  \"Crank up, the engine is dead.\"\n\nMcCarthy leaped from the car and cranked rapidly.  A precious minute\nwas lost before the engine throbbed and the girl, turning the car\nquickly, ran back a block, swung across to a side street and raced for\nthe station.\n\n\"The captain of the bell boys is waiting with the tickets.  I sent him\nbefore I left the hotel,\" she said without lifting her eyes.  \"Jump\nfrom the car the moment I stop.  He'll meet you at the gate.\"\n\n\"Two minutes--can we make it?\" he asked.\n\n\"We'll try.\"  Her face was set and white.  She whirled the corner of\nthe avenue onto the side street at full speed.  A block and a half away\nwas the station.  The car was at racing speed now.  The girl kept the\nsiren screaming, hoping for a clear way.  They tore toward the\nintersection of the streets--and directly ahead a lumbering team of\nhorses, drawing a heavy wagon, trundled across their path.  With a\nsudden swerve, a grinding of the emergency and a sickening lurch, the\ncar checked its mad flight, scraped past the rear of the wagon, and\ngathering speed renewed the race against time.\n\n\"Goodbye,\" he said, leaning suddenly inward as the car commenced to\nlose momentum.  \"When I come back\"----\n\n\"Hurry, hurry,\" she pleaded.  \"Run\"----\n\nHe leaped before the car stopped and, with one glance back toward her,\nsprinted down the long passageway.\n\nThe gate was closing.  He cried aloud, and ran faster.  The gate\nclanged.  A boy in uniform ran to him and shoved tickets into his hands\nas they ran side by side.\n\n\"Open it!  Let me through!\" he screamed at the gateman, just starting\nto lock the gate.\n\nMcCarthy was sprinting desperately in pursuit of the train already half\nway down the long train shed.  He ran until his heart pounded audibly\nagainst his ribs, straining every muscle, and crying for the train to\nstop.  Faster and faster it went, and, near the end of the station,\nMcCarthy realized he had lost the race and, stopping, he stood\ndejectedly looking after the rapidly disappearing observation car.\n\nThe gateman let him out with a sympathetic word, but he did not raise\nhis head.  He knew that, 235 miles away, twenty men were hoping for his\narrival.  He would hire a special train.  He whirled at the\nthought--and then remembered he was without money.\n\nHe felt a hand touch his arm and, turning quickly, he saw Betty Tabor.\n\n\"I missed it,\" he said, hopelessly.\n\n\"I know, I know,\" she responded quickly.  \"The boy who had the tickets\ntold me.  There is no time to lose.  I have a plan.\"\n\n\"A special train?\" he asked.  \"I have no money.\"\n\n\"The auto,\" she replied quickly.  \"I will drive it.  I've driven it\nhundreds of miles\"----\n\n\"Betty,\" he expostulated, using her name unconsciously.  \"You\ncannot--maybe we can find a driver.\"\n\n\"I can and I will,\" she said decisively; \"it is only 235 miles.  We\nhave eight hours.  We can make it.  The car is fast and easy to handle.\"\n\nStill arguing, she led him back to the car, and they rode quickly back\nto the hotel over part of the route they had traversed during their\nwild flight.  They breakfasted while the car was being prepared for the\nrun, studying road maps while they ate.\n\n\"Betty, how can I ever thank you,\" he said, leaning forward over the\ntable.\n\n\"By calling me Miss Tabor and winning the game to-day,\" she said,\ncoolly, without looking up from the maps.\n\n\"The car is ready,\" the head waiter announced.  \"A good trip to you,\nMiss Tabor.\"\n\n\"You have a good driver, McCarthy,\" said the manager, who alone knew\nthe object of the trip.  \"She handles that car better than I do.  I\nhave given her permission to tear it to pieces to get you through.\"\n\nThe start was undramatic.  The car rolled easily along to the drive and\npresently was lifting and dropping over the hills of the splendid\nspeedway.  A gentle breeze from the river fanned them as they rushed\nthrough it.\n\nIn five minutes they were clear of the congested traffic on the bridge\nand the car, gathering speed, rushed into the hills on the opposite\nside of the river.  Five minutes later the car was quivering with its\nincreasing speed and McCarthy, looking at the gauge, saw that it\nregistered forty-seven miles, and was still sliding forward.  Fourteen\nmiles across the rolling plateau the car raced with sustained speed,\nthe engine humming in perfect tune and only the heavier vibration of\nthe tires attesting the speed.  At slower pace the car climbed among\nthe ridge of hills that had been rising ahead, and after five miles of\nrougher going it turned into the old stage road.\n\n\"It's five minutes past nine,\" said the girl, \"and we've done more than\nforty miles already.  The next forty is good and we'll try to gain\ntime.\"\n\n\"We ought to make it easily,\" he responded brightly.  \"You're a\nheroine.\"\n\n\"I do not know what the roads are beyond Hedgeport,\" she interrupted\nanxiously.  \"It is hill country.  It rained two days ago.\"\n\nShe had steadily increased the speed again until the indicator kept\nconstantly around the forty-five mile mark.  The speed was terrific and\nmade conversation almost impossible.\n\n\"Hadn't you better rest?  You must be tired,\" he screamed above the\nnoise of the car.\n\n\"Arms are cramped,\" she replied, without lifting her eyes from the road\nahead.  \"We'll take gas at Hedgeport and walk around.  We will lunch\nsomewhere near Hilton.  We'll be over the worst of the road then.\"\n\n\"I wish I could help you,\" called McCarthy, after a long silence.\n\nShe shook her head, and, after the car had throbbed up the next incline\nand was sailing, hawklike, down the opposite side, she said:\n\n\"You'll need your strength for the game.  There's Hedgeport now.\"\n\nBefore them, set on the hillside, lay the little city.  It seemed as if\nthe houses grew by magic as they rushed upon it.  They flashed past a\nfew market wagons, passed another auto chugging along busily, and\nslackened the pace as the car rolled upon the brick pavements and\ntoward the heart of the city.\n\n\"A hundred and thirty-one miles in a little over three hours,\" said\nMcCarthy, elated.  \"That leaves us one hundred and four miles and more\nthan four hours to make it in.  We've won.\"\n\n\"The road has been perfect,\" Betty Tabor said.  \"For the next fifty\nmiles it is marked bad.\"\n\nShe turned quietly to ask questions of the mechanician, who was\noverhauling and examining every part of the machine, and examining the\nfeed pipes.  Another man was filling the tanks and using oil\nplentifully.\n\n\"My hands and wrists are cramped and numb,\" she remarked, turning to\nMcCarthy.\n\n\"Let the man drive the rest of the way.  He knows the road,\" he urged.\n\n\"And leave me--to miss the game?\" she asked.  \"Not much.  Rub my hands,\nplease.\"\n\nShe extended her strong, firm hand and McCarthy, bending over it,\nmassaged and slapped it vigorously.\n\n\"Don't break it, please,\" she said, laughing.  \"Take the other one.\"\n\n\"Both,\" he whispered, his voice full of meaning.\n\n\"All ready,\" announced the garage keeper.  \"I think she'll stand it\nnow.\"\n\n\"It's 11.10,\" said McCarthy.  \"If we get there by three.\"\n\n\"If we get there at all,\" she said, \"even if you are late, you can get\ninto the game.\"\n\nFor five miles they sped along over perfect roads, then suddenly a long\nstretch of new macadam loomed ahead.  For three miles they lurched and\nstruggled, and were free again, but the road was heavy and slow.  Up\nhill and down they fought the road, at times slipping, lurching and\nskidding while the girl coaxed the car onward.  The road grew worse and\nworse.  The hills were steeper.  The rain-guttered mud at times almost\nstalled the car.\n\n\"Twenty miles in an hour and ten minutes,\" groaned McCarthy.  \"This\nwon't do.\"\n\nThe next hour was even worse.  The girl was showing signs of weariness\nand the strain of holding the machine in the rough going.  Three miles\nof good road across a hill-top plateau raised their courage, then they\nencountered sand.\n\nIt was twenty minutes to two o'clock, when, mud splattered, they raced\ninto Hilton, with the car missing fire in one cylinder, the engine\nsmoking and gasoline almost exhausted.\n\nMcCarthy almost lifted Betty Tabor from the car as they stopped at the\ngarage and she gave rapid directions to the manager, explaining the\nneed of haste.\n\n\"I'm afraid the car won't get you through,\" he said, \"but we'll try.\"\n\n\"Have it ready at two o'clock,\" she ordered quickly.  \"We must get\nthrough somehow.\"\n\n\"It's thirty-four miles,\" he said.  \"But the roads are fair.  If the\ncar was in shape it would be easy.\"\n\n\"We'll eat lunch while you overhaul it,\" she replied.\n\nMcCarthy secured the lunch from the car and they spread it upon the\ngrass in the yard and ate.  The girl was too weary for conversation,\nbut as she ate she seemed to gain strength and courage.\n\n\"We'll get there before the game is over, anyhow,\" she said quietly.\n\"I want to see Williams's face when you come onto the field.\"\n\n\"I thought you and he\"----\n\n\"I never have liked him,\" she interrupted quickly.\n\nThree minutes before the town clock chimed the hour of two in Hilton,\nthe machine, again running smoothly, shot out from the garage.  Its\noccupants, refreshed and more cheerful, faced the final stretch of the\nlong race.\n\n\"Fourteen miles in twenty-one minutes,\" cried McCarthy, as the mile\nposts flashed by.  \"We'll be there.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"FOURTEEN MILES IN TWENTY-ONE MINUTES\"]\n\nTen minutes later the smoke haze that hangs eternally over the great\ncity of the Blues was visible.  The country homes along the road over\nwhich they sped were closer and closer together.\n\n\"Only ten more miles,\" McCarthy shouted triumphantly.\n\n\"We can cut across to the west here,\" she said as she swung the car\ninto an avenue.  \"This goes near the ball park and we'll save three\nmiles.\"\n\n\"Hurray,\" he shouted.  \"Then it's only seven miles.\"\n\nThe girl did not reply.  She was weary and her fair face showed haggard\nlines.  Their progress became slower, although two or three times\npolicemen turned to watch them, as if to interfere.\n\nThe grandstand was close now.  The steady roar of the huge crowd inside\npulsed and beat upon them.  A bell rang.\n\n\"That's either game time or last fielding practice,\" screamed McCarthy.\n\"Hurry, please, hurry.\"\n\nThe car suddenly swung out of the line, sent a swarm of pedestrians\nscurrying, and jarred to a stop at the entrance marked \"Players.\"\n\n\"Betty,\" said McCarthy, as he started to lift her from the car----\n\n\"Hurry,\" she said, faint from weariness and the reaction.  \"You must\ndress.\"\n\nHe ran stiffly toward the dressing room under the stand.  Bill Tascott,\nthe umpire, was just starting toward the field.\n\n\"McCarthy!\" he exclaimed at sight of the specter covered with mud and\nwith cut and bruised features.\n\n\"Bill, don't start the game yet,\" panted McCarthy beseechingly.  \"Wait\ntill I dress.  Please tell Clancy I'm here.\"\n\n\"I'll tell him.  I'll delay the game.  Can you play?\" said the umpire\nrapidly.\n\n\"Yes--give me time to dress.\"\n\nJack, the trainer, quiet after his first outburst of surprise, was\npreparing the hot shower and working like mad over the weary player and\nwhen Clancy, summoned by a quiet word from the umpire, rushed into the\nplayer's room, McCarthy was sighing luxuriously as the trainer soaked\nhis weary, cramped limbs with witch hazel.\n\n\"Hurry, Jack,\" ordered Clancy as he squeezed McCarthy's hands.  \"I knew\nyou'd come, Kohinoor.\"\n\n\"Am I in time?\" asked the player.  \"Get my uniform out, please.\"\n\n\"Just in time.  Good old Bill Tascott is delaying the game.  You ought\nto see him raising cain over his mask being lost.  He hid it in our\nbench and is accusing the Blues of stealing it.  He won't start the\ngame until you are ready.\"\n\nIn five minutes they rushed him toward the little gate by which the\nplayers enter the field from under the stands, just in time to hear\nBill Tascott announce:\n\n\"Batteries for to-day's game--Wiley and Kirkpatrick for the Blues;\nWilliams and Kennedy for the Bears.\"  He glanced toward the group\nemerging from under the stands and his voice rang with gladness as he\nyelled, in louder tones:\n\n\"McCarthy will play third base.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\n_The Plotters Foiled_\n\nThe gasp of astonishment with which the crowd greeted the announcement\nthat Williams would pitch gave way quickly to a cry of surprise that\nrose to a roar of applause when Bill Tascott announced that McCarthy\nwould play third base.\n\nHe walked slowly out toward third base, the huge arm of Swanson, who\nwith a bellow of gladness had raced to meet and embrace him, around his\nshoulders, while the great crowd stood and howled with excitement and\nhummed with curiosity as to the explanation of his reappearance.  Had\nClancy tricked the Blues and produced his third baseman at the dramatic\ninstant, hoping to unnerve them?  Had McCarthy been hurt?  A thousand\nconjectures and questions flashed around the field.\n\nThe announcement by Bill Tascott was a double shock to two persons\nsitting in one of the front boxes near the Bears' bench.  Barney\nBaldwin brought his fat hand down with a thump upon the shoulders of\nthe rat-faced, cold-eyed man who sat next to him, and shouted, \"I told\nyou so!\"\n\nEasy Ed Edwards, paler than usual, turned angrily toward the\npolitician, restrained himself, and resumed his steady scrutiny of the\nfield.  When the umpire announced McCarthy playing third, Baldwin, in\nhis astonishment, half arose and Edwards started quickly.\n\n\"Sit down, you fool,\" he said sharply.  \"We're in enough trouble\nwithout you giving us away.  Clancy was watching us from the bench.\nThey're wise to you.\"\n\n\"To me!\" ejaculated Baldwin.  \"I like your nerve\"----\n\n\"You're the only one they can connect with McCarthy's--accident,\" he\nsaid coldly.  \"There'll be h---- to pay at home.\"\n\nMcCarthy's head was bandaged afresh, strips of court-plaster decorated\nhis face, and even from the stands the black bruises around his eyes\nwere visible.\n\nNearly forty thousand persons were watching, unaware of the full\nmeaning of the complex drama they were witnessing.  McCarthy was so\nastonished at hearing that Williams was pitching that he turned to\nSwanson.\n\n\"What does it mean, Silent?\" he asked anxiously.\n\n\"Clancy made him pitch,\" whispered Swanson rapidly as they went toward\nthe bench.  \"He has had him locked in his room all day and Williams is\nscared stiff.  Look at him.\"\n\nThe pitcher was white to the mouth, and he licked his lips nervously as\nif in a fever, as he sat during the first inning while his own team\nendeavored to make a run.  Clancy, his face hard, sat next to him,\nterrible in his rigidity.\n\nThree of the Bears retired in rapid order and the team raced for the\nfield.  A roar of applause greeted them, and as McCarthy ran along in\nfront of the stands, the applause followed him like a wave.  It was\nclear some hint of the truth was spreading through the crowd.  Williams\nhung back when the team started for the field.\n\n\"I can't, Bill.  Oh, God, I can't,\" he wailed.  \"Please\"----\n\n\"Get out there and pitch!  Pitch whatever Kennedy signals for, and if\nyou don't\"----\n\n\"I'll try, Bill.  But if\"----\n\n\"There are no ifs,\" snarled the manager, half rising.\n\nWilliams walked to his position, a glare of terror in his eyes, as if\nhe contemplated flight.  He was wild and erratic at the start.  Two\nballs sailed wide from the plate, and Swanson ran to him.\n\n\"Get that next one over or I'll signal Clancy,\" he said.\n\nWilliams put every ounce of power into his throwing arm, and the ball\ncut the heart of the plate, jumping.\n\n\"The old hop on it!\" yelled McCarthy.  \"That's pitching, Adonis; that's\npitching.\"\n\nWilliams stood staring toward him as if dumfounded.  A grateful look\ncame into his eyes.\n\n\"Now the old hook, Adonis,\" yelled McCarthy.  \"Something on every one\nto-day, remember!\"\n\nAn outburst of cheering arose from the crowd.  Those who had heard or\nread the stories and rumors of the enmity between the two thought they\nrecognized the magnanimity of the third baseman and admired him.\nAnother strike whizzed over the plate, and a fast ball hopped while the\nbatter swung.  The strike out was greeted with a howl of applause.\nWilliams glanced toward the stands.  His eyes met those of Edwards\nfixed upon him, and his nerve broke.  He pitched without looking to see\nwhat Kennedy signaled, and \"Sacred\" White, the center fielder of the\nBlues, drove the ball to left center for three bases.  Kennedy gave a\nquick glance at Clancy, who sat staring straight ahead.  Swanson rushed\nupon Williams, who, trembling with fear, waved him back.  He pitched\ndesperately, but Wertheim hit a long fly to center and \"Sacred\" White\nscampered home.\n\n\"I didn't do it, Bill.  Honestly, I didn't,\" pleaded Williams, as he\nreturned to the bench and resumed his seat next to the manager.\n\n\"Williams,\" said Clancy coldly, \"you pitched without a signal.  I've\ngot men in the stands to pass circulars telling exactly what you have\ndone.  If that happens again I'll signal them, and when the crowd gets\nyou, may the Lord have mercy\"----\n\n\"I'll pitch--I was trying,\" begged the pitcher.  \"Don't turn the crowd\nloose on me.  They'll kill me.\"\n\n\"Then win,\" ordered Clancy.\n\nThe fifth came with the score 1 to 0 and Wiley pitching at his best.\nWilliams had lost some of his nervousness.  Either he had made up his\nmind to betray Edwards, and strive to win, or he was pitching, as he\nthought, for his life.  His fast ball was cutting the plate, and even\nwhen the Blues hit it they popped the ball into the air for easy outs.\nThe last half of the fifth started.  Williams, glancing toward the\nstand as he walked out to the slab, saw Edwards.  Edwards made a quick\nsignal with his hand and turned his face away.  Williams went to the\nslab entirely unnerved.  He was wild, and a base on balls gave the\nBlues another opening.  Instantly Swanson charged upon him and renewed\nhis threats, and Williams, after pitching two more balls wild, got one\nover the plate, and Henderson sacrificed, putting Hickman on second.\nKirkpatrick drove a hard bounder at Norton, who fumbled, recovered,\nthrew wild and Malone scored.\n\nMcCarthy was feeling deadly weary.  The racking ride in the automobile,\nthe injuries received at the hands of Edwards and his prize-fighter\nemploye, the loss of sleep and the anxiety, added to the strain of the\ngame, had sapped his youthful vitality.  Williams, under the dire\nthreats of Clancy, Kennedy and Swanson, was pitching steadily.  He was\ninspired now by a new hope: That he might lose the game and not be\nblamed for defeat and at the same time escape the vengeance of Edwards\nby pretending he lost it purposely.\n\n\"We ought to get at him this time, boys,\" called Swanson, as the Bears\nopened their eighth inning.  \"We've got to.  Look out there--at the\nscore board--the Panthers are winning, 4 to 1, and it means the\npennant.\"\n\nSuddenly Noisy Norton, the silent man, sprang to his feet and rushed to\nthe coaching lines.\n\n\"Wow!  Little of the old pep, boys!\" he yelled.\n\n\"Whoop!  We've got it won now.  Noisy is coaching.  Come on, boys--get\nat them!\" yelled Swanson.\n\nOut by first base, Norton, who had never been on the coaching lines in\nthe five years he had played with the Bears, was ranting and screaming\nlike a wild man.  The spirit of the thing came over the Bears.\nKennedy, rushing to the bat, cracked the first ball that Wiley pitched\nto center for a single.  A moment later little McBeth, who had been\nfretting his soul out on the bench for three months, leaped toward the\nbat like a hound unleashed.  He never had played in a major league game\nbefore, and Wiley teased him into swinging at two slow twisters, then\nattempted to waste a curve high and outside the plate.  The boy, his\nteeth set, waded into the ball, drove it over third for a base hit,\nand, with runners on first and third, Swanson came rushing up and drove\na line single to left that scored Kennedy and sent the speedy little\nMcBeth scurrying around to third.\n\nMcCarthy was coming to bat.  He swung two bats, testing their weight,\nand walked toward the plate.  The excitement of the rally had revived\nhis waning strength and stirred his jaded nerves.  Swanson signaled his\nintention to steal on the first ball pitched.  McCarthy crouched, and\nas the ball came he swung viciously at it, not intending to hit it, but\nto give Swanson the advantage by hampering the catcher.  The strike was\nwasted, as the catcher, knowing the speed of McBeth, bluffed at\nthrowing, and held the ball, hoping to lure the substitute off third\nbase and let Swanson reach second without trouble.\n\nThe next ball McCarthy fouled against the stands for a second strike.\nA great dread came over him as he heard the roar of the crowd.  He\nturned to watch the Blue's catcher recover the ball, and at that\ninstant he saw the face of Betty Tabor, strained, white, beseeching, as\nthe girl, still mud-splattered and stained from the long race, leaned\nforward.  Her face revealed all the hopes and fears that surged within\nher.  As McCarthy's heart leaped with grim resolve he saw another face\nthat caused him to step back out of the batter's box and, while\npretending to rub dirt upon his hands, to glance again.\n\nJames Lawrence, his uncle and guardian, was sitting in the box next to\nthat in which Betty Tabor was voicelessly beseeching him to win the\ngame.\n\n\"Hit it, Larry--hit it!\"\n\nThe sound of the name called by the familiar voice, the sight of the\nagony in the girl's face, spurred him to desperation.  He delayed,\nwiped his hands carefully, stepped into position and waited.  Wiley\nwound up.  A fast curve flashed toward the plate.  McCarthy took one\nstep forward, snapped his bat against the ball.  The Blues' third\nbaseman leaped wildly, stuck up one hand, the ball went on, struck two\nfeet inside the foul line, and before it ceased rolling around the\nstands two runs were across the plate.  McCarthy was on third, and the\nBears were in the lead.\n\nThe inning ended with McCarthy still on third, and the score 3 to 2 in\nfavor of the Bears.\n\nWilcox, who had been kept warmed up during the entire game, ready to\nrush to the slab if Williams weakened, went in to pitch and held the\nBlues in the eighth, and in their ninth the Bears drew a blank.\n\nMcCarthy knew he was very weary.  Only by his will power did he make\nhis tired, aching limbs obey his brain.  He ached in every muscle, and\nhis brain seemed dulled.  Gallagher hit a long fly to Pardridge.\nSwanson was still shouting, urging Wilcox to cinch the victory,\nencouraging, leading, fighting with every nerve for the victory.\nHenderson drove a two-base hit to center field, and Swanson redoubled\nhis efforts to brace the team against a rally that might rob them of\ntheir victory.  Kirkpatrick, a dangerous hitter at any time, drove a\nfast bounder at Norton.  The little second baseman set himself for the\nball.  It took a bad bounce, struck his wrist and rolled away only a\nfew feet.  He was after it in an instant, but he knew that\nKirkpatrick's terrific speed would get him to first ahead of the ball.\nAs Norton's fingers gripped the ball he thought of another play.\nHenderson would go to third on the fumble, turn the base, look to see\nwhere the ball was, and if it had broken through the infield far\nenough, he would try to score.  For an instant, Norton knew, the runner\nwould halt, undecided, six feet from third, and if the ball was\nthere----  Without looking, Norton hurled the ball toward third.\nMcCarthy saw it coming.  He realized the play that Norton had attempted\nto make to save the day.  He grabbed the ball and dived desperately\nbetween the runner and the bag.  Henderson, trapped, leaped back toward\nthe base, feet first.  McCarthy felt the shock of the collision, felt\nthe spikes bite into his arm, and he held his ground, blocking the\nrunner away.  He heard Bill Tascott's cry of \"Out!\" and, dazed, hurt\nand dizzy, he arose slowly and tossed the ball back to Wilcox.\nTrentman, the great pinch hitter of the Blues, was sent in to attempt\nto snatch victory from defeat.  Twice he drove fierce line fouls past\nthird base, then he lifted a high foul and, as the ball settled into\nKennedy's mitt, McCarthy swayed upon his feet.\n\n\"Help me, Silent; I'm all in.\"\n\nThrough the eddying, shouting, scrambling crowd that had swarmed\ncheering upon the field, Swanson half led, half carried his exhausted\nmate.\n\nThey had pressed close to the exit to the club dressing rooms, when\nsuddenly a great shout smote the air.  A tremor of fresh excitement ran\nthrough the crowd.\n\n\"What is it, Silent?\" asked McCarthy anxiously.\n\n\"It's the Scoreboard!\" yelled Swanson.  \"Look!  The Jackrabbits scored\nfive in the eighth inning and beat the Panthers out, 6 to 4.  Boy,\nwe're champions!\"\n\nMcCarthy did an odd thing.  He slid quietly to the ground in a faint,\nand they carried him to the dressing rooms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\n_Rejoicing_\n\nMcCarthy slept the deep, dreamless sleep of exhaustion.  He slept all\nthe way during the homeward journey, waking refreshed and only a trifle\nstiff when he was called early in the morning to disembark.  He and\nSwanson rode to the hotel in a taxicab, anxious to escape from the\ncrowds that gathered to witness the arrival of the champions after\ntheir sensational victory.\n\n\"Don't run,\" urged Swanson, \"I'm a hog for punishment of this kind.  I\ncould stand around all year and let these people cheer me.  It sounds\ngood after what I've heard them say.  See that big fellow, yelling his\nhead off, there?  He's the same one that yelled 'rotten' at me for two\nmonths in the middle of the season.\"\n\n\"Let's have breakfast up in the room,\" urged McCarthy.  \"Get them to\nsend up all the morning papers.  I want to read what they say about the\ngame.\"\n\n\"They say enough, judging from the headlines,\" replied Swanson.  \"Let's\neat down here and bask in the admiration of these fellows who have been\ncalling us dubs.  Pose for them, Kohinoor!  You're a hero!  Don't you\nknow a hero has to stand on his pedestal all day and smile?  Smile,\ndarn you!\"\n\nIn spite of the giant's good-natured badinage they hurried to their\nrooms and ordered breakfast and newspapers.\n\n\"They've got most of the story,\" said McCarthy.  \"They have written a\nlot of guff about----  Oh, they make a heroine out of Miss Tabor.  Look\nat her picture.  Where did they get it?  I never had one.\"\n\n\"Get the original,\" said Swanson gruffly, his mouth full of toast.\n\"See this: Easy Ed Edwards has run.  He skipped before the game was\nover, and the paper says he has carried off a hundred thousand dollars\nin money that was bet with him and is fleeing to Europe.\"\n\n\"Williams made his getaway, too,\" said McCarthy, eagerly scanning the\npapers.\n\n\"Where did he go?  I saw him slide off the bench in the eighth while we\nwere scoring and start toward the club house.  Guess he was afraid of\nEdwards.\"\n\n\"Darn the luck,\" growled Swanson.  \"Here's all that stuff about Kennedy\nand me being licked in the saloon.  The whole story is out.\"\n\n\"There's one thing I want to find out,\" said Swanson, clenching his\nfist.  \"And that is who the big guy was that Edwards hired as his\nslugger.  The season won't be complete until I hook this old grounder\ngrabber of mine on his jaw.\"\n\n\"I've got a bit of business,\" announced McCarthy, after an hour of\nexcited conversation.\n\n\"Wait till she gets through breakfast,\" insinuated Swanson insultingly.\n\"Going to desert your old pal for a skirt so soon?\"\n\n\"Aw, shut up,\" said McCarthy.  \"I've got to thank her, haven't I?\"\n\nSwanson was silent for an instant.  A serious expression came over his\nhomely, good-natured face.\n\n\"I hope you win her, Kohinoor,\" he said, simply, putting his big arm\nacross McCarthy's shoulders.  \"You deserve her--I wanted her myself,\nonce.\"\n\nWithout another word he went over and sat down, picking up a paper, and\nMcCarthy, walking to him, said:\n\n\"I'm sorry, Silent, maybe\"----\n\n\"No maybe about it,\" said Swanson without looking up, \"I lost, long\nago.\"\n\nMcCarthy descended two flights of stairs and knocked timidly at the\ndoor of the Clancy apartments.  He expected to find Betty Tabor with\nMrs. Clancy, but the girl was alone, the Clancys not having finished\ntheir breakfast.\n\n\"Betty,\" he exclaimed, taking both her outstretched hands, \"Betty--I\nhad to come--I wanted to tell you--I love you.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she said in surprise, \"I\"----\n\nHis arm slipped around her waist and he drew her close.\n\n\"I have loved you from the first,\" he said, pleadingly.  \"I wanted to\ntell you yesterday.  I thought you cared then; you do care for me,\ndon't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, Larry,\" she said softly, hiding her face.  \"I think I have--from\nthe first.\"\n\n\"From the first--the very first, dearest?\" he asked tenderly.  \"From\nthe day we met--years ago?\"\n\n\"Years ago?\" she asked in surprise.  \"Then you are?  Yes, you are; you\nmust be the little boy who was crying in the train?  I knew when you\ncame with the club we had met somewhere, and I could not remember\nwhere.\"\n\n\"Did you remember the little boy?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, Larry,\" she said \"I never have forgotten.  I used to pray for him\nevery night; that he might be happy in his new home.  I kept the\npicture of him that was taken at Portland and I often have thought of\nhim.\"\n\n\"It must have been meant that we should meet, dearest,\" he whispered.\n\n\"Yes, Larry,\" she replied softly.\n\nHe kissed her and held her close.\n\n\"Larry!\" he exclaimed.  \"Where did you learn my name, sweetheart?\"\n\n\"The old gentleman in the box next to us at the game called you\nLarry--and it seemed to fit you better than Jim does.\"  She laughed.\n\n\"He is my uncle--my father, almost.  You will meet him soon, and then I\nwill explain how I became McCarthy.\"\n\nAt that instant Manager Clancy and his wife entered abruptly, followed\nby Technicalities Feehan.  Betty Tabor blushed and struggled to\nextricate herself from McCarthy's arms, but he held her close and\nannounced:\n\n\"Betty has just promised to become my wife.\"\n\nA shower of congratulation followed, and Mrs. Clancy became so excited\nshe dropped her fancy work and kissed both, then kissed Feehan, and\nthat surprised reporter dropped his precious manuscript in his\nembarrassment.\n\nA few moments after McCarthy left his room to make the call that\nresulted in his happiness being established, Swanson was aroused from\nhis reverie by insistent rapping upon the door, and in response to his\nwelcoming cry, a tall, slender old man with bristling moustache,\nstormed into the apartment.\n\n\"Where's that young scoundrel who calls himself McCarthy?\" he demanded,\nbrandishing his cane threateningly.\n\n\"Hello, grandpaw,\" said Swanson.  \"Who dealt you a hand?\"\n\n\"You're another one of those rascally ballplayers!\" charged the man\nviolently.  \"I know you--you've been leading my nephew into all sorts\nof wild scrapes, disgracing the family\"----\n\n\"You Kohinoor's uncle?\" howled Swanson joyously as he sprang up and\nseized the old gentleman with a bear hug and waltzed him around.\n\"Welcome to our fair city, uncle.  I adopt you right now.  Kohinoor is\nmy chum.  How does it seem to be the uncle of a hero?\"\n\n\"Release me, you scoundrel,\" puffed the uncle.  \"Release me or I'll\ncane you!  Where is he?\"\n\n\"Truth is, uncle, he's gone skirting,\" said Swanson, releasing his\nvictim.\n\n\"Gone where?\" asked the uncle.\n\n\"Skirting--calling on a girl--and between you and me, uncle, he's got\nthe best chance to win her, and she's worth winning.\"\n\n\"What, another?\" demanded the uncle.  \"Then he hasn't eloped with that\nblond niece of that crook, Baldwin?\"\n\n\"Not on your life,\" said Swanson, \"he's won the best little girl in the\nworld.\"\n\nIn five minutes they were laughing and chatting like old friends, and\nthe uncle was boasting of his nephew's prowess at baseball.\n\n\"Hang it,\" he stormed, \"I ought to cane him, the young rascal, for\ntreating me this way.  He never let me know he was playing, and I only\ngot to see one game.  But wasn't that a--what do you call it--a corker?\"\n\n\"Let's go to them,\" proposed Swanson.\n\nAnd into the tableau of congratulations that was being presented in the\nClancy apartment Swanson burst, leading the old gentleman, who was\nstruggling to smile and to be angry at the same time.\n\n\"Look who's here,\" he shouted.  \"Kohinoor's uncle, and from the looks\nof things he has arrived just at the right minute to give his blessing.\"\n\n\"Uncle Jim,\" exclaimed McCarthy, stepping forward quickly.\n\n\"Larry, you young rascal!--Larry\"----\n\nHis voice broke and tears rolled down his cheeks as he put his arm\naround the boy's neck and wept.  \"Larry, you young scoundrel, what did\nyou mean by running away from your old uncle?\"\n\n\"Uncle Jim,\" said McCarthy seriously, as he put his arm around the old\nman's waist, \"I was a fool.  I found it out and I was coming home to\ntell you I was wrong and beg you to forgive me, but I could not leave\nthe team when it needed me.  I was only a foolish boy.  If you can\nforgive\"----\n\n\"It's all right now, Larry, boy,\" said the old man, wiping his eyes and\nlaughing happily.  \"I was certain you'd come to your senses and find\nyou didn't love that girl.\"\n\n\"I am certain you will not object to the young lady I am going to\nmarry, Uncle Jim\"----\n\n\"Marry!\" cried Mr. Lawrence angrily.  \"Nonsense!  You're not going to\nmarry anyone!  Here we just make up and you want to start the quarrel\nall over again.  Marry?  You young scoundrel!  You're going to stay at\nhome with me\"----\n\n\"Don't say that until you meet her, Uncle Jim,\" and, putting his arm\naround Betty Tabor's waist, he said, \"Uncle Jim, I want you to meet\nMiss Betty Tabor, who has just honored me by promising to become my\nwife.\"\n\n\"Why, bless my heart!  Bless my heart!\" exclaimed the old man in\nsurprise.  \"If it isn't the young woman who sat in the box next to me\nat the game!  I fell in love with you, my dear, when you applauded\nLarry.  Marry her?  If you don't marry her, you young rascal, I'll cut\nyou off in my will.  Not a penny, you understand--not a penny.\"\n\nHe kissed Betty Tabor gallantly while the others laughed and he bowed\nlow over Mrs. Clancy's hand as Kohinoor presented him to the manager\nand his wife.\n\n\"Are you the Mr. Lawrence they call the Lumber King in Oregon?\"\ninquired Clancy, as he shook hands.\n\n\"They call me that out there,\" said the old man, testily.  \"Call\nthemselves democratic--then King everyone who makes a few dollars--bah.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" exclaimed Miss Tabor, in sudden alarm.  \"Then Larry is rich?\"\n\n\"Never mind that, sweetheart,\" he said, consolingly.  \"We can live on\nmy baseball salary if Uncle Jim cuts us off.\"\n\n\"Cut you off, nonsense!\" the old man exclaimed testily.  \"You'll have\nall my money if you behave yourself and obey me.  Young scoundrel never\nwould obey me.\"\n\n\"I've learned to obey in baseball, uncle,\" replied Kohinoor seriously.\n\"Ask Mr. Clancy if I haven't.\"\n\n\"I'm so glad, Larry,\" said Miss Tabor brightly, \"that you asked me\nbefore I knew you were going to be rich.\"\n\n\"Young rascal must have learned some sense,\" growled his uncle.  \"He\npicked out just the girl I wanted him to.  When I saw you at the game,\nmy dear, I said to myself: 'Now if Larry would only choose a girl like\nthat, I'd make her my daughter.'\"\n\n\"You're the worst flatterer of them all--Mr.--Lawrence,\" said the girl,\nblushing and laughing.\n\n\"You must call me Uncle Jim, my dear,\" he insisted in his most\ntyrannical tones.  \"And understand, Miss, I'm boss of this family.\"\n\n\"By the way, Kirkland,\" said Technicalities Feehan, who had been busily\nengaged studying some statistics he had taken from his pocket, \"what\ndid you hit the last year you were at Cascade College?\"\n\n\"Kirkland?\" exclaimed Miss Tabor.  \"Then your name isn't James\nLawrence?\"\n\n\"I forgot,\" he responded, laughing at her bewilderment.  \"Your name\nwill be Mrs. James Lawrence Kirkland; I was named for Uncle Jim.  How\ndid you find it out?\" he added, turning to Feehan.\n\n\"I knew it the second day you were with the Bears,\" replied Feehan.  \"I\nhave all your records, excepting those of your final year at the\nuniversity.  Did you hit .332 or .318?  The records do not agree.\"\n\nTen days later, on the night after the Bears triumphantly won the\nWorld's Championship, there was a jolly party in the banquet hall of\none of the great hotels.  Jimmy McCarthy was giving a farewell dinner\nto his friends and comrades of the Bear team.  The dinner had been\neaten, the toasts to the team and its manager drunk, and McCarthy arose.\n\n\"Boys,\" he said, \"I'm not going to try to make a speech.  I want to\nthank you all for your kindness to the tramp who came to you when he\nneeded friends.  And now my uncle has a little announcement to make\nwhich I know you all will be glad to hear.\"\n\nA round of applause greeted the testy old gentleman as he arose,\nscolding his nephew for calling upon him.  In the ten days that he had\ntraveled with them he had become the idol of the Bears, and he proudly\nclaimed credit for their victories, declared he was their mascot, and\ncalled each one by his first name.\n\n\"Nothing at all.  Just a little matter,\" he said, testily.  \"Young\nrascal shouldn't have mentioned it.  All it amounts to is that\nyesterday I bought Baldwin's stock in this ball club.  He's a disgrace\nto the business.  I made him sell out.  I'm holding the stock for\nClancy.  He can have it at the price I paid any time he gets the money.\nJust bought it to get that crook, Baldwin, out.\"\n\nHe sat down amid a riot of cheering, while Clancy, who had not been\ninformed of the deal, arose and stammered his bewildered thanks, as he\nstrove to realize that a fortune had been thrust upon him.  When the\nexcitement had died down and a toast to Mr. Lawrence had been proposed\nand drunk standing, Betty Tabor, flushed, and appearing prettier than\never, arose.\n\n\"Boys,\" she said, in her low, steady tones, \"I have an important\nannouncement to make, one which, I believe, will please you almost as\nwell as the one we just heard did.\"\n\nShe hesitated and smiled down upon her future husband, who sat beside\nher.\n\n\"Boys,\" she continued, after a moment, \"I have consented to permit\nLarry to play ball with you next season, if he will allow me to travel\nwith the team at least one trip.\"\n\nNoisy Norton sprang upon his chair, his glass held aloft and cried:\n\n\"To the bride, the groom and another pennant.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE END.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32044", "title": "Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant", "author": "", "publication_year": 1915, "metadata_title": "Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant", "metadata_author": "Hugh S. Fullerton", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:20.658680", "source_chars": 313519, "chars": 313519, "talkie_tokens": 76130}}
{"text": "Produced by Louise Hope, David Clarke and the Online\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[This e-text comes in three forms: Unicode (UTF-8), Latin-1 and ASCII.\nUse the one that works best on your text reader.\n\n  --If “œ” displays as a single character, and apostrophes and\n  quotation marks are “curly” or angled, you have the UTF-8 version\n  (best). If any part of this paragraph displays as garbage, try\n  changing your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding”.\n  If that doesn’t work, proceed to:\n  --In the Latin-1 version, “œ” is two letters, and apostrophes and\n  quotation marks will have the straight (“typewriter”) form. The word\n  “Pisé” still has its accent, “æ” is a single letter, and the\n  fractions ¼ ½ ¾ are one piece each. Again, if you see any garbage\n  in this paragraph and can’t get it to display properly, use:\n  --The ASCII-7 or rock-bottom version. All accents are now gone, and\n  fractions appear as “1/2”.\n\nIn illustration captions, small capitals are shown as +text+; in the\nadvertising, the +same symbols+ represent boldface.\n\nHeaders of odd-numbered pages changed from page to page. These have been\nmarked as [Headnote] and are added to the Table of Contents in brackets\nto aid in text searching.\n\nIn the body text, _s._ and _d._ (shillings and pence) were always\nitalicized; in the advertising, all prices were printed in boldface.\nBoth have been left unmarked to reduce visual clutter.\n\nErrors and other problems are listed at the end of the e-text.]\n\n\n\n\n  COTTAGE BUILDING IN\n  COB, PISÉ, CHALK & CLAY\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: Publisher’s Device {COUNTRY LIFE}]\n\n  _First Edition, September 1919_\n  _Second Edition (Revised and Enlarged), July 1920_\n\n\n\n\n  +Cob House built by Mr. Ernest Gimson,\n  near Budleigh Salterton, Devon.+\n  _Frontispiece_]\n\n\n\n\n  COTTAGE BUILDING\n\n    in\n\n  COB, PISÉ, CHALK & CLAY\n\n  _A Renaissance_\n\n\n    By\n  CLOUGH WILLIAMS-ELLIS\n\n  _With An Introduction_\n    By\n  J. St. LOE STRACHEY\n\n\n  Second Edition\n  Revised And Enlarged\n\n\n    London\n  Published at the Offices of “Country Life,” 20,\n  Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, W.C.2, and by\n  George Newnes, Ltd., 8-11, Southampton Street,\n  Strand, W.C.2. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons\n    MCMXX\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION\n\n\nThe exhaustion of the first edition of this book, within so short a time\nof its publication, makes it difficult to add much new matter for the\nreissue now called for, or, in the light of subsequent research and\nexperience, to revise what had already been written.\n\nAny book that seemed to show a way of meeting the present building\ndifficulties, however partially, was fairly assured of a welcome, but\nthe somewhat unforeseen demand for my small contribution to the great\nvolume of literature on cottage-building is, I think, to be attributed\nchiefly to its description of Pisé-building.\n\nOf the very large number of letters that reach me from readers of the\nbook, quite ninety-nine out of every hundred are concerned with Pisé.\n\nThe other methods of building have their advocates and exponents, but it\nis clearly Pisé that has caught the attention of the public as well as\nof the Press both at home and abroad, and it is to this method of\nconstruction that I have chiefly devoted my attention since the writing\nof the book as it first appeared.\n\nIn our English climate Pisé-building is a summer craft, and the\nsmall-scale experiments of one person through a single summer cannot in\nthe nature of things add very greatly to the sum of our knowledge of\nwhat is possible with Pisé and of what is not.\n\nMost of the new data have come through the building of Mr. Strachey’s\ndemonstration house, an account of which is included in the present\nvolume.\n\nAt the time of writing, various tests are being carried out with the\nhelp of the National Physical Laboratory; but the results, though\nexceedingly encouraging, are not yet ready for publication.[1]\n\nThe fact that Pisé-building is essentially a “Dry-earth method” makes\nnecessary the creation of artificial summer conditions under which the\nexperiments may be conducted during the past winter. As a result of\nthese researches, a considerable mass of useful data has become\navailable for the opening of the present building season.[2]\n\nMuch helpful information is also likely to come to us from the Colonies,\nparticularly from Rhodesia and British East Africa, where there is great\nactivity in Pisé-building, and where there is no “close season” such as\nour winter imposes upon us here.\n\nIt is instructive also to note that great interest in Pisé-building has\nbeen aroused in Canada and in Scandinavia, the two countries that we\nwere wont to associate particularly with timber-building.\n\nFrom both I have received a number of letters complaining of “the lumber\nshortage,” and discussing the advantages of Pisé as compared with their\ntraditional wood-construction.\n\nIf these great timber countries are themselves feeling the pinch, the\nadvocates of wooden houses for England may find that they are not merely\nbarking up the wrong tree, but up a tree that is not even there.\n\nThe timber famine is, in any case, a calamity to anyone dependent on\nbuilding, that is to everyone, for even a Pisé house must still have a\nroof and floors and joinery.\n\nBut to invoke the timber house as our salvation under existing\nconditions seems to be singularly perverse and unhelpful. Pisé, at all\nevents, seems to offer us a more promising field for exploration than\nmost of the other heterodox methods of construction that have been\nsuggested, too often upon credentials that will not bear any but the\nmost cursory scrutiny.\n\nPisé, even now, is still in its experimental infancy.\n\nIt has yet to prove itself in the fields of National Housing and of\ncompetitive commercial building schemes on a large scale.\n\nLastly, Pisé does not claim to solve the housing problem. There is no\nsolution unless, by some miracle, the present purchasing power of the\nsovereign appreciates by 200 per cent.\n\n    CLOUGH WILLIAMS-ELLIS.\n\n  22, South Eaton Place,\n  London, S.W.1.\n  _May 1920._\n\n\n    [Footnote 1: Certain of these have since been issued and will\n    be found in Appendix IV. at the end of the book.]\n\n    [Footnote 2: See Appendix IV.]\n\n\n\n\n  CONTENTS\n\n  [Text shown in brackets was taken from headnotes and added here\n  by the transcriber.]\n\n                                                            Page\n\n  INTRODUCTION                                                11\n    [The Search for Cheap Material -- Experiments with\n    “Pisé” -- Rammed Chalk, “Pisé de Craie” -- Pisé in\n    Moulds -- Cob and Chalk -- Pisé--a South African\n    Lead -- The Discovery of the Old]\n\n  GENERAL SURVEY                                              26\n    [The House Famine -- Local Materials]\n\n  I. COB                                                      33\n    [The Beauty of Cob -- Method of Building --\n    Implements -- Walls and Roofs -- Protection --\n    Raleigh’s House -- Mr. Baring-Gould -- Old Cob Lore\n    -- Mr. Fulford’s Evidence -- A Champion of Cob]\n\n  II. PISÉ DE TERRE                                           57\n    [Method of Building -- The Ramming -- Suitable Soils\n    -- Experiments -- Preparation of the Earth -- The\n    Strength of Pisé -- A Pisé Church -- Indian and\n    Colonial Practice -- Plastering -- The Right\n    Quantity of Water -- Pisé Buildings at Empandeni --\n    Pisé Buildings for Settlers -- Builders’ Aversions\n    -- Number of Men Required -- Pisé in New Zealand --\n    Pisé Shuttering -- If Reason Rule -- The Newlands\n    Specification -- A Swedish Contribution --\n    A Pisé-Builder’s School -- Alternative Shutterings\n    -- South Africa -- Soils]\n\n  III. CHALK                                                 107\n    [Winter Work Barred -- Garden Walls -- Cost of Three\n    Cottages -- Expensive Scaffolding Avoided -- Block\n    Chalk]\n\n  IV. UNBURNED CLAY AND EARTH BRICKS                         121\n    [Use for Unskilled Labour -- “Substantial and Cool”]\n\n  APPENDIX                                                   127\n    [Distempers and Limewashes -- Local Materials --\n    Cost per Foot Cube -- Pisé Tests]\n\n  INDEX                                                      139\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n  COB HOUSE BUILT BY MR. ERNEST GIMSON,\n      NEAR BUDLEIGH SALTERTON, DEVON               _Frontispiece_\n\n                                                     Facing Page\n  PISÉ WAGGON-HOUSE AT NEWLANDS CORNER                        18\n  THE NEWLANDS WAGGON-HOUSE (INTERIOR)                        18\n  THE BEGINNING OF A PISÉ FRUIT-HOUSE                         19\n  THE FRUIT-HOUSE COMPLETED WITH ROOF OF PEAT BLOCKS\n      ON ROUGH BOARDING                                       19\n  MODEL OF A PISÉ DE TERRE HOUSE TO BE BUILT IN\n      THREE SUCCESSIVE STAGES                                 22\n  WAYSIDE STATION OF PISÉ AT SIMONDIUM, SOUTH AFRICA,\n      DESIGNED BY MR. HERBERT BAKER                           23\n  FRONT AND BACK ELEVATIONS OF COTTAGE DESIGNED BY\n      SIR EDWIN LUTYENS AND MR. ALBAN SCOTT                   28\n  PLAN OF COTTAGE DESIGNED BY SIR EDWIN LUTYENS\n      AND MR. ALBAN SCOTT                                     29\n  ANOTHER VIEW OF THE COB HOUSE BUILT BY MR.\n      ERNEST GIMSON, NEAR BUDLEIGH SALTERTON, DEVON           34\n  A FINE SPECIMEN OF A DEVONSHIRE COB HOUSE                   35\n  A DEVONSHIRE COB FARMHOUSE, PROBABLY BETWEEN\n      200 AND 300 YEARS OLD                                   36\n  A COB-BUILT VILLAGE                                         37\n  A DEVONSHIRE FARM, LOCAL MATERIAL (COB)                     42\n  DEVON COUNTRY HOUSE, BUILT OF DEVON COB                     43\n  COB HOUSE TEMP. ELIZABETH, LEWISHILL                        44\n  ANOTHER DEVONSHIRE (COB) FARMHOUSE, WEEKE BARTON            45\n  CEILINGS OF MODELLED PLASTER FROM OLD COB HOUSES IN DEVON   46\n  A COB GARDEN-WALL WITH THATCHED COPING                      47\n  PISÉ PLANT AND IMPLEMENTS                                   58\n  DIAGRAM OF MARK V PISÉ SHUTTERING                           88\n  MARK V SHUTTERING                                           89\n  A SIMPLE MOULD FOR PISÉ BLOCKS                              90\n  BLOCK-MOULDS, LARGE AND SMALL                               90\n  SKETCH OF A PISÉ HOUSE IN COURSE OF ERECTION                91\n  THE NEWLANDS CORNER BUILDING                                92\n  THE COTTAGE FROM THE SOUTH-EAST                             93\n  THE GARDEN COURT                                            93\n  THE BACKYARD                                                94\n  FRAMING THE ROOF                                            95\n  AN INTERIOR, SHOWING FIRE-BRICK HEARTH FIRE                 95\n  DETAILS OF CHALK CONSTRUCTION AT AMESBURY                  110\n  COTTAGES AT COLDHARBOUR, AMESBURY                          111\n  THREE CHALK COTTAGES AT HURSLEY PARK                       114\n  MARSH COURT, HAMPSHIRE                                     116\n  BRICK-AND-CHALK VAULTING AT THE DEANERY GARDEN, SONNING    117\n  ONCE CORN HALL, NOW COUNCIL SCHOOL                         122\n  A ROW OF CLAY-LUMP COTTAGES                                122\n  ENGINEERING WORKSHOPS                                      123\n\n\n\n\nCONSIDERATIONS\n\n\n  “IF ALL AVAILABLE BRICKWORKS WERE TO PRODUCE AT THEIR HIGHEST LIMIT\n  OF OUTPUT AND WITH ALL THE LABOUR THEY WANTED AT THEIR DISPOSAL THEY\n  COULD ONLY TURN OUT 4,000,000,000 BRICKS IN A YEAR AS AGAINST A\n  PRE-WAR AVERAGE OF 2,800,000,000.”--(_See Report by Committee\n  appointed by Ministry of Reconstruction to consider the post-war\n  position of building._)\n\n  The first year’s programme of working-class housing _alone_ calls\n  for at least 6,000,000,000 bricks. That is to say, unless wall\n  materials other than brick are freely used, we shall fall alarmingly\n  short of what the population of Great Britain needs in bare\n  accommodation, and all building and engineering projects whatsoever\n  other than housing must be postponed indefinitely.\n\n  “THE COUNTRY DISTRICTS OF ENGLAND AND WALES ARE UNSURPASSED FOR\n  VARIETY AND BEAUTY OF CHARACTER, AND IT WOULD BE NOTHING LESS THAN A\n  NATIONAL MISFORTUNE IF THE INCREASED DEVELOPMENT OF SMALL HOLDINGS\n  WERE TO RESULT IN THE ERECTION OF BUILDINGS UNSUITED TO THEIR\n  ENVIRONMENT AND UGLY IN APPEARANCE.”--(_Extract from the report\n  submitted by the Departmental Committee appointed to inquire as to\n  Buildings for Small Holdings, 1913._)\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\n\nThe country is faced by a dilemma probably greater and more poignant\nthan any with which it has hitherto had to deal. It needs, and needs at\nonce, a million new houses, and it has not only utterly inadequate\nstores of material with which to build them, but has not even the plant\nby which that material can be rapidly created. There is not merely a\nshortage, but an actual famine everywhere as regards the things out of\nwhich houses are made. Bricks are wanted by the ten thousand million,\nbut there are practically no bricks in sight. All that the brickyards of\nthe United Kingdom can do, working all day and every day, is to turn out\nsomething like four thousand million a year. But to those who want\nhouses at once, what is the use of a promise of bricks in five years’\ntime? To tell them to turn to the stone quarries is a mere derision. Let\nalone the cost of work and of transport, it is only in a few favoured\nplaces that the rocks will give us what we want. Needless to say we are\nshort, too, of lime and cement, and probably shall be shorter. _No coal,\nno quicklime_, and _No coal, no cement_, and as things look now, it is\ngoing to be a case, if not of no coal, at any rate of much less coal.\nEven worse is the shortage in timber--the material hitherto deemed\nessential for the making of roofs, doors, windows and floors. Raw timber\nis hardly obtainable, and seasoned timber does not exist. The same story\nhas to be told about tiles, slates, corrugated iron, and every other\nform of “legitimate” roofing substance. There are none to be had.\n\nIn this dread predicament what are we to do as a nation? What we must\nnot do is at any rate quite clear. We must not lie down in the high road\nof civilisation and cry out that we are ruined or betrayed, or that the\nworld is too hard for us, and that we must give up the task of living in\nhouses. Whether we like it or not we have got to do something about the\nhousing question, and we have got to do it at once, and there is an end.\nTranslated into terms of action, this means that as we have not got\nenough of the old forms of material we must turn to others and learn how\nto house ourselves with materials such as we have not used before. Once\nagain necessity must be the mother of invention, or rather, of invention\nand revival, for in anything so old and universal as the housing problem\nit is too late to be ambitious. Here we always find that there has been\nan ancient Assyrian or Egyptian or a primitive man in front of us.\n\nIt is the object of the present book to attack part of the problem of\nhow to build without bricks, and indeed without mortar, and equally\nimportant, as far as possible without the vast cost of transporting the\nheavy material of the house from one quarter of England to another. That\nis my apology for introducing to the public a work dealing with what I\ncan hear old-fashioned master-builders describing as the “bastard” forms\nof construction. One of these is Pisé de terre, the old system of\nbuilding with walls formed of rammed or compressed earth: a system which\nwas once known throughout Europe and of which the primitive tribesmen of\nArizona and New Mexico knew the secret. Down to our own day it has been\npractised with wonderful success in the Valley of the Rhône. Then come\nour own cob, once the cottage material _par excellence_ of Devonshire\nand the West of England, our system of building with plain clay blocks,\na plan indigenous in the Eastern counties, and again the use of chalk\nand chalk pisé.\n\n\n    [Headnote: The Search for Cheap Material]\n\n  PISÉ DE TERRE\n\nFor me Pisé de terre, ever since I heard of it, has offered special\nattractions. It, and it alone provides, or if one must be cautious,\nappears to provide the way to turn an old dream of mine and of many\nother people into a reality. My connection with the problem of housing,\nand especially of rural housing, _i.e._ cottage housing, now nearly a\nquarter of a century old, has been on the side of cheap material.\nRightly or wrongly (I know that many great experts in building matters\nthink quite wrongly), I have had the simplicity to believe that if you\nare to get cheap housing you must get it by the use of cheap material.\nIt has always seemed to me that there is no other way. What more natural\nthan first to ask why building material was so dear, and then what was\nthe cause of its dearness? I found it in the fact that bricks are very\nexpensive things to make, that stones are very expensive things to\nquarry, that cements are very expensive things to manufacture, and worst\nof all, that all these things are very heavy and very expensive to drag\nabout the country, and to “dump” on the site in some lonely situation\nwhere cottages or a small-holder’s house and outbuildings are, to use\nthe conventional phrase, “urgently demanded.” Therefore, to the\nunfeigned amusement, nay, contempt of all my architectural friends,\nI spent a great deal of my leisure in the years before the war in\nracking my brains in the search for cheap material. My deep desire was\nto find something in the earth out of which walls could be made. My\nideal was a man or group of men with spades and pickaxes coming upon the\nland and creating the walls of a house out of what they found there.\nI wanted my house, my cottage in “Cloud-Cuckoo Land,” to rise like the\nlark from the furrows. But I was at once dissuaded from my purpose by\ncautious and scientific persons. The chemists, if they did not scoff\nlike the architects, were visibly perturbed. “Your dream is impossible,”\nthey said. “Nature abhors it as much as she used to be supposed to abhor\na vacuum. If your soil is clay, and you can afford the time and cost of\nerecting kilns, and bringing coal to the spot to make the bricks, you\ncan no doubt turn the earth on the spot into a house, but even then you\nhad far better buy them of those that sell. Your dream of having some\nchemical which will mix with the earth and turn it into a kind of stone,\nis the merest delusion. It is the nature of the earth to kill anything\nin the way of cement that is mixed with it. For example, even a little\nearth will kill concrete or mortar. Unless you wash your sand most\ncarefully, and free it from all earth stain, you will ruin your concrete\nblocks.” I appeared to be literally “up against” a brick wall. It was\nthat or nothing. And then, and when things seemed at their very worst,\na kind correspondent of _The Spectator_ showed me a way of escape.\nI felt like a man lost in underground passages who suddenly sees a tiny\nsquare of light and knows that it means the way out. Somebody wrote,\nfrom South Africa I think, asking why I didn’t find the thing I wanted\nin Pisé de terre, much used in Australia, and occasionally in Cape\nColony. Then came a rush of enlightenment. People who had seen and even\nlived in such houses wrote to _The Spectator_, and the world indeed for\nthe moment seemed alive with Pisé de terre. I was even lent the\n“Farmer’s Handbook” of New South Wales, in which the State Government\nprovides settlers with an elaborate description of how to build in Pisé,\nand how to make the necessary shuttering for doing so. It was then, too,\nthat I began to hear of the seventeenth and eighteenth-century buildings\nof Pisé in the Rhone Valley. In fact, everybody but I seemed to know all\nthere was to be known about Pisé de terre. For the moment indeed, the\nsituation seemed like that described in _Punch’s_ famous picture of the\nyoung lady and the German professor. “_What is Volapuk?_” asks the young\nlady. “_Ze universal language_,” says the professor. “_Where is it\nspoken?_” “_No vairs._” Pisé de terre appeared to be the universal\nsystem of building, but as far as I could make out, it was practised “no\nvairs,” or at any rate not in Europe.\n\n\n    [Headnote: Experiments with “Pisé”]\n\n  II\n\nI had got as far as the position described above, when down swept the\nwar upon Europe, and everything had to be postponed in favour of the\nimmediate need of filling the ranks of the nation’s army and teaching\nthe men how to fight our enemies. As the war went on, however, the\ndemand for rapid, cheap, and temporary building became very great, and I\nfelt I should be justified in trying some experiments with Pisé de\nterre, even in spite of the difficulty of obtaining labour.\n\nI think I can best illustrate the nature of Pisé and what it can do, and\nI believe will do, if I shortly recount in chronological order these\nhumble pioneer efforts.\n\nIn the summer of 1915 I found that it was necessary in the interests of\nthe hospital established in my house to find a place in which to store\napples, for the men in blue consumed them in incredible quantities.\nI thought I would try Pisé. Accordingly, I had some shuttering made on\nthe Australian model--not splendid scientific shuttering such as is\ndescribed in the body of this work, but still shuttering quite\nsufficient for the purpose. With great rapidity a little fruit-house was\nput up, roofed with boards, and covered with blocks of compressed peat\nin order to make a roof which would be both vermin-proof and also keep\nout the heat and the frost. In my ignorance and my hurry, I now find\nthat I violated every sound rule of Pisé construction. I built the walls\nduring a week of rain, when the earth was wet, which was a great\nmistake; and I did not clear out the stones, which was another error\nthat prevented the walls from being homogeneous. Worst of all, as soon\nas the walls were built (and very pretty walls they were, looking\nsomething like soft brown marble), I painted them over with tar, which\nof course would not enter the wet wall, but only made a skin, which in a\nfew months peeled off exactly like the bark off a plane tree. Yet in\nspite of this ignorant mishandling of my material, the little\nfruit-house is still standing and sheltered till January the few apples\nNature allowed us to gather last autumn. It looks disreputable, but\nthere has been no structural collapse, nor will there be.\n\n    [Headnote: Rammed Chalk, “Pisé de Craie”]\n\nNo sooner was the fruit-house finished than I was met by the demand of\nmy wife, the commandant of the hospital, to add to my house a patients’\ndining-room, which would be bright, dry, airy, warm, and comfortable,\nand be large enough for forty men to have their meals in, and to use as\na sitting-room during the rest of the day. The local builder said that\nit was impossible to make a wooden addition, for there was no wood to be\nprocured, or to build in bricks, since my house stands 600 ft. above the\nsea on an isolated chalk down. Crœsus would have found it difficult at\nthat time to build on my site, and for the ordinary economic\nman--“L’homme à quarantes écus”--it was quite impossible. But the room\nhad got to be built, for the men were there, and built at once, since\nthe out-of-door life of July and August could not continue. There was\nnothing to do but to fall back upon Pisé. I decided to be ambitious and\nto experiment, not merely in Pisé de terre, but in what I then\nthought--and perhaps rightly--was a new form of Pisé, _i.e._ Pisé de\ncraie or compressed chalk. My shuttering therefore was put up. A hole\nnot very far off was dug in the earth, the chalk which was almost at the\nsurface was quarried out, and we began to build the wall, candid and\ncontemptuous friends telling us of course that the chalk wall would\nnever stand the frosts in so exposed a position, and that the wall, if\nmade, would certainly explode! Everyone worked at that wall; the nursing\nstaff, the coachman, an occasional visitor, a schoolboy, a couple of boy\nscouts, members of the National Reserve who were guarding a “vulnerable\npoint” close by, and even some of the patients. Patients as a rule will\nendure any toil with the utmost good temper if it is for the purposes of\nsport. If the task is useful it does not interest them. Still, a wall\nwhich might explode offered a certain attraction. We worked with more\nzeal than discretion, but happily I had it in my mind that homogeneity\nwas the essential, and therefore the hard nuggets of chalk as they were\nthrown into the shuttering to be compressed by the rammers were first\nchopped up with spades, much as one minces meat. The wall had no\nfoundations. In Pisé you can make your foundations, so to speak, as you\ngo, through the simple process of ramming. Anyway, and to cut a long\nstory short, the wall was made, was able to receive the roof, for which\nhappily the local builder found some material, and not only did the wall\nstand, but showed a very creditable exterior. Its weight was of course\nenormous, for there were some twenty tons of chalk put into it. In spite\nof the irregularity of the labour it did not take more than ten or\ntwelve days to build. To prevent the wet and frost getting into it,\nI painted the main front with a patent liquid material for rendering\nwalls damp-proof. The Chalk Pisé wall not only served its purpose, but\nserved it very well. The room proved extraordinarily warm and\ncomfortable, largely owing no doubt to the fact of a solid, very dry,\n18-in. wall on the north-east side.\n\n\n\nMy next venture was in response to an urgent appeal from a farm tenant\nto build him a waggon house. The result is seen in the accompanying\nillustration. This building, about 40 ft. by 30 ft., was made purely of\nearth, but some experiments were tried in the way of introducing hurdles\ninto the shuttering in order to afford a surface to which plaster could\neasily cling. Suffice it to say that the plain earth, without plaster or\nany covering, more than justified itself. One part of the wall is very\nmuch exposed to the weather, but it has stood the rains and the frosts\nof three very bad winters without turning a hair. Lovers of the\npicturesque may like to know that it presents a pleasant face of light\nochre, upon which a pale green efflorescence of lichen has appeared of\nlate. Anyway, the frost has not touched it.\n\n\n  IV\n\nNext I made some experiments in chalk farmyard walls. Unfortunately,\nhowever, one of these, which was not made homogeneous by chalk mincing,\n_i.e._ in which the nuggets of chalk were not properly broken up, got\nthe wet into it, and true to the candid friend’s prophecy did literally\nexplode in the big frost of 1917-18. Another very pretty chalk wall is,\nhowever, standing to this day. But though Chalk Pisé will, I think, do\nwell if properly made and properly protected, it is somewhat of a\ndoubtful material for anything except a building with a good overlay of\nroof. Another structure put up by me was a largish gardener’s potting\nshed. This was built purely of earth, and in dry weather. When the walls\nwere perfectly dry, the local road authorities kindly came with their\ntar spray and sprayed it with hot tar, with most excellent results. The\nhot tar really entered instead of merely making a skin, with the result\nthat the external walls thus treated resembled a section of tarred road\nstood up on end.\n\n  +Pisé Waggon-house at Newlands Corner.+\n  An experiment in rendering.]\n\n  +The Newlands Waggon-house.+\n  Interior.]\n\n  +The Beginning of a Pisé Fruit-house.+]\n\n  +The Fruit-house Completed With Roof of Peat Blocks\n  on Rough Boarding.+]\n\nI may add that I lent my Pisé shuttering to a Guildford Volunteer\nBattalion, who in a ten-hour day, or rather, two days of five hours\neach, built an excellent hut about 20 ft. square and 10 ft. high, and\nthus showed that a platoon might house themselves with Pisé in a day,\nprovided they had roofing material ready. This building had subsequently\nto be destroyed, because the ground on which it stood was wanted for\nanother purpose. When it was knocked down the house-breakers were\nastonished at the strength and tenacity of the walls. Yet the earth out\nof which they were made was particularly bad--as one of the volunteers\nexpressed it, not earth, but merely leaf-mould and horse-manure. The\nsite had, as a matter of fact, been a suburban garden for at least two\nhundred years.\n\n\n  V\n\nBefore I leave the record of these terrestrial adventures I may note\nthat in the early stages I received a great deal of help and\nencouragement from General Sir Robert Scott-Moncrieff. He was indeed so\nmuch struck by them that he drew up a series of instructions for walls\nof Pisé work which were issued to all engineer companies at the front in\ncase they might have opportunities for experimenting. These instructions\nwere based upon the Australian book and embodied the very simple form of\nshuttering there recommended. The diagram that accompanied them is\nreproduced in the Appendix to the present volume.\n\n\n    [Headnote: Pisé in Moulds]\n\n  VI\n\n  PISÉ IN MOULDS\n\nThere is one thing more to be said about Pisé. I believe that a useful\ndevelopment of the system may be found in the plan of ramming earth into\nmoulds and making earth blocks, something like concrete blocks. Moulds\nof this kind are easy to make and are specially suitable when the soil\nis somewhat clayey in its nature. They have the advantage of being much\ncheaper than shuttering, and of being capable of being handled by one\nman without assistance. With a strong wooden mould and a good rammer a\nsmall-holder may easily build his own pigsty, his own chicken house, and\nall the small outbuildings he requires, if not indeed add an extra room\nto his house. I am at present experimenting with these blocks and only\nyesterday had the pleasure of seeing a sergeant (R.A.M.C), discharged\nthrough ill-health and now trying to turn himself into a small-holder,\nbuilding a pigsty with the help of one of my moulds.\n\n\n  VII\n\n_Apropos_ of the elusive universality and yet non-existence of Pisé\nwork, the following personal anecdote or footnote to compressed earth\nmay amuse my readers. Happening to be sleeping in a bedroom at Brooks’s\nClub in 1916, I noticed a charming Regency bookcase full of old books.\nAmong them was a copy of a _Cyclopædia_ of 1819. I thought it would be\namusing to see whether there was any mention of Pisé de terre. What was\nmy astonishment to find that what I thought was my own special and\npeculiar hobby and discovery was treated therein at very great length\nand with very great ability, but treated not in the least as anything\nnew or wonderful, but instead as “this well-known and greatly\nappreciated system of building, etc., etc.” To complete the irony of the\nsituation the fact was mentioned that a Mr. Holland had lately sent to\nthe Board of Agriculture a memorandum as to how to put up houses and\nfarm-buildings in this form of construction. My hair rose on my head,\nfor I had just committed a similar official indiscretion myself, and had\nbeen bombarding appropriate authorities with what I thought must be a\ncomplete novelty. Truly one can never be first or do anything new. It is\nalways “in the Files,” as Mr. Kipling says. Even in our most original\nmoments we only keep on feebly imitating somebody else. The claim to\noriginality is nothing but a muddy mixture of pride and ignorance. What\ndid, however, somewhat amaze me was the calm statement of the\n_Cyclopædia_ that this system of building was now well known in the\ncounties of--and then came the names of practically all the counties of\nSouthern England. And yet I had been keenly on the look-out for such\nbuildings for several years. The cynic will say that they had all fallen\ndown. That only shows the weakness of the cynic’s point of view. The\ntruth is they are often concealed under various disguises of plaster,\npaint, and weather tiles. Few people know what their own walls are\nreally made of till they try to cut a new opening for a door or a window\nin them.\n\n\n    [Headnote: Cob and Chalk]\n\n  VIII\n\n  COB AND CHALK\n\nOf Cob I know little by actual experiment. It is fully dealt with in the\nbody of this work, and readers will find that it is a kind of mud or\nclay concrete reinforced with straw. It is therefore totally and\nabsolutely different from Pisé. One is wet, the other dry.\n\nAll that need be said about chalk is said by the author of the present\nbook.\n\n\n  IX\n\n  A POSTSCRIPT\n\nIn the body of this work mention is made of a very successful experiment\nin Pisé de terre made by the officials of a Rhodesian mining company;\nthe outcome, I am proud to think, of my pre-war advocacy of Pisé in _The\nSpectator_. No sooner had my introduction been finished than there came\nby way of postscript an exceedingly interesting series of photographs,\nsent to me by Mr. Pickstone, a gentleman very well known in South Africa\nfor his fruit gardens, his peaches, and his apricots. On the strength of\nwhat he had read in _The Spectator_, Mr. Pickstone lately undertook to\nbuild a station building and station-master’s house for the railway\nstation at Simondium in the Drakenstein Valley, a place which during the\nsummer is noted for its great heat. In the January number of the _South\nAfrican Railways and Harbours Magazine_, Mr. Pickstone gives a detailed\naccount of his bold and successful experiment and illustrates it by a\nreproduction of some of his photographs. Here is his own account of what\nhe did.\n\n   *   *   *\n\n    [Headnote: Pisé--a South African Lead]\n\n“It must have been about eighteen months ago that the railway\nadministration decided to promote Simondium Siding to the dignity of a\nstation. As a siding, it had always been a busy place in the fruit\nseason, during which time a permanent checker had for some years been\nkept quite busy, his accommodation being a couple of small tin shanties,\nand he had been accustomed to board out where he could. Now we were to\nhave a ‘pukka’ station-master and, presumably, suitable premises. The\ndepartment quickly got to work and the station-master’s house arrived.\nIt was what one might call a second-hand, or even a third- or\nfourth-hand one, consisting of the inevitable sheets of galvanised iron\nand the ever-essential Oregon and Swedish timber. Our new station-master\nalso shortly afterwards arrived, and turned out to be a married man with\na wife and four children. The station-master was not a grouser, but\nduring the hot summer--and it is terribly hot in the Drakenstein Valley\nduring that time of the year--he complained to me that it was almost\nimpossible to hold on, owing to the conditions under which he and his\nfamily had to live. It was just about this time that I saw in _The\nSpectator_ a series of articles strongly advocating ‘Pisé de terre’\nconstruction for buildings of all kinds; especially was it recommended\nas a war-time expedient for rapid and economical construction for\nbarracks and hospitals, and, indeed, it was strongly recommended by Mr.\nSt. Loe Strachey, the editor, for all sorts of general building and\nmilitary purposes. It is a curious fact, which many readers could\nverify, that frequently one lives one’s life under certain conditions,\nand in reality remains absolutely blind to their presence and\npotentialities. Here was I, living in a country where some of the most\nbeautiful old homesteads are on the principle of the ‘Pisé de terre’\nconstruction, and a large proportion of the older farm buildings in this\ndistrict also built of similar material, with the additional pleasing\naccompaniment of beautiful beams, ceilings and floors made of colonial\npine--one may advisedly add, the _despised_ colonial pine. Some of these\nbuildings have stood the wear and use of close on a century, and are\nstill an object of joy to those privileged to have an eye to see. Here\nlived I, as I say, blind to its potentialities for to-day, although it\nhad been clearly appreciated and carried out with the most charming and\nsolid results by our great-grandfathers in the old slave-labour days.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\n  +Model of a Pisé de Terre House to be built in\n  Three Successive Stages.+\n  The right wing is planned to be built first as a complete\n  small cottage, eventually becoming service and servants’ quarters.\n  _Clough Williams-Ellis, Architect_.]\n\n  +Wayside Station of Pisé at Simondium, South Africa,\n  designed by Mr. Herbert Baker.+]\n\nThe supervising architect, Mr. Kendall, who was responsible for carrying\nout the work to the admirable design of Mr. Herbert Baker, gives the\nfollowing description of the way the work was actually executed, which\ncontains several very useful hints:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n“The construction of walls determined upon was that known as ‘Pisé de\nterre,’ consisting of earth walls some 18 in. to 24 in. thick, which owe\ntheir solidity to a simple process of ramming between wooden casings\npreviously placed in position on both sides. These walls are built in\nstages of some 3 ft. in height, the wood casing being raised at\nintervals as required. The frames for doors and windows are placed in\nposition at the right time, and anchored into the walls by means of long\nhoop iron ties. These walls, when completed, give a surface almost as\nhard as burnt brick, but the external angles present a slight point of\nweakness, as from their exposure they would be naturally inclined to\nchip away in cases of rough usage. In order to overcome this it was\narranged that irregular brick quoins should be embedded in the angles\nall the way up as the work proceeded. The walls, when completed, were\nthen plastered and whitewashed, and present as good an appearance as\nmore expensively plastered brickwork. As additional security the weather\nsides were given, prior to whitewashing, a coat of hot gas tar direct on\nthe plaster, which in all exterior work was lime plus 10 per cent.\ncement. The roofs are of thatch with a fairly good overhang at the eaves\nin order to form a protection for the walls.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\nOn one point, however, we may reassure Mr. Kendall. I do not think he\nneed be afraid of his walls being destroyed by the weather even if he\nhas no overhang. Part of a Pisé wall in my cart-shed, built in a very\nexposed situation, has no overhang. Further, the wall is not covered by\ncement or any other protective covering. The compressed earth was left\nquite bare, and yet the three worst winters of alternating wet and frost\nknown for many years have made no impression upon the wall. It seems to\nbe both rain-proof and frost-proof.\n\nI may add that Mr. Pickstone informs me in a letter dated February 19th\nthat the Pisé walls have proved an enormous success from the point of\nview of protection from the heat. Whereas in an iron building lined with\nwood the temperature in the hot weather went up to 104 degrees\nFahrenheit, in the station-master’s Pisé de terre dining-room the\nthermometer registered only 86 degrees. Those who have ever lived where\nsuch temperatures prevail will note the immense advantage gained by the\nPisé walls. Such temperatures try strong men and women, and for children\nthey are positively death-dealing. With so successful an experiment as\nthat at Simondium before my eyes, I am beginning to feel that I may live\nto correct my view that this universal system of building is practised\n“no vairs.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: The Discovery of the Old]\n\n  X\n\n  PLINY ON PISÉ DE TERRE\n\nNow for something which I have kept as the _bonne bouche_ of my earthy\nstory. At the end of my researches and experiments I found that Pliny\nhas got it all in his _Natural History_ in six lines! There is no need\nfor more words.\n\n“_Have we not in Africa and in Spain walls of earth, known as\n‘formocean’ walls? From the fact that they are moulded, rather than\nbuilt, by enclosing earth within a frame of boards, constructed on\neither side. These walls will last for centuries, are proof against\nrain, wind, and fire, and are superior in solidity to any cement. Even\nat this day Spain still holds watch-towers that were erected by\nHannibal._” --_Pliny’s “Natural History,”_ Bk. XXXV, chapter xlviii.\n\n    J. ST. LOE STRACHEY.\n\n  Newlands Corner, Surrey.\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL SURVEY\n\n\nAlways necessity has been the mother of invention. The war has proved\nher prolific indeed, and her teeming offspring are seen in the\nmultiplicity of war contrivances and the bewildering array of\nsubstitutes for the once common things of our daily life. Where\nnecessity has been most dire, there invention has unfailingly come to\nthe rescue with the most amazing “Ersatz” products to replace the\nvanished originals.\n\nAt any rate it pleases us to attribute the truly astonishing feats of\nthe Germans in this direction to their greater need rather than to any\nsuperior ingenuity or enterprise on their part.\n\nThat their success was often no more than moderate will be readily\nadmitted by anyone who, for instance, has made trial of their “Ersatz”\ncigars or ration coffee.\n\nStill, need did at least awaken prodigious effort, ingenuity, and\nenterprise--all co-ordinated and concentrated on the business of making\ngood a hundred paralysing deficiencies.\n\n    [Headnote: The House Famine]\n\nIn this present matter of National Housing the shortage of all the\ngenerally recognised building materials as well as of actual houses is\nextreme and grave. Effort, ingenuity, and enterprise in overcoming these\ninsufficiencies are as urgently and vitally necessary to England in\nPeace as ever they were to Germany in war. Little will be said here of\nthe direct and intimate connection between good houses and good\ncitizens.\n\nIt is assumed that those who go to the pains of reading this book have\nat least glanced at the Housing Reports, and drawn certain disquieting\nconclusions from the criminal and vital statistics with which the case\nfor reform is reinforced.\n\nIn a recent speech the Registrar-General said: “War does not only fill\nthe graves, it also empties the cradles.” This is no less true of bad\nand inadequate housing.\n\nOnly the most reckless and thick-skinned of the poorer population will\nadventure on marriage and the bringing up of a family whilst the odds\nagainst decent and reasonable housing persist as at present.\n\nTrue, “Housing” is very properly being given considerable prominence in\nthe press, and scarcely a day passes but there appears an article or\nletter dealing with this question.\n\nUsually we are left but little wiser than we were, whilst if we chance\nto know something about the subject, the general tone of vague\ncheerfulness that pervades them all fills us with misgiving.\n\nNothing is easier or pleasanter or more popular than to make airy\npromises or predictions about the “Homes for Happy Human Beings” that,\nsomehow, are to be prepared for our returned soldiers, and for all those\nothers who are housed miserably or not at all. It is very easy to\npredict and promise, but without adequate materials performance is not\nmerely difficult, it is impossible.\n\nThere is a world-shortage of almost every manufactured or cultivated\nproduct; there is also a labour famine, a money famine, and a transport\nfamine.\n\nIn this country, closely connected with these deficiencies and looming\nominously over them all, is, as we have said, our house-famine.\n\nTo relieve the last in face of the others, and without further\naggravating them, is one of the most grave and pressing of the many\nproblems that confront us.\n\nBriefly the problem is this: To provide a maximum of new housing with a\nminimum expenditure of labour, money, transport, and manufactured\nmaterials.\n\nBroadly speaking, so far as rural housing is concerned, the solution\nmust be sought through the use of natural materials already existing on\nthe site, materials that can be worked straight into the fabric of the\nbuilding, without any elaborate or costly conversion, and that by local\nlabour.\n\n“Pisé de Terre,” “Chalk Compost,” and “Cob” are three alternative forms\nof construction, one of which will usually fulfil the above conditions\nin any given situation.\n\nDespite the somewhat outlandish and high-sounding name of the first, it\nis nothing more than a very old and very simple method of building,\nrecently revived through stress of circumstances. The rude technique has\nhappily been kept alive and preserved for us in out-of-the-way corners\nof the Continent and in our Colonies. Wherever there is a sufficiency of\nsunshine to effect the necessary drying, there have earth buildings\narisen and prospered.\n\n“Cob” building needs less introduction, as it is still well understood\nand a living craft in several parts of Great Britain, notably in\nDevonshire and South Wales, where its merits and advantages have been\nrecognised apparently from the earliest times.\n\nAll those indeed who are familiar with this method of construction are\nfully alive to its virtues, and the same is true of Pisé-building, both\nin chalk and earth, and also of clay-lump.\n\nThis book, however, is addressed to those who have in the past built\nonly with stone, brick, concrete, timber and plaster, etc., and who are\nonly now considering a reversion to the more primitive construction here\ndescribed, through the shortage or absolute lack of their former\nmaterials.\n\n  +Front and Back Elevations of Cottage designed by Sir Edwin\n  Lutyens and Mr. Alban Scott.+\n  This Cottage can be built in Cob, Pisé, Concrete, Stone, or Brick.]\n\n  +Plan of Cottage designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens and Mr. Alban Scott.+]\n\nIt is not so much a question as to whether a Cob or Pisé house is\npreferable to one of brick or stone or concrete--though there are many\nwho profess a lively preference for the former--but as to whether you\nwill boldly revert to these old and well-tried methods of building, or,\nin the absence of the ordinary materials, feebly sit down and build\nnothing at all.\n\nFor that will, inevitably, be the alternative for a great many private\npersons. National and Public-Utility Housing Schemes and public and\nindustrial works of all sorts will naturally and properly claim priority\nin the matter of all building materials--and the private individual, so\nfar as he can secure such materials at all, will only do so at a price\nthat is the logical outcome of an unprecedented demand and an ominously\ninadequate supply.\n\n    [Headnote: Local Materials]\n\nTimber, tiles, slates, plaster, and ironmongery he must still purchase\nand transport as best he may--but the shell of his house, its outer\nwalls at least, could and should be raised from the soil of the site\nitself by the employment of the simplest gear and a small amount of\nunskilled local labour.\n\nSo acute indeed is the transport problem, and so small is the hope of\nany substantial improvement in the near future, that any expedient\ntending to ease matters in this respect is worthy of the most serious\nattention.\n\nThe restrictions imposed by high freights will of themselves tend to\ncheck the often senseless and unnecessary importation of materials\nforeign to a district, which in the past was the despair of architects\nof the “traditional” school.\n\nIt was a wasteful practice that had gone far to obliterate all but the\nmost robust traits in the old and very diverse local building\nconventions of rural England.\n\nFormerly, he who wilfully carried bricks into Merioneth or the\nCotswolds, or slates into Kent or ragstone-rubble into Middlesex, was\nguilty of no more than foolishness and an æsthetic solecism.\n\nUnder present conditions such action should render him liable to\nprosecution and conviction on some such count as “Wasting the shrunken\nresources of his country in a time of great scarcity, . . . in that he\ndid wantonly transport material for building the walls of a house by\nrail and road from A to B when suitable and sufficient material of\nanother sort and at no higher cost existed, and was readily accessible\nhard by the site at B.”\n\nThat indeed is our one chance of salvation, the existence and use of\n“the materials of another sort hard by the site.”\n\nThese natural materials and their appropriate use in building will be\nconsidered in the following pages.\n\n   *   *   *\n\nThe Lutyens-Scott cottage, of which illustrations are given, is designed\nwith a special view to the use of such local materials as cob, chalk,\nand Pisé, though it could also be constructed without appreciable\nmodification in stone or brick.\n\nIt is thus a model of unusually universal application, providing, too,\naccommodation such as is certain to be demanded by the new and more\neducated generation that it is the aim of the country to produce.\n\n\n\n\n\n_COB_\n\n\n§ I. GENERAL\n\nIf ever the counties of England recover their bygone loyalty to their\nown materials and their old traditions, then cob-building will return to\nDevon and the West. Cheap bricks, cheap transport, and the ignoble rage\nfor fashions from the town went far to oust provincial cob from the\naffections of those whom, with their forbears, it had housed so well for\nseveral centuries.\n\nWhether the new loyalty be from within, or be imposed from without by\nforce of circumstances, matters little. What does matter is the fact of\nits revival.\n\nFor with it will come again the building of cottages that are knit\nintimately to their sites and surroundings as of old, cottages\nconsanguineous with the ground they stand on, be it brick-earth, rock,\nor common soil.\n\nThe soil of Devonshire and of many parts of Wessex and of Wales serves\nexcellently well for building in cob or “clom.”[3]\n\n    [Footnote 3: Probably, indeed, there is no county in the kingdom\n    that has not considerable areas where the soil would, if tried,\n    prove well adapted for cob-building.]\n\nThe soil itself suggested the construction, and the men of Wessex were\nquick to take the hint and to act on it.\n\nThe yeomen and small-holders of earlier days were commonly builders too,\nand often built their own homes in their own way, yet by the guiding\nlight of local tradition.\n\nThus the old Devonian countryman in need of a house would set to and\nbuild it himself--of stone if that were handy and easily worked, of cob\nif it were not.\n\nNo doubt the doors and windows would be made and fitted by the village\nwheelwright; but the cottager himself would thatch or slate the roof as\nnaturally and successfully as he built.\n\nThe skill and care with which these versatile amateurs built their\nhouses was not always of the highest, and careless construction, like\nother sins, is visited on the children--the worse the sooner.\n\nThus it is that there are to-day plenty of old cob cottages that are\nboth damp and insecure, but to condemn cob building in general because\ncertain old builders were careless, ignorant, or incompetent is to\ncondemn all materials from wattle and daub to ferro-concrete in the same\nbreath.\n\nCob, being a humble, amenable, and thoroughly accommodating substance,\nhas reaped the inevitable reward of good nature in being “put upon” and\nin being asked to stand what is quite beyond its powers of endurance,\nand yet Devon cob houses of Elizabethan date are not uncommon.\n\nIt is very reasonable in its demands, but two things it does\nrequire--dry foundations and a good protecting roof.\n\nTo quote an old Devonshire saw on cob--“Giv’un a gude hat and pair of\nbutes an’ ’er’l last for ever.”\n\nIn many instances the Devonshire leaseholder, usually only a\n“life-lease” holder, built badly and on indifferent foundations. He\nneglected to repair his thatch, with the consequence that ruin followed\nsooner or later. He did not always use rough-cast, so that it often\nhappened that by the time the lease expired the unfortunate landowner\nfound that the cottage fell in--in the literal as well as in the legal\nsense. The lower portions of the walls were honey-combed with rat-holes,\nthe walls bulged out or fissures resulted from subsidence, and the\ndwelling presented that appearance of squalor and meanness that has led\nso many to decry the mud buildings of Devon as relics of bygone\nbarbarism. But if adequate care is bestowed on the construction, there\nis no reason why cob cottages should not prove at one and the same time\ncomfortable to the inmates and pleasant to the eye, and endure for many\ngenerations.\n\n  +Another view of the Cob House built by Mr. Ernest Gimson,\n  near Budleigh Salterton, Devon.+\n    _See Frontispiece_]\n\n  +A fine Specimen of a Devonshire Cob House.+]\n\n    [Headnote: The Beauty of Cob]\n\nAs to their comeliness and longevity, a day’s walk in Devon, or, failing\nthat, a glance at the printed pictures will tell all that need be told.\nThat the beauty of cob buildings is not due merely to the irregularities\nand weathering produced by the passage of time is sufficiently proved by\nthe photographs of Mr. Gimson’s charming cob cottage, taken soon after\nhe had finished it.\n\nThe work was done a year or two before the war; this is Mr. Gimson’s own\ndescription of the manner of its building:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n“The cob was made of the stiff sand found on the site; this was mixed\nwith water and a great quantity of long wheat straw trodden into it. The\nwalls were built 3 ft. thick, pared down to 2 ft. 6 in., and were placed\non a plinth standing 18 in. above the ground floor, and built of cobble\nstones found among the sand. The walls were given a coat of plaster and\na coat of rough-cast, which was gently trowelled over to smooth the\nsurface slightly. I believe eight men were engaged on the cobwork, some\npreparing the material, and others treading in on to the top of the\nwalls. It took them about three months to reach the wall plate; the cost\nwas 6s. a cubic yard, exclusive of the plastering. No centring was used.\nThe joists rested on plates, and above them the walls were reduced to 2\nft. 2 in. in thickness to leave the ends of the joists free. The beams\nalso rested on wide plates and the ends were built round with stone,\nleaving space for ventilation. Tile or slate lintels were used over all\nopenings. The cost of the whole house was 6½d. a cubic foot. Building\nwith cob is soon learnt--of the eight men, only one of them had had any\nprevious experience, and, I believe, he had not built with it for thirty\nyears. This is the only house I have built of cob.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\nWhat is most interesting in this narrative is the workmen’s lack of\nexperience, which seems to have been no hindrance. Anyone who proposes\nto revive the use of cob may take courage from Mr. Gimson’s evidence.\nThe time spent in building the walls was reasonable and the cost low. It\nmay be guessed that the post-war rise in cost will be no greater in\nproportion, if as great, when compared with brickwork. The natural charm\nof the wall surface is enhanced by the crown of thatched roof, modelled\nwith a skill which few can bring so certainly to their task as Mr.\nGimson.\n\n\n    [Headnote: Method of Building]\n\n§ II. METHOD OF BUILDING\n\n_Composition._--Cob is a mixture of shale and clay, straw and water.\nShale is a common and widely distributed stratified formation of a slaty\nnature, and there are few types of clay soil that would not serve for\ncob-making.\n\nThe precise relative proportion of the first two ingredients varies,\ndepending on their individual peculiarities.\n\nLocal custom as to the composition and preparation of the mixture will\ngenerally be found to have adjusted itself to the peculiarities of the\nsoil.\n\nThe following extract is from an analyst’s report on a sample of typical\nold cob walling:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n“The material when placed in water fell to pieces. On analysis, it was\nfound to consist of:\n\n                                                Per cent.\n  Stones (residue on 7 by 7 mesh sieve)            24·40\n  Sand, coarse (residue on 50 by 50 mesh sieve)    19·70\n  Fine sand (through 50 by 50 mesh sieve)          32·50\n  Clay                                             20·60\n  Straw                                             1·25\n  Water, etc.                                       1·55\n                                                  100·00\n\n“The material is a conglomerate of slaty gravel with a very sandy clay,\nto which mixture a small proportion of straw has been added.\n\n“The clay acts as an agglutinant, and the straw as a reinforcement.\n\n“Efficient protection from frost and rain would be necessary before such\nmaterial could be considered weatherproof.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\n  +A Devonshire Cob Farmhouse, probably between 200 and 300 years old.+]\n\n  +A Cob-built Village.+]\n\n(N.B.--Lime is occasionally added to the clay-shale, but this is not\nusual.)\n\n_Mixing._--The old method of mixing by hand is as follows: A “bed” of\nclay-shale is formed close to the wall where it is to be used,\nsufficient to do one perch. A perch is superficial measurement described\nas 16½ ft. long, 1 ft. high, and the amount of material will vary\naccording to the thickness of wall required. Four men usually work\ntogether. The big stones are picked out. The material is arranged in a\ncircular heap about 5 or 6 ft. in diameter.\n\nStarting at the edge the men turn over the material with cob picks,\nstanding and treading on the material all the time. One man sprinkles on\nwater, and another sprinkles on barley straw from a wisp held under his\nleft arm. The heap is then turned over again in the other direction,\ntreading continuing all the time. “Twice turning” is usually considered\nsufficient. Straw bands may be wrapped puttee-wise around the legs of\nthe men to keep them clean, and these are removed at the end of the day.\n\nMore rarely the mixing is done in a rough trough, whilst a power-driven\n“pan-mill” has also been tried with success; though one would think that\nthe use of such a machine might tend to diminish the binding strength of\nthe straw submitted to its grinding.\n\n    [Headnote: Implements]\n\n  [Illustration: COB PICK (Measured from example at Great Fulford).]\n\n_Building._--In building a man stands on the low base-wall, and lays the\nmaterial handed up to him on the cob picks, treading it into position.\nThorough treading is important, and the heels should be well used. The\nmaterial is allowed to project each side an inch or so beyond the stone\nbase to allow for paring down afterwards. The courses are usually about\n2 ft. high. The cob should be laid and trodden in diagonal layers, as\nshown in the diagram: this is to secure proper bonding. It takes from\ntwo to three weeks for a course to dry, according to the weather, and\nfive or six men would be required to build the walls of an ordinary\ncottage. This would not keep them continuously employed, however, and\nthey would require to have several buildings in hand at the same time,\nso as to be able to turn from one to the other while the courses were\ndrying.\n\n  [Illustration: COB COURSE, OR SCAR, SHOWING DIAGONAL LAYERS.]\n\nAt the completion of a course the corners are plumbed up from the stone\nbase below, a line is stretched through and the wall is then pared down\n“plumb” with the “paring iron” by the man standing on the wall.\nSometimes, however, the paring down is left until the wall is finished\nand dry. Four men will do about four perches per day of a wall 2 ft.\nthick, preparing and laying material.\n\nThe material is rarely laid between timber shuttering as in Pisé work,\nas the retaining boards tend seriously to retard the drying out.\n\n  [Illustration: PARING IRON (Measured from example at Great Fulford)]\n\n_Drying._--If a course takes from two to three weeks to dry, it\nnaturally takes a long time for a whole cottage to completely dry out.\nThe walls can be built from about March to September. The internal\nfitting, plastering, etc., can be done in the winter, but the external\nrendering must not be done for at least a year, perhaps two years, to\nallow the walls to become perfectly dry.\n\nAs unprotected cob is sensitive to frost, especially if not thoroughly\ndried out, it should be given a good external rendering as soon as it is\nreally dry, and should in the meantime be protected from frost by some\ntemporary covering, straw-matting or what not. Also all cob-work must be\nprotected from the rain both whilst building and when built.\n\nNo artificial methods of drying are at present usual, beyond good fires\ninside during the winter, though, as under such conditions a cob cottage\nis not usually considered fit to live in for several months after\ncompletion, some artificial means of drying might be worth considering.\n\n_Foundations and Base._--The depth of the excavations required for the\nfoundations naturally depends upon the character of the site and soil,\nas also does the spread of the footings, if any.\n\nThe base-course wall of brick, stone, or concrete should be carried up\nsome 2 ft. or so above ground level. In old days this walling was not\ninfrequently built “dry”--but good lias lime or cement should be used in\nall new work.\n\nThe damp-course too was an unknown refinement to the by-gone builders,\nand the introduction of this one improvement alone makes the new cob\ncottage a very different dwelling from the old.\n\nThe usual forms of damp-course serve well for cob walls, though slates\nlaid butt and broken joint in cement are probably the best.\n\n    [Headnote: Walls and Roofs]\n\n_Thickness of Walls._--The thickness of walls may be anything you please\nfrom 18 in. upwards. There are old examples a full 3 ft. across, but for\nan ordinary two-storied cottage a thickness of about 2 ft. is general.\nEighteen inches is certainly the minimum thickness, and would not\nordinarily be adopted for any but one-storied buildings.\n\nThe first-floor walls are made the same thickness as those below, for if\nthey were reduced in width, as is usual in a stone building, the extra\nweight thus thrown on to one side of the ground floor walls would tend\nto make them bulge, unless quite dry and thoroughly set.\n\nThere are old cob walls in existence fully 30 ft. in height, and there\nis no apparent limit in this direction provided they are thick enough.\n\nThe upper layers compress the lower ones, and automatically render them\nmore dense and stone-like and fit to bear the load imposed above.\n\n_Hipped Roofs._--As a general rule, however, it is found expedient to\nhip back the roof rather than carry it up in a tall gable, partly\nbecause cob-building at a great height above the ground in short and\ndiminishing layers is a somewhat tedious process, partly because a\nhipped roof with good eaves is very welcome for the protection that its\nprojection affords the walling.\n\n_Masonry and Carpentry._--The bonding of cob to stone and brick is\nsometimes liable to leave an open joint that will require filling when\nthe cob dries and shrinks. Many of the chimneys in old cob houses are of\nbrick or stone, and brick and stone jambs are sometimes to be seen in\ncob walls, but they are probably by way of repairs to damaged corners.\nIt is considered better to have cob all round, so ensuring the uniform\nsettlement of the building.\n\nThe timber built into old cob does not seem to decay. The walls are\nusually so dry, especially when plastered, that the wood is well\npreserved. The straw in the interior of old cob walls is often as bright\nas when put in. The straw in cob performs a similar function to hair in\nplaster. Heather has sometimes been used instead of straw with good\nresults.\n\n  [Illustration: WALL COPINGS.]\n\nThe old practice was for beams, wall plates, joists, etc., to be just\nbedded on the cob, and for the cob to be filled in between the joists.\nIn new work, particularly when the use of imperfectly seasoned timber is\nunavoidable, it would be wise to take the usual precautions as to the\nproper ventilation of all “built in” woodwork--especially the ends of\njoists and so forth. Roofs must of course be tied and exercise no thrust\non walls. The roof plates are sometimes tied down by galvanised iron\nwire.\n\n  [Illustration: LINTEL-BEARING CROSS-PIECE]\n\nDoor and window-frames are also fixed to wood blocks built into the\njambs and to the wood lintels above. The frames are sometimes near the\nouter face of wall, sometimes near the inner-face. Where the door-frames\nare on the interior face of a 2 ft. thick wall, a convenient porch\nresults.\n\n  +A Devonshire Farm, Local Material (Cob).+]\n\n  +Devon Country House, built of Devon Cob.+]\n\nOther joinery is fixed to wood pins driven into the cob where required.\n\nCorners are usually of cob, though stone quoins are occasionally met\nwith.\n\nLintels are usually of wood well tailed into the wall and resting on a\nwood pad placed crosswise.\n\n    [Headnote: Protection]\n\n_Protection._--Old buildings that have been neglected are often found to\nbe somewhat eroded towards the bottom of their walls through the action\nof rain and frost.\n\nProtection is less here than higher up under the projecting eaves, and\nthe Achilles’ heel of the cob wall is undoubtedly its base.\n\nThis vulnerable part, exposed as it is to driven rain, back-splash, and\nthe casual kicks, should be given special protection.\n\nWhere the base is of cob and not of masonry, the traditional method is\nto provide a good deep skirting of pitch or tar, or a mixture of both,\napplied hot to the face of the rendering that should completely cover\nthe exterior of all cob work.\n\nThis rendering is usually composed of lime and hair mortar, though\nPortland cement has come into use to some extent recently.\n\nCement, however, is apt to be rather too “short” and brittle, and it\ndoes not always hold to the cob walling very securely.\n\nA rendering consisting of an equal mixture of cement and lime with three\nparts of sand adheres well to cob, however, and is probably the best\ncoating that can be given to it.\n\nThis coating can be colour-washed or lime-whited in the usual way. The\ngranular surface of rough rendering or of “slap-dash” on the slightly\nwavy surface of cob walling perhaps gives to whitewash its very highest\nopportunity and charm.\n\nCertain it is that the old cob cottages of Devon with the pearly gleam\nof their white walls, their heaving bulk of thatch and their trim black\nskirtings, are as gracious and as pleasant to the eye as any in all the\nlength and breadth of England.\n\nWithin, lime-and-hair mortar plastered straight on to the cob makes an\nexcellent lining.\n\n_Chimneys._--Nowadays, chimneys are commonly built up in brick or stone,\nbut numerous good examples survive of flues and stacks constructed in\ncob. The insides of these are pargeted with lime and cow-dung in the\nusual way, brickwork being only introduced immediately around the\nfireplaces.\n\n_Rats._--Where the surface rendering of cob-walls has been omitted or\nhas been allowed to fall away, an enterprising rat will sometimes do\nconsiderable damage by his tunnelling.\n\nA little powdered glass mixed with the lower strata of a wall will\ndiscourage any such burrowing, but the best preservative for any cob\nbuilding is a thoroughly good skin of rendering, especially if this be\nreinforced by fine-mesh wire-netting secured to the wall.\n\n_Strength._--The strength of cob walls is surprisingly great so long as\nthey are vertical, and are not subjected to undue lateral thrust or\ntension.\n\nBeams as large as 12 in. by 12 in. may be seen supported by old cob\nwalls, and there is nothing likely to be asked of the material in the\nway of strength to which it cannot easily respond.\n\n_Design._--Cob, like every other material, should have a certain say in\nthe design of any building in which its use is intended.\n\nThe chief desiderata are a plain straightforward plan and broadly\ntreated elevations where voids and solids are carefully disposed with an\neye to getting as large unbroken blocks of cob as possible.\n\n  +Cob House temp. Elizabeth, Lewishill.+\n  Walls from 3 ft. to 4 ft. thick. A wing was added in 1618.\n  This farm has been occupied by the family of the present holder\n  between 300 and 400 years.]\n\n  +Another Devonshire (Cob) Farmhouse, Weeke Barton.+]\n\nThe cracks that are sometimes found in old cob buildings are almost\nentirely attributable to unsuitable design in such respects, or to bad\nfoundations.\n\nCob walls built up in the ordinary way are not very suitable for\ninternal partitions on account of their considerable width and the\nconsequent waste of space, though in old work cob was sometimes used as\na filling for stud and lath partitions which were finally plastered over\nin the usual way.\n\nThe sun-dried clay-lumps so much used for walling in Suffolk would seem\nto be admirable for forming the partitions in a house of cob.\n\nCob work is usually repaired with rubble, stone, or brick.\n\nNew openings are easily cut through cob walls, and this fact has\noccasionally led to the collapse of an old building through the zeal for\nlight and air of some new occupier exceeding his caution, and causing\nhim to cut away the substance of his walls in cheerful disregard of the\nlaws of gravity.\n\n\n§ III. CONCLUSION\n\n  AUTHORITIES--ANCIENT AND MODERN\n\nNot by any means was cob exclusively the poor man’s material, and\nseveral old homes of this sort still survive that are of some\nconsideration.\n\n    [Headnote: Raleigh’s House]\n\nAmongst them is Hayes Barton, the birthplace of Sir Walter Raleigh.\nWriting of Raleigh and his home, Mr. Charles Bernard says:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n_Sir Walter Raleigh’s House._--“He had great affection for his boyhood’s\nhome--the old manor-house at Hayes Barton where he was born, and did his\nbest to secure it from its then owner. ‘I will,’ he wrote, ‘most\nwillingly give you whatsoever in your conscience you shall deme it worth\n. . . for ye naturall disposition I have to that place, being borne in\nthat house, I had rather see myself there than anywhere else.’ But alas!\nit was not to be, and the snug and friendly Tudor homestead passed into\nother hands. The house at Hayes Barton was probably not newly built when\nRaleigh’s parents lived there, and it says much for the character of cob\nthat the house is as good to-day as ever it was; though for all that it\nhas, to use Mr. Eden Phillpotts’ words, ‘been patched and tinkered\nthrough the centuries,’ it ‘still endures, complete and sturdy, in\nharmony of old design, with unspoiled dignity from a far past.’ Lady\nRosalind Northcote gives the following description of the house in her\n_Devon_. She writes: “In front of the garden, a swirling stream crosses\na strip of green; and in the garden, at the right time, one may see the\nbees busy among golden-powdered clusters of candytuft, and dark red\ngillyflowers, and a few flame rose-coloured tulips, proud and erect. The\nhouse is very picturesque; it has cob walls and a thatched roof, and is\nbuilt in the shape of the letter +E+; a wing projects at either\nend, and in the middle the porch juts out slightly. The two wings are\ngabled; there is a small gable over the porch and two dormer ones over\nthe windows at each side of it, the windows having lattice lights and\nnarrow mullions. Dark carved beams above them show up well against the\ncream-coloured walls. The heavy door is closely studded with nails, and\nover it fall the delicate sprays and lilac “butterfly” blossoms of\nwistaria.’”\n\n\n  +Ceilings of Modelled Plaster from old Cob Houses in Devon.+]\n\n  +A Cob Garden-wall with Thatched Coping.+]\n\n_Reed Thatch._--In recent years slates or tiles have replaced thatch for\nthe roofing of cob buildings and walls, owing to the cost of reed (the\nlocal name for the straw from which the grain has been hand-threshed by\nflail to prevent the straw being broken), and the difficulty of getting\ngood thatchers. The opinion is held by many that the lasting quality of\nthatch has deteriorated since the practice of liming the cornland has\nunfortunately been given up.\n\n_Primitive Methods._--Formerly the ground floors of cob cottages were\nall cobbled, but these have, generally speaking, been replaced by lime,\nash, or cement floors. The cob builders of past generations apparently\nmade no use of the square, plumb-line, or level. No laths were used for\nthe walls, which were plastered within; outside, rough-cast or\n“slap-dash” was laid on.\n\n    [Headnote: Mr. Baring-Gould]\n\n_Mr. Baring-Gould’s Testimony._--Mr. S. Baring-Gould, in his _Book of\nthe West_, writing on the subject says: “No house can be considered more\nwarm and cosy than that built of cob, especially when thatched. It is\nwarm in winter and cool in summer, and I have known labourers bitterly\nbewail their fate in being transferred from an old fifteenth or\nsixteenth century cob cottage into a newly-built stone edifice of the\nmost approved style, as they said it was like going out of warm life\ninto a cold grave.”\n\n\n  DEVON COB\n\nThe following paragraph, taken from C. B. Allen’s _Cottage-Building_, is\nof interest:\n\n“The cob walls of Devonshire have been known to last above a century\nwithout requiring the slightest repair, and the Rev. W. Elicombe, who\nhas himself built several houses of two stories with cob walls, says\nthat he was born in a cob-wall parsonage built in the reign of\nElizabeth, or somewhat earlier, and that it had to be taken down to be\nrebuilt only in the year 1831.”\n\n_Fruit Walls._--Again quoting Mr. Baring-Gould: “Cob walls for garden\nfruit are incomparable. They retain the warmth of the sun and give it\nout through the night, and when protected on top by slates, tiles, or\nthatch, will last for centuries.” It will be seen that the disadvantages\nof cob buildings are solely due to faults of construction, and not to\nany inherent defect in properly made cob as a material, and that the\nconstruction of cottages, farm buildings, and garden walls is well\nwithin the compass of an averagely intelligent workman.\n\nIt is not intended to argue that the cob cottage could be advantageously\nbuilt in every county, but only that where it has been used and liked\nfor centuries, a wise building policy would encourage its continuance.\nThe materials are at hand, and the population ready to welcome this form\nof dwelling-place.\n\n    [Headnote: Old Cob Lore]\n\n_An Old Authority._--An old writer treating of cottage-building thus\ndelivers himself:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n“A Bill for inclosing the waste lands of the kingdom having been\nintroduced into the House of Commons, under the auspices of the Board of\nAgriculture, and as so beneficial a Bill cannot fail, sooner or later,\nto pass into a law, and as in consequence thereof, many small houses\nmust necessarily be built, suited to small estates issuing out of\nallotments of such wastes, we have been induced to submit to the\nconsideration of the Board three plans of such small houses to be built\nof different species of materials.\n\n“The first is with mud walls, composed of soft mire and straw,\nwell trodden together, and which, by degrees, is laid on,\nstratum-super-stratum, to the height required; a species of building not\nuncommon for cottages, and even for better houses, barns, etc., in the\nwestern and some other parts of the kingdom. It is the cheapest\nhabitation that we can construct and is also very dry and comfortable.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\nAnd again:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n“Walls of mud, or of compressed earth, are still more economical than\nthose of timber, and if they were raised on brick or stone foundations,\nthe height of a foot or 18 in. above the ground, or above the highest\npoint at which dung or moist straw was ever likely to be placed against\nthem, their durability would be equal to that of marble, if properly\nconstructed and kept perfectly dry. The cob walls of Devonshire, which\nare formed of clay and straw trodden together by oxen, have been known\nto last above a century without requiring the slightest repair; and we\nthink that there are many farmers, especially in America and Australia,\nwho if they knew how easily walls of this description could be built,\nwould often avail themselves of them for various agricultural purposes.\n\n“The solidity of cob walls depends much upon their not being hurried in\nthe process of making them, for if hurried, the walls will surely be\ncrippled, that is, they will swag or swerve from the perpendicular. It\nis usual to pare down the sides of each successive rise before another\nis added to it. The instrument used for this purpose is like a baker’s\npeel (a kind of wooden shovel for taking the bread out of the oven), but\nthe cob-parer is made of iron. The lintels of the doors and windows and\nof the cupboards and other recesses are put in as the work advances\n(allowance being made for their settling), bedding them on cross pieces,\nand the walls being carried up solid. The respective openings are cut\nout after the work is well settled. In Devonshire the builders of\ncob-wall houses like to begin their work when the birds begin to build\ntheir nests, in order that there may be time to cover in the shell of\nthe building before winter. The outer walls are plastered the following\nspring. Should the work be overtaken by winter before the roof is on, it\nis usual to put a temporary covering of thatch upon the walls, to\nprotect them from the frost.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\n    [Headnote: Mr. Fulford’s Evidence]\n\n_Mr. Fulford’s Evidence._--Mr. Fulford, of Great Fulford, near Exeter,\nwhose own village and estate can show as many good examples of old cob\nwork as any place in Devon, writes as follows:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n_Cost._--“It is not possible to give a close estimate of what would now\nbe the comparative cost of a building in cob, stone, or brick, as this\nmust depend upon the exact locality of the site. It may, however, be of\nassistance if I quote particulars of the relative cost of cob and stone\nbuilding in Devon in the year 1808 when cob was in common use. The\nstonework referred to was rough rubble, and not with square or dressed\nblocks. It must be borne in mind that up to that date practically all\nmaterial, stone, lime, etc., was carried on horses’ backs. Wheeled carts\nwhich began to creep in about the beginning of 1800, were not in general\nuse until twenty or thirty years later. As a boy I knew a farmer who\nremembered the first wheeled cart coming to Dunsford. In 1838 the Rector\nof Bridford (the ‘Christowell’ of Blackmore’s novel) recorded the fact\nthat in 1818 there was only one cart in the parish and it was scarcely\nused twice a year. In 1808 the price of building varied according to the\ndistrict. In the northern part of the county the common price of\nstonework, including the value of three quarts of cider or beer daily,\nwas from 22d. to 24d. the perch (16½ ft.), 22 in. in width and 1 ft. in\nheight. Including all expenses of quarrying and carriage of materials,\nstonework worked out at from 5s. to 6s. per perch running measure, and\ncob estimated in like manner at about 3s. 6d. Masons when not employed\nby the piece received 2s. per day, and allowance of beer or cider. In\nthe Dunstone district (the clay shales from which make the best cob)\nmasonwork was 18d. per rope of 20 ft. in length, 18 in. thick, and 1 ft.\nhigh, stone and all materials found and placed on the spot; cob work of\nthe same measure was 14d. In the South Hams district masonwork cost 2s.\n6d., and cob 2s. per perch of 18 ft. in length, 2 ft. thick, and 1 ft.\nhigh.”\n\n_Use of Shuttering._--“In those parts of the red land where Dunstone\nshillot or clay shale is not available, the red clay was mixed with\nsmall stones or gravel, and frequently the cob was laid and trodden down\nbetween side boards as used in building concrete walls. Three cartloads\nof clay built a perch and a half of wall 20 in. wide and 1 ft. deep.\nEight bundles of barley straw, equal to one pack-horse load, were mixed\nand tempered with nine cartloads of clay.”\n\n_Roofing._--“Thatching in 1808 cost 8s. per square of 10 ft.; 100\nsheaves of wheat-straw reed, weighing 25 lb. each, were sufficient for\none square. Thatching, however, is not, as many suppose, indispensable\nas a roofing for cob buildings; slate found in many parts of Devon was\nfrequently used, and of late years Welsh and Delabole slates, tiles, and\nunfortunately, from the picturesque point of view, corrugated iron, have\nto a large extent supplanted thatch.”\n\n_A Protective Wash._--“Vancouver, in his report on the Survey of Devon\nfor the Board of Agriculture in 1808, gave the following recipe, which\nhe described as a preserving and highly ornamental wash for rough-cast\nthat was then getting into common use: ‘Four parts of pounded lime,\nthree of sand, two of pounded wood ashes, and one of scoria of iron,\nmixed well together and made sufficiently fluid to be applied with a\nbrush. When dry it gives the appearance of new Portland stone, and\naffords an excellent protection against the penetrating force of the\nsouth-westerly storms.”\n\n_Rendering._--“For the rough-weather sides of cob buildings I have found\ncement and sand, finished with a rough surface, satisfactory, and far\nmore durable than ordinary lime and gravel rough cast. For interior cob\nwalls, laths are not necessary. The old plastering was frequently laid\non too thick. Of late years I have used with excellent results granite\nsilicon plaster for ceilings and walls. This requires no hair, and is\neasily applied.”\n\n_The Cob Tradition._--“Cob-making was, like many other local trades,\ncarried on in some families from generation to generation and developed\nby them into an art, but apart from these specialists, practically every\nvillage mason and his labourers built as much with cob as they did with\nstone. There are men still left in various parts of the county who have\nmade cob, and it would, in my opinion, be of advantage if demonstrations\ncould be given by them to discharged sailors and soldiers who are\nanxious to take up work on the land.”\n\n_Training of ex-Soldiers._--“In cob-building, as in many other arts and\ncrafts, a little showing is of far greater help to the novice than any\namount of text-book instruction. The knowledge and experience that these\nmen would gain from being shown, and better still, assisting an expert\nin making cob, would be of material advantage in the development of the\ncounty scheme promoted by the Central Land Association for the\nestablishment of ex-Service men on the land. They could try their\n’prentice hands on walls, tool-sheds, cart linhays, etc., for their own\nuse, and some no doubt would develop into expert builders capable of\nconstructing walls for dwelling-houses from approved plans.”\n\n_1819 Conditions Returned._--“The depletion of our home-grown timber\nsupply and the prohibitive cost of practically all building material has\nin effect brought about the conditions that led our forefathers to\nutilise suitable material that lay nearest to hand, and unless some\nendeavour is made to follow their methods and profit by their example,\nit will be impossible to provide sufficient buildings for the necessary\nequipment of the allotments and small holdings, let alone housing\naccommodation for the workers on the land.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\n    [Headnote: A Champion of Cob]\n\nThere is probably no one who knows more about cob than does Mr.\nFulford--certainly no one who has done more to promote the revival of\ncob-building both by precept and example.\n\nCob is the traditional material of his native place, he has, as it were,\nbeen brought up on cob--he is familiar with both the ancient history and\nthe modern practice of cob-building, and in short, he “knows.”\n\nWhen a revivalist has knowledge as well as enthusiasm, the grounds of\nhis faith are usually worth serious attention.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n_PISÉ DE TERRE_\n\n\n§ I. GENERAL\n\n_What it is._--“Pisé de terre” is merely the French for rammed earth,\nand rammed earth is an exceedingly good material for the building of\nwalls.\n\nThe odd thing is that its very obvious merits should have secured it\nsuch small attention.\n\nIt is no new-fangled war-time invention brought forth by our present\nnecessity, but a very ancient system well proved by centuries of trial.\n\n_History._--Pliny gives an excellent account of Pisé-building in his\n_Natural History_, and Monsieur Gorffon, who published a treatise on\nthis method of construction in 1772, states that it was first introduced\ninto France by the Romans.\n\nThe following extracts from an old book based on a French original will\nserve well as an introduction to the study of Pisé-building:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n_Capabilities._--“An account of a method of building strong and durable\nhouses, with no other materials than earth; which has been practised for\nages in the province of Lyons, though little known in the rest of\nFrance, or in any other part of Europe. It appeared to be attended with\nso many advantages, that many gentlemen in this country who employ their\nleisure in the study of rural economy were induced to make a trial of\nits efficiency; and the result of their experiments has been of such a\nnature as to make them desire, by all possible means, to extend the\nknowledge and practice of so beneficial an art.\n\n“The possibility of raising the walls of houses two or even three\nstories high, with earth only, which will sustain floors loaded with the\nheaviest weights, and of building the largest manufactories in this\nmanner, may astonish every one who has not been an eye-witness of such\nthings.”\n\n_Of Pisé and its Origin._--“Pisé is a very simple manual operation; it\nis merely by compressing earth in moulds or cases, that we may arrive at\nbuilding houses of any size or height.”\n\n_Locale._--“This art, though at present confined to the single province\nof the Lyonese in France, was known and practised at a very early period\nof antiquity. The Abbé Rozier, in his _Journal de Physique_, says that\nhe has discovered some traces of it (Pisé) in Catalonia; so that Spain,\nlike France, has a single province in which this ancient manner of\nbuilding has been preserved. The art, however, well deserves to be\nintroduced into more general use. The cheapness of the materials which\nit requires, and the great saving of time and labour which it admits of,\nmust recommend it in all places and on all occasions, but the French\nauthor says that it will be found particularly useful in hilly\ncountries, where carriage is difficult, and sometimes impracticable; and\nfor farm buildings, which, as they must be made of considerable extent,\nare usually very expensive, without yielding any return.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: Method of Building]\n\n§ II. METHOD OF BUILDING\n\nThere is an exhaustive article on Pisé in Vol. XXVII of _The Cyclopædia\nor Universal Dictionary of Arts, Sciences, and Literature_, published in\n1819. The writer, Abraham Rees, D.D., F.R.S., F.L.S., draws chiefly on\nFrench authorities and his directions are most detailed and precise.\n\n  [Illustration: PISÉ.\n  _Implements for Pisé or Rammed Earth Buildings_\n  +Pisé Plant and Implements.+\n  (Reproduced from an old Encyclopædia.)]\n\n_Definition._--He introduces his subject thus:\n\n“Pisé-building, in Rural Economy, the name of a method of building with\nloamy or other earthy matters, which has long been practised with great\nsuccess, and in a very cheap manner, in some departments of France, and\nwhich is now had recourse to with similar advantage in some parts of\nthis country. It has been described, delineated, and recommended by Mr.\nH. Holland in the first volume of _Communications to the Board of\nAgriculture_, and is to be managed somewhat in the manner directed\nbelow.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\nAt great length and with immense detail, the plant, the preliminaries,\nand the process are each severally described.\n\nThe pith of the matter is sufficiently given by the following extracts:\n\n_Shuttering._--“For the construction of the mould, take several planks,\neach 10 ft. long, of light wood, in order that the mould may be easy to\nhandle; deal is the best as being least liable to warp. To prevent which\nthe boards should be straight, sound, well seasoned, and with as few\nknots as possible. Let them be ploughed and tongued, and planed on both\nsides. Of these planks, fastened together with four strong ledges on\neach side, the mould must be made, 2 ft. 9 in. in height; and two\nhandles should be fixed to each side.\n\n“All the boards and ledges here mentioned must be, after they are\nplaned, something more than 1 in. thick.”\n\n_Rammer._--“The instrument with which the earth is rammed into the mould\nis a tool of the greatest consequence, on which the firmness and\ndurability, in short the perfection, of the work depends. It is called a\npisoir, or rammer; and though it may appear very easy to make it, more\ndifficulty will be found in the execution than is at first apprehended.\nA better idea of its construction may be formed by examining the Plate,\nin which it is delineated, than any words can convey. It should be made\nof hard wood, either ash, oak, beech, walnut, etc., or what is\npreferable, the roots of either of them.”\n\n_Method of Working._--“Pisé contains all the best principles of masonry,\ntogether with some rules peculiar to itself, which are now to be\nexplained.\n\n“To begin with the foundation; this may be made of any kind of masonry\nthat is durable, and should be raised to the height of 2 ft. above the\nground; which is necessary to secure the walls from the moisture of the\nearth, and the splashing of the rain, which will drop from the eaves of\nthe roof.[4] When these foundation walls are made level, and 18 in.\nthick, mark upon them the distance at which the joists are to be set,\nfor receiving the moulds; those distances should be 3 ft. each from\ncentre to centre. Each side of the mould being 10 ft. long, will divide\ninto three lengths of 3 ft. each, and leave 6 in. at each end, which\nserve to lengthen the mould at the angles of the house and are useful\nfor many other purposes. After having set the joists in their places,\nthe masonry must be raised between them 6 in. higher, that is, to a\nlevel with the joists; there will, therefore, altogether be a base of 2½\nft., which in most cases will be found more than sufficient to prevent\nthe rain, frost, snow, or damp from injuring the walls. Raise the mould\nimmediately on this new masonry, placing it over one of the angles of\nthe wall.\n\n    [Footnote 4: The introduction of a damp-course and the provision\n    of gutters at the eaves greatly reduce the function of the\n    masonry base in modern work.]\n\n    [Headnote: The Ramming]\n\n“A workman should be placed in each of the three divisions of the mould,\nthe best workman being placed at the angle. He is to direct the work of\nthe other two, and by occasionally applying a plumb-rule, to take care\nthat the mould does not swerve from its upright position. The labourers\nwho dig and prepare the earth must give it in small quantities to the\nworkmen in the mould, who, after having spread it with their feet, begin\nto compress it with the rammer. They must only receive at a time so much\nas will cover the bottom of the mould to the thickness of 3 or 4 in. The\nfirst strokes of the rammer should be given close to the sides of the\nmould, but they must be afterwards applied to every other part of the\nsurface; the men should then cross their strokes, so that the earth may\nbe compressed in every direction. Those who stand next to one another in\nthe mould should regulate their strokes so as to beat at the same time\nunder the cord, because that part cannot be got at without difficulty,\nand must be struck obliquely; with this precaution, the whole will be\nequally compressed. The man at the angle of the wall should beat\ncarefully against the head of the mould.\n\n“Care must be taken that no fresh earth is received into the mould till\nthe first layer is well beaten, which may be ascertained by striking it\nwith a rammer; the stroke should leave hardly any print on the place.\nThey must proceed in this manner to ram in layer after layer, till the\nwhole mould is full. When this is done, the machine may be taken to\npieces, and the earth which is contained will remain firm and upright,\nabout 9 ft. in length and 2½ ft. in height. The mould may then be\nreplaced for another length, including 1 in. of that which has first\nbeen completed.\n\n“The first course being thus completed, we proceed to the second; and\nhere it must be observed that in each successive course we must proceed\nin a direction contrary to that of the preceding. It may easily be\nconceived, that with this precaution the joints of the several lengths\nwill be inclined in opposite directions, which will contribute very much\nto the firmness of the work. There is no reason to fear overcharging the\nfirst course with the second, though but just laid; for three courses\nmay be laid without danger in one day.\n\n“This description of the first two courses is equally applicable to all\nthe others, and will enable any person to build a house, with no other\nmaterials than earth, of whatever height and extent he pleases.\n\n“With respect to the gables, they may be made without any difficulty, by\nmerely making their inclination in the mould and working the earth\naccordingly.”\n\n\n§ III. THE THEORY AND SCIENCE OF PISÉ\n\n_The Value of Ramming._--“Beating, or compression, is used in many\ndifferent sorts of work; the ancients employed it in making their rough\nwalls; the Italians employ it for the terraces which adorn their houses;\nthe Moors for all their walls; the Spaniards, the French, and others for\nsome of the floors of their apartments. The intent of the ancient\narchitects, when they recommended the beating of cement and other\ncompositions used in building, was to prevent them from shrinking and\ncracking; and it is employed for the same purpose in walls which are\nmade of earth. The beater, by repeated strokes, forces out from the\nearth the superfluous water which is contained and closely unites all\nthe particles together, by which means the natural attraction of these\nparticles is made powerful to operate, as it is by other natural causes\nin the formation of stones. Hence arises the increasing strength and\nastonishing durability which houses of this kind are found to possess.”\n\n_An Experiment._--“Upon beating a small portion of earth, and weighing\nit immediately afterwards, it was found to weigh 39½ lb. Fifteen days\nafter, it had lost 4¼ lb. In the space of another fifteen days it lost\nbut 1 lb.; and in fifteen days after that its weight diminished only ½\nlb. In the space of about forty-five days the moisture was completely\nevaporated, and its weight was diminished about one-eighth; consequently\nonly one-eighth of the whole mass was occupied by moisture, and this\nsmall proportion cannot at all affect the solidity and consistency of\nthe earth so treated. This experiment is also sufficient to show the\ndifference between this kind of building and that vulgar kind called in\nEngland ‘mud-walling.’”\n\n_Rate of Work._--“In one single day three courses of about 3 ft. each\nmay be laid one over the other; so that a wall of earth of about 8 or 9\nft., or one story high, may be safely raised in one day. Experience has\nproved that as soon as the builders have raised their walls to a proper\nheight for flooring, the heaviest beams and rafters may without danger\nbe placed on the walls thus newly made; and that the thickest timber of\na roof may be laid on the gables of pisé the very instant they are\ncompleted.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: Suitable Soils]\n\n  ON EARTH PROPER FOR BUILDING\n\n_Suitable Soils._--“1st. All earths in general are fit for that use,\nwhen they have not the lightness of poor lands nor the stiffness of\nclay.\n\n“2ndly. All earths fit for vegetation.\n\n“3rdly. Brick-earths; but these, if they are used alone, are apt to\ncrack, owing to the quantity of moisture which they contain. This,\nhowever, does not hinder persons who understand the business from using\nthem to a good purpose.\n\n“4thly. Strong earths, with a mixture of small gravel, which for that\nreason cannot serve for making either bricks, tiles, or pottery. These\ngravelly earths are very useful, and the best pisé is made of them.”\n\n_Soil Tests._--“The following appearances indicate that the earth in\nwhich they are found is fit for building: when a pickaxe, spade, or\nplough brings up large lumps of earth at a time; when arable lands lies\nin clods or lumps; when field-mice have made themselves subterraneous\npassages in the earth; all these are favourable signs. When the roads of\na village, having been worn away by the water continually running\nthrough them, are lower than the other lands, and the sides of those\nroads support themselves almost upright, it is a sure mark that pisé may\nbe executed in that village. One may also discover the fitness of the\nsoil by trying to break with one’s fingers the little clods of earth in\nthe roads, and finding a difficulty in doing it; or by observing the\nruts of the road, in which the cart-wheels make a sort of pisé by their\npressure; whenever there are deep ruts on a road, one may be sure of\nfinding abundance of proper earth.\n\n“Proper earth is found at the bottom of the slopes of low lands that are\ncultivated, because every year the rain brings down the fat or good\nearth. It is frequently found on the banks of the river, but above all,\nit is found at the foot of hills, and on all cultivated lands which have\nmuch slope. In digging trenches and cellars for building, it generally\nhappens that what comes out of them is fit for the purpose.”\n\n\n  ON THE MIXTURE OF EARTHS\n\n_Soil Blending._--“As it may sometimes happen that earth of a proper\nquality is not to be found on the spot where it is intended to build, it\nbecomes of importance to attend to the method of mixing earths; for\nthough the earth which is near at hand may not of itself be proper, it\nis very probable that it may be rendered so by the mixture of a small\nquantity of another earth fetched from a distance. The principle on\nwhich a mixture must be made is very simple; strong earths must be\ntempered with light; those in which clay predominates, with others that\nare composed more of chalk and sand; and those of a rich, glutinous\nsubstance, with others of a poor and barren nature. The degree in which\nthese qualities of the earths prevail must determine the proportions of\nthe mixture; which it is impossible here to point out for every\nparticular case, but which may be learnt by a little practice. Some easy\nmethods will be described, by which any one may make a trial of the\nqualities of his earth.\n\n“It will not be amiss to mix with the earth some small pebbles, gravel,\nrubbish of mortar, or in short any small mineral substances; but none of\nthe animal or vegetable kind must be admitted.[5] Such hard substances\nbind the earth firmly between them, and being pressed and pressing in\nall directions, contribute very much to the solidity of the whole; so\nthat well-worked earth, in which there is a mixture of gravel, becomes\nso hard at the end of two years that a chisel must be used to break it,\nas if it was freestone.”\n\n    [Footnote 5: “The pisé does not admit any vegetable or animal\n    substances. In mud walls they put straw, chopped hay, hair,\n    flocks, wool, etc., to make the mud adhere to the wood, or laths;\n    whereas the workmen who build in pisé are careful to pick out the\n    least straw or the smallest bit of root which remains in the\n    earth: in short, the pisé is a mineral substance imitating stone,\n    consequently anything that can slake or rot must be excluded.”]\n\n\n    [Headnote: Experiments]\n\n  EXPERIMENTS TO ASCERTAIN THE QUALITIES OF ANY EARTH\n\n_Trial by Experiment._--“Take a small wooden tub or pail, without a\nbottom, dig a hole in the ground of a court or garden, and at the bottom\nof that hole fix a piece of stone, flat and level; place your tub upon\nthe stone, fill around it the earth that has been dug out to make the\nhole, and ram it well, that the tub may be enclosed, to prevent its\nbursting. Then ram into the tub the earth you mean to try; putting in,\nat each time, about the thickness of three or four fingers’ breadths:\nwhen this is well rammed, add as much more, and ram it in the same\nmanner, and so the third and fourth, etc., till the earth is raised\nabove the brim. This superfluous earth must be scraped off extremely\nsmooth, and rendered as even as the under-part will be, which lies on\nthe stone. Loosen with a spade the earth around the tub, and you will\nthen be able to take it out, and with it the compressed earth that it\ncontains; then turn the tub upside down, and if it is wider at the top\nthan at the bottom, as such vessels usually are, the pisé will easily\ncome out, but if it should happen to stick, let it dry in the air about\ntwenty-four hours, and you will then find that the earth is loose enough\nto fall out of itself. You must be careful to cover this lump of pisé\nwith a little board; for though a shower of rain, falling in an oblique\ndirection, will not injure it, yet it may be a little damaged if the\nrain falls perpendicularly, and especially if it remains upon it. Leave\nthe lump exposed to the air, only covered with a board or flat stone,\nand if it continues without cracking or crumbling, and increases daily\nin density and compactness as its natural moisture decreases, you may be\nsure that the earth is fit for building. But you must remember that it\nis necessary that the earth employed should be taken from a little below\nthe surface of the ground, in order that it may be neither too dry nor\ntoo wet; it must be observed also that if the earth is not well pressed\naround the outside of the tub before it is filled, though the hoops were\nof iron, they would burst, so great is the pressure of the beaten earth\nagainst the mould, of whatever size it may be.”\n\n_The Earth-ball Test--An Experiment which may be made at any\ntime._--“Every person in walking on his ground may make little balls of\nearth and press them as tight as he can between his hands. If he brings\nthem home and puts marks on them, he will by that means know the quality\nof every piece of land, and also be a judge of the mixture it will be\nnecessary to make.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: Preparation of the Earth]\n\n  ON THE PREPARATION OF THE EARTH FOR BUILDING\n\n_Soil Preparation._--“All the operations of this art are very simple and\neasy; there is nothing to be done but to dig up the earth with a\npickaxe, break the clods with a shovel, so as to divide it well, and\nthen lay it in a heap, which is very necessary, because as the labourers\nthrow it on that heap, the lumps of earth and large stones roll to the\nbottom, where another man may break them or draw them away with a rake.\nI must observe that there should be an interval of about an inch and a\nquarter between the teeth of the rake, that the stones and pebbles of\nthe size of a walnut, or something more, may escape, and that it may\ndraw off only the largest. If the earth that has been dug has not the\nproper quality, which is seldom the case, and it is necessary to fetch\nsome better from a distance, then the mixture must be made in this\nmanner: one man must throw one shovelful of the best sort, while the\nothers throw five or six of the inferior sort on the heap, and so more\nor less according to the proportions which have been previously\nascertained.”\n\n_Rain._--“No more earth should be prepared than the men can work in one\nday, or a little more, that they may not be in want; but if rain is\nexpected, you must have at hand either planks, mats, or old cloths to\nlay over the heap of earth, so that the rain may not wet it; and then as\nsoon as the rain is over, the men may resume their work, which, without\nthis precaution, must be delayed; for it must be remembered that the\nearth cannot be used when it is either too dry or too wet, and therefore\nif the rain should wet it after it has been prepared, the men will be\nobliged to wait till it has recovered its proper consistency--a delay\nwhich would be equally disadvantageous to them and their employer. When\nthe earth has been soaked by rain, instead of suffering compression, it\nbecomes mud in the mould; even though it be but a little too moist, it\ncannot be worked; it swells under the blows of the rammer, and a stroke\nin one place makes it rise in another. When this is the case, it is\nbetter to stop the work, for the men find so much difficulty that it is\nnot worth while to proceed. But there is not the same necessity of\ndiscontinuing the work when the earth is too dry, for it is easy to give\nit the necessary degree of moisture; in such a case it should be\nsprinkled with a watering-pot, and afterwards well mixed up together; it\nwill then be fit for use.”\n\n_Organic Matter._--“It has already been observed that no vegetable\nsubstances should be left in the earth; therefore in digging, as well as\nin laying the earth in a heap, great care must be taken to pick out\nevery bit of root, great and small, all sprigs and herbs, all bits of\nhay and straw, chips or shavings of woods, and in general everything\nthat can rot or suffer a change in the earth.”\n\n\n  ON THE BOND TIMBER TO BE USED IN BUILDINGS OF PISÉ\n\n_Corners._--“To make good walls, it is not sufficient that the earth be\nwell beaten, we must also learn to unite them well together. Here the\nbinders cost very little; they consist only of thin pieces of wood,\na few cramps and nails, and these are sufficient to give the greatest\nstability to buildings of pisé.”\n\nHaving gone on to explain that the angles of the building are formed by\nthe successive courses alternately crossing one another on the corner\nlike the alternating “long and short” quoins in a stone building, our\nauthority proceeds to describe how rough boards are laid between the\ncourses of pisé so as to cross at the corner and so, entirely encased in\ntightly compressed earth, they form effective ties.\n\n“This board must be rough, as the sawyers have left it, 5 or 6 ft. long,\nsomething less than 1 in. thick, and in breadth about 8, 9 or 10 in., so\nthat there may remain on each side 4 or 5 in. of earth, if the wall is\n18 in. thick; by this means the board will be entirely concealed in the\nbody of the wall. When thus placed neither the air nor damp can reach\nit, and of course there is no danger of its rotting. This has been often\nproved by experience, as in taking down old houses of pisé such boards\nhave always been found perfectly sound, and many that had not even lost\nthe colour of new wood. It is easy to conceive how much this board, from\nthe pressure of the work raised above it, will help to bind together the\ntwo lengths of wall and to strengthen the angle.”\n\n_Bonders._--“It is useful (particularly when the earth is not of a very\ngood quality) to put ends of planks into the pisé after it has been\nrammed about half the height of the mould. These ends of planks should\nonly be 10 or 11 in. long, to leave as before a few inches of earth on\neach side of the wall, if it is 18 in. thick; they should be laid\ncrosswise (as the plank before mentioned is laid lengthwise) over the\nwhole course, at the distance of about 2 ft. from one another, and will\nserve to equalise the pressure of the upper parts of the works on the\nlower course of the pisé.\n\n“The boards above mentioned need only be placed at the angles of the\nexterior wall, and in those parts where the courses of the partition\nwalls join to those of the exterior wall, the same directions that have\nhere been given for the second course must be observed at each\nsucceeding course, up to the roof. By these means the reader will\nperceive that an innumerable quantity of holders or bondings will be\nformed, which sometimes draw to the right, sometimes to the left of the\nangles, and which powerfully unite the front walls with those of the\npartitions; the several parts deriving mutual support from one another,\nand the whole being rendered compact and solid.”\n\n    [Headnote: The Strength of Pisé]\n\n_Strength._--“Hence these houses, made of earth alone, are able to\nresist the violence of the highest winds, storms and tempests. The\nheight that is intended to be given to each story being known, boards of\n3 or 4 ft. in length should be placed beforehand in the pisé, in those\nplaces where the beams are to be fixed, and as soon as the mould no\nlonger occupies that place, the beams may be laid on, though the pisé be\nfresh made; little slips of wood, or boards, may be introduced under\nthem, in order to fix them level. The beams thus fixed for each story,\nthe pisé may be continued as high as the place on which you intend to\nerect the roof.”\n\n\n  ON THE TIME AND LABOUR NECESSARY IN BUILDING\n    A CERTAIN QUANTITY OF PISÉ\n\n_Speed of Building._--“Besides the advantages of strength and cheapness,\nthis method of building possesses that of speed in the execution. That\nthe reader may know the time that is required for building a house, or\nan enclosure, he need only be told that a mason used to the work can,\nwith the help of his labourer, when the earth lies near, build in one\nday 6 ft. square of the pisé.”\n\n_Rendering._--“To prepare the walls for plastering, indent them with the\npoint of the hammer, or hatchet, without being afraid of spoiling the\nsurface left by the mould; all those little dents must be made as close\nas possible to each other, and cut in from top to bottom, so that every\nhole may have a little rest in the inferior part, which will serve to\nretain and support the plaster.\n\n“If you happen to lay the plaster over them before the dampness is\nentirely gone, you must expect that the sweat of the walls will cast off\nthe plaster.”\n\nThe wall surface having been duly hammer-chipped, the work must be\nscoured with a stiff brush to remove all loose earth and dust, and to\nfinally prepare it for rough-casting. Rough-cast consists of a small\nquantity of mortar, diluted with water in a tub, to which a trowel of\npure lime is added, so as to make it about the thickness of cream.\n\nOne workman and his labourers are sufficient; the workman on the\nscaffold sprinkles with a brush the wall he has indented, swept, and\nprepared; after that he dips another brush, made of bits of reed, box,\netc., into the tub which contains the rough-cast, and throws with this\nbrush the rough-cast against the wall.\n\n“Rough-cast, which is attended with so little trouble and expense, is\nnotwithstanding the best cover that can be made for pisé walls, and for\nall other constructions; it contributes to preserve the buildings. It is\nthe peculiar advantage of these buildings that all the materials they\nrequire are cheap, and all the workmanship simple and easy.”\n\n_Local Testimony._--At the end of the article just summarised, an\ninstructive letter from a former rector of St. John’s, La Rochelle, is\nquoted:\n\n  “SIR,--\n\n“My having been an inhabitant for some time of the town of Montbrison,\ncapital of the Forets, enables me to give you some information\nconcerning the mode of building houses with earth, etc.\n\n    [Headnote: A Pisé Church]\n\n_A Pisé Church._--“The church was the most remarkable in this style of\nbuilding; it is about 80 ft. long, 40 ft. broad, and 50 ft. high; the\nwalls built in pisé, 18 in. thick, and crépé, or rough-cast on the\noutside, with lime and sand. Soon after my arrival, the church, by some\naccident, was destroyed by fire, and remained unroofed for about a\ntwelvemonth, exposed to rains and frost. As it was suspected that the\nwalls had sustained much damage, either by fire or the inclemency of the\nseason, and might fall down, it was determined to throw them down\npartially, and leave only the lower parts standing; but even this was\nnot done without much difficulty, such was the firmness and hardness\nthese walls had acquired, the church having stood above eighty years;\nand all the repairs required were only to give it on the outside, every\ntwelve or fifteen years, a new coating of rough-cast.\n\n“A house for a single family is generally finished in about a fortnight.\nThe following is the method I have seen them practise.”\n\n_Building Procedure._--“The earth is pounded as much as possible, in\norder to crumble any stones therein; clay is added thereto in a small\nquantity, about one-eighth part. It is all beaten and mixed up together\nby repeated blows with a mallet about 10 in. broad, and 10 or 15 in.\nlong, and 2 in. thick. The earth being thus prepared, and slightly\nwetted, the foundation of the house is dug for; this is laid with stone,\nand when it is about 1 ft. high above the surface of the ground, planks\nare arranged on each side, which are filled with earth intended for the\nwall; this is called Pisé in the dialect of the country. It is strongly\nbeaten; and this method is continued successively all round the\nbuilding. The walls have more or less thickness according to the fancy\nof the owner; I have seen them 6 in. and 18 in. thick. If several\nstories are intended in such erections, they do not fail to place beams\nto support the floors before they build higher. Of such buildings I\nnever saw any consisting of more than three floors at most; generally\nthey have but two. When the building is thus finished, it is left for\nsome months to dry; then such as wish to make the building more solid\nand durable, give it a rough-cast coating on the outside with lime and\nsand. This is what I have observed during a residence of three years in\nthe town of Montbrison. I should be happy if this detail should afford\nthe slightest information to the generous nation which has received us\nwith so much goodness.\n\n  “I am, etc.,\n\n    “JAUCOUR.”\n\n\n_The Virtues of Pisé._--“Such is the method of building which has been\npractised in the Lyonnese for many centuries. Houses so built are\nstrong, healthy, and very cheap, they will last a great length of time,\nfor the French author says he had pulled down some of them which, from\nthe title-deeds in the possession of the proprietors, appeared to be 165\nyears old, though they had been ill kept in repair. The rich traders of\nLyons have no other way of building their country-houses. An outside\ncovering of painting in fresco, which is attended with very little\nexpense, conceals from the eye of the spectator the nature of the\nbuilding, and is a handsome ornament to the house. That method of\npainting has more freshness and brilliancy than any other, because water\ndoes not impair the colours. No size, oil, or expense is required,\nmanual labour is almost all it costs, either to the rich or poor. Any\nperson may make his house look as splendid as he pleases, for a few\npence laid out in red or yellow ochre, or in other mineral colours.\n\n“Strangers who have sailed upon the Rhône probably never suspected that\nthose beautiful houses, which they saw rising on the hills around them,\nwere built of nothing but earth, nay, many persons have dwelt for a\nconsiderable time in such houses without ever being aware of their\nsingular construction. Farmers in that country generally have them\nsimply white-washed, but others, who have a greater taste for ornament,\nadd pilasters, window-cases, panels, and decorations of various kinds.\n\n“There is every reason for introducing this method of building into all\nparts of the kingdom; whether we consider the honour of the nation as\nconcerned in the neatness of its villages, the great saving of wood\nwhich it will occasion, and the consequent security from fire, or the\nhealth of the inhabitants, to which it will greatly contribute, as such\nhouses are never liable to the extremes of heat or cold. It is attended\nwith many other circumstances that are advantageous to the State as well\nas to individuals. It saves both time and labour in building, and the\nhouses may be inhabited almost immediately after they are finished; for\nwhich latter purpose, the holes made for the joists should not be closed\nup directly, as the air, if suffered to circulate through them, will dry\nthe walls more speedily.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: Indian and Colonial Practice]\n\n§ IV. INDIAN AND COLONIAL PRACTICE\n\n_A Manual on Earthwork_, edited by Colonel Maclagan, R.E., gives much\ninteresting information as to Pisé-building and a number of valuable\nhints:\n\n_Shutter-ties._--“Cross pieces, as the work proceeds, become so firmly\nembedded in the wall, that there is great difficulty in extracting them,\nto remedy which iron bars have been substituted. Even these thin iron\nbars become so tightly jammed when surrounded by the compact pisé earth,\nthat much labour and risk of injury to the work is incurred in\nextricating them, and the expedient of setting them in a bed of sand has\nbeen successfully resorted to. They are then drawn out with care, the\nsand also is removed, and the holes which they leave are subsequently\nfilled with the same earth of which the wall is made, and rammed hard.\n\n“The heads of the opposite uprights are held together by ropes, but in\npractice in this country[6] it has been found that, under the immense\npressure exerted upon the plank sides by the earth firmly rammed in the\ninterior, the ropes are so liable to stretch, and to break, that it is\nadvisable to use iron rods or bars in this position also. When ropes are\nused, the distance between the side planks is measured by gauge rods,\nand the ropes tightened when requisite to preserve the proper breadth of\nwall. The use of iron connecting rods renders this unnecessary.”\n\n    [Footnote 6: India.]\n\n_Soil._--“Soil of a medium quality, that is neither very stiff nor very\nsandy, is considered best adapted for pisé. It may be said that that\nwhich would make good bricks will answer well for this description of\nwork.\n\n“When the earth is very dry, a sprinkling of water will be necessary.”\n\n_Foundations._--“It is usual to begin the work upon a foundation of\nbrick or masonry; but there seems to be no reason why the pisé might not\nbe used from the commencement, even for foundations under ground; being\ncarefully guarded from all chance of injury by running water.”\n\n_The Building._--“The casing being prepared and erected, and the upper\nsurface of the old work, when above the first stage, being sprinkled\nwith water, the earth, well mixed and slightly moistened, is thrown in,\nand spread in thin layers of 4 or 5 in. These should, when rammed, be\nreduced to one-half their original thickness. The rammers should be of\nhard wood and very smooth. The successive layers are similarly treated,\nand thus the work proceeds until the top of the casing is reached. The\nends of each portion should be finished with a slope, to which will be\njoined the portion next to be added longitudinally. These joinings\nshould not, in the successive courses, be above those of the lower\nstage, but as in masonry and brickwork, should ‘break joint.’ The seams\nare all distinctly perceptible when the work is complete.”\n\n    [Headnote: Plastering]\n\n_Plastering._--“The wall may have a coating of plaster, or the surface\nmay be simply smoothed and dressed with a shovel, or similar implement.\nWhen it is to be plastered, it is necessary that the wall should first\nbe thoroughly dry. If dry only externally whilst damp within, it has\nbeen found that the moisture is apt subsequently to attack the plaster\nand cause it to fall off in flakes. Without plaster, good Pisé work is\nfound successfully to withstand exposure to the weather, and after the\nlapse of many years to be so compact and hard as to be picked down with\ndifficulty.”\n\n_Protection._--“Where the wall is not that of a roofed building, it\nshould be provided with a coping, having a good projection to protect it\nfrom rain.”\n\n_Rods versus Bars._--“The substitution of iron connecting bars for the\nwooden ones has been mentioned above. The evils of the wooden\narrangement were found to be: the starting of the wedges, the fracture\nof the tenons, the tight jamming of the bars in the wall, and the injury\nto the walls and to the bars themselves from the force requisite to be\napplied for extracting them. The lower iron connecting bars are made 3½\nin. by ½ in.; the upper, 1 in. by ⅓ or ¼ in. each, having holes ½ in.\nby ¼ in., with corresponding pins.\n\n“The mode of setting the bars and arranging the work on each successive\nelevation of the casing is to cut on the surface of the completed part\nof the wall a groove 1 in. wider than the bar, filling it in, after\nplacing the bar, with sand, to the level of the wall’s surface. The side\nboarding being set up, the vacant space left along the bevelled edge of\nthe previous course is filled up with moist clay to retain the first\nlayer of the new course. The end pieces are secured by iron bars or\nrods, with screws and nuts.”[7]\n\n    [Footnote 7: “A convenient arrangement might be: to make the\n    lower and upper connecting bars alike, to raise the side boarding\n    a few inches above the upper bars, which, when embedded, might be\n    allowed to remain and become the lower ones of the next course;\n    the external apparatus being shifted by taking out the pins and\n    slipping off the stanchions and planks to be reapplied to the\n    upper bars already in position to receive them.”]\n\n_Ramming._--“Gentle and quick ramming has been found most effectual.”\n\n\n  _Report on the Pisé-work executed at the Etah Jail during 1867-8.\n  By Mr. H. Sprenger, Assistant Engineer_\n\n“The boxes in which the pisé-work at the Etah Jail is being executed\nconsist of two wooden frames 10 ft. long and 2½ ft. broad, made of\nplanks, which are nailed on to stout battens. They are held together by\nfour pairs of posts 3 in. by 3 in., which are connected above and below\nwith tie-bars of flat iron 1½ in. by ¼ in. The tie-bars have at each end\na certain number of ½ in. holes punched in them to receive pins for the\npurpose of preventing the posts from slipping off. By changing the pins,\nwalls of any given dimension can be obtained, wedges of hard wood, with\nlongitudinal slots, are introduced between the posts and the pins, to\nadjust the breadth of the boxes to a standard gauge. After the boxes are\nfixed and adjusted, they are secured in their position by ropes passing\nover them, and tied to stakes on each side. Any deflection from the\nvertical should be corrected at the commencement of the work, as it is\nimpossible to alter the position of a box after it is half full. Any\nearth which is suitable for brick-making will do for pisé-work. On being\ndug out it is passed through a screen with ½-in. meshes, and thrown into\nthe boxes in even layers of 6 in. in depth.\n\n    [Headnote: The Right Quantity of Water]\n\n“Generally fresh earth contains sufficient moisture to ensure good\nconsolidation; but if it is found that it jumps up under the rammers, it\nshould, on being thrown into the boxes, be sprinkled with a little water\nout of a tin can with a rose. The watering should be as uniform as\npossible, as if it is applied unequally it will liquefy the earth, which\nwill commence oozing out under the rammers. Pisé-work executed with too\nmuch water is worse than if done with dry earth, as, on account of the\nelasticity of the wet earth, the effect of the ramming is deadened, and\nthe earth remains unconsolidated. The men should be prohibited to keep\ntime in ramming, as it causes vibration, which is injurious to the\nstability of the wall. On working over a lower course, it is as well to\nlet the lower tie-bars about 4 in. into the same to give the boxes a\nfirm hold on the old work, thereby the joints become imperceptible, and\nthe upper edge of the lower course is prevented from chipping off.\n\n“The implements used are three different kinds of rammers. The earth is\nfirst beaten down with a V-shaped rammer, and then surfaced with one\nwith a flat bottom. The sides of the boxes are consolidated with a\nspade-shaped rammer. When commencing the pisé-work at Etah, considerable\ndifficulty was experienced in extricating the lower tie-bars. These\nwere, therefore, supplied with holes 3 in. apart throughout their whole\nlength. A pin was inserted, against which a crow-bar with a long slot\nand well bent at the end was made to work. An equal pressure could\nthereby be exerted against the tie-bars; they were thus extracted with\ngreat facility without injuring them or the face of the wall, which was\nnot the case formerly.”\n\n\n  _Supplementary Note by Mr. E. Battie, Executive Engineer,\n  5th Division, Grand Trunk Road_\n\n“The work at Etah has generally been concluded in the following manner:\nIn the morning the boxes were taken down, and again put up and filled\nduring the day; they were left during the night, so that the earth might\ndetach itself from the sides. It is not advisable to allow a course to\ndry thoroughly, as the upper one will not bind well into it, but\nprobably show a crack. If the earth is well rammed, and only the proper\nquantity of moisture admitted, a second course can be commenced\nimmediately.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\nThe Report of the Rhodesia Munitions and Resources Committee issued in\n1918 contains an interesting paper by Mr. John Hynd on Pisé-building,\nfrom which the following is extracted:\n\n\n    [Headnote: Pisé Buildings at Empandeni]\n\n“_Pisé de Terre Buildings_\n\n“_The Spectator_ took this matter up some two years ago and wrote as\nfollows:\n\n“‘Various schemes of land settlement are in the air. . . . All of them\nmust, however, be concerned with cheap buildings. That is a _sine qua\nnon_.’ . . .\n\n“The material used for the walls at Empandeni is one-third sand,\none-third ant-heap, and one-third soil, all pulverised and put through a\nsieve. Water is then added. The mixture must be neither too wet nor too\ndry, just sufficiently damp to bind; a good indication of the correct\nconsistency being that when squeezed hard by the hand it shows a\ntendency to bind. Sufficient of the loose mixture is thrown into the\nform to fill it to a depth of about 3 in., and this is thoroughly rammed\nbefore the next layer is put in. Most thorough ramming is essential.\nWhen the frame is rammed full, it is taken apart and shifted along to\nmake another section and so on until the first layer is complete. The\nfirst layer is, as a rule, sufficiently dry to permit the starting of\nthe next about three hours after laying. Door and window frames are put\nin as the work proceeds, and must be well braced while ramming. In the\ntop layer hoop iron or fencing wire is let in for fastening down the\nwall plates. Arsenite of soda or Atlas Compound is used in the first\nlayer or two to keep out white ants. The floor can be made of timber,\ncement concrete, or rammed earth, and the roof thatched or covered with\ncorrugated iron as is most convenient.\n\n“The following Pisé de terre buildings have been erected at Empandeni:\n\n“A large schoolroom 75 ft. by 28 ft. by 12 ft. high, walls 14 in. thick;\nseven boys’ dormitories, each 30 ft. by 20 ft. by 12 ft.; twelve\nsingle-room houses, each 16 ft. by 12 ft.; six fowl houses, each 20 ft.\nby 10 ft.; a large fowl house 250 ft. long, front walls 7 ft. and back\nwalls 5 ft. high. This building is divided into fifteen compartments.\n\n“From the foregoing description it is quite evident that cheap and\nefficient buildings of this nature can be erected at a very low cost.\n\n“On a farm it is not necessary to employ any skilled labour, as the\ndoors and windows can be purchased ready-made, and the frame-work,\nclamps, etc., put together by the farmer himself. For a roof of thatch\nall the necessary material, except iron ridging, if this is used, can as\na rule be procured on the farm.\n\n“Should a cement concrete floor, which is cheaper than a wood one, be\ndesired, there would be an extra expenditure for cement, the amount\nrequired being about two bags per twelve square yards. Such a floor\nshould be laid before the walls of the building are commenced, and it is\nessential that the site is thoroughly well rammed and consolidated,\nparticularly below where walls will come, before laying the concrete, to\nprevent cracks developing through settlement. The concrete raft should\nbe carried at least 6 in. beyond the outside walls of the building, and\nif the work is properly done, a special ant-course will be unnecessary.\nThe concrete can be left rough below the walls to give a bond, and it\nmight be advisable to lay some pieces of hoop iron in it which would be\nleft projecting to be bedded into the walls.\n\n“Another good type of floor would probably be that suggested in _The\nSpectator_, viz. road material laid down and tarred in the same manner\nas roads are now made in many places.\n\n“A number of rooms and houses have been erected on the Globe and Phœnix\nMine on much the same principle as Pisé de terre buildings, but the\nsystem developed there is different as regards the mixture, which\nconsists of two parts ant-heap or ordinary dagga which must not be too\nsandy, and three parts ashes or clinker sieved free from fine dust.\n\n“A very full description of the method employed on this mine was\nforwarded by the courtesy of the Manager to the Committee, and it is\ninteresting to note from this that the walls are made waterproof by\nfirst making them smooth with dagga plaster, then, when quite dry,\ngiving one good coat of boiling hot tar. A coat of limewash is applied\nthree days later. That this is effective is well evidenced by the fact\nthat the buildings erected have successfully withstood our last\nabnormally heavy rainy season.\n\n“The Globe and Phœnix system is the result of a number of experiments\ncarried out on that mine. Their mixture, which is stated to be\nant-proof, contains more moisture than Pisé de terre, and each course is\nreinforced with old wire rope, or other suitable scrap. The material is\nleft in a heap for one or two days before being used.\n\n“Circular huts have been built on the mine of the same material, the\nforms being made of two rings of corrugated iron in three or more\nsections joined up with cleats at the end laps and held in position with\ncross bolts and distance pieces. The inner ring is 9 in. less radius\nthan the outer one.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: Pisé Buildings for Settlers]\n\n  _Extracts from a paper on Pisé in the “Farmers’ Handbook,”\n  issued by the Department of Agriculture, New South Wales, 1911_\n\n“Pisé is a material readily obtainable by the settler, of which cheap\nand durable buildings can be easily and substantially erected.\n\n“For the construction of pastoral or agricultural buildings, especially\nin districts remote from railways, or from towns in which other building\nmaterials are cheap or easily procurable, pisé is particularly well\nadapted. In the country earth is plentiful and readily obtainable; in\nthe city or town such is not the case, and this fact, combined with the\nvery bulky nature of the material, prohibits its use in such centres of\npopulation.\n\n“To the selector or settler, who, like many of our successful pioneers,\nis not burdened with a superfluity of hard cash, but who possesses an\nabundant capital of energy, combined with a certain amount of handiness,\npisé has an additional advantage (which it shares with slabs, wattle and\ndaub, etc.) over most other building materials, in that it affords him\nan opportunity of erecting his homesteading largely as the result of his\nown labour.\n\n“As a building material, pisé is infinitely superior and more durable\nthan slabs, galvanised iron, or weather-boards. In fact it is\nquestionable whether it is not more suitable for our climate, and\ntherefore to be preferred to brickwork; for pisé buildings, properly\nprotected and finished, are quite as durable and much cooler than\nbuildings constructed with solid brick walls. This statement may be\nquestioned by some whose knowledge of pisé is limited to buildings so\nbadly planned that the very elementary principles of building\nconstruction have been neglected. This neglect, which is all too common,\nmakes things bad enough, but when to it is added, as is sometimes the\ncase, indifferent workmanship, combined with the use of unsuitable\nmaterial, the result does not call for admiration, and it is not\nsurprising that a bad impression is created. With no other knowledge of\npisé it is only natural to condemn it because of such specimens, but\nunder similar circumstances other better-known building materials of\nproved excellence would also be condemned. Brickwork would just as\nreadily be condemned if its building qualities had to be estimated by\nthe appearance presented by a brick building which had been constructed\nof badly-burnt bricks laid by unskilful tradesmen on an imperfectly\nthought-out plan. Just as with other building materials, the\npossibilities of this material can only be judged by an examination of\nproperly planned and constructed examples of the pisé-builder’s art.\nSuch are found here and there throughout the country, pleasing to look\nat, affording comfort and satisfaction to their owners. A properly\nconstructed pisé building can be finished to suit the taste of the most\nfastidious. Even without plaster the walls can be ‘floated’ down and a\n‘skin’ obtained on them which, when limewashed, resembles stonework.\nWhen plastered inside and out they possess the advantages of a stone\nhouse, and are erected at a fraction of the cost.\n\n“Some idea may be formed of the durability of pisé by the fact that\nthere is a stable built of pisé which has been in constant use for over\nsixty years, and which at the present time is in good order. The good\ncondition of this stable is the more surprising because the external\nwalls are unprotected from the weather, and it is generally recognised\nthat pisé-work, especially if unplastered, should be protected from the\ndirect action of rain. Pisé buildings are said to have a life of a\ncentury and a half.\n\n“The stability of pisé buildings is beyond question, as is proved by the\nfollowing instance:--At Lambrigg, a second-story brick building, with\n14-in. walls, and containing ten rooms, is built upon a lower story of\npisé. The bricklayer who had the contract for erecting the brick portion\nof the house refused, as it was built upon pisé, to guarantee his work.\nSome time after the completion of the house he visited it, and after a\nthorough examination of the building, declared that it was the most\nsubstantial brick house in the district, as it had not a crack in it,\na feature which was somewhat unusual in that locality. Another case\nbearing on the same subject is that of a residence at Temora. When this\nbuilding was being constructed the workmen omitted to leave holes for\nthe bolts which were to secure the verandah plates to the walls, as it\nwas thought these could readily be bored out afterwards with an auger.\nOn attempting to bore out these holes on the completion of the building,\nand when the pisé-work had become drier, the operation of boring proved\nso difficult as to be practically impossible, and had to be abandoned.\n\n    [Headnote: Builders’ Aversions]\n\n“The merits of pisé-work have been recognised in France, India, Mexico,\nand California for years past, and seeing its equal suitability for our\nclimate, it is surprising that these merits have not led to its being\nmore extensively used. The principal reason for this seems to be because\nour builders are averse to undertaking this class of work, and in\nconsequence the bulk of it is placed in the hands of untrained men, who,\nwhilst quite fitted to carry out the pisé-work, are not competent to\nundertake the other constructive work of a building. However, they do\nnot hesitate to do this, as well as to undertake the more important work\n(though unrecognised as being so) of planning out the building. The\nresult is in most cases an improperly planned and defectively\nconstructed building, which appeals to no one, but has a tendency to\nbring pisé into disrepute.\n\n“The reason for a builder’s unwillingness to undertake pisé-work is not\nfar to seek. For the successful carrying out of his work a builder\nrelies upon skilled tradesmen; our tradesmen are trained in cities and\ntowns, and as pisé is not a suitable material for such places, tradesmen\ndo not become familiar with it. A good builder with a reputation to lose\nshrinks from placing that reputation at the mercy of a pisé-builder, who\nis not recognised as a tradesman, and in whom, in consequence of this,\na builder is likely to have little or no confidence.\n\n“The actual erection of pisé-work presents so little difficulty that it\ncan be done by any one who has sufficient strength to shovel earth and\nwield a rammer, provided he will exercise care to see that the moulds or\nboxes into which the earth is shovelled are kept plumb and in straight\nlines. The average settler, even with no previous knowledge of pisé-work\nor building construction, need have no hesitation in undertaking the\npisé-work of his own buildings if he works to a well-thought-out plan\ndrawn up by somebody competent to do so.\n\n“The necessity of having a plan prepared by some one who understands the\nprinciples and requirements of simple building construction, before\nundertaking the erection of any building, cannot be too strongly\nemphasised. This great need, which is often overlooked by the settler,\ncannot be economically dispensed with. The securing of a properly\nprepared plan is of the greatest value towards obtaining a building of\nthe maximum strength and durability, combined with the best appearance\nand greatest convenience, for the least cost. Even when a settler\nundertakes the pisé-work of his own building, it will only be in rare\ninstances that he will not have the advantage of trained supervision\nduring its erection. The services of a tradesman will invariably be\nfound necessary to make doors and window-frames, construct the roof,\netc. This workman can be engaged when the building is started, and\nwhilst preparing the timbers of the roof, in readiness for the time when\nthey will be required on the completion of the pisé-work, can supervise\nthe fixing of the door and window frames, and see they are set\ncorrectly, and in their proper places.\n\n“Pisé walls are constructed in sections, the extent of which is\nregulated by the supply of casings available.\n\n“Into the moulds formed by the boxes the earth is shovelled in layers of\n4 or 5 in., and then rammed until thoroughly solid before another layer\nis put in. On the completion of the section, _i.e._ when the mould is\nfull and well rammed, the keys or pins are knocked out of the ‘bolts,’\nand the ‘boxes’ taken apart and erected on another portion of the\nbuilding. The top of that portion of the pisé-work on which it is\nproposed to erect another section should be well moistened and covered\nwith wet bags some hours before the mould is formed. The bottom of the\nmould should overlap the top of the pisé-work by about 6 in. After the\n‘boxes’ are put together, the top layer of pisé should be loosened with\na pick so as to form a bond with the section about to be built, and if\nthis section adjoins one already built, the ends of the latter should be\nbevelled off so as not to form a straight joint.\n\n“Material which is too sandy will fret away, and one containing clay\nwill crack when dry. Soils containing these defects should be avoided.\nThere is, however, such a wide range of soils which are suitable that a\nholding of any size on which suitable soils cannot be found will be the\nexception. It is possible to remedy the defects found in one soil by\nmixing it with another soil, but very rarely will such a course be\nnecessary.\n\n    [Headnote: Number of Men Required]\n\n“The plant required will depend upon the number of men to be employed.\nThree is the least number that can be economically employed--two\nattending to the boxes and ramming, and one carting earth from its\nlocation to the building and assisting generally. The plant required for\nthis number of men is given below. If more are engaged, additional plant\nof the same character will be found advantageous.\n\n“The necessary plant will consist of--2 wooden rammers, 1 iron shod\nrammer, 2 straight boxes, 2 angle boxes, 3 casings for blocking up the\nends of boxes, bolts and keys for same, 12 gauge rods, washers--a\nliberal supply of ¾-in. washers, 2 shovels, 1 spade, a horse and dray or\nother means for transporting the material to the building\n(if required).”\n\nThe following detailed instructions are taken from the same authority:\n\n\n    [Headnote: Pisé in New Zealand]\n\n  SPECIFICATION CLAUSES FOR A PISÉ HOUSE (NEW ZEALAND)\n\n_Excavator._--Remove the turf to make footings, but not deeper at any\nplace than 3 in. Step where required.\n\n  _Pisé-Builder_\n\n_Walls._--Erect the walls as shown on plan, external walls 18 in.,\ninternal walls 15 in., carried up plumb and true, with all cross walls\nproperly bonded by continuing the pisé-boxes around all angles; when\nnecessary, the material for the walls is to be properly tempered with\nsufficient water. All sticks and vegetable matter are to be removed.\n\n_Suitable material_: to be a pipeclay loam, with a trace of small gravel\nevenly distributed through it.[8] The boxes to be filled in thin layers\nof 4 in. at a time, and well rammed until solid; the workmen are not to\nuse their rammers in unison.\n\n    [Footnote 8: This was specified because it was the best material\n    near the site.]\n\nThe whole of the internal angles, also door and window jambs, to be\nneatly splayed.\n\n_Floating._--Moisten well the outside and inside walls before the floors\nare laid, and float same to even smooth surface with wooden hand-float,\nusing weak plaster, where required.\n\n_Bolts._--To hold down wall-plates, provide and build in ½ in. bolts,\nnot less than 15 in. long, and spaced not more than 6 ft. apart.\n\n_Damp-course._--Below all walls lay a three-ply Ruberoid damp-course the\nfull width of walls, to lap at ends at least 4 in.\n\n_Ventilators._--Insert below floors, where directed, four 9 in. by 6 in.\ngalvanised iron air gratings, in wooden frames 1½ in. thick by full\nwidth of walls; also insert at about 18 in. below ceiling similar air\ngratings and frames.\n\n_Plugs._--Insert plugs 3 ft. apart for skirting, chair and picture-rail,\nat the heights directed.\n\n_Frames._--Set all frames plumb and true, and secured in wall before\nremoving head. Lintels and heads must be well and solidly bedded in\nmortar, at proper heights. The whole of the work to be done in a proper\nworkmanlike manner.\n\n_Fillet._--Finish against intersection of floor and wall with neat 1½\nin. quarter-round fillet, scribed to wall and floor and nailed to\nfloors.\n\nThe pisé-builder will require to build into wall at all window and door\nopenings 3 in. by 3 in. shaped plugs, spaced not more than 3 ft. apart\nto secure architraves.\n\n_Lintels._--For all door and window openings provide 6 in. by 4 in.\nwell-seasoned pine lintels, to extend 12 in. into pisé-work on each side\nof opening.\n\n_Skirting._--Provide and fix in all rooms, to plugs about 3 ft. apart,\n6-in. skirting, neatly scribed to floors, mitred at angles as required.\n\n_Picture-rail._--Provide 3 in. by 1 in. picture-rail to all rooms.\n\n_Plugs._--Prepare and tar for pisé-builder 3 in. by 1 in. well-seasoned\nsoftwood plugs, 15 in. long, as per detail, for skirtings, picture- and\nchair-rail, to be inserted 3 ft. apart.\n\n\n  STUDDING, WIRE-NETTING, AND PISÉ\n\n“This is a modification of Pisé, which provides a settler in a district\nwhere poles and saplings are available with a quick method of providing\nhimself with a comfortable temporary residence without the expenditure\nof much cash. To construct buildings of this character, a framework of\nsaplings or poles, at intervals of 3 ft. 6 in. to 3 ft. apart, is first\nerected; this framework is covered on both sides with 1¼ in. mesh\nwire-netting. The two sections of netting are held together,\nstrengthened, and prevented from stretching and bulging between the\nposts by means of wire hooks or loops, which are as long as the posts\nare wide. The spaces thus enclosed by the netting and the poles are then\nfilled with earth, which is well rammed, thus making a solid wall 4 in.\nto 6 in. thick. This wall can be plastered, the plaster forming a key\nwith the wire-netting, which holds securely. Buildings of this character\ncan be made to look rather attractive, and, if neatly constructed, are\nvery much superior, both in appearance and comfort, to slabs or wattle\nand daub.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: Pisé Shuttering]\n\n  PISÉ SHUTTERING\n\n\nThat the plant now commonly in use for pisé-building is but a slight\nimprovement on the anciently accepted model, may be seen by a comparison\nof modern examples with old engravings and descriptions. Pisé-building\nlay off the great main stream of constructional activity, and the\nenterprise and ingenuity lavished on the perfecting of other building\nmaterials and methods passed Pisé by, leaving it undisturbed in its\nquiet backwater, a primitive system still with its primitive tackle.\n\nYet there were a number of very obvious and unnecessary shortcomings in\nthe accepted shuttering that seemed to clamour for attention, defects,\ntoo, that were in no way inherent, but merely traditional infelicities\nreproduced in succeeding models that remained remarkably true to their\nprimitive ancestral architype--the Pisé plant described by Pliny.\n\nHere seemed to be a very promising field for an ingenious inventor,\na field that is still “To Let.”\n\nIn the absence of any such inventive genius, the author has had certain\nideas of his own embodied in the “Mark V” type of shuttering--a type\nthat further experience and experiment will doubtless modify.\n\nThe principle of the building-process remains unaffected. The\nimprovements, such as they are, are merely improvements of mechanism.\n\n  DIAGRAM OF MARK V PISÉ SHUTTERING]\n\n  +Mark V Shuttering.+\n  Showing top cross-braces thrown back and free leg disengaged.]\n\n  +Mark V Shuttering.+\n  Showing screw-up securing tackle of exterior corner-piece\n  and its rounded interior. Also screw-cramp at interior angle\n  of shuttering.]\n\n  +Mark V Shuttering.+\n  Shuttering about to be removed from a first section of Pisé walling.\n  Top cross-braces have been thrown back and clamps to legs released.\n  It is now only necessary to detach the stays and lift away the\n  shutters. Where, as here, there is no masonry plinth, the\n  bearing-pins are only required for the succeeding courses of Pisé,\n  and need not be inserted for the first.]\n\n  +Mark V Shuttering.+\n  The angle-iron stay with cross-brace raised, and the blocking-box\n  showing its internal clamping-gear.]\n\nScientific research could doubtless, if it would, do much towards\nperfecting Pisé-building.\n\nWe know very little about the behaviour of different earths under\ncompression, or of their several reactions to chemical treatment.\nMeanwhile, a few trifling mechanical modifications are all that\ndistinguish our modern plant from that devised by the ancients. That\nsaid, a short description of the “Mark V” model may be of some interest,\npending the future developments that may now be hoped for.\n\n\n  II\n\nThe chief desiderata in designing a satisfactory Pisé plant appear to be\nthese:\n\nAll constituent parts should be reasonably light and easy to handle. The\nshutters should be rigid and not liable to warp, without being\nexpensively constructed. The shutters, when clamped in position, should\nbe firmly and positively supported, without deviation from the vertical.\n\nThe fairway between the shutters must be as little obstructed by the\ncross-braces as may be, leaving good room for the men on the wall to\ntread and ram.\n\nThe through-pins by which the shuttering rests upon the base wall or on\na completed course of Pisé, must be easily withdrawn without injury to\nthe wall.\n\nThe shuttering must be easily disengaged and removed from the wall, one\nside at a time.\n\nThe special corner-piece must have some means of rigid attachment to the\nordinary shutters on the two meeting walls.\n\nThere must be some means of blocking off the shuttering at any desired\npoint, for the forming of door or window openings at any level.\n\nThe whole apparatus must be as simple and as fool-proof as possible, and\nbuilt to stand rough usage and exposure to the weather.\n\n\n\nThe author has attempted to construct a plant embodying these\nessentials, and the working drawing and photographs shown will give the\nreader a tolerable idea of his “Mark V” model.\n\nThe thing has, at the moment of writing, only been experimentally tested\nin one of the London parks. These trials were, however, sufficiently\nsatisfactory to encourage a belief that the new plant will prove a very\nconsiderable improvement on the old. It has now been despatched to a\nsite in Surrey, there to undergo the searching and very practical test\nof being used for the building of a small-holder’s house and homestead.\n\n\n  IV\n\nTo the second edition of this book a postscript must be added. Since the\nlast paragraph was written, the small-holder’s house has come into\nactual being at Newlands Corner, near Guildford, and has attracted a\ngood deal of attention from the Press, both at home and abroad. It has\nbeen inspected by multitudes of people, including a great number of\nColonials and prospective Colonists, and by many distinguished persons\ndirectly or indirectly concerned with the problems of housing.\n\nThat “Good wine needs no bush” may be a true saying, but a novel system\nof building assuredly needs demonstration, however great its merits. The\nsuccess of the experiment at Newlands is admitted by all who have made\nthe pilgrimage thither. Often would critics come to scoff and remain to\npray. Specially prized amongst the converts is a foreman-bricklayer once\nopenly scornful in his unbelief. Of enthusiasm, perhaps, there has been\nalmost over much; and it has been difficult to restrain the zeal of\nwould-be pisé-builders until the coming of spring, and the return of\nsuch weather conditions as the craft might reasonably demand.\n\n  +A Simple Mould for Pisé Blocks.+]\n\n  +Block-Moulds, Large and Small. The Latter shown opened out.+]\n\n  +Sketch of a Pisé House in Course of Erection.+\n  With acknowledgements to _The Sphere_.]\n\nFor pisé is a “dry-earth” method of building, and, as at present\npractised, that means it is a summer job, so far, at any rate, as\nEngland is concerned.\n\nThe author is the last person to claim that pisé-building may be\nsuccessfully and economically carried out in all places, and at all\nseasons. He merely suggests that in a great many parts of the United\nKingdom, pisé offers possibilities of cheap yet permanent building that\nare very well worth exploitation.\n\nA wide and thorough trial of the method now seems assured under a\nvariety of conditions in a sufficient variety of places. Pisé is to be\ngiven its chance in Housing Schemes, in Government building\ndemonstrations, on Ducal estates, and by ordinary private citizens in\nneed of houses--by the rich (old and new), and by the poor.\n\n    [Headnote: If Reason Rule]\n\nIf reason rule, pisé will make good and all will be well.\n\nIf pisé-building is attempted where the conditions are unsuitable and in\ndefiance of its physical limitations, the misguided enthusiasts\nresponsible must blame only themselves. But it is not self-reproach\nalone that they will have to suffer, for the author and all true friends\nof pisé will view their troubles with as much anger as sorrow.\n\nNothing could be so well calculated to bring discredit on a new movement\nas the failures of a few enthusiastic incompetents.\n\n\n  THE FIRST DEMONSTRATION PISÉ DE TERRE HOUSE AT NEWLANDS CORNER,\n  NEAR GUILDFORD\n\n  _With acknowledgments to the “Spectator”_\n\n_Description._--The house has six rooms arranged on one floor, of areas\nand cubical contents as laid down in their higher “schedules of\naccommodation” by the Ministry of Health and the Board of Agriculture.\n\nThe plan is an adaptation of the first type illustrated in the Board’s\nnew manual “designed for the guidance of County Councils and their\narchitects” in the matter of buildings for small-holdings.\n\nThe walls are of 18-in. solid pisé-work, the roof of red Bridgewater\ntiles, and the chimney breasts and stacks of brickwork.\n\nThe floors are boarded save for the back kitchen, which is tiled. The\ninner partitions are of 2-in. breeze blocks, the ceilings are plastered,\nand the casement windows are of steel.\n\nThere are two good lofts for storage, one entered from the barn, which\nis an extension of the house proper.\n\nThe pillars of the barn and the partition wall between scullery and\nveranda are of 18 in. by 9 in. by 9 in. rammed earth blocks; the angle\npillar to the veranda is of similar blocks made from soft chalk.\n\nThe rest of the structure is of monolithic pisé, built up _in situ_\nwithout joints of any kind, either horizontally or vertically.\n\n_Cost._--The total cost of the whole of the outer walling of the house\n(in pisé) amounted to less than £20. Had the walls been built in\nbrickwork the cost would, according to estimate, have been about £200.\n\n    [Headnote: The Newlands Specification]\n\n_Specification._--The following is an abridged extract from the\nspecification so far as it affects the pisé-builder:\n\n(1) Excavate to a depth of 9 in. over the site, dumping the turf and\nsurface humus where directed.\n\nThis soil is not to be used for building.\n\n(2) Lay a 6-in. bed of cement and flint concrete 3 ft. wide under outer\nwalls. Centrally on this, lay two courses of brickwork in cement, to a\nwidth of 18 in., or build up to the same extent in concrete.\n\nLay on this an approved damp-proof course; if of slates, having a\nfurther course of brickwork or concrete above it to prevent fracture\nwhen ramming.\n\n  +The Newlands Corner Pisé Demonstration Building.+]\n\n  +Newlands. The Cottage from the South-east.+]\n\n  +Newlands. The Garden Court.+]\n\n(3) Erect the walls according to the plan on the bases thus formed,\ncarrying them up plumb and true and properly bonded by working round the\nbuilding course by course, using the special angle-pieces at the corners\nto keep the work continuous and homogeneous.\n\n(4) All stones and flints above a walnut size to be removed by riddling\nand reserved for concrete.\n\nAll sticks, leaves, roots, and other vegetable matter to be eliminated.\n\n(5) The soil immediately on the site to be used without admixture of any\nsort and to be thrown direct into the shutterings.\n\nNo water to be added without the express permission of the architect.\n\n(6) The boxes are to be filled in thin layers of not more than 4 in. at\na time, and well rammed until solid. The workmen are not to use their\nrammers in unison.\n\n(7) Rammed earth at box ends to be shaved down to a 45 degrees slope so\nas to splice in with new span of pisé adjoining it.\n\nWhere door and window openings occur, the special “stops” to be adjusted\nand firmly secured so as to withstand hard ramming. Two 4 in. by 2 in.\nby 9 in. plugs to be built in to each window jamb for the securing of\nthe frames and three to each door jamb.\n\nSpecial care to be taken in the thorough ramming at the corners and\nalong the box edges.\n\n(8) Insert below floor level, where directed, 24 3-in. field drainage\npipes to act as ventilators through the thickness of the wall. Insert\nwire mesh stops to exclude vermin.\n\n(9) Set all frames square and plumb, and where in outer walls, flush\nwith finished exterior plaster-face, the joint being covered by a 2-in.\nby ¾-in. fillet.\n\nWhere lintels occur, they are to be tailed in at least 9 in. on each\nside the opening.\n\nProvide plain picture-rail round all rooms at window-head level,\nproviding plugs for fixing where necessary.\n\nSecure to floor round all boarded rooms a 2-in. by 1½-in. angle fillet\nas skirting.\n\n(10) The smooth surface of the pisé walling to be hammer-chipped to give\ngood key to the plaster.\n\nBefore rendering or plastering walls, any loose earth or dust to be\nremoved with a stiff brush and the wall surface evenly wetted.\n\n  [Illustration: NEWLANDS CORNER PISÉ HOUSE. THE PLAN.]\n\nThe rendering to be carried evenly round the walls--the minor square\nangles being roughly chipped down first so as to obviate sharp corners.\nThe main corners of the house are ready-rounded off to a 9-in. radius by\nthe special corner mould.\n\n(11) Bond brick and slab work to pisé walls by driving iron spikes into\nthe latter every few courses at joint level and bedding in.\n\n(12) Colour-wash walls with tallow lime-whiting tinted with ochre.\nProvide 2 ft. skirting of pitch, applied hot, to form base-course round\nexterior of building.\n\n  +Newlands. The Backyard, showing Barn with Pisé Pillars.+]\n\n  +Newlands. Framing the Roof.+]\n\n  +Newlands. An Interior, showing Fire-brick Hearth Fire.+]\n\nN.B.--The exterior of the walls of the Newlands Corner house have been\nfinished in several different ways with a view to determining the most\ndurable and economical form of epidermis.\n\nA trial pisé-building adjoining has stood for four years without any\nexternal protection whatever. It has suffered no damage and grows\ncontinually harder. For the sake of appearances, however, and for the\nbetter preservation of the wall from chance injury whilst still “green,”\na coating of some sort may be deemed necessary.\n\n\n    [Headnote: A Swedish Contribution]\n\n  THE THEORY OF PISÉ\n\nThe Swedish scientist, Mr. Karl Ellington, of Nossebro, who is basing a\nbook on pisé (in his own tongue) upon the frail foundation of the\npresent volume, has, in the course of a letter to the author, made some\nexceedingly suggestive “guesses at the truth.”\n\n“I am very interested to hear that you are proposing to use an hydraulic\nrammer for making blocks. I have thought a good deal about this pressure\nbusiness. I am trying to scrutinise the thing from ‘the inside,’ so to\nspeak. I am trying to trace out how Nature makes rock. That helps us to\nunderstand pisé. Nature made all the stratified rocks out of what was\nonce fine loose earth and mud. Rivers carried the mud out to sea. Waves\npounded and gnawed the shores and got down some more stuff. The tides\nwent forth and back and shovelled and levelled at the sea-bottom. Some\nmore mud on top of that, and a few hundred or thousand feet of the heavy\nwater on top of that--and Nature’s pisé was in its making. But why do\nthese mud particles stick together for ever even after that stratum is\nraised up high above the sea and the pressure is discontinued? That is\nthe counterpoint of the whole problem. What is gravitation? Is it some\nform of magnetic or electric energy? We don’t know. Do particles of mud\ngrip and hold each other if they are forced together close enough to be\nunited by some sort of magnetic or electric energy? Or do the particles\nonly get a ‘mechanical’ grip on each other? However that may be, we seem\nto know now that we can make them grip by bringing them closely\ntogether. It would seem important, then, that we must bring as much of\nparticle surfaces together within any given cubic space as we possibly\ncan; that is, we must have as little of ‘holes,’ ‘empty spaces,’ pores\nand channels as possible in the mass, in the pressed wall. This, then,\nwould in turn make it important that plenty of very fine (small)\nparticles must be present in the mass--and so well distributed among the\ncoarser particles as to be on hand close by wherever there can be one\nmore chance for a small particle to fill a little chamber that the\ncoarser particles would like to bridge over. We can think of how well\nNature was fitted for this work of shuffling over all the particles at\nthe sea-bottom and under great water pressure till she got every\nparticle into the niche where it would exactly fit. She used waves,\ntides, and gulf streams as shovels and mixers and packers, and the water\nabove as ‘hydraulic rammer.’ Looking at the pisé matter in this way, it\nwould appear that both the _mixing_ and the _shuffling_ are of vital\nimportance. And by ‘shuffling’ I mean in this connection only that the\nsmaller and larger particles get a chance to shift over a little during\nthe process of pressing the earth together to hardness, so that the\npressure may not work only and exclusively in a straight downward\ndirection, but in a sort of wavy zigzag direction as well--much as when\na street-roller is working the macadam and gravel a little forth and\nback at the same time as downward. I have a great respect for old tools\nwhich are the outcome of long-time experience and handed-down wisdom.\nI suspect the presence of some of that sort of experience in the rammer\ndescribed in your book, p. 59. That tool would do the necessary shifting\nwhile attending to its _main_ intention: hammering the mass solidly\ntogether downwards. Now for your hydraulic rammer--is it advisable to\nmake it blow or press only in a straight line downward? Maybe there\nought to be two or three kinds of strokes alternating--one stroke with a\nrifled or wavy surface under the rammer--and the next stroke with a\n_plane_ surface. . . . What sort of witchcraft enters into the effect of\n_high frequency blows_ as compared with blows with a little longer\nintervals between? Do the strokes create also some ‘magnetic’ effect in\nthe pounded earth-mass which helps to fasten the particles to each\nother? And does this magnetic charge or friction heat, or whatever it\nis, act more promptly if one keeps on ‘striking the iron while hot,’\ninstead of letting the charge ‘evaporate’ and sneak away between\nstrokes? Two or three of my hairs are turning grey over these questions\nalone. You compliment me by insinuating that I might stumble across some\nfruitful idea for the forms or boxes if I speculate a little more on the\nkey-problem. Well, the thing won’t leave me alone, so I have thought out\nseveral foolish variations and rejected them too. But the last one seems\nto have a little more vitality, so if it will live till I write my next\nletter I will tell you about it. One is so apt to follow the temptation\nof ‘perfecting’ an apparatus--at the cost of getting away from keeping\nit cheap, simple--and ‘fool-proof.’ By this time the idea has grown ripe\nin my mind, so that I ought to write out a little book on the pisé\nproblem in Swedish and have it printed before springtime. Something\nought to be done. . . . I have to ask you kindly to permit me to make\nuse of the data contained in your book. To this I will have to add what\nspecial precautions we must observe as to foundations in a climate like\nours. I intend to treat only the pisé method. Cob and chalk methods are\nnot applicable here, as we have such materials only in a few unimportant\nspots.”\n\nMr. Ellington has long been an admirer and a firm friend of England, and\nhe is good enough to regard his country as indebted to ours for the\nintroduction of pisé-building:\n\n“Let me tell you that the help you are giving me now--not me, but my\nnation--will work as an additional bond that draws us more closely\ntowards each other. . . . Some of our people here have always looked too\nmuch towards the South and too little towards the West.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: A Pisé-Builder’s School]\n\n  PISÉ, PRACTICE AND PLANT\n\nNow that so many able architects and enterprising bodies are seriously\ntaking up pisé-building, the improvement in plant and technique should\nbe both rapid and considerable. The School of Pisé Building established\nat Hornchurch in Essex, by the Imperial Ex-service Association, should\nalone provide us with much new and valuable knowledge of a highly\npractical kind.\n\nIt is there, for instance, that various types of shuttering and rammers\nare being experimentally tested side by side, and their relative\nefficiency under varying conditions ascertained. Under some conditions\nit is probable that the floor and roof timbers (destined for use in the\nhouse under construction) will be found the most economical and\nsatisfactory form of temporary “shuttering” for the making of the earth\nwalls.\n\nThe pisé “Test-House,” built by Messrs. Alban Richards at their Ashstead\nworks, was built in this way, and proved highly satisfactory.\n\nAnother effective and more generally applicable form of shuttering\n(designed and manufactured by the same firm) is illustrated in the\ndiagram reproduced below. It should be observed that wedges intervene\nbetween the movable shutters and the uprights.\n\nThe method of employment of the “Mark V” shuttering is well illustrated\nby the bird’s-eye view showing the Newlands cottage under construction.\n\n    [Headnote: Alternative Shutterings]\n\nIn this matter of shuttering there is still, however, great scope for\nimprovement, and it may be hoped that soon ingenuity and experience will\njointly produce a complete pisé plant perfectly fulfilling all the many\nconditions enumerated earlier in the book.\n\nShuttering made by riveting plain galvanised sheet iron to one side of a\ncorrugated sheet has the qualities of lightness, smoothness, cheapness,\nand rigidity, and the claims of the inventor and patentee are now being\nput to the test in actual building.\n\n  [Illustration: PATENT SHUTTERING FOR PISÉ DE TERRE\n  _By W. Alban Richards and Co._]\n\nThere now seems little doubt but that pisé blocks will be largely used\nfor partitions and chimney stacks where the soil is good enough, and\nexperiments are being made with a view to discovering the best and\ncheapest way of making earth slabs similar to those of coke-breeze and\nconcrete.\n\nThe size aimed at is 18 in. by 18 in. by 3 in., the edges to be tongued\nand grooved.\n\nCertain “concrete” machines seem to lend themselves to adaptation for\nthe making of earth blocks, but it is necessary to remember that sharp\nblows are required rather than a steady pressure, and also that we are\nworking with a _dry_ material. The ordinary primitive way of making pisé\nblocks is indicated below.\n\nThe hand-rammers are undoubtedly worth study and careful design. A set\nof three seems to meet all ordinary requirements, and those shown on p.\n101 may be taken as typical. They should be of hard-wood, smoothly\nfinished, and provided with long handles. They should be 9 in. to 12 in.\nlong, and about 5 in. by 4 in. at maximum cross section.\n\nIn the sketch they are shown “narrow-ways-on.” No. 1 is used for\npreliminary pounding and final finishing, No. 2 for general\nconsolidating, and No. 3 for working along the edges, against window\nstops, and under cross-ties.\n\nA South African correspondent, Major Baylay, makes interesting comment\nas regards rammers and local pisé practice:\n\n    [Headnote: South Africa]\n\n“My experience of all black labour is, that they won’t put any ‘guts’\ninto it. They therefore want fairly heavy rammers, which they can lift\nand drop, say a foot, and which will do the rest for them. The heat of\nthe sun and extreme dryness of atmosphere out here make it advisable to\ncover up completed courses at once with sacking, moist for choice,\notherwise it is liable to dry out too quickly and crack. It dries out\nuncovered at night very well, when there is no rain.\n\n“The red loams of South Africa, where not too sandy, make excellent\npisé. They or their equivalent are found almost everywhere. In the dry\nstate they set so hard that moisture added just before ramming is\nuseless. A large heap must be made, well damped and covered over with\nmoist sacking, and left until the moisture is distributed throughout the\nmass. When about four or five days old, in ordinary weather, the earth\nis ready to use--viz., just wet enough to bind when gripped in the hand.\nIt should be passed through a sieve. I use a sort of ‘chicken run,’\n8 ft. long, and throw the earth on to it before using. Six feet of it is\n½-in. mesh, and 2 ft. ¼-in. mesh; the reason for this is that, if the\nearth is a little too dry, it does not always bind well with the\nprevious layer. Therefore, put a few petrol tins of the fine earth into\nthe shuttering first in order to ensure good bond, and throw the coarser\nstuff in after.”\n\n  [Illustration: PISÉ HAND RAMMERS]\n\n\n  _Second Note by Major Baylay, Peter Maritzburg, Natal, South Africa_\n\n“I have completed a small building, and though weather conditions have\nbeen as bad as possible, it is sound and very satisfactory.\n\n“In my opinion, pisé-building should not be attempted in the rainy\nseason in Africa. Earth contains too much moisture, and the power of the\nsun dries it out too quickly and causes cracks.\n\n“_Re_ plastering. I covered the outside and inside with a mixture of 6\nearth, 2 sand, 1 blue (Hyd.) lime, the earth being the red, rather ‘fat’\nearth found everywhere, and the same stuff the house is built of. It is\nput on thin with a trowel, after damping the wall. When it dries and\ncracks, rub all over with a sacking pad covered with the plaster\nmixture, but wetted to a thin cream consistency. It may sound an odd\nmethod, but the natives do this work well, and the result is as good as\none can wish for. You can put tar or any wash (No. 6) on this.”\n\n\n    [Headnote: Soils]\n\n  SOILS\n\nWere it not for the fact (often somewhat embarrassing) that soil quite\nincapable of making good pisé will none the less produce enthusiastic\npisé-builders, a warning as to the vital importance of the earth being\nreally suitable might seem superfluous.\n\nThe author has found some of the staunchest champions of pisé-building\nliving on and valiantly struggling with stiff glutinous clay and almost\npure sand.\n\nEven the most vigorous optimism can achieve little under such adverse\nconditions unless soil-blending be resorted to, and even so,\npisé-building begins to lose points in the matter of economy directly\ncomplications of this sort are introduced.\n\nFortunately, however, England is well off in the matter of pisé soils,\nthe red marls being amongst the very best.\n\nA study of the country, or, failing that, of the geological maps, will\nreveal a great tract of this earth extending diagonally right across\nEngland, from Yorkshire down into Devonshire, where it ends\nconspicuously in the beautiful red cliffs about Torquay.\n\nThere is a large area of the stuff in the Midlands, notably in\nWarwickshire, with lesser patches here and there about the country.\n\nSecond only to the red marls come the brick earths, which, fortunately,\nare also widely distributed.\n\n“Brick earth” is merely clay that has been well weathered and\ndisintegrated under the action of wind, rain, frost, and organic agents,\nthe sulphides having become oxides, and what was a cold intractable\nslithery mass having become merely a “strong” and binding earth.\n\nIt is probable that even stiff clay, if dug in the summer or autumn, and\nleft exposed for a winter, would prove sufficiently reformed to be quite\namenable for pisé building in the spring.\n\nAfter the marls and the brick earths there is an endless variety of\nsoils that will serve well for pisé-building--some, of course, better\nthan others, but all, save the extremes (the excessively light and the\nexcessively clayey), capable of giving good results under proper\ntreatment.\n\nBefore putting pisé construction actually in hand, however, the\nintending builder will do well to submit samples of his earth to some\ncompetent authority, that they may receive his blessing.\n\nA fistful taken from a depth of 9 in., and another from say 2 ft. below\nthe surface, should give sufficient evidence as to the soil’s\nsuitability or the reverse.\n\n\n\n\n\n_CHALK_\n\n\n§ I. GENERAL\n\nChalk, as a source of lime, has always been of high importance to\nbuilders, and, until improved transport brought alien materials into its\nold preserves, chalk was in general use for walling in the form of\nroughly squared blocks.\n\nChalk again forms the basis of a compost that, used in the form of a\nstiff paste, has been largely employed for building from the earliest\ntimes down to the present.\n\n“Pisé de Craie,” or chalk consolidated by ramming within a casing, is a\nform of building that has been long held in high repute in France and\nelsewhere, but which has only recently been given a serious trial in\nEngland.\n\nChalk in all these forms, if fairly dealt with and reasonably protected\nfrom the weather, is a most amenable and satisfactory material to build\nwith.\n\nThe last-named method particularly seems to promise results that should\nsatisfy the most exacting critics of the unconventional, as it assuredly\ndoes those who inhabit the cottages so constructed.\n\nThe several systems of chalk construction are fully dealt with in the\npages that follow.\n\n_Chalk Compost: Historical._--At the Ancient British village on West\nDown, Chilbolton, some five miles south of Andover, delving\narchæologists have brought to light undeniable fragments of chalk\n“Daub,” with the wattle marks still clearly showing upon them.\n\nThis discovery is chiefly of academic interest, though it is a pretty\nrefutation to those who regard any building material save brick and\nstone as “new-fangled,” and it should also serve to hearten the doubters\nand the timid amongst us who seek historic sanction for any departure\nfrom current building practice.\n\n_Composition and Uses._--In the Andover district Chalk Compost or “Chalk\nMud,” as it is called locally, is prepared and used as follows:\n\nThe chalk is dug out in the autumn, and the frost allowed to play on it\nduring the winter. In the spring building starts, and the weathered\nchalk is spread all around the outside of the walls. Straw is sprinkled\non it and it is then well trodden, usually by the workers, but sometimes\nby horses. Sometimes chopped straw is added, sometimes unchopped straw\nis sprinkled on. The quality of the walls depends very largely on the\npreparation--that is, in getting the mud to the right consistency--and\nthe old hands know by experience when it is ready.\n\nThe compost is lifted on the wall by a fork and another man stands on\nthe wall and treads it in. It is then chopped down straight with a\nspade. Some of the naked walls at Andover show traces of the courses,\nwhich are usually something under 2 ft. in height.\n\nWhere a course has to be left unfinished it should be ended with a\ndiagonal ramp so as to splice in with the work that follows.\n\nSome of the old builders seem to have been somewhat catholic in their\nconceptions as to what constituted “chalk,” and vague patches of earth,\nloose flints and other stray substances not infrequently mar their work\nand sometimes seriously reduce its strength.\n\nAs a general rule, the finer the chalk the stronger and more durable is\nthe walling.\n\nWhat is aimed at is a conglomerate of small chalk knobs cemented\ntogether by a matrix of plastic chalk and straw, the whole forming as\ndense a mass as possible.\n\nGrinding in a mortar-mill would probably reduce all the chalk to an\namorphous powder, which would not be desirable, and in any case such\nmechanical mixing is quite unnecessary.\n\nBuilding by ramming the moist compost between timber shutterings does\nnot appear to have been practised in the past, though there is nothing\nagainst the method except its tendency to delay the drying out.\n\nThe drying of each course takes several days, depending on the weather.\nA course is usually laid right round the building. It must be covered up\nat night in case of rain, and when it is hard another course is laid on,\nand so on till completion. The aim is to build during the summer and\nautumn, and when the moisture has dried out, to render the exterior.\n\nWhere brickwork is used with chalk compost it is generally bonded in in\nthe ordinary way, but block-bonding the depth of a chalk course is a\nbetter way of doing it.\n\nThe exterior corners of chalk buildings are the vulnerable points, and\nthese should therefore be well rounded off.\n\n_Timber._--In the old work nothing seems to have been done to prevent\nwoodwork built in to the compost from decaying, though in many cases it\nhas survived surprisingly. In any new work, however, proper ventilated\nair-spaces should be contrived or the timber ends treated with some\npreservative.\n\nThe door and window frames are fixed to fairly large pieces of wood\nbuilt in across the thickness of wall, and other woodwork is fixed to\nwood blocks built in in a similar way.\n\nPicture-rails should be provided in all rooms, as chalk walls are apt to\nflake and chip if nails are driven into them.\n\nLintels are usually of wood, and when plastering is carried down over\nthese some form of key must of course be provided to hold it.\n\n    [Headnote: Winter Work Barred]\n\n_Frost._--New work must not be exposed to frost or there will be danger\nof collapse, and winter work is barred out for this reason.\n\n_Repairs._--Chalk compost walls are not easily repaired in that\nmaterial, and bricks are generally used, well bonded in.\n\n_Chimneys._--Chimneys, too, are usually of brick, though there would\nseem no reason against the flues being carried up in chalk, especially\nif clay pipe linings were used.\n\nThe chimney-stacks above the roof might well be built in flint, the\ncorners being rounded off in deference to the peculiarities of the\nmaterial.\n\n_External Rendering._--It is of the first importance that a good\nweather-tight skin be maintained, and many old buildings have suffered\nthrough neglect of this precaution.\n\nThe rendering was often of the poorest quality, more mud than lime, and\nthe constant repairs that the indifferent materials necessitated has\nresulted in many of the old cottages becoming patchworks of variegated\nplaster blotches, when not whitewashed over, which give an impression of\ndilapidation by no means warranted by the facts.\n\n_Rendering._--Given a good skin, however, of cement or cement and lime,\na chalk conglomerate wall will last indefinitely. So vital is the skin\nthat it is as well to put it on in two good coats--rounding off all the\ncorners and finishing it either with slap-dash or rough from the wooden\nfloat.\n\nAlso, to ensure its proper adhesion throughout, wire-netting may be used\nas reinforcement--being secured to the face of the chalk wall by means\nof cross netting or wires laid on the wall as the building rises.\n\nIf the netting be of a fine mesh it also serves as an absolute barrier\nto vermin, though pounded glass incorporated in the base of the wall is\nequally effective.\n\n_Strength._--Provided the wall has dried out thoroughly, any of the\nordinary loads occurring in a two-storied house can be borne with ease.\n\nChalk conglomerate walling, however, has no great lateral strength, and\nit should not be asked to stand up to thrusts.\n\nThe roof, therefore, must be well tied, and should sit on the building\nmerely as a lid.\n\n  +Details of Chalk Construction at Amesbury.+\n  (From a sketch by W. R. Jaggard, F.R.I.B.A., the copyright of\n  the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research.)]\n\n  +Chalk Construction at Amesbury, Wilts.+\n  (From a sketch by W. R. Jaggard, F.R.I.B.A., the copyright of\n  the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research.)]\n\n_Roof._--Though thatch is the traditional roofing material of chalk\ncottages, any other will serve that is permanent and good of its kind.\n\nThe only special demand that chalk walls make is that the eaves shall be\ngenerously overhung for their better protection from the weather.\n\nWhere, in later years, the boldly projecting thatch has been\nthoughtlessly replaced by a slate roof with meagre eaves, or with none\nat all, the walls have suffered accordingly.\n\n    [Headnote: Garden Walls]\n\n_Garden Walls._--A chalk garden wall must be afforded just as much\nprotection as the wall of a house and on both sides.\n\nThe hat with which it is provided is of the highest importance to the\nhealth and longevity of the walling.\n\nExamples of garden wall copings are given in the sketches shown below.\n\n  [Illustration: WALL COPINGS.]\n\n_House Walls._--Chalk conglomerate walls rarely exceed 18 in. in\nthickness, and are usually the same upstairs as down.\n\nA plinth of the same thickness as the chalk wall it supports is usually\ncarried up 6 in. to 18 in. above the ground level in rubble-work, flint,\nor brick, being known as the “Underpin Course.” Any of the stock\ndamp-courses are suitable, but they must be well and truly laid, as damp\nfeet are nearly as deleterious to a chalk wall as a leaky or inadequate\nhat.\n\nNo special tools are required for this method of building, an ordinary\nfarm fork for lifting and a spade for the final chopping down of the\nwall faces being all that are necessary.\n\nA house built during the summer is usually fit for occupation the same\nautumn.\n\n_Old Examples._--Those who may wish to see buildings in chalk\nconglomerate, both old and new, would do well to visit some such typical\nchalk district as that lying about Andover in Wiltshire.\n\nIt should, however, be constantly borne in mind that most of the old\ncottages were somewhat unscientifically erected by their original\njack-of-all-trades occupiers, that damp-courses and Portland cement were\nunknown, and that the advantages of proper ventilation and the causes of\ndry-rot were discoveries yet to be made.\n\nSecondly, a large number of these cottages have been sadly neglected\neither recently or in the past, and they bear the disfiguring marks of\ntheir ill-treatment upon them now.\n\nBut a chalk cottage that is well found in the beginning, and that is\nreasonably well cared for subsequently, has nothing to fear from\ncomparison with cottages built in the most approved manner of the more\nfashionable materials.\n\nMr. James Thorold gives the following particulars of a block of three\nchalk cottages recently built for Sir George Cooper on his estate at\nHursley, near Winchester:\n\n“The chalk walling was done by Messrs. A. Annett and Son, of Winterslow,\nnear Salisbury, where this method of building has been kept alive from\nolden days. It consists of working up the soft upper strata of the chalk\nby putting a bed of it 4 ft. 6 in. thick on the ground, watering and\ntreading it to a sticky consistency with the feet, working in shortish\nstraw at the same time. When thoroughly mixed by the builder’s mate, he\nlifts up a forkful to the builder working on the wall immediately above\nhim, the latter catches the chalk, dumps it down on the top of the wall,\nbuilding an 18 in. course all round. As soon as the weather has dried\nthis sufficiently he goes round with a sharp spade squaring up both\nsides of the wall. As this work is greatly dependent on the weather it\nis well if the men have other work to fall back on, and that building\noperations should be commenced in the spring or early summer. The wall\nis built 18 in. thick to the first floor joists and 14 in. above. Chalk\nin itself being very absorbent of moisture, the usual plan is to render\nthe outside of the wall with a lime mortar, which, however, requires\nrenewal every few years. To obviate this we fixed with long staples 1¼\nin. mesh wire-netting over the outside surface of the wall to give a\nreinforcement for a rendering of hair mortar and cement gauged in\nproportion of 1 to 2 respectively, and left rough from the trowel. This\nrendering was done at a cost of 3s. 3½d. per square yard, which is a\nsubstantial addition to the cost of the walling, but so far there is no\nsign of a crack or hollow place behind it, and the cottages have kept\nvery dry. The walls were finished off with a limewash containing Russian\ntallow and copperas.[9]\n\n    [Footnote 9: See recipes for Whitewash in Appendix (I).]\n\n    [Headnote: Cost of Three Cottages]\n\n“As regards the cost of this block of three cottages, the result is\nobscured by the fact that tall chimney-stacks with ornamental bricks and\nappropriate foundations were built and reinforced leaded lights were\nused in the windows to keep the building in character with the other\ncottages on the estate, but at the time we estimated that the chalk\nwalling saved a sum of £54 as against the amount we should have had to\nhave spent in carrying out the building with bricks made on the estate,\nand this had to include lodging money and profit, the builders being\nindependent men. The ornamental chimney-stacks were put in for the sake\nof appearance, flues built up in the chalk being entirely satisfactory\nand fireproof. The foundations are either flint or brick with a slate\ndamp-course.\n\n“I consider that for a chalk country this method of building has many\nadvantages.\n\n  “(1) It saves cartage.\n\n  “(2) It can be carried out by a skilled labourer who can be\n    otherwise employed during unsuitable weather.\n\n  “(3) No fuel is required as in burning bricks.\n\n  “(4) If a suitable rendering is employed to keep it weatherproof,\n    and a good damp-course on the foundations, the cottages are nice\n    and dry and keep an equable temperature, chalk being a good\n    non-conductor.\n\n“Sir George wonders if any method could be devised by chemical means to\nharden the chalk and make it weatherproof; if this could be done it\nmight save the expense of the cement rendering.”\n\n\n  CHALK CONGLOMERATE\n\n  From _Country Life_, February 23rd, 1901:\n\n“Soft chalk is practically mud, yet Dr. Poore, one leading authority on\nrural hygiene, had his model hygienic cottage built with it at Andover,\njust outside the boundaries, in order to escape the tyranny of the\nbye-laws. In several other places this material has been used time out\nof mind.\n\n“The white cottages on the Wiltshire Downs are as good as any in\nEngland.”\n\n  +Three Chalk Cottages at Hursley Park+]\n\n\n  THE WINTERSLOW COTTAGES\n\n  From _Country Life_, April 6th, 1901:\n\n“The white chalk cottages of the scattered straggling village are found\nin every sort of position. They must not be confounded with the cottages\nof rock chalk at Medmenham. You might almost call them mud cottages.\n\n“The house is generally both planned and constructed by the owner.\n\n“. . . The soil is only a few inches deep, soft chalk lies close to the\nsurface and can be dug out with a spade. This is a very suitable\nmaterial in the district and costs nothing but the labour of\ndigging. . . .\n\n“On the downs there is a constant lack of water; that which falls in the\nshape of rain is therefore very precious, and in some cases is indeed\nthe only kind available. But a large tank or artificial well is needed\nto contain it, and the pit from which the chalk is dug out can be made\nto serve the purpose. . . . One was made watertight by means of a lining\nof concrete, and held enough water to keep the family going through all\nthe dry season.\n\n“In another house . . . the chalk-pit had been utilised to form a large\nand convenient cellar. . . .\n\n“Most of them (the cottages) . . . are on two floors, with parlour,\nkitchen, back kitchen and so forth on one, and the bedrooms on the\nother. In the preparation of the chalk, the method followed is that of\ntreading it into a kind of rubble, and adding a proportion of straw and\na small quantity of lime.\n\n    [Headnote: Expensive Scaffolding Avoided]\n\n“There is a local builder who will run up the shell of a house for a\nmatter of £100, more or less, according to its size. . . . Most of the\ncottages are literally hand-made. A skilful architect who visited the\nWinterslow cottages felt sure that boards must be used to keep the walls\nstraight, but he was wrong. The chalk is shovelled up and the walls are\nkept straight without line or plummet. No expensive scaffolding or\nmachinery is employed. Yet the walls come out beautifully in the end,\nthe colour being an exquisite soft white. They are about 18 in. thick,\nand the slowness of their construction has one good effect, it gives\nthem time to dry. No point is of more importance than this. It is\nadvisable not to put on any rough-cast, plaster, or paper for at least\ntwelve months, as doing so will prevent the moisture from exuding. One\nor two of the little cottages were slightly damp, but the majority were\nas dry as tinder. The thickness of the walls helps to render the cottage\nmore comfortable, to make it cool in summer and dry in winter.\n\n“One word should be added in regard to soft chalk as a building\nmaterial. Where it can be obtained in the garden at a few inches depth,\nand especially where the cottager is his own architect and builder, it\ncan be most heartily recommended, but there are obvious objections to\nits transportation to districts where it is foreign.\n\n“The village itself is a very homely and irregular one without a single\ndwelling of any pretence. The country lying adjacent to Salisbury Plain\nconsists of broken, sparsely peopled downland, and very ornate or\nfinished cottages would be out of keeping, but they would not look so\nwell copied in a very rich, heavily timbered country.”\n\n\n  RATS AND CHALK\n\n_Note._--Conglomerate chalk is, like cob, vulnerable to the attacks of a\nreally determined rat.\n\nThe outer defences provided by the exterior rendering can be backed up\nby the mixing in of broken glass or sharp flints with the substance of\nthe wall, where such attacks are likely.\n\n  +Marsh Court, Hampshire.+]\n\n  +Brick-and-chalk Vaulting at the Deanery Garden, Sonning+]\n\n\n    [Headnote: Block Chalk]\n\n  BLOCK CHALK\n\n“Chalk” is a term somewhat loosely used to denote the soft white\nlimestone--the “_Creta Scriptoria_”--that is cousin to Marl on one side\nand to Ragstone on the other.\n\nIn its purest form chalk consists of over 95 per cent. of carbonate of\nlime in the form of fine granular particles held together by a\ncalcareous cement, its organic origin being clearly traced in the\nremains of the minute sea creatures with which it abounds.\n\nHewn blocks of chalk have been used for walling and vaulting from\nimmemorial times, and, where not exposed to direct erosion by the\nweather, remain to this day as clean-cut as when they were first\nquarried and a very great deal harder.\n\nThe filling in of the great vaults at Salisbury Cathedral and in the\nBishop’s Palace are of chalk, whilst innumerable lesser buildings of\nmore or less antiquity still remain to us as monuments to the excellence\nand durability of this stone.\n\nChalk, too, was often used in combination with flint or brick to build\nthe engaging chequer-work walls that embellish so many downland\nvillages.\n\nAt Medmenham there are cottages both old and new of hewn rock chalk, and\nboth the Berks and Bucks banks of the Thames have many buildings to show\nof this beautiful material.\n\nAmongst present-day architects Sir Edwin Lutyens was the first to give\nhewn chalk an opportunity of showing its quality in serious\narchitecture, Marsh Court in Hampshire being an instance of more than\nlocal celebrity.\n\nIn the great walls at the Bishop of Winchester’s palace, Farnham Castle\nin Surrey, the old builders appear to have used bricks, limestone and\nchalk proper, according as the several materials were delivered, quite\nindifferently, and with results altogether delightful.\n\nNot all chalk is suitable for building, that near the surface being\noften far gone in decay and much too friable for such a purpose.\n\nEven when apparently sound blocks have been gotten they are not\ninfrequently found to be crossed in all directions by planes of weakness\nalong which they are apt to fall to pieces in the handling.\n\nFrom this cause the “waste” is sometimes considerable.\n\nThe well-known building “stones” from the quarries of Beer, Sutton, and\nTottenhoe in Devonshire are really chalk, but in a form not readily\ndistinguishable from ordinary free-stone.\n\nThe longer that chalk blocks are kept to dry before building-in the\nbetter, and the sun and wind of at least a year should be allowed free\nplay upon them to dry out their natural sap and render them\n“frost-proof.”\n\nDuring the drying-out process the chalk should, if possible, be\nprotected from the rain.\n\nFor years after being built into the walls of a house, chalk will\ncontinue to dry and harden.\n\nBut it is essentially a somewhat porous material, and will quickly\nrevenge itself on those neglecting its just demands for a sound roof and\na proper damp-course.\n\nIn exposed situations new chalk walling is liable to allow the\npenetration of moisture under the pressure of the wind unless a cavity\nis provided or unless the surface is treated with a silicate or other\n“vitrifying” fluid.\n\nChalk, however, has one shining virtue in common with its great\nantithesis--it improves mightily with keeping.\n\nChalk walls sometimes have youthful vices in the way of porosity that\nentirely disappear with advancing years through the closing up of the\nsurface pores, which eventually makes a cavity and inner lining\nsuperfluous.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n_UNBURNED CLAY AND EARTH BRICKS_\n\n\n  SUN-DRIED BRICKS\n\nThe use of sun-dried bricks in this country, is, for no very apparent\nreason, almost entirely restricted to East Anglia. There it has been\nused for generations with entirely satisfactory results.\n\nMr. Skipper of Norwich writes of the material as follows:\n\n   *   *   *\n\n“Who, travelling from Norfolk to London, whether by the Ipswich or\nCambridge line, has not noticed the numerous colour-washed or black\n(tarred) cottage, farmhouse and agricultural buildings scattered\npractically all along the countryside? Some of these are of studwork and\nplaster, some of wattle and daub, but many are built of clay made up\ninto lumps, sun-dried, and built into the walls with a soft clay-mixture\nas mortar. No lime _need_ be used, though sometimes it is mixed with the\nclay mortar. The preparation, digging, exposure and mixing with short\nstraw are similar to the Devonshire ‘cob’ work, but in these parts the\nworked clay is thrown into moulds, and lumps are formed of, say, 18 in.\nby 12 in. by 6 in., or 18 in. by 9 in. by 6 in. for large sizes, and for\ninside walling or backing to brick-faced walls, 18 in. by 6 in. by 6 in.\nThe walls, naturally, are rough in texture and the joints are generally\nstopped up and besmeared with a thin coating or almost a wash of clay.\nThis coating sometimes has lime mixed with it, but it is not necessary.\nThis is all that is needed to complete the walling, and there is a\nbuilding--a malting, that any one can see at Tivetshall Station on the\nIpswich line, about 200 ft. long, 45 ft. or 50 ft. wide and three floors\nhigh, built of lumps 18 in. by 12 in. by 6 in.--that has stood the\nweather and weight of its roof for forty years built in this way; 12 in.\nis the thickness of its walls. A further stage in finish is to give the\nwalls two or three coats of coal tar, but it is not essential, though\ndesirable where stock are kept, as cattle are rather fond of licking the\nclay, and they do not use their horns much when walls are tarred. The\nhighest finish in this work is to cast sand on the last coating of tar\nbefore it is quite dry, and then to colour or whitewash on this. This\naccounts for the variety of colourings seen in these buildings, some\neven of a kind of pink or red; while some yellow or buff, beside the\nwhite and the black or tarred buildings, and all huddled together or\nstanding apart, whether covered with thatch or red pan or flat tiles,\nlook remarkably in harmony with their surroundings. These lump walls\nare, of course, built on a base of brickwork, about 18 in. or 2 ft.\nhigh, to keep them free from damp. This kind of walling can be built for\n_at least_ 15 per cent. or 20 per cent. cheaper than ordinary 9 in.\nbrickwork. Thin as these walls are compared with those of ‘cob’ houses,\nthey are noted for being warm in winter and cool in summer. When\nsuitable clay is procurable a local builder almost invariably uses clay\nlumps when building a house for himself, though to gratify a whim\nperhaps, he will case the outside walls--especially the front next the\nstreet or road--with brickwork. But clay lumps he carefully reserves for\ninside walls and weight-carrying linings to the outside walls, bonding\nthe two together very much in the same way as two 4½ in. ‘cavity walls’\nare bonded. I am not suggesting that this walling is as interesting\nartistically as ‘cob,’ but I do suggest it is a practical, sensible and\n_dry_ walling, and if properly done it will ‘last for ever,’ as a local\nbuilder repeatedly said to me when speaking of it. One can easily see\nwhy the cost is light--the sun and the winds do the drying in the spring\nmonths, and no coals are required, and also the clay is often found on\nthe building site, hence no cartage. Actual building work naturally goes\nquickly, as the lumps are large. There is another important point to\nnotice. One may see a building complete with its roof on and occupied by\nits tenant while still awaiting an outside casing of brickwork to be\nbuilt round it, either with a view to greater protection or for the mere\nvanity of the owner, for while thus left unprotected the lump walls take\nno harm from even winter exposure. Now to be quite practical in these\nextremely practical days, I venture to suggest that the use of clay\nlumps at least for inside walls and linings of outside walls would be an\nimmense boon to the numerous cottage-building schemes now being\nprojected. We must not forget that comparatively few bricks will be\navailable this year, while the cottages are wanted at once. Can these\nfew bricks be better used than by forming foundations and chimneys for\nthe clay-lump walls of these cottages? I think not. The cottages could,\nof course, be occupied in the late summer or autumn of this year, and\nnext year when bricks will be more plentiful perhaps the brick casings\ncould be added, if brickwork _must_ complete them. I make this strictly\nutilitarian suggestion solely to meet a very urgent and deep national\nneed. Personally, I prefer the sight of a cottage built and finished in\nthe old-established method of the locality. Unskilled labour only is\nrequired, working under intelligent supervision, hence immediate\nemployment for a great number of men would be provided.”\n\n    [Headnote: Use for Unskilled Labour]\n\n   *   *   *\n\n  +Once Corn Hall, now Council School.+\n  Built about a hundred years ago. Still in sound condition\n  and quite dry.]\n\n  +A Row of Clay-lump Cottages.+\n  The front has been plastered and panelled out. In the upper part\n  of the stable building, seen in the foreground, the clay-lumps\n  are shown exposed.]\n\n  +Engineering Workshops.+\n  Built twenty years ago. The walls are thoroughly sound, despite\n  constant vibration, and are perfectly dry, except the brick face,\n  which was added for effect.]\n\nThe use of sun-dried bricks for the interior partitions of cob and pisé\ncottages is worth consideration, as the nature of these materials\ndemands a thickness of wall which is too wasteful of space to be\nacceptable in mere partitioning.\n\nOf the strength of clay-lump walls, there is no question. It was\nrecently necessary to cut a new doorway in the old clay-lump wall of a\nlarge traction-engine garage, and the blocks removed were thrown into a\nheap upon the ground.\n\nThe clay happened to be needed for other purposes, for which it had\nfirst to be broken up.\n\nOrdinary hammers proved entirely ineffective, and it was not until heavy\nsledges were used that the lumps could be smashed.\n\nThe tractor-house in question is a large building some 25 ft. by 100\nft., carrying a heavy roof and constantly subjected to vibration by the\ncoming and going of the tractors.\n\nThe walls are only 12 in. thick, without piers or reinforcements of any\nkind, and yet the whole building, which is 26 ft, high at the gables, is\nas perfect to-day as when first erected some twenty years ago.\n\nIn the same town as this tractor-house, East Harling in Norfolk, is a\ncouncil school built of clay lump (converted from the old Corn Hall),\napparently not a pin the worse for a century of hard wear.\n\nNear by there are a number of private houses built of the same material,\nsome of them reputed to be upwards of 200 years old and certain of them\nhaving considerable architectural merit.\n\n\n    [Headnote: “Substantial and Cool”]\n\n(_Extract from “The Farmers’ Handbook,” issued by the Department of\nAgriculture, New South Wales, 1911_)\n\n+“Adobe,” or Sun-dried Bricks+\n\n“As their name implies, these buildings are constructed of sun-dried,\nbut unburnt bricks. For buildings of this character, material like clay,\nwhich is unsuitable for pisé-work, can be used. The bricks are made in a\nwooden mould, and are 16 in. long, 8 in. wide, and 6 in. thick. A man\ncan mould about 100 per day. They are laid in a similar manner to other\nbricks, the mortar used being wet loam, or even the material of which\nthe bricks are made. The cost of making and laying is estimated at about\n15s. per 100. Buildings constructed of these bricks are substantial and\ncool, and very similar in character to pisé buildings.\n\n“A school-house built of these bricks eighteen years ago by Mr. Nixon,\nof Reefton, is still in an excellent state of preservation; in fact,\nlittle, if any, the worse for wear, despite the fact that walls are\nunprotected by verandahs or overhanging eaves. During its existence it\nhas had, first one coat of oil-paint, and later a coat of coloured\nlimewash.”\n\n   *   *   *\n\n“Clay lump,” then, is one of the many good old building methods that\nneeds no proving, but only revival and perhaps improvement.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\n\n  WHITEWASH\n\nWhitewashing has been frequently referred to in the foregoing pages as\nthe most suitable treatment for the exterior of chalk and earth\nbuildings.\n\nThere is, however, a certain prejudice against lime-whiting amongst both\nowners and occupiers, owing to the frequent renewal that its adoption\nusually implies.\n\nWith a view to removing this drawback from a treatment otherwise so\neffective, the following recipes are suggested as improvements on the\nusual practice.\n\nOrdinary whitewash is made by slaking about 10 lbs. of quicklime with\ntwo gallons of water.\n\nThe following recipes are taken from “_White Paints and Painting_”\n(Scott), and are reliable:\n\n(1) “_Factory” Whitewash (interiors), for Walls, Ceilings, Posts, etc._:\n\n  (_a_) 62 lbs. (1 bushel) quicklime, slake with 15 gallons water.\n    Keep barrel covered till steam ceases to arise. Stir occasionally\n    to prevent scorching.\n\n  (_b_) 2½ lbs. rye-flour, beat up in ½ gallon of cold water, then\n    add 2 gallons boiling water.\n\n  (_c_) 2½ lbs. of common rock-salt, dissolve in 2½ gallons of hot\n    water.\n\nMix (_b_) and (_c_), then pour into (_a_), and stir until all is well\nmixed. This is the whitewash used in the large implement factories, and\nrecommended by the insurance companies. The above formula gives a\nproduct of perfect brush consistency.\n\n(2) _“Weatherproof” Whitewash (exteriors), for Buildings, Fences, etc._:\n\n  (_a_) 62 lbs. (1 bushel) quicklime, slake with 12 gallons of hot\n    water.\n\n  (_b_) 2 lbs. common table salt, 1 lb. sulphate of zinc, dissolved\n    in a gallon of boiling water.\n\n  (_c_) 2 gallons skimmed milk.\n\nPour (_b_) into (_a_), then add the milk (_c_), and mix thoroughly.\n\n(3) _“Light House” Whitewash_:\n\n  (_a_) 62 lbs. (1 bushel) quicklime, slake with 12 gallons of\n    hot water.\n\n  (_b_) 12 gallons rock-salt, dissolve in 6 gallons of boiling water.\n\n  (_c_) 6 lbs. of Portland cement.\n\nPour (_b_) into (_a_), and then add (_c_).\n\n   *   *   *\n\n_Note._--Alum added to a lime whitewash prevents it rubbing off. An\nounce to the gallon is sufficient.\n\nFlour paste answers the same purpose, but needs zinc sulphate as a\npreservative.\n\nThe following are from “_1,000 More Paint Questions Answered_”:\n\n(4) _Durable Whitewash for Outside Use._--A whitewash that will not rub\noff or wash off in rainy weather can be made by mixing one half-pint of\nflour to a batter with cold water, then stirring into this boiling water\nuntil it becomes a thick paste.\n\nWhile still hot it is poured into a pailful of ready-made lime whitewash\nand well stirred in.\n\n(5) Another simple method is to add to 2 gallons of ready-made lime\nwhitewash one half-pint each of molasses and table salt. Must be stirred\nfrequently while being used.\n\n_Whitewash for Exterior Surfaces._--A formula for a durable whitewash\nfor out-buildings of rough lumber. The following is reprinted from\n“_Popular Mechanics_”:\n\n(6) Place 1 bushel good fresh lime in a barrel with 20 lbs. beef tallow;\nslake with hot water and cover with sackcloth to keep in steam. When the\nlime is slaked, the tallow will have disappeared, having formed a\nchemical compound with the lime. Dry colours may be added to produce any\ntint desired.[10]\n\n    [Footnote 10: Experiments and tests carried out for the author\n    by the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research place\n    this receipt at the head of the list.]\n\nIt is better to add colour before slaking the lime, but if this is not\nfeasible mix the colour with alcohol and add it to the strained\nwhitewash. Thin to easy flowing consistency with clear water.\n\n    [Headnote: Distempers and Limewashes]\n\n_Cold Water Paint that will stand the Weather._--A formula for making a\nwhite outside coating that will resist the action of the weather and\nremain hard even under the influence of moisture and rain. Experiments\nwith different brands of cold water paints have proved failures.\n\nA really effective cold water paint, in order to resist the elements and\nremain white, should contain a white pigment of good body and some oil\nin addition to the water, and with this purpose in view the following is\nsuggested:\n\n(7) To make 100 lbs. of such paint, mix 10 lbs. white, pure in oil, with\n10 lbs. bolted whiting, 8 lbs. raw linseed oil, 6 lbs. soft soap (made\nwith potash), and 26 lbs. soft water.\n\nOne quart of pale copal varnish will improve the preparation. The\nformula given is of the right consistency to apply on dressed lumber\nwith the brush. For application on rough lumber or with the spraying\nmachine it requires more thinning with water and varnish.\n\nThe following is taken from Pearce’s “_Painting and Decorating_”:\n\n(8) A London recipe for distemper has the following proportions:\n4 “balls” whiting, 2 lbs. Young’s patent size, and sufficient water to\ncover the whiting.\n\n(9) A Scotch distemper is described as: 12 lbs. whiting, size as given\npreviously, 2 ozs. alum, 2 ozs. soft soap. It is very fast, for\npassages, schools, etc. Tinting colours for limewash should be\nrestricted to ochres, umbers, lime blue, lime greens, charcoal or lamp\nblack, and earthy reds (as Venetian).\n\n(10) External limewash for farm buildings, etc., may be made as follows:\nLime, ½ bushel, slaked with 1 gallon of milk and remainder of water,\n1 lb. salt and ½ lb. sulphate of zinc to make it withstand the weather.\n\nExperiments with and practical tests of these and other kinds of\nwhitewash are being carried out, and the author hopes that he may find\nopportunity at some later date of announcing the results obtained.\n\n\n    [Headnote: Local Materials]\n\n  II\n\n  THE IMPORTANCE OF USING LOCAL MATERIALS\n\n  (_Extract from “Country Life,” November 9th, 1918_)\n\n  300,000 COTTAGES WOULD ENTAIL THE TRANSPORT OF 60,000,000 TONS\n  OF MATERIAL\n\nIn carrying out any considerable scheme of house building two\ndifficulties will have to be met. The first arises from the scarcity of\nbuilding material; the other from the cost and difficulty of transport.\nThese, to some extent, can be obviated by the use of local material,\nwhich is to be commended on other grounds as well. Local material fits\ninto the character of the neighbourhood in which it is found and\nmaintains its traditions.\n\nVery few people realise the bulk of materials, and in order to help them\nthe following statement has been prepared to show the materials needed\nfor each cottage and the total for 300,000 cottages:\n\n  Materials.                                        Weight.\n                                         Per One Cottage. Per 300,000.\n                                         Tons. Cwts. Qrs.   (Tons.)\n  Ballast, sand, gravel                       78 17  0     23,655,000\n  Lime                                         5 18  0      1,770,000\n  Cement                                      12  8  0      3,720,000\n  Bricks                                      85  0  0     25,500,000\n  Slates for D.P.C                             0 10  2        157,500\n  Chimney-pots                                 0  0  3         11,250\n  Tiles                                        7  2  2      2,137,500\n  Carcassing timber                            7  0  0      2,100,000\n  Complete joinery timber                      1 12  0        480,000\n  Cast-iron rain-water goods and sundries      0  9  0        135,000\n  Stoves, copper, ash-bin, etc.                0  5  2         82,500\n  Nails, screws, etc.                          0  1  2         22,500\n  Hair for plaster                             0  1  0         15,000\n  Lead flashings, etc.                         0  2  1         33,750\n  Sink, waste pipes, draining boards, etc.     0  2  1         33,750\n  Sanitary goods                               0  1  0         15,000\n  Whitening, distemper and paint               0  3  1         48,750\n                                             ---------     ----------\n      Total                                  199 14  2     59,917,500\n                                             ---------     ----------\n\nIt will be seen that to carry out the scheme for 300,000 cottages a\ntotal of close on 60,000,000 tons of material will have to be shifted.\nIn addition to that, it must be remembered that the cost of material is\nvery small in comparison with that of building. This will be apparent\nfrom an analysis of the items employed for actual cost and the\npercentage which that cost bears to the total cost.\n\nCottages erected 1912 (semi-detached): total interior area of cottage,\n772 ft. super, (parlour, kitchen, scullery and three bedrooms, coal and\nW.C.):\n\n                                                 Per House.\n No.          Item.                   Actual Cost.     Per cent. of\n                                                         Total Cost.\n  1. Sundries                                  8              2·66\n  2. Foundations                              16              5·28\n  3. External and party walls (_a_)           77             25·41\n            Windows and doors (_b_)           23              7·59\n  4. Internal partitions                      36             11·88\n  5. Ground floor                             18              5·94\n  6. Upper floor                              22              7·26\n  7. Roof and rain-water goods                34              1·22\n  8. Chimney and fireplaces                   30              9·90\n  9. Sanitary fittings, water supply and\n         drainage                             19              6·27\n 10. Staircases                               11              3·63\n 11. Fittings                                  6              1·98\n                                            ----\n      Total                                 £300\n\nThese facts help to clarify the problem. The weight of the building\nmaterials required for an ordinary cottage with living-room, parlour,\nscullery, three bedrooms, etc., the house containing cubic contents of\nabout 11,500 ft., would come approximately to 200 tons per cottage; and\neven assuming that there is only an average transport of fifty miles,\nthis would give 10,000 ton-miles per rural cottage, which is taking it\nat a very low average. In each cottage the weight of the brickwork\nrepresents about 42 per cent. of the total weight. It is, therefore,\napparent that every effort should be made to lessen the transit of\nmaterials required for the external walling. If, on the other hand,\nlocal materials are employed, this carriage would be saved and a great\neconomy effected. Even if this utilitarian consideration were not so\nimportant as it is, the desirability of making all possible use of local\nmaterials is very great from other points of view. It would stimulate\nlocal interest in building and, in addition to retaining the traditions\nof the district, give greater hope of retaining and maintaining the\nproper architectural aspect of our villages.\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to summarise the advantages that may fairly be\nexpected to flow from this endeavour to make a real start at finding a\nsolution for the housing difficulty. First and foremost must be placed\nthe saving in transport. A casual reader may easily imagine that the\ndifficulties of carriage will vanish with the end of the war, but that\nis not so in reality. Any one who has travelled in France must have\nnoticed engines bearing such names as Liverpool Street, King’s Cross,\nEuston, Birmingham, and so on. The meaning of that is that a great deal\nof our rolling stock was sent over to France, and at the best will not\nbe available here for a long time to come. Even the ordinary work of\nupkeep and repair has necessarily been neglected owing to the scarcity\nof men and other causes incidental to war-time. Transport difficulties\nare bound to last for a very considerable period after the peace\nsettlement, and it would not be at all advisable to delay the\nconstruction of houses so long. The returned soldiers will make us\nvividly conscious of the shortage. Nothing could be imagined more likely\nto make them look for chances of going abroad than to learn that there\nis not sufficient housing accommodation for them in the village in which\nthey lived before the war, and to which they hoped to return on its\nconclusion.\n\n\n    [Headnote: Cost per Foot Cube]\n\n\n  EXTRACT FROM A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF _COUNTRY LIFE_,\n  JULY 27th, 1918\n\n“Shortly before the war I had occasion to demolish some very old\ncottages at Clovelly for the reconstruction of the New Inn. I was so\nmuch struck with the stability of these (although by no means\nfirst-class samples of cob work) that I collected some facts and notes\non the subject from different parts of the county of Devon. Where\nbye-laws have been adopted, cob is no longer being used. It is\ndifficult, therefore, to give an accurate comparison of costs, but after\ncareful investigation I did arrive at the following results for North\nDevon and Scotland. The prices were in 1913, and in both cases for a\nfive-roomed cottage (assuming four to be built at the same time,\nincluding internal water supply, but omitting any special work necessary\nto procure supply, and omitting fencing).\n\n                    Cost per foot cube    Cost per foot cube\n                    cob at 2 ft. 6 in.    11 in. hollow brick.\n                    thick.\n  North Devon         6½d.                  5⅞d.\n  Scotland            6d.                   6d.\n\nThese prices assumed suitable material on or near site, and allowed\nsomething for the difficulty of getting at least one experienced\ncob-worker to instruct the unskilled men. Since 1913 the cost of brick\nhas risen so much that cob would now be much cheaper, probably as much\nas 1d. or 1¼d. foot cube in both cases, and this is likely to be the\ncase for many years. Suitable material exists in many parts of the\ncountry. If reed straw cannot be had, other reinforcements can be used.\nI have seen various materials in use, of which heather was perhaps the\nbest and most easily procured. I can endorse from experience the comfort\nof these old buildings, and the affection of Devon people for them. The\nthick walls give all that a house should--protection from heat in summer\nand cold in winter. For the contrast, visit the new Garden City at\nRosyth. Many of the houses are attractive, but their thin brick walls,\ntile and slate hanging are not suitable to the north and east coasts.\nAsk the opinion of the occupants of these new houses. Many of them are\nDevon born and bred, and imported from the dockyards of the three towns.\nThey nearly all complain of the cold, and their views form an\ninteresting comment on modern construction.”\n\n\n  IV\n\n  PISÉ TESTS\n\n  (_With acknowledgements to “The Spectator”_)\n\nThrough the courtesy of Messrs. Alban Richards & Co. we are able to\npublish the results of certain very instructive tests that have been\ncarried out on Pisé during the past winter. Messrs. Richard’s experience\nand Report bring out two points with especial clearness, (1) That Pisé\nwork, though not impossible under winter conditions, is not ordinarily\ndesirable unless some means of artificially drying the earth be resorted\nto. (2) That the strength of Pisé increases with surprising rapidity as\nthe work dries out. It should be remarked that none of the samples\ntested were made from really good Pisé soil, such for instance as the\nred marls or brick earths. With such materials or anything approaching\nthem, the results would have been even better, as the Report points\nout:--\n\n“In conjunction with Mr. Williams-Ellis, we have made certain tests with\na view to satisfying ourselves as to the practicability of _pisé de\nterre_ for house construction. In order to obtain what we might term the\nminimum or ‘worst’ tests, we decided to erect walls for this purpose in\nthe winter. This we have done for the last three months, which has been\na very wet period, and the following is a short description of the tests\nwe have made:--\n\n  “1. Two walls were erected measuring 14 ft. long, 9 ft. high and 18\n  in. thick, spaced 20 ft. apart, with short return ends to each wall.\n  Wall plates were placed centrally along the top of each wall, on\n  which were placed 9 in. by 3 in. wood joists, at 16 in. centres,\n  across the 20 ft span. In order to obtain the minimum results we\n  allowed the shutters to remain until the test was ready to be\n  applied, so that walls did not have an opportunity of drying or\n  hardening. This condition was thought necessary, as it is quite\n  reasonable to expect that if _pisé de terre_ cottages are erected,\n  considerable weight might be placed on the walls immediately the\n  shuttering is struck. We then proceeded to test the walls to\n  destruction. The floor space provided for by the joists referred to\n  above measure 220 super. feet, the load was then applied gradually.\n  The load applied totalled 16½ tons, which is equivalent of 168 lbs.\n  per super. foot of floor space, under which the wall collapsed,\n  which, in our opinion, provides a factor of safety of three to the\n  normal load which a cottage floor would have to bear.\n\n“We are convinced that very much better results can be obtained in this\nmethod of construction with walls which were first dried before the load\nwas applied. Further experiments are to be made to procure further data\non this subject. In addition to the above tests, we have submitted to\nthe National Physical Laboratory, blocks made of _pisé de terre_, from\npoor to medium soil, for testing purposes, and the following are the\nresults which have been obtained:--\n\n“The following Report shows results of Tests made by the National\nPhysical Laboratory.\n\n\n    [Headnote: Pisé Tests]\n\n  “REPORT ON TESTS OF BUILDING BLOCKS OF PISÉ DE TERRE SENT FOR TEST\n  BY MESSRS. W. ALBAN RICHARDS & CO., LTD.\n\n“_Tests made on January 14, 1920._\n\n“First set of three blocks sent in November 1919.\n\n“These blocks were composed of a fine gravel containing very few and\nvery small stones. The material was said to be similar to that used at\nMerrow Down, near Guildford, Surrey. It appeared to be very similar to\nFarnham gravel.\n\n“The blocks were tested in compression, one within twenty-four hours of\narrival at the laboratory, and the others after drying for a time in the\nlaboratory. For results of tests see Table I.\n\n  TABLE I\n\n  ----+------+--------------+----+----+-------+-----+-------+----------\n      |      |              |    |    |       |   LOAD.     |\n      |      |              |Age |Area|Density+-----+-------+\n      |      |              | in | in | lbs.  |     |in tons|\n      |      | Dimensions   |days|sq. | per   | in  |  per  |\n  No. |Marks.|  in inches.  | *  |ft. |c. ft. |tons |sq. ft.| REMARKS.\n  ----+------+--------------+----+----+-------+-----+-------+----------\n  UT1 |  3   |    9×9×9     | 1  |·562| 131   |0·70 |  1·66 |Cracked\n      |      |              |    |    |       |1·04 |  2·47 |Collapsed\n      |      |              |    |    |       |     |       |\n  UT2 |  1   | 8·9×8·9×8·9  | 9  |·550| 125   |4·27 | 10·50 |Collapsed\n      |      |              |    |    |       |     |       |\n  UT3 |  2   |8·95×8·95×8·95|16  |·556| 117   |2·31 |  5·57 |Small\n      |      |              |    |    |       |4·23 | 10·20 | cracks\n      |      |              |    |    |       |     |       | appeared\n  ----+------+--------------+----+----+-------+-----+-------+----------\n\n    [*: Age after arrival at laboratory.]\n\n“Second set of blocks sent in December 1919.\n\n“This set consisted of six blocks in three pairs, each pair having been\nrammed with a different quantity of water.\n\n“One of each pair was tested within twenty-four hours of arrival at the\nlaboratory, and the others after drying in the laboratory for twenty-six\ndays.\n\n“The material used was not homogeneous, and the mixture consisted of a\nvery clayey loam, a fibrous loam, sand and large stones. The clayey\nmaterial gave rise to surface cracks as the blocks dried.\n\n“For results of tests see Table II.\n\n  TABLE II\n\n  ----+------+------------+----+----+-------+-----+-------+----------\n      |      |            |    |    |       |   LOAD.     |\n      |      |            |Age |Area|Density+-----+-------+\n      |      |            | in | in | lbs.  |     |in tons|\n      |      |Dimensions  |days|sq. | per   | in  |  per  |\n  No. |Marks.| in inches. | *  |ft. |c. ft. |tons |sq. ft.| REMARKS.\n  ----+------+------------+----+----+-------+-----+-------+----------\n  VW1 |  1   | 8·9×9×8·5  | 1  |·555| 106   |0·45 |0·81   |Cracked at\n      | dry  |            |    |    |       |     |       | one corner\n      |      |            |    |    |       |0·51 |0·92   |Collapsed\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       |\n  VW2 |  2   |   9×9×9    |26  |·562| 105   |2·15 |3·84   |Collapsed.\n      | dry  |            |    |    |       |     |       | Material\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       | quite dry\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       | in interior\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       |\n  VW3 |  3   |9·1×9·1×8·9 | 1  |·570| 134   |0·55 |0·96   |Collapsed\n      | wet  |            |    |    |       |     |       |\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       |\n  VW4 |  4   |8·8×8·8×8·9 |26  |·546| 110   |3·20 |5·86   |Collapsed.\n      | wet  |            |    |    |       |     |       | Material\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       | quite dry\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       | in interior\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       |\n  VW5 |  5   |  9×8·9×9   | 1  |·558| 126   |0·60 |1·08   |Bulged and\n      |medium|            |    |    |       |     |       | cracked\n      |      |            |    |    |       |0·69 |1·24   |Collapsed\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       |\n  VW6 |  6   | 8·8×8·8×7  |26  |·546| 109   |3·33 |6·10   |Collapsed.\n      |medium|            |    |    |       |     |       | Material\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       | slightly\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       | damp in\n      |      |            |    |    |       |     |       | the interior\n  ----+------+------------+----+----+-------+-----+-------+----------\n\n    [*: Age after arrival at laboratory.]\n\n    Seal of\n  NATIONAL PHYSICAL LABORATORY _Signature of Director_\n\n“From the second set of blocks it would appear that it is better to ram\nwith too much moisture than with too little. It will be noted that the\ndensity of the wet block was 30 per cent. more than that of the dry\nblock, so that a wall could be carried higher with the dry material than\nwith the wet, although such a wall would never gain the strength which a\nwet one would upon drying.\n\n\n  CONCLUSIONS\n\n“We are of opinion, having regard to the fact that the house at Newlands\nCorner (Guildford four miles) has weathered the winter, without showing\nany signs of dampness, that _pisé de terre_ will make a thoroughly dry\nhouse.\n\n“We consider that the tests made are satisfactory, and prove that this\nform of construction is of a sufficiently sound nature to be employed in\nthe building of houses. With really suitable material, such as a light\nbrick-earth or marl, it is considered that the results already obtained\nmight well be 100 per cent. better.”\n\nWe are informed that additional tests are now proceeding with regard to\nthe water-proof and weather-resisting qualities of Pisé, the results of\nwhich will be duly published.\n\n\n\n\n_INDEX_\n\n\nINTRODUCTION:\n\n  Chalk walls, 18\n  Cheap materials, the search for, 13\n  Pisé de craie, 16, 17, 107\n  Pisé, experiments with, 15\n    in moulds, 19, 20\n    in South Africa, 22, 23\n  Pliny on Pisé de terre, 25\n  Rammed chalk, 16, 17, 107\n\nGENERAL SURVEY:\n\n  Building materials, shortage of, 26\n  “Ersatz” products introduced during the War, 26\n  House famine, the, 27\n  Local materials, use of, to avoid transport, 29\n  Lutyens, Sir Edwin, and Mr. Alban Scott, cottage by, 30\n  Rural housing, suitability of cob and pisé for, 28\n\nI--COB:\n\n  Allen, Mr. C. B., his reference to Devon cob, quoted, 47\n  Baring-Gould, Rev. S., on cob, quoted, 47\n  Beauty of cob, 35\n  Bernard, Mr. Charles, his account of Sir Walter Raleigh’s cob house,\n      45, 46\n  _Book of the West, The_, by Rev. S. Baring-Gould, reference to cob\n      in, quoted, 47\n  Building, 37, 38, 39\n  Carpentry and joinery, 41, 42\n  Chimneys, 44\n  Cob tradition, 52\n  Composition, 36\n  Cost, 35, 50\n  _Cottage-Building_, reference to cob in, quoted, 47\n  _Country Life_, letter to, relating to cob work, quoted, 115, 116\n  Design, 44, 45\n  Devon cob, 47\n  Drying, 39\n  Elizabethan cob houses still existing, 34\n  Former conditions returned, 52\n  Foundations and base, 40; result of bad, 34\n  Fruit walls, of cob, 47, 48\n  Fulford, Mr., of Great Fulford, on cob, 50-52\n  Gimson, Mr., his description of building cob, quoted, 35\n  Hayes Barton, Sir Walter Raleigh’s house at, 45, 46\n  Hipped roofs, 41\n  Joinery, 41, 42, 43\n  Masonry and carpentry, 41, 42\n  Method of building, 36-45\n  Mixing, 37\n  Northcote, Lady Rosalind, her description of Sir Walter Raleigh’s\n      house, 46\n  Primitive methods, 47\n  Protection, 43\n  Protective wash, 51\n  Raleigh, Sir Walter, his cob house at Hayes Barton, 45, 46\n  Rats, 44\n  Reed thatch, 46\n  Rendering, 51\n  Roofing, 51\n  Shuttering, 51\n  Strength, 44\n  Thickness of walls, 40\n  Traditional building material in Devon and Wessex, 33\n  Training of ex-soldiers, 52\n\n  II--PISÉ:\n\n  Bolts, 86\n  Bonders, 69\n  Building procedure, 71, 72, 74, 75\n  Capabilities, 57, 58\n  Corners, 68\n  _Cyclopædia, or Universal Dictionary of Arts, Sciences, and\n      Literature_, on pisé, quoted, 59-71\n  Damp-course, 86\n  Definition of Pisé de terre, 57, 59\n  Durability, 82\n  _Earthwork, A Manual on_, quoted, 73-76\n  Empandeni, pisé work executed at, 78, 79, 80\n  Excavation, 86\n  Etah Jail, pisé work executed at, 76, 77, 78\n  Fillet, 87\n  Floating, 86\n  Foundations, 74\n  Frames, 87\n  France, introduction of pisé into, 57\n  Gorffon, Monsieur, reference to his treatise on pisé, 57\n  History, 57\n  Indian and Colonial practice, 73-88\n  Introduced into France by the Romans, 57\n  _Journal de Physique_, by the Abbé Rozier, quoted, 58\n  Lintels, 87\n  Locale, 58\n  Method of building, 58-62\n  Method of working, 60, 61, 62\n  New South Wales, pisé work in, 81-88\n  Origin, 58\n  Picture-rail, 87\n  Plant required, 85, 89, 90\n  Plastering, 75\n  Pliny, references to his account of pisé, 25, 57\n  Plugs, 86, 87\n  Protection, 75\n  Rain, 67\n  Rammer, the, 59, 60\n  Ramming, 62, 76\n  Rate of work, 63\n  Rendering, 70\n  Rods _versus_ bars, 75, 76\n  Rozier, the Abbé, his _Journal de Physique_, quoted, 58\n  Shuttering, 59, 88, 89\n  Shutter ties, 73\n  Skirting, 87\n  Soil blending, 64\n    preparation of, 66, 67\n    suitable, 63, 74, 86\n    tests, 63\n    to ascertain quality of, 65\n  Speed of building, 70\n  Stability, 82\n  Strength, 69\n  Studding, 87, 88\n  Theory and science of pisé, the, 62-73\n  Ventilators, 86\n  Virtues of pisé, 72\n  Wire netting, use of, 87, 88\n\nIII--CHALK:\n\n  Block chalk, 117, 118\n  Chalk compost, historical, 107\n    composition and uses, 108, 109\n  Chalk conglomerate, 114\n  Chimneys, 110\n  External rendering, 110\n  Frost, 109\n  Garden walls, 111\n  House walls, 112\n  Old and modern examples, 112-115\n  Rats and chalk, 116\n  Rendering, 110\n  Repairs, 110\n  Roof, 111\n  Strength, 110\n  Timber, 109\n  Winterslow cottages, the, 115, 116\n\nIV--UNBURNED CLAY AND EARTH BRICKS:\n\n  “Adobe,” use of, in New South Wales, 124\n  Age of clay-lump buildings, 124\n  East Anglia, use of sun-dried bricks in, 121\n  Method of making, 121\n  New South Wales, use of sun-dried bricks in, 124\n  Skipper, Mr., on sun-dried bricks, quoted, 121\n  Strength of clay-lump walls, 124\n  Thickness of clay-lump walls, 122-124\n\nAPPENDIX:\n\n  Cold-water paint, recipe for, 129\n  Cost, an analysis of building, 131\n  _Country Life_, letter to, relating to cob work, quoted, 132, 133\n  Distempers, recipes for, 129\n  Local materials, importance of using, 130, 131\n  Weight of building materials, table of, 130\n  Whitewash, recipes for, 127, 128\n\n\n\n\n  Printed by\n  Hazell, Watson and Viney, Ld.,\n  London and Aylesbury.\n\n\n  Recent Additions to the\n  “COUNTRY LIFE LIBRARY.”\n\n\n+The “Country Life” Book of Cottages.+\n\nBy LAWRENCE WEAVER. 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I. and III., containing 500 matchless illustrations,\nlarge folio, handsomely bound, each 52/6 net.\n\n  “A veritable revelation of the wealth of internal adornments,\n  architectural and other, contained in the great country mansions of\n  England. To turn over the pages is to obtain keen pleasure, as well\n  as enlightenment, concerning a treasury of domestic art and\n  archæology, which to a large extent is kept closed from the common\n  eye.” --_Scotsman_.\n\n\n+Gardens Old and New.+\n\nEdited by H. AVRAY TIPPING, M.A., F.S.A. Vols. I. and III., beautifully\nillustrated, each 52/6 net. These volumes illustrate the relationship\nbetween house and garden in a way never before attempted.\n\n  “The principle conveyed in the letterpress is that held by all great\n  gardeners and architects--that house and garden are, or should be,\n  intimately associated, and that the character of the possessors\n  should be reflected in both. The accounts of lovely garden after\n  lovely garden are most agreeable reading.” --_Daily Chronicle_.\n\n\n+Twenty-Five Great Houses of France.+\n\nBy SIR THEODORE ANDREA COOK, M.A., F.S.A., with an Introductory Chapter,\noutlining the Development of French Domestic Architecture, by W. H.\nWARD, M.A., F.S.A., F.R.I.B.A., and illustrations by FREDERICK H. EVANS.\nLarge folio, containing over 400 superb illustrations, plans and\ndiagrams. Half-bound in buckram, 52/6 net; in half morocco, 60/6 net;\npostage 1/- extra.\n\n  “The Publishers of COUNTRY LIFE have touched few subjects that they\n  have not adorned, but here they have surpassed themselves. It is\n  seldom that we have seen so rich and communicative photographs of\n  great architecture.” --_Daily News_.\n\n  “A book which will prove a source of endless delight to lovers of\n  architecture.” --_Glasgow Herald_.\n\n\n+Garden Ornament.+\n\nBy GERTRUDE JEKYLL, with over 500 wonderful illustrations. Large folio,\ngilt edges, 63/- net; postage 1/- extra.\n\n  “Miss Jekyll’s collection in this noble folio is a storehouse of\n  examples, styles and method in the decoration of gardens,\n  a compendium of the history and taste in English Horticulture and\n  a revelation of the treasures of beauty which our country holds.”\n  --_Times_.\n\n\n+Windsor Castle.+\n\nAn Architectural History. Collected and written by command of Their\nMajesties QUEEN VICTORIA, KING EDWARD VII. and King GEORGE V. By SIR\nWILLIAM H. ST. JOHN HOPE, Litt.D., D.C.L. Imperial quarto, in Two\nVolumes, and a Portfolio. Bound in half sheepskin, £7 17s. 6d. net;\nwhole sheepskin, £10 10s. net; full morocco, £13 2s. 6d. Carriage extra.\n\n\nIllustrated prospectuses of these invaluable books and a complete\ncatalogue will be sent post free on application to the Manager, COUNTRY\nLIFE, LTD., 20, Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, W.C.2.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber’s Notes:\n\nPliny, _Natural History_, Bk. XXXV, chapter xlviii, quoted at end of\nIntroduction:\n\n  “_Have we not in Africa and in Spain ... erected by Hannibal._”\n\nThe standard numbering of this passage is XXXV.lxi. With punctuation and\ncapitalization adjusted by transcriber to match translation:\n\n  Quid non in Africa Hispaniaque e terra parietes, quos appellant\n  ‘formaceos’, quoniam in forma circumdatis ii utrimque tabulis\n  inferciuntur verius quam struuntur? Aevis durant, incorrupti\n  imbribus, ventis, ignibus omnique caemento firmiores. Spectat etiam\n  nunc speculas Hannibalis Hispania terrenasque turres iugis montium\n  inpositas.\n\n\nIllustration reproduced from 1819 Encyclopædia:\n\nImmediately below the picture is the almost illegible text:\n\n  J. F. delin. / Lowry / Published as the Act directs 1817\n  by Longman Hurst Rees, Orme & Brown Paternoster Row.\n\n\nErrors and Inconsistencies (noted by transcriber):\n\n  [Headnotes]\n  Pisé--a South African Lead\n  The Discovery of the Old\n    [_these two notes were transposed to fit the text_]\n\n  [Illustration: / +The Newlands Waggon-house.+ / Interior.]\n    [final . missing]\n  force of the south-westerly storms.”  [single for double quote]\n  This requires no hair, and is easily applied.”  [close quote missing]\n  have always been found perfectly sound  [“prefectly”]\n  “Strangers who have sailed upon the Rhône  [open quote missing]\n  “There is every reason for introducing  [open quote missing]\n  “Pisé is a material readily obtainable  [single for double quote]\n  merely improvements of mechanism.  [. missing]\n  the misguided enthusiasts responsible\n    [line-end hyphen in “mis-/guided” invisible]\n  it is generally bonded in in the ordinary way  [not an error]\n  Chapter III. _CHALK_ / § I. GENERAL\n    [there are no sections II, III...]\n  fixed to wood blocks built in in a similar way  [not an error]\n  [*: Age after arrival at laboratory.]\n    [duplicate footnote added by transcriber:\n    tables were printed on a single page]", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32048", "title": "Cottage Building in Cob, Pisé, Chalk and Clay: A Renaissance (2nd edition)", "author": "", "publication_year": 1920, "metadata_title": "Cottage Building in Cob, Pisé, Chalk and Clay: A Renaissance (2nd edition)", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:20.891721", "source_chars": 234206, "chars": 234206, "talkie_tokens": 56858}}
{"text": "Produced by Jeannie Howse and The Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Transcriber's Note:                                       |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |\n    | been preserved.                                           |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |\n    | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n\n    ON THE RIGHT\n    OF THE BRITISH LINE\n\n\n\n\n    [Illustration: Captain Gilbert Nobbs.\n    _From a photograph by Aylett._]\n\n\n\n\n    ON THE RIGHT\n    OF THE BRITISH LINE\n\n\n    BY\n    CAPTAIN GILBERT NOBBS\n    (LATE L.R.B.)\n\n\n    NEW YORK\n    CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS\n    1917\n\n\n\n\n    COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY\n    CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS\n\n    Published September, 1917\n\n\n\n\n                  BESIDES THE MAN WHO FIGHTS\n              THERE IS THE WOMAN WHO WAITS, AND\n           IN HUMBLE TRIBUTE TO HER SILENT HEROISM\n                     I DEDICATE THIS BOOK\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis is my first book. It is also my last. But I have a record to make\nand a duty to perform. I was five weeks on the firing line; four weeks\nmourned as dead; and three months a prisoner of war.\n\nI have attempted to make a true record of all that happened. The names\nalone are fictitious (all except that of Saniez), for those days were\ntoo full of stirring events which will long live in my memory to need\nthe aid of fiction. If I have dwelt at some length upon my experience\nin Germany, it is with the hope that the information may be of\ninterest to those who have relatives and friends still in the hands of\nthe enemy and burn to know the truth.\n\nI do not deplore the loss of my sight, for I can say in all sincerity\nthat I was never happier in my life than I am to-day.\n\n                                                             G.N.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                                         PAGE\n\n      I. FOVANT                                                      1\n         ORDERLY ROOM. OFF TO THE FRONT.\n\n     II. THE SILENT HEROES                                           6\n         THE WOMAN WHO WAITS--AND SUFFERS IN SILENCE.\n\n    III. DEPARTURE FOR THE FRONT                                     9\n         WATERLOO STATION. LUNCHEON ARGUMENTS. THE BAGGAGE\n         PROBLEM.\n\n     IV. CROSSING THE CHANNEL                                       15\n         THE DOCK PORTER. A WHIFF OF BOND STREET.\n\n      V. GOING UP THE LINE                                          24\n         PERFIDIOUS GANG-PLANKS. D'ARCY STRANDED. GUIDES WHO\n         CANNOT GUIDE. A HEATED ARGUMENT.\n\n     VI. RATIONS                                                    33\n         I LEARN TO HATE FOOD. MATHEMATICAL PROBLEMS.\n\n    VII. ST. AMAND                                                  37\n         I REPORT AT HEADQUARTERS. THE PROBLEM OF\n         VENTILATION.\n\n   VIII. EARLY IMPRESSIONS                                          41\n         BILLETS. A STARTLING INCIDENT. REST CAMP.\n\n     IX. DEPARTURE FOR THE SOMME                                    48\n         CORBIE. HAPPY VALLEY. PASSING THROUGH THE GUNS.\n\n      X. ARRIVAL ON THE SOMME                                       57\n         FEEDING THE GUNS. SEPTIMUS D'ARCY ARRIVES. A CURIOUS\n         KIT.\n\n     XI. DEATH VALLEY                                               66\n         MOVING OVER BATTLE-FIELDS. ---- BATTALION, LONDON\n         REGIMENT, IN POSSESSION. THE MYSTERY TRENCH.\n         FALFEMONT FARM.\n\n    XII. OUT IN NO MAN'S LAND                                       71\n         SUDDEN ORDERS. THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT ADVENTURE.\n         DIGGING IN.\n\n   XIII. A NIGHT OF ALARM                                           82\n         SEPTIMUS IN A NEW RÔLE. SAVING THE AMMUNITION. THE\n         LAST CARTRIDGE.\n\n    XIV. NEXT MORNING                                               87\n         A COUNCIL OF WAR. OPERATION ORDERS. A BITTER\n         DISAPPOINTMENT.\n\n     XV. THE ADVANCE THROUGH LEUZE WOOD                             91\n         NEW OPERATION ORDERS. \"AT ANY COST.\" LIKE RATS IN\n         A TRAP.\n\n    XVI. THE ATTACK                                                101\n         A DESPERATE SITUATION. BATTLE FORMATION. \"FOR\n         ENGLAND.\"\n\n   XVII. AT ANY COST                                               110\n         OVER THE TOP. MAD, FIGHTING MAD. THE FINAL ASSAULT.\n\n  XVIII. LEFT ON THE FIELD                                         116\n         THE MYSTERY OF DEATH. THE SECRET CODE. TWO TERRIBLE\n         DAYS.\n\n    XIX. THE JAWS OF DEATH                                         123\n         LONELINESS, DARKNESS, AND SILENCE. A LAST EFFORT. I\n         PREPARE FOR DEATH.\n\n     XX. AT THE MERCY OF THE HUN--AND AFTER                        130\n         A BASIN OF SOUP. HOSPITAL AT ST. QUENTIN. THE \"OPEN\n         SESAME.\"\n\n    XXI. ALIVE                                                     143\n\n   XXII. BLINDNESS                                                 147\n\n  XXIII. THE WOMAN WHO WAITS                                       151\n         THE TELEGRAPH BOY'S RAT-TAT. KILLED IN ACTION. WEEKS\n         OF MOURNING.\n\n   XXIV. WARD 43, RESERVE LAZARETTE 5, HANOVER                     156\n         OCCUPANTS OF THE WARD. CHIVALRY OF THE AIR.\n\n    XXV. SANIEZ                                                    160\n\n   XXVI. LIFE IN HANOVER HOSPITAL                                  166\n         HOSPITAL DIET. INTERVIEWED BY A GERMAN DOCTOR.\n         DISCHARGED FROM HOSPITAL.\n\n  XXVII. OBSERVATIONS AND IMPRESSIONS                              176\n         EMPLOYMENT OF PRISONERS. PARCELS. MEN OF MONS.\n\n XXVIII. STORIES OF THE HEROES OF MONS                             187\n\n   XXIX. OSNABRUCK                                                 199\n         ARRIVAL IN CAMP. THE CANTEEN. DAILY ROUTINE. RATIONS.\n         PARCELS. NEWS.\n\n    XXX. COMEDY AND DRAMA                                          215\n         I SALUTE THE WALL. THE STORY OF AN EGG. A NOVEL\n         BANQUET. JOY RIDE ON A LORRY. THE SWISS COMMISSION.\n\n   XXXI. FREE                                                      227\n         I BLUFF THE GERMAN SERGEANT. AACHEN. TWO BOTTLES OF\n         WINE. ACROSS THE FRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED\n         FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES.\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  Captain Gilbert Nobbs                                   Frontispiece\n\n  Captain Nobbs after his release from the German\n  prison                                               Facing page 164\n\n\n\n\n    ON THE RIGHT\n    OF THE BRITISH LINE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nFOVANT\n\nORDERLY ROOM. OFF TO THE FRONT\n\n\n\"The C.O. wants to see you.\"\n\n\"What for?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know, but he is in the orderly room.\"\n\nIt was the adjutant who was speaking, and his manner led me to think\nthere was something in the wind which he did not like to tell me. I\nleft the mess, and a few moments later I was standing before the C.O.\n\n\"I have just received a telegram from the War Office; you are included\nin the next reinforcements for France.\"\n\n\"I am glad, sir.\"\n\n\"You've only forty-eight hours' notice. You are to report at\nSouthampton at 4. P.M. the day after to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, as your time is so short, you had better go home and get things\nready. The adjutant will have your papers ready for you within half\nan hour.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir.\"\n\nThe C.O. stood up, and in his cordial military manner, which seemed to\ntake you straight from the orderly room into the mess, held out his\nhand to bid me good-bye.\n\nThere is quite a difference between a C.O. in the orderly room and a\nC.O. in the mess. I mean those C.O.'s who are made of the right stuff,\nand our C.O. was certainly one of them.\n\nIn the orderly room his presence keeps you at arm's length and makes\nyou feel that you want to keep clicking your heels and coming to the\nsalute. You are conscious of the terrible crime you would commit if\nyou permitted your body to relax from the position of attention; your\nconversational powers are restricted; you fancy you have a voice at\nthe back of your head, saying:\n\n\"Don't argue, listen; digest, and get out.\"\n\nIt's a feeling which does not make the orderly room a very pleasant\nplace to go to; yet you have an instinctive feeling of confidence.\n\nThe same C.O. in the mess, however, is a different man and creates\nquite a different atmosphere. In the orderly room he holds you from\nhim; in the mess he pulls you to him. You have the feeling that you\ncan sit in an armchair, with your feet on the coal-box, and talk to\nhim round the corner of your newspaper, like the very ordinary human\nbeing he really is.\n\n\"Well, good-bye, and good luck.\" We shook hands, I came to the salute,\nand the next moment I found myself once more outside the orderly room\ndoor.\n\nHave you ever experienced the feeling? Yes, thousands have, for the\ndespatch of reinforcing officers to the front in this abrupt manner\nwas taking place daily throughout the empire. You remember the feeling\nquite well; amazement at its suddenness; eagerness for the adventure;\nthe prospect of the home parting; the sudden change in the daily\nroutine; the mystery of the future--all swirling through your brain in\na jumble of thoughts.\n\nThen the hasty despatch of telegrams, the examination of time-tables,\nand the feverish packing of a kit which has grown to enormous\nproportions and hopelessly defies the regulations for weight.\n\nAn hour later and I had made a quick sale of my bicycle, distributed\nodds and ends of hut furniture which I should no longer need, and was\nsitting in a motor-car, outside the mess, grabbing at hands which were\noutstretched in farewell.\n\nThose who lived in camp at Fovant can remember what an uninteresting,\ndreary place it seemed at the time, and how we cursed its monotony.\nRows upon rows of uninteresting and uninviting looking huts; the\nlarge, barren square; the heart-breaking trudge to the station; the\nlittle village with the military policeman, who stood at the fork of\nthe roads, and whose job seemed so easy, while ours seemed so hard;\nand who always seemed so clean and cool, while we seemed so hot and\ndusty.\n\nThe city of Salisbury, our one ray of hope, but which was too far to\nwalk to, and too expensive to ride to--all these things we used to\nlook upon as sufferings which had to be put up with. But we can look\nupon the picture now, and there are few of us who can do so without a\nfeeling of affection, for there was a spirit of comradeship there\nwhich links up the dreariness into pleasant recollections.\n\nNow that I have been through the mill I can look back at that parting\nscene, and as the car whirls away and my brother officers walk back\ninto the mess, I fancy I can hear the comment of those who had not yet\nbeen out and those who had:\n\n\"Lucky brute.\"\n\n\"Poor devil!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE SILENT HEROES\n\nTHE WOMAN WHO WAITS--AND SUFFERS IN SILENCE\n\n\nI was soon comfortably settled in a first-class compartment and\nwhirling towards Waterloo, with the worst ordeal of all still before\nme: the breaking of the news at home and the parting while the shock\nis still fresh.\n\nWho are the true heroes of the war?\n\nOur fighting men are cheered in the streets; every newspaper and\nmagazine sings their praise; every shop-window reflects their needs;\nin theatre, pulpit, and workshop their praises are sung.\n\nBut are they the real heroes of the war?\n\nAsk the fighting man himself. Speak to him of his wife or mother, and\nthe expression on his face will answer your question.\n\nThere is no one to sing her praise, no one to paint the picture of her\ndeeds; no one to tell of that lonely feeling when her hero departs and\nthe door is closed behind him.\n\nThe fighting man looks upon his share of the war with a light heart.\nEvents come too rapidly upon him to feel depressed. He does not feel\nthe gnawing hunger of the lonely wait; the emptiness of the world when\nthe parting is over; the empty chair at the table, and the rooms made\ncheerless by his absence.\n\nThere is no one to describe the terrors of the morning casualty list;\nthe hourly expectation and frozen fear of the telegraph boy's \"rat\ntat,\" bringing some dreadful news.\n\nThere are no crowds to cheer her; no flags or trumpets to rouse her\nenthusiasm and occupy her thoughts. No constant activity, thrilling\nexcitement, desperate encounter.\n\nHers is a silent patriotism. She is the true hero of the war. And in\nhundreds of thousands of homes throughout the empire, her silent\ndeeds, her wonderful fortitude, are making the womanhood of Britain a\nhistory which medals will not reward, nor scars display.\n\nThe fighting men know it, and when you cheer them, they know that\nthere is still one at home who deserves your cheers, yet will not hear\nthem; and who will seek no greater reward than the safe return of her\nown hero amid the applause which greets their homecoming.\n\nFighting men acknowledge it! And when your ears are no longer deafened\nby the cheers of others, take off your caps, fill your lungs, and\ncheer to the echo the real heroes of the war.\n\nAll honour to the woman who waits.\n\n\n\n\n\nDEPARTURE FOR THE FRONT\n\nWATERLOO STATION. LUNCHEON ARGUMENTS. THE BAGGAGE PROBLEM\n\n\nWaterloo Station in war time presents a picture of unending interest.\nHere it is that a thousand dramas are acted daily. It is one huge\nscene of bustle and excitement. The khaki of the soldier, the blue of\nthe sailor; the mother, the wife, the sweetheart; the sad partings,\nthe joyful greetings. The troops entraining, spick and span in their\nnew war kit; the war-worn soldier home on leave, bespattered with the\nsoil of France; troops from the near-by camps on week-end leave,\ntumbling out of the carriages with the spirits of schoolboys, or\nlooking for standing-room in the overcrowded compartments on the last\ntrain back.\n\nThe scene is inspiring, depressing, historical.\n\nHear the noise and babble of the throng; the sobs and the cheers; the\nlast look, the last hand-shake, the cheery greeting and the boyish\nlaughter--whilst out in the street, London continues its unaltered\nways, indifferent to the greatest war in the world's history reflected\nwithin a stone's throw, in Waterloo Station.\n\nThe Southampton train was rapidly filling, and I just managed to\nsecure a seat and take a last look round. It needed a minute before\nthe train was due to depart. Every window was filled with soldiers,\nand small groups were standing round each carriage door.\n\nPorters were hurrying backward and forward, trying to find seats for\nlate arrivals. Women were sobbing, men were talking earnestly.\nPresently the shrill whistle of the guard; hurried farewells,\nspontaneous cheers, and the slowly moving train gradually left the\nstation, carrying its human freight to an unknown destiny.\n\nI turned from the window and settled myself down in a corner. With me\nwas Lieutenant Collins of our regiment, and Second Lieutenants Jones\nand Bailey of the London Regiment, while between us was a table laid\nfor lunch.\n\n\"Well!\" said Collins, packing his kit which had been dangling in a\nthreatening manner from the rack, \"that's one job over. I'm not sorry\nit's over, either. I wish we were coming back instead of going. I\nwouldn't mind getting a blighty wound in about a month's time. That\nwould suit me down to the ground.\"\n\n\"Looking for trouble already,\" said Jones.\n\n\"You don't call that trouble, a nice little blighty wound, and then\nhome.\"\n\n\"Don't be an idiot,\" I interrupted. \"If every one felt the same way,\nwho do you think is going to carry on the war?\"\n\n\"Don't know. Never thought of it. But all the same a blighty wound in\nabout a month's time will suit me down to the ground.\"\n\nThe conversation drivelled on in this way for a few miles, and finally\nturned into a heated discussion of the wine-list at the back of the\nmenu.\n\nLuncheon was served, and we were soon heavily engaged in a fierce\nattack on chicken and ham, intermingled with joke and arguments. The\ncause of the war and the prospect of its finish.\n\n\"Here's to a safe return,\" said Bailey, when his ginger ale had ceased\nto erupt its displeasure at being released from the bottle.\n\n\"And here's to an early blighty wound,\" said Collins.\n\n\"Hang it all,\" said Jones. \"Can't you forget it?\"\n\nThe conversation was bursting out afresh, and fortunately did not\ndrift into politics or religion; and arguments easily turned to jokes,\nand jokes into a fresh onslaught on the chicken and ham.\n\nThere are some men who can argue best when armed with a knife and\nfork, and a good meal indisputably in their possession. There are\nothers whose oratorical powers show greater promise when liquid\nrefreshment is within easy grasp. In others yet again, the soothing\ninfluence of the twisted weed develops extraordinary powers. And\nbefore we arrived at Southampton town station the gift of each had\nfull play.\n\nWe soon found ourselves scrambling amongst the heap of luggage which\nhad been thrown in confusion on to the platform, and commenced an\nanxious search for our kits.\n\nIt is always the same at English railway stations, and our cousins\nfrom America and Canada scorn our system, or rather lack of system,\nfor those who travel with baggage in England have always the\npossibility in front of them of a free fight to regain their\npossessions.\n\nThere seems to be only one thing to do if you are going to travel with\na trunk, and that is either to paint it in rainbow colours, so that it\nwill stand out in striking contrast to the mountainous heap of baggage\nthrown topsyturvy out of the wagon on arrival at a terminus. Or, if\nnot provided with this forethought of imagination, it is best to\narrive at the starting station some hours ahead of time, and sit down\non the platform and study the peculiarities of your trunk, its\nindentations and scratchings, and other characteristics, and\ncommitting all these details securely to your memory, so that when you\narrive at the other end, and you jostle among the crowd gathered\naround the baggage-car, you can grab the collar of a porter and\nfrantically shout: \"There it is!\" as it tumbles out of the wagon, to\nbe finally submerged at the extreme bottom of the heap.\n\nUnfortunately, all military kit bags are exactly the same. It is true\nyou have your name painted on the outside, but so has everybody, and\nwhen fifty or sixty bags come tumbling out, they all look exactly\nalike.\n\nThat is how it was at Southampton town station, but we were all in\ngood spirits, thanks to the wine-list before mentioned; and as all\nthe owners of the kit bags were carrying an uncomfortable amount of\nordnance stores on their backs, the heap of luggage soon became\nsubmerged beneath a still greater heap of energetic and perspiring\nhumanity, until the scene looked not unlike a very much disturbed\nant-hill.\n\nBut I am exaggerating. Yet, the exaggeration of my words, written in a\ncalm moment of thought is far less vociferous than the exaggerated\nwords used at the time during the frantic endeavour to seek one's\nsolitary kit bag, and extricate it in such a scramble.\n\nBut at last the four of us, bent double by our packs, and freely\nperspiring in the heat of an August day, could be seen rolling,\npushing, kicking, and dragging our worldly belongings off the platform\ntowards the station entrance, to seek the hospitality of an ancient\nhack. And then we drove away, our kit and our equipments stacked high\naround us at precarious angles, and completely submerging the\noccupants, to the delight of the people who stood and watched us in\nopen-mouthed amazement.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nCROSSING THE CHANNEL\n\nTHE DOCK PORTER. A WHIFF OF BOND STREET\n\n\nArriving at the dock we reported to the embarkation officer, and were\ngiven a pass to leave the dock, but bearing the strict injunction that\nwe must embark at 6 P.M.\n\nWhen you cross to France for the first time you are so nervous about\nmissing the boat and running the risk of a court-martial, or some\nother such dreadful suggestion, that you hardly dare to leave the dock\ngates, and you are certainly waiting at the gang-plank a full fifteen\nminutes before the appointed time.\n\nBut those who are no longer novices to the mysterious calculation of\nthose who regulate our army traffic, would, on receiving such\ninstruction, immediately repair to the best hotel, there to regale\nthemselves in a glorified afternoon tea, and afterwards seat\nthemselves in the front row at the local Empire; subsequently rolling\nup at the ship's side shortly after 9 o'clock, to find that the\ntroop-ship is not due to sail for another hour at least.\n\nHaving enjoyed all the pleasure of such disregard to orders, and\narriving in due course at the ship's side, I searched around for my\nbaggage and for means of getting it on board. I had not far to look,\nfor there were a number of soldiers standing about, whose evident duty\nit was to do the necessary fatigue work.\n\nI call them soldiers because they were dressed in khaki; but the\nKing's uniform could not disguise the fact that they were the old-time\ndock porters. There is something about the earnest, anxious look of\nthe dock porter, as he tenders you his services, which even the\nmartial cut of a military uniform cannot hide. His adopted profession\nin peace, inscribed so deeply in his face and bearing, cannot be\nhidden so easily by the curtain of war.\n\nA lance corporal approached me, and, assuring me that nothing would go\nastray that was left in his charge, slung my kit over his shoulder\nwith professional skill and followed me up the gang-plank, placing my\nbelongings carefully down in what may once have been the cabin of the\nship. He crossed his legs, leaned heavily with one arm on my baggage,\nand tipping his cap on the back of his head to enable me to see the\nexact amount of perspiration upon his forehead, and breathing heavily,\nso that I might form an exact estimate of the fatigue he had\nundergone, he waited in hopeful expectancy.\n\nI gave him a tip.\n\nIt is against all regulations to tip a soldier; but it seemed such a\nnatural thing to do, for his khaki uniform could not hide the habit of\nyears.\n\nHe did not salute, but touched his cap. I smiled to myself as I\nwatched him depart. He was a soldier now; but the uniform could not\ndisguise the fact that he was still a dock porter.\n\nWe had a splendid crossing, and I shall not readily forget the\nromantic atmosphere of that night.\n\nThe sea was calm, and a full moon cast a silvery, shimmering pathway\nacross the water.\n\nAll lights on board the troop-ship were extinguished, and with black\nsmoke belching from the funnels, and the vibrations of the engines\ntrembling through the ship, we made our dash across the Channel.\n\nWho but those whose duty it is to perform the arduous task of\nprotecting our troop-ships can understand and appreciate what it means\nto live the life of the sailor on those comfortless-looking\ndestroyers.\n\nNight after night, week after week, throughout the years, tearing\nfrantically up and down, seeking a hidden foe; daring the treacherous\nmines; safeguarding their trust with apparent disregard for their own\nsafety.\n\nThe men who perform such duties are hidden heroes; and the safe\ntransportation of our fighting millions across the seas is a silent\ntribute of their bravery.\n\nThis work goes on, and will go on until the end of the war, and the\nmen who perform this great task do so with the knowledge that only\nfailure can bring their names before the public.\n\nI met many old friends on board, and several new ones. But one man in\nparticular attracted my attention, for his appearance seemed so\nstrangely out of place with the surroundings.\n\nStanding near the companionway, and looking upon the scene with a\nbored expression, was a young man in the thirties, in a brand-new\nuniform, with a single star on his shoulder-strap, which proclaimed\nhim to the world as a second lieutenant.\n\nHe was rather tubby in appearance, with a round, chubby face, which\nwas screwed up in a frantic effort to retain within its grasp a\nmonocle, through which he viewed his fellow beings in mute\nastonishment; and what is more, he wore new kid gloves. It was\nSeptimus D'Arcy, dressed in immaculate neatness, radiating the\natmosphere of Bond Street; indifferent to everybody, yet with a\nhorrified look of discomfort at finding himself in such unusual\nsurroundings.\n\nI had hardly turned from the strange scene when Collins caught hold of\nmy arm.\n\n\"Come over here; I want to introduce you to a friend of mine, who, I\nbelieve, is coming out to be attached to us,\" he said.\n\nWe walked along the deck, and, to my embarrassment, a few moments\nlater I found myself shaking the limp paw of Septimus D'Arcy, glove\nand all.\n\nI am not quite sure that Septimus, on my introduction, did anything\nmore than open his mouth, while I raised and lowered his right\nforearm. Septimus would have spoken, I am quite sure, as the movement\nof his mouth indicated that such was his intention; although the\nexpression, or rather lack of expression, on his face, bore no proof\nthat his remarks, if uttered, would be very interesting. In fact,\nSeptimus needed encouragement.\n\n\"We are having a very pleasant crossing,\" I ventured.\n\n\"Ye-s,\" he drawled, \"but a demned overcrowded one--what?\"\n\n\"I suppose so, but troop-ships are always overcrowded.\"\n\n\"I say, though, where does one sleep?\"\n\nI rather suspected that what Septimus really wanted to know was\nwhether there was such a thing to be had as a private cabin, where he\ncould disrobe his tubby figure in seclusion.\n\n\"There seems to be two places to sleep,\" I replied; \"either in the\nboiler-room or on deck.\"\n\n\"On deck! Rather uncomfortable--what?\"\n\n\"Well not nearly so uncomfortable as it may be later. I am just going\ndown to get my kit and lay it out on deck,\" I said. \"Hadn't you better\nget yours, too?\"\n\nI went down below, leaving Septimus with his mouth still open, and his\nround nose wrinkled up with an expression of discomfort. But he made\nno move to accept my invitation.\n\nI unrolled my kit on the deck by the side of a long row of officers\nwho were already comfortably settled for the night. On either side of\neach officer were his war kit and a life-belt.\n\nI got into my sleeping-bag, and not feeling very sleepy, I lit a\ncigarette and looked upon my surroundings.\n\nThe scene was a very inspiring one, and I could not help dreaming of\nthe future. What had destiny in store for us? Who would return in\nglory? And who would be called upon to pay the great price--to come\nback bleeding and disabled, dependent for future existence upon the\nbenevolence of a nation's gratitude?\n\nThe ship sped onward, carrying its human freight. Greater and greater\ngrew the distance from loved ones left behind. Nearer and nearer we\nsped towards the unknown future.\n\nHow many of those lying around, silent companions of their thoughts,\nwere thinking the same as I?\n\nWhat was the future? Horror, anxiety, success, failure, mutilation,\ndeath; which was it to be? And what a change this was to the times we\nhad had in the past.\n\nWe were all civilian soldiers: lawyers, merchants, bankers, and\ntradesmen. Fighting was not our profession nor desire.\n\nWhose power was it to transform these lives so ruthlessly from the\nhabits of peace to become instruments of war? Whose was the hand which\nplucked us from homes and families, to hurl us into the caldron of\nhell? Was it the ambition of a nation, guided by the despotic\ndirection of a tyrant?\n\nWe knew it and believed it. We could not remain idle to see our homes\nand families suffering the destruction and barbarities inflicted on\nBelgium. The fire of hell blazed by the petrol of German fury must not\nbe wafted in the direction of our beloved country.\n\nThe call had been answered, and these silent forms of England's sons\nwere speeding through the night in the direction of danger, at the\nbidding of a nation in peril.\n\nMy cigarette was finished, and I was becoming sleepy. I turned over to\nsettle myself comfortably, and turning my eyes in the direction of the\ncompanionway, I saw the tubby figure of an officer standing near the\nrail, immaculately dressed, and in strange contrast to his\nsurroundings.\n\nIt was Septimus D'Arcy, immaculate and indifferent. Septimus was at\nwar; but Septimus was still in Bond Street.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nGOING UP THE LINE\n\nPERFIDIOUS GANG-PLANKS. D'ARCY STRANDED. GUIDES WHO CANNOT GUIDE. A\nHEATED ARGUMENT\n\n\nNext morning we were disturbed early, and rolled up our kits ready for\ndisembarkation.\n\nAbout 7 A.M. we pulled alongside the wharf, and a light-hearted,\njostling crowd struggled for the gang-plank.\n\nI have not yet been able to find out why gang-planks are made so\nnarrow, so that only one person at a time dare undertake the passage.\n\nChaos seemed to prevail. The deck suddenly became a struggling mass of\nhumanity, struggling, tugging, and dragging at valises and kit bags.\n\nOfficers were manfully shouldering their \"marching order,\" and\nstruggling with their valises, hoping that their turn would come to\nfind a footing on the gang-plank.\n\nThe gang-plank was long and narrow, bending and squeaking under its\nburden. There were two gang-planks: one to go down and one to come\nup.\n\nBut we were not sailors, and did not know the system; the inevitable\nresult being that those going up met those coming down, until they\nbecame an unwieldy medley of men, baggage, protests, and apologies.\n\nGang-planks at the best of times appear structures of absurdity. They\neither appear to be placed at an angle so dangerous that the only safe\nway of getting ashore appears to be to sit down and slide. At other\ntimes the gang-plank has an unhappy knack of sagging in a precarious\nmanner as you approach the middle, while a couple of sailors hold\ndesperately on to the end to prevent its slipping off the dock.\n\nHere we reported to the landing officer, who was making frantic\nendeavours to create order from chaos.\n\nIn circumstances of this kind the best thing to do with the landing\nofficer is to keep clear of him. So we seized the only hack available\nand drove to one of the leading hotels, which had the reputation of\nbeing popular.\n\nI am not quite sure if these conveyances are called hacks, but the\nname seems very appropriate; for carriage seems too dignified a term\nfor such dilapidated vehicles.\n\nWe were, however, too glad to get away as rapidly as possible from the\ndusty deck, and it was already getting very hot.\n\nTurning into one of the side streets, we beheld the immortal Septimus,\nlooking like one who is hopelessly lost in the middle of the Sahara\nDesert.\n\nNow Septimus was not a born soldier, and he had made no attempt to\ncarry his equipment on his back; neither would it seem right for\nSeptimus to carry any greater burden on his podgy form than his\nwell-polished Sam Brown. So his equipment lay on the pavement beside\nhim. He had evidently dragged it some little distance, and looked upon\nit as a beastly nuisance, and was standing there vainly hoping that a\ntaxi would come to his rescue and help him carry the beastly thing\naway.\n\nWe gave Septimus a lift, as he evidently needed looking after.\n\nArriving at the hotel, we all tumbled into the dining-room for\nbreakfast, all except Septimus D'Arcy, who made straight for the\nnearest bar, and was last heard of that day tapping a coin vigorously\non the counter, and with the perspiration standing in beads on his\nnose, frantically screeching for a whisky and soda.\n\nTwo days later I received a slip of paper which warned me that I was\nto proceed up the line that evening.\n\nI was a senior officer, and would have charge of all the troops\ndeparting that evening. If you have never had that job, take my tip\nand avoid it; for of all the thankless tasks the poor devil who\nsuddenly finds himself O.C. train, has the most difficult one of all.\n\nI reported to the camp adjutant, an awfully decent sort of chap, and\nas a farewell gift he placed in my hands a pile of documents and\nseveral sheets of printed instructions.\n\n\"There you are, old chap, you will find everything there.\"\n\n\"Why, what is all this about?\" said I, holding on to the mysterious\nbundle of papers which he thrust into my hands.\n\n\"That is a complete record, in duplicate, of all the troops in your\ncharge. When you get to the station hand those papers over to the\nR.T.O.\"\n\n\"How many men have I charge of?\"\n\n\"Rather a big crowd going to-night--38 officers and 1,140 other\nranks.\"\n\n\"What regiments do they belong to?\"\n\n\"Well, I think you have got men who belong to nearly every regiment\nserving in France. There are reinforcement draughts going to various\nunits, and numerous men returning from leave. You've got English,\nScotch, Canadians, and Australians. You've got cavalrymen,\nartillerymen, engineers, and infantrymen. Believe me, you've got your\nhands full to-night.\n\n\"You will find a guide at the head of the column who knows the way to\nthe station. It's a good five miles from here.\"\n\nWhen I got outside I found the column nearly a quarter of a mile long,\nformed up ready to march off.\n\nI gave the order to move to all those within reach of my voice, and\ntrusted to the remainder to follow on.\n\nIt was quite dark as the long column moved slowly down the long\nboulevards. I had not the faintest notion where the station was.\nWherever I went that long, unwieldy column would slowly follow me, and\ntrust blindly to my direction. I pinned my faith to the guide, and on\nwe went.\n\nBefore we had got half-way it became evident that the guide had a very\nremote idea which was the direction to take; and he began to make\nanxious inquiries of passers-by as to the right way.\n\nI was beginning to feel anxious and lose patience.\n\n\"What are you fussing about for? Are you taking us the right way?\" I\ndemanded.\n\n\"I think so, sir. I don't know.\"\n\n\"You don't know! But you are the guide, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. But I've never been to the station before.\"\n\n\"But you are supposed to be the guide. Do you mean to tell me that you\nare not sure of the way?\"\n\n\"Not quite, sir. But I am doing my best.\"\n\n\"Well, you are a fine sort of guide! Who detailed you?\"\n\n\"The adjutant, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, did he know you had never been down to the station before?\"\n\n\"He never asked me, sir. I was not doing any other duty, so he\ndetailed me to act as your guide.\"\n\nWhat staff work! But it served me right; and we muddled along, and\nfinally, to my great relief, we entered the station yard.\n\nI walked into the R.T.O.'s office and laid my pile of papers on his\ndesk.\n\nThe railway transport officer is an individual who is prominent in the\nmemory of all those who have passed up the line; and many of us have\nreason to remember at least one of them with indignation.\n\nThere are two kinds of R.T.O.'s, and you have met them both.\n\nThere is the one who has earned his job at the front by hard work. He\nhas been through the thick of the fighting, and after months in the\ntrenches has been sent back to act as R.T.O. at the rail-head or the\nbase, to give him a well-earned rest beyond the sound of the guns. We\nhave no unpleasant memories of him. He is a man; he is human; he\ntreats you as a comrade; he is helpful and considerate. And you can\nspot such men in a moment.\n\nBut R.T.O. No. 2 carries no sign of war on his features. He has never\nheard the sound of guns, and never intends to, if he can help it.\n\nLook back upon the time when you left the base, and you find him\nprominent in your memory. When you are huddled up in your dugout, how\nyou wish he could be transferred to you for a tour of duty in the\ntrenches.\n\nWhat a delight it would be to send him in his immaculate uniform; his\nhighly polished leggings and boots, along the muddy communication\ntrenches. You know what the feeling is, for oftentimes you have said\nto yourself in those lonely night-watches: \"How I wish I had him\nhere!\"\n\nIt is 2 o'clock in the morning; the rain is coming down in torrents;\ndanger lurks in every fire-bay; the loneliness and the weirdness give\nyou the creeps.\n\nHow you wish you could wake him up by digging him in the ribs, and\ntelling him that it is time to go on his tour of duty up and down\nthose clay-sodden trenches at the hour of the night when his courage\n(if he ever had any) would be at its lowest.\n\nWhat a delight it would be if we only had him with us when we take\nover our trenches, to show him that foul-smelling, rat-ridden dugout,\nand tell him to curl himself up to sleep there.\n\nHow sweet would be the joy to see him in his pale-coloured breeches,\nhuddled up in a saphead, trying to get a little comfort on a cold, raw\nDecember morning, from a drop of tea in a tin mug, well smudged with\nthe wet clay of numerous fingers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nRATIONS\n\nI LEARN TO HATE FOOD. MATHEMATICAL PROBLEMS\n\n\nWe arrived at Rouen at 7.30 the following morning. I had to report to\nthe R.T.O. by 9.30, and in the meantime 3,534 rations had to be cut up\nand distributed on the station platform among 1,178 officers and men.\n\nHave you ever had such a problem as that? If not, then avoid it, if it\never comes your way.\n\nThe train was about twice the length of the platform, so on arrival it\nwas broken in half, and the rear half shunted on to another line.\n\nThe rations were contained in two trucks, attached to the rear half of\nthe train, so the contents had to be carried by hand across several\nsets of rails, to the end of the platform.\n\nI had a fatigue party of 60 men at work, and presently a huge quantity\nof provisions began to pile up. There were chests of tea, cases of\nbiscuits, cases of jam, cases of bully beef, sugar, and bacon\nsufficient to fill the warehouse of a wholesale provision merchant.\n\nThree days' rations for 1,178 officers and men, in bulk; and 1,178\nofficers and men began to gather around the stack, in hungry\nexpectancy of breakfast.\n\nNow to issue rations to a battalion straight from bulk is quite\ndifficult enough, but to issue rations from bulk to units of various\nstrengths, belonging to over fifty regiments is enough to drive any\none crazy.\n\nEach man was entitled to two and one-fourth ounces of tea, one-fourth\nounce of mustard, two and one-fourth pounds of biscuits, three-fourths\npound of cheese, twelve ounces of bacon, one tin of bully beef, nine\nounces of jam.\n\nEach unit had to be dealt with separately, so that each unit presented\na mathematical problem of the most perplexing kind. Each unit sent up\nits fatigue party to draw rations, whilst I and several officers who\nhad volunteered to assist me made a bold attempt at distribution.\n\n\"Come along, first man, what's your regiment?\"\n\n\"Manchester, sir; 59 men.\"\n\nI looked through my volume of papers to check his figures.\n\n\"Quite right! Fifty-nine men.\"\n\nFifty-nine men meant fifty-nine times two and one-fourth ounces of\ntea, one-fourth ounce of mustard, two and one-fourth pounds of\nbiscuits, three-fourths pound of cheese, twelve ounces of bacon, one\ntin of bully beef, and nine ounces of jam. My brain whirls when I\nthink of those problems.\n\nThe next unit consisted of 9 men; the next of 1; then came a long list\nof 2's, 5's, and 7's, and so on; and in each case the mathematical\nproblem had to be worked out; and when the figuring was finished, the\nstuff had to be cut up.\n\nSeventy-nine pounds of cheese for the Manchesters; does any one know\nwhat seventy-nine pounds of cheese looks like? No one did; we had\nnever seen so much cheese before in our lives.\n\n\"Give him a whole cheese and chance it. And now tea; the Manchesters\nwant one hundred and thirty-two and three-fourths ounces of tea. Give\nhim about three handfuls and chance it.\"\n\nThe next party consisted of 2 men.\n\n\"Six ounces of jam for the 19 Canadians; how much is that?\"\n\n\"Nearly half a pot.\"\n\n\"What are you going to put it in?\"\n\n\"Got nothing.\"\n\n\"Can't have any, then?\"\n\n\"Come on, next man.\"\n\nWhen I saw the last of that stack of food it was 11.30. We were hungry\nand tired, and we made our way to the nearest hotel, fervently hoping\nthat we might never see food in bulk again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nST. AMAND\n\nI REPORT AT HEADQUARTERS. THE PROBLEM OF VENTILATION\n\n\nWe made our way back to the station and secured a very luxurious\ncompartment; and to my intense relief on this occasion I found there\nwas an officer senior to me present, who succeeded to the duties of\nO.C. train.\n\nThe duties of O.C. train are a new sensation to most officers; and it\nis particularly difficult to know just what to do, and how to do it,\nwhen you have an unorganised body of men made up of sundries from\nevery part of the British army.\n\nOur new O.C. train evidently felt the difficulties of his position,\nand came to me for assistance.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" he said, \"but were you in charge of the train last\nnight?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to say I was.\"\n\n\"Well, what does one have to do?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Well, but how does one keep order?\"\n\n\"One doesn't keep order. But they've given me a pile of printed\ninstructions, and I don't see how they can possibly be carried out.\nHow can I keep order in a train half a mile long with men I know\nnothing about?\"\n\nHe was getting worried. I knew the feeling.\n\n\"Do you want a tip,\" I said.\n\n\"Yes, if you can give me one.\"\n\n\"Well, just walk along the train until you find a very comfortable\ncompartment marked, 'O.C. train.' Get inside, lock the door, pull down\nthe blinds and go to sleep.\"\n\n\"Thanks, awfully. I think I'll take that tip.\"\n\n\"By the way,\" I shouted after him, \"what is our destination?\"\n\n\"Haven't the faintest idea.\"\n\n\"Does anybody know?\"\n\n\"I don't think so.\"\n\n\"Thanks, awfully.\"\n\nThe train journey was uneventful, save for alternatively eating and\nsleeping, and two days later I reported at battalion headquarters.\n\nThe battalion was in rest billets at St. Amand; and I was posted as\nsecond in command to B Company.\n\nThe officers of B Company were just about to begin their midday meal\nwhen I put in an appearance at the company mess.\n\nCaptain George commanded the company. He was a splendid type of the\nfighting man of the present day--young, active, and clear-cut, boyish,\nyet serious. Captain George was made of the right stuff, and we became\nchums on the spot.\n\nThe other officers of the company were Second Lieutenant Farman, who\nhad just received his commission in the field, Second Lieutenant\nChislehirst, and Second Lieutenant Day.\n\nThey were all splendid fellows, the type you meet and take to at once;\nall as keen as ginger when there is serious work to be done; and when\nwork is over are as light-hearted as schoolboys.\n\nThe mess consisted of a dilapidated kitchen, with a stone floor, and\nventilated by the simple method of broken windows and a door removed\nfrom the hinges.\n\nIn those northern farmhouses of France it is purely a matter of\nopinion as to whether ventilation is really an advantage; for from the\nyard in front of the house the odour from the refuse and manure of\nthe farm, piled up in a heap outside your window, becomes very acute\nwhen the wind is in the wrong direction, as it usually is.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nEARLY IMPRESSIONS\n\nBILLETS. A STARTLING INCIDENT. REST CAMP\n\n\nI shall never forget the day I made my first inspection of billets.\n\nWhile walking through the village street I noticed a structure which\nappeared to be inviting some stray breath of wind to cause it to\nsurrender its last resistance by collapsing into a heap of rubbish.\n\nMany years ago, in days of prosperity, it had served the purpose of a\ncovering for cattle, for I believe cattle are not very particular in\nnorthern France.\n\nIt is quite within reason to suppose that, with a view of misleading\nhis cattle into a false sense of security, the farmer may have called\nit a barn. It had never been an expensive structure, nor did it give\nany evidence of having ever laid claim to architectural beauty.\n\nBut its simplicity of construction was a marvel of ingenuity. Yes, it\nwas a barn, but who but a genius of modern arts would have thought it\npossible to build even a barn by the simple but equally economical\nmethod of erecting a number of props and simply sticking mud between?\n\nBut the stability of the barn was, as might reasonably be supposed,\nsubject to \"wind and weather permitting,\" and was now sorrowfully\ndeploring its advancing years, and anxiously waiting an early\nopportunity to rest its weary limbs in a well-earned rest in a\nshapeless heap on the ground that gave it birth.\n\nHow very strange! Out of the numerous holes in the wall I saw familiar\nfaces, while inside a score of men were laughing and joking, playing\ncards or lounging about in loose attire, as though they were enjoying\nthe freedom and comfort of a West End club.\n\n\"But what are you men doing here?\" I asked.\n\n\"This is our billet, sir,\" answered a lance corporal.\n\n\"Your billet? Do you mean you sleep here?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, this was allotted to half my platoon.\"\n\n\"Comfortable?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Quite a treat after the trenches.\"\n\n\"A bit draughty, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; but, like everything else, we have to get used to it.\"\n\n\"But can't you find a better place than this, and with more room? You\nseem to be almost on top of each other.\"\n\n\"There is no other place available. The men are quite satisfied, sir.\"\n\nI turned away thoughtfully. What magnificent chaps! And yet, when they\nwere in comfortable billets at Haywards Heath, or in well-built huts\nat Fovant, they were far more particular; when they were recruits and\nspent their first night in the army, they looked with dismay at the\nprospect of sleeping on a clean straw mattress in a well-built modern\nEnglish house.\n\nWar makes men, and hardships breed content!\n\nI will pass over our life in the trenches in this part of the line,\nbut an incident worth recording occurred while we were marching back\nafter five days amongst the rats and mud of the trenches facing\nGommecourt Wood.\n\nIt is interesting, by the way, to watch the men leaving the trenches\nfor their rest billets, for, in addition to their packs, they carry\nmany an additional article of private belongings to add to their\ncomfort during these tedious days of duty, and they emerge with all\nkinds of curious packages and extra articles of clothing strapped or\ntied to their equipment. They were covered with mud and clay before\nthey left the front-line trenches, but the long journey along endless\ncommunication trenches on their way out, gathered up an additional\ncovering of clay and mud through their bulky attire, until they\nresembled a curious assembly of moving débris.\n\nBut the incident I have referred to occurred just as we were\napproaching a village.\n\nAn observation balloon was being drawn down, but when within a hundred\nfeet of the ground suddenly broke away and began to rise rapidly and\ndrift towards the German lines.\n\nI halted the men, and we watched in breathless suspense the tragedy\nwhich was about to take place before our eyes. There was some one in\nthe basket of the balloon.\n\nIt rose higher and higher. Nothing could save it! Presently the\noccupant was seen to lean over the side and throw out a quantity of\nbooks and papers.\n\nStill upward it went, and seemed to reach a great height before the\nnext sensation caused us to thrill with amazement.\n\nSomething dropped like a stone from the basket and then, with a sudden\ncheck, a parachute opened, and a man was seen dangling from it. When\nhe dropped, the balloon must have been many thousand feet in the air,\nand both balloon and parachute continued to drift towards the German\nlines.\n\nThen a flight of four or five British aeroplanes went up and soared\naround the balloon, evidently bent on its destruction.\n\nAs we watched we saw a flash and a puff of smoke! A bomb had struck\nthe balloon, but seemed to have no effect.\n\nThe aeroplanes withdrew, and a minute later we heard the boom of the\nanti-aircraft guns.\n\nThe second shot was a dead hit, for we saw a flash of fire clean\nthrough the centre, a volume of blue smoke, and then it buckled in the\nmiddle. The flame spread, and the blue smoke increased in volume until\nthe balloon resembled a curious shapeless mass, twisting and turning\nand shrinking as it quivered and fell to earth; meantime, anxious\neyes were also turned to the parachute, which by this time had\napproached to within a few hundred feet or so of the earth.\n\nBoth armies must have watched the spectacle in silent wonder, for no\nshot was fired at the falling figure from the German lines.\n\nIt was difficult to tell from where we were just where it might fall.\nIt seemed to me from where I stood that the odds were in favour of it\nreaching the ground in No Man's Land.\n\nAs it neared the earth it began to sway to and fro, in ever-increasing\nviolence, and finally disappeared from view behind a clump of trees.\nSo far as I could observe, it did not seem in any way possible for the\nparachute to have delivered its human freight safely to the earth.\n\nNext day we began a three days' march to a village some thirty-eight\nmiles back of the line.\n\nWe were to be rested and fattened for the Somme.\n\nThe mention of rest camps to men at the front generally raises a\nsmile, for if there is one thing more noticeable than anything else\nduring a rest period, it is the hard work which has to be done.\n\nThe long days of training, the unlimited fatigue work, and the\nnever-ending cleaning of tattered uniforms and trench-soiled boots are\nequalled only by the fastidiousness of an Aldershot parade.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nDEPARTURE FOR THE SOMME\n\nCORBIE. HAPPY VALLEY. PASSING THROUGH THE GUNS\n\n\nOn Sunday, September 2, our so-called rest came to an abrupt finish,\nand we entrained for an unknown destination. Destinations are always a\nmystery until the train pulls up with a jerk, and peremptory orders\nare given to get out.\n\nThe difference in travelling as a civilian and travelling as a soldier\nis that in the former case you choose your time of departure or\narrival at a convenient hour; while in the latter case the most\nunearthly hour is selected for you.\n\nWe arrived at Corbie at 2 A.M. Not that we knew it was Corbie at the\ntime, or cared; and even if we had known, we should have been little\nthe wiser. Still, I will say this about Corbie, that it is pronounced\nin the way it is spelled, and that relieves one of a sense of\nuneasiness. For, as a general rule, no matter how you pronounce the\nnames of a French town, you will find some one with an air of superior\nknowledge, or gifted with a special twist of the tongue, who will find\na new pronunciation.\n\nHowever, we detrained onto the line. The night was as black as pitch.\nSleepy soldiers, struggling with their equipments, dropped out of the\ncarriages; and after a great deal of shouting we got into some kind of\nformation, and the long column slowly moved off into the night.\n\nI dropped into position in the rear of the column, feeling very tired,\nand wondering where I should find a place to sleep. The long column\nwended its way through narrow streets and along cobbled roads, and\ngradually seemed to melt into mysterious doorways under the guiding\ninfluence of quartermaster sergeants.\n\nThis process went on until I suddenly realised that the whole column\nhad disappeared, and I was left alone in the streets of Corbie at 3\nA.M. in a steady downpour of rain, without the faintest notion of\nwhere I was, or where my billet was. I walked a little farther down\nthe street, and being very tired, wet, and sleepy, had almost decided\nto lie in the street until the morning, when I tumbled across Farman,\nChislehirst, and Day following the faithful quartermaster-sergeant to\nan unknown billet.\n\nThe billet consisted of a bathroom in one of the outbuildings of a\nlarge estate. The door of the bathroom had been locked, and the water\nhad been turned off. However, we scrambled through the window. The\nfloor was hard, but we had a roof above our heads, and we were all\nsoon snoring on the floor, fast asleep.\n\nNext morning I took a walk around the estate and found myself in a\nlovely orchard. It was deserted. An abundance of most delicious fruit\nmet my gaze wherever I went. I wandered up and down, picking the\napples and the pears, biting the fruit and throwing it away. I felt\nlike a bad boy in an orchard; but the orchard was deserted and the\nfruit was going to waste; so if I was looting, I consoled myself with\nthe thought that I was preventing waste.\n\nIt was about 1.30 in the afternoon, and I had just settled myself down\nin a comfortable seat under an apple-tree, and had pulled a Sunday\nnewspaper out of my pocket; it was a hot September day, and I was\nfeeling lazy.\n\nI was bound for the Somme. There was a mysterious air about the place\nthat seemed unnatural. These beautiful gardens were deserted, but the\nsound of the guns could be heard in the distance.\n\nI had settled myself comfortably, trying to imagine with the aid of\nthe Sunday paper and a cigar that I was really sitting in my own\ngardens, when I noticed a man filling his water-bottle.\n\n\"What are you filling your water-bottle for?\" I asked.\n\n\"We have got orders to parade at 2 o'clock, to move off.\"\n\n\"Good Lord! Who told you that?\"\n\n\"Captain Wilkie, sir. The orders have just come down.\"\n\nI never had such a scramble in my life. With an appetite oversatisfied\nwith apples; my kit spread all over the floor; my company half a mile\naway in all sorts of holes and corners--to move out of the village in\ntwenty minutes.\n\nIt's the same old thing in the army; you say to yourself it can't be\ndone; but it is done. And at five minutes past two the whole brigade\nwas moving out of Corbie, and was once more facing towards the Somme.\n\nOur destination was in Death Valley; but before going into the line we\nrested a few days in Happy Valley. Happy Valley and Death\nValley--there is a touch of sarcasm about the names, but they are,\nnevertheless, very appropriate.\n\nHappy Valley is a peaceful spot where we would sit contentedly in the\nafternoon puffing at our pipes, listening to the sound of the guns;\nwatching the shrapnel bursting in the air some two or three miles\naway, and thanking our lucky stars that we were watching it from a\ndistance. But we were resting. It was a lull before the storm, and we\nwere soon to march towards the storm.\n\nDeath Valley was three miles away, and to-morrow the storm would break\nupon us! We were thinking; men everywhere were writing. Why were they\nbiting their pencils and thinking so hard? The padre was a busy man.\nEverything was so quiet and mysterious: there was no joking, no\nlaughing, men were thoughtful and pulled hard at their pipes.\nTo-morrow the storm would break! To-morrow! And what after?\n\nThe following afternoon, after struggling across a sea of shell-holes,\nwe arrived at Death Valley and halted by Trones Wood. Here hundreds of\nour guns of all sizes were massed, wheel to wheel, and row upon row;\nand every gun was being worked as hard as possible.\n\nA bombardment was taking place. And in the midst of all these guns we\nwere halted for two hours until our trenches could be located. The\nsight was wonderful. It was impressive. The might of Britain was\nmassed and belching forth its concentrated fury.\n\nAs darkness came on the roar of the guns was accentuated by the flash\nof the discharge. We did not speak, for speaking was out of the\nquestion; the noise was too terrific; and we lay on the ground\nsilenced by wonder and bewilderment.\n\nWhat was happening over yonder where those shells were dropping? What\nwas that droning, whistling noise far overhead? They were the big\nguns: the 15-inch, five miles back; 16-pounders, 4·9-inch, 6-inch,\n9-inch, 12-inch, and 15-inch. Guns here, guns there, guns everywhere;\nall belching and flashing; all concentrating in a stupendous effort\nto pound some part of the German line into confusion.\n\nAmmunitions workers in England, and those who should be munition\nworkers, come right over here; creep with us along the edge of Trones\nWood, and watch this amazing sight. You miners, you tramway men, you\nboiler-makers! You, who would throw down your tools and strike, look\nupon this sight!\n\nThis is the voice of England. This is the stupendous effort which is\nprotecting you. On your right, that dark, creepy, silent place, is\nTrones Wood. Look across to your left, those sticks showing on the\nsky-line, across the valley. In those woods, churned up in the soil,\nlie the rotting bodies of your comrades, your brothers, your sons.\nThey have sacrificed all; they have suffered untold deaths.\n\nThe contrast between that thundering voice of England and the silent\nmystery of those woods causes a shudder. Bring out those strikers and\nlet them get a glimpse of this and realise their danger, and the\nhorrors which will come upon them, their wives, their children, their\nhomes, if those guns fail.\n\nWhat is their quarrel to this? Shall we stop those guns for a penny an\nhour? Shall we leave unprotected those desperate men across the\nvalley, who are hanging on tooth and nail to those last trenches\ngained? Shall we do these things for a penny an hour? Shall we do\nthese things so that we can stand up for these so-called rights in\nEngland?\n\nNo! Our mines must be worked; our boilers must be made; and our\nmunition machinery must be run to its utmost capacity, or we are\ntraitors to those guns and our fighting men; our brothers, our own\nsons, who are depending upon the might of England for victory and\ntheir lives.\n\nThrow down your tools, slacken your machinery, and High Wood and\nTrones Wood will become blacker still with the mutilated bodies of a\nthousand men. A penny an hour! You, who are being coddled under the\nprotection of these guns, what is your quarrel to this?\n\nIf those desperate fellows on the other side of the hill were to leave\ntheir tasks, they would be called traitors. Yet, when men in England,\nwhom these fighters are dependent upon, and whose work is just as\nnecessary for the success of the war, throw down their tools, they\nare only called strikers.\n\nThe crime is the same; the punishment should be the same.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nARRIVAL ON THE SOMME\n\nFEEDING THE GUNS. SEPTIMUS D'ARCY ARRIVES. A CURIOUS KIT\n\n\nLate that evening orders came to move into the trenches on the far\nslope of the Valley of Death. Trenches here, trenches there, trenches\neverywhere, while we groped around without knowing where the trenches\nled to, or the position of the German lines.\n\nWe spent an anxious night, the uncertainty of our position and mystery\nof those massed guns, thundering their wrath into the darkness of the\nnight, caused a tension which defied any desire to sleep.\n\nWhat was the meaning of it all? What was happening over yonder, where\nthe iron of England's anger was falling, bursting, tearing, killing?\nWhat was happening over there? Would we receive a similar reply? The\nsigns were significant: we were at last on the Somme; we were in for\nit with a vengeance.\n\nThe next morning broke bright and fair, and found us still awake with\neyes peering anxiously through the rising mist. We were evidently not\nin the front line, but were there on the Somme; and that sea of\nshell-holes which everywhere surrounded us told its own story of what\nhad been, and what was yet to be.\n\nAt about 11 o'clock all eyes were turned towards High Wood, on the\ncrest of the hill to the left. A burst of shells from the enemy's guns\ntold that a target had been found. We watched, and presently we could\nfaintly see a column slowly moving along the road through the wood.\n\nThree ammunition wagons moved slowly towards our guns. Crash! A 5.9\nfell in front of the leading horses; a cloud of dense, black smoke\narose and blotted the picture from view. The smoke cleared, and the\nlittle column was still moving slowly forward, undisturbed and\nindifferent. Crash! Crash! Two more shells burst by the side of the\nsecond wagon; the smoke cleared; the horses were startled and giving\ntrouble, but once again the defiant little column moved slowly\nforward, indifferent and undismayed.\n\nWe continued to watch the plucky little column, now obscured by the\nblack smoke of the bursting shells, then again emerging from the\nsmoke, heedless of danger.\n\nThose men were human. How could they stand it with such calm and\ndetermined indifference? The answer was the guns: the guns must be\nfed; and British grit and discipline were unconquerable. The army is\nwonderful.\n\nAt this moment I received a message calling me to headquarters, and I\nat once went to find my C.O.\n\n\"Well, had a good rest?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not much, sir.\"\n\n\"Stuff and nonsense; get your map out.\"\n\nI spread my map out on my knees and took a note-book out of my pocket.\n\nThe C.O. pointed on the map with his pencil:\n\n\"We are here; the ---- Regiment is there.\"\n\n\"Front line, sir?\"\n\n\"Right bang up in the front line.\"\n\n\"What are the trenches like, sir?\"\n\n\"No time to dig trenches; they're hanging on to a few shell-holes,\nthough they may have connected them up by now. See, there's Combles,\nand that's Leuze Wood. We shall be on the extreme right of the British\narmy. B Company will be on the right; C Company in the centre, and A\nCompany on the left with D Company in support. Headquarters will be\nclose by Falfemont Farm.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir.\"\n\n\"You won't find any farm left; been blown to dust. Men are to go in\nbattle order; packs are to be parked just outside here, by companies.\nNo. 5 platoon will move off at 7 P.M., the remainder following in\nsuccession at fifty yards' interval.\"\n\nI understood, and turned to go.\n\n\"By the way, I am not sure whether the Germans are in that trench or\nthe ---- Battalion, London Regiment. Anyhow, that's where we've got to\nbe to-night.\"\n\nHalf an hour later and the men were laying out their packs in long\nrows, by companies. Strange sight, all these packs laid out in neat\nrows. The reason did not need explaining. There was work at the other\nend of that Valley of Death; there lay the pit of the Great Adventure.\nPerhaps to-night we should look into it; but how many would come back\nto claim their packs.\n\nWe are in the soup with a vengeance! Well, who cares?\n\nEarly that afternoon I went to my dugout, and was just trying to get a\nlittle rest, when I was disturbed by a voice outside, which sounded\nstrangely familiar.\n\n\"Sergeant, excuse me, but is this the beastly hole where B Company is\nto be found?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, this is B Company's line.\"\n\n\"'Pon me word, extraordinary place! Demned hot; walked nearly five\nmiles. Where's the captain?\"\n\n\"In his dugout, sir, near that shell-hole.\"\n\n\"I've got to report to him; will you tell him I'm here?\"\n\n\"Hadn't you better go to him, sir?\"\n\n\"Oh! Is that the thing to do?\"\n\nAt that moment, unable to restrain my curiosity, I came out of my\ndugout, and there, sure enough, was none other than the irresistible\npattern of Bond Street, Septimus D'Arcy, by all that was wonderful!\n\nThere he was, with his monocle riveted in his right eye, between the\nfrown of his eyebrow and the chubby fatness of his cheek, with the\nbored expression of one who saw no reason for the necessity of the\nfatigue which caused the undignified beads of perspiration to assemble\non an otherwise unruffled countenance. A pair of kid gloves, buttoned\ntogether, were hanging from the belt of his Sam Brown, and four inches\nof a blue-bordered silk handkerchief dangled from his sleeve. As he\napproached he half carried on his arm and half dragged along the\nground, the burden that was known as his full marching order.\n\n\"Hello, Septimus!\" I said, as he came along, dragging his things\nbehind him.\n\n\"Ah! Hellow! Well, I'm demned! Never expected to find you here;\nawfully glad to meet you again.\"\n\n\"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I'll be demned if I know! Uninteresting spot this--what?\"\n\n\"Well, what have you come here for?\"\n\n\"Nothing much. I saw a fellow in that big dugout in the valley, and he\ntold me to report to you. The fact is, you know, you are attached to\nme, or I'm attached to you, or something of that sort.\"\n\n\"Well, you are not in Havre now; there are snipers about, and if you\nstand up there like that, you'll get hit.\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say so; that seems perfectly safe.\"\n\n\"Well, get down, and don't be a fool.\"\n\nHe carefully got down into the trench, leaving his equipment behind,\nprobably hoping it would get lost, and we entered the dugout.\n\n\"I must tell you, captain, I am horribly fatigued. I came through the\nguns; very interesting and all that, but it's made my head ache.\"\n\n\"Have some water. It's rather muddy, but better than nothing these\ndays.\"\n\n\"No, thanks; doctor warned me against drinking dirty water; dysentery\nand all that, don't you know. Any whisky and soda?\"\n\n\"Look here, Septimus, now you are here, you must drop that nonsense.\"\n\n\"All right, old thing. I rather doubted the soda, but thank Heaven\nI've got a flask; a sort of emergency ration. Help yourself and let's\ndrink it neat.\"\n\n\"How long have you been in the army, Septimus?\"\n\n\"Three months. Why?\"\n\n\"Like it?\"\n\n\"Not bad. Saluting seems rather absurd; but it seems to please some. I\nlonged to come out; thought it would be interesting and all that sort\nof thing. But so far I've had nothing to do but get from place to\nplace, carrying a beastly load with me.\"\n\n\"Probably your own fault. I have never seen a pack or haversack\ncrammed so full. What have you brought with you?\"\n\n\"Necessaries; but not half what I shall need. Has my kit arrived?\"\n\n\"My dear chap, you will never see your kit up here; and what is more,\nyou will have to leave most of those things you have brought with you\nbehind, before you go up the front line. Dump your things out here,\nand I will tell you what to take.\"\n\nWe emptied his pack and haversack. I have never in all my life seen\nsuch a lot of rubbish in the war kit of a soldier. There seemed to be\nnothing there he would really need; but a curious mixture of strange\narticles which would fill a fancy bazaar. There were hair-brushes with\nebony backs and silver monograms, silk handkerchiefs with fancy\nborders, a pinky tooth-paste, oozing out of a leaden tube; and crushed\nbetween a comb and a pair of silk socks, a large bottle of reddish\ntooth-wash, sufficient to last him three years; and half of which had\nleaked through the cork to the destruction of about a dozen silk\nhandkerchiefs, spotted and bordered in fanciful shades. There was a\nbox of cigars, a heavy china pot of massage-cream, a pot of\nhair-pomade, a leather writing-case, a large ivory-backed mirror,\nwhich had lost its usefulness for ever, a bottle of fountain-pen ink,\ntwo suits of silk pajamas, one striped with pink and the other blue, a\nhuge bath-towel, a case containing seven razors, one for each day in\nthe week, and a sponge as big as his head. Poor Septimus! in his\nsimplicity and ignorance, for the first time in his life he had packed\nhis own kit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nDEATH VALLEY\n\nMOVING OVER BATTLE-FIELDS. ---- BATTALION, LONDON REGIMENT, IN\nPOSSESSION. THE MYSTERY TRENCH. FALFEMONT FARM\n\n\nThe final preparations completed, the first platoon began to move off;\nother platoons followed at intervals, the column slowly wending its\nway through the Valley of Death to its mysterious destination.\n\nWe seemed to be going into the unknown; the air was full of mystery;\nit was uncanny, unnatural. We were moving over battle-fields. The\nground was a mass of shell-holes; progress could only be made by\nwalking in single file along a narrow footpath, which twisted in\ntortuous persistency between the shell-holes, causing innumerable\nhalts and starts, until the column tailed off into an endless line of\nshadowy figures.\n\nHere and there the men became lost to view in some gun-ridden cavity;\nwhilst there again they appeared silhouetted against the moonlit sky,\nas man by man they appeared and disappeared from view over a rise in\nthe ground.\n\nThose who had fallen in the desperate struggle of the previous week\nlay yet unburied. Friend and foe alike shared the shelter of the\nheavens, clutching at the soil of France in the agonies of death.\nThere are times when the sight of death excuses the quivering step and\nthe irrepressible sob from the hearts of those who pass onward to\nbrave a similar fate.\n\nThe Valley of Death was a silent tomb of the wrath of nations, that\nlong, winding Valley of Death, where the bodies of friend and foe lay\nside by side, or clutched in a desperate embrace, marked the line\nwhere the fury of nations found its expression, like the scar of a\ndevil's vengeance.\n\nAs I looked on the bodies of the dead, twisted and mutilated, limbless\nand torn, some half buried in débris--here and there lying doubled in\nunnatural positions, while others yet, seemed to be clutching at some\nmortal wound--I felt like one who fearfully treads into the vortex of\nDante's inferno. Yes, this was the devil's own hell, but a hell far\nmore dreadful than I had ever imagined it to be.\n\nAfter a tiring, disheartening trudge, we found the spot we were to\noccupy, and, to our intense relief, the ---- Battalion, London\nRegiment, were in possession.\n\nAfter the usual formalities of the relieving and taking over of the\nline of shell-holes which marked the position, I stopped for a final\nword with one of the ---- officers:\n\n\"How many casualties?\" I asked.\n\n\"About fifty in two days--bit tough, eh?\"\n\n\"Been attacked, then?\"\n\n\"No; shelled like billyho. They've got the range nicely.\"\n\n\"Where's the Boche?\"\n\n\"Don't quite know; somewhere in front. About eight hundred yards away\nthere's a trench which forms three sides of a square, each side about\nthree hundred yards, with the open side resting on Leuze Wood, and the\nlower end extending into the wood.\"\n\n\"Fritz there?\"\n\n\"In the upper part, yes; but the lower part is a bit of a mystery.\nThe part that extends into the wood the ---- Regiment are holding; but\nthe rest of it the Boche seems to have. At least, that's what I think.\nAwkward position! Well, cheer oh!\"\n\nAfter a sleepless night I anxiously waited the rising mist to take a\nview of my surroundings. There, on the right, was a high table-land,\nwith a frowning bluff overlooking the town of Combles, which slowly\nemerged, house by house, from the rising mist.\n\nIn the trench the right man of my company was vigorously shaking the\nhand of a French soldier, who marked the left of the French army.\n\nThere, straight in front, could be faintly seen the trench formed in\nthe shape of a square, and left of it Leuze Wood. But what were those\npeculiar stumps to the left of our trenches? They looked like the\nremains of a copse which had been shelled until only the stumps of a\nfew trees remained. And where was Falfemont Farm? There was no sign of\nit anywhere. I was not sure of my position on the map; it was\npuzzling.\n\nI went over to consult the French officer on my right:\n\n\"Morning, monsieur,\" I said, approaching a smart young officer.\n\n\"Ah! Good morning; you relieve the ---- Battalion, London Regiment,\nalready--yes?\"\n\n\"Yes; last night. I came to ask you what those stumps are over there;\nthey are not marked on the map. Do you happen to know?\"\n\n\"Ah! Oui; zat is Falfemont Farm. Nothing left now; very bad place that\nfarm. Zay say one whole brigade of infantry was lost in storming that\nfarm. Yes, nasty place, that farm, M. le Capitaine.\"\n\nI went back to my trench. I didn't like the look of things. If\nFalfemont Farm got blown to smithereens like that, what chance did I\nstand? Whew! I was getting the wind up.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nOUT IN NO MAN'S LAND\n\nSUDDEN ORDERS. THE BEGINNING OF A GREAT ADVENTURE. DIGGING IN\n\n\nAfter a strenuous day's work, during which I had only time to take a\nmouthful of bread and cheese, which I carried in my pocket, I espied\nan orderly making his way towards me.\n\n\"The C.O. sent me, sir; you're wanted at once.\"\n\n\"Oh! any news?\"\n\n\"I think we are in for a binge, sir.\"\n\n\"Which is the way to headquarters?\"\n\n\"About two hundred yards back. Follow that narrow little track which\nwinds around the shell-holes, and you can't miss it. Don't leave the\ntrack, or you will lose your way.\"\n\nOn arriving at H.Q. I found a small group of officers bending\nanxiously over a map. The C.O. turned to me as I approached:\n\n\"Ah! There you are. Get your books out, and take down your\norders--ready! You are to take command of B Company. Well, now, here's\nour position; there's Combles and there's Leuze Wood. Take your\ncompany out into 'No Man's Land,' and extend along a line facing half\nright to our present position, with your left resting on the wood. C\nCompany will be in the wood on your left; and A Company will be on\nyour right--understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"You'll dig in to-night, and to-morrow we are going to take that\ntrench that's formed like a square, to prepare the way for a frontal\nattack on Combles by the French. You'll take the upper portion of that\nperpendicular trench, passing the wood on your left.\"\n\n\"Then, I shall have to cross over the lower trench; isn't that\noccupied, sir?\"\n\n\"The battalion bombers will clear that out for you during the night.\"\n\n\"When is zero hour, sir?\"\n\n\"Don't know; I've told you all I know at present. Take ten flares, and\nsend up two when you arrive at your objective, and send up another two\nat 6 o'clock the following morning.\"\n\n\"What about ammunition and water, sir?\"\n\n\"The water you've already got is supposed to last forty-eight hours. I\ndon't know about ammunition; I think there's an ammunition dump in the\nwood, but I will find that out and let you know. All right; it's dark\nenough now.\"\n\nSch!--Crash!--Zug! A 5·9 burst on the parapet a few yards away. The\nthud of an awky bit was felt in our midst, and the sergeant-major\njumped up, holding his foot. The C.O. looked up without turning a\nhair:\n\n\"Any one hurt?\" he asked.\n\n\"Only my boots, sir,\" replied the sergeant-major, suspiciously feeling\nhis heel.\n\nI took my departure and began to grope around in the dark in search of\nthe narrow track which would guide me back to my company. I searched\nfor about ten minutes, but in vain, and I became for a while\nhopelessly lost in a mass of shell-holes. I knew the direction\nroughly, but direction was of little use in that wild confusion of\nbroken ground and débris.\n\nWhat if I should be lost all night? What would they think? It would be\nput down to funk. A cold perspiration came over me. I felt an\noverwhelming sense of loneliness amidst that gruesome scene of\ndestruction; and to crown it all, a feeling of responsibility and\nanxiety which made the craters seem deeper as I frantically scrambled\nout of one and into another. At last, to my intense relief, I found\nthe little footpath and reached my trench safely.\n\nTime was getting on. I gave orders for the men to dress and lie flat\non the parados, ready for the word to move. When all preparations were\ncompleted, and bombs, picks, and shovels issued to each man, I\nsignalled the advance, and with a few scouts in front and on the\nflanks, we slowly moved in single file into the unknown.\n\nIt was a pitch-black night, intensified by a slight fog, and I took my\ndirection by compass bearing, wondering all the while if it would lead\nme right.\n\nThe men marched in silence. Nothing could be heard but the muffled\nfootsteps over the soft ground, and occasional jingling of a spade or\npick against the butt of a rifle.\n\nDistance became exaggerated, and fifty paces seemed like five hundred,\nuntil I began to get a horrible fear that my compass had misled me,\nand that countless German eyes were watching me leading my men into\nthe midst of their guns. Where were we going? When would we get back,\nand how many of us? Call it funk or what you like, but whatever it is,\nit's a devilishly creepy feeling; and when at last I found myself\nclose to the edge of the wood, I felt as if I were arriving home.\n\nBut the real job had not yet begun. I signalled the halt to the\nleading file, and passed the word to turn to the right and extend two\npaces to the right and lie down. I next ordered a sentry group,\nconsisting of one section to be sent out by each platoon to occupy\nshell-holes fifty yards in front as a protection against surprise.\n\nThe platoon on the left was to bend its flank to face the edge of the\nwood, and get in touch with C Company in the wood; while the platoon\non the right secured connection with A Company. One Lewis-gun section\ntook up position on the left flank at the corner of the wood, whilst\nthe other Lewis gun protected my right.\n\nThese precautions against surprise being completed, I ordered the men\nto dig for all they were worth; rifles with bayonets fixed, and\nmagazines charged to be placed within arm's reach at the back of the\ntrench, the earth to be thrown in front until the parapet became\nbullet-proof.\n\nI spotted one man leaning on his shovel, and looking vacantly into the\ndarkness.\n\n\"Dig, man! Don't stand looking about you,\" I whispered hoarsely.\n\n\"The ground's hard, sir; it's all chalk here.\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool! Dig! I tell you we may be discovered any minute. If\nwe get shelled you'll be glad enough of a hole to lie in.\"\n\nPassing along the line, I overheard two men talking in an undertone:\n\n\"How do you like it, Timmy?\"\n\n\"Fed to the teeth. It's all very well for the skipper to say: 'Dig\nlike hell!'--Seems quiet enough here.\"\n\n\"Heard about Bill? Went balmy just after we started. He began by\nlaughing and crying; he was as mad as a hatter. He nearly put the wind\nup us in the rear. The skipper sent him back with a couple of\nstretcher-bearers.\"\n\n\"Poor old Bill, hard luck. Thought he couldn't stand much. Got any\nwater?\"\n\n\"Not a drop; I'm as dry as a brick.\"\n\n\"Shut up; there's the skipper standing there.\"\n\nThe conversation stopped; but the latter part worried me not a little.\nWater-bottle empty, good Lord! and no more water for forty-eight\nhours.\n\nAll of a sudden the sky was illuminated. Half a dozen Very lights went\nup in rapid succession: we were discovered!\n\nA moment or two later from two different points, three reds and a\ngreen light went up, falling in our direction. Every man stopped work\nand looked up in amazement. We were in for it; we wanted no telling.\n\n\"Dig like hell!\" I whispered hoarsely, hurrying along the line of\nwondering men.\n\nBut they wanted no urging this time, and every man set to work with\nfeverish energy.\n\nThen the bombardment commenced, and in a few minutes the air was\nfilled with whistling shells, screeching through the night and making\nthe darkness hideous.\n\nWe were only a foot below the surface of the ground. Once again I\nhastened along the line:\n\n\"Dig like hell!\"\n\nLights were going up in rapid succession, and the German line whence\nthey came appeared only a couple of hundred yards in front, and seemed\nto form a semicircle around my left flank.\n\nClack! Clack! Clack! What was that?--Rifles! My sentry groups were\nfiring. Again the rattle of rifles, this time all along the line of\nsentry groups.\n\n\"Stand to!\"\n\nEvery man seized his rifle and crouched in the pit he had dug and\nfaced his front. We waited: the bombardment had stopped, and the crack\nof the rifles alone disturbed the night.\n\nI drew my revolver and waited in breathless suspense for the sudden\nrush which seemed imminent.\n\nWere our preparations to be nipped in the bud, after all? Would it be\na sudden rush; a desperate hand-to-hand fight?--and then, what then?\n\nThe minutes passed like hours in an agony of suspense, and then,\nunable to bear the strain any longer, I crept cautiously forward into\nthe inky darkness towards one of the sentry groups to find out what\nwas amiss.\n\n\"Halt! Who is there?\"\n\n\"O.C., B Company.\"\n\n\"Advance!\"\n\n\"What's up?\" I asked, sliding into the shell-hole beside the corporal.\n\n\"There seemed to be a patrol moving about in front; it's all quiet\nnow, sir.\"\n\n\"All right; double the sentries for the next hour.\"\n\nI returned to the line and ordered the men to continue digging.\n\nThe bombardment continued, but by and by we began to grow accustomed\nto the din. Several casualties occurred; but still the work of digging\nin continued.\n\nTime was getting on, and I must make my plans for to-morrow's attack.\n\nA few minutes later I chanced to notice a figure sitting leisurely in\na shell-hole.\n\n\"Why, Septimus, is that you?\"\n\n\"I think so; I say, I think so. Unearthly row; devilishly dangerous\nplace, this--what?\"\n\n\"But what are you doing in there?\"\n\n\"I was just coming to talk to you about ammunition. A shell burst, and\nmy face is simply covered with dust. Has the ammunition arrived yet?\"\n\n\"No; there's an ammunition dump in the wood somewhere.\"\n\n\"Like me to go and find it?\"\n\nI looked at him in amazement. It wasn't funk then, that made him seek\nsafety in that shell-hole. Was it possible that dear old Septimus,\nthis bland, indifferent tubby, blasé old thing of Bond Street, was\nanxious to go into that creepy, mysterious wood to look for\nammunition?\n\n\"All right; take a corporal and 12 men, and bring back six boxes.\nDon't take unnecessary risks; we shall need every man to-morrow.\"\n\nSeptimus sprang out of the shell-hole, saluted in the most correct\nmanner--something quite new for him--and disappeared in the darkness.\n\nThis was a new side of Septimus's character which had not shown itself\nbefore. Only the stoutest heart would have chosen to wander about in\nthat wood at midnight, with enemy patrols lurking about. Septimus was\na man, after all.\n\nFive minutes later he passed me, leading his men. He gripped my hand\nas he passed, with the remark: \"Well! Ta-ta, old thing.\"\n\n\"Cheer oh!\"\n\nAnd Septimus was gone. We may call men fops, simple vacant fools, or\nwhat we like; but the war has proved over and over again that the man\nwithin the man is merely disguised by his outer covering. Many a Bond\nStreet Algy, or ballroom idol has proved amidst the terrors of war\nthat the artificial covering of a peace-time habit is but skin-deep;\nand the real man is underneath.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA NIGHT OF ALARM\n\nSEPTIMUS IN A NEW RÔLE. SAVING THE AMMUNITION. THE LAST CARTRIDGE\n\n\nJust then a movement in the rear of my position attracted my\nattention. A number of men were approaching; then halting, they sat on\nthe ground, while two figures continued on towards me.\n\nThey were Second Lieutenant Wade, the intrepid scout officer, and\nSecond Lieutenant Brady, in command of the battalion bombers. It was\nBrady who spoke first:\n\n\"Hullo! Getting peppered pretty hot, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Rather lively! Where are you off to?\"\n\n\"I've got orders to bomb out that mysterious trench you've heard so\nmuch about, in order to clear the way for your attack to-morrow. I'm\ngoing in front of your line and along the edge of the wood.\"\n\nI despatched a runner to warn the sentry groups, and presently the\nlittle group of bombers disappeared round the edge of the wood into\nthe darkness on their adventurous errand, the success of which would\nmean so much to me on the morrow.\n\nAll this time the work of digging is continued with unabated anxiety,\nshells dropping around unceasingly.\n\nAll of a sudden I was startled by a rattle of musketry in the\ndirection of the wood. There was silence; then several more shots\nfollowed by a rushing, tearing noise, and yells.\n\nAlmost at the same moment the ammunition party emerged breathlessly\nfrom the wood.\n\nI ran forward to where the men were dropping the ammunition boxes on\nthe ground, and falling exhausted. For a moment or two they were too\nbreathless to speak. I counted the men: there were 12 of them, and the\nsix boxes of ammunition had safely arrived.\n\nBut where were Septimus and the corporal? All was silent in the wood.\nI turned to the nearest man who was by this time sitting up, holding\nhis head in his hands.\n\n\"Where is Mr. D'Arcy and Corporal Brown?\" I asked.\n\n\"God knows, sir! They stayed to cover our retirement.\"\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\n\"We found the ammunition dump, sir, and were just beginning to move\nthe boxes when we heard some one moving. We grabbed our rifles and\nwaited. There seemed to be quite a number crawling around us. Mr.\nD'Arcy ordered us to retire at once, and get the ammunition away at\nany cost; he said he would stay behind and cover our retreat, and\nCorporal Brown offered to stay with him. We hadn't got far, sir, when\nthey opened fire; bullets hit the trees and whizzed over our heads.\nThen we heard a rush and some yells. I distinctly heard something in\nGerman, and Mr. D'Arcy's voice shout back: 'Kamarade be damned!' Then\nthere was a scuffle; that's all I know.\"\n\nMy heart beat wildly as I listened to this story. Good God! what did\nthat silence mean? There was no further time to be lost.\n\nI ordered a relief party and led the way into the wood. There was not\na sound to be heard as we crept forward on our hands and knees\ntowards the spot where the ammunition had been found.\n\nWhat was that? We listened breathlessly, and again we heard a low\ngroan almost in our midst. There was a shell-hole just in front, and\ncrawling along on all fours, I found Septimus D'Arcy, wounded and\nhelpless, with his left leg almost blown away, and bleeding from the\nhead.\n\n\"What's up, D'Arcy? What has happened?\" I whispered hoarsely.\n\nA faint smile of recognition came over his pale face as I supported\nhim in my arms. His words came painfully:\n\n\"The ammunition--is it--safe?\"\n\n\"Yes, quite safe.\"\n\n\"But what happened after they left?\"\n\n\"I stayed behind--with the corporal--to protect their retirement. We\nopened rapid fire--to draw German fire on to us. I saw six creeping\nforward. They called to us--to surrender. I refused--demn them! They\nthrew bombs--killed the corporal--dirty dogs! smashed my leg--nothing\nmuch. I picked off three--with my revolver--never used beastly thing\nbefore; two bolted--last one jumped at me--with bayonet. That's him\nthere--just got him--last cartridge.\"\n\nSeptimus was lying heavily on my arms. Nothing could be done for him;\nI saw the end was at hand.\n\n\"Good-bye, captain! Knew you'd come. Don't know much about\nsoldiering--good sport; shan't have to carry that--demned pack again.\"\n\nA placid smile came over his chubby face as he gasped out the last\nwords. His monocle was still firmly fixed between his fat cheek and\nhis eyebrow. Once more he seemed indifferent to his surroundings.\n\nIn front of him, the silent evidence of his plucky stand, were the\ndead bodies of four Germans. By his side lay a revolver. I picked up\nand examined the chamber; the last cartridge had been fired!\n\nThe men had gathered around; their caps were off. Septimus seemed to\nbe looking up smilingly into their faces.\n\nSeptimus was dead! But Septimus was still in Bond Street!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nNEXT MORNING\n\nA COUNCIL OF WAR. OPERATION ORDERS. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT\n\n\nThree A.M. Heavy shell-fire still continues. I have just ordered the\nmen to cease work and take rest. Trench is about two feet deep; men\nare dead beat.\n\n4 A.M. Have just received three pages of operation orders. We are to\nattack at 4.45 P.M. in four ways, starting from the trenches we have\nbeen digging, and advancing diagonally from the corner of the wood\nacross the open; passing over the mystery trench and taking the\ncentral trench.\n\nI have only a vague idea at present where that is. Am fervently hoping\nthat the battalion bombers have solved the mystery trench and cleared\nit. No news from them yet. God knows what has been happening there\nduring the night.\n\n5 A.M. Have just held a council of war with my officers and N.C.O.'s,\nand explained in detail my plans for the attack. Very impressive\nsight, seeing them all crouching around me in a shell-hole, with\nshells bursting around us, while they listened intently to my orders.\n\n\"Each officer is to carry his papers in lower right-hand hip pocket;\nand if he fails, the nearest man is to search the pocket and hand the\ncontents on to the next senior. I intend to attack in the following\norder:\n\n    First wave     No. 5 Platoon\n    Second         No. 6  \"\n    Third          No. 7  \"      and\n    Fourth wave    No. 8  \"\n\nEighty yards interval between each wave. Bombing sections of Nos. 5\nand 7 to be on the right, and Nos. 6 and 8 on the left of their\nrespective platoons.\n\n\"No. 1 Lewis Gun to be on the right of the second wave; No. 2 Lewis\nGun to be on the left of the fourth wave.\n\n\"Two runners from each platoon to report to me five minutes before\nzero hour. My position, accompanied by the runners, will be between\nthe third and fourth wave.\n\n\"On arrival at objective Lewis Gunners to establish strong points,\nassisted by bombers at each end of objective. Each man to carry two\nhundreds rounds of ammunition and three bombs; also three sand-bags in\nhis belt, and a pick or shovel tucked through his belt behind. Bombers\nto carry each a sack, containing twelve bombs, but no tools.\"\n\nStrange warfare this, going into a fight like a navvy.\n\n5.30 A.M. Plans have been explained in detail to every man, and orders\ngiven that if all officers and N.C.O.'s are knocked out, the men are\nto carry on and finish the job themselves.\n\nVery foggy morning; we are able to finish digging trench.\n\n6 A.M. Astounding news. The battalion bombers have failed. A few\nsurvivors, after fighting all night, have been driven into the wood.\nThe mystery trench over which I must cross is in the hands of the\nBoches. Could we hope to accomplish the double task?\n\nThe men heard the news in silence.\n\n7 A.M. Breakfast consists of some dirty bread and cheese, and a little\nwater.\n\n8 A.M. Fog lifted. Our position is correct. Can see objective plainly\nabout four hundred yards off. We can also be seen plainly, and snipers\nare busy trying to pick us off.\n\nHave made a reconnaissance, and find intervening ground a mass of\nshell-holes. Looks like a rough sea. The advance will be difficult;\nthe ground is so churned up. Not a square yard of unbroken ground.\n\n2 P.M. Everything is now in readiness, with nearly three hours to\nspare.\n\nHave ordered men to eat their dinners, which consists of bread and\ncheese at 3 P.M., so that they will go into the fight on full\nstomachs.\n\nI have had no sleep or proper food for nearly two days. Will lie down\nand get an hour's rest before the attack.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE ADVANCE THROUGH LEUZE WOOD\n\nNEW OPERATION ORDERS. \"AT ANY COST.\" LIKE RATS IN A TRAP\n\n\nI had hardly closed my eyes when a runner from headquarters came\nhurrying along the line, and was directed to where I was dozing at the\nbottom of a trench.\n\n\"Message from the C.O., sir, very urgent.\"\n\nI signed the receipt and tore the envelope open. Good heavens! new\noperation orders! I was astounded. I looked again, hardly daring to\nbelieve my eyes. Sure enough, there was no mistake about it, three\npages of closely written operation orders. The head-line seemed to be\nmocking me:\n\n\"Fresh operation orders, cancelling those issued this morning.\"\n\nI read on: \"You are to advance on through Leuze Wood, and attack from\nthat part of the wood which forms the fourth side of the square-shaped\ntrench, thus attacking the inside of the square; B Company taking the\nlower half, and C Company the upper half; A Company to be in support.\"\n\nA cold shiver ran down my back. What a calamity! and after all the\npains I had taken to work out the details of the attack, and that\ndreadful night spent in digging these trenches to jump off from. Every\nman knew what to do, and now at the eleventh hour the whole plan was\naltered.\n\nI glanced again at the new orders:\n\n\"You are to be at the new place of assembly by 3.30 P.M.; zero hour is\n4.45.\"\n\nI looked at my watch--Great Scott! it was already 2.15; at 3 P.M. I\nmust commence the advance through the wood.\n\nThe men had not yet commenced their dinners. What time was there? and\nhow was it possible to sit down quietly and digest those three pages\nof new orders and understand their meaning? What time had I to make\nnew plans and explain to each man his new task?\n\nThere was not a moment to be lost; I turned to my two runners:\n\n\"Dinners to be eaten at once. Platoon commanders wanted at the\ndouble.\"\n\nI waited, and by and by the platoon commanders, Second Lieutenant\nFarman and Chislehirst, and Sergeants Blackwell and Barnes, came\nrunning along the top, snipers shooting at them as they ran along.\nThey halted on the parados, saluting as they came up, and, still\nstanding up, awaited orders, seemingly indifferent to the excellent\ntarget which they presented.\n\n\"Lie down flat,\" I ordered.\n\nThey did as I directed, their faces turned anxiously toward me,\nwondering what was up.\n\n\"New operation orders just arrived from headquarters; previous orders\ncancelled. We are to advance through the wood and attack from the\ninside of the square.\"\n\nI hurriedly read the whole of the orders over to them, and they\nlistened silently.\n\n\"Go back to your platoons. The men are to be dressed in battle order\nby 2.50--it's now 2.30--by 3 P.M. the platoons are to be closed up\nalong the trench, and the leading platoon will enter the wood in\nsingle file, other platoons following.\"\n\nAs I glanced up I noticed their faces were pale; they were listening\nintently, but uttering no sound. They were receiving orders; they\nrealised their responsibility, and they knew their duty.\n\nThe last paragraph was underlined. I hurriedly read it and looked up\nat them again:\n\n\"Just one more thing,\" I said. \"These are my orders underlined:\n\n\"YOU MUST REACH YOUR OBJECTIVE AT ANY COST. IF DRIVEN BACK, YOU ARE TO\nMAKE A STAND AT THE EDGE OF THE WOOD, AND HOLD OUT TILL THE LAST MAN\nFALLS.\"\n\nIt sounded like a death sentence, a forecast of the hour of trial\nwhich we were to face. Only those who have received such orders on the\nfield of battle can realise what it feels like.\n\nIn those few dramatic moments we counted our lives as lost. We\nrecognised how desperate was our task. Success we might hope for; but\nfailure we must pay the price of. We must fight till the last man\nfalls--and yet we were merely civilian soldiers.\n\nI looked into their faces; our eyes met. I understood; I could trust\nthem; they could trust me.\n\n\"That's all; return to your platoons and prepare to move.\"\n\nThey had not uttered a word through all this; no words were necessary.\nThey jumped to their feet; saluted as though we were back on Salisbury\nPlain, and the next moment ran along the parados to their platoons.\n\nI watched them, and saw them kneel down on the top of their trench,\nindifferent to the snipers' bullets whistling about their heads,\nhurriedly explaining the situation to their men.\n\nBy 3 P.M. the men were ready and had closed along the trench to the\nwood.\n\nThe movement had been seen by the enemy, and a terrific burst of\nfiring commenced; although, at the time I could not see what effect it\nwas having.\n\nI waited several minutes, but there was no further movement along the\ntrench to indicate that the first platoon had entered the wood. I sent\nforward the message, \"Carry on,\" but still no movement resulted.\n\nAt last, feeling something was wrong and unable to restrain my\nimpatience any longer, I jumped out of the trench and ran along the\nparados.\n\nWhat I saw there appalled me for the moment; the wood in front of me\nwas filled with bursting shells; a continuous pr-r-r-r-r seemed to be\nmoving backward and forward, and bullets were whistling in all\ndirections.\n\nGood God! what a hell! No wonder the men hesitated! What was to be\ndone? My orders left me no alternative. I must advance through the\nwood. My brain kept repeating the words, \"At any cost!\" What a cost it\nwould be to enter that hell! It was now, or never!\n\nWe were hesitating; something must be done, and done quickly. I looked\nat Farman, and I knew I could count on him.\n\nThe next moment I leaped into a newly made shell-hole, about five\nyards in the wood; called upon Farman to follow, and a moment later he\ncame jumping after.\n\nThe noise was terrific. We yelled at the top of our voices for the\nnext man to follow.\n\nThe next man to take the leap was the company sergeant-major. A piece\nof shell struck him in the side, and he rolled over on the ground,\nclutching at his tunic.\n\nAgain we yelled for the men to come along; and one by one they took\nthe leap.\n\nWhen six of us were in the shell-hole it was time for us to empty it\nto make room for others. Farman and I took it in turns to lead the\nway, and this process went on through the wood, leaping from hole to\nhole, and yelling at the top of our lungs for the others to follow us.\n\nBy this time the scene inside the wood was indescribable. Machine-gun\nbullets were spraying backward and forward; 6-inch shells were\nexploding in all directions; and the din was intensified by the\ncrashing of trees uprooted by the explosions, and the dull thud of the\nmissiles striking the ground.\n\nThrough the dull light of that filthy wood we frequently cast an\nanxious glance towards the red rockets being sent up from the German\nlines, directing the fire of their artillery towards us.\n\nSometimes, in leaping forward, we would land beside the dead and\nmutilated carcass of a German soldier who had fallen a week before.\nIt was ghastly, terrible; and the millions of flies sucking at his\nopen wounds would swarm about us, seemingly in a buzz of anger at our\ndisturbance. But sickly and ghastly as the scene was, farther and\nfarther into this exaggerated hell we must go.\n\nBy this time the cries of the wounded added to the terrors of the\nscene. Each time we jumped into a shell-hole, we turned to watch the\nmen leap in. Each time it seemed that a new face appeared, and the\nabsence of those who had jumped into the last shell-hole was only too\nsignificant.\n\nBut, undaunted by their falling comrades, each man, in his turn,\nleaped forward and would lie gasping for breath until his turn came\nfor another effort.\n\nFarman was the first to speak. It was his turn to take the next leap:\n\n\"I don't think it really matters. There's a hole about thirty yards\naway; I think I'll go straight for that.\"\n\nHe got up and walked leisurely across, as though inviting the death\nwhich seemed inevitable. He stopped at the shell-hole, and for a\nmoment seemed to be looking down undecided whether to jump in or not.\n\nI shouted at him:\n\n\"Don't be a damned fool; jump!\"\n\nThe next moment a shell burst between us, and I fell back into the\nshell-hole. When I again looked out and my eyes could penetrate the\nsmoke, I saw no sign of Farman. I yelled, and to my intense relief I\nsaw his head appear. He was safe!\n\nAgain and again the last paragraph of my orders seemed to be blazing\nin front of me, and like a hidden hand from that dark inferno of\nhorrors, kept beckoning me forward, \"AT ANY COST! AT ANY COST!\"\n\nYes; this must be the end; but it's hell to die in a wood.\n\nThe men used to call it Lousy Wood. What do they call it now? They\nwere brave fellows; and they were only civilian soldiers, too! They\nused to be volunteers once. People would laugh, and call them Saturday\nafternoon soldiers.\n\nReviews in Hyde Park used to be a joke, and the comic papers\ncaricatured these men, and used them as material for their jests.\n\nThey were only Territorials! That man, panting hard at the bottom of\nthe shell-hole, and still clutching at his rifle, is a bank clerk;\nthat man who fell at the last jump, with his stomach ripped up, was a\nsolicitor's clerk.\n\nLook at the others. Their faces are pale; their eyes are bulging. But\nthey are the same faces one used to see in Cornhill and Threadneedle\nStreet.\n\nYes, they are only Territorials! But here in this filthy wood they are\ndamned proud of it.\n\nAnd what is taking place in England to-day?\n\nIs it really true that while all this is going on in Leuze Wood,\norchestras are playing sweet music in brilliantly lighted restaurants\nin London--while a gluttonous crowd eat of the fat of the land? Is it\nreally true that women in England are dressing more extravagantly than\never? Is it really true that some men in England are unable or\nunwilling to share the nation's peril--are even threatening to strike?\n\nNo! No! Do not let us think that this is the true picture of England.\nIf it is, then, Territorials, let us die in Leuze Wood!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nTHE ATTACK\n\nA DESPERATE SITUATION. BATTLE FORMATION. \"FOR ENGLAND\"\n\n\nJoy! The last leap I took landed me in a trench, and I found to my\ngreat relief that it was the lower part of the square which ran\nthrough the wood. A few yards along this trench it emerged into the\nopen, where it was in possession of the Germans.\n\nFarman and I sat down, side by side, breathing heavily from our\nexertions.\n\n\"That was hell, Farman,\" I said, hardly daring to trust my voice.\n\n\"Awful!\"\n\n\"I hope the men are still following.\"\n\n\"Those that are left.\"\n\n\"Have a cigarette; it will buck the men up to see us smoking.\"\n\n\"Thanks, I will, though I'm as dry as a bone.\"\n\n\"Save your water; we've still got the attack to do. We've got an hour\nyet; that will give the men time to recover.\"\n\nBy this time, one by one, the men began to jump into the trench. As\nthe men arrived, their faces pale and eyes started, we called them by\nname. They looked up and smiled with relief at seeing us sitting\nthere, side by side. They recognised that the last jump had been made,\nand for the time being, at any rate, they were safe.\n\nWe had started through the wood, about one hundred and thirty strong,\nand barely eighty mustered for the final attack.\n\nSome men of C Company appeared, threading their way along the trench.\nFarther in the wood, the commander, Lieutenant Barton, came up to\narrange details for the attack.\n\n\"You got your new orders in time, then,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Just in time. It's hell, isn't it? I've lost heavily already, and\nwe've still got to go over the top.\"\n\n\"I've got orders to take half the battalion bombers from you; where\nare they?\"\n\n\"I would like to keep them; there are not many left, and they are\nbadly broken up--been fighting all night.\"\n\n\"All right, you keep them. I'm going to form up between here and that\nbroken tree. Will you form up farther to the left?\"\n\n\"All right. Well, I'll be off; cheer oh! old chap.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, Barton. Good luck!\"\n\nI never saw Barton again! I heard some months afterwards that he fell,\nriddled with machine-gun bullets whilst leading his men into the\nsubsequent attack.\n\n\"Pass the word for No. 8 Platoon commander,\" I ordered, wishing to\nascertain if the last platoon had arrived.\n\nA young sergeant came up at the double, and saluted.\n\n\"I am in command, sir.\"\n\nHis tone and manner inspired me immensely. Notwithstanding all the\ndanger we had passed through, he seemed to be full of ginger and pride\nat finding himself in command of the platoon.\n\n\"Where is Mr. Chislehirst, then?\" I asked.\n\n\"Wounded, sir, in the wood; shot through the chest. The last I saw of\nhim he was giving another wounded man a drink from his water-bottle.\"\n\n\"All right; do you understand your orders?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, quite.\"\n\n\"Return to your platoon, and await orders to form up.\"\n\nHe saluted and doubled back to his men. I forget his name, but he was\na fine fellow, that sergeant; quite cool, and evidently pleased at his\nnew responsibility.\n\nSo poor old Chislehirst was hit; fine fellow; very young, only about\ntwenty; good company in the mess; reliable in the field. Just like him\nto give his water-bottle to some one else when he could go no farther.\n\nFarman was my only subaltern left. Suddenly he gripped my arm and\npointed into the wood:\n\n\"Look over there. Who are those fellows creeping along that trench?\"\n\nI looked in the direction he was pointing, and there, to my\nastonishment, on the very ground just vacated by C Company, about a\ndozen figures in bluish grey were creeping along a shallow trench. I\nthought at first they were coming in to surrender; but they made no\nsigns, but were evidently making the best of cover.\n\nWhat were they up to? There were only about 12 of them, and I had\nbetween 70 and 80 men. For such a small number to come out alone and\nattack us seemed absurd, and I waited, expecting them to throw up\ntheir hands and come in. Perhaps they thought they had not been seen.\nI picked up a rifle, and taking aim, fired at the last man but one; I\nmissed.\n\nStill they kept creeping on. I fired a second time at the same man,\nand he dropped. The thing didn't seem real, seeing those heads bobbing\nalong a trench; I felt for a moment as though I were shooting rabbits.\n\nThe next moment I realised their object. By this time they had worked\nwell round my flanks. They were evidently a few daring men, who were\ntrying to creep up unnoticed, with the intention of throwing bombs\nwhile we were in a congested area, occupied in forming up for the\nattack. A daring ruse, but a clever one; for a dozen men throwing\nbombs at close quarters could wipe us off the map, or, at any rate,\ncould do enough damage by shock action of this kind to prevent our\nattack starting.\n\nI dared not give any order to fire for fear of hitting the men of C\nCompany. The situation was desperate. I had no time to spare, for zero\nhour was close at hand. The same thoughts were running through\nFarman's mind.\n\n\"Shall I have a go at them?\" he said.\n\n\"Yes; form up your platoon, and stick them with the bayonet; then join\nthe attack as a fourth wave.\"\n\nI watched Farman and his platoon with bayonets fixed, creeping on all\nfours towards the German bombers. That was the last I saw of them, as\nit was within 10 minutes of zero hour, and we were not yet in battle\nformation.\n\nI heard afterwards that they did the job well. But to part with the\nplatoon and my only remaining officer at this critical moment was a\ngreat loss to me; for I could not count upon them in the attack for\nwhich I had now only three platoons left--about sixty men.\n\nHalf my strength had gone, and the real attack had not yet begun. I\nsent for the remaining platoon commanders and explained the\nsituation:\n\n\"No. 6 Platoon will now become the first wave. Form up and extend\nalong the edge of the wood and await my signal to advance into the\nopen. No. 7 Platoon, form up immediately in rear; and No. 8 Platoon,\nassemble in the trench close up. Bombing section of No. 6 will proceed\nalong the trench parallel with the advance, bombing it out as they go\nalong.\"\n\nThe men formed up. The minutes seemed to be like hours. We were facing\nthe inside of the square trench, which was a mass of shell-holes, and\nas though anticipating our intention, shells were bursting and bullets\nwhistling on all sides.\n\nHow peaceful England must be at this moment; how pretty the villages!\nAnd how wicked this hell seemed in front of us! And these were the men\nof England--nice chaps, only Territorials.\n\nOne used to meet them in the city every day. Some were awful nuts. See\nthem at lunch; watch them pouring out of Liverpool Street Station\nbetween 9 and 10 o'clock in the morning, with newspaper and\nwalking-stick; see them in the banks, bending over ledgers. You could\nhardly believe it; but these were the same men.\n\nThey were not very trim just now; their hands are grimy as they clutch\nat their rifles, undaunted by the terrors they have already passed\nthrough and the sight of their fallen comrades left groaning in the\nwood.\n\nThere they are, extended and lying flat on the ground, waiting further\norders. They have come through one hell by the skin of their teeth,\nand are patiently looking into another hell; their lives were counted\nby minutes, these office men. But their eyes were fixed on the far\nside of the square trench which was to be their objective; unless by\nGod's will, and for the sake of England, they found an earlier one.\n\nLondon men! Some may call you \"only Territorials.\" Training has been\nyour hobby; but fighting was never your profession.\n\nWhat will England think of this? England may never know.\n\nWho ever heard of Leuze Wood before? If a man is killed in England\nthere is an inquest. People read about it in the papers.\n\nAre the people left behind in England suffering hardships\nuncomplainingly, and gritting their teeth like you are? You are only\ngetting a bob a day. England needs you; you are masters. Why don't\nyou strike at this critical moment?\n\nNo, my lads; you are made of different stuff. You are men! There are\nthose in England this day who work for England's cause; there are\nothers who are enriching themselves by your absence; there are homes\nwhich will feel your sacrifice.\n\nYou have seen the wasted homes and the ghastly outrages in France; and\nbetween that picture and the green fields of England you must make\nyour stand; those in England will depend upon you this day.\n\nZero hour is at hand. Agonies, mutilation, and death are within a few\nyards of you. There will be no pictures of your deeds; there are no\nflags or trumpets to inspire you; you are lying on the dirty ground on\nthe edge of Leuze Wood, with hell in front of you, and hell behind\nyou--hell in those trenches on the left, hell in those trenches on the\nright.\n\nOne more minute and you will stand up and walk into it. My lads! It's\nfor England!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nAT ANY COST\n\nOVER THE TOP. MAD, FIGHTING MAD. THE FINAL ASSAULT\n\n\nAt last the thunder of our guns towards the German lines confirmed the\nhour. Zero hour had arrived; the barrage had begun.\n\n\"No. 6 Platoon will advance.\"\n\nThe front line jumped up and walked into the open. Wonderful! Steady\nas a rock! The line was perfect.\n\nOn the left the front line of C Company has also emerged from the\nwood; the bombers of No. 6 Platoon disappeared along the mystery\ntrench.\n\nThe tut-ut-ut-ut of machine-guns developed from several parts of the\nsquare, while the crack of rifles increased in intensity.\n\nNo. 7 Platoon jumped up and advanced into the open, followed by the\nthird wave.\n\nI extended my runners and followed.\n\nWhat followed next beggars description. As I write these lines my hand\nhesitates to describe the hell that was let loose upon those men. No\neye but mine could take in the picture so completely.\n\nWill the world ever know what these men faced and fought\nagainst--these men of the City of London? Not unless I tell it, for I\nalone saw all that happened that day; and my hand alone, weak and\nincapable though it feels, is the only one that can do it.\n\nBarely had I emerged from the wood with my ten runners when a perfect\nhurricane of shells were hurled at us, machine-guns from several\npoints spraying their deadly fire backward and forward, dropping men\nlike corn before the reaper. From all three sides of the square a\nhurricane of fire was poured into the centre of the square upon us, as\nwe emerged from the wood.\n\nIn far less time than it takes to record it, the attacking waves\nbecame a mere sprinkling of men. They went on for a yard or two, and\nthen all seemed to vanish; and even my runners, whom I had extended\ninto line, were dropping fast.\n\nThe situation was critical, desperate. Fearful lest the attack should\nfail, I ran forward, and collecting men here and there from\nshell-holes where some had taken refuge, I formed them into a fresh\nfiring-line, and once more we pressed forward.\n\nAgain and again the line was thinned; and again the survivors,\nundaunted and unbeaten, reformed and pressed forward.\n\nMen laughed, men cried in the desperation of the moment. We were\ngrappling with death; we were dodging it, cheating it; we were mad,\nblindly hysterical. What did anything matter? Farther and farther into\nthe inferno we must press, at any cost, at any cost; leaping, jumping,\nrushing, we went from shell-hole to shell-hole; and still the fire\ncontinued with unrelenting fury.\n\nI jumped into a shell-hole, and found myself within ten yards of my\nobjective. My three remaining runners jumped in alongside of me. They\nwere Arnold, Dobson, and Wilkinson.\n\nArnold was done for! He looked up at me with eyes staring and face\nblanched, and panted out that he could go no farther, and I realised\nthat I could count on him no more.\n\nI glanced to the left, just in time to see three Germans not five\nyards away, and one after the other jump from a shell-hole which\nformed a sort of bay to their trench, and run away.\n\nWishing to save the ammunition in my revolver for the hand-to-hand\nscuffle which seemed imminent, I seized the rifle of Arnold and fired.\nI missed all three; my hand was shaky.\n\nWhat was I to do next? The company on my left had disappeared; the\ntrench just in front of me was occupied by the Boches. I had with me\nthree runners, one of whom was helpless, and in the next shell-hole\nabout six men, the sole survivors of my company.\n\nWhere were the supports? Anxiously I glanced back toward the wood; why\ndid they not come?\n\nPoor fellows, I did not know it at the time, but the hand of death had\ndealt with them even more heavily in the wood than it had with us.\n\nMy position was desperate. I could not retire. My orders were\nimperative: \"You must reach your objective at any cost.\" I must get\nthere somehow. But even if we got there, how long could I hope to hold\nout with such a handful of men?\n\nImmediate support I must have; I must take risks. I turned to brave\nDobson and Wilkinson:\n\n\"Message to the supports: 'Send me two platoons quickly; position\ncritical.'\"\n\nWithout a moment's hesitation they jumped up and darted off with the\nmessage which might save the day.\n\nDobson fell before he had gone two yards; three paces farther on I saw\nWilkinson, the pet of the company, turn suddenly round and fall on the\nground, clutching at his breast. All hope for the supports was gone.\n\nAt this moment the bombing section, which by this time had cleared the\nmystery trench, arrived on the right of the objective; and to my\ndelirious joy, I noticed the Germans in the trench in front of me\nrunning away along the trench.\n\nIt was now, or never! We must charge over that strip of land and\nfinish them with the bayonet. A moment's hesitation and the tables\nmight again be turned, and all would be lost. The trench in front must\nbe taken by assault; it must be done. There were six or seven of us\nleft, and we must do it.\n\nI yelled to the men:\n\n\"Get ready to charge, they are running. Come on! Come on!\"\n\nI jumped out of the shell-hole, and they followed me. Once again I was\nmad. I saw nothing, I heard nothing; I wanted to kill! kill!\n\nPf--ung!\n\nOh! My God! I was hit in the head! I was blind!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nLEFT ON THE FIELD\n\nTHE MYSTERY OF DEATH. THE SECRET CODE. TWO TERRIBLE DAYS\n\n\nI was wounded! I was blind! But the moments that followed are clear in\nmy memory. The brain shocked by a blow works quickly and actively in\nits excited effort to hold its own.\n\nI was quite conscious and thinking clearly: I knew what had happened\nand what would happen; I remembered every detail.\n\nMy head at the moment was inclined to the right, for I was shouting to\nthe men. Like a flash I remembered that about fifty yards to the left\nof me there was a \"German strong point\" still occupied by the Germans.\nA bullet had entered my left temple; it must have come from a sniper\nin that strong point. The bullet had passed clean through my head; I\nthought it had emerged through my right temple. I was mistaken on that\npoint, for I found some days later that it had emerged through the\ncentre of my right eye.\n\nI remember distinctly clutching my head and sinking to the ground, and\nall the time I was thinking \"so this is the end--the finish of it all;\nshot through the head, mine is a fatal wound.\"\n\nArnold jumped up, and catching me in his arms, helped me back into the\nshell-hole.\n\nI hesitate to tell what followed. But as I am trying to record the\nsensations experienced at the time of receiving a head wound, I will\ndescribe the next experience simply, and leave the reader to form his\nown conclusions.\n\nI was blind then, as I am now; but the blackness which was then before\nme underwent a change. A voice from somewhere behind me said: \"This is\ndeath; will you come?\"\n\nThen gradually the blackness became more intense. A curtain seemed to\nbe slowly falling; there was space; there was darkness, blacker than\nmy blindness; everything was past. There was a peacefulness, a\nnothingness; but a happiness indescribable.\n\nI seemed for a moment somewhere in the emptiness looking down at my\nbody, lying in the shell-hole, bleeding from the temple. I was dead!\nand that was my body; but I was happy.\n\nBut the voice I had heard seemed to be waiting for an answer. I seemed\nto exert myself by a frantic effort, like one in a dream who is trying\nto awaken.\n\nI said: \"No, not now; I won't die.\" Then the curtain slowly lifted; my\nbody moved and I was moving it. I was alive!\n\nThere, my readers, I have told you, and I have hesitated to tell it\nbefore. More than that, I will tell you that I was not unconscious;\nneither did I lose consciousness until several minutes later, and then\nunconsciousness was quite different.\n\nI have told you how clear was my brain the moment I was hit, and I\ntell you also that after the sensation I have just related, my brain\nwas equally clear, as I will show you, until I became unconscious.\n\nCall it a hallucination, a trick of the brain, or what you will. I\nmake no attempt to influence you; I merely record the incident--but my\nown belief I will keep to myself.\n\nWhatever it was, I no longer feel there is any mystery about death.\nNor do I dread it.\n\nArnold was busy tearing open the field dressing which I carried in a\npocket of my tunic.\n\n\"Use the iodine first, Arnold; it's in the pocket in a glass phial.\"\n\n\"The glass is broken, sir.\"\n\n\"In a piece of paper there are two morphia tablets--quick, better give\nthem to me.\"\n\n\"They are not here, sir.\" And he bound the dressing round my eyes as\nthe blood trickled down my face.\n\n\"Quick, Arnold, my right pocket--feel in it; some papers there--a\nsecret code--take them out--tear them up--quickly; tell me have you\ndone it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I have done it.\"\n\nI was sinking; I felt myself going; I felt that the end was at hand. I\nclutched his shoulder and pulled him towards me:\n\n\"Arnold, I'm going. If you get back--tell my--wife--\" But the message\nthat was on my lips was not finished; I could speak no more. I was\ndropping into space, dropping, dropping; everything disappeared, I\nremembered no more.\n\nI do not know how long I remained in this condition. I remember\ngaining consciousness and finding Arnold by my side.\n\nSomething terrible was happening. I gradually began to realise that\nanother attack was taking place over my head. This time the fire was\ncoming from both sides. A stream of bullets seemed to be pouring over\nthe shell-hole. The meaning was obvious: a machine-gun had been placed\nin the trench ten yards away, and its deadly fire was pouring over the\nshell-hole in which we lay. Loud explosions were taking place all\nround us, and with each explosion the earth seemed to upheave, and I\nfelt the thug, thug of pieces of metal striking the earth close by;\nwhilst showers of earth kept falling on my body. I couldn't last long.\nThe guns of both sides seemed to be searching for us; we must soon be\nblown to pieces.\n\nHow long this lasted I cannot say. I was weak; my shattered nerves\ncould not stand such a terrible ordeal. I lay huddled and shivering at\nthe bottom of the shell-hole, waiting for the jagged metal to strike\nmy body, or be hurled, mutilated, into the air.\n\nAgain I became unconscious. When I next recovered my senses Arnold\nwas trying to lift me, to carry me away, but his strength was not\nequal to it. He laid me down again.\n\nThe firing had ceased. He seemed to be peering out of the shell-hole\nand talking to me. I think he was planning escape. It must have been\ndark, for he seemed uncertain about the direction.\n\nThen I began to vomit; I seemed to be vomiting my heart out, while\nArnold seemed to be trying to comfort me.\n\nI again became unconscious. When I regained consciousness for the\nthird time it seemed to me that I had been insensible for a great\nlength of time. But I seemed to be much refreshed, although very weak.\n\nEverything was silent, uncanny; I could see nothing, hear nothing.\nYes, I remembered; I was shot blind, and I was still in the\nshell-hole. I felt my head; there was a rough bandage round it,\ncovering my eyes. The bandage over my right eye was hardened with\nblood, and dried blood covered my left cheek. My hair was matted with\nclay and blood; and my clothes seemed to be covered with loose earth.\n\nBut what did this uncanny silence mean?--Arnold, where was he? I\ncalled him by name, but there was no response. I remembered the firing\nI had heard: yes, he must be dead.\n\nIn my blindness and despair I groped on my hands and knees around the\nshell-hole to find his body. He was not there. _I was alone!_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE JAWS OF DEATH\n\nLONELINESS, DARKNESS, AND SILENCE. A LAST EFFORT. I PREPARE FOR DEATH\n\n\nI did not know at the time, of course, what had become of Arnold; but\nI found out later.\n\nFearing I was dying when I lapsed into unconsciousness again, after my\nfit of vomiting, he decided under cover of darkness to try and find\nhis way back to the British lines to bring me aid.\n\nAfter stumbling about in and out of shell-holes, he suddenly saw the\nbarrel of a rifle pointing at him from a trench close by, and\nfollowing him as he moved; and a moment later he was a prisoner.\n\nUnderstanding German, he told his captors that I was lying out in No\nMan's Land, and begged them to send me medical aid; and they answered\nthat stretcher-bearers would be sent to make a search.\n\nWhether the stretcher-bearers were sent or not I do not know; but if\nthey were, they were not successful in finding me; for to the best of\nmy belief it was on the Monday morning that I again regained\nconsciousness, to find myself alone--two days after I had been shot.\n\nIt is difficult for me to describe my feelings when I found myself\nalone. I had no pain, I seemed to feel very small and the world very\nlarge. I sat up and felt my head; my face felt twice its usual size,\nand seemed sticky and clammy with earth and blood.\n\nEverything was so silent.\n\nThere was a great lump of hardened blood where the rough field\ndressing covered my right eye; my left cheek, nose, and lips were\nswollen tremendously.\n\nWhether it was night or day I did not know. But I knew I was blind. I\ntried to collect my thoughts and to reason out my position.\n\nWhere was the German line, and where was the British? I knew that I\nmust be a considerable distance from the British line; but which\ndirection it was in, I could not tell.\n\nIf I were to crawl, which way should I go and where should I find\nmyself? Better to make the attempt and take my chance, than lie where\nI was. On my hands and knees I tried to crawl up the side of the\nshell-hole. But I had not reckoned on my weakness; the world was so\nlarge and I was so small.\n\nBefore I could reach the top my strength gave out, and I slid to the\nbottom. Again and again I tried, and with each attempt I kept slipping\nback, each time, bringing with me a pile of loose earth.\n\nAt last I realised how hopeless it all was, with so little strength.\nAnd unable even to reach to the top of the shell-hole, how could I\nhope ever to reach the British line across the sea of shell-holes\nwhich intervened? I seemed so far from everything; though little did I\ndream at the time that German soldiers were within a few yards of me\nin the trench from which I had driven them by such desperate efforts\ntwo days before--two days! Surely it was two years!\n\nThen my fate dawned upon me. Of course the end was quite logical. This\nwas the end; it could not be otherwise. Had I not made up my mind it\nwould come? Surely I did before I started? Was I not shot through the\nhead and left to die? Well, this was the proper place to die. But\nwhat surprised me was that the thought of dying seemed so comforting.\nI was so weary, and death seemed so peaceful.\n\nI have heard people say that when a person is drowning, after the\nfirst frantic struggles are over, a delightful sensation of\npeacefulness comes over him, and he ceases to desire to help himself.\nThat was how I felt at that moment. This shell-hole was my grave.\nWell, it seemed quite right and proper.\n\nThe idea of getting back to life after suffering so many deaths seemed\nvery unreasonable. My sensations were those of one who had awakened to\nfind himself buried alive. To be alive at all was cheating death,\nwhich held me firmly in its grip. Better to accept it and wait calmly\nfor the end.\n\nThe life of the world seemed so far away from me. My family, my home,\nmy friends and scenes that I used to know so well seemed in a misty\npast, a long, long way away--a different age.\n\nAfter all, it did not matter very much. It was all so very long ago.\nIt had all happened long ago. My absence was an accepted fact; I was\nnow a memory.\n\nNow, I have already said that I awoke refreshed. I will say, further,\nthat I was never so clear-headed in my life. I had little power in my\nlimbs. My brain was never more calm and calculating and indifferent to\nthe death which I knew was at hand.\n\nIt was not nerve, because I had none. It had nothing to do with the\nquestion of pluck or cowardice. It was simply the state of the brain\nbefore its last kick. I had ceased to resist my fate; I accepted it. I\nwas not dead yet--but I was to die there, and that was to be my grave.\n\nI began to think out calmly in what way my life would flicker out, and\nI concluded that it would come as a result of my wound during a period\nof unconsciousness, or by the slower process of thirst, starvation,\nand exposure. In the latter case I should probably have violent spasms\nor struggles. I had better prepare myself.\n\nI was lying in a very uncomfortable position. There was a pile of\nloose earth, which stuck against my body awkwardly. With my hands and\nfeet I scooped it out until my body lay comfortably in a hollow, with\nthe loose earth forming a sort of bed. In doing this I found a\nwater-bottle. Arnold must have left it behind for me. There was only a\ndrain in it, which I drank, and threw the bottle away.\n\nI next searched my pockets for food and found a small crust, the\nremains of what had been my food the day before the attack. I placed\nthis carefully in my pocket for use at the time when I should\nexperience the final pangs of starvation. My own water-bottle still\ncontained about half a pint of water. I placed this on the ground,\nclose to where my face would be, so that I could clutch it readily.\n\nThese preparations over, my brain began to get tired. There was\nnothing else to be done; everything was ready. I would lie down now\nand wait for the end. I laid my head on the ground, using the side of\nthe shell-hole as a pillow.\n\nI was very comfortable, the soft earth seemed almost like a bed. After\nall, I was a lucky fellow to be able to die in a comfortable way like\nthis. I wondered how long it would really be--days more, perhaps, but\nstill I could wait. Yes, the life of the world was a very long way\naway; after all, it did not matter.\n\nHow long I waited in this position I do not know, but it suddenly\noccurred to me that I was passing away, and for a moment all the old\nscenes came closer. They were passing by in a sort of procession.\n\nA sudden impulse caused me to raise myself into a sitting position. I\nwaved my hand above my head and shouted out, \"Good-bye.\" The\nprocession was over. I lay down again and waited for the end.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nAT THE MERCY OF THE HUN--AND AFTER\n\nA BASIN OF SOUP. HOSPITAL AT ST. QUENTIN. THE \"OPEN SESAME\"\n\n\nA moment or two later something occurred which caused my wearied brain\nto be roused again into activity. What could it mean?\n\nI was again thinking hard, listening intently; something undefinable\nhad happened to suddenly revive my mental condition. Had I passed\naway, and was this the next life? I felt like one who had awakened out\nof a dream in the dead of night, conscious that some one or something\nwas moving near him.\n\n\"Englishman! Kamarade!\"\n\nGreat God! I was found!\n\nHad I the strength I should probably have screamed with joy, for that\nwas my impulse at hearing a human voice. A second later and my feeling\nwas to shrink from discovery. Surrender? Was it then to come to this,\nafter all?\n\nI did not answer; it was not necessary.\n\nHe must have heard me shout; he must know where I am. I was unarmed\nand helpless; what need to answer such a call? He would probably seek\nme, and I should be found without need to foul my lips with an answer.\n\nAnd then I felt that it was not my life that was being saved, but a\nlingering death avoided by a murderous, but quick despatch. Well,\nperhaps it was better it should come that way.\n\nPresently I heard some one crawling towards me. A few pebbles rolled\ndown the slope, and there was silence again. I felt that he was\nlooking down at me. Again a shuffle, and a quantity of loose earth\nrolled down the slope, and he was sliding down towards me.\n\nThe supreme moment had arrived. Would it be a bullet or a bayonet\nthrust; and where would it strike me?\n\nI lay perfectly still. He seemed to be bending over me undecidedly. I\nthought he might believe me dead and go away without finishing me off,\nto seek the cause of the shout elsewhere.\n\nI raised myself on my elbow and turned my face towards him. Then, to\nmy astonishment he put his arms around my body and raised me up. What\nstrange wonder was this? He put my arm around his neck, and with his\nown arm around my body, he raised me to my feet. But I could not\nstand. Then, placing both arms firmly around me, he dragged me out of\nthe shell-holes. I felt myself being dragged several yards, and then\nhe stopped.\n\nI heard many voices talking below me. What would happen next. Then\nseveral hands caught hold of me, and I was lifted into a trench.\n\nSome one gave an order, and I was dragged along the trench and around\na corner. More voices seemed to come from still farther below. Some\none picked hold of my feet, and I was carried down several steps. I\nwas in a dugout.\n\nIt seemed warm and cosy. There were officers around me. Here must be\nthe company commander whom I had driven away two days before. Now he\ncould take his revenge. What mercy could I hope from him?\n\nA voice asked me a question in English. But by this time I had\ncollapsed completely. I tried to speak, but no sound would come from\nmy throat. My head seemed to be an enormous size; my jaw would not\nmove. I felt some one examine my tunic and examine my pockets. No,\nthere were no papers there. I heard some one say \"Hauptmann.\" Then\nmore talking.\n\nA cigarette was put in my mouth. I held it between my swollen lips,\nbut could not inhale. A sharp command was given, and once more I was\nlifted up on to some one's back, and was being dragged down a long\ncommunication trench.\n\nI was able presently to realise that I was in a dressing-station, for\nI was laid on a stretcher. Some one bent over me, evidently a medical\nofficer.\n\nMy throat was parched. Oh, how thirsty I was! He was saying something\nto me in English in a very kindly manner. He opened a bottle of\nSeltzer water, and, lifting me up, placed it to my lips. Oh, how\nthirsty I was! I held out my hand for more. Bottle after bottle of\nSeltzer water was opened, and I drank one after the other. In my\nhaziness I seemed to be wondering how they came to be supplied with\nsuch quantities of Seltzer water so close up to the front line.\n\nHe opened up my tunic and rubbed something on my chest. I heard him\nsay, very gently:\n\n\"Injection against tetanus. It won't hurt you\"; and then I felt a very\nslight pin prick. He laid me down again. My head was throbbing.\n\nHow hot and stuffy it was! I heard some groans, voices were speaking\nin a low tone. I again heard the word, \"Hauptmann.\"\n\n\nOf the days which followed I have only a hazy recollection. My brain\nand body sustained during the period of danger and strain, collapsed\ncompletely, and during the next six days I had only occasional periods\nof sensibility.\n\nI can, therefore, only recall the facts between the time of my being\npicked up and my arrival at Hanover, six days later, in a disjointed\nmanner.\n\nTelling only of incidents, which stand out here and there in my\nmemory, it must be borne in mind that during the operations of\nSeptember the 8th and 9th I had felt the weight of my responsibility;\nand the great shock caused by my wound and the two days' exposure and\nsuffering that followed, imposed a great strain upon my system, and\nreaction had now set in.\n\nMy wound had received no attention, and my right eye was hopelessly\nmutilated. The optic nerve of my left eye was damaged beyond repair,\nand the eye itself was obscured by an enormous swelling. My sense of\nsmell was gone, and my cheeks, nose, and mouth were swollen and numbed\nto a painful degree.\n\nI had lost power in my lower jaw, which would barely move. My nerves\nwere completely shattered, and the mere touch of a hand would make me\nshrink with fright.\n\nI had lost my voice, and during the occasional periods of sensibility,\nI could only speak in a startled whisper, while my brain in hideous\ndelirium would constantly take me back to the scenes through which I\nhad just passed.\n\nI remember my stretcher being lifted and being placed in a horse-drawn\nambulance with several others. Before leaving, the M.O. gave me a\nbottle of water, and so great was my thirst that for several days I\nkept this tightly gripped in my hand, and would not part with it\nexcept to get it refilled.\n\nI have a hazy idea of being transferred from one ambulance to another,\nand several journeys. The ground was very rough, and the shaking of\nthe wagon seemed to cause great pain to other occupants. The bumping\nto my own head compelled me to raise it from the pillow and resist the\njolts by resting it on my hand.\n\nWhere I spent Monday night I do not know, but on Tuesday night I found\nmyself in what must have been a small hospital in a town I do not\nremember.\n\nIt seemed to me that I was in a sort of basement of a private house,\nand that a man and woman were watching over me, exhibiting very great\nkindness and compassion.\n\nI seemed to awaken from my stupor, and remember some snatches of\nconversation, as they bent over me, for they could both speak a little\nEnglish.\n\nBlood and clay were still caked on my face and hair; and my uniform\nwas sticky with blood and grime. Oh, how I wished I could take it off\nand be put into clean clothes and a bed!\n\nThe man was taking off my boots:\n\n\"Dese very goot boots, yah?\"\n\nI assented in a whisper.\n\n\"You have dem give you, yah?\"\n\n\"No,\" I whispered, \"bought them myself.\"\n\n\"Where do you buy such goot boots?\"\n\n\"London.\"\n\n\"Ah, yah. I thought you would not get such goot boots for nothings.\nLook after dem well; we don't get goot boots like dat here.\"\n\nI whispered to him:\n\n\"What is that noise?\"\n\n\"Ah, it is a pity. Ze English zey have been firing ze long-range guns\nhere, big guns. Zay carry twenty-seven miles. Ve moved dis hospital\ntwo times, yah.\"\n\nThe woman came up to my stretcher with a basin of soup. I shall never\nforget that basin of soup. It was probably very ordinary soup, but\nwhen I tasted the first spoonful I devoured it ravenously, for all\nthis time I had not realised that I was suffering from starvation. For\nthe past three days not an atom of food had passed my lips, and for\ntwo days previous to that an occasional bite of bread and cheese was\nmy only ration. Even now I was not destined to receive the nourishment\nmy body craved for; for one basin of soup per day was all I received\nduring the remainder of that week.\n\nStill grasping my bottle of water under my blanket, I was removed next\nmorning and placed in a freight truck with two others, one a sergeant\nin the Guards, and the other a private in the ----, London Regiment.\nWe were locked in the truck, and kept there for many hours without\nfood or conveniences of any kind, and finally arrived at St. Quentin.\n\nSome one removed the blanket from my face and examined my\nshoulder-straps. I heard him say \"Hauptmann,\" and after that I seemed\nto be treated with some consideration.\n\nI did not understand a single word of German, and the repetition of\nthis word puzzled me. It must have been some connection with my rank.\nI would try it on the next person who came near me and see what\nhappened.\n\nI had not long to wait, for by and by the stretchers were lifted and\nwe were carried into the hospital at St. Quentin. I was placed\nalongside a large number of others, and the place created a very\nunpleasant impression of the attention I was likely to receive.\n\nThe place seemed like Bedlam. All round me I heard the groans and\ncries of the wounded. How long would I be left here unattended? How I\nlonged to have my clothes removed! And what of my wound--how much\nlonger must I go before it was attended to? And what was happening to\nit all this time?\n\nI heard some voices near me speaking in German. Now was the time I\nwould test that magic word, and see what would happen. Removing the\nblankets from my face, and lifting my arm to attract attention, I\nwhispered hoarsely:\n\n\"Hauptmann!\"\n\nSome one stooped down over me, examined my shoulder-strap, and said,\n\"Huhzo!\" He then gave an order, and my stretcher was again picked up,\nand I was carried up-stairs to a room reserved for officers.\n\nThat \"Open Sesame\" served me in good stead on several occasions.\n\nBut the hospital at St. Quentin was a horrible place. There was a\nFrenchman in the ward who was raving mad, and between his yells and\nshrieks of laughter, the moaning of the wounded, and the fitful\nawakenings from my own delirium I spent a most unhappy time. I think I\nmust have been there about two days, and on the morning after my\narrival I was sensible for a while.\n\nAdjoining the ward and only separated by an open doorway was the\noperating-room, where first operations were taking place hurriedly.\nThe scene was something I can never forget. One by one we were being\ntaken in, and the shrieks of pain which followed were too shocking for\ndescription. To hear strong men howl with pain is agonising enough;\nbut to hear them shriek, and for those shrieks to fall upon the ears\nof nerve-broken men awaiting their turn just outside the open door was\nterrifying, appalling.\n\nAs the shrieks subsided into weakened groans the stretcher would come\nback into the ward, and the next man be moved in; and so we waited in\nan agony of suspense, horror, and dread as nearer and nearer we came\nto our turn.\n\nI do not wish to harrow my readers' feelings any more by describing\nhow I felt when my stretcher was at last lifted and I was laid on the\noperating-table. I could not see the bloodiness of my surroundings,\nbut I murmured to myself, as I had occasion to do on subsequent and\nsimilar occasions:\n\n\"Thank God I'm blind.\"\n\nThere was a nurse at St. Quentin whose devotion and humanity will be\nlong remembered by the many British and French wounded officers who\nhave passed through that ward. In my half-dazed condition I seemed to\nhave an idea that she was some sort of angel, whose gentle voice and\ncomforting words were so soothing to the wounded, and inspired us with\nconfidence in our painful conditions and surroundings.\n\nOn Friday, still greedily hugging my bottle of water, I was removed\nfrom St. Quentin and placed in a hospital-train bound for Hanover. I\nwas told it was a splendidly appointed train, with every modern\nappliance.\n\nThe journey to Hanover occupied two days and two nights, but I\nremember nothing of it, as I believe I was unconscious the whole time.\n\nI do remember just before leaving being presented with a haversack\nfrom the French Red Cross Society, and it was full of things which\nwere extremely useful: a sleeping-shirt, handkerchiefs, biscuits, and\nsimilar articles. I have the haversack still. I carried it wherever I\nwent in Germany, and never allowed it to leave my possession.\n\nOn Sunday morning, September 17, the train pulled into Hanover, and\nthe wounded were carried out and left for a time on the platform.\n\nSome girls seemed to be busy giving refreshment to the wounded. A girl\ncame to my stretcher, pulled down the blanket which covered my face,\nand clumsily pushed the spout of a drinking-cup, containing coffee,\ninto my mouth. I thought she was trying to feed me from some kind of\nteapot. The pot fell out of my mouth, and the coffee ran down my neck.\n\nA man picked it up, and holding it to my lips, enabled me to sip it. I\nfelt very grateful to him, for I was badly in need of sustenance. He\nspoke to me very kindly.\n\nI thanked him in a whisper, and asked him if he was an officer.\n\nHe replied in English: \"No, I am a waiter.\"\n\nI think I became unconscious again. Rather unfortunate, for had I been\nstronger the humour of the remark would have amused me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nALIVE\n\n\nIt was the first night after my arrival at Hanover that I really fully\nrecovered a state of consciousness.\n\nAlthough I have recorded several incidents of the week which had just\npassed, they were only occasional glimpses from which I would relapse\nagain into unconsciousness, and it only comes back to me in a hazy\nsort of way, like dreams through a long night of sleep.\n\nBut I remember well the moment when I finally awoke and took in my\nsurroundings. It was early in the morning. I seemed to have had\nfrightful dreams; the horror of what I had passed through had been a\nfrightful nightmare, mocking at me, laughing at me, blowing me to\npieces.\n\nI turned over on my side. Strange place this shell-hole; it seemed\nvery comfortable. What was this I was touching--a pillow, bedclothes.\nGood God! I was in a bed! As my thoughts became clearer I lay\nperfectly still, almost in fear that any movement I might make would\nawaken me from this beautiful dream.\n\nA long, long time ago something frightful had happened from which\nrescue was impossible. Yet, surely this was a bed.\n\nThen I remembered the attack which had taken place over my body while\nI lay out in No Man's Land; of the shells which had burst around me in\nviolent protest to my presence. I could not possibly have escaped; I\nmust be maimed.\n\nCautiously I began to feel my limbs, my arms, my body, my feet, my\nfingers; they were all there, untouched. The whole truth dawned upon\nme: My God! I was alive!\n\nI sat up in my bed; I wanted to shout and dance for joy. There was a\nbandage round my head: I was blind! Yes, I knew that, but there was\nnothing really the matter with me except that. The mere fact of being\nonly blind seemed in comparison a luxury.\n\nI was blind! But joy indescribable--what was that triviality--I was\nalive! alive!\n\nOh, my! I never knew before that life was so wonderful. Did other\npeople understand what life was? No; you must be dead to understand\nwhat life was worth. I must tell every one how wonderful it all is.\n\nBut where was I? I could hear no guns--a bed? There were no beds at\nthe front. I couldn't have dreamed it all; it must have been true;\notherwise I should have been able to see.\n\nWhere then could I be? Oh, God! Yes, I know--I am a prisoner of war!\n\nBut even this knowledge, which for the moment quieted me, could not\nsuppress my exaltation. I was saved! I was alive! No pain racked my\nlimbs; no terror prodded my brain.\n\nBut I was weak and wasted. Oh, how weak I was! How hungry! But what of\nthat, I was alive!\n\nAnd where was England--such a long, long way off. I must go there at\nonce, this minute. No, I can't; I'm a prisoner.\n\nHow miserable some people are who have no right to be. They cannot\nknow how wonderful life is. Oh, how wonderful it is to die, and then\nto come to life again.\n\nI'm only blind! Just imagine it! What is that?--it's nothing at all,\ncompared with life; and when I get well and strong I won't be a blind\nman.\n\nI may not recover my sight, but that doesn't matter a bit, I will\nlaugh at it, defy it. I will carry on as usual; I will overcome it and\nlive the life that has been given back to me.\n\nI will be happy, happier than ever. I'm in a bed alive. Oh, God! I am\ngrateful!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nBLINDNESS\n\n\nHow reckless we are in referring to death! There are many people who\nwould say they would prefer death to blindness; but the nearer the\napproach of death, the greater becomes the comparison between the\nfinality of the one and the affliction of the other.\n\nThose men, however, who have faced death in many frightful forms, and\ndodged it; suffered the horrors of its approach, yet cheated it; who\nhave waited for its inevitable triumph, then slipped from its grasp;\nwho have lived with it for days, parrying its thrust, evading its\nclutch; yet feeling the irresistible force of its power; men who have\nsuffered these horrors and escaped without more than the loss of even\nthe wonderful gift of sight, can afford to treat this affliction in a\nlesser degree, holding the sanctity of life as a thing precious and\nsacred beyond all things.\n\nEven the loss of God's great gift of sight ceases to become a burden\nor affliction in comparison with the indescribable joy of life\nsnatched from death.\n\nThere are men, and we know them by the score, who are constantly\nlooking out on life through the darkened windows of a dissatisfied\nexistence; whose conscience is an enemy to their own happiness; who\nlook only on the dark side of life, made darker by their own\ndisposition.\n\nSuch men, and you can pick them out by their looks and expression, who\nbuild an artificial wall of trouble, to shut out the natural paradise\nof existence; these men who juggle with the joy of life until they\nfeel they would sooner be dead, do not know, and do not realise the\nmeaning of the life and death with which they trifle.\n\nLet us think only of the glory of life; not of the trivial penalties\nwhich may be demanded of us in payment, and which we are so apt to\nmagnify until we wonder whether the great gift of life is really worth\nwhile.\n\nLet us think not of our disadvantages, but of these great gifts which\nwe are fortunate enough to possess; let us school ourselves to a high\nsense of gratitude for the gifts we possess, and even an affliction\nbecomes easy to bear.\n\nHere I am, thirty-six years of age, in the pride of health, strength,\nand energy, and suddenly struck blind!\n\nAnd what are my feelings? Even such a seeming catastrophe does not\nappall me. I can no longer drive, run, or follow any of the vigorous\nsports, the love for which is so insistent in healthy manhood. I shall\nmiss all these things, yet I am not depressed.\n\nAm I not better off, after all, than he who was born blind? With the\nloss of my sight I have become imbued with the gift of appreciation.\nWhat is my inconvenience compared with the affliction of being\nsightless from birth.\n\nFor thirty-six years I had become accustomed to sights of the world,\nand now, though blind, I can walk in the garden in a sunny day; and my\nimagination can see it and take in the picture.\n\nI can talk to my friends, knowing what they look like, and by their\nconversation read the expression on their faces. I can hear the\ntraffic of a busy thoroughfare, and my mind will recognise the scene.\n\nI can even go to the play; hear the jokes and listen to the songs and\nmusic, and understand what is going on without experiencing that\nfeeling of mystery and wonder which must be the lot of him who has\nalways been blind.\n\nAnd the greatest gift of all, my sense of gratitude, that after\npassing through death, I am alive!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE WOMAN WHO WAITS\n\nTHE TELEGRAPH BOY'S RAT-TAT. KILLED IN ACTION. WEEKS OF MOURNING\n\n\nMeanwhile, what was transpiring at home? What interpretation had been\nput upon my absence?\n\nMany weeks later, after my first letter had reached home like a\nmessage from the dead, a post-card was handed to me from my father,\nwhich seemed to echo the sob of a broken heart. It was the first\nmessage to arrive from the England I loved so much, and my home, which\nI yearned for.\n\nLetters from every member of my family were hastening towards me; but\nall were delayed except the single post-card, which told me only too\nplainly of the tragedy at home which was the result of my absence.\n\nThe message, written in a shaky hand, ran briefly, thus: \"My son, for\nfour weeks we have mourned you as dead; God bless you!\"\n\nIn the despair of my heart my blindness and my bonds of captivity\nseemed to grow greater. In that simple message I realised the terrible\ntruth, the full significance of the tragedy which had followed my\nfall.\n\nWhat had been my suffering to theirs? After all I was a soldier, and\nmine was a duty. But those who wait at home--what of them?\n\nThe letters which followed confirmed my worst fears. I trembled and\ncried like a child.\n\nHow brave they had all been! How unworthy seemed my life to warrant\nthe heroic fortitude and silent suffering which these letters\nunfolded! What were a few bullets compared with the pluck and silent\nself-sacrifice of the women of Britain, who were untrained to bear\nsuch shocks? What physical pain could compare with such anguish as\ntheirs?\n\nThe first intimation reached my home by a letter returned from France,\nundelivered, and bearing a slip containing these words, type-written:\n\"Killed in action September 9.\"\n\nThree days later a knock at the door, and a telegraph boy handed in a\ntelegram which read:\n\n   \"Most deeply regret inform you Cap. H.G. Nobbs ---- London\n   Regiment, Killed in Action Sep. 9.\"\n\nand also another telegram:\n\n   \"The King & Queen deeply regret loss you and the Army have\n   sustained by the death of Cap. Nobbs, in the service of his\n   Country. Their Majestys deeply sympathise with you in your\n   sorrow.\n\n                                \"KEEPER OF THE PRIVY PURSE.\"\n\nNext morning my name appeared in the official casualty list under the\nheading: \"Killed in Action.\"\n\nLetters followed from the front confirming my death, and even\ndescribing the manner of my death.\n\nSuch things are unavoidable in modern warfare; and only those who\nunderstand the conditions and the difficulties can appreciate the\npossibility of avoiding occasional errors. It is surprising to me that\nthe errors in reporting casualties are not more frequent, and it\nspeaks well of the care given by those responsible for this task.\n\nIt is extremely difficult, and occasional mistakes are only too apt to\nbe widely advertised and give a wrong impression. Think of the task of\nthe hundreds and thousands of casualties; and the errors, terrible\nthough the suffering entailed may be, are comparatively insignificant.\n\nBut I have led the reader away from my story.\n\nThey thought me dead. Yes; killed in action. There was no getting away\nfrom it; no need for me to describe the tears and sorrow. Those who\nsuffer must bear their sorrow in silence--more honour to them.\n\nObituary notices appeared in the newspapers, and letters and telegrams\nof condolence poured in.\n\nMy solicitors took possession of my belongings and explained their\ncontents to my family.\n\nA firm of photographers who generously invite officers to have their\nportraits taken free of charge, now offered the plate for a\nconsideration to the illustrated papers; and even as I write these\nlines many months later, my picture is dished up again in this week's\nissue of an illustrated magazine as among the dead.\n\nIn short, during those few weeks which followed my fall, I became as\ndead and completely buried as modern conventions demanded.\n\nIt is expensive to die and not be dead, for clothes of mourning cannot\nafterwards be hidden under any other disguises; and it is a peculiar\nfeeling to be called upon to pay for your own funeral expenses.\n\nAnd when once you are officially dead it is very difficult to come\nofficially to life again. Months have passed, and I am still waiting\nfor the official correction to appear.\n\nAs I walk through the streets of London my friends stare at me as\nthough I were a ghost. I feel as though I am a living apology for the\nmistake of others.\n\nTo the illustrated magazine I have just referred to I wrote assuring\nthe editor that I had every reason to believe he was wrong in his\ncontention. He replied, enclosing my photograph, and asking me if I\nwas sure I was not some other person, as the picture referred to an\nofficer who was surely dead.\n\nPerhaps even now I am wrong. Yet, I ought to know.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nWARD 43, RESERVE LAZARETTE 5, HANOVER\n\nOCCUPANTS OF THE WARD. CHIVALRY OF THE AIR\n\n\nBefore the war Reserve Lazarette 5 at Hanover was a military school.\nIt is now used for wounded military prisoners, and for German soldiers\nsuffering from venereal disease.\n\nThe same operating-room is used for all patients; the wounded\nprisoners receiving treatment in the morning, and the Germans in the\nafternoon.\n\nThere is a fair-sized garden, not unattractive, and the wounded are\npermitted to take the fresh air, and to walk about freely, if they are\nable to do so. So are the German patients, and so are their visitors,\non Tuesdays and Saturdays, from 2 till 4 in the afternoon. There is no\nseparation of the two classes of patients, and honour must share the\ncompany of disgrace in her captivity.\n\nWard 43 was a billiard-room in the old days, and the small-sized\nbilliard-table is pushed against the wall and used as a table. There\nwere nine beds in the ward; and four British and four French officers\nlay side by side in captivity.\n\nThe friendship of the two great nations was reflected in the maimed\nand pain-ridden bodies of these soldiers lying side by side, helpless,\nuncomplaining, but still champions of Anglo-French unity. Their cause\nis the same; their pain is the same; and side by side they lay, as\nside by side they had fallen.\n\nOf the French officers I got to know but little, for they could speak\nno English, and the English could speak no French.\n\nOn my left was an officer of the Royal Flying Corps, Lieutenant\nDonelly. He had been brought to earth after a fight thirteen thousand\nfeet in the air, against five German planes. With his left arm\ndisabled and three fingers shot off his right hand, and his engine out\nof action, he nose-dived to the ground. A German aeroplane nose-dived\nafter him, all the while firing as it dropped.\n\nWith only a finger and thumb to manipulate his machine, he managed to\neffect a landing. The moment earth was struck the firing ceased, and\nthe Germans landing from their machines approached him and treated him\ncourteously.\n\nThere is a spirit of chivalry among those who fight in the air, as\nboth sides can testify. The air alone is their arena, and neither side\nwill continue a combat on terra firma.\n\nOn my right was Lieutenant Rogan of the Royal Irish Regiment, a sturdy\nfellow, who had been in the Guards.\n\nHe was attacking some Germans, who were putting up a stout resistance\nduring the fight for Guinchy; and as he was rushing forward, a German\nthrew a hand-grenade, which exploded in his face. His right eye was\nremoved at St. Quentin, and he was slowly recovering the sight of the\nleft.\n\nIn the bed next to his was another young officer of the Royal Flying\nCorps, a boy about eighteen, very small, and only weighing about eight\nstone. Mabbitt was his name, Second Lieutenant Mabbitt; and he, too,\nhad fought many thousand feet in the air against desperate odds,\nfracturing his leg in the fall.\n\nGerman airmen seem to make a practice of waiting until a single\nEnglish aeroplane appears in sight; then they ascend in a flight of\nfive to attack, and woe betide the English airman who happens to be\nsoaring above in a slow machine.\n\nDeeds of pluck are common on land and sea; but the heroic combats in\nthe air are a new sensation, with unknown terrors realised in a single\ngasp; and the youth of our country defy it. Yet, who is there to tell\ntheir deeds if they fall?\n\nShortly after I arrived two British officers were brought in,\nLieutenant Wishart of the Canadians, who had a bullet wound through\nhis leg; and Second Lieutenant Parker, who had a hole in his leg as\nbig as an apple, and who spent most of the day in declaring that he\nwas as fit as a fiddle.\n\nBut the occupant of the remaining bed was one who endeared himself to\nthe hearts of all. He was SANIEZ (pronounced Sanyea), our orderly. But\nSaniez must have a chapter to himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nSANIEZ\n\n\nReserve Lazarette 5, Hanover, boasted of no hospital nurses. There was\nno tender touch of a feminine hand to administer to the comfort and\nalleviate the distress of the wounded. There was no delicate and\nnourishing diet to strengthen the weak; neither did we expect it. We\nwere prisoners of war, and though our sufferings were great, we were\nstill soldiers.\n\nBut those who have passed through Ward 43 will always look back with\ngratitude and admiration on one whose unselfish devotion, tender care,\nand magnificent spirit was an example and inspiration to all of us.\n\nHis name was Saniez, the orderly in charge of the ward; a Florence\nNightingale, whose unceasing attention day and night, whose tender\nwatchfulness and devoted care and kindness made him loved and\nworshipped by the maimed and helpless prisoners who were placed under\nhis charge.\n\nSaniez was no ordinary man. No reward was his, except the heartfelt\ngratitude of those whom he tended. The wounded who passed through the\nward left behind a debt of gratitude which could never be paid, and\nwith a spirit of fortitude and courage created by his noble example.\n\nThere are compensations for all suffering; and no greater compensation\ncould any wish for than the devotion of Saniez.\n\nSaniez had suffered too, but would never speak of it. He had his\nmoments of anguish and despair. He had a home, too; but his dreams he\nkept to himself, and his care he gave to others.\n\nSaniez was a Frenchman, a big, burly artilleryman, with eyes bright,\nlaughing, and sympathetic.\n\nHe had been captured nearly two years before; and suffered severely\nfrom the effects of frozen feet. Yet, painful as it must have been to\nget about, he seldom sat down.\n\nAll through those long days and nights weak voices would call him: it\nwas always, \"Saniez, Saniez!\" and slop, slop, slop, we would hear him\nin his slippered feet, moving down the ward, attending to one and then\nanother.\n\nSaniez would be quiet and sympathetic, with a voice soft and\nsoothing; and the next moment, cheerful and boisterous. Captivity\ncould not subdue Saniez, or make him anything else than a loyal French\nsoldier.\n\nHe would guard his patients against the clumsy touch of a German\norderly like a tiger guarding its young. He would bribe or steal to\nobtain a little delicacy for his patients.\n\nHe seemed to know but a single German word, which he used on every\npossible occasion to express his disgust of the Germans. It was a\nslang word, but when Saniez used it, its single utterance was a volume\nof expression. It was NIX, and when Saniez said nix, I knew he was\nshaking his woolly head in disgust.\n\nSaniez had a marvellous voice, and when he sang he held us\nspell-bound, and he knew it. I do not speak French, and could not\nunderstand his words, but his expression was wonderful; and he would\nfling his arms about in frantic gesticulation.\n\nWhen Saniez sang he seemed to lift himself into a different\natmosphere; he was back again in France; his songs all seemed about\nhis country and his home. He seemed to rouse himself into a sudden\nspirit of defiance, and then his voice would grow soft and pathetic;\nand then slop, slop, slop, in his slippered feet, he would hurry off\nto a bedside to fix a bandage or administer a drink of water.\n\nEvery morning German soldiers could be heard marching past our\nwindows, singing their national songs. We listened; Saniez would stop\nhis work. What we wanted to say we would leave to Saniez, as broom in\nhand and eyes of fire he would wait until their voices died away in\nthe distance, and then, with a fierce shake of his head he would\nshout: \"Boche! Nix!\" and, flinging his arms about his head, would sing\nthe \"Marseillaise.\"\n\nOne evening, and I remember it well, though no pen of mine can\nadequately describe the soul-stirring picture--we had a concert in\nWard 43. Four British and four French officers--a symbol of the\nEntente Cordiale--lay side by side in their cots, while convalescent\nprisoners from other wards sat in front to cheer them with song and\nmusic.\n\nThe Allies seemed well represented: An English Tommy with a guitar\nsang a comic song; a Russian soldier with a three-cornered string\ninstrument, sang a folk-song of his native land; a Belgian soldier\nplayed the violin; and Saniez sang for France.\n\nThe applause that greeted the finish of each song was of a mixed kind;\nfor those whose arms were maimed would shout, and those who could not\nshout would bang a chair or clap their hands. It was a patriotic and\ninspiring scene, and even the German orderly, coming in to see what\nwas going on, was tempted to stop and listen.\n\nWe felt we were no longer prisoners; the spirit of the Allies was\nunconquerable.\n\nEnthusiasm reached its highest pitch when Saniez brought it to a\ndramatic conclusion. Saniez had just finished a soul-inspiring song of\nhis homeland. His audience could not withhold their applause until he\nfinished, and Saniez could not restrain his spirit until the end of\nthe applause. He suddenly threw up his arms, and at the top of his\nvoice burst forth into the \"Marseillaise,\" and the German orderly\nbolted out of the door.\n\nThen the concert party ran to their dormitories; the lights were\nturned out, and we sought safety in sleep.\n\n    [Illustration: Captain Nobbs after his release from the German\n    prison.]\n\nWe used to ask Saniez about his home; and he seemed to grow quiet and\nconfident. His home, he said, was about three miles behind the German\nline.\n\nSome one suggested that it was in a dangerous place, as the British\nwere advancing, and no house near the line could escape untouched; but\nSaniez was confident.\n\nNo! shells could not possibly harm it. His wife and sister lived\nthere; it was his home. He was a prisoner, but whatever happened to\nhim, the combined fury of the nations could not touch his home.\n\nSaniez! Saniez! May you never awaken from your dream!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nLIFE IN HANOVER HOSPITAL\n\nHOSPITAL DIET. INTERVIEWED BY A GERMAN DOCTOR. DISCHARGED FROM\nHOSPITAL\n\n\nThe diet in hospital can hardly be described as suitable for invalids.\nAt the same time it was substantial as compared with what is received\nin prison camps. For breakfast we received coffee, with two very\nsmall, crusty rolls, each about the size of a tangerine orange; each\nroll cut in half, and a slight suspicion of jam placed between; for\ndéjeuner one cup of coffee, one roll, and some very strong cheese,\nquite unfit to eat. The dinner was usually quite good, consisting of\nsoup, a little meat and vegetables, and stewed apples or gooseberries.\nAt 3 o'clock a cup of coffee and a small roll; at 6 o'clock supper,\nconsisting of tea without milk, strong cheese, or German sausage or\nbrawn, and a slice of bread.\n\nFor this diet we paid eighty marks per month.\n\nAn officer receives pay from the German Government on the following\nscale: lieutenant, sixty marks per month; captain, one hundred marks\nper month. The German Government recover the payments from the English\nGovernment, and it is charged against the officers' pay in England.\n\nNo food is supplied free to officers either in hospital or camp; and\nthey cannot purchase anything beyond the regular issue.\n\nWith the exception of the dinner, I found the food of very little use\nto me for the first week or two, as having lost the power in my jaw,\nand being unable to open it more than half an inch, I couldn't tackle\nthe rolls, and what couldn't be eaten had to be left; there was no\nsubstitute.\n\nThere was another diet, in which the coffee was replaced by hot milk,\nwhich would have been very desirable, except that the dinner consisted\nof some filthy substance, which was very unpalatable.\n\nFor the first week, therefore, I had practically only one meal a day,\nthe dinner; but afterwards, by dint of changing from one diet to\nanother I managed to get the dinner of No. 1 diet, and the milk of No.\n2.\n\nThere was a canteen in the hospital where cigarettes, chocolates,\nbiscuits, and eggs were offered for sale.\n\nThe biscuits were never in stock; the chocolate, though high in price,\nwas so thin that there was nothing of it; and the cigarettes were\nunsmokable.\n\nIt was a sorry day when we could get no more eggs. We used to depend\nupon the eggs for supper; for the cheese was uneatable, the brawn\nsuspicious, and the sausage like boiled linoleum. German sausage at\nthe best of time is open to argument; but German sausage in a country\nwhich has been blockaded for two and a half years is worthy of serious\nthought.\n\nThe surgical attention was good, though the Russian prisoners who\nassisted were apt to be rough; and as neither the German doctor nor\nhis Russian assistant could understand each other, and the wounded\ncould understand neither, nor be understood in turn, the situation was\nsometimes difficult.\n\nThe doctor visited each bed at 8 A.M. every morning to inquire the\ncondition of the wounded; but whatever you had to say--which of course\nhe did not understand--the reply was always: \"Goot, Goot.\"\n\nOn one occasion we saw flags flying over the city, and that evening\nfor supper we were given a hard-boiled egg. We were told it was the\nEmpress's birthday. We made anxious inquiries as to when the Kaiser\nand the Crown Prince would have a birthday.\n\nA few days after I arrived at Hanover, my right eye was removed, and\nthe following day the doctor told me, through an interpreter, that I\nshould be sent back to England. I asked when I should be sent, and was\ntold in three or four weeks.\n\nIt was about this time that I began to develop an unsatiable appetite\nfor sweet things. I have found that many have had the same experience,\nafter a period of privation following upon their wounds. I would buy\nup all the jam, chocolate, and toffy I could lay my hands on, which\ncame in parcels to other prisoners. When I wrote home for parcels to\nbe sent to me, I hardly mentioned food, which afterwards became so\nnecessary, but asked for sweet stuff.\n\nBut what I needed more urgently than anything else was money. When I\nwas picked up the only cash I had on me was two francs, and this I\nexchanged for a mark and sixty pfennigs, which, with five marks I was\nable to borrow, kept me going for a while. But it was soon gone, and I\nfound myself without a sou, and no pay due for six weeks.\n\nAbout ten days after I arrived at Hanover I was able to sit out in the\ngarden, and from then on I began to mend.\n\nSaniez used to dress me, and his watchful eye was upon me wherever I\nwent.\n\nSometimes of an afternoon I used to sit by the fire. I used to like\nsitting by the fire, because its warmth misled me into thinking I\ncould distinguish the light. If I happened to be rather quiet Saniez\nwould come to my side, and I would feel that he was watching me. Then\nhe would speak, and each would find some word to make the other\nunderstand:\n\n\"Cigarette, Capitaine?\"\n\n\"Oui, Saniez.\"\n\nHe would take one of his own cigarettes, put it in my mouth and light\nit.\n\nI could neither taste nor smell it; but it pleased Saniez, so I took\nit.\n\n\"Très bien, Capitaine, puff, puff!\"\n\n\"Oui, Saniez, très bien.\"\n\n\"Très bien, good. Monsieur Parker says, 'Trays beens.' Joke, ah, good\njoke!\"\n\nHe would go away, but still watching me from a distance, would\npresently come back again, and placing his large hand on my shoulder,\nwould say:\n\n\"Couche, Capitaine?\" and leading me to my bed would lay me on it, and\ncarefully tuck me in for the night.\n\nThere was a German non-commissioned officer employed in the hospital\nwho was really a good sort. He could speak good English, having worked\nin English hotels before the war.\n\nHe would sometimes sit by my bed for a chat:\n\n\"Where were you wounded, Captain?\" he asked one day.\n\n\"Leuze Wood on the Somme,\" I replied.\n\n\"Somme dreadful place, dreadful war, Captain.\"\n\n\"Very!\"\n\n\"It is not fighting now; it is murder, both sides murder--yah.\"\n\n\"Have you been to the front yet?\"\n\n\"No; don't want to, either; don't like soldiering. German people sick\nof war; but got to do what we are told. Captain, you and I could\nsettle it in five minutes.\"\n\n\"I'm not so sure; it's nearly settled me.\"\n\nAs the weeks passed by I began anxiously and earnestly to wait for\nnews of my exchange; but three weeks went, and the fourth and fifth\nweek passed, and still no news. About the seventh week Saniez burst\ninto the ward one morning and rushed up to my bed.\n\n\"Bon jour, Capitaine. Good, good! Office, quick,\" and he began\nhurriedly dressing me.\n\nI was to report to the office at once. I had been waiting for this,\nand dreaming of this moment for weeks.\n\nSaniez knew it too, and as I went through the door I heard him shout:\n\n\"Angleterre, Capitaine; très bien!\"\n\nI waited outside the office for about half an hour. Wishart of the\nCanadians was inside, and presently he came out to fetch me:\n\n\"They want to see you inside. Who do you think is in there?\"\n\n\"I don't know--who?\"\n\n\"Doctor Pohlmann. He supervises all the prison camps belonging to the\nTenth Army. We've got to go to a prisoners' camp.\"\n\nMy hopes were dashed to the ground.\n\nHo led me in, and I sat down before Doctor Pohlmann, who spoke\nexcellent English, and explained that he was a doctor of languages.\n\nHe filled up a form, taking from me particulars of my name, regiment,\nand the usual details; and then, turning to Wishart, told him to go.\n\nI began to feel that I was in for a rough time. Why did Doctor\nPohlmann wish to speak to me alone.\n\nI sat before him in silence, too disappointed at the turn events had\ntaken to care what happened. But as soon as the door had closed he\nturned towards me, and his remarks surprised me beyond measure. Not a\nsingle question did he put to me to elicit information.\n\n\"Captain, you are quite blind?\"\n\n\"Yes, quite.\"\n\n\"I am sorry; I did not know you were blind.\"\n\nHe seemed quite sympathetic. Not that I wanted it from him, yet so\nrelieved was I to escape cross-examination that I felt quite bucked.\n\nHe continued: \"The hospital people say you are ready to be sent away.\nWhen you leave here you come under my charge. They did not tell me you\nwere blind. I have no proper place to put you; I do not know where to\nsend you.\"\n\n\"If you will allow me, I can suggest a place.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, I know, England. Of course you will be sent there in time,\nbut in the meantime I must take charge of you. I will send you\nwherever you like. You can choose your own camp. What camp would you\nlike to go to?\"\n\n\"What camps have you got?\"\n\n\"I have Gottisleau, Osnabruck, Blenhorst.\"\n\n\"Well, it's very good of you to give me the choice; but they all sound\nalike to me. How can I choose?\"\n\n\"Have you any friends in either of them?\"\n\n\"Well, really the names are unintelligible; I couldn't even repeat\nthem. Lieutenant Rogan was sent away last week. Where did he go?\"\n\n\"Ah, he went to Osnabruck. Good camp! Good commandant! I will send you\nand Wishart there, and I will arrange to put you three in one room\ntogether. If I can do anything for you at any time, let me know.\"\n\nThe interview was over. He was a plausible fellow, and he probably\nknew his job.\n\nWhen I was getting ready to leave the hospital Saniez insisted on\npacking my clothes himself. I thought nothing about it at the time,\nbut when I unpacked my clothes in camp I found concealed inside a\nsmall packet of sugar. Then I understood Saniez.\n\nWishart and I were told we could either walk to the station or pay for\nthe hire of a motor-car. We rode to the station, laughing and talking,\nand smoking cigars which we obtained from the canteen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nOBSERVATIONS AND IMPRESSIONS\n\nEMPLOYMENT OF PRISONERS. PARCELS. MEN OF MONS\n\n\nWhen I first became aware that there was a probability of my being\nexchanged I set to work to gather what information I could.\n\nI came into contact with a good many private soldiers, and in\nconversation with them I became deeply interested in the commercial\nvalue of prisoners of war; for it appeared to me clearly evident that\nin a country where there were over a million prisoners, possibilities\nwere unlimited; and the German authorities appeared, with businesslike\norganisation, to be taking the fullest advantage of their\nopportunities.\n\nThe unprecedented scale upon which prisoners have been made during the\npresent war has opened up a problem unique in the annals of history.\nThe more prisoners you take the more mouths you have to feed; and the\ngreater becomes the man power necessary for their supervision.\n\nWith the ever-increasing number of prisoners the problem grows in\nenormity, and can either develop into embarrassing proportions, or by\nscientific handling can be turned to advantage.\n\nIn England for over two years we have herded our prisoners behind\nbayonets and barbed wire. The financial resources of the country have\nbeen poured out to feed idle hands, supplying food without repayment,\nat a time when the food and labour problems of the nation are becoming\nits most serious problems.\n\nFor over two years we have allowed the question to slide into\nobscurity, until to-day in our own country the only part of the\ncommunity which has no anxiety or participation in the problem of\nliving and daily sustenance is the German prisoner in our midst; and\nyet to-day a large part of what should be our fighting power is kept\nfrom the firing-line to supply the needs of the nation and feed the\nmouths of our idle prisoners.\n\nIt has never occurred to us, or if it has we have ignored it, that\nwithout contravening the law of nations, prisoners can be made to\nfeed themselves, and be employed in any industry, provided they are\nnot put to work connected with the war.\n\nIt has never occurred to us that we have in our midst many of the\ntrade secrets of a country which for generations has been our rival in\ncommerce.\n\nIt has never occurred to us that Germany has in her midst men who hold\nthe trade secrets of our empire, and is learning them day by day by\nthe employment of our men in her industries.\n\nIf we neglect this problem any longer we may find that when the world\nresumes its normal trade activity Germany, on this point at any rate,\nwill have scored a commercial victory.\n\nThe nations of the world are at war. But the armies of to-day are\ncivilian armies, comprising men of industrial and commercial\neducation, and the prisoners of to-day are men of commercial and\nindustrial value.\n\nOur adversaries have been quick to recognise this. We seem to be still\nimbued with the idea that the German soldier in our midst is simply a\nfighting machine!\n\nSo he is. But when the time came for the civilian to take up arms and\nsupplement the professional fighting force, there fell into our hands\nan industrial fighting machine in the guise of a military prisoner.\n\nWe have the impression that a military prisoner is an individual whose\none desire is to escape and jump at our throats; and that the safety\nof the nation compels us to stand over him with a bayonet and regard\nhis every movement with suspicion.\n\nYes, I do not deny that a very large number of prisoners in our midst\nwould be glad to get back to their homeland, especially if there was\nno further prospect of having to face the British in the firing-line.\nBut keep a man idle for months behind barbed wire, like an animal in a\ncage, and you encourage his desire to escape far more than if you\ndiverted his mind by industrial employment.\n\nHave we not a barbed wire supplied by nature completely surrounding\nour country? Are we not on an island?\n\nI had many opportunities of talking with our men in Germany and of\ngaining information as to the manner in which the German authorities\nwere taking advantage of the problem we avoid, or occupy our time in\nidle discussion.\n\nI will take one concrete example. In Hameln Lager the commandant has\ncharge of 50,000 prisoners, of which 30,000 are \"living out\"! They are\nworking out in commandos on the farms, in the factories, in the\nworkshops; in large batches, small batches, and even singly.\n\nI met one man who had been employed alone in a wheelwright's shop. He\nwas a wheelwright by trade. How many wheelwrights' shops are there in\nEngland which could do to-day with one of the wheelwrights we are\nkeeping idle behind barbed wire?\n\nWhat information did that man's employer gain by the way the work was\ndone? How simple the method of obtaining the labour: simply go to the\nlabour bureau attached to the imprisonment camp nearest to your\nworkshop, and ask for a wheelwright. You keep your industry going, and\nthus in the only practical way keep open the job for the man who is\ncalled to the colours.\n\nThe employer pays the man no wages, but the local trade-union rate of\nwage is paid to the commandant who supplies him. Thirty thousand\nprisoners from a single camp contributing to the industry of the\nnation, and the wages of 30,000 prisoners contributing to the cost of\nthe war. The prisoner receives through the commandant 30 pfennigs\n(3d.) per day, and is glad of the employment.\n\nA very large number of prisoners are employed as agricultural\nlabourers, and it is quite reasonable to suppose that all the food\nsupplied to the prisoners, such as it is, is grown by prisoner labour.\n\nI was told by men who had worked on farms that they were compelled to\nwork from 4 in the morning until 9 at night. In some cases only one or\ntwo were employed on small farms.\n\nI asked those men why they did not embrace the opportunity to make\ntheir escape. But they said that while the work was hard they\npreferred it; as they lived with the farmer, who treated them well if\nthey worked well. They ate at the farmer's table, and had no\nnon-commissioned officers to bully them; whereas, if they attempted to\nescape and were caught they would be sent to work in the mines or\nother equally unpopular task.\n\nLarge numbers are employed in the sugar-refineries, coal-mines, and\nsalt-mines, the latter task being the most dreaded; for with the food\nthey were given their health broke down within a few months.\n\nThe English prisoner said that when the party he was with first\narrived at the mine and saw what they had to do they refused to work.\nTheir guard thereupon threatened them, and when they still refused\nthey were taken outside one by one, and the remainder would hear a\nshot fired, and then another would be taken out.\n\nIt was a fake. The men could not be intimidated, and they were sent\nback to the Lager.\n\nIt was on another occasion that the man I am referring to was put to\nwork in the mine.\n\nI was asked by another if I knew anything about 200 German prisoners\nbeing sent back to work in France, because they were not allowed to\nwork in England. He said that when the Germans heard about it they\ntook 200 of our men from Doberitz camp and sent them to work in Poland\nas a reprisal.\n\nThe work there may not have been very much harder, but it was a great\nhardship upon our men, because there would be a considerable delay in\ntheir parcels of food reaching them from England, and meantime they\nhad to subsist on the scanty fare supplied by their captors.\n\nThe men seemed to be getting parcels on a very liberal scale. Some\nwere getting more than others, but they divided up by eating in messes\nof four or six, or some such number.\n\nI did not hear of many complaints of parcels being undelivered, though\nin some cases parcels were missed. But so far as I could ascertain\nthey were not withheld in any deliberate or systematic manner; and\nwhen one comes to consider the enormous number handled and the\nprobability of parcels getting lost through insecure packing, the\nnumber of complaints I heard of seemed comparatively insignificant.\n\nThe Russian prisoners seemed to be the least provided for, and parcels\nfor them were very rare. They lived or rather starved on the German\nrations; and when men have to work or remain in the open air all day\nsuch a ration was a form of torture.\n\nWhen the watery liquid of potato water called soup was issued from the\nkitchens fatigue parties were paraded to draw the issue for each\nmess.\n\nThe British prisoners were not altogether dependent on this ration,\nand would let the Russian prisoners carry the dixy for them, and in\nreturn they would be given a cup of soup by the British Tommies. So\nhungry were the Russians for this little \"extra\" that hundreds of them\nwould wait for hours in the cold on the off-chance of a few getting\nthe job.\n\nOne cannot speak with these British Tommies and hear of their\nhardships without feeling a profound admiration for their indomitable\nspirit. You can take a British soldier prisoner, send him far from the\nprotection of his country, but he is British wherever he goes and his\ncourage and resourcefulness cannot be broken.\n\nWhenever I met a man who had been a prisoner since the beginning of\nthe war, I made a point of getting his story to ascertain the truth\nabout the barbarities I had read of.\n\nThere was no mistaking these men. I could not see them but I seemed\ninstinctively to recognise, and whether it was my imagination or not I\ncannot tell; but their manner seemed distinctive and they spoke like\nmen who had suffered much and were harbouring a just grievance, and\nlived for the day when they would revenge themselves. As one man put\nit to me:\n\n\"If we ever see a German in England when we get back we will kill\nhim.\"\n\nThese men were taken at Mons; captured, most of them, by sacrificing\nthemselves in rear-guard fighting to save the main British army.\n\nThese men have been in captivity for two and a half years. Just think\nof it! But do we think of it enough, or have we forgotten it?\n\nThe British Tommy has an individuality which is not always understood.\nAsk him in an official way to give evidence of his treatment, and he\nwill sit tight and say not a word. Take out your note-book to write\ndown his evidence and he can think of nothing, but all the same he\nknows a lot.\n\nI know this to be true; for after I was exchanged I spoke to a soldier\nwho had been exchanged at the same time, and he said that a Government\nofficial had been round to question the men on the treatment they had\nreceived in Germany. During our conversation he told me that 200 of\nour men had been put to work in a Zeppelin factory. I asked him if he\nhad given this in evidence, but he said:\n\n\"No, not likely; they got nothing out of me.\"\n\nI asked him why not, for it was his duty. But he said they would only\nhave asked him a lot more questions to try and tie him up in a knot.\n\nWhen I came across a soldier who was captured at the beginning of the\nwar I used to invite him to my room when no one was about. We would\nsit in front of the fire and drink a cup of cocoa and smoke a pipe.\n\nI never asked him questions, but let him talk as he felt like it.\nThere were generally one or two others in the room, and when we began\nto feel we knew each other and were chums together in adversity, he\nwould tell his story in his own way.\n\nI met these men in Hanover Hospital, Osnabruck camp, and Blenhorst\ncamp. I will not publish their names for fear of paining their\nrelatives; but I have their names and the names of witnesses who heard\nthe stories, which I will relate in my next chapter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nSTORIES OF THE HEROES OF MONS\n\n\nThe statements which follow, and which were made to me while I was a\nprisoner of war in Germany, are not from picked soldiers who happened\nto have sensational stories. They were the only men whom I met who\nwere prisoners in the early days.\n\nBeing blind myself, I could not, of course, see the men I was speaking\nto, but their tone impressed me very much as being men who had\nsuffered in silence.\n\nIt was necessary for me to study very carefully what they said and\nimpress it on my memory; and I have committed their statements to\nwriting immediately on my release, for to carry written statements\nover the frontier was entirely out of the question.\n\nI have put down nothing which was not told to me; neither have I tried\nto embellish or enlarge upon the statements made, or frame the words\nof the men in any way that might give an exaggerated impression of\nwhat occurred.\n\nIt is quite possible, however, that one or two incidents which I have\nreported from one man may be part of the story of one of the others.\nBut it can be taken as an absolute fact that, taken as a whole, the\nstatements are a true recital of these men's own description of their\nexperience.\n\nThe men were in no way excited. I obtained the information when\nchatting in the ordinary way over a pipe of tobacco, whenever the men\nhad an opportunity of coming to my room to have a chat.\n\n   THE STORY OF PRIVATE ----, WEST KENT REGIMENT\n\n   \"I was captured at Mons, sir. Been here over two years now.\n   Things are not so bad now as they were at first.\n\n   \"I've seen some things which I shan't easily forget. I've been\n   keeping them to myself because we dare not talk of them.\n\n   \"Some of the fellows have had a terrible time. When the war is\n   over any German who is met in England by any prisoners of war\n   will have a rough passage. There won't be any need to hold\n   ourselves back any longer. My goodness, sir, they'll never get\n   away alive!\n\n   \"Not long after I was captured 70 English soldiers were taken\n   away from the Lager one day. They never knew where they were\n   going. They were taken to a munition factory; and when they found\n   out where they were they passed the word along to refuse to work.\n\n   \"When the Germans told them what they had to do, they refused.\n   Their guards threatened them, and said it would be the worse for\n   them if they didn't; but they wouldn't budge.\n\n   \"Then they were taken out and made to stand in a row against a\n   wall; and a firing-party was drawn up in front of them with\n   loaded rifles, but not one of them flinched.\n\n   \"They were told that unless they went to work they would be shot,\n   and although the firing-party was standing in front of them not\n   one of them would budge.\n\n   \"The threat was not carried out, and they were sent back to the\n   Lager.\n\n   \"Before we started getting parcels we had a terrible time trying\n   to live on the food they gave us. All they gave us was a cup of\n   coffee and two slices of black bread in the morning; and for\n   dinner and supper a basin of hot potato water. It was so thin and\n   weak it was just like water that potatoes had been boiled in.\"\n\nThe soldier whose statement is given above has since been exchanged to\nSwitzerland, owing to an injury to his sight, caused by the work he\nwas employed upon while a prisoner.\n\n\n   THE STORY OF PRIVATE ---- OF THE LEICESTER REGIMENT\n\n   \"I was captured during the retreat in August, 1914.\n\n   \"My Company was left behind as a rear-guard, to enable the rest\n   of the battalion to get away. Our trench was only about two feet\n   deep. Although the Germans were coming on very fast and in\n   enormous numbers, we were not allowed to retire.\n\n   \"The Germans charged us three times. We lost all our officers,\n   and although we kept on fighting they came on in such large\n   numbers it must have been the main body, for they were all round\n   us, and most of the fellows were killed or wounded.\n\n   \"They had their revenge on us, too, when they got us, for the\n   German soldiers who were told to look after us did terrible\n   things. They took us one by one and made us run the gauntlet.\n\n   \"I was bruised all over when I got through, and so were the other\n   fellows.\n\n   \"One chap when he was running the gauntlet was struck in the face\n   by the butt of a rifle; his nose was smashed and his face covered\n   in blood, and he fell to the ground insensible. They threw him in\n   a ditch, because they thought he was dead; but he was able to\n   crawl out next morning.\n\n   \"It was awful, that first night, and they didn't know what to do\n   with us. They made us stand the whole night through in a loose\n   wire entanglement, so that we couldn't walk about or sit down;\n   and it rained like anything all night long.\n\n   \"Then we were put in cattle trucks and sent into Germany, and for\n   the first two days they did not give us any food or water.\n\n   \"On the second day we stopped at a station and a woman came\n   towards us with a large can of soup, and we thought we were\n   going to be fed; but she brought it right up to us, and said:\n   'Ugh, dirty Englanders,' and poured it on to the line.\n\n   \"I was taken to Soltau Lager; and the food they gave us consisted\n   of a cup of acorn coffee in the morning and a small piece of\n   black bread, which had to last all day, and wouldn't make more\n   than two good slices.\n\n   \"For dinner we got a basin of very thin potato soup; sometimes we\n   got a potato in it, and sometimes we didn't. For supper we got a\n   cup of coffee, and we were supposed to make the bread do for both\n   breakfast and supper.\n\n   \"The prisoners were sent out from Soltau in working parties to\n   farmers, factories, and coal mines and salt mines. The salt mines\n   were dreaded most, and fellows who had been working there for two\n   or three months looked dreadful. In fact, they could not keep up\n   there longer than that; they got too ill.\n\n   \"I was sent into a salt mine myself. The hours are not long,\n   because it is impossible to stay down many hours at a time, and\n   we were generally brought up about one o'clock. They did not\n   keep me in the mine long, because they found I was of no use for\n   the work.\n\n   \"It's not so bad on the farms, although you have to work from\n   about 4 o'clock till 8 or 9 at night. But the food is better, as\n   you generally live at the farmer's table, and have the same as he\n   does.\n\n   \"When prisoners are sent in working parties, the employers have\n   to pay the German Government the same wages he usually pays a\n   man, and the prisoners receive from the German Government 30\n   pfennings (about 3d.) per day.\"\n\n   \"Did the American Consul ever visit the lager?\" I asked.\n\n   \"Yes, but only once when I was there.\"\n\n   \"Were you free to make any complaints to him if you wished?\"\n\n   \"Two of the fellows did; but they got punished for it.\n\n   \"Before he visited the lager a notice was put up that the\n   Commandant did not consider there was any reason for complaint,\n   and any man making a complaint would be given 14 days'\n   imprisonment.\n\n   \"When he called we were drawn up on parade in four companies,\n   and stood to attention, while he passed down the line, asking if\n   there were any complaints.\n\n   \"By his side was the Commandant and another German officer.\"\n\n   THE STORY OF PRIVATE ---- OF THE NORFOLK REGIMENT\n\n   \"I came out with the original Expeditionary Force, and was in the\n   retreat from Mons, but was not captured until October, 1914.\n\n   \"The German soldiers who captured me treated me quite well. They\n   gave me some of their rations, and allowed me to attend to our\n   wounded.\n\n   \"I had just bandaged up the leg of a man in the Cheshire\n   Regiment, who had half his foot blown off, when all the prisoners\n   were ordered to the rear.\n\n   \"A German officer came up and ordered us both to get back; but I\n   pointed out that the Cheshire man was too badly wounded to be\n   moved without help. He ordered me to undo the bandage, and when\n   he saw the condition of the wound, he drew his revolver and shot\n   him dead. He then ordered me to get back.\n\n   \"We were then sent into Germany, and when we stopped at the\n   Railway Stations school children were paraded on the platform and\n   threw things at us.\n\n   \"We were given nothing to eat, and at one station we appealed to\n   a clergyman, who spoke English; but he said that only German\n   soldiers should be fed, and turned away.\n\n   \"I was sent to Hameln Lager. I was several times sent out with\n   working parties, and we were sometimes treated very roughly,\n   especially when there was only an under officer in charge of us.\n\n   \"The job I liked best was working for a farmer. Sometimes you get\n   hold of a decent chap, who will treat you well, if you suit him.\n   The work is hard and the hours very long, but you live with the\n   family, and food is much better than what you get in camp;\n   especially as some of the farmers have food concealed.\n\n   \"The under officers are very rough, and stop at nothing.\n\n   \"There was a notice up in the lager which said that no man has\n   any right to refuse to work, and that only the laws of the\n   Imperial German Government were recognised; and if any man\n   refused to do what he was told, the guards had authority to use\n   their rifles.\"\n\n   \"Did they ever use them?\" I asked.\n\n   \"I never saw them myself; but a man came into the lager one day\n   who said that just before he was moved one of the men was being\n   badgered about by his guards, until he at last turned round and\n   knocked one down. The guards immediately ran their bayonets into\n   him, and he died next day.\n\n   \"The American Consul visited our camp shortly afterwards, and\n   this man told him about it, and was informed the matter was\n   already known, and was being investigated. I do not know if\n   anything came of it.\n\n   \"Another little trick which they used to employ to force men to\n   work in the mines and other places was to take them out one by\n   one under an armed guard. The rest of us would hear a shot fired,\n   and then they would take another; a shot would be fired, and so\n   on. But we soon got on to that, because we found it was a fake.\n\n   \"About 100 men were taken away from the lager in the early part\n   of the war to work in a factory, but when they found it was a\n   munition factory they refused to work. They were each sentenced\n   to twelve or fifteen months' imprisonment. I know this for a\n   fact, because I have spoken to the men. They were very badly\n   treated, and one of them is in hospital to-day, insane.\"\n\n   THE STORY OF PRIVATE ---- OF THE MIDDLESEX REGIMENT, TOLD ME IN\n   BLENHURST CAMP\n\n   \"I was at Soltau Lager for a long time before we came here. We\n   used to get one loaf of black bread a day (2 lbs.) between 10\n   men. The only food we got was some sort of coffee for breakfast,\n   and the same for supper. For dinner we had a basin of soup, which\n   was almost undrinkable, some thin washy stuff; occasionally we\n   got some potatoes.\n\n   \"In the early part of the war there were about 60 of our fellows\n   sent to work in a munition factory. But when they got there and\n   saw what they had to do, they refused. They were threatened with\n   all kinds of things to make them work, and then they were lined\n   up against a wall, and a number of German soldiers stood in front\n   of them, and told them that if they didn't work, they would be\n   shot. Then they made a show of loading, and brought their rifles\n   up to the shoulders. When our men still refused they were taken\n   into a building and locked up two or three in a room; and left\n   there for 3 or 4 days without food or water or convenience of any\n   kind.\"\n\n   I asked Private ---- if he was quite sure of this statement and\n   the length of time, as the men would be reduced to a state of\n   absolute starvation.\n\n   \"I am quite sure about it,\" he said, \"and as for the men being\n   starved, I can only tell you that they were found curled up on\n   the floor, gnawing at their finger-nails.\n\n   \"When the Commandant let them out he said he was going to send\n   them back to their lager, as he admired their pluck, and didn't\n   think Englishmen had so much in them.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nOSNABRUCK\n\nARRIVAL IN CAMP. THE CANTEEN. DAILY ROUTINE. RATIONS. PARCELS. NEWS\n\n\nWe looked forward to the journey with a great deal of pleasure, not\nthat I could see where I was going, but the sensation of travelling\nwas a pleasant change.\n\nWe had about half an hour to wait for our train at the station, to the\nintense interest of a crowd of 60 or 70 peasants, who gathered around\nus and gazed in open-mouthed wonder.\n\nAs a matter of fact I was quite unaware that we were the centre of\nattraction. I thought we were standing quite alone. It is not a\ndisadvantage to be blind sometimes.\n\nWe had a guard with us of one soldier with a revolver in his belt,\nwhich no doubt was fully loaded, though we did not trouble him to\nprove it.\n\nWe were placed in a very comfortable second-class carriage, quite\nequal to an English first-class carriage. German officers also appear\nto travel second class; and on all the journeys I made in Germany, I\nwas always treated on an equality in this respect.\n\nHalf-way through the journey we had to change, and had to wait about\nthree-quarters of an hour for a connection. We were glad of this, as\nwe were looking forward to a meal in the station restaurant. But we\nwere doomed to disappointment. On entering the restaurant there were\nplenty of tables and chairs, but to all appearances nothing to eat.\n\nWe sat down at a table in company with our escort, and Wishart went\nover to the counter to order a hot meal, but could not make himself\nunderstood. After energetically ordering every dish he could think of,\nincluding eggs and bacon, and emphasising his wishes by violent\ngesticulations, he returned unhappily to the table and sought the\nassistance of the guard, who was made to understand that in England\nthe object of entering a restaurant is for the purpose of getting\nsomething to eat.\n\nWe were finally provided with a cup of coffee, a piece of cheese, and\na slice of very stale and uninteresting bread.\n\nWe arrived at Osnabruck station at about 9 P.M., and were placed in a\nfour-wheel cab, our guards sitting opposite us, with another soldier,\nwho met us at the station, sitting on the box seat, thus attracting\nthe attention of the passers-by and conjecture as to the distinguished\noccupants of the cab, whose cigars by this time were unfortunately\nexhausted.\n\nWe had a drive of about four miles, for Osnabruck camp is situated on\nthe outskirts of the town; and we were greeted on arrival by a request\nfrom the cabby for ten marks.\n\nAfter having been in daily expectation of a voyage to England, my\narrival at Osnabruck camp gave me a fit of the blues; and I felt like\none who enters a prison to undergo a term of penal servitude.\n\nWe knocked at the outer gate, which was securely locked, and were\nchallenged by a sentry, who was answered by our guard. There was\nreally no need to challenge us, for as far as Wishart and I were\nconcerned, we were perfectly willing to remain outside the domain of\nhis authority.\n\nWe heard a clatter of rifles, as the guard was turned out to welcome\nour visit, and after an examination of our papers to make sure that we\nhad the right to enter, we were marched across the courtyard and\nstopped before a very large door. More knocking and a noise as of\nbolts being drawn back, and we entered the building.\n\nAs the door was closed and bolted behind me, I felt like one who was\nlosing his freedom for ever in the dungeons of a mighty fortress.\n\nWe were led into the canteen, and the canteen manager supplied us with\na cup of tea and a slice of bread and margarine--the margarine being a\nrare luxury for a prison camp.\n\nWe were next taken into an office and searched and our money exchanged\nfor canteen money. This precaution is always taken, so that if a\nprisoner escapes he is not likely to have any negotiable money upon\nhim.\n\nI thought the soldiers who searched us were very fair, for seeing I\nwas blind, they allowed Wishart to see exactly the money I had upon\nme, so that there could be no dispute. As a matter of fact I handed\nout the money myself.\n\nThey did not search me, but asked me if I had anything on me which\nshould be given up, and now I come to think of it, although others\nwere always rigorously searched, I do not ever remember having been\nsearched myself. They always took my word for it; perhaps it was\nbecause I was blind and they thought I was harmless.\n\nWe were then taken up to a room on the second floor. Doctor Pohlmann\nwas as good as his word, and a room for three was provided, Rogan\nbeing in possession.\n\nOsnabruck camp is part of a cavalry barracks, and the accommodation,\ntherefore, is what one would expect in English barracks, and quite\nsuitable for soldiers.\n\nThe rooms are comfortable; there is a small stove with coal provided,\nand the furniture consists of camp-beds with two blankets each, a\nchest of drawers and a small table and chair. Some of the rooms\ncontain as many as seven beds, but the rooms are fairly large and do\nnot appear to be overcrowded.\n\nDoctor Pohlmann told us that the camp boasted, among other\nattractions, a billiard-room. Probably he was right, but he must have\nforgotten to add that there was no billiard-table or other article of\nfurniture in it.\n\nA large room was set aside for the British prisoners, and another for\nthe Russian prisoners; these were furnished at the prisoners' expense\nwith a piano and card-tables, and used as anterooms. The British\nanteroom, however, never seemed popular, as the officers preferred\ntheir own living-rooms, which were warmer.\n\nThe French had no anteroom, although I think they could have secured\none had they desired it.\n\nThere were about 250 prisoners in the building, about 200 of whom were\nRussian and French.\n\nThere was a canteen, where almost everything but food could be\nobtained. The beer was not bad, and fairly cheap; but the only other\ndrinks obtainable were a yellow fluid and a reddish fluid, which was\ngiven by the canteen manager the humorous description of sherry and\nport wine.\n\nHe was a wise man, that canteen manager, for under what strategical\ndevice could he have extracted one mark per glass from his customers,\nand at the same time supply a \"have another\" atmosphere to his\nestablishment? But he was a good fellow, and added greatly to the\ncomfort of the officers (and to the comfort of his own banking-account).\n\nYou could buy anything from him (except food), from a toothpick (which\nhe never caused us to need) to a grand piano (which he did not keep in\nstock).\n\nHe would purchase on commission, and the latter part of the purchase\nhe gave particular attention to. But he sought custom, and it made him\ncivil and obliging. He would supply you with a kettle of boiling water\nfor 5 pfennigs; or, for a larger consideration, would cook the\npheasant which came in your last parcel.\n\nThe grounds outside the building were very small, although just before\nI left a field was thrown open, where the officers could kick a ball\nabout. There were also two tennis-courts built by the officers.\n\nThe picture does not seem an unpleasant one; and I do not think the\nofficers imprisoned there ever complain of their treatment. But if it\nwere a marble palace, that would not alter the fact that it was a\nprisoners' camp; and two hours was about as long as anybody would stay\nwithout being bored.\n\nIf the description I have given leaves the impression that the\nprisoners have a good time in such seclusion, a stroll around the\nbuilding a few times, avoiding the barbed wire; or a few nights' sleep\ndisturbed by the frequent challenge of the sentry and the barking of\nthe watch-dogs would disillusion them, and make them realise what it\nmeans to feel the strong fetters of captivity.\n\nIn England we treat German officers very liberally; and if we ever\nallow this to arouse our indignation, we should pause to remember that\nthis generous treatment has induced the German authorities to grant\nfavours to British officers.\n\nOur officers, for instance, on signing a parole, are allowed once or\ntwice each week to go for a long country walk in company with only one\nGerman officer; and this privilege is at any rate worth an equal\namount of consideration being shown towards the German officers in\nEngland.\n\nA medical officer is present each morning, and if it is necessary to\nattend hospital, or the dentist, or if you have permission to go down\nfor any other purpose, you are allowed the privilege of hiring a\nconveyance for what the cabby probably flatters himself is a moderate\ncharge; but if you do not wish to pay for this privilege, you can\nwalk--in the gutter.\n\nThe dentist was not a popular man to visit, although a prisoner is\noften tempted to sacrifice a tooth in order to enjoy the privilege of\na ride down-town. But he was apt to use his professional skill as an\ninstrument to his patriotic ardour, and appeared to aspire to the\nremoval of the jaw instead of the tooth.\n\nDuring the time I was at Osnabruck, there was a good commandant in\ncharge. He was a gentleman, fair-minded, and considerate,\nnotwithstanding the fact that he was a professional soldier of the old\nschool.\n\nWhen I speak of the old school, it leads me to express an opinion that\nthe brutalities perpetrated upon our soldiers who fell into their\nhands in the early part of the war were due to professional military\nhatred more than to popular intention. At the commencement of the war,\nthe professional German soldier seemed to be imbued with the sole\nidea, which was no doubt fostered by the system of training, to get to\nEngland, and satisfy his hunger by murder and pillage; and the first\nprisoners who saved the people of this country by their heroic\nself-sacrifice received the first experience of their intentions.\n\nMy contention is borne out by the fact that these brutalities are not\npractised to-day in anything like the same degree, for the old army\nhas become more or less extinct, and a new army of civilians has taken\nits place. With the exception, perhaps, of certain elements of the\nhigher commands, there is a decreasing element of the \"top dog\"\nspirit, and an undercurrent of feeling that it may not be wise to be\ntoo overbearing.\n\nTo-day it is the German civilian fighting the British civilian, and\nthe German who has a home, family, and business has not the same\nhatred as his professional predecessor.\n\nThe German professional soldier is unapproachable; but the German\ncivilian soldiers seemed reasonable and anxious for peace, and even to\ndeplore the domineering authority which compelled him to take up arms.\n\nAt Osnabruck the roll-call was made by the officers simply parading\noutside of their respective rooms and coming to the salute as the\nGerman officer passed him, and he, in passing by, would answer the\nsalute. The morning roll-call was at 9 A.M., so at one minute to nine\nit was necessary to tumble out of bed.\n\nThe curious raiment frequently donned more with a view to speed than\ndignity prompted an order being issued that officers should parade\nfully dressed. The ingenuity of the British soldier, however, could\nsoon overcome a requirement of this kind. One minute to nine still\nprevailed, but the wearing of overcoats for early morning roll-call\ngrew in popularity.\n\nI was very much impressed with the fair and systematic handling of our\nparcels, letters, and money; and even letters and post-cards which\narrived for me after I had been sent back to England were readdressed\nand sent back. A remittance of five pounds, which arrived for me after\nI had left was even returned to me in England, instead of being\napplied to the pressing need of the German War Loan.\n\nLetters are distributed each morning. Parcels arrive on Mondays and\nThursdays, and a list is made out and sent round the same afternoon,\nfrom which each prisoner can ascertain the number of parcels awaiting\nhim. He thereupon appears at an appointed hour the following day to\nreceive his parcels, which are opened by the German censor in his\npresence.\n\nAll tin food has to be opened, but if it is not required for immediate\nconsumption, it is placed unopened in a locker, and he can draw what\nhe requires on any day he wishes to use it.\n\nThe American Express Company was permitted to cash officers' cheques\nthrough the paymaster, who kept a proper account of the debits and\ncredits against each prisoner; so that he could draw money at any time\nfrom the funds standing to his credit. These accounts were kept in a\nvery businesslike manner, and a prisoner was permitted to go into the\npaymaster's office and examine his books whenever he wished. I know of\nat least one instance in which a prisoner had been permitted to\noverdraw his account.\n\nThe prisoners spent most of their time at Osnabruck in playing tennis,\nfootball, walking up and down the yard, learning French or Russian,\nplaying cards, or reading.\n\nThe books which prisoners receive from time to time from England are\npassed round, thus forming a sort of circulating library.\n\nIn living a life of this kind one cannot help but develop the habits\nof school-days, and become boyish in many things.\n\nOne lives for letters and parcels. It is not the length of letters or\nsize of parcels which count so much as the number; and when the parcel\nlist comes round, he is a lucky fellow who finds four or five parcels\nawaiting him, even though their total contents amount to no more than\nthat of the man who receives a single parcel.\n\nOn Tuesdays and Fridays the number of parcels was an absorbing topic,\nand one would turn to another in schoolboy fashion, and say:\n\n\"How many parcels have you got to-day?\"\n\n\"Only one--how many have you?\"\n\n\"Six.\"\n\n\"Lucky devil!\"\n\nIn each room the men throw their parcels into one mess, and share\nalike; and if a new prisoner arrives, who would not be receiving\nparcels, he shares with the others in his room.\n\nIf several prisoners just arriving are put in a room by themselves,\nthey do not, of course, fare so well, and until their parcels arrive,\nmany weeks later, they are more or less dependent upon the food issued\nto them; although presents of food are frequently sent in by the\nothers, and articles of clothing are loaned.\n\nThe charge made to the prisoners for food was forty-five marks per\nmonth. We were afterwards informed that by a new regulation the\ncharge, by some international arrangement, had to be reduced to thirty\nmarks per month. And the commandant explained that for this sum he\ncould only supply the same ration which the men received; but would\ncontinue to supply the old ration if the officers would voluntarily\nagree to continue paying forty-five marks, and extra for their\nbread--which, of course, they did.\n\nThis ration consisted of imitation coffee for breakfast and no food. A\nplate of washy stuff called soup, for dinner, followed by some sloppy\nmashed potatoes, and sometimes green stuff; and for supper, more\nsloppy potatoes.\n\nTo satisfy one's hunger on a cold day with such food--which is only\nfit for pigs--can only be done by loosening the waistcoat, and half an\nhour afterwards one feels as though he had never had a meal.\n\nPrisoners were allowed to receive as many letters as they were lucky\nenough to have sent them; and there does not appear to be any\nrestriction as to the length of the letter.\n\nThey are allowed to write two letters of four pages each, and four\npost-cards each month. All letters are censored by a staff of censors\nin the camp. Outgoing letters and post-cards are held for ten days,\nwith a view of ascertaining, I believe, whether invisible ink had been\nused.\n\nNews arrives in the camp principally by the arrival of new prisoners,\nwho are kept in quarantine for about ten days.\n\nGerman official bulletins are posted in the anteroom; and the\n_Continental News_, which is published in the English language, or\nrather disgraces the English language by using it, is delivered daily.\nBy the bye, the _Continental News_ is a rag of the worst kind, and\ncontains lies of the worst description.\n\nMy orderly came to me one day, and after carefully closing the door,\nhe drew from under his tunic a few scraps of an English newspaper a\nmonth old.\n\nWe devoured the news eagerly, as well as the advertisements, and\npassed it quietly around to the other officers.\n\nHe had been sweeping up the canteen after the censor had finished\nopening up the parcels. One parcel had been wrapped up in the\nnewspaper, and unthinkingly the censor overlooked it, and tore the\npaper into fragments and threw it on the floor.\n\nMy orderly, while sweeping, noticed the pieces on the floor. The\ncensor was in the room, and he went on sweeping until, when the\ncensor's head was turned, he stooped and, snatching it up, stuffed it\ninto his tunic.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nCOMEDY AND DRAMA\n\nI SALUTE THE WALL. THE STORY OF AN EGG. A NOVEL BANQUET. JOY RIDE ON A\nLORRY. THE SWISS COMMISSION\n\n\nWhen I arrived at Osnabruck, I found three English orderlies, and to\nmy surprise and delight, two were men of my own regiment who had been\ncaptured at Gommecourt Wood on July 1.\n\nThe commandant came up to visit me the following morning, something\nvery unusual; but no blind prisoner had ever been confined within the\nwalls of Osnabruck before, and I suppose I was an object of interest.\n\nI heard Rogan say, \"Commandant,\" and click his heels.\n\nI stood up and saluted. I was turned around, for, unknowingly, I had\ngravely saluted the wall.\n\nHe spoke fairly good English:\n\n\"You quite blind?\"\n\n\"Yes, quite.\"\n\n\"See no light--nothing, no?\"\n\n\"Nothing whatever.\"\n\n\"Your health, vot, is your health goot--yah?\"\n\n\"Very weak and shaky; I cannot sleep at night.\"\n\n\"Is there anything you want?\"\n\n\"There are two orderlies here from my own regiment. Can I have one as\nmy personal attendant? Otherwise I am helpless; I am not yet\naccustomed to blindness, and among so many people and in strange\nsurroundings, I shall become a nuisance.\"\n\n\"Yah; I will make arrangements.\"\n\nThat was how I came to get Private Cotton as my orderly. Cotton was a\nfine lad; a well-educated, superior type of fellow, and we became very\nmuch attached to each other during those long, dreary days.\n\nHe could speak French, and although he could speak no German, he\npossessed that wonderful faculty peculiar to the private soldier, of\nunderstanding and making himself understood in a language he did not\nknow.\n\nHe had been a civil servant in the War Office; but in the early part\nof the war had volunteered his services with the colours, and fought\nnight and day in the trenches for a shilling a day; while the young\nman who took his place in the War Office drew one and sixpence an hour\novertime after 4 o'clock. Yet Cotton never complained. But his duty\nwas the other man's opportunity.\n\nAs I write these lines Cotton is still a prisoner. I wonder if the\nother man is still drawing overtime, and wearing a war-service badge?\n\nNow Cotton was a gentleman both by birth and education; but he was a\nprivate soldier, and seemed to make a hobby of being one. He was a\nprivate, and I was a captain, and he insisted on that gulf being\nmaintained.\n\nWhenever he bade me good-night, after he had laid me in my bed and\nmade me some cocoa--generally from his own supplies, for my parcels\nwent astray--I could always hear him click his heels, and I knew he\nhad saluted.\n\nThe second day after I had arrived at Osnabruck, he took me for\nexercise up and down the yard outside the canteen. This was my first\nappearance, and I was evidently an object of some curiosity, for wind\nhad got round the camp that a blind prisoner had been brought in.\n\nAs the French officers passed me, I used to hear them say: \"Good\nmorning, Capitaine,\" or \"Bon jour, mon camarade.\"\n\nThe English officers were splendid and always anxious to help me, and\nmany a welcome supper of cocoa and cake I used to have in their rooms\nbefore going to bed.\n\nI am afraid, though, that I used to make rather a big meal of it, as\nfor the first two weeks I had to exist on the German rations.\n\nWhen I took my first walk in the yard the canteen manager, his wife,\nand daughter were evidently watching out for me; for by and by, as a\nsign of their good-will, the daughter came running out after me with a\npresent. It was an egg!\n\nCotton and I had a serious talk about this egg. He thought I should\nsave it, and have half for supper and half for breakfast; but I\nsettled the matter by eating it at once.\n\nI think I have forgotten to mention that we were allowed to buy for\nhalf a mark, a loaf of bread every five days. I had no idea how far a\nloaf would go; I had never before given it a thought.\n\nBut Cotton had it down to a science; and worked it out that two small\nslices for breakfast, and the same for supper would carry me through,\nand he kept me to it.\n\n\"Cotton,\" I would say, after I had breakfasted on the two slices, \"I\ncould eat another slice.\"\n\n\"Better not, sir.\"\n\n\"Why not, Cotton? It's my loaf.\"\n\n\"This is the fourth day, sir, and if you have another slice, there\nwill only be a small piece of crust for to-morrow's breakfast.\"\n\n\"All right, Cotton, I will sleep to dinner-time instead.\"\n\nIt was a joyful day when my first parcels arrived in camp. I was too\nexcited about it to eat alone that day; and I invited young Martell of\nthe R.N.A.S. to come and dine with me in my room.\n\nThere was a tin of soup and a tin of tripe and onions, and some\nbiscuits and cheese. What a banquet! Martell and I decided to do\nourselves in style. We even went so far as to send Cotton to the\ncanteen for two glasses of what we indulgently patronised the canteen\nmanager's humour by calling port wine.\n\nMartell cooked the tripe and onions, after opening the tin with his\npenknife, and boiled it on the stove. The more we thought of that\nmeal, the more we schemed to make a spread of it.\n\nCotton, too, rose to the occasion. From the canteen he obtained a\nsheet of white paper for a table-cloth, and by the side of each plate\nhe placed a clean white handkerchief for serviettes.\n\nThe table was just a little rough, wooden one, about two feet square.\nThe room was swept and the beds made to give the room a tidy\nappearance, and then we sat down.\n\nYes, Cotton understood. He knew that that meal was taking our thoughts\nback to England. It was taking him back, too. He knew that we imagined\nwe were back again in the mess; and he imagined the same thing\nhimself.\n\nIn that little room, and in the presence of that tin of tripe and\nonions we forgot we were prisoners; we forgot that rows and rows of\nbarbed wire bound us in captivity; we ignored the footsteps of the\nsentry pacing up and down outside our window, and the sharp yelping of\nthe dogs.\n\nWe were back in the mess, and we chatted and laughed during the meal\nas we had done in the old days, while our spirits rose with the aroma\nof the tripe and onion; and Cotton stood behind me silent and\nattentive, removing the plates, washing them, and replacing them ready\nfor the next course, pretending he was drawing plates from a\nwell-filled pantry.\n\nWe finished our repast with biscuits and cheese, and then we solemnly\nstood, and raising our glasses, toasted the King.\n\nThen we drew our chairs round the fire, and heating the coffee which\nwas left over from breakfast, we bathed our thoughts in the aroma of\ntwo cigars which Cotton had thoughtfully provided for the occasion\nfrom the canteen.\n\nYes, people of England, living at home in luxury, by the protection of\na thin line of khaki; when you become anxious at the prospect of one\nmeatless day per week, try living for a fortnight on slops, and then\nappreciate the glories of a tin of tripe and onions.\n\nStill, one can live on slops, and improve a meal by a vivid\nimagination. In fact, imagination is a distinct advantage when sitting\ndown hungrily to a plate of thin watery soup and sloppy potatoes for\ndinner.\n\nWhen the door used to open and Cotton appeared with this unsavoury\nrepast, which was always the same each day, I would say to him in the\nmost indifferent tone I could assume:\n\n\"Well, Cotton, what kind of soup is it to-day?\"\n\n\"Well, sir; I really don't know. It might be anything; it looks like\nhot water.\"\n\n\"Why, my dear Cotton, this soup is salt. How dull you are! There must\nhave been a battle in the North Sea!\"\n\n\"How do you know that, sir?\"\n\n\"It's the way the Germans have. This soup is hot sea-water; it is to\ncelebrate a victory.\"\n\nThe next day there would be a slight difference in the soup, and again\nCotton would gravely shake his head, unable to fathom its mystery.\n\n\"My dear Cotton, when will you learn to gather information from your\nrations by a method of deduction?\"\n\n\"Has there been another battle in the North Sea, sir?\"\n\n\"No, my dear Cotton, the soup is thicker; the German fleet is back in\nthe Kiel Canal.\"\n\nIt was the beginning of the third week of my sojourn in Osnabruck,\nwhen I was told one day that I was to proceed next morning to\nBlenhorst camp to appear before the Swiss Commission. Three other\nofficers were also to go, including Rogan.\n\nCotton was to accompany me, and we made great preparation for the\njourney, packing in a tin box biscuits and cheese, chocolate and\nsardines; for although an officer is charged just the same for his\nfull day's ration, the Germans have a habit of sending him on a long\nday's journey without food.\n\nWe started off at about 6 o'clock the next morning in high glee; for\nwhatever the result of the Swiss Commission might be, there was the\njourney to Blenhorst to break the monotony of Osnabruck.\n\nWe had to change trains several times, and in the station restaurants\nwe had much the same experience as I have described on my journey from\nHanover.\n\nIn one restaurant we could only obtain a slice of ham as thin as\ntissue-paper, and in another a very small sausage; and yet the German\npeople we passed in the streets had no appearance of being short of\nfood, or suffering any hardships in this respect. The people in the\nstreets, I understand, looked just as contented and well fed as the\npeople in England.\n\nThe station for Blenhorst is about eight miles from the camp. A large\nflat, open lorry was sent to meet us to carry our baggage, but as our\nbelongings were for the most part carried in our pockets, it was\nunnecessary for that purpose.\n\nIt then dawned upon our two guards, who had no more desire to walk\nthan we had, that we might ride on the lorry ourselves. They obtained\na form to hold four, and we four officers occupied this seat on the\nopen lorry, Cotton sitting on the floor, while the two guards sat\ntogether behind us, with their feet dangling over the side.\n\nThat ride I shall never forget. Perhaps it was because I was blind\nthat the situation seemed so ridiculously funny. The single-horsed\nlorry was pulled slowly through the rough, cobbled streets in sudden\njerks, which sent our legs flying in the air, giving the form a tilt;\nand I expected every minute that we would all four turn a double\nsomersault over the heads of our guards behind, and fall into the road\nlike clowns at a circus.\n\nImagine the picture, an open lorry on a bitterly cold day going\nthrough the streets of a small German town with four British officers\nin uniform; two with their heads bandaged, another with an arm in a\nsling, and a fourth with a lame leg, all sitting on a form, shivering\nwith cold--all smoking cigars; while people came out and gazed in\nopen-mouthed wonder at the strange spectacle; and a crowd of little\nurchins came running behind, yelling at the top of their voices.\n\nAll this was explained to me; and I imagined a great deal more, for\nthe ridiculous situation could only be complete if a shower of rotten\neggs were hurled at us as we passed by.\n\nThe following morning the Swiss Commission arrived, and all those who\nwished to appear before it were ordered to assemble in the yard.\n\nIt was a pathetic assembly, officers and men maimed and afflicted\nbeyond repair, waited in a long queue for their turn to go in and hear\ntheir fate.\n\nThere were a number of Tommies acting as orderlies in the camp who\nhad been prisoners since Mons. There was nothing physically the matter\nwith them; yet the silent and hopeful manner in which they took their\nposition in the line, knowing as they must have done, that their\nchances were hopeless, was most pitiful to witness.\n\nYet, the same men, on appearing before the Commission, and being\nimmediately rejected, laughed and joked as they returned to their\nwork.\n\nThe British Tommy is heroic, and rough though his language sometimes\nis, he is a man, and Britain is his debtor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nFREE\n\nI BLUFF THE GERMAN SERGEANT. AACHEN. TWO BOTTLES OF WINE. ACROSS THE\nFRONTIER. GREAT SCOTT! I AM CHARGED FOR MY OWN DEATH EXPENSES\n\n\nI was passed for England!\n\nThe Examination Board consisted of a Swiss doctor, a German doctor,\nand the camp commandant. The Swiss doctor was provided with a schedule\nof disablements under which prisoners could be passed for exchange to\ntheir own country, and partial disablements for Switzerland, and\nfrequently objections to a prisoner's application would be made by the\nGerman representative.\n\nOf our party from Osnabruck, one was rejected, two were passed for\nSwitzerland, and I was passed for England.\n\nThe decision of the Swiss Commission is not final, for, on being sent\nto the border, all prisoners are again examined--this time by German\ndoctors only--and by their decision prisoners are frequently rejected\nand sent back to camp.\n\nThe final examination for those going to Switzerland takes place at\nKonstanz, and for those going to England, at Aachen.\n\nI knew of one British Tommy who, during eighteen months had been twice\npassed for England and once for Switzerland, and each time rejected at\nthe border, and he is to-day still in Germany.\n\nIt was about two weeks after I had been passed by the Swiss Commission\nthat a German non-commissioned officer came to my room, and told me\nthat I was to leave at 4 A.M. the next morning for England.\n\nI had waited for this moment for three long months; I had no\noccupation of any kind, and spent most of my time lying on my bed or\nsitting on an uncomfortable chair before the fire, in hourly\nexpectation of the door opening to tell me of my freedom.\n\nPermission had been granted me to take Cotton with me to the border,\nso we packed all the food we had in stock and prepared for the\njourney. After travelling for some hours, we arrived at Hameln camp,\nwhere we were to stay the night. There was no accommodation for\nofficers in the camp, and they apparently did not know what to do with\nme, or how to provide me with food, as they had never been called upon\nbefore to take charge of an officer.\n\nThe only spare hut was some distance down the road, but as this was\noutside the camp, a special guard had to be mounted outside my door.\nThe question of feeding me was evidently found to be rather a\nperplexing one, and a German N.C.O., who could speak English, came to\nsee me about it.\n\n\"You do not get the same rations at Osnabruck as private soldiers?\nNo?\"\n\nI saw an opportunity and took it.\n\n\"No, special food is always provided for officers.\"\n\n\"What do you usually get?\"\n\n\"Meat, vegetables, pudding or fruit, and coffee.\"\n\n\"Zo! But how much do you get? Do you get _all_ that?\"\n\n\"Yes. As much as we like to pay for.\"\n\n\"But the money. How do you pay?\"\n\n\"Oh, I will pay cash before I leave.\"\n\n\"Goot. I will send you a dinner.\"\n\n\"By the way, what about my orderly? Bring in the same for him.\"\n\n\"Is dot usual? I vill gif him rations mit der men.\"\n\n\"That's against regulations in Osnabruck. Officers pay for their\norderlies' food. Bring him the same as me. By the way, sausages and\ncoffee for breakfast for both.\"\n\nThe meals were excellent, and I was glad we were moved off next day\nbefore the commandant came back to discover that I had bluffed the\nsergeant.\n\nAt the end of the following day we arrived in Aachen, and again, being\nthe only officer, the difficulty arose about my accommodation.\n\nThis time I was placed in a real hospital which was used for German\nofficers, and the accommodation was quite as good as I would expect in\nEngland. There were six nurses in this hospital, kind and generous in\ntheir treatment, and they fed me with every delicacy they could find,\nand waited upon me hand and foot.\n\nCotton was ordered to return to Osnabruck, and was replaced by a\nGerman orderly. An armed guard was placed outside my bedroom door, day\nand night, and whenever I took exercise in the garden, I could hear\nhis footsteps behind me, following me wherever I went, and spitting on\nthe ground every two or three yards.\n\nOn the second day after my arrival, I went for my final examination,\nand the medical officer told me he would send his sergeant-major, who\ncould speak good English, to have a talk with me that evening. What\ndid that mean? Why should he want to talk to me? I became suspicious\nand awaited his coming with some uneasiness.\n\nHe arrived about 7 o'clock that evening, bringing a friend and two\nbottles of wine. They opened the wine and we smoked together.\nConversation was going to be very difficult. I felt I was going to be\npumped for information.\n\nIt was going to be a battle of wits--I could feel it in my veins.\n\nI made up my mind to be pleasant and tactful and meet every question\nby asking one.\n\nAs a matter of fact, I was mistaken. They were Germans who had lived\nin England and worked at the Deutsche Bank in George Yard, Lombard\nStreet, until war broke out, and had lived in Highbury. I soon found\nout that they were not bad fellows at all, although their opening\nconversation did put my back up, and make me suspicious.\n\n\"London must be full of soldiers?\"\n\nI replied cautiously:\n\n\"Well, I suppose the big cities, London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, must\nall be full of soldiers these days.\"\n\n\"But what do the English people really think about the cause of the\nwar?\"\n\n\"Well,\" I replied evasively, \"it's difficult to say, because people in\nEngland who talk, don't think; and people who think, don't talk.\"\n\n\"Well, do you think when the war is over there will be any hard\nfeeling? Do you think things will settle down, and we shall be able to\nlive there again as we did before?\"\n\n\"Well, that depends upon the people's feelings after the war.\"\n\n\"You know, we cannot understand the English people; you are very hard\nto understand, the way you do things.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Well, look at the way you have got your army together. It's\nmarvellous; we all admit it. It surprised us.\n\n\"Look at your colonies. We thought Canada and Australia would break\naway; or at the very best, would not send over more than about 50,000\nmen.\n\n\"But what we cannot understand is why a country which can organise and\nhandle such an enormous army, is unable to manage its civilian\npopulation.\"\n\n\"In what way do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, look at Ireland; fancy allowing that sort of thing! And the\nstrikes you have! You build an army, and then allow your people to\nhinder it by striking.\"\n\n\"How can you help it?\"\n\n\"You don't find strikes in Germany, because we organise our civil\npopulation for war, as well as the military population.\n\n\"There was one strike a little while ago, not for more money, but\nbecause the men felt they were not getting the food they were entitled\nto. Do you know what we did?--We put them all in uniform, and sent\nthem on to the Somme, and we sent back from the Somme an equal number\nof soldiers to replace them in the factory.\"\n\n\"When do you think the war will be over?\" I asked.\n\n\"When each side realises that it can't exterminate the other. Look\nwhat we've done on the Somme! You've lost, let us say, 700,000 men,\nand we have lost, say 500,000; and how far have you got? You'll never\nbeat us. If you bend us back more, all we shall have to do is to\nretire to a new line, and you will have to begin your work all over\nagain. You can bend, but you can't break us.\"\n\n\"Well, you tried it, and now it's our turn.\"\n\n\"Yes; but it will never end that way. Do you know that for months past\nwe've been digging a new line, a straight line between Lille and\nVerdun, which will shorten our line by half? And if you bend that we\nwill build another farther back. It can go on for ever at that rate.\"\n\n\"What about the blockade?\"\n\n\"Of course, that's a farce. You've been doing your best to starve us\nfor over two years. Do I look starved? We may not get as good food as\nwe should like, but we get enough to live on, because we've got it\nproperly systemised; whereas you let your people eat what they like.\"\n\nYes, there was truth in that; and after drinking all his wine, I\nturned into bed; for to-morrow I was to be free!\n\nAt 7 o'clock on the following evening motor-cars, each with two\ntrailers, went towards the station, filled with totally disabled\nsoldiers, en route for England.\n\nEven their captors thought it was not worth while to keep them.\n\nWar is a monstrous machine of the devil. At one end the manhood of\nBritain was pouring into its fiery cauldron; and here at the other end\nthe devil was raking out the cinders.\n\nMy story is drawing to a close.\n\nThe hospital-train, bearing its human freight, passed through Namur,\nLiége, Brussels, and Antwerp to the Dutch frontier.\n\nAll who could do so looked eagerly out of the window for the moment\nwhen they would pass into freedom.\n\nThe train stopped at a small station right on the frontier, and some\nformalities were gone through. It started again--there was a German\nsentry--there was a Dutch sentry--we were over. Hurrah!!!\n\nCheer after cheer rang out from that long line of prostrate men.\n\nThe train pulled up at a little station just across the border. The\ndoor of my carriage was flung open and a number of Dutch girls came to\nmy bed, and a shower of things came tumbling all about me as they\npassed one after the other, saying:\n\n\"Cigarettes, pleeze; apple, pleeze; cigar, pleeze; cake, pleeze;\nsweets, pleeze----\"\n\nI was in heaven.\n\nMy story is told.\n\nI am back in my own home now; and as I conclude this record the\npostman brings me a letter. It is from my solicitors; I have torn it\nopen, and find an account. The irony of fate closes the chapter:\n\n\"To services rendered in connection with the death of Captain Nobbs!\"\n\n\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                   |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Page  63: 'lets drink' replaced with 'let's drink'        |\n    | Page 193: lagar replaced with lager                       |\n    | Page 220: 'we forget we were prisoners' replaced with     |\n    |           'we forgot we were prisoners'                   |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's On the right of the British line, by Gilbert Nobbs", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32051", "title": "On the right of the British line", "author": "", "publication_year": 1917, "metadata_title": "On the right of the British line", "metadata_author": "Gilbert Nobbs", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:21.033601", "source_chars": 233002, "chars": 233002, "talkie_tokens": 54946}}
{"text": "Produced by Jeannie Howse, Roger Frank and the Online\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Transcriber's Note:                                       |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has     |\n    | been preserved.                                           |\n    |                                                           |\n    | This work has dialect and unusual spellings.              |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For     |\n    | a complete list, please see the end of this document.     |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n    [Illustration: A FORD CAR CAN'T DO THIS]\n\n\n\n\nGrenfell:\nKnight-Errant of the North\n\nBy\nFULLERTON WALDO\n\nAuthor of \"With Grenfell on the Labrador,\"\n\"Down the Mackenzie,\" etc.\n\n\n\n\nPHILADELPHIA\nGEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY\nPUBLISHERS\n\n\n\n\nCopyright, 1924, by\nGEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY\n\n_All rights reserved_\nPrinted in U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n_To\nMARY CASTLEMAN DAVIS_\n\n\n\n\n                                             _December 15, 1923._\n\nDEAR WALDO:\n\nYou who have sampled the salt breezes of the North on board my boat,\nhave, I know, imbibed the spirit that actuates the belief that in a\nworld like ours we can all be knights. I know that like ourselves, you\nlook upon the world as a field of honor, and its only durable prizes\nthe things that we can accomplish in it. You see the fun in it\nall--the real joie de vivre.\n\nWell, we are doing our best, and it is giving us a great return. We\nhaven't lost the capacity to enjoy soft things, but we have learned\nthe joys of trying to endure hardness as good soldiers. Would to God\nthat every American boy would realize that the only real great prize\nof life is to be won by being willing to take blows and willing to\nsuffer misunderstanding and opposition, so long as he may follow in\nthe footsteps of that most Peerless Knight that ever lived; He who saw\nthat the meaning of life was, that in it we might, wherever we are, be\nalways trying to do good.\n\n                                 Ever your friend,\n                                             WILFRED T. GRENFELL.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n   I. A BOY AND THE SEA                                        11\n\n  II. SCHOOL--AND AFTER                                        22\n\n III. WESTWARD HO! FOR LABRADOR                                35\n\n  IV. HAULED BY THE HUSKIES                                    74\n\n   V. SOME REAL SEA-DOGS                                       97\n\n  VI. HUNTING WITH THE ESKIMO                                 114\n\n VII. LITTLE PRINCE POMIUK                                    137\n\nVIII. CAPTURED BY INDIANS                                     147\n\n  IX. ALONE ON THE ICE                                        162\n\n   X. A FIGHT WITH THE SEA                                    183\n\n  XI. THE KIDNAPPERS                                          201\n\n XII. WHEN THE BIG FISH \"STRIKE IN\"                           230\n\nXIII. BIRDS OF MANY A FEATHER                                 238\n\n XIV. BEASTS BIG AND LITTLE                                   249\n\n  XV. THE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT                                 264\n\n XVI. THROUGH THE BLIZZARD                                    284\n\nXVII. WHY THE DOCTOR WAS LATE                                 296\n\n   The incidents of the first chapter are founded strictly on fact,\n   but slight liberties have been taken with minor details here and\n   elsewhere. For example, the Doctor is sometimes represented as\n   talking with persons whose names stand for types rather than\n   individuals; and it is the spirit rather than the letter of the\n   conversations that is reported.\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nA Ford Car Can't Do This                           _Frontispiece_\n\nMap of Labrador                                    _Facing p._ 36\n\nCastles and Cathedrals of Ice Afloat                  \"    \"   94\n\nLet's Go!                                             \"    \"  110\n\n\"Who Said Halt?\"                                      \"    \"  198\n\nOff Duty                                              \"    \"  242\n\nWhere Four Feet Are Better Than Two                   \"    \"  290\n\n\n\n\nGrenfell: Knight-Errant of the North\n\n\n\n\n\nA BOY AND THE SEA\n\n\n\"I wonder if Jim is ever going to get back! My, isn't it an awful\nstorm!\"\n\nWilfred Grenfell, then a small boy, stood at the window of his home in\nCheshire, England, looking out across the sea-wall at the raging,\nseething waters of the Irish Sea.\n\nThe wind howled and the snowflakes beat against the window-panes as if\nthey were tiny birds that wanted to get in.\n\n\"Mother,\" he pleaded, \"can I put on my sweater and my rubber boots and\ngo down on the beach and see if I can find Jim?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said his mother. \"But wrap yourself up warmly, and don't stay\nlong--and don't take any risks, will you, dear?\"\n\nAlmost before the words were out of her mouth, Wilf was down the\nstairs and out in the roadway, where fishermen watched their little\nboats as they tossed at anchor riding out the storm.\n\nWilf stepped up to a big, grizzled mariner he knew, whom every one\ncalled Andy.\n\n\"Andy, have you seen Jim?\"\n\n\"Jim who?\"\n\n\"Jim Anderson.\"\n\n\"Was he the chap that went out in the _Daisy Bell_ about four hours\nago?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Wilf, trying to control himself, \"and he wanted me to go\nwith him, but----\"\n\nHis words were cut short by a great wave that hurled itself against\nthe wall. The spray leapt high over the stones and drenched Andy and\nthe boy.\n\n\"It's lucky ye didn't go, boy,\" said Andy, solemnly. \"We're watchin'\nfor the boat now. My brother was on her, and two cousins o' my wife.\nShe was a little craft, and a leaky one. We were goin' to patch her up\nan' make her fit. But we waited too long. An' now----\" He drew his\nrough sleeve across his eyes.\n\nThe wind howled round their ears and the hail was smiting and stinging\nas though the storm had a devilish mind to drive them away.\n\n\"Why don't you go out in a boat and get them?\" pleaded Wilf.\n\nAndy shook his head. \"It ain't that we're afraid,\" he said. \"But there\nain't a boat we have here that could ride those waves. The coast-guard\ntried--and now look!\" He pointed to a heap of broken, white-painted\ntimbers lying in the roadway, half-hidden from them by the whooping\nblizzard that threw its dizzying veils of snow before their eyes.\n\n\"That's the coast-guard's boat!\" exclaimed Andy. \"The sea picked her\nup, she did, and threw her right over the sea-wall as if she was an\negg, an' mashed her flat. That shows how much of a chance there'd be\nfor us to get through an' get back, supposin' we could find 'em. No,\nboy, we've got to wait.\"\n\n\"Look!\" cried the lad, excitedly. \"Please look, Andy. What's that\nbobbing up and down in the surf?\"\n\nThe fisherman put to his eyes his worn and rusted spy-glass.\n\nThen he gritted his teeth and bit his lip. \"You stay up here on the\nroad, boy. I got to climb down there and make sure.\"\n\nWilf stood at the sea-wall. He was barely tall enough to look over it.\n\nHe watched Andy clamber painfully down over the great rocks piled high\nagainst the outer face of the wall.\n\nEvery now and then a big wave would rise up, a green monster of\nhissing foam and fury, and throw itself on him like a wild animal\ntrying to scare him back.\n\nBut men of that breed are not afraid. The stalwart figure, though\noften knocked down and half drowned, would struggle to his feet again\nand go on.\n\nWilf saw Andy pick up the--yes, it was a body--and put it on his\nshoulder, and come staggering toward the rocks. Then he clambered\ntediously over the stones, and Wilf saw whose body it was that Andy\nwas carrying.\n\nIt was his boy friend Jim, who had gone out only a few hours before,\nwith the sun on his fair hair, laughing and whistling and shouting his\ngay farewell. \"Be back in a little while, Wilf! Bring you a nice big\nfish for your supper. You want to have a good hot fire ready to cook\nit Better change your mind and come along.\" Never again would he hear\nthat cheery hail of invitation to adventure.\n\nAndy laid the little half-frozen figure down, carefully, tenderly,\nbeside the wall.\n\n\"Too bad!\" he said, \"too bad! But the sea can be terrible cruel to the\nsons o' men. I wonder we keep goin' back to her as we do. Now I got to\ntake the poor boy to his mother.\"\n\nHe picked up the body, and trudged off into the storm, toward the\nfishing-huts.\n\nWilf went back to his own house, thinking about the sea and how cruel\nit had been.\n\n\"Mother,\" he said, as they sat together talking over the tragedy,\n\"isn't it queer that you can have such fun with the sea sometimes,\nswimming in it and rowing on it, and then all of a sudden it gets mad\nand kills somebody you love? Just suppose I'd gone out in the boat\nwith Jim!\"\n\nWilf thought it fine fun to go swimming, with the strong salt breeze\nto dry him off like a towel afterwards. In his ears the crying of\nsea-birds against grey clouds was the sweetest of music. He loved to\nhave the surf knock him about, and the sun burn him red, and he didn't\nmind if pink jellyfish stung him now and then or a crab got hold of\nhis toes. The roar of the surf sang him to sleep at night like an old\nnurse.\n\nOne day when the spring came, Wilf went out on the salt marshes, his\ngun over his shoulder, to shoot wild ducks.\n\nHe was a regular water-baby.\n\nRound about him all sorts of sea-birds were wheeling and crying. The\nswift tidal currents found their way up-stream through the marshes.\n\nWilf, hot and tired, threw the gun on the sand, took off his clothes,\nand plunged into the clear, cold water.\n\nIt carried him along like a boat, and he clambered out on a green\nisland.\n\n\"It's just like Robinson Crusoe!\" he told himself. \"Here I am, all\nalone, and nobody in sight. I can do just as I please!\"\n\nHe ran up and down in the sunlight, laughing and shouting in the wind\nand throwing his arms about.\n\nHow good it felt to be alive!\n\n\"Guess I'll go back and get the gun,\" he said, \"and see if I can't\nshoot one of those wild ducks. I'll make mother a present of it for\ndinner to-night.\"\n\nIt wasn't so easy to swim back. He had to fight against the current\nthat had carried him to the little green island.\n\nIt was less effort to leave the stream and scramble through the reeds\nalong the muddy bank.\n\nSometimes a stone or a shell hurt his foot, but he only laughed and\nwent on.\n\n\"You just wait, you ducks,\" he said. \"You'd better look out when I\nbegin to shoot!\"\n\nHe came to where the gun lay on his clothes, where he had been careful\nto place it so that no sand would get into the muzzle.\n\nHe loaded it and fired, and it kicked his bare shoulder like a mule.\n\nBut he had the satisfaction of seeing one of the ducks fall into the\nwater, where the stream was at its widest, perhaps a hundred feet from\nthe bank.\n\nHere the water ran swift and deep, and it was going to be a hard fight\nto get that bird.\n\n\"I wish I had Rover with me now!\" he told himself. Usually the dog\nwent with him and was the best of company,--but this time he must be\nhis own retriever.\n\nHe plunged into the stream again and swam with all his might toward\nthe bird.\n\nIf he had been getting it for himself, he would have been tempted to\ngive up. But he couldn't bear to quit when he thought of what a treat\nit would be for the whole family--a nice, fat, juicy, wild duck.\n\nThe bird was being carried rapidly up-stream by the force of the\nwaters.\n\n\"No, sir!\" said Wilf to something inside him that wanted to go back.\n\"We're going to get that bird if we have to swim half-way across\nEngland!\"\n\nIt was almost as if the bird had come back to life. It seemed to be\nswimming away from him.\n\nPainfully, inch by inch, he began to gain on it. At last, when his\nstrength was all but gone, he caught up with it, and clutched the\nfeathery prize. Then he swam with it to the shore.\n\nPanting and happy, he lay down on the bank a moment to rest.\n\n\"The family won't have to go without dinner after all!\" he laughed.\n\nHe grabbed the duck by the feet, flung it over his shoulder, and\ntrotted back to his clothes and the gun. It was fun to go home with\nthe bird that he had shot himself. But if there had been no bird, he\nwould have been whistling or singing just as happily.\n\nOn one of his birthdays he was out in the wide, lonely marshes five\nmiles from home. It was more fun for him to go hunting, barefoot, than\nto have a party with a frosted cake and twinkling candles. So, as the\nnicest kind of birthday present, he had been given the whole day, to\ndo just as he pleased.\n\nTo-day, as there was still on the ground the snow of early spring, he\nwore shoes, but it was cold work plashing about in those slimy pools\nand the slippery mud among the sedges.\n\nThe birds he was after especially were the black-and-white \"oyster\ncatchers,\" which when it was low tide would always be found making a\ngreat racket above the patches of mussels which formed their favorite\nfood.\n\nThey were handsome birds, with gay red bills, and a bunch of them made\na fine showing when the little hunter carried them home over his\nshoulder.\n\nThis time he had shot several of the birds, and then the problem was\nto get them and bring them in.\n\nThere they lay--away off yonder, on a little tuft of, the coarse green\nmeadow-grasses, but between the hunter and the game was a swirling\ninlet of salt water, and he couldn't tell by looking at it how deep it\nwas.\n\nSo, gun over shoulder, he started cautiously to wade out toward that\nbirthday dinner he meant to bring home.\n\nFirst it was calf-deep--then knee-deep--then nearly waist-deep.\n\nThe cold water made his teeth chatter, but he didn't care about that.\nAll he thought of was the precious gun. That was his chief treasure,\nand his first joy in life.\n\nDeeper he went, and nearer he got--the gun now held in both hands high\nover his head, as he floundered along.\n\nAnd just then a dreadful thing happened.\n\nHe stepped into a hole, and it suddenly let him down so that the water\nwas over his head, and his up reached arms, and the precious gun too!\n\nIn the shock and the surprise, he let go of the weapon, and it sank\nout of sight. He had no fear of drowning, and he struck out manfully\nwhen he found himself in the deep water.\n\nBut he had to give up the idea of finding the gun, and the birds were\nleft where they lay on the farther side of the treacherous channel.\n\nIt was a long, hard run home, over those five wet and freezing miles,\nand the boy's heart was heavy because of the loss of that pet gun.\n\nAll the while he was learning everything that outdoors could teach\nhim, and he owes to that breezy, sun-shot, storm-swept gipsying during\nthe summer vacations the beginning of the stock of good health that\nhas made him such a strong, useful, happy man, able to do no end of\nhard work without getting tired, and always finding it fun to live.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nSCHOOL--AND AFTER\n\n\nThis Robin Hood kind of life in the open went on till Wilf was\nfourteen. Then he was sent away to Marlborough College--a boy's school\nwhich had 600 pupils. Marlborough is in the Chalk Hills of the\nMarlborough Downs, seventy-five miles west of London. The building,\ndating from 1843, is on the site of a castle of Henry I.\n\nThe first day Wilf landed there he looked about him and felt pretty\nforlorn.\n\n\"I wonder if I'll ever get to know all those boys?\" he asked himself.\n\nWhen he was at home, he had a room all his own or shared one with his\nbrother. Here it was so different.\n\nHe counted the beds in his dormitory. There were twenty-five of them.\n\"How can a fellow ever get to sleep in such a crowd?\" he wondered.\n\"Perhaps they'll toss me in a blanket, the way they did in 'Tom Brown\nat Rugby.' Well, if they try anything like that, they'll find I'm\nready for them!\"\n\nHe felt the mattress. \"Pretty hard compared with the beds at home, but\nno matter. Let's see what the schoolroom is like.\"\n\nSo he went into the \"Big School\" as it was called. Three hundred boys\nwere supposed to study there.\n\n\"Gracious!\" exclaimed Wilf. \"Don't see how a fellow ever gets his\nlessons in a place like this.\"\n\nIt was as busy and as noisy as a bear-garden. Here and there a boy\nwith his hands over his ears was really looking at a book. But most of\nthe boys were talking, laughing, singing as if there were no such\nthing as lessons.\n\nSometimes a master might look in, or a monitor would wander down the\naisle. But most of the time there was nothing to keep a boy from\nfollowing his own sweet will.\n\n\"I say, Smith!\" one called out, \"lend me a shilling, will you? I want\nto buy Grisby's white rat, and I haven't got enough.\" A fat boy who\nlooked as if he thought mostly of meal-times was telling everybody in\nhis neighborhood: \"I've just got a box from home. Jam and fruitcake\nand gooseberry tarts. Come and see me to-night in the dormitory, you\nfellows.\"\n\nSomebody else called out: \"My knife's so dull I'll never get my name\ncarved on this desk. Give me your knife, Willoughby: it's sharper.\"\n\nThere were boys having fencing-matches with rulers across the aisle.\nThere were others who took no end of pains to make paper arrows, or\nspitballs that would stick to the ceiling. In the corners of their\ndesks might be bird's eggs in need of fresh air. Some of the boys were\nreading adventure stories, covered up to look like school-books.\n\nIn the midst of this Babel, you were expected to get your lessons as\nwell as you could.\n\nWhen it came to meal-times, you went into what was called \"Big Hall,\"\nwhere four hundred boys ate together.\n\nThe beef was tough enough to make a suitcase: the milk was like chalk\nand water: the potatoes would have done to plaster a ceiling or cement\na wall. How different it all was from the good though simple fare at\nhome!\n\n\"Want to join a brewing company?\" asked the boy across the table.\n\n\"What's a brewing company?\" inquired Wilf.\n\n\"We buy sausages and cook 'em in saucepans over the fire--when we can\nfind a fire.\"\n\n\"Yes, you can count me in,\" said Wilf. So it didn't make so much\ndifference after that, if he couldn't eat what was set before him at\nthe table.\n\nBut usually the boys brought robust appetites to their meals, for they\nwent in heavily for all forms of athletics. The boys who didn't make\nthe teams had to drill in the gymnasium or run round and round an open\nair track a mile and a half long. If you shirked, the boys themselves\nsaw to it that you got punished.\n\nWhen Wilf came home to Cheshire for the long vacations he found some\npoor little ragamuffins who had no fun in their lives, and started a\nclub for them in his own house. There were no boy scouts in those\ndays, when Sir Robert Baden-Powell and Ernest Thompson Seton were\nlittle boys themselves. It was just taken for granted that boys would\nbe boys, and it was hoped that they would grow up to be good men, if\nafter school hours they were allowed to run loose in the streets. But\nGrenfell had a different idea.\n\nHe turned the dining-room on Saturday evenings into a gymnasium.\n\nHe pushed aside the table and chucked the chairs out of the window.\n\n\"Now any of you fellows who want to can get busy on the parallel\nbars,\" he told them, \"or if you like you can go out into the back yard\nand pitch quoits. I'll take on anybody who wants to box with me.\"\n\nThe boys thought it was heaps of fun. They could hardly wait for\nSaturday night to come, because it meant the rare sport of banging\nanother boy in the nose, which was much more satisfactory than\nthrowing stones at a policeman.\n\nAfter he was big enough, he used to go to lodging-houses where men\nslept who were down and out. He knew that drink had brought them low,\nand he wanted to show them better things to do.\n\nThe saloon-keepers were against him from the start. He was depriving\nthem of some of their best customers.\n\n\"You're spoiling our business,\" they grumbled.\n\nAt last they made up their minds they would \"get\" him.\n\nThey collected a \"gang\" and one night they locked the door, backed up\nagainst it, and shouted:\n\n\"Come on, young feller! We're goin' to fix you!\"\n\nThey rolled up their sleeves, clenched their fists, and sailed into\nhim full-tilt like a big, angry crowd of human bees.\n\nGrenfell was ready for them. It was like a fight in the movies.\n\nHe had kept himself in fine condition, for he was in training to play\nfootball and he was known to be a first-rate boxer.\n\nThey flew at him, roaring to encourage one another. There were six or\neight of them, but they were afraid of his fists.\n\n\"Come on, boys!\"\n\n\"Hit 'im a good 'un, Bill! 'E's spoilin' our business, that's what\n'e's doin'.\"\n\n\"Push in his face. 'Ammer 'im good 'n' proper!\"\n\n\"We'll show 'im what's what!\"\n\n\"'E's a noosance. Le's get rid of 'im. Lemme get at 'im once. I'll\nshow 'im!\"\n\nSo they came on, clumsy with drink, but their maudlin outcries didn't\nscare Grenfell a bit.\n\nHe was waiting for them,--cool, quiet, determined.\n\nTheir diet was mostly bad ale and beer, or whiskey: Grenfell was all\nmuscle, from constant exercise and wholesome diet--the roast beef of\nold England, whole wheat bread, plenty of rich milk.\n\nThey were no match for him.\n\nOn they came, one after another. The first lunged out heavily;\nGrenfell parried the blow with his right hand and landed his left on\nthe jaw. The ruffian fell to the floor like a log of wood and lay\nthere. As he fell, he clutched at the corner of the table and\noverturned it with a mighty crash on top of him.\n\nThe second man got a blow on the nose that sent him over to the corner\nto wipe away the blood. The rest Grenfell laid out flat on the floor\nin one, two, three order.\n\nThey came at him again, those who were able to go on. They got their\narms around him but he threw them off. They kicked him and he knocked\nthem down again. They bit and clawed and scratched and used all the\nfoul tactics that they knew.\n\nThey tried to get him from both sides--they rushed at him from the\nfront and the rear at the same time.\n\nAgile as a cat he turned and faced them whichever way they came, and\nthose quick, hard fists of his shot out and hit them on the chin or on\nthe nose till they bled like stuck pigs and bawled for mercy.\n\nGrenfell stood there amid the wrecked furniture, his clothes torn,\nbleeding and triumphant. \"Want any more?\" he smiled.\n\nWhen they saw that all combined they were no match for this wildcat\nthey had roused to action, they said:\n\n\"Well, le's call it quits. Le's have peace.\"\n\nThey never tackled him again. They didn't know much, to be sure, but\nthey knew when they had had enough of \"a first-class fighting man.\"\n\nThen Grenfell started camping-parties with poor boys who hadn't any\nmoney to spend for holidays. The first summer he had thirteen at the\nseashore.\n\nA boy had to take a sea-bath before he got his breakfast. No one could\ngo in a boat unless he could swim. The beds were hay-stuffed burlap\nbags. A lifeboat retired from service was more fun than Noah's Ark to\nkeep the happy company afloat for a fishing-party or a picnic.\n\nNext year there were thirty boys: then the number grew to a hundred,\nand more. Not one life was lost. How they loved it all! Especially\nwhen the boat, twelve boys at the oars, came plunging in, on the\nreturning tide, with the boys all singing at the top of their voices:\n\n    \"Here we come rejoicing,\n     Pulling at the sweeps\"\n\nto the rhythmic tune of \"Bringing in the Sheaves.\" Then, when the\nboat's keel slid into the sand, it was a mad rush for the best supper\nboys ever ate.\n\nHis school days over, instead of going to Oxford University, Grenfell\nchose to enter the London Hospital, so as to take his examinations at\nLondon University later, and become a doctor.\n\nWhile Grenfell was in the hospital, murder was quite the fashion in\nLondon. Many a time his patients had a policeman sitting behind a\nscreen at the foot of the bed, ready to nab them if they got up and\ntried to climb out of a window.\n\nOne day, Sir Frederick Treves said to him: \"Go to the North Sea, where\nthe deep-sea fishermen need a man like you. If you go in January, you\nwill see some fine seascapes, anyway. Don't go in summer when all of\nthe old ladies go for a rest.\"\n\nGrenfell turned the idea over and over in his mind. He had always\nloved the sea and been the friend of sailors and fishermen. He liked\nthe thought of the help he could be as a doctor among them. So he\ndecided to cast in his lot with the fishermen who go from England's\nEast Coast into the brawling North Sea.\n\nYarmouth, about 120 miles northeast of London, is the headquarters of\nthe herring fisheries, which engage about 300 vessels and 3,000 men.\nA short distance off the shore are sandbanks, and between these and\nthe mainland Yarmouth Roads provides a safe harbor and a good\nanchorage for ships drawing eighteen or nineteen feet of water.\n\nSo one pitch-black and rainy night Grenfell packed his bag and went to\nYarmouth. At the railway-station he found a retired fisherman with a\ncab that threatened to fall apart if you looked at it too hard. They\ndrove a couple of miles alongshore in the darkness, and found what\nlooked like two posts sticking out of the sand.\n\n\"Where's the ship?\" asked Grenfell.\n\n\"Those are her topmasts,\" answered the sea-dog. \"Tide's low. The rest\nof her is hidden by the wharf.\"\n\nGrenfell scrambled over a hillock and a dim anchor-lantern showed him\nthe tiny craft that for many days and nights was to be his tossing\nhome in the great waters.\n\nIn answer to his hail, a voice called back cheerily: \"Mind the\nrigging; it's just tarred and greased.\"\n\nBut Grenfell was already sliding down it, nimble as a cat, though it\nwas so sticky he had to wrench his hands and feet from it now and\nthen.\n\nThe boat was engaged in peddling tobacco among the ships of the North\nSea fishing-fleet, and for the next two months no land was seen,\nexcept two distant islands: and the decks were never free from ice and\nsnow.\n\nAboard many of the boats to which they came the entire crew, skipper\nand all, were 'prentices not more than twenty years old. These lads\ngot no pay, except a little pocket-money. Many of the crew were hard\ncharacters, and the young skippers were harder still. Often they had\nbeen sent to sea from industrial schools and reformatories.\n\nOne awkward boy had cooked the \"duff\" for dinner and burned it. So the\nskipper made him take the ashes from the cook's galley to the\nfore-rigging, climb to the cross-tree with the cinders one by one, and\nthrow them over the cross-tree into the sea, repeating the act till he\nhad disposed of the contents of the scuttle.\n\nA boy who had not cleaned the cabin as he should was given a\nbucketful of sea water, and was made to spend the whole night emptying\nit with a teaspoon into another bucket, and then putting it back the\nsame way.\n\nMost of the boys were lively and merry, and always ready for a lark.\n\nGrenfell, who has never been able to forget that he was once a boy,\ngot along famously with them, and was hail-fellow-well-met wherever he\nwent.\n\nOnce, when he was aboard a little sailing-vessel, he was playing\ncricket on the deck, and the last ball went over the side.\n\nHe dived after it at once, telling the helmsman to \"tack back.\" When\nthe helmsman saw Grenfell struggling in the water, he got so rattled\nthat it was a long time before he could bring the boat near him.\n\nAt last Grenfell managed to catch hold of the end of a rope that was\nthrown to him and climb aboard.\n\nBut the cricket ball was in his hand!\n\n\n\n\n\nWESTWARD HO! FOR LABRADOR\n\n\n    \"In eighteen hundred and ninety-two\n     Grenfell sailed the ocean blue----\"\n\nfrom Yarmouth to Labrador in a ninety-ton ketch-rigged schooner.\n\nThis wasn't such an abrupt change of base as it sounds, for it meant\nthat the Royal Mission to the Deep Sea Fishermen, which works in the\nNorth Sea, had decided to send a \"Superintendent\" to the coast of the\nNorth Atlantic, east of Canada and north of Newfoundland, where many\nships each summer went in quest of the cod.\n\nIf you will look on the map, you will readily see how Labrador lies in\na long, narrow strip along the coast from the mouth of the St.\nLawrence to Cape Chidley. This strip belongs to the crown colony of\nNewfoundland, the big triangular island to the south of the Straits of\nBelle Isle, and Newfoundland is entirely independent of the Dominion\nof Canada. Fishermen when they go to this region always speak of\ngoing to \"the Labrador,\" and they call it going \"down,\" not \"up,\" when\nit is a question of faring north.\n\nThe tract that lies along the north shore of the St. Lawrence, west of\nthe narrow strip, is also called Labrador--but it belongs to Canada.\nGenerally \"Labrador\" is used for the part that belongs to\nNewfoundland.\n\n\"Labrador\" itself is a queer word. It is Portuguese. It means a yeoman\nfarmer. The name was given to Greenland in the first half of the\nsixteenth century by a farmer from the Azores who was first to see\nthat lonesome, chilly country. Thence the name was moved over to the\npeninsula between Hudson Bay and the Atlantic.\n\nCabot sailed along the coast in 1498, but the interior remained unseen\nby white men till the Hudson's Bay Company began to plant their\ntrading-stations and send their agents for furs in 1831.\n\nJacques Cartier said Labrador was \"the land God gave to Cain,\" and\nthat there was \"not one cartload of earth on the whole of it.\" Along\nthe coast are mountains rising to 7,000 or even 8,000 feet. There are\nmany lakes inland, 50 to 100 miles in length. Hamilton Inlet is 150\nmiles long, and from two to 30 miles wide. The Hamilton River which\nempties into it, in twelve miles descends 760 feet, with a single drop\nof 350 feet at the Grand Falls, the greatest in North America,\nsurpassing even Niagara.\n\n    [Illustration: LABRADOR]\n\nThe population is about 14,500 in more than half a million square\nmiles. There are some 3,500 Indians, 2,000 Eskimos, and 9,000 whites\n(along the coast and at the Hudson's Bay posts).\n\nIt was to such a \"parish\" that Grenfell came in 1892, that he might\ngive the fishermen the benefit of his surgical knowledge and practical\nexperience acquired not only on the land but aboard the tossing ships\nin the North Sea.\n\nA ninety-ton boat is a tiny craft in which to make the voyage across\nthe Atlantic. Grenfell must have known just how Columbus felt, four\nhundred years ago, when he said to the sailors of his tiny caravels\n\"Sail on! sail on!\"\n\nFirst there were head winds for eleven days.\n\n\"Wonder if the wind's ever goin' to quit blowin' against us!\" muttered\na sailor, as he coiled a rope to make a bed for a dog in the stern.\n\"I'm about fed up with this kind o' thing.\"\n\nThe man to whom he spoke was in his bare feet, washing the deck with\nthe hose. \"What does anybody ever wanna go to Labrador for, anyhow?\"\nhe grumbled back. \"It's a lot better in the North Sea. More sociable.\nYou get letters from home an' tobacco regular. An' you can see\nsomebody once in a while.\"\n\n\"Shore leave's no good to a fellow in Labrador,\" the first man went\non, as he watched the dog turn round and round before lying down.\n\"Ain't no place to go. No movies nor nuthin', just fish an' rocks an'\npeople lookin' thin an' half-starved.\"\n\n\"You ever been there?\"\n\n\"No, but I was talkin' with fellows that got shipwrecked there once.\nGee whiz, what's that?\"\n\n\"That? That's an iceberg. Didn't you ever see an iceberg before?\"\n\n\"No. Looks like a ship under full sail, don't she?\"\n\nTo the north out of the grey mist on the water loomed a mountain of\nice.\n\n\"Glad we didn't run into the old thing,\" the dog's friend went on.\n\"They say what you see stickin' out o' the water's only a small part\nof it.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's right. 'Bout six-sevenths is under water. Lemme tell you,\nthe fellers that sail a schooner like this up to the fishin' grounds\nhave gotta know what they're about. Ever hear about the _Queen_ an'\nhow she got wrecked?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, it was a fog like it is over yonder, an' the _Queen_ was off\nGull Island, close to Cape St. John. She didn't know where she was.\nThey didn't have no lighthouse in them days.\n\n\"Well sir, it was December, long toward Christmas an' the wind was\nhowlin' like a pack o' wolves. The poor little ship--she wa'n't much\nbigger'n this here boat o' ours--drove plumb on the rocks.\n\n\"There was six passengers, one of 'em a lady. One of the men was a\ndoctor--he was her brother.\n\n\"They got off the boat when she drove ashore an' they climbed up onto\nthe top o' the island. They didn't have nothin' with 'em 'ceptin' only\nan old piece of a sail. What was that to feed on, all winter? They\nknew there wouldn't be anybody comin' that way till the nex' spring.\n\n\"The crew, they stayed on board: they said they was goin' to get off\nsome o' the stuff for 'em all to eat while they was cooped up on the\nisland waitin' for spring.\n\n\"But the storm done 'em dirt. The wind came on to blow harder'n ever,\nan' pretty soon the sea she just picked up the ship an' hauled her off\nand--crickety-crack!--she went slam-bang to pieces on the Old Harry\nShoals. Didn't have no more chance than a paper bag at a picnic. No\nsir, there weren't one man saved out o' the whole crowd.\n\n\"So there was them six people stuck up on top o' the rock.\"\n\n\"Did they have to stay there all winter?\"\n\n\"Now you wait a minute. I'm a-tellin' you. Some time 'long in April\nthere was a hunter come that way duck-shootin'.\n\n\"He shot a duck an' it dropped in the big waves runnin' and jumpin' on\nthe beach.\n\n\"He got out o' the boat to get it--an' it weren't there!\n\n\"'Mercy on us!' says he. 'I shot that duck just as sure as I'm soaked\nclean through. It musta fell right here. What's become o' it? Where's\nit gone to?'\n\n\"He looked round and looked round like Robinson Crusoe huntin' fer\nsomebody. He looked up an' he looked down, an' it wa'n't no use.\nWa'n't no duck there.\n\n\"'It musta been magic,' he says. 'Magic. Somethin' queer about this\nplace!'\n\n\"Then he sees little pieces o' wood churnin' around in the foam.\n\n\"'What's happened here?' he says to himself. 'Musta been a ship went\nto pieces here some time.' 'Cause he found some o' the splinters had\nletters on 'em showin' they used to be parts o' boxes, an' pretty soon\nhe finds a life-preserver that says on it '_The Queen_, St. John's.'\n\n\"'Guess I'll climb up to the top o' the rock an' take a look,' says\nhe. So up he climbs, the birds flappin' round him an' screamin' 'cause\nthey're afraid maybe he's goin' to hurt their eggs.\n\n\"Up an' up he clumb, an' he gets up to the top. The grass is long an'\ngreen an' the soft yellow buttercups is pretty--but what he sees\nlyin' there in the buttercups ain't pretty at all.\n\n\"Six dead bodies lyin' there stretched out, with the piece o' the old\ntorn sail over 'em. The bodies is fallin' to pieces, but in the\nfingers o' one is some flesh torn out o' the next one to it.\n\n\"Then he finds a little book with writin' in it where one of 'em had\nbeen writin' down as long as he could what happened.\n\n\"Well sir, what the writin' said was this. He couldn't hardly make it\nout it was so faint. It said by an' by they drew lots to see who was\nto be killed for the rest to eat.\"\n\nHere the man with the dog drew a long sigh and said: \"That's a fine\nkind of a country to be comin' to, ain't it, where things like that\ncan happen? I'm glad I ain't in Doc Grenfell's rubber boots. He's\ngoin' to stay. I thank my lucky stars I don't have to. I'll sure be\nglad to get back to Yarmouth once more. I used to think it was a hole\nin the ground, but it's heaven compared to what we're comin' to.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, wait a minute!\" said the other, \"I ain't finished\ntellin' you. Lemme get through. I was sayin', they drew lots,\nan'--the lot fell to the lady.\"\n\n\"They was goin' to eat the lady!\" exclaimed his comrade, in horror.\n\n\"Yes, sir, that's what they would 'a' done. But her brother he said\nhe'd take her place.\"\n\n\"An' then what happened?\"\n\n\"They don't know no more after that. The writin' stops there.\"\n\n\"Say,\" said the dog-fancier, disgusted, \"that's no place to have the\nstory stop. Get a fellow all strung up and then dump him off that way\nwithout knowin' how it ended.\"\n\nThe man with the hose began to bind up a leak with a bit of tarpaulin.\n\"I ain't made it up outa my head,\" he said. \"I'm just tellin' you what\nhappened. An' it seems to me the story did have an end, all right,\n'cause there they were all lyin' stretched out cold the way the hunter\nfound 'em.\"\n\nThe listener shivered. \"Say, can't you tell us a more cheerful yarn?\"\n\nThe story-teller shook his head. \"Mos' Newfoundland an' Labrador\nstories is like that, Bill,\" he said. \"Grey, like the fog an' the\nface o' the sea.--Guess I'll go an' put on some more clothes. This\nwind sure does bite clear into the middle o' your bones.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the other, \"an' the sea's gettin' colder every minute.\nSay, Jim, I hope the watch'll keep his eyes peeled to-night. I'd sure\nhate to run into any o' those there bergs. Don't like the looks o'\nthat one we seen just now. One o' those'd be enough to send us all to\nDavy Jones's locker in a jiffy.\"\n\nFor five days more they ran on, all the time through dense fog.\nThen--the grey mist lifted, and the lovely green of the land appeared.\nAt least, it looked beautiful after so many days at sea.\n\nBut what was that? Over the evergreens a tall plume of black smoke\nrose.\n\n\"The place is burnin' up!\" said Bill to Jim.\n\n\"I counted thirteen places where she's on fire. What is that anyway?\"\n\n\"That's St. John's,\" answered Bill, a little proud of his knowledge.\n\"Capital o' Newfoundland.\"\n\n\"Where're we gonna land, with this fire goin' on this way?\"\n\n\"Dunno,\" said Bill. \"We'll run in farther, 'n' then we can see.\"\n\nGrenfell was at the prow, looking at the burning city. Some of the\nships had burned down to the water, right at the wharves. Chimneys\nwere standing up out of the ruins like broken, blackened fingers\npointing at the sky.\n\nPeople came running down through the smoke and the flames.\n\n\"Got anything to eat?\" they cried.\n\n\"Not much!\" shouted back Grenfell. \"But what we've got you're welcome\nto!\"\n\n\"Is there a doctor on board?\" was the next hail.\n\n\"I'm a doctor,\" called Grenfell.\n\n\"Glory be!\" came the answer. \"There'll be plenty for you to do ashore,\nDoctor!\"\n\nSo instead of rest and comfort after the long sea-voyage Grenfell and\nthose with him had to peel off their coats and plunge right in and\nhelp with both hands right and left.\n\nIt was with heavy hearts a few days later that they said good-by and\nstarted north for Labrador where there were people who needed them\neven more than the burned-out folk of St. John's.\n\nThey ran across the Straits of Belle Isle, through which the River St.\nLawrence flows to the Atlantic, and the sun flashed on a hundred\nicebergs at once, in a glorious procession.\n\nThe seabirds were fighting and crying over the fish.\n\nThe whales were leaping clean out of the sea, as if they were playing\na game and having lots of fun.\n\nGrenfell laughed aloud as he watched them. \"I say, boys,\" he said to\nthe sailors, \"don't you wish you could jump out of the water like\nthat?\"\n\n\"I wish we had all the oil there is in all them whales!\" said Bill,\nwho had a very practical mind.\n\nInto the very middle of the fishing-fleet they sailed.\n\nFlags of welcome were run up to the mastheads of the schooners. There\nwere about 30,000 Newfoundlanders in the whole fleet, on more than 100\nschooners--and Grenfell's boat was a little bit of a thing compared\nwith most of them.\n\nBut they all knew that the small boat had sailed clear across the sea\nto help them, and they all wanted to show how glad and grateful they\nwere that a real doctor had come to their help.\n\nPretty soon the little boats coming from the schooners were flocking\nround them like ants about a sugar-bowl.\n\nOne man came after all the rest had gone.\n\nHis boat was little better than a bunch of boards with a dab of tar\nhere and there.\n\nFor a long time the rower sat still, looking up at Dr. Grenfell, who\nleaned over the rail gazing down at him.\n\nBy and by the fisherman broke the silence.\n\n\"Be you a real doctor, sir?\"\n\n\"That's what I call myself,\" answered Grenfell.\n\n\"What's your name?\"\n\n\"Grenfell.\"\n\n\"Well, Dr. Greenpeel, us hasn't got no money, but----\"\n\nHe stopped.\n\n\"I don't care about the money,\" Grenfell answered. \"What's the\ntrouble?\"\n\n\"There's a man ashore wonderful sick, Doctor, if so be you'd come 'n'\nsee him.\"\n\n\"Sure I'll come!\"\n\nDr. Grenfell was over the rail and in the fisherman's poor tub in a\njiffy.\n\nHe was taken to a mean sod hut.\n\nThe only furniture was a stove that looked like a big tin can burst\nopen.\n\nThe floor was of stones from the beach: the walls were mud. Six\nchildren were sitting in a corner, about as dirty as the mud walls,\nand just as quiet.\n\nA woman in rags was giving spoonfuls of water to a man who lay on the\none bed coughing till it seemed the poor fellow must cough himself to\npieces.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the Doctor. \"We must fix him up.\" He didn't tell\nthe woman that her husband had both consumption and pneumonia.\n\nHe left medicine and food and told the poor wife what to do. Then he\nhad to go on to others who needed him.\n\nIt was two months before he could come back to this lonely spot--and\nthen he found outside the hut a grave, covered with snow.\n\nOn that first voyage Dr. Grenfell had to see nine hundred people who\nneeded his help!\n\nOne was an Eskimo, who had fired off a cannon to celebrate when the\nMoravian mission boat came in.\n\nNo wonder he felt like celebrating--for the boat only came once a\nyear!\n\nThe gun blew up--and took off both of the poor fellow's arms.\n\nHe lay on his back for two weeks, the stumps covered with wet filthy\nrags. When Grenfell finally got there, it was too late to save him.\n\nThey do queer things on that coast when they have no doctor handy to\ntell them what to do.\n\nFor instance, a baby had pneumonia, and the mother dosed it with\nreindeer-moss and salt water, because that was all she had to give it!\n\nA woman was done up in brown paper so the bugs wouldn't bite her.\n\nOne man set up in business as a doctor and gave his patients a bull's\nheart dried and powdered for medicine.\n\nAnother man said he knew how to get rid of boils. \"I cut my nails on a\nMonday,\" was his cure.\n\nThey would take pulley-blocks and boil them in water and then drink\nthe water.\n\nTo tell how the wind blew they would hang the head of a fox or wolf or\na seal from the rafters and watch the way it swung. A wolf or fox\nwould face the wind, they said, but a seal's head would turn away from\nit.\n\nFor rheumatism you must wear a haddock's fin-bone.\n\nGreen worsted tied round your wrist was a sure cure for hemorrhage.\n\nIf you had trouble with your eyes, you ought to get somebody to blow\nsugar into them.\n\nLittle sacks full of prayers tied round your neck were a great help in\nany sort of sickness.\n\nA father tied a split herring round his boy's throat for diphtheria.\n\nThis shows what Dr. Grenfell was up against when he came to Labrador\nwith his \"scientific notions\" about what ought to be done for sick\npeople.\n\nOne day, just as the Doctor had cast anchor between two little islands\nfar out at sea, a little rowboat came to him from a small Welsh\nbrigantine.\n\n\"Doctor!\" a man called out. \"Would ye please be so good an' come\nashore an' see a poor girl? She's dyin'!\"\n\nThe Doctor didn't need to be urged. He went ashore in the rowboat. In\na rough bunk in a dark corner of a fishing-hut lay a very pretty girl,\nabout eighteen years old.\n\nAll summer long, poor thing--the only woman among many men--she had\nbeen cooking, mending, helping to clean and dry and salt the fish.\n\nNobody asked if she was tired. Nobody asked if she wanted a vacation.\nShe had done her faithful best--and now, worn out, she was cast aside\nlike an old shoe.\n\nOne look told the Doctor that she was dying.\n\nThe captain of the brigantine, who was tender-hearted, and really\ncared for her, had decided that this was a case of typhoid. He told\nthe fishermen to keep away--for the germs might get into the fish they\nwere preparing to send off to market.\n\nSo he had been the nurse. But all he could do was feed her. For two\nweeks--during part of which time she was unconscious--she had not been\nwashed, and her bed had not been changed.\n\nOutside it was a dark night, and the fog hung low and menacing over\nthe water. The big trap-boat with six men, and the skipper's sons\namong them, had been missing since morning.\n\nThe skipper had stayed home to take care of the poor little servant\ngirl. While he sat beside her wretched bunk, his mind was divided\nbetween her plight and his anxiety for the six men out there in the\nangry, ugly sea.\n\n\"I wonder where the b'ys are now,\" he muttered.\n\nThen he would go to the door and peer out under his hand into the\nnight. Nothing there but the dark and the mystery.\n\n\"'Twas time they were back,--long, long ago!\" he would say. \"'Tis a\nwonderful bad night for the fog. I doubt they'll find their way in. I\nshould 'a' gone out wi' them. But no, she needed me! Poor girl! The\nLord, He gives, an' the Lord He takes away: blessed be the name o' the\nLord!\"\n\nWiping his eyes on his rough sleeve, the captain came back and helped\nthe Doctor put clean linen on the bed and wash the poor girl's grimy\nface.\n\nShe was unconscious now: her life was ebbing fast.\n\nThe captain went to the door again and again. Outside there was no\nsound but the low moaning of the night wind in the blackness. The\nfishermen, afraid of what the mysterious disease might do for them,\nwere keeping their distance.\n\nSuddenly as the captain glanced on the pale face of the girl, he\ngasped.\n\n\"She's dead, Doctor, she's dead!\" The Doctor felt her heart. It was\ntrue. The spirit of the brave little maid had gone at last beyond the\nbeck and call of men.\n\nIt was midnight, and over the dim and smoking lamp the captain and the\nDoctor decided that the best thing to do was to make a bonfire of the\ngirl's few poor effects.\n\nSo they took her meagre clothes and miserable bedding out on the\ncliffs, piled them, soaked them in oil, and set them afire.\n\nThe flames leapt high and made a beacon to be seen afar.\n\nOut there on the black face of the deep six hopeless, helpless men in\na trap-boat, groping their way blindly, saw the flames and took heart\nagain.\n\n\"See!\" they cried to one another. \"Look there! Up yonder on the\ncliffs! They're givin' us a light to steer by!\"\n\nThey drove their oars into the yeasty waves again with strength\nrenewed. Little did they know what it was that had made the light for\nthem.\n\nWhen at last they dragged their boat ashore and hobbled to the hut,\nthey saw the body of the girl, the lamp, and the captain and the\nDoctor making the body ready for the burial. They entered the hut, and\nwere told what had happened.\n\n\"B'ys,\" said the foremost, \"she's dead. Mary's dead. The last thing\nshe did was to give us a light to show us the way home. Poor girl,\npoor little girl!\"\n\nOnce when a small steamer Grenfell was using had broken down, he found\nshelter in a one room hut ashore.\n\nThe inmates had few clothes, almost no food, and neither tools nor\nproper furniture. There was nothing between them and the Aurora\nBorealis but ruin and famine. There were eight children. Five slept in\none bed: three slept with the parents in the other bed: Grenfell in\nhis sleeping-bag lay on the floor, his nose at the crack of the door\nto get fresh air.\n\nThey all suffered from the cold, for there was not a blanket in the\nhouse.\n\n\"Where's the blanket I sent you last year?\" asked the Doctor.\n\nThe mother raised her skinny arm and pointed about the room to patched\ntrousers and coats.\n\nThen she said, with a good deal of feeling, \"If youse had five lads\nall trying to get under one covering to onct, Doctor, you'd soon know\nwhat would happen to that blanket.\"\n\nFirst thing in the morning, Grenfell boiled some cocoa, and took the\ntwo elder boys out for a seal-hunt.\n\nTo a boy on the Labrador, a seal-hunt is the biggest kind of a lark.\nIf it is winter, the seals may be caught near their blow-holes in the\nice, and hit over the head with a stick called a gaff. In summer, they\nmust be shot from a boat.\n\nOne of the boys, when he thought the Doctor was not looking, emptied\nthe steaming fragrant cocoa from his mug and filled it with water\ninstead.\n\n\"I 'lows I'se not accustomed to no sweetness,\" was his excuse.\n\nThe boys proved the jolliest of comrades and the best of huntsmen. In\nthe nipping wind they rowed the boat where the Doctor told them, so\nthat he could shoot. He had on a lined leather coat: but they had only\ntorn cotton shirts and thin jackets to face the raw dampness of the\nearly morning.\n\nBut they laughed and joked and carried on, and didn't care whether any\nseals were found or not. The hunt was unsuccessful. When Grenfell\nleft, however, he promised the boys they should have a dozen fox traps\nfor the winter.\n\nTheir eyes shone, and they grasped his hands. It was to them a\nprincely, a magnificent gift.\n\n\"Doctor, Doctor!\" was all they could say. \"What can we do for ye?\"\n\n\"Go out and catch foxes,\" said the Doctor. \"We'll see what we can get\nfor them when you catch them.\"\n\nNext summer the Doctor, true to his word as always, came back and\nfound the little house as bare and bleak as before. But the boys met\nhim with the same old broad grins on their faces, cheerful as the\nsunrise.\n\n\"See, Doctor!\" They flourished the precious pelt of a silver fox. \"We\nkep' it for youse, though us hadn't ne'er a bit in the house. We\nknowed you'd do better'n we with he.\"\n\nSo Dr. Grenfell said he would try. He went to an island where Captain\nWill Bartlett made his home. This Bartlett was the father of \"Bob\"\nBartlett who captained Peary's ship, the _Roosevelt_, on the\nsuccessful trip to the North Pole in 1909. Father Bartlett was famous\nround about for sealing and fishing, and he had not only a thriving\nsummer trade of his own but a big heart for unfortunate neighbors.\n\n\"Do your best for me, Captain Will,\" said Grenfell, handing over the\nskin.\n\n\"That I will, Doctor!\" answered Bartlett heartily. \"Drop in on your\nway back.\"\n\nThe Doctor did so--and he found Captain Will had put aside a full\nboat-load of provisions of all sorts for the starving family.\n\nHappy in the thought of the good it would do, Grenfell started back\nfor the promontory at Big River where he had every reason to expect\nthe family would be watching for him anxiously.\n\nAs he neared the land--he saw no one moving. The boat was beached, and\nthe Doctor went up to the house.\n\nThe door was locked: there was no one within hail, though he shouted\nagain and again.\n\nGrenfell knew this absence must mean that the whole family had gone to\nthe distant islands for the fishing.\n\nSo he broke in the door, piled the things he had brought inside, and\nwrote a letter.\n\n\"This is the price of your pelt. Put all the fur you catch next winter\nin a barrel and sit on the top of the barrel till the spring, when we\nare coming back again. Be sure not to let anybody get it from you at a\nlow price.\"\n\nDuring the winter, accordingly, the family put by the furs that they\ngot from the animals which the boys caught in their traps. In the\nsummer, Grenfell took the pelts to the nearest cash buyer, and with\nthe money supplies were bought in St. John's. The poor fisherman found\nthat he had more food than he needed, so he sold the surplus, at a\nfair profit, to his neighbor.\n\nYear after year this was kept up, and when the father died he left\nGrenfell $200 in cash to be divided among the children.\n\nThus the Doctor had the satisfaction of bringing this family up from a\nblanketless poverty, on the flat brink of starvation, to something\nlike wealth in a land where a man with fire-wood, lettuce, dogs,\ncodfish in the sea and a few dollars in hand thinks he is well off and\npiously thanks Heaven for his good fortune.\n\nAs for the sealers--the men who stand a chance to make anything are\nthose who buy what they call a ticket to the ice--that is to say, a\nshare in a sealing venture--and go out from St. John's in the steamers\nor sailing vessels at the beginning of March. The ship has sheathed\nwooden sides a foot and a half thick, and is bound with iron at the\nbow, to aid in battering the ice-pack. For the auxiliary engine 500\ntons of coal are carried: and a crew of 300 men will use 500 gallons\nof water in a day--but the easy way to get more is to boil the ice, so\nnobody worries about that. Tragedies of the sealing fleet are without\nnumber. The worst have happened when blizzards caught the men out on\nthe ice-floes far from their ship. One captain saved all his men by\nhaving them pile up their gaffs and lie down on them for cat-naps.\nThen he would make them get up and dance like mad for five minutes,\nwhile he crooned \"chin-music\" to them. Thus he saved them from\nfreezing to death. In that storm the _Greenland_ of Harbor Grace lost\n52 of her 100 men. Grenfell tells of sixteen fishermen on Trinity Bay\nwho, without fire or food or sufficient clothing, after thirty-six\nhours of suffering dragged their boats ten miles across the ice to the\nland.\n\n_The Southern Cross_ in 1914 was coming from the banks with 174 men\nand a full load. She was lost with all hands, and her fate remains a\nmystery. A life-belt picked up on the Irish coast was all that was\never recovered from the doomed ship. In the same year the men of the\n_Newfoundland_ were caught out on the ice and unable to get back to\nthe ship. Of the company seventy-seven lost their lives and forty-two\nwere crippled.\n\nTwo boys and two men were tending seal nets when a \"divey\" or\nsnowstorm blew them helplessly to sea. They crashed on an island, but\nere they could land they were blown off again. During the night and\nthe morning that followed, both men and one of the boys died. The\nother boy dressed himself in the clothes of the three who died, and\nkept their bodies in the boat.\n\nThey had caught an old harp seal, and he ate its flesh and drank its\nblood. On the third day he gaffed another seal as it floated past on a\ncake of ice. Then he had another drink of warm blood. Two days later\nhe killed another seal.\n\nBy that time he began \"seeing things.\" He thought he saw a ship in the\ndistance. He clambered out of his boat and hobbled five miles over the\nice, only to find that it was not a sail that he had seen, but a\nhummock of ice. The only thing to do was to make his way back over the\nweary miles to the boat he left.\n\nOn the seventh day, with despair gnawing at his heart, one of the\nsealing fleet, the _Flora_, came in sight.\n\nIt was dark, and this was his one chance of rescue. He shouted with\nall his might. But the boat immediately backed as if to leave him.\n\nHe screamed again, and the merciful wind caught up his voice and\ncarried it to the vessel.\n\nHe shouted once more: \"For God's sake, don't leave me with my dead\nfather here!\"\n\nThen the ship hove to, and when the brave boy was lifted aboard the\nwatch explained to him:\n\n\"Ye see, lad, the first time we heard ye call we thought it was\nsperrits.\"\n\nThey picked up the boat as well as the boy, and finally put them\naboard another vessel that was going toward the lad's fatherless home.\n\nGrenfell went out with the sealing fleet and took his full share of\nall the hardships of the mariners who from boyhood look on sealing as\nlife's great adventure. While they are still tiny tads, the boys of\nSt. John's and the outposts practise leaping across rain-barrels and\nmud-puddles. They are looking forward to the time when a running jump\nfrom one cake of ice to another may be the means of saving their\nlives. To \"copy\" is to play the game of follow-my-leader: and so the\nboys use the phrase \"a good big copy from pan to pan\" when they mean\nit is a long leap between.\n\nThere is uncontrollable excitement aboard a sealer when the prize is\nin sight at last. Perhaps the ship has been buffeting the ice for\nmany weary days, bucking the floes and backing away again with the\nlookout in the crow's nest scanning the horizon in vain with powerful\nspy-glasses.\n\nBut at last the joyful cry is heard: \"Whitecoats!\" or \"Dere'm de\nwhitey jackets!\" In less time than it takes to tell the men swarm over\nthe bulwarks with their gaffs and knives and are deployed among the\nseals.\n\nThe \"whitecoats\" are the helpless young ones, mild and innocent as\npuppies, with great tears in their eyes and as pettable as woolly\nlambs if the sealers did not have to steel their hearts and think of\ntheir own young ones at home. Can you blame the man with the knife,\nany more than you blame the butcher who serves your household with\nlamb chops, if he goes to the red-handed slaughter with might and\nmain? Those \"whitey jackets\" may spell to his family the difference\nbetween starvation and sufficiency if not plenty. He cannot afford to\nlet sentiment interfere with his grim business.\n\nThe young seals are gaffed without trouble: the old ones are shot. The\nadult males are called \"dogs\"--and a \"dog\" hood seal, brought to bay\nand standing up on his flippers like a bear, is an ugly customer. It\nneeds two men to tackle him, and if they are not careful he will bite\noff an arm or a leg in a jiffy. Yet the \"dog\" takes to the water, if\nhe can get there, without paying the slightest heed to what becomes of\nthe mother seal or the young one. He is generally a poor defender of\nhis own family.\n\nFor the hood seal family consists of but the three. Father--the \"dog\"\nhood--blows a big skin bag over his head when he is attacked, and the\nblows of the gaff rain upon it harmlessly. So terrific is his bite,\nwhen he gets a chance at his assailant, that the Newfoundlanders say\nthe carcass itself can bite after the head has been cut off. A mature\n\"dog\" seal weighs from 600 to 900 pounds.\n\nBucking the ice to get at the main herd is a big part of the battle.\nSometimes the skipper shouts: \"Bombs out!\" Then the blasting powder is\nproduced, and the cry comes: \"Hot poker for the blasts!\" The fuse is\nthen touched off with the red-hot implement. The bomb is thrust into\nan ice-crevice, whereupon all hands \"beat it\" as fast as ever they\ncan--and a little bit faster.\n\nThen comes a deafening explosion that rocks the ship: and the ice\nrains on the deck in chunks, like bursting shells in an artillery\nbombardment.\n\nWith all the watchfulness, and the desperate risks the skipper takes\nas he drives the vessel into the pack ice, there is an excellent\nchance of missing the main herd entirely. An \"Aerial Observation\nCompany,\" started by a plucky Australian flyer at Botswood, was\nsuccessful in showing the sealers of 1922 where to go, by dropping\nletters on or near the ships--but they could not make their way\nthrough the ice to the place indicated. During 1923 the fog was so\ndense that the sealing-season was almost a failure.\n\nOn his first voyage to the sealing grounds Grenfell saw the seals like\nblack dots by the thousands, all over the floes as far as the horizon.\nThe ships butted and rammed their way into the thick of the herd, the\nmen overjoyed at the prospect of plenty. As soon as the engines\nstopped they were over the side, booted and sweatered, in a jiffy.\n\nThere was plenty of work for Dr. Grenfell. Many a man twisted his leg\nor his ankle as he slipped between the blocks of ice. Presently there\nwere thirty or forty at a time surrounding him begging him to put some\nliniment in their eyes to cure the snow-blindness due to the fierce\nglare of the sun upon the ice-fields.\n\nThe Eskimos, not having glasses, use spectacles of wooden discs with\nnarrow slits, and do not suffer so much--but very few of the sealers\nfrom \"the Old Rock,\" as Newfoundland is called, think to provide\nthemselves with smoked glasses.\n\nOne day Grenfell was kept busy for a long time rubbing arms and legs\nand anointing smarting eyes. The men were nearly all scattered about\non the ice, near and far, when he got through--so he thought he would\ndrop over the side and watch them at their work. By this time it was\nlate afternoon.\n\nTill now, a strong wind had been blowing, and this had kept the ice\npacked together. The wind died down and the bits of ice began to \"run\nabroad\" as the sailors say. Grenfell and a dozen men with whom he\nfound himself were far from the ship, and darkness was fast coming\non.\n\nOf course they had no boat, and the only way they could get back to\nthe ship was to float on one piece of ice to another. They had no oars\nwith which to propel themselves--all they could do was to beat the\nwater with the seal-gaffs.\n\nThis was so slow a process that by and by they gave it up, and decided\nto wait for the ship to come and find them. The ship by this time was\nout of sight.\n\nIt grew colder and colder after the red sun went down. They had a\nlittle sugar and oatmeal. This they mixed with snow and devoured. Then\nthey took their \"seal bats\" and cut them up with their big knives.\nThey dipped the pieces in the fat of the dead seals, and with these\nthey made bonfires to let the ship know where they were.\n\nIn the light of the occasional blaze of their beacon fires they played\ngames to keep from freezing. \"Leap-frog\" and \"one old cat\" were the\nfavorites. Men not accustomed to the toughening Northern life might\nhave been whimpering with the piercing cold and the fear of the sea's\nanger by this time. Not so with these men.\n\nThe night wore on--and suddenly out of the darkness they heard the\nwelcome sound of the little steamer crunching her way through the\nice-pack.\n\nThe wrath of the skipper leaning over the bow was almost more terrible\nto face than any ice-storm would have been.\n\nDid he respect the Doctor of the Deep Sea Mission? He did not. His\ntongue-lashing included them all.\n\n\"It was the worst blowing-up I ever received since my father spanked\nme,\" says Grenfell with a laugh, remembering that anxious night.\n\nLater, the skipper came to him. \"Doctor,\" he said, \"the truth is I was\nthat torn in my mind while ye were gone, and that relieved of worry\nwhen I came on ye in the ice-pack, that I do not know the words I may\nhave used. If I was wicked or profane--the good God forgive me. It was\nmy upside-down way of saying my gratitude to God for His salvation.\"\n\nThe Doctor's day's work was not yet ended. He clambered down into the\nhold, a man ahead of him carrying a candle and matches. In his hand\nwas a bottle of cocaine solution, for some of the men were suffering\nsuch agonies with the snow-blindness that they were all but out of\ntheir minds. They would moan and toss in frenzy, hardly knowing when\nthe Doctor came to them.\n\n\"It hurts something wonderful!\" they would cry, brave men as they\nwere. \"Can't ye give me something to stop it? 'Twere better dead than\nthis!\"\n\nIt was hard to get down into the hold at all, for the ladders were\ngone, and as the vessel rocked the seals and the coal were sloshing\nabout below-decks where the men lay sprawled among them.\n\n\"Is anybody here?\" the Doctor would call, as he poked into a dark\nangle.\n\nNo answer.\n\nHe would try again. \"Any one in here?\" There might be a fitful wail\nfrom a far corner. Then the Doctor would have to clamber over and\nround the casks and throw aside potato sacks and boxes. Sometimes his\npatients, in a sodden stupor, hidden away at the bottom of\neverything, could not be found at all.\n\nIn these filthy, reeking holds, enduring all discomforts for the sake\nof perhaps a hundred dollars payable weeks hence, the men somehow\nrecovered from their ailments and throve and grew fat on pork and seal\nmeat, fried with onions. Whenever the rats were especially noisy, the\nwise ones said it meant a gale: but sometimes the rats and the wise\nmen were wrong. It was no place for a man with a weak stomach, that\ngallant little sealing-steamer!\n\nOn Sunday the men religiously refused to go out on the ice, though the\nseals tantalizingly frolicked all about them. The seals seemed to know\nhow the pious Newfoundlander observes the Lord's Day. The animals\nstared at the ship and the ship stared back at them. Then in great\nglee the seals took to their perpetual water-sports, in which they are\nas adept as the penguins of the Antarctic.\n\n\"I have marveled greatly,\" Grenfell says, \"how it is possible for any\nhot-blooded creature to enjoy so immensely this terribly cold water as\ndo these old seals. They paddle about, throw themselves on their\nbacks, float and puff out their breasts, flapping their flippers like\npaws over their chests.\"\n\nWhile they lay off Fogo Island, watching the seals, the great pans of\nice, rising and falling with the heaving of the sea, beat on the stout\nsides of the _Neptune_ as on a drum-head. Sometimes to avoid an awful\ndrubbing the _Neptune_ would steam a little ahead, very much as a\nswimmer dives into a breaker to cleave it before it combs over and\ncarries him off his feet. Grenfell himself, loving a bout with \"the\nbright eyes of danger,\" left the ship and went out on the ice and\ntried to climb one of the bergs, stranded in the midst of the\nice-pack. It was like a living thing striving to fight its way\nout--something like a polar bear surrounded by \"husky\" dogs worrying\nhim and trying to pull him down.\n\nAs a sky-scraper gives to the wind, the berg was rocked to and\nfro--eight feet or so with every wave that struck it. It fell on the\npans like a great trip-hammer, backed away and came on again, the ice\ngroaning as though it were a living creature in mortal agony. As\npieces fell off into the sea the waves leapt up, the way wolves might\nleap about a running caribou. In such a battle of the ice with the\nice, a man knows what a pigmy he is, measured against the mightiest\nnatural forces.\n\nThe _Neptune_ escaped a ramming--but her neighbor, the _Wolf_, was not\nso lucky. The _Wolf_ had rounded Fogo Island in an offshore wind that\ntreacherously offered her a clear channel close to the land. As soon\nas she got round, the north wind, as though a demon impelled it,\nbrought the ice crashing back and pinned her fast. An immense floe of\nice, massing in upon the doomed ship, piled higher and higher above\nthe bulwarks.\n\n\"Get the boats onto the pans!\" Captain Kean shouted to his men. It is\njust what they have had to do on many an Arctic expedition when the\nice has nipped them.\n\nThey took their food and clothes--but Captain Kean, the last to leave\nthe ship, of course--saved nothing of his own except his life. And it\nwas the closest possible call for him. Just after he jumped, the ice\nopened like the Red Sea parting for the hosts of Pharaoh. Down went\nthe _Wolf_ like a stone, and as she tossed and heaved and gurgled in\nher death-throes the ends of her spars caught on the edges of the ice\nand were broken off as if they were match-wood. The sea seems to dance\nabove such a wreck with a personal, malicious vengeance.\n\nIt was the old, sad story for the captain and his men. They would have\nto walk ashore, three hundred of them, over the miles of cruel ice. At\nhome, their wives and children would be waiting and hoping for a grand\nsuccess and a good time. Instead, after a forced and weary march of\ndays,--going perhaps three hundred miles,--with much rowing and\ncamping, father or brother would stagger in, his little pack of poor\nbelongings on his sore shoulders, and throw it down, and say with a\ngreat sob: \"'Tis all I've brought ye!\"\n\nIt is a pitiful thing indeed for a man to have traveled hundreds of\nmiles to board a ship, in the hope of a few dollars for the risk of\nhis life, and then to have the sea swallow up his chance, and turn him\nloose to the ice and snow, a ruined man. When a captain loses his\nship, whatever the reason, it is almost impossible for him to obtain a\ncommand again.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nHAULED BY THE HUSKIES\n\n\nThere was great excitement at the little village of St. Anthony, on\nthe far northern tip of Newfoundland.\n\nTom Bradley was coming back from a seal-hunt, and his big dogs Jim and\nJack were helping him drag a flipper seal big enough to give a slice\nof the fat to every man, woman and child in the place.\n\nTom had a large family, and for nine days they had tasted nothing but\na little roasted seal meat.\n\nFinally Tom took his gun down from the nails over the door. It was a\nsingle-barrel muzzle-loader, meant for a boy, but he was a good shot,\nand had often wandered out alone over the frozen sea and come back\nwith a nice fat bird or even a seal to show for it.\n\n\"Where be you goin', Tom?\" asked his anxious wife.\n\n\"Out yonder.\" He jerked his thumb toward the wide white space of the\nice-locked ocean.\n\nShe ran to get his warm cap and mittens. \"When'll you be back?\"\n\n\"I dunno. Not till I get a seal. Us has got to have somethin' to eat,\nan' have it soon.\"\n\nShe found an old flour-bag, and tied up in it a few crusts of bread.\n\n\"You'd ought to keep this here,\" said Tom.\n\n\"No, Tom. You can't hunt without nothin' to eat. We'll manage somehow.\nWe'll borrow.\"\n\n\"Ain't nobody to borrow from,\" answered Tom. \"Ain't nobody round here\ngot nothin'. We uns is all starvin'. Hope Sandy Maule's letter gits to\nthat there Dr. Grenfell.\"\n\n\"Who's Dr. Grenfell?\"\n\n\"He's a doctor comin' out here from England. He's goin' to help us.\"\n\n\"Will he have anythin' to eat?\"\n\n\"Yes--he'll have suthin'. But he's got lots o' friends in England an'\nAmerica--an' he can get 'em to send things.\"\n\n\"What'd Sandy Maule write?\"\n\nTom was poking a bit of greasy cloth through the gun with a ramrod.\nEverything depended on the way that gun worked. He mustn't miss a\nshot--there was no fun in that long, hard hunt on the ice that lay\nahead of him.\n\n\"Sandy Maule wrote, 'Please, Doctor, come and start a station here for\nus if you can. My family and I are starvin'. All the folks around us\nare starvin' too. The fish hain't struck in and bit like they should.\nWe're cuttin' pieces outa the sides o' our rubber boots an' tyin' 'em\non for shoes.' Things like that, Sandy writ to the Doctor.\"\n\nMrs. Bradley drew the sleeve of her thin, worn calico dress across her\neyes. She was a brave woman, but her strength was nearly gone. She did\nnot want her husband to see her cry.\n\n\"It's all of it true,\" she said. \"If I could only get a little fresh\nmilk to give the baby! Might as well ask for the moon.\"\n\nShe did not speak bitterly. She would stay by her man and live for her\nchildren to the end.\n\n\"Well,\" said Tom, trying to sound matter-of-fact, \"we'll go out with\nthe ole gun an' see what we get.\" Not one of the little boys was old\nenough to go, but the dogs Jim and Jack leaped up, wagging their tails\nand fawning upon their master.\n\nTom had only part of a dog-team: when he or his neighbors made a long\ntrip they borrowed from one another. What one had, they all had.\n\nAs Tom stood looking at the dogs, he couldn't help thinking: \"One of\nthose dogs would keep the family alive for a while. But I sure would\nhate to kill one of the poor brutes. They've been the best friends we\never had.\" His wife knew what he was thinking, though the dogs did\nnot.\n\nThen he spoke. \"Gimme a kiss, wifey.\" He smiled at her brightly.\n\"Cheer up. This little ole gun and me'll bring ye enough to eat for a\nlong time.\"\n\nShe kissed him, and off he trudged, the dogs leaping beside him and\ntrying to lick his mittened hands.\n\nAway out yonder on the ice was a little black speck. He strained his\neyes to see.\n\n\"There's one!\" he muttered. \"Now, how to get up near enough. If the\ndogs comes with me they'll sure scare it away--it'll go poppin' into\nits old blow-hole afore I kin git it.\"\n\nJim and Jack were sitting on the bushy plumage of their tails, their\nbright eyes fixed on their master, waiting for orders. They would\nhave loved it had he told them to chase that black speck far out at\nsea. They would have gone on till they dropped, at his lightest word.\n\n\"No, boys, you wait here,\" he said. \"You're goin' to help me haul it\nback--when I get it. But gettin' it is somethin' I gotta do all by my\nlonely. Now, you stay right here an' wait for me. Don't you dast to\ncome no nearer!\" He shook his finger at them solemnly.\n\nThey seemed to understand. They curled up and lay down in the thin\npowdery snow-blanket.\n\n\"Now then,\" muttered Tom, \"I gotta creep an' creep an' crawl an' crawl\ntill I get near, an' then I gotta lie down an' scrape along on my\ntummy same as if I was a seal myself. That's what I gotta do.\"\n\nSuiting the action to the word, he started on, watching all the time\nthat little dark spot on which all depended.\n\nHe could imagine the children waiting at home and asking their mother\nevery little while: \"When's Papa comin' back? Is he goin' to bring us\nsomepin' to eat?\"\n\n\"I wonder if that there Grenfell man is ever goin' to git this far\nnorth?\" Tom asked himself as he crept toward the seal. \"If us could\nonly git a chance to sell our fish for better'n two cents a pound,\nafter us gets 'em salted an' dried! Them traders, they bleeds the life\nouta us. They say Grenfell when he comes is a-goin' to fight them\ntraders an' put 'em outa business!\"\n\nThe swift wind was throwing stinging bits of ice, sharp as needles, in\nhis face. He drew his cap about his ears more closely and plodded on.\nThe further he walked the further away the seal seemed to be. He was\nhalf crouching as he walked: he wished he might cover himself with a\nskin and crawl on all fours. But if he started to crawl now--he felt\nas though it would be a year before he could get near enough to shoot.\n\n\"Please, God\"--he spoke to God as naturally as to his family--\"bless\nthis ole gun an' make her shoot straight and he'p me knock that seal\nover, the first shot. For it don't look like there's goin' to be\nmore'n one shot, an' if I don't kill her there's my whole family's\ngoin' to starve and mebbe a whole lot o' other people that's a-lookin'\nfor what they think I'm a-goin' to bring back.\"\n\nNow it was time to flatten himself down on the ice and scrape along,\nlike another seal. It was hard work--try it yourself, if you don't\nthink so!--and it took lots of patience.\n\nNow he could see the seal raise its head and look about. He mustn't\ngive it a chance to ask questions of the wind, because the wind might\nsay: \"Look out, Mr. or Mrs. Seal! There's a man creeping and creeping\ntoward you with a gun, and in a minute that man is going to shoot, and\nyou'll be sorry you hung around here and didn't dive through the ice\nthe very first second your nose told you you'd better!\"\n\nHe raised his gun, and prayed again--this time a very short prayer: \"O\nLord, bless this gun!\" And he fired.\n\nThe black spot had not vanished. It was motionless. \"Did I hit him?\"\nTom asked himself. \"Better try another shot an' make sure.\"\n\nHe was a long time sighting--and he imagined the spot moved a little\nas he did so.\n\nThen he fired again.\n\nThere it was still. Now he dared to believe he had hit the seal.\nDragging the gun he crawled nearer and nearer. Still the seal did not\nmove.\n\nNow he could see the whole animal clearly.\n\nThe sight was joyful.\n\n\"Glory be!\" he shouted. Then he jumped up and capered about madly on\nthe ice. It was a nice, fat, luscious, flipper seal and dead as a\ndoor-nail. Enough for a banquet for all of the tiny village of St.\nAnthony. And if Dr. Grenfell should be there when he and the dogs got\nback with it, the Doctor should have the largest, tenderest, juiciest\nsteak of all.\n\nThe wind was setting toward the dogs. He could barely see them there,\nfar, far behind him--making a black spot where they slept, exactly as\nthough they were another seal.\n\nSo he put two fingers to his lips and blew a long, shrill blast.\n\nIt was the signal for which they had been waiting. On they came like\ntwo wild young race-horses, each eager to be first to greet their\nmaster.\n\nThey must have known well enough that he had killed the seal. They had\nhunted with him so often that if they had been human the man and the\ndogs could hardly have spoken to each other and understood better.\n\n\"Good old Jim! Good old Jack!\" The dogs bounced round him like india\nrubber, mad with delight.\n\n\"Look what we gotta take back! Ain't that somethin' to make the old\nlady's eyes pop outa her head? First big seal's been caught off here\nfor months! Enough to save the whole village from starvation. An' you\ndogs is to have some of it too, all o' you. Here's to begin with!\"\n\nHe drew his clasp-knife and snicker-snacked two good-sized bits from\nthe tail of the fallen monarch. He threw the meat to the dogs, who had\nit down in a gulp and a swallow and then stood with their ears up,\nlike the Jack-in-the-pulpit, to know if there would be more.\n\n\"No, boys, that's enough to start back on!\" He produced straps and\nropes from the bread-bag and rigged up a harness so that the dogs\nmight haul the seal, giving himself the end of a rope, to pull more\nthan his share of the heavy carcass.\n\n\"Wisht we could git a coupla polar bears too!\" he laughed. \"But I\ndon't know how we could pull to the shore any more'n what we got\nhere. Well, when we've got this et we'll be comin' back fer more,\nwon't we, boys?\"\n\nAnd the dogs, tugging and wagging as they plodded shoreward, seemed to\nagree.\n\nIn spite of the weight of the seal, the trip back did not seem nearly\nso long. For you know how it is--when your heart is light any burden\nyou carry doesn't count for nearly so much.\n\nTom Bradley in spite of pulling so hard was singing to himself like a\nkettle on a stove. And the dogs, too, would have spared breath to bark\njoyously, if huskies ever barked. But no well-bred husky makes remarks\nof that sort.\n\nTom stopped to rest, and sat on an ice-hummock, the dogs with their\nheads against his knee, their tongues lolling out.\n\n\"'Member that time we chased the ole bear?\" he laughed. \"That was the\ntime I couldn't do nothing with you! You was young dogs then, an' you\ngot so excited you wouldn't listen to nothin'!\n\n\"You just went a-racin' an' a-tearin' on from the time you seen 'im.\nO' course, as a driver don't have no reins, an' we only got a whip,\nwe can't pull you up if you really wanta go. We can just holler\n'left' an' 'right' an' 'stop' an' 'go ahead.' But my oh my! We sure\ndid stack up against trouble that day.\n\n\"You an' the rest o' the team, you waded right into that bear before\nI'd got you cut loose from the traces. The air was full o' bear-meat\nan' dog-fur flyin'. Guess the bear didn't know no difference between\nyou an' wolves. There's many a man has made the same mistake.\n\n\"There was old Mr. Bear standin' up on his hind legs battin' away like\nhe was wound up, handin' out punishment like it was a boxin' match,\nand you fellows hollerin' bloody murder.\n\n\"You done more'n wolves would 'a' done. Wolves wouldn't 'a' tackled a\nbear that way--unless it was a great big crowd o' wolves an' one lone,\nlorn, small bear.\n\n\"He was a buster, he was, an' there was only six o' you. But you stood\nright up-ta him all right! You remember, don't you?\"\n\nJim and Jack flopped their tails on the ice as if to say yes. Their\nmouths were wide open--it looked as if they were laughing in delight\nto be reminded of the battle.\n\n\"Say, you dogs certainly are the willin', hard-workin' fellers when\nyou're fed up right. I believe you'd rather haul a sled than eat. You\nrascals! 'Member the time you et my gloves just as I was goin' to\nstart? I had to larrup outa you that trick you had when you was young\no' gobblin' your own harness when you wasn't watched. I sure do hate\nto hit you. One o' these whips 'll bite a hole in a door twenty feet\noff: I've seen ole Pop Rinker drive a nail in a board with one.\n\n\"When we get back, if that ther Dr. Grenfell has come we'll get some\nother dogs an' take him out for a ride. He'll have to have a team o'\ndogs. Can't get along in this country without you dogs--not till they\nhave reindeer. Heaven knows, the Doctor'll have miles and miles o'\ncountry to cover, to get round to all the people hereabouts that needs\nhim. Ain't it a great an' mighty blessin' this country's now a-goin'\nto have a doctor all our own, all our very own?\"\n\nWhen they got back to the hamlet with their seal, there was a\njollification.\n\nTom Bradley could have been Mayor, or King, or anything he wanted.\n\nThere was plenty of one thing in that place--and that was fire-wood,\nfrom the spruces and firs alongshore.\n\nSo they built a monstrous pyramid, big enough to cook twenty seals,\nand round the community bonfire they collected, dogs and all, for a\nfeast. The children shouted in glee and clapped their hands. The\nmothers were happier for themselves than for their babies. And their\njoy was the greater because word had come that Dr. Grenfell was\nfinding his way in the little steamer, the _Julia Sheridan_, through a\nchannel behind the islands and was likely to be in their midst at any\nhour of any day.\n\nNext day, the Doctor came. Such hand-shaking and back-slapping and\noutcries of honest pleasure as greeted him! And from the very first\nminute there were anxious appeals for his aid.\n\n\"Doctor, would ye please come to see my old woman?\"\n\n\"What's the matter with her?\"\n\n\"Oh, Doctor, she does be took wonderful bad. Sometimes the wind rises\nan' it goes all up an' down an' it settles in her teeth an' the pains\nshoots her in the stummick an' we has to take hold of her arms an'\npull 'em out and she howls like a dog an' we dunno what's the matter.\nWould you please come an' see? She's askin' us to kill her she's in\nsuch punishment, but us didn't think us'd ought to do it without\naskin' you. Would you please come 'n' see?\"\n\nIn that first winter Grenfell was \"at home\" three Sundays only, and he\nhad to cover fifteen hundred miles behind the dogs. Sometimes they\nwere heart-breaking, bone-racking miles. Sometimes they were as smooth\nand easy as a skating-rink. But not very often.\n\nOne day he had a run of seventy miles to make across the frozen\ncountry.\n\nThe path was not broken out--it wasn't even cut and blazed.\n\nJust once had the leading dog made the journey.\n\nBut because he had made it once--they left it all to him to choose the\nway to go.\n\nStraight on the good dog went, never stopping to turn round and look\nin the face of the driver, the way dogs will.\n\nThe way--such as it was--took them over wide lakes, and through thick\nwoods deep-hung with snow.\n\n\"Halt!\" called Grenfell. The driver gave the command to the dogs. They\nstopped and rested while the men explored.\n\nSure enough, the leading dog was right. A climb to the top of a high\ntree showed the \"leads\" and proved to the men that they were traveling\nin the right direction: and the compass said so too.\n\nAgain and again they stopped--and every time it proved that the dog\nwas right.\n\nOn journey after journey of this kind, round about St. Anthony on that\nfar northern peninsula of Newfoundland, Grenfell and the dogs he drove\ngot to know and love one another better.\n\nGrenfell has done seventy-five miles in a day easily: but how far one\ngoes depends on the state of the ice and snow and the roughness of the\ntrail: sometimes five miles a day is as much as the dogs, pulling\ntheir very hearts out, are able to cover. Six miles an hour is an\naverage rate of speed when it is \"good going.\" Once the Doctor made\ntwenty-one miles in a little more than two hours, over level ice.\n\nThe building of the sled, or komatik, is a most important matter. The\nDoctor prefers one eleven feet long, of black spruce, with runners an\ninch thick, covered with spring steel. With such a sled, and a good\nteam of dogs attached with proper traces, travel on firm and level\nsnow is an exhilarating experience. But a thousand and one things may\ngo wrong, the dogs when not running are forever picking bloody\nquarrels, and continual vigilance is the price of a swift, smooth\npassage.\n\nA member of Grenfell's staff had crossed a neck of land between two\nbays, and was \"twenty miles from anywhere,\" when his dogs struck the\nfresh trail of deer.\n\nAt such times the dogs are likely to take leave of all their senses\nsave the instinct of the chase. These plucky beasts were no exception\nto the rule.\n\nAs they were short of food, the two teams were hitched to one sled,\nand the other sled, laden, was left in charge of a boy, while the men\ngave chase to the caribou. Like Casabianca on the burning deck, the\nboy had been told not to stir from that chilly, lonesome spot.\n\nBut just as the men got under way, a terrible snowstorm sprang up from\nnowhere, and so enveloped and bewildered the hunters that for two days\nthey wandered, till they lost all hope.\n\nThen, by great good luck, starving and worn out, they came to a little\nhouse many long and weary miles from where the boy was left with the\nkomatiks.\n\nThey sent a relief team back to find him. There he was, standing by\nthe sleds like a good, true soldier, just where they told him to\nremain. He was bound to be faithful unto death, even though he should\nfreeze stiff for his obedience to orders.\n\nAnother time, the team was halted in a wood at nightfall, and Grenfell\nand his comrades started to walk on snowshoes to the village six miles\ndistant.\n\nThey lost their way, and found themselves by nightfall at the foot of\nsteep cliffs which they could not get round, though the village was\nhardly more than a mile away and its lights twinkled them a warm\nyellow welcome like friendly eyes.\n\nThe only thing to do was to fight their way up and over the rocks. As\nthey came to the top, they found two tired men who knew the way, but\nwere so weary they had made up their minds to flop down in the snow\nfor the night.\n\nBut Grenfell started a fire, and served out some bits of sweet cake he\ncarried: so that presently they took heart to go on. If they had not\ndone so, they might all have frozen to death in the snow, for the\nnight was bitterly cold and they were perspiring from their hard work,\nso that their clothes were turning as stiff as suits of armor with the\nice. As it was, the whole party reached the village safely, and came\nback next day to find the dogs and the sleds and bring them in.\n\nA lumber mill was started on a bay sixty miles below St. Anthony, and\na boiler weighing three tons was landed and set in place with the\nwhole neighborhood helping. After Christmas Grenfell decided to make\nthe run thither with the dogs from St. Anthony.\n\nThere was no trail. Most of the way the journey was through virgin\nforest. There were windfalls and stumps and bushes with pointed rocks\namid the snow--offering no end of pitfalls where a man might break\nhis ankle and lie groaning and helpless as a wounded caribou till he\ndied.\n\nNobody they could find had ever made the trip. But they had to know\nwithout delay how the boiler worked and how the mill was going. So off\nthey started, gay as a circus parade, telling themselves they would do\nthe distance in two days.\n\nNot so. At the end of two days they were still wrangling with mean\nlittle scrub bushes, fallen rotten logs and the pointed rocks\ntreacherously sheeted with ice and snow.\n\nIf they struggled to the top of a snow-laden spruce for an outlook,\nall they saw was more of the same old thing--a scowling landscape of\nwhite-clad woods and lonesome ponds. The compass always seemed to lead\nthem straight into the thick of the worst places.\n\nThey took the wrong turning to get round a big hill, and found a river\nwhich they thought would lead them to the head of the bay where the\nmill stood.\n\nBut the river was a raging torrent, which leapt among the rocks, made\nrapids and falls, and left gaping holes in the ice into which the\ndogs fell, snarling their traces and their tempers and many times\nrisking a broken leg.\n\nStill the brave little beasts of burden strained and tugged forward,\nencouraged by the shouts of the men.\n\nThey couldn't get away from the river, for the banks were too steep.\nBy and by they reached a ravine where the water boiled and churned and\nraced along in its great rocky trough too rapidly to be frozen, even\nby the intense cold that prevailed. It seemed as if they must be\nhalted here--but that is not the way with men of Newfoundland and the\nLabrador.\n\nThe only thing to do was to chop a passage through the ice along the\nbank--like making a tow-path for a canal.\n\nAfter they had fought their way through the narrows, they yearned for\nsleep. So they built a fire, and felled tree-trunks twenty feet long\ninto it, till they had a \"gorgeous blaze.\" Then they dug holes in the\nsnow, deep as bear's dens, broke loose from their stiff, icy clothes,\ngot into their sleeping bags, and slept the sleep of the just till\nthe golden sun warmed them with its morning blessing.\n\nThe rest of the way gave them no trouble. They got a royal welcome\nfrom the hands at the mill. It was such a great event, in fact, that a\nholiday was declared, and all hands went \"rabbiting.\" At the end of\nthe day they built another mighty fire of logs, gathered round it with\nsteaming cocoa and pork buns, and decided all over again that life was\nworth living and that moving a lumber-mill on an Arctic fore-shore is\nsheer fun, if you only think so.\n\nNot long after an experimental fox farm was begun. The farm part of it\nis not so hard as the foxes. All you need for the farm is a few poles\nand some wire netting.\n\nThey picked up a dozen couples of foxes--red, white, cross, and one\nsilver pair. A Harvard professor describes moving day when foxes were\nbeing brought on the little steamer to St. Anthony. \"Dr. Grenfell at\none time had fifteen little foxes aboard.... Some of these little\nanimals had been brought aboard in blubber casks, and their coats were\nvery sticky. After a few days they were very tame and played with the\ndogs; they were all over the deck, fell down the companionway, were\nalways having their tails and feet stepped on, and yelping for pain,\nwhen not yelling for food. The long-suffering seaman who took care of\nthem said, 'I been cleaned out dat fox box. It do be shockin'. I been\nin a courageous turmoil my time, but dis be de head smell ever I\nwitnessed.'\"\n\n    [Illustration: CASTLES AND CATHEDRALS OF ICE AFLOAT]\n\nProbably the fox farm suffered from too much publicity. A mother\nsilver fox is one of the scariest of creatures, and is known to \"kill\nher children to save their lives\" when a thunderstorm comes on, or\nvisitors are alarming. Most fox farms are therefore in the depths of\nthe woods: and the path to them is kept a dark secret by the owners.\nBut the farmers at St. Anthony's were green to the business, and they\nlet the fishermen come in numbers to see the show, not realizing what\nthe consequences would be. The red and the cross foxes seemed pleased\nto entertain guests; not so with the white foxes, and the precious\nsilver foxes were the shyest of all. Not a pup lived to grow up. Many\nwere born, but their parents killed them all. By and by, after a\nmortal plague broke out among the animals, the farm was converted\ninto a garden with a glass frame for seeding vegetables.\n\nBut others, with more science at their command, developed a profitable\nindustry in Quebec, Labrador and in Prince Edward Island. In the year\nthe war began a silver vixen and her brood were sold for ten thousand\ndollars. A wild fox, sold for twenty-five dollars, was resold for a\nthousand. There is money in the business, properly conducted. For\nthose who want wild animals to have fair play, there is satisfaction\nin the thought that to get fox fur by way of breeding is infinitely\nmore humane than to get it by way of the trap, whose cruel teeth may\nhold the animals through hours and days of suffering till the hunter\ncomes.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nSOME REAL SEA-DOGS\n\n\n\"Get out o' there, youse!\"\n\nA big raw-boned fisherman with an oar in his hand came running up the\nstony beach at Hopedale.\n\nThe door of the little Moravian church was open. So were the windows.\nAnd so were the mouths of a pack of dogs who were yowling their heads\noff and trying to kill each other inside the church.\n\n\"That's just the way with them huskies!\" panted Long Jim, as he\nstumbled up the slope. \"Can't leave 'em be ten minutes without their\ngettin' into mischief. 'Tis a nice place they picked out for a fight\nthis time! I'll soon have 'em out o' there! They'll find out the house\no' God ain't no dog-house.\"\n\nSwinging his oar right and left he dashed into the church.\n\nSuch a scene as met his eyes!\n\nThe dogs had been tearing the hymn-books apart as if they were slabs\nof raw seal-meat. For the Eskimos had been handling the books with\ntheir fingers fresh from cleaning fish and cutting up blubber. So that\nto a dog's nose each book smelt and tasted perfectly delicious. As\nfast as one dog closed his hungry jaws on a book, another dog,\nsnarling and yowling, would try to snatch it from him.\n\nOver and over in the aisles and between the pews they rolled, snapping\nand tearing at one another. For the sake of meat they would do murder\nany day--and the fact that it was in a church on Sunday meant nothing\nto Long Jim's idle, hungry pack.\n\n\"Go on, now! Git outa here!\" Long Jim laid about him vigorously with\nthe oar. Sharp yelps resounded as he thwacked their heads and legs.\nOne dog took a header into the baptismal font, which was full of stale\nwater.\n\nAnother tried to climb under the little cabinet organ. But there were\ntwo dogs there already, and one of them bit him in the chest. He\nbacked away, slobbering and raging.\n\nAnother dog hid under the communion table, but Long Jim found him and\nkicked him away with his soft furry boots that did no damage to dog\nribs.\n\nThe leaders of the pack, Jock and Sandy, soared out of the window at\nthe right. Jock landed on his head in the kitchen garden where the\nprecious cabbages were growing behind high wooden palings. Sandy was\nmore fortunate, and fell squarely on his feet. Both dogs began to\ngobble the soft green stuff just visible above the ground.\n\nThe other dogs came after them, biting and tearing at each other even\nwhile they were scrambling across the window-sill.\n\n\"Long Jim\" ran out at the door, and had to tear down a lot of the\nstakes before he could drive the dogs out of the garden. When at last\nthey went, most of the young and precious cabbages went with them. The\ngarden looked like a mud-pile where children have been in a quarrel.\n\n\"Ain't that a shame!\" exclaimed Long Jim. \"Them poor Moravian brothers\nworked so hard to git that garden goin'! I s'pose I gotta pay for them\nhymn-books an' them cabbages. Where I'm a-gonna git the money t' pay\nf'r it all, I'm blessed if I know! I guess I'll have to see if I can\ngit the money from Dr. Grenfell till I get paid for my fish.\"\n\nDr. Grenfell was in a cottage near by, visiting a patient. The sick\nman couldn't stir from his bed.\n\nA puff of wind blew the door open, just as the hungry pack of dogs\ncame rushing up.\n\nInstantly Jock and Sandy halted, and sniffed a mighty, soul-satisfying\nsniff.\n\nSuch a nice, sweet smell of dinner as was blown on the breeze from the\ndoor!\n\nTheir whiskers twitched and their mouths watered.\n\nThen it was just as if Jock and Sandy said to the other dogs: \"Well,\nwhat about it, boys? Shall we have some more fun? Are you hungry?\"\n\nFor the whole pack as though pulled by a string made a dash for the\ndoor and swept in on the Doctor and the sick man lying there.\n\nIt was like an avalanche. Dr. Grenfell was swept off his legs, as if\nhe had been bathing in the surf and a big wave rushed up and knocked\nhim down.\n\nThe boldest jumped up on the stove, where the stewpot was, that sent\nout such a delicious smell.\n\nHe pried off the cover, and then the pot rolled off the stove with a\nterrible clatter, and its steaming contents were dumped out on the\nfloor.\n\nYou could fairly hear those beasts screaming \"That's mine! Get out of\nthere! That belongs to me!\" Just like greedy, quarrelsome boys that\nforgot their manners long ago, if they ever had any.\n\nThey fought with added fury because--the hot stew burned their noses.\nThey were in such a hurry they couldn't wait for it to cool. They\nsnuffled and scuffled, they bit and snarled and snorted, as they had\ndone in the church with the hymn-books and then with the cabbages in\nthe vegetable garden.\n\nOne of the dogs thrust his head in the pot to get the last \"lickings\"\nand then he couldn't shake it loose again.\n\nRound and round the room he banged and struggled, till the Doctor took\npity on him and hauled it off his head.\n\nMeanwhile the house filled with steam as if it were on fire.\n\nThe Eskimos came rushing from everywhere, with shouts in their own\ntongue that sounded almost like the cries of the dogs.\n\nThey had long harpoon handles, and they pranced about the room,\nthwacking right and left.\n\nThe Doctor was entirely forgotten. So was the sick man. The room was\nfilled with steam, stew, dogs, harpoons, and blue language.\n\nAt last the dogs were shoved out, and the door was slammed after them.\n\n\"How are you feeling?\" said the Doctor to his patient.\n\n\"B-b-better, Doctor. It was a funny show while it lasted. But I guess\nthey ain't much left o' that there stew, is there?\"\n\nThe Doctor laughed. \"No--our dinner is wrecked. A total loss!\"\n\nThe door opened slowly. Long Jim stood there in the doorway, fumbling\nhis hat in his hand. \"Awful sorry about them dogs, Doctor,\" he\nmuttered. \"They just seem to ha' gone clean crazy. They ain't had\nnothin' to eat for so long, you see. They're good dogs when they ain't\nhungry. Would you--would you lend me the money to pay for them\nhymn-books an' cabbages an' the stew till I can pay ye back?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all right, Jim!\" answered the Doctor. \"All told, the\ndamage won't amount to much. I'll fix it up. Dogs will be dogs.\"\n\n\"Thank ye, Doctor,\" said Jim, simply. But he was deeply grateful. He\nwent out after his dogs to make them quit rampaging and take their\nplaces in the team.\n\n\"Doctor,\" said the sick man, \"I minds me o' the time one o' them\nmissionaries put a young dog in the team ahead o' the old leader. Did\nye ever hear tell o' that?\"\n\n\"No. What happened?\"\n\n\"Well, the big feller bit through the little feller's traces an' then\nmust 'a' said 'you get out o' here!' the way one dog knows how to talk\nto another. 'Cause the pup he began to run away, before they'd got the\nsled started at all.\"\n\n\"And then what?\" asked Grenfell.\n\n\"Why--Mr. Young harnessed up the pup three times an' each time the big\ndog he bites the pup loose an' the pup runs away.\"\n\n\"So what did Mr. Young do then?\"\n\n\"He give the big dog a whipping.\"\n\n\"Did that do any good?\"\n\n\"Not the least little bit that ever was. It done a lot o' harm. The\nold dog's heart was bust. After that beatin' he weren't never the same\nagain--he seemed to lose all taste for haulin' a sled. He might as\nwell have lain down an' died in the traces, for all the use he was to\nthe team after that. He wa'n't no good for a leader any more. He\nwa'n't no good for anything.\"\n\n\"Do you use moccasins for your dogs?\" asked Grenfell.\n\n\"Sure us does. Makes 'em o' sealskin. Us ties 'em round the dog's\nankles, cuttin' three little holes for the claws.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Grenfell. \"And the dog sometimes eats his own shoes,\ndoesn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Till he gets to know what the shoes is for. I've had my\ndogs eat their own harness, many's the time. Don't seem as if dogs\ncould ever git so tired they wouldn't rather fight than sleep. I'd\njust like to know what'd wear out a husky so he wouldn't be ready for\na scrap. They likes fightin' next to eatin'!\"\n\n\"I suppose you feed your dogs once a day?\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Yes, Doctor. Only--they puts down the two fish I gives 'em in about\none swallow for both fish. I can't see that they gits much fun out o'\ntheir supper.\"\n\nThen the sick man began to laugh feebly. \"It 'minds me o' the time I\nwas out with the dogs in the deep snow. I was just goin' to build me a\nsnow hut for the night. There was a herd o' caribou come by, goin' so\nfast I couldn't git my gun ready in time.\n\n\"But the dogs--they tears 'emselves loose from the traces, 'cause I\nhadn't taken 'em out yet, an' off they starts like the wind. They\nleaves behind one little mother dog. She was their leader--they was\nmostly from her litter.\n\n\"So off they goes like a shot from a gun, me runnin' an' yellin' after\n'em.\n\n\"Pretty soon they finds a deer a hunter had shot an' must ha' left\nbehind 'cause he had so much he couldn't carry any more.\n\n\"Anyway, they didn't ask no questions. They eats an' eats till you\ncould see 'em bulgin' way out like they had swallowed a football.\n\n\"Well sir, would you believe it? All those dogs wa'n't such pigs.\nThere was one hadn't forgot the poor little ole mother dog at home\nthat was all tied up so she couldn't go with 'em. The biggest dog, he\nbrought back a whole hunk out o' the leg o' that deer, an' he laid it\ndown, within her reach, where she could grab it up an' give a gnaw to\nit when she felt like it.\"\n\n\"That reminds me,\" said Grenfell. \"A settler and his wife, in a lonely\nplace, got the 'flu.' They were so weak they couldn't take care of\neach other. The poor woman could hardly crawl to the cupboard and get\nwhat little food there was, and she couldn't cook it when she got it.\n\n\"But she managed to write in pencil on a bit of paper, 'come over\nquickly.' She put it in a piece of sealskin and tied it with a piece\nof deer-thong round a dog's neck.\n\n\"He ran with it to the nearest house, which was ten miles away. And\nsoon men came and brought them aid, and their lives were saved.--Well,\nJohn, I'm coming back in a day or two to see how you are. And I'll\ncall in on neighbor Martha Dennis, and she'll make you some nice broth\nto take the place of the stew the dogs got.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Doctor! I'll be glad to see you when you comes back. I\ndon't know what us would do, if it wasn't for you, Doctor!\"\n\nTo the stories that the Doctor and his patient told each other might\nbe added many more true tales of the intelligence of the \"husky\" dogs.\n\nSometimes a man at work in the forest, getting in his winter's supply\nof fire-wood, will send the dog home with no message at all.\n\nThen the good wife looks about, to see what the dog's master has\nforgotten. It may be an axe-head, or his pipe, or his lunch of bread\nand potatoes.\n\nWhatever it is, she ties it to the dog and back he trots to his master\nin the woods, a willing express-messenger.\n\nBut one of the finest deeds set down to the credit of a \"husky\" is\nwhat a plain, every-day \"mutt\" dog did at Martin's Point, on the west\ncoast of Newfoundland near Bonne Bay, in December 1919.\n\nThe steamer _Ethie_, Captain English commanding, was making her last\nsouthward trip of the season. I knew the _Ethie_ well, every inch of\nher, for I had made the up trip and the down trip aboard her only a\nfew weeks before. Through no fault of her gallant captain, she had\nbeen carrying a great many more passengers than she ever was meant to\ncarry. On a pinch, she had accommodations for fifty. But on one trip,\nby standing up the fishermen in the washroom as if they were bunches\nof asparagus, she had taken three hundred passengers. From a hundred\nto two hundred was a common number. I had been one of about\ntwenty-five lucky enough to find a \"berth\" in the small dining-saloon.\nThe berth was like a parcel-rack in a railway car. The people of the\ncoast were signing a long petition to have the miserable old tub laid\nup and a larger, modern vessel substituted.\n\nWhen Captain English was nearing Martin's Point on the _Ethie's_ last\nvoyage, a high sea was running, and she sprang a leak. The water\nrushed into the fireroom. Captain English went below and made an\nappeal to \"his boys\" not to desert their fires and not to fail him.\n\n\"If you will stick till we get round the Point we can beach her,\" he\nsaid. The stokers manfully plied their shovels: with the snow\nwhirling, and the wind blowing half a gale, the vessel struck, several\nhundred yards from the beach. In a little while the waves, sweeping\nfuriously over the deck, would have swept the ninety-two persons\naboard into the sea.\n\nThey tried to fire a line ashore to the willing crowd that stood at\nthe edge of the breakers.\n\nBut the line fell short, across an ugly reef of jagged rocks half-way\nto the land.\n\nThen volunteers were asked to swim ashore with the rope. But none of\nthe sailors knew how to swim. It is a rare accomplishment among\nsailors, especially in those bitter northern waters. So that plan was\nsurrendered.\n\nA boat was launched. Before it had fairly hit the tremendous waves, it\nwas dashed to pieces against the _Ethie's_ side.\n\nThe company on shipboard seemed at the end of their resources. But the\npeople ashore had not been idle.\n\nThere was a fisherman of Martin's Point named Reuben Decker, who had a\ndog whom he had not taken the trouble to name at all. It was one of\nthe young dogs in process of being broken to the sled, and in the\nmeantime it was kicked and stoned and starved--not by the owner, but\nby strangers afraid of it, as is the general lot of dogs in this part\nof the world, after they have done their best by man.\n\nThe dog happened to be down at the shore, forlornly searching for\nsculpins and caplin. There was still open water between the shore and\nthe ship. Reuben Decker pointed to the rocks across which the rope had\nfallen. At his word of command, the dog jumped into the sea, swam to\nthe rocks, and seized the rope in his mouth. Then, with the cries from\nthe ship and the shore ringing in his ears, he turned and began to\nswim with it to the shore. It was not a heavy line. It was meant to be\nused to haul a thicker rope. But it was wet, of course, and partly\nfrozen, and the miracle is how the animal managed to pull it through a\nsea where men did not dare to go.\n\nThe watchers ashore, standing waist and shoulder deep in the waves,\nanxious to launch a boat as soon as the heavy swell would let them,\nwatched the dog and clapped their hands and yelled to him to come on.\n\n\"Look at un!\"\n\n\"Swimmin' like a swile!\"\n\n\"Kim alang, b'y, kim alang!\"\n\n    [Illustration: LET'S GO!]\n\n\"Man dear! My, my, my! Ain't dat wunnerful, now!\"\n\n\"Dat 'm de b'y!\"\n\n\"By de powers!--Git y'r gaff, b'y! Help un in!\"\n\n\"We'll have 'm all sove, soon's us lays han's on dat rope. Lord bless\ndat dog!\"\n\nAt one moment his little brown head would rise on the crest of a\nstreaked, yeasty wave, the rope still in the white teeth--and then as\nthe wave curled and broke he would be plunged to the bottom of the\ntrough and they would lose sight of him. Would he come up again?\n\n\"Yes--dere he be! My, my, my! Look at him a-comin' and a-comin'! I\nnever did see a dog the beat o' un! By the livin' Jarge, he's got more\nsense 'n any o' us humans! I tell ye, thet's a miracle, thet's what it\nis. Nothin' short o' a gospel miracle!\"\n\nSo the comment ran--for those who said anything. But many were too\nsurprised and thrilled to speak--and if they cried out it was when\nthey all cheered mightily together as the dog, hauled through the surf\nby as many as could get their eager hands on him, scrambled out on\nthe beach and dropped the fag-end of the rope as if it were a stick,\nthrown into the water in sport, for him to retrieve.\n\nNow that communication was established, the next thing to do was to\nhaul a heavier rope to the beach. On this a breeches-buoy was rigged\nwithout delay. In that breeches-buoy the ninety-two were hauled\nashore. One of them was a baby, eighteen months old, who traveled in a\nmail-bag, \"pleasantly sleeping and unaware.\" The last to leave was the\ncaptain.\n\nThe sea hammered the life out of the boat--but the human life was gone\nfrom it, and nobody cared. As for the dog--you can imagine how Reuben\nDecker's cottage door was kept a-swing till it was nearly torn from\nits hinges, by friends who dropped in to pat him on the back, and look\nwith curiosity at the animal which a few hours ago they ignored or\ndespised. And Reuben did not tire of telling them all what a dog it\nwas. He could safely say there was no better on the coast. Perhaps in\nthe world.\n\nThe rumbling echoes of the dog's brave deed traveled \"over the hills\nand far away,\" to Curling, where lives from hand to mouth a little\npaper called _The Western Star_. It has a circulation of 675 in fair\nweather and 600 when it storms. The editor is a man named Barrett, who\nis a correspondent of the Associated Press. He put a brief dispatch on\nthe wire for all America. Some people in Philadelphia read it, and\nsent the dog a silver collar, almost big enough to go three times\nround his neck. Since the dog had no name, the word \"Hero\" was\nengraved on the collar.\n\nThe day of the presentation was a general holiday. All the way from\nSt. John's, people came to see \"Hero\" rewarded. Father Brennan made a\nspeech, the sheriff was in his glory, and Reuben Decker and his dog,\ndragged blinking into the limelight, were equally dumb with modesty,\nsurprise and gratitude. The cheer that was raised when the silver\nclasp of the magnificent collar clicked round \"Hero's\" throat drowned\nout the loud music of the ocean.\n\nNow \"Hero,\" freed forever from bondage to the sled, may lie by the\nfire in his master's house, his head on his paws, his nose twitching,\nas he dreams of his great adventure.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nHUNTING WITH THE ESKIMO\n\n\nWhen Dr. Grenfell first sailed his mission boat to the Eskimo\nsettlements, the Eskimo swarmed aboard his little schooner, the\n_Albert_. They were singing a hymn the Moravian missionaries taught\nthem.\n\n\"What do you know about that?\" said Sailor Bill to Sailor Jim. \"Them\nfellers certainly can sing!\"\n\n\"Yes, an' they got a brass band,\" answered Jim. \"Just hear 'em a-goin'\nit, over there on the shore when the wind sets our way. You'd sure\nthink the circus was comin' to town! Hey there, where you goin', young\nfeller?\"\n\nThe \"young feller\" was an old Eskimo of about seventy, but Jim\ncouldn't be expected to know that. For he was all done up like a\nfigure from fairy-land--in snow-white jumper, peaked fur cap, and\nsealskin boots.\n\nThe Eskimo only grinned from ear to ear. He seemed ready to laugh at\neverything. His little bright eyes missed nothing.\n\n\"These husky-maws are so bloomin' curious,\" said Jim. \"Just like them\nhusky dogs. Hafta take the lid off 'n' look into everything. The cook\nsays he dasn't turn his back to the stove. Don't you let 'em into the\ncabin!\"\n\n\"There's one of 'em in there now!\" cried Bill. Out of a port-hole\nissued the notes of a hymn, which one of the Eskimo was pumping out of\na melodeon.\n\n\"Come up outa there!\" yelled Bill, thrusting his head in at the\ndoorway.\n\nThe Eskimo didn't understand the words, but he knew what the tone\nmeant, and meekly turned a smiling face toward the sailor.\n\nThen he jumped up from his seat on the top of a keg and put out his\nhand. Bill took the pudgy, greasy little fingers. The Eskimo brought\nfrom somewhere in his blouse a piece of ivory carved in the likeness\nof a boat with rowers.\n\n\"How much d'ye want for that?\" asked Bill.\n\nThe Eskimo shook his head.\n\n\"Are ye deaf?\" cried Bill. \"How much d'ye want for the boat?\"\n\n\"Aw shucks!\" exclaimed Jim. \"Hollerin' so loud don't do no good. He\ndunno what you're sayin'. He can't talk English. Show him your\nclasp-knife. That'll talk to him better'n you can. He wants to swop\nwith ye.\"\n\nBill brought out the big knife. The little brown man nodded eagerly.\nThen he handed over the ivory boat. It was worth a great deal more\nthan the knife. But not to the Eskimo. That knife would be a precious\nthing to help him carve meat and cut things out of sealskin and\nperhaps stab a polar bear.\n\n\"So everybody's happy?\" laughed a clear and pleasant voice at Bill's\nshoulder. \"You traded about even, did you?\"\n\n\"Guess so, Doctor. He's got what he wants, and I'm goin' to send the\nboat to the kiddies in the old country.\"\n\nThat night as the men sat around the cabin lamp with their pipes and a\nbig pail of steaming cocoa, Dr. Grenfell told them something about the\nstrange people they had come among.\n\nHe had spent all day ashore among them, in various repairs to their\nbodies, and he had promised to come back to them in the morning.\n\n\"They're a nice, jolly, friendly lot,\" he said. \"So different from\nthe old days, before the Moravian missionaries came.\n\n\"You know, they always called themselves 'Innuits.' That means 'the\npeople.' They said God went on making human beings till He made the\nEskimo. When He saw them, He was perfectly satisfied, and didn't make\nany more.\n\n\"But the early Norsemen came along, about a thousand years after the\ntime of Christ, and called them 'skrellings.' That means 'weaklings.'\nIt was the Indians who called them Eskimo. The word means 'eaters of\nraw meat.'\"\n\n\"They've sure got some funny ideas about Hell 'n' the Devil, Doctor!\"\nput in an old, wise sailor who was sitting deep in the shadows.\n\n\"Yes they have!\" agreed the Doctor. \"Their God, Tongarsuk, is a good\nspirit. He rules a lot of lesser spirits, called tongaks, and they run\nand tell the priests, who are called angekoks, what to do. The\nangekoks are the medicine-men and the weather-prophets. The Devil\nisn't he, but she. And she is so dreadful that she hasn't any name,\nbecause you're not supposed to talk about her at all.\n\n\"The angekoks are awfully busy fellows. They have to keep making\njourneys to the centre of the earth, the Eskimos believe. Because\nthat's where Tongarsuk the good spirit is, and they have to go and ask\nhim what to do when the little spirits get lazy and won't tell them.\n\n\"Anybody who thinks the angekok has an easy time of it on his voyage\nis mistaken. The journey has to be in winter. It must be at midnight.\nThe angekok's body is standing alone in the hut--his head tied between\nhis legs, his arms bound behind his back. In the meantime his soul has\nleft the body, and is on the way to heaven or hell.\n\n\"That's what an ordinary, every-day angekok has to do. But if you want\nto become an angekok poglit, which is a fat priest (meaning a chief\npriest), it hurts a lot more, and takes much more time and trouble.\nThen you have to let a white bear take your wandering soul and drag it\ndown to the sea by one toe. They don't tell you how a soul comes to\nhave a toe to drag it by.\n\n\"When the soul reaches the seaboard, it must be swallowed by a\nsea-lion--and of course the soul may have to sit there in the cold for\nquite a while waiting for a sea-lion to come along. After the\nsea-lion has swallowed it, the same white bear must reappear and\nswallow it too. Then the white bear must give up the spirit, and let\nit return to the dark house where the body is waiting for it. All this\ntime the neighbors keep up an infernal racket with a drum and any\nother musical instruments they may happen to have.\n\n\"The Eskimo know very well that once there was a flood--but they\ncannot say exactly when. The trouble was that the world upset into the\nsea, and all were drowned except one man who climbed out on a cake of\nice. They are sure of what they say, because although the oldest man\nalive only heard about it from the oldest man when he was a baby, they\nstill find shells in the crannies of the rocks far beyond the maddest\nreach of the sea: and somebody once found the remains of a whale at\nthe very top of a high mountain.\n\n\"You do not go up to heaven when you die: you go down,--way, way down,\nto the bottom of the sea, where the best of everything is. There it's\nsummer all the time. To the Eskimo there is no hell in being hot--hell\nis terrible cold. Down there where it is summer all the time you\ndon't have to chase reindeer if you want them to pull you about--they\ncome running up to you, obliging as taxicabs, and ask you please to\nharness them and tell them where you would like to go. And your dinner\nis ready for you all the time: the seals are swimming about in a\nkettle of boiling water. The women don't have to spend their time\nchewing on the sealskins to make them pliable for shoes and garments.\nThe skins come off, all by themselves, already chewed--as nice and\nsoft as can be, fit to make a bed for an Eskimo baby.\n\n\"His boat and his weapons go with the warrior to his grave, so that\nhis spirit may have the use of them in the next world.\n\n\"Once, one of the sailors from Newfoundland took something from a\ngrave and hid it in his bunk.\n\n\"That night the dead Eskimo came looking for his property.\n\n\"It was pitch dark--but one of the crew saw and felt the ghost\nprowling about in the cabin!\n\n\"He yelled, and they lit the lamp.\n\n\"The ghost went out at the hatchway instantly.\n\n\"They put out the light, and the ghost came back. Then shouts were\nheard, 'There he is! He's a Eskimo! He's huntin' in Tom's bunk!'\n\n\"After that, they kept the lamp lit all night long: and the next day,\nTom went back and with trembling fingers restored what he had stolen\nto the grave.\n\n\"There are wide chinks in the rocky roof of every properly made Eskimo\ngrave. This is not so that prowling sailor-men may reach in: it is so\nthe spirits will have no trouble going in and out.\n\n\"You may still find lying in a grave a modern high-powered rifle ready\nfor business, and good steel knives ready to carve those cooked seals\ndown there in Heaven. I've even found pipes all ready filled with\ntobacco, to save the spirits the trouble of using their fingers to\ncram the bowl.\n\n\"Nowadays sealskins are exchanged for European goods, especially guns,\nand the Labrador Eskimo have lost much of the art of using their\nkayaks, the canoes into which they used to bind themselves securely,\nso that when they turned over in the water it did no harm. They would\n'bob up serenely' and go right on, and in contests one man would pass\nhis boat right over that of a rival without risk of accident.\n\n\"The Eskimo and the Indians were bitter enemies. The story of the last\nfight is, that the Eskimo had their fishing-huts on an island off the\nmouth of a river.\n\n\"Down-stream by night crept the Indians in their war-canoes. These\nthey dragged ashore and hid in the rocks. Next morning the Eskimo came\nupon their enemies and at once attacked them.\n\n\"The Eskimo are little people as compared with the Indians. The\nIndians, their squaws fighting like bears beside them, drove the\nEskimo back and back toward the sea.\n\n\"Stubbornly the 'huskies' contested every inch of the ground. Now and\nagain they would crawl into holes among the rocks--but the Indians\nwould find them there and cut them down without mercy, like animals\ntrapped in their burrows.\n\n\"The Eskimo had their choice between the Indians and the sea. They\nwould carry their children and even their wives down to the boats on\ntheir backs, and sometimes the frail skin-boats would turn over, and\nall the people in them would be drowned. If they succeeded in putting\nout to sea, they had no place to go: the Indians waiting ashore would\nget them whenever and wherever they landed.\n\n\"At last--there were only the Indians in their war-paint, dancing and\nhowling on the beach--not an Eskimo was left to tell the tale.\"\n\nA few days later, Dr. Grenfell came to Hopedale.\n\nThere, he found, the Eskimo believed that Queen Victoria, away off\nthere on the other side of the ocean, was sitting on a rock waiting\nfor the _Harmony_ (the Moravian mission ship from Labrador) to come in\nsight.\n\nThey loaded him down with all sorts of messages they wanted him to\ngive her.\n\nEspecially, they wanted him to say to her that they were very, very\ngrateful to her for sending him over the seas to help them.\n\nWhen they learned that England was at war in Egypt, and a brave\ngeneral was holding the upper Nile against a crowd of savages,\nalthough they hadn't the slightest notion as to where Egypt was or who\nthe Egyptians were, they got out everything they had in the way of\nfirearms and began to drill up and down on the rocky beach.\n\nOne old fellow had a policeman's coat split up the back and much too\nbig for him, and he dragged the tail of it along the ground like a\nbedraggled water-fowl. He also had a single epaulet that had come in a\nbox of cast-off clothing.\n\nOn the strength of that uniform they made him captain of the company.\n\nThen they all marched up to the missionaries and said:\n\n\"We want to go to war and help the English!\"\n\n\"It won't be any use,\" said the missionaries. \"Egypt is a long, long\nway off--and the war will be over before you could get there!\"\n\n\"Never mind!\" insisted the \"huskies.\" \"We want to go!\"\n\nThey kept on drilling and making warlike noises with their mouths till\nthe ice melted and the cod came in. And after that, in the struggle\nwith the cold sea and the barren land for a living they forgot all\nabout war and the rumors of war.\n\nThere were seals and bears and foxes to be hunted, instead of men.\n\nDr. Grenfell found one man who was lucky enough to catch a black fox\nin a trap of stones.\n\nHe was so happy over the catch that tears of joy ran down his face as\nhe carried the precious skin to the store. He said God had heard his\nprayers and made his family suddenly rich.\n\nThe storekeeper paid him forty-five dollars. That seemed like a\nfortune. The price was not paid in cash, however, but in food.\n\nStaggering under the load he came back to his hut, and when the stuff\nwas put on the shelves it looked like such a lot he began to think he\nand his family never would be able to get it eaten before the end of\nthe world came.\n\nSo he sent out for his friends and neighbors.\n\nBe sure they came. An Eskimo can smell food cooking (or even merely\nrotting) for miles beyond the power of sight to detect it.\n\nThe invitation ran: \"Come and eat and stay with me.\" And then the\nEskimo ran too, the big ones tumbling over the little ones, and the\ndogs outstripping their masters, and all making loud noises according\nto their kind.\n\nAlas! in two days they had literally eaten their generous host out of\nhouse and home, and along with the dogs of the quarreling packs there\nwas the wolf of hunger gnawing at the door.\n\nOne of the Newfoundland fishermen left an Eskimo in charge of his\nsupplies for the winter. Of these provisions he had set aside plenty\nfor the Eskimo--for he knew how much a \"husky\" can eat. The Eskimo\nseems to have a \"bread-basket\" quite as extensible as any dog he\ndrives.\n\nThen all the other Eskimo came swarming: and he fed them all, so that\nin two days the whole crowd were starving together.\n\nGrenfell found that the white man, green to the business of\ndog-driving or whale-hunting, had to win the respect of the Eskimo.\n\nThe Eskimo knows that most of his paleface brethren from the south are\nwholly unable to paddle their own canoes.\n\nThe white man, as a rule, cannot slay the seal, nor catch the cod, nor\ncatch anything else except a cold.\n\nHe cannot stand up to a polar bear with a knife in fair fight.\n\nHe cannot sit out on a rock in a rain-storm all day without an\numbrella and seem to enjoy it.\n\nHe cannot stand hunger, thirst and frost, and he chokes when the fumes\nand the black smoke of oil lamps get into his throat.\n\nThen he is so funny about food! He doesn't care for stinking fish: he\ndoesn't like his meat crawling with maggots after it has been buried\nin the ground; he doesn't know how much better molasses tastes when\nmice have fallen into it and expired.\n\nThe white man washes. How silly! He takes a brush made of little white\nbristles and rubs his teeth with it. Well, if the white man's mouth,\nwhich is full of water, isn't clean, then what part of him can be\nclean? And why does he turn up his nose at the Eskimo for being dirty?\n\nAs for smells, what is a bad smell? The Eskimo doesn't seem to know.\nIn Kipling's wonderful address on \"Travel,\" before the Royal\nGeographical Society, he had much to say about smells, and how they\nsuggest places. Eskimo taken to the World's Fair in Chicago were\nhomesick for the smell of decaying blubber, rancid whale-meat,\nsteaming bodies in the igloo, the rich perfume of the dogs, and all\nthe other aromatic comforts of home. As smells are their special\ndelight, so dirt is their peculiar glory. A bath in warm water would\nmake them as unhappy as it makes a cat.\n\nFond of eating as they are, they like a change of food, and if\nbear-meat is all they find to eat in a certain spot, they hitch up and\nhike on to a better meal at a distance. They always want to be on the\ngo. They rarely stay in one place more than a year or two.\n\nEven the rifle does not seem, in the long run, to be helping them\nmuch. When the sealer used a harpoon, he hardly ever missed the seal,\nfor he always struck at close range. But with the rifle, shooting from\nafar, the sea often swallows up his prey ere he can reach it. The\nwalrus has gone to the farthest North and the seal is becoming gun-shy\nvery fast.\n\nAs a hunter, the Eskimo is not wanting in nerve. A mighty hunter north\nof Nain was out gunning for big birds--ptarmigan, guillemot and\ndivers,--when he came on a robust and fierce polar bear, a monstrous\nspecimen.\n\nThe Eskimo had a shotgun, not a rifle. It takes a ball cartridge of\nlarge calibre to do for Mr. Bruin ordinarily--and he can \"make his\ngetaway\" with a good deal of lead in him. But the \"husky\" calmly\nwalked up close to the bear, and discharged his shotgun pointblank in\nthe face of the astonished animal. If the hunter had been at a\ndistance, the bear would have minded the dose about as much as a pinch\nof pepper. As it was, the animal was blinded, and turned in fury on\nthe hunter.\n\nThe Eskimo tore off his sealskin tunic and threw it over the bear's\nhead, the way a bull-fighter confuses a charging bull with a mantilla.\nThe bear stopped to tear the garment in pieces before proceeding to\nkill and devour the owner.\n\nBut the delay was fatal to Mr. Bear. In jig-time the hunter had\nreloaded the gun. He put the second charge into the bear's head\nthrough the eye,--and the monster expired at his feet.\n\nThe boys have bows and arrows; they begin by practising on small birds\nand later become proficient with a gun, so that by the time they are\ntwelve years old they are veteran hunters.\n\nThe greatest joy in the life of the Eskimo is to spend a day in a\nseal-hunt.\n\nHours before dawn, the hunter climbs a rock and looks out to sea,\nanxious to learn if it will be a good day for his watery business.\n\nThen he gets his breakfast. In the old days, it was a drink of water.\nNowadays, if the Eskimo has learned to like the white man's hot drink,\nit may be a cup of coffee.\n\nAt any rate, he drinks his breakfast: he doesn't eat it. He says food\nin his stomach makes him unhappy in the kayak.\n\nThe only food he takes with him is a plug of tobacco. He carries the\nkayak to the water, puts his weapons where he can get his hands on\nthem instantly, climbs into the hole amidship and fastens his jacket\nround the circular rim.\n\nHe may have to go a dozen miles out to sea. Now and then, to vary the\npaddling, he throws a bird-dart. Like the Eskimo harpoon, this dart\nand the stick that throws it are most ingenious contrivances, and\nbeautifully wrought.\n\nThe hunter grabs the beak of a wounded bird in his teeth, and with a\nwrench breaks the creature's neck. He then ties his prey to the rear\nof the kayak and grins at the other hunters.\n\nAt the hunting-ground, seals' heads are to be seen everywhere, like\nraisins in a pudding. This is not sealing on the ice, as along the\ncoast of Newfoundland: it is hunting them in open water--a very\ndifferent thing.\n\nPapik (let us call him) spots the seal he wants and creeps up on it,\npaddling warily.\n\nThe seal, a wise creature where such hunting is concerned, sees him\nand dives.\n\nPapik rests on his paddle, and gets his harpoon ready for the\nreappearance of the seal.\n\nIt is a waiting game. Whenever the seal bobs up, the kayak is a little\nnearer, for while the seal is under water a few strokes of the paddle\nhave cut down the distance.\n\nA seal can stay under water a long, long time.\n\nBut an Eskimo, for his part, can sit all day as still as a tombstone\nin a cemetery.\n\nWoe be to the furry creature, if it waits a fraction of a second too\nlong before it dives!\n\nIn the clear sunlight the shaft flashes whistling from the throwing\nstick, the barb strikes, and the seal goes down in a welter of\nblood-stained foam. At the end of the harpoon line is a bladder--and\nas the bladder dances away over the surface, sometimes bobbing out of\nsight, Papik is after it like a hound chasing a rabbit.\n\nThe bladder is to the barbed harpoon what the fisherman's float is to\nthe baited hook.\n\nWhen the seal comes up, furious to attack and punish the hunter, it\nfirst tears the bladder in pieces--then it makes at the kayak.\n\nBut Papik is calmly ready. He has a lance with which he takes careful\naim.\n\nThe seal comes on, bent double to hurl itself forward with all its\nmight. It seems strange that a creature usually so gentle can show\nsuch ferocity.\n\nThe lance is flung. It goes through the seal's mouth and comes out at\nthe back of the neck. The seal shakes its head violently, but it is\ndoomed.\n\nPapik's second lance strikes through a flipper into the lungs.\n\nThe seal is still alive as he comes close. Papik stabs it with his\nlong knife, and it ceases to struggle at last. The seal is a creature\nthat clings to life a long, long time. He ties the seal to the stern\nof the kayak, rearranges his apparatus, coils his rope, puts his\nlances in their place, and is ready for another. If he is in luck, he\nmay paddle homeward with four seals, and even more, in his wake.\n\nIf a storm comes before he gets to the shore, his watermanship is\nseverely tested. He fights not only to bring his boat and himself\nthrough the tumult of the waters: he means to save every one of those\ncarcasses wallowing along behind.\n\nIn the midst of his hard fighting with the waves, which turn him over\nand roll him about, as he stubbornly rights himself after each\ncapsizing and hurls himself through the next curving green hillside of\nwater, he comes upon a helpless comrade.\n\nOrdinarily, the second man, Patuak, could bob up again and go on, like\nstalwart Papik.\n\nBut Patuak's jacket worked loose at the rim of the body-hole of the\nkayak. The water rushed in. Now he is water-logged. He will lose his\nboat, his seals, his life, unless Papik can save him.\n\nIs Papik tempted to think only of himself and leave Patuak to his\nfate? If he is, it does not appear in what he does. He runs his kayak\nalongside that of his friend: he puts his paddle across both boats,\nand if he cannot bring in both kayaks, with such help as Patuak is\nable to give, he may even carry Patuak lying across the prow of his\nown boat.\n\nIt is easier to drown a seal than to drown an Eskimo.\n\nThe women stand on the rocks, shielding their eyes with their hands as\nthey gaze eagerly seaward--just as the women of Nantucket stood on the\nroofs of the houses in olden times watching and waiting for the\nwhaling-fleet.\n\nAt the first sign of the approaching hunters a cry goes up: \"They are\ncoming!\"\n\nThen they begin to count.\n\nThey thank their own idea of Heaven when they find that--seals or no\nseals--their men are coming back in safety.\n\nIf a man is towing seals, they shout his name with joy--and after it\nput the word \"kaligpok,\" which means \"towing.\"\n\nThe women haul in the boats, rub noses with their husbands to show\ntheir affection, and proceed to prepare the feast of raw blubber.\n\nAfter that feast the men tell the story of the day's work--without\nboasting, but with touches of humor that send the listeners off into\nringing peals of laughter.\n\nThe story-telling is a part of the seal-hunt. The phrases are\nstraight-flung as a seal-lance.\n\n\"When the time came for using the harpoon, I looked to it, I took it,\nI seized it, I gripped it, I had it fast in my hand, I balanced\nit\"--and so on. The audience, mouths agape, misses no word. It is the\nnearest thing the Eskimos have to motion pictures--and what a motion\npicture the whole of the seal-hunt is! No wonder the hunter lolls back\nlike a lord, and lets himself be waited on, a conquering hero.\n\nThe old men feel their youth renewed as they sit and listen to these\nwonder-tales. In their turn, they are moved to tell how they met the\nwalrus in fair fight and overcame him. Perhaps the dreaded tusk went\nright through the side of the boat and wounded the hunter. But there\nare no friends like Eskimo friends for a man in such a plight. They\nkilled the walrus--they dined off the meat--and the tusks are kept to\nthis day to show for it. A skin canoe against a walrus--that is a\nbattle indeed. The younger men know what it means: and the old man is\ncomforted by the remembrance of what he used to be.\n\nThey are patient people, the Eskimo, and they need all the patience\nthey have. An Inspector sent a boat-load of Eskimo to a fiord to get\nsome grass for his goats.\n\nThey were gone a long time, and he wondered what had become of them.\n\nWhen at last they returned, he asked them why they remained away so\nlong. They told him that when they got to the place where he told them\nto go, they found the grass was too short. So they had to sit down and\nwait until it grew. Their time was of no value. And they had their\norders to obey!\n\nThe world owes it to these brave people not to take from them their\nbirthright to their few possessions in the far places where they\ndwell.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nLITTLE PRINCE POMIUK\n\n\nThere was an Eskimo boy named Pomiuk who lived in the far north of\nLabrador, at Nachoak Bay. Pomiuk had the regular sea-and-land training\nof the Eskimo boy. In summer his family lived in a skin tent, in\nwinter they occupied an ice igloo. It is a fine art making one of\nthose rounded domes--the curving blocks must be shaped and fitted\nexactly, so as to come out even at the top.\n\nBlubber in a stone dish supplied light and heat. If the air got too\nthick, father could thrust the handle of his dog-whip through the\nroof. Nobody bothered about bathing on Saturday night, and nobody\nminded the smell of rotten whale-meat for the dogs. In an atmosphere\nthat would stifle a white man, Pomiuk and his brothers and sisters\nthrove and laughed and had the time of their lives. Pomiuk had his own\nwhip of braided walrus hide, and even when he was little the dogs\nrespected him and ran forward when he shouted \"oo-isht!\" turned to\nthe right at \"ouk!\" and stopped and sat down panting when he shouted\n\"ah!\"\n\nWhen Pomiuk was ten years old a ship came on a strange errand.\nPomiuk's family and their friends were fishing for cod. But when the\nstrange ship dropped anchor, they flocked to it shouting in their own\ntongue \"Stranger! stranger!\" When they learned why it came they were\namazed.\n\nAn Eskimo interpreter who came with the white men from the south\nexplained that what they wanted was to take the Eskimo to that far-off\nland called America, where at a place called Chicago most wonderful\nthings were gathered together in huge igloos for all the world to see.\nThey wanted the Eskimo to come themselves and to bring with them their\nboats and dogs, their sleds, their tools, their clothing, and the\nthings with which they hunted whales and seals and polar bears. In\nfact the white men could not pretend to show the world anything very\nremarkable, unless such clever people as the Eskimo brought their\nthings with them.\n\nThe men from the south urged and flattered and argued till a number\nof the Eskimo let themselves be persuaded. The Eskimo had no idea of\nthe trouble and disaster they were letting themselves in for, or they\nnever would have started. The beautiful fairy-tales told by the white\nmen inflamed their imaginations. They had always been very well\npleased with their own white, cold world of whales and seals and\nkayaks--those canoes in which they are as much at home as the fish in\nthe sea. But here was a chance to travel, and see marvels, and come\nhome and rouse the envy of those who had not dared. It was too good a\nchance to miss. They would return rich men, and have nothing to do but\nbrag about their adventures for the rest of their lives.\n\nPomiuk's father didn't care to go. But he was broad-minded. It was a\nbig sacrifice for him to part with his wife and son, for it is the\nteeth of the women that must chew the sealskins to make them pliable\nfor shoes and clothes: it is the fingers of women that do all the\nsewing. But Pomiuk's mother could show the helpless white women how to\nmake skin boots, and Pomiuk could teach the paleface men and children\nto use the dog whip as he used it every day. If the Eskimo brought\nback money enough to buy many things at the nearest trading-post, the\ntime spent on the long southward trek would not be wasted. The Eskimo,\nunlike the northern Indian, is a good business man, counting his\npuppies after they are born and his fox-skins before he spends them.\n\nSo the Eskimo sailed away from their own coast, with a gnawing\nhomesickness at heart, though their lips were silent about it: and\nwhen they got to Chicago the life was strange with hideous sight and\nsound, and altogether unbearable: and they longed to get away from it\nto the sea and the ice and behold again their northern lights, which\nto the Eskimo are the spirits of the dead at play.\n\nBut there they were cooped up behind a stockade, like creatures at the\nzoo, to amuse the crowd, and be giggled at and poked toward as if they\nwere some newly imported breed of monkey. An Eskimo likes as little as\nany other human to have fun made of him.\n\nWorst of all, they lived in the white man's houses, and found the four\nwalls instead of the \"wide and starry sky\" intolerable. A snow house\nhas its own kind of stuffiness--the smell of whale-blubber and\nseal-oil to Eskimo nostrils is a sweet perfume. To be cooped up in a\nbedroom, and expected to sleep on a mattress with pillows, is pure\ntorture.\n\nWhile they were on the exhibition stand, in the torrid heat, they had\nto wear those heavy clothes of furs and skins which the ladies said\nlooked so picturesque. They knew how the polar bear felt in his cage\naway from his ice-blocks. The food the white man ate with relish was\nsuch queer stuff. They longed for that delicious tidbit, the flipper\nof a seal. How good the entrails of a gull, or a fox's stomach would\nhave tasted! But the white men seemed to think that coffee, and\nwatermelon and corn on the cob, and ham and eggs, and the pies their\nEskimo mothers never used to make were good enough for them. Except\nfor the warm blood of the seal, the Eskimo ordinarily has no use for a\nhot drink.\n\nSeveral of the older Eskimo wilted away like flowers, and died. They\nwere buried and forgotten; and when the dogs died they were buried\nand forgotten too: there was about the same lack of ceremony in the\none case as in the other.\n\nBut little Pomiuk through thick and thin was the joyous life of the\nparty. They worked him hard, because he amused the visitors. The\nvisitors would throw nickels and dimes into the enclosure, and as the\ncoins flickered in the air Pomiuk would lash out at them with his\nthirty-five foot whip. If he nicked the coin it was his. Then he would\nlaugh--a very musical laugh, that could be heard a long way off. He\nwas a jolly, friendly little soul, and he wore a smile that hardly\ncame off even when he slept.\n\nBut there came a time when even happy little Pomiuk could not smile.\n\nOne day as he leapt high in the air, agile as a Russian dancer, to\nbring down one of those spinning coins with his whip, he fell on the\nboards, his hip striking a nail that stuck out.\n\nHis mother ran to pick him up. His face was twisted with agony.\n\nHe tried to stand, for her sake, but the effort was too much for him,\nand he sank back in her arms, weak as a baby. What was she to do? The\nmen who ran the exhibit had not kept their promises. Pomiuk was the\nchief bread-winner for them all. The coins he had nicked with his whip\nwere most of what they had to spend.\n\nWith this money they sent out and got a so-called \"surgeon\" who did\nnot know his business, but took the money just the same. He patched up\npoor \"Prince\" Pomiuk so that the boy was worse off than before.\n\nThe Fair closed: the Eskimo were stranded. If that had happened on a\nsea-beach at home, they would have known what to do: they would have\nlaughed--for they are merry people, like our southern negroes--and\nthey would have killed sea-birds with stones and made their way\nalongshore. But to be stranded in Chicago is another story. God knows\nhow a few survivors of the band found pity in men's hearts, and\nstraggled back to their home at Nachoak Bay.\n\nPomiuk's wound never healed--he could not run about, nor walk, nor\neven stand. His mother had to carry him everywhere. In Newfoundland\nthe fishermen and the sealers, desperately poor as they were, took\nthem into their bare cabins, and gave them bread and tea taken from\nthe mouths of their own hungry children.\n\nDr. Frederick Cook, creation's champion liar, did a golden deed for\nwhich the Recording Angel should give him a good mark in the Book of\nLife. He made room for several of the Eskimo on his journey to the\nLabrador coast: and fishing-schooners took the rest of the survivors.\n\nImagine how happy Pomiuk was, in spite of the pain in his hip, when he\nthought of crawling back into the mouth of his own snow house again,\nand rubbing noses with his father once more!\n\nBut when the mother and the child were put ashore at Nachoak Bay--they\nwere told that the father's spirit was at play with the rest among the\nnorthern lights. In this world they would not see him again. He had\nbeen murdered while his wife and child were in Chicago.\n\nIt was at that dark hour that Dr. Grenfell came into his life.\n\nGrenfell found the poor little boy, who had earned so much money, and\nbrought so much glory to his tribe, lying naked on the rocks beside\nthe hut. The mother had married again, and gone off \"over the\nmountains\" with the other children, leaving her crippled son to the\ntender mercy of the neighbors. It was indeed a \"come-down\" in the\nworld for a \"prince,\" whose father was a \"king\" among his fellows. It\nwas deemed best to send Pomiuk south on the little hospital steamer\nwith the Doctor. The Doctor could fix him up, if anybody could, and\nmoreover--this was the clinching argument--he was \"no good fishing.\"\nSo the next day found Pomiuk bound south, clasping his only worldly\npossession--a letter from a clergyman of Andover, Massachusetts. There\nwas a photograph with it. If you asked Pomiuk what he had there, he\nwould turn on that magic smile and show you the picture, and say: \"Me\nlove even him.\"\n\nThe minister who wrote the letter sent money for the care of the poor\n\"Prince.\" Next summer Grenfell saw him again, and the child laughed as\nhe said, \"Me Gabriel Pomiuk now.\" A Moravian missionary had given him\nthe name. They had made him as comfortable as possible at the Indian\nHarbor hospital: his own disposition made him happy. He had been moved\nfrom the hospital to a near-by home, and he hopped about on crutches\nas gayly as though he could run and play like the other children.\n\nBut malignant disease in his hip was sapping his strength, just as the\nants of Africa will eat away a leg of furniture till it is a hollow\nshell, and one day the whole table or chair falls crashing. His\nstrength was ebbing fast. Suddenly he became very ill: he was put to\nbed, with high fever, and was often unconscious. In a week he was\ndead. But that little generous, courageous life was the\nfoundation-stone of Dr. Grenfell's noble orphanage at St. Anthony, put\nup with the pennies of American children, where I had the pleasure of\ntelling dog-stories to smiling Eskimo boys in the summer of 1919.\nGabriel is the angel of comfort: and this small Gabriel has left\nbehind him the comfort of fatherless homes in Labrador for ages yet to\nbe.\n\nDr. Grenfell says that on the night of his passing the heavens were\naflame with the aurora. It was as though little Prince Pomiuk's father\nhad come to welcome him, and they were at play once more in the old\ngames they knew.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nCAPTURED BY INDIANS\n\n\nIn the lonely interior of Labrador in midsummer an old man sat on the\nrocky ground with a ring of Indians about him.\n\nHe was \"Labrador\" Cabot of Boston. Year after year he had gone to\nLabrador to visit the Indian tribes and study their ways. He could\ntalk the Indian language and understand what they said to him.\n\n\"What's the matter with your leg?\" asked the Chief, a big, strong\nfellow with keen eyes. \"Can't you walk? We must get started if we want\nto find the deer.\"\n\n\"I think I must have broken my leg when I slipped and fell on the\nrocks,\" answered Mr. Cabot.\n\nHe made an effort to rise and stand, but sank back helplessly.\n\nA curious, evil grin spread across the red man's face.\n\n\"You're sure you can't walk?\"\n\nMr. Cabot shook his head.\n\n\"What will you do?\"\n\n\"One thing is sure,\" said Mr. Cabot, \"I'll have to stay with you if\nI'm to get out of this place alive.\"\n\n\"We can't let you keep us back,\" answered the Indian. \"We might leave\nyou here with a fire and something to eat.\"\n\n\"And what would I do after the fire went out, and the food was gone?\"\n\nThe Indian shrugged his shoulders. \"I don't know.\"\n\n\"Can't some of your men make a litter of boughs and carry me?\" pleaded\nMr. Cabot.\n\n\"They could if they wanted to,\" answered the Indian, coldly. \"But I\ndon't think they want to.\"\n\n\"Haven't we always been friends?\" urged Mr. Cabot.\n\n\"I suppose so.\"\n\n\"Haven't I been here summer after summer, and helped you, and given\nmedicine to sick people?\"\n\nThe Indian picked up handfuls of sand and threw them on the fire.\n\"Yes, and you were always writing in a little book. Maybe when you\nwent away from here you told lies to the world about us. Who knows?\"\n\nMr. Cabot was puzzled. Was this the friendly, peaceful Chief he knew\nbefore he had the misfortune to fall and hurt his leg?\n\nIn spite of the pain he was suffering, he tried to talk calmly and not\nshow that he was afraid of being left behind. \"Why have you turned\nagainst me?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" the Indian chief answered.\n\n\"A little while ago you seemed like my friend. Now you are willing to\nleave me here where there are no fish, and the deer do not come, and\nthe mosquitoes are worse than any wild animals. What is the meaning of\nall this?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" the Indian answered, very slowly. \"You must pay us\nfor what a white man did to us.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Listen, and you shall hear.\n\n\"Last year, we had fox furs--very many and very fine. We had risked\nour lives: we had starved and frozen to get them. All over Ungava we\nhad tracked and trapped in the wilderness.\n\n\"Then--see what happened. A trader came among us. He had much money.\nIt was not like any money we had seen before, but he said it was a new\nkind of money. And he would give us more of it for our furs than any\nman had given us before.\n\n\"He gave us much to drink. We had a feast, and dancing. The trader\ngave handsome presents to our wives. Beads and bright cloth for\ndresses. He gave us tobacco, and whiskey.\n\n\"When we did not know what we were doing, he bought our furs. He\nbought them all. He gave us this new, strange money and much of it.\nThen he went away. We fired guns in the air to honor him. We shook\nhands with him. We thought he was our friend. We promised to be\nfriends with him as long as sun and moon endured.\n\n\"He smiled, and waved, and went away--and we, we had nothing of him\nbut the money. It was paper, all of it, very bright and new and\ngreen, with printed marks on it we could not read.\n\n\"Some shook their heads when he had gone, and said, 'No, no, brothers.\nWe should not have taken this green paper and given him those furs.'\n\n\"But others said, 'Look what he has paid us! We are all rich men. The\nprice is better than we ever had before!'\n\n\"The old, wise men said, 'How do you know that it is more, when you do\nnot know how much it is?'\n\n\"So, night and day, there was talking to and fro--along the trail by\nday, around the camp-fire when the sun had set.\n\n\"It soon came time for us to send men down to Rigolet, on Hamilton\nInlet, there to buy at the Hudson's Bay store the things that we would\nneed in the winter time.\n\n\"We sent twelve of the strong young men in their canoes to get the\nthings and bring them home to our tents. We were happy when we thought\nof all the guns and tobacco, all the flour and the fine clothes so\nmuch money would buy.\n\n\"They went: and they were gone many days, while we waited in one\nfixed place for them, and in our minds spent the money many times\nover.\"\n\nThen the Indian paused. He was squatting on his haunches, and puffing\nat his pipe. Mr. Cabot's leg was giving him much pain, but he was too\nproud to ask the Indian to do anything for him.\n\nThe Indian's face grew very stern as he remembered. His tone became as\nhard as the expression of his face. He looked at Mr. Cabot and\nclenched his fist. \"When our men came to the storekeeper, they walked\nall about the store. 'I'll take that fine dress,' said one. 'Give me\nthat shotgun,' said another. 'I will have this bag of tobacco,' said a\nthird. Some took flour, and some chose bright ornaments for their\nwives, and others took candy, and one man got a talking-machine. Some\nchose the best clothes in the store. They also took much food of every\nkind, and ammunition for the guns.\n\n\"They made great piles of the things on the floor, to take them to the\ncanoes.\n\n\"Then they brought out their money to pay for all these things.\n\n\"'What is that stuff?' said the storekeeper.\n\n\"'That? It is our money. It is what a trader paid us for our furs.'\n\n\"'What was his name?'\n\n\"'That we do not know. We did not ask. We do not care who buys from\nus; all we care is that he buys. One man's money is as good as\nanother's.'\n\n\"Then the storekeeper laughed in their faces. And he said: 'You have\nbeen fooled. You have been fooled as easily as little children. Do you\nknow what this \"money\" is that you have given me?'\n\n\"'No,' they said.\n\n\"'It is not money at all,' he told them. 'It is nothing but labels\nfrom beer bottles. You cannot have those things you have piled up on\nthe floor. I will take them back and keep them here until you bring me\nreal money for them.'\n\n\"Then they said to him, 'But it is all we have. We cannot go back to\nour people with nothing.'\n\n\"He said: 'I cannot help that. It is no fault of mine.'\n\n\"They wanted to fight--but it would do no good to kill the agent or\ndrive him away. There would be no one from whom to get things another\nyear.\n\n\"'You ought to have brought your furs to me. I would have given you\nreal money for them,' said the agent.\n\n\"They went away very sorrowful. After many days they came back to us\nagain. We were very glad when we saw them coming--but we wondered that\ntheir canoes were not piled high with the things we had told them to\nbuy.\n\n\"When we heard their story we were very sorrowful. We talked about it\na great deal. We said, 'What shall we do?'\n\n\"Then we made up our minds. This is what we decided. We said: 'The\nnext white man that comes among us we shall hold. We shall not let him\ngo until he pays to us a sum of money, seven hundred dollars, equal to\nthat which we have lost. Since he is a white man he or his friends\nmust make up to us that which we have lost at the hands of a white\nman.'\n\n\"So now you see--you are the man. And it is you that must pay back to\nus the money.\"\n\n\"But I haven't seven hundred dollars.\"\n\n\"Then you must promise that you will pay it, or get your friends to\npay it. These many years you have come here among us. We will trust\nyou for that. It is much that we should trust you--when it is one of\nyour own people who brought such suffering and loss upon us.\"\n\n\"But this is an outrage!\" said Mr. Cabot. \"I never did anything to you\nbut good. You know that.\"\n\n\"Yes, we know that,\" said the Indian, gravely. \"But we shall leave you\nhere unless you pay. You cannot find your way out alone--even if you\ncould stand and walk upon your broken leg. We shall not carry you from\nhere unless you pay the money. Is that not so?\"\n\nHe turned to the others, who had not said one word all this while:\nthey had been merely looking on and listening.\n\n\"Yes,\" they said. \"He has spoken for us all. As he has said, we shall\ndo. You shall be left here, if you do not pay.\"\n\n\"The Great Spirit has given you into our hands,\" the Chief declared.\n\"When you came to us this summer again, we said among ourselves that\nhe had sent you. We did not know that he would cause you to break your\nleg. We were going to keep you even if this had not happened. Now the\nGreat Spirit has caused this hurt to happen to you. We see, by this,\nthat we were not mistaken. He sent you to us as surely as he sends the\nfish or the deer when we have need of food. It is for you to choose,\nif you will pay, and go on with us to the coast--or refuse to pay and\nbe left here in the wilderness to die.\"\n\nSo Cabot had to sign a promise to pay them the $700 for a great rascal\nwhose name neither he nor those Indians will ever know.\n\nThey made a stretcher and put him on it, and carried him with them out\nto the coast.\n\nIf they had not done so--his white bones would now be bleaching beside\nthe cold embers of a camp-fire in the desolate interior of Labrador.\n\nDo you blame those Indians for wanting to \"take it out\" of the first\nmember they met, of a race that bred such a rogue as the man who\ncheated them?\n\nDr. Grenfell tells us that for about two hundred years the Eskimo of\nthe interior and the Indians of the coast were at war with one\nanother. There was a battle, long, long ago, in which Indians killed a\nthousand Eskimo.\n\nBut nowadays when the Eskimo and Indians come together they have no\nquarrel.\n\nThere was such a meeting at Nain in 1910. It was the first time the\nEskimo had ever seen Indians in that tiny fishing-village, and they\n\"ran about in circles\" in their excitement.\n\nIt was on a Sunday afternoon when the Indians appeared. They had come\ndown a stream from the interior, and when they rounded the bend in\ntheir boats--of a kind that was strange to the Eskimo--the latter set\nup a cackle like that of a barnyard when a hawk appears.\n\nThe Indians, with their bundles on their shoulders, filed ashore, made\ntheir way to a hut the kindly Moravian missionary let them use, and\nsat in muddy, weary silence round the walls.\n\nThe Eskimo crowded into the doorway, their tongues hanging out,\nstaring at these queer folk as if they had dropped from the moon.\n\nBut other Eskimo, kind-hearted and hospitable, were moved to show the\nstrangers what shore life was like.\n\nThey got busy at the stove, boiled water, and presently handed about\nlarge cups of tea, with sugar and biscuit.\n\nThe Indians devoured the refreshments thankfully, for they were very\nhungry. The Northern Indians lead lives that are often sharpened with\nhunger for long periods together. You can see it in their lank frames\nand their gaunt faces. The southern Indians, nearer the flesh-pots,\nwith kindly priests at work among them, look roly-poly, chubby and\ncontent.\n\nIt was a very silent party. The Indians who had been so bold as to\ncome this far to the sea were probably homesick for the flat stones,\nthe dwarf birches, the far-lying ponds and cold swirling streams, the\nhordes of mosquitoes and the caribou of their lone spaces at Indian\nHouse Lake. The cluster of houses at Nain looked to them as New York\nwould seem to one who had always dwelt in the heart of the Maine\nwoods.\n\nBy morning, after a sound sleep on the floor, they were eager to begin\ntrading.\n\nA southern Indian translated.\n\nThey had brought deerskins chiefly. There are few valuable furs in\ntheir part of Labrador, but they did their best to make a brave\nshowing with the few they were able to find.\n\nYou can imagine their people at home at Indian House Lake saying\nbefore the start of the expedition: \"Oh, if we only had some beaver or\nmarten skins! Wouldn't it be nice, now, if we could get a silver or a\ncross fox? Those people down there at the coast know such a lot, and\nare so rich, and so particular! Nothing but the very best we have will\ndo.\"\n\nThey held up a bearskin with great pride. They had a wolverine,--the\nonly sort of fur on which snow will not freeze,--several wolf-skins,\nand moccasins, embroidered. The translator would point to what they\nwanted on the shelves. Then they would take the object in their hands\nand weigh it very carefully, thinking of all those portages on the\nhomeward trail--probably twenty at least--over which every ounce must\nbe carried on a man's shoulders.\n\nThey bought lots of tea--one man getting as much as sixteen pounds.\nThey wanted gay prints. Other things to which they took a fancy were\ntobacco, cartridges, fish-hooks, matches, needles, and pearl buttons.\nFirst they handed over the skins, and received money in return: then\nthey spent the money. Mouth-organs were much in demand, and they\nlooked longingly at an accordeon and tried to play on it and were\nenchanted with the squawks that came out: but they were not rich\nenough to buy it. One boy bought a clay pipe, and spent all his time\nlicking it. They were not allowed to smoke in the store, but they spat\nwherever they pleased.\n\nDoctor and Mrs. Grenfell are out on the war-path against this\ndisgusting custom, and they have had very hard work to persuade even\nthe \"liveyeres\" that there is danger concealed in germs that cannot be\nseen, when saliva dries and the wind blows it about. In all this\nglorious fresh air it is mournful to think of the many who die of\nconsumption, pneumonia and all sorts of lung-trouble, because of\nstifling houses and unclean habits.\n\nThe Indians at first were extremely shy. Then they waxed merry, and as\nthey bought they laughed and chatted. In the party were three women.\nOne of them was young and good-looking, and she was showered with\npresents--kettles, cups and saucers, perfumed soap and cologne! A\nyoung man bought for her anything she wanted--and every time he made a\npurchase for the fair one the others laughed aloud. And each time he\nbestowed a gift, one of the other women turned to her husband and made\nhim buy the same thing for her. Human nature is the same on the\nLabrador as on Coney Island.\n\nIt took two days for them to do their buying, and wrap up their\npurchases, and say farewell.\n\nBy this time Indians and Eskimo were sworn friends.\n\nThe Eskimo crowded to the end of the little pier, and knelt down to\nreach over and grasp the hands of the parting guests. There were\nshouts of \"Yomai!\" from the Indians, and various cries in answer from\nthe Eskimo. Then, crouching on their heels, the Indians trimmed their\nsails to the breeze and were borne swiftly round the point to be seen\nno more.\n\nHow different is all this from the days of old, when the Eskimo were\ncalled \"the most savage people in the world!\"\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nALONE ON THE ICE\n\n\nIn April, 1908, Dr. Grenfell had the closest call of his life. Of\ncourse in April the ice and snow are still deep over the bays and\nforelands of Labrador and northern Newfoundland. There is not the\nslightest sign that spring with its flowers and mosquitoes is coming.\nAll travel save by dog-team is at a standstill, and only a\nlife-and-death message--such as Dr. Grenfell is constantly getting--is\na reason for facing the howling winds and the driving snows of the\nblizzards that the bravest seamen and the mightiest hunters have good\nreason to fear.\n\nOn Easter Sunday morning at his St. Anthony home Dr. Grenfell was\nwalking back from the little church to his house after the morning\nservice, thinking of the sermon, and of his mother in England.\n\nSuddenly a boy came running after him from the hospital near by.\n\n\"Oh, Doctor, Doctor!\"\n\nThe Doctor turned in his deep, floundering steps to see who it was\nthat called him.\n\n\"Doctor,\" panted the small messenger, \"I came to the hospital to fetch\nye. There's a man with dogs, from sixty mile away down to the south,\nand he says they must have a doctor come to 'em, right off, or the\nboy'll die.\"\n\nThe Doctor put his kind hand on the little fellow's shoulder. \"Who is\nit that is sick?\"\n\n\"I dunno, Doctor, but he's wonderful sick. He'll die unless ye come.\"\n\nThe Doctor thought a moment--then he remembered. It was a young man on\nwhom he had operated two weeks before, for a bone disease that was\neating away his thigh.\n\nThose who had tried to help him had closed up the wound--the worst\nthing to do. The poison had collected, and probably the leg would have\nto be taken off.\n\nThe Doctor knew that every minute counted. He went to his kennels in\nthe snow and picked out his sturdiest dog-team. They whined and pawed\nand jumped up and down, eager to be chosen. The real \"husky\" hates to\nloaf, except when he has come in from a long, hard run late at night\nand has had his meal of fish. He wants to be at work all the time, and\nwhen the sled is loaded the dogs must be tied up tight or they will\ndart away at breakneck speed and perhaps upset everything. This sleigh\nwas heavy-laden with instruments, drugs and dressings. A second team\nwas to follow, with the messengers.\n\nDr. Grenfell loved, as with a personal affection, every one of the\nfive beasts that were taking him on this long haul to save a boy's\nlife.\n\nFirst came \"Brin,\" by common consent the surest leader anywhere on the\ncoast. The strongest dog of the team--big and affectionate and\nplayful--was \"Doc.\" A black and white dog whose muscles were like\nsmall wire ropes, was \"Spy,\" and \"Moody,\" now in his third year, was a\nblack-and-tan named for Dr. Grenfell's friend Will Moody, son of the\nevangelist. \"Moody\" had the reputation of never looking behind him: he\nwas eager to go on to the bitter end.\n\nThe youngest dog of the team, named \"Watch,\" had beautiful soft eyes,\na Gordon setter coat, and long legs capable of carrying him over the\nfrozen crust at a tremendous rate of speed. Then there was \"Sue,\" the\nmost wolf-like of the lot--black as jet, her pointed ears the standing\nquestion-marks for further orders. \"Jerry\" was a perfect lady, quick\non her feet as a dancer, and so fond of play and so demonstrative that\nshe often tipped the Doctor over when he had a boxing-bout with her,\nand sent him sprawling on his back in the snow.\n\n\"Jack,\" a black dog with the looks and the ways of a retriever, had\n\"Moody's\" good habit of going straight on without turning to see who\nfollowed, and he was put in the position of trust nearest the sledge.\nHe liked to run with his nose close to the ground, and nothing that\nthe trail or the snow-crust could tell any wise \"husky\" dog was a\nsecret to the busy nose of this gentle-natured fellow.\n\nDo you wonder that Dr. Grenfell was proud and fond of these\nfour-legged helpers, and that he gave them the tender care one bestows\non children? It would have grieved him to the heart to think of any\naccident happening to any of them. He looked on them just as a Captain\nScott or a Sir Ernest Shackleton regarded his mates on a Polar\nexpedition. They were his friends and helpers. Some of them had stood\nby him in many a hard tussle with the cold and the stinging hail, with\nthe rotten ice threatening to let them down into the river or the sea.\nWith their bushy tails thrown over them like fur wraps, they had slept\nin the snow-drift round his camp-fires. They seemed to him like human\nbeings, his little brothers. As he is fond of saying, \"Dogs are much\nnicer than a Ford car. A Ford car can't come and kiss you good-night.\"\n\nSince it was late April, and the melting ice might mean a soaking any\nmoment, Grenfell carried a spare outfit--a change of clothes, an\noilskin suit, snowshoes, an axe, a rifle, a compass. He knew there was\nno place to stop and get any of these things if he should lose them.\nThe most daring skipper of a boat or driver of a sled along the coast,\nthe Doctor takes no chances when it comes to his equipment.\n\nThough the messengers had broken the trail on the up journey, they\npreferred to fall in behind the Doctor on the down trip. They knew\nthat he would want to travel like the wind. They felt a certain\nsecurity and comfort in letting him take the lead. It relieved them\nof a lot of responsibility for setting the course. There are always\npeople traveling in Grenfell's wake who are willing to let him make\nthe hard choices and take the daring chances. But a good reason for\nGrenfell's going first this time was that his picked team of young,\nstrong, spry dogs were hustlers, whom it would be impossible to hold\nback, and the other dogs were heavier and slower.\n\nAlthough Grenfell in the twenty miles before nightfall twice called a\nhalt, the slower team behind him was unable to catch up. He reached a\nsmall hamlet and had given his eager dogs their supper of two fish\napiece, and was gathering the people together for prayers when the\nsecond team overtook him.\n\nIn the night the weather changed. The wind began to blow from the\nnortheast; a fog set in, with rain. The snow became mushy, to make\nhard going, and out in the bay the sea was ugly, with the water\nheaving the ice-pans about. The plan for the coming day was to make a\nrun of forty miles, the first ten miles a short cut across a bay, over\nthe salt-water ice.\n\nGrenfell did not want to get too far from his convoy, and so he let\nthe second team start on ahead, with a lead of two hours.\n\nHe told them just where to call a halt and wait for him. There was a\nlog hut, or \"tilt,\" at the half-way point. Since there was no one\nliving on that part of the very lonely coast-line, this hut was a\nrefuge fitted out with anything that a shipwrecked mariner or a\nbenighted traveler by land might need--dry clothes, food, and\nmedicines.\n\n\"You go to the hut and wait there till I come,\" were the Doctor's\nfinal orders.\n\nThe rain began to fall, and when Grenfell got under way it was such\ntreacherous going that he couldn't cut straight across the bay as he\nwished, but had to keep closer to the land. The sea had risen in its\nwrath and thrown the pans of ice about, so that there were wide spaces\nbetween, and half a mile out from the shore it was clear water.\n\nBut far out from the shore there was an island, and by a daring series\nof jumps across the cracks,--the dogs as buoyant as their master,\nhauling the sled as though it were a load of feathers,--Grenfell\nreached the island, and made the dogs rest--a hard thing to do--while\nhe looked about him to see where the next lap of the journey would\ntake him and them.\n\nIt was four miles, he knew, to a rocky headland over yonder, if he\nventured out on that uncertain field of ice. That would save several\nmiles over the more prudent course alongshore.\n\nAs far as he could see, the ice looked as though it would hold up the\nsled. It was rough--but a hardened voyager with a dog-team is\naccustomed to a hummocky road. It looked as if the sea had torn it up,\nas men tear up the paving blocks in a city street, and then thrown the\nbits together to make a hard, cohesive mass that men and dogs could\nsurely trust. The strong wind seemed to have packed it in and the\nintense cold of the night, he supposed, had frozen it solid.\n\nThe wind died down, and Grenfell found that he was deep in what is\nknown as \"sish\"--soft ice as mushy as the name sounds. He compares it\nto oatmeal, and it must have been many feet deep. There was a thin\ncoating of new ice on top of it, through which the whip-handle easily\npierced.\n\nThe \"sish\" ice is composed of the small fragments chipped off the\nfloes after the pounding and grinding between the millstones of the\ngreat winds and the heavy seas. The changing breeze now blew from\noffshore, and instead of packing the ice together it was driving it\napart. The packed \"slob\" was \"running abroad,\" as the fisher-folk say.\nThe ice-pans were so small that there was hardly one as large as a\ntable-top.\n\nBy this time the team had come to a halt on one of these tiny pans,\nand with the other pans floating about as the entire sheet was\nbreaking up the peril was evident. It was not possible to go back--the\nway was cut off by the widening spaces between the pans. Only about a\nquarter of a mile was left between their pan and the shore.\n\nGrenfell threw off his oilskins, knelt by the side of the komatik, and\nordered the dogs to make for the shore.\n\nIt takes a great deal to \"rattle\" a husky. But the dogs, after about\ntwenty yards of half-wading, half-swimming, were thoroughly\nfrightened. They stopped, and the sled sank into the ice. With the\nsled in the freezing water, it was necessary for the dogs to pull\nhard, and now they too began to sink.\n\nNot long before, the father of the boy to whom the Doctor was going\nwas drowned by being tangled in the dog's traces in just such a place\nas this. To avoid that danger, Grenfell got out his knife, and cut the\ntraces in the water.\n\nBut he still kept hold of the leader's trace, which he wound about his\nwrist.\n\nIn the water there was not a piece of ice to be seen in which dogs or\ndriver could put their trust. The dogs were as eager as their master\nto find something to cling to. Care-free and jolly as they had been\nhitherto, they knew as well as he that death by drowning stared their\nlittle caravan in the face.\n\nAbout twenty-five yards away there was a big lump of snow, such as\nchildren put up when they mean to make a snow-man. The leading dog,\n\"Brin,\" as he wallowed about managed to reach it, at the end of his\nlong trace of about sixty feet. \"Brin\" had black marks on his face,\nwhich made it look as though he were laughing all the time, like one\nwho finds this world a grand, good joke. When he clambered out on the\nhummock he shook his coat and turned round and gazed calmly at his\nmaster.\n\n\"He seemed to be grinning at me,\" says the Doctor.\n\nBut it was no laughing matter for the other dogs, floundering about.\n\nGrenfell hauled himself along toward \"Brin\" by means of the trace\nstill attached to his wrist. But suddenly \"Brin\" stepped out of his\nharness, and then the Doctor found himself sprawling and struggling in\nthe water, with no means of getting to the place where \"Brin\" had\nfound temporary safety.\n\nGrenfell thought this time it was all over. He had looked Death in the\neyes before, but Death had decided to go by. This time, it did not\nseem possible to escape. He did not feel any great alarm--in fact, he\nbecame drowsy, and thought how easy it would be just to fall asleep\nand forget everything, as the icy water chilled and numbed his senses.\nHe was like the weary traveler who drops into the snow-bank, on whom\nthe torpor steals by slow degrees.\n\nSuddenly Grenfell caught sight of a big dog that had gone through the\nice and was pulling the trace after him, in a desperate effort to\nreach the hummock on which \"Brin\" was sitting. Grenfell grabbed the\ntrace, and hauled himself along after the animal. He calls this \"using\nthe dog as a bow anchor.\"\n\nBut the other dogs were following this poor beast's example, and they\ncrowded and jostled the Doctor so that it was hard for him to hold on.\nOne of them, in fact, got on his shoulder, very much as a drowning man\nin his desperation will throw his arms round the neck of someone who\ntries to rescue him, and drag him under. This pushed Grenfell still\ndeeper into the ice, and it was a question whether his energy would\nhold out in that frigid water.\n\nAs they say on the football field, he now had only three yards to\ngain, and by a mighty effort he drew himself past his living anchor\nand climbed up on the piece of slob ice. He rested a moment to draw\nbreath, and then began to haul his beloved dogs one after another up\nto a place beside him. They swam and panted through the lane in the\nice that he had broken, and seemed to understand perfectly that their\nmaster was trying to save them, even though they had lost their heads\nand had almost drowned him.\n\nIt would not do for them all to remain on that small, treacherous lump\nof ice. It might break in two at any moment with the combined weight\nof dogs and driver. It was slowly drifting with the tidal current out\nto the open sea, where all hope would be lost. Grenfell knew that if\nhe were to save his team and himself--they were always first in his\nthoughts--he must act instantly.\n\nHe stood up to survey the scene. About twenty yards away there was a\ngood-sized pan floating about in the \"sish\" like a raft, such as that\non which Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer floated down the Mississippi. To\nreach that raft would at any rate be to postpone death for a little\nwhile. But it was taking too much of a risk, to try to get from the\nlittle cake to the big one without a life line. How was he to make\nsuch a line, and then how was he to get it across the wide space\nbetween?\n\nFortunately when the Doctor cut the dogs away from the sled he had not\nlost his knife: he had tied it to the back of one of the dogs. There\nit was still. It was the work of a joyful moment to untie it, and he\nfell to work cutting from the dogs' harness the sealskin traces that\nremained and stringing those together to make two long lines. His\noveralls, coat, hat and gloves were gone, but he still had his\nsealskin hip-boots. He took these off, shook them free from ice and\nwater, and tied them on the backs of \"Brin\" and another dog. Then he\nfastened the lines to the two animals, tying the near ends round his\nwrists.\n\n\"Hist!\" he shouted--the signal to go on: but the dogs refused to\nbudge. They were setting their own wits against their master's. Such\ndogs believe they know their business. They saw no proper place to go\nto. Why should they dash into the icy water for the sake of reaching\nanother pan not much bigger than their own? If it were land--that\nwould be another story. So they must have reasoned, in their doggish\nfashion. They had been devoted and obedient--but there were limits\neven to their faith.\n\nGrenfell three times threw the dogs off the Pan. Each time they\nstruggled back upon it: and their master could not blame them.\n\n\"This is really the end!\" Grenfell told himself. \"We never shall get\nout of this!\"\n\nJust as a boy sometimes comes up to the scratch where a man has\nfailed, a small dog may play the hero when a big one quits. That was\nthe case here. The smallest dog of the lot, \"Jack,\" came to the\nrescue. He was so small that he was not taken very seriously for his\nhauling power--but when it came to hunting, he was there with all four\npaws, and he was used as retriever when Dr. Grenfell went out with a\ngun. Here was a chance for him to show the stuff that was in his\nblack, rough hide.\n\n\"Jack!\" said the Doctor. \"Hist! Hist!\" And he pointed to the other\npan, and threw a piece of ice in that direction.\n\n\"Jack\" understood and instantly obeyed. In little more time than it\ntakes to tell of it, his furry paws had taken his small body through\nand over the rotten mush. Since he was the lightest of the lot, he\nscarcely sank below the surface as he went. \"His frame was little but\nhis soul was large.\"\n\nWhen he got there he turned about, wagging his tail as a flag-signal,\nhis tongue lolling out, his whole attitude seeming to say, \"Well,\naren't you pleased with me?\"\n\n\"Lie down!\" shouted Grenfell, and the dog at once obeyed--\"a little\nblack fuzz ball on the white setting.\"\n\nThat was an object lesson to \"Brin\" and the other dog. The next time\nhe threw them off they made directly for the other pan. It was a hard\nfight to get there, but they must have said to themselves: \"What dog\nhas done, dog can do. If that little fellow can turn the trick, so can\nwe.\" So they plashed and floundered through, their heads barely above\nthe waves, and the salt spray in their eyes, till they had carried the\nlines across. The traces had been knotted securely under their\nbellies, so they could not come off when the Doctor pulled with the\nweight of his body against the lines.\n\nHe took as much of a run as he could get in the few feet from side to\nside of the pan, and dived headlong into the \"slob.\" It was a long,\nhard pull, but the lines held, and the dogs too, so that presently he\nfound himself scrambling up beside them on the other pan where they\nwere waiting with little \"Jack.\"\n\nTo his crushing disappointment, Dr. Grenfell found that the place\nwhere he now clung was if anything worse than the spot he had left. By\nthis time all the other dogs but one poor fellow had made the\ndistance, and were beside him, their eyes asking the piteous questions\ntheir tongues could not utter.\n\n\"What does this mean, master? What are you going to do with us now?\nWhich is the way home? Why don't we start? How soon are we going to\nhave our suppers?\"\n\nThe pan was sinking: it could not hold them all. They must get off it\nat the earliest possible moment. This pan was nearer the shore than\nthe one they had left, but all the time an offshore wind was shoving\nthe entire ice-pack steadily out toward the open sea, so that, like\nthe frog in the well, for every foot they gained they were losing two\nor three. All this time, Grenfell was longing for a chance to swim\nashore--and the dogs would have followed him in that. Grenfell doesn't\nin the least mind a bath in icy waters. I remember one nipping day on\nthe _Strathcona_ I came out on deck to find that he had just been\ntaking his bath in the open by emptying the bucket over himself in\nthe biting wind. \"You could have had one too,\" he said, \"but I've just\nlost the bucket overboard.\" I wonder that he didn't dive for it, as he\ndived for the cricket-ball on that earlier occasion.\n\nIt was impossible to swim ashore from the pan--because there was that\nslushy \"sish\" filling all the gaps. The tiny table-top on which they\nwere now crowded together measured about ten by twelve feet. It was\nnot even solid ice--it was more like a great snowball loosely packed\nby the cold wind--and at any moment under the extra strain of the\nweight of men and dogs it might break up and let them all down into a\nwatery grave. As the wind became more brisk and the sea grew rougher,\nthe pan rocked about and bent and swayed, and the risk of its parting\nin the middle increased.\n\nThe pan headed toward a rocky point, where heavy surf was breaking:\nand a hope sprang up in Grenfell's heart that he might get near enough\nto swim ashore after all. But then the worst possible thing happened,\nshort of an utter break-up. The pan hit a rock, and a large piece of\nit broke off. Then the rest of it swung round and the wind took hold\nof it, like a fiend alive, and started to push it steadily out to sea\nagain.\n\nThe sea has been compared to a cat, which in calm weather purrs at\nyour feet and in a storm will reveal its true nature and crack your\nbones and eat you. Now it was cruelly teasing Grenfell and his\nfour-footed comrades as a cat tortures a mouse before it kills. The\nlast hope seemed to have gone--unless someone by a miracle should pass\nalong the shore and spy that tiny object on the horizon, and summon\nothers to help him launch a boat to the rescue.\n\nBut no one lives on the shore of that huge bay. The other sled by now\nwas so far ahead that it would be a long time before those with it\ncould come back to make a search, even after they felt sufficiently\nalarmed to do so.\n\nCold and keen and marrow-searching, the brutal west wind--the worst of\nall in the spring of the year--moaned and whistled over the ice to the\nbenumbed Doctor, and an additional exasperation was the fact that the\nkomatik, from which he had been compelled to cut the dogs loose, had\nbobbed up to the surface again, and could now be seen not fifty yards\naway, but just as un-get-atable as if it were a mile off. There it\nstood to tantalize him, in the slush, and he knew that it had aboard\neverything he now wanted so acutely. There were dry clothes, wood and\nmatches to make a signal fire, food and even a thermos bottle with hot\ntea!\n\nThe slender hope of being seen from the shore diminished as Grenfell\nthought of how inconspicuous he was, nearly naked, his dogs about him.\nCrusoe alone on his isle of solid ground was a king of space by\ncomparison. Should he escape it would be the first time that a man\nadrift on the offshore ice had come ashore to tell the tale. Nearly\nanybody gazing seaward--even if anybody saw--would say: \"Oh, that's\njust a piece of kelp or a bush!\" The wiseacres refuse to be fooled by\nsuch sights. They are like the Arabs of the desert, who refuse to get\nexcited over a mirage.\n\nThat he might not freeze to death before he drowned, Grenfell cut off\nthose long top boots down to their moccasin feet, split the legs, and\nmanaged to tie them together into a makeshift for a jacket which at\nleast protected his back from the fiercest biting of the wind.\n\nPresently as Grenfell watched the widening interval between himself\nand the island he had left so comfortably a few hours before, he saw\nthe komatik with its load up-end and vanish through the ice, as though\nit grew tired of waiting for him to make a try for it. The\ndisappearance was one more sign of the general break-up of the ice on\nall sides of him, as his frail ice-pan neared the wide-open mouth of\nthe bay. The white plain over which he had trudged from the island\nwith the dogs had almost disappeared. The island was evidently\nsurrounded on all sides by water and \"sish,\" so that even if he could\nget back to it he would be cut off from the shore.\n\nThere were eight dogs on the pan. Slowly, slowly he was making up his\nmind to the hardest of all decisions. It was a choice between his own\nlife and the lives of some of the animals he loved so well.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nA FIGHT WITH THE SEA\n\n\nNo boat could come out from the shore through the sort of sea that was\nnow running. The great pans of ice, rising and falling on the waves,\nwere crashing and charging into the cliffs alongshore \"like medieval\nbattering-rams,\" and the white spray dashed high against the rocks\nwith a sullen roar as of artillery. It would be necessary to skin some\nof the dogs and use their pelts for blankets, in order to escape\nfreezing in the terrible cold of the oncoming night. Imagine how hard\nit was for their master to choose which should be slain!\n\nHe had the sealskin traces wound about his waist, to keep the hungry\nanimals from devouring them. He now undid them, and made a hangman's\nnoose. This he slipped over the head of one of the dogs. Then he threw\nthe animal on his back, put his foot on his neck, and stabbed him to\nthe heart. The struggling creature bit his master--a deep gash--in\nthe leg, but Grenfell kept the knife in the dog till the poor beast\nlay still, that the blood might not spurt out and freeze on the skin.\nTwo more animals were put to death in the same fashion, and one of\nthem bit him again in the death throes. So violent was the battle that\nthe Doctor fully expected the pan to break up as they fought, and let\nthem all into the sea.\n\nWith the strange indifference that \"huskies\" generally show to the\nfate of their fellows, the other dogs were licking their coats and\ntrying to dry themselves. The Doctor had done his best to stifle the\ncries of the slain animals, for these would have roused them to a\nfrenzy and led them to fall upon the under dog, and upon one another\nas well, and a general fight at such close quarters would have been\ndisastrous.\n\nHe found himself envying the dead dogs, and wondering whether, when\nthey came to the open sea, it would not be better to use his knife on\nhimself than to die, inch by agonizing inch, in the freezing water.\n\nWhen the dogs were skinned, and the harness had been used to lash the\nskins together, it was nearly dark, and they were fully ten miles out\nat sea.\n\nTo the north he spied a solitary light, twinkling from the village he\nhad left in the morning. He thought of the fishermen sitting down to\ntheir tea: and he knew they would not think of him as in danger, for\nhe had told them he would not be back for three days. And all the\n\"liveyeres\" think of Grenfell as a man who knows the coast so well,\nand the ways of getting about, that he is far more likely to give help\nthan to ask it of them.\n\nHe had unraveled a small piece of rope, and soaked this in fat from\nthe entrails of a dog, thinking he might make a torch of it. But his\nmatch-box, which he wore on a chain, had leaked. Fishermen will tell\nyou how hard it is to find a match-box that will not let in water: I\nprize one I have carried a great many years, which seems to be\nwaterproof. I wish Grenfell had had it then. The matches were a pulp.\nNevertheless Grenfell kept them, thinking that they might be dried and\nusable by morning. Every now and then, by a sort of mechanical\ninstinct, the Doctor would rise to his full height and wave his hands\ntoward the land, in the forlorn hope of being seen through a powerful\nglass.\n\nThere was nothing but his hands to wave. He dared not let his shirt\nfly as a flag: it would not do to take it off too long at any time,\nbecause of the piercing cold.\n\nNor would it be safe to pile up snow from the pan to break the force\nof the wind, for the pan might give way if it were thinned out\nanywhere. So he placed the dog-skins in a pile, sat on them, and\nchanged his clothes, wringing them out, and flapping them in the wind,\nthen putting them by turns against his body. The exercise at least\npostponed the coming of the last hour of all.\n\nThe moccasins let the water through so easily that it was impossible\nfor him to dry his feet. Then he remembered a trick of the Lapps, who\nhad been brought over to care for the reindeer which Grenfell was\nstriving to introduce at St. Anthony in place of the dogs. The Lapps\nhave a way of tying grass in pads about their feet. On the harness of\nthe dogs there was flannel, to make it soft where it rubbed against\nthe flanks. The Doctor cut off the flannel, raveled out the rest of\nthe rope, stuffed his shoes with the fragments of rope, and wound the\nflannel about his legs like puttees. If the situation were not so\nserious, he might have laughed at the outfit in which he faced the\nnight wind, for the Oxford University running trunks and the Richmond\nFootball Club red, yellow and black stockings were garments he had\nworn twenty years before and had recently found in a box of old\nclothes.\n\nWhat was left over of the rope was stuffed inside the flannel shirt\nand the trunks, which with the stockings and sweater vest made up the\nDoctor's complete costume. Then he made \"Doc,\" his biggest dog, lie\ndown, so that he might curl up beside him and use him as a kind of\nfireless stove. He wrapped the three skins round his body,\nand--strange to say--fell asleep. One hand kept warm against \"Doc's\"\nhide, but the other froze,--since the Doctor had lost his gloves. Even\nso, Edward Whymper camping out on the volcano Cotopaxi in Ecuador\nfound his tent too hot on the side next the volcano and too cold on\nthe other side.\n\nGrenfell awoke, his teeth chattering and his body shivering. He\nthought for an instant he was looking at the sunrise, but it was the\nmoon, and he guessed it must be about half an hour after midnight.\n\"Doc\" didn't at all relish having his slumber disturbed. He was warm\nand comfortable, and he growled his remonstrance, deep down in his\nthroat, till he discovered that it was his master and not another dog\nagainst his cushioned ribs.\n\nFor a great mercy, the wind died down, and stopped pushing the ice-pan\nout into the dreaded North Atlantic. Just out yonder, not sixty feet\naway, was a cake of ice much bigger than his own. It would have made a\nfine raft for them all: and if only they could have reached it,\nGrenfell was sure he could have held out for two or three days. He\ncould have killed off the dogs one by one, eaten the flesh, and drunk\nthe warm blood. The Eskimo would think such a meal luxury. On his\nlittle pan, the effort to kill each dog would mean the risk of\ndrowning every time.\n\nAt daybreak, Grenfell remembered, men would be starting from Goose\nCove with their sleds to go twenty miles to a parade of Orangemen.\nWith this thought in his mind he fell asleep again. Then he woke with\na sharp realization of the fact that he must have some kind of flag\nwith which to signal them. He made up his mind that as soon as it was\ndaylight he would use his shirt for a flag--but the pole was lacking.\nSo in the dark he wrenched the bodies of the dead dogs apart--an\nextremely difficult task with the tough, frozen muscles and fibres.\nBut he made what he says was \"the heaviest and crookedest flagpole it\nhas ever been my lot to see,\" lashing the bones together with his bits\nof rope and the remains of the seal traces.\n\nBy this time he was almost starving, since he had not yet been able to\nbring himself to the point of devouring his comrades. His last meal\nhad been porridge and bread and butter, nearly twenty-four hours\nbefore. Round one leg was a rubber band which had replaced a broken\ngarter. He chewed on this constantly, and somehow it seemed to help\nhim from being overcome with hunger and thirst.\n\nNo more welcome sight--except that of men to the rescue--could there\nhave been than the face of the rising sun. When he took off his shirt\nto run it up as a flag, he found that it was not so cold as it had\nbeen. His skeleton flagpole as he tried to wave it bent and\nbuckled--but he found that by means of it he could raise his\nshirt-flag three or four feet over his head, and the least additional\nheight meant much to his slim chance of being spied from the shore.\n\nThe wind, too, had been carrying him back toward the shore, at a\nrugged point called Ireland Head. Unhappily for the man at sea, the\nlittle fishing-village there was deserted in winter: the people had\nshifted, bag and baggage, to another settlement where they could get\nteaching for their children and see more of other people.\n\nNow it settled down to a severe endurance test. If Grenfell had been\nfresh with comfortable sleep, and well-fed, it might not have been so\nserious a business to keep that gruesome \"flag\" of his waving aloft to\nattract the keen eye of someone ashore. But as it was, he must keep\nthe terribly heavy banner of dog-pelts swinging to and fro with his\nstrength at a low ebb, and hope barely alive in his heart. Again, his\nimagination began to play cruel tricks with him. He thought he saw men\nmoving: but they were trees blown by the wind. Then to his joy it\nseemed that a boat was approaching: he thought he saw it rising and\nfalling on the waves, as the oars drove it onward. He wanted the boat\nto come so much that the wish was father to the thought. Instead--it\nwas only the glitter of the sun on a block of ice bobbing up and down.\n\nWhenever the Doctor sat down to rest, faithful old \"Doc\" would lick\nhis face, and then roam about the ice-pan, coming back again and again\nto where the Doctor sat, his eyes and his ears asking: \"Well, why\naren't we starting? What is the matter? Isn't it time to be under\nway?\" On a sunny day on the trail amid ice and snow the \"husky\" seeks\nsome good reason for not being in the traces, tugging and hauling with\nhis mates. The other dogs, following his example, were roaming about,\nand sometimes they would bite at the bodies of the slain dogs,\nwondering, no doubt, how soon their master would hand out to them the\nsquare meal of fish or seal-meat to which they were accustomed.\n\nFor his own midday meal, Grenfell had begun to plan another\nkilling--that of one of the bigger dogs, whose blood he would drink.\nNansen had to do the same thing, according to the story told in his\nbook \"Farthest North,\" which Grenfell had been reading only a few days\nbefore. It might be a hard battle to conquer one of the big dogs, as\nhe himself grew weaker. But fear had not once entered the Doctor's\nmind. His uppermost sensation now was a desire to sleep--and if death\ncame after that, it would only be the answer to a question he had many\ntimes asked himself.\n\nHe looked at the precious matches, to see if they were dry. The heads\nwere a paste, except the blue tips of three or four wax matches. If\nthe latter could be dried, they might be used. Once I gave Dr.\nGrenfell a bottle of the same kind of matches, and he said: \"I'd\nrather have those than a five-dollar bill.\" If no air is stirring they\nwill burn with a tall, strong flame for a minute or more, clean down\nto the bottom.\n\nHe laid the matches out to dry, and looked about for a piece of\ntransparent ice which would do for a burning glass. With the tow he\nhad stuffed into his leggings, and the fat from the slain dogs, he\nthought he could produce a plume of smoke to be seen from the land,\nif he could get a light. He found a piece of ice which he thought\nwould serve his purpose, and was just about to wave his \"flag\" again\nwhen he saw something that made his heart stand still for an instant.\n\nWas it--could it be--the glitter of an oar-blade rising and falling?\n\nBut no--it could not be. It was not clear water, but the \"slob ice,\"\nprobably too heavy for a rowboat to pierce, which lay between the pan\nand the beach. There had been no smoke-signal from the land, no gun\ndischarged, no fire kindled: one of these things would be sure to\nhappen, had anybody caught sight of him or of the unwieldy banner that\nhe had raised aloft so many times.\n\nBy this time Grenfell was partly snow-blind, for he had lost his dark\nglasses. As he raised his \"flag\" again, however, it seemed to him that\nthe glitter was more distinct. It seemed to be coming nearer. With his\nhopes now mounting, he lifted the skins as high as he could, and waved\nwith all his might. Now he could see not only a white oar-blade, but a\nblack hull. If the pan would hold together an hour more, his rescue\nwas assured.\n\nQueer tricks the mind of a man will play at such a time. Our boys in\nthe war thought so much of saving helmets, pistols and belt-buckles\nfrom the battlefields that it has been said the war was fought for\nsouvenirs. Even in the hospital where they lay suffering with the most\ndreadful wounds, they were more anxious for those precious relics than\nthey were for their own recovery.\n\nAnd so, coming back out of the jaws of icy death, Grenfell was\nthinking: \"I wonder what trophies I can save, to take home and put up\nin my study.\" He had a picture in his mind's eye of the dog-bone\nflagstaff, hanging over the big fireplace in the living-room at St.\nAnthony. (Later, the dogs \"beat him to it,\" and devoured the bones\nwith relish, as a child would eat candy.) Then he thought how\npicturesque those queer puttees would look, hanging on the wall with\nsnowshoes and lynx-skins. The \"burning-glass\" was forgotten where it\nlay. As a reception-committee of one, rehearsing the speech of\nwelcome, Grenfell roamed to and fro, with the restlessness of a caged\nleopard in the Zoo at feeding-time. They couldn't very well miss him\nnow--but he could remember harrowing tales he had read when he was a\nboy, of a man on a desert island who scanned the horizon many days for\na sail. Then a ship came along, missed the frantic watcher, and sailed\naway, leaving him to utter despair. He did not intend that this should\nhappen to him now. To his delight, he could see that the rescuers by\nthis time were waving back, in answer to his signals. Presently he\ncould hear them shouting: \"Don't get excited! Keep on the pan where\nyou are!\"\n\nThey were far more excited than he was: for it now seemed as natural\nto Grenfell to be saved as, a little while before, it had seemed to\nperish where so many good men had been swallowed up before him as they\nwent to their business in great waters. Nearer and nearer they came,\nplying the oars valiantly, till the snub nose of the boat was thrust\ninto the soft edge of the pan, as a dog's muzzle is thrust into a\nman's hand.\n\nThe man in the bow jumped from the boat and took both of the Doctor's\nhands. Neither said a word. At such moments men do not care much to\nspeak. You remember how Stanley hunted Africa for Livingstone, and in\nthe thrilling moment when at last the two men came together Stanley\nsimply walked up to the missionary, put out his hand, and said: \"Dr.\nLivingstone, I presume?\"\n\nBut the tears rolled down the cheeks of the honest fisherman, despite\nhis silence.\n\nThe boatmen had brought a bottle of warm tea, and one can imagine how\nmuch good it did Grenfell after going without food and drink so long a\ntime. The dogs were put in the boat, and strong arms drove the vessel\nshoreward. Five big, stalwart Newfoundlanders were at the oars,--all\nof them devoted to the Doctor, and rejoicing that they had come in\ntime to save him. How often, in a dark hour, he had proved himself\ntheir friend! He had turned out in the dead of night to help them and\ntheir families: they knew he was on his way to aid one of their number\nnow. There was nothing they would not do for him: it would be a small\nreturn for all he had done to earn their gratitude already.\n\nIt wasn't all plain rowing, by any means. Now and then the boat would\nget jammed in the ice-pack so that they all must clamber out and lift\nthe stout vessel over the pans. Sometimes men had to stand in the bows\nand force the pans apart, using their oars after the fashion of\ncrowbars. For a long time as they fought onward very little was said.\nThey were saving their breath for their work. But as they rested on\ntheir oars and mopped their brows with their tattered sleeves,\nGrenfell asked: \"How under the sun did you happen to be out in the ice\nin this boat?\"\n\nThey said that on the night before four men had gone out on a headland\nto get some harp seals which they had left to freeze there during the\nwinter. As they were starting home, one of them thought he saw an\nice-pan with something on it, drifting out to sea. When they got back\nto the village, and told their neighbors, the latter said it must be\njust the top of a tree. There was one man in the village who had a\ngood spy-glass.\n\nHe left his supper instantly, and ran out to the edge of the cliffs.\nYes, he said, there was a man out yonder on the ice. He could see him\nwave his arms--and he declared it must be the Doctor, who had started\nout that morning.\n\nEven though night was falling, and the wind was coming on, they wanted\nto launch a boat, but it would have been no use: and they decided to\nwait until morning. The sea was taking up the blocks of ice and\nhurling them on the beach, just as it used to throw the little\nfishing-smacks over the sea-wall at Grenfell's boyhood home.\n\nMessengers went up and down the coast: look-outs were stationed: many\nwere watching, and some were weeping, all the while that Grenfell\nthought nobody saw him and that he was waving in vain.\n\nBefore daybreak, these five volunteers had manned the boat. They took\nan awful risk in such seething waters. Just a little while before, a\nfisherman's wife said good-by to her husband and three sons when they\nstarted to row out toward a ship that was signaling with flags for a\npilot. All four were drowned in spite of their cool and skilful\nseamanship.\n\nThe people had come from far and near to see the landing. They rushed\ninto the surf to be the first to shake the Doctor's hands. They seized\nthem and shook them so heartily that he did not find out till later\nthat they had been badly frost-bitten. It was not a pretty object the\nvillagers greeted. Says the Doctor: \"I must have been a weird sight as\nI stepped ashore, tied up in rags, stuffed out with oakum, wrapped in\nthe bloody skins of dogs, with no hat, coat, or gloves besides, and\nonly a pair of short knickers. It must have seemed to some as if it\nwere the old man of the sea coming ashore.\"\n\n    [Illustration: WHO SAID \"HALT\"?]\n\nCopious draughts of hot tea, and almost equally liquid Irish stew went\nto the right spot. Grenfell as a veteran was wise enough not to eat\ntoo much all at once. That is the danger, after one has been without\nfood so long.\n\nThey dressed Grenfell in the warm clothes fishermen wear, and hauled\nhim back to the St. Anthony hospital. That ride was no fun at all. The\njolting racked his weary bones and his feet were so frozen that he\ncould not walk. There, two days later, they brought to him the boy on\nwhom he was to have operated at his own home. The operation was a\ncomplete success.\n\nThe other dogs lived long and pulled the Doctor many leagues on\nerrands of mercy: but he mourned the loss of the three who perished\nthat he might survive. I have seen on the glass-enclosed veranda of\nthe Doctor's home at St. Anthony the brass tablet with its\ninscription:\n\n                     _TO THE MEMORY OF\n                       Three Noble Dogs\n                            MOODY\n                            WATCH\n                             SPY\n                    Whose Lives Were Given\n                     For Mine on the Ice\n                       April 21st, 1908\n                       Wilfred Grenfell\n                       St. Anthony_\n\nThe men who came to the rescue wanted no reward. To have the Doctor\nback in their midst again was all they desired. But the Doctor\ninsisted on giving them tokens of his gratitude. As George Andrews\nsaid:\n\n\"'E sent us watches, an' spy-glasses, an' pictures o' himself made\nlarge an' in a frame. George Read an' me 'ad th' watches an' th'\nothers 'ad th' spy-glasses. 'Eere's th' watch. It 'as 'In memory o'\nApril 21st' on it, but us don't need th' things to make we remember\nit, though we're wonderful glad t' 'ave 'em from th' Doctor.\"\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nTHE KIDNAPPERS\n\n\nOne day, as Grenfell was about to leave northern Labrador in his\nlittle steamer the _Strathcona_, a man came aboard with trouble in his\neyes. It was the good-hearted Hudson's Bay agent.\n\n\"Doctor,\" he pleaded, \"old Tommy Mitchell's been comin' in every\nSaturday for two months, tryin' to get somethin' for his family. I've\nbeen givin' him twenty pounds of flour a week for himself and wife and\nsix children. That's every shred they've got to live on. He hasn't a\nsalmon or a codfish to give me, and he was in debt when I came here.\nWhat'll we do?\"\n\nThe _Strathcona_ had steam up and was whistling to the Doctor to come\naboard. On the Labrador coast you must leave promptly or the sea may\npunish you for the delay.\n\n\"See if you can't stop at the island off Napaktok Point, Doctor.\nThey're livin' out there with nothin' but their own hats to cover\n'em--if they've got any.\"\n\n\"I will,\" the Doctor promised, and was off.\n\nWhen they came near the island, the dory was lowered, and Grenfell and\nhis mate rowed toward the rocks.\n\n\"Can you see anything that looks like a house, Bill? You have better\neyes than mine.\"\n\n\"No, Doctor. I been a-lookin'. I sees--nothing.\"\n\n\"I didn't expect you to do as well as that,\" said the Doctor. \"But\nkeep on looking. And call out when you see anything.\"\n\nThey rowed almost round the island, against a stiff head wind.\n\nEach time they passed cove or headland they thought, \"Well now, surely\nit must be just around the next point.\"\n\n\"There's a smoke, sir!\" cried the sharp-eyed Bill.\n\nSure enough--there was a tiny wisp of smoke, trickling up the face of\nthe rocks.\n\nBut no hut was to be seen.\n\nThey landed, and pulled the boat out on the beach.\n\nThen they went toward the smoke. The fire was built among flat stones\nout in the open.\n\nA hollow-cheeked woman sat with a poor, scrawny scrap of a baby on her\narm. In her other hand she held what looked like an old paint can, and\nshe was stirring some thin sort of gruel in it, in spite of the weight\nof the baby on her arm. It was not heavy, poor little creature!\n\n\"Good-morning. Where's your tent?\" Grenfell asked, cheerily.\n\n\"There she is.\"\n\nThe woman pointed with the gruel stick to a mass of canvas and\nmatting, plastered in patches with mud against the face of the cliff.\n\n\"Why do you cook in the open?\"\n\n\"'Cos us hasn't got no stove.\"\n\n\"Where's Tom?\"\n\n\"He's away. He's gone off wid Johnnie, tryin' to shoot a gull. Here,\nBill, run an' fetch yer dad, an' tell him Dr. Grenfell wants 'un.\"\n\nA half-naked little boy about nine years old darted off into the scrub\nbushes.\n\n\"What's the matter with baby?\" Dr. Grenfell inquired kindly, as the\ninfant clasped his finger and looked up into his mild face.\n\n\"Hungry,\" was the mother's sufficient answer. \"I ain't got nothin' to\ngive him.\" Her lip trembled, and she turned her head away.\n\nThe baby kept up a constant whimpering, like a lamb very badly scared.\n\n\"It's half-starved,\" said the Doctor. \"What do you give it?\"\n\n\"Flour, and berries,\" was the response. \"I chews the loaf first--or\nelse it ain't no good for him.\"\n\nThen a little girl, of perhaps five, and a boy of--maybe--seven, shyly\ncame from behind the tent, where they had fled wild-eyed and hid when\nthe strangers came. They had nothing on: but they were brown as\nchestnuts and fat as butter.\n\nIt was snowing, and the snow had driven them toward the poor, mean\nfire where mother sat with the baby.\n\n\"Glad to see the other children are fat,\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"They bees eatin' berries all the time,\" was the mother's answer. Then\nsuddenly the full force of their plight swept all other thoughts out\nof her mind.\n\n\"What's t' good of t' government?\" she cried. \"Here is we all\nstarvin'. And it's ne'er a crust they gives yer. There bees a sight o'\npork an' butter in t' company's store. But it's ne'er a sight of 'im\nus ever gets. What are them doin'? T' agent he says he can't give Tom\nno more'n dry flour, an' us can't live on dat.\"\n\nThen a bent and weary figure shuffled on the scene. It was Tom, the\npoor husband and father. He had an old and rusty, single-barreled\nmuzzle-loading gun, and he was carrying a dead sea-gull by the tip of\none of its wings. Two small boys trudged along after him, their faces\nold before their time. They stood looking at the Doctor in wonderment.\n\n\"Well, Tom, you've had luck!\" was Grenfell's greeting. He explains\nthat he meant Tom was very lucky not to have the gun open at the wrong\nend and discharge its contents into his face!\n\n\"It's only a kitty,\" the hunter answered, sadly. \"An' I been sittin'\nout yonder on the p'int all day.\" A kitty is a little gull.\n\n\"Your gun isn't heavy enough to kill the big gulls, I suppose.\"\n\n\"No, Doctor. I hain't much powder--and ne'er a bit o' shot. I has to\nload her up most times with a handful o' they round stones. T' hammer\ndon't always set her off, neither. Her springs bees too old, I\nreckon.\" He fumbled with the trigger in a way that led Grenfell to ask\nhim to let him hold the gun instead. Tom passed it over, and Grenfell\nheld it till their talk was over.\n\nTom, who was part Eskimo, was a very poor business man. He had been a\nslave of the \"truck system\" by which a man brings his furs or his fish\nto a trader, exchanges them for supplies, and is always in debt to the\nstorekeeper who takes pains to see that it shall be so.\n\n\"Tom,\" the Doctor told him, \"I want to help you. Winter is coming on,\nand here you are with a handful of flour and a sea-gull, and no proper\nshelter from the cold. You have too many children to keep. I think\nyou'd better pass over to me for a while your two little boys, 'Billy'\nand 'Jimmy,' and the little girl. I'll feed them and clothe them and\nhave them taught till they are big enough to come back and help you.\nAll the time they are with me I'll do all I can to help you along. If\nyou have them here--they'll certainly starve. The snow is beginning to\ncover up the berries already. And that's about all you've got to feed\nthem.\"\n\nPoor Tom couldn't think.\n\nHe merely stood there, looking first at the sea, then at the sky, then\nat the Doctor, his mouth wide open.\n\nHis wife broke the silence. \"D'ye hear, man? T' Doctor wants to take\nt' children. I says 'tis the gover'ment should feed 'em here. I\nwouldn't let no children o' mine go, I wouldn't.\" Saying which, she\nheld her sickly infant tighter.\n\nThe talk to and fro went on for a long time. It didn't get much of\nanywhere. On the part of the fond parents it consisted largely of what\nthe government ought to do. Grenfell patiently explained that the\ngovernment was a long way off, and couldn't answer before Christmas if\nit answered at all.\n\nAll this time Father Tom stood there, dumb as a stalled ox, trying to\nsee daylight by which to make up his mind. Evidently his wife was the\nreal man of the family.\n\n\"Why doesn't youse say something?\" she broke out at last. \"Bees you\na-goin' to let t' Doctor have youse childer?\"\n\nTom looked more distracted than ever, and it didn't help much when he\ntook off his hat and let cold air blow on his heated brain as he\nrummaged with his finger in the dense thatch on his head.\n\nThen Tom said: \"I suppose he knows.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dr. Grenfell said. \"I think you'd better let me have Billy and\nJimmy for a while.\"\n\nThere was more talk, and finally the wife gave way. \"Well, youse can\ntake Billy, I suppose, if you wants un.\"\n\nAll this time the mate had said nothing. Big and burly as he was,\nthere were tears in his eyes; he had a kind heart, for there were many\nlittle ones to feed and clothe in his own household. He thought it was\ntime to settle the dispute.\n\nFor he heard the _Strathcona's_ whistle blowing impatiently, warning\nthe men ashore that the sea was rising and the rocks in the uncertain\nweather meant danger. The little steamer, while the palaver went on,\nhad been following alongshore as they went round the island. The snow\nwas getting thicker, and the wind was tipping the waves with\nwhitecaps. They must be off without further parley.\n\nSo the mate, not wasting words, suddenly grabbed Billy under one long,\nstrong arm.\n\nBilly kicked and howled and struggled. Billy had no idea of that\ndelightful home for the children at St. Anthony. He would have cried\nto go there, if he had known what playmates he would have, what\ndiverting games to play.\n\nBilly was captured \"for good and all.\" But Dr. Grenfell knew that it\nwouldn't do for Billy to be toted off alone.\n\nHe was bound he'd get another child,--for he knew he was right, not\nmerely because of the good he could do the children, but because of\nthe hopeless situation of the whole family if they all remained on\nthis miserable shelf of rock in the open Atlantic.\n\n\"Now, Mrs. Mitchell,\" he coaxed, \"you're going to let Jimmy come too,\nto keep Billy company.\"\n\nShe shook her head in defiance. Her mind was made up. Billy could\ngo--but he was the only one. That was flat and final.\n\nThen Tom broke his silence once more: \"I says he knows what's for t'\nbest.\"\n\nThe _Strathcona's_ whistle was petulantly crying: \"Come on! We really\nmust be starting! If you don't come aboard right away, we may be\nwrecked. Really, you must think of your crew. It isn't fair to let us\nrun this risk, with the barometer falling, and the wind like this.\"\n\nDr. Grenfell made every tempting promise he could think of.\n\n\"If you'll let me have Jimmy, I'll give your husband a fine gun.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mrs. Mitchell. \"Ye can't have un.\"\n\n\"I'll send him plenty of powder and shot.\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"I'll give him a letter to the agent so he can get work.\"\n\nShe made an impatient gesture of rejection with her free hand.\n\nThe Doctor played a trump card. \"You shall have nice dresses for\nyourself and clothes for all the children.\"\n\nMrs. Mitchell yielded. \"Well then, ye can have Jimmy. But that's all.\nThat's the very last one.\"\n\n\"Now, Mrs. Mitchell, be reasonable. Let me have the baby girl, too.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Look at your tent. We'll put the little girl in a fine house with a\nroof on it, and a door that opens and shuts.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"We'll give her pretty clothes, and teach her from the picture books.\nShe'll come back so you won't know her.\"\n\n\"But I want to know her.\"\n\n\"We'll feed her well, and fill her up till she's as fat as a seal.\"\n\n\"No. That's all. Jimmy and Billy can go. She shall stay here with me.\"\n\nThis time the father kept his face tight closed. There was no help at\nall from him. He looked the other way, stiff as a seal-gaff.\n\nThe mate was already on his way to the beach, with the two naked\nlittle boys wriggling under his arms. They were red and blue all over\nwith the stains of the berries--a beautiful sight.\n\n\"All right, Mrs. Mitchell. We must go on board now. Come with us, and\nwe'll give you the things.\"\n\nThen there was joy for that poor, hungry family.\n\nThey were all clad in stout clothing that would keep out the wind. A\ngun was lent to the father, and his shattered fowling-piece was fixed\nup by the clever engineer, till it was \"most as good as new.\" The\neldest boy, John, would be big enough to use it.\n\nThe powder and shot were dug out of the lockers: tins of condensed\nmilk were found for the poor little shrimp of a baby. The second\naxe--a gorgeous prize--went into the growing pile of gifts: soap,\nneedles and thread, shoes and stockings, potatoes, some flour, a\npackage of tea, sugar, and other precious things went into two oilskin\nbags, and then over the rail into the Mitchells' leaky, tossing boat.\n\nMeanwhile an astonishing change was taking place in the two boys. They\nwere getting a bath on the deck, in the wind and snow, with a bucket\nand a scrubbing-brush, and after they were dressed they had their hair\ncut. Their mother stared and stared as the boat rowed away. She could\nhardly believe they were hers.\n\n\"Good-by, Doctor. Thank you.\"\n\n\"Good-by, Mrs. Mitchell. We'll take good care of them.\"\n\nFather said nothing. He was rowing the boat. But no doubt he was\nthinking very grateful thoughts.\n\nThe boys wept a little, silently as they looked their last on their\npatched and tattered home. The family they left behind them would make\na journey of a hundred miles in that rotten boat to a winter hut on\nthe mainland.\n\nBut they looked at each other, washed and dressed, with all that wild\nhair pruned away--and then they began to laugh at each other as the\nbiggest joke in their short lives.\n\nAfter they reached St. Anthony and were installed in the Orphanage,\nthey were two of the happiest and most popular lads in the place.\n\nThey purred like pleased kittens and lost no chance to show how much\nthey liked the people who were doing so much for them. They studied\nhard, and put the same driving spirit into play. It could be seen that\nthe little \"heathen\" of the island were in a fair way to become in\ntime the leaders of men who are needed in all walks of life. Dr.\nGrenfell felt well rewarded for all the trouble he had taken for Jimmy\nand Billy and all their family.\n\nThe \"liveyeres,\" as those who \"live here\" are called, may lead rough,\nhard lives. But for that very reason they welcome books, and music,\nand all such things.\n\nOne day as the _Strathcona_ was scudding southward, her sails swelling\nwith a stiff breeze, and the Doctor in a great hurry to reach a\ndistant coast-line and get to work on some patients who had been\nwaiting a long time for him, a little boat came and planted herself\ndirectly in the _Strathcona's_ path.\n\nThe _Strathcona_ was a small craft herself, but she seemed a monster\ncompared with this impudent sailboat. The smaller boat had a\nfunny-looking flag, hoisted as a signal to stop. It was almost as if a\nharbor tug should attempt to hold up the _Leviathan_.\n\nDr. Grenfell thought it must be some very serious surgical case.\n\nHe gave the order at once: \"Down sail and heave her to.\"\n\nThen an old, white-haired man, the only passenger in the small boat,\nclimbed stiffly over the rail, fairly creaking in his joints.\n\n\"Good-day,\" said Grenfell. \"What can we do for you? We're in a hurry.\"\n\nThe old man took off his cap, and held it in his hand as he looked\ndown at the deck. Then he mustered up courage to make his request.\n\n\"Please, Doctor,\" he said slowly, \"I wanted to ask you if you had any\nbooks you could lend me. We haven't anything to read here.\"\n\nDr. Grenfell confesses with shame that his first impulse was to return\na sharp, vexed answer, and to ask, \"What do you mean by holding up my\nmission boat for such a reason?\" But then he realized his mistake. In\na way, it would be as good a deed to put a prop under the old man's\nspirit with a good book as to take off his leg with a knife.\n\n\"Haven't you got any books?\"\n\n\"Yes, Doctor. I've got two, but I've read 'em through, over and over\nagain, long ago.\"\n\n\"What were they?\"\n\n\"One is the Works of Josephus, sir, and the other is Plutarch's\nLives.\"\n\nThe old fellow was overjoyed when the Doctor put aboard his bobbing\nskiff a box of fifty books--a mixture of everything from Henty's\nstories to sermons.\n\nDr. Grenfell never could tell what a day--or a night--would bring\nforth. If variety is the spice of life, his life in the north has been\none long diet of paprika.\n\nOnce late in the fall he was creeping along the Straits of Belle Isle\nin a motor-boat--the only one in those waters at that time.\n\nIt broke down, as the best of motor-boats sometimes will, and the\ntidal current, with that brutal habit which tidal currents have, began\nto pull the boat on the rocks as with an unseen hand.\n\nThey tied all the lines they had together, attached the anchor, and\nput it overboard.\n\nThe water was so deep they could not reach the bottom.\n\nDarkness was shutting down--and it was an awful place to pass the\nnight.\n\nThen a schooner's lights flashed out. \"Hurrah!\" cried Grenfell's men.\n\"We're all right now!\"\n\nThey lashed the hurricane light on their boat-hook and waved it to and\nfro like mad. They MUST make those fellows on the schooner take notice\nand stop for them. The sea would probably get them if they failed.\n\nThe water was so rough, the night so dark, that even their precious\nmotor-boat was nothing, if only they could clamber aboard that\nschooner. At almost any time, those Straits offer stretches of the\nmost perilous sailing-water in the world. Sailors who have rounded\nCape Horn would say yes to that.\n\nBut just then--to their horror, the schooner which had been close to\nthem put about and hurried off like a startled caribou. Soon the\npowerless motor-boat was left far, far behind, wallowing in the trough\nof waves much too big for her size.\n\nThey shouted with all their might, but the whistling wind threw away\ntheir outcry instead of carrying it across the tossing waves, which\nthreatened to swamp the boat at any instant.\n\nThey shot off their guns.\n\nThey yelled again.\n\nThey lit flares such as are used in the navy for signal lights.\n\nBut it was all in vain.\n\nThey almost began to believe they had dreamed of rescue--that a\nphantom ship had come to them in a nightmare.\n\nThey waved their hurricane light again and again, as high as they\ncould hold it.\n\nThe engineer, a willing amateur, all this while had been toiling away\ntill his hands bled, at his motor, drenched with the spray. He had\ntorn the machinery limb from limb, and patiently refitted the parts.\nSuddenly one cylinder gave a weak kick, and then came a spasmodic\nsuccession of sputters, with long waits between. But with the aid of\nthe oars the boat was now able to make slow and tedious progress in\nthe schooner's wake.\n\nAt last--at last--along toward midnight they crept into the harbor\nwhere the schooner had also taken refuge.\n\nTired as they were, they wouldn't turn in at a fisherman's cottage\nwithout boarding the ship to rebuke the sailors for their unhandsome\nbehavior.\n\nHow could they leave men in a tiny boat in distress, perhaps to be\nswamped and to drown in those cruel waters out yonder in the blind\ndark?\n\nThe skipper made solemn reply. \"Them cliffs is haunted,\" he announced.\n\"More'n one light's been seen there than ever any man lit. When us saw\nyouse light flashing round right in on the cliffs, us knowed it was no\nplace for Christian men that time o' night. Us guessed it was just\nfairies or devils tryin' to toll us in.\"\n\nMany of the little boats on the Labrador are not fit to spend a night\nat sea, and often it is an anxious business to get into a safe harbor\nbefore sundown. Dr. Grenfell has a reputation as a daredevil skipper,\nbecause so often, on an errand of mercy, he has steamed right out in\nthe teeth of the storm when hardened, ancient mariners shook their\nheads and hugged the land. But the Doctor does not take chances for\nthe sake of the risk itself--his daring always has behind it the good\nreason that he wants to go somewhere in a great hurry in time of\nneed.\n\nA hundred miles north of Indian Tickle, where there was no light,\nGrenfell was caught one night when he was coming south with the\nfishing fleet.\n\nAll of a sudden the fog fell on the whole group of ships like a thick\nwet blanket, before they could make the harbor. There were many reefs\nbetween their position and the open sea: the only thing to do was to\nanchor then and there. When a rift came in the fog, Dr. Grenfell saw\nthe riding-lights of eleven vessels round about him. A northeaster\ngrew in violence as night came swiftly on, and a heavy sea arose. The\nships tugged at their anchors. The great waves swept the decks from\nend to end.\n\nIn the hold of the _Strathcona_ were patients lying in the cots, on\ntheir way to Battle Harbor Hospital. As the Doctor would say, there\nwas less than an inch of iron between them and eternity.\n\nThey were dressed, and the boats were prepared to take them ashore.\n\nOne after another in the mad waters the neighbor lights went out. All\nnight the _Strathcona_ fought the sea. When day came, only one of the\nother boats was left--a ship much bigger than the _Strathcona_, named\nthe _Yosemite_.\n\nThe _Yosemite_ was drifting down upon the smaller vessel, and it\nseemed as if in a moment more there must be a collision.\n\nBut just then the _Yosemite_ struck a reef. She turned over on her\nside. In that position the sea drove the vessel ashore, through the\nbreakers, with the crew clinging to the bridge.\n\nThe fact that the _Strathcona_ kept steam up and was \"steaming to her\nanchors\" all night long had saved her, the only survivor of the entire\nfleet. Every vessel that went ashore was smashed to kindling.\n\nAs they were about to weigh anchor, the main steam pipe began to leak.\nIt was necessary to \"blow down\" the boilers.\n\nFor the whole of that short day the engineers tinkered at the damage,\nknowing that the lives of all on board might depend on their success\nere nightfall.\n\nSuddenly, to the inexpressible relief of everyone, the engineer\nshouted:\n\n\"Right for'ard!\"\n\nThen came the sweet music of the engine-room bell, and presently they\nwere under way again, so nightfall found them safe at last in the\nharbor, with those eleven wrecks pounding on the rocks outside.\n\nSometimes the fishermen expected miracles of healing. One day a big\n\"husk\" of a fisherman clambered aboard, saying that his teeth hurt\nhim.\n\n\"Sit down on that wood-pile,\" said the Doctor.\n\nThe man obeyed. The Doctor pried his mouth open, and saw the tooth\nthat was making the trouble. Then he fetched the forceps.\n\nUp started the patient in wide-eyed alarm.\n\n\"Bees you a-goin' to haul it, Doctor?\"\n\n\"Of course I'm going to pull it out. What did you want me to do?\"\n\n\"I wouldn't have you touch it! Not for all the fish in the sea!\"\n\n\"Well then, why did you come to me? You're just wasting my time.\"\n\n\"I wanted you to charm her, Doctor.\"\n\n\"But my dear fellow, I'm not an Eskimo medicine-man. I don't know how,\nand I don't believe in it anyway.\"\n\nMr. Fisherman looked very much put out. \"I knows why youse won't charm\nun. It's because I'm a Roman Catholic.\"\n\n\"Nonsense. That wouldn't make the slightest difference. But if you\nreally think it would do any good,--come on, I'll try. Only--you'll\nhave to pay twenty-five cents, just as though I had 'hauled' it.\"\n\n\"That I will, Doctor, and glad to do it. Go ahead!\"\n\nHe perched on the rail like a great sea-bird. The Doctor to carry out\nthe farce put his finger in the gaping mouth and touched the tooth.\nWhile he kept his finger in place he uttered the solemn words:\n\n\"Abracadabra Tiddlywinkum Umslopoga.\"\n\nThat last word must have come from a hazy memory of the name of the\nwonderful big black man in H. Rider Haggard's \"Alan Quatermain,\" who\nafter a long, hard run beside a horse that carries his master, defends\na stairway against their enemies and splits a magic stone with an axe\nand so brings the foe to grief.\n\nAt any rate, the combination worked. Grenfell pulled out his finger\nquickly so that his patient wouldn't bite him.\n\nThe fisherman got up in silence. Then he slowly made the circuit of\nthe deck. In the course of the brief journey, he thrust his hand deep\ninto his jeans and pulled out a quarter.\n\n\"Thank you, Doctor. Many thanks.\" He solemnly handed the coin to his\nbenefactor. \"All the pain has gone.\"\n\nDr. Grenfell stood holding the coin in his hand, wondering how he came\nto make such a fool of himself, while the fisherman's broad back bent\nto the oars of the little boat that took him ashore.\n\nA month later, in the same harbor, the same man swung his leg over the\nrail with a hearty greeting.\n\n\"Had any more trouble?\" asked the Doctor.\n\n\"No--sir! Not an ache out of her since!\" came the jovial answer.\n\nThe Doctor had much trouble with patients who wanted to drink at one\ndraught all the medicine he gave them. They thought that if a\nteaspoonful of the remedy was good for you, the whole bottle must be\never so much better.\n\nA haddock's fin-bone was a \"liveyere's\" charm against rheumatism--but\nyou must get hold of the haddock and cut off the fin before he touches\nthe boat. So you don't often get a fin that is good for anything.\n\nIf you want to avoid a hemorrhage, the best plan is to tie a bit of\ngreen worsted round your wrist.\n\nBoth Protestants and Catholics write prayers on pieces of paper and\nwear them in little bags about their necks to drive off evil things.\n\nThe constant battle against wind and wave develops heroes and\nheroines, and the tales told of golden deeds such as might earn a\nCarnegie medal or pension are beyond number.\n\nOne man started south for the winter in his fishing-boat, with his\nfishing partner, his wife, four children and a servant girl. A gale of\nwind came up. On the Labrador a gale is a gale: they do not use the\nword lightly. Grenfell tells of a new church that was blown into the\nsea with its pulpit, pews and communion-table. In a storm like that,\nthe mainsail, jib and mast of this luckless smack went over the side.\nThe boat was driven helplessly before the wind, for three days and\nnights. Then the wind changed, and they could put up a small foresail,\nwhich in two more awful days brought them to the land. But they were\nrunning ashore with such violence that they would have been lost\nbeyond a doubt, if six brave \"liveyeres\" had not put out to rescue\nthem. Their boat was smashed to flinders.\n\nThen they found that all this time they had been going due north, for\na hundred and fifty miles. They had to stay till the next summer.\nTheir friends, when they got back to Newfoundland, had given them up\nfor dead.\n\nA fisherman said to Grenfell, in explaining why he couldn't swim: \"You\nsee, we has enough o' the water without goin' to bother wi' it when we\nare ashore.\" This man had barely escaped drowning on no less than four\noccasions. Once he saved himself by clinging to a rope with his teeth,\nafter his hands were too numb to serve him, till they hauled him\naboard.\n\nThe shore of one of the Labrador bays had a total adult population of\njust one man. As the ice was breaking up in the spring, he had sent\nhis two young sons out on the ice-pans in pursuit of seals.\n\nBut the treacherous flooring gave way, and the father from the shore\nsaw his boys struggling in the water.\n\nHe tied a long fishing-line round his body, and gave the other end to\nhis daughter. While she held it he crawled out over the pans. Then he\njumped into the bitter water, like a deep-sea diver going down to\nexamine a wreck, and stayed between and below the pans till he had\nrecovered both bodies--but the last spark of life was extinct.\n\nAlmost under the windows of Dr. Grenfell's hospital at Battle Harbor\ntwo men started with sled and dogs to get fire-wood. They were\nrounding a headland, when the sled went into the water, taking not\nmerely the dogs but the drivers with it. One man got under the ice,\nand was seen no more. The other clung to the edge of the ice, too weak\nto crawl out.\n\nHis sister saw what happened, and came running over the ice. Men\nfurther away who were bringing a boat shouted to her: \"For God's sake,\ndon't go near the hole.\" She did not heed their warning. Instead, she\nthrew herself flat, so as to distribute her weight, and dragged\nherself along till she was close enough to reach her brother's hand.\n\nShe could not quite pull him out. He was so benumbed that he could not\nhelp in the rescue. She lifted his body part way over the edge of the\nice-sheet and held on.\n\nNearer and nearer the boat came with the rescuers shouting\nencouragement. \"We're a-comin', girl.' Don't let go!\" Her strength was\nalmost gone. But she was bound to be faithful unto death--if the sea\nclaimed her brother it must take her too.\n\nShe did not cry out. She wasted no energy in words upon the frosty\nair. The boat seemed ages in coming, though the rowers plied the oars\nwith might and main.\n\nOne of her legs had broken through the ice. At any instant she might\nfind herself struggling in the sea, and her agony of effort would have\nbeen in vain.\n\nAt what seemed the last second of the last moment for the pair, the\nbrawny arms of the fishermen hauled them over the gunwale.\n\nShe told the story simply, and as though it were all in the day's\nwork.\n\n\"What made you go on?\" Grenfell asked her.\n\n\"I couldn't see him drown, could I?\" was all her reply.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nWHEN THE BIG FISH \"STRIKE IN\"\n\n\n\"Doctor, how do you catch the codfish? Do you use a hook and line, the\nsame as father and I do when we go fishing in Long Island Sound?\"\n\nThe speaker was a New York boy who hadn't been north of Boston, until\none summer his father let him go to St. John's for the sea-trip. There\nby great good luck he ran into the Doctor, who had come from St.\nAnthony in his little steamer the _Strathcona_.\n\n\"You can catch codfish with a hook and line,\" explained the Doctor,\n\"but it would take too long for the fishermen who have to get their\nliving from the sea.\n\n\"Most of the time they use a great big net, called a 'cod-trap.'\n\n\"It's like a room of network without a roof. It has a door, and the\ncod are steered in at the door by another net which reaches from the\ncod-trap to the rocks.\"\n\n\"I should think the whole business would float away out to sea the\nminute it got the least bit rough,\" said Harry.\n\n\"It might,\" the Doctor admitted. \"But you see they have heavy anchors,\nor they tie big stones to the net at the bottom to hold it down.\"\n\n\"I'd love to see those cod coming in!\" exclaimed Harry. \"They must\npush and shove like anything. But what do they want to go in for? I\ns'pose o' course they must use some kind of bait.\"\n\n\"They use the squid, or octopus,\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Are those the funny things that wave their arms around and throw out\nink when they get mad?\" asked Harry.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are they very big?\"\n\n\"They come in all sizes. There's even such a thing as a giant squid.\nFor a long time people laughed at the idea that there was any such\nmonster. They thought he was a myth, like the sea-serpent.\n\n\"But one day two fishermen were plying their trade when two great\narms rose out of the sea and clasped their boat and tried to drag it\nunder.\n\n\"Luckily, they had a big knife, and they hacked away at the arms till\nthey cut them off.\n\n\"The cuttlefish--that's another name for it--made the sea about them\nas black as tar. But it did not try again.\n\n\"They took the arms ashore, and sold them to a man named Dr. Harvey.\nEverybody had been making fun of Dr. Harvey because he said there was\nsuch a thing as the giant squid.\n\n\"The Doctor hated strong drink, and so the clerks at the store of Job\nBrothers here in St. John's were very much surprised when Dr. Harvey\nrushed in and shouted: 'I want a barrel of rum!'\n\n\"Then he told them what he wanted it for--he wanted to send the giant\nsquid to the Royal Society in London. The parts of the arms cut off\nwere nineteen feet long.\n\n\"Later on, somebody who heard about it brought him an octopus that was\nlying dead on the water, whose reach was forty feet from tip to tip.\"\n\n\"How do they catch the octopus for bait?\" asked Harry.\n\n\"It's exciting work. You see, besides having arms like a windmill,\nwith curious sucking saucers on them, the octopus has a beak like a\nparrot, with awful teeth, and it can bite like anything.\n\n\"You'll see a cluster of rowboats anchored close together, and the\nfishermen are jigging up and down a little bright red leaden weight,\nbristling with spikes.\n\n\"Suddenly there's a stir. The squids have come rushing in, and they\nbite at those jiggers like a terrier after a rat.\n\n\"When the squids get those spiked weights in their mouths and are\nbeing hauled aboard--look out!\n\n\"All of a sudden--just the way people squirt things in the\nmovies--they shoot out jets of ink at the fishermen.\n\n\"It stings like anything if it gets into your eyes and it ruins your\nclothes.\"\n\n\"How much do the squid cost when you buy them for bait?\" asked Harry,\nwho had a practical mind.\n\n\"Fifteen or twenty cents a hundred for the little ones.\"\n\n\"That isn't much for all that work,\" said Harry.\n\nDr. Grenfell smiled. \"You'll find that the fishermen do lots of hard\nwork for very little pay, Harry,\" he answered.\n\n\"What other kind of bait do they use for the cod?\"\n\n\"Caplin--a small fish like a sardine--and herring. Sand eels and\nwhite-fish sometimes. Bits of sea-gulls, and even rubber fish with\nhooks. Mussels don't hold well on the hooks.\"\n\nHarry looked thoughtful. \"I suppose it makes a lot o' difference,\nhaving just the right kind o' bait.\"\n\n\"All the difference in the world,\" the Doctor agreed. \"If a man can't\nplease the fish, he might as well burn his nets and boats and leave\nthe sea.--But I was telling you about the cod-traps.\n\n\"While the fish are following their leader, like so many sheep, in at\nthe door of the trap, along comes the man they call the trap-master.\nHe has a tube with plain glass in the bottom, and he puts it down\nover the side of the boat and looks through it to see if the trap is\nfull.\n\n\"When he thinks it's full enough, the door is pulled up so the fish\ncan't get out, and the floor of the trap is hauled to the surface.\n\n\"As it is lifted, a big dipper is put in, and the fish are ladled into\nthe boat.\n\n\"When the boat is full, the rest of the fish are put into big net\nbags. These are tied to buoys, so the fishermen may come back later\nand get them.\"\n\n\"I suppose the fishermen like to pick out the best places,\" said\nHarry.\n\n\"Yes--there's a mad race on the day the season opens. You've got to\nget your cod-trap anchored in four days, with the net that leads from\nthe shore put in place: and it's a big job to do it in that time.\n\n\"Then there's what they call the cod-seine. That's worked by seven\nmen. The seine-master, fish-glass in hand, stands in the bow: and the\nminute he sights the school of fish he gives orders for the nets to be\ndropped.\n\n\"The men row in a circle and return to a buoy, paying out the net as\nthey go.\n\n\"The bottom rope is weighted, and they gather it round a central\nanchor into a bag as they row. It's not so easy as it sounds, but\n'practice makes perfect.' When they've got the fish bagged in this way\nthey may scoop them up whenever they like.\n\n\"Other kinds of nets, as well as lines, are used.\n\n\"While those who use the lines generally take great pains to put on\nthem the bait they think Mr. and Mrs. Cod will like, some fishermen\nmake the others very angry by 'jigging' with unbaited hooks.\n\n\"This means that two hooks, joined back to back with a bit of lead\nthat sinks them, are dropped where the fish are most thickly crowded.\n\n\"Then the line is jerked up and down. Half a dozen fish may be hurt\nfor one that is hooked.\"\n\n\"What becomes of the one that gets hurt?\" asked Harry.\n\n\"Oh, the rest of the cod rush at the poor fellow and eat him up!\"\n\n\"They're not good sports!\" was the boy's comment. \"Neither are the\nfishermen that hurt the fish without catching them. That's like\nhunters that shoot more animals than they can use for food. But I\nsuppose fishing just for fun is a very different thing from fishing to\nmake a living.\"\n\nDr. Grenfell's blue eyes were very serious. \"It is,\" he said. \"You\nhave to go out with the fishermen to understand the difference.\"\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nBIRDS OF MANY A FEATHER\n\n\nHarry had seen and heard many kinds of birds alongshore, of all sizes\nand colors, some flying in curious ways and some making very queer\nsounds, so he asked the Doctor to tell him about them.\n\n\"The Labrador coast is one of the finest bird-nurseries anywhere,\"\nsaid the Doctor. \"You can find about two hundred different kinds--if\nyour eyes are sharp enough and your patience--and your shoes--hold\nout!\n\n\"Of course they don't all live there the year round. Some of them are\njust summer boarders.\n\n\"Maybe in a very lonely spot you'll hear a bird all by himself, with a\nvery sweet song--the hermit thrush.\n\n\"Perhaps there will be a chorus of pipits, fox and white-throated\nsparrows, robins, warblers and buntings.\n\n\"You might even come upon a Nashville warbler or a Maryland\nyellow-throat!\n\n\"If eggs are collected in Labrador, the contents aren't wasted.\n\n\"You bore a hole in the side of the egg, put in a blowpipe with a\nrubber bulb, and force the contents into a frying-pan. You can make\nfine omelet from the eggs of eiders, gulls, puffins and cormorants. Or\nyou can mix flour with the eggs, add salt and butter, and make a nice\npancake browned on both sides.\n\n\"It tastes rather fishy, of course, but it's very filling, and when\nyou come in after a long, hard run behind the dogs, or soaked to the\nskin from a boat-ride, it certainly is fine to fill up on cormorant\nomelet while you pleasantly roast yourself before the leaping flames\nof a driftwood bonfire.\n\n\"A Labrador baby thinks that a gull's egg is as good as a stick of\ncandy.\n\n\"Puffins are lots of fun. You've read about the penguins in the\nAntarctic, where they have almost no other animals--how the penguins\ndive and swim and carry stones about, looking like solemn old\ngentlemen at a club in their dress suits. Well, the puffins are to\nLabrador what penguins are to the South Pole country.\n\n\"Their burrows are two or three feet long, and the mother sits on a\nsingle dirty white egg in a straw nest. The birds have red,\nparrot-like bills, and they have pale grey faces with markings that\nmake them look as if they were wearing spectacles.\n\n\"Their bodies are chunky, and they shuffle about very clumsily. They\ndon't like it a bit when people come where they have their nests.\n\n\"But the razor-billed auk doesn't make any nest--it just lays its egg\non the bare rock in the biting cold. There are very few auks left\nto-day, but there were lots of them when Audubon the naturalist\nvisited Labrador ninety years ago. Audubon tells how a band of\n'eggers' started out just like pirates.\n\n\"All they cared about was to plunder every nest.\n\n\"They went sneaking along from cove to cove, turning in sometimes at\nthe little caves or finding shelter in an angle of the rocks when the\nsea ran too high.\n\n\"While they were waiting they would fight and swear and drink. It's a\nwonder that the eggers didn't get drowned oftener, for their boats\nwould be mended with strips of sealskin and the sails were patched\nlike an old suit, and it looked as if a puff of wind would blow them\nover.\n\n\"These eggers got out of their sailing ship into a rowboat they towed,\nso as to go to an island of sea-pigeons, or guillemots--because they\ncouldn't get near enough in the larger vessel.\n\n\"As they came to the rocks, the birds rose up in a screaming white\ncloud. The air was full of them, just as you've seen the gulls\ncreaking and crying about the hull of an ocean steamer, hoping to pick\nup food thrown overboard.\n\n\"But the mother birds stuck faithfully to the nests. It was the\nfathers and brothers that rose up in the air and made the noisy fuss.\n\n\"All of a sudden--bang! the eggers discharged their guns in a volley\nright into the middle of the wheeling, screaming cloud of feathers\noverhead.\n\n\"Some fell into the water, and the rest in terror flew about not\nknowing where to go or what to do.\n\n\"The eggers picked up the birds that lay in rumpled, bloody heaps on\nthe water. They made toothsome pies, and what they couldn't eat they\nleft behind. They didn't care how many birds they killed, because\nthere were plenty left.\n\n\"They weren't shooting just for food--they were shooting mostly for\nfun. As they trampled about the island they crushed with their heavy\nboots more eggs than they picked up.\n\n\"No one would have blamed hungry men for killing enough birds and\ntaking enough eggs to supply their families. But the eggers saw red,\nand just went on shooting and trampling without excuse.\n\n\"Years of that kind of thing turned many an island into a graveyard.\n\n\"Well, when they had gathered some eggs and smashed the rest, they\npicked up the dead birds they wanted and carried them back to the\nboat.\n\n\"They jerked off the feathers and broiled the sea-pigeons. Then they\nbrought out big, black bottles of rum to take away the oily, fishy\nflavor, and filled themselves with strong drink and bird-flesh.\n\n    [Illustration: OFF DUTY]\n\n\"They fell asleep, snoring drunk, and dawn found them piled about the\ndeck helplessly.\n\n\"But when they got back to the island from which they started on their\njourney, they found that rivals had landed there, and were killing\nbirds which they looked on as their own.\n\n\"There was a fight at once.\n\n\"The men who were coming back home fired a volley and then took their\nguns as if they were clubs and rushed toward their enemies.\n\n\"Then, man to man, they fought like wild beasts. One man was carried\nto the boat with his skull fractured: another limped off with a bullet\nin his leg: a third was feeling his jaw to learn how many of his teeth\nhad been driven through a hole in his cheek.\n\n\"So they fought till they tired of it, and then they pulled out the\nrum-bottles, and drank themselves into forgetfulness of their fierce\nbattle.\n\n\"With the next morning came a hundred honest fishermen who wanted\nnothing more from the islands than the birds and the eggs they\nactually needed for their hungry wives and little ones at home.\n\n\"They had been eating salt meat for months: scurvy had broken out, and\nthey wanted a change of diet.\n\n\"But the pirate eggers were bound they shouldn't have it. The\nfishermen brought no guns: they weren't looking for trouble: they were\ntaken by surprise when the eggers rushed down on them like tigers\nroused from their lairs.\n\n\"One of the eggers, who had not slept off the effects of the carousal\nof the night before, shot one of the fishermen. Then the fishermen,\nwho outnumbered the eggers about ten to one, gave the latter the\nbeating of their lives. Fortunately, the fisherman who had been shot\nwas not killed.\n\n\"That was the sort of thing that happened again and again in the bad\nold days.\n\n\"No wonder Audubon, as a great lover of birds, was very angry at these\nmen who were making it impossible for birds to make their homes and\nlay their eggs and raise their families on the Labrador. They could\nhave had all they wanted to eat without exterminating the birds, and\nnever giving a thought to anybody who might come after them.\n\n\"The fishermen still, in many places, out of sight and reach of any\nlaw, take all the eggs and kill all the birds they can.\n\n\"But it's not so bad as it was in Audubon's time, when men from\nHalifax took about 40,000 eggs which they sold for twenty-five cents a\ndozen. Near Cape Whittle he found two men gathering murre's eggs. They\nwere proud of the fact that they had collected 800 dozen and they\ndidn't intend to stop till they had taken 2,000 dozen. The broken eggs\nmade such a dreadful smell that it almost made him sick.\n\n\"The ivory gull, known as the 'ice partridge,' is sometimes caught by\npouring seal's blood on the ice. The birds swoop down to get it, and\nare shot. Some actually kill themselves by striking the ice too hard\nwhen they land, for they are so eager to get the blood.\n\n\"Labrador is a good place to study the diving birds, which are of two\nkinds.\n\n\"There are those that use their feet alone under the water--and then\nthere are those that use only their wings.\n\n\"The feet-users clap their wings close to their sides when they dive.\n\n\"The wing-users spread out their pinions before they strike the water.\nThe puffin uses its wings under the water, and so do the other members\nof the auk family.\n\n\"In the duck family, there are both wing-swimmers and foot-swimmers.\nThe ducks of the sorts known as old squaws, scoters and eiders fly\nunder water. But the redheads and canvas-back ducks use only their\nfeet under water. Mergansers dive with their wings against their\nsides, like a folded umbrella. The cormorants are famous swimmers, and\nuse their feet alone. You know how the Chinese use cormorants as\nfish-catchers, putting rings about their necks to keep them from\nswallowing their prey.\n\n\"Among the birds classed as game-birds, the willow grouse are so easy\nto kill that a true sportsman doesn't take much pleasure in going\nafter them.\n\n\"They are often caught with nooses on the end of a stick, while they\nroost in the trees, and a group in this position may be killed all at\nonce, if shot from the bottom, so that the falling bird doesn't\ndisturb the others.\n\n\"Cartwright, an early explorer, tells how he came upon a covey of six\ngrouse and knocked off all their heads with his rifle.\n\n\"In winter, the willow grouse bury themselves in the snow, and the\n'cock of the roost' is sentinel, keeping his head above the snow to\nwatch for an enemy.\n\n\"The Canada goose, breeding about the lakes and ponds, is a\ngrass-eater, and so tastes better than the fishy, oily gulls and\ndivers. You can tame the goose and use it as a decoy. When a number\nare shot at a time, those that can't be used right away are hung\noutside the house. There they freeze, and are kept fresh all winter\nlong.\n\n\"There couldn't be a better retriever for a duck-hunt than the Eskimo\ndog. I've watched them dash into the waves after a bird, only to be\nthrown back, bruised and winded, high up on the ledges of the rock.\n\n\"Then the return wave would drag them off, and pound them against the\nrocks. But the dogs would hang on for dear life, till their nails\nwere torn away and their paws were bleeding.\n\n\"Even that wouldn't make them quit. They would return to the charge,\nand waiting for their chance they would jump right over the breaking\ncrest and get clear of the surf.\n\n\"When they've once got hold of a duck, nothing will make them let go.\nI've often been tempted to jump in and give the brave fellows a hand,\nwhen it seemed as if they couldn't keep up the struggle any longer.\n\n\"They'd sink out of sight in a bigger wave than usual--and then, sure\nenough, you'd see the duck again, and the dog's head after it, still\ntrue to duty even in the jaws of death. For sometimes, in spite of all\nhis pluck and cleverness, the dog is drowned.\"\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nBEASTS BIG AND LITTLE\n\n\nBoth on sea and land, Labrador animals have to be as tough as Labrador\npeople to stand the hard life they must lead.\n\nDr. Grenfell tells of a seal family he saw killed on an ice-pan about\nhalf the size of a tennis-court.\n\nThey were surprised by four sealers, with wooden bats. Before they\ngave up their lives they put up a tremendous struggle. The father seal\nactually caught a club in his mouth and swung it from side to side\nwith such violence that the sealers had to get off the pan.\n\nBut at last he was dealt such a blow on the head that it was supposed\nhe was killed.\n\nInstead of stripping off the pelt as the fallen monster lay on the\npan, the sealers hoisted him aboard the steamer \"unscalped.\" As he was\nbeing lifted over the rail--two thousand pounds of him--the strap\nbroke, and back into the sea the huge carcass splashed.\n\nThe cold water revived him.\n\nHe swam back to the pan, which was marked by the blood stains of his\nslaughtered family--the mate with her young which he had fought so\ndesperately to protect.\n\nThe pan stood about six feet out of the water. Yet the great animal\nmanaged to fling himself upon it.\n\nThe men, who had bread and tea to win for their families, could not\nafford to let him go.\n\nThey went back after him, and this time they did not trust to their\nwooden bats. They used a few of their precious cartridges and shot\nhim. And then they \"scalped\" him on the spot, and hauled the skin over\nthe rail.\n\nIt is painful to think of such a fate for the brave old warrior.\n\nJust as the cod-traps are put out from the shore, frame nets are set\nfor the seals along the beach where they are fairly sure to pass at\ncertain times of the year. There is a capstan from which the doorway\nof the seal-trap may be closed with a few turns. The Doctor tells of\none \"liveyere\" family that took nine hundred seals in this way: and\nthree to four hundred is nothing unusual. One trapper named Jones was\nso successful at this business of trapping seals with the net that he\nbecame \"purse-proud.\" From his land where there are no roads, he sent\nto Quebec for a carriage and horses, and then he had a road built on\nwhich he might parade them up and down to show his neighbors how rich\nhe was. Then, for his dances o' winter nights, no local fiddler would\nserve, scraping and patting his foot on the floor. He hired a real\nmusician from Canada, who remained all winter playing jigs and reels\nto a continuous round of feasts and merry-making. But, as the familiar\nsaying goes, it is often only one generation from shirt-sleeves to\nshirt-sleeves. In his case, the grandchildren finally found themselves\nwith less than the shirt-sleeves. They appealed to Dr. Grenfell, and\nhe found some old clothes on the boat to save them from freezing.\n\nThe whale is really a land animal, which finally found the sea more\namusing, and so took to \"a roving, nautical life.\"\n\nSince the legs were no longer useful, in the course of time they\nbecame wee things, and were enclosed in the thick, tough skin.\n\nThe \"arms\" were left outside, but they are nothing to boast of. They\nare not useful for swimming, but they help to balance the huge bulk,\nand mother whale seizes her baby with them when she takes alarm.\n\nThe eyes are tiny, for when a whale eats he is not particular.\n\nIt takes so many millions of little bits of creatures to give a whale\na square meal, that if he misses a hundred thousand or so out of the\nside of his huge jaws, at the top of his narrow gullet, he need not\nworry. The whale never starves until he is stranded. Out of water he\nmay continue to breathe for an hour or two--but he cannot eat.\n\n\"On a fine morning on the Labrador Coast,\" Dr. Grenfell tells us, \"I\nhave counted a dozen whales in a single school. Now and again a huge\ntail would emerge from the water and lash the surface with its full\nbreadth, making a sound like the firing of a cannon, while the silence\nwas otherwise broken only by the noise of their blowing, as they\nrolled lazily along on the surface.\"\n\nThe thresher whale is only about twenty feet long, but he is a fierce\nfellow--the pirate of the whale family, terrorizing the rest, and\nready to tackle anything in sight.\n\nHe has a fin which shows where he is as he cruises along close to the\nsurface. He readily eats other whales. Three threshers went after a\nbig cow sperm whale and her enormous infant, in shallow water. First\nthey killed the \"calf.\" Then they chased the mother away, and came\nback and ate the young one.\n\nIn 1892 a huge sperm whale rammed the rocks near Battle Harbor, where\nDr. Grenfell now has one of his hospitals.\n\nThe whale evidently wondered why the rocks didn't give way--for nearly\neverything else he encountered had collapsed when he butted into it.\nHe lunged once too often, and was left high, if not dry, on the beach.\n\nThey towed him into the harbor, a prize eighty feet in length, and\nproceeded to pump the oil out of him. From the head one hundred and\nforty gallons were taken. This oil in the whale's head, which may be a\nthird as big as his body, helps to float the great jawbones.\n\nOf course the \"blowing\" of the whale is one of its most remarkable\nperformances. A whale can stay below an hour, because he puts air into\nhis blood by spouting about sixty times, the operation taking him\nabout ten minutes.\n\nGrenfell helped take to pieces a \"sulphur-bottom\" whale ninety-five\nfeet long, supposed to weigh nearly 300,000 pounds. A boat could row\ninto the mouth. The jawbone was nearly eighteen feet long. \"It took\nfour of us a whole afternoon, with axes and swords mounted on pike\nhandles, to cut out one bone and carry it to our steamer.\" And in\norder to get back far enough to start cutting at the end, where the\njoint came, they \"had to walk almost in the footsteps of Jonah.\"\n\nThe whale is the one animal that lives to a great age--and it is said\nwhales have lived to be a thousand years old. A wolf is aged at\ntwenty, a caribou or fox at fifteen. A personal acquaintance of the\nDoctor was a black-backed gull which had been in captivity for\nthirty-two years.\n\nThe timber-wolf, which elsewhere is so fierce an animal, is\ncomparatively mild-mannered in Labrador, and Grenfell has found no\nrecord of these wolves attacking men, though in packs they have often\nfollowed the settlers to the doors of their houses.\n\nThere is nothing good to be said of the Labrador timber-wolf. Like the\neggers of Audubon's time, he seems to kill very often not for hunger's\nsake but for the sheer love of killing animals that cannot fight back.\nOften the bodies of deer are found with only the tongues and the\nwindpipe torn out by the mean and cowardly slayer.\n\nSometimes the wolf bites the deer in the small of the back: or several\nwolves will stalk a caribou, some circling about to distract the\nattention of their prey while others creep up on it from behind.\n\nThe caribou are amiable and affectionate, and it is easy to tame them\nif they are taken in hand when they are young. They make very\nsatisfactory pets.\n\nGrenfell had one which went with him on his mission boat, like a dog\nor a cat.\n\nIf not taken ashore, it would stand crying at the rail.\n\nIt would follow him about while on land, and swim after its master\nwhen Grenfell was in a rowboat.\n\nIn the field it would come running to be petted, and if left behind\nwithin the palings would stand up on its hind legs and try desperately\nto butt its way out and follow the Doctor.\n\nSometimes the caribou has been successfully used to haul a sled.\n\nThe Labrador black bear is almost as harmless as the caribou.\n\nGrenfell bought a cub, and in the winter-time gave him a barrel, to\nsee if he would know what to do, having no mother to guide him.\n\nThe bear knew by instinct how to make himself a warm and cosy nest for\nhis long winter sleep.\n\nHe found grass and moss, put them in the barrel, and trampled them\ndown to make a padded lining such as a human being could hardly have\nbettered.\n\nWe all know the story of General Israel Putnam,--how he crawled into\nthe wolf-den at Pomfret and shot a wolf \"by the light of its own\neyes.\" A trapper in Labrador, instead of crawling into a den where an\nanimal lay, entered an empty lair, under a cliff. It seemed to have\nbeen made on purpose for campers.\n\nHe lit his small lantern, ate his supper, and then curled up as tidily\nas any four-footed tenant and fell asleep.\n\nLike the bears in the fairy tale, who came back to find Goldilocks in\nthe chair and then in the bed of one of them, the real owners of the\ncave appeared in the night.\n\nThe hunter was awakened suddenly by a noise like rolling thunder in\nthe narrow entrance. He turned up his lamp, and the flare showed him a\nbear, so huge that it blocked the passage-way.\n\nNimbly the hunter reached for his gun, and before the animal could do\nanything more than growl and threaten, a shot had tumbled him flat.\n\nShoving aside the body, the trapper went out into the cold starlight,\nfor he knew that the mate of the slain beast might appear at any\nmoment.\n\nSure enough, presently over the brow of the hill there shambled in\nblack silhouette two more bears.\n\nHe took careful aim and fired and brought them both down.\n\nThe next time he makes a tour of his traps he probably will not choose\na bear's den for his night's lodging. A bear that is harmless in the\nopen may be excused for getting violent if he finds a man asleep in\nthe very bed he fixed for himself.\n\nGrenfell's experience with bears for pets--he has tried to tame nearly\neverything animate from gulls to whales--was not so happy as with the\ncaribou. He found that if \"pigs is pigs,\" bears \"remain bears, and are\nnot to be trusted.\" He had two bear playmates for a long time, but\nwhen they hit out with their paws they dealt some \"very nasty\nscratches,\" and what was fun for them was more serious for the tender\npelt of a human being.\n\nThe wolverine lives by his wits.\n\nHe will turn over a trap and set it off before it can nip him.\n\nHe is the pest of the man who has fur traps, for he will go from trap\nto trap and grab whatever he finds therein.\n\nHe can climb trees and get meat which the owner thought was secure.\n\nSometimes when he is caught he will get away with the trap and chain\nstill attached to his leg. He will even carry the trap in his mouth,\nto relieve the strain. Like Kipling's Fuzzy Wuzzy in the Sudan, he has\na great way of shamming dead. He may jump up and bite the hunter, or\nhe may make a sudden dash for freedom. Can you blame him?\n\nOne of the most satisfactory creatures of all is the beaver. I\nremember a pair in a pond on the west coast of Newfoundland, at\nCurling, where a beaver colony had a fine big house they had built in\na lake with a dam of their making at one end. I didn't go into the\nhouse, which was mainly under water, but the male beaver evidently\nfeared I would, and just as he dived he smartly slapped the water with\nhis tail to give the danger signal to the lady who was placidly nosing\nabout and grubbing for the roots of water-plants at the other side of\nthe pond.\n\n\"Walking one day through thick wood,\" says Grenfell, \"we came across a\nregular 'pathway,' the trees having been felled to make traveling\neasy. A glance at the stumps showed that it was a road cut by beavers,\nto enable them to drag their boughs of birch along more easily.\n\n\"The pathway led to a large house on the edge of a lake, and,\nfortunately for us, the beaver was at home. There were other houses on\nan island in the lake, and below them all a large, strong dam, some\nthirty yards long, and below this two more complete dams across the\nriver that flowed out. The dams were made of large tree-trunks, with\nquantities of lesser boughs, and were many feet thick, and very\ndifficult to break down. The houses were built half on land, half in\nthe water. The sitting-room is up-stairs on the bank, and so is the\n'crew's' bedroom, and the front door is made at least three feet below\nthe surface to prevent being 'frozen out' in winter, or, worse still,\n'frozen in.'\n\n\"The whole house was neatly rounded off, and so plastered with mud as\nto be warm and weather-proof. This is done by means of their\ntrowel-like tails, which are also of great use in swimming. The house\nwas so strong that even with an axe we could not get in without very\nconsiderable delay.\n\n\"In the deep pond they had dammed up, we found a quantity of birch\npoles pegged out. The bark of these forms their winter food, and is\ncalled 'browse.' The beaver cuts off enough for dinner, and takes it\ninto his house. Sitting up, he takes the stem in his fore paws, and\nrolls it round and round against his chisel-shaped incisor teeth,\nswallowing the long ribands of bark thus stripped off.... When\nsurprised they retreat to holes in the bank, of which the entrances\nare hidden under water. These are called 'hovels.'\n\n\"Beavers always work up wind when felling trees, and cut them on the\nwater side, so that they fall into the pond if possible, and the wind\nhelps to blow them home. This beaver we caught proved to be a\nhermit--at least he was living alone. He may have been a widower of\nunusual constancy. They do not destroy fish, their food in summer\nbeing preferably the stems of the water-lilies. Otters occasionally\nkill and eat beavers. When they call, the beaver has to try and be\n'not at home.'\"\n\nWhile the beaver evidently has strong feelings on the subject of the\notter, who seems to be a burglar and a murderer, he apparently does\nnot mind the lowly muskrat as a summer boarder, even though the\nlatter does not pay for his lodging.\n\nOf course the lord of the animate creation on land in the north--as\nthe sperm whale is monarch of the sea--is the polar bear. Grenfell\ngives a most interesting account of this white king of beasts whom we\nproperly pity on warm days as he lolls and pants by the soup-like\nwater of his tank in one of our southern Zoos. The Doctor once saw a\npolar bear swimming three miles out at sea, headed, by a marvelous\ninstinct, straight for the north. There was no convenient ice-pan\nfloating near on which he might clamber for a snooze. This bear had\nbeen shot, and he floated high in the water, so that evidently his fat\nwas a great help to him, enabling him to stay at sea as long as he\npleased.\n\nThe polar bears wander from their native shores: they seem to enjoy\ntravel, and when they sail south on pans of ice they are looking for\nthat toothsome morsel, the seal.\n\nIf they cannot get seals, these bears devour the eggs of sea-birds on\nthe islands.\n\nWhen they swim after ducks, they hide under water, all but the nose:\nand since that nose is black, and therefore a telltale, they have\nbeen seen to bury it in the snow when creeping toward a seal-herd.\n\nThe polar bear stands a poor chance against a pack of lively and\ndetermined dogs.\n\nThey have reason to fear his huge paws and tearing claws until he\ntires, but he cannot face all ways at once, and if there are enough\ndogs the struggle soon becomes hopeless.\n\nThey are not fast enough to get away from the fleet smaller animals.\n\nIn the water, where they swim slowly and dive expertly, the fishermen\nmay easily \"do for them\" with a blow from an axe or an oar. Though the\npolar bear has a fishy taste, the Eskimos relish the meat, and the\nprospect of a successful bear-hunt delights the savage breast.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nTHE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT\n\n\nOnce I asked Dr. Grenfell if he was tired. His blue eyes lit up as if\nI had thrown salt into a fire. He threw his head back and said:\n\"Tired? I was never tired in my life!\"\n\nBut I thought he was weary that September evening in 1919 when he sat\nwith his legs unkinked to the cheerful blaze, in the big living-room\nof his comfortable house at St. Anthony.\n\nThe wind can go whooping around that house all it likes and it never\nwill get in unless it is invited. That house was nailed and shingled,\ndoored and windowed, to stand up against the stiffest blast that ever\ncame howling across the rocks and bergs from the Humboldt Glacier or\neven the North Pole.\n\nPart of the time a blind piano-tuner was at work groping for lost\nchords among the strings of Mrs. Grenfell's piano. The piano didn't\nseem to need tuning so much. But the man needed the work. You can\nimagine there is not much for a blind piano-tuner to do in\nNewfoundland. Most of the music is the canned variety of the Victrola.\nOr, if there is a dance, someone may squat obligingly in a corner and\nhum very loudly what is called by its true name--\"chin-music.\"\n\nMrs. Grenfell, happy to have her husband back from the gales and fogs\nfor a little while, was sitting in the puffy armchair with her\nknitting-needles, and the boys, Pascoe and Wilfred, were up-stairs\nwith their teacher, making out jig-saw puzzles in arithmetic or\nknocking the tar out of the French Grammar, with various loud sounds.\n\nWhat the telephone is to busy men in America, giving them no peace\neven in the bathtub, the telegraph is to the Doctor in Newfoundland.\nIf it isn't a man on the doorstep with a bleeding cut or a hacking\ncough, then it is a boy with a message which comes from a point twenty\nto sixty miles off. Most of the time your doctor or mine has a few\nblocks to go: and we think it hard, and he thinks so too, if a patient\nclamors for him in the middle of the night. But the middle of the\nnight is the heart of Grenfell's office hours. Once after conducting\na late evening service in the church at Battle Harbor he had to doctor\nforty patients in the room off the chancel before he could get away.\n\nSo it was no surprise to him, in the midst of a tale of the old days\nat Oxford on the football-field, to have a rat-tat like Poe's raven at\nthe door, and a respectful \"young visitor\" doffing his sou'wester.\n\n\"Please, sir, a telegram.\"\n\nGrenfell tore it open.\n\nIt read: \"Doctor would you please come. My throat is full up and I\ncan't eat or sleep.\"\n\nIt was signed \"J.N. Coté.\"\n\n\"That,\" said Grenfell, \"is the lighthouse-keeper at Greenley Island,\njust west of the line that divides Canadian Labrador from Newfoundland\nLabrador. He has a big job on his hands. He has two fog-horns, each\nwith a twelve horse-power Fairbanks gasoline engine, so that if one's\nput out of business he can use the other. He's had fog all summer--and\na sub-tonsillar abscess, too. The big Canadian Pacific ships go by his\nplace. It's a bad spot. The light-keeper at Forteau tried to bring out\nhis wife and five children--and lost all but one child on the rocks.\nAnother keeper at Belle Isle tried to bring out a family of about the\nsame size--and they all were lost. A doctor stopped in on Captain Coté\non the down trip from Battle Harbor, on his way back to Baltimore.\nEvidently whatever he did wasn't enough. Looks as if I must go and\nfinish the job.\"\n\nAs if to settle the question, even while he spoke there came another\nmessenger--like the first, a volunteer--bringing another telegram.\n\nThis time, as in those messages sent from Cape Norman about the woman,\nthe tone was sharper, more imperative and anxious.\n\n\"Please come as fast as you can to operate me in the throat and save\nmy life.\"\n\nThe shade of concern in the Doctor's grave face deepened.\n\n\"Coté doesn't cry out for nothing,\" he said. \"He's a real man. We must\ngo. Would you rather stay here and rest a few days, or will you go with\nme?\" Who would care to toast his toes and dally with a book, while\nGrenfell was abroad on such a mission? I had a quick vision of the\ngallant run the _Strathcona_ would be called on to make--squirming\nthrough the rocks and bucking the headwinds and the heavy seas, to save\nthat lighthouse-keeper and keep the big, proud ships from Montreal and\nQuebec from running blind in the dark. Not far from that spot a British\nman-of-war ran aground in 1922 and was a total loss, though happily her\nmen were saved. I have been in the wireless cabin on the topmost crags\nof Belle Isle when the Straits all round about, fog-bound, were\nclamorous with the ships, anchor-down, calling to one another and\nwhimpering like little lost children trying to clasp hands and afraid\nin the dark together.\n\nIt would be a run of a hundred miles from St. Anthony to Captain\nCoté's strangling throat--and what miles they were! Not until the\nmiddle of June had the mail-boat--that poor, doomed _Ethie_ of the\ndog's rescue--been able to pierce the ice. Where those ice-pans met at\nCape Bauld the grinding, rending and heaving of their battle was worse\nto hear and see than all the polar bears or the tusked walruses that\never rose up and fought together.\n\nDr. Grenfell could be perfectly sure that he would have to run a\ngauntlet all the way--picking and choosing between crags on the one\nhand and bergs on the other: just such a risky, \"chancy\" course as he\nmost relishes. While he crumpled the telegram in his hand I could see\nhis eyes light up again with that flash they showed when I asked him\nif he was ever tired.\n\nHis pockets at that moment were full of pleading, piteous letters from\nWhite Bay, meant to pull him to the other side of the island. One of\nthem, from a desperate woman, after saying her husband had caught but\neleven dollars' worth of fish all season, wound up with an appeal for\noddments of clothes to put on the children, for \"We are all as naked\nas birds.\"\n\nIt was hard to say no to the heart-throbs of those begging letters in\nhis pocket. But Captain Coté's life was not one life. It was the lives\nof thousands--men, women and children--going down to the sea in ships,\nfaring through the St. Lawrence, and the Gulf, and then those terrible\nStraits of Belle Isle, to the Old Country.\n\nSo we started. But was Mrs. Grenfell going to stay home with the\npiano, and French verbs, and her fancy-work, while the _Strathcona_\nnosed the seething waters? Not on your life! Wilfred and Pascoe had a\nperfectly good governess, and while it was hard on them to remain\nbehind with their books, their turn with Father was coming.\n\nThe big black dog, named Fritz, had no French verbs to study, and no\nmeasly sums in arithmetic to do, so--at one running jump--he was added\nto the passenger-list. His berth was chiefly out on the end of the\nbowsprit--he was more ambitious than a figurehead. There he could\nsniff the breeze, and see the shore, even when there wasn't any, and\nbark defiance at all the dogs and the sea-pusses.\n\nThe _Strathcona_ used both steam and sail. She was ketch-rigged, with\nsix sails--mainsail, foresail, two jibs, two topsails. One of those\ntopsails was a fancy, oblong thing which Dr. Grenfell's crew\nmistrusted as though it were witchcraft. He had brought it from the\nNorth Sea; they had never seen the likes of it before, and their minds\nare likely to be sternly set against anything new. But the Doctor, who\nis restless on shipboard, climbed to the crow's nest now and then to\nadjust the strange contraption, and make sure that it was using the\nwind in such a way as to develop the last ounce of pulling power. This\nwas no pleasure cruise. It was a run for life.\n\nThe sea was a vast blue smile as we swaggered out of St. Anthony\nHarbor. What a fickle creature is that northern ocean! This was the\nfirst clear day in ever so long--and now the sun and the water were in\nconspiracy to pretend it had always been this gay, fair weather.\n\nThe only blemish on the seascape was a troop of bergs, six in number,\nout yonder to starboard. But they were dim and distant as we bore in\ntoward the headland at Quirpon Tickle. Quirpon is called \"Carpoon\" by\nthe fishermen because that isn't the way to pronounce it. And Tickle\nhas nothing to do with making you laugh. Quite the contrary. It means\na very serious business of creeping and twisting snakewise through a\nchannel that winds among the rocks. You are perfectly sure you are\nabout to ram the face of a wall--and then, lo and behold! there is a\nway out at the last minute, and it leads you to another wall and\nanother rift that suddenly and impossibly opens to let you through.\nYou have to think of the pirates who used to run and hide in places\nlike that, and give the slip to honest sailor men from France and\nEngland who were trying to run them down. If they didn't meet the\npirates they met and fought each other, which was vastly diverting to\nthe pirates and perhaps just as satisfying to themselves.\n\nThere were fishermen's dories bouncing about like happy children in\nthe shallower waters near the shore. I happened to be at the wheel,\nand my one idea was not to hit those sharp and cruel rocks, not to\nstrike a fisherman, and to give the widest berth I could to the\ndistant menace of those icebergs.\n\nGrenfell, red-booted and brown-sweatered, put his head in at the\nwheel-house door, and the wind ruffled his silver hair as he cried:\n\"Run her so close to those rocks that you all but skin her!\"\n\nYou see, his mind was only on Captain Coté, with the choke in his\nthroat, strangling and struggling, but going on with his duty as the\nkeeper of the light with the beams outflashing to the long, far bellow\nof his mighty horn.\n\nIn our race against time, we were burning coal, that precious\ncommodity, then twenty-four dollars a ton,--and much more costly\nto-day. Spruce and fir and juniper were piled on deck--some of the\nwood across the barrels of whale-meat, in a vain attempt to shut off\nthe rotten smell of the food so loved by the dogs. But, hasten as we\nmight, the night closed down like a lid on a box as we sounded our\ngingerly way through the perilous twistings of the Tickle. The wind\nwas rising, and as we looked back we saw the waves, running white and\nhigh at a mad dance in cold moonlight. If we went on, and came out\ninto the Straits, the wind would hold us there without an inch of\ngain, though we had the full power of the engines going and all sails\nset. The _Strathcona_, a tiny steamer of less than fifty tons, was no\nmatch for the sea aroused in opposition. It is a miracle that this\nsmall boat, the _Strathcona_, lived so long, with so many attempts of\nice and rock to punch the life out of her wherever she went.\n\nDr. Grenfell, as his habit is on shipboard, rose at two, at three and\nat four to study his charts and lay out his course, and at twenty\nminutes to five his strong hands were at the wheel, on which are the\nwords \"Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.\"\n\nThe dog Fritz had been sleeping all night on a thick blue woolen\nblanket in the bunk below mine. He had no business there, and he knew\nit, but as regularly as I turned him out into the nipping air and the\nfrosty starlight he would return indignantly. \"What's the matter with\nyou?\" his wrinkled face seemed to say. \"You're just a visitor on this\nboat, and I belong here. What right have you to keep me out of a nice\nwarm bed? You don't need this whole cabin, you selfish man.\" Finally\nmy patience gave out and I let him have his way.\n\nUnder the red edges of the dawn, a fresh breeze blowing, we came\nwithin hail of that ugly rock named the Onion. \"In that bay over\nthere,\" laughed Grenfell, \"we were blown across the ice--sled and dogs\nand all--when we were trying to round up the reindeer herd. We had the\ntime of our lives!\n\n\"You see, we had brought a bunch of reindeer all the way from Lapland,\nand Lapp herders came with them, to keep off the dogs and prevent the\nnatives from shooting them as if they were caribou. On one occasion we\nhad a real 'Night before Christmas' celebration, and St. Nick\ndelighted the children at the Orphanage where he came with his gifts\non a big sled behind a real team of reindeer.\n\n\"But the reindeer spread all over the peninsula, and the Lapps\ncouldn't keep track of their charges. The hunters and the dogs were\nhard on the trail of the herd. You couldn't blame hungry men and\nfamished animals.\n\n\"I meant in time to persuade the people to give up their dogs and use\nreindeer instead. The reindeer could draw sleds, and would give milk,\nand meat too, if necessary, and their furs would be valuable. There\nwouldn't be any risk of their hurting children, or strangers, or sick\npeople, and they wouldn't make night hideous with their howling.\n\n\"But at last, in order to save the remnant, it was necessary to move\nthem, and I decided to load them on a fishing-vessel and take them\nacross the Straits to the St. Augustine River country, where they\ncould increase in peace, and the dogs would not bother them, and the\nCanadian Government could protect them from any Indian hunters who\nmight come along.\n\n\"It was a fine plan, on paper. But it was like the old recipe for\nmaking a rabbit pie--'first catch your hare.' The reindeer having had\nthe run of the open spaces so long saw no reason why they should be\ncaught and put on a boat and carried off.\n\n\"So they gave us a run for it, I can tell you! All over the place we\nrushed, shouting and trying to lasso or corner the terrified animals.\nI never laughed so hard in my life. The wind was blowing great guns,\nand you simply couldn't stand up against it. We caught a great many of\nthe reindeer. But a lot of them romped off into the woods and took to\nthe hills and we never saw them again. Since they were moved to Canada\nthey have done well--and some day, when the people are ready to have\nthem, I want to move them back and see if we can't replace the\ndog-teams with them.\"\n\nMeanwhile the little ship had turned her head away from the unsavory\nOnion, and was running on, over a long diagonal, to cross the straits\nin the bared teeth of the green and yeasty waves. That she was\ntop-heavy was plainly to be seen, with her barrels of whale-meat and\nher high-piled fire-wood on deck, and almost no ballast or cargo\nbelow.\n\nAs we stood out into the middle of the channel, I thought of the great\nboats that must feel their way through the dense fog in evil weather.\nThey would have to be honking like wild geese, even though the straits\nat their narrowest between Flower's Cove and Greenley Island are ten\nmiles wide. Fog is a terrible deceiver. I remember coming up the East\nCoast on the mail-steamer _Invermore_ in 1913. In a day after leaving\nTwillingate we were nearly wrecked three times. First, when we thought\nwe were ten miles offshore, we found a tiny skiff, with two persons\naboard, in our path--we nearly ran it down. Father and small son,\nfourteen, were fishing for cod, and had their meagre catch in a tin\npail. Captain Kane had stopped our boat--we were going at quarter\nspeed--and he had the man come up on the bridge to show us where the\nland lay. \"Out yonder!\" The ancient mariner pointed to the northwest.\nA rowboat was manned: in a few minutes its crew came back and\nreported that the rocks were not more than two hundred yards away. So\nwe backed off, and steamed hard in the opposite direction. But only an\nhour or so later,--pulled steadily on and on toward the shore, by the\nstrong, insetting tide,--we saw the grey edge of the fog lifting like\na table-cloth, and there were those cruel rocks again, dragons in a\nlair, waiting to receive us, crush our bones and drink our blood.\nAgain we backed away--and before long the fierce jangle of the bell in\nthe engine room and the captain's sharp accent of command from the\nbridge once more halted us suddenly. There, directly before our prow,\nwas a great white wall of ice, which had taken almost the color of the\nmist. It was an iceberg that barred our path, and if we had been\nspeeding like the _Titanic_ instead of creeping like a snail, it would\ndoubtless have been the end of the _Invermore_. Only one more tragedy\nof a missing ship.\n\nAt four in the afternoon, when the great rock bastion of Belle Isle\nloomed across our bows, we gave up for the night: and next morning,\nbetween seven and eight, no fewer than eight enormous icebergs\ncrossed our bows in a glittering processional.\n\nBut to-day, mid-stream, there was no fog, and despite the roughness of\nthe water the cool air and clear sunlight were cause for rejoicing.\n\"Isn't it fun to live?\" exclaimed the Doctor, as he swung the wheel;\nand the _Strathcona_, feeling her master's hand, trembled and obeyed.\n\nFritz, out yonder on the prow, was staring toward the bleak Labrador\ncoast. Was he thinking of dogs to fight, and fish to eat, and a snooze\non the beach, after the run was over and the anchor was down? No--he\nwas looking at something near at hand--and his ears were even quicker\nthan ours to catch over the voice of waves or wind the cry of men in a\npower-boat off the starboard bow.\n\nThere were three of them. Two of them held up the third man, whose\nbare head flopped over on his chest. The collar of his overcoat was\nturned up to shelter that agonizing throat. Yes, it was Captain Coté,\nthe man we came so far to seek.\n\n\"Doctor!\" they called. \"He couldn't wait! We've brought him out to\nye!\"\n\nA moment more and hands as tender as they were willing were lifting\nhim over the rail. A wee baby would have had no gentler handling.\n\nCaptain Coté's face was the greenish white of a boiled potato. It was\nseamed with deep lines of pain and sleepless nights. He was carried to\nthe brass rungs of the ladder and lowered.\n\n\"Easy! easy!\" those who let him down were saying to each other. They\nseemed to fear he would break if they dropped him.\n\nBy the light of a battered tin lamp Grenfell ran a needle into his\nthroat with the novocaine that would destroy the pain of the\noperation.\n\nThen he took his thin scissors a foot long and thrust them into the\nabscess under the tonsils.\n\nFive minutes later, Captain Coté had found the use of his tongue\nagain, and, waving both hands round his ears as he talked, he was\nthanking God and Dr. Grenfell, and giving us the full history of the\ndreadful months he spent before help came.\n\nNext day we landed on his island--Greenley Island. From the small\nwharf where women were cleaning fish there were two lines of planking\nlaid, on cinders, for perhaps a thousand feet through the long green\ngrass to the red brick lighthouse tower. On these wooden rails was the\nchassis of a Ford car, and we rode in state. But you had to stick\nclosely to the track, or you came to grief on the rough, shelly soil\nalongside.\n\n\"It's the first automobile ride I ever had in Labrador!\" the Doctor\ngleefully exclaimed.\n\nIn the lighthouse was a living-room with a talking-machine, a violin,\na typewriter and other things to add to the comfort of a home and make\na family happy.\n\nThe patient was brought into the room by his beaming wife and two of\nhis children.\n\n\"How are you this morning, Captain?\" asked Grenfell.\n\n\"Feeling fine, Doctor.\"\n\n\"Did you sleep?\"\n\n\"Slept like a baby. First time in three months.\"\n\n\"And can you eat?\"\n\n\"I can eat rocks, Doctor.\"\n\nThen the Captain brought out a pocketbook stuffed with greenbacks.\nTwelve hundred dollars a year, with nothing to spend it for, since he\ngets his living, seems a fortune to a man in that part of the world.\n\n\"How much do I owe you?\" He pulled out three ten-dollar bills.\n\n\"One of those will do,\" said the Doctor, quietly.\n\nIt was right for him to take the money. Self-respect on Captain Coté's\npart demanded that he should pay. Grenfell lets his patients pay in\nwood or fish or whatever they have, a value merely nominal compared\nwith what they receive. But he wants them to feel--and they, too, wish\nto feel--that they are not beggars, living on the dole of his charity.\n\n\"Now then, Doctor, how about the coal you burned getting here? How\nmuch does that come to? The Canadian Government'll give it back to\nyou. We've got some down on the wharf. We can take it out now and put\nit on your boat.\"\n\nThe emergency run of the _Strathcona_ had used five tons and a\nquarter. At twenty-four dollars a ton, this would be worth one hundred\nand twenty-six dollars.\n\nWe went down to the wharf, and tried to put the coal, which was soft\ncoal, like dust, on a skiff, to take it two hundred yards in a\nhalf-gale to the _Strathcona_.\n\nBut the mighty wind blew the coal out of the boat as fast as it was\nshoveled aboard.\n\nThen Captain Coté said, \"We'll send it, when calm weather comes, to\nSister Bailey at Forteau.\" She was a wonderful trained nurse,--a\nfriend of Edith Cavell,--who lived in the near-by village, and had a\ncow that fought off the dogs and gave milk to the sick babies.\n\nSo Captain Coté's life was saved and the great boats from Montreal and\nQuebec with their hundreds of passengers could enter and traverse the\nStraits in any weather, because the keeper of the light was at his\npost once more.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nTHROUGH THE BLIZZARD\n\n\nAnother trip was to the north, in January, over the thirty miles from\nSt. Anthony to Cape Norman, to save a woman's life. It all looks so\neasy when you get out the map and measure it across white space.\n\nBut when that white space is snow instead of paper, and there are\nthirty miles of it to flog through, instead of three inches under your\nhand--that, as Kipling would say, is another story.\n\nOver the telegraph line from Cape Norman to St. Anthony came a piteous\nmessage from a young fisherman. It said his wife was dying. Grenfell\ntelegraphed back, the message running something like this: \"My\nassistant has gone off with the dogs to answer another call. Cannot\nleave my patients at the hospital and cannot get any dogs till he\ncomes back.\"\n\nThen another message came from the distracted husband: \"Doctor, my\nwife is dying. For God's sake find another team somewhere and come.\"\n\nThe night, as the island saying is, was as dark as the inside of a\ncow. Grenfell stumbled out into the blackness to hunt for dogs. The\ntrail to Cape Norman is very rough, and the January snow was deep. The\nwind blowing over it threw the snow, biting and blinding, in the face\nof anyone who attempted the trail.\n\nBut Grenfell did not hesitate. From house to house he went, to rouse\nthe occupants like another Paul Revere, and beg for dogs that he might\nuse on the desperate journey.\n\nOne man let him take four. Another, for pay, gave him a fifth animal.\nA boy named Walter said he would get four more dogs and would drive\nthe ill-assorted team. By that time it was midnight.\n\n\"We'll start at 4:30,\" said the Doctor. At 4:30 it would still be\npitch-black.\n\nGrenfell went back to the hospital, roused the head nurse, and went to\nevery patient to make sure that while he was gone no accident would\nhappen that he could possibly prevent.\n\nAt 4:30 he was ready to start. Few men are his match for staying up\nall night and looking as fresh as a mountain daisy after the vigil.\n\nHe opened the door and a blizzard swept in and tried to rush him off\nhis feet. Through the whirling drift staggered Walter, dogless.\n\n\"Where are those dogs?\" asked the Doctor. He expects men to keep\nagreements made with him. He couldn't get through the length and\nbreadth of his big day's work if they didn't.\n\nWalter shook his snow-covered head. \"I ain't brought 'em, sir. It's\ntoo bad a night to be startin' before sun-up. The dogs don't know each\nother: they comes from here, there an' all over. They'll be fightin'\nin the traces an' eatin' each other up in the dark. Us must be able to\nsee 'em in order to drive 'em. You know what dogs is like, sir.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" said Grenfell. \"But you're the driver, and I leave it to\nyou. We must get off as soon as we can.\"\n\nDr. Grenfell went to his room to snatch a catnap before the start.\nAnother telegram woke him as he was drowsing off.\n\n\"Come along soon. Wife worse.\"\n\nThe storm instead of going down was more violent than ever when the\ngrey day came. The sun was not seen at all. On the contrary, the air\nwas filled with a mad whirl of pelting, stinging flakes almost as hard\nas Indian arrow-heads. The dogs would be no good in the teeth of such\na storm--for the team-mates who work with a will are those that are\nbest acquainted, and with an unknown driver this team suddenly thrown\ntogether would have pulled as many different ways as there were fierce\nand headstrong dogs. They would be at each other's throats before they\nwere out of sight of the houses.\n\nAs he waited, walking restlessly up and down, in his brown sweater and\nthick leggins, Grenfell was plagued with the picture of the woman\nfighting for her life till help should come from the one man who could\ngive it.\n\nStill another of those telegrams! This time the message read: \"Come\nimmediately if you can. Wife still holding out.\"\n\nJust as he read the words, there were voices, and battering hands at\nthe door.\n\nTwo men, white as Santa Claus from head to foot, staggered into the\nroom, with the wind whooping at their backs as if in a wild anger\nthat they escaped its clutches.\n\nGrenfell, accustomed as he was to the brave men of a hard country,\nfairly gasped when he saw them.\n\n\"Where did you come from?\"\n\n\"We comes to fetch you, sir, for the sick woman at Cape Norman.\"\n\n\"Do you think dogs can get me there now?\" the Doctor asked, anxiously.\n\n\"No, sir. We was blown here most o' the way, wi' the wind at our\nbacks. The wind drove us. The dogs can't make head against it, not\ntill the wind shifts clean round the other way, sir.\"\n\nTen miles of their journey had been in the fairly sheltered lee of the\nland. Twenty miles had been before the pitiless sweep of the wind over\nthe unprotected sea-ice. If the snow had not drifted so heavily, they\nwould have been borne along at a pace so rapid that their sled would\nhave been wrecked.\n\n\"When was it you left Cape Norman?\" was the Doctor's next question.\n\n\"Eight o'clock last night, sir.\"\n\nSo they had been coming on all through the night, without rest or\nfood. Yet the first thing they had done when the sled stopped at last\nbefore Grenfell's door was to get something for their dogs to eat.\nAlready, the animals lay snug and tranquil in a drift, as if it were a\nfeather-bed--sleeping the sleep of good dogs who have done their work\nand earned their daily fish-heads and know of nothing more to want in\nthis life or the next.\n\nThe Doctor patted the broad shoulders of the gaunt, shy spokesman. \"Go\ninto the hospital and get a good, big, hot dinner,\" he said. \"Then go\nto bed. We'll wake you when it's time to start.\"\n\nBut after dark--and the darkness came on very early--the two troubled\nmen were at Grenfell's door again. \"Us couldn't sleep, sir, for\nthinkin' of the woman. Us have got another telegram sayin' please to\nhurry. The storm is not so bad as it was, sir. If you think fitten to\nstart, we're ready.\"\n\n\"Call Walter,\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Us has called he, sir. He's gettin' the dogs. He'll be here in a\nminute.\"\n\nGrenfell and his comrades knew that the lull in the storm did not mean\nthe end of it. It was gathering strength, and might at any moment\nbreak loose again with redoubled fury. But he--and they--couldn't\nstand waiting any longer. They must go. It was as if out of the black\ndistances they heard the thin, far, pleading voice of the sufferer\ncalling to them, to come and save her.\n\nTheir first task was to get across the harbor of St. Anthony in the\ndark and the eddying snow. They had their snowshoes, but in spite of\nthese they sank to their knees in slush, and the two dog-teams\nfloundered and half-swam. The team from Cape Norman went first, to\nencourage the others. A man stumbled ahead of them all, to break out a\nfootway. Walter trudged in advance of the rear team, with Grenfell\ndriving an assortment of beasts he had never handled before. Only a\ndog-driver knows what that means.\n\nAscending the flank of the hill across the harbor, they found\nthemselves almost overwhelmed by the deep snow, with more piling down\nfrom above, as they fought their way foot by foot up the hill. They\nhad to take hold of the sleds and lift them to help the dogs, and the\nsweat rolled off them in spite of the keen bite of the cold. When they\ntopped the rise at last, the wind struck them full force, so that\ntheir loudest shouts could not be heard in the roaring onrush of the\nwind. The slope was a steep glaze of ice, and down it they coasted,\nrunning into tree-trunks and rocks that threatened to wrench the sleds\nand injure the dogs and men. It was hardly better when they reached\nthe bottom. Here the Bartlett River became their necessary roadway,\nand twice Grenfell and others broke through into the swirling current\nand were almost carried away to be drowned under the ice.\n\n    [Illustration: WHERE FOUR FEET ARE BETTER THAN TWO]\n\nDown-stream they battled their course--no wonder \"Battle Harbor\" is\nthe name of the Labrador inlet not far away. It is a battle to get\nanywhere in winter on this coast. At half-past one in the morning they\ncame to where the twenty-mile stretch of sea-ice began.\n\nAfter that experience of a few years before on the ice-pan, Grenfell\nwould not have been to blame if he had called a halt and said, \"No,\nnot out there! Let us take the longest way round, by the shore, and\nbe safe.\"\n\nBut that has never been his way. When duty calls, he takes the air\nline to the scene of action. So it was on this awful night. It had\ntaken six hours to do ten miles. The sea was throwing the ice about\nwith a mighty booming and crashing like the firing of cannon. The\nblizzard stung their faces and lashed their bodies. Grenfell was ready\nto dare the passage. But the men who came for him would not have it\nso. His life was precious in their sight: and they knew what its\npreservation meant to all that helpless lonesomeness of the winter\ncoast.\n\nIt lacked six hours to daylight. If they waited, the dogs would not\nfreeze, but men might suffer, and perhaps lose their lives.\n\nBut the rugged pair from Cape Norman said that in the preceding fall\nsomeone had put up a \"tilt\"--a log refuge--in the woods near by. They\nroved about until to their exceeding joy they found it.\n\nThere was not merely a shack of spruce-logs. In the shelter there was\na stove, and beside the stove was a pile of wood. It is the habit of\nthe men of the North to think of those who come after them. They who\nhave been through a winter understand what it means to depend on\nothers and have others depend on them. Those who do not play the game\nthat generous, open-handed, far-sighted way have no friends and are\ndespised by their neighbors.\n\nThe dogs fell asleep in the snow. One of the Cape Norman men \"bust\nopen\" the river with his axe and filled the kettle for tea. But even\nwhile Grenfell was fussing with the knots of the dunnage bag to get\nout the tea and the sugar, he heard his comrade's pipe fall to the\nfloor.\n\nGrenfell looked up. The good soul, standing erect, was fast asleep. It\nhad been sixty hours since he had slept, and forty-eight of these had\nbeen spent on that terrible trail where there was no trail. Flesh and\nblood rebelled at last. Even the records of ambulance-drivers in the\nwar have seldom equalled such endurance. The sleeper was roused and\nput on the bench. He tried again to stuff his pipe with his frightful\nrubbish called tobacco. But the pipe clattered to the floor again: he\nwas dead to the world: his snoring shook the peace of dreamland, and\nwould have broken the glass in the tilt if there had been any glass to\nbreak.\n\nWhat might be called dawn came at last, but with it the snow returned\nfast and thick as the flies and mosquitoes of a Labrador spring.\n\nThe snow cut off their view of the sea, but they heard it roaring as\nthough possessed of all the devils.\n\nOver that roaring there seemed to come to their ears again the still\nsmall voice of the woman in misery--hopeful, waiting for them,\ntrusting the Doctor who had never failed her yet.\n\nThey were not the sort who would say sea-ice was impassable, if humans\nand dogs could traverse it.\n\nBut examination showed that there was no way over the partly frozen\nsea.\n\nGreatly against their will, they must take the roundabout route\noverland. By two in the afternoon the ice held sufficiently to let\nthem cross to Crow Island, and there they tried to boil water and make\ntea. The blizzard defeated them. In the blinding snow, they set their\ncourse by the compass, and the dogs plunged on. They said nothing to\nthe dogs after that, but let them follow their own cold noses. The\nwonderful beasts took them straight to a tiny shore village. A short\ndash from the village, and the long run was over. In a jiffy, Grenfell\nhad out the surgical instruments and put the patient under ether.\nTo-day the woman is not merely alive but in the best of health, and\nshe thinks of Dr. Grenfell as the Greeks used to think of a god.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nWHY THE DOCTOR WAS LATE\n\n\nWe have seen by this time that Grenfell does not rush slam-bang into\ndanger for the mere sake of \"the tumult and the shouting,\" like a\nsoldier of fortune.\n\nOnce he said to me: \"I'm like these dogs. Every time they hear a fight\ngoing on at the other end of the village they feel that they have to\nget into it, and off they go, pell-mell. Whenever I hear of a good\nscrap in progress anywhere in the world, my first impulse is to drop\neverything else and get into the struggle. Then I realize that I'm\nserving my fellow-man as truly by staying just where I am, and trying\nto do my duty in my place.\"\n\nHe is fearlessly willing to spend his life in heroic deeds: but he\nalways has a definite purpose in view: he is not posing for the\nmotion-pictures. So when he harnesses his dogs to go on a journey we\nmay be pretty sure that at the other end of the run there is some man,\nwoman or child who needs the Doctor, and who takes the medicine of\nhope just from seeing him at the bedside, before he has done anything\nwith a knife or a needle.\n\nIn the spring of 1919 the Doctor had to go to New York. It wasn't a\nsick person this time: it was a board of directors that wanted to hear\nhis report on his work, and was to discuss with him big plans to raise\n$1,500,000 for an endowment fund to carry it on. A Seamen's Institute,\na string of hospitals, several mission steamers, an industrial school\nand a number of dispensaries take a lot of money to run, even with\nmany volunteer helpers.\n\nMost of us, if we find it inconvenient to attend a meeting, telephone\nor write politely to say we have the laryngitis or the shingles or\nsome other good excuse, and are very, very sorry that we cannot come.\n\nBut Grenfell, having said he would be in New York at the end of May,\nwas bound to be there in spite of fog and bog, sea and snow and berg,\nif it was humanly possible. I remember his story of what happened as\nvividly as though it were yesterday, for I also had an appointment\nwith him at that time--and he was only a month late in keeping it.\n\nHe had written me:\n\n\"I am in a terrible state about my boat: she is still in the blockade\nof ice, after two months fighting it. It is harder to beat than the\nHuns, but I am very anxious you should come with me, even if we have\nto canoe down the coast.\"\n\nThe story behind his finally successful attempt to reach New York on\nthat occasion is as follows:\n\nHe set apart a month to make the journey, which in open summer weather\nwould require only a week. He meant to go round the northern tip of\nNewfoundland, from his headquarters on the east coast at St. Anthony.\n\nHe planned, therefore, to go by dog-team northward to the Straits of\nBelle Isle, and then alongshore rounding Cape Bauld and Cape Norman,\nand on down the west coast to the railroad at Curling which would take\nhim to Port aux Basques. At the latter place, the southwestern corner\nof Newfoundland, an ice-breaking steamer would carry him over Cabot\nStraits to North Sydney, and there he could get a train which would\nmake connections for New York.\n\nThere is what dogs would consider a fair route alongshore on the\nwestern coast. And the dogs' opinion is worth considering.\n\nBut there sprang up a continuing gale, with a blizzard in its teeth.\nIt rocked and hammered and broke the ice with the fury of great guns\nround about the headlands. As the trail for much of the way lay along\nthe sea-ice, it would have been as impossible for the dogs to go by it\nas it was to make that short-cut across the bay when Doctor and dogs\nhad that terrible experience on the ice-pan.\n\n\"Very well then,\" said Grenfell, \"we'll try a motor-boat.\"\n\nMotor-boating is fun enough in summer on the placid reaches of the\nDelaware or the Hudson, but it is a very different matter on the coast\nof Newfoundland, in a narrow lane between great chunks that have\nbroken off a Greenland glacier and lean brown crags with the sea\ncrashing white and high upon them. If he went in a motor-boat,\nGrenfell would have to be on the lookout day and night for ice-pans\nand bergs, lest they close in and crush his boat as an elephant's\ntread would squash a peanut.\n\nWhen the blizzard that had spoiled the ice eased off, Grenfell had his\nboat ready. After two or three days of creeping in the lee of the\nrocks and trying to keep out of the clutch of the breakers, he would\nfind himself at a point where he could begin a lonely trek overland, a\nhundred miles to the railroad, with his pack of food and clothing on\nhis stalwart shoulders.\n\nJust such a lonely walk as that many a sealer, fisherman or clergyman\nhas made. If night overtakes a man, and he is far from a hut, he kicks\na hole in a drift, lines it with fir boughs, makes his fire and crawls\nin snugly. He finds snow-water will not hurt him if he mixes it with\ntea or sugar. Grenfell, accustomed to hiking with the dog-team, felt\nno dread of a night with a snow-bank for his feather-bed.\n\nThe start was made auspiciously. The ice kept well out of the way till\nGrenfell, who had one man with him, cleared the harbor. As they went\non, however, the east wind spied the bold little craft, and came on\nlike an evil thing, to play cat-and-mouse with it.\n\nIt brought in the ice, and the ice was constantly pushing the boat\ntoward the shore, toward which the current was pulling like a\nremorseless unseen hand.\n\n\"Keep her off the rocks, Bill!\" warned the Doctor, poling vigorously\nat the stern.\n\n\"I'm tryin' to, sir. But the wind is wonderful strong, and I'm\nthinkin'----\"\n\nWhatever Bill was thinking, he was rudely interrupted by a rock that\ndid not show above the surface. They were in a most perilous position.\nThe boat, caught on the tidal reef, tossed to and fro, and the\npropeller, lifted high out of water, whirled like an electric fan.\nThrough a hole in the prow the water rushed in. The two men sprang to\nthe leak and stuffed it with their hats and coats and anything on\nwhich they could lay their hands.\n\nFortunately the hole was not large, and as they had hammer and nails\nand pieces of board for such an emergency they managed to shut out the\nwater with rude patchwork. They bailed the boat and shoved it off\nagain, and crept onward. But the thermometer dropped fast, and in the\nintense cold the circulating pipes froze and burst. That damage, too,\nwas laboriously repaired, and they went ashore and spent the night\nunder the glittering starlight with no coverlid but juniper boughs,\nbeside a roaring fire. The next day they saw that the ice had so\nclosed in to the southward that their little boat could not possibly\ngo forward.\n\nThey must, therefore, retreat to St. Anthony, and try to get round the\nCape and into the Straits of Belle Isle.\n\nBut they found they were now shut off even from their home port of St.\nAnthony!\n\nLeaving the motor-boat at a tiny fishing-hamlet, they borrowed a small\nrowboat, and went out to \"buck the ice.\"\n\nThe ice \"made mock of their mad little craft.\" While they were hunting\nto and fro for crevices through which they might work their way, their\nold enemy the east wind was narrowing the channels till they saw that\nthe tiny cockle-shell must soon be caught in the grip of the ice-pack\nand crushed to flinders.\n\n\"Jump out, Bill!\" commanded the Doctor, setting the example. \"We've\ngot to lift her onto the pan!\"\n\nThey seized the prow and hauled with might and main.\n\nBut the boat was doomed. They could not pull the stern free in time.\nThe ice came on, ramming and jamming--and in an instant the stern was\ncut off, and was crushed to kindling-wood. The ice chewed the\nsplinters savagely, as a husky gnaws a bone.\n\nThis time there was no question of repairs. They had half a boat, and\nthe gaunt cliffs of the shore were far away, with bits of ice dotting\nthe black water between.\n\nThey had their guns, and they fired at intervals to signal to the\nshore.\n\n\"Evidently there ain't nobody at home,\" Bill remarked grimly. The pan\nwas taking them out to the sea, just as it did with Grenfell and the\ndogs on that earlier memorable occasion.\n\nBill was a venturesome soul. \"I'm going to copy,\" he announced\nbriefly.\n\nThat meant, as I have explained, that he would jump from one cake of\nice to the next. Eliza crossing the river-ice in \"Uncle Tom's Cabin\"\nwas nothing to the feat he set himself in that perilous, pitiless\nnorthern sea. There was no causeway to the land. He would have to do\nas a lumberman does in a log-jam, jumping before the object he has\nstepped on has time to sink with him. There would be no chance to\nthink. He would have to keep on the move every instant, and death\nmight be the penalty of a misstep.\n\n\"Mebbe,\" said Bill, as coolly as though it were a question of running\nbases at a ball-game, \"mebbe I'll git close enough to the land so some\no' the boys 'll see me. Lend me your boat-hook, will you, Doctor?\"\n\nThe Doctor, who would rather have taken the water-hazard himself,\npassed over the boat-hook.\n\nBill jumped from pan to pan, nimble as a goat. Fortune seemed to be\nfavoring the brave. His leaps would have broken records at a\ntrack-meet. Sometimes he put out the boat-hook after the manner of a\npole-vaulter, and flung himself with its aid across a terrifying\nchasm.\n\nBut as Grenfell watched and waited in suspense, all of a sudden, to\nhis acute dismay, he saw the pole slip from his comrade's grasp.\n\nBill staggered on the edge of a pan, and gave a desperate wrench of\nthe body to save himself from falling. In vain. In another instant he\nwas struggling in the waves. In a moment more the pans might crush\nhim, or he might be so benumbed that he could make no further effort\nto help himself.\n\nWhile the Doctor stood there in mental anguish because he could do\nnothing to help his comrade, he saw Bill with a desperate effort throw\na burly leg over the edge of the pan and scramble out, seemingly none\nthe worse for the ducking.\n\nAll Bill could do now was to stand on his pan and let the wind and the\nsea take him where they would.\n\nGrenfell kept on shooting, but there was no response from the shore.\n\nBill's pan crept nearer and nearer to the Doctor's--but not near\nenough to let Bill get back.\n\nAt last the shooting was answered.\n\nThey saw the flash of an oar--always the first signal of rescue under\nthese conditions--and a boat hove in sight.\n\nThe two men on the ice shouted excited encouragement to each other at\nthe same instant.\n\nThe rescuers were not less joyful than the rescued. Such events as\nthis have led some of the fishermen to believe that Grenfell leads a\ncharmed life, and that the winds and the seas are aware that he is\ntheir master.\n\nHe had now spent a precious month in trying to break the ice-blockade.\nSince the ice had backed away a short distance from the coast,\nGrenfell now thought he might use the mission steamer herself, the\nbrave _Strathcona_, to get round the northern end of the peninsula and\nso follow his original plan of a journey down the west coast. Compared\nwith the _Strathcona_, the mail steamer was palatial luxury.\n\nAll went well enough till they came to the Straits. There it was the\nold story. The ice was piled mountainously, in a barricade that meant\na long siege to penetrate. What was still worse, it closed in suddenly\nabout the ship, just as it has so often embraced Arctic explorers. The\n_Strathcona_ might not be able to rid herself of the encumbrance for\nmany days, perhaps for several weeks.\n\nOne way was left--to walk. The distance was ninety miles--and what\nmiles they were!\n\nLike the snail, he had to carry all his baggage on his back. It\nincluded a frying-pan, blankets, food, and a suit of clothes fit to\nwear at the meeting of the board of directors,--a sufficient burden\nfor two human shoulder-blades. Mrs. Grenfell remained aboard the\n_Strathcona_. It was to take her down the east coast to the railroad\nat Lewisporte, when the ice released its hold on the ship. In time, if\nall went well, she would join her husband in New York.\n\nIt was a hard and lonely journey for Grenfell for the next three days.\nThirty miles a day was as much as he could do over a beach piled high\nwith gnarled, weather-worn rocks and ice carved by the sea into\nstrange forms, and flung into rough sugar-bowl heaps. When night came,\nfor want of soft snow-banks into which he might dig for a snug bed, he\nscraped himself a place in the wet sand and built a fire and dried his\nclothes to the tune of a raving wind. He knew the mail boat was\nexpected at any time at Flower's Cove, and if he missed it he would\nhave to wait a fortnight, at least, for its next southward journey.\nIn spite of the discomfort of sleeping on the ground, and the fear\nthat he might reach the Cove just too late to catch the steamer, his\nrest was sound and sweet, while it lasted. But he let himself have\nvery little of it, because of the need of forcing the pace, and we can\neasily imagine that it was a man thoroughly ready for a night in bed\nwho rapped at Parson Richard's door at Flower Cove when the three\ndays' hike was over.\n\n\"Well, well, Doctor!\" Parson Richard's face was a warm and beaming\nlamp of welcome. \"Come right in! Why didn't you telegraph? You know\nthere's nobody I'd rather see than you.--Mary!\" he called. \"Get the\nDoctor a cup of tea--and let him have a piece of that caribou steak\nwe've been keeping. It sure is good to see you, Doctor! Now we'll have\na fine chance to talk, when you're rested. The mail-boat won't be\nalong till to-morrow morning. There are so many things I want to tell\nyou about and ask your advice.\"\n\nGrenfell had tugged off his rubber boots and sat in a cushioned chair\nwith his feet luxuriously outstretched to the stove. Now that the hard\npull afoot from cove to cove was over, it would be comparatively\nluxurious travel the rest of the way. He could probably have the full\nlength of the table to sleep on, in the dining-saloon of the _Ethie_\nwhen the dishes were cleared away. Since it was the beginning of the\nseason, and southward-bound travel was slack, he might even get a\nberth to himself.\n\nBut a frowsy-polled messenger just at that delicious moment of warmth\nand reverie threw open the front door without the ceremony of\nknocking, and a blast of wind swirled after him.\n\nParson Richards in his thin, worn coat clasped himself like a cabman\nand shivered. \"Shut the door, Tom! What is it?\"\n\nThe pale and agitated messenger could hardly stammer out the words.\n\n\"It's--it's Abe Gould, sir!\"\n\n\"What has Abe Gould done now?\"\n\n\"He's shot himself in the leg!\"\n\n\"Well, well, is it as bad as all that?\" asked the good man, his brow\nfurrowing with anxiety. \"We must come right off and see what we can\ndo.\"\n\n\"He's bleeding to death!\"\n\nParson Richards turned to Grenfell. \"Now you stay right here, Doctor!\"\n\nThe Doctor was already hauling on his wet, stiff boots.\n\n\"No, no,\" protested Grenfell, as if somebody had suggested a joy-ride\nand he didn't want to miss it. He turned to the boy. \"Take me to him,\nTom. How far is it?\"\n\n\"Five miles, sir,\" said the trembling lad. \"Oh, do come, please, sir,\nand hurry up. He's bleeding to death.\"\n\n\"Have you dogs?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Can you get any?\"\n\n\"No, sir. All the good dogs is away.\"\n\n\"Then we'll walk--or run,\" Grenfell smiled.\n\nHe left the tea with the spoon in it, and did not even stop to thrust\na bit of bread into his pocket.\n\n\"How did it happen?\" he said, as they started the jog-trot from the\ndoor.\n\n\"He was cleanin' a gun, sir, and it went off and shot him in the leg.\"\n\nNot much more was said. Man and boy needed all the breath they had for\nthat five-mile marathon over rocks and stumps and snow in the biting\nwind. Grenfell remembered the cross-country runs of the \"harriers\" at\nOxford. Then, it was smooth going through fields and meadows and down\nthe winding rural lanes. Then, he ran after nights of comfortable\nsleep, and with good fuel for the human machine. Now he had to make\nspeed when he was hungry and after three broken nights of lying on\ndamp sand. What a difference!\n\nBut the old zest of life and youth came flooding back to him--the\nthought of the good he could do was a spur to keep him going at top\nspeed. Of old he ran for a ribbon, a medal or a cup. Now he was\nrunning for a life. So often his errands, afoot or behind the dogs,\nhad that guerdon before them--and what prize of victory was more\nvaluable than that?\n\nThe boy had hard work keeping up with the man--the man who always had\nkept himself in the pink of condition, whose frame never failed to\nserve him when he called on it for a sudden, extra strain.\n\nGrenfell remembered the war service of the young fellow he ran to\nhelp. Abe Gould was but twenty. As a member of the First Regiment of\nNewfoundland, 5,000 young men picked from the 250,000 islanders, he\nhad given four years of his life to the world war, in France and\nFlanders. Then he had come home, and with his honors, and the tales of\nhis bravery on all tongues and in all ears, he had gone back quietly\nto scraping the fish and mending the nets as though he never knew\nanother life or another country.\n\nAs they ran on with hearts pounding, the one big question that kept\nasking itself in the Doctor's mind was, \"Am I too late?\" He forgot\neverything else--the battle with the ice-pack, the possible fate of\nthe _Strathcona_, the weary trudging round the northern promontory.\nNothing mattered except the brave young soldier, whose blood was\nebbing away clock-tick by clock-tick, as they hastened to his side.\nThat five miles seemed longer than the ninety miles he had covered in\nthe three preceding days.\n\nHe was no longer stiff and lame--the need of him seemed to have put\nwings on his heels as if he were Mercury.\n\nThere was the little grey house at last. The panting boy at his side\ngasped out, \"My brother's there!\"\n\nGrenfell fairly fell against the door. It was flung open instantly.\nThe room was crowded with people who sobbed and sniffled and wrung\ntheir hands: and none could do anything to help.\n\n\"The Doctor!\" they cried. It was almost as if Christ Himself had come.\n\nThe young soldier lay on a hard table, flat on his back. Imagine his\nconscious agony. What was left of his leg had been laid on a feather\npillow and to stop the flow of blood his foot was strung up to the\nceiling. Blood and salt water soaked his garments and dripped to the\nfloor, as if he were a slab of seal-meat.\n\nMen and women alike were weeping, and telling each other how fond they\nwere of Abe, and what a good, brave lad he was, and how they would\nhate to lose him now. Trouble in this part of the world makes people\nsingularly neighborly, and often in their need they are as children.\nThey think that any stranger from outside, with better clothes than\nthey wear, must know enough to doctor them.\n\nMost of the people had to be sent from the room, for the sake of air\nand space and the poor boy's comfort. Dr. Grenfell had no instruments\nfor an operation. He had no medicines. But messengers went hither and\nyon, and picked up things he had left in the neighborhood for use in\nsuch a crisis. They came back with a knife or two, rusty and in need\nof sharpening, a precious thimbleful of ether, shreds of silk to tie\nthe arteries, a small supply of opium.\n\nBy the time they came back from their house-to-house search, Dr.\nGrenfell had wound a towel round the patient's thigh, and twisted it\nwith a stick in a \"tourniquet\" that stopped the deadly ebbing of the\nblood.\n\nThere wasn't ether enough, but what he had was used. A man stood on\neach side and held the patient to the table. Grenfell had to pick out\npiece after piece of bone from the shattered leg with his fingers. It\ndidn't help at all when one of his helpers fainted at the gory sight,\nand fell across the body of the wounded man. The leg had to be cut\noff, eventually, but Abe's life was saved. During the night that\nfollowed Grenfell's ministration, the Doctor sat by the table-bed,\nfeeding the patient a sleeping-draught of opium now and then, to dull\nthe awful agony. Not a wink of sleep did the great physician get, the\nlong night through. But as he sat there, he was happy to think--that\nhe had come in time to save Abe Gould. This more than made up for the\nfact that he was a month late for the meeting with those New York\ngentlemen. And when he finally reached them and told them why he was\nlate--they forgave him.\n\nNo wonder the fisher-folk of the Labrador swear by \"the Doctor\" and\nturn a deaf ear and a curling lip of contempt toward any who dares to\ntalk against him. They have seen him on the firing-line of his work:\nhe is their friend: they know what he did for them and theirs,\nand--men of few words as they are--they would in their turn do\nanything for him.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+\n    | Typographical errors corrected in text:                   |\n    |                                                           |\n    | Page  36: 'Ie means' replaced with 'It means'             |\n    | Page 235: 'the next to be dropped' replaced with          |\n    |           'the nets to be dropped'                        |\n    |                                                           |\n    +-----------------------------------------------------------+", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32052", "title": "Grenfell: Knight-Errant of the North", "author": "", "publication_year": 1924, "metadata_title": "Grenfell: Knight-Errant of the North", "metadata_author": "Fullerton L. Waldo", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:21.058711", "source_chars": 314320, "chars": 314318, "talkie_tokens": 77007}}
{"text": "Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/American\nLibraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Paragraph 46.\n\nView of the Capitol of the United States, after the Conflagration in\n1814.]\n\n\n\n\n  AMERICAN\n  SLAVE TRADE;\n\n  OR,\n\n  An Account of the Manner in which the Slave Dealers\n  take Free People from some of the United States of\n  America, and carry them away, and sell them as Slaves\n  in other of the States; and of the horrible Cruelties\n  practised in the carrying on of this most infamous\n  Traffic:\n\n  WITH\n\n  REFLECTIONS on the Project for forming a Colony of\n  American Blacks in Africa, and certain Documents\n  respecting that Project.\n\n  _By JESSE TORREY, Jun. Physician._\n\n  WITH FIVE PLATES.\n\n  LONDON:\n\n  REPRINTED BY C. CLEMENT, AND PUBLISHED BY\n  J. M. COBBETT, 1, CLEMENT'S INN.\n\n  1822.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n     \"And he that stealeth a man, and selleth him, or if he be found in\n     his hand, shall surely be put to death.\"\n\n      _Exodus xxi. 16._\n\n\n1. Throughout this work I have numbered the _paragraphs_, a practice\nwhich I find to be attended with numerous advantages. The work was\npublished in Philadelphia in 1817.\n\n2. The reader will perceive, that Mr. TORREY, the author of the work\nhere presented to the public, has mixed his reflections with his\nnarrative of facts. A different arrangement would have tended to\nclearness. But, as applicable to the English reader, there is a defect\nof greater importance; namely, the want of a description of the relative\nextent and situation of the Countries or States, in which this\nabominable slave trade is carried on. The author speaks of the _Middle\nStates_, and the _Southern States_. He speaks of _Maryland_, of\n_Delaware_; and, then again, of _Georgia_, _Carolina_, _Mississippi_;\nbut the English reader ought to be told, and have pretty clearly\nexplained to him, how these several Countries lie with regard to each\nother; and, that he may judge of the magnitude of the evil, he ought to\nbe informed over how large a part of the whole of the United States\nSlavery does actually extend. He ought further to be informed of the\nnature of the Governments, and of the laws, as far as these latter\nrelate to Slavery. For, he must otherwise naturally be astonished to\nfind that this dreadful traffic is carried on with impunity. He hears\nMr. TORREY talk of Judges, Senators, Governors, Presidents, speaking\nagainst this traffic; and yet he finds it most vigorously carried on;\nand actually making a part of the internal trade of the Country; at\nwhich he is utterly astounded, so often hearing the _virtues_ of\nRepublicans sounded in his ears, and being informed that Mr. JEREMY\nBENTHAM is actually engaged, at this moment, in the Southern Peninsula\nof Europe, to teach the art of Constitution-making upon the American\nplan. The book stands, therefore, in need of a Preface to explain these\nmatters a little; and such Preface I am now doing myself the honour to\nwrite.\n\n3. For want of a map, I must resort to a description by words. The\nStates lie in the following order, along the side of the Atlantic from\nNorth to South, _Maine_, _New Hampshire_, _Massachusetts_, _Rhode\nIsland_, _Connecticut_. The four latter are called the New England\nStates, _Maine_ being a new territory or State lying to the North and\ngoing on to the British territory of _New Brunswick_. After Connecticut,\ngoing on to the Southward, come _New York_, _New Jersey_,\n_Pennsylvania_, _Delaware_ and _Maryland_. These five are called the\n_Middle States_. Then come, on to the Southward, _Virginia_, _North\nCarolina_, _South Carolina_, _Georgia_ and the _Floridas_. These are\ncalled the Southern States. Then, going back to the North again,\n_Vermont_ lies in at the back of the four New England States, on the\nwestern side of a long ridge of mountains. At the back of Pennsylvania\nare the States of _Ohio_, _Indiana_, and the district of the ill-fated\ncreatures that have followed Mr. BIRKBECK, called the _Illinois_. At the\nback of _Virginia_ is _Kentucky_, at the back of North Carolina is\n_Tennessee_, at the back of _South Carolina_ and Georgia and _Florida_\nare _Alabama_, _Mississippi_ and _Louisiana_. Some of these are not yet\nrecognised as independent States. Now then, all to the South of\n_Maryland_, front and back, containing ten States, and, I believe,\n_Indiana_ into the bargain. However, all to the South of _Maryland_ is\nreal unmodified, unmitigated, unrestrained Slavery; and this is that\npart of the United States which produces tobacco, cotton, sugar, and\nrice. This is the rich part of the United States; twice as extensive as\nall the rest; continually growing in population and cultivation; and, as\nMr. TORREY observes, containing a larger portion of personal slavery,\nthan any other part of the globe.\n\n4. So much for the _Geography_ of the subject. Now, as to the\n_Governments_, this is the state of the case. The _United States_ (with\nthe exception of a small spot to be mentioned by and by) extend from\nCanada and New Brunswick, which lie to the North, to the Gulf of Mexico\non the South, seeing that the Floridas are now to make part of this\nterritory. They extend to the west, from the Atlantic Ocean to the\nPacific Ocean. Great part of this western territory is, as yet, wholly\nuninhabited by white people. But, the Country is inhabited more or less\nthickly from the North to the South on the side of the Atlantic, and the\nspace between the utmost points is about seventeen hundred miles. This\nterritory is divided into _States_, each of which is independent of all\nthe rest. Each has its Chief Magistrate, its Legislature, its Judiciary,\nand its own Code of Laws. It raises its own internal taxes; has its own\nMilitia; and is, in fact, an independent State, with the following\nexceptions; namely, that it has nothing to do, and can have no\nparticular connexion, with any Foreign Nation; can make no laws with\nregard to external commerce; can make neither peace nor war; and is\nbound to join the other States in case of war or peace. These matters\nare all left to the _Congress_, which is composed of a President, a\nSenate, and a House of Representatives. This body manages the affairs of\nthe whole Country as far as relates to peace and war, and as far as\nrelates to external Commerce, and to all connexions with Foreign\nNations.\n\n5. So that the Congress can make no Law touching the internal economy\nand jurisdiction of any of the States, each of which, may pass what laws\nit pleases, so that those laws do not contravene the common compact,\ncontained in the document, or, act of Congress, usually denominated the\n_Constitution of the United States_. Now, that compact does by no means\nprohibit the existence of Slavery; but, on the contrary, _expressly\nrecognises its legality_; and this was one of the _conditions_, upon\nwhich the Union was founded.\n\n6. As to the several States, Slavery did exist in all, except, perhaps,\n_Indiana_ and _Ohio_; and, I believe, there also. I mean that it existed\nwithout any _modification by law_. That is to say, Slaves and the\nchildren of Slaves were as much a white man's property as horses and the\nyoung ones of horses. In _Maryland_ (we are now going towards the North)\nthere is now a mitigation of some sort; also in _Delaware_,\n_Pennsylvania_, _New Jersey_, _New York_, _Vermont_, and the _New\nEngland_, States. I do not know whether an _absolute abolition_ has\ntaken place in any State; though I believe it has. In the State of _New\nYork_ the law made all free that were born after a certain period; and\nafter another certain period, those born slaves were to become free. I\ncannot take upon me to say exactly how the thing stands with regard to\nthese States; but I believe, that if you bring your slave into a State\nwith you, he does not become free by that act of yours; and that, if he\nescape from you and go into one of these States, he may be lawfully\nseized as a slave and taken away. _Delaware_ State and _Maryland_, which\nlie to the South of _Pennsylvania_ and join on to _Virginia_, appear, as\nthe reader will find, to be the principal theatre of the Slave Trade,\nthough, as will be seen, the villains who carry on the traffic have the\naudacity to carry it on even in the City of _Philadelphia_.\n\n7. So much for the States. Now, which is very material to observe, the\n_Congress_, that is to say, the _Government of the Union_, has had\nallotted to it a _territorial jurisdiction_, exclusive of all the\nStates. This spot is on the _Potomac River_, which divides _Maryland_\nfrom _Virginia_. The territory thus allotted is a piece of land ten\nmiles square, in the centre of which is the City of Washington. Now, we\nshall find this spot to be the very focus of the Slave Trade. The reader\nwill see, in paragraph 46. an account of a drove of chained Negroes\nmarching under the _Capitol_ of this very City; and Mr. TORREY gives an\naccount of Members of Congress standing at the threshold of the\nbuilding, viewing, on their march by, a troop of manacled slaves, one of\nwhom raised up his manacled hands towards the building, while he sang,\nwhat Mr. TORREY calls the favourite National Song, \"_Hail Columbia,\nhappy Land! Hail the freest of the free!_\" This spot is called the\n_district of Columbia_; and on this spot, Mr. TORREY tells us Slaves\nwere employed when he was there, to re-erect the building burned down by\nthe British. Yea, Slaves employed to raise up the magnificent Temple of\nFreedom!\n\n8. With this sketch before him, the reader will enter on this public\nspirited, humane, and highly meritorious gentleman's book with a\ntolerable chance of pretty clearly understanding the state of the matter\nas a whole. The book will Speak for itself; and it will have this\neffect, amongst others, as far as it go, namely, to convince us, that we\nought not to be incessantly railing against West India Slave Holders,\nwhile we see Slavery existing to such an extent, and the Slave Trade\ncarried on with such shocking cruelty, in a Country which, throughout\nthe world is famed for its _freedom_. There are acts recorded in this\nbook; acts committed with perfect impunity; that West India Slave\nHolders would be put to death for attempting; a fact which, amongst\nthousands of others that might be cited, proves, that there is no\ntyranny equal to that, which is practised under the names and forms of\nliberty.\n\n9. The Congress of America have passed a resolution to authorize their\nAmbassador to negociate with our Government for the sending out of a\njoint squadron of Observation to the coast of Africa, to prevent a\nviolation of the treaties relative to the Slave Trade. I trust that our\ngovernment will not tax the blood and bones of Englishmen for any such\npurpose, while Negroes, free as well as enslaved, can be killed with\nimpunity in the United States, and while a trade in the bodies of slaves\nactually forms a part of the internal commerce of that Country, the\nmagazines of which commerce are in the very spot where the Congress\nholds its sittings.\n\n10. I do not bring any accusation against the people of the United\nStates generally, and particularly to the North of Maryland. It has\nrequired great virtue and self denial to do what has been done in the\nmiddle and Northern States, in order to get rid of this stain upon the\nCountry. In the parts where I have lived, and where there is any thing\nof Slavery remaining, I have always observed great gentleness and\ngoodness in the owners towards their slaves, whom they treat with great\nkindness and care, and whom they feed and clothe exceedingly well. But,\nwhile I have always heard them lamenting the existence of Slavery in\ntheir Country, I cannot be so unjust, I cannot act so unnatural a part,\nas to conclude that _our own West India Planters_ must be cruel and\nbrutal; seeing that Slavery exists to so great an extent in America,\nnotwithstanding the very prevalent and strong disposition to do it away.\nHow great must be the difficulty to accomplish this, let the reader\njudge; and how foolish, then, must the Government of this Country be, if\nit think to accomplish any thing similar to it, merely, because the\nthing is called for by a set of visionaries, or, what is worse, by a set\nof hypocrites, who, by an appeal to the best feelings of the popular\nheart, knowing all the while that they are misleading the understanding,\nendeavour to gratify their own selfish ambition!\n\n                                                     WM. COBBETT.\n\n  _Kensington, 18 Sept. 1821._\n\n\n\n\nAMERICAN SLAVE-TRADE.\n\n\n11. Many schemes have been proposed for alleviating the miseries and\nevils produced by the enslavement of the African race in the United\nStates. Possessors of slaves, as well as others, have investigated the\nsubject with great industry and anxiety; and all agree that something\nought to be done. The suggestion of an infallible remedy is useless, if\nit be impossible to attain or apply it. Exportation to Africa, (the\ncountry to which the wisdom of their Creator has adapted their colour\nand faculties;) separate colonization on the public lands; employment on\nnational canals, roads, &c. have been recommended. These projects are\nmost certainly impracticable, except partially:--because their\ncompletion would require the _voluntary_ estrangement by its legal\nholders, of an immense quantity and value of what is generally though\nerroneously termed _property_--human liberty.[1] And in the present\nmoral and intellectual condition of the slaves, the result would be\nperhaps of doubtful benefit.\n\n12. In examining this subject, I shall endeavour to be temperate, and to\navoid indulging in the use of reprehensive acrimonious modes of\nexpression.\n\n13. Without the most distant inclination to aggravate the feelings of\nany individual, but because \"we ought not to shrink from the\ninvestigation of truth, however unpopular, nor conceal it whatever the\nprofession of it may cost,\"[2] a concise sketch will be presented, of\nthe facts and incidents which have prompted this address. The peculiar\nconnexion with which some of these occurrences succeeded each other, was\ncertainly extraordinary, and to those who are not incredulous, may seem\nastonishing.\n\n14. The first opportunity that ever occurred to me, of viewing a slave\nplantation, was furnished by a journey during the summer of 1815, from\nPittsburg to the city of Washington. In the course of my route I\ntravelled through part of Virginia, west of the Blue Ridge, by way of\nWinchester, and through part of Maryland by way of Fredericktown, on the\neast side.\n\n15. My first contemplation of the magnificent edifice,[3] towering over\nthe surrounding clusters of huts, and the extensive fields, impressed an\nidea of their similarity to the castles of European princes, dukes,\nlords, barons, &c. with the cottages of their tenants. But a closer\nconsideration led me to this unavoidable conclusion: that these splendid\nfabrics are virtually the palaces of hereditary absolute monarchs;--that\nthe labourers and people over whom they reign, are their lawful subjects\nor vassals--constituting _kingdoms in miniature_;--with this difference\nfrom eastern monarchies, that the king here, instead of receiving merely\na revenue from his subjects, has _legitimate_ power (if he is disposed\nto avail himself of it) to exercise the most unlimited and tyrannical\ndespotism[4] over their persons, and to extort the _whole_ of the\nproducts of their industry, except what may be indispensable to prevent\nstarvation.\n\n16. It is not my intention by any means, to intimate that every\npossessor of slaves must necessarily be a Nero, but that, if he chooses\nto be one, there exists no earthly political power to prevent him.\nExcess of power, like other unnatural stimulants, exerts a deleterious\nand an intoxicating influence upon the human mind, which but few possess\nthe capacity and firmness to withstand. In tracing the endless\ncatalogues of kings, presented in history, how seldom is the eye dazzled\nwith transport at the name of an Alfred! There are, undoubtedly,\nAlfreds, among these numerous _states_; but as long as the diffusion of\nthe humanizing principles of pure religion, and the auxiliary lights of\nnatural, moral, and political philosophy, continues to be limited to its\npresent boundaries, it is feared the number of Alfreds will remain\ncomparatively small.\n\n17. The rod of a tyrant wielded over a few, is infinitely more terrible,\nthan when the number of its victims is great, and detached over a wide\nextent of country.[5]\n\n18. Mr. Jefferson, in his Note on this subject, exclaims, \"I tremble for\nmy country, when I reflect that God is just, and that his justice cannot\nsleep for ever.\" The late Professor Barton, in his work on Botany, while\ntreating on the article of _rice_, and its cultivation by uncompensated\nslaves, expresses a similar sentiment: \"Shall we never learn (says he)\nto be just to our fellow creatures? Shall we blindly pursue the\nimaginary advantages of the moment, and neglect the still but solemn\nvoice of God, until\n\n  \"--------Vengeance in the lurid air\n  Lifts her red arm expos'd and bare?\"\n\n19. Without offering an opinion on the propriety of the expression of\nMr. Jefferson, I must add, that _I tremble for my country when I reflect\nthat God is just_, and that his justice is ever active and continually\nexecuting its commission! The truth of this may be easily recognised by\nany observer, who has not been familiarized to the constant presence of\nslavery, from infancy. Indeed, the possessors of slaves, with whom I\nhave conversed, while travelling through several slave districts,\nfrequently acknowledged that they \"_have inherited a curse from their\nancestors, and that it would be better for the country if the slaves\nwere all out of it_.\" And with respect to the _red arm of vengeance,\nexposed and bare_, it must often menace those neighbourhoods, whence the\ncitizens frequently write to their friends in the _north_, that, \"it is\nhigh time to leave a country where one cannot go to bed in the evening,\nwithout the apprehension of being massacred before morning!\" I have been\nassured by citizens having personal knowledge of the fact, that the rage\nof the slaves is such, in some districts, and especially near Savannah,\nthat their masters and overseers are obliged to retreat to some secure\nplace during the night, or employ armed sentinels. Four slaves were\nexecuted but a few months since, in Maryland, for destroying the life of\ntheir master's brother, while he was in the act of inflicting corporeal\npunishment upon them. A citizen of Philadelphia very lately related to\nme the most shocking heart-rending instance of ferocious vengeance that\ncan be possibly conceived: It very forcibly exemplifies the infatuation\nand temerity of subjecting those, to whom our persons must necessarily\nbe frequently accessible, to a state of the most savage moral\ndebasement, and then of tampering with their furious untamed passions.\nA female slave having been flogged by her mistress, watched for an\nopportunity to indulge her resentment, which she executed in a manner\ntoo horrible to describe, and which it is not deemed prudent to specify.\n\n20. Many instances have existed, where slaves, in a state of enraged\ndesperation, have involved their masters and themselves, of course, in\nmutual destruction. A gentleman of high respectability lately informed\nme, that he personally knew a master of slaves who retreated every night\ninto an upper room, the entrance into which was by a trap door, and kept\nan axe by his side for defence!\n\n21. Does not self-preservation, as well as the obligations of religious\nduty and brotherly love, enjoin the education and civilization of our\nsable heathen neighbours in our own dwellings, equally as imperatively\nas of our tawny ones in the wilderness, and of both, on this side of the\nAtlantic, as well as on the other?[6]\n\n22. While at a public house, in Fredericktown, there came into the\nbar-room (on Sunday) a decently dressed white man, of quite a light\ncomplexion, in company with one who was totally black. After they went\naway, the landlord observed that the white man was a slave. I asked him,\nwith some surprise, how that could be possible? To which he replied,\nthat he was a descendant, by female ancestry, of an African slave. He\nalso stated, that not far from Fredericktown, there was a slave estate,\non which there were several white females of as fair and elegant\nappearance as white ladies in general, held in legal bondage as slaves.\nThese facts demonstrate that the peculiar hue, with which it has pleased\nGod to paint the surface of the body of an African, is not the only\ncircumstance which reconciles to the conscience of the European, (white\nman) the act of depriving him of his liberty and the fruits of his\nlabour. Hence it appears to be a melancholy truth, that man, in a morbid\nstate of intellect, (which I consider to be the case with every\nindividual, whose rule of action is not founded upon wisdom and\nvirtue,) voluntarily and almost invariably, confounds right with might,\nand when stimulated by avarice, frequently hesitates not to _bind and\nsell_ his wife, his children, or his brother! I have received direct\ninformation from a gentleman who witnessed the fact, that in one of the\nslave states, a white man, having married one of his female slaves,\nafter she had borne him several children, sold the whole of them\ntogether as he would a drove of cattle; and it is said such instances\nare frequent. A _gentleman_ brought with him from the southward to\n_Philadelphia_, (the city of brotherly love,) his half brother, the son\nof his father by a slave, and attempted to sell him! He was happily\nprevented from executing his sacrilegious design by the interposition of\na respectable citizen, who also procured the legal restoration of\nfreedom to the darker _faced_ brother.\n\n23. In the course of a journey through Virginia, from the city of\nWashington towards James' river, of about 150 miles, going and returning\nby different routes, I had frequent opportunities of conversing with the\npossessors and overseers of slaves, and others, and of observing the\ngeneral effects of the present system of slavery, upon the morals and\nprospects of the white population. On combining the facts which\npresented themselves, I was involuntarily led to this deduction: that\nthe present mode, with occasional exceptions, of managing slaves, and of\neducating the successors to those who now hold dominion over them, must,\neventually and _inevitably_, result, by a progressive ratio, unless\nreformed, in the poverty, bankruptcy and chagrin of a large portion of\nthe posterity of the existing proprietors of even the most extensive\nslave estates in the country! This state of things has, to a certain\nextent, already commenced. I was informed of some ancient and immensely\nrich slave possessions, and shewn some of the subdivided portions of\nthem, the present numerous heirs of which, are obliged to contract\nincreasing debts annually, in order to maintain the magnificent style of\nliving, and the habits of _amusement_ and _sport_, which had been\nimposed on them by their ancestors. In conversation with a gentleman at\nCharlotteville, I advanced this problem:--Suppose an individual, (who\nprefers sport and extravagance to prudence and happiness) becomes\npossessor of 1000 slaves, and 10,000 acres of ground; if he bequeaths\nhis estate to ten heirs, they will receive each 1000 acres of ground and\nperhaps 125 slaves. Pursuing this ratio, each descendant of the third\ngeneration will inherit 100 acres of land and about 25 slaves, and the\nfourth 10 acres, with 2 slaves. If the slaves should multiply\nproportionally with their masters, the plantations would not; for it is\njudged from corresponding information and facts, that many of the\nproprietors, annually expend the whole amount of their revenue, more or\nless. The inevitable poverty and physical debility, thus entailed upon\nthe inheritors of slaves, are not half so much to be deplored, as the\nhabits of indolence, dissipation and vice, which, if not the uniform\nfruits of slavery, are much promoted and encouraged by it.\n\n24. About eighteen months ago, I saw, in the western part of the state\nof New-York, a venerable old farmer, whose name is Vaughan. He was in\ngood health (being nearly ninety years of age) and in possession of a\ndelightful farm, which had been rescued from the wilderness and\ncultivated by himself and his sons. Two years ago, the number of his\ndescendants was about 378! the most of whom have been, or will be, bred\nto some useful employment, adequate to their subsistence. If he were in\npossession of 1000 slaves, and 10,000 acres of soil, he could bequeath\nthem only 26-1/3 acres of land each, and not 3 slaves.\n\n25. On my return to the city of Washington, I met with a most\ndistressing exemplification of the dangerous policy of educating youth,\n(let their fortunes be ever so abundant,) in luxury and indolence. I saw\na stranger, from one of the slave states, of tolerably genteel\nappearance, in the prime of life, destitute of property, and unqualified\nfor any occupation whatever. He had inherited and dissipated a\nconsiderable estate of land and slaves. His former acquaintance and\nconnexions were of the most reputable class. He appeared to be literally\na prey to despair. He said he should think himself happy if he were\ncapable of labouring in any mechanical employment whatever. He related\nan anecdote of himself, which exhibits very distinctly, the delirium\nwhich affluence and luxurious habits stamp upon the human intellect when\nnot fortified by virtue. He stated, that at a period when he was totally\nat a loss for resources, he met with an opportunity of engaging in a\npursuit, on the commencement of which he received two hundred dollars.\nLiberality and hospitality to strangers (if their faces are white) are\nprominent and proverbial characteristics of well bred possessors of\nslaves, generally.[7] So perfectly had his thoughts been attuned and\nassociated to opulence and profusion, that he forgot his inverse\nposition upon the wheel of fortune, and immediately commenced free table\nand free bottle; and his two hundred dollars disappeared entirely in one\nmonth;--soon after which he suffered severe privations for want of cash!\n\n26. Having sketched an outline of some of the evils, which the present\nstate of slavery necessarily produces to the possessors of slaves, we\nwill next examine its effects upon the slaves themselves, and endeavour\nto prove that the pecuniary as well as the moral interests and rights of\nboth parties, enjoin the expediency of adopting a different system of\nmanagement.\n\n27. It has been urged, in justification of domestic slavery, that the\nslave receives an equivalent for his incessant toil, in the certainty of\nbeing provided with food, clothing, and shelter:--and that a rigorous\ndiscipline is indispensable to the preservation of industry, and for\nsecurity against rebellion and assassination. It is well known, in\nalmost every description of human labour, that constant diligence\nproduces more than a sufficiency of the necessaries of life, for the\ndaily consumption of the labourer. Industry, duly rewarded, and\naccompanied by temperance and economy, is, with but casual exceptions,\nto every individual blessed with health, an infallible source of\ncompetence and wealth. As our all-wise Creator has fitted our\norganization, individually, to the acquirement of the means of\nsubsistence, without depending on the labour and generosity of each\nother, there can be no doubt but he designed that each should retain and\nenjoy the products of his own hands, without molestation. It is certain\nthat the labour of a slave is of more value than the expense of his\ndaily personal necessities, or he could not be sold, (notwithstanding\nthe risk of premature death,) for 400 or 900 dollars.\n\n28. The excellence of the great fundamental precept of christianity,\n'_Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto\nthem_,' is acknowledged and admired, it is believed, by every member of\nthe human family, of whatever name or nation, that makes any pretension\nto religion or moral rectitude. And it most assuredly involves this\nprecept also, which is still easier to obey, and cannot be dispensed\nwith in the positive axioms of natural justice;--Whatsoever ye would\nthat men should _not_ do unto you, do ye _not_ even so unto them. Will\nany possessor of slaves or other individual, voluntarily consign himself\nto hard labour during life? will he submit to the will and temper of\nanother man, and surrender at his feet the _whole_ of the products of\nhis toil? Unconditional slavery is contrary to the precepts of religion,\nmoral justice, and the abstract, natural and political rights of man. It\nis a _black_, accumulating, _threatening thunder cloud_ in our moral\nhorizon, the sudden explosion of which might produce dangerous and fatal\nconsequences. I am hence constrained to perform the melancholy task of\nrecording my dissent from the sentiments of those who, from the purest\nmotives and most laudable philanthropy, request the universal,\nsimultaneous and _unconditional_ emancipation of a numerous body of meek\npeople, now groaning under the grievous yoke and goading lash of brutal\nunrewarded servitude in these United States, \"the world's best hope.\"\nYet I do not mean to intimate that equal justice should not, or cannot\nbe rendered to them. If guided by discretion, it may be administered to\nthem with the highest advantage and most perfect safety to both parties.\nAfrican servitude might, at the outset, be rendered so tolerable and\nreasonable that the present appellation of _slavery_, which sounds so\ndiscordant, in connexion with the cheering music of _liberty_, might be\nexchanged for some title, attended with a less chilling and _base_ note.\nLet _Masters_, without hesitation, become _Patrons_, _Guardians_,\n_Friends_, _Civil Governors_. Let _Slaves_ be converted into _tenants_\nand indented _servants_, (or _labourers_,) bound, _for the present_, by\nthe lamentable crisis of existing circumstances.--In compliance with the\nloud and imperative demands of justice and humanity, and the injunctions\nof policy and self interest, let their toil be carefully and justly\nproportioned to their bodily strength, and rewarded by a sufficiency of\ncomfortable nourishment, clothing and shelter. And, particularly in\ncases of correct behaviour and diligence, let a reasonable sum be paid,\nmonthly or annually, to those who have discretion to make a proper use\nof it, or allotted and reserved for the education and eventual benefit\nof their children. Let them be effectually protected from the\ndestructive ravages of distilled spirits. Let them not be bought and\nsold as beasts of the harness, without their consent; unless guilty of\ncriminal conduct;--and let this be decided by the laws of the country.\nNor for all the _silver_ in the mines of Potosi, let an ounce of _iron_\nbe rivetted upon their _necks_, _wrists_, or _ancles_; for he who\nfashioned these sections of their bodies, never designed them for such\nbarbarous purposes! Let the \"resounding lash,\" and the savage arts of\ntorture and cruelty; be laid aside. The adoption of a discipline,\nfounded on justice and reciprocal equity, will render these unnecessary.\nIt is a very important fact, in human nature, that men, in all\nconditions, perform their duty with far greater alacrity and pleasure,\nwhen prompted by the exhilarating anticipation of reward and advantage,\nthan by coercion, and the paralyzing menace of penalties and pain.[8]\n\n29. Philosophy cries, \"Brethren, be just--be beneficent, and you will\nprosper.--Eternal slavery must be an eternal source of crimes;--divest\nit at least of the epithet eternal, for anguish that knows no bounds\ncan only produce despair.\" \"With a pure heart, one is never unhappy.\"\nLet the possessor of slaves consult the oracles of his own\nconscience--the spontaneous counsels of his own heart, and the sublime\nparable of the beneficent founder of the Christian religion, and act\naccordingly. Did not the slave, (or his ancestors in Africa,) \"fall\namong thieves, which stripped him\" of liberty and happiness;--and are\npurchasers or retainers of known stolen property, (or liberty) entirely\nabsolved, either by the laws of God or man, from a degree of\nparticipation in the original transgression? Let every individual, then,\nwho finds a slave in his hands, whether by traffic or inheritance, 'take\ncompassion on him,' like the good Samaritan, _and bind up the old and\npainful wounds_, which have been inflicted on his \"unalienable rights,\"\ngiven him by his Creator and _sole_ Proprietor;\n\n  Which no man, for gold, can buy or sell!\n\n30. Intellectual and moral improvement is the safe and permanent basis,\non which the arch of eventual freedom to the enslaved Africans may be\ngradually erected. Let the glorious work be commenced by instructing\nsuch of the holders and overseers of slaves and their sons and\ndaughters, as have hitherto been deprived of the blessings of\neducation. Let every slave, less than thirty years of age, of either\nsex, be taught the art of reading, sufficiently for receiving moral and\nreligious instruction, from books in the English language. For this\npurpose, the Lancasterian mode of instruction would be admirably well\nadapted. A well selected economical library of such books as are\ncalculated to inculcate the love of knowledge and virtue, ought to form\nan essential appurtenance to every plantation.\n\n31. Governor Miller, in his message of 1815, to the legislature of North\nCarolina, affirms, that \"With knowledge and virtue, the united efforts\nof ignorance and tyranny may be defied.\" Governor Nicholas, in his\nmessage of the same year, to the legislature of Virginia, says, \"Without\nintelligence, self-government, our dearest privilege, cannot be\nexercised.\" President Madison, in his message to the Congress, also of\nthe same year, says, \"Without knowledge, the blessings of liberty cannot\nbe fully enjoyed or long preserved.\" And in his recent valedictory\nmessage, that he shall read in the character of the American people, in\ntheir true devotion to liberty, and to the constitution, which is its\npalladium, sure presages that the destined career of his country will\nexhibit a government pursuing the public good as its sole object, &c.\n\"which maintains inviolably the maxims of public faith, security of\npersons and property, and encourages in every authorized mode, that\ngeneral diffusion of knowledge, which guarantees to public liberty its\npermanency, and to those who possess the blessing, the true enjoyment of\nit,\" &c. Thomas Jefferson, in his inaugural speech, says, \"If man is not\nfit to govern himself, how can it be expected that he should be fit to\nbe entrusted with the government of others? Can we expect to find angels\nin the form of kings?\" Whether it be safe to risk the untutored slave\nwith his liberty or not, his situation must be inconceivably horrible,\nunder the cruel lash and uncontrolled power of a master, who is\ndestitute of education or virtue; whose prompter is avarice, and whose\nreligion is intemperance, and the gratification of the most ferocious\npassions.--It is apprehended that many thousands, _if not hundreds of\nthousands_, are thus situated! And it is of but little avail, if the\nmaster himself be enlightened and humane, as long as he consigns his\npeople to the hands of a cruel stony-hearted overseer. Let legislators\nthen, both national and sectional, perform their duty to their country\nand its posterity;--and to mankind, by listening to the wise counsels\nof many conspicuous living sages, and pursue without hesitation the\ninestimable \"parting advice\" of George Washington, Benjamin Rush, Samuel\nAdams, and other departed friends and patrons of man, \"to promote, as\nobjects of PRIMARY importance, institutions for the GENERAL diffusion of\nknowledge:\"--and _establish_ PUBLIC SCHOOLS _in every part_ of the\nrepublic. And, as all men are vitally interested in the universal\ndissemination of knowledge and virtue, let all classes combine their\ninfluence and means, in aiding the cause of human happiness.\n\n32. I can well predict the alarm that many will sound, at the project of\nintroducing letters among slaves. Some will _imagine_ that knowledge\nwould be a dangerous instrument in their hands. It is true knowledge\ndisarms oppression. But those who have experienced and appreciated its\nalmost uniform tendency, will perceive that it is a pacific weapon,--an\nolive branch,--accompanied by moderation, justice, and moral duty.\nEducation has been calumniated with the charge of instigating the\nrebellion and shocking outrages of the slaves in St. Domingo. But the\nfact is precisely the reverse. The catastrophe was produced chiefly by\nthe haughtiness and imprudence of the white planters, in opposing\ndecrees of the French government, which concerned only the rights of\nfreemen. In this civil war, in which the _white planters_ were arrayed\nagainst the laws of the national assembly, and the _planters of colour_\nin defence of them, it is not surprising that the _slaves_ should take\nsides with their _nearest_ relations. The consequent atrocities, most\nunquestionably resulted from the remembrance of the former barbarity[9]\nof masters.\n\n33. As mental improvement advances, vengeance and crimes recede. That\ndesirable happy era, when the spirit of peace and benevolence shall\npervade all the nations which inhabit the earth,--when both national and\npersonal _slavery_ shall be annihilated;--when nations and individuals\nshall cease to hunt and destroy each other's lives and property;--when\nthe science and implements of human preservation and felicity, shall be\nsubstituted for those of slaughter and woe; will commence, precisely at\nthe moment when the rays of _useful knowledge and wisdom_ shall have\nbeen extended to the _whole_ human family. By useful knowledge, I mean,\nnot only an acquaintance with valuable arts and sciences, but also an\nunderstanding of our various moral and religious duties, in relation to\nour Creator, to our neighbour, and to ourselves. By wisdom, I mean that\nkind of sagacity which influences us to regulate our passions and\nconduct, in conformity to the precepts of knowledge, reason and\nreligion. Until an approach towards such a state of things is effected,\nthe names of _liberty_ and _security_ on this earth, will differ but\nlittle from _a will with a wisp_, either to monarchs or their vassals.\nAt present, violence bears universal and imperial sway;--and ignorance\nis the magic spell which sustains its sceptre. This dark veil, which\nenshrouds nearly the whole human race, can be penetrated and removed\nwith much greater certainty and facility, by the mild but invincible\nrays of intellectual light, than by opposing violence with violence, and\nevil to evil. The countryman in Æsop's Fables, was induced to throw off\nhis cloak, by the gentle but melting rays of the _physical_ sun, after\nthe wind had exerted its fury in vain. What a boundless empire of glory\nand _unalloyed_ bliss might the monarchs and rulers of the age, and all\npossessors of power or wealth, attain, by causing their numerous\nsubjects or brethren, perpetually encompassed by the snares of\nignorance, vice and oppression, to be instructed; and elevating poor\ndegraded, afflicted human nature, to that scale of dignity in the\ncreation, which was evidently assigned to it, by the Supreme Parent of\nthe universe!\n\n34. Slaves, enveloped in the fogs of brutal ignorance and debasement,\nand exasperated by constant severity and frequent cruelty, cannot fail\nof being much more dangerous neighbours, and much less useful servants,\nthan they would be, if tamed by moral instruction and kind treatment.\nDocility is well known to be one of the peculiar characteristics of the\nAfrican race; and whenever opportunities have occurred, they have\nindicated a capacity of receiving instruction, and of becoming qualified\nfor a humane and moral government.\n\n35. Should these remarks ever reach the understanding of the slave whose\nyoke is rivetted upon him, by the laws of the government under which he\nlives, if he will believe the writer to be his unfeigned compassionate\nfriend, let him accept his sincere advice, to submit with fortitude to\nhis fate, and wait with patience the arrival of the day of joy, which\nhas already commenced its journey, and will assuredly overtake him or\nhis posterity, not long hence. Let him remember, that it is only the\ngradual progress of reason, and the principles of humanity, that can\nrelieve him; and that the more he resists the noose of slavery, the\ncloser it girds itself about his neck, _even to suffocation or\nstrangling_. Let him conciliate the good will and friendship of his\nmaster, by reasonable diligence and inflexible fidelity.\n\n36. Governor Miller, in his message, which has been already mentioned,\nsays, \"But now, thank God, the human mind having progressed with gradual\nmarch in the path of science and political philosophy, &c. the\nprinciples, 'that all men are by nature equally free and independent,'\n&c. have gained and are daily gaining more extensive currency.\" This\ndeclaration, which probably alludes to Europe, is conspicuously true,\nwith respect to our own country. In several or all of the slave states,\nthere are many benevolent respectable individuals, who are dissatisfied\nwith the practice of retaining their _innocent African brethren_ in\nbondage, and have signified their desire to release them.[10] And\nalthough these votaries to humanity are prevented by the existing laws\nof their respective districts, from accomplishing the full extent of\ntheir wishes, it is hoped they will not fail to recognize the high\nprivilege, which still remains in their hands, of exercising reciprocal\njustice to their sable _prisoners_, (no longer slaves,) and of educating\nand qualifying them for their eventual freedom and reception into an\nasylum, which, it may be confidently anticipated, will, ere long, be\nprepared for them. In fact, I do not hesitate to predict, that whenever\nslaves shall become qualified by intelligence and moral cultivation, for\nthe rational enjoyment of liberty, and the performance of the various\nrelative social virtues and duties of life, the enlightened American\nlegislators and depositories of the rights of man, will listen to the\nvoice of reason and justice, and the spirit of our social organization,\nand _permit_ the release of\n\n  \"------the poor fetter'd slave on bended knee,\n  From [Columbia's] sons imploring to be free;\"\n\nwithout banishing him, as a traitor, from his native land, where his\nservices as an industrious, though free laborer, may be indispensable to\nits cultivation. But under present circumstances, I am not disposed to\nquestion the policy or propriety of suitable laws, for regulating the\nmanumission of slaves, with a view to their own welfare and subsistence\nas well as the preservation of the public peace. Many benevolent\ngentlemen have exercised a sort of morbid or mistaken humanity, in\nmanumitting, or _turning out of doors_, slaves who had devoted the\ngreater part of the common period of man's life to their service, and\nwho, being morally and physically disqualified for securing an _honest_\nmaintenance, have finished their days in misery and woe. A very\nbenevolent possessor of slaves, in the district of Columbia, informed\nthe writer, that he was _principled_ against retaining them any longer\nthan while the value of their service amounts to the cost of purchase;\nand that he had dismissed several, who immediately commenced a career of\nwretchedness and final destruction. The sentiments, on this subject, of\n\"The American convention, for promoting the Abolition of slavery, and\nimproving the condition of the African race,\" are highly deserving of\nconsideration. In their circular, addressed to the general Abolition\nSocieties in the United States, they make this declaration: \"We are\npersuaded that the only means of accomplishing the final and complete\nemancipation of this unfortunate people throughout our country, is, the\nextension to them of the benefits of moral and intellectual cultivation.\nThat their redemption from the thraldom in which they now are, should be\npreceded or accompanied by such aids, as will qualify them to discharge\ntheir relative, social, and religious duties.\"\n\n37. It would, perhaps, be a problem worthy of the consideration of the\nlegislators of those states in which slavery is tolerated, whether their\nlaws for regulating manumissions, might not, with propriety, be so\nmodified, as to authorise judges, justices, or other magistrates, to\ngrant _permits_ for the emancipation of such slaves, as shall be\nsatisfactorily proved to be morally and physically qualified for\nliberty. Such a regulation would be peculiarly important to those humane\nmasters, who are merciful and just to their slaves, until their own\nguardianship is annulled by death; and are unwilling to risk them in the\nhands of their legitimate heirs, or to strangers who may purchase them\nat public auction.\n\n38. I have said, in the beginning of this essay, that separate\ncolonization, &c. is impracticable, except partially. I then gave one\nreason for this opinion, and will now offer another. Were the whole of\n_our numerous slave population_, already manumitted, and transferred\ntotally to a distinct colonial establishment, in this country or in\nAfrica: _our numerous white population_, in several of the more\nsoutherly states, would need to be provided with another colonial\nestablishment, in some latitude more favourable to their _physical_\npowers, or else perish amidst the desolate cotton and rice fields.\n\n39. My conviction, that the existence of Europeans, (or white men) under\nthe blaze of a torrid sun, is dependent on African industry, (or on the\nlabour of such inhabitants of the earth, as are adapted by nature to the\nequatorial regions,) must not be mistaken for an assent to the perpetual\nduration of involuntary servitude and unconditional vassalage. This is a\ncircumstance, resulting from the wisdom of Providence, which ought to\nfill the hearts of the proprietors of rice and cotton plantations, with\ngratitude and kindness towards their _black benefactors_. Let the\nmagnificent work of progressive and ultimate emancipation, concomitant\nwith mental improvement, be kept steadily in view;--but let not the\ntotal depopulation of an immense tract of valuable _improved_ country,\nbe held forth as essential to its accomplishment.\n\n40. But as there is, probably at this moment, in many parts of the\nUnited States, and will continue to be, an increasing excess of free\nblack and mulatto population, and also of slaves, who might be released\nif they could be disposed of; humanity as well as policy, strongly\nrecommends the institution of some asylum, to which this description of\n_strangers in a foreign land_, may resort if they please, and enjoy the\nblessings of knowledge, _social happiness_, and the products of their\nown industry; and perhaps be protected, at the same time, from the\nsacrilegious talons of the numerous hordes of men-stealers, with which\nour reputed free soil has long been infested and polluted. And as the\nCongress of the United States have hitherto declined patronising this\nobject, (to which their attention has been frequently invited,) its\naccomplishment will devolve, probably, on beneficent societies, and\nindividuals. The most eligible and practicable plan, perhaps, that could\nbe devised for this purpose, would be to open subscriptions throughout\nthe United States, for raising a fund, to be applied to the purchase of\nan extensive tract or territory of United States' land, in some proper\ndistrict, (which probably might be obtained on a liberal credit,) where\nsuch coloured people, as now are, or may become free, might be invited\nto settle as tenants, or eventual purchasers. The settlement might be\ncommitted to the care of proper agents, and if the profits should\nultimately exceed a sufficient amount to remunerate the original\nadvances with the interest, the surplus might be appropriated to the\neducation and general benefit of the African race in this country.[11]\n\n41. Having now (as I hope,) shewn the practicability and mutual\nadvantages, of the melioration and ultimate freedom of the American\nslave population, I shall proceed to communicate some facts and remarks\non the interior traffic in slaves, and on the practice of kidnapping\ncoloured persons, legally free.\n\n42. To those who may object to the propriety of exposing to public view\nsuch deeds as are likely to shock the feelings and sympathy of the\nfriends of humanity, I reply, that the object is not to excite popular\nexecration against their authors, but commiseration towards the\nsufferers, and to discourage the repetition of cruelty. In supplications\nfor redress of grievances, it is customary and necessary too, for the\naggrieved party, to represent the wrongs complained of. The facts\nadduced, can be well substantiated:--but as it is believed that no\nvaluable purpose will be gained, by the mention of names and specific\nplaces where they occurred, they will be omitted as far as it may be\nconvenient.\n\n43. In the structure of our political institutions, we have, in some\nrespects, undoubtedly excelled the ancient republics:--and in others, we\nhave evidently degenerated. Solon perceived that slavery was a fruitful\nsource of moral depravity to the Athenians, and abolished it;\nnotwithstanding it had its origin in the previous voluntary contraction\nof debts, by the slaves. We neglect this valuable lesson of Solon, and\nalso a political maxim of his, which ought to form the corner-stone of\nevery republic. Being asked what kind of government is best, he\nanswered, \"that in which an injury to the meanest member of the\ncommunity is esteemed an aggression upon the whole.\" Our laws for the\nprotection of the rights and liberty of free yellow and black people,\nmust be exceedingly defective, or there could not at this moment be\nthousands of them illegally held in slavery.\n\n44. Slavery, says Sterne, however disguised, _is still a bitter\ndraught_; but it is rendered tenfold more bitter and intolerable, when\nthe members of families are dragged asunder, never to behold each\nother, or their native _wonted_ country again.--And it is the\n_uncontrolled slave trade_, between the middle and southerly states,\nwhich gives facility to the extensive and increasing practice of\nkidnapping (slaves as well as freemen,) and secures it from the\npossibility of detection, except casually. Under the existing laws, if a\nfree coloured man travels without passports certifying his right to his\nliberty, he is generally apprehended; and frequently plunged into\nslavery, by the operation of the laws. But after being seized and\nmanacled by the kidnapper, the slave merchant drives him through several\nstates, without interruption, and sells him where he seldom regains his\nliberty. If the wisdom of the state or general governments should not\nrecommend the complete abolition of the internal as well as external\nslave trade, it believed, at least, that an acquaintance with its abuses\nwill convince them of the necessity of so regulating it, as to confine\nthe traffic _totally_ to legal _slaves_. This could, perhaps, be\neffectually accomplished by compelling every travelling slave-trader to\nreport his slaves to a proper magistrate, in every township or county\nthrough which he passes; and to produce certificates, from some\nmagistrate residing near the place in which they were purchased, of\ntheir being legal slaves and legally sold;--and also by compelling every\npurchaser of imported slaves, (by _land_ or _sea_,) to register them,\nand file similar certificates, in the offices of the respective county\nclerks.\n\n45. The act of depriving a free man of his liberty, being a violation of\nthe constitution of the United States, and an _overt attack_ upon the\npublic liberty, ought to be declared treason of some sort or other, and\npunished by a reciprocity, in some degree, of the fate, to which the\nconspirator attempts to involve his victim;--imprisonment in a\npenitentiary, or some other secure place of industry, and moral\neducation;--for, I do not believe there ever lived a kidnapper, who had\nread the whole of the New Testament, or any part of Seneca's Morals, or\nPaley's Principles of Moral Philosophy, or any similar books.\n\n46. On the 4th day of December 1815, (the day on which the session of\ncongress commenced,) being at the seat of government of the United\nStates, I was preparing to enjoy the first opportunity that had occurred\nto me, of beholding the assembled representatives of the American\nrepublic. As I was about to proceed to the building where the session\nwas opened, my agreeable reverie was suddenly interrupted by the voice\nof a stammering boy, who, as he was coming into the house, from the\nstreet, exclaimed, \"There goes the Ge-Ge-orgy men[12] with a drove o'\nniggers chain'd together two and two.\" What's that, said I,--I must\nsee,--and, going to the door, I just had a distant glimpse of a light\ncovered waggon, followed by a procession of men, women and children,\nresembling that of a funeral. I followed them hastily; and as I\napproached so near as to discover that they were bound together in\npairs, some with ropes, and some with iron chains (which I had hitherto\nseen used only for restraining beasts,) the involuntary successive\nheavings of my bosom became irrepressible. This was, with me, an\naffection perfectly peculiar to itself, which never having before\nexperienced, gave me some surprise. I have since heard an intelligent\ngentleman, from Scotland, describe a similar symptom. He affirmed, that\non his arrival upon the coast of the United States, (in Chesapeake Bay,)\nhis first view of the slaves _brought his heart into his throat_. I have\nalso been told by a gentleman, who holds a seat in the senate of the\nUnited States, that \"a drove of manacled slaves was to him an\ninsupportable spectacle, which he generally endeavoured to avoid;\"--and\nby a representative, (since deceased,) from one of the slave states, who\nwas himself a possessor of slaves, \"that he never could bear to see\nslaves manacled and fettered with bolts and chains, nor families torn\nasunder and sold to the slave-traders, and wondered how any one could be\nso inhuman as to do such acts.\" Overtaking the caravan, just opposite to\nthe old Capitol (then in a state of ruins from the conflagration by the\nBritish army,)[13] I inquired of one of the _drivers_ (of whom there\nwere two) what part of the country they were taking all these people to?\n\"To Georgia,\" he replied. \"Have you not, said I, enough such people in\nthat country yet?\" \"Not quite enough,\" he said. I found myself\nincapable of saying more, and was compelled to avert my eyes immediately\nfrom the heart-rending scene! Had Sterne been present, and surveyed\n(with _real_ instead of imaginary vision) this groupe of bond-men and\nbond-women, and _bond-children_, with their mute sad faces veiled with\n_black_ despair--\"and heard the chains rattle, which encumbered their\nbodies,\"--and \"had seen the _iron_ enter their souls\"--he would again\nhave \"_burst into tears_.\" I walked along some distance before them,\ndown Pennsylvania Avenue, and, on turning round, observed that they had\nleft that street, (as if the spirit of PENN had repelled the contact of\nsuch a tragedy with his name,) and directed their course towards the\nPotomac bridge. At the same moment an African passed by, driving a hack;\nand beholding his brethren,\n\n  \"----Trembling, weeping, captive led,\"\n\nextended his arm towards them, and exclaimed, \"See there! an't that\nright down _murder_? Don't you call that _right down murder_?\" On\nuttering to him indistinctly, that I did not know, he renewed his\nrequest to be answered, and I replied, \"I do not know but it is\n_murder_.\"----These expressions instantly reminded me of the frequency\nof murders and deaths, not only of slaves, but of white and free black\nmen, resulting from despotic slavery, and particularly from the slave\ntraffic. Several instances of this kind had very recently come to my\nknowledge, from unquestionable sources, and at that moment pressed\nthemselves with peculiar force upon my excited imagination; among which\nI will recite the following:\n\n47. A slave having escaped from his master, in the state of North\nCarolina, within two or three years past, was seized and brought back,\nby a being, who, when requested by the master to name the reward he\nshould render him for returning the slave, replied, that all the\ncompensation he desired, was the satisfaction of _flogging_ him. This\nbeing granted, the slave was bound to a log, and the \"_resounding lash_\"\napplied, until the resentment of his executioner was satiated. The\ninfatuated master then took the ensanguined lash himself, and was about\nto repeat the process of flagellation, when Death, not then a _king of\nterrors_, but a generous benefactor, a \"_friend in need_\" rescued him\nfrom the intended protraction of his excruciating torment. After all,\nlet the balm of compassion, rather than imprecations of divine wrath, be\nadministered to these erring mortals. Their egregious mistake may be\ntraced to the mighty force of example, and the deficiency of early,\nreligious, and moral education. This fact having been before published,\nmust be, to many persons, already known.\n\n48. In the state of Pennsylvania, a considerable number of years ago,\nthe proprietor of a furnace took up a black boy, a few years old, and in\nthe presence of his distracted father, wantonly thrust him into the\nflames and melted metal, where he was instantly consumed! The\ninformation of this horrible deed was originally communicated by a\nrespectable citizen of the city of Washington, who formerly resided in\nthe state of Pennsylvania, and it has been further corroborated by\nanother, of the city of Philadelphia.\n\n49. In the state of New Jersey, a female slave, several years ago, was\nbound to a log, and scored with a knife, in a shocking manner across her\nback, and the gashes stuffed with salt! after which she was tied to a\npost in a cellar, where, after suffering three days, death kindly\nterminated her misery. This fact was communicated at Washington, by the\nsame gentleman above mentioned.[14]\n\n[Illustration: Paragraph 50.\n\nBarbarity committed on a free African, who was found on the ensuing\nmorning, by the side of the road, dead!]\n\n50. As two persons were returning from the _horse races_, a few miles\nnorth of the city of Washington, eight or ten years ago, they met on the\nroad a free man of colour, who resided in the vicinity. They seized him,\nand bound him with ropes. His protestations that he was free, and his\nentreaties that they would accompany him to the house, (but about half a\nmile distant,) where his wife resided, and where he could satisfy them\nof his freedom, were in vain. Having fastened him by a rope, to the tail\nof one of their horses, they were seen, by a citizen, who met them on\nthe road dragging him in this manner, and beating him to make him keep\npace with the horses. He cautioned them, and begged of them not to kill\nthe black man;--but one of the ruffians plucking a stake from the fence,\nand threatening with horrid oaths to knock him down, he found it\nnecessary to retire for his own safety:--a few miles farther along, on\nthe following morning, this poor African was found by the side of the\nroad, dreadfully bruised, and his eyes bloodshotten,--dead![15] This\ndistressing catastrophe strongly exemplifies the defect of the laws of\nthe state in which it occurred, concerning free Africans, which\nauthorise their seizure, without any specific judicial authority, if\nfound without certificates of freedom, by the most vicious and abandoned\nmembers of the community. These two ill-starred wretches, just sallying\nforth from a notorious school of intemperance, were undoubtedly\nintoxicated, and of course, in a state of insanity at the time they\ncommitted this outrage;--and had probably been reared in the\n_wilderness_ of ignorance and vice. I was assured, that one of them had\nlong been accustomed, in company with his _own father_, to the business\nof apprehending runaway slaves, and such free Africans as they could\ncatch without certificates.\n\n51. In the vicinity of the place where the above transaction occurred, a\nyoung black boy, living at a house in which there are just grounds for\nbelieving that the lives of several slaves had been destroyed, by\nwhipping, and other severities, yet entertained such horror at the\nthoughts of transportation to Georgia, (with which he had often been\nthreatened, by way of reprimand,[16]) that on seeing a stranger coming\ntowards the house, (on a cold day,) whom he suspected to be a\n_Georgia-man_, he fled into the fields with the greatest precipitation,\nand secreted himself so effectually, that he was not discovered until\nthe expiration of a fortnight,--when he was dead!--frozen!--and the\npupils of his eyes picked out!\n\n52. With these mournful spectra, flitting in succession before me, and\nthe black procession still in view, the pleasant anticipations which I\nhad been indulging but fifteen minutes previous, became totally\nreversed. Returning pensive towards my lodgings, and passing by the\nCapitol, I thought--Alas! poor Africa,--_thy cup_ is the _essence_ of\nbitterness!--This _solitary_, magnificent temple, _dedicated to\nliberty_,--opens its portals to _all_ other nations but _thee_, and bids\ntheir sons drink _freely_ of the cup of _freedom_ and happiness:----but\nwhen _thy_ unoffending, enslaved sons, clank their blood-smeared\n_chains_ under its towers, it sneers at their calamity, and mocks their\nlamentations with the echo of contempt!--\n\n53. Blessed, infatuated Columbia! the eyes and the hopes of weeping\nadmiring nations are upon thee! Suffer not the lamp of public liberty to\nbe smothered and extinguished by the gloomy shroud of private slavery!\nDost not thou assume a pre-eminent distinction among the nations for\nmagnanimity and honour? Does any high-minded christian nation chain her\nprisoners of war, and subject them and their posterity to perpetual\nignorance, and the oppressive toil of involuntary servitude without\nreward? In thy late contest with a powerful sister state, many of her\n_political slaves_, who sought the lives of thy sons, and the\nconflagration of their dwellings, fell into thy custody by the chances\nof war--I have seen fourteen hundred of these at a single\ndepôt--Fourteen hundred large loaves of good bread, and fourteen hundred\npounds of excellent beef, were daily spread before them. As many as\ncould meet with opportunities, were permitted to labor for the\nneighbouring farmers and manufacturers, for which they received a\npecuniary equivalent in monthly stipends.--Fourteen hundred _thousands_\nof the sons and daughters of thy neighbour Africa, _breathe and mourn_\non thy expanded bosom. The privileges of a vast proportion of these\nforlorn victims of sorrow and woe, are reduced below the privileges of\nthe ox, the horse, the hound, and various other domestic animals;--in\nrespect to sustenance, toil, and severity of chastisement, if not\nquarters and raiment!--As an aggregate people, they, nor their\nancestors, never disturbed thy repose, with fire or sword, or the\ncannon's deathly roar. _They are, nevertheless, virtually prisoners of\nwar_:--not by a war in defence of human life, but generally, by _a\nhideous sacrilegious war_, waged (among the African kings) for the\nplunder of human souls, human flesh, _blood and bones_, to be exchanged\nas articles of merchandize, for contemptible gewgaws, implements of war,\ndistilled spirits, tobacco, &c. The booty thus gained by the savage\ndespots and man-hunters of Africa, had its assumed sale and exportation\nbeen impracticable, might possibly have been consigned to the same\npurposes there as it is now here (_slavery_) or annihilated by massacre;\nbut most probably would have been sought with much less avidity. If\nthese commodities were _obtained_ at the sacrifice of justice, and the\nnatural rights of man, upon no other terms can our laws permit them to\nbe indefinitely _retained_, by their present _possessors_, who are the\nsubstantial _successors_ and assigns of the original captors.[17]\n\n54. To return from this lengthy excursion, I must acknowledge, (however\nludicrous it may seem to those who are _hardened_ to such things by\nrepetition,) that the tragedy of a company of men, women and children,\npinioned and bound together with chains and ropes, without accusation of\ncrime, and driven as beasts of the harness, through the metropolis of\nthat country, of which I had hitherto indulged both pleasure and pride,\nin the consciousness of being a _native citizen_, and, of having\ncommenced my life coevally with its constitutional organization;\noccurring at the precise hour of the convocation of the guardians of its\nliberties; produced a new era in my sensations. Disinclination, as well\nas the delay incurred, prevented my visit to the congressional hall on\nthat day.--And I devoted several succeeding days to the purpose of\ndelineating on paper, a faithful copy of the impressions and sentiments\nwhich involuntarily pervaded my _full_ heart and agitated mind. Those\nmemoirs have furnished some materials for this essay.\n\n55. One evening while writing notes concerning the occurrence just\nmentioned, a lad, sitting in the same room with me, was studying his\nlessons in Goldsmith's Abridgment of Geography; in which I noticed he\nread these words:--\"The United States are celebrated for the excellence\nof their constitution, which provides for political liberty and\nindividual security. _The inhabitants are justly famed for their ardent\nlove of freedom._\" Immediately after reading those paragraphs, he\naddressed me, without knowing on what subject I was occupied, thus:\n\"Why, how can it be said that the inhabitants of the United States love\nLIBERTY, _while they hold almost a whole nation of people in a state of\nbondage and ignorance_?\" I endeavoured to explain to him this puzzling\nproblem, by replying, that \"by _the inhabitants_ was meant the _white_\npopulation of the United States, and the liberty which they ardently\nlove is probably their _own_ liberty, which they appear to care more\nabout than they do about the liberty of _black_ men.\"\n\n56. I mention this minute circumstance more particularly, because it\nforms one of the links to a chain of incidents which conducted to the\ndevelopment of some very important facts; such as I then had no\nconception or suspicion of the existence of, on this side the Atlantic\nocean. I then supposed the instances of the streets of the city\nconsecrated to freedom, being paraded with people led in captivity, were\nrare. But I soon ascertained that they were quite frequent, that several\nhundred people, including not legal slaves only, but many kidnapped\nfreemen and youth bound to service for a term of years, and unlawfully\nsold as slaves for life, are annually collected at Washington (as if it\nwere an emporium of slavery,) for transportation to the slave regions.\nThe United States' jail is frequently occupied as a storehouse for the\nslave merchants, and some of the rooms in a tavern devoted chiefly to\nthat use, are occasionally so crowded that the occupants hardly have\nsufficient space to extend themselves upon the floor to sleep.[18]\n\n[Illustration: Paragraphs 57.\n\n\"... But I did not want to go, and I jump'd out of the window.\"]\n\n57. A short time after having completed the memorandums above alluded\nto, the youth just mentioned, having learned the subject on which I had\nbeen occupied, and being prompt to communicate whatever he might meet\nwith relative to it, informed me on returning from school, in the\nevening of the 19th December 1815, that a black woman, destined for\ntransportation to Georgia with a coffle, which was about to start,\nattempted to escape, by jumping out of the window of the garret of a\nthree story brick tavern in F. street, about day-break in the morning;\nand that in the fall she had her back and both arms broken! I remarked,\nthat I did not wonder that she did so; and inquired, whether it had not\nkilled her? To which he replied, that he understood that she was dead,\nand that the _Georgia-men_ had gone off with the others. The relation of\nthis shocking disaster excited considerable agitation in my mind, and\nfully confirmed the sentiments which I had already adopted and recorded,\nof the multiplied horrors added to slavery, when its victims are bought\nand sold, frequently for distant destinations, with as much indifference\nas fourfooted beasts. Supposing this to have been a recent occurrence,\nand being desirous of seeing the mangled slave before she should be\nburied, I proceeded with some haste early on the following morning, in\nsearch of the house already mentioned. Calling at a house near the one\nat which the catastrophe occurred, I was informed, that it had been\nthree weeks since it took place, and that the woman was still living.\nHaving found the house, I desired permission of the landlord to see the\nwounded woman; to which he assented, and directed a lad to conduct me to\nher room, which was in the garret over the third story of the house. On\nentering the room I observed her lying upon a bed on the floor, and\ncovered with a white woollen blanket, on which were several spots of\nblood (from her wounds,) which I perceived was _red_, notwithstanding\nthe _opacity_ of her skin. Her countenance, though very pale from the\nshock she had received, and dejected with grief, appeared complacent and\nsympathetic. Both her arms were broken between the elbows and wrists,\nand had undoubtedly been well set and dressed; but from her restlessness\nshe had displaced the bones again, so that they were perceptibly\ncrooked. I have since been informed by the Mayor of the city, who is a\nphysician, and resides not far distant from the place, that he was\ncalled to visit her immediately after her fall, and found, besides her\narms being broken, that the lower part of the spine was badly shattered,\nso that it was doubtful whether she would ever be capable of walking\nagain, if she should survive. The lady of the Mayor said she was\nawakened from sleep by the fall of the woman, and heard her heavy\nstruggling groans.\n\n58. I inquired of her, whether she was asleep when she sprang from the\nwindow. She replied, \"No, no more than I am now.\" Asking her what was\nthe cause of her doing such a frantic act as that, she replied, \"They\nbrought me away with two of my children, and wouldn't let me see my\nhusband--they didn't sell my husband, and I didn't want to go';--I was\nso confused and 'istracted, that I didn't know hardly what I was\nabout--but I didn't want to go, and I jumped out of the window;--but I\nam sorry now that I did it;--they have carried my children off with 'em\nto Carolina.\" I was informed that the Slave Trader, who had purchased\nher near Bladensburgh, (she being a _legal_ slave,) gave her to the\nlandlord, as a compensation for taking care of her. Thus her family was\ndispersed from north to south, and herself _nearly_ torn in pieces,\nwithout the shadow of a hope of ever seeing or hearing from her\n_children_ again! He that can behold this \"poor woman,\" (as a\nrespectable citizen of Washington afterwards expressed himself, on\nrequesting of her landlord the privilege of seeing her,) and listen to\nher _unvarnished story_; and then delineate it with the mental pencil,\n(_quill_) and then view the picture from his _own hand_, without a\n_humid eye_, I will confess possesses a _stouter heart_ than I do.\n\n59. The sympathy of the whole American white population, (and it is\npresumed of the black also, for they know how to estimate such matters\nby dear experience,) has recently been very justly excited towards young\nKing Prather and his \"confus'd and 'istracted\" mother roaming in search\nof him, along half the extent of the coast of the United States. As he\nwas kidnapped by a son of Africa, (though not for the detestable purpose\nof cupidity or enslavement, but for a ladder to his own liberty,) it is\npresumed if Africa's Genius were permitted to offer her sentiments on\nthe subject, she would pronounce it a _retort courteous apropos_, from\nAfrica to her sister Columbia.\n\n60. I have since learned many recent instances of the tragical\nconsequences of the usurped trade in the souls and bodies of men.[19] I\nhave been informed by several different persons in the district of\nColumbia, that a woman who had been sold in Georgetown, for the southern\nslave market, cut her own throat, ineffectually, while on the way, in a\nhack, to the same depository above mentioned; and that on the road to\nAlexandria she completed her design of destroying her life, by cutting\nit again mortally. A statement was published in the Baltimore Telegraph,\na few months ago, that a female slave, who had been sold in Maryland,\nwith her child, on the way from Bladensburgh to Washington, heroically\ncut the throats of both her child and herself, with mortal effect. This\nnarrative has been since confirmed by a relative of the person who sold\nthem. An African youth, in the city of Philadelphia, lately cut his\nthroat almost mortally, merely from the apprehension, as he said, of\nbeing sold. This information was obtained from several respectable\ncitizens of Philadelphia, who had personal knowledge of the fact.\n\n[Illustration: Paragraphs 61. 63. 65. 66\n\nThe Author noting down the Narratives of several free-born People of\nColour who had been kidnapped.]\n\n61. Believing the facts already recited are sufficient to satisfy every\ncandid reader, of the unreasonableness, injustice, and inhumanity of the\nprevailing interior slave trade, and of the necessity of legislative\ncontrol; I will now commence a delineation of the still more outrageous\nand abominable practice of seizing, and selling into exile, _men_,\n_women_, _and children_, whose freedom and _moral_ rights are guaranteed\nby our national and state constitutions. In the same recess with that\nmangled woman, while interrogating her, I discovered (without having the\nleast previous intimation, or even suspicion, of any thing of the kind)\nthree persons of colour, who were born free, and had been forcibly\nseized in the time of night, bound and transported in the night, out of\ntheir native state, (Delaware) and sold as slaves for life to itinerant\n_Man-Dealers_[20] in Maryland, who generally range themselves along near\nthe line of division between the two states. One of these was a mulatto\nman, about 21 years of age. I found him thoroughly secured in irons. His\narms were manacled with strong loops round his wrists, resembling a\n_clevis_, connected by a strong iron bolt. On the shelf over the\nfireplace, lay a pair of heavy rough hopples (or hobbles,) with which he\nsaid his legs had been fettered until a short time previous, but were\nthen secured by a pair of polished gripes, (perhaps manufactured for the\npurpose, resembling the patent horse fetters with locks,) connected by a\nstrong new tug chain, with a loose end of two or three feet in length,\nlying upon the floor.[21] He stated, that a journeyman to the man with\nwhom he resided, and to whom he had been bound to service for a term of\nyears, having decoyed him into the fields, some distance from the house,\nlate in the evening, on pretence of hunting oppossums, two strangers\nrushed upon him with ropes in their hands, and with the assistance of\nthe person[22] just mentioned, bound his hands, and led him with a\npistol held each side of him (with which he said they threatened to\nshoot him if he made any alarm,) 15 or 20 miles, where he was secreted\ntill the next evening; when another person came with a chaise and\nconveyed him to a tavern in Maryland, a little over the line;[23] from\nwhence one of the Man-Dealers, (who has since been advertised as a\nman-stealer, in a different case,) brought him to Washington in\nmanacles, and sold him to another, as a slave for life. He said his\n_Driver_ overhearing him tell a coloured woman near Annapolis, that his\nparents (both of whom are light coloured mulattos) were free-born,\nthreatened to shoot him, if he should catch him talking to any body\nagain about his being free. He said the trader did strike him on the\nhead with his fist, after his arrival at Washington, for telling a\nperson to whom he was offered for sale, that he was lawfully free,\nand threatened to flog him if he should fail of selling him in the city\non that account. He also stated, that another boy, about sixteen, was\nbrought off with him at the same time, and sold for a slave in\nWashington, who was lawfully free, and had been sold to the traders, by\na person to whom the boy's father had let him to service.\n\n62. This statement has been since confirmed by corroborative\ninformation; and I am in possession of memorandums, by which the boy\nmight probably be traced and found.\n\n[Illustration: Paragraph 63.\n\nKIDNAPPING.]\n\n63. The others, whom I found in the same garret, and at the same time,\nwere a young black widow woman, with an infant at the breast, both of\nwhom were born free. Her husband had died but a few days previous to her\nseizure, and she was in a state of pregnancy at the time. She stated,\nthat the man in whose house she resided, together with his brother, and\nthree other persons, came into the room (a kitchen,) where she was in\nbed, seized and dragged her out;--fastened a noose round her neck, to\nprevent her from screaming, and attempted to blindfold her, which she\nresisted with such violence, that she prevented them from succeeding.\nShe said, while one of them was endeavouring to fix the bandage over her\neyes, that she seized his cheek with her teeth, and tore a piece of it\nentirely off. She said one of them struck her head several times with a\nstick of wood, from the wounds of which she was almost covered with\nblood. She shewed me a large scar upon her forehead, occasioned by one\nof the blows, which a gentleman, who saw her the day previous to her\nseizure, has since informed me was not there before. She said, while she\nwas struggling against them, and screaming, the man in whose house she\nlived _bawled out_, \"Choke the d----d b----h! don't let her\nhalloo--she'll scare my wife!\" Having conquered her by superior force,\nshe said they placed her with the child in a chaise, (her description of\nwhich, with the horse and the driver, who was one of the victors,\ncorresponds precisely with that given by the mulatto man of the\ncarriage, &c. by which he also was conveyed,) and refusing to dress\nherself, three of them, leaving the two who belonged to the house,\ncarried her off in the condition that she was dragged from bed, to a\ncertain tavern in Maryland, and sold them both to the Man-Dealer, who\nbrought them to the city of Washington. She stated, that one of her\ncaptors drove the carriage, and held the rope which was fixed to her\nneck, and that one rode each side, on horseback.--That, while one of\nthem was negociating a bargain with her purchaser, he asked her who her\nmaster was; and, replying that she had none, her seller beckoned to him\nto go into another room, where the business was adjusted without\ntroubling her with any farther inquiries. She stated, that her purchaser\nconfessed, while on the way to Annapolis, that he believed she might\nhave had some claim to freedom, and intimated that he would have taken\nher back, if the man[24] of whom he bought her had not ran away; but\nrequested her, notwithstanding, to say nothing to any body about her\nbeing free, which she refused to comply with. She affirmed, that he\noffered her for sale to several persons, _who refused to purchase, on\naccount of her asserting that she was free_. She stated, that her\npurchaser had left her in Washington for a few weeks, and gone to the\n_Eastern Shore_, in search of more black people, in order to make up a\ndrove for Georgia.\n\n64. These facts clearly exemplify the safety with which the free born\ninhabitants of the United States may be offered for sale and sold, even\nin the metropolis of Liberty,[25] as oxen; even to those who are\nnotified of the fact, and are perhaps convinced of it, that they are\nfree![26]\n\n65. The discovery of these captives, on their road to the dismal\n_gulf_[27] of (perhaps) interminable slavery to themselves, and their\nmultiplying progeny; in this very accidental, unless providential\nmanner, filled me with a mixture of astonishment, compassion and joy.\nWith a view to commence immediate legal measures, for restoring them to\ntheir liberty, I took my pencil and noted down their narratives\ncircumstantially.\n\n66. I had not quite finished, before the purchaser of the mulatto man\ncame into the room. He seemed a little surprised to find me writing, but\nmade no inquiries about it, and having obtained all the information that\nI wished, I continued noting it down, notwithstanding his being present,\nuntil my memorandums were completed; when I left him in the room,\nwithout having had any conversation with him, except answering some\nquestions, which he asked me relative to the wounded slave. Without\nhesitation, I commenced a suit in the circuit court of the United\nStates, for the District of Columbia, for the restitution of their\nliberty. The first attempt to secure the persons of the captives, by a\nwrit of habeas corpus, was ineffectual. I accompanied the deputy marshal\nmyself, to the house in which I found them. The landlord declared, that\n\"if he had known I was writing so long in the room where the Negroes\nwere, he should have been very angry with me; and that if I had no other\nevidence of their freedom, but their stories, we should not see them.\"\nHe said he believed \"Negroes were made to serve the Whites, and that\nthey had no more sense than horses.\" He stated, that the person who saw\nme writing, suspected some difficulty, and had directed him to conceal\nthe Negroes, and that he had done it. He told me, in a sneering manner,\nthat if I wished to take the part of the negroes, he could find me\nplenty of such business. He informed me that he had been in the way of\nkeeping Negroes for the Traders many years, and took better care of them\nthan they received in the jail.[28]\n\n67. Notwithstanding the writ of habeas corpus was returned to the\nmagistrate unexecuted, I still persevered, and obtained a process of\ninjunction, in order to prevent the removal of the captives from the\nDistrict, until the commencement of the session of the court; by which\nit was ascertained that they still remained in the same house. A second\nwrit of habeas corpus having been issued from the court while sitting,\nthey were at length produced, which, fortunately, was accomplished on\nthe very day that the purchaser of the woman and child left Washington,\nwith a coffle of ten or twelve coloured persons, with whom he had just\nreturned from Maryland.[29] The court having examined them, placed them\nin safe custody for further examination at the ensuing summer session,\nso that time could be had for procuring the requisite testimony from\nDelaware. For defraying the expense of accomplishing this purpose, and\nof prosecuting the suits, a subscription was drawn up by Francis T. Key,\nesq. who volunteered his own services as attorney, gratis, as did also\nJ. B. Caldwell, and J. B. Lear, Esqs. The subscription was commenced by\ngeneral Van Ness; the heads of the executive departments of the\ngovernment, with but rare exception; several gentlemen of the senate and\nhouse of representatives, and the mayor and citizens of Washington\ngenerally, (possessors of slaves as well as others,) to whom application\nwas made, joined in the contribution. I was highly gratified to meet\nwith this practical evidence, that the disposition to extend the hand of\nrelief to abused _African_ strangers, is not at the present period, by\nany means confined exclusively to the limits of a solitary religious\nsociety. Between one and two hundred dollars having been collected,[30]\nI proceeded myself to the state of Delaware; and having travelled from\nWilmington to Lewestown and Georgetown, returned with unequivocal proof\nof the legal right of the captives to their liberty, which was\naccordingly restored to them by the court at the ensuing June session.\n\n68. One of the attornies having addressed letters to several respectable\ncitizens of Delaware, for the purpose of obtaining information\nrespecting the correctness of the statements of the captives, an answer\nwas received relative to the female, of which the following is an\nextract:--\n\n69. \"Your letter of the 30th ult. I received by yesterday's mail, and am\nhappy to find the unfortunate negro woman is once more rescued from the\nfangs of the ----s and others, as vile a banditti as ever were permitted\nto disturb the peace of society. The statement by ---- [the woman] is no\ndoubt true. This poor creature was rescued from the ----s some time last\nwinter, and seems in the case which occurred then, as well as that which\nyou relate, to have been saved by an almost miraculous intervention. The\n----s stand now indicted for taking her off last winter.--Their gang is\nnumerous, daring--full of money, &c.\"\n\n70. Understanding that several of the persons concerned in the cases had\nbeen arrested, and having been informed by one of the representatives to\ncongress, from Delaware, that the laws of that state inflict corporeal\npunishment for offences of this kind, such as whipping, cropping the\nears, and exposure in the pillory, I wrote a reply to the above letter,\nof which the following is an extract:\n\n71. \"Not for vengeance, but for the sake of humanity, I hope this fell\nbanditti, with which the free (or ought to be free) soil of America is\npolluted, may be routed. But, for Heaven's sake, and for the sake of\ntheir wives and children, and _for my sake_, let the wrath of justice\nand law be so managed, that their _animal_ bodies shall not be\ntormented, in consequence of my exertions to arrest the progress of\ntheir outrageous and unpardonable conduct, equal to the scratch of a\npin. Yet I cannot help charging that state jurisprudence, which permits\nthe easy repetition of the crimes of which they have been guilty, with\nbeing exceedingly defective. It seems to me, that where there is no\nwork-house in a state, such persons should be limited under sufficient\nsecurities and penalties, to their own farms, or some prescribed\nboundaries;--and, in case they transgress these, to be declared to be\noutlawed, and liable to be estimated and treated no other than as wolves\nand tygers, to which they have already assimilated themselves of their\nown accord.\"\n\n72. Governor Miller of North-Carolina, says in his speech already\nalluded to, \"The principle will be conceded, that the end of punishment\nis the prevention of crimes.\" Lacerations and mutilations of the human\nframe, exasperate its occupant in the highest degree, and are very\nlikely to excite an obstinate perseverance in crimes, by way of\nretaliation and spite. Imprisonment, with labour, if it does not reform\nthe disturber of the public peace, by the opportunity of reflection and\nsalutary instruction, it certainly restrains his career for a specific\ntime, effectually.\n\n73. The satisfaction of beholding the yellow man, and the black woman,\nwith her two female infants, (one of them having been born but a short\ntime previous to their release,) seated in the stage, under the care of\none of the senators of the legislature of Delaware, who had attended the\ncourt as a witness in behalf of the woman; afforded me a rich reward for\nthus having performed an indispensable _duty_, which I owed to their\nCreator, to them as their _neighbour_, to the principles of our social\nand political system, and to myself.\n\n74. The specimen here given of _man-stealing_, forms but a mere speck in\nan extensive system of this nefarious profession, which for many years\nhas been, and continues to be pursued, with increasing vigor and\n_pecuniary_ profit, in all the middle states. Even the city of\nPhiladelphia is not exempt from this moral pestilence.\n\n75. To enumerate all the horrid and aggravating instances of\nmen-stealing, which are known to have occurred in the state of Delaware,\nwithin the recollection of many of the citizens of that state, would\nrequire a heavy volume. In many cases, whole families of free coloured\npeople have been attacked in the night, beaten _nearly_ to death with\nclubs, gagged and bound, and dragged into distant and hopeless captivity\nand slavery, leaving no traces behind, except the blood from their\nwounds.\n\n76. During the last winter, since the seizure of the woman and infant,\nas related above, the house of a free black family was broken open, and\nits defenceless inhabitants treated in the manner just mentioned,\nexcept, that the mother escaped from their merciless grasp, while on\ntheir way to the state of Maryland. The plunderers, of whom there were\nnearly half a dozen, conveyed their prey upon horses; and the woman\nbeing placed on one of the horses, behind, improved an opportunity, as\nthey were passing a house, and sprang off; and not daring to pursue her,\nthey proceeded on, leaving her youngest child a little farther along by\nthe side of the road, in expectation, it is supposed, that its cries\nwould attract the mother, but she prudently waited until morning, and\nrecovered it again in safety.\n\n77. I consider myself more fully warranted in particularising this fact,\nfrom the circumstances of having been at New-Castle at the time that\nthe woman was brought with her child, before the grand jury, for\nexamination; and of having seen several of the persons against whom\nbills of indictment were found, on the charge of being engaged in the\nperpetration of the outrage; and also that one or two of them were the\nsame who were accused of assisting in seizing and carrying off the woman\nand child whom I discovered at Washington. The ingenuity and stratagems\nemployed by kidnappers, in effecting their designs, are such as to\nprove, that the most consummate cunning is no evidence of wisdom or\nmoral purity, nor incompatible with the most consummate villainy. A\nmonster, in human shape, was detected in the city of Philadelphia,\npursuing the occupation of courting and marrying mulatto women, and\nselling them as slaves. In his last attempt of this kind, the fact\nhaving come to the knowledge of the African population of this city, a\nmob was immediately collected, and he was only saved from being torn in\natoms, by being deposited in the city prison. They have lately invented\na method of attaining their objects, through the instrumentality of the\nlaws:--Having selected a suitable free coloured person, to make a\n_pitch_ upon, the _conjuring_ kidnapper employs a confederate, to\nascertain the distinguishing marks of his body and then claims and\nobtains him as a slave, before a magistrate, by describing those marks,\nand proving the truth of his assertions, by his well-instructed\naccomplice.\n\n78. From the best information that I have had opportunities to collect,\nin travelling by various routes through the states of Delaware and\nMaryland, and from statements of an ingenuous trader exclusively, (as I\nbelieve,) in lawful slaves, I am fully convinced that there are, at this\ntime, within the jurisdiction of the United States, several thousands of\nlegally free people of colour, toiling under the yoke of involuntary\nservitude, and transmitting the same fate to their posterity! If the\nprobability of this fact could be authenticated to the recognition of\nthe congress of the United States, it is presumed that its members, as\nagents of the constitution, and guardians of the public liberty, would,\nwithout hesitation, devise means for the restoration of those unhappy\nvictims of violence and avarice, to their freedom and constitutional\npersonal rights. This is a work, both from its nature and magnitude,\nimpracticable to individuals or benevolent societies to accomplish;\nbesides, it is perfectly a national business, and claims national\ninterference, equally with the captivity of our sailors in Algiers. The\nmost successful, economical, politic, and just method of effecting this\nobject would, perhaps, be to institute a board of commissioners, with\nauthority to redeem every individual satisfactorily ascertained to be\nlegally free, at a fair appraisal of the common value of a similar\nslave. Inquiries might be made in those districts where many coloured\npersons are known to have been kidnapped, and all possessors of slaves\nmight be required to report the names, ages, and origin of their\npossession, of all the coloured persons in their custody, under legal\naffirmation, to the clerk of such county, to be transmitted by them to\nsome department designated for the purpose in each state. The most of\nthe present holders of these _stolen men_, probably acquired possession\nof them as innocently as they do of legal slaves, and an attempt by\ncoercion, although justifiable with respect to the captive, would render\nthe enterprise abortive, through evasion, and probably would be more\nexpensive if successful.\n\n79. It is my impression, that the introduction of slaves for sale into\nalmost every state in the union, is prohibited by specific statutes, and\nif an annual inspection and registering of all slaves were enforced, it\nwould guarantee a compliance with such laws in a most effectual manner,\nand dissolve the man-hunting fraternity at once.\n\n80. I shall close this subject, which indeed \"_is almost too deep and\nawful to look into_,\" by declaring my solemn and decided conviction,\nthat the abstract relative principles of moral and political justice;\nthe sacred axioms of our Declaration of Independence, and of our\nConstitution, as well as sound policy and prudence, obligate this\nnation, most unequivocally, to ransom every human creature held in\n_lawful_ bondage for life, against his will, without accusation of\ncrime; at an equitable valuation of his worth to the possessor under\nexisting laws, within the jurisdiction of the republic; and to place him\nso nearly in a state of _personal_ liberty, and the enjoyment of his\nnatural and moral rights, as to secure to him the fruits or reward of\nhis own labour, the benefits of mental improvement, and exemption from\ncorporeal laceration. I do not consider it to be our duty to grant them\na participation in the _civil_ privileges of citizenship;[31]--but, they\nhave an incontestable claim to the protection of the laws, and to the\ncommon privileges of aliens and strangers, or at least of prisoners of\nwar, so far as is compatible with the public peace and welfare. They are\ncreated a distinct race of people, and the designs of the Author of\nNature ought not to be thwarted, by permitting their conjugal commixture\nwith a race physically different. Without examining the problematical\nquestion of the inherent physical or moral superiority of either in the\nscale of being, (which is not relevant to the present subject,)[32] I\nmust affirm, that in my humble view there is both a moral and political\npropriety in prohibiting by energetic laws, the sexual commerce between\nthe descendants of Europe and Africa, either by marriage, _slavery_, or\notherwise. The extinction of slavery would promote this purpose far more\nthan its toleration. Uncontrolled slavery, as facts have manifested, in\nthe United States as well as the West Indies, facilitates and protects\nlicentiousness, and a species of brutal debauchery, the consequences of\nwhich are deplorable and afflicting beyond description.[33]\n\n81. It was a wise sentiment of the late Dr. Benjamin Rush, that \"Nothing\ncan be politically right that is morally wrong; and that no necessity\ncan sanctify a law that is contrary to equity.\" It is morally and\npolitically wrong both, (and without necessity too,) that an innocent,\n\"feeble and untutored people\"[34] should be detained by a powerful and\nenlightened people, professing superior honour and justice, in a state\nof beastly, unwilling, unrequited servitude, and indescribable moral and\nphysical degradation! But let not the fell stigma be attached entirely\nto the present retainers of the slaves. Every citizen of the republic,\nentitled to the right of suffrage, is responsible for his proportionable\nquota of the miseries inflicted on the defenceless Africans, in our\nprivileged country. Human nature is such, that a large proportion of\nmen, will improve every means within their reach, for advancing their\nfortunes, indulged by political laws. In this country the laws emanate\nprimitively from the people. The outrage upon the rights of our present\nslave population originated in Africa. Our laws have, from their\ninfancy, until recently, sanctioned the perpetration of that outrage, in\nAfrica, by permitting its principles and products to be transferred to,\nand adopted in, our own country; and they still sanction their\ncontinuance. Laws ought to be responsible for their own operations and\nresults. If a law were enacted authorizing the sale of all the debtors\nnow in prison in the United States, for unconditional and perpetual\nservitude, with their posterity, and they should be accordingly sold, it\nwould be morally unjust, with respect to the purchasers, but not the\nslaves, to proclaim an immediate emancipation, without restoring the\npurchase money: that is, it would be unjust not to restore it. Hence the\npeople of the United States, considered collectively as a nation, having\nconfirmed and _legalized_ the transfer, (or abdication) of the assumed\npower of African despots and banditti, to their assigns in America, and\nnow holding the sovereignty over the laws in their own hands, are the\n_master aggressors_ upon the victims of those savage tyrants, and are\nbound to make them appropriate reparation. While justice is rendered to\nthe slave, remuneration is due to the holder, for the loss he sustains\nin consequence of his prior confidence of the continuation of his legal\npower over him. It would be necessary and right, probably, until several\nsuccessive rising generations shall have been moralized by education,\nthat the government should retain, or leave with their present\npossessors a rational and definite civil guardianship over the persons\nof these national prisoners. The redemption of the existing population\nof slaves would preclude the necessity of purchasing any of their\ndescendants; and thus the blessings of freedom and moral improvement\nmight be guaranteed to unknown millions of unborn members of the human\nfamily. As the interests of the southern white population would be\nvitally benefited by the accomplishment of this object, even if they\nwere to consummate it without the co-operation of the northern states,\nthe additional impulse of humanity cannot fail to influence their\nunanimous assent and a generous compromise. Such an act of national\nmagnanimity, beneficence and justice, would diffuse joy and admiration\namongst all colours and all nations. There would be no murmuring. It\nmight be effected without making any man feel the poorer for it; and if\nit did, that is no excuse for injustice and oppression. A great\nproportion of the necessary sum might be raised from duties on the\nimported products of the labour of slaves, which are generally luxuries,\nas rum, sugar, coffee, &c.; and the amount of all the funds heretofore\nraised, or to be raised, from the taxation of slaves, is justly due to\nthem, for this purpose; for they have resulted exclusively from the\nproducts of their toil and sweat. It is both the right and the duty of\nthe citizens of the north to unite with their brethren in the south, in\nwashing away this obnoxious stain upon the national character. Let the\npublic will and honour be consulted; let the national voice be elicited\nby universal public meetings, and concentrated, so as to vibrate with\nirresistible effect, in the sanctuaries of freedom and justice. Mr.\nRandolph, in the house of representatives, on the subject of\nconstitutional compromise, said, (alluding to the words \"_three fourths\nof all other persons_,\" made use of in the constitution, in order that\nthe statute book should not be stained with the name slave,) \"he wished\nto God our consciences were not stained.\"\n\n\n\n  REFLECTIONS\n  ON THE\n  _BLACK COLONY PROJECT_.\n\n\nSince the foregoing part was composed, a highly respectable meeting,\nconsisting of a considerable number of the Members of our National\nLegislature, with many benevolent and intelligent citizens of the\nDistrict of Columbia, has been held in the City of Washington (on the\n21st Dec. ult.) for the purpose, as expressed by the gentleman who\npresided as chairman, (Mr. Clay,) \"_of considering the propriety and\npracticability of colonizing the free\" people \"of colour in the United\nStates, and of forming an asylum in relation to that object_.\"\n\nAs the proceedings of this Meeting indicate a flattering prospect of the\nconsummation of a measure, on which I had recorded my sentiments, and\nhope[35] of its adoption, several weeks previous to the time that the\nmeeting was announced, it is deemed useful and appropriate to annex a\nsketch of their deliberations, as published in the National\nIntelligencer.\n\n\nExtracts from the speech of Mr. CLAY, (on taking the chair.)\n\n\"That class of the mixt population of our country was peculiarly\nsituated. They neither enjoyed the immunities of freemen, nor were they\nsubject to the incapacities of slaves, but partook in some degree of the\nqualities of both. From their condition, and the unconquerable\nprejudices resulting from their colour, they never could amalgamate with\nthe free whites of this country. It was desirable, therefore, as it\nrespected them, and the residue of the population of the country, to\ndrain them off. Various schemes of colonization had been thought of,\nand a part of our own continent, it was supposed by some, might furnish\na suitable establishment for them. But for his part, Mr. C. said, he had\na decided preference for some part of the coast of Africa. There ample\nprovision might be made for the colony itself, and it might be rendered\ninstrumental to the introduction, into that extensive quarter of the\nglobe, of the arts, civilization, and christianity. There was a\npeculiar, a moral fitness in restoring them to the land of their\nfathers. And if, instead of the evils and sufferings which we had been\nthe innocent cause of inflicting upon the inhabitants of Africa, we can\ntransmit to her the blessing of our arts, our civilization, and our\nreligion, may we not hope that America will extinguish a great portion\nof that moral debt which she has contracted to that unfortunate\ncontinent? Can there be a nobler cause than that which, whilst it\nproposes, &c. contemplates the spreading of the arts of civilized life,\nand the possible redemption from ignorance and barbarism of a benighted\nquarter of the globe?\n\n\"It was proper and necessary distinctly to state, that he understood it\nconstituted no part of the object of this Meeting to touch or agitate in\nthe slightest degree, a delicate question connected with another\nportion of the coloured population of our country. It was not proposed\nto deliberate upon, or consider at all, any question of emancipation, or\nthat was connected with the abolition of slavery. It was upon that\ncondition alone, he was sure, that many gentlemen from the south and the\nwest, whom he saw present, had attended, or could be expected to\nco-operate. It was upon that condition, only, that he had himself\nattended.\"\n\n\nExtracts from the speech of ELIAS B. CALDWELL, Esq. of the District of\nColumbia.\n\n\"The more you improve the condition of these people, the more you\ncultivate their minds, the more miserable you make them, in their\npresent state. You give them a higher relish for those privileges which\nthey can never attain, and turn what we intend for a blessing into a\ncurse. No, if they must remain in their present situation, keep them in\nthe lowest state of degradation and ignorance. The nearer you bring them\nto the condition of brutes, the better chance do you give them of\npossessing their apathy. Surely, Americans ought to be the last people\non earth, to advocate such slavish doctrines, to cry peace and\ncontentment to those who are deprived of the privileges of civil\nliberty. They who have so largely partaken of its blessings--who know so\nwell how to estimate its value, ought to be among the foremost to extend\nit to others.\"\n\nThese sentiments, it will be readily perceived, clash diametrically with\nthose which I had previously advanced in paragraph 30, on the subject of\nextending mental cultivation to the African race in this country. And\nnotwithstanding I have no inclination to retract the sentiments which I\nhave heretofore had occasion to express, concerning the practical\nbenevolence and ardent zeal of Mr. Caldwell in the cause of religion and\nhuman happiness; yet, it is out of my power to unite with him in his\nopinion, of the utility of subjecting _men_ of any colour, or any\nsituation whatever, to \"_the lowest state of degradation and\nignorance_,\" and, as near as possible, \"_to the condition of brutes_.\"\nRight education and knowledge should teach the legitimate slave\nfortitude, and the advantages of submission, duty, and fidelity; and\nshould elevate the free man, of whatever colour, above the unhallowed\ncrime of despising himself for its having been ordained this or that\ntint, or for its being obnoxious to those who have been created with a\ndifferent colour, or with none at all. Ask Capt. Paul Cuffee, Prince\nSaunders, and many other well educated and worthy persons of African\nextraction, whether they hate themselves, or whether any body else\npossessing common sense, hates them, because they cannot _repeal_ the\nlaws of nature; or because there is a political and physical propriety\nin their being considered as foreigners and aliens in _our_ country.\n\nMr. Caldwell, having considered the various positions in which it had\nbeen respectively proposed to establish the colony, and expressing his\npreference of Africa, enlarged upon the greater importance of selecting\nthat quarter of the globe, \"in the belief and hope of thereby\nintroducing civilization and the christian religion, &c.\" correspondent\nto the sentiments of Mr. Clay. \"The great movements (said he) and mighty\nefforts in the moral and religious world, seem to indicate some great\ndesign of Providence on the eve of accomplishment. The unexampled and\nastonishing success attending the various and numerous plans which have\nbeen devised and which are now in operation in different parts of the\nworld, and the union and harmony with which christians of different\ndenominations unite in promoting these plans, clearly indicate a Divine\nHand in their direction. Nay, sir, the subject on which we are now\ndeliberating has been brought to public view, nearly about the same\ntime in different parts of our country. In New Jersey, New York,\nIndiana, Tennessee, Virginia, and perhaps other places not known to me,\nthe public attention seems to have been awakened, as from slumber, to\nthis subject.\"\n\nMr. Caldwell remarked, that \"it is a great national object, and ought to\nbe supported by the public purse. And that, as had been justly observed\nby the honourable gentleman in the chair, there ought to be a national\natonement for the wrongs and injuries which Africa had suffered.\" He\nsaid that \"as a nation, we cannot rid ourselves entirely from the\ndisgrace attending the iniquitous slave traffic formerly pursued by this\ncountry, until we, as a nation, have made every reparation in our\npower.\" He observed, that the example of our own ancestors, braving the\nvarious dangers and hardships of their early emigration and settlement\nupon these shores; and the prospect of the enjoyment of civil rights and\na state of equality, ought to encourage and influence these people to\ncomply cheerfully with the proposed plan of colonization.\n\n\nThe question being stated by the Chairman, on agreeing to the preamble\nand resolutions offered by Mr. Caldwell, for forming an association to\naccomplish the object of the meeting:\n\n\"Mr. JOHN RANDOLPH (of Roanoke) rose and said, that it had been properly\nobserved, by the chairman as well as by the gentleman from this\ndistrict, that there was nothing in the proposition submitted to\nconsideration which in the smallest degree touches another very\nimportant and delicate question, which ought to be left as much out of\nview as possible, (Negro Slavery.)\n\n\"There was no fear, Mr. R. said, that this proposition would alarm the\nslave holders; they had been accustomed to think seriously of the\nsubject. There was a popular work on agriculture, by John Taylor of\nCaroline, which was widely circulated, and much confided in, in\nVirginia. In that book, much read because coming from a practical man,\nthis description of people were pointed out as a great evil. They had\nindeed been held up as the greater bug-bear to every man who feels an\ninclination to emancipate his slaves, not to create in the bosom of his\ncountry so great a nuisance. If a place could be provided for their\nreception, and a mode of sending them hence, there were hundreds, nay\nthousands of citizens, who would, by manumitting their slaves, relieve\nthemselves from the cares attendant on their possession. The great slave\nholder, Mr. R. said, was frequently a mere sentry at his own\ndoor--bound to stay on his plantation to see that his slaves were\nproperly treated, &c. Mr. R. concluded by saying, that he had thought it\nnecessary to make these remarks, being a slave holder himself, to shew\nthat, so far from being connected with abolition of slavery, the measure\nproposed would prove one of the greatest securities, to enable the\nmaster to keep in possession his own property.\"\n\n\nExtracts from the Speech of Mr. WRIGHT.\n\n\"Mr. Robert Wright (of Md.) said he could not withhold his approbation\nof a measure that had for its object the amelioration of the lot of any\nportion of the human race, particularly of the free people of colour,\nwhose degraded state robs them of the happiness of self-government, so\ndear to the American people. And, said he, as I discover the most\ndelicate regard to the rights of property, I shall with great pleasure\nlend my aid to restore this unfortunate people to the enjoyment of their\nliberty; but I fear gentlemen are too sanguine in their expectation,\nthat they would be willing to abandon the land of their nativity, so\ndear to man. However, I have no indisposition to give them that election\nby furnishing all the means contemplated by the honourable and\nbenevolent propositions submitted to our consideration.\"\n\n\"Nothing would have a stronger tendency to effect the contemplated\nrelief of the free people of colour, than some efficient laws to secure\nthe restoration of those not entitled to liberty, to their masters,\nwhose rights ought to be protected by law, and who, without such law,\nwould be certainly sacrificed by the transportation of the free blacks\nwith whom they would most certainly mix for that purpose. However, I\nfeel no hesitation in saying, I should be happy to see some plan for the\ngradual abolition of slavery, that would prepare the rising generation\nfor that state, and remunerate the master out of the funds of the\nnation, amply abundant for that purpose, without being felt by the\npeople of America.\"\n\nIt is a strong presumptive evidence in favour of the rationality of a\nmoral proposition, when it emanates from several sources perfectly\ndistinct and remote from each other. The sentiments of Mr. Wright on the\npropriety of adopting some plan for the gradual abolition of slavery,\n&c. and to remunerate the master out of the funds of the nation, &c. are\nso perfectly analogous to those which I had adopted and recorded,\n(precisely as expressed in paragraphs 80 & 81,) fifteen days previous to\nthe Meeting at Washington, that my confidence in their correctness, and\nhope of their favourable reception by the citizens in general of the\nUnited States, is greatly strengthened; particularly as Mr. Wright is\none of the representatives of a large state in which slavery prevails,\nand is himself probably a possessor of slaves.\n\n\nThe Preamble and Resolutions having been unanimously adopted by the\nMeeting, committees were appointed to draught articles of association,\n&c.\n\n\nThe following are the two first articles of the Constitution:--\n\n     \"Article I.--The Society shall be called 'The American Society for\n     Colonizing the Free People of Colour of the United States.'\n\n     \"Article II.--The object to which its attention is to be\n     exclusively directed, is to promote and execute a plan for\n     colonizing (with their consent) the free people of colour residing\n     in our country, in Africa, or such other places as Congress shall\n     deem most expedient.\"\n\nIn pursuance of this object, a Board of Managers have been organized; of\nwhich Bushrod Washington, one of the judges of the Supreme Court of the\nUnited States, has been appointed president. This body have submitted\ntheir views to the Congress, by a Memorial.--And as this Memorial\nembraces subjects which concern, more or less, every description of\npopulation in the United States, its circulation cannot, perhaps, be too\nwidely extended.\n\n     _In the House of Representatives, Jan. 14._\n\n     Read, and ordered to lie on the Table.\n\n     To the honourable the Senate and House of Representatives of the\n     United States of America, in Congress assembled:\n\n     The Memorial of the President and Board of Managers of the\n     \"American Society for Colonizing the Free People of Colour of the\n     United States,\"\n\n     Respectfully shews--\n\n     THAT your Memorialists are delegated by a numerous and highly\n     respectable association of their fellow citizens, recently\n     organized at the seat of government, to solicit Congress to aid,\n     with the power, the patronage, and the resources of the country,\n     the great and beneficial object of their institution; an object\n     deemed worthy of the earnest attention, and of the strenuous and\n     persevering exertions, as well of every patriot, in whatever\n     condition of life, as of every enlightened, philanthropic, and\n     practical statesman.\n\n     It is now reduced to be a maxim, equally approved in philosophy and\n     politics, that the existence of distinct and separate casts or\n     classes, forming exceptions to the general system of polity adapted\n     to the community, is an inherent vice in the composition of\n     society; pregnant with baneful consequences, both moral and\n     political, and demanding the utmost exertions of human energy and\n     foresight to remedy or remove it. If this maxim be true in the\n     general, it applies with peculiar force to the relative condition\n     of the free people of colour in the United States; between whom and\n     the rest of the community, a combination of causes, political,\n     physical and moral, has created distinctions, unavoidable in their\n     origin, and most unfortunate in their consequences. The actual and\n     prospective condition of that class of people; their anomalous and\n     indefinite relations to the political institutions and social ties\n     of the community; their deprivation of most of those independent,\n     political, and social rights, so indispensable to the progressive\n     melioration of our nature, rendered, by systematic exclusion from\n     all the higher rewards of excellence, dead to all the elevating\n     hopes that might prompt a generous ambition to excel; all these\n     considerations demonstrate, that it equally imports the public\n     good, as the individual and social happiness of the persons more\n     immediately concerned, that it is equally a debt of patriotism and\n     of humanity, to provide some adequate and effectual remedy. The\n     evil has become so apparent, and the necessity for a remedy so\n     palpable, that some of the most considerable of the slave-holding\n     states have been induced to impose restraints upon the practice of\n     emancipation, by annexing conditions, which have the effect to\n     transfer the evil from one state to another; or, by inducing other\n     states to adopt countervailing regulations, and in the total\n     abrogation of a right, which benevolent or conscientious\n     proprietors had long enjoyed under all the sanctions of positive\n     law and of ancient usage. Your Memorialists beg leave, with all\n     deference, to suggest, that the fairest and most inviting\n     opportunities are now presented to the general government, for\n     repairing a great evil in our social and political institutions,\n     and at the same time for elevating, from a low and hopeless\n     condition, a numerous and rapidly increasing race of men, who want\n     nothing but a proper theatre, to enter upon the pursuit of\n     happiness and independence, in the ordinary paths which a benign\n     Providence has left open to the human race. Those great ends, it is\n     conceived, may be accomplished by making adequate provision for\n     planting, in some salubrious and fertile region, a colony, to be\n     composed of such of the above description of persons as may choose\n     to emigrate; and for extending to it the authority and protection\n     of the United States, until it shall have attained sufficient\n     strength and consistency to be left in a state of independence.\n\n     Independently of the motives derived from political foresight and\n     civil prudence on the one hand, and from moral justice and\n     philanthropy on the other; there are additional considerations, and\n     more expanded views to engage the sympathies and excite the ardour\n     of a liberal and enlightened people. It may be resolved for our\n     government (the first to denounce an inhuman and abominable\n     traffic, in the guilt and disgrace of which most of the civilized\n     nations of the world were partakers) to become the honourable\n     instrument, under Divine Providence, of conferring a still higher\n     blessing upon the large and interesting portion of mankind,\n     benefited by that deed of justice; by demonstrating that a race of\n     men, composing numerous tribes, spread over a continent of vast and\n     unexplored extent, fertility and riches; known to the enlightened\n     nations of antiquity; and who had yet made no progress in the\n     refinements of civilization; for whom history has preserved no\n     monuments of arts or arms; that even this hitherto ill-fated face\n     may cherish the hope of beholding, at last, the orient star\n     revealing the best and highest aims and attributes of man. Out of\n     such materials, to rear the glorious edifices of well ordered and\n     polished society, upon the deep and sure foundations of equal laws\n     and diffusive education, would give a sufficient title to be\n     enrolled among the illustrious benefactors of mankind; whilst it\n     afforded a precious and consolatory evidence of the all-prevailing\n     power of liberty, enlightened by knowledge and corrected by\n     religion. If the experiment, in its remote consequences, should\n     ultimately tend to the diffusion of similar blessings through those\n     vast regions and unnumbered tribes yet obscured in primeval\n     darkness; reclaim the rude wanderer, from a life of wretchedness,\n     to civilization and humanity; and convert the blind idolater, from\n     gross and abject superstitions, to the holy charities, the sublime\n     morality and humanizing discipline of the gospel; the nation, or\n     the individual, that shall have taken the most conspicuous lead in\n     achieving the benignant enterprise, will have raised a monument of\n     that true and imperishable glory, founded in the approbation and\n     gratitude of the human race; unapproachable to all but the elected\n     instruments of divine beneficence: a glory with which the most\n     splendid achievements of human force or power must sink in the\n     competition, and appear insignificant and vulgar in the comparison.\n     And above all, should it be considered, that the nation or the\n     individual, whose energies have been faithfully given to this\n     august work, will have secured, by this exalted beneficence the\n     favour of that Being, \"whose compassion is over all his works,\" and\n     whose unspeakable rewards will never fail to bless the humblest\n     effort to do good to his creatures.\n\n     Your Memorialists do not presume to determine that the views of\n     Congress will be necessarily directed to the country to which they\n     have just alluded. They hope to be excused for intimating some of\n     the reasons which would bring that portion of the world before us,\n     when engaged in discovering a place the most proper to be selected,\n     leaving it with confidence, to the better information and better\n     judgment of your honourable body to make the choice.\n\n     Your Memorialists, without presuming to mark out, in detail, the\n     measures which it may be proper to adopt in furtherance of the\n     object in view; but implicitly relying upon the wisdom of Congress\n     to devise the most effectual measures; will only pray, that the\n     subject may be recommended to their serious consideration, and\n     that, as an humble auxiliary in this great work, the Association,\n     represented by your Memorialists, may be permitted to aspire to the\n     hope of contributing its labours and resources.\n\n                                   BUSH. WASHINGTON, _President_.\n\nWith respect to the most eligible situation for the establishment of the\nproposed colony, I shall probably more certainly avoid the imputation of\nunbecoming assurance, by omitting, for the present, to add any thing\nmore specific to what I had already expressed (Par. 38, 39, 40) before\nthe least intimation of the design of forming this Association had come\nto my knowledge.\n\nI cannot forbear, however, to remark, that although it would give me\ninexpressible pleasure to see the banners of knowledge and rational\nreligion triumphing over ignorance and superstition, in Africa, as well\nas in the many other vast regions of the earth, yet it impresses me that\nit will absorb all the benevolence, all the delegated authority, and all\nthe resources, for a century to come, of both our national and state\nlegislatures, to reclaim from the awful abyss of ignorance, vice, and\nconsequential misery, in which thousands and hundreds of thousands of\nhuman beings, of all colours and all extractions, are involved on our\nown continent:--That moral contamination on this continent cannot\nproduce religion and moral purification by a transfer to the continent\nof Africa:--And that the great moral debt which this continent has\nincurred, is due more specifically to the immense population of the sons\nof Africa, who still remain in the shackles of slavery, than to those\nwho are now enjoying personal liberty, or to the continent of Africa.\n\nI have been assured by citizens of Philadelphia, who were active in\naiding Capt. Cuffee in collecting emigrants for Sierra Leone, that the\ninjunctions of the British authorities were very positive not to admit\nany without testimonials of an irreproachable moral character from\nrespectable magistrates. After a proper system of African education has\nbecome matured in this country, the seeds of much future good might be\ngradually disseminated in Africa, by frequent exportations to that\ncountry of well instructed virtuous school-masters, artisans and\nfarmers; as the Society of Friends have done, with encouraging prospects\nof success, amongst the aboriginal natives of this country.\n\n\nI will conclude for the present, with a transcript of the Proceedings of\na Meeting of the free Coloured People at Richmond, (Virg.) which have\ncome to hand (through the \"Freeman's Journal,\") just in time for\ninsertion, before this Work is dismissed from the press.--They are\nsimilar to those of a similar Meeting at Georgetown several weeks ago.\n\n     RICHMOND, JAN. 28.\n\n     _Meeting of Free People of Colour_.\n\n     At a Meeting of a respectable portion of the Free People of Colour,\n     of the City of Richmond, on\n\n     Friday the 24th of January 1817, William Bowler was appointed\n     Chairman, Ephraim Speed, Moderator, and Lantey Crow, Secretary.\n\nThe following Preamble and Resolution was read, unanimously adopted, and\nordered to be printed:\n\n     Whereas a Society has been formed at the seat of Government, for\n     the purpose of \"colonizing (with their own consent) the Free People\n     of Colour of the United States;\" Therefore, we the Free People of\n     Colour of the city of Richmond, have thought it adviseable to\n     assemble together, under the sanction of authority, for the purpose\n     of making a public expression of our sentiments on a question in\n     which we are so deeply interested. We perfectly agree with the\n     Society, that it is not only proper, but would ultimately tend to\n     the benefit and advantage of a great portion of our suffering\n     fellow-creatures, to be colonized: but while we thus express our\n     entire approbation of a measure, laudable in its purposes and\n     beneficent in its designs, it may not be improper in us to say, we\n     prefer being colonized in the most remote corner of the land of our\n     nativity, to being exiled to a foreign country.[36]\n\n     And whereas the President and Board of Managers of the said\n     Society, have been pleased to leave it to the entire discretion of\n     Congress to provide a suitable place for carrying their laudable\n     intentions into effect;--Be it therefore resolved, That we\n     respectfully submit to the wisdom of Congress, whether it would not\n     be an act of charity to grant us a small portion of their\n     territory, either on the Missouri river, or any place that may seem\n     to them most conducive to the public good, and our future welfare:\n     subject, however, to such rules and regulations as the Government\n     of the United States may think proper to adopt.\n\n                                             W. BOWLER, Chairman.\n\n      _Ephraim Speed_, Moderator.\n      _Lantey Crow_, Secretary.\n\n\n\nThe following article from the New York Columbian, may, perhaps, throw a\nlittle additional light on this subject:--\n\n     \"NECESSITY OF A COLONY OF FREE BLACKS--SUPERSEDED.\n\n     We gave an abstract of the Constitution of Hayti some weeks ago;\n     and out of compassion, &c. we again publish the 44th clause, which\n     shows a land of promise nearer our doors than Sierra Leone.\n\n     \"44. Every African, Indian, and their descendants, born in the\n     colonies of foreign countries, who shall come to reside in the\n     Republic, shall be recognized as Haytians, but shall not enjoy the\n     rights of citizenship until after a year's residence.\"\n\n     The same constitution that excludes the white man, invites the\n     black; and, gentlemen from Port au Prince have assured us, that\n     President Petion gives a marked welcome to the Free Blacks from the\n     United States who settle in Hayti.\"\n\nTHE END.\n\n_Printed by C. Clement._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] The liberty of the black population in but a single state, is\nestimated at about thirty millions of dollars.\n\n[2] Governor Miller's message to the legislature of North Carolina in\n1815.\n\n[3] The Capitol at Washington.\n\n[4] \"Political subordination, however hateful to a liberal mind, is as\nbright as day when compared with the dark and hopeless bondage of the\nNegro.\"\n\n[5] Since writing the above, I have been favoured with the perusal of a\nletter from the brother of the late Governor of the State of Delaware,\nto his friend in Philadelphia, dated Lewes, November 27, 1816, in which,\nafter mentioning the arrest of a banditti of kidnappers, &c. he relates\nthe following narrative:--\n\n\"A melancholy catastrophe has recently occurred here. A pilot, who owned\na young black man, last Thursday morning, when in the bay off here, for\nsome small offence, struck him three or four times with a rope's end;\nhis man observed, 'Master, you have promised whenever I am unwilling to\nserve you, that I might choose another master; I now want to leave you.'\n\n'Very well, (replied the master) but I will settle with you first, pull\noff your shirt,' and signified or said he would beat him until sun-set.\nHis man replied, 'I will die first,' and immediately jumped overboard\nand drowned himself.\"\n\n[6] The aboriginal Americans have offered their civilized brethren a\nmost beautiful and instructive lesson on this subject. The author of\n\"The Star in the West,\" Elias Boudinot, LL. D. relates the following\nfact. From page 232:--\n\n\"The writer of these sheets, many years ago, was one of the\ncorresponding members of a society in Scotland for promoting the gospel\namong the Indians. To further the great work, they educated two young\nmen, of very serious and religious dispositions, and who were desirous\nof undertaking the mission for this purpose. When they were ordained and\nready to depart, we wrote a letter in the Indian style, to the Delaware\nnation, then residing on the northwest of the Ohio, informing them that\nwe had, by the goodness of the Great Spirit, been favoured with a\nknowledge of his will, as to the worship he required of his creatures,\nand the means he would bless to promote the happiness of men, both in\nthis life and that which is to come. That thus enjoying so much\nhappiness ourselves, we could not but think of our red brethren in the\nwilderness, and wish to communicate the glad tidings to them, that they\nmight be partakers with us. We had therefore sent them two ministers of\nthe gospel, who would teach them these great things, and earnestly\nrecommended them to their careful attention. With proper passports the\nmissionaries set off, and arrived in safety at one of their principal\ntowns.\n\n\"The chiefs of the nation were called together, who answered them, that\nthey would take it into consideration, but in the mean time they might\ninstruct their women, but they should not speak to the men. They spent\nfourteen days in council, and then dismissed them very courteously, with\nan answer to us. This answer made great acknowledgments for the favor we\nhad done them: They rejoiced exceedingly at our happiness in thus being\nfavored by the Great Spirit, and felt very grateful that we had\ncondescended to remember our red brethren in the wilderness: But they\ncould not help recollecting that we had a people among us, who, because\nthey differed from us in colour, we had made slaves of, and made them\nsuffer great hardships and lead miserable lives. Now, they could not see\nany reason, if a people being black, entitled us thus to deal with them,\nwhy a red colour should not equally justify the same treatment: They\ntherefore had determined to wait, to see whether all the black people\namongst us were made thus happy and joyful, before they could put\nconfidence in our promises; for they thought a people who had suffered\nso much and so long by our means, should be entitled to our first\nattention; that therefore, they had sent back the two missionaries, with\nmany thanks, promising that when they saw the black people among us\nrestored to freedom and happiness, they would gladly receive our\nmissionaries. This is what in any other case, would be called close\nreasoning, and is too mortifying a fact to make further observations\nupon.\"\n\n[7] An inn-keeper, in the south part of Virginia, who hires his stand,\ncomplains that his landlord _does_ him _much_ harm, by inviting nearly\nall his respectable company to the festivities of his own dwelling\nhouse.\n\n[8] The ingenious and benevolent Mr. J. M'Leod, teacher of a respectable\nseminary in the city of Washington, has assured the author, that he has\nextended the science of encouraging promptitude in duty to such a\ndegree, that, (by his permission) his pupils have often flocked to his\nlodgings, in crowds, before the dawn of day, emulating each other, who\nshould first rouse him from his bed, in order to proceed upon their\nstudies. At the same time, he did not permit his rules to be violated\nwith impunity. He pursued the same policy with soldiers, while an\nofficer a short time formerly, in the United States' army, and with the\nsame success. While a private teacher in a family in which slaves were\nkept, his sympathy was so deeply wounded by the severity of their\npunishments for misconduct, that he frequently gave them a quarter of a\ndollar out of his own pocket, as an inducement for doing their duty so\nas not to incur the displeasure of their masters. Might not such a\nsystem of _genuine_ and _generous republican government_ as this be\nadopted with mutual benefit to both _the people and their rulers_, on\nthe slave plantations universally?\n\n[9] \"Give me an uninformed brute,\" said Mirabeau, \"and I will soon make\nhim a ferocious monster. It was a white, who first plunged a negro into\na burning oven,--who dashed out the brains of a child in the presence of\nits father,--who fed a slave with his own proper flesh. These are the\nmonsters that have to account for the barbarity of the revolted savages.\nMillions of Africans have perished on this soil of blood. In this\ndreadful struggle the crimes of the whites are yet the most\nhorrible:--They are the offspring of despotism; whilst those of the\nblacks originate in the hatred of slavery--the thirst of vengeance.\"\n\n[10] Several letters have been addressed to the Pennsylvania Society for\nPromoting the Abolition of Slavery, by individuals residing in the\nsouthern and south-western states, expressing their desire to emancipate\ntheir slaves, and requesting the Society to receive them under its\npatronage.\n\nIn a letter from Dr. John Adams, to the Society, dated Richmond Hill,\nDec. 19, 1815, he states that, \"A certain Samuel Guest, deceased, had,\nby his will, directed that his slaves, amounting to about 300, should be\nemancipated, and his lands sold for their benefit; which, being\nprohibited by law, unless they should be removed out of the boundaries\nof the commonwealth of Virginia, he requests the aid of the Society, and\nrecommends their transportation to Guinea.\"\n\nThe committee of the American Convention for Promoting the Abolition of\nSlavery, to whom this letter was referred, reported, \"that it did not\nappear that the convention could, at present, propose any specific plan\nfor accomplishing the benevolent intention of Samuel Guest.\" This is\nreally a distressing case. If there exists _any where_, the power of\naffording a remedy in such instances as this, the omission of exercising\nit is, in effect, an act of converting freemen into slaves! This subject\ndemands the serious attention of the government, and of every citizen,\nwho, like Howard, the model of beneficence, is \"a patriot of every\nclime.\"\n\nSince the original of the preceding note was written, the following\nstatement has been published in the National Intelligencer:--\n\n\"The legislature of Indiana are now actively engaged in the organization\nof the details of the state government. Much debate has taken place on a\npetition or letter from W. E. Sumner, of Williamson county, (Tennessee,)\nrequesting that the legislature may enable him to bring into the state a\nnumber of slaves, with the view which he expresses in the following\nwords:\n\n\"I have about 40, and my intention is, if permitted by the laws of\nIndiana, to bring and free them, to purchase land for them and settle\nthem on it; to give them provisions for the first year, and furnish them\nwith tools for agriculture and domestic manufactory, and next spring\nwith domestic animals. You must be aware, sir, that this must be\nattended with no small expenditure of money and trouble. I think, that\nafter a man has had the use of slaves and their ancestors, twenty or\nthirty years, it is unjust and inhuman to set them free, unprovided with\na home, &c. &c. All that I have were raised by my father and myself, and\nthe oldest is about my age (46.) I am also very desirous to leave the\nslave states, and spend my few remaining days in that state where\ninvoluntary slavery is not admissible; and will, with the blessing of\nGod, prepare to do so as soon as I can settle my affairs.\"\n\n\"The mode in which this letter should be treated is the subject of the\ndebate. It appears to be agreed that the constitution of the state\nforbids a compliance with his request.\"\n\nThe writer has been assured that this conscientious, just, and generous\nindividual is one among the number of those who made similar\npropositions to the above, to the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, and\nwith the like disappointment.\n\n[11] A few days subsequent to the time that the above suggestions were\noriginally committed to paper, the House of Delegates of the Virginia\nLegislature, passed the following resolution, by an almost unanimous\nvote; \"That the Executive be requested to correspond with the President\nof the United States, for the purpose of obtaining a Territory upon the\nNorth Pacific, or at some other place, not within any of the states, or\nthe territorial governments of the United States, to serve as an asylum\nfor such persons of colour, as are now free, and may desire the same,\nand for those who may be hereafter emancipated within this commonwealth,\n&c.\" If the present system of restrictions upon emancipation should be\npersevered in, for an indefinite length of time, the necessary final\nresult must be frightful to contemplate. If a state, containing soil\nsufficient to subsist only 1,000,000 of slaves, besides the free\npopulation, provides no outlet, for the excess of that number, by\npermitting their emancipation or otherwise, _starvation_ must be the\nconsequence!\n\n[12] On first hearing this epithet used, I was at a loss to account for\nits meaning. I have since observed that, in the middle states, the\ngeneral title applied to slave-traders, indiscriminately, is\n\"_Georgia-men_.\"\n\n[13] Would it be superstitious to presume, that the sovereign Father of\nall nations, permitted the _perpetration_ of this apparently execrable\ntransaction, as a _fiery_, though salutary signal of his displeasure at\nthe conduct of his Columbian children, in erecting and idolizing this\nsplendid fabric as the temple of freedom, and at the same time\noppressing with the yoke of captivity and toilsome bondage, twelve or\nfifteen hundred thousand of their African _brethren_ (by logical\ninduction,) making merchandize of their _blood_, and dragging their\nbodies with _iron chains_, even under its towering walls? Yet is it a\nfact, that _slaves_ are employed in rebuilding this sanctuary of\n_liberty_.\n\n[14] It is a notorious and afflicting truth, that in the United States,\nthe head of a _poor black man_ has been cut off _with impunity_, by a\nwhite man (or master;) that black men have been _wantonly shot_ by white\nmen; and that a free black man (whom I have seen myself) was _hoppled_,\nand being unsuccessfully offered for sale as a slave, was bound to a\npost in the winter, and left without food until his feet _were frozen_,\nwhere he would probably have perished, had he not extricated himself by\nhis own struggles.\n\n[15] This statement was furnished by a respectable citizen, who was one\nof the first that found the dead body, near his own house.\n\nN.B. Nothing can more strongly indicate the true state of the case than\nthis _disguising of names_. The _Author_ dared put _his_ name; but he\nwas in _Pennsylvania_: he would, probably have exposed his\n_Maryland_-informant to _death_ by naming him. W. C.\n\n[16] It is a frequent custom in the district of Columbia, Maryland, and\nDelaware, for masters to endeavour to reform their bad slaves, by\nterrifying them with threats of selling them for the Georgia market, or\n\"_to Carolina_\" them; which is often carried into effect. There are,\nnotwithstanding, several individuals, so conscientiously opposed to\nselling men against their will, that the most unpardonable conduct will\nnot induce men to do it; and they prefer rejecting them, and letting\nthem keep all the wages they can get for their own use.\n\n[17] One of the members of the house of representatives (Mr. ADGATE,)\nrelated to me, while at Washington, the following fact:--\"That during\nthe last session of congress, (1815-16,) as several members were\nstanding in the street, near the new capitol, a drove of manacled\ncoloured people were passing by; and when just opposite, one of them\nelevating his manacles as high as he could reach, commenced singing the\nfavorite national song, \"_Hail Columbia! happy land_,\" &c.\n\nN.B. This is an excessively stupid song, written more than 20 years ago\nby one HOPKINSON, a lawyer of Philadelphia, who seems to have been born\nto be an ornament of Grub-Street. But, however silly the thoughts or\ninflated the expressions, down it goes if national vanity or party\nstrife lay hold of it. \"_Hail Columbia_\" is much about upon a level with\n\"_God save the king_;\" they have both had about the same cause to keep\nthem in vogue; but, I must confess, that the Americans, with _manacles\non their hands and chains round their necks_, singing songs in praise of\nthe _freedom_ of that Country, is going a little further than our fools\nwhen they bleat and bellow and bawl out that parcel of stuff, that low\nbombast, which the news-papers, in their cant, call \"Our great National\n_Anthem_;\" an \"_Anthem_\" that talks, amongst other things, of\n\"confounding _politicks_ and all their _knavish tricks_!\" Come, come: we\nmust not pretend to _laugh_ at the Washington Negro!--W. C.\n\n[18] Judge Morrel, in his charge to the grand jury of Washington, at the\nsession of the circuit court of the United States, in January 1816, for\nthe district of Columbia, urged this subject to its attention very\nemphatically, as an object of remonstrance and juridical investigation.\nHe said the frequency with which the streets of the city had been\ncrowded with manacled captives, sometimes even on the sabbath, could not\nfail to shock the feelings of all humane persons; that it was repugnant\nto the spirit of our political institutions, and the rights of man, and\nhe believed was calculated to impair the public morals, by familiarizing\nscenes of cruelty to the minds of youth.\n\n[19] Extract from the preamble to the first act passed by the\nlegislature of Pennsylvania, for the gradual abolition of slavery in\nthat state:\n\n\"Sect. 2. And whereas the condition of those persons who have heretofore\nbeen denominated negro and mulatto slaves, has been attended with\ncircumstances which not only deprived them of the common blessings that\nthey were by nature entitled to, but has cast them into the deepest\nafflictions by an unnatural separation of husband and wife from each\nother and from their children--an injury the greatness of which can only\nbe conceived by supposing that we were in the same unhappy case,\" &c.\n\nDarwin, who may well be styled an _arch connoisseur_, both in physiology\nand morality, in his classification of human diseases, includes one\nwhich he denominates _Nostalgia_, and thus defines it:\n\n\"_Nostalgia._ An unconquerable desire of returning to one's native\ncountry, frequent in long voyages, in which the patients become so\ninsane as to throw themselves into the sea, mistaking it for green\nfields and meadows. The Swiss are said to be particularly liable to this\ndisease, and when taken into foreign service frequently desert from this\ncause, and especially after hearing or singing a particular tune, which\nwas used in their village dances, in their native country; on which\naccount their playing or singing this tune was punished with death.\nZwingerus.\n\nDear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill, which\nlifts him to the storms. Goldsmith.\" Zoonomia, Cl. III. 1. 1. 6.\n\nThe late _indefatigable Rush_, in his Inquiry into the Causes of the\nDerangement of the Human Mind, states, that the slaves imported into the\n_West Indies from Africa_, frequently become distracted when they are\nabout to commence the toils of perpetual slavery on the plantations.\n\nN. B. This \"_indefatigable_ RUSH\" was, indeed, _indefatigable_ in\n_puffing himself off_ for a friend of _humanity_, in which he was pretty\nsuccessful too. He made his court to the Quakers, and even exceeded some\nof them in cunning. It was as puny a creature, in point of talent, as\never contrived to get a reputation for wisdom. Principles he had none:\nhe wrote about every thing, and about nothing well; but, as a\n_pretender_ to humanity he was consummate. Only mind how he _here_ calls\nfor indignation against the \"_West India_\" planters. Not a word about\nthose of his own \"_free country_!\" What a hypocrite! He was a Doctor of\nPhysic; and he knew well that he would have lost his best patients,\nthose that paid best for the _blood-letting_, (for which he was so\nfamous) if he had made free with the Slave-holders of his own\n\"free-country.\"--W. C.\n\n[20] To those speculators in human flesh, who purchase free people as\nwell as slaves, without discrimination, I must now apply the title of\n_Man-Dealers_, instead of Slave Traders.\n\n[21] While interrogating him about the manner of his being seized and\nbound, he gave his chains a shake, by moving his feet on the floor, and\nwith vexation muttered, \"When the devil gets 'em he'll _chain them_.\"\n\"No, no,\" said I, \"you shouldn't make such speeches as that, perhaps\nthey were brought up to such things, and don't know any better.\" \"_Well\nbut_,\" said he, \"_they know what's right_.\" I have since been assured,\nthat several instances of _black_ man-stealing had occurred, in which\nfathers, sons, brothers, and even wives and daughters, were\npromiscuously engaged.\n\n[22] I was informed, on my arrival in the neighbourhood where this\naffair was transacted, that this _person_, on hearing that the mulatto\nman had been intercepted at Washington, said he had a _bad pain_ on his\nmind, and believed he should _clear out_; which he had done accordingly.\n\n[23] Thos. Clarkson states, in his History of the Abolition of the Slave\nTrade, that \"the arrival of slave ships on the coasts of Africa was the\nuniform signal for the immediate commencement of wars for the attainment\nof prisoners, for sale and exportation to America and the West Indies.\"\nIn Maryland and Delaware, the same drama is now performed in miniature.\nThe arrival of the Man-Traffickers, _laden_ with cash, at their\nrespective _stations_, near the coasts of a great American water, called\njustly, by Mr. Randolph, \"a Mediterranean sea,\" or at their several\n_inland posts_, near the dividing line of Maryland and Delaware, (at\nsome of which they have grated prisons for the purpose) is the well\nknown signal for the professed _kidnappers_, like beasts of prey, to\ncommence their nightly invasions upon the _fleecy flocks_; extending\ntheir ravages, (generally attended with bloodshed, and sometimes\nmurder,) and spreading terror and consternation amongst both freemen and\nslaves throughout the _sandy regions_, from the western to the eastern\nshores. These \"two-legged featherless animals,\" or _human bloodhounds_,\nwhen overtaken (rarely) by the messengers of law, are generally found\narmed with instruments of death, sometimes with pistols with _latent_\nspring daggers attached to them! Mr. Cooper, one of the representatives\nto congress from Delaware, assured me that he had often been afraid to\nsend one of his servants out of his house in the evening, from the\ndanger of their being seized by kidnappers.\n\nWhile at Wilmington (Del.) I accidentally heard a black woman telling\nthe gate-keeper of the bridge, that she had set out to go to Georgetown,\n(Del.) but was returning without having reached it, for fear of being\ncaught on the road by the kidnappers.\n\n[24] I was informed in Delaware, that her seller absconded in about ten\ndays after the outrage was committed.\n\n[25] The mulatto youth had been purchased in the city of Washington, and\nkept in it in irons several weeks, by a person who confessed his regret\nthat he had not removed him before the suit for the recovery of his\nfreedom had commenced; and that, if he had known it sooner, he would\nhave taken him on to ----, (the place of his residence,) even if he had\nbeen satisfied of his being free. One Slave-Trader, to whom he had been\noffered, was however so conscientious, that he refused to purchase him,\nor the lad who was with him, (before mentioned) being confident that\nthey were illegally enslaved.\n\n[26] I have been assured by a gentleman of the highest respectability,\nthat a former representative to Congress, from one of the southern\nstates, acknowledged to him, that he held a mulatto man as a slave,\nhaving purchased him in company with slaves, who affirmed that he was\nfree born, and had been kidnapped from one of the New England states;\nwho was well educated, and who, he had no doubt, was born as free a man\nas himself, or my informant. Upon being asked, how he could _bear_ then\nto retain him, he replied, that the customs of his part of the country\nwere such, that these things are not minded much.\n\n[27] I was informed that the mulatto man was probably destined for the\nNew-Orleans market, not very far distant from the _Gulf of Mexico_,\nwhich probably embraces more personal slavery, including its\nneighbouring regions, than any region of equal extent on the globe.\n\n[28] On the ensuing day, having persevered in endeavours to secure the\ncaptives, the son of this landlord (to whom I presume _manacles_,\n_hand-cuffs_, _iron man-fetters_, _hopples_ _&c._ are as familiar as\nsteel-traps and snares to the hunter of the _animals which yield fur_,)\nexpressed his sympathy for the loss of the purchaser of the mulatto man,\n(who still remained in his chains,) should he be set at liberty. I asked\nhim whether he considered it worse for the trader to lose a few hundred\ndollars in money, than for the mulatto man to be transported to a\nstrange country, and be deprived of his liberty for life. To which he\nreplied, after a short pause, _that he did not know as there was much\ndifference_! I assured him, that if he _did not_, I was _sorry_ for him.\nThis illustrates the invincible force of morbid education and of habit.\n\n[29] By information, derived from distinct and corresponding sources, a\nfew days after this caravan left Washington, there is no doubt of the\nfact, that it contained, in addition to the slaves, a young black woman,\nwho had been emancipated in Delaware, and was sold by the same person as\nan agent, that assisted in seizing and sold the black woman and child;\nand also a legally free mulatto man, in irons, who had been sold in the\nnight by his employer, near Philadelphia, and who was most unmercifully\nbeaten with a club, on the night previous to their arrival in the city,\nfor telling a person that he was free.\n\n[30] Additional aid was also rendered by the Abolition Society at\nWilmington.\n\n[31] It would be equally as absurd to do this, as it would to import\n2,000,000 prisoners of war from Turkey or China, and make citizens of\nthem.\n\n[32] \"It is not for us to inquire why, in the creation of mankind, the\ninhabitants of the several parts of the earth were distinguished by a\ndifference in feature or complexion. It is sufficient to know, that all\nare the work of an Almighty Hand.\" [From the first section of the\nPreamble to the Pennsylvania act for the Abolition of Slavery, before\nreferred to.]\n\n[33] M'Gurran Coulon, in his \"Observations on the Insurrection of the\nNegroes in the Island of St. Domingo,\" read before the National Assembly\nof France, attributes the _troubles_ of that island, \"above all, to the\ninjustice of which the whites have been guilty, in refusing to let the\nmulattos partake of the blessings of liberty.\" This was evidently one of\nthe chief _proximate_ causes;--but the primitive radical origin of those\nimplacable conflicts between different shades of colour, may be traced\nto the miserable fatal policy which permitted the production of those\nshades. \"The white father falls a victim to the unnatural rage of his\nmulatto son.\" \"In a country where it is by no means unusual for the\nknown children of the Planter to undergo all the hardships, and the\nignominy of slavery, in common with the most degraded class of mortals,\nis it there we are to seek for instances of filial affection?\" [Inquiry\ninto the Causes of the Insurrection of the Negroes in St. Domingo.]\n\n[34] Recent message of the President of the United States to Congress,\nalluding to the red natives of America.\n\n[35] See Parag. 40. I consider it a fortunate circumstance, and one\nwhich will protect me effectually from the imputation of plagiarism, in\nrespect to the similarity of what I had previously written on the\nsubject of colonization by \"_beneficent societies_\" and the national\nransom of slaves (see Parag. 80 & 81) to any thing advanced at this\nmeeting; that I had communicated the contents of the original manuscript\nof the preceding work to page 98, except some notes and slight\nalterations, to Roberts Vaux, Esq. one of the members of the common\ncouncil of the city of Philadelphia, on or previous to the 8th of Dec.\n1816--And the fact is made public, in this manner, with his consent and\napprobation.\n\n[36] Several free persons of colour, of both sexes and all a little\nshaded with a yellowish tint, being employed as servants in the house in\nwhich I lodge, I inquired of two of the females, a few days ago, whether\nthey would like to go to Africa, as it was the country of their\nforefathers. One of them expressed great repugnance at going there, and\nthe other said her fathers did not come from Africa, \"and (said she) if\nthey (the Americans) did not want us, they had no need to have brought\nus away: after they've brought us here, and made us work hard, and\n_disfigured the colour_, I don't think it would be fair to send us back\nagain.\"\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nThere is some inconsistency in the placing of italic and small\ncapital markup. They are as in the original.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32058", "title": "American Slave Trade\r\nOr, An Account of the Manner in which the Slave Dealers take Free People from some of the United States of America, and carry them away, and sell them as Slaves in other of the States; and of the horrible Cruelties  practised in the carrying on of this most infamous Traffic", "author": "", "publication_year": 1822, "metadata_title": "American Slave Trade", "metadata_author": "active 1787-1834 Jesse Torrey", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:21.277180", "source_chars": 153882, "chars": 153882, "talkie_tokens": 34595}}
{"text": "The Fundamental Principles\n\n                                    Of\n\n                     Old and New World Civilizations\n\nA Comparative Research Based on a Study of the Ancient Mexican Religious,\n                  Sociological, and Calendrical Systems.\n\n                                    By\n\n                              Zelia Nuttall\n\n Honorary Special Assistant of the Peabody Museum; Fellow of the American\n Association for the Advancement of Science; Member of the Philosophical\nSociety, Philadelphia; Honorary Member of the Archaeological Association,\n    Univ. of Pennsylvania; Corresponding Member of the Antiquarian and\n  Numismatic Society of Philadelphia; of the Anthropological Society of\n  Washington; of the Societá Italiana d’Antropologia; of the Société de\nGéographie de Genève; of the Sociedad Cientifico “Antonio Alzate,” Mexico;\n              and of the Société des Américanistes de Paris.\n\n                  Archaeological and Ethnological Papers\n\n                                  Of The\n\n                              Peabody Museum\n\n                            Harvard University\n\n                                 Vol. II.\n\n                             Cambridge, Mass.\n\n          Peabody Museum of American Archaeology and Ethnology.\n\n                               March, 1901.\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nEditorial Note.\nAuthor’s Preface.\nThe Fundamental Principles Of Old And New World Civilizations.\nAppendix I. Comparative Table of some Quechua, Nahuatl and Maya Words.\nAppendix II. A Prayer-meeting of the Star-worshippers.\nAppendix III. Comparative Lists of Words.\nIndex.\nNote.\nFootnotes\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEDITORIAL NOTE.\n\n\nThe author of this volume explains in her preface how she came to be led\nbeyond her special field of research into a comparative study of the early\ncivilizations of the Old World; and how she traced the origin of the\nswastika, in Mexico, to an astronomical source and, in all countries\nalike, found its use as a sacred symbol accompanied by evidences of a\ncertain phase of culture based on pole-star worship, and the recognition\nof the fixed laws of nature, which found expression in the ideal of\ncelestial kingdoms or states organized on a set numerical plan and\nregulated by the apparent revolutions of circumpolar constellations.\n\nThe results of the author’s researches seem to justify her summary of\nconclusions; but she distinctly states that she does not wish to propound\nany theory. She invites further study and discussion by Orientalists and\nAmericanists before drawing final conclusions from the facts she has\ngathered. The publication of this paper will open anew the consideration\nof pre-Columbian visits to the New World, shown, as many have believed, by\nidentities too many and too close to be considered as mere resemblances or\nas the natural results of independent intellectual development.\n\nThe illustrations are nearly all from drawings by the author. The\nanalytical Index has been prepared by Miss Mead. It will be seen, by the\nnumbering at the bottom of each page, that it was at first intended to\ninclude this paper in Volume I of the Archaeological and Ethnological\nPapers of the Museum; but the addition of the text relating to the Old\nWorld made too bulky a volume, and it is therefore issued as Volume II of\nthe series.\n\nTo Mrs. Nuttall for the gift of her work, the results of years of\nresearch, and to the several generous friends who have provided the means\nfor publishing this volume, the editor expresses his gratitude in behalf\nof the Museum.\n\nF. W. PUTNAM,\nCurator of the Peabody Museum.\nHarvard University,\nMarch 1, 1901.\n\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR’S PREFACE.\n\n\nIn February, 1898, while engaged upon the translation and commentary of\nthe anonymous Hispano Mexican MS. of the Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale\nLibrary, of Florence, my interest was suddenly and unexpectedly diverted\nfrom my self-imposed task by the circumstances described in the opening\npages of the present publication.\n\nLaying my work aside, as I then supposed, for a few days only, I seized\nthe new thread of investigation with a keen and enthusiastic interest,\nlittle knowing that it, in turn, was not only to hold me fast for nearly\nthree years, but was to lead me out of my original field of research, into\ndistant, and to me, hitherto untrodden realms, in close pursuit of facts\nrelating to the oldest forms of religion, social organization, and\nsymbolism.\n\nThe first portion of the present publication was planned as a short\nmonograph of forty-one pages, treating of the origin of the native\nswastika or cross symbols, and was written in July, 1898, its outcome\nbeing the unforeseen conclusion that the cosmical conceptions of the\nancient Mexicans were identical with those of the Zuñis. I next traced the\nsame fundamental set of ideas in Yucatan, Central America and Peru and\nformed the wish to add this investigation to the preceding. The result has\nbeen the portion of the work extending from page 41, paragraph 2, to page\n284, which was printed in 1899.\n\nHaving once launched into a course of comparative research, the deep\ninterest I have always taken in the question of Asiatic contact led me to\ncarry my investigation of the same subject into China. It then seemed\nimpossible not to extend researches from Eastern to Western Asia, and from\nAsia Minor to Egypt, Greece, Rome and Western Europe. It is in this\nunpremeditated way that the scope of the present investigation enlarged\nitself of its own accord, for the simple reason that the most interesting\nand precious facts fell into my way as I advanced and all I had to do was\nto pick them up and add them to my collection of evidence.\n\nOne serious disadvantage, arising from the circumstance that the present\ninvestigation has been in press for nearly three years, is my inability to\nmake any alteration, amendment, or addition, in the earlier portions,\nwhich stand as written at different times. It is a matter of regret to me\nthat I was not acquainted with O’Neil’s “Night of the Gods” and Hewitt’s\n“Ruling Races of Prehistoric Times,” at an earlier stage of my\ninvestigation, as through them my publication would have been enriched by\nmany valuable additions which I could have incorporated in the body of my\nwork without unduly sacrificing its unity of form.\n\nIn the line of Maya investigation notable advances have been made since I\nwrote (on page 221), about the “septenary set of signs” described by Mr.\nA. P. Maudslay in 1886, and about the inscription on the tablet of the\nTemple of the Cross at Palenque (pp. 237-39). Since that time an important\npublication on the Tablet of the Cross, to which I should have liked to\nrefer, has been issued by the much esteemed Nestor of Maya investigations,\nHerr Geheimrath Dr. Förstemann. My attention has also been drawn by the\nbest versed of American students of the Maya Codices, Mr. Charles P.\nBowditch, to the fact that Mr. Maudslay now recognizes the general\nrecurrence of an eighth sign in combination with the septenary group,\ncausing this to consist of an initial glyph, followed by seven instead of\nsix signs. Referring the reader to pp. 221 and 222, I point out that the\nemployment of an initial glyph, representing the synopsis of a whole,\nfollowed by seven signs, appears even more strongly to corroborate my view\nthat the inhabitants of Copan were acquainted with the septenary, cosmical\ndivision I have traced.\n\nMy fellow archaeologists will understand the disadvantage of issuing an\ninvestigation partly written a few years previously, and will realize\nthat, had I, at the outset, been in possession of all the facts I have\nsince learned, the present work would have been very differently planned\nand executed. On the other hand, as it partakes somewhat of the nature of\na log-book, the reader is able to follow closely my blundering course, and\nwill recognize and appreciate some of its perils and difficulties. It\nbeing, unfortunately, impossible to re-write the book. I shall have to be\nresigned to incur some criticism and blame for omissions, which could have\nbeen averted. I shall, however, be content if my prolonged study of\nancient Mexican archaeology and the present research open out new lines of\ninvestigation, and conclusively prove that primitive cross-symbols and the\nswastika are universally accompanied by vestiges of a certain set of\ncosmical conceptions and schemes of organization, which can be traced back\nto an original pole-star worship. I can but think that the material I have\ncollected will also lead to a recognition that the rôle of the Phœnicians,\nas intermediaries of ancient civilization, was greater than has been\nsupposed, and that it is imperative that future research be devoted to a\nfresh study and examination of those indications which appear to show that\nAmerica must have been intermittently colonized by the intermediation of\nMediterranean seafarers.\n\nTo me the most interesting result of the present investigation is the fact\nthat, having once started on an unpremeditated course of study, I found an\nunsuspected wealth of material and finally attained one main, totally\nundreamed-of conclusion, concerning the law governing the evolution of\nreligion and civilization. This leads me to think that, as I groped in\ndarkness, searching for light, I unwittingly struck the true key-note of\nthat great universal theme which humanity, with a growing perception of\nexisting, universal harmony, has ever been striving to seize and\nincorporate into their lives. The fact that many of the transcriptions of\nthe original harmony have been and are discordant, and that they\ntemporarily obscure, instead of rendering, its sublime grandeur, unity and\nnoble simplicity, appears as the inevitable result of the mental activity,\ningenuity and creative imagination to which mankind also owes its\nintellectual and spiritual progress.\n\nIn conclusion I regret my inability to express adequately my grateful\nappreciation of the unfailing loyalty of those true friends, in particular\nProf. F. W. Putnam, who, trusting in the earnestness of my purpose and\nendeavor, have constantly encouraged and cheered me as they patiently\nawaited the long-delayed completion of my work.\n\nZ. N.\nCAMBRIDGE, MASS.,\nDECEMBER 31, 1900.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF OLD AND NEW WORLD CIVILIZATIONS.\n\n\nOne evening, in February, 1898, I left my desk and, stepping to the\nwindow, looked out at Polaris and the circumpolar region of the sky, with\na newly awakened and eager interest.\n\nFor thirteen years I had been studying and collecting material with the\nhope of obtaining some understanding of the calendar, religion and\ncosmogony of the ancient Mexicans, but had hitherto purposely refrained\nfrom formulating or expressing any conclusions on the latter subjects\nhaving felt unable to extract a clear and satisfactory understanding of\nthe native beliefs from the chaotic mass of accumulated data under which\nthey lay like the ruin of an ancient temple. Though frequently\ndiscouraged, I had, however, never ceased to pursue my research and to\nnote carefully the slightest indication or suggestion which might prove of\nultimate value. Becoming utterly absorbed in the collection of such notes,\nI found no time to publish anything during the past four years, though\nrealizing, with regret, that those interested in my work might be\ndisappointed at my delay in issuing the papers announced, in 1894, as\nspeedily forthcoming. Slowly but steadily, however, I was gaining ground.\nVarious excursions along new lines of research increased my experience\nand, in crossing and re-crossing the field of ancient Mexico, I frequently\nhad occasion to observe certain familiar landmarks, from a new point of\nview, and illuminated by rays of fresh light proceeding from recently\nacquired sources. It was remarkable how often facts, which had seemed so\nhopelessly complicated, finally appeared to be quite simple and\ncomprehensible. This was noticeably the case with the Aztec deities which,\nfor years, had seemed to me as numberless. After closely studying their\nrespective symbols, attributes and names, during several consecutive\nmonths, and subjecting them to a final minute analysis, I found that their\nnumber dwindled in a remarkable way and also verified the truth of the\nstatement made by the anonymous author of the Biblioteca Nazionale\nmanuscript which I was editing, that the Mexicans painted one and the same\ngod under a different aspect “with different colours,” according to the\nvarious names they gave him in each instance.\n\nIt was particularly interesting to find that, in assuming that certain\nnames designated different native deities, the early Spanish writers had\ncommitted a mistake as great as though someone, reading the litany of the\nVirgin in a Catholic prayer-book, for the first time, inferred that it was\na series of invocations addressed to distinct divinities, amongst whom\nfigured the “morning star,” a “mirror of justice,” and a “mystical rose,”\netc. An examination of the texts of several native prayers preserved,\nestablished that the Mexicans addressed their prayers to a supreme Creator\nand ruler, whom they termed “invisible, incomprehensible and impalpable,”\nand revered as “the father and mother of all.” Some of their so-called\nidols were, after all, either attempts to represent in objective form, the\nattributes of the divine power, the forces of nature, the elements, etc.,\nor rebus figures. As these “gods” or “idols” are enumerated farther on and\nare exhaustively treated in my commentary of the Biblioteca Nazionale\nmanuscript, now in press, it suffices for my present purpose merely to\nmention here that the most mysterious figure of Mexican cosmogony,\nTezcatlipoca, whose symbolical name literally means “shining mirror,”\nproved to be identical with Mictlantecuhtli, the lord of the underworld,\nwhose title may also be interpreted as “the ruler or regent of the North,”\nsince Mictlampa is the name of this cardinal point.\n\nThe Codex Fuenleal (Anales del Museo Nacional, Mexico, tomo II, p. 88)\npreserves an important myth relating how Tezcatlipoca, after having been\nthe sun, was cast down from this supreme position by Huitzilopochtli,\n“descended to the water,” but had arisen again in the shape of an ocelot,\nand transformed himself into the constellation of Ursa Major.\n\nAccording to Sahagun the native name of this star-group was Citlal-Colotl\nor “star scorpion.” Reference to Nahuatl dictionaries revealed that this\ninsect had doubtlessly been named colotl on account of its habit of\nrecurving its tail when enraged.\n\nThe Nahuatl verb coloa means, to bend over or twist something, the\nadjective coltic is applied to something bent over or recurved. The noun\ncolotli, which is almost identical with colotl, means “the cross-beams,\nthe mounting, branch or handle of a cross” (“armadura de manga de cruz.”\nSee Molina’s dictionary).\n\nThe above facts show that the idea underlying the name for Ursa Major is\nprimarily that of “something bent over or recurved.” It is obvious that\nthe form of the constellation answers to this description. It is,\nmoreover, extremely significant to find, in the Maya language also, a\ncertain resemblance between the words for scorpion and for a cross. This,\nin Maya, is zin-che and that for a scorpion is zin-au. The above data\njustify the induction that the native conception of a cross was connected\nwith the idea of its arms being bent over or recurved, as in the Mexican\ncalendar-swastika.\n\nIt is important to find the scorpion figured as one of several symbols of\nMictlantecuhtli, the lord of the North, in his sculptured effigy preserved\nat the National Museum of Mexico (fig. 19).\n\nIt is more significant that the verb coloa, besides meaning “to bend over\nor twist something,” also expressed the action “of describing or\nperforming a circle by walking around something.” Now this is precisely\nwhat Tezcatlipoca (the Ursa Major) is represented as doing on page 77 of\nthe B.N. manuscript, since he figures there, surrounded by a circle of\nfootsteps. I could but note that this fact showed that the name of Colotl,\napplied to the constellation, was not incompatible with its identification\nwith Tezcatlipoca. Once my attention had been drawn to the action of\nwalking, performed by this god, I naturally considered, with fresh\ninterest, the peculiar fact that he is usually represented with one foot\nonly. The circumstances under which he had been deprived of this member\nare set forth in several of the Codices wherein we see that, after he\n“descended to the water,” he had an encounter with an alligator, who had\nviciously bitten off his foot and carried it away. (See Féjérvary Codex,\npp. 3 and 74. Vatican, II, p. 74.) Pictures representing Tezcatlipoca,\nafter this event, display the broken end of the tibia exposed and the\ntransverse section of the bone forming a ring, usually painted either\nwhite or red. Special pains seem to have been taken to accentuate the\nhollowness of the bone ring, since its centre is usually painted blue, the\nsymbolical color of air, and conventionalized puffs of breath or air are\nshown as issuing from it (fig. 1). In some cases, as on the sculptured\nmonolith called “the Stone of Tizoc,” these symbols of breath, issuing\nfrom the broken tibia, are figured in such a way that modern writers,\nignoring what they were meant to represent, were led to identify them as\nsome animal’s tail attached to the foot of the deity. The hollow circle\nand puffs of air, constantly associated with the god, frequently figure as\nhis ear ornament when his broken tibia is concealed (fig. 2, no. 3).\nBesides certain fanciful interpretations which have been given to this\nsymbol, it has been explained as being a hieroglyph conveying the name\nTezcatlipoca, and consisting of an obsidian mirror=tezcatl, and\nsmoke=poctli. A possible objection to this assertion might be that in\nMexican pictography, the mirror is invariably represented as jet-black, in\na white or red frame. In the Codex Telleriano Remensis, a combination of\nsymbols (of water, fire and a serpent) are figured as issuing from the\nbase of the bone (fig. 1, nos. 5, 6). Having taken particular pains to\ncollect all representations of the footless god, I was specially\ninterested in one (Féjérvary, p. 1) in which he is figured as standing on\nthe cross-shaped symbol ollin, the accepted meaning of which is Four\nMovements. The most remarkable and puzzling picture I found, however, is\nthat (fig. 1, no. 2) in which the jaws of a tecpatl, the symbol of the\nNorth, are represented as holding one of Tezcatlipoca’s ankles in a tight\ngrip and practically fastening him thus to the centre of a diagonal cross.\nIn this and other pictures (Codex Féjérvary, 41, 43 and 96) it is obvious\nthat the artists had endeavored to convey the idea of a person permanently\nattached to one spot by one foot. The only form of locomotion possible to\nhim would be to describe a circle by hobbling on one foot around the\nother, which would serve as an axis or pivot. The association of this\npeculiarity with the symbols of the North impressed me deeply and\ninvoluntarily caused me to think of a title bestowed in the Codex Fuenleal\nupon the supreme divinity, namely, “The Wheel of the Winds;” as well as of\nan expression employed by Tezozomoc (Cronica, p. 574). Referring to the\nconstellations revered by the natives, he mentions “the North and its\nwheel.”\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                 Figure 1\n\n\nRealizing that some definite and important meaning must underlie the\nremarkable representations of Tezcatlipoca, I resorted to all possible\nmeans to gain an understanding of them. Referring to Nahuatl dictionaries,\nI found a variety of synonymous names for a person who limped or was lame\nor maimed. Amongst them was Popoztequi from poztequi, the verb, “to break\na leg.” Other names were xopuztequi, xotemol and Icxipuztequi\n(icxitl=foot). The latter name happened to be familiar to me, for the\ncommentator of the Vatican Codex, Padre Rios, gives it as the name of a\ngod and translates it as “the lame devil.” He records it immediately after\nMictlantecuhtli, the lord of the North, and designates it as the name of\none of the four principal and primitive gods of the Mexicans.\n\nThe commentator of the Telleriano-Remensis Codex, moreover, records that\nthese four gods were “said to have been stars and had fallen from the\nheavens. At the present time there are stars in the firmament named after\nthem” (Kingsborough, vol. v, pp. 132 and 162).\n\nOther synonymous terms for lame persons were icxinecuiltic and\nxonecuiltic. Tzimpuztequi, on the other hand, besides meaning lame, also\nsignified something crooked, bent or incurvated. The second name furnished\nme with an important clue, for Sahagun distinctly records that the native\nname for the constellation Ursa Minor was Xonecuilli and that it was\nfigured as an S (Historia, 1. VII, cap. 3). Besides, the Academia MS. of\nhis monumental work contains the native drawing of this star-group\nreproduced as fig. 16, no. 1. He also states that S-shaped loaves of bread\nnamed xonecuilli were made at a certain festival in honor of this\nconstellation, while the B.N. MS. records that a peculiar recurved weapon,\nfigured in the hands of deities, was named xonequitl (fig. 16, nos. 2 and\n3).\n\nThe above data furnished me with indisputable evidence of the existence,\nin ancient Mexico, of a species of star cult connected with the\ncircumpolar constellations and with Tezcatlipoca, the lord of the North,\nthe central figure of the native cosmogony. It was puzzling to find this\ngod connected not only with the Ursa Major but also with Ursa Minor, but\nan indication suggesting a possible explanation or reconciliation of these\napparent inconsistencies is furnished by the descriptions of the strange\nritual performance, which was annually repeated at the festival\nTlacaxipehualiztli and was evidently the dramatization of a sacred myth.\n\nAs an illustration and a description of this rite are contained in the\nB.N. MS. and the subject is fully treated in my commentary, I shall but\nallude here to its salient features. It represented a mortal combat\nbetween a prisoner, attached by a short piece of cord to the centre of a\nlarge circular stone, and five warriors, who fought him singly. The fifth,\nwho was masked as an ocelot and always obtained victory in the unequal\ncontest, fought with his left hand, being “left-handed,” a peculiarity\nascribed to Huitzilopochtli. It was he who subsequently wore the skin of\nthe flayed victim, an action which obviously symbolized a metamorphosis.\nOne point is obvious: this drama exhibits the victor as a warrior who was\nable to circumscribe the stone freely and was masked as an\nocelot—Tezcatlipoca—the Ursa Major, but was endowed, at the same time,\nwith the left-handedness identified with Huitzilopochtli. This mythical\npersonage vanquishes and actually wears the skin of the man attached to\nthe stone; becomes his embodiment, in point of fact, and obtains the\nsupremacy for which he had fought so desperately. In the light shed by the\nCodex Fuenleal, before cited, it was easy to see that the entire\nperformance dramatized the mythical combat between Tezcatlipoca and\nHuitzilopochtli for the position of the ruling power, in the heavens—the\nsun. At the same time it was decidedly puzzling to find celestial\nsupremacy personified by a man, firmly fastened to one spot, the centre of\na stone circle. It was impossible not to perceive the identity of thought\nunderlying the representation of this prisoner and the pictures of\nTezcatlipoca, the one-footed or lame god—Xonecuilli the Ursa Minor. It was\nmoreover of extreme interest to note the existence of traditional records,\npreserved in the native myths, of changes in the relative positions of\ncelestial bodies and of the Ursa Major in particular.\n\nWhilst dwelling upon the striking analogy existing between the\nrepresentations of Tezcatlipoca held fast by the symbol of the North and\nthe prisoner attached to what is described either as “a temalacatl, stone\nwhorl” or “an image of the sun,” my gaze fell on a small model of the\ncalendar-stone of Mexico, hanging above my desk, and rested on the symbol\nOllin in its centre. The learned director of the National Museum of\nMexico, Señor Troncoso (Anales del Museo Nacional, vol. II), had expressed\nhis view that this symbol was an actual figurative representation of the\nannual apparent movements of the sun, and recorded its positions at the\nsolstitial and equinoctial periods. I had, moreover, submitted a drawing\nof this same figure to the eminent English astronomer, Prof. Norman\nLockyer, and he had corroborated this view and established its\ncorrectness. On the other hand, I had long noted that the _Ollin_ was\nusually figured with an eye, the symbol for star, in its centre (fig. 2,\nnos. 1, 3), and had also paid particular attention to the fact that the\nMexicans had conceived the ideas of two suns, a young day sun and an\nancient night or black sun. In the B. N. MS., on the mantas worn at their\nrespective festivals, the day sun is depicted in a somewhat fanciful\nmanner, in blue and red on a white field. The black sun is, however,\nrepresented in classical style, so to speak, as on the sculptured\ncalendar-stone, with four larger and four smaller V-shaped rays issuing\nfrom it. In this connection it is well to recall here that the Mexicans\nhad no specific name for the sun, beyond _Tonatiuh_, which merely means\n“that which sheds light” and could equally apply to the stars. In the\npicture-writings the image of the sun was employed to convey the word\n_Teotl_. But we find that this word, assumed to be equivalent to their\n“Dios” by the Spaniards, was also a reverential title bestowed upon\nchieftains and superiors and was constantly employed in the composition of\nwords to signify something divine, supremely beautiful, etc. Whilst I was\npondering on the possibility that the symbol _Ollin_ might have\nrepresented the movements of the luminaries of night as well as the orb of\nday, my attention became fixed upon the four numerals in each of the ends\nof the symbol and I was struck by a certain resemblance between their\npositions and those of the four stars which form the body of the bear in\nthe constellation of Ursa Major. It was then that it occurred to me, as\nmentioned in the opening sentence of this introduction, to look at the\nfamiliar constellations, with a view to verifying the resemblance noted\nabove. As my gaze sought “the pointers” in Ursa Major, and then\nmechanically turned to Polaris, I thought of some passages I had recently\nre-read, in Professor Lockyer’s Dawn of Astronomy, realizing that his\nobservations, dealing with the latitude 26° (taking Thebes as representing\nEgypt), could equally apply to Mexico as this country stretches from\nlatitude 15° to 31°.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                 Figure 2\n\n\n“The moment primitive man began to observe anything, he must have taken\nnote of the stars, and as soon as he began to talk about them he must have\nstarted by defining, in some way or other, the particular star he\nmeant.... Observers would first consider the brightest stars and separate\nthem from the dimmer ones; they would then discuss the stars which never\nset (the circumpolar constellations) and separate them from those which\ndid rise and set. Then they would naturally, in a northern clime, choose\nout the constellation of the Great Bear or Orion, and for small groups,\nthe Pleiades (_op. cit._ p. 132).... A few years’ observation would have\nappeared to demonstrate the absolute changelessness of the places of the\nrising and setting of the same stars. It is true that this result would\nhave been found to be erroneous when a long period of time had elapsed and\nwhen observation became more accurate, but for hundreds of years the stars\nwould certainly appear to represent fixity, while the movements of the\nsun, moon and planets would seem to be bound by no law ... would appear\nerratic, so long as the order of their movements was not known.”\n\nThe reflection that Ursa Major was probably the first constellation which\nmade any deep impression upon the mind of prehistoric man in America, as\nelsewhere, lent an additional interest to the star-group, as I\nconcentrated my mind upon its form and endeavored to imagine it in four\nequidistant positions, corresponding to the numerals in the symbol _Ollin_\nof the calendar-stone of Mexico (fig. 2, no. 2).\n\nI succeeded in obtaining, in succession, mental images of the\nconstellation in four opposite positions. This effort led to an unforeseen\nresult which surprised me. In a flash of mental vision I perceived a\nquadrupled image of the entire constellation, standing out in\nscintillating brilliancy from the intense darkness of the wintry sky (fig.\n3, no. 3). At the same moment I saw that it bore the semblance of a\nsymmetrical swastika of giant proportions. This fact, so unexpectedly\nrealized, gave rise to such an absorbing train of new ideas and\ninterpretations of the data I had accumulated, that I left my window, on\nthat memorable night, with a growing perception of the deep and powerful\ninfluence the prolonged observation of Polaris and the circumpolar\nconstellations would naturally have exerted upon the mind of primitive\nman. Deeply impressed with the striking resemblance between the composite\nimage of Polaris, Ursa Major, and certain forms of the swastika, I started\non a fresh line of investigation, and devoted myself to the study of\nprimitive astronomy and its influence upon the intellectual development of\nmankind in general and the American races in particular. After having\nworked, during thirteen years, without any preconceived ideas about the\nancient Mexican civilization and without formulating any general\nconclusion concerning it, I saw all the knowledge I had slowly acquired\nfall into rank and file and organize itself into a simple and harmonious\nwhole.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                 Figure 3\n\n\nRealizing this I perceived how, with the origin of the swastika, I had\nfound the origin of the set of primeval ideas which had governed the human\nrace from its infancy and which, in Mexican and Central American\ncivilizations, ultimately developed into their ingenious system of\ngovernment and social organization.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n  Plate I. Chart of the Polar Constellations. I: Just After Sunset. II:\n                   Midnight.  III: Just Before Sunrise.\n\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                 Plate II. Various Forms of the Swastika.\n\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                 Figure 4\n\n\nThe sequel to the above episode was that, with the aid of my movable\nstar-chart, I made the following notes of the apparent positions of the\ncircumpolar constellations at the times of sunrise, midnight and sunset,\nchoosing the periods of the solstices and equinoxes in order to obtain an\nexact division of the year (pl. I). Whilst studying these I realized that\nthe midnight position was the only stable one, since the actual visibility\nof the constellations before dawn and after dusk would be subject to\nconsiderable variation, according to seasons, latitudes and atmospherical\nconditions. Having noted these positions, I next combined them separately,\nobtaining the remarkable results given in fig. 4. The combined midnight\npositions of the Ursa Major or Minor, at the four divisions of the year,\nyielded symmetrical swastikas, the forms of which were identical with the\ndifferent types of swastika or cross-symbols (the normal, ogee and volute,\netc.), which have come down to us from remote antiquity and are reproduced\nhere for comparison (pl. II, _a-f_). Reflection showed me that such\ncomposite pictures of the Ursa constellations constituted an exact record\nof their annual rotation, and afforded a perfect sign for the period of a\nyear. I moreover perceived how the association of rotatory motion with the\nadvance of time, and its division into fixed periods or cycles, would be\nthe natural outcome of the recognition of the annual rotation of the\nstar-groups.\n\nThe Calendar-Swastika, or cross of ancient Mexico (pl. II, _g_)\nconstitutes an absolute proof of the native association of the\ncross-symbol with the ideas of rotatory motion and the progress of time,\nand furnishes an indication that, in an analogous manner, the swastika may\nhave been primarily and generally employed by primitive races, as a sign\nfor a year or cycle. A close scrutiny of the respective forms of the\ncrosses yielded by Ursæ Major and Minor shows that the normal swastika and\nsuavastika may be explained as the separate representations of the two\nconstellations—the angular break in the outline of Ursa Major suggesting\nthe direction of the bend to the right of the arms of the normal swastika,\nwhilst the form of Ursa Minor obviously suggests the bend to the left\nwhich is characteristic of the suavastika.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                 Figure 5\n\n\nMy growing conviction that the Bear constellations had furnished the\narchetype of the different forms of swastika and cross-symbols, found\nsubsequent support when I referred to the map showing the geographical\ndistribution of the ancient symbol published by Prof. Thomas Wilson in his\nvaluable and comprehensive monograph on the subject,(1) to which I am\nindebted for much information and several illustrations (pl. II, _a-f_,\netc.). The map, reproduced here (fig. 5), proves that, with two\nexceptions, which can be attributed to a migration southward, the\nemployment of the swastika has been confined to the northern hemisphere,\n_i. e._, precisely to that portion of our globe from which the circumpolar\nconstellations are visible.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n    Figure 6. Star-Map, Representing The Precessional Movement Of The\nCelestial Pole From The Year 4000 B.C. To The Year 2000 A.D. (_From Piazzi\n                                 Smyth_.)\n\n\nThe interesting possibility of being able to determine, approximately, the\ndate in the world’s history when the swastika began to be employed as a\nsymbol, next occurred to me. Piazzi Smyth’s star-map, discussed and\nreproduced in Professor Lockyer’s work already cited (fig. 6), illustrates\nthe changes of direction of the earth’s axis in space, which gives rise to\nwhat is called the precession of the equinoxes and has a cycle of\nsomething like 25,000 or 26,000 years. Reference to this star-map (fig. 6)\nproved that the observations, leading to the adoption of the swastika as a\nsymbol, could not possibly have been made until after Ursa Major had\nbecome circumpolar, about 4,000 B.C. At that period, when Draconis was the\npole-star, the circle described about it by Ursa Major was considerably\ncloser than it is at present. The accompanying illustrations (fig. 7),\nsubject to correction, demonstrate the relative distance of the\nconstellation about 2,770 B.C., 1,800 B.C., and 2,000 A.D., and show how\nmuch more strikingly impressive the polar region of the heavens was in\nremote antiquity.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 7.\n\n\nLet us now briefly review some of the ideas which would naturally suggest\nthemselves to the mind of the primitive observer, after he had recognized\nthe apparent immovability of the polar-star, concentrated his attention\nupon this feature, and contrasted it with the varying motions of all other\ncelestial bodies in general and with the rotation of the circumpolar\nstar-groups in particular.\n\nThis recognition would lead to his gradually learning to utilize Polaris\nas a means of ascertaining direction. His appreciation of valuable\nguidance rendered in perilous wanderings would develop feelings of trust,\ndependence and gratitude towards the one changeless star which permanently\nrendered valuable services and under whose guidance difficult and\nessential nocturnal expeditions could be safely undertaken. Superiority\nand, eventually, extensive supernatural power would more and more be\nattributed to it, as knowledge was gained of the laws of motion from which\nit alone seemed to be exempt. This exemption would cause it to be viewed\nas superior to all other heavenly bodies and even to the sun, and it is\neasy to see how this idea, becoming predominant, might cause the cult of\nthe pole-star to disestablish an organized sun-cult amongst some tribes.\nHistorical evidence, to which I shall revert more fully proves, indeed,\nthat a native American ruler and reformer actually employed the following\nreasoning in order to convert his council and people from the worship of\nthe sun to that of a superior divinity which could have been no other but\nPolaris: “It is not possible that the sun should be the God who created\nall things, for if so he would sometimes rest and light up the whole world\nfrom one spot. Thus it cannot be otherwise but that there is someone who\ndirects him and this truly is the true Creator.”\n\nThese words shed a whole flood of light upon primitive religious ideas at\nan early stage of development. They prove that the association of repose\nand immovability with the supreme power signified a radical change of\nthought, based upon prolonged astronomical observation, and indicated\nintellectual advancement. Attempts to render the new idea objective, to\nexpress it and impress it upon the multitude, would naturally end in the\nproduction of images of the supernatural power, representing or typifying\nimmovability, changelessness, strength combined with absolute repose.\n\nIt is thus rendered evident what a deep significance may be embodied in\nthe rudest images of supernatural beings in attitudes of repose, since a\nprolonged course of astronomical observation and reasoning may have\npreceded their production.\n\nSimultaneously with the recognition of Polaris as an immutable centre of\naxial energy, the rotatory movement of Ursa Major must have excited\ninterest and observation. It was inevitable that star-gazers should\ngradually recognize a constant agreement between certain positions of Ursa\nMajor and Cassiopeia after dusk for instance, and the annual recurrence of\nrain, verdure and bountiful food-supplies.\n\nThe members of a tribe who, more observant than others, had learned to\nassociate certain positions of these constellations with the seasons and,\nas a consequence, were able to decide when expeditions to distant\nlocalities, in quest of game or fruit, might be successfully undertaken,\nwould naturally assume leadership and command obedience and respect.\n\nThe sense of responsibility, superiority and, possibly, rivalry would act\nupon such individuals as a powerful incentive to further observation and\nthought and it is evident that, as their mental faculties expanded and one\ngeneration transmitted its store of accumulated knowledge to the next, a\nregular caste of astronomer-leaders would develop, with a tendency to\nconceal the secrets of their power from the ignorant majority. A broken\nline, carved on a rock by one of these primitive observers, would have\nconstituted a valuable secret note of the position of Ursa Major on a\nmemorable occasion and would be looked upon as a mystic or magical sign by\nthe uninitiated. A series of such inscriptions might represent the store\nof astronomical knowledge accumulated by several generations of observers,\nand it is interesting to recognize that such astronomical records as these\nwere probably the first which men were impelled to perpetuate in a lasting\nform; since it was absolutely necessary that they should be permanently\navailable for reference at prolonged intervals of time. What is more, the\nmere fact of being obliged to refer to these inscriptions would cause the\nastronomers to reside permanently in one locality. The habit of consulting\nthe prophet or oracle before undertaking important steps, involving the\nwelfare of the tribe, would gradually cause the rocks or cavern in which\nhe resided to be invested with a certain sacredness.\n\nIt is thus evident that the first men, who rudely scratched the outline of\nUrsa Major or Minor on a rock, took what was probably one of the most\nmomentous steps in the history of the human race, and it is easy to see\nhow a variety of combinations of circumstances would have led many men, in\nwidely-separated localities and at different periods of the world’s\nhistory, to perform precisely the same action. In some cases, under\nfavorable surroundings, the rudimentary attempt would mark the starting\npoint for a long line of patient observation and study, which would\ninevitably lead to the creation of centres of intellectual growth, to the\nassociation of the different positions of the constellation with the\nseasons and culminate in the habitual employment of a swastika as the sign\nfor a year, or cycle of time.(2)\n\nThe idea of rotation, associated with calendar signs and periods, finds\nits most striking and convincing exemplification in the following\ndescription of the ancient Mexican game “of those who fly,” translated\nfrom Clavigero (op. et ed. cit. p. 236). This performance, which furnished\na diversion to the Spaniards after the Conquest, had evidently been,\noriginally, connected with religious ideas. “The Indians selected a tall,\nstout and straight tree, and, lopping off its branches, planted it firmly\nin the centre of the great square” (which was always situated in the\ncentre of the city and had four roads leading to it from the four\nquarters). “On the summit they placed a large cylinder of wood, the shape\nof which was compared by the Spaniards to that of a mortar. Four strong\nropes hung from this and supported a square frame composed of four wooden\nbeams. Four other ropes were fastened by one end to the pole itself and\nwound around it thirteen times. Their loose ends were passed through holes\nin the middle of each beam and hung from these. Four Indians, masked as\neagles or other birds, ascended the pole singly, by means of certain loops\nof cord, and mounting on the cylinder they performed in this perilous\nposition a few dance-like movements. Each man then attached himself to the\nloose end of one of the hanging ropes, and then, with a violent jerk and\nat the same moment, the four men cast themselves into space from their\npositions on the beams. This simultaneous movement caused the frame and\ncylinder to revolve and uncoil the ropes to which the men were fastened\nand these descended to the ground after performing a series of widening\ncircles in the air. Meanwhile a fifth individual, who had mounted the\nwooden cylinder after the others, stood on this as it revolved, beating a\nsmall drum with one hand, whilst he held a banner aloft with the other.”\nWhilst it is obvious that this peculiar and dangerous performance clearly\nsymbolized axial rotation, typified by the revolving pivot and the four\nmen in aërial motion, its full meaning and intention are only made clear\nby the following explanation recorded by Clavigero. “The essential point\nin this game was to calculate so exactly the height of the pole and the\nlength of the ropes, that the men should describe precisely thirteen\ncircles each before reaching the ground, so as to represent the cycle (of\n4×13=)52 years.”\n\nThis passage constitutes absolute proof that the Mexican Calendar system\nwas intimately associated with axial rotation and ideas such as could only\nhave been derived from observation of Polaris and of the circumpolar\nconstellations. The game itself was a beautiful and well-conceived\nillustration of the flight of time, typified by the aërial circles\nperformed by the men masked as birds, and of its methodical division into\nfixed periods.\n\nLeaving the subject of the calendar for the present we must revert to my\ntables recording the apparent annual and nocturnal axial rotation of the\ncircumpolar constellations.\n\nWhilst studying these the reflection naturally arose, that the people who\nobserved Ursa Major must have paid equal attention to Cassiopeia and\nnoticed that these constellations ever occupied opposite positions to each\nother as they circled around the pole. Dwelling on the fact that in\nancient Mexico Ursa Major was associated with an ocelot, I remembered the\nmany representations in which an ocelot is represented as confronting an\neagle, usually in mortal combat. Mexican war-chiefs were classed into two\nequally honorable grades, designated as the “ocelots and the quauhtlis,\n_i. e._, eagles.” The constellation of Cassiopeia presents to me, a marked\nresemblance to the image of a bird with outspread wings, whose head is\nturned toward Polaris. The fact that when this star-group seems to be\nabove, Ursa Major seems to be below, and _vice versa_, would obviously\nsuggest the idea of an eternal combat between two adversaries who\nalternately succumbed and resuscitated. It was interesting on reasoning\nfurther, to note that once the above idea had taken root it must have been\nimpossible not to associate in course of time, the quadruped and the bird\nwith the elements to which they seemed to pertain, and gradually to\nconceive the idea of an everlasting antagonism between the powers of the\nsky and of the earth, or light and darkness, and other opposites which\nsuggested themselves naturally, or were artificially created, by the\nfertile mind of man. In this connection it should be observed that the\nmythical adversary of Tezcatlipoca, the ocelot, designated as Ursa Major,\nis Huitzilopochtli, whose idol, in the Great Temple of Mexico, represented\nhim masked as a hummingbird (see Atlas Duran). The special reason why this\nbird became associated with the god is explained by the following passage\nin Gomara (Histoire générale des Indes. Paris, 1584, chap. 96, p. 190):\n“This bird died, or rather fell asleep in the month of October and\nremained attached by its feet to a twig. It awakened again in April when\nthe flowers blossomed. For this reason, in the language of the country it\nis named Huitzitzilin, the resuscitated.” We therefore see that whilst it\nis stated in the myth that the ocelot arose again after having been cast\ndown from the sky by Huitzilopochtli, the very name of the latter\nbetokened that the bird-god had also only just “resuscitated” from a\npresumably similar defeat.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 8.\n\n\nAs one and the same object may suggest several resemblances at the same\ntime or consecutively, and thus give rise to a group of associations\naround a single figure, I venture to point out that the zigzag form of\nCassiopeia may well have been compared to forked lightning and caused the\nidea of lightning and thunder to become indissolubly connected with the\nconception of a great celestial bird. Again there is the possibility that\nthe same star-group may have more strikingly suggested, to other people,\nthe idea of the winding body of a serpent describing a perpetual circle\naround a central star. In Mexico, as elsewhere, we find the serpent\nclosely associated with the idea of time. It is represented as encircling\nthe calendar wheel published by Clavigero (fig. 8). Four loops, formed of\nits body, mark the four divisions of the year. Twin serpents, whose heads\nand tails almost meet, are sculptured around the famous calendar-stone of\nMexico. Four serpents whose bent bodies form a large swastika and whose\nheads are directed towards a central figure, are represented in the Codex\nBorgia in association with calendar-signs (fig. 9, _cf._ Féjérvary, p.\n24). I shall have occasion to refer in detail to Mexican serpent-symbolism\nfurther on.\n\nMeanwhile I would submit the interesting results obtained on combining the\npositions apparently assumed by the circumpolar constellations during a\nsingle night. The tables exhibit four composite groups representing the\npositions at the solstitial and equinoctial periods (fig. 10).\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 9.\n\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 10.\n\n\nThe night of the winter solstice, the longest of the year, yielded alone a\nsymmetrical figure. It resembled the well-known triskelion, the\ncompanion-symbol of  the swastika (figs. 10 and 11). Just as this had\nproved to be the most natural of year symbols, so the triskelion revealed\nitself as a natural sign of the winter solstice, the period recognized and\ncelebrated by most inhabitants of the northern hemisphere as the\nturning-point of the year. In a climate like that of Mexico and Central\nAmerica, however, where the year divided itself naturally into a dry and a\nrainy season, it is evident that the winter solstice would be less\nobserved and that the ardently-desired recurrence of the rainy season,\nafter a long and trying period of drought, should be regarded as the\nannual event of utmost importance. Indeed, if carefully looked into, the\nentire religious cult of these people seems to express but one great\nstruggling cry to the God of Nature for life-giving rain, and a hymn of\nthanksgiving for the annual, precious, but uncertain gift of water.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 11.\n\n\nTo these supplicants the winter solstice betokened little or nothing and\nit is not surprising to find no proofs of the employment of the triskelion\nas a sacred symbol in ancient Mexico. On the other hand, it has been\ntraced by Mr. Willoughby on pottery from Arkansas, and in Scandinavia,\nwhere the circumpolar constellations have doubtlessly been observed from\nremote times, and the winter solstice has ever been hailed as the herald\nof coming spring, the triskelion is often found associated with the\nswastika.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 12.\n\n\nI am indebted to Prof. Thomas Wilson’s work already cited for the two\nfollowing illustrations of objects exhibiting this association. The first\nis a spearhead found in Brandenburg, Germany (fig. 12). The second is a\nbronze brooch from Scandinavia, to which I shall presently revert (fig.\n13). It exhibits, besides the triskelion, swastika and circle, the\nS-shaped figure which was, as I shall show further on, the sign actually\nemployed by the ancient Mexicans and Mayas as the image of the\nconstellation Ursa Minor, whose outline it indeed effectually reproduces.\n\nBefore referring to the Mexican and Maya representations of the\nstar-group, I would next demonstrate that the sacred numbers of Mexico,\nand of other countries situated in the northern hemisphere, coincide\nexactly with the number of stars in the circumpolar constellations\nthemselves and in simple combinations of the same.\n\nUrsa Major and Ursa Minor each contains seven stars, and the number seven\nis the most widely-spread sacred number. Ancient traditions record that\nthe race inhabiting Mexico consisted of seven tribes who traced their\nseparate origins to seven caves, situated in the north. In memory of\nthese, at the time of the Conquest, there were seven places of sacrifice\nin the city of Mexico. I shall recur to the number seven further on, in\ndiscussing the native social organization, and now direct attention to the\nfive stars of Cassiopeia and to the fact that the combination of the stars\nin this constellation with Polaris and Ursa Major yields the number\nthirteen. This result is specially interesting since the entire\nCalendar-system of Mexico and Yucatan is based on the combination of the\nnumerals 13+7=20, the latter again being 4×5.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 13.\n\n\nOn the other hand the same number, 13, is also obtained by the combination\nof the Ursæ star-groups with Polaris. The number 5 is constantly yielded\nby Cassiopeia and the four-fold repetitions of the groups supply the\nsuggestion of the number 4. The combination of Ursa Minor and Cassiopeia\nyields 12. The accompanying figure exhibits swastikas composed of Ursa\nMinor accompanied by Ursa Major and Cassiopeia separated and combined\n(fig. 14). I next direct attention to the peculiar difference in the\nnumerical values of the Ursæ swastikas.\n\nIn the first, the central star, surrounded by four repetitions of the\nseven-star constellation, yielded a total of twenty-nine stars—4x5+9.\nFurther combinations will be seen by a glance at the Ursa Major swastika\n(fig. 4). The analysis of the Ursa Minor swastika is not so simple and\noccasions a certain perplexity.\n\nWhen I had first combined the four positions of this constellation, I had,\nnaturally, and without further thought, figured Polaris but once, as the\nfixed centre, whereas I had repeated the other stars of the compact group\nfour times. It was not until I began to count the stars in the swastika\nthat I realized how I had, unconsciously, made one central star stand for\nfour, and thus deprived the composite group of the numerical value of\nthree stars. On the other hand, if I repeated the entire constellation\nfour times, I obtained a swastika with four repetitions of Polaris in the\nmiddle. In this way, however, Polaris became displaced, and the idea of a\nfixed centre was entirely lost. A third possible method of composing the\nswastika was to allow one central star for each cross-arm. But this gave\ntwo central stars, each of which would represent two stars. Unless\nenclosed in a circle and considered as a central group by themselves, the\nfour and the two repetitions of Polaris could not convey the idea of a\npivot or fixed centre. The three respective numerical values obtained from\nthese experimental combinations were 4×6+1=25, 4×7=28, and finally 2×13 or\n4×6+2=26. In each swastika the central star forcibly stood for and\nrepresented two or four (fig. 15).\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 14.\n\n\nIn the triskelions the same perplexity arose: if Polaris was repeated, the\nidea of a fixed centre was lost (fig. 15); if figured singly, it\nnevertheless necessarily and inevitably stood as an embodiment of three\nstars. Reasoning from my own experience, I could but perceive, in the\nforegoing facts, a fruitful and constant source of mental suggestions, the\nnatural outcome of which would be the association of the central star with\nan enhanced numerical value, and a familiarity with the idea of one star\nbeing an embodiment of two, three or four.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 15.\n\n\nAs the evolution of religious thought and symbolism progressed, this idea\nwould obviously lead to the conception of a single being uniting several\nnatures in his person. In this connection it is certainly extremely\ninteresting to find the serpent associated with the Calendar in Mexico and\nYucatan, its Nahuatl name being homonymous for twin, _i. e._ two, and the\nMaya for serpent, _can_ or _cam_, being homonymous for the number four.\nThe serpent was, therefore, in both countries the most suggestive and\nappropriate symbol which could possibly have been employed in pictography,\nto convey the idea of dual or quadruple natures embodied in a single\nfigure.(3) Added to this the circumstance that, to the native mind, the\nserpent, upon merely shedding its skin, lived again, we can understand why\nthe ancient Mexicans not only employed it as a symbol of an eternal\nrenewal or continuation of time and of life, but also combined it with the\nidea of fecundity and reproductiveness. In Yucatan where the Maya for\nserpent, _can_, is almost homonymous with _caan_=sky or heaven and the\nadjective _caanlil_=celestial, divine, the idea of a divine or celestial\nserpent would naturally suggest itself. It is therefore not surprising to\nfind, in both countries, the name of _serpent_ bestowed as a title upon a\nsupreme, celestial embodiment of the forces of nature and its image\nemployed to express this association in objective form. In Yucatan one of\nthe surnames of Itzamná, the supreme divinity, was Canil, a name clearly\nrelated to _caanlil_=divine and _can_=serpent.\n\nIn Mexico the duality and generative force implied by the word “coatl” are\nclearly recognizable in the native invocations addressed to “Our lord\nQuetzalcoatl the Creator and Maker or Former, who dwells in heaven and is\nthe lord of the earth [Tlaltecuhtli]; who is our celestial father and\nmother, great lord and great lady, whose title is Ome-Tecuhtli [literally,\ntwo-lord=twin lord] and Ome-Cihuatl [literally, two-lady=twin lady”]\n(Sahagun, book VI, chaps. 25, 32 and 34).\n\nThe following data will suffice to render it quite clear that the Mexicans\nand Mayas employed the serpent as an expressive symbol merely, signifying\nthe generative force of the Creator to whom alone they rendered homage. It\nis no less an authority than Friar Bartholomew de las Casas who maintained\nthat “in many parts of the [American] Continent, the natives had a\nparticular knowledge of the true God; they believed that He created the\nUniverse and was its Lord and governed it. And it was to Him they\naddressed their sacrifices, their cult and homage, in their\nnecessities...” (Historia Apologetica, chap. 121).\n\nFriar Bartholomew specially adds that this was the case in Mexico\naccording to the authority of Spanish missionaries and no one can doubt\nthat this was the case when they read that in the native invocations,\npreserved by Sahagun, the supreme divinity is described as “invisible and\nintangible, like the air, like the darkness of night,” or as the “lord who\nis always present in all places, who is [as impenetrable as] an abyss, who\nis named the wind [air or breath] and the night.” “All things obey him,\nthe order of the universe depends upon his will—he is the creator,\nsustainer, the omnipotent and omniscient.” He is termed “the father and\nmother of all,” “the great god and the great goddess,” “our lord and\nprotector who is most powerful and most humane,”—“our lord in whose power\nit is to bestow all contentment, sweetness, happiness, wealth and\nprosperity, because thou alone art the lord of all things.” One prayer\nconcludes thus: “Live and reign forever in all peace and repose thou who\nart our lord, our shelter, our comfort, who art most kind, most bountiful,\ninvisible and impalpable!” (Sahagun, book VI, on the rhetoric, moral\nphilosophy and theology of the Mexicans, chaps. 1-40). It is related that,\nin gratitude for the birth of a son, the ruler of Texcoco, Nezahual-coyotl\nerected a temple to the Unknown God.... It consisted of nine stories, to\nsymbolize the nine heavens. The exterior of the tenth, which formed the\ntop of the nine other stories, was painted black with stars. Its interior\nwas encrusted with gold, precious stones and feathers and held “the said\ngod, who was unknown, unseen, shapeless and formless” (Ixtlilxochitl,\nHistoria Chichimeca ed. Chavero, p. 227; see also p. 244). A passage in\nSahagun (book VI, chap. VII) states that “the invisible and imageless god\nof the Chichimecs was named Yoalli-ehecatl [literally, night-air or wind],\nwhich means the invisible and impalpable god ... by whose virtue all live,\nwho directs by merely exerting his wisdom and will.” In the Codex Fuenleal\n(chap. 1) the remarkable title of “wheel of the winds=Yahualliehecatl,” is\nrecorded as “another name for Quetzalcoatl.” This undeniably proves that\nthe Mexicans not only figured the Deity by the image of a serpent but also\nthought of him as a wheel which obviously symbolized centrical force,\nrotation, lordship over the four quarters, _i. e._, universal rulership.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 16.\n\n\nReturning from these ideas of later development to the primitive source of\ntheir suggestion, let us now examine the native picture of Xonecuilli,\nUrsa Minor, preserved in the unpublished Academia MS. of Sahagun’s\nHistoria, in Madrid (fig. 16, no. 1). It is an exact representation of the\nstar-group. The fact that the seven stars are figured of the same size in\naccurate relation to each other, either proves that the eyesight of the\nnative astronomers was extremely keen and their atmosphere remarkably\nclear, or that possibly, the minor stars of the group were more brilliant\nin ancient times, than they are now. Astronomers tell us, for instance,\nthat as late as the seventeenth century the star in the body of Ursa Major\nnearest to the tail, was as bright as the others, while it is now of the\nfourth magnitude only.\n\nIt must be admitted that the shape of the constellation resembles an S. An\nSS sign is mentioned by Sahagun (Historia, book VIII, chap. 8) as\noccurring frequently, as a symbolical design on native textile fabrics. It\nfigures as such, in the black garments of the female consort of\nMictlantecuhtli in the Vienna Codex, pp. 23 and 33. He denounces it as\nsuspect and hints that it was intimately connected with the ancient\nreligion.\n\nS-shaped sacred cakes, called Xonecuilli, were made during the feast of\nMacuilxochitl=five flowers, and are figured (fig. 16, no. 2) in the B. N.\nMS. (p. 69) with a four-cornered cross-shaped cake of a peculiar form\n(fig. 20, III), which is found associated with five dots or circles in the\nCodices and also with the Tecpatl-symbol of the North (fig. 20, I and II).\n\nA recurved staff, which is held in the hand of a deity in the B. N. MS. is\ndesignated in the text as a _xonoquitl_ (fig. 16, no. 3). Amongst the\ninsignia of the “gods,” sent as presents by Montezuma to Cortés upon his\nlanding at Vera Cruz, were three such recurved “sceptres,” the\ndescriptions of which I have collated and translated in my paper on the\nAtlatl or Spear-thrower of the Ancient Mexicans (Peabody Museum Papers,\nvol. 1, no. 3, Cambridge, 1891, p. 22). In this work I presented my\nreasons for concluding that these recurved sceptres were ceremonial forms\nof the atlatl. I now perceive that they were endowed with deeper\nsignificance and meaning. The Nahuatl text of Sahagun’s Laurentian MS. of\nthe Historia de la Conquista (lib. XII, chap. IV) records the name of one\nof these staffs as “hecaxonecuilli,” literally “the curved or bent over,\nair or wind,” and describes it as made of “bent or curved wood, inlaid\nwith stars formed of white jade=chalchihuite.” This passage authorizes the\nconclusion that four representations in the B. N. MS. of black recurved\nsceptres, exhibiting a series of white dots, are also heca-xonoquitl,\ninlaid with stars, and that all of these are none other but conventional\nrepresentations of the constellation Xonecuilli, the Ursa Minor. In each\ncase the deity, carrying the star-image, also displays the ecacozcatl the\n“jewel of the wind,” the well-known symbol of the wind-god. In one of\nthese pictures (p. 50) he not only bears in his hand the star-image, but\nalso exhibits a star-group on his head-dress, consisting of a\ncentral-star, on a dark ground, surrounded by a blue ring. Attached to\nthis against a dark ground, six other stars are depicted, making seven in\nall. In connection with this star-group it is interesting to note that the\nhieroglyph, designated by Fra Diego de Landa as “the character with which\nthe Mayas began their count of days or calendar and named Hun-Imix,”\nfurnishes a case of an identical though inverted group (Relacion de las\nCosas de Yucatan, ed. B. de Bourbourg, p. 237). Enclosed in a black ring,\nthe glyph displays, above, a large black dot with six smaller ones grouped\nin a semicircle about it, and below, four perpendicular bars.\n\nSubject to correction, I am inclined to interpret this glyph as a hieratic\nsign for the constellation Ursa Minor and its four movements, and to\nconsider it as furnishing a valuable proof of the origin of the Maya\nCalendar.\n\nThe seemingly inappropriate procedure of figuring shining stars by black\ndots actually furnishes the strongest proof that a star group is thus\nrepresented; for, in the Maya language, “ek” is a homonym for star and\nblack, and a black spot was, in consequence, the most expressive sign for\na star. This fact affords a valuable explanation of the reason why the\nocelot, whose skin is spotted with black, was employed as the figure of\nthe nocturnal sky, and clearly proves that the Mexicans adopted this\nsymbol and its meaning from the Mayas.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 17.\n\n\nWe will now revert to the S-shaped sign. Its association with images of\nstar is further exemplified in Mexican Codices. It occurs on the wall of a\ntemple, in combination with symbols for stars and the North-Mictlan, which\nconsist in this case, of skulls and cross-bones (fig. 17, II).\n\nIn the Dresden Codex, of Maya origin, there is an extremely important page\non which the S-sign occurs in connection with twin deities, besides rain\nand cross symbols (fig. 17, I). A careful examination of the group shows\nthat one of the seated figures is accompanied by a downpour of water\n(painted blue in the original), besides the S-symbol which is also\nrepeated above the head of his companion. Higher up, on the same page, the\nS occurs again in a group of glyphs alongside of twin-seated figures.\nThese, as well as the single-seated form beneath them, have an eye or a\nlarge black spot surmounted by dots instead of a head (Vocabulaire de\nl’écriture hiératique de Yucatan, p. 38). Monsieur Léon de Rosny has\nidentified this figure, which also occurs in the Codex Troano, as the\nimage of the supreme divinity of the Mayas, of whom more anon, one of\nwhose titles was Kin-ich-ahau, literally Sun-eye lord.\n\nA similar sign consisting of the lower half of a human body seated, with a\nlarge eye on its knees is repeated several times in the Borgian Codex.\nThis form is also figured as seated in a temple, without the eye-star, but\nthree stars are on the roof and the S-sign is on the lower wall of the\nbuilding (Borgian Codex, p. 16).\n\nThe above facts demonstrate that, in both MSS. derived from different\nsources, the same association of ideas is expressed.(4) The S sign appears\nin connection with twin- or single-seated forms, surmounted by a symbol\nfor star. It is unnecessary for me to lay further stress upon the obvious\nfacts: that the only celestial body which could possibly have been\nassociated with a seated form, suggesting repose, was Polaris. It is,\nmoreover, only by assuming that the sign of the seated star represents the\nstationary pole-star that its combination in the Codices with the\nS-sign—Xonecuilli—Ursa Minor, can be understood. I likewise draw attention\nto the possibility that the S, or single representation of the\nconstellation, may well have been employed as a sign for the summer\nsolstice, since, in some localities, during the shortest night of the\nyear, Ursa Minor may have been visible in one position only. Assuming that\nthe triskelion was the sign for the winter solstice we should thus have\nnatural signs for the two nights marking the turning-points of light and\ndarkness in the year.\n\nReverting to fig. 17, I, from the Codex Dresdenis, I draw attention that\nit furnishes definite proof that the Mayas associated the idea of the\nimmovable seated star with twin deities and that they connected the\nS-symbol with cross and rain symbols. A striking combination of the latter\nsymbols is represented under the principal seated figures. It consists of\na diagonal cross traversed perpendicularly by a band of blue water.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 18.\n\n\nFurther Maya cross-symbols should be cursorily examined here, viz: fig.\n18, I, II, III, VI, VII and VIII. They will be found to consist of\nvariations of two fundamental types, often figured alongside of each other\nand enclosed in a square, or circle. One type consists of two diagonally\ncrossed bars, plain or representing cross bones (I). A rectilinear cross\nwith interlaced circle (II) is also found. The other type exhibits a small\ncross, square, circle or dot in the centre of the square with a circle in\neach corner. In some cases these are united by a series of dots to the\ncentral circle and thus form a diagonal cross (VI and VIII) which is\nsometimes figured as contained in a flower with four petals, such as is\nalso found in Mexican symbolism. The diagonal, dotted cross is frequently\ncombined with four pairs of black bars, placed in the middle of each side\nof the square, pointing towards the centre. Similar pairs of black bars\nare figured in the B. N. MS. (p. 3) on the manta of Mictlantecuhtli, with\nstars, around one of his symbols, a spider. They likewise recur on two of\nseveral sacrificial papers on p. 69, amongst which one exhibits a diagonal\ncross, another the S-sign, while others display realistic drawings of\nstars with six or eight points.\n\nThe pairs of bars figure in the hieroglyph designated by Maya scholars as\nthe sign for _Kin_, the sun, which may be seen in the centre of large\ndiagonal cross-symbols in fig. 18, VII, VIII, from the Dresden Codex: The\ncross, of fig. 18, VII, is composed of two bones and two arrowpoints, a\nparticularly interesting combination considering that in the Maya a bone\nis _bak_, an arrow is _kab-cheil_ and the name given to the gods of the\nfour quarters “the sustainers of the world,” is _Bakab_. It cannot be\ndenied that the phonetic elements of this name occur in the words for\nbones and arrows which form the cross, symbolic of the four quarters. In\nfig. 18, VIII, the cross may be composed of four bones, but of this I am\nnot certain. In both cases, however, the crosses rest on a curious double\nand parti-colored symbol and are associated with serpent signs, in which\nthe open jaws and teeth are prominent features. It is noteworthy that\nwhile “can” or “cam” is the Maya for serpent, the word “camach” means jaw.\nThe figure consisting of the upper jaw only of a serpent, in the left hand\ncorner of the band above, fig. 18, VIII, proves, therefore, to be a\ncursive phonetic sign for serpent.\n\nThe parti-colored symbol combined with the cross obviously signifies a\nduality, such as light and darkness, the Above and the Below and a series\nof dualities—possibly the two divisions of the year, the dry and rainy\nseasons. In Mexico we are authorized by documentary evidence, to give a\nwider and deeper interpretation to the symbol of duality, for it can be\nabsolutely proven that the Mexican philosophers divided the heavens into\ntwo imaginary portions, and respectively identified these with the male\nand female principles.\n\nIn Nahuatl the West was designated as Cihuatlampa, “the place or part of\nthe women.” The souls of the women who had earned immortality were\nsupposed to dwell there, whilst the souls of the men resided in the East.\nIn the appendix to book III of Sahagun’s Historia, it is described how,\naccording to the native belief, the souls of the male warriors hailed the\ndaily appearance of the sun above the eastern horizon, and escorted it to\nNepantla, the zenith. Here the souls of the women awaited it and assumed\nthe duty of escorting the sun to the western horizon, the symbol for which\nwas calli=the house. The above passage indicates that the native\nphilosophers imagined across the middle of the sky a line of demarcation,\nseparating the portions of the heaven respectively allotted to the male\nand female souls. For four years after death these souls retained their\nhuman form, and then, after passing through nine successive heavens,\nentered into the celestial paradise where they assumed the forms of\ndifferent kinds of butterflies and humming-birds. The names of these are\nenumerated in the Nahuatl text of Sahagun’s Laurentian MS. (book III).(5)\nThe symbolism of the humming-bird has already been explained by a passage\ncited from Gomara’s Historia. In this connection it is extremely\ninteresting to find the humming-bird represented in the B. N. MS., as\nsucking honey from a flower, which is attached by a cord, covered with\nbird’s down, to a bone, the symbol of death.\n\nThis peculiar but expressive group of symbols figures only on the\nhead-dresses of deities wearing certain other symbols, amongst which we\nfind the Eca-cozcatl and Eca-xonequilli the image of Ursa Minor, already\ndescribed.\n\nThe merest indication of the association of a circumpolar constellation\nwith the idea of death (disappearance) and resurrection (re-appearance) is\nof special interest, since the ancient Mexicans located the Underworld,\nthe “place of the dead,” in the North. Reflection showed, however, that\nsuch an association could only have suggested itself to the minds of\nstar-observers living in southern latitudes, approximate to the equator,\nor in localities where the northern horizon was more or less shut off from\nview by intervening mountains. In such places Polaris would appear\ncomparatively close to the boundary-line of the northern sky so that the\nUrsa constellations and Cassiopeia would be invisible to the local\nastronomers at midnight during that period of the year when one or the\nother of the star-groups seemingly stretched between Polaris and the\nnorthern horizon. A glance at plate I shows that, at the present time, it\nis about the period of the autumnal equinox that Ursa Minor would be\ninvisible at midnight, in such localities, while Ursa Major would\ngradually disappear from view towards midnight, during a certain number of\nnights, according to latitude and locality, between the autumnal equinox\nand the winter solstice whilst Cassiopeia would seem to hover above the\nhorizon. The total or partial alternate periodical disappearance of the\ntwo most familiar star-groups in the extreme North and their re-appearance\nafter sometimes regular intervals of time could but have made a profound\nimpression upon primitive astronomers and thinkers. Whilst the mere\nperiodical reversal of the positions of Cassiopeia and Ursa Major\nsuggested alternate victory and defeat, the actual though brief and\npartial disappearance of either star-group must have appeared to be a\ndescent into an under-ground space, associated with darkness and death,\nfollowed by a resurrection. In his Cronica, Tezozomoc records, besides\nMictlan (the land of the dead), another name for the underworld,\nOpochcal-ocan, literally, the place of the house to the left. This\nappellation can only be understood when it is realized that, in a\nsufficiently southern latitude, an observer, watching the setting of a\ncircumpolar constellation below the horizon, would always see it disappear\nto his left and subsequently rise to his right. It is evident that in time\nthis fact would give rise to the association of the left with the\nunderworld, the lower region, and the right with the region above. The\nnative idea of a dwelling in the underworld is further demonstrated by the\nbestowal of the symbol _calli_=house, upon the western horizon below which\nall heavenly bodies were seen to disappear. A definite connection between\nthe West and one half of the North being thus established, it would\nnaturally result that a corresponding union of the South and East would be\nthought of in time, and that these quarters would become associated with\nthe rising of celestial bodies, _i. e._, with light, the Above, while the\nopposite quarters became identified with their setting, _i. e._, with\ndarkness, the Below.\n\nPausing to review the foregoing conclusions, which I have shown to be the\nnatural and inevitable result of simple but prolonged astronomical\nstudies, observation and plain reasoning, we see that they led to a\nconception of the Cosmos as divided into seven parts, _i. e._, the fixed\nCentre, the pivot, primarily suggested by Polaris who was regarded as the\ncreative, generative and ruling power of the universe; the Four Quarters,\nseemingly ruled by the central force and associated with the elements; the\nAbove and the Below, suggested by the rising and setting of celestial\nbodies and associated with light and darkness, sky and earth, etc., etc.\n\nMany of my readers will doubtless recognize at once that the above\norganization of the Cosmos into the Centre or Middle, the Above and the\nBelow, and the Four Quarters, is precisely that which the Zuñi priests\ntaught Mr. Frank Cushing, when they initiated him into their secret\nbeliefs. Other explorers have recorded the same conception amongst\ndifferent native American tribes and with these proofs that this set of\nideas is still held on our Continent at the present time, I point out the\nfact that the Maya figures (fig. 18, VII and VIII, from the Dresden Codex)\nbecome perfectly intelligible only when interpreted as representing the\nCentre, the Four Quarters, the Above and the Below, the latter figured by\nthe dark and light halves of the dual sign. Furthermore, I can demonstrate\nthat this fundamental set of elementary, abstract ideas, furnishing the\nfirst principles of organization, is plainly visible under the surface of\nthe ancient Mexican civilization and can be traced not only in Yucatan and\nCentral America, but also in Peru. In these countries, as I shall show, it\nassumed an absolute dominion over the minds of the native sages, directly\nsuggesting the forms of government and social organization existing at the\ntime of the Conquest and faintly surviving to the present day. It entirely\ncontrolled the development of aboriginal religious cult and philosophical\nspeculations and pervaded not only the native architecture and decorative\nart, but also all superstitious rites and ceremonies, and entered into the\nvery games and pastimes of the people.\n\nThe following table presents the bare outline of the scheme of\norganization exposed in the preceding text. In making it I have, after due\nconsideration, definitely adopted the assignment of the Mexican symbols\nand colors to the cardinal points given by Friar Duran in the\nCalendar-swastika contained in his atlas and reproduced (pl. II, _g_).\n\n\n    Each of these is North; West; South; then East.\n    Symbols: Tecpatl, Flint; Calli, House; Acatl, Cane; Tochtli,\n    Rabbit.\n    Colors: Red; Yellow; Blue; Green.\n    Elements: Fire; Earth; Air; Water.\n    Warmth; Darkness; Breath; Rain.\n\n    Together, North and West are The Below, the “female” region.\n    TEZCATLIPOCA=MICTLANTECUHTLI.\n\n    South and East are The Above, the “male” region, HUITZILOPOCHTLI.\n\n    Combined, they are The Centre.\n    The dual, generative, ruling and directive Force.\n    QUETZALCOATL.\n    The Divine Twin.\n\n\nBefore proceeding to examine more closely the great edifice of human\nthought which was reared, in the course of centuries, on the ground plan\ndesignated above, we must retrace our steps and consider what a deep\nimpression the gradual realization of the changes in the relative\npositions of Polaris and certain familiar star-groups must have produced\nupon those who were the first to realize them. Transporting ourselves back\nto the gray dawn of civilization, let us endeavor to understand the\nposition of the native priest astronomers who, having received and\ntransmitted a set of religious and cosmical ideas, based on the assumption\nof the absolute and eternal immutability of the centre of the heaven,\nPolaris, gradually became aware that it also was subject to change,\nevidently obeyed an unseen higher power and that the ancient order of\nthings, recorded by their predecessors, had actually passed away.\n\nIt is obvious that, in all centres of astronomical observation and\nintellectual culture, a complete revolution of fundamental doctrine or\nthought must have taken place. A period of painful misgivings and doubt\nmust have been passed through, during which an earnest and anxious\nobservation of all celestial bodies must have seemed imperative and\nobligatory. Under such circumstances astronomy must have made great\nstrides and astronomical observation become the foremost and highest duty\nof the intellectual leaders of the native races. Pyramids and temples\nwould be built for the purpose of verifying and recording the positions of\nsun, moon, planets and stars, and the orientation of these buildings would\nbe carefully planned accordingly. Before obtaining glimpses of the great\nevolution of religious thought which progressed on our Continent in olden\ntimes, it is well to realize, by means of Piazzi Smyth’s map (fig. 6) that\nthe world ceased to possess a brilliantly conspicuous, absolutely\nimmovable pole-star for a prolonged period of time, stretching somewhere\nbetween 500 B.C. and 1200 A.D.\n\nThe ancient native chronicles record that under “divine” leadership great\nmigrations of tribes took place within this period, the purpose of which\nwas to find a locality which fulfilled certain ardently-desired conditions\nconnected with religious cult.\n\nFrom various centres of civilization in Mexico and Central America we also\nhear different accounts of how, at different times, small bands of earnest\nmen, under a leader of superior intelligence, bent on a peaceable but\nunexplained errand, arrived from distant regions and departed for an\nunknown goal, after delaying just long enough to teach social organization\nand impart a higher civilization to the tribes encountered on their\npassage.\n\nThese preserved the memory of the _title_ of the leader, in their\ndifferent languages and he became the culture-hero of their tribe. The\nfact that, in each case, these sages taught the ignorant tribes the\ndivision of time and instituted the calendar, proves that they were\nskilled in astronomy.\n\nFrom a sentence uttered by Montezuma to the native astronomers whom he\ntermed “the Sons of the Night,” we learn that it was their custom “to\nclimb mountains” so as “to study the stars.” When one considers the full\nimport of the problems which had to be faced by these ancient sages, who\nearnestly endeavored to account for the great changes which had taken\nplace in the heavens, within the memory of man, it seems natural to\nsuppose that many an expedition was undertaken for the purpose of\nacquiring further astronomical knowledge, of finding, perhaps, the\nimmovable star which had been revered in past ages by the ancestors of the\nnative race.\n\nThe cult of Polaris may well have made such expeditions assume the aspect\nof an imperative religious duty and sacred pilgrimage. As all expeditions\nacross Mexico and Central America would necessarily be limited by the\noceans and be fruitless as far as Polaris was concerned, it is obvious\nthat the line of exploration which would be ultimately adopted, would run\nfrom south to north and _vice versa_. A small band of enthusiasts, setting\nforth under the leadership of some of the most advanced thinkers of the\ntime, would undoubtedly have been prepared to devote their entire lives to\nthe object in view. As long as a single member of such an expedition\nexisted, he would be a powerful and active agent in spreading the\nfundamental set of ideas derived from the observation of Polaris. In lapse\nof time, by transmission, its influence might travel to a region too\nremote perhaps for direct contact to have taken place.\n\nIf I have indulged in the foregoing line of conjecture and surmise, it is\nbecause it is my purpose also to demonstrate, by absolute proof, that the\ndominion of the above set of ideas extended over Yucatan, Honduras,\nGuatemala and even reached Peru, where its influence is distinctly\nvisible.\n\nIt also extended far to the north in prehistoric times, for certain carved\nshell-gorgets which have been found in prehistoric graves in Illinois,\nMissouri and Tennessee exhibit emblems which have definite meanings in the\nMaya language, spoken in Yucatan.\n\nIn order to maintain this assertion I must make a slight digression from\nthe main subject and revert to the myth already cited, recording the\ncasting down from heaven of Tezcatlipoca who arose and ascended again in\nthe form of an ocelot. There are interesting native pictures of this\ncombat and the fall of the ocelot in the Vatican Codex II, p. 34, the\nFéjérvary Codex, p. 56, and others equally important, representing the\nfall or descent of an eagle from the sky, to which I shall revert.\n\nIt is moreover recorded by Mendieta (p. 82) that Tezcatlipoca likewise\ndescended or let himself down from the sky by a spider’s thread, and in\nthe Bodleian MS. (p. 12) there are two curious pictures one of an ocelot\nand a cobweb, the other of an ocelot, descending head foremost from stars.\nThe same incident is also pictured in the Vienna Codex (p. 9) where the\nocelot, attached by the tail, is connected by a cord with star-emblems.\n\nThere are two facts of special interest in regard to the above descent of\nTezcatlipoca by a spider’s thread. The first is that the title\nTzontemoc=“he who descends head foremost” is recorded in the Codex\nFuenleal immediately after the name Mictlantecuhtli. The second is that\nthe spider is figured on the manta of Mictlantecuhtli in the B. N. MS. and\nis sculptured in the centre, above his forehead, in his sculptured image,\nidentified as such by Señor Sanchez (Anales del Museo Nacional III, p.\n299) and reproduced here (fig. 19). It represents “the lord of the North\nor Underworld” descending, head foremost, with a tecpatl or flint knife\nissuing from his mouth and with outspread limbs, the outlines of which are\nalmost lost under the multitude of symbols which are grouped around him.\nThese symbols are carefully analyzed in my commentary on the B. N. MS. in\nwhich I also describe other known carved representations of the same\nconception and point out analogous pictures in the Maya Codices. The\nposition of the limbs of the descending figure is best understood by a\nglance at fig. 20, II, from the Dresden Codex. It represents a bar with\ncross symbols from which a human body is descending. The feet rest on dual\nsymbols, about which more could be written than the scope of the present\npaper allows. A tecpatl or flint knife, attached to the body by a double\nbow with ends, may be seen between the dual symbols, and its presence is\nof utmost importance since it proves that the Mayas also associated the\nflint with the same figure. Instead of a head the body exhibits a sort of\nequidistant cross with four circles. Strange to say, the only analogous\ncross-figures I have been able to find in all the Codices are those\nreproduced in fig. 20, I, III, and IV. The latter exhibits a curious,\nconventionalized flower growing on the top of a pyramid. Its stem and\nleaves are painted brown and are spotted, resembling the skin of an\nocelot. As there is a Mexican flower, the Tigridia, of which the native\nname was ocelo-xochitl, it may be that it is this which is thus\nrepresented. Fig. 20, III, from the B. N. MS., figures as a sacred cake,\nalongside of the S-shaped xonecuilli breads which were made in honor of\nUrsa Minor at a certain feast. Finally, fig. 20, I, represents a certain\nkind of ceremonial staff which is inserted between the two peaks of a\nmountain—a favorite method employed by the native scribes, to convey the\nidea that the object figured was in the exact centre. This kind of staff\noccurs frequently in certain Codices, sometimes being carried by a high\npriest. It invariably exhibits a flower-like figure with five circles and\nis surmounted by a tecpatl or flint knife. Without pausing to discuss the\nsubject fully I merely point out here that, collectively, these symbols\nexplain each other and convey the idea of the Centre and the Four Quarters\nevidently associated with the tecpatl, the symbol of the north, and the\nocelot and xonecuilli=Ursa Minor. It is particularly interesting to note\nthat the outspread human body is made to serve as a sort of cross-symbol.\nA careful study of the conventional representation of the face of “the\nlord of the North,” in fig. 19, gives the impression that it was also used\nto convey the idea of duality, or the union of two in one. The upper half\nof the face exhibits a numeral on either cheek under the eyes, seeming to\nconvey the idea of dualities. The two circular ear ornaments, united by a\nband above the head, and the two nostrils united in one nose, seem to\nconvey the idea of the union of the dualities, whilst the lower half of\nthe face, which is rendered strikingly different to the upper, by being in\nhigher relief and marked with perpendicular lines, exhibits a mouth from\nwhich a flint knife, with symbolical eye and fangs carved on it, is\nhanging like a tongue. I have already shown that the flint knife was\nregarded as the sacred producer of the “vital spark.” I may add here that\nI have also found, in the Codices, tecpatl-symbols on which the curved\nsymbol of air or breath was figured. To my idea the sculptured face is\nmeant to symbolize the dual creator, the dispenser of the spark and breath\nof life, whilst the human skull on his back betokens that he is also the\ngiver of death. Though unable to enter fully into the subject here, I\nwould nevertheless state that I can produce further data to prove that the\nhuman face was frequently employed for a symbolical purpose by the native\nAmerican races who were evidently entirely under the dominion of the idea\nof duality, of the Above and Below and the life-producing union of both.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 19.\n\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 20.\n\n\nThe question why the spider, named “tocatl” in Nahuatl, should have been\nadopted as the chief symbol of Mictlantecuhtli, occupied me much until I\nfound the clue to its significance in the Maya language. In this the word\nfor North is _Aman_ and the name for “the spider whose bite is mortal,” is\n_Am_. This striking fact may be interpreted as a positive proof that the\nspider-symbol, employed by the Mexicans, must have originated in Yucatan,\nfrom the mere homonymy of two Maya words.\n\nOn the other hand shell-gorgets exhibiting the effigy of a spider, and\nobviously intended to be worn with its head turned downwards, have not\nonly been found in Illinois but also in Tennessee and Missouri. On the\ngorgets from the latter States a cross is carved on the body of the spider\n(fig. 22, _a_). As certain spiders exhibit cross-markings, it is, of\ncourse, possible that it was chosen as a cross-symbol for this reason\nonly, in some localities, just as the butterfly was evidently adopted in\nMexico, as an apt image of the Centre and the Four Quarters on account of\nits shape and its possession of four wings. The conventionalized figure of\na butterfly, with a star on its body and four balls, painted with the\ncolors of the quarters, was a sacred symbol which is minutely described by\nSahagun and is figured on a manta in the B. N. MS. A glance at its\nreproduction (fig. 21, no. 13) shows how the form of the insect has been\nconventionalized so as to resemble the ollin (no. 12) and other Mexican\ncross-symbols (nos. 2, 4, 11, 14 etc.). The eye or star in its centre,\nlike that in the ollin, and circle (no. 4), signify Polaris; the\nconventionalized head and antennæ are obviously made to convey the idea of\n“two in one,” of the Above and Below united in the Centre.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 21.\n\n\nI venture to suggest that the dragon-fly was employed as a cross-symbol in\nan analogous manner, on the Algonquin garment preserved at the Riksmuseum,\nStockholm, and described by Dr. Hjalmar Stolpe in his admirable study on\nAmerican art (Amerikansk Ornamentik, Stockholm, 1896, p. 30). As I shall\nrevert to it later on, I now draw special attention to the circumstance\nthat instead of the cross, on a spider-gorget from Tennessee, there is a\nround hole which, when the shell-disc is held aloft, lets a ray of light\nshine through and furnishes an apt presentation of a star. This and the\ncross furnish analogies to the Mexican and Maya symbols of Polaris which\nare too obvious to need to be emphasized. Nor do these gorgets alone\nfurnish an undeniable indication that an identical symbolism extended from\nYucatan to Illinois. Other gorgets, also figured in Mr. Wm. H. Holmes’\nmonograph “Art in Shell,” several of which are in the Peabody Museum, from\nthe stone graves in Tennessee, exhibit variously carved representations of\na serpent. In all specimens the identical idea is carried out: the eye of\nthe serpent forms the centre of the design on the disc and four circles on\nthe body of the reptile, or four solid bars, interrupting a hollow line\nencircling the central motif, emphasized a division of the disc into four\nequal parts. The idea of the Serpent in repose, the Centre and the Four\nQuarters is thoroughly carried out and the true meaning of the design is\nonly appreciated by the light of the Maya and Mexican symbolism which has\nalready been so fully discussed.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 22.\n\n\nThe third Tennessee gorget reproduced here (fig. 22, _c_), from Mr.\nHolmes’ work, exhibits a combination of numerals which is particularly\ninteresting if confronted with the sacred numbers of the Mexicans and\nMayas. From a central circle three curved lines issue in a fashion\nresembling those on fig. 21, no. 2, but the fact that the circular band\nexhibits seven double circles and the outer edge is divided into thirteen\nparts, is of special moment. Still another design, on a shell-gorget from\nTennessee, not only exhibits the peculiarity, pointed out by Mr. Holmes,\nof a square with loops, resembling certain figures in Mexican Codices, but\nalso other significant details which I shall point out (fig. 22, _b_). The\ncross in the centre occupies the centre of a star with eight rays and the\nfour birds’ heads at the sides of the square illustrate rotation from\nright to left. I am inclined to view in this gorget an emblem of Polaris\nwith Cassiopeia in rotation around it, figured as a bird, but whether this\nis the case or not it must be conceded that it is indeed remarkable to\nfind a set of symbols, consisting of the spider, the cross, the serpent\nand the bird, carved on prehistoric gorgets found in the United States\nwhilst the deep meaning of these identical symbols is furnished by Maya\nand Mexican records. I venture to remark here that no more expressive and\nappropriate ornament than these shell-gorgets could have been designed, or\nworn by the ancient Maya or Mexican priests, prophets and leaders who, in\na remote past, had guided themselves by the light of Polaris and\ninstituted its cult as the basis of their native religion.\n\nOn realizing the above-mentioned identity of symbolism, it is impossible\nnot to conclude that the prehistoric race which inhabited certain parts of\nthe United States was under the dominion of the same ideas as were the\nMexicans and Mayas. The indications point, in fact, to the probability\nthat the origin of the employment of the spider-symbol originated in\nYucatan, and if this be admitted then there is no reason to deny the\npossibility that the serpent-symbol came from there also, since the Maya\nlanguage suggests an affinity between the serpent, _can_, and the\nsky=_caan_, and the numeral 4=_can_. I refrain, for the present, from\nexpressing any final conclusion on this subject, which will doubtless\nafford ample food for reflection and argument to all interested in the\nimportant problem as to where the cradle of ancient American civilization\nwas situated. But these symbolic gorgets go far towards substantiating\nProfessor Putnam’s oft-expressed conclusions that the ancient peoples of\nthe central and southern portions of the United States were, to a certain\nextent, offshoots of the ancient Mexicans.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 23.\n\n\nBefore abandoning the subject of native symbolism and star-emblems I\nshould like to present, as a curiosity, with an appeal to specialists to\nenlighten me as to the astronomical knowledge of the Eskimos, an Eskimo\ndrawing from Professor Wilson’s instructive and useful monograph. It is\nsaid to represent a “flock of birds,” but so closely resembles Cassiopeia\nand Polaris that I am tempted to view it as an indication that the Eskimos\nmay also have associated the idea of a celestial bird, or birds, wheeling\naround a central point, with the constellation and the pole-star (fig.\n23). Having once ventured so far afield, I cannot refrain from presenting\nhere an interesting set of aboriginal star-symbols, reproduced from\nProfessor Wilson’s comprehensive work (fig. 24), each composed of a cross\ncombined, with a single exception, with a circle. I draw attention to the\nstriking resemblance of some of these signs to those painted on the finely\ndecorated pottery found on the hacienda of Don José Luna, in Nicaragua,\nand described by J. F. Brandsford, M.D. (Archaeological Researches in\nNicaragua, Smithsonian Inst., 1881, p. 30, B), and suggest that, in both\nlocalities, the symbol may be a rudimentary swastika, and represent\nPolaris and circumpolar rotation.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\nPlate III. 1. Shell gorget, Missouri. 2, 5-14. Pottery vessels, Arkansas.\n    3, 4, 15-17, 19-28. Pottery vessels, Missouri. 18. Pottery vessel,\n Kentucky. 6. National Museum. 3, 16, 17, 21, 24, 25. St. Louis Academy.\n   All others Peabody Museum. Willoughby, “Pottery from the Mississippi\n       Valley.” Journal of American Folk-lore, January-March, 1897.\n\n\nIn conclusion I refer the reader to Mr. C. C. Willoughby’s valuable and\nmost interesting “Analysis of the decorations upon pottery from the\nMississippi Valley” (Journal Amer. Folk-lore, vol. X, 1897), in which he\nfigures the remarkable specimens preserved in the Peabody Museum,\nCambridge, the designs on which, as he states, “are mostly of symbolic\norigin and have been in use among various tribes within the historic\nperiod from the Great Lakes to Mexico.” With the kind permission of the\neditor of the Journal, I reproduce some of Mr. Willoughby’s illustrations\non Plate III.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n    Figure 24. Crosses And Circles Representing Star Symbols, Arizona.\n\n\nReturning to consider the probable result of the gradual diffusion of\nstar-cult owing to natural causes and of the consequent divergence from\nthe idea of the Centre, which had so deeply influenced the minds of\nprimitive men during many centuries, with earnest, and extended\nastronomical observation, keeping pace with the development of the idea of\nthe Above and Below, it is obvious that the utmost attention would be next\ngiven to the conspicuous star groups and planets which are visible at\ncertain times and then seem to have departed or descended into the under\nworld. Any one who has read the interesting communications by Herr Richard\nAndree (Globus. bd. LXIV, nr. 22), On the relation of the Pleiades to the\nbeginning of the year amongst primitive people, followed by a note by Herr\nKarl von den Steinen on the same subject, will realize that\nwidely-separated tribes of men, by dint of simple observation, knew the\nexact length of the periodical appearance and disappearance of this star\ngroup and regulated their year accordingly. Herr Andree cites, for\ninstance, that “in the Society islands, the year was divided into two\nportions, the first of which was named Matari-i-inia=the Pleiades above.\nIt began and lasted during the time when these constellations were visible\nclose to the horizon after sunset. The second period, named\nMatarii-i-raro=the Pleiades below, began and lasted for the time during\nwhich the star-group was invisible after sunset” (W. Ellis, Polynesian\nResearches, vol. II, p. 419, London 1829). That the ancient Mexicans had\nlikewise observed the Pleiades and been deeply impressed by them is proven\nby the well-known fact that the ceremony of the kindling of the sacred\nfire, which betokened the commencement of a new cycle, was performed “when\nthe Pleiades attained the zenith at midnight precisely.” In my complete\nmonograph in the ancient Mexican calendar-system it will be my endeavor to\npresent all the data I have collected concerning the degree of elementary\nastronomical knowledge attained by the native astronomers. I shall,\ntherefore, content myself with pointing out here that besides the\nforegoing testimony about the Pleiades, the native name for which was the\nmiec=the many, or the tianquiztli=the marketplace, there are records\nproving that the cult of the planet Venus was a firmly established feature\nof the native religion at the time of the Conquest. Sahagun records that\nthe Nahuatl names for this planet were citlalpul or hueycitlallin both\nsignifying “the great star.” “In the great temple of Mexico an edifice\nnamed ilhuicatitlan [literally, the land of the sky] consisted of a great,\nhigh column, on which the morning star was painted.... Captives were\nsacrificed in front of this column annually, at the period when the star\nre-appeared” (_op. cit._ appendix to book II).\n\nWith regard to the connection of the Pleiades with the beginning of the\nMexican cycle, it is interesting to note Herr Andree’s statements that the\nmost intimate connection of the star-group with the thoughts of primitive\npeople, would naturally take place in such localities where its periodical\nmovements coincided with the changes of season, wind and weather which\naffected agriculture. A survey of the data presented by Herr Andree shows\nthat the cult of the Pleiades attained its greatest development amongst\ntribes inhabiting a southerly latitude. It was in South America, indeed,\nthat the Peruvians, alongside of their highly developed sun-cult, rendered\nhomage and offered sacrifices to the Pleiades. In Mexico, the cult of the\nPleiades appears as intimately associated with that of the sun and to have\nassumed importance only in historical and comparatively recent times,\nprobably when the periodicity of the sun’s movements had been taught or\nrecognized and the sign _ollin_, which is an exact presentation of the\nannual course of the sun, had been invented and adopted as a symbol. I\nhave already pointed out that this sign occurs on the calendar-stone, for\ninstance, which has a human face in its centre, bearing two numerals on\nthe forehead and obviously symbolizing the union of two in one. In other\ninstances the centre displays the eye, or star symbol and conveys the\nsuggestion that the “four movements” of the circumpolar constellations\nwere thereby symbolized. It may be that, in ancient Mexico, the two\nsymbols, respectively referring to the movements of the sun and of the\ncircumpolar star-groups, were emblematic of the two different cults or\nreligions which existed alongside of each other. The first, the cult of\nthe Above, of the Blue Sky, was directed towards the sun and the planets\nand stars intimately associated with sunrise and sunset, amongst them the\nPleiades. The cult of the Below, of the Nocturnal Heaven, was directed\ntowards the moon, Polaris and the circumpolar constellations—also to the\nstars and planets during the period of their disappearance and possibly in\nthe same way to the enigmatical “Black Sun,” figured in the B. N. MS.\nwhich may have been the sun during its nightly stay in the House of the\nUnderworld, whose door was in the west. In order to obtain an idea of the\nimmense proportions ultimately assumed by these two diverging cults and\nthe enormous influence they exerted upon the entire native civilization,\nit will be necessary to examine the form of the social organization in\nMontezuma’s time.\n\nIn order to comprehend this, however, it is first necessary to study\ncarefully the myths relating to its origin. Torquemada (lib. VI, chap. 41)\ncites the authority of Friar Andreas de Olmos for the following native\naccount of the creation of man, which was differently recounted to him in\neach province. He states that the majority of the natives, however, agreed\nthat “there was in heaven a god named ‘Shining Star’ (Citlal-Tonac) and a\ngoddess named ‘She of the starry skirt’ (Citlal-Cue), who gave birth to a\nflint knife (Tecpatl). Their other children, startled at this, cast the\nflint down from the sky. It fell to earth at the place named ‘Seven caves’\nand ‘produced 1,600 gods and goddesses,’ ” a figure of speech which\nevidently expressed the idea that, in coming in forcible contact with the\nsoil the flint gave forth sparks innumerable which conveyed vitality to\nnumberless beings. It is evidently the same idea of “life sparks” being\ncalled into existence by the union of heaven and earth which underlies the\nTexcocan version of the creation of man recorded as follows by Torquemada\n(_op. et loc. cit._). “The sun ... shot an arrow towards the land of\nAcolma near the boundary of Texcoco. This made a hole in the ground whence\nissued the first man....”\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 25.\n\n\nThe illustrated version of the above myths, given in the Vatican Codex I,\ndesignates the celestial progenitor of human life as Quetzalcoatl, also\nnamed Tonaca-Tecuhtli=the lord of our subsistence, Chicome-xochitl=“Seven\nroses or flowers” and Citlalla-Tonalla=“The Milky Way,” literally, The\nshining stars. The dual divinity is figured (fig. 25, no. 4) as two\npersons with the shaft of an arrow over each of their heads and with the\nsymbol Tecpatl=flint, between them as the issue of their union. In the\nBorgian Codex (fig. 25, no. 1), a barbed arrowpoint, instead of the\nTecpatl, figures between the celestial parents. Their union is symbolized\nby a covering, the shape of which, in further representations (fig. 25,\nnos. 3 and 5) in the same MS., offers resemblance to the tau-shaped\nwindows which are such a common feature in Maya and also in Pueblo\narchitecture (fig. 25, no. 2_b_). The preceding data, which could be\namplified, seem to show that the natives associated the tau-shape not\nmerely with the idea of the Male and Female principles, but also with the\nAbove and the Below, or Heaven (air and water) and Earth (earth and fire).\nI shall have occasion, further on, to refer again to the symbolism of the\nnative tau.\n\nThe above illustrations, however, definitely prove that the flint knife\nand the arrow (with a flint point, presumably), were indiscriminately\ndesignated as the medium by means of which the spark of life was created\nand imparted to earth-born beings.\n\nIt will be proved further that, at the period of the Conquest, the arrow\nwas revered as an image of life-producing force in Yucatan and Mexico. The\nflint knife cased in wrappings was called “the son” of Cihuacoatl, the\nearth-mother, and was regarded as her special symbol. It is significant,\ntherefore, to find that it was the emblem of office of one of the two high\npriests, who alone employed it, as a sacrificial knife, in performing his\nawful duty of immolating human victims.\n\nThe fact that the cane-shaft of an arrow figures above the head of the\ncelestial couple in the Vatican Codex is particularly interesting because\nthe name Ome-Acatl=Two-Cane, is given as the name of a divinity by Sahagun\n(book I, chap. 15) and that the ceremony of kindling the New Fire, at the\ncommencement of a cycle of years was also associated with the calendar\nsign Ome-Acatl (Sahagun, book VII, chap. 10).\n\nAt a certain festival images of Omacatl were manufactured and carried by\nthe devout to their houses in order to receive from them “blessings and\nmultiplication of possessions” (Sahagun, book II, chap. 19).\n\nI draw attention to the fact that life is supposed to have proceeded from\nthe union of stellar divinities, that the Tecpatl and flint are the\nwell-known symbols for the North and Fire and that the Vatican commentator\nidentifies the celestial parent as “Seven-Flowers.” What is more, Duran\n(vol. I, pp. 8 and 9) relates that the native race was organized into\nseven separate tribes and that these “claimed to have come out of ‘seven\ncaves’ (Chicom-oztoc) which were situated in Teo-Culhuacan or Aztlan ‘a\nland of which all men know that it is in the North.’ ” Now Teo-Culhuacan\nis composed of the word Teotl, which designated the stars, the sun, the\ngods and, by extension, something divine or celestial. Culhua (_cf._\nColoa) means something bent over or recurved, or the action of describing\na circle by moving around something, and _can_ means “the place of” in\nNahuatl. This locality is represented in the picture-writings by a strange\nand impossible mountain with a recurved summit (fig. 26, no. 1). Aztlan\nliterally means “the land of whiteness, brightness, light.” In Duran’s\nAtlas the seven caves are represented as containing men and women—the\nprogenitors of the seven tribes. The order in which these are described,\nin the Mexican myth, as having issued from the caves, is instructive and\nsheds light upon the provenance and purpose of the tradition. It\nrepresents the Mexicans as the superior predestined race who remained in\ntheir cave the “longest, by divine command,” their “god having promised\nthem this land.” The tradition relates that six tribes reached and settled\ndown in the central plateau of Mexico, 302 years before the Aztecs\narrived, under the leadership of Huitzilopochtli an oracular divinity,\nwhose commandments were transmitted to the people by four priests (Duran,\nchap. II).\n\nIn my opinion it is impossible to study the above and supplementary data\nwithout realizing that the native race assigned its origin to a dual\nstar-divinity, associated with the Tecpatl, the symbol for the North and\nfor Fire. The peculiarity that the divinity is designated as\nSeven-flowers, and that there were seven tribes, indicates that the native\nidea was that each tribe came from one of the seven stars in Ursa Major or\nMinor. The Aztecs seem to have claimed for themselves the descent from the\nsuperior star, the central one, and to have thus justified or supported\ntheir ultimate establishment of a central government which ruled over the\nother six tribes.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 26.\n\n\nThe assumption that the native race claimed descent from the Ursa Major or\nMinor constellation is further supported by the fact that the shape of the\nmythical recurved mountain and the name Aztlan=land of light or brightness\nare simultaneously explained, as well as the number of caves and tribes.\nIt does not seem to be a mere coincidence that in two totally different\nCodices (the Selden MS. p. 7, Kingsborough, vol. 1, and the B. N. MS., p.\n70) a sacred dance is represented as executed by seven individuals who\nmove around a central seated personage. In the latter MS. the seated\nfigure wears a head-dress surmounted by flint knives and his face is\npainted _red_ the color assigned to the North. Moreover the dance is\ntaking place before an image of Mictlan-Tecuhtli, the lord of the North,\nwhose raiment is strewn with cross-symbols. Referring to other native\ndances we find that the most sacred of all dances was performed at the\nfestival of the god of fire by priests only, who, smeared with black paint\nto typify darkness and night, carried two torches in each hand and first\nsat, then slowly moved, in a circle, around the “divine brazier,” and\nfinally cast their torches into it (Duran II, p. 174). This, probably the\nmost ancient of sacred dances, must have been extremely impressive and\nsignificative to those who witnessed it, at night-time, from the base of\nthe pyramid and heard the distant solemn chant of the dancers. To watchers\nfrom afar, the fire and the lighted torches revolving around must have\nseemed like a great central star with other stars wheeling about it.\n\nFurther on, it will be shown that the earliest form under which the Deity\nwas revered was that of fire and the foregoing description fully explains\nwhy it was first chosen as the most fitting image of the central immovable\nstar. It has already been shown that, in the popular game of “the flyers,”\na high pole surmounted by one man served as the pivot for the\ncircumvolation of the four performers, who “acted” the “flight of time.”\nThe idea of an extended rule, proceeding from a central dual force, was,\nhowever, carried out on a grand scale in the most solemn of all public\ndances named the Mitotiliztli. Duran (II, p. 85) states that as many as\n“8,600 persons danced in a wheel in the courtyard of the Great Temple,\nwhich had four doorways, facing the cardinal points and opening out on to\nthe four principal high roads leading to the capital. The doorways were\nrespectively named after the four principal gods and were spoken of as\n‘the doorway of such and such a god.’ ”\n\nClavigero, to whose work (Historia, ed. Mora, Mexico, 1844, p. 234) I\nrefer the reader for further details, describes the dances at the time of\nthe Conquest as having been most beautiful, and relates that the natives\nwere exercised in these, from their childhood, by the priests. This\nauthority also relates that the Mitotiliztli was performed by hundreds of\ndancers at certain solemn festivals, in the great central square of the\ncity or in the courtyard of the temple, and gives the following\ndescription:\n\nThe centre of the space was occupied by two individuals (designated\nelsewhere as high priests) who beat measure on sacred drums of two kinds.\nOne, the large huehuetl, emitted an extremely loud, deep tone, which could\nbe heard for miles and was usually employed in the temples as a means of\nsummoning to worship, etc. The second, the teponaztle, was a small\nportable wooden drum which was usually worn suspended from the neck by the\nleader in warfare and emitted the shrill piercing note he employed as a\nsignal. The chieftains (each of which personified a god) surrounded the\ntwo musicians, forming several concentric circles, close to each other. At\na certain distance from the outer one of these, the persons of an inferior\nclass were placed in circles and these were separated by another interval\nof space, from the outermost circles, composed of young men and boys. The\nillustration given by Clavigero records the order and disposition of this\nsacred dance, which represented a kind of wheel, the centre of which was\noccupied by the instruments and their players. The spokes of the wheel\nwere as many as there were chieftains in the innermost circle. All moved\nin a circle while dancing and strictly adhered to their respective\npositions. Those who were nearest the centre, the chieftains and elders,\nmoved slowly, with gravity, having a smaller circle to perform. The\ndancers forming the outer circles were, however, forced to move with\nextreme rapidity, so as to preserve the straight line radiating from the\ncentre and headed by the chieftains. The measure of the dance and of the\nchorus chanted by the participants was beaten by the drums and the\nmusicians asserted their absolute control of the great moving wheel of\nhuman beings, by alternately quickening or slackening the measure. The\nperfect harmony of the dance, which successive sets of dancers kept going\nfor eight or more hours, was only disturbed occasionally by certain\nindividuals who pushed their way through the lines of dancers and amused\nthese by indulging in all sorts of buffoonery. No one, on reading the\nabove description of the most ancient and sacred of native dances can fail\nto recognize that it was an actual representation of axial rotation and\nthat no more effective method of rendering the apparent differences in the\ndegrees of velocity in the movements of the circumpolar and equatorial\nstars, could possibly have been devised. The fact that this dance was a\nmost solemn and sacred rite, whose performance was obligatory to the\nentire population, indicates that it constituted an act of general\nobedience and homage and a public acknowledgment of the absolute dominion\nof a central dual, ruling power.\n\nIt is particularly interesting that, in this dance, the latter is\nrepresented by two individuals who respectively employ the sacred drum of\nthe priesthood, and that used by war chieftains only (the one instrument\nemitting a low and the other a high tone); for the culture hero of the\nTzendals, Votan, who, with the aid of his followers, taught this tribe the\ncivil laws of government and the religious ceremonials, was entitled “the\nMaster of the sacred Drum.” (See Brinton, American Hero-Myths, p. 214.)\n\nReverting to the organization of the native race into seven tribes and the\nwandering of the seventh and principal division, under the leadership of\nHuitzilopochtli: according to Tezozomoc (Cronica, p. 23), Huitzilopochtli\nwas accompanied by “a woman who was called his sister and was carried by\nfour men. She was a powerful sorceress, possessed the power of assuming\nthe shape of an eagle, had made herself greatly feared and caused herself\nto be adored as a goddess.” Indignant at her arrogance the priests\ncounselled a course which was adopted by the Mexicans. The woman and her\nfamily were left behind at Malinalco where they settled and populated a\ntown, whilst the other portion of the tribe, under strictly masculine\nrule, advanced towards Tula where they established themselves. “This was\nthe second division which had taken place, amongst the Mexicans or Aztecs\n... and when they reached Tula they found their number greatly\ndiminished.” This same incident is related with greater detail by\nTorquemada (vol. I, chap. II) from which we learn what a great animosity\nwas felt against the woman. On one occasion, which I shall not pause to\ndescribe, two war chiefs menaced her. The “talk” she gave them in return\nis so remarkable that it deserves to be quoted in full; for it affords a\ndeep insight into the native mode of expression, teaches us the titles of\nthe woman and shows that her position was undoubtedly one of powerful\nauthority.\n\n“I am Quilaztli, your sister and of your tribe ... you know this and yet\nyou think that the dispute or difference you have with me is like an\nordinary one, such as you might wage with any ordinary base woman, who\npossessed little spirit or courage. If you indulge in this thought you are\ndeceiving yourselves, for I am valiant and manly and my titles will oblige\nyou to acknowledge this. For besides the ordinary name of Quilaztli, by\nwhich you know me, I also possess four titles, by which I know myself: the\nfirst of these is Cihuacoatl=the Woman-serpent (or twin); the second is\nQuauh-Cihuatl=the Eagle-woman; the third is Yao-Cihuatl=the Woman-warrior\nand the fourth is Tzitzimi-Cihuatl, the Woman of the Underworld. From the\nproperties or qualities conveyed by these titles you can appreciate who I\nam; what power I yield and what harm I can do you and if you want to test\nthe truth of this, here is my challenge!”\n\n“The two brave captains, undaunted by the arrogant words by which she\nattempted to terrify them, responded: ’If you are as valiant as you\ndescribe yourself to be, we are not less so; but you are a woman and it is\nnot meet that it should be said of us that we took up arms against women;’\nand without speaking further they left her, much affronted that a woman\nshould challenge and defy them. And they kept silence about this\noccurrence so that their people should not know of it.” Señor Alfredo\nChavero (appendix, p. 125, to Duran’s Historia, Mexico, 1880), commenting\nupon this passage, says: “It is impossible to doubt that this tradition\nrefers to an important event in the history of the Aztec tribe.... I think\nit contains the record of a religious struggle.”\n\nThe full significance of the narrative will become clear, I think, when\nthe following points are dwelt upon. One thing is certain: here is a\nhistorical personage, a woman, who was termed _the sister_ of\nHuitzilopochtli, who evidently exerted a high authority and whose titles\nwere actually the names of the highest female divinity. Sahagun (book VI,\nchap. 37) states that Quilaztli, a goddess, the same as Cihuacoatl, was\nthe mother of all and was also named Tonant-zin=“our mother.” What is more\nsignificant still is that, in all historical records antedating the\nConquest, a man bearing the feminine title of Cihuacoatl=serpent woman, is\ndistinctly and repeatedly mentioned as the coadjutor of the Mexican ruler.\nMr. Ad. Bandelier, in his careful study “On the social organization and\nmode of government of the Ancient Mexicans” (Twelfth Annual Report of the\nPeabody Museum of Am. Arch, and Ethn., Cambridge, 1879) to which I refer\nthe reader, discusses the relative positions of Montezuma and the\nCihuacoatl and states: “there is no doubt about their _equality_ of rank\nthough their duties were somewhat different” (p. 665). This equality is\nillustrated by the records that both rulers shared the same privileges\nregarding dress. Thus they alone wore sandals and the Cihuacoatl is termed\n“the second or double of the king, his coadjutor” (Duran, chap. XXXII, p.\n255 and Tezozomoc, chap. XL, p. 66). The latter author, however, gives the\nfull “sacred title” as Tlil-Potonqui Cihuacoatl, literally, “the\nblack-powdered woman-serpent” and we thus learn that, whilst Montezuma’s\ngarments were habitually blue like Huitzilopochtli, his coadjutor, like\nTezcatlipoca, was associated with black. It is well known that some of the\nMexican priests always smeared their bodies with black, which was\ntherefore their special mark.\n\nTo my idea the foregoing data, with circumstantial evidence too diffuse to\nbe conveniently produced, clearly indicate that at one time, in the early\nhistory of the Aztec race, it had been governed jointly by a male and a\nfemale ruler on a footing of perfect equality, the one being the living\nrepresentative of the Above or masculine elements and the other\npersonifying the Below or feminine elements. The fact that Cihuacoatl is\nnamed “the sister” of Huitzilopochtli shows that the female ruler was not\nnecessarily his wife, although she was his coadjutor in her own right.\nBoth rulers were respectively served by four persons presumably of their\nrespective sex. Besides these Duran (chap. 3) records that “there were\nalso other seven teotls=lords, who were much reverenced on account of the\nseven caves out of which the seven tribes had come.”\n\nWe thus perceive that at one time the chief authority was vested in a man\nand a woman, his sister, who enjoyed a perfect equality. Four persons\nadministered the government of each ruler and each of the seven tribes had\n“its honoured representative.” For how long this organization had existed\nit is impossible to tell. Dissension arose and division supervened, but to\nthe time of the Conquest the identical form of government was in force\nwith the remarkable difference that the title and office of the\nCihuacoatl, originally held by a woman, were held by a man, whom I do not\nhesitate to identify as one of the two “supreme pontiffs,” whose emblem of\noffice was the flint knife, the offspring of Cihuacoatl, the earth-mother.\n\nHistorical evidence shows that this alteration had not been made without\nbloodshed and renewed difficulties. Thus it is related that, long after\nthe Mexicans had separated from the sister of Huitzilopochtli and her\nadherents, they were induced to “ask the daughter of the ruler of\nCulhuacan to become the Queen of the Mexicans and mother of their god. She\nconformed with their request but was subsequently killed by her subjects,\nwho flayed her body and dressed a youth in her skin [a figure of native\nspeech which symbolized his assumption of her office]. Under this form she\nwas revered as a goddess, was named our grandmother and ‘the mother of the\ngod,’ etc.” These and the following details, taken from well-known\nauthentic native sources, are attractively rendered in the “Newe Welt und\nAmerikanische Historien” (Johann Ludwig Gottfriedt. Frankfurt-a.-M., 1613,\npp. 54 and 55).\n\nAgain, after the Mexicans had been settled at Tenochtitlan for some time,\nthey desired to make an alliance with the King of Culhuacan and therefore\n“chose to nominate, as their ruler, Acamapichtli, who was the son of a\nMexican chieftain by a daughter of the Culhuacan ruler” and evidently\nlived with the latter. For it is related that, on giving his consent, the\nking of Culhuacan stated that if only a _woman_ (of his family) had been\nnominated he would have refused (to trust her to the Mexicans). The\nfarewell words he addressed to Acamapichtli are worthy of quotation: “Go\nmy son, serve thy god, be his representative. Rule the creatures of the\ngod by whom we live; the god of day, of the night and of the winds. Go and\nbe the lord of the water and land owned by the Mexicans.”\n\nAs it is subsequently stated that Acamapichtli _and his queen_ were\nreceived at Tenochtitlan with great honors, it would seem as though the\nMexicans who, from some deeply-rooted religious idea, considered it\nessential to have a female ruler of the line of the king of Culhuacan,\nobtained their desire only by accepting a male member of her family as a\nprotection and safeguard for her sacred person. It may be that for the\nreasons of safety and preservation the female ruler, who was the living\nrepresentative of the Cihuacoatl, gradually retired into absolute\nseclusion whilst a man of her kin assumed, in public, her title and\nprerogatives.\n\nUnless it is assumed that this was the case, it seems impossible to\nexplain why Acamapichtli is designated in the Codex Mendoza (Kingsborough,\nvol. I, pl. II) as having begun to rule in the year I Tecpatl or flint\n(approximately corresponding to A.D. 1364) with the title of\n“Woman-serpent”=Cihuacoatl. From this date the title seems always to have\nbeen borne by a man. When human sacrifices had become a prominent feature\nof the native cult and it became a duty of the Cihuacoatl to perform the\nbloody rite, it is obvious that it became impossible for a woman to fill\nthe position.\n\nWe obtain, however, glimpses of the shadowy form of an invisible and\nvenerable female ruler who is at the head of the “House of Women,” watches\nover the welfare of the women of the tribe and officiates as a priestess,\nwith her assistants, at births, baptisms and marriages. In order to\naccount for the obscurity which surrounds her, it should be noticed that\nthe mere fact that the ideas of darkness and seclusion became indelibly\nassociated with the female sex, would naturally and inevitably cause women\nto be housed up, veiled and condemned to comparative inaction and\nimmobility. A primitive stage in the growth of the above idea is shown in\nthe case of the Huaxtecas, the women of which tribe wore abundant covering\nwhilst the men, on religious principle, wore none. A careful study of the\nconditions surrounding the Cihuacoatl or high priest shows that he also\nconformed to the exigencies of his position when he acted as the\nrepresentative of the hidden forces of Nature, of the female principle. He\nand the entire priesthood smeared their bodies with black, cultivated long\nhair, and wore, during the performance of certain religious ceremonies, a\nwide and long garment reaching to the ground. It is noticeable that the\ndesigns on the garments of the priests, in the B. N. MS., are invariably\nexecuted in red and yellow, the symbolical colors of the north and west,\ncombined with black the symbol of the union of both, the Below. In this\nconnection it is noteworthy that in Mexican pictography the faces of women\nare usually painted yellow—the color of the West=the female region. The\nassociation of darkness, concealment and secrecy, with the female\nprinciple, is exemplified by the fact that a building in the enclosure of\nthe Great Temple of Mexico, named the “house of darkness,” was dedicated\nto the earth-mother=Cihuacoatl (Sahagun, appendix to book II). Other\ntemples of hers are described as being cave-like, underground, dark, with\na single low entrance, the door of which was sometimes sculptured in the\nform of the great open jaws of a serpent. Only priests were allowed to\npenetrate into these mysterious chambers where sacred and secret rites\nwere performed and a sacred fire was also kept burning in an adjoining\nchamber. Evidence, which I shall produce further on, establishes that the\nhigh-priest Cihuacoatl dwelt, at times, in a house named “place of\ndarkness” and annually sacrificed a human victim in honor of the lord of\nthe underworld, in an edifice called “the navel of the earth.”\n\nThe religious cult of one-half of the Mexican hierarchy was distinctly\nnocturnal. The chief duties of certain priests were astronomical\nobservation and the supervision of the sacred fire, which was kept\nperpetually burning on the summit of each temple-crowned pyramid, in what\nwas termed “the sacred or divine brazier” of sculptured stone. Two priests\njointly watched by night and day and received and transmitted to the\nflames the incense offerings of the devout. The temple fires were\nextinguished only at the expiration of a cycle of fifty-two years and were\nthen rekindled by the high priest at midnight precisely, with impressive\nsolemnity.\n\nIn ancient Mexico, it should however be observed, although the logical\nassociation of women with the hidden forces of nature, the underworld and\nthe Below, had exerted a certain influence over her practical existence,\nit had not yet given rise to the idea of her inferiority as compared to\nman, the associate of the Heaven, the Above, the visible and active forces\nof nature. The native sages did not identify her so intimately with the\nearth as to deny her the possession of a soul—the celestial spark. On the\nother hand it is curious to note that the Nahuatl word for wife is\nCihua-tlan-tli and for husband is Te-o-quichtli. Is it possible that the\nparticle _tlan_ in the first and _Teo_ in the second may have contributed\nto strengthen the association of the woman with earth=tlalli (tlan=land\nof) and the man with Teotl, the sun, something divine and celestial? In\ncourse of time it doubtlessly would have transpired, in Mexico as\nelsewhere, that the set of primitive ideas which, during untold centuries,\nimposed upon women seclusion, obscurity and inactivity and thus hindered\nher development of strength of body and mind, would have directly induced\nan inferiority. This has been subsequently proclaimed, as we know, in many\ncountries, as a direct proof of her lower nature and of her affinity with\nthe element earth. The assumed and actual inferiority of woman may\ntherefore be regarded as the logical, inevitable but artificial result of\nprimordial classification and association. Suggested by the same natural\nphenomena which were visible to all inhabitants of the same latitudes,\nthese ideas occurred to all people at a certain stage of their development\nand exerted a dominating influence over the subsequent growth of their\nintelligence. It is but now, that, unconsciously, mankind is beginning to\nemerge from the leading strings of its infancy, which became an iron\nbondage to its prolonged childhood. In Mexico, at the period of the\nConquest, the absolute equality of the male and female principles was\ntheoretically maintained. At the same time it is possible to discern\ncertain agencies at work which were tending to connect the Below, the\nfemale principle, with harm and evil. From time immemorial it had been the\ncustom of the Chichimecs, who, according to Sahagun (book XII, chap. 12,\npar. 5), inhabited an extremely poor and barren region of Mexico, to\nsacrifice the first animal killed in a hunting expedition and to offer it\nto “the Sun whom they called father and to the earth their mother.” They\nsevered its head and raised this as though offering it to the sun. They\n_then tilled the earth where the blood had been spilt_ and left the animal\nwhich had been sacrificed, on the spot (Ixtlilxochitl, Historia Chichimeca\nchap. VI and Relaciones p. 335). This passage, establishing the\ncultivation of the soil where the blood had been spilt, sheds a flood of\nlight on the origin of the offerings of human blood and the sacrifices of\nhuman life, which were such a prominent and hideous feature of the Aztec\nreligion.\n\nAt the beginning of the sixteenth century, instead of the blood being\nspilt directly upon the earth, to insure and increase the fruitfulness of\nthe soil, a human being was stretched across a conical stone which became\nthus the image of the earth-mother, his heart was extracted and offered to\nthe sun, the Above, and his blood was then smeared on the mouth of certain\nidols representing the Below. In the B. N. MS. an interesting illustration\nand account are given of an idol of the earth-mother who is figured as\nstanding on a pedestal adorned with skulls and cross-bones with\noutstretched tongue which signified, “that she always had great thirst for\nhuman blood” and “never refused sacrifices offered to her.”\n\nTwo priests are likewise pictured in the act of offering bowls containing\nhuman blood to the idol and a third, mounted on a ladder, is pouring the\ncontents of another bowl over its head. It is obvious how the constant\nassociations of the earth-mother with sanguinary sacrifices and\nbloodthirstiness would, in time, give rise to the idea of a hostile,\nmaleficent power, linked with darkness and devouring fire, who, under the\naspect of the serpent-woman, waged an eternal warfare on the human race\nand clamored for victims and bloody sacrifices. The natural sequence to\nthe above associations is that in ancient Mexico the powers exerting fatal\ninfluence upon the human race are all represented as female, viz.: the\nCihuacoatl or woman-serpent, the Ciuapipiltin and the Tzit-zime, etc.\nThese and various other personifications of the female principle are\ndescribed in detail in my notes and commentary to the B. N. MS.\n\nAfter considering the foregoing data it seems impossible not to conclude\nthat it must have taken centuries of time for the idea of duality, or of\nthe Above and Below to have taken such a deep hold upon the native mind\nand to have produced such a growth of symbolism and association in so many\nramifications of thought. Let us endeavor to obtain a further insight into\nthe native mode of thought by carefully studying some significant details\nconcerning the social organization of the Mexicans from the time of\nAcamapichtli to that of Montezuma and the influences it had been subjected\nto gradually. This, the first ruler, unquestionably ruled as the\nCihuacoatl, a name which means either Woman-serpent or Female-twin. This\nfact in itself testifies to an epoch-making change in the organization of\nthe Mexican government, in the making of which a concession was made to a\npreviously existing order of things, by the retention of the female title\nby a male ruler.\n\nHaving carefully studied the question for many years, I have long\nconsidered it proven that when the Mexicans settled in the valley of\nMexico they came under a series of influences emanating from an ancient\nand highly cultured centre of civilization situated in the south, which\nhad followed, during untold centuries, the same lines of primitive thought\nwhich have been stated. This question of contact and influence from an\nolder civilization is so important and the material I have collected on\nthe subject is so extensive and complex, that it cannot be adequately\ntreated here. Further on I shall discuss at length certain historical data\nthrowing light on ancient contact and influences. Meanwhile I may as well\nstate here that, having carefully weighed all testimony, I accept as amply\nproven and well supported, the testimony of Las Casas, Torquemada,\nMendieta and others, who record that the Mexican culture-hero Quetzalcoatl\nwas an actual person who had come to Mexico from Yucatan twice and had\nfinally returned thither, leaving a small colony of his vassals behind him\nwhose influence upon the religious and social organization and symbolism\nof the tribes, inhabiting the central plateau, can be plainly discerned.\nMontezuma himself, in his famous speech to Cortés, which the latter\ncarefully reported to the Emperor Charles V, states that: “we [the Mexican\nrulers] were brought here by a lord, whose vassals all of our predecessors\nwere, and who returned from here to his native land. He afterwards came\nhere again, after a long time, during which many of his followers who had\nremained, had married native women of this land, raised large families and\nfounded towns in which they dwelt. He wished to take them away from here\nwith him, but they did not want to go, nor would they receive or adopt him\nas their ruler, and so he departed. Hut we have always thought that his\ndescendants would surely come to subjugate this country and claim us as\ntheir vassals....” (Historia de Nueva España. Hernan Cortés, ed.\nLorenzana, p. 81; see also p. 96). I do not see how it is possible to\nconstrue such plain, unadorned statements of simple, common-place facts\ninto the assumption that Montezuma was recounting a mythical account of\nthe disappearance of the Light-god from the sky, as upheld by some modern\nwriters, who interpret the whole episode as a sun-myth or legend.\n\nI have already shown that the meaning of the ocelot-skin and the spider,\nemployed as symbols by the Mexicans, is apparent only when studied by\nmeans of the Maya language of Yucatan, the land whence the culture-hero is\nsaid to have come by the foregoing authorities. I will add here that in\nthe Maya chronicles, it is stated that the culture-hero had ruled in\nChichen-Itza, the first part of which name, _Chichen_, means _red_. In\nMexican records it is described that he departed by water from the Mexican\ncoast and travelled directly east, bound for Tlapallan—a name which means\n_red_-land. I draw attention to the fact that any one sailing from the\nmouth of the Panuco river, for instance, in a straight line towards the\neast, would inevitably land on the coast of Yucatan, not far from the\nmodern Merida and the ancient ruins of Chichen-Itza.\n\nI shall also produce evidence, further on, to show that the meaning of the\nmuch-discussed name of the culture-hero’s home, Tullan, is also furnished\nby the Maya language. From more than one source, we learn, moreover, that\nthere were several Tullans on the American continent. The conception of\n_Twin-brothers_ as the personification of the Above and Below had been\nadopted in Yucatan and it is to the influence emanating from that source\nthat I attribute the movement made in Mexico, to substitute male\ntwin-rulers in the place of the man and woman, who had previously and\njointly ruled the ancient Mexicans.\n\nLet us now analyze the Maya title Kukulcan, of which Quetzalcoatl is the\nMexican equivalent. As already stated, the word _can_ means serpent and\nthe numeral 4 and is almost homonymous with the word for sky or\nheaven=_caan_. The image of a serpent, therefore, directly suggested and\nexpressed the idea of something quadruple incorporated in one celestial\nbeing and appropriately symbolized the divine ruler of the four quarters.\nIn the word Kukulcan the noun _can_ is qualified by the prefix _kukul_. In\nthe compiled Maya dictionary published by Brasseur de Bourbourg (appendix\nto de Landa’s Relacion) the adjective _ku_ or _kul_ is given as “divine or\nholy.” Kukulcan may therefore be analyzed as “the divine serpent” or the\n“Divine Four.” When Maya sculptors or scribes began to represent this\nsymbol of the divinity they must have searched for some object, easy to\ndepict, the sound of whose name resembled that of ku or kul. The Maya\nadjective “feathered” being _kukum_, the artists evidently devised the\nplan of representing, as an effigy of the divinity, a serpent decorated\nwith feathers and to this simple attempt at representing the “divine\nserpent” in sculpture or pictography is due, in my opinion, the origin of\nthe “feathered serpent” effigies found in Yucatan and Mexico, which have\nso puzzled archaeologists.\n\nOf Kukulcan, the culture-hero of the Mayas, it is recounted that he had\nbeen one of four brothers who originally ruled at Chichen-Itza, over four\ntribes. “These brothers chose no wives but lived chastely and ruled\nrighteously, until, at a certain time, one died or departed and two began\nto act unjustly and were put to death. The one remaining was Kukulcan. He\nappeased the strife which his brothers’ acts had aroused, directed the\nminds of the people to the arts of peace and caused to be built various\nedifices. After he had completed his work at Chichen-Itza he founded the\ngreat city of Mayapan, destined to be the capital of the confederacy of\nthe Mayas.” (See Brinton, Hero-myths, p. 162.) Friar Diego de Landa\nrelates that the current opinion amongst the Indians of Yucatan was that\nthis ruler had gone to Mexico where, after his return (departure?) he was\nnamed Cezalcouatl and revered as one of their gods (Relacion, ed. Brasseur\nde Bourbourg, p. 36). Before analyzing the Nahuatl rendering of Kukulcan’s\nname I would point out the noteworthy coincidence that, during his reign\nat Chichen-Itza and Mayapan, he practically united in his person and\nassumed the offices formerly fulfilled by four rulers, of which he had\nbeen only one.\n\nI would, moreover, draw attention to the remarkable, sculptured columns\nwhich support the main portal of the main pyramid-temple called El\nCastillo at Chichen-Itza. These represent gigantic feathered serpents and\nare figured on pl. XIV of Mr. Wm. Holmes’ most instructive and useful\n“Archaeological Studies,” Part I, “Monuments of Yucatan.” The feathers\ncarved on the massive columns are evidently the precious tail feathers of\nthe quetzal, which have the peculiarity of exhibiting, according to the\nway the light falls upon them, blue, red, yellow and green\ncolors—precisely those assigned to the four quarters by the Mexicans and\nfor all we know to the contrary, by the Mayas. Whether this feather was\nchosen for this peculiarity or for its beauty only, as that with which to\ndeck the effigy of the divinity, can, of course, only be conjectured. In\nMexico numberless effigies of feathered serpents exist. The resemblance of\nthe sound of the Nahuatl words: feather=ihuitl, and heaven or\nsky=ilhui-çatl, should be recorded here as a possible reason for the\nassociation of feathers with the serpent and as a means of conveying the\nidea of its divinity. It should also be noted that quetzal, the name of\nthe most precious feathers the natives possessed, resembles in sound, the\nsecond part of the Nahuatl words for flame=tle-cueçal-lotl, or for “tongue\nof fire”=tle-cueçal-nenepilli. That the feathered serpent was an image of\nthe divinity is finally proven, I think, by the following passage from\nSahagun which establishes that the earliest form, under which the divinity\nwas revered by the Mexicans, was that of fire: “Of all the gods the [most]\nancient one is the God of Fire, who dwells in the midst of flowers, in an\nabode surrounded by four walls and _is covered with shining feathers like\nwings_” (_op. cit._ book VI, chap. IV). It is thus shown that whilst the\nword ihuitl=feather suggested something divine, the word quetzal, besides\nbeing the name of a particular kind of feather, conveyed the idea of\nsomething resplendent or shining [like fire]. The name for serpent, coatl,\nsignified twin; thus there is a profound analogy between the Maya and\nMexican symbol, pointing, however, to the Yucatan form as the most\nancient.\n\nLet us see how the name Quetzal-coatl occurs in Mexico. It is given as the\nname of the “supreme god whose substance was as invisible and intangible\nas air,” but who was also revered as the god of fire. The constant\nreference to air in connection with the supreme divinity caused him to be\nalso adored as the god of air and of the four winds. On the other hand,\nthe divine title of Quetzal-coatl was carried by the culture-hero whose\npersonality has been discussed and who was a Yucatec ruler and high\npriest. Sahagun (_op. cit._ book III, chap. IX) informs us that\n“Quequet-zalcoa,” the plural form of the word Quetzalcoatl, was employed\nto designate “_the high priests_ (elsewhere designated as the ‘supreme\npontiffs’) _who were the successors of Quetzalcoatl_.” He also states that\n“the high priest of the temple was [the representative of] the god\nQuetzalcoatl” (book I, chap. 5). “The priest who was most perfect in his\nconduct and in wisdom was elected to be high priest and assumed the name\nof Quetzalcoatl.... There were two such high priests equal in rank and\nhonours.... One of these, the Quetzalcoatl Totec Tlamacazqui, was in the\nservice of Huitzilopochtli.” Without pausing here to analyze this title\nsince it will be discussed in detail in another publication I will only\nrepeat that, after years of careful research, I have obtained the\ncertainty that the foregoing title and office were those held by Montezuma\nat the time of the Conquest. What is more, I can produce ample evidence to\nprove that he was the living personification of Huitzilopochtli one of the\n“divine twins” and of the Above. He was not the first Mexican ruler who\nhad filled this exalted rôle, for it is recorded that Axayacatl, one of\nAcamapichtli’s successors, had represented, in life, “our god\nHuitzilopochtli.” After his death his effigy “was first covered with a\nfine robe representing Huitzilopochtli; over this was hung the dress of\nTlaloc ... the next garment was that of Youalahua [=the lord of the wheel]\nand the fourth was that of Quetzalcoatl” (Duran, vol. I, chap. 39, pp. 304\nand 306).\n\nLet us now see how Montezuma’s personification of Huitzilopochtli was\ncarried out by his life and his surroundings. According to Bernal Diaz, an\neye-witness, when the great Montezuma came forth in state to meet Cortés,\nhe was conveyed on a sumptuous litter, being thus raised above the\nearth.(6) When he descended from this and walked, the golden soles of his\nsandals prevented his feet from coming into direct contact with the\nground; he was supported, _i. e._ partially held up, by his four principal\nlords, and a baldachin adorned with light greenish-blue feathers, gold,\npearls and jade representing the xoxouhqui-ilhuicatl=“the verdant or blue\nsky” (which was, by the way, a title of Huitzilopochtli), was carried over\nhis head. Other lords preceded him, “sweeping the ground and spreading\nblankets upon it so that he should not tread upon the earth. All of these\nlords did not dare to think of raising their eyes to look at his face—only\nthe four lords, his cousins, who supported him, possessed this privilege”\n(Bernal Diaz, Historia Verdadera de la Conquista. Madrid, 1632, p. 65). A\nfeature, the origin of which can be directly traced back to the\nassociation of the star-god, Polaris, with repose and immovability, was\nthat Montezuma, like his predecessors, was the only person privileged to\nsit on state occasions, on a throne or raised seat with a high back and\nrest whilst all other individuals stood or moved about him.\n\nFrom several sources we know that Montezuma habitually wore blue or white\nattire, which sometimes was of open network. He employed gold, precious\nblue and green feathers, turquoise, pearls and emeralds for his personal\nornaments. His diadem with a high point in front, was incrusted with\nturquoise or was made of burnished gold. He sometimes wore a crown made of\nfeatherwork, with a bird’s head of gold above his forehead. His emblem was\nthe sun, the orb of day, and he presided over its cult which had developed\nitself simultaneously with the cult of the Above, a feature of which was\nthe offering of “birds, butterflies and flowers.” Sometimes he wore,\n“attached to his sandals, small wings, named tzi-coyolli, resembling the\nwing of a bird. These produced a sound like that of tiny gold bells when\nhe walked” (Tezozomoc, Cronica, p. 594).\n\nIt must be admitted, on reading the foregoing descriptions gleaned from\nSahagun’s Historia, that it would be impossible to carry out, more\nperfectly and completely, the idea that Montezuma was the earthly\nrepresentative of the Upper regions, the blue heaven. By pushing symbolism\nso far that he actually wore wings on his feet and avoided contact with\nthe ground, it is not surprising that Montezuma’s adversaries, amongst\nneighboring tribes, should accuse him of exacting divine honors for his\nown person. At the same time there is no doubt that his own subjects\nrevered him merely as a temporary representative and mouth-piece of the\nimpersonal dual divinity. This idea is clearly conveyed by some native\nharangues, to which I refer the reader, and from which I extract the\nfollowing passages:\n\nAfter his election, the ruler is solemnly addressed by one of the chief\nlords who says to him: “Oh! our humane, pious and beloved lord, who\ndeserves to be more highly esteemed than all precious stones and feathers,\nyou are here present because our sovereign god has placed thee [above us]\nas our lord.... You possess the seat and throne which was given [to your\npredecessors] by our lord god” ... “you are the image of our lord god and\nrepresent his person. He reposes in you and he employs you like a flute\nthrough which he speaks and he hears with your ears.... Oh, lord king! God\nsees what the persons do who rule over his domains and when they err in\ntheir office he laughs at them, but in silence, for he is god, and is\nomnipotent and can mock at whom he will. For he holds all of us in the\npalm of his hand and rocks us about, and we are like balls or round globes\nin his hands and we go rolling from one side to the other and make him\nlaugh, and he serves himself of us as we go moving about on the palm of\nhis hand!”\n\n“Although thou art our neighbour and friend and son and brother, we are no\nmore thy equals, nor do we consider you as a man, for now you have the\nperson, the image, the conversation and the communion of our lord god. He\nspeaks inside of you and instructs you and lets himself be heard through\nyour mouth—his tongue is your tongue, and your face is his face ... he has\nadorned you with his authority and has given you fangs and claws so that\nyou should be feared and reverenced ...” (Sahagun, book VI, chap. 10).\n\nThe foregoing figure of speech in which fangs and claws are alluded to as\nsymbols of fear-inspiring power affords as valuable an insight into the\nnative modes of thought and expression as do the similes employed in the\nfollowing address to the newly-elected ruler by the spokesman of his\nvassals.\n\n“Oh lord! may you live many years to fill your office prosperously; submit\nyour shoulders to the very heavy and troublesome load; extend your wings\nand breast as a shelter to your subjects whom you have to carry as a load.\nOh, lord! let your town and vassals enter under your shadow, for you are\n[unto them] like the tree named puchotl or aueuetl, which casts a great\ncircle or wheel of shade, under which many are gathered in shelter” (_op.\ncit._ book VI, chap. II).\n\nThe admonition also addressed to the ruler, “Never to laugh and joke again\nas he had done previously to his election, and to assume the heart of an\nold, grave and severe man,” explains the true significance of the name of\nMontezuma or Mo-tecuh-zoma; which was an honorific title literally\nmeaning, “our angry or wrathy [looking] lord.”\n\nWhilst the above data establish beyond a doubt that the Mexican\nQuetzalcoatl was regarded as the visible representative of the celestial\nruler of the universe and that divine honors were voluntarily accorded to\nhim, it is interesting to read Montezuma’s explanation to Cortés\nconcerning this question. The latter writes: “seated on a raised seat\nMontezuma discoursed as follows: ... ‘I know that you have been told by my\nenemies that I am, or have made myself a god.’... Raising his robes he\nshowed me his body saying: ‘Here you see that I am made of flesh and bone,\nlike yourself or like any one, and that I am mortal and tangible.’\nGrasping his arms and his body with his hands he continued: ‘see how they\nhave like to you.’ ”... (Historia, Hernan Cortés, ed. Lorenzana, p. 82).\nBetter than all dissertations, the above words convey an idea of the naïf\nsimplicity of the man who uttered them.\n\nReferring the reader to Mr. Ad. Bandelier’s study, “On the social\norganization and mode of government of the ancient Mexicans,” for further\ndetails concerning the duties respectively filled by Montezuma and his\ncoadjutor, I shall only explain here the conclusion I have reached that\nthe former was the high priest of the cult of the sun and heaven, the\nvisible ruler, the war lord, and the administrator of justice. As stated\nin a native harangue: “the supreme lord is like unto the heart of the\npopulation ... he is aided by two senators in all concerning the\nadministration of the government: one of these was a ‘pilli’ and was named\ntlaca-tecuhtli; the other was a warrior and was entitled tlacoch-tecuhtli.\nTwo other chieftains aided the supreme lord in the militia: one, entitled\ntlaca-teccatl, was a ‘pilli’ and warrior; the other, named\ntlacoch-calcatl, was not a ‘pilli.’ Such is the government or\nadministration of the republic ... and these four officers did not occupy\nthese positions by inheritance but by election” (Sahagun, book VI, chap.\n20).\n\nThe following account of the republic of Tlaxcalla throws further light\nupon the form of government which prevailed throughout Mexico and Central\nAmerica at the period of the Conquest. “The Captains of Tlaxcalla, each of\nwhom had his just portion or number of soldiers ... divided their soldiers\ninto four Battails, the one to Tepeticpac, another to Oco-telulco, the\nthird to Tizatlan and the fourth to Quiahuiztlan, that is to say, the men\nof the Mountains, the men of the Limepits, the men of the Pinetrees, and\nthe Watermen; all these four sorts of men did make the body of the\nCommonwealth of Tlaxcallan, and commanded both in Peace and War ... The\nGeneral of all the whole army was called Xico-tencatl, who was of the\nLimepits ... the Lieutenant General was Maxix-catzin....” (A new survey of\nthe West-Indies ... Thomas Gage, London, 1655, p. 31). In Mexico we find\nthat the four executive officers were the chiefs or representatives of the\nfour quarters of the City of Mexico. In each of these quarters there was a\nplace where periodical offerings were made in reverence of one of the\nsigns: acatl, tecpatl, callii and tochtli, which were the symbols of the\ncardinal-points, the elements, and served as day and year signs in the\ncalendar (Sahagun, book II, chap. 26).\n\nAn interesting indication that the entire dominion of Mexico was also\ndivided into four equal quarters, the rule administration of which was\nattended to by four lords, inhabiting towns situated within a\ncomparatively short distance from the capital, is furnished by Bernal Diaz\n(_op. cit._ p. 65). He relates that the four lords who supported Montezuma\nwhen he walked in state to meet Cortés were the lords of Texcoco,\nIztapalapa, Tacuba and Coyoacan. These towns, which were minor centres of\ngovernment, were respectively situated at unequal distances to the\nnortheast, southeast, northwest and southwest of the capital.\n\nThese facts and the knowledge that “all lords, in life, represented a god”\njustify the inference that, just as Montezuma represented the central\npower of the Above or Heaven, the four lords who accompanied him were the\npersonified rulers of the four quarters, associated with the elements. In\nancient Mexico and Maya records the gods of the four quarters, also named\n“the four principal and most ancient Gods” are designated as “the\nsustainers of the Heaven” and it cannot be denied that, on the solemn\noccasion described, the four lords actually fulfilled the symbolical\noffice of supporting Montezuma, the personification of the Heaven. This\nstriking illustration is but one of a number I could cite in proof of the\ndeeply ingrained mental habit of the native sages to introduce, into every\ndetail of their life, the symbolism of the Centre, the Above and Below and\nthe Four Quarters. I shall but mention here that it can be proven how, in\ntheir respective cities the lords of the cardinal points were central\nrulers who, in turn, directed the administration of the government by\nmeans of four dignitaries. Each of these was also the embodiment of a\ndivine attribute or principle, “All noblemen did represent idols and\ncarried the name of one” (Acosta, Naturall and Morall Historie, lib. 5, p.\n349).\n\nEach wore a special kind of symbolical costume and was the ruler or\n“advocate,” as he is termed, of a distinct class of people. “For to each\nkind or class of persons they gave a Teotl [=God or Lord] as an advocate.\nWhen a person died and was about to be buried, they clothed him with the\ndiverse Insignia of the god to whom he belonged” (Mendieta lib. II, chap.\n40). It being established that each of the four year-symbols, acatl,\ntecpatl, calli and tochtli, ruled four minor symbols, it seems evident\nthat, just as the four lords of the cardinal-points would correspond to\nthe above symbols, each of the minor lords and the category of people they\nrepresented would also be associated with the minor symbols. The obvious\nresult of this classification would be the division of the entire\npopulation of the commonwealth into 4×5=20 categories of people, grouped\nunder twenty local and four central governments, whose representatives in\nturn were under the rule of the supreme central dual powers. Having thus\nsketched, in a brief and preliminary way, the expansion of the idea of\ndividing all things into four parts, the bud of which was the swastika,\nlet us examine the Mexican application of the idea of duality, pausing\nfirst to review the data relating to the Cihuacoatl, the personification\nof the Earth, the Below and the coadjutor of Montezuma.\n\nNothing has been definitely recorded about his personality, for he seems\nto have lived in absolute seclusion during the first occupation of Mexico\nby the Spaniards. He is frequently alluded to, however, and Cortés,\nHerrera, Torquemada and others, inform us that he had acted as Montezuma’s\nsubstitute and led the native troops against the Spaniards. It is\ninteresting to find that after the Conquest Cortés appointed him as\ngovernor of the City of Mexico. “I gave him the charge of re-peopling the\ncapital and in order to invest him with greater authority, I reinstated\nhim in the same position, that of Cihuacoatl, which he had held in the\ntime of Montezuma” (Carta Cuarta, Veytia I, p. 110).\n\nQuite indirectly, it is possible to learn what sort of military equipment\nhad been adopted by the Cihuacoatl when he acted as war-chief. Amongst\ncertain presents, which were sent by Cortés to Charles V and are minutely\ndescribed in vol. XII of the “Documentas ineditas del Archivio de Indias,”\np. 347, there are several suits of armor, which could only have been\nappropriately worn by the “woman serpent.” One suit consisted of a\n“corselet with plates of gold and with woman’s breasts” and a skirt with\nblue bands. Another suit, instead of the breasts, exhibited a great wound\nin the chest, like that of a person who had been sacrificed. In another\nlist (by Diego de Soto, p. 349) a shield is described “which displayed a\nsacrificed man, in gold, with a gaping wound in his breast, from which\nblood was streaming....” It is obvious that the first of these suits of\narmor conveyed figuratively the name and the second the office of the\nCihuacoatl of whom Duran speaks as follows:\n\n“He whose office it was to perform the rite of killing [the victim] was\nrevered as the supreme pontiff and his name or title and pontifical robes\nvaried according to the different periods [of the year] and the ceremonies\nwhich he had to perform. On the present occasion his title was Topiltzin,\none of the names of the great lord ... (Quetzalcoatl) and he appeared\ncarrying a large flint knife in his hand ...” (_op. cit._, chap. LXXXI).\nThe following passage shows definitely that Montezuma’s coadjutor, his\nQuetzalcoatl or divine twin, had an equal share of divine honors accorded\nto him. “The head priest of the temple, named Quetzalcoatl, never came out\nof the temple or entered into any house whatever, because he was very\nvenerable and very grave and was esteemed as a god. He only went into the\nroyal palace” (Sahagun, book VI, chap. 39). The same authority designates\nthe second “divine twin” as the Tlalocan-tlamacazqui or,\nTlalocan-tlenamacac and states that he served the Tlalocan-tecuhtli.\n\nBefore proceeding further, let us pause and inquire into the reason why\nthe name Tlaloc, which is formed of tlalli=earth and is defined by Duran,\nfor instance, as meaning “an underground passage or a great cave” (_op.\ncit._, chap. 84), should be the well-known title of the “god of rain.” The\nexplanation is to be found in the text of the Vatican Codex, A.\nKingsborough, V, p. 190. This teaches us that the last syllable of the\nname Tlaloc does not represent oc=inside of, but stands for octli, the\nname of the native wine now known as pulque, which is obtained from the\nagave plant. Tlaloc thus meant “earth-wine” and “by this metaphor they\nwanted to express that just as the fumes of wine make mankind gay and\nhappy, so the earth when saturated with water, is gay and fresh and\nproduces its fruits and cereals.” By the light of this explanation we see\nthat the titles conferred upon Montezuma’s coadjutor were literally “the\npriest or lord, or dealer-of-fire in the place of the earth-wine.” “The\nclouds, rain, thunder and lightning were attributed to the lord Tlaloc who\nhad many tlalocs and priests under him, who cultivated all foods necessary\nfor the body, such as maize, beans, etc., and sent the rains so that the\nearth should give birth to all of its products. During their festival in\nspringtime the priests went through the streets dancing and singing and\ncarrying a shoot of green maize in one hand and a pot with a handle in the\nother. In this way they went asking for the [ceremonial] boiled maize and\nall fanners gave them some” ... (Sahagun, book VI, chap. 5).\n\nThe above and many scattered allusions throw light upon the group of ideas\nassociated with the Cihuacoatl and clearly indicate what were his duties.\nTo him devolved the care of the earth and his one thought was to secure\nabundance of rain and of crops. In order to ensure the proper cultivation\nof the ground, he had, under him, innumerable agents, who strictly\nsuperintended the cultivation of all food-plants, the irrigation of barren\nlauds, etc. These agents, who also resorted to ceremonial usages in order\nto bring rain or avert hail-storms and other disasters, were collectively\nnamed “the 400 pulque or octli-gods”—an appellation which developed into\ntochtli-gods, when the rabbit (=tochtli) had become the pictograph\nhabitually employed to convey the sound of the word octli, and had been\nadopted as the symbol of the earth and of prolific reproduction in\nconnection with this. The latter idea is born out of the female title,\nthat of the earth-mother, who “always brought forth twins.” The Cihuacoatl\nthus stands out as the representative of the bountiful mother-earth and as\nthe lord of agriculture, one of whose duties was the careful collection,\nstorage and distribution of all food products. He presided over the cult\nof the fertility of the earth, of the nocturnal heaven, of the stars and\nmoon, which were associated with the female principle and with growth in\ngeneral. The following record proves that amongst his other duties he\noffered sacrifices to the invisible hidden powers of darkness and earth.\n“During the night, in the feast Tititl, the high priest named Tlillan\ntlenamacac [=the dealer with fire in the land of darkness=tlilli=black,\nevidently a title analogous to that of Tlill-potonqui-cihuacoatl, given by\nTezozomoc, in Cronica, chap. 33], sacrificed a victim in honour of the god\nof the Underworld” (Sahagun, book II, appendix). In this, as on similar\noccasions, he was assisted by four priests who succeeded him in rank.\n\nMr. Bandelier has already recognized that judicial sentences were\nultimately referred to the “woman-serpent,” who pronounced the “final\nsentence, which admitted of no appeal.” There are more reasons than can\nconveniently be presented here, proving that in Mexico, as in Guatemala,\nthe priest of the Below, the personification of Tezcatli-poca=Shining\nMirror, employed an actual mirror made of polished obsidian, as an aid in\npronouncing final judgment on criminals.\n\nThe Cakchiquel procedure is described by Fuentes of Guzman, who is quoted\nby Dr. Otto Stoll in his most instructive and valuable work on the\nEthnology of the Indian Tribes of Guatemala (Internationales Archiv für\nEthnographie, band I, supplement I, 1888): “A road leads [from the ancient\ncity of Guatemala] to a hill [figured with a large tree growing from it];\non its top there is a flat circular cement floor, enclosed by a low wall.\nIn the centre is a pedestal, polished and shining like glass. No one knows\nof what substance it is made. This was the tribunal or court of the\nCakchiquel Indians, where public trials were held and where the sentences\nwere executed. The judges sat in a circle on the low wall. After the\nsentence had been pronounced, it had to be confirmed or vetoed by another\nauthority. Three messengers, acting as deputies of the council, went to a\ndeep ravine situated to the north of the palace, where, in a sort of\nhermitage or prayer-house, there was the oracle of the devil, which was a\nblack, transparent stone, like glass, but more costly than [ordinary]\nobsidian. In this stone the devil revealed to the messengers, the sentence\nto be executed. If it agreed with the judgment pronounced, this was\nimmediately executed upon the central pedestal [of the hill of justice] on\nwhich the criminal was also tortured, at times.” If nothing was seen in\nthe mirror, and it gave no sign, the prisoner was pronounced free.\n\nThis oracle was also consulted before wars were undertaken ... “During the\nfirst years of the Spanish occupation, when the bishop Marroquin heard\nabout this stone, he had it cut out and consecrated it as an altar, which\nis still in use in the convent of San Francisco in the capital. It is a\nprecious stone of great beauty and is half a vara long.”\n\nA picture in the Vatican Codex B (p. 48) represents a temple, on the\nsummit of which a large obsidian mirror is standing on its edge. Inside\nthe doorway there are many small black spots, which obviously represent\nsmall mirrors and convey the idea that the interior walls were incrusted\nwith such. These illustrations would prove that sacred edifices were\nassociated with obsidian mirrors even if Sahagun did not mention, as he\ndoes (book II, appendix), no less than three sacred edifices in the great\ntemple of Mexico, which were associated with obsidian mirrors. It is,\nmoreover, stated by Duran that “in Mexico the image of the god\nTezcatlipoca was a stone, which was very shining and black, like jet. It\nwas of the same stone of which the natives make razors and knives,” _i.\ne._, obsidian (Duran II, p. 98).\n\nWhat is more, Bernal Diaz relates that the image of Tezcatlipoca, which he\nsaw beside the idol of Huitzilopochtli in the hall of the great temple of\nMexico, had shining eyes which were made of the native mirrors=tezcatl.\n“In connection with the shining eyes” of the god it is interesting to note\nthat when, as Duran states, he was represented under another form, his\nidol “carried in its hand a sort of fan made of precious feathers. These\nsurmounted a circular gold disc which was very brilliant and polished like\na mirror. This meant that, in this mirror, he saw all that went on in the\nworld. In the native language they named it ‘itlachiayan,’ which means,\nthat in which he looks or sees” (Duran, _op. cit._, vol. II, p. 99).\n\nSahagun mentions an analogous sceptre which consisted of “a gold disc\npierced in the centre, and surmounted by two balls, the upper and smaller\nof which supported a pointed object. This sceptre was called tlachieloni,\nwhich means ‘that through which one looks or observes;’ because with it\none covered or hid one’s face and looked through the hole in the middle of\nthe gold plate.” This kind of sceptre is not exclusively associated with\nTezcatlipoca in the native picture writings, for it figures in the hand of\nChalchiuhtlycue “the sister” of Tlaloc and of Omacatl whose attributes,\nthe reeds and chalchiuite or jade beads, prove him to be also associated\nwith the water. On the other hand the same sceptre is also assigned by\nSahagun to the god of fire.\n\nA clue to the truth and significance of this emblematic sceptre is\nfurnished by the fact that, in order to express the divine title\nTlachiuale, meaning “the Maker or Lord of all creatures or of young life,”\nthe native scribes were naturally obliged to employ the verb tlachia=to\nlook or see, in order to convey its sound. It is obvious that they\ncleverly agreed to express this verb by picturing some object which could\nbe or was looked through. They therefore adopted a sceptre with a hollow\ndisc, as an emblem, which was carried by the living representative of\ncertain divinities, whose entire costume was in reality a sort of rebus,\nand in the case of Tlaloc, the lord of earthwine and fertility and the\nTlachiuale or “Creator of young life,” par excellence, they once and for\nall designated his title by surrounding his eyes with two blue rings,\naccentuating thereby the action of seeing or looking. But this probably\nconveyed even more than the above title, for there is a Nahuatl noun\ntlachiuhtli, which means, “something made or formed or engendered,” or\n“earth which is ploughed and sown.” Then there is the verb tlachipaua\nwhich means, “the smile of dawn, the break of day, the clearing up of the\nweather,” also the purification and cleansing, all of which were supposed\nto be under the dominion of the rain-god and of his living representatives\non earth, the rain-priests. The seemingly conflicting fact that the\ntlachieloni sceptre was also assigned to the god of fire is explained by\nthe existence of the verb tiachinoa=to burn up the fields or forests, and\nof the noun tlachi-noliztli=the act of burning up or scorching the fields\nor forests, and finally, metaphorically, tlachinoli-teuotl=war or\nbattle=destruction. It is only when we thus realize all the natives could\nexpress by the image of an eye, looking through a circle, that we begin to\ngrasp its full meaning when employed as a symbol in their picture\nwritings.\n\nAs to the obsidian mirror, which undoubtedly was the symbol of\nTezcatlipoca and, consequently, must have pertained to his representative,\nthe priest of the Night, we find that it played a most prominent rôle in\nthe cult he presided over. In the first case it appears as though it was\nresorted to in Mexico as in the conquered province of Guatemala, as the\noracle which rendered final judgment. A series of illustrations, etc., to\nbe published in my final work on the Calendar System, will prove\nsatisfactorily that the Mexican astronomers extensively employed black\nobsidian mirrors as an aid to astronomical observations, by means of\nreflection. Besides mirrors on the summits of temples and mountains,\ncertain square columns, placed on an elevation and faced with a broad band\nof polished obsidian, are pictured in some Codices. It is obvious that the\nlatter in particular, if carefully oriented, would have served as an\nadmirable means of registering the periodical return of planets, stars or\nconstellations to certain positions; they would then be reflected on the\npolished surface, as in a frame. In certain Codices the double, tau-shaped\ncourtyard or enclosure surrounded by a high wall with battlements, which\nwas employed in the daytime for the national game of ball, figures in\ncombination with obsidian mirrors. I draw attention to the fact that the\nname of these courtyards was tlach-tli, which literally means the looking\nplace=the observatory and that, amongst the edifices of the great temple,\na tezca-tlachtli=obsidian-mirror-observatory, is described. I shall\ndemonstrate more fully, on another occasion, that the chief purpose of\nthese enclosures was to serve as astronomical observatories. Dr. Brinton,\nSeñor Troncoso and other authorities have already observed that the game\nof ball itself was intended to represent the idea of the perpetual motion\nof the heavenly bodies. (See American Hero-myths, p. 119.)\n\nReturning to reëxamine the divine title Tezcatlipoca we see that, when\ninterpreted as “the lord of the shining obsidian mirror,” it was the most\nappropriate title of the lord of the Nocturnal Heaven, which myriads of\nmirrors reflected each night, throughout the land. It is easy to see how\nthe habit of referring to the Temple Minor, in order to ascertain the\npositions of the stars, would naturally lead to its being consulted more\nextensively as an oracle later on. We thus clearly perceive how the lord\nof the Night, whose priests called themselves “the sons of the Night,”\nbecame intimately associated with divination and how the idea of a\ndefinite connection between the movements of the stars or human destinies\nwould, in the lapse of centuries, make a deep and indelible impression\nupon the minds of men.\n\nIf the obsidian mirror was the symbol, par excellence, of Mexican star\ncult, there are evidences that the small mirror of polished pyrites was\nthat of the sun-cult. The latter seems to have been employed, in some way\nor other, for the concentration of the rays of the sun required for the\nlighting of the sacred fire, at noon, on the days of the vernal equinox\nand summer solstice. As in Peru, this duty devolved upon the high priest\nof the Above or the Son of the Sun, a title which undoubtedly pertained\nalso to the Mexican ruler, though not employed so ostentatiously as in\nPeru. A keen emulation, which may almost be termed an intense rivalry,\nseems to have existed between the two cults, which Sahagun even goes so\nfar as to designate as two religions. From a chapter of his Historia we\neven learn that the entire population of Mexico was divided into two\nhalves who respectively belonged to one or the other religion, a fact\nwhich naturally affected the position of the two classes of people and had\ncreated the native ideas, of an upper and a lower class or caste which\nwill be further discussed.\n\nSahagun’s informants explained to him that, when a child was born, its\nparents, according to their class, registered it at one of the two\neducational establishments for the young and took vows to have it educated\nthere as soon as it attained a suitable age. The lower class took their\noffspring to the Telpuchcalli, where they were dedicated to the service of\nthe community and to warfare, _i. e._, the ruling class. “The ‘Lords,\nchieftains or elders,’ offered their sons to the Calmecac to be educated\nfor the priesthood.”\n\nIt being impossible to present here in full the data showing how certain\nprimitive conceptions had developed further and how some human occupations\nhad become associated with the Above and others with the Below, I will but\npoint out the important fact that the city of Mexico, divided into four\nquarters, each of which had five subdivisions (calpullis), actually\nconsisted of two distinct parts. One of these was Mexico proper, where the\nGreat Temple stood and where Montezuma and the lords resided; the other\nwas Tlatelolco, where the lower classes dwelt and the merchant class\nprevailed. After a certain revolt the inhabitants of this portion of the\ncity were, we are told, “degraded to the rank of women” (see Bandelier,\n_op. et loc. cit._). From this it would seem evident that their affairs or\nlawsuits were settled in the official house named the Cihua-tecpaneca,\nwhilst the affairs of the nobility, residing in Mexico proper, were\ndisposed of in the Tlaca-tecpaneca (see Duran, chap. 3). Knowledge of the\nprevalence of the division of the population into two parts is gained\nthrough a passage of Ixtl-ilxo-chitl’s Historia (chap. XXXV, p. 241): “To\nQuetzalmemalitzin was given the lordship of Teotihuacan ... with the title\nof Captain-general of the dominion of the noblemen. All affairs or\nlawsuits of the lords and the nobility belonging to the towns of the\nprovinces situated in the plain, were to be attended to and settled in his\ntown. The same title was bestowed upon Quechaltecpantzin of Otompan, with\nthe difference that he was the captain-general of the commoners and\nattended to the affairs and claims of the commoners and populace of the\nprovinces in the plains.”\n\nA further detail concerning the position of the ancient capital of Mexico\nshould not be omitted, for it is described as follows by the English friar\nThomas Gage, who visited it in 1625: “The situation of this city is much\nlike that of Venice, but only differs in this, that Venice is built upon\nthe sea-water, and Mexico upon a lake, which seeming one is indeed two;\none part whereof is standing water, the other ebbeth and floweth according\nto the wind that bloweth. That part which standeth is wholesome, good and\nsweet, and yieldeth store of small fish. That part which ebbeth and\nfloweth is a saltish bitter and pestiferous water, yielding no kind of\nfish, small or great” (p. 43). Added to other data, this detail seems to\nindicate that the geographical position of the capital had been chosen\nwith utmost care and profound thought, so that, built on a dual island on\na dual lake, it should be in itself an image or illustration of the ideas\nof organization which I have shown to have dominated the entire native\ncivilization. If it be admitted, as I think is evident, that the site of\nthe capital was chosen and mapped out in accordance with these ideas, then\nwe undoubtedly have, in ancient Mexico, not only one of the most\nremarkable “Holy Cities” ever built by mankind, but also the most\nconvincing proof of the great antiquity and high development of the\ncivilization under whose influence one of the greatest capitals of ancient\nAmerica was founded.\n\nIt is impossible to read the following descriptions without recognizing\nthat the identical fundamental ideas had undoubtedly determined the native\ntopography of capitals situated in other parts of the continent. Beginning\nwith Guatemala, which formed a part of ancient Mexico, I refer to the plan\nof the ancient capital and its description by Fuentes of Guzman, published\nby Dr. Otto Stoll in his work already cited: “A deep ditch, running from\nnorth to south, divided the town into two portions. One of these, situated\nto the east, was inhabited by the nobility; whilst the commoners\n(Macehuales) lived in the western division.” I pause here to call\nattention to the intentional coincidence that the association of the east\nwith the Above, and the west with the Below, is exemplified here,\ntopographically. The plan shows that the eastern half contained, in its\ncentre, a great, oblong enclosure, surrounded by a high wall. A wall,\nrunning from east to west, divided this enclosure into two distinct\ncourtyards with wide separate entrances from the west. The northern\ncourtyard, designated as the “Place of the Palace,” contains several\nbuildings. The southern one, named the “Place of the Temple,” contains an\nedifice on a terraced mound and several others. It is noticeable that, in\nthe exact middle of the central wall, there is a seemingly double,\nunfortunately indistinguishable object, or building, which marks the exact\nmiddle of the entire dual enclosure. It is particularly interesting that\nthe East City is divided into two portions by a wall running from the\nsoutheast angle of the wall of the Temple courtyard to the outer wall of\nthe city. The southern half, in which the “Tribunal or hill of justice is\nto be seen, is designated as containing the houses of the Ahauas or heads\nof the Calpuls.” The northern half, containing many houses, lacks\ndesignation. The West city is likewise divided into two distinct portions\nby a broad street, enclosed by a hill wall and conducting from the western\nand only entrance to the city directly to the Place of the Temple. A deep\ntrench or ditch encloses the entire city, whilst nine watch-towers, on\nsmall hills, are placed at equal distances around it.\n\nIf this precious document clearly reveals the ground plan on which the\nnative capitals were built, in accordance with the dominant idea, the\nfollowing native map shows that the ancient dominion of Yucatan, for\ninstance, was figured as an integral whole with form of a flat disc\ndivided into four quarters, Ho, the modern Merida, in its centre. This\nmap, copied from the native Codex Chumazel, has been published by Señor\nCrescencio Carillo of Ancona in the Anales del Museo Nacional de Mexico,\nvol. II, p. 43, as showing the territorial division of Yucatan before the\nConquest (fig. 27). According to Herrera and Diego de Landa, the unity of\nthe dominion was destroyed about two centuries before the Conquest by the\ndestruction of the capital, Mayapan. The land then remained divided\namongst many independent chiefs or Bacabs. Señor Carillo renders the Maya\ndescriptive text written under the map, as follows: “Here is Mani. The\nbeginning of the land, or its entrance, is Campeche. The extremity of the\nwing of the land is Calkini; the (chun) place where the wing grows or\nbegins, is Izamal. The half of the wing is Zaci; the tip of the wing is\nCumkal. The head of the land is the city, the capital Ho.”\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 27.\n\n\nThe foregoing text shows that, notwithstanding the circular shape in which\nit is figured, the dominion was evidently thought of as in the form of a\nbird, the head of which was the capital.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 28.\n\n\nThis figure of speech seems to have been prevalent in Mexico also and to\nbe conveyed by the representation, in the Vienna Codex, of a double\ntau-shape to which the head, wings and claw, and tail of a quetzal are\nattached (fig. 28, no. 8). As I shall have occasion to demonstrate further\non, the double tau signifies the Above and the Below and their union\nforming an integral whole. The following Nahuatl terms explain by\nthemselves the symbolism of the bird-figure: cuitlapilli=the tail of an\nanimal or bird, atlapalli=the wings of a bird, or the leaves of a tree,\ncuitlapalli atlapalli=vassals, the populace or lower classes, the\nlaborers.\n\nThese words furnish irrefutable evidence that the lower class was\nfamiliarly known in Mexico as “the wings and the tail” of the commonwealth\nor state, or the leaves “on the trees” of the tribe. Sahagun states, on\nthe other hand, that the Mexicans employed the metaphor of “a bird with\nwings and a tail” to designate a lord, governor or ruler. He also records\nthat the terms hair, nails, a thorn, a spine, beard and eyelashes, were\nused to signify “someone who was noble, generous or of the lineage of the\nlords.” Such metaphors as these may well cause us to despair at arriving\nat a complete understanding of the native imagery and symbolism. The\nsymbolism of the bird’s claw yet remains to be looked into. The Nahuatl\nfor the same is xo-maxaltic, xo-tzayanqui or cho-cholli.\n\nIn one of the ancient Mexican harangues, previously quoted, it is said of\nthe supreme ruler that he had been given “fangs and nails” in order to\ninspire fear and reverence. Scattered evidence and the fact that in the\nCodex Mendoza the decorated claws of an eagle, for instance, appear as a\nmilitary device on the shields of certain war chiefs, seem to indicate\nthat the warriors were spoken of, metaphorically, as “the claws or nails”\nof the state. The following passage finally proves that the tlachtli or\ncourtyard the shape of which was a double tau, as in fig. 28, no. 8, was\nregarded by the Mexicans as an image of the state itself. In another\nnative harangue it was said of the newly-elected ruler: “He is now placed\nor put into the Tlachtli, he has been invested with the leathern gloves,\nso that he can govern and throw back the ball to the one who throws it to\nhim in the game. For the business of governing very much resembles this\ngame and the game of dice” (Sahagun, book VI, chap. xiii). The latter game\nalluded to, the patolli, was played on a mat in the shape of a cross,\nmarked off with divisions, with stone markers, the moves of which were\ndecided by the numbers obtained on casting the dice, which consisted of\nbeans with marks on them. It is interesting to find that the word pat-olli\nseems to be connected with the verb pat-cayotia=to be substituted in the\nplace of another, or to succeed another in office or dignity. The above\ncomparison of the game to the business of governing indicates that a\nfeature of the government was a methodical succession or rotation in\noffice or dignity, a point to which I draw special attention, as I shall\nrefer to it later.\n\nThe evidence that the Mexicans regarded the form of the courtyard, named\ntlachtli, as that of the state itself is noteworthy. On the other hand,\nthe native map contained in the Codex Mendoza, p. 1, shows us that they\nfigured their territory as a square, surrounded by water and divided into\nfour equal parts by diagonal cross-streams or canals. As in the Maya map\nthe centre of this is occupied by the well-known hieroglyph or rebus of\nTe-noch-ti-tlan, the ancient capital, which consisted of Mexico and\nTlatelolco. In three of the four triangular divisions, two chieftains are\nfigured, whilst in one there are four, the complete number of chieftains\nthus being ten. The incontrovertible evidence that the dominion of the\nMexicans, as well as that of the Mayas, was figured and regarded as an\nintegral whole has seemed to me to be of extreme importance, because it\npoints to a fresh interpretation of the much-discussed meaning of the name\nTullan, “the glorious centre of culture where the high priest\nQuetzalcoatl, had dwelt and whence he had been driven by the wiles of his\nenemies. It is a place that we hear of in the oldest myths and legends of\nmany and different races. Not only the Aztecs, but the Mayas of Yucatan\nand the Kiches and Cakchiquels of Guatemala, bewailed in woful songs, the\nloss of that beautiful land and counted its destruction as the common\nstarting-point in their annals.... According to the ancient Cakchiquel\nlegends, however, ... ‘there were four Tullans, as the ancient men have\ntold us.’ The most venerable traditions of the Maya race claimed for them\na migration from Tullan in Zuyva.”... “When it happened to me,” says Friar\nDuran, “to ask a [Mexican] Indian who cut this pass through the mountains\nor who opened that spring of water or who built that old ruin? the answer\nwas: The Tultecs, the disciples of Papa,” _i. e._, Quetzalcoatl. (See\nBrinton, American Hero-Myths, p. 88.) Considering that the identity of\nTullan has not yet been satisfactorily established, that several Tullans\nare said to have existed and that a small town, about a dozen leagues to\nthe northeast of Mexico, is named Tullan-tzinco=little Tullan, I should\nlike to direct the attention of Americanists to the following Maya words:\nTul-um=fortification, edifice, wall and enclosure. Tula-cal, Tuliz,\nadjectives=whole, entire, undivided, integral. Tul-ul, adjective=general,\nuniversal. Tul-tic, verb=to belong, to correspond to something. Tul=all\naround or full. Tul=in composition, to have abundance. Tulnah=to be too\nfull, to overflow, to proceed, to issue, abound, high-tide. Tulaan=past\nparticiple of tul.\n\nI am of opinion that, after carefully examining the foregoing words and\ntheir meanings, we must admit that an intelligible and satisfactory\nderivation and signification of the much-discussed Tula of the Mexicans,\nwhich has been vainly sought in the Nahuatl language, are obtained if we\nconnect it with the Maya words for fortress, or stronghold, an enclosed\nplace, an integral whole, an overflowing source of abundance and plenty.\nIf we do this, then the problematic term Tolteca, given by Mexicans to the\nsuperior people from whom they had derived their culture and knowledge,\nmeans nothing more than such persons who had belonged (Maya verb tultic)\nor were members of a highly cultured commonwealth or ancient centre of\ncivilization, such as had flourished during countless centuries, in\nYucatan and the present Chiapas, Honduras and Guatemala.\n\nReserving this subject for future, more detailed, discussion, I point out\nthat the name Ho, given to the capital, which is designated in the map as\nthe “head of the land,” is obviously derived from the Maya hol, hool, or\nhoot, which means not only head but also chieftain. The circumstance that\na single word, Ho, conveyed the triple meaning of a capital, a chieftain\nand a head, is particularly noteworthy, as it affords not only important\nclues to native symbolism, which I shall trace later on, but also shows\nthat the presence of the syllable Ho or O, in certain native names of\nlocalities, may possibly indicate that it was a capital, the residence of\na chieftain. Further light is shed upon the following native association\nof ideas when the following words are studied. The ancient Maya name for a\npyramid or artificial mound was ho-m and the pyramidal elevations on which\ntemples or palaces were built were designated as ho-mul or o-mul (see\nVocabulary, Brasseur de Bourbourg). The title Holpop was moreover that of\nthe “chieftain of the mat,” whose prerogative it was to sit on a mat and\nto beat the sacred drum during the public dances or ritual performances\n(Cogolludo). The ancient word for vase, vessel or cup in general was\nho-och, whilst o-och meant food or maintenance (Arte de la lengua Maya,\nFray Beltram de Santa Rosa, ed. Espinosa, Merida, 1859). If the foregoing\ndata be summarized we find that the word ho, the ancient name of the head\nof the land, which is figured in its centre, is not only homonymous with\ncapital and chieftain, but also with pyramid, vase or receptacle and\nmaintenance, and finally with the numeral 5, also “ho.” We shall see that\nthe identical ideas were similarly associated in ancient Mexico.\n\nReferring once more to the ancient map of Yucatan and to the peculiarity\nthat the head of the figurative bird, the capital, Ho, is supposed to\noccupy the centre of the state, I point out nos. 1 and 5 (fig. 28) from\nthe Bodleian and Selden MSS. as somewhat analogous representations of a\ncentral capital or chief, and nos. 3 and 6 as possibly being images of a\nterritorial subdivision of the state, resembling a spider’s web. In an\nunpublished Mexican MS., which has been recently brought to light, the\nmiddle of the concentric circles is painted blue and suggests the idea of\na system of distribution or irrigation, proceeding from a central supply\nof water and radiating in all directions. An accentuation of centrality is\nbrought into relief in fig. 28, no. 6, where the spider’s web is placed in\nthe middle, between the two peaks of a mountain. In no. 2 a small\nquadruple sign, which frequently occurs in the Vienna Codex, always\npainted in the colors of the four quarters and united by a cross-band\nacross the centre (no. 4). also figures between two peaks, above two feet,\nthe significance of which I do not venture to determine. A remarkable\ncircular disc resembling the Maya map, and also divided into four parts by\ncross lines, but exhibiting footsteps denoting rotation, is represented in\nthe entrance of a temple, in the Vienna Codex (fig. 28, no. 7). These\nfigures will be referred to again further on.\n\nLet us now bestow attention upon the names of the Mexican capital and\nfirst note that the edifice of the Great Temple, in which the Cihuacoatl\nperformed an annual ceremony already mentioned, was called tlal-xic-co,\nliterally “in the navel of the earth or land” (from tlalli=earth, land or\ncountry, xictli=navel and co=in) (Sahagun, book II, appendix). Besides\nthis edifice there was, in the middle of the lagoon of Chalco, an island,\nwhich, to this day, bears the name of Xico=in the navel or centre. This\nindicates the curious circumstance that the edifice and island had\napparently been regarded as forming “ideal centres,” and shows that the\nname of Mexico itself may have been associated with the same conception\nbeing, as it was, the central seat of government. Gomara states that “the\ncity was divided into two halves or parts, one named Tlal-telolco=small\nisland (literally, ‘in the earth-mound’) and the other named Mexico, which\nmeans ‘something which flows,’ ” (Histoire Généralle des Indes, Paris,\n1634, chap. 38). The Nahuatl word alluded to can be no other than the verb\nmemeya which, according to Molina, signifies “water, or something liquid\nwhich issues or flows in many directions.” I have already pointed out that\nthe Maya words to express water which rises and overflows, high tide and,\nby extension, abundance and plenty, are tul, tulnah and, finally, tulaan,\npast participle of tul. If the particle “me” conveyed the above idea, its\ncombination with xico would cause the name Mexico to be replete with\nsignificance and to mean “the figurative centre whence all maintenance\nproceeded and flowed in all directions, throughout the land.”\n\nThe Borgian Codex furnishes representations of identical meaning. On page\n4 a human body, the centre of which forms a large red disc, is stretched\nacross the double tau-shaped tlachtli which obviously represents the four\nquarters, being painted with their four symbolic colors. It is\nparticularly noteworthy that the limbs of the central figure are\nrepresented as wearing the green skin of a lizard, while its face is\nenclosed in the open jaws of the reptile. It should also be noted here\nthat whilst the Nahuatl names are cuetz-palin and topitzin, the Maya term\nfor lizard is mech or ix-mech. On the same page a similar, but smaller,\nfigure is depicted on a background representing the nocturnal heaven. On\nthe following page the figure of a dead woman is stretched on a red disc\nwhilst a priest is drilling the fire-stick into a circular symbol, with\nfour balls, which is the well-known symbol for chalchiuitl=jade. As the\nname of the female water goddess is Chalchiutlycue, this detail is\nsignificant and will be referred to later on. It is noteworthy that on\nboth pages 5 and 6 the performance of the above rite is accompanied by the\nimage of the goddess of the earth and underworld, represented with a\ndeath’s head, and with her hair strewn with stars. Her body is that of a\ngreen lizard, and she carries ears and blossoms of maize and holds a blue\ngarment on which the chalchihuitl symbol figures.\n\nIn connection with representatives of the human form outstretched in\nsacrifice, on whose body the rite of kindling the sacred fire or of\nextracting the heart is being performed, it seems evident that, under the\ndominion of the fundamental ideas I have been discussing, the native sages\nregarded and utilized the human form as an image of the Middle and Four\nQuarters. It is well known that the number 20 was termed “one count” and\nconnected with the number of fingers and toes, distributed equally on his\nfour extremities. The human victim thus formed a living swastika or cross\nand became not only the consecrated image of the supreme, creative,\ncentral divinity who controlled the Four Quarters, but also an image of\nthe central government with its supreme ruler; whilst the four chiefs of\nthe Quarters were symbolized by the four limbs. Each of these terminated\nin a symbolized group consisting of a hand, maitl, with a thumb (=touey\nmapilli or vei mapilli, literally, the great finger, or our great finger)\nand four fingers (mapilli); or of a great toe, touei xopil or topec-xopil\n(literally, our great toe, or our lord toe) and of four toes=xopilli.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 29.\n\n\nThe above association of ideas was doubtlessly accentuated by the fact\nthat the word pilli means a nobleman, a chieftain; thence he terms\npilconetl=the son of a nobleman and pilhua=he who has sons (pil in this\ncase meaning son and hua=possessor of). This latter fact could have been\nvery aptly conveyed in the picture-writings by employing fingers to\nexpress the sound “pilli.” The number of sons a chieftain had could thus\nbe easily expressed by his exhibiting a corresponding number of fingers. I\nshall revert to this possibility presently, and now referring to fig. 29,\nno. 2, direct attention to the obvious intention to express the idea that\nthe fire produced was distributed to the four quarters by means of the\nfigures, painted in symbolical colors, three of which are visible. Another\npicture in the same Codex represents four similar figures springing\ntowards the cardinal points from a source or fountain of water, whilst a\npriest above a triangular cloak(7) holds a pair of weapons (?) in his\nhands (fig. 29, no. 1). If carefully studied, these groups seem to\ncorroborate the derivation of the name Mexico, given above. What is more,\nthe first group affords an explanation of the meaning and purpose of three\nstrange recumbent stone figures bearing circular vessels, which have been\nrespectively found in Mexico, Tlaxcala and Chichen-Itza and are now\npreserved at the National Museum in Mexico. They furnish the most\nconvincing proof that an identical cult and symbolism had existed in these\nwidely-separated localities. The conclusion I have previously expressed,\nthat an actual connection had been established between Chichen-Itza and\nMexico by the Maya high priest Kukulcan, or Quetzalcoatl, is thus\ncorroborated by undeniable evidence, which will be supplemented later on.\n\nThe three monoliths have been described and illustrated in the Anales del\nMuseo Nacional, Mexico, vol. 1, p. 270, by the late Señor Jesus Sanchez,\nand are here reproduced. The statue exhumed at Chichen-Itza by Dr. Le\nPlongeon (pl. IV, fig. 1) closely resembles that found at Tlaxcalla in\nMexico (pl. III, fig. 2). Dr. Brinton, who erroneously describes the\nChichen-Itza statue as representing “a sleeping god,” points out the\nextremely important fact that there was a divinity worshipped in Yucatan\ncalled Cum-ahau, “the lord of the vase,” who is designated in a MS.\ndictionary as “Lucifer (the lord of the underworld) the principal native\ndivinity.” He adds there is good ground to suppose that this lord of the\nvase ... was the god of fertility common to the Maya and Mexican cult\n(Hero-Myths, p. 165). Considering that the great market-place in the\ncapital was actually the centre to which the entire product of the land\nwas periodically carried from its remotest confines, was there classified,\nexchanged or distributed far and wide, the comparison to a central flowing\nsource of maintenance was most appropriate.\n\nThat some particular spot in or near the city should have gradually\nassumed importance and sanctity as marking the exact centre of the\nmetropolis, _i. e._, of the integral whole of the Mexican “empire” is but\nnatural and it is not surprising to find that solemn rites were performed\non this spot. In one of the chronicles to which I shall revert, it is\nstated that the New Fire was at times kindled on the prostrate body of a\nslave, and this curious statement is corroborated by a picture in the\nBorgian Codex, showing a priest producing fire from a circular vessel\nplaced on the body of a victim beneath whom a face enclosed in the open\njaws of a reptile, is visible (fig. 29).\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Plate IV.\n\n\nDr. Le Plongeon, to whom much credit is due for its discovery, identified\nthe Chichen-Itza statue, for reasons not fully explained, as a portrait of\nChac-Mool, or Lord Tiger, and relates that it was found at a depth of\neight metres, not far from the base of the Great Pyramid Temple. A statue\nof a standing tiger, with a human head and a shallow depression in its\nback, was also found near the same spot. I have seen other sculptured\nfigures of human beings holding a vase, as at the hacienda near\nXochicalco, Mexico, and of tigers, with circular depressions on their\nbacks, and hope to be able to reproduce their photographs on another\noccasion.\n\nThe most elaborately sculptured recumbent statue is undoubtedly that which\nwas found in or near the city of Mexico (pl. IV, fig. 3). The under\nsurface of its base (pl. IV, fig. 5) is entirely covered with zigzag water\nlines and representations of roots of plants, figured as in the Codices;\nshells, one kind of which is the well-known symbol of parturition, and\nfrogs which are intimately associated with water symbolism. On the hair of\nthe statue a flower-like ornament is carved (pl. IV, fig. 4) in connection\nwith which it should be noted that the Nahuatl for flower is xochitl,\npronounced hoochitl, resembling the Maya hooch=vase. The small groups of\nfive dots forming a border around the circular vessel are noteworthy, as\nthey are likewise sculptured on the calendar-stone. The characteristic\nscrolls about the eyes of the figure show that it personates tlaloc, or\nearth-wine. The fertility of the earth, caused by rain, is symbolized by\nthe wreath of ears of corn and reeds (Nahuatl, _tollin_) which is\nsculptured around the base of this, one of the most remarkable of ancient\nAmerican monuments.\n\nSeñor Sanchez cites Torquemada (Monarquia Indiana, vol. II, p. 52) as the\nonly authority who mentions a recumbent image or idol and relates that,\n“in the city of Tula, there was preserved in the great temple, an image of\nQuetzalcoatl ... he was figured as lying down, as though going to\nsleep.... Out of reverence the image was covered with mantles or\ncloths.... They said that when sterile women made offerings or sacrifices\nto the god Quetzalcoatl, he immediately caused them to become\npregnant....” He was the god of the Winds which he sent to sweep or clear\nthe way for the tlaloques=“the earth-wine” gods.\n\nSeñor Sanchez also quotes Gama, who, basing himself upon Torquemada’s\nauthority, maintains that Tezcatzon-catl, the principal rain or octli-god,\nwas figured as lying in an intoxicated condition, holding a vase of pulque\nin his hands. To the above data I add the description by Bernal Diaz, of a\n“figure in sculpture” he saw on the summit of the great temple of Mexico:\n“It was half man and half lizard (lagarto), was encrusted with precious\nstones and one-half of it was covered with cloths. They said that half of\nit was full of all the kinds of seeds that were produced in the entire\nland, and told [me] that it was the god of sown land, of seeds and fruits.\nI do not remember his name....” (Historia Verdadera, p. 71). It may be as\nwell to note, that the Nahuatl names for lizard, cuetz-palin and topitzin,\napproximately convey the sound of the first syllables of the name of the\nculture-hero Quetzalcoatl, and of the title “topiltzin” bestowed upon him.\nIt must, of course, remain a matter of conjecture whether the lizard was\npossibly employed in the above case as a pictograph, to express the sound\nof its name. One thing seems certain, that the Tula image of Quetzalcoatl,\nto which divinity barren women directed their invocations, and the statue\ndescribed by Bernal Diaz as that “of the god of seeds, fruits and\ncultivated land,” were undoubtedly analogous to the sculptured recumbent\nfigure found in Mexico, and exhibiting the symbols of Tlaloc, or\nearth-wine, of maize, and of parturition. Bernal Diaz further relates that\nthe said image was kept on the uppermost terrace of the Great Temple, in\none of five “concavities surrounded by barbacans or low walls the\nwood-work of which was very richly carved” (_op. et loc. cit._).\n\nThe inference to be drawn from the foregoing data is that the Mexicans and\nthe Mayas habitually kept, on the summit of their principal temple, in\ntheir centres of government, a statue holding a circular vessel and\nfiguratively representing the “navel or centre of the land.” The group of\nideas already traced in the Maya ho=capital, hom=pyramid, ho-och=vessel,\no-och=maintenance, ho=5, thus proves to be completely carried out, for, on\nthis consecrated spot, which emblematized the source whence all life\nproceeded, sacred emblematic rites were performed, the purpose of which\nwas to typify the union, in the centre, of the four elements requisite for\nthe productiveness of the earth.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 30.\n\n\nThe ground plan of the Caracol or Round Temple of Chichen-Itza, which was\nbuilt, according to tradition, by the high priest Quetzalcoatl, carries\nout the idea of the middle and of the four quarters in so obvious a manner\nthat it may safely be assumed that it represented the supposed centre of a\ndominion (fig. 30). Referring the reader to the interesting description of\nthis remarkable edifice in Mr. William Holmes’ valuable work already\ncited, I note that round temples, dedicated to Quetzalcoatl, are recorded\nto have also existed in Mexico. It seems probable that, at certain\nfestivals, the living representatives of the Above and Below performed\ncertain sacred rites on the summit of one of these circular edifices. It\nis obvious that such rites could only have been fitly performed by the\ncoöperation of both twin rulers or Quequetzalcoas, each of whom\npersonified two elements. The appropriate season for such rites would be\nthat when the necessity of insuring a successful harvest would seem most\nurgent. It is a recorded fact that the most solemn festivals of the year\nwere held between the vernal equinox, on which date the ritual year began,\nand the fall of the first rain which usually occurs about the middle of\nMay. It is extremely significant that at this precise period the festival\ntoxcatl took place (_cf._ Maya thoaxol or thoxol=distribution, giving each\none a little, and o-och=food or maintenance) during which Tezcatlipoca and\nHuitzilopochtli were jointly honored. During this festival the “sacred\ndough,” named tzoalli, was a prominent feature of the ritual and it was\nundoubtedly associated with the idea of the life-giving union of the four\nelements, the Above and Below, or the male and female principles.\n\nIt can, moreover, be directly connected with the recumbent statues\nrepresenting the centre; for, whilst Bernal Diaz recorded that the statue\non the summit of the Great Temple held a collection of all the seeds of\nthe land, Cortés, in his descriptive letter, gives us an important detail\nwhich evidently applied to the identical statue. He relates that “the\nbodies of the idols are made of a dough consisting of all the kinds of\nseeds and vegetables that these people ate. These are ground, mixed with\neach other and then moistened with the blood of the hearts of human\nvictims ...” (_op. cit._ p. 105). Sahagun relates that an image of the\nearth goddess, under the title of Seven-serpents or twins, was made of\nthis sacred dough and that offerings of all kinds of maize, beans, etc.,\nwere made before it “because she is the author and giver of all these\nthings which sustain the life of the people” (book II, 4). It is well\nknown that the dough images were broken into small pieces and these were\ndistributed to the priests and people, who partook of the substance after\nhaving prepared themselves by fasting, for the sacred rite. I draw\nattention to the fact that the above sacred substance is but the natural\noutcome of the primitive notion already mentioned, which led the hunters\nto spill blood upon the earth, to obtain its increased fruitfulness. An\ninsight having been thus obtained of the origin of blood sacrifices in\nancient America, it is possible to understand the meaning of certain\nrepresentations showing the performance of ritual blood-offerings.\n\nOn the well-known bas-relief preserved in the National Museum of Mexico,\nand illustrated in the Anales (vol. I, p. 63), the two historical rulers\nof ancient Mexico, who figure as Quequetzalcoas, or divine twins, in\nexactly the same costume, are sculptured with blood flowing from their\nshins and in the act of piercing their ears with a sharp bone instrument.\nTwo streams of blood descend from these and meet before falling into the\nopen jaws figured beneath an altar, on which two conventionalized flowers\nappear. The two rows of teeth=tlantli, convey the sound of the affix\ntlan=land of, or tlalli=earth. But the most remarkable and striking\ninstance of the group of ideas we have been studying is found on p. 62 of\nthe Borgian Codex. On a background formed by a pool of water, there is a\ngroup which represents the “earth-mother” lying on a band of lizard-skin,\nwith two maize plants issuing from her body and growing into a large\ntwo-branched tree, in the centre of which is a flint-knife or tecpatl. A\nbird stands on its summit and its branches terminate in maize plants. Its\ngrowth is being furthered by the two streams of blood which proceed from\ntwo human figures, standing at each side of the tree. One is painted black\nand evidently represents the Lord of the Below; the other is painted\nblue-green and represents the Lord of the Above. The blood-sacrifice they\nare jointly offering is that mentioned in the “Lyfe of the Indians,” as\nperformed in order to obtain generation. Unquestionably this symbolical\ngroup would have been equally intelligible to Mayas or Mexicans, since the\nideas it expressed were held in common by both people.\n\nBefore proceeding further it is necessary to state that after the native\nphilosophers had, for an indefinite period of time, been satisfied with\nthe artificial division of all things into four quarters, corresponding to\nthe cardinal points and elements, the idea of the Above and Below\ngradually grew in importance, whilst prolonged thought and observation\ndisclosed that the above classification demanded revision. On carefully\ninvestigating the attributes of the principal ancient Mexican deities or\npersonifications of the elements we see that the native thinkers had found\nthemselves obliged to make a distinction between the different forms of\neach element, having realized, for instance, that water not only fell to\nearth from the heaven, but also issued from the depths of the earth in the\nform of springs or fountains, and formed rivers and lakes. The final\nconclusions they reached in this instance are best explained by the fact\nthat the name of the god Tlaloc means earth-wine or rain only, and that\nhis sister “Chalchiuhtlycue” appears as the personification of wells,\nsprings, rivers and lakes. It is evident that the classification of the\nocean or sea must have given rise to much serious thought. We know how the\nproblem was solved by the fact that the Nahuatl name for the ocean is\n“ilhuica-atl”=heaven-water. Accordingly, the rain and the ocean pertained\nto the heaven, the Above and male principle, whilst the wells, springs,\nrivers, etc., belonged to the earth, the Below, the female principle.\n\nAs in this case, so it was with the other elements, each of which was\nfinally personified by a male deity and his female counterpart, which, in\nsome cases, tended to represent its distinctive and beneficent properties.\nAs these deities are separately treated in my commentary of the “Lyfe of\nthe Indians” and lack of space forbids my discussing them here, I shall\nbut mention that the ultimate native systematization of the elements, each\nof which was thought of as an attribute only of supreme and central\ndivinity, corresponds exactly to that held by the Zuñis of to-day and set\nforth in the following account given by Mr. Frank H. Cushing and quoted in\nDr. Brinton’s “Native Calendar of Central America and Mexico” (p. 8). In\nquoting it I draw special attention to the numerical divisions given, as\nthis is absolutely essential for the understanding of the statements I\nshall make, further on, concerning the origin of the native\nCalendar-systems.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 31.\n\n\n“In the ceremonies of the Zuñis the complete terrestrial sphere is\nsymbolized by pointing or blowing the smoke to the four cardinal points,\nto the zenith and nadir, the individual himself making the seventh number.\nWhen the celestial is also symbolized, only the six directions are added\nto this seven, because the individual remains the same, so that the number\ntypifying the universe, terrestrial and celestial, becomes 13. When, on\nthe other hand, in their ceremonies, the rite requires the officiant to\ntypify the supra- and intra-terrestrial spheres, that is, the upper and\nlower worlds [the Above and the Below], the same number 13 results, as it\nis held that in each the sun stands for the individual, being in turn the\nday sun and night sun, the light and dark sun, but ever the same and\ntherefore counts but once.”\n\nAfter having gained this knowledge of native speculative philosophy, let\nus penetrate still further into their modes of thinking by studying, first\nof all, a series of symbols of the earth-mother taken from one of the most\nvaluable of Mexican MSS., the Vienna Codex (fig. 31). In these the idea of\nthe vase, bowl or receptacle and of the serpent predominates. It is\ninstructive of native thought to find the vase represented as containing a\nchild (no. 1), an agave plant (no. 7), a fire, denoting warmth (no. 3), a\nflower (no. 12), and a bunch of hair, the numerical symbol for\nmultiplicity=the number 400 (no. 5). In no. 2, the hollow between two\nrecurved peaks conveys the idea of a central vase; a band with eyes rests\nupon the peaks and denotes the heaven. No. 4 shows a double vase, enclosed\nin a similar representation of the nocturnal heaven—the idea to be\nconveyed being evidently that of a receptacle hidden in darkness. No. 9\ndisplays an open jaw, two claws, a human heart and a stream of blood\nissuing from it. Nos. 10 and 11 present different shapes of the serpent’s\njaw, the symbol of the earth.\n\nThe double-headed serpent forming a vase containing a flower (no. 12) is\nparticularly interesting because the flower=xoch-itl in Nahuatl, seems to\nsuggest an intentional likeness to the Maya word for “vase, vessel or cup\nin general,” ho-och (Arte de la lengua Maya, Fray Pedro Beltran de Santa\nRosa, ed. Espinosa, Mérida, 1859) as well as hoch or o-och=“food and\nmaintenance.” The symbolical vase-like opening in the core of the agave\nplant, (no. 8) is such as is made to this day, in order to collect the\njuice, which, when fermented, constitutes the sacred wine of the ancient\nMexicans, octli, now better known as pulque.(8) As will be shown the\nMexicans considered this as “the drink of life.” Its use was rigidly\nregulated and supervised by the “octli-lords” or “rain-priests” who\ndistributed it at certain dances, in order to induce a state of mild\nintoxication amongst the participants.\n\nAs in the case of the Zuñis and Tarahumari Indians of the present day,\nreferred to by W J McGee, in his valuable and instructive article on “The\nbeginning of Marriage” (the American Anthropologist, vol. IX, no. 11, p.\n371), “certain ceremonials typifying the fecundity of the earth and of the\nleading people thereof” were performed by the ancient Mexicans. These\npublic ceremonials had also been “apparently developed to the end that the\ntribes and peoples might be encouraged to increase and multiply and\npossess the fecund earth.” They took place at the period of the year when\nthe heaven and earth were also supposed to unite, _i. e._, at the\nbeginning of the rainy season. During this the ordinary out-door\noccupations of the agriculturist and hunter were forcibly interrupted and\nthe regular and periodical transportations of produce and tribute to the\ncapital became impossible, owing to torrential rain, swollen rivers and\nimpassable roads. This period of enforced shelter and confinement indoors\nseems to have become the definite mating season of the aborigines. At the\nsame time the union of the sexes had obviously assumed a sort of\nconsecration since it was intimately associated with the cosmical,\nphilosophical and religious ideas and coincided with what was regarded as\nthe annual union of the elements or of the Above and Below, the heaven and\nearth.\n\nAt that period of its history, when the Aztec race was jointly governed by\na priest, personifying the heaven and a priestess, “his wife and sister,”\nwho personified the earth, some form of sacred marriage rite must have\nbeen annually performed. The consecrated character of their union must\nhave naturally caused their offspring to be regarded as of a holy and\nalmost divine origin. It is easy to realize, therefore, how, in ancient\nMexico, the artificial idea of “superior birth” came into existence, how a\nfamily or caste of rulers gradually developed, the members of which were\nentitled “teotl”=divine, whilst the men were regarded as “the sons of\nHeaven” and the women “the daughters of Earth.” It is obvious from this\nthat the periodical union of the sexes, accompanied as it was, by sacred\ndances and the distribution of sacred wine, must have gradually assumed a\nsemi-religious character, whilst the ritual nuptials of the “divine”\nrulers, typifying, as it obviously did, the grand and impressive\nphenomenon of the rainy season, must have caused this marriage to assume\nthe character of a hallowed rite and surrounded it with the most elevated\nand intense religious sentiments of which the native mind was capable.\n\nAfter this recognition of the diverging influences which guided the\ndevelopment of primitive marriage institutions, we will return to the\nrain-priests or “octli-lords,” of whom it is repeatedly stated that there\nwere four hundred, a number corresponding to an assignment of 100 or 5×20\nto each of the four provinces or divisions of the commonwealth. Their\nemblem was the sacred vase or receptacle and in the “Lyfe of the Indians”\nthis will be seen figured on their mantas and shields (no. 6_a_). A small\ngold plate, of the same shape, is represented as worn by these “lords,”\nattached to the nose (no. 6_b_); and, in the same MS., the symbolical\nornament is also carried by the “sister of Tlaloc.” It was evidently worn,\nlike similar ornaments in other countries, hanging from the septum of the\nnose, and seems to have indicated a consecration of the breath as the\nsubstance of life. As an inference, merely based on an insight gained into\nthe native modes of thought, I suggest that the explanation for the\nadoption of this ornament may have been the religious idea that the breath\nof life, dividing itself as it issues through the nostrils and uniting\nwhen inhaled, appeared to the native thinkers as a marvellous illustration\nof unity and duality, both ideas having constantly been present in their\nminds.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 32.\n\n\nIn the Vienna Codex there is a remarkable picture of the earth-vase\nresting on a slab with five divisions. A profusion of puffs or breaths of\nair or vapor issue from it and, branching off in two directions, form what\nis like the conventional tree of life, also met with in Maya bas-reliefs\nand documents. At the extremities of the branches which turn downwards, a\nserpent’s eye is visible and a forked-tongue issues above the middle (fig.\n32, no. 1). The intention to express an exuberant vitality and growth\nissuing from the symbolical vase in the centre of the earth, seems\nobvious. This idea is still more clearly conveyed, however, in two\nsymbolic pictures on pp. 21 and 29 of the Codex Borgia, which are\nreproduced as nos. 1 and 4 in fig. 1 of this publication. The first\nrepresents the vase overflowing with water and containing a flint-knife,\nthe generator of the vital spark. The central group is surrounded by water\nand by sun-rays and obviously symbolizes the union of air, light and\nwater, constituting the Above, with the flint the emblem of the\nearth-mother and of Tezcatlipoca, the lord of the Under-world. Fig. 1, no.\n4, represents the vase overflowing with a liquid, which is designated as\nbeing the sacred octli or earth-wine by the presence of the rabbit, which\nexpresses the sound of its name=tochtli. This rebus is surrounded by the\nnocturnal heaven strewn with stars and the reference to the union of rain\nor earth-wine with earth and darkness is evident. It has been generally\nassumed that these images of the vase, containing the rabbit or\nflint-knife, represented the moon. As the latter was intimately associated\nwith the cult of night, of the earth-mother and ideas of growth, it is not\nimpossible that by an extension of symbolism, this was the case, but only\nin the same way as the sun was the emblem of the cult of the Above. On the\nother hand the native drawings of the moon in Sahagun’s Academia MS.\nrepresent it as a crescent with a human profile on the inner side, and in\na specimen preserved at the Trocadéro Museum, Paris, it is similarly\ncarved in rock crystal.\n\nBefore proceeding to investigate the symbol further, I would point out the\ngeneral resemblance of the vase, especially as a conventionalized\nserpent’s jaw, to the “horse-shoe” shape of the problematical stone\n“yokes” which have been so thoroughly studied by Dr. Hermann Strebel of\nHamburg (Studien ueber Steinjoche aus Mexico and Mittel-Amerika.\nInternationales Archiv, bd. III, 1890). Mr. Francis Parry has advanced a\nview concerning the meaning of these curious “sacred stones.”(9) This is\nsomewhat corroborated, as will be shown, by my recent studies, which seem\nto indicate pretty clearly that these symbolical objects pertained to the\ncult of the earth-mother. A fact of unquestionable importance, cited by\nMr. Parry, is the certified existence and use, amongst southern\nCalifornian Indians of the present day, of a rudely worked stone of the\nsame shape, in a native religious rite. The owner of one of these stones,\nMr. Horatio Rust, a pioneer resident of Pasadena, southern California,\nexhibited it in the Anthropological Section of the World’s Columbian\nExposition, at Chicago, 1893, and informed me how he had observed that,\noccasionally, a native assembly took place at a certain spot on a mountain\nside, during which invocations and offerings were made. He ascertained\nthat the ceremony on one occasion was the equivalent of the puberty-dances\nof similar California tribes. Having visited and examined the spot after\none of these celebrations, in which six young girls, decorated with\ngarlands of flowers, were the chief participants, he found the “sacred\nstone,” concealed and surrounded by offerings of corn, meal and pieces of\nmoney. The version published by Mr. Parry is slightly different to this\naccount, which was given me by Mr. Rust himself.\n\nIn order fully to appreciate the close analogy between the Californian\nceremonial offering of maize and meal to the emblematic stone and the\nancient Mexican ritual offerings of seeds to an idol, holding a bowl or\nvase, it is necessary to read the following data. At the same time I would\nlike to mention here that amongst the Hupa Indians of California, who have\nbeen termed “the Romans of Northern California by reason of their valour\nand far reaching dominions,” we find that “flakes or knives of obsidian or\njasper, sometimes measuring 15 inches or more in length, are employed for\nsacred purposes and are carried aloft in the hand in certain ceremonial\ndances, wrapped with skin or cloth. Such knives are esteemed so sacred\nthat the Indians would on no account part with them, and Mr. Stephen\nPowers found that they could not be purchased at any price.”(10)\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to recall here that the flint-knife was a\nwell-known ancient Mexican emblem, nor to point out the importance of the\nconclusion that two well-defined symbols which played an important rôle in\nthe Mexican and Mayan cult of the Below and of the Earth-mother, are\nactually found in use amongst Californian Indians at the present day.\n\nA whole flood of light is thrown upon native symbolism, however, by the\ninformation obtained from the Zuñi Indians by Mr. F. H. Cushing. The\nfollowing passage, from their Creation myth, affords the most positive\nconfirmation of the foregoing conclusion, that the bowl or vase was the\nnative emblem of the earth-mother. The Zuñi speaker said: “Is not the bowl\nthe emblem of the Earth, our Mother? For from her we draw both food and\ndrink, just as the babe draws nourishment from the breast of its mother.\nAnd round, as is the rim of the bowl, so is the horizon....”(11)\nInteresting as this explanation of the native symbolism undoubtedly is, it\nbecomes most important when its full significance is realized and we\nrecognize that originally earthenware bowls themselves were looked upon as\nsacred emblems formed indeed out of the material of the earth itself. This\nfact places the invention and manufacture of earthen vessels in an\nentirely new light and enables us to conjecture and understand why, quite\napart from their utility, so much care and decoration were lavished upon\nthem and why, indeed, they were constantly buried with the dead. They\nobviously served as sacred emblems of the earth-mother, to whose care the\ndead body was confided, and originally the intention probably was to\npropitiate her by the beauty of the sacred vessels, which, to be\nsymbolical of her bounty, necessarily contained food and drink.\n\nWithout pausing to discuss how easily this custom would have gradually\ngiven birth to the belief that the food and drink thus offered were\nintended for the use of the dead body itself, or its soul, I would point\nout that, in the absence of clay vessels, a stone, rough or worked, would\nhave also served as an appropriate emblem of the earth-mother, being as it\nwere, of her own substance. It is well known that in ancient Mexico this\ncustom prevailed. There we also find that the bowl- or vase-shaped grave\nwas employed, with a deeply religious and symbolical meaning. This is\nclearly revealed by a native drawing in the “Lyfe of the Indians,”\nrepresenting a native burial. The deceased, represented by his skull only,\nhas been placed in a deep hole, figured as a large inverted horse-shoe,\npainted brown and covered with small “horse-shoe” marks. The same\nreligious symbolism which led to the adoption of a definite form of\nsepulchre, typifying the element earth, would evidently account for the\nadoption for burial purposes, of large clay vessels into which the remains\nof the dead were placed. In some localities these clay burial urns were,\nas we know, made large enough to contain the dead body itself. The\ndifficulty of manufacturing these would naturally have led to the general\nadoption of cremation, simply as a means of reducing the remains so that\nthey could repose in the sacred image of the earth. Cremation would,\nmoreover, be a rite full of meaning since, to the native mind, earth was\ninseparable from its twin element fire, and both together constituted the\n“Below.”\n\nIt is significant to find, however, that the ashes of Montezuma’s\npredecessors had not been finally consigned to the earth. In strict\naccordance with their association with the Heaven and Above, their remains\nwere never allowed to come in contact with the earth, but were usually\npreserved inside of a hollow wooden effigy of the deceased, which was\ndressed in his insignia and placed in a high tower, built for the express\npurpose. Cortés states that there were “forty very high towers” in the\nenclosure of the Great Temple of Mexico and that “all of these were\nsepulchres of the lords” (Historia de Nueva-España, ed. Lorenzana, pp. 105\nand 106). Whilst it is evident that the remains of all lords and priests\nof heaven should thus be assigned a place of rest high above the earth, it\nis equally intelligible that the bodies of the lords and priests of the\nBelow and all women should be consigned to the interior of the earth and\nby preference in caves. The Codex Féjérvary contains an interesting\npicture of the tied-up body of a woman, recognizable as such from the\nhead-dress and her instrument of labor, the metlatl, on which the maize is\nground. The mummy rests inside of a flat effigy of a serpent’s head, which\nseems to be carved in wood or stone and closely resembles fig. 31, no. 11.\nIt is worth considering whether the carved stone-yokes may not have served\nin connection with the funeral rites of the consorts of rulers or high\npriestesses or priests of the Below.\n\nIf investigations of the vase or earth symbols are extended to countries\nlying south of Mexico, traces of the existence of an analogous cult are\nobservable. There undoubtedly exists a striking resemblance between the\nform of the characteristic and peculiar stone “seats” which have been\nfound in such numbers in Ecuador, to the vase, fig. 31, no. 3, for\ninstance. The employment of these symbolical stones as a consecrated\ncentral altar or, possibly, as the throne of the living representative of\nthe earth-mother, would have harmonized with the native ideas which have\nbeen traced on the preceding pages.\n\nIt was also extremely interesting to me to find the identical symbol in\nthe Maya day-sign Caban, which has been identified by Dr. Schellhas and\nGeheimrath Förstemann as a symbol of the earth and is figured on p. 99 of\nDr. Brinton’s Primer of Mayan Hieroglyphics. In the sign Caban, the\nhorse-shoe mark is accompanied by a series of dots which seem to indicate\nliquid trickling from the receptacle and permeating the soil, an idea\nwhich is strictly analogous to the much more elaborate Mexican images of\nthe vase full of rain or “earth-wine,” fig. 1, nos. 1 and 4, which, in\ncursive form, was employed as the emblem of the pulque, or octli lords,\nthe priests of the earth. It is strikingly significant to find that in the\nMaya Codices the drops issuing from the horse-shoe are sometimes figured\nas trickling into the mouths of “divinities” whose faces also exhibit\nimages of the sacred vase, analogous to that of the Mexican “octli-lords.”\n\nThese Maya divinities have been designated by Dr. Schellhas as god L,\nwhose face is painted black and under whose eye a vase is painted, a\npeculiarity termed by Maya authorities “an ornamented eye” and which may\nbe seen in fig. 33, iv; (2) as god M, “a second black god,” whose eye is\nlikewise enclosed in a vase and whose hieroglyph is a vase on a black\nground; and (3) as god C, of whom I shall subsequently speak in detail.\n(See Brinton’s Primer, pp. 122 and 124.) In the case of god L, the two\nhorse-shoe marks from which drops are falling into the mouth of the god,\nare surmounted by the glyph imix, to which I shall revert.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 33.\n\n\nThe horse-shoe mark with drops likewise occurs in the design resembling\nthe akbal glyph, which has been interpreted as connected with akab=night.\nIt also occurs, in Maya Codices, on bands exhibiting cross-symbols,\nsometimes in an inverted position and hanging from above and sometimes\nstanding on two of the three mounds which are a feature of these\ninteresting glyphs. Postponing a detailed discussion of these, I will but\nemphasize here that, in the Maya Codices the vase, cursively drawn as a\n“horse-shoe” mark, is proved to be intimately connected with the ideas of\nliquid falling from above, and constituting the drink of divinities and\nsymbols associated with the sacred vase, night and darkness, all\nattributes of the Below. We shall next demonstrate that it was alternately\nplaced, on the Maya Caban glyph, with a curious sign consisting of a\npea-shaped black dot, to which a curved and wavy line is attached. This is\nalways figured as issuing from above the dot, then extending downwards and\nhalf around it and terminating in a descending, undulating line.\n\nI submit the following to the consideration of Maya specialists: It seems\nto me that this sign presents an extremely realistic drawing of the seed\nof a monocotyledonous plant, such as the maize or Indian corn, in its\nfirst stage of germination, when the radicle, having issued from the apex,\nturns downwards in characteristic fashion and penetrates into the earth.\nBesides the realism of the native drawing there can be no doubt that the\nimage of a sprouting maize-seed is the most expressive and appropriate\naccompaniment to the symbol of fertilizing rain, on an earth-symbol, and I\nam unable to understand how Drs. Cyrus Thomas, Seler, Schellhas and\nBrinton could have overlooked the realism in this image of a sprouting\nseed, and concluded that it was a portrayal of “fermented liquor trickling\ndownward,” a “nose-ornament,” or a “twisted lock of hair,” “a cork-screw\ncurl.” The latter interpretation was made by Dr. Schellhas because he\nfound the sign in connection with female figures in the Codices, which\nundoubtedly is a fact of extreme interest, as it furnishes a valuable\nproof that the Mayas associated the earth with the female principle.\n\nDr. Schellhas, however, records his observation that the sign caban occurs\nas a symbol of fruit-bearing earth, in the Codex Troano, as it is figured\nwith leaves of maize (p. 33) or with climbing plants issuing from it and\nwinding themselves around a pole (p. 32). Geheimrath Förstemann connects\nthe day-name caban with “cab” to which Perez, in his dictionary, attaches\nthe meaning of “earth, world and soil” (Die Tages götter der Mayas.\nGlobus, vol. LXXIII, no. 9) and adds that the hieroglyph decidedly\ndesignates the earth. At the same time he interprets what I regard as the\nmaize-grain and its radicle, as possibly representing a bird in its flight\nupwards, and he merely describes the accompanying inverted horse-shoe with\ndots, without attaching any positive meaning to it. It must be added that\nDr. Förstemann himself states that he is not satisfied with his own\ninterpretation of these two symbols, the first of which, the seed and\nradicle, likewise occurs in the day-sign cib, to which I shall recur.\n\nIf any doubt remains as to the signification of the day-sign cab, I think\nit will be dispelled when it is shown that the name cab, or caban is\nobviously related to the adjective, adverb and preposition cabal or\ncablil, which signifies low, below, on the earth, in, beneath and under.\nThe frequent association of the cab glyph with the image of a bee, as in\nthe Codex Troano, is partially explained by the fact that the Maya word\nfor honey is cab, for honey-bee is yikil-cab. It affords at all events, an\ninstance, in Maya hieroglyphic writing, of a method of duplicating the\nsound of a word analogous to that which I detected in Mexican pictography,\nand named complementary signs in my communication on the subject,\npublished as an appendix to my essay on Ancient Mexican Shields\n(Internationales Archiv für Ethnographie, Leyden, 1892). On the other hand\nthe day name and sign cib, on which the sprouting grain is also figured,\nseems to be related to the verb cibah=to will, to occur, to happen, to\ntake place. The allusion contained in both glyphs is obviously the same\nand signifies, in the first place, the hidden process of germination which\ntakes place under the surface of the soil, and is associated with the idea\nof the female principle in Nature.\n\nThe seed and radicle, horse-shoe and rain-drops, are also distinguishable\non a vessel on page 35 of the Dresden Codex and on a small three-legged\nvase, which is figured by Doctor Brinton (Primer, 118) as the day sign\nch’en. This vase is surmounted by two in-curving projections and offers a\nclose analogy to a sacred vase with superstructure (fig. 33, II) from\nwhich projects a peculiar open and double receptacle, into which a priest\nis sowing small seeds. The interior of this bowl is represented as hollow,\nand containing what I shall show further on to be a native symbol for\nEarth: three little mounds. On another bowl, in front of this one, a bird\nis sitting and presumably hatching. In another portion of the same MS. a\nsimilar bowl is figured containing three seed fruits and capsules,\nresembling pomegranates or poppy-heads (fig. 33, III).\n\nThe tree next to which the first two symbolical bowls are placed deserves\nto be carefully studied, for the trunk is crowned by four stems bearing\nsingle leaves and is encircled by a serpent, _can_, the homonym for the\nnumeral four=kan. A fringed mantle and a scroll hang from the coils of the\nserpent’s body, two footsteps are painted on the scroll and, pointing\ndownwards, express “descent,” as do also the falling drops of liquid on\nthe stems of the tree which grows from a peculiar glyph with subdivisions,\nwhich has points of resemblance with the glyph under the footless divinity\n(fig. 33, I). An obsidian mirror, with cross bars, is painted in front of\nthe latter, which displays the same descending footsteps on its mantle.\nThe head and eyes of a snail, the symbol of parturition, are above its\nface and a wreath of flowers crowns its head. Tedious as such a minute\nanalysis may seem, it is nevertheless necessary, in order to gain a\nperception of the extent to which symbolism was practised in the picture\nwritings found in the Maya MSS., accompanied by the cursive calculiform\nglyphs. It seems that, in no. II, we have a presentation of the Maya “tree\nof life,” and that scrolls, on which descending footsteps are depicted,\nare intended to convey the meaning that life is descending from Above into\nthe egg and seeds by virtue or decree of the celestial power. It should be\nnoted here that the phenomenon of a living bird issuing from the hard and\ninanimate egg-shell had made as deep an impression upon the ancient\nphilosophers in Mexico as elsewhere, and that the power “to form the\nchicken in the shell” was deemed one of the most marvellous attributes of\n“the divine Moulder or Former,” as is further set forth in the “Lyfe of\nthe Indians.”\n\nThe foregoing illustrations establish, at all events, that the Mayas, like\nthe Mexicans, associated the sacred vase with seeds and germination. The\nvase, illustrated by Doctor Brinton, exhibits the seed and radicle; and\nthis is also found on the symbol for earth, which, in the Cortesian Codex,\nis associated with the image of a serpent, possibly the equivalent of the\nMexican Cihuacoatl, or female serpent.\n\nIf, after mustering this close array of analogies, we next examine the\nglyph cib, we find that it exhibits the seed and radicle in the centre of\na square, three sides of which are decorated with what Doctor Brinton has\ntermed the “pottery decoration(?).” This consists of short lines, such as\nare employed in Mexican pictography, in the well-known sign for tlalli, or\nland, which is usually surrounded on three sides by a fringe, presumably\nsymbolizing plants and grass, a “fringe” of vegetation and verdure. In the\nglyph cib, already referred to, I am inclined to see but a cursive\nrendering of the same idea, with the seed and radicle in the centre and\nthe fringed border barely indicated by a few short lines. The same border\nis found repeated on three sides of the head of a frequently recurring\npersonage whom Doctor Schellhas designates as “God C, of the Ornamented\nface.” In his extremely valuable work, Die Göttergestalten der\nMayahandschriften, this careful investigator records the various\ncombinations in which this God C occurs in the Codices and impartially\nweighs the possibilities of its meaning. Geheimrath Förstemann has made\nthe important observation that the figure of God C occurs in combination\nwith the day-sign, chuen, of the Maya calendar, which coincides with the\nMexican day-sign azomatli=monkey.\n\nI am unable to agree with my venerable friend in identifying God C, with\nPolaris. As Doctor Schellhas rightly observes, the fact that God C is\nfound in combination with the signs of all the four quarters disproves an\nidentification with Polaris. What is more, God C is frequently represented\nas receiving in his mouth drops of liquid falling from a cursive vase\nplaced above his head—a detail which clearly connects him with earth and\nthe “earth-wine.” In the Mexican MSS. we find the monkey intimately\nconnected with the octli or earth-wine gods as, for instance, in the “Lyfe\nof the Indians.” I therefore reserve a more detailed discussion of this\nsubject for my notes on this MS. and return to the glyphs caban and kan or\ncan.\n\nJust as it has been shown that the first may signify cabal=the Below, so\nit is evident that the second is connected with the preposition and adverb\ncanal, signifying “above, on top of, on high.” Dr. Brinton sees in the kan\nsymbol a presentation of a polished stone, or shell pendant, or bead, and\ncites the Maya dictionary of Motul which gives kan as the name for “beads\nor stones which served the Indians as money and neck ornaments.” In\nconnection with this important statement I revert to the carved\nshell-gorgets which have been found in the mounds and ancient graves in\nthe Mississippi valley and exhibit Maya influence. The greater number of\nthese exhibit a carved serpent (which in Maya is _kan_) in their centres\nand this fact affords a clue to the possible origin of the Maya name for a\nneck ornament given in the Motul dictionary. It is undeniable that all\nevidence unites in proving that the ancient peoples of the Mississippi\nvalley were in traffic, if not more intimately connected, with a\nMaya-speaking people and came under the influence of the ideas and\nsymbolism current in Yucatan.\n\nReturning to the employment of the glyph kan in Maya Codices, for more\nreasons than I am able to enumerate here, I conclude it served as an\nindicative of the Above or Heaven. It is a curious fact that the Maya word\nfor cord is kaan, whilst the name for sky is caan. I cannot but think,\ntherefore, that a carved pendant with a serpent effigy=a kan, worn on a\ncord=kaan, must have been associated by the Mayas with the Heaven or\nsky=caan, and that this linguistic coincidence must have been a strong\nfactor in the development of the symbolism attached to the glyph can or\nkan.\n\nAn interesting fact, which I shall demonstrate by a large series of\nillustration from native Codices in a chapter of my forthcoming work on\nthe ancient Calendar System, will show that in their hieratic writings,\nthe ancient Mexican scribes represented the nocturnal heaven or sky as a\ncircle composed of a cord, to which stars were attached, whilst the centre\nof the circle exhibited one or four stars. In my opinion the origin and\nexplanation of the association of the cord with stars are clearly\ntraceable to the above mentioned fact that in the Maya tongue the word for\ncord, kaan, closely resembles the sound of the word caan=sky. The presence\nof the cord in the Mexican symbols is, therefore, another indication of\ntheir Maya origin. A proof that the Mayas also employed the cord as a\nsymbol of the sky, or heaven, is furnished by the much-discussed\nlentil-shaped stone altar found at Copan, a small outline of which is\nrepresented in fig. 21, no. 1. In order fully to understand the meaning\nexpressed by this stone, it is necessary to bear in mind how indissolubly\nthe idea of something circular was associated by the Mayas and Mexicans\nwith their conception of the vault of heaven resting on the horizon, and\nof the Above, consisting of the two fluid elements, air and water.\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to refer again here to more than one authority\nfor the statement that the temples of the air (of the Above) were\ncircular, and the reason given by the natives for this was that “just as\nthe air circulates around the vault of the heaven, so its temple had to be\nof a round shape.”(12) As a contrast to this conception, the influence of\nwhich is also obvious in the form of the round temples and towers of the\nruined cities of Central America, I would cite the allusions to the solid\nearth contained in the sacred books of the Mayas, the Popol Vuh, as being\n“the quadrated earth, four-cornered, four-sided, four-bordered.” These\ndata establish the important fact, to which I shall recur, that the native\nphilosophers associated the Above, composed of air and water, with the\nrounded, and the Below, composed of fire and water, with the angular form.\n\nThe Copan stone altar exhibits the circular form and is surrounded by a\nsculptured cord which conveys the sound of its name kaan or caan=heaven.\nOn it a cup-shaped depression=ho-och, marks the sacred centre of the\nheaven, the counterpart to the terrestrial bowl whence all life-giving\nforce proceeded. Two curved lines diverge from this and divide the vaulted\ncircle into two parts. The curve in the lines may be interpreted as\nconveying motion or rotation whilst the division of the sky may have been\nintended to signify the eastern or male and the western or female portion\nof the heaven, the whole being an abstract image of central rulership and\nof a dual principle incorporating the four elements. It is obvious that\nthe meaning intended to be conveyed might also include the duality of the\nHeaven or Above, composed of the union of the elements air and water. By\npainting the stone in two or four colors either of these meanings could\nhave been expressed. In either case it will be recognized, however, that\nmuch as Dr. Ernest Hamy’s deductions concerning this altar have been\ncriticised, the learned director of the Trocadéro Museum, Paris, was\nundoubtedly right in recognizing that the stone is a cosmical symbol,\nintended to convey the idea of a two-fold division and analogous to the\nChinese tae-keih which it resembles, with the difference that the Copan\nsign is more complex exhibiting, as it does, a central bowl-shaped\ndepression. A glimpse at the other symbols in fig. 21 will show that the\nidentical idea is expressed in the Mexican signs exhibiting a central\ncircle, usually accompanied by a four-fold division.\n\nAn analogous attempt to express the same native idea is recognizable in\nthe peculiar mushroom-shaped stone figures, represented by a number of\nexamples at the Central American exposition recently held at\nGuatemala,(13) and recently described by the distinguished geologist and\nethnologist, Dr. Carl Sapper. The specimens had been collected in San\nSalvador and Guatemala and “resemble great stone mushrooms” inasmuch as\neach consists of three well-defined parts, a square pedestal from the\nmidst of which rises an almost cylindrical “stem” supporting a large\ncircular solid top, flat underneath and rounded above. The cylindrical\nsupport is carved in the rough semblance of a human form, which, in some\ninstances, has rays issuing from its head.\n\nAn acquaintance with the fundamental ideas of native cosmogony enables us\nto recognize that the square stone base typifies the solid part of the\nuniverse, the Below, whilst the vaulted circle above typifies the heaven,\nthe Above. The figure standing between both is evidently an image of a\ncentral lord and ruler, and the entire image is in accord with the native\nmode of thought as set forth in Mr. Frank H. Cushing’s report already\ncited and in the symbols which have been figured.\n\nAfter reading Mr. Cushing’s account of the native American philosophy,\npreserved to the present day by the Zuñis, it is impossible not to realize\nhow clearly the mushroom-images materialize the identical ideas which\nconstitute, indeed, the keynote of native thought and can be traced in\neach centre of ancient American civilization. I am inclined to think that\nthese stone images were, originally, painted with the colors assigned to\nthe four quarters, which would render the symbolism more apparent. The\nexistence of these images in a restricted area of territory, seems,\nmoreover, to indicate that they had been invented there, possibly under\nthe influence of a religious and political creed with particular reference\nto the union, in a single individual, of the power and attributes of the\nAbove and Below—an idea which strongly contrasts with Mexico and Yucatan,\nwhere the idea of duality prevailed to such an extent that, by creating\ntwo distinct religions and governments, it ultimately led to the\ndisintegration of the greatest of native empires and its fall, from which\nit was only rallying at the time of the Conquest. It is also possible that\nthe Guatemala images are the expression of the reversion to a more ancient\nform of philosophy or government when it had been realized that dual\ngovernment led to dissensions and disintegration. At all events the rude\nmushroom figures testify that the conception of a single celestial or\nterrestrial ruler of the Above and the Below filled the minds of their\nmakers at a time, the exact date of which it would be of utmost importance\nto determine, if this were only possible. It is also interesting to note\nthe curious analogy presented by these figures to the well-known statement\nby Confucius that, “the sage is united to Heaven and Earth so as to form a\ntriad, consisting of Heaven, Earth and Man.”\n\nThe association of the round form and of the peak with the Above and of\nthe square and bowl with the Below can be also detected in the form of\nnative American architecture, as exemplified, for instance, by the\ncontrasting shapes of two temples figured on page 75, of the Borgian Codex\n(fig. 34) which were obviously dedicated to the two prevailing cults. One\nof these is surmounted by a tau-shaped thatched roof with a flat top and\nturned-down ends. The dedication of this temple to Night or star-cult is\nconveyed in this case, by the sign for star on a black ground inserted in\nthe roof.(14)\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 34.\n\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 35.\n\n\nThe opposite temple exhibits a roof which rests on a black architrave and\noffers a general resemblance to an inverted tau. It rises in a tapering\nform and ends in a cone-shaped ornament. The existence and significance of\nthese two forms of temple-roofs might escape notice did the same not recur\nin two high caps or mitres figured in the Vienna Codex and obviously\nintended for the respective use of the Lords of the Above and of the Below\nat a religious ceremonial (fig. 35). The first of these ends in a high\npeak, the extremity of which is represented as capped with snow, in the\nsame conventional manner employed in figuring snow-mountains. An extremely\nsignificant feature of this cap is its exhibition of a curved and rounded\npattern only on its border. The second mitre ends in a horizontal line; it\nexhibits an angular pattern and two flaps hang down from it, which, as\nthey naturally concealed the ears of the wearer, seem to have been\nsymbolical of something hidden, and, perhaps, of silence and secrecy. A\nthird mitre is figured on the same page, which seems to unite the\ncharacteristics of both forms and is surmounted by a young maize-shoot,\nproceeding from a vase.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 36.\n\n\nThe association of the Above with a peak or point is further illustrated\nby a well-known peaked diadem always painted blue which was the symbol of\nthe visible ruler (fig. 36, no. 5). A peak also occurs on military shields\naccompanied by four bars (fig. 36, no. 3) and presents an analogy to no. 4\nfrom the “Lyfe of the Indians.” The latter is given as the symbol of a\nsacred festival which I have demonstrated in a previous publication to\nhave coincided with the vernal equinox.(15) For further reasons which I\nshall present in my calendar monograph, I infer that we have in this\ndrawing a most valuable image of the gnomon and dial employed by the Sun\npriests for the observation of the equinoxes and solstices. The human\nvictim who was attached to the centre of the circular stone during the\nsame festival is usually represented with the same cone or point and eight\nappendages on his head (fig. 36, no. 2). Owing to the circumstance that\nthis peaked head-dress, or cone, was sometimes employed by the scribes for\nits phonetic value, as in fig. 36, no. 1, from the Codex Mendoza, in which\ninstance it is figured on a mountain and is usually painted blue, we know\npositively that its name was Yope or Yopi—a valuable point since a temple\nand a sort of monastery in the courtyard of the Great Temple of Mexico\nwere both named Yopico (Sahagun). At the same time it should be noted that\nthe Maya name for “a mitre,” the symbol of a divine ruler, is Yop-at. In\nthe Mexican ollin-signs a cone or ascending point is usually placed above\nand opposite to a symbol consisting of a ring or loop. These evidently\nsignify the Above and Below, and in this connection it is worth noticing\nthat archaeologists have long puzzled over the curious forms of the two\nkinds of prehistoric stone objects which have most frequently been found\nin the island of Porto Rico. The first of these consists of an elongated\nstone, the centre of which rises in the shape of a cone, whilst the ends\nare respectively carved in the rough semblance of a head and of feet. The\nsecond form, which has frequently been found in caves, consists of a large\nstone ring, and is popularly termed “a stone collar.” I am inclined to\nregard the latter as being analogous to the “stone yokes” of ancient\nMexico and to infer that the aborigines of Porto Rico practised a form of\nthe same cult. It should be borne in mind that the high conical stone, on\nwhich the human victims were sacrificed, was a salient feature in an\nancient Mexican temple and that its form must have had some symbolical\nmeaning. The foregoing data indicate that it probably was emblematic of\nthe Above and Centre and was therefore regarded as the fitting place of\nsacrifice to the Sun and Heaven, whilst offerings to the Earth were most\nappropriately made in circular openings recalling the rim of the bowl and\nthe round line of the horizon. It will be seen further on that the cone\nrecurs in native architecture and that its use as a symbol, in the course\nof time, culminated in the pyramid.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 37.\n\n\nLet us return to it in its rudimentary stage, as a perpendicular line\narising from a medium level, forming an inverted tau. The widespread\nemployment amongst American peoples of the inverted and upright tau-shape\nas emblems of the Above and Below is abundantly proven and doubtlessly\narose as naturally as “the Chinese characters Shang=Above, employed as a\nsymbol for Heaven, and Lea=Below or Beneath, employed as a symbol for\nEarth. These are formed, in the one case, by placing a man (represented by\na vertical line) above the medium level (represented by a horizontal line)\nand in the other below it” (Encyclopedia Britannica, art. China) fig. 37.\nAnother equally graphic presentation of the analogous thought is furnished\nby the familiar Egyptian sign which exhibits a loop or something rounded\nand hollow above and a perpendicular line beneath the medium level. It is\nwell known that the tau occurs in Scandinavia and is popularly named\nThor’s hammer (fig. 38). Merely as a curious analogy I point out that in\nfig. 25, no. 2, from the Vienna Codex, we have an American instance of a\ntau-shaped object held in the hand in a ceremonial rite.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 38.\n\n\nThe late and lamented Baron Gustav Nordenskjöld observed that the\nentrances to the ruined estufas of the ancient cliff-dwellers of Colorado\nwere in the shape of an upright tau and it is well known that this is also\nthe case amongst the Pueblo Indians of the present day. By means of a\nphotograph taken by Dr. A. Warburg of Berlin, whilst witnessing the\nHumis-katshina dance of the Moqui Indians at Oraibi, in May, 1896, I am\nable to affirm that the native dancers wear masks and high head-ornaments,\npartly of wood, on which reversed and upright tau-symbols are painted, the\nfirst in a light and the second in a dark color. As the name of the\nceremonial dance was explained to Dr. Warburg as signifying “helping the\nsprouting or growing maize,” and celebrated the advent of the rainy\nseason, it is obvious that the two forms of tau which were displayed in\nalternate order on the heads of the dancers in the procession symbolized\nthe juxtaposition of the Above and Below, of Heaven and Earth.\n\nIn the ruined temples of Central America, windows in the shape of upright\nand reversed taus also occur. The following series of architectural\nopenings (fig. 39) are copied from Mr. Alfred P. Maudslay’s invaluable and\nsplendid work, which has not, as yet, met with the recognition it so\nrichly deserves.(16) They display besides the tau-shape (_g_ and _h_)\nother forms, the symbolism of which has been discussed. There are\ncross-shaped (_e_), square, round and oval windows (_d_, _j_, _b_ and\n_i_), the square obviously symbolical of the Earth and the round of the\nHeaven. Besides these there are openings in the form of a truncated cone\n(_a_ and _c_) and others ending in a narrow point (_k_). A striking form\nwhich recalls the Moorish arch and is shown in _f_, may, perhaps, be\nlooked upon as an attempt to express the idea of a union of the Above and\nBelow.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 39.\n\n\nIn connection with these architectural features it is interesting to study\ntheir names in the native languages. The Nahuatl names for windows are\nsingularly expressive of their uses: tlachialoyan=the watching place or\nlook-out; puchquiauatl=the smoke opening; tlanexillotl=a word which\nliterally means light and splendor, and to which the following words are\nrelated: tlanextia, verb=to shine, shed light and radiance;\ntlanextilla=something revealed, made manifest, found or discovered, newly\ninvented or formed (brought to light); tlanexcayotiliztli=figure,\nsignification or example; tlanexcayotilli=something figured or\nsignificative.\n\nThe meaning of the Maya name for window, ciznebna, is not clear, whilst\nthat for door, chi, is the same as for mouth, opening or entrance. At the\nsame time it is evident that, as in Mexico and elsewhere, the window\nopenings in the Maya temples must have been associated with the idea of\nlight, and the symbolical forms given to these besides their positions\nlead to the inference that they were actually regarded as mystic framed\nimages, so to speak, of the supreme, invisible deity, through which, the\nlight of day and the darkness of night alternately revealed themselves to\nthose inside the sacred buildings. A careful study of the positions and\norientations of these openings may yet prove that they also served for\nastronomical observation. The walls being usually pierced above reach,\nnothing but the sky could have been watched through them. But besides\nthese, the interiors of Maya ruins contain interesting examples of mural\nopenings and recesses which seem to have been carefully planned so that\nthey should appear dark even in daytime and, in more than one case, these\ndisplay the form of the upright tau, the symbol of darkness and the\nBelow.(17)\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 40.\n\n\nIt does not seem to have been generally recognized that the alternate\ncontraposition of upright and reversed taus produces the best known and\nmost widely spread primitive border-design, usually known as the Greek\nfret (fig. 40, no. 6). A plain demonstration of this is, oddly enough,\nvisible on the two side-projections of the Scandinavian brooch (fig. 13)\nall symbols on which, I venture to assert, would have been perfectly\nintelligible and full of meaning to an ancient Mexican. The evolution of\nthe fret, on the American continent, can be studied on the beautiful\nwooden clubs from Brazil and British Guiana, figured in Dr. Hjalmar\nStolpes’ valuable work already referred to. As striking instances his fig.\n8, pl. 1, figs. 3_a_ and 3_c_, pl. XIII, and figs. 1_a_ and 1_b_, pl. V,\nshould be examined. The latter instance is extremely instructive as it not\nonly exhibits single taus of two forms, but the same in different\npositions, as well as two double-headed figures joined in one, which\nillustrate the native association already discussed, of duality and of the\ncurved lines as the opposite of the rectangular and both respectively\nfiguring the Above and Below.\n\nIt is impossible to study the decorations on these South American clubs\nwithout becoming convinced that their makers shared the same ideas as the\nancient Mexicans. They offer, indeed, a whole set of variations on the\nnative theme and idea of Heaven and Earth. Two instances (fig. 5_a_, pl.\nIX, and 6_a_, pl. XI) in which the union of two figures produces a third,\nor a single one produces two, elucidate the meaning sometimes expressed by\nthe designs. In the round or spiral forms, which are most frequently\naccompanied by a zigzag border, I am inclined to see a presentation of air\nand water, corresponding to the Mexican symbols of the Above.\n\nAs lack of space forbids my making here a more extended comparison of the\nnative symbols, I shall but point out how the tau, in juxtaposition and\ncontraposition painted in two colors, produces fig. 40, no. 3. The picture\nfrom the Codex Mendoza of a native tlachtli, the form of which is\nrepresented by two taus in contraposition, is partly painted black. The\nsame division of a single tau into two parts, colored differently,\ntransforms no. 3 into no. 4 and shows that a single tau could have been\nemployed cursively to symbolize union. 2 and 7 are but variants of 3 and\n4. If, instead of angles, curved lines be given to the taus, the first\nhalf of fig. 5 is the result. When spaces between the incurving hooks and\nthe border are filled out with color, the familiar design on the second\nhalf of 5 results. With exception of the latter, the South American clubs\nexhibit each of the above forms, as well as no. 8. It will be shown later\nthat these also occur in ancient Peru.\n\nThe foregoing examples of the employment of taus in upright and reversed\npositions is, however, by no means exhaustive. Fig. 41 teaches that the\nfamiliar checker-board or tartan design, symbolically employed in ancient\nMexico, was the simple result of taus in contraposition, the square spaces\nthus found being alternately filled with black and brown or gray. The\nsymbolism of this design only becomes evident when all the combinations in\nwhich it occurs have been carefully studied. It is represented in the\nCodices in the doorways and arches of certain sacred edifices which are\nshown to be estufas or temaz-calli by further illustrations which I could\nnot reproduce here, but which exhibit even the steam escaping from the\nbuilding and other unmistakable features.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 41.\n\n\nSahagun has recorded how these semi-sacred edifices were specially\nconsecrated to the “Mother of the gods and of us all, whose curative and\nlife-giving power was exerted in the temazcalli, also named xochicalli,\nthe place where she sees secret things, rectifies what has been deranged\nin human bodies, fructifies young and tender things, ... and where she\naids and cures....” It was customary for pregnant women to resort to these\nbaths under the care of the medicine-woman who exhorted her patient on\nentering, with the words: “Enter into it, my daughter, enter into the\nbosom of our Mother whose name is Yoalticitl ... warm thyself in the bath,\nwhich is the house of flowers of our god ...” (Historia, book VI, chap.\nXXVII).\n\nThe Vienna Codex contains, besides pictures of temples (fig. 41, _a_ and\n_b_), two instances which elucidate the meaning of the design; _c_ of the\nsame figure displays the conventional symbol for land, fringed on three\nsides. Enclosed in this and seen, in profile, is a stratum of\nchecker-board design, above which is a sheet of water; d displays a\nconventionally drawn mountain, inside of which is the symbolical vase\nfilled with the design. From this steam or smoke ascends through the soil\nof the mountain, and forces its way through the surface, above which we\nsee two recurved puffs of smoke and a young blossoming maize shoot,\nconventionally drawn, such as may be seen worn by priestesses, as a\nsymbolical head decoration, on page 11 of the Vienna Codex. The seated\nfigure of a priest is represented as sheltering its growth with his\noutspread mantle. On his back he displays a symbol, composed of two rolls\nunited by a crossband, which is met with in Maya and Mexican Codices. In\nthe latter the four projecting ends are usually painted with the colors of\nthe four quarters. As these are figured as united into a single sign, it\nseems evident that this symbolized a union of the four elements deemed\nnecessary for the production of life by the ancient native philosophers.\n\nThe foregoing illustrations, to which more could be added, clearly\nestablish that the checkered design was associated with the symbols of\nearth, heat and water. It obviously expressed the idea embodied in the\nNahuatl word xotlac=the heated earth; literally, glowing embers, also\nbudding and opening flowers. It was emblematic of the fall of the rain or\nearth-wine upon the heated soil. In the temazcalli the same life-producing\nunion of the elements took place and aided human growth and health. It\nwould seem as though the appellation xoch-i-calli, bestowed upon the\nsweat-house by the native medicine-woman, expressed the same train of\nthought. Moreover, it is noteworthy, that the sound of the first part of\nthis name and of xo-tlac recurs in the Maya word for vase in general,\nho-och. The checker-board design would naturally have been employed in\nconnection with the festivals, associated with esoteric rites, which were\nheld in celebration of the union of the Heaven and Earth at the\ncommencement of the rainy season. It would, naturally, therefore, have\nbeen used as a decoration on the drinking vessels employed in the\ndistribution of fermented drinks for vivifying and curative purposes. It\nis met with on Peruvian drinking bowls, as proven by several examples in\nthe Royal Ethnographical Museum in Berlin, for instance.\n\nIt is curious to note as an interesting analogy that the same checkered\ndesign frequently adorns the ancient Egyptian drinking bowls represented\nin the hieroglyphic writings. I have also observed it in some ancient\nGreek drinking vessels, preserved at the Imperial Hermitage Museum at St.\nPetersburg, where it decorated the bowl itself or the garments of\nBacchantes figured thereupon. It is also met with in ancient Peruvian\ntextile fabrics, in black and white, as on one figure vase in the Berlin\nMuseum, and, needless to remark, it is a Scotch clan tartan. Its adoption\nas the basis for chess-boards of ancient Egypt seems to indicate that\nthere it also signified the Above and Below and that the game was thought\nof as an exemplification of the eternal contest between the powers of\nHeaven and Earth, light and darkness, etc. We look to specialists for\ninformation as to the origin, meaning and employment in Egypt and Greece\nof this primitive and almost universal design.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 42.\n\n\nIn ancient Mexico and possibly Peru, it obviously pertained to a set of\nideas which, in some communities, might easily have degenerated and led to\nthe institution of rites and ideas such as were prevalent in the Maya\ncolony which had established itself at the mouth of the Panuco river, on\nthe coast of Mexico, north of Vera Cruz, and from which the Huaxtecans of\nthe present day descend. It is interesting to note that the name of the\ncapital founded by the colonists, who seem to have emigrated owing to\nwell-founded religious persecution, was Tuch-pan, a word which signifies\nin the Maya tongue “the umbilicus,” qualified by pan, meaning “that which\nis above or excels,” etc., but which was expressed in Nahuatl\npicture-writings by a rabbit=tochtli and a banner=pantli.\n\nThe opposite of the checkered or xotlac design, was the native water and\nair pattern which has been pointed out as encircling the mitre of the Lord\nof the Above or Heaven. It likewise figures in native pictures on the\nmantles of some of Montezuma’s predecessors. The history of its origin and\ndevelopment is best learned from the following native illustrations. Fig.\n42, nos. 1 and 2, represents sea-waves, the Maya name for which, by the\nway, is kukul-yaam, which admits of the interpretation “divine-water” or,\nif we connect kukul with the Mexican coliuhqui, “twisted or bent water.” A\nrepresentation of water, as figured on a mantle in the “Lyfe of the\nIndians,” conveys the idea of water moved by the action of the wind, the\nblank curve reminding one also of the curves so often associated by native\nartists with serpents’ heads, and with the wind and rain-gods. The\nwell-known symbol of the air-god is accompanied, as already shown (fig.\n26), by an ornament which forms a solid frame for a hollow curve\nconstituting an air-image. In the following image an analogous ear\nornament is figured and it is surrounded by puffs of air or wind,\nconventionally drawn (fig. 43).\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 43.\n\n\nWhilst the foregoing illustrations amply prove that the natives associated\nthe curved and rounded form with water as moved by air, it must be noticed\nthat in Mexico and Yucatan, as well as in Brazil and Guiana, plain water\nwas figured by a series of parallel zigzag or undulated lines. For these\nreasons I infer that the symbolical design, representing actual waves,\nalways expressed the union of air and water, and was therefore emblematic\nof the cult of the upper elements, or the Above. It is unfortunate that,\nin Mexico, no vestiges remain of the circular temples which were\nparticularly dedicated to Quetzalcoatl=the divine twin or lord of the twin\nupper elements=air and water. Doubtlessly they were appropriately\ndecorated with horizontal bands exhibiting the sacred design. The ruined\ncondition of Central American round temples scarcely justifies the hope\nthat such a verification can be made. At the same time the round temple on\na square base, with its peculiar ground plan, was, of itself, an image of\nthe Above and of central rule extending to the four quarters (fig. 30, p.\n97). That the air and water design was actually employed in America as a\nfrieze on sacred edifices is proven, however, by more than one\nillustration in the Vienna Codex and other native MSS. (fig. 35, _c_). We\nalso see the design decorating the painted drinking bowls named xicalli\nwhich were employed in the distribution of the sacred pulque or octli at\ncertain religious festivals. As the Mexican name given to the design\nitself is xical-coliuhqui, it seems as though it was most popularly known\nas the “twisted or winding pattern” of the sacred drinking vessels.\n\nHaving originated, as I have shown, from the simplest observation of the\naction of air upon a surface of water, it is but natural that the same\ndesign should have independently originated in several localities. It is,\nnevertheless, worth mentioning here that the dome of one of the most\nbeautiful of ancient Greek remains, the choragic monument of Lysicrates,\nor lantern of Demosthenes at Athens, is surrounded by a band or fascia,\ncut into the water design. It is evident that, seen against the sky, this\ngraphically represented the curling waves of water “on summer seas,” and\nthis was evidently the most primitive method of employing this form of\nsymbolical decoration which is more familiar when executed in solid\nmasonry stucco, as a frieze.\n\nThe identical process of development may be observed in Mexican\narchitecture. In the Vienna and other native Codices, countless temples\nare depicted as surmounted with fasciæ cut into rectangular designs in\nsuch a manner that the blank space left between each solid projection\nfigures its inverted image in the air (fig. 35, _a_-_d_). In these open\nfasciæ an intention to symbolize the solid or Earth, and the fluid or\nHeaven, is discernible, whilst the step-like projections seem to express\nor convey the idea of ascent and descent, perhaps the ascent of human\nsupplication and the descent of the much-prayed-for rain. From the other\nexamples of temple decorations (fig. 35, _f_ and _h_) it is evident that,\nin solid friezes, a light and a dark color were employed in the same\ndesigns, to convey the same idea.\n\nEvidence proving that the emblems on the roofs of the temples were replete\nwith meaning is furnished by several representations of roofs, on which\nrows of upstretched hands or of human hearts are depicted. My horror at\nthese seemingly ghastly emblems vanished as soon as I ascertained their\nactual meaning from a passage in Sahagun’s Historia. Describing a certain\nsacred dance he records that “on the white garments of the girls who took\npart in it, hands and hearts were painted, signifying that they lifted\ntheir hearts and hands to heaven, praying for rain.” Not only does this\nexplain the symbolism of the hands on the temples but also the native\ncustom observed, by modern pilgrims in Mexico and Yucatan, of painting\nuplifted hands on the outer walls of sanctuaries as an act of piety and\ndevotion.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 44.\n\n\nThe hideous necklaces of alternate hands and hearts which encircle the\nneck of a great monolithic idol in the city of Mexico and of an image in\nthe “Lyfe of the Indians” are thus also proven to be the touching though\nuncouth and child-like expression of a devout prayer. Having gained this\ninsight into the deep significance of native emblems it is interesting to\nstudy the peculiar breast-ornament which is the emblem of Xiuhtecuhtli,\nliterally “the azure lord,” or the lord of the year or of fire and of the\nCihuacoatl or woman-serpent. It consists of an oblong plaque, the narrow\nends of which are cut out so as to simulate two air pyramids with steps.\nThe name of this symbolical ornament is recorded by Sahagun as\nxiuh-tetelli, literally the turquoise or grass-green pyramid. It is\ninvariably painted blue and displays a round plate of burnished gold in\nits centre. For more reasons than I can pause to relate here, it can be\nshown that the plaque probably symbolized the Above, the blue sky, water\nand air, whilst the gold plate was an image of the central divinity. The\nsides of the square stool on which the god is seated are also cut out so\nas to convey the idea that he is resting above terraced air-pyramids (fig.\n44). His shield is surrounded by a cord and contains a cross-symbol with\nlines conveying the idea of rotation and four circles. The banner above\nthe shield named pantli conveys the sound of the word pan=above, whilst\nhis conical ear-ornament symbolizes the Centre and Above. These details\nare noteworthy because I am about to point out the striking analogy\nbetween a Zuñi idol or fetish and the ancient Mexican pictures of the lord\nof fire and the lord of the north or the underworld=Tezcatlipoca.\n\nThis Zuñi idol was sent to the Royal Ethnographical Museum at Berlin as\npart of a representative collection by Mr. Frank H. Cushing and has been\nfigured and described in the publications of the Museum, with notes by Dr.\nE. Seler.(18) It represents the Zuñi god Ätchialätopa whose attributes are\nstone knives, who is the patron of the secret society, “Small fire” and\nwho is identified with a great star. His fetish represents him as standing\non the centre of a cross, formed of four beams placed vertically and\nperforated with step-like perforations. The ends are cut out like those of\nXiuhtecuhtli’s blue emblem. Two parallel bars, the upper one of which is\npainted blue, the color of heaven, and the lower painted green, the color\nof the earth, convey the ever-present native idea of the Above and Below.\nThe arms of the cross are painted red with yellow ends which, according to\nMr. Cushing, represent the light emanating, in four directions, from the\nstar. The arms are distinctly associated with the cardinal points and each\nsupports the effigies of a mountain lion and a bird—typifying, evidently,\nas in Mexico, the Above and Below. This cross, with the figure standing on\nits centre, is suspended from above and, during a certain ceremony, it is\nset into rapid gyratory motion, from left to right by the officiating high\npriest.\n\nIt is impossible not to see, in this fetish, a swastika in substantial\nform and in actual rotation; whilst the figure of the god, decorated with\nstone knives, moves as on a pivot in the centre, presenting exactly the\nsame idea as in the Mexican image of the god held in the centre of a\ncross-symbol by the jaws of a tecpatl or flint knife. It is unnecessary to\nmention again here that the only star in the heaven, which could possibly\nhave been regarded as a centre of rotation, is Polaris; but I should like\nto draw attention to the fact that bunches of feathers are attached to the\nextremities of the cross-beams and to the summit of the terraced\nhead-dress of the fetish and recall the circumstance that, amongst the\nMexicans and Mayas, the names for feather were almost identical with those\nfor heaven or something celestial and divine.\n\nAs the Zuñi god is said to be standing on his red star (an mo-yätchun\nthlana) and figures as a centre of rotation, I look upon this fetish as\naffording most striking confirmation of my conclusions concerning the\norigin of the swastika and cross symbols. If it is certain that, at the\npresent day, the Zuñis associate this star-god with Sirius and their cross\nsymbol with the morning star, then it is quite obvious that they have lost\nthe original meaning of the rotating-star fetish, which could never have\nbeen suggested by either of these or, indeed, by any other heavenly body\nbut Polaris. I regret that space does not permit me to consider here, more\nfully, other close analogies between ancient Mexican and modern Zuñi\nreligious ceremonies, etc., besides those which have been so well\ndescribed by Dr. J. Walter Fewkes.\n\nI cannot omit to note here for further reference that the national war\ngods of the Zuñis are the twin-brothers Ahaiiuta, the elder, whose altars\nwere situated _to the right_ or south and west of Zuñi, and Matsailéma,\nthe younger, whose altars stood _to the left_ or north and east of the\nvillage. The secret society of the warriors and priests of the bow\ndedicated their cult to these brothers, whose counterparts we have already\nstudied in Mexico and Yucatan.\n\nReturning to the primitive designs which expressed the union of the Above\nand Below, I point out an interesting example from the “Lyfe of the\nIndians,” which likewise symbolizes the four quarters, and their\nsubdivision and their relation to the whole (fig. 32, no. 3). A somewhat\nanalogous design, from Peru, presents an outline resembling a swastika\n(fig. 40, no. 9) which, when filled in with alternate colors, yields fig.\n40, no. 1, in which the idea of the Above and Below preponderates. Another\nexample of an analogous employment of a light and dark color is furnished\nby a shield in the Codex Mendoza, shown in fig. 1, no. 1, alongside of an\ninteresting image which gives us an insight into the depths of meaning\ncontained in the dualistic native designs. It consists of a disk, one-half\nof which represents the starry heaven and the other the sun, resting on a\nparti-colored support (no. 8). It is evident that day and night are thus\nsymbolized, and it is reasonable to infer that in some centres of thought\nespecially the ideas of light and darkness should have become associated\nwith the two different forms of cult the followers of which would be\nrespectively designated as the children of light and the children of\ndarkness. By means of a light and a dark color numberless variations of\nthe one theme were indeed obtained. In the native Codices, in textile\nfabrics and on pottery, there are also numerous examples of an extremely\nsimple design consisting of a single zigzag line running between two\nparallel lines and dividing the intervening space into two fields, the\nlower of which is filled out with black and the other with some light\ncolor. The dark upright and light inverted peaks were evidently employed\nas familiar and favorite emblems of earth and heaven.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 45.\n\n\nI am inclined to see in the serrated summit of the remarkable edifice,\nknown as the House of Doves at Uxmal, a rendering of the same symbolism on\na gigantic scale (fig. 45). It cannot but be recognized, moreover, that a\nhigh edifice presenting a regular series of cones, and extending from east\nto west, would have afforded an excellent means of registering the varying\npositions of heavenly bodies. To observers looking towards it from the\nnorth or south, at judiciously chosen distances, the entire span of the\nsky would have seemed divided into eight equal parts, seen as inverted air\npyramids between nine sections which rise in steps and terminate in\npoints, each gable being perforated with thirty window-like openings,\narranged in seven horizontal rows. The purpose of these gable-like piles\nhas been a riddle to the archaeologists, who have visited Uxmal. Dr. Wm.\nH. Holmes, from whose valuable works I cite the above descriptions,\nexpresses his wonder at “the great building, bearing upon its roof a\ncolossal masonry comb, built at an enormous expenditure of time and labor\n... which seemed to have been built exclusively for the purpose of\nembellishing the building and holding aloft its sculptured ornaments”\n(Ancient cities of Mexico, pl. I, p. 95).\n\nI venture to maintain that this remarkable edifice not only afforded\nfacilities for astronomical observation but constituted in itself a great\nprayer for rain wrought in stone and addressed to the Lord of Heaven by a\ndevout people. In corroboration of this inference, besides the foregoing\ndata, I point out that to this day the Pueblo Indians associate the step\npyramid form with beneficent rain and even give this shape to the edges of\nthe sacred bowls which are carried in the ceremonial dances by the\n“rain-makers.” According to Mr. Cushing the Zuñis compare the rim of such\nbowls to the line of the “horizon, terraced with mountains, whence rise\nthe clouds.” He was likewise informed that the terrace form represents\n“the ancient sacred place of the spaces,” an expression which, though\nsomewhat vague, seems to corroborate my view of the Uxmal building. The\nZuñi statement that the terrace form figured mountains leads to the\nsubject of so-called “mountain worship.” In ancient Mexico, at the\napproach of the rainy season, religious ceremonies are performed in honor\nof the mountains which were looked upon as active agents in the production\nof rain, because they attracted and gathered the clouds around their\nsummits. The tops of mountains were thus regarded as the sacred place\nwhere the sky and heaven met and produced the showers which vivified the\nearth. Pilgrimages and offerings to mountain summits formed a part of the\nduties of the Mexican priesthood, but in the cities the pyramid temple\nserved as a convenient substitute for the mountain.\n\nThe close association of the terrace form with rain and water symbolism is\ncertainly exemplified in the Mexican design on a temple roof (fig. 35,\n_e_). The most remarkable application of the dualistic designs is,\nhowever, met with in Peru where, according to Wiener, the irrigation\ncanals which carried water to the maize fields were laid out so as to form\npattern bands like fig. 40, nos. 4 and 7, for instance. It is evident that\nthis system of irrigation must have been an extremely effective and\npractical one, but that it had been probably adopted from superstitious\nmotives as an illustration of the vivifying union of the celestial shower\nwith the seed-laden soil. The assumption that the ancient Peruvians shared\nthe same ideas as the Mexicans and Mayas will be found justified by the\nfollowing data.\n\nIt is now my intention to give a brief and bare outline sketch of the\nPeruvian civilization, by means of a series of quotations from the best\nauthorities.(19) Incomplete though this must necessarily be, it will,\nnevertheless, establish, beyond a doubt, that the founders of the great\nInca empire were under the dominion of the same set of ideas which I have\nbeen tracing throughout the American continent. The lucid records of the\nPeruvian chronicles and the purity with which the system had been\nmaintained by the Incas, enable us to recognize and appreciate its\nmanifold perfections as a mode of primitive government.\n\nThe best authorities agree that the inhabitants of the country, now known\nas Peru, lived in barbarism until civilization was introduced amongst them\nby the Incas. One tradition designates an island in the Titicaca lake,\nanother Tiahuanaco, as the place where, “after the deluge,” a man or deity\nappeared, divided the land into four parts and distributed these to four\nbrothers, amongst whom was Manco Capac, to whom was assigned the province\nto the north. Each brother had a sister who was also his wife. Manco Capac\nand his sister and wife Mama-Ocllo or, according to other authorities, the\nthird Inca Lloque Yupanqui and his consort, founded Cuzco, also given as\nKosko or Kuska, a name which, according to Garcilaso de la Vega signifies\n“navel of the earth” and was bestowed “because the newly-founded capital\nwas to be the centre and point of all.” The city was divided into two\nparts: Hanan Cuzco=the Above, which was ruled over by the Inca, and Hurin\nCuzco=the Below, which was governed by his wife and sister, who bore the\nhonorific title of Coya=queen and Mamanchic=our mother. The inhabitants\nconsequently became separated into two categories: the upper lineage and\nthe lower lineage, Hanan-ayllu and Hurin-ayllo. At the same time this\ndivision was not made so “that those of one-half should have an advantage\nover the other ... the command was that only one difference and\nacknowledgment of superiority was to be conceded to the inhabitants of the\nupper town. They were to be respected and looked upon as the first born\nand elder brothers, whilst the dwellers in the lower town were to be\nregarded as younger or second brothers. They were to rank as the right arm\nand the left arm in all offices or places where precedence was necessary.\nThe same division was subsequently carried out in all the towns, great or\nsmall, throughout the country, their inhabitants being constantly classed\ninto upper and lower lineages or classes.” The empire itself was named\nTauantin-suyu, signifying the four in one, or the empire, which was\ndivided into four provinces: Anti-suyu=East; Cunti-suyu=West, on the road\nto which were two famous brooks of water named the silver serpents,\nCollquemachachuay; Chincha-suyu=North; Colla-suyu=South. It is recorded\nthat the Coya or queen went to the Colla-suyu or South and taught the\nwomen the art of weaving, of planting maize and of preparing it for food.\nIn connection with the name of female rule=Coya, and the South=Colla-suyu\nit is interesting to note that the name for granary was Coll-cana. Padre\nArriaga (quoted by Rivero and Tschudi, p. 163) describes a remarkable\nmonument which shows that the West was also associated with the female\nruler. “The monolithic statue [magnificently sculptured and placed on a\nsepulchral eminence near Hilavi] represented two monstrous figures\nstanding back to back. One, representing a man, faced to the East; the\nother, with a woman’s face, looked towards the West.(20) Serpents were\nrepresented as crawling up the figures and these stood on other reptiles\nresembling frogs. In front of each of these idols there was a square slab\nof stone which seemed to have served as an altar.”\n\nWith the dual division of the population the seeds of dissension were sown\nin Peru as elsewhere. At a certain festival the youths of the upper\nlineage encountered those of the lower lineage in trials of strength and\nprowess, which sometimes resulted in violence. A certain feeling of\nrivalry and opposition must have been thus fostered. Two forms of cult\nprevailed: the Inca lords and warriors were associated with the cult of\nthe Above of which the emblems were golden images of the Creator and of\nthe Sun, “the lord of day,” to whose power rain and thunder were\nattributed. The silver huaca or image of the moon, called Quilla in\nQuechua and Pacsa in the Colla dialect, was in the figure of a woman and\nwas kept under the charge of women, the reason for this being “that the\nmoon was a woman.” During the festival Situa, one day was dedicated to the\nCreator, the Sun and Thunder and another to “the Moon and Earth, when the\naccustomed sacrifices and prayers were offered up.” We thus clearly\ndistinguish a cult of the Heaven and Day presided over by the Inca and a\ncult of Earth and Night, whose high priestess was the Coya. She, moreover,\nhad charge of the embalmed bodies of her predecessors, which were regarded\nas sacred and were solemnly carried forth in certain festivals, whilst the\nbodies of the defunct Incas were guarded by their successor. The emblems\nof both cults were, however, preserved in a single Great Temple, whose\nprincipal doorway looked to the north, a fact of special importance in\nconnection with what follows.\n\nAll authorities, indeed, designate the north as the quarter whence the\nforeign culture-heroes came to Peru. “The Incas had a knowledge of the\nCreator from the first,” but it was not until the time of the Inca\nYupanqui that the ignorant sun-worship of the primitive inhabitants of the\ncountry was superseded by a firmly established new and superior religion.\n\n“Inca Yupanqui appears to have been the first to order and settle\nceremonies and religions. He it was who established the twelve months of\nthe year, giving a name to each and ordaining the ceremonies that were to\nbe observed in each. For although his ancestors used months and years\ncounted by the quippus, yet they were never previously regulated until the\ntime of this Lord. He was of such clear understanding that he reflected\nupon the respect and reverence shown by his ancestors to the Sun who\nworshipped it as a God. He observed that it never had any rest and that it\ndaily journeyed round the earth; and he said to those of his council that\n_it was not possible that the Sun could be the God who created all things,\nfor if he was he would not permit a small cloud to obscure his splendour;\nand that if he was creator of all things he would sometimes rest and light\nup the whole world from one spot. Thus it cannot be otherwise but that\nthere is someone who directs him and this is the Pacha-Yachachi, the\nCreator_, literally, the Teacher of the World.” His predecessors had\nordered an oval plate of fine gold which was to serve as an image of the\nCreator of heaven and earth, and, in order to convey this meaning it was\nplaced between images of the sun and moon; a proof that the latter were\nemployed as symbols of heaven and earth.\n\nInca Yupanqui, however, also caused a statue of the Creator to be made of\nfine gold and of the size of a boy of ten years of age in order to convey\nthe idea of his eternal youth. “It was in the shape of a man standing up,\nthe right arm raised and the hand almost closed, the fingers and thumb\nraised as one who was giving an order.” The second gold statue he had\nmade, a personification of the sun “which was dressed like the Inca and\nwore all his insignia,” shows he claimed to be and constituted himself as\nthe visible representative and Lord of the Above. The silver female statue\nof the Moon doubtlessly exhibited, in the same manner, the insignia of the\nCoya. Inca Yupanqui also ordered the houses and temple of Quisuar-cancha\nto be built and, at this spot, Sir Clements Markham observed an ancient\nwall, with serpents carved upon it. The name signifies, literally, “the\nplace of the Quisuar tree,” and will be again referred to further on.\nWithout pausing to discuss the subject at length let us examine further\nthe scheme of government, etc., introduced by the Incas, the most striking\nfeature of which was the systematical classification of the people, their\nassignment to specified dwelling places and the distribution of labor\naccording to prescription.\n\nThe key to the entire gigantic system was the conception of a central\nimmutable supreme power which directed all visible and invisible\nmanifestations and which sent forth and re-absorbed all energy. In Cuzco\nand in the Inca Empire we have a minutely described instance of the\napplication, to terrestrial government, of the laws of fixed order,\nharmony, periodicity and rotation learned by earnest and patient observers\nof the northern heaven, during countless centuries of time. The centre of\nCuzco consisted of a great square whence four roads radiated to the\ncardinal points. In the centre of this stood a gold vase from which a\nfountain flowed. The Spaniards also found in Cuzco a large,\nbeautifully-polished stone-cross which evidently symbolized, as in Mexico,\nthe four quarters and must have been appropriately placed in the square.\nGarcilaso de la Vega states that the capital formed an actual image of the\nwhole empire, “for it was divided into four quarters and an extremely\nancient law rendered it obligatory that representatives of each province\nand of each class of population should reside there in homes, the location\nof which precisely corresponded to the geographical position of their\nrespective provinces. Each lineage was thus represented and occupied\nseparate dwellings, assigned to them by the governors of the quarters. All\npersons were obliged to adhere to the customs of their forefathers and\nalso wear the costumes of their ayllus or tribes (Cieza de Leon, Cronica\nchap. XCIII). For the Incas had decreed that the dresses worn by the\nmembers of each tribe should be different, so that the people might be\ndistinguished from each other as, down to that time, there had been no\nmeans of knowing to what locality or tribe an Indian belonged.”... In\norder to avoid confusion the modes of wearing the hair were rigidly\nprescribed and the bands worn on the head by the vassals had to be black\nor of a single color only. The higher in rank a person was the more his\ncostume resembled that of the Inca, without, however, approaching it in\nlength and richness. “Thus, even in an assemblage of 100,000 persons it\nwas easy to recognize individuals of each tribe and of each rank by the\nsigns they wore on their heads.”...\n\n“It was obligatory that each should permanently live in the province he\nbelonged to. Each province, each tribe and, in many parts each village,\nhad its own language which was different from that of its neighbors. Those\nwho understood each other by speaking the same language considered\nthemselves as related to each other and were friends and confederates....\nThe Incas employed a private language of their own which none but members\nof the royal lineage presumed or dared to learn.” Garcilaso de la Vega,\nwho claimed royal descent, stated that unfortunately no records remained\nto enable one to form an idea of what the Inca language was like.\n\nThe autocratic, though peaceable way in which the novel scheme of\ngovernment was imposed upon the inhabitants of Peru by the foreign\nchieftains is best proven by the following passages from the Rites and\nLaws of the Incas (p. 77) and Garcilaso de la Vega (pp. 9 and 10). “With a\nview that each tribe should be clearly distinguishable and after assigning\na different costume to each they were ordered to choose their respective\npacariscas, a word meaning, literally, their birth and origin. They were\ntold to choose for themselves whence they were descended and whence they\ncame, and as the Indians were generally very dull and stupid, some chose\nto assign their origin to a lake, others to a spring, others a rock,\nothers a hill or ravine. But every lineage chose some object for its\npacarisca. Some tribes [subsequently] adored eagles because they boasted\nto have descended from them ... others adored fountains, rivers, the\nearth, which they call Mother, or air, fire, ... snow-mountains, maize,\nthe sea, named mother-sea.”\n\nAccording to Garcilaso de la Vega “the Peruvian tribes subsequently\ninvented an infinity of fables concerning the origin of their different\nancestors.... An Indian does not consider himself honorable unless he can\ntrace his descent from a river, fountain, lake or the sea, or from some\nwild beast like the bear, puma, ocelot, eagle, etc.” An example of a\ncertain amount of vain-glory was indeed set by the diplomatic Inca himself\nwho claimed, for himself and lineage, descent from the Sun and reserved\nburnished gold ornaments for his particular use. His successors\nsubsequently built a temple of the Sun at Cuzco and set up its image made\nof gold and precious stones. Around this, the royal “pacarisca,” they\nplaced the mummies of all the dead Incas. In another room there was an\nimage of “the moon, with a woman’s face,” and about it were the mummies of\nthe royal women. From this we learn that the latter assigned their origin\nto the moon and that it was their pacarisca or huaca. As an illustration\nof the way in which creation-myths are sometimes evolved from actual\noccurrences, it is interesting to study another account of the mode in\nwhich tribal regulations were introduced into Peru. Owing, most probably,\nto the fact that one of the titles given to the Creator was “the Teacher,”\nwe find Molina attributing to the Creator himself the establishment of the\ntribal system and the assignment of totems and different costumes to each\ngroup or family. If we read his account and, with Garcilaso de la Vega and\nothers, attribute to the Incas the introduction of civilization into Peru,\nwe recognize the practical good sense with which they accomplished the\nrather difficult task of obliging each tribe to wear a different costume.\n“In Tiahuanaco ... he made one of each nation of clay and painted [these]\nwith the dresses that each one was to wear. Those who were to wear their\nhair, with hair; and those who were to be shorn, with hair cut ... when he\nhad finished making the nations and painting the said figures of clay, he\ngave life and soul to each one, as well man as woman ... each nation then\nwent to the place to which he ordered it to go.”\n\nI confess that, until I studied the above record in full, I had very vague\nideas about the huacas or “idols” of the Peruvians. But when I found it\nstated, further on, that “each tribe wore the dress with which their huaca\nis invested,” I began to realize what huacas might originally have been.\nIt would seem that on assigning a different costume and distinctive name\nto each tribe, the founder of the new colony gave each chief as a model, a\ndifferent clay doll, painted with the distinctive marks he and his people\nwere to adopt. This figure would naturally have been kept for reference\nand treated as something sacred. On certain official occasions it would be\nproduced as a means of identification or proof that the prescribed\ncostumes had been strictly adhered to. To this practical and sensible plan\nthe origin of the so-called tribal and household idols of the Peruvians\nand of the Mexicans can doubtlessly be assigned. Invented as an aid in the\nestablishment of tribal-names and dress-regulations and intimately\nconnected with the entire system of government, these huacas gradually\nbecame the representative of the ancestor of the clan, its “canting” arms\nand its sacred palladium. We are told that after the tribes had chosen\ntheir various ancestors or origins, such as caves, hills, fountains, etc.,\nthey settled in the land and multiplied. Then, on account of having\n“issued or descended from stated localities, the people made huacas and\nplaces of worship of these, in memory of the origin of their lineage....\nThe huacas they use are in different shapes.... Some say the first of\ntheir lineages were turned into falcons, condors and other animals or\nbirds” (Molina ed. Hakluyt, p. 5). A certain form of ancestor-cult was\nthus evolved in a natural manner. “Idolatrous rites increased and people\ndevoted themselves to the worship of huacas ... each village had its\nhuaca. The cult assumed such proportions under Ccapac Yupanqui that he\nexclaimed: ‘How many false gods are there in the land, to my sorrow and\nthe misfortune of my vassals! When shall we see these evils remedied?’ ”\n\nAt the same time we find that clay or wooden figures continued to be\nemployed evidently as a method of keeping an accurate register of the\npopulation. In the capital, one building held duplicates of all the huacas\nthroughout the land. When a new province was conquered the Inca carried\nits principal huaca to Cuzco. One or more living representatives of the\nconquered tribe, wearing its characteristic dress, were obliged to reside\nin the capital. In ancient Mexico these “living images of the gods” are\none of the most striking features of the native civilization and have been\npersistently misunderstood, especially by modern authorities. As these\n“living gods” are specially treated in the “Lyfe of the Indians,” I shall\nmerely point out here that small clay portraits or effigies of persons\nwere made in Mexico at certain stages of an individual’s life and also\nafter his death. These seem to have been employed for statistical\npurposes.\n\nIn Mexico and Peru large numbers of small images were preserved in each\nhousehold and were under the charge of its chief or “older brother,” who\nwas obliged to guard and render account of them. Of course the Spanish\nconquerors took it for granted that all of these were idols and, in their\nignorance, destroyed them unmercifully. Once the native system of tribal\norganization is understood, it becomes evident that an accurate register\nof all members of a tribe was of utmost importance. By means of a group of\nmore or less skillfully-modelled figures or heads the size of a family\ncould be ascertained at a glance by the government recorder. In the light\nof this recognition it seems more than probable that the immense numbers\nof small clay heads of various kinds, found in the “street of the dead” at\nthe base of the great pyramids of Teotihuacan, and elsewhere, indicate\nthat, in these localities, a periodical and official registration of\ndeaths was carefully carried on. This assumption is fully corroborated by\nthe conclusions I reached, in 1886, after making a minute study of a large\nnumber of terra-cotta heads(21) and ascertaining that numbers of them were\nportraits of dead persons. The above inference is, moreover, confirmed by\nthe name of Teotihuacan, which means, literally, “the place of the lords\nor masters of the teotle.” The term teotl was given to the head of a\ntribe, who constituted the living image of the tribal ancestor. When he\ndied he himself became one of the tribal ancestors and all dead lords were\ntermed teotle.\n\nThe foregoing data enlighten us as to the practical value of a sternly\nenforced system of division and differentiation for the control of the\npopulation, and of clay images of persons for statistical purposes. We\nhave seen that, during many centuries, the energy of the rulers was\ndirected towards making groups of people as distinct and different from\neach other as possible. They were rigidly kept apart and, in all\nassemblages, they occupied separate positions, in a fixed order of\nrelation to each other. “All the people of Cuzco came out according to\ntheir tribes and lineages ... and assembling in the great square ... sat\ndown on their benches, each man according to the rank he held, the\nHanan-Cuzco on one side and the Hurin-Cuzco on the other” (Molina ed.\nHakluyt, p. 26). Beside this dual division of the entire population, under\nthe separate rulerships of the Inca and Coya, who were linked together,\nhowever, in a sacred and indissoluble union and respectively represented\nHeaven and Earth, let us study the executive administration of the\nreligious and civil governments.\n\nTwo sets, each consisting of four rulers, next in rank to the Inca and\nCoya, are described: Each quarter or Suyu was ruled over by a “viceroy,”\nor “Inca governor,” entitled tucuyricoc=“he who sees all,” or Capac. In\nthe days of the Inca Huayna Capac the names of the four “viceroys” are\nrecorded as having been Capac=Achachic, Capac=Larico, Capac=Yochi,\nCapac=Hualcaya. These were obviously members of the Inca family and next\nin rank to the Inca, who presided as supreme pontiff over the religious\ngovernment. The civil and tribal administration was executed by four\nCuracas, each of which had charge of 10,000 persons belonging to the\nayllus=tribes or lineages. The titles of these four Curacas are recorded\nas: Hunu-Camayu or Camayoc, Huaronca-Camayu or Camayoc, Pachaca-Camayu or\nCamayoc, Chunca-Camayu or Camayoc. As their titles show, they were the\nchief accountants or recorders of statistics, which were recorded by means\nof the quippus. Under them, in regular order there were officers, who\nrespectively had charge of 500, 100, 50 or 10 individuals. In the latter\ninstance it is expressly stated that it was always one man out of the ten\nwho governed and rendered account of the remaining nine. The four chief\nrecorders dwelt in Cuzco but “left it every year and returned in February\nto make their report ... bringing with them the tribute of the whole\nempire. They also reported upon the administration every year recording\nthe births and deaths that had occurred among men and flocks, the yield of\ncrops and all other details, with great minuteness” (Polo de Ondegardo).\n\nFrom the recorded details of organization we learn that the governmental\nscheme introduced by the Incas was based on the assumption that the\nstandard population of the empire should number 40,000 individuals under\nthe civil rulership of 4 recorders, 40 first-grade officers, 400\nsecond-grade officers, 4,000 third-grade officers—each of the last being\nresponsible for nine individuals besides himself. It is noteworthy that\nthe three grades of officers correspond to the threefold division of the\nentire produce of the land, between the Inca, the Huaca and the Ayllu,\nequivalent to the religious government, the civil government and the\npeople—to the Above, Below and Middle. The minimal division of people into\ngroups of ten of which one was the governmental representative\ncorresponds, moreover, to the classification into the following ten\ncategories, according to their ages:\n\n1. Mosoc-aparic: baby, “newly begun,” “just born.”\n2. Saya-huarma: child, “standing boy,” age 2-6.\n3  Macta-puric: “child that can walk,” age 6-8.\n4. Itanta-requisic: “bread-receiver,” boy about 8.\n5. Pucllac-huarma: “playing boy,” age 8-16.\n6. Cuca-pallac: “Coca pickers,” age 16-20.\n7. Yma-huayna: “as a youth,” light service,  age 20-25.\n8. Puric: “able-bodied,” tribute and service, age 25-50.\n9. Chaupi-rucca: elderly, light service, age 50-60.\n10. Puñuc-rucca: dotage, no work, 60 upwards.(22)\n\nAlthough for statistical purposes, exact registers of each of these groups\nwere annually made by the recorders, it is evident that the purics or\n“able-bodied” men constituted the most important portion of the\npopulation. They naturally fell into two groups consisting of the nobility\nand commoners, but scattered evidence amply provides that they were\nstrictly classified according to the special service or tribute they\nrendered to the government. The best produce of each province was brought\nto Cuzco.\n\nThe inhabitants of each region were specially trained to render certain\nservices or to excel in particular industries—by this means each tribe\ngradually became identified with its special industry or aptitude. The\nnecessity that the supply of their produce should be constant and regular,\nmust have necessitated the permanent maintenance of a fixed number of\nworkers at each branch of industry, a fact which would give rise to rigid\nlaws controlling the liberty of the individual, forcing children to adopt\ntheir parents’ avocations and forbidding intermarriages between persons of\ndifferent provinces. As scattered mention is made of the following general\nclassification of the male population, I venture to note them as follows,\nprovisionally:\n\nNobility: Commoners.\n\n1. lords: shepherds (of lamas),\n2. priests: hunters,\n3. warriors: farmers,\n4. civil governors: artificers.\n\nThe female population was doubtlessly subdivided in an analogous manner,\nfor it is expressly recorded that all marriageable girls were kept in four\ndifferent houses. Those of the first class, qualified as “the white\nvirgins,” were dedicated to the service of the Creator, the Sun and the\nInca; the second were given in marriage to the nobility; the third class\nmarried the Curacas or civil governors, and the last were qualified as\n“black,” and pertained to the lower classes.\n\nCaste division was never lost sight of—indeed one Inca went so far as to\norder that all the people of the Below “should flatten the heads of their\nchildren, so that they should be long and sloping from the front.” Thus\nthey should ever be distinguishable from the nobility and “yield them\nobedience.” Although it is not expressly stated, it may be inferred from\nactual specimens of skulls which have been found that, in some localities,\nin order to differentiate the two classes still more, members of the\nnobility strove to mould the heads of their children in a high peak, so\nthat they too should perpetually bear the mark of their rank. Whether such\na procedure would exert a correspondingly elevating or abasing influence\nupon the intellectual development of the two classes is a problem for\nanthropologists.\n\nA very simple explanation of the reason why artificial deformation of the\nskull was ever adopted, is obtainable when the all-powerful dominion of a\ncertain set of ideas is recognized. Many other customs, still in practice\namongst American tribes, are likewise explained by the arbitrary division\nof population into classes and categories. The Peruvian custom of\nbestowing one name upon a child when it was one year old and another when\nit attained maturity is the direct outcome of the classification of\nindividuals by age. The ceremonial observances which accompanied the\nbestowal of these names were accompanied by a change of costume which\nconstituted the official enrolment or advancement into another class. The\nexistence of further systematic class-distinctions is proven by the\ndescription of the picturesque ceremony performed in the month of August\nat Cuzco and called “the driving out of sickness.” In the centre of the\ngreat square around the urn of gold which typified the “central fountain”\n(precisely the idea expressed by the name of Mexico), four hundred\nwarriors assembled. One hundred, representing one of the four ayllus,\nfaced towards each cardinal point and subsequently ran at full speed in\nits direction, crying “Go forth all evils!”\n\nWe have now traced the idea of the Above and Below, Centre and Four\nQuarters in Ancient Peru. It remains to be noted that the capital itself,\nwhich was to be the image of the whole empire, was primarily divided into\ntwo halves and four quarters, and subdivided into 4×3=12 wards the names\nof which doubtlessly corresponded with that of their inhabitants. When the\nsacred centre of the capital is added to these it is clear that the City\nof Cuzco was subdivided into as many parts as there were directions in\nspace, _i. e._ 13. It exemplified, therefore, an association of 2×10=20\ncategories of people classified according to ages, with thirteen\ndirections in space, and a general subdivision of all classes into four\nparts. The Inca with the four Capacs and the Coya with the four Camayocs\nformed two groups of five each, which could well have been represented by\na large central figure surrounded by four smaller ones of equal size. By\ncoloring these with red, yellow, black and white, their assignment to the\ncardinal point could have been expressed. The central figure could be\npainted in four colors, for only the Inca and his lineage could wear\nmany-colored garments, these being indicative that they represented the\ncentre or union of the four quarters.\n\nTwo important features of the system remain to be discussed: We have\nstudied the minute and methodical classification of the entire population\ninto distinct groups without touching upon the practical reasons why this\nwas done. We have analyzed the great machinery of the Inca dominion as it\nlies broken and motionless. But endow the giant wheel with motion,\nintroduce systematical rotation into its every part, regulate the\noccupations of the people by a fixed series of work-days and holidays.\nSend them forth to their work and collect the products of their labor at\nset intervals, _institute a calendar_, and you will have set the machinery\nof state in motion and realized how the classification of individuals\naccording to rank, ages, and occupations was absolutely necessary in order\nto obtain a successful and harmonious result. It has already been shown\nthat the institution of the calendar and establishment of twelve festival\nperiods of thirty days each, in a year, succeeded the division of the\npeople into groups and their assignment to fixed places of abode.\n\n“They commenced to count the year in the middle of May, a few days more or\nless, on the first day of the Moon ... in this month they held the\nfestivals of the Sun” (Molina ed. Hakluyt, p. 16). I direct particular\nattention to the fact that it was the new May moon which controlled the\nbeginning of the religious calendar, although the Incas observed the\nequinoxes and solstices and the cult of the Sun was under their special\ncare. The twelve divisions of the year accord with the twelve wards of\nCuzco surrounding the central enclosure which was always the place where\nthe festivals were held and the people congregated.\n\nI have as yet found no account of the lesser divisions of time in Peru,\nbut note that the period of thirty days consisted of six periods of five\ndays each, a subdivision which would obviously accord with native habits\nof thought if associated with the six terrestrial directions in space and\nif a reunion of people and collection of produce from four quarters took\nplace on every fifth day in the capital. In my special work on the\nCalendar systems of ancient America I shall be able to discuss more fully\ntheir intimate indissoluble relation to the regulation of labor and\ncontrol of the food supply absolutely requisite for the great capital.\n\nThe idea of rotation was carried out in a ceremony described by Molina.\nWhen the December moon was full, after having ploughed their fields during\ntwelve days, “all persons returned to Cuzco ... the people went to a house\ncalled moro-uco, near the houses of the Sun and took out a very long cable\nwhich was kept there, woven in four colors, black, white, red and yellow,\nat the end of which was a stout ball of red wool. Everyone took hold of\nit, the men on one side, the women on the other, performing the sacred\ndance called yaquayra. When they came to the square ... they went round\nand round until they were in the shape of a spiral shell. Then they\ndropped the cable on the ground and left it coiled up like a snake. The\npeople returned to their places and those who had charge of the cable took\nit back to its house.” An extremely important instance of the application\nof the spiral is preserved in an illustration in the Account of the\nAntiquities of Peru by the native chronicler Salcamayhua (ed. Hakluyt, p.\n109). He relates that the Inca Huayna-Capac, when he reached the town of\nTumipampa, “ordered water to be brought from a river by boring through a\nmountain, and making the channel enter the city by curves in this way:”\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 46.\n\n\nThe illustration, reproduced here (fig. 46), exhibits an extremely\ningenious mode of irrigation which divided the country surrounding the\ntown into nine zones of land lying between currents of water. These are\ncut through by an exit canal which, at the same time, presumably supplied\na direct water-way for traffic to and from the town. The association of\nthe spiral form with irrigation would not, perhaps, seem as important and\nsignificant did we not know that the ancient Peruvians, as proven by\nWiener, habitually laid out the irrigation canals in their maize-fields so\nas to form regular designs, some of which resembled those illustrated on\nfig. 40, nos. 2, 4, 6, 7, which have been shown to signify the union of\nthe Above and Below, or Heaven and Earth. In the Peruvian irrigation\ncanals the water supplied the light lines and the earth the dark, and when\nthe small canals were full and were observed in certain lights, they must\nhave resembled light blue or white patterns running through the dark\nearth. That their inventors and makers actually associated them with\nprofound meaning and laid them from superstitious as well as practical\nmotives is obvious; for, in Peru, as in Mexico, we find the periodical\nunion of the Heaven and Earth, of rain and earth celebrated with\nceremonial drinking of chicha, specially brewed for this period which\nseems to have been the regularly appointed time for juvenile match-making,\nby order of the Inca.\n\n“When the Inca gave women as wives they were received because it was the\ncommand of the Inca ... because of this it was considered that she was\ntaken until death and she was received on this understanding and never\ndeserted” (Molina). “When the Inca Rocca married his sister, six thousand\npeople were married on the next day” (Montesinos). In the festival called\nCcapac Raymi, maidens who had attained womanhood offered bowls of\nfermented chicha to the youths who had just been admitted to the ranks of\nthe warriors.\n\n“During this festival the Priests of the Sun and of the Creator brought a\nquantity of fuel, tied together in handfuls, and dressed as a man and a\nwoman ... they were offered to the Creator, the Sun and the Inca and were\nburnt in their clothes together with a sheep” (Molina).\n\nTowards the end of the same month (November), feasts were celebrated for\nthe flocks of the huacas, that they might multiply; for which sacrifices\nwere made throughout the kingdom. Ultimately “public solemn sacrifices\nwere made to the Creator, the Sun, the Thunder and the Moon for all\nnations, that they might prosper and multiply” (Molina). A few weeks\nlater, an exemption from ceremonial bondage, for three months, commenced.\nThroughout January, February and March no religious festival took place at\nCuzco—the farmers attended to their land and the people were left at\nliberty to pursue their various avocations uninterruptedly (Molina ed.\nHakluyt, pp. 51 and 52). I have already shown that the same exemption from\nceremonial bondage during ninety to one hundred days of the year was\ncustomary in Mexico; and, in my note on the Ancient Mexican Calendar\nSystem, communicated to the Congress of Americanists at Stockholm in 1894\n(p. 16), I explained the reasons which had led me to infer that “the\nreligious festivals were concentrated in the ritual years of 260 days,”\nwhich indeed forms a unit, consisting of a complete set of combinations of\nthe numbers 13 and 20.\n\nIn Dr. Franz Boas’ admirable monograph on the Social Organization and\nsecret societies of the Kwakiutl Indians (Washington, 1897, p. 418), it is\nshown that at the present day the clan system is only in force during one\ndivision of the year. “At the beginning of the winter ceremonial the\nsocial system is completely changed. The period when the class system is\nin force is called bā-xus. The period of the winter ceremonial is\ndesignated as ‘the secrets,’ ‘making the heart good,’ also ‘brought down\nfrom Above.’ The Indians express this alternating of seasons by saying\nthat in summer the bā-xus is on top, the secrets below, and _vice versa_\nin winter. During this time the place of the clans is taken by a number of\nsecret societies: the spirits who had appeared to mythical ancestors give\nnew names to the men to whom they appear, but these names are only in use\nduring the time when the spirits dwell amongst the Indians, _i. e._, in\nthe winter.” Therefore from the moment when the spirits are supposed to be\npresent, all the summer names are dropped and the members of the nobility\ntake their winter names. The winter ceremonial societies are arranged in\ntwo principal groups; these are subdivided into 2×10=20 groups according\nto age and sex.\n\nDr. Boas distinguishes “three classes of tribal names and of clan names,\nviz., such as are collective forms of the names of the ancestors, names\ntaken from the region inhabited by the tribe or clan and names of\nhonour.... Each clan derives its origin from a mythical ancestor ... the\npresent system of tribes and clans is of recent growth ... their numbers\nhave undergone considerable changes in historical times.” A careful study\nof the material presented by Dr. Boas shows, however, that the\nground-plans of the entire social fabric reared by the Kwakiutl Indians\nclosely resembles that on which the stately Maya, Mexican and Peruvian\ncivilizations were reared.\n\nReturning to Peru, it is particularly noteworthy that the above mentioned\nsolemn sacrifices to the Creator, the Sun and Thunder, and Moon and Earth,\nheld in November, were thus offered to them jointly in one consecrated\nplace, whereas, at other seasons, the cult was performed separately and on\ndifferent days, before the emblems of the Above and Below.\n\nNotwithstanding the moderation and tolerance which seem to have been\ncharacteristic of the Inca government, and the apparent equality and\naccord of the two cults, the heads of which were the Inca and Coya, we\nfind evidences of discord in the historical records. The Inca empire had\nscarcely been established for more than a few centuries(23) when we\ndiscern signs of a serious rebellion under the leadership of the\nChuchi-capac, the chief of the Southern province or Colla-suyu, pertaining\nto the Below. From the taunts he uttered in the presence of the Inca on a\nfestive occasion and which have been recorded verbally by Salcamayhua, it\nis clear that the chief of the Collas asserted that he (and the people of\nhis province) actually practised sun-cult although “his throne was of\nsilver;” that is to say, notwithstanding the fact that moon-cult pertained\nto the quarter to which he was assigned, namely, to the Below. He\njustifies his departure from moon-cult by taunting the Inca that he, in\nturn, did not adhere strictly to sun-cult but worshipped the impersonal\nCreator. This struggle between the ancient native sun-cult and star-cult\nand this religious dissension, the reason for which is apparent, initiated\nthe long period of internal strife and warfare which ultimately made the\nSpanish Conquest such an easy matter.\n\nDuring the course of these wars the Peruvian Inca, on one occasion,\navenged himself for a supposed insult by having drums made of the skins of\nsome of the enemies’ messengers and by sending back others of these\n“dressed as women,” that is to say degraded from their positions as\nwarriors or noblemen to the ranks of the commoners. A similar degradation,\ninflicted upon the Tlatelolcan rebels by the Mexicans has already been\nmentioned and can only be fully understood when the class-system is\nrecognized.\n\nFrom this and analogous instances it is evident that, admirable as the\nscheme of government seems to have been as a means of laying the\nfoundations of civilization, and of teaching primitive people agriculture,\nstability, law and order, yet the very features which rendered it so\nefficient at first became, eventually, the cause of its gradual\ndisintegration, as soon as a certain degree of culture prosperity was\nattained by the community. One mode of avoiding the evils of\nover-population and of ridding the capital of its restless, and\nenterprising or troublesome members, was the system of Mitimaes or\ncolonists. This merits particular attention, because it formed an integral\npart of the marvellous and widespread scheme of organization we have been\nstudying, and therefore helps to an understanding of the customary means\nby which civilization was spread in past ages throughout the American\ncontinent.\n\nAs the population of Cuzco increased and greater food supplies were found\nnecessary, the Incas extended their dominions by a series of conquests.\n“As soon as they had made themselves lords of a province they left\nMitimaes or settlers there, who caused the natives to live in communities”\nand established a small centre of local government on the pattern of\nCuzco. Mitimaes or colonists were also sent, from different provinces, to\nlive on the frontiers, bordering on hostile countries, so as to aid in\ndefending them against the enemies. The establishment of colonies in\ndistant districts was therefore a tried and familiar custom of those who\npossessed the wonderful governmental plan we have been studying.\n\nI have shown that the greater the prosperity of a civilized community\norganized on this plan, the more imperative the necessity of founding new\ncolonies would sometimes become. The urgent need of greater food supplies\nwould lead to the sending out of expeditions for the purpose of surveying\nthe surrounding country and ascertaining the quality of its produce. In\nhis MS. Noticia, Padre Oliva speaks of an exploring party which was sent\nout by the ancestor of the Incas with the injunction to return in a year.\nAfter a few years had passed and none of the party returned, a second\nexpedition was sent out in search of the first and this led to the final\nestablishment of the Inca dominion in a promising region. Sahagun recounts\nhow a Maya colony was established at Panuco; Montezuma himself related to\nCortés that he and his lineage were descendants of colonists from distant\nparts; traditions of culture-heroes who established civilization amongst\nthem abound amongst Central American tribes; finally, Peru is shown to\nhave been civilized by rulers who carried out, systematically, a\nready-made plan in a comparatively short time. Whence did all these\nculture-heroes emanate, carrying the identical method and system into\nwidely separated districts and establishing centres of civilization in the\nrichest and most fertile parts of the American Continent?\n\nDocumentary evidence certainly justifies the inference that the\ncivilization of Peru itself was due to just such a deliberately executed\nplan of colonization, which gradually extended southwards and ultimately\ntook root and flourished in the most favorably situated locality.\n\nLeonce Angrand, who cites Acosta, Montesinos, Garcia, Boturini, Valera,\nGarcilaso de la Vega, Gomara, Balboa, Paz Soldan, d’Orbigny, Zarate, Cieza\nde Leon, Torquemada, Herrera, Velasco, Rivero and Tschudi, Gibbon,\nStevenson, Castelnau, Desjardins, Villavicencio, Roman and others, unites\ntheir testimony in the following sentence: “It is therefore solely towards\nthe North, in the elevated mountainous region, that researches should be\ndirected [in order to ascertain the origin of the Peruvian civilization].\nAs soon as this is done innumerable proofs appear of the residence, in\nextremely ancient times, of people who can scarcely belong to other races\nthan those who founded Cuzco and Tiahuanaco. It is therefore, from the\nNorth that these hardy pioneers of humanity came, from distant\ncivilizations, and it is certainly by going northwards that one must look\nfor traces of one or the other current of civilization. The inexhaustible\nforce of expansion of the Inca Empire extended to the North as well as in\nother directions.”\n\nAngrand also mentions a line “of prehistoric ruins which extend northwards\nfrom Peru and display the essentially characteristic outlines of the\nMexican Teocallis or temples.”(24)\n\nGarcilaso de la Vega, citing Padre Blas Valera, goes so far as to state\nthat the race, which introduced human sacrifices and ritualistic\ncannibalism into Peru, “had come from the region of Mexico, peopled the\nregions of Panama and the Isthmus of Darien and all those great mountains\nwhich extend between Peru and the new kingdom of Granada” (the present\nNicaragua).(25)\n\nAccording to Padre Anello Oliva, whose manuscript notes on Peru are\npreserved in the British Museum Library, the immediate ancestors of the\nIncas were colonists who came from unknown parts either by land or by sea,\nand settled at Caracas (Atlantic coast), whence they gradually spread\nsouthwards. As his authority for this statement, he cites original\nmanuscripts which had been placed in his hands by a Spanish missionary of\nhigh standing. Among these was a relation by a Quipucamayoc or “accountant\nby means of quippus,” named Catari, who had been a chronicler of the\nIncas. His forefathers had occupied the same post and had handed down the\nabove record as having been related to them by their predecessors.\n\nThis account does not disagree with that of Salcamayhua who states that\n“all the nations of the empire had come from beyond Potosi, in four or\nfive armies, arrayed for war and settled in the districts as they\nadvanced.”\n\nWhatever opinions may be held of the relative reliability of the Spanish\nchroniclers one thing is certain: that not one ventures the statement that\nthe Inca civilization was gradually evolved by the native race of Peru and\nthat all agree in assigning its introduction to an alien race of rulers\nwho came from the North, and gradually united the scattered indigenous\ntribes together under a central government. Americanists will doubtless\nagree with me in stating that, until the past history, antiquities and\nlanguages of all tribes inhabiting South and Central America have been\nexhaustively studied, no absolutely satisfactory conclusion can be formed\nas to when and how civilization was carried to Peru.\n\nOn the other hand, even in the present preliminary stage of investigation,\nthere are certain undeniable facts which, if brought to notice at this\nearly date, may prove of inestimable value in directing future research.\nOne of these facts will doubtless appear to many as strange and\ninexplicable but as noteworthy as it appears to me.\n\nIn Cristoval de Molina’s account of the fables and rites of the Incas(26)\nalready cited, a fable is related concerning the Inca Yupanqui, the\nConqueror, who extended the domain of the Peruvian empire and instituted\nthe worship of a creator who, unlike the sun, could rest and light up the\nworld from one spot.\n\n“They say that, before he succeeded [to rulership], he went one day to\nvisit his father Uiracocha Inca, who was at Sacsahuana, five leagues from\nCuzco. As he came up to a fountain called Susur-puquio, he saw a piece of\ncrystal fall into it, within which he beheld the figure of an Indian in\nthe following shape:\n\n“Out of the back of his head there issued three very brilliant rays like\nthose of the Sun. Serpents were twined around his arms, and on his head\nthere was the llautu or royal fringe worn across the forehead of the Inca.\nHis ears were bored and he wore the same earpieces as the Inca, besides\nbeing dressed like him. The head of a lion came out from between his legs\nand on his shoulders was another lion whose legs appeared to join over the\nshoulders of the man. A sort of serpent also twined over the shoulders.\n\n“On seeing this figure the Inca Yupanqui fled, but the figure of the\napparition called him by his name from within the fountain saying, ‘Come\nhither, my son, and fear not, for I am the Sun, thy father. Thou shalt\nconquer many nations: therefore be careful to pay great reverence to me\nand remember me in thy sacrifices.’ The apparition then vanished, while\nthe piece of crystal remained. The Inca took care of it and they say that\nhe afterwards saw everything he wanted in it. As soon as he was Lord he\nordered a statue of the Sun to be made as nearly as possible resembling\nthe figure he had seen in the crystal. He gave orders to the heads of the\nprovinces in all the lands he had conquered, that they should make grand\ntemples, richly endowed, and he commanded all his subjects to adore and\nreverence the new Deity, as they had heretofore worshipped the Creator....\nIt is related that all his conquests were made in the name of the Sun, his\nFather, and of the Creator. This Inca also commanded all the nations they\nconquered to hold their huacas in great veneration....”\n\nIt is a startling but undeniable fact that one of the beautiful\nbas-reliefs found at Santa Lucia Cozumalhuapa near the western coast of\nGuatemala, about 1,200 miles to the north of the latitude of Cuzco,\nanswers in a most striking manner to the description given of Inca\nYupanqui’s vision.(27)\n\nAmongst the thirteen sculptured slabs discovered at Santa Lucia, there are\nsix entire slabs and the fragment of another which are of almost uniform\nsize and may be ranked among the finest examples of aboriginal art which\nhave as yet been found on the American Continent. They represent seven\ndifferent renderings of the same theme. On each slab an individual wearing\nelaborate insignia is represented as standing with one arm raised and his\nhead thrown back in the act of gazing upwards towards a celestial figure\nwhich seems to be descending towards him. The arms and heads of these\nnobly conceived figures are visible, but in each case the faces seem to\nissue from a highly ornate symbol, which is different in each one, just as\nthe insignia of each individual also varies in detail. At the same time it\nis obvious that the seven slabs commemorate as it were an identical\ncircumstance,—the apparition of the same divinity to seven different\nindividuals, six of which are represented with the sign of speech coming\nforth from their mouths in precisely the same manner. The general\nresemblance, notwithstanding the distinct individuality of each\nbas-relief, suggests that they commemorate the visions seen under similar\ncircumstances by seven distinct personages of the same rank and position.\nInvoluntarily one thinks of the period of enforced fast and vigil which\nmarks the attainment of manhood and is still obligatory amongst North\nAmerican tribes, amongst whom it only ends when they have entered into\ncommunion with their totemic ancestor. I am inclined to view these\ncommemorative tablets as commemorating an analogous rite and perpetuating\nthe visions of successive members of one ruling family, or clan. The\ndivinity, invariably associated with serpent symbols, seems to be\nQuetzalcoatl, the divine twin or serpent, exhibiting in some cases the\nemblem of the Sun, but evidently revealing itself to each personage under\na slightly different form.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 47.\n\n\nThe accompanying drawing (fig. 47) of one of the Santa Lucia bas-reliefs,\nreproduced from Dr. Habel’s work, will suffice to establish its\nresemblance to Padre Oliva’s description of the apparition seen by the\nyouthful Inca Yupanqui. After a careful comparison of the text to the\nsculptured bas-relief, it must be admitted that a more graphic and\nimpressive illustration of the episode can scarcely be imagined. Its lower\nportion displays a youthful figure, looking upwards and exhibiting a\nnecklace, the circular ear-pieces and royal fringe or llautu of the Incas.\nFrom his shoulders hangs the skin of a puma or lion with its head\ndownwards. Molina relates that lion-skins with the heads were specially\nprepared for the ceremonial when youths were admitted into the ranks of\nknighthood, the last rite of which was the piercing of their ears and the\nenlargement of the orifice made.(28)\n\nThe youth wears a singular head-dress, or diadem, consisting of what\nappears to be an eye with conventionally drawn upper lid, surmounted by\nthree pointed rays, behind which some long wavy feathers are visible.(29)\n\nThe celestial apparition to which the youthful figure is looking up,\nlikewise exhibits the same necklace, pieces, and royal fringe of the\nIncas. Indistinctly though some of the details are given, it seems as\nthough intertwined serpents encircled its head and possibly its neck. The\nhead of the vision is surmounted by an enlarged rendering of the\nconventionally drawn eyelid and three pointed rays which form the diadem\nof the youthful knight. The face of the vision occupies, however, the\nplace of the eye on the diadem. In this connection it is interesting to\nnote that in the Nahuatl language, which, as (_op. et loc. cit._) proven\nby Buschmann, was spoken in Guatemala where the bas-relief was found, the\nword ixtli designates face, whilst ixtololotli signifies eye. Situated\nbetween the right elbow of the celestial figure and the diadem of the\nyouth, there is a diminutive reproduction of the eye, eyelid and three\nrays, with the addition that what appear like two (or three?) drops of\nwater or two eyes descend from it towards a square symbol which resembles\nthe Mexican sign for tlalli=earth, whilst the eye symbol is closely\nanalogous to a well-known Mexican sign which has been interpreted as a\nstar, and has, but not as yet satisfactorily, been identified with the\nplanet Venus. Without pausing to study this sign as it appears in ancient\nMexico I point out that the position and mode of representation of the\nupper figure in the bas-relief sufficiently show that it is an image of a\ncelestial being or vision in the act of receiving the supplication of a\nyouth who is wearing divine insignia. There being a possibility that some\nof these accessories may be somewhat indistinct in the original bas-relief\nnow preserved at the Royal Ethnographical Museum at Berlin, I do not\nventure to draw special attention to the possibility of further points of\nresemblance between the Peruvian tradition and this Guatemalan sculpture.\n\nAt the same time I shall not omit allusion to the wavy figure winding\nupwards from the waist of the supplicant, which recurs in four out of the\nseven slabs. It may yet prove to answer to the description of “a sort of\nserpent,” which is recorded as twining over the shoulders of the vision\nwho was “dressed like the Inca.” The lion’s head which appears in the\ndrawing to cover the left hand of the supplicant and the fact that his\nleft foot only, in some cases, wears a sandal, are important and\ninteresting features to which I shall revert further on.\n\nWithout attempting to offer any explanation of the truly remarkable fact\nthat a bas-relief exhumed in Guatemala should so strikingly agree with a\ndescription preserved in a Peruvian tradition, I shall merely point out a\nsecond similar though much less remarkable case of agreement.\n\nPadre Oliva records two instances in which a “royal eagle” figures in\nconnection with members of the Inca dynasty. One of these relates to the\nancestors of Manco Capac, the reputed founder of Cuzco. His\ngreat-grandmother, being abandoned by her husband, attempted to sacrifice\nher young son to Pachacamac. A royal eagle descended, carried him away in\nhis talons and set him down in an island off the Pacific coast, named\nGuayan, “because it was covered with willows.” Oliva explains this\ntradition as a fanciful way of recording the fact that the youth’s life\nwas probably endangered, and that he had fled and taken refuge on an\nisland. At the age of twenty-one he made his way back to the continent on\na raft, but was seized by hostile people. His life was, however, saved by\nthe daughter of a chieftain who returned with him to the island. Her name\nis given as Ciguar, a word strangely like the Nahuatl Cihuatl=woman. She\nbore him a son who was named Atau (_cf._ Ahau and Ahua=Maya and Mexican\nwords for lord or chief), who was, in time, the father of Manco Capac, the\nreputed founder of civilization in Peru. When the latter was a child “an\neagle approached him and never left him.” In view of these traditions it\nis interesting to note that, on two of the Santa Lucia bas-reliefs figured\nby Habel and reproduced by Mr. Hermann Strebel in pl. II, fig. 13, of his\nextremely useful and comprehensive monograph on the bas-reliefs of Santa\nLucia, an eagle is represented in connection with a figure wearing divine\ninsignia.\n\nOn one of the seven analogous slabs representing a personage addressing a\nsupplication to a celestial apparition, a large eagle or vulture is\nactually sculptured behind the supplicant, being, as it were, his\nindividual totem (Strebel, Pl. II, fig. 5).\n\nA drawing of a part of another slab (Strebel, Pl. II, fig. 13) displays an\neagle or vulture holding in his beak the body of a bearded personage who\nwears a neck ornament and circular ear pieces, and from whose head two\nserpents hang. This last detail associates him with the celestial figure\nwhich usually displays knotted serpents on or above its head, suggesting\nits connection with Quetzalcoatl, the divine title of the Supreme Being\nand also of the supreme rulers of the Mexicans. It is curious to find in\nPeru a tradition recording that, when “the Pachacuti Inca Yupanqui\nundertook the conquest of the Antisuyus with 100,000 men, their Huaca sent\nforth fire and stopped the passage with a fierce serpent which destroyed\nmany people. The Inca raised his eyes to heaven and prayed for help with\ngreat sorrow, and a furious eagle descended, and seizing the head of the\nserpent raised it on high, and then hurled it to the ground. In memory of\nthis miracle the Inca ordered a snake to be carved in stone on the wall of\na terrace in this province, which was called Aucapirca.” When divested of\nall fanciful details, the foregoing Peruvian traditions seem to show that\nthe eagle was the totem of one or more of the Incas and that the serpent\nwas the totem of a tribe which was conquered by the Incas. It is likewise\nrecorded by Padre Oliva that the Inca named Mayta Capac Amaru ordered his\nshield to be painted with weapons and a serpent=Amaru, “because he had\nkilled one in the Andes and therefore took it for his surname.”\n\nIt is impossible for any Mexicanist to read the foregoing texts without\nrecalling that, in the City of Mexico, there is an unexplained bas-relief\nwhich was put up by the Spaniards after the Conquest but evidently figures\na native tradition. It represents an eagle bearing in his talons a\npersonage, wearing a diadem, beneath whom is a group of native\nweapons.(30) The arms of Mexico representing an eagle holding a serpent in\nits talons and resting on a cactus, is too well known to require comment\nand recalls the Peruvian tradition of the eagle of the Incas conquering\nthe serpent-totem of a hostile people.\n\nStriking as these undeniable resemblances undoubtedly are, they would not,\nby themselves, justify the immediate conclusion that an actual direct\nconnection existed between the Peruvian traditions and the Guatemalan and\nMexican bas-reliefs which almost seem to illustrate the same or analogous\nincidents. At the same time they prove that, besides their scheme of\ngovernment, the Incas had certain myths or traditions in common with the\ncivilized tribes inhabiting Central America.\n\nIt is well to bear in mind that the situations of Cuzco in Peru and Santa\nLucia in Guatemala are both adjacent to the Pacific coast with an\nintervening distance of about 27-½ degrees of latitude. But 15 degrees,\nhowever, lie between the northern boundary of modern Peru and the southern\nboundary of Nicaragua where, as proven by Buschmann, innumerable names of\nlocalities in the Nahuatl language testify to its ancient occupation by a\nNahuatl-speaking race.\n\nIt is noteworthy that this eminent philologist observed how the name\nemployed to designate the bamboo bed of the Cacique Agateite, in\nNicaragua, “barbacoa,” was the same as that of the wooden bed or litter\nused by the Inca in Peru (_op. cit._ p. 756). Buschmann likewise\nidentified the word galpon=great hall or house. He also expressed the\nopinion that “the Quechua word _pampa_ resembles the Mexican _amilpampa\nehecatl_=the south wind, but the Mexican is formed by the affixes pan and\npa and the Quechua substantive means an even, open plain. At the same time\nthis meaning and form could be derived from the Mexican affixes”\n(Buschmann, Ueber Aztekische Ortsnamen III, 7, p. 627).\n\nFollowing this precedent I have ventured to search for further\nresemblances between Nahuatl and Quechua words, and one of the remarkable\nresults I obtained was the discovery that the well-known Quechua name for\ncolonists=Mitimaes, the meaning of which, in Quechua, is not forthcoming,\nseems to be connected in sound and meaning with the Nahuatl Ce-mitime=sons\nof one mother (Molina’s dictionary). It is superfluous to point out how\nappropriate this designation would have been for the colonists who\ninvariably founded fresh centres of civilization on the plan of the\ncentral metropolis. A brief comparative table, the result of an\ninvestigation which lays no claim to be more than a rudimentary attempt,\nis published as an appendix to this paper, with the hope that it may\nstimulate philologists to supersede it by exhaustive studies of the\nsubject. A careful examination of the table tends to prove that certain\nNahuatl, Quechua and Maya words had a common origin and shows that a\ncloser connection existed between the Nahuatl and Quechua languages than\nbetween Nahuatl and Maya or the Quechua and Maya.\n\nI shall have occasion to refer to several of the words I have tabulated.\nAt present I would draw attention to an analogy which bears directly on\nthe subject of this paper and is of utmost interest and importance. If\ncarefully studied it will be seen that the title “Pacha Yachachic,”\napplied in Peru to the Creator, proves to be allied in sound and meaning\nto the Mexican title Yaca-tecuhtli, “the lord who guides or governs.”\nAccording to Sahagun, this was “the god of the traders or\ntraveller-merchants.” He had five divine brothers and one sister, each of\nwhich was separately worshipped by some travellers, whilst others, on\ntheir safe return from distant and dangerous expeditions, offered\nsacrifices to the whole group collectively. I leave it to each reader to\nmake his own inference as to whether this celestial “traveller’s guide”\nwith his six brethren can have been other than Polaris and Ursa Minor. The\ndifference in the magnitudes of this constellation would naturally give\nrise to the idea of a group composed of individuals of different ages and\nsizes; the “little sister” probably being the smaller of the four\nintermediate stars of the constellation and suggesting tales of adventures\nrelating to the mythical sister of six brothers.\n\nIt is superfluous to emphasize how natural it would have been to offer a\nthanksgiving to the “traveller’s star” on returning from a distant voyage,\nbut I will point out that for coast navigation between Guatemala and\nNicaragua and Peru, the adoption of Polaris as a guide was and is a matter\nof course. It is well to bear in mind that we are dealing here with\nnavigation north and south, along a sheltered coast, for a distance not\nexceeding that of the coast-line between Gibraltar and Hamburg. An\ninstructive example of primitive navigation, under analogous\ncircumstances, has been communicated to me, from personal observation, by\nCommander Barber of the United States Navy.\n\nNative traders, who navigate north and south in small crafts along the\ncoast between Ceylon and Karashee, still use, at the present day, an\nextremely primitive method of estimating latitude, which is entirely based\nupon observations of the pole-star. Their contrivance consists of a piece\nof wood four inches square, through which a hole is bored and a piece of\ncord, with knots at intervals, is passed. The square is held at arm’s\nlength and the end of the cord is held to the point of the navigator’s\nnose in a horizontal line, the height being so adjusted that the pole-star\nis observed in contact with the upper edge of the piece of wood. There are\nas many knots in the cords as there are ports habitually visited, and\naccording to the length of the cord required for the observation of\nPolaris in the said position, the mariner knows to which port he is\nopposite.\n\nAccording to Sir Clements B. Markham,(31) the original inhabitants of the\nPeruvian coast fished in boats made of inflated sealskins. It is well\nknown that the coast-tribes of Mexico and Central America employed boats\nof various kinds and some of great size. The Mexican tradition relates\nthat the culture hero Quetzalcoatl departed in a craft he had constructed\nand which is designated as a coatlapechtli=coa=coatl=serpent or twin,\ntlapechtli=raft. It is open to conjecture whether this construction, “in\nwhich he sat himself as in a boat,” may be regarded as a sort of double or\ntwin raft, or a boat made of serpent or seal (?) skin. In order to form\nany opinion, the name for seal in the Nahuatl and other languages spoken\nby the coast tribes should first be ascertained and compared with the\nnative names for serpent.\n\nThe Maya colonists who founded the colony on the Mexican coast, and are\nknown as the Huaxtecans, are described as having transported themselves\nthither by boats from Yucatan. In the native Codices and in the sculptured\nbas-relief at Chichen-Itza, there are, moreover, illustrations of\nnavigation by boats. As dependent upon Polaris as their East Indian\ncolleagues of to-day, it is but natural that the ancient Mexican traders\nby land or sea expressed their gratitude by offerings to Polaris and Ursa\nMinor.\n\nLet us now return to Peru and examine whether there is any proof that the\n“Teacher or Guide of the World,” the Supreme Being of the Incas, was\nidentical with the “Lord who guides” revered by the Mexican navigators.\n\nI have already demonstrated that in ancient America the native scheme of\nreligion and government was but the natural outcome of certain ideas\nsuggested by the observation of Polaris and the circumpolar\nconstellations. I have likewise quoted the remarkable qualification of a\nsupreme divinity made by Inca Yupanqui, who raised a temple in Cuzco to\nthe Creator who, superior to the sun, could rest and light the world from\none spot. It is an extremely important and significant fact that the\nprincipal doorway of this temple opened to the north,(32) and that the\n“true Creator” is alluded to as an invisible power, the knowledge of which\nwas transmitted by the Incas from father to son. Thus Salcamayhua records\nthat on one occasion the young Inca Ccapac Yupanqui exclaimed “I now feel\nthat there is another Creator of all things [than that worshipped in the\nAndes], as my father Mayta Ccapas Inca has indeed told me.”(33)\nConsidering that in the latitude of Cuzco, situated as it is 14° below the\nequator, Polaris is invisible, the conditions thus recorded as existing in\nPeru are exactly those which might be expected to exist if a religion\nfounded on pole-star worship had been carried southward to a region in\nwhich the star itself was invisible. The orientation of the temple would\ndesignate the north as the sacred region and the star-god would become an\ninvisible power whose very existence would have become traditional and\nnecessarily be accepted on faith by native-born Peruvians and converted\nsun- and moon-worshippers.\n\nIt is a remarkable fact that a descendant of the Incas has furnished us\nwith actual proof that the Supreme Creator revered at Cuzco was not only\nassociated with a star, but also with the figure of a cross, each branch\nof which terminated in a star. We are indebted to the native chronicler\nSalcamayhua for some extremely curious drawings, which are reproduced here\nfrom his account of the Antiquities of Peru.(34) In treating of the\nprimitive astronomy in America in my special paper on the native calendar,\nI shall refer to these in greater detail. For my present purpose it\nsuffices to designate the following figures.\n\nSalcamayhua records that the founder of the Peruvian Empire, Manco Capac,\nordered the smiths to make a flat plate of fine gold, of oval shape, which\nwas set up as an image of the Creator (_op. cit._ p. 76). The Inca Mayta\nCcapac, “who despised all created things, including the sun and moon,” and\n“ordered his people to pay no honour to them,” caused the plate to be\nrenewed which his “great grandfather had put up, fixing it afresh in the\nplace where it had been before. He rebuilt the ‘house of gold’ and they\nsay that he caused things to be placed round the plate, which I have\nshown, that it may be seen what these heathens thought.” The central\nfigure on this plate consists of the oval image of the Creator, fig. 48,\n_c_. Close to its right are images designated by the text as representing\nthe sun and morning star. To the left are the moon and the evening star.\nAbove the oval and touching it, is a group of five stars forming a cross,\nwith one star in the centre. Below it is a cross figure formed by lines\nuniting four stars. In this case, instead of being in the middle, the\nfifth star is attached to the lower edge of the oval, which is designated\nas “the image of Uiracocha Pacha-Yachachic, the teacher of the World.”\nOutside of the plate is what appears to be an attempt to explain more\nclearly the relative positions of the group of five stars to the oval\nplate (fig. 48, _a_). It represents the oval and one star in the centre of\na cross formed by four stars. The question naturally suggests itself\nwhether the group of five stars forming a cross may not represent the\nSouthern Cross, popularly called the pole-star of the south and which\nconsists of four principal stars, one of which is of the first and two of\nthe second magnitude. This possibility opens out a new field of inquiry,\nand calls for the statement of the following facts, which I quote from\nAmedée Guillemin’s Handbook of Popular Astronomy, edited by J. Norman\nLockyer and revised by Richard A. Proctor.(35)\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 48.\n\n\n“In [our] enumeration of the circumpolar constellations of the South, we\nhave said nothing of the stars situated at the Pole itself. The reason is\nsimple; there are none deserving mention, and with the exception of one\nstar in Hydræ, none approach the third magnitude. There is not then, in\nthe southern sky, any star analogous to Polaris in the northern heavens.”\nM. Guillemin proceeds to explain, however, that this poverty of the polar\nregions is singularly compensated for by the stars of the equatorial zone.\nIt seems more than probable that primitive astronomers or their\ndescendants, who had been reared in a knowledge of the northern Polaris\nand of the periodical motion of the circumpolar constellations, should\ncontinue their observations in whatever latitude they found themselves. It\nseems possible that they may have observed the Southern Cross and\nrecognized its closeness to the pivot or centre of rotation; but from\npersonal experience and observation I can vouch for the fact that this\nconstellation could never have produced upon primitive man the powerful\nimpression caused by Ursa Major and Cassiopeia revolving around Polaris.\nIt is, of course, impossible to conclude to what extent the ancient\nPeruvians revered the Southern Cross. It suffices for the present to\nestablish the incontrovertible facts that the image of the motionless\nCreator, set up by the Incas, was associated with stars and with the cross\nand that the door of the Cuzco Temple, where this image was kept, faced\nthe north, the direction whence, according to native traditions, the\nculture-heroes had come to Peru.\n\nThe following data furnish further important proof that certain peculiar\nideas, symbols and metaphors were held in common by the civilizations of\nPeru, Central America and Mexico. Returning to the bas-relief (fig. 47), I\nrecur to an interesting feature, which I have already pointed out, namely,\nthat the left arm of the personage terminates in a tiger’s or puma’s head.\nIn connection with this peculiarity it is interesting to note that the\nnative historian Ixtlilxochitl cites his illustrious ancestor and\nnamesake, the Ome Tochtli Ixtlilxochitl of Texcoco, as addressing his\nyoung son Nezalhualcoyotl as “my dearly beloved son, tiger’s arm.”(36) As\nthe young prince is referred to in the same chapter as “the boy Acolmiztli\n[=tiger’s arm] Nezalhualcoyotl,” it is obvious that the metaphor\nconstituted a title preceding the actual name. It was Nezalhual-coyotl who\ninstituted the worship of Tloquenahuaque, the true Creator, and\ndiscountenanced human sacrifices.\n\nIf the other analogous Santa Lucia slabs be also examined it will be seen\nthat although the positions of the bodies and arms vary, and the form of\nthe head is different in each instance, it is invariably the left arm that\nterminates in the individual emblem. This sort of consecration of the left\nhand seems particularly significant for the following reason: Padre Anello\nOliva records that the Inca Yupanqui, the founder of Cuzco and the same\nwhose vision agrees so strangely with the bas-relief, was surnamed\nLloque=the left-handed,(37) and was noted for having visited the whole\nempire three times. His reign was long and prosperous, and he left a\nrecord as a conqueror and builder. He likewise sent his son Mayta-Capac to\nvisit the whole empire, accompanied by sages and councillors. I recall\nhere it was Yupanqui who proclaimed to the sun-worshippers of Peru, the\nexistence and superiority of an immutable Creator.\n\nI have already shown how, in Peru, it was a dictum that the upper division\nof the empire was to bear the same ideal relation to the lower as that of\nan elder brother to a younger or a right hand to the left. It is,\ntherefore, possible to infer that, on ceremonial occasions when it is\nrecorded that the Hanan Cuzco and Hurin Cuzco people were stationed at\neither side of the Inca, the Hanan or chieftains constituting the nobility\nwere to his right and the Hurin people or lower class, to his left.\n\nIt is truly remarkable that it is a passage in the Annals of the\nCakchiquels, the people now inhabiting the region of Guatemala where the\nSanta Lucia bas-reliefs were found, that contains the clearest statement\nregarding the division of a tribe into two classes and the relative\npositions assigned to each of these, according to ceremonial usage. The\npassage relates: “We, the 13 divisions of warriors, and the seven tribes\n... we came to the enclosure of Tulan, and coming, gave our tribute. The\nseven tribes were drawn up in order on the left of Tulan. On the right\nhand, were arranged the warriors. Firstly, the tribute was taken from the\nseven tribes, next from the warriors.”(38)\n\nBuschmann has recorded the interesting fact that, in Nahuatl, the right\nhand is designated as “the good, clever or wise”=yec-maitl or mayectli,\nalso ma-imatca or ma-nematca (from yectli=good and imati=to be clever or\nwise). Molina’s dictionary furnishes us with the following Nahuatl names\nfor the left hand, etc.\n\nOpoch maitl, Opuch maitl, Opuch maye: left hand.\nOpochiuia=v. to do something with the left hand.\nTopuchcopa, the left, at the left hand, or side.\n\nIn Mexico the totemic lord of the chase was named Opochtli. The\nmuch-discussed name Huitzil-opochtli is considered by some to signify “the\nleft-handed humming-bird.”\n\nThe foregoing proves that in Peru, Guatemala and Mexico a caste-division\nwas associated with left-handedness and that the expression “left-handed”\nwas employed as an honorific or distinctive title. It is obvious that\nbefore reaching the point when the left hand would be invested by a\ndistinctive mark, as in the Santa Lucia bas-reliefs, the above ideas must\nhave been prevalent for a very long time.\n\nI have already pointed out that a striking similarity of ideas survives\namongst the Zuñi Indians of to-day.\n\nAs to the native tiger’s head (puma or ocelot?) we find that it is the\nchief symbol of the central human figure on the great monolithic doorway\nof Tiahuanaco, Peru, a fact which testifies to a further community of\nthought.\n\nThis central figure exhibits two tigers’ heads on each shoulder and six\naround its head, disposed as rays and interspersed with what resemble\ndrops of water. The transverse ornament carved on the breast exhibits four\ndivisions, each of which terminates with a tiger’s head. Four similar\nheads, looking upwards, are on the central decoration beneath the figure\nand the broad band at the base terminates in two large tigers’ heads. What\nis more, on the fragment of a finely carved hollow stone object, which is\npreserved at the British Museum and was found at Tiahuanaco by Mr. Richard\nInwards, there are the finest representations of the swastika which have\nas yet been found on the American Continent, and each of its branches\nterminates in a tiger’s head, resembling those sculptured on the\nmonolithic doorway. The fragment consists of the half of what seems to me\nto have been the top or handle of a staff or sceptre. I am indebted to the\nkindness of Mr. C. H. Read of the British Museum, for a rubbing of the\ncarved fragment and for the permission to reproduce it here (fig. 49). The\ncentral swastika is angular and its form recalls that of the Mexican\nCalendar swastika (fig. 9). At each side of it are portions of what\noriginally were two rounded swastikas, which also terminate in tigers’\nheads. These and the size of the fragment seem to justify the inference\nthat another square swastika was originally sculptured on the opposite\nside, making two rounded and two square swastikas in all.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 49.\n\n\nIt would be difficult to overestimate the importance of this fragment, for\nit proves to us that in Tiahuanaco, the swastika was a sacred symbol. Its\nassociation with the puma or ocelot, links it to the central figure on the\nmonolithic doorway and, possibly, connects this with the Mexican\nidentification of the ocelot with the Ursa Major, with “the lord who walks\naround,” or the lord of the underworld, Tezcatlipoca. The two forms of\nswastika seem to testify that, in Tiahuanaco also, the idea of the Above\nand Below prevailed and that the angular form symbolized the subdivision\nof the earth and the rounded one that of the heavens. The rows of\npersonages sculptured on the doorway at each side of and facing the\ncentral figure seem to indicate that this commemorates an establishment of\ntribal organization.\n\nThe distribution of the sculptured figures is as follows:\n\n8 figures=2×4 }                Central { 8 figures\n8 figures=2×4 } 6×4                    { 8 figures\n8 figures=2×4 }                figure. { 8 figures.\n\nThe figures on the upper row to the right and left, making sixteen in all,\nare all alike—so are the sixteen figures on the second and the sixteen on\nthe third rows.\n\nWithout attempting to describe all the insignia which characterize the\nfigures on each of the three rows, I refer the reader to the magnificent\nplates contained in Drs. Stübel and Uhle’s monumental work on the Ruins of\nTiahuanaco, and merely note that each figure in the uppermost row exhibits\na bird’s head in front of its head-dress. All figures in the second row\nare completely masked as condors. In the third row a tiger’s head\ndecorates each head-dress. It is curious to find that whilst the birds’\nand tigers’ heads designate their wearers as heads or chieftains, these\nemblems strikingly coincide with the classification of the highest Mexican\nwarriors into two divisions, known as “the ocelots and the eagles.” If\nattention is bestowed upon the number of emblems or figures and their\ndistribution it will be seen, in the first case, that the central figure\nexhibits on his person twelve tigers’ heads in all, _i. e._, six on his\nhead, two on each arm and two on his breast-plate. Sixteen chieftains\nexhibit the same emblem and the carved fragment with the swastika appears\nto have originally exhibited sixteen tigers’ heads, distributed into\nhomogeneous groups of four.\n\nIt cannot be denied that the forty-eight figures on the doorway are first\ndivided into two groups of twenty-four by being placed to the right and\nleft of the central figure. Each division of twenty-four is grouped as\n3×8, which is also 6×4, and yielding a total of 12×4 or 4×12 figures.\n\nCuriously enough the number 12 coincides not only with the number of heads\nexhibited by the central figure, but the entire bas-relief offers a\ncertain agreement with the numerical divisions of Cuzco which I have\nsummarized as having been divided into two halves and four quarters and\nsubdivided into 12 wards, the names of which doubtlessly corresponded with\nthose of their inhabitants. Personally I am inclined to consider that the\npurpose of the Tiahuanaco bas-relief was to establish a certain tribal\norganization and impose certain distinctive insignia upon each tribe. The\ninference that each sculptured figure was differentiated from the other by\nbeing painted in various colors is justified by Molina’s account, already\ncited, that “in Tiahuanaco the ‘Creator’ had his chief abode, hence the\nsuperb edifices in that place, on which edifices were painted many dresses\nof Indians ... thus each nation uses the dress with which they invest\ntheir huaca and they say that the first that was born [in Tiahuanaco] was\nthere turned into stones, others say that the first of their lineages were\nturned into falcons, condors and other animals and birds.”\n\nIt is with deference, however, that I submit my conclusion and refer the\nquestion to the supreme authority of Drs. Stübel and Uhle and Mr.\nBandelier, whose attainments and exhaustive researches in the region of\nTiahuanaco qualify them to utter a final judgment upon this interesting\nsubject. According to Dr. Max Uhle the civilization established at\nTiahuanaco antedates that of the Incas. It may yet be proven that whilst\nTiahuanaco was settled in remote times by colonists from the North, the\nInca civilization was due to a later migration. It certainly appears that,\nin Tiahuanaco and Cuzco, the identical fundamental scheme of government\nand organization prevailed.\n\nI shall yet have occasion to point out that in Mexico and Yucatan and\nCentral America there are also monuments exhibiting multiples of 12 and 4\nand also 16 chieftains. Meanwhile it is worth while to note here briefly,\nsome analogies to Mexican and Maya antiquities found in Peru.\n\nI am much indebted to Sir Clements D. Markham, the President of the Royal\nGeographical Society, for the kind permission to reproduce here a hasty\ndrawing he made, in 1853, of a gold plaque (size 5-8/10 inches) found in\nCuzco (fig. 50). It was then in Lima, being the property of the President\nof Peru, General Echerrique. This curious relic exhibits the image of a\nmonstrous face surrounded by a band with subdivisions containing various\nsigns. The plaque was looked upon by its owner as a Calendar, but Sir\nClements Markham, after studying its subdivisions with a view of\nascertaining their agreement with the twelve divisions of the Peruvian\nyear, preferred to let his notes on the subject remain unpublished, not\nhaving come to a satisfactory conclusion on the subject. I am permitted,\nhowever, to state that Sir Clements Markham specially noted the\nresemblance of a sign, which is represented on the cheeks of the central\nfigure and recurs four times on the encircling band, to the well-known\nMaya glyph ahau=chief, lord.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 50.\n\n\nIt is, indeed, a cursive representation of a human head and moreover\nresembles those figured on the garment of a gigantic red sandstone statue\nfound at Ak-Kapana and figured in Stübel and Uhle’s Tiahuanaco. On this\ngarment the heads alternate with squares and form a close design. This\nresemblance between the conventional faces on this archaic statue and\nthose on the gold plaque has made me attach more importance to the latter\nand at all events regard it as preserving ancient native symbolism. In\nconnection with these I wish to point out that the plaque itself offers a\ncertain resemblance to well-known Mexican calendars, the centre of which\nusually exhibits a face which is surrounded by a band with day or month\nsigns. It is remarkable that above each eye there are four dots,\nespecially as the Quechua word for eye=naui is homonymous with the Nahuatl\nnumeral four=nahui, and this is so constantly associated with an eye in\nthe Mexican sign Nahui ollin=four movements (_cf._ fig. 2). As strange a\ncoincidence as this is furnished by the mark on the forehead of the image,\nnot because the latter resembles the sect mark of the Vishnu worshippers,\nbut because it offers a marked analogy to the Mexican Acatl sign which is\nfrequently carved or painted as a cane standing in a square receptacle\nwith recurved ends. I am strongly tempted to interpret this symbol\naccording to the native mode of thought, as signifying the centre, the\nunion of the Above and Below and to regard the upper part of the face\nitself as a representation of the Above, the heaven, with its two eyes\n(the Moon and Sun), whilst the lower part and teeth, as in Mexico,\nsignified the Below, the earth and underworld. By means of the head on\neach cheek and the number four over each eye, the dual and quadruple\nrulerships of the empire could well have been expressed. Postponing a more\nthorough study of the gold plaque, I merely note here that it exhibits\ncurious analogies not only to Maya but also to Mexican symbolism.\n\nAnother instance of the same kind is furnished by a possibly modern but\ncurious small silver pendant of unquestionably native workmanship. It is\npreserved at the Ethnographical Museum at Vienna and is figured in the\nReport of the International Congress of Americanists which was held at\nBerlin in 1888 (pl. 1, fig. 4, p. 96). Reputed to be from Cuzco, it\nrepresents a figure of the sun surrounded by eight straight and\nintermediate undulating rays. Two serpents are figured beneath the sun;\ntheir bodies extend across the pendant and their heads with open jaws\nalmost meet in the centre. A figure, wearing a peculiar head-dress, is\nkneeling in worship beneath the symbols, which undoubtedly recall the\nMexican mode of representing two serpents meeting, as on the Calendar\nStone of Mexico, for instance.\n\nAs I am tracing analogies at present, I should like to ask the reader to\ncompare the symbols figured and designated by Salcamayhua as that of the\nearth (see his fig. _c_, pl. LXVI) with the sacred vase from the Maya MS.\n(his fig. II, pl. LIX) and the form of the Peruvian symbol for the sea\n(his fig. _e_, pl. LXVI) with the peculiar Mexican shell ornament (fig. 1,\nno. 10). Insufficient though the above analogies may seem in themselves,\nthey are valuable in conjunction with the other data presented and\nstrengthen the conclusion that the same symbolism prevailed in Peru as in\nCentral America, Yucatan and Mexico.\n\nLet us now rapidly journey northwards from Peru to these countries and\nbriefly record the traces of the existence of the same ideas and\nquadruplicate form of government which we may encounter en route. In the\nelevated plains of Bogota we find positive proof that the Muyscas held the\nsame ideas as their southern and northern neighbors. Their culture hero,\nBochica or Ida-can-zas, was the personification of the Above and of its\nsymbol, the Sun, whilst his wife was Chia, a name suspiciously like\nQuilla, the Quechua for moon. He was high-priest and ruler but counselled\nthe Muyscas to elect one of themselves, a chief named Hunc-Ahua, to be\ntheir Za-que or civil ruler. Ida-can-zas instituted the Calendar and\ntaught the Muyscas to appoint four chiefs of tribes whose names or titles\nare recorded as Gameza, Busbanca, Pesca and Toca. The institution of a\ndual government is indicated by the record that the high-priest dwelt at\nthe sacred town Aura-ca and the Za-que at Tunja.\n\nIt is extremely curious to notice that Ida-can-zas, in Bogota, did\nprecisely what Cortés found it expedient to do after the Conquest of\nMexico. The latter assumed the supreme rulership over the nobility, became\nthe “lord of Heaven” and instituted a native chieftain, bearing a female\ntitle, as his coadjutor, the lord of the earth, and the ruler of the\npeople of the lower class.\n\nIt may be worth making the passing remark that the title of the Muysca\nculture-hero contains the word “can” and thus recalls the Maya Kukulcan\nand that the title Za-que offers a certain resemblance to the Maya title\nChac, whilst the name Hunc-ahua seems strangely similar to Hun-ahau which\nin Maya would signify “one lord.” It is for Muysca scholars to enlighten\nus as to the derivation and meaning of the above titles and name.\n\nRegretting the lack of time and documents which have prevented me from\nobtaining further data I now return to Guatemala and the vicinity of the\nSanta Lucia bas-reliefs. Referring to the introduction to their Annals(39)\nwe learn that the Cakchiquel tribe was but one of four allied nations,\neach of which had its capital, named Tecpan, as follows:\n\nNations: Capitals.\nCakchiquel: Tecpan Quauhtemallan,\nQuiche: Utatlan,\nTzutuhil: Atitlan,\nAkahal: Tezolotlan.\n\nAccording to Mr. A. P. Maudslay’s authoritative statement, these nations\nwere engaged in warfare against each other at the time of the Conquest.\nTezolotlan was termed the “tierra de guerra” the land of war, and the\nprecise locality of its tecpan or former capital has not been traced,\nalthough it seems to have been close to Rabinal or in the valley of that\nname.\n\nIt is well known that, under the rulership of Tizoc, the Mexicans extended\ntheir conquests into Guatemala. Buschmann has, moreover, proven that the\nforegoing names of the capitals, of what were at one time four provinces,\nare pure Nahuatl, which fact establishes the existence of Nahua supremacy\nin these regions.\n\nIt is curious to find that one of the Santa Lucia slabs seems to\ncommemorate the existence of a central rulership and that of the four\nquarters. It is reproduced in Mr. Strebel’s publication already cited and\nrepresents a central personage holding a head and a tecpatl, whilst four\nlesser personages, each carrying a head, are figured as walking away in\nfour opposed directions. As, according to native symbolism, the head is\nthe symbol for chieftain this slab seems to commemorate the establishment\nand at all events testifies to the existence in Guatemala of the scheme of\ngovernment now so familiar.\n\nIn their Annals, the Cakchiquels record, as I have already shown, that\nthey carried their tribute to “the enclosure of Tulan,” a designation\nwhich supports my inference, previously maintained, that Tulan was derived\nfrom the Maya tulum,=a fortification, an enclosed place or that which is\nentire, whole, etc., and applied always to the metropolis of a state.\n\nAn ancient Cakchiquel legend relates, moreover, that, according to the\n“ancient men,” there had been four Tulans: one in the east, one in the\nnorth, one in the west and one “where the god dwells.” This would\nobviously have been situated towards the south in order to accord with the\ngeneral scheme. I cannot but think that this record testifies to the\nexistence of an extremely ancient state which starting from one metropolis\nhad gradually developed into four great Tullans, to one of which the four\ntecpans of Guatemala pertained. The fact that the Spaniards found the four\nnations living close together, with capitals or tecpans bearing Nahuatl\nnames and in constant warfare with each other, seems to indicate the\ndestruction of their own ancient metropolis or Tullan by their Mexican\nconquerors and the consequent disintegration of their former\ngovernment.(40)\n\nThe Mendoza Codex teaches us that when the Mexicans conquered a land they\nfirst burnt and utterly destroyed the teocallis situated in the heart of\nits central capital. They razed this to the ground, and carried off to\ntheir own metropolis the totemic images of the rulers of the tribe. The\nbarbarous institution of human sacrifice, which was only practised to a\ngreat extent by the Mexicans when the necessity to obtain more plentiful\nfood supplies for their rapidly increasing population forced them to\nbecome a nation of warriors and conquerors, seems indeed to have been\nadopted as a fear-inspiring, symbolical rite commemorating the conquest\nand destruction of an integral government.\n\nThe victim, usually a chieftain taken prisoner in warfare and clad with\nhis insignia and the raiment of his people, was stretched on the stone of\nsacrifice and, figuratively speaking, represented his country and its four\nquarters. The tearing out of his heart by the high-priest, armed with the\ntecpatl, the emblem of supreme authority, signified the destruction of the\nindependent life of his tribe as much as did the burning of the teocalli,\nand of its capital. It would seem as though the horrible custom of\nannually sacrificing one or more representatives of each conquered tribe,\nhad been adopted as a means of upholding the assumed authority, inspiring\nawe and terror and impressing the realization of conquest and utter\nsubjection. It is known that sometimes a member of a conquered tribe\nvoluntarily offered himself as a victim in order to release his people\nfrom their obligation, and thus earned for himself immortality.\n\nAn insight into the native association of ideas is afforded by Sahagun’s\nnote that the lord or chieftain was “the heart of his Pueblo,” which means\ntown as well as population. The death of the sacrificed chief, therefore,\nactually conveyed the idea of the destruction of the tribal government to\nhis vanquished subjects. It remains to be seen whether the subsequent\npartition of portions of his dead body amongst the priesthood and their\nritual cannibalism did not signify the absorption of the conquered\npopulation into the communal life of their victors. The preservation of\nthe victim’s skull on the Tzompantli, as a register of the conquest of a\nchieftain, would also be the logical outcome of the native line of thought\nand symbolism.\n\nAt the risk of making a somewhat lengthy digression I will again refer\nhere to a point I have already touched upon, namely, the Mexican\nemployment of the human figure as an allegorical image of their Empire or\nState, the idea being that the four limbs represented its four\ngovernmental and territorial divisions and that these were governed by the\nhead=the lord of the Above or heaven, and the heart=the lord of the Below\nor earth. A careful study of the native Codices has shown me that such was\nthe native allegory which indeed can be further traced. The territory of a\nstate reproduced the organization of the human body with its four limbs,\neach of these terminating in minor groups of five.\n\nAccording to the same set of ideas the cursive image of a state could be\nconveyed by a main group of five dots, situated in the centre of four\nminor similar groups. Cross-lines expressing the partition into four\nquarters would complete such a graphic and cursive presentation of the\nscheme and not only signify its territorial but also its governmental\nfeatures. It is noteworthy that, in Nahuatl as in the Quechua, the title\nfor minor chief is homonymous with the word for fingers.\n\nThe Nahuatl pilli is a title for a chieftain or lord and also signifies\nchild and fingers or toes. A finger is ma-pilli, the prefix ma, from\nmaitl=hand, designating the fingers as the children of the hand. The thumb\nis qualified by the prefix uei=great.\n\nHaving gained a recognition of the above facts it is not difficult to\nunderstand the meaning of certain sceptres in the form of an open hand\nwhich occur as symbols of authority borne by chieftains in the native\nCodices.(41) I know of one important instance, indeed, where an arm with\nan open hand is represented as standing upright in the centre of a circle\ndivided into sections and zones (similar to fig. 28, nos. 1, 3, 5, and 6).\n\nThe above mentioned examples, which I shall illustrate later, have led me\nto infer that whilst the arm symbolized one of the four divisions of the\nState, the hand symbolized its capital, the thumb its central ruler and\nthe fingers his four officers or pilli, the rulers of the four quarters of\nthe minor seat of government. In another publication I shall produce\nillustrations showing that the foot was also employed as an emblem of rule\nand that Mexico, Yucatan and Central America furnish us with actual proofs\nthat the hands and the feet respectively symbolized the upper and lower\ndivisions of the State.\n\nIt is thus curious to compare the name for thumb=uei-ma-pilli and the name\nUei-mac (literally, great hand) which Sahagun gives as that of the\n“temporal” coadjutor of the Mexican culture-hero Quetzalcoatl, as well as\nthe term, our toe=totecxopilli with the well-known title Totec=our chief\nor lord. In Yucatan the word for hand=kab is, as I shall demonstrate\nfurther on, actually incorporated in the title of the lords of the four\nquarters=Bakab. I am almost inclined to find a trace of a similar\nassociation in the Quechua word for fingers=pallca and the title palla\nbestowed upon noble women.\n\nI have already mentioned in the preceding pages that the natural basis of\nthe all-pervading native numerical division into 4×5=20 was the finger and\ntoe count. The following table exhibits the general custom to designate 20\nas one man or one count.(42)\n\nWord for Man.                          Word for 20.\nNahuatl.      tlacatl.                cem-poualli=one count.\nQuiché     }\nand        }  uinay=one man.                uinay=  \"    \"\nCakchiquel }\nTzendal.      hun-uinic=one man.        hun-uinic=  \"    \"\nMaya.         uinic.                      hun-kal=  \"    \"\n\nIn the latter case the affix kal seems to be derived from the same source\nas the verb kal=to close up or fasten something, and to signify something\ncomplete or finished. At the same time the Maya uinal is the Maya name for\nthe twenty calendar-signs, and the same association is demonstrated as\nexisting in Mexico by the well-known picture in the Vatican Codex I (p.\n75), which represents a man surrounded by the twenty Mexican\ncalendar-signs.\n\nAs I shall treat of the same subject more fully in another publication, I\nshall but briefly touch upon the intimate connection there existed between\nthese calendar-signs and the twenty classes into which the population was\nstrictly divided. It is known that an individual received the name of the\nday on which he was born and it is possible to prove that this determined\nhis position in the commonwealth, his class and his future occupation.\nEach child was formally registered by the priestly statisticians at birth,\nand at about the age of six, when his name was sometimes changed, he\nentered one of the two educational establishments where he was brought up\nby the State, under the absolute control of the priesthood and rulers. It\ncan be gleaned that one of the chief cares of the latter was to maintain\nthe same average number of individuals in the distinct classes, to which\nthe various forms of labor were allotted and who became in time identified\nwith these. In order to keep the machinery of state in perfect adjustment,\nindividuals had sometimes to be transferred from the class into which they\nwere born, to another. In some cases this seems to have been arbitrarily\nordered by the authorities, but the latter appear to have guided\nthemselves by the position of the parents and to have established the\ncustom that an individual might alternatively be transferred into the\npaternal or maternal class, but not into any other. As each class was,\nmoreover, divided into an upper and lower one, it was possible for each\nperson to elevate himself from the lower to the higher by individual merit\nor to incur abasement, for unworthy conduct, and being, as we have already\nseen, “reduced to the official rank of women.”\n\nThe direct outcome of such a form of organization was stringent laws\ngoverning marriage, it being expedient that certain classes only should\nintermarry, not only to avoid complications but also to ensure a certain\ndegree of coöperation conducive to the prosperity of the State. In the\ntribal laws still existing amongst the native tribes of North America, I\nsee the logical survivals of an ancient scheme of organization.\n\nAfter gaining the above recognition of some of the actual duties of the\npriest-rulers of ancient Mexico, it is possible to understand the meaning\nof the native sentence, noted by Sahagun, that the native games of patolli\nand tlachtli constituted a practice in “the art of government.” From this\nit is clear that the former, played by two individuals with dice and\nmarkers upon a mat in the shape of a cross, and symbolical of the Four\nQuarters, was originally invented by the priest-rulers for an eminently\npractical purpose. The mat being an image of the quadruple state and its\nsubdivisions, it was possible to make it serve as a register-board\nexhibiting the distribution of the population, the number of individuals\nin each class and its death and birth rates. We are informed that when\nparents, according to the inflexible law, carried their newborn child to\nthe priest, he consulted his books full of day-signs and foretold what its\nfuture was to be.\n\nA proof that it was the positions of the stars which determined the season\nand furnished the means of fixing a date, is furnished by the fact that\nthe stars were also “consulted” and believed to exert an influence upon\nthe destiny of the child.\n\nThe implicit faith in the predictions of the priests and in the absolute\ninfluence of the position of the heavenly bodies and the date of its birth\nupon the individual indicates that the parents were kept in ignorance as\nto the workings of the machinery of state and that the priesthood were\nreverenced for their power of prophecy. The belief that they could\npersonally exercise a favorable influence over the destiny of the child\nseems also to have been encouraged in the parents, since an offering of\ngifts at the period of registration was customary. After the Conquest,\nwhen the native government had been completely broken up, and the enforced\nregistration of birth and the prediction of the priest had utterly lost\ntheir original significance, native parents still consulted the surviving\nmembers of the priest-rulers; and these ancient statisticians, in order to\ngain a livelihood, continued to consult their books and uttered\npredictions as of yore, although their power to control their fulfilment\nhad vanished forever. Ancient Mexico thus furnishes us with an interesting\nand instructive explanation of the origin of divinatory practices,\nprognostication at birth, etc. It shows us that, under the ancient form of\nestablished government, the sign of the date of a child’s birth actually\ndid control his future destiny, while it was unquestionably in the power\nof the priesthood, not only to predict his future, but also to exert a\nfavorable or unfavorable influence upon it.\n\nThe above facts help us to understand the origin not only of divination,\npropitiation and the belief in the influence of day-signs, but also of the\nnative games which became popular after the Conquest, when their original\nuse and meaning had become obsolete.\n\nDeferring further discussion of this interesting matter I will but draw\nattention to Mr. Stewart Culin’s important study of “American Indian\nGames,”(43) which clearly establishes their “interrelation” and at the\nsame time proves that they were based, as first distinctly insisted upon\nby Dr. Daniel G. Brinton, on the central idea and that of the four\nquarters of the world. Mr. Culin has gone so far as to fix the place of\norigin of the “platter or dice class of games which he has found recorded\nas existing among some 61 American tribes, in the arid region of the\nsouthwestern United States and Northern or Central Mexico,” and to\nconceive that “in ancient Mexico we find traces of its highest\ndevelopment.”\n\nI place the utmost value upon Mr. Culin’s painstaking and conscientious\nresearches and regard them as strongly corroborating my views exposed in\nthe preceding pages. His identification of the pictured diagram in the\nFéjérvary Codex, as the counting circuit of the Four Quarters, with a\npresiding god in the middle, as in Zuñi, does credit to his perspicacity.\nI agree with him in considering that this chart could have been employed\nafter the Conquest for a game or for divination, but trust that, upon\nperusal of this paper, he will admit that primarily the Féjérvary diagram\nexpressed the native scheme of government and the calendar, which was no\nother than a means of ruling the classes by binding each of these to a\nspecial day and totemic sign. Each of the twenty classes or clans had its\nday, known by a particular sign which was also its totemic mark. As the\nday-signs recurred periodically, the chief or head of each clan became its\nliving representative, assumed a totemistic costume and became the “living\nimage of the ancestral teotl,” or god of his people, of whose activity he\nrendered account to the central government. It is significant that the\ncommon native title for lords or chieftains was “tlatoque,” literally,\n“the speakers,” and that they were closely designated as the spokesmen of\nhis people, who habitually kept silence in his presence.\n\nThe fact that the names and signs of the days are identical with the\ntotemic tribal distinctions imposed for governmental reasons, is one which\nI shall proceed to demonstrate more fully. Meanwhile attention is now\ndrawn to the chapter on the 7-day period in Dr. Daniel G. Brinton’s\n“Native Calendar of Central America and Mexico,” in which he surmises that\nthe tribal divisions of the Cakchiquels “were drawn from the numbers of\nthe Calendar.”\n\nAccording to the native records the institution of the Calendar was\nsimultaneous with that of tribal organization and a minute study of both\nfeatures reveals that it could not have been otherwise.\n\nFrom the dawn of their history the Cakchiquels, as I have already shown,\nwere divided into thirteen divisions of warriors (Khob, constituting the\nupper class) and seven tribes (Amag, constituting the lower class). A\ntotem and a day being assigned to each division and tribe, they were, once\nand for all time, placed in a definite position towards each other and\ntowards the state, and the order in which their chieftains were to sit in\ngeneral council, and to assume or perform certain duties, was thus\ninstituted. The 20-day period thus constituted a “complete count” and\nsynopsis of the “thirteen divisions of warriors and seven tribes,” but it\nalso fulfilled other not less important purposes.\n\nThe day-signs were so ordered that the first, eleventh and sixteenth were\nmajor signs employed to designate the years, and identified with the four\nquarters, elements and their respective colors. The 20-day period,\nconsisting as it also did of 4 major signs and of 4×4=16 minor signs, was\nas closely linked to the idea of the Four Quarters as it was to the Above\nand Below, represented by the 13+7 division. It is therefore evident that\na simultaneous reckoning of periods consisting of 5, 7, 13, and 20 days\nwas ingeniously combined. I shall show in my special treatise how “the\nlords of the Night” employed in their astronomical calendar, 9-night and\n9-moon periods for purposes of their own and how these also served to\ncarry out certain ideas of organization, controlling persons. Although it\nembodied the results of long-standing primitive astronomical observation\nand accorded with the seasons and movements of the celestial bodies, the\nnative Calendar was primarily a governmental institution, designed to\ncontrol the actions of human beings and bring their communal life in\naccord with the periodical movements of the heavenly bodies.\n\nIn my Note on the Ancient Mexican Calendar System, communicated to the\nInternational Congress of Americanists at Stockholm, in 1894, I stated\ncertain historical and astronomical facts which showed that the New Cycle,\nwhich began in 1507 with the year Acatl, had commenced on March 14th three\ndays after the vernal equinox and that this delay had obviously been\nintentional, in order to wait for the new moon, which fell on March 13th\nat 11.40 A. M., and the planet Venus, “which was possibly visible both as\nmorning and evening star between March 14th and 18th.” The above facts,\nwhich have remained unchallenged since their publication, afford an\ninsight into the astronomical attainments of the sun-priests and moon and\nstar-priests and show an evident desire to begin a new era at a favorable\ntime, when there was a conjunction of the heavenly bodies. Thus the terms\nof office of the lords of the Above and Below were entered upon and the\nmachinery of state set into motion, in unison with striking celestial\nphenomena. It is impossible not to realize how great must be the antiquity\nof a system which, evolving from the rudimentary, ceremonial division of a\ntribe into seven parts, as a consequence of its primitive observation of\nthe Septentriones, developed into a great and complex government dominated\nand pervaded by the abstract conceptions of the seven-fold divisions of\nthe Above, Below, Middle and Four Quarters.\n\nDeferring further comment I will proceed to demonstrate the practical\nvalue, for governmental purposes, of the classification of a community\ninto twenty divisions with as many representative heads, their\nlocalizations at given points of the compass, and association with a\ncalendar-sign and day, and will only refer to what I have already\npublished in my Note on the Calendar, namely, how, by means of the\ncombination of 13 numerals with the 20 signs, a unit of 260 days was\nobtained, and how each sign was combined but once with the same number,\nand a perfect system of rotation of periods, regulating office, labor,\netc., was instituted. It is not possible for me to enlarge here upon the\nfeatures and merits of the system which I do not hesitate to term one of\nthe most admirable and perfect achievements of the human intellect. My\npresent purpose is to lay stress upon the fact that, in Mexico, the major\ncalendar-signs were borne as titles by the rulers of the four quarters who\npresided in rotation over a year—the name of this and of their title being\nalways in correspondence.\n\nNezahualcoyotl, the lord of Tezcoco, is recorded as possessing the title\nOme Tochtli=2 Rabbit, and would obviously have presided over the calendar\nperiods of that name. This inference is undoubtedly corroborated by Nuñez\nde la Vega’s following statement, quoted by Boturini:(44)\n\n“Instead of the Mexican signs Acatl, Tecpatl, Calli and Tochtli, the\nTzendals, inhabiting Chiapas, employed in their Calendar the names of four\nof their chieftains: Votan, Lambat, Been and Chinax.... They also figured\na man named Coslahuntax, as seated in a chair....” Boturini remarks that\nthis person should more correctly be named Imos or Max and was “the head\nof the 20 lords who were the symbols of the 20 days of the Calendar. Being\nthe principal and initial sign, Coslahuntax represented in himself the\nperiod of thirteen days.” As Dr. Brinton rightly notes(45) the name of the\npersonage should be Oxlaghun tax, literally signifying “the thirteen\ndivisions or parts.”\n\nWe thus see that, whilst the names of the chiefs of the four quarters\nconstituted the four major calendar-signs, one supreme lord embodied the\nattributes or “powers” of the 13 divisions of warriors and principal\ndivision. Thus the 13 divisions seem to have been regarded as 12 plus an\nall-embracing 1.\n\nNuñez de la Vega continues: “In the representations of their calendar they\npainted seven black persons, corresponding to the seven days of their\nreckoning.” Boturini adds: these seven black men were no other than the\nprincipal priest-rulers of this nation.... “They held in great veneration\nthe ‘lord of the black men,’ who was entitled Yal-ahua.” Boturini comments\non this utterance and explains that the latter was no other than the\nhigh-priest.\n\nI point out the evident identity of Yal-ahua to the Mexican\nYoal-tecuhtli=the lord of the Night, one of the titles given to Polaris\nand to his earthly representative, the high priest of the Earth and\nnocturnal cult. As already explained this personage bore in Mexico the\nfemale title, Cihuacoatl=Woman-serpent; but we also find this name for the\nearth-mother alternating with Chicome-coatl=literally, seven serpents. In\nBeltran de la Rosa’s “Arte Maya” we find the word “Ahaucchapat,”\ntranslated as “Serpent with seven heads” and are thus led to infer that\nthe Mexicans and Mayas had conceived the image of a “serpent with seven\nheads” as an allegory of the seven tribal divisions united in one body and\nbestowed this title to the representative of the Earth-cult, the high\npriest of the Below. It follows that, just as the number 13 resolves\nitself into 12+1, so the mystic number 7 proves to have been considered as\n6+1, precisely what might be expected as the natural sequence of the\nderivation of the number from a circumpolar constellation, consisting of\nseven stars, one of which was Polaris. Nuñez de la Vega and Boturini’s\ntestimony teaches us that the Tzendals were organized into twenty\ndivisions and that thirteen of these were embodied in one chief, while the\nseven others, associated with black, were personified by the high priest.\nThe information that one individual was thus believed to unite in his\nperson the attributes of several classes and that the lords of the four\nquarters and each of the twenty divisions bore names which were also\ncalendar-signs, gain in value when it is realized that, in the opinion of\nDrs. Schellhas and Brinton, the invention of the native Calendar system\nmay probably be assigned to the ancient inhabitants of Chiapas, where the\nTzendals now dwell.(46) In treating of the ruins of Palenque situated in\nthis region, I shall again refer to the Tzendals.\n\nMeanwhile, let us examine the Cakchiquel tradition about Cucumatz, the\nsorcerer chief of the Quichés, since it also treats of the 7-day period.\nWe are told that he “ascended to heaven for seven days and descended into\nthe under world for seven days and then assumed, in rotation, four\ndifferent animal forms during as many periods of seven days.”\n\nIt is impossible not to recognize from this that, like the Zuñis of\nto-day, the Quichés “symbolized the terrestrial sphere by referring to the\nfour cardinal points, to the zenith and nadir, the individual himself\nmaking the seventh number,” and that Cucumatz, who was evidently the high\npriest and head of the seven tribes, assumed the totemistic attributes of\neach of these, in rotation, for periods of seven days each. In this case\nwe have an interesting and suggestive variant of the scheme and it\nsuggests the possibility that, possibly actuated by ambition, Cucumatz had\ngrasped and united in his person the prerogatives of the chiefs or heads\nof each tribe. On the other hand, it may be that it was the original\ncustom for the high priest to be a sort of animated calendar sign in\nunison with the separate chiefs of each tribe, who represented, in\nrotation, the totemistic ancestors of their people.\n\nHaving shown how the lords of the Four Quarters were indissolubly linked\nto the four major calendar-signs which also symbolized the elements, let\nus examine the data establishing that the capital of each of the four\nprovinces was named a tecpan. From Duran I have already quoted that in the\nMexican metropolis there were two tecpans or official houses in which the\naffairs of the government were attended to and councils held. It is\nsignificant that one of these was named “the tecpan of men” and the other\n“the tecpan of women.” Whilst the metropolis, the seat of the dual\ngovernment, thus had its two tecpans which were presided over by the two\nsupreme rulers, we have learned from other sources of the four tecpans in\nGuatemala and that Texcoco, near the city of Mexico, was also termed a\ntecpan and that its ruler bore as a title one of the four major\ncalendar-signs. These facts explain his position and the reason why the\n“lord of Texcoco” was one of four lords who supported Montezuma when he\nmet Cortés in full state. A careful investigation of the derivation and\ntrue significance of the word tecpan yields interesting results.\nCen-tecpan-tli means, a count of twenty persons; the verb tecpana\nsignifies, “to establish something in concerted order; to establish order\namongst people.” The verb tecpancapoa means, to count something in regular\norder.\n\nThe Maya verb tepal=to govern or reign, or to be “one who mediates,”\nappears to be allied to the above Nahuatl words and it is not unlikely\nthat the employment of the flint-knife or tecpatl as an emblem of office\nhad been suggested by the fact that its Nahuatl name resembles, in sound,\nthe above words formed with tecpan, and also the Maya verb tepal. It thus\nconstituted a bilingual rebus, expressing the sense=to govern, to rule, to\nregulate, etc., and, employed as the symbol of the North and Polaris, it\nconveyed the idea that the latter was not only the producer of life but\nthe regulator of the Universe.\n\nFrom the fact that a tecpan constituted a minor integral whole and\ncomprised the rule over twenty classes of people, we see that whilst the\nfour provincial tecpans were in themselves miniature reproductions of the\nmetropolis, they but filled the same position in relation to this as the\nfour limbs to the body of a man or quadruped. A final proof of how\ncompletely this analogy was recognized by the native rulers is furnished\nby the Maya titles which embody the word kab=arm and hand.\n\nIt has already been mentioned in the preceding pages that the rulers of\nthe four quarters were entitled Ba-cab and that in the Dresden Codex an\nimage of the four quarters was figured by four bones. The word for bone\nbeing bac and for arm being kab, it is obvious that the arm-bone or\nhumerus would furnish a rebus, expressing the title of the four Bacabs—a\nconclusion which throws light upon the signification of the cross-bones of\nnative pictography and also of the incised and decorated human arm and leg\nbones which have been found in Mexico and Yucatan.\n\nAt the same time the word kab also recurs in the title Ah-Cuch-Cab which\nsignifies “the ruler or chief of a town or place,” Cuchil being the name\nof the latter. Both of these words so closely resemble cuxabal and cuxtal,\nthe word for “life,” that it is not impossible that the native mind often\nassociated the town as a centre of life, and thought of their chief as one\nwhose symbol was a “life-dispensing hand.” In order to grasp the full\nsignificance of the symbol of the hand in Maya sculptured and written\nrecords it is necessary to bear these facts in mind.\n\nIn 1895 Mr. Teobert Maler unearthed in the centre of the public square at\n“El Seibal,” Guatemala, a sculptured stela exhibiting the figures of a\nchieftain over whose head an open hand was carved. It is impossible not to\ninterpret this as a mark that the chieftain had once been the ruler of a\ntown and that this, in turn, was one of four minor capitals belonging to a\ncentral metropolis. A hand, enclosed in quadrangular lines and represented\non the garment of a chieftain, was found by Dr. Le Plongeon at Uxmal, and\nI believe that this should be interpreted in the same manner.\n\nIn my essay on Ancient Mexican Shields (Internationales Archiv für\nEthnographie, band V, 1892) I reproduced two interesting instances of the\nemployment, as the name-sign of a ruler in native pictography, of a hand\non the palm of which an eye is depicted. The effigy of a hand, the sacred\nKab-ul, which was kept in a place in Yucatan to which people from all\nquarters resorted regularly in great numbers, resolves itself into the\nsymbol of an ancient capital to which great high-roads led from the\ncardinal points. But important as this capital may have been, its\nconnection with the hand-symbol proves that it was originally one of four\nminor centres and formed but a part of a greater whole. It would\ncorrespond to the image, in one of the native Codices, of a subdivided\ncircle with an arm and hand standing in its middle, and its Bacab would\nundoubtedly have carried a sceptre in the shape of an open hand, such as\ndepicted in the Codices as a staff of office.\n\nWhile we thus find the human figure distinctly associated with the lords\nof the four quarters of the Above we find the four lords of the Below,\nentitled Chac, symbolized by the quadruped figure of the native\njaguar=chacoh, associated with the color red=chac and with rain, storms,\nthunder and lightning, all of which phenomena were, singly and\ncollectively, termed Chác.\n\nIf ever there has been an instance where language or the resemblance in\nsound of certain words has caused certain symbols to amalgamate with a\nname or title, it is surely this, and light is thereby thrown upon the\ndevelopment of symbolism and associations of thought amongst primitive\npeople.\n\nThe Chacs of Yucatan were identical with the Tlalocs, the octli or rain\nlords of Mexico, whose function, as votaries of earth-cult, was the\nregulation of agriculture, irrigation and the collection and distribution\nof all products of the soil. It is interesting to trace that, in other\nregions of Yucatan, presumably where no chacohs or jaguars existed, the\nminor rulers of provinces seem to have been termed ocelots=Balam, a title\nfound associated with Maya rulership.\n\nWith the foregoing data in mind it is easy to grasp the meaning of the\ntalon of a beast of prey, employed as an emblem of rank or office in the\nnative Codices or bas-reliefs and to perceive that this was the symbol of\na Chac or Balam, one of the four lords of the earth or Below, just as the\nhand was that of the lords of the Above. The complete image of the dual\nState is thus shown to have consisted at one time of an ideal group\nconsisting of a man with a beast of prey, a jaguar or ocelot. In Mexico we\nhave the man-bird and the man-ocelot respectively representing the rulers\nof the two great divisions of the State.\n\nAt Chichen-Itza and elsewhere in Yucatan sculptured figures of ocelots\nsupporting circular vessels have been found and there are interesting\ninstances of the combination of the human figure with ocelot=Balam\nattributes. One monolithic figure, discovered at Chichen-Itza by Mr. A. P.\nMaudslay, and belonging to the category of the recumbent statues bearing\ncircular vase-like receptacles, already described, exhibits a human head\nand form, whilst the body is covered with a spotted skin. In the\nsculptured image of Mictlan-tecuhtli (fig. 19) a human head is accompanied\nby limbs of equal length-terminating in wild beasts’ talons. The positions\nof the limbs are better understood when compared with the following\nillustration, to which I shall revert (fig. 51). Meanwhile, I shall merely\nremark that in both of these curious bas-reliefs we seem to have images of\nthe quadruple terrestrial and celestial governments. Fig. 51, which is a\ncorrected drawing of one of those contained in Leon y Gama’s “Descripcion\nde las dos Piedras,” furnishes an interesting example, in accord with the\nimage of Mictlantecuhtli, of the employment of the group of five as a\nsymbol of the centre and four quarters, and exhibits four limbs associated\nwith four heads (the quarters and their chiefs), while the hands hold two\nother heads, symbolical of the dual rulers of the State.\n\nTwo facts which throw an interesting light upon the growth of native\nsymbolism are worth mentioning here. As a symbol on the head of\nMictlan-tecuhtli, the lord of the North, two representations of a\ncentipede are distinguishable. In Nahuatl the name of this is\n“centzonmaye,” literally, four hundred hands. It can thus be seen that the\nidea of one body with a multitude of hands had occurred to the native\nphilosophers as a suitable allegory for their conception of a central\ncelestial and terrestrial rule which guided the activity of innumerable\nappointed hands and dispensed, through these, not only life and favors but\nalso death or chastisement.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 51.\n\n\nBefore proceeding farther we must consider tree-symbolism in ancient\nAmerica. According to Molina the Inca Yupanqui (surnamed the left-handed)\nordered the temple of Quisuar-cancha to be made: quisuar=a tree, the\n_Buddleia Incana_, cancha=place of. Salcamayhua (_op. cit._, p. 77), who\nattributes the building of this temple to Manco Capac, states that these\ntwo trees, which were in the temple, “typified his father and mother ...\nand he ordered that they should be adorned with roots of gold and silver\nand with golden fruit. Hence they were called Ccurichachac Collquechachac\nTampu Yracan, which means that the two trees typified his parents, that\nthe Incas proceeded from them like fruit from the trees, and that the two\ntrees were as the roots and stems of the Incas. All these things were\nexecuted to record their greatness.” This passage is of utmost value, for\nit conveys to us not only that the Incas kept a record of their male and\nfemale ancestry and respectively associated the male and female elements\nwith gold and silver, but also establishes the important point that the\ntree was employed as an emblem of the life and growth of a lineage or\nrace.\n\nThis fact is particularly interesting if collated with the Mexican\ntree-symbols. In the Féjérvary diagram (fig. 52), we find a different kind\nof tree and two totemic figures assigned to each quarter, which indicates\nthat the inhabitants of each of the four provinces were regarded as of a\ndistinct race. The top of each tree spreads itself into two branches and,\nwith one exception, each of these bears three blossoms or leaves denoting,\nit would seem, the division of a tribe into 2×3=6 parts.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                Figure 52. Copy of p. 44, Féjérvary Codex.\n\n\nThe majority of tree-symbols, however, exhibit a quadruplicate division as\nin fig. 53, nos. 1, 4 and 7. At the same time it is impossible not to\nrecognize that each example renders in a graphic manner the organization\nof a tribe. In nos. 2 and 8, for instance, we find that each of the four\nbranches was again subdivided, yielding eight subdivisions instead of\nfour. In no. 3, we have quadruple branches, a pair of recurved spikes with\nbuds and a central bud, the idea of duality repeating itself in the trunk\nof the tree, one-half of which above ground is white, whilst the other\nbelow ground is dark. The obvious allusion is to the Above and Below and\nthis idea is further symbolized by the head of the coatl=serpent or twin.\nIn this figure there is a hint of the existence of an idea I have found\nexpressed in other cases, namely, that a mystic line of demarcation\nexisted at the base of a tree, which separated its upward from its\ndownward growth. This was the seat of the life of the tree, which sent its\ntrunk and crown heavenwards and its roots and rootlets earthwards. The\nfact that the juice of the agave or maguey was collected from the core of\nthe plant seems to be at the bottom of its adoption as the sacred and\nceremonial “drink of life,” which was, subsequently, carefully prepared\nand fermented. The idea that a tree enclosed male and female elements\nseems to have been also a strong one and would, in course of time,\ndoubtlessly have led to the conception of superhuman beings in human form,\ndwelling in trees. What is more, the adoption by each tribe of a\nparticular sort of tree, a custom amply proven, would naturally lead to a\nspecies of tree-cult or veneration which, amongst the uninitiated, might\nlead to a form of worship of the tree itself.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 53.\n\n\nThe ceremonial presentation of single leaves of the same kinds as those\nrepresented on the trees, as in fig. 53, no. 6, proves that underlying\nthese picture-writings there is far more meaning than has heretofore been\nsuspected or recognized. It is not possible for me to present here all the\nmaterial I have collected on this subject which will be set forth in a\nfuture monograph. I will, however, direct attention to the peculiar\ntreatment in fig. 53, no. 1, of the tree trunk which is enlarged and forms\na quadriform figure. In no. 4, the trunk enlarges to the shape of a head;\nin no. 2 the tree grows from a human head and two young shoots issue from\neach side of the trunk, seemingly indicating a fresh growth in tribal\nlife. In no. 5, we have an example of a human figure lying at the base of\na tree and a fifth leaf growing in the centre of the treetop. Directing\nattention to the evident care taken in representing an equal number of\nbranches pointing upwards and downwards I would cite here an extremely\ninteresting representation of a tree in the Borgian Codex. In this case\nthe trunk issues from a conventionally drawn heart, figured in the centre\nof the symbol for sky or heaven. As the Nahuatl for heart is yul-lotl,\nfrom the verb yuli=to live, to resuscitate, the idea is distinctly\nconveyed that the tree was that of life=yuli and proceeded from the\ncelestial centre of life, Polaris or the Heart of Heaven, a native title\nfor the Supreme Being.(47)\n\nIn the Telleriano-Remensis MS., a “tree of Paradise,” so termed in the\ntext, is figured, and there are, in other Codices, various examples of\ntrees encircled with serpents, where it is obvious that this combination\nwas made in order to express, phonetically, that a celestial tree was\nintended, the word kan=serpent, being made to express kaan=heaven. A\ncelestial tree, situated at the pole and bearing in some cases seven and\nin others five blossoms, was frequently depicted and its symbolism is\nobvious. In my commentary on the Hispano-Mexican MS. “The Lyfe of the\nIndians,” the “Gods,” “Five Flowers,” and “Seven Flowers,” will be treated\nin detail.\n\nFrom Sahagun and Olmos we learn that the Mexicans employed the image of a\ntree, metaphorically, to signify a lord, governor, progenitor, first\nancestor. Relations are designated as “issuing from one trunk.” A branch\nis literally termed “the arm of the tree,” kab-ché. Two kinds of trees,\nthe Puchutl and Aueuetl, signified, metaphorically, “a father, mother,\nlord, captain or governor who were, or are, like shade-giving, sheltering\ntrees” (Olmos).\n\nThe above metaphors explain the frequent association of a head, the symbol\nof a chief or lord, with the tree symbols. It is noteworthy that in\nNahuatl, the name for head=quaitl, is singularly like quauitl=tree, and\nalso recalls the word for serpent=coatl, facts which may have somewhat\nguided the choice and association of these symbols. The native metaphors\nrecorded by Olmos, moquauhtia=an honored person or lord who has vassals or\ndependents, and atlapalli=literally, leaf=a person of the lower class, a\nworker, initiate us still further into the meaning of the native symbolism\nand prove the antiquity of this, since the designation of a chief as a\ntree and a vassal as a leaf was in current use. The presentation of the\ntree issuing from a heart=yul-lotl is moreover, in perfect keeping with\nnative thought, since the chieftain or lord was entitled “the heart, or\nlife of the town or population.”\n\nThe meaning of the bird, which is represented as perched on each of the\nfour trees in the Féjérvary diagram, is likewise explained by the\nmetaphors recorded by Olmos who states that, “a son or child or a much\nbeloved lord or chieftain was compared to a beautiful and precious bird,\nsuch as the Quetzal, the Roseate Spoonbill, the Blue-bird, etc., etc.”\nSurmounting the tribal trees in the diagram, the birds therefore typify\nthe lords of the four provinces and this is corroborated by the fact that\neach different bird is figured again in the corner-loops in combination\nwith the symbols of the cardinal points. The association of the symbols\nfor lord or chief=the head, and the precious bird with the tribal tree\nalso explains the frequent representation, in the native Codices, of one\nor two serpents entwined around the tree, since the serpent was the symbol\nin Mexico of the dual rulers or high-priests of the Above and Below. There\nis ample proof, which shall be presented in full in my monograph on this\nsubject, that the above metaphorical images were as intelligible to the\nMayas and other tribes, as to the Mexicans themselves, for the identical\nmetaphors and imagery were in widespread general use. The following data\nwill corroborate this statement.\n\nA Maya native drawing, copied by Cogolludo in 1640 from the MS. of the\nChilan Balam or Sacred Book of Man, which relates the history of the\nMayas, has been recently reproduced in Dr. Daniel G. Brinton’s Primer of\nMaya Hieroglyphics, p. 47. It displays a rectangular stone slab like a\ntable, on the centre of which rests a circular bowl, the symbol, as I have\nshown, of the earth and centre. Growing from this is a spreading tree.\n\nIt is a curious and undeniable fact that the Maya name for table is mayac,\nand that the dictionaries contain the words mayac-tun, stone-table, and\nmayac-ché, wooden, literally, tree-table. Familiarity with the native\nmodes of rebus-writing leads to the inference that this picture of a tree\nand table, expressing the sounds mayac-ché, actually signified the tree of\nthe Mayas and therefore figured in the book relating their history. Bishop\nLanda records that the Mayas believed in a beautiful celestial tree,\nresembling the ceiba and named yax-ché, literally, green tree, under whose\nshade they would repose in after-life. Abbé Brasseur de Bourbourg surmises\nthat this tree was the same as the beautiful shade tree which grows in\nYucatan and Mexico and is named, in the latter country,\ntonacaz-quahuital=tree of our subsistence, _i. e._, life.\n\nA Maya name for the “tree of life,” ua-hom-ché, next claims our\nattention.(48) A valuable old manuscript dictionary of the Maya language,\nquoted by Dr. Brinton, records that the word uah means “a certain kind of\nlife.” The word _hom_ is an ancient term for an artificial elevation,\nmound or pyramid, hence _homul_, the pyramid on which a temple was built.\nCombined with ché, tree, the word seems to signify “the elevated or high\ntree of life,” the idea of the celestial tree “on high,” being possibly\nintended. In connection with this it is interesting to reëxamine fig. 20,\nIV, which represents a flat pyramid from which grows a four-petalled\nflower on a stalk with two leaves, the symbolism of which is apparent.\n\nI am inclined to connect another native name translated in the\ndictionaries by “cross”=zin-ché with zihil=to be born, to commence,\nzihnal=original, primitive, and zian=origin, generation, ancestry, and to\ninterpret it “the tree of ancestral or tribal life.” On the other hand,\nthere is the adjective zinil=mighty, great, and the meaning of zin-ché may\nmerely mean “the mighty tree.” In treating of the “cross tablet” of\nPalenque in the following pages, reference will be made to Dr. Brinton’s\nidentification of the “cross” as a tree and tree symbolism referred to\nagain. Although unable to produce here all the data I have collected on\nthe subject, I think that the foregoing prove that the Peruvians, Mexicans\nand Mayas, employed the four-branched tree as an image of the organization\nand growth of their communal life, and utilized it in pictography as a\nmeans of recording changes of organization and statistics of increase or\ndecrease of population. The Maya word for “one generation of men,” uinay,\nliterally meaning “one growth,” seems to reveal that each generation was\npopularly thought of as one growth of leaves on the tree of state—a simile\nwhich is worthy of note.\n\nOne more point remains to be considered in reference to the organization\nof the population into four parts, each of which consisted of four minor\nparts and so on; namely, the employment of color as a means of\ndifferentiation.\n\nIn Peru each person wore on the head a twisted cord, of the color of its\nquarter, whilst the Inca alone wore these colors combined, in the band\nwhich encircled his brow, as a sign that, in his person he united the\nrulership over the four provinces. Molina records the colors of these as\nred, yellow, white and black. In the titles of the Maya Bacabs, or lords\nof the provinces, as given by Landa, the words for yellow, red, white and\nblack, are found to be incorporated and prove to be identical with the\narrangement in Peru. In Mexico, on the other hand, we find red, yellow,\ngreen and blue as the colors of the Four Quarters, white and black being\nassigned to the Above and Below. All colors combined are to be found\nunited in symbols of the Centre and it is known that the use of\ncentzon-tilmatli and quachtli=mantles of four hundred colors=multicolored\nwere supplied as tributes to the capital, for the use of a privileged\ncaste. A somewhat similar arrangement to the Mexican is that of the Zuñis\nat the present time. According to Mr. Cushing, they assign yellow, blue,\nred and white to the cardinal points, speckled and black to the\nAbove=zenith and Below=nadir, and “all colours to the Middle or Centre.”\n\nIn Peru, Mexico and Yucatan I have found scattered notices proving that\nindividuals habitually painted their bodies with their respective colors.\nThe Mexican “lords of the night” smeared themselves with black. A passage\nin Sahagun (book I, chap. V) speaks of the whitening of the “face, arms,\nhands and legs with ‘tiçatl’ ”=chalk, as though this were a habit of the\n“noblewomen.” In the Codices some women are, in fact, represented with\nwhite faces, whilst those of the majority are painted yellow and it is\nknown that yellow ochre was employed in reality. I have, in preparation, a\nbrief, illustrated monograph showing the various modes of painting the\nface represented in the native pictorial records. In these, men painted\nred are of frequent occurrence, and it is known that the “red man” owed\nhis appellation to the custom of using red pigment on his body.\n\nLet us now briefly consider some of the results which inevitably followed\nthe establishment of two diverging cults which were the outcome of the\nprimitive recognition of duality and the artificial association of sex\nwith Heaven and Earth, Day and Night, etc. On pp. 60-62 I have cited\nevidence showing that at one time in the past history of the Aztecs,\nserious differences arose between the male and female rulers, and led to a\nseparation of the tribe and the establishment of two distinct centres of\ngovernment.\n\nThe native languages furnish strong indications that, in ordinary tribal\nlife, the separation of the sexes must have been generally enforced from\nremote antiquity and that male and female communities existed in various\nportions of the continent. It is well known that, to this day, the Nahuatl\ntongue spoken by the men is different from that spoken by the women, and\nthat the same duality of language prevails among other American tribes.\nWhen the male and female portions of the native states separated and\nfounded separate capitals it is obvious that each would have still further\ncultivated a separate language and that the institution of two distinct\ncults would have accentuated their differences and given a fresh impetus\nto their development. As will be shown, the Maya chronicles reveal that,\nin Yucatan, the nocturnal cult of the female principle degenerated into\nsuch abominations that the incensed population actually rose in revolt,\nmurdered the high-priests and scattered their votaries.\n\nIt was obviously owing to a recognition of the degradation attendant upon\nthe abuse of intoxicating drinks, which had played such a rôle in the cult\nof the earth-mother, that such stern laws were enforced in Mexico, at the\ntime of the Conquest, restricting and regulating the use of pulque. This\nwas distributed by the priests at certain festivals only. These and other\nrigid measures evidently dictated by a spirit of reform, as well as the\nclose union of both cults, seem to have efficiently maintained a certain\nequilibrium. At the same time two different moral standards were thus\ninevitably evolved by the votaries of both cults and naturally profoundly\naffected the position of woman. The dangers and evils attendant upon the\nearth-cult became irretrievably associated with the female sex and the\nvotaries of Heaven naturally came to regard woman as a source of\ntemptation and degradation. In ancient Mexico and Peru the celibacy of the\nsun-priests and of a certain number of noblewomen, “the Virgins of the\nSun,” was enforced; thus, whilst the position of woman was being lowered\nin one caste by an artificial set of ideas, it was raised in the other by\nan equally fictitious association with the Above, which led, however, to\nher real elevation of mind and character and finally enforced a\nrecognition of her individuality. The consecration of her person, which\ncaused her to assume a position commanding universal homage, relieved her\nfrom heavy labor but caused her to be guarded and protected. She was thus\ncondemned to a still greater seclusion, the primary object of which was to\nremove her from possible contact with members of the lower earthly caste.\nFor, whilst ceremonial usage even required that the male members of the\nupper caste should associate in certain symbolical rites with the chief\nwomen of the lower order, it was a crime and a desecration for a man of\nthe latter caste to approach a woman of the nobility. These could only\nmarry in their own caste or remain celibate and were kept aloof from all\ndebasing influences, inside of protecting walls.\n\nReflection shows that such conditions would inevitably lead to the\nformation of a nobility whose ideal was celibacy and whose “Virgins of the\nSun,” by virtue of their consecration, ranked highest amongst the women of\nthe “celestial caste.” Those who married did so in their own caste, led a\nlife of seclusion and always maintained a position of superiority over all\nwomen of the “earthly caste.” The latter, on the other hand, had the\nprerogative of being the representatives of their caste, since the cult of\nthe earth-mother necessitated a female representative, high-priestesses\nand also female chiefs in their own rights. We know that, in ancient\nMexico, an independent gynocracy had been founded at one time. From\ncertain native manuscripts and monuments we have positive evidence that a\nnumber of independent female chieftains ruled over minor communities and\nrepresented them officially, their rank and insignia being equal to that\nof the chiefs of male communities. At the same time, from the standpoint\nof the “upper caste,” the position and moral code of these “votaries of\nthe earth,” were always viewed as inferior.\n\nAnother factor also exerted a marked and growing influence upon the\nrelative positions of the two classes of women. The enforced seclusion of\nthe noblewomen rendering out-door occupations or work impossible, it\nbecame necessary to relegate such to members of the lower caste who\ngradually constituted a class of domestic slaves, dedicated to the service\nof the nobility. In ancient Mexico, as a punishment for various crimes,\nsuch as murder, theft, etc., an individual, even of the upper class, was\nreduced to slavery as a punishment for his crime. The ranks of slaves were\nalso recruited from prisoners of war. On the other hand, the laws\nregulating slavery were just and mild, the children of slaves were born\nfree and various modes of regaining freedom were afforded to those held in\nbondage as an expiation for crime. The introduction of slaves\nnecessitating, as it did, their classification with the lower class, now\nassociated servitude with the female division of the community, and the\nidea arose that women and the lower class existed for the benefit of the\nmale element of the state and a favored minority of consecrated women.\n\nIf slavery and bondage came to be regarded on the one hand as a just\npunishment for crime, the idea of liberty shone as an incentive to good\nconduct. An eloquent proof of the high estimate in which personal freedom\nwas regarded by the ancient Mexicans, is furnished by the Nahuatl word,\nrecorded by Olmos, for “free man”=xoxouhqui-yollotl, literally, “fresh or\ngreen heart.” This expression is of particular interest because it\nexplains a strange mortuary custom which consisted in placing a piece of\njade, chal-chihuitl, or precious green stone, in the mouth of a noble\nperson, after death, saying that it was “his heart.” In the case of the\nlower class a stone of little value, named texaxoctli, was employed. In\nancient Mexico, therefore, the presence of jade or any green stone, in a\ngrave, proved that the body was that of a free member of the upper caste.\nIt is evident that the employment of this significant emblem was suggested\nby the Nahuatl word for “freeman,” and constituted a sort of rebus\nexpressing this title or rank.\n\nIn the Peabody Museum there are several specimens of jade celts, collected\nby Dr. Earl Flint in Nicaragua, which had been cut into two or more\npieces. Professor Putnam had the satisfaction of discovering that these\npieces from different graves fitted together. His inference that the stone\nmust have been rare and highly prized, probably from some motive connected\nwith native ritual, is fully supported by the explanation afforded by the\nexistence of the Nahuatl word. It is evident that, in order to provide a\ndead kinsman with the mark of his rank, a living chief would gladly have\ndivided his own celt of jade, if, for some reason or other, no other green\nstone was forthcoming at the time of burial.\n\nLet us now rapidly enumerate a few facts which prove that not only burial\ncustoms but also social organization and numerical divisions were carried\nnorthward from the southern cradle of ancient American civilization. I\nshall make two statements only, hoping that competent authorities on North\nAmerican tribal organization, and amongst them, my esteemed friend and\ncolleague, Miss Alice C. Fletcher, will supply a number of authoritative\nreports on these matters.\n\nReferring to the writings of Horatio Hale, whose comparatively recent loss\nwill long be deeply felt by all students of aboriginal history and\nlanguages, I quote the following sentences from his interesting pamphlet\non “Four Huron Wampum records,” published, with notes and addenda by Prof.\nE. B. Tylor of Oxford, in 1897.\n\n“The surviving members of the Huron nation, even in its present broken,\ndispersed and half extinct condition, still retain the memory of their\nancient claim to the headship of all the aboriginal tribes of America\nnorth of Mexico.... The Hurons or Wendat, as they should be properly\nstyled, belonged to the important group or linguistic stock, commonly\nknown, from its principal branch, as the Iroquoian family and which\nincludes, besides the Huron and Iroquois nations, the Attiwendaronks, the\nEries, Andastes, Tuscaroras and Cherokees, all once independent and\npowerful nations.” (I draw attention to the detail that these nations were\nseven in number.) Gallatin, in his “Synopsis of the Indian tribes,”\nnotices the remarkable fact that while the “Five Nations” or Iroquois\nproper were found by Champlain, on his arrival in Canada, to be engaged in\ndeadly warfare with all the Algonquian tribes within their reach, the\nHurons, another Iroquoian nation, were the head and principal support of\nthe Algonquian confederacy. In the “Fall of Hochelaga,” Horatio Hale sets\nforth the reasons which led to the division of the Hurons and Iroquois,\nwho had formerly dwelt together in friendly unison. The latter, retreating\nto the south and augmented by other refugees, became the “Five Confederate\nNations.”\n\nThe “kingdom of Hochelaga,” as Cartier styles it, comprised, besides the\nfortified city of that name, the important town of Stadaconé (commonly\nknown to its people as Canada or “the town”) and eight or nine other towns\nalong the great river. According to their tradition the name of their\nleader, Sut-staw-ra-tse, had been kept up by descent for seven or eight\nhundred years.\n\n“Towards the conclusion of a long and deadly warfare between the Iroquois\nconfederates and Canada as well as the Hurons a remarkable change had\ntaken place in their character; a change which recalls that which is\nbelieved to have been developed in the character of the Spartans under the\ninstitutions of Lycurgus, and the similar change which is known to have\nappeared in the character of the Arabians under the influence of\nMohammedan precepts. A great reformer had arisen in the person of the\nOnondaga chief, Hiawatha, who, imbued with an overmastering idea, had\ninspired his people with a spirit of self-sacrifice, which stopped at no\nobstacle in the determination of carrying into effect their teacher’s\nsublime purpose. This purpose was the establishment of universal peace....\nThe Tionontaté or Tobacco Nation seem to have made an alliance with the\nHuron nation....\n\n“Eight clans or gentes composed the Huron people and were found in\ndifferent proportions in all the tribes. These clans, called by the\nAlgonquians ‘totems,’ all bore the names of certain animals, with which\nthe Indians held themselves to be mythologically connected—the bear, wolf,\ndeer, porcupine, snake, hawk, large tortoise and small tortoise. Each clan\nwas more numerous in some towns than in others, as it was natural that\nnear kindreds should cluster together.\n\n“The five Iroquois nations also had eight clans.... The Iroquois league is\nspoken of in their Book of Rites as kanasta-tsi-koma, ‘the great\nframework’ and the large, bent frame-poles of their council-house, the\nexact original shape of which is not known, were named kan-asta.”\n\nAn examination of the signs woven in the famous wampum belts of the Hurons\nand Iroquois reveals some curious facts.\n\nOne of these treaty belts, described by Horatio Hale, commemorates an\nalliance formed between four nations. It exhibits four squares (fig. 54,\n_a_) “which indicate, in the Indian hieroglyphic system, either towns or\ntribes with their territory.”(49) This mode of representing a nation is of\nutmost interest, not only because it coincides with the Maya conception of\n“the quadrated” earth but because it also reveals that, in North America,\nthe Indians associated a tribal organization with a quadriform. What is\nmore, an older belt, which is unfortunately incomplete, exhibits a central\noval (fig. 54, _b_) between a bird and a quadruped and three crosses with\na circle uniting their branches. The cross and circle, being a native\nsymbol for “an integral state,” as definitely proven by the Maya map,\njustifies the suggestion that this symbol on the wampum belt may have had\nthe significance of “nation” and central government. It is remarkable that\nthe Iroquois central capital, Ho-che-laga, can be analyzed in the Maya\ntongue, as meaning five=_ho_, tree=_ché_ or _hoch_=vase (symbol of centre)\nwhilst the terminal _laga_ might possibly be a form of _lacan_=banner, an\nobject so frequently associated with names of towns in Mexico, where it\nyields the sound pan and means on or above something.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 54.\n\n\nIt will be interesting and important to learn what “Hochelaga” means in\nthe Iroquois language. The resemblance between the Maya and Iroquois\nsymbols for nation and tribal territory and of the names for capital might\neven be overlooked and treated as a coincidence merely, if the Iroquois\nname for the confederacy, kan-asta-tsik-o-ma did not also begin with the\nword kan, the Maya for four and for serpent. The same particle recurs in\nthe Iroquois name for the town=can-ada, a word which, in Maya, would\ndescribe a metropolis divided into four quarters.\n\nThe question naturally suggests itself whether the affix can, frequently\nmet with in Mexico combined with names of localities, was not of Maya\norigin and expressed also a centre of quadruple government. It occurs in\nthe Nahuatl name for metropolis to-tec-ua can and in Teoti-hua can, for\ninstance. The Nahuatl scholars have rendered its meaning as “place of.”\n\nMr. Hale tells us that, amongst the “Five Nations,” the tradition exists\nthat the confederacy was originally divided into “seven tribes,” each of\nwhich was composed of 2×4=8 gentes or clans. Another wampum belt he\nfigures exhibits a heart between 2×2=4 squares, a symbol which would be\ninterpreted by a Mexican or Maya as well as by a Huron or Iroquois, as\nmeaning “four nations, one heart,” the latter being as common a symbol for\nunion of rule or government or for chieftain, as a “head.”\n\nCombined with other testimony it seems impossible to evade the question\nwhether in remote times the Iroquois and Hurons had not shared in some way\nor other the civilization of the Mayas. If so the ancient\nearthwork-builders of the Ohio valley, who are authoritatively regarded as\nof southern origin by Professor Putnam, and whose art exhibits a strong\nresemblance to that of the Mayas, seem to constitute the missing link\nbetween the northeastern and the southeastern tribes. It is curious to\nfind that the terminal ché, which occurs in the name Quiché and which\nsignifies in Maya, tree, and, by extension, tribe, is preserved in the\nnames of the Nat-ché-z tribe still inhabiting the Mississippi valley. It\nis also present in Coman-ché, Apa-che, etc.\n\nIt is to be hoped that, before long, authorities who have made special\nstudies of the above tribes will make searching comparisons of their\nlanguages, social organization and symbolism with that of the Mayas, in\nparticular, it seeming evident that the coast communication along the gulf\nof Mexico, from Yucatan to the mouth of the Mississippi river, was not\nonly easy but was favored by sea-currents.\n\nIt is interesting to note that if we now proceed to the southwest of the\nUnited States and study the Pueblo people, we seem to find not only more\ndistinctly marked affinities between their customs, etc., and those of the\nMexicans, but also traces of similarity with certain Maya symbols.\n\nIn several important publications Dr. J. Walter Fewkes has made the\nvaluable observation that there are marked “resemblances between a\nceremony practised [at the time of the Conquest] in the heart of Mexico\nand one still kept up in Arizona,” and states that these “lead one to look\nfor likenesses in symbolism, especially that pertaining to the\nmythological Snake among the two peoples.” He continues as follows: “From\nthe speculative side it seems probable that there is an intimate\nresemblance between some of the ceremonials, the symbolism and\nmythological systems of the Indians of Tusayan and those of the more\ncultured stocks of Central America.... The facts here recorded look as if\nthe Hopi practise a ceremonial form of worship with strong affinities to\nthe Nahuatl and Maya.... I have not yet seen enough evidence to convince\nme that the Hopi derived their cult and ceremonials from the Zuñians or\nfrom any other single people. It is probably composite. I am not sure that\nportions of it were not brought up from the far south, perhaps from the\nSalado and Gila by the Bat-kin-ya-mûh=‘Water people,’ whose legendary\nhistory is quite strong that they came from the south.”(50)\n\nDr. Fewkes frankly states that he “knows next to nothing of the symbolic\ncharacters of the Mexican deities ...” and quotes Mr. Bandelier’s opinion\nthat “there are traces or tracks of the same mythological system and\nsymbolism amongst the Indians of the southwestern United States and the\naborigines of Central America.”\n\nUnder the leadership of Mr. Frank H. Cushing let us now enter into the\nlife and thoughts of the modern Zuñis. After having traced certain ideas\nin Mexico and Peru, it is possible to recognize them again when we find\nthem in Mr. Cushing’s valuable work, from which I shall quote somewhat at\nlength, referring the reader, however, to the original, for a fuller\nrealization of existing resemblances.(51)\n\nThe Zuñi creation-myth relates how the light of the Sun-father and a\nfoam-cap on the sea, caused the Earth-mother to give birth to\ntwin-brothers, Uanam Achi Piah-_koa_, “the Beloved Twain who descended.”\nThe first was Uanam Ehkona=the beloved Preceder, the second Uanam Yaluna,\nthe beloved Follower; they were twin-brothers of light, yet elder and\nyounger, the right and left, like to question and answer in deciding and\ndoing.... The Sun-father gave them the thunderbolts of the four quarters,\ntwo apiece.... On their cloud-shield, even as a spider in her web\ndescendeth, they descended into the underworld ... (p. 381).\n\nPausing here for a moment, we note the curious fact that in the Zuñi name\nfor the twins we find _koa_, resembling the Nahuatl coatl=twin or serpent;\nthat the name of one brother Ehk-ona recalls the Mexican ec-atl=air, wind\nor breath, and the Maya ik=air, wind, breath, courage, spirit. The\nallotment of two quarters to each and the image of a spider employed to\nexpress their descent from heaven have counterparts in Nahuatl lore.\n\nThe “Twain” ... guided men upwards to become the fathers of six kinds of\nmen (yellow or tawny, grey, red, white, mingled and black).... The nation\ndivided itself into the winter or Macaw and the summer or Raven people....\n“The Twain beloved gathered in council for the naming and selection of man\ngroups and creature kinds, spaces and things. They determined that the\ncreatures and things of summer and the southern space pertained to the\nsouthern people or children of the producing Earth-mother; and those of\nthe winter and northern space to the winter people or children of the\nForcing or Quickening Sky-father.”\n\nIt is impossible to do more than refer the reader to Mr. Cushing’s account\nof the origin of totem clans and creature-kinds which bears such an\naffinity to the Peruvian, and obviously arose for the same practical\nreason, to serve as distinction marks for identification and\nclassification. “At first ... there were four bands of priest-keepers of\nthe mysteries: the Shiwana-kwe=priesthood of the priest-people;\nSa’niah’-ya-kwe=priesthood of the Hunt; Ach-iahya-kwe=great Knife people;\nNewe-kwe=keepers of the magic medicines.” Out of these four divisions “all\nsocieties were formed, both that of the Middle and the twain for each of\nall six regions, constituting the tabooed and sacred 13.” In another\npassage account is given of the marriage of a brother and sister, which\nproduced twelve children, the first of which, Hlamon, was man and woman\ncombined—the 12 thus constituting in reality 13.\n\nOne of the most interesting portions of the Zuñi narrative is one which\nelucidates the motive which led to the migration of peoples in ancient\nAmerica. We are told how generations of the forefathers of the Zuñis\nwandered about in search of the stable middle of the earth, on which they\nwished to found their sacred city. The tribe divided; the winter-clan\njourneyed to the northeast and the summer-clan to the southwest, a reunion\nof the people took place, and a council was held for the determination of\nthe true Middle.... According to a myth the Sun-father requested the\nwater-skate to determine the Middle. This mythical monster lifted himself\nup, stretched out and then settled downward, calling out: “Where my heart\nand navel rest beneath them mark ye the spot and then build ye a town of\nthe midmost, for there shall be the midmost of the Earth-mother, even the\nnavel.... And when he descended squatting, his belly rested over the plain\nand valley of Zuñi and when he drew in his finger-legs, lo! there were the\ntrail roads leading out and in like the stays of a spider’s net, into and\nforth from the place he had covered.”\n\nPausing to point out that fig. 28, reproduced from Mexican Codices, shows\ncurious topographical drawings resembling a spider’s net, I will not\nrecount the many disappointments of the wanderers, who were evidently\ndriven away from several places of settlement by earthquakes, but will\nrefer to the Zuñi custom of “annually testing the stability of the Middle\nin middle time ... when the sun reached the middle between winter and\nsummer ... a shell was laid by the sacred fire of the north.... When\nduring solemn chanting no trembling of the earth ensued, the priests cast\nnew fire and ... dwelt happily feeling sure that their sacred things were\nresting in the stable middle of the world.”\n\nAt the beginning of this paper I referred to the powerful hold that the\nrealization of the fixity of the pole star would naturally have exerted\nupon the mind of primitive man, and I can produce no more striking\nillustration of this and of my view that the idea of central government\nand organization had been suggested by Polaris, than this account of the\nearnest and prolonged search of these ancient people for the stable centre\nof the earth, on which to found a permanent centre of terrestrial rule or\nthe plan of the celestial government. At the same time it seems to me that\nthe longing for a stable and fixed residence would naturally have been\nmost intense amongst people who had experienced terrible earthquakes and\nbeen driven out of their original abodes by their repeated destruction. It\nis unnecessary to mention the well-known fact that whilst earthquakes\nprevail throughout North and Central America, the most impressive trace of\ncatastrophes of the kind are connected with the gigantic volcanoes of\nCentral Mexico and Guatemala.\n\nWith a sympathetic insight into the disasters which seem to have driven\nthe wandering tribes from one region to another and filled them with a\npassionate yearning for a centre of rest, let us now learn from Mr.\nCushing how they planned their metropolis and organized themselves, when\nthey had found the long-looked-for goal, in the Zuñi valley and “settling\nthere, built seven great cities therein.\n\n“All their subtribes and lesser tribes were distinctively related to and\nruled from a central tribe and town through priest chiefs representatives\nof each of these, sitting under supreme council or septuarchy of the\n‘Master priests of the house’ in the central town itself, much as were the\ndivisions and cities of the great Inca dominion in South America\nrepresented at and ruled from Cuzco, the central city and power of them\nall.\n\n“Zuñi is divided, not always clearly to the eye, but very clearly in the\nestimation of the people themselves, into seven parts, corresponding not\nperhaps in arrangement topographically, but in scheme to their\nsubdivisions of the worlds or world-quarters of this world. Thus one\ndivision of the town is supposed to be related to the north and to be\ncentred in its kiva or estufa which may or may not be at its centre;\nanother division represents the west, another the south, another the east;\nyet another the upper world and another the lower world; while a final\ndivision represents the middle or mother and synthetic combination of the\nall in the world.\n\n“By reference to the early Spanish history of the pueblos, it may be seen\nthat when discovered the Ashiwis or Zuñis were living in seven quite\nwidely separated towns the celebrated seven cities of Cibola and that this\ntheoretic subdivision of the only one of these towns now remaining is in\nsome manner a survival of the original subdivision of the tribes into\nseven into as many towns. It is evident that in both cases, however, the\narrangement was and is, if we may call it such, a mythic organization;\nhence my use of the term of mytho-sociologic organization of the tribe. At\nall events this is the key to their sociology as well as to their mythic\nconception of space and universe.\n\n“... There were nineteen clans, grouped in threes, to correspond to the\nmythic subdivision. Three to north, west, south, east, Upper, Lower. The\n_single_ clan of Macaw is midmost or of middle and also as the all\ncontaining and mother clan of the entire tribe, for in it is ‘the seed of\nthe priesthood of houses’ supposed to be preserved.(52)\n\n“Finally, as produced from all the clans and as representative alike of\nall the clans and through a tribal septuarchy of all the regions and\ndivisions of the midmost and, finally, as representative of all the cult\nsocieties above mentioned, is the Kaka or A’kâkâ-kwe or Mythic Dance drama\npeople or organization.\n\n“It may be seen of these mytho-sociologic organizations that they are a\nsystem within a system and that it contains systems within systems all\nfounded on the classification according to the six-fold division of things\nand in turn the six-fold division of each of these divisions of things ...\nThe tribal division made up of the clans of the north take precedence\nceremonially, occupying the position of elder brother or the oldest\nancestor. The west is the younger brother to this and the south of the\nwest, the east of south, etc.... while the middle is supposed to be a\nrepresentative being, the heart and name of all of the brothers of the\nregions, the first and last, as well as elder and younger.\n\n“To such an extent indeed, is this tendency to classify according to the\nnumber of the six regions with its seventh synthesis of them all (the\nlatter sometimes apparent, sometimes non-appearing) that not only are the\nsubdivisions of the societies also again subdivided according to this\narrangement, but each clan is subdivided, both according to the six-fold\narrangement and according to the subsidiary relations of the six parts of\nits totem....\n\n“In each clan is to be found a set of names, called the names of\nchildhood. These names are more of titles than of cognomens. They are\ndetermined upon by sociological divinistic modes and are bestowed in\nchildhood as the ‘verity names’ or titles of the children to whom given.\nBut the body of names relating to any one totem, for instance, to one of\nthe beast totems, will not be the name of the totem-beast itself but will\nbe the names of both of the totems and its various conditions and of the\nvarious parts of the totem or of its functions, or of its attributes,\nactual or mythical.\n\n“Now these parts or functions, or attributes of the parts or functions,\nare subdivided also in a six-fold manner, so that the name relating to one\nmember of the totem, for example, like the right leg or arm of the animal\nthereof, would correspond to the north and would be the first in honor in\na clan (not itself of the northern group); then the name relating to\nanother member, say the left leg and its powers, etc., would pertain to\nthe west and would be second in honor, ... the right foot, pertaining to\nthe south, would be third in honor, ... the tail to the lower regions and\nbe sixth in honor; while the heart and navel and centre of the being would\nbe first as well as last in honor.... In addressing each other the word\nsymbol for elder or younger is always used.\n\n“With such a system of arrangement as all this maybe seen to be, with such\na facile device for symbolizing the arrangement (not only according to the\nnumber of regions, and their subdivisions in their relative succession and\nthe succession of their elements and seasons, but also in the colors\nattributed to them) and, finally, with such an arrangement of names,\ncorrespondingly classified and of terms of relation significant of rank\nrather than of consanguineal connection, mistake in the order of a\nceremonial, a procession or a council is simply impossible and the people\nemploying these devices may be said to have written and to be writing\ntheir statutes and laws in all their daily relationship and utterances.”\n\nIf this precious exposition of the Zuñi social organization teaches us\nmore about native method and system than all of the writings of the\nSpanish chroniclers put together, there is one important point which,\nstrangely enough, is not touched upon, namely, the regulation of time. All\ninformation concerning native astronomy, and the subdivision of the years,\nthe festival periods and the names of days, seems to have been withheld\nfrom Mr. Cushing by the Zuñi priesthood, if we are to assume that they\npossess a calendar.\n\nIn Mexico, as I have already set forth, the calendar system is bound up in\nthe scheme of social organization and it is impossible to separate them. I\ncannot but think that it must be the same with the Zuñis but that, as in\nancient Mexico, only the priesthood were acquainted with the existence of\na systematic calendar, and kept it a profound secret from the multitude,\nalthough the entire communal life and activities of the people were guided\naccordingly by their rulers, who had arranged a suitable time for all\nthings, at proper seasons.\n\nHaving obtained through Mr. Cushing invaluable material for the making of\na composite image of the ancient American civilization let us now proceed\nto Yucatan, bearing in mind the native mode of thought and master-passion\nfor systematization.\n\nA careful perusal of Cogolludo and Landa’s work affords such interesting\nglimpses into the past history of the inhabitants of the Yucatan\npeninsula, that they merit presentation in a separate publication. Suffice\nit for the present to refer more fully to a few leading facts which will\nbe found to illustrate the development of the ancient civilization in the\npreceding pages.\n\nThe native opinion already cited was that a great chief or lord, named\nKukulcan, reigned at Chichen-Itza, Yucatan, whilst this was occupied by\nthe Itza tribe, which was driven from it in about 270 A.D. by the\nTutul-xius who were entitled “holy men.” Their name justifies Brasseur de\nBourbourg’s inference that the conquerors may have been a Nahuatl tribe\nwhose name was that of the much-prized blue-bird, Xiuh-tototl.\n\nAt the same time the fact that the Maya word for supreme lord and Master\n(also applied to the divinity) is _Ciu-mil_ seems to indicate that there\nmay be a deeper origin and that the Xiuh-tototl may have only been a rebus\nemployed by the Mexicans to convey the sound of a Maya title, possibly\n“Kukul-Ciu,” if the above title “holy men” is to be regarded as a\ntranslation of Tutul-xiu.\n\n“Kukulcan had no wife or children and was venerated in Yucatan as a god\nbecause he was a great republican, as was shown by the order he instituted\nin Yucatan after the death of the native rulers. He went to Mexico whence\nhe returned. He was there named Quetzalcoatl and was venerated by the\nMexicans as one of their gods.” When he had entered into treaty with the\nnative chiefs inhabiting the country, they agreed to join him in founding\nand peopling a city which was named Mayapan, but was also known by the\nnatives as Ichpa, meaning “inside of the circles.”(53) “They proceeded,\nindeed, to build a circular walled enclosure with two entrances only. In\nits centre, the principal temple was erected and it was circular, with\nfour doors opening to the cardinal points, like one which had been built\nby Kukulcan at Chichen-Itza. The walled circle also contained other sacred\nedifices and houses intended to be inhabited by the lords only, who\ndivided up the entire land amongst themselves. Towns were assigned to each\naccording to the antiquity of his lineage and personal distinction.\nKukulcan lived in this town for some years with these lords and leaving\nthem in amity and peace returned to Mexico by the same way as on his\nvisit, lingering on the way in order to build a quadriform temple on an\nisland off the coast.”\n\nI know of no more instructive account of aboriginal history than this\nsimple native record preserved by Landa, which so clearly reveals amongst\nother details that the Mexican culture-hero was an actual personage, a\nMaya high-priest who had been a ruler at Chichen-Itza. In this connection\nit is interesting to collate another chapter of Landa’s work in which he\nreports what the oldest Indians narrated to him about Chichen-Itza, of\nwhich I give the following somewhat abbreviated translation: Three\nbrothers came there in olden times from the west and having assembled\ntogether a large number of people, ruled them for some years with much\njustice and peace.(54) They paid great honor to their god and built many\nbeautiful edifices.... They lived without wives in purity and virtue and\nas long as they did this they were esteemed and obeyed by all. In course\nof time one of them possibly died, but is said by the Indians to have gone\nout of the country. Whatever may have been the cause of his absence the\nremaining rulers immediately began to show partiality and to institute\nsuch licentious and abominable customs that they were finally execrated by\nthe people who rebelled and killed them, and then disbanded and abandoned\nthe capital, “although this was most beautiful and was surrounded by\nfertile provinces.”(55)\n\nThe principal edifice at Chichen-Itza was a pyramid temple which had four\nstairways facing the cardinal points. It contained a circular temple which\nwas named after the builder Kukulcan and had four doorways opening to the\nfour quarters of heaven.\n\nIf I have dwelt again upon Kukulcan=Quetzalcoatl, it is because, between\nthe writers who interpret the records concerning him as a sun or star-myth\nand those who identify him as the abstract deity whose name he bore as a\ntitle only, or as St. Thomas or a mythical Norseman, ancient America is\nbeing deprived of its most remarkable historical personage.\n\nCollated with the Maya traditional records, the Mexican accounts agree and\nsupply missing evidence. Whilst the Mayas state that their ruler and\nlegislator went to Mexico and even record his Mexican name, Montezuma\ninforms Cortés that “his ancestors had been conducted to Mexico by a\nruler, Quetzalcoatl, whose vassals they were and who having established\nthem in a colony returned to his native land. Later on he returned and\nwished them to leave with him but they chose to remain, having married\nwomen of the country, raised families and built towns. Nor would they\ninstitute him again as their lord, so he went away again toward the east,\nwhence he had come.” It seems nearly proven that Kukulcan was one of the\nthree rulers who came to Yucatan from the east. The Mexican tradition that\nhe was driven into exile by his enemies, the followers of Tezcatlipoca,\nthe lord of the Below, appears to be corroborated by the Maya record that,\nafter his restraining presence had been removed, they committed such\nexcesses that the indignant population arose and murdered their two rulers\nat Chichen-Itza. Quetzalcoatl’s continued efforts to assemble scattered\ntribes, to organize them peacefully under central governments, to found\ncapitals and erect in the centre of these quadriform pyramids and circular\ntemples, prove how completely he was possessed by the idea of spreading\nthe well-known scheme of civilization. His very name in Maya signified\n“the divine Four” and this more profound signification was hidden under\nthe image of the “feathered serpent” employed as a rebus to express the\ntitle of the supreme Being and the high-priest, his earthly\nrepresentative.\n\nThe Mexican records state that the culture-hero’s white robes were covered\nwith red crosses, and that he set up cross-emblems. Evidence showing how\ncompletely this builder and founder of cities carried out the idea of the\nFour Quarters, in the temples he erected in Mexico, is preserved by the\nrecord that for prayer, penitence and fasting, he prepared four rooms\nwhich he occupied in rotation. These were respectively decorated in blue,\ngreen, red and yellow, by means of precious stones, feather-work and gold.\nAs these were the colors assigned to the Four Quarters their symbolism and\nmeaning are obvious, and it may be inferred that the same method of\ndecorating the sides of buildings or doorways, with these four colors, may\nhave been carried out in square sacred edifices oriented to the cardinal\npoints.\n\nIt is curious to detect the quadruplicate idea in the title Holcan given\nto certain war-chiefs. This name signifies, literally, “the head of four,”\nbut could be expressed by the rebus of a “serpent’s head,” which would\nobviously have been employed in pictography to express the title and rank.\nThe existence of the title “Four-head,” or “the head of four,” obviously\nrelates to the rulership of the Four Quarters, united in one person; and\nin this connection the Tiahuanaco swastika (fig. 48), terminating in four\npumas’ heads, seems to gain in significance as the expressive symbol of a\ncentral ruler. The recorded custom to cover the body of the Mexican ruler\nwith the raiment of the “four principal gods,” proves the prevalence of\nanalogous symbolism.\n\nFrom the following data we gain an interesting view of the events which\ntranspired in former times in the Yucatan peninsula. Resuming Landa’s\naccount we see that, after Kuculcan had departed for Mexico, the lords of\nMayapan decided to confer supreme rulership upon the Cocomes, this being\nthe most ancient and the wealthiest lineage and its chief being\ndistinguished for bravery. They then decided that the inner circle should\nhold only the temples and houses for the lords and high-priest. In\nconnection with this it is well to insert here how Landa states, in\nanother passage, that there were “twelve priests or lords at Mayapan,”\nwhich with the high-priest constituted the sacred 13. “Outside the wall\nthey built houses where each lord kept some servitors and where his people\nor vassals could resort when they came on business to the town. Each of\nthese houses had its steward, entitled Caluac, who bore a staff of office\nand he kept an account with the towns and with their local rulers. The\nCaluac always went to his lord’s house, saw what he required and obtained\nfrom the vassals all he needed in the way of provisions, clothing, etc.”\n(_op. cit._, pp. 34-44).\n\nThe chronicle goes on to relate how the lords of the inner circle devoted\ntheir time to the affairs of government, the regulation of the calendar\nand the study of writing, medicine, and the sciences.(56)\n\nIt seems significant that, throughout Central America, two ruined cities\nof about equal size are usually found in comparatively close proximity to\neach other, and seemingly pertaining to the same culture. Thus we have\nQuirigua, in the valley of the Motagua river, and Copan its sister-city,\nsituated at a distance of about twenty-five miles, but nearly 1,800 feet\nabove it, in the wooded hills. Between Palenque and Menché (Lorillard\nCity) there are about fifty miles, whilst Tikal and Ixkun are forty miles\napart. In Yucatan, as we have learned from Bishop Landa’s “Relacion,”\nthere were Mayapan and Zilan, and as the latter name also signified\n“embroidery” it looks as though it had been a noted centre of female\nindustry.\n\nThen, after a lapse of years, “a large number of tribes, with their lords,\ncame to Yucatan from the south.” Bishop Landa conjectures that, although\nhis informants did not know this for certain, “these tribes must have come\nfrom Chiapas, many words and the conjugation of some verbs being the same\nin Yucatan as in Chiapas where there existed great signs showing that\nancient capitals had been devastated and abandoned,” possibly by\nearthquakes, famine, disease or warfare. It has been surmised that the\nvenerable Bishop alluded, in this sentence, to the ruins of Palenque in\nChiapas.\n\nAlthough not mentioned by Cogolludo or Lizana it is accepted that the\nnew-comers were the Tutul-xius. According to an ancient Maya chronicle,\n“at a date corresponding to 401 A.D., the four Tutul-xius had fled from\nthe house of Nonoual, to the west of Zuiva and came from the land of\nTulapan. Four eras passed before they reached the peninsula of Yucatan\nnamed Chac-noui-tan under their chieftain, Holon-Chan-Tepeuh,” a name\nwhich is equally intelligible in Maya, Tzendal and Nahuatl and means\nHead-Serpent and “lord of the mountain,” according to Brasseur de\nBourbourg, who states that the latter was a sovereign title amongst the\nQuichés.\n\nLanda relates that, after wandering about Yucatan for forty years\n(possibly in search of the stable centre) these tribes settled near\nMayapan, subjected themselves to its laws and lived in peaceful friendship\nwith the Cocomes. The new-comers brought with them the atlatl or\nspear-thrower which is minutely described but is evidently regarded as a\nweapon of the chase.(57) The chronicle goes on to narrate that the Cocom\ngovernor, having become ambitious for riches, entered into a treaty with\nMexican warriors who were garrisoned at Tabasco and Xicalango by the\nMexican ruler and induced them to come to Mayapan and to aid him in\noppressing the native lords. The latter and the Tutul-xius rebelled\nagainst this action and, having observed the Mexicans and become experts\nin the art of using their bow and arrow, lance, hatchet, shield and other\ndefensive armor, they “ceased to admire and fear the Mexicans and began to\nmake little of them, and in this condition they remained for some years.”\n\nA lapse of years passed and another Cocom chief formed a fresh league with\nthe Tabasco people. More Mexican warriors came to Mayapan and supported\nhim in tyrannizing and making slaves of the lower class. Then the Tutulxiu\nlords assembled and decided to murder the Cocom ruler. Having done so they\nalso killed all his sons with the exception of one who was absent; burnt\ntheir houses and seized their plantations of cocoa and other fruits,\nsaying that these compensated for what had been stolen from them. The\ndifferences which subsequently arose between the Cocome and the Xius\npeople resulted in the final destruction and abandonment of Mayapan after\nan occupation of more than five hundred years, both tribes returning to\ntheir countries.\n\n“The lords who destroyed Mayapan (about 120 years before the Conquest)\ncarried away with them their books of science.... The son of the Cocom\nlord, who being absent had escaped death, returned and gathered his\nrelations and vassals together and founded a capital.... Many towns were\nbuilt by them in the hills and many families descended from these Cocomes.\nThese lords of Mayapan did not revenge themselves upon the Mexican\nwarriors but generously exonerated them from blame because they were\nstrangers and had been persuaded to come into the land by its former\nruler. They allowed them to remain unmolested in the country and to found\na city on condition that they kept to themselves and married in their own\ntribe only. These Mexicans decided to settle in Yucatan and peopled the\nprovince of Can-ul which was assigned to them and they continued to live\nthere until the second invasion of the Spaniards.”\n\nAt Chichen-Itza, situated at about twenty-three leagues from the ancient\nsite of Mayapan, there exists substantial evidence of the existence of\nthese Aztec warriors, with indications that they pertained to the Mexican\nwarrior-caste of the ocelots or tigers. It is a recognized fact that the\nremarkable bas-reliefs, which still cover the walls of the “temple of the\ntigers” at Chichen-Itza, are strikingly Aztec in every detail. The exact\ncounterparts of the Atlatls, they hold, are visible on the so-called\n“Stone of Tizoc” in the city of Mexico. Sculptured on the wall opposite\nthe entrance of the temple there are about thirty-six war-chiefs grouped\nin three parallel rows of twelve each, the majority of whom are apparently\nrendering some form of homage to a seated personage surrounded by rays,\nwhile others are having an encounter with a monstrous serpent. On the side\nwalls and slanting roofs more warriors are figured, many accompanied by a\nrebus or hieroglyph which evidently records, in Mexican style, individual\nnames. The total number of sculptured warriors seems to have been about\none hundred. If each of these represented, as may be supposed, a “count of\nmen,” it is evident that a large force of Aztec soldiers must have lived\nin Yucatan at one time.\n\nOther interesting monuments at Chichen-Itza deserve a passing mention. Mr.\nTeobert Maler (Yukatekische Forschungen, Globus, 1895, p. 284) relates\nthat there are two pyramid-temples in the terraces of which the remains of\ngreat stone tables have been found. He states that one of these tables was\noriginally supported by two rows of seven sculptured caryatids and by a\ncentral row of plain columns with flat, square tops. Traces of paint\nshowed that the figures had been painted, that a yellow-brown color had\npredominated, but that all ornaments or accessories were either blue or\ngreen. The caryatids exhibited a variety of costume and of size and each\nshowed a marked individuality. The second table standing in a larger\ntemple, was originally painted red and supported by twenty-four caryatid\nfigures which resemble each other closely, show no individuality and which\nseem to have been disposed in two rows of twelve each. Mr. Maler infers\nfrom this that, being more highly conventionalized, they were of a later\ndate than the previous examples. If it were not for the circumstance that\nboth tables had the same number of supports their numeral 24 might pass\nunobserved. As it is, I shall recur to it on mentioning other monuments\nwith figures yielding the same number and disposed, in one case, as 6×4.\nIn connection with these stone tables I recall the fact that, in the Maya\nlanguage, they were called Mayac-tun.\n\nMr. W. H. Holmes (_op. cit._, p. 134) tells us that in one case the\ncontinuous table had been formed by a series of limestone tablets\naveraging three feet square and five or six inches thick, each slab having\nbeen supported by two of the dwarfish figures which stand with both hands\naloft, giving a broad surface of support. He ascertained that “these slabs\nwere wonderfully resonant and when struck lightly with a hammer or stone,\ngive out tones closely resembling those of a deeply resonant bell, and the\nechoes awakened in the silent forest are exceedingly impressive.” Mr.\nHolmes’ account of these resonant stone tables is of particular value to\nme because it throws an interesting light upon the following Maya words: I\nhave already stated that the native name for table is Mayac, and that a\nstone table is Mayac-tun. The word _tun_, however, not only signifies\nstone, but also sound and noise. From this it would seem that stone tables\nsuch as Mr. Holmes describes were made expressly for the purpose of\nemitting sound and employed like the huehuetl or wooden drums of the\nancient Mexicans to summon the people to the temple and to guide the\nsacred dances.\n\nThe existence of the word tun-kul, which is either “stone-bowl” or\n“sound-bowl,” seems likewise to indicate that hollow stone vessels were\nused at one time as gongs. At the present day the Mayas name the small\nwooden drum of the Mexicans a “tunkul,” whereas its Nahuatl name is\n“te-ponaxtli,” the prefix of which, curiously enough, seems also to be\nconnected with tetl=stone. A curious light is shed upon the possible use\nof some of the many stone vessels found in Mexico and Yucatan by the above\nlinguistic evidence.\n\nIn conclusion I quote Mr. Maler’s authority for two points concerning\nChichen-Itza which are not generally known. First, that its name should be\npronounced “Tsitsen-itsa,” and, second, that he saw there no less than\nfive recumbent statues, holding circular vessels. Each of these figures\nexhibits the same form of breast-plate as the Le Plongeon example now at\nthe National Museum of Mexico (pl. IV, fig. 1). Mr. Maler states that it\nseems to have been the tribal mark of the Cocomes, the whilom rulers at\nChichen-Itza; but it is interesting to note the general resemblance of\nthis ornament to the blue plaque worn by the Mexican “Blue Lord,” the Lord\nof the Year and of Fire, “Xiuhtecuhtli,” who is also usually represented\nwith a Xiuh-tototl or “blue-bird” on the front of his head-dress.\n\nThese facts seem to indicate that the characteristic breast-plate, instead\nof being a mark of the Cocomes, may have been that of the Tutul-Xius, and\nthat this title has some connection with that of Xiuh-tecuhtli, the\nMexican “Lord of Fire.” It has been already set forth in the preceding\npages that the sacred fire was kindled in the stone vase held by the\nrecumbent figures, a fact indicating that the identical form of cult was\npractised in Mexico and at Chichen-Itza. This identity is satisfactorily\naccounted for and explained if we accept the simple native records of the\ninvitation extended to Mexican warriors by a Maya chieftain and their\nsubsequent permanent residence in Yucatan.\n\nThe limitations of my subject do not allow me to do more than mention two\nother important ruined cities of Yucatan, Izamal and Uxmal. I will however\nnote that, judging from the illustrations I have seen, Uxmal seems to be\nthe “Serpent-city” of America, par excellence, its buildings exhibiting\nthe most elaborate and profuse employment of the serpent for symbolical\ndecoration. One inference from this might be that the serpent was the\ntotemic animal of the ancient builders of this city. The foregoing rapid\nreview of the native chronicles of Yucatan shows that even the foundation\nof Mayapan was comparatively recent; that the peninsula had, in turn,\nharbored powerful tribes who had drifted thence from the southwest and\nMexican warriors whose aid had been sought by consecutive rulers of\nChichen-Itza. We see that Yucatan was the meeting ground for Maya- and\nNahuatl-speaking people and that the tendency was to leave the peninsula\nin search of a more favorable soil and climate as soon as opportunity was\nafforded.\n\nSince the cradle of the Maya civilization is evidently not to be looked\nfor in Yucatan, let us follow the clue afforded by the native traditions,\ntransport ourselves to some of the most important ruined cities of Central\nAmerica and endeavor to wrest from their monuments some knowledge of the\nsocial organization of their ancient inhabitants. In order to institute\nthis search under the most favorable circumstances, I ventured to apply\nfor guidance to Mr. A. P. Maudslay who has made a more thorough, prolonged\nand extensive study and exploration of these ruined cities than any other\nperson. Upon my request to formulate his opinion as to the respective\nantiquity and chief characteristics of the most noted sites, this\ndistinguished explorer has most kindly authorized me to publish the\nfollowing note.\n\n“But for a brief note in Nature (28th April, 1892), I have never\nclassified the ruins or attempted to give proofs of differences in age of\nthe monuments, but roughly you may safely class them as follows: I am\ninclined to look on the Motagua river group as the oldest. The Yucatan\ngroup is certainly the youngest. Of course there are many other smaller\ndifferences between the groups and much overlapping. Whichever group may\nbe the oldest the art is there already advanced and the decoration has\ntaken forms which must have occupied many kinds of workers to\nconventionalize from natural objects.”\n\n1. On Motagua River, Quirigua, Copan. Large monolithic stelæ and altars\nwith figures and inscriptions carved on all four sides in rather high\nrelief, some groups pictographic. No weapons of war portrayed in the\nsculpture.\n\n2. On Usumacinto River, Menché, Tinamit, Palenque, Ixkun. Stelæ are\nusually flat slabs carved with figures and inscriptions in low relief on\none side only. External ornament of the buildings usually moulded in\nstucco. War-like weapons but very scarce.\n\n3. Tikal. Intermediate between Nos. 2 and 4, but somewhat different and\ndistinct from either.\n\n4. Yucatan. Chichen-Itza, Uxmal, etc. Stelæ very few in number and poorly\ncarved. Inscriptions carved in stone are very scarce. Inscriptions were\nprobably _painted_ on the walls of the temples. External ornament of\nbuildings formed by a mosaic of cut stones somewhat resembling Zapotec or\nAztec style. Every man portrayed as a warrior [on the bas-reliefs].\n\nBy means of the magnificent set of casts which Mr. A. P. Maudslay has\ngenerously presented to the South Kensington Museum, London, and with the\naid of his monumental and splendidly illustrated work on the Archaeology\nof Central America, which has been appearing as a part of the Biologia\nCentrali-Americana, edited by Messrs. Godman and Salvin, I have been able\nto verify the following facts which will be found to throw light on the\npurpose and meaning of some of the ancient monuments.\n\nBefore examining the great, elaborately carved stelæ which are\ncharacteristic of Quirigua and Copan, let us search the native chronicles\nfor some clue explanatory of the purpose for which they were erected.\n\nBishop Landa has transmitted to us some details about the destroyed\nmetropolis of Mayapan given to him by Yucatec informants who stated that\n“in the central square of that city there still were 7 or 8 stones, about\nten feet high, rounded on one side and well sculptured, which exhibit\nseveral rows of the native characters, but were so worn that they had\nbecome illegible. It is supposed, however, that they are the record of the\nfoundation and destruction of that capital. Similar, but higher monuments,\nare at Zilan, a town on the coast. Interrogated as to the meaning of these\nmonoliths the natives answered: It had been or was customary to erect\nsimilar stones at intervals of 20 years which was the number by which they\ncounted their eras.” Bishop Landa subsequently remarks that “this\nstatement is not consistent,” for, according to this “there should be many\nmore such stones in existence, and none exist in any other pueblo but\nMayapan and Zilan.”(58)\n\nDisagreeing with the venerable Bishop, I find in the above statements the\nmost valuable indications of the former existence of two centres of\nculture in Yucatan. There is a curious affinity between the name Zilan\n(pronounced Dzilan) and Chilan given as “the title of a priestly office\nwhich consisted of a juridistic astrology and divination,” by Landa. There\nmay even be a connection between zilan and zian=origin, commencement;\nzihnal=original and primitive, which may be worthy of consideration in\nassociation with the well-known statement, quoted by Dr. Brinton, that\n“the most venerable traditions of the Maya race claimed for them a\nmigration from Tollan in Zu-iva—thence we all came forth together, there\nwas the common parent of our race; thence came we from amongst the Yagui\nmen, whose god is Yolcuatl Quetzalcoatl.” Dr. Brinton adds that “this\nTollan is certainly none other than the abode of Quetzalcoatl named in an\nAztec manuscript as ‘Zivena Uitzcatl.’ ” Vague as any conjecture must\nnecessarily be, I cannot but deem it of utmost importance that systematic\nexcavations be made, some day, at Zilan, for the purpose of bringing to\nlight the stelæ referred to by the native informants of Bishop Landa.\n\nAccording to Brasseur de Bourbourg “Zilan, situated at about 20-½ leagues\nfrom Merida belonged to the Cheles people.(59) It is the seaport of Izamal\nand contains the ruins of one of the greatest pyramids or artificial\nmounds (omul) in Yucatan,” a fact which corroborates the view that it was\nan ancient important capital. The northern coast of Yucatan is extremely\nremarkable for it is divided from the Gulf of Mexico by a continuous strip\nof land between which and the mainland there is a narrow channel of water.\nThere are two openings only in this zone of land which afford a passage\ninto the navigable channel. One of these openings is situated almost\nopposite to Zilan and is known as the Boca de Zilan. At a short distance\nto the east there is a second such “boca” opposite to the mouth of the Rio\nLagartos, which is a large estuary and the only river on the northern\ncoast of Yucatan.(60)\n\nLet us now transport ourselves, mentally, south of the peninsula to\nHonduras and, leaving the coast, ascend the Motagua valley to the ruins of\nQuirigua and Copan,(61) which have impressed Mr. Maudslay as being of\ngreat antiquity. Before examining such of these monuments as seem to yield\nthe testimony we are seeking, let us again recall Landa’s record that the\nMayas erected stelæ as memorials of each 20-year period. To this statement\nshould be added, at full length, Cogolludo’s record that “the Mayas\nemployed eras of 20 years and lesser periods of 4 years.(62) The first of\nthese four years was assigned to the east and was named Cuch-haab; the\nsecond, Hiix, to the west; the third, Cavac, to the south and the fourth\nMuluc, to the north, and this served as a ‘Dominical letter.’ When five of\nthese four-year periods had passed, which form twenty years, they called\nit a Katun and placed one sculptured stone over another sculptured stone\nand fixed them with lime and sand [mortar] to the walls of their temples\nand houses of the priests.”(63)\n\nThe term katun is closely linked to the said employment of memorial\nstones, for tun is the Maya for stone and ka seems to stand for kal or\nkaal=20. The word hun-kaal=20, means literally, “one complete count,” or\n“a count which is closed,” since the verb kaal means to close, shut, or\nfasten something. According to the above a katun literally means “the 20\n(year) stone;” but we know that, by extension, it designated the era\nitself as well as war and battle. Thus we find the verb katun-tal=to\nfight.\n\nCogolludo continues: “In a town named Tixuala-tun, which signifies ‘the\nplace where they place one stone above another,’ they say that they kept\ntheir archive, containing records of all events.... In current speech\nkatun signified era and when a person wished to say he was sixty years of\nage, he used the expression to have three eras of years or three stones.\nFor seventy they said three and a half stones or four less one-half stone.\nFrom this it may be seen that they were not too barbarous, for it is said\nthat [by this system] they were able to keep such exact records that they\nnot only certified an event but also the month and day on which it took\nplace.”\n\nBy referring to Maya and Spanish dictionaries we gain supplementary\nvaluable information about native memorial stones. We find the name\namaytun given as that of “a square stone on which the ancient Indians used\nto carve the 20 years of the period ahau-katun, because the four remaining\nyears which completed the epoch, were placed underneath, so as to form a\nsort of pedestal which was called, for this reason, lath oc katun or chek\noc katun. By extension, painted representations [of the epoch] were also\nnamed amaytun.” The dictionary further informs us that amayté was the name\nfor the first twenty years of the ahau katun, which were carved on the\nsquare stone and we see that amayté also means “something square or with\ncorners” and is formed of amay=corner.\n\nEquipped with the foregoing knowledge of the sort of memorial it was\ncustomary for the Mayas to erect, let us now see whether the ruins of\nCopan furnish any monuments which would answer to the description and\npurpose of “amay-tés” and “ka-tuns.” Referring the reader to parts I-III\nof Mr. A. P. Maudslay’s work already cited, I draw special attention to\nthe following stelæ and altars which are so admirably figured therein.\n\nStela F, which stands at the east side of the Great Plaza at Copan and\nfaces west, is in a particularly bad state of preservation. It exhibits a\nstanding figure on one side whose head is surmounted by an indescribable\ncombination of a mask, a seated figure and much elaborate feather-work. A\nnoteworthy feature, which recurs on other stelæ in Copan and Quirigua, is\nan appendage which appears like an artificial beard attached to the chin\nof the personage. At the sides of the stela serpents’ heads alternate with\ndiminutive grotesque figures. On the back, or east side of the stela, two\ncords are represented which appear to have been brought over from the\nfront and which are tied together so as to form five open loops, in each\nof which, as in a frame, there is a group consisting of four calculiform\nglyphs. The cord, which is knotted together at the base of the stela,\nappears to pass around it. It is impossible not to recognize that this\nrepresentation of twenty glyphs, as divided into five groups of four,\nexactly agrees with Cogolludo’s records that the Mayas employed 20-year\nand 4-year eras and that when five of the 4-year periods had passed they\ncalled it a ka-tun, and made a carved memorial of it. As Landa tells us\nthat they erected stelæ to commemorate the 20-year period, the inference\nto which the Copan Stela F leads us is that it is a katun and that the\ntwenty glyphs carved on it are year-signs. Examination, however, shows\nthat, whereas the Maya Calendar had but four year-signs which would\nnaturally be bound to repeat themselves in each group of four years, no\ntwo glyphs on the Stela F are alike. It is obvious, therefore, that the\nglyphs are not the four calendar year-signs and reflection shows, indeed,\nthat it would have been quite superfluous to carve these repeatedly on a\nstela. As each year-sign was identified with a cardinal point and an\nelement and was permanently associated with a particular color, the mere\nemployment of the latter would suffice to convey this association of\nideas. What is more, the relative positions of the four glyphs composing\neach group would also indicate the four year-signs and thus the sculptor\nof the stela would have been at liberty to record by the shape of his\nglyphs any fact he chose to connect with each year of the era. A curious\nlinguistic fact must also be taken into consideration: The Maya name for\nthe four year-signs was Ah-cuch-haab and the title for a chief or ruler of\na town was Ah-cuch-cab. The mere presence on the stela, of the figure of\nthe ruler, would suffice to convey the certainty that the count of the\nfour year-signs was understood to be present. On Stelæ F and M, each of\nwhich displays twenty glyphs and one sculptured personage, the latter is\nparticularly characterized by being associated with head-dresses and\nemblems consisting of elaborate conventionalized plumed serpents’ heads.\nThe inference naturally is that the serpent symbolism, which recurs in\nsome form or other on every stela effigy, expresses or conveys that the\nrank and title of the personage were that of a Kukul-can, the high-priest\nruler who impersonated the “Divine Four,” or of some lord=Ahau, who was\nalso “ruler of the four regions.”\n\nIt must be recognized that a stone stela, on which is sculptured the image\nof a lord and a count of 20, answers exactly to the memorial stone named\nAhau-ka-tun, literally, lord, 20 stone, and it is easy to see how the\nperiod or era of twenty-four years should come to be called by the name of\nthe stone which commemorated it, and each era to be differentiated by\nbeing designated by the personal name of the ruler who held office during\nits course. The result would be practically the same as the allusion to a\nparticular reign in a nation’s history, with the seeming difference that\nall ancient American rulers and their subordinates held fixed terms of\noffice, coinciding with the various periods of the calendar.\n\nThe inscriptions on the foregoing stelæ are made of glyphs of a uniform\ncharacter. Other stelæ at Copan display the interesting set of 6+1=7 signs\nwhich recur on so many Central American monuments and strikingly coincide\nin number with the all-pervading division into six parts plus the middle\nand synopsis of all. Of this “septenary set of signs,” six are uniform in\nsize and character whilst the first is more elaborate and important in\nevery respect and, as I shall set forth by a series of illustrations in\nanother publication, actually does symbolize the union of the Above and\nBelow. It is to Mr. Maudslay that we owe the recognition of the existence\nof this septenary set of glyphs, which he announced as follows to the\nRoyal Geographical Society in 1886:\n\n“A number of Central American inscriptions are headed by what I shall call\nan initial scroll (the style of which is permanent throughout many\nvariations) and begin with the same formula, usually extending through six\nsquares of hieroglyphic writing, the sixth square, or sometimes the latter\nhalf of the sixth square, being a human face, usually in profile, enclosed\nin a frame or cartouche” (Proceedings, p. 583).\n\nThe septenary group occurs on Stelæ A, B, C, E, I, P. It is curious to\nfind that the initial sign is sometimes, as on two sides of Stela P,\nfollowed not by 6 glyphs only, but by 4×6=24 glyphs. On the east side of\nStela P, it is succeeded by 22 glyphs and a carved design which seems to\nindicate the beginning or end of the count. On Stela I the initial is also\nfollowed by 4×6=24 glyphs, and on Stela A by 12 double (=24) glyphs on\nside 1, whilst side 2 displays 13 and side 3, 2×13=26. On Stela B two\nsides exhibit 13 glyphs each and the back 2+ the initial. On two sides of\nStela C the initial is followed by 2×7=14 glyphs. It cannot be denied that\nthe foregoing stelæ collectively yield counts of 4×5, 7, 13, 20 and 24,\nwhich undoubtedly coincide with the well-known numerical organization and\nprove that this dominated the people who erected them.\n\nThe certainty that the ancient inhabitants of Copan associated the idea of\na central ruler with quadruple power is afforded by a remarkable\nbas-relief which Mr. Maudslay has kindly allowed me to reproduce here\n(fig. 55), from a drawing made by Miss Annie Hunter.(64)\n\nThis carved slab, the size of which is 5’ by 4’ 6\", was found in four\npieces in the western court of the main structure of Copan and according\nto Mr. Maudslay’s opinion, “formed part of the exterior ornament of temple\n11 or the slope on which it stood.” It undoubtedly claims a minute\nexamination, as it strikingly illustrates how the native ideas, I have\nbeen setting forth in the preceding pages, were originally suggested by\nthe observation of Polaris. Seated cross-legged, and resting on the centre\nof the foliated swastika, is the figure of a personage whose titles are\nclearly discernible.\n\n                             [Illustration.]\n\n                                Figure 55.\n\n\nHe is designated as a ruler, not only by his attitude of repose, but by\nthe fact that he wears a breast ornament in the form of a face or head (of\nthe sun) and holds in his hand (_i. e._ governs) a vase or bowl (see p.\n72). Those show him to be the chief or head of all and the Cum-ahau, or\nlord of the sacred vase or bowl (see p. 93). As the latter contains what\nappears to be a variant of the glyph ik and the word ik signifies breath,\nair and wind, by extension life, we realize that he is designated as the\nlord of breath and life. The glyph which covers his face bears a native\ncross-symbol and this, as well as the cruciform figure, the centre of\nwhich he occupies, conveys the idea of quadruplicate power. The double and\nbent arms of the cross-symbol strikingly resemble the conventionalized\npuffs of breath or air which are so frequently depicted in Mexican\nCodices, as issuing from the mouths of speakers. Almost identical\nrepresentations of curved puffs are figured as issuing from open serpents’\njaws in a bas-relief at Palenque, of which more anon.\n\nMr. Maudslay has pointed out that on stelæ from Copan and Quirigua a\nprofusion of analogous curved signs occurs also in connection with\nserpents’ heads. A special feature of the curved puffs of breath on the\nCopan “swastika,” as it has been named, are small seed-like balls which\nare distributed in detached groups of threes along their inner and outer\nedges, and are usually accompanied by what resembles the small calyx of a\nflower, making four small objects in all. These balls, which also recur in\nthe Palenque symbol, forcibly recall a passage of the Zuñi creation myth\nrecounted by Mr. Cushing.\n\nIt relates that, at a certain stage of the creation, “the most perfect of\nall priests and fathers named Yanáuluha ... brought up from the\nunderworld, the water of the inner ocean and the seeds of life production”\n... Subsequently, on a feathered staff he carried, “appeared 4 round\nthings, seeds of moving beings, mere eggs they were; two blue like the sky\nand two red like the flesh of the earth-mother.”...\n\nI cannot but think that these words from a purely native source explain\nthe Copan sculpture more correctly than any inference that could be made,\nand authorize the explanation that the central figure represents the “four\ntimes lord,” or “lord of the four winds,” titles which were applied in\nMexico to Quetzalcoatl and Xiuhtecuhtli. At the same time the bas-relief\nteaches us that “the four winds” had a deeper meaning than has been\nrealized, for it represents life-giving breath carrying with it the seeds\nof the four vital elements, emanating from the central lord of life,\nspreading to the four quarters and dividing itself so as to disseminate\nvitality throughout the universe. The title Kukulcan=the Divine Four, also\nserpent, proves to be even more expressive of this conception of a central\ndivinity than the Mexican Divine Twin, or serpent. I am therefore inclined\nto consider that it originated with a Maya-speaking people, to whom, more\ngraphically than to any one else, this bas-relief would have served, as a\njoint image of the star-god, the heart of heaven, named Hura-kan; of the\nterrestrial lord Ah-cuch-cab, the heart or life of the State; of the\nState, with its hun-kaal or one count of twenty subdivisions of people and\nits quadruple head and body and, finally, of the native cosmology.\n\nThe Copan swastika enables us to come to another interesting conclusion.\nIt is a refined representation of the set of thoughts suggested by\nPolaris, the idea of a stable centre being graphically rendered. Movement\nin four directions is also symbolized. As, in the latitude of Copan, Ursa\nMinor is the only circumpolar constellation which could have been observed\nin four opposite positions, it is obvious that Ursa Minor with Polaris\nmust have constituted the Maya Celestial Heart or Life=cuxabal. The\nfollowing points remain to be discussed in connection with the Copan\nswastika.\n\n1. To be complete and in keeping with native modes of representation it\nmust have originally been painted with the symbolical colors of the Four\nQuarters.\n\n2. It is on a wooden club from Brazil or Guiana that, strange to say, I\nfind a cross symbol with bifurcated branches, which most closely resembles\nthe Copan type. Directing the readers to the illustration of this club as\nfig. 8, pl. XV, in Dr. Stolpe’s work already cited, I would ask them to\nexamine also his fig. 7, with a design expressing dual and quadruple\ndivisions; fig. 9_b_, with circles containing cross lines; 9_a_, with what\nresembles somewhat a Maltese cross but also conveys duality; fig. 11_b_\nwith a cross in a scalloped circle and a curious disc between four signs,\nwith a band of alternate black and white squares and its reverse 11_a_,\nwith triangles, to which I shall revert; and figs. 10_c_ and _d_, each\nwith a mound from which a tree is growing. Though tempted to refer to many\nother symbols I shall limit myself to pointing out that his fig. 1, pl.\nXIV, exhibits a group of five circles in a circle which strikingly recall\nthe Mexican examples and the Maya ho=5. As each of the foregoing symbols\nis intelligible and belongs to a group of ideas which I have shown to have\nbeen general throughout America, but to have necessarily originated in the\nnorthern hemisphere, it seems pretty clear that they must have gradually\nfound their way to Brazil and Guiana from the north by means of coast\nnavigation and traffic.\n\n3. Concerning the bowl in the hand of the figure occupying the middle of\nthe swastika a few remarks should be added to those already given on pp.\n72 and 93.\n\nFormed of clay the bowl was an expressive symbol of the earth. Placed in\nelevated positions on the terraces of the temples, and filled by the first\nannual showers which fell upon the parched earth, the bowl of celestial\nwater naturally became invested with peculiar sanctity, and was gradually\nregarded as containing particular life-giving qualities. One use to which\nbowls full of water were put, in ancient Mexico, seems to explain further\nthe ideas associated with them. It is well known that bowls of water were\nused at night for divination purposes, just as were black obsidian\nmirrors. This seems to prove that the latter were a subsequent invention\nwhich was adopted because it permanently afforded a surface for purposes\nof reflection.\n\nIn the native Maya chronicles the reflection of a star upon the trembling\nand moving surface of the water, is given as the image of the Creator and\nFormer, the Heart of Heaven, and it was believed that the divine essence\nof life was thus conveyed to earth by light shining on and into the\nwaters. It is well known that it was customary for the priests of the\nGreat Temple of Mexico to bathe at midnight after fasting, in a sacred\npool so deep that the water appeared to be black. This\nartificially-produced peculiarity would have rendered its surface\nparticularly useful for the observation and registration of the movements\nof stars by their reflections.\n\nThomas Gage quaintly tells us, moreover, that at the consecration of a\ncertain idol “made of all kinds of seeds that grow in the country ... a\ncertain vessell of water was blessed with many words and ceremonies, and\nthat water was preserved very religiously at the foot of the Altar for to\nconsecrate the King when he was crowned and also to blesse any Captain\nGenerall, when he should be elected for the Warres, with only giving him a\ndraught of that water” (_op. cit._, p. 53). It is well known that infants\nalso underwent a form of baptism.\n\nThe preceding and other evidence, which is scarcely required, enables us\nto realize the full significance which the symbol of a bowl surmounted by\nthe glyph ik=life, breath, soul, was intended to express and convey.\n\nThe collection of rain-water in vessels, exposed so as to receive the\nreflection of the one immovable star-god, was doubtlessly employed as a\ntest of the stability of the Middle of the Earth by many generations of\npriest-astronomers. The sanctity attached to this water, as having\nabsorbed the divine essence of light and the attribution of life-giving\nproperties to it, was but the natural sequence of such star-observation.\nAs the title “the lord of the vase or bowl”=Cum-ahau, indicates, the\nsupreme priest of Heaven alone seems to have attended to all rites\nconcerning the sacred bowl and the distribution of its celestial\nlife-giving contents. The symbolical decoration of many native bowls will\nbe found to corroborate this view of their employment and of the virtue\nattributed to their contents.\n\nBy this time I trust that my readers will realize with me that, at Copan,\nthe native set of ideas had long taken deep root and flourished. We have\nseen that the identical numerical divisions of time and tribes and the\nsame symbolism prevailed as have been traced in Peru, Guatemala, Mexico,\nYucatan, Zuñi, etc. The following monuments will still further establish\nthis kinship of thought. Copan contains two stone slabs which answer to\nthe description of an amay-tun, inasmuch as they are square and appear to\nbe memorial stones. Let us see whether some clue to their purpose can be\nobtained from the carvings upon them.\n\nOn each of the four sides of altar K four personages are carved, all\nseeming to be of equal rank. Of these 4×4=16 chieftains, eight wear a\nbreast ornament in the form of a double serpent, whilst the remaining\neight wear a somewhat plainer kind. On the west side the two central\nfigures face each other and two diminutive glyphs are carved in the space\nbetween them. The most striking feature about the representation of these\npersonages is, that each of them is seated, cross-legged, on a different\ncomposite glyph; some of these exhibit animal forms. This is a fact of\nutmost importance, for it definitely connects distinct personalities,\nobviously chieftains with composite glyphs, some composite parts of which\nare obviously totemic. On the upper surface of this monolith there are\n6×6=36 single glyphs, which yield 9 groups of 4. If these 9×4 be added to\nthe 4×4 glyphs on which the chieftains are respectively seated, we obtain\n13 groups of 4, equivalent to 52. It is superfluous to repeat that there\nare fifty-two years in the Mexican cycle and that just as this square\naltar has 16 figures carved around it, the great monolithic Stone of Tizoc\nin the City of Mexico has 16 groups. In the latter case each group is\naccompanied by the name of a tribe and its capital. It looks very much as\nthough the glyphs on which the chieftains on Altar K are seated also\nexpress tribal names.\n\nA careful study of the other square monolith at Copan, known as the\nAlligator altar, will enable us to form a better estimate of the probable\nmeaning of glyphs, employed as seats by chieftains. The Alligator altar\ntakes its name from the sculptured animal which is stretched over its\nupper surface. Human figures are represented as connected with the\ndifferent parts of the animal’s body, in a way which forcibly recalls Mr.\nCushing’s explanation of how the various members of a tribe were\nassociated with a part only of their totemic animal and bore the name of\nthis part as their title of honor, according to a strict order ", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32066", "title": "The Fundamental Principles of Old and New World Civilizations\r\nA Comparative Research Based on a Study of the Ancient Mexican Religious, Sociological, and Calendrical Systems", "author": "", "publication_year": 1901, "metadata_title": "The Fundamental Principles of Old and New World Civilizations", "metadata_author": "Zelia Nuttall", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:21.546110", "source_chars": 1528845, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 116144}}
{"text": "LEVIATHAN\n\nBy Thomas Hobbes\n\n1651\n\n\nLEVIATHAN OR THE MATTER, FORME, & POWER OF A COMMON-WEALTH\nECCLESIASTICAL AND CIVILL\n\nThomas Hobbes of Malmesbury\n\n\nPrinted for Andrew Crooke, at the Green Dragon in St. Paul’s Churchyard,\n1651.\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER’S NOTES ON THE E-TEXT:\n\nThis E-text was prepared from the Pelican Classics edition of Leviathan,\nwhich in turn was prepared from the first edition. I have tried to\nfollow as closely as possible the original, and to give the flavour of\nthe text that Hobbes himself proof-read, but the following differences\nwere unavoidable.\n\nHobbes used capitals and italics very extensively, for emphasis, for\nproper names, for quotations, and sometimes, it seems, just because.\n\nThe original has very extensive margin notes, which are used to show\nwhere he introduces the definitions of words and concepts, to give in\nshort the subject that a paragraph or section is dealing with, and to\ngive references to his quotations, largely but not exclusively biblical.\nTo some degree, these margin notes seem to have been intended to serve\nin place of an index, the original having none. They are all in italics.\n\nHe also used italics for words in other languages than English, and\nthere are a number of Greek words, in the Greek alphabet, in the text.\n\nTo deal with these within the limits of plain vanilla ASCII, I have done\nthe following in this E-text.\n\nI have restricted my use of full capitalization to those places where\nHobbes used it, except in the chapter headings, which I have fully\ncapitalized, where Hobbes used a mixture of full capitalization and\nitalics.\n\nWhere it is clear that the italics are to indicate the text is quoting,\nI have introduced quotation marks. Within quotation marks I have\nretained the capitalization that Hobbes used.\n\nWhere italics seem to be used for emphasis, or for proper names, or just\nbecause, I have capitalized the initial letter of the words. This has\nthe disadvantage that they are not then distinguished from those that\nHobbes capitalized in plain text, but the extent of his italics would\nmake the text very ugly if I was to use an underscore or slash.\n\nWhere the margin notes are either to introduce the paragraph subject,\nor to show where he introduces word definitions, I have included them as\nheaders to the paragraph, again with all words having initial capitals,\nand on a shortened line.\n\nFor margin references to quotes, I have included them in the text,\nin brackets immediately next to the quotation. Where Hobbes included\nreferences in the main text, I have left them as he put them, except to\nchange his square brackets to round.\n\nFor the Greek alphabet, I have simply substituted the nearest ordinary\nletters that I can, and I have used initial capitals for foreign\nlanguage words.\n\nNeither Thomas Hobbes nor his typesetters seem to have had many\ninhibitions about spelling and punctuation. I have tried to reproduce\nboth exactly, with the exception of the introduction of quotation marks.\n\nIn preparing the text, I have found that it has much more meaning if\nI read it with sub-vocalization, or aloud, rather than trying to read\nsilently. Hobbes’ use of emphasis and his eccentric punctuation and\nconstruction seem then to work.\n\n\n\nTO MY MOST HONOR’D FRIEND Mr. FRANCIS GODOLPHIN of GODOLPHIN\n\n\nHONOR’D SIR.\n\nYour most worthy Brother Mr SIDNEY GODOLPHIN, when he lived, was pleas’d\nto think my studies something, and otherwise to oblige me, as you know,\nwith reall testimonies of his good opinion, great in themselves, and the\ngreater for the worthinesse of his person. For there is not any vertue\nthat disposeth a man, either to the service of God, or to the service\nof his Country, to Civill Society, or private Friendship, that did not\nmanifestly appear in his conversation, not as acquired by necessity,\nor affected upon occasion, but inhaerent, and shining in a generous\nconstitution of his nature. Therefore in honour and gratitude to him,\nand with devotion to your selfe, I humbly Dedicate unto you this my\ndiscourse of Common-wealth. I know not how the world will receive it,\nnor how it may reflect on those that shall seem to favour it. For in a\nway beset with those that contend on one side for too great Liberty, and\non the other side for too much Authority, ’tis hard to passe between the\npoints of both unwounded. But yet, me thinks, the endeavour to advance\nthe Civill Power, should not be by the Civill Power condemned; nor\nprivate men, by reprehending it, declare they think that Power too\ngreat. Besides, I speak not of the men, but (in the Abstract) of the\nSeat of Power, (like to those simple and unpartiall creatures in the\nRoman Capitol, that with their noyse defended those within it, not\nbecause they were they, but there) offending none, I think, but those\nwithout, or such within (if there be any such) as favour them. That\nwhich perhaps may most offend, are certain Texts of Holy Scripture,\nalledged by me to other purpose than ordinarily they use to be by\nothers. But I have done it with due submission, and also (in order to\nmy Subject) necessarily; for they are the Outworks of the Enemy, from\nwhence they impugne the Civill Power. If notwithstanding this, you find\nmy labour generally decryed, you may be pleased to excuse your selfe,\nand say that I am a man that love my own opinions, and think all true I\nsay, that I honoured your Brother, and honour you, and have presum’d on\nthat, to assume the Title (without your knowledge) of being, as I am,\n\nSir,\n\nYour most humble, and most obedient servant, Thomas Hobbes.\n\nParis APRILL 15/25 1651.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF THE CHAPTERS\n\n\nTHE FIRST PART\n\n\nOF MAN\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n1. OF SENSE\n\n2. OF IMAGINATION\n\n3. OF THE CONSEQUENCES OR TRAIN OF IMAGINATIONS\n\n4. OF SPEECH\n\n5. OF REASON AND SCIENCE\n\n6. OF THE INTERIOUR BEGINNINGS OF VOLUNTARY MOTIONS, COMMONLY CALLED THE\nPASSIONS; AND THE SPEECHES BY WHICH THEY ARE EXPRESSED\n\n7. OF THE ENDS OR RESOLUTIONS OF DISCOURSE\n\n8. OF THE VERTUES, COMMONLY CALLED INTELLECTUALL, AND THEIR CONTRARY\nDEFECTS\n\n9. OF THE SEVERALL SUBJECTS OF KNOWLEDGE\n\n10. OF POWER, WORTH, DIGNITY, HONOUR, AND WORTHINESSE\n\n11. OF THE DIFFERENCE OF MANNERS\n\n12. OF RELIGION\n\n13. OF THE NATURALL CONDITION OF MANKIND AS CONCERNING THEIR FELICITY\nAND MISERY\n\n14. OF THE FIRST AND SECOND NATURALL LAWES, AND OF CONTRACT\n\n15. OF OTHER LAWES OF NATURE\n\n16. OF PERSONS, AUTHORS, AND THINGS PERSONATED\n\n\nTHE SECOND PART\n\n\nOF COMMON-WEALTH\n\n\n17. OF THE CAUSES, GENERATION, AND DEFINITION OF A COMMON-WEALTH\n\n18. OF THE RIGHTS OF SOVERAIGNES BY INSTITUTION\n\n19. OF SEVERALL KINDS OF COMMON-WEALTH BY INSTITUTION; AND OF SUCCESION\nTO THE SOVERAIGN POWER\n\n20. OF DOMINION PATERNALL, AND DESPOTICALL\n\n21. OF THE LIBERTY OF SUBJECTS\n\n22. OF SYSTEMES SUBJECT, POLITICALL, AND PRIVATE\n\n23. OF THE PUBLIQUE MINISTERS OF SOVERAIGN POWER\n\n24. OF THE NUTRITION, AND PROCREATION OF A COMMON-WEALTH\n\n25. OF COUNSELL\n\n26. OF CIVILL LAWES\n\n27. OF CRIMES, EXCUSES, AND EXTENUATIONS\n\n28. OF PUNISHMENTS, AND REWARDS\n\n29. OF THOSE THINGS THAT WEAKEN, OR TEND TO THE DISSOLUTION OF A\nCOMMON-WEALTH\n\n30. OF THE OFFICE OF THE SOVERAIGN REPRESENTATIVE\n\n31. OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD BY NATURE\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD PART\n\n\nOF A CHRISTIAN COMMON-WEALTH\n\n\n32. OF THE PRINCIPLES OF CHRISTIAN POLITIQUES\n\n33. OF THE NUMBER, ANTIQUITY, SCOPE, AUTHORITY, AND INTERPRETERS OF THE\nBOOKS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE\n\n34. OF THE SIGNIFICATION, OF SPIRIT, ANGELL, AND INSPIRATION IN THE\nBOOKS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE\n\n35. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF THE KINGDOME OF GOD, OF HOLY,\nSACRED, AND SACRAMENT\n\n36. OF THE WORD OF GOD, AND OF PROPHETS\n\n37. OF MIRACLES, AND THEIR USE\n\n38. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF ETERNALL LIFE, HEL, SALVATION,\nTHE WORLD TO COME, AND REDEMPTION\n\n39. OF THE SIGNIFICATION IN SCRIPTURE OF THE WORD CHURCH\n\n40. OF THE RIGHTS OF THE KINGDOME OF GOD, IN ABRAHAM, MOSES, THE HIGH\nPRIESTS, AND THE KINGS OF JUDAH\n\n41. OF THE OFFICE OF OUR BLESSED SAVIOUR\n\n42. OF POWER ECCLESIASTICALL\n\n43. OF WHAT IS NECESSARY FOR MANS RECEPTION INTO THE KINGDOME OF HEAVEN\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTH PART\n\nOF THE KINGDOME OF DARKNESSE\n\n\n44. OF SPIRITUALL DARKNESSE FROM MISINTERPRETATION OF SCRIPTURE\n\n45. OF DAEMONOLOGY, AND OTHER RELIQUES OF THE RELIGION OF THE GENTILES\n\n46. OF DARKNESSE FROM VAINE PHILOSOPHY, AND FABULOUS TRADITIONS\n\n47. OF THE BENEFIT PROCEEDING FROM SUCH DARKNESSE; AND TO WHOM IT\nACCREWETH\n\n\n\n48. A REVIEW AND CONCLUSION\n\n\n\n\nTHE INTRODUCTION\n\n\nNature (the art whereby God hath made and governes the world) is by the\nart of man, as in many other things, so in this also imitated, that it\ncan make an Artificial Animal. For seeing life is but a motion of Limbs,\nthe begining whereof is in some principall part within; why may we not\nsay, that all Automata (Engines that move themselves by springs and\nwheeles as doth a watch) have an artificiall life? For what is the\nHeart, but a Spring; and the Nerves, but so many Strings; and the\nJoynts, but so many Wheeles, giving motion to the whole Body, such as\nwas intended by the Artificer? Art goes yet further, imitating that\nRationall and most excellent worke of Nature, Man. For by Art is created\nthat great LEVIATHAN called a COMMON-WEALTH, or STATE, (in latine\nCIVITAS) which is but an Artificiall Man; though of greater stature\nand strength than the Naturall, for whose protection and defence it\nwas intended; and in which, the Soveraignty is an Artificiall Soul, as\ngiving life and motion to the whole body; The Magistrates, and other\nOfficers of Judicature and Execution, artificiall Joynts; Reward and\nPunishment (by which fastned to the seat of the Soveraignty, every joynt\nand member is moved to performe his duty) are the Nerves, that do the\nsame in the Body Naturall; The Wealth and Riches of all the particular\nmembers, are the Strength; Salus Populi (the Peoples Safety) its\nBusinesse; Counsellors, by whom all things needfull for it to know,\nare suggested unto it, are the Memory; Equity and Lawes, an artificiall\nReason and Will; Concord, Health; Sedition, Sicknesse; and Civill War,\nDeath. Lastly, the Pacts and Covenants, by which the parts of this Body\nPolitique were at first made, set together, and united, resemble that\nFiat, or the Let Us Make Man, pronounced by God in the Creation.\n\nTo describe the Nature of this Artificiall man, I will consider\n\nFirst the Matter thereof, and the Artificer; both which is Man.\n\nSecondly, How, and by what Covenants it is made; what are the Rights and\njust Power or Authority of a Soveraigne; and what it is that Preserveth\nand Dissolveth it.\n\nThirdly, what is a Christian Common-Wealth.\n\nLastly, what is the Kingdome of Darkness.\n\nConcerning the first, there is a saying much usurped of late, That\nWisedome is acquired, not by reading of Books, but of Men. Consequently\nwhereunto, those persons, that for the most part can give no other proof\nof being wise, take great delight to shew what they think they have read\nin men, by uncharitable censures of one another behind their backs.\nBut there is another saying not of late understood, by which they might\nlearn truly to read one another, if they would take the pains; and that\nis, Nosce Teipsum, Read Thy Self: which was not meant, as it is now\nused, to countenance, either the barbarous state of men in power,\ntowards their inferiors; or to encourage men of low degree, to a\nsawcie behaviour towards their betters; But to teach us, that for the\nsimilitude of the thoughts, and Passions of one man, to the thoughts,\nand Passions of another, whosoever looketh into himselfe, and\nconsidereth what he doth, when he does Think, Opine, Reason, Hope,\nFeare, &c, and upon what grounds; he shall thereby read and know,\nwhat are the thoughts, and Passions of all other men, upon the like\noccasions. I say the similitude of Passions, which are the same in all\nmen, Desire, Feare, Hope, &c; not the similitude or The Objects of the\nPassions, which are the things Desired, Feared, Hoped, &c: for these the\nconstitution individuall, and particular education do so vary, and they\nare so easie to be kept from our knowledge, that the characters of mans\nheart, blotted and confounded as they are, with dissembling, lying,\ncounterfeiting, and erroneous doctrines, are legible onely to him that\nsearcheth hearts. And though by mens actions wee do discover their\ndesignee sometimes; yet to do it without comparing them with our own,\nand distinguishing all circumstances, by which the case may come to\nbe altered, is to decypher without a key, and be for the most part\ndeceived, by too much trust, or by too much diffidence; as he that\nreads, is himselfe a good or evill man.\n\nBut let one man read another by his actions never so perfectly, it\nserves him onely with his acquaintance, which are but few. He that is\nto govern a whole Nation, must read in himselfe, not this, or that\nparticular man; but Man-kind; which though it be hard to do, harder than\nto learn any Language, or Science; yet, when I shall have set down my\nown reading orderly, and perspicuously, the pains left another, will be\nonely to consider, if he also find not the same in himselfe. For this\nkind of Doctrine, admitteth no other Demonstration.\n\n\n\n\nPART I.\nOF MAN\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. OF SENSE\n\n\nConcerning the Thoughts of man, I will consider them first Singly, and\nafterwards in Trayne, or dependance upon one another. Singly, they\nare every one a Representation or Apparence, of some quality, or other\nAccident of a body without us; which is commonly called an Object. Which\nObject worketh on the Eyes, Eares, and other parts of mans body; and by\ndiversity of working, produceth diversity of Apparences.\n\nThe Originall of them all, is that which we call Sense; (For there is\nno conception in a mans mind, which hath not at first, totally, or by\nparts, been begotten upon the organs of Sense.) The rest are derived\nfrom that originall.\n\nTo know the naturall cause of Sense, is not very necessary to the\nbusiness now in hand; and I have els-where written of the same at large.\nNevertheless, to fill each part of my present method, I will briefly\ndeliver the same in this place.\n\nThe cause of Sense, is the Externall Body, or Object, which presseth the\norgan proper to each Sense, either immediatly, as in the Tast and Touch;\nor mediately, as in Seeing, Hearing, and Smelling: which pressure, by\nthe mediation of Nerves, and other strings, and membranes of the body,\ncontinued inwards to the Brain, and Heart, causeth there a resistance,\nor counter-pressure, or endeavour of the heart, to deliver it self:\nwhich endeavour because Outward, seemeth to be some matter without. And\nthis Seeming, or Fancy, is that which men call sense; and consisteth, as\nto the Eye, in a Light, or Colour Figured; To the Eare, in a Sound; To\nthe Nostrill, in an Odour; To the Tongue and Palat, in a Savour; and\nto the rest of the body, in Heat, Cold, Hardnesse, Softnesse, and such\nother qualities, as we discern by Feeling. All which qualities called\nSensible, are in the object that causeth them, but so many several\nmotions of the matter, by which it presseth our organs diversly. Neither\nin us that are pressed, are they anything els, but divers motions; (for\nmotion, produceth nothing but motion.) But their apparence to us is\nFancy, the same waking, that dreaming. And as pressing, rubbing,\nor striking the Eye, makes us fancy a light; and pressing the Eare,\nproduceth a dinne; so do the bodies also we see, or hear, produce the\nsame by their strong, though unobserved action, For if those Colours,\nand Sounds, were in the Bodies, or Objects that cause them, they could\nnot bee severed from them, as by glasses, and in Ecchoes by reflection,\nwee see they are; where we know the thing we see, is in one place; the\napparence, in another. And though at some certain distance, the reall,\nand very object seem invested with the fancy it begets in us; Yet still\nthe object is one thing, the image or fancy is another. So that Sense in\nall cases, is nothing els but originall fancy, caused (as I have said)\nby the pressure, that is, by the motion, of externall things upon our\nEyes, Eares, and other organs thereunto ordained.\n\nBut the Philosophy-schooles, through all the Universities of\nChristendome, grounded upon certain Texts of Aristotle, teach another\ndoctrine; and say, For the cause of Vision, that the thing seen, sendeth\nforth on every side a Visible Species(in English) a Visible Shew,\nApparition, or Aspect, or a Being Seen; the receiving whereof into the\nEye, is Seeing. And for the cause of Hearing, that the thing heard,\nsendeth forth an Audible Species, that is, an Audible Aspect, or Audible\nBeing Seen; which entring at the Eare, maketh Hearing. Nay for the\ncause of Understanding also, they say the thing Understood sendeth forth\nIntelligible Species, that is, an Intelligible Being Seen; which\ncomming into the Understanding, makes us Understand. I say not this,\nas disapproving the use of Universities: but because I am to speak\nhereafter of their office in a Common-wealth, I must let you see on\nall occasions by the way, what things would be amended in them; amongst\nwhich the frequency of insignificant Speech is one.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. OF IMAGINATION\n\n\nThat when a thing lies still, unlesse somewhat els stirre it, it will\nlye still for ever, is a truth that no man doubts of. But that when a\nthing is in motion, it will eternally be in motion, unless somewhat els\nstay it, though the reason be the same, (namely, that nothing can change\nit selfe,) is not so easily assented to. For men measure, not onely\nother men, but all other things, by themselves: and because they find\nthemselves subject after motion to pain, and lassitude, think every\nthing els growes weary of motion, and seeks repose of its own accord;\nlittle considering, whether it be not some other motion, wherein that\ndesire of rest they find in themselves, consisteth. From hence it is,\nthat the Schooles say, Heavy bodies fall downwards, out of an appetite\nto rest, and to conserve their nature in that place which is most proper\nfor them; ascribing appetite, and Knowledge of what is good for their\nconservation, (which is more than man has) to things inanimate absurdly.\n\nWhen a Body is once in motion, it moveth (unless something els hinder\nit) eternally; and whatsoever hindreth it, cannot in an instant, but in\ntime, and by degrees quite extinguish it: And as wee see in the water,\nthough the wind cease, the waves give not over rowling for a long\ntime after; so also it happeneth in that motion, which is made in the\ninternall parts of a man, then, when he Sees, Dreams, &c. For after the\nobject is removed, or the eye shut, wee still retain an image of the\nthing seen, though more obscure than when we see it. And this is it,\nthat Latines call Imagination, from the image made in seeing; and apply\nthe same, though improperly, to all the other senses. But the Greeks\ncall it Fancy; which signifies Apparence, and is as proper to one sense,\nas to another. Imagination therefore is nothing but Decaying Sense; and\nis found in men, and many other living Creatures, as well sleeping, as\nwaking.\n\n\n\n\nMemory\n\nThe decay of Sense in men waking, is not the decay of the motion made in\nsense; but an obscuring of it, in such manner, as the light of the Sun\nobscureth the light of the Starres; which starrs do no less exercise\ntheir vertue by which they are visible, in the day, than in the night.\nBut because amongst many stroaks, which our eyes, eares, and other\norgans receive from externall bodies, the predominant onely is sensible;\ntherefore the light of the Sun being predominant, we are not affected\nwith the action of the starrs. And any object being removed from our\neyes, though the impression it made in us remain; yet other objects more\npresent succeeding, and working on us, the Imagination of the past is\nobscured, and made weak; as the voyce of a man is in the noyse of the\nday. From whence it followeth, that the longer the time is, after the\nsight, or Sense of any object, the weaker is the Imagination. For the\ncontinuall change of mans body, destroyes in time the parts which in\nsense were moved: So that the distance of time, and of place, hath one\nand the same effect in us. For as at a distance of place, that which wee\nlook at, appears dimme, and without distinction of the smaller parts;\nand as Voyces grow weak, and inarticulate: so also after great distance\nof time, our imagination of the Past is weak; and wee lose( for example)\nof Cities wee have seen, many particular Streets; and of Actions, many\nparticular Circumstances. This Decaying Sense, when wee would express\nthe thing it self, (I mean Fancy it selfe,) wee call Imagination, as I\nsaid before; But when we would express the Decay, and signifie that the\nSense is fading, old, and past, it is called Memory. So that Imagination\nand Memory, are but one thing, which for divers considerations hath\ndivers names.\n\nMuch memory, or memory of many things, is called Experience. Againe,\nImagination being only of those things which have been formerly\nperceived by Sense, either all at once, or by parts at severall\ntimes; The former, (which is the imagining the whole object, as it was\npresented to the sense) is Simple Imagination; as when one imagineth a\nman, or horse, which he hath seen before. The other is Compounded; as\nwhen from the sight of a man at one time, and of a horse at another, we\nconceive in our mind a Centaure. So when a man compoundeth the image of\nhis own person, with the image of the actions of an other man; as when a\nman imagins himselfe a Hercules, or an Alexander, (which happeneth often\nto them that are much taken with reading of Romants) it is a compound\nimagination, and properly but a Fiction of the mind. There be also other\nImaginations that rise in men, (though waking) from the great impression\nmade in sense; As from gazing upon the Sun, the impression leaves an\nimage of the Sun before our eyes a long time after; and from being long\nand vehemently attent upon Geometricall Figures, a man shall in the\ndark, (though awake) have the Images of Lines, and Angles before his\neyes: which kind of Fancy hath no particular name; as being a thing that\ndoth not commonly fall into mens discourse.\n\n\n\n\nDreams\n\nThe imaginations of them that sleep, are those we call Dreams. And these\nalso (as all other Imaginations) have been before, either totally, or\nby parcells in the Sense. And because in sense, the Brain, and Nerves,\nwhich are the necessary Organs of sense, are so benummed in sleep, as\nnot easily to be moved by the action of Externall Objects, there can\nhappen in sleep, no Imagination; and therefore no Dreame, but what\nproceeds from the agitation of the inward parts of mans body; which\ninward parts, for the connexion they have with the Brayn, and other\nOrgans, when they be distempered, do keep the same in motion; whereby\nthe Imaginations there formerly made, appeare as if a man were waking;\nsaving that the Organs of Sense being now benummed, so as there is\nno new object, which can master and obscure them with a more vigorous\nimpression, a Dreame must needs be more cleare, in this silence of\nsense, than are our waking thoughts. And hence it cometh to pass, that\nit is a hard matter, and by many thought impossible to distinguish\nexactly between Sense and Dreaming. For my part, when I consider, that\nin Dreames, I do not often, nor constantly think of the same Persons,\nPlaces, Objects, and Actions that I do waking; nor remember so long a\ntrayne of coherent thoughts, Dreaming, as at other times; And because\nwaking I often observe the absurdity of Dreames, but never dream of\nthe absurdities of my waking Thoughts; I am well satisfied, that being\nawake, I know I dreame not; though when I dreame, I think my selfe\nawake.\n\nAnd seeing dreames are caused by the distemper of some of the inward\nparts of the Body; divers distempers must needs cause different Dreams.\nAnd hence it is, that lying cold breedeth Dreams of Feare, and raiseth\nthe thought and Image of some fearfull object (the motion from the\nbrain to the inner parts, and from the inner parts to the Brain being\nreciprocall:) and that as Anger causeth heat in some parts of the Body,\nwhen we are awake; so when we sleep, the over heating of the same parts\ncauseth Anger, and raiseth up in the brain the Imagination of an Enemy.\nIn the same manner; as naturall kindness, when we are awake causeth\ndesire; and desire makes heat in certain other parts of the body; so\nalso, too much heat in those parts, while wee sleep, raiseth in the\nbrain an imagination of some kindness shewn. In summe, our Dreams are\nthe reverse of our waking Imaginations; The motion when we are awake,\nbeginning at one end; and when we Dream, at another.\n\n\n\n\nApparitions Or Visions\n\nThe most difficult discerning of a mans Dream, from his waking thoughts,\nis then, when by some accident we observe not that we have slept:\nwhich is easie to happen to a man full of fearfull thoughts; and\nwhose conscience is much troubled; and that sleepeth, without the\ncircumstances, of going to bed, or putting off his clothes, as one that\nnoddeth in a chayre. For he that taketh pains, and industriously layes\nhimselfe to sleep, in case any uncouth and exorbitant fancy come unto\nhim, cannot easily think it other than a Dream. We read of Marcus\nBrutes, (one that had his life given him by Julius Caesar, and was also\nhis favorite, and notwithstanding murthered him,) how at Phillipi,\nthe night before he gave battell to Augustus Caesar, he saw a fearfull\napparition, which is commonly related by Historians as a Vision: but\nconsidering the circumstances, one may easily judge to have been but\na short Dream. For sitting in his tent, pensive and troubled with the\nhorrour of his rash act, it was not hard for him, slumbering in the\ncold, to dream of that which most affrighted him; which feare, as by\ndegrees it made him wake; so also it must needs make the Apparition by\ndegrees to vanish: And having no assurance that he slept, he could have\nno cause to think it a Dream, or any thing but a Vision. And this is no\nvery rare Accident: for even they that be perfectly awake, if they be\ntimorous, and supperstitious, possessed with fearfull tales, and alone\nin the dark, are subject to the like fancies, and believe they see\nspirits and dead mens Ghosts walking in Churchyards; whereas it is\neither their Fancy onely, or els the knavery of such persons, as make\nuse of such superstitious feare, to pass disguised in the night, to\nplaces they would not be known to haunt.\n\nFrom this ignorance of how to distinguish Dreams, and other strong\nFancies, from vision and Sense, did arise the greatest part of the\nReligion of the Gentiles in time past, that worshipped Satyres, Fawnes,\nnymphs, and the like; and now adayes the opinion than rude people have\nof Fayries, Ghosts, and Goblins; and of the power of Witches. For as for\nWitches, I think not that their witch craft is any reall power; but yet\nthat they are justly punished, for the false beliefe they have, that\nthey can do such mischiefe, joyned with their purpose to do it if they\ncan; their trade being neerer to a new Religion, than to a Craft or\nScience. And for Fayries, and walking Ghosts, the opinion of them has I\nthink been on purpose, either taught, or not confuted, to keep in\ncredit the use of Exorcisme, of Crosses, of holy Water, and other such\ninventions of Ghostly men. Neverthelesse, there is no doubt, but God can\nmake unnaturall Apparitions. But that he does it so often, as men need\nto feare such things, more than they feare the stay, or change, of the\ncourse of Nature, which he also can stay, and change, is no point of\nChristian faith. But evill men under pretext that God can do any thing,\nare so bold as to say any thing when it serves their turn, though\nthey think it untrue; It is the part of a wise man, to believe them no\nfurther, than right reason makes that which they say, appear credible.\nIf this superstitious fear of Spirits were taken away, and with it,\nPrognostiques from Dreams, false Prophecies, and many other things\ndepending thereon, by which, crafty ambitious persons abuse the\nsimple people, men would be much more fitted than they are for civill\nObedience.\n\nAnd this ought to be the work of the Schooles; but they rather nourish\nsuch doctrine. For (not knowing what Imagination, or the Senses are),\nwhat they receive, they teach: some saying, that Imaginations rise of\nthemselves, and have no cause: Others that they rise most commonly from\nthe Will; and that Good thoughts are blown (inspired) into a man, by\nGod; and evill thoughts by the Divell: or that Good thoughts are powred\n(infused) into a man, by God; and evill ones by the Divell. Some say\nthe Senses receive the Species of things, and deliver them to the\nCommon-sense; and the Common Sense delivers them over to the Fancy, and\nthe Fancy to the Memory, and the Memory to the Judgement, like\nhanding of things from one to another, with many words making nothing\nunderstood.\n\n\n\n\nUnderstanding\n\nThe Imagination that is raysed in man (or any other creature indued with\nthe faculty of imagining) by words, or other voluntary signes, is that\nwe generally call Understanding; and is common to Man and Beast. For a\ndogge by custome will understand the call, or the rating of his Master;\nand so will many other Beasts. That Understanding which is peculiar to\nman, is the Understanding not onely his will; but his conceptions and\nthoughts, by the sequell and contexture of the names of things into\nAffirmations, Negations, and other formes of Speech: And of this kinde\nof Understanding I shall speak hereafter.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. OF THE CONSEQUENCE OR TRAYNE OF IMAGINATIONS\n\n\nBy Consequence, or Trayne of Thoughts, I understand that succession\nof one Thought to another, which is called (to distinguish it from\nDiscourse in words) Mentall Discourse.\n\nWhen a man thinketh on any thing whatsoever, His next Thought after, is\nnot altogether so casuall as it seems to be. Not every Thought to every\nThought succeeds indifferently. But as wee have no Imagination, whereof\nwe have not formerly had Sense, in whole, or in parts; so we have no\nTransition from one Imagination to another, whereof we never had the\nlike before in our Senses. The reason whereof is this. All Fancies\nare Motions within us, reliques of those made in the Sense: And those\nmotions that immediately succeeded one another in the sense, continue\nalso together after Sense: In so much as the former comming again to\ntake place, and be praedominant, the later followeth, by coherence of\nthe matter moved, is such manner, as water upon a plain Table is drawn\nwhich way any one part of it is guided by the finger. But because\nin sense, to one and the same thing perceived, sometimes one thing,\nsometimes another succeedeth, it comes to passe in time, that in the\nImagining of any thing, there is no certainty what we shall Imagine\nnext; Onely this is certain, it shall be something that succeeded the\nsame before, at one time or another.\n\n\n\n\nTrayne Of Thoughts Unguided\n\nThis Trayne of Thoughts, or Mentall Discourse, is of two sorts. The\nfirst is Unguided, Without Designee, and inconstant; Wherein there is no\nPassionate Thought, to govern and direct those that follow, to it self,\nas the end and scope of some desire, or other passion: In which case the\nthoughts are said to wander, and seem impertinent one to another, as\nin a Dream. Such are Commonly the thoughts of men, that are not onely\nwithout company, but also without care of any thing; though even then\ntheir Thoughts are as busie as at other times, but without harmony; as\nthe sound which a Lute out of tune would yeeld to any man; or in tune,\nto one that could not play. And yet in this wild ranging of the mind,\na man may oft-times perceive the way of it, and the dependance of one\nthought upon another. For in a Discourse of our present civill warre,\nwhat could seem more impertinent, than to ask (as one did) what was the\nvalue of a Roman Penny? Yet the Cohaerence to me was manifest enough.\nFor the Thought of the warre, introduced the Thought of the delivering\nup the King to his Enemies; The Thought of that, brought in the Thought\nof the delivering up of Christ; and that again the Thought of the 30\npence, which was the price of that treason: and thence easily followed\nthat malicious question; and all this in a moment of time; for Thought\nis quick.\n\n\n\n\nTrayne Of Thoughts Regulated\n\nThe second is more constant; as being Regulated by some desire, and\ndesignee. For the impression made by such things as wee desire, or\nfeare, is strong, and permanent, or, (if it cease for a time,) of quick\nreturn: so strong it is sometimes, as to hinder and break our sleep.\nFrom Desire, ariseth the Thought of some means we have seen produce the\nlike of that which we ayme at; and from the thought of that, the\nthought of means to that mean; and so continually, till we come to some\nbeginning within our own power. And because the End, by the greatnesse\nof the impression, comes often to mind, in case our thoughts begin to\nwander, they are quickly again reduced into the way: which observed by\none of the seven wise men, made him give men this praecept, which is\nnow worne out, Respice Finem; that is to say, in all your actions,\nlook often upon what you would have, as the thing that directs all your\nthoughts in the way to attain it.\n\n\n\n\nRemembrance\n\nThe Trayn of regulated Thoughts is of two kinds; One, when of an effect\nimagined, wee seek the causes, or means that produce it: and this\nis common to Man and Beast. The other is, when imagining any thing\nwhatsoever, wee seek all the possible effects, that can by it be\nproduced; that is to say, we imagine what we can do with it, when wee\nhave it. Of which I have not at any time seen any signe, but in man\nonely; for this is a curiosity hardly incident to the nature of any\nliving creature that has no other Passion but sensuall, such as are\nhunger, thirst, lust, and anger. In summe, the Discourse of the Mind,\nwhen it is governed by designee, is nothing but Seeking, or the faculty\nof Invention, which the Latines call Sagacitas, and Solertia; a hunting\nout of the causes, of some effect, present or past; or of the effects,\nof some present or past cause, sometimes a man seeks what he hath lost;\nand from that place, and time, wherein hee misses it, his mind runs\nback, from place to place, and time to time, to find where, and when\nhe had it; that is to say, to find some certain, and limited time and\nplace, in which to begin a method of seeking. Again, from thence, his\nthoughts run over the same places and times, to find what action, or\nother occasion might make him lose it. This we call Remembrance,\nor Calling to mind: the Latines call it Reminiscentia, as it were a\nRe-Conning of our former actions.\n\nSometimes a man knows a place determinate, within the compasse whereof\nhis is to seek; and then his thoughts run over all the parts thereof,\nin the same manner, as one would sweep a room, to find a jewell; or as\na Spaniel ranges the field, till he find a sent; or as a man should run\nover the alphabet, to start a rime.\n\n\n\n\nPrudence\n\nSometime a man desires to know the event of an action; and then he\nthinketh of some like action past, and the events thereof one after\nanother; supposing like events will follow like actions. As he that\nforesees what wil become of a Criminal, re-cons what he has seen follow\non the like Crime before; having this order of thoughts, The Crime,\nthe Officer, the Prison, the Judge, and the Gallowes. Which kind\nof thoughts, is called Foresight, and Prudence, or Providence; and\nsometimes Wisdome; though such conjecture, through the difficulty of\nobserving all circumstances, be very fallacious. But this is certain; by\nhow much one man has more experience of things past, than another; by\nso much also he is more Prudent, and his expectations the seldomer faile\nhim. The Present onely has a being in Nature; things Past have a being\nin the Memory onely, but things To Come have no being at all; the Future\nbeing but a fiction of the mind, applying the sequels of actions Past,\nto the actions that are Present; which with most certainty is done by\nhim that has most Experience; but not with certainty enough. And though\nit be called Prudence, when the Event answereth our Expectation; yet in\nits own nature, it is but Presumption. For the foresight of things to\ncome, which is Providence, belongs onely to him by whose will they are\nto come. From him onely, and supernaturally, proceeds Prophecy. The best\nProphet naturally is the best guesser; and the best guesser, he that is\nmost versed and studied in the matters he guesses at: for he hath most\nSignes to guesse by.\n\n\n\n\nSignes\n\nA Signe, is the Event Antecedent, of the Consequent; and contrarily,\nthe Consequent of the Antecedent, when the like Consequences have been\nobserved, before: And the oftner they have been observed, the lesse\nuncertain is the Signe. And therefore he that has most experience in\nany kind of businesse, has most Signes, whereby to guesse at the Future\ntime, and consequently is the most prudent: And so much more prudent\nthan he that is new in that kind of business, as not to be equalled by\nany advantage of naturall and extemporary wit: though perhaps many young\nmen think the contrary.\n\nNeverthelesse it is not Prudence that distinguisheth man from beast.\nThere be beasts, that at a year old observe more, and pursue that which\nis for their good, more prudently, than a child can do at ten.\n\n\n\n\nConjecture Of The Time Past\n\nAs Prudence is a Praesumtion of the Future, contracted from the\nExperience of time Past; So there is a Praesumtion of things Past taken\nfrom other things (not future but) past also. For he that hath seen\nby what courses and degrees, a flourishing State hath first come into\ncivill warre, and then to ruine; upon the sights of the ruines of any\nother State, will guesse, the like warre, and the like courses have been\nthere also. But his conjecture, has the same incertainty almost with the\nconjecture of the Future; both being grounded onely upon Experience.\n\nThere is no other act of mans mind, that I can remember, naturally\nplanted in him, so, as to need no other thing, to the exercise of it,\nbut to be born a man, and live with the use of his five Senses. Those\nother Faculties, of which I shall speak by and by, and which seem proper\nto man onely, are acquired, and encreased by study and industry; and of\nmost men learned by instruction, and discipline; and proceed all from\nthe invention of Words, and Speech. For besides Sense, and Thoughts, and\nthe Trayne of thoughts, the mind of man has no other motion; though by\nthe help of Speech, and Method, the same Facultyes may be improved to\nsuch a height, as to distinguish men from all other living Creatures.\n\nWhatsoever we imagine, is Finite. Therefore there is no Idea, or\nconception of anything we call Infinite. No man can have in his mind an\nImage of infinite magnitude; nor conceive the ends, and bounds of\nthe thing named; having no Conception of the thing, but of our own\ninability. And therefore the Name of GOD is used, not to make us\nconceive him; (for he is Incomprehensible; and his greatnesse, and power\nare unconceivable;) but that we may honour him. Also because whatsoever\n(as I said before,) we conceive, has been perceived first by sense,\neither all at once, or by parts; a man can have no thought, representing\nany thing, not subject to sense. No man therefore can conceive any\nthing, but he must conceive it in some place; and indued with some\ndeterminate magnitude; and which may be divided into parts; nor that any\nthing is all in this place, and all in another place at the same time;\nnor that two, or more things can be in one, and the same place at once:\nfor none of these things ever have, or can be incident to Sense; but are\nabsurd speeches, taken upon credit (without any signification at all,)\nfrom deceived Philosophers, and deceived, or deceiving Schoolemen.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. OF SPEECH\n\n\n\n\nOriginall Of Speech\n\nThe Invention of Printing, though ingenious, compared with the invention\nof Letters, is no great matter. But who was the first that found the use\nof Letters, is not known. He that first brought them into Greece, men\nsay was Cadmus, the sonne of Agenor, King of Phaenicia. A profitable\nInvention for continuing the memory of time past, and the conjunction of\nmankind, dispersed into so many, and distant regions of the Earth; and\nwith all difficult, as proceeding from a watchfull observation of the\ndivers motions of the Tongue, Palat, Lips, and other organs of Speech;\nwhereby to make as many differences of characters, to remember them.\nBut the most noble and profitable invention of all other, was that of\nSpeech, consisting of Names or Apellations, and their Connexion; whereby\nmen register their Thoughts; recall them when they are past; and also\ndeclare them one to another for mutuall utility and conversation;\nwithout which, there had been amongst men, neither Common-wealth, nor\nSociety, nor Contract, nor Peace, no more than amongst Lyons, Bears,\nand Wolves. The first author of Speech was GOD himselfe, that instructed\nAdam how to name such creatures as he presented to his sight; For the\nScripture goeth no further in this matter. But this was sufficient\nto direct him to adde more names, as the experience and use of the\ncreatures should give him occasion; and to joyn them in such manner by\ndegrees, as to make himselfe understood; and so by succession of time,\nso much language might be gotten, as he had found use for; though not so\ncopious, as an Orator or Philosopher has need of. For I do not find any\nthing in the Scripture, out of which, directly or by consequence can\nbe gathered, that Adam was taught the names of all Figures, Numbers,\nMeasures, Colours, Sounds, Fancies, Relations; much less the names\nof Words and Speech, as Generall, Speciall, Affirmative, Negative,\nInterrogative, Optative, Infinitive, all which are usefull; and least of\nall, of Entity, Intentionality, Quiddity, and other significant words of\nthe School.\n\nBut all this language gotten, and augmented by Adam and his posterity,\nwas again lost at the tower of Babel, when by the hand of God, every man\nwas stricken for his rebellion, with an oblivion of his former language.\nAnd being hereby forced to disperse themselves into severall parts of\nthe world, it must needs be, that the diversity of Tongues that now is,\nproceeded by degrees from them, in such manner, as need (the mother of\nall inventions) taught them; and in tract of time grew every where more\ncopious.\n\n\n\n\nThe Use Of Speech\n\nThe generall use of Speech, is to transferre our Mentall Discourse, into\nVerbal; or the Trayne of our Thoughts, into a Trayne of Words; and that\nfor two commodities; whereof one is, the Registring of the Consequences\nof our Thoughts; which being apt to slip out of our memory, and put\nus to a new labour, may again be recalled, by such words as they were\nmarked by. So that the first use of names, is to serve for Markes,\nor Notes of remembrance. Another is, when many use the same words,\nto signifie (by their connexion and order,) one to another, what they\nconceive, or think of each matter; and also what they desire, feare,\nor have any other passion for, and for this use they are called\nSignes. Speciall uses of Speech are these; First, to Register, what by\ncogitation, wee find to be the cause of any thing, present or past; and\nwhat we find things present or past may produce, or effect: which in\nsumme, is acquiring of Arts. Secondly, to shew to others that knowledge\nwhich we have attained; which is, to Counsell, and Teach one another.\nThirdly, to make known to others our wills, and purposes, that we may\nhave the mutuall help of one another. Fourthly, to please and delight\nour selves, and others, by playing with our words, for pleasure or\nornament, innocently.\n\n\n\n\nAbuses Of Speech\n\nTo these Uses, there are also foure correspondent Abuses. First,\nwhen men register their thoughts wrong, by the inconstancy of the\nsignification of their words; by which they register for their\nconceptions, that which they never conceived; and so deceive themselves.\nSecondly, when they use words metaphorically; that is, in other sense\nthan that they are ordained for; and thereby deceive others. Thirdly,\nwhen by words they declare that to be their will, which is not.\nFourthly, when they use them to grieve one another: for seeing nature\nhath armed living creatures, some with teeth, some with horns, and some\nwith hands, to grieve an enemy, it is but an abuse of Speech, to grieve\nhim with the tongue, unlesse it be one whom wee are obliged to govern;\nand then it is not to grieve, but to correct and amend.\n\nThe manner how Speech serveth to the remembrance of the consequence\nof causes and effects, consisteth in the imposing of Names, and the\nConnexion of them.\n\n\n\n\nNames Proper & Common Universall\n\nOf Names, some are Proper, and singular to one onely thing; as Peter,\nJohn, This Man, This Tree: and some are Common to many things; as Man,\nHorse, Tree; every of which though but one Name, is nevertheless the\nname of divers particular things; in respect of all which together, it\nis called an Universall; there being nothing in the world Universall\nbut Names; for the things named, are every one of them Individual and\nSingular.\n\nOne Universall name is imposed on many things, for their similitude in\nsome quality, or other accident: And whereas a Proper Name bringeth to\nmind one thing onely; Universals recall any one of those many.\n\nAnd of Names Universall, some are of more, and some of lesse extent; the\nlarger comprehending the lesse large: and some again of equall extent,\ncomprehending each other reciprocally. As for example, the Name Body is\nof larger signification than the word Man, and conprehendeth it; and the\nnames Man and Rationall, are of equall extent, comprehending mutually\none another. But here wee must take notice, that by a Name is not\nalwayes understood, as in Grammar, one onely word; but sometimes by\ncircumlocution many words together. For all these words, Hee That In\nHis Actions Observeth The Lawes Of His Country, make but one Name,\nequivalent to this one word, Just.\n\nBy this imposition of Names, some of larger, some of stricter\nsignification, we turn the reckoning of the consequences of things\nimagined in the mind, into a reckoning of the consequences of\nAppellations. For example, a man that hath no use of Speech at all,\n(such, as is born and remains perfectly deafe and dumb,) if he set\nbefore his eyes a triangle, and by it two right angles, (such as are the\ncorners of a square figure,) he may by meditation compare and find, that\nthe three angles of that triangle, are equall to those two right angles\nthat stand by it. But if another triangle be shewn him different in\nshape from the former, he cannot know without a new labour, whether the\nthree angles of that also be equall to the same. But he that hath the\nuse of words, when he observes, that such equality was consequent, not\nto the length of the sides, nor to any other particular thing in his\ntriangle; but onely to this, that the sides were straight, and the\nangles three; and that that was all, for which he named it a Triangle;\nwill boldly conclude Universally, that such equality of angles is in\nall triangles whatsoever; and register his invention in these generall\ntermes, Every Triangle Hath Its Three Angles Equall To Two Right Angles.\nAnd thus the consequence found in one particular, comes to be registred\nand remembred, as a Universall rule; and discharges our mentall\nreckoning, of time and place; and delivers us from all labour of the\nmind, saving the first; and makes that which was found true Here, and\nNow, to be true in All Times and Places.\n\nBut the use of words in registring our thoughts, is in nothing so\nevident as in Numbering. A naturall foole that could never learn by\nheart the order of numerall words, as One, Two, and Three, may observe\nevery stroak of the Clock, and nod to it, or say one, one, one; but can\nnever know what houre it strikes. And it seems, there was a time when\nthose names of number were not in use; and men were fayn to apply their\nfingers of one or both hands, to those things they desired to keep\naccount of; and that thence it proceeded, that now our numerall words\nare but ten, in any Nation, and in some but five, and then they begin\nagain. And he that can tell ten, if he recite them out of order, will\nlose himselfe, and not know when he has done: Much lesse will he be\nable to add, and substract, and performe all other operations of\nArithmetique. So that without words, there is no possibility of\nreckoning of Numbers; much lesse of Magnitudes, of Swiftnesse, of Force,\nand other things, the reckonings whereof are necessary to the being, or\nwell-being of man-kind.\n\nWhen two Names are joyned together into a Consequence, or Affirmation;\nas thus, A Man Is A Living Creature; or thus, If He Be A Man, He Is A\nLiving Creature, If the later name Living Creature, signifie all that\nthe former name Man signifieth, then the affirmation, or consequence is\nTrue; otherwise False. For True and False are attributes of Speech, not\nof things. And where Speech in not, there is neither Truth nor Falshood.\nErrour there may be, as when wee expect that which shall not be; or\nsuspect what has not been: but in neither case can a man be charged with\nUntruth.\n\nSeeing then that Truth consisteth in the right ordering of names in our\naffirmations, a man that seeketh precise Truth, had need to remember\nwhat every name he uses stands for; and to place it accordingly; or els\nhe will find himselfe entangled in words, as a bird in lime-twiggs; the\nmore he struggles, the more belimed. And therefore in Geometry, (which\nis the onely Science that it hath pleased God hitherto to bestow on\nmankind,) men begin at settling the significations of their words; which\nsettling of significations, they call Definitions; and place them in the\nbeginning of their reckoning.\n\nBy this it appears how necessary it is for any man that aspires to true\nKnowledge, to examine the Definitions of former Authors; and either\nto correct them, where they are negligently set down; or to make them\nhimselfe. For the errours of Definitions multiply themselves, according\nas the reckoning proceeds; and lead men into absurdities, which at last\nthey see, but cannot avoyd, without reckoning anew from the beginning;\nin which lyes the foundation of their errours. From whence it happens,\nthat they which trust to books, do as they that cast up many little\nsumms into a greater, without considering whether those little summes\nwere rightly cast up or not; and at last finding the errour visible,\nand not mistrusting their first grounds, know not which way to cleere\nthemselves; but spend time in fluttering over their bookes; as birds\nthat entring by the chimney, and finding themselves inclosed in a\nchamber, flitter at the false light of a glasse window, for want of wit\nto consider which way they came in. So that in the right Definition\nof Names, lyes the first use of Speech; which is the Acquisition of\nScience: And in wrong, or no Definitions’ lyes the first abuse; from\nwhich proceed all false and senslesse Tenets; which make those men that\ntake their instruction from the authority of books, and not from their\nown meditation, to be as much below the condition of ignorant men, as\nmen endued with true Science are above it. For between true Science,\nand erroneous Doctrines, Ignorance is in the middle. Naturall sense and\nimagination, are not subject to absurdity. Nature it selfe cannot erre:\nand as men abound in copiousnesse of language; so they become more wise,\nor more mad than ordinary. Nor is it possible without Letters for any\nman to become either excellently wise, or (unless his memory be hurt by\ndisease, or ill constitution of organs) excellently foolish. For words\nare wise mens counters, they do but reckon by them: but they are the\nmony of fooles, that value them by the authority of an Aristotle, a\nCicero, or a Thomas, or any other Doctor whatsoever, if but a man.\n\n\n\n\nSubject To Names\n\nSubject To Names, is whatsoever can enter into, or be considered in an\naccount; and be added one to another to make a summe; or substracted one\nfrom another, and leave a remainder. The Latines called Accounts of mony\nRationes, and accounting, Ratiocinatio: and that which we in bills or\nbooks of account call Items, they called Nomina; that is, Names: and\nthence it seems to proceed, that they extended the word Ratio, to the\nfaculty of Reckoning in all other things. The Greeks have but one word\nLogos, for both Speech and Reason; not that they thought there was no\nSpeech without Reason; but no Reasoning without Speech: And the act of\nreasoning they called syllogisme; which signifieth summing up of the\nconsequences of one saying to another. And because the same things may\nenter into account for divers accidents; their names are (to shew that\ndiversity) diversly wrested, and diversified. This diversity of names\nmay be reduced to foure generall heads.\n\nFirst, a thing may enter into account for Matter, or Body; as Living,\nSensible, Rationall, Hot, Cold, Moved, Quiet; with all which names the\nword Matter, or Body is understood; all such, being names of Matter.\n\nSecondly, it may enter into account, or be considered, for some accident\nor quality, which we conceive to be in it; as for Being Moved, for Being\nSo Long, for Being Hot, &c; and then, of the name of the thing it selfe,\nby a little change or wresting, wee make a name for that accident, which\nwe consider; and for Living put into account Life; for Moved, Motion;\nfor Hot, Heat; for Long, Length, and the like. And all such Names, are\nthe names of the accidents and properties, by which one Matter, and Body\nis distinguished from another. These are called Names Abstract; Because\nSevered (not from Matter, but) from the account of Matter.\n\nThirdly, we bring into account, the Properties of our own bodies,\nwhereby we make such distinction: as when any thing is Seen by us, we\nreckon not the thing it selfe; but the Sight, the Colour, the Idea of\nit in the fancy: and when any thing is Heard, wee reckon it not; but the\nHearing, or Sound onely, which is our fancy or conception of it by the\nEare: and such are names of fancies.\n\nFourthly, we bring into account, consider, and give names, to Names\nthemselves, and to Speeches: For, Generall, Universall, Speciall,\nOequivocall, are names of Names. And Affirmation, Interrogation,\nCommandement, Narration, Syllogisme, Sermon, Oration, and many other\nsuch, are names of Speeches.\n\n\n\n\nUse Of Names Positive\n\nAnd this is all the variety of Names Positive; which are put to mark\nsomewhat which is in Nature, or may be feigned by the mind of man, as\nBodies that are, or may be conceived to be; or of bodies, the Properties\nthat are, or may be feigned to be; or Words and Speech.\n\n\n\n\nNegative Names With Their Uses\n\nThere be also other Names, called Negative; which are notes to signifie\nthat a word is not the name of the thing in question; as these words\nNothing, No Man, Infinite, Indocible, Three Want Foure, and the\nlike; which are nevertheless of use in reckoning, or in correcting of\nreckoning; and call to mind our past cogitations, though they be not\nnames of any thing; because they make us refuse to admit of Names not\nrightly used.\n\n\n\n\nWords Insignificant\n\nAll other names, are but insignificant sounds; and those of two\nsorts. One, when they are new, and yet their meaning not explained by\nDefinition; whereof there have been aboundance coyned by Schoole-men,\nand pusled Philosophers.\n\nAnother, when men make a name of two Names, whose significations are\ncontradictory and inconsistent; as this name, an Incorporeall Body, or\n(which is all one) an Incorporeall Substance, and a great number more.\nFor whensoever any affirmation is false, the two names of which it\nis composed, put together and made one, signifie nothing at all. For\nexample if it be a false affirmation to say A Quadrangle Is Round,\nthe word Round Quadrangle signifies nothing; but is a meere sound. So\nlikewise if it be false, to say that vertue can be powred, or blown up\nand down; the words In-powred Vertue, In-blown Vertue, are as absurd\nand insignificant, as a Round Quadrangle. And therefore you shall hardly\nmeet with a senselesse and insignificant word, that is not made up of\nsome Latin or Greek names. A Frenchman seldome hears our Saviour called\nby the name of Parole, but by the name of Verbe often; yet Verbe and\nParole differ no more, but that one is Latin, the other French.\n\n\n\n\nUnderstanding\n\nWhen a man upon the hearing of any Speech, hath those thoughts which the\nwords of that Speech, and their connexion, were ordained and constituted\nto signifie; Then he is said to understand it; Understanding being\nnothing els, but conception caused by Speech. And therefore if Speech\nbe peculiar to man (as for ought I know it is,) then is Understanding\npeculiar to him also. And therefore of absurd and false affirmations,\nin case they be universall, there can be no Understanding; though many\nthink they understand, then, when they do but repeat the words softly,\nor con them in their mind.\n\nWhat kinds of Speeches signifie the Appetites, Aversions, and Passions\nof mans mind; and of their use and abuse, I shall speak when I have\nspoken of the Passions.\n\n\n\n\nInconstant Names\n\nThe names of such things as affect us, that is, which please, and\ndisplease us, because all men be not alike affected with the same thing,\nnor the same man at all times, are in the common discourses of men, of\nInconstant signification. For seeing all names are imposed to signifie\nour conceptions; and all our affections are but conceptions; when we\nconceive the same things differently, we can hardly avoyd different\nnaming of them. For though the nature of that we conceive, be the\nsame; yet the diversity of our reception of it, in respect of different\nconstitutions of body, and prejudices of opinion, gives everything a\ntincture of our different passions. And therefore in reasoning, a man\nbust take heed of words; which besides the signification of what we\nimagine of their nature, disposition, and interest of the speaker; such\nas are the names of Vertues, and Vices; For one man calleth Wisdome,\nwhat another calleth Feare; and one Cruelty, what another Justice;\none Prodigality, what another Magnanimity; one Gravity, what another\nStupidity, &c. And therefore such names can never be true grounds of any\nratiocination. No more can Metaphors, and Tropes of speech: but these\nare less dangerous, because they profess their inconstancy; which the\nother do not.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. OF REASON, AND SCIENCE.\n\n\n\n\nReason What It Is\n\nWhen a man Reasoneth, hee does nothing els but conceive a summe totall,\nfrom Addition of parcels; or conceive a Remainder, from Substraction of\none summe from another: which (if it be done by Words,) is conceiving of\nthe consequence of the names of all the parts, to the name of the whole;\nor from the names of the whole and one part, to the name of the other\npart. And though in some things, (as in numbers,) besides Adding and\nSubstracting, men name other operations, as Multiplying and Dividing;\nyet they are the same; for Multiplication, is but Addition together of\nthings equall; and Division, but Substracting of one thing, as often as\nwe can. These operations are not incident to Numbers onely, but to\nall manner of things that can be added together, and taken one out of\nanother. For as Arithmeticians teach to adde and substract in Numbers;\nso the Geometricians teach the same in Lines, Figures (solid and\nsuperficiall,) Angles, Proportions, Times, degrees of Swiftnesse, Force,\nPower, and the like; The Logicians teach the same in Consequences\nOf Words; adding together Two Names, to make an Affirmation; and Two\nAffirmations, to make a syllogisme; and Many syllogismes to make a\nDemonstration; and from the Summe, or Conclusion of a syllogisme, they\nsubstract one Proposition, to finde the other. Writers of Politiques,\nadde together Pactions, to find mens Duties; and Lawyers, Lawes and\nFacts, to find what is Right and Wrong in the actions of private men.\nIn summe, in what matter soever there is place for Addition and\nSubstraction, there also is place for Reason; and where these have no\nplace, there Reason has nothing at all to do.\n\n\n\n\nReason Defined\n\nOut of all which we may define, (that is to say determine,) what that\nis, which is meant by this word Reason, when wee reckon it amongst\nthe Faculties of the mind. For Reason, in this sense, is nothing but\nReckoning (that is, Adding and Substracting) of the Consequences of\ngenerall names agreed upon, for the Marking and Signifying of our\nthoughts; I say Marking them, when we reckon by our selves; and\nSignifying, when we demonstrate, or approve our reckonings to other men.\n\n\n\n\nRight Reason Where\n\nAnd as in Arithmetique, unpractised men must, and Professors themselves\nmay often erre, and cast up false; so also in any other subject of\nReasoning, the ablest, most attentive, and most practised men, may\ndeceive themselves, and inferre false Conclusions; Not but that Reason\nit selfe is always Right Reason, as well as Arithmetique is a certain\nand infallible art: But no one mans Reason, nor the Reason of any\none number of men, makes the certaintie; no more than an account is\ntherefore well cast up, because a great many men have unanimously\napproved it. And therfore, as when there is a controversy in an account,\nthe parties must by their own accord, set up for right Reason, the\nReason of some Arbitrator, or Judge, to whose sentence they will\nboth stand, or their controversie must either come to blowes, or be\nundecided, for want of a right Reason constituted by Nature; so is\nit also in all debates of what kind soever: And when men that think\nthemselves wiser than all others, clamor and demand right Reason for\njudge; yet seek no more, but that things should be determined, by no\nother mens reason but their own, it is as intolerable in the society of\nmen, as it is in play after trump is turned, to use for trump on every\noccasion, that suite whereof they have most in their hand. For they do\nnothing els, that will have every of their passions, as it comes to\nbear sway in them, to be taken for right Reason, and that in their own\ncontroversies: bewraying their want of right Reason, by the claym they\nlay to it.\n\n\n\n\nThe Use Of Reason\n\nThe Use and End of Reason, is not the finding of the summe, and truth\nof one, or a few consequences, remote from the first definitions, and\nsettled significations of names; but to begin at these; and proceed from\none consequence to another. For there can be no certainty of the last\nConclusion, without a certainty of all those Affirmations and Negations,\non which it was grounded, and inferred. As when a master of a family,\nin taking an account, casteth up the summs of all the bills of expence,\ninto one sum; and not regarding how each bill is summed up, by those\nthat give them in account; nor what it is he payes for; he advantages\nhimselfe no more, than if he allowed the account in grosse, trusting to\nevery of the accountants skill and honesty; so also in Reasoning of all\nother things, he that takes up conclusions on the trust of Authors, and\ndoth not fetch them from the first Items in every Reckoning, (which are\nthe significations of names settled by definitions), loses his labour;\nand does not know any thing; but onely beleeveth.\n\n\n\n\nOf Error And Absurdity\n\nWhen a man reckons without the use of words, which may be done in\nparticular things, (as when upon the sight of any one thing, wee\nconjecture what was likely to have preceded, or is likely to follow upon\nit;) if that which he thought likely to follow, followes not; or that\nwhich he thought likely to have preceded it, hath not preceded it, this\nis called ERROR; to which even the most prudent men are subject. But\nwhen we Reason in Words of generall signification, and fall upon a\ngenerall inference which is false; though it be commonly called Error,\nit is indeed an ABSURDITY, or senseless Speech. For Error is but a\ndeception, in presuming that somewhat is past, or to come; of which,\nthough it were not past, or not to come; yet there was no impossibility\ndiscoverable. But when we make a generall assertion, unlesse it be a\ntrue one, the possibility of it is unconceivable. And words whereby we\nconceive nothing but the sound, are those we call Absurd, insignificant,\nand Non-sense. And therefore if a man should talk to me of a Round\nQuadrangle; or Accidents Of Bread In Cheese; or Immaterial Substances;\nor of A Free Subject; A Free Will; or any Free, but free from being\nhindred by opposition, I should not say he were in an Errour; but that\nhis words were without meaning; that is to say, Absurd.\n\nI have said before, (in the second chapter,) that a Man did excell\nall other Animals in this faculty, that when he conceived any thing\nwhatsoever, he was apt to enquire the consequences of it, and what\neffects he could do with it. And now I adde this other degree of the\nsame excellence, that he can by words reduce the consequences he findes\nto generall Rules, called Theoremes, or Aphorismes; that is, he can\nReason, or reckon, not onely in number; but in all other things, whereof\none may be added unto, or substracted from another.\n\nBut this priviledge, is allayed by another; and that is, by the\npriviledge of Absurdity; to which no living creature is subject, but man\nonely. And of men, those are of all most subject to it, that professe\nPhilosophy. For it is most true that Cicero sayth of them somewhere;\nthat there can be nothing so absurd, but may be found in the books of\nPhilosophers. And the reason is manifest. For there is not one of them\nthat begins his ratiocination from the Definitions, or Explications of\nthe names they are to use; which is a method that hath been used onely\nin Geometry; whose Conclusions have thereby been made indisputable.\n\n\n\n\nCauses Of Absurditie\n\nThe first cause of Absurd conclusions I ascribe to the want of Method;\nin that they begin not their Ratiocination from Definitions; that\nis, from settled significations of their words: as if they could cast\naccount, without knowing the value of the numerall words, One, Two, and\nThree.\n\nAnd whereas all bodies enter into account upon divers considerations,\n(which I have mentioned in the precedent chapter;) these considerations\nbeing diversly named, divers absurdities proceed from the confusion, and\nunfit connexion of their names into assertions. And therefore\n\nThe second cause of Absurd assertions, I ascribe to the giving of names\nof Bodies, to Accidents; or of Accidents, to Bodies; As they do, that\nsay, Faith Is Infused, or Inspired; when nothing can be Powred, or\nBreathed into any thing, but body; and that, Extension is Body; that\nPhantasmes are Spirits, &c.\n\nThe third I ascribe to the giving of the names of the Accidents of\nBodies Without Us, to the Accidents of our Own Bodies; as they do that\nsay, the Colour Is In The Body; The Sound Is In The Ayre, &c.\n\nThe fourth, to the giving of the names of Bodies, to Names, or Speeches;\nas they do that say, that There Be Things Universall; that A Living\nCreature Is Genus, or A Generall Thing, &c.\n\nThe fifth, to the giving of the names of Accidents, to Names and\nSpeeches; as they do that say, The Nature Of A Thing Is In Its\nDefinition; A Mans Command Is His Will; and the like.\n\nThe sixth, to the use of Metaphors, Tropes, and other Rhetoricall\nfigures, in stead of words proper. For though it be lawfull to say, (for\nexample) in common speech, The Way Goeth, Or Leadeth Hither, Or Thither,\nThe Proverb Sayes This Or That (whereas wayes cannot go, nor Proverbs\nspeak;) yet in reckoning, and seeking of truth, such speeches are not to\nbe admitted.\n\nThe seventh, to names that signifie nothing; but are taken up, and\nlearned by rote from the Schooles, as Hypostatical, Transubstantiate,\nConsubstantiate, Eternal-now, and the like canting of Schoole-men.\n\nTo him that can avoyd these things, it is not easie to fall into any\nabsurdity, unlesse it be by the length of an account; wherein he may\nperhaps forget what went before. For all men by nature reason alike, and\nwell, when they have good principles. For who is so stupid, as both to\nmistake in Geometry, and also to persist in it, when another detects his\nerror to him?\n\n\n\n\nScience\n\nBy this it appears that Reason is not as Sense, and Memory, borne with\nus; nor gotten by Experience onely; as Prudence is; but attayned by\nIndustry; first in apt imposing of Names; and secondly by getting a good\nand orderly Method in proceeding from the Elements, which are Names,\nto Assertions made by Connexion of one of them to another; and so to\nsyllogismes, which are the Connexions of one Assertion to another, till\nwe come to a knowledge of all the Consequences of names appertaining to\nthe subject in hand; and that is it, men call SCIENCE. And whereas\nSense and Memory are but knowledge of Fact, which is a thing past, and\nirrevocable; Science is the knowledge of Consequences, and dependance\nof one fact upon another: by which, out of that we can presently do, we\nknow how to do something els when we will, or the like, another time;\nBecause when we see how any thing comes about, upon what causes, and by\nwhat manner; when the like causes come into our power, wee see how to\nmake it produce the like effects.\n\nChildren therefore are not endued with Reason at all, till they have\nattained the use of Speech: but are called Reasonable Creatures, for the\npossibility apparent of having the use of Reason in time to come. And\nthe most part of men, though they have the use of Reasoning a little\nway, as in numbring to some degree; yet it serves them to little use in\ncommon life; in which they govern themselves, some better, some worse,\naccording to their differences of experience, quicknesse of memory, and\ninclinations to severall ends; but specially according to good or evill\nfortune, and the errors of one another. For as for Science, or certain\nrules of their actions, they are so farre from it, that they know\nnot what it is. Geometry they have thought Conjuring: but for other\nSciences, they who have not been taught the beginnings, and some\nprogresse in them, that they may see how they be acquired and generated,\nare in this point like children, that having no thought of generation,\nare made believe by the women, that their brothers and sisters are not\nborn, but found in the garden.\n\nBut yet they that have no Science, are in better, and nobler condition\nwith their naturall Prudence; than men, that by mis-reasoning, or by\ntrusting them that reason wrong, fall upon false and absurd generall\nrules. For ignorance of causes, and of rules, does not set men so farre\nout of their way, as relying on false rules, and taking for causes of\nwhat they aspire to, those that are not so, but rather causes of the\ncontrary.\n\nTo conclude, The Light of humane minds is Perspicuous Words, but by\nexact definitions first snuffed, and purged from ambiguity; Reason is\nthe Pace; Encrease of Science, the Way; and the Benefit of man-kind, the\nEnd. And on the contrary, Metaphors, and senslesse and ambiguous words,\nare like Ignes Fatui; and reasoning upon them, is wandering amongst\ninnumerable absurdities; and their end, contention, and sedition, or\ncontempt.\n\n\n\n\nPrudence & Sapience, With Their Difference\n\nAs, much Experience, is Prudence; so, is much Science, Sapience. For\nthough wee usually have one name of Wisedome for them both; yet\nthe Latines did always distinguish between Prudentia and Sapientia,\nascribing the former to Experience, the later to Science. But to make\ntheir difference appeare more cleerly, let us suppose one man endued\nwith an excellent naturall use, and dexterity in handling his armes; and\nanother to have added to that dexterity, an acquired Science, of where\nhe can offend, or be offended by his adversarie, in every possible\nposture, or guard: The ability of the former, would be to the ability\nof the later, as Prudence to Sapience; both usefull; but the later\ninfallible. But they that trusting onely to the authority of books,\nfollow the blind blindly, are like him that trusting to the false rules\nof the master of fence, ventures praesumptuously upon an adversary, that\neither kills, or disgraces him.\n\n\n\n\nSignes Of Science\n\nThe signes of Science, are some, certain and infallible; some,\nuncertain. Certain, when he that pretendeth the Science of any thing,\ncan teach the same; that is to say, demonstrate the truth thereof\nperspicuously to another: Uncertain, when onely some particular events\nanswer to his pretence, and upon many occasions prove so as he sayes\nthey must. Signes of prudence are all uncertain; because to observe by\nexperience, and remember all circumstances that may alter the successe,\nis impossible. But in any businesse, whereof a man has not infallible\nScience to proceed by; to forsake his own natural judgement, and be\nguided by generall sentences read in Authors, and subject to many\nexceptions, is a signe of folly, and generally scorned by the name of\nPedantry. And even of those men themselves, that in Councells of the\nCommon-wealth, love to shew their reading of Politiques and History,\nvery few do it in their domestique affaires, where their particular\ninterest is concerned; having Prudence enough for their private\naffaires: but in publique they study more the reputation of their owne\nwit, than the successe of anothers businesse.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. OF THE INTERIOUR BEGINNINGS OF VOLUNTARY MOTIONS\n\nCOMMONLY CALLED THE PASSIONS. AND THE SPEECHES BY WHICH THEY ARE\nEXPRESSED.\n\n\n\n\nMotion Vitall And Animal\n\nThere be in Animals, two sorts of Motions peculiar to them: One called\nVitall; begun in generation, and continued without interruption through\ntheir whole life; such as are the Course of the Bloud, the Pulse, the\nBreathing, the Concoctions, Nutrition, Excretion, &c; to which Motions\nthere needs no help of Imagination: The other in Animal Motion,\notherwise called Voluntary Motion; as to Go, to Speak, to Move any of\nour limbes, in such manner as is first fancied in our minds. That Sense,\nis Motion in the organs and interiour parts of mans body, caused by\nthe action of the things we See, Heare, &c.; And that Fancy is but the\nReliques of the same Motion, remaining after Sense, has been already\nsayd in the first and second Chapters. And because Going, Speaking, and\nthe like Voluntary motions, depend alwayes upon a precedent thought of\nWhither, Which Way, and What; it is evident, that the Imagination is\nthe first internall beginning of all Voluntary Motion. And although\nunstudied men, doe not conceive any motion at all to be there, where\nthe thing moved is invisible; or the space it is moved in, is (for the\nshortnesse of it) insensible; yet that doth not hinder, but that such\nMotions are. For let a space be never so little, that which is moved\nover a greater space, whereof that little one is part, must first be\nmoved over that. These small beginnings of Motion, within the body\nof Man, before they appear in walking, speaking, striking, and other\nvisible actions, are commonly called ENDEAVOUR.\n\n\n\n\nEndeavour; Appetite; Desire; Hunger; Thirst; Aversion\n\nThis Endeavour, when it is toward something which causes it, is called\nAPPETITE, or DESIRE; the later, being the generall name; and the other,\noftentimes restrayned to signifie the Desire of Food, namely Hunger and\nThirst. And when the Endeavour is fromward something, it is generally\ncalled AVERSION. These words Appetite, and Aversion we have from the\nLatines; and they both of them signifie the motions, one of approaching,\nthe other of retiring. So also do the Greek words for the same, which\nare orme and aphorme. For nature it selfe does often presse upon men\nthose truths, which afterwards, when they look for somewhat beyond\nNature, they stumble at. For the Schooles find in meere Appetite to go,\nor move, no actuall Motion at all: but because some Motion they must\nacknowledge, they call it Metaphoricall Motion; which is but an absurd\nspeech; for though Words may be called metaphoricall; Bodies, and\nMotions cannot.\n\nThat which men Desire, they are also sayd to LOVE; and to HATE those\nthings, for which they have Aversion. So that Desire, and Love, are the\nsame thing; save that by Desire, we alwayes signifie the Absence of\nthe object; by Love, most commonly the Presence of the same. So also\nby Aversion, we signifie the Absence; and by Hate, the Presence of the\nObject.\n\nOf Appetites, and Aversions, some are born with men; as Appetite of\nfood, Appetite of excretion, and exoneration, (which may also and more\nproperly be called Aversions, from somewhat they feele in their Bodies;)\nand some other Appetites, not many. The rest, which are Appetites of\nparticular things, proceed from Experience, and triall of their effects\nupon themselves, or other men. For of things wee know not at all, or\nbelieve not to be, we can have no further Desire, than to tast and try.\nBut Aversion wee have for things, not onely which we know have hurt us;\nbut also that we do not know whether they will hurt us, or not.\n\n\n\n\nContempt\n\nThose things which we neither Desire, nor Hate, we are said to Contemne:\nCONTEMPT being nothing els but an immobility, or contumacy of the Heart,\nin resisting the action of certain things; and proceeding from that the\nHeart is already moved otherwise, by either more potent objects; or from\nwant of experience of them.\n\nAnd because the constitution of a mans Body, is in continuall mutation;\nit is impossible that all the same things should alwayes cause in him\nthe same Appetites, and aversions: much lesse can all men consent, in\nthe Desire of almost any one and the same Object.\n\n\n\n\nGood Evill\n\nBut whatsoever is the object of any mans Appetite or Desire; that is\nit, which he for his part calleth Good: And the object of his Hate,\nand Aversion, evill; And of his contempt, Vile, and Inconsiderable.\nFor these words of Good, evill, and Contemptible, are ever used with\nrelation to the person that useth them: There being nothing simply and\nabsolutely so; nor any common Rule of Good and evill, to be taken from\nthe nature of the objects themselves; but from the Person of the man\n(where there is no Common-wealth;) or, (in a Common-wealth,) From the\nPerson that representeth it; or from an Arbitrator or Judge, whom men\ndisagreeing shall by consent set up, and make his sentence the Rule\nthereof.\n\n\n\n\nPulchrum Turpe; Delightfull Profitable; Unpleasant Unprofitable\n\nThe Latine Tongue has two words, whose significations approach to\nthose of Good and Evill; but are not precisely the same; And those are\nPulchrum and Turpe. Whereof the former signifies that, which by some\napparent signes promiseth Good; and the later, that, which promiseth\nevill. But in our Tongue we have not so generall names to expresse them\nby. But for Pulchrum, we say in some things, Fayre; in other Beautifull,\nor Handsome, or Gallant, or Honourable, or Comely, or Amiable; and\nfor Turpe, Foule, Deformed, Ugly, Base, Nauseous, and the like, as the\nsubject shall require; All which words, in their proper places signifie\nnothing els, but the Mine, or Countenance, that promiseth Good and\nevill. So that of Good there be three kinds; Good in the Promise,\nthat is Pulchrum; Good in Effect, as the end desired, which is called\nJucundum, Delightfull; and Good as the Means, which is called Utile,\nProfitable; and as many of evill: For evill, in Promise, is that\nthey call Turpe; evill in Effect, and End, is Molestum, Unpleasant,\nTroublesome; and evill in the Means, Inutile, Unprofitable, Hurtfull.\n\n\n\n\nDelight Displeasure\n\nAs, in Sense, that which is really within us, is (As I have sayd\nbefore) onely Motion, caused by the action of externall objects, but in\napparence; to the Sight, Light and Colour; to the Eare, Sound; to the\nNostrill, Odour, &c: so, when the action of the same object is continued\nfrom the Eyes, Eares, and other organs to the Heart; the real effect\nthere is nothing but Motion, or Endeavour; which consisteth in Appetite,\nor Aversion, to, or from the object moving. But the apparence, or sense\nof that motion, is that wee either call DELIGHT, or TROUBLE OF MIND.\n\n\n\n\nPleasure Offence\n\nThis Motion, which is called Appetite, and for the apparence of it\nDelight, and Pleasure, seemeth to be, a corroboration of Vitall motion,\nand a help thereunto; and therefore such things as caused Delight, were\nnot improperly called Jucunda, (A Juvando,) from helping or fortifying;\nand the contrary, Molesta, Offensive, from hindering, and troubling the\nmotion vitall.\n\nPleasure therefore, (or Delight,) is the apparence, or sense of Good;\nand Molestation or Displeasure, the apparence, or sense of evill. And\nconsequently all Appetite, Desire, and Love, is accompanied with some\nDelight more or lesse; and all Hatred, and Aversion, with more or lesse\nDispleasure and Offence.\n\n\n\n\nPleasures Of Sense; Pleasures Of The Mind; Joy Paine Griefe\n\nOf Pleasures, or Delights, some arise from the sense of an object\nPresent; And those may be called Pleasures Of Sense, (The word Sensuall,\nas it is used by those onely that condemn them, having no place till\nthere be Lawes.) Of this kind are all Onerations and Exonerations of the\nbody; as also all that is pleasant, in the Sight, Hearing, Smell,\nTast, Or Touch; Others arise from the Expectation, that proceeds from\nforesight of the End, or Consequence of things; whether those things in\nthe Sense Please or Displease: And these are Pleasures Of The Mind of\nhim that draweth those consequences; and are generally called JOY. In\nthe like manner, Displeasures, are some in the Sense, and called PAYNE;\nothers, in the Expectation of consequences, and are called GRIEFE.\n\nThese simple Passions called Appetite, Desire, Love, Aversion, Hate,\nJoy, and griefe, have their names for divers considerations diversified.\nAs first, when they one succeed another, they are diversly called from\nthe opinion men have of the likelihood of attaining what they\ndesire. Secondly, from the object loved or hated. Thirdly, from the\nconsideration of many of them together. Fourthly, from the Alteration or\nsuccession it selfe.\n\n\nHope-- For Appetite with an opinion of attaining, is called HOPE.\n\nDespaire-- The same, without such opinion, DESPAIRE.\n\nFeare-- Aversion, with opinion of Hurt from the object, FEARE.\n\nCourage-- The same, with hope of avoyding that Hurt by resistance,\nCOURAGE.\n\nAnger-- Sudden Courage, ANGER.\n\nConfidence-- Constant Hope, CONFIDENCE of our selves.\n\nDiffidence-- Constant Despayre, DIFFIDENCE of our selves.\n\nIndignation-- Anger for great hurt done to another, when we conceive the\nsame to be done by Injury, INDIGNATION.\n\nBenevolence-- Desire of good to another, BENEVOLENCE, GOOD WILL,\nCHARITY. If to man generally, GOOD NATURE.\n\nCovetousnesse-- Desire of Riches, COVETOUSNESSE: a name used alwayes in\nsignification of blame; because men contending for them, are displeased\nwith one anothers attaining them; though the desire in it selfe, be to\nbe blamed, or allowed, according to the means by which those Riches are\nsought.\n\nAmbition-- Desire of Office, or precedence, AMBITION: a name used also\nin the worse sense, for the reason before mentioned.\n\nPusillanimity-- Desire of things that conduce but a little to our ends;\nAnd fear of things that are but of little hindrance, PUSILLANIMITY.\n\nMagnanimity-- Contempt of little helps, and hindrances, MAGNANIMITY.\n\nValour-- Magnanimity, in danger of Death, or Wounds, VALOUR, FORTITUDE.\n\nLiberality-- Magnanimity in the use of Riches, LIBERALITY\n\nMiserablenesse-- Pusillanimity, in the same WRETCHEDNESSE,\nMISERABLENESSE; or PARSIMONY; as it is liked or disliked.\n\nKindnesse-- Love of Persons for society, KINDNESSE.\n\nNaturall Lust-- Love of Persons for Pleasing the sense onely, NATURAL\nLUST.\n\nLuxury-- Love of the same, acquired from Rumination, that is Imagination\nof Pleasure past, LUXURY.\n\nThe Passion Of Love; Jealousie-- Love of one singularly, with desire to\nbe singularly beloved, THE PASSION OF LOVE. The same, with fear that the\nlove is not mutuall, JEALOUSIE.\n\nRevengefulnesse-- Desire, by doing hurt to another, to make him condemn\nsome fact of his own, REVENGEFULNESSE.\n\nCuriosity-- Desire, to know why, and how, CURIOSITY; such as is in no\nliving creature but Man; so that Man is distinguished, not onely by his\nReason; but also by this singular Passion from other Animals; in whom\nthe appetite of food, and other pleasures of Sense, by praedominance,\ntake away the care of knowing causes; which is a Lust of the mind,\nthat by a perseverance of delight in the continuall and indefatigable\ngeneration of Knowledge, exceedeth the short vehemence of any carnall\nPleasure.\n\nReligion Superstition; True Religion-- Feare of power invisible, feigned\nby the mind, or imagined from tales publiquely allowed, RELIGION; not\nallowed, superstition. And when the power imagined is truly such as we\nimagine, TRUE RELIGION.\n\nPanique Terrour-- Feare, without the apprehension of why, or what,\nPANIQUE TERROR; called so from the fables that make Pan the author of\nthem; whereas in truth there is always in him that so feareth, first,\nsome apprehension of the cause, though the rest run away by example;\nevery one supposing his fellow to know why. And therefore this Passion\nhappens to none but in a throng, or multitude of people.\n\nAdmiration-- Joy, from apprehension of novelty, ADMIRATION; proper to\nman, because it excites the appetite of knowing the cause.\n\nGlory Vaine-glory-- Joy, arising from imagination of a man’s own power\nand ability, is that exultation of the mind which is called GLORYING:\nwhich, if grounded upon the experience of his own former actions, is\nthe same with Confidence: but if grounded on the flattery of others, or\nonely supposed by himselfe, for delight in the consequences of it,\nis called VAINE-GLORY: which name is properly given; because a\nwell-grounded Confidence begetteth attempt; whereas the supposing of\npower does not, and is therefore rightly called Vaine.\n\nDejection-- Griefe, from opinion of want of power, is called dejection\nof mind.\n\nThe Vaine-glory which consisteth in the feigning or supposing of\nabilities in ourselves, which we know are not, is most incident to young\nmen, and nourished by the Histories or Fictions of Gallant Persons; and\nis corrected often times by Age, and Employment.\n\nSudden Glory Laughter-- Sudden glory, is the passion which maketh those\nGrimaces called LAUGHTER; and is caused either by some sudden act of\ntheir own, that pleaseth them; or by the apprehension of some\ndeformed thing in another, by comparison whereof they suddenly applaud\nthemselves. And it is incident most to them, that are conscious of the\nfewest abilities in themselves; who are forced to keep themselves in\ntheir own favour, by observing the imperfections of other men.\nAnd therefore much Laughter at the defects of others is a signe of\nPusillanimity. For of great minds, one of the proper workes is, to help\nand free others from scorn; and compare themselves onely with the most\nable.\n\nSudden Dejection Weeping-- On the contrary, Sudden Dejection is the\npassion that causeth WEEPING; and is caused by such accidents, as\nsuddenly take away some vehement hope, or some prop of their power: and\nthey are most subject to it, that rely principally on helps externall,\nsuch as are Women, and Children. Therefore, some Weep for the loss of\nFriends; Others for their unkindnesse; others for the sudden stop made\nto their thoughts of revenge, by Reconciliation. But in all cases, both\nLaughter and Weeping, are sudden motions; Custome taking them both away.\nFor no man Laughs at old jests; or Weeps for an old calamity.\n\nShame Blushing-- Griefe, for the discovery of some defect of ability\nis SHAME, or the passion that discovereth itself in BLUSHING; and\nconsisteth in the apprehension of some thing dishonourable; and in young\nmen, is a signe of the love of good reputation; and commendable: in\nold men it is a signe of the same; but because it comes too late, not\ncommendable.\n\nImpudence-- The Contempt of good reputation is called IMPUDENCE.\n\nPitty-- Griefe, for the calamity of another is PITTY; and ariseth\nfrom the imagination that the like calamity may befall himselfe; and\ntherefore is called also COMPASSION, and in the phrase of this present\ntime a FELLOW-FEELING: and therefore for Calamity arriving from\ngreat wickedness, the best men have the least Pitty; and for the same\nCalamity, those have least Pitty, that think themselves least obnoxious\nto the same.\n\nCruelty-- Contempt, or little sense of the calamity of others, is that\nwhich men call CRUELTY; proceeding from Security of their own fortune.\nFor, that any man should take pleasure in other mens’ great harmes,\nwithout other end of his own, I do not conceive it possible.\n\nEmulation Envy-- Griefe, for the success of a Competitor in wealth,\nhonour, or other good, if it be joyned with Endeavour to enforce our own\nabilities to equal or exceed him, is called EMULATION: but joyned with\nEndeavour to supplant or hinder a Competitor, ENVIE.\n\nDeliberation-- When in the mind of man, Appetites and Aversions, Hopes\nand Feares, concerning one and the same thing, arise alternately; and\ndivers good and evill consequences of the doing, or omitting the thing\npropounded, come successively into our thoughts; so that sometimes we\nhave an Appetite to it, sometimes an Aversion from it; sometimes Hope to\nbe able to do it; sometimes Despaire, or Feare to attempt it; the whole\nsum of Desires, Aversions, Hopes and Feares, continued till the thing be\neither done, or thought impossible, is that we call DELIBERATION.\n\nTherefore of things past, there is no Deliberation; because manifestly\nimpossible to be changed: nor of things known to be impossible, or\nthought so; because men know, or think such Deliberation vaine. But\nof things impossible, which we think possible, we may Deliberate; not\nknowing it is in vain. And it is called DELIBERATION; because it is a\nputting an end to the Liberty we had of doing, or omitting, according to\nour own Appetite, or Aversion.\n\nThis alternate succession of Appetites, Aversions, Hopes and Feares is\nno less in other living Creatures than in Man; and therefore Beasts also\nDeliberate.\n\nEvery Deliberation is then sayd to End when that whereof they\nDeliberate, is either done, or thought impossible; because till then wee\nretain the liberty of doing, or omitting, according to our Appetite, or\nAversion.\n\n\n\n\nThe Will\n\nIn Deliberation, the last Appetite, or Aversion, immediately adhaering\nto the action, or to the omission thereof, is that wee call the\nWILL; the Act, (not the faculty,) of Willing. And Beasts that have\nDeliberation must necessarily also have Will. The Definition of the\nWill, given commonly by the Schooles, that it is a Rationall Appetite,\nis not good. For if it were, then could there be no Voluntary Act\nagainst Reason. For a Voluntary Act is that, which proceedeth from the\nWill, and no other. But if in stead of a Rationall Appetite, we shall\nsay an Appetite resulting from a precedent Deliberation, then the\nDefinition is the same that I have given here. Will, therefore, Is The\nLast Appetite In Deliberating. And though we say in common Discourse, a\nman had a Will once to do a thing, that neverthelesse he forbore to\ndo; yet that is properly but an Inclination, which makes no Action\nVoluntary; because the action depends not of it, but of the last\nInclination, or Appetite. For if the intervenient Appetites make any\naction Voluntary, then by the same reason all intervenient Aversions\nshould make the same action Involuntary; and so one and the same action\nshould be both Voluntary & Involuntary.\n\nBy this it is manifest, that not onely actions that have their beginning\nfrom Covetousness, Ambition, Lust, or other Appetites to the thing\npropounded; but also those that have their beginning from Aversion,\nor Feare of those consequences that follow the omission, are Voluntary\nActions.\n\n\n\n\nFormes Of Speech, In Passion\n\nThe formes of Speech by which the Passions are expressed, are partly the\nsame, and partly different from those, by which we express our Thoughts.\nAnd first generally all Passions may be expressed Indicatively; as, I\nLove, I Feare, I Joy, I Deliberate, I Will, I Command: but some of them\nhave particular expressions by themselves, which nevertheless are not\naffirmations, unless it be when they serve to make other inferences,\nbesides that of the Passion they proceed from. Deliberation is expressed\nSubjunctively; which is a speech proper to signifie suppositions, with\ntheir consequences; as, If This Be Done, Then This Will Follow; and\ndiffers not from the language of Reasoning, save that Reasoning is in\ngenerall words, but Deliberation for the most part is of Particulars.\nThe language of Desire, and Aversion, is Imperative; as, Do This,\nForbear That; which when the party is obliged to do, or forbear, is\nCommand; otherwise Prayer; or els Counsell. The language of Vaine-Glory,\nof Indignation, Pitty and Revengefulness, Optative: but of the Desire to\nknow, there is a peculiar expression called Interrogative; as, What Is\nIt, When Shall It, How Is It Done, and Why So? Other language of the\nPassions I find none: for Cursing, Swearing, Reviling, and the like, do\nnot signifie as Speech; but as the actions of a tongue accustomed.\n\nThese forms of Speech, I say, are expressions, or voluntary\nsignifications of our Passions: but certain signes they be not; because\nthey may be used arbitrarily, whether they that use them, have such\nPassions or not. The best signes of Passions present, are either in the\ncountenance, motions of the body, actions, and ends, or aims, which we\notherwise know the man to have.\n\n\n\n\nGood And Evill Apparent\n\nAnd because in Deliberation the Appetites and Aversions are raised by\nforesight of the good and evill consequences, and sequels of the action\nwhereof we Deliberate; the good or evill effect thereof dependeth on the\nforesight of a long chain of consequences, of which very seldome any man\nis able to see to the end. But for so far as a man seeth, if the Good\nin those consequences be greater than the evill, the whole chain is that\nwhich Writers call Apparent or Seeming Good. And contrarily, when the\nevill exceedeth the good, the whole is Apparent or Seeming Evill: so\nthat he who hath by Experience, or Reason, the greatest and surest\nprospect of Consequences, Deliberates best himself; and is able, when he\nwill, to give the best counsel unto others.\n\n\n\n\nFelicity\n\nContinual Successe in obtaining those things which a man from time to\ntime desireth, that is to say, continual prospering, is that men call\nFELICITY; I mean the Felicity of this life. For there is no such thing\nas perpetual Tranquillity of mind, while we live here; because Life\nitself is but Motion, and can never be without Desire, nor without\nFeare, no more than without Sense. What kind of Felicity God hath\nordained to them that devoutly honour him, a man shall no sooner know,\nthan enjoy; being joys, that now are as incomprehensible, as the word of\nSchool-men, Beatifical Vision, is unintelligible.\n\n\n\n\nPraise Magnification\n\nThe form of speech whereby men signifie their opinion of the Goodnesse\nof anything is PRAISE. That whereby they signifie the power and\ngreatness of anything is MAGNIFYING. And that whereby they signifie\nthe opinion they have of a man’s felicity is by the Greeks called\nMakarismos, for which we have no name in our tongue. And thus much is\nsufficient for the present purpose to have been said of the passions.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. OF THE ENDS OR RESOLUTIONS OF DISCOURSE\n\n\nOf all Discourse, governed by desire of Knowledge, there is at last\nan End, either by attaining, or by giving over. And in the chain of\nDiscourse, wheresoever it be interrupted, there is an End for that time.\n\n\n\n\nJudgement, or Sentence Final; Doubt\n\nIf the Discourse be meerly Mentall, it consisteth of thoughts that the\nthing will be, and will not be; or that it has been, and has not been,\nalternately. So that wheresoever you break off the chayn of a mans\nDiscourse, you leave him in a Praesumption of It Will Be, or, It Will\nNot Be; or it Has Been, or, Has Not Been. All which is Opinion. And that\nwhich is alternate Appetite, in Deliberating concerning Good and Evil,\nthe same is alternate Opinion in the Enquiry of the truth of Past, and\nFuture. And as the last Appetite in Deliberation is called the Will, so\nthe last Opinion in search of the truth of Past, and Future, is called\nthe JUDGEMENT, or Resolute and Final Sentence of him that Discourseth.\nAnd as the whole chain of Appetites alternate, in the question of Good\nor Bad is called Deliberation; so the whole chain of Opinions alternate,\nin the question of True, or False is called DOUBT.\n\nNo Discourse whatsoever, can End in absolute knowledge of Fact, past, or\nto come. For, as for the knowledge of Fact, it is originally, Sense; and\never after, Memory. And for the knowledge of consequence, which I have\nsaid before is called Science, it is not Absolute, but Conditionall. No\nman can know by Discourse, that this, or that, is, has been, or will\nbe; which is to know absolutely: but onely, that if This be, That is; if\nThis has been, That has been; if This shall be, That shall be: which\nis to know conditionally; and that not the consequence of one thing to\nanother; but of one name of a thing, to another name of the same thing.\n\n\n\n\nScience Opinion Conscience\n\nAnd therefore, when the Discourse is put into Speech, and begins with\nthe Definitions of Words, and proceeds by Connexion of the same into\ngeneral Affirmations, and of these again into Syllogismes, the end or\nlast sum is called the Conclusion; and the thought of the mind by it\nsignified is that conditional Knowledge, or Knowledge of the consequence\nof words, which is commonly called Science. But if the first ground of\nsuch Discourse be not Definitions, or if the Definitions be not rightly\njoyned together into Syllogismes, then the End or Conclusion is again\nOPINION, namely of the truth of somewhat said, though sometimes in\nabsurd and senslesse words, without possibility of being understood.\nWhen two, or more men, know of one and the same fact, they are said\nto be CONSCIOUS of it one to another; which is as much as to know it\ntogether. And because such are fittest witnesses of the facts of one\nanother, or of a third, it was, and ever will be reputed a very Evill\nact, for any man to speak against his Conscience; or to corrupt or force\nanother so to do: Insomuch that the plea of Conscience, has been always\nhearkened unto very diligently in all times. Afterwards, men made use\nof the same word metaphorically, for the knowledge of their own secret\nfacts, and secret thoughts; and therefore it is Rhetorically said that\nthe Conscience is a thousand witnesses. And last of all, men, vehemently\nin love with their own new opinions, (though never so absurd,) and\nobstinately bent to maintain them, gave those their opinions also that\nreverenced name of Conscience, as if they would have it seem unlawful,\nto change or speak against them; and so pretend to know they are true,\nwhen they know at most but that they think so.\n\n\n\n\nBeliefe Faith\n\nWhen a mans Discourse beginneth not at Definitions, it beginneth either\nat some other contemplation of his own, and then it is still called\nOpinion; Or it beginneth at some saying of another, of whose ability to\nknow the truth, and of whose honesty in not deceiving, he doubteth\nnot; and then the Discourse is not so much concerning the Thing, as the\nPerson; And the Resolution is called BELEEFE, and FAITH: Faith, In the\nman; Beleefe, both Of the man, and Of the truth of what he sayes. So\nthen in Beleefe are two opinions; one of the saying of the man; the\nother of his vertue. To Have Faith In, or Trust To, or Beleeve A Man,\nsignifie the same thing; namely, an opinion of the veracity of the man:\nBut to Beleeve What Is Said, signifieth onely an opinion of the truth\nof the saying. But wee are to observe that this Phrase, I Beleeve In;\nas also the Latine, Credo In; and the Greek, Pisteno Eis, are never used\nbut in the writings of Divines. In stead of them, in other writings are\nput, I Beleeve Him; I Have Faith In Him; I Rely On Him: and in Latin,\nCredo Illi; Fido Illi: and in Greek, Pisteno Anto: and that this\nsingularity of the Ecclesiastical use of the word hath raised many\ndisputes about the right object of the Christian Faith.\n\nBut by Beleeving In, as it is in the Creed, is meant, not trust in the\nPerson; but Confession and acknowledgement of the Doctrine. For not\nonely Christians, but all manner of men do so believe in God, as to hold\nall for truth they heare him say, whether they understand it, or not;\nwhich is all the Faith and trust can possibly be had in any person\nwhatsoever: But they do not all believe the Doctrine of the Creed.\n\nFrom whence we may inferre, that when wee believe any saying whatsoever\nit be, to be true, from arguments taken, not from the thing it selfe, or\nfrom the principles of naturall Reason, but from the Authority, and\ngood opinion wee have, of him that hath sayd it; then is the speaker, or\nperson we believe in, or trust in, and whose word we take, the object of\nour Faith; and the Honour done in Believing, is done to him onely. And\nconsequently, when wee Believe that the Scriptures are the word of God,\nhaving no immediate revelation from God himselfe, our Beleefe, Faith,\nand Trust is in the Church; whose word we take, and acquiesce therein.\nAnd they that believe that which a Prophet relates unto them in the\nname of God, take the word of the Prophet, do honour to him, and in him\ntrust, and believe, touching the truth of what he relateth, whether he\nbe a true, or a false Prophet. And so it is also with all other History.\nFor if I should not believe all that is written By Historians, of the\nglorious acts of Alexander, or Caesar; I do not think the Ghost of\nAlexander, or Caesar, had any just cause to be offended; or any body\nelse, but the Historian. If Livy say the Gods made once a Cow speak, and\nwe believe it not; wee distrust not God therein, but Livy. So that it is\nevident, that whatsoever we believe, upon no other reason, than what is\ndrawn from authority of men onely, and their writings; whether they be\nsent from God or not, is Faith in men onely.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. OF THE VERTUES COMMONLY CALLED INTELLECTUAL; AND THEIR\nCONTRARY DEFECTS\n\n\n\n\nIntellectuall Vertue Defined\n\nVertue generally, in all sorts of subjects, is somewhat that is valued\nfor eminence; and consisteth in comparison. For if all things\nwere equally in all men, nothing would be prized. And by Vertues\nINTELLECTUALL, are always understood such abilityes of the mind, as men\npraise, value, and desire should be in themselves; and go commonly under\nthe name of a Good Witte; though the same word Witte, be used also, to\ndistinguish one certain ability from the rest.\n\n\n\n\nWit, Naturall, Or Acquired\n\nThese Vertues are of two sorts; Naturall, and Acquired. By Naturall, I\nmean not, that which a man hath from his Birth: for that is nothing else\nbut Sense; wherein men differ so little one from another, and from brute\nBeasts, as it is not to be reckoned amongst Vertues. But I mean, that\nWitte, which is gotten by Use onely, and Experience; without Method,\nCulture, or Instruction. This NATURALL WITTE, consisteth principally\nin two things; Celerity Of Imagining, (that is, swift succession of one\nthought to another;) and Steddy Direction to some approved end. On the\nContrary a slow Imagination, maketh that Defect, or fault of the mind,\nwhich is commonly called DULNESSE, Stupidity, and sometimes by other\nnames that signifie slownesse of motion, or difficulty to be moved.\n\n\n\n\nGood Wit, Or Fancy; Good Judgement; Discretion\n\nAnd this difference of quicknesse, is caused by the difference of mens\npassions; that love and dislike, some one thing, some another: and\ntherefore some mens thoughts run one way, some another: and are held to,\nand observe differently the things that passe through their imagination.\nAnd whereas in his succession of mens thoughts, there is nothing to\nobserve in the things they think on, but either in what they be Like One\nAnother, or in what they be Unlike, or What They Serve For, or How They\nServe To Such A Purpose; Those that observe their similitudes, in case\nthey be such as are but rarely observed by others, are sayd to have a\nGood Wit; by which, in this occasion, is meant a Good Fancy. But they\nthat observe their differences, and dissimilitudes; which is called\nDistinguishing, and Discerning, and Judging between thing and thing; in\ncase, such discerning be not easie, are said to have a Good Judgement:\nand particularly in matter of conversation and businesse; wherein,\ntimes, places, and persons are to be discerned, this Vertue is called\nDISCRETION. The former, that is, Fancy, without the help of Judgement,\nis not commended as a Vertue: but the later which is Judgement, and\nDiscretion, is commended for it selfe, without the help of Fancy.\nBesides the Discretion of times, places, and persons, necessary to a\ngood Fancy, there is required also an often application of his thoughts\nto their End; that is to say, to some use to be made of them. This done;\nhe that hath this Vertue, will be easily fitted with similitudes, that\nwill please, not onely by illustration of his discourse, and adorning it\nwith new and apt metaphors; but also, by the rarity or their invention.\nBut without Steddinesse, and Direction to some End, a great Fancy is one\nkind of Madnesse; such as they have, that entring into any discourse,\nare snatched from their purpose, by every thing that comes in their\nthought, into so many, and so long digressions, and parentheses, that\nthey utterly lose themselves: Which kind of folly, I know no particular\nname for: but the cause of it is, sometimes want of experience; whereby\nthat seemeth to a man new and rare, which doth not so to others:\nsometimes Pusillanimity; by which that seems great to him, which other\nmen think a trifle: and whatsoever is new, or great, and therefore\nthought fit to be told, withdrawes a man by degrees from the intended\nway of his discourse.\n\nIn a good Poem, whether it be Epique, or Dramatique; as also in Sonnets,\nEpigrams, and other Pieces, both Judgement and Fancy are required:\nBut the Fancy must be more eminent; because they please for the\nExtravagancy; but ought not to displease by Indiscretion.\n\nIn a good History, the Judgement must be eminent; because the goodnesse\nconsisteth, in the Method, in the Truth, and in the Choyse of the\nactions that are most profitable to be known. Fancy has no place, but\nonely in adorning the stile.\n\nIn Orations of Prayse, and in Invectives, the Fancy is praedominant;\nbecause the designe is not truth, but to Honour or Dishonour; which is\ndone by noble, or by vile comparisons. The Judgement does but suggest\nwhat circumstances make an action laudable, or culpable.\n\nIn Hortatives, and Pleadings, as Truth, or Disguise serveth best to the\nDesigne in hand; so is the Judgement, or the Fancy most required.\n\nIn Demonstration, in Councell, and all rigourous search of Truth,\nJudgement does all; except sometimes the understanding have need to be\nopened by some apt similitude; and then there is so much use of Fancy.\nBut for Metaphors, they are in this case utterly excluded. For seeing\nthey openly professe deceipt; to admit them into Councell, or Reasoning,\nwere manifest folly.\n\nAnd in any Discourse whatsoever, if the defect of Discretion be\napparent, how extravagant soever the Fancy be, the whole discourse\nwill be taken for a signe of want of wit; and so will it never when the\nDiscretion is manifest, though the Fancy be never so ordinary.\n\nThe secret thoughts of a man run over all things, holy, prophane,\nclean, obscene, grave, and light, without shame, or blame; which verball\ndiscourse cannot do, farther than the Judgement shall approve of the\nTime, Place, and Persons. An Anatomist, or a Physitian may speak, or\nwrite his judgement of unclean things; because it is not to please,\nbut profit: but for another man to write his extravagant, and pleasant\nfancies of the same, is as if a man, from being tumbled into the dirt,\nshould come and present himselfe before good company. And ’tis the want\nof Discretion that makes the difference. Again, in profest remissnesse\nof mind, and familiar company, a man may play with the sounds, and\naequivocal significations of words; and that many times with encounters\nof extraordinary Fancy: but in a Sermon, or in publique, or before\npersons unknown, or whom we ought to reverence, there is no Gingling of\nwords that will not be accounted folly: and the difference is onely in\nthe want of Discretion. So that where Wit is wanting, it is not Fancy\nthat is wanting, but Discretion. Judgement therefore without Fancy is\nWit, but Fancy without Judgement not.\n\n\n\n\nPrudence\n\nWhen the thoughts of a man, that has a designe in hand, running over a\nmultitude of things, observes how they conduce to that designe; or what\ndesigne they may conduce into; if his observations be such as are not\neasie, or usuall, This wit of his is called PRUDENCE; and dependeth on\nmuch Experience, and Memory of the like things, and their consequences\nheretofore. In which there is not so much difference of Men, as there is\nin their Fancies and Judgements; Because the Experience of men equall\nin age, is not much unequall, as to the quantity; but lyes in different\noccasions; every one having his private designes. To govern well a\nfamily, and a kingdome, are not different degrees of Prudence; but\ndifferent sorts of businesse; no more then to draw a picture in little,\nor as great, or greater then the life, are different degrees of Art. A\nplain husband-man is more Prudent in affaires of his own house, then a\nPrivy Counseller in the affaires of another man.\n\n\n\n\nCraft\n\nTo Prudence, if you adde the use of unjust, or dishonest means, such\nas usually are prompted to men by Feare, or Want; you have that Crooked\nWisdome, which is called CRAFT; which is a signe of Pusillanimity. For\nMagnanimity is contempt of unjust, or dishonest helps. And that which\nthe Latines Call Versutia, (translated into English, Shifting,) and is\na putting off of a present danger or incommodity, by engaging into\na greater, as when a man robbs one to pay another, is but a shorter\nsighted Craft, called Versutia, from Versura, which signifies taking\nmony at usurie, for the present payment of interest.\n\n\n\n\nAcquired Wit\n\nAs for Acquired Wit, (I mean acquired by method and instruction,) there\nis none but Reason; which is grounded on the right use of Speech; and\nproduceth the Sciences. But of Reason and Science, I have already spoken\nin the fifth and sixth Chapters.\n\nThe causes of this difference of Witts, are in the Passions: and\nthe difference of Passions, proceedeth partly from the different\nConstitution of the body, and partly from different Education. For if\nthe difference proceeded from the temper of the brain, and the organs of\nSense, either exterior or interior, there would be no lesse difference\nof men in their Sight, Hearing, or other Senses, than in their Fancies,\nand Discretions. It proceeds therefore from the Passions; which are\ndifferent, not onely from the difference of mens complexions; but also\nfrom their difference of customes, and education.\n\nThe Passions that most of all cause the differences of Wit, are\nprincipally, the more or lesse Desire of Power, of Riches, of Knowledge,\nand of Honour. All which may be reduced to the first, that is Desire of\nPower. For Riches, Knowledge and Honour are but severall sorts of Power.\n\n\n\n\nGiddinesse Madnesse\n\nAnd therefore, a man who has no great Passion for any of these things;\nbut is as men terme it indifferent; though he may be so farre a good\nman, as to be free from giving offence; yet he cannot possibly have\neither a great Fancy, or much Judgement. For the Thoughts, are to the\nDesires, as Scouts, and Spies, to range abroad, and find the way to the\nthings Desired: All Stedinesse of the minds motion, and all quicknesse\nof the same, proceeding from thence. For as to have no Desire, is to\nbe Dead: so to have weak Passions, is Dulnesse; and to have Passions\nindifferently for every thing, GIDDINESSE, and Distraction; and to have\nstronger, and more vehement Passions for any thing, than is ordinarily\nseen in others, is that which men call MADNESSE.\n\nWhereof there be almost as many kinds, as of the Passions themselves.\nSometimes the extraordinary and extravagant Passion, proceedeth from the\nevill constitution of the organs of the Body, or harme done them; and\nsometimes the hurt, and indisposition of the Organs, is caused by the\nvehemence, or long continuance of the Passion. But in both cases the\nMadnesse is of one and the same nature.\n\nThe Passion, whose violence, or continuance maketh Madnesse, is either\ngreat Vaine-Glory; which is commonly called Pride, and Selfe-Conceipt;\nor great Dejection of mind.\n\n\n\n\nRage\n\nPride, subjecteth a man to Anger, the excesse whereof, is the Madnesse\ncalled RAGE, and FURY. And thus it comes to passe that excessive desire\nof Revenge, when it becomes habituall, hurteth the organs, and becomes\nRage: That excessive love, with jealousie, becomes also Rage: Excessive\nopinion of a mans own selfe, for divine inspiration, for wisdome,\nlearning, forme, and the like, becomes Distraction, and Giddinesse:\nthe same, joyned with Envy, Rage: Vehement opinion of the truth of any\nthing, contradicted by others, Rage.\n\n\n\n\nMelancholy\n\nDejection, subjects a man to causelesse fears; which is a Madnesse\ncommonly called MELANCHOLY, apparent also in divers manners; as in\nhaunting of solitudes, and graves; in superstitious behaviour; and in\nfearing some one, some another particular thing. In summe, all Passions\nthat produce strange and unusuall behaviour, are called by the generall\nname of Madnesse. But of the severall kinds of Madnesse, he that\nwould take the paines, might enrowle a legion. And if the Excesses be\nmadnesse, there is no doubt but the Passions themselves, when they tend\nto Evill, are degrees of the same.\n\n(For example,) Though the effect of folly, in them that are possessed of\nan opinion of being inspired, be not visible alwayes in one man, by any\nvery extravagant action, that proceedeth from such Passion; yet when\nmany of them conspire together, the Rage of the whole multitude is\nvisible enough. For what argument of Madnesse can there be greater, than\nto clamour, strike, and throw stones at our best friends? Yet this is\nsomewhat lesse than such a multitude will do. For they will clamour,\nfight against, and destroy those, by whom all their lifetime before,\nthey have been protected, and secured from injury. And if this be\nMadnesse in the multitude, it is the same in every particular man. For\nas in the middest of the sea, though a man perceive no sound of\nthat part of the water next him; yet he is well assured, that part\ncontributes as much, to the Roaring of the Sea, as any other part, of\nthe same quantity: so also, thought wee perceive no great unquietnesse,\nin one, or two men; yet we may be well assured, that their singular\nPassions, are parts of the Seditious roaring of a troubled Nation. And\nif there were nothing else that bewrayed their madnesse; yet that very\narrogating such inspiration to themselves, is argument enough. If some\nman in Bedlam should entertaine you with sober discourse; and you desire\nin taking leave, to know what he were, that you might another time\nrequite his civility; and he should tell you, he were God the Father;\nI think you need expect no extravagant action for argument of his\nMadnesse.\n\nThis opinion of Inspiration, called commonly, Private Spirit, begins\nvery often, from some lucky finding of an Errour generally held by\nothers; and not knowing, or not remembring, by what conduct of reason,\nthey came to so singular a truth, (as they think it, though it be many\ntimes an untruth they light on,) they presently admire themselves; as\nbeing in the speciall grace of God Almighty, who hath revealed the same\nto them supernaturally, by his Spirit.\n\nAgain, that Madnesse is nothing else, but too much appearing Passion,\nmay be gathered out of the effects of Wine, which are the same with\nthose of the evill disposition of the organs. For the variety of\nbehaviour in men that have drunk too much, is the same with that of\nMad-men: some of them Raging, others Loving, others laughing, all\nextravagantly, but according to their severall domineering Passions:\nFor the effect of the wine, does but remove Dissimulation; and take from\nthem the sight of the deformity of their Passions. For, (I believe) the\nmost sober men, when they walk alone without care and employment of the\nmind, would be unwilling the vanity and Extravagance of their thoughts\nat that time should be publiquely seen: which is a confession, that\nPassions unguided, are for the most part meere Madnesse.\n\nThe opinions of the world, both in antient and later ages, concerning\nthe cause of madnesse, have been two. Some, deriving them from the\nPassions; some, from Daemons, or Spirits, either good, or bad, which\nthey thought might enter into a man, possesse him, and move his organs\nis such strange, and uncouth manner, as mad-men use to do. The former\nsort therefore, called such men, Mad-men: but the Later, called them\nsometimes Daemoniacks, (that is, possessed with spirits;) sometimes\nEnergumeni, (that is agitated, or moved with spirits;) and now in\nItaly they are called not onely Pazzi, Mad-men; but also Spiritati, men\npossest.\n\nThere was once a great conflux of people in Abdera, a City of the\nGreeks, at the acting of the Tragedy of Andromeda, upon an extream hot\nday: whereupon, a great many of the spectators falling into Fevers, had\nthis accident from the heat, and from The Tragedy together, that they\ndid nothing but pronounce Iambiques, with the names of Perseus and\nAndromeda; which together with the Fever, was cured, by the comming on\nof Winter: And this madnesse was thought to proceed from the Passion\nimprinted by the Tragedy. Likewise there raigned a fit of madnesse in\nanother Graecian city, which seized onely the young Maidens; and caused\nmany of them to hang themselves. This was by most then thought an act of\nthe Divel. But one that suspected, that contempt of life in them,\nmight proceed from some Passion of the mind, and supposing they did not\ncontemne also their honour, gave counsell to the Magistrates, to strip\nsuch as so hang’d themselves, and let them hang out naked. This the\nstory sayes cured that madnesse. But on the other side, the same\nGraecians, did often ascribe madnesse, to the operation of the\nEumenides, or Furyes; and sometimes of Ceres, Phoebus, and other Gods:\nso much did men attribute to Phantasmes, as to think them aereal living\nbodies; and generally to call them Spirits. And as the Romans in this,\nheld the same opinion with the Greeks: so also did the Jewes; For they\ncalle mad-men Prophets, or (according as they thought the spirits\ngood or bad) Daemoniacks; and some of them called both Prophets, and\nDaemoniacks, mad-men; and some called the same man both Daemoniack, and\nmad-man. But for the Gentiles, ’tis no wonder; because Diseases, and\nHealth; Vices, and Vertues; and many naturall accidents, were with them\ntermed, and worshipped as Daemons. So that a man was to understand by\nDaemon, as well (sometimes) an Ague, as a Divell. But for the Jewes to\nhave such opinion, is somewhat strange. For neither Moses, nor Abraham\npretended to Prophecy by possession of a Spirit; but from the voyce of\nGod; or by a Vision or Dream: Nor is there any thing in his Law,\nMorall, or Ceremoniall, by which they were taught, there was any such\nEnthusiasme; or any Possession. When God is sayd, (Numb. 11. 25.) to\ntake from the Spirit that was in Moses, and give it to the 70. Elders,\nthe Spirit of God (taking it for the substance of God) is not divided.\nThe Scriptures by the Spirit of God in man, mean a mans spirit, enclined\nto Godlinesse. And where it is said (Exod. 28. 3.) \"Whom I have filled\nwith the Spirit of wisdome to make garments for Aaron,\" is not meant a\nspirit put into them, that can make garments; but the wisdome of their\nown spirits in that kind of work. In the like sense, the spirit of\nman, when it produceth unclean actions, is ordinarily called an unclean\nspirit; and so other spirits, though not alwayes, yet as often as the\nvertue or vice so stiled, is extraordinary, and Eminent. Neither did the\nother Prophets of the old Testament pretend Enthusiasme; or, that God\nspake in them; but to them by Voyce, Vision, or Dream; and the Burthen\nOf The Lord was not Possession, but Command. How then could the Jewes\nfall into this opinion of possession? I can imagine no reason, but that\nwhich is common to all men; namely, the want of curiosity to search\nnaturall causes; and their placing Felicity, in the acquisition of the\ngrosse pleasures of the Senses, and the things that most immediately\nconduce thereto. For they that see any strange, and unusuall ability, or\ndefect in a mans mind; unlesse they see withall, from what cause it may\nprobably proceed, can hardly think it naturall; and if not naturall,\nthey must needs thinke it supernaturall; and then what can it be, but\nthat either God, or the Divell is in him? And hence it came to passe,\nwhen our Saviour (Mark 3.21.) was compassed about with the multitude,\nthose of the house doubted he was mad, and went out to hold him: but\nthe Scribes said he had Belzebub, and that was it, by which he cast out\ndivels; as if the greater mad-man had awed the lesser. And that (John\n10. 20.) some said, \"He hath a Divell, and is mad;\" whereas others\nholding him for a Prophet, sayd, \"These are not the words of one that\nhath a Divell.\" So in the old Testament he that came to anoynt Jehu, (2\nKings 9.11.) was a Prophet; but some of the company asked Jehu, \"What\ncame that mad-man for?\" So that in summe, it is manifest, that whosoever\nbehaved himselfe in extraordinary manner, was thought by the Jewes to be\npossessed either with a good, or evill spirit; except by the Sadduces,\nwho erred so farre on the other hand, as not to believe there were at\nall any spirits, (which is very neere to direct Atheisme;) and thereby\nperhaps the more provoked others, to terme such men Daemoniacks, rather\nthan mad-men.\n\nBut why then does our Saviour proceed in the curing of them, as if they\nwere possest; and not as if they were mad. To which I can give no other\nkind of answer, but that which is given to those that urge the Scripture\nin like manner against the opinion of the motion of the Earth. The\nScripture was written to shew unto men the kingdome of God; and to\nprepare their mindes to become his obedient subjects; leaving the\nworld, and the Philosophy thereof, to the disputation of men, for the\nexercising of their naturall Reason. Whether the Earths, or Suns motion\nmake the day, and night; or whether the Exorbitant actions of men,\nproceed from Passion, or from the Divell, (so we worship him not) it is\nall one, as to our obedience, and subjection to God Almighty; which is\nthe thing for which the Scripture was written. As for that our Saviour\nspeaketh to the disease, as to a person; it is the usuall phrase of all\nthat cure by words onely, as Christ did, (and Inchanters pretend to\ndo, whether they speak to a Divel or not.) For is not Christ also said\n(Math. 8.26.) to have rebuked the winds? Is not he said also (Luk. 4.\n39.) to rebuke a Fever? Yet this does not argue that a Fever is a Divel.\nAnd whereas many of these Divels are said to confesse Christ; it is not\nnecessary to interpret those places otherwise, than that those mad-men\nconfessed him. And whereas our Saviour (Math. 12. 43.) speaketh of an\nunclean Spirit, that having gone out of a man, wandreth through dry\nplaces, seeking rest, and finding none; and returning into the same\nman, with seven other spirits worse than himselfe; It is manifestly a\nParable, alluding to a man, that after a little endeavour to quit his\nlusts, is vanquished by the strength of them; and becomes seven times\nworse than he was. So that I see nothing at all in the Scripture, that\nrequireth a beliefe, that Daemoniacks were any other thing but Mad-men.\n\n\n\n\nInsignificant Speech\n\nThere is yet another fault in the Discourses of some men; which may also\nbe numbred amongst the sorts of Madnesse; namely, that abuse of words,\nwhereof I have spoken before in the fifth chapter, by the Name of\nAbsurdity. And that is, when men speak such words, as put together, have\nin them no signification at all; but are fallen upon by some, through\nmisunderstanding of the words they have received, and repeat by rote; by\nothers, from intention to deceive by obscurity. And this is incident to\nnone but those, that converse in questions of matters incomprehensible,\nas the Schoole-men; or in questions of abstruse Philosophy. The common\nsort of men seldome speak Insignificantly, and are therefore, by those\nother Egregious persons counted Idiots. But to be assured their words\nare without any thing correspondent to them in the mind, there would\nneed some Examples; which if any man require, let him take a Schoole-man\ninto his hands, and see if he can translate any one chapter concerning\nany difficult point; as the Trinity; the Deity; the nature of Christ;\nTransubstantiation; Free-will. &c. into any of the moderne tongues, so\nas to make the same intelligible; or into any tolerable Latine, such\nas they were acquainted withall, that lived when the Latine tongue was\nVulgar. What is the meaning of these words. \"The first cause does not\nnecessarily inflow any thing into the second, by force of the Essential\nsubordination of the second causes, by which it may help it to worke?\"\nThey are the Translation of the Title of the sixth chapter of Suarez\nfirst Booke, Of The Concourse, Motion, And Help Of God. When men write\nwhole volumes of such stuffe, are they not Mad, or intend to make others\nso? And particularly, in the question of Transubstantiation; where\nafter certain words spoken, they that say, the White-nesse, Round-nesse,\nMagni-tude, Quali-ty, Corruptibili-ty, all which are incorporeall, &c.\ngo out of the Wafer, into the Body of our blessed Saviour, do they not\nmake those Nesses, Tudes and Ties, to be so many spirits possessing his\nbody? For by Spirits, they mean alwayes things, that being incorporeall,\nare neverthelesse moveable from one place to another. So that this kind\nof Absurdity, may rightly be numbred amongst the many sorts of Madnesse;\nand all the time that guided by clear Thoughts of their worldly lust,\nthey forbear disputing, or writing thus, but Lucide Intervals. And thus\nmuch of the Vertues and Defects Intellectuall.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. OF THE SEVERALL SUBJECTS OF KNOWLEDGE\n\n\nThere are of KNOWLEDGE two kinds; whereof one is Knowledge Of Fact: the\nother Knowledge Of The Consequence Of One Affirmation To Another. The\nformer is nothing else, but Sense and Memory, and is Absolute Knowledge;\nas when we see a Fact doing, or remember it done: And this is the\nKnowledge required in a Witnesse. The later is called Science; and is\nConditionall; as when we know, that, If The Figure Showne Be A Circle,\nThen Any Straight Line Through The Centre Shall Divide It Into Two\nEquall Parts. And this is the Knowledge required in a Philosopher; that\nis to say, of him that pretends to Reasoning.\n\nThe Register of Knowledge Of Fact is called History. Whereof there be\ntwo sorts: one called Naturall History; which is the History of such\nFacts, or Effects of Nature, as have no Dependance on Mans Will; Such as\nare the Histories of Metals, Plants, Animals, Regions, and the like. The\nother, is Civill History; which is the History of the Voluntary Actions\nof men in Common-wealths.\n\nThe Registers of Science, are such Books as contain the Demonstrations\nof Consequences of one Affirmation, to another; and are commonly called\nBooks of Philosophy; whereof the sorts are many, according to the\ndiversity of the Matter; And may be divided in such manner as I have\ndivided them in the following Table.\n\n  I. Science, that is, Knowledge of Consequences; which is called\n     also PHILOSOPHY\n\n     A.  Consequences from Accidents of Bodies Naturall; which is\n        called NATURALL PHILOSOPHY\n\n        1.  Consequences from the Accidents common to all Bodies Naturall;\n           which are Quantity, and Motion.\n\n           a.  Consequences from Quantity, and Motion Indeterminate;\n              which, being the Principles or first foundation of\n              Philosophy, is called Philosophia Prima\n\n              PHILOSOPHIA PRIMA\n\n           b.  Consequences from Motion, and Quantity Determined\n\n              1) Consequences from Quantity, and Motion Determined\n\n                 a) By Figure, By Number\n\n                   1] Mathematiques,\n\n                      GEOMETRY\n                      ARITHMETIQUE\n\n              2) Consequences from the Motion, and Quantity of Bodies in\n                 Speciall\n\n                 a) Consequences from the Motion, and Quantity of the\n                    great parts of the World, as the Earth and Stars,\n\n                    1] Cosmography\n\n                       ASTRONOMY\n                       GEOGRAPHY\n\n                 b) Consequences from the Motion of Speciall kinds, and\n                    Figures of Body,\n\n                    1] Mechaniques, Doctrine of Weight\n\n                       Science of\n                       ENGINEERS\n                       ARCHITECTURE\n                       NAVIGATION\n\n        2.  PHYSIQUES, or Consequences from Qualities\n\n           a.  Consequences from the Qualities of Bodies Transient, such\n              as sometimes appear, sometimes vanish\n\n              METEOROLOGY\n\n           b.  Consequences from the Qualities of Bodies Permanent\n\n              1) Consequences from the Qualities of the Starres\n\n                 a) Consequences from the Light of the Starres.  Out of\n                    this, and the Motion of the Sunne, is made the\n                    Science of\n\n                    SCIOGRAPHY\n\n                 b) Consequences from the Influence of the Starres,\n\n                    ASTROLOGY\n\n              2) Consequences of the Qualities from Liquid Bodies that\n                 fill the space between the Starres; such as are the\n                 Ayre, or substance aetherial.\n\n\n              3) Consequences from Qualities of Bodies Terrestrial\n\n                 a) Consequences from parts of the Earth that are\n                    without Sense,\n\n                    1] Consequences from Qualities of Minerals, as\n                       Stones, Metals, &c\n.                    2] Consequences from the Qualities of Vegetables\n\n                 b) Consequences from Qualities of Animals\n\n                    1] Consequences from Qualities of Animals in\n                       Generall\n\n                       a] Consequences from Vision,\n\n                          OPTIQUES\n\n                       b] Consequences from Sounds,\n\n                          MUSIQUE\n\n                       c] Consequences from the rest of the senses\n\n                    2] Consequences from Qualities of Men in Speciall\n\n                       a] Consequences from Passions of Men,\n\n                          ETHIQUES\n\n                       b] Consequences from Speech,\n\n                          i) In Magnifying, Vilifying, etc.\n\n                             POETRY\n\n                          ii) In Persuading,\n\n                              RHETORIQUE\n\n                          iii) In Reasoning,\n\n                               LOGIQUE\n\n                          iv) In Contracting,\n\n                              The Science of\n                              JUST and UNJUST\n\n\n     B.  Consequences from the Accidents of Politique Bodies; which is\n        called POLITIQUES, and CIVILL PHILOSOPHY\n\n        1.  Of Consequences from the Institution of COMMON-WEALTHS, to\n           the Rights, and Duties of the Body Politique, or Soveraign.\n\n        2.  Of Consequences from the same, to the Duty and Right of\n           the Subjects.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. OF POWER, WORTH, DIGNITY, HONOUR AND WORTHINESS\n\n\n\n\nPower\n\nThe POWER of a Man, (to take it Universally,) is his present means,\nto obtain some future apparent Good. And is either Originall, or\nInstrumentall.\n\nNaturall Power, is the eminence of the Faculties of Body, or Mind: as\nextraordinary Strength, Forme, Prudence, Arts, Eloquence, Liberality,\nNobility. Instrumentall are those Powers, which acquired by these, or\nby fortune, are means and Instruments to acquire more: as Riches,\nReputation, Friends, and the Secret working of God, which men call\nGood Luck. For the nature of Power, is in this point, like to Fame,\nincreasing as it proceeds; or like the motion of heavy bodies, which the\nfurther they go, make still the more hast.\n\nThe Greatest of humane Powers, is that which is compounded of the Powers\nof most men, united by consent, in one person, Naturall, or civill, that\nhas the use of all their Powers depending on his will; such as is the\nPower of a Common-wealth: or depending on the wills of each particular;\nsuch as is the Power of a Faction, or of divers factions leagued.\nTherefore to have servants, is Power; To have Friends, is Power: for\nthey are strengths united.\n\nAlso Riches joyned with liberality, is Power; because it procureth\nfriends, and servants: Without liberality, not so; because in this case\nthey defend not; but expose men to Envy, as a Prey.\n\nReputation of power, is Power; because it draweth with it the adhaerance\nof those that need protection.\n\nSo is Reputation of love of a mans Country, (called Popularity,) for the\nsame Reason.\n\nAlso, what quality soever maketh a man beloved, or feared of many; or\nthe reputation of such quality, is Power; because it is a means to have\nthe assistance, and service of many.\n\nGood successe is Power; because it maketh reputation of Wisdome, or good\nfortune; which makes men either feare him, or rely on him.\n\nAffability of men already in power, is encrease of Power; because it\ngaineth love.\n\nReputation of Prudence in the conduct of Peace or War, is Power; because\nto prudent men, we commit the government of our selves, more willingly\nthan to others.\n\nNobility is Power, not in all places, but onely in those Common-wealths,\nwhere it has Priviledges: for in such priviledges consisteth their\nPower.\n\nEloquence is Power; because it is seeming Prudence.\n\nForme is Power; because being a promise of Good, it recommendeth men to\nthe favour of women and strangers.\n\nThe Sciences, are small Power; because not eminent; and therefore, not\nacknowledged in any man; nor are at all, but in a few; and in them, but\nof a few things. For Science is of that nature, as none can understand\nit to be, but such as in a good measure have attayned it.\n\nArts of publique use, as Fortification, making of Engines, and other\nInstruments of War; because they conferre to Defence, and Victory,\nare Power; And though the true Mother of them, be Science, namely the\nMathematiques; yet, because they are brought into the Light, by the hand\nof the Artificer, they be esteemed (the Midwife passing with the vulgar\nfor the Mother,) as his issue.\n\n\n\n\nWorth\n\nThe Value, or WORTH of a man, is as of all other things, his Price;\nthat is to say, so much as would be given for the use of his Power:\nand therefore is not absolute; but a thing dependant on the need and\njudgement of another. An able conductor of Souldiers, is of great Price\nin time of War present, or imminent; but in Peace not so. A learned and\nuncorrupt Judge, is much Worth in time of Peace; but not so much in\nWar. And as in other things, so in men, not the seller, but the buyer\ndetermines the Price. For let a man (as most men do,) rate themselves as\nthe highest Value they can; yet their true Value is no more than it is\nesteemed by others.\n\nThe manifestation of the Value we set on one another, is that which is\ncommonly called Honouring, and Dishonouring. To Value a man at a high\nrate, is to Honour him; at a low rate, is to Dishonour him. But high,\nand low, in this case, is to be understood by comparison to the rate\nthat each man setteth on himselfe.\n\n\n\n\nDignity\n\nThe publique worth of a man, which is the Value set on him by the\nCommon-wealth, is that which men commonly call DIGNITY. And this Value\nof him by the Common-wealth, is understood, by offices of Command,\nJudicature, publike Employment; or by Names and Titles, introduced for\ndistinction of such Value.\n\n\n\n\nTo Honour and Dishonour\n\nTo pray to another, for ayde of any kind, is to HONOUR; because a signe\nwe have an opinion he has power to help; and the more difficult the ayde\nis, the more is the Honour.\n\nTo obey, is to Honour; because no man obeyes them, whom they think\nhave no power to help, or hurt them. And consequently to disobey, is to\nDishonour.\n\nTo give great gifts to a man, is to Honour him; because ’tis buying\nof Protection, and acknowledging of Power. To give little gifts, is to\nDishonour; because it is but Almes, and signifies an opinion of the\nneed of small helps. To be sedulous in promoting anothers good; also\nto flatter, is to Honour; as a signe we seek his protection or ayde. To\nneglect, is to Dishonour.\n\nTo give way, or place to another, in any Commodity, is to Honour; being\na confession of greater power. To arrogate, is to Dishonour.\n\nTo shew any signe of love, or feare of another, is to Honour; for both\nto love, and to feare, is to value. To contemne, or lesse to love or\nfeare then he expects, is to Dishonour; for ’tis undervaluing.\n\nTo praise, magnifie, or call happy, is to Honour; because nothing but\ngoodnesse, power, and felicity is valued. To revile, mock, or pitty, is\nto Dishonour.\n\nTo speak to another with consideration, to appear before him with\ndecency, and humility, is to Honour him; as signes of fear to offend.\nTo speak to him rashly, to do anything before him obscenely, slovenly,\nimpudently, is to Dishonour.\n\nTo believe, to trust, to rely on another, is to Honour him; signe of\nopinion of his vertue and power. To distrust, or not believe, is to\nDishonour.\n\nTo hearken to a mans counsell, or discourse of what kind soever, is to\nHonour; as a signe we think him wise, or eloquent, or witty. To sleep,\nor go forth, or talk the while, is to Dishonour.\n\nTo do those things to another, which he takes for signes of Honour, or\nwhich the Law or Custome makes so, is to Honour; because in approving\nthe Honour done by others, he acknowledgeth the power which others\nacknowledge. To refuse to do them, is to Dishonour.\n\nTo agree with in opinion, is to Honour; as being a signe of approving\nhis judgement, and wisdome. To dissent, is Dishonour; and an upbraiding\nof errour; and (if the dissent be in many things) of folly.\n\nTo imitate, is to Honour; for it is vehemently to approve. To imitate\nones Enemy, is to Dishonour.\n\nTo honour those another honours, is to Honour him; as a signe of\napprobation of his judgement. To honour his Enemies, is to Dishonour\nhim.\n\nTo employ in counsell, or in actions of difficulty, is to Honour; as a\nsigne of opinion of his wisdome, or other power. To deny employment in\nthe same cases, to those that seek it, is to Dishonour.\n\nAll these wayes of Honouring, are naturall; and as well within, as\nwithout Common-wealths. But in Common-wealths, where he, or they that\nhave the supreme Authority, can make whatsoever they please, to stand\nfor signes of Honour, there be other Honours.\n\nA Soveraigne doth Honour a Subject, with whatsoever Title, or Office, or\nEmployment, or Action, that he himselfe will have taken for a signe of\nhis will to Honour him.\n\nThe King of Persia, Honoured Mordecay, when he appointed he should be\nconducted through the streets in the Kings Garment, upon one of the\nKings Horses, with a Crown on his head, and a Prince before him,\nproclayming, \"Thus shall it be done to him that the King will honour.\"\nAnd yet another King of Persia, or the same another time, to one that\ndemanded for some great service, to weare one of the Kings robes, gave\nhim leave so to do; but with his addition, that he should weare it as\nthe Kings foole; and then it was Dishonour. So that of Civill Honour;\nsuch as are Magistracy, Offices, Titles; and in some places Coats, and\nScutchions painted: and men Honour such as have them, as having so many\nsignes of favour in the Common-wealth; which favour is Power.\n\nHonourable is whatsoever possession, action, or quality, is an argument\nand signe of Power.\n\nAnd therefore To be Honoured, loved, or feared of many, is Honourable;\nas arguments of Power. To be Honoured of few or none, Dishonourable.\n\nGood fortune (if lasting,) Honourable; as a signe of the favour of God.\nIll fortune, and losses, Dishonourable. Riches, are Honourable; for\nthey are Power. Poverty, Dishonourable. Magnanimity, Liberality,\nHope, Courage, Confidence, are Honourable; for they proceed from the\nconscience of Power. Pusillanimity, Parsimony, Fear, Diffidence, are\nDishonourable.\n\nTimely Resolution, or determination of what a man is to do, is\nHonourable; as being the contempt of small difficulties, and dangers.\nAnd Irresolution, Dishonourable; as a signe of too much valuing of\nlittle impediments, and little advantages: For when a man has weighed\nthings as long as the time permits, and resolves not, the difference\nof weight is but little; and therefore if he resolve not, he overvalues\nlittle things, which is Pusillanimity.\n\nAll Actions, and Speeches, that proceed, or seem to proceed from much\nExperience, Science, Discretion, or Wit, are Honourable; For all these\nare Powers. Actions, or Words that proceed from Errour, Ignorance, or\nFolly, Dishonourable.\n\nGravity, as farre forth as it seems to proceed from a mind employed on\nsome thing else, is Honourable; because employment is a signe of\nPower. But if it seem to proceed from a purpose to appear grave, it is\nDishonourable. For the gravity of the Former, is like the steddinesse of\na Ship laden with Merchandise; but of the later, like the steddinesse of\na Ship ballasted with Sand, and other trash.\n\nTo be Conspicuous, that is to say, to be known, for Wealth, Office,\ngreat Actions, or any eminent Good, is Honourable; as a signe of the\npower for which he is conspicuous. On the contrary, Obscurity, is\nDishonourable.\n\nTo be descended from conspicuous Parents, is Honourable; because they\nthe more easily attain the aydes, and friends of their Ancestors. On the\ncontrary, to be descended from obscure Parentage, is Dishonourable.\n\nActions proceeding from Equity, joyned with losse, are Honourable;\nas signes of Magnanimity: for Magnanimity is a signe of Power. On the\ncontrary, Craft, Shifting, neglect of Equity, is Dishonourable.\n\nNor does it alter the case of Honour, whether an action (so it be great\nand difficult, and consequently a signe of much power,) be just or\nunjust: for Honour consisteth onely in the opinion of Power. Therefore\nthe ancient Heathen did not thinke they Dishonoured, but greatly\nHonoured the Gods, when they introduced them in their Poems, committing\nRapes, Thefts, and other great, but unjust, or unclean acts: In so much\nas nothing is so much celebrated in Jupiter, as his Adulteries; nor\nin Mercury, as his Frauds, and Thefts: of whose praises, in a hymne\nof Homer, the greatest is this, that being born in the morning, he had\ninvented Musique at noon, and before night, stolen away the Cattell of\nAppollo, from his Herdsmen.\n\nAlso amongst men, till there were constituted great Common-wealths,\nit was thought no dishonour to be a Pyrate, or a High-way Theefe; but\nrather a lawfull Trade, not onely amongst the Greeks, but also amongst\nall other Nations; as is manifest by the Histories of antient time. And\nat this day, in this part of the world, private Duels are, and alwayes\nwill be Honourable, though unlawfull, till such time as there shall be\nHonour ordained for them that refuse, and Ignominy for them that make\nthe Challenge. For Duels also are many times effects of Courage; and the\nground of Courage is alwayes Strength or Skill, which are Power; though\nfor the most part they be effects of rash speaking, and of the fear of\nDishonour, in one, or both the Combatants; who engaged by rashnesse, are\ndriven into the Lists to avoyd disgrace.\n\nScutchions, and coats of Armes haereditary, where they have any eminent\nPriviledges, are Honourable; otherwise not: for their Power consisteth\neither in such Priviledges, or in Riches, or some such thing as is\nequally honoured in other men. This kind of Honour, commonly called\nGentry, has been derived from the Antient Germans. For there never was\nany such thing known, where the German Customes were unknown. Nor is it\nnow any where in use, where the Germans have not inhabited. The antient\nGreek Commanders, when they went to war, had their Shields painted with\nsuch Devises as they pleased; insomuch as an unpainted Buckler was a\nsigne of Poverty, and of a common Souldier: but they transmitted not the\nInheritance of them. The Romans transmitted the Marks of their Families:\nbut they were the Images, not the Devises of their Ancestors. Amongst\nthe people of Asia, Afrique, and America, there is not, nor was ever,\nany such thing. The Germans onely had that custome; from whom it has\nbeen derived into England, France, Spain, and Italy, when in great\nnumbers they either ayded the Romans, or made their own Conquests in\nthese Westerne parts of the world.\n\nFor Germany, being antiently, as all other Countries, in their\nbeginnings, divided amongst an infinite number of little Lords, or\nMasters of Families, that continually had wars one with another; those\nMasters, or Lords, principally to the end they might, when they were\nCovered with Arms, be known by their followers; and partly for ornament,\nboth painted their Armor, or their Scutchion, or Coat, with the picture\nof some Beast, or other thing; and also put some eminent and visible\nmark upon the Crest of their Helmets. And his ornament both of the\nArmes, and Crest, descended by inheritance to their Children; to the\neldest pure, and to the rest with some note of diversity, such as the\nOld master, that is to say in Dutch, the Here-alt thought fit. But when\nmany such Families, joyned together, made a greater Monarchy, this duty\nof the Herealt, to distinguish Scutchions, was made a private Office\na part. And the issue of these Lords, is the great and antient Gentry;\nwhich for the most part bear living creatures, noted for courage, and\nrapine; or Castles, Battlements, Belts, Weapons, Bars, Palisadoes, and\nother notes of War; nothing being then in honour, but vertue military.\nAfterwards, not onely Kings, but popular Common-wealths, gave divers\nmanners of Scutchions, to such as went forth to the War, or returned\nfrom it, for encouragement, or recompence to their service. All which,\nby an observing Reader, may be found in such ancient Histories, Greek\nand Latine, as make mention of the German Nation, and Manners, in their\ntimes.\n\n\n\n\nTitles of Honour\n\nTitles of Honour, such as are Duke, Count, Marquis, and Baron, are\nHonourable; as signifying the value set upon them by the Soveraigne\nPower of the Common-wealth: Which Titles, were in old time titles\nof Office, and Command, derived some from the Romans, some from the\nGermans, and French. Dukes, in Latine Duces, being Generalls in War:\nCounts, Comites, such as bare the Generall company out of friendship;\nand were left to govern and defend places conquered, and pacified:\nMarquises, Marchiones, were Counts that governed the Marches, or bounds\nof the Empire. Which titles of Duke, Count, and Marquis, came into the\nEmpire, about the time of Constantine the Great, from the customes of\nthe German Militia. But Baron, seems to have been a Title of the Gaules,\nand signifies a Great man; such as were the Kings, or Princes men, whom\nthey employed in war about their persons; and seems to be derived from\nVir, to Ber, and Bar, that signified the same in the Language of the\nGaules, that Vir in Latine; and thence to Bero, and Baro: so that such\nmen were called Berones, and after Barones; and (in Spanish) Varones.\nBut he that would know more particularly the originall of Titles of\nHonour, may find it, as I have done this, in Mr. Seldens most excellent\nTreatise of that subject. In processe of time these offices of Honour,\nby occasion of trouble, and for reasons of good and peacable government,\nwere turned into meer Titles; serving for the most part, to distinguish\nthe precedence, place, and order of subjects in the Common-wealth: and\nmen were made Dukes, Counts, Marquises, and Barons of Places, wherein\nthey had neither possession, nor command: and other Titles also, were\ndevised to the same end.\n\n\n\n\nWorthinesse Fitnesse\n\nWORTHINESSE, is a thing different from the worth, or value of a man; and\nalso from his merit, or desert; and consisteth in a particular power,\nor ability for that, whereof he is said to be worthy: which particular\nability, is usually named FITNESSE, or Aptitude.\n\nFor he is Worthiest to be a Commander, to be a Judge, or to have any\nother charge, that is best fitted, with the qualities required to the\nwell discharging of it; and Worthiest of Riches, that has the qualities\nmost requisite for the well using of them: any of which qualities being\nabsent, one may neverthelesse be a Worthy man, and valuable for\nsome thing else. Again, a man may be Worthy of Riches, Office, and\nEmployment, that neverthelesse, can plead no right to have it before\nanother; and therefore cannot be said to merit or deserve it. For Merit,\npraesupposeth a right, and that the thing deserved is due by promise: Of\nwhich I shall say more hereafter, when I shall speak of Contracts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. OF THE DIFFERENCE OF MANNERS\n\n\n\n\nWhat Is Here Meant By Manners\n\nBy MANNERS, I mean not here, Decency of behaviour; as how one man should\nsalute another, or how a man should wash his mouth, or pick his teeth\nbefore company, and such other points of the Small Morals; But those\nqualities of man-kind, that concern their living together in Peace, and\nUnity. To which end we are to consider, that the Felicity of this life,\nconsisteth not in the repose of a mind satisfied. For there is no such\nFinis Ultimus, (utmost ayme,) nor Summum Bonum, (greatest good,) as is\nspoken of in the Books of the old Morall Philosophers. Nor can a man\nany more live, whose Desires are at an end, than he, whose Senses and\nImaginations are at a stand. Felicity is a continuall progresse of the\ndesire, from one object to another; the attaining of the former, being\nstill but the way to the later. The cause whereof is, That the object\nof mans desire, is not to enjoy once onely, and for one instant of time;\nbut to assure for ever, the way of his future desire. And therefore the\nvoluntary actions, and inclinations of all men, tend, not only to the\nprocuring, but also to the assuring of a contented life; and differ\nonely in the way: which ariseth partly from the diversity of passions,\nin divers men; and partly from the difference of the knowledge, or\nopinion each one has of the causes, which produce the effect desired.\n\n\n\n\nA Restlesse Desire Of Power, In All Men\n\nSo that in the first place, I put for a generall inclination of all\nmankind, a perpetuall and restlesse desire of Power after power, that\nceaseth onely in Death. And the cause of this, is not alwayes that a man\nhopes for a more intensive delight, than he has already attained to; or\nthat he cannot be content with a moderate power: but because he cannot\nassure the power and means to live well, which he hath present, without\nthe acquisition of more. And from hence it is, that Kings, whose power\nis greatest, turn their endeavours to the assuring it a home by Lawes,\nor abroad by Wars: and when that is done, there succeedeth a new desire;\nin some, of Fame from new Conquest; in others, of ease and sensuall\npleasure; in others, of admiration, or being flattered for excellence in\nsome art, or other ability of the mind.\n\n\n\n\nLove Of Contention From Competition\n\nCompetition of Riches, Honour, command, or other power, enclineth to\nContention, Enmity, and War: because the way of one Competitor, to the\nattaining of his desire, is to kill, subdue, supplant, or repell the\nother. Particularly, competition of praise, enclineth to a reverence of\nAntiquity. For men contend with the living, not with the dead; to these\nascribing more than due, that they may obscure the glory of the other.\n\n\n\n\nCivil Obedience From Love Of Ease\n\nDesire of Ease, and sensuall Delight, disposeth men to obey a common\nPower: because by such Desires, a man doth abandon the protection might\nbe hoped for from his own Industry, and labour.\n\n\n\n\nFrom Feare Of Death Or Wounds\n\nFear of Death, and Wounds, disposeth to the same; and for the same\nreason. On the contrary, needy men, and hardy, not contented with their\npresent condition; as also, all men that are ambitious of Military\ncommand, are enclined to continue the causes of warre; and to stirre up\ntrouble and sedition: for there is no honour Military but by warre; nor\nany such hope to mend an ill game, as by causing a new shuffle.\n\n\n\n\nAnd From Love Of Arts\n\nDesire of Knowledge, and Arts of Peace, enclineth men to obey a common\nPower: For such Desire, containeth a desire of leasure; and consequently\nprotection from some other Power than their own.\n\n\n\n\nLove Of Vertue, From Love Of Praise\n\nDesire of Praise, disposeth to laudable actions, such as please them\nwhose judgement they value; for of these men whom we contemn, we contemn\nalso the Praises. Desire of Fame after death does the same. And though\nafter death, there be no sense of the praise given us on Earth, as being\njoyes, that are either swallowed up in the unspeakable joyes of Heaven,\nor extinguished in the extreme torments of Hell: yet is not such Fame\nvain; because men have a present delight therein, from the foresight\nof it, and of the benefit that may rebound thereby to their posterity:\nwhich though they now see not, yet they imagine; and any thing that is\npleasure in the sense, the same also is pleasure in the imagination.\n\n\n\n\nHate, From Difficulty Of Requiting Great Benefits\n\nTo have received from one, to whom we think our selves equall, greater\nbenefits than there is hope to Requite, disposeth to counterfiet love;\nbut really secret hatred; and puts a man into the estate of a desperate\ndebtor, that in declining the sight of his creditor, tacitely wishes\nhim there, where he might never see him more. For benefits oblige; and\nobligation is thraldome; which is to ones equall, hateful. But to have\nreceived benefits from one, whom we acknowledge our superiour, enclines\nto love; because the obligation is no new depession: and cheerfull\nacceptation, (which men call Gratitude,) is such an honour done to\nthe obliger, as is taken generally for retribution. Also to receive\nbenefits, though from an equall, or inferiour, as long as there is hope\nof requitall, disposeth to love: for in the intention of the receiver,\nthe obligation is of ayd, and service mutuall; from whence proceedeth\nan Emulation of who shall exceed in benefiting; the most noble and\nprofitable contention possible; wherein the victor is pleased with his\nvictory, and the other revenged by confessing it.\n\n\n\n\nAnd From Conscience Of Deserving To Be Hated\n\nTo have done more hurt to a man, than he can, or is willing to expiate,\nenclineth the doer to hate the sufferer. For he must expect revenge, or\nforgivenesse; both which are hatefull.\n\n\n\n\nPromptnesse To Hurt, From Fear\n\nFeare of oppression, disposeth a man to anticipate, or to seek ayd by\nsociety: for there is no other way by which a man can secure his life\nand liberty.\n\n\n\n\nAnd From Distrust Of Their Own Wit\n\nMen that distrust their own subtilty, are in tumult, and sedition,\nbetter disposed for victory, than they that suppose themselves wise,\nor crafty. For these love to consult, the other (fearing to be\ncircumvented,) to strike first. And in sedition, men being alwayes in\nthe procincts of Battell, to hold together, and use all advantages of\nforce, is a better stratagem, than any that can proceed from subtilty of\nWit.\n\n\n\n\nVain Undertaking From Vain-glory\n\nVain-glorious men, such as without being conscious to themselves of\ngreat sufficiency, delight in supposing themselves gallant men, are\nenclined onely to ostentation; but not to attempt: Because when\ndanger or difficulty appears, they look for nothing but to have their\ninsufficiency discovered.\n\nVain-glorious men, such as estimate their sufficiency by the flattery\nof other men, or the fortune of some precedent action, without assured\nground of hope from the true knowledge of themselves, are enclined to\nrash engaging; and in the approach of danger, or difficulty, to retire\nif they can: because not seeing the way of safety, they will rather\nhazard their honour, which may be salved with an excuse; than their\nlives, for which no salve is sufficient.\n\n\n\n\nAmbition, From Opinion Of Sufficiency\n\nMen that have a strong opinion of their own wisdome in matter of\ngovernment, are disposed to Ambition. Because without publique\nEmployment in counsell or magistracy, the honour of their wisdome is\nlost. And therefore Eloquent speakers are enclined to Ambition; for\nEloquence seemeth wisdome, both to themselves and others\n\n\n\n\nIrresolution, From Too Great Valuing Of Small Matters\n\nPusillanimity disposeth men to Irresolution, and consequently to lose\nthe occasions, and fittest opportunities of action. For after men have\nbeen in deliberation till the time of action approach, if it be not\nthen manifest what is best to be done, tis a signe, the difference of\nMotives, the one way and the other, are not great: Therefore not to\nresolve then, is to lose the occasion by weighing of trifles; which is\npusillanimity.\n\nFrugality,(though in poor men a Vertue,) maketh a man unapt to atchieve\nsuch actions, as require the strength of many men at once: For it\nweakeneth their Endeavour, which is to be nourished and kept in vigor by\nReward.\n\nConfidence In Others From Ignorance Of The Marks Of Wisdome and\nKindnesse Eloquence, with flattery, disposeth men to confide in them\nthat have it; because the former is seeming Wisdome, the later seeming\nKindnesse. Adde to them Military reputation, and it disposeth men to\nadhaere, and subject themselves to those men that have them. The two\nformer, having given them caution against danger from him; the later\ngives them caution against danger from others.\n\n\n\n\nAnd From The Ignorance Of Naturall Causes\n\nWant of Science, that is, Ignorance of causes, disposeth, or rather\nconstraineth a man to rely on the advise, and authority of others. For\nall men whom the truth concernes, if they rely not on their own,\nmust rely on the opinion of some other, whom they think wiser than\nthemselves, and see not why he should deceive them.\n\n\n\n\nAnd From Want Of Understanding\n\nIgnorance of the signification of words; which is, want of\nunderstanding, disposeth men to take on trust, not onely the truth they\nknow not; but also the errors; and which is more, the non-sense of them\nthey trust: For neither Error, nor non-sense, can without a perfect\nunderstanding of words, be detected.\n\nFrom the same it proceedeth, that men give different names, to one and\nthe same thing, from the difference of their own passions: As they that\napprove a private opinion, call it Opinion; but they that mislike it,\nHaeresie: and yet haeresie signifies no more than private opinion; but\nhas onely a greater tincture of choler.\n\nFrom the same also it proceedeth, that men cannot distinguish, without\nstudy and great understanding, between one action of many men, and many\nactions of one multitude; as for example, between the one action of\nall the Senators of Rome in killing Catiline, and the many actions of a\nnumber of Senators in killing Caesar; and therefore are disposed to take\nfor the action of the people, that which is a multitude of actions done\nby a multitude of men, led perhaps by the perswasion of one.\n\nAdhaerence To Custome, From Ignorance Of The Nature Of Right And Wrong\nIgnorance of the causes, and originall constitution of Right, Equity,\nLaw, and Justice, disposeth a man to make Custome and Example the rule\nof his actions; in such manner, as to think that Unjust which it\nhath been the custome to punish; and that Just, of the impunity and\napprobation whereof they can produce an Example, or (as the Lawyers\nwhich onely use the false measure of Justice barbarously call it) a\nPrecedent; like little children, that have no other rule of good and\nevill manners, but the correction they receive from their Parents, and\nMasters; save that children are constant to their rule, whereas men are\nnot so; because grown strong, and stubborn, they appeale from custome\nto reason, and from reason to custome, as it serves their turn; receding\nfrom custome when their interest requires it, and setting themselves\nagainst reason, as oft as reason is against them: Which is the cause,\nthat the doctrine of Right and Wrong, is perpetually disputed, both by\nthe Pen and the Sword: whereas the doctrine of Lines, and Figures, is\nnot so; because men care not, in that subject what be truth, as a thing\nthat crosses no mans ambition, profit, or lust. For I doubt not, but if\nit had been a thing contrary to any mans right of dominion, or to the\ninterest of men that have dominion, That The Three Angles Of A Triangle\nShould Be Equall To Two Angles Of A Square; that doctrine should have\nbeen, if not disputed, yet by the burning of all books of Geometry,\nsuppressed, as farre as he whom it concerned was able.\n\nAdhaerence To Private Men, From Ignorance Of The Causes Of Peace\nIgnorance of remote causes, disposeth men to attribute all events, to\nthe causes immediate, and Instrumentall: For these are all the causes\nthey perceive. And hence it comes to passe, that in all places, men that\nare grieved with payments to the Publique, discharge their anger upon\nthe Publicans, that is to say, Farmers, Collectors, and other Officers\nof the publique Revenue; and adhaere to such as find fault with the\npublike Government; and thereby, when they have engaged themselves\nbeyond hope of justification, fall also upon the Supreme Authority, for\nfeare of punishment, or shame of receiving pardon.\n\n\n\n\nCredulity From Ignorance Of Nature\n\nIgnorance of naturall causes disposeth a man to Credulity, so as\nto believe many times impossibilities: for such know nothing to\nthe contrary, but that they may be true; being unable to detect the\nImpossibility. And Credulity, because men love to be hearkened unto in\ncompany, disposeth them to lying: so that Ignorance it selfe without\nMalice, is able to make a man bothe to believe lyes, and tell them; and\nsometimes also to invent them.\n\n\n\n\nCuriosity To Know, From Care Of Future Time\n\nAnxiety for the future time, disposeth men to enquire into the causes\nof things: because the knowledge of them, maketh men the better able to\norder the present to their best advantage.\n\n\n\n\nNaturall Religion, From The Same\n\nCuriosity, or love of the knowledge of causes, draws a man from\nconsideration of the effect, to seek the cause; and again, the cause of\nthat cause; till of necessity he must come to this thought at last, that\nthere is some cause, whereof there is no former cause, but is eternall;\nwhich is it men call God. So that it is impossible to make any profound\nenquiry into naturall causes, without being enclined thereby to believe\nthere is one God Eternall; though they cannot have any Idea of him in\ntheir mind, answerable to his nature. For as a man that is born blind,\nhearing men talk of warming themselves by the fire, and being brought\nto warm himself by the same, may easily conceive, and assure himselfe,\nthere is somewhat there, which men call Fire, and is the cause of the\nheat he feeles; but cannot imagine what it is like; nor have an Idea of\nit in his mind, such as they have that see it: so also, by the visible\nthings of this world, and their admirable order, a man may conceive\nthere is a cause of them, which men call God; and yet not have an Idea,\nor Image of him in his mind.\n\nAnd they that make little, or no enquiry into the naturall causes of\nthings, yet from the feare that proceeds from the ignorance it selfe,\nof what it is that hath the power to do them much good or harm, are\nenclined to suppose, and feign unto themselves, severall kinds of Powers\nInvisible; and to stand in awe of their own imaginations; and in time\nof distresse to invoke them; as also in the time of an expected good\nsuccesse, to give them thanks; making the creatures of their own\nfancy, their Gods. By which means it hath come to passe, that from the\ninnumerable variety of Fancy, men have created in the world innumerable\nsorts of Gods. And this Feare of things invisible, is the naturall Seed\nof that, which every one in himself calleth Religion; and in them that\nworship, or feare that Power otherwise than they do, Superstition.\n\nAnd this seed of Religion, having been observed by many; some of those\nthat have observed it, have been enclined thereby to nourish, dresse,\nand forme it into Lawes; and to adde to it of their own invention,\nany opinion of the causes of future events, by which they thought they\nshould best be able to govern others, and make unto themselves the\ngreatest use of their Powers.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. OF RELIGION\n\n\n\n\nReligion, In Man Onely\n\nSeeing there are no signes, nor fruit of Religion, but in Man onely;\nthere is no cause to doubt, but that the seed of Religion, is also onely\nin Man; and consisteth in some peculiar quality, or at least in some\neminent degree thereof, not to be found in other Living creatures.\n\n\n\n\nFirst, From His Desire Of Knowing Causes\n\nAnd first, it is peculiar to the nature of Man, to be inquisitive into\nthe Causes of the Events they see, some more, some lesse; but all men so\nmuch, as to be curious in the search of the causes of their own good and\nevill fortune.\n\n\n\n\nFrom The Consideration Of The Beginning Of Things\n\nSecondly, upon the sight of any thing that hath a Beginning, to think\nalso it had a cause, which determined the same to begin, then when it\ndid, rather than sooner or later.\n\n\n\n\nFrom His Observation Of The Sequell Of Things\n\nThirdly, whereas there is no other Felicity of Beasts, but the enjoying\nof their quotidian Food, Ease, and Lusts; as having little, or no\nforesight of the time to come, for want of observation, and memory\nof the order, consequence, and dependance of the things they see; Man\nobserveth how one Event hath been produced by another; and remembreth in\nthem Antecedence and Consequence; And when he cannot assure himselfe of\nthe true causes of things, (for the causes of good and evill fortune for\nthe most part are invisible,) he supposes causes of them, either such\nas his own fancy suggesteth; or trusteth to the Authority of other men,\nsuch as he thinks to be his friends, and wiser than himselfe.\n\nThe Naturall Cause Of Religion, The Anxiety Of The Time To Come The\ntwo first, make Anxiety. For being assured that there be causes of all\nthings that have arrived hitherto, or shall arrive hereafter; it is\nimpossible for a man, who continually endeavoureth to secure himselfe\nagainst the evill he feares, and procure the good he desireth, not to\nbe in a perpetuall solicitude of the time to come; So that every man,\nespecially those that are over provident, are in an estate like to that\nof Prometheus. For as Prometheus, (which interpreted, is, The Prudent\nMan,) was bound to the hill Caucasus, a place of large prospect, where,\nan Eagle feeding on his liver, devoured in the day, as much as was\nrepayred in the night: So that man, which looks too far before him, in\nthe care of future time, hath his heart all the day long, gnawed on by\nfeare of death, poverty, or other calamity; and has no repose, nor pause\nof his anxiety, but in sleep.\n\n\n\n\nWhich Makes Them Fear The Power Of Invisible Things\n\nThis perpetuall feare, alwayes accompanying mankind in the ignorance of\ncauses, as it were in the Dark, must needs have for object something.\nAnd therefore when there is nothing to be seen, there is nothing to\naccuse, either of their good, or evill fortune, but some Power, or Agent\nInvisible: In which sense perhaps it was, that some of the old Poets\nsaid, that the Gods were at first created by humane Feare: which spoken\nof the Gods, (that is to say, of the many Gods of the Gentiles) is\nvery true. But the acknowledging of one God Eternall, Infinite, and\nOmnipotent, may more easily be derived, from the desire men have to\nknow the causes of naturall bodies, and their severall vertues, and\noperations; than from the feare of what was to befall them in time to\ncome. For he that from any effect hee seeth come to passe, should reason\nto the next and immediate cause thereof, and from thence to the cause\nof that cause, and plonge himselfe profoundly in the pursuit of causes;\nshall at last come to this, that there must be (as even the Heathen\nPhilosophers confessed) one First Mover; that is, a First, and an\nEternall cause of all things; which is that which men mean by the name\nof God: And all this without thought of their fortune; the solicitude\nwhereof, both enclines to fear, and hinders them from the search of the\ncauses of other things; and thereby gives occasion of feigning of as\nmany Gods, as there be men that feigne them.\n\n\n\n\nAnd Suppose Them Incorporeall\n\nAnd for the matter, or substance of the Invisible Agents, so fancyed;\nthey could not by naturall cogitation, fall upon any other conceipt, but\nthat it was the same with that of the Soule of man; and that the Soule\nof man, was of the same substance, with that which appeareth in a Dream,\nto one that sleepeth; or in a Looking-glasse, to one that is awake;\nwhich, men not knowing that such apparitions are nothing else but\ncreatures of the Fancy, think to be reall, and externall Substances;\nand therefore call them Ghosts; as the Latines called them Imagines,\nand Umbrae; and thought them Spirits, that is, thin aereall bodies; and\nthose Invisible Agents, which they feared, to bee like them; save that\nthey appear, and vanish when they please. But the opinion that such\nSpirits were Incorporeall, or Immateriall, could never enter into the\nmind of any man by nature; because, though men may put together words of\ncontradictory signification, as Spirit, and Incorporeall; yet they\ncan never have the imagination of any thing answering to them:\nAnd therefore, men that by their own meditation, arrive to the\nacknowledgement of one Infinite, Omnipotent, and Eternall God,\nchoose rather to confesse he is Incomprehensible, and above their\nunderstanding; than to define his Nature By Spirit Incorporeall, and\nthen Confesse their definition to be unintelligible: or if they give him\nsuch a title, it is not Dogmatically, with intention to make the Divine\nNature understood; but Piously, to honour him with attributes, of\nsignifications, as remote as they can from the grossenesse of Bodies\nVisible.\n\n\n\n\nBut Know Not The Way How They Effect Anything\n\nThen, for the way by which they think these Invisible Agents wrought\ntheir effects; that is to say, what immediate causes they used, in\nbringing things to passe, men that know not what it is that we call\nCausing, (that is, almost all men) have no other rule to guesse by, but\nby observing, and remembring what they have seen to precede the like\neffect at some other time, or times before, without seeing between the\nantecedent and subsequent Event, any dependance or connexion at all:\nAnd therefore from the like things past, they expect the like things to\ncome; and hope for good or evill luck, superstitiously, from things that\nhave no part at all in the causing of it: As the Athenians did for their\nwar at Lepanto, demand another Phormio; the Pompeian faction for their\nwarre in Afrique, another Scipio; and others have done in divers other\noccasions since. In like manner they attribute their fortune to a\nstander by, to a lucky or unlucky place, to words spoken, especially\nif the name of God be amongst them; as Charming, and Conjuring (the\nLeiturgy of Witches;) insomuch as to believe, they have power to turn a\nstone into bread, bread into a man, or any thing, into any thing.\n\n\n\n\nBut Honour Them As They Honour Men\n\nThirdly, for the worship which naturally men exhibite to Powers\ninvisible, it can be no other, but such expressions of their reverence,\nas they would use towards men; Gifts, Petitions, Thanks, Submission\nof Body, Considerate Addresses, sober Behaviour, premeditated Words,\nSwearing (that is, assuring one another of their promises,) by invoking\nthem. Beyond that reason suggesteth nothing; but leaves them either to\nrest there; or for further ceremonies, to rely on those they believe to\nbe wiser than themselves.\n\n\n\n\nAnd Attribute To Them All Extraordinary Events\n\nLastly, concerning how these Invisible Powers declare to men the things\nwhich shall hereafter come to passe, especially concerning their good\nor evill fortune in generall, or good or ill successe in any particular\nundertaking, men are naturally at a stand; save that using to conjecture\nof the time to come, by the time past, they are very apt, not onely to\ntake casuall things, after one or two encounters, for Prognostiques\nof the like encounter ever after, but also to believe the like\nPrognostiques from other men, of whom they have once conceived a good\nopinion.\n\n\n\n\nFoure Things, Naturall Seeds Of Religion\n\nAnd in these foure things, Opinion of Ghosts, Ignorance of second\ncauses, Devotion towards what men fear, and Taking of things Casuall for\nPrognostiques, consisteth the Naturall seed of Religion; which by reason\nof the different Fancies, Judgements, and Passions of severall men, hath\ngrown up into ceremonies so different, that those which are used by one\nman, are for the most part ridiculous to another.\n\n\n\n\nMade Different By Culture\n\nFor these seeds have received culture from two sorts of men. One sort\nhave been they, that have nourished, and ordered them, according to\ntheir own invention. The other, have done it, by Gods commandement, and\ndirection: but both sorts have done it, with a purpose to make those men\nthat relyed on them, the more apt to Obedience, Lawes, Peace, Charity,\nand civill Society. So that the Religion of the former sort, is a part\nof humane Politiques; and teacheth part of the duty which Earthly Kings\nrequire of their Subjects. And the Religion of the later sort is\nDivine Politiques; and containeth Precepts to those that have yeelded\nthemselves subjects in the Kingdome of God. Of the former sort, were all\nthe Founders of Common-wealths, and the Law-givers of the Gentiles: Of\nthe later sort, were Abraham, Moses, and our Blessed Saviour; by whom\nhave been derived unto us the Lawes of the Kingdome of God.\n\n\n\n\nThe Absurd Opinion Of Gentilisme\n\nAnd for that part of Religion, which consisteth in opinions concerning\nthe nature of Powers Invisible, there is almost nothing that has a\nname, that has not been esteemed amongst the Gentiles, in one place or\nanother, a God, or Divell; or by their Poets feigned to be inanimated,\ninhabited, or possessed by some Spirit or other.\n\nThe unformed matter of the World, was a God, by the name of Chaos.\n\nThe Heaven, the Ocean, the Planets, the Fire, the Earth, the Winds, were\nso many Gods.\n\nMen, Women, a Bird, a Crocodile, a Calf, a Dogge, a Snake, an Onion,\na Leeke, Deified. Besides, that they filled almost all places, with\nspirits called Daemons; the plains, with Pan, and Panises, or Satyres;\nthe Woods, with Fawnes, and Nymphs; the Sea, with Tritons, and other\nNymphs; every River, and Fountayn, with a Ghost of his name, and with\nNymphs; every house, with it Lares, or Familiars; every man, with his\nGenius; Hell, with Ghosts, and spirituall Officers, as Charon, Cerberus,\nand the Furies; and in the night time, all places with Larvae, Lemures,\nGhosts of men deceased, and a whole kingdome of Fayries, and Bugbears.\nThey have also ascribed Divinity, and built Temples to meer Accidents,\nand Qualities; such as are Time, Night, Day, Peace, Concord, Love,\nContention, Vertue, Honour, Health, Rust, Fever, and the like; which\nwhen they prayed for, or against, they prayed to, as if there were\nGhosts of those names hanging over their heads, and letting fall, or\nwithholding that Good, or Evill, for, or against which they prayed. They\ninvoked also their own Wit, by the name of Muses; their own Ignorance,\nby the name of Fortune; their own Lust, by the name of Cupid; their\nown Rage, by the name Furies; their own privy members by the name of\nPriapus; and attributed their pollutions, to Incubi, and Succubae:\ninsomuch as there was nothing, which a Poet could introduce as a person\nin his Poem, which they did not make either a God, or a Divel.\n\nThe same authors of the Religion of the Gentiles, observing the second\nground for Religion, which is mens Ignorance of causes; and thereby\ntheir aptnesse to attribute their fortune to causes, on which there\nwas no dependence at all apparent, took occasion to obtrude on their\nignorance, in stead of second causes, a kind of second and ministeriall\nGods; ascribing the cause of Foecundity, to Venus; the cause of Arts, to\nApollo; of Subtilty and Craft, to Mercury; of Tempests and stormes,\nto Aeolus; and of other effects, to other Gods: insomuch as there was\namongst the Heathen almost as great variety of Gods, as of businesse.\n\nAnd to the Worship, which naturally men conceived fit to bee used\ntowards their Gods, namely Oblations, Prayers, Thanks, and the rest\nformerly named; the same Legislators of the Gentiles have added their\nImages, both in Picture, and Sculpture; that the more ignorant sort,\n(that is to say, the most part, or generality of the people,) thinking\nthe Gods for whose representation they were made, were really included,\nand as it were housed within them, might so much the more stand in feare\nof them: And endowed them with lands, and houses, and officers, and\nrevenues, set apart from all other humane uses; that is, consecrated,\nand made holy to those their Idols; as Caverns, Groves, Woods,\nMountains, and whole Ilands; and have attributed to them, not onely\nthe shapes, some of Men, some of Beasts, some of Monsters; but also the\nFaculties, and Passions of men and beasts; as Sense, Speech, Sex, Lust,\nGeneration, (and this not onely by mixing one with another, to propagate\nthe kind of Gods; but also by mixing with men, and women, to beget\nmongrill Gods, and but inmates of Heaven, as Bacchus, Hercules,\nand others;) besides, Anger, Revenge, and other passions of living\ncreatures, and the actions proceeding from them, as Fraud, Theft,\nAdultery, Sodomie, and any vice that may be taken for an effect of\nPower, or a cause of Pleasure; and all such Vices, as amongst men are\ntaken to be against Law, rather than against Honour.\n\nLastly, to the Prognostiques of time to come; which are naturally, but\nConjectures upon the Experience of time past; and supernaturall, divine\nRevelation; the same authors of the Religion of the Gentiles, partly\nupon pretended Experience, partly upon pretended Revelation, have\nadded innumerable other superstitious wayes of Divination; and made men\nbelieve they should find their fortunes, sometimes in the ambiguous\nor senslesse answers of the priests at Delphi, Delos, Ammon, and other\nfamous Oracles; which answers, were made ambiguous by designe, to own\nthe event both wayes; or absurd by the intoxicating vapour of the place,\nwhich is very frequent in sulphurous Cavernes: Sometimes in the leaves\nof the Sibills; of whose Prophecyes (like those perhaps of Nostradamus;\nfor the fragments now extant seem to be the invention of later times)\nthere were some books in reputation in the time of the Roman Republique:\nSometimes in the insignificant Speeches of Mad-men, supposed to\nbe possessed with a divine Spirit; which Possession they called\nEnthusiasme; and these kinds of foretelling events, were accounted\nTheomancy, or Prophecy; Sometimes in the aspect of the Starres at their\nNativity; which was called Horoscopy, and esteemed a part of judiciary\nAstrology: Sometimes in their own hopes and feares, called Thumomancy,\nor Presage: Sometimes in the Prediction of Witches, that pretended\nconference with the dead; which is called Necromancy, Conjuring, and\nWitchcraft; and is but juggling and confederate knavery: Sometimes in\nthe Casuall flight, or feeding of birds; called Augury: Sometimes in\nthe Entrayles of a sacrificed beast; which was Aruspicina: Sometimes\nin Dreams: Sometimes in Croaking of Ravens, or chattering of Birds:\nSometimes in the Lineaments of the face; which was called Metoposcopy;\nor by Palmistry in the lines of the hand; in casuall words, called\nOmina: Sometimes in Monsters, or unusuall accidents; as Ecclipses,\nComets, rare Meteors, Earthquakes, Inundations, uncouth Births, and the\nlike, which they called Portenta and Ostenta, because they thought them\nto portend, or foreshew some great Calamity to come; Sometimes, in meer\nLottery, as Crosse and Pile; counting holes in a sive; dipping of Verses\nin Homer, and Virgil; and innumerable other such vaine conceipts. So\neasie are men to be drawn to believe any thing, from such men as have\ngotten credit with them; and can with gentlenesse, and dexterity, take\nhold of their fear, and ignorance.\n\nThe Designes Of The Authors Of The Religion Of The Heathen And therefore\nthe first Founders, and Legislators of Common-wealths amongst the\nGentiles, whose ends were only to keep the people in obedience, and\npeace, have in all places taken care; First, to imprint in their minds a\nbeliefe, that those precepts which they gave concerning Religion, might\nnot be thought to proceed from their own device, but from the dictates\nof some God, or other Spirit; or else that they themselves were of a\nhigher nature than mere mortalls, that their Lawes might the more easily\nbe received: So Numa Pompilius pretended to receive the Ceremonies he\ninstituted amongst the Romans, from the Nymph Egeria: and the first King\nand founder of the Kingdome of Peru, pretended himselfe and his wife to\nbe the children of the Sunne: and Mahomet, to set up his new Religion,\npretended to have conferences with the Holy Ghost, in forme of a Dove.\nSecondly, they have had a care, to make it believed, that the same\nthings were displeasing to the Gods, which were forbidden by the\nLawes. Thirdly, to prescribe Ceremonies, Supplications, Sacrifices, and\nFestivalls, by which they were to believe, the anger of the Gods might\nbe appeased; and that ill success in War, great contagions of Sicknesse,\nEarthquakes, and each mans private Misery, came from the Anger of\nthe Gods; and their Anger from the Neglect of their Worship, or the\nforgetting, or mistaking some point of the Ceremonies required. And\nthough amongst the antient Romans, men were not forbidden to deny, that\nwhich in the Poets is written of the paines, and pleasures after this\nlife; which divers of great authority, and gravity in that state have\nin their Harangues openly derided; yet that beliefe was alwaies more\ncherished, than the contrary.\n\nAnd by these, and such other Institutions, they obtayned in order to\ntheir end, (which was the peace of the Commonwealth,) that the common\npeople in their misfortunes, laying the fault on neglect, or errour in\ntheir Ceremonies, or on their own disobedience to the lawes, were the\nlesse apt to mutiny against their Governors. And being entertained with\nthe pomp, and pastime of Festivalls, and publike Gomes, made in\nhonour of the Gods, needed nothing else but bread, to keep them from\ndiscontent, murmuring, and commotion against the State. And therefore\nthe Romans, that had conquered the greatest part of the then known\nWorld, made no scruple of tollerating any Religion whatsoever in the\nCity of Rome it selfe; unlesse it had somthing in it, that could not\nconsist with their Civill Government; nor do we read, that any Religion\nwas there forbidden, but that of the Jewes; who (being the peculiar\nKingdome of God) thought it unlawfull to acknowledge subjection to any\nmortall King or State whatsoever. And thus you see how the Religion of\nthe Gentiles was a part of their Policy.\n\nThe True Religion, And The Lawes Of Gods Kingdome The Same But where God\nhimselfe, by supernaturall Revelation, planted Religion; there he\nalso made to himselfe a peculiar Kingdome; and gave Lawes, not only of\nbehaviour towards himselfe; but also towards one another; and thereby\nin the Kingdome of God, the Policy, and lawes Civill, are a part of\nReligion; and therefore the distinction of Temporall, and Spirituall\nDomination, hath there no place. It is true, that God is King of all the\nEarth: Yet may he be King of a peculiar, and chosen Nation. For there is\nno more incongruity therein, than that he that hath the generall command\nof the whole Army, should have withall a peculiar Regiment, or Company\nof his own. God is King of all the Earth by his Power: but of his\nchosen people, he is King by Covenant. But to speake more largly of the\nKingdome of God, both by Nature, and Covenant, I have in the following\ndiscourse assigned an other place.\n\n\n\n\nThe Causes Of Change In Religion\n\nFrom the propagation of Religion, it is not hard to understand\nthe causes of the resolution of the same into its first seeds, or\nprinciples; which are only an opinion of a Deity, and Powers invisible,\nand supernaturall; that can never be so abolished out of humane nature,\nbut that new Religions may againe be made to spring out of them, by the\nculture of such men, as for such purpose are in reputation.\n\nFor seeing all formed Religion, is founded at first, upon the faith\nwhich a multitude hath in some one person, whom they believe not only to\nbe a wise man, and to labour to procure their happiness, but also to\nbe a holy man, to whom God himselfe vouchsafeth to declare his will\nsupernaturally; It followeth necessarily, when they that have the\nGoverment of Religion, shall come to have either the wisedome of those\nmen, their sincerity, or their love suspected; or that they shall\nbe unable to shew any probable token of divine Revelation; that the\nReligion which they desire to uphold, must be suspected likewise; and\n(without the feare of the Civill Sword) contradicted and rejected.\n\n\n\n\nInjoyning Beleefe Of Impossibilities\n\nThat which taketh away the reputation of Wisedome, in him that formeth\na Religion, or addeth to it when it is allready formed, is the enjoyning\nof a beliefe of contradictories: For both parts of a contradiction\ncannot possibly be true: and therefore to enjoyne the beliefe of them,\nis an argument of ignorance; which detects the Author in that; and\ndiscredits him in all things else he shall propound as from revelation\nsupernaturall: which revelation a man may indeed have of many things\nabove, but of nothing against naturall reason.\n\n\n\n\nDoing Contrary To The Religion They Establish\n\nThat which taketh away the reputation of Sincerity, is the doing, or\nsaying of such things, as appeare to be signes, that what they require\nother men to believe, is not believed by themselves; all which doings,\nor sayings are therefore called Scandalous, because they be stumbling\nblocks, that make men to fall in the way of Religion: as Injustice,\nCruelty, Prophanesse, Avarice, and Luxury. For who can believe, that he\nthat doth ordinarily such actions, as proceed from any of these\nrootes, believeth there is any such Invisible Power to be feared, as he\naffrighteth other men withall, for lesser faults?\n\nThat which taketh away the reputation of Love, is the being detected of\nprivate ends: as when the beliefe they require of others, conduceth or\nseemeth to conduce to the acquiring of Dominion, Riches, Dignity, or\nsecure Pleasure, to themselves onely, or specially. For that which men\nreap benefit by to themselves, they are thought to do for their own\nsakes, and not for love of others\n\n\n\n\nWant Of The Testimony Of Miracles\n\nLastly, the testimony that men can render of divine Calling, can be no\nother, than the operation of Miracles; or true Prophecy, (which also is\na Miracle;) or extraordinary Felicity. And therefore, to those points\nof Religion, which have been received from them that did such Miracles;\nthose that are added by such, as approve not their Calling by some\nMiracle, obtain no greater beliefe, than what the Custome, and Lawes of\nthe places, in which they be educated, have wrought into them. For as\nin naturall things, men of judgement require naturall signes,\nand arguments; so in supernaturall things, they require signes\nsupernaturall, (which are Miracles,) before they consent inwardly, and\nfrom their hearts.\n\nAll which causes of the weakening of mens faith, do manifestly appear\nin the Examples following. First, we have the Example of the children\nof Israel; who when Moses, that had approved his Calling to them by\nMiracles, and by the happy conduct of them out of Egypt, was absent but\n40 dayes, revolted from the worship of the true God, recommended to\nthem by him; and setting up (Exod.32 1,2) a Golden Calfe for their God,\nrelapsed into the Idolatry of the Egyptians; from whom they had been\nso lately delivered. And again, after Moses, Aaron, Joshua, and that\ngeneration which had seen the great works of God in Israel, (Judges\n2 11) were dead; another generation arose, and served Baal. So that\nMiracles fayling, Faith also failed.\n\nAgain, when the sons of Samuel, (1 Sam.8.3) being constituted by their\nfather Judges in Bersabee, received bribes, and judged unjustly, the\npeople of Israel refused any more to have God to be their King, in other\nmanner than he was King of other people; and therefore cryed out to\nSamuel, to choose them a King after the manner of the Nations. So that\nJustice Fayling, Faith also fayled: Insomuch, as they deposed their God,\nfrom reigning over them.\n\nAnd whereas in the planting of Christian Religion, the Oracles ceased\nin all parts of the Roman Empire, and the number of Christians encreased\nwonderfully every day, and in every place, by the preaching of the\nApostles, and Evangelists; a great part of that successe, may reasonably\nbe attributed, to the contempt, into which the Priests of the Gentiles\nof that time, had brought themselves, by their uncleannesse, avarice,\nand jugling between Princes. Also the Religion of the Church of Rome,\nwas partly, for the same cause abolished in England, and many other\nparts of Christendome; insomuch, as the fayling of Vertue in the\nPastors, maketh Faith faile in the People: and partly from bringing\nof the Philosophy, and doctrine of Aristotle into Religion, by the\nSchoole-men; from whence there arose so many contradictions, and\nabsurdities, as brought the Clergy into a reputation both of Ignorance,\nand of Fraudulent intention; and enclined people to revolt from them,\neither against the will of their own Princes, as in France, and Holland;\nor with their will, as in England.\n\nLastly, amongst the points by the Church of Rome declared necessary for\nSalvation, there be so many, manifestly to the advantage of the Pope,\nand of his spirituall subjects, residing in the territories of other\nChristian Princes, that were it not for the mutuall emulation of those\nPrinces, they might without warre, or trouble, exclude all forraign\nAuthority, as easily as it has been excluded in England. For who is\nthere that does not see, to whose benefit it conduceth, to have it\nbelieved, that a King hath not his Authority from Christ, unlesse a\nBishop crown him? That a King, if he be a Priest, cannot Marry? That\nwhether a Prince be born in lawfull Marriage, or not, must be judged by\nAuthority from Rome? That Subjects may be freed from their Alleageance,\nif by the Court of Rome, the King be judged an Heretique? That a King\n(as Chilperique of France) may be deposed by a Pope (as Pope Zachary,)\nfor no cause; and his Kingdome given to one of his Subjects? That the\nClergy, and Regulars, in what Country soever, shall be exempt from the\nJurisdiction of their King, in cases criminall? Or who does not see, to\nwhose profit redound the Fees of private Masses, and Vales of Purgatory;\nwith other signes of private interest, enough to mortifie the most\nlively Faith, if (as I sayd) the civill Magistrate, and Custome did not\nmore sustain it, than any opinion they have of the Sanctity, Wisdome,\nor Probity of their Teachers? So that I may attribute all the changes\nof Religion in the world, to one and the some cause; and that is,\nunpleasing Priests; and those not onely amongst Catholiques, but even in\nthat Church that hath presumed most of Reformation.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. OF THE NATURALL CONDITION OF MANKIND,\nAS CONCERNING THEIR FELICITY, AND MISERY\n\n\nNature hath made men so equall, in the faculties of body, and mind; as\nthat though there bee found one man sometimes manifestly stronger\nin body, or of quicker mind then another; yet when all is reckoned\ntogether, the difference between man, and man, is not so considerable,\nas that one man can thereupon claim to himselfe any benefit, to which\nanother may not pretend, as well as he. For as to the strength of body,\nthe weakest has strength enough to kill the strongest, either by secret\nmachination, or by confederacy with others, that are in the same danger\nwith himselfe.\n\nAnd as to the faculties of the mind, (setting aside the arts grounded\nupon words, and especially that skill of proceeding upon generall, and\ninfallible rules, called Science; which very few have, and but in few\nthings; as being not a native faculty, born with us; nor attained,\n(as Prudence,) while we look after somewhat els,) I find yet a greater\nequality amongst men, than that of strength. For Prudence, is but\nExperience; which equall time, equally bestowes on all men, in those\nthings they equally apply themselves unto. That which may perhaps make\nsuch equality incredible, is but a vain conceipt of ones owne wisdome,\nwhich almost all men think they have in a greater degree, than the\nVulgar; that is, than all men but themselves, and a few others, whom by\nFame, or for concurring with themselves, they approve. For such is the\nnature of men, that howsoever they may acknowledge many others to be\nmore witty, or more eloquent, or more learned; Yet they will hardly\nbelieve there be many so wise as themselves: For they see their own wit\nat hand, and other mens at a distance. But this proveth rather that men\nare in that point equall, than unequall. For there is not ordinarily a\ngreater signe of the equall distribution of any thing, than that every\nman is contented with his share.\n\n\n\n\nFrom Equality Proceeds Diffidence\n\nFrom this equality of ability, ariseth equality of hope in the attaining\nof our Ends. And therefore if any two men desire the same thing, which\nneverthelesse they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies; and in the\nway to their End, (which is principally their owne conservation, and\nsometimes their delectation only,) endeavour to destroy, or subdue one\nan other. And from hence it comes to passe, that where an Invader hath\nno more to feare, than an other mans single power; if one plant, sow,\nbuild, or possesse a convenient Seat, others may probably be expected to\ncome prepared with forces united, to dispossesse, and deprive him, not\nonly of the fruit of his labour, but also of his life, or liberty. And\nthe Invader again is in the like danger of another.\n\n\n\n\nFrom Diffidence Warre\n\nAnd from this diffidence of one another, there is no way for any man to\nsecure himselfe, so reasonable, as Anticipation; that is, by force, or\nwiles, to master the persons of all men he can, so long, till he see no\nother power great enough to endanger him: And this is no more than his\nown conservation requireth, and is generally allowed. Also because there\nbe some, that taking pleasure in contemplating their own power in\nthe acts of conquest, which they pursue farther than their security\nrequires; if others, that otherwise would be glad to be at ease within\nmodest bounds, should not by invasion increase their power, they would\nnot be able, long time, by standing only on their defence, to subsist.\nAnd by consequence, such augmentation of dominion over men, being\nnecessary to a mans conservation, it ought to be allowed him.\n\nAgaine, men have no pleasure, (but on the contrary a great deale of\ngriefe) in keeping company, where there is no power able to over-awe\nthem all. For every man looketh that his companion should value him, at\nthe same rate he sets upon himselfe: And upon all signes of contempt,\nor undervaluing, naturally endeavours, as far as he dares (which amongst\nthem that have no common power, to keep them in quiet, is far enough\nto make them destroy each other,) to extort a greater value from his\ncontemners, by dommage; and from others, by the example.\n\nSo that in the nature of man, we find three principall causes of\nquarrel. First, Competition; Secondly, Diffidence; Thirdly, Glory.\n\nThe first, maketh men invade for Gain; the second, for Safety; and\nthe third, for Reputation. The first use Violence, to make themselves\nMasters of other mens persons, wives, children, and cattell; the second,\nto defend them; the third, for trifles, as a word, a smile, a different\nopinion, and any other signe of undervalue, either direct in their\nPersons, or by reflexion in their Kindred, their Friends, their Nation,\ntheir Profession, or their Name.\n\n\n\n\nOut Of Civil States, There Is Alwayes Warre Of Every One Against Every\nOne\n\nHereby it is manifest, that during the time men live without a common\nPower to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is\ncalled Warre; and such a warre, as is of every man, against every man.\nFor WARRE, consisteth not in Battell onely, or the act of fighting; but\nin a tract of time, wherein the Will to contend by Battell is\nsufficiently known: and therefore the notion of Time, is to be\nconsidered in the nature of Warre; as it is in the nature of Weather.\nFor as the nature of Foule weather, lyeth not in a showre or two of\nrain; but in an inclination thereto of many dayes together: So the\nnature of War, consisteth not in actuall fighting; but in the known\ndisposition thereto, during all the time there is no assurance to the\ncontrary. All other time is PEACE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Incommodites Of Such A War\n\nWhatsoever therefore is consequent to a time of Warre, where every man\nis Enemy to every man; the same is consequent to the time, wherein men\nlive without other security, than what their own strength, and their\nown invention shall furnish them withall. In such condition, there is\nno place for Industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain; and\nconsequently no Culture of the Earth; no Navigation, nor use of the\ncommodities that may be imported by Sea; no commodious Building; no\nInstruments of moving, and removing such things as require much force;\nno Knowledge of the face of the Earth; no account of Time; no Arts; no\nLetters; no Society; and which is worst of all, continuall feare, and\ndanger of violent death; And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty,\nbrutish, and short.\n\nIt may seem strange to some man, that has not well weighed these things;\nthat Nature should thus dissociate, and render men apt to invade,\nand destroy one another: and he may therefore, not trusting to this\nInference, made from the Passions, desire perhaps to have the same\nconfirmed by Experience. Let him therefore consider with himselfe, when\ntaking a journey, he armes himselfe, and seeks to go well accompanied;\nwhen going to sleep, he locks his dores; when even in his house he\nlocks his chests; and this when he knows there bee Lawes, and publike\nOfficers, armed, to revenge all injuries shall bee done him; what\nopinion he has of his fellow subjects, when he rides armed; of his\nfellow Citizens, when he locks his dores; and of his children, and\nservants, when he locks his chests. Does he not there as much accuse\nmankind by his actions, as I do by my words? But neither of us accuse\nmans nature in it. The Desires, and other Passions of man, are in\nthemselves no Sin. No more are the Actions, that proceed from those\nPassions, till they know a Law that forbids them; which till Lawes be\nmade they cannot know: nor can any Law be made, till they have agreed\nupon the Person that shall make it.\n\nIt may peradventure be thought, there was never such a time, nor\ncondition of warre as this; and I believe it was never generally so,\nover all the world: but there are many places, where they live so now.\nFor the savage people in many places of America, except the government\nof small Families, the concord whereof dependeth on naturall lust, have\nno government at all; and live at this day in that brutish manner, as\nI said before. Howsoever, it may be perceived what manner of life there\nwould be, where there were no common Power to feare; by the manner of\nlife, which men that have formerly lived under a peacefull government,\nuse to degenerate into, in a civill Warre.\n\nBut though there had never been any time, wherein particular men were in\na condition of warre one against another; yet in all times, Kings, and\npersons of Soveraigne authority, because of their Independency, are\nin continuall jealousies, and in the state and posture of Gladiators;\nhaving their weapons pointing, and their eyes fixed on one another;\nthat is, their Forts, Garrisons, and Guns upon the Frontiers of their\nKingdomes; and continuall Spyes upon their neighbours; which is a\nposture of War. But because they uphold thereby, the Industry of their\nSubjects; there does not follow from it, that misery, which accompanies\nthe Liberty of particular men.\n\n\n\n\nIn Such A Warre, Nothing Is Unjust\n\nTo this warre of every man against every man, this also is consequent;\nthat nothing can be Unjust. The notions of Right and Wrong, Justice and\nInjustice have there no place. Where there is no common Power, there is\nno Law: where no Law, no Injustice. Force, and Fraud, are in warre the\ntwo Cardinall vertues. Justice, and Injustice are none of the Faculties\nneither of the Body, nor Mind. If they were, they might be in a man that\nwere alone in the world, as well as his Senses, and Passions. They\nare Qualities, that relate to men in Society, not in Solitude. It is\nconsequent also to the same condition, that there be no Propriety, no\nDominion, no Mine and Thine distinct; but onely that to be every mans\nthat he can get; and for so long, as he can keep it. And thus much\nfor the ill condition, which man by meer Nature is actually placed in;\nthough with a possibility to come out of it, consisting partly in the\nPassions, partly in his Reason.\n\n\n\n\nThe Passions That Incline Men To Peace\n\nThe Passions that encline men to Peace, are Feare of Death; Desire of\nsuch things as are necessary to commodious living; and a Hope by their\nIndustry to obtain them. And Reason suggesteth convenient Articles of\nPeace, upon which men may be drawn to agreement. These Articles, are\nthey, which otherwise are called the Lawes of Nature: whereof I shall\nspeak more particularly, in the two following Chapters.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. OF THE FIRST AND SECOND NATURALL LAWES, AND OF CONTRACTS\n\n\n\n\nRight Of Nature What\n\nThe RIGHT OF NATURE, which Writers commonly call Jus Naturale, is the\nLiberty each man hath, to use his own power, as he will himselfe, for\nthe preservation of his own Nature; that is to say, of his own Life;\nand consequently, of doing any thing, which in his own Judgement, and\nReason, hee shall conceive to be the aptest means thereunto.\n\n\n\n\nLiberty What\n\nBy LIBERTY, is understood, according to the proper signification of the\nword, the absence of externall Impediments: which Impediments, may oft\ntake away part of a mans power to do what hee would; but cannot hinder\nhim from using the power left him, according as his judgement, and\nreason shall dictate to him.\n\n\n\n\nA Law Of Nature What\n\nA LAW OF NATURE, (Lex Naturalis,) is a Precept, or generall Rule,\nfound out by Reason, by which a man is forbidden to do, that, which\nis destructive of his life, or taketh away the means of preserving the\nsame; and to omit, that, by which he thinketh it may be best preserved.\nFor though they that speak of this subject, use to confound Jus, and\nLex, Right and Law; yet they ought to be distinguished; because RIGHT,\nconsisteth in liberty to do, or to forbeare; Whereas LAW, determineth,\nand bindeth to one of them: so that Law, and Right, differ as much,\nas Obligation, and Liberty; which in one and the same matter are\ninconsistent.\n\n\n\n\nNaturally Every Man Has Right To Everything\n\nAnd because the condition of Man, (as hath been declared in the\nprecedent Chapter) is a condition of Warre of every one against every\none; in which case every one is governed by his own Reason; and there\nis nothing he can make use of, that may not be a help unto him, in\npreserving his life against his enemyes; It followeth, that in such a\ncondition, every man has a Right to every thing; even to one anothers\nbody. And therefore, as long as this naturall Right of every man to\nevery thing endureth, there can be no security to any man, (how strong\nor wise soever he be,) of living out the time, which Nature ordinarily\nalloweth men to live.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fundamental Law Of Nature\n\nAnd consequently it is a precept, or generall rule of Reason, \"That\nevery man, ought to endeavour Peace, as farre as he has hope of\nobtaining it; and when he cannot obtain it, that he may seek, and use,\nall helps, and advantages of Warre.\" The first branch, of which Rule,\ncontaineth the first, and Fundamentall Law of Nature; which is, \"To seek\nPeace, and follow it.\" The Second, the summe of the Right of Nature;\nwhich is, \"By all means we can, to defend our selves.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Second Law Of Nature\n\nFrom this Fundamentall Law of Nature, by which men are commanded to\nendeavour Peace, is derived this second Law; \"That a man be willing,\nwhen others are so too, as farre-forth, as for Peace, and defence of\nhimselfe he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all\nthings; and be contented with so much liberty against other men, as\nhe would allow other men against himselfe.\" For as long as every man\nholdeth this Right, of doing any thing he liketh; so long are all men in\nthe condition of Warre. But if other men will not lay down their Right,\nas well as he; then there is no Reason for any one, to devest himselfe\nof his: For that were to expose himselfe to Prey, (which no man is bound\nto) rather than to dispose himselfe to Peace. This is that Law of the\nGospell; \"Whatsoever you require that others should do to you, that do\nye to them.\" And that Law of all men, \"Quod tibi feiri non vis, alteri\nne feceris.\"\n\n\n\n\nWhat it is to lay down a Right\n\nTo Lay Downe a mans Right to any thing, is to Devest himselfe of the\nLiberty, of hindring another of the benefit of his own Right to the\nsame. For he that renounceth, or passeth away his Right, giveth not to\nany other man a Right which he had not before; because there is nothing\nto which every man had not Right by Nature: but onely standeth out of\nhis way, that he may enjoy his own originall Right, without hindrance\nfrom him; not without hindrance from another. So that the effect which\nredoundeth to one man, by another mans defect of Right, is but so much\ndiminution of impediments to the use of his own Right originall.\n\n\n\n\nRenouncing (or) Transferring Right What; Obligation Duty Justice\n\nRight is layd aside, either by simply Renouncing it; or by Transferring\nit to another. By Simply RENOUNCING; when he cares not to whom the\nbenefit thereof redoundeth. By TRANSFERRING; when he intendeth the\nbenefit thereof to some certain person, or persons. And when a man hath\nin either manner abandoned, or granted away his Right; then is he said\nto be OBLIGED, or BOUND, not to hinder those, to whom such Right is\ngranted, or abandoned, from the benefit of it: and that he Ought, and it\nhis DUTY, not to make voyd that voluntary act of his own: and that such\nhindrance is INJUSTICE, and INJURY, as being Sine Jure; the Right being\nbefore renounced, or transferred. So that Injury, or Injustice, in\nthe controversies of the world, is somewhat like to that, which in the\ndisputations of Scholers is called Absurdity. For as it is there called\nan Absurdity, to contradict what one maintained in the Beginning: so in\nthe world, it is called Injustice, and Injury, voluntarily to undo that,\nwhich from the beginning he had voluntarily done. The way by which a man\neither simply Renounceth, or Transferreth his Right, is a Declaration,\nor Signification, by some voluntary and sufficient signe, or signes,\nthat he doth so Renounce, or Transferre; or hath so Renounced, or\nTransferred the same, to him that accepteth it. And these Signes are\neither Words onely, or Actions onely; or (as it happeneth most often)\nboth Words and Actions. And the same are the BONDS, by which men are\nbound, and obliged: Bonds, that have their strength, not from their own\nNature, (for nothing is more easily broken then a mans word,) but from\nFeare of some evill consequence upon the rupture.\n\n\n\n\nNot All Rights Are Alienable\n\nWhensoever a man Transferreth his Right, or Renounceth it; it is either\nin consideration of some Right reciprocally transferred to himselfe; or\nfor some other good he hopeth for thereby. For it is a voluntary act:\nand of the voluntary acts of every man, the object is some Good To\nHimselfe. And therefore there be some Rights, which no man can be\nunderstood by any words, or other signes, to have abandoned, or\ntransferred. As first a man cannot lay down the right of resisting them,\nthat assault him by force, to take away his life; because he cannot be\nunderstood to ayme thereby, at any Good to himselfe. The same may be\nsayd of Wounds, and Chayns, and Imprisonment; both because there is\nno benefit consequent to such patience; as there is to the patience of\nsuffering another to be wounded, or imprisoned: as also because a man\ncannot tell, when he seeth men proceed against him by violence, whether\nthey intend his death or not. And lastly the motive, and end for which\nthis renouncing, and transferring or Right is introduced, is nothing\nelse but the security of a mans person, in his life, and in the means of\nso preserving life, as not to be weary of it. And therefore if a man by\nwords, or other signes, seem to despoyle himselfe of the End, for which\nthose signes were intended; he is not to be understood as if he meant\nit, or that it was his will; but that he was ignorant of how such words\nand actions were to be interpreted.\n\n\n\n\nContract What\n\nThe mutuall transferring of Right, is that which men call CONTRACT.\n\nThere is difference, between transferring of Right to the Thing; and\ntransferring, or tradition, that is, delivery of the Thing it selfe. For\nthe Thing may be delivered together with the Translation of the Right;\nas in buying and selling with ready mony; or exchange of goods, or\nlands: and it may be delivered some time after.\n\n\n\n\nCovenant What\n\nAgain, one of the Contractors, may deliver the Thing contracted for on\nhis part, and leave the other to perform his part at some determinate\ntime after, and in the mean time be trusted; and then the Contract on\nhis part, is called PACT, or COVENANT: Or both parts may contract now,\nto performe hereafter: in which cases, he that is to performe in time\nto come, being trusted, his performance is called Keeping Of Promise, or\nFaith; and the fayling of performance (if it be voluntary) Violation Of\nFaith.\n\n\n\n\nFree-gift\n\nWhen the transferring of Right, is not mutuall; but one of the parties\ntransferreth, in hope to gain thereby friendship, or service from\nanother, or from his friends; or in hope to gain the reputation of\nCharity, or Magnanimity; or to deliver his mind from the pain of\ncompassion; or in hope of reward in heaven; This is not Contract, but\nGIFT, FREEGIFT, GRACE: which words signifie one and the same thing.\n\n\n\n\nSignes Of Contract Expresse\n\nSignes of Contract, are either Expresse, or By Inference. Expresse, are\nwords spoken with understanding of what they signifie; And such words\nare either of the time Present, or Past; as, I Give, I Grant, I Have\nGiven, I Have Granted, I Will That This Be Yours: Or of the future;\nas, I Will Give, I Will Grant; which words of the future, are called\nPromise.\n\n\n\n\nSignes Of Contract By Inference\n\nSignes by Inference, are sometimes the consequence of Words; sometimes\nthe consequence of Silence; sometimes the consequence of Actions;\nsometimes the consequence of Forbearing an Action: and generally a signe\nby Inference, of any Contract, is whatsoever sufficiently argues the\nwill of the Contractor.\n\n\n\n\nFree Gift Passeth By Words Of The Present Or Past\n\nWords alone, if they be of the time to come, and contain a bare promise,\nare an insufficient signe of a Free-gift and therefore not obligatory.\nFor if they be of the time to Come, as, To Morrow I Will Give, they\nare a signe I have not given yet, and consequently that my right is not\ntransferred, but remaineth till I transferre it by some other Act. But\nif the words be of the time Present, or Past, as, \"I have given, or do\ngive to be delivered to morrow,\" then is my to morrows Right given away\nto day; and that by the vertue of the words, though there were no\nother argument of my will. And there is a great difference in the\nsignification of these words, Volos Hoc Tuum Esse Cras, and Cros Dabo;\nthat is between \"I will that this be thine to morrow,\" and, \"I will\ngive it to thee to morrow:\" For the word I Will, in the former manner\nof speech, signifies an act of the will Present; but in the later, it\nsignifies a promise of an act of the will to Come: and therefore the\nformer words, being of the Present, transferre a future right; the\nlater, that be of the Future, transferre nothing. But if there be other\nsignes of the Will to transferre a Right, besides Words; then, though\nthe gift be Free, yet may the Right be understood to passe by words of\nthe future: as if a man propound a Prize to him that comes first to the\nend of a race, The gift is Free; and though the words be of the\nFuture, yet the Right passeth: for if he would not have his words so be\nunderstood, he should not have let them runne.\n\nSignes Of Contract Are Words Both Of The Past, Present, and Future In\nContracts, the right passeth, not onely where the words are of the time\nPresent, or Past; but also where they are of the Future; because all\nContract is mutuall translation, or change of Right; and therefore he\nthat promiseth onely, because he hath already received the benefit for\nwhich he promiseth, is to be understood as if he intended the Right\nshould passe: for unlesse he had been content to have his words so\nunderstood, the other would not have performed his part first. And\nfor that cause, in buying, and selling, and other acts of Contract, A\nPromise is equivalent to a Covenant; and therefore obligatory.\n\n\n\n\nMerit What\n\nHe that performeth first in the case of a Contract, is said to MERIT\nthat which he is to receive by the performance of the other; and he hath\nit as Due. Also when a Prize is propounded to many, which is to be given\nto him onely that winneth; or mony is thrown amongst many, to be enjoyed\nby them that catch it; though this be a Free Gift; yet so to Win, or\nso to Catch, is to Merit, and to have it as DUE. For the Right is\ntransferred in the Propounding of the Prize, and in throwing down the\nmony; though it be not determined to whom, but by the Event of the\ncontention. But there is between these two sorts of Merit, this\ndifference, that In Contract, I Merit by vertue of my own power, and the\nContractors need; but in this case of Free Gift, I am enabled to\nMerit onely by the benignity of the Giver; In Contract, I merit at The\nContractors hand that hee should depart with his right; In this case of\ngift, I Merit not that the giver should part with his right; but that\nwhen he has parted with it, it should be mine, rather than anothers.\nAnd this I think to be the meaning of that distinction of the Schooles,\nbetween Meritum Congrui, and Meritum Condigni. For God Almighty, having\npromised Paradise to those men (hoodwinkt with carnall desires,) that\ncan walk through this world according to the Precepts, and Limits\nprescribed by him; they say, he that shall so walk, shall Merit Paradise\nEx Congruo. But because no man can demand a right to it, by his own\nRighteousnesse, or any other power in himselfe, but by the Free Grace of\nGod onely; they say, no man can Merit Paradise Ex Condigno. This I say,\nI think is the meaning of that distinction; but because Disputers do not\nagree upon the signification of their own termes of Art, longer than it\nserves their turn; I will not affirme any thing of their meaning:\nonely this I say; when a gift is given indefinitely, as a prize to be\ncontended for, he that winneth Meriteth, and may claime the Prize as\nDue.\n\n\n\n\nCovenants Of Mutuall Trust, When Invalid\n\nIf a Covenant be made, wherein neither of the parties performe\npresently, but trust one another; in the condition of meer Nature,\n(which is a condition of Warre of every man against every man,) upon\nany reasonable suspition, it is Voyd; But if there be a common Power set\nover them bothe, with right and force sufficient to compell performance;\nit is not Voyd. For he that performeth first, has no assurance the other\nwill performe after; because the bonds of words are too weak to bridle\nmens ambition, avarice, anger, and other Passions, without the feare of\nsome coerceive Power; which in the condition of meer Nature, where all\nmen are equall, and judges of the justnesse of their own fears cannot\npossibly be supposed. And therefore he which performeth first, does\nbut betray himselfe to his enemy; contrary to the Right (he can never\nabandon) of defending his life, and means of living.\n\nBut in a civill estate, where there is a Power set up to constrain\nthose that would otherwise violate their faith, that feare is no more\nreasonable; and for that cause, he which by the Covenant is to perform\nfirst, is obliged so to do.\n\nThe cause of Feare, which maketh such a Covenant invalid, must be\nalwayes something arising after the Covenant made; as some new fact,\nor other signe of the Will not to performe; else it cannot make the\nCovenant Voyd. For that which could not hinder a man from promising,\nought not to be admitted as a hindrance of performing.\n\n\n\n\nRight To The End, Containeth Right To The Means\n\nHe that transferreth any Right, transferreth the Means of enjoying it,\nas farre as lyeth in his power. As he that selleth Land, is understood\nto transferre the Herbage, and whatsoever growes upon it; Nor can he\nthat sells a Mill turn away the Stream that drives it. And they that\ngive to a man The Right of government in Soveraignty, are understood\nto give him the right of levying mony to maintain Souldiers; and of\nappointing Magistrates for the administration of Justice.\n\n\n\n\nNo Covenant With Beasts\n\nTo make Covenant with bruit Beasts, is impossible; because not\nunderstanding our speech, they understand not, nor accept of any\ntranslation of Right; nor can translate any Right to another; and\nwithout mutuall acceptation, there is no Covenant.\n\n\n\n\nNor With God Without Speciall Revelation\n\nTo make Covenant with God, is impossible, but by Mediation of such\nas God speaketh to, either by Revelation supernaturall, or by his\nLieutenants that govern under him, and in his Name; For otherwise we\nknow not whether our Covenants be accepted, or not. And therefore they\nthat Vow any thing contrary to any law of Nature, Vow in vain; as being\na thing unjust to pay such Vow. And if it be a thing commanded by the\nLaw of Nature, it is not the Vow, but the Law that binds them.\n\n\n\n\nNo Covenant, But Of Possible And Future\n\nThe matter, or subject of a Covenant, is alwayes something that falleth\nunder deliberation; (For to Covenant, is an act of the Will; that is to\nsay an act, and the last act, of deliberation;) and is therefore alwayes\nunderstood to be something to come; and which is judged Possible for him\nthat Covenanteth, to performe.\n\nAnd therefore, to promise that which is known to be Impossible, is no\nCovenant. But if that prove impossible afterwards, which before was\nthought possible, the Covenant is valid, and bindeth, (though not to the\nthing it selfe,) yet to the value; or, if that also be impossible, to\nthe unfeigned endeavour of performing as much as is possible; for to\nmore no man can be obliged.\n\n\n\n\nCovenants How Made Voyd\n\nMen are freed of their Covenants two wayes; by Performing; or by being\nForgiven. For Performance, is the naturall end of obligation; and\nForgivenesse, the restitution of liberty; as being a retransferring of\nthat Right, in which the obligation consisted.\n\n\n\n\nCovenants Extorted By Feare Are Valide\n\nCovenants entred into by fear, in the condition of meer Nature, are\nobligatory. For example, if I Covenant to pay a ransome, or service for\nmy life, to an enemy; I am bound by it. For it is a Contract, wherein\none receiveth the benefit of life; the other is to receive mony,\nor service for it; and consequently, where no other Law (as in the\ncondition, of meer Nature) forbiddeth the performance, the Covenant\nis valid. Therefore Prisoners of warre, if trusted with the payment of\ntheir Ransome, are obliged to pay it; And if a weaker Prince, make a\ndisadvantageous peace with a stronger, for feare; he is bound to keep\nit; unlesse (as hath been sayd before) there ariseth some new, and just\ncause of feare, to renew the war. And even in Common-wealths, if I be\nforced to redeem my selfe from a Theefe by promising him mony, I am\nbound to pay it, till the Civill Law discharge me. For whatsoever I may\nlawfully do without Obligation, the same I may lawfully Covenant to do\nthrough feare: and what I lawfully Covenant, I cannot lawfully break.\n\n\n\n\nThe Former Covenant To One, Makes Voyd The Later To Another\n\nA former Covenant, makes voyd a later. For a man that hath passed away\nhis Right to one man to day, hath it not to passe to morrow to another:\nand therefore the later promise passeth no Right, but is null.\n\n\n\n\nA Mans Covenant Not To Defend Himselfe, Is Voyd\n\nA Covenant not to defend my selfe from force, by force, is alwayes voyd.\nFor (as I have shewed before) no man can transferre, or lay down his\nRight to save himselfe from Death, Wounds, and Imprisonment, (the\navoyding whereof is the onely End of laying down any Right,)\nand therefore the promise of not resisting force, in no Covenant\ntransferreth any right; nor is obliging. For though a man may Covenant\nthus, \"Unlesse I do so, or so, kill me;\" he cannot Covenant thus \"Unless\nI do so, or so, I will not resist you, when you come to kill me.\" For\nman by nature chooseth the lesser evill, which is danger of death in\nresisting; rather than the greater, which is certain and present death\nin not resisting. And this is granted to be true by all men, in\nthat they lead Criminals to Execution, and Prison, with armed men,\nnotwithstanding that such Criminals have consented to the Law, by which\nthey are condemned.\n\n\n\n\nNo Man Obliged To Accuse Himselfe\n\nA Covenant to accuse ones Selfe, without assurance of pardon, is\nlikewise invalide. For in the condition of Nature, where every man is\nJudge, there is no place for Accusation: and in the Civill State, the\nAccusation is followed with Punishment; which being Force, a man is\nnot obliged not to resist. The same is also true, of the Accusation of\nthose, by whose Condemnation a man falls into misery; as of a Father,\nWife, or Benefactor. For the Testimony of such an Accuser, if it be not\nwillingly given, is praesumed to be corrupted by Nature; and therefore\nnot to be received: and where a mans Testimony is not to be credited,\nhis not bound to give it. Also Accusations upon Torture, are not to\nbe reputed as Testimonies. For Torture is to be used but as means of\nconjecture, and light, in the further examination, and search of truth;\nand what is in that case confessed, tendeth to the ease of him that is\nTortured; not to the informing of the Torturers: and therefore ought\nnot to have the credit of a sufficient Testimony: for whether he deliver\nhimselfe by true, or false Accusation, he does it by the Right of\npreserving his own life.\n\n\n\n\nThe End Of An Oath; The Forme Of As Oath\n\nThe force of Words, being (as I have formerly noted) too weak to hold\nmen to the performance of their Covenants; there are in mans nature, but\ntwo imaginable helps to strengthen it. And those are either a Feare\nof the consequence of breaking their word; or a Glory, or Pride in\nappearing not to need to breake it. This later is a Generosity too\nrarely found to be presumed on, especially in the pursuers of Wealth,\nCommand, or sensuall Pleasure; which are the greatest part of Mankind.\nThe Passion to be reckoned upon, is Fear; whereof there be two very\ngenerall Objects: one, the Power of Spirits Invisible; the other, the\nPower of those men they shall therein Offend. Of these two, though the\nformer be the greater Power, yet the feare of the later is commonly\nthe greater Feare. The Feare of the former is in every man, his own\nReligion: which hath place in the nature of man before Civill Society.\nThe later hath not so; at least not place enough, to keep men to their\npromises; because in the condition of meer Nature, the inequality of\nPower is not discerned, but by the event of Battell. So that before the\ntime of Civill Society, or in the interruption thereof by Warre, there\nis nothing can strengthen a Covenant of Peace agreed on, against the\ntemptations of Avarice, Ambition, Lust, or other strong desire, but the\nfeare of that Invisible Power, which they every one Worship as God; and\nFeare as a Revenger of their perfidy. All therefore that can be done\nbetween two men not subject to Civill Power, is to put one another\nto swear by the God he feareth: Which Swearing or OATH, is a Forme Of\nSpeech, Added To A Promise; By Which He That Promiseth, Signifieth, That\nUnlesse He Performe, He Renounceth The Mercy Of His God, Or Calleth To\nHim For Vengeance On Himselfe. Such was the Heathen Forme, \"Let Jupiter\nkill me else, as I kill this Beast.\" So is our Forme, \"I shall do thus,\nand thus, so help me God.\" And this, with the Rites and Ceremonies,\nwhich every one useth in his own Religion, that the feare of breaking\nfaith might be the greater.\n\n\n\n\nNo Oath, But By God\n\nBy this it appears, that an Oath taken according to any other Forme, or\nRite, then his, that sweareth, is in vain; and no Oath: And there is no\nSwearing by any thing which the Swearer thinks not God. For though men\nhave sometimes used to swear by their Kings, for feare, or flattery; yet\nthey would have it thereby understood, they attributed to them Divine\nhonour. And that Swearing unnecessarily by God, is but prophaning of his\nname: and Swearing by other things, as men do in common discourse, is\nnot Swearing, but an impious Custome, gotten by too much vehemence of\ntalking.\n\n\n\n\nAn Oath Addes Nothing To The Obligation\n\nIt appears also, that the Oath addes nothing to the Obligation. For a\nCovenant, if lawfull, binds in the sight of God, without the Oath,\nas much as with it; if unlawfull, bindeth not at all; though it be\nconfirmed with an Oath.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. OF OTHER LAWES OF NATURE\n\n\n\n\nThe Third Law Of Nature, Justice\n\nFrom that law of Nature, by which we are obliged to transferre to\nanother, such Rights, as being retained, hinder the peace of Mankind,\nthere followeth a Third; which is this, That Men Performe Their\nCovenants Made: without which, Covenants are in vain, and but Empty\nwords; and the Right of all men to all things remaining, wee are still\nin the condition of Warre.\n\n\n\n\nJustice And Injustice What\n\nAnd in this law of Nature, consisteth the Fountain and Originall of\nJUSTICE. For where no Covenant hath preceded, there hath no Right been\ntransferred, and every man has right to every thing; and consequently,\nno action can be Unjust. But when a Covenant is made, then to break it\nis Unjust: And the definition of INJUSTICE, is no other than The Not\nPerformance Of Covenant. And whatsoever is not Unjust, is Just.\n\nJustice And Propriety Begin With The Constitution of Common-wealth\nBut because Covenants of mutuall trust, where there is a feare of not\nperformance on either part, (as hath been said in the former Chapter,)\nare invalid; though the Originall of Justice be the making of Covenants;\nyet Injustice actually there can be none, till the cause of such feare\nbe taken away; which while men are in the naturall condition of Warre,\ncannot be done. Therefore before the names of Just, and Unjust can have\nplace, there must be some coercive Power, to compell men equally to\nthe performance of their Covenants, by the terrour of some punishment,\ngreater than the benefit they expect by the breach of their Covenant;\nand to make good that Propriety, which by mutuall Contract men acquire,\nin recompence of the universall Right they abandon: and such power there\nis none before the erection of a Common-wealth. And this is also to be\ngathered out of the ordinary definition of Justice in the Schooles: For\nthey say, that \"Justice is the constant Will of giving to every man his\nown.\" And therefore where there is no Own, that is, no Propriety, there\nis no Injustice; and where there is no coerceive Power erected, that is,\nwhere there is no Common-wealth, there is no Propriety; all men having\nRight to all things: Therefore where there is no Common-wealth, there\nnothing is Unjust. So that the nature of Justice, consisteth in keeping\nof valid Covenants: but the Validity of Covenants begins not but with\nthe Constitution of a Civill Power, sufficient to compell men to keep\nthem: And then it is also that Propriety begins.\n\n\n\n\nJustice Not Contrary To Reason\n\nThe Foole hath sayd in his heart, there is no such thing as Justice;\nand sometimes also with his tongue; seriously alleaging, that every mans\nconservation, and contentment, being committed to his own care, there\ncould be no reason, why every man might not do what he thought conduced\nthereunto; and therefore also to make, or not make; keep, or not keep\nCovenants, was not against Reason, when it conduced to ones benefit.\nHe does not therein deny, that there be Covenants; and that they are\nsometimes broken, sometimes kept; and that such breach of them may\nbe called Injustice, and the observance of them Justice: but he\nquestioneth, whether Injustice, taking away the feare of God, (for the\nsame Foole hath said in his heart there is no God,) may not sometimes\nstand with that Reason, which dictateth to every man his own good; and\nparticularly then, when it conduceth to such a benefit, as shall put a\nman in a condition, to neglect not onely the dispraise, and revilings,\nbut also the power of other men. The Kingdome of God is gotten by\nviolence; but what if it could be gotten by unjust violence? were it\nagainst Reason so to get it, when it is impossible to receive hurt by\nit? and if it be not against Reason, it is not against Justice; or else\nJustice is not to be approved for good. From such reasoning as this,\nSuccesfull wickednesse hath obtained the Name of Vertue; and some that\nin all other things have disallowed the violation of Faith; yet have\nallowed it, when it is for the getting of a Kingdome. And the Heathen\nthat believed, that Saturn was deposed by his son Jupiter, believed\nneverthelesse the same Jupiter to be the avenger of Injustice: Somewhat\nlike to a piece of Law in Cokes Commentaries on Litleton; where he\nsayes, If the right Heire of the Crown be attainted of Treason; yet the\nCrown shall descend to him, and Eo Instante the Atteynder be voyd; From\nwhich instances a man will be very prone to inferre; that when the Heire\napparent of a Kingdome, shall kill him that is in possession, though his\nfather; you may call it Injustice, or by what other name you will; yet\nit can never be against Reason, seeing all the voluntary actions of\nmen tend to the benefit of themselves; and those actions are most\nReasonable, that conduce most to their ends. This specious reasoning is\nnevertheless false.\n\nFor the question is not of promises mutuall, where there is no security\nof performance on either side; as when there is no Civill Power erected\nover the parties promising; for such promises are no Covenants: But\neither where one of the parties has performed already; or where there\nis a Power to make him performe; there is the question whether it be\nagainst reason, that is, against the benefit of the other to performe,\nor not. And I say it is not against reason. For the manifestation\nwhereof, we are to consider; First, that when a man doth a thing, which\nnotwithstanding any thing can be foreseen, and reckoned on, tendeth to\nhis own destruction, howsoever some accident which he could not expect,\narriving may turne it to his benefit; yet such events do not make it\nreasonably or wisely done. Secondly, that in a condition of Warre,\nwherein every man to every man, for want of a common Power to keep them\nall in awe, is an Enemy, there is no man can hope by his own strength,\nor wit, to defend himselfe from destruction, without the help\nof Confederates; where every one expects the same defence by the\nConfederation, that any one else does: and therefore he which declares\nhe thinks it reason to deceive those that help him, can in reason expect\nno other means of safety, than what can be had from his own single\nPower. He therefore that breaketh his Covenant, and consequently\ndeclareth that he thinks he may with reason do so, cannot be received\ninto any Society, that unite themselves for Peace and defence, but\nby the errour of them that receive him; nor when he is received, be\nretayned in it, without seeing the danger of their errour; which errours\na man cannot reasonably reckon upon as the means of his security; and\ntherefore if he be left, or cast out of Society, he perisheth; and if he\nlive in Society, it is by the errours of other men, which he could not\nforesee, nor reckon upon; and consequently against the reason of his\npreservation; and so, as all men that contribute not to his destruction,\nforbear him onely out of ignorance of what is good for themselves.\n\nAs for the Instance of gaining the secure and perpetuall felicity of\nHeaven, by any way; it is frivolous: there being but one way imaginable;\nand that is not breaking, but keeping of Covenant.\n\nAnd for the other Instance of attaining Soveraignty by Rebellion; it is\nmanifest, that though the event follow, yet because it cannot reasonably\nbe expected, but rather the contrary; and because by gaining it so,\nothers are taught to gain the same in like manner, the attempt thereof\nis against reason. Justice therefore, that is to say, Keeping of\nCovenant, is a Rule of Reason, by which we are forbidden to do any thing\ndestructive to our life; and consequently a Law of Nature.\n\nThere be some that proceed further; and will not have the Law of Nature,\nto be those Rules which conduce to the preservation of mans life on\nearth; but to the attaining of an eternall felicity after death; to\nwhich they think the breach of Covenant may conduce; and consequently\nbe just and reasonable; (such are they that think it a work of merit\nto kill, or depose, or rebell against, the Soveraigne Power constituted\nover them by their own consent.) But because there is no naturall\nknowledge of mans estate after death; much lesse of the reward that is\nthen to be given to breach of Faith; but onely a beliefe grounded upon\nother mens saying, that they know it supernaturally, or that they know\nthose, that knew them, that knew others, that knew it supernaturally;\nBreach of Faith cannot be called a Precept of Reason, or Nature.\n\n\n\n\nCovenants Not Discharged By The Vice Of The Person To Whom Made\n\nOthers, that allow for a Law of Nature, the keeping of Faith, do\nneverthelesse make exception of certain persons; as Heretiques, and\nsuch as use not to performe their Covenant to others: And this also is\nagainst reason. For if any fault of a man, be sufficient to discharge\nour Covenant made; the same ought in reason to have been sufficient to\nhave hindred the making of it.\n\n\n\n\nJustice Of Men, And Justice Of Actions What\n\nThe names of Just, and Unjust, when they are attributed to Men, signifie\none thing; and when they are attributed to Actions, another. When they\nare attributed to Men, they signifie Conformity, or Inconformity of\nManners, to Reason. But when they are attributed to Actions, they\nsignifie the Conformity, or Inconformity to Reason, not of Manners, or\nmanner of life, but of particular Actions. A Just man therefore, is he\nthat taketh all the care he can, that his Actions may be all Just: and\nan Unjust man, is he that neglecteth it. And such men are more often\nin our Language stiled by the names of Righteous, and Unrighteous; then\nJust, and Unjust; though the meaning be the same. Therefore a Righteous\nman, does not lose that Title, by one, or a few unjust Actions, that\nproceed from sudden Passion, or mistake of Things, or Persons: nor does\nan Unrighteous man, lose his character, for such Actions, as he does,\nof forbeares to do, for feare: because his Will is not framed by the\nJustice, but by the apparant benefit of what he is to do. That which\ngives to humane Actions the relish of Justice, is a certain Noblenesse\nor Gallantnesse of courage, (rarely found,) by which a man scorns to\nbe beholding for the contentment of his life, to fraud, or breach of\npromise. This Justice of the Manners, is that which is meant, where\nJustice is called a Vertue; and Injustice a Vice.\n\nBut the Justice of Actions denominates men, not Just, but Guiltlesse;\nand the Injustice of the same, (which is also called Injury,) gives them\nbut the name of Guilty.\n\n\n\n\nJustice Of Manners, And Justice Of Actions\n\nAgain, the Injustice of Manners, is the disposition, or aptitude to\ndo Injurie; and is Injustice before it proceed to Act; and without\nsupposing any individuall person injured. But the Injustice of an\nAction, (that is to say Injury,) supposeth an individuall person\nInjured; namely him, to whom the Covenant was made: And therefore many\ntimes the injury is received by one man, when the dammage redoundeth\nto another. As when The Master commandeth his servant to give mony to a\nstranger; if it be not done, the Injury is done to the Master, whom\nhe had before Covenanted to obey; but the dammage redoundeth to the\nstranger, to whom he had no Obligation; and therefore could not Injure\nhim. And so also in Common-wealths, private men may remit to one another\ntheir debts; but not robberies or other violences, whereby they are\nendammaged; because the detaining of Debt, is an Injury to themselves;\nbut Robbery and Violence, are Injuries to the Person of the\nCommon-wealth.\n\n\n\n\nNothing Done To A Man, By His Own Consent Can Be Injury\n\nWhatsoever is done to a man, conformable to his own Will signified to\nthe doer, is no Injury to him. For if he that doeth it, hath not passed\naway his originall right to do what he please, by some Antecedent\nCovenant, there is no breach of Covenant; and therefore no Injury done\nhim. And if he have; then his Will to have it done being signified, is a\nrelease of that Covenant; and so again there is no Injury done him.\n\n\n\n\nJustice Commutative, And Distributive\n\nJustice of Actions, is by Writers divided into Commutative, and\nDistributive; and the former they say consisteth in proportion\nArithmeticall; the later in proportion Geometricall. Commutative\ntherefore, they place in the equality of value of the things contracted\nfor; And Distributive, in the distribution of equall benefit, to men of\nequall merit. As if it were Injustice to sell dearer than we buy; or to\ngive more to a man than he merits. The value of all things contracted\nfor, is measured by the Appetite of the Contractors: and therefore the\njust value, is that which they be contented to give. And Merit (besides\nthat which is by Covenant, where the performance on one part, meriteth\nthe performance of the other part, and falls under Justice Commutative,\nnot Distributive,) is not due by Justice; but is rewarded of Grace\nonely. And therefore this distinction, in the sense wherein it useth to\nbe expounded, is not right. To speak properly, Commutative Justice,\nis the Justice of a Contractor; that is, a Performance of Covenant,\nin Buying, and Selling; Hiring, and Letting to Hire; Lending, and\nBorrowing; Exchanging, Bartering, and other acts of Contract.\n\nAnd Distributive Justice, the Justice of an Arbitrator; that is to say,\nthe act of defining what is Just. Wherein, (being trusted by them that\nmake him Arbitrator,) if he performe his Trust, he is said to distribute\nto every man his own: and his is indeed Just Distribution, and may\nbe called (though improperly) Distributive Justice; but more properly\nEquity; which also is a Law of Nature, as shall be shewn in due place.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fourth Law Of Nature, Gratitude\n\nAs Justice dependeth on Antecedent Covenant; so does Gratitude depend\non Antecedent Grace; that is to say, Antecedent Free-gift: and is the\nfourth Law of Nature; which may be conceived in this Forme, \"That a man\nwhich receiveth Benefit from another of meer Grace, Endeavour that he\nwhich giveth it, have no reasonable cause to repent him of his good\nwill.\" For no man giveth, but with intention of Good to himselfe;\nbecause Gift is Voluntary; and of all Voluntary Acts, the Object is to\nevery man his own Good; of which if men see they shall be frustrated,\nthere will be no beginning of benevolence, or trust; nor consequently of\nmutuall help; nor of reconciliation of one man to another; and therefore\nthey are to remain still in the condition of War; which is contrary to\nthe first and Fundamentall Law of Nature, which commandeth men to Seek\nPeace. The breach of this Law, is called Ingratitude; and hath the same\nrelation to Grace, that Injustice hath to Obligation by Covenant.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fifth, Mutuall accommodation, or Compleasance\n\nA fifth Law of Nature, is COMPLEASANCE; that is to say, \"That every\nman strive to accommodate himselfe to the rest.\" For the understanding\nwhereof, we may consider, that there is in mens aptnesse to Society;\na diversity of Nature, rising from their diversity of Affections; not\nunlike to that we see in stones brought together for building of an\nAedifice. For as that stone which by the asperity, and irregularity of\nFigure, takes more room from others, than it selfe fills; and for\nthe hardnesse, cannot be easily made plain, and thereby hindereth the\nbuilding, is by the builders cast away as unprofitable, and troublesome:\nso also, a man that by asperity of Nature, will strive to retain those\nthings which to himselfe are superfluous, and to others necessary; and\nfor the stubbornness of his Passions, cannot be corrected, is to be\nleft, or cast out of Society, as combersome thereunto. For seeing every\nman, not onely by Right, but also by necessity of Nature, is supposed\nto endeavour all he can, to obtain that which is necessary for his\nconservation; He that shall oppose himselfe against it, for things\nsuperfluous, is guilty of the warre that thereupon is to follow; and\ntherefore doth that, which is contrary to the fundamentall Law of\nNature, which commandeth To Seek Peace. The observers of this Law,\nmay be called SOCIABLE, (the Latines call them Commodi;) The contrary,\nStubborn, Insociable, Froward, Intractable.\n\n\n\n\nThe Sixth, Facility To Pardon\n\nA sixth Law of Nature is this, \"That upon caution of the Future time,\na man ought to pardon the offences past of them that repenting, desire\nit.\" For PARDON, is nothing but granting of Peace; which though granted\nto them that persevere in their hostility, be not Peace, but Feare; yet\nnot granted to them that give caution of the Future time, is signe of an\naversion to Peace; and therefore contrary to the Law of Nature.\n\n\n\n\nThe Seventh, That In Revenges, Men Respect Onely The Future Good\n\nA seventh is, \" That in Revenges, (that is, retribution of evil for\nevil,) Men look not at the greatnesse of the evill past, but the\ngreatnesse of the good to follow.\" Whereby we are forbidden to inflict\npunishment with any other designe, than for correction of the offender,\nor direction of others. For this Law is consequent to the next before\nit, that commandeth Pardon, upon security of the Future Time. Besides,\nRevenge without respect to the Example, and profit to come, is a\ntriumph, or glorying in the hurt of another, tending to no end; (for the\nEnd is alwayes somewhat to Come;) and glorying to no end, is vain-glory,\nand contrary to reason; and to hurt without reason, tendeth to the\nintroduction of Warre; which is against the Law of Nature; and is\ncommonly stiled by the name of Cruelty.\n\n\n\n\nThe Eighth, Against Contumely\n\nAnd because all signes of hatred, or contempt, provoke to fight;\ninsomuch as most men choose rather to hazard their life, than not to be\nrevenged; we may in the eighth place, for a Law of Nature set down this\nPrecept, \"That no man by deed, word, countenance, or gesture, declare\nHatred, or Contempt of another.\" The breach of which Law, is commonly\ncalled Contumely.\n\n\n\n\nThe Ninth, Against Pride\n\nThe question who is the better man, has no place in the condition of\nmeer Nature; where, (as has been shewn before,) all men are equall. The\ninequallity that now is, has been introduced by the Lawes civill. I know\nthat Aristotle in the first booke of his Politiques, for a foundation of\nhis doctrine, maketh men by Nature, some more worthy to Command, meaning\nthe wiser sort (such as he thought himselfe to be for his Philosophy;)\nothers to Serve, (meaning those that had strong bodies, but were not\nPhilosophers as he;) as if Master and Servant were not introduced by\nconsent of men, but by difference of Wit; which is not only against\nreason; but also against experience. For there are very few so foolish,\nthat had not rather governe themselves, than be governed by others:\nNor when the wise in their own conceit, contend by force, with them who\ndistrust their owne wisdome, do they alwaies, or often, or almost at any\ntime, get the Victory. If Nature therefore have made men equall, that\nequalitie is to be acknowledged; or if Nature have made men unequall;\nyet because men that think themselves equall, will not enter into\nconditions of Peace, but upon Equall termes, such equalitie must be\nadmitted. And therefore for the ninth Law of Nature, I put this, \"That\nevery man acknowledge other for his Equall by Nature.\" The breach of\nthis Precept is Pride.\n\n\n\n\nThe Tenth Against Arrogance\n\nOn this law, dependeth another, \"That at the entrance into conditions of\nPeace, no man require to reserve to himselfe any Right, which he is not\ncontent should be reserved to every one of the rest.\" As it is necessary\nfor all men that seek peace, to lay down certaine Rights of Nature; that\nis to say, not to have libertie to do all they list: so is it necessarie\nfor mans life, to retaine some; as right to governe their owne bodies;\nenjoy aire, water, motion, waies to go from place to place; and all\nthings else without which a man cannot live, or not live well. If in\nthis case, at the making of Peace, men require for themselves, that\nwhich they would not have to be granted to others, they do contrary\nto the precedent law, that commandeth the acknowledgement of naturall\nequalitie, and therefore also against the law of Nature. The observers\nof this law, are those we call Modest, and the breakers Arrogant Men.\nThe Greeks call the violation of this law pleonexia; that is, a desire\nof more than their share.\n\n\n\n\nThe Eleventh Equity\n\nAlso \"If a man be trusted to judge between man and man,\" it is a precept\nof the Law of Nature, \"that he deale Equally between them.\" For without\nthat, the Controversies of men cannot be determined but by Warre.\nHe therefore that is partiall in judgment, doth what in him lies, to\ndeterre men from the use of Judges, and Arbitrators; and consequently,\n(against the fundamentall Lawe of Nature) is the cause of Warre.\n\nThe observance of this law, from the equall distribution to each man, of\nthat which in reason belongeth to him, is called EQUITY, and (as I have\nsayd before) distributive justice: the violation, Acception Of Persons,\nProsopolepsia.\n\n\n\n\nThe Twelfth, Equall Use Of Things Common\n\nAnd from this followeth another law, \"That such things as cannot be\ndivided, be enjoyed in Common, if it can be; and if the quantity of the\nthing permit, without Stint; otherwise Proportionably to the number of\nthem that have Right.\" For otherwise the distribution is Unequall, and\ncontrary to Equitie.\n\n\n\n\nThe Thirteenth, Of Lot\n\nBut some things there be, that can neither be divided, nor enjoyed in\ncommon. Then, The Law of Nature, which prescribeth Equity, requireth,\n\"That the Entire Right; or else, (making the use alternate,) the First\nPossession, be determined by Lot.\" For equall distribution, is of\nthe Law of Nature; and other means of equall distribution cannot be\nimagined.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fourteenth, Of Primogeniture, And First Seising\n\nOf Lots there be two sorts, Arbitrary, and Naturall. Arbitrary, is\nthat which is agreed on by the Competitors; Naturall, is either\nPrimogeniture, (which the Greek calls Kleronomia, which signifies, Given\nby Lot;) or First Seisure.\n\nAnd therefore those things which cannot be enjoyed in common, nor\ndivided, ought to be adjudged to the First Possessor; and is some cases\nto the First-Borne, as acquired by Lot.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fifteenth, Of Mediators\n\nIt is also a Law of Nature, \"That all men that mediate Peace, be allowed\nsafe Conduct.\" For the Law that commandeth Peace, as the End, commandeth\nIntercession, as the Means; and to Intercession the Means is safe\nConduct.\n\n\n\n\nThe Sixteenth, Of Submission To Arbitrement\n\nAnd because, though men be never so willing to observe these Lawes,\nthere may neverthelesse arise questions concerning a mans action; First,\nwhether it were done, or not done; Secondly (if done) whether against\nthe Law, or not against the Law; the former whereof, is called a\nquestion Of Fact; the later a question Of Right; therefore unlesse the\nparties to the question, Covenant mutually to stand to the sentence\nof another, they are as farre from Peace as ever. This other, to whose\nSentence they submit, is called an ARBITRATOR. And therefore it is of\nthe Law of Nature, \"That they that are at controversie, submit their\nRight to the judgement of an Arbitrator.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Seventeenth, No Man Is His Own Judge\n\nAnd seeing every man is presumed to do all things in order to his own\nbenefit, no man is a fit Arbitrator in his own cause: and if he were\nnever so fit; yet Equity allowing to each party equall benefit, if one\nbe admitted to be Judge, the other is to be admitted also; & so the\ncontroversie, that is, the cause of War, remains, against the Law of\nNature.\n\n\n\n\nThe Eighteenth, No Man To Be Judge, That Has In Him Cause Of Partiality\n\nFor the same reason no man in any Cause ought to be received for\nArbitrator, to whom greater profit, or honour, or pleasure apparently\nariseth out of the victory of one party, than of the other: for he hath\ntaken (though an unavoydable bribe, yet) a bribe; and no man can be\nobliged to trust him. And thus also the controversie, and the condition\nof War remaineth, contrary to the Law of Nature.\n\n\n\n\nThe Nineteenth, Of Witnesse\n\nAnd in a controversie of Fact, the Judge being to give no more credit\nto one, than to the other, (if there be no other Arguments) must give\ncredit to a third; or to a third and fourth; or more: For else the\nquestion is undecided, and left to force, contrary to the Law of Nature.\n\nThese are the Lawes of Nature, dictating Peace, for a means of the\nconservation of men in multitudes; and which onely concern the doctrine\nof Civill Society. There be other things tending to the destruction of\nparticular men; as Drunkenness, and all other parts of Intemperance;\nwhich may therefore also be reckoned amongst those things which the Law\nof Nature hath forbidden; but are not necessary to be mentioned, nor are\npertinent enough to this place.\n\n\n\n\nA Rule, By Which The Laws Of Nature May Easily Be Examined\n\nAnd though this may seem too subtile a deduction of the Lawes of Nature,\nto be taken notice of by all men; whereof the most part are too busie in\ngetting food, and the rest too negligent to understand; yet to leave\nall men unexcusable, they have been contracted into one easie sum,\nintelligible even to the meanest capacity; and that is, \"Do not that to\nanother, which thou wouldest not have done to thy selfe;\" which sheweth\nhim, that he has no more to do in learning the Lawes of Nature, but,\nwhen weighing the actions of other men with his own, they seem too\nheavy, to put them into the other part of the ballance, and his own into\ntheir place, that his own passions, and selfe-love, may adde nothing to\nthe weight; and then there is none of these Lawes of Nature that will\nnot appear unto him very reasonable.\n\n\n\n\nThe Lawes Of Nature Oblige In Conscience Alwayes,\n\nBut In Effect Then Onely When There Is Security The Lawes of Nature\noblige In Foro Interno; that is to say, they bind to a desire they\nshould take place: but In Foro Externo; that is, to the putting them\nin act, not alwayes. For he that should be modest, and tractable, and\nperforme all he promises, in such time, and place, where no man els\nshould do so, should but make himselfe a prey to others, and procure his\nown certain ruine, contrary to the ground of all Lawes of Nature, which\ntend to Natures preservation. And again, he that shall observe the same\nLawes towards him, observes them not himselfe, seeketh not Peace, but\nWar; & consequently the destruction of his Nature by Violence.\n\nAnd whatsoever Lawes bind In Foro Interno, may be broken, not onely by\na fact contrary to the Law but also by a fact according to it, in case a\nman think it contrary. For though his Action in this case, be according\nto the Law; which where the Obligation is In Foro Interno, is a breach.\n\n\n\n\nThe Laws Of Nature Are Eternal;\n\nThe Lawes of Nature are Immutable and Eternall, For Injustice,\nIngratitude, Arrogance, Pride, Iniquity, Acception of persons, and the\nrest, can never be made lawfull. For it can never be that Warre shall\npreserve life, and Peace destroy it.\n\n\n\n\nAnd Yet Easie\n\nThe same Lawes, because they oblige onely to a desire, and endeavour, I\nmean an unfeigned and constant endeavour, are easie to be observed. For\nin that they require nothing but endeavour; he that endeavoureth their\nperformance, fulfilleth them; and he that fulfilleth the Law, is Just.\n\n\n\n\nThe Science Of These Lawes, Is The True Morall Philosophy\n\nAnd the Science of them, is the true and onely Moral Philosophy. For\nMorall Philosophy is nothing else but the Science of what is Good, and\nEvill, in the conversation, and Society of mankind. Good, and Evill,\nare names that signifie our Appetites, and Aversions; which in different\ntempers, customes, and doctrines of men, are different: And divers men,\ndiffer not onely in their Judgement, on the senses of what is pleasant,\nand unpleasant to the tast, smell, hearing, touch, and sight; but also\nof what is conformable, or disagreeable to Reason, in the actions of\ncommon life. Nay, the same man, in divers times, differs from himselfe;\nand one time praiseth, that is, calleth Good, what another time\nhe dispraiseth, and calleth Evil: From whence arise Disputes,\nControversies, and at last War. And therefore so long as man is in the\ncondition of meer Nature, (which is a condition of War,) as private\nAppetite is the measure of Good, and Evill: and consequently all men\nagree on this, that Peace is Good, and therefore also the way, or\nmeans of Peace, which (as I have shewed before) are Justice, Gratitude,\nModesty, Equity, Mercy, & the rest of the Laws of Nature, are good; that\nis to say, Morall Vertues; and their contrarie Vices, Evill. Now the\nscience of Vertue and Vice, is Morall Philosophie; and therfore the true\nDoctrine of the Lawes of Nature, is the true Morall Philosophie. But the\nWriters of Morall Philosophie, though they acknowledge the same Vertues\nand Vices; Yet not seeing wherein consisted their Goodnesse; nor that\nthey come to be praised, as the meanes of peaceable, sociable, and\ncomfortable living; place them in a mediocrity of passions: as if not\nthe Cause, but the Degree of daring, made Fortitude; or not the Cause,\nbut the Quantity of a gift, made Liberality.\n\nThese dictates of Reason, men use to call by the name of Lawes; but\nimproperly: for they are but Conclusions, or Theoremes concerning what\nconduceth to the conservation and defence of themselves; whereas Law,\nproperly is the word of him, that by right hath command over others. But\nyet if we consider the same Theoremes, as delivered in the word of\nGod, that by right commandeth all things; then are they properly called\nLawes.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. OF PERSONS, AUTHORS, AND THINGS PERSONATED\n\n\n\nA Person What\n\nA PERSON, is he \"whose words or actions are considered, either as his\nown, or as representing the words or actions of an other man, or of any\nother thing to whom they are attributed, whether Truly or by Fiction.\"\n\n\n\n\nPerson Naturall, And Artificiall\n\nWhen they are considered as his owne, then is he called a Naturall\nPerson: And when they are considered as representing the words and\nactions of an other, then is he a Feigned or Artificiall person.\n\n\n\n\nThe Word Person, Whence\n\nThe word Person is latine: instead whereof the Greeks have Prosopon,\nwhich signifies the Face, as Persona in latine signifies the Disguise,\nor Outward Appearance of a man, counterfeited on the Stage; and somtimes\nmore particularly that part of it, which disguiseth the face, as a Mask\nor Visard: And from the Stage, hath been translated to any Representer\nof speech and action, as well in Tribunalls, as Theaters. So that a\nPerson, is the same that an Actor is, both on the Stage and in common\nConversation; and to Personate, is to Act, or Represent himselfe, or an\nother; and he that acteth another, is said to beare his Person, or\nact in his name; (in which sence Cicero useth it where he saies, \"Unus\nSustineo Tres Personas; Mei, Adversarii, & Judicis, I beare three\nPersons; my own, my Adversaries, and the Judges;\") and is called in\ndiverse occasions, diversly; as a Representer, or Representative, a\nLieutenant, a Vicar, an Attorney, a Deputy, a Procurator, an Actor, and\nthe like.\n\n\n\n\nActor, Author; Authority\n\nOf Persons Artificiall, some have their words and actions Owned by\nthose whom they represent. And then the Person is the Actor; and he that\nowneth his words and actions, is the AUTHOR: In which case the\nActor acteth by Authority. For that which in speaking of goods and\npossessions, is called an Owner, and in latine Dominus, in Greeke\nKurios; speaking of Actions, is called Author. And as the Right of\npossession, is called Dominion; so the Right of doing any Action, is\ncalled AUTHORITY. So that by Authority, is alwayes understood a Right\nof doing any act: and Done By Authority, done by Commission, or Licence\nfrom him whose right it is.\n\n\n\n\nCovenants By Authority, Bind The Author\n\nFrom hence it followeth, that when the Actor maketh a Covenant by\nAuthority, he bindeth thereby the Author, no lesse than if he had made\nit himselfe; and no lesse subjecteth him to all the consequences of the\nsame. And therfore all that hath been said formerly, (Chap. 14) of the\nnature of Covenants between man and man in their naturall capacity,\nis true also when they are made by their Actors, Representers, or\nProcurators, that have authority from them, so far-forth as is in their\nCommission, but no farther.\n\nAnd therefore he that maketh a Covenant with the Actor, or Representer,\nnot knowing the Authority he hath, doth it at his own perill. For no man\nis obliged by a Covenant, whereof he is not Author; nor consequently by\na Covenant made against, or beside the Authority he gave.\n\n\n\n\nBut Not The Actor\n\nWhen the Actor doth any thing against the Law of Nature by command of\nthe Author, if he be obliged by former Covenant to obey him, not he, but\nthe Author breaketh the Law of Nature: for though the Action be against\nthe Law of Nature; yet it is not his: but contrarily; to refuse to do\nit, is against the Law of Nature, that forbiddeth breach of Covenant.\n\n\n\n\nThe Authority Is To Be Shewne\n\nAnd he that maketh a Covenant with the Author, by mediation of the\nActor, not knowing what Authority he hath, but onely takes his word;\nin case such Authority be not made manifest unto him upon demand, is\nno longer obliged: For the Covenant made with the Author, is not valid,\nwithout his Counter-assurance. But if he that so Covenanteth, knew\nbefore hand he was to expect no other assurance, than the Actors word;\nthen is the Covenant valid; because the Actor in this case maketh\nhimselfe the Author. And therefore, as when the Authority is evident,\nthe Covenant obligeth the Author, not the Actor; so when the Authority\nis feigned, it obligeth the Actor onely; there being no Author but\nhimselfe.\n\n\n\n\nThings Personated, Inanimate\n\nThere are few things, that are uncapable of being represented by\nFiction. Inanimate things, as a Church, an Hospital, a Bridge, may\nbe Personated by a Rector, Master, or Overseer. But things Inanimate,\ncannot be Authors, nor therefore give Authority to their Actors: Yet the\nActors may have Authority to procure their maintenance, given them by\nthose that are Owners, or Governours of those things. And therefore,\nsuch things cannot be Personated, before there be some state of Civill\nGovernment.\n\n\n\n\nIrrational\n\nLikewise Children, Fooles, and Mad-men that have no use of Reason, may\nbe Personated by Guardians, or Curators; but can be no Authors (during\nthat time) of any action done by them, longer then (when they shall\nrecover the use of Reason) they shall judge the same reasonable.\nYet during the Folly, he that hath right of governing them, may give\nAuthority to the Guardian. But this again has no place but in a State\nCivill, because before such estate, there is no Dominion of Persons.\n\n\n\n\nFalse Gods\n\nAn Idol, or meer Figment of the brain, may be Personated; as were the\nGods of the Heathen; which by such Officers as the State appointed, were\nPersonated, and held Possessions, and other Goods, and Rights, which men\nfrom time to time dedicated, and consecrated unto them. But idols cannot\nbe Authors: for a Idol is nothing. The Authority proceeded from the\nState: and therefore before introduction of Civill Government, the Gods\nof the Heathen could not be Personated.\n\n\n\n\nThe True God\n\nThe true God may be Personated. As he was; first, by Moses; who governed\nthe Israelites, (that were not his, but Gods people,) not in his own\nname, with Hoc Dicit Moses; but in Gods Name, with Hoc Dicit Dominus.\nSecondly, by the son of man, his own Son our Blessed Saviour Jesus\nChrist, that came to reduce the Jewes, and induce all Nations into the\nKingdome of his Father; not as of himselfe, but as sent from his Father.\nAnd thirdly, by the Holy Ghost, or Comforter, speaking, and working\nin the Apostles: which Holy Ghost, was a Comforter that came not of\nhimselfe; but was sent, and proceeded from them both.\n\n\n\n\nA Multitude Of Men, How One Person\n\nA Multitude of men, are made One Person, when they are by one man, or\none Person, Represented; so that it be done with the consent of\nevery one of that Multitude in particular. For it is the Unity of the\nRepresenter, not the Unity of the Represented, that maketh the Person\nOne. And it is the Representer that beareth the Person, and but one\nPerson: And Unity, cannot otherwise be understood in Multitude.\n\n\n\n\nEvery One Is Author\n\nAnd because the Multitude naturally is not One, but Many; they cannot\nbe understood for one; but many Authors, of every thing their\nRepresentative faith, or doth in their name; Every man giving their\ncommon Representer, Authority from himselfe in particular; and owning\nall the actions the Representer doth, in case they give him Authority\nwithout stint: Otherwise, when they limit him in what, and how farre\nhe shall represent them, none of them owneth more, than they gave him\ncommission to Act.\n\n\n\n\nAn Actor May Be Many Men Made One By Plurality Of Voyces\n\nAnd if the Representative consist of many men, the voyce of the greater\nnumber, must be considered as the voyce of them all. For if the lesser\nnumber pronounce (for example) in the Affirmative, and the greater in\nthe Negative, there will be Negatives more than enough to destroy\nthe Affirmatives; and thereby the excesse of Negatives, standing\nuncontradicted, are the onely voyce the Representative hath.\n\n\n\n\nRepresentatives, When The Number Is Even, Unprofitable\n\nAnd a Representative of even number, especially when the number is\nnot great, whereby the contradictory voyces are oftentimes equall, is\ntherefore oftentimes mute, and uncapable of Action. Yet in some cases\ncontradictory voyces equall in number, may determine a question; as in\ncondemning, or absolving, equality of votes, even in that they condemne\nnot, do absolve; but not on the contrary condemne, in that they absolve\nnot. For when a Cause is heard; not to condemne, is to absolve; but on\nthe contrary, to say that not absolving, is condemning, is not true. The\nlike it is in a deliberation of executing presently, or deferring\ntill another time; For when the voyces are equall, the not decreeing\nExecution, is a decree of Dilation.\n\n\n\n\nNegative Voyce\n\nOr if the number be odde, as three, or more, (men, or assemblies;)\nwhereof every one has by a Negative Voice, authority to take away the\neffect of all the Affirmative Voices of the rest, This number is no\nRepresentative; because by the diversity of Opinions, and Interests of\nmen, it becomes oftentimes, and in cases of the greatest consequence, a\nmute Person, and unapt, as for may things else, so for the government of\na Multitude, especially in time of Warre.\n\nOf Authors there be two sorts. The first simply so called; which I have\nbefore defined to be him, that owneth the Action of another simply.\nThe second is he, that owneth an Action, or Covenant of another\nconditionally; that is to say, he undertaketh to do it, if the\nother doth it not, at, or before a certain time. And these Authors\nconditionall, are generally called SURETYES, in Latine Fidejussores, and\nSponsores; and particularly for Debt, Praedes; and for Appearance before\na Judge, or Magistrate, Vades.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\nOF COMMON-WEALTH\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. OF THE CAUSES, GENERATION, AND DEFINITION OF A\nCOMMON-WEALTH\n\n\n\n\nThe End Of Common-wealth, Particular Security\n\nThe finall Cause, End, or Designe of men, (who naturally love Liberty,\nand Dominion over others,) in the introduction of that restraint upon\nthemselves, (in which wee see them live in Common-wealths,) is the\nforesight of their own preservation, and of a more contented life\nthereby; that is to say, of getting themselves out from that miserable\ncondition of Warre, which is necessarily consequent (as hath been shewn)\nto the naturall Passions of men, when there is no visible Power to keep\nthem in awe, and tye them by feare of punishment to the performance of\ntheir Covenants, and observation of these Lawes of Nature set down in\nthe fourteenth and fifteenth Chapters.\n\n\n\n\nWhich Is Not To Be Had From The Law Of Nature:\n\nFor the Lawes of Nature (as Justice, Equity, Modesty, Mercy, and (in\nsumme) Doing To Others, As Wee Would Be Done To,) if themselves, without\nthe terrour of some Power, to cause them to be observed, are contrary to\nour naturall Passions, that carry us to Partiality, Pride, Revenge, and\nthe like. And Covenants, without the Sword, are but Words, and of no\nstrength to secure a man at all. Therefore notwithstanding the Lawes of\nNature, (which every one hath then kept, when he has the will to keep\nthem, when he can do it safely,) if there be no Power erected, or not\ngreat enough for our security; every man will and may lawfully rely on\nhis own strength and art, for caution against all other men. And in all\nplaces, where men have lived by small Families, to robbe and spoyle one\nanother, has been a Trade, and so farre from being reputed against the\nLaw of Nature, that the greater spoyles they gained, the greater was\ntheir honour; and men observed no other Lawes therein, but the Lawes of\nHonour; that is, to abstain from cruelty, leaving to men their lives,\nand instruments of husbandry. And as small Familyes did then; so now\ndo Cities and Kingdomes which are but greater Families (for their own\nsecurity) enlarge their Dominions, upon all pretences of danger, and\nfear of Invasion, or assistance that may be given to Invaders, endeavour\nas much as they can, to subdue, or weaken their neighbours, by open\nforce, and secret arts, for want of other Caution, justly; and are\nremembred for it in after ages with honour.\n\n\n\n\nNor From The Conjunction Of A Few Men Or Familyes\n\nNor is it the joyning together of a small number of men, that gives them\nthis security; because in small numbers, small additions on the one side\nor the other, make the advantage of strength so great, as is sufficient\nto carry the Victory; and therefore gives encouragement to an Invasion.\nThe Multitude sufficient to confide in for our Security, is not\ndetermined by any certain number, but by comparison with the Enemy we\nfeare; and is then sufficient, when the odds of the Enemy is not of so\nvisible and conspicuous moment, to determine the event of warre, as to\nmove him to attempt.\n\n\n\n\nNor From A Great Multitude, Unlesse Directed By One Judgement\n\nAnd be there never so great a Multitude; yet if their actions be\ndirected according to their particular judgements, and particular\nappetites, they can expect thereby no defence, nor protection, neither\nagainst a Common enemy, nor against the injuries of one another. For\nbeing distracted in opinions concerning the best use and application\nof their strength, they do not help, but hinder one another; and reduce\ntheir strength by mutuall opposition to nothing: whereby they are\neasily, not onely subdued by a very few that agree together; but also\nwhen there is no common enemy, they make warre upon each other, for\ntheir particular interests. For if we could suppose a great Multitude of\nmen to consent in the observation of Justice, and other Lawes of Nature,\nwithout a common Power to keep them all in awe; we might as well suppose\nall Man-kind to do the same; and then there neither would be nor need to\nbe any Civill Government, or Common-wealth at all; because there would\nbe Peace without subjection.\n\n\n\n\nAnd That Continually\n\nNor is it enough for the security, which men desire should last all\nthe time of their life, that they be governed, and directed by one\njudgement, for a limited time; as in one Battell, or one Warre. For\nthough they obtain a Victory by their unanimous endeavour against a\nforraign enemy; yet afterwards, when either they have no common enemy,\nor he that by one part is held for an enemy, is by another part held for\na friend, they must needs by the difference of their interests dissolve,\nand fall again into a Warre amongst themselves.\n\n\n\n\nWhy Certain Creatures Without Reason, Or Speech,\n\n\n\n\nDo Neverthelesse Live In Society, Without Any Coercive Power\n\nIt is true, that certain living creatures, as Bees, and Ants, live\nsociably one with another, (which are therefore by Aristotle numbred\namongst Politicall creatures;) and yet have no other direction, than\ntheir particular judgements and appetites; nor speech, whereby one of\nthem can signifie to another, what he thinks expedient for the common\nbenefit: and therefore some man may perhaps desire to know, why Man-kind\ncannot do the same. To which I answer,\n\nFirst, that men are continually in competition for Honour and Dignity,\nwhich these creatures are not; and consequently amongst men there\nariseth on that ground, Envy and Hatred, and finally Warre; but amongst\nthese not so.\n\nSecondly, that amongst these creatures, the Common good differeth not\nfrom the Private; and being by nature enclined to their private, they\nprocure thereby the common benefit. But man, whose Joy consisteth\nin comparing himselfe with other men, can relish nothing but what is\neminent.\n\nThirdly, that these creatures, having not (as man) the use of reason,\ndo not see, nor think they see any fault, in the administration of their\ncommon businesse: whereas amongst men, there are very many, that thinke\nthemselves wiser, and abler to govern the Publique, better than the\nrest; and these strive to reforme and innovate, one this way, another\nthat way; and thereby bring it into Distraction and Civill warre.\n\nFourthly, that these creatures, though they have some use of voice, in\nmaking knowne to one another their desires, and other affections; yet\nthey want that art of words, by which some men can represent to others,\nthat which is Good, in the likenesse of Evill; and Evill, in the\nlikenesse of Good; and augment, or diminish the apparent greatnesse of\nGood and Evill; discontenting men, and troubling their Peace at their\npleasure.\n\nFiftly, irrationall creatures cannot distinguish betweene Injury, and\nDammage; and therefore as long as they be at ease, they are not offended\nwith their fellowes: whereas Man is then most troublesome, when he is\nmost at ease: for then it is that he loves to shew his Wisdome, and\ncontroule the Actions of them that governe the Common-wealth.\n\nLastly, the agreement of these creatures is Naturall; that of men, is\nby Covenant only, which is Artificiall: and therefore it is no wonder\nif there be somewhat else required (besides Covenant) to make their\nAgreement constant and lasting; which is a Common Power, to keep them in\nawe, and to direct their actions to the Common Benefit.\n\n\n\n\nThe Generation Of A Common-wealth\n\nThe only way to erect such a Common Power, as may be able to defend them\nfrom the invasion of Forraigners, and the injuries of one another, and\nthereby to secure them in such sort, as that by their owne industrie,\nand by the fruites of the Earth, they may nourish themselves and live\ncontentedly; is, to conferre all their power and strength upon one\nMan, or upon one Assembly of men, that may reduce all their Wills,\nby plurality of voices, unto one Will: which is as much as to say, to\nappoint one man, or Assembly of men, to beare their Person; and every\none to owne, and acknowledge himselfe to be Author of whatsoever he\nthat so beareth their Person, shall Act, or cause to be Acted, in those\nthings which concerne the Common Peace and Safetie; and therein to\nsubmit their Wills, every one to his Will, and their Judgements, to his\nJudgment. This is more than Consent, or Concord; it is a reall Unitie of\nthem all, in one and the same Person, made by Covenant of every man with\nevery man, in such manner, as if every man should say to every man, \"I\nAuthorise and give up my Right of Governing my selfe, to this Man, or to\nthis Assembly of men, on this condition, that thou give up thy Right\nto him, and Authorise all his Actions in like manner.\" This done, the\nMultitude so united in one Person, is called a COMMON-WEALTH, in latine\nCIVITAS. This is the Generation of that great LEVIATHAN, or rather (to\nspeake more reverently) of that Mortall God, to which wee owe under the\nImmortall God, our peace and defence. For by this Authoritie, given him\nby every particular man in the Common-Wealth, he hath the use of so\nmuch Power and Strength conferred on him, that by terror thereof, he is\ninabled to forme the wills of them all, to Peace at home, and mutuall\nayd against their enemies abroad.\n\n\n\n\nThe Definition Of A Common-wealth\n\nAnd in him consisteth the Essence of the Common-wealth; which (to\ndefine it,) is \"One Person, of whose Acts a great Multitude, by mutuall\nCovenants one with another, have made themselves every one the Author,\nto the end he may use the strength and means of them all, as he shall\nthink expedient, for their Peace and Common Defence.\"\n\n\n\n\nSoveraigne, And Subject, What\n\nAnd he that carryeth this Person, as called SOVERAIGNE, and said to have\nSoveraigne Power; and every one besides, his SUBJECT.\n\nThe attaining to this Soveraigne Power, is by two wayes. One, by\nNaturall force; as when a man maketh his children, to submit themselves,\nand their children to his government, as being able to destroy them if\nthey refuse, or by Warre subdueth his enemies to his will, giving them\ntheir lives on that condition. The other, is when men agree amongst\nthemselves, to submit to some Man, or Assembly of men, voluntarily, on\nconfidence to be protected by him against all others. This later, may be\ncalled a Politicall Common-wealth, or Common-wealth by Institution; and\nthe former, a Common-wealth by Acquisition. And first, I shall speak of\na Common-wealth by Institution.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. OF THE RIGHTS OF SOVERAIGNES BY INSTITUTION\n\n\n\n\nThe Act Of Instituting A Common-wealth, What\n\nA Common-wealth is said to be Instituted, when a Multitude of men do\nAgree, and Covenant, Every One With Every One, that to whatsoever Man,\nor Assembly Of Men, shall be given by the major part, the Right\nto Present the Person of them all, (that is to say, to be their\nRepresentative;) every one, as well he that Voted For It, as he that\nVoted Against It, shall Authorise all the Actions and Judgements, of\nthat Man, or Assembly of men, in the same manner, as if they were his\nown, to the end, to live peaceably amongst themselves, and be protected\nagainst other men.\n\n\n\n\nThe Consequences To Such Institution, Are\n\n\n\n\n1. The Subjects Cannot Change The Forme Of Government\n\n\n\n\nFrom this Institution of a Common-wealth are derived all the Rights, and\nFacultyes of him, or them, on whom the Soveraigne Power is conferred by\nthe consent of the People assembled.\n\nFirst, because they Covenant, it is to be understood, they are not\nobliged by former Covenant to any thing repugnant hereunto. And\nConsequently they that have already Instituted a Common-wealth, being\nthereby bound by Covenant, to own the Actions, and Judgements of one,\ncannot lawfully make a new Covenant, amongst themselves, to be obedient\nto any other, in any thing whatsoever, without his permission. And\ntherefore, they that are subjects to a Monarch, cannot without his leave\ncast off Monarchy, and return to the confusion of a disunited Multitude;\nnor transferre their Person from him that beareth it, to another Man,\nor other Assembly of men: for they are bound, every man to every man,\nto Own, and be reputed Author of all, that he that already is their\nSoveraigne, shall do, and judge fit to be done: so that any one man\ndissenting, all the rest should break their Covenant made to that man,\nwhich is injustice: and they have also every man given the Soveraignty\nto him that beareth their Person; and therefore if they depose him,\nthey take from him that which is his own, and so again it is injustice.\nBesides, if he that attempteth to depose his Soveraign, be killed, or\npunished by him for such attempt, he is author of his own punishment,\nas being by the Institution, Author of all his Soveraign shall do: And\nbecause it is injustice for a man to do any thing, for which he may be\npunished by his own authority, he is also upon that title, unjust.\nAnd whereas some men have pretended for their disobedience to their\nSoveraign, a new Covenant, made, not with men, but with God; this also\nis unjust: for there is no Covenant with God, but by mediation of some\nbody that representeth Gods Person; which none doth but Gods Lieutenant,\nwho hath the Soveraignty under God. But this pretence of Covenant with\nGod, is so evident a lye, even in the pretenders own consciences, that\nit is not onely an act of an unjust, but also of a vile, and unmanly\ndisposition.\n\n\n\n\n2. Soveraigne Power Cannot Be Forfeited\n\nSecondly, Because the Right of bearing the Person of them all, is given\nto him they make Soveraigne, by Covenant onely of one to another, and\nnot of him to any of them; there can happen no breach of Covenant on the\npart of the Soveraigne; and consequently none of his Subjects, by any\npretence of forfeiture, can be freed from his Subjection. That he which\nis made Soveraigne maketh no Covenant with his Subjects beforehand, is\nmanifest; because either he must make it with the whole multitude, as\none party to the Covenant; or he must make a severall Covenant with\nevery man. With the whole, as one party, it is impossible; because as\nyet they are not one Person: and if he make so many severall Covenants\nas there be men, those Covenants after he hath the Soveraignty are voyd,\nbecause what act soever can be pretended by any one of them for breach\nthereof, is the act both of himselfe, and of all the rest, because done\nin the Person, and by the Right of every one of them in particular.\nBesides, if any one, or more of them, pretend a breach of the Covenant\nmade by the Soveraigne at his Institution; and others, or one other of\nhis Subjects, or himselfe alone, pretend there was no such breach,\nthere is in this case, no Judge to decide the controversie: it returns\ntherefore to the Sword again; and every man recovereth the right of\nProtecting himselfe by his own strength, contrary to the designe they\nhad in the Institution. It is therefore in vain to grant Soveraignty by\nway of precedent Covenant. The opinion that any Monarch receiveth his\nPower by Covenant, that is to say on Condition, proceedeth from want\nof understanding this easie truth, that Covenants being but words, and\nbreath, have no force to oblige, contain, constrain, or protect any man,\nbut what it has from the publique Sword; that is, from the untyed hands\nof that Man, or Assembly of men that hath the Soveraignty, and whose\nactions are avouched by them all, and performed by the strength of them\nall, in him united. But when an Assembly of men is made Soveraigne; then\nno man imagineth any such Covenant to have past in the Institution; for\nno man is so dull as to say, for example, the People of Rome, made\na Covenant with the Romans, to hold the Soveraignty on such or such\nconditions; which not performed, the Romans might lawfully depose the\nRoman People. That men see not the reason to be alike in a Monarchy, and\nin a Popular Government, proceedeth from the ambition of some, that\nare kinder to the government of an Assembly, whereof they may hope to\nparticipate, than of Monarchy, which they despair to enjoy.\n\n\n\n\n3. No Man Can Without Injustice Protest Against The Institution Of The\nSoveraigne Declared By The Major Part.\n\nThirdly, because the major part hath by consenting voices declared a\nSoveraigne; he that dissented must now consent with the rest; that is,\nbe contented to avow all the actions he shall do, or else justly be\ndestroyed by the rest. For if he voluntarily entered into the\nCongregation of them that were assembled, he sufficiently declared\nthereby his will (and therefore tacitely covenanted) to stand to what\nthe major part should ordayne: and therefore if he refuse to stand\nthereto, or make Protestation against any of their Decrees, he does\ncontrary to his Covenant, and therfore unjustly. And whether he be of\nthe Congregation, or not; and whether his consent be asked, or not, he\nmust either submit to their decrees, or be left in the condition of\nwarre he was in before; wherein he might without injustice be destroyed\nby any man whatsoever.\n\n\n\n\n4. The Soveraigns Actions Cannot Be Justly Accused By The Subject\n\nFourthly, because every Subject is by this Institution Author of all the\nActions, and Judgements of the Soveraigne Instituted; it followes, that\nwhatsoever he doth, it can be no injury to any of his Subjects; nor\nought he to be by any of them accused of Injustice. For he that doth any\nthing by authority from another, doth therein no injury to him by whose\nauthority he acteth: But by this Institution of a Common-wealth, every\nparticular man is Author of all the Soveraigne doth; and consequently\nhe that complaineth of injury from his Soveraigne, complaineth of that\nwhereof he himselfe is Author; and therefore ought not to accuse any man\nbut himselfe; no nor himselfe of injury; because to do injury to ones\nselfe, is impossible. It is true that they that have Soveraigne\npower, may commit Iniquity; but not Injustice, or Injury in the proper\nsignification.\n\n\n\n\n5. What Soever The Soveraigne Doth, Is Unpunishable By The Subject\n\nFiftly, and consequently to that which was sayd last, no man that hath\nSoveraigne power can justly be put to death, or otherwise in any manner\nby his Subjects punished. For seeing every Subject is author of the\nactions of his Soveraigne; he punisheth another, for the actions\ncommitted by himselfe.\n\n\n\n\n6. The Soveraigne Is Judge Of What Is Necessary For The Peace And\nDefence Of His Subjects\n\nAnd because the End of this Institution, is the Peace and Defence of\nthem all; and whosoever has right to the End, has right to the Means;\nit belongeth of Right, to whatsoever Man, or Assembly that hath the\nSoveraignty, to be Judge both of the meanes of Peace and Defence;\nand also of the hindrances, and disturbances of the same; and to do\nwhatsoever he shall think necessary to be done, both beforehand, for the\npreserving of Peace and Security, by prevention of discord at home and\nHostility from abroad; and, when Peace and Security are lost, for the\nrecovery of the same. And therefore,\n\n\n\n\nAnd Judge Of What Doctrines Are Fit To Be Taught Them\n\nSixtly, it is annexed to the Soveraignty, to be Judge of what Opinions\nand Doctrines are averse, and what conducing to Peace; and consequently,\non what occasions, how farre, and what, men are to be trusted withall,\nin speaking to Multitudes of people; and who shall examine the Doctrines\nof all bookes before they be published. For the Actions of men proceed\nfrom their Opinions; and in the wel governing of Opinions, consisteth\nthe well governing of mens Actions, in order to their Peace, and\nConcord. And though in matter of Doctrine, nothing ought to be regarded\nbut the Truth; yet this is not repugnant to regulating of the same by\nPeace. For Doctrine Repugnant to Peace, can no more be True, than Peace\nand Concord can be against the Law of Nature. It is true, that in\na Common-wealth, where by the negligence, or unskilfullnesse of\nGovernours, and Teachers, false Doctrines are by time generally\nreceived; the contrary Truths may be generally offensive; Yet the most\nsudden, and rough busling in of a new Truth, that can be, does never\nbreake the Peace, but onely somtimes awake the Warre. For those men that\nare so remissely governed, that they dare take up Armes, to defend, or\nintroduce an Opinion, are still in Warre; and their condition not Peace,\nbut only a Cessation of Armes for feare of one another; and they live\nas it were, in the procincts of battaile continually. It belongeth\ntherefore to him that hath the Soveraign Power, to be Judge, or\nconstitute all Judges of Opinions and Doctrines, as a thing necessary to\nPeace, thereby to prevent Discord and Civill Warre.\n\n\n\n\n7. The Right of making Rules, whereby the Subject may every man know\nwhat is so his owne, as no other Subject can without injustice take it\nfrom him\n\nSeventhly, is annexed to the Soveraigntie, the whole power of\nprescribing the Rules, whereby every man may know, what Goods he may\nenjoy and what Actions he may doe, without being molested by any of\nhis fellow Subjects: And this is it men Call Propriety. For before\nconstitution of Soveraign Power (as hath already been shewn) all men had\nright to all things; which necessarily causeth Warre: and therefore this\nProprietie, being necessary to Peace, and depending on Soveraign Power,\nis the Act of the Power, in order to the publique peace. These Rules of\nPropriety (or Meum and Tuum) and of Good, Evill, Lawfull and Unlawfull\nin the actions of subjects, are the Civill Lawes, that is to say, the\nlawes of each Commonwealth in particular; though the name of Civill Law\nbe now restrained to the antient Civill Lawes of the City of Rome; which\nbeing the head of a great part of the World, her Lawes at that time were\nin these parts the Civill Law.\n\n\n\n\n8. To Him Also Belongeth The Right Of All Judicature And Decision Of\nControversies:\n\nEightly, is annexed to the Soveraigntie, the Right of Judicature; that\nis to say, of hearing and deciding all Controversies, which may arise\nconcerning Law, either Civill, or naturall, or concerning Fact. For\nwithout the decision of Controversies, there is no protection of one\nSubject, against the injuries of another; the Lawes concerning Meum and\nTuum are in vaine; and to every man remaineth, from the naturall and\nnecessary appetite of his own conservation, the right of protecting\nhimselfe by his private strength, which is the condition of Warre; and\ncontrary to the end for which every Common-wealth is instituted.\n\n\n\n\n9. And Of Making War, And Peace, As He Shall Think Best:\n\nNinthly, is annexed to the Soveraignty, the Right of making Warre, and\nPeace with other Nations, and Common-wealths; that is to say, of\nJudging when it is for the publique good, and how great forces are to\nbe assembled, armed, and payd for that end; and to levy mony upon the\nSubjects, to defray the expenses thereof. For the Power by which the\npeople are to be defended, consisteth in their Armies; and the strength\nof an Army, in the union of their strength under one Command; which\nCommand the Soveraign Instituted, therefore hath; because the command\nof the Militia, without other Institution, maketh him that hath it\nSoveraign. And therefore whosoever is made Generall of an Army, he that\nhath the Soveraign Power is alwayes Generallissimo.\n\n\n\n\n10. And Of Choosing All Counsellours, And Ministers, Both Of Peace, And\nWarre:\n\nTenthly, is annexed to the Soveraignty, the choosing of all\nCouncellours, Ministers, Magistrates, and Officers, both in peace, and\nWar. For seeing the Soveraign is charged with the End, which is the\ncommon Peace and Defence; he is understood to have Power to use such\nMeans, as he shall think most fit for his discharge.\n\n\n\n\n11. And Of Rewarding, And Punishing, And That (Where No\nFormer Law hath Determined The Measure Of It) Arbitrary:\n\nEleventhly, to the Soveraign is committed the Power of Rewarding\nwith riches, or honour; and of Punishing with corporall, or pecuniary\npunishment, or with ignominy every Subject according to the Lawe he hath\nformerly made; or if there be no Law made, according as he shall judge\nmost to conduce to the encouraging of men to serve the Common-wealth, or\ndeterring of them from doing dis-service to the same.\n\n\n\n\n12. And Of Honour And Order\n\nLastly, considering what values men are naturally apt to set upon\nthemselves; what respect they look for from others; and how little they\nvalue other men; from whence continually arise amongst them, Emulation,\nQuarrells, Factions, and at last Warre, to the destroying of one\nanother, and diminution of their strength against a Common Enemy; It\nis necessary that there be Lawes of Honour, and a publique rate of the\nworth of such men as have deserved, or are able to deserve well of the\nCommon-wealth; and that there be force in the hands of some or other, to\nput those Lawes in execution. But it hath already been shown, that not\nonely the whole Militia, or forces of the Common-wealth; but also the\nJudicature of all Controversies, is annexed to the Soveraignty. To the\nSoveraign therefore it belongeth also to give titles of Honour; and to\nappoint what Order of place, and dignity, each man shall hold; and what\nsignes of respect, in publique or private meetings, they shall give to\none another.\n\n\n\n\nThese Rights Are Indivisible\n\nThese are the Rights, which make the Essence of Soveraignty; and which\nare the markes, whereby a man may discern in what Man, or Assembly\nof men, the Soveraign Power is placed, and resideth. For these are\nincommunicable, and inseparable. The Power to coyn Mony; to dispose of\nthe estate and persons of Infant heires; to have praeemption in\nMarkets; and all other Statute Praerogatives, may be transferred by the\nSoveraign; and yet the Power to protect his Subject be retained. But if\nhe transferre the Militia, he retains the Judicature in vain, for want\nof execution of the Lawes; Or if he grant away the Power of raising\nMony; the Militia is in vain: or if he give away the government of\ndoctrines, men will be frighted into rebellion with the feare of\nSpirits. And so if we consider any one of the said Rights, we shall\npresently see, that the holding of all the rest, will produce no\neffect, in the conservation of Peace and Justice, the end for which all\nCommon-wealths are Instituted. And this division is it, whereof it is\nsaid, \"A kingdome divided in it selfe cannot stand:\" For unlesse this\ndivision precede, division into opposite Armies can never happen. If\nthere had not first been an opinion received of the greatest part of\nEngland, that these Powers were divided between the King, and the Lords,\nand the House of Commons, the people had never been divided, and\nfallen into this Civill Warre; first between those that disagreed\nin Politiques; and after between the Dissenters about the liberty of\nReligion; which have so instructed men in this point of Soveraign Right,\nthat there be few now (in England,) that do not see, that these Rights\nare inseparable, and will be so generally acknowledged, at the next\nreturn of Peace; and so continue, till their miseries are forgotten; and\nno longer, except the vulgar be better taught than they have hetherto\nbeen.\n\n\n\n\nAnd Can By No Grant Passe Away Without Direct Renouncing Of The\nSoveraign Power\n\nAnd because they are essentiall and inseparable Rights, it follows\nnecessarily, that in whatsoever, words any of them seem to be granted\naway, yet if the Soveraign Power it selfe be not in direct termes\nrenounced, and the name of Soveraign no more given by the Grantees to\nhim that Grants them, the Grant is voyd: for when he has granted all he\ncan, if we grant back the Soveraignty, all is restored, as inseparably\nannexed thereunto.\n\n\n\n\nThe Power And Honour Of Subjects Vanisheth In The Presence Of The Power\nSoveraign\n\nThis great Authority being indivisible, and inseparably annexed to the\nSoveraignty, there is little ground for the opinion of them, that say of\nSoveraign Kings, though they be Singulis Majores, of greater Power than\nevery one of their Subjects, yet they be Universis Minores, of lesse\npower than them all together. For if by All Together, they mean not\nthe collective body as one person, then All Together, and Every One,\nsignifie the same; and the speech is absurd. But if by All Together,\nthey understand them as one Person (which person the Soveraign bears,)\nthen the power of all together, is the same with the Soveraigns power;\nand so again the speech is absurd; which absurdity they see well enough,\nwhen the Soveraignty is in an Assembly of the people; but in a Monarch\nthey see it not; and yet the power of Soveraignty is the same in\nwhomsoever it be placed.\n\nAnd as the Power, so also the Honour of the Soveraign, ought to be\ngreater, than that of any, or all the Subjects. For in the Soveraignty\nis the fountain of Honour. The dignities of Lord, Earle, Duke, and\nPrince are his Creatures. As in the presence of the Master, the Servants\nare equall, and without any honour at all; So are the Subjects, in the\npresence of the Soveraign. And though they shine some more, some lesse,\nwhen they are out of his sight; yet in his presence, they shine no more\nthan the Starres in presence of the Sun.\n\n\n\n\nSoveraigne Power Not Hurtfull As The Want Of It, And The Hurt Proceeds\nFor The Greatest Part From Not Submitting Readily, To A Lesse\n\nBut a man may here object, that the Condition of Subjects is very\nmiserable; as being obnoxious to the lusts, and other irregular passions\nof him, or them that have so unlimited a Power in their hands. And\ncommonly they that live under a Monarch, think it the fault of Monarchy;\nand they that live under the government of Democracy, or other\nSoveraign Assembly, attribute all the inconvenience to that forme of\nCommon-wealth; whereas the Power in all formes, if they be perfect\nenough to protect them, is the same; not considering that the estate\nof Man can never be without some incommodity or other; and that the\ngreatest, that in any forme of Government can possibly happen to the\npeople in generall, is scarce sensible, in respect of the miseries, and\nhorrible calamities, that accompany a Civill Warre; or that dissolute\ncondition of masterlesse men, without subjection to Lawes, and a\ncoercive Power to tye their hands from rapine, and revenge: nor\nconsidering that the greatest pressure of Soveraign Governours,\nproceedeth not from any delight, or profit they can expect in the\ndammage, or weakening of their subjects, in whose vigor, consisteth\ntheir own selves, that unwillingly contributing to their own defence,\nmake it necessary for their Governours to draw from them what they can\nin time of Peace, that they may have means on any emergent occasion, or\nsudden need, to resist, or take advantage on their Enemies. For all men\nare by nature provided of notable multiplying glasses, (that is their\nPassions and Self-love,) through which, every little payment appeareth a\ngreat grievance; but are destitute of those prospective glasses, (namely\nMorall and Civill Science,) to see a farre off the miseries that hang\nover them, and cannot without such payments be avoyded.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. OF THE SEVERALL KINDS OF COMMON-WEALTH BY INSTITUTION,\nAND OF SUCCESSION TO THE SOVERAIGNE POWER\n\n\n\n\nThe Different Formes Of Common-wealths But Three\n\nThe difference of Common-wealths, consisteth in the difference of the\nSoveraign, or the Person representative of all and every one of the\nMultitude. And because the Soveraignty is either in one Man, or in an\nAssembly of more than one; and into that Assembly either Every man hath\nright to enter, or not every one, but Certain men distinguished from the\nrest; it is manifest, there can be but Three kinds of Common-wealth. For\nthe Representative must needs be One man, or More: and if more, then it\nis the Assembly of All, or but of a Part. When the Representative is One\nman, then is the Common-wealth a MONARCHY: when an Assembly of All that\nwill come together, then it is a DEMOCRACY, or Popular Common-wealth:\nwhen an Assembly of a Part onely, then it is called an ARISTOCRACY.\nOther kind of Common-wealth there can be none: for either One, or\nMore, or All must have the Soveraign Power (which I have shewn to be\nindivisible) entire.\n\n\n\n\nTyranny And Oligarchy, But Different Names Of Monarchy, And Aristocracy\n\nThere be other names of Government, in the Histories, and books of\nPolicy; as Tyranny, and Oligarchy: But they are not the names of other\nFormes of Government, but of the same Formes misliked. For they that\nare discontented under Monarchy, call it Tyranny; and they that are\ndispleased with Aristocracy, called it Oligarchy: so also, they which\nfind themselves grieved under a Democracy, call it Anarchy, (which\nsignifies want of Government;) and yet I think no man believes, that\nwant of Government, is any new kind of Government: nor by the same\nreason ought they to believe, that the Government is of one kind, when\nthey like it, and another, when they mislike it, or are oppressed by the\nGovernours.\n\n\n\n\nSubordinate Representatives Dangerous\n\nIt is manifest, that men who are in absolute liberty, may, if they\nplease, give Authority to One Man, to represent them every one; as\nwell as give such Authority to any Assembly of men whatsoever; and\nconsequently may subject themselves, if they think good, to a Monarch,\nas absolutely, as to any other Representative. Therefore, where there is\nalready erected a Soveraign Power, there can be no other Representative\nof the same people, but onely to certain particular ends, by the\nSoveraign limited. For that were to erect two Soveraigns; and every\nman to have his person represented by two Actors, that by opposing one\nanother, must needs divide that Power, which (if men will live in Peace)\nis indivisible, and thereby reduce the Multitude into the condition of\nWarre, contrary to the end for which all Soveraignty is instituted. And\ntherefore as it is absurd, to think that a Soveraign Assembly, inviting\nthe People of their Dominion, to send up their Deputies, with power\nto make known their Advise, or Desires, should therefore hold such\nDeputies, rather than themselves, for the absolute Representative of\nthe people: so it is absurd also, to think the same in a Monarchy. And\nI know not how this so manifest a truth, should of late be so little\nobserved; that in a Monarchy, he that had the Soveraignty from a descent\nof 600 years, was alone called Soveraign, had the title of Majesty from\nevery one of his Subjects, and was unquestionably taken by them\nfor their King; was notwithstanding never considered as their\nRepresentative; that name without contradiction passing for the title\nof those men, which at his command were sent up by the people to carry\ntheir Petitions, and give him (if he permitted it) their advise. Which\nmay serve as an admonition, for those that are the true, and absolute\nRepresentative of a People, to instruct men in the nature of that\nOffice, and to take heed how they admit of any other generall\nRepresentation upon any occasion whatsoever, if they mean to discharge\nthe truth committed to them.\n\n\n\n\nComparison Of Monarchy, With Soveraign Assemblyes\n\nThe difference between these three kindes of Common-wealth, consisteth\nnot in the difference of Power; but in the difference of Convenience, or\nAptitude to produce the Peace, and Security of the people; for which end\nthey were instituted. And to compare Monarchy with the other two, we may\nobserve; First, that whosoever beareth the Person of the people, or\nis one of that Assembly that bears it, beareth also his own naturall\nPerson. And though he be carefull in his politique Person to procure\nthe common interest; yet he is more, or no lesse carefull to procure the\nprivate good of himselfe, his family, kindred and friends; and for the\nmost part, if the publique interest chance to crosse the private, he\npreferrs the private: for the Passions of men, are commonly more potent\nthan their Reason. From whence it follows, that where the publique and\nprivate interest are most closely united, there is the publique most\nadvanced. Now in Monarchy, the private interest is the same with the\npublique. The riches, power, and honour of a Monarch arise onely from\nthe riches, strength and reputation of his Subjects. For no King can\nbe rich, nor glorious, nor secure; whose Subjects are either poore, or\ncontemptible, or too weak through want, or dissention, to maintain a\nwar against their enemies: Whereas in a Democracy, or Aristocracy, the\npublique prosperity conferres not so much to the private fortune of one\nthat is corrupt, or ambitious, as doth many times a perfidious advice, a\ntreacherous action, or a Civill warre.\n\nSecondly, that a Monarch receiveth counsell of whom, when, and where he\npleaseth; and consequently may heare the opinion of men versed in the\nmatter about which he deliberates, of what rank or quality soever, and\nas long before the time of action, and with as much secrecy, as he will.\nBut when a Soveraigne Assembly has need of Counsell, none are admitted\nbut such as have a Right thereto from the beginning; which for the\nmost part are of those who have beene versed more in the acquisition\nof Wealth than of Knowledge; and are to give their advice in long\ndiscourses, which may, and do commonly excite men to action, but\nnot governe them in it. For the Understanding is by the flame of the\nPassions, never enlightned, but dazled: Nor is there any place, or time,\nwherein an Assemblie can receive Counsell with secrecie, because of\ntheir owne Multitude.\n\nThirdly, that the Resolutions of a Monarch, are subject to no other\nInconstancy, than that of Humane Nature; but in Assemblies, besides that\nof Nature, there ariseth an Inconstancy from the Number. For the absence\nof a few, that would have the Resolution once taken, continue firme,\n(which may happen by security, negligence, or private impediments,) or\nthe diligent appearance of a few of the contrary opinion, undoes to day,\nall that was concluded yesterday.\n\nFourthly, that a Monarch cannot disagree with himselfe, out of envy, or\ninterest; but an Assembly may; and that to such a height, as may produce\na Civill Warre.\n\nFifthly, that in Monarchy there is this inconvenience; that any Subject,\nby the power of one man, for the enriching of a favourite or flatterer,\nmay be deprived of all he possesseth; which I confesse is a great and\ninevitable inconvenience. But the same may as well happen, where the\nSoveraigne Power is in an Assembly: for their power is the same; and\nthey are as subject to evill Counsell, and to be seduced by Orators, as\na Monarch by Flatterers; and becoming one an others Flatterers, serve\none anothers Covetousnesse and Ambition by turnes. And whereas the\nFavorites of an Assembly, are many; and the Kindred much more numerous,\nthan of any Monarch. Besides, there is no Favourite of a Monarch, which\ncannot as well succour his friends, as hurt his enemies: But Orators,\nthat is to say, Favourites of Soveraigne Assemblies, though they have\ngreat power to hurt, have little to save. For to accuse, requires lesse\nEloquence (such is mans Nature) than to excuse; and condemnation, than\nabsolution more resembles Justice.\n\nSixtly, that it is an inconvenience in Monarchie, that the Soveraigntie\nmay descend upon an Infant, or one that cannot discerne between Good and\nEvill: and consisteth in this, that the use of his Power, must be in the\nhand of another Man, or of some Assembly of men, which are to governe by\nhis right, and in his name; as Curators, and Protectors of his Person,\nand Authority. But to say there is inconvenience, in putting the use of\nthe Soveraign Power, into the hand of a Man, or an Assembly of men; is\nto say that all Government is more Inconvenient, than Confusion, and\nCivill Warre. And therefore all the danger that can be pretended, must\narise from the Contention of those, that for an office of so great\nhonour, and profit, may become Competitors. To make it appear, that\nthis inconvenience, proceedeth not from that forme of Government we call\nMonarchy, we are to consider, that the precedent Monarch, hath appointed\nwho shall have the Tuition of his Infant Successor, either expressely\nby Testament, or tacitly, by not controlling the Custome in that\ncase received: And then such inconvenience (if it happen) is to be\nattributed, not to the Monarchy, but to the Ambition, and Injustice of\nthe Subjects; which in all kinds of Government, where the people are\nnot well instructed in their Duty, and the Rights of Soveraignty, is\nthe same. Or else the precedent Monarch, hath not at all taken order for\nsuch Tuition; And then the Law of Nature hath provided this sufficient\nrule, That the Tuition shall be in him, that hath by Nature most\ninterest in the preservation of the Authority of the Infant, and to whom\nleast benefit can accrue by his death, or diminution. For seeing every\nman by nature seeketh his own benefit, and promotion; to put an Infant\ninto the power of those, that can promote themselves by his destruction,\nor dammage, is not Tuition, but Trechery. So that sufficient provision\nbeing taken, against all just quarrell, about the Government under a\nChild, if any contention arise to the disturbance of the publique Peace,\nit is not to be attributed to the forme of Monarchy, but to the ambition\nof Subjects, and ignorance of their Duty. On the other side, there is\nno great Common-wealth, the Soveraignty whereof is in a great Assembly,\nwhich is not, as to consultations of Peace, and Warre, and making of\nLawes, in the same condition, as if the Government were in a Child. For\nas a Child wants the judgement to dissent from counsell given him, and\nis thereby necessitated to take the advise of them, or him, to whom he\nis committed: So an Assembly wanteth the liberty, to dissent from the\ncounsell of the major part, be it good, or bad. And as a Child has need\nof a Tutor, or Protector, to preserve his Person, and Authority: So also\n(in great Common-wealths,) the Soveraign Assembly, in all great dangers\nand troubles, have need of Custodes Libertatis; that is of Dictators, or\nProtectors of their Authoritie; which are as much as Temporary Monarchs;\nto whom for a time, they may commit the entire exercise of their Power;\nand have (at the end of that time) been oftner deprived thereof, than\nInfant Kings, by their Protectors, Regents, or any other Tutors.\n\nThough the Kinds of Soveraigntie be, as I have now shewn, but three;\nthat is to say, Monarchie, where one Man has it; or Democracie, where\nthe generall Assembly of Subjects hath it; or Aristocracie, where it is\nin an Assembly of certain persons nominated, or otherwise distinguished\nfrom the rest: Yet he that shall consider the particular Common-wealthes\nthat have been, and are in the world, will not perhaps easily reduce\nthem to three, and may thereby be inclined to think there be other\nFormes, arising from these mingled together. As for example, Elective\nKingdomes; where Kings have the Soveraigne Power put into their hands\nfor a time; of Kingdomes, wherein the King hath a power limited: which\nGovernments, are nevertheless by most Writers called Monarchie. Likewise\nif a Popular, or Aristocraticall Common-wealth, subdue an Enemies\nCountrie, and govern the same, by a President, Procurator, or\nother Magistrate; this may seeme perhaps at first sight, to be a\nDemocraticall, or Aristocraticall Government. But it is not so. For\nElective Kings, are not Soveraignes, but Ministers of the Soveraigne;\nnor limited Kings Soveraignes, but Ministers of them that have the\nSoveraigne Power: nor are those Provinces which are in subjection to a\nDemocracie, or Aristocracie of another Common-wealth, Democratically, or\nAristocratically governed, but Monarchically.\n\nAnd first, concerning an Elective King, whose power is limited to\nhis life, as it is in many places of Christendome at this day; or to\ncertaine Yeares or Moneths, as the Dictators power amongst the Romans;\nIf he have Right to appoint his Successor, he is no more Elective but\nHereditary. But if he have no Power to elect his Successor, then there\nis some other Man, or Assembly known, which after his decease may elect\na new, or else the Common-wealth dieth, and dissolveth with him, and\nreturneth to the condition of Warre. If it be known who have the power\nto give the Soveraigntie after his death, it is known also that the\nSoveraigntie was in them before: For none have right to give that which\nthey have not right to possesse, and keep to themselves, if they think\ngood. But if there be none that can give the Soveraigntie, after the\ndecease of him that was first elected; then has he power, nay he is\nobliged by the Law of Nature, to provide, by establishing his Successor,\nto keep those that had trusted him with the Government, from relapsing\ninto the miserable condition of Civill warre. And consequently he was,\nwhen elected, a Soveraign absolute.\n\nSecondly, that King whose power is limited, is not superiour to him, or\nthem that have the power to limit it; and he that is not superiour, is\nnot supreme; that is to say not Soveraign. The Soveraignty therefore\nwas alwaies in that Assembly which had the Right to Limit him; and\nby consequence the government not Monarchy, but either Democracy, or\nAristocracy; as of old time in Sparta; where the Kings had a priviledge\nto lead their Armies; but the Soveraignty was in the Ephori.\n\nThirdly, whereas heretofore the Roman People, governed the land of Judea\n(for example) by a President; yet was not Judea therefore a Democracy;\nbecause they were not governed by any Assembly, into which, any of\nthem, had right to enter; nor by an Aristocracy; because they were\nnot governed by any Assembly, into which, any man could enter by their\nElection: but they were governed by one Person, which though as to the\npeople of Rome was an Assembly of the people, or Democracy; yet as to\nthe people of Judea, which had no right at all of participating in the\ngovernment, was a Monarch. For though where the people are governed\nby an Assembly, chosen by themselves out of their own number, the\ngovernment is called a Democracy, or Aristocracy; yet when they are\ngoverned by an Assembly, not of their own choosing, ’tis a Monarchy; not\nof One man, over another man; but of one people, over another people.\n\n\n\n\nOf The Right Of Succession\n\nOf all these Formes of Government, the matter being mortall, so that not\nonely Monarchs, but also whole Assemblies dy, it is necessary for the\nconservation of the peace of men, that as there was order taken for\nan Artificiall Man, so there be order also taken, for an Artificiall\nEternity of life; without which, men that are governed by an Assembly,\nshould return into the condition of Warre in every age; and they\nthat are governed by One man, as soon as their Governour dyeth. This\nArtificiall Eternity, is that which men call the Right of Succession.\n\nThere is no perfect forme of Government, where the disposing of the\nSuccession is not in the present Soveraign. For if it be in any other\nparticular Man, or private Assembly, it is in a person subject, and may\nbe assumed by the Soveraign at his pleasure; and consequently the Right\nis in himselfe. And if it be in no particular man, but left to a new\nchoyce; then is the Common-wealth dissolved; and the Right is in him\nthat can get it; contrary to the intention of them that did institute\nthe Common-wealth, for their perpetuall, and not temporary security.\n\nIn a Democracy, the whole Assembly cannot faile, unlesse the Multitude\nthat are to be governed faile. And therefore questions of the right of\nSuccession, have in that forme of Government no place at all.\n\nIn an Aristocracy, when any of the Assembly dyeth, the election of\nanother into his room belongeth to the Assembly, as the Soveraign, to\nwhom belongeth the choosing of all Counsellours, and Officers. For that\nwhich the Representative doth, as Actor, every one of the Subjects doth,\nas Author. And though the Soveraign assembly, may give Power to others,\nto elect new men, for supply of their Court; yet it is still by their\nAuthority, that the Election is made; and by the same it may (when the\npublique shall require it) be recalled.\n\nThe Present Monarch Hath Right To Dispose Of The Succession The greatest\ndifficultie about the right of Succession, is in Monarchy: And the\ndifficulty ariseth from this, that at first sight, it is not manifest\nwho is to appoint the Successor; nor many times, who it is whom he\nhath appointed. For in both these cases, there is required a more exact\nratiocination, than every man is accustomed to use. As to the question,\nwho shall appoint the Successor, of a Monarch that hath the Soveraign\nAuthority; that is to say, (for Elective Kings and Princes have not the\nSoveraign Power in propriety, but in use only,) we are to consider, that\neither he that is in possession, has right to dispose of the Succession,\nor else that right is again in the dissolved Multitude. For the death\nof him that hath the Soveraign power in propriety, leaves the Multitude\nwithout any Soveraign at all; that is, without any Representative in\nwhom they should be united, and be capable of doing any one action at\nall: And therefore they are incapable of Election of any new Monarch;\nevery man having equall right to submit himselfe to such as he thinks\nbest able to protect him, or if he can, protect himselfe by his owne\nsword; which is a returne to Confusion, and to the condition of a War of\nevery man against every man, contrary to the end for which Monarchy had\nits first Institution. Therfore it is manifest, that by the Institution\nof Monarchy, the disposing of the Successor, is alwaies left to the\nJudgment and Will of the present Possessor.\n\nAnd for the question (which may arise sometimes) who it is that the\nMonarch in possession, hath designed to the succession and inheritance\nof his power; it is determined by his expresse Words, and Testament; or\nby other tacite signes sufficient.\n\n\n\n\nSuccession Passeth By Expresse Words;\n\nBy expresse Words, or Testament, when it is declared by him in his life\ntime, viva voce, or by Writing; as the first Emperours of Rome declared\nwho should be their Heires. For the word Heire does not of it selfe\nimply the Children, or nearest Kindred of a man; but whomsoever a man\nshall any way declare, he would have to succeed him in his Estate.\nIf therefore a Monarch declare expresly, that such a man shall be his\nHeire, either by Word or Writing, then is that man immediately after the\ndecease of his Predecessor, Invested in the right of being Monarch.\n\n\n\n\nOr, By Not Controlling A Custome;\n\nBut where Testament, and expresse Words are wanting, other naturall\nsignes of the Will are to be followed: whereof the one is Custome. And\ntherefore where the Custome is, that the next of Kindred absolutely\nsucceedeth, there also the next of Kindred hath right to the Succession;\nfor that, if the will of him that was in posession had been otherwise,\nhe might easily have declared the same in his life time. And likewise\nwhere the Custome is, that the next of the Male Kindred succeedeth,\nthere also the right of Succession is in the next of the Kindred Male,\nfor the same reason. And so it is if the Custome were to advance the\nFemale. For whatsoever Custome a man may by a word controule, and does\nnot, it is a naturall signe he would have that Custome stand.\n\n\n\n\nOr, By Presumption Of Naturall Affection\n\nBut where neither Custome, nor Testament hath preceded, there it is\nto be understood, First, that a Monarchs will is, that the government\nremain Monarchicall; because he hath approved that government in\nhimselfe. Secondly, that a Child of his own, Male, or Female, be\npreferred before any other; because men are presumed to be more enclined\nby nature, to advance their own children, than the children of other\nmen; and of their own, rather a Male than a Female; because men, are\nnaturally fitter than women, for actions of labour and danger. Thirdly,\nwhere his own Issue faileth, rather a Brother than a stranger; and so\nstill the neerer in bloud, rather than the more remote, because it is\nalwayes presumed that the neerer of kin, is the neerer in affection; and\n’tis evident that a man receives alwayes, by reflexion, the most honour\nfrom the greatnesse of his neerest kindred.\n\n\n\n\nTo Dispose Of The Succession, Though To A King Of Another Nation, Not\nUnlawfull\n\nBut if it be lawfull for a Monarch to dispose of the Succession by words\nof Contract, or Testament, men may perhaps object a great inconvenience:\nfor he may sell, or give his Right of governing to a stranger; which,\nbecause strangers (that is, men not used to live under the same\ngovernment, not speaking the same language) do commonly undervalue one\nanother, may turn to the oppression of his Subjects; which is indeed\na great inconvenience; but it proceedeth not necessarily from the\nsubjection to a strangers government, but from the unskilfulnesse of the\nGovernours, ignorant of the true rules of Politiques. And therefore\nthe Romans when they had subdued many Nations, to make their Government\ndigestible, were wont to take away that grievance, as much as they\nthought necessary, by giving sometimes to whole Nations, and sometimes\nto Principall men of every Nation they conquered, not onely the\nPrivileges, but also the Name of Romans; and took many of them into the\nSenate, and Offices of charge, even in the Roman City. And this was it\nour most wise King, King James, aymed at, in endeavouring the Union of\nhis two Realms of England and Scotland. Which if he could have obtained,\nhad in all likelihood prevented the Civill warres, which make both those\nKingdomes at this present, miserable. It is not therefore any injury to\nthe people, for a Monarch to dispose of the Succession by Will; though\nby the fault of many Princes, it hath been sometimes found inconvenient.\nOf the lawfulnesse of it, this also is an argument, that whatsoever\ninconvenience can arrive by giving a Kingdome to a stranger, may arrive\nalso by so marrying with strangers, as the Right of Succession may\ndescend upon them: yet this by all men is accounted lawfull.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX. OF DOMINION PATERNALL AND DESPOTICALL\n\n\nA Common-wealth by Acquisition, is that, where the Soveraign Power is\nacquired by Force; And it is acquired by force, when men singly, or\nmany together by plurality of voyces, for fear of death, or bonds, do\nauthorise all the actions of that Man, or Assembly, that hath their\nlives and liberty in his Power.\n\n\n\n\nWherein Different From A Common-wealth By Institution\n\nAnd this kind of Dominion, or Soveraignty, differeth from Soveraignty by\nInstitution, onely in this, That men who choose their Soveraign, do it\nfor fear of one another, and not of him whom they Institute: But in this\ncase, they subject themselves, to him they are afraid of. In both cases\nthey do it for fear: which is to be noted by them, that hold all such\nCovenants, as proceed from fear of death, or violence, voyd: which if\nit were true, no man, in any kind of Common-wealth, could be obliged\nto Obedience. It is true, that in a Common-wealth once Instituted, or\nacquired, Promises proceeding from fear of death, or violence, are no\nCovenants, nor obliging, when the thing promised is contrary to the\nLawes; But the reason is not, because it was made upon fear, but because\nhe that promiseth, hath no right in the thing promised. Also, when he\nmay lawfully performe, and doth not, it is not the Invalidity of\nthe Covenant, that absolveth him, but the Sentence of the Soveraign.\nOtherwise, whensoever a man lawfully promiseth, he unlawfully breaketh:\nBut when the Soveraign, who is the Actor, acquitteth him, then he is\nacquitted by him that exorted the promise, as by the Author of such\nabsolution.\n\n\n\n\nThe Rights Of Soveraignty The Same In Both\n\nBut the Rights, and Consequences of Soveraignty, are the same in both.\nHis Power cannot, without his consent, be Transferred to another: He\ncannot Forfeit it: He cannot be Accused by any of his Subjects, of\nInjury: He cannot be Punished by them: He is Judge of what is necessary\nfor Peace; and Judge of Doctrines: He is Sole Legislator; and Supreme\nJudge of Controversies; and of the Times, and Occasions of Warre,\nand Peace: to him it belongeth to choose Magistrates, Counsellours,\nCommanders, and all other Officers, and Ministers; and to determine of\nRewards, and punishments, Honour, and Order. The reasons whereof, are\nthe same which are alledged in the precedent Chapter, for the same\nRights, and Consequences of Soveraignty by Institution.\n\n\n\n\nDominion Paternall How Attained Not By Generation, But By Contract\n\nDominion is acquired two wayes; By Generation, and by Conquest. The\nright of Dominion by Generation, is that, which the Parent hath over\nhis Children; and is called PATERNALL. And is not so derived from the\nGeneration, as if therefore the Parent had Dominion over his Child\nbecause he begat him; but from the Childs Consent, either expresse, or\nby other sufficient arguments declared. For as to the Generation, God\nhath ordained to man a helper; and there be alwayes two that are equally\nParents: the Dominion therefore over the Child, should belong equally to\nboth; and he be equally subject to both, which is impossible; for no man\ncan obey two Masters. And whereas some have attributed the Dominion to\nthe Man onely, as being of the more excellent Sex; they misreckon in it.\nFor there is not always that difference of strength or prudence between\nthe man and the woman, as that the right can be determined without War.\nIn Common-wealths, this controversie is decided by the Civill Law: and\nfor the most part, (but not alwayes) the sentence is in favour of the\nFather; because for the most part Common-wealths have been erected by\nthe Fathers, not by the Mothers of families. But the question lyeth\nnow in the state of meer Nature; where there are supposed no lawes\nof Matrimony; no lawes for the Education of Children; but the Law of\nNature, and the naturall inclination of the Sexes, one to another, and\nto their children. In this condition of meer Nature, either the Parents\nbetween themselves dispose of the dominion over the Child by Contract;\nor do not dispose thereof at all. If they dispose thereof, the right\npasseth according to the Contract. We find in History that the Amazons\nContracted with the Men of the neighbouring Countries, to whom they had\nrecourse for issue, that the issue Male should be sent back, but the\nFemale remain with themselves: so that the dominion of the Females was\nin the Mother.\n\n\n\n\nOr Education;\n\nIf there be no Contract, the Dominion is in the Mother. For in the\ncondition of Meer Nature, where there are no Matrimoniall lawes, it\ncannot be known who is the Father, unlesse it be declared by the Mother:\nand therefore the right of Dominion over the Child dependeth on her\nwill, and is consequently hers. Again, seeing the Infant is first in the\npower of the Mother; so as she may either nourish, or expose it, if she\nnourish it, it oweth its life to the Mother; and is therefore obliged to\nobey her, rather than any other; and by consequence the Dominion over\nit is hers. But if she expose it, and another find, and nourish it, the\nDominion is in him that nourisheth it. For it ought to obey him by whom\nit is preserved; because preservation of life being the end, for which\none man becomes subject to another, every man is supposed to promise\nobedience, to him, in whose power it is to save, or destroy him.\n\n\n\n\nOr Precedent Subjection Of One Of The Parents To The Other\n\nIf the Mother be the Fathers subject, the Child, is in the Fathers\npower: and if the Father be the Mothers subject, (as when a Soveraign\nQueen marrieth one of her subjects,) the Child is subject to the Mother;\nbecause the Father also is her subject.\n\nIf a man and a woman, Monarches of two severall Kingdomes, have a Child,\nand contract concerning who shall have the Dominion of him, the Right of\nthe Dominion passeth by the Contract. If they contract not, the Dominion\nfolloweth the Dominion of the place of his residence. For the Soveraign\nof each Country hath Dominion over all that reside therein.\n\nHe that hath the Dominion over the Child, hath Dominion also over their\nChildrens Children. For he that hath Dominion over the person of a man,\nhath Dominion over all that is his; without which, Dominion were but a\nTitle, without the effect.\n\n\n\n\nThe Right Of Succession Followeth The Rules Of The Rights Of Possession\n\nThe Right of Succession to Paternall dominion, proceedeth in the same\nmanner, as doth the Right of Succession to Monarchy; of which I have\nalready sufficiently spoken in the precedent chapter.\n\n\n\n\nDespoticall Dominion, How Attained\n\nDominion acquired by Conquest, or Victory in war, is that which some\nWriters call DESPOTICALL, from Despotes, which signifieth a Lord, or\nMaster; and is the Dominion of the Master over his Servant. And this\nDominion is then acquired to the Victor, when the Vanquished, to avoyd\nthe present stroke of death, covenanteth either in expresse words, or by\nother sufficient signes of the Will, that so long as his life, and\nthe liberty of his body is allowed him, the Victor shall have the use\nthereof, at his pleasure. And after such Covenant made, the Vanquished\nis a SERVANT, and not before: for by the word Servant (whether it be\nderived from Servire, to Serve, or from Servare, to Save, which I leave\nto Grammarians to dispute) is not meant a Captive, which is kept in\nprison, or bonds, till the owner of him that took him, or bought him\nof one that did, shall consider what to do with him: (for such men,\n(commonly called Slaves,) have no obligation at all; but may break their\nbonds, or the prison; and kill, or carry away captive their Master,\njustly:) but one, that being taken, hath corporall liberty allowed him;\nand upon promise not to run away, nor to do violence to his Master, is\ntrusted by him.\n\n\n\n\nNot By The Victory, But By The Consent Of The Vanquished\n\nIt is not therefore the Victory, that giveth the right of Dominion over\nthe Vanquished, but his own Covenant. Nor is he obliged because he is\nConquered; that is to say, beaten, and taken, or put to flight; but\nbecause he commeth in, and submitteth to the Victor; Nor is the Victor\nobliged by an enemies rendring himselfe, (without promise of life,) to\nspare him for this his yeelding to discretion; which obliges not the\nVictor longer, than in his own discretion hee shall think fit.\n\nAnd that men do, when they demand (as it is now called) Quarter, (which\nthe Greeks called Zogria, taking alive,) is to evade the present fury of\nthe Victor, by Submission, and to compound for their life, with Ransome,\nor Service: and therefore he that hath Quarter, hath not his life given,\nbut deferred till farther deliberation; For it is not an yeelding on\ncondition of life, but to discretion. And then onely is his life in\nsecurity, and his service due, when the Victor hath trusted him with his\ncorporall liberty. For Slaves that work in Prisons, or Fetters, do it\nnot of duty, but to avoyd the cruelty of their task-masters.\n\nThe Master of the Servant, is Master also of all he hath; and may exact\nthe use thereof; that is to say, of his goods, of his labour, of his\nservants, and of his children, as often as he shall think fit. For he\nholdeth his life of his Master, by the covenant of obedience; that is,\nof owning, and authorising whatsoever the Master shall do. And in case\nthe Master, if he refuse, kill him, or cast him into bonds, or otherwise\npunish him for his disobedience, he is himselfe the author of the same;\nand cannot accuse him of injury.\n\nIn summe the Rights and Consequences of both Paternall and Despoticall\nDominion, are the very same with those of a Soveraign by Institution;\nand for the same reasons: which reasons are set down in the precedent\nchapter. So that for a man that is Monarch of divers Nations, whereof he\nhath, in one the Soveraignty by Institution of the people assembled, and\nin another by Conquest, that is by the Submission of each particular,\nto avoyd death or bonds; to demand of one Nation more than of the other,\nfrom the title of Conquest, as being a Conquered Nation, is an act of\nignorance of the Rights of Soveraignty. For the Soveraign is absolute\nover both alike; or else there is no Soveraignty at all; and so every\nman may Lawfully protect himselfe, if he can, with his own sword, which\nis the condition of war.\n\n\n\n\nDifference Between A Family And A Kingdom\n\nBy this it appears, that a great Family if it be not part of some\nCommon-wealth, is of it self, as to the Rights of Soveraignty, a little\nMonarchy; whether that Family consist of a man and his children; or of\na man and his servants; or of a man, and his children, and servants\ntogether: wherein the Father of Master is the Soveraign. But yet a\nFamily is not properly a Common-wealth; unlesse it be of that power by\nits own number, or by other opportunities, as not to be subdued without\nthe hazard of war. For where a number of men are manifestly too weak to\ndefend themselves united, every one may use his own reason in time of\ndanger, to save his own life, either by flight, or by submission to\nthe enemy, as hee shall think best; in the same manner as a very small\ncompany of souldiers, surprised by an army, may cast down their armes,\nand demand quarter, or run away, rather than be put to the sword. And\nthus much shall suffice; concerning what I find by speculation, and\ndeduction, of Soveraign Rights, from the nature, need, and designes\nof men, in erecting of Commonwealths, and putting themselves under\nMonarchs, or Assemblies, entrusted with power enough for their\nprotection.\n\n\n\n\nThe Right Of Monarchy From Scripture\n\nLet us now consider what the Scripture teacheth in the same point. To\nMoses, the children of Israel say thus. (Exod. 20. 19) \"Speak thou to\nus, and we will heare thee; but let not God speak to us, lest we dye.\"\nThis is absolute obedience to Moses. Concerning the Right of Kings, God\nhimself by the mouth of Samuel, saith, (1 Sam. 8. 11, 12, &c.) \"This\nshall be the Right of the King you will have to reigne over you. He\nshall take your sons, and set them to drive his Chariots, and to be his\nhorsemen, and to run before his chariots; and gather in his harvest; and\nto make his engines of War, and Instruments of his chariots; and shall\ntake your daughters to make perfumes, to be his Cookes, and Bakers. He\nshall take your fields, your vine-yards, and your olive-yards, and give\nthem to his servants. He shall take the tyth of your corne and wine, and\ngive it to the men of his chamber, and to his other servants. He shall\ntake your man-servants, and your maid-servants, and the choice of your\nyouth, and employ them in his businesse. He shall take the tyth of your\nflocks; and you shall be his servants.\" This is absolute power, and\nsummed up in the last words, \"you shall be his servants.\" Againe, when\nthe people heard what power their King was to have, yet they consented\nthereto, and say thus, (Verse. 19 &c.) \"We will be as all other nations,\nand our King shall judge our causes, and goe before us, to conduct our\nwars.\" Here is confirmed the Right that Soveraigns have, both to the\nMilitia, and to all Judicature; in which is conteined as absolute power,\nas one man can possibly transferre to another. Again, the prayer of\nKing Salomon to God, was this. (1 Kings 3. 9) \"Give to thy servant\nunderstanding, to judge thy people, and to discerne between Good and\nEvill.\" It belongeth therefore to the Soveraigne to bee Judge, and\nto praescribe the Rules of Discerning Good and Evill; which Rules are\nLawes; and therefore in him is the Legislative Power. Saul sought\nthe life of David; yet when it was in his power to slay Saul, and his\nServants would have done it, David forbad them, saying (1 Sam. 24. 9)\n\"God forbid I should do such an act against my Lord, the anoynted of\nGod.\" For obedience of servants St. Paul saith, (Coll. 3. 20) \"Servants\nobey your masters in All things,\" and, (Verse. 22) \"Children obey your\nParents in All things.\" There is simple obedience in those that are\nsubject to Paternall, or Despoticall Dominion. Again, (Math. 23. 2,3)\n\"The Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses chayre and therefore All that\nthey shall bid you observe, that observe and do.\" There again is simple\nobedience. And St. Paul, (Tit. 3. 2) \"Warn them that they subject\nthemselves to Princes, and to those that are in Authority, & obey\nthem.\" This obedience is also simple. Lastly, our Saviour himselfe\nacknowledges, that men ought to pay such taxes as are by Kings imposed,\nwhere he sayes, \"Give to Caesar that which is Caesars;\" and payed such\ntaxes himselfe. And that the Kings word, is sufficient to take any thing\nfrom any subject, when there is need; and that the King is Judge of that\nneed: For he himselfe, as King of the Jewes, commanded his Disciples to\ntake the Asse, and Asses Colt to carry him into Jerusalem, saying, (Mat.\n21. 2,3) \"Go into the Village over against you, and you shall find a\nshee Asse tyed, and her Colt with her, unty them, and bring them to me.\nAnd if any man ask you, what you mean by it, Say the Lord hath need\nof them: And they will let them go.\" They will not ask whether his\nnecessity be a sufficient title; nor whether he be judge of that\nnecessity; but acquiesce in the will of the Lord.\n\nTo these places may be added also that of Genesis, (Gen. 3. 5) \"You\nshall be as Gods, knowing Good and Evill.\" and verse 11. \"Who told thee\nthat thou wast naked? hast thou eaten of the tree, of which I commanded\nthee thou shouldest not eat?\" For the Cognisance of Judicature of Good\nand Evill, being forbidden by the name of the fruit of the tree of\nKnowledge, as a triall of Adams obedience; The Divell to enflame the\nAmbition of the woman, to whom that fruit already seemed beautifull,\ntold her that by tasting it, they should be as Gods, knowing Good and\nEvill. Whereupon having both eaten, they did indeed take upon them\nGods office, which is Judicature of Good and Evill; but acquired no new\nability to distinguish between them aright. And whereas it is sayd, that\nhaving eaten, they saw they were naked; no man hath so interpreted that\nplace, as if they had formerly blind, as saw not their own skins: the\nmeaning is plain, that it was then they first judged their nakednesse\n(wherein it was Gods will to create them) to be uncomely; and by being\nashamed, did tacitely censure God himselfe. And thereupon God saith,\n\"Hast thou eaten, &c.\" as if he should say, doest thou that owest me\nobedience, take upon thee to judge of my Commandements? Whereby it is\ncleerly, (though Allegorically,) signified, that the Commands of\nthem that have the right to command, are not by their Subjects to be\ncensured, nor disputed.\n\n\n\n\nSoveraign Power Ought In All Common-wealths To Be Absolute\n\nSo it appeareth plainly, to my understanding, both from Reason, and\nScripture, that the Soveraign Power, whether placed in One Man, as in\nMonarchy, or in one Assembly of men, as in Popular, and Aristocraticall\nCommon-wealths, is as great, as possibly men can be imagined to make\nit. And though of so unlimited a Power, men may fancy many evill\nconsequences, yet the consequences of the want of it, which is\nperpetuall warre of every man against his neighbour, are much worse. The\ncondition of man in this life shall never be without Inconveniences; but\nthere happeneth in no Common-wealth any great Inconvenience, but what\nproceeds from the Subjects disobedience, and breach of those Covenants,\nfrom which the Common-wealth had its being. And whosoever thinking\nSoveraign Power too great, will seek to make it lesse; must subject\nhimselfe, to the Power, that can limit it; that is to say, to a greater.\n\nThe greatest objection is, that of the Practise; when men ask, where,\nand when, such Power has by Subjects been acknowledged. But one may\nask them again, when, or where has there been a Kingdome long free from\nSedition and Civill Warre. In those Nations, whose Common-wealths have\nbeen long-lived, and not been destroyed, but by forraign warre, the\nSubjects never did dispute of the Soveraign Power. But howsoever, an\nargument for the Practise of men, that have not sifted to the bottom,\nand with exact reason weighed the causes, and nature of Common-wealths,\nand suffer daily those miseries, that proceed from the ignorance\nthereof, is invalid. For though in all places of the world, men should\nlay the foundation of their houses on the sand, it could not thence be\ninferred, that so it ought to be. The skill of making, and maintaining\nCommon-wealths, consisteth in certain Rules, as doth Arithmetique and\nGeometry; not (as Tennis-play) on Practise onely: which Rules, neither\npoor men have the leisure, nor men that have had the leisure, have\nhitherto had the curiosity, or the method to find out.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI. OF THE LIBERTY OF SUBJECTS\n\n\n\n\nLiberty What\n\nLiberty, or FREEDOME, signifieth (properly) the absence of Opposition;\n(by Opposition, I mean externall Impediments of motion;) and may\nbe applyed no lesse to Irrational, and Inanimate creatures, than to\nRationall. For whatsoever is so tyed, or environed, as it cannot move,\nbut within a certain space, which space is determined by the opposition\nof some externall body, we say it hath not Liberty to go further. And\nso of all living creatures, whilest they are imprisoned, or restrained,\nwith walls, or chayns; and of the water whilest it is kept in by banks,\nor vessels, that otherwise would spread it selfe into a larger space, we\nuse to say, they are not at Liberty, to move in such manner, as without\nthose externall impediments they would. But when the impediment of\nmotion, is in the constitution of the thing it selfe, we use not to\nsay, it wants the Liberty; but the Power to move; as when a stone lyeth\nstill, or a man is fastned to his bed by sicknesse.\n\n\n\n\nWhat It Is To Be Free\n\nAnd according to this proper, and generally received meaning of the\nword, A FREE-MAN, is \"he, that in those things, which by his strength\nand wit he is able to do, is not hindred to doe what he has a will\nto.\" But when the words Free, and Liberty, are applyed to any thing but\nBodies, they are abused; for that which is not subject to Motion, is not\nsubject to Impediment: And therefore, when ’tis said (for example) The\nway is free, no liberty of the way is signified, but of those that walk\nin it without stop. And when we say a Guift is free, there is not meant\nany liberty of the Guift, but of the Giver, that was not bound by any\nlaw, or Covenant to give it. So when we Speak Freely, it is not the\nliberty of voice, or pronunciation, but of the man, whom no law hath\nobliged to speak otherwise then he did. Lastly, from the use of the\nword Freewill, no liberty can be inferred to the will, desire, or\ninclination, but the liberty of the man; which consisteth in this, that\nhe finds no stop, in doing what he has the will, desire, or inclination\nto doe.\n\n\n\n\nFeare And Liberty Consistent\n\nFeare and Liberty are consistent; as when a man throweth his goods into\nthe Sea for Feare the ship should sink, he doth it neverthelesse very\nwillingly, and may refuse to doe it if he will: It is therefore the\naction, of one that was Free; so a man sometimes pays his debt, only for\nFeare of Imprisonment, which because no body hindred him from detaining,\nwas the action of a man at Liberty. And generally all actions which men\ndoe in Common-wealths, for Feare of the law, or actions, which the doers\nhad Liberty to omit.\n\n\n\n\nLiberty And Necessity Consistent\n\nLiberty and Necessity are Consistent: As in the water, that hath not\nonly Liberty, but a Necessity of descending by the Channel: so likewise\nin the Actions which men voluntarily doe; which (because they proceed\nfrom their will) proceed from Liberty; and yet because every act of\nmans will, and every desire, and inclination proceedeth from some cause,\nwhich causes in a continuall chaine (whose first link in the hand of\nGod the first of all causes) proceed from Necessity. So that to him\nthat could see the connexion of those causes, the Necessity of all\nmens voluntary actions, would appeare manifest. And therefore God, that\nseeth, and disposeth all things, seeth also that the Liberty of man\nin doing what he will, is accompanied with the Necessity of doing that\nwhich God will, & no more, nor lesse. For though men may do many things,\nwhich God does not command, nor is therefore Author of them; yet they\ncan have no passion, nor appetite to any thing, of which appetite Gods\nwill is not the cause. And did not his will assure the Necessity of mans\nwill, and consequently of all that on mans will dependeth, the Liberty\nof men would be a contradiction, and impediment to the omnipotence and\nLiberty of God. And this shall suffice, (as to the matter in hand) of\nthat naturall Liberty, which only is properly called Liberty.\n\n\n\n\nArtificiall Bonds, Or Covenants\n\nBut as men, for the atteyning of peace, and conservation of themselves\nthereby, have made an Artificiall Man, which we call a Common-wealth; so\nalso have they made Artificiall Chains, called Civill Lawes, which they\nthemselves, by mutuall covenants, have fastned at one end, to the lips\nof that Man, or Assembly, to whom they have given the Soveraigne Power;\nand at the other end to their own Ears. These Bonds in their own nature\nbut weak, may neverthelesse be made to hold, by the danger, though not\nby the difficulty of breaking them.\n\n\n\n\nLiberty Of Subjects Consisteth In Liberty From Covenants\n\nIn relation to these Bonds only it is, that I am to speak now, of the\nLiberty of Subjects. For seeing there is no Common-wealth in the world,\nfor the regulating of all the actions, and words of men, (as being\na thing impossible:) it followeth necessarily, that in all kinds of\nactions, by the laws praetermitted, men have the Liberty, of doing what\ntheir own reasons shall suggest, for the most profitable to themselves.\nFor if wee take Liberty in the proper sense, for corporall Liberty; that\nis to say, freedome from chains, and prison, it were very absurd for men\nto clamor as they doe, for the Liberty they so manifestly enjoy. Againe,\nif we take Liberty, for an exemption from Lawes, it is no lesse absurd,\nfor men to demand as they doe, that Liberty, by which all other men may\nbe masters of their lives. And yet as absurd as it is, this is it they\ndemand; not knowing that the Lawes are of no power to protect them,\nwithout a Sword in the hands of a man, or men, to cause those laws to\nbe put in execution. The Liberty of a Subject, lyeth therefore only\nin those things, which in regulating their actions, the Soveraign hath\npraetermitted; such as is the Liberty to buy, and sell, and otherwise\ncontract with one another; to choose their own aboad, their own diet,\ntheir own trade of life, and institute their children as they themselves\nthink fit; & the like.\n\n\n\n\nLiberty Of The Subject Consistent With Unlimited Power Of The Soveraign\n\nNeverthelesse we are not to understand, that by such Liberty, the\nSoveraign Power of life, and death, is either abolished, or limited. For\nit has been already shewn, that nothing the Soveraign Representative\ncan doe to a Subject, on what pretence soever, can properly be called\nInjustice, or Injury; because every Subject is Author of every act the\nSoveraign doth; so that he never wanteth Right to any thing, otherwise,\nthan as he himself is the Subject of God, and bound thereby to observe\nthe laws of Nature. And therefore it may, and doth often happen in\nCommon-wealths, that a Subject may be put to death, by the command of\nthe Soveraign Power; and yet neither doe the other wrong: as when Jeptha\ncaused his daughter to be sacrificed: In which, and the like cases,\nhe that so dieth, had Liberty to doe the action, for which he is\nneverthelesse, without Injury put to death. And the same holdeth also\nin a Soveraign Prince, that putteth to death an Innocent Subject. For\nthough the action be against the law of Nature, as being contrary to\nEquitie, (as was the killing of Uriah, by David;) yet it was not an\nInjurie to Uriah; but to God. Not to Uriah, because the right to doe\nwhat he pleased, was given him by Uriah himself; And yet to God, because\nDavid was Gods Subject; and prohibited all Iniquitie by the law of\nNature. Which distinction, David himself, when he repented the fact,\nevidently confirmed, saying, \"To thee only have I sinned.\" In the same\nmanner, the people of Athens, when they banished the most potent of\ntheir Common-wealth for ten years, thought they committed no Injustice;\nand yet they never questioned what crime he had done; but what hurt he\nwould doe: Nay they commanded the banishment of they knew not whom; and\nevery Citizen bringing his Oystershell into the market place, written\nwith the name of him he desired should be banished, without actuall\naccusing him, sometimes banished an Aristides, for his reputation of\nJustice; And sometimes a scurrilous Jester, as Hyperbolus, to make a\nJest of it. And yet a man cannot say, the Soveraign People of Athens\nwanted right to banish them; or an Athenian the Libertie to Jest, or to\nbe Just.\n\n\n\n\nThe Liberty Which Writers Praise, Is The Liberty Of Soveraigns; Not Of\nPrivate Men\n\nThe Libertie, whereof there is so frequent, and honourable mention, in\nthe Histories, and Philosophy of the Antient Greeks, and Romans, and in\nthe writings, and discourse of those that from them have received all\ntheir learning in the Politiques, is not the Libertie of Particular\nmen; but the Libertie of the Common-wealth: which is the same with\nthat, which every man then should have, if there were no Civil Laws,\nnor Common-wealth at all. And the effects of it also be the same. For as\namongst masterlesse men, there is perpetuall war, of every man against\nhis neighbour; no inheritance, to transmit to the Son, nor to expect\nfrom the Father; no propriety of Goods, or Lands; no security; but a\nfull and absolute Libertie in every Particular man: So in States, and\nCommon-wealths not dependent on one another, every Common-wealth, (not\nevery man) has an absolute Libertie, to doe what it shall judge (that is\nto say, what that Man, or Assemblie that representeth it, shall judge)\nmost conducing to their benefit. But withall, they live in the condition\nof a perpetuall war, and upon the confines of battel, with their\nfrontiers armed, and canons planted against their neighbours\nround about. The Athenians, and Romanes, were free; that is, free\nCommon-wealths: not that any particular men had the Libertie to resist\ntheir own Representative; but that their Representative had the Libertie\nto resist, or invade other people. There is written on the Turrets of\nthe city of Luca in great characters at this day, the word LIBERTAS; yet\nno man can thence inferre, that a particular man has more Libertie,\nor Immunitie from the service of the Commonwealth there, than in\nConstantinople. Whether a Common-wealth be Monarchicall, or Popular, the\nFreedome is still the same.\n\nBut it is an easy thing, for men to be deceived, by the specious name\nof Libertie; and for want of Judgement to distinguish, mistake that for\ntheir Private Inheritance, and Birth right, which is the right of the\nPublique only. And when the same errour is confirmed by the authority of\nmen in reputation for their writings in this subject, it is no wonder if\nit produce sedition, and change of Government. In these westerne\nparts of the world, we are made to receive our opinions concerning the\nInstitution, and Rights of Common-wealths, from Aristotle, Cicero, and\nother men, Greeks and Romanes, that living under Popular States, derived\nthose Rights, not from the Principles of Nature, but transcribed them\ninto their books, out of the Practice of their own Common-wealths, which\nwere Popular; as the Grammarians describe the Rules of Language, out of\nthe Practise of the time; or the Rules of Poetry, out of the Poems of\nHomer and Virgil. And because the Athenians were taught, (to keep them\nfrom desire of changing their Government,) that they were Freemen, and\nall that lived under Monarchy were slaves; therefore Aristotle puts it\ndown in his Politiques,(lib.6.cap.2) \"In democracy, Liberty is to be\nsupposed: for ’tis commonly held, that no man is Free in any other\nGovernment.\" And as Aristotle; so Cicero, and other Writers have\ngrounded their Civill doctrine, on the opinions of the Romans, who were\ntaught to hate Monarchy, at first, by them that having deposed their\nSoveraign, shared amongst them the Soveraignty of Rome; and afterwards\nby their Successors. And by reading of these Greek, and Latine Authors,\nmen from their childhood have gotten a habit (under a false shew of\nLiberty,) of favouring tumults, and of licentious controlling the\nactions of their Soveraigns; and again of controlling those controllers,\nwith the effusion of so much blood; as I think I may truly say, there\nwas never any thing so deerly bought, as these Western parts have bought\nthe learning of the Greek and Latine tongues.\n\n\n\n\nLiberty Of The Subject How To Be Measured\n\nTo come now to the particulars of the true Liberty of a Subject; that is\nto say, what are the things, which though commanded by the Soveraign, he\nmay neverthelesse, without Injustice, refuse to do; we are to consider,\nwhat Rights we passe away, when we make a Common-wealth; or (which is\nall one,) what Liberty we deny our selves, by owning all the Actions\n(without exception) of the Man, or Assembly we make our Soveraign. For\nin the act of our Submission, consisteth both our Obligation, and\nour Liberty; which must therefore be inferred by arguments taken from\nthence; there being no Obligation on any man, which ariseth not from\nsome Act of his own; for all men equally, are by Nature Free. And\nbecause such arguments, must either be drawn from the expresse words, \"I\nAuthorise all his Actions,\" or from the Intention of him that submitteth\nhimselfe to his Power, (which Intention is to be understood by the End\nfor which he so submitteth;) The Obligation, and Liberty of the Subject,\nis to be derived, either from those Words, (or others equivalent;) or\nelse from the End of the Institution of Soveraignty; namely, the Peace\nof the Subjects within themselves, and their Defence against a common\nEnemy.\n\n\n\n\nSubjects Have Liberty To Defend Their Own Bodies, Even Against Them\nThat Lawfully Invade Them\n\nFirst therefore, seeing Soveraignty by Institution, is by Covenant of\nevery one to every one; and Soveraignty by Acquisition, by Covenants of\nthe Vanquished to the Victor, or Child to the Parent; It is manifest,\nthat every Subject has Liberty in all those things, the right whereof\ncannot by Covenant be transferred. I have shewn before in the 14.\nChapter, that Covenants, not to defend a mans own body, are voyd.\nTherefore,\n\n\n\n\nAre Not Bound To Hurt Themselves;\n\nIf the Soveraign command a man (though justly condemned,) to kill,\nwound, or mayme himselfe; or not to resist those that assault him; or\nto abstain from the use of food, ayre, medicine, or any other thing,\nwithout which he cannot live; yet hath that man the Liberty to disobey.\n\nIf a man be interrogated by the Soveraign, or his Authority, concerning\na crime done by himselfe, he is not bound (without assurance of Pardon)\nto confesse it; because no man (as I have shewn in the same Chapter) can\nbe obliged by Covenant to accuse himselfe.\n\nAgain, the Consent of a Subject to Soveraign Power, is contained in\nthese words, \"I Authorise, or take upon me, all his actions;\" in which\nthere is no restriction at all, of his own former naturall Liberty:\nFor by allowing him to Kill Me, I am not bound to Kill my selfe when\nhe commands me. \"’Tis one thing to say ‘Kill me, or my fellow, if you\nplease;’ another thing to say, ‘I will kill my selfe, or my fellow.’\" It\nfolloweth therefore, that\n\nNo man is bound by the words themselves, either to kill himselfe, or\nany other man; And consequently, that the Obligation a man may sometimes\nhave, upon the Command of the Soveraign to execute any dangerous, or\ndishonourable Office, dependeth not on the Words of our Submission; but\non the Intention; which is to be understood by the End thereof. When\ntherefore our refusall to obey, frustrates the End for which the\nSoveraignty was ordained; then there is no Liberty to refuse: otherwise\nthere is.\n\n\n\n\nNor To Warfare, Unless They Voluntarily Undertake It\n\nUpon this ground, a man that is commanded as a Souldier to fight against\nthe enemy, though his Soveraign have Right enough to punish his refusall\nwith death, may neverthelesse in many cases refuse, without Injustice;\nas when he substituteth a sufficient Souldier in his place: for in this\ncase he deserteth not the service of the Common-wealth. And there is\nallowance to be made for naturall timorousnesse, not onely to women, (of\nwhom no such dangerous duty is expected,) but also to men of feminine\ncourage. When Armies fight, there is on one side, or both, a running\naway; yet when they do it not out of trechery, but fear, they are not\nesteemed to do it unjustly, but dishonourably. For the same reason, to\navoyd battell, is not Injustice, but Cowardise. But he that inrowleth\nhimselfe a Souldier, or taketh imprest mony, taketh away the excuse of\na timorous nature; and is obliged, not onely to go to the battell,\nbut also not to run from it, without his Captaines leave. And when the\nDefence of the Common-wealth, requireth at once the help of all that\nare able to bear Arms, every one is obliged; because otherwise the\nInstitution of the Common-wealth, which they have not the purpose, or\ncourage to preserve, was in vain.\n\nTo resist the Sword of the Common-wealth, in defence of another man,\nguilty, or innocent, no man hath Liberty; because such Liberty, takes\naway from the Soveraign, the means of Protecting us; and is therefore\ndestructive of the very essence of Government. But in case a great many\nmen together, have already resisted the Soveraign Power Unjustly, or\ncommitted some Capitall crime, for which every one of them expecteth\ndeath, whether have they not the Liberty then to joyn together, and\nassist, and defend one another? Certainly they have: For they but defend\ntheir lives, which the guilty man may as well do, as the Innocent. There\nwas indeed injustice in the first breach of their duty; Their bearing of\nArms subsequent to it, though it be to maintain what they have done, is\nno new unjust act. And if it be onely to defend their persons, it is not\nunjust at all. But the offer of Pardon taketh from them, to whom it\nis offered, the plea of self-defence, and maketh their perseverance in\nassisting, or defending the rest, unlawfull.\n\n\n\n\nThe Greatest Liberty Of Subjects, Dependeth On The Silence Of The Law\n\n\nAs for other Lyberties, they depend on the silence of the Law. In cases\nwhere the Soveraign has prescribed no rule, there the Subject hath\nthe liberty to do, or forbeare, according to his own discretion. And\ntherefore such Liberty is in some places more, and in some lesse; and in\nsome times more, in other times lesse, according as they that have the\nSoveraignty shall think most convenient. As for Example, there was\na time, when in England a man might enter in to his own Land,\n(and dispossesse such as wrongfully possessed it) by force. But in\nafter-times, that Liberty of Forcible entry, was taken away by a Statute\nmade (by the King) in Parliament. And is some places of the world, men\nhave the Liberty of many wives: in other places, such Liberty is not\nallowed.\n\nIf a Subject have a controversie with his Soveraigne, of Debt, or\nof right of possession of lands or goods, or concerning any service\nrequired at his hands, or concerning any penalty corporall, or\npecuniary, grounded on a precedent Law; He hath the same Liberty to sue\nfor his right, as if it were against a Subject; and before such Judges,\nas are appointed by the Soveraign. For seeing the Soveraign demandeth\nby force of a former Law, and not by vertue of his Power; he declareth\nthereby, that he requireth no more, than shall appear to be due by that\nLaw. The sute therefore is not contrary to the will of the Soveraign;\nand consequently the Subject hath the Liberty to demand the hearing of\nhis Cause; and sentence, according to that Law. But if he demand, or\ntake any thing by pretence of his Power; there lyeth, in that case, no\naction of Law: for all that is done by him in Vertue of his Power, is\ndone by the Authority of every subject, and consequently, he that brings\nan action against the Soveraign, brings it against himselfe.\n\nIf a Monarch, or Soveraign Assembly, grant a Liberty to all, or any of\nhis Subjects; which Grant standing, he is disabled to provide for their\nsafety, the Grant is voyd; unlesse he directly renounce, or transferre\nthe Soveraignty to another. For in that he might openly, (if it had been\nhis will,) and in plain termes, have renounced, or transferred it, and\ndid not; it is to be understood it was not his will; but that the Grant\nproceeded from ignorance of the repugnancy between such a Liberty and\nthe Soveraign Power; and therefore the Soveraignty is still retayned;\nand consequently all those Powers, which are necessary to the exercising\nthereof; such as are the Power of Warre, and Peace, of Judicature, of\nappointing Officers, and Councellours, of levying Mony, and the rest\nnamed in the 18th Chapter.\n\n\n\n\nIn What Cases Subjects Absolved Of Their Obedience To Their Soveraign\n\nThe Obligation of Subjects to the Soveraign is understood to last as\nlong, and no longer, than the power lasteth, by which he is able to\nprotect them. For the right men have by Nature to protect themselves,\nwhen none else can protect them, can by no Covenant be relinquished. The\nSoveraignty is the Soule of the Common-wealth; which once departed from\nthe Body, the members doe no more receive their motion from it. The end\nof Obedience is Protection; which, wheresoever a man seeth it, either in\nhis own, or in anothers sword, Nature applyeth his obedience to it, and\nhis endeavour to maintaine it. And though Soveraignty, in the intention\nof them that make it, be immortall; yet is it in its own nature, not\nonly subject to violent death, by forreign war; but also through\nthe ignorance, and passions of men, it hath in it, from the very\ninstitution, many seeds of a naturall mortality, by Intestine Discord.\n\n\n\n\nIn Case Of Captivity\n\nIf a Subject be taken prisoner in war; or his person, or his means of\nlife be within the Guards of the enemy, and hath his life and corporall\nLibertie given him, on condition to be Subject to the Victor, he hath\nLibertie to accept the condition; and having accepted it, is the subject\nof him that took him; because he had no other way to preserve himselfe.\nThe case is the same, if he be deteined on the same termes, in a\nforreign country. But if a man be held in prison, or bonds, or is not\ntrusted with the libertie of his bodie; he cannot be understood to be\nbound by Covenant to subjection; and therefore may, if he can, make his\nescape by any means whatsoever.\n\n\n\n\nIn Case The Soveraign Cast Off The Government From Himself And Heyrs\n\nIf a Monarch shall relinquish the Soveraignty, both for himself, and\nhis heires; His Subjects returne to the absolute Libertie of Nature;\nbecause, though Nature may declare who are his Sons, and who are the\nnerest of his Kin; yet it dependeth on his own will, (as hath been said\nin the precedent chapter,) who shall be his Heyr. If therefore he will\nhave no Heyre, there is no Soveraignty, nor Subjection. The case is the\nsame, if he dye without known Kindred, and without declaration of\nhis Heyre. For then there can no Heire be known, and consequently no\nSubjection be due.\n\n\n\n\nIn Case Of Banishment\n\nIf the Soveraign Banish his Subject; during the Banishment, he is not\nSubject. But he that is sent on a message, or hath leave to travell, is\nstill Subject; but it is, by Contract between Soveraigns, not by vertue\nof the covenant of Subjection. For whosoever entreth into anothers\ndominion, is Subject to all the Lawes thereof; unless he have a\nprivilege by the amity of the Soveraigns, or by speciall licence.\n\n\n\n\nIn Case The Soveraign Render Himself Subject To Another\n\nIf a Monarch subdued by war, render himself Subject to the Victor; his\nSubjects are delivered from their former obligation, and become obliged\nto the Victor. But if he be held prisoner, or have not the liberty\nof his own Body; he is not understood to have given away the Right of\nSoveraigntie; and therefore his Subjects are obliged to yield obedience\nto the Magistrates formerly placed, governing not in their own name,\nbut in his. For, his Right remaining, the question is only of the\nAdministration; that is to say, of the Magistrates and Officers; which,\nif he have not means to name, he is supposed to approve those, which he\nhimself had formerly appointed.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII. OF SYSTEMES SUBJECT, POLITICALL, AND PRIVATE\n\n\n\n\nThe Divers Sorts Of Systemes Of People\n\nHaving spoken of the Generation, Forme, and Power of a Common-wealth, I\nam in order to speak next of the parts thereof. And first of Systemes,\nwhich resemble the similar parts, or Muscles of a Body naturall. By\nSYSTEMES; I understand any numbers of men joyned in one Interest, or one\nBusinesse. Of which, some are Regular, and some Irregular. Regular are\nthose, where one Man, or Assembly of men, is constituted Representative\nof the whole number. All other are Irregular.\n\nOf Regular, some are Absolute, and Independent, subject to none but\ntheir own Representative: such are only Common-wealths; Of which I have\nspoken already in the 5. last preceding chapters. Others are Dependent;\nthat is to say, Subordinate to some Soveraign Power, to which every one,\nas also their Representative is Subject.\n\nOf Systemes subordinate, some are Politicall, and some Private.\nPoliticall (otherwise Called Bodies Politique, and Persons In Law,)\nare those, which are made by authority from the Soveraign Power of the\nCommon-wealth. Private, are those, which are constituted by Subjects\namongst themselves, or by authoritie from a stranger. For no authority\nderived from forraign power, within the Dominion of another, is Publique\nthere, but Private.\n\nAnd of Private Systemes, some are Lawfull; some Unlawfull: Lawfull, are\nthose which are allowed by the Common-wealth: all other are Unlawfull.\nIrregular Systemes, are those which having no Representative,\nconsist only in concourse of People; which if not forbidden by the\nCommon-wealth, nor made on evill designe, (such as are conflux of People\nto markets, or shews, or any other harmelesse end,) are Lawfull. But\nwhen the Intention is evill, or (if the number be considerable) unknown,\nthey are Unlawfull.\n\n\n\n\nIn All Bodies Politique The Power Of The Representative Is Limited\n\nIn Bodies Politique, the power of the Representative is alwaies Limited:\nAnd that which prescribeth the limits thereof, is the Power Soveraign.\nFor Power Unlimited, is absolute Soveraignty. And the Soveraign, in\nevery Commonwealth, is the absolute Representative of all the Subjects;\nand therefore no other, can be Representative of any part of them,\nbut so far forth, as he shall give leave; And to give leave to a Body\nPolitique of Subjects, to have an absolute Representative to all\nintents and purposes, were to abandon the Government of so much of the\nCommonwealth, and to divide the Dominion, contrary to their Peace and\nDefence, which the Soveraign cannot be understood to doe, by any Grant,\nthat does not plainly, and directly discharge them of their subjection.\nFor consequences of words, are not the signes of his will, when other\nconsequences are signes of the contrary; but rather signes of errour,\nand misreckoning; to which all mankind is too prone.\n\nThe bounds of that Power, which is given to the Representative of a\nBodie Politique, are to be taken notice of, from two things. One is\ntheir Writt, or Letters from the Soveraign: the other is the Law of the\nCommon-wealth.\n\n\n\n\nBy Letters Patents\n\nFor though in the Institution or Acquisition of a Common-wealth,\nwhich is independent, there needs no Writing, because the Power of the\nRepresentative has there no other bounds, but such as are set out by\nthe unwritten Law of Nature; yet in subordinate bodies, there are such\ndiversities of Limitation necessary, concerning their businesses, times,\nand places, as can neither be remembred without Letters, nor taken\nnotice of, unlesse such Letters be Patent, that they may be read to\nthem, and withall sealed, or testified, with the Seales, or other\npermanent signes of the Authority Soveraign.\n\n\n\n\nAnd The Lawes\n\nAnd because such Limitation is not alwaies easie, or perhaps possible\nto be described in writing; the ordinary Lawes, common to all Subjects,\nmust determine, that the Representative may lawfully do, in all Cases,\nwhere the Letters themselves are silent. And therefore\n\n\n\n\nWhen The Representative Is One Man, His Unwarranted Acts His Own Onely\n\nIn a Body Politique, if the Representative be one man, whatsoever he\ndoes in the Person of the Body, which is not warranted in his Letters,\nnor by the Lawes, is his own act, and not the act of the Body, nor of\nany other Member thereof besides himselfe: Because further than his\nLetters, or the Lawes limit, he representeth no mans person, but his\nown. But what he does according to these, is the act of every one: For\nof the Act of the Soveraign every one is Author, because he is their\nRepresentative unlimited; and the act of him that recedes not from the\nLetters of the Soveraign, is the act of the Soveraign, and therefore\nevery member of the Body is Author of it.\n\n\n\n\nWhen It Is An Assembly, It Is The Act Of Them That Assented Onely\n\nBut if the Representative be an Assembly, whatsoever that Assembly shall\nDecree, not warranted by their Letters, or the Lawes, is the act of the\nAssembly, or Body Politique, and the act of every one by whose Vote the\nDecree was made; but not the act of any man that being present Voted to\nthe contrary; nor of any man absent, unlesse he Voted it by procuration.\nIt is the act of the Assembly, because Voted by the major part; and if\nit be a crime, the Assembly may be punished, as farre-forth as it is\ncapable, as by dissolution, or forfeiture of their Letters (which is to\nsuch artificiall, and fictitious Bodies, capitall,) or (if the\nAssembly have a Common stock, wherein none of the Innocent Members have\npropriety,) by pecuniary Mulct. For from corporall penalties Nature hath\nexempted all Bodies Politique. But they that gave not their Vote, are\ntherefore Innocent, because the Assembly cannot Represent any man in\nthings unwarranted by their Letters, and consequently are not involved\nin their Votes.\n\nWhen The Representative Is One Man, If He Borrow Mony, Or Owe It, By\nContract; He Is Lyable Onely, The Members Not If the person of the Body\nPolitique being in one man, borrow mony of a stranger, that is, of one\nthat is not of the same Body, (for no Letters need limit borrowing,\nseeing it is left to mens own inclinations to limit lending) the debt is\nthe Representatives. For if he should have Authority from his Letters,\nto make the members pay what he borroweth, he should have by consequence\nthe Soveraignty of them; and therefore the grant were either voyd,\nas proceeding from Errour, commonly incident to humane Nature, and an\nunsufficient signe of the will of the Granter; or if it be avowed\nby him, then is the Representer Soveraign, and falleth not under the\npresent question, which is onely of Bodies subordinate. No member\ntherefore is obliged to pay the debt so borrowed, but the Representative\nhimselfe: because he that lendeth it, being a stranger to the Letters,\nand to the qualification of the Body, understandeth those onely for\nhis debtors, that are engaged; and seeing the Representer can ingage\nhimselfe, and none else, has him onely for Debtor; who must therefore\npay him, out of the common stock (if there be any), or (if there be\nnone) out of his own estate.\n\nIf he come into debt by Contract, or Mulct, the case is the same.\n\n\n\n\nWhen It Is An Assembly, They Onely Are Liable That Have Assented\n\nBut when the Representative is an Assembly, and the debt to a stranger;\nall they, and onely they are responsible for the debt, that gave their\nvotes to the borrowing of it, or to the Contract that made it due, or to\nthe fact for which the Mulct was imposed; because every one of those in\nvoting did engage himselfe for the payment: For he that is author of\nthe borrowing, is obliged to the payment, even of the whole debt, though\nwhen payd by any one, he be discharged.\n\n\n\n\nIf The Debt Be To One Of The Assembly, The Body Onely Is Obliged\n\nBut if the debt be to one of the Assembly, the Assembly onely is obliged\nto the payment, out of their common stock (if they have any:) For having\nliberty of Vote, if he Vote the Mony, shall be borrowed, he Votes it\nshall be payd; If he Vote it shall not be borrowed, or be absent, yet\nbecause in lending, he voteth the borrowing, he contradicteth his former\nVote, and is obliged by the later, and becomes both borrower and lender,\nand consequently cannot demand payment from any particular man, but\nfrom the common Treasure onely; which fayling he hath no remedy, nor\ncomplaint, but against himselfe, that being privy to the acts of\nthe Assembly, and their means to pay, and not being enforced, did\nneverthelesse through his own folly lend his mony.\n\n\n\n\nProtestation Against The Decrees Of Bodies Politique\n\nSometimes Lawful; But Against Soveraign Power Never It is manifest by\nthis, that in Bodies Politique subordinate, and subject to a Soveraign\nPower, it is sometimes not onely lawfull, but expedient, for a\nparticular man to make open protestation against the decrees of the\nRepresentative Assembly, and cause their dissent to be Registred, or to\ntake witnesse of it; because otherwise they may be obliged to pay debts\ncontracted, and be responsible for crimes committed by other men: But in\na Soveraign Assembly, that liberty is taken away, both because he that\nprotesteth there, denies their Soveraignty; and also because whatsoever\nis commanded by the Soveraign Power, is as to the Subject (though not\nso alwayes in the sight of God) justified by the Command; for of such\ncommand every Subject is the Author.\n\n\n\n\nBodies Politique For Government Of A Province, Colony, Or Town\n\nThe variety of Bodies Politique, is almost infinite; for they are\nnot onely distinguished by the severall affaires, for which they are\nconstituted, wherein there is an unspeakable diversitie; but also by the\ntimes, places, and numbers, subject to many limitations. And as to their\naffaires, some are ordained for Government; As first, the Government\nof a Province may be committed to an Assembly of men, wherein all\nresolutions shall depend on the Votes of the major part; and then this\nAssembly is a Body Politique, and their power limited by Commission.\nThis word Province signifies a charge, or care of businesse, which he\nwhose businesse it is, committeth to another man, to be administred for,\nand under him; and therefore when in one Common-wealth there be divers\nCountries, that have their Lawes distinct one from another, or are farre\ndistant in place, the Administration of the Government being committed\nto divers persons, those Countries where the Soveraign is not resident,\nbut governs by Commission, are called Provinces. But of the government\nof a Province, by an Assembly residing in the Province it selfe, there\nbe few examples. The Romans who had the Soveraignty of many Provinces;\nyet governed them alwaies by Presidents, and Praetors; and not by\nAssemblies, as they governed the City of Rome, and Territories adjacent.\nIn like manner, when there were Colonies sent from England, to Plant\nVirginia, and Sommer-Ilands; though the government of them here, were\ncommitted to Assemblies in London, yet did those Assemblies never\ncommit the Government under them to any Assembly there; but did to each\nPlantation send one Governour; For though every man, where he can be\npresent by Nature, desires to participate of government; yet where\nthey cannot be present, they are by Nature also enclined, to commit the\nGovernment of their common Interest rather to a Monarchicall, then a\nPopular form of Government: which is also evident in those men that have\ngreat private estates; who when they are unwilling to take the paines of\nadministring the businesse that belongs to them, choose rather to trust\none Servant, than a Assembly either of their friends or servants.\nBut howsoever it be in fact, yet we may suppose the Government of a\nProvince, or Colony committed to an Assembly: and when it is, that which\nin this place I have to say, is this; that whatsoever debt is by that\nAssembly contracted; or whatsoever unlawfull Act is decreed, is the Act\nonely of those that assented, and not of any that dissented, or were\nabsent, for the reasons before alledged. Also that an Assembly residing\nout of the bounds of that Colony whereof they have the government,\ncannot execute any power over the persons, or goods of any of the\nColonie, to seize on them for debt, or other duty, in any place\nwithout the Colony it selfe, as having no Jurisdiction, nor Authoritie\nelsewhere, but are left to the remedie, which the Law of the place\nalloweth them. And though the Assembly have right, to impose a Mulct\nupon any of their members, that shall break the Lawes they make; yet\nout of the Colonie it selfe, they have no right to execute the same.\nAnd that which is said here, of the Rights of an Assembly, for the\ngovernment of a Province, or a Colony, is appliable also to an Assembly\nfor the Government of a Town, or University, or a College, or a Church,\nor for any other Government over the persons of men.\n\nAnd generally, in all Bodies Politique, if any particular member\nconceive himself Injured by the Body it self, the Cognisance of his\ncause belongeth to the Soveraign, and those the Soveraign hath ordained\nfor Judges in such causes, or shall ordaine for that particular cause;\nand not to the Body it self. For the whole Body is in this case his\nfellow subject, which in a Soveraign Assembly, is otherwise: for there,\nif the Soveraign be not Judge, though in his own cause, there can be no\nJudge at all.\n\n\n\n\nBodies Politique For Ordering Of Trade\n\nIn a Bodie Politique, for the well ordering of forraigne Traffique, the\nmost commodious Representative is an Assembly of all the members; that\nis to say, such a one, as every one that adventureth his mony, may be\npresent at all the Deliberations, and Resolutions of the Body, if they\nwill themselves. For proof whereof, we are to consider the end, for\nwhich men that are Merchants, and may buy and sell, export, and import\ntheir Merchandise, according to their own discretions, doe neverthelesse\nbind themselves up in one Corporation. It is true, there be few\nMerchants, that with the Merchandise they buy at home, can fraight a\nShip, to export it; or with that they buy abroad, to bring it home; and\nhave therefore need to joyn together in one Society; where every man\nmay either participate of the gaine, according to the proportion of his\nadventure; or take his own; and sell what he transports, or imports, at\nsuch prices as he thinks fit. But this is no Body Politique, there being\nno Common Representative to oblige them to any other Law, than that\nwhich is common to all other subjects. The End of their Incorporating,\nis to make their gaine the greater; which is done two wayes; by sole\nbuying, and sole selling, both at home, and abroad. So that to grant\nto a Company of Merchants to be a Corporation, or Body Politique, is to\ngrant them a double Monopoly, whereof one is to be sole buyers; another\nto be sole sellers. For when there is a Company incorporate for any\nparticular forraign Country, they only export the Commodities vendible\nin that Country; which is sole buying at home, and sole selling abroad.\nFor at home there is but one buyer, and abroad but one that selleth:\nboth which is gainfull to the Merchant, because thereby they buy at home\nat lower, and sell abroad at higher rates: And abroad there is but one\nbuyer of forraign Merchandise, and but one that sels them at home; both\nwhich againe are gainfull to the adventurers.\n\nOf this double Monopoly one part is disadvantageous to the people at\nhome, the other to forraigners. For at home by their sole exportation\nthey set what price they please on the husbandry and handy-works of\nthe people; and by the sole importation, what price they please on all\nforraign commodities the people have need of; both which are ill for the\npeople. On the contrary, by the sole selling of the native commodities\nabroad, and sole buying the forraign commodities upon the place,\nthey raise the price of those, and abate the price of these, to\nthe disadvantage of the forraigner: For where but one selleth, the\nMerchandise is the dearer; and where but one buyeth the cheaper: Such\nCorporations therefore are no other then Monopolies; though they would\nbe very profitable for a Common-wealth, if being bound up into one body\nin forraigne Markets they were at liberty at home, every man to buy, and\nsell at what price he could.\n\nThe end then of these Bodies of Merchants, being not a Common benefit\nto the whole Body, (which have in this case no common stock, but what\nis deducted out of the particular adventures, for building, buying,\nvictualling and manning of Ships,) but the particular gaine of\nevery adventurer, it is reason that every one be acquainted with the\nemployment of his own; that is, that every one be of the Assembly, that\nshall have the power to order the same; and be acquainted with their\naccounts. And therefore the Representative of such a Body must be\nan Assembly, where every member of the Body may be present at the\nconsultations, if he will.\n\nIf a Body Politique of Merchants, contract a debt to a stranger by the\nact of their Representative Assembly, every Member is lyable by himself\nfor the whole. For a stranger can take no notice of their private Lawes,\nbut considereth them as so many particular men, obliged every one to the\nwhole payment, till payment made by one dischargeth all the rest: But if\nthe debt be to one of the Company, the creditor is debter for the whole\nto himself, and cannot therefore demand his debt, but only from the\ncommon stock, if there be any.\n\nIf the Common-wealth impose a Tax upon the Body, it is understood to be\nlayd upon every member proportionably to his particular adventure in the\nCompany. For there is in this case no other common stock, but what is\nmade of their particular adventures.\n\nIf a Mulct be layd upon the Body for some unlawfull act, they only are\nlyable by whose votes the act was decreed, or by whose assistance it was\nexecuted; for in none of the rest is there any other crime but being\nof the Body; which if a crime, (because the Body was ordeyned by the\nauthority of the Common-wealth,) is not his.\n\nIf one of the Members be indebted to the Body, he may be sued by the\nBody; but his goods cannot be taken, nor his person imprisoned by the\nauthority of the Body; but only by Authority of the Common-wealth:\nfor if they can doe it by their own Authority, they can by their own\nAuthority give judgement that the debt is due, which is as much as to be\nJudge in their own Cause.\n\n\n\n\nA Bodie Politique For Counsel To Be Give To The Soveraign\n\nThese Bodies made for the government of Men, or of Traffique, be either\nperpetuall, or for a time prescribed by writing. But there be Bodies\nalso whose times are limited, and that only by the nature of their\nbusinesse. For example, if a Soveraign Monarch, or a Soveraign Assembly,\nshall think fit to give command to the towns, and other severall parts\nof their territory, to send to him their Deputies, to enforme him of the\ncondition, and necessities of the Subjects, or to advise with him for\nthe making of good Lawes, or for any other cause, as with one Person\nrepresenting the whole Country, such Deputies, having a place and time\nof meeting assigned them, are there, and at that time, a Body Politique,\nrepresenting every Subject of that Dominion; but it is onely for such\nmatters as shall be propounded unto them by that Man, or Assembly, that\nby the Soveraign Authority sent for them; and when it shall be declared\nthat nothing more shall be propounded, nor debated by them, the Body is\ndissolved. For if they were the absolute Representative of the people,\nthen were it the Soveraign Assembly; and so there would be two Soveraign\nAssemblies, or two Soveraigns, over the same people; which cannot\nconsist with their Peace. And therefore where there is once a\nSoveraignty, there can be no absolute Representation of the people, but\nby it. And for the limits of how farre such a Body shall represent the\nwhole People, they are set forth in the Writing by which they were sent\nfor. For the People cannot choose their Deputies to other intent, than\nis in the Writing directed to them from their Soveraign expressed.\n\n\n\n\nA Regular Private Body, Lawfull, As A Family\n\nPrivate Bodies Regular, and Lawfull, are those that are constituted\nwithout Letters, or other written Authority, saving the Lawes common\nto all other Subjects. And because they be united in one Person\nRepresentative, they are held for Regular; such as are all Families, in\nwhich the Father, or Master ordereth the whole Family. For he obligeth\nhis Children, and Servants, as farre as the Law permitteth, though not\nfurther, because none of them are bound to obedience in those actions,\nwhich the Law hath forbidden to be done. In all other actions, during\nthe time they are under domestique government, they are subject to their\nFathers, and Masters, as to their immediate Soveraigns. For the Father,\nand Master being before the Institution of Common-wealth, absolute\nSoveraigns in their own Families, they lose afterward no more of their\nAuthority, than the Law of the Common-wealth taketh from them.\n\n\n\n\nPrivate Bodies Regular, But Unlawfull\n\nPrivate Bodies Regular, but Unlawfull, are those that unite themselves\ninto one person Representative, without any publique Authority at all;\nsuch as are the Corporations of Beggars, Theeves and Gipsies, the better\nto order their trade of begging, and stealing; and the Corporations of\nmen, that by Authority from any forraign Person, unite themselves in\nanothers Dominion, for easier propagation of Doctrines, and for making a\nparty, against the Power of the Common-wealth.\n\n\n\n\nSystemes Irregular, Such As Are Private Leagues\n\nIrregular Systemes, in their nature, but Leagues, or sometimes meer\nconcourse of people, without union to any particular designe, not by\nobligation of one to another, but proceeding onely from a similitude of\nwills and inclinations, become Lawfull, or Unlawfull, according to the\nlawfulnesse, or unlawfulnesse of every particular mans design therein:\nAnd his designe is to be understood by the occasion.\n\nThe Leagues of Subjects, (because Leagues are commonly made for mutuall\ndefence,) are in a Common-wealth (which is no more than a League of\nall the Subjects together) for the most part unnecessary, and savour of\nunlawfull designe; and are for that cause Unlawfull, and go commonly by\nthe name of factions, or Conspiracies. For a League being a connexion of\nmen by Covenants, if there be no power given to any one Man or Assembly,\n(as in the condition of meer Nature) to compell them to performance,\nis so long onely valid, as there ariseth no just cause of distrust: and\ntherefore Leagues between Common-wealths, over whom there is no humane\nPower established, to keep them all in awe, are not onely lawfull, but\nalso profitable for the time they last. But Leagues of the Subjects of\none and the same Common-wealth, where every one may obtain his right\nby means of the Soveraign Power, are unnecessary to the maintaining of\nPeace and Justice, and (in case the designe of them be evill, or Unknown\nto the Common-wealth) unlawfull. For all uniting of strength by private\nmen, is, if for evill intent, unjust; if for intent unknown, dangerous\nto the Publique, and unjustly concealed.\n\n\n\n\nSecret Cabals\n\nIf the Soveraign Power be in a great Assembly, and a number of men,\npart of the Assembly, without authority, consult a part, to contrive\nthe guidance of the rest; This is a Faction, or Conspiracy unlawfull,\nas being a fraudulent seducing of the Assembly for their particular\ninterest. But if he, whose private interest is to be debated, and\njudged in the Assembly, make as many friends as he can; in him it is\nno Injustice; because in this case he is no part of the Assembly. And\nthough he hire such friends with mony, (unlesse there be an expresse Law\nagainst it,) yet it is not Injustice. For sometimes, (as mens manners\nare,) Justice cannot be had without mony; and every man may think his\nown cause just, till it be heard, and judged.\n\n\n\n\nFeuds Of Private Families\n\nIn all Common-wealths, if a private man entertain more servants, than\nthe government of his estate, and lawfull employment he has for them\nrequires, it is Faction, and unlawfull. For having the protection of the\nCommon-wealth, he needeth not the defence of private force. And whereas\nin Nations not throughly civilized, severall numerous Families have\nlived in continuall hostility, and invaded one another with private\nforce; yet it is evident enough, that they have done unjustly; or else\nthat they had no Common-wealth.\n\n\n\n\nFactions For Government\n\nAnd as Factions for Kindred, so also Factions for Government of\nReligion, as of Papists, Protestants, &c. or of State, as Patricians,\nand Plebeians of old time in Rome, and of Aristocraticalls and\nDemocraticalls of old time in Greece, are unjust, as being contrary to\nthe peace and safety of the people, and a taking of the Sword out of the\nhand of the Soveraign.\n\nConcourse of people, is an Irregular Systeme, the lawfulnesse, or\nunlawfulnesse, whereof dependeth on the occasion, and on the number of\nthem that are assembled. If the occasion be lawfull, and manifest, the\nConcourse is lawfull; as the usuall meeting of men at Church, or at a\npublique Shew, in usuall numbers: for if the numbers be extraordinarily\ngreat, the occasion is not evident; and consequently he that cannot\nrender a particular and good account of his being amongst them, is to\nbe judged conscious of an unlawfull, and tumultuous designe. It may be\nlawfull for a thousand men, to joyn in a Petition to be delivered to a\nJudge, or Magistrate; yet if a thousand men come to present it, it is\na tumultuous Assembly; because there needs but one or two for that\npurpose. But in such cases as these, it is not a set number that makes\nthe Assembly Unlawfull, but such a number, as the present Officers are\nnot able to suppresse, and bring to Justice.\n\nWhen an unusuall number of men, assemble against a man whom they accuse;\nthe Assembly is an Unlawfull tumult; because they may deliver their\naccusation to the Magistrate by a few, or by one man. Such was the case\nof St. Paul at Ephesus; where Demetrius, and a great number of other\nmen, brought two of Pauls companions before the Magistrate, saying with\none Voyce, \"Great is Diana of the Ephesians;\" which was their way of\ndemanding Justice against them for teaching the people such doctrine,\nas was against their Religion, and Trade. The occasion here, considering\nthe Lawes of that People, was just; yet was their Assembly Judged\nUnlawfull, and the Magistrate reprehended them for it, in these\nwords,(Acts 19. 40) \"If Demetrius and the other work-men can accuse any\nman, of any thing, there be Pleas, and Deputies, let them accuse one\nanother. And if you have any other thing to demand, your case may\nbe judged in an Assembly Lawfully called. For we are in danger to be\naccused for this dayes sedition, because, there is no cause by which any\nman can render any reason of this Concourse of People.\" Where he calleth\nan Assembly, whereof men can give no just account, a Sedition, and such\nas they could not answer for. And this is all I shall say concerning\nSystemes, and Assemblyes of People, which may be compared (as I said,)\nto the Similar parts of mans Body; such as be Lawfull, to the Muscles;\nsuch as are Unlawfull, to Wens, Biles, and Apostemes, engendred by the\nunnaturall conflux of evill humours.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. OF THE PUBLIQUE MINISTERS OF SOVERAIGN POWER\n\n\nIn the last Chapter I have spoken of the Similar parts of a\nCommon-wealth; In this I shall speak of the parts Organicall, which are\nPublique Ministers.\n\n\n\n\nPublique Minister Who\n\nA PUBLIQUE MINISTER, is he, that by the Soveraign, (whether a Monarch,\nor an Assembly,) is employed in any affaires, with Authority to\nrepresent in that employment, the Person of the Common-wealth. And\nwhereas every man, or assembly that hath Soveraignty, representeth\ntwo Persons, or (as the more common phrase is) has two Capacities, one\nNaturall, and another Politique, (as a Monarch, hath the person not\nonely of the Common-wealth, but also of a man; and a Soveraign Assembly\nhath the Person not onely of the Common-wealth, but also of the\nAssembly); they that be servants to them in their naturall Capacity,\nare not Publique Ministers; but those onely that serve them in the\nAdministration of the Publique businesse. And therefore neither Ushers,\nnor Sergeants, nor other Officers that waite on the Assembly, for\nno other purpose, but for the commodity of the men assembled, in an\nAristocracy, or Democracy; nor Stewards, Chamberlains, Cofferers, or any\nother Officers of the houshold of a Monarch, are Publique Ministers in a\nMonarchy.\n\n\n\n\nMinisters For The Generall Administration\n\nOf Publique Ministers, some have charge committed to them of a general\nAdministration, either of the whole Dominion, or of a part thereof.\nOf the whole, as to a Protector, or Regent, may bee committed by\nthe Predecessor of an Infant King, during his minority, the whole\nAdministration of his Kingdome. In which case, every Subject is so far\nobliged to obedience, as the Ordinances he shall make, and the commands\nhe shall give be in the Kings name, and not inconsistent with his\nSoveraigne Power. Of a Part, or Province; as when either a Monarch, or\na Soveraign Assembly, shall give the generall charge thereof to a\nGovernour, Lieutenant, Praefect, or Vice-Roy: And in this case also,\nevery one of that Province, is obliged to all he shall doe in the name\nof the Soveraign, and that not incompatible with the Soveraigns Right.\nFor such Protectors, Vice-Roys, and Governours, have no other right, but\nwhat depends on the Soveraigns Will; and no Commission that can be given\nthem, can be interpreted for a Declaration of the will to transferre the\nSoveraignty, without expresse and perspicuous words to that purpose. And\nthis kind of Publique Ministers resembleth the Nerves, and Tendons that\nmove the severall limbs of a body naturall.\n\n\n\n\nFor Speciall Administration, As For Oeconomy\n\nOthers have speciall Administration; that is to say, charges of some\nspeciall businesse, either at home, or abroad: As at home, First, for\nthe Oeconomy of a Common-wealth, They that have Authority concerning the\nTreasure, as Tributes, Impositions, Rents, Fines, or whatsoever publique\nrevenue, to collect, receive, issue, or take the Accounts thereof,\nare Publique Ministers: Ministers, because they serve the Person\nRepresentative, and can doe nothing against his Command, nor without his\nAuthority: Publique, because they serve him in his Politicall Capacity.\n\nSecondly, they that have Authority concerning the Militia; to have the\ncustody of Armes, Forts, Ports; to Levy, Pay, or Conduct Souldiers; or\nto provide for any necessary thing for the use of war, either by Land or\nSea, are publique Ministers. But a Souldier without Command, though he\nfight for the Common-wealth, does not therefore represent the Person of\nit; because there is none to represent it to. For every one that hath\ncommand, represents it to them only whom he commandeth.\n\n\n\n\nFor Instruction Of The People\n\nThey also that have authority to teach, or to enable others to teach\nthe people their duty to the Soveraign Power, and instruct them in the\nknowledge of what is just, and unjust, thereby to render them more apt\nto live in godlinesse, and in peace among themselves, and resist the\npublique enemy, are Publique Ministers: Ministers, in that they doe it\nnot by their own Authority, but by anothers; and Publique, because they\ndoe it (or should doe it) by no Authority, but that of the Soveraign.\nThe Monarch, or the Soveraign Assembly only hath immediate Authority\nfrom God, to teach and instruct the people; and no man but the\nSoveraign, receiveth his power Dei Gratia simply; that is to say, from\nthe favour of none but God: All other, receive theirs from the favour\nand providence of God, and their Soveraigns; as in a Monarchy Dei Gratia\n& Regis; or Dei Providentia & Voluntate Regis.\n\n\n\n\nFor Judicature\n\nThey also to whom Jurisdiction is given, are Publique Ministers. For in\ntheir Seats of Justice they represent the person of the Soveraign; and\ntheir Sentence, is his Sentence; For (as hath been before declared) all\nJudicature is essentially annexed to the Soveraignty; and therefore all\nother Judges are but Ministers of him, or them that have the Soveraign\nPower. And as Controversies are of two sorts, namely of Fact, and of\nLaw; so are judgements, some of Fact, some of Law: And consequently in\nthe same controversie, there may be two Judges, one of Fact, another of\nLaw.\n\nAnd in both these controversies, there may arise a controversie between\nthe party Judged, and the Judge; which because they be both Subjects to\nthe Soveraign, ought in Equity to be Judged by men agreed on by consent\nof both; for no man can be Judge in his own cause. But the Soveraign\nis already agreed on for Judge by them both, and is therefore either to\nheare the Cause, and determine it himself, or appoint for Judge such as\nthey shall both agree on. And this agreement is then understood to be\nmade between them divers wayes; as first, if the Defendant be allowed\nto except against such of his Judges, whose interest maketh him suspect\nthem, (for as to the Complaynant he hath already chosen his own Judge,)\nthose which he excepteth not against, are Judges he himself agrees on.\nSecondly, if he appeale to any other Judge, he can appeale no further;\nfor his appeale is his choice. Thirdly, if he appeale to the Soveraign\nhimself, and he by himself, or by Delegates which the parties shall\nagree on, give Sentence; that Sentence is finall: for the Defendant is\nJudged by his own Judges, that is to say, by himself.\n\nThese properties of just and rationall Judicature considered, I cannot\nforbeare to observe the excellent constitution of the Courts of Justice,\nestablished both for Common, and also for Publique Pleas in England. By\nCommon Pleas, I meane those, where both the Complaynant and Defendant\nare Subjects: and by Publique, (which are also called Pleas of the\nCrown) those, where the Complaynant is the Soveraign. For whereas there\nwere two orders of men, whereof one was Lords, the other Commons; The\nLords had this Priviledge, to have for Judges in all Capitall crimes,\nnone but Lords; and of them, as many as would be present; which being\never acknowledged as a Priviledge of favour, their Judges were none but\nsuch as they had themselves desired. And in all controversies, every\nSubject (as also in civill controversies the Lords) had for Judges, men\nof the Country where the matter in controversie lay; against which he\nmight make his exceptions, till at last Twelve men without exception\nbeing agreed on, they were Judged by those twelve. So that having\nhis own Judges, there could be nothing alledged by the party, why the\nsentence should not be finall, These publique persons, with Authority\nfrom the Soveraign Power, either to Instruct, or Judge the people,\nare such members of the Common-wealth, as may fitly be compared to the\norgans of Voice in a Body naturall.\n\n\n\n\nFor Execution\n\nPublique Ministers are also all those, that have Authority from the\nSoveraign, to procure the Execution of Judgements given; to publish the\nSoveraigns Commands; to suppresse Tumults; to apprehend, and imprison\nMalefactors; and other acts tending to the conservation of the\nPeace. For every act they doe by such Authority, is the act of the\nCommon-wealth; and their service, answerable to that of the Hands, in a\nBodie naturall.\n\nPublique Ministers abroad, are those that represent the Person of their\nown Soveraign, to forraign States. Such are Ambassadors, Messengers,\nAgents, and Heralds, sent by publique Authoritie, and on publique\nBusinesse.\n\nBut such as are sent by Authoritie only of some private partie of a\ntroubled State, though they be received, are neither Publique, nor\nPrivate Ministers of the Common-wealth; because none of their actions\nhave the Common-wealth for Author. Likewise, an Ambassador sent from a\nPrince, to congratulate, condole, or to assist at a solemnity, though\nAuthority be Publique; yet because the businesse is Private, and\nbelonging to him in his naturall capacity; is a Private person. Also if\na man be sent into another Country, secretly to explore their counsels,\nand strength; though both the Authority, and the Businesse be Publique;\nyet because there is none to take notice of any Person in him, but\nhis own; he is but a Private Minister; but yet a Minister of the\nCommon-wealth; and may be compared to an Eye in the Body naturall. And\nthose that are appointed to receive the Petitions or other informations\nof the People, and are as it were the publique Eare, are Publique\nMinisters, and represent their Soveraign in that office.\n\n\n\n\nCounsellers Without Other Employment Then To Advise Are Not Publique\nMinisters\n\nNeither a Counsellor, nor a Councell of State, if we consider it with\nno Authority of Judicature or Command, but only of giving Advice to\nthe Soveraign when it is required, or of offering it when it is not\nrequired, is a Publique Person. For the Advice is addressed to the\nSoveraign only, whose person cannot in his own presence, be represented\nto him, by another. But a Body of Counsellors, are never without some\nother Authority, either of Judicature, or of immediate Administration:\nAs in a Monarchy, they represent the Monarch, in delivering his Commands\nto the Publique Ministers: In a Democracy, the Councell, or Senate\npropounds the Result of their deliberations to the people, as a\nCouncell; but when they appoint Judges, or heare Causes, or give\nAudience to Ambassadors, it is in the quality of a Minister of the\nPeople: And in an Aristocracy the Councell of State is the Soveraign\nAssembly it self; and gives counsell to none but themselves.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. OF THE NUTRITION, AND PROCREATION OF A COMMON-WEALTH\n\n\n\nThe Nourishment Of A Common-wealth Consisteth In The Commodities\n\nOf Sea And Land\n\nThe NUTRITION of a Common-wealth consisteth, in the Plenty, and\nDistribution of Materials conducing to Life: In Concoction, or\nPreparation; and (when concocted) in the Conveyance of it, by convenient\nconduits, to the Publique use.\n\nAs for the Plenty of Matter, it is a thing limited by Nature, to those\ncommodities, which from (the two breasts of our common Mother) Land,\nand Sea, God usually either freely giveth, or for labour selleth to\nman-kind.\n\nFor the Matter of this Nutriment, consisting in Animals, Vegetals, and\nMinerals, God hath freely layd them before us, in or neer to the face of\nthe Earth; so as there needeth no more but the labour, and industry\nof receiving them. Insomuch as Plenty dependeth (next to Gods favour)\nmeerly on the labour and industry of men.\n\nThis Matter, commonly called Commodities, is partly Native, and partly\nForraign: Native, that which is to be had within the Territory of\nthe Common-wealth; Forraign, that which is imported from without. And\nbecause there is no Territory under the Dominion of one Common-wealth,\n(except it be of very vast extent,) that produceth all things needfull\nfor the maintenance, and motion of the whole Body; and few that produce\nnot something more than necessary; the superfluous commodities to be had\nwithin, become no more superfluous, but supply these wants at home, by\nimportation of that which may be had abroad, either by Exchange, or\nby just Warre, or by Labour: for a mans Labour also, is a commodity\nexchangeable for benefit, as well as any other thing: And there have\nbeen Common-wealths that having no more Territory, than hath served\nthem for habitation, have neverthelesse, not onely maintained, but also\nencreased their Power, partly by the labour of trading from one place to\nanother, and partly by selling the Manifactures, whereof the Materials\nwere brought in from other places.\n\n\n\n\nAnd The Right Of Distribution Of Them\n\nThe Distribution of the Materials of this Nourishment, is the\nconstitution of Mine, and Thine, and His, that is to say, in one word\nPropriety; and belongeth in all kinds of Common-wealth to the Soveraign\nPower. For where there is no Common-wealth, there is, (as hath been\nalready shewn) a perpetuall warre of every man against his neighbour;\nAnd therefore every thing is his that getteth it, and keepeth it by\nforce; which is neither Propriety nor Community; but Uncertainty. Which\nis so evident, that even Cicero, (a passionate defender of Liberty,) in\na publique pleading, attributeth all Propriety to the Law Civil, \"Let\nthe Civill Law,\" saith he, \"be once abandoned, or but negligently\nguarded, (not to say oppressed,) and there is nothing, that any man can\nbe sure to receive from his Ancestor, or leave to his Children.\" And\nagain; \"Take away the Civill Law, and no man knows what is his own, and\nwhat another mans.\" Seeing therefore the Introduction of Propriety is\nan effect of Common-wealth; which can do nothing but by the Person that\nRepresents it, it is the act onely of the Soveraign; and consisteth in\nthe Lawes, which none can make that have not the Soveraign Power. And\nthis they well knew of old, who called that Nomos, (that is to say,\nDistribution,) which we call Law; and defined Justice, by distributing\nto every man his own.\n\n\n\n\nAll Private Estates Of Land Proceed Originally From The Arbitrary\nDistribution Of The Soveraign\n\nIn this Distribution, the First Law, is for Division of the Land it\nselfe: wherein the Soveraign assigneth to every man a portion, according\nas he, and not according as any Subject, or any number of them, shall\njudge agreeable to Equity, and the Common Good. The Children of Israel,\nwere a Common-wealth in the Wildernesse; but wanted the commodities\nof the Earth, till they were masters of the Land of Promise; which\nafterward was divided amongst them, not by their own discretion, but\nby the discretion of Eleazar the Priest, and Joshua their Generall: who\nwhen there were twelve Tribes, making them thirteen by subdivision of\nthe Tribe of Joseph; made neverthelesse but twelve portions of the Land;\nand ordained for the Tribe of Levi no land; but assigned them the Tenth\npart of the whole fruits; which division was therefore Arbitrary. And\nthough a People comming into possession of a land by warre, do not\nalwaies exterminate the antient Inhabitants, (as did the Jewes,) but\nleave to many, or most, or all of them their Estates; yet it is manifest\nthey hold them afterwards, as of the Victors distribution; as the people\nof England held all theirs of William the Conquerour.\n\n\n\n\nPropriety Of A Subject Excludes Not The Dominion Of The Soveraign, But\nOnely Of Another Subject\n\nFrom whence we may collect, that the Propriety which a subject hath in\nhis lands, consisteth in a right to exclude all other subjects from the\nuse of them; and not to exclude their Soveraign, be it an Assembly, or\na Monarch. For seeing the Soveraign, that is to say, the Common-wealth\n(whose Person he representeth,) is understood to do nothing but in order\nto the common Peace and Security, this Distribution of lands, is to be\nunderstood as done in order to the same: And consequently, whatsoever\nDistribution he shall make in prejudice thereof, is contrary to the\nwill of every subject, that committed his Peace, and safety to his\ndiscretion, and conscience; and therefore by the will of every one of\nthem, is to be reputed voyd. It is true, that a Soveraign Monarch, or\nthe greater part of a Soveraign Assembly, may ordain the doing of many\nthings in pursuit of their Passions, contrary to their own consciences,\nwhich is a breach of trust, and of the Law of Nature; but this is not\nenough to authorise any subject, either to make warre upon, or so much\nas to accuse of Injustice, or any way to speak evill of their Soveraign;\nbecause they have authorised all his actions, and in bestowing the\nSoveraign Power, made them their own. But in what cases the Commands\nof Soveraigns are contrary to Equity, and the Law of Nature, is to be\nconsidered hereafter in another place.\n\n\n\n\nThe Publique Is Not To Be Dieted\n\nIn the Distribution of land, the Common-wealth it selfe, may be\nconceived to have a portion, and possesse, and improve the same by\ntheir Representative; and that such portion may be made sufficient, to\nsusteine the whole expence to the common Peace, and defence necessarily\nrequired: Which were very true, if there could be any Representative\nconceived free from humane passions, and infirmities. But the nature\nof men being as it is, the setting forth of Publique Land, or of any\ncertaine Revenue for the Common-wealth, is in vaine; and tendeth to the\ndissolution of Government, and to the condition of meere Nature, and\nWar, assoon as ever the Soveraign Power falleth into the hands of a\nMonarch, or of an Assembly, that are either too negligent of mony, or\ntoo hazardous in engaging the publique stock, into a long, or costly\nwar. Common-wealths can endure no Diet: For seeing their expence is\nnot limited by their own appetite, but by externall Accidents, and the\nappetites of their neighbours, the Publique Riches cannot be limited by\nother limits, than those which the emergent occasions shall require. And\nwhereas in England, there were by the Conquerour, divers Lands\nreserved to his own use, (besides Forrests, and Chases, either for his\nrecreation, or for preservation of Woods,) and divers services reserved\non the Land he gave his Subjects; yet it seems they were not reserved\nfor his Maintenance in his Publique, but in his Naturall capacity: For\nhe, and his Successors did for all that, lay Arbitrary Taxes on all\nSubjects land, when they judged it necessary. Or if those publique\nLands, and Services, were ordained as a sufficient maintenance of the\nCommon-wealth, it was contrary to the scope of the Institution; being\n(as it appeared by those ensuing Taxes) insufficient, and (as it\nappeares by the late Revenue of the Crown) Subject to Alienation,\nand Diminution. It is therefore in vaine, to assign a portion to the\nCommon-wealth; which may sell, or give it away; and does sell, and give\nit away when tis done by their Representative.\n\n\n\n\nThe Places And Matter Of Traffique Depend, As Their Distribution, On\nThe Soveraign\n\nAs the Distribution of Lands at home; so also to assigne in what places,\nand for what commodities, the Subject shall traffique abroad, belongeth\nto the Soveraign. For if it did belong to private persons to use their\nown discretion therein, some of them would bee drawn for gaine, both\nto furnish the enemy with means to hurt the Common-wealth, and hurt it\nthemselves, by importing such things, as pleasing mens appetites, be\nneverthelesse noxious, or at least unprofitable to them. And therefore\nit belongeth to the Common-wealth, (that is, to the Soveraign only,)\nto approve, or disapprove both of the places, and matter of forraign\nTraffique.\n\n\n\n\nThe Laws Of Transferring Property Belong Also To The Soveraign\n\nFurther, seeing it is not enough to the Sustentation of a Common-wealth,\nthat every man have a propriety in a portion of Land, or in some few\ncommodities, or a naturall property in some usefull art, and there is no\nart in the world, but is necessary either for the being, or well being\nalmost of every particular man; it is necessary, that men distribute\nthat which they can spare, and transferre their propriety therein,\nmutually one to another, by exchange, and mutuall contract. And\ntherefore it belongeth to the Common-wealth, (that is to say, to the\nSoveraign,) to appoint in what manner, all kinds of contract between\nSubjects, (as buying, selling, exchanging, borrowing, lending, letting,\nand taking to hire,) are to bee made; and by what words, and signes they\nshall be understood for valid. And for the Matter, and Distribution of\nthe Nourishment, to the severall Members of the Common-wealth, thus much\n(considering the modell of the whole worke) is sufficient.\n\n\n\n\nMony The Bloud Of A Common-wealth\n\nBy Concoction, I understand the reducing of all commodities, which are\nnot presently consumed, but reserved for Nourishment in time to come, to\nsome thing of equal value, and withall so portably, as not to hinder\nthe motion of men from place to place; to the end a man may have in\nwhat place soever, such Nourishment as the place affordeth. And this is\nnothing else but Gold, and Silver, and Mony. For Gold and Silver, being\n(as it happens) almost in all Countries of the world highly valued, is a\ncommodious measure for the value of all things else between Nations; and\nMony (of what matter soever coyned by the Soveraign of a Common-wealth,)\nis a sufficient measure of the value of all things else, between the\nSubjects of that Common-wealth. By the means of which measures, all\ncommodities, Moveable, and Immoveable, are made to accompany a man, to\nall places of his resort, within and without the place of his\nordinary residence; and the same passeth from Man to Man, within the\nCommon-wealth; and goes round about, Nourishing (as it passeth)\nevery part thereof; In so much as this Concoction, is as it were the\nSanguification of the Common-wealth: For naturall Bloud is in like\nmanner made of the fruits of the Earth; and circulating, nourisheth by\nthe way, every Member of the Body of Man.\n\nAnd because Silver and Gold, have their value from the matter it self;\nthey have first this priviledge, that the value of them cannot be\naltered by the power of one, nor of a few Common-wealths; as being a\ncommon measure of the commodities of all places. But base Mony, may\neasily be enhanced, or abased. Secondly, they have the priviledge to\nmake Common-wealths, move, and stretch out their armes, when need is,\ninto forraign Countries; and supply, not only private Subjects that\ntravell, but also whole Armies with provision. But that Coyne, which is\nnot considerable for the Matter, but for the Stamp of the place, being\nunable to endure change of ayr, hath its effect at home only; where\nalso it is subject to the change of Laws, and thereby to have the value\ndiminished, to the prejudice many times of those that have it.\n\n\n\n\nThe Conduits And Way Of Mony To The Publique Use\n\nThe Conduits, and Wayes by which it is conveyed to the Publique use, are\nof two sorts; One, that Conveyeth it to the Publique Coffers; The other,\nthat Issueth the same out againe for publique payments. Of the first\nsort, are Collectors, Receivers, and Treasurers; of the second are the\nTreasurers againe, and the Officers appointed for payment of severall\npublique or private Ministers. And in this also, the Artificiall Man\nmaintains his resemblance with the Naturall; whose Veins receiving the\nBloud from the severall Parts of the Body, carry it to the Heart; where\nbeing made Vitall, the Heart by the Arteries sends it out again, to\nenliven, and enable for motion all the Members of the same.\n\n\n\n\nThe Children Of A Common-wealth Colonies\n\nThe Procreation, or Children of a Common-wealth, are those we call\nPlantations, or Colonies; which are numbers of men sent out from the\nCommon-wealth, under a Conductor, or Governour, to inhabit a Forraign\nCountry, either formerly voyd of Inhabitants, or made voyd then, by\nwarre. And when a Colony is setled, they are either a Common-wealth of\nthemselves, discharged of their subjection to their Soveraign that sent\nthem, (as hath been done by many Common-wealths of antient time,) in\nwhich case the Common-wealth from which they went was called their\nMetropolis, or Mother, and requires no more of them, then Fathers\nrequire of the Children, whom they emancipate, and make free from their\ndomestique government, which is Honour, and Friendship; or else they\nremain united to their Metropolis, as were the Colonies of the people of\nRome; and then they are no Common-wealths themselves, but Provinces, and\nparts of the Common-wealth that sent them. So that the Right of Colonies\n(saving Honour, and League with their Metropolis,) dependeth wholly on\ntheir Licence, or Letters, by which their Soveraign authorised them to\nPlant.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV. OF COUNSELL\n\n\n\n\nCounsell What\n\nHow fallacious it is to judge of the nature of things, by the ordinary\nand inconstant use of words, appeareth in nothing more, than in the\nconfusion of Counsels, and Commands, arising from the Imperative manner\nof speaking in them both, and in many other occasions besides. For the\nwords \"Doe this,\" are the words not onely of him that Commandeth; but\nalso of him that giveth Counsell; and of him that Exhorteth; and yet\nthere are but few, that see not, that these are very different things;\nor that cannot distinguish between them, when they perceive who it\nis that speaketh, and to whom the Speech is directed, and upon what\noccasion. But finding those phrases in mens writings, and being not\nable, or not willing to enter into a consideration of the circumstances,\nthey mistake sometimes the Precepts of Counsellours, for the Precepts\nof them that command; and sometimes the contrary; according as it best\nagreeth with the conclusions they would inferre, or the actions\nthey approve. To avoyd which mistakes, and render to those termes\nof Commanding, Counselling, and Exhorting, their proper and distinct\nsignifications, I define them thus.\n\n\n\n\nDifferences Between Command And Counsell\n\nCOMMAND is, where a man saith, \"Doe this,\" or \"Doe this not,\" without\nexpecting other reason than the Will of him that sayes it. From this it\nfolloweth manifestly, that he that Commandeth, pretendeth thereby his\nown Benefit: For the reason of his Command is his own Will onely, and\nthe proper object of every mans Will, is some Good to himselfe.\n\nCOUNSELL, is where a man saith, \"Doe\" or \"Doe not this,\" and deduceth\nhis own reasons from the benefit that arriveth by it to him to whom he\nsaith it. And from this it is evident, that he that giveth Counsell,\npretendeth onely (whatsoever he intendeth) the good of him, to whom he\ngiveth it.\n\nTherefore between Counsell and Command, one great difference is, that\nCommand is directed to a mans own benefit; and Counsell to the benefit\nof another man. And from this ariseth another difference, that a man\nmay be obliged to do what he is Commanded; as when he hath covenanted\nto obey: But he cannot be obliged to do as he is Counselled, because the\nhurt of not following it, is his own; or if he should covenant to follow\nit, then is the Counsell turned into the nature of a Command. A third\ndifference between them is, that no man can pretend a right to be of\nanother mans Counsell; because he is not to pretend benefit by it to\nhimselfe; but to demand right to Counsell another, argues a will to know\nhis designes, or to gain some other Good to himselfe; which (as I said\nbefore) is of every mans will the proper object.\n\nThis also is incident to the nature of Counsell; that whatsoever it be,\nhe that asketh it, cannot in equity accuse, or punish it: For to ask\nCounsell of another, is to permit him to give such Counsell as he shall\nthink best; And consequently, he that giveth counsell to his Soveraign,\n(whether a Monarch, or an Assembly) when he asketh it, cannot in equity\nbe punished for it, whether the same be conformable to the opinion of\nthe most, or not, so it be to the Proposition in debate. For if the\nsense of the Assembly can be taken notice of, before the Debate be\nended, they should neither ask, nor take any further Counsell; For the\nSense of the Assembly, is the Resolution of the Debate, and End of all\nDeliberation. And generally he that demandeth Counsell, is Author of it;\nand therefore cannot punish it; and what the Soveraign cannot, no man\nelse can. But if one Subject giveth Counsell to another, to do any\nthing contrary to the Lawes, whether that Counsell proceed from\nevill intention, or from ignorance onely, it is punishable by the\nCommon-wealth; because ignorance of the Law, is no good excuse, where\nevery man is bound to take notice of the Lawes to which he is subject.\n\n\n\n\nExhortation And Dehortation What\n\nEXHORTATION, and DEHORTATION, is Counsell, accompanied with signes in\nhim that giveth it, of vehement desire to have it followed; or to say it\nmore briefly, Counsell Vehemently Pressed. For he that Exhorteth, doth\nnot deduce the consequences of what he adviseth to be done, and tye\nhimselfe therein to the rigour of true reasoning; but encourages him he\nCounselleth, to Action: As he that Dehorteth, deterreth him from it. And\ntherefore they have in their speeches, a regard to the common Passions,\nand opinions of men, in deducing their reasons; and make use of\nSimilitudes, Metaphors, Examples, and other tooles of Oratory, to\nperswade their Hearers of the Utility, Honour, or Justice of following\ntheir advise.\n\nFrom whence may be inferred, First, that Exhortation and Dehortation,\nis directed to the Good of him that giveth the Counsell, not of him that\nasketh it, which is contrary to the duty of a Counsellour; who (by the\ndefinition of Counsell) ought to regard, not his own benefits, but his\nwhom he adviseth. And that he directeth his Counsell to his own\nbenefit, is manifest enough, by the long and vehement urging, or by\nthe artificial giving thereof; which being not required of him, and\nconsequently proceeding from his own occasions, is directed principally\nto his own benefit, and but accidentarily to the good of him that is\nCounselled, or not at all.\n\nSecondly, that the use of Exhortation and Dehortation lyeth onely, where\na man is to speak to a Multitude; because when the Speech is addressed\nto one, he may interrupt him, and examine his reasons more rigorously,\nthan can be done in a Multitude; which are too many to enter into\nDispute, and Dialogue with him that speaketh indifferently to them\nall at once. Thirdly, that they that Exhort and Dehort, where they are\nrequired to give Counsell, are corrupt Counsellours, and as it were\nbribed by their own interest. For though the Counsell they give be never\nso good; yet he that gives it, is no more a good Counsellour, than he\nthat giveth a Just Sentence for a reward, is a just Judge. But where a\nman may lawfully Command, as a Father in his Family, or a Leader in an\nArmy, his Exhortations and Dehortations, are not onely lawfull, but\nalso necessary, and laudable: But then they are no more Counsells, but\nCommands; which when they are for Execution of soure labour; sometimes\nnecessity, and alwayes humanity requireth to be sweetned in the\ndelivery, by encouragement, and in the tune and phrase of Counsell,\nrather then in harsher language of Command.\n\nExamples of the difference between Command and Counsell, we may take\nfrom the formes of Speech that expresse them in Holy Scripture. \"Have no\nother Gods but me; Make to thy selfe no graven Image; Take not Gods name\nin vain; Sanctifie the Sabbath; Honour thy Parents; Kill not; Steale\nnot,\" &c. are Commands; because the reason for which we are to obey\nthem, is drawn from the will of God our King, whom we are obliged to\nobey. But these words, \"Sell all thou hast; give it to the poore; and\nfollow me,\" are Counsell; because the reason for which we are to do\nso, is drawn from our own benefit; which is this, that we shall have\n\"Treasure in Heaven.\" These words, \"Go into the village over against\nyou, and you shall find an Asse tyed, and her Colt; loose her, and bring\nher to me,\" are a Command: for the reason of their fact is drawn from\nthe will of their Master: but these words, \"Repent, and be Baptized in\nthe Name of Jesus,\" are Counsell; because the reason why we should so\ndo, tendeth not to any benefit of God Almighty, who shall still be King\nin what manner soever we rebell; but of our selves, who have no other\nmeans of avoyding the punishment hanging over us for our sins.\n\n\n\n\nDifferences Of Fit And Unfit Counsellours\n\nAs the difference of Counsell from Command, hath been now deduced from\nthe nature of Counsell, consisting in a deducing of the benefit, or\nhurt that may arise to him that is to be Counselled, by the necessary\nor probable consequences of the action he propoundeth; so may also the\ndifferences between apt, and inept counsellours be derived from the\nsame. For Experience, being but Memory of the consequences of like\nactions formerly observed, and Counsell but the Speech whereby that\nexperience is made known to another; the Vertues, and Defects of\nCounsell, are the same with the Vertues, and Defects Intellectuall:\nAnd to the Person of a Common-wealth, his Counsellours serve him in the\nplace of Memory, and Mentall Discourse. But with this resemblance of the\nCommon-wealth, to a naturall man, there is one dissimilitude joyned,\nof great importance; which is, that a naturall man receiveth his\nexperience, from the naturall objects of sense, which work upon him\nwithout passion, or interest of their own; whereas they that give\nCounsell to the Representative person of a Common-wealth, may have,\nand have often their particular ends, and passions, that render their\nCounsells alwayes suspected, and many times unfaithfull. And therefore\nwe may set down for the first condition of a good Counsellour, That His\nEnds, And Interest, Be Not Inconsistent With The Ends And Interest Of\nHim He Counselleth.\n\nSecondly, Because the office of a Counsellour, when an action comes\ninto deliberation, is to make manifest the consequences of it, in such\nmanner, as he that is Counselled may be truly and evidently informed; he\nought to propound his advise, in such forme of speech, as may make\nthe truth most evidently appear; that is to say, with as firme\nratiocination, as significant and proper language, and as briefly, as\nthe evidence will permit. And therefore Rash, And Unevident Inferences;\n(such as are fetched onely from Examples, or authority of Books, and are\nnot arguments of what is good, or evill, but witnesses of fact, or\nof opinion,) Obscure, Confused, And Ambiguous Expressions, Also All\nMetaphoricall Speeches, Tending To The Stirring Up Of Passion, (because\nsuch reasoning, and such expressions, are usefull onely to deceive, or\nto lead him we Counsell towards other ends than his own) Are Repugnant\nTo The Office Of A Counsellour.\n\nThirdly, Because the Ability of Counselling proceedeth from Experience,\nand long study; and no man is presumed to have experience in all those\nthings that to the Administration of a great Common-wealth are necessary\nto be known, No Man Is Presumed To Be A Good Counsellour, But In Such\nBusinesse, As He Hath Not Onely Been Much Versed In, But Hath Also\nMuch Meditated On, And Considered. For seeing the businesse of a\nCommon-wealth is this, to preserve the people at home, and defend them\nagainst forraign Invasion, we shall find, it requires great knowledge\nof the disposition of Man-kind, of the Rights of Government, and of the\nnature of Equity, Law, Justice, and Honour, not to be attained without\nstudy; And of the Strength, Commodities, Places, both of their own\nCountry, and their Neighbours; as also of the inclinations, and designes\nof all Nations that may any way annoy them. And this is not attained to,\nwithout much experience. Of which things, not onely the whole summe, but\nevery one of the particulars requires the age, and observation of a man\nin years, and of more than ordinary study. The wit required for Counsel,\nas I have said before is Judgement. And the differences of men in that\npoint come from different education, of some to one kind of study, or\nbusinesse, and of others to another. When for the doing of any thing,\nthere be Infallible rules, (as in Engines, and Edifices, the rules of\nGeometry,) all the experience of the world cannot equall his Counsell,\nthat has learnt, or found out the Rule. And when there is no such Rule,\nhe that hath most experience in that particular kind of businesse, has\ntherein the best Judgement, and is the best Counsellour.\n\nFourthly, to be able to give Counsell to a Common-wealth, in a businesse\nthat hath reference to another Common-wealth, It Is Necessary To Be\nAcquainted With The Intelligences, And Letters That Come From Thence,\nAnd With All The Records Of Treaties, And Other Transactions Of State\nBetween Them; which none can doe, but such as the Representative\nshall think fit. By which we may see, that they who are not called to\nCounsell, can have no good Counsell in such cases to obtrude.\n\nFifthly, Supposing the number of Counsellors equall, a man is better\nCounselled by hearing them apart, then in an Assembly; and that for many\ncauses. First, in hearing them apart, you have the advice of every man;\nbut in an Assembly may of them deliver their advise with I, or No, or\nwith their hands, or feet, not moved by their own sense, but by the\neloquence of another, or for feare of displeasing some that have spoken,\nor the whole Assembly, by contradiction; or for feare of appearing\nduller in apprehension, than those that have applauded the contrary\nopinion. Secondly, in an Assembly of many, there cannot choose but be\nsome whose interests are contrary to that of the Publique; and these\ntheir Interests make passionate, and Passion eloquent, and Eloquence\ndrawes others into the same advice. For the Passions of men, which\nasunder are moderate, as the heat of one brand; in Assembly are like\nmany brands, that enflame one another, (especially when they blow one\nanother with Orations) to the setting of the Common-wealth on fire,\nunder pretence of Counselling it. Thirdly, in hearing every man apart,\none may examine (when there is need) the truth, or probability of\nhis reasons, and of the grounds of the advise he gives, by frequent\ninterruptions, and objections; which cannot be done in an Assembly,\nwhere (in every difficult question) a man is rather astonied, and dazled\nwith the variety of discourse upon it, than informed of the course he\nought to take. Besides, there cannot be an Assembly of many, called\ntogether for advice, wherein there be not some, that have the ambition\nto be thought eloquent, and also learned in the Politiques; and give not\ntheir advice with care of the businesse propounded, but of the applause\nof their motly orations, made of the divers colored threds, or shreds of\nAuthors; which is an Impertinence at least, that takes away the time\nof serious Consultation, and in the secret way of Counselling apart, is\neasily avoided. Fourthly, in Deliberations that ought to be kept secret,\n(whereof there be many occasions in Publique Businesse,) the Counsells\nof many, and especially in Assemblies, are dangerous; And therefore\ngreat Assemblies are necessitated to commit such affaires to lesser\nnumbers, and of such persons as are most versed, and in whose fidelity\nthey have most confidence.\n\nTo conclude, who is there that so far approves the taking of Counsell\nfrom a great Assembly of Counsellours, that wisheth for, or would accept\nof their pains, when there is a question of marrying his Children,\ndisposing of his Lands, governing his Household, or managing his\nprivate Estate, especially if there be amongst them such as wish not\nhis prosperity? A man that doth his businesse by the help of many and\nprudent Counsellours, with every one consulting apart in his proper\nelement, does it best, as he that useth able Seconds at Tennis play,\nplaced in their proper stations. He does next best, that useth his own\nJudgement only; as he that has no Second at all. But he that is carried\nup and down to his businesse in a framed Counsell, which cannot move\nbut by the plurality of consenting opinions, the execution whereof is\ncommonly (out of envy, or interest) retarded by the part dissenting,\ndoes it worst of all, and like one that is carried to the ball, though\nby good Players, yet in a Wheele-barrough, or other frame, heavy of it\nself, and retarded also by the inconcurrent judgements, and endeavours\nof them that drive it; and so much the more, as they be more that set\ntheir hands to it; and most of all, when there is one, or more amongst\nthem, that desire to have him lose. And though it be true, that many eys\nsee more then one; yet it is not to be understood of many Counsellours;\nbut then only, when the finall Resolution is in one man. Otherwise,\nbecause many eyes see the same thing in divers lines, and are apt to\nlook asquint towards their private benefit; they that desire not to\nmisse their marke, though they look about with two eyes, yet they never\nayme but with one; And therefore no great Popular Common-wealth was\never kept up; but either by a forraign Enemy that united them; or by\nthe reputation of some one eminent Man amongst them; or by the secret\nCounsell of a few; or by the mutuall feare of equall factions; and\nnot by the open Consultations of the Assembly. And as for very little\nCommon-wealths, be they Popular, or Monarchicall, there is no humane\nwisdome can uphold them, longer then the Jealousy lasteth of their\npotent Neighbours.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. OF CIVILL LAWES\n\n\n\n\nCivill Law what\n\nBy CIVILL LAWES, I understand the Lawes, that men are therefore bound to\nobserve, because they are Members, not of this, or that Common-wealth\nin particular, but of a Common-wealth. For the knowledge of particular\nLawes belongeth to them, that professe the study of the Lawes of their\nseverall Countries; but the knowledge of Civill Law in generall, to any\nman. The antient Law of Rome was called their Civil Law, from the word\nCivitas, which signifies a Common-wealth; And those Countries, which\nhaving been under the Roman Empire, and governed by that Law, retaine\nstill such part thereof as they think fit, call that part the Civill\nLaw, to distinguish it from the rest of their own Civill Lawes. But that\nis not it I intend to speak of here; my designe being not to shew what\nis Law here, and there; but what is Law; as Plato, Aristotle, Cicero,\nand divers others have done, without taking upon them the profession of\nthe study of the Law.\n\nAnd first it manifest, that Law in generall, is not Counsell, but\nCommand; nor a Command of any man to any man; but only of him, whose\nCommand is addressed to one formerly obliged to obey him. And as for\nCivill Law, it addeth only the name of the person Commanding, which is\nPersona Civitatis, the Person of the Common-wealth.\n\nWhich considered, I define Civill Law in this Manner. \"CIVILL LAW, Is to\nevery Subject, those Rules, which the Common-wealth hath Commanded him,\nby Word, Writing, or other sufficient Sign of the Will, to make use\nof, for the Distinction of Right, and Wrong; that is to say, of what is\ncontrary, and what is not contrary to the Rule.\"\n\nIn which definition, there is nothing that is not at first sight\nevident. For every man seeth, that some Lawes are addressed to all the\nSubjects in generall; some to particular Provinces; some to particular\nVocations; and some to particular Men; and are therefore Lawes, to every\nof those to whom the Command is directed; and to none else. As also,\nthat Lawes are the Rules of Just, and Unjust; nothing being reputed\nUnjust, that is not contrary to some Law. Likewise, that none can\nmake Lawes but the Common-wealth; because our Subjection is to the\nCommon-wealth only: and that Commands, are to be signified by sufficient\nSigns; because a man knows not otherwise how to obey them. And\ntherefore, whatsoever can from this definition by necessary consequence\nbe deduced, ought to be acknowledged for truth. Now I deduce from it\nthis that followeth.\n\n\n\n\nThe Soveraign Is Legislator\n\n1. The Legislator in all Common-wealths, is only the Soveraign, be he\none Man, as in a Monarchy, or one Assembly of men, as in a Democracy,\nor Aristocracy. For the Legislator, is he that maketh the Law. And the\nCommon-wealth only, praescribes, and commandeth the observation of those\nrules, which we call Law: Therefore the Common-wealth is the Legislator.\nBut the Common-wealth is no Person, nor has capacity to doe any thing,\nbut by the Representative, (that is, the Soveraign;) and therefore the\nSoveraign is the sole Legislator. For the same reason, none can abrogate\na Law made, but the Soveraign; because a Law is not abrogated, but by\nanother Law, that forbiddeth it to be put in execution.\n\n\n\n\nAnd Not Subject To Civill Law\n\n2. The Soveraign of a Common-wealth, be it an Assembly, or one Man, is\nnot subject to the Civill Lawes. For having power to make, and repeale\nLawes, he may when he pleaseth, free himselfe from that subjection,\nby repealing those Lawes that trouble him, and making of new; and\nconsequently he was free before. For he is free, that can be free when\nhe will: Nor is it possible for any person to be bound to himselfe;\nbecause he that can bind, can release; and therefore he that is bound to\nhimselfe onely, is not bound.\n\n\n\n\nUse, A Law Not By Vertue Of Time, But Of The Soveraigns Consent\n\n3. When long Use obtaineth the authority of a Law, it is not the\nLength of Time that maketh the Authority, but the Will of the Soveraign\nsignified by his silence, (for Silence is sometimes an argument of\nConsent;) and it is no longer Law, then the Soveraign shall be silent\ntherein. And therefore if the Soveraign shall have a question of Right\ngrounded, not upon his present Will, but upon the Lawes formerly\nmade; the Length of Time shal bring no prejudice to his Right; but the\nquestion shal be judged by Equity. For many unjust Actions, and unjust\nSentences, go uncontrolled a longer time, than any man can remember.\nAnd our Lawyers account no Customes Law, but such as are reasonable, and\nthat evill Customes are to be abolished; But the Judgement of what is\nreasonable, and of what is to be abolished, belongeth to him that maketh\nthe Law, which is the Soveraign Assembly, or Monarch.\n\n\n\n\nThe Law Of Nature, And The Civill Law Contain Each Other\n\n4. The Law of Nature, and the Civill Law, contain each other, and are\nof equall extent. For the Lawes of Nature, which consist in Equity,\nJustice, Gratitude, and other morall Vertues on these depending, in the\ncondition of meer Nature (as I have said before in the end of the 15th\nChapter,) are not properly Lawes, but qualities that dispose men to\npeace, and to obedience. When a Common-wealth is once settled, then are\nthey actually Lawes, and not before; as being then the commands of the\nCommon-wealth; and therefore also Civill Lawes: for it is the Soveraign\nPower that obliges men to obey them. For in the differences of private\nmen, to declare, what is Equity, what is Justice, and what is morall\nVertue, and to make them binding, there is need of the Ordinances of\nSoveraign Power, and Punishments to be ordained for such as shall break\nthem; which Ordinances are therefore part of the Civill Law. The Law of\nNature therefore is a part of the Civill Law in all Common-wealths of\nthe world. Reciprocally also, the Civill Law is a part of the Dictates\nof Nature. For Justice, that is to say, Performance of Covenant, and\ngiving to every man his own, is a Dictate of the Law of Nature. But\nevery subject in a Common-wealth, hath covenanted to obey the Civill\nLaw, (either one with another, as when they assemble to make a common\nRepresentative, or with the Representative it selfe one by one, when\nsubdued by the Sword they promise obedience, that they may receive\nlife;) And therefore Obedience to the Civill Law is part also of the\nLaw of Nature. Civill, and Naturall Law are not different kinds, but\ndifferent parts of Law; whereof one part being written, is called\nCivill, the other unwritten, Naturall. But the Right of Nature, that\nis, the naturall Liberty of man, may by the Civill Law be abridged,\nand restrained: nay, the end of making Lawes, is no other, but such\nRestraint; without the which there cannot possibly be any Peace. And Law\nwas brought into the world for nothing else, but to limit the naturall\nliberty of particular men, in such manner, as they might not hurt, but\nassist one another, and joyn together against a common Enemy.\n\n\n\n\nProvinciall Lawes Are Not Made By Custome, But By The Soveraign Power\n\n5. If the Soveraign of one Common-wealth, subdue a people that have\nlived under other written Lawes, and afterwards govern them by the\nsame Lawes, by which they were governed before; yet those Lawes are the\nCivill Lawes of the Victor, and not of the Vanquished Common-wealth, For\nthe Legislator is he, not by whose authority the Lawes were first made,\nbut by whose authority they now continue to be Lawes. And therefore\nwhere there be divers Provinces, within the Dominion of a Common-wealth,\nand in those Provinces diversity of Lawes, which commonly are called the\nCustomes of each severall Province, we are not to understand that such\nCustomes have their Force, onely from Length of Time; but that they were\nantiently Lawes written, or otherwise made known, for the Constitutions,\nand Statutes of their Soveraigns; and are now Lawes, not by vertue of\nthe Praescription of time, but by the Constitutions of their present\nSoveraigns. But if an unwritten Law, in all the Provinces of a Dominion,\nshall be generally observed, and no iniquity appear in the use thereof;\nthat law can be no other but a Law of Nature, equally obliging all\nman-kind.\n\n\n\n\nSome Foolish Opinions Of Lawyers Concerning The Making Of Lawes\n\n6. Seeing then all Lawes, written, and unwritten, have their Authority,\nand force, from the Will of the Common-wealth; that is to say, from the\nWill of the Representative; which in a Monarchy is the Monarch, and\nin other Common-wealths the Soveraign Assembly; a man may wonder from\nwhence proceed such opinions, as are found in the Books of Lawyers of\neminence in severall Common-wealths, directly, or by consequence making\nthe Legislative Power depend on private men, or subordinate Judges.\nAs for example, \"That the Common Law, hath no Controuler but the\nParlament;\" which is true onely where a Parlament has the Soveraign\nPower, and cannot be assembled, nor dissolved, but by their own\ndiscretion. For if there be a right in any else to dissolve them, there\nis a right also to controule them, and consequently to controule their\ncontroulings. And if there be no such right, then the Controuler of\nLawes is not Parlamentum, but Rex In Parlamento. And where a Parlament\nis Soveraign, if it should assemble never so many, or so wise men, from\nthe Countries subject to them, for whatsoever cause; yet there is no man\nwill believe, that such an Assembly hath thereby acquired to themselves\na Legislative Power. Item, that the two arms of a Common-wealth,\nare Force, and Justice; The First Whereof Is In The King; The Other\nDeposited In The Hands Of The Parlament. As if a Common-wealth could\nconsist, where the Force were in any hand, which Justice had not the\nAuthority to command and govern.\n\n7. That Law can never be against Reason, our Lawyers are agreed; and\nthat not the Letter,(that is, every construction of it,) but that which\nis according to the Intention of the Legislator, is the Law. And it is\ntrue: but the doubt is, of whose Reason it is, that shall be received\nfor Law. It is not meant of any private Reason; for then there would be\nas much contradiction in the Lawes, as there is in the Schooles; nor yet\n(as Sr. Ed, Coke makes it (Sir Edward Coke, upon Littleton Lib.2. Ch.6\nfol 97.b),) an Artificiall Perfection of Reason, Gotten By Long Study,\nObservation, And Experience, (as his was.) For it is possible long study\nmay encrease, and confirm erroneous Sentences: and where men build on\nfalse grounds, the more they build, the greater is the ruine; and of\nthose that study, and observe with equall time, and diligence, the\nreasons and resolutions are, and must remain discordant: and therefore\nit is not that Juris Prudentia, or wisedome of subordinate Judges;\nbut the Reason of this our Artificiall Man the Common-wealth, and\nhis Command, that maketh Law: And the Common-wealth being in\ntheir Representative but one Person, there cannot easily arise any\ncontradiction in the Lawes; and when there doth, the same Reason is\nable, by interpretation, or alteration, to take it away. In all Courts\nof Justice, the Soveraign (which is the Person of the Common-wealth,)\nis he that Judgeth: The subordinate Judge, ought to have regard to the\nreason, which moved his Soveraign to make such Law, that his Sentence\nmay be according thereunto; which then is his Soveraigns Sentence;\notherwise it is his own, and an unjust one.\n\n\n\n\nLaw Made, If Not Also Made Known, Is No Law\n\n8. From this, that the Law is a Command, and a Command consisteth in\ndeclaration, or manifestation of the will of him that commandeth, by\nvoyce, writing, or some other sufficient argument of the same, we may\nunderstand, that the Command of the Common-wealth, is Law onely to\nthose, that have means to take notice of it. Over naturall fooles,\nchildren, or mad-men there is no Law, no more than over brute beasts;\nnor are they capable of the title of just, or unjust; because they had\nnever power to make any covenant, or to understand the consequences\nthereof; and consequently never took upon them to authorise the\nactions of any Soveraign, as they must do that make to themselves a\nCommon-wealth. And as those from whom Nature, or Accident hath taken\naway the notice of all Lawes in generall; so also every man, from whom\nany accident, not proceeding from his own default, hath taken away the\nmeans to take notice of any particular Law, is excused, if he observe it\nnot; And to speak properly, that Law is no Law to him. It is therefore\nnecessary, to consider in this place, what arguments, and signes be\nsufficient for the knowledge of what is the Law; that is to say, what is\nthe will of the Soveraign, as well in Monarchies, as in other formes of\ngovernment.\n\n\n\n\nUnwritten Lawes Are All Of Them Lawes Of Nature\n\nAnd first, if it be a Law that obliges all the Subjects without\nexception, and is not written, nor otherwise published in such places as\nthey may take notice thereof, it is a Law of Nature. For whatsoever men\nare to take knowledge of for Law, not upon other mens words, but every\none from his own reason, must be such as is agreeable to the reason of\nall men; which no Law can be, but the Law of Nature. The Lawes of Nature\ntherefore need not any publishing, nor Proclamation; as being contained\nin this one Sentence, approved by all the world, \"Do not that to\nanother, which thou thinkest unreasonable to be done by another to thy\nselfe.\"\n\nSecondly, if it be a Law that obliges only some condition of men, or one\nparticular man and be not written, nor published by word, then also it\nis a Law of Nature; and known by the same arguments, and signs,\nthat distinguish those in such a condition, from other Subjects. For\nwhatsoever Law is not written, or some way published by him that makes\nit Law, can be known no way, but by the reason of him that is to obey\nit; and is therefore also a Law not only Civill, but Naturall. For\nexample, if the Soveraign employ a Publique Minister, without written\nInstructions what to doe; he is obliged to take for Instructions the\nDictates of Reason; As if he make a Judge, The Judge is to take notice,\nthat his Sentence ought to be according to the reason of his Soveraign,\nwhich being alwaies understood to be Equity, he is bound to it by the\nLaw of Nature: Or if an Ambassador, he is (in al things not conteined\nin his written Instructions) to take for Instruction that which Reason\ndictates to be most conducing to his Soveraigns interest; and so of\nall other Ministers of the Soveraignty, publique and private. All which\nInstructions of naturall Reason may be comprehended under one name of\nFidelity; which is a branch of naturall Justice.\n\nThe Law of Nature excepted, it belongeth to the essence of all other\nLawes, to be made known, to every man that shall be obliged to obey\nthem, either by word, or writing, or some other act, known to proceed\nfrom the Soveraign Authority. For the will of another, cannot be\nunderstood, but by his own word, or act, or by conjecture taken from his\nscope and purpose; which in the person of the Common-wealth, is to be\nsupposed alwaies consonant to Equity and Reason. And in antient time,\nbefore letters were in common use, the Lawes were many times put into\nverse; that the rude people taking pleasure in singing, or reciting\nthem, might the more easily reteine them in memory. And for the same\nreason Solomon adviseth a man, to bind the ten Commandements (Prov. 7.\n3) upon his ten fingers. And for the Law which Moses gave to the people\nof Israel at the renewing of the Covenant, (Deut. 11. 19) he biddeth\nthem to teach it their Children, by discoursing of it both at home, and\nupon the way; at going to bed, and at rising from bed; and to write\nit upon the posts, and dores of their houses; and (Deut. 31. 12) to\nassemble the people, man, woman, and child, to heare it read.\n\n\n\n\nNothing Is Law Where The Legislator Cannot Be Known\n\nNor is it enough the Law be written, and published; but also that there\nbe manifest signs, that it proceedeth from the will of the Soveraign.\nFor private men, when they have, or think they have force enough to\nsecure their unjust designes, and convoy them safely to their ambitious\nends, may publish for Lawes what they please, without, or against\nthe Legislative Authority. There is therefore requisite, not only a\nDeclaration of the Law, but also sufficient signes of the Author, and\nAuthority. The Author, or Legislator is supposed in every Common-wealth\nto be evident, because he is the Soveraign, who having been Constituted\nby the consent of every one, is supposed by every one to be sufficiently\nknown. And though the ignorance, and security of men be such, for the\nmost part, as that when the memory of the first Constitution of their\nCommon-wealth is worn out, they doe not consider, by whose power they\nuse to be defended against their enemies, and to have their industry\nprotected, and to be righted when injury is done them; yet because no\nman that considers, can make question of it, no excuse can be derived\nfrom the ignorance of where the Soveraignty is placed. And it is a\nDictate of Naturall Reason, and consequently an evident Law of Nature,\nthat no man ought to weaken that power, the protection whereof he hath\nhimself demanded, or wittingly received against others. Therefore of\nwho is Soveraign, no man, but by his own fault, (whatsoever evill men\nsuggest,) can make any doubt. The difficulty consisteth in the evidence\nof the Authority derived from him; The removing whereof, dependeth on\nthe knowledge of the publique Registers, publique Counsels, publique\nMinisters, and publique Seales; by which all Lawes are sufficiently\nverified.\n\n\n\n\nDifference Between Verifying And Authorising\n\nVerifyed, I say, not Authorised: for the Verification, is but the\nTestimony and Record; not the Authority of the law; which consisteth in\nthe Command of the Soveraign only.\n\n\n\n\nThe Law Verifyed By The Subordinate Judge\n\nIf therefore a man have a question of Injury, depending on the Law of\nNature; that is to say, on common Equity; the Sentence of the Judge,\nthat by Commission hath Authority to take cognisance of such causes, is\na sufficient Verification of the Law of Nature in that individuall case.\nFor though the advice of one that professeth the study of the Law, be\nusefull for the avoyding of contention; yet it is but advice; tis the\nJudge must tell men what is Law, upon the hearing of the Controversy.\n\n\n\n\nBy The Publique Registers\n\nBut when the question is of injury, or crime, upon a written Law; every\nman by recourse to the Registers, by himself, or others, may (if he\nwill) be sufficiently enformed, before he doe such injury, or commit the\ncrime, whither it be an injury, or not: Nay he ought to doe so: for when\na man doubts whether the act he goeth about, be just, or injust; and may\ninforme himself, if he will; the doing is unlawfull. In like manner, he\nthat supposeth himself injured, in a case determined by the written Law,\nwhich he may by himself, or others see and consider; if he complaine\nbefore he consults with the Law, he does unjustly, and bewrayeth a\ndisposition rather to vex other men, than to demand his own right.\n\n\n\n\nBy Letters Patent, And Publique Seale\n\nIf the question be of Obedience to a publique Officer; To have seen his\nCommission, with the Publique Seale, and heard it read; or to have\nhad the means to be informed of it, if a man would, is a sufficient\nVerification of his Authority. For every man is obliged to doe his best\nendeavour, to informe himself of all written Lawes, that may concerne\nhis own future actions.\n\n\n\n\nThe Interpretation Of The Law Dependeth On The Soveraign Power\n\nThe Legislator known; and the Lawes, either by writing, or by the\nlight of Nature, sufficiently published; there wanteth yet another\nvery materiall circumstance to make them obligatory. For it is not the\nLetter, but the Intendment, or Meaning; that is to say, the authentique\nInterpretation of the Law (which is the sense of the Legislator,) in\nwhich the nature of the Law consisteth; And therefore the Interpretation\nof all Lawes dependeth on the Authority Soveraign; and the Interpreters\ncan be none but those, which the Soveraign, (to whom only the\nSubject oweth obedience) shall appoint. For else, by the craft of an\nInterpreter, the Law my be made to beare a sense, contrary to that of\nthe Soveraign; by which means the Interpreter becomes the Legislator.\n\n\n\n\nAll Lawes Need Interpretation\n\nAll Laws, written, and unwritten, have need of Interpretation.\nThe unwritten Law of Nature, though it be easy to such, as without\npartiality, and passion, make use of their naturall reason, and\ntherefore leaves the violators thereof without excuse; yet considering\nthere be very few, perhaps none, that in some cases are not blinded by\nself love, or some other passion, it is now become of all Laws the most\nobscure; and has consequently the greatest need of able Interpreters.\nThe written Laws, if they be short, are easily mis-interpreted, from the\ndivers significations of a word, or two; if long, they be more obscure\nby the diverse significations of many words: in so much as no written\nLaw, delivered in few, or many words, can be well understood, without a\nperfect understanding of the finall causes, for which the Law was\nmade; the knowledge of which finall causes is in the Legislator. To him\ntherefore there can not be any knot in the Law, insoluble; either by\nfinding out the ends, to undoe it by; or else by making what ends he\nwill, (as Alexander did with his sword in the Gordian knot,) by the\nLegislative power; which no other Interpreter can doe.\n\n\n\n\nThe Authenticall Interpretation Of Law Is Not That Of Writers\n\nThe Interpretation of the Lawes of Nature, in a Common-wealth, dependeth\nnot on the books of Morall Philosophy. The Authority of writers, without\nthe Authority of the Common-wealth, maketh not their opinions Law,\nbe they never so true. That which I have written in this Treatise,\nconcerning the Morall Vertues, and of their necessity, for the\nprocuring, and maintaining peace, though it bee evident Truth, is not\ntherefore presently Law; but because in all Common-wealths in the world,\nit is part of the Civill Law: For though it be naturally reasonable; yet\nit is by the Soveraigne Power that it is Law: Otherwise, it were a great\nerrour, to call the Lawes of Nature unwritten Law; whereof wee see\nso many volumes published, and in them so many contradictions of one\nanother, and of themselves.\n\n\n\n\nThe Interpreter Of The Law Is The Judge Giving Sentence Vivâ Voce In\nEvery Particular Case\n\nThe Interpretation of the Law of Nature, is the Sentence of the Judge\nconstituted by the Soveraign Authority, to heare and determine such\ncontroversies, as depend thereon; and consisteth in the application of\nthe Law to the present case. For in the act of Judicature, the Judge\ndoth no more but consider, whither the demand of the party, be consonant\nto naturall reason, and Equity; and the Sentence he giveth, is therefore\nthe Interpretation of the Law of Nature; which Interpretation is\nAuthentique; not because it is his private Sentence; but because\nhe giveth it by Authority of the Soveraign, whereby it becomes the\nSoveraigns Sentence; which is Law for that time, to the parties\npleading.\n\n\n\n\nThe Sentence Of A Judge, Does Not Bind Him, Or Another Judge To Give\nLike Sentence In Like Cases Ever After\n\nBut because there is no Judge Subordinate, nor Soveraign, but may erre\nin a Judgement of Equity; if afterward in another like case he find it\nmore consonant to Equity to give a contrary Sentence, he is obliged to\ndoe it. No mans error becomes his own Law; nor obliges him to persist\nin it. Neither (for the same reason) becomes it a Law to other Judges,\nthough sworn to follow it. For though a wrong Sentence given by\nauthority of the Soveraign, if he know and allow it, in such Lawes as\nare mutable, be a constitution of a new Law, in cases, in which every\nlittle circumstance is the same; yet in Lawes immutable, such as are the\nLawes of Nature, they are no Lawes to the same, or other Judges, in the\nlike cases for ever after. Princes succeed one another; and one Judge\npasseth, another commeth; nay, Heaven and Earth shall passe; but not one\ntitle of the Law of Nature shall passe; for it is the Eternall Law of\nGod. Therefore all the Sentences of precedent Judges that have ever\nbeen, cannot all together make a Law contrary to naturall Equity: Nor\nany Examples of former Judges, can warrant an unreasonable Sentence, or\ndischarge the present Judge of the trouble of studying what is Equity\n(in the case he is to Judge,) from the principles of his own naturall\nreason. For example sake, ’Tis against the Law of Nature, To Punish The\nInnocent; and Innocent is he that acquitteth himselfe Judicially, and is\nacknowledged for Innocent by the Judge. Put the case now, that a man is\naccused of a capitall crime, and seeing the powers and malice of some\nenemy, and the frequent corruption and partiality of Judges, runneth\naway for feare of the event, and afterwards is taken, and brought to a\nlegall triall, and maketh it sufficiently appear, he was not guilty of\nthe crime, and being thereof acquitted, is neverthelesse condemned to\nlose his goods; this is a manifest condemnation of the Innocent. I say\ntherefore, that there is no place in the world, where this can be an\ninterpretation of a Law of Nature, or be made a Law by the Sentences of\nprecedent Judges, that had done the same. For he that judged it first,\njudged unjustly; and no Injustice can be a pattern of Judgement to\nsucceeding Judges. A written Law may forbid innocent men to fly, and\nthey may be punished for flying: But that flying for feare of injury,\nshould be taken for presumption of guilt, after a man is already\nabsolved of the crime Judicially, is contrary to the nature of a\nPresumption, which hath no place after Judgement given. Yet this is set\ndown by a great Lawyer for the common Law of England. \"If a man,\" saith\nhe, \"that is Innocent, be accused of Felony, and for feare flyeth for\nthe same; albeit he judicially acquitteth himselfe of the Felony; yet\nif it be found that he fled for the Felony, he shall notwithstanding his\nInnocency, Forfeit all his goods, chattels, debts, and duties. For as\nto the Forfeiture of them, the Law will admit no proofe against the\nPresumption in Law, grounded upon his flight.\" Here you see, An Innocent\nMan, Judicially Acquitted, Notwithstanding His Innocency, (when no\nwritten Law forbad him to fly) after his acquitall, Upon A Presumption\nIn Law, condemned to lose all the goods he hath. If the Law ground upon\nhis flight a Presumption of the fact, (which was Capitall,) the Sentence\nought to have been Capitall: if the presumption were not of the Fact,\nfor what then ought he to lose his goods? This therefore is no Law of\nEngland; nor is the condemnation grounded upon a Presumption of Law, but\nupon the Presumption of the Judges. It is also against Law, to say\nthat no Proofe shall be admitted against a Presumption of Law. For\nall Judges, Soveraign and subordinate, if they refuse to heare Proofe,\nrefuse to do Justice: for though the Sentence be Just, yet the Judges\nthat condemn without hearing the Proofes offered, are Unjust Judges; and\ntheir Presumption is but Prejudice; which no man ought to bring with him\nto the Seat of Justice, whatsoever precedent judgements, or examples he\nshall pretend to follow. There be other things of this nature, wherein\nmens Judgements have been perverted, by trusting to Precedents: but this\nis enough to shew, that though the Sentence of the Judge, be a Law to\nthe party pleading, yet it is no Law to any Judge, that shall succeed\nhim in that Office.\n\nIn like manner, when question is of the Meaning of written Lawes, he is\nnot the Interpreter of them, that writeth a Commentary upon them. For\nCommentaries are commonly more subject to cavill, than the Text; and\ntherefore need other Commentaries; and so there will be no end of such\nInterpretation. And therefore unlesse there be an Interpreter authorised\nby the Soveraign, from which the subordinate Judges are not to recede,\nthe Interpreter can be no other than the ordinary Judges, in the some\nmanner, as they are in cases of the unwritten Law; and their Sentences\nare to be taken by them that plead, for Lawes in that particular case;\nbut not to bind other Judges, in like cases to give like judgements.\nFor a Judge may erre in the Interpretation even of written Lawes; but no\nerrour of a subordinate Judge, can change the Law, which is the generall\nSentence of the Soveraigne.\n\n\n\n\nThe Difference Between The Letter And Sentence Of The Law\n\nIn written Lawes, men use to make a difference between the Letter, and\nthe Sentence of the Law: And when by the Letter, is meant whatsoever\ncan be gathered from the bare words, ’tis well distinguished. For the\nsignifications of almost all words, are either in themselves, or in the\nmetaphoricall use of them, ambiguous; and may be drawn in argument, to\nmake many senses; but there is onely one sense of the Law. But if by the\nLetter, be meant the Literall sense, then the Letter, and the Sentence\nor intention of the Law, is all one. For the literall sense is that,\nwhich the Legislator is alwayes supposed to be Equity: For it were a\ngreat contumely for a Judge to think otherwise of the Soveraigne.\nHe ought therefore, if the Word of the Law doe not fully authorise a\nreasonable Sentence, to supply it with the Law of Nature; or if the\ncase be difficult, to respit Judgement till he have received more ample\nauthority. For Example, a written Law ordaineth, that he which is thrust\nout of his house by force, shall be restored by force: It happens that\na man by negligence leaves his house empty, and returning is kept out by\nforce, in which case there is no speciall Law ordained. It is evident,\nthat this case is contained in the same Law: for else there is no remedy\nfor him at all; which is to be supposed against the Intention of the\nLegislator. Again, the word of the Law, commandeth to Judge according\nto the Evidence: A man is accused falsly of a fact, which the Judge saw\nhimself done by another; and not by him that is accused. In this case\nneither shall the Letter of the Law be followed to the condemnation of\nthe Innocent, nor shall the Judge give Sentence against the evidence\nof the Witnesses; because the Letter of the Law is to the contrary:\nbut procure of the Soveraign that another be made Judge, and himselfe\nWitnesse. So that the incommodity that follows the bare words of a\nwritten Law, may lead him to the Intention of the Law, whereby to\ninterpret the same the better; though no Incommodity can warrant a\nSentence against the Law. For every Judge of Right, and Wrong, is not\nJudge of what is Commodious, or Incommodious to the Common-wealth.\n\n\n\n\nThe Abilities Required In A Judge\n\nThe abilities required in a good Interpreter of the Law, that is to say,\nin a good Judge, are not the same with those of an Advocate; namely the\nstudy of the Lawes. For a Judge, as he ought to take notice of the Fact,\nfrom none but the Witnesses; so also he ought to take notice of the\nLaw, from nothing but the Statutes, and Constitutions of the Soveraign,\nalledged in the pleading, or declared to him by some that have authority\nfrom the Soveraign Power to declare them; and need not take care\nbefore-hand, what hee shall Judge; for it shall bee given him what hee\nshall say concerning the Fact, by Witnesses; and what hee shall say in\npoint of Law, from those that shall in their pleadings shew it, and by\nauthority interpret it upon the place. The Lords of Parlament in England\nwere Judges, and most difficult causes have been heard and determined\nby them; yet few of them were much versed in the study of the Lawes,\nand fewer had made profession of them: and though they consulted with\nLawyers, that were appointed to be present there for that purpose; yet\nthey alone had the authority of giving Sentence. In like manner, in\nthe ordinary trialls of Right, Twelve men of the common People, are the\nJudges, and give Sentence, not onely of the Fact, but of the Right; and\npronounce simply for the Complaynant, or for the Defendant; that is to\nsay, are Judges not onely of the Fact, but also of the Right: and in a\nquestion of crime, not onely determine whether done, or not done; but\nalso whether it be Murder, Homicide, Felony, Assault, and the like,\nwhich are determinations of Law: but because they are not supposed to\nknow the Law of themselves, there is one that hath Authority to enforme\nthem of it, in the particular case they are to Judge of. But yet if they\njudge not according to that he tells them, they are not subject thereby\nto any penalty; unlesse it be made appear, they did it against their\nconsciences, or had been corrupted by reward. The things that make\na good Judge, or good Interpreter of the Lawes, are, first A Right\nUnderstanding of that principall Law of Nature called Equity; which\ndepending not on the reading of other mens Writings, but on the\ngoodnesse of a mans own naturall Reason, and Meditation, is presumed\nto be in those most, that have had most leisure, and had the most\ninclination to meditate thereon. Secondly, Contempt Of Unnecessary\nRiches, and Preferments. Thirdly, To Be Able In Judgement To Devest\nHimselfe Of All Feare, Anger, Hatred, Love, And Compassion. Fourthly,\nand lastly, Patience To Heare; Diligent Attention In Hearing; And Memory\nTo Retain, Digest And Apply What He Hath Heard.\n\n\n\n\nDivisions Of Law\n\nThe difference and division of the Lawes, has been made in divers\nmanners, according to the different methods, of those men that have\nwritten of them. For it is a thing that dependeth not on Nature, but on\nthe scope of the Writer; and is subservient to every mans proper method.\nIn the Institutions of Justinian, we find seven sorts of Civill Lawes.\n\n1. The Edicts, Constitutions, and Epistles Of The Prince, that is, of\nthe Emperour; because the whole power of the people was in him. Like\nthese, are the Proclamations of the Kings of England.\n\n2. The Decrees Of The Whole People Of Rome (comprehending the Senate,)\nwhen they were put to the Question by the Senate. These were Lawes, at\nfirst, by the vertue of the Soveraign Power residing in the people; and\nsuch of them as by the Emperours were not abrogated, remained Lawes by\nthe Authority Imperiall. For all Lawes that bind, are understood to be\nLawes by his authority that has power to repeale them. Somewhat like to\nthese Lawes, are the Acts of Parliament in England.\n\n3. The Decrees Of The Common People (excluding the Senate,) when they\nwere put to the question by the Tribune of the people. For such of them\nas were not abrogated by the Emperours, remained Lawes by the Authority\nImperiall. Like to these, were the Orders of the House of Commons in\nEngland.\n\n4. Senatus Consulta, the Orders Of The Senate; because when the people\nof Rome grew so numerous, as it was inconvenient to assemble them; it\nwas thought fit by the Emperour, that men should Consult the Senate in\nstead of the people: And these have some resemblance with the Acts of\nCounsell.\n\n5. The Edicts Of Praetors, and (in some Cases) of the Aediles: such as\nare the Chiefe Justices in the Courts of England.\n\n6. Responsa Prudentum; which were the Sentences, and Opinions of those\nLawyers, to whom the Emperour gave Authority to interpret the Law, and\nto give answer to such as in matter of Law demanded their advice;\nwhich Answers, the Judges in giving Judgement were obliged by the\nConstitutions of the Emperour to observe; And should be like the Reports\nof Cases Judged, if other Judges be by the Law of England bound to\nobserve them. For the Judges of the Common Law of England, are not\nproperly Judges, but Juris Consulti; of whom the Judges, who are either\nthe Lords, or Twelve men of the Country, are in point of Law to ask\nadvice.\n\n7. Also, Unwritten Customes, (which in their own nature are an imitation\nof Law,) by the tacite consent of the Emperour, in case they be not\ncontrary to the Law of Nature, are very Lawes.\n\nAnother division of Lawes, is into Naturall and Positive. Naturall are\nthose which have been Lawes from all Eternity; and are called not onely\nNaturall, but also Morall Lawes; consisting in the Morall Vertues, as\nJustice, Equity, and all habits of the mind that conduce to Peace, and\nCharity; of which I have already spoken in the fourteenth and fifteenth\nChapters.\n\nPositive, are those which have not been for Eternity; but have been\nmade Lawes by the Will of those that have had the Soveraign Power over\nothers; and are either written, or made known to men, by some other\nargument of the Will of their Legislator.\n\n\n\n\nAnother Division Of Law\n\nAgain, of Positive Lawes some are Humane, some Divine; And of Humane\npositive lawes, some are Distributive, some Penal. Distributive are\nthose that determine the Rights of the Subjects, declaring to every man\nwhat it is, by which he acquireth and holdeth a propriety in lands,\nor goods, and a right or liberty of action; and these speak to all\nthe Subjects. Penal are those, which declare, what Penalty shall be\ninflicted on those that violate the Law; and speak to the Ministers\nand Officers ordained for execution. For though every one ought to be\ninformed of the Punishments ordained beforehand for their transgression;\nneverthelesse the Command is not addressed to the Delinquent, (who\ncannot be supposed will faithfully punish himselfe,) but to publique\nMinisters appointed to see the Penalty executed. And these Penal Lawes\nare for the most part written together with the Lawes Distributive; and\nare sometimes called Judgements. For all Lawes are generall judgements,\nor Sentences of the Legislator; as also every particular Judgement, is a\nLaw to him, whose case is Judged.\n\n\n\n\nDivine Positive Law How Made Known To Be Law\n\nDivine Positive Lawes (for Naturall Lawes being Eternall, and\nUniversall, are all Divine,) are those, which being the Commandements of\nGod, (not from all Eternity, nor universally addressed to all men, but\nonely to a certain people, or to certain persons,) are declared for\nsuch, by those whom God hath authorised to declare them. But this\nAuthority of man to declare what be these Positive Lawes of God, how can\nit be known? God may command a man by a supernaturall way, to deliver\nLawes to other men. But because it is of the essence of Law, that he who\nis to be obliged, be assured of the Authority of him that declareth\nit, which we cannot naturally take notice to be from God, How Can A Man\nWithout Supernaturall Revelation Be Assured Of The Revelation Received\nBy The Declarer? and How Can He Be Bound To Obey Them? For the first\nquestion, how a man can be assured of the Revelation of another, without\na Revelation particularly to himselfe, it is evidently impossible:\nfor though a man may be induced to believe such Revelation, from the\nMiracles they see him doe, or from seeing the Extraordinary sanctity of\nhis life, or from seeing the Extraordinary wisedome, or Extraordinary\nfelicity of his Actions, all which are marks of Gods extraordinary\nfavour; yet they are not assured evidence of speciall Revelation.\nMiracles are Marvellous workes: but that which is marvellous to one,\nmay not be so to another. Sanctity may be feigned; and the visible\nfelicities of this world, are most often the work of God by Naturall,\nand ordinary causes. And therefore no man can infallibly know by\nnaturall reason, that another has had a supernaturall revelation of Gods\nwill; but only a beliefe; every one (as the signs thereof shall appear\ngreater, or lesser) a firmer, or a weaker belief.\n\nBut for the second, how he can be bound to obey them; it is not so hard.\nFor if the Law declared, be not against the Law of Nature (which is\nundoubtedly Gods Law) and he undertake to obey it, he is bound by his\nown act; bound I say to obey it, but not bound to believe it: for mens\nbeliefe, and interiour cogitations, are not subject to the commands,\nbut only to the operation of God, ordinary, or extraordinary. Faith of\nSupernaturall Law, is not a fulfilling, but only an assenting to the\nsame; and not a duty that we exhibite to God, but a gift which God\nfreely giveth to whom he pleaseth; as also Unbelief is not a breach\nof any of his Lawes; but a rejection of them all, except the Lawes\nNaturall. But this that I say, will be made yet cleerer, by the\nExamples, and Testimonies concerning this point in holy Scripture. The\nCovenant God made with Abraham (in a Supernaturall Manner) was thus,\n(Gen. 17. 10) \"This is the Covenant which thou shalt observe between\nMe and Thee and thy Seed after thee.\" Abrahams Seed had not this\nrevelation, nor were yet in being; yet they are a party to the Covenant,\nand bound to obey what Abraham should declare to them for Gods Law;\nwhich they could not be, but in vertue of the obedience they owed to\ntheir Parents; who (if they be Subject to no other earthly power, as\nhere in the case of Abraham) have Soveraign power over their children,\nand servants. Againe, where God saith to Abraham, \"In thee shall all\nNations of the earth be blessed: For I know thou wilt command thy\nchildren, and thy house after thee to keep the way of the Lord, and to\nobserve Righteousnesse and Judgement,\" it is manifest, the obedience of\nhis Family, who had no Revelation, depended on their former obligation\nto obey their Soveraign. At Mount Sinai Moses only went up to God; the\npeople were forbidden to approach on paine of death; yet were they bound\nto obey all that Moses declared to them for Gods Law. Upon what ground,\nbut on this submission of their own, \"Speak thou to us, and we will\nheare thee; but let not God speak to us, lest we dye?\" By which two\nplaces it sufficiently appeareth, that in a Common-wealth, a subject\nthat has no certain and assured Revelation particularly to himself\nconcerning the Will of God, is to obey for such, the Command of\nthe Common-wealth: for if men were at liberty, to take for Gods\nCommandements, their own dreams, and fancies, or the dreams and\nfancies of private men; scarce two men would agree upon what is Gods\nCommandement; and yet in respect of them, every man would despise the\nCommandements of the Common-wealth. I conclude therefore, that in all\nthings not contrary to the Morall Law, (that is to say, to the Law of\nNature,) all Subjects are bound to obey that for divine Law, which is\ndeclared to be so, by the Lawes of the Common-wealth. Which also is\nevident to any mans reason; for whatsoever is not against the Law of\nNature, may be made Law in the name of them that have the Soveraign\npower; and there is no reason men should be the lesse obliged by it,\nwhen tis propounded in the name of God. Besides, there is no place in\nthe world where men are permitted to pretend other Commandements of God,\nthan are declared for such by the Common-wealth. Christian States punish\nthose that revolt from Christian Religion, and all other States, those\nthat set up any Religion by them forbidden. For in whatsoever is not\nregulated by the Common-wealth, tis Equity (which is the Law of Nature,\nand therefore an eternall Law of God) that every man equally enjoy his\nliberty.\n\n\n\n\nAnother Division Of Lawes\n\nThere is also another distinction of Laws, into Fundamentall, and Not\nFundamentall: but I could never see in any Author, what a Fundamentall\nLaw signifieth. Neverthelesse one may very reasonably distinguish Laws\nin that manner.\n\n\n\n\nA Fundamentall Law What\n\nFor a Fundamentall Law in every Common-wealth is that, which being taken\naway, the Common-wealth faileth, and is utterly dissolved; as a building\nwhose Foundation is destroyed. And therefore a Fundamentall Law is that,\nby which Subjects are bound to uphold whatsoever power is given to the\nSoveraign, whether a Monarch, or a Soveraign Assembly, without which the\nCommon-wealth cannot stand, such as is the power of War and Peace, of\nJudicature, of Election of Officers, and of doing whatsoever he shall\nthink necessary for the Publique good. Not Fundamentall is that\nthe abrogating whereof, draweth not with it the dissolution of the\nCommon-Wealth; such as are the Lawes Concerning Controversies between\nsubject and subject. Thus much of the Division of Lawes.\n\n\n\n\nDifference Between Law And Right\n\nI find the words Lex Civilis, and Jus Civile, that is to say, Law and\nRight Civil, promiscuously used for the same thing, even in the most\nlearned Authors; which neverthelesse ought not to be so. For Right is\nLiberty, namely that Liberty which the Civil Law leaves us: But Civill\nLaw is an Obligation; and takes from us the Liberty which the Law of\nNature gave us. Nature gave a Right to every man to secure himselfe\nby his own strength, and to invade a suspected neighbour, by way of\nprevention; but the Civill Law takes away that Liberty, in all cases\nwhere the protection of the Lawe may be safely stayd for. Insomuch as\nLex and Jus, are as different as Obligation and Liberty.\n\n\n\n\nAnd Between A Law And A Charter\n\nLikewise Lawes and Charters are taken promiscuously for the same\nthing. Yet Charters are Donations of the Soveraign; and not Lawes, but\nexemptions from Law. The phrase of a Law is Jubeo, Injungo, I Command,\nand Enjoyn: the phrase of a Charter is Dedi, Concessi, I Have Given, I\nHave Granted: but what is given or granted, to a man, is not forced\nupon him, by a Law. A Law may be made to bind All the Subjects of a\nCommon-wealth: a Liberty, or Charter is only to One man, or some One\npart of the people. For to say all the people of a Common-wealth, have\nLiberty in any case whatsoever; is to say, that in such case, there hath\nbeen no Law made; or else having been made, is now abrogated.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. OF CRIMES, EXCUSES, AND EXTENUATIONS\n\n\n\nSinne What\n\nA Sinne, is not onely a Transgression of a Law, but also any Contempt of\nthe Legislator. For such Contempt, is a breach of all his Lawes at once.\nAnd therefore may consist, not onely in the Commission of a Fact, or in\nthe Speaking of Words by the Lawes forbidden, or in the Omission of\nwhat the Law commandeth, but also in the Intention, or purpose to\ntransgresse. For the purpose to breake the Law, is some degree of\nContempt of him, to whom it belongeth to see it executed. To be\ndelighted in the Imagination onely, of being possessed of another mans\ngoods, servants, or wife, without any intention to take them from him\nby force, or fraud, is no breach of the Law, that sayth, \"Thou shalt not\ncovet:\" nor is the pleasure a man my have in imagining, or dreaming of\nthe death of him, from whose life he expecteth nothing but dammage, and\ndispleasure, a Sinne; but the resolving to put some Act in execution,\nthat tendeth thereto. For to be pleased in the fiction of that, which\nwould please a man if it were reall, is a Passion so adhaerent to the\nNature both of a man, and every other living creature, as to make it a\nSinne, were to make Sinne of being a man. The consideration of this,\nhas made me think them too severe, both to themselves, and others, that\nmaintain, that the First motions of the mind, (though checked with the\nfear of God) be Sinnes. But I confesse it is safer to erre on that hand,\nthan on the other.\n\n\n\n\nA Crime What\n\nA Crime, is a sinne, consisting in the Committing (by Deed, or Word)\nof that which the Law forbiddeth, or the Omission of what it hath\ncommanded. So that every Crime is a sinne; but not every sinne a Crime.\nTo intend to steale, or kill, is a sinne, though it never appeare in\nWord, or Fact: for God that seeth the thoughts of man, can lay it to\nhis charge: but till it appear by some thing done, or said, by which\nthe intention may be Crime; which distinction the Greeks observed in\nthe word amartema, and egklema, or aitia; wherof the former, (which is\ntranslated Sinne,) signifieth any swarving from the Law whatsoever; but\nthe two later, (which are translated Crime,) signifie that sinne onely,\nwhereof one man may accuse another. But of Intentions, which never\nappear by any outward act, there is no place for humane accusation. In\nlike manner the Latines by Peccatum, which is Sinne, signifie all manner\nof deviation from the Law; but by crimen, (which word they derive from\nCerno, which signifies to perceive,) they mean onely such sinnes, as my\nbe made appear before a Judge; and therfore are not meer Intentions.\n\n\n\n\nWhere No Civill Law Is, There Is No Crime\n\nFrom this relation of Sinne to the Law, and of Crime to the Civill\nLaw, may be inferred, First, that where Law ceaseth, Sinne ceaseth.\nBut because the Law of Nature is eternall, Violation of Covenants,\nIngratitude, Arrogance, and all Facts contrary to any Morall vertue, can\nnever cease to be Sinne. Secondly, that the Civill Law ceasing, Crimes\ncease: for there being no other Law remaining, but that of Nature, there\nis no place for Accusation; every man being his own Judge, and accused\nonely by his own Conscience, and cleared by the Uprightnesse of his own\nIntention. When therefore his Intention is Right, his fact is no Sinne:\nif otherwise, his fact is Sinne; but not Crime. Thirdly, That when the\nSoveraign Power ceaseth, Crime also ceaseth: for where there is no such\nPower, there is no protection to be had from the Law; and therefore\nevery one may protect himself by his own power: for no man in the\nInstitution of Soveraign Power can be supposed to give away the Right\nof preserving his own body; for the safety whereof all Soveraignty was\nordained. But this is to be understood onely of those, that have not\nthemselves contributed to the taking away of the Power that protected\nthem: for that was a Crime from the beginning.\n\n\n\n\nIgnorance Of The Law Of Nature Excuseth No Man\n\nThe source of every Crime, is some defect of the Understanding; or some\nerrour in Reasoning, or some sudden force of the Passions. Defect in\nthe Understanding, is Ignorance; in Reasoning, Erroneous Opinion. Again,\nignorance is of three sort; of the Law, and of the Soveraign, and of the\nPenalty. Ignorance of the Law of Nature Excuseth no man; because every\nman that hath attained to the use of Reason, is supposed to know, he\nought not to do to another, what he would not have done to himselfe.\nTherefore into what place soever a man shall come, if he do any thing\ncontrary to that Law, it is a Crime. If a man come from the Indies\nhither, and perswade men here to receive a new Religion, or teach them\nany thing that tendeth to disobedience of the Lawes of this Country,\nthough he be never so well perswaded of the truth of what he teacheth,\nhe commits a Crime, and may be justly punished for the same, not onely\nbecause his doctrine is false, but also because he does that which he\nwould not approve in another, namely, that comming from hence, he should\nendeavour to alter the Religion there. But ignorance of the Civill Law,\nshall Excuse a man in a strange Country, till it be declared to him;\nbecause, till then no Civill Law is binding.\n\n\n\n\nIgnorance Of The Civill Law Excuseth Sometimes\n\nIn the like manner, if the Civill Law of a mans own Country, be not\nso sufficiently declared, as he may know it if he will; nor the Action\nagainst the Law of Nature; the Ignorance is a good Excuse: In other\ncases ignorance of the Civill Law, Excuseth not.\n\n\n\n\nIgnorance Of The Soveraign Excuseth Not\n\nIgnorance of the Soveraign Power, in the place of a mans ordinary\nresidence, Excuseth him not; because he ought to take notice of the\nPower, by which he hath been protected there.\n\n\n\n\nIgnorance Of The Penalty Excuseth Not\n\nIgnorance of the Penalty, where the Law is declared, Excuseth no man:\nFor in breaking the Law, which without a fear of penalty to follow, were\nnot a Law, but vain words, he undergoeth the penalty, though he know not\nwhat it is; because, whosoever voluntarily doth any action, accepteth\nall the known consequences of it; but Punishment is a known consequence\nof the violation of the Lawes, in every Common-wealth; which punishment,\nif it be determined already by the Law, he is subject to that; if not,\nthen is he subject to Arbitrary punishment. For it is reason, that he\nwhich does Injury, without other limitation than that of his own Will,\nshould suffer punishment without other limitation, than that of his Will\nwhose Law is thereby violated.\n\n\n\n\nPunishments Declared Before The Fact, Excuse From Greater Punishments\nAfter It\n\nBut when a penalty, is either annexed to the Crime in the Law it selfe,\nor hath been usually inflicted in the like cases; there the Delinquent\nis Excused from a greater penalty. For the punishment foreknown, if not\ngreat enough to deterre men from the action, is an invitement to it:\nbecause when men compare the benefit of their Injustice, with the harm\nof their punishment, by necessity of Nature they choose that which\nappeareth best for themselves; and therefore when they are punished more\nthan the Law had formerly determined, or more than others were punished\nfor the same Crime; it the Law that tempted, and deceiveth them.\n\n\n\n\nNothing Can Be Made A Crime By A Law Made After The Fact\n\nNo Law, made after a Fact done, can make it a Crime: because if the\nFact be against the Law of Nature, the Law was before the Fact; and a\nPositive Law cannot be taken notice of, before it be made; and therefore\ncannot be Obligatory. But when the Law that forbiddeth a Fact, is made\nbefore the Fact be done; yet he that doth the Fact, is lyable to the\nPenalty ordained after, in case no lesser Penalty were made known\nbefore, neither by Writing, nor by Example, for the reason immediatly\nbefore alledged.\n\n\n\n\nFalse Principles Of Right And Wrong Causes Of Crime\n\nFrom defect in Reasoning, (that is to say, from Errour,) men are prone\nto violate the Lawes, three wayes. First, by Presumption of false\nPrinciples; as when men from having observed how in all places, and\nin all ages, unjust Actions have been authorised, by the force, and\nvictories of those who have committed them; and that potent men,\nbreaking through the Cob-web Lawes of their Country, the weaker sort,\nand those that have failed in their Enterprises, have been esteemed the\nonely Criminals; have thereupon taken for Principles, and grounds of\ntheir Reasoning, \"That Justice is but a vain word: That whatsoever a man\ncan get by his own Industry, and hazard, is his own: That the Practice\nof all Nations cannot be unjust: That examples of former times are good\nArguments of doing the like again;\" and many more of that kind: Which\nbeing granted, no Act in it selfe can be a Crime, but must be made so\n(not by the Law, but) by the successe of them that commit it; and the\nsame Fact be vertuous, or vicious, as Fortune pleaseth; so that what\nMarius makes a Crime, Sylla shall make meritorious, and Caesar (the same\nLawes standing) turn again into a Crime, to the perpetuall disturbance\nof the Peace of the Common-wealth.\n\n\n\n\nFalse Teachers Mis-interpreting The Law Of Nature Secondly, by false\nTeachers, that either mis-interpret the Law of Nature, making it thereby\nrepugnant to the Law Civill; or by teaching for Lawes, such Doctrines of\ntheir own, or Traditions of former times, as are inconsistent with the\nduty of a Subject.\n\n\n\n\nAnd False Inferences From True Principles, By Teachers\n\nThirdly, by Erroneous Inferences from True Principles; which happens\ncommonly to men that are hasty, and praecipitate in concluding, and\nresolving what to do; such as are they, that have both a great opinion\nof their own understanding, and believe that things of this nature\nrequire not time and study, but onely common experience, and a good\nnaturall wit; whereof no man thinks himselfe unprovided: whereas the\nknowledge, of Right and Wrong, which is no lesse difficult, there is no\nman will pretend to, without great and long study. And of those defects\nin Reasoning, there is none that can Excuse (though some of them may\nExtenuate) a Crime, in any man, that pretendeth to the administration of\nhis own private businesse; much lesse in them that undertake a publique\ncharge; because they pretend to the Reason, upon the want whereof they\nwould ground their Excuse.\n\n\n\n\nBy Their Passions;\n\nOf the Passions that most frequently are the causes of Crime, one,\nis Vain-glory, or a foolish over-rating of their own worth; as if\ndifference of worth, were an effect of their wit, or riches, or bloud,\nor some other naturall quality, not depending on the Will of those that\nhave the Soveraign Authority. From whence proceedeth a Presumption that\nthe punishments ordained by the Lawes, and extended generally to all\nSubjects, ought not to be inflicted on them, with the same rigour they\nare inflicted on poore, obscure, and simple men, comprehended under the\nname of the Vulgar.\n\n\n\n\nPresumption Of Riches\n\nTherefore it happeneth commonly, that such as value themselves by the\ngreatnesse of their wealth, adventure on Crimes, upon hope of escaping\npunishment, by corrupting publique Justice, or obtaining Pardon by Mony,\nor other rewards.\n\n\n\n\nAnd Friends\n\nAnd that such as have multitude of Potent Kindred; and popular men, that\nhave gained reputation amongst the Multitude, take courage to violate\nthe Lawes, from a hope of oppressing the Power, to whom it belongeth to\nput them in execution.\n\n\n\n\nWisedome\n\nAnd that such as have a great, and false opinion of their own Wisedome,\ntake upon them to reprehend the actions, and call in question the\nAuthority of them that govern, and so to unsettle the Lawes with their\npublique discourse, as that nothing shall be a Crime, but what their own\ndesignes require should be so. It happeneth also to the same men, to be\nprone to all such Crimes, as consist in Craft, and in deceiving of their\nNeighbours; because they think their designes are too subtile to be\nperceived. These I say are effects of a false presumption of their own\nWisdome. For of them that are the first movers in the disturbance of\nCommon-wealth, (which can never happen without a Civill Warre,) very few\nare left alive long enough, to see their new Designes established: so\nthat the benefit of their Crimes, redoundeth to Posterity, and such as\nwould least have wished it: which argues they were not as wise, as\nthey thought they were. And those that deceive upon hope of not being\nobserved, do commonly deceive themselves, (the darknesse in which they\nbelieve they lye hidden, being nothing else but their own blindnesse;)\nand are no wiser than Children, that think all hid, by hiding their own\neyes.\n\nAnd generally all vain-glorious men, (unlesse they be withall timorous,)\nare subject to Anger; as being more prone than others to interpret for\ncontempt, the ordinary liberty of conversation: And there are few Crimes\nthat may not be produced by Anger.\n\n\n\n\nHatred, Lust, Ambition, Covetousnesse, Causes Of Crime\n\nAs for the Passions, of Hate, Lust, Ambition, and Covetousnesse, what\nCrimes they are apt to produce, is so obvious to every mans experience\nand understanding, as there needeth nothing to be said of them, saving\nthat they are infirmities, so annexed to the nature, both of man, and\nall other living creatures, as that their effects cannot be hindred,\nbut by extraordinary use of Reason, or a constant severity in punishing\nthem. For in those things men hate, they find a continuall, and\nunavoydable molestation; whereby either a mans patience must be\neverlasting, or he must be eased by removing the power of that which\nmolesteth him; The former is difficult; the later is many times\nimpossible, without some violation of the Law. Ambition, and\nCovetousnesse are Passions also that are perpetually incumbent, and\npressing; whereas Reason is not perpetually present, to resist them:\nand therefore whensoever the hope of impunity appears, their effects\nproceed. And for Lust, what it wants in the lasting, it hath in the\nvehemence, which sufficeth to weigh down the apprehension of all easie,\nor uncertain punishments.\n\n\n\n\nFear Sometimes Cause Of Crime, As When The Danger Is Neither Present,\nNor Corporeall\n\nOf all Passions, that which enclineth men least to break the Lawes, is\nFear. Nay, (excepting some generous natures,) it is the onely thing,\n(when there is apparence of profit, or pleasure by breaking the Lawes,)\nthat makes men keep them. And yet in many cases a Crime may be committed\nthrough Feare.\n\nFor not every Fear justifies the Action it produceth, but the fear onely\nof corporeall hurt, which we call Bodily Fear, and from which a man\ncannot see how to be delivered, but by the action. A man is assaulted,\nfears present death, from which he sees not how to escape, but by\nwounding him that assaulteth him; If he wound him to death, this is no\nCrime; because no man is supposed at the making of a Common-wealth, to\nhave abandoned the defence of his life, or limbes, where the Law cannot\narrive time enough to his assistance. But to kill a man, because from\nhis actions, or his threatnings, I may argue he will kill me when he\ncan, (seeing I have time, and means to demand protection, from the\nSoveraign Power,) is a Crime. Again, a man receives words of disgrace,\nor some little injuries (for which they that made the Lawes, had\nassigned no punishment, nor thought it worthy of a man that hath the use\nof Reason, to take notice of,) and is afraid, unlesse he revenge it,\nhe shall fall into contempt, and consequently be obnoxious to the like\ninjuries from others; and to avoyd this, breaks the Law, and protects\nhimselfe for the future, by the terrour of his private revenge. This is\na Crime; For the hurt is not Corporeall, but Phantasticall, and (though\nin this corner of the world, made sensible by a custome not many years\nsince begun, amongst young and vain men,) so light, as a gallant man,\nand one that is assured of his own courage, cannot take notice of. Also\na man may stand in fear of Spirits, either through his own superstition,\nor through too much credit given to other men, that tell him of strange\nDreams and visions; and thereby be made believe they will hurt him, for\ndoing, or omitting divers things, which neverthelesse, to do, or omit,\nis contrary to the Lawes; And that which is so done, or omitted, is not\nto be Excused by this fear; but is a Crime. For (as I have shewn before\nin the second Chapter) Dreams be naturally but the fancies remaining in\nsleep, after the impressions our Senses had formerly received waking;\nand when men are by any accident unassured they have slept, seem to be\nreall Visions; and therefore he that presumes to break the Law upon his\nown, or anothers Dream, or pretended Vision, or upon other Fancy of\nthe power of Invisible Spirits, than is permitted by the Common-wealth,\nleaveth the Law of Nature, which is a certain offence, and followeth the\nimagery of his own, or another private mans brain, which he can never\nknow whether it signifieth any thing, or nothing, nor whether he that\ntells his Dream, say true, or lye; which if every private man should\nhave leave to do, (as they must by the Law of Nature, if any one have\nit) there could no Law be made to hold, and so all Common-wealth would\nbe dissolved.\n\n\n\n\nCrimes Not Equall\n\nFrom these different sources of Crimes, it appeares already, that all\nCrimes are not (as the Stoicks of old time maintained) of the same\nallay. There is place, not only for EXCUSE, by which that which seemed\na Crime, is proved to be none at all; but also for EXTENUATION, by which\nthe Crime, that seemed great, is made lesse. For though all Crimes doe\nequally deserve the name of Injustice, as all deviation from a strait\nline is equally crookednesse, which the Stoicks rightly observed; yet\nit does not follow that all Crimes are equally unjust, no more than that\nall crooked lines are equally crooked; which the Stoicks not observing,\nheld it as great a Crime, to kill a Hen, against the Law, as to kill\nones Father.\n\n\n\n\nTotall Excuses\n\nThat which totally Excuseth a Fact, and takes away from it the nature of\na Crime, can be none but that, which at the same time, taketh away the\nobligation of the Law. For the fact committed once against the Law,\nif he that committed it be obliged to the Law, can be no other than a\nCrime.\n\nThe want of means to know the Law, totally Excuseth: For the Law whereof\na man has no means to enforme himself, is not obligatory. But the want\nof diligence to enquire, shall not be considered as a want of means; Nor\nshall any man, that pretendeth to reason enough for the Government of\nhis own affairs, be supposed to want means to know the Lawes of Nature;\nbecause they are known by the reason he pretends to: only Children, and\nMadmen are Excused from offences against the Law Naturall.\n\nWhere a man is captive, or in the power of the enemy, (and he is then in\nthe power of the enemy, when his person, or his means of living, is\nso,) if it be without his own fault, the Obligation of the Law ceaseth;\nbecause he must obey the enemy, or dye; and consequently such obedience\nis no Crime: for no man is obliged (when the protection of the Law\nfaileth,) not to protect himself, by the best means he can.\n\nIf a man by the terrour of present death, be compelled to doe a fact\nagainst the Law, he is totally Excused; because no Law can oblige a\nman to abandon his own preservation. And supposing such a Law were\nobligatory; yet a man would reason thus, \"If I doe it not, I die\npresently; if I doe it, I die afterwards; therefore by doing it, there\nis time of life gained;\" Nature therefore compells him to the fact.\n\nWhen a man is destitute of food, or other thing necessary for his life,\nand cannot preserve himselfe any other way, but by some fact against\nthe Law; as if in a great famine he take the food by force, or stealth,\nwhich he cannot obtaine for mony nor charity; or in defence of his life,\nsnatch away another mans Sword, he is totally Excused, for the reason\nnext before alledged.\n\n\n\n\nExcuses Against The Author\n\nAgain, Facts done against the Law, by the authority of another, are\nby that authority Excused against the Author; because no man ought to\naccuse his own fact in another, that is but his instrument: but it\nis not Excused against a third person thereby injured; because in the\nviolation of the law, bothe the Author, and Actor are Criminalls.\nFrom hence it followeth that when that Man, or Assembly, that hath the\nSoveraign Power, commandeth a man to do that which is contrary to a\nformer Law, the doing of it is totally Excused: For he ought not to\ncondemn it himselfe, because he is the Author; and what cannot justly\nbe condemned by the Soveraign, cannot justly be punished by any other.\nBesides, when the Soveraign commandeth any thing to be done against\nhis own former Law, the Command, as to that particular fact, is an\nabrogation of the Law.\n\nIf that Man, or Assembly, that hath the Soveraign Power, disclaime\nany Right essentiall to the Soveraignty, whereby there accrueth to the\nSubject, any liberty inconsistent with the Soveraign Power, that is to\nsay, with the very being of a Common-wealth, if the Subject shall refuse\nto obey the Command in any thing, contrary to the liberty granted, this\nis neverthelesse a Sinne, and contrary to the duty of the Subject: for\nhe ought to take notice of what is inconsistent with the Soveraignty,\nbecause it was erected by his own consent, and for his own defence;\nand that such liberty as is inconsistent with it, was granted through\nignorance of the evill consequence thereof. But if he not onely disobey,\nbut also resist a publique Minister in the execution of it, then it is\na Crime; because he might have been righted, (without any breach of the\nPeace,) upon complaint.\n\nThe Degrees of Crime are taken on divers Scales, and measured, First, by\nthe malignity of the Source, or Cause: Secondly, by the contagion of the\nExample: Thirdly, by the mischiefe of the Effect; and Fourthly, by the\nconcurrence of Times, Places, and Persons.\n\n\n\n\nPresumption Of Power, Aggravateth\n\nThe same Fact done against the Law, if it proceed from Presumption of\nstrength, riches, or friends to resist those that are to execute the\nLaw, is a greater Crime, than if it proceed from hope of not being\ndiscovered, or of escape by flight: For Presumption of impunity by\nforce, is a Root, from whence springeth, at all times, and upon all\ntemptations, a contempt of all Lawes; whereas in the later case, the\napprehension of danger, that makes a man fly, renders him more obedient\nfor the future. A Crime which we know to be so, is greater than the same\nCrime proceeding from a false perswasion that it is lawfull: For he that\ncommitteth it against his own conscience, presumeth on his force, or\nother power, which encourages him to commit the same again: but he that\ndoth it by errour, after the errour shewn him, is conformable to the\nLaw.\n\n\n\n\nEvill Teachers, Extenuate\n\nHee, whose errour proceed", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "3207", "title": "Leviathan", "author": "", "publication_year": 1651, "metadata_title": "Leviathan", "metadata_author": "Thomas Hobbes", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:21.720655", "source_chars": 1212461, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 121976}}
{"text": "BOOK REPAIR AND RESTORATION\n\n\n\n_Only a thousand copies\nof this book are printed\nand type distributed._\n\n\n\n[Illustration: INLAID LEVANT BINDING]\n\n\n\n  BOOK REPAIR\n  AND RESTORATION\n\n  A MANUAL OF PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS\n  FOR BIBLIOPHILES\n\n\n  _Including some Translated Selections_\n  from\n  Essai sur l'art de Restaurer les Estampes et les Livres,\n  par A. Bonnardot, Paris 1858\n\n\n  By\n  MITCHELL S. BUCK\n\n  Author of \"Syrinx,\" \"Ephemera,\" \"The Songs of Phryne,\"\n  Translator of \"Lucian's Dialogues of the Hetaerai,\" etc.\n\n\n  Philadelphia     NICHOLAS L. BROWN     MCMXVIII\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1918\n  BY NICHOLAS L. BROWN\n\n\n  _Printed July 1918_\n\n\n\n\n_FOREWORD_\n\n\n_The following chapters contain suggestions partly gathered from the\nexperience of others and partly evolved for myself in caring for my own\nbooks. Although many \"books about books\" have already been written, there\nis still, I think, a place for this one. I have designed it especially for\nthe bibliophile who enjoys \"fussing\" over his books and who receives, in\nseeing them in good condition and repair through his own efforts, an echo\nof the pleasure he receives from reading them._\n\n_In translating from Bonnardot, I have taken the liberty of abridging or\nparaphrasing, at times, the chapters which I have included here, not only\nto confine the subjects a little more closely but also to present his\nessential suggestions as concisely as possible. His book, copies of which\nare very scarce, was first issued in an edition of four hundred copies in\n1846 and re-issued, with revisions, in 1858. It has not since been\nreprinted nor, so far as I have been able to learn, has it been translated\ninto English, either wholly or in part._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  FOREWORD: Page 7\n\n  _Chapter I_\n  GENERAL RESTORATION: Page 15\n\n  _Chapter II_\n  REMOVING STAINS: Page 25\n\n  _Chapter III_\n  REBACKING: Page 39\n\n  _Chapter IV_\n  REPAIRING OLD BINDING: Page 51\n\n  _Chapter V_\n  REBINDING: Page 77\n\n  _Chapter VI_\n  THE BOOK SHELVES: Page 89\n\n  _Chapter VII_\n  BOOK BUYING: Page 99\n\n  _Chapter VIII_\n  THE GREEK AND LATIN CLASSICS: Page 111\n\n  INDEX: Page 123\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nINLAID LEVANT BINDING: _Frontispiece_\n\nRE-LINING BACK: Page 21\n\nVELLUM BINDINGS: Page 25\n\nORIGINAL SHEEP BINDING (1684) REBACKED: Page 39\n\nCUTTING FOR REBACKING: Page 41\n\nCUTTING FOR REBACKING: Page 42\n\nLOOSENING LEATHER FOR REBACKING: Page 43\n\nSETTING NEW BACK: Page 44\n\nBINDING HEAD-CAP: Page 45\n\nFOLDER: Page 47\n\nIRON: Page 48\n\nMODERN LEVANT BINDING: Page 51\n\nSOLANDER SLIP-CASE: Page 77\n\nLEATHER SLIP-COVERS: Page 89\n\nSLIP-COVER: Page 92\n\nKELMSCOTT PRESS BOOK: Page 99\n\nBLACK LETTER VIRGIL: Page 111\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n_GENERAL RESTORATION_\n\n\nTo consider first a few simple processes of ordinary restoration, let us\nassume that a rare book in its original cloth or boards, in a more or less\ndamaged condition but not to the point of necessitating rebinding, has\njust been received.\n\nThe first operation required is to carefully clean off the binding with a\nsoft cloth, wipe off the end papers, which often have a coating of dust,\nespecially when the covers do not fit closely, and, if the top is gilt,\nwipe that carefully also. An \"uncut\" top is freed from dust by brushing\nwith a soft brush.\n\nThe book is then collated to make sure that every page is in place and, if\nthere are plates, that no plate is missing. This operation, it is perhaps\nneedless to say, should by all means be done before purchasing, unless the\nbook comes from a reliable dealer to whom an imperfect copy could be\nreturned. If, in collating an old book, the amateur discovers that page\n173 follows immediately after page 136, he need not necessarily be\nalarmed, as mistakes in pagination and even in the numbering of signatures\nare very common in books printed a century or more ago. In such cases, the\n\"catch words\" which generally appear at the bottom of the pages, or else\nthe text itself, should be examined to see whether the page, without\nregard for its number, is really in its proper place or not. Each page is\nthen examined for dirt or finger marks, which can almost always be\nremoved, the quality of the paper permitting, with a soft pencil-eraser or\nbread crumbs.\n\nMarginal notes, especially in contemporary hands, are much better left\nalone; they are often of considerable value and, when neatly and not\nexcessively done, rather add to the interest of the volume without\ndetracting from its value to any great extent. On which subject Bonnardot\nhas quite a little to say, in the chapter on _Stains_ included in this\nvolume.\n\nPresentation inscriptions in the autograph of the author or of some one\nintimately connected with him of course greatly increase the interest and\nvalue of the book. Names written on title-pages can often be effaced by\nthe process elsewhere described, but these should not be disturbed until\nthey have been thoroughly investigated. A name which at the moment seems\ntotally unfamiliar may sometimes be found of special interest inscribed in\nthe particular volume in which it is found. As an ordinary illustration of\nthis, might be mentioned a copy of Edwin Arnold's \"Gulistan\" bearing on\nthe half-title the inscription \"To dear Mrs. Stone from Tama.\" This author\nhad, at one time, married a Japanese girl, and a little investigation\nrevealed that her name was Tama KuroKawa. Her inscription, of course,\nremains undisturbed, as it adds a distinctly personal note to the volume.\nBut alas! the John Diddles and William Bubbles who have for centuries\nscribbled their odious names over fair title-pages, with never the grace\nto make themselves immortal and their autographs a find!\n\nWriting in the year 1345, Richard de Bury remarks, \"When defects are found\nin books, they should be repaired at once. Nothing develops more rapidly\nthan a tear, and one which is neglected at the moment must later be\nrepaired with usury.\" Bearing in mind these words of wisdom while\nexamining each page of the book, pencil notes should be made on a slip of\npaper of any pages needing repairs, also of any places between the\nsignatures where the back is \"shaken\" exposing the stitching and lining.\n\nChecking off from this list, advisable repairs should then be made. The\nedges of any tears should be neatly joined with paste. To do this, a clean\nsheet of white paper should be placed under the torn part and the edges of\nthe tear lightly coated with ordinary white paste. These edges are then\npressed together by means of another sheet of white paper pressed above,\nboth the upper and under sheets being gently moved several times to\nprevent them from sticking to the torn edges. Paste used in this way dries\nin a few minutes and holds firmly if the edges of the tear are a bit\nrough. If the page is separated by a clean cut, it may be necessary to\napply a strip of thin tissue to hold the edges together. The same general\nmethod may be used for inlaying pieces torn from the margins, perhaps by\nthe careless use of a paper cutter in the hands of the original owner.\nPaper of the same weight and tint as the torn page is secured, placed\nunder the lacuna, and the outlines of the missing part traced off with a\nsharp pencil. The piece to be inlaid is then cut, following the traced\noutline but leaving a little margin, and pasted in position, the outer\nedge being cut even with the general edge of the leaf when the inlay is\ndry.[1]\n\nWhite paper for inlaying may be tinted with water-colors to match the old\npaper. The best method, however, of imitating the yellowish tone of old\npaper is to stain the inlay with potassium permanganate. This is a dark\npurple crystal which is used in extremely weak solution in warm water. If\na sheet of paper is to be tinted for inlaying or to replace, perhaps, a\nmissing fly-leaf, it is laid in the solution for a few seconds, then\nremoved and the excess purple tone thoroughly washed off under running\nwater. The paper will then be found tinted a pale, yellowish brown, the\ntone of which may be varied by the strength of the solution and the length\nof time the paper remains in it. Coffee, licorice or tobacco may also be\nused, with good results.\n\nThe pages all in order and repair, the next operation is to repair the\n\"shaken\" back. Perhaps there is no ill to which old books, especially\nmodern issues in their original bindings, are more subject. The damage\nknown as \"broken\" back usually means a book practically broken in half,\nthe break, in old calf bindings, usually extending through to the outside\nof the back. The \"shaken\" back on the contrary, has merely separated\nbetween the signatures, exposing, between the inside sheets, the lining of\nthe back. Cheaply bound books seldom remain solid between the signatures,\nespecially when they are printed on heavy, unyielding paper. The damage\narises partly from the drying out of the glue in the back and partly from\ncareless handling by readers. Books should always be opened gently and\nnever forced open to absolutely flatten out the pages unless the binding\nis known to be entirely safe and firm.\n\nThe breaks between signatures are repaired and the old glue at these\npoints softened by means of bookbinders' paste. For this, a solid,\nsatisfactory and fairly elastic substitute can be made by mixing about\nequal parts of good liquid glue and ordinary white library paste of the\nkind which comes in tubes. With a long pin, slightly bent on the point,\nthis mixture is laid in the open crack between the signatures, care being\ntaken to distribute it evenly the whole length of the book and to\nthoroughly cover the exposed inside of the back lining. An excess of paste\nmust be avoided, as it would spread out on the inside margins of the\nleaves when the book is closed to dry. When all the broken places are\nmended, the book is closed and placed under a slight pressure for a few\nhours.\n\nWhere the book is bound with a \"spring back,\" that is to say, with a back\nwhich springs apart when the book is opened, leaving a space between the\noutside back and the actual back of the signatures where they are\nstitched, a further strengthening of the back may be desirable. This\nstrengthening can be obtained by \"lining up\" the inside back with a new\nstrip of paper.\n\nTo do this, cut a strip of medium weight Japan vellum--which is the best\npaper for the purpose--a few inches more than twice the height of the book\nand in width equal to the inside back. One end of this, with the corners\nclipped so it will not catch, is inserted between the outside and inside\nbacks of the book and slipped through until it projects about an inch at\nthe bottom of the book. (Fig. A.) The part of the strip left exposed at\nthe top is then well coated on the inside face with the paste mentioned\nabove and pulled into the book, against the inside back or lining, by\nmeans of the end projecting at the bottom. The surplus of the strip at top\nand bottom is then cut off, two short slips of paper temporarily inserted\nat top and bottom to prevent the new lining adhering to the outside back,\nand a firm hand pressure applied all over the back to force the new lining\ninto close union with the old on the backs of the signatures. The book is\nthen set aside to dry, under a light pressure, after which the two slips\nof paper inserted at top and bottom are pulled out.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. A]\n\n\nAny slight necessary exterior repairs should then be made--loose bits of\ncloth or paper at worn corners or along the edges of the boards pasted\ndown, and any tears at the top of back above the head-band reenforced from\nthe inside with strips of cloth or paper.\n\nThe outside of a soiled cloth binding often may be cleaned by means of a\nsoft pencil-eraser. If this is done, the cloth should afterward be\nfreshened by a thin coat of sizing.\n\nIf these operations are carefully and thoroughly carried out, the book\nshould then be in a solid and satisfactory condition and capable of\nstanding any reasonable amount of wear.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n_REMOVING STAINS_\n\nTRANSLATED FROM BONNARDOT\n\n[Illustration: VELLUM BINDINGS\n\n(1674 AND 1878)]\n\n\nBefore discussing the means of attacking stains which may blemish a book\nor a precious print, I am going to say that, in certain cases, it might be\nvery desirable to allow them to remain. If I possessed, for example, a\nmissive addressed to Charles IX during the night of Saint Bartholomew, and\nstained with bloody finger-prints, I would take great care not to disturb\nthese marks which, supposing their authenticity established, would\nincrease tenfold the value of the autograph. If the custodian of the\nLaurentian Library at Florence should efface, from his Longus manuscript,\nPaul Louis Courier's puddle of ink, he would commit an act of vandalism,\nfor that ink stain is a literary celebrity.[2]\n\nTo speak of more ordinary examples: one often finds on a book or print, a\nsignature or inscription which may sometimes be an autograph well worth\npreservation.[3] I very rarely efface signatures or the notes of early,\nunknown owners; I find it pleasanter to respect these souvenirs of the\npast. In the same way, some curious objects have certain defects which, I\nthink, add to their interest. For example, a statuette of the Virgin, in\nsilver or ivory, of which the features and hands are half effaced by the\nfrequent contact of pious lips. Restore such worn parts, and the sentiment\nis stripped from a relic of past ages. It is far better to leave untouched\nsuch scars, which attest the antique piety of the cloister. A vellum Book\nof Hours of the Fifteenth Century, worn and soiled through prayer, has, to\nmy mind, acquired a venerable patina. Here, a spot of yellow wax; there,\nthe head of a saint blemished by the star-print from a tear of devotion:\nare not these stains which should be respected? On the other hand, a blot\nof ink or an oily smear point only to carelessness and should be removed.\n\nAbout the year 1846, I was invited by M. A. Farrens, a skilful restorer of\nold books, to see in his work-shop a Dance Macabre in quarto, imprinted on\npaper, at Paris, toward the end of the Fifteenth Century; a rare volume\nwhich he was restoring for M. Techner.\n\nThe portions already cleaned and restored, compared with those still\nuntouched, excited my admiration. The numerous worm holes, the torn\nplaces, had disappeared through an application of paper-paste, so well\njoined, so well blended in the mass, that I could hardly detect the\nboundaries of the restorations. The letters and wood-cuts suffering from\nlacunae had been reformed with great skill on a new foundation. The soiled\nsurfaces of the pages had entirely disappeared before I know not what\nscraping or chemical action. In a word, M. Farrens was putting into use\nevery secret of restoration to give again to this volume its original\nlustre.\n\nAh well! today, I confess, that if I possessed this book in the\ndilapidated state in which I saw it, I would leave it just as it stood,\nand limit myself to the indispensable repair of a new and solid binding.\nIts worn and soiled condition came, very probably, from the frequent and\npious turning of its pages, in that monachal perseverance of prayer of\nwhich our century knows nothing. Its shocking and decrepit condition had,\nto my eyes, a secret in harmony with all books of the kind, which, from\neach page, recall to us our insignificance.\n\nNo doubt many amateurs will not agree with me in this; some, perhaps, will\ndeclare I have arrived at a monstrous degree of cynicism for a\nbibliophile. However, I will supply the means of restoring at least a part\nof their original freshness to books and old prints badly treated by time\nor by the indifference of their earlier possessors.\n\nWhen a print is soiled with spots or foreign color, especially in the most\ninteresting places, one can hardly lay it away in a portfolio without\nmaking some attempt to remove or reduce the strange tints which appear on\nit. This is the part of my present work most difficult to discuss, while\nbeing the most useful. My simple notions of chemistry are not always\nsufficient and perhaps, some day, some chemist especially trained in\nanalysis and decomposition may, with advantage, rewrite this portion of my\nwork. I will at least record, however, a large number of satisfactory\nresults which I have obtained and even repeated on fragments of proofs on\nunsized paper, this last being the most unfavorable of all conditions.[4]\n\n\nThe first difficulty comes when the nature of the spot is not easily\nrecognized. This yellow spot which resists both washing and bleaching, may\nperhaps be formed by some greasy body or by some metallic oxide, and one\nmust proceed carefully on any hypothesis which may be formed. In such\ncases, where experiments must be tried, it is necessary to know some\nchemical substance which can be first applied, to the end that, if the\nspot persists, the chemicals used in attempting its removal will not, at\nleast, render it impervious to further efforts. It is not possible to set\npositive rules for this. I have tried indifferently the action of an acid\nbefore that of an alkali, and vice versa. Only, I have been careful,\nbefore renewing any experiments to soak the print for several hours in\ncold water to stop the action of any chemicals already used and to annul\ntheir traces and effects.\n\nThe first attempt to make upon a spot of unknown origin, is to soak the\nprint for several hours in cold water and then rub the spot gently with a\nfinger or a small brush. It sometimes happens, especially when the paper\nhas been well made and well sized, that the spot will yield to this gentle\nrubbing, slide off and disappear. When the spot becomes thick and pasty,\nit is at least weakened even if it does not come off. This is, in any\ncase, a necessary first operation. But it should be carried out with care,\nin order not to injure the surface of the print. Before soaking a print in\nwater or chemicals, it is best to clip a few small shreds from the margin\nand soak these in a small glass test-tube to note the effect.[5]\n\nIt sometimes happens that there appears on a page or print a single spot\nwhich it is desirable to remove without going to the trouble and risk of\nsoaking the whole sheet. A spot on the corner offers few obstacles; the\npart is simply dipped in a vessel containing the proper solution. If the\nspot is in the middle of the sheet, I usually make use of a shallow\nporcelain cup having sides slanted in toward the centre, such as is used\nfor water-colors. By means of such a cup, any part of a sheet can be\nbrought into contact with the solution. The chemical may also be applied\ndirectly to the spot by means of a small brush.\n\nM. de Fontelle advises the use of blotting paper from which a hole, a\nlittle larger than the spot, has been cut. This is placed over the spot\nand the chemical liquid dropped in. The blotter around the spot will\nabsorb the excess liquid without offering any obstacle to the operation.\n\nIn operations upon single spots, the action of the chemicals always\nextends a little beyond the spot itself and often leaves a bleached line\nwhich is in disagreeable contrast with the other parts of the sheet. This\nmay be retinted with dark licorice or some suitable color in more or less\nconcentrated solution, mixed sometimes with a little common ink. This is\napplied with a small brush, care being taken not to overlap the solution\non the unbleached portion of the sheet beyond the bleached line.[6]\n\n\n_REMOVING STAINS OF VARIOUS KINDS_\n\nGREASE. Grease spots, especially when very recent, can sometimes be drawn\nout by an absorbent powder such as impalpable clay or chalk. The spotted\nleaf is enclosed between two tins or boards, both sides of the spot well\ndusted with the powder, and the book closed tightly and set aside for\nseveral hours. Some kinds of grease absorb more slowly than others. If\nthis operation is unsuccessful, alcohol, ether or benzine may be tried.[7]\nA weak solution of pure or caustic potash operates very rapidly. If the\nink on the page or print is turned gray by this, it may be restored by a\nwash of acid in very weak solution.\n\nWHITE OF YELLOW WAX. These spots yield promptly to pure turpentine,\nespecially in a warm bath. When the spots thicken, they are lifted off\nwith a scraper, or blotting paper may be applied, pressed down with a\nheated iron.\n\nSTEARINE. Wax tapers are today replaced by a kind of liquid grease,\nstearine, spots of which give paper a disagreeable transparency. These\ndissolve in warm alcohol or boiling water, but the spot remains stiff and\nthe brilliance of the ink is reduced. The greater part of the stearine\nspot may be removed by the same process indicated for wax.\n\nSEALING WAX. RESIN AND RESINOUS VARNISH. All dry resins yield to a warm\nalcohol bath. The thick part is removed as above. Sealing wax colored red,\nblue, etc., leaves a corresponding tint which is very tenacious.\n\nTAR, PITCH, etc. These spots are rarely encountered. They give way to warm\nturpentine or cold benzine. If a dark trace remains, it sometimes may be\nremoved by oxalic acid if the spot has not been burned by the hot tar.\nWhenever turpentine is used on any spots, it should always be the purest\nobtainable.\n\nEGG YELLOW. This is always mixed with a little albumen, a matter which\nthickens in boiling water and can be drawn from the paper, along with the\nyellow. If the paper is smooth and well sized, all will disappear under a\nsponge in a bath of hot water. There sometimes remains a yellowish trace.\nTo remove this, apply with a brush chlorated lime and then very weak\nhydrochloric acid.\n\nMUD. This may be removed simply with a wet sponge or in a warm water bath.\nWhere the paper is rough and absorbent, soap jelly should be used. If a\ndark trace remains, it usually will yield to oxalic acid or cream of\ntartar.\n\nINK. Ordinary writing ink is easily decomposed because its principal\nconstituent is a vegetable matter, oakgall, mixed with a little iron\noxide. This gives way rather promptly to an application of sorrel salt\ndissolved in boiling water. The water must be boiling to secure prompt\naction. Even better success may be obtained by the use of pure oxalic\nacid, which is an extraction from sorrel salt of which it is the base.[8]\nChinese ink cannot be dissolved but sometimes may be washed from a smooth\npage by means of a damp sponge. Marking ink may be removed with chloride\nof lime.\n\nFRUIT JUICE. Stains from fruit may be removed by chlorine or cream of\ntartar. In some cases, water alone is sufficient.\n\nBLOOD. These stains may be bleached by chloride of lime. As this must be\napplied for at least twenty minutes, it is better to use it as a damp\npaste. There will remain a yellow trace which will give way to a weak\nacid.\n\nFECAL MATTERS OR URINE. For such spots, try soap and water. If this is\nunsuccessful try successively chlorine, alkalis, oxalic acid and\nhydrochloric acid, soaking the page for an hour in water between each\noperation.\n\nTRANSFERRED IMPRESSIONS. Frequently the characters of a book, bound before\nthe ink is completely dry, offset, while in press, an impression in\ngrayish tones upon the opposite pages or upon the faces of inserted\nprints. These transferred impressions may sometimes be removed by rubbing\nwith an eraser made of bread crumbs or by soap-jelly, which should be\nleft on for some time and then washed off.\n\nI have no doubt neglected to describe more than one kind of spot which an\namateur may find. By analogous reasoning, however, he may find for himself\nthe proper remedies to use. If the spot seems to be of a vegetable or\nanimal nature, he should use chlorine and sulfuric acid; if metallic,\ndiluted hydrochloric acid; if oily or greasy, essence of turpentine,\nether, alkaline solutions or benzine.\n\nBLEACHING.[9] Soaking a print in cold water for about twenty-four hours\noften suffices to brighten and clear it; but if, after a long soaking, it\nstill remains darkened to the point of detracting from the clarity of the\nengraving, one will need to use chemicals in order to obtain a suitable\nbleaching. Chloride of lime may be used for this purpose. This is a fine,\ndry powder which softens when allowed to absorb moisture from the\natmosphere. About fifty grammes of this are placed in a bottle about\ntwo-thirds full of water, and thoroughly shaken. When the solution clears\nby the excess of matter depositing on the bottom of the bottle, the clear\nliquid is carefully poured off. Another solution, which will be weaker,\nmay be made by pouring more water into the bottle. The clear solution is\ndiluted with about twenty times its quantity of pure water, for use. It is\nbetter to dilute too much, and add more of the solution later, if\nnecessary, than to dilute too little. The solution will not injure the\nblack ink of an impression, but if too concentrated, it will make the\npaper brittle.\n\nAfter using this solution, the print should be placed in a bath of weak\nacid, and then left to soak for several hours in clear water.\n\n\n\n\n\n_REBACKING_\n\n[Illustration: ORIGINAL SHEEP BINDING\n\n(1684 REBACKED)]\n\n\nIt often happens that books are purchased in old sheep, calf, or even\nmorocco bindings with the hinges so broken that the boards are either\nentirely off or held only by weakened cords. Such books may be properly\nentrusted to a good binder for rebinding in substantial leather. It is\nsometimes preferable, however, merely to reback such books, not only in\norder to preserve the old leather sides, which are generally in much\nbetter condition than the back and often possessed of a very attractive\npatina, but also to save the wear and slight trimming to which the book\nwould necessarily be subject in rebinding.\n\nIt is inadvisable to reback with calf or any very perishable leather. A\ngood quality morocco should be used. In rebacking books bound in old calf\nor sheep, a smooth-grain brown morocco, such as that known to the trade as\nSpanish morocco, will be found satisfactory and a fair match for the old\nleather, both in color and surface texture.\n\nThe first operation in rebacking is to treat the old leather with a\nsoftening substance, such as vaseline, to prevent the old leather from\nbreaking while it is being worked on. The vaseline should be rubbed well\ninto the covers, left on for about half an hour, and the excess then wiped\noff with a soft cloth.\n\nVaseline is also used in the same way to assist in the preservation of old\nleather bindings still in good repair. It is not entirely satisfactory, as\nit soon dries out. The best composition for preserving leather is one\nsuggested by Mr. Douglas Cockerell, made by mixing about two ounces of\ncastor oil with one ounce of paraffin wax. The oil is heated and the wax,\nshredded, melted into it. As the mixture cools it is stirred with a\nsplinter of wood. If this is thoroughly done, the resulting mixture will\nbe a whitish jelly. A thin coat of this is applied to the leather,\nespecially around the hinges, and well rubbed in with the palm of the\nhand. Any excess is then wiped off and the book polished with a very soft\nwhite rag. This mixture is best used while still hot, a little being\nsoaked into a woolen cloth, by means of which it is rubbed on the binding.\nIf leather bindings could be given this treatment about once a year their\nlife would be greatly increased.\n\nAfter the leather of the old book to be rebacked has been treated, a cut\nis made down each side of the back, through the leather close to the\nbroken hinge. (Fig. A.) Care should be taken not to cut through the cords\nwhich are set into the boards at this point. If the back is furnished\nwith a leather label in a fair state of preservation, this label should be\ncut around and lifted off to be used again on the new back.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. A]\n\n\nAll the leather on the back and over the hinges, up to the cut above\nmentioned, should then be lifted or scraped off. As a majority of old\nbooks are bound with the leather glued directly to the lining of the back,\na certain amount of the old glue, according to its condition, scraped\nsmooth, should be left on the lining.\n\nWhile old calf backs are generally so dry that they must be scraped off in\npieces, it is sometimes possible, when the back is of more solid leather,\nto remove the old back; with the label and gilding, in one piece. If this\ncan be done, the inside of the old back should be scraped and this back\npasted on again over the new leather back. This is, of course, preferable,\nas by this means more of the characteristics of the old cover are\npreserved.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. B]\n\n\nWhen the back is clear of leather, a small cut about half an inch long is\nmade at the top and bottom of each side, at the ends of, and at right\nangles to, the first cut; from the ends of the short cuts, the leather is\nagain cut at right angles over the top and bottom edges of the boards.\n(Fig. B.) As these points, near the top and bottom of the inside hinges,\nthe end-papers pasted on the inside of the boards are lifted for a short\ndistance so that all the old leather under them can be removed.\n\nThe head-bands should then be examined to see that they are firmly in\nplace and any missing band replaced, the new band being simply glued to\nthe back lining.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. C]\n\n\nA sharp, thin knife is then run under the leather of the sides, following\nthe first long cut, loosening this leather from the boards for about half\nan inch back from the cut, this distance equalling the short cuts at top\nand bottom. (Fig. C.)\n\nThe book is now ready for the new back. This is cut from the leather to be\nused, in width equal to the distance over the back and hinges plus a\ntrifle less than half an inch on each side, and in height to project half\nan inch beyond the top and bottom of the book.\n\nThis leather is then pared thin on the inside for about half an inch all\naround the edge. Paring requires careful work and a sharp knife, otherwise\nthe piece may not be pared thin enough to set smoothly, or may be cut\nthrough and ruined.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. D]\n\n\nThe back lining of the book itself, and the inside of the new back, are\nthen given a medium thin coat of paste, and the leather set evenly in\nplace. The side edges of the back are slipped under the leather of the\nsides where this leather was loosened from the boards following the\nfirst, long cut, and pasted directly on the boards. (Fig. D.) By this time\nthe paste on the top and bottom ends of the back will be dry. These are\ngiven another coat of paste, one at a time, and turned under upon\nthemselves, starting in the middle, the corners being carried over the\nedges of the boards and securely pasted down inside where the end papers\nhave been pushed back. The top, beyond the boards, is tucked in behind the\nhead-band. When the top and bottom of the back have been treated in this\nway, they are then flattened with a folder and the edges of the hinges are\nbent in to form the head-cap finish observable on almost any book bound by\nhand in leather. (Fig. E.) The tops of the head-bands may require a slight\ntouch of paste so that the leather turned over upon them will stay in\nplace.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. E]\n\n\nThe inside end papers, where they were lifted at the top and bottom near\nhinges, are then pasted down over the corners of the new back which are\nfolded in at these points, and the leather lifted from the sides is pasted\ndown over the side edges of the new back where these are pasted directly\non the boards. New inside hinges of paper or cloth may be added, if\nrequired; but if these are to go in they are best set in place before the\nnew back is pasted on.\n\nThe new back being in place, it might be given a certain amount of finish.\nIf the book is sewn on outside cords, these will show as raised bands on\nthe back, and the new leather is, of course, moulded over these when it is\nfirst set in place. In such a case, a satisfactory, plain finish can be\nobtained by moulding these bands distinctly. This is done by running the\nedge of the folder in the angle at each side of each band with a see-saw\nmotion. Experiment will show how this may give a smooth, polished line on\neach side of the bands if it is thoroughly done with fair pressure while\nthe leather is still moist from the paste on the inside. Before attempting\nany such operations, however, the outside of the new back must be washed\nentirely free from any spots of paste.\n\nAn additional \"blind\" line may be made at top and bottom across the back,\nby bending over the back a straight piece of vellum to serve as a guide to\nthe folder. A smooth back without bands may be finished with a series of\ndouble or single lines put on in this manner, care being taken that the\nline of the vellum guide is at right angles to the side edges of the back.\n\nThe back of the old label, if this is to be used again, is then scraped\nand the label pasted on in its proper place between bands; or a new label,\nproperly lettered in gilt, may be ordered from a binder.\n\nThe entire work, when almost dry, should be pressed over with a hot\nflat-iron to press down any irregularities, the edges of the cut leather\non the sides, and the top and bottom finish over head-bands. The iron must\nbe well warmed rather than hot. If too hot, it will lift the surface of\nthe leather. The book should then be placed under pressure to dry.\n\nFor the operation of rebacking one needs only a sharp, thin knife, a ruler\nor straight edge, a bone folder and a small flat-iron in the way of tools.\nA small press is desirable, but not necessary. The folder, which may be\npurchased from a dealer in bookbinders' supplies, will be furnished with\nsquare ends; one of these ends should be sawed off on an angle and\nsmoothed with a file to give a pointed end, which will be found very\nuseful. (Fig. F.) The flat-iron should be wedge-shaped, about four inches\nlong, with straight, rounded edges. [Fig. G.] Irons of this kind may be\nfound in toy shops, and will be found extremely useful and easy to handle\nin all small repair operations.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. F]\n\n[Illustration: Fig. G]\n\n\nTo the above tools may be added, if desired, one or two small tooling\nirons of simple design for blind tooling. Such irons are used just hot\nenough to hiss very slightly when touched with a wet cloth, and are\npressed firmly and evenly on the leather for two or three seconds to leave\na good impression.\n\nBooks bound in boards, with cloth or paper backs, may be rebacked with\ncloth, parchment, or even with heavy paper in facsimile of the original\nback. In the latter case, it is advisable to line the back with a strip of\nJapan vellum, which should extend over upon the boards under the new paper\nback. Parchment is often satisfactory and requires no paring, but must be\nhandled carefully when damp from paste, or it will stretch out of shape.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n_REPAIRING OLD BINDINGS_\n\nTRANSLATED FROM BONNARDOT\n\n[Illustration: MODERN LEVANT BINDING]\n\n\nNot having the secret of that special, certain skill which produces\nflexible and artistic bindings, I am obliged to advise amateurs who wish\nto see their books reclad in princely mantles, to apply to our able\nParisian binders. But I can give, from my own experience, some good\nsuggestions to amateurs on the manner of cleaning, repairing and\nfreshening ordinary morocco bindings, and also, under certain conditions,\nthose sumptuous moroccos of the Levant, the mere perfume of which\nfascinates all true-born bibliophiles.\n\nCLEANING THE COVER. It is possible, without being obliged to touch the\nboards of a book, to clean and repair the covering, either entirely or in\nspots. To accomplish this, I know some methods which are simple and\npractical, although, of course, too imperfect to restore to an ancient\nbinding all the brightness and vigor of its youth. A rather mature\nprima-donna may, perhaps, within certain limits, soften the ravages of\ntime; but, when observed closely, the lines on her face cannot be\nconcealed. And this is also the case with the coquettish old bindings of\nwhich I speak.\n\nMorocco or calf which has become soiled by constant handling may be\ncleaned with a fine sponge dipped in a jelly of white soap. If there are\nspots of oil or grease, this soap will not suffice; it will be necessary\nto use black soap, or perhaps a weak solution of some alkali, such as\npotash or ammonia. In using such alkalis, it is best to first try them on\nsome odd pieces of leather of the same color or upon some part of the\nbindings not likely to be noticed, because certain colors in leather are\napt to decompose or change their tint under the action of an alkali. It\nhas been observed that alkalis tend to darken the leather, more or less;\ntherefore, after employing them, a little acidified water must be applied\nto neutralize their effect. Also that morocco should be moistened only\nvery slightly, as, otherwise, the surface grain may be smoothed away.\n\nOne might begin by trying benzine; this liquid will not attack any color\nor, at least, only a color formed principally of fatty or resinous\nsubstances. Benzine does not act like an alkali; it does not saponify the\ngreasy body, but it dissolves it as water dissolves a salt, a gum or\ngelatine. It must be used quickly, as it evaporates much more rapidly than\nammonia, which itself is considered volatile. The latter will mix with\nwater, but benzine combines only with alcohol.\n\nThus benzine, like all other essential oils, operates only as a dissolvent\nand, after having been applied, either pure or mixed with alcohol, upon\nthe book cover, it must be wiped off with a soft cloth before it\nevaporates, so that the particles of grease which it has dissolved, but\nnot decomposed, will not sink again into the leather and later reappear on\nits surface.\n\nThe best method, after having poured some drops of the liquid upon one\nside of the book, is to turn this side toward the ground. In this position\nthe benzine, charged with part of the greasy substance, will run down and\naccumulate upon the lowest edge of the cover, from which it can quickly be\nwiped off with the substances it holds in solution. Perhaps an even better\nmethod of operation may be discovered.\n\nThis manner of employing benzine, alcohol or turpentine as dissolvents for\nthe greasy body is equally applicable for removing oily spots from prints,\nand I recommend it to the reader for experiment. When grease is removed\nwith alkaline water, it is useless to proceed in this manner; the soapy\nsubstance which forms on the leather after rubbing should be removed with\na damp sponge, after which the book should be dried in the air and then\nplaced under pressure.\n\nFresh spots of oil or grease may sometimes be removed by impalpable\npowders of some clay-like nature, absorbent and slightly alkaline.\n\nA spot of ordinary black ink upon morocco, sheepskin, calf or smooth\nparchment, loses its color when touched with a few drops of sorrel salt or\noxalic acid; but I will repeat here the advice already given that these\nsubstances may alter certain colors and that it is best to first try them\non extra pieces of leather. If the tint lightens or changes only slightly,\nthe spot can be retoned and brightened simply with properly mixed\nwater-colors, after having neutralized, with an alkali, the traces of the\nacid.\n\nThe yellowish spot which remains after the black ink has disappeared is\nnot very noticeable upon brown or yellowish skins, but on vellum or\nparchment it is more or less apparent. How can this be removed? For if one\nis obliged to prolong the action of the oxalic acid on the iron oxide\nwhich causes it, this portion of the skin not only loses its gloss, but\nalso becomes subject to a more or less rapid process of dissolution.[10]\n\nWhen the spots are of Chinese ink, old or recent, and have sunk into the\ntexture, as sometimes happens, they resist all known agents.\n\nMost of the old bindings which have been long exposed for sale on the\nparapets of our quays, have been at one moment roasted by an ardent sun\nand at the next distended by a damp atmosphere; they have, therefore,\ncontracted \"skin troubles\" more or less curable according to the duration\nof their ordeal. The gentler regimen of the bookshelves, placed in a room\nwhere the temperature is more nearly uniform, sometimes suffices to\nrestore their warped covers; but when the surface of the leather has\nfallen off in scales, carrying away the gold tooling, it is better, if\nthey are worthy of it, to deliver them to the binder for new covers; that\nis, of course, when the paper, the essential organ of their existence, is\nnot musty beyond recovery. If the paper is in bad shape, the book is lost\nor, at least, is beyond giving pleasure to a bibliophile; it resembles a\nvery old man attacked by an incurable disease; it is useful only for\nreference.\n\nSome books, placed in less rude conditions, have only the skin stripped\nhere and there by contact with rougher neighbors trimmed with nails or\nclasps, with hard boards or with wicker-work, but movement against these\nobjects might ruin an entire library in a single day. The library of the\nLouvre, it might be mentioned, was being moved last spring to a new\nlocation, by means of these wicker baskets so formidable despite the\nstraw or oakum with which they were lined. Some of my own books have\npassed several times through this fatal ordeal and have suffered greatly\nfrom it. Now when I change my residence I use, with rather tardy\nprecaution, well-planed boxes.\n\nBooks slightly roughened, their bloom destroyed simply by friction, may be\nfreshened and restored to an aspect of health to conceal, up to a certain\npoint, the wear of their old coverings. With an old glove one may spread\nover their surface a little flour paste or fairly thick starch to which a\nlittle alum might be added. This is smeared quickly over the back, sides\nand edges of the boards, and the surplus wiped off with a soft cloth. This\ncarries away any dust which may have been deposited and also soilings\nwhich soften in the moisture.[11]\n\nAfter this operation, there will remain on the volume a thin coating of\ngelatine or of gluten (the viscous part of the starch). Before this has\nentirely dried, it should be thoroughly wiped over with the palm of the\nhand. Any scraped portions of the leather will have a dull appearance and\nwill sometimes show darker than other parts of the cover. The edges of\nstripped or broken spots may be refastened to the cover by means of the\nstarch sizing. The corners which, nearly always, will be found worn or\nbent, may be straightened and strengthened. In a word, if the cover cannot\nbe restored to pass as new, it may at least be rendered more presentable\nand made to contrast more favorably with other books it may meet upon the\nshelf.\n\nAfter a washing with starch, as after cleaning with alkalis, it often\nhappens that the covers of a book are dulled. Their polish, where the\nbloom has not been worn away, can be restored by rubbing with a piece of\nflannel moistened with a few drops of very siccative varnish (purchased\nfrom art dealers or dealers in bookbinders' materials).\n\nMost amateurs and binders know this inexpensive way of restoring a certain\nlustre to faded and erupted, if one may use that expression, bindings. If\nI have spoken rather in detail, it is for the sake of amateurs still\ninexperienced or living in a small, provincial town. As these latter\nprobably would not know where to procure varnish, I offer the recipe of M.\nF. Mairet, which indicates the proportions for a large quantity but which\nmay be divided by ten. In the thirty-ninth part of his \"Essay Upon\nBinding\" he says: Dissolve eight ounces of sandarach (resin), two ounces\nof mastic in drops, eight ounces of gum-lac in tablets and two ounces of\nVenetian turpentine, in three litres (quarts) of spirits of wine at a\ntemperature of thirty-six to forty degrees.[12] Crush the gums and, to\ncompletely dissolve them, place the bottle which contains them in the\nwine, in hot water, shaking it from time to time. This varnish can be\npreserved in the bottle in which it is made, keeping the bottle tightly\ncorked. When one wishes to use the varnish, the bottle should not be\nshaken because of the deposit which forms.\n\nI will here make a recommendation analogous to that of M. Le Normand; it\nis desirable to place the glass bottle in a basin containing warm water\nbefore placing it in the very hot water, as otherwise it may break. Also,\ninstead of shaking the bottle, the contents may be stirred with a glass\nrod.\n\nThis is how M. Mairet describes the use of his varnish; with a very soft\nbrush, the varnish is spread over the covers of the book without putting\nit on the gilding. When it is nearly dry, it is polished with a piece of\nwhite cloth slightly moistened with olive oil. It should first be rubbed\ngently, then with more force as the varnish dries. For complete success it\nis essential that the covers be perfectly dry[13] and without the\nslightest dampness.\n\nInstead of using this varnish, one may give a fair polish which, however,\nis not so enduring, by coating with the liquid known as \"glaire.\" This is\nmade from the white of an egg beaten up with a little water and\nalcohol.[14] One might also try a glaze made with hide glue or\ngum-arabic.\n\nThe lustre of white vellum or of calf, when they have not been badly\nrubbed by use, may be restored by rubbing with an agate burnisher, a\npolished bone or a curved iron slightly warmed. Sometimes, before\npolishing, according to M. Le Normand, the covers should be rubbed with\nflannel holding a little tallow or walnut oil.[15] Great care should be\ntaken in polishing morocco, whether genuine or imitation, in order that\nthe grain which contributes so much to its beauty may not be rubbed away.\nThe surface of sheep also, which is a very delicate leather, is easily\nstripped. To polish leathers such as these, binders' varnish or, at least,\nthe glaire mentioned above, should be used.\n\nREPAIRING HOLES AND BROKEN SURFACES. We will now consider any serious\nwounds which go deeper than the surface of the leather. One often sees\ncovers of calf, sheep or morocco deeply stripped or even pierced like the\ncoats of Diogenes and Ruy-Blas; the back, the sides and corners,\nespecially the lower ones, broken away even to the point of exposing the\nboards. This is a state of cynicism which calls for some remedy; the\nsimple smearing on of starch is powerless to heal such damages.\n\nIt is often possible to restore missing fragments by means of new pieces\nof the same kind and tint of leather. I will assume that the amateur\npossesses a collection of odd scraps of morocco, brown calf, old vellum,\netc., removed with more or less right from books whose pages have been\nunfortunately ruined, to be devoted to more humiliating uses. These should\nbe searched for a suitable piece; sometimes this is found. The essential\npoint is to match the grain of the leather. When the tint is too light, it\ncan easily be darkened with water-colors; when it is too dark, one must\nsearch further. One may, however, lighten a little piece of calf which is\ntoo dark by means of very weak acid.\n\nSuppose the desired patch found. The hole or broken place in the cover is\ncleaned and the edge cut sharp to prevent further tearing, and in this is\nset a piece from the patch, cut exactly to fit. If the amateur has not\ntime to do this careful mosaic patching, he may, with a small, thin blade,\nraise the edges of the leather about the hole and, applying paste or glue\ndirectly to the board, slip in a patch piece which has been roughly cut a\nlittle larger than the hole and pared thin around the edges. The edges of\nthe hole should then be moistened with paste and firmly pressed down into\nplace over the patch. A patch made in this way is less agreeable to the\neye than when made by the first process, for by this latter method there\nalways remains a sort of raised pad which accents the form of the hole.\n\nLet us consider now the repair of bruises, more or less deep, caused by\nrough contact with some hard, sharp or rough body.\n\nWhen the stripped parts are still hanging to the cover, they should be\nstraightened out and pressed back into place after being given a light\ncoat of thick starch paste. But if the stripped parts corresponding to the\nbruise are missing, how shall the furrow, which reveals a spongy\nappearance, be brought up level with the surface of the cover? With a\ncorresponding patch inserted in the fissure? This is an operation, I\nthink, very difficult to carry out, and it is simpler to cut the furrow\ninto a definite hole if one wishes to proceed in this way. Let us try and\nimagine some kind of putty for such repairs.\n\nI do not wish to write hastily of any method of procedure for the\nfabrication of bruised leather, but it seems to me that a paste or putty\nformed of powdered or shredded leather, boiled with a little flour paste,\nwould answer our purpose. With this one could fill up the furrow and then,\nwhen the paste has dried, scrape off the excess surface and burnish the\ndried inlay. This method should answer very well, but there is still\nanother which I have tried, although it is not so delicate. I employed\nflour paste mixed simply with Spanish white.[16] With this, I puttied up\nmy book like a picture in process of being retouched. I even succeeded,\nwith this paste, in imitating the grain of the morocco. I tinted the\npatches by applying color mixed with gum. But this sort of repair is only\napplicable to parts of the cover away from the edges; in the neighborhood\nof the hinges, this unelastic paste will break loose or, at least, render\nthe book difficult to open.\n\nI experimented also with gutta-percha. This brownish substance has the\nproperty, at a certain temperature (towards seventy degrees)[17] of\nmelting and adhering to the leather and, on cooling, recovers its natural,\nsemi-elastic state. But after having been melted at a fire or, if the\nseason is right, by sunlight through a lens, it turns brown and will not\nharmonize in tint except with very dark calf, and I have found no method\nof lightening it.\n\nWe will now speak of repairing and patching the cover in those parts which\nserve as hinges. This is an operation practicable only when a substance\nvery thin and supple can be found. I have succeeded in restoring this part\nof a book by using a strip of gold-beaters skin, slipped between the back\nand the side and fastened, on one part, to the edge of the side and, on\nthe other, to the boards lining the back. I then gave to this skin a tint\ncorresponding to that of the cover. The break remained visible; I only\nreconnected the parts so that the book could be opened and closed.[18]\n\nWould one succeed better by using a thin piece of rubber? I have never\ntried this, but this substance, I believe, could not be obtained in very\nthin sheets except by being considerably stretched, a process which would\nsoon destroy the elasticity which is its essential quality. Perhaps the\nbroken hinges of a dark calf book could be joined without great difficulty\nby means of the liquefied gutta-percha mentioned above.\n\nI have sometimes repaired the corners of a volume with more or less\nsuccess. In cases where the damage was slight, after having loosened the\npaper on the inside of the cover at the corner, either with, or without,\nmoistening it, I pushed back the damaged skin for a short distance, then\nglued upon the board over the corner a fragment of leather of the same\nkind and tint, pared thin, then pressed down the rough edges and fashioned\nthe new corner by moistening the leather. Then, having replaced the broken\nedges of the original leather, I recolored the patch to an exact\nmatch.[19]\n\nWhen the leather at the corner is entirely dilapidated an entirely new\ncorner of triangular form should be supplied, pasted down level with the\nleather on the cover, which has been cut away smoothly where the new\ncorner is joined on. If the corner of the board is itself tattered, it can\nbe stiffened by the use of paste or glue, thoroughly soaked in and left to\ndry. A little Spanish white might be added to the paste to give it more\nsolidity.\n\nBut when the angle of the corner is entirely rounded, weakened and\ndemolished by use, it should be renewed by incorporating an entirely new\ncorner on the board. To fasten this securely, the edge of the board should\nbe cut across at an angle of forty-five degrees, then split, and the upper\nhalf cut away for a short distance back. The new triangular piece for the\ncorner is also notched underneath to correspond so that the two patches\nwill superimpose and exactly fit. Here one makes use of strong paste or\nglue. This operation is not difficult but it requires time and patience,\nfor a considerable amount of leather must be raised from the board and\nthen replaced. If one is not endowed with patience, it is better to turn\nthis work over to a binder, otherwise one will work to no purpose and will\ndamage his book instead of restoring it.\n\nREPAIRING EDGES. To remove a spot of ink or color from the edges of a\nbook, the substance described for similar operations on pages or prints\nmay be used. However, there is this distinction; here one is not concerned\nwith the surface of a single sheet but with a great many page-edges one\nafter another. If the edges to be cleaned are not placed under pressure,\nthe liquids, penetrating between them, will stain the pages themselves.\nIf, however, the ink itself has thus spread into the pages, it might be\ndesirable to send the dissolving liquid over the same route. In this case,\nit will be necessary to efface from each page the moisture following the\napplication of the remedy, and this requires careful work.\n\nIf, on the contrary, the spot soils merely the surface of the edges, the\nvolume should be placed under pressure in such a position that the edges\nto be cleaned stand vertical; then, with a small brush, the necessary\nliquid may be applied. The spot removed (supposing that it is of a nature\nwhich may be decomposed) it is necessary, in some cases, to restore the\ngeneral tint of the edges; this is not a very difficult matter, at least\nwhen they are not marbled. When the edges are gilt, the gold is not\nusually attacked and naturally resists the action of the chemical agents;\nthe ink or other spot can thus be removed without necessitating the\nrestoration of the gold afterward. A spot may sometimes be removed with a\ndampened sponge.[20] Even Chinese ink, a black which will not decompose,\nis often susceptible to this gentle procedure by means of which it may be\nwiped away.\n\nLet us now suppose that the edges are free from spots but that they are\nfaded, and partly discolored. It is easy enough to brighten the colors if\nthey are not too complicated; I will add; and provided the pages are not\nunequal, with some advanced and some drawn back, destroying the general\nlevel, for, in this case, it is necessary to begin by repairing the back\nwithout separating the volume; an almost impossible operation.[21] The\ncolor brightened, it may be repolished with an agate burnisher while the\nedges are held closely pressed together. If edges, not colored, but gilt,\nhave been damaged here and there by use, perfect restoration is\nimpracticable. A new patch of gold applied over the worn spot contrasts in\nfreshness and polish with the rest of the surface and, at the points\nwhere it necessarily overlaps the perfect parts, the excess gold remains\nnoticeable. Undoubtedly, the best procedure is to have the whole surface\nregilded by a professional gilder.\n\nIf one has gone to the trouble of brightening the edges, one may desire to\ncomplete the restoration by renewing the head-bands. I have never had\npatience enough to make a head-band, a kind of needle-work which belongs\nparticularly to the bookbinders' trade. The amateur should have recourse\nto a binder for this or, if he wishes to attempt the work himself, consult\nany of the books published on binding.\n\nRESTORING THE GILDING.[22] It is sometimes necessary to brighten, patch\nand partially replace the gilt ornaments of a precious book. In cleaning a\nbook, as I have described above, with soap-jelly or starch paste, the gold\nis not affected if the operation is carried out according to directions;\non the contrary, one lifts from the gold the deposit of dirt which deadens\nits brilliancy. But if it has been, at some points, destroyed by the\nbreaks in the leather, it is necessary, in order to restore the gold, to\nrefinish the leather at the broken point. Here a considerable difficulty\npresents itself, and it is necessary to find a filler which will serve as\na base. Gutta-percha will not answer at such points, except for cold\ngilding, as the application of a warm gilding iron would liquefy it. The\nonly satisfactory solution is to inlay with leather.\n\nI have sometimes succeeded in restoring missing spots of gilding by the\nsimple employment of gilt paint, laid with a fine brush upon the properly\nprepared patch, imitating carefully each missing part of the\nornamentation. This kind of joining, however, lacks brilliance and\nsolidity; wiping with a damp sponge is sufficient to effect it; but it may\nbe given a little more permanency by a coat of binders' varnish.\n\nI can suggest a less imperfect method of procedure. Where there are thin\nlines or figures such as circles to join, the amateur can do this with\nhome-made tools. Such tools may be made of small brass wire, some straight\nedges and others curved like gouges.[23] He should also have small dots of\nvarious sizes, circular or oval in profile. With these simple elements,\nmost line designs may be patched. The ground properly prepared, the warm\niron tool to be used is applied upon fragments of gold-leaf. The iron\nshould be a little hotter than boiling water; otherwise it will not fix\nthe gold in place. If too hot, it will burn the leather. Gilders test the\nheat of an iron by touching it with a wet finger, and are able to tell, by\nthe sizzle and amount of vapor given off, whether the degree of heat is\nright. A more simple method, for the amateur, is to try the iron on a\nfragment of leather.[24] The excess of gold not pressed in by the iron may\nbe wiped off with a fragment of woolen cloth.\n\nIf it is necessary to restore a complicated ornament upon an ancient and\nvery precious binding, special irons must be cut, using the tooling still\nin place as a guide. With patience and skill, one may fashion these for\nhimself. The required ornamentation is traced from another spot where it\nis still intact on the binding, with a brush holding resin varnish or wax.\nThis tracing, which naturally leaves an imprint in reverse, is applied to\na piece of copper, and the design retouched on the copper with the same\nvarnish or wax.[25] The other faces of the cube or cylinder of copper used\nare coated, and the copper placed in a bath of azotic acid. The acid will\neat the metal not protected as above, leaving the ornament standing out in\nrelief, something after the manner of a stereotype plate. Or, the\nelectro-chemical procedure of stereotyping may be used to the same end.\n\nBy the aid of a form obtained in some such manner as the above, it is\npossible to restore the effaced ornaments, provided that the leather is\nprepared to receive and hold the gold. Let me note in passing that it is\ndifficult for inexperienced amateurs to set gold smoothly; only long\npractice will make this possible. Necessarily, the very thin gold leaf\nalways covers and reaches beyond the spot to be tooled. It is essential\nthat the iron be pressed exactly upon the spot intended to receive it,\nwhich is very difficult to accomplish. Moreover, the gold must be kept\nsmooth and fresh over the entire impression. Perhaps one might substitute\nfor the gold leaf a coat of gold powder spread over the design, which\nshould be coated with albuminous paste (glaire) to hold the powder.\n\nOne sometimes wishes, also, to rectify a defective title or erroneous date\non the binding. The simplest method is to stamp the desired lettering or\ndate on an odd bit of leather, which is then applied to the book. The\namateur may do this himself if he has the necessary letter, a form to\nhold them, and a certain amount of skill.\n\nSuppose a case where, in a title anciently gilt and which one wishes to\npreserve, there is a single letter or a single character to change. It is\nfirst necessary to efface the letter or character to be replaced. To do\nthis, it is touched with a drop of alcohol; on wiping it, the varnish\nwhich may have covered the gold is removed. If the gold resists thorough\nrubbing, chemical compositions may be tried. I would not advise, however,\nthe use of aqua-regia, the infallible dissolvent of gold, because it would\ndisorganize the leather. I think that a drop of mercury, applied hot upon\na letter by means of an iron or sunrays through a lens, would absorb and\namalgamate the metallic particles. In any case, there would still remain a\nmoulded impression which might be removed, I think, by swelling the\nleather at that spot by means of a jet of steam applied through a very\nnarrow glass tube.[26]\n\nThe impression effaced, or at least reduced, one may proceed to replace\nthe corrected letter. For this, a letter or figure matching the others in\nsize and character must be secured. Sometimes it is necessary for the\namateur to make this himself. This can be done by securing a fragment of\nrolled copper and, with the aid of small pincers, fashioning the profile\nof the desired letter on its edge. The thickness of the metal would form\nthe thickness of the letter's face; strokes required slender may be pared\nwith a knife. With a little care and skill, the desired character may be\nproduced. The bit of metal is then set in a handle of plaster or clay,\nwhich is allowed to dry and harden.\n\nTRANSFERRING ANCIENT COVERS. Is it possible to transfer the covers of\nworks richly bound, but valueless inside, to the boards of other books\nmore precious in their text and more deserving of the transferred binding?\nSome of our binders have replied in the affirmative.\n\nMany a volume has retained virginal the splendour of its original binding\nsimply because the text has been tiresome and insipid. In this class\nappear certain volumes of indigestible theology, \"Sacred works and not to\nbe touched,\" as Voltaire remarked, and those odes of court-flattery,\ninsipidly rhymed in doggerel, in aristocratic liveries, addressed to high\npersonages who paid for them but who never read them. From books of such\nsorts, one may, without remorse, lift the precious coverings. However, to\nmake use of them, it is necessary that all their dimensions correspond\nwith the new volumes on which it is proposed to place them. The old books\nin good condition are easily despoiled when there is no need to be\ncareful of the cording, the fly leaves or the boards. The process\nrequiring the most time is that of scraping away the dry paste which\nadheres here and there to the inside of the leather after its removal. I\nhave re-covered more than one quarto in covers of gold tooled vellum\nlifted from books of the same format. When the back was too narrow or too\nwide, I replaced this part, but then the cover was formed of three pieces.\nWhen the back was of the right width, I effaced the old title, generally\nlettered in ink, by means of sorrel-salt, and inscribed the new title in\nthe same place but with Chinese ink. Where the old title happened to be\ngilt, I covered it with a new piece of skin, finding it too laborious to\nefface all the letters by the process mentioned above.\n\nLet us suppose it is necessary to replace upon a rare volume, changing\nonly the boards, the old contemporary binding which covered it. If the\nskin is worn on the edges and corners and at the hinges, removing it\nwithout injury from the old boards is a very delicate operation. However,\nit may be done, even without moistening the leather, by using the skill\nand patience which both come from practice. Our binders, in cases where\nexpense has not been in consideration, have executed more than one feat of\nthis kind. Only, nearly always, they are obliged to renew the parts\ninjured by use and the end papers. They apply, here and there, to the new\nboards bits of leather matching the tint of the old, reset the preserved\ncover, still charged with the rich ornaments which constitute its value\nand, upon the portions renewed, restore the gilding after the model of\nthat which they have before them. More than one binder has succeeded, with\ngreat skill, in placing upon a new foundation the splendid cover of a very\nrare book without being obliged to go to the regrettable extreme of a\nsecond sewing and trimming. It is even possible, with the exercise of\ngreat care, to clean the sheets, one by one, and repair the torn and\nmissing places, without separating the book; but one can see that such\nrestorations are a matter of expense and not suitable except for books of\nconsiderable value. I believe that there exist in Paris binders of\nsufficient skill to replace a cover \"in octavo,\" transposing it without\ninjury to the volume and without leaving the least trace of this difficult\noperation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n_REBINDING_\n\n[Illustration: SOLANDER SLIP-CASE]\n\n\nIn Chapter Thirteen of his _Essai_, Bonnardot remarks:\n\n\"When one sees upon the table in a public shop, a rare book roughly sewn,\nignobly deteriorated and, especially, badly cut down, either too much or\nunevenly, one may believe that it has passed, at some period, through the\nhands of a provincial bookbinder or of one of our Parisian binders of the\nlower order, who consider it proper to wrap up a typographical monument of\nthe Louis XII period in a way to strike off about nineteen-twentieths of\nits value.\n\n\"I know of no species of vandals worse, more primitive or more\nirresponsible than these botchers. But one can see how they are sometimes\nimpelled, in spite of a natural taste, to commit these ravages. After\nconsiderable discussion, a person may offer them about 75 centimes\n($0.15), more or less, for a piece of work which, if done with care,\nshould well be worth eight or ten times that amount. The natural and\ninevitable punishment caused by this penny-pinching, is the almost total\ndepreciation of a book placed in the care of an easy-going bibliophile\nwho, with a light heart condemns his old friend to a binding limited in\nprice to 75 centimes.\n\n\"The provincial bookbinder whose work, with its dirty, warped boards,\nsimpers under a covering of sheep still hairy and spotted with patches of\nink, is in much the same class as a cheap glazer and gilder to whom an\namateur iconophile might naively send for restoration a rare Albert Durer;\nand both these similar to an architect who, with blind decision, would be\nsent to mutilate the flanks of some majestic cathedral. This redoubtable\ntrio, born enemies of souvenirs engraved in stone or upon paper, botch and\ndestroy, although perhaps without malice, at least three-fourths of\nanything on which they operate. May these tardy remarks still save\nsomething from the ruins!\n\n\"The most irremediable of the crimes which can be committed in rebinding a\nsmall, old book, is the trimming of margins. The simple matter of a\ncentime's economy in the size of the boards, may direct the trimming of\nsome charming gothic quarto up to the very text. One may thrice exclaim\nwith joy when the text itself has not been cropped. Those who partly\nrealize, or divine by instinct, that margins are good for something,\nsometimes take pains to preserve them, but trim them with an inequality so\nshocking that the victim has only escaped Charybdis in order to fall upon\nScylla. Undoubtedly, the greatest merit of a rare book is to have\nuntrimmed margins or, at least, margins trimmed only slightly and evenly.\nBut to obtain evenness, it is not proper to cut huge slices in order to\nsquare the edges; such zeal for symmetry easily might result in cutting\ninto the text. The best method for squaring a book which was unevenly cut\nwhen previously bound, is to refold and equalize each sheet before any\nfurther trimming is done; a long and detailed operation for which one\npays, not in centimes but in francs.\"\n\nBonnardot goes on from the above, very pointed remarks, to describe\nvarious operations of rebinding, with an idea of assisting bibliophiles\nwho are too far from the centres of civilization to get in touch with a\ngood binder. For detailed information along these lines, which hardly come\nwithin the scope of the present volume, books written especially on the\nsubject of binding should be consulted.\n\nIt is very difficult to execute a satisfactory binding without going\nthrough a long period of practice and apprenticeship. And this work not\nonly includes several long and dreary operations, such as sewing, which\nthe average bibliophile would not have the time or patience to undertake,\nbut also requires a number of bulky tools and presses, out of place except\nin a shop or work-room. Any book in serious need of rebinding is better\nplaced in the hands of an experienced binder, preferably one who\nspecializes in individual bindings. With the book, written directions may\nbe sent, when distance renders personal consultation impossible.\n\nAs nine-tenths of all binders, even today, still practice many careless\nmethods against which bibliophiles have protested for centuries, it is\ndesirable, in any case, both as a precaution and as a practical help and\nreminder to the binder, to furnish, with each book to be bound, complete\nwritten instructions for the work. With the written directions, a sketch\nof the book may be furnished, giving details of the design of tooling\nwanted, except in cases where it is known that this matter may safely be\nleft to the good taste of the binder. If many books are sent to the same\nbinder, however, suggestions on finish and tooling may very well be made.\nSometimes these may prove of interest to the binder himself. The reason\nfor such suggestions is that nearly every binder has certain set personal\nconventions, especially in the matter of tooling construction, causing, in\nall his bindings, a certain uniformity of design. Although this may be\nvaried by the different selection of the actual tools used and the colors\nof the leather, it becomes monotonous in its general construction and\ndamages the visible personality of the individual volumes.\n\nA form of direction sheet, which will, of course, vary with varying\nrequirements, follows.\n\n     TITLE. In gilt on back.\n\n            THE\n          ENEMIES\n            OF\n           BOOKS\n           ----\n          William\n          Blades\n\n     DATE. In gilt at bottom of back. 1880\n\n     COVER. Full, dark brown pebbled morocco, best quality Turkey. Full\n     grain, not crushed.\n\n     TOP. Gilt top. Please trim as little as possible.\n\n     EDGES. Do not trim or cut bottom or fore edges.[27]\n\n     TOOLING. Gilt line borders on sides near edges, with corner\n     ornaments; use geometrical design ornaments if you have them, rather\n     than flowers. Panels on back.\n\n     SEWING. Sew flexible on flat bands with leather back glued direct to\n     the lining of signatures. Please do not saw into backs of signatures\n     for bands or cords.[28]\n\n     END PAPERS. Plain light brown or white.[29]\n\n     SPECIAL. Be sure and place clean sheets of paper over the etched\n     illustrations whenever the book is in press. The original wrappers\n     now on are considerably torn and are very brittle. Please mount these\n     as well as you can, on thin, strong paper, and bind them in at the\n     back.\n\nThe price for this work may be agreed on beforehand, but it is better left\nto the binder, in order that he will not feel cramped, should the\nnecessity of a little unforeseen work develop. Whatever their other\nfailings may be, binders are generally honest in such matters and are not\nlikely to overcharge, especially on average work.\n\nThis may be a good place to remark, perhaps needlessly, that valuable\nbooks, particularly first editions, should always be retained in their\noriginal covers, whether cloth, boards or leather, whenever this is at all\npracticable. Ancient books in their original calf or sheep, but with\nbroken backs or hinges, and requiring attention for their proper\npreservation, should be rebacked rather than rebound.\n\nThe reasons for this are numerous. Principally, the fact that a book is\nstill in its original binding is a fair guarantee that it has not been\ntrimmed since it originally left the binder's hands. It often happens,\nalso, that books containing rare plates have the plates foxed or otherwise\ndamaged, and it is sometimes possible, in rebinding such books, to\nsubstitute for the injured plates other perfect ones, in exact facsimile,\nfrom some later edition of the same book. Suspicion of this, or of other\ntampering, can generally be avoided when such books appear still in the\noriginal binding.\n\nThere is, moreover, a sentimental attraction in early issues of books in\ntheir original state, since, in most cases, they thus appear as they\nformerly did to their author, perhaps even in some special color or design\nof binding which he himself selected. Original bindings having a stamped\ndesign possess a more or less individual decoration, perhaps from the hand\nof some well-known artist. Aubrey Beardsley, for instance, prepared a\nnumber of such book decorations; many of the volumes issued in 1894-95 by\nJohn Lane of London, have cover designs by this artist and these,\nespecially when accompanied by a Frontispiece of Title design by the same\nhand, are often equal in interest to the text of the book itself. Of\nspecial interest from the standpoint of originality are the Japanese-like\nfabrics used in binding some of the first editions of books by Lafcadio\nHearn. Whether specially decorated or not, however, the original binding\nis part of the individuality of a book and cannot be removed without\ndestroying a certain part of its interest.\n\nIn the case of valuable books which are, for one reason or another, seldom\nreferred to, or unique or presentation copies, it is a good practice to\nmake slight essential repairs without disturbing the binding and to order,\nfrom an experienced binder, a book-shaped slip-case in which the volume\nmay be preserved in its original covers without being subject to further\nwear or to injury from dust.\n\nA fairly valuable book which must be rebound, should never be bound in\ncalf or sheep, as these leathers, even when of the best quality, are very\nperishable. Sheep bindings, sometimes three hundred years old, may still\nbe occasionally met with in remarkably solid condition. But the secret of\nsuch leather tanning seems to have been lost, and the modern sheep or calf\nbinding cannot be counted on, even under the most favorable conditions,\nfor more than one-tenth that length of time. In certain climates,\nparchment or vellum makes a durable binding which, with age, acquires a\nbeautiful, ivory-like surface tone; but these skins will warp the boards\nunless the book is kept closely set in on the shelf. Turkey morocco is\ndurable when well tanned, as it usually is. The best leather, for\nappearance and endurance, and also the most expensive, is red levant\nmorocco. For efficiency and richness, although this is a matter on which\ntastes vary, it is best left \"uncrushed\" or, at least, only lightly\npressed.\n\nThe best moroccos are those tanned entirely \"acid-free,\" or as nearly so\nas possible. \"Niger\" morocco, native tanned on the banks of the Niger\nRiver in Africa, and imported into England, is an acid-free leather used\nfor expensive bindings. This leather is rather hard to secure, but its\ndesirability is indicated by the fact that it is the only leather on which\nthe severe tests described in the Report of the Committee on Leather for\nBookbindings, elsewhere mentioned, had no effect.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n_THE BOOK SHELVES_\n\n[Illustration: LEATHER SLIP-COVERS]\n\n\nOpen shelves undoubtedly form the ideal resting place for books, since\nthey are not only convenient for access, but also allow a free circulation\nof air around the volumes. They are, however, often impracticable as\naffording insufficient protection against dust and dirt, especially in\ncities, where closed cases are very necessary. No case with movable doors\nis absolutely dust-proof, but some types very closely approach this\ndesirable state.\n\nClosed cases are, of course, to be preferred with glass doors to reveal a\nglimpse of the treasures within. They should be set a few inches away from\nthe wall, to permit a free circulation of air around them, and should\nnever be so placed that the books are exposed to direct sunlight or a\nstrong glare, as this will fade or discolor the bindings, particularly\ngreen leather, which is very apt to turn brown. The room in which cases\nare placed should be free from damp, and the windows should be kept closed\nat night. If the windows admit an excess of sunlight or glare, they are\nbest furnished with yellowish or olive-green glass, which will neutralize\nany harmful effects of the light on the books. Such colored glass, if\n\"leaded,\" may be made a very attractive addition to the appearance of the\nroom. Red glass verging toward the orange is equally effective, but less\nadaptable to the purpose.\n\nA full description of the effects of light on various kinds and colors of\nleathers will be found in the Report of the Committee on Leather for\nBookbindings, London, Bell, 1905. This report also gives the following\nsuggestion for a preservative finish to be used on leather bindings: \"Boil\neight parts of stearic acid and one part of caustic soda in fifty parts of\nwater, until dissolved. Then add one hundred and fifty parts of cold water\nand stir until the substance sets into a jelly. Apply this jelly thinly\nwith a sponge or rag and, when it has dried, polish the leather with a\nsoft flannel. If a white film rises to the surface of the leather this can\nbe wiped away with a damp cloth and the leather repolished.\" A fair supply\nof this mixture, suitable for small library purposes, can be made by\nboiling half an ounce (by weight) of the stearic acid, and one-sixteenth\nof an ounce (by weight) of the caustic soda, in three liquid ounces of\nwater and then adding nine liquid ounces of cold water. It is best to stir\nthe mixture gently while cooling; the entire process of preparation will\ntake only a few minutes. If kept for more than a week or two, this\nmixture may become mouldy. It is better to prepare it only when it can be\nused on a number of books at once.\n\nBooks in closed cases should be removed and thoroughly dusted at least\nonce a year, the tops especially being carefully wiped clean, if gilt, or\nbrushed, if uncut, in either case while holding the book tightly closed.\nThey should be aired at the same time, particularly those not in frequent\nuse. For this airing and cleaning a warm, sunny day should be selected\nand, whenever possible, on such days the cases should be opened; books,\nlike people, are healthier when well supplied with good, fresh air.\n\nBooks on the shelves should set in firmly among their neighbors, as a\ncertain amount of pressure on the sides is essential to keep the boards\nfrom warping. Care must be taken, however, not to wedge them in too\ntightly; such a cure is worse in its effects than the disease. The usual\nmethod of removing a book from the shelf is to hook a finger into the top\nof the back, or head-cap, and pull. Paper or cloth backs are often torn at\nthe top in this way. It is far preferable to reach in with the hand and\npush the book out from the fore-edge or, at least, to tilt it outward by a\nslight pressure of several fingers on the top beyond the head-band. If the\nshelves are lined with velvet, as elsewhere suggested, it will be\nnecessary to lift the heavier books into place when returning them to the\nshelves; if they are shoved in on the lower edges of the boards the velvet\nwill follow them in.\n\nBooks in delicate bindings or fragile covers may often, with advantage, be\nfitted with slip-covers of silk, cloth, Japan vellum, or even soft, heavy\npaper. These covers are simple and easy to make, but they can be used only\nwhen the condition of the book will permit both boards to bend backward\nwithout injury, while slipping the cover on or off. (Fig. A.) Covers of\nthis kind, made of leather and provided with a label on the back, are\nespecially adaptable to paper-covered books which, for any reason, one may\nwish to preserve in their original wrappers without rebinding.\n\n\n[Illustration: Fig. A]\n\n\nBook-worms are practically unknown in America, but should active traces of\nthese be found in a book the volume should be isolated at once and placed\nin a tight box with cotton well moistened with ether. Several treatments\nof this kind, at intervals of two or three days, will kill any worms or\neggs. Snuff or tobacco, to be renewed at intervals, placed along the back\nof the shelves, is said to discourage worms or other insects. Worm holes\nin old books may sometimes be filled in, if one has time for the\noperation, with a paste obtained by boiling down shreds of paper in\nsizing. The writer has an edition of Homer printed at Basel in 1535, in\nwhich a worm hole varying in size from one-eighth inch in diameter\ndownwards, and extending through nearly one hundred sheets, has been\nfilled in so carefully on each sheet, in this way, that the repair is\nnoticeable only on the closest inspection.\n\nMoths should never be allowed to breed in the cases. Were it not for\nincreasing this danger the shelf lining mentioned above could be made of\nfelt instead of velvet, the former being, otherwise, a more satisfactory\nmaterial for the purpose.\n\nWhile it is only in extremely large collections, where books are left\nundisturbed for years, that worms, moths, dust, and other enemies of books\nobtain enough of a foothold to do any serious damage, the careful\nsupervision of even a small collection may sometimes prove of unexpected\npreventive value and, in any case, the slight extra trouble involved is in\nno sense a wasted effort.\n\nThe collector will also find it convenient to catalogue the books in his\ncases, preferably by means of a card-index system. Cards three by five\ninches usually will be found large enough to hold a fair description. Each\ncard should be headed with the author's name, for convenience in indexing,\nfollowed by the book title, an exact transcript of the title-page or\ncolophon, a description of the illustrations, if any, the size and the\nbinding, and any bibliographical notes of interest. The price paid for the\nbook, written in cipher, and the date purchased, should also be added.\n\nThe matter of correctly noting the size of books for such a catalogue or\nindex is one to which the amateur will be obliged to give a certain amount\nof study, and he will find, among bookmen, wide differences of opinion as\nto the proper methods to follow. For all ordinary purposes, the\ndescriptions of folio, where the sheets are folded into two; quarto (4to),\nwhere the sheets are folded into four; eight sizes of octavo (8vo), from\nfcap. to imperial, where the sheets are folded into eight; duodecimo\n(12mo); and sextodecimo (16mo) will be found sufficient. Speaking\ngenerally, a 4to will have a page signature at the foot of every fourth\npage, an 8vo at the foot of every eighth page, a 12mo at the foot of every\nfourth or twelfth page, etc. The old standard for octave sizes (measured\non the edge of the pages, not the boards), which may safely be followed,\nis given in the table below. The sizes will be found to vary somewhat,\nwhere the book has been trimmed or where the paper used has been of an odd\nsize.\n\nTable of Octavo sheets, folded:\n\n  4-1/4\" x  7\"         fcap 8vo\n  5\"     x  7-1/2\"     crown 8vo\n  5-1/2\" x  7-1/2\"     post 8vo\n  5-1/2\" x  8\"         demy 8vo\n  6\"     x  9-1/2\"     8vo\n  6-1/2\" x 10\"         roy 8vo\n  8-1/4\" x 11-1/2\"     imp 8vo\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n_BOOK BUYING_\n\n[Illustration: KELMSCOTT PRESS BOOK]\n\n\nAs by far the greater portion of rare and desirable books to be had in\nAmerica from time to time are sent over from England and the Continent by\ndealers' agents, it follows that the amateur collector in this country\nmust depend largely on dealers for his supply of books. Except at\nauctions, there are comparatively few opportunities of buying at\nfirst-hand, although rare items of American printed books are sometimes\nunearthed and, in the old book stores of the larger cities, bargains are\nnot uncommon. These latter, however, are usually limited, at best, to\npicking up some good first edition of a modern author, worth, perhaps,\nfive dollars, and carelessly marked, with numbers of other books, at about\ntwenty-five cents. Better fortune sometimes attends. For example, one may\nsometimes find a really rare and valuable book which, in dim but\ninadequate realization of its value, has been marked higher than its\nneighbors--perhaps up to about one-tenth of its real value. Such an\nincident, however, is among the exceptions. In any case, the stories of\nwonderful finds in years past, along the quays of Paris or in the stalls\nof London are, for the American at least, almost like romances which could\nnever come true.\n\nIn buying from dealers, especially those who specialize in rare books, it\nis often, unfortunately, necessary that the bibliophile of moderate means,\nto whom these pages are particularly addressed, is obliged to pause before\nthe price of some much desired volume. His buying problems are much more\ncomplex than those of his wealthy fellow-collector, to whom price is\nlittle object, since he must not only hunt out the volumes he wants, but\nalso copies priced reasonably to be within his reach. Blessed, indeed, is\nthe willing self-denial which produces the ransom of a good book, at the\nexpense of the ephemeral luxuries of life! But under such conditions it is\nessential that the amateur have a fairly complete knowledge of the value\nof books, particularly along his own special lines, in order that he may\nnot be driven to unnecessary hardships through paying unjustly high prices\nfor his treasures.\n\nWhile the prices of books vary greatly, according to condition and\nbinding, they also vary to an astonishing extent with various dealers. The\nprices marked by some dealers are often high for certain kinds of books\nand low for others. Bargains often may be secured from the dealer who\nmarks his books, not according to their present market value, but\naccording to the price he himself paid for them, since it follows,\nnaturally, that a bargain for him is a bargain for his customer.\nInformation of this kind, in respect to particular dealers, is very\nvaluable to the amateur who visits their shops, but he often gains it only\nafter considerable experience.\n\nCautious buying, so often sneered at, is, nevertheless, essential, and the\namateur bibliophile owes to himself not only complete information as to\nthe \"right\" editions of books, but also a thoroughly developed knowledge\nand judgment which will enable him to value books with fair accuracy. He\nmust realize that in many cases the dealer is wily and seductive;\nmoreover, his wares plead for themselves to trouble the heart of the\nhesitating purchaser. He also must develop a certain amount of guile, and\nmust be able to harden his heart, if necessary, against all appeal. This\nis one of the most difficult of all things to do, and is the triumph of\nknowledge over ingenuousness and of reason over bibliomania.\n\nTo the collector of moderate means, even though his library be small, his\nbooks represent a certain form of investment, fairly secured. It has been\npointed out by Mr. J. H. Slater, editor of the English \"Book Prices\nCurrent,\" that books bought as an investment are not really so, because to\nbe a good investment they would have constantly to increase in value to\nequal the income from the purchase price, had it been invested in another\nway. This increase in value, however, often actually takes place, and in\na fair sized collection of books, judiciously gathered, the abnormal\nincrease in the value of some volumes will help to balance the\nsluggishness or depreciation of others. The bibliophile, however, may well\nrest content, and consider himself well repaid for his efforts to buy\ncarefully, if the value of his collection as a whole remains equal to the\nsum total of his expenditures, and he may accept the pleasures of\npossessing and reading the volumes in lieu of interest on the investment.\n\nTo get a general idea of the run of prices, the collector should obtain as\nmany priced dealers' catalogues as possible and study these carefully, in\nmaking comparisons noticing any description of condition or binding which\nmight account for a difference in price between two copies of the same\nwork catalogued by different dealers. He should also study the volumes of\n\"Book Prices Current,\" both the English and American editions, which are\nissued each year to subscribers and may be found at almost any large\npublic library. These books, for each year, give the prices realized at\nauction during the year before, for all books which brought over three\ndollars. These prices, however, must be considered with caution, as they\ndo not always represent true values, particularly in reference to sales in\nGreat Britain, where the operation of dealer's \"knockout\" cliques,\nconspiring to keep prices low, except on items where collectors bid\ndirect, has been the cause of much scandal.\n\nAdvance catalogues of books to be sold at auction will be mailed by the\nauction houses, on request. At auctions free from suspicion of unfairness,\nthe amateur will often find it to his advantage to buy, since he generally\nhas a certain amount of advantage over the dealer, not being obliged to\nbuy books so low that he may sell again at a good profit. He need\nanticipate little difficulty in competition over books of moderate value,\nprovided he has taken the trouble thoroughly to inform himself as to the\ncorrectness of the edition he proposes to buy and is able intelligently to\ncollate, either before the sale or immediately afterward. With items of\nconsiderable importance, it is sometimes a better plan for several\nreasons, under present auction conditions, to place the bid in the hands\nof a well-known, reliable dealer who will bid in the book for a small\ncommission on the price paid, and who will assume responsibility for the\nbook being correct and perfect as represented in the catalogue.\n\nBooks handsomely and elaborately bound, especially when bearing the\nimprint of some famous binder, generally command prices at auction and\nfrom dealers, rather in excess of their true value. There is always a\nready market for such books among wealthy collectors. A desired book with\nthe pages in good condition, but in a shabby binding, can generally be\nbought, and then equally well bound by a competent binder, at a saving\nunder the price of another copy already resplendent in crushed levant. On\nthe other hand, a book in an elaborately jeweled binding of excessive\nvalue often sells at auction for less than the original cost of the\nbinding. A book bound by such a celebrated binder as Roger Payne will hold\nits value while the binding remains solid, with little dependence on the\ncontents of the book itself.\n\nThese remarks, however, as all remarks about auction prices must be, are\nonly general, for the varying state of supply and demand is often met with\nin extremes in the auction room.\n\nAs the market value of books changes constantly, and depends not only on\nvarying rarity, but also on demand, it is necessary that the collector\nhave some idea as to what constitutes rarity, and the conditions governing\ndemand. For this a considerable amount of study is necessary. It has been\npointed out that rarity itself does not make for value, if there is no\ndemand. An unique copy of a book is necessarily rare, but if no one wants\nit, it will not bring a price in proportion to its scarcity. This is a\nhard rule which one must apply, and a rule often unjust to the books\nthemselves. Yet, while there are many books of great merit slowly\ndisappearing from the world because of neglect, it is also true that the\nbooks most in demand and commanding the highest prices in first or early\neditions are, in the main, books of great intrinsic merit, well known and,\nfor one reason or another, justly famous.\n\nThe bibliophile must judge for himself as best he may, what books indicate\nby their nature and celebrity a permanent value and what books command\nexcessive prices for the moment simply because of inflated interest and\ndemand. Conditions governing market value change in large, general\nmovements, often affecting whole classes of books. As an example, one may\nnote the comparatively high prices paid a century or more ago for early\neditions of the Greek and Latin classics, while treasures of early English\nliterature sold for a few shillings; while at the present time these\nconditions are almost entirely reversed and some almost unique classic\nvolume in extraordinary condition is required to create much of a\nsensation. It may be remarked here, however, that the early classics, the\nfoundation of our present language, should have a permanent value, if such\nan attribute can be rightly assigned to any books at all, and it may be\nassumed that almost certainly the day will come when these early and\nimportant works will again be in great demand and will bring prices all\nthe higher because of the scarcity which has accrued to them in the\nmeantime through the loss, in one way or another, of many of the extant\ncopies.\n\nThe greatest care is necessary in purchasing modern editions, especially\nof modern authors, as the number of modern books and editions, whether the\nbooks be good, bad or indifferent--the latter two adjectives usually\napplying, unfortunately--present an extremely complex field from which\nonly great foresight will select books of merit which will be sought after\nseveral generations hence.\n\nThe amateur should also observe with a certain amount of suspicion books\nprinted in very \"limited\" editions, with a view of establishing immediate\nrarity, permitting himself an interest only in those of obvious merit,\nwhere the limited edition is not necessitated by limited demand, and\navoiding those books so printed of which previous editions much in demand\nhave been issued. Privately printed books in limited editions, such as the\nbooks issued by the Villon Society, which include John Payne's important\ntranslations from the French and Italian, and the various issues of the\nKama Shastra Society[30], in which Sir Richard Burton, the gifted\norientalist, was actively interested, being not only first editions and of\nmarked literary merit, but also books fairly certain to be in demand, and\nrare, may generally be considered of sound value and interest. Books from\nfamous private presses, examples of the highest state of typography of\ntheir time, such as the Kelmscott Press books printed by William Morris,\nor books printed by some famous printer, such as John Baskerville, of\nBirmingham, are almost certain to increase substantially in value in the\nlong run over their present-day prices and are, moreover, delightful books\nto have.\n\nTo be properly considered with the general subject of buying, are the\nspecial copies of volumes known as \"association books.\" These are unique\ncopies, connected in some direct way with the author or with some\nprominent personage. Because of the sentimental interest attached, these\nusually command high prices. Included under this heading are presentation\ncopies with inscriptions by the author, the author's own copy of his book,\ngenerally with autograph corrections, and books with autograph annotations\nby some contemporary or later, but equally famous, person or author. There\nis no standard by which to judge the proper value of such special copies\nas they are unique, and such copies may change hands several times at\nclose intervals with a considerably varying but generally increasing\nprice. Copies of this kind are generally held at high ransom by dealers,\nespecially in the \"high rent districts\" of our large cities, and the\namateur bibliophile is wiser to hope merely that, as sometimes happens,\nchance may throw such copies, until that time unrecognized as such, into\nhis hands without extra premium. Dealers, and even collectors, often\nattempt to establish an association value in a book by inserting autograph\nletters or signatures of the author; but such volumes, although thus made\nof considerable interest, obviously cannot properly be considered under\nthis heading.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n_THE GREEK AND LATIN CLASSICS_\n\n[Illustration: BLACK LETTER VIRGIL]\n\n\nThe collections of first and early editions of the Greek and Latin\nclassics in the original which, a century or two ago, formed the backbone\nof nearly all collections of note, have since, as mentioned elsewhere,\nlost much of their interest for the bibliophile. A rare, uncut editio\nprinceps of Homer may still produce from its sale, as in Dibdin's day, \"a\nlittle annuity,\" and perhaps an annuity which would have made Dibdin gasp;\nbut this volume may possibly be considered an exception.\n\nThe present practical neglect of the Greek and Latin languages, except as\ncollege exercises, may in a certain measure be responsible for the modern\nlack of interest in the original classics, since the bibliophile may be\npardoned, in a sense, for not buying books in which his interest is\nlimited to possession and which he is unable to read with any degree of\nsatisfaction.\n\nThe past three hundred years of English literature, however, have produced\na great number of translations from these classics, the best, no doubt,\nbeing made by men of independent income with the ability and leisure to\nturn their hands toward such work. A careful sifting of these\ntranslations, therefore, might very well furnish the bibliophile who is\ninclined toward such reading with a library of classics easily readable in\ngood, accurate translation. The cost of such a collection would be\ncomparatively moderate, and if care were taken in the selection to obtain\nfirst or early editions of the translations recognized as having the best\nliterary qualities, there is little reason to doubt that the collection\nwould have a very positive value. The subject is, perhaps, interesting\nenough to justify a few details.\n\nThe principal stumbling block, and that which renders the ordinary\npublished \"classic\" libraries of doubtful value, is the delicate question\nof expurgation and that of abridgment. Any translation is, at best, a\nsubstitute; but an incomplete one is worse than none at all. There are,\nhowever, a few volumes in which the collector will be interested, which\nwill be obtained, in all their original naÔvete, only with difficulty.\n\nSuppose a nucleus for such a collection were to be assembled. One would,\nof course, begin with Homer. The best translation in prose is by Andrew\nLang and others; the Iliad, 1883; the Odyssey, 1879. The most readable\nverse translation is that by William Cullen Bryant, in four volumes,\nBoston, 1870-1871. This version, unfortunately, gives the Roman form of\nthe names of the Greek gods--a concession to unnecessary corruption--but\nis otherwise very faithful.\n\nAfter Homer, perhaps Plato's Dialogues, of which the best translation is\nthat by B. Jowett, in five volumes, Oxford, 1875, third edition, revised,\n1892. And of Plutarch's Lives, which follows naturally, the translation\ncalled Dryden's, revised by Clough, five volumes, Boston and London, 1859.\nVirgil, from the Latins, would accompany these, and of this, a good\ntranslation is Dryden's also, revised this time by John Carey, in three\nvolumes, London, 1803. A much rarer edition is the \"Aeneidos\" of Thomas\nPhaer, London, 1584, with several reprints, in small black letter.\n\nAs a souvenir of lovely Sicily, we would require, of course, the pastorals\nof Theocritus, of which the best translation is that in prose by Andrew\nLang, London, 1880. In this rendering two passages of about two lines each\nare left untranslated, but the omission is too slight to be serious. The\nsame volume also contains the poems of Bion and Moschus. A good verse\ntranslation is that by C. S. Calverley, Cambridge (England), 1869. With\nTheocritus we must read Sappho, \"the poetess,\" the ancients called her, as\nthey called Homer \"the poet.\" Meleager, in the poem of his \"Garland\" of\nverse, says that he includes \"of Sappho's only a few but all roses.\" And\nso, indeed, are the few precious fragments which have come down to us.\nAll the known fragments of this poetess, even mere references or\nquotations of a word or a phrase from ancient writers, which have\nsurvived, have been gathered by H. T. Wharton, who gives in his little\nvolume called Sappho, the Greek text and a literal translation of each\nfragment, together with various verse translations of interest. The first\nedition of this book appeared in 1885, the third and definite edition in\n1895. Both were published in London; the former by David Stott, the latter\nby John Lane.\n\nOf Anacreon's lyrics, only a few fragments remain. The Anacreontea were\ntranslated by Thomas Stanley, London, 1651; reprinted by Lawrence and\nBullen, London, 1893. The reprint may be had on Japan vellum and on\nvellum.\n\nOf the Greek Anthology, the famous collection of Greek epigrams composed\nbetween about B. C. 450 and A. D. 550, there are many volumes of\ntranslated \"selections.\" The best and most poetic, although the rendering\nis in prose, is that by J. W. Mackail, London, 1890, revised 1906 and\n1911. The greater part of the Anthology, which contains over three\nthousand five hundred epigrams, was translated into readable verse by\nMajor Robert McGregor, London, 1864, but the spirit of this rendering is\nindifferent. A complete translation into prose of the entire Anthology,\nomitting only the ultra-erotic and paederastic epigrams, is now in process\nof publication in five volumes by Heinemann, London. This would be, when\ncomplete, the most desirable all-around translation were it not for the\nbald and unpoetic literalness of the rendering; of which, as an instance,\none could note the passage in the two hundred and twenty-fifth Amatory\nepigram, which might be translated, \"I have a wound of love which never\nheals * * *\"; but which is rendered, \"My love is a running sore * * *\"\n\nWith the poets, Catullus must be included; the best and only complete\ntranslation is that by Richard F. Burton and Leonard Smithers, London,\nprivately printed, 1894. This volume gives the Latin text, a complete\nprose rendering by Smithers, and a characteristic verse rendering by\nBurton. In the latter, some erotic passages are missing, due, according to\nLady Burton's statement, to an incomplete manuscript.\n\nAmong the dramatists there are Aeschylus, whose tragedies were translated\nin verse by R. Potter, London, 1777, and Sophocles, whose tragedies were\ntranslated by the same hand, London, 1788. Edward FitzGerald's rendering\nof the Agamemnon of Aeschylus, London, 1876, which does not, however,\npretend to be a close translation, may well be included for the unusual\nbeauty of its verse. The comedies of Terence have had several translators.\nThe best close rendering is that in prose, privately printed by the \"Roman\nSociety,\" in two volumes, 1900-1901. Copies of this translation are\nscarce, as the edition was limited to two hundred and sixty copies.\n\nAristophanes is, of course, essential, but of the eleven comedies of his\nwhich are extant, there is only one complete translation, that privately\nprinted under the imprint of the \"Athenian Society,\" in two volumes,\nLondon, 1912, and limited to six hundred and twenty-five copies. These\ncomedies have, perhaps, no equal in all literature, except in Rabelais,\nand the translation mentioned not only does them full justice, although in\nprose, but also furnishes exhaustive and illuminating notes necessary for\nthe full understanding of all the humor. Four of the comedies were\ntranslated into admirable verse by J. H. Frere, Malta, 1839, and are well\nworth having, although, of course, Aristophanes' frequent and\ncharacteristic \"obsceneties\" are omitted.\n\nAmong the satirists we have the Latins, Martial and Juvenal, and the Greek\nLucian. The best Martial in English is the \"Ex Otio Negotium\" of R.\nFletcher, London, 1656, reprinted in an edition of one hundred and five\ncopies in 1893. Only selected epigrams are given, those selected being\nrendered rather freely, but there is no semblance of emasculation and the\nessential genius of translation is present. A good Juvenal is the verse\ntranslation by Robert Stapylton, London, 1647. A fair prose rendering,\nwith the Latin text, is found in an anonymous translation issued, with\nSheridan's translation of Persius, in 1777. Of Lucian's many works, there\nare almost innumerable translations, nearly all of which are expurgated. A\ngood rendering of Selected Dialogues is that by Howard Williams, London,\nBell. The \"True History,\" which contains, as might be expected, the\nwildest flights of imagination, was translated by Francis Hickes, London,\n1634; privately reprinted in a limited edition, with the Greek text, in\n1896.\n\nThe immortal \"Golden Ass\" of Lucius Apuleius is attractive in the quaint\nElizabethan version of William Adlington, of which five editions in small\nblack letter were printed between 1566 and 1639. A modern reprint was\nissued by David Nutt, London, in 1893. The translation is not always\naccurate, but it is sufficiently so and it is particularly treasured as a\nfine specimen of the prose of that period. Apuleius exists in complete\ntranslation in the rendering by F. D. Byrne, printed in Paris in 1904, in\na limited and private edition. The edition has numerous indifferent\nplates, and was reprinted, in incomplete translation, with several plates\nomitted, under a London imprint, of the same date. The translation reads\nrather more easily than the rendering by Thomas Taylor, London, 1822, and\nincludes the erotic passages which, like all similar passages in the\nclassics, are incorporated with ingenuous shamelessness and are, as might\nbe expected, quite harmless. For Taylor's translation, these \"passages\nsuppressed\" were supplied on separate sheets.\n\nAmong the \"impudiques et charmants,\" as Pierre Louys calls them, must be\nmentioned the famous Satyricon of Petronius, of which Charles Carrington\nhas printed the only complete translation, with his own imprint, Paris\n1902, in an edition of five hundred and fifteen copies, since reprinted.\nThe first edition bears a slip attributing the translation to Oscar Wilde,\nbut the work has not the slightest internal evidence to support this. Also\nthe \"Priapeia\" a collection of Latin epigrams of the best period, all\nbearing on the god Priapus. Two hundred and fifty copies of a translation\nof this small anthology were issued by the Erotika Biblion Society,\n\"Athens\" 1888. Notes on various subjects occupy more than half the volume.\n\nOf the early romances, the most desirable is doubtless the \"Daphnis and\nChloe\" of Longus who wrote early in the Christian era. This work has been\nsaid to belong more to French than to Greek literature, so\nenthusiastically was it adopted in France; and, in fact, the first printed\nedition of the work, translated by Bishop Amyot in 1559, preceded the\neditio princeps of the Greek text by forty years. A great many French\neditions have been printed, some with charming illustrations. The edition\nwith notes by A. Pons and vignettes by Scott, Paris, Quantin 1878, gives a\nfull French translation of the Greek text and an exhaustive bibliography\nin an attractive format. The only complete translation in English is that\nissued to subscribers by the Athenian Society in 1896.\n\nThis Athenian Society issued to two hundred and fifty legitimate\nsubscribers, between the years 1895 and 1898, seven volumes of complete\ntranslations from the Greek, of which several volumes, like the Longus,\nwere the first complete translations into English. On account of the very\nlimited issue, the volumes are very scarce, especially in sets. The\ncomplete issue was as follows: Lucian: The Ass. Dialogues of Courtesans.\nAmores.--Procopius: Anecdota.--Alciphron: Letters.--Longus: Daphnis and\nChloe.--Heliodorus: Three books of the ∆thiopica.--Achilles Tatius: Four\nBooks of The Loves of Cleitophon and Leucippe.--Aristophanes: The\nAcharnians. The Knights. The Clouds. The volumes also included the Greek\ntext.\n\nThe general subject of classic translations is an interesting one and\ncapable of almost infinite expansion. One might form a very imposing\ncollection of books by merely gathering editions of Daphnis and Chloe, for\ninstance. But the bibliophile, whether he collects Greek and Latin\ntranslations, or books on angling, can perhaps best follow his own taste\nand judgment, when once he has secured a nucleus from which to start, and\nfairly understands the possibilities--and limitations--of his subject.\n\n\n\n\nThese books--thin boards and sheets of fragile paper--have lived while\ncountless men have died; through the rise and fall of princes; through\nwars and ruin and tempests.\n\nOther hands, long since forgotten, have cared for them and kept them\nsafely. Now they are here in trust with me; and I, in my turn, linger over\nthem, hoping that other Owners, yet unborn, may treat them gently as I,\nand those before, have done.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Association Books, 107\n\n  Auctions, 102\n\n  Autographs in books, 16, 25, 107\n\n  Autograph Letters in books, 108\n\n\n  Back, Lining up, 20, 48\n\n  Back, Shaken or broken, 19\n\n  Binding, Cheap, 78\n    Elaborate, 103\n    Original, 73, 83, 92\n\n  Bleaching, 33, 35\n\n  Book-worms, 93\n\n  Books as an investment, 101\n\n  Book sizes, 94\n\n\n  Catalogues, 102\n\n  Cataloguing, 94\n\n  Collating, 15\n\n  Corners, Repairing, 22, 63\n\n  Covers (leather), Cleaning, 51\n    Patching, 55\n    Polishing, 56, 90\n    Restoring, 55\n    Transferring, 72\n\n\n  Dealers, 99\n\n  Dusting, 15, 91\n\n\n  Edges, Cleaning, 65\n    Gilt or Uncut, 81\n\n\n  Finishing new back, 46\n\n\n  Gilt, Removing, 71\n    Restoring, 67\n\n  Glaire, 59\n\n\n  Hinges, Repairing, 62\n\n\n  Ink, Brightening autographs in, 26\n    Removing, 33, 54, 66\n\n  Inlaying covers, 60\n\n  Inlaying pages, 18\n\n  Inlays, Tinting, 18\n\n\n  Kama Shastra Society, 106\n\n\n  Leather for bindings, 39, 84\n\n  Leather Paste for inlays, 61\n\n  Light, Effect on books of, 90\n\n  Limited Editions, 106\n\n  Lining up backs, 20\n\n\n  Marginal MS Notes, 16\n\n  Margins, Trimming, 78\n\n  Modern Editions, 105\n\n\n  Niger Morocco, 85\n\n\n  Old Paper imitated, 18\n\n\n  Pages, Repairing torn, 17\n\n  Paste for repairs, 20\n\n  Presentation copies, 16, 84, 107\n\n  Preservative for leather, 40\n\n  Preservative Polish, 90\n\n  Privately Printed books, 106\n\n\n  Rarity of books, 104\n\n  Rebacking, Tools for, 47\n\n  Rebinding, Best leather for, 84\n    Directions for, 80\n    For Amateurs, 79\n    Price of, 77, 82\n    When advisable, 55\n\n  Report of the Committee on Leather for Bookbinding, 85, 90\n\n  Re-tinting, 31\n\n\n  Sewing, 82\n\n  Shelves, Lining for, 64, 91\n\n  Sizing, 22, 30\n\n  Slip-cases, 84\n\n  Slip-covers, 92\n\n  Spots, Small, 30, 54\n\n  Stains, 31\n\n  Stains of Blood, 34\n    Egg Yellow, 33\n    Fecal Matters or Urine, 34\n    Fruit Juice, 34\n    Grease, 31, 54\n    Ink, 33, 54, 66\n    Mud, 33\n    Sealing-wax or Resin, 32\n    Stearine, 32\n    Tar and Pitch, 32\n    Unknown Origin, 30\n    White or Yellow Wax, 32\n\n\n  Tools, Making, 68\n\n  Tooling, 46, 67\n\n  Tooling, Restoring old, 67\n\n  Transferred Impressions, 34\n\n\n  Varnish for bindings, 57\n\n  Vellum Bindings, Cleaning, 59\n\n  Velvet for shelves, 64, 91\n\n\n  Washing, 33, 35\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] M. R. Yve-Plessis in his \"Petit Essai de Biblio-Therapeutique\"\nsuggests an excellent way of preparing a paper patch for an inlay. Which\nis, to lay the paper from which the patch is to be taken under the torn\npage and trace the outlines of the tear on the new paper with a clean pen\nfilled with water. By tracing over several times, the water will saturate\nthe new paper on the line made by the pen, so that the paper may be pulled\napart, providing a patch having more exact outlines than could be secured\nby cutting with scissors.\n\n[2] In 1809 Paul Louis Courier discovered at Florence a complete\nmanuscript of Daphnis and Chloe, containing a long passage in Part I which\nwas missing in all texts known until that time, and the existence of\nwhich, as a connecting passage, had long been a subject of speculation\namong scholars. Unfortunately, he had hardly more than completed a\ntranscript of his discovery when he accidentally upset a bottle of ink\nover the original manuscript, partly obliterating the passage. The\nincident caused a bitter controversy among scholars. Courier was violently\nattacked and, although he had fifty copies of his text printed for special\ndistribution, was even accused of purposely spilling the ink in order to\nrender his transcript unique.    M. S. B.\n\n[3] M. R. Yve-Plessis, elsewhere quoted, suggests that it may sometimes be\ndesirable to strengthen the ink of some valuable and desirable signature,\ninstead of removing it, and for this purpose recommends a mixture of:\nTannin, six grammes; alcohol, thirty-five grammes; distilled water, one\nhundred grammes; applied with a small brush and the part afterwards\nbrushed over several times with clear water. This operation, however,\nshould certainly not be undertaken except in extreme cases where the\nsignature appeared ready to entirely fade out.    M. S. B.\n\n[4] In a note on this subject, Bonnardot warns the amateur against\ncareless or unskilful use of the various chemicals mentioned, as many of\nthem, improperly handled, not only irreparably damage the page or print,\nbut also inflict serious injury on the operator himself.    M. S. B.\n\n[5] After sheets have been cleaned by soaking or washing, they should be\nre-sized. Sizing is made by dissolving half an ounce of isinglass in a\npint of water. The mixture is used at a temperature of about one hundred\nand twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit and in a shallow pan. Sheets are left\nin for a few seconds only and then dried between sheets of blotting paper.\nSizing will often restore old paper which has become soft.    M. S. B.\n\n[6] Potassium permanganate, described in the chapter on _General\nRestoration_, is applicable for this operation. In operating on a spot on\nthe page of a bound book, care should be taken always to place two or\nthree sheets of clean blotting paper under the page to prevent any liquid\nfrom soaking through to the next page.    M. S. B.\n\n[7] Applied with a brush, first around the outside of the spot, then in\nnarrowing circles until the centre is reached. Blotting paper is then\nplaced on both sides of the sheet, over the spot, and a hot flat-iron\napplied. The absorbent powder (\"French Chalk\" answers very well) will\noperate better if the powdered sheet is enclosed simply between two\npieces of paper, and a hot flat-iron applied. Plenty of powder should be\nused.    M. S. B.\n\n[8] Before and after using oxalic acid on ink stains, it is best to wash\nthe spot or page with hydrochloric acid mixed with about seven times its\nvolume of water. In bleaching ink from a page, a white mark almost always\nremains, especially noticeable if the paper is tinted with age. It is far\nbetter to soak the whole page, to secure uniform bleaching, and then, if\nnecessary, retint the page to its former color, than to attempt to operate\non part of a page only. Sometimes, when a book is loosely bound, the page\ncan be carefully cut out, close to the sewing, and pasted in again when it\nhas been washed and dried as desired. This is, however, a questionable\npractice, and may seriously injure the value of the book, and on a\nvaluable book it is better to cut the sewing and remove the entire\nsignature, then have the book rebound, or resewn and returned to the old\ncovers, as may be most advisable.    M. S. B.\n\n[9] Bonnardot mentions several processes for bleaching a print, equally\napplicable to the same operation on the pages of a book. I translate the\nprocess which seems to be the simplest and most effective. It will be\nnoted that he does not mention the size of the bottle in which the amount\nof chemical he advises is to be dissolved. I would suggest a full quart\nbottle, and also that the amateur operator thoroughly try the effect of\nhis solution on some old pieces of paper to make sure it is too weak to\ninjure the body of the paper.    M. S. B.\n\n[10] Bonnardot, at this point, discusses in considerable detail various\nopinions as to the removal of these iron oxide stains, but without coming\nto any definite conclusion except that they are \"of all stains, the most\ntenacious.\" Experiments in chemistry, especially upon any binding of\nvalue, should not be lightly undertaken. The use of water-colors for\nretinting the spot of yellowish bleach might be tried with more safety and\na greater possibility of success.    M. S. B.\n\n[11] Certain bindings of the sixteenth century have on their covers\ndesigns in tint formed simply of water colors. In such cases, the flour\npaste should not be used, or else the designs should first be accurately\ntraced so that they can be restored, if necessary, after the operation.\n\n[12] Centigrade, i. e. ninety-seven to one hundred and four degrees\nFahrenheit.    M. S. B.\n\n[13] At the beginning.    M. S. B.\n\n[14] The best modern practice in making glaire is to beat up the white of\nan egg with about half its quantity of vinegar, allowing the mixture to\nstand over night. This mixture, covered, will keep for several days, or\nuntil it gets thick and cloudy.    M. S. B.\n\n[15] Unbroken surfaces of white vellum can easily be cleaned with a soft\npencil-eraser. A vellum binding which is \"tacky\" may be rubbed over with\npowdered soapstone after cleaning.    M. S. B.\n\n[16] Whiting (chalk) used as a pigment.    M. S. B.\n\n[17] One hundred and fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.    M. S. B.\n\n[18] This operation does not seem entirely clear, but the idea is\nevidently to fold a thin strip of the skin into a \"V\" shape, inserting the\nstrip, folded edge up or down, as the condition of the hinge may require,\ninto the broken hinge all along its length, gluing the arms of the \"V,\"\none to the back and one to the cover to form a new, folded hinge. The\noperator will probably find, however, that when the hinges of a book are\nbroken through a better and more lasting procedure is to reback the book.\nGold-beaters skin is the outside membrane of the large intestine of the\nox, properly prepared. Where the hinges of a book are broken, it is better\nto provide new leather hinges, using strips about half an inch wide\nslipped in under the broken edges and carried over the edge of the boards\nat top and bottom. Raise the broken edges, for the proper distance, from\nback and boards, and paste down again over the new hinge.    M. S. B.\n\n[19] To prevent wear on the lower corners and edges of books in the\nlibrary, strips of velvet may be laid along the shelves under the books.\nIf this is done, the little extra care required in removing and replacing\nthe books without wrinkling up the velvet will be more than offset by the\nprotection which the velvet gives.    M. S. B.\n\n[20] Gilding, especially if modern, is apt to soften and come off if\nrubbed with water.    M. S. B.\n\n[21] See my remarks on lining up with Japan vellum in the chapter on\n_General Restoration_.    M. S. B.\n\n[22] In this place, Bonnardot gives a few simple suggestions for repairing\nbroken fragments of the gold tooling. The amateur is cautioned not to\nattempt the application of hot gilding tools and gold leaf to any binding\nfor which he has any regard unless he has carefully prepared himself by\nthoroughly studying the detailed directions for this work which may be\nfound in text-books on binding, and by extensive practice on odd pieces of\nvarious leathers.    M. S. B.\n\n[23] All set, of course, in wooden or pottery handles. Wooden handles for\nsuch tools, or the tools themselves, may be procured at moderate prices\nfrom dealers in bookbinders' materials.    M. S. B.\n\n[24] The impression should first be made on the leather by the hot tool,\nwithout gold, and painted with glaire. When the glaire is nearly dry, a\nfragment of gold-leaf is picked up on a pad of cotton wool slightly\ntouched with cocoanut oil and pressed down on the blind impression of the\ntool. The tool is then pressed into its former impression, setting the\ngold. The process is very delicate; the tool must be perfectly clean and\nthe gold-leaf, which is very difficult to handle, worked from a padded\ncloth dusted with brick-dust, or a similar substance, to prevent the leaf\nfrom adhering there while it is being cut to the proper size.    M. S. B.\n\n[25] Wax would, of course, be used hot.    M. S. B.\n\n[26] As mentioned in a note above, gold may often be loosened by merely\nremoving the varnish and thoroughly moistening with water, after which the\nmetal may be coaxed out with a thin, smooth, wooden splinter, preferably\nwound on the end with a bit of cotton wool.    M. S. B.\n\n[27] Or: Gilt edges. (This requires, in many cases, considerable trimming\nall around.) Or: Bottom and fore edges gilt on uncut edges. (This is a\nmore expensive process and a rather delicate one. It is not in general\nuse.)\n\n[28] It is often difficult to persuade a binder to sew on flat bands or\noutside cords. The usual, and easiest method is to saw into the backs of\nthe signatures and lay the cords in the \"V\" shaped cut thus made. This\nmethod of sewing should be protested against unless the book has already\nbeen so treated in a former binding and no additional cutting is required.\nMost of the raised bands found on modern bindings are \"false,\" being in no\nway an essential part of the binding and serving no practical purpose.\nEven their use as guides for decoration is doubtful, as they tend to\nunnecessary convention.\n\n[29] On a valuable book in an expensive binding, the end papers should be\nsewn in. This means extra trouble for the binder and calls for a little\nextra charge. End papers are very seldom sewn in on modern bindings,\nalthough often so secured in bindings of a century or two ago.\n\n[30] This Society has been credited--or otherwise--with so many volumes,\nchiefly of an erotic nature, which it never issued, that a list of the\ngenuine volumes, issued with the authority and consent of Sir Richard\nBurton, may be of interest. These are: Kama Sutra, of Vatsyayana, 1883;\nAmanga Ranga, of Kalyana Mall, 1885; The Beharistan, of Jami, 1887; The\nGulistan, of Sa'di, 1888; Alf Laylah wa Laylah (The Book of the Thousand\nNights and a Night), ten volumes, 1885; Supplemental Nights to The Book of\nthe Thousand Nights and a Night, six volumes, 1886-1888. These volumes are\nall listed in a four page folder, which accompanied Vol. 5, of the\nSupplemental Nights. The folder mentions two other volumes in preparation;\nThe Nigaristan of Jawini, and The Scented Garden, of the Shaykh\nal-Nafzawi. The former translation was never issued; the latter\ntranslation, made by Sir Richard himself, was burned in MS by his wife,\nshortly after his death. The only translation of al-Nafzawi bearing the\nKama Shastra Society imprint, was issued in 1886, in white vellum, uniform\nwith the other single volumes listed above with the title of The Perfumed\nGarden. This translation, which was made through a French version, is\ndescribed, and practically acknowledged as a book of the Society, in a\nfoot-note on page 133, Vol. 10, of the Nights.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _underscore_.\n\nThe following misprints have been corrected:\n  \"is\" corrected to \"it\" (page 29)\n  \"or\" corrected to \"of\" (page 33)\n  \"prefessional\" corrected to \"professional\" (page 67)\n  \"effact\" corrected to \"effect\" (page 68)\n  \"tranlsated\" corrected to \"translated\" (page 114)", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32074", "title": "Book Repair and Restoration: A Manual of Practical Suggestions for Bibliophiles", "author": "", "publication_year": 1918, "metadata_title": "Book Repair and Restoration: A Manual of Practical Suggestions for Bibliophiles", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:21.972595", "source_chars": 123487, "chars": 123487, "talkie_tokens": 28829}}
{"text": "Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the Online\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n    THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ\n\n\n    BY L. FRANK BAUM\n\n    AUTHOR OF THE ROAD TO OZ, DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ,\n    THE EMERALD CITY OF OZ, THE LAND OF OZ, OZMA OF OZ, ETC.\n\n\n    ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN R. NEILL\n\n\n    The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago\n\n\n\n\n    COPYRIGHT 1913\n    By L Frank Baum\n    All RIGHTS RESERVED\n\n\n\n\n    Affectionately Dedicated to\n    my young friend\n    Sumner Hamilton Britton\n    of Chicago\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE\n\n\nThrough the kindness of Dorothy Gale of Kansas, afterward Princess\nDorothy of Oz, an humble writer in the United States of America was once\nappointed Royal Historian of Oz, with the privilege of writing the\nchronicle of that wonderful fairyland. But after making six books about\nthe adventures of those interesting but queer people who live in the\nLand of Oz, the Historian learned with sorrow that by an edict of the\nSupreme Ruler, Ozma of Oz, her country would thereafter be rendered\ninvisible to all who lived outside its borders and that all\ncommunication with Oz would, in the future, be cut off.\n\nThe children who had learned to look for the books about Oz and who\nloved the stories about the gay and happy people inhabiting that favored\ncountry, were as sorry as their Historian that there would be no more\nbooks of Oz stories. They wrote many letters asking if the Historian did\nnot know of some adventures to write about that had happened before the\nLand of Oz was shut out from all the rest of the world. But he did not\nknow of any. Finally one of the children inquired why we couldn't hear\nfrom Princess Dorothy by wireless telegraph, which would enable her to\ncommunicate to the Historian whatever happened in the far-off Land of Oz\nwithout his seeing her, or even knowing just where Oz is.\n\nThat seemed a good idea; so the Historian rigged up a high tower in his\nback yard, and took lessons in wireless telegraphy until he understood\nit, and then began to call \"Princess Dorothy of Oz\" by sending messages\ninto the air.\n\nNow, it wasn't likely that Dorothy would be looking for wireless\nmessages or would heed the call; but one thing the Historian was sure\nof, and that was that the powerful Sorceress, Glinda, would know what he\nwas doing and that he desired to communicate with Dorothy. For Glinda\nhas a big book in which is recorded every event that takes place\nanywhere in the world, just the moment that it happens, and so of course\nthe book would tell her about the wireless message.\n\nAnd that was the way Dorothy heard that the Historian wanted to speak\nwith her, and there was a Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how to\ntelegraph a wireless reply. The result was that the Historian begged so\nhard to be told the latest news of Oz, so that he could write it down\nfor the children to read, that Dorothy asked permission of Ozma and Ozma\ngraciously consented.\n\nThat is why, after two long years of waiting, another Oz story is now\npresented to the children of America. This would not have been possible\nhad not some clever man invented the \"wireless\" and an equally clever\nchild suggested the idea of reaching the mysterious Land of Oz by its\nmeans.\n\n                                    L. FRANK BAUM.\n    \"OZCOT\"\n  at HOLLYWOOD\n  in CALIFORNIA\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF CHAPTERS\n\n\n    CHAPTER                                     PAGE\n\n     1--OJO AND UNC NUNKIE                        19\n\n     2--THE CROOKED MAGICIAN                      23\n\n     3--THE PATCHWORK GIRL                        35\n\n     4--THE GLASS CAT                             47\n\n     5--A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT                       55\n\n     6--THE JOURNEY                               67\n\n     7--THE TROUBLESOME PHONOGRAPH                83\n\n     8--THE FOOLISH OWL AND THE WISE DONKEY       91\n\n     9--THEY MEET THE WOOZY                       99\n\n    10--SHAGGY MAN TO THE RESCUE                 115\n\n    11--A GOOD FRIEND                            127\n\n    12--THE GIANT PORCUPINE                      147\n\n    13--SCRAPS AND THE SCARECROW                 159\n\n    14--OJO BREAKS THE LAW                       179\n\n    15--OZMA'S PRISONER                          191\n\n    16--PRINCESS DOROTHY                         203\n\n    17--OZMA AND HER FRIENDS                     215\n\n    18--OJO IS FORGIVEN                          223\n\n    19--TROUBLE WITH THE TOTTENHOTS              235\n\n    20--THE CAPTIVE YOOP                         255\n\n    21--HIPHOPPER THE CHAMPION                   267\n\n    22--THE JOKING HORNERS                       275\n\n    23--PEACE IS DECLARED                        287\n\n    24--OJO FINDS THE DARK WELL                  299\n\n    25--THEY BRIBE THE LAZY QUADLING             303\n\n    26--THE TRICK RIVER                          311\n\n    27--THE TIN WOODMAN OBJECTS                  323\n\n    28--THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ               335\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOJO AND UNK NUNKIE\n\nCHAP. ONE\n\n\n\n\"Where's the butter, Unc Nunkie?\" asked Ojo.\n\nUnc looked out of the window and stroked his long beard. Then he turned\nto the Munchkin boy and shook his head.\n\n\"Isn't,\" said he.\n\n\"Isn't any butter? That's too bad, Unc. Where's the jam then?\" inquired\nOjo, standing on a stool so he could look through all the shelves of the\ncupboard. But Unc Nunkie shook his head again.\n\n\"Gone,\" he said.\n\n\"No jam, either? And no cake--no jelly--no apples--nothing but bread?\"\n\n\"All,\" said Unc, again stroking his beard as he gazed from the window.\n\nThe little boy brought the stool and sat beside his uncle, munching the\ndry bread slowly and seeming in deep thought.\n\n\"Nothing grows in our yard but the bread tree,\" he mused, \"and there are\nonly two more loaves on that tree; and they're not ripe yet. Tell me,\nUnc; why are we so poor?\"\n\nThe old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He had kindly eyes, but he\nhadn't smiled or laughed in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc\nNunkie could look any other way than solemn. And Unc never spoke any\nmore words than he was obliged to, so his little nephew, who lived alone\nwith him, had learned to understand a great deal from one word.\n\n\"Why are we so poor, Unc?\" repeated the boy.\n\n\"Not,\" said the old Munchkin.\n\n\"I think we are,\" declared Ojo. \"What have we got?\"\n\n\"House,\" said Unc Nunkie.\n\n\"I know; but everyone in the Land of Oz has a place to live. What else,\nUnc?\"\n\n\"Bread.\"\n\n\"I'm eating the last loaf that's ripe. There; I've put aside your share,\nUnc. It's on the table, so you can eat it when you get hungry. But when\nthat is gone, what shall we eat, Unc?\"\n\nThe old man shifted in his chair but merely shook his head.\n\n\"Of course,\" said Ojo, who was obliged to talk because his uncle would\nnot, \"no one starves in the Land of Oz, either. There is plenty for\neveryone, you know; only, if it isn't just where you happen to be, you\nmust go where it is.\"\n\nThe aged Munchkin wriggled again and stared at his small nephew as if\ndisturbed by his argument.\n\n\"By to-morrow morning,\" the boy went on, \"we must go where there is\nsomething to eat, or we shall grow very hungry and become very unhappy.\"\n\n\"Where?\" asked Unc.\n\n\"Where shall we go? I don't know, I'm sure,\" replied Ojo. \"But _you_\nmust know, Unc. You must have traveled, in your time, because you're so\nold. I don't remember it, because ever since I could remember anything\nwe've lived right here in this lonesome, round house, with a little\ngarden back of it and the thick woods all around. All I've ever seen of\nthe great Land of Oz, Unc dear, is the view of that mountain over at the\nsouth, where they say the Hammerheads live--who won't let anybody go by\nthem--and that mountain at the north, where they say nobody lives.\"\n\n\"One,\" declared Unc, correcting him.\n\n\"Oh, yes; one family lives there, I've heard. That's the Crooked\nMagician, who is named Dr. Pipt, and his wife Margolotte. One year you\ntold me about them; I think it took you a whole year, Unc, to say as\nmuch as I've just said about the Crooked Magician and his wife. They\nlive high up on the mountain, and the good Munchkin Country, where the\nfruits and flowers grow, is just the other side. It's funny you and I\nshould live here all alone, in the middle of the forest, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Unc.\n\n\"Then let's go away and visit the Munchkin Country and its jolly,\ngood-natured people. I'd love to get a sight of something besides woods,\nUnc Nunkie.\"\n\n\"Too little,\" said Unc.\n\n\"Why, I'm not so little as I used to be,\" answered the boy earnestly. \"I\nthink I can walk as far and as fast through the woods as you can, Unc.\nAnd now that nothing grows in our back yard that is good to eat, we must\ngo where there is food.\"\n\nUnc Nunkie made no reply for a time. Then he shut down the window and\nturned his chair to face the room, for the sun was sinking behind the\ntree-tops and it was growing cool.\n\nBy and by Ojo lighted the fire and the logs blazed freely in the broad\nfireplace. The two sat in the firelight a long time--the old,\nwhite-bearded Munchkin and the little boy. Both were thinking. When it\ngrew quite dark outside, Ojo said:\n\n\"Eat your bread, Unc, and then we will go to bed.\"\n\n\nBut Unc Nunkie did not eat the bread; neither did he go directly to bed.\nLong after his little nephew was sound asleep in the corner of the room\nthe old man sat by the fire, thinking.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CROOKED MAGICIAN\n\nCHAP. TWO\n\n\n\nJust at dawn next morning Unc Nunkie laid his hand tenderly on Ojo's\nhead and awakened him.\n\n\"Come,\" he said.\n\nOjo dressed. He wore blue silk stockings, blue knee-pants with gold\nbuckles, a blue ruffled waist and a jacket of bright blue braided with\ngold. His shoes were of blue leather and turned up at the toes, which\nwere pointed. His hat had a peaked crown and a flat brim, and around the\nbrim was a row of tiny golden bells that tinkled when he moved. This was\nthe native costume of those who inhabited the Munchkin Country of the\nLand of Oz, so Unc Nunkie's dress was much like that of his nephew.\nInstead of shoes, the old man wore boots with turnover tops and his\nblue coat had wide cuffs of gold braid.\n\nThe boy noticed that his uncle had not eaten the bread, and supposed\nthe old man had not been hungry. Ojo was hungry, though; so he divided\nthe piece of bread upon the table and ate his half for breakfast,\nwashing it down with fresh, cool water from the brook. Unc put the other\npiece of bread in his jacket pocket, after which he again said, as he\nwalked out through the doorway: \"Come.\"\n\nOjo was well pleased. He was dreadfully tired of living all alone in the\nwoods and wanted to travel and see people. For a long time he had wished\nto explore the beautiful Land of Oz in which they lived. When they were\noutside, Unc simply latched the door and started up the path. No one\nwould disturb their little house, even if anyone came so far into the\nthick forest while they were gone.\n\nAt the foot of the mountain that separated the Country of the Munchkins\nfrom the Country of the Gillikins, the path divided. One way led to the\nleft and the other to the right--straight up the mountain. Unc Nunkie\ntook this right-hand path and Ojo followed without asking why. He knew\nit would take them to the house of the Crooked Magician, whom he had\nnever seen but who was their nearest neighbor.\n\nAll the morning they trudged up the mountain path and at noon Unc and\nOjo sat on a fallen tree-trunk and ate the last of the bread which the\nold Munchkin had placed in his pocket. Then they started on again and\ntwo hours later came in sight of the house of Dr. Pipt.\n\nIt was a big house, round, as were all the Munchkin houses, and painted\nblue, which is the distinctive color of the Munchkin Country of Oz.\nThere was a pretty garden around the house, where blue trees and blue\nflowers grew in abundance and in one place were beds of blue cabbages,\nblue carrots and blue lettuce, all of which were delicious to eat. In\nDr. Pipt's garden grew bun-trees, cake-trees, cream-puff bushes, blue\nbuttercups which yielded excellent blue butter and a row of\nchocolate-caramel plants. Paths of blue gravel divided the vegetable and\nflower beds and a wider path led up to the front door. The place was in\na clearing on the mountain, but a little way off was the grim forest,\nwhich completely surrounded it.\n\nUnc knocked at the door of the house and a chubby, pleasant-faced woman,\ndressed all in blue, opened it and greeted the visitors with a smile.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Ojo; \"you must be Dame Margolotte, the good wife of Dr.\nPipt.\"\n\n\"I am, my dear, and all strangers are welcome to my home.\"\n\n\"May we see the famous Magician, Madam?\"\n\n\"He is very busy just now,\" she said, shaking her head doubtfully. \"But\ncome in and let me give you something to eat, for you must have traveled\nfar in order to get to our lonely place.\"\n\n\"We have,\" replied Ojo, as he and Unc entered the house. \"We have come\nfrom a far lonelier place than this.\"\n\n\"A lonelier place! And in the Munchkin Country?\" she exclaimed. \"Then it\nmust be somewhere in the Blue Forest.\"\n\n\"It is, good Dame Margolotte.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" she said, looking at the man, \"you must be Unc Nunkie, known\nas the Silent One.\" Then she looked at the boy. \"And you must be Ojo the\nUnlucky,\" she added.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Unc.\n\n\"I never knew I was called the Unlucky,\" said Ojo, soberly; \"but it is\nreally a good name for me.\"\n\n\"Well,\" remarked the woman, as she bustled around the room and set the\ntable and brought food from the cupboard, \"you were unlucky to live all\nalone in that dismal forest, which is much worse than the forest around\nhere; but perhaps your luck will change, now you are away from it. If,\nduring your travels, you can manage to lose that 'Un' at the beginning\nof your name 'Unlucky,' you will then become Ojo the Lucky, which will\nbe a great improvement.\"\n\n\"How can I lose that 'Un,' Dame Margolotte?\"\n\n\"I do not know how, but you must keep the matter in mind and perhaps the\nchance will come to you,\" she replied.\n\nOjo had never eaten such a fine meal in all his life. There was a savory\nstew, smoking hot, a dish of blue peas, a bowl of sweet milk of a\ndelicate blue tint and a blue pudding with blue plums in it. When the\nvisitors had eaten heartily of this fare the woman said to them:\n\n\"Do you wish to see Dr. Pipt on business or for pleasure?\"\n\nUnc shook his head.\n\n\"We are traveling,\" replied Ojo, \"and we stopped at your house just to\nrest and refresh ourselves. I do not think Unc Nunkie cares very much to\nsee the famous Crooked Magician; but for my part I am curious to look at\nsuch a great man.\"\n\nThe woman seemed thoughtful.\n\n\"I remember that Unc Nunkie and my husband used to be friends, many\nyears ago,\" she said, \"so perhaps they will be glad to meet again. The\nMagician is very busy, as I said, but if you will promise not to disturb\nhim you may come into his workshop and watch him prepare a wonderful\ncharm.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied the boy, much pleased. \"I would like to do that.\"\n\nShe led the way to a great domed hall at the back of the house, which\nwas the Magician's workshop. There was a row of windows extending nearly\naround the sides of the circular room, which rendered the place very\nlight, and there was a back door in addition to the one leading to the\nfront part of the house. Before the row of windows a broad seat was\nbuilt and there were some chairs and benches in the room besides. At one\nend stood a great fireplace, in which a blue log was blazing with a blue\nflame, and over the fire hung four kettles in a row, all bubbling and\nsteaming at a great rate. The Magician was stirring all four of these\nkettles at the same time, two with his hands and two with his feet, to\nthe latter, wooden ladles being strapped, for this man was so very\ncrooked that his legs were as handy as his arms.\n\nUnc Nunkie came forward to greet his old friend, but not being able to\nshake either his hands or his feet, which were all occupied in stirring,\nhe patted the Magician's bald head and asked: \"What?\"\n\n\"Ah, it's the Silent One,\" remarked Dr. Pipt, without looking up, \"and\nhe wants to know what I'm making. Well, when it is quite finished this\ncompound will be the wonderful Powder of Life, which no one knows how to\nmake but myself. Whenever it is sprinkled on anything, that thing will\nat once come to life, no matter what it is. It takes me several years to\nmake this magic Powder, but at this moment I am pleased to say it is\nnearly done. You see, I am making it for my good wife Margolotte, who\nwants to use some of it for a purpose of her own. Sit down and make\nyourself comfortable, Unc Nunkie, and after I've finished my task I will\ntalk to you.\"\n\n\"You must know,\" said Margolotte, when they were all seated together on\nthe broad window-seat, \"that my husband foolishly gave away all the\nPowder of Life he first made to old Mombi the Witch, who used to live in\nthe Country of the Gillikins, to the north of here. Mombi gave to Dr.\nPipt a Powder of Perpetual Youth in exchange for his Powder of Life, but\nshe cheated him wickedly, for the Powder of Youth was no good and could\nwork no magic at all.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the Powder of Life couldn't either,\" said Ojo.\n\n\n\"Yes; it is perfection,\" she declared. \"The first lot we tested on our\nGlass Cat, which not only began to live but has lived ever since. She's\nsomewhere around the house now.\"\n\n\"A Glass Cat!\" exclaimed Ojo, astonished.\n\n\"Yes; she makes a very pleasant companion, but admires herself a little\nmore than is considered modest, and she positively refuses to catch\nmice,\" explained Margolotte. \"My husband made the cat some pink brains,\nbut they proved to be too high-bred and particular for a cat, so she\nthinks it is undignified in her to catch mice. Also she has a pretty\nblood-red heart, but it is made of stone--a ruby, I think--and so is\nrather hard and unfeeling. I think the next Glass Cat the Magician makes\nwill have neither brains nor heart, for then it will not object to\ncatching mice and may prove of some use to us.\"\n\n\"What did old Mombi the Witch do with the Powder of Life your husband\ngave her?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"She brought Jack Pumpkinhead to life, for one thing,\" was the reply. \"I\nsuppose you've heard of Jack Pumpkinhead. He is now living near the\nEmerald City and is a great favorite with the Princess Ozma, who rules\nall the Land of Oz.\"\n\n\"No; I've never heard of him,\" remarked Ojo. \"I'm afraid I don't know\nmuch about the Land of Oz. You see, I've lived all my life with Unc\nNunkie, the Silent One, and there was no one to tell me anything.\"\n\n\"That is one reason you are Ojo the Unlucky,\" said the woman, in a\nsympathetic tone. \"The more one knows, the luckier he is, for knowledge\nis the greatest gift in life.\"\n\n\"But tell me, please, what you intend to do with this new lot of the\nPowder of Life, which Dr. Pipt is making. He said his wife wanted it for\nsome especial purpose.\"\n\n\"So I do,\" she answered. \"I want it to bring my Patchwork Girl to life.\"\n\n\"Oh! A Patchwork Girl? What is that?\" Ojo asked, for this seemed even\nmore strange and unusual than a Glass Cat.\n\n\"I think I must show you my Patchwork Girl,\" said Margolotte, laughing\nat the boy's astonishment, \"for she is rather difficult to explain. But\nfirst I will tell you that for many years I have longed for a servant to\nhelp me with the housework and to cook the meals and wash the dishes. No\nservant will come here because the place is so lonely and\nout-of-the-way, so my clever husband, the Crooked Magician, proposed\nthat I make a girl out of some sort of material and he would make her\nlive by sprinkling over her the Powder of Life. This seemed an excellent\nsuggestion and at once Dr. Pipt set to work to make a new batch of his\nmagic powder. He has been at it a long, long while, and so I have had\nplenty of time to make the girl. Yet that task was not so easy as you\nmay suppose. At first I couldn't think what to make her of, but finally\nin searching through a chest I came across an old patchwork quilt, which\nmy grandmother once made when she was young.\"\n\n\"What is a patchwork quilt?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"A bed-quilt made of patches of different kinds and colors of cloth, all\nneatly sewed together. The patches are of all shapes and sizes, so a\npatchwork quilt is a very pretty and gorgeous thing to look at.\nSometimes it is called a 'crazy-quilt,' because the patches and colors\nare so mixed up. We never have used my grandmother's many-colored\npatchwork quilt, handsome as it is, for we Munchkins do not care for any\ncolor other than blue, so it has been packed away in the chest for about\na hundred years. When I found it, I said to myself that it would do\nnicely for my servant girl, for when she was brought to life she would\nnot be proud nor haughty, as the Glass Cat is, for such a dreadful\nmixture of colors would discourage her from trying to be as dignified as\nthe blue Munchkins are.\"\n\n\"Is blue the only respectable color, then?\" inquired Ojo.\n\n\"Yes, for a Munchkin. All our country is blue, you know. But in other\nparts of Oz the people favor different colors. At the Emerald City,\nwhere our Princess Ozma lives, green is the popular color. But all\nMunchkins prefer blue to anything else and when my housework girl is\nbrought to life she will find herself to be of so many unpopular colors\nthat she'll never dare be rebellious or impudent, as servants are\nsometimes liable to be when they are made the same way their mistresses\nare.\"\n\nUnc Nunkie nodded approval.\n\n\"Good i-dea,\" he said; and that was a long speech for Unc Nunkie because\nit was two words.\n\n\"So I cut up the quilt,\" continued Margolotte, \"and made from it a very\nwell-shaped girl, which I stuffed with cotton-wadding. I will show you\nwhat a good job I did,\" and she went to a tall cupboard and threw open\nthe doors.\n\nThen back she came, lugging in her arms the Patchwork Girl, which she\nset upon the bench and propped up so that the figure would not tumble\nover.\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Ojo]\n\n\n\n\nTHE PATCHWORK GIRL\n\nCHAP. THREE\n\n\n\nOjo examined this curious contrivance with wonder. The Patchwork Girl\nwas taller than he, when she stood upright, and her body was plump and\nrounded because it had been so neatly stuffed with cotton. Margolotte\nhad first made the girl's form from the patchwork quilt and then she had\ndressed it with a patchwork skirt and an apron with pockets in it--using\nthe same gay material throughout. Upon the feet she had sewn a pair of\nred leather shoes with pointed toes. All the fingers and thumbs of the\ngirl's hands had been carefully formed and stuffed and stitched at the\nedges, with gold plates at the ends to serve as finger-nails.\n\n\"She will have to work, when she comes to life,\" said Margolotte.\n\nThe head of the Patchwork Girl was the most curious part of her. While\nshe waited for her husband to finish making his Powder of Life the woman\nhad found ample time to complete the head as her fancy dictated, and she\nrealized that a good servant's head must be properly constructed. The\nhair was of brown yarn and hung down on her neck in several neat braids.\nHer eyes were two silver suspender-buttons cut from a pair of the\nMagician's old trousers, and they were sewed on with black threads,\nwhich formed the pupils of the eyes. Margolotte had puzzled over the\nears for some time, for these were important if the servant was to hear\ndistinctly, but finally she had made them out of thin plates of gold and\nattached them in place by means of stitches through tiny holes bored in\nthe metal. Gold is the most common metal in the Land of Oz and is used\nfor many purposes because it is soft and pliable.\n\nThe woman had cut a slit for the Patchwork Girl's mouth and sewn two\nrows of white pearls in it for teeth, using a strip of scarlet plush for\na tongue. This mouth Ojo considered very artistic and lifelike, and\nMargolotte was pleased when the boy praised it. There were almost too\nmany patches on the face of the girl for her to be considered strictly\nbeautiful, for one cheek was yellow and the other red, her chin blue,\nher forehead purple and the center, where her nose had been formed and\npadded, a bright yellow.\n\n\"You ought to have had her face all pink,\" suggested the boy.\n\n\"I suppose so; but I had no pink cloth,\" replied the woman. \"Still, I\ncannot see as it matters much, for I wish my Patchwork Girl to be useful\nrather than ornamental. If I get tired looking at her patched face I can\nwhitewash it.\"\n\n\"Has she any brains?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"No; I forgot all about the brains!\" exclaimed the woman. \"I am glad you\nreminded me of them, for it is not too late to supply them, by any\nmeans. Until she is brought to life I can do anything I please with this\ngirl. But I must be careful not to give her too much brains, and those\nshe has must be such as are fitted to the station she is to occupy in\nlife. In other words, her brains mustn't be very good.\"\n\n\"Wrong,\" said Unc Nunkie.\n\n\"No; I am sure I am right about that,\" returned the woman.\n\n\"He means,\" explained Ojo, \"that unless your servant has good brains she\nwon't know how to obey you properly, nor do the things you ask her to\ndo.\"\n\n\"Well, that maybe true,\" agreed Margolotte; \"but, on the contrary, a\nservant with too much brains is sure to become independent and\nhigh-and-mighty and feel above her work. This is a very delicate task,\nas I said, and I must take care to give the girl just the right quantity\nof the right sort of brains. I want her to know just enough, but not too\nmuch.\"\n\nWith this she went to another cupboard which was filled with shelves.\nAll the shelves were lined with blue glass bottles, neatly labeled by\nthe Magician to show what they contained. One whole shelf was marked:\n\"Brain Furniture,\" and the bottles on this shelf were labeled as\nfollows: \"Obedience,\" \"Cleverness,\" \"Judgment,\" \"Courage,\" \"Ingenuity,\"\n\"Amiability,\" \"Learning,\" \"Truth,\" \"Poesy,\" \"Self Reliance.\"\n\n\"Let me see,\" said Margolotte; \"of those qualities she must have\n'Obedience' first of all,\" and she took down the bottle bearing that\nlabel and poured from it upon a dish several grains of the contents.\n\"'Amiability' is also good and 'Truth.'\" She poured into the dish a\nquantity from each of these bottles. \"I think that will do,\" she\ncontinued, \"for the other qualities are not needed in a servant.\"\n\nUnc Nunkie, who with Ojo stood beside her, touched the bottle marked\n\"Cleverness.\"\n\n\"Little,\" said he.\n\n\"A little 'Cleverness'? Well, perhaps you are right, sir,\" said she, and\nwas about to take down the bottle when the Crooked Magician suddenly\ncalled to her excitedly from the fireplace.\n\n\"Quick, Margolotte! Come and help me.\"\n\nShe ran to her husband's side at once and helped him lift the four\nkettles from the fire. Their contents had all boiled away, leaving in\nthe bottom of each kettle a few grains of fine white powder. Very\ncarefully the Magician removed this powder, placing it all together in a\ngolden dish, where he mixed it with a golden spoon. When the mixture was\ncomplete there was scarcely a handful, all told.\n\n\n\"That,\" said Dr. Pipt, in a pleased and triumphant tone, \"is the\nwonderful Powder of Life, which I alone in the world know how to make.\nIt has taken me nearly six years to prepare these precious grains of\ndust, but the little heap on that dish is worth the price of a kingdom\nand many a king would give all he has to possess it. When it has become\ncooled I will place it in a small bottle; but meantime I must watch it\ncarefully, lest a gust of wind blow it away or scatter it.\"\n\nUnc Nunkie, Margolotte and the Magician all stood looking at the\nmarvelous Powder, but Ojo was more interested just then in the Patchwork\nGirl's brains. Thinking it both unfair and unkind to deprive her of any\ngood qualities that were handy, the boy took down every bottle on the\nshelf and poured some of the contents in Margolotte's dish. No one saw\nhim do this, for all were looking at the Powder of Life; but soon the\nwoman remembered what she had been doing, and came back to the cupboard.\n\n\"Let's see,\" she remarked; \"I was about to give my girl a little\n'Cleverness,' which is the Doctor's substitute for 'Intelligence'--a\nquality he has not yet learned how to manufacture.\" Taking down the\nbottle of \"Cleverness\" she added some of the powder to the heap on the\ndish. Ojo became a bit uneasy at this, for he had already put quite a\nlot of the \"Cleverness\" powder in the dish; but he dared not interfere\nand so he comforted himself with the thought that one cannot have too\nmuch cleverness.\n\nMargolotte now carried the dish of brains to the bench. Ripping the seam\nof the patch on the girl's forehead, she placed the powder within the\nhead and then sewed up the seam as neatly and securely as before.\n\n\"My girl is all ready for your Powder of Life, my dear,\" she said to her\nhusband. But the Magician replied:\n\n\"This powder must not be used before to-morrow morning; but I think it\nis now cool enough to be bottled.\"\n\nHe selected a small gold bottle with a pepper-box top, so that the\npowder might be sprinkled on any object through the small holes. Very\ncarefully he placed the Powder of Life in the gold bottle and then\nlocked it up in a drawer of his cabinet.\n\n\"At last,\" said he, rubbing his hands together gleefully, \"I have ample\nleisure for a good talk with my old friend Unc Nunkie. So let us sit\ndown cosily and enjoy ourselves. After stirring those four kettles for\nsix years I am glad to have a little rest.\"\n\n\"You will have to do most of the talking,\" said Ojo, \"for Unc is called\nthe Silent One and uses few words.\"\n\n\"I know; but that renders your uncle a most agreeable companion and\ngossip,\" declared Dr. Pipt. \"Most people talk too much, so it is a\nrelief to find one who talks too little.\"\n\nOjo looked at the Magician with much awe and curiosity.\n\n\"Don't you find it very annoying to be so crooked?\" he asked.\n\n\"No; I am quite proud of my person,\" was the reply. \"I suppose I am the\nonly Crooked Magician in all the world. Some others are accused of being\ncrooked, but I am the only genuine.\"\n\nHe was really very crooked and Ojo wondered how he managed to do so many\nthings with such a twisted body. When he sat down upon a crooked chair\nthat had been made to fit him, one knee was under his chin and the other\nnear the small of his back; but he was a cheerful man and his face bore\na pleasant and agreeable expression.\n\n\"I am not allowed to perform magic, except for my own amusement,\" he\ntold his visitors, as he lighted a pipe with a crooked stem and began to\nsmoke. \"Too many people were working magic in the Land of Oz, and so our\nlovely Princess Ozma put a stop to it. I think she was quite right.\nThere were several wicked Witches who caused a lot of trouble; but now\nthey are all out of business and only the great Sorceress, Glinda the\nGood, is permitted to practice her arts, which never harm anybody. The\nWizard of Oz, who used to be a humbug and knew no magic at all, has been\ntaking lessons of Glinda, and I'm told he is getting to be a pretty good\nWizard; but he is merely the assistant of the great Sorceress. I've the\nright to make a servant girl for my wife, you know, or a Glass Cat to\ncatch our mice--which she refuses to do--but I am forbidden to work\nmagic for others, or to use it as a profession.\"\n\n\"Magic must be a very interesting study,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"It truly is,\" asserted the Magician. \"In my time I've performed some\nmagical feats that were worthy the skill of Glinda the Good. For\ninstance, there's the Powder of Life, and my Liquid of Petrifaction,\nwhich is contained in that bottle on the shelf yonder--over the window.\"\n\n\"What does the Liquid of Petrifaction do?\" inquired the boy.\n\n\"Turns everything it touches to solid marble. It's an invention of my\nown, and I find it very useful. Once two of those dreadful Kalidahs,\nwith bodies like bears and heads like tigers, came here from the forest\nto attack us; but I sprinkled some of that Liquid on them and instantly\nthey turned to marble. I now use them as ornamental statuary in my\ngarden. This table looks to you like wood, and once it really was wood;\nbut I sprinkled a few drops of the Liquid of Petrifaction on it and now\nit is marble. It will never break nor wear out.\"\n\n\"Fine!\" said Unc Nunkie, wagging his head and stroking his long gray\nbeard.\n\n\"Dear me; what a chatterbox you're getting to be, Unc,\" remarked the\nMagician, who was pleased with the compliment. But just then there came\na scratching at the back door and a shrill voice cried:\n\n\"Let me in! Hurry up, can't you? Let me in!\"\n\nMargolotte got up and went to the door.\n\n\"Ask like a good cat, then,\" she said.\n\n\n\"Mee-ee-ow-w-w! There; does that suit your royal highness?\" asked the\nvoice, in scornful accents.\n\n\"Yes; that's proper cat talk,\" declared the woman, and opened the door.\n\nAt once a cat entered, came to the center of the room and stopped short\nat the sight of strangers. Ojo and Unc Nunkie both stared at it with\nwide open eyes, for surely no such curious creature had ever existed\nbefore--even in the Land of Oz.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLASS CAT\n\nCHAP. 4\n\n\n\nThe cat was made of glass, so clear and transparent that you could see\nthrough it as easily as through a window. In the top of its head,\nhowever, was a mass of delicate pink balls which looked like jewels, and\nit had a heart made of a blood-red ruby. The eyes were two large\nemeralds, but aside from these colors all the rest of the animal was\nclear glass, and it had a spun-glass tail that was really beautiful.\n\n\"Well, Doc Pipt, do you mean to introduce us, or not?\" demanded the cat,\nin a tone of annoyance. \"Seems to me you are forgetting your manners.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" returned the Magician. \"This is Unc Nunkie, the descendant\nof the former kings of the Munchkins, before this country became a part\nof the Land of Oz.\"\n\n\"He needs a hair-cut,\" observed the cat, washing its face.\n\n\"True,\" replied Unc, with a low chuckle of amusement.\n\n\"But he has lived alone in the heart of the forest for many years,\" the\nMagician explained; \"and, although that is a barbarous country, there\nare no barbers there.\"\n\n\"Who is the dwarf?\" asked the cat.\n\n\"That is not a dwarf, but a boy,\" answered the Magician. \"You have never\nseen a boy before. He is now small because he is young. With more years\nhe will grow big and become as tall as Unc Nunkie.\"\n\n\"Oh. Is that magic?\" the glass animal inquired.\n\n\"Yes; but it is Nature's magic, which is more wonderful than any art\nknown to man. For instance, my magic made you, and made you live; and it\nwas a poor job because you are useless and a bother to me; but I can't\nmake you grow. You will always be the same size--and the same saucy,\ninconsiderate Glass Cat, with pink brains and a hard ruby heart.\"\n\n\"No one can regret more than I the fact that you made me,\" asserted the\ncat, crouching upon the floor and slowly swaying its spun-glass tail\nfrom side to side. \"Your world is a very uninteresting place. I've\nwandered through your gardens and in the forest until I'm tired of it\nall, and when I come into the house the conversation of your fat wife\nand of yourself bores me dreadfully.\"\n\n\"That is because I gave you different brains from those we ourselves\npossess--and much too good for a cat,\" returned Dr. Pipt.\n\n\"Can't you take 'em out, then, and replace 'em with pebbles, so that I\nwon't feel above my station in life?\" asked the cat, pleadingly.\n\n\"Perhaps so. I'll try it, after I've brought the Patchwork Girl to\nlife,\" he said.\n\nThe cat walked up to the bench on which the Patchwork Girl reclined and\nlooked at her attentively.\n\n\"Are you going to make that dreadful thing live?\" she asked.\n\nThe Magician nodded.\n\n\"It is intended to be my wife's servant maid,\" he said. \"When she is\nalive she will do all our work and mind the house. But you are not to\norder her around, Bungle, as you do us. You must treat the Patchwork\nGirl respectfully.\"\n\n\"I won't. I couldn't respect such a bundle of scraps under any\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"If you don't, there will be more scraps than you will like,\" cried\nMargolotte, angrily.\n\n\"Why didn't you make her pretty to look at?\" asked the cat. \"You made me\npretty--very pretty, indeed--and I love to watch my pink brains roll\naround when they're working, and to see my precious red heart beat.\" She\nwent to a long mirror, as she said this, and stood before it, looking\nat herself with an air of much pride. \"But that poor patched thing will\nhate herself, when she's once alive,\" continued the cat. \"If I were you\nI'd use her for a mop, and make another servant that is prettier.\"\n\n\"You have a perverted taste,\" snapped Margolotte, much annoyed at this\nfrank criticism. \"I think the Patchwork Girl is beautiful, considering\nwhat she's made of. Even the rainbow hasn't as many colors, and you must\nadmit that the rainbow is a pretty thing.\"\n\nThe Glass Cat yawned and stretched herself upon the floor.\n\n\"Have your own way,\" she said. \"I'm sorry for the Patchwork Girl, that's\nall.\"\n\nOjo and Unc Nunkie slept that night in the Magician's house, and the boy\nwas glad to stay because he was anxious to see the Patchwork Girl\nbrought to life. The Glass Cat was also a wonderful creature to little\nOjo, who had never seen or known anything of magic before, although he\nhad lived in the Fairyland of Oz ever since he was born. Back there in\nthe woods nothing unusual ever happened. Unc Nunkie, who might have been\nKing of the Munchkins, had not his people united with all the other\ncountries of Oz in acknowledging Ozma as their sole ruler, had retired\ninto this forgotten forest nook with his baby nephew and they had lived\nall alone there. Only that the neglected garden had failed to grow food\nfor them, they would always have lived in the solitary Blue Forest; but\nnow they had started out to mingle with other people, and the first\nplace they came to proved so interesting that Ojo could scarcely sleep a\nwink all night.\n\nMargolotte was an excellent cook and gave them a fine breakfast. While\nthey were all engaged in eating, the good woman said:\n\n\"This is the last meal I shall have to cook for some time, for right\nafter breakfast Dr. Pipt has promised to bring my new servant to life. I\nshall let her wash the breakfast dishes and sweep and dust the house.\nWhat a relief it will be!\"\n\n\"It will, indeed, relieve you of much drudgery,\" said the Magician. \"By\nthe way, Margolotte, I thought I saw you getting some brains from the\ncupboard, while I was busy with my kettles. What qualities have you\ngiven your new servant?\"\n\n\"Only those that an humble servant requires,\" she answered. \"I do not\nwish her to feel above her station, as the Glass Cat does. That would\nmake her discontented and unhappy, for of course she must always be a\nservant.\"\n\nOjo was somewhat disturbed as he listened to this, and the boy began to\nfear he had done wrong in adding all those different qualities of brains\nto the lot Margolotte had prepared for the servant. But it was too late\nnow for regret, since all the brains were securely sewn up inside the\nPatchwork Girl's head. He might have confessed what he had done and thus\nallowed Margolotte and her husband to change the brains; but he was\nafraid of incurring their anger. He believed that Unc had seen him add\nto the brains, and Unc had not said a word against it; but then, Unc\nnever did say anything unless it was absolutely necessary.\n\nAs soon as breakfast was over they all went into the Magician's big\nworkshop, where the Glass Cat was lying before the mirror and the\nPatchwork Girl lay limp and lifeless upon the bench.\n\n\"Now, then,\" said Dr. Pipt, in a brisk tone, \"we shall perform one of\nthe greatest feats of magic possible to man, even in this marvelous Land\nof Oz. In no other country could it be done at all. I think we ought to\nhave a little music while the Patchwork Girl comes to life. It is\npleasant to reflect that the first sounds her golden ears will hear will\nbe delicious music.\"\n\nAs he spoke he went to a phonograph, which was screwed fast to a small\ntable, and wound up the spring of the instrument and adjusted the big\ngold horn.\n\n\"The music my servant will usually hear,\" remarked Margolotte, \"will be\nmy orders to do her work. But I see no harm in allowing her to listen to\nthis unseen band while she wakens to her first realization of life. My\norders will beat the band, afterward.\"\n\nThe phonograph was now playing a stirring march tune and the Magician\nunlocked his cabinet and took out the gold bottle containing the Powder\nof Life.\n\nThey all bent over the bench on which the Patchwork Girl reclined. Unc\nNunkie and Margolotte stood behind, near the windows, Ojo at one side\nand the Magician in front, where he would have freedom to sprinkle the\npowder. The Glass Cat came near, too, curious to watch the important\nscene.\n\n\"All ready?\" asked Dr. Pipt.\n\n\"All is ready,\" answered his wife.\n\nSo the Magician leaned over and shook from the bottle some grains of the\nwonderful Powder, and they fell directly on the Patchwork Girl's head\nand arms.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA TERRIBLE ACCIDENT\n\nCHAP. 5\n\n\n\n\"It will take a few minutes for this powder to do its work,\" remarked\nthe Magician, sprinkling the body up and down with much care.\n\nBut suddenly the Patchwork Girl threw up one arm, which knocked the\nbottle of powder from the crooked man's hand and sent it flying across\nthe room. Unc Nunkie and Margolotte were so startled that they both\nleaped backward and bumped together, and Unc's head joggled the shelf\nabove them and upset the bottle containing the Liquid of Petrifaction.\n\nThe Magician uttered such a wild cry that Ojo jumped away and the\nPatchwork Girl sprang after him and clasped her stuffed arms around him\nin terror. The Glass Cat snarled and hid under the table, and so it was\nthat when the powerful Liquid of Petrifaction was spilled it fell only\nupon the wife of the Magician and the uncle of Ojo. With these two the\ncharm worked promptly. They stood motionless and stiff as marble\nstatues, in exactly the positions they were in when the Liquid struck\nthem.\n\nOjo pushed the Patchwork Girl away and ran to Unc Nunkie, filled with a\nterrible fear for the only friend and protector he had ever known. When\nhe grasped Unc's hand it was cold and hard. Even the long gray beard was\nsolid marble. The Crooked Magician was dancing around the room in a\nfrenzy of despair, calling upon his wife to forgive him, to speak to\nhim, to come to life again!\n\nThe Patchwork Girl, quickly recovering from her fright, now came nearer\nand looked from one to another of the people with deep interest. Then\nshe looked at herself and laughed. Noticing the mirror, she stood before\nit and examined her extraordinary features with amazement--her button\neyes, pearl bead teeth and puffy nose. Then, addressing her reflection\nin the glass, she exclaimed:\n\n    \"Whee, but there's a gaudy dame!\n    Makes a paint-box blush with shame.\n    Razzle-dazzle, fizzle-fazzle!\n    Howdy-do, Miss What's-your-name?\"\n\nShe bowed, and the reflection bowed. Then she laughed again, long and\nmerrily, and the Glass Cat crept out from under the table and said:\n\n\"I don't blame you for laughing at yourself. Aren't you horrid?\"\n\n\"Horrid?\" she replied. \"Why, I'm thoroughly delightful. I'm an Original,\nif you please, and therefore incomparable. Of all the comic, absurd,\nrare and amusing creatures the world contains, I must be the supreme\nfreak. Who but poor Margolotte could have managed to invent such an\nunreasonable being as I? But I'm glad--I'm awfully glad!--that I'm just\nwhat I am, and nothing else.\"\n\n\"Be quiet, will you?\" cried the frantic Magician; \"be quiet and let me\nthink! If I don't think I shall go mad.\"\n\n\"Think ahead,\" said the Patchwork Girl, seating herself in a chair.\n\"Think all you want to. I don't mind.\"\n\n\"Gee! but I'm tired playing that tune,\" called the phonograph, speaking\nthrough its horn in a brazen, scratchy voice. \"If you don't mind, Pipt,\nold boy, I'll cut it out and take a rest.\"\n\nThe Magician looked gloomily at the music-machine.\n\n\"What dreadful luck!\" he wailed, despondently. \"The Powder of Life must\nhave fallen on the phonograph.\"\n\nHe went up to it and found that the gold bottle that contained the\nprecious powder had dropped upon the stand and scattered its life-giving\ngrains over the machine. The phonograph was very much alive, and began\ndancing a jig with the legs of the table to which it was attached, and\nthis dance so annoyed Dr. Pipt that he kicked the thing into a corner\nand pushed a bench against it, to hold it quiet.\n\n\"You were bad enough before,\" said the Magician, resentfully; \"but a\nlive phonograph is enough to drive every sane person in the Land of Oz\nstark crazy.\"\n\n\n\"No insults, please,\" answered the phonograph in a surly tone. \"You did\nit, my boy; don't blame me.\"\n\n\"You've bungled everything, Dr. Pipt,\" added the Glass Cat,\ncontemptuously.\n\n\"Except me,\" said the Patchwork Girl, jumping up to whirl merrily around\nthe room.\n\n\"I think,\" said Ojo, almost ready to cry through grief over Unc Nunkie's\nsad fate, \"it must all be my fault, in some way. I'm called Ojo the\nUnlucky, you know.\"\n\n\"That's nonsense, kiddie,\" retorted the Patchwork Girl cheerfully. \"No\none can be unlucky who has the intelligence to direct his own actions.\nThe unlucky ones are those who beg for a chance to think, like poor Dr.\nPipt here. What's the row about, anyway, Mr. Magic-maker?\"\n\n\"The Liquid of Petrifaction has accidentally fallen upon my dear wife\nand Unc Nunkie and turned them into marble,\" he sadly replied.\n\n\"Well, why don't you sprinkle some of that powder on them and bring them\nto life again?\" asked the Patchwork Girl.\n\nThe Magician gave a jump.\n\n\"Why, I hadn't thought of that!\" he joyfully cried, and grabbed up the\ngolden bottle, with which he ran to Margolotte.\n\nSaid the Patchwork Girl:\n\n    \"Higgledy, piggledy, dee--\n    What fools magicians be!\n    His head's so thick\n    He can't think quick,\n    So he takes advice from me.\"\n\nStanding upon the bench, for he was so crooked he could not reach the\ntop of his wife's head in any other way, Dr. Pipt began shaking the\nbottle. But not a grain of powder came out. He pulled off the cover,\nglanced within, and then threw the bottle from him with a wail of\ndespair.\n\n\"Gone--gone! Every bit gone,\" he cried. \"Wasted on that miserable\nphonograph when it might have saved my dear wife!\"\n\nThen the Magician bowed his head on his crooked arms and began to cry.\n\nOjo was sorry for him. He went up to the sorrowful man and said softly:\n\n\"You can make more Powder of Life, Dr. Pipt.\"\n\n\"Yes; but it will take me six years--six long, weary years of stirring\nfour kettles with both feet and both hands,\" was the agonized reply.\n\"Six years! while poor Margolotte stands watching me as a marble image.\"\n\n\"Can't anything else be done?\" asked the Patchwork Girl.\n\nThe Magician shook his head. Then he seemed to remember something and\nlooked up.\n\n\"There is one other compound that would destroy the magic spell of the\nLiquid of Petrifaction and restore my wife and Unc Nunkie to life,\" said\nhe. \"It may be hard to find the things I need to make this magic\ncompound, but if they were found I could do in an instant what will\notherwise take six long, weary years of stirring kettles with both hands\nand both feet.\"\n\n\"All right; let's find the things, then,\" suggested the Patchwork Girl.\n\"That seems a lot more sensible than those stirring times with the\nkettles.\"\n\n\"That's the idea, Scraps,\" said the Glass Cat, approvingly. \"I'm glad to\nfind you have decent brains. Mine are exceptionally good. You can see\n'em work; they're pink.\"\n\n\"Scraps?\" repeated the girl. \"Did you call me 'Scraps'? Is that my\nname?\"\n\n\"I--I believe my poor wife had intended to name you 'Angeline,'\" said\nthe Magician.\n\n\"But I like 'Scraps' best,\" she replied with a laugh. \"It fits me\nbetter, for my patchwork is all scraps, and nothing else. Thank you for\nnaming me, Miss Cat. Have you any name of your own?\"\n\n\"I have a foolish name that Margolotte once gave me, but which is quite\nundignified for one of my importance,\" answered the cat. \"She called me\n'Bungle.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" sighed the Magician; \"you were a sad bungle, taken all in all. I\nwas wrong to make you as I did, for a more useless, conceited and\nbrittle thing never before existed.\"\n\n\"I'm not so brittle as you think,\" retorted the cat. \"I've been alive a\ngood many years, for Dr. Pipt experimented on me with the first magic\nPowder of Life he ever made, and so far I've never broken or cracked or\nchipped any part of me.\"\n\n\"You seem to have a chip on your shoulder,\" laughed the Patchwork Girl,\nand the cat went to the mirror to see.\n\n\"Tell me,\" pleaded Ojo, speaking to the Crooked Magician, \"what must we\nfind to make the compound that will save Unc Nunkie?\"\n\n\"First,\" was the reply, \"I must have a six-leaved clover. That can only\nbe found in the green country around the Emerald City, and six-leaved\nclovers are very scarce, even there.\"\n\n\"I'll find it for you,\" promised Ojo.\n\n\"The next thing,\" continued the Magician, \"is the left wing of a yellow\nbutterfly. That color can only be found in the yellow country of the\nWinkies, West of the Emerald City.\"\n\n\"I'll find it,\" declared Ojo. \"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Oh, no; I'll get my Book of Recipes and see what comes next.\"\n\nSaying this, the Magician unlocked a drawer of his cabinet and drew out\na small book covered with blue leather. Looking through the pages he\nfound the recipe he wanted and said: \"I must have a gill of water from a\ndark well.\"\n\n\"What kind of a well is that, sir?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"One where the light of day never penetrates. The water must be put in a\ngold bottle and brought to me without any light ever reaching it.\"\n\n\"I'll get the water from the dark well,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"Then I must have three hairs from the tip of a Woozy's tail, and a drop\nof oil from a live man's body.\"\n\nOjo looked grave at this.\n\n\"What is a Woozy, please?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Some sort of an animal. I've never seen one, so I can't describe it,\"\nreplied the Magician.\n\n\"If I can find a Woozy, I'll get the hairs from its tail,\" said Ojo.\n\"But is there ever any oil in a man's body?\"\n\nThe Magician looked in the book again, to make sure.\n\n\"That's what the recipe calls for,\" he replied, \"and of course we must\nget everything that is called for, or the charm won't work. The book\ndoesn't say 'blood'; it says 'oil,' and there must be oil somewhere in a\nlive man's body or the book wouldn't ask for it.\"\n\n\"All right,\" returned Ojo, trying not to feel discouraged; \"I'll try to\nfind it.\"\n\nThe Magician looked at the little Munchkin boy in a doubtful way and\nsaid:\n\n\"All this will mean a long journey for you; perhaps several long\njourneys; for you must search through several of the different countries\nof Oz in order to get the things I need.\"\n\n\"I know it, sir; but I must do my best to save Unc Nunkie.\"\n\n\"And also my poor wife Margolotte. If you save one you will save the\nother, for both stand there together and the same compound will restore\nthem both to life. Do the best you can, Ojo, and while you are gone I\nshall begin the six years' job of making a new batch of the Powder of\nLife. Then, if you should unluckily fail to secure any one of the things\nneeded, I will have lost no time. But if you succeed you must return\nhere as quickly as you can, and that will save me much tiresome stirring\nof four kettles with both feet and both hands.\"\n\n\"I will start on my journey at once, sir,\" said the boy.\n\n\"And I will go with you,\" declared the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"No, no!\" exclaimed the Magician. \"You have no right to leave this\nhouse. You are only a servant and have not been discharged.\"\n\nScraps, who had been dancing up and down the room, stopped and looked at\nhim.\n\n\"What is a servant?\" she asked.\n\n\"One who serves. A--a sort of slave,\" he explained.\n\n\"Very well,\" said the Patchwork Girl, \"I'm going to serve you and your\nwife by helping Ojo find the things you need. You need a lot, you know,\nsuch as are not easily found.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" sighed Dr. Pipt. \"I am well aware that Ojo has undertaken\na serious task.\"\n\nScraps laughed, and resuming her dance she said:\n\n    \"Here's a job for a boy of brains:\n    A drop of oil from a live man's veins;\n    A six-leaved clover; three nice hairs\n    From a Woozy's tail, the book declares\n    Are needed for the magic spell,\n    And water from a pitch-dark well.\n    The yellow wing of a butterfly\n    To find must Ojo also try,\n    And if he gets them without harm,\n    Doc Pipt will make the magic charm;\n    But if he doesn't get 'em, Unc\n    Will always stand a marble chunk.\"\n\nThe Magician looked at her thoughtfully.\n\n\"Poor Margolotte must have given you some of the quality of poesy, by\nmistake,\" he said. \"And, if that is true, I didn't make a very good\narticle when I prepared it, or else you got an overdose or an underdose.\nHowever, I believe I shall let you go with Ojo, for my poor wife will\nnot need your services until she is restored to life. Also I think you\nmay be able to help the boy, for your head seems to contain some\nthoughts I did not expect to find in it. But be very careful of\nyourself, for you're a souvenir of my dear Margolotte. Try not to get\nripped, or your stuffing may fall out. One of your eyes seems loose, and\nyou may have to sew it on tighter. If you talk too much you'll wear out\nyour scarlet plush tongue, which ought to have been hemmed on the edges.\nAnd remember you belong to me and must return here as soon as your\nmission is accomplished.\"\n\n\"I'm going with Scraps and Ojo,\" announced the Glass Cat.\n\n\"You can't,\" said the Magician.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"You'd get broken in no time, and you couldn't be a bit of use to the\nboy and the Patchwork Girl.\"\n\n\"I beg to differ with you,\" returned the cat, in a haughty tone. \"Three\nheads are better than two, and my pink brains are beautiful. You can see\n'em work.\"\n\n\"Well, go along,\" said the Magician, irritably. \"You're only an\nannoyance, anyhow, and I'm glad to get rid of you.\"\n\n\"Thank you for nothing, then,\" answered the cat, stiffly.\n\nDr. Pipt took a small basket from a cupboard and packed several things\nin it. Then he handed it to Ojo.\n\n\"Here is some food and a bundle of charms,\" he said. \"It is all I can\ngive you, but I am sure you will find friends on your journey who will\nassist you in your search. Take care of the Patchwork Girl and bring her\nsafely back, for she ought to prove useful to my wife. As for the Glass\nCat--properly named Bungle--if she bothers you I now give you my\npermission to break her in two, for she is not respectful and does not\nobey me. I made a mistake in giving her the pink brains, you see.\"\n\nThen Ojo went to Unc Nunkie and kissed the old man's marble face very\ntenderly.\n\n\"I'm going to try to save you, Unc,\" he said, just as if the marble\nimage could hear him; and then he shook the crooked hand of the Crooked\nMagician, who was already busy hanging the four kettles in the\nfireplace, and picking up his basket left the house.\n\nThe Patchwork Girl followed him, and after them came the Glass Cat.\n\n\n\n\nTHE JOURNEY\n\nCHAP. SIX\n\n\n\nOjo had never traveled before and so he only knew that the path down the\nmountainside led into the open Munchkin Country, where large numbers of\npeople dwelt. Scraps was quite new and not supposed to know anything of\nthe Land of Oz, while the Glass Cat admitted she had never wandered very\nfar away from the Magician's house. There was only one path before them,\nat the beginning, so they could not miss their way, and for a time they\nwalked through the thick forest in silent thought, each one impressed\nwith the importance of the adventure they had undertaken.\n\nSuddenly the Patchwork Girl laughed. It was funny to see her laugh,\nbecause her cheeks wrinkled up, her nose tipped, her silver button eyes\ntwinkled and her mouth curled at the corners in a comical way.\n\n\"Has something pleased you?\" asked Ojo, who was feeling solemn and\njoyless through thinking upon his uncle's sad fate.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered. \"Your world pleases me, for it's a queer world, and\nlife in it is queerer still. Here am I, made from an old bed-quilt and\nintended to be a slave to Margolotte, rendered free as air by an\naccident that none of you could foresee. I am enjoying life and seeing\nthe world, while the woman who made me is standing helpless as a block\nof wood. If that isn't funny enough to laugh at, I don't know what is.\"\n\n\"You're not seeing much of the world yet, my poor, innocent Scraps,\"\nremarked the Cat. \"The world doesn't consist wholly of the trees that\nare on all sides of us.\"\n\n\"But they're part of it; and aren't they pretty trees?\" returned Scraps,\nbobbing her head until her brown yarn curls fluttered in the breeze.\n\"Growing between them I can see lovely ferns and wild-flowers, and soft\ngreen mosses. If the rest of your world is half as beautiful I shall be\nglad I'm alive.\"\n\n\"I don't know what the rest of the world is like, I'm sure,\" said the\ncat; \"but I mean to find out.\"\n\n\"I have never been out of the forest,\" Ojo added; \"but to me the trees\nare gloomy and sad and the wild-flowers seem lonesome. It must be nicer\nwhere there are no trees and there is room for lots of people to live\ntogether.\"\n\n\"I wonder if any of the people we shall meet will be as splendid as I\nam,\" said the Patchwork Girl. \"All I have seen, so far, have pale,\ncolorless skins and clothes as blue as the country they live in, while I\nam of many gorgeous colors--face and body and clothes. That is why I am\nbright and contented, Ojo, while you are blue and sad.\"\n\n\"I think I made a mistake in giving you so many sorts of brains,\"\nobserved the boy. \"Perhaps, as the Magician said, you have an overdose,\nand they may not agree with you.\"\n\n\"What had you to do with my brains?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"A lot,\" replied Ojo. \"Old Margolotte meant to give you only a few--just\nenough to keep you going--but when she wasn't looking I added a good\nmany more, of the best kinds I could find in the Magician's cupboard.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said the girl, dancing along the path ahead of Ojo and then\ndancing back to his side. \"If a few brains are good, many brains must be\nbetter.\"\n\n\"But they ought to be evenly balanced,\" said the boy, \"and I had no time\nto be careful. From the way you're acting, I guess the dose was badly\nmixed.\"\n\n\"Scraps hasn't enough brains to hurt her, so don't worry,\" remarked the\ncat, which was trotting along in a very dainty and graceful manner. \"The\nonly brains worth considering are mine, which are pink. You can see 'em\nwork.\"\n\nAfter walking a long time they came to a little brook that trickled\nacross the path, and here Ojo sat down to rest and eat something from\nhis basket. He found that the Magician had given him part of a loaf of\nbread and a slice of cheese. He broke off some of the bread and was\nsurprised to find the loaf just as large as it was before. It was the\nsame way with the cheese: however much he broke off from the slice, it\nremained exactly the same size.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he, nodding wisely; \"that's magic. Dr. Pipt has enchanted the\nbread and the cheese, so it will last me all through my journey, however\nmuch I eat.\"\n\n\"Why do you put those things into your mouth?\" asked Scraps, gazing at\nhim in astonishment. \"Do you need more stuffing? Then why don't you use\ncotton, such as I am stuffed with?\"\n\n\"I don't need that kind,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"But a mouth is to talk with, isn't it?\"\n\n\"It is also to eat with,\" replied the boy. \"If I didn't put food into my\nmouth, and eat it, I would get hungry and starve.\"\n\n\"Ah, I didn't know that,\" she said. \"Give me some.\"\n\nOjo handed her a bit of the bread and she put it in her mouth.\n\n\"What next?\" she asked, scarcely able to speak.\n\n\"Chew it and swallow it,\" said the boy.\n\nScraps tried that. Her pearl teeth were unable to chew the bread and\nbeyond her mouth there was no opening. Being unable to swallow she threw\naway the bread and laughed.\n\n\"I must get hungry and starve, for I can't eat,\" she said.\n\n\n\"Neither can I,\" announced the cat; \"but I'm not fool enough to try.\nCan't you understand that you and I are superior people and not made\nlike these poor humans?\"\n\n\"Why should I understand that, or anything else?\" asked the girl. \"Don't\nbother my head by asking conundrums, I beg of you. Just let me discover\nmyself in my own way.\"\n\nWith this she began amusing herself by leaping across the brook and back\nagain.\n\n\"Be careful, or you'll fall in the water,\" warned Ojo.\n\n\"Never mind.\"\n\n\"You'd better. If you get wet you'll be soggy and can't walk. Your\ncolors might run, too,\" he said.\n\n\"Don't my colors run whenever I run?\" she asked.\n\n\"Not in the way I mean. If they get wet, the reds and greens and yellows\nand purples of your patches might run into each other and become just a\nblur--no color at all, you know.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the Patchwork Girl, \"I'll be careful, for if I spoiled my\nsplendid colors I would cease to be beautiful.\"\n\n\"Pah!\" sneered the Glass Cat, \"such colors are not beautiful; they're\nugly, and in bad taste. Please notice that my body has no color at all.\nI'm transparent, except for my exquisite red heart and my lovely pink\nbrains--you can see 'em work.\"\n\n\"Shoo--shoo--shoo!\" cried Scraps, dancing around and laughing. \"And your\nhorrid green eyes, Miss Bungle! You can't see your eyes, but we can, and\nI notice you're very proud of what little color you have. Shoo, Miss\nBungle, shoo--shoo--shoo! If you were all colors and many colors, as I\nam, you'd be too stuck up for anything.\" She leaped over the cat and\nback again, and the startled Bungle crept close to a tree to escape her.\nThis made Scraps laugh more heartily than ever, and she said:\n\n    \"Whoop-te-doodle-doo!\n    The cat has lost her shoe.\n    Her tootsie's bare, but she don't care,\n    So what's the odds to you?\"\n\n\"Dear me, Ojo,\" said the cat; \"don't you think the creature is a little\nbit crazy?\"\n\n\"It may be,\" he answered, with a puzzled look.\n\n\"If she continues her insults I'll scratch off her suspender-button\neyes,\" declared the cat.\n\n\"Don't quarrel, please,\" pleaded the boy, rising to resume the journey.\n\"Let us be good comrades and as happy and cheerful as possible, for we\nare likely to meet with plenty of trouble on our way.\"\n\nIt was nearly sundown when they came to the edge of the forest and saw\nspread out before them a delightful landscape. There were broad blue\nfields stretching for miles over the valley, which was dotted everywhere\nwith pretty, blue domed houses, none of which, however, was very near to\nthe place where they stood. Just at the point where the path left the\nforest stood a tiny house covered with leaves from the trees, and before\nthis stood a Munchkin man with an axe in his hand. He seemed very much\nsurprised when Ojo and Scraps and the Glass Cat came out of the woods,\nbut as the Patchwork Girl approached nearer he sat down upon a bench and\nlaughed so hard that he could not speak for a long time.\n\nThis man was a woodchopper and lived all alone in the little house. He\nhad bushy blue whiskers and merry blue eyes and his blue clothes were\nquite old and worn.\n\n\"Mercy me!\" exclaimed the woodchopper, when at last he could stop\nlaughing. \"Who would think such a funny harlequin lived in the Land of\nOz? Where did you come from, Crazy-quilt?\"\n\n\"Do you mean me?\" asked the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Of course,\" he replied.\n\n\"You misjudge my ancestry. I'm not a crazy-quilt; I'm patchwork,\" she\nsaid.\n\n\"There's no difference,\" he replied, beginning to laugh again. \"When my\nold grandmother sews such things together she calls it a crazy-quilt;\nbut I never thought such a jumble could come to life.\"\n\n\"It was the Magic Powder that did it,\" explained Ojo.\n\n\"Oh, then you have come from the Crooked Magician on the mountain. I\nmight have known it, for--Well, I declare! here's a glass cat. But the\nMagician will get in trouble for this; it's against the law for anyone\nto work magic except Glinda the Good and the royal Wizard of Oz. If you\npeople--or things--or glass spectacles--or crazy-quilts--or whatever you\nare, go near the Emerald City, you'll be arrested.\"\n\n\"We're going there, anyhow,\" declared Scraps, sitting upon the bench and\nswinging her stuffed legs.\n\n    \"If any of us takes a rest,\n    We'll be arrested sure,\n    And get no restitution\n    'Cause the rest we must endure.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said the woodchopper, nodding; \"you're as crazy as the\ncrazy-quilt you're made of.\"\n\n\"She really _is_ crazy,\" remarked the Glass Cat. \"But that isn't to be\nwondered at when you remember how many different things she's made of.\nFor my part, I'm made of pure glass--except my jewel heart and my pretty\npink brains. Did you notice my brains, stranger? You can see 'em work.\"\n\n\"So I can,\" replied the woodchopper; \"but I can't see that they\naccomplish much. A glass cat is a useless sort of thing, but a Patchwork\nGirl is really useful. She makes me laugh, and laughter is the best\nthing in life. There was once a woodchopper, a friend of mine, who was\nmade all of tin, and I used to laugh every time I saw him.\"\n\n\"A tin woodchopper?\" said Ojo. \"That is strange.\"\n\n\"My friend wasn't always tin,\" said the man, \"but he was careless with\nhis axe, and used to chop himself very badly. Whenever he lost an arm or\na leg he had it replaced with tin; so after a while he was all tin.\"\n\n\"And could he chop wood then?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"He could if he didn't rust his tin joints. But one day he met Dorothy\nin the forest and went with her to the Emerald City, where he made his\nfortune. He is now one of the favorites of Princess Ozma, and she has\nmade him the Emperor of the Winkies--the Country where all is yellow.\"\n\n\"Who is Dorothy?\" inquired the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"A little maid who used to live in Kansas, but is now a Princess of Oz.\nShe's Ozma's best friend, they say, and lives with her in the royal\npalace.\"\n\n\"Is Dorothy made of tin?\" inquired Ojo.\n\n\"Is she patchwork, like me?\" inquired Scraps.\n\n\"No,\" said the man; \"Dorothy is flesh, just as I am. I know of only one\ntin person, and that is Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman; and there will\nnever be but one Patchwork Girl, for any magician that sees you will\nrefuse to make another one like you.\"\n\n\"I suppose we shall see the Tin Woodman, for we are going to the Country\nof the Winkies,\" said the boy.\n\n\"What for?\" asked the woodchopper.\n\n\"To get the left wing of a yellow butterfly.\"\n\n\"It is a long journey,\" declared the man, \"and you will go through\nlonely parts of Oz and cross rivers and traverse dark forests before you\nget there.\"\n\n\"Suits me all right,\" said Scraps. \"I'll get a chance to see the\ncountry.\"\n\n\"You're crazy, girl. Better crawl into a rag-bag and hide there; or give\nyourself to some little girl to play with. Those who travel are likely\nto meet trouble; that's why I stay at home.\"\n\n\nThe woodchopper then invited them all to stay the night at his little\nhut, but they were anxious to get on and so left him and continued along\nthe path, which was broader, now, and more distinct.\n\nThey expected to reach some other house before it grew dark, but the\ntwilight was brief and Ojo soon began to fear they had made a mistake in\nleaving the woodchopper.\n\n\"I can scarcely see the path,\" he said at last. \"Can you see it,\nScraps?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the Patchwork Girl, who was holding fast to the boy's arm\nso he could guide her.\n\n\"I can see,\" declared the Glass Cat. \"My eyes are better than yours, and\nmy pink brains--\"\n\n\"Never mind your pink brains, please,\" said Ojo hastily; \"just run ahead\nand show us the way. Wait a minute and I'll tie a string to you; for\nthen you can lead us.\"\n\nHe got a string from his pocket and tied it around the cat's neck, and\nafter that the creature guided them along the path. They had proceeded\nin this way for about an hour when a twinkling blue light appeared ahead\nof them.\n\n\"Good! there's a house at last,\" cried Ojo. \"When we reach it the good\npeople will surely welcome us and give us a night's lodging.\" But\nhowever far they walked the light seemed to get no nearer, so by and by\nthe cat stopped short, saying:\n\n\"I think the light is traveling, too, and we shall never be able to\ncatch up with it. But here is a house by the roadside, so why go\nfarther?\"\n\n\"Where is the house, Bungle?\"\n\n\"Just here beside us, Scraps.\"\n\nOjo was now able to see a small house near the pathway. It was dark and\nsilent, but the boy was tired and wanted to rest, so he went up to the\ndoor and knocked.\n\n\"Who is there?\" cried a voice from within.\n\n\"I am Ojo the Unlucky, and with me are Miss Scraps Patchwork and the\nGlass Cat,\" he replied.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked the Voice.\n\n\"A place to sleep,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"Come in, then; but don't make any noise, and you must go directly to\nbed,\" returned the Voice.\n\nOjo unlatched the door and entered. It was very dark inside and he could\nsee nothing at all. But the cat exclaimed: \"Why, there's no one here!\"\n\n\"There must be,\" said the boy. \"Some one spoke to me.\"\n\n\"I can see everything in the room,\" replied the cat, \"and no one is\npresent but ourselves. But here are three beds, all made up, so we may\nas well go to sleep.\"\n\n\"What is sleep?\" inquired the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"It's what you do when you go to bed,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"But why do you go to bed?\" persisted the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Here, here! You are making altogether too much noise,\" cried the Voice\nthey had heard before. \"Keep quiet, strangers, and go to bed.\"\n\nThe cat, which could see in the dark, looked sharply around for the\nowner of the Voice, but could discover no one, although the Voice had\nseemed close beside them. She arched her back a little and seemed\nafraid. Then she whispered to Ojo: \"Come!\" and led him to a bed.\n\nWith his hands the boy felt of the bed and found it was big and soft,\nwith feather pillows and plenty of blankets. So he took off his shoes\nand hat and crept into the bed. Then the cat led Scraps to another bed\nand the Patchwork Girl was puzzled to know what to do with it.\n\n\"Lie down and keep quiet,\" whispered the cat, warningly.\n\n\"Can't I sing?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Can't I whistle?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Can't I dance till morning, if I want to?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"You must keep quiet,\" said the cat, in a soft voice.\n\n\"I don't want to,\" replied the Patchwork Girl, speaking as loudly as\nusual. \"What right have you to order me around? If I want to talk, or\nyell, or whistle--\"\n\nBefore she could say anything more an unseen hand seized her firmly and\nthrew her out of the door, which closed behind her with a sharp slam.\nShe found herself bumping and rolling in the road and when she got up\nand tried to open the door of the house again she found it locked.\n\n\"What has happened to Scraps?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Never mind. Let's go to sleep, or something will happen to us,\"\nanswered the Glass Cat.\n\nSo Ojo snuggled down in his bed and fell asleep, and he was so tired\nthat he never wakened until broad daylight.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE TROUBLESOME PHONOGRAPH\n\nCHAP. 7\n\n\n\nWhen the boy opened his eyes next morning he looked carefully around the\nroom. These small Munchkin houses seldom had more than one room in them.\nThat in which Ojo now found himself had three beds, set all in a row on\none side of it. The Glass Cat lay asleep on one bed, Ojo was in the\nsecond, and the third was neatly made up and smoothed for the day. On\nthe other side of the room was a round table on which breakfast was\nalready placed, smoking hot. Only one chair was drawn up to the table,\nwhere a place was set for one person. No one seemed to be in the room\nexcept the boy and Bungle.\n\nOjo got up and put on his shoes. Finding a toilet stand at the head of\nhis bed he washed his face and hands and brushed his hair. Then he went\nto the table and said:\n\n\"I wonder if this is my breakfast?\"\n\n\"Eat it!\" commanded a Voice at his side, so near that Ojo jumped. But no\nperson could he see.\n\nHe was hungry, and the breakfast looked good; so he sat down and ate all\nhe wanted. Then, rising, he took his hat and wakened the Glass Cat.\n\n\"Come on, Bungle,\" said he; \"we must go.\"\n\nHe cast another glance about the room and, speaking to the air, he said:\n\"Whoever lives here has been kind to me, and I'm much obliged.\"\n\nThere was no answer, so he took his basket and went out the door, the\ncat following him. In the middle of the path sat the Patchwork Girl,\nplaying with pebbles she had picked up.\n\n\"Oh, there you are!\" she exclaimed cheerfully. \"I thought you were never\ncoming out. It has been daylight a long time.\"\n\n\"What did you do all night?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"Sat here and watched the stars and the moon,\" she replied. \"They're\ninteresting. I never saw them before, you know.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"You were crazy to act so badly and get thrown outdoors,\" remarked\nBungle, as they renewed their journey.\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Scraps. \"If I hadn't been thrown out I wouldn't\nhave seen the stars, nor the big gray wolf.\"\n\n\"What wolf?\" inquired Ojo.\n\n\"The one that came to the door of the house three times during the\nnight.\"\n\n\"I don't see why that should be,\" said the boy, thoughtfully; \"there was\nplenty to eat in that house, for I had a fine breakfast, and I slept in\na nice bed.\"\n\n\"Don't you feel tired?\" asked the Patchwork Girl, noticing that the boy\nyawned.\n\n\"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night; and yet I slept very well.\"\n\n\"And aren't you hungry?\"\n\n\"It's strange,\" replied Ojo. \"I had a good breakfast, and yet I think\nI'll now eat some of my crackers and cheese.\"\n\nScraps danced up and down the path. Then she sang:\n\n    \"Kizzle-kazzle-kore;\n    The wolf is at the door,\n    There's nothing to eat but a bone without meat,\n    And a bill from the grocery store.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Don't ask me,\" replied Scraps. \"I say what comes into my head, but of\ncourse I know nothing of a grocery store or bones without meat or--very\nmuch else.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the cat; \"she's stark, staring, raving crazy, and her brains\ncan't be pink, for they don't work properly.\"\n\n\"Bother the brains!\" cried Scraps. \"Who cares for 'em, anyhow? Have you\nnoticed how beautiful my patches are in this sunlight?\"\n\nJust then they heard a sound as of footsteps pattering along the path\nbehind them and all three turned to see what was coming. To their\nastonishment they beheld a small round table running as fast as its four\nspindle legs could carry it, and to the top was screwed fast a\nphonograph with a big gold horn.\n\n\n\"Hold on!\" shouted the phonograph. \"Wait for me!\"\n\n\"Goodness me; it's that music thing which the Crooked Magician scattered\nthe Powder of Life over,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"So it is,\" returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone of voice; and then, as the\nphonograph overtook them, the Glass Cat added sternly: \"What are you\ndoing here, anyhow?\"\n\n\"I've run away,\" said the music thing. \"After you left, old Dr. Pipt and\nI had a dreadful quarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces if I\ndidn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that, because a\ntalking-machine is supposed to talk and make a noise--and sometimes\nmusic. So I slipped out of the house while the Magician was stirring his\nfour kettles and I've been running after you all night. Now that I've\nfound such pleasant company, I can talk and play tunes all I want to.\"\n\nOjo was greatly annoyed by this unwelcome addition to their party. At\nfirst he did not know what to say to the newcomer, but a little thought\ndecided him not to make friends.\n\n\"We are traveling on important business,\" he declared, \"and you'll\nexcuse me if I say we can't be bothered.\"\n\n\"How very impolite!\" exclaimed the phonograph.\n\n\"I'm sorry; but it's true,\" said the boy. \"You'll have to go somewhere\nelse.\"\n\n\"This is very unkind treatment, I must say,\" whined the phonograph, in\nan injured tone. \"Everyone seems to hate me, and yet I was intended to\namuse people.\"\n\n\"It isn't you we hate, especially,\" observed the Glass Cat; \"it's your\ndreadful music. When I lived in the same room with you I was much\nannoyed by your squeaky horn. It growls and grumbles and clicks and\nscratches so it spoils the music, and your machinery rumbles so that the\nracket drowns every tune you attempt.\"\n\n\"That isn't my fault; it's the fault of my records. I must admit that I\nhaven't a clear record,\" answered the machine.\n\n\"Just the same, you'll have to go away,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" cried Scraps. \"This music thing interests me. I\nremember to have heard music when I first came to life, and I would like\nto hear it again. What is your name, my poor abused phonograph?\"\n\n\"Victor Columbia Edison,\" it answered.\n\n\"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short,\" said the Patchwork Girl. \"Go\nahead and play something.\"\n\n\"It'll drive you crazy,\" warned the cat.\n\n\"I'm crazy now, according to your statement. Loosen up and reel out the\nmusic, Vic.\"\n\n\"The only record I have with me,\" explained the phonograph, \"is one the\nMagician attached just before we had our quarrel. It's a highly\nclassical composition.\"\n\n\"A what?\" inquired Scraps.\n\n\"It is classical music, and is considered the best and most puzzling\never manufactured. You're supposed to like it, whether you do or not,\nand if you don't, the proper thing is to look as if you did.\nUnderstand?\"\n\n\"Not in the least,\" said Scraps.\n\n\"Then, listen!\"\n\nAt once the machine began to play and in a few minutes Ojo put his hands\nto his ears to shut out the sounds and the cat snarled and Scraps began\nto laugh.\n\n\"Cut it out, Vic,\" she said. \"That's enough.\"\n\nBut the phonograph continued playing the dreary tune, so Ojo seized the\ncrank, jerked it free and threw it into the road. However, the moment\nthe crank struck the ground it bounded back to the machine again and\nbegan winding it up. And still the music played.\n\n\"Let's run!\" cried Scraps, and they all started and ran down the path as\nfast as they could go. But the phonograph was right behind them and\ncould run and play at the same time. It called out, reproachfully:\n\n\"What's the matter? Don't you love classical music?\"\n\n\"No, Vic,\" said Scraps, halting. \"We will passical the classical and\npreserve what joy we have left. I haven't any nerves, thank goodness,\nbut your music makes my cotton shrink.\"\n\n\"Then turn over my record. There's a rag-time tune on the other side,\"\nsaid the machine.\n\n\"What's rag-time?\"\n\n\"The opposite of classical.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Scraps, and turned over the record.\n\nThe phonograph now began to play a jerky jumble of sounds which proved\nso bewildering that after a moment Scraps stuffed her patchwork apron\ninto the gold horn and cried: \"Stop--stop! That's the other extreme.\nIt's extremely bad!\"\n\nMuffled as it was, the phonograph played on.\n\n\"If you don't shut off that music I'll smash your record,\" threatened\nOjo.\n\nThe music stopped, at that, and the machine turned its horn from one to\nanother and said with great indignation: \"What's the matter now? Is it\npossible you can't appreciate rag-time?\"\n\n\"Scraps ought to, being rags herself,\" said the cat; \"but I simply can't\nstand it; it makes my whiskers curl.\"\n\n\"It is, indeed, dreadful!\" exclaimed Ojo, with a shudder.\n\n\"It's enough to drive a crazy lady mad,\" murmured the Patchwork Girl.\n\"I'll tell you what, Vic,\" she added as she smoothed out her apron and\nput it on again, \"for some reason or other you've missed your guess.\nYou're not a concert; you're a nuisance.\"\n\n\"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,\" asserted the phonograph\nsadly.\n\n\"Then we're not savages. I advise you to go home and beg the Magician's\npardon.\"\n\n\"Never! He'd smash me.\"\n\n\"That's what we shall do, if you stay here,\" Ojo declared.\n\n\"Run along, Vic, and bother some one else,\" advised Scraps. \"Find some\none who is real wicked, and stay with him till he repents. In that way\nyou can do some good in the world.\"\n\nThe music thing turned silently away and trotted down a side path,\ntoward a distant Munchkin village.\n\n\"Is that the way _we_ go?\" asked Bungle anxiously.\n\n\"No,\" said Ojo; \"I think we shall keep straight ahead, for this path is\nthe widest and best. When we come to some house we will inquire the way\nto the Emerald City.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOOLISH OWL AND THE WISE DONKEY\n\nCHAP. 8\n\n\n\nOn they went, and half an hour's steady walking brought them to a house\nsomewhat better than the two they had already passed. It stood close to\nthe roadside and over the door was a sign that read: \"Miss Foolish Owl\nand Mr. Wise Donkey: Public Advisers.\"\n\nWhen Ojo read this sign aloud Scraps said laughingly: \"Well, here is a\nplace to get all the advice we want, maybe more than we need. Let's go\nin.\"\n\nThe boy knocked at the door.\n\n\"Come in!\" called a deep bass voice.\n\nSo they opened the door and entered the house, where a little\nlight-brown donkey, dressed in a blue apron and a blue cap, was engaged\nin dusting the furniture with a blue cloth. On a shelf over the window\nsat a great blue owl with a blue sunbonnet on her head, blinking her big\nround eyes at the visitors.\n\n\"Good morning,\" said the donkey, in his deep voice, which seemed bigger\nthan he was. \"Did you come to us for advice?\"\n\n\"Why, we came, anyhow,\" replied Scraps, \"and now we are here we may as\nwell have some advice. It's free, isn't it?\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the donkey. \"Advice doesn't cost anything--unless you\nfollow it. Permit me to say, by the way, that you are the queerest lot\nof travelers that ever came to my shop. Judging you merely by\nappearances, I think you'd better talk to the Foolish Owl yonder.\"\n\nThey turned to look at the bird, which fluttered its wings and stared\nback at them with its big eyes.\n\n\"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot!\" cried the owl.\n\n    \"Fiddle-cum-foo,\n    Howdy--do?\n    Riddle-cum, tiddle-cum,\n    Too-ra-la-loo!\"\n\n\"That beats your poetry, Scraps,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"It's just nonsense!\" declared the Glass Cat.\n\n\"But it's good advice for the foolish,\" said the donkey, admiringly.\n\"Listen to my partner, and you can't go wrong.\"\n\nSaid the owl in a grumbling voice:\n\n    \"Patchwork Girl has come to life;\n    No one's sweetheart, no one's wife;\n    Lacking sense and loving fun,\n    She'll be snubbed by everyone.\"\n\n\"Quite a compliment! Quite a compliment, I declare,\" exclaimed the\ndonkey, turning to look at Scraps. \"You are certainly a wonder, my dear,\nand I fancy you'd make a splendid pincushion. If you belonged to me, I'd\nwear smoked glasses when I looked at you.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Because you are so gay and gaudy.\"\n\n\"It is my beauty that dazzles you,\" she asserted. \"You Munchkin people\nall strut around in your stupid blue color, while I--\"\n\n\"You are wrong in calling me a Munchkin,\" interrupted the donkey, \"for I\nwas born in the Land of Mo and came to visit the Land of Oz on the day\nit was shut off from all the rest of the world. So here I am obliged to\nstay, and I confess it is a very pleasant country to live in.\"\n\n\"Hoot-ti-toot!\" cried the owl;\n\n    \"Ojo's searching for a charm,\n    'Cause Unc Nunkie's come to harm.\n    Charms are scarce; they're hard to get;\n    Ojo's got a job, you bet!\"\n\n\"Is the owl so very foolish?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"Extremely so,\" replied the donkey. \"Notice what vulgar expressions she\nuses. But I admire the owl for the reason that she _is_ positively\nfoolish. Owls are supposed to be so very wise, generally, that a foolish\none is unusual, and you perhaps know that anything or anyone unusual is\nsure to be interesting to the wise.\"\n\nThe owl flapped its wings again, muttering these words:\n\n    \"It's hard to be a glassy cat--\n    No cat can be more hard than that;\n    She's so transparent, every act\n    Is clear to us, and that's a fact.\"\n\n\"Have you noticed my pink brains?\" inquired Bungle, proudly. \"You can\nsee 'em work.\"\n\n\"Not in the daytime,\" said the donkey. \"She can't see very well by day,\npoor thing. But her advice is excellent. I advise you all to follow it.\"\n\n\"The owl hasn't given us any advice, as yet,\" the boy declared.\n\n\"No? Then what do you call all those sweet poems?\"\n\n\"Just foolishness,\" replied Ojo. \"Scraps does the same thing.\"\n\n\"Foolishness! Of course! To be sure! The Foolish Owl must be foolish or\nshe wouldn't be the Foolish Owl. You are very complimentary to my\npartner, indeed,\" asserted the donkey, rubbing his front hoofs together\nas if highly pleased.\n\n\n\"The sign says that _you_ are wise,\" remarked Scraps to the donkey. \"I\nwish you would prove it.\"\n\n\"With great pleasure,\" returned the beast. \"Put me to the test, my dear\nPatches, and I'll prove my wisdom in the wink of an eye.\"\n\n\"What is the best way to get to the Emerald City?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Walk,\" said the donkey.\n\n\"I know; but what road shall I take?\" was the boy's next question.\n\n\"The road of yellow bricks, of course. It leads directly to the Emerald\nCity.\"\n\n\"And how shall we find the road of yellow bricks?\"\n\n\"By keeping along the path you have been following. You'll come to the\nyellow bricks pretty soon, and you'll know them when you see them\nbecause they're the only yellow things in the blue country.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the boy. \"At last you have told me something.\"\n\n\"Is that the extent of your wisdom?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"No,\" replied the donkey; \"I know many other things, but they wouldn't\ninterest you. So I'll give you a last word of advice: move on, for the\nsooner you do that the sooner you'll get to the Emerald City of Oz.\"\n\n\"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot-ti-too!\" screeched the owl;\n\n    \"Off you go! fast or slow,\n    Where you're going you don't know.\n    Patches, Bungle, Munchkin lad,\n    Facing fortunes good and bad,\n    Meeting dangers grave and sad,\n    Sometimes worried, sometimes glad--\n    Where you're going you don't know,\n    Nor do I, but off you go!\"\n\n\"Sounds like a hint, to me,\" said the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Then let's take it and go,\" replied Ojo.\n\nThey said good-bye to the Wise Donkey and the Foolish Owl and at once\nresumed their journey.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHEY MEET THE WOOZY\n\nCHAP. NINE\n\n\n\n\"There seem to be very few houses around here, after all,\" remarked Ojo,\nafter they had walked for a time in silence.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Scraps; \"we are not looking for houses, but rather\nthe road of yellow bricks. Won't it be funny to run across something\nyellow in this dismal blue country?\"\n\n\"There are worse colors than yellow in this country,\" asserted the Glass\nCat, in a spiteful tone.\n\n\"Oh; do you mean the pink pebbles you call your brains, and your red\nheart and green eyes?\" asked the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"No; I mean you, if you must know it,\" growled the cat.\n\n\"You're jealous!\" laughed Scraps. \"You'd give your whiskers for a\nlovely variegated complexion like mine.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't!\" retorted the cat. \"I've the clearest complexion in the\nworld, and I don't employ a beauty-doctor, either.\"\n\n\"I see you don't,\" said Scraps.\n\n\"Please don't quarrel,\" begged Ojo. \"This is an important journey, and\nquarreling makes me discouraged. To be brave, one must be cheerful, so I\nhope you will be as good-tempered as possible.\"\n\nThey had traveled some distance when suddenly they faced a high fence\nwhich barred any further progress straight ahead. It ran directly across\nthe road and enclosed a small forest of tall trees, set close together.\nWhen the group of adventurers peered through the bars of the fence they\nthought this forest looked more gloomy and forbidding than any they had\never seen before.\n\nThey soon discovered that the path they had been following now made a\nbend and passed around the enclosure, but what made Ojo stop and look\nthoughtful was a sign painted on the fence which read:\n\n    \"BEWARE OF THE WOOZY!\"\n\n\"That means,\" he said, \"that there's a Woozy inside that fence, and the\nWoozy must be a dangerous animal or they wouldn't tell people to beware\nof it.\"\n\n\"Let's keep out, then,\" replied Scraps. \"That path is outside the fence,\nand Mr. Woozy may have all his little forest to himself, for all we\ncare.\"\n\n\"But one of our errands is to find a Woozy,\" Ojo explained. \"The\nMagician wants me to get three hairs from the end of a Woozy's tail.\"\n\n\"Let's go on and find some other Woozy,\" suggested the cat. \"This one is\nugly and dangerous, or they wouldn't cage him up. Maybe we shall find\nanother that is tame and gentle.\"\n\n\"Perhaps there isn't any other, at all,\" answered Ojo. \"The sign doesn't\nsay: 'Beware _a_ Woozy'; it says: 'Beware _the_ Woozy,' which may mean\nthere's only one in all the Land of Oz.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Scraps, \"suppose we go in and find him? Very likely if we\nask him politely to let us pull three hairs out of the tip of his tail\nhe won't hurt us.\"\n\n\"It would hurt _him_, I'm sure, and that would make him cross,\" said the\ncat.\n\n\"You needn't worry, Bungle,\" remarked the Patchwork Girl; \"for if there\nis danger you can climb a tree. Ojo and I are not afraid; are we, Ojo?\"\n\n\"I am, a little,\" the boy admitted; \"but this danger must be faced, if\nwe intend to save poor Unc Nunkie. How shall we get over the fence?\"\n\n\"Climb,\" answered Scraps, and at once she began climbing up the rows of\nbars. Ojo followed and found it more easy than he had expected. When\nthey got to the top of the fence they began to get down on the other\nside and soon were in the forest. The Glass Cat, being small, crept\nbetween the lower bars and joined them.\n\nHere there was no path of any sort, so they entered the woods, the boy\nleading the way, and wandered through the trees until they were nearly\nin the center of the forest. They now came upon a clear space in which\nstood a rocky cave.\n\nSo far they had met no living creature, but when Ojo saw the cave he\nknew it must be the den of the Woozy.\n\nIt is hard to face any savage beast without a sinking of the heart, but\nstill more terrifying is it to face an unknown beast, which you have\nnever seen even a picture of. So there is little wonder that the pulses\nof the Munchkin boy beat fast as he and his companions stood facing the\ncave. The opening was perfectly square, and about big enough to admit a\ngoat.\n\n\"I guess the Woozy is asleep,\" said Scraps. \"Shall I throw in a stone,\nto waken him?\"\n\n\"No; please don't,\" answered Ojo, his voice trembling a little. \"I'm in\nno hurry.\"\n\nBut he had not long to wait, for the Woozy heard the sound of voices and\ncame trotting out of his cave. As this is the only Woozy that has ever\nlived, either in the Land of Oz or out of it, I must describe it to you.\n\nThe creature was all squares and flat surfaces and edges. Its head was\nan exact square, like one of the building-blocks a child plays with;\ntherefore it had no ears, but heard sounds through two openings in the\nupper corners. Its nose, being in the center of a square surface, was\nflat, while the mouth was formed by the opening of the lower edge of the\nblock. The body of the Woozy was much larger than its head, but was\nlikewise block-shaped--being twice as long as it was wide and high. The\ntail was square and stubby and perfectly straight, and the four legs\nwere made in the same way, each being four-sided. The animal was covered\nwith a thick, smooth skin and had no hair at all except at the extreme\nend of its tail, where there grew exactly three stiff, stubby hairs. The\nbeast was dark blue in color and his face was not fierce nor ferocious\nin expression, but rather good-humored and droll.\n\nSeeing the strangers, the Woozy folded his hind legs as if they had been\nhinged and sat down to look his visitors over.\n\n\"Well, well,\" he exclaimed; \"what a queer lot you are! At first I\nthought some of those miserable Munchkin farmers had come to annoy me,\nbut I am relieved to find you in their stead. It is plain to me that you\nare a remarkable group--as remarkable in your way as I am in mine--and\nso you are welcome to my domain. Nice place, isn't it? But\nlonesome--dreadfully lonesome.\"\n\n\"Why did they shut you up here?\" asked Scraps, who was regarding the\nqueer, square creature with much curiosity.\n\n\"Because I eat up all the honey-bees which the Munchkin farmers who live\naround here keep to make them honey.\"\n\n\"Are you fond of eating honey-bees?\" inquired the boy.\n\n\"Very. They are really delicious. But the farmers did not like to lose\ntheir bees and so they tried to destroy me. Of course they couldn't do\nthat.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"My skin is so thick and tough that nothing can get through it to hurt\nme. So, finding they could not destroy me, they drove me into this\nforest and built a fence around me. Unkind, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"But what do you eat now?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Nothing at all. I've tried the leaves from the trees and the mosses and\ncreeping vines, but they don't seem to suit my taste. So, there being no\nhoney-bees here, I've eaten nothing for years.\"\n\n\"You must be awfully hungry,\" said the boy. \"I've got some bread and\ncheese in my basket. Would you like that kind of food?\"\n\n\"Give me a nibble and I will try it; then I can tell you better whether\nit is grateful to my appetite,\" returned the Woozy.\n\nSo the boy opened his basket and broke a piece off the loaf of bread. He\ntossed it toward the Woozy, who cleverly caught it in his mouth and ate\nit in a twinkling.\n\n\"That's rather good,\" declared the animal. \"Any more?\"\n\n\"Try some cheese,\" said Ojo, and threw down a piece.\n\nThe Woozy ate that, too, and smacked its long, thin lips.\n\n\"That's mighty good!\" it exclaimed. \"Any more?\"\n\n\"Plenty,\" replied Ojo. So he sat down on a stump and fed the Woozy bread\nand cheese for a long time; for, no matter how much the boy broke off,\nthe loaf and the slice remained just as big.\n\n\"That'll do,\" said the Woozy, at last; \"I'm quite full. I hope the\nstrange food won't give me indigestion.\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" said Ojo. \"It's what I eat.\"\n\n\"Well, I must say I'm much obliged, and I'm glad you came,\" announced\nthe beast. \"Is there anything I can do in return for your kindness?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ojo earnestly, \"you have it in your power to do me a great\nfavor, if you will.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked the Woozy. \"Name the favor and I will grant it.\"\n\n\"I--I want three hairs from the tip of your tail,\" said Ojo, with some\nhesitation.\n\n\"Three hairs! Why, that's all I have--on my tail or anywhere else,\"\nexclaimed the beast.\n\n\"I know; but I want them very much.\"\n\n\"They are my sole ornaments, my prettiest feature,\" said the Woozy,\nuneasily. \"If I give up those three hairs I--I'm just a blockhead.\"\n\n\"Yet I must have them,\" insisted the boy, firmly, and he then told the\nWoozy all about the accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, and how the\nthree hairs were to be a part of the magic charm that would restore\nthem to life. The beast listened with attention and when Ojo had\nfinished the recital it said, with a sigh:\n\n\"I always keep my word, for I pride myself on being square. So you may\nhave the three hairs, and welcome. I think, under such circumstances, it\nwould be selfish in me to refuse you.\"\n\n\"Thank you! Thank you very much,\" cried the boy, joyfully. \"May I pull\nout the hairs now?\"\n\n\"Any time you like,\" answered the Woozy.\n\nSo Ojo went up to the queer creature and taking hold of one of the hairs\nbegan to pull. He pulled harder. He pulled with all his might; but the\nhair remained fast.\n\n\"What's the trouble?\" asked the Woozy, which Ojo had dragged here and\nthere all around the clearing in his endeavor to pull out the hair.\n\n\"It won't come,\" said the boy, panting.\n\n\"I was afraid of that,\" declared the beast. \"You'll have to pull\nharder.\"\n\n\"I'll help you,\" exclaimed Scraps, coming to the boy's side. \"You pull\nthe hair, and I'll pull you, and together we ought to get it out\neasily.\"\n\n\"Wait a jiffy,\" called the Woozy, and then it went to a tree and hugged\nit with its front paws, so that its body couldn't be dragged around by\nthe pull. \"All ready, now. Go ahead!\"\n\nOjo grasped the hair with both hands and pulled with all his strength,\nwhile Scraps seized the boy around his waist and added her strength to\nhis. But the hair wouldn't budge. Instead, it slipped out of Ojo's hands\nand he and Scraps both rolled upon the ground in a heap and never\nstopped until they bumped against the rocky cave.\n\n\n\"Give it up,\" advised the Glass Cat, as the boy arose and assisted the\nPatchwork Girl to her feet. \"A dozen strong men couldn't pull out those\nhairs. I believe they're clinched on the under side of the Woozy's thick\nskin.\"\n\n\"Then what shall I do?\" asked the boy, despairingly. \"If on our return I\nfail to take these three hairs to the Crooked Magician, the other things\nI have come to seek will be of no use at all, and we cannot restore Unc\nNunkie and Margolotte to life.\"\n\n\"They're goners, I guess,\" said the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Never mind,\" added the cat. \"I can't see that old Unc and Margolotte\nare worth all this trouble, anyhow.\"\n\nBut Ojo did not feel that way. He was so disheartened that he sat down\nupon a stump and began to cry.\n\nThe Woozy looked at the boy thoughtfully.\n\n\"Why don't you take me with you?\" asked the beast. \"Then, when at last\nyou get to the Magician's house, he can surely find some way to pull out\nthose three hairs.\"\n\nOjo was overjoyed at this suggestion.\n\n\"That's it!\" he cried, wiping away the tears and springing to his feet\nwith a smile. \"If I take the three hairs to the Magician, it won't\nmatter if they are still in your body.\"\n\n\"It can't matter in the least,\" agreed the Woozy.\n\n\"Come on, then,\" said the boy, picking up his basket; \"let us start at\nonce. I have several other things to find, you know.\"\n\nBut the Glass Cat gave a little laugh and inquired in her scornful way:\n\n\"How do you intend to get the beast out of this forest?\"\n\nThat puzzled them all for a time.\n\n\"Let us go to the fence, and then we may find a way,\" suggested Scraps.\nSo they walked through the forest to the fence, reaching it at a point\nexactly opposite that where they had entered the enclosure.\n\n\"How did you get in?\" asked the Woozy.\n\n\"We climbed over,\" answered Ojo.\n\n\"I can't do that,\" said the beast. \"I'm a very swift runner, for I can\novertake a honey-bee as it flies; and I can jump very high, which is the\nreason they made such a tall fence to keep me in. But I can't climb at\nall, and I'm too big to squeeze between the bars of the fence.\"\n\nOjo tried to think what to do.\n\n\"Can you dig?\" he asked.\n\n\"No,\" answered the Woozy, \"for I have no claws. My feet are quite flat\non the bottom of them. Nor can I gnaw away the boards, as I have no\nteeth.\"\n\n\"You're not such a terrible creature, after all,\" remarked Scraps.\n\n\"You haven't heard me growl, or you wouldn't say that,\" declared the\nWoozy. \"When I growl, the sound echoes like thunder all through the\nvalleys and woodlands, and children tremble with fear, and women cover\ntheir heads with their aprons, and big men run and hide. I suppose there\nis nothing in the world so terrible to listen to as the growl of a\nWoozy.\"\n\n\"Please don't growl, then,\" begged Ojo, earnestly.\n\n\"There is no danger of my growling, for I am not angry. Only when angry\ndo I utter my fearful, ear-splitting, soul-shuddering growl. Also, when\nI am angry, my eyes flash fire, whether I growl or not.\"\n\n\"Real fire?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Of course, real fire. Do you suppose they'd flash imitation fire?\"\ninquired the Woozy, in an injured tone.\n\n\"In that case, I've solved the riddle,\" cried Scraps, dancing with glee.\n\"Those fence-boards are made of wood, and if the Woozy stands close to\nthe fence and lets his eyes flash fire, they might set fire to the fence\nand burn it up. Then he could walk away with us easily, being free.\"\n\n\"Ah, I have never thought of that plan, or I would have been free long\nago,\" said the Woozy. \"But I cannot flash fire from my eyes unless I am\nvery angry.\"\n\n\"Can't you get angry 'bout something, please?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"I'll try. You just say 'Krizzle-Kroo' to me.\"\n\n\"Will that make you angry?\" inquired the boy.\n\n\"Terribly angry.\"\n\n\"What does it mean?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"I don't know; that's what makes me so angry,\" replied the Woozy.\n\nHe then stood close to the fence, with his head near one of the boards,\nand Scraps called out \"Krizzle-Kroo!\" Then Ojo said \"Krizzle-Kroo!\" and\nthe Glass Cat said \"Krizzle-Kroo!\" The Woozy began to tremble with anger\nand small sparks darted from his eyes. Seeing this, they all cried\n\"Krizzle-Kroo!\" together, and that made the beast's eyes flash fire so\nfiercely that the fence-board caught the sparks and began to smoke. Then\nit burst into flame, and the Woozy stepped back and said triumphantly:\n\n\"Aha! That did the business, all right. It was a happy thought for you\nto yell all together, for that made me as angry as I have ever been.\nFine sparks, weren't they?\"\n\n\n\"Reg'lar fireworks,\" replied Scraps, admiringly.\n\nIn a few moments the board had burned to a distance of several feet,\nleaving an opening big enough for them all to pass through. Ojo broke\nsome branches from a tree and with them whipped the fire until it was\nextinguished.\n\n\"We don't want to burn the whole fence down,\" said he, \"for the flames\nwould attract the attention of the Munchkin farmers, who would then come\nand capture the Woozy again. I guess they'll be rather surprised when\nthey find he's escaped.\"\n\n\"So they will,\" declared the Woozy, chuckling gleefully. \"When they find\nI'm gone the farmers will be badly scared, for they'll expect me to eat\nup their honey-bees, as I did before.\"\n\n\"That reminds me,\" said the boy, \"that you must promise not to eat\nhoney-bees while you are in our company.\"\n\n\"None at all?\"\n\n\"Not a bee. You would get us all into trouble, and we can't afford to\nhave any more trouble than is necessary. I'll feed you all the bread and\ncheese you want, and that must satisfy you.\"\n\n\"All right; I'll promise,\" said the Woozy, cheerfully. \"And when I\npromise anything you can depend on it, 'cause I'm square.\"\n\n\"I don't see what difference that makes,\" observed the Patchwork Girl,\nas they found the path and continued their journey. \"The shape doesn't\nmake a thing honest, does it?\"\n\n\"Of course it does,\" returned the Woozy, very decidedly. \"No one could\ntrust that Crooked Magician, for instance, just because he _is_ crooked;\nbut a square Woozy couldn't do anything crooked if he wanted to.\"\n\n\"I am neither square nor crooked,\" said Scraps, looking down at her\nplump body.\n\n\"No; you're round, so you're liable to do anything,\" asserted the Woozy.\n\"Do not blame me, Miss Gorgeous, if I regard you with suspicion. Many a\nsatin ribbon has a cotton back.\"\n\nScraps didn't understand this, but she had an uneasy misgiving that she\nhad a cotton back herself. It would settle down, at times, and make her\nsquat and dumpy, and then she had to roll herself in the road until her\nbody stretched out again.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSHAGGY MAN TO THE RESCUE\n\nCHAP. 10\n\n\n\nThey had not gone very far before Bungle, who had run on ahead, came\nbounding back to say that the road of yellow bricks was just before\nthem. At once they hurried forward to see what this famous road looked\nlike.\n\nIt was a broad road, but not straight, for it wandered over hill and\ndale and picked out the easiest places to go. All its length and breadth\nwas paved with smooth bricks of a bright yellow color, so it was smooth\nand level except in a few places where the bricks had crumbled or been\nremoved, leaving holes that might cause the unwary to stumble.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Ojo, looking up and down the road, \"which way to go.\"\n\n\"Where are you bound for?\" asked the Woozy.\n\n\"The Emerald City,\" he replied.\n\n\"Then go west,\" said the Woozy. \"I know this road pretty well, for I've\nchased many a honey-bee over it.\"\n\n\"Have you ever been to the Emerald City?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"No. I am very shy by nature, as you may have noticed, so I haven't\nmingled much in society.\"\n\n\"Are you afraid of men?\" inquired the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Me? With my heart-rending growl--my horrible, shudderful growl? I\nshould say not. I am not afraid of anything,\" declared the Woozy.\n\n\"I wish I could say the same,\" sighed Ojo. \"I don't think we need be\nafraid when we get to the Emerald City, for Unc Nunkie has told me that\nOzma, our girl Ruler, is very lovely and kind, and tries to help\neveryone who is in trouble. But they say there are many dangers lurking\non the road to the great Fairy City, and so we must be very careful.\"\n\n\"I hope nothing will break me,\" said the Glass Cat, in a nervous voice.\n\"I'm a little brittle, you know, and can't stand many hard knocks.\"\n\n\"If anything should fade the colors of my lovely patches it would break\nmy heart,\" said the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"I'm not sure you have a heart,\" Ojo reminded her.\n\n\"Then it would break my cotton,\" persisted Scraps. \"Do you think they\nare all fast colors, Ojo?\" she asked anxiously.\n\n\"They seem fast enough when you run,\" he replied; and then, looking\nahead of them, he exclaimed: \"Oh, what lovely trees!\"\n\nThey were certainly pretty to look upon and the travelers hurried\nforward to observe them more closely.\n\n\"Why, they are not trees at all,\" said Scraps; \"they are just monstrous\nplants.\"\n\nThat is what they really were: masses of great broad leaves which rose\nfrom the ground far into the air, until they towered twice as high as\nthe top of the Patchwork Girl's head, who was a little taller than Ojo.\nThe plants formed rows on both sides of the road and from each plant\nrose a dozen or more of the big broad leaves, which swayed continually\nfrom side to side, although no wind was blowing. But the most curious\nthing about the swaying leaves was their color. They seemed to have a\ngeneral groundwork of blue, but here and there other colors glinted at\ntimes through the blue--gorgeous yellows, turning to pink, purple,\norange and scarlet, mingled with more sober browns and grays--each\nappearing as a blotch or stripe anywhere on a leaf and then\ndisappearing, to be replaced by some other color of a different shape.\n\nThe changeful coloring of the great leaves was very beautiful, but it\nwas bewildering, as well, and the novelty of the scene drew our\ntravelers close to the line of plants, where they stood watching them\nwith rapt interest.\n\nSuddenly a leaf bent lower than usual and touched the Patchwork Girl.\nSwiftly it enveloped her in its embrace, covering her completely in its\nthick folds, and then it swayed back upon its stem.\n\n\n\"Why, she's gone!\" gasped Ojo, in amazement, and listening carefully he\nthought he could hear the muffled screams of Scraps coming from the\ncenter of the folded leaf. But, before he could think what he ought to\ndo to save her, another leaf bent down and captured the Glass Cat,\nrolling around the little creature until she was completely hidden, and\nthen straightening up again upon its stem.\n\n\"Look out,\" cried the Woozy. \"Run! Run fast, or you are lost.\"\n\nOjo turned and saw the Woozy running swiftly up the road. But the last\nleaf of the row of plants seized the beast even as he ran and instantly\nhe disappeared from sight.\n\nThe boy had no chance to escape. Half a dozen of the great leaves were\nbending toward him from different directions and as he stood hesitating\none of them clutched him in its embrace. In a flash he was in the dark.\nThen he felt himself gently lifted until he was swaying in the air, with\nthe folds of the leaf hugging him on all sides.\n\nAt first he struggled hard to escape, crying out in anger: \"Let me go!\nLet me go!\" But neither struggles nor protests had any effect whatever.\nThe leaf held him firmly and he was a prisoner.\n\nThen Ojo quieted himself and tried to think. Despair fell upon him when\nhe remembered that all his little party had been captured, even as he\nwas, and there was none to save them.\n\n\"I might have expected it,\" he sobbed, miserably. \"I'm Ojo the Unlucky,\nand something dreadful was sure to happen to me.\"\n\nHe pushed against the leaf that held him and found it to be soft, but\nthick and firm. It was like a great bandage all around him and he found\nit difficult to move his body or limbs in order to change their\nposition.\n\nThe minutes passed and became hours. Ojo wondered how long one could\nlive in such a condition and if the leaf would gradually sap his\nstrength and even his life, in order to feed itself. The little Munchkin\nboy had never heard of any person dying in the Land of Oz, but he knew\none could suffer a great deal of pain. His greatest fear at this time\nwas that he would always remain imprisoned in the beautiful leaf and\nnever see the light of day again.\n\nNo sound came to him through the leaf; all around was intense silence.\nOjo wondered if Scraps had stopped screaming, or if the folds of the\nleaf prevented his hearing her. By and by he thought he heard a whistle,\nas of some one whistling a tune. Yes; it really must be some one\nwhistling, he decided, for he could follow the strains of a pretty\nMunchkin melody that Unc Nunkie used to sing to him. The sounds were low\nand sweet and, although they reached Ojo's ears very faintly, they were\nclear and harmonious.\n\nCould the leaf whistle, Ojo wondered? Nearer and nearer came the sounds\nand then they seemed to be just the other side of the leaf that was\nhugging him.\n\nSuddenly the whole leaf toppled and fell, carrying the boy with it, and\nwhile he sprawled at full length the folds slowly relaxed and set him\nfree. He scrambled quickly to his feet and found that a strange man was\nstanding before him--a man so curious in appearance that the boy stared\nwith round eyes.\n\nHe was a big man, with shaggy whiskers, shaggy eyebrows, shaggy\nhair--but kindly blue eyes that were gentle as those of a cow. On his\nhead was a green velvet hat with a jeweled band, which was all shaggy\naround the brim. Rich but shaggy laces were at his throat; a coat with\nshaggy edges was decorated with diamond buttons; the velvet breeches had\njeweled buckles at the knees and shags all around the bottoms. On his\nbreast hung a medallion bearing a picture of Princess Dorothy of Oz, and\nin his hand, as he stood looking at Ojo, was a sharp knife shaped like a\ndagger.\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Ojo, greatly astonished at the sight of this stranger;\nand then he added: \"Who has saved me, sir?\"\n\n\"Can't you see?\" replied the other, with a smile; \"I'm the Shaggy Man.\"\n\n\"Yes; I can see that,\" said the boy, nodding. \"Was it you who rescued me\nfrom the leaf?\"\n\n\"None other, you may be sure. But take care, or I shall have to rescue\nyou again.\"\n\nOjo gave a jump, for he saw several broad leaves leaning toward him; but\nthe Shaggy Man began to whistle again, and at the sound the leaves all\nstraightened up on their stems and kept still.\n\nThe man now took Ojo's arm and led him up the road, past the last of the\ngreat plants, and not till he was safely beyond their reach did he cease\nhis whistling.\n\n\"You see, the music charms 'em,\" said he. \"Singing or whistling--it\ndoesn't matter which--makes 'em behave, and nothing else will. I always\nwhistle as I go by 'em and so they always let me alone. To-day as I went\nby, whistling, I saw a leaf curled and knew there must be something\ninside it. I cut down the leaf with my knife and--out you popped. Lucky\nI passed by, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"You were very kind,\" said Ojo, \"and I thank you. Will you please rescue\nmy companions, also?\"\n\n\"What companions?\" asked the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"The leaves grabbed them all,\" said the boy. \"There's a Patchwork Girl\nand--\"\n\n\"A what?\"\n\n\"A girl made of patchwork, you know. She's alive and her name is Scraps.\nAnd there's a Glass Cat--\"\n\n\"Glass?\" asked the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"All glass.\"\n\n\"And alive?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ojo; \"she has pink brains. And there's a Woozy--\"\n\n\"What's a Woozy?\" inquired the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"Why, I--I--can't describe it,\" answered the boy, greatly perplexed.\n\"But it's a queer animal with three hairs on the tip of its tail that\nwon't come out and--\"\n\n\"What won't come out?\" asked the Shaggy Man; \"the tail?\"\n\n\"The hairs won't come out. But you'll see the Woozy, if you'll please\nrescue it, and then you'll know just what it is.\"\n\n\n\"Of course,\" said the Shaggy Man, nodding his shaggy head. And then he\nwalked back among the plants, still whistling, and found the three\nleaves which were curled around Ojo's traveling companions. The first\nleaf he cut down released Scraps, and on seeing her the Shaggy Man threw\nback his shaggy head, opened wide his mouth and laughed so shaggily and\nyet so merrily, that Scraps liked him at once. Then he took off his hat\nand made her a low bow, saying:\n\n\"My dear, you're a wonder. I must introduce you to my friend the\nScarecrow.\"\n\nWhen he cut down the second leaf he rescued the Glass Cat, and Bungle\nwas so frightened that she scampered away like a streak and soon had\njoined Ojo, when she sat beside him panting and trembling. The last\nplant of all the row had captured the Woozy, and a big bunch in the\ncenter of the curled leaf showed plainly where he was. With his sharp\nknife the Shaggy Man sliced off the stem of the leaf and as it fell and\nunfolded out trotted the Woozy and escaped beyond the reach of any more\nof the dangerous plants.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA GOOD FRIEND\n\nCHAP. 11.\n\n\n\nSoon the entire party was gathered on the road of yellow bricks, quite\nbeyond the reach of the beautiful but treacherous plants. The Shaggy\nMan, staring first at one and then at the other, seemed greatly pleased\nand interested.\n\n\"I've seen queer things since I came to the Land of Oz,\" said he, \"but\nnever anything queerer than this band of adventurers. Let us sit down a\nwhile, and have a talk and get acquainted.\"\n\n\"Haven't you always lived in the Land of Oz?\" asked the Munchkin boy.\n\n\"No; I used to live in the big, outside world. But I came here once with\nDorothy, and Ozma let me stay.\"\n\n\"How do you like Oz?\" asked Scraps. \"Isn't the country and the climate\ngrand?\"\n\n\"It's the finest country in all the world, even if it is a fairyland,\nand I'm happy every minute I live in it,\" said the Shaggy Man. \"But tell\nme something about yourselves.\"\n\nSo Ojo related the story of his visit to the house of the Crooked\nMagician, and how he met there the Glass Cat, and how the Patchwork Girl\nwas brought to life and of the terrible accident to Unc Nunkie and\nMargolotte. Then he told how he had set out to find the five different\nthings which the Magician needed to make a charm that would restore the\nmarble figures to life, one requirement being three hairs from a Woozy's\ntail.\n\n\"We found the Woozy,\" explained the boy, \"and he agreed to give us the\nthree hairs; but we couldn't pull them out. So we had to bring the Woozy\nalong with us.\"\n\n\"I see,\" returned the Shaggy Man, who had listened with interest to the\nstory. \"But perhaps I, who am big and strong, can pull those three hairs\nfrom the Woozy's tail.\"\n\n\"Try it, if you like,\" said the Woozy.\n\nSo the Shaggy Man tried it, but pull as hard as he could he failed to\nget the hairs out of the Woozy's tail. So he sat down again and wiped\nhis shaggy face with a shaggy silk handkerchief and said:\n\n\"It doesn't matter. If you can keep the Woozy until you get the rest of\nthe things you need, you can take the beast and his three hairs to the\nCrooked Magician and let him find a way to extract 'em. What are the\nother things you are to find?\"\n\n\"One,\" said Ojo, \"is a six-leaved clover.\"\n\n\"You ought to find that in the fields around the Emerald City,\" said the\nShaggy Man. \"There is a Law against picking six-leaved clovers, but I\nthink I can get Ozma to let you have one.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied Ojo. \"The next thing is the left wing of a yellow\nbutterfly.\"\n\n\"For that you must go to the Winkie Country,\" the Shaggy Man declared.\n\"I've never noticed any butterflies there, but that is the yellow\ncountry of Oz and it's ruled by a good friend of mine, the Tin Woodman.\"\n\n\"Oh, I've heard of him!\" exclaimed Ojo. \"He must be a wonderful man.\"\n\n\"So he is, and his heart is wonderfully kind. I'm sure the Tin Woodman\nwill do all in his power to help you to save your Unc Nunkie and poor\nMargolotte.\"\n\n\"The next thing I must find,\" said the Munchkin boy, \"is a gill of water\nfrom a dark well.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Well, that is more difficult,\" said the Shaggy Man, scratching\nhis left ear in a puzzled way. \"I've never heard of a dark well; have\nyou?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"Do you know where one may be found?\" inquired the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"I can't imagine,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"Then we must ask the Scarecrow.\"\n\n\"The Scarecrow! But surely, sir, a scarecrow can't know anything.\"\n\n\"Most scarecrows don't, I admit,\" answered the Shaggy Man. \"But this\nScarecrow of whom I speak is very intelligent. He claims to possess the\nbest brains in all Oz.\"\n\n\"Better than mine?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"Better than mine?\" echoed the Glass Cat. \"Mine are pink, and you can\nsee 'em work.\"\n\n\"Well, you can't see the Scarecrow's brains work, but they do a lot of\nclever thinking,\" asserted the Shaggy Man. \"If anyone knows where a\ndark well is, it's my friend the Scarecrow.\"\n\n\"Where does he live?\" inquired Ojo.\n\n\"He has a splendid castle in the Winkie Country, near to the palace of\nhis friend the Tin Woodman, and he is often to be found in the Emerald\nCity, where he visits Dorothy at the royal palace.\"\n\n\"Then we will ask him about the dark well,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"But what else does this Crooked Magician want?\" asked the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"A drop of oil from a live man's body.\"\n\n\"Oh; but there isn't such a thing.\"\n\n\"That is what I thought,\" replied Ojo; \"but the Crooked Magician said it\nwouldn't be called for by the recipe if it couldn't be found, and\ntherefore I must search until I find it.\"\n\n\"I wish you good luck,\" said the Shaggy Man, shaking his head\ndoubtfully; \"but I imagine you'll have a hard job getting a drop of oil\nfrom a live man's body. There's blood in a body, but no oil.\"\n\n[Illustration: I HATE DIGNITY]\n\n\"There's cotton in mine,\" said Scraps, dancing a little jig.\n\n\"I don't doubt it,\" returned the Shaggy Man admiringly. \"You're a\nregular comforter and as sweet as patchwork can be. All you lack is\ndignity.\"\n\n\"I hate dignity,\" cried Scraps, kicking a pebble high in the air and\nthen trying to catch it as it fell. \"Half the fools and all the wise\nfolks are dignified, and I'm neither the one nor the other.\"\n\n\"She's just crazy,\" explained the Glass Cat.\n\nThe Shaggy Man laughed.\n\n\"She's delightful, in her way,\" he said. \"I'm sure Dorothy will be\npleased with her, and the Scarecrow will dote on her. Did you say you\nwere traveling toward the Emerald City?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Ojo. \"I thought that the best place to go, at first,\nbecause the six-leaved clover may be found there.\"\n\n\"I'll go with you,\" said the Shaggy Man, \"and show you the way.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" exclaimed Ojo. \"I hope it won't put you out any.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other, \"I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I've been\na rover all my life, and although Ozma has given me a suite of beautiful\nrooms in her palace I still get the wandering fever once in a while and\nstart out to roam the country over. I've been away from the Emerald City\nseveral weeks, this time, and now that I've met you and your friends I'm\nsure it will interest me to accompany you to the great city of Oz and\nintroduce you to my friends.\"\n\n\"That will be very nice,\" said the boy, gratefully.\n\n\"I hope your friends are not dignified,\" observed Scraps.\n\n\"Some are, and some are not,\" he answered; \"but I never criticise my\nfriends. If they are really true friends, they may be anything they\nlike, for all of me.\"\n\n\"There's some sense in that,\" said Scraps, nodding her queer head in\napproval. \"Come on, and let's get to the Emerald City as soon as\npossible.\" With this she ran up the path, skipping and dancing, and then\nturned to await them.\n\n\"It is quite a distance from here to the Emerald City,\" remarked the\nShaggy Man, \"so we shall not get there to-day, nor to-morrow. Therefore\nlet us take the jaunt in an easy manner. I'm an old traveler and have\nfound that I never gain anything by being in a hurry. 'Take it easy' is\nmy motto. If you can't take it easy, take it as easy as you can.\"\n\nAfter walking some distance over the road of yellow bricks Ojo said he\nwas hungry and would stop to eat some bread and cheese. He offered a\nportion of the food to the Shaggy Man, who thanked him but refused it.\n\n\"When I start out on my travels,\" said he, \"I carry along enough square\nmeals to last me several weeks. Think I'll indulge in one now, as long\nas we're stopping anyway.\"\n\nSaying this, he took a bottle from his pocket and shook from it a tablet\nabout the size of one of Ojo's finger-nails.\n\n\"That,\" announced the Shaggy Man, \"is a square meal, in condensed form.\nInvention of the great Professor Wogglebug, of the Royal College of\nAthletics. It contains soup, fish, roast meat, salad, apple-dumplings,\nice cream and chocolate-drops, all boiled down to this small size, so it\ncan be conveniently carried and swallowed when you are hungry and need a\nsquare meal.\"\n\n\"I'm square,\" said the Woozy. \"Give me one, please.\"\n\nSo the Shaggy Man gave the Woozy a tablet from his bottle and the beast\nate it in a twinkling.\n\n\"You have now had a six course dinner,\" declared the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"Pshaw!\" said the Woozy, ungratefully, \"I want to taste something.\nThere's no fun in that sort of eating.\"\n\n\"One should only eat to sustain life,\" replied the Shaggy Man, \"and that\ntablet is equal to a peck of other food.\"\n\n\"I don't care for it. I want something I can chew and taste,\" grumbled\nthe Woozy.\n\n\"You are quite wrong, my poor beast,\" said the Shaggy Man in a tone of\npity. \"Think how tired your jaws would get chewing a square meal like\nthis, if it were not condensed to the size of a small tablet--which you\ncan swallow in a jiffy.\"\n\n\"Chewing isn't tiresome; it's fun,\" maintained the Woozy. \"I always chew\nthe honey-bees when I catch them. Give me some bread and cheese, Ojo.\"\n\n\"No, no! You've already eaten a big dinner!\" protested the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"May be,\" answered the Woozy; \"but I guess I'll fool myself by munching\nsome bread and cheese. I may not be hungry, having eaten all those\nthings you gave me, but I consider this eating business a matter of\ntaste, and I like to realize what's going into me.\"\n\nOjo gave the beast what he wanted, but the Shaggy Man shook his shaggy\nhead reproachfully and said there was no animal so obstinate or hard to\nconvince as a Woozy.\n\nAt this moment a patter of footsteps was heard, and looking up they saw\nthe live phonograph standing before them. It seemed to have passed\nthrough many adventures since Ojo and his comrades last saw the machine,\nfor the varnish of its wooden case was all marred and dented and\nscratched in a way that gave it an aged and disreputable appearance.\n\n\"Dear me!\" exclaimed Ojo, staring hard. \"What has happened to you?\"\n\n\"Nothing much,\" replied the phonograph in a sad and depressed voice.\n\"I've had enough things thrown at me, since I left you, to stock a\ndepartment store and furnish half a dozen bargain-counters.\"\n\n\"Are you so broken up that you can't play?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"No; I still am able to grind out delicious music. Just now I've a\nrecord on tap that is really superb,\" said the phonograph, growing more\ncheerful.\n\n\"That is too bad,\" remarked Ojo. \"We've no objection to you as a\nmachine, you know; but as a music-maker we hate you.\"\n\n\"Then why was I ever invented?\" demanded the machine, in a tone of\nindignant protest.\n\nThey looked at one another inquiringly, but no one could answer such a\npuzzling question. Finally the Shaggy Man said:\n\n\"I'd like to hear the phonograph play.\"\n\nOjo sighed. \"We've been very happy since we met you, sir,\" he said.\n\n\"I know. But a little misery, at times, makes one appreciate happiness\nmore. Tell me, Phony, what is this record like, which you say you have\non tap?\"\n\n\"It's a popular song, sir. In all civilized lands the common people have\ngone wild over it.\"\n\n\"Makes civilized folks wild folks, eh? Then it's dangerous.\"\n\n\"Wild with joy, I mean,\" explained the phonograph. \"Listen. This song\nwill prove a rare treat to you, I know. It made the author rich--for an\nauthor. It is called 'My Lulu.'\"\n\nThen the phonograph began to play. A strain of odd, jerky sounds was\nfollowed by these words, sung by a man through his nose with great\nvigor of expression:\n\n    \"Ah want mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu;\n    Ah want mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-loo, Lu!\n    Ah love mah Lulu, mah cross-eyed Lulu,\n    There ain't nobody else loves loo-loo, Lu!\"\n\n\"Here--shut that off!\" cried the Shaggy Man, springing to his feet.\n\"What do you mean by such impertinence?\"\n\n\"It's the latest popular song,\" declared the phonograph, speaking in a\nsulky tone of voice.\n\n\"A popular song?\"\n\n\"Yes. One that the feeble-minded can remember the words of and those\nignorant of music can whistle or sing. That makes a popular song\npopular, and the time is coming when it will take the place of all other\nsongs.\"\n\n\"That time won't come to us, just yet,\" said the Shaggy Man, sternly:\n\"I'm something of a singer myself, and I don't intend to be throttled by\nany Lulus like your cross-eyed one. I shall take you all apart, Mr.\nPhony, and scatter your pieces far and wide over the country, as a\nmatter of kindness to the people you might meet if allowed to run around\nloose. Having performed this painful duty I shall--\"\n\nBut before he could say more the phonograph turned and dashed up the\nroad as fast as its four table-legs could carry it, and soon it had\nentirely disappeared from their view.\n\nThe Shaggy Man sat down again and seemed well pleased. \"Some one else\nwill save me the trouble of scattering that phonograph,\" said he; \"for\nit is not possible that such a music-maker can last long in the Land of\nOz. When you are rested, friends, let us go on our way.\"\n\n\nDuring the afternoon the travelers found themselves in a lonely and\nuninhabited part of the country. Even the fields were no longer\ncultivated and the country began to resemble a wilderness. The road of\nyellow bricks seemed to have been neglected and became uneven and more\ndifficult to walk upon. Scrubby underbrush grew on either side of the\nway, while huge rocks were scattered around in abundance.\n\nBut this did not deter Ojo and his friends from trudging on, and they\nbeguiled the journey with jokes and cheerful conversation. Toward\nevening they reached a crystal spring which gushed from a tall rock by\nthe roadside and near this spring stood a deserted cabin. Said the\nShaggy Man, halting here:\n\n\"We may as well pass the night here, where there is shelter for our\nheads and good water to drink. Road beyond here is pretty bad; worst we\nshall have to travel; so let's wait until morning before we tackle it.\"\n\nThey agreed to this and Ojo found some brushwood in the cabin and made a\nfire on the hearth. The fire delighted Scraps, who danced before it\nuntil Ojo warned her she might set fire to herself and burn up. After\nthat the Patchwork Girl kept at a respectful distance from the darting\nflames, but the Woozy lay down before the fire like a big dog and seemed\nto enjoy its warmth.\n\nFor supper the Shaggy Man ate one of his tablets, but Ojo stuck to his\nbread and cheese as the most satisfying food. He also gave a portion to\nthe Woozy.\n\nWhen darkness came on and they sat in a circle on the cabin floor,\nfacing the firelight--there being no furniture of any sort in the\nplace--Ojo said to the Shaggy Man:\n\n\"Won't you tell us a story?\"\n\n\"I'm not good at stories,\" was the reply; \"but I sing like a bird.\"\n\n\"Raven, or crow?\" asked the Glass Cat.\n\n\"Like a song bird. I'll prove it. I'll sing a song I composed myself.\nDon't tell anyone I'm a poet; they might want me to write a book. Don't\ntell 'em I can sing, or they'd want me to make records for that awful\nphonograph. Haven't time to be a public benefactor, so I'll just sing\nyou this little song for your own amusement.\"\n\nThey were glad enough to be entertained, and listened with interest\nwhile the Shaggy Man chanted the following verses to a tune that was not\nunpleasant:\n\n    \"I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwell\n    And fruits and flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell,\n    Where magic is a science and where no one shows surprise\n    If some amazing thing takes place before his very eyes.\n\n    Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please;\n    She's always kept her magic sceptre to enforce decrees\n    To make her people happy, for her heart is kind and true\n    And to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.\n\n    And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose,\n    A lass from Kansas, where they don't grow fairies, I suppose;\n    And there's the brainy Scarecrow, with a body stuffed with straw,\n    Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us all with awe.\n\n    I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin,\n    Whose tender heart thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin,\n    Nor old Professor Wogglebug, who's highly magnified\n    And looks so big to everyone that he is filled with pride.\n\n    Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump,\n    But won renown by riding round upon a magic Gump;\n    The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though he's made of wood\n    He does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.\n\n    And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores--\n    The Cowardly Lion shakes with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars,\n    And yet he does the bravest things that any lion might,\n    Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.\n\n    There's Tik-tok--he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight--\n    He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight;\n    And we've a Hungry Tiger who would babies love to eat\n    But never does because we feed him other kinds of meat.\n\n    It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;\n    'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired;\n    But give attention while I mention one wise Yellow Hen\n    And Nine fine Tiny Piglets living in a golden pen.\n\n    Just search the whole world over--sail the seas from coast\n        to coast--\n    No other nation in creation queerer folks can boast;\n    And now our rare museum will include a Cat of Glass,\n    A Woozy, and--last but not least--a crazy Patchwork Lass.\"\n\nOjo was so pleased with this song that he applauded the singer by\nclapping his hands, and Scraps followed suit by clapping her padded\nfingers together, although they made no noise. The cat pounded on the\nfloor with her glass paws--gently, so as not to break them--and the\nWoozy, which had been asleep, woke up to ask what the row was about.\n\n\"I seldom sing in public, for fear they might want me to start an opera\ncompany,\" remarked the Shaggy Man, who was pleased to know his effort\nwas appreciated. \"Voice, just now, is a little out of training; rusty,\nperhaps.\"\n\n\n\"Tell me,\" said the Patchwork Girl earnestly, \"do all those queer people\nyou mention really live in the Land of Oz?\"\n\n\"Every one of 'em. I even forgot one thing: Dorothy's Pink Kitten.\"\n\n\"For goodness sake!\" exclaimed Bungle, sitting up and looking\ninterested. \"A Pink Kitten? How absurd! Is it glass?\"\n\n\"No; just ordinary kitten.\"\n\n\"Then it can't amount to much. I have pink brains, and you can see 'em\nwork.\"\n\n\"Dorothy's kitten is all pink--brains and all--except blue eyes. Name's\nEureka. Great favorite at the royal palace,\" said the Shaggy Man,\nyawning.\n\nThe Glass Cat seemed annoyed.\n\n\"Do you think a pink kitten--common meat--is as pretty as I am?\" she\nasked.\n\n\"Can't say. Tastes differ, you know,\" replied the Shaggy Man, yawning\nagain. \"But here's a pointer that may be of service to you: make friends\nwith Eureka and you'll be solid at the palace.\"\n\n\"I'm solid now; solid glass.\"\n\n\"You don't understand,\" rejoined the Shaggy Man, sleepily. \"Anyhow, make\nfriends with the Pink Kitten and you'll be all right. If the Pink Kitten\ndespises you, look out for breakers.\"\n\n\"Would anyone at the royal palace break a Glass Cat?\"\n\n\"Might. You never can tell. Advise you to purr soft and look humble--if\nyou can. And now I'm going to bed.\"\n\nBungle considered the Shaggy Man's advice so carefully that her pink\nbrains were busy long after the others of the party were fast asleep.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE GIANT PORCUPINE\n\nCHAP. 12\n\n\n\nNext morning they started out bright and early to follow the road of\nyellow bricks toward the Emerald City. The little Munchkin boy was\nbeginning to feel tired from the long walk, and he had a great many\nthings to think of and consider besides the events of the journey. At\nthe wonderful Emerald City, which he would presently reach, were so many\nstrange and curious people that he was half afraid of meeting them and\nwondered if they would prove friendly and kind. Above all else, he could\nnot drive from his mind the important errand on which he had come, and\nhe was determined to devote every energy to finding the things that were\nnecessary to prepare the magic recipe. He believed that until dear Unc\nNunkie was restored to life he could feel no joy in anything, and often\nhe wished that Unc could be with him, to see all the astonishing things\nOjo was seeing. But alas Unc Nunkie was now a marble statue in the house\nof the Crooked Magician and Ojo must not falter in his efforts to save\nhim.\n\nThe country through which they were passing was still rocky and\ndeserted, with here and there a bush or a tree to break the dreary\nlandscape. Ojo noticed one tree, especially, because it had such long,\nsilky leaves and was so beautiful in shape. As he approached it he\nstudied the tree earnestly, wondering if any fruit grew on it or if it\nbore pretty flowers.\n\nSuddenly he became aware that he had been looking at that tree a long\ntime--at least for five minutes--and it had remained in the same\nposition, although the boy had continued to walk steadily on. So he\nstopped short, and when he stopped, the tree and all the landscape, as\nwell as his companions, moved on before him and left him far behind.\n\nOjo uttered such a cry of astonishment that it aroused the Shaggy Man,\nwho also halted. The others then stopped, too, and walked back to the\nboy.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" asked the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"Why, we're not moving forward a bit, no matter how fast we walk,\"\ndeclared Ojo. \"Now that we have stopped, we are moving backward! Can't\nyou see? Just notice that rock.\"\n\nScraps looked down at her feet and said: \"The yellow bricks are not\nmoving.\"\n\n\"But the whole road is,\" answered Ojo.\n\n\"True; quite true,\" agreed the Shaggy Man. \"I know all about the tricks\nof this road, but I have been thinking of something else and didn't\nrealize where we were.\"\n\n\"It will carry us back to where we started from,\" predicted Ojo,\nbeginning to be nervous.\n\n\"No,\" replied the Shaggy Man; \"it won't do that, for I know a trick to\nbeat this tricky road. I've traveled this way before, you know. Turn\naround, all of you, and walk backward.\"\n\n\"What good will that do?\" asked the cat.\n\n\"You'll find out, if you obey me,\" said the Shaggy Man.\n\nSo they all turned their backs to the direction in which they wished to\ngo and began walking backward. In an instant Ojo noticed they were\ngaining ground and as they proceeded in this curious way they soon\npassed the tree which had first attracted his attention to their\ndifficulty.\n\n\"How long must we keep this up, Shags?\" asked Scraps, who was constantly\ntripping and tumbling down, only to get up again with a laugh at her\nmishap.\n\n\"Just a little way farther,\" replied the Shaggy Man.\n\nA few minutes later he called to them to turn about quickly and step\nforward, and as they obeyed the order they found themselves treading\nsolid ground.\n\n\"That task is well over,\" observed the Shaggy Man. \"It's a little\ntiresome to walk backward, but that is the only way to pass this part of\nthe road, which has a trick of sliding back and carrying with it anyone\nwho is walking upon it.\"\n\n\nWith new courage and energy they now trudged forward and after a time\ncame to a place where the road cut through a low hill, leaving high\nbanks on either side of it. They were traveling along this cut, talking\ntogether, when the Shaggy Man seized Scraps with one arm and Ojo with\nanother and shouted: \"Stop!\"\n\n\"What's wrong now?\" asked the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"See there!\" answered the Shaggy Man, pointing with his finger.\n\nDirectly in the center of the road lay a motionless object that bristled\nall over with sharp quills, which resembled arrows. The body was as big\nas a ten-bushel-basket, but the projecting quills made it appear to be\nfour times bigger.\n\n\"Well, what of it?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"That is Chiss, who causes a lot of trouble along this road,\" was the\nreply.\n\n\"Chiss! What is Chiss?\"\n\n\"I think it is merely an overgrown porcupine, but here in Oz they\nconsider Chiss an evil spirit. He's different from a reg'lar porcupine,\nbecause he can throw his quills in any direction, which an American\nporcupine cannot do. That's what makes old Chiss so dangerous. If we get\ntoo near, he'll fire those quills at us and hurt us badly.\"\n\n\"Then we will be foolish to get too near,\" said Scraps.\n\n\"I'm not afraid,\" declared the Woozy. \"The Chiss is cowardly, I'm sure,\nand if it ever heard my awful, terrible, frightful growl, it would be\nscared stiff.\"\n\n\"Oh; can you growl?\" asked the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"That is the only ferocious thing about me,\" asserted the Woozy with\nevident pride. \"My growl makes an earthquake blush and the thunder\nashamed of itself. If I growled at that creature you call Chiss, it\nwould immediately think the world had cracked in two and bumped against\nthe sun and moon, and that would cause the monster to run as far and as\nfast as its legs could carry it.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said the Shaggy Man, \"you are now able to do us all a\ngreat favor. Please growl.\"\n\n\"But you forget,\" returned the Woozy; \"my tremendous growl would also\nfrighten you, and if you happen to have heart disease you might expire.\"\n\n\"True; but we must take that risk,\" decided the Shaggy Man, bravely.\n\"Being warned of what is to occur we must try to bear the terrific noise\nof your growl; but Chiss won't expect it, and it will scare him away.\"\n\nThe Woozy hesitated.\n\n\"I'm fond of you all, and I hate to shock you,\" it said.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"You may be made deaf.\"\n\n\"If so, we will forgive you.\"\n\n\"Very well, then,\" said the Woozy in a determined voice, and advanced a\nfew steps toward the giant porcupine. Pausing to look back, it asked:\n\"All ready?\"\n\n\"All ready!\" they answered.\n\n\"Then cover up your ears and brace yourselves firmly. Now, then--look\nout!\"\n\nThe Woozy turned toward Chiss, opened wide its mouth and said:\n\n\"Quee-ee-ee-eek.\"\n\n\"Go ahead and growl,\" said Scraps.\n\n\"Why, I--I _did_ growl!\" retorted the Woozy, who seemed much astonished.\n\n\"What, that little squeak?\" she cried.\n\n\n\"It is the most awful growl that ever was heard, on land or sea, in\ncaverns or in the sky,\" protested the Woozy. \"I wonder you stood the\nshock so well. Didn't you feel the ground tremble? I suppose Chiss is\nnow quite dead with fright.\"\n\nThe Shaggy Man laughed merrily.\n\n\"Poor Wooz!\" said he; \"your growl wouldn't scare a fly.\"\n\nThe Woozy seemed to be humiliated and surprised. It hung its head a\nmoment, as if in shame or sorrow, but then it said with renewed\nconfidence: \"Anyhow, my eyes can flash fire; and good fire, too; good\nenough to set fire to a fence!\"\n\n\"That is true,\" declared Scraps; \"I saw it done myself. But your\nferocious growl isn't as loud as the tick of a beetle--or one of Ojo's\nsnores when he's fast asleep.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said the Woozy, humbly, \"I have been mistaken about my growl.\nIt has always sounded very fearful to me, but that may have been because\nit was so close to my ears.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" Ojo said soothingly; \"it is a great talent to be able to\nflash fire from your eyes. No one else can do that.\"\n\n\nAs they stood hesitating what to do Chiss stirred and suddenly a shower\nof quills came flying toward them, almost filling the air, they were so\nmany. Scraps realized in an instant that they had gone too near to\nChiss for safety, so she sprang in front of Ojo and shielded him from\nthe darts, which stuck their points into her own body until she\nresembled one of those targets they shoot arrows at in archery games.\nThe Shaggy Man dropped flat on his face to avoid the shower, but one\nquill struck him in the leg and went far in. As for the Glass Cat, the\nquills rattled off her body without making even a scratch, and the skin\nof the Woozy was so thick and tough that he was not hurt at all.\n\n\nWhen the attack was over they all ran to the Shaggy Man, who was moaning\nand groaning, and Scraps promptly pulled the quill out of his leg. Then\nup he jumped and ran over to Chiss, putting his foot on the monster's\nneck and holding it a prisoner. The body of the great porcupine was now\nas smooth as leather, except for the holes where the quills had been,\nfor it had shot every single quill in that one wicked shower.\n\n\"Let me go!\" it shouted angrily. \"How dare you put your foot on Chiss?\"\n\n\"I'm going to do worse than that, old boy,\" replied the Shaggy Man. \"You\nhave annoyed travelers on this road long enough, and now I shall put an\nend to you.\"\n\n\"You can't!\" returned Chiss. \"Nothing can kill me, as you know perfectly\nwell.\"\n\n\"Perhaps that is true,\" said the Shaggy Man in a tone of disappointment.\n\"Seems to me I've been told before that you can't be killed. But if I\nlet you go, what will you do?\"\n\n\"Pick up my quills again,\" said Chiss in a sulky voice.\n\n\"And then shoot them at more travelers? No; that won't do. You must\npromise me to stop throwing quills at people.\"\n\n\"I won't promise anything of the sort,\" declared Chiss.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because it is my nature to throw quills, and every animal must do what\nNature intends it to do. It isn't fair for you to blame me. If it were\nwrong for me to throw quills, then I wouldn't be made with quills to\nthrow. The proper thing for you to do is to keep out of my way.\"\n\n\"Why, there's some sense in that argument,\" admitted the Shaggy Man,\nthoughtfully; \"but people who are strangers, and don't know you are\nhere, won't be able to keep out of your way.\"\n\n\"Tell you what,\" said Scraps, who was trying to pull the quills out of\nher own body, \"let's gather up all the quills and take them away with\nus; then old Chiss won't have any left to throw at people.\"\n\n\"Ah, that's a clever idea. You and Ojo must gather up the quills while I\nhold Chiss a prisoner; for, if I let him go, he will get some of his\nquills and be able to throw them again.\"\n\nSo Scraps and Ojo picked up all the quills and tied them in a bundle so\nthey might easily be carried. After this the Shaggy Man released Chiss\nand let him go, knowing that he was harmless to injure anyone.\n\n\"It's the meanest trick I ever heard of,\" muttered the porcupine\ngloomily. \"How would you like it, Shaggy Man, if I took all your shags\naway from you?\"\n\n\"If I threw my shags and hurt people, you would be welcome to capture\nthem,\" was the reply.\n\nThen they walked on and left Chiss standing in the road sullen and\ndisconsolate. The Shaggy Man limped as he walked, for his wound still\nhurt him, and Scraps was much annoyed because the quills had left a\nnumber of small holes in her patches.\n\nWhen they came to a flat stone by the roadside the Shaggy Man sat down\nto rest, and then Ojo opened his basket and took out the bundle of\ncharms the Crooked Magician had given him.\n\n\"I am Ojo the Unlucky,\" he said, \"or we would never have met that\ndreadful porcupine. But I will see if I can find anything among these\ncharms which will cure your leg.\"\n\nSoon he discovered that one of the charms was labelled: \"For flesh\nwounds,\" and this the boy separated from the others. It was only a bit\nof dried root, taken from some unknown shrub, but the boy rubbed it upon\nthe wound made by the quill and in a few moments the place was healed\nentirely and the Shaggy Man's leg was as good as ever.\n\n\"Rub it on the holes in my patches,\" suggested Scraps, and Ojo tried it,\nbut without any effect.\n\n\"The charm you need is a needle and thread,\" said the Shaggy Man. \"But\ndo not worry, my dear; those holes do not look badly, at all.\"\n\n\"They'll let in the air, and I don't want people to think I'm airy, or\nthat I've been stuck up,\" said the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"You were certainly stuck up until we pulled out those quills,\" observed\nOjo, with a laugh.\n\nSo now they went on again and coming presently to a pond of muddy water\nthey tied a heavy stone to the bundle of quills and sunk it to the\nbottom of the pond, to avoid carrying it farther.\n\n\n\n\nSCRAPS AND THE SCARECROW\n\nCHAP. 13\n\n\n\nFrom here on the country improved and the desert places began to give\nway to fertile spots; still no houses were yet to be seen near the road.\nThere were some hills, with valleys between them, and on reaching the\ntop of one of these hills the travelers found before them a high wall,\nrunning to the right and the left as far as their eyes could reach.\nImmediately in front of them, where the wall crossed the roadway, stood\na gate having stout iron bars that extended from top to bottom. They\nfound, on coming nearer, that this gate was locked with a great padlock,\nrusty through lack of use.\n\n\"Well,\" said Scraps, \"I guess we'll stop here.\"\n\n\"It's a good guess,\" replied Ojo. \"Our way is barred by this great wall\nand gate. It looks as if no one had passed through in many years.\"\n\n\"Looks are deceiving,\" declared the Shaggy Man, laughing at their\ndisappointed faces, \"and this barrier is the most deceiving thing in all\nOz.\"\n\n\"It prevents our going any farther, anyhow,\" said Scraps. \"There is no\none to mind the gate and let people through, and we've no key to the\npadlock.\"\n\n\n\"True,\" replied Ojo, going a little nearer to peep through the bars of\nthe gate. \"What shall we do, Shaggy Man? If we had wings we might fly\nover the wall, but we cannot climb it and unless we get to the Emerald\nCity I won't be able to find the things to restore Unc Nunkie to life.\"\n\n\"All very true,\" answered the Shaggy Man, quietly; \"but I know this\ngate, having passed through it many times.\"\n\n\"How?\" they all eagerly inquired.\n\n\"I'll show you how,\" said he. He stood Ojo in the middle of the road and\nplaced Scraps just behind him, with her padded hands on his shoulders.\nAfter the Patchwork Girl came the Woozy, who held a part of her skirt in\nhis mouth. Then, last of all, was the Glass Cat, holding fast to the\nWoozy's tail with her glass jaws.\n\n\"Now,\" said the Shaggy Man, \"you must all shut your eyes tight, and keep\nthem shut until I tell you to open them.\"\n\n\"I can't,\" objected Scraps. \"My eyes are buttons, and they won't shut.\"\n\n\nSo the Shaggy Man tied his red handkerchief over the Patchwork Girl's\neyes and examined all the others to make sure they had their eyes fast\nshut and could see nothing.\n\n\"What's the game, anyhow--blind-man's-buff?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"Keep quiet!\" commanded the Shaggy Man, sternly. \"All ready? Then follow\nme.\"\n\nHe took Ojo's-hand and led him forward over the road of yellow bricks,\ntoward the gate. Holding fast to one another they all followed in a row,\nexpecting every minute to bump against the iron bars. The Shaggy Man\nalso had his eyes closed, but marched straight ahead, nevertheless, and\nafter he had taken one hundred steps, by actual count, he stopped and\nsaid:\n\n\"Now you may open your eyes.\"\n\nThey did so, and to their astonishment found the wall and the gateway\nfar behind them, while in front the former Blue Country of the Munchkins\nhad given way to green fields, with pretty farm-houses scattered among\nthem.\n\n\"That wall,\" explained the Shaggy Man, \"is what is called an optical\nillusion. It is quite real while you have your eyes open, but if you are\nnot looking at it the barrier doesn't exist at all. It's the same way\nwith many other evils in life; they seem to exist, and yet it's all\nseeming and not true. You will notice that the wall--or what we thought\nwas a wall--separates the Munchkin Country from the green country that\nsurrounds the Emerald City, which lies exactly in the center of Oz.\nThere are two roads of yellow bricks through the Munchkin Country, but\nthe one we followed is the best of the two. Dorothy once traveled the\nother way, and met with more dangers than we did. But all our troubles\nare over for the present, as another day's journey will bring us to the\ngreat Emerald City.\"\n\nThey were delighted to know this, and proceeded with new courage. In a\ncouple of hours they stopped at a farmhouse, where the people were very\nhospitable and invited them to dinner. The farm folk regarded Scraps\nwith much curiosity but no great astonishment, for they were accustomed\nto seeing extraordinary people in the Land of Oz.\n\nThe woman of this house got her needle and thread and sewed up the holes\nmade by the porcupine quills in the Patchwork Girl's body, after which\nScraps was assured she looked as beautiful as ever.\n\n\"You ought to have a hat to wear,\" remarked the woman, \"for that would\nkeep the sun from fading the colors of your face. I have some patches\nand scraps put away, and if you will wait two or three days I'll make\nyou a lovely hat that will match the rest of you.\"\n\n\"Never mind the hat,\" said Scraps, shaking her yarn braids; \"it's a kind\noffer, but we can't stop. I can't see that my colors have faded a\nparticle, as yet; can you?\"\n\n\"Not much,\" replied the woman. \"You are still very gorgeous, in spite\nof your long journey.\"\n\nThe children of the house wanted to keep the Glass Cat to play with, so\nBungle was offered a good home if she would remain; but the cat was too\nmuch interested in Ojo's adventures and refused to stop.\n\n\"Children are rough playmates,\" she remarked to the Shaggy Man, \"and\nalthough this home is more pleasant than that of the Crooked Magician I\nfear I would soon be smashed to pieces by the boys and girls.\"\n\nAfter they had rested themselves they renewed their journey, finding the\nroad now smooth and pleasant to walk upon and the country growing more\nbeautiful the nearer they drew to the Emerald City.\n\nBy and by Ojo began to walk on the green grass, looking carefully around\nhim.\n\n\"What are you trying to find?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"A six-leaved clover,\" said he.\n\n\"Don't do that!\" exclaimed the Shaggy Man, earnestly. \"It's against the\nLaw to pick a six-leaved clover. You must wait until you get Ozma's\nconsent.\"\n\n\"She wouldn't know it,\" declared the boy.\n\n\"Ozma knows many things,\" said the Shaggy Man. \"In her room is a Magic\nPicture that shows any scene in the Land of Oz where strangers or\ntravelers happen to be. She may be watching the picture of us even now,\nand noticing everything that we do.\"\n\n\"Does she always watch the Magic Picture?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Not always, for she has many other things to do; but, as I said, she\nmay be watching us this very minute.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" said Ojo, in an obstinate tone of voice; \"Ozma's only a\ngirl.\"\n\nThe Shaggy Man looked at him in surprise.\n\n\"You ought to care for Ozma,\" said he, \"if you expect to save your\nuncle. For, if you displease our powerful Ruler, your journey will\nsurely prove a failure; whereas, if you make a friend of Ozma, she will\ngladly assist you. As for her being a girl, that is another reason why\nyou should obey her laws, if you are courteous and polite. Everyone in\nOz loves Ozma and hates her enemies, for she is as just as she is\npowerful.\"\n\nOjo sulked a while, but finally returned to the road and kept away from\nthe green clover. The boy was moody and bad tempered for an hour or two\nafterward, because he could really see no harm in picking a six-leaved\nclover, if he found one, and in spite of what the Shaggy Man had said he\nconsidered Ozma's law to be unjust.\n\nThey presently came to a beautiful grove of tall and stately trees,\nthrough which the road wound in sharp curves--first one way and then\nanother. As they were walking through this grove they heard some one in\nthe distance singing, and the sounds grew nearer and nearer until they\ncould distinguish the words, although the bend in the road still hid the\nsinger. The song was something like this:\n\n    \"Here's to the hale old bale of straw\n    That's cut from the waving grain,\n    The sweetest sight man ever saw\n    In forest, dell or plain.\n    It fills me with a crunkling joy\n    A straw-stack to behold,\n    For then I pad this lucky boy\n    With strands of yellow gold.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" exclaimed the Shaggy Man; \"here comes my friend the Scarecrow.\"\n\n\n\"What, a live Scarecrow?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Yes; the one I told you of. He's a splendid fellow, and very\nintelligent. You'll like him, I'm sure.\"\n\nJust then the famous Scarecrow of Oz came around the bend in the road,\nriding astride a wooden Sawhorse which was so small that its rider's\nlegs nearly touched the ground.\n\nThe Scarecrow wore the blue dress of the Munchkins, in which country he\nwas made, and on his head was set a peaked hat with a flat brim trimmed\nwith tinkling bells. A rope was tied around his waist to hold him in\nshape, for he was stuffed with straw in every part of him except the top\nof his head, where at one time the Wizard of Oz had placed sawdust,\nmixed with needles and pins, to sharpen his wits. The head itself was\nmerely a bag of cloth, fastened to the body at the neck, and on the\nfront of this bag was painted the face--ears, eyes, nose and mouth.\n\nThe Scarecrow's face was very interesting, for it bore a comical and yet\nwinning expression, although one eye was a bit larger than the other and\nthe ears were not mates. The Munchkin farmer who had made the Scarecrow\nhad neglected to sew him together with close stitches and therefore some\nof the straw with which he was stuffed was inclined to stick out between\nthe seams. His hands consisted of padded white gloves, with the fingers\nlong and rather limp, and on his feet he wore Munchkin boots of blue\nleather with broad turns at the tops of them.\n\nThe Sawhorse was almost as curious as its rider. It had been rudely\nmade, in the beginning, to saw logs upon, so that its body was a short\nlength of a log, and its legs were stout branches fitted into four holes\nmade in the body. The tail was formed by a small branch that had been\nleft on the log, while the head was a gnarled bump on one end of the\nbody. Two knots of wood formed the eyes, and the mouth was a gash\nchopped in the log. When the Sawhorse first came to life it had no ears\nat all, and so could not hear; but the boy who then owned him had\nwhittled two ears out of bark and stuck them in the head, after which\nthe Sawhorse heard very distinctly.\n\nThis queer wooden horse was a great favorite with Princess Ozma, who had\ncaused the bottoms of its legs to be shod with plates of gold, so the\nwood would not wear away. Its saddle was made of cloth-of-gold richly\nencrusted with precious gems. It had never worn a bridle.\n\nAs the Scarecrow came in sight of the party of travelers, he reined in\nhis wooden steed and dismounted, greeting the Shaggy Man with a smiling\nnod. Then he turned to stare at the Patchwork Girl in wonder, while she\nin turn stared at him.\n\n\"Shags,\" he whispered, drawing the Shaggy Man aside, \"pat me into shape,\nthere's a good fellow!\"\n\nWhile his friend punched and patted the Scarecrow's body, to smooth out\nthe humps, Scraps turned to Ojo and whispered: \"Roll me out, please;\nI've sagged down dreadfully from walking so much and men like to see a\nstately figure.\"\n\nShe then fell upon the ground and the boy rolled her back and forth like\na rolling-pin, until the cotton had filled all the spaces in her\npatchwork covering and the body had lengthened to its fullest extent.\nScraps and the Scarecrow both finished their hasty toilets at the same\ntime, and again they faced each other.\n\n\"Allow me, Miss Patchwork,\" said the Shaggy Man, \"to present my friend,\nthe Right Royal Scarecrow of Oz. Scarecrow, this is Miss Scraps Patches;\nScraps, this is the Scarecrow. Scarecrow--Scraps; Scraps--Scarecrow.\"\n\nThey both bowed with much dignity.\n\n\"Forgive me for staring so rudely,\" said the Scarecrow, \"but you are the\nmost beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld.\"\n\n\"That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful,\"\nmurmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her\nhead. \"But, tell me, good sir, are you not a trifle lumpy?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course; that's my straw, you know. It bunches up, sometimes, in\nspite of all my efforts to keep it even. Doesn't your straw ever bunch?\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm stuffed with cotton,\" said Scraps. \"It never bunches, but it's\ninclined to pack down and make me sag.\"\n\n\"But cotton is a high-grade stuffing. I may say it is even more stylish,\nnot to say aristocratic, than straw,\" said the Scarecrow politely.\n\"Still, it is but proper that one so entrancingly lovely should have the\nbest stuffing there is going. I--er--I'm _so_ glad I've met you, Miss\nScraps! Introduce us again, Shaggy.\"\n\n\n\"Once is enough,\" replied the Shaggy Man, laughing at his friend's\nenthusiasm.\n\n\"Then tell me where you found her, and--Dear me, what a queer cat! What\nare _you_ made of--gelatine?\"\n\n\"Pure glass,\" answered the cat, proud to have attracted the Scarecrow's\nattention. \"I am much more beautiful than the Patchwork Girl. I'm\ntransparent, and Scraps isn't; I've pink brains--you can see 'em work;\nand I've a ruby heart, finely polished, while Scraps hasn't any heart at\nall.\"\n\n\"No more have I,\" said the Scarecrow, shaking hands with Scraps, as if\nto congratulate her on the fact. \"I've a friend, the Tin Woodman, who\nhas a heart, but I find I get along pretty well without one. And\nso--Well, well! here's a little Munchkin boy, too. Shake hands, my\nlittle man. How are you?\"\n\nOjo placed his hand in the flabby stuffed glove that served the\nScarecrow for a hand, and the Scarecrow pressed it so cordially that the\nstraw in his glove crackled.\n\nMeantime, the Woozy had approached the Sawhorse and begun to sniff at\nit. The Sawhorse resented this familiarity and with a sudden kick\npounded the Woozy squarely on its head with one gold-shod foot.\n\n\"Take that, you monster!\" it cried angrily.\n\nThe Woozy never even winked.\n\n\"To be sure,\" he said; \"I'll take anything I have to. But don't make me\nangry, you wooden beast, or my eyes will flash fire and burn you up.\"\n\nThe Sawhorse rolled its knot eyes wickedly and kicked again, but the\nWoozy trotted away and said to the Scarecrow:\n\n\"What a sweet disposition that creature has! I advise you to chop it up\nfor kindling-wood and use me to ride upon. My back is flat and you can't\nfall off.\"\n\n\"I think the trouble is that you haven't been properly introduced,\" said\nthe Scarecrow, regarding the Woozy with much wonder, for he had never\nseen such a queer animal before. \"The Sawhorse is the favorite steed of\nPrincess Ozma, the Ruler of the Land of Oz, and he lives in a stable\ndecorated with pearls and emeralds, at the rear of the royal palace. He\nis swift as the wind, untiring, and is kind to his friends. All the\npeople of Oz respect the Sawhorse highly, and when I visit Ozma she\nsometimes allows me to ride him--as I am doing to-day. Now you know what\nan important personage the Sawhorse is, and if some one--perhaps\nyourself--will tell me your name, your rank and station, and your\nhistory, it will give me pleasure to relate them to the Sawhorse. This\nwill lead to mutual respect and friendship.\"\n\nThe Woozy was somewhat abashed by this speech and did not know how to\nreply. But Ojo said:\n\n\"This square beast is called the Woozy, and he isn't of much importance\nexcept that he has three hairs growing on the tip of his tail.\"\n\nThe Scarecrow looked and saw that this was true.\n\n\"But,\" said he, in a puzzled way, \"what makes those three hairs\nimportant? The Shaggy Man has thousands of hairs, but no one has ever\naccused him of being important.\"\n\nSo Ojo related the sad story of Unc Nunkie's transformation into a\nmarble statue, and told how he had set out to find the things the\nCrooked Magician wanted, in order to make a charm that would restore his\nuncle to life. One of the requirements was three hairs from a Woozy's\ntail, but not being able to pull out the hairs they had been obliged to\ntake the Woozy with them.\n\nThe Scarecrow looked grave as he listened and he shook his head several\ntimes, as if in disapproval.\n\n\"We must see Ozma about this matter,\" he said. \"That Crooked Magician is\nbreaking the Law by practicing magic without a license, and I'm not sure\nOzma will allow him to restore your uncle to life.\"\n\n\"Already I have warned the boy of that,\" declared the Shaggy Man.\n\nAt this Ojo began to cry. \"I want my Unc Nunkie!\" he exclaimed. \"I know\nhow he can be restored to life, and I'm going to do it--Ozma or no Ozma!\nWhat right has this girl Ruler to keep my Unc Nunkie a statue forever?\"\n\n\"Don't worry about that just now,\" advised the Scarecrow. \"Go on to the\nEmerald City, and when you reach it have the Shaggy Man take you to see\nDorothy. Tell her your story and I'm sure she will help you. Dorothy is\nOzma's best friend, and if you can win her to your side your uncle is\npretty safe to live again.\" Then he turned to the Woozy and said: \"I'm\nafraid you are not important enough to be introduced to the Sawhorse,\nafter all.\"\n\n\n\"I'm a better beast than he is,\" retorted the Woozy, indignantly. \"My\neyes can flash fire, and his can't.\"\n\n\"Is this true?\" inquired the Scarecrow, turning to the Munchkin boy.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ojo, and told how the Woozy had set fire to the fence.\n\n\"Have you any other accomplishments?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\n\"I have a most terrible growl--that is, _sometimes_,\" said the Woozy, as\nScraps laughed merrily and the Shaggy Man smiled. But the Patchwork\nGirl's laugh made the Scarecrow forget all about the Woozy. He said to\nher:\n\n\"What an admirable young lady you are, and what jolly good company! We\nmust be better acquainted, for never before have I met a girl with such\nexquisite coloring or such natural, artless manners.\"\n\n\"No wonder they call you the Wise Scarecrow,\" replied Scraps.\n\n\"When you arrive at the Emerald City I will see you again,\" continued\nthe Scarecrow. \"Just now I am going to call upon an old friend--an\nordinary young lady named Jinjur--who has promised to repaint my left\near for me. You may have noticed that the paint on my left ear has\npeeled off and faded, which affects my hearing on that side. Jinjur\nalways fixes me up when I get weather-worn.\"\n\n\"When do you expect to return to the Emerald City?\" asked the Shaggy\nMan.\n\n\"I'll be there this evening, for I'm anxious to have a long talk with\nMiss Scraps. How is it, Sawhorse; are you equal to a swift run?\"\n\n\"Anything that suits you suits me,\" returned the wooden horse.\n\nSo the Scarecrow mounted to the jeweled saddle and waved his hat, when\nthe Sawhorse darted away so swiftly that they were out of sight in an\ninstant.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOJO BREAKS THE LAW\n\nCHAP. 14\n\n\n\n\"What a queer man,\" remarked the Munchkin boy, when the party had\nresumed its journey.\n\n\"And so nice and polite,\" added Scraps, bobbing her head. \"I think he is\nthe handsomest man I've seen since I came to life.\"\n\n\"Handsome is as handsome does,\" quoted the Shaggy Man; \"but we must\nadmit that no living scarecrow is handsomer. The chief merit of my\nfriend is that he is a great thinker, and in Oz it is considered good\npolicy to follow his advice.\"\n\n\"I didn't notice any brains in his head,\" observed the Glass Cat.\n\n\"You can't see 'em work, but they're there, all right,\" declared the\nShaggy Man. \"I hadn't much confidence in his brains myself, when first\nI came to Oz, for a humbug Wizard gave them to him; but I was soon\nconvinced that the Scarecrow is really wise; and, unless his brains make\nhim so, such wisdom is unaccountable.\"\n\n\"Is the Wizard of Oz a humbug?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Not now. He was once, but he has reformed and now assists Glinda the\nGood, who is the Royal Sorceress of Oz and the only one licensed to\npractice magic or sorcery. Glinda has taught our old Wizard a good many\nclever things, so he is no longer a humbug.\"\n\nThey walked a little while in silence and then Ojo said:\n\n\"If Ozma forbids the Crooked Magician to restore Unc Nunkie to life,\nwhat shall I do?\"\n\nThe Shaggy Man shook his head.\n\n\"In that case you can't do anything,\" he said. \"But don't be discouraged\nyet. We will go to Princess Dorothy and tell her your troubles, and then\nwe will let her talk to Ozma. Dorothy has the kindest little heart in\nthe world, and she has been through so many troubles herself that she is\nsure to sympathize with you.\"\n\n\"Is Dorothy the little girl who came here from Kansas?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"Yes. In Kansas she was Dorothy Gale. I used to know her there, and she\nbrought me to the Land of Oz. But now Ozma has made her a Princess, and\nDorothy's Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are here, too.\" Here the Shaggy Man\nuttered a long sigh, and then he continued: \"It's a queer country, this\nLand of Oz; but I like it, nevertheless.\"\n\n\"What is queer about it?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"You, for instance,\" said he.\n\n\"Did you see no girls as beautiful as I am in your own country?\" she\ninquired.\n\n\"None with the same gorgeous, variegated beauty,\" he confessed. \"In\nAmerica a girl stuffed with cotton wouldn't be alive, nor would anyone\nthink of making a girl out of a patchwork quilt.\"\n\n\"What a queer country America must be!\" she exclaimed in great surprise.\n\"The Scarecrow, whom you say is wise, told me I am the most beautiful\ncreature he has ever seen.\"\n\n\"I know; and perhaps you are--from a scarecrow point of view,\" replied\nthe Shaggy Man; but why he smiled as he said it Scraps could not\nimagine.\n\nAs they drew nearer to the Emerald City the travelers were filled with\nadmiration for the splendid scenery they beheld. Handsome houses stood\non both sides of the road and each had a green lawn before it as well as\na pretty flower garden.\n\n\"In another hour,\" said the Shaggy Man, \"we shall come in sight of the\nwalls of the Royal City.\"\n\nHe was walking ahead, with Scraps, and behind them came the Woozy and\nthe Glass Cat. Ojo had lagged behind, for in spite of the warnings he\nhad received the boy's eyes were fastened on the clover that bordered\nthe road of yellow bricks and he was eager to discover if such a thing\nas a six-leaved clover really existed.\n\nSuddenly he stopped short and bent over to examine the ground more\nclosely. Yes; here at last was a clover with six spreading leaves. He\ncounted them carefully, to make sure. In an instant his heart leaped\nwith joy, for this was one of the important things he had come for--one\nof the things that would restore dear Unc Nunkie to life.\n\n\nHe glanced ahead and saw that none of his companions was looking back.\nNeither were any other people about, for it was midway between two\nhouses. The temptation was too strong to be resisted.\n\n\"I might search for weeks and weeks, and never find another six-leaved\nclover,\" he told himself, and quickly plucking the stem from the plant\nhe placed the prized clover in his basket, covering it with the other\nthings he carried there. Then, trying to look as if nothing had\nhappened, he hurried forward and overtook his comrades.\n\n\nThe Emerald City, which is the most splendid as well as the most\nbeautiful city in any fairyland, is surrounded by a high, thick wall of\ngreen marble, polished smooth and set with glistening emeralds. There\nare four gates, one facing the Munchkin Country, one facing the Country\nof the Winkies, one facing the Country of the Quadlings and one facing\nthe Country of the Gillikins. The Emerald City lies directly in the\ncenter of these four important countries of Oz. The gates had bars of\npure gold, and on either side of each gateway were built high towers,\nfrom which floated gay banners. Other towers were set at distances along\nthe walls, which were broad enough for four people to walk abreast upon.\n\nThis enclosure, all green and gold and glittering with precious gems,\nwas indeed a wonderful sight to greet our travelers, who first observed\nit from the top of a little hill; but beyond the wall was the vast city\nit surrounded, and hundreds of jeweled spires, domes and minarets,\nflaunting flags and banners, reared their crests far above the towers of\nthe gateways. In the center of the city our friends could see the tops\nof many magnificent trees, some nearly as tall as the spires of the\nbuildings, and the Shaggy Man told them that these trees were in the\nroyal gardens of Princess Ozma.\n\nThey stood a long time on the hilltop, feasting their eyes on the\nsplendor of the Emerald City.\n\n\"Whee!\" exclaimed Scraps, clasping her padded hands in ecstacy, \"that'll\ndo for me to live in, all right. No more of the Munchkin Country for\nthese patches--and no more of the Crooked Magician!\"\n\n\"Why, you belong to Dr. Pipt,\" replied Ojo, looking at her in amazement.\n\"You were made for a servant, Scraps, so you are personal property and\nnot your own mistress.\"\n\n\"Bother Dr. Pipt! If he wants me, let him come here and get me. I'll not\ngo back to his den of my own accord; that's certain. Only one place in\nthe Land of Oz is fit to live in, and that's the Emerald City. It's\nlovely! It's almost as beautiful as I am, Ojo.\"\n\n\"In this country,\" remarked the Shaggy Man, \"people live wherever our\nRuler tells them to. It wouldn't do to have everyone live in the Emerald\nCity, you know, for some must plow the land and raise grains and fruits\nand vegetables, while others chop wood in the forests, or fish in the\nrivers, or herd the sheep and the cattle.\"\n\n\"Poor things!\" said Scraps.\n\n\"I'm not sure they are not happier than the city people,\" replied the\nShaggy Man. \"There's a freedom and independence in country life that not\neven the Emerald City can give one. I know that lots of the city people\nwould like to get back to the land. The Scarecrow lives in the country,\nand so do the Tin Woodman and Jack Pumpkinhead; yet all three would be\nwelcome to live in Ozma's palace if they cared to. Too much splendor\nbecomes tiresome, you know. But, if we're to reach the Emerald City\nbefore sundown, we must hurry, for it is yet a long way off.\"\n\nThe entrancing sight of the city had put new energy into them all and\nthey hurried forward with lighter steps than before. There was much to\ninterest them along the roadway, for the houses were now set more\nclosely together and they met a good many people who were coming or\ngoing from one place or another. All these seemed happy-faced, pleasant\npeople, who nodded graciously to the strangers as they passed, and\nexchanged words of greeting.\n\nAt last they reached the great gateway, just as the sun was setting and\nadding its red glow to the glitter of the emeralds on the green walls\nand spires. Somewhere inside the city a band could be heard playing\nsweet music; a soft, subdued hum, as of many voices, reached their ears;\nfrom the neighboring yards came the low mooing of cows waiting to be\nmilked.\n\nThey were almost at the gate when the golden bars slid back and a tall\nsoldier stepped out and faced them. Ojo thought he had never seen so\ntall a man before. The soldier wore a handsome green and gold uniform,\nwith a tall hat in which was a waving plume, and he had a belt thickly\nencrusted with jewels. But the most peculiar thing about him was his\nlong green beard, which fell far below his waist and perhaps made him\nseem taller than he really was.\n\n\"Halt!\" said the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, not in a stern voice\nbut rather in a friendly tone.\n\nThey halted before he spoke and stood looking at him.\n\n\"Good evening, Colonel,\" said the Shaggy Man. \"What's the news since I\nleft? Anything important?\"\n\n\"Billina has hatched out thirteen new chickens,\" replied the Soldier\nwith the Green Whiskers, \"and they're the cutest little fluffy yellow\nballs you ever saw. The Yellow Hen is mighty proud of those children, I\ncan tell you.\"\n\n\"She has a right to be,\" agreed the Shaggy Man. \"Let me see; that's\nabout seven thousand chicks she has hatched out; isn't it, General?\"\n\n\"That, at least,\" was the reply. \"You will have to visit Billina and\ncongratulate her.\"\n\n\"It will give me pleasure to do that,\" said the Shaggy Man. \"But you\nwill observe that I have brought some strangers home with me. I am going\nto take them to see Dorothy.\"\n\n\"One moment, please,\" said the soldier, barring their way as they\nstarted to enter the gate. \"I am on duty, and I have orders to execute.\nIs anyone in your party named Ojo the Unlucky?\"\n\n\"Why, that's me!\" cried Ojo, astonished at hearing his name on the lips\nof a stranger.\n\nThe Soldier with the Green Whiskers nodded. \"I thought so,\" said he,\n\"and I am sorry to announce that it is my painful duty to arrest you.\"\n\n\"Arrest me!\" exclaimed the boy. \"What for?\"\n\n\"I haven't looked to see,\" answered the soldier. Then he drew a paper\nfrom his breast pocket and glanced at it. \"Oh, yes; you are to be\narrested for wilfully breaking one of the Laws of Oz.\"\n\n\"Breaking a law!\" said Scraps. \"Nonsense, Soldier; you're joking.\"\n\n\"Not this time,\" returned the soldier, with a sigh. \"My dear child--what\nare you, a rummage sale or a guess-me-quick?--in me you behold the\nBody-Guard of our gracious Ruler, Princess Ozma, as well as the Royal\nArmy of Oz and the Police Force of the Emerald City.\"\n\n\"And only one man!\" exclaimed the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\n\"Only one, and plenty enough. In my official positions I've had nothing\nto do for a good many years--so long that I began to fear I was\nabsolutely useless--until to-day. An hour ago I was called to the\npresence of her Highness, Ozma of Oz, and told to arrest a boy named Ojo\nthe Unlucky, who was journeying from the Munchkin Country to the Emerald\nCity and would arrive in a short time. This command so astonished me\nthat I nearly fainted, for it is the first time anyone has merited\narrest since I can remember. You are rightly named Ojo the Unlucky, my\npoor boy, since you have broken a Law of Oz.\"\n\n\"But you are wrong,\" said Scraps. \"Ozma is wrong--you are all wrong--for\nOjo has broken no Law.\"\n\n\n\"Then he will soon be free again,\" replied the Soldier with the Green\nWhiskers. \"Anyone accused of crime is given a fair trial by our Ruler\nand has every chance to prove his innocence. But just now Ozma's orders\nmust be obeyed.\"\n\nWith this he took from his pocket a pair of handcuffs made of gold and\nset with rubies and diamonds, and these he snapped over Ojo's wrists.\n\n\n\n\n\nOZMA'S PRISONER\n\nCHAP. 15\n\n\n\nThe boy was so bewildered by this calamity that he made no resistance at\nall. He knew very well he was guilty, but it surprised him that Ozma\nalso knew it. He wondered how she had found out so soon that he had\npicked the six-leaved clover. He handed his basket to Scraps and said:\n\n\"Keep that, until I get out of prison. If I never get out, take it to\nthe Crooked Magician, to whom it belongs.\"\n\nThe Shaggy Man had been gazing earnestly in the boy's face, uncertain\nwhether to defend him or not; but something he read in Ojo's expression\nmade him draw back and refuse to interfere to save him. The Shaggy Man\nwas greatly surprised and grieved, but he knew that Ozma never made\nmistakes and so Ojo must really have broken the Law of Oz.\n\nThe Soldier with the Green Whiskers now led them all through the gate\nand into a little room built in the wall. Here sat a jolly little man,\nrichly dressed in green and having around his neck a heavy gold chain to\nwhich a number of great golden keys were attached. This was the Guardian\nof the Gate and at the moment they entered his room he was playing a\ntune upon a mouth-organ.\n\n\"Listen!\" he said, holding up his hand for silence. \"I've just composed\na tune called 'The Speckled Alligator.' It's in patch-time, which is\nmuch superior to rag-time, and I've composed it in honor of the\nPatchwork Girl, who has just arrived.\"\n\n\"How did you know I had arrived?\" asked Scraps, much interested.\n\n\"It's my business to know who's coming, for I'm the Guardian of the\nGate. Keep quiet while I play you 'The Speckled Alligator.'\"\n\nIt wasn't a very bad tune, nor a very good one, but all listened\nrespectfully while he shut his eyes and swayed his head from side to\nside and blew the notes from the little instrument. When it was all over\nthe Soldier with the Green Whiskers said:\n\n\"Guardian, I have here a prisoner.\"\n\n\"Good gracious! A prisoner?\" cried the little man, jumping up from his\nchair. \"Which one? Not the Shaggy Man?\"\n\n\"No; this boy.\"\n\n\"Ah; I hope his fault is as small as himself,\" said the Guardian of the\nGate. \"But what can he have done, and what made him do it?\"\n\n\"Can't say,\" replied the soldier. \"All I know is that he has broken the\nLaw.\"\n\n\"But no one ever does that!\"\n\n\"Then he must be innocent, and soon will be released. I hope you are\nright, Guardian. Just now I am ordered to take him to prison. Get me a\nprisoner's robe from your Official Wardrobe.\"\n\n\nThe Guardian unlocked a closet and took from it a white robe, which the\nsoldier threw over Ojo. It covered him from head to foot, but had two\nholes just in front of his eyes, so he could see where to go. In this\nattire the boy presented a very quaint appearance.\n\nAs the Guardian unlocked a gate leading from his room into the streets\nof the Emerald City, the Shaggy Man said to Scraps:\n\n\"I think I shall take you directly to Dorothy, as the Scarecrow advised,\nand the Glass Cat and the Woozy may come with us. Ojo must go to prison\nwith the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, but he will be well treated\nand you need not worry about him.\"\n\n\"What will they do with him?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"That I cannot tell. Since I came to the Land of Oz no one has ever been\narrested or imprisoned--until Ojo broke the Law.\"\n\n\"Seems to me that girl Ruler of yours is making a big fuss over\nnothing,\" remarked Scraps, tossing her yarn hair out of her eyes with a\njerk of her patched head. \"I don't know what Ojo has done, but it\ncouldn't be anything very bad, for you and I were with him all the\ntime.\"\n\nThe Shaggy Man made no reply to this speech and presently the Patchwork\nGirl forgot all about Ojo in her admiration of the wonderful city she\nhad entered.\n\nThey soon separated from the Munchkin boy, who was led by the Soldier\nwith the Green Whiskers down a side street toward the prison. Ojo felt\nvery miserable and greatly ashamed of himself, but he was beginning to\ngrow angry because he was treated in such a disgraceful manner. Instead\nof entering the splendid Emerald City as a respectable traveler who was\nentitled to a welcome and to hospitality, he was being brought in as a\ncriminal, handcuffed and in a robe that told all he met of his deep\ndisgrace.\n\nOjo was by nature gentle and affectionate and if he had disobeyed the\nLaw of Oz it was to restore his dear Unc Nunkie to life. His fault was\nmore thoughtless than wicked, but that did not alter the fact that he\nhad committed a fault. At first he had felt sorrow and remorse, but the\nmore he thought about the unjust treatment he had received--unjust\nmerely because he considered it so--the more he resented his arrest,\nblaming Ozma for making foolish laws and then punishing folks who broke\nthem. Only a six-leaved clover! A tiny green plant growing neglected and\ntrampled under foot. What harm could there be in picking it? Ojo began\nto think Ozma must be a very bad and oppressive Ruler for such a lovely\nfairyland as Oz. The Shaggy Man said the people loved her; but how could\nthey?\n\nThe little Munchkin boy was so busy thinking these things--which many\nguilty prisoners have thought before him--that he scarcely noticed all\nthe splendor of the city streets through which they passed. Whenever\nthey met any of the happy, smiling people, the boy turned his head away\nin shame, although none knew who was beneath the robe.\n\nBy and by they reached a house built just beside the great city wall,\nbut in a quiet, retired place. It was a pretty house, neatly painted and\nwith many windows. Before it was a garden filled with blooming flowers.\nThe Soldier with the Green Whiskers led Ojo up the gravel path to the\nfront door, on which he knocked.\n\nA woman opened the door and, seeing Ojo in his white robe, exclaimed:\n\n\"Goodness me! A prisoner at last. But what a small one, Soldier.\"\n\n\"The size doesn't matter, Tollydiggle, my dear. The fact remains that he\nis a prisoner,\" said the soldier. \"And, this being the prison, and you\nthe jailer, it is my duty to place the prisoner in your charge.\"\n\n\"True. Come in, then, and I'll give you a receipt for him.\"\n\nThey entered the house and passed through a hall to a large circular\nroom, where the woman pulled the robe off from Ojo and looked at him\nwith kindly interest. The boy, on his part, was gazing around him in\namazement, for never had he dreamed of such a magnificent apartment as\nthis in which he stood. The roof of the dome was of colored glass,\nworked into beautiful designs. The walls were paneled with plates of\ngold decorated with gems of great size and many colors, and upon the\ntiled floor were soft rugs delightful to walk upon. The furniture was\nframed in gold and upholstered in satin brocade and it consisted of easy\nchairs, divans and stools in great variety. Also there were several\ntables with mirror tops and cabinets filled with rare and curious\nthings. In one place a case filled with books stood against the wall,\nand elsewhere Ojo saw a cupboard containing all sorts of games.\n\n\"May I stay here a little while before I go to prison?\" asked the boy,\npleadingly.\n\n\"Why, this is your prison,\" replied Tollydiggle, \"and in me behold your\njailor. Take off those handcuffs, Soldier, for it is impossible for\nanyone to escape from this house.\"\n\n\"I know that very well,\" replied the soldier and at once unlocked the\nhandcuffs and released the prisoner.\n\nThe woman touched a button on the wall and lighted a big chandelier that\nhung suspended from the ceiling, for it was growing dark outside. Then\nshe seated herself at a desk and asked:\n\n\"What name?\"\n\n\"Ojo the Unlucky,\" answered the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.\n\n\"Unlucky? Ah, that accounts for it,\" said she. \"What crime?\"\n\n\"Breaking a Law of Oz.\"\n\n\"All right. There's your receipt, Soldier; and now I'm responsible for\nthe prisoner. I'm glad of it, for this is the first time I've ever had\nanything to do, in my official capacity,\" remarked the jailer, in a\npleased tone.\n\n\"It's the same with me, Tollydiggle,\" laughed the soldier. \"But my task\nis finished and I must go and report to Ozma that I've done my duty like\na faithful Police Force, a loyal Army and an honest Body-Guard--as I\nhope I am.\"\n\nSaying this, he nodded farewell to Tollydiggle and Ojo and went away.\n\n\"Now, then,\" said the woman briskly, \"I must get you some supper, for\nyou are doubtless hungry. What would you prefer: planked whitefish,\nomelet with jelly or mutton-chops with gravy?\"\n\nOjo thought about it. Then he said: \"I'll take the chops, if you\nplease.\"\n\n\"Very well; amuse yourself while I'm gone; I won't be long,\" and then\nshe went out by a door and left the prisoner alone.\n\nOjo was much astonished, for not only was this unlike any prison he had\never heard of, but he was being treated more as a guest than a criminal.\nThere were many windows and they had no locks. There were three doors to\nthe room and none were bolted. He cautiously opened one of the doors and\nfound it led into a hallway. But he had no intention of trying to\nescape. If his jailor was willing to trust him in this way he would not\nbetray her trust, and moreover a hot supper was being prepared for him\nand his prison was very pleasant and comfortable. So he took a book from\nthe case and sat down in a big chair to look at the pictures.\n\nThis amused him until the woman came in with a large tray and spread a\ncloth on one of the tables. Then she arranged his supper, which proved\nthe most varied and delicious meal Ojo had ever eaten in his life.\n\nTollydiggle sat near him while he ate, sewing on some fancy work she\nheld in her lap. When he had finished she cleared the table and then\nread to him a story from one of the books.\n\n\n\"Is this really a prison?\" he asked, when she had finished reading.\n\n\"Indeed it is,\" she replied. \"It is the only prison in the Land of Oz.\"\n\n\"And am I a prisoner?\"\n\n\"Bless the child! Of course.\"\n\n\"Then why is the prison so fine, and why are you so kind to me?\" he\nearnestly asked.\n\nTollydiggle seemed surprised by the question, but she presently\nanswered:\n\n\"We consider a prisoner unfortunate. He is unfortunate in two\nways--because he has done something wrong and because he is deprived of\nhis liberty. Therefore we should treat him kindly, because of his\nmisfortune, for otherwise he would become hard and bitter and would not\nbe sorry he had done wrong. Ozma thinks that one who has committed a\nfault did so because he was not strong and brave; therefore she puts him\nin prison to make him strong and brave. When that is accomplished he is\nno longer a prisoner, but a good and loyal citizen and everyone is glad\nthat he is now strong enough to resist doing wrong. You see, it is\nkindness that makes one strong and brave; and so we are kind to our\nprisoners.\"\n\nOjo thought this over very carefully. \"I had an idea,\" said he, \"that\nprisoners were always treated harshly, to punish them.\"\n\n\"That would be dreadful!\" cried Tollydiggle. \"Isn't one punished enough\nin knowing he has done wrong? Don't you wish, Ojo, with all your heart,\nthat you had not been disobedient and broken a Law of Oz?\"\n\n\"I--I hate to be different from other people,\" he admitted.\n\n\"Yes; one likes to be respected as highly as his neighbors are,\" said\nthe woman. \"When you are tried and found guilty, you will be obliged to\nmake amends, in some way. I don't know just what Ozma will do to you,\nbecause this is the first time one of us has broken a Law; but you may\nbe sure she will be just and merciful. Here in the Emerald City people\nare too happy and contented ever to do wrong; but perhaps you came from\nsome faraway corner of our land, and having no love for Ozma carelessly\nbroke one of her Laws.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ojo, \"I've lived all my life in the heart of a lonely\nforest, where I saw no one but dear Unc Nunkie.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" said Tollydiggle. \"But now we have talked enough, so let\nus play a game until bedtime.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPRINCESS DOROTHY\n\nCHAP. 16\n\n\n\nDorothy Gale was sitting in one of her rooms in the royal palace, while\ncurled up at her feet was a little black dog with a shaggy coat and very\nbright eyes. She wore a plain white frock, without any jewels or other\nornaments except an emerald-green hair-ribbon, for Dorothy was a simple\nlittle girl and had not been in the least spoiled by the magnificence\nsurrounding her. Once the child had lived on the Kansas prairies, but\nshe seemed marked for adventure, for she had made several trips to the\nLand of Oz before she came to live there for good. Her very best friend\nwas the beautiful Ozma of Oz, who loved Dorothy so well that she kept\nher in her own palace, so as to be near her. The girl's Uncle Henry and\nAunt Em--the only relatives she had in the world--had also been brought\nhere by Ozma and given a pleasant home. Dorothy knew almost everybody in\nOz, and it was she who had discovered the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and\nthe Cowardly Lion, as well as Tik-tok the Clockwork Man. Her life was\nvery pleasant now, and although she had been made a Princess of Oz by\nher friend Ozma she did not care much to be a Princess and remained as\nsweet as when she had been plain Dorothy Gale of Kansas.\n\nDorothy was reading in a book this evening when Jellia Jamb, the\nfavorite servant-maid of the palace, came to say that the Shaggy Man\nwanted to see her.\n\n\"All right,\" said Dorothy; \"tell him to come right up.\"\n\n\"But he has some queer creatures with him--some of the queerest I've\never laid eyes on,\" reported Jellia.\n\n\"Never mind; let 'em all come up,\" replied Dorothy.\n\nBut when the door opened to admit not only the Shaggy Man, but Scraps,\nthe Woozy and the Glass Cat, Dorothy jumped up and looked at her strange\nvisitors in amazement. The Patchwork Girl was the most curious of all\nand Dorothy was uncertain at first whether Scraps was really alive or\nonly a dream or a nightmare. Toto, her dog, slowly uncurled himself and\ngoing to the Patchwork Girl sniffed at her inquiringly; but soon he lay\ndown again, as if to say he had no interest in such an irregular\ncreation.\n\n\"You're a new one to me,\" Dorothy said reflectively, addressing the\nPatchwork Girl. \"I can't imagine where you've come from.\"\n\n\"Who, me?\" asked Scraps, looking around the pretty room instead of at\nthe girl. \"Oh, I came from a bed-quilt, I guess. That's what they say,\nanyhow. Some call it a crazy-quilt and some a patchwork quilt. But my\nname is Scraps--and now you know all about me.\"\n\n\n\"Not quite all,\" returned Dorothy with a smile. \"I wish you'd tell me\nhow you came to be alive.\"\n\n\"That's an easy job,\" said Scraps, sitting upon a big upholstered chair\nand making the springs bounce her up and down. \"Margolotte wanted a\nslave, so she made me out of an old bed-quilt she didn't use. Cotton\nstuffing, suspender-button eyes, red velvet tongue, pearl beads for\nteeth. The Crooked Magician made a Powder of Life, sprinkled me with it\nand--here I am. Perhaps you've noticed my different colors. A very\nrefined and educated gentleman named the Scarecrow, whom I met, told me\nI am the most beautiful creature in all Oz, and I believe it.\"\n\n\"Oh! Have you met our Scarecrow, then?\" asked Dorothy, a little puzzled\nto understand the brief history related.\n\n\"Yes; isn't he jolly?\"\n\n\"The Scarecrow has many good qualities,\" replied Dorothy. \"But I'm sorry\nto hear all this 'bout the Crooked Magician. Ozma'll be mad as hops when\nshe hears he's been doing magic again. She told him not to.\"\n\n\"He only practices magic for the benefit of his own family,\" explained\nBungle, who was keeping at a respectful distance from the little black\ndog.\n\n\"Dear me,\" said Dorothy; \"I hadn't noticed you before. Are you glass, or\nwhat?\"\n\n\"I'm glass, and transparent, too, which is more than can be said of some\nfolks,\" answered the cat. \"Also I have some lovely pink brains; you can\nsee 'em work.\"\n\n\"Oh; is that so? Come over here and let me see.\"\n\nThe Glass Cat hesitated, eyeing the dog.\n\n\"Send that beast away and I will,\" she said.\n\n\"Beast! Why, that's my dog Toto, an' he's the kindest dog in all the\nworld. Toto knows a good many things, too; 'most as much as I do, I\nguess.\"\n\n\"Why doesn't he say anything?\" asked Bungle.\n\n\"He can't talk, not being a fairy dog,\" explained Dorothy. \"He's just a\ncommon United States dog; but that's a good deal; and I understand him,\nand he understands me, just as well as if he could talk.\"\n\nToto, at this, got up and rubbed his head softly against Dorothy's hand,\nwhich she held out to him, and he looked up into her face as if he had\nunderstood every word she had said.\n\n\"This cat, Toto,\" she said to him, \"is made of glass, so you mustn't\nbother it, or chase it, any more than you do my Pink Kitten. It's\nprob'ly brittle and might break if it bumped against anything.\"\n\n\"Woof!\" said Toto, and that meant he understood.\n\nThe Glass Cat was so proud of her pink brains that she ventured to come\nclose to Dorothy, in order that the girl might \"see 'em work.\" This was\nreally interesting, but when Dorothy patted the cat she found the glass\ncold and hard and unresponsive, so she decided at once that Bungle would\nnever do for a pet.\n\n\"What do you know about the Crooked Magician who lives on the mountain?\"\nasked Dorothy.\n\n\"He made me,\" replied the cat; \"so I know all about him. The Patchwork\nGirl is new--three or four days old--but I've lived with Dr. Pipt for\nyears; and, though I don't much care for him, I will say that he has\nalways refused to work magic for any of the people who come to his\nhouse. He thinks there's no harm in doing magic things for his own\nfamily, and he made me out of glass because the meat cats drink too much\nmilk. He also made Scraps come to life so she could do the housework for\nhis wife Margolotte.\"\n\n\"Then why did you both leave him?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"I think you'd better let me explain that,\" interrupted the Shaggy Man,\nand then he told Dorothy all of Ojo's story, and how Unc Nunkie and\nMargolotte had accidentally been turned to marble by the Liquid of\nPetrifaction. Then he related how the boy had started out in search of\nthe things needed to make the magic charm, which would restore the\nunfortunates to life, and how he had found the Woozy and taken him along\nbecause he could not pull the three hairs out of its tail. Dorothy\nlistened to all this with much interest, and thought that so far Ojo had\nacted very well. But when the Shaggy Man told her of the Munchkin boy's\narrest by the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, because he was accused of\nwilfully breaking a Law of Oz, the little girl was greatly shocked.\n\n\"What do you s'pose he's done?\" she asked.\n\n\"I fear he has picked a six-leaved clover,\" answered the Shaggy Man,\nsadly. \"I did not see him do it, and I warned him that to do so was\nagainst the Law; but perhaps that is what he did, nevertheless.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry 'bout that,\" said Dorothy gravely, \"for now there will be no\none to help his poor uncle and Margolotte--'cept this Patchwork Girl,\nthe Woozy and the Glass Cat.\"\n\n\"Don't mention it,\" said Scraps. \"That's no affair of mine. Margolotte\nand Unc Nunkie are perfect strangers to me, for the moment I came to\nlife they came to marble.\"\n\n\"I see,\" remarked Dorothy with a sigh of regret; \"the woman forgot to\ngive you a heart.\"\n\n\"I'm glad she did,\" retorted the Patchwork Girl. \"A heart must be a\ngreat annoyance to one. It makes a person feel sad or sorry or devoted\nor sympathetic--all of which sensations interfere with one's happiness.\"\n\n\"I have a heart,\" murmured the Glass Cat. \"It's made of a ruby; but I\ndon't imagine I shall let it bother me about helping Unc Nunkie and\nMargolotte.\"\n\n\"That's a pretty hard heart of yours,\" said Dorothy. \"And the Woozy, of\ncourse--\"\n\n\"Why, as for me,\" observed the Woozy, who was reclining on the floor\nwith his legs doubled under him, so that he looked much like a square\nbox, \"I have never seen those unfortunate people you are speaking of,\nand yet I am sorry for them, having at times been unfortunate myself.\nWhen I was shut up in that forest I longed for some one to help me, and\nby and by Ojo came and did help me. So I'm willing to help his uncle.\nI'm only a stupid beast, Dorothy, but I can't help that, and if you'll\ntell me what to do to help Ojo and his uncle, I'll gladly do it.\"\n\nDorothy walked over and patted the Woozy on his square head.\n\n\"You're not pretty,\" she said, \"but I like you. What are you able to do;\nanything 'special?\"\n\n\"I can make my eyes flash fire--real fire--when I'm angry. When anyone\nsays: 'Krizzle-Kroo' to me I get angry, and then my eyes flash fire.\"\n\n\"I don't see as fireworks could help Ojo's uncle,\" remarked Dorothy.\n\"Can you do anything else?\"\n\n\"I--I thought I had a very terrifying growl,\" said the Woozy, with\nhesitation; \"but perhaps I was mistaken.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Shaggy Man, \"you were certainly wrong about that.\" Then\nhe turned to Dorothy and added: \"What will become of the Munchkin boy?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said, shaking her head thoughtfully. \"Ozma will see\nhim 'bout it, of course, and then she'll punish him. But how, I don't\nknow, 'cause no one ever has been punished in Oz since I knew anything\nabout the place. Too bad, Shaggy Man, isn't it?\"\n\nWhile they were talking Scraps had been roaming around the room and\nlooking at all the pretty things it contained. She had carried Ojo's\nbasket in her hand, until now, when she decided to see what was inside\nit. She found the bread and cheese, which she had no use for, and the\nbundle of charms, which were curious but quite a mystery to her. Then,\nturning these over, she came upon the six-leaved clover which the boy\nhad plucked.\n\n\nScraps was quick-witted, and although she had no heart she recognized\nthe fact that Ojo was her first friend. She knew at once that because\nthe boy had taken the clover he had been imprisoned, and she understood\nthat Ojo had given her the basket so they would not find the clover in\nhis possession and have proof of his crime. So, turning her head to see\nthat no one noticed her, she took the clover from the basket and dropped\nit into a golden vase that stood on Dorothy's table. Then she came\nforward and said to Dorothy:\n\n\"I wouldn't care to help Ojo's uncle, but I will help Ojo. He did not\nbreak the Law--no one can prove he did--and that green-whiskered soldier\nhad no right to arrest him.\"\n\n\"Ozma ordered the boy's arrest,\" said Dorothy, \"and of course she knew\nwhat she was doing. But if you can prove Ojo is innocent they will set\nhim free at once.\"\n\n\"They'll have to prove him guilty, won't they?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"I s'pose so.\"\n\n\"Well, they can't do that,\" declared the Patchwork Girl.\n\nAs it was nearly time for Dorothy to dine with Ozma, which she did\nevery evening, she rang for a servant and ordered the Woozy taken to a\nnice room and given plenty of such food as he liked best.\n\n\"That's honey-bees,\" said the Woozy.\n\n\"You can't eat honey-bees, but you'll be given something just as nice,\"\nDorothy told him. Then she had the Glass Cat taken to another room for\nthe night and the Patchwork Girl she kept in one of her own rooms, for\nshe was much interested in the strange creature and wanted to talk with\nher again and try to understand her better.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOZMA AND HER FRIENDS\n\nCHAP. 17\n\n\n\nThe Shaggy Man had a room of his own in the royal palace, so there he\nwent to change his shaggy suit of clothes for another just as shaggy but\nnot so dusty from travel. He selected a costume of pea-green and pink\nsatin and velvet, with embroidered shags on all the edges and iridescent\npearls for ornaments. Then he bathed in an alabaster pool and brushed\nhis shaggy hair and whiskers the wrong way to make them still more\nshaggy. This accomplished, and arrayed in his splendid shaggy garments,\nhe went to Ozma's banquet hall and found the Scarecrow, the Wizard and\nDorothy already assembled there. The Scarecrow had made a quick trip and\nreturned to the Emerald City with his left ear freshly painted.\n\nA moment later, while they all stood in waiting, a servant threw open a\ndoor, the orchestra struck up a tune and Ozma of Oz entered.\n\nMuch has been told and written concerning the beauty of person and\ncharacter of this sweet girl Ruler of the Land of Oz--the richest, the\nhappiest and most delightful fairyland of which we have any knowledge.\nYet with all her queenly qualities Ozma was a real girl and enjoyed the\nthings in life that other real girls enjoy. When she sat on her splendid\nemerald throne in the great Throne Room of her palace and made laws and\nsettled disputes and tried to keep all her subjects happy and contented,\nshe was as dignified and demure as any queen might be; but when she had\nthrown aside her jeweled robe of state and her sceptre, and had retired\nto her private apartments, the girl--joyous, light-hearted and\nfree--replaced the sedate Ruler.\n\nIn the banquet hall to-night were gathered only old and trusted friends,\nso here Ozma was herself--a mere girl. She greeted Dorothy with a kiss,\nthe Shaggy Man with a smile, the little old Wizard with a friendly\nhandshake and then she pressed the Scarecrow's stuffed arm and cried\nmerrily:\n\n\"What a lovely left ear! Why, it's a hundred times better than the old\none.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you like it,\" replied the Scarecrow, well pleased. \"Jinjur did\na neat job, didn't she? And my hearing is now perfect. Isn't it\nwonderful what a little paint will do, if it's properly applied?\"\n\n\"It really _is_ wonderful,\" she agreed, as they all took their seats;\n\"but the Sawhorse must have made his legs twinkle to have carried you so\nfar in one day. I didn't expect you back before to-morrow, at the\nearliest.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Scarecrow, \"I met a charming girl on the road and\nwanted to see more of her, so I hurried back.\"\n\nOzma laughed.\n\n\"I know,\" she returned; \"it's the Patchwork Girl. She is certainly\nbewildering, if not strictly beautiful.\"\n\n\"Have you seen her, then?\" the straw man eagerly asked.\n\n\"Only in my Magic Picture, which shows me all scenes of interest in the\nLand of Oz.\"\n\n\"I fear the picture didn't do her justice,\" said the Scarecrow.\n\n\"It seemed to me that nothing could be more gorgeous,\" declared Ozma.\n\"Whoever made that patchwork quilt, from which Scraps was formed, must\nhave selected the gayest and brightest bits of cloth that ever were\nwoven.\"\n\n\"I am glad you like her,\" said the Scarecrow in a satisfied tone.\nAlthough the straw man did not eat, not being made so he could, he often\ndined with Ozma and her companions, merely for the pleasure of talking\nwith them. He sat at the table and had a napkin and plate, but the\nservants knew better than to offer him food. After a little while he\nasked: \"Where is the Patchwork Girl now?\"\n\n\"In my room,\" replied Dorothy. \"I've taken a fancy to her; she's so\nqueer and--and--uncommon.\"\n\n\"She's half crazy, I think,\" added the Shaggy Man.\n\n\"But she is so beautiful!\" exclaimed the Scarecrow, as if that fact\ndisarmed all criticism. They all laughed at his enthusiasm, but the\nScarecrow was quite serious. Seeing that he was interested in Scraps\nthey forbore to say anything against her. The little band of friends\nOzma had gathered around her was so quaintly assorted that much care\nmust be exercised to avoid hurting their feelings or making any one of\nthem unhappy. It was this considerate kindness that held them close\nfriends and enabled them to enjoy one another's society.\n\n\nAnother thing they avoided was conversing on unpleasant subjects, and\nfor that reason Ojo and his troubles were not mentioned during the\ndinner. The Shaggy Man, however, related his adventures with the\nmonstrous plants which had seized and enfolded the travelers, and told\nhow he had robbed Chiss, the giant porcupine, of the quills which it was\naccustomed to throw at people. Both Dorothy and Ozma were pleased with\nthis exploit and thought it served Chiss right.\n\nThen they talked of the Woozy, which was the most remarkable animal any\nof them had ever before seen--except, perhaps, the live Sawhorse. Ozma\nhad never known that her dominions contained such a thing as a Woozy,\nthere being but one in existence and this being confined in his forest\nfor many years. Dorothy said she believed the Woozy was a good beast,\nhonest and faithful; but she added that she did not care much for the\nGlass Cat.\n\n\"Still,\" said the Shaggy Man, \"the Glass Cat is very pretty and if she\nwere not so conceited over her pink brains no one would object to her as\na companion.\"\n\nThe Wizard had been eating silently until now, when he looked up and\nremarked:\n\n\"That Powder of Life which is made by the Crooked Magician is really a\nwonderful thing. But Dr. Pipt does not know its true value and he uses\nit in the most foolish ways.\"\n\n\"I must see about that,\" said Ozma, gravely. Then she smiled again and\ncontinued in a lighter tone: \"It was Dr. Pipt's famous Powder of Life\nthat enabled me to become the Ruler of Oz.\"\n\n\"I've never heard that story,\" said the Shaggy Man, looking at Ozma\nquestioningly.\n\n\"Well, when I was a baby girl I was stolen by an old Witch named Mombi\nand transformed into a boy,\" began the girl Ruler. \"I did not know who I\nwas and when I grew big enough to work, the Witch made me wait upon her\nand carry wood for the fire and hoe in the garden. One day she came back\nfrom a journey bringing some of the Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt had\ngiven her. I had made a pumpkin-headed man and set it up in her path to\nfrighten her, for I was fond of fun and hated the Witch. But she knew\nwhat the figure was and to test her Powder of Life she sprinkled some of\nit on the man I had made. It came to life and is now our dear friend\nJack Pumpkinhead. That night I ran away with Jack to escape punishment,\nand I took old Mombi's Powder of Life with me. During our journey we\ncame upon a wooden Sawhorse standing by the road and I used the magic\npowder to bring it to life. The Sawhorse has been with me ever since.\nWhen I got to the Emerald City the good Sorceress, Glinda, knew who I\nwas and restored me to my proper person, when I became the rightful\nRuler of this land. So you see had not old Mombi brought home the Powder\nof Life I might never have run away from her and become Ozma of Oz, nor\nwould we have had Jack Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse to comfort and amuse\nus.\"\n\nThat story interested the Shaggy Man very much, as well as the others,\nwho had often heard it before. The dinner being now concluded, they all\nwent to Ozma's drawing-room, where they passed a pleasant evening before\nit came time to retire.\n\n[Illustration: GLINDA]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOJO IS FORGIVEN\n\nCHAP. 18\n\n\n\nThe next morning the Soldier with the Green Whiskers went to the prison\nand took Ojo away to the royal palace, where he was summoned to appear\nbefore the girl Ruler for judgment. Again the soldier put upon the boy\nthe jeweled handcuffs and white prisoner's robe with the peaked top and\nholes for the eyes. Ojo was so ashamed, both of his disgrace and the\nfault he had committed, that he was glad to be covered up in this way,\nso that people could not see him or know who he was. He followed the\nSoldier with the Green Whiskers very willingly, anxious that his fate\nmight be decided as soon as possible.\n\nThe inhabitants of the Emerald City were polite people and never jeered\nat the unfortunate; but it was so long since they had seen a prisoner\nthat they cast many curious looks toward the boy and many of them\nhurried away to the royal palace to be present during the trial.\n\nWhen Ojo was escorted into the great Throne Room of the palace he found\nhundreds of people assembled there. In the magnificent emerald throne,\nwhich sparkled with countless jewels, sat Ozma of Oz in her Robe of\nState, which was embroidered with emeralds and pearls. On her right, but\na little lower, was Dorothy, and on her left the Scarecrow. Still lower,\nbut nearly in front of Ozma, sat the wonderful Wizard of Oz and on a\nsmall table beside him was the golden vase from Dorothy's room, into\nwhich Scraps had dropped the stolen clover.\n\nAt Ozma's feet crouched two enormous beasts, each the largest and most\npowerful of its kind. Although these beasts were quite free, no one\npresent was alarmed by them; for the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger\nwere well known and respected in the Emerald City and they always\nguarded the Ruler when she held high court in the Throne Room. There was\nstill another beast present, but this one Dorothy held in her arms, for\nit was her constant companion, the little dog Toto. Toto knew the\nCowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger and often played and romped with\nthem, for they were good friends.\n\nSeated on ivory chairs before Ozma, with a clear space between them and\nthe throne, were many of the nobility of the Emerald City, lords and\nladies in beautiful costumes, and officials of the kingdom in the royal\nuniforms of Oz. Behind these courtiers were others of less importance,\nfilling the great hall to the very doors.\n\nAt the same moment that the Soldier with the Green Whiskers arrived with\nOjo, the Shaggy Man entered from a side door, escorting the Patchwork\nGirl, the Woozy and the Glass Cat. All these came to the vacant space\nbefore the throne and stood facing the Ruler.\n\n\"Hullo, Ojo,\" said Scraps; \"how are you?\"\n\n\"All right,\" he replied; but the scene awed the boy and his voice\ntrembled a little with fear. Nothing could awe the Patchwork Girl, and\nalthough the Woozy was somewhat uneasy in these splendid surroundings\nthe Glass Cat was delighted with the sumptuousness of the court and the\nimpressiveness of the occasion--pretty big words but quite expressive.\n\nAt a sign from Ozma the soldier removed Ojo's white robe and the boy\nstood face to face with the girl who was to decide his punishment. He\nsaw at a glance how lovely and sweet she was, and his heart gave a bound\nof joy, for he hoped she would be merciful.\n\nOzma sat looking at the prisoner a long time. Then she said gently:\n\n\"One of the Laws of Oz forbids anyone to pick a six-leaved clover. You\nare accused of having broken this Law, even after you had been warned\nnot to do so.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"_I demand that you set this poor Munchkin Boy free_\"]\n\nOjo hung his head and while he hesitated how to reply the Patchwork Girl\nstepped forward and spoke for him.\n\n\"All this fuss is about nothing at all,\" she said, facing Ozma\nunabashed. \"You can't prove he picked the six-leaved clover, so you've\nno right to accuse him of it. Search him, if you like, but you won't\nfind the clover; look in his basket and you'll find it's not there. He\nhasn't got it, so I demand that you set this poor Munchkin boy free.\"\n\nThe people of Oz listened to this defiance in amazement and wondered at\nthe queer Patchwork Girl who dared talk so boldly to their Ruler. But\nOzma sat silent and motionless and it was the little Wizard who answered\nScraps.\n\n\"So the clover hasn't been picked, eh?\" he said. \"I think it has. I\nthink the boy hid it in his basket, and then gave the basket to you. I\nalso think you dropped the clover into this vase, which stood in\nPrincess Dorothy's room, hoping to get rid of it so it would not prove\nthe boy guilty. You're a stranger here, Miss Patches, and so you don't\nknow that nothing can be hidden from our powerful Ruler's Magic\nPicture--nor from the watchful eyes of the humble Wizard of Oz. Look,\nall of you!\" With these words he waved his hands toward the vase on the\ntable, which Scraps now noticed for the first time.\n\nFrom the mouth of the vase a plant sprouted, slowly growing before their\neyes until it became a beautiful bush, and on the topmost branch\nappeared the six-leaved clover which Ojo had unfortunately picked.\n\nThe Patchwork Girl looked at the clover and said: \"Oh, so you've found\nit. Very well; prove he picked it, if you can.\"\n\nOzma turned to Ojo.\n\n\"Did you pick the six-leaved clover?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied. \"I knew it was against the Law, but I wanted to save\nUnc Nunkie and I was afraid if I asked your consent to pick it you would\nrefuse me.\"\n\n\"What caused you to think that?\" asked the Ruler.\n\n\"Why, it seemed to me a foolish law, unjust and unreasonable. Even now I\ncan see no harm in picking a six-leaved clover. And I--I had not seen\nthe Emerald City, then, nor you, and I thought a girl who would make\nsuch a silly Law would not be likely to help anyone in trouble.\"\n\nOzma regarded him musingly, her chin resting upon her hand; but she was\nnot angry. On the contrary she smiled a little at her thoughts and then\ngrew sober again.\n\n\"I suppose a good many laws seem foolish to those people who do not\nunderstand them,\" she said; \"but no law is ever made without some\npurpose, and that purpose is usually to protect all the people and guard\ntheir welfare. As you are a stranger, I will explain this Law which to\nyou seems so foolish. Years ago there were many Witches and Magicians in\nthe Land of Oz, and one of the things they often used in making their\nmagic charms and transformations was a six-leaved clover. These Witches\nand Magicians caused so much trouble among my people, often using their\npowers for evil rather than good, that I decided to forbid anyone to\npractice magic or sorcery except Glinda the Good and her assistant, the\nWizard of Oz, both of whom I can trust to use their arts only to benefit\nmy people and to make them happier. Since I issued that Law the Land of\nOz has been far more peaceful and quiet; but I learned that some of the\nWitches and Magicians were still practicing magic on the sly and using\nthe six-leaved clovers to make their potions and charms. Therefore I\nmade another Law forbidding anyone from plucking a six-leaved clover or\nfrom gathering other plants and herbs which the Witches boil in their\nkettles to work magic with. That has almost put an end to wicked sorcery\nin our land, so you see the Law was not a foolish one, but wise and\njust; and, in any event, it is wrong to disobey a Law.\"\n\nOjo knew she was right and felt greatly mortified to realize he had\nacted and spoken so ridiculously. But he raised his head and looked Ozma\nin the face, saying:\n\n\"I am sorry I have acted wrongly and broken your Law. I did it to save\nUnc Nunkie, and thought I would not be found out. But I am guilty of\nthis act and whatever punishment you think I deserve I will suffer\nwillingly.\"\n\nOzma smiled more brightly, then, and nodded graciously.\n\n\"You are forgiven,\" she said. \"For, although you have committed a\nserious fault, you are now penitent and I think you have been punished\nenough. Soldier, release Ojo the Lucky and--\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon; I'm Ojo the _Un_lucky,\" said the boy.\n\n\"At this moment you are lucky,\" said she. \"Release him, Soldier, and let\nhim go free.\"\n\nThe people were glad to hear Ozma's decree and murmured their approval.\nAs the royal audience was now over, they began to leave the Throne Room\nand soon there were none remaining except Ojo and his friends and Ozma\nand her favorites.\n\nThe girl Ruler now asked Ojo to sit down and tell her all his story,\nwhich he did, beginning at the time he had left his home in the forest\nand ending with his arrival at the Emerald City and his arrest. Ozma\nlistened attentively and was thoughtful for some moments after the boy\nhad finished speaking. Then she said:\n\n\"The Crooked Magician was wrong to make the Glass Cat and the Patchwork\nGirl, for it was against the Law. And if he had not unlawfully kept the\nbottle of Liquid of Petrifaction standing on his shelf, the accident to\nhis wife Margolotte and to Unc Nunkie could not have occurred. I can\nunderstand, however, that Ojo, who loves his uncle, will be unhappy\nunless he can save him. Also I feel it is wrong to leave those two\nvictims standing as marble statues, when they ought to be alive. So I\npropose we allow Dr. Pipt to make the magic charm which will save them,\nand that we assist Ojo to find the things he is seeking. What do you\nthink, Wizard?\"\n\n\"That is perhaps the best thing to do,\" replied the Wizard. \"But after\nthe Crooked Magician has restored those poor people to life you must\ntake away his magic powers.\"\n\n\"I will,\" promised Ozma.\n\n\"Now tell me, please, what magic things must you find?\" continued the\nWizard, addressing Ojo.\n\n\"The three hairs from the Woozy's tail I have,\" said the boy. \"That is,\nI have the Woozy, and the hairs are in his tail. The six-leaved clover\nI--I--\"\n\n\"You may take it and keep it,\" said Ozma. \"That will not be breaking the\nLaw, for it is already picked, and the crime of picking it is forgiven.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" cried Ojo gratefully. Then he continued: \"The next thing I\nmust find is a gill of water from a dark well.\"\n\nThe Wizard shook his head. \"That,\" said he, \"will be a hard task, but if\nyou travel far enough you may discover it.\"\n\n\"I am willing to travel for years, if it will save Unc Nunkie,\" declared\nOjo, earnestly.\n\n\"Then you'd better begin your journey at once,\" advised the Wizard.\n\nDorothy had been listening with interest to this conversation. Now she\nturned to Ozma and asked: \"May I go with Ojo, to help him?\"\n\n\"Would you like to?\" returned Ozma.\n\n\"Yes. I know Oz pretty well, but Ojo doesn't know it at all. I'm sorry\nfor his uncle and poor Margolotte and I'd like to help save them. May I\ngo?\"\n\n\"If you wish to,\" replied Ozma.\n\n\"If Dorothy goes, then I must go to take care of her,\" said the\nScarecrow, decidedly. \"A dark well can only be discovered in some\nout-of-the-way place, and there may be dangers there.\"\n\n\"You have my permission to accompany Dorothy,\" said Ozma. \"And while you\nare gone I will take care of the Patchwork Girl.\"\n\n\"I'll take care of myself,\" announced Scraps, \"for I'm going with the\nScarecrow and Dorothy. I promised Ojo to help him find the things he\nwants and I'll stick to my promise.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied Ozma. \"But I see no need for Ojo to take the Glass\nCat and the Woozy.\"\n\n\"I prefer to remain here,\" said the cat. \"I've nearly been nicked half a\ndozen times, already, and if they're going into dangers it's best for me\nto keep away from them.\"\n\n\"Let Jellia Jamb keep her till Ojo returns,\" suggested Dorothy. \"We\nwon't need to take the Woozy, either, but he ought to be saved because\nof the three hairs in his tail.\"\n\n\"Better take me along,\" said the Woozy. \"My eyes can flash fire, you\nknow, and I can growl--a little.\"\n\n\"I'm sure you'll be safer here,\" Ozma decided, and the Woozy made no\nfurther objection to the plan.\n\nAfter consulting together they decided that Ojo and his party should\nleave the very next day to search for the gill of water from a dark\nwell, so they now separated to make preparations for the journey.\n\nOzma gave the Munchkin boy a room in the palace for that night and the\nafternoon he passed with Dorothy--getting acquainted, as she said--and\nreceiving advice from the Shaggy Man as to where they must go. The\nShaggy Man had wandered in many parts of Oz, and so had Dorothy, for\nthat matter, yet neither of them knew where a dark well was to be found.\n\n\"If such a thing is anywhere in the settled parts of Oz,\" said Dorothy,\n\"we'd prob'ly have heard of it long ago. If it's in the wild parts of\nthe country, no one there would need a dark well. P'raps there isn't\nsuch a thing.\"\n\n\"Oh, there must be!\" returned Ojo, positively; \"or else the recipe of\nDr. Pipt wouldn't call for it.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" agreed Dorothy; \"and, if it's anywhere in the Land of Oz,\nwe're bound to find it.\"\n\n\"Well, we're bound to _search_ for it, anyhow,\" said the Scarecrow. \"As\nfor finding it, we must trust to luck.\"\n\n\"Don't do that,\" begged Ojo, earnestly. \"I'm called Ojo the Unlucky, you\nknow.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nTROUBLE WITH THE TOTTENHOTS\n\nCHAP. 19\n\n\n\nA day's journey from the Emerald City brought the little band of\nadventurers to the home of Jack Pumpkinhead, which was a house formed\nfrom the shell of an immense pumpkin. Jack had made it himself and was\nvery proud of it. There was a door, and several windows, and through the\ntop was stuck a stovepipe that led from a small stove inside. The door\nwas reached by a flight of three steps and there was a good floor on\nwhich was arranged some furniture that was quite comfortable.\n\nIt is certain that Jack Pumpkinhead might have had a much finer house to\nlive in had he wanted it, for Ozma loved the stupid fellow, who had been\nher earliest companion; but Jack preferred his pumpkin house, as it\nmatched himself very well, and in this he was not so stupid, after all.\n\nThe body of this remarkable person was made of wood, branches of trees\nof various sizes having been used for the purpose. This wooden framework\nwas covered by a red shirt--with white spots in it--blue trousers, a\nyellow vest, a jacket of green-and-gold and stout leather shoes. The\nneck was a sharpened stick on which the pumpkin head was set, and the\neyes, ears, nose and mouth were carved on the skin of the pumpkin, very\nlike a child's jack-o'-lantern.\n\n\nThe house of this interesting creation stood in the center of a vast\npumpkin-field, where the vines grew in profusion and bore pumpkins of\nextraordinary size as well as those which were smaller. Some of the\npumpkins now ripening on the vines were almost as large as Jack's house,\nand he told Dorothy he intended to add another pumpkin to his mansion.\n\nThe travelers were cordially welcomed to this quaint domicile and\ninvited to pass the night there, which they had planned to do. The\nPatchwork Girl was greatly interested in Jack and examined him\nadmiringly.\n\n\"You are quite handsome,\" she said; \"but not as really beautiful as the\nScarecrow.\"\n\nJack turned, at this, to examine the Scarecrow critically, and his old\nfriend slyly winked one painted eye at him.\n\n\n\"There is no accounting for tastes,\" remarked the Pumpkinhead, with a\nsigh. \"An old crow once told me I was very fascinating, but of course\nthe bird might have been mistaken. Yet I have noticed that the crows\nusually avoid the Scarecrow, who is a very honest fellow, in his way,\nbut stuffed. I am not stuffed, you will observe; my body is good solid\nhickory.\"\n\n\"I adore stuffing,\" said the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Well, as for that, my head is stuffed with pumpkin-seeds,\" declared\nJack. \"I use them for brains, and when they are fresh I am intellectual.\nJust now, I regret to say, my seeds are rattling a bit, so I must soon\nget another head.\"\n\n\"Oh; do you change your head?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"To be sure. Pumpkins are not permanent, more's the pity, and in time\nthey spoil. That is why I grow such a great field of pumpkins--that I\nmay select a new head whenever necessary.\"\n\n\"Who carves the faces on them?\" inquired the boy.\n\n\"I do that myself. I lift off my old head, place it on a table before\nme, and use the face for a pattern to go by. Sometimes the faces I carve\nare better than others--more expressive and cheerful, you know--but I\nthink they average very well.\"\n\nBefore she had started on the journey Dorothy had packed a knapsack with\nthe things she might need, and this knapsack the Scarecrow carried\nstrapped to his back. The little girl wore a plain gingham dress and a\nchecked sunbonnet, as she knew they were best fitted for travel. Ojo\nalso had brought along his basket, to which Ozma had added a bottle of\n\"Square Meal Tablets\" and some fruit. But Jack Pumpkinhead grew a lot of\nthings in his garden besides pumpkins, so he cooked for them a fine\nvegetable soup and gave Dorothy, Ojo and Toto, the only ones who found\nit necessary to eat, a pumpkin pie and some green cheese. For beds they\nmust use the sweet dried grasses which Jack had strewn along one side of\nthe room, but that satisfied Dorothy and Ojo very well. Toto, of course,\nslept beside his little mistress.\n\nThe Scarecrow, Scraps and the Pumpkinhead were tireless and had no need\nto sleep, so they sat up and talked together all night; but they stayed\noutside the house, under the bright stars, and talked in low tones so as\nnot to disturb the sleepers. During the conversation the Scarecrow\nexplained their quest for a dark well, and asked Jack's advice where to\nfind it.\n\nThe Pumpkinhead considered the matter gravely.\n\n\"That is going to be a difficult task,\" said he, \"and if I were you I'd\ntake any ordinary well and enclose it, so as to make it dark.\"\n\n\"I fear that wouldn't do,\" replied the Scarecrow. \"The well must be\nnaturally dark, and the water must never have seen the light of day, for\notherwise the magic charm might not work at all.\"\n\n\"How much of the water do you need?\" asked Jack.\n\n\"A gill.\"\n\n\"How much is a gill?\"\n\n\"Why--a gill is a gill, of course,\" answered the Scarecrow, who did not\nwish to display his ignorance.\n\n\"I know!\" cried Scraps. \"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch--\"\n\n\"No, no; that's wrong,\" interrupted the Scarecrow. \"There are two kinds\nof gills, I think; one is a girl, and the other is--\"\n\n\"A gillyflower,\" said Jack.\n\n\"No; a measure.\"\n\n\"How big a measure?\"\n\n\"Well, I'll ask Dorothy.\"\n\nSo next morning they asked Dorothy, and she said:\n\n\"I don't just know how much a gill is, but I've brought along a gold\nflask that holds a pint. That's more than a gill, I'm sure, and the\nCrooked Magician may measure it to suit himself. But the thing that's\nbothering us most, Jack, is to find the well.\"\n\nJack gazed around the landscape, for he was standing in the doorway of\nhis house.\n\n\"This is a flat country, so you won't find any dark wells here,\" said\nhe. \"You must go into the mountains, where rocks and caverns are.\"\n\n\"And where is that?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"In the Quadling Country, which lies south of here,\" replied the\nScarecrow. \"I've known all along that we must go to the mountains.\"\n\n\"So have I,\" said Dorothy.\n\n\"But--goodness me!--the Quadling Country is full of dangers,\" declared\nJack. \"I've never been there myself, but--\"\n\n\"I have,\" said the Scarecrow. \"I've faced the dreadful Hammerheads,\nwhich have no arms and butt you like a goat; and I've faced the Fighting\nTrees, which bend down their branches to pound and whip you, and had\nmany other adventures there.\"\n\n\"It's a wild country,\" remarked Dorothy, soberly, \"and if we go there\nwe're sure to have troubles of our own. But I guess we'll have to go, if\nwe want that gill of water from the dark well.\"\n\nSo they said good-bye to the Pumpkinhead and resumed their travels,\nheading now directly toward the South Country, where mountains and rocks\nand caverns and forests of great trees abounded. This part of the Land\nof Oz, while it belonged to Ozma and owed her allegiance, was so wild\nand secluded that many queer peoples hid in its jungles and lived in\ntheir own way, without even a knowledge that they had a Ruler in the\nEmerald City. If they were left alone, these creatures never troubled\nthe inhabitants of the rest of Oz, but those who invaded their domains\nencountered many dangers from them.\n\nIt was a two days' journey from Jack Pumpkinhead's house to the edge of\nthe Quadling Country, for neither Dorothy nor Ojo could walk very fast\nand they often stopped by the wayside to rest. The first night they\nslept on the broad fields, among the buttercups and daisies, and the\nScarecrow covered the children with a gauze blanket taken from his\nknapsack, so they would not be chilled by the night air. Toward evening\nof the second day they reached a sandy plain where walking was\ndifficult; but some distance before them they saw a group of palm trees,\nwith many curious black dots under them; so they trudged bravely on to\nreach that place by dark and spend the night under the shelter of the\ntrees.\n\n\nThe black dots grew larger as they advanced and although the light was\ndim Dorothy thought they looked like big kettles turned upside down.\nJust beyond this place a jumble of huge, jagged rocks lay scattered,\nrising to the mountains behind them.\n\nOur travelers preferred to attempt to climb these rocks by daylight, and\nthey realized that for a time this would be their last night on the\nplains.\n\n\nTwilight had fallen by the time they came to the trees, beneath\nwhich were the black, circular objects they had marked from a\ndistance. Dozens of them were scattered around and Dorothy bent near\nto one, which was about as tall as she was, to examine it more\nclosely. As she did so the top flew open and out popped a small\ncreature, rising its length into the air and then plumping down upon\nthe ground just beside the little girl. Another and another popped\nout of the circular, pot-like dwelling, while from all the other\nblack objects came popping more creatures--very like jumping-jacks\nwhen their boxes are unhooked--until fully a hundred stood gathered\naround our little group of travelers.\n\nBy this time Dorothy had discovered they were people, tiny and curiously\nformed, but still people. Their hair stood straight up, like wires, and\nwas brilliant scarlet in color. Their bodies were bare except for skins\nfastened around their waists and they wore bracelets on their ankles and\nwrists, and necklaces, and great pendant earrings.\n\nToto crouched beside his mistress and wailed as if he did not like these\nstrange creatures a bit. Scraps began to mutter something about\n\"hoppity, poppity, jumpity, dump!\" but no one paid any attention to her.\nOjo kept close to the Scarecrow and the Scarecrow kept close to Dorothy;\nbut the little girl turned to the queer creatures and asked:\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\nThey answered this question all together, in a sort of chanting chorus,\nthe words being as follows:\n\n    \"We're the jolly Tottenhots;\n    We do not like the day,\n    But in the night 'tis our delight\n    To gambol, skip and play.\n\n    \"We hate the sun and from it run,\n    The moon is cool and clear,\n    So on this spot each Tottenhot\n    Waits for it to appear.\n\n    \"We're ev'ry one chock full of fun,\n    And full of mischief, too;\n    But if you're gay and with us play\n    We'll do no harm to you.\"\n\n\"Glad to meet you, Tottenhots,\" said the Scarecrow solemnly. \"But you\nmustn't expect us to play with you all night, for we've traveled all\nday and some of us are tired.\"\n\n\"And we never gamble,\" added the Patchwork Girl. \"It's against the Law.\"\n\nThese remarks were greeted with shouts of laughter by the impish\ncreatures and one seized the Scarecrow's arm and was astonished to find\nthe straw man whirl around so easily. So the Tottenhot raised the\nScarecrow high in the air and tossed him over the heads of the crowd.\nSome one caught him and tossed him back, and so with shouts of glee they\ncontinued throwing the Scarecrow here and there, as if he had been a\nbasket-ball.\n\nPresently another imp seized Scraps and began to throw her about, in the\nsame way. They found her a little heavier than the Scarecrow but still\nlight enough to be tossed like a sofa-cushion, and they were enjoying\nthe sport immensely when Dorothy, angry and indignant at the treatment\nher friends were receiving, rushed among the Tottenhots and began\nslapping and pushing them, until she had rescued the Scarecrow and the\nPatchwork Girl and held them close on either side of her. Perhaps she\nwould not have accomplished this victory so easily had not Toto helped\nher, barking and snapping at the bare legs of the imps until they were\nglad to flee from his attack. As for Ojo, some of the creatures had\nattempted to toss him, also, but finding his body too heavy they threw\nhim to the ground and a row of the imps sat on him and held him from\nassisting Dorothy in her battle.\n\nThe little folks were much surprised at being attacked by the girl and\nthe dog, and one or two who had been slapped hardest began to cry. Then\nsuddenly they gave a shout, all together, and disappeared in a flash\ninto their various houses, the tops of which closed with a series of\npops that sounded like a bunch of firecrackers being exploded.\n\nThe adventurers now found themselves alone, and Dorothy asked anxiously:\n\n\"Is anybody hurt?\"\n\n\"Not me,\" answered the Scarecrow. \"They have given my straw a good\nshaking up and taken all the lumps out of it. I am now in splendid\ncondition and am really obliged to the Tottenhots for their kind\ntreatment.\"\n\n\"I feel much the same way,\" said Scraps. \"My cotton stuffing had sagged\na good deal with the day's walking and they've loosened it up until I\nfeel as plump as a sausage. But the play was a little rough and I'd had\nquite enough of it when you interfered.\"\n\n\n\"Six of them sat on me,\" said Ojo, \"but as they are so little they\ndidn't hurt me much.\"\n\nJust then the roof of the house in front of them opened and a Tottenhot\nstuck his head out, very cautiously, and looked at the strangers.\n\n\"Can't you take a joke?\" he asked, reproachfully; \"haven't you any fun\nin you at all?\"\n\n\"If I had such a quality,\" replied the Scarecrow, \"your people would\nhave knocked it out of me. But I don't bear grudges. I forgive you.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" added Scraps. \"That is, if you behave yourselves after this.\"\n\n\"It was just a little rough-house, that's all,\" said the Tottenhot. \"But\nthe question is not if _we_ will behave, but if _you_ will behave? We\ncan't be shut up here all night, because this is our time to play; nor\ndo we care to come out and be chewed up by a savage beast or slapped by\nan angry girl. That slapping hurts like sixty; some of my folks are\ncrying about it. So here's the proposition: you let us alone and we'll\nlet you alone.\"\n\n\"You began it,\" declared Dorothy.\n\n\"Well, you ended it, so we won't argue the matter. May we come out\nagain? Or are you still cruel and slappy?\"\n\n\"Tell you what we'll do,\" said Dorothy. \"We're all tired and want to\nsleep until morning. If you'll let us get into your house, and stay\nthere until daylight, you can play outside all you want to.\"\n\n\"That's a bargain!\" cried the Tottenhot eagerly, and he gave a queer\nwhistle that brought his people popping out of their houses on all\nsides. When the house before them was vacant, Dorothy and Ojo leaned\nover the hole and looked in, but could see nothing because it was so\ndark. But if the Tottenhots slept there all day the children thought\nthey could sleep there at night, so Ojo lowered himself down and found\nit was not very deep.\n\n\"There's a soft cushion all over,\" said he. \"Come on in.\"\n\nDorothy handed Toto to the boy and then climbed in herself. After her\ncame Scraps and the Scarecrow, who did not wish to sleep but preferred\nto keep out of the way of the mischievous Tottenhots.\n\nThere seemed no furniture in the round den, but soft cushions were\nstrewn about the floor and these they found made very comfortable beds.\nThey did not close the hole in the roof but left it open to admit air.\nIt also admitted the shouts and ceaseless laughter of the impish\nTottenhots as they played outside, but Dorothy and Ojo, being weary from\ntheir journey, were soon fast asleep.\n\n\nToto kept an eye open, however, and uttered low, threatening growls\nwhenever the racket made by the creatures outside became too boisterous;\nand the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl sat leaning against the wall\nand talked in whispers all night long. No one disturbed the travelers\nuntil daylight, when in popped the Tottenhot who owned the place and\ninvited them to vacate his premises.\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: LOOK OUT FOR YOOP]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CAPTIVE YOOP\n\nCHAP. 20\n\n\n\nAs they were preparing to leave, Dorothy asked: \"Can you tell us where\nthere is a dark well?\"\n\n\"Never heard of such a thing,\" said the Tottenhot. \"We live our lives in\nthe dark, mostly, and sleep in the daytime; but we've never seen a dark\nwell, or anything like one.\"\n\n\"Does anyone live on those mountains beyond here?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\n\"Lots of people. But you'd better not visit them. We never go there.\"\nwas the reply.\n\n\"What are the people like?\" Dorothy inquired.\n\n\"Can't say. We've been told to keep away from the mountain paths, and so\nwe obey. This sandy desert is good enough for us, and we're not\ndisturbed here,\" declared the Tottenhot.\n\nSo they left the man snuggling down to sleep in his dusky dwelling, and\nwent out into the sunshine, taking the path that led toward the rocky\nplaces. They soon found it hard climbing, for the rocks were uneven and\nfull of sharp points and edges, and now there was no path at all.\nClambering here and there among the boulders they kept steadily on,\ngradually rising higher and higher until finally they came to a great\nrift in a part of the mountain, where the rock seemed to have split in\ntwo and left high walls on either side.\n\n\"S'pose we go this way,\" suggested Dorothy; \"it's much easier walking\nthan to climb over the hills.\"\n\n\"How about that sign?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"What sign?\" she inquired.\n\nThe Munchkin boy pointed to some words painted on the wall of rock\nbeside them, which Dorothy had not noticed. The words read:\n\n    \"LOOK OUT FOR YOOP.\"\n\nThe girl eyed this sign a moment and then turned to the Scarecrow,\nasking:\n\n\"Who is Yoop; or what is Yoop?\"\n\nThe straw man shook his head. Then she looked at Toto and the dog said\n\"Woof!\"\n\n\"Only way to find out is to go on,\" said Scraps.\n\nThis being quite true, they went on. As they proceeded, the walls of\nrock on either side grew higher and higher. Presently they came upon\nanother sign which read:\n\n    \"BEWARE THE CAPTIVE YOOP.\"\n\n\"Why, as for that,\" remarked Dorothy, \"if Yoop is a captive there's no\nneed to beware of him. Whatever Yoop happens to be, I'd much rather have\nhim a captive than running around loose.\"\n\n\"So had I,\" agreed the Scarecrow, with a nod of his painted head.\n\n\"Still,\" said Scraps, reflectively:\n\n    \"Yoop-te-hoop-te-loop-te-goop!\n    Who put noodles in the soup?\n    We may beware but we don't care,\n    And dare go where we scare the Yoop.\"\n\n\"Dear me! Aren't you feeling a little queer, just now?\" Dorothy asked\nthe Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"Not queer, but crazy,\" said Ojo. \"When she says those things I'm sure\nher brains get mixed somehow and work the wrong way.\"\n\n\"I don't see why we are told to beware the Yoop unless he is dangerous,\"\nobserved the Scarecrow in a puzzled tone.\n\n\"Never mind; we'll find out all about him when we get to where he is,\"\nreplied the little girl.\n\nThe narrow canyon turned and twisted this way and that, and the rift was\nso small that they were able to touch both walls at the same time by\nstretching out their arms. Toto had run on ahead, frisking playfully,\nwhen suddenly he uttered a sharp bark of fear and came running back to\nthem with his tail between his legs, as dogs do when they are\nfrightened.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the Scarecrow, who was leading the way, \"we must be near\nYoop.\"\n\nJust then, as he rounded a sharp turn, the straw man stopped so suddenly\nthat all the others bumped against him.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Dorothy, standing on tip-toes to look over his\nshoulder. But then she saw what it was and cried \"Oh!\" in a tone of\nastonishment.\n\nIn one of the rock walls--that at their left--was hollowed a great\ncavern, in front of which was a row of thick iron bars, the tops and\nbottoms being firmly fixed in the solid rock. Over this cavern was a big\nsign, which Dorothy read with much curiosity, speaking the words aloud\nthat all might know what they said:\n\n    \"MISTER YOOP--HIS CAVE\n\n    The Largest Untamed Giant in Captivity.\n\n        _Height, 21 Feet._--(And yet he has but 2 feet.)\n\n        _Weight, 1640 Pounds._--(But he waits all the time.)\n\n        _Age, 400 Years 'and Up'_ (as they say in the Department\n            Store advertisements).\n\n        _Temper, Fierce and Ferocious._--(Except when asleep.)\n\n        _Appetite, Ravenous._--(Prefers Meat People and Orange\n            Marmalade.)\n\n    STRANGERS APPROACHING THIS CAVE DO SO AT THEIR OWN PERIL!\n\n    _P. S.--Don't feed the Giant yourself._\"\n\n\n\"Very well,\" said Ojo, with a sigh; \"let's go back.\"\n\n\"It's a long way back,\" declared Dorothy.\n\n\"So it is,\" remarked the Scarecrow, \"and it means a tedious climb over\nthose sharp rocks if we can't use this passage. I think it will be best\nto run by the Giant's cave as fast as we can go. Mister Yoop seems to be\nasleep just now.\"\n\nBut the Giant wasn't asleep. He suddenly appeared at the front of his\ncavern, seized the iron bars in his great hairy hands and shook them\nuntil they rattled in their sockets. Yoop was so tall that our friends\nhad to tip their heads way back to look into his face, and they noticed\nhe was dressed all in pink velvet, with silver buttons and braid. The\nGiant's boots were of pink leather and had tassels on them and his hat\nwas decorated with an enormous pink ostrich feather, carefully curled.\n\n\"Yo-ho!\" he said in a deep bass voice; \"I smell dinner.\"\n\n\"I think you are mistaken,\" replied the Scarecrow. \"There is no orange\nmarmalade around here.\"\n\n\"Ah, but I eat other things,\" asserted Mister Yoop. \"That is, I eat them\nwhen I can get them. But this is a lonely place, and no good meat has\npassed by my cave for many years; so I'm hungry.\"\n\n\"Haven't you eaten anything in many years?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"Nothing except six ants and a monkey. I thought the monkey would taste\nlike meat people, but the flavor was different. I hope you will taste\nbetter, for you seem plump and tender.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not going to be eaten,\" said Dorothy.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"I shall keep out of your way,\" she answered.\n\n\"How heartless!\" wailed the Giant, shaking the bars again. \"Consider how\nmany years it is since I've eaten a single plump little girl! They tell\nme meat is going up, but if I can manage to catch you I'm sure it will\nsoon be going down. And I'll catch you if I can.\"\n\nWith this the Giant pushed his big arms, which looked like tree-trunks\n(except that tree-trunks don't wear pink velvet) between the iron bars,\nand the arms were so long that they touched the opposite wall of the\nrock passage. Then he extended them as far as he could reach toward our\ntravelers and found he could almost touch the Scarecrow--but not quite.\n\n\"Come a little nearer, please,\" begged the Giant.\n\n\"I'm a Scarecrow.\"\n\n\"A Scarecrow? Ugh! I don't care a straw for a scarecrow. Who is that\nbright-colored delicacy behind you?\"\n\n\"Me?\" asked Scraps. \"I'm a Patchwork Girl, and I'm stuffed with cotton.\"\n\n\"Dear me,\" sighed the Giant in a disappointed tone; \"that reduces my\ndinner from four to two--and the dog. I'll save the dog for dessert.\"\n\nToto growled, keeping a good distance away.\n\n\"Back up,\" said the Scarecrow to those behind him. \"Let us go back a\nlittle way and talk this over.\"\n\nSo they turned and went around the bend in the passage, where they were\nout of sight of the cave and Mister Yoop could not hear them.\n\n\"My idea,\" began the Scarecrow, when they had halted, \"is to make a dash\npast the cave, going on a run.\"\n\n\"He'd grab us,\" said Dorothy.\n\n\"Well, he can't grab but one at a time, and I'll go first. As soon as he\ngrabs me the rest of you can slip past him, out of his reach, and he\nwill soon let me go because I am not fit to eat.\"\n\nThey decided to try this plan and Dorothy took Toto in her arms, so as\nto protect him. She followed just after the Scarecrow. Then came Ojo,\nwith Scraps the last of the four. Their hearts beat a little faster than\nusual as they again approached the Giant's cave, this time moving\nswiftly forward.\n\nIt turned out about the way the Scarecrow had planned. Mister Yoop was\nquite astonished to see them come flying toward him, and thrusting his\narms between the bars he seized the Scarecrow in a firm grip. In the\nnext instant he realized, from the way the straw crunched between his\nfingers, that he had captured the non-eatable man, but during that\ninstant of delay Dorothy and Ojo had slipped by the Giant and were out\nof reach. Uttering a howl of rage the monster threw the Scarecrow after\nthem with one hand and grabbed Scraps with the other.\n\nThe poor Scarecrow went whirling through the air and so cleverly was he\naimed that he struck Ojo's back and sent the boy tumbling head over\nheels, and he tripped Dorothy and sent her, also, sprawling upon the\nground. Toto flew out of the little girl's arms and landed some distance\nahead, and all were so dazed that it was a moment before they could\nscramble to their feet again. When they did so they turned to look\ntoward the Giant's cave, and at that moment the ferocious Mister Yoop\nthrew the Patchwork Girl at them.\n\nDown went all three again, in a heap, with Scraps on top. The Giant\nroared so terribly that for a time they were afraid he had broken loose;\nbut he hadn't. So they sat in the road and looked at one another in a\nrather bewildered way, and then began to feel glad.\n\n\"We did it!\" exclaimed the Scarecrow, with satisfaction. \"And now we are\nfree to go on our way.\"\n\n\"Mister Yoop is very impolite,\" declared Scraps. \"He jarred me\nterribly. It's lucky my stitches are so fine and strong, for otherwise\nsuch harsh treatment might rip me up the back.\"\n\n\"Allow me to apologize for the Giant,\" said the Scarecrow, raising the\nPatchwork Girl to her feet and dusting her skirt with his stuffed hands.\n\"Mister Yoop is a perfect stranger to me, but I fear, from the rude\nmanner in which he has acted, that he is no gentleman.\"\n\nDorothy and Ojo laughed at this statement and Toto barked as if he\nunderstood the joke, after which they all felt better and resumed the\njourney in high spirits.\n\n\"Of course,\" said the little girl, when they had walked a way along the\npassage, \"it was lucky for us the Giant was caged; for, if he had\nhappened to be loose, he--he--\"\n\n\"Perhaps, in that case, he wouldn't be hungry any more,\" said Ojo\ngravely.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHIP HOPPER THE CHAMPION\n\nCHAP. 21\n\n\n\nThey must have had good courage to climb all those rocks, for after\ngetting out of the canyon they encountered more rock hills to be\nsurmounted. Toto could jump from one rock to another quite easily, but\nthe others had to creep and climb with care, so that after a whole day\nof such work Dorothy and Ojo found themselves very tired.\n\nAs they gazed upward at the great mass of tumbled rocks that covered the\nsteep incline, Dorothy gave a little groan and said:\n\n\"That's going to be a ter'ble hard climb, Scarecrow. I wish we could\nfind the dark well without so much trouble.\"\n\n\"Suppose,\" said Ojo, \"you wait here and let me do the climbing, for\nit's on my account we're searching for the dark well. Then, if I don't\nfind anything, I'll come back and join you.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the little girl, shaking her head positively, \"we'll all\ngo together, for that way we can help each other. If you went alone,\nsomething might happen to you, Ojo.\"\n\nSo they began the climb and found it indeed difficult, for a way. But\npresently, in creeping over the big crags, they found a path at their\nfeet which wound in and out among the masses of rock and was quite\nsmooth and easy to walk upon. As the path gradually ascended the\nmountain, although in a roundabout way, they decided to follow it.\n\n\"This must be the road to the Country of the Hoppers,\" said the\nScarecrow.\n\n\"Who are the Hoppers?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"Some people Jack Pumpkinhead told me about,\" he replied.\n\n\"I didn't hear him,\" replied the girl.\n\n\"No; you were asleep,\" explained the Scarecrow. \"But he told Scraps and\nme that the Hoppers and the Horners live on this mountain.\"\n\n\"He said _in_ the mountain,\" declared Scraps; \"but of course he meant\n_on_ it.\"\n\n\"Didn't he say what the Hoppers and Horners were like?\" inquired\nDorothy.\n\n\"No; he only said they were two separate nations, and that the Horners\nwere the most important.\"\n\n\"Well, if we go to their country we'll find out all about 'em,\" said the\ngirl. \"But I've never heard Ozma mention those people, so they can't be\n_very_ important.\"\n\n\"Is this mountain in the Land of Oz?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"Course it is,\" answered Dorothy. \"It's in the South Country of the\nQuadlings. When one comes to the edge of Oz, in any direction, there is\nnothing more to be seen at all. Once you could see sandy desert all\naround Oz; but now it's diff'rent, and no other people can see us, any\nmore than we can see them.\"\n\n\"If the mountain is under Ozma's rule, why doesn't she know about the\nHoppers and the Horners?\" Ojo asked.\n\n\"Why, it's a fairyland,\" explained Dorothy, \"and lots of queer people\nlive in places so tucked away that those in the Emerald City never even\nhear of 'em. In the middle of the country it's diff'rent, but when you\nget around the edges you're sure to run into strange little corners that\nsurprise you. I know, for I've traveled in Oz a good deal, and so has\nthe Scarecrow.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" admitted the straw man, \"I've been considerable of a traveler, in\nmy time, and I like to explore strange places. I find I learn much more\nby traveling than by staying at home.\"\n\nDuring this conversation they had been walking up the steep pathway and\nnow found themselves well up on the mountain. They could see nothing\naround them, for the rocks beside their path were higher than their\nheads. Nor could they see far in front of them, because the path was so\ncrooked. But suddenly they stopped, because the path ended and there was\nno place to go. Ahead was a big rock lying against the side of the\nmountain, and this blocked the way completely.\n\n\"There wouldn't be a path, though, if it didn't go somewhere,\" said the\nScarecrow, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought.\n\n\"This is somewhere, isn't it?\" asked the Patchwork Girl, laughing at the\nbewildered looks of the others.\n\n    \"The path is locked, the way is blocked,\n    Yet here we've innocently flocked;\n    And now we're here it's rather queer\n    There's no front door that can be knocked.\"\n\n\"Please don't, Scraps,\" said Ojo. \"You make me nervous.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dorothy, \"I'm glad of a little rest, for that's a drea'ful\nsteep path.\"\n\nAs she spoke she leaned against the edge of the big rock that stood in\ntheir way. To her surprise it slowly swung backward and showed behind it\na dark hole that looked like the mouth of a tunnel.\n\n\"Why, here's where the path goes to!\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"So it is,\" answered the Scarecrow. \"But the question is, do we want to\ngo where the path does?\"\n\n\"It's underground; right inside the mountain,\" said Ojo, peering into\nthe dark hole. \"Perhaps there's a well there; and, if there is, it's\nsure to be a dark one.\"\n\n\"Why, that's true enough!\" cried Dorothy with eagerness. \"Let's go in,\nScarecrow; 'cause, if others have gone, we're pretty safe to go, too.\"\n\nToto looked in and barked, but he did not venture to enter until the\nScarecrow had bravely gone first. Scraps followed closely after the\nstraw man and then Ojo and Dorothy timidly stepped inside the tunnel. As\nsoon as all of them had passed the big rock, it slowly turned and filled\nup the opening again; but now they were no longer in the dark, for a\nsoft, rosy light enabled them to see around them quite distinctly.\n\nIt was only a passage, wide enough for two of them to walk abreast--with\nToto in between them--and it had a high, arched roof. They could not see\nwhere the light which flooded the place so pleasantly came from, for\nthere were no lamps anywhere visible. The passage ran straight for a\nlittle way and then made a bend to the right and another sharp turn to\nthe left, after which it went straight again. But there were no side\npassages, so they could not lose their way.\n\nAfter proceeding some distance, Toto, who had gone on ahead, began to\nbark loudly. They ran around a bend to see what was the matter and found\na man sitting on the floor of the passage and leaning his back against\nthe wall. He had probably been asleep before Toto's barks aroused him,\nfor he was now rubbing his eyes and staring at the little dog with all\nhis might.\n\nThere was something about this man that Toto objected to, and when he\nslowly rose to his foot they saw what it was. He had but one leg, set\njust below the middle of his round, fat body; but it was a stout leg and\nhad a broad, flat foot at the bottom of it, on which the man seemed to\nstand very well. He had never had but this one leg, which looked\nsomething like a pedestal, and when Toto ran up and made a grab at the\nman's ankle he hopped first one way and then another in a very active\nmanner, looking so frightened that Scraps laughed aloud.\n\nToto was usually a well behaved dog, but this time he was angry and\nsnapped at the man's leg again and again. This filled the poor fellow\nwith fear, and in hopping out of Toto's reach he suddenly lost his\nbalance and tumbled heel over head upon the floor. When he sat up he\nkicked Toto on the nose and made the dog howl angrily, but Dorothy now\nran forward and caught Toto's collar, holding him back.\n\n\"Do you surrender?\" she asked the man.\n\n\"Who? Me?\" asked the Hopper.\n\n\"Yes; you,\" said the little girl.\n\n\"Am I captured?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Of course. My dog has captured you,\" she said.\n\n\"Well,\" replied the man, \"if I'm captured I must surrender, for it's the\nproper thing to do. I like to do everything proper, for it saves one a\nlot of trouble.\"\n\n\"It does, indeed,\" said Dorothy. \"Please tell us who you are.\"\n\n\"I'm Hip Hopper--Hip Hopper, the Champion.\"\n\n\"Champion what?\" she asked in surprise.\n\n\"Champion wrestler. I'm a very strong man, and that ferocious animal\nwhich you are so kindly holding is the first living thing that has ever\nconquered me.\"\n\n\"And you are a Hopper?\" she continued.\n\n\"Yes. My people live in a great city not far from here. Would you like\nto visit it?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" she said with hesitation. \"Have you any dark wells in\nyour city?\"\n\n\"I think not. We have wells, you know, but they're all well lighted, and\na well lighted well cannot well be a dark well. But there may be such a\nthing as a very dark well in the Horner Country, which is a black spot\non the face of the earth.\"\n\n\"Where is the Horner Country?\" Ojo inquired.\n\n\"The other side of the mountain. There's a fence between the Hopper\nCountry and the Horner Country, and a gate in the fence; but you can't\npass through just now, because we are at war with the Horners.\"\n\n\"That's too bad,\" said the Scarecrow. \"What seems to be the trouble?\"\n\n\"Why, one of them made a very insulting remark about my people. He said\nwe were lacking in understanding, because we had only one leg to a\nperson. I can't see that legs have anything to do with understanding\nthings. The Horners each have two legs, just as you have. That's one leg\ntoo many, it seems to me.\"\n\n\"No,\" declared Dorothy, \"it's just the right number.\"\n\n\"You don't need them,\" argued the Hopper, obstinately. \"You've only one\nhead, and one body, and one nose and mouth. Two legs are quite\nunnecessary, and they spoil one's shape.\"\n\n\"But how can you walk, with only one leg?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Walk! Who wants to walk?\" exclaimed the man. \"Walking is a terribly\nawkward way to travel. I hop, and so do all my people. It's so much more\ngraceful and agreeable than walking.\"\n\n\"I don't agree with you,\" said the Scarecrow. \"But tell me, is there any\nway to get to the Horner Country without going through the city of the\nHoppers?\"\n\n\"Yes; there is another path from the rocky lowlands, outside the\nmountain, that leads straight to the entrance of the Horner Country. But\nit's a long way around, so you'd better come with me. Perhaps they will\nallow you to go through the gate; but we expect to conquer them this\nafternoon, if we get time, and then you may go and come as you please.\"\n\nThey thought it best to take the Hopper's advice, and asked him to lead\nthe way. This he did in a series of hops, and he moved so swiftly in\nthis strange manner that those with two legs had to run to keep up with\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nTHE JOKING HORNERS\n\nCHAP. 22\n\n\n\nIt was not long before they left the passage and came to a great cave,\nso high that it must have reached nearly to the top of the mountain\nwithin which it lay. It was a magnificent cave, illumined by the soft,\ninvisible light, so that everything in it could be plainly seen. The\nwalls were of polished marble, white with veins of delicate colors\nrunning through it, and the roof was arched and carved in designs both\nfantastic and beautiful.\n\nBuilt beneath this vast dome was a pretty village--not very large, for\nthere seemed not more than fifty houses altogether--and the dwellings\nwere of marble and artistically designed. No grass nor flowers nor\ntrees grew in this cave, so the yards surrounding the houses were smooth\nand bare and had low walls around them to mark their boundaries.\n\nIn the streets and the yards of the houses were many people, all having\none leg growing below their bodies and all hopping here and there\nwhenever they moved. Even the children stood firmly upon their single\nlegs and never lost their balance.\n\n\"All hail, Champion!\" cried a man in the first group of Hoppers they\nmet; \"whom have you captured?\"\n\n\"No one,\" replied the Champion in a gloomy voice; \"these strangers have\ncaptured me.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said another, \"we will rescue you, and capture them, for we are\ngreater in number.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the Champion, \"I can't allow it. I've surrendered, and it\nisn't polite to capture those you've surrendered to.\"\n\n\"Never mind that,\" said Dorothy. \"We will give you your liberty and set\nyou free.\"\n\n\"Really?\" asked the Champion in joyous tones.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the little girl; \"your people may need you to help conquer\nthe Horners.\"\n\nAt this all the Hoppers looked downcast and sad. Several more had joined\nthe group by this time and quite a crowd of curious men, women and\nchildren surrounded the strangers.\n\n\"This war with our neighbors is a terrible thing,\" remarked one of the\nwomen. \"Some one is almost sure to get hurt.\"\n\n\"Why do you say that, madam?\" inquired the Scarecrow.\n\n\"Because the horns of our enemies are sharp, and in battle they will try\nto stick those horns into our warriors,\" she replied.\n\n\"How many horns do the Horners have?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"Each has one horn in the center of his forehead,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Oh, then they're unicorns,\" declared the Scarecrow.\n\n\"No; they're Horners. We never go to war with them if we can help it, on\naccount of their dangerous horns; but this insult was so great and so\nunprovoked that our brave men decided to fight, in order to be\nrevenged,\" said the woman.\n\n\"What weapons do you fight with?\" the Scarecrow asked.\n\n\"We have no weapons,\" explained the Champion. \"Whenever we fight the\nHorners, our plan is to push them back, for our arms are longer than\ntheirs.\"\n\n\"Then you are better armed,\" said Scraps.\n\n\"Yes; but they have those terrible horns, and unless we are careful they\nprick us with the points,\" returned the Champion with a shudder. \"That\nmakes a war with them dangerous, and a dangerous war cannot be a\npleasant one.\"\n\n\"I see very clearly,\" remarked the Scarecrow, \"that you are going to\nhave trouble in conquering those Horners--unless we help you.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the Hoppers in a chorus; \"can you help us? Please do! We\nwill be greatly obliged! It would please us very much!\" and by these\nexclamations the Scarecrow knew that his speech had met with favor.\n\n\"How far is it to the Horner Country?\" he asked.\n\n\"Why, it's just the other side of the fence,\" they answered, and the\nChampion added:\n\n\"Come with me, please, and I'll show you the Horners.\"\n\nSo they followed the Champion and several others through the streets and\njust beyond the village came to a very high picket fence, built all of\nmarble, which seemed to divide the great cave into two equal parts.\n\nBut the part inhabited by the Horners was in no way as grand in\nappearance as that of the Hoppers. Instead of being marble, the walls\nand roof were of dull gray rock and the square houses were plainly made\nof the same material. But in extent the city was much larger than that\nof the Hoppers and the streets were thronged with numerous people who\nbusied themselves in various ways.\n\nLooking through the open pickets of the fence our friends watched the\nHorners, who did not know they were being watched by strangers, and\nfound them very unusual in appearance. They were little folks in size\nand had bodies round as balls and short legs and arms. Their heads were\nround, too, and they had long, pointed ears and a horn set in the center\nof the forehead. The horns did not seem very terrible, for they were not\nmore than six inches long; but they were ivory white and sharp pointed,\nand no wonder the Hoppers feared them.\n\nThe skins of the Horners were light brown, but they wore snow-white\nrobes and were bare-footed. Dorothy thought the most striking thing\nabout them was their hair, which grew in three distinct colors on each\nand every head--red, yellow and green. The red was at the bottom and\nsometimes hung over their eyes; then came a broad circle of yellow and\nthe green was at the top and formed a brush-shaped top-knot.\n\nNone of the Horners was yet aware of the presence of strangers, who\nwatched the little brown people for a time and then went to the big gate\nin the center of the dividing fence. It was locked on both sides and\nover the latch was a sign reading:\n\n    \"WAR IS DECLARED\"\n\n\"Can't we go through?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"Not now,\" answered the Champion.\n\n\"I think,\" said the Scarecrow, \"that if I could talk with those Horners\nthey would apologize to you, and then there would be no need to fight.\"\n\n\"Can't you talk from this side,\" asked the Champion.\n\n\"Not so well,\" replied the Scarecrow. \"Do you suppose you could throw me\nover that fence? It is high, but I am very light.\"\n\n\"We can try it,\" said the Hopper. \"I am perhaps the strongest man in my\ncountry, so I'll undertake to do the throwing. But I won't promise you\nwill land on your feet.\"\n\n\"No matter about that,\" returned the Scarecrow. \"Just toss me over and\nI'll be satisfied.\"\n\nSo the Champion picked up the Scarecrow and balanced him a moment, to\nsee how much he weighed, and then with all his strength tossed him high\ninto the air.\n\nPerhaps if the Scarecrow had been a trifle heavier he would have been\neasier to throw and would have gone a greater distance; but, as it was,\ninstead of going over the fence he landed just on top of it, and one of\nthe sharp pickets caught him in the middle of his back and held him fast\nprisoner. Had he been face downward the Scarecrow might have managed to\nfree himself, but lying on his back on the picket his hands waved in the\nair of the Horner Country while his feet kicked the air of the Hopper\nCountry; so there he was.\n\n\"Are you hurt?\" called the Patchwork Girl anxiously.\n\n\"Course not,\" said Dorothy. \"But if he wiggles that way he may tear his\nclothes. How can we get him down, Mr. Champion?\"\n\nThe Champion shook his head.\n\n\"I don't know,\" he confessed. \"If he could scare Horners as well as he\ndoes crows, it might be a good idea to leave him there.\"\n\n\"This is terrible,\" said Ojo, almost ready to cry. \"I s'pose it's\nbecause I am Ojo the Unlucky that everyone who tries to help me gets\ninto trouble.\"\n\n\"You are lucky to have anyone to help you,\" declared Dorothy. \"But don't\nworry. We'll rescue the Scarecrow, somehow.\"\n\n\"I know how,\" announced Scraps. \"Here, Mr. Champion; just throw me up to\nthe Scarecrow. I'm nearly as light as he is, and when I'm on top the\nfence I'll pull our friend off the picket and toss him down to you.\"\n\n\n\"All right,\" said the Champion, and he picked up the Patchwork Girl and\nthrew her in the same manner he had the Scarecrow. He must have used\nmore strength this time, however, for Scraps sailed far over the top of\nthe fence and, without being able to grab the Scarecrow at all, tumbled\nto the ground in the Horner Country, where her stuffed body knocked over\ntwo men and a woman and made a crowd that had collected there run like\nrabbits to get away from her.\n\n\nSeeing the next moment that she was harmless, the people slowly returned\nand gathered around the Patchwork Girl, regarding her with astonishment.\nOne of them wore a jeweled star in his hair, just above his horn, and\nthis seemed a person of importance. He spoke for the rest of his people,\nwho treated him with great respect.\n\n\"Who are you, Unknown Being?\" he asked.\n\n\"Scraps,\" she said, rising to her feet and patting her cotton wadding\nsmooth where it had bunched up.\n\n\"And where did you come from?\" he continued.\n\n\"Over the fence. Don't be silly. There's no other place I _could_ have\ncome from,\" she replied.\n\nHe looked at her thoughtfully.\n\n\"You are not a Hopper,\" said he, \"for you have two legs. They're not\nvery well shaped, but they are two in number. And that strange creature\non top the fence--why doesn't he stop kicking?--must be your brother, or\nfather, or son, for he also has two legs.\"\n\n\"You must have been to visit the Wise Donkey,\" said Scraps, laughing so\nmerrily that the crowd smiled with her, in sympathy. \"But that reminds\nme, Captain--or King--\"\n\n\"I am Chief of the Horners, and my name is Jak.\"\n\n\"Of course; Little Jack Horner; I might have known it. But the reason I\nvolplaned over the fence was so I could have a talk with you about the\nHoppers.\"\n\n\"What about the Hoppers?\" asked the Chief, frowning.\n\n\"You've insulted them, and you'd better beg their pardon,\" said Scraps.\n\"If you don't, they'll probably hop over here and conquer you.\"\n\n\"We're not afraid--as long as the gate is locked,\" declared the Chief.\n\"And we didn't insult them at all. One of us made a joke that the stupid\nHoppers couldn't see.\"\n\nThe Chief smiled as he said this and the smile made his face look quite\njolly.\n\n\"What was the joke?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"A Horner said they have less understanding than we, because they've\nonly one leg. Ha, ha! You see the point, don't you? If you stand on your\nlegs, and your legs are under you, then--ha, ha, ha!--then your legs are\nyour under-standing. Hee, hee, hee! Ho, ho! My, but that's a fine joke.\nAnd the stupid Hoppers couldn't see it! They couldn't see that with only\none leg they must have less under-standing than we who have two legs.\nHa, ha, ha! Hee, hee! Ho, ho!\" The Chief wiped the tears of laughter\nfrom his eyes with the bottom hem of his white robe, and all the other\nHorners wiped their eyes on their robes, for they had laughed just as\nheartily as their Chief at the absurd joke.\n\n\"Then,\" said Scraps, \"their understanding of the understanding you meant\nled to the misunderstanding.\"\n\n\"Exactly; and so there's no need for us to apologize,\" returned the\nChief.\n\n\"No need for an apology, perhaps, but much need for an explanation,\"\nsaid Scraps decidedly. \"You don't want war, do you?\"\n\n\"Not if we can help it,\" admitted Jak Horner. \"The question is, who's\ngoing to explain the joke to the Horners? You know it spoils any joke to\nbe obliged to explain it, and this is the best joke I ever heard.\"\n\n\"Who made the joke?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"Diksey Horner. He is working in the mines, just now, but he'll be home\nbefore long. Suppose we wait and talk with him about it? Maybe he'll be\nwilling to explain his joke to the Hoppers.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Scraps. \"I'll wait, if Diksey isn't too long.\"\n\n\"No, he's short; he's shorter than I am. Ha, ha, ha! Say! that's a\nbetter joke than Diksey's. He won't be too long, because he's short.\nHee, hee, ho!\"\n\nThe other Horners who were standing by roared with laughter and seemed\nto like their Chief's joke as much as he did. Scraps thought it was odd\nthat they could be so easily amused, but decided there could be little\nharm in people who laughed so merrily.\n\n\n\n\nPEACE IS DECLARED\n\nCHAP. 23\n\n\n\n\"Come with me to my dwelling and I'll introduce you to my daughters,\"\nsaid the Chief. \"We're bringing them up according to a book of rules\nthat was written by one of our leading old bachelors, and everyone says\nthey're a remarkable lot of girls.\"\n\nSo Scraps accompanied him along the street to a house that seemed on the\noutside exceptionally grimy and dingy. The streets of this city were not\npaved nor had any attempt been made to beautify the houses or their\nsurroundings, and having noticed this condition Scraps was astonished\nwhen the Chief ushered her into his home.\n\nHere was nothing grimy or faded, indeed. On the contrary, the room was\nof dazzling brilliance and beauty, for it was lined throughout with an\nexquisite metal that resembled translucent frosted silver. The surface\nof this metal was highly ornamented in raised designs representing men,\nanimals, flowers and trees, and from the metal itself was radiated the\nsoft light which flooded the room. All the furniture was made of the\nsame glorious metal, and Scraps asked what it was.\n\n\"That's radium,\" answered the Chief. \"We Horners spend all our time\ndigging radium from the mines under this mountain, and we use it to\ndecorate our homes and make them pretty and cosy. It is a medicine, too,\nand no one can ever be sick who lives near radium.\"\n\n\"Have you plenty of it?\" asked the Patchwork Girl.\n\n\"More than we can use. All the houses in this city are decorated with\nit, just the same as mine is.\"\n\n\"Why don't you use it on your streets, then, and the outside of your\nhouses, to make them as pretty as they are within?\" she inquired.\n\n\"Outside? Who cares for the outside of anything?\" asked the Chief. \"We\nHorners don't live on the outside of our homes; we live inside. Many\npeople are like those stupid Hoppers, who love to make an outside show.\nI suppose you strangers thought their city more beautiful than ours,\nbecause you judged from appearances and they have handsome marble houses\nand marble streets; but if you entered one of their stiff dwellings you\nwould find it bare and uncomfortable, as all their show is on the\noutside. They have an idea that what is not seen by others is not\nimportant, but with us the rooms we live in are our chief delight and\ncare, and we pay no attention to outside show.\"\n\n\"Seems to me,\" said Scraps, musingly, \"it would be better to make it all\npretty--inside and out.\"\n\n\"Seems? Why, you're all seams, my girl!\" said the Chief; and then he\nlaughed heartily at his latest joke and a chorus of small voices echoed\nthe chorus with \"tee-hee-hee! ha, ha!\"\n\nScraps turned around and found a row of girls seated in radium chairs\nranged along one wall of the room. There were nineteen of them, by\nactual count, and they were of all sizes from a tiny child to one almost\na grown woman. All were neatly dressed in spotless white robes and had\nbrown skins, horns on their foreheads and three-colored hair.\n\n\"These,\" said the Chief, \"are my sweet daughters. My dears, I introduce\nto you Miss Scraps Patchwork, a lady who is traveling in foreign parts\nto increase her store of wisdom.\"\n\nThe nineteen Horner girls all arose and made a polite courtesy, after\nwhich they resumed their seats and rearranged their robes properly.\n\n\"Why do they sit so still, and all in a row?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"Because it is ladylike and proper,\" replied the Chief.\n\n\"But some are just children, poor things! Don't they ever run around and\nplay and laugh, and have a good time?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said the Chief. \"That would be improper in young ladies,\nas well as in those who will sometime become young ladies. My daughters\nare being brought up according to the rules and regulations laid down by\na leading bachelor who has given the subject much study and is himself a\nman of taste and culture. Politeness is his great hobby, and he claims\nthat if a child is allowed to do an impolite thing one cannot expect the\ngrown person to do anything better.\"\n\n\"Is it impolite to romp and shout and be jolly?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"Well, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't,\" replied the Horner,\nafter considering the question. \"By curbing such inclinations in my\ndaughters we keep on the safe side. Once in a while I make a good joke,\nas you have heard, and then I permit my daughters to laugh decorously;\nbut they are never allowed to make a joke themselves.\"\n\n\"That old bachelor who made the rules ought to be skinned alive!\"\ndeclared Scraps, and would have said more on the subject had not the\ndoor opened to admit a little Horner man whom the Chief introduced as\nDiksey.\n\n\"What's up, Chief?\" asked Diksey, winking nineteen times at the nineteen\ngirls, who demurely cast down their eyes because their father was\nlooking.\n\nThe Chief told the man that his joke had not been understood by the dull\nHoppers, who had become so angry that they had declared war. So the only\nway to avoid a terrible battle was to explain the joke so they could\nunderstand it.\n\n\"All right,\" replied Diksey, who seemed a good-natured man; \"I'll go at\nonce to the fence and explain. I don't want any war with the Hoppers,\nfor wars between nations always cause hard feelings.\"\n\nSo the Chief and Diksey and Scraps left the house and went back to the\nmarble picket fence. The Scarecrow was still stuck on the top of his\npicket but had now ceased to struggle. On the other side of the fence\nwere Dorothy and Ojo, looking between the pickets; and there, also, were\nthe Champion and many other Hoppers.\n\nDiksey went close to the fence and said:\n\n\"My good Hoppers, I wish to explain that what I said about you was a\njoke. You have but one leg each, and we have two legs each. Our legs are\nunder us, whether one or two, and we stand on them. So, when I said you\nhad less understanding than we, I did not mean that you had less\nunderstanding, you understand, but that you had less standundering, so\nto speak. Do you understand that?\"\n\nThe Hoppers thought it over carefully. Then one said:\n\n\"That is clear enough; but where does the joke come in?\"\n\nDorothy laughed, for she couldn't help it, although all the others were\nsolemn enough.\n\n\"I'll tell you where the joke comes in,\" she said, and took the Hoppers\naway to a distance, where the Horners could not hear them. \"You know,\"\nshe then explained, \"those neighbors of yours are not very bright, poor\nthings, and what they think is a joke isn't a joke at all--it's true,\ndon't you see?\"\n\n\"True that we have less understanding?\" asked the Champion.\n\n\"Yes; it's true because you don't understand such a poor joke; if you\ndid, you'd be no wiser than they are.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes; of course,\" they answered, looking very wise.\n\n\"So I'll tell you what to do,\" continued Dorothy. \"Laugh at their poor\njoke and tell 'em it's pretty good for a Horner. Then they won't dare\nsay you have less understanding, because you understand as much as they\ndo.\"\n\nThe Hoppers looked at one another questioningly and blinked their eyes\nand tried to think what it all meant; but they couldn't figure it out.\n\n\"What do you think, Champion?\" asked one of them.\n\n\"I think it is dangerous to think of this thing any more than we can\nhelp,\" he replied. \"Let us do as this girl says and laugh with the\nHorners, so as to make them believe we see the joke. Then there will be\npeace again and no need to fight.\"\n\nThey readily agreed to this and returned to the fence laughing as loud\nand as hard as they could, although they didn't feel like laughing a\nbit. The Horners were much surprised.\n\n\"That's a fine joke--for a Horner--and we are much pleased with it,\"\nsaid the Champion, speaking between the pickets. \"But please don't do it\nagain.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" promised Diksey. \"If I think of another such joke I'll try to\nforget it.\"\n\n\"Good!\" cried the Chief Horner. \"The war is over and peace is declared.\"\n\nThere was much joyful shouting on both sides the fence and the gate was\nunlocked and thrown wide open, so that Scraps was able to rejoin her\nfriends.\n\n\"What about the Scarecrow?\" she asked Dorothy.\n\n\"We must get him down, somehow or other,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Perhaps the Horners can find a way,\" suggested Ojo. So they all went\nthrough the gate and Dorothy asked the Chief Horner how they could get\nthe Scarecrow off the fence. The Chief didn't know how, but Diksey said:\n\n\"A ladder's the thing.\"\n\n\"Have you one?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"To be sure. We use ladders in our mines,\" said he. Then he ran away to\nget the ladder, and while he was gone the Horners gathered around and\nwelcomed the strangers to their country, for through them a great war\nhad been avoided.\n\nIn a little while Diksey came back with a tall ladder which he placed\nagainst the fence. Ojo at once climbed to the top of the ladder and\nDorothy went about halfway up and Scraps stood at the foot of it. Toto\nran around it and barked. Then Ojo pulled the Scarecrow away from the\npicket and passed him down to Dorothy, who in turn lowered him to the\nPatchwork Girl.\n\nAs soon as he was on his feet and standing on solid ground the Scarecrow\nsaid:\n\n\"Much obliged. I feel much better. I'm not stuck on that picket any\nmore.\"\n\nThe Horners began to laugh, thinking this was a joke, but the Scarecrow\nshook himself and patted his straw a little and said to Dorothy: \"Is\nthere much of a hole in my back?\"\n\nThe little girl examined him carefully.\n\n\"There's quite a hole,\" she said. \"But I've got a needle and thread in\nthe knapsack and I'll sew you up again.\"\n\n\"Do so,\" he begged earnestly, and again the Horners laughed, to the\nScarecrow's great annoyance.\n\nWhile Dorothy was sewing up the hole in the straw man's back Scraps\nexamined the other parts of him.\n\n\"One of his legs is ripped, too!\" she exclaimed.\n\n\"Oho!\" cried little Diksey; \"that's bad. Give him the needle and thread\nand let him mend his ways.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\" laughed the Chief, and the other Horners at once roared\nwith laughter.\n\n\"What's funny?\" inquired the Scarecrow sternly.\n\n\"Don't you see?\" asked Diksey, who had laughed even harder than the\nothers. \"That's a joke. It's by odds the best joke I ever made. You walk\nwith your legs, and so that's the way you walk, and your legs are the\nways. See? So, when you mend your legs, you mend your ways. Ho, ho, ho!\nhee, hee! I'd no idea I could make such a fine joke!\"\n\n\"Just wonderful!\" echoed the Chief. \"How do you manage to do it,\nDiksey?\"\n\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Diksey modestly. \"Perhaps it's the radium, but I\nrather think it's my splendid intellect.\"\n\n\"If you don't quit it,\" the Scarecrow told him, \"there'll be a worse war\nthan the one you've escaped from.\"\n\nOjo had been deep in thought, and now he asked the Chief: \"Is there a\ndark well in any part of your country?\"\n\n\"A dark well? None that ever I heard of,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Diksey, who overheard the boy's question. \"There's a\nvery dark well down in my radium mine.\"\n\n\"Is there any water in it?\" Ojo eagerly asked.\n\n\"Can't say; I've never looked to see. But we can find out.\"\n\nSo, as soon as the Scarecrow was mended, they decided to go with Diksey\nto the mine. When Dorothy had patted the straw man into shape again he\ndeclared he felt as good as new and equal to further adventures.\n\n\"Still,\" said he, \"I prefer not to do picket duty again. High life\ndoesn't seem to agree with my constitution.\" And then they hurried away\nto escape the laughter of the Horners, who thought this was another\njoke.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOJO FINDS THE DARK WELL\n\nCHAP. 24\n\n\n\nThey now followed Diksey to the farther end of the great cave, beyond\nthe Horner city, where there were several round, dark holes leading into\nthe ground in a slanting direction. Diksey went to one of these holes\nand said:\n\n\"Here is the mine in which lies the dark well you are seeking. Follow me\nand step carefully and I'll lead you to the place.\"\n\nHe went in first and after him came Ojo, and then Dorothy, with the\nScarecrow behind her. The Patchwork Girl entered last of all, for Toto\nkept close beside his little mistress.\n\nA few steps beyond the mouth of the opening it was pitch dark. \"You\nwon't lose your way, though,\" said the Horner, \"for there's only one\nway to go. The mine's mine and I know every step of the way. How's that\nfor a joke, eh? The mine's mine.\" Then he chuckled gleefully as they\nfollowed him silently down the steep slant. The hole was just big enough\nto permit them to walk upright, although the Scarecrow, being much the\ntaller of the party, often had to bend his head to keep from hitting the\ntop.\n\nThe floor of the tunnel was difficult to walk upon because it had been\nworn smooth as glass, and pretty soon Scraps, who was some distance\nbehind the others, slipped and fell head foremost. At once she began to\nslide downward, so swiftly that when she came to the Scarecrow she\nknocked him off his feet and sent him tumbling against Dorothy, who\ntripped up Ojo. The boy fell against the Horner, so that all went\ntumbling down the slide in a regular mix-up, unable to see where they\nwere going because of the darkness.\n\nFortunately, when they reached the bottom the Scarecrow and Scraps were\nin front, and the others bumped against them, so that no one was hurt.\nThey found themselves in a vast cave which was dimly lighted by the tiny\ngrains of radium that lay scattered among the loose rocks.\n\n\"Now,\" said Diksey, when they had all regained their feet, \"I will show\nyou where the dark well is. This is a big place, but if we hold fast to\neach other we won't get lost.\"\n\nThey took hold of hands and the Horner led them into a dark corner,\nwhere he halted.\n\n\"Be careful,\" said he warningly. \"The well is at your feet.\"\n\n\"All right,\" replied Ojo, and kneeling down he felt in the well with his\nhand and found that it contained a quantity of water. \"Where's the gold\nflask, Dorothy?\" he asked, and the little girl handed him the flask,\nwhich she had brought with her.\n\nOjo knelt again and by feeling carefully in the dark managed to fill the\nflask with the unseen water that was in the well. Then he screwed the\ntop of the flask firmly in place and put the precious water in his\npocket.\n\n\"All right!\" he said again, in a glad voice; \"now we can go back.\"\n\nThey returned to the mouth of the tunnel and began to creep cautiously\nup the incline. This time they made Scraps stay behind, for fear she\nwould slip again; but they all managed to get up in safety and the\nMunchkin boy was very happy when he stood in the Horner city and\nrealized that the water from the dark well, which he and his friends had\ntraveled so far to secure, was safe in his jacket pocket.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHEY BRIBE THE LAZY QUADLING\n\nCHAP. 25\n\n[Illustration: Every time I see a river I have chills]\n\n\n\"Now,\" said Dorothy, as they stood on the mountain path, having left\nbehind them the cave in which dwelt the Hoppers and the Horners, \"I\nthink we must find a road into the Country of the Winkies, for there is\nwhere Ojo wants to go next.\"\n\n\"Is there such a road?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she replied. \"I s'pose we can go back the way we came,\nto Jack Pumpkinhead's house, and then turn into the Winkie Country; but\nthat seems like running 'round a haystack, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Scarecrow. \"What is the next thing Ojo must get?\"\n\n\"A yellow butterfly,\" answered the boy.\n\n\"That means the Winkie Country, all right, for it's the yellow country\nof Oz,\" remarked Dorothy. \"I think, Scarecrow, we ought to take him to\nthe Tin Woodman, for he's the Emp'ror of the Winkies and will help us to\nfind what Ojo wants.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" replied the Scarecrow, brightening at the suggestion. \"The\nTin Woodman will do anything we ask him, for he's one of my dearest\nfriends. I believe we can take a crosscut into his country and so get to\nhis castle a day sooner than if we travel back the way we came.\"\n\n\"I think so, too,\" said the girl; \"and that means we must keep to the\nleft.\"\n\nThey were obliged to go down the mountain before they found any path\nthat led in the direction they wanted to go, but among the tumbled rocks\nat the foot of the mountain was a faint trail which they decided to\nfollow. Two or three hours' walk along this trail brought them to a\nclear, level country, where there were a few farms and some scattered\nhouses. But they knew they were still in the Country of the Quadlings,\nbecause everything had a bright red color. Not that the trees and\ngrasses were red, but the fences and houses were painted that color and\nall the wild-flowers that bloomed by the wayside had red blossoms. This\npart of the Quadling Country seemed peaceful and prosperous, if rather\nlonely, and the road was now more distinct and easier to follow.\n\nBut just as they were congratulating themselves upon the progress they\nhad made they came upon a broad river which swept along between high\nbanks, and here the road ended and there was no bridge of any sort to\nallow them to cross.\n\n\"This is queer,\" mused Dorothy, looking at the water reflectively. \"Why\nshould there be any road, if the river stops everyone walking along it?\"\n\n\"Wow!\" said Toto, gazing earnestly into her face.\n\n\"That's the best answer you'll get,\" declared the Scarecrow, with his\ncomical smile, \"for no one knows any more than Toto about this road.\"\n\nSaid Scraps:\n\n    \"Ev'ry time I see a river,\n    I have chills that make me shiver,\n    For I never can forget\n    All the water's very wet.\n    If my patches get a soak\n    It will be a sorry joke;\n    So to swim I'll never try\n    Till I find the water dry.\"\n\n\"Try to control yourself, Scraps,\" said Ojo; \"you're getting crazy\nagain. No one intends to swim that river.\"\n\n\"No,\" decided Dorothy, \"we couldn't swim it if we tried. It's too big a\nriver, and the water moves awful fast.\"\n\n\"There ought to be a ferryman with a boat,\" said the Scarecrow; \"but I\ndon't see any.\"\n\n\"Couldn't we make a raft?\" suggested Ojo.\n\n\"There's nothing to make one of,\" answered Dorothy.\n\n\"Wow!\" said Toto again, and Dorothy saw he was looking along the bank of\nthe river.\n\n\"Why, he sees a house over there!\" cried the little girl. \"I wonder we\ndidn't notice it ourselves. Let's go and ask the people how to get\n'cross the river.\"\n\nA quarter of a mile along the bank stood a small, round house, painted\nbright red, and as it was on their side of the river they hurried toward\nit. A chubby little man, dressed all in red, came out to greet them, and\nwith him were two children, also in red costumes. The man's eyes were\nbig and staring as he examined the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl, and\nthe children shyly hid behind him and peeked timidly at Toto.\n\n\"Do you live here, my good man?\" asked the Scarecrow.\n\n\"I think I do, Most Mighty Magician,\" replied the Quadling, bowing low;\n\"but whether I'm awake or dreaming I can't be positive, so I'm not sure\nwhere I live. If you'll kindly pinch me I'll find out all about it.\"\n\n\"You're awake,\" said Dorothy, \"and this is no magician, but just the\nScarecrow.\"\n\n\"But he's alive,\" protested the man, \"and he oughtn't to be, you know.\nAnd that other dreadful person--the girl who is all patches--seems to be\nalive, too.\"\n\n\"Very much so,\" declared Scraps, making a face at him. \"But that isn't\nyour affair, you know.\"\n\n\"I've a right to be surprised, haven't I?\" asked the man meekly.\n\n\"I'm not sure; but anyhow you've no right to say I'm dreadful. The\nScarecrow, who is a gentleman of great wisdom, thinks I'm beautiful,\"\nretorted Scraps.\n\n\"Never mind all that,\" said Dorothy. \"Tell us, good Quadling, how we can\nget across the river.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied the Quadling.\n\n\"Don't you ever cross it?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Don't travelers cross it?\"\n\n\"Not to my knowledge,\" said he.\n\nThey were much surprised to hear this, and the man added: \"It's a pretty\nbig river, and the current is strong. I know a man who lives on the\nopposite bank, for I've seen him there a good many years; but we've\nnever spoken because neither of us has ever crossed over.\"\n\n\"That's queer,\" said the Scarecrow. \"Don't you own a boat?\"\n\nThe man shook his head.\n\n\"Nor a raft?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Where does this river go to?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"That way,\" answered the man, pointing with one hand, \"it goes into the\nCountry of the Winkies, which is ruled by the Tin Emperor, who must be a\nmighty magician because he's all made of tin, and yet he's alive. And\nthat way,\" pointing with the other hand, \"the river runs between two\nmountains where dangerous people dwell.\"\n\nThe Scarecrow looked at the water before them.\n\n\"The current flows toward the Winkie Country,\" said he; \"and so, if we\nhad a boat, or a raft, the river would float us there more quickly and\nmore easily than we could walk.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" agreed Dorothy; and then they all looked thoughtful and\nwondered what could be done.\n\n\"Why can't the man make us a raft?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Will you?\" inquired Dorothy, turning to the Quadling.\n\nThe chubby man shook his head.\n\n\"I'm too lazy,\" he said. \"My wife says I'm the laziest man in all Oz,\nand she is a truthful woman. I hate work of any kind, and making a raft\nis hard work.\"\n\n\"I'll give you my em'rald ring,\" promised the girl.\n\n\"No; I don't care for emeralds. If it were a ruby, which is the color I\nlike best, I might work a little while.\"\n\n\"I've got some Square Meal Tablets,\" said the Scarecrow. \"Each one is\nthe same as a dish of soup, a fried fish, a mutton pot-pie, lobster\nsalad, charlotte russe and lemon jelly--all made into one little tablet\nthat you can swallow without trouble.\"\n\n\"Without trouble!\" exclaimed the Quadling, much interested; \"then those\ntablets would be fine for a lazy man. It's such hard work to chew when\nyou eat.\"\n\n\"I'll give you six of those tablets if you'll help us make a raft,\"\npromised the Scarecrow. \"They're a combination of food which people who\neat are very fond of. I never eat, you know, being straw; but some of my\nfriends eat regularly. What do you say to my offer, Quadling?\"\n\n\"I'll do it,\" decided the man. \"I'll help, and you can do most of the\nwork. But my wife has gone fishing for red eels to-day, so some of you\nwill have to mind the children.\"\n\nScraps promised to do that, and the children were not so shy when the\nPatchwork Girl sat down to play with them. They grew to like Toto, too,\nand the little dog allowed them to pat him on his head, which gave the\nlittle ones much joy.\n\nThere were a number of fallen trees near the house and the Quadling got\nhis axe and chopped them into logs of equal length. He took his wife's\nclothesline to bind these logs together, so that they would form a raft,\nand Ojo found some strips of wood and nailed them along the tops of the\nlogs, to render them more firm. The Scarecrow and Dorothy helped roll\nthe logs together and carry the strips of wood, but it took so long to\nmake the raft that evening came just as it was finished, and with\nevening the Quadling's wife returned from her fishing.\n\nThe woman proved to be cross and bad-tempered, perhaps because she had\nonly caught one red eel during all the day. When she found that her\nhusband had used her clothesline, and the logs she had wanted for\nfirewood, and the boards she had intended to mend the shed with, and a\nlot of gold nails, she became very angry. Scraps wanted to shake the\nwoman, to make her behave, but Dorothy talked to her in a gentle tone\nand told the Quadling's wife she was a Princess of Oz and a friend of\nOzma and that when she got back to the Emerald City she would send them\na lot of things to repay them for the raft, including a new clothesline.\nThis promise pleased the woman and she soon became more pleasant, saying\nthey could stay the night at her house and begin their voyage on the\nriver next morning.\n\nThis they did, spending a pleasant evening with the Quadling family and\nbeing entertained with such hospitality as the poor people were able to\noffer them. The man groaned a good deal and said he had overworked\nhimself by chopping the logs, but the Scarecrow gave him two more\ntablets than he had promised, which seemed to comfort the lazy fellow.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRICK RIVER\n\nCHAP. 26\n\n\n\nNext morning they pushed the raft into the water and all got aboard. The\nQuadling man had to hold the log craft fast while they took their\nplaces, and the flow of the river was so powerful that it nearly tore\nthe raft from his hands. As soon as they were all seated upon the logs\nhe let go and away it floated and the adventurers had begun their voyage\ntoward the Winkie Country.\n\nThe little house of the Quadlings was out of sight almost before they\nhad cried their good-byes, and the Scarecrow said in a pleased voice:\n\"It won't take us long to get to the Winkie Country, at this rate.\"\n\nThey had floated several miles down the stream and were enjoying the\nride when suddenly the raft slowed up, stopped short, and then began to\nfloat back the way it had come.\n\n\"Why, what's wrong?\" asked Dorothy, in astonishment; but they were all\njust as bewildered as she was and at first no one could answer the\nquestion. Soon, however, they realized the truth: that the current of\nthe river had reversed and the water was now flowing in the opposite\ndirection--toward the mountains.\n\nThey began to recognize the scenes they had passed, and by and by they\ncame in sight of the little house of the Quadlings again. The man was\nstanding on the river bank and he called to them:\n\n\"How do you do? Glad to see you again. I forgot to tell you that the\nriver changes its direction every little while. Sometimes it flows one\nway, and sometimes the other.\"\n\nThey had no time to answer him, for the raft was swept past the house\nand a long distance on the other side of it.\n\n\"We're going just the way we don't want to go,\" said Dorothy, \"and I\nguess the best thing we can do is to get to land before we're carried\nany farther.\"\n\nBut they could not get to land. They had no oars, nor even a pole to\nguide the raft with. The logs which bore them floated in the middle of\nthe stream and were held fast in that position by the strong current.\n\nSo they sat still and waited and, even while they were wondering what\ncould be done, the raft slowed down, stopped, and began drifting the\nother way--in the direction it had first followed. After a time they\nrepassed the Quadling house and the man was still standing on the bank.\nHe cried out to them:\n\n\"Good day! Glad to see you again. I expect I shall see you a good many\ntimes, as you go by, unless you happen to swim ashore.\"\n\nBy that time they had left him behind and were headed once more straight\ntoward the Winkie Country.\n\n\"This is pretty hard luck,\" said Ojo in a discouraged voice. \"The Trick\nRiver keeps changing, it seems, and here we must float back and forward\nforever, unless we manage in some way to get ashore.\"\n\n\"Can you swim?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"No; I'm Ojo the Unlucky.\"\n\n\"Neither can I. Toto can swim a little, but that won't help us to get to\nshore.\"\n\n\"I don't know whether I could swim, or not,\" remarked Scraps; \"but\nif I tried it I'd surely ruin my lovely patches.\"\n\n\"My straw would get soggy in the water and I would sink,\" said the\nScarecrow.\n\nSo there seemed no way out of their dilemma and being helpless they\nsimply sat still. Ojo, who was on the front of the raft, looked over\ninto the water and thought he saw some large fishes swimming about. He\nfound a loose end of the clothesline which fastened the logs together,\nand taking a gold nail from his pocket he bent it nearly double, to\nform a hook, and tied it to the end of the line. Having baited the hook\nwith some bread which he broke from his loaf, he dropped the line into\nthe water and almost instantly it was seized by a great fish.\n\nThey knew it was a great fish, because it pulled so hard on the line\nthat it dragged the raft forward even faster than the current of the\nriver had carried it. The fish was frightened, and it was a strong\nswimmer. As the other end of the clothesline was bound around the logs\nhe could not get it away, and as he had greedily swallowed the gold hook\nat the first bite he could not get rid of that, either.\n\nWhen they reached the place where the current had before changed, the\nfish was still swimming ahead in its wild attempt to escape. The raft\nslowed down, yet it did not stop, because the fish would not let it. It\ncontinued to move in the same direction it had been going. As the\ncurrent reversed and rushed backward on its course it failed to drag the\nraft with it. Slowly, inch by inch, they floated on, and the fish tugged\nand tugged and kept them going.\n\n\"I hope he won't give up,\" said Ojo anxiously. \"If the fish can hold out\nuntil the current changes again, we'll be all right.\"\n\nThe fish did not give up, but held the raft bravely on its course, till\nat last the water in the river shifted again and floated them the way\nthey wanted to go. But now the captive fish found its strength failing.\nSeeking a refuge, it began to drag the raft toward the shore. As they\ndid not wish to land in this place the boy cut the rope with his\npocket-knife and set the fish free, just in time to prevent the raft\nfrom grounding.\n\n\nThe next time the river backed up the Scarecrow managed to seize the\nbranch of a tree that overhung the water and they all assisted him to\nhold fast and prevent the raft from being carried backward. While they\nwaited here, Ojo spied a long broken branch lying upon the bank, so he\nleaped ashore and got it. When he had stripped off the side shoots he\nbelieved he could use the branch as a pole, to guide the raft in case of\nemergency.\n\nThey clung to the tree until they found the water flowing the right way,\nwhen they let go and permitted the raft to resume its voyage. In spite\nof these pauses they were really making good progress toward the Winkie\nCountry and having found a way to conquer the adverse current their\nspirits rose considerably. They could see little of the country through\nwhich they were passing, because of the high banks, and they met with no\nboats or other craft upon the surface of the river.\n\nOnce more the trick river reversed its current, but this time the\nScarecrow was on guard and used the pole to push the raft toward a big\nrock which lay in the water. He believed the rock would prevent their\nfloating backward with the current, and so it did. They clung to this\nanchorage until the water resumed its proper direction, when they\nallowed the raft to drift on.\n\nFloating around a bend they saw ahead a high bank of water, extending\nacross the entire river, and toward this they were being irresistibly\ncarried. There being no way to arrest the progress of the raft they\nclung fast to the logs and let the river sweep them on. Swiftly the raft\nclimbed the bank of water and slid down on the other side, plunging its\nedge deep into the water and drenching them all with spray.\n\nAs again the raft righted and drifted on, Dorothy and Ojo laughed at the\nducking they had received; but Scraps was much dismayed and the\nScarecrow took out his handkerchief and wiped the water off the\nPatchwork Girl's patches as well as he was able to. The sun soon dried\nher and the colors of her patches proved good, for they did not run\ntogether nor did they fade.\n\nAfter passing the wall of water the current did not change or flow\nbackward any more but continued to sweep them steadily forward. The\nbanks of the river grew lower, too, permitting them to see more of the\ncountry, and presently they discovered yellow buttercups and dandelions\ngrowing amongst the grass, from which evidence they knew they had\nreached the Winkie Country.\n\n\"Don't you think we ought to land?\" Dorothy asked the Scarecrow.\n\n\"Pretty soon,\" he replied. \"The Tin Woodman's castle is in the southern\npart of the Winkie Country, and so it can't be a great way from here.\"\n\n\nFearing they might drift too far, Dorothy and Ojo now stood up and\nraised the Scarecrow in their arms, as high as they could, thus allowing\nhim a good view of the country. For a time he saw nothing he recognized,\nbut finally he cried:\n\n\"There it is! There it is!\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Dorothy.\n\n\"The Tin Woodman's tin castle. I can see its turrets glittering in the\nsun. It's quite a way off, but we'd better land as quickly as we can.\"\n\nThey let him down and began to urge the raft toward the shore by means\nof the pole. It obeyed very well, for the current was more sluggish now,\nand soon they had reached the bank and landed safely.\n\nThe Winkie Country was really beautiful, and across the fields they\ncould see afar the silvery sheen of the tin castle. With light hearts\nthey hurried toward it, being fully rested by their long ride on the\nriver.\n\nBy and by they began to cross an immense field of splendid yellow\nlilies, the delicate fragrance of which was very delightful.\n\n\"How beautiful they are!\" cried Dorothy, stopping to admire the\nperfection of these exquisite flowers.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Scarecrow, reflectively, \"but we must be careful not to\ncrush or injure any of these lilies.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"The Tin Woodman is very kind-hearted,\" was the reply, \"and he hates to\nsee any living thing hurt in any way.\"\n\n\"Are flowers alive?\" asked Scraps.\n\n\"Yes, of course. And these flowers belong to the Tin Woodman. So, in\norder not to offend him, we must not tread on a single blossom.\"\n\n\"Once,\" said Dorothy, \"the Tin Woodman stepped on a beetle and killed\nthe little creature. That made him very unhappy and he cried until his\ntears rusted his joints, so he couldn't move 'em.\"\n\n\"What did he do then?\" asked Ojo.\n\n\"Put oil on them, until the joints worked smooth again.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed the boy, as if a great discovery had flashed across his\nmind. But he did not tell anybody what the discovery was and kept the\nidea to himself.\n\nIt was a long walk, but a pleasant one, and they did not mind it a bit.\nLate in the afternoon they drew near to the wonderful tin castle of the\nEmperor of the Winkies, and Ojo and Scraps, who had never seen it\nbefore, were filled with amazement.\n\nTin abounded in the Winkie Country and the Winkies were said to be the\nmost skillful tinsmiths in all the world. So the Tin Woodman had\nemployed them in building his magnificent castle, which was all of tin,\nfrom the ground to the tallest turret, and so brightly polished that it\nglittered in the sun's rays more gorgeously than silver. Around the\ngrounds of the castle ran a tin wall, with tin gates; but the gates\nstood wide open because the Emperor had no enemies to disturb him.\n\nWhen they entered the spacious grounds our travelers found more to\nadmire. Tin fountains sent sprays of clear water far into the air and\nthere were many beds of tin flowers, all as perfectly formed as any\nnatural flowers might be. There were tin trees, too, and here and there\nshady bowers of tin, with tin benches and chairs to sit upon. Also, on\nthe sides of the pathway leading up to the front door of the castle,\nwere rows of tin statuary, very cleverly executed. Among these Ojo\nrecognized statues of Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, the\nShaggy Man, Jack Pumpkinhead and Ozma, all standing upon neat pedestals\nof tin.\n\nToto was well acquainted with the residence of the Tin Woodman and,\nbeing assured a joyful welcome, he ran ahead and barked so loudly at the\nfront door that the Tin Woodman heard him and came out in person to see\nif it were really his old friend Toto. Next moment the tin man had\nclasped the Scarecrow in a warm embrace and then turned to hug Dorothy.\nBut now his eye was arrested by the strange sight of the Patchwork Girl,\nand he gazed upon her in mingled wonder and admiration.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TIN WOODMAN OBJECTS\n\nCHAP. 27\n\n\n\nThe Tin Woodman was one of the most important personages in all Oz.\nThough Emperor of the Winkies, he owed allegiance to Ozma, who ruled all\nthe land, and the girl and the tin man were warm personal friends. He\nwas something of a dandy and kept his tin body brilliantly polished and\nhis tin joints well oiled. Also he was very courteous in manner and so\nkind and gentle that everyone loved him. The Emperor greeted Ojo and\nScraps with cordial hospitality and ushered the entire party into his\nhandsome tin parlor, where all the furniture and pictures were made of\ntin. The walls were paneled with tin and from the tin ceiling hung tin\nchandeliers.\n\nThe Tin Woodman wanted to know, first of all, where Dorothy had found\nthe Patchwork Girl, so between them the visitors told the story of how\nScraps was made, as well as the accident to Margolotte and Unc Nunkie\nand how Ojo had set out upon a journey to procure the things needed for\nthe Crooked Magician's magic charm. Then Dorothy told of their\nadventures in the Quadling Country and how at last they succeeded in\ngetting the water from a dark well.\n\nWhile the little girl was relating these adventures the Tin Woodman sat\nin an easy chair listening with intense interest, while the others sat\ngrouped around him. Ojo, however, had kept his eyes fixed upon the body\nof the tin Emperor, and now he noticed that under the joint of his left\nknee a tiny drop of oil was forming. He watched this drop of oil with a\nfast-beating heart, and feeling in his pocket brought out a tiny vial of\ncrystal, which he held secreted in his hand.\n\nPresently the Tin Woodman changed his position, and at once Ojo, to the\nastonishment of all, dropped to the floor and held his crystal vial\nunder the Emperor's knee joint. Just then the drop of oil fell, and the\nboy caught it in his bottle and immediately corked it tight. Then, with\na red face and embarrassed manner, he rose to confront the others.\n\n\"What in the world were you doing?\" asked the Tin Woodman.\n\n\"I caught a drop of oil that fell from your knee-joint,\" confessed Ojo.\n\n\"A drop of oil!\" exclaimed the Tin Woodman. \"Dear me, how careless my\nvalet must have been in oiling me this morning. I'm afraid I shall have\nto scold the fellow, for I can't be dropping oil wherever I go.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Dorothy. \"Ojo seems glad to have the oil, for some\nreason.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" declared the Munchkin boy, \"I am glad. For one of the things the\nCrooked Magician sent me to get was a drop of oil from a live man's\nbody. I had no idea, at first, that there was such a thing; but it's now\nsafe in the little crystal vial.\"\n\n\n\"You are very welcome to it, indeed,\" said the Tin Woodman. \"Have you\nnow secured all the things you were in search of?\"\n\n\"Not quite all,\" answered Ojo. \"There were five things I had to get, and\nI have found four of them. I have the three hairs in the tip of a\nWoozy's tail, a six-leaved clover, a gill of water from a dark well and\na drop of oil from a live man's body. The last thing is the easiest of\nall to get, and I'm sure that my dear Unc Nunkie--and good Margolotte,\nas well--will soon be restored to life.\"\n\nThe Munchkin boy said this with much pride and pleasure.\n\n\"Good!\" exclaimed the Tin Woodman; \"I congratulate you. But what is the\nfifth and last thing you need, in order to complete the magic charm?\"\n\n\"The left wing of a yellow butterfly,\" said Ojo. \"In this yellow\ncountry, and with your kind assistance, that ought to be very easy to\nfind.\"\n\nThe Tin Woodman stared at him in amazement.\n\n\"Surely you are joking!\" he said.\n\n\"No,\" replied Ojo, much surprised; \"I am in earnest.\"\n\n\"But do you think for a moment that I would permit you, or anyone else,\nto pull the left wing from a yellow butterfly?\" demanded the Tin Woodman\nsternly.\n\n\"Why not, sir?\"\n\n\"Why not? You ask me why not? It would be cruel--one of the most cruel\nand heartless deeds I ever heard of,\" asserted the Tin Woodman. \"The\nbutterflies are among the prettiest of all created things, and they are\nvery sensitive to pain. To tear a wing from one would cause it exquisite\ntorture and it would soon die in great agony. I would not permit such a\nwicked deed under any circumstances!\"\n\nOjo was astounded at hearing this. Dorothy, too, looked grave and\ndisconcerted, but she knew in her heart that the Tin Woodman was right.\nThe Scarecrow nodded his head in approval of his friend's speech, so it\nwas evident that he agreed with the Emperor's decision. Scraps looked\nfrom one to another in perplexity.\n\n\"Who cares for a butterfly?\" she asked.\n\n\"Don't you?\" inquired the Tin Woodman.\n\n\"Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart,\" said the Patchwork\nGirl. \"But I want to help Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle\nwhom he loves, and I'd kill a dozen useless butterflies to enable him to\ndo that.\"\n\nThe Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.\n\n\"You have kind instincts,\" he said, \"and with a heart you would indeed\nbe a fine creature. I cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as you\ncannot understand the feelings of those who possess hearts. I, for\ninstance, have a very neat and responsive heart which the wonderful\nWizard of Oz once gave me, and so I shall never--never--_never_ permit a\npoor yellow butterfly to be tortured by anyone.\"\n\n\"The yellow country of the Winkies,\" said Ojo sadly, \"is the only place\nin Oz where a yellow butterfly can be found.\"\n\n\"I'm glad of that,\" said the Tin Woodman. \"As I rule the Winkie Country,\nI can protect my butterflies.\"\n\n\"Unless I get the wing--just one left wing--\" said Ojo miserably, \"I\ncan't save Unc Nunkie.\"\n\n\"Then he must remain a marble statue forever,\" declared the Tin Emperor,\nfirmly.\n\nOjo wiped his eyes, for he could not hold back the tears.\n\n\"I'll tell you what to do,\" said Scraps. \"We'll take a whole yellow\nbutterfly, alive and well, to the Crooked Magician, and let him pull the\nleft wing off.\"\n\n\"No you won't,\" said the Tin Woodman. \"You can't have one of my dear\nlittle butterflies to treat in that way.\"\n\n\"Then what in the world shall we do?\" asked Dorothy.\n\nThey all became silent and thoughtful. No one spoke for a long time.\nThen the Tin Woodman suddenly roused himself and said:\n\n\"We must all go back to the Emerald City and ask Ozma's advice. She's a\nwise little girl, our Ruler, and she may find a way to help Ojo save his\nUnc Nunkie.\"\n\nSo the following morning the party started on the journey to the Emerald\nCity, which they reached in due time without any important adventure. It\nwas a sad journey for Ojo, for without the wing of the yellow butterfly\nhe saw no way to save Unc Nunkie--unless he waited six years for the\nCrooked Magician to make a new lot of the Powder of Life. The boy was\nutterly discouraged, and as he walked along he groaned aloud.\n\n\"Is anything hurting you?\" inquired the Tin Woodman in a kindly tone,\nfor the Emperor was with the party.\n\n\"I'm Ojo the Unlucky,\" replied the boy. \"I might have known I would fail\nin anything I tried to do.\"\n\n\"Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?\" asked the tin man.\n\n\"Because I was born on a Friday.\"\n\n\"Friday is not unlucky,\" declared the Emperor. \"It's just one of seven\ndays. Do you suppose all the world becomes unlucky one-seventh of the\ntime?\"\n\n\"It was the thirteenth day of the month,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"Thirteen! Ah, that is indeed a lucky number,\" replied the Tin Woodman.\n\"All my good luck seems to happen on the thirteenth. I suppose most\npeople never notice the good luck that comes to them with the number 13,\nand yet if the least bit of bad luck falls on that day, they blame it to\nthe number, and not to the proper cause.\"\n\n\"Thirteen's my lucky number, too,\" remarked the Scarecrow.\n\n\"And mine,\" said Scraps. \"I've just thirteen patches on my head.\"\n\n\"But,\" continued Ojo, \"I'm left-handed.\"\n\n\"Many of our greatest men are that way,\" asserted the Emperor. \"To be\nleft-handed is usually to be two-handed; the right-handed people are\nusually one-handed.\"\n\n\"And I've a wart under my right arm,\" said Ojo.\n\n\"How lucky!\" cried the Tin Woodman. \"If it were on the end of your nose\nit might be unlucky, but under your arm it is luckily out of the way.\"\n\n\"For all those reasons,\" said the Munchkin boy, \"I have been called Ojo\nthe Unlucky.\"\n\n\"Then we must turn over a new leaf and call you henceforth Ojo the\nLucky,\" declared the tin man. \"Every reason you have given is absurd.\nBut I have noticed that those who continually dread ill luck and fear it\nwill overtake them, have no time to take advantage of any good fortune\nthat comes their way. Make up your mind to be Ojo the Lucky.\"\n\n\"How can I?\" asked the boy, \"when all my attempts to save my dear uncle\nhave failed?\"\n\n\"Never give up, Ojo,\" advised Dorothy. \"No one ever knows what's going\nto happen next.\"\n\nOjo did not reply, but he was so dejected that even their arrival at the\nEmerald City failed to interest him.\n\nThe people joyfully cheered the appearance of the Tin Woodman, the\nScarecrow and Dorothy, who were all three general favorites, and on\nentering the royal palace word came to them from Ozma that she would at\nonce grant them an audience.\n\nDorothy told the girl Ruler how successful they had been in their quest\nuntil they came to the item of the yellow butterfly, which the Tin\nWoodman positively refused to sacrifice to the magic potion.\n\n\n\"He is quite right,\" said Ozma, who did not seem a bit surprised. \"Had\nOjo told me that one of the things he sought was the wing of a yellow\nbutterfly I would have informed him, before he started out, that he\ncould never secure it. Then you would have been saved the troubles and\nannoyances of your long journey.\"\n\n\"I didn't mind the journey at all,\" said Dorothy; \"it was fun.\"\n\n\"As it has turned out,\" remarked Ojo, \"I can never get the things the\nCrooked Magician sent me for; and so, unless I wait the six years for\nhim to make the Powder of Life, Unc Nunkie cannot be saved.\"\n\nOzma smiled.\n\n\"Dr. Pipt will make no more Powder of Life, I promise you,\" said she. \"I\nhave sent for him and had him brought to this palace, where he now is,\nand his four kettles have been destroyed and his book of recipes burned\nup. I have also had brought here the marble statues of your uncle and of\nMargolotte, which are standing in the next room.\"\n\nThey were all greatly astonished at this announcement.\n\n\"Oh, let me see Unc Nunkie! Let me see him at once, please!\" cried Ojo\neagerly.\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" replied Ozma, \"for I have something more to say.\nNothing that happens in the Land of Oz escapes the notice of our wise\nSorceress, Glinda the Good. She knew all about the magic-making of Dr.\nPipt, and how he had brought the Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl to\nlife, and the accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, and of Ojo's quest\nand his journey with Dorothy. Glinda also knew that Ojo would fail to\nfind all the things he sought, so she sent for our Wizard and instructed\nhim what to do. Something is going to happen in this palace, presently,\nand that 'something' will, I am sure, please you all. And now,\"\ncontinued the girl Ruler, rising from her chair, \"you may follow me into\nthe next room.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ\n\nCHAP. 28\n\n\n\nWhen Ojo entered the room he ran quickly to the statue of Unc Nunkie and\nkissed the marble face affectionately.\n\n\"I did my best, Unc,\" he said, with a sob, \"but it was no use!\"\n\nThen he drew back and looked around the room, and the sight of the\nassembled company quite amazed him.\n\nAside from the marble statues of Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, the Glass\nCat was there, curled up on a rug; and the Woozy was there, sitting on\nits square hind legs and looking on the scene with solemn interest; and\nthere was the Shaggy Man, in a suit of shaggy pea-green satin, and at a\ntable sat the little Wizard, looking quite important and as if he knew\nmuch more than he cared to tell.\n\nLast of all, Dr. Pipt was there, and the Crooked Magician sat humped up\nin a chair, seeming very dejected but keeping his eyes fixed on the\nlifeless form of his wife Margolotte, whom he fondly loved but whom he\nnow feared was lost to him forever.\n\nOzma took a chair which Jellia Jamb wheeled forward for the Ruler, and\nback of her stood the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and Dorothy, as well as\nthe Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. The Wizard now arose and made a\nlow bow to Ozma and another less deferent bow to the assembled company.\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen and beasts,\" he said, \"I beg to announce that our\nGracious Ruler has permitted me to obey the commands of the great\nSorceress, Glinda the Good, whose humble Assistant I am proud to be. We\nhave discovered that the Crooked Magician has been indulging in his\nmagical arts contrary to Law, and therefore, by Royal Edict, I hereby\ndeprive him of all power to work magic in the future. He is no longer a\ncrooked magician, but a simple Munchkin; he is no longer even crooked,\nbut a man like other men.\"\n\nAs he pronounced these words the Wizard waved his hand toward Dr. Pipt\nand instantly every crooked limb straightened out and became perfect.\nThe former magician, with a cry of joy, sprang to his feet, looked at\nhimself in wonder, and then fell back in his chair and watched the\nWizard with fascinated interest.\n\n\n\"The Glass Cat, which Dr. Pipt lawlessly made,\" continued the Wizard,\n\"is a pretty cat, but its pink brains made it so conceited that it was a\ndisagreeable companion to everyone. So the other day I took away the\npink brains and replaced them with transparent ones, and now the Glass\nCat is so modest and well behaved that Ozma has decided to keep her in\nthe palace as a pet.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" said the cat, in a soft voice.\n\n\"The Woozy has proved himself a good Woozy and a faithful friend,\" the\nWizard went on, \"so we will send him to the Royal Menagerie, where he\nwill have good care and plenty to eat all his life.\"\n\n\"Much obliged,\" said the Woozy. \"That beats being fenced up in a lonely\nforest and starved.\"\n\n\"As for the Patchwork Girl,\" resumed the Wizard, \"she is so remarkable\nin appearance, and so clever and good tempered, that our Gracious Ruler\nintends to preserve her carefully, as one of the curiosities of the\ncurious Land of Oz. Scraps may live in the palace, or wherever she\npleases, and be nobody's servant but her own.\"\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Scraps.\n\n\"We have all been interested in Ojo,\" the little Wizard continued,\n\"because his love for his unfortunate uncle has led him bravely to face\nall sorts of dangers, in order that he might rescue him. The Munchkin\nboy has a loyal and generous heart and has done his best to restore Unc\nNunkie to life. He has failed, but there are others more powerful than\nthe Crooked Magician, and there are more ways than Dr. Pipt knew of to\ndestroy the charm of the Liquid of Petrifaction. Glinda the Good has\ntold me of one way, and you shall now learn how great is the knowledge\nand power of our peerless Sorceress.\"\n\n\nAs he said this the Wizard advanced to the statue of Margolotte and made\na magic pass, at the same time muttering a magic word that none could\nhear distinctly. At once the woman moved, turned her head wonderingly\nthis way and that, to note all who stood before her, and seeing Dr.\nPipt, ran forward and threw herself into her husband's outstretched\narms.\n\nThen the Wizard made the magic pass and spoke the magic word before the\nstatue of Unc Nunkie. The old Munchkin immediately came to life and with\na low bow to the Wizard said: \"Thanks.\"\n\nBut now Ojo rushed up and threw his arms joyfully about his uncle, and\nthe old man hugged his little nephew tenderly and stroked his hair and\nwiped away the boy's tears with a handkerchief, for Ojo was crying from\npure happiness.\n\nOzma came forward to congratulate them.\n\n\"I have given to you, my dear Ojo and Unc Nunkie, a nice house just\noutside the walls of the Emerald City,\" she said, \"and there you shall\nmake your future home and be under my protection.\"\n\n\"Didn't I say you were Ojo the Lucky?\" asked the Tin Woodman, as\neveryone crowded around to shake Ojo's hand.\n\n\"Yes; and it is true!\" replied Ojo, gratefully.\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nThe Land of Oz\n\n\nThe title page of this book says that it is \"an account of the further\nadventures of the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and also the\nexperiences of the Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug, Jack Pumpkinhead, the\nAnimated Saw-Horse and the Gump.\" Also in this book Mr. Baum first\npresents Princess Ozma of Oz, Mombi, the witch; General Jinjur, and Dr.\nNikidik, inventor of the famous wishing pills.\n\nIn the country of the Gillikins lives a boy named Tip, who has been\nbewitched by old Mombi. Tip makes Jack Pumpkinhead from a pumpkin, a\nframe of sticks and some old clothes; Jack is brought to life through\none of the witch's mysterious possessions, and then Tip and Jack run\naway. Soon they meet the Animated Saw-Horse, on whom they ride, and then\nthe Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. Thereafter one adventure follows fast\nupon another until the travelers, by the aid of the wonderful Gump,\nreach the palace of Glinda the Good, who lifts from Tip the spell of the\nold witch--with a most astonishing result.\n\n\"The Land of Oz\" was the first of Mr. Baum's books to be illustrated by\nJohn R. Neill, now a noted artist. Mr. Neill's wonderful success in\npicturing the peculiar creations of the author led to a permanent\nalliance between these two favorites of the children, and all of Mr.\nBaum's later books have been adorned with Mr. Neill's pictures. In the\nLand of Oz are about one hundred and fifty black-and-white illustrations\nand sixteen charming full-page pictures in colors.\n\n\n\n\nOzma of Oz\n\n\nAs one little girl said, this is a \"_real Ozzy_\" book. It tells \"more\nabout Little Dorothy,\" and introduces the Yellow Hen, Tiktok, the Hungry\nTiger, the Nome King, and many other remarkable personages. Our old\nfriends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, play prominent parts.\n\nThere is a frightful storm at sea, during which Dorothy and Billina, the\nYellow Hen, are cast ashore. Here, after escaping the Wheelers, they\ncome across the mechanical man, Tiktok, and the three proceed through\nthe Land of Ev to the palace of a wicked princess, where they are all\nimprisoned. They are rescued by Ozma, the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry\nTiger, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. All then proceed to the realm\nof the Nome King to effect the release of the Royal Family of Ev, who\nhave been enchanted by that cross old monarch. This done, after many\ntrials and difficulties, the adventurers return to the Emerald City,\nwhere at a great feast the Hungry Tiger loses his appetite!\n\nBillina is one of Mr. Baum's most delightful characters. All readers\nwill enjoy her wit and humor, which is backed up with much sound sense.\nThe Hungry Tiger is a worthy companion to our old friend, the Cowardly\nLion.\n\nFor Ozma of Oz, Mr. Neill made forty-one full page colored pictures,\ntwenty-two half pages in color, and more than fifty text illustrations,\nbesides special end-sheets and other decorations. It is one of the most\ngorgeous of children's books.\n\n\n\n\nDorothy and the Wizard in Oz\n\n\nFirst thing--bang! And an earthquake drops Dorothy and Zeb, her boy\ncompanion, through the earth's crust plumb into the Glass City. Here\nthey soon meet the Wonderful Wizard of Oz, who also has fallen into this\nremarkable town. In company with Jim, the Cab Horse, Eureka, the\nDiscontented Kitten, and the Nine Tiny Piglets, Dorothy and her friends\nare condemned to die, but escape into a tunnel through which they pass\ninto the Valley of Voices. In their efforts to reach either the surface\nof the earth or the Land of Oz, where they would be helped by the\npowerful Princess Ozma, they meet many dangers and have numerous\nstartling encounters with strange beings. Finally they are rescued by\nOzma and are safe in the Emerald City. Here there is a great reunion,\nattended by the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion, the\nHungry Tiger and many other of our old friends of Oz.\n\nDorothy and the Wizard in Oz is embellished with sixteen full-page\ninserts after paintings by John R. Neill. These pictures are reproduced\nin full color by the most improved methods and are highly artistic and\nbeautiful. In addition, there are many black-and-white illustrations,\nchapter headings, tail-pieces and decorations. The cover has an inlay\nprinted in four colors and gold.\n\n\n\n\nThe Road to Oz\n\n\nThis is a novelty in bookmaking for children. As the scene shifts from\none part to another of Mr. Baum's unique fairyland the tints of the\npaper used for printing change from color to color in accordance with\nthe hue of the Country described. This color scheme, in connection with\nMr. Neill's delightful and characteristic illustrations--over one\nhundred--make a truly wonderful book.\n\nAmong the new characters introduced are Button-Bright, the Shaggy Man,\nKing Dox and Johnny Doit.\n\nThe Road to Oz is a marvelous road, along which Dorothy and her\ncompanions find many curious and strange inhabitants. They finally reach\nOz and visit the Castle of Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman, now become\nEmperor of the Winkies, by whom they are escorted to the farm of Jack\nPumpkinhead and to the Emerald City.\n\nHere Princess Ozma gives a banquet, at which the guests are beyond doubt\nthe most amazing collection ever assembled under one roof, including\nSanta Claus, the Queen of Merryland, Para Bruin, the rubber bear; the\nKing of the Quadlings, the Candy Man, the Queen of Ev, Jellia Jamb,\nGeneral Jinjur, the Soldier with the Green Whiskers; Polychrome, the\nRainbow's Daughter, the Incubator Baby and John Dough.\n\n\n\n\n    Transcriber's Note:\n\n    The alternative spelling for Tik-tok as \"Tiktok\" used in the\n    advertisements at the end of the book; and the spelling of \"UNK\"\n    in the first chapter heading illustration have been retained as\n    they appear in the original publication.\n\n    Changes have been made as follows:\n\n        Page 68 Hyphen added to \"bed-quilt\" in\n                \"bed-quilt and intended to be\".\n\n        Page 145 \"advise\" to \"advice\" in\n                 \"Shaggy Man's advice\"\n\n        Page 245 \"solemly\" to \"solemnly\" in\n                 \"said the Scarecrow solemnly\"\n\n        Page 260 Closing quotation mark added to\n                 \"let's go back.\"\n\n        Page 279 Fullstop to comma in\n                 \"Can't you talk from this side,\"\n\n        Page 294 \"Hoppers\" to \"Horners\" in\n                 \"and again the Horners laughed\"\n\n        Page 309 Closing quotation mark added to\n                 \"... I could swim, or not,\"\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Patchwork Girl of Oz, by L. Frank Baum", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32094", "title": "The Patchwork Girl of Oz", "author": "", "publication_year": 1913, "metadata_title": "The Patchwork Girl of Oz", "metadata_author": "L. Frank Baum", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:22.367097", "source_chars": 320791, "chars": 320791, "talkie_tokens": 78894}}
{"text": "Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n  1. Page scan source:\n  http://www.archive.org/details/talesofcaravanin00haufrich\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 TALES\n\n                                 OF THE\n\n                       CARAVAN, INN, AND PALACE.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 TALES\n\n                                 OF THE\n\n                       CARAVAN, INN, AND PALACE.\n\n\n\n                                   BY\n                             WILLIAM HAUFF.\n\n\n\n                    WITH THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n\n                       TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN\n                                   BY\n                           EDWARD L. STOWELL.\n\n\n\n                                CHICAGO:\n                      JANSEN, McCLURG, & COMPANY.\n                                 1882.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               COPYRIGHT,\n                       JANSEN, MCCLURG & COMPANY.\n                                 1881.\n\n\n\n\n\n                 PRINTED BY DONNELLEY, GASSETTE & LOYD.\n\n\n\n\n                         TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.\n\n\nIn introducing to American readers these charming and unique Tales, a\nfew details may properly be given of their author's life and literary\nwork. The record, though brief, is one of unusual interest.\n\nWilhelm Hauff was born at Stuttgart, Germany, in 1802, and received his\neducation at Tuebingen. He graduated from the University, in 1824, with\nthe degree of Doctor of Philosophy; and for the following two years\nfilled the position of tutor in a nobleman's family. It was during the\nleisure hours afforded by this occupation that he composed the greater\npart of the works upon which his fame rests. In 1826 he published his\n\"_Maerchenalmanach auf das Jahr 1826, fuer Soehne und Toechter\ngebildeter Staende_,\" a translation of which is herewith tendered the\nAmerican public, under the changed and abbreviated title of: \"Tales of\nthe Caravan, Inn, and Palace.\" In the same year, and closely following\nthe \"Fairy Tales,\" came \"_Mittheilungen aus den Memoiren des Satan_,\"\n\"_Der Mann im Monde_,\" a second volume of \"Satan's Memoirs,\" and a\ncollection of short tales. These volumes appeared in such rapid\nsuccession as to obscure for a time the brilliancy of the \"Fairy\nTales;\" but later editions of them acquired a widespread circulation,\nwhile their popularity is so constantly on the increase as to suggest\nthe thought that in time they may prove a formidable rival of the\n\"Arabian Nights,\" in the regards of the young, the world over.\n\nThe publication of \"The Man in the Moon\" gave Hauff a national\nreputation; but when his \"_Lichtenstein, eine romantische Sage_\"\nappeared, shortly afterward, the Wuertembergers hailed him as the\ncoming Walter Scott of Germany. Whether he would have merited this fond\nand proud prediction of his countrymen, can not now be told. We only\nknow that he seemed to recognize in the historical novel his true field\nof labor, and that he had already begun a second work of this nature,\nwhen he sickened and died, in the Fall of 1827, before he had reached\nhis twenty-fifth birthday.\n\nHauff stood on the threshold of his career as an author, in the dawning\nglory of his brilliant talents, when he was stricken down; yet his\nwritings betray no sign of immaturity, and his collected works assure\nhim a niche, high in the temple of literature. The art of investing\nlocalities with ideal characters who, in the reader's imagination,\nhaunt the spot forever after, was a gift Hauff shared alike with his\nEnglish brothers, Scott and Dickens. On crossing the Bridge of Arts,\nin Paris, at night, one familiar with his works is apt to look about\nfor the tall and graceful form of the \"Beggar Girl,\" with her lantern,\nand the plate held out so reluctantly for coins. Or, if he wander\nthrough the rugged Suabian Alps, Hauff's \"_Lichtenstein_\" will be the\nguide-book he consults; and through the valleys and over the hills to\nthe _Nebelhoehle_ he will trace the flight of the stern Duke Ulerich,\npausing maybe at the little village of Hardt to pick out if possible\nthe piper's home, and to look sharply at every village maid, lest the\nkind-hearted little \"Baerbele\" should pass him unawares.\n\nSome of Hauff's poems became quite popular in Germany, and several of\nhis songs may be heard to-day rising on the evening air from out the\nbeautiful valleys he loved so well.\n\nBecause of his genius and his early death, Hauff becomes associated in\nour mind with the English poets, Chatterton, Keats and Shelley; and in\nthinking of him we recall his own sad words--\n\n     \"Oh, how soon\n      Vanish grace and beauty's bloom;\n      Dost thou boast of cheeks ne'er paling,\n      Glowing red and white unfailing?\n      See! the roses wither all!\"\n\nChicago, _October_, 1881.                           E. L. S.\n\n\n\n\n                               CONTENTS.\n\n\n                                PART I.\n\n                         Tales of the Caravan.\n\n  THE CARAVAN,                                                    11\n  THE CALIPH STORK,                                               15\n  THE AMPUTATED HAND,                                             30\n  THE RESCUE OF FATIMA,                                           49\n  LITTLE MUCK,                                                    70\n  THE FALSE PRINCE,                                               91\n\n                                PART II.\n\n                           Tales of the Inn.\n\n  THE INN IN THE SPESSART,                                       119\n  THE HIRSCH-GULDEN,                                             126\n  THE MARBLE HEART (_First Part_),                               151\n  SAID'S ADVENTURES,                                             182\n  THE CAVE OF STEENFOLL,                                         229\n  THE MARBLE HEART (_Second Part_),                              260\n\n                               PART III.\n\n                          Tales of the Palace.\n\n  THE SHEIK'S PALACE AND HIS SLAVES,                             295\n  THE DWARF NOSEY,                                               304\n  ABNER, THE JEW,                                                340\n  THE YOUNG ENGLISHMAN,                                          353\n  THE STORY OF ALMANSOR,                                         381\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 PART I.\n\n\n                         TALES OF THE CARAVAN.\n\n\n\n\n                              THE CARAVAN,\n\n\nOnce upon a time, a large caravan moved slowly over the desert. On the\nvast plain, where nothing was to be seen but sand and sky, might have\nbeen heard in the far distance the tinkling bells of the camels and the\nringing hoof beats of horses. A thick cloud of dust that moved before\nit indicated the approach of the caravan; and when a breeze parted this\ncloud, gleaming weapons and brilliantly colored garments dazzled the\neye.\n\nThus was the caravan revealed to a man who galloped towards it from one\nside. He rode a fine Arabian horse, covered with a tiger skin; from the\ndeep-red trappings depended little silver bells, while on the horse's\nhead waved a plume of heron feathers. The horseman was of stately\nbearing, and his attire corresponded in richness with that of his\nhorse. A white turban, richly embroidered with gold, covered his head;\nhis coat and Turkish trousers were of scarlet; while a curved sword,\nwith a rich hilt, hung at his side. He had pulled the turban down well\nover his face; and this, with the black eyes that flashed from beneath\nthe bushy brows, together with the long beard that hung straight down\nfrom his Roman nose, gave him a fierce and uncouth appearance.\n\nWhen the rider had approached to within about fifty paces of the\nvanguard of the caravan, he spurred his horse forward, and in a few\nmoments reached the head of the procession. It was such an unusual\noccurrence to see a single horseman riding over the desert that the\nescort of the train, fearing an attack, thrust out their spears.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" cried the horseman, as he saw this warlike\nreception. \"Do you, then, believe a single man would attack your\ncaravan?\"\n\nAshamed of their momentary alarm, the escort dropped their lances;\nwhile their leader rode up to the stranger and asked what he wanted.\n\n\"Who is the master of this caravan?\" inquired the horseman.\n\n\"It does not belong to one man,\" replied the guide; \"but to several\nmerchants who are returning from Mecca to their homes, and whom we\nescort across the desert, as it often happens that travelers are\nannoyed by robbers.\"\n\n\"Then lead me to these merchants,\" requested the stranger.\n\n\"That may not be done now,\" replied the guide, \"as we must proceed\nfarther on before coming to a halt, and the merchants are at least a\nquarter of an hour behind us; but if you will ride on with me until we\nencamp for our mid-day rest, I will then comply with your wish.\"\n\nThe stranger made no reply, but produced a pipe that was fastened to\nhis saddle-bow, and began to smoke, meanwhile riding near the leader of\nthe vanguard. The guide knew not what to make of the stranger; he\nhardly dared to question him directly as to his name, and no matter how\nskillfully he sought to draw him into conversation, the stranger would\nonly reply to such attempts as: \"You smoke a fine quality of tobacco,\"\nor, \"Your horse has a splendid pace,\" with a short \"Yes, certainly.\"\n\nFinally they reached the spot where they were to camp for the noon. The\nguide posted the guards, but remained himself with the stranger until\nthe caravan should come up. Thirty camels, heavily laden, and attended\nby armed guards, passed by. After these came the four merchants to whom\nthe caravan belonged, mounted on fine horses. They were mostly men of\nadvanced age, of sober and staid appearance. Only one seemed much\nyounger than the others, and of more cheerful countenance and vivacious\nspirits. A large number of camels and pack-horses completed the\ncaravan.\n\nThe tents were pitched, and the horses and camels ranged around them in\na circle. In the centre stood a tent of blue silk cloth. To this tent\nthe leader of the guard led the stranger. As they entered through the\ncurtain, they saw the four merchants sitting on gold embroidered\ncushions, while black slaves handed them food and drink.\n\n\"Who is it you bring to us?\" cried the young merchant to the guide.\nBefore the guide could reply, the stranger said--\n\n\"My name is Selim Baruch, of Bagdad. On my way to Mecca I was captured\nby a robber band, and three days ago I succeeded in making my escape\nfrom them. The great Prophet permitted me to hear the bells of your\ncamels in the distance, and thus directed me to you. Allow me to\njourney in your company. Your protection would not be extended to one\nunworthy of it; and when you reach Bagdad, I will richly reward your\nkindness, as I am the nephew of the Grand Vizier.\"\n\nThe oldest merchant made reply: \"Selim Baruch, you are welcome to our\nshelter. It gives us pleasure to assist you. But first of all, sit down\nand eat and drink with us.\"\n\nSelim Baruch accepted this invitation. On the conclusion of the repast,\nthe slaves cleared away the dishes, and brought long pipes and Turkish\nsherbet. The merchants sat silently watching the blue clouds of smoke\nas they formed into rings and finally vanished in the air.\n\nThe young merchant at length broke the silence by saying--\n\n\"For three days we have sat thus on horseback and at table without\nmaking any attempt to while away the time. To me this is very\nwearisome, as I have always been accustomed after dinner to see a\ndancer or to hear music and singing. Can you think of nothing, my\nfriends, to pass away the time?\"\n\nThe three older merchants continued to smoke, seemingly lost in\nmeditation, but the stranger said--\n\n\"Permit me to make a proposition. It is that at every camping-place one\nof us shall relate a story to the others. This might serve to make the\ntime pass pleasantly.\"\n\n\"You are right, Selim Baruch,\" said one of the merchants, \"let us act\non the proposal.\"\n\n\"I am glad the suggestion meets with your approval,\" said Selim; \"but\nthat you may see I ask nothing unfair, I will be the first to begin.\"\n\nThe merchants drew nearer together in pleased anticipation, and had the\nstranger sit in the centre. The slaves replenished the cups and filled\nthe pipes of their masters, and brought glowing coals to light them.\nThen Selim cleared his voice with a generous glass of sherbet, stroked\nthe long beard away from his mouth, and said--\n\n\"Listen, then, to the story of the Caliph Stork.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE CALIPH STORK.\n\n\n\n                                   I.\n\nOne fine afternoon, Chasid, Caliph of Bagdad, reclined on his divan.\nOwing to the heat of the day he had fallen asleep, and was now but\njust awakened, feeling much refreshed by his nap. He puffed at a\nlong-stemmed rosewood pipe, pausing now and then to sip the coffee\nhanded him by an attentive slave, and testifying his approval of the\nsame by stroking his beard. In short, one could see at a glance that\nthe Caliph was in an excellent humor.\n\nOf all others, this was the hour when he might be most easily\napproached, as he was now quite indulgent and companionable; and\ntherefore it was the custom of his Grand Vizier, Mansor, to visit him\nevery day at this time.\n\nAs usual, he came to-day; but, as was unusual with him, his expression\nwas quite serious.\n\nThe Caliph, removing the pipe from his mouth for a moment, said--\n\n\"Why do you wear so sober a face, Grand Vizier?\"\n\nThe Vizier crossed his arms on his breast, bowed low before his master,\nand made answer--\n\n\"Sire, whether my face be sober or no, I know not. But beneath the\ncastle walls stands a trader, who has such beautiful wares that I\ncannot help regretting that I have no spare money.\"\n\nThe Caliph, who had long wished for an opportunity to do his Vizier a\nfavor, sent his black slave below to bring up the trader. The slave\nsoon returned with the man, who was short and stout, of dark brown\ncomplexion, and clothed in rags. He carried a box containing all manner\nof wares: strings of pearls, rings, and richly-chased pistols, cups and\ncombs. The Caliph and Grand Vizier looked them all over, and finally\nthe Caliph selected a fine pair of pistols for Mansor and himself, as\nwell as a comb for the Vizier's wife.\n\nNow just as the merchant was about to close his box, the Caliph espied\na small drawer therein, and desired to know if it contained still other\nvaluables. By way of reply, the trader opened the drawer, disclosing a\nlittle box containing a blackish powder, and a paper covered with\nsingular writing, that neither the Caliph nor Mansor was able to read.\n\n\"These two articles,\" explained the trader, \"came into my possession\nthrough a merchant who found them on the street in Mecca. I do not know\nwhat they contain, but, for a small consideration, you are welcome to\nthem, as I can make nothing of them.\"\n\nThe Caliph, who took pleasure in preserving old manuscripts in his\nlibrary, even though he might not be able to read them, bought both the\npaper and the box, and dismissed the merchant. Then, curious to know\nwhat the manuscript contained, he inquired of the Vizier if he knew of\nany one who could decipher it.\n\n\"Most gracious master and benefactor,\" replied the Vizier, \"near the\ngreat mosque lives a man called Selim the Learned, who understands all\nlanguages. Let him be summoned; perhaps he might know these secret\ncharacters.\"\n\nThe learned Selim was soon brought.\n\n\"Selim,\" began the Caliph, \"it is said that you are very learned. Look\nfor a moment at this writing, and see if you can make it out. If you\ncan read it, you shall receive a new holiday cloak from me; if you\ncannot, you will get instead twelve lashes on the back and twenty-five\non the soles of your feet, for being misnamed Selim the Learned.\"\n\nSelim made an obeisance, saying, \"Thy will be done, O Sire!\"\n\nHe then examined the writing long and attentively, suddenly exclaiming,\n\"If this be not Latin, Sire, then give me to the hangman!\"\n\n\"Read what is written there, if it is Latin!\" commanded the Caliph.\n\nSelim thereupon began to translate as follows:\n\n\"_Man, whoever thou art, that findeth this, praise Allah for His\ngoodness. He who takes a pinch of this powder, at the same time\nsaying,_ MUTABOR, _will be able to transform himself into any animal,\nand will also understand the language of animals. Whenever he wishes to\nre-assume the human form, he shall bow three times towards the East and\npronounce the same word. But take care that thou dost not laugh while\nthou art transformed, or the magic word would vanish utterly from thy\nmemory, and thou wouldst remain an animal._\"\n\nWhen Selim the Learned had read this, the Caliph was pleased beyond\nmeasure. He made the scholar swear never to mention the secret to any\none; presented him with a beautiful cloak, and then dismissed him. Then\nturning to his Vizier, he said--\n\n\"I call that a good investment, Mansor. I am impatient to become an\nanimal. Come to me to-morrow morning early. We will then go together to\nthe fields, take a little pinch of this magical snuff, and then listen\nto what is said in the air and the water, in the forest and field.\"\n\n\n\n                                  II.\n\nNo sooner had the Caliph Chasid dressed and breakfasted on the\nfollowing morning, than the Grand Vizier arrived, as he had been\ncommanded to do, to accompany him on his walk. The Caliph put the box\ncontaining the magic powder in his sash, and after bidding his\nattendants remain in the castle, started off, attended only by Mansor.\n\nThey first took their way through the extensive gardens of the Caliph,\nvainly searching for some living thing, in order to make their\nexperiment. The Vizier at last proposed that they go farther on, to a\npond, where he had frequently seen many creatures, more especially\nstorks.\n\nThe Caliph consented to the proposal of Mansor, and went with him\ntowards the pond. Arriving there, they saw a stork walking up and down,\nlooking for frogs, and occasionally striking out before him with his\nbill. At the same time far up in the sky they discerned another stork\nhovering over this spot.\n\n\"I will wager my beard, Most Worthy Master,\" said the Vizier, \"that\nthese two storks will hold a charming conversation together. What say\nyou to our becoming storks?\"\n\n\"Well thought of!\" answered the Caliph. \"But first let us carefully\nexamine again the directions for resuming our human form. All right! By\nbowing three times towards the East and saying '_Mutabor_,' I shall be\nonce more Caliph, and you Grand Vizier. But, for heavens sake!\nrecollect! _No laughing, or we are lost!_\"\n\nWhile the Caliph spoke, he noticed that the stork above their heads was\ngradually approaching the earth. Quickly drawing the box from his\ngirdle, he put a good pinch to his nose, held out the box to the\nVizier, who also took a pinch, and both then cried out: \"_Mutabor!_\"\n\nTheir legs at once shrank up and became thin and red; the beautiful\nyellow slippers of the Caliph and his companion took on the shape of\nstork's feet; their arms developed into wings; their necks were\nstretched until they measured a yard in length; their beards vanished,\nwhile white feathers covered their bodies.\n\n\"You have a beautiful bill, Mr. Grand Vizier,\" cried the Caliph, after\na long pause of astonishment. \"By the beard of the Prophet! I never saw\nany thing like it in my life.\"\n\n\n\"Thank you most humbly,\" replied the Vizier, bowing low; \"but, if I\ndare venture the assertion, Your Highness presents a much handsomer\nappearance as a stork than as Caliph. But come; if agreeable to you,\nlet us keep watch on our companions over there, and ascertain whether\nwe can really understand _Storkish_.\"\n\nIn the meantime the other stork had alighted on the ground, cleaned its\nfeet with its bill, smoothed its feathers nicely, and approached the\nfirst stork. The two newly-made storks now made haste to get near them,\nand, to their surprise, overheard the following conversation:\n\n\"Good morning, Mrs. Longlegs! So early in the meadow?\"\n\n\"Thank you kindly, dear Clapperbill; I was just procuring a little\nbreakfast for myself. How would a portion of lizard suit you, or a leg\nof a frog?\"\n\n\"Much obliged; but, I have not the least appetite to-day. I come to the\nmeadow for quite another purpose. I am to dance to-day before my\nfather's guests, and therefore wish to practice a little in private.\"\n\nSo saying, the young stork stepped over the field in a series of\nwonderful evolutions. The Caliph and Mansor looked on in wonder. But\nwhen she struck an artistic attitude on one foot, and began to fan\nherself gracefully with her wings, the two could no longer contain\nthemselves. An irrepressible fit of laughter burst forth from their\nbills, from which it took them a long time to recover. The Caliph was\nthe first to compose himself.\n\n\"That was sport!\" exclaimed he, \"that money could not buy. It's too bad\nthat the stupid creatures were frightened away by our laughter, or they\nwould certainly have tried to sing.\"\n\nJust here the Vizier remembered that laughing during the transformation\nwas forbidden them. He communicated his anxiety to the Caliph.\n\n\"Zounds! By the Cities of the Prophet, that would be a bad joke if I\nwere compelled to remain a stork! Try and think of that stupid word,\nMansor! For the life of me, I can't recall it!\"\n\n\"We must bow three times towards the East, calling: _Mu_-- _Mu_--\n_Mu_.\"\n\nThey turned towards the East, and bowed away so zealously that their\nbills nearly ploughed up the ground. But, O Horror! the magic word had\nescaped them; and no matter how often the Caliph bowed, or how\nearnestly his Vizier called out--_Mu_-- _Mu_, their memory failed them;\nand the poor Chasid and his Vizier remained storks.\n\n\n\n                                  III.\n\n\nSadly the enchanted ones wandered through the fields, without the\nslightest idea of what course they had better pursue in their present\nplight. They could neither get rid of their feathers, nor could they\nreturn to the town with any hope of recognition; for who would believe\na stork, were he to proclaim himself Caliph? or, even believing the\nstory, would the citizens of Bagdad be willing to have a stork for\ntheir Caliph? So they stole about for several days, supporting\nthemselves very poorly on fruits, which, on account of their long\nbills, they could eat only with great difficulty. For lizards and frogs\nthey had no appetite, fearing lest such tit-bits might disagree with\ntheir stomachs. The only consolation left them in their wretchedness\nwas the power of flight; and they often flew to the roofs of Bagdad,\nthat they might see what occurred there. For the first day or two,\nthey noticed great excitement in the streets, followed by sadness.\nBut about the fourth day after their enchantment, while they were\nresting on the roof of the Caliph's palace, they observed down in the\nstreet a brilliant procession. Trumpets and fifes sounded. A man in a\ngold-embroidered scarlet coat sat upon a richly caparisoned steed,\nsurrounded by a gay retinue. Half Bagdad followed him, and all shouted:\n\n\n\"Hail Mizra! Ruler of Bagdad!\"\n\nThe two storks perched on the palace roof, exchanged a glance, and\nCaliph Chasid said--\n\n\"Do you perceive now the meaning of my enchantment, Grand Vizier? This\nMizra is the son of my deadly enemy, who, in an evil hour, swore to\nrevenge himself on me. But still I will not give up all hope. Come with\nme, thou faithful companion of my misfortune, we will make a pilgrimage\nto the grave of the Prophet. Perhaps in that sacred place the spell\nwill be removed.\"\n\nThey rose from the palace roof and flew in the direction of Medina. But\nso little practice had the two storks had in flying, that it fared hard\nwith them.\n\n\"Oh, Sire!\" groaned the Grand Vizier, after a few hours' flight, \"with\nyour permission I shall have to stop. You fly much too fast! And it is\nnow evening, and we should do well to look out for a place on which to\nalight for the night.\"\n\nChasid harkened to the request of his follower, and, perceiving a ruin\nthat promised to afford a shelter, they flew down to it. The place they\nhad selected for the night bore the appearance of having once been a\ncastle. Beautiful columns rose out of the ruins, while several rooms\nstill in a fair state of preservation, testified to the former splendor\nof the building. Chasid and his companion strolled through the\npassages, seeking some dry sheltered spot, when suddenly the stork\nMansor stopped.\n\n\"Sire,\" whispered he softly, \"I wish it were not so unbecoming in a\nGrand Vizier, and even more in a stork, to fear ghosts! My courage is\nfast failing me, for near here there was a distinct sound of sighing\nand groaning!\"\n\nThe Caliph also stopped, and very plainly heard a low sobbing that\nseemed to proceed from a human being, rather than from an animal. Full\nof curiosity, he was about to approach the place whence the sounds\ncame, when the Vizier caught him by the wing with his bill, and begged\nhim most earnestly not to plunge into new and unknown dangers. All in\nvain! for the Caliph, who even under a stork's wing, carried a stout\nheart, tore himself away with the loss of a few feathers, and hastened\ninto a dark passage. He shortly came to a door, through which he\nplainly heard sighs intermingled with low groans. He pushed open the\ndoor with his bill, but remained standing on the threshold in surprise.\n\nIn the ruined room, lighted but dimly by a small lattice window, he saw\na large owl sitting on the floor. Large tears fell from its great round\neyes, while in passionate tones it poured forth its complaints from its\ncurved beak. But when the owl saw the Caliph and his Vizier, who by\nthis time had stolen up, it raised a loud cry of joy. Daintily brushing\nthe tears from its eyes with the brown spotted wings, it exclaimed in\npure human Arabic, to the wonder of the listeners:\n\n\"Welcome, storks! You are a good omen, as it was once prophecied that\nstorks would be the bearers of good fortune to me.\"\n\nAs soon as the Caliph had sufficiently recovered from his astonishment,\nhe made a bow with his long neck, brought his slender feet into a\ngraceful position, and said--\n\n\"O owl of the night! from your words I believe I see in you a companion\nin misfortune. But, alas! Your hope that we can give you relief is\ndoomed to disappointment. You will yourself appreciate our helplessness\nwhen you have heard our story.\"\n\nThe owl requested him to relate it; which the Caliph did, just as we\nhave heard it.\n\n\n\n                                  IV.\n\nWhen the Caliph had concluded his story, the owl thanked him, and said:\n\n\"Listen also to my tale, and learn that I am not less unfortunate than\nyourself. My father is king of India. I, his only and unhappy daughter,\nam named Lusa. That same Sorcerer, Kaschnur, who transformed you,\nplunged me also into misery. One day he came to my father and demanded\nme in marriage for his son Mizra. But my father, who is a quick\ntempered man, had him thrown down-stairs. The wretch found means, by\nassuming other forms, of approaching me; and one day, as I was taking\nthe air in my garden, he appeared, dressed as a slave, and handed me a\ndrink that changed me into this horrible shape. He brought me here\nsenseless from fright, and shouted in my ears with a terrible voice:\n'Here you shall remain, ugly, despised by every creature, until death;\nor till some man voluntarily offers to marry you in your present form!\nThus do I revenge myself on you and your proud father!' Since then many\nmonths have passed. Lonely and sad, I live as a hermit within these\nwalls, abhorred by the world, despised even by animals, shut out from\nall enjoyment of the beauties of nature, as I am blind by day, and only\nat night, when the moon sheds its pale light over these walls, does the\nveil fall from my eyes.\"\n\nThe owl finished her story, and once more brushed away with her wing\nthe tears which the recital of her sufferings had caused.\n\nThe Caliph was sunk in deep thought over the story of the Princess.\n\n\"Unless I am greatly in error,\" said he, \"there is a hidden connection\nbetween our misfortunes; but where shall I find the key to this\nriddle?\"\n\n\"O, Sire,\" the owl replied, \"I suspect that too, for when I was a\nlittle child it was foretold me by a soothsayer that a stork would\nsometime bring me great good fortune. And I think I know a way by which\nwe can accomplish our own rescue.\"\n\nIn great surprise the Caliph asked her in what way she meant.\n\n\"The sorcerer who has done this wrong to us both,\" she answered, \"comes\nonce a month to these ruins. Not far from here there is a room in which\nhe is accustomed to hold a banquet with many of his fellows. Many times\nhave I heard them there. On these occasions they relate to each other\ntheir shameful deeds. Perhaps then he will divulge the magic word you\nhave forgotten.\"\n\n\"O, dearest Princess,\" cried the Caliph, \"tell us, when does he come,\nand where is the banqueting hall?\"\n\nThe owl remained silent for a moment, and then said:\n\n\"Do not take it unkindly; but only on one condition can I inform you.\"\n\n\"Speak out! speak out!\" exclaimed Chasid. \"Whatever your condition it\nwill be acceptable to me.\"\n\n\"Well then, I am also desirous of being set free; but this can only\nhappen by one of you offering me his hand.\"\n\nThe storks were somewhat disconcerted at this proposal; and the Caliph\nbeckoned his follower to leave the room with him.\n\n\"Grand Vizier,\" said the Caliph, closing the door behind them, \"this is\na pretty piece of business! But you, now, might take her.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" answered he, \"and thus give my wife cause to scratch my eyes\nout, when I get home? Then, too, I am an old man; whereas you are young\nand unmarried, and therefore in a better position to offer your hand to\na beautiful young princess.\"\n\n\"That's the very point,\" sighed the Caliph, as he sadly allowed his\nwings to droop to the ground. \"It would be buying a cat in the bag; for\nwhat assurance have you that she is young and beautiful?\"\n\nThey discussed the matter for a long time, until at last the Caliph,\nconvinced that the Vizier would rather remain a stork than marry the\nPrincess, concluded to fulfill the condition she had imposed on\nhimself.\n\nThe owl was greatly rejoiced, and confessed that they could not have\ncome at a better time, as it was probable that the sorcerers would\nassemble there that very night. The owl then left the room with the\nstorks to show them to the banquet-room. For a long time they walked\nthrough a dark passage, when finally there streamed out bright rays of\nlight through a broken wall. As they came up to the wall the owl\ncautioned the storks to remain perfectly quiet. The gap in which they\nstood overlooked a large room, adorned on all sides with marble\ncolumns, and tastefully decorated; countless colored lamps made the\nplace light as day. In the centre of the room stood a round table\ncovered with various dainty dishes, and upon the divan that encircled\nit, sat eight men. In one of these men the storks recognized the trader\nwho had sold them the magic powder. The person who sat next to him\ncalled on him to relate his latest deeds. The trader then told the\nstory of the Caliph and his Vizier.\n\n\n\n                                   V.\n\n\"What kind of a word did you give them?\" asked the other sorcerer.\n\n\"A very hard Latin word--_Mutator_.\"\n\nWhen the storks from their place in the wall, heard this, they were\nalmost beside themselves with joy. They ran so fast toward the outlet\nof the ruins that the owl could hardly keep up with their long legs.\nOnce clear of the building, the Caliph said to the owl with much\nfeeling:\n\n\"Savior of my life and the life of my friend! As a lasting reward for\nwhat you have done, take me for your husband.\"\n\nThen he turned to the East. Three times the storks bowed their long\nnecks to the sun just rising above the mountains, \"_Mutabor!_\" shouted\nthey, and in a trice they were men again. Then, in the joy of their\nnewly-returned life, master and follower were laughing and weeping by\nturns in each other's arms.\n\nBut who could describe their astonishment when they turned around and\nsaw a beautiful lady, richly dressed, standing before them? With a\nsmile she gave the Caliph her hand.\n\n\"Do you no longer recognize the owl?\" she asked.\n\nIt really was the Princess. The Caliph was so enraptured by her beauty\nand grace, that he declared his transformation into a stork had been\nthe best piece of fortune that had ever happened to him.\n\nThe three now set out together on their journey to Bagdad. The Caliph\nfound in his clothes not only the box of magic powder, but his purse as\nwell. He therefore bought in the next village whatever was necessary\nfor their journey, and thus they soon reached the gates of Bagdad.\nThere the arrival of the Caliph caused the greatest surprise. He had\nlong since been given up for dead, and the joy of the people at getting\nback their beloved ruler knew no bounds. All the more was their wrath\ninflamed against the traitor Mizra. They rushed to the palace, and took\nthe old sorcerer and his son prisoners.\n\nThe Caliph sent the old man to the ruins, and had him hanged in the\nvery room that had been occupied by the Princess when an owl. But to\nthe son, who understood nothing of the art of his father, he gave the\nchoice of death or a pinch of the powder. As the prisoner chose the\nlatter, the Grand Vizier offered him the box. A generous pinch,\nfollowed by the magic word of the Caliph, and he became a stork. The\nCaliph secured him in an iron cage, which was placed in the garden.\n\nLong and happily Caliph Chasid lived with his wife, the Princess. His\npleasantest hours were always those of the afternoon, when the Grand\nVizier visited him. Then they often spoke of their adventures as\nstorks, and whenever the Caliph felt unusually merry, he began to\nimitate the Grand Vizier as he appeared when a stork. He stalked up and\ndown the room, set up a great clapping, waved his arms as though they\nwere wings, and showed how the Vizier had turned to the East and\ncalled, \"_Mu_-- _Mu_-- _Mu_--.\" All this was great sport for the\nCaliph's wife and children. But sometimes, when the Caliph clapped too\nlong and cried, \"_Mu_-- _Mu_-- _Mu_--\" too often, the Vizier was wont\nto silence him with the threat that if he did not stop he would tell\nthe Princess what their conversation had been before the door of her\nroom in the ruin.\n\n\n\nAs Selim Baruch finished his story, the merchants testified their\napproval thereof most heartily.\n\n\"Of a truth, the afternoon has passed without our knowing it,\" said one\nof them, lifting the curtain of the tent. \"The evening wind blows\nfresh; we could put behind us a good stretch of road.\"\n\nAs his companions were of the same opinion, the tents were folded, and\nthe caravan started on its way in the same order in which it had\nentered camp.\n\nThey journeyed nearly all night, as the days were hot and sultry, while\nthe night was cool and starlit. They came at last to a convenient\ncamping place, pitched their tents and lay down to rest. But the\nmerchants did not neglect to provide for the stranger as bountifully as\nif he had been their most honored guest. One gave him a cushion,\nanother blankets, a third gave him slaves; in short, he was as well\nprovided for as though he had been at home.\n\nThe heated hours of the day were already upon them when they arose from\ntheir slumbers, and they therefore unanimously decided to remain where\nthey were until evening.\n\nWhen night approached, the movement of the caravan was resumed, and its\nprogress was continued until the following noon without impediment.\nAfter they had halted and refreshed themselves, Selim Baruch said to\nMuley, the youngest of the merchants--\n\n\"Although you are the youngest of us all, you are always cheerful, and\ncould certainly give us a merry tale. Serve it up, so that we may\nrefresh ourselves after the heat of the day.\"\n\n\"I should be glad to relate something that would amuse you,\" answered\nMuley. \"Still, modesty in all things is becoming to youth; therefore,\nmy older traveling companions should take precedence. Zaleukos is\nalways so serious and silent, ought he not to tell us what it is that\nclouds his life? Perhaps we should be able to lighten his sorrow, if\nsuch he experiences; for we would willingly treat him as a brother,\neven though he is not of our religion.\"\n\nThe person thus addressed was a Greek merchant--a man in middle age,\nfine looking and of vigorous frame, but very grave. Although he was an\nunbeliever (that is, not a Musselman), he was much beloved by his\nfellow-travelers, as his whole conduct had won their esteem and\nconfidence. He had but one hand, and some of his companions supposed\nthat this loss was the cause of his grief.\n\nZaleukos replied to the confidential inquiries of Muley: \"I am much\nhonored by the interest you take in me, but have no grief--at least\nnone that you, with even the best intentions, could dispel. Still, as\nMuley seems to lay so much stress on my sadness, I will tell you\nsomething that will perhaps account for my appearing sadder than other\npeople. As you see, I have lost my left hand. It was not missing at my\nbirth, but I was deprived of it in the darkest hours of my life.\nWhether my punishment was just--whether, under the circumstances, my\nfeatures could be other than sad--you may judge for yourselves when you\nhave heard the story of the Amputated Hand.\"\n\n\n\n\n                          THE AMPUTATED HAND.\n\n\nI was born in Constantinople. My father was an interpreter at the\nSublime Porte, carrying on at the same time quite a lucrative trade in\nottar of roses and silk goods. He gave me a good education, devoting a\npart of his own time to my instruction, and also employing one of our\npriests to superintend my studies. At first he designed me to be\nthe successor of his business, but as I developed greater talents\nthan even he had expected, he changed his mind, and, by the advice\nof his friends, concluded to make a physician of me; inasmuch as a\ndoctor, whose acquirements were greater than those of the quacks on the\nmarket-place, was sure of making his way in Constantinople. Many Franks\ncame to our house, and one of them persuaded my father to allow me to\ngo to the city of Paris, in his country, where the best medical\neducation might be had gratuitously. He proposed to take me with him on\nhis return journey, and the trip should cost me nothing. My father, who\nhad traveled widely in his youth, assented to the arrangement, and the\nFrenchman told me I should have three months in which to get ready.\n\nI was beside myself with joy at the prospect of seeing foreign\ncountries, and waited for the day of our departure with great\nimpatience. At last the Frenchman finished his business, and prepared\nfor the journey. On the evening before we started, my father led me\ninto his bedchamber. There I saw fine apparel and weapons lying on the\ntable. But that which attracted my attention most was a large pile of\ngold, larger than I had ever before seen. My father embraced me,\nsaying--\n\n\"See, my son, I have provided these clothes for your journey. These\nweapons are also yours; they are the same that your grandfather buckled\non me when I went out into the world. I know that you can wield them;\nbut never use them except in self-defense, and then strike hard. My\nfortune is not large; look, I have divided it into three parts: one is\nyours, another is for my own support, but the third is a sacred trust,\nto be well guarded, and meant to serve you in the hour of need.\"\n\nThus spake my good old father, while tears stood in his eyes, perhaps\nfrom a presentiment that he would never see me again.\n\nEvery thing went well on the journey. We soon arrived in the land of\nthe Franks, and six days afterwards we entered the great city of Paris.\nMy friend rented a room for me there, and advised me as to the best\ndisposition to make of my money, which amounted in all to two thousand\nthalers.\n\nI lived for three years in this city, and learned what a qualified\nphysician should know; but I should be guilty of untruth were I to say\nthat I lived there contentedly, for the customs of this people did not\nplease me. I had but few good friends there, but these few were noble\nyoung men. In all this time I had heard nothing from my father. The\ndesire to see my home finally prevailed over all other considerations.\nI therefore seized a favorable opportunity to return. An embassy from\nthe Franks was bound to the Sublime Porte. I engaged as surgeon in the\nretinue of the ambassadors, and arrived safely once more in Stamboul.\n\nI found my father's house closed. The neighbors were astonished to see\nme, and told me that my father had been dead for two months. The priest\nwho had instructed me in my youth, brought me the key, and alone and\nbereft I entered the desolate house. I found every thing as my father\nhad left it, with the single exception of the gold that he had promised\nto leave me--that was missing. I asked the priest about it. He made a\nlow bow, and replied:\n\n\"Your father died as a holy man, leaving his gold to the church.\"\n\nThis was incomprehensible to me, yet what should I do? I had no\nwitnesses against the priest, and must console myself with the\nreflection that he had not also regarded the house and goods of my\nfather as a legacy to the church. This was the first misfortune that\nhappened to me, but from this time forth, stroke followed stroke. My\nreputation as a physician did not spread, because I could not stoop to\nadvertise myself on the market-place; and, above all, I missed my\nfather, whose recommendation would have secured me admittance to the\nwealthiest and most influential families, which now never gave a\nthought to the poor Zaleukos. Then, too, my father's goods found no\nsale, as the old customers disappeared after his death, and to gain new\nones would require time.\n\nOnce, as I was hopelessly thinking over my situation, it occurred to me\nthat I had often seen countrymen of mine wandering through the land of\nthe Franks, and displaying their wares in the squares of the cities. I\nremembered that their goods found a ready sale, because they came from\na strange country, and that the profits on such merchandise were very\nlarge. My resolution was taken at once. I sold the homestead, gave a\npart of the sale money to a trustworthy friend to keep for me, and with\nthe remainder bought such goods as were not common among the Franks;\nshawls, silk stuff's, ointments, oils, etc. I then took passage on a\nship, and so began my second journey to the land of the Franks.\n\nIt seemed as though fortune smiled on me again the moment we left the\nDardanelles behind. Our voyage was short and fortunate. I wandered\nthrough the cities and towns of the Franks, and every-where found ready\npurchasers for my wares. My friend in Stamboul kept forwarding me\nconsignments of fresh goods, and day by day my financial condition\nimproved. When I thought I had made money enough to venture on some\nlarger undertaking, I went to Italy with my goods. I have omitted\nspeaking on one thing that brought me in quite a little sum of money;\nthis was my knowledge of medicine. When I entered a town, I scattered\nnotices announcing the arrival of a Greek physician, whose skill had\nrestored many to health; and my balsams and medicines brought me in\nmany a sequin.\n\nAt last I reached the city of Florence. It was my intention to remain\nsome time in this place, partly because the city pleased me, and partly\nfor the reason that I wished to recover from the fatigue of my\nwanderings. I rented a shop in the Santa Croce quarter, and not far\nfrom it, in an inn, I found a suite of beautiful rooms that overlooked\na terrace. I then distributed notices that advertised me as a merchant\nand physician. I had no sooner opened my shop than a stream of\ncustomers poured in, and although my prices were rather high, I sold\nmore than others, because I was polite and affable with my customers.\n\nI had passed four days pleasantly in Florence, when one evening, after\nclosing my shop, as I was counting over the profits of the day, I came\nacross a note, in a little box, that I could not remember having put\nthere. I opened the note, and found that it contained a request that I\nwould come to the Ponte Vecchio that night punctually at twelve\no'clock. I studied for a long time over the matter; but, as I did not\nknow a soul in Florence, I concluded that somebody wished to lead me\nsecretly to a sick person, as had happened more than once before. I\ntherefore resolved to go; but, by way of precaution, I took along the\nsword that my father had given me.\n\nShortly before midnight I started, and soon came to the Ponte Vecchio.\nI found the bridge deserted, and determined to wait until the person\nwho had invited me there should appear. The night was cold; the moon\nshone bright, and I looked down at the waves of the Arno gleaming in\nthe moonlight. The church clocks struck twelve. I raised my head, and\nbefore me stood a tall man, covered with a red mantle, a corner of\nwhich he held before his face. I was somewhat startled at first by his\nsudden appearance, but collecting myself immediately, said to him:\n\n\"If you are the person who ordered me here, tell me what it is you\ndesire?\"\n\nThe man in the red mantle turned about and said slowly: \"Follow me!\"\n\nI felt somewhat uneasy about accompanying this stranger, and replied:\n\"Not so, dear sir, until you first tell me where I am to follow you;\nand you might also show me your face, so that I may assure myself that\nyou mean me no harm.\"\n\nThe stranger, however, assumed to be indifferent, and said, \"If you\nwon't go, Zaleukos, then don't!\"\n\nThis aroused my anger. \"Do you think,\" exclaimed I, \"that a man like me\nwill allow himself to be made sport of by every fool? and that I should\nwait here in this cold night for nothing?\"\n\nIn three leaps I reached him, seized him by the cloak, and shouted\nstill louder, at the same time laying my other hand on my sword; but\nthe stranger had already disappeared around the next corner, leaving\nthe cloak in my hand.\n\nBy and by my rage subsided; I still had the cloak, and this should\nfurnish the key to this singular adventure. I put it on and started to\ngo home. But before I had gone a hundred steps from the bridge,\nsomebody brushed by me, and whispered to me in French: \"Take care,\nCount; it can't be done to-night!\" But before I could look around, this\nperson was far away, and I saw only a shadow flitting by the houses. I\nsaw at once that these whispered words were meant for the owner of the\ncloak, and did not in any way concern me; but they shed no light on the\nmystery.\n\nThe next morning I considered what would better be done in the matter.\nMy first thought was to have the mantle cried in the streets, as though\nI had found it, but in that case the owner could have sent for it by\nsome third party, and I should be no wiser for my pains. While\nI was thinking of this, I examined the mantle closely. It was of heavy\nreddish-purple Genoese velvet, with a border of Astrachan fur, and\nrichly embroidered with gold. The splendid appearance of the cloak led\nme to think of a plan that I resolved to put in execution. I took the\ncloak to my store, and offered it for sale; but placed such a high\nprice on it that I was sure it would find no purchaser. My purpose in\nthis was to look everybody who asked about the furred cloak directly in\nthe eye. I thought that as I had had a momentary glimpse of the figure\nof the unknown man after the loss of his cloak, I would know it among a\nthousand. There were many admirers of the cloak, whose extraordinary\nbeauty attracted all eyes; but none of them resembled the stranger, and\nnot one of them would pay the exorbitant price of two hundred sequins.\nIt struck me as strange that when I asked one and another whether such\ncloaks were common in Florence, they all answered, \"no,\" and assured me\nthat they had never before seen such a rich and elegant piece of work.\n\nAs evening drew near, a young man, who had often been in my shop, and\nwho had already bid high for the cloak, came in, and threw down a purse\nof sequins, exclaiming:\n\n\"Before God, Zaleukos, I must have your cloak, even if it beggars me.\"\n\nHe at once began to count out his gold pieces. I was in quite a\ndilemma. I had only hung up the mantle in order that it might perhaps\ncatch the eye of its owner; and along came a young fool to pay the\nmonstrous price, but what could I do? I finally consented to the\nbargain, as from one point of view I should be well compensated for my\nnight's adventure. The youth put on the mantle and left, but turned on\nthe threshold and detached a paper that was fastened to the mantle,\nwhich he threw to me, saying: \"Here, Zaleukos, is something that\nevidently does not go with the cloak.\"\n\nI took the paper unconcernedly, and found the following words were\nwritten on it: \"Bring the cloak to the Ponte Vecchio to-night, at the\nappointed time, and you will receive four hundred sequins.\"\n\nI was thunderstruck. I had forfeited this chance, and, had not even\nattained my purpose. But not stopping to consider the matter, I\ngathered up the two hundred sequins, and rushed out after the man who\nhad bought the cloak. \"Take back your money my good friend,\" said I,\n\"and leave me the mantle, as it is impossible for me to part with it.\"\n\nAt first the young man looked on this as a joke; but when he saw that I\nwas really in earnest, he angrily refused to comply with my demand,\ntreated me as a fool, and thus we speedily came to blows. I was so\nfortunate as to snatch the cloak away from him in the scuffle, and was\nhastening away with it, when the young man summoned the police, and we\nwere taken to court. The judge was surprised at the accusation against\nme, and awarded the cloak to my opponent. But I offered the young man\ntwenty, fifty, eighty, yes, one hundred sequins, over and above his two\nhundred, if he would leave me in possession of the mantle. My gold\naccomplished what my entreaties could not. He took my sequins, while I\ncarried away the mantle in triumph, contenting myself with the thought\nthat even if all Florence considered me insane, I knew, better than\nthey, that I should clear something by this transaction.\n\nImpatiently I awaited the night. At the same hour as on the previous\nnight, I went to the Ponte Vecchio with the mantle on my arm. At the\nlast stroke of the clock, a form approached out of the darkness. It was\nundoubtedly the man I had met the night before.\n\n\"Have you the mantle?\" I was asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied I; \"but it cost me a hundred sequins cash.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" was the reply, \"look here, there are four hundred.\"\n\nHe walked with me up to the broad balustrade of the bridge, and counted\nout the gold pieces. They glistened brightly in the moonlight; their\ngleam rejoiced my heart. Oh, I dreamed not that it was the last joy it\nwould ever experience. I put the money in my pocket, and attempted to\nget a good look at the stranger; but he wore a mask, through which dark\neyes darted a formidable look on me.\n\n\"I thank you, sir, for your kindness,\" said I. \"What now do you require\nfrom me? But I say to you beforehand that it must not be any thing\nwrong.\"\n\n\"Your anxiety is needless,\" replied he, as he placed the mantle on his\nshoulders. \"I need your services as a doctor; still, not for a living\npatient, but for a dead one.\"\n\n\"How can that be?\" cried I, in astonishment.\n\n\"I came with my sister from a distant country,\" began the stranger,\nbeckoning me at the same time to follow him. \"I lived with her here at\nthe house of a friend. My sister had been ill, and yesterday she died\nsuddenly. Her relatives will bury her to-morrow. But in accordance with\nan old custom in our family, all of its members must be buried in the\ntomb of their ancestors. Many who died in foreign lands were embalmed\nand brought home. I will permit our relatives here to keep my sister's\nbody, but I must at least take to my father the head of his daughter,\nthat he may see her once more.\"\n\nThis custom of cutting off the heads of beloved relatives seemed\nhorrible to me; still I thought best not to offer any objections, lest\nthe stranger should feel insulted. I therefore told him that I was\nacquainted with the method of embalming the dead, and requested him to\nconduct me to the deceased. Still I could not refrain from inquiring\nwhy all this was to be conducted so secretly and at night? He answered\nthat his relatives, holding his views on this subject to be wicked,\nwould prevent him from carrying them out by day; but when the head was\nonce removed, they could say little more on the subject. Of course he\nmight have brought me the head himself but a natural feeling held him\nback from removing it.\n\nIn the meantime we had reached a large and magnificent house, which my\ncompanion pointed out to me as the end of our night's pilgrimage. We\npassed by the principal gate, entering by a smaller one, which the\nstranger closed carefully after him, and ascended a spiral staircase in\nthe darkness. It led into a dimly lighted corridor, from which he\ngained a room which was lighted by a lamp suspended from the ceiling.\n\nIn this room was a bed, on which the body lay. The stranger turned his\nhead away, apparently making an attempt to hide his tears. He pointed\nto the bed; ordered me to do my work well and quickly, and walked out\nof the door.\n\nI took out my instruments, which as a physician I always carried with\nme, and approached the bed. Only the head of the dead girl was visible,\nbut this was so beautiful that I was seized with the deepest pity. The\ndark hair hung down in long braids; the face was pale; the eyes were\nclosed.\n\nI first made a slight incision in the skin, as is the practice with\nsurgeons when they are about to remove a limb. Then I selected my\nsharpest knife, and with one stroke cut through the windpipe. But what\na tragedy! The girl opened her eyes, closing them again instantly, and\nwith a deep sigh, now, for the first time, breathed out her life, while\nat the same time a warm stream of blood gushed from the wound. I was\nsure that I had taken the life of this poor creature; for that she was\nnow dead was beyond question, as there could be no recovery from this\nwound.\n\n\nI stood some moments almost stupefied at what had taken place. Had the\nman in the red mantle betrayed me, or had his sister been lying in a\ntrance? The latter conjecture seemed the most plausible. But I dared\nnot say this to the brother of the girl; therefore I resolved to take\nthe head completely off. But one more groan came from the dying girl, a\nspasm shook her form, and all was over. Overcome with horror, I rushed\nout of the room. But the lamp in the corridor had gone out, and there\nwas no trace of my companion. In the darkness, I was compelled to feel\nmy way along the wall to reach the stairway. I finally found it, and\ndescended, slipping and stumbling. Nor was there any one below. I found\nthe door unlocked, and breathed freer when I once more stood upon the\nstreet. Urged on by terror, I ran to my rooms, and buried myself in the\ncushions of my couch.\n\nBut sleep fled from me, and the approach of morning warned me to\ncompose myself. It seemed altogether likely to me that the man who had\nbetrayed me into doing this atrocious deed would not inform on me. I\nresolved to go on as usual with my business, and if possible to assume\na cheerful manner. But a new circumstance, that I now noticed for the\nfirst time, increased my terror. My cap and girdle, as well as my\ninstruments, were missing, and I was uncertain whether I had left them\nin the chamber of the murdered girl, or had lost them in my flight.\nUnfortunately the first supposition seemed the more probable, and thus\nthe murder would be traced to me.\n\nI opened my shop at the usual time. My neighbor, who was a talkative\nman, came in to see me as usual in the morning.\n\n\"What do you say to the horrible tragedy that happened last night?\" was\nhis greeting. I acted as if I knew nothing about it. \"What, is it\npossible that you don't know what the whole city is talking about? Not\nknow that the most beautiful flower of Florence, Bianca, the Governor's\ndaughter, was murdered during the night? I saw her yesterday, looking\nso happy as she rode through the streets with her lover; and to-day was\nto have been her wedding day.\"\n\nEvery word was a stab in my heart. And how often did I suffer these\npangs, as one by one my customers repeated the story, each making it\nmore horrible than the other! And yet none of them could make it as\nterrible as it had been when presented to my own eyes.\n\nAbout noon an officer from the court stepped into my shop, and\nrequested me to send the people away.\n\n\"Signor Zaleukos,\" said he, producing the articles I had missed, \"are\nthese things yours?\"\n\nI hesitated for a moment whether I should deny all knowledge of them;\nbut as I saw through the half open door my landlord and several\nacquaintances who could have borne witness against me, I determined not\nto make the matter worse by a lie, and acknowledged the ownership of\nthe articles. The officer bade me follow him, and led me to a large\nbuilding, which I soon recognized as the prison. There he showed me to\na room, telling me that I should occupy it for the present.\n\nMy situation seemed desperate when I came to think it over in the\nsolitude of the prison. The thought that I had committed murder, even\nthough it was done accidentally, kept returning to my mind. Neither\ncould I hide from myself the fact that the glitter of the gold had\ncaptivated my senses, or I should never have rushed so blindly into\nthis affair.\n\nTwo hours after my arrest I was led out of my chamber. Passing down\nseveral steps, we entered a large hall. Twelve men, most of them of\nadvanced age, sat at a long table, covered with a black cloth. On the\nside of the hall were ranged rows of benches, filled with the\naristocracy of Florence. High up, in the galleries the spectators were\ncrowded close together. When I was brought before the black-covered\ntable, a man of dark and sad aspect arose. It was the Governor. He told\nthose assembled that he, being the father of the murdered girl, could\nnot preside over this case, and that he would vacate his seat, for the\npresent, in favor of the oldest senator. The oldest senator was a man\nof at least ninety years. He was bent with age, and his temples were\nfringed with thin white hairs; but his eyes were still brilliant, and\nhis voice was clear and strong.\n\nHe began by asking me if I confessed to the murder. I besought him to\ngive me his attention, and related fearlessly and in distinct tones\nwhat I had done. I noticed that as I proceeded, the Governor first\nturned pale and then red; and when I had finished, he sprang up in a\nrage. \"What, wretch!\" he exclaimed to me, \"it is your intention, then,\nto impute this crime, that you committed in a spirit of avarice, to\nanother?\"\n\nThe presiding senator reproved him for this outburst, and reminded him\nthat he had of his own accord renounced his right to direct the trial;\nnor did it appear, he said, that I contemplated robbery, as, by his own\nadmission, nothing was stolen from his daughter. The senator declared\nto the Governor that he must give an account of his daughter's past\nlife, as this was the only means of judging whether I had spoken the\ntruth or not. At the same time he would close the court for that day,\nin order, as he said, to get some further information from the papers\nof the deceased, which the Governor should turn over to him. I was led\nback to my prison, where I passed a miserable day, occupied with the\neager wish that some connection might be established between the man in\nthe red mantle and the deceased.\n\nFull of expectation, I entered the hall of justice on the following\nday. There were several letters on the table. The aged senator asked me\nwhether they were in my hand-writing. I looked at them, and found that\nthey must have been written by the same hand that wrote me the two\nnotes I had received. I expressed this belief to the senators, but they\npaid no attention to my opinion, and answered that I both could and did\nwrite those notes myself, as the signature at the end of the letters\nwas certainly a Z, the initial letter of my name. And then the letters\ncontained threats against the deceased, and warnings against the\nwedding which was about to take place.\n\nThe Governor seemed to have made some strange disclosures about me, as\nI was on this day treated more sternly and suspiciously. To justify\nmyself, I called for all the papers that were to be found in my room.\nBut I was told that search had already been made there, and nothing\nfound. When the court broke up, my hope had entirely vanished; and when\nI was led back to the hall on the third day, the verdict was\ncommunicated to me. I had been convicted of willful murder, and\nsentenced to death. To this, then, I had come at last! Deprived of\nevery thing that was still dear to me on earth, far from my home, I\nshould die innocent of crime, and, in the bloom of my youth, under an\nax!\n\nI was sitting in my lonely prison on the evening of the day that had\ndecided my fate, with my hopes all dissipated, and my thoughts\nearnestly turned on death, when my prison door opened, and a man\nentered, who regarded me long and silently. \"And thus I find you once\nmore, Zaleukos?\" said he. I had not recognized him by the dull gleam of\nmy lamp, but the tone of his voice awoke old memories in me. It was\nValetty, one of the few friends I had made during my studies in Paris.\nHe said that happening to come to Florence, where his father, who was a\nman of prominence, lived, he heard of my story; he had come to see me,\nto learn from my own lips how I had come to commit so terrible a crime.\nI told him the whole story. He seemed very much astonished, and\nimplored me to tell him, my only friend, the whole truth, and not die\nwith a lie on my lips, I swore to him by every thing that was sacred\nthat I had spoken the truth, and that the only burden on my conscience\nwas that, dazed by the glitter of the gold, I had not perceived the\nimprobabilities in the stranger's story. \"Then you did not know\nBianca?\" asked he. I assured him that I had never seen her before.\nValetty then told me that a deep secret hung over the deed, that the\nGovernor had passed sentence on me very hastily, and there was a rumor\namong the people that I had known Bianca for a long time, and had\nmurdered her out of revenge for her approaching marriage with another.\nI remarked to him that all this might apply to the man in the red\nmantle, but that I was unable to prove his participation in the deed.\nValetty embraced me, weeping, and promised to make every effort to save\nmy life. I had but little hope, yet I knew that Valetty was a wise man\nand experienced in the laws, and that he would do his best to save me.\n\nFor two long days I remained in uncertainty. At last Valetty appeared.\n\"I bring you consolation, even though it be painful,\" said he. \"You\nwill live and be set at liberty; but with the loss of a hand.\"\n\nJoyfully I thanked my friend for my life. He told me that the Governor\nwas inexorably opposed to opening the case again, but that finally, in\norder not to appear unjust, he agreed that if a similar case could be\nfound in any books of Florentine history, then my punishment should be\nregulated by the punishment there recorded. Valetty and his father had\nthereupon looked through the old books by day and night, and finally\nfound a case the exact counterpart of mine. The punishment there\nawarded was stated thus: \"His left hand shall be amputated, his goods\nconfiscated, and he himself banished forever.\" This was now to be my\npunishment; and I had to prepare myself for the painful ordeal that\nawaited me. But I will not dwell on that terrible hour when I stood on\nthe public square, laid my hand on the block, and felt my own blood\nstream over me.\n\nValetty took me to his own house until I had recovered; then he\ngenerously provided me with money for my journey; as all that I had\nacquired in my years of labor was forfeited to the State. I traveled\nfrom Florence to Sicily, and there embarked on the first ship for\nConstantinople. My hopes were turned upon the money I had given into\nthe keeping of my friend; I also asked permission to live with him, but\nhe astounded me with the question, why I did not occupy my own house?\nHe informed me that a strange man had bought a house in my name in the\nGreek quarter, and had told the neighbors that I would soon be there to\ntake possession of it. I immediately went there with my friend, and was\nwarmly welcomed by all my old acquaintances. An old merchant gave me a\nletter, left by the man who had bought the house for me.\n\nThe letter was as follows: \"Zaleukos, two hands will be always ready to\nprovide so tirelessly for you that you will not feel the loss of one.\nThe house that you see, and all it contains, is yours; and every year\nyou will be given enough to place you in the ranks of your\nwealthiest countrymen. May you forgive him who is more unfortunate than\nyourself.\"\n\nI suspected who had written this; and the merchant replied to my\nquestion that he had taken the man to be a Frank, and that he wore a\nred mantle. I knew enough to own to myself that the stranger was not\nentirely destitute of noble sentiments. I found my new house fitted up\nin the very best manner, and there was also a shop stocked with wares\nfiner than I had ever owned before.\n\nTen years have passed since then; yet, more from habit than necessity,\nI continue to make these commercial journeys. I have never since\nvisited that country where I met with my misfortune. Every year I\nreceive a thousand gold pieces. But though it rejoices me to know that\nthe unfortunate stranger has some noble traits of character, it is\nimpossible for him to cure the sorrow of my soul, which is perpetually\nhaunted by the terrible vision of the murdered Bianca.\n\n\n\nWhile the Greek merchant had told his story, the others had listened to\nhim with the deepest interest. Selim Baruch, particularly, had shown\nmuch emotion, having sighed deeply several times, while Muley was sure\nthat at one time he had seen tears in his eyes. The merchants commented\nfor some time on the story.\n\n\"And do you not hate the stranger who so basely endangered your life\nand caused the loss of so important a member of your body?\" asked Selim\nBaruch.\n\n\"There was a time at first,\" answered the Greek, \"when my heart accused\nhim before God that he had brought this sorrow on me and poisoned my\nlife. But I found consolation in the religion of my fathers, which\ncommands me to love my enemies. And then he must be more unhappy than\nI.\"\n\n\"You are a noble man!\" exclaimed Selim Baruch, as he pressed the Greek's\nhand warmly.\n\nThe leader of the guard here interrupted the conversation. He entered\nthe tent with an anxious air, and reported that it would not do for\nthem to retire to their couches, as this was the place where the\ncaravans were usually attacked; and, besides, his sentinels believed\nthey saw several horsemen in the distance.\n\nThe merchants were greatly disturbed at this news; but Selim Baruch,\nthe stranger, expressed surprise at their consternation, and thought\nthat they were so strongly guarded that they need not fear a troop of\nArab robbers.\n\n\"True, Master!\" answered the leader of the escort; \"if it were only\nsuch fellows, one could lie down to sleep without anxiety. But for\nsometime past the terrible Orbasan has appeared occasionally; and\ntherefore it behooves one to be on his guard.\"\n\nSelim desired to know who this Orbasan might be, and one of the\nmerchants answered him: \"There are all sorts of reports current among\nthe people about this wonderful man. Some believe him to be a\nsupernatural being, because he has often overcome five or six men in a\nfight. Others hold that he is a brave Frank, whom misfortune has driven\ninto these parts. But from all accounts this much is certain: that he\nis an infamous robber and thief!\"\n\n\"But still you will hardly be able to maintain that,\" retorted Lezah,\nanother of the merchants. \"Even though a robber, he is a magnanimous\nman, and has shown himself such to my brother, as I could relate to\nyou. He has made orderly men of his whole band, and while he roams over\nthe desert, no other band dare show itself. Neither is he a common\nrobber, but simply levies a tax on the caravans, and whoever pays this\nwillingly may travel on without further molestation, for Orbasan is the\nRuler of the Desert.\"\n\nThus the merchants discoursed in the tent; but the guard, who was\nstationed around the camp, began to be uneasy. A considerable troop of\narmed horsemen was seen at a distance of half an hour's ride, and\nseemed to be making directly for the camp. One of the guard therefore\nwent into the tent to announce that they would probably be attacked.\nThe merchants conferred with one another as to what was to be done:\nwhether they had better ride out and meet the attack, or await it in\ncamp. The two eldest merchants were in favor of the latter course; but\nthe fiery Muley and Zaleukos chose the first, and called on Selim to\nfollow their example. But Selim quietly drew a small blue cloth,\ncovered with red stars, from his girdle, tied it to a spear, and\nordered one of the slaves to fasten it to the top of the tent, saying\nhe would pledge his life that when the horsemen saw this signal they\nwould draw off quietly. Muley placed no faith in the result, but the\nslave fixed the lance on top of the tent. In the meantime all those in\ncamp had seized their weapons, and looked for the horsemen in intense\nexpectancy. But they had apparently caught sight of the signal on the\ntent, as they suddenly changed their course, and moved off from the\ncamp in an opposite direction.\n\nThe merchants gazed in wonder, now at the vanishing horsemen, and then\non Selim. But he stood before the tent, looking out unconcernedly over\nthe plain, as if nothing unusual had happened. At length Muley broke\nthe silence.\n\n\"Who are you, O mighty stranger?\" cried he. \"You that tame the wild\nhordes of the desert by a signal.\"\n\n\"You rate my power much higher than it is,\" answered Selim Baruch. \"I\nprovided myself with this token when I fled from captivity. What it\nsignifies, I do not know myself; only this much I do know: that whoever\ntravels with this sign stands under powerful protection.\"\n\nThe merchants thanked Selim and called him their deliverer; and really\nthe number of the horsemen was so great that the caravan could not have\nresisted them very long.\n\nWith lighter hearts the merchants laid down to rest; and when the sun\nbegan to set, and the evening breeze blew over the plains of sand, they\nbroke camp, and resumed their journey.\n\nThe next day they camped within a day's march of the end of the desert.\nWhen the travelers had gathered once more in the large tent, Lezah the\nmerchant began to speak:\n\n\"I told you yesterday that the dreaded Orbasan was a magnanimous man;\npermit me to prove it to you to-day, by the recital of my brother's\nfate. My father was Cadi at Acara. He had three children, of whom I was\nthe eldest. My brother and sister were considerably younger. When I was\ntwenty years old, my father's brother sent for me. He made me heir to\nhis property, with the condition that I should remain with him while he\nlived. But he reached a good old age, so that I could not return home\nuntil two years ago, having learned nothing in the meantime of the dark\ncloud that had overshadowed our family, and how graciously Allah had\ndispersed it.\"\n\n\n\n\n                         THE RESCUE OF FATIMA.\n\n\nMy brother Mustapha and my sister Fatima were of nearly the same age.\nHe was at the most, but two years older. They were devotedly attached\nto one another, and together strove, by every means in their power, to\nlighten the burden of our sick father's years.\n\nOn Fatima's sixteenth birthday, my brother arranged a celebration in\nher honor. He invited all her companions; served them with choice\nviands in the garden; and towards evening invited them to a ride on the\nsea, in a barge which he had hired, and decorated especially for the\noccasion. Fatima and her companions joyfully accepted the invitation,\nas the evening was fine, and the city viewed from the sea, especially\nby night, presented a magnificent appearance.\n\nSo highly did the young girls enjoy their ride, that they kept urging\nmy brother to take them still further out to sea. Mustapha consented\nvery unwillingly, as some days before a corsair had been seen standing\noff the coast. Not far from the city a point of land extended out into\nthe sea. The young girls now expressed a desire to go there, that they\nmight see the sun set in the sea. As they rounded the cape, they saw,\nat a little distance, a barge filled with armed men. With many\nmisgivings, my brother ordered the oarsmen to turn the boat around and\npull for shore. And in truth his fears did not seem to be groundless,\nfor the other barge gave chase to them, and, having more rowers, soon\novertook them--keeping in a line between my brother's barge and the\nshore. When the young girls perceived their danger, they jumped up with\ncries and lamentations. It was in vain that Mustapha tried to quiet\nthem; in vain did he urge them to be quiet, as, by their running about,\nthe boat was in danger of upsetting. His entreaties were not listened\nto; and when finally the other boat came near, they all rushed to the\nfurther side of Mustapha's boat and capsized it.\n\nBut in the meantime the movements of the strange boat had been watched\nfrom land, and as for some time past fears had been entertained of\ncorsairs, several barges pushed out from shore to render assistance to\nmy brother. They arrived just in time to pick up the drowning ones. In\nthe excitement, the hostile boat escaped; and in the two barges on\nwhich the rescued had been placed, there was some uncertainty as to\nwhether all had been saved. These two boats were brought side by side,\nand alas! it was found that my sister and one of her companions were\nmissing. At the same moment a man whom no one knew was discovered on\none of the barges. Mustapha's threats extorted from him the admission\nthat he belonged to the hostile ship that lay at anchor two miles to\nthe eastward, and that his companions, in their hasty flight, had left\nhim while he was in the very act of assisting the young girls out of\nthe water. He further said that he had seen two of them drawn into the\nboat to which he belonged.\n\nThe anguish of my aged father was intense. Mustapha, too, was nearly\nwild with grief--not alone because his beloved sister was lost, and he\nmust blame himself as the author of her misfortune, but the companion\nof Fatima's sad fate was his betrothed, though he had never dared to\nmention that circumstance to our father, as the young lady's parents\nwere poor and low-born.\n\nBut my father was a stern man. As soon as he was able to control his\ngrief, he sent for Mustapha, and said to him: \"Your folly has robbed me\nof the comfort of my old age, and the light of my eyes. Go! I banish\nyou forever from my sight; I curse you and all your descendants; and\nonly when you bring Fatima back to me, shall your father's curse be\nlifted.\"\n\nMy brother had not expected this. He had already formed the resolution\nof going in search of his sister and her friend, and had come to his\nfather intending to ask his blessing on the undertaking; and now he was\nsent out into the world with the weight of his father's curse on his\nhead. But if before sorrow had bent him to the ground, this blow, so\nundeservedly given, steeled his soul.\n\nHe went to the imprisoned pirate, to ask him where his ship was bound,\nand learned that she was employed in the slave trade, and usually made\nBalsora her market.\n\nWhen he returned home to prepare for his journey, his father's wrath\nseemed to have cooled somewhat, as he sent him a purse of gold for his\nsupport on the journey. Mustapha then took leave of the parents of\nZoraide--his secretly betrothed bride, and started on his way to\nBalsora.\n\nAs there was no ship from our small town bound directly for Balsora, my\nbrother made the journey by land; and in order that he might not arrive\ntoo long after the pirates had reached there, he was forced to make\nvery long day's journeys. Still, as he had a fine horse, and no\nluggage, he counted on reaching Balsora at the close of the sixth day.\nBut on the evening of the fourth day, as he was riding along quite\nalone, he was suddenly attacked by three robbers. Observing that they\nwere powerful men and well armed, and believing that their purpose was\nto take his money and horse, rather than his life, he called out that\nhe would surrender. Thereupon they dismounted from their horses, and\nbound his feet together under his horse's belly. One of the men then\nseized the bridle of Mustapha's steed, and, with my brother in their\nmidst, they galloped off in great haste without having once spoken a\nword. Mustapha resigned himself to a gloomy despondency. His father's\ncurse seemed in process of fulfillment; and how could he hope to rescue\nhis sister and Zoraide, when, stripped of all he possessed, he could\nemploy only a miserable life towards securing their freedom?\n\nMustapha and his silent escort had ridden on for about an hour, when\nthey turned into a side valley, which was shut in by high trees. A\nsoft, dark-green sod, and a brook rushing swiftly through the middle of\nthe valley, invited them to rest. Scattered over the green were from\nfifteen to twenty tents. Camels and fine horses were tied to the tent\nstakes, while from one of the tents sounded the pleasing melody of a\nguitar, accompanied by two fine male voices.\n\nTo my brother it seemed that people who had displayed such good taste\nin the selection of their camping ground could entertain no sinister\ndesigns on him, and he, therefore, cheerfully obeyed the command of\nhis guides to dismount as soon as they had unloosed his bonds. He was\nled into a tent much larger than the others, the interior of which was\nfitted up neatly, even elegantly. Gold embroidered cushions, woven\ncarpets and gold plated censors would have indicated elsewhere the wealth\nand respectability of their owner; but here they were plainly the fruits\nof robbery. On one of the cushions sat a little old man of repulsive\nappearance. His skin was tanned and shiny, and a disagreeable\nexpression of Turkish slyness lurked about his eyes and mouth. Although\nthis man attempted to appear dignified, it did not take Mustapha long\nto decide that this tent had not been furnished so richly for him,\nwhile the conversation of his guards seemed to confirm his observation.\n\n\"Where is the Strong One?\" they inquired of the little old man.\n\n\"On the chase,\" answered he. \"But he bade me fill his place while he\nwas gone.\"\n\n\"He didn't display much sense, then,\" replied one of the robbers, \"as\nit ought to be decided at once whether this dog shall die or be held\nfor ransom, and the Strong One could decide that much better than you.\"\n\nThe old man arose with an assumption of dignity, and reached out as if\nto grasp his opponent's ear, or to revenge himself by a blow; but when\nhe saw that his effort was fruitless, he began to curse and swear. Nor\ndid the others remain long in his debt, but replied in kind, until the\ntent resounded with their quarrel.\n\nAll at once the door of the tent was opened, and a tall, stately man,\nyoung and handsome as a Persian prince, entered. His clothes and\nweapons were plain and simple, with the exception of a richly jeweled\ndagger and a gleaming sword; but his steady eye and whole appearance\ncommanded attention, without inspiring distrust.\n\n\"Who is it that dares to make such a disturbance in my tent?\" demanded\nhe of the frightened participants.\n\nFor a little time there was deep silence; until finally,\none of the men who had brought Mustapha in told him how the quarrel had\noriginated. The face of the Strong One, as they called him, flushed\nwith anger at this recital.\n\n\"When did I ever put you in my place, Hassan?\" cried he, in a fearful\nvoice, to the little old man, who, shrinking with fear, stole towards\nthe door, looking smaller than ever. The Strong One lifted his foot,\nand Hassan went flying through the doorway with some remarkable leaps.\n\nWhen Hassan had disappeared, the three men led Mustapha up to the\nmaster of the tent, who was now reclining on the cushions, saying: \"We\nhave brought you the man whom you ordered us to capture.\" The Strong\nOne looked for some time at the prisoner, and then said: \"Pasha of\nSulieika, your own conscience will tell you why your are the prisoner\nof Orbasan.\"\n\nWhen my brother heard this, he threw himself down before Orbasan, and\nanswered \"Oh, Master, you have made a mistake. I am only a poor\nunfortunate man, and not the Pasha whom you seek.\"\n\nAll in the tent were surprised at these words. But the master of the\ntent replied--\n\n\"It will not help you much to deny your identity, as I will produce\npeople who know you well.\" He then commanded Zuleima to be brought. An\nold woman was led in, who, in response to the question whether she did\nnot recognize in my brother the Pasha of Sulieika, said--\n\n\"Certainly! I swear by the graves of the prophets that he is the Pasha\nand no other.\"\n\n\"Do you see, poor fool, how your stratagem is frustrated?\" sneered\nOrbasan. \"You are so miserable a creature that I will not soil my\ndagger with your blood; but when to-morrow's sun rises, I will tie you\nto my horse's tail and chase through the forests with you until the sun\nsets behind the hills of Sulieika.\"\n\nAt this announcement my brother's courage entirely deserted him. \"This\nis the result of my cruel father's curse that is driving me to an\nignominious death!\" exclaimed he, in tears. \"And thou, too, sweet\nsister, and thou, Zoraide, art lost!\"\n\n\"Your dissimulation will avail you nothing,\" said one of the robbers,\nwho was engaged in tying Mustapha's hands behind his back. \"Get out of\nthe tent quickly, for the Strong One is biting his lips and glancing at\nhis dagger. If you would live another night, come quickly!\"\n\nAs the robbers were leading my brother out of the tent, they\nencountered three others, who were pushing in a prisoner before them.\n\"We have brought you the Pasha as you commanded us,\" said they, and led\nthe prisoner up to the cushions where Orbasan reclined. While the\nprisoner was being led forward, my brother had an opportunity to\nobserve him closely, and he was forced to acknowledge the striking\nresemblance which this man bore to him, only the stranger's complexion\nwas darker and he wore a black beard.\n\nOrbasan seemed much astonished over the appearance of the second\nprisoner. \"Which of you, then, is the right one?\" asked he, looking\nfrom one to the other.\n\n\"If you mean the Pasha of Sulieika,\" answered the prisoner, in a proud\ntone, \"I am he.\"\n\nOrbasan gazed at him some time with a stern, hard expression, and then\nsilently beckoned the men to lead him away. When they had done so,\nOrbasan went up to my brother, cut his bonds with his dagger, and\nmotioned to him to sit down with him on the cushions. \"I am sorry,\nyoung stranger,\" said he, \"that I mistook you for that monster. It was,\nindeed, a singular dispensation of fate which led you into the hands of\nmy comrades at the same hour that was destined to see the fall of that\ntraitor.\" My brother begged of him but one favor: that he might be\nallowed to continue on his journey at once, as the least delay would\nprove fatal to his purpose. Orbasan inquired what the nature of the\naffair was that required such haste, and when Mustapha had told him\nevery thing, Orbasan persuaded him to remain in his tent over night, as\nhe and his horse were in need of rest, and promised that in the morning\nhe would show him a way by which he could reach Balsora in a day and a\nhalf.\n\nMy brother remained, was hospitably entertained, and slept soundly\nuntil morning in the tent of the robber chief. When he awakened he\nfound himself all alone, but before the curtain of the tent he heard\nseveral voices, one of which belonged to Orbasan and another to Hassan.\nHe listened, and heard, to his horror, that the little old man was\nurging upon Orbasan the necessity of killing him, lest he should betray\nthem when he had regained his liberty. Mustapha felt sure that Hassan\nhated him, because he had been the cause of the little fellow's being\nhandled so roughly the night before. Orbasan remained silent for some\nmoments, and then replied: \"No, he is my guest, and the laws of\nhospitality are sacred with me; neither does he look like an informer.\"\n\nThus saying, Orbasan flung aside the curtain and entered. \"Peace be\nwith you, Mustapha,\" said he. \"Let us take our morning draught, and\nthen prepare yourself to start.\" He handed my brother a glass of\nsherbet, and when they had drunk, they saddled their horses, and with a\nlighter heart than he had entered the camp, Mustapha swung himself into\nhis seat.\n\nThey had soon left the tents far behind, and followed a broad path that\nled into the forest. Orbasan told my brother that the Pasha who had\nbeen captured had promised that he would permit them to remain\nundisturbed in his territory; yet but a few weeks after he took one of\ntheir bravest men prisoner, and hanged him with the most horrible\ntorture. Orbasan had had spies on his track for a long time, and now he\nmust die. Mustapha did not venture to oppose his purpose, as he was\nthankful to get away with a whole skin himself.\n\nAt the end of the forest Orbasan stopped his horse, described the way\nto my brother, offered him his hand at parting, and said: \"Mustapha,\nyou became the guest of the robber Orbasan under singular\ncircumstances. I will not require you to promise that you will not\nbetray what you have seen and heard. You were unjustly forced to suffer\nthe fear of death, and I am, therefore, in your debt. Take this dagger\nas a keepsake, and if you are ever in need of help, send it to me, and\nI will hasten to your assistance. This purse you may be able to use on\nyour journey.\"\n\nMy brother thanked him for his generosity, and took the dagger, but\nrefused the purse. Orbasan pressed his hand once more, letting the\npurse fall to the ground, and sprang with the speed of the wind into\nthe forest. When Mustapha saw that Orbasan did not intend to return for\nthe purse, he dismounted and picked it up, starting at the generosity\nof his host, as he found it contained a large sum of gold. He thanked\nAllah for his rescue, recommended the generous robber to His mercy, and\ncontinued on his way to Balsora with a lighter heart.\n\nLezah, the story-teller, paused, and looked inquiringly at the merchant\nwho had spoken so bitterly of Orbasan. The latter said--\n\n\"Well, if all that be so, I will cheerfully reverse my judgment of\nOrbasan, for he really treated your brother handsomely.\"\n\n\"He behaved like a true Musselman,\" exclaimed Muley. \"But I hope your\nstory was not ended there, for we are all curious to hear more; how\nthings went with your brother, and whether he rescued your sister\nFatima and the beautiful Zoraide.\"\n\n\"If I do not weary you, I will willingly continue,\" replied Lezah; \"for\nthis story of my brother is certainly adventurous and wonderful.\"\n\nWith this, he continued his story.\n\n\n\nAt noon on the seventh day of his departure from home, Mustapha entered\nthe gate of Balsora. As soon as he had reached a caravansary, he made\ninquiries as to when the slave auction, held there every year, opened.\nHe received in reply the dreadful news that he had arrived two days too\nlate. They deplored his delay, and told him that he had missed a fine\nsight, for on the last day of the auction two female slaves had been\nput up, of such extraordinary beauty as to attract the attention of all\nbidders. There was sharp competition for their possession, and the\nbidding ran up so high as to frighten off everybody but their present\nowner. Mustapha made more particular inquiries, until he had satisfied\nhimself beyond a doubt that these slaves were the unfortunate objects\nof his search. He learned further that the name of the man who had\nbought them was Thiuli-Kos; that he lived a good forty-hours' journey\nfrom Balsora, and was a rich and elderly man of rank, who had formerly\nbeen senior Pasha of the Shah, but had now retired from official life\nto live upon his means.\n\nAt first thought, Mustapha was about to mount his horse and hasten\nafter Thiuli-Kos, who had only a day the start of him; but, after\nreflecting that, alone and unattended, he could hardly approach so\npowerful and rich a man, and still less hope to rob him of his\npossessions, he tried to devise some other plan, and soon hit upon one\nthat appeared feasible. The singular mistake of confounding him with\nthe Pasha of Sulieika, which had been so nearly fatal to him, suggested\nthe idea of visiting the house of Thiuli-Kos, under this name, and then\nattempting the rescue of the unfortunate maidens. Accordingly he hired\nhorses and servants--for which purpose Orbasan's money proved very\nuseful--provided fine clothes for himself and servants, and set out for\nThiuli's castle.\n\nIn five days he reached the vicinity of the castle, which was situated\nin a beautiful plain, enclosed within high walls, above which but\nlittle could be seen of the buildings. Arriving there, Mustapha dyed\nhis hair and beard black, and painted his face with the juice of a\nplant, that gave him quite as brown a complexion as the real Pasha had\npossessed. Thereupon he sent one of his servants to the castle to\nrequest a night's lodging, in the name of the Pasha of Sulieika. The\nservant soon returned, and with him came four finely costumed slaves,\nwho took hold of the bridle of Mustapha's horse, and led him into the\ncourt of the castle. There they assisted him to dismount, when four\nothers conducted him up the broad marble steps to the presence of\nThiuli. The latter proved to be a jovial old fellow, and he received my\nbrother with due honor, and set before him the best that his cook could\nprepare.\n\nAfter the table was cleared, Mustapha turned the conversation to the\nnew slaves, and Thiuli boasted of their beauty, while complaining of\ntheir sadness; this, however, he believed would soon disappear. My\nbrother was well pleased with his reception, and betook himself to\nrest, feeling very hopeful. He had slept perhaps an hour, when he was\nawakened by the gleam of a lamp that dazzled his eyes. As he raised\nhimself in bed, he believed that he must still be dreaming, for before\nhim stood that little dark-skinned man whom he had seen in Orbasan's\ntent. He held a lamp in his hand, and his broad mouth was distorted by\na horrible grimace. Mustapha pinched his own arm and pulled his nose,\nin order to convince himself that he was awake; but the apparition\nremained as before.\n\n\"What will you at my bed-side?\" cried Mustapha, as soon as he had\nrecovered from his astonishment.\n\n\"Don't trouble yourself, Master,\" replied Hassan, \"I have found out\nyour purpose in coming here; nor was your worthy face forgotten by me.\nBut really, if I had not helped to hang the Pasha with my own hands, I\nmight perhaps have been deceived. Now I have come to put a question.\"\n\n\"First of all, tell me how you came here,\" returned Mustapha, furious\nat being betrayed.\n\n\"I will tell you,\" replied Hassan, \"I could not get along with Orbasan\nany longer; therefore I ran away. But you, Mustapha, was the cause of\nour quarrel, and therefore you must give me your sister to wed, and I\nwill assist you in your flight. If you do not agree to this, I will go\nto my new master and tell him something about the new Pasha.\"\n\nMustapha was beside himself with rage and terror. Now, just as he\nbelieved himself about to attain his object, why must this wretch come\nand thwart his designs? There was only one way left in which he could\ncarry out his plan: he must kill the ugly monster. With one spring he\nleaped from the bed and tried to seize the ugly wretch; but he,\ndoubtless having expected such an attack, let the lamp fall and escaped\nin the darkness, shrieking murderously for help.\n\nHe was now compelled to give up the young girls, and turn his attention\nto his own safety. He went to the window to see whether he could jump\nout, and found it was quite a distance to the ground, while opposite\nstood a high wall. Suddenly he heard voices approaching his room. As\nthey reached his door, he grasped his clothes and dagger in\ndesperation, and swung himself out of the window. The fall was a hard\none, but he felt that no bones were broken, and sprang up to run to the\nwall, which he climbed, to the astonishment of the pursuers, and was\nsoon at liberty. He ran until he reached a small wood, where he flung\nhimself down exhausted. Here he considered what was to be done.\n\nHis servants and horses he had been forced to leave, but the money\nwhich he carried in his girdle was safe, and his ingenuity shortly\ndiscovered another mode of rescue. He went on through the forest until\nhe came to a village, where for a little money he bought a horse that\nquickly carried him to a city. Once there he inquired for a physician,\nand an old and experienced man was recommended to him. By the aid of\nsome gold pieces, he induced this physician to furnish him with a\nmedicine that would produce a death-like sleep, that might, however, be\ninstantly dispelled by some other remedy. When he had procured these\nmedicines, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all manner of\nlittle boxes and alembics, so that he properly represented a traveling\nphysician--loaded his traps on an ass and journeyed back to the castle\nof Thiuli-Kos. He was certain this time of not being known, as the\nbeard made such a complete change in his appearance that he felt\ndoubtful of his own identity.\n\nOn arriving at Thiuli's, he announced himself as the physician\nChakamankabudibaba. The result was as he had foreseen: the\nhigh-sounding name recommended him so highly to the weak old Pasha that\nhe was at once invited to dinner. After an hour's conversation, the old\nman resolved to submit all his female slaves to the treatment of the\nwise physician. Mustapha could now hardly conceal his joy at the\nprospect of seeing his beloved sister again, and followed Thiuli with a\nbeating heart, as he led the way to the seraglio. They came to a room\nbeautifully decorated but unoccupied.\n\n\"Chambaba, or whatever you call yourself, dear doctor,\" said\nThiuli-Kos, \"look for a moment at yonder hole in the wall; each one of\nmy slaves will put her arm through it in succession, and you can\nascertain by the pulse who the sick are and who the well.\"\n\n\nMustapha's objections to this arrangement were of no avail; he was not\npermitted to see the slaves; still Thiuli consented to inform him of\neach one's general state of health. Thiuli then drew out a long sheet\nof paper from his sash, and began to call the roll of his female slaves\nin a loud voice; and at each name a hand was thrust through the wall,\nand the physician felt the pulse. Six were called off, and pronounced\nin good health, when Thiuli called out the name \"Fatima,\" as the\nseventh, and a small white hand slipped through the wall. Trembling\nwith joy, Mustapha seized this hand and declared with an important air,\nthat Fatima was seriously sick. Thiuli became very anxious, and ordered\nhis wise Chakamankabudibaba to prepare at once some medicine for her.\nThe physician went out of the room, and wrote on a small piece of\npaper:\n\n\"Fatima! I will save you, if you have the strength of will to take a\nmedicine that will deprive you of life for two days; still I possess a\nremedy that will restore you to life again. If you are willing to do\nthis, speak these words: 'The medicine did not help me any,' and I\nshall take it as a sign of your assent.\"\n\nMustapha returned to the room where Thiuli was awaiting him. He brought\nwith him a harmless drink, felt of Fatima's pulse once more, at the\nsame time tucking the note under her bracelet, and passed the drink\nthrough the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be very anxious about\nFatima, and put off the examination of the rest until a more favorable\nopportunity. As he left the room with Mustapha, he said, in a sad tone:\n\"Chidababa, tell me the exact truth; what is your opinion of Fatima's\nsickness?\" Chakamankabudibaba replied with a deep sigh: \"Oh Master! may\nthe good Prophet send you consolation; she has a stealthy fever that\nmay end her life.\" At this reply Thiuli's anger flamed up. \"What's that\nyou say, you cursed dog of a doctor! Do you mean to say that she, for\nwhom I paid two thousand pieces of gold, will die on my hands like a\ncow? Know, then, that if you do not save her, I will take your head\noff!\"\n\nMy brother at once saw that he had made a stupid mistake, so he\nhastened to assure Thiuli there was still hope for Fatima. While they\nwere speaking together, a black slave came from the seraglio to say to\nthe physician that _the drink did not help her any_. \"Put forth all\nyour art, Chakamdababelda, or whatever you call yourself, and I will\npay you whatever you ask,\" exclaimed Thiuli-Kos, wild with anxiety at\nthe prospect of losing so much money. \"I will give her a little\ndecoction that will save her from danger,\" answered the physician.\n\"Yes! by all means, give her the medicine,\" cried old Thiuli.\n\nMustapha, in high spirits, went to fetch the sleeping potion, and after\nhanding it to the slave, with instructions as to the quantity to be\ntaken, he returned to Thiuli, and told him that now he must go down to\nthe sea and gather some healing herbs. He then hurried away to the sea,\nthat was not far off, where he took off his various disguises and flung\nthem into the water, where the waves tossed them about. He then\nconcealed himself in the bushes until evening, when he stole quietly up\nto the burial vault of Thiuli's castle.\n\nHardly an hour after Mustapha had departed from the castle, word was\nbrought Thiuli that his slave Fatima was dying. He at once sent down to\nthe shore to have the physician brought back, but his messengers soon\nreturned with the information that the poor doctor had fallen into the\nwater and been drowned; his black cloak was floating on the waves, and\noccasionally his magnificent black beard might be seen bobbing up and\ndown in the water.\n\nWhen Thiuli saw there was no hope of her recovery, he cursed himself\nand the whole world, tore out his beard, and butted his head against\nthe wall. But all this availed nothing, for Fatima, under the care of\nthe other women, soon ceased to breathe. When Thiuli heard of her\ndeath, he ordered a coffin to be hastily made, as he could not suffer a\ndead person to remain in the house, and had the body carried to the\ntomb. The bearers carried the coffin there, dropped it hastily, and\nfled, as they heard groans and sighs proceeding from the other coffins.\n\nMustapha, who had hidden behind the coffins and frightened away the\nbearers of Fatima's coffin, now came out from his hiding place, and\nlighted a lamp that he had provided for this purpose. Next he produced\na phial containing the restorative, and raised the lid of Fatima's\ncoffin. But what was his amazement when the rays of the lamp disclosed\nfeatures entirely strange to him! It was neither my sister nor Zoraide,\nbut quite another person, that lay in the coffin. It took him a long\ntime to recover from this latest blow of fate, but finally pity\novercame his vexation. He opened the phial, and poured some of the\ncontents into the mouth of the sleeper. She breathed, opened her eyes,\nand seemed for a long time to be trying to make out her situation. At\nlast she recalled all that had happened, and, stepping out of the\ncoffin, flung herself at Mustapha's feet. \"How can I thank you,\ngracious being?\" cried she, \"for freeing me from my terrible prison!\"\nMustapha interrupted her expressions of gratitude with the question how\nit happened that she and not his sister Fatima had been rescued. She\nlooked at him in an astonished way before replying: \"Now for the first\ntime I understand what before was incomprehensible to me. You must know\nthat I was called Fatima in the castle, and it was to me you gave the\nnote and medicine.\" My brother requested her to give him news of his\nsister and Zoraide, and learned that they were both in the castle, but,\nin accordance with a custom of Thiuli's, had received other names, and\nwere now called Mirza and Nurmahal.\n\nWhen the freed slave, Fatima, saw that my brother was so cast down by\nthis mistake, she consoled him with the assurance that she could point\nout another way by which both of the young girls might be rescued.\nAroused by what she said, he begged her to tell him her plan, to which\nshe replied--\n\n\"For some five months I have been Thiuli's slave; yet from the first I\nhave planned to escape, but it was too much of a task for me to attempt\nalone. In the inner court of the castle you must have noticed a\nfountain that throws the water in a cascade from ten pipes. This\nfountain impressed me strongly, because I remembered a similar one in\nmy father's house, the water of which was brought through a large\naqueduct. In order to learn whether this fountain was built in the same\nway, I one day praised its beauty to Thiuli, and asked who had\nconstructed it. 'I built it myself,' answered he; 'and what you see\nhere is the least part of the work, as the water is brought from a\nbrook, a thousand paces away, through an arched viaduct at least high\nenough for a man to walk in. And the construction of all this I\ndirected myself.'\n\n\"Since hearing this, I have often wished for the strength of a man to\npull out a stone in the side of the fountain, and thereby escape. I\nwill now show you the aqueduct, through which you can obtain entrance\nto the castle at night, and set your sister free. But you ought to have\nat least two men with you, in order to overpower the slaves who watch\nthe seraglio at night.\"\n\nMy brother Mustapha, although he had seen his plans twice frustrated,\nplucked up courage once more at these words, and hoped, with Allah's\nassistance, to carry out the scheme of the slave. He promised to see\nthat she arrived safely at her home if she would assist him to enter\nthe castle. But one point caused him some little perplexity: where\nshould he obtain two or three men upon whom he could depend? Just then\nOrbasan's dagger occurred to him, and the promise he had received from\nthe bandit that, in case of need, he would hasten to his assistance;\nand he therefore left the vault, in company with Fatima, to hunt up the\nrobber.\n\nIn the same village which had witnessed his transformation into a\nphysician, he bought a horse with what money remained to him, and\nprocured a lodging for Fatima with a poor woman who lived in the\nsuburb. He then hastened toward the hills where he had first met\nOrbasan, and arrived there in three days. He soon found their tents, and\nappeared unexpectedly to Orbasan, who greeted him with friendliness. He\ngave an account of his failures, at which the grave Orbasan could not\nrefrain from laughing now and then, especially when he thought of the\nphysician Chakamankabudibaba. But he was terribly enraged over the\ntreachery of the ugly little monster, Hassan, and swore he would hang\nhim up wherever he found him. He also promised that when my brother had\nrefreshed himself after the fatigue of his journey, he would be ready to\nassist him.\n\nMustapha therefore spent the night in Orbasan's tent. With the early\ndawn they rode off, accompanied by three of Orbasan's bravest men well\nmounted and armed. They rode very fast and in two days' time reached\nthe place where Mustapha had left Fatima. They took her with them, and\njourneyed on until they came to the small wood from whence Thiuli's\ncastle could be seen, where they went into camp until night should\ncome.\n\nAs soon as it was dark, guided by Fatima, they stole up to the brook\nwhere the aqueduct began, and soon discovered the entrance. There they\nleft Fatima and a servant with the horses, and prepared to descend into\nthe conduit; but before they went in, Fatima repeated once more her\ninstructions to them--they would emerge from the fountain into the\ninner court, in the right and left corners of which were towers, and in\nthe sixth door counting from the right tower, they would find Fatima\nand Zoraide, guarded by two black slaves. Well provided with weapons and\ncrowbars, Mustapha, Orbasan, and two other men, descended into the\naqueduct. They sank to their hips in the water, but none the less did\nthey advance valiantly forward. In half an hour they came to the\nfountain, and at once began to use their crowbars. The wall was thick\nand solid but could not long withstand the united strength of the four\nmen, and they had soon made an opening large enough to crawl through.\nOrbasan passed through first, and helped the others after him.\n\nWhen they all stood in the court, they looked closely at the side of\nthe castle facing them, to pick out the door that had been described.\nBut they did not all agree on this point, for on counting from the\nright tower toward the left, they found one door that had been walled\nup, and they could not decide whether Fatima had passed this door by,\nor had counted it in with the others. But Orbasan did not hesitate\nlong. \"My good sword will open every door to me,\" exclaimed he, and\nwent to one of the doors followed by his companions. They opened the\ndoor and discovered six black slaves lying on the floor asleep. They\nwere about to withdraw quietly, as they saw they had missed the right\ndoor, when a man's form arose in the corner, and in a well-known voice,\ncalled for help. It was Hassan, the deserter from Orbasan's camp. But\nbefore the black guards could find out what had happened, Orbasan\nrushed at the little wretch, tore his girdle into two pieces, with one\nof which he bound his mouth, and with the other tied his hands behind\nhis back; then he turned on the slaves, some of whom were already\npartially secured by Mustapha and his companions, and assisted to\ncompletely overpower them. At the point of the dagger, the slaves\nconfessed that Nurmahal and Mirza were in the adjoining room. Mustapha\nrushed in, and found Fatima and Zoraide, who were already aroused by\nthe noise. They quickly collected their clothing and ornaments, and\nfollowed Mustapha. The two robbers now begged permission of Orbasan to\nplunder whatever they found; but he forbade them, saying: \"It shall\nnever be said of Orbasan that he broke into a house at night to steal\ngold.\"\n\nMustapha and the young girls slid quickly into the aqueduct, Orbasan\npromising to follow immediately; but as soon as the others were out of\nsight, Orbasan and one of the robbers took Hassan out into the court,\nand tying a silk cord around his neck, hung him to the highest point of\nthe fountain. After having inflicted this penalty on the wretch, they\ndescended into the aqueduct and followed Mustapha.\n\n\nWith tears the two young girls thanked their noble rescuer Orbasan, but\nhe hurried them on in their flight, as it was quite probable that\nThiuli-Kos would pursue them in all directions. With deep emotion,\nMustapha and the rescued ones parted from Orbasan on the following day.\nOf a truth, they will never forget him. Fatima, the freed slave,\ndisguised herself and went to Balsora to take passage for her home, and\nall reached there safely after a short and agreeable journey.\n\nThe joy of seeing them again almost killed my father; but the day after\ntheir arrival, he ordered an immense banquet, to which the whole town\ncame. My brother had then to repeat his story before a large number of\nrelatives and friends, and with one voice they praised him and the\nnoble Orbasan.\n\nWhen my brother had finished, my father rose and led Zoraide up to him.\n\"Thus,\" said he in joyful tones, \"do I lift the curse from thy head;\ntake her as the reward, which thou hast won through thy tireless zeal;\ntake my fatherly blessing; and may our city never be wanting in men\nwho, in brotherly love, in wisdom and zeal, resemble thee.\"\n\n\n\nThe caravan had reached the end of the desert, and the travelers\njoyfully greeted the green meadows and the thick foliage of the trees;\na delightful view, of which they had been deprived for many days. In a\nbeautiful valley was situated a caravansary, which they chose for a\nnight's lodging; and although it offered poor accommodation and\nrefreshment, yet the whole company were in better spirits and more\nconfidential than ever, as the feeling that they had escaped all the\ndangers and discomforts which a journey through the desert brings,\nopened all hearts and disposed all minds to jests and sports. Muley,\nthe active young merchant, danced a comic dance, accompanying himself\nwith songs, until even the sad features of Zaleukos, the Greek, relaxed\ninto a smile. But not satisfied with having entertained his fellow\ntravelers with dances and games, he related, as soon as he had somewhat\nrecovered from his violent exercise, the story which he had promised\nthem.\n\n\n\n\n                              LITTLE MUCK.\n\n\nIN Nicæea, my dearly-loved native city, lived a man who was called\nLittle Muck, I can recall him distinctly, although I was quite young at\nthe time, chiefly because of a severe chastisement I received from my\nfather on his account. This Little Muck was already an old man when I\nknew him, and yet he was not more than four feet in height. His figure\npresented a singular appearance, as his body, small and childlike,\nseemed but a slender support for a head much larger than the heads of\nordinary people. He lived all alone in a large house, and cooked his\nown meals, and had it not been for the smoke that rose from his kitchen\nchimney at midday, the townspeople would have remained in doubt as to\nwhether he still lived; for he went out but once a month. He was,\nhowever, occasionally seen walking on the house-top, and to one looking\nup from the street there was presented the singular sight of a head\nmoving to and fro. My companions and myself were rather bad boys, who\ntook delight in teasing and making sport of everybody; so it was always\na great holiday for us whenever Little Muck went out. We gathered\nbefore his house on the appointed day, and waited; and when now the\ndoor opened, and the large head, wrapped in a still larger turban,\npeeped out, followed by the rest of his little body, done up in a\nthreadbare cloak, baggy breeches, and a wide sash, from which hung a\ndagger so long that it could not be told whether Muck stuck on the\ndagger or the dagger on Muck--when he thus made his appearance, the air\nechoed with our shouts; we threw up our caps, and danced around him\nlike mad. Little Muck, however, returned our salute with a grave nod of\nthe head, and shuffled slowly down the street in such great, wide\nslippers as I had never seen before. We boys ran behind him, shouting:\n\"Little Muck! Little Muck!\" We also had a jolly little verse that we\nnow and then sang in his honor, which ran as follows:\n\n\n            Little Muck, little Muck,\n            Living in a house so fair,\n            Once a month you take the air,\n            You, brave little dwarf, 'tis said,\n            Have a mountain for a head;\n            Turn around just once and look;\n            Run and catch us, little Muck!\n\nThus had we often entertained ourselves, and, to my shame be it\nconfessed, I behaved the worst--often catching him by the cloak, and\nonce I trod on the heel of his slipper so that he fell down. This\nstruck me as a very funny thing, but the laugh stuck in my throat as I\nsaw him go to my father's house. He went right in and remained there\nfor some time. I hid myself near the front door, and saw Little Muck\ncome out again, accompanied by my father, who held his hand and parted\nfrom him on the door-step with many bows. Not feeling very easy in my\nmind, I remained for a long time in my hiding place; but I was at last\ndriven out by hunger, which I feared worse than a whipping, and,\nspiritless and with bowed head, I went home to my father. \"I hear that\nyou have been insulting the good Little Muck,\" said he, in a grave\ntone. \"I will tell you the story of Little Muck, and you will certainly\nnot want to laugh at him again; but before I begin, and after I am\nthrough, you will receive '_the customary_.'\" Now \"the customary\"\nconsisted of twenty-five blows, which he was accustomed to lay on\nwithout making any mistake in the count. He took for this purpose the\nlong stem of a cherry pipe, unscrewing the amber mouth-piece, and\nbelaboring me harder than ever before. When the five-and-twenty strokes\nwere completed, he commanded me to pay attention, and told me the story\nof Little Muck.\n\nThe father of Little Muck--whose proper name was Mukrah--was a poor but\nrespectable man, living here in Nicæa. He lived nearly as solitary a\nlife as his son now does. This son he could not endure, as he was\nashamed of his dwarfish shape, and he therefore allowed him to grow up\nin ignorance. Little Muck, though in his sixteenth year, was only a\nchild; and his father continually scolded him, because he who should\nhave long since \"put away childish things,\" still remained so stupid\nand silly.\n\nHowever, the old gentleman got a bad fall one day, from the effects of\nwhich he shortly died, and left Little Muck poor and ignorant. The\nunfeeling relatives, to whom the deceased had owed more than he could\npay, drove the poor little fellow out of the house, and advised him to\ngo out into the world and seek his fortune. Little Muck replied that he\nwas ready for the journey, but begged that he might be allowed to have his\nfather's clothes; and these were given him. His father had been a tall,\nstout man, so that the clothes did not fit the little son very well; but\nMuck knew just what to do in this emergency: he cut off every thing that\nwas too long, and then put the clothes on. He seemed, however, to have\nforgotten that he should have cut away from the width as well; hence his\nsingular appearance just as he may be seen to-day--dressed in the large\nturban, the broad sash, the baggy trousers, the blue cloak, all heirlooms\nfrom his father, which he has ever since worn. The long Damascus poniard,\nthat had also belonged to his father, he stuck proudly in his sash, and,\nsupported by a little cane, wandered out of the city gate.\n\nHe tramped along merrily the whole day; for had he not been sent out to\nseek his fortune? If he came across a broken bit of pottery glistening\nin the sun, he straightway put it into his pocket, in the full belief\nthat it would prove to be the most brilliant diamond. When he saw in\nthe distance the dome of a mosque all ablaze with the sun's rays, or a\nlake gleaming like a mirror, he made all haste to reach it, believing\nhe had arrived in an enchanted land. But alas, the illusions vanished\nas he neared them, while weariness and an empty stomach forcibly\nreminded him that he was still in the land of mortals. Thus hungry and\nsorrowful, and despairing of ever finding his fortune, he wandered on\nfor two long days, with the fruits of the field for his only\nnourishment, and the hard earth for his couch.\n\nOn the morning of the third day he discovered, from a hill, a large\ncity. The crescent shone brightly on its battlements, while gay banners\nwaving from the roofs seemed to beckon him on. In great surprise, he\nstopped to look at the city and its surroundings. \"Yes, there shall Little\nMuck find his fortune,\" said he to himself; and summoning all his strength,\nhe started on towards the city. But, although the town seemed near by, it\nwas nearly noon when he reached it, as his little legs almost refused to\ncarry out his will, and he was forced to sit down in the shade of a palm\ntree to rest. At last he reached the gate. There he arranged his cloak with\ngreat care, gave a new fold to his turban, stretched out his sash to twice\nits usual width, stuck the long poniard in a little straighter, and wiping\nthe dust from his shoes, grasped his stick more firmly and marched bravely\nin.\n\nHe had wandered through several streets, but not a door opened to him;\nnor did any one call out--as he had fancied would be done--:\n\n            Little Muck! Come in and eat,\n            And rest your weary little feet.\n\nOnce more he looked up very longingly at a large, fine house before\nhim, when suddenly a window was opened, and an old woman looked down,\ncalling out in a sing-song tone:\n\n            O come, O come!\n            The porridge is done,\n            The table is spread,\n            May you all be well-fed;\n            O good neighbors, come,\n            The porridge is done!\n\nThe door of the house opened, and Muck saw many dogs and cats enter. He\nremained for some time in doubt whether he should accept the\ninvitation, but at last he mustered up courage and walked in. Before\nhim went two little kittens, and he concluded to follow them, as they\nmight know the way to the kitchen better than he did.\n\nAs Muck ascended the stairs, he met the same old woman who had looked\nout from the window. She looked at him crossly, and asked him what he\nwanted. \"Why, you invited everybody in to partake of your porridge,\"\nanswered Little Muck; \"and as I was very hungry, I came in too.\" The\nold woman laughed and said: \"Where in the world do you come from, you\nodd little fellow? The whole city knows that I cook for nobody but my\ndear cats, and now and then I invite company for them out of the\nneighborhood, as you see.\" Little Muck told the old woman how hardly it\nhad fared with him since his father's death, and begged that she would\npermit him to eat with her cats to-day. The woman, who was pleased with\nthe simple-hearted manner in which the dwarf told his story, allowed\nhim to be her guest, and provided food and drink for him bountifully.\n\nWhen he had eaten his fill, and felt much stronger, the old woman\nlooked at him for some time before saying: \"Little Muck, remain in my\nservice; you will have little to do, and will be well provided for.\"\nLittle Muck, who had found the cats' soup very nice, consented, and\nbecame the servant of Ahavzi. His duties were light, but quite\npeculiar. Ahavzi had, for instance, six cats, and every morning Little\nMuck had to comb their fur and rub in costly ointments; when the old\nwoman went out he had also to look after the cats; when they were to be\nfed, he had to set the dishes before them; and at night it was his duty\nto lay them on silken cushions and cover them with velvet blankets.\nThere were also a few small dogs in the house, which he had to wait\nupon; still, these received but little attention as compared with the\ncats, which Ahavzi considered as her own children. As for the rest,\nMuck led as lonely a life as he had suffered in his father's house;\nfor, with the exception of the old woman, he saw only dogs and cats the\nlivelong day.\n\nFor a little while, however, all went well with him. He always had\nenough to eat and but little to do, and the old woman found no fault\nwith him. But after a while the cats became unruly; when the old woman\nhad gone out, they would fly around the room as if possessed, throwing\nthings about, and breaking many a fine dish that stood in their way.\nBut whenever they heard the old woman coming up the stairs, they\ncrouched down on their cushions, and wagged their tails, as if nothing\nhad occurred. Ahavzi got very angry when she found her rooms in such\ndisorder, and laid it all to Muck's charge; and though he might protest\nhis innocence as much as he pleased, she believed her cats, which\nlooked so harmless, more than she did her servant.\n\nLittle Muck felt very sad that he had failed to find his fortune, and\nsecretly resolved to leave the service of Ahavzi. But, as he had\ndiscovered on his first journey how poorly one lives without money, he\nresolved to help himself to the wages which his mistress had often\npromised but never given him. There was one room in Ahavzi's house that\nwas always kept locked, and whose interior Muck had never seen. But he\nhad often heard the old woman bustling about in there, and as often he\nwould have given his life to know what she had hidden there. When he\ncame to think about the money for his journey, it occurred to him that\nthe treasures of Ahavzi might be concealed in that room. But the door\nwas always locked, and therefore he was unable to get at the treasures.\n\nOne morning, when the old woman had gone out, one of the dogs--to whom\nAhavzi accorded little more than a step-mother's care, but whose favor\nMuck had acquired by a series of kindly services--seized Muck by his\nbaggy trousers, and acted as if he wished the dwarf to follow him.\nMuck, always ready for a game with the dog, followed him, and behold,\nhe was escorted to the bed-room of Ahavzi, and up to a small door that\nhe had never noticed before. The door was soon opened, and the dog\nwent in followed by Muck, who was greatly rejoiced to find that he was\nin the very room that he had so long sought to enter. He searched\nevery-where for money, but found none. Only old clothes and strangely\nshaped dishes were to be seen. One of these dishes attracted his\nattention. It was crystal and in it were cut beautiful figures. He\npicked it up and turned it about to examine all its sides. But,\nhorrors! he had not noticed that it had a lid which was insecurely\nfastened. The cover fell off, and was broken into a thousand pieces!\n\nFor a long time Little Muck stood there, motionless from terror. Now\nwas his fate decided. Now he must flee, or the old woman would surely\nstrike him dead. His journey was decided on at once; and as he took one\nmore look around to see if there were nothing among the effects of\nAhavzi that he could make use of on his march, his eye was caught by a\npair of large slippers. They were certainly not beautiful; but those he\nhad on would not stand another journey, and he was also attracted by\nthis pair on account of their size, for when he once had these on his\nfeet, everybody, he hoped, would see that he had \"put away childish\nthings.\" He therefore quickly kicked off his own shoes and stepped into\nthe large slippers. A walking stick ornamented with a finely cut lion's\nhead, seemed to him to be standing too idly in the corner; so he took\nthat along also, and hastened to his own bed-room, where he threw on\nhis cloak, placed his father's turban on his head, stuck the poniard in\nhis sash, and left the house and city as speedily as his feet would\ncarry him.\n\nOnce free of the town, he ran on, from fear of the old woman, until he\nwas ready to drop with exhaustion. Never before had he run so fast;\nindeed it seemed to him that some unseen force was hurrying him on so\nthat he could not stop. Finally he observed that his power must have\nconnection with the slippers, as these kept sliding along, and carried\nhim with them. He attempted all kinds of experiments to come to a\nstand-still, but was unsuccessful; when as a last resort, he shouted at\nhimself, as one calls to horses: \"Whoa! whoa! stop! whoa!\" Thereupon\nthe slippers halted, and Muck threw himself down on the ground utterly\nexhausted.\n\nThe slippers pleased him very much. He had, after all, acquired\nsomething by his service, that would help him along in the world, on\nhis way to find his fortune. In spite of his joy, he fell asleep from\nexhaustion--as the small body of little Muck had so heavy a head to\ncarry that it could not endure much fatigue. The little dog, that had\nhelped him to Ahavzi's slippers, appeared to him in a dream, and said\nto him: \"Dear Muck, you don't quite understand how to use those\nslippers; you must know that by turning around three times on the heel\nof your slipper, you can fly to any point you choose; and with this\nwalking-stick you can discover treasures, as wherever gold is buried it\nwill strike three times on the earth, and if silver, twice!\" Such was\nthe dream of Little Muck.\n\nWhen he waked up, he recalled the wonderful dream, and resolved to test\nits truth. He put on the slippers, raised one foot and attempted to\nturn on his heel. But any one who will try the feat of turning three\ntimes in succession on the heel of such a large slipper, will not\nwonder that Little Muck did not at first succeed, especially if one\ntakes into account his heavy head, that was constantly causing him to\nlose his balance. The poor little fellow got several hard falls on his\nnose, but he would not be frightened off from repeating his efforts,\nand at last he succeeded.\n\nHe whirled around like a wheel on his heel; wished himself in the\nnext large city, and the slippers steered him up into the air, rushed\nhim with the speed of the wind through the clouds, and before Little\nMuck could think how it had all happened, he found himself in a\nmarket-place, where many stalls had been put up, and a countless number\nof people were busily running to and fro. He mixed somewhat with the\npeople but considered it wiser to take himself to a quieter street, as\non the market-place every now-and-then somebody stepped on his\nslippers, so as to nearly throw him down, and then again, one and\nanother, in hurrying by, would get a stab from his projecting poniard,\nso that he was continually in trouble.\n\nLittle Muck now began to think seriously of what he should do to earn\nsome money. To be sure, he had a stick that would point out hidden\ntreasures, but where might he hope to find a place where gold or silver\nwas buried? He might have exhibited himself for money; but for that he\nwas too proud. Finally his speed of foot occurred to him. Perhaps,\nthought he, my slippers may procure me a livelihood; and he resolved to\nhire himself out as a runner. Concluding that the king, who lived in\nthis city, would pay the best wages, he inquired for the palace. At the\ndoor of the palace stood a guard, who asked him what business he had\nthere? On answering that he was seeking service, he was referred to the\nhead steward. To him he preferred his request, and begged him to give\nhim a place among the king's messengers. The steward measured him with\na glance from head to foot, and said: \"How will you, with your little\nfeet, scarcely a hand's breadth in length, become a royal messenger?\nGet away with you! I am not here to crack jokes with every fool.\"\nLittle Muck assured him that he meant every word he had said, and that\nhe would run a race with the fastest, on a wager. The steward took all\nthis as a bit of pleasantry, and in that spirit ordered him to hold\nhimself ready for a race that evening. He then took him into the\nkitchen, and saw that he was given food and drink, and afterwards,\nbetook himself to the king, and told him about the little fellow, and\nhis offer to run a race.\n\nThe king was a merry gentleman, and well pleased with the steward for\naffording him an opportunity of having some sport with Muck, and\nordered him to make such preparations for a race on the meadow, back of\nthe castle, that his whole court could view the scene in comfort; and\ncommanded him once more to pay every attention to the wants of the\ndwarf. The king told the princes and princesses of the entertainment\nthat would be furnished in the evening, and they, in turn, informed\ntheir servants, so that when evening set in, all was expectancy, and\nevery body who had feet to carry them, went streaming out to the\nmeadow, where staging had been erected in order that they might see the\nvainglorious Muck run a race.\n\nWhen the king with his sons and daughters had taken their seats on the\nplatform, Little Muck entered the meadow, and saluted the lords and\nladies with an extremely elegant bow; universal acclamation greeted the\nappearance of the little fellow. Surely such a figure had never been\nseen there before. The small body and the big head, the cloak and baggy\nbreeches, the long dagger stuck through the broad sash, the little feet\nenclosed in such huge slippers--it was impossible to look at such a\ndroll figure and refrain from shouts of laughter. But Little Muck did\nnot permit himself to be disturbed by the merriment his appearance\ncaused. He stood, leaning proudly on his cane, awaiting his opponent.\nThe steward, in accordance with Muck's wish, had selected the king's\nfastest runner, who now stepped up and placed himself beside the dwarf,\nand both awaited the signal to start. Thereupon, Princess Amarza waved\nher veil, as had been agreed on, and, like two arrows shot at the same\nmark, the two runners flew over the meadow.\n\nMuck's opponent took the lead at the start, but the dwarf chased after\nhim in his slipper-chariot and soon overtook him, passed him, and\nreached the goal long before the other came up, panting for breath.\nWonder and astonishment for some moments held the spectators still; but\nwhen the king clapped his hands, the crowd cheered and shouted: \"Long\nlive Little Muck, the victor in the race!\"\n\nMeanwhile, Little Muck had been brought up before the king. He\nprostrated himself and said: \"Most High and Mighty King, I have given\nyou here only a small test of my art. Will you now permit my\nappointment as one of your runners?\" But the king replied: \"No; you\nshall be my body-messenger, dear Muck, and be retained about my person.\nYour wages will be one hundred gold pieces a year, and you shall eat at\nthe head servants' table.\"\n\nSo Little Muck came to believe that at last he had found the fortune he\nhad so long been looking for, and in his heart he was cheerful and\ncontent. He also rejoiced in the special favor of the king, who\nemployed him on his quickest and most secret messages, which the dwarf\nexecuted with accuracy and the most inconceivable speed.\n\nBut the other servants of the king did not feel very cordial towards\nhim, because they found themselves superseded in the favor of\ntheir master by a dwarf, who knew nothing except how to run fast.\nThey laid many plots to ruin him, but all these came to naught,\nbecause of the implicit confidence that the king placed in his chief\nbody-messenger--for to this position had Little Muck been advanced.\n\nMuck, who was quite sensible of this feeling against him, never once\nthought of revenge, such was his goodness of heart, but tried to hit\nupon some plan by which he might become useful to his enemies, and win\ntheir love. He thought of his little stick, which he had neglected\nsince he had found his fortune, and he reflected that if he were to\nfind treasures, his companions would be more favorably disposed towards\nhim. He had often heard that the father of the present king had buried\na great deal of treasure, when his country had been overrun by the\nenemy: and it was also said that the old king had died without being\nable to reveal the secret to his son. From this time forward Muck\nalways carried his stick with him, in the hope of sometime passing over\nthe place where the old king had hidden his money.\n\nOne evening he went, by chance, into an outlying part of the palace\ngardens, which he seldom visited; when suddenly he felt the stick\ntwitch in his hand, and it bent three times to the ground. Well did he\nknow what this betokened. He therefore drew out his poniard, made\nsome marks on the neighboring trees, and stole back into the castle,\nwhere he provided himself with a spade, and waited until it was dark\nenough for his undertaking.\n\nThe digging made Little Muck much more trouble than he had\nanticipated. His arms were very weak, while his spade was large and\nheavy; and he had worked a full two hours before he had dug as many\nfeet. Finally, he struck something hard, that sounded like iron. He\nnow dug very fast, and soon brought to light a large iron lid. This\ncaused him to get down in the hole to find out what the lid might\ncover, and he discovered, as he had expected, a large pot filled with\ngold pieces. But he had not sufficient strength to raise the pot,\ntherefore he put into his pockets, his cloak, and his sash, as much as\nhe wished to carry, covered up the remainder carefully, and took his\nload on his back. But if he had not had his slippers on, he would never\nhave been able to move from the spot, so great was the weight of the\ngold. However, he reached his room unnoticed, and secured the gold under\nthe cushions of his couch.\n\nWhen Little Muck found himself in possession of such wealth, he\nbelieved that a new leaf would be turned, and he should win many\nfriends and followers among his enemies: from which reasoning one may\nreadily perceive that the good Little Muck could not have received a\nvery good bringing up, or he would never have dreamed of securing true\nfriends through the medium of money. Alas, that he did not then step\ninto his slippers, and scamper off with his cloak full of gold!\n\nThe gold, which Little Muck from this time forth distributed so\ngenerously, awakened the envy of the other court servants. The chief\ncook, Ahuli, said: \"He is a counterfeiter!\" The steward, Achmet,\ndeclared: \"He coaxes it out of the king!\" But Archaz, the treasurer,\nand Muck's bitterest enemy, who occasionally dipped into the king's\ncash box himself, exclaimed decidedly: \"He has stolen it!\"\n\nIn order to make sure of their case, they all acted in concert; and the\nhead cup-bearer placed himself in the way of the king, one day, looking\nvery sad and cast-down. So remarkably sad was his countenance, that the\nking inquired the cause of his sorrow. \"Alas!\" replied he, \"I am sad\nbecause I have lost the favor of my master.\" \"What fancy is that,\nfriend Korchuz? Since when have I kept the sun of my favor from\nlighting on you?\" asked the king. The head cup-bearer replied that the\nking had loaded the confidential body-messenger with gold, but had\ngiven nothing to his poor, faithful servants.\n\nThe king was very much surprised at this news, and listened to an\naccount of the liberal gifts of Little Muck, while the conspirators\neasily created the suspicion in the royal mind that Muck had by some\nmeans stolen the gold from the treasury. This turn of affairs was very\nwelcome to the treasurer, who, without it, would not have cared to\nrender an account of the cash in his keeping. The king, therefore, gave\nan order that a secret watch should be kept on every step of Little\nMuck, to catch him, if possible, in the act.\n\nOn the night following this unlucky day, as Little Muck took his spade\nand stole out into the garden, with the intention of replenishing the\nheap of gold in his chamber, which his liberality had so wasted, he was\nfollowed at a distance by a guard, led by Ahuli, the cook, and Archaz,\nthe treasurer, who fell upon him at the very moment when he was\nremoving the gold from the pot, bound him, and took him straight before\nthe king. The king, who felt cross enough at having his slumber\ndisturbed, received his confidential chief body-messenger very\nungraciously, and at once began an examination of the case. The pot had\nbeen dug from the earth, and, together with the spade and the cloak\nfull of gold, was placed at the king's feet. The treasurer stated that,\nwith his watchman, he had surprised Muck in the very act of burying\nthis pot full of gold in the ground.\n\nThe king asked the accused if this were true, and where he had got the\ngold. Little Muck, conscious of his innocence, replied that he had\ndiscovered it in the garden, and that he was attempting to dig it up,\nand not to bury it. All present laughed loudly at his defense, but the\nking, extremely enraged at what he believed to be the cool effrontery\nof the dwarf, cried: \"What, wretch! Do you persist in lying so\nshamelessly to your king, after stealing from him? Treasurer Archaz, I\ncall upon you to say whether you recognize this as the amount of money\nthat is missing from my treasury?\" The treasurer answered that, for his\npart, he was sure that this much, and still more, had been missing from\nthe royal treasury for some time, and he would take his oath that this\nwas part of the stolen money. The king thereupon commanded that Little\nMuck should be put in chains, and thrown into the tower; and handed the\nmoney over to his treasurer to put back into the treasury.\n\nRejoiced at the fortunate outcome of the affair, the treasurer\nwithdrew, and counted over the gold pieces at home; but this wicked man\nnever once noticed, that in the bottom of the pot lay a scrap of paper,\non which was written: \"The enemy has over-run my country, and therefore\nI bury here a part of my treasure; whoever finds it will receive the\ncurse of a king if he does not at once deliver it to my son.--_King\nSadi_.\"\n\nLittle Muck, in his prison, was a prey to the most melancholy\nreflections. He knew that the penalty for robbery of royal property was\ndeath; and yet he hesitated to reveal to the king the magical powers of\nhis stick, because he rightly feared that it, and his slippers, would\nthen be taken away from him. But neither could his slippers give him\nany aid in his present condition, for he was chained so closely to the\nwall that, try as he might, he could not turn on his heel. But when\nnotice of death was served on him the following day, he thought better\nof the matter, concluding it was wiser to live without the stick, than\nto die with it. He, therefore, sent to the king, begging to make a\nprivate communication, and disclosed the secret to him. The king would\nnot credit his confession; but Little Muck promised a test of the\nstick's power, if the king would grant him his life. The king gave him\nhis word on it, and, unseen by Muck, had some gold buried in the\ngarden, and then ordered Muck to find it. After a few moments hunt,\nMuck's stick struck three times on the ground. This assured the king\nthat his treasurer had deceived him, and he therefore sent him--as is\ncustomary in the Levant--a silken cord, with which to strangle himself.\nBut to Little Muck he said: \"It is true that I promised to spare your\nlife, but as I believe that you possess more than one secret in\nconnection with this stick, you will be imprisoned for life, unless you\nconfess what connection there is between this stick and your fast\nrunning.\"\n\nLittle Muck, whose experience for a single night in the tower had given\nhim no desire for a longer imprisonment, acknowledged that his whole\nart lay in the slippers; still he did not inform the king about the\nthree turns on the heel. The king tried on the slippers himself, in\norder to test them, and run about the garden like a madman, making many\nattempts to stop, but he did not know how to bring the slippers to a\nstand-still, and Little Muck, who could not forego this bit of revenge,\nlet him run around till he fell senseless.\n\nWhen the king recovered consciousness, he was fearfully enraged at\nLittle Muck, who had run him out of breath. \"I have pledged my word to\ngive you life and liberty, but if you are within my territory in twelve\nhours, I will have you imprisoned!\" As for the stick and slippers, he\nhad them locked up in his treasury.\n\nPoor as at first, Little Muck wandered out into the country, cursing\nthe folly that had led him to think he could play an important part at\ncourt. The country from which he was driven was fortunately not a large\none, so that in the course of eight hours he had reached the boundary\nline; although walking, after having been accustomed to his beloved\nslippers, was no pleasant task to him.\n\nAs soon as he had crossed the border, he turned off from the highways\nin order to reach the most desolate part of the wilderness, where he\nmight live alone by himself, as he was at enmity with all mankind. In\nthe dense forest he came across a place that seemed well suited to his\npurpose. A clear brook, overgrown by large, shady fig trees, and with\nbanks of soft velvety turf, looked very inviting. Here he threw himself\ndown, with the firm resolve not to eat again, but to calmly await\ndeath. While indulging in gloomy reveries, he fell asleep; but when he\nwaked up, and began to experience the pangs of hunger, he reflected\nthat starvation was rather an unpleasant thing, and therefore looked\nabout him to see whether any thing was to be had to eat.\n\nDelicious ripe figs hung on the tree under which he had slept. He\nclimbed up to pick some, and found them just to his taste; and\nafterwards he went down to the brook to slake his thirst. But how great\nwas his horror, when the brook reflected back his head, adorned with\ntwo prodigious ears, and a long, thick nose! In great perplexity, he\nseized the ears in his hands, and truly they were more than half a yard\nlong.\n\n\"I deserve an ass's ears!\" cried he, \"for like an ass I have trodden my\nfortune underfoot.\" He strolled about under the trees, and when he once\nmore felt hungry, he again had recourse to the figs, as they were the\nonly eatable things to be found on the trees. After eating his second\nmeal of figs, while thinking whether he might not find a place for his\nears under his large turban, so that he would not appear too comical,\nhe became sensible of the fact that his enormous ears had disappeared.\nHe rushed down to the brook, and found it actually true; his ears had\nresumed their former shape; his long, unshapely nose had vanished. He\nnow saw how all this had come about; the fruit of the first tree had\npresented him with the long nose and ears, while that of the second had\nhealed him. Joyfully he perceived that his good luck had once more\nsuggested to him the means of getting satisfaction. He picked from each\ntree as much as he could carry, and went back to the country he had so\nlately left.\n\n\nIn the first town he came to, he disguised himself with other clothes,\nand went on to the city where the king lived. It was just at the season\nwhen ripe fruits were not very plentiful, and Little Muck placed\nhimself under the palace gate, knowing from experience that the chief\ncook was in the habit of purchasing delicacies here for the king's\ntable. Muck had not sat there long before he saw the cook coming\nthrough the court, and examining the viands of the marketmen who were\nranged about the gate. Finally his glance fell on Muck's basket. \"Ah! a\nrare morsel,\" exclaimed he, \"that will please His Majesty mightily;\nwhat will you take for the whole basket?\" Little Muck named a moderate\nprice, and the bargain was quickly made. The cook turned the basket\nover to a slave and went on. Little Muck scampered off quickly, as he\nwas afraid that when the figs had done their work on the heads of the\ncourt people, he might be hunted up and punished as the seller.\n\nThe king was in excellent spirits at table, and praised the cook\nrepeatedly for his successes, and for the solicitude with which he\nalways sought out the rarest dainties for him; but the cook, knowing\nwell what delicacy he was holding back, smirked in a satisfied way,\ndropping now and then mysterious phrases, such as: \"Don't crow till you\nare out of the woods;\" or \"All's well that ends well,\" so that the\nprincesses were very curious to know what it was he was about to\nproduce. But when the beautiful, inviting figs were placed on the\ntable, an exclamation broke from the lips of all present \"How ripe; how\nappetizing!\" cried the king. \"Cook, you are a clever fellow, and\ndeserve our especial favor!\" Thus speaking, the king, who was\naccustomed to be rather economical with such delicacies, distributed\nthe figs around his table with his own hand; each prince and princess\nreceived two, the court ladies and viziers one, while he placed the\nrest before himself, and began to devour them with great delight.\n\n\"But, mercy on us, father! what makes you look so strange?\" exclaimed\nPrincess Amarza, soon after. Everybody looked at the king in\nastonishment. Monstrous ears were attached to his head, and a long nose\nhung down over his chin. Then, too, they began to look at one another,\nwith horror and astonishment. All were more or less decorated with this\nsingular head-gear.\n\nFancy the horror experienced by the court! All the physicians in the\ncity were sent for, and came in great numbers, prescribed pills and\nmixtures; but without effect on the ears and noses. An operation was\nperformed on one of the princes, but the ears grew right out again.\n\nMuck heard the whole story in his hiding-place, and saw that now his\nopportunity had come. With the money received from the sale of his\nfigs, he bought a costume suitable for a professional man, while a long\nbeard of goat's hair completed his disguise. With a small bag of figs,\nhe entered the king's palace, and offered his services as a foreign\nphysician. At first, his representations were scouted; but when Little\nMuck restored the ears and nose of one of the princes to their natural\nsize, by giving him a fig to eat, all were anxious to be cured by this\nstrange physician. But the king took him by the hand, without speaking,\nand conducted him into his own apartment, where he opened a door that\nled into his treasury, and beckoned Muck to follow him. \"Here is my\ntreasure,\" said the king; \"choose for yourself, and let it be what it\nwill, it shall be preserved for you, if you will free me of this\ndisgraceful evil.\"\n\n\nThis was sweet music in Little Muck's ears. No sooner had he entered\nthan he espied his slippers on the floor, and near them, his stick.\nHe walked up and down the room, as if wondering at the riches of the\nking; but on coming to his slippers he slid into them, seized his\nstick, and tore off his false beard, revealing to the astonished king\nthe well-known features of his exiled Muck. \"Faithless King!\" said he;\n\"you, who reward fidelity with ingratitude, may keep as a well-merited\npunishment the deformity that you bear. I leave you those ears, that\nyou may think daily on Little Muck.\" Thus speaking, the dwarf turned\nquickly on his heel, wished himself far away, and before the king could\ncall for help, Little Muck had flown away.\n\nSince then, Little Muck has lived here in comfort, but without society,\nas he disdains mankind. Through experience he has become a wiser man,\nwho, notwithstanding his external appearance may be unusual, is more\nworthy of your admiration than your sport.\n\n\nSuch was the story my father told me. I assured him that I repented of\nmy rude behavior towards the good little man, and my father\nadministered the other half of the punishment he had designed for me. I\nrelated to my playmates the wonderful events of the dwarf's life, and\nwe became so much attached to him that not one of us ever abused him\nagain. On the contrary, we honored him as long as he lived, and always\nbowed as low to him as before the Cadi or Mufti.\n\n\n\nThe travellers decided to rest for a day at this caravansary, in order\nto strengthen themselves and their beasts for the journey still before\nthem. The gaiety of the day before continued, and they amused\nthemselves with all kinds of games. After dinner, they called on the\nfourth merchant, Ali Sizah, to perform his duty, as the others had\ndone, by giving them a story. He replied that his own life had been so\nbarren of incidents, that he could not interest them with any personal\nanecdote, but, instead, he would relate to them the legend of \"The\nFalse Prince.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FALSE PRINCE.\n\n\nThere was once a respectable journeyman-tailor, named Labakan, who had\nlearned his trade of a clever master in Alexandria. It could not be\nsaid that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he was\nable to do very fine work. Neither would one be justified in calling\nhim lazy; but still every thing was not just as it should be with the\nworkman, as he often sewed away by the hour at such a rate that the\nneedle became red-hot in his hands, and the thread fairly smoked, and\nwould then show a better piece of work than any one else. But, at\nanother time--and, sad to relate, this occurred more frequently--he\nwould sit plunged in deep thought, looking before him with a fixed\ngaze, and with something so peculiar in his expression and conduct that\nhis master and the other journeymen were wont to say at such times:\n\"Labakan is putting on airs again.\"\n\nBut on Fridays, when other people were returning from prayers to their\nwork, Labakan came out of the mosque in a beautiful costume, which he\nhad taken great pains to prepare for himself. He walked slowly and with\nproud steps through the squares and streets of the city, and whenever\nhe was greeted by any of his comrades with, \"Peace be with you,\" or,\n\"How are you, friend Labakan?\" he condescendingly waved his hand in\nreply, or gave his superior a princely nod. If his master said to him,\n\"Ah, Labakan, what a prince was lost in you!\" he, much flattered, would\nrespond, \"Have you, too, remarked that?\" or, \"That has been my opinion\nfor a long time.\"\n\n\nAfter this manner had the journeyman conducted himself for a long time;\nbut his master indulged his folly, as otherwise he was a good fellow\nand a clever workman. But one day, Selim, the brother of the sultan,\nwho was then traveling through Alexandria, sent a court costume to the\nmaster, to have certain changes made in it; and the master gave it to\nLabakan to make the alterations, as he did the best work. At night,\nafter the master and his journeymen had gone out to refresh themselves\nafter their day's work, an irresistible desire impelled Labakan to go\nback into the shop where the costume of the sultan's brother hung. He\nstood before it, lost in admiration over the splendor of the embroidery\nand the various shades of velvet and silk. He could not refrain from\ntrying it on; and behold, it fitted him as perfectly as though it had\nbeen made for him. \"Am I not as good a prince as anybody?\" said he to\nhimself, while striding up and down the room. \"Has not the master said\nthat I was born to be a prince?\" With the clothes, the journeyman\nseemed to have adopted some quite royal sentiments; he could not banish\nfrom his mind the fancy that he was the unacknowledged son of a king;\nand as such, he resolved to travel about the world, leaving a place\nwhere the people had been so foolish as not to recognize his true rank\nunder the cover of his present low position. The splendid costume\nseemed to him sent by a good fairy. He therefore took care not to\nslight so welcome a present, pocketed what little ready money he\npossessed, and, favored by the darkness of the night, strolled out of\nAlexandria's gate.\n\nWherever he appeared, the new prince created quite a sensation; as the\nsplendor of his dress and his grave and majestic air were hardly in\nkeeping with his mode of traveling. When he was questioned on this\nsubject, he was accustomed to reply, in a mysterious way, that there\nwere some very good reasons for his traveling afoot. But when he\nnoticed that he was making himself ridiculous by his foot wanderings,\nhe invested a small sum in an old horse, which was very well adapted to\nhis wants, as, by its lack of speed and spirit, he was never forced\ninto the embarrassing position of showing his skill as a rider--a thing\nquite out of his line.\n\nOne day, as he walked Murva (such was the name he had given his horse)\nalong the road, he was overtaken by a horseman who requested permission\nto travel with him, as the road would seem much shorter if he could\nenjoy Labakan's company. The horseman was a merry young man, of\npleasing appearance and conversation. He began talking with Labakan,\nasking where he had come from and where he was going; and it soon\nappeared that he, too, like the journeyman-tailor, was traveling about\nthe world without any definite plan. He said that his name was Omar;\nthat he was the nephew of Elsi Bey, the unfortunate Pasha of Cairo, and\nwas traveling in order to execute a charge that his uncle had confided\nto him on his death-bed. Labakan was not so communicative about his own\naffairs, but gave Omar to understand that he was of high descent, and\nwas traveling for pleasure.\n\nThe two young gentlemen were well pleased with each other, and\ncontinued their journey together. On the second day of their\nacquaintance, Labakan inquired of his companion Omar about the trust he\nhad to execute, and learned to his astonishment that Elsi Bey. Pasha of\nCairo, had brought up Omar from his earliest childhood, and the boy had\nnever known his parents. Now, when Elsi Bey was attacked by his\nenemies, and after three unfortunate battles, was forced to fly from\nthe field, mortally wounded, he disclosed to his pupil that he was not\nhis nephew, but the son of a mighty ruler, who, frightened by the\nprophecies of his astrologist, had had the young prince removed from\nthe palace, with the oath not to see him again until the prince should\nhave reached his twenty-second birthday. Elsi Bey did not give him the\nname of his father, but had most particularly charged him that he must\nbe present at the famous pillar El Serujah, a four days' journey east\nof Alexandria, on the fourth day of the coming month of Ramadan, on\nwhich day he would be twenty-two years old. Arriving there, he should\nhold out a dagger to the men who would be standing on the column, with\nthe words: \"Here am I whom you seek;\" and if they answered, \"Praised be\nthe Prophet, who preserved you,\" he should follow them, and they would\nlead him to his father.\n\nThe journeyman-tailor, Labakan, was astonished at this communication.\nHe looked on Prince Omar, from this time forth, with envious eyes;\nexasperated that fate should have selected his companion, who already\npassed for the nephew of a powerful pasha, to shower on him the still\nhigher dignity of a prince's son, while he, Labakan, endowed with all\nthe qualities of a prince, was degraded by a low birth and a common\noccupation. He made comparisons between himself and the prince, and was\nforced to confess that the prince was a youth of prepossessing\nappearance, with fine sparkling eyes, aquiline nose, a gentle and\nobliging manner--in short, all the external marks of a gentleman. But\nnumerous as were the good traits he noticed in his companion, still, he\nwhispered to himself, a Labakan would be far more welcome to a princely\nfather than the real prince.\n\nThese reflections occupied Labakan's mind the whole day; and they were\npresent in his sleep, at their next lodging-place. And when he woke,\nand his eye fell on the sleeping Omar at his side--sleeping so quietly,\nand dreaming, perhaps, of his happy fortune--the idea came into\nLabakan's brain to obtain, through stratagem or force, that which\nunwilling fate had denied him. The dagger, the token by which the\nhome-returning prince was to be recognized, stuck in the sash of the\nsleeper. He drew it forth lightly, to plunge it into the sleeping\nbreast of its owner. But the pacific soul of the tailor shrunk at the\nthought of murder. He contented himself with taking possession of the\ndagger, ordered Omar's fast horse to be saddled, and before the prince\nhad awaked, his faithless companion had gained a start of several\nmiles.\n\nIt was the first day of the sacred month of Ramadan when Labakan robbed\nthe prince; and he had, therefore, four days in which to reach the\npillar of El Serujah, the location of which he well knew. Although the\ndistance could be easily covered in two days, yet Labakan fearing to be\novertaken by the true prince, made all haste.\n\nAt the close of the second day, Labakan saw the column before him. It\nstood upon a small hill, in a broad plain, and could be observed at a\ndistance of eight miles. Labakan's heart beat wildly at the sight.\nAlthough he had had time enough, in the last two days, to think over\nthe part he was about to play, still his accusing conscience made him\nuneasy; but the thought that he had been born to be a prince hardened\nhim once more, so that he went forward.\n\nThe region about the column El Serujah was uninhabited and desolate,\nand the new prince would have found himself in sad straights for\nsustenance, had he not made provision for a journey of several days. He\nwent into camp, with his horse, under some palm trees, and awaited\nthere his fate.\n\nNear the middle of the following day, he saw a large procession of\nhorses and camels coming over the plain, to the column of El Serujah.\nThe train stopped at the foot of the hill on which the column stood;\nsplendid tents were pitched, and the whole had the appearance of a rich\npasha's or sheik's caravan. Labakan suspected that the many people whom\nhe saw were there on the Prince Omar's account, and he would willingly\nhave shown them their future ruler then and there; but he controlled\nhis desire to step forth as a prince, as the following morning would\ncertainly see his dearest hopes realized.\n\nThe morning sun woke the overjoyed tailor to the most important moment\nof his life--the moment that should see him lifted from an ignoble\nposition to the side of a royal father. To be sure, the unlawfulness of\nthe steps he was taking, occurred to him, as he saddled his horse to\nride to the column; to be sure, he thought of the anguish Prince Omar\nwould suffer, betrayed in his fair hopes; but the die was cast, and he\ncould not undo what had already been done, and his vanity whispered to\nhim that he looked stately enough to be presented to the most powerful\nking as a son. Encouraged by such thoughts, he swung himself into his\nsaddle, mustered all his courage to stand the ordeal of a gallop, and\nin less than fifteen minutes he reached the foot of the hill. He\ndismounted from his horse and tied it to a bush, and then drew out\nPrince Omar's dagger and ascended the hill.\n\nAt the foot of the column stood six men around an aged man of kingly\nappearance. A splendid kaftan of cloth of gold, with a white cashmere\nshawl wound about it, and a white turban ornamented with sparkling\njewels, denoted him to be a man of wealth and rank.\n\nLabakan went up to him, made a low obeisance, and offered him the\ndagger, saying: \"Here am I whom you seek.\"\n\n\n\"Praised be the Prophet, who preserved you!\" replied the old man with\ntears of joy. \"Embrace your old father, my beloved son Omar!\" The good\ntailor was much moved by these solemn words, and with a mixture of joy\nand shame sank into the arms of the aged prince.\n\nBut only for an instant was he permitted to enjoy undisturbed the\ndelight of his new surroundings; for as he arose from the embrace of\nthe elderly prince, he saw a horseman hastening across the plain\ntowards the hill. The rider and his horse presented a singular\nappearance. The horse, either from stubbornness or exhaustion, could\nhardly be urged forward, but moved with a stumbling gait that could be\ncalled neither a walk nor a trot, while his rider was using both hands\nand feet to force him to a faster pace. Only too soon Labakan\nrecognized his horse, Murva, and the genuine Prince Omar; but the\nwicked Father of Lies once more took possession of him, and he\ndetermined that, whatever the result might be, he would maintain his\npretended rights with a bold face.\n\nThe rider's gestures had been seen while he was still at a distance;\nbut now, in spite of the feeble trot of his horse, he had arrived at\nthe foot of the hill, thrown himself from his horse, and rushed up the\nhill.\n\n\"Stay, there!\" cried he, \"Stop, whoever you may be, and do not let\nyourselves be misled by the shameful impostor! My name is Omar, and no\nmortal may dare to assume my name!\"\n\nDeep astonishment was expressed in the faces of the bystanders, at the\nturn affairs had taken, and the old prince was especially perplexed, as\nhe looked inquiringly from one to the other. But Labakan said, with\nforced composure: \"Most gracious Sire and Father, do not allow this\nperson to mislead you. He is, to my certain knowledge, a crazy tailor\nfrom Alexandria, called Labakan, and more deserving of our pity than\nour anger.\"\n\nThese words brought the prince to the verge of madness. Foaming with\nrage he attempted to spring on Labakan, but the bystanders interposed,\nand held him fast, while the old prince said: \"Of a truth, my dear son,\nthe poor fellow is mad; let him be bound and placed on one of our\ndromedaries; perhaps we may be able to render the unfortunate youth\nsome assistance.\"\n\nThe anger of the prince was past. He threw himself, weeping, at the\nfeet of his father: \"My heart tells me that you are my father; by the\nmemory of my mother, I charge you to listen to me!\"\n\n\"Eh, God preserve us!\" answered the old man. \"He is beginning to talk\nstrangely again; how does the fellow come by such stupid notions!\"\n\nThereupon he took Labakan's arm, and was conducted down the hill by\nhim. They both mounted beautiful, richly-caparisoned horses, and rode\nat the head of the caravan, over the plain. The hands of the prince\nwere bound, and he was tied fast on one of the dromedaries, while two\nhorsemen rode on each side, and kept a careful watch on all his\nmovements.\n\nThe elderly prince was Saaud, Sultan of Wechabiten. He had lived for\nyears without children, until finally a son, whom he had so ardently\ndesired, was born to him. But the astrologer of whom he inquired the\ndestiny of the boy, gave the opinion that \"until his twenty-second\nyear the child would be in danger of being supplanted by an enemy,\"\ntherefore to be on the safe side, the sultan had given the prince\nto his tried and true friend, Elsi Bey, to be brought up, and for\ntwenty-two painful years had waited for his home-coming.\n\nAll this the sultan told his pretended son, and expressed himself as\nwell pleased with his figure and demeanor.\n\nOn arriving in the sultan's country they were everywhere received by\nthe inhabitants with acclamations, as the report of the prince's\narrival had spread like wildfire to all the cities and villages. Arches\ncovered with flowers and boughs were constructed in all the streets\nthrough which they passed, brilliant carpets of all colors adorned the\nhouses, and the people praised God and His Prophets for sending them so\nbeautiful a prince. All this filled the heart of the tailor with\ndelight; but all the more unhappy did the real Omar feel, who, still\nbound, followed the caravan in silent despair. In the universal joy\nnobody troubled themselves about him who should have been the recipient\nof their welcome. Thousands upon thousands shouted the name of Omar,\nbut he who rightly bore this name was noticed not at all. At the most,\none and another would ask who it was that was bound so securely; and\nthe reply of his escort, that it was a crazy tailor, echoed horribly in\nhis ears.\n\nThe caravan at last reached the capital of the sultan, where a still\nmore brilliant reception was awaiting them. The sultana, an elderly,\nvenerable lady, awaited them with the entire court, in the splendid\nhall of the palace. The floor of this salon was covered with an immense\ncarpet, the walls were tastefully adorned with a light-blue cloth, hung\nfrom great silver hooks with golden tassels and cords.\n\nIt was already night when the caravan arrived; therefore numerous round\ncolored lamps were lighted in the salon, making it light as day. But\nthe most lights were placed at the farther end of the salon, where the\nsultana sat upon a throne. The throne stood upon a dais, and was inlaid\nwith pure gold, and set with large amethysts. Four of the most\ndistinguished emirs held a canopy over the sultana's head, while the\nSheik of Medina fanned her with a fan of peacock's feathers.\n\nUnder these surroundings, the sultana awaited her husband and her son.\nShe had not seen her son since his birth, but the longed-for son had\nappeared in her dreams, so that she felt sure of knowing him amongst a\nthousand. Now the noise of the approaching caravan was heard, trumpets\nand drums mingled with the cheers of the crowd; the hoofs of the horses\nbeat in the court of the palace; nearer and nearer sounded the steps of\nthe expected ones; the doors of the salon flew open, and through the\nrows of prostrate servants, the sultan hastened to the throne of the\nsultana, leading his son by the hand.\n\n\"Here,\" said he, \"I bring you the one for whom you have so long\nyearned.\"\n\nBut the sultana interrupted him with: \"That is not my son! Those are\nnot the features that the Prophet showed me in my dreams!\"\n\nJust as the sultan was about to upbraid her for her unbelief, the door\nof the salon opened, and Prince Omar rushed in, followed by his guards,\nfrom whom he had escaped by the exercise of all his strength. He threw\nhimself breathless before the throne with the words:\n\n\"Here will I die! Let me be killed, inhuman father, for I can no longer\nendure this disgrace.\"\n\nEveryone was amazed at this speech; they crowded about the unfortunate\nyouth, and the guards, from whom he had escaped, were about to lay hold\nof him and bind him again, when the sultana, who had looked on all this\nin speechless surprise, sprang up from the throne.\n\n\"Stay, there!\" cried she; \"this and no other is the real prince; this\nis he whom my eyes have never beheld, and yet my heart has known!\"\n\nThe guard had involuntarily released Omar, but the sultan, burning with\nanger, called to them to bind the crazy fellow. \"It is my business to\ndecide here,\" said he, in a commanding tone, \"and here one does not\njudge by the dreams of old women, but by certain reliable signs. This\nyouth (pointing to Labakan) is my son, for he brought me the dagger,\nthe true token of my friend Elsi.\"\n\n\"He stole the dagger!\" exclaimed Omar. \"He abused my unsuspecting\nconfidence with treachery!\" But the sultan, accustomed to have his own\nway in every thing, would not listen to the voice of his son, and had\nthe unhappy Omar forcibly dragged from the room. Then, accompanied by\nLabakan, he went to his own room, very angry with the sultana, with\nwhom he had lived in peace for twenty-five years.\n\nThe sultana was very unhappy over these events. She was perfectly well\nsatisfied that an impostor had taken possession of the sultan's heart,\nas the unfortunate youth who had been dragged away, had often appeared\nin her dreams as her son.\n\nWhen she had in a measure quieted her sorrow, she tried to hit upon\nsome method of convincing the sultan of his error. This was no easy\ntask, as he who had usurped their son's place, had brought the token of\nrecognition, the dagger, and had also, as she discovered, learned so\nmuch about Omar's early life from the prince himself, that he played\nhis _role_ without betraying himself.\n\nShe summoned the men who had accompanied the sultan to the pillar of El\nSerujah, in order to learn all the particulars, and then held a\nconsultation with her most trustworthy slave-women. They chose and then\nrejected this and that expedient. At last Melechsalah, a wise old\nwoman, said: \"If I have heard rightly, honored mistress, the one who\nbrought the dagger, called him whom you recognize as your son, Labakan,\na crazy tailor.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is true,\" answered the sultana; \"but what can you make out\nof that?\"\n\n\"Suppose,\" continued the slave, \"that this impostor had fastened his\nown name on your son? And if this supposition is correct, there is a\nfine way of catching the impostor, that I will tell to you as a\nsecret.\"\n\nThe sultana bent her head, and the slave whispered in her ear some\nexpedient that seemed to please the sultana, as she prepared to go at\nonce to the sultan.\n\nThe sultana was a prudent woman, who knew the weak sides of the sultan\nand how to make use of them. She therefore appeared willing to submit\nto his judgment, and to recognize the son he had chosen; asking in\nreturn but one condition. The sultan, who was sorry for the anger he\nhad shown his wife, granted her request, and she said: \"I should dearly\nlike to receive from both of these claimants a test of their\ncleverness. Another person might very likely have them ride, fight, or\nthrow spears; but these are things that everybody can do, and I will\ngive them something that will require ingenuity to accomplish. Each one\nshall make a kaftan, and a pair of trousers, and then we shall see who\nwill make the finest.\"\n\nThe sultan laughed, and said: \"Well, you have devised something\nextremely wise! The idea that my son should compete with your crazy\ntailor at coat-making? No, it won't do.\"\n\nThe sultana, however, insisted that he was bound by the promise he had\nmade her in advance; and the sultan, who was a man of his word, finally\nconsented, although he swore that let the crazy tailor make his coat\never so fine, he would never admit him to be his son.\n\nThe sultan went in person to his son, and requested him to humor the\ncaprice of his mother, who very much wished for a kaftan made by his\nhands. Labakan was greatly pleased. If that is all that is wanted,\nthought he to himself, then madame the sultana will soon have cause to\nbe proud of me.\n\nTwo rooms were prepared, one for the prince, the other for the tailor,\nwhere they were to try their skill; and they were liberally provided\nwith silk cloth, scissors, needles and thread.\n\nThe sultan was very curious to see what sort of a thing his son would\nbring to light for a kaftan; while the sultana was very nervous lest\nher stratagem should fail. Two days had been given to them in which to\naccomplish their task. On the morning of the third day, the sultan sent\nfor his wife, and when she had come, he sent into the two rooms for the\ntwo kaftans and their makers.\n\nLabakan entered triumphantly, and spread his kaftan before the\nastonished eyes of the sultan. \"Look here, father!\" said he, \"see,\nhonored mother, whether this is not a master-piece of a kaftan? I would\nbe willing to lay a wager with the cleverest court tailor that he could\nnot produce such an one as that.\"\n\nThe sultana smiled, and turned to Omar: \"And what have you produced, my\nson?\" Impatiently he threw down the silk, cloth and scissors on the\nfloor. \"I was brought up to break horses, and to the use of a sword,\nand my spear will hit the mark at sixty paces; but the science of the\nneedle is strange to me, and would have been an unworthy study for a\npupil of Elsi Bey, the ruler of Cairo!\"\n\n\"O thou true son of my heart!\" exclaimed the sultana. \"Now, I can\nembrace thee, and call thee son! Pardon me, my Husband and Lord,\"\ncontinued she, turning to the sultan, \"that I have plotted this\nstratagem against you. Do you not now see which is the prince, and\nwhich the tailor? Truly, the kaftan that your son has made is superb,\nand I should like to ask him of what master he learned his trade.\"\n\nThe sultan sat in deep thought, glancing suspiciously now at his wife\nand now at Labakan, who vainly tried to control his blushes and his\ndiscomfiture at having so stupidly betrayed himself.\n\n\"Even this proof will not suffice,\" said the sultan. \"But praised be\nAllah, I know of a means of finding out whether I have been deceived or\nnot.\"\n\nHe ordered his fastest horse to be led out, swung himself into the\nsaddle, and rode into a forest near by, where lived, according to an\nold legend, a kind fairy named Adolzaide, who had often stood by the\nkings of his race with her counsel in the hour of need.\n\nIn the middle of the forest was an open place surrounded by tall\ncedars. There lived--so the story ran--the fairy, and it was seldom\nthat a mortal ventured there, as a certain aversion to the spot had for\nages descended from father to son.\n\nArriving there, the sultan dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, placed\nhimself in the centre of the opening, and called out in a loud voice:\n\"If it be true that you have given my ancestors good advice in the hour\nof need, then do not spurn the prayer of their grandson, and give me\nadvice on a point for which human understanding is too frail.\"\n\nHe had hardly spoken the last word, when one of the cedars opened, and\na veiled lady, in long white garments, stepped forth. \"I know why you\ncome to me, Sultan Saaud. Your purpose is just; therefore, you shall\nhave my assistance. Take these two little boxes. Let each of the young\nmen who claim to be your son choose between these. I know that the true\nprince will not fail to pick out the right one.\" Thus spake the fairy,\nat the same time handing him two little ivory boxes richly set with\ngold and pearls. On the lid, which the sultan vainly tried to open,\nwere inscriptions in diamond letters.\n\nThe sultan tried to think as he rode home what these little boxes might\ncontain; but all his efforts to open them failed. Nor did the\ninscriptions throw any light on the matter, for one read--_Honor and\nFame_; the other--_Fortune and Riches_. The sultan thought to himself\nthat he would have great difficulty in making a choice between these\ntwo things, that were alike desirable, alike alluring.\n\nOn arriving at his palace, he sent for the sultana, and told her of the\nverdict of the fairy. A strange hope assured the sultana that he to\nwhom her heart drew her would choose the box that should make plain his\nroyal descent.\n\nTwo tables were placed before the throne of the sultan, upon which the\nking placed the boxes with his own hand. He then ascended the throne,\nand beckoned one of his slaves to open the doors of the salon. A\nbrilliant assembly of pashas and emirs of the realm, whom the sultan\nhad summoned, streamed through the opened doors. They took their places\non splendid cushions that were ranged lengthwise along the wall.\n\nWhen they were all seated, the sultan beckoned a second time, and\nLabakan was brought forward. With a proud step he walked up the hall,\nprostrated himself before the throne, and said: \"What are the commands\nof my Lord and Father?\"\n\nThe sultan rose from his throne, and said: \"My son, doubts have been\nraised as to the justness of your claim to this name; one of those\nlittle boxes contains the proof of your real parentage. Choose; I do\nnot doubt that you will select the right one.\"\n\nLabakan arose and stepped up to the tables, hesitated for some time as\nto which he should choose, but finally said: \"Honored Father! What can\nbe higher than the fortune to be your son? what nobler than the riches\nof thy grace? I choose the box with the inscription--_Fortune and\nRiches_.\"\n\n\"We shall presently know whether you have chosen the right one; in the\nmeantime sit down on the cushion by the side of the Pasha of Medina,\"\nsaid the sultan, and motioned to a slave.\n\nOmar was brought forward. His look was gloomy, his air sad, and his\nappearance created universal interest among those present. He\nprostrated himself before the throne, and inquired after the commands\nof the sultan. The sultan signified to him that he was to choose one of\nthe little boxes. Omar arose and approached the tables.\n\nHe read attentively both inscriptions, and then said: \"The last few\ndays have taught me how fickle is fortune, how unstable are riches; but\nthey have also learned me that an indestructible gift dwells in the\nbreast of Honor, and that the shining star of Fame does not vanish with\nfortune. And though I should renounce a crown, the die is cast: _Honor\nand Fame_, I choose you!\"\n\nHe placed his hand on the box he had chosen; but the sultan ordered him\nto wait a moment, and beckoned Labakan to come forward, and lay his\nhand on his box also. Then the sultan had a basin of water, of the holy\nfountain of Zemzem in Mecca, brought, washed his hands for prayer,\nturned his face to the East, prostrated himself and prayed: \"God of my\nfathers! Thou who for centuries hast preserved our race pure and\nuncontaminated, do not permit that an unworthy one should bring to\nshame the name of the Abasside; be near my true son with Thy\nprotection, in this hour of trial!\"\n\nThe sultan arose, and once more ascended his throne. Universal\nexpectancy held those present in breathless attention; one could have\nheard a mouse run over the floor, so still were they all. Those\nfarthest away stretched their necks to look over the heads of those in\nfront, that they might see the little boxes. Then the sultan spoke:\n\"Open the boxes!\" and although no force could have opened them before,\nthey now flew open of themselves.\n\nIn the box chosen by Omar lay, on a velvet cushion, a small golden\ncrown, and a sceptre; in Labakan's box--a large needle and a little\npackage of thread! The sultan ordered them to bring their boxes to him.\nHe took the miniature crown in his hand, and wonderful was it to see\nhow, as he took it, it began to grow larger and larger until it had\nattained the size of a genuine crown. He placed the crown on the head\nof Omar, who knelt before him, kissed him on the forehead, and bade him\nsit at his right hand. Then turning to Labakan, he said: \"There is an\nold proverb that the shoemaker should stick to his last. It looks as if\nyou should stick to the needle. To be sure, you do not deserve my\npardon; but some one has interceded for you, to whom I can refuse\nnothing to-day; therefore I spare you your miserable life. But, to give\nyou some good advice--you had better make haste to get out of my\nkingdom.\"\n\nAshamed, ruined as were all his pretensions, the poor journeyman-tailor\ncould not reply. He threw himself at the feet of the prince, in tears.\n\"Can you forgive me, Prince?\" said he.\n\n\"Loyalty to a friend, magnanimity to a foe, is the boast of the\nAbasside,\" replied the prince, as he raised him up. \"Go in peace!\"\n\n\"Oh, my true son!\" cried the aged sultan, with deep emotion, and sank\non the breast of Omar. The emirs and pashas, and all the nobility of\nthe kingdom, rose from their seats, and cried: \"Hail to the new son of\nthe king!\" and amidst the universal joy, Labakan stole out of the room\nwith the little box under his arm.\n\nHe went below to the stables of the sultan, saddled his horse, Murva,\nand rode out of the gate of the city towards Alexandria. His life as a\nprince appeared to him as a dream, and the splendid little box, set\nwith pearls and diamonds, was the only thing left to remind him that he\nhad not dreamed.\n\n\nWhen he at length reached Alexandria, he rode up to the house of his\nold master, dismounted, tied his horse near the door, and entered the\nworkshop. The master, not knowing him at first, made an obeisance, and\nasked him what might be his pleasure But on taking a closer look, and\nrecognizing Labakan, he called to his journeymen and apprentices, and\nthey all rushed angrily at the poor Labakan, who was not expecting such\na reception, kicked and beat him with their irons and yard sticks,\npricked him with needles, and nipped him with sharp shears, until,\nutterly exhausted, he sank down on a heap of old clothes.\n\nWhile he lay there, the master gave him a lecture on the clothes he had\nstolen. In vain did Labakan assure him that he had come back in order\nto make restitution; all in vain did he offer him three-fold indemnity;\nthe master and his men fell upon him again, beat him black and blue,\nand threw him out of the door. Torn and bruised, Labakan crawled on his\nhorse and rode to a caravansary. Then he laid his tired and aching head\non a pillow, and reflected on the sorrows of earth, on unappreciated\nmerit, and on the vanity and fickleness of riches. He fell asleep with\nthe resolution to forswear all greatness, and become a respectable\ncitizen.\n\nThe succeeding day found him still steadfast in his purpose, as the\nheavy hands of the master and his men seemed to have beaten all his\ngrand notions out of him. He sold his little box to a jeweler for a\nhigh price, bought a house with the proceeds, and fitted up a workshop\nfor his trade. When he had every thing arranged, and had also hung out\na sign before his window with the inscription, \"_Labakan_, _Tailor_,\"\nhe sat down, and with the needle and thread he had found in the little\nbox, began to mend his coat that had been so badly torn by his old\nmaster. He was called away from his work, and when he returned to take\nit up again, what a singular sight met his eyes! The needle was sewing\nbusily away without any one to guide it, making such fine, delicate\nstitches, as even Labakan in his most artistic moments could not have\nequaled!\n\nSurely even the commonest gift of a kind fairy is useful and of great\nvalue. Still another value was possessed by this present, namely: the\nball of the thread was never exhausted, let the needle sew as fast as\nit would.\n\nLabakan obtained many customers, and was soon the most famous tailor in\nall that region. He would cut out the clothes, and make the first\nstitch with the needle, and the needle would then instantly go on with\nthe work, never pausing until the garment was done. Master Labakan soon\nhad the whole town for customers, as his work was first-class, and his\nprices low; and only over one thing did the people of Alexandria shake\ntheir heads, namely: that he worked without journeymen, and with locked\ndoors.\n\nThus did the saying of the little box, promising _Fortune and Riches_,\ncome to pass. Fortune and riches, even though in moderate measure,\nattended the steps of the good tailor; and when he heard of the fame of\nthe young sultan, Omar, that was on all lips; when he heard that this\nbrave man was the pride and love of his people, and the terror of his\nenemies--then the false prince thought to himself: \"It is after all\nbetter that I remained a tailor, for the quest of honor and fame is\nrather a dangerous business.\"\n\nThus lived Labakan, contented with his lot, respected by his\nfellow-citizens; and if the needle in the meanwhile has not lost its\nvirtue, it still sews on with the endless thread of the kind fairy,\nAdolzaide.\n\n\n\nAt sunset the caravan started on, and soon reached Birket-el-Had, or\nPilgrim's Fountain; from which it was only a three hours' journey to\nCairo. The caravan was expected about this time, and therefore the\nmerchants soon had the pleasure of seeing their friends coming\nfrom Cairo to meet them. They entered the city through the gate\nBab-el-Falch, as it is considered a happy omen for those who come from\nMecca to pass through this gate, as the Prophet went out of it.\n\nOn the market-place the three Turkish merchants took leave of the\nstranger Selim Baruch, and the Greek merchant Zaleukos, and went home\nwith their friends. But Zaleukos showed the stranger a good\ncaravansary, and invited him to take dinner with him. The stranger\naccepted the invitation, and promised to come as soon as he had made\nsome changes in his dress.\n\nThe Greek made every preparation to entertain his guest, for whom he\nhad acquired a strong liking on the journey; and when the dishes were\nall arranged in order, he sat down to await the coming of his guest.\n\nAt last he heard slow and heavy steps in the hall that led to his room.\nHe arose to go and meet him and welcome him on the threshold; but no\nsooner had he opened the door, than he stepped back horrified, for that\nterrible man with the red mantle stepped towards him! He looked at him\nagain; there was no illusion; the same tall, commanding figure, the\nmask through which the dark eyes shone, the red mantle with the gold\nembroidery, were only too closely associated with the most terrible\nhours of his life.\n\nConflicting emotions surged in Zaleukos's breast. He had long since\nbecome reconciled to this picture of memory, and had forgiven him who\nhad injured him; yet the appearance of the man himself opened all his\nwounds afresh; all those painful hours when he had suffered almost the\npangs of death,--the remorse that had poisoned his young life,--all\nthis swept over his soul in the flight of a moment.\n\n\"What do you want, monster?\" exclaimed the Greek, as the apparition\nstood motionless on the threshold. \"Vanish quickly, before I curse\nyou!\"\n\n\"Zaleukos!\" spoke a well-known voice, from beneath the mask, \"Zaleukos!\nis it thus you receive your guest?\" The speaker removed the mask, and\nthrew the mantle back; it was Selim Baruch, the stranger.\n\nBut Zaleukos was not yet quieted. He shuddered at the stranger, for\nonly too plainly had he recognized the unknown man of the Ponte\nVecchio. But the old habit of hospitality prevailed; he silently\nbeckoned to the stranger to take a seat at the table.\n\n\"I perceive your thoughts,\" said the stranger, after they were seated.\n\"Your eyes look inquiringly at me. I could have remained silent, and\nnever more appeared to your vision; but I owe you an explanation, and\ntherefore I ventured to appear to you in my old form, knowing that I\nrun the risk of your cursing me. But you once told me: _The religion of\nmy fathers commands me to love him, and then he must be more unhappy\nthan I._ Believe that, my friend, and listen to my vindication.\n\n\"I must begin far back, in order to make my story quite clear. I was\nborn in Alexandria, of Christian parents. My father was the French\nconsul there, and was the younger son of a famous old French family.\nFrom my tenth year up, I was under the care of my uncle, in France, and\nleft my fatherland some years after the breaking out of the Revolution,\nwith my uncle, who no longer felt safe in the land of his ancestors, in\norder to find a refuge with my parents across the sea. We landed in\nAlexandria, hopeful of finding in my parents' home that quiet and peace\nthat no longer obtained in France. The outside storms of this excitable\nperiod had not, it is true, extended to this point, but from an\nunexpected quarter came the blow that crushed our family to the ground.\nMy brother, a young man full of promise, and private secretary to my\nfather, had but recently married the daughter of a Florentine nobleman\nwho lived in my father's neighborhood. Two days before our arrival, my\nbrother's bride disappeared; and neither our family, nor yet her\nfather, could discover the slightest trace of her. We finally came to\nthe conclusion that she had ventured too far away for a walk, and had\nfallen into the hands of brigands. This belief would have been a\nconsolation to my brother, in comparison with the truth that was only\ntoo soon made known to us. The faithless woman had eloped with a young\nNeapolitan, whom she had been in the habit of meeting at her father's\nhouse. My brother, terribly excited by this act, used his utmost\nendeavors to bring the guilty one to account; but in vain. His attempts\nin this direction, which had aroused attention in Florence and Naples,\nonly served to bring down misfortune on us all. The Florentine nobleman\nreturned to his country under the pretext of assisting my brother, but\nwith the real design of destroying us all. He put an end to all the\ninvestigations instituted by my brother in Florence, and used his\ninfluence so effectually that my father and brother fell under the\nsuspicion of their government, were imprisoned in the most outrageous\nmanner, and taken to France, where they were guillotined. My mother\nwent crazy, and only after ten long months did death release her from\nher terrible condition. But she recovered her sanity a few days before\nher death. I was thus left all alone in the world, but only one thought\noccupied my soul, only one thought overshadowed my grief: it was the\npowerful flame of revenge that my mother kindled in my breast during\nthe last hours of her life.\n\n\"As I have said, she recovered her senses towards the last. She called\nme to her side and spoke quietly of our fate and of her approaching\ndeath. Then she sent everybody out of the room, raised herself with a\nspirited air from her poor couch, and said that I could win her\nblessing if I would swear to carry out what she should confide to me.\nInfluenced by the dying words of my mother, I bound myself with an oath\nto do her bidding. She broke out in imprecations against the Florentine\nand his daughter, and required me, under the penalty of incurring her\ncurse, to revenge our unfortunate family on him. She died in my arms.\nThe thought of revenge had long slumbered in my soul; now it was\naroused to action. I collected the balance of my patrimony, and\nresolved to risk every thing on my revenge.\n\n\"I was soon in Florence, where I kept as quiet as possible. The\ndifficulty of executing my plan was much increased by the situation in\nwhich I found my enemy. The old Florentine had become Governor, and had\nthe power, should he have the least suspicion of my presence, to\ndestroy me. An incident occurred just then that was of great assistance\nto me. One evening I saw a man passing along the street, in a familiar\nlivery. His unsteady gait, sullen look, and manner of muttering _Santo\nSacramento_ and _Maledetto diavolo_, assured me that it was Pietro, a\nservant of the Florentine's, whom I had known in Alexandria. I had no\ndoubt that it was his master whom he was cursing, and I therefore\ndetermined to make use of his present frame of mind for my own benefit.\nHe seemed very much surprised to see me in Florence, and complained to\nme that since his master had become Governor he could do nothing to\nsuit him; so that my gold, together with his anger, brought him over to\nmy side. The most difficult part of my plan had now been provided for.\nI had in my pay a man who could open the door of my enemy to me at any\nhour, and now my revenge seemed near its accomplishment. The life of\nthe old Florentine seemed to me of too little account to offset the\ndestruction of our family: he must lose the idol of his heart, his\ndaughter Bianca. Was it not she who treated my brother so shamefully?\nWas it not she who was the chief cause of our misfortunes? The news\nthat she was about to be married a second time was very welcome to my\nrevengeful heart. This would but heighten the vengeance of my blow. It\nwas settled in my mind that she _must_ die. But I myself shrank from\nthe deed, and I did not credit Pietro with nerve enough; so we looked\nabout for a man who could accomplish the work. I did not dare approach\nany of the Florentines, as none of them would have dared to undertake\nsuch a thing against the Governor. It was then that the scheme I\nafterward carried out, occurred to Pietro, who at the same time pitched\nupon you, a stranger and physician, as being the most suitable person\nto do the deed. The rest of the story you know. The only danger to the\nsuccess of my scheme lay in your sagacity and honesty; hence the affair\nwith the mantle.\n\n\"Pietro opened the side gate of the Governor's palace for us, and would\nhave shown us out as secretly, had not he and I fled, horrified by the\nterrible sight we saw through a crack in the door. Pursued by terror\nand remorse, I ran some two hundred paces, and sank down on the steps\nof a church. There I collected my thoughts, and my first one was of you\nand your fate, should you be found in the house. I stole to the palace,\nbut could find no trace of either you or Pietro. The side gate was\nopen, so I could at least hope that you had taken advantage of the\nopportunity to flee. But when the day broke, fear of discovery and a\nsensation of remorse drove me from Florence. I hastened to Rome. But\nimagine my consternation when, in the course of a few days, this story\nreached Rome, with the additional report that the murderer, a Greek\nphysician, had been captured! I returned to Florence with sad\napprehensions, for, if my revenge had before seemed too strong, I\ncursed it now, as it would have been purchased too dearly with your\nlife. I arrived in Florence on the day you lost your hand. I will be\nsilent over what I felt as I saw you ascend the scaffold and suffer so\nheroically. But as your blood streamed out, I made the resolve to see\nthat the rest of your life should be passed in comfort. What happened\nafterwards, you know. It only remains for me to tell why I made this\njourney across the desert with you. Like a heavy burden the thought\npressed on me that you had not yet forgiven me; therefore I resolved to\npass some days, with you, and at last give you an account of the\nmotives that had influenced my action.\"\n\nThe Greek had listened silently to his guest, and when he had finished,\nwith a gentle expression he offered him his hand. \"I knew well that you\nmust be more unhappy than I, for that cruel deed, like a black cloud,\nwill forever darken your life. As for myself, I forgive you from my\nheart. But permit me one more question: How did you happen to be in the\ndesert in your present character? What did you do after buying me the\nhouse in Constantinople?\"\n\n\"I went back to Alexandria. Hatred of all human kind raged in my\nbreast, but especially hatred of those nations which are called\ncivilized. Believe me, I was better pleased with my Moslems. I had been\nin Alexandria only a few months, when it was invaded by my countrymen.\nI saw in them only the executioners of my father and brother; therefore\nI gathered some young people of my acquaintance, who entertained\nsimilar views, and joined the brave Mameluke, who became the terror of\nthe French army. When the campaign was ended, I could not bring myself\nto return to the arts of peace. With a few friends of similar\ntendencies, I lived an unsettled fugitive life, devoted to battle and\nthe chase. I live contentedly with these people, who honor me as their\nprince; for if my Asiatics are not so civilized as your Europeans, yet\nenvy and slander, selfishness and ambition are not their\ncharacteristics.\"\n\nZaleukos thanked the stranger for his communication, but he did not\nhide from him his opinion that it would be far better for one of his\nrank and culture, were he to live and work in Christian and European\ncountries. He took the stranger's hand, and invited him to go with him,\nand to live and die with him.\n\nZaleukos's guest was deeply moved. \"From this I know,\" said he, \"that\nyou have entirely forgiven me, that you even love me. Receive my\nheartfelt thanks.\"\n\nHe sprang up, and stood in all his majesty before the Greek, who shrank\nback at the warlike appearance, the dark glistening eyes, the deep\nmysterious voice of his guest. \"Your proposal is good,\" continued he;\n\"any other person might be persuaded; I can not accept it! My horse is\nsaddled, my followers await me: farewell, Zaleukos!\"\n\nThe friends whom destiny had so strangely united, embraced each other\nbefore parting.\n\n\"And what shall I call you? What is the name of my guest and friend who\nwill live forever in my memory?\" asked the Greek.\n\nThe stranger gave him a parting look, pressed his hand once more, and\nreplied: \"They call me the ruler of the desert; I am _the Robber\nOrbasan_.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                PART II\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\n                           TALES OF THE INN.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE INN IN THE SPESSART.\n\n\nMany years ago, while yet the roads in the Spessart were in poor\ncondition and but little traveled, two young journeymen were making\ntheir way through this wooded region. The one might have been about\neighteen years old, and was by trade a compass-maker; the other was a\ngoldsmith, and, judging from his appearance, could not have been more\nthan sixteen, and was most likely making his first journey out into the\nworld.\n\nEvening was coming on, and the shadows of the giant pines and\nbeeches darkened the narrow road on which the two were walking. The\ncompass-maker stepped bravely forward, whistling a tune, playing\noccasionally with Munter, his dog, and not seeming to feel much concern\nthat the night was near, while the next inn for journeymen was still\nfar ahead of them. But Felix, the goldsmith, began to look about him\nanxiously. When the wind rustled through the trees, it sounded to him\nas if there were steps behind him; when the bushes on either side of\nthe road were stirred, he was sure he caught glimpses of lurking faces.\n\nThe young goldsmith was, moreover, neither superstitious nor lacking in\ncourage. In Wuerzburg, where he had learned his trade, he passed among\nhis fellows for a fearless youth, whose heart was in the right spot;\nbut on this day his courage was at a singularly low ebb. He had been\ntold so many things about the Spessart. A large band of robbers were\nreported as committing depredations there; many travellers had been\nrobbed within a few weeks, and a horrible murder was spoken of as\nhaving occurred here not long before. Therefore he felt no little\nalarm, as they were but two in number and could not successfully\nresist armed robbers. How often he regretted that he had not stopped\nover-night at the edge of the forest, instead of agreeing to accompany\nthe compass-maker to the next station!\n\n\"And if I am killed to-night, and lose all I have with me, you will be\nto blame, compass-maker, for you persuaded me to come into this\nterrible forest,\" said he.\n\n\"Don't be a coward,\" retorted the other. \"A real journeyman should\nnever be afraid. And what is it you are afraid of? Do you think that\nthe lordly robbers of the Spessart would do us the honor to attack and\nkill us? Why should they give themselves that trouble? To gain\npossession of the Sunday-coat in my knapsack, or the spare pennies\ngiven us by the people on our route? One would have to travel in a\ncoach-and-four, dressed in gold and silks, before the robbers would\nthink it worth their while to kill one.\"\n\n\"Stop! Didn't you hear somebody whistle in the woods?\" exclaimed Felix,\nnervously.\n\n\"That was the wind whistling through the trees. Walk faster, and we\nshall soon be out of the wood.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's all well enough for you to talk that way about not being\nkilled,\" continued the goldsmith; \"they would simply ask you what you\nhad, search you, and take away your Sunday-coat and your change. But\nthey would kill me because I carry gold and jewelry with me.\"\n\n\"Why should they kill you on that account? If four or five were to\nspring out of the bush there now with loaded rifles pointed at us, and\npolitely inquire, 'Gentlemen, what have you with you?' or 'If\nagreeable, we will help you carry it,' or some such elegant mode of\naddress, then you wouldn't make a fool of yourself, but would open your\nknapsack and lay the yellow waist-coat, the blue coat, two shirts, and\nall your necklaces, bracelets, combs, and whatever you had besides,\npolitely on the ground, and be thankful for the life they spared you.\"\n\n\"You think so, do you?\" responded Felix warmly. \"You think I would give\nup the ornament I have here for my godmother, the dear lady countess?\nSooner would I part with my life! Sooner would I be hacked into small\npieces. Did she not take a mother's interest in me, and since my tenth\nyear bind me out as apprentice? Has she not paid for my clothes and\nevery thing? And now, when I am about to go to her, to carry her\nsomething of my own handiwork that she had ordered of the master; now,\nthat I am able to give her this ornament as a sample of what I have\nlearned; now you think I would give that up, and my yellow waistcoat as\nwell, that she gave me? No, better death than to give to these base men\nthe ornament intended for my godmother!\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool!\" exclaimed the compass-maker. \"If they were to kill\nyou, the countess would still lose the ornament; so it would be much\nbetter for you to deliver it up and keep your life.\"\n\nFelix did not answer. Night had settled down, and by the uncertain\ngleam of the new moon he could not see more than five feet before him.\nHe became more and more nervous, kept close by the side of his\ncompanion, and was uncertain whether he ought to approve of the\narguments of his friend or not. Thus they continued on, side by side\nfor another hour, when they saw a light in the distance. The young\ngoldsmith was of opinion that they should not prematurely rejoice, as\nthe light might come from a den of thieves; but the compass-maker\ninformed him the robbers had their houses or caves under ground, and\nthat this must be the inn that a man had told them of, as they entered\nthe forest.\n\nIt was a long, low house, before which a wagon stood; and adjoining\nthe house was a stable from which came the neighing of horses. The\ncompass-maker beckoned his comrade to a window whose shutters were\nopen; and by standing on their toes they were able to look into the\nroom. In a chair before the stove slept a man whose clothes bespoke him\na wagoner--very likely the owner of the cart before the door. On the\nother side of the stove sat a woman and a girl, spinning. Behind the\ntable, close to the wall, sat a man with a glass of wine before him.\nHis head was supported in his hands so that his face could not be seen.\nBut the compass-maker judged from his clothes that he was a man of\nrank. While they were peeping, a dog in the house began to bark;\nMunter, the compass-maker's dog, barked a reply; and a servant-girl\nappeared at the door and looked out at the strangers.\n\nThey were promised supper and a bed; so they entered, and laying their\nheavy bundles, sticks, and hats in the corner, sat down at the table\nwith the gentleman. He looked up at their greeting, and they perceived\nhim to be a handsome young man, who returned their greeting pleasantly.\n\n\"You are late on the road,\" said he; \"were you not afraid to travel\nthrough the Spessart on so dark a night? For my part, I would have\nstabled my horse in this tavern before I would have ridden an hour\nlonger.\"\n\n\"You are quite right in that, sir,\" responded the compass-maker. \"The\nhoof beats of a fine horse are music in the ears of these highwaymen,\nand lure them from a great distance; but when a couple of poor\njourneymen like us steal through the woods--people to whom the robbers\nwould sooner think of making a present than of taking any thing from\nthem--then, they do not lift a foot.\"\n\n\"That is very likely,\" chimed in the wagoner, who, awakened by the\narrival of the journeymen, had taken a seat at the table. \"They could\nnot very well be attracted by a poor man's purse, but there have been\ninstances of robbers killing poor people, simply out of thirst for\nblood, and of forcing others to join the band and serve as robbers.\"\n\n\"Well, if such are the deeds of these people in the forest, then this\nhouse will not afford us very good protection,\" observed the young\ngoldsmith. \"There are only four of us, or, counting the hostler, five;\nand if ten men were to attack us here, what could we do against them?\nAnd more than this,\" he added, in a low tone, \"who can guarantee that\nthe people of this inn are honest?\"\n\n\"Nothing to fear there,\" returned the wagoner. \"I have known this\ntavern for more than ten years, and have never seen any thing wrong\nabout it. The master of the house is seldom at home; they say he\ncarries on a wine trade; but his wife is a quiet woman who would not\nharm any one. No, you do them a wrong, sir.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" interposed the young gentleman, \"I should not like to brush\naside so lightly what he said. Don't you remember the reports about\nthose people who suddenly disappeared in this forest and left no trace\nbehind them? Several of them had previously announced their intention\nof passing the night at this inn; and as two or three weeks passed by\nwithout their being heard from, they were searched for, and inquiries\nmade at this inn, when they were assured that the missing men had never\nbeen here. It looks suspicious, to say the least.\"\n\n\"God knows,\" cried the compass-maker, \"we should do a much more\nsensible thing if we were to camp out under the next best tree we came\nto, than to remain within these four walls, where there is no chance of\nrunning away when they are once at the door, for the windows are\ngrated.\"\n\nAll grew very thoughtful over these speeches. It did not seem so very\nimprobable, after all, that these tavern people in the forest, be it\nunder compulsion or of their free accord, were in league with the\nrobbers. The nighttime seemed particularly dangerous to them, for they\nhad all heard many stories of travellers who had been attacked and\nmurdered in their sleep; and even if their lives were not endangered,\nyet most of the guests of the inn were possessed of such moderate means\nthat the robbery of even a part of their property would have: been a\nvery serious loss to them. They looked dolefully into their glasses.\nThe young gentleman wished himself on the back of his horse, trotting\nthrough a safe open valley. The compass-maker wished for twelve of his\nsturdy comrades, armed with clubs, for a body-guard. Felix, the\ngoldsmith, was more anxious for the safety of the ornament designed for\nhis benefactress, than for his own life. But the wagoner, who had been\nblowing clouds of smoke before him, said softly: \"Gentlemen, at least\nthey shall not surprise us asleep. I, for my part, will remain awake\nthe whole night, if one other will keep watch with me.\"\n\n\"I will\"--\"I too,\" cried the three others. \"And I could not go to\nsleep,\" added the young gentleman.\n\n\"Well we had better contrive some means of keeping awake,\" said the\nwagoner. \"I think while we number just four people, we might play\ncards, that would keep us awake and while away the time.\"\n\n\"I never play cards,\" said the young gentleman, \"therefore you would\nhave to count me out.\"\n\n\"Nor do I know any thing about cards,\" added Felix.\n\n\"What can we do, then, if we don't play cards,\" asked the\ncompass-maker. \"Sing? That wouldn't do, for it would only attract the\nattention of the robbers. Give one another riddles to guess? That would\nnot last very long. How would it do if we were to tell stories?\nHumorous or pathetic, true or imaginative, they would keep us awake and\npass away the time as well as cards.\"\n\n\"I am agreed, if you will begin,\" said the young gentleman, smiling.\n\"You gentlemen of trades visit all countries, and have something to\ntell; for every town has its own legends and tales.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly, one hears a great deal,\" replied the compass-maker.\n\"But, on the other hand, gentlemen like you study diligently in books,\nwhere really wonderful things are written; therefore, you would know\nhow to tell a wiser and more entertaining story than a plain\njourneyman, such as one of us, could pretend to--for unless I am much\nmistaken you are a student, a scholar.\"\n\n\"A scholar, no,\" laughed the young gentleman; \"but certainly a student,\nand am now on my way home for the vacation. But what one reads in books\ndoes not answer for the purpose of a story nearly as well as what one\nhears. Therefore begin, if the other gentlemen are inclined to listen.\"\n\n\"Still more than with cards,\" responded the wagoner, \"am I pleased when\nI hear a good story told. I often keep my team down to a miserably slow\npace, that I may listen to one who walks near by, and has a fine story\nto tell; and I have taken many a person into my wagon, in bad weather,\nwith the understanding that he should tell me a story; and one of my\ncomrades I love very dearly, for the reason that he knows stories that\nlast for seven hours and even longer.\"\n\n\"That is also my case,\" added the young goldsmith. \"I love stories as I\ndo my life; and my master in Wuerzburg had to forbid me books lest I\nshould neglect my work. So tell us something fine, compass-maker; I\nknow that you could tell stories from now until day-break before your\nstock gave out.\"\n\nThe compass-maker complied by emptying his glass and beginning his\nstory.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE HIRSCH-GULDEN.\n\n\nIn Upper-Suabia still stands the walls of a castle that was once the\nstateliest of the surrounding country, Hohen-Zollern. It rose from the\nsummit of a round steep mountain, from whence one had a distant and\nunobstructed view of the country. Farther than this castle could be\nseen from the encircling horizon, was the brave race of the Zollerns\nfeared; and their name was known and honored in all German countries.\n\nThere lived several hundred years ago, in this castle, a Zollern, who\nwas by nature a singular man. One could not say that he oppressed his\nsubjects, or that he lived at war with his neighbors; yet no one\ntrusted him, on account of his sullen look, his knitted brow, and his\nmoody, crusty manner. There were few people, outside of the castle\nservants, who had ever heard him speak properly like other people; for\nwhen he rode through the valley, if one met him, gave him the road, and\nsaid to him with uncovered head, \"Good evening, Sir Count! It is a fine\nday,\" he would answer, \"Stupid stuff,\" or, \"I know it already.\" If,\nhowever, one had been inattentive to his wants or had neglected his\ncharger, or if a peasant with his cart met him on a narrow road, so\nthat the count could not pass him quickly enough, he broke out into a\ntorrent of curses. Yet it was never said of him on these occasions that\nhe had struck a peasant. But all through this region he was called \"The\nTempest of Zollern.\"\n\nThe Tempest of Zollern had a wife who was a complete contrast to\nhimself, and as mild and pleasant as a May morning. Often by her\nfriendly words and her kind glance had she reconciled to her husband\npeople whom he, by his rude speech, had deeply insulted. To the poor\nshe did all the good in her power; nor could the warmest days of Summer\nor the most terrible snow storms of Winter prevent her from descending\nthe steep mountain to visit poor people or sick children. If the count\nmet her on these errands, he would say in a surly manner, \"Know\nalready--stupid stuff,\" and proceed on his way.\n\n\nMany ladies would have been discouraged or intimidated by such a crusty\nmanner; one would have thought, \"why should I concern myself with poor\npeople when my husband calls it all stupid stuff?\" another, through\npride or sorrow, might have lost her love for so moody a husband; but\nnot so with the Countess Hedwig of Zollern. She was constant in her\naffection, strove to smooth the lines on his brow with her beautiful\nwhite hand, and loved and honored him. And when after a long time\nHeaven bestowed upon them the gift of a son, she loved her husband none\nthe less while conferring all the duties of a tender mother on her\nlittle boy.\n\n\nThree years went by, and the Count of Zollern saw his son only on\nSunday afternoons, when the child was handed to him by the nurse. He\nlooked at him without changing a feature of his face, growled something\nthrough his beard, and gave him back to the nurse. But when the boy was\nable to say \"father,\" the count gave the nurse a gulden, but showed no\npleasanter face to the boy.\n\nOn his third birthday, however, the count had his son put on the first\npair of breeches and had him dressed splendidly in velvet and silk.\nThen he ordered his horse, and also another fine horse for his son,\ntook the child up on his arm, and began to descend the spiral\nstaircase. The countess was astonished as she saw this. She was not\naccustomed to inquire where he was going and when he would return; but\nthis time anxiety for her child opened her lips.\n\n\"Are you going to ride out, Sir Count?\" she asked. He made no reply.\n\"For what purpose do you take the child?\" continued she, \"Cuno will\ntake a walk with me.\"\n\n\"Know already,\" replied the Tempest of Zollern; and kept on his way\ntill he stood in the court-yard, where he took the boy by one of his\nlittle feet and lifted him into the saddle, bound him fast, and then\nswinging himself on his horse, trotted out of the castle gate with the\nbridle of his son's horse in his hand.\n\nAt first the little fellow regarded it as a great treat to ride down\nthe mountain with his father. He clapped his hands, laughed, shook the\nmane of his horse to make him go faster, all of which pleased the count\nso much that he called out several times: \"You will make a brave lad!\"\n\nBut when they came to the foot of the mountain, and the count's horse\nbegan to trot, the boy lost his courage, and begged, at first very\nquietly, that his father would ride slower; but as the count spurred on\nhis horse, and the strong wind nearly took poor Cuno's breath away, the\nboy began to cry, became more and more impatient, and finally howled at\nthe top of his lungs.\n\n\"Know already! stupid stuff!\" began his father. \"The young one howls on\nhis first ride; be still, or----\"\n\nBut in the moment he was about to stop the boy's cries by a curse, his\nhorse reared, and the bridle of his son's horse slipped from his hand.\nHe gave his attention to quieting his horse, and when he had mastered\nit and looked around for his child, he saw the other horse running up\nthe mountain without its little rider.\n\nStern and unfeeling as was the Count of Zollern, this sight struck him\nto the heart. He believed his son had been dashed to the ground and\nkilled. He pulled his beard and groaned; but nowhere could he find a\ntrace of the boy. He had just began to think that the frightened horse\nhad thrown him into the ditch that ran along the road, full of water,\nwhen he heard a child's voice call his name, and as he quickly turned,\nthere sat an old woman under a tree, not far from the road, rocking the\nchild on her knees.\n\n\"How do you come by that boy, old witch?\" shouted the count angrily.\n\"Bring him to me at once.\"\n\n\"Not so fast, not so fast, your Honor!\" laughed the ugly old woman, \"or\nyou too might meet with an accident on your proud horse. How did I come\nby the boy, did you ask? Well, his horse ran by and he was hanging down\nby one little foot, with his hair touching the ground, when I caught\nhim in my apron.\"\n\n\"Know already!\" cried the Count of Zollern, ill-humoredly. \"Bring him\nhere now; I can not very well dismount, my horse is wild and might kick\nhim.\"\n\n\"Give me a hirsch-gulden, then,\" pleaded the woman humbly.\n\n\"Stupid stuff!\" cried the count, and flung some copper coins to her\nunder the tree.\n\n\"Oh, no! Come, I could make good use of a hirsch-gulden,\" continued the\nold woman.\n\n\"What, a hirsch-gulden! You are not worth that much yourself!\" said the\ncount angrily. \"Quick with that child, or I will set the dogs on you!\"\n\n\"So, I am not worth a hirsch-gulden, eh?\" replied the old woman with a\nmocking laugh. \"Well, it shall be seen what part of your heritage is\nworth a hirsch-gulden; but there, keep your money!\" So saying, she\ntossed the three copper coins to the count; and so well could the old\nwoman throw, that all three of the coins fell into the purse that the\ncount still held in his hand.\n\nThe count was struck dumb with astonishment at this exhibition of\nskill, but at last his surprise was changed into anger. He grasped his\ngun, cocked it, and took aim at the old woman. But she, unmoved, hugged\nand kissed the boy, holding him up before her so as to protect herself\nfrom the bullet. \"You are a good little fellow,\" said she. \"Only remain\nso, and you will never want for any thing.\" Then she let him go, shook\nher finger threateningly at the count, and said: \"Zollern, Zollern! you\nowe me a hirsch-gulden!\" With that she moved off slowly into the\nforest, leaning on a staff of box-wood. Conrad, the attendant,\ndismounted from his horse trembling, lifted his little master into the\nsaddle, vaulted up behind him, and followed the count up to the castle.\n\nThis was the first and last time that the Tempest of Zollern took his\nson out riding with him; for because the boy had cried when his horse\nbroke into a trot, the count regarded him as a spiritless child out of\nwhom nothing was to be made, and looked on him with displeasure; and\nwhen the boy, who loved his father dearly, came in a friendly, coaxing\nway to his knee, he would motion him to go away, exclaiming: \"Know it\nalready! Stupid stuff!\"\n\nThe countess had patiently borne all the unpleasant caprices of her\nhusband, but this unfatherly behavior towards an innocent child\naffected her deeply. She fell sick several times with terror, when the\nsullen count had punished the boy severely for some trivial offense,\nand died at last in her best years, and was mourned by her servants, by\nthe people for miles around, but especially by her little son.\n\nFrom this time forth the aversion of the count for his son steadily\nprogressed. He turned the lad over to the nurse and the house-chaplain\nto bring up, and looked after him but little himself--especially as\nshortly after his wife's death he married a rich young lady, who in a\ntwelvemonth presented him with twins.\n\nCuno's favorite walk was to the house of the old woman who had once\nsaved his life. She told him many things about his dead mother, and how\nmuch the countess had done for her. The men and maid-servants often\nwarned him that he should not visit the Frau Feldheimerin so often,\nbecause she was nothing more nor less than a witch; but the boy was not\nfrightened by their tales, as the chaplain had taught him that there\nwere no witches, and that the stories that certain women could bewitch\none, and ride through the air on broomsticks to the Brocken Mountains,\nwere lies. To be sure, he had seen many things about Frau Feldheimerin\nthat he could not understand; the trick with the three coins that she\nhad thrown so cleverly into his father's purse, he remembered\ndistinctly. Then too she could prepare all manner of salves and\ndecoctions with which she healed people and cattle; but it was not\ntrue, as was said of her, that she had a weather-pan, which, whenever\nshe placed it over the fire, produced a terrible thunder-storm. She\ntaught the little count much that was useful to him--various remedies\nfor sick horses, a drink to cure hydrophobia, a bait for fishes, and\nmany other things. The Frau Feldheimerin was soon his only company, for\nhis nurse died, and his step-mother did not trouble herself much about\nhim.\n\n\nWith his half-brothers, Cuno had a more sorrowful life than before.\nThey had the good fortune to stick to their horses on their first ride,\nand the Tempest of Zollern, therefore, regarded them as apt and\npromising boys, and took them out to ride every day, and taught them\nall that he knew himself.\n\nBut they did not learn much that was good from him, for he could\nneither read nor write, and he would not have his two precious sons\nwasting their time over such matters; but by the time they were ten\nyears old they could swear as terribly as their father, quarreled with\neverybody, lived together as peacefully as would a dog and cat, and\nonly when they joined hands to do Cuno a wrong were they at all\nfriendly with each other.\n\n\nTheir mother did not grieve over this state of things, as she\nconsidered it healthful and strengthening for the boys to fight; but a\nservant told the count about their quarrels one day, and although he\nanswered, \"Know it already! stupid stuff!\" yet he tried to hit upon\nsome plan for the future that would prevent his sons from killing each\nother, as he dreaded that threat of the Frau Feldheimerin, whom he held\nto be a witch: \"Well, it shall be seen what part of your heritage is\nworth a hirsch-gulden.\"\n\nOne day as he was hunting in the vicinity of his castle, his attention\nwas attracted by two mountains, which from their form seemed well\nadapted for castles; and he at once resolved to build there. Upon one\nof these mountains he built the Castle Schalksberg, naming it after the\nsmaller of the twins, who, on account of his many naughty tricks, had\nlong ago received the nickname of the little Schalk from his father.\nThe castle he built on the other hill he thought at first of calling\nHirschguldenberg, in order to propitiate the old witch, because she did\nnot esteem his heritage worth a hirsch-gulden; but he finally concluded\nto give it the simple name of Hirschberg. Such are the names of the two\nmountains to-day; and he who travels through the Suabian Alps can have\nthem pointed out to him.\n\nThe Tempest of Zollern had at first designed to make a will bequeathing\nZollern to his eldest son, Schalksberg to the little Schalk, and\nHirschberg to the other twin; but his wife did not rest until he had\nchanged it. \"The stupid Cuno--\" such was the way she spoke of the poor\nboy, because he was not so wild and ungovernable as her sons--\"the\nstupid Cuno is rich enough from what he inherited from his mother,\nwithout getting the beautiful castle of Zollern. And shall my sons get\nonly a castle, to which nothing belongs but a forest?\"\n\nIt was in vain that the count represented to her that one could not\njustly rob Cuno of his birthright; she wept and scolded, until the\nTempest of Zollern who never gave way to any one, at last, for the sake\nof peace, surrendered to her, and willed Schalksberg to Schalk, Zollern\nto Wolf, the larger of the twins, and Hirschberg, with the village of\nBalinger, to Cuno. Soon afterwards he was taken severely ill. When the\ndoctor told him he was going to die, he replied, \"Know it already;\" and\nwhen the chaplain begged him to prepare for the future life, he\nanswered, \"Stupid stuff,\" cursed and stormed, and died, as he had\nlived, a great sinner.\n\nBut before his body was laid to rest, the countess produced the will,\nand sneeringly told Cuno that he might show his learning by reading\nwhat was written therein--namely, that he no longer had any business at\nZollern. With her sons she rejoiced over the fine estate and the two\ncastles which they had taken away from him, the first-born.\n\nCuno submitted, without complaint, to the provisions of the will; but\nwith tears, he took leave of the castle where he was born, where his\nmother lay buried, and where the good chaplain lived, while not far\naway was the home of his only woman friend, Frau Feldheimerin. The\ncastle of Hirschberg was, it is true, a fine stately building; but\nstill it was so lonely and desolate for him, that he felt very\nhomesick.\n\nThe countess and the twin brothers, who were now eighteen years old,\nsat one evening on the balcony looking down the mountain-side, when\nthey perceived a stately knight riding up the road, followed by several\nservants and two mules bearing a sedan chair. They speculated for some\ntime as to who he might be, when at last the little Schalk cried out:\n\"Why, that is no other than our brother from Hirschberg!\"\n\n\"The stupid Cuno!\" said the countess in surprise. \"Why, he is about to\ndo us the honor of inviting us to visit him, and has brought along that\nsplendid sedan to carry me to Hirschberg. Such kindness and politeness\nI had not given my son, the stupid Cuno, the credit of possessing. One\npoliteness deserves another; let us go down to the gate to receive him;\nlook pleased to see him, and perhaps he will make us some presents at\nHirschberg--you a horse, and you a harness; and I have long wished to\nown his mother's ornaments.\"\n\n\"I don't want any presents from the stupid Cuno,\" replied Wolf,\n\"neither will I appear glad to see him; and for aught I care, he might\nfollow our blessed father; then we should inherit Hirschberg and\neverything, and to you, madame, we would sell those ornaments at a low\nprice.\"\n\n\"Indeed, you good-for-nothing!\" exclaimed his mother angrily, \"I should\nhave to buy the ornaments, should I? Is that your gratitude for my\nprocuring Zollern for you? Little Schalk, I can have the ornaments\nfree, can I not?\n\n\"No pay, no work, lady mother!\" replied Schalk, laughing. \"And if it be\ntrue that the ornaments are worth as much as most castles are, we\ncertainly should not be fools enough to hang them around your neck. As\nsoon as Cuno shuts his eyes for good, we will ride over there, divide\nevery thing, and I will sell my part of the ornaments. Then if you will\ngive more than the Jew, you shall have them.\"\n\nThus speaking, they came to the castle gate, and the countess had great\ndifficulty in concealing the rage she felt, as Count Cuno rode over the\ndraw-bridge. When he saw his step-mother and brothers standing there,\nhe stopped his horse, dismounted, and greeted them politely; for\nalthough they had done him much wrong, still he remembered that they\nwere his brothers and that his father had loved this woman.\n\n\"Well, this is nice to have my son visit us,\" said the countess, in a\nsweet voice, and with a gracious smile. \"How do you like Hirschberg?\nCan one feel at home there? And you have furnished yourself with a\nsedan. Why, how splendid it is! an empress would have no cause to be\nashamed of it; a wife will not be long wanting, I'm thinking, to ride\naround the country in it.\"\n\n\"I have not thought about that yet, gracious mother,\" replied Cuno,\n\"and will therefore take home other company for my entertainment; for\nthis purpose I have brought along the sedan.\"\n\n\"Why, you are very kind and thoughtful,\" interrupted the countess, as\nshe bowed and smiled.\n\n\"For he can not ride a horse very well now,\" continued Cuno, quietly.\n\"Father Joseph, I mean, the chaplain. I will take him home with me, for\nhe is my old teacher, and we made that arrangement when I left Zollern.\nI will also pick up the old Frau Feldheimerin at the foot of the\nmountain. Why, bless me, she's as old as the hills, and saved my life\nonce when I rode out for the first time with my blessed father. I have\nplenty of room in Hirschberg, and she shall live and die there.\" So\nsaying, he passed through the court-yard to call the chaplain.\n\nThe youngster Wolf bit his lips angrily; the countess became livid with\nrage; while Schalk laughed aloud. \"What will you give me for the horse\nthat I received as a present from him?\" said he. \"Brother Wolf, will\nyou trade off your harness for it? Is he going to take home the\nchaplain and the old witch? They will make a fine pair; in the forenoon\nhe can learn Greek from the chaplain, and in the afternoon take lessons\nin witchcraft from Frau Feldheimerin. Why, what kind of tricks is the\nstupid Cuno up to!\"\n\n\n\"He is a low, vulgar fellow,\" cried the countess, \"and you shouldn't\nlaugh about it, little Schalk. It is a shame for the whole family, and\nwe shall be the sport of the neighborhood when it is reported that the\nCount of Zollern has fetched the old witch home to live with him in a\nsplendid sedan. He gets that from his mother, who was also familiar\nwith the sick and with miserable servants. Alas, his father would turn\nin his coffin if he could know of it.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added Schalk, \"father would say in his grave: 'Know already!\nstupid stuff!'\"\n\n\"As sure as you live! there he comes now with the old man, and is not\nashamed to take him by the arm,\" exclaimed the countess, in disgust.\n\"Come, I don't wish to meet him again.\"\n\nThey went off, and Cuno conducted his old teacher to the drawbridge,\nand assisted him into the sedan. They stopped at the foot of the\nmountain, before the hut of Frau Feldheimerin, and found her waiting\nwith a bundle full of glasses, dishes, and medicines.\n\nBut Cuno's action was not looked at in the light prophesied by the\ncountess. It was thought to be noble and praiseworthy that he should\ntry to cheer the last days of the old Frau Feldheimerin, and that he\nshould take Father Joseph into his castle. The only ones who disliked\nand slandered him were his brothers and his stepmother. But only to\ntheir own hurt; for everybody took an aversion to such unnatural\nbrothers, and by way of retaliation the story went that they lived in\ncontinual strife with their mother and did all they could to harm one\nanother. Count Cuno made several attempts to reconcile his brothers to\nhimself, for it was unbearable to him when they rode by his castle\nwithout stopping, or when they met him in the field and forest and\ngreeted him as coldly as though he were a stranger. But his attempts\nfailed, and only increased their bitterness towards him.\n\nOne day a plan occurred to him by which he might perhaps win their\nhearts, for he knew that they were miserly and avaricious. There was a\npond situated at about an equal distance from the three castles, but\nlying in Cuno's domain. This pond contained the finest pike and carp\nto be found any where; and it was one of the chief grievances of the\ntwin-brothers, who were fond of fishing, that their father had not\nincluded this pond in the land he had given them. They were too proud\nto fish there without their brother's knowledge, neither would they ask\npermission of him. But Cuno knew that his brothers had set their hearts\non this pond, so he sent an invitation to them to meet him there on a\ncertain day.\n\nIt was a beautiful Spring morning, as, nearly at the same moment, the\nthree brothers from the three castles met.\n\n\"Why, look you!\" said Schalk; \"we are well met! I rode away from\nSchalksberg just on the stroke of seven.\"\n\n\"So did I,\"--\"and I,\" repeated the brothers from Hirschberg and\nZollern.\n\n\"Well, then, the pond must lie precisely in the middle,\" continued\nSchalk. \"It is a beautiful sheet of water.\"\n\n\"Yes, and for that reason did I choose this spot for our meeting. I\nknow that you are both fond of fishing, and although I sometimes throw\na line myself, yet there are fish enough here for three castles, and on\nthese banks there is room enough for us three, even were we all to meet\nhere at the same time. Therefore, I propose from this time forth that\nthis pond shall be the common property of us three, and each one of you\nshall have the same rights here that I do.\"\n\n\"Why, our brother is certainly graciously minded,\" said Schalk, in a\njeering way. \"He really gives us six acres of water and a few hundred\nlittle fishes! And what shall we have to give in return?\"\n\n\"You shall have it free,\" said Cuno. \"I should like to see and speak\nwith you at this pond now and then. We are the sons of one father.\"\n\n\"No,\" exclaimed Schalk; \"that would not do at all, for there is nothing\nmore silly than to fish in company; one is always frightening off the\nother's fishes. We might, however, decide on days for each one--say\nMonday and Thursday for you, Cuno, Tuesday and Friday for Wolf, and\nWednesday and Saturday for me. Such an arrangement would suit me.\"\n\n\"But I won't agree to that,\" cried the surly Wolf. \"I don't want any\nfree gift, neither will I divide my rights with any one. You were\nright, Cuno, in making your offer, for in justice the pond belongs as\nmuch to one as to the other; but let us throw the dice to decide who\nshall have the entire ownership for the future, and if I am more\nfortunate than you, then you will have to come to me for permission to\nfish.\"\n\n\"I never throw,\" replied Cuno, sad at this display of obduracy on the\npart of his brothers.\n\n\"Of course not,\" sneered Schalk. \"Our brother is so pious that he\nthinks it is a deadly sin to throw dice. But I will make another\nproposal, to which the most religious recluse could offer no objection:\nLet us get some bait and hooks, and he who shall have caught the most\nfish this morning when the bell of Zollern strikes twelve, will be the\nowner of the pond.\"\n\n\"I am truly a fool,\" responded Cuno, \"to strive for that which is mine\nby right of inheritance; but that you may see that my offer of a\ndivision was made in earnest, I will fetch my fishing tackle.\"\n\nThey rode home, each one to his own castle. The twins sent their\nservants out in all haste, with orders to turn over all the old stones\nnear by, and to collect what worms they found underneath them for bait.\nBut Cuno took his usual fishing tackle, together with the bait which\nFrau Feldheimerin had once learned him to prepare, and was the first to\nreach the pond again. On the arrival of the twins he allowed them the\nfirst choice of position, and then threw in his own line. Then it was\nas if the fish seemed to recognize in him the owner of the pond. Whole\nschools of carp and pike drew near and swarmed about his line. The\noldest and largest crowded the small fry aside; every moment he landed\na fish, and each time he cast his line twenty or thirty darted at the\nhook with open mouths. Before two hours had passed, the ground around\nhim was covered with fish; then he laid down his line and went over to\nwhere his brothers sat, to see how they were getting along. Schalk had\none poor little carp and two paltry shiners; while Wolf had caught\nthree barbels and two little gudgeons, and both looked sadly down into\nthe water, for they had seen from their place the vast number that Cuno\nhad caught.\n\nWhen Cuno approached his brother Wolf, the latter sprang up in a rage,\ntore off his line, broke his rod into small pieces and flung them into\nthe pond. \"I wish I had a thousand hooks to throw in there, instead of\none, and that a fish, was wriggling on every one of them,\" cried he;\n\"but this could never have occurred in a natural way, it is sorcery and\nwitchcraft, or how should you, stupid Cuno, catch more fish in one hour\nthan I could take in a year?\"\n\n\"Yes, that's so,\" echoed Schalk. \"I remember now that he learned how to\nfish from that vile witch, Frau Feldheimerin; and we were fools to fish\nwith him; he will be a wizard himself one of these days.\"\n\n\"You wicked fellows!\" returned Cuno, sadly. \"I have had time enough\nthis morning to get an insight into your avarice, your shamelessness,\nand your insolence. Go now, and never return here; and believe it would\nbe better for your souls if you were half as pious and good as she whom\nyou have called a witch.\"\n\n\"No, she is not a genuine witch,\" sneered Schalk. \"Such wives can\nprophesy; but Frau Feldheimerin is about as much of a prophetess as a\ngoose is a swan. Didn't she tell our father that one would be able to\nbuy a good part of his heritage for a hirsch-gulden? And yet at his\ndeath everything within sight of the towers of Zollern belonged to him.\nFrau Feldheimerin is nothing more than a silly old hag, and you the\nstupid Cuno.\"\n\nThus saying, Schalk ran off as fast as he could, for he feared the\nstrong arm of his brother Cuno; and Wolf followed him, shouting back\nall the cursed he had learned from his father.\n\nGrieved to the soul, Cuno returned home; for he now saw plainly that\nhis brothers would never be reconciled to him. And he took their bitter\nwords so seriously to heart that he fell sick the next day, and only\nthe consoling words of good Father Joseph, and the strengthening\nremedies of Frau Feldheimerin, rescued him from death.\n\nBut when his brothers heard that Cuno lay very sick, they sat down to a\njovial banquet, and over their cups made an agreement that the one who\nshould be the first to hear of his death was to fire off a cannon, in\norder to notify the other of the event, and he who fired first might\ntake the best cask of wine in Cuno's cellar. From this time forth Wolf\nstationed a watchman in the vicinity of Hirschberg, while Schalk bribed\none of Cuno's servants with a large sum of money, to inform him,\nwithout delay, when Cuno was breathing his last.\n\nBut this servant was more faithful to his good and gentle master than\nto the wicked Count of Schalksberg. He inquired one evening of Frau\nFeldheimerin, very solicitously, after his master's health, and when\nshe told him that the count was doing quite well, he related to her the\nproject of the brothers of firing off guns when the Count Cuno should\ndie. The old woman was infuriated, and quickly repeated this story to\nthe count, who could hardly believe his brothers were so utterly\nheartless; so she advised him to put the matter to the proof by\nspreading a report of his death. The count summoned the servant to whom\nhis brother had given a bribe, questioned him closely, and then ordered\nhim to ride to Schalksberg and announce his approaching death.\n\nAs the servant was riding hastily down the hill, he was seen and\nstopped by the servant of Count Wolf, who asked him where he was riding\nto in such a hurry. \"Alas!\" was his reply, \"my poor master will not\noutlive the night, they have all given him up.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Has his time come?\" cried the spy, as he ran to his horse,\n'sprang on his back, and rode so fast towards Zollern, that his horse\nsank down at the gate, and he was himself only able to call out: \"Count\nCuno is dying!\" before he fell down senseless. Thereupon, the cannon of\nHohen-Zollern thundered, and Count Wolf rejoiced with his mother, in\nanticipation of the cask of wine, over the castle and its belongings,\nthe jewels, the pond, and the echo of his cannon.\n\nBut what he had taken for its echo, was the cannon of Schalksberg, and\nWolf said smilingly to his mother: \"It seems Schalk has had a spy there\ntoo, and therefore he and I will have to divide the wine equally, as\nwell as the rest of the property.\" With this he mounted his horse,\nfearing lest Schalk should arrive at Hirschberg before he did, and\nperhaps take away some of the jewels of the deceased. But the twins met\nat the fish-pond, and each blushed before the other, so apparent was\nthe desire of both to be the first-comer at Hirschberg. They said not a\nword about Cuno, as they continued on their way together, but discussed\nin a brotherly manner how things should be arranged in the future, and\nto which of them Hirschberg should belong. But as they rode over the\ndraw-bridge into the court, they saw their brother, safe and sound,\nlooking out of the window; but anger and scorn flashed from his\nfeatures.\n\nThe brothers shrank back in terror, taking him at first to be a ghost,\nand crossed themselves; but when they saw that he was still in flesh\nand blood, Wolf exclaimed:\n\n\"Stupid stuff! I thought you were dead.\"\n\n\"Omittance is no quittance,\" said Schalk, darting up at his\nhalf-brother a venomous look.\n\nCuno replied in a threatening voice: \"From this hour, all bonds of\nbrotherhood between us are broken. I heard the salute you fired; but\nknow this, that I have five field-pieces here in the court that were\nloaded to do you honor. Take care to keep out of the range of my\ncannon, or you shall have a sample of our shooting at Hirschberg.\"\n\nThey did not wait to be spoken to a second time, for they saw that\ntheir brother was fully in earnest; so they gave their horses the spurs\nand raced down the mountain, while their brother sent a parting shot\nafter them, that whistled above their heads, so that they both made a\nlow and polite bow together; but he only wished to frighten and not to\nwound them.\n\n\"Why did you fire off your gun?\" asked Schalk of his brother Wolf, in\nan ill-humored lone. \"I only shot because I heard your gun, you fool!\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" replied Wolf. \"I'll leave it to mother if you were\nnot the first to shoot; and you have brought this disgrace on us, you\nlittle badger.\"\n\nSchalk returned all his brother's epithets with interest; and when they\ncame to the pond, they hurled at one another some of the choicest\ncurses that the \"Tempest of Zollern\" had bequeathed them, and parted in\nhate and anger.\n\nShortly after this occurrence, Cuno made his will, and Frau\nFeldheimerin said to Father Joseph: \"I would wager something that he\nhas not left much to the twins.\" But with all her curiosity, and much\nas she urged her favorite, he would not tell her what was written in\nthe will; nor did she ever learn, for a year afterwards the good woman\npassed away in spite of her salves and potions. She died, not of any\ndisease, but of her ninety-eighth year, which might well bring even the\nmost healthy person to the grave. Count Cuno had her buried with as\nmuch ceremony as if she had been his own mother and not a poor old\nwoman, and he grew more and more lonely in his castle, especially as\nFather Joseph soon followed Frau Feldheimerin.\n\nStill he did not suffer this solitude very long; for in his\ntwenty-eighth year the good Cuno died, and, as wicked people asserted,\nof poison administered by Schalk. Be that as it may, some hours after\nhis death the thunder of cannon was heard once more from Zollern and\nSchalksberg.\n\n\"This time he will have to acknowledge the truth of the reports,\" said\nSchalk to his brother Wolf, as they met on the road to Hirschberg.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Wolf; \"but even if he should rise from the dead and\nabuse us from the window as before, I have a rifle with me that will\nmake him polite and dumb.\"\n\nAs they rode up the castle hill, they were joined by a horseman with\nhis retinue, whom they did not know. They believed, however, that he\nmust be a friend of their brother's who had come to attend the funeral.\nTherefore they demeaned themselves as mourners, were loud in their\npraises of the deceased, lamented his early death, and Schalk even\nmanaged to squeeze out a few crocodile tears. The stranger paid no\nattention to what they said, but rode silently by their side up to the\ncastle. \"Now, then, we will make ourselves comfortable; and, butler,\nbring some wine, the very best!\" cried Wolf, as he dismounted. They\nwent up the spiral staircase into the salon, where they were followed\nby the silent stranger; and just as the twins had sat down to the\ntable, he took from his purse a silver coin, and throwing it down on\nthe slate table, where it rolled about and settled down with a ring,\nsaid:\n\n\"Then and there you have your inheritance; it is a good piece of\nsilver, a hirsch-gulden.\"\n\nThe two brothers looked at one another in astonishment, laughed, and\nasked him what he meant by this.\n\nThe stranger, by way of reply, produced a parchment, attached to which\nwere many seals, in which Cuno had recorded all the instances of\nmalevolence that his brothers had shown him in his life-time, and at\nthe close decreed and made known that his entire estate, real and\npersonal, with the exception of his mother's jewels, should, in the\nevent of his death, become the property of Wuertemberg, in\nconsideration of _a pitiful hirsch-gulden_! But with his mother's\njewels, a poor-house should be built in the town of Balingen.\n\nThe brothers were astonished anew; but instead of laughing this time,\nthey ground their teeth together, for they could not hope to dispute\nthe claim of Wuertemberg. They had lost the beautiful castle, the\nforest and field, the town of Balingen, and even the fish-pond, and\ninherited nothing but a miserable hirsch-gulden. This, Wolf stuck into\nhis purse with a defiant air, put on his cap, passed the Wuertemberg\nofficer without a word, sprang on his horse, and rode back to Zollern.\n\nWhen, on the following morning, his mother reproached him with having\ntrifled away the estate and jewels, he rode over to Schalksberg and\nsaid to his brother:\n\n\"Shall we gamble with our inheritance, or drink it up?\"\n\n\"Let's drink it away,\" replied Schalk; \"then we shall both have won. We\nwill ride down to Balingen and let the people see our disdain, even if\nwe have lost the village in a most outrageous manner.\"\n\n\"And at 'The Lamb' tavern they have as good red wine as any the emperor\ndrinks,\" added Wolf.\n\nSo they rode down together to \"The Lamb,\" and inquired the cost of a\nquart of this red wine, and drank the worth of the gulden. Then Wolf\ngot up, took from his purse the silver coin with the leaping stag\nstamped on it, threw it down on the table, and said:\n\n\"There's your gulden, that will make it right.\"\n\nBut the landlord picked up the gulden, looked at it first on one side\nand then on the other, and said smilingly:\n\n\"Yes, if it was any thing but a hirsch-gulden; but last night the\nmessenger came from Stuttgart, and early this morning it was proclaimed\nin the name of the Count of Wuertemberg, to whom this town now belongs,\nthat these coins would be no longer current; so give me some other\nmoney.\"\n\nThe brothers looked at one another in dismay. \"Pay up,\" said one.\n\"Haven't you got any change?\" replied the other; and, in short, they\nwere obliged to remain in debt to \"The Lamb\" for a gulden.\n\nThey started back \"home without speaking to one another until they came\nto the cross-road, where the road to the right ran to Zollern and the\none to the left to Schalksberg. Then Schalk said:\n\n\"How now? We have inherited less than nothing; and moreover, the wine\nwas miserable.\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure,\" replied his brother, \"but what Frau Feldheimerin\nsaid, has come to pass: 'We shall see what part of your inheritance is\nworth a hirsch-gulden.' And now we were not able to pay for even a\nmeasure of wine with it.\"\n\n\"Know it already!\" answered he of Schalksberg.\n\n\"Stupid stuff!\" returned the Count of Zollern, as he rode off moodily,\ntowards his castle.\n\n\n\n\"That is the Legend of the Hirsch-Gulden,\" concluded the compass-maker,\n\"and said to be a true one. The landlord at Duerrwangen, which is\nsituated near the three castles, related it to one of my best friends,\nwho often acted as guide through the Suabian Alps, and always put up at\nDuerrwangen.\"\n\nThe guests applauded the compass-maker's story. \"What curious things\none hears in the world!\" exclaimed the wagoner. \"Really, I feel glad\nnow that we did not spoil the time with cards; this is much better, and\nso interested was I in the story, that I can tell it to-morrow to my\ncomrades without missing a single word of it.\"\n\n\"While you were telling your story, something came into my mind,\" said\nthe student.\n\n\"Oh, tell it, tell it!\" pleaded the compass-maker and Felix.\n\n\"Very well,\" replied he, \"it makes no difference whether my turn comes\nnow or later. Still, what I tell you must be considered in confidence,\nfor the incidents are reported to have really occurred.\"\n\nHe changed his position to a more comfortable one, and was just about\nto begin his story, when the landlady put away her distaff and went up\nto her guests at the table. \"It is time now, gentlemen, to go to bed,\"\nsaid she. \"It has struck nine, and to-morrow will be another day.\"\n\n\"Well, go to bed then,\" said the student. \"Set another bottle of wine\non the table for us, and we won't keep you up any longer.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" returned she, fretfully; \"so long as guests remain in\nthe public-room, it is not possible for the landlady and servants to\nretire. And once for all, gentlemen, I must request you to go to your\nrooms; the time hangs heavy on me, and there shall be no carousing in\nmy house after nine o'clock.\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you, landlady?\" said the compass-maker in\nsurprise. \"What harm can it do you if we sit here even after you have\ngone to sleep? We are honest people, and won't run off with any thing,\nnor leave without paying. I won't be ordered around in this way in any\ntavern.\"\n\nThe woman's eyes flashed angrily. \"Do you suppose I will change the\nrules of my house to suit every ragamuffin of a journeyman and every\nvagrant who pays me only twelve kreuzers? I tell you for the last time\nthat I won't submit to this nuisance.\"\n\nThe compass-maker was about to make a retort, when the student gave him\na significant look, winked at the others, and said: \"Very well, if the\nlandlady will have it so, then let us go up to our rooms. But we should\nlike some candles to find our way.\"\n\n\"I cannot accommodate you in that,\" responded the landlady, sullenly;\n\"the others can find their way in the dark, and this stump of a candle\nwill suffice for your needs; it's all I have in the house.\"\n\nThe young gentleman got up and took the light without replying. The\nothers followed him, the journeymen taking their bundles up with them\nto keep them near their side.\n\nWhen they got up to the head of the stairs, the student cautioned them\nto step very lightly, opened his door, and beckoned them to come in.\n\"There can now be no doubt,\" said he, \"that she means to betray us. Did\nyou not notice how anxious she was to have us go to bed, and the means\nshe took to prevent our remaining awake and together? She probably\nthinks that we will go to bed now, and thus play into her hands.\"\n\n\"But do you think that escape is impossible?\" asked Felix. \"In the\nforest one might more reasonably hope for rescue than in this room.\"\n\n\"These windows are also grated,\" said the student, vainly trying to\nwrench out one of the iron bars. \"There is but one way by which we can\nget out, if we wish to escape, and that is by way of the front door;\nbut I do not believe that they would let us out.\"\n\n\"We might make the attempt,\" said the wagoner; \"I will see whether I\ncan get into the yard. If it is possible then I will return for you.\"\n\nThe others assented to this proposal, so the wagoner took off his shoes\nand stole on tiptoe to the stair-case, while his companions listened\nanxiously from their room. He had got half-way down, safely and\nunnoticed, when suddenly a bull-dog rose up before him, placed its paws\non his shoulders, and displayed a gleaming set of teeth right before\nhis face. He did not dare to step either forward or backward, for at\nthe least movement the dog would have seized him by the throat. At the\nsame time the dog began to growl and bark, until the landlady and\nhostler appeared with lights.\n\n\"Where were you going? What do you want? cried the woman.\n\n\"I wanted to fetch something from my cart,\" answered the wagoner\ntrembling in every limb; for as the door opened he had caught a glimpse\nof several dark suspicious faces of armed men in the room.\n\n\"You might have done that before you went upstairs,\" replied the woman\ncrossly. \"Come here, Fassan! Jacob, lock the yard-gate and light the\nman out to his wagon.\"\n\nThe dog drew back his muzzle from the wagoner's face, removed his paws\nfrom the man's shoulders, and lay down once more across the stair-way.\nIn the meantime the hostler had secured the yard-gate, and now lighted\nthe wagoner to his cart. An escape was not to be thought of. But when\nhe came to consider what he should take from his wagon, he recollected\nthat he had a pound of wax candles that were to be delivered in the\nnext town. \"That short piece of candle won't last more than fifteen\nminutes longer,\" said he to himself, \"and yet we must have light!\" He\ntherefore took two wax candles from the wagon, concealed them in his\nsleeve, and also took his cloak as an excuse for his errand, telling\nthe hostler that he needed it for a blanket.\n\nWithout further incident he got back to the room upstairs. He told his\ncompanions about the big dog that guarded the stair-case, of the\nglimpse he had caught of the armed men, and of all the precautions that\nhad been taken to prevent their escape; and concluded with a groan: \"We\nshall not survive the night.\"\n\n\"I don't think that,\" said the student. \"I cannot believe that these\npeople would be so foolish as to take the lives of four men for the\nsake of the few little things we have with us. But we had better not\ntry to defend ourselves. For my part I shall lose the most; my horse is\nalready in their hands, and it cost me fifty ducats only four weeks\nago; my purse and my clothes I will give up willingly, for after all my\nlife is dearer to me than all these.\"\n\n\"You talk sensibly,\" responded the wagoner. \"Such things as you have\ncan be easily replaced; but I am the messenger from Aschaffenburg, and\nhave all kinds of goods in my wagon, and in the stable two fine horses,\nall I possess in the world.\"\n\n\"I can hardly believe that they would harm you,\" said the goldsmith;\n\"the robbery of a messenger would cause an alarm to be given all\nthrough the country. But then I agree with what the young gentleman\nsaid: sooner would I give up every thing I possess, and bind myself\nwith an oath never to speak of this matter and never to make complaint\nagainst them, than to attempt to defend my little property against\npeople who have rifles and pistols.\"\n\nDuring these words, the wagoner had taken out his wax candles. He stuck\nthem on the table and lighted them. \"Here let us await, in the name of\nGod, whatever may happen to us,\" said he; \"let us sit down together\nagain, and banish sleep with stories.\"\n\n\"We will do that,\" answered the student; \"and as the turn came to me\ndown-stairs, I will now begin.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE MARBLE HEART.\n\n                              FIRST PART.\n\nWhoever travels through Suabia should not neglect to take a peep into\nthe Black Forest; not on account of the trees, although one does not\nfind every-where such a countless number of magnificent pines, but\nbecause of the inhabitants, between whom and their outlying neighbors\nthere exists a marked difference. They are taller than ordinary people,\nbroad-shouldered and strong-limbed. It seems as though the balmy\nfragrance exhaled by the pines had given them a freer respiration, a\nclearer eye, and a more resolute if somewhat ruder spirit than that\npossessed by the inhabitants of the valleys and plains. And not only in\ntheir bearing and size do they differ from other people, but in their\ncustoms and pursuits as well. In that part of the Black Forest included\nwithin the Grand Duchy of Baden, are to be seen the most strikingly\ndressed inhabitants of the whole forest. The men let nature have her\nown way with their beards; while their black jackets, close-fitting\nknee breeches, red stockings, and peaked hats bound with a broad sheaf,\ngive them a picturesque, yet serious and commanding appearance. Here\nthe people generally are occupied in the manufacture of glass; they\nalso make watches and sell them to half the world.\n\nOn the other side of the forest formerly dwelt a branch of this same\nrace; but their employment had given them other customs and manners.\nThey felled and trimmed their pine trees, rafted the logs down the\nNagold into the Neckar, and from the Upper-Neckar to the Rhine, and\nthence far down into Holland, and even at the sea coast these raftsmen\nof the Black Forest were known. They stopped on their way down the\nrivers at each city that lined the banks, and proudly awaited\npurchasers for their logs and boards, but kept their largest and\nlongest logs to dispose of for a larger sum, to the Mynheers for\nshipbuilding purposes. These raftsmen were accustomed to a rough,\nwandering life. Their joy was experienced in floating down the streams\non their rafts; their sorrow in the long walk back on the banks. Thus\nfrom the nature of their occupation they required a costume entirely\ndifferent from that worn by the glass-makers on the other side of the\nBlack Forest. They wore jackets of dark linen, over which green\nsuspenders of a hand-breadth's width crossed over their broad breasts;\nblack leather knee breeches, from the pockets of which projected brass\nfoot-rules like badges of honor; but their joy and pride lay in their\nboots, the largest perhaps that ever came into vogue in any part of the\nworld, as they could be drawn up two spans of the hand above the knee,\nso that the raftsmen could wade around in a yard of water without\nwetting their feet.\n\nUp to quite a recent period, the inhabitants of this forest believed in\nspirits of the wood. But it is somewhat singular that the spirits who,\nas the legend ran, dwelt in the Black Forest, took sides in these\nprevailing fashions. Thus, it was averred that the Little Glass-Man, a\ngood little spirit, only three-and-a-half feet high, never appeared\notherwise than in a peaked hat with a wide brim, as well as a jacket\nand knee breeches and red stockings; whereas, Dutch-Michel, who haunted\nthe other part of the forest, was a giant-sized broad-shouldered fellow\nin the dress of a raftsman, and several people who had seen him,\nasserted that they would not care to pay for the hides that would be\nused to make him a pair of boots. \"And so tall,\" said they, \"that an\nordinary man would not reach to his neck.\"\n\nWith these spirits of the forest, a young man of this region is\nreported to have had a strange experience, which I will relate:\n\nThere lived in the Black Forest a widow by the name of Frau Barbara\nMunkin; her husband had been a charcoal-burner, and after his death she\nbrought up her son to the same business. Young Peter Munk, a cunning\nfellow of sixteen, was much pleased to sit all the week round on his\nsmoking piles of wood, just as he had seen his father do; or, all black\nand sooty as he was, and a scarecrow to the people, he would go down to\nthe towns to sell his charcoal. But a charcoal-burner has plenty of\ntime to think about himself and others; and when Peter Munk sat on his\nhalf-burned piles of wood, the dark trees about him and the deep\nstillness of the forest disposed him to tears and filled his heart with\nnameless longings. Something troubled him, and he could not well make\nout what it was. Finally he discovered what it was that had so put him\nout of sorts; it was his occupation. \"A lonely black charcoal-burner,\"\nreflected he. \"It is a miserable life. How respectable are the\nglassmakers, the watchmakers, and even the musicians of a Sunday\nevening! And when Peter Munk, cleanly-washed and brushed, appears\ndressed in his father's best jacket with silver buttons and with\nbran-new red stockings, and when one walks behind me and thinks, Who is\nthat stylish-looking fellow? and inwardly praises my stockings and my\nstately walk--when he passes by me and turns around to look, he is sure\nto say to himself: 'Oh, it's only Charcoal Pete!'\"\n\nThe raftsmen on the other side of the forest also aroused his envy.\nWhen these giants came over among the glass-makers, dressed in their\nelegant clothes, wearing at least fifty pounds of silver in buttons,\nbuckles, and chains, when they looked on at a dance, with legs spread\nwide apart, swore in Dutch, and smoked pipes from Cologne three feet\nlong in the stem, just like any distinguished Mynheer--then was Peter\nconvinced that such a raftsman was the very picture of a lucky man. And\nwhen these fortunate beings put their hands into their pockets and\ndrew out whole handfuls of thalers and shook for half a-dozen at a\nthrow--five guldens here, ten there--then he would nearly lose his\nsenses, and would steal home to his hut in a very melancholy mood. On\nmany holiday nights he had seen one or another of these timber\nmerchants lose more at play than his poor father had ever been able to\nearn in a year.\n\nDistinguished above all others were three of these men and Peter was\nuncertain which one of them was most wonderful. One was a large heavy\nman, with a red face, who passed for the richest man of them all. He\nwas called Stout Ezekiel. He went down to Amsterdam twice a year with\ntimber, and always had the good fortune to sell it at so much higher a\nprice than others could sell theirs, that he could afford to ride back\nhome in good style, while the others had to return on foot. The second\nman of the trio was the lankest and leanest person in the whole forest,\nand was called Slim Schlurker. Peter envied him for his audacity; he\ncontradicted the most respectable people, occupied more room when the\ninn was crowded than four of the stoutest, either by spreading his\nelbows out on the table, or by stretching his legs out on the bench,\nand yet no one dared to interfere with him, for he had an enormous\namount of money. But the third was a handsome young man, who was the\nbest dancer far and wide, and had, therefore, received the title of\nKing of the Ball. He had been a poor boy, and had been a servant to one\nof the lumber dealers, when he suddenly became very rich. Some said\nthat he had found a pot of gold under an old pine tree, others asserted\nthat he had fished up a packet of gold pieces near Bingen on the Rhine,\nwith the pole with which the raftsmen sometimes speared for fish; and\nthat the packet was part of the great Nibelungen treasure that lies\nburied there. In short, he had suddenly become a rich man, and was\nlooked upon by young and old with the respect due a prince. Charcoal\nPete often thought of these three men, as he sat so lonely in the\nforest of pines. It is true that all three had a common failing that\nmade them hated by the people; this was their inhuman avarice--their\nutter lack of sympathy for the poor and unfortunate; for the\ninhabitants of the Black Forest are a kind-hearted people. But you know\nhow it goes in the world; if they were hated on account of their\navarice, they yet commanded deference by virtue of their money; for who\nbut they could throw away thalers as if one had only to shake them down\nfrom the pines?\n\n\n\"I won't stand this much longer,\" said Peter, dejectedly, to himself\none day; for the day before had been a holiday, and all the people had\nbeen down to the inn. \"If I don't make a strike pretty soon, I shall\nmake away with myself. Oh, if I were only as rich and respectable as\nthe Stout Ezekiel, or so bold and mighty as the Slim Schlurker, or as\nfamous and as well able to throw thalers to the fiddlers as the King of\nthe Ball! Where can the fellow get his money?\" He thought over all the\nways by which one could make money, but none of them suited him.\nFinally there occurred to him the traditions of people who had become\nrich through the aid of Dutch Michel and the Little Glass-Man. During\nhis father's life-time, other poor people often came to visit them, and\nPeter had heard them talk by the hour of rich people and of the way\ntheir riches were acquired. The name of the Little Glass-Man was often\nmentioned in these conversations, as one who had helped these rich men\nto their wealth; and Peter could almost remember the verse that had to\nbe spoken at the Tannenbuehl in the centre of the forest in order to\nsummon him. It ran thus:\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im grünen Tannenwald,\n            Bis schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,\n            Dir gehört all' Land wo Tannen stehn--\"\n\nBut strain his memory as he would, he could not recall another line. He\noften debated within himself whether he should not ask this or that old\nman what the rest of the rhyme was, but was held back by a certain\ndread of betraying his thoughts--and then, too, the tradition of the\nGlass-Man could not be very widely known, and the rhyme must be known\nto but very few, for there were not many rich people in the forest;\nand, strangest of all, why had not his father and the other poor people\ntried their luck? He finally led his mother into speaking about the\nLittle Glass-Man; but she only told him what he knew before, and knew\nonly the first line of the rhyme, although she did add afterwards that\nthe spirit only showed himself to people who were born on a Sunday\nbetween eleven and two o'clock. In that respect, she told him, he would\nfill the requirements, if he could only remember the verse; as he was\nborn on a Sunday noon.\n\nWhen Charcoal Pete heard this, he was almost beside himself with joy at\nthe thought of undertaking this adventure. It appeared to him\nsufficient that he knew a part of the verse, and that he was born on a\nSunday; so he thought that the Glass-Man would appear to him.\nTherefore, after he had sold his charcoal one day, he did not kindle\nany more fires, but put on his father's best jacket, his new red\nstockings and his Sunday hat, grasped his black-thorn cane, and bade\ngood-bye to his mother, saying: \"I must go to town on business; we\nshall soon have to draw lots again to see who shall serve in the army,\nand I will once more call the justice's attention to the fact that I am\nthe only son of a widow.\"\n\nHis mother commended his resolution, and he started off for\nTannenbuehl. The Tannenbuehl lies on the highest point of the Black\nForest; and within a radius of a two-hours' walk, not a village nor\neven a hut was to be found, for the superstitious people held the\nTannenbuehl to be an unsafe place. And tall and splendid as were the\ntrees in this region, they were now but seldom disturbed by the\nwoodman's ax; for often when the wood-choppers had ventured in there to\nwork, the axes had flown from the helves and cut them in the foot, or\nthe trees had fallen unexpectedly before they could get out of the way,\nand had killed and injured many. Then, too, these magnificent trees\ncould only be sold for firewood, as the raftsmen would never take a\nsingle log from this locality into their rafts, for the tradition was\ncurrent among them that both men and rafts would come to grief if they\nwere to do so. Therefore, it was that the trees of the Tannenbuehl had\nbeen left to grow so thick and tall that it was almost as dark as night\nthere on the clearest day; and Peter Muck began to feel rather timid\nthere, for he heard not a voice, not a step save his own, not even the\nring of an ax, while even the birds appeared to shun these dark\nshadows.\n\nCharcoal Pete at last reached the highest point of the Tannenbuehl, and\nstood before a pine of enormous girth, for which a ship-builder in\nHolland would have given many hundred guldens, delivered at his yard.\n\"Here,\" thought he, \"the Little Glass-Man would be most likely to\nlive.\" So he took off his Sunday hat, made a low bow before the tree,\ncleared his throat, and said in a trembling voice: \"I wish you a very\ngood afternoon, Mr. Glass-Man.\" But there was no answer, and every\nthing about was as still as before. \"Perhaps I have to speak the verse\nfirst,\" thought he, and mumbled:\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im grünen Tannenwald,\n            Bist schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,\n            Dir gehört all' Land wo Tannen stehn--\"\n\nAs he spoke these words, he saw, to his great terror, a very small,\nstrange figure peep out from behind the great tree. To Peter it seemed\nto be the Little Glass-Man, just as he had heard him described: a black\njacket, red stockings, a peaked hat with a broad brim, and a pale but\nfine and intelligent little face. But alas, as quickly as the Little\nGlass-Man had looked around the tree, so quickly had he disappeared\nagain. \"Mr. Glass-Man,\" cried Peter Munk after a long pause, \"be so\nkind as not to make a fool of me. Mr. Glass-Man, if you think I didn't\nsee you, you are very much mistaken. I saw you very plainly when you\nlooked around the tree.\" Still no answer; but occasionally Peter\nbelieved he heard a low, amused chuckle behind the tree. Finally his\nimpatience conquered the fear that had held him back. \"Wait, you little\nfellow,\" cried he; \"I will soon catch you.\" With one leap he sprang\nbehind the tree, but there was no\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im grünen Tannenwald,\"\n\nand only a small squirrel ran up the tree.\n\nPeter Munk shook his head; he saw that he had the method of conjuration\nall right up to a certain point, and that perhaps only another line was\nneeded to induce the Little Glass-Man to appear. He thought over this\nand that, but found nothing to the purpose. The squirrel was to be seen\non the lower branches of the tree, and acted as if it were either\ntrying to cheer him up or was making sport of him. It smoothed down its\nfur, waved its fine bushy tail, and looked at him with intelligent\neyes. But at last he was afraid to remain here alone with this little\ncreature; for now the squirrel would appear to have a human head and a\nthree-peaked hat, and then again it would be just like other squirrels,\nwith the exception of red stockings and black shoes on its hinder legs.\nIn short, it was a merry creature; but nevertheless Charcoal Pete stood\nin dread of it, believing that there was some magic in all this.\n\nPeter left the spot at a much faster pace than he had approached it.\nThe shadows of the pine wood seemed to deepen, the trees to be taller,\nand such terror took possession of him that he broke into a run, and\nexperienced a sense of security only when he heard dogs barking in the\ndistance, and saw between the trees the smoke rising from a hut. But\nwhen he came nearer, and perceived the dress worn by the people in the\nhut, he found that in his alarm he had taken the wrong direction, and\ninstead of arriving among the glass-makers, he had come to the\nraftsmen. The people who dwelt in the hut were wood-choppers; an old\nman, his son, who was the owner of the house, and some grandchildren.\nThey gave Charcoal Pete a hospitable reception, without asking for his\nname and residence; brought him cider to drink, and for supper a large\nblackcock, the most tempting dish in the Black Forest, was set on the\ntable.\n\nAfter supper the housewife and her daughters gathered, with their\ndistaffs, around the light which the children fed with the finest\nresin; the grandfather, the guest, and the master of the house smoked\nand looked at the busy fingers of the women, while the boys were\noccupied in cutting out wooden forks and spoons. Out in the forest a\nstorm was raging; one heard every now and then heavy peals of thunder,\nand often it sounded as though entire trees had been snapped off and\ncrushed together. The fearless children wanted to go out into the\nforest to view this wild and beautiful scene; but their grandfather\nrestrained them by a sharp word and look. \"I would not advise any one\nto go outside the door,\" exclaimed he; \"he would never come back again,\nfor Dutch Michel is cutting a fresh link of logs to-night.\"\n\nThe children all stared at him. They might have heard the name of Dutch\nMichel mentioned before, but now they begged their grandfather that he\nwould tell them all about him. And Peter Munk, who had heard Dutch\nMichel spoken of on the other side of the forest only in a vague way,\njoined in the children's request, and asked the old man who Dutch\nMichel was and where he was to be seen. \"He is the master of this\nforest; and, judging from such an inquiry from a man of your age, you\nmust live on the other side of the Tannenbuehl, or even farther away,\nnot to have heard of him. I will tell you what I know about Dutch\nMichel, and the stories that are circulated regarding him:\n\n\"About a hundred years ago--at least so my ancestors said--there was\nnot a more honorable race of people on the face of the earth than the\ninhabitants of the Black Forest. But now, since so much money has come\ninto the country, the people are dishonest and wicked; the young\nfellows dance and sing on Sunday, and swear most terribly. But at the\ntime of which I speak there was a very different state of things; and\neven though Dutch Michel is looking in at the window now, I say, just\nas I have often said before, that he is to blame for all this woful\nchange. There lived a hundred years or more ago, a rich timber\nmerchant, who employed a large number of men. He traded far down the\nRhine, and his business prospered, as he was a God-fearing man. One\nevening a man came to his door, the like of whom he had never seen\nbefore. His clothing did not differ from that of the Black Forest\nworkingmen, but he was a good head taller than any of them, and it had\nnot been believed that such a giant existed any where. He asked for\nwork, and the timber merchant, seeing that he was strong and so well\nadapted to carrying heavy loads, made a bargain with him. Michel was a\nworkman such as this man had never had before. As a wood-chopper he was\nthe equal of any other three men; and he would carry one end of a tree\nwhich required six men to carry the other end.\n\n\"But after cutting trees for six months, he went to his employer and\nsaid: 'I have cut wood here long enough now, and should like to see\nwhere my tree-trunks go to; so how would it do if you were to let me go\ndown on the rafts?' The timber merchant replied: 'I will not stand in\nthe way of your seeing a little of the world, Michel. To be sure, I\nneed strong men to fell the trees, while on the raft more cleverness is\nrequired; but it shall be as you wish for this time.'\n\n\"The raft on which he was to go, consisted of eight sections, the last\nof which was made up of the largest timbers. But what do you think\nhappened? On the evening before they started, the tall Michel brought\neight more logs to the water, thicker and longer than any that had ever\nbeen seen before, and each one he had carried as lightly on his\nshoulder as if it were simply a raft pole, so that all were amazed.\nWhere he had cut them remains a mystery to-day. The heart of the timber\nmerchant rejoiced as he saw them, and began to reckon up what they\nmight be worth; but Michel said: 'There, those are for me to travel on.\nI shouldn't get very far on those other chips.' His master, by way of\nthanks, presented him with a pair of high boots; but Michel threw them\naside, and produced a pair that my grandfather assured me weighed a\nhundred pounds and stood five feet high.\n\n\n\"The raft was started off, and if Michel had astonished the\nwood-choppers before, it was now the turn of the raftsmen to be\nsurprised; for instead of the float going more slowly down the stream,\nas had been expected on account of these enormous logs, as soon as they\ntouched the Neckar they flew down the river with the speed of an arrow.\nIf they came to a curve in the Neckar, that had usually given the\nraftsmen much trouble to keep the raft in the middle of the stream and\nprevent it from grounding on the gravel or sand, Michel would spring\ninto the water and push the raft to the right or the left, so that it\npassed by without accident. But if they came to a stand-still, he would\nrun forward to the first section, have all the other men throw down\ntheir poles, stick his own enormous beam into the gravel, and with a\nsingle push the float flew down the river at such a rate that the land\nand trees and villages seemed to be running away from them.\n\n\"Thus in half the time usually consumed, they reached Cologne on the\nRhine, where they had been accustomed to sell their float. But here\nMichel spoke up once more: 'You seem to be merchants who understand\nyour own interests. Do you then think that the people of Cologne use\nall this timber that comes from the Black Forest? No, they buy it of\nyou at half its cost, and sell it to Holland merchants at an immense\nadvance. Let us sell the smaller logs here, and take the larger ones\ndown to Holland; what we receive above the usual price will be our own\ngain.'\n\n\"Thus spake the crafty Michel, and the others were content to do as he\nadvised--some because they had a desire to see Holland, and others on\naccount of the money they would pocket. Only one of the men was honest,\nand tried to dissuade his companions from exposing their master's\nproperty to further risks, or to cheat him out of the higher price they\nmight receive; but they would not listen to him, and forgot his words.\nDutch Michel, however, did not forget them. They continued on down the\nRhine, and Michel conducted the raft and soon brought it to Rotterdam.\nThere they were offered four times the former price, and the enormous\nlogs that Michel had brought sold for a large sum. When these raftsmen\nfound themselves the possessors of so much money, they could hardly\ncontain themselves for joy. Michel made the division, one part for the\ntimber merchant and the three others among the men. And now they\nfrequented the taverns with sailors and other low associates, gambled\nand threw away their money; but the brave man who had advised against\ntheir going to Holland was sold to a slave-dealer by Dutch Michel, and\nwas never again heard of. From that time forth Holland was the paradise\nof the raftsmen of the Black Forest, and Dutch Michel was their king.\nThe timber merchants did not learn of the swindle practiced on them for\nsome time; and money, oaths, bad manners, drunkenness and gambling were\ngradually imported from Holland unnoticed.\n\n\"When the story of these doings came out, Dutch Michel was nowhere to\nbe found. But he is not by any means dead. For a hundred years he has\ncarried on his ghostly deeds in the forest, and it is said that he has\nbeen the means of enriching many; but at the cost of their souls. How\nthat may be, I will not say; but this much is certain: that on these\nstormy nights he picks out the finest trees in the Tannenbuehl, where\nnone dare to chop, and my father once saw him break off a tree four\nfeet thick as easily as if it had been a reed. He makes a present of\nthese trees to those who will turn from the right and follow him; then\nat midnight they bring down these logs to the river, and he goes with\nhis followers down to Holland. But if I were the King of Holland, I\nwould have him blown to pieces with grape-shot; for every ship that has\nin it any of Dutch Michel's timber, even if it be only a single stick,\nmust go to the bottom. This is the cause of all the shipwrecks we hear\nof; for how else could a fine strong ship, as large as a church, be\ndestroyed on the water? And whenever Dutch Michel fells a pine in the\nBlack Forest on a stormy night, one of his timbers springs from a\nship's side, the water rushes in, and the ship is lost with all her\ncrew. Such is the legend of Dutch Michel; and it is sure that all that\nis bad in the Black Forest may be ascribed to him. But oh, he can make\none rich!\" added the old man mysteriously; \"yet I wouldn't have any\nthing to do with him--I would not for any money stand in the shoes of\nthe Stout Ezekiel or in those of the Slim Schlurker; and the King of\nthe Ball is reported to belong to him also.\"\n\nDuring the recital of the old man's story, the storm had ceased. The\ngirls now timidly lighted their lamps and went off to bed; while the\nman gave Peter a bag of leaves for a pillow on the settee, and wished\nhim goodnight.\n\nNever before did Charcoal Pete have such dreams as on this night. Now\nthe sullen giant, Dutch Michel, would raise the window and hold out\nbefore him with his enormously long arm a purse full of gold pieces,\nwhich he chincked together; then he would see the good-natured Little\nGlass-Man riding about the room on a monstrous green bottle, and he\ncould hear his merry laugh just as it sounded in the Tannenbuehl; then\nagain there was hummed into his left ear:\n\n           \"In Holland there is gold;\n            You can have it if you will\n            For very little pay;\n            Gold, Gold!\"\n\nthen in his right ear he heard the song of the \"Schatzhauser im grünen\nTannenwald,\" and a soft voice whispered: \"Stupid Charcoal Pete! stupid\nPeter Munk can't think of any thing to rhyme with _stehen_, and yet was\nborn on Sunday at twelve o'clock. Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme!\"\n\nHe sighed and groaned in his sleep. He tried his best to think of a\nrhyme for that word; but as he had never made a rhyme in his life, all\nhis efforts in his dream were fruitless. But on awaking with the early\ndawn, his dream recurred to his mind. He sat himself down behind the\ntable with folded arms, and thought over the whispers he could still\nhear. \"Rhyme, stupid Charcoal Pete, rhyme,\" said he to himself,\nmeanwhile tapping his forehead with his finger; but the rhyme would not\ncome forth at his bidding.\n\nWhile he was sitting thus, looking sadly before him with his mind\nintent on a rhyme for _stehen_, three fellows passed by the house, one\nof whom was singing:\n\n           \"Am Berge that ich stehen\n            Und schaute in das Thal,\n            Da hab' ich sie gesehen\n            Zum allerletzten Mal.\"\n\nThat struck Peter's ear instantly, and springing up he rushed hastily\nout of the house, ran after the three men, and seized the singer\nroughly by the arm. \"Stop, friend,\" cried he, \"what was your rhyme for\n_stehen_? Be so kind as to recite what you sang.\"\n\n\"What's the trouble with you, young fellow?\" retorted the singer. \"I\ncan sing what I please, so let go of my arm, or----\"\n\n\"No, you must tell me what you sang!\" shouted Peter, taking a firmer\ngrip on his arm. The two others did not hesitate long on seeing this\nbut fell upon Peter with their hard fists and gave him such a beating\nthat he was forced to let go his hold on the first man and sank\nexhausted to his knees. \"You have got your share now,\" said they\nlaughing, \"and mind you, stupid fellow, never to jump upon people again\non the highway.\"\n\n\"Oh, I will surely take care!\" replied Charcoal Pete sighing; \"but now\nthat I have had the blows, be so good as to tell me plainly what it was\nthat man sang.\"\n\nThey began to laugh again, and made sport of him; but the one who had\nsung the song repeated it to him, and laughing and singing they\ncontinued on their way.\n\n\"Also _gesehen_,\" said the beaten one, as he raised himself up with\nsome difficulty; \"_gesehen_ rhymes with _stehen_. Now then, Little\nGlass-Man, we will speak a word together.\" He went back to the hut,\ntook his hat and stick, and bade farewell to the inmates of the hut,\nand started on his way back to the Tannenbuehl.\n\nHe walked on slowly and thoughtfully, for he had a line to make up;\nfinally as he came into the neighborhood of the Tannenbuehl, and the\npines grew taller and thicker, he had completed the verse, and in his\njoy made a leap into the air. Just then appeared a man of giant size,\nwho held in his hand a pole as long as a ship's mast. Peter's courage\nfailed him as he saw this giant walking along very slowly near him;\nfor, thought he, that is none other than Dutch Michel. But the giant\nremained silent, and Peter occasionally took a half-frightened look at\nhim. He was fully a head taller than the largest man Peter had ever\nseen; his face was neither young nor old, and yet full of lines; he\nwore a linen jacket, and the enormous boots drawn over the leather\nbreeches, Peter recognized from the legend he had heard the night\nbefore.\n\n\"Peter Munk, what are you doing in the Tannenbuehl?\" inquired the King\nof the Wood, in a deep threatening voice.\n\n\"Good morning, neighbor,\" replied Peter, with an effort to hide his\nuneasiness: \"I was going back home through the Tannenbuehl.\"\n\n\"Peter Munk,\" returned the giant, darting a piercing look at him, \"your\nway does not lie through this grove.\"\n\n\"Well, no, not directly,\" said Peter; \"but it is warm to-day, and I\nthought it would be cooler up here.\"\n\n\"Don't tell a lie. Charcoal Pete!\" cried Dutch Michel, in a voice of\nthunder, \"or I will beat you to the ground with my pole. Do you think I\ndidn't hear you pleading with the Little Glass-Man?\" continued he more\ngently. \"Come, come, that was a foolish thing to do, and it is\nfortunate that you did not know that verse; he is a niggard, the little\nchurl, and doesn't give much, and those to whom he does give don't\nenjoy life very much. Peter, you are a poor simpleton, and it grieves\nme to the soul to see such a lively, handsome fellow, who might do\nsomething in the world, burning charcoal. While others are throwing\nabout great thalers or ducats, you can hardly raise a sixpence: 'tis a\nmiserable life.\"\n\n\"That's all true, and you are right; it is a miserable life.\"\n\n\"Well, I shouldn't mind giving you a lift,\" continued the terrible\nMichel. \"I have already helped many a brave fellow out of his misery,\nso you would not be the first. Speak up, now; how many hundred thalers\ndo you want to start with?\"\n\nWith these words, he shook the gold pieces in his immense pocket, and\nthey jingled as Peter had heard them last night in his dream. His heart\nbeat wildly and painfully; he was warm and cold by turns, and Dutch\nMichel did not look as if he was in the habit of giving away money in\ncompassion without receiving something in return. The mysterious words\nof the old man in the hut recurred to his mind, and driven by\nunaccountable anxiety and terror, he cried: \"Best thanks, master; but I\nwon't have any dealings with you, for I know you too well,\" and ran off\nat the top of his speed.\n\nBut Dutch Michel strode after him muttering in a hollow, threatening\nvoice: \"You will regret it, Peter; it is written on your forehead and\ncan be read in your eye, you will not escape me. Don't run so fast;\nlisten to just one word of reason. There is my boundary line now.\" But\nwhen Peter heard this, and saw not far ahead of him a small trench, he\nincreased his speed in order to get beyond the line, so that Michel,\ntoo, had to run much faster and followed him with curses and threats.\nThe young man made a desperate leap over the trench, as he saw Dutch\nMichel raise his pole to destroy him. He landed safely on the other\nside, and saw the pole shattered in the air as though it had struck an\ninvisible wall, and a long splinter fell at Peter's feet. He picked it\nup triumphantly with the intention of hurling it back at Michel; but at\nthat moment he felt it moving in his hand, and discovered, to his\nhorror, that it was an enormous snake, which with darting tongue and\nglistening eyes reared its head to strike at him. He let go his hold,\nbut the reptile had coiled itself tightly about his arm, and its fangs\nwere already close to his face, when of a sudden a blackcock swooped\ndown, seized the snake's head in its bill and flew up into the air with\nits prey, while Dutch Michel, who had seen all this from the boundary\nline, howled and stormed as the snake was carried off by its more\npowerful enemy.\n\nTrembling and staggering, Peter continued on his way. The path became\nsteeper, the region wilder, and soon he found himself at the base of\nthe large pine tree. He made his obeisance as yesterday to the\ninvisible Little Glass-Man, and then recited his verse:\n\n           \"Schatzhauser im grünen Tannenwald,\n            Bist schon viel' hundert Jahre alt,\n            Dein is all' Land, wo Tannen stehen,\n            Läßt Dich nur Sonntagskindern sehn.\"\n\n\"You haven't quite hit it, but seeing it's you, Charcoal Pete, we'll\nlet it pass,\" said a low soft voice near him. He looked around him in\nsurprise, and beneath a splendid pine sat a little old man, dressed in\na black jacket and red stockings, with a large hat on his head. He had\na delicate, pleasing face, and a beard as fine as a spider's web. He\nsmoked from a pipe of blue glass; and on approaching nearer, Peter saw,\nto his astonishment, that the clothing, shoes, and hat of the little\nman were all made of colored glass, but it was as flexible as though\nstill hot, for it bent like cloth with every movement of the little\nman.\n\n\"You have met that churl, Dutch Michel?\" said the little man, coughing\npeculiarly after every word. \"He meant to scare you badly; but I have\ntaken away his magic pole and he will never recover it again.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Schatzhauser,\" replied Peter, with a low bow. \"I was in a\npretty bad fix. Then you must have been the blackcock who killed the\nsnake! My best thanks for your kindness. But I have come here to\ncounsel with you. Things are in a bad way with me; a charcoal burner\ndoesn't get ahead any, and as I am still young I thought that perhaps\nsomething better might be made out of me. When I look at others, I see\nhow they have progressed in a short time--the stout Ezekiel for\ninstance, and the King of the Ball; they have money like hay.\"\n\n\"Peter,\" said the little man, gravely blowing the smoke from his pipe\nto a great distance, \"do not talk to me in that way. How much would you\nbe benefitted by being apparently happy for a few years, only to be\nstill more unhappy afterwards? You must not despise your calling; your\nfather and grandfather were honorable people, and followed the same\npursuit. Peter Munk! I will not think that it is laziness that brings\nyou to me.\"\n\nPeter shrank back before the earnestness of the little man, and\nreddened. \"Idleness, Herr Schatzhauser im Tannenwald, is, I well know,\nthe beginning of all burdens; but you should not think poorly of me for\ndesiring to better my condition, A charcoal burner is of very little\naccount in the world, while the glass-makers and raftsmen and\nwatchmakers are all respectable.\"\n\n\"Pride often comes before a fall,\" replied the master of the pine wood,\nin a more friendly manner. \"You mortals are a strange race. Seldom is\none of you contented with the lot to which he was born and brought up.\nAnd what would be the result of your becoming a glass-maker? You would\nthen want to be a timber merchant; and if you were a timber merchant,\nthe life of the ranger or the magistrate's dwelling would seem more\nattractive still. But it shall be as you wish, provided you promise to\nwork hard. I am accustomed to grant every Sunday child who knows how to\nfind me three wishes; the first two are free, the third I can set aside\nif it is a foolish one. So announce your wishes, Peter, but let them be\nsomething good and useful.\"\n\n\"Hurrah! You are an excellent Little Glass-Man, and you are rightly\ncalled Schatzhauser, for with you the treasures are always at home.\nWell, if I am at liberty to wish for what my heart longs, my first wish\nshall be that I could dance better than the King of the Ball, and that\nI had as much money in my pocket as the Stout Ezekiel.\"\n\n\n\"You fool!\" exclaimed the little man scornfully; \"What a pitiful wish\nis that, to dance well and have money to gamble with! Are you not\nashamed, stupid Peter, to fool away your chance in such a fashion? Of\nwhat use will your dancing be to you and your poor mother? Of what use\nwill money be to you, when, as can be seen from your wish, it is\ndestined for the tavern, and like that of the miserable King of the\nBall, will remain there? Then you would have nothing for the rest of\nthe week, and will suffer want as before. I will give you another wish\nfree; but look to it that you choose more intelligently?\"\n\nPeter scratched his head, and said, after some hesitation: \"Well, I\nwish for the most beautiful and costly glass-works in the whole Black\nForest, together with suitable belongings for it, and money to keep it\ngoing.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\" inquired the little man in an apprehensive manner;\n\"nothing else, Peter?\"\n\n\"Well, you might add a horse and carriage to all this.\"\n\n\"Oh, you stupid Charcoal Pete!\" cried the little man, and threw his\nglass pipe in a fit of anger at a large pine tree, so that it broke\ninto a hundred pieces. \"Horses? Wagons? Intellect, I tell you,\nintellect, a sound human understanding and foresight, you should have\nwished for, and not horses and wagons. Well, don't look so sad; we will\nsee that you don't come to much harm by it, for your second wish was\nnot such a bad one. Glass-works will support both man and master; and\nif you had wished for foresight and understanding with it, wagons and\nhorses would have followed as a matter of course.\"\n\n\"But, Herr Schatzhauser,\" returned Peter, \"I have one more wish left,\nand if you think that intellect is such a desirable thing, why, I might\nwish for it now.\"\n\n\"Not so. You will get into many difficulties when you will rejoice that\nyou still have one wish left. And so you had better now start on your\nway home. Here,\" said the little man, drawing a purse from his pocket,\n\"are two thousand guldens, and it should be enough, so don't come\nback to me begging for more money, or I should have to hang you up\nto the highest pine tree. Three days ago old Winkfritz, who had the\nglass-works in the valley, died. Go there to-morrow early, and make a\nsuitable bid for the business. Conduct yourself well, be diligent, and\nI will visit you occasionally and assist you with word and deed, as you\ndid not wish for understanding. But--and I say this to you in all\nseriousness--your first wish was a bad one. Take care, Peter, how you\nrun to the tavern; no one ever received any good thereby.\"\n\nWhile thus speaking, the little man had produced a second pipe of\nalabaster glass, filled it with crushed pine cones, and lighted it by\nholding a large burning-glass in the sun. When he had done this, he\nshook Peter's hand in a friendly manner, accompanied him a short\ndistance on his way, giving him some valuable advice, meanwhile blowing\nout thicker and thicker volumes of smoke, and finally disappearing in a\ncloud of smoke, that, as if from genuine Dutch tobacco, curled slowly\nabout the tops of the pine trees.\n\nWhen Peter arrived at home, he found his mother in a state of great\nalarm about him, for the good woman could believe nothing else but that\nher son had been drawn as a soldier. He, however, was in a very happy\nmood, and told her how he had met a good friend in the forest, who had\nadvanced him money to undertake a better business than that of charcoal\nburning. Although his mother had lived in this hut for thirty years,\nand was as much accustomed to the sight of sooty faces as every\nmiller's wife is to the flour on her husband's face, yet she was vain\nenough when Peter held out the prospect of a more brilliant life, to\ndespise her early condition, and said: \"Yes, as mother of a man who\nowns the glassworks, I am somewhat better than neighbor Grete and Bete,\nand for the future I shall take a front seat in the church among\nrespectable people.\"\n\nPeter soon concluded a bargain with the heirs for the glass-works. He\nretained the workmen whom he found there, and made glass by day and\nnight. In the beginning he was much pleased with the business. He was\naccustomed to walk proudly about the works, with his hands in his\npockets, looking into this and that, advising here and there, over\nwhich his workmen laughed not a little; but his great delight was to\nsee the glass blown, and he often attempted this work himself, forming\nthe most singular shapes out of the molten mass. But before long he\ntired of the business, and spent only an hour a day at the works; then\nonly an hour in two days, and finally he went only once a week, so that\nhis workmen did what they pleased.\n\nAll this resulted from his visits to the tavern. The Sunday after he\nhad met the little man in the wood, he went to the tavern, and found\nthe King of the Ball already leading the dance, while the Stout Ezekiel\nwas sitting down to his glass and shaking dice for crown-thalers. Peter\nput his hand in his pocket to see if the Little Glass-Man had kept\nfaith with him, and behold, his pockets were bulged out with silver and\ngold. His legs, too, began to twitch and move as though they were about\nto dance and leap; and when the first dance was over, he placed himself\nwith his partner opposite, near the King of the Ball, and if this man\nsprang three feet high, Peter would fly up four, and if the other\naccomplished wonderfully intricate steps, Peter would throw out his\nlegs in such a marvelous style that all present were beside themselves\nwith delight and amazement. But as soon as it was known that Peter had\nbought a glass-factory, and as the dancers saw him tossing sixpences to\nthe musicians every time he passed them in the dance, their\nastonishment knew no bounds. Some thought he must have found treasure\nin the forest; others, that he had inherited an estate; but all\ndeferred to him and looked upon him as a great man, simply because he\nhad money. On the same evening he lost twenty guldens at play; and\nstill the coins chinked in his pocket as though there were still a\nhundred guldens there.\n\nWhen Peter saw how important a person he had become, he could not\ncontain himself for joy and pride He threw his money right and left,\nand divided it generously among the poor, remembering how sorely\npoverty pressed on him. The skill of the King of the Ball was brought\nto shame by the supernatural art of the new dancer, and Peter was\ndubbed Emperor of the Ball. The most adventurous gamblers of a Sunday\ndid not risk as much as he; but neither did they lose as much. And yet\nthe more he lost the more he won. This happened through the agency of\nthe Little Glass-Man. He had wished always to have as much money in his\npocket as the Stout Ezekiel had in his; and the latter was the very man\nto whom Peter lost his money. And when he lost twenty or thirty guldens\nat a throw, he had just as many more when Ezekiel pocketed them.\n\nBy degrees, however, he got deeper into gambling and drinking than the\nworst topers in the Black Forest, so that he was oftener called Gambler\nPete than Emperor of the Ball, for he played now nearly every work-day\nas well. Hence it was that his business was soon ruined, and Peter's\nlack of understanding was to blame for it. He had as much glass made as\nthe works could possibly produce; but he had not bought with the\nbusiness the secret of how to dispose of the glass. He did not know\nwhat in the world to do with his stock, and finally sold it to peddlers\nat half the cost price, in order to pay the men's wages.\n\nOne evening he was returning home as usual from the tavern, and in\nspite of the wine he had drunk in order to make himself merry, he\nreflected with terror and anguish on the ruin of his glass-works\nbusiness, when suddenly he felt conscious that some one was walking at\nhis side. He turned around and, behold, it was the Little Glass-Man. At\nonce Peter fell into a passion, and protested with high and boastful\nwords that the little man was to blame for his misfortunes.\n\n\"What do I want now with a horse and wagon?\" cried he. \"Of what use is\nthe glass-foundry and all my glass? Even when I was a poor charcoal\nburner, I was far happier, and had no cares. Now I do not know how soon\nthe magistrate will come and seize my property for debt!\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" replied the Little Glass-Man, \"indeed? I should bear the\nblame for your misfortunes? Is this your gratitude for what I have done\nfor you? Who advised you to wish so foolishly? You were bound to be a\nglass-manufacturer, and yet did not know where to sell your wares.\nDidn't I caution you to wish wisely? Judgment, Peter, and wisdom, you\nwere lacking in.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by judgment and wisdom?\" demanded Peter. \"I am as\nwise a man as any body. Little Glass-Man, and will prove it to you.\"\nWith these words he seized the Little Glass-Man violently by the neck,\nshouting: \"Now I have you, Schatzhauser im grünnen Tannenwald! and now\nI will make my third wish, which you must grant me. I want right here\non the spot two hundred thousand thalers, and a house and----oh dear!\"\nshrieked he, as he wrung his hands, for the Little Glass-Man had\ntransformed himself into a glowing glass that burned his hand like\nflaming fire. And nothing more was to be seen of the little man.\n\nFor many days Peter's blistered hand reminded him of his folly and\ningratitude; but when his hand healed his conscience became deadened,\nand he said: \"Even if my glass-works and every thing I have should be\nsold, I still have the Stout Ezekiel to fall back on. As long as he has\nmoney of a Sunday I shall not want for it.\"\n\nTrue, Peter! But if he should have none? And this very thing happened\none day. For one Sunday Peter came down to the tavern, and the people\nstretched their necks out of the window, one saying, \"There comes\nGambler Pete!\" and another, \"Yes, the Emperor of the Ball, the\nrich glass-manufacturer!\" while a third one shook his head, saying,\n\"Every-where his debts are spoken of, and in the town it is said\nthat the magistrate will not be put off much longer from seizing his\nglass-works.\" The rich Peter greeted the guests at the window politely\nas he stepped out of his wagon, and called out: \"Good evening,\nlandlord! has the Stout Ezekiel come yet?\" And a deep voice replied:\n\"Come right in, Peter. We have already set down to the cards, and have\nkept a place for you.\" So Peter entered the public room, put his hand\ninto his pocket and found that the Stout Ezekiel must be pretty well\nprovided with money, for his own pocket was crammed full.\n\nHe sat down at the table with the others, and played and won, losing\nnow and then; and so they played until evening came on, and all the\nhonest folk went home, and then they continued to play by candle-light,\nuntil two other players said: \"Come, we've had enough, and must go home\nto our wife and children.\" But Gambler Pete challenged the Stout\nEzekiel to remain. For some time Ezekiel would not consent to do so,\nbut finally he said: \"Very well, I will just count my money and then we\nthrow for five gulden stakes, for less than that would be child's\nplay.\" He took out his purse and counted out one hundred guldens, so\nGambler Pete knew how much money he had without troubling himself to\ncount. But although Ezekiel had won all the afternoon, he now began to\nlose throw after throw, and swore fearfully over his losses. If he\nthrew threes, Peter would immediately throw fives. At last he flung\ndown his last five guldens on the table, and said: \"Once more, and even\nif I lose these I won't quit, for you must lend me from your winnings\nPeter; one honest fellow should help another!\"\n\n\"As much as you like, even if it was a hundred guldens,\" said the\nEmperor of the Ball, pleased with his gains; and the Stout Ezekiel\nshook the dice and threw fifteen. \"Three fives!\" cried he, \"now we will\nsee!\" But Pete threw eighteen, and a hoarse well-known voice behind him\nsaid: \"There, that was the last!\"\n\nHe turned about, and behind him stood the giant form of Dutch Michel.\nHorrified, he let the money he had just grasped fall from his hand.\nEzekiel, however, did not see Michel, but requested a loan of ten\nguldens from Gambler Pete. Quite dazed, Peter put his hand in his\npocket, but found no money there. He searched his other pocket but\nfound none there; he turned his pockets inside out, but not a farthing\nrolled out. Now for the first time he remembered that his first wish\nhad been to always have as much money in his pocket as the Stout\nEzekiel had. It had all disappeared like smoke.\n\nThe landlord and Ezekiel looked on in surprise while he was searching\nfor his money; they would not believe him when he declared that he had\nno more money, but finally, when they felt in his pockets themselves,\nthey got very angry and denounced him as a base sorcerer who had wished\nall his winnings and his own money at home. Peter defended himself as\nwell as he could, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel declared\nthat he would tell this terrible tale to every body in the Black\nForest, and the landlord promised Ezekiel that he would go to town\nearly in the morning and enter a complaint against Peter Munk as a\nsorcerer, and he would live to see Peter burned, he added. Thereupon\nthey fell upon Peter, tore off his jacket, and pitched him out of\ndoors.\n\nNot a star was to be seen in the sky as Peter stole sadly back towards\nhis home; yet in spite of the darkness he could perceive a form that\nwalked near him, and finally heard it say: \"It's all up with you, Peter\nMunk! All your magnificence is at an end; and I could have told you how\nit would turn out when you would not listen to me but ran over to the\nLittle Glass-Man. Now you can see what comes of despising my advice.\nBut try me once; I have pity on your hard fate. Not one who has come to\nme has regretted it; and if you are not afraid of the road, you can\nspeak to me any time to-morrow in the Tannenbuehl.\"\n\nPeter knew well who it was that spoke to him, and he shuddered. He made\nno reply, but walked on to his house.\n\n\n\nThe story-teller was interrupted just here by a commotion before the\ninn. A wagon was heard to drive up; several voices called for a light;\nthere was a loud rapping on the yard gate, and the barking of several\ndogs. The room occupied by the wagoner and the journeymen looked out on\nthe street. The four men sprang up and rushed in there in order to see\nwhat had happened. As nearly as they could make out by the gleam of a\nlantern, a large traveling carriage stood before the inn, and a tall\nman was assisting two veiled ladies to alight from it, while a coachman\nin livery was taking out the horses and a servant was unstrapping the\ntrunk. \"God be merciful to them!\" sighed the wagoner. \"If they leave\nthis inn with a whole skin I shall cease to feel uneasy about my cart.\"\n\n\"Keep still!\" whispered the student. \"I have a suspicion that it is not\nfor us, but for these ladies that the ambush has been laid. Probably\nthe people below had information of the journey these ladies were to\ntake. If we could only contrive to warn them of their danger! Stop a\nmoment. In the whole inn there is but one room that would be fit for a\nlady, and that one adjoins mine. They will be conducted there. Remain\nquietly in this room, and I will try to let their servants know the\nstate of affairs.\"\n\nThe young man stole silently to his room and blew out the wax candles,\nleaving only the light that the landlady had given them. Then he\nlistened at the door.\n\nPresently the landlady came up the stairs with the ladies, and\nconducted them in a most obsequious manner to their room. She besought\nher guests to retire soon, as they must be exhausted by their ride, and\nthen went down-stairs again. Soon afterwards, the student heard the\nheavy steps of a man ascending the stairs; he opened the door\ncautiously a little ways, and peering through the crack saw the tall\nman who had helped the ladies from the wagon. He wore a hunter's\ncostume, with a hunting knife in his belt, and was most likely the\nequerry of the ladies.\n\nAs soon as the student could make sure that this man was alone, he\nopened his door quickly and beckoned the man to come in. The equerry\ncame up to him with a surprised look, but before he could ask what was\nwanted, the student whispered to him: \"Sir, you have been led into a\nden of thieves to-night.\"\n\nThe man shrank back, but the student drew him inside of the room and\nrelated to him all the suspicious circumstances about the house.\n\nThe huntsman was much alarmed as he heard this, and informed the young\nman that the ladies, a countess and her maid, were at first anxious to\ntravel right through the night; but they were met a short distance from\nthis inn by a horseman who had hailed them and asked where they were\nbound. When he learned that their intention was to travel through the\nSpessart all night, he advised them against doing so, as being very\nunsafe at the present time. \"If you will take the advice of an honest\nman,\" he had added, \"you will give up that purpose; there is an inn not\nfar from here, and poor and inconvenient as you may find it, it is\nbetter for you to pass the night there than to expose yourself\nunnecessarily to danger.\" The man who thus advised them appeared to be\nhonest and respectable, and the countess, fearing an assault from\nrobbers, had given orders to have the carriage stopped at this inn.\n\nThe huntsman considered it his duty to inform the ladies of the danger\nthat threatened them. He went into their room, and shortly afterwards\nopened the door connecting with the student's room. The countess, a\nlady some forty years of age, came in to the student, pale with terror,\nand had him repeat his suspicions to her. Then they consulted together\nas to what steps they had better take in this critical situation,\nfinally deciding to summon the two servants, the wagoner and the\njourneymen, so that in case of an attack they might all make common\ncause.\n\nThe door that opened on the hall in the countess's room was locked and\nbarricaded with tables and chairs. She, with her maid, sat down on the\nbed, and the two servants kept watch by her, while the huntsman, the\nstudent, the journeyman and the wagoner sat around the table in the\nstudent's room, and resolved to await their fate.\n\nIt was now about ten o'clock; every thing was quiet in the house,\nand still no signs were made of disturbing the guests, when the\ncompass-maker said: \"In order to remain awake it would be best for us\nto take up our former mode of passing the time. We were telling all\nkinds of stories; and if you, Mr. Huntsman, have no objections, we\nmight continue.\" The huntsman not only had no objections, but to show\nhis entire acquiescence he promised to relate something himself, and\nbegan at once with the following tale:\n\n\n\n\n                           SAID'S ADVENTURES.\n\n\nIn the time of Haroun-al-Raschid, the ruler of Bagdad, there lived in\nBalsora a man named Benezar. He was possessed of considerable means,\nand could live quietly and comfortably without resorting to trade. Nor\ndid he change his life of ease when a son was born to him. \"Why should\nI, at my time of life, dicker and trade?\" said he to his neighbors,\n\"just to leave Said a thousand more gold pieces if things went well,\nand if they went badly a thousand less? 'Where two have eaten, a third\nmay feast,' says the proverb; and if he is only a good boy, Said shall\nwant for nothing.\" Thus spake Benezar, and well did he keep his word,\nfor his son was brought up neither to a trade nor yet to commerce.\nStill Benezar did not omit reading with him the books of wisdom, and as\nit was the father's belief that a young man needed, with scholarship\nand veneration for age, nothing more than a strong arm and courage, he\nhad his son early educated in the use of weapons, and Said soon passed\namong boys of his own age, and even among those much older, for a\nvaliant fencer, while in horsemanship and swimming he had no superior.\n\nWhen he was eighteen years old, his father sent him to Mecca, to the\ngrave of the Prophet, to say his prayers and go through his religious\nexercises on the spot, as required by custom and the commandment.\nBefore he departed, his father called him to his side and praised his\nconduct, gave him good advice, provided him with money, and then said:\n\n\"One word more, my son Said. I am a man above sharing in the\nsuperstitions of the rabble. I listen with pleasure to the stories of\nfairies and sorcerers as an agreeable way of passing the time; still I\nam far from believing, as so many ignorant people do, that these genii,\nor whatever they may be, exert an influence on the lives and affairs of\nmortals. But your mother, who has been dead these twelve years,\nbelieved as devoutly in them as in the Koran; yes, she even confided to\nme once, after I had pledged her not to reveal the fact to any one but\nher child, that she herself from her birth up had had association with\na fairy. I laughed at her for entertaining such a notion; and yet I\nmust confess, Said, that certain things happened at your birth that\ncaused me great astonishment. It had rained and thundered the whole\nday, and the sky was so black that nothing could be seen without a\nlight. But at four o'clock in the afternoon I was told that I was the\nfather of a little boy. I hastened to your mother's room to see and to\nbless our first-born; but all her maids stood before the door, and in\nresponse to my questions, answered that no one would be allowed in the\nroom at present, as Zemira (your mother) had ordered every body out of\nher chamber because she wished to be alone. I knocked on the door, but\nall in vain; it remained locked. While I waited somewhat indignantly,\nbefore the door, the sky cleared more quickly than I had ever seen it\ndo before,--but the most wonderful thing about it was, that it was only\nover our loved city of Balsora that the clear blue sky appeared, for\nthe black clouds rolled back, and lightning flashed on the outskirts of\nthis circle. While I was contemplating this spectacle curiously, my\nwife's door flew open. I ordered the maids to wait outside, and entered\nthe chamber alone to ask your mother why she had locked herself in. As\nI entered, such a stupefying odor of roses, pinks, and hyacinths\ngreeted me that I almost lost my senses. Your mother held you up to me,\nat the same time pointing to a little silver whistle that was attached\nto your neck by a golden chain as fine as silk. 'The good woman of whom\nI once spoke to you has been here,' said your mother, 'and has given\nyour boy this present.' 'And was it the old witch also who swept away\nthe clouds and left this fragrance of roses and pinks behind her?' said\nI with an incredulous laugh. 'But she might have left him something\nbetter than this whistle: say a purse full of gold, a horse, or\nsomething of the kind.' Your mother besought me not to jest, because\nthe fairies, if angered, would transform their blessings into\nmaledictions. To please her, and because she was sick, I said no more;\nnor did we speak again of this strange occurrence until six years\nafterwards, when, young as she was, she felt that she was going to die.\nShe gave me then the little whistle, charging me to give it to you only\nwhen you had reached your twentieth year, and before that hour not to\nlet it go out of my possession. She died. Here now is the present,\"\ncontinued Benezar, producing from a little box a small silver whistle,\nto which was attached a long gold chain; \"and I give it to you in your\neighteenth, instead of your twentieth year, because you are going away,\nand I may be gathered to my fathers before you return home. I do not\nsee any sensible reason why you should remain here another two years\nbefore setting out, as your anxious mother wished. You are a good\nand prudent young man, can wield your weapons as bravely as a man of\nfour-and-twenty, and therefore I can as well pronounce you of age\nto-day as if you were already twenty; and now go in peace, and think,\nin fortune and misfortune--from which last may heaven preserve you--on\nyour father.\"\n\nThus spake Benezar of Balsora, as he dismissed his son. Said took leave\nof him with much emotion, hung the chain about his neck, stuck the\nwhistle in his sash, swung himself on his horse, and rode to the place\nwhere the caravan for Mecca assembled. In a short time eighty camels\nand many hundred horsemen had gathered there; the caravan started off,\nand Said rode out of the gate of Balsora, his native city, that he was\ndestined not to see again for a long time.\n\nThe novelty of such a journey, and the many strange objects that\nobtruded themselves upon his attention, at first diverted his mind; but\nas the travelers neared the desert and the country became more and more\ndesolate, he began to reflect on many things, and among others, on the\nwords with which his father had taken leave of him. He drew out his\nwhistle, examined it closely, and put it to his mouth to see whether it\nwould give a clear and fine tone; but, lo! it would not sound at all.\nHe puffed out his cheeks, and blew with all his strength; but he could\nnot produce a single note, and vexed at the useless present, he thrust\nthe whistle back into his sash. But his thoughts shortly returned to\nthe mysterious words of his mother. He had heard much about fairies,\nbut he had never learned that this or that neighbor in Balsora had had\nany relations with a supernatural power; on the contrary, the legends\nof these spirits had always been located in distant times and places,\nand therefore he believed there were to-day no such apparitions, or\nthat the fairies had ceased to visit mortals or to take any interest in\ntheir fate. But although he thought thus, he was constantly making the\nattempt to believe in mysterious and supernatural powers, and wondering\nwhat might have been their relations with his mother; and so he would\nsit on his horse like one in a dream nearly the whole day, taking no\npart in the conversation of the travellers, and deaf to their songs and\nlaughter.\n\nSaid was a very handsome youth; his eye was clear and piercing, his\nmouth wore a pleasing expression, and, young as he was, he bore himself\nwith a certain dignity that one seldom sees in so young a man, and his\ngrace and soldierly appearance in the saddle commanded the attention of\nmany of his fellow-travellers. An old man who rode by his side was much\npleased with his manner, and sought by many questions to become more\nacquainted with him. Said, in whom reverence for old age had been early\ninculcated, answered modestly, but wisely and with circumspection, so\nthat the old man's first impressions of him were strengthened. But as\nthe young man's thoughts had been occupied the whole day with but one\nsubject, it followed that the conversation between the two soon turned\nupon the mysterious realm of the fairies; and Said finally asked the\nold man bluntly whether he believed in the existence of fairies, who\ntook mortals under their protection, or sought to injure them.\n\nThe old man shook his head thoughtfully, and stroked his beard, before\nreplying: \"It can not be disputed that there have been instances of the\nkind, although I have never seen a dwarf of the spirits, a giant of the\ngenii, a sorcerer, or a fairy.\" He then began to relate so many\nwonderful stories that Said's head was fairly in a whirl, and he could\nbelieve nothing else than that everything, which had happened at his\nbirth--the change in the weather, the sweet odor of roses and\nhyacinths--were the signs that he was under the special protection of a\nkind and powerful fairy, and that the whistle was given him for no less\na purpose than to summon the fairy in case of need. He dreamed all\nnight of castles, winged horses, genii and the like, and dwelt in a\ngenuine fairy realm.\n\nBut, sad to relate, he was doomed to experience on the following day\nhow perishable were all his dreams, sleeping or waking. The caravan had\nmade its way along in easy stages for the greater part of the day, Said\nkeeping his place at the side of his elderly companion, when a dark\ncloud was seen on the horizon. Some held it to be a sand-storm, others\nthought it was clouds, and still others were of opinion that it was\nanother caravan. But Said's companion, who was an old traveller, cried\nout in a loud voice that they should be on their guard, for this was a\nhorde of Arab robbers approaching. The men seized their weapons, the\nwomen and the goods were placed in the centre, and everything made\nready against an attack. The dark mass moved slowly over the plain,\nresembling an immense flock of storks taking their flight to distant\nlands. By-and-by, they came on faster, and hardly was the caravan able\nto distinguish men and lances, when, with the speed of the wind, the\nrobbers swarmed around them.\n\nThe men defended themselves bravely, but the robbers, who were over\nfour hundred strong, surrounded them on all sides, killed many from a\ndistance, and then, made a charge with their lances. In this fearful\nmoment, Said, who had fought among the foremost, was reminded of his\nwhistle. He drew it forth hastily, put it to his lips, and blew; but\nlet it drop again in disappointment, for it gave out not the slightest\nsound. Enraged over this cruel disillusion, he took aim at an Arab\nconspicuous by his splendid costume, and shot him through the breast.\nThe man swayed in his saddle, and fell from his horse.\n\n\"Allah! what have you done, young man?\" exclaimed the old man at his\nside. \"Now we are all lost!\" And thus it seemed, for no sooner did the\nrobbers see this man fall, than they raised a terrible cry, and closed\nin on the caravan with such resistless force that the few who remained\nunwounded were soon scattered. In another moment. Said found himself\nsurrounded by five or six of the enemy. He handled his lance so\ndexterously, however, that not one of them dared approach him very\nclosely; at last one of them bent his bow, took aim, and was just about\nto let the arrow fly, when another of the robbers stopped him. The\nyoung man prepared for some new mode of attack; but before he saw their\ndesign, one of the Arabs had thrown a lasso over his head, and, try as\nhe might to remove the rope, his efforts were unavailing--the noose was\ndrawn tighter and tighter, and Said was a prisoner.\n\nThe caravan was finally captured, and the Arabs, who did not all belong\nto one tribe, divided the prisoners and the remaining booty between\nthem, and left the scene of the encounter, part of them riding off to\nthe South and the remainder to the East. Near Said rode four armed\nguards, who often glared at him angrily, uttering savage oaths. From\nall this, Said concluded, that it must have been one of their leaders,\nvery likely a prince, whom he had slain. The prospect of slavery was to\nhim much worse than that of death; so he secretly thanked his stars\nthat he had drawn the vengeance of the whole horde on himself, for he\ndid not doubt that they would kill him when they reached their camp.\nThe guards watched his every motion, and if he but turned his head,\nthey threatened him with their spears; but once, when the horse of one\nof his guards stumbled, he turned his head quickly, and was rejoiced at\nthe sight of his fellow-traveller whom he had believed was among the\ndead.\n\nFinally, trees and tents were seen in the distance; and as they drew\nnearer, they were met by a crowd of women and children, who had\nexchanged but a few words with the robbers, when they broke out into\nloud cries, and all looked at Said, shook their fists, and uttered\nimprecations on his head. \"That is he,\" shrieked they, \"who has killed\nthe great Almansor, the bravest of men! he shall die, and we will throw\nhis flesh to the jackals of the desert for prey.\" Then they rushed at\nSaid so ferociously, with sticks and whatever missiles they could lay\ntheir hands on, that the robbers had to throw themselves between the\nwomen and the object of their wrath. \"Be off, you scamps! away you\nwomen!\" cried they, dispersing the rabble with their lances; \"he has\nkilled the great Almansor in battle, and he shall die; not by the hand\nof a woman, but by the sword of the brave.\"\n\nOn coming to an open place surrounded by the tents, they halted. The\nprisoners were bound together in pairs, and the booty carried into the\ntents, while Said was bound separately and led into a tent larger than\nthe others, where sat an elderly and finely dressed man, whose proud\nbearing denoted him to be the chief of this tribe. The men who had\nbrought Said in approached the chief with a sad air and with bowed\nheads. \"The howling of the women has informed me of what has happened,\"\nsaid their majestic leader, looking from one to the other of his men;\n\"your manner confirms it--Almansor has fallen.\"\n\n\"Almansor has fallen,\" repeated the men, \"but here, Selim, Ruler of the\nDesert, is his murderer, and we bring him here that you may decide as\nto the form of death that shall be inflicted on him. Shall we make a\ntarget of him for our arrows? shall we force him to run the gauntlet of\nour lances? or do you decree that he shall be hung or torn asunder by\nhorses?\"\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Selim, looking darkly at the prisoner, who,\nalthough doomed to death, stood before his captors with a courageous\nair.\n\nSaid replied to his question briefly and frankly.\n\n\"Did you kill my son by stealth? Did you pierce him from behind with an\narrow or a lance?\"\n\n\"No, Sire!\" returned Said. \"I killed him in an open fight, face to\nface, while he was attacking our caravan, because he had killed eight\nof my companions before my eyes.\"\n\n\"Does he speak the truth?\" asked Selim of the men who had captured\nSaid.\n\n\"Yes, Sire, he killed Almansor in a fair fight,\" replied one of the\nmen.\n\n\"Then he has done no more and no less than we should have done in his\nplace,\" returned Selim; \"he fought his enemy, who would have robbed him\nof liberty and life, and killed him; therefore, loose his bonds at\nonce!\"\n\nThe men looked at him in astonishment, and obeyed his order in a slow\nand unwilling manner.\n\n\"And shall the murderer of your son, the brave Almansor, not die?\"\nasked one of them, casting a look of hate at Said. \"Would that we had\ndisposed of him on the spot!\"\n\n\"He shall not die!\" exclaimed Selim. \"I will take him into my own tent,\nas my fair share of the booty, and he shall be my servant.\"\n\nSaid could find no words in which to express his thanks. The men left\nthe tent grumbling; and when they communicated Selim's decision to the\nwomen and children, who were waiting outside, they were greeted by\nterrible shrieks and lamentations, and threats were made that they\nwould avenge Almansor's death on his murderer themselves, because his\nown father would not take vengeance.\n\nThe other captives were divided among the tribe. Some were released, in\norder that they might obtain ransom for the rich merchants; others were\nsent out as shepherds with the flocks; and many who had formerly been\nwaited upon by ten slaves, were doomed to perform menial services in\nthis camp. Not so with Said, however. Was it his courageous and heroic\nmanner, or the mysterious influence of a kind fairy, that attached\nSelim to him so strongly? It would be hard to say; but Said lived in\nthe chief's tent more as a son than as servant. Soon, however, the\nstrange partiality of the old chief drew down on Said the hatred of the\nother servants. He met everywhere only savage looks, and if he went\nalone through the camp he heard on all sides curses and threats\ndirected against him, and more than once arrows had flown by close to\nhis breast--and that they did not hit him he ascribed to the silver\nwhistle that he wore constantly in his bosom. He often complained to\nSelim of these attempts on his life; but the chiefs efforts to discover\nthe would-be assassin were in vain, for the whole tribe seemed to be in\nleague against the favored stranger. So Selim said to him one day: \"I\nhad hoped that you might possibly replace the son who fell by your\nhand. It is not your fault or mine that this could not be. All feel\nbitter hatred toward you, and it is not in my power to protect you for\nthe future, for how would it benefit either you or myself to bring the\nguilty ones to punishment after they had stealthily killed you?\nTherefore, when the men return from their present expedition, I will\nsay to them that your father has sent me a ransom, and I will send you\nby some trusty men across the desert.\"\n\n\"But could I trust myself with any of these men?\" asked Said in\namazement. \"Would they not kill me on the way?\"\n\n\"The oath that they will take before me will protect you; it has never\nyet been broken,\" replied Selim calmly.\n\nSome days after this the men returned to camp, and Selim kept his\npromise. He presented the young man with weapons, clothes and a horse,\nsummoned all the available men, and chose five of their number to\nconduct Said across the desert, and bound them by a formidable oath not\nto kill him, and then took leave of Said with tears.\n\nThe five men rode moodily and silently through the desert with Said,\nwho noticed how unwillingly they were fulfilling their commission; and\nit caused him not a little anxiety to find that two of them were\npresent at the time he killed Almansor. When they were about an eight\nhours' journey from the camp. Said heard the men whispering among\nthemselves, and remarked that their manner was more and more sullen. He\ntried to catch what they were saying, and made out that they were\nconversing in a language understood only by this tribe, and only\nemployed by them in their secret or dangerous undertakings. Selim,\nwhose intention it had been to keep the young man permanently with him\nin his tent, had devoted many hours to teaching the young man these\nsecret words; but what he now overheard was not of the most comforting\nnature.\n\n\"This is the spot,\" said one; \"here we attacked the caravan, and here\nfell the bravest of men by the hand of a boy.\"\n\n\"The wind has covered the tracks of his horse,\" continued another, \"but\nI have not forgotten them.\"\n\n\"And shall he who laid hands on him still live and be at liberty, and\nthus cast reproach on us? When was it ever heard before that a father\nfailed to revenge the death of his only son? But Selim grows old and\nchildish.\"\n\n\"And if the father neglects it,\" said a fourth, \"then it becomes the\nduty of the fallen man's friends to avenge him. We should cut the\nmurderer down on this spot. Such has been our law and custom for ages.\"\n\n\"But we have bound ourselves by an oath to the chief not to kill this\nyouth,\" said the fifth man, \"and we cannot break our oath.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" responded the others; \"we have sworn, and the murderer is\nfree to pass from the hands of his enemies.\"\n\n\"Stop a moment!\" cried one, the most sullen of them all. \"Old Selim has\na wise head, but is not so shrewd as he is generally credited with\nbeing. Did we swear to him that we would take this boy to this or that\nplace? No; our oath simply bound us not to take his life, and we will\nleave him that; but the blistering sun and the sharp teeth of the\njackals will soon accomplish our revenge for us. Here, on this spot, we\ncan bind and leave him.\"\n\nThus spake the robber; but Said had now prepared himself for a last\ndesperate chance, and before the final words were fairly spoken he\nsuddenly wheeled his horse to one side, gave him a sharp blow, and flew\nlike a bird across the plain. The five men paused for a moment in\nsurprise; but they were skilled in pursuit, and spread themselves out,\nchasing him from the right and left, and as they were more experienced\nin riding on the desert, two of them had soon overtaken the youth, and\nwhen he swerved to one side he found two other men there, while the\nfifth was at his back. The oath they had taken prevented them from\nusing their weapons against him, so they lassoed him once more, pulled\nhim from his horse, beat him unmercifully, bound his hands and feet,\nand laid him down on the burning sands of the desert.\n\nSaid begged piteously for mercy; he promised them a large ransom, but\nwith a laugh they mounted their horses and galloped off. He listened\nfor some moments to the receding steps of their horses, and then gave\nhimself up for lost. He thought of his father and of the old man's\nsorrow if his son should never more return; he thought on his own\nmisery, doomed to die so young; for nothing was more certain than that\nhe must suffer the torments of suffocation in the hot sands, or that he\nshould be torn to pieces by jackals.\n\n\nThe sun rose ever higher, and its hot rays burnt into his forehead;\nwith considerable difficulty he rolled over, but the change of position\ngave him but little relief. In making this exertion, the whistle fell\nfrom his bosom. He moved about until he could seize it in his mouth,\nthen he attempted to blow it; but even in this terrible hour of need it\nrefused to respond to his will. In utter despair, he let his head fall\nback, and before long the sun had robbed him of his senses.\n\nAfter many hours, Said was awakened by sounds close by him, and\nimmediately after was conscious that his shoulder had been seized. He\nuttered a cry of terror, for he could believe nothing else than that a\njackal had attacked him. Now he was grasped by the legs also, and\nbecame sensible that it was not the claws of a beast of prey but the\nhands of a man who was trying to restore his senses, and who was\nspeaking with two or three other men. \"He lives,\" whispered they, \"but\nhe believes that we are his foes.\"\n\nAt last Said opened his eyes, and perceived above his own the face of a\nshort, stout man, with small eyes and a long beard, who spoke kindly to\nhim, helped him to get up, handed him food and drink, and while he was\npartaking of the refreshments told him that he was a merchant from\nBagdad, named Kalum-Bek, and dealt in shawls and fine veils for ladies.\nHe had made a business journey, and was now on his way home, and had\nseen Said lying half-dead in the sand. The splendor of the youth's\ncostume, and the sparkling stone in his dagger had attracted his\nattention; he had done all in his power to revive him, and his efforts\nhad finally succeeded. The youth thanked him for his life, for he saw\nclearly that without the interposition of this man he would have\nperished miserably; and as he had neither the means of getting away,\nnor the desire to wander over the desert on foot and alone, he\ngratefully accepted the offer of a seat on one of the merchant's\nheavily-laden camels, and decided to go to Bagdad with the merchant,\nwith the chance of finding there a company bound for Balsora, which he\ncould join.\n\nOn the journey, the merchant related to his travelling companion\na great many stories about the excellent Ruler of the Faithful,\nHaroun-al-Raschid. He told anecdotes showing the caliph's love of\njustice and his shrewdness, and how he was able to smooth out the\nknottiest questions of law in a simple and admirable way; and among\nothers he related the story of the rope-maker, and the story of the jar\nof olives,--tales that every child now knows, but which astonished\nSaid.\n\n\"Our master, the Ruler of the Faithful,\" continued the merchant, \"is a\nwonderful man. If you have an idea that he sleeps like the common\npeople, you are very much mistaken. Two or three hours at day-break is\nall the sleep he takes. I am positive of that, for Messour, his head\nchamberlain, is my cousin; and although he is as silent as the grave\nconcerning the secrets of his master, he will now and then let a hint\ndrop, for kinship's sake, if he sees that one is nearly out of his\nsenses with curiosity. Instead, then, of sleeping like other people,\nthe caliph steals through the streets of Bagdad at night; and seldom\ndoes a week pass that he does not chance upon an adventure; for you\nmust know--as is made clear by the story of the jar of olives, which is\nas true as the word of the Prophet,--that he does not make his rounds\nwith the watch, or on horseback in full costume, his way lighted by a\nhundred torch-bearers, as he might very well do if he chose, but he\ngoes about disguised sometimes as a merchant, sometimes as a mariner,\nat other times as a soldier, and again as a mufti, and looks around to\nsee if every thing is right and in order. And therefore it happens that\nin no other town is one so polite towards every fool upon whom he\nstumbles on the street at night, as in Bagdad; for it would be as\nlikely to turn out the caliph as a dirty Arab from the desert, and\nthere is wood enough growing round to give every person in and around\nBagdad the bastinado.\"\n\nThus spake the merchant; and Said, strong as was his desire to see his\nfather once more, rejoiced at the prospect of seeing Bagdad and its\nfamous ruler, Haroun-al-Raschid.\n\nAfter a ten-days' journey, they arrived at their destination; and Said\nwas astonished at the magnificence of this city, then at the height of\nits splendor. The merchant invited him to go with him to his house, and\nSaid gladly accepted the invitation; as it now occurred to him for the\nfirst time, among the crowd of people, that with the exception of the\nair, the water of the Tigris, and a lodging on the steps of the mosque,\nnothing could be had without money.\n\nThe day after his arrival in Bagdad, as soon as he had dressed\nhimself--thinking that he need not be ashamed to show himself on the\nstreets of Bagdad in his splendid soldierly costume--the merchant\nentered his room, looked at the handsome youth with a knavish smile,\nstroked his beard and said: \"That's all very fine, young man! but what\nshall be done with you? You are, it appears to me, a great dreamer,\ntaking no thought for the morrow; or have you money enough with you to\nsupport such style as that?\"\n\n\"Dear Kalum-Bek,\" replied the young man, greatly disconcerted, \"I\ncertainly have no money, but perhaps you will furnish me with the means\nto reach home; my father would surely repay you.\"\n\n\"Your father, fellow?\" cried the merchant, with a loud laugh. \"I think\nthe sun must have scorched your brain. Do you think I would take your\nsimple word for that yarn you spun me in the desert--that your father\nwas a rich citizen of Balsora, you his only son?--and about the attack\nof the robbers, and your life with the tribe, and this, that, and the\nother? Even then I felt very angry at your frivolous lies and utter\nimpudence. I know that all the rich people in Balsora are traders; I\nhave had dealings with all of them, and should have heard of a Benezar,\neven if he had not been worth more than six thousand Tomans. It is,\ntherefore, either a lie that you hail from Balsora, or else your father\nis a poor wretch, to whose runaway son I would not lend a copper. Then,\ntoo, the attack in the desert! Who ever heard, since the wise Caliph\nHaroun has made the trade routes across the desert safe, that robbers\ndared to plunder a caravan and lead the men off into captivity? And\nthen, too, it would have been known; but on my entire journey, as well\nas here in Bagdad, where people gather from all parts of the world,\nthere has not been a word said about it. That is the second lie, you\nshameless young fellow!\"\n\nPale with anger, Said tried to interrupt the wicked little man, but the\nmerchant talked still louder, and gesticulated wildly with his arms.\n\"And the third lie, you audacious liar, is the story of your life in\nSelim's camp. Selim's name is well known by every body who has ever\nseen an Arab, but Selim has the reputation of being the most cruel and\nrelentless robber on the desert, and you pretend to say that you killed\nhis son and was not at once hacked to pieces; yes, you even pushed your\nimpudence so far as to state the impossible,--that Selim had protected\nyou against his own tribe, had taken you into his own tent, and let you\ngo without a ransom, instead of hanging you up to the first good tree;\nhe who has often hanged travellers just to see what kind of faces they\nwould make when they were hung up. O you detestable liar!\"\n\n\"And I can only repeat,\" cried the youth, \"that by my soul and the\nbeard of the Prophet, it was all true!\"\n\n\"What! you swear by your soul?\" shouted the merchant, \"by your\nblack, lying soul? Who would believe that? And by the beard of the\nProphet,--you that have no beard? Who would put any trust in that?\"\n\n\"I certainly have no witnesses,\" continued Said; \"but did you not find\nme bound and perishing?\"\n\n\"That proves nothing to me,\" replied the merchant. \"You were yourself\ndressed like a robber, and it might easily have happened that you\nattacked some one stronger than yourself, who conquered and bound you.\"\n\n\"I should like to see any one, or even two,\" returned Said, \"who could\nfloor and bind me, unless they came up behind me and flung a noose over\nmy head. Staying in your bazar as you do, you cannot have any notion of\nwhat a single man is able to do when he has been brought up to arms.\nBut you saved my life, and my thanks are due you. What would you have\nme do? If you do not support me I must beg; and I should not care to\nask a favor of any one of my station. I will go to see the caliph.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" sneered the merchant, \"you will ask assistance of no one but\nour most gracious master? I should call that genteel begging! But look\nyou, my fine young gentleman! access to the caliph can be had only\nthrough my cousin Messour, and a word from me would acquaint him with\nyour capacity for lying. But I will take pity on your youth, Said. You\nshall have a chance to better yourself, and something may be made out\nof you yet. I will take you into my shop at the bazar; you can serve me\nthere for a year; and when that time is past, if you don't choose to\nremain with me any longer, I will pay you your wages and let you go\nwhere you will, to Aleppo or Medina, to Stamboul or Balsora, or, for\naught I care, to the Infidels. I will give you till noon to decide; if\nyou agree to my proposal, well and good; if you do not, I will make out\nan estimate of the expense you put me to on the journey, and for your\nseat on the camel, pay myself by taking your clothes and all you\npossess, and then throw you into the street; then you can beg where you\nlike, of the caliph or the mufti, at the mosque or in the bazar.\"\n\nWith these words the wicked man left the unfortunate youth. Said looked\nafter him with loathing. He rebelled against the wickedness of this\nman, who had designedly taken him to his house so that he might have\nhim in his power. He looked about to see if he could escape, but found\nthe windows grated and the door locked. Finally, after his spirit had\nlong revolted at the idea, he decided to accept the merchant's proposal\nfor the present. He saw clearly that nothing better remained for him to\ndo; for even if he were to run away, he could not reach Balsora without\nmoney. But he made up his mind to seek the caliph's protection as soon\nas possible.\n\nOn the following day, Kalum-Bek led his new servant to his shop in the\nbazar. He showed Said the shawls, veils, and other wares in which he\ndealt, and instructed the youth in his strange duties. These required\nthat Said, stripped of his soldierly costume and clad like a merchant's\nservant, should stand in the doorway of the shop, with a shawl in one\nhand and a splendid veil in the other, and cry out his wares to the\npassers-by, name the price, and invite the people to buy. And now, too\nit became evident to Said why Kalum-Bek had selected him for this\nbusiness. The merchant was a short, ugly-looking man, and when he\nhimself stood at the door and cried his wares, many of the neighbors,\nas well as the passersby, would make fun of his appearance, or the boys\nwould tease him, while the women called him a scarecrow; but everybody\nwas pleased with the appearance of young Said, who attracted customers\nby his graceful deportment and by his clever and tasteful way of\nexhibiting his shawls and veils.\n\nWhen Kalum-Bek saw that customers thronged to his shop since Said had\ntaken his stand at the door, he became more friendly with the young\nman, gave him better things to eat than before, and was careful to keep\nhim finely dressed. But Said was little touched by this display of\nmildness in his master; and the whole day long, and even in his dreams,\ntried to hit upon some means of returning to his native city.\n\nOne day when the sales had been very large, and all the errand boys who\ndelivered parcels at the houses were out on their rounds, a woman\nentered and made several purchases. She then wanted some one to carry\nher packages home. \"I can send them all up to you in half an hour,\"\nsaid Kalum-Bek; \"you will either have to wait that long or else take\nsome outside porter.\"\n\n\"Do you pretend to be a merchant and advise your customers to employ\nstrange porters?\" exclaimed the woman. \"Might not such a fellow run off\nwith my parcels in the crowd? And then whom should I look to? No, you\nare bound by the practice of the bazar to send my bundles home for me,\nand I insist on your doing it!\"\n\n\"But wait for just half an hour, worthy lady!\" exclaimed the merchant\nexcitedly. \"All my errand boys have been sent out.\"\n\n\"It's a poor shop that don't have errand boys constantly at\nhand,\" interrupted the angry woman. \"But there stands one of your\ngood-for-nothings now! Come, young fellow, take my parcel and follow\nafter me.\"\n\n\"Stop! Stop!\" cried Kalum-Bek. \"He is my signboard, my crier, my\nmagnet! He cannot stir from the threshold!\"\n\n\"What's that!\" exclaimed the old lady, thrusting her bundle under\nSaid's arm without further parley. \"It is a poor merchant that depends\non such a useless clown for a sign, and those are miserable wares that\ncannot speak for themselves. Go, go, fellow; you shall earn a fee\nto-day.\"\n\n\"Go then, in the name of Ariman and all evil spirits!\" muttered\nKalum-Bek to his magnet, \"and see that you come right back; the old hag\nmight give me a bad name all over the bazar if I refuse to comply with\nher demands.\"\n\nSaid followed the woman, who hastened through the square and down the\nstreets at a much quicker pace than one would have believed a woman\nof her age capable of. At last she stopped before a splendid house,\nand knocked; the folding doors flew open, and she ascended a marble\nstair-case, beckoning Said to follow. They came shortly to a high and\nwide salon, more magnificent than any Said had ever seen before. The\nold woman sank down exhausted on a cushion, motioned the young man to\nlay down his bundle, handed him a small silver coin, and bade him go.\n\nHe had just reached the door, when a clear, musical voice called:\n\"Said!\" Surprised that any one there should know him, he looked around\nand saw, in place of the old woman, an elegant lady sitting on the\ncushion, surrounded by numerous slaves and maids. Said, mute with\nastonishment, crossed his arms and made a low obeisance.\n\n\"Said, my dear boy,\" said the lady, \"much as I deplore the misfortune\nthat is the cause of your presence in Bagdad, yet this was the only\nplace decided on by destiny where you might be released from the fate\nthat would surely follow you if you left the homestead before your\ntwentieth year. Said, have you still your whistle?\"\n\n\"Indeed I have,\" cried he joyfully, drawing out the golden chain, \"and\nyou perhaps are the kind fairy who gave me this token at my birth?\"\n\n\"I was the friend of your mother, and will be your friend also as long\nas you remain good. Alas! would that your father--unthinking man--had\nfollowed my counsel! You would then have been spared many sorrows.\"\n\n\"Well, it had to come to pass!\" replied Said. \"But, most gracious\nfairy, harness a strong northeast wind to your carriage of clouds, and\ntake me up with you, and drive me in a few minutes to my father in\nBalsora; I will wait there patiently until the six months are passed\nthat close my nineteenth year.\"\n\nThe fairy smiled. \"You have a very proper mode of addressing us,\"\nanswered she; \"but, poor Said! it is not possible. I cannot do anything\nwonderful for you at present, because you left your homestead. Nor can\nI even free you from the power of the wretch, Kalum-Bek. He is under\nthe protection of your worst enemy.\"\n\n\"Then I have not only a kind female friend but a female enemy as well?\"\nsaid Said. \"I believe I have often experienced her influence. But at\nleast you might assist me with your counsel. Had I not better go to the\ncaliph and seek his protection? He is a wise man, and would protect me\nfrom Kalum-Bek.\"\n\n\"Yes, Haroun is a wise man,\" replied the fairy; \"but, sad to say, he is\nalso only a mortal. He trusts his head chamberlain, Messour, as much as\nhe does himself; and he is right in that, for he has tried Messour and\nfound him true. But Messour trusts his friend Kalum-Bek as he does\nhimself; and in that he is wrong, for Kalum is a bad man, even if he is\na relative of Messour's. Kalum has a cunning head, and as soon as he\nhad returned from his trip he made up a very pretty fable about you,\nwhich he confided to his cousin the chamberlain, who in turn told it to\nthe caliph, so that you would not be very well received were you to go\nto the palace. But there are other ways and means of approaching him,\nand it is written on the stars that you shall experience his mercy.\"\n\n\"That is really too bad,\" said Said, mournfully. \"I must then serve for\na long time yet as the servant of that scoundrel Kalum-Bek. But there\nis one favor, honored fairy, that is in your power to grant me. I have\nbeen educated to the use of arms, and my greatest delight is a\ntournament where there are some sharp contests with the lance, bow and\nblunt swords. Well, every week just such a tournament takes place in\nthis city between the young men. But only people of the finest costume,\nand besides that only _free_ men will be allowed to enter the lists,\nand clerks in the bazar are particularly excluded. Now if you could\narrange that I could have a horse, clothes and weapons every week, and\nthat my face would not be easily recognizable----\"\n\n\"That is a wish befitting a noble young man,\" interrupted the fairy.\n\"Your mother's father was the bravest man in Syria, and you seem to\nhave inherited his spirit. Take notice of this house; you shall find\nhere every week a horse, and two mounted attendants, weapons and\nclothes, and a lotion for your face that will completely disguise you.\nAnd now, Said, farewell! Be patient, wise and virtuous. In six months\nyour whistle will sound, and Zulima's ear will be listening for its\ntone.\"\n\nThe youth separated from his strange protectress with expressions of\ngratitude and esteem. He fixed the house and street clearly in his\nmind, and then went back to the bazar, which he reached just in the\nnick of time to save his master from a terrible beating. A great crowd\nwas gathered before the shop, boys danced about the merchant and jeered\nat him, while their elders laughed. He stood just before the shop,\ntrembling with suppressed rage, and sadly harassed--in one hand a\nshawl, in the other a veil. This singular scene was caused by a\ncircumstance that had occurred during Said's absence. Kalum had taken\nthe place of his handsome clerk at the door, but no one cared to buy of\nthe ugly old man. Just then two men came to the bazar wishing to buy\npresents for their wives. They had gone up and down the bazar several\ntimes, looking in here and there, and Kalum-Bek, who had observed their\nactions for some time, thought he saw his chance, so he called out:\n\"Here, gentlemen, here! What are you looking for? Beautiful veils,\nbeautiful wares?\"\n\n\n\"Good sir,\" replied one of them, \"your wares may do very well, but our\nwives are peculiar, and it has become the fashion in this city to buy\nveils only of the handsome clerk, Said. We have been looking for him\nthis half-hour, but cannot find him; now if you can tell us where we\nwill meet him, we will buy from you some other time.\"\n\n\"Allah il Allah!\" cried Kalum-Bek with a smirk. \"The Prophet has led\nyou to the right door. You wish to buy veils of the handsome Said?\nGood, just step inside; this is his place.\"\n\nOne of the men laughed at Kalum's short and ugly figure, and his\nassertion that he was the handsome clerk; but the other, believing that\nKalum was trying to make sport of him, did not remain long in his debt,\nbut paid the merchant back in his own coin. Kalum-Bek was beside\nhimself; he called his neighbors to witness that his was the only shop\nin the bazar that went by the name of \"the shop of the handsome clerk;\"\nbut the neighbors, who envied him the run of custom he had enjoyed for\nsome time, pretended not to know anything about the matter, and the two\nmen then made an attack upon the old liar, as they called him. Kalum\ndefended himself more with shrieks and curses than by the use of his\nfists, and thus attracted a large crowd before his shop. Half the city\nknew him to be a mean, avaricious old miser, nor did the bystanders\ngrudge him the cuffs he received; and one of his assailants had just\nplucked the old man by the beard, when his arm was seized, and with a\nsudden jerk he was thrown to the ground with such violence that his\nturban fell off and his slippers flew to some distance.\n\nThe crowd, which very likely would have been rejoiced to see Kalum-Bek\nwell punished, grumbled loudly. The fallen man's companion looked\naround to see who it was that had ventured to throw his friend down;\nbut when he saw a tall, strong youth, with flashing eyes and courageous\nmien, standing before him, he did not think it best to attack him,\nespecially as Kalum regarding his rescue as a miracle, pointed to the\nyoung man and cried: \"Now then! what would you have more? There he\nstands beyond a doubt, gentlemen; that is Said, the handsome clerk.\"\nThe people standing about laughed, while the prostrate man got up\nshamefacedly, and limped off with his companion without buying either\nshawl or veil.\n\n\"O you star of all clerks, you crown of the bazar!\" cried Kalum,\nleading his clerk into the shop; \"really, that is what I call being on\nhand at the right time, and the right kind of interference too. Why,\nthe fellow was laid out as flat on the ground as if he had never stood\non his legs, and I--I should have had no use for a barber again to comb\nand oil my beard, if you had arrived two minutes later! How can I\nreward you?\"\n\nIt had been only a momentary sensation of pity which had governed\nSaid's hand and heart; but now that that feeling had passed, he\nregretted that he had saved this wicked man from a good chastisement. A\ndozen hairs from his beard, thought Said, would have kept him humble\nfor twelve days. And now the young man thought best to make use of the\nfavorable disposition of the merchant, and therefore asked to be given\none evening in each week for a walk or for any other purpose he\npleased. Kalum consented, knowing full well that his clerk was too\nsensible to run off without money or clothes.\n\nOn the following Wednesday, the day on which the young men of the best\nfamilies assembled in the public square in the city to go through their\nmartial exercises. Said asked Kalum if he would let him have this\nevening for his own use; and on receiving the merchant's permission, he\nwent to the fairy's house, knocked, and the door was immediately\nopened. The servants seemed to have prepared everything before his\narrival; for without questioning him as to his desire, they led him\nupstairs to a beautiful room, and there handed him the lotion that was\nto disguise his features. He moistened his face with it, and then\nglanced into a metallic mirror; he hardly recognized himself, for he\nwas now sunburnt, wore a handsome black beard, and looked to be at\nleast ten years older than he really was.\n\nHe was now conducted into a second room, where he found a complete and\nsplendid costume, of which the Caliph of Bagdad need not have been\nashamed, on the day when he reviewed his army in all his magnificence.\nTogether with a turban of the finest texture, with a clasp of diamonds\nand a long heron's plume, Said found a coat of mail made of silver\nrings, so finely worked that it conformed to every movement of his\nbody, and yet was so firm that neither lance nor sword could find a way\nthrough it. A Damascus blade in a richly ornamented sheath, and with a\nhandle whose stones seemed to Said to be of priceless value, completed\nhis warlike appearance. As he came to the door, armed at all points,\none of the servants handed him a silk cloth and told him that the\nmistress of the house sent it to him, and that when he wiped his face\nwith it, the beard and the complexion would disappear.\n\nIn the court-yard stood three beautiful horses; Said mounted the\nfinest, and his attendants the other two, and rode off with a light\nheart to the square where the contest was to be held. The splendor of\nhis costume and the brightness of his weapons drew all eyes upon him,\nand a general buzz of astonishment followed his entrance into the ring.\nIt was a brilliant assemblage of the bravest and noblest youths of\nBagdad, where even the brothers of the caliph were seen flying about on\ntheir horses and swinging their lances. On Said's approach, as no one\nseemed to know him, the son of the grand vizier, with some of his\nfriends, rode up to him, greeted him politely, and invited him to take\npart in their contests, at the same time inquiring his name and whence\nhe came. Said represented to them that his name was Almansor, and he\nhailed from Cairo; that he had set out upon a journey, but having heard\nso much said about the skill and bravery of the young noblemen of\nBagdad, he could not refrain from delaying his journey in order to get\nacquainted with them. The young men were highly pleased with the\nbearing and courageous appearance of Said-Almansor; handed him a lance,\nand had him select his opponent,--as the whole company were divided\ninto two parties, in order that they might assault one another both\nsingly and in groups.\n\n\nBut the attention which had been attracted by Said was now concentrated\nupon the unusual skill and dexterity which he displayed in combat. His\nhorse was swifter than a bird, while his sword whizzed about in still\nmore rapid circles. He threw the lance at its mark as easily and with\nas much accuracy as if it had been an arrow shot from a bow. He\nconquered the bravest of the opposing force, and at the end of the\ntournament was so universally recognized as the victor, that one of the\ncaliph's brothers and the son of the grand vizier, who had both fought\non Said's side, requested the pleasure of breaking a lance with him.\nAli, the caliph's brother, was soon conquered by Said; but the grand\nvizier's son withstood him so bravely that after a long contest they\nthought it best to postpone the decision until the next meeting.\n\nThe day after the tournament, nothing was spoken of in Bagdad but the\nhandsome, rich, and brave stranger. All who had seen him, even those\nover whom he had triumphed, were charmed by his well-bred manners. He\neven heard his own praises sounded in the shop of Kalum-Bek, and it was\nonly deplored that no one knew where he lived.\n\nThe next week, Said found at the house of the fairy a still finer\ncostume and still more costly weapons. Half Bagdad had rushed to the\nsquare, while even the caliph looked on from a balcony; he, too,\nadmired Almansor, and at the conclusion of the tournament he hung a\nlarge gold medal, attached to a gold chain, about the youth's neck, as\na mark of his favor.\n\nIt could not very well be otherwise than that this second and still\nmore brilliant triumph of Said's should excite the envy of the young\nmen of Bagdad. \"Shall a stranger,\" said they to one another, \"come here\nto Bagdad, and carry off all the laurels? He will now boast in other\nplaces that among the flower of Bagdad's youth there was not one who\nwas a match for him.\" They therefore resolved, at the next tournament,\nto fall upon him, as if by chance, five or six at a time.\n\nThese tokens of discontent did not escape Said's sharp eye. He noticed\nhow the young men congregated at the street corners, whispered to one\nanother, and pointed angrily at him. He suspected that none of them\nfelt very friendly toward him, with the exception of the caliph's\nbrother and the grand vizier's son, and even they rather annoyed him by\ntheir questions as to where they might call on him, how he occupied his\ntime, what he found of interest in Bagdad, etc., etc. It was a singular\ncoincidence that one of these young men, who surveyed Said-Almansor\nwith the bitterest looks, was no other than the man whom Said had\nthrown down when the assault was made on Kalum-Bek a few weeks before,\njust as the man was about to tear out the unfortunate merchant's beard.\nThis man looked at Said very attentively and spitefully. Said had\nconquered him several times in the tournament; but this would not\naccount for such hostile looks, and Said began to fear lest his figure\nor his voice had betrayed him to this man as the clerk of Kalum-Bek--a\ndiscovery that would expose him to the sneers and anger of the people.\n\nThe project which Said's foes attempted to carry out at the next\ntournament failed, not only by reason of Said's caution and bravery,\nbut by the assistance he received from the caliph's brother and the\ngrand vizier's son. When these two young men saw that Said was\nsurrounded by five or six who sought to disarm or unseat him, they\ndashed up, chased away the conspirators, and threatened the men who had\nacted so treacherously with dismissal from the course.\n\nFor more than four months, Said had excited the astonishment of Bagdad\nby his prowess, when one evening, on returning home from the\ntournament, he heard some voices which seemed familiar to him. Before\nhim walked four men at a slow pace, apparently discussing some subject\ntogether. As Said approached nearer, he discovered that they were\ntalking in the dialect which the men in Selim's tribe had used in the\ndesert, and suspected that they were planning some robbery. His first\nthought was to draw back from these men; but when he reflected that he\nmight be the means of preventing some great wrong, he stole up still\nnearer to listen to what they were saying.\n\n\"The gate keeper expressly said it was the street to the right of the\nbazar,\" said one of the men; \"he will certainly pass through it\nto-night, in company with the grand vizier.\"\n\n\"Good!\" added another. \"I am not afraid of the grand vizier; he is old,\nand not much of a hero; but the caliph wields a good sword, and I\nwouldn't trust him; there would be ten or twelve of the body-guard\nstealing after him.\"\n\n\"Not a soul!\" responded a third. \"Whenever he has been seen and\nrecognized at night, he was always unattended except by the vizier or\nthe head chamberlain. He will be ours to-night; but no harm must be\ndone him.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said the first speaker, \"that the best plan would be to\nthrow a noose over his head; we may not kill him, for it would be but a\nsmall ransom that they would pay for his body, and, more than that, we\nshouldn't be sure of receiving it.\"\n\n\"An hour before midnight, then!\" exclaimed they, and separated, one\ngoing this way, another that.\n\nSaid was not a little horrified at this scheme. He resolved to hasten\nat once to the caliph's palace and warn him of the threatened danger.\nBut after running through several streets, he remembered the caution\nthat the fairy had given him--that the caliph had received a bad report\nabout him. He reflected that his warning might be laughed at, or\nregarded as an attempt on his part to ingratiate himself with the\nCaliph of Bagdad; and so he concluded that it would be best to depend\non his good sword, and rescue the caliph from the hands of the robbers\nhimself.\n\nSo he did not return to Kalum-Bek's house, but sat down on the steps of\na mosque and waited there until night had set in. Then he went through\nthe bazar and into the street mentioned by the robbers, and hid himself\nbehind a projection of one of the houses. He might have stood there an\nhour, when he heard two men coming slowly down the street. At first he\nthought it must be the caliph and his grand vizier; but one of the men\nclapped his hands, and immediately two other men hurried very\nnoiselessly up the street from the bazar. They whispered together for a\nwhile, and then separated; three hiding not far from Said, while the\nfourth paced up and down the street. The night was very dark, but\nstill, so that Said had to depend almost entirely upon his acute sense\nof hearing.\n\nAnother half-hour had passed, when footsteps were heard coming from the\nbazar. The robber must have heard them too, for he stole by Said\ntowards the bazar. The steps came nearer, and Said was just able to\nmake out some dark figures, when the robber clapped his hands, and, in\nthe same moment, the three men waiting in ambush rushed out. The\npersons attacked must have been armed, for Said heard the ring of\nclashing swords. At once he drew his own Damascus blade, and sprang\nupon the robber's with the cry: \"Down with the enemies of the great\nHaroun!\" He struck one of them to the ground with the first blow, and\nturned upon two others, who were just in the act of disarming a man\nover whom they had thrown a rope. Said lifted the rope blindly in order\nto cut it, but in the effort to use his sword he struck one of the\nrobber's arms such a blow, as to cut off his hand, and the robber fell\nto his knees with cries of pain. The fourth robber, who had been\nfighting with another man, now came towards Said, who was still engaged\nwith the third, but the man who had been lassoed no sooner found\nhimself free than he drew his dagger, and, from one side, plunged it\ninto the breast of the advancing robber. When the remaining robber saw\nthis, he threw away his sword and fled.\n\nSaid did not remain long in doubt as to whom he had saved, for the\ntaller of the two men said: \"The one thing is as strange as the other;\nthis attack upon my life or liberty, as the incomprehensible assistance\nand rescue. How did you know who I was? Did you know of the scheme of\nthese robbers?\"\n\n\"Ruler of the Faithful,\" answered Said, \"for I do not doubt that you\nare he, I walked down the street El Malek this evening behind some men,\nwhose strange and mysterious dialect I had once learned. They spoke of\ntaking you prisoner and of killing your vizier. As it was too late to\nwarn you, I resolved to go to the place where they would lie in ambush\nfor you, and give you my assistance.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Haroun; \"but it is not best to remain long in this\nplace; take this ring, and come in the morning to my palace; we will\nthen talk over this affair, and see how I can best reward you. Come,\nvizier, it is best not to stop here; they might come back again.\"\n\nThus saying, he placed a ring on Said's finger, and attempted to lead\noff the grand vizier, but the latter, begging him to wait a moment,\nturned and held out to the astonished Said a heavy purse: \"Young man,\"\nsaid he, \"my master, the caliph, can do anything for you that he feels\ninclined to do, even to making you my successor; but I myself can do\nbut little, and that little had better be done to-day, rather than\nto-morrow. Therefore, take this purse. That does not, however, cancel\nmy debt of gratitude; so whenever you have a wish, come in confidence\nto me.\"\n\nOverpowered with his good fortune, Said hurried home. But here he was\nnot so well received. Kalum-Bek was at first angry at his long absence,\nand then anxious, for the merchant thought he might easily lose the\nhandsome sign of his shop. Kalum therefore received him with abusive\nwords, and raved like a madman. But Said--who had taken a look into his\npurse and found it filled with gold pieces, and reflected that he could\nnow travel home, even without the caliph's favor, which was certainly\nnot worth less than the gratitude of his vizier--declared roundly that\nhe would not remain in his service another hour. At first Kalum was\nvery much frightened by this declaration; but shortly he laughed\nsneeringly and said:\n\n\"You loafer and vagabond! You miserable creature! Where would you run\nto, if I were to give up supporting you? Where would you get a dinner\nor a lodging?\"\n\n\"You need not trouble yourself about that, Mr. Kalum-Bek,\" answered\nSaid audaciously. \"Farewell; you will never see me again!\"\n\nWith these words, Said left the house, while Kalum-Bek looked after him\nspeechless with astonishment. The following morning, however, after\nthinking over the matter well, he sent out his errand boys, and had the\nrunaway sought for every-where. For a long time their search was a vain\none; but finally one of the boys came back and reported that he had\nseen Said come out of a mosque and go into a caravansary. He was,\nhowever, much changed, wore a beautiful costume, a dagger sword, and\nsplendid turban.\n\nWhen Kalum-Bek heard this, he shouted with an oath: \"He has stolen from\nme, and bought clothes with the money. Oh, I am a ruined man!\" Then he\nran to the chief of police, and as he was known to be a relative of\nMessour, the head chamberlain, he had no difficulty in having two\npolicemen sent out to arrest Said. Said sat before a caravansary,\nconversing quietly with a merchant whom he had found there, about a\njourney to Balsora, his native city, when suddenly he was seized by\nsome men, and his hands tied behind his back before he could offer any\nresistance. He asked them whose authority they were acting under, and\nthey replied that they were obeying the orders of the chief of police,\non complaint of his rightful master, Kalum-Bek. The ugly little\nmerchant then came up, abused and jeered at Said, felt in the young\nman's pocket, and to the astonishment of the bystanders, and with a\nshout of triumph, drew out a large purse filled with gold.\n\n\"Look! He has robbed me of all that, the wicked fellow!\" cried he, and\nthe people looked with abhorrence at the prisoner, saying: \"What! so\nyoung, so handsome, and yet so wicked! To the court, to the court, that\nhe may get the bastinado!\" Thus they dragged him away, while a large\nprocession of people of all ranks followed in their wake, shouting:\n\"See, that is the handsome clerk of the bazar; he stole from his master\nand ran away; he took two hundred gold pieces!\"\n\nThe chief of police received the prisoner with a dark look. Said tried\nto speak, but the official told him to be still, and listened only to\nthe little merchant. He held up the purse, and asked Kalum whether this\ngold had been stolen from him. Kalum-Bek swore that it had; but his\nperjury, while it gained him the gold, did not help to restore to him\nhis clerk, who was worth a thousand gold pieces to him, for the judge\nsaid: \"In accordance with a law that my all-powerful master, the\ncaliph, has recently made, every theft of over a hundred gold pieces\nthat transpires in the bazar, is punished with banishment for life to a\ndesert island. This thief comes at just the right time; he makes the\ntwentieth of his class, and so completes the lot; to-morrow they will\nbe put on a vessel and taken out to sea.\"\n\nSaid was in despair. He besought the officers to listen to him, to\nlet him speak only one word with the caliph; but he found no mercy.\nKalum-Bek, who now repented of his oath, also pleaded for him, but the\njudge said: \"You have your gold back, and should be contented; go home\nand keep quiet, or I will fine you ten gold pieces for every\ncontradiction.\" Kalum quieted down; the judge made a sign, and the\nunfortunate Said was led away.\n\nHe was taken to a dark and damp dungeon, where nineteen poor wretches,\nscattered about on straw, received him as their companion in\nmisfortune, with wild laughter and curses on the judge and caliph.\nTerrible as was the fate before him, fearful as was the thought of\nbeing banished to a desert island, he still found consolation in the\nthought that the morrow would take him out of this horrible prison. But\nhe was very greatly in error in supposing that his situation would be\nbettered on the ship. The twenty men were thrown into the hold, where\nthey could not stand upright, and there they fought among themselves\nfor the best places.\n\nThe anchor was weighed, and Said wept bitter tears as the ship that was\nto bear him far away from his fatherland began to move. They received\nbread and fruits, and a drink of sweetened water, but once a day: and\nit was so dark in the ship's hold, that lights always had to be brought\ndown when the prisoners were to be fed. Every two or three days one of\ntheir number was found dead, so unwholesome was the air in this\nfloating prison, and Said's life was preserved only by his youth and\nhis splendid health.\n\nThey had been on the sea for fourteen days, when one day the waves\nroared more violently than ever, and there was much running to and fro\non the deck. Said suspected that a storm was at hand, and he welcomed\nthe prospect of one, hoping that then he might be released by death.\n\nThe ship began to pitch about, and finally struck on a ledge with a\nterrible crash. Cries and groans were heard on the deck, intermingled\nwith the roar of the storm. At last all was still again; but at the\nsame time one of the prisoners discovered that the water was pouring\ninto the ship. They pounded on the hatch-door, but could get no answer;\nand as the water poured in more and more rapidly, they united their\nstrength and managed to break the hatch open.\n\nThey ascended the steps, but found not a soul on board. The whole crew\nhad taken to the boats. Most of the prisoners were in despair, for the\nstorm increased in fury, the ship cracked and settled down on the\nledge. For some hours they sat on the deck and partook of their last\nrepast from the provisions they found in the ship, then the storm began\nto rage again, the ship was torn from the ledge on which it had been\nheld, and broken up.\n\nSaid had climbed the mast, and held fast to it when the ship went to\npieces. The waves tossed him about, but he kept his head up by paddling\nwith his feet. Thus he floated about, in ever-increasing danger, for\nhalf an hour, when the chain with whistle attached once again fell out\nof his bosom, and once more he tried to make it sound. With one hand he\nheld fast to the mast, and with the other put the whistle to his lips,\nblew, and a clear musical tone was the result. Instantly the storm\nceased, and the waves became as smooth as if oil had been poured on\nthem. He had hardly looked about him, with an easier breath, to see\nwhether he could discern land, when the mast beneath him began to\nexpand in a very singular manner, and to move as well; and, not a\nlittle to his terror, he perceived that he was no longer riding on a\nwooden mast, but upon the back of an enormous dolphin. But after a few\nmoments his courage returned; and as he saw that the dolphin swam along\non his course quietly and easily, although swiftly, he ascribed his\nwonderful rescue to the silver whistle and to the kind fairy, and\nshouted his most earnest thanks into the air.\n\n\nHis wonderful horse carried him through the waves with the speed of an\narrow; and before night he saw land, and also a broad river, into which\nthe dolphin turned. Up stream it went more slowly, and, that he might\nnot starve, Said, who remembered from old stories of enchantment how\none should work a charm, took out the whistle again, blew it loudly and\nheartily, and wished that he had a good meal. The dolphin stopped\ninstantly, and out of the water rose a table, as little wet as if it\nhad stood in the sun for eight days, and richly furnished with the\nfinest dishes. Said attacked the food like a famished person, for his\nrations during his imprisonment were scant and of miserable quality;\nand when he had eaten to his fill, he expressed his thanks; the table\nsank down again, while he jogged the dolphin in the side, and the fish\nat once responded by continuing on its course up stream.\n\nThe sun was setting when Said perceived in the dim distance a large\ncity, whose minarets seemed to bear a resemblance to those of Bagdad.\nThis discovery was not a pleasant one; but his confidence in the kind\nfairy was so great that he felt sure she would not permit him to fall\nagain into the clutches of the unscrupulous Kalum-Bek. To one side,\nabout three miles distant from the city, and close to the river, he\nnoticed a magnificent country house, and, to his astonishment, the fish\nseemed to be making directly towards this house.\n\nUpon the roof of the house stood a group of handsomely dressed men, and\non the bank of the river Said saw a large crowd of servants, who were\nlooking at him in wonder. The dolphin stopped at some marble steps that\nled up to the house, and hardly had Said put foot on the steps when the\ndolphin disappeared. A number of servants now ran down the steps, and\nrequested him in the name of their master to come up to the house, at\nthe same time offering him a suit of dry clothes. Said dressed himself\nquickly, and followed the servants to the roof, where he found three\nmen, of whom the tallest and handsomest came forward to meet him in a\npleasant manner.\n\n\"Who are you, wonderful stranger,\" said he, \"you who tame the fishes of\nthe sea, and guide them to the right and left, as the best horseman\ngoverns his steed. Are you a sorcerer, or a being like us?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" replied Said, \"things have gone very badly with me for the last\nfew weeks; but if it will please you to hear me, I will relate my\nstory.\"\n\nThen he told the three men all of his adventures, from the moment of\nleaving his father's house up to his wonderful rescue from the sea. He\nwas often interrupted by their expressions of astonishment; and when he\nhad ended, the master of the house, who had received him in so kind a\nmanner, said: \"I trust your words, Said; but you tell us that you won a\nmedal in the tournament, and that the caliph gave you a ring; can you\nshow them to us?\"\n\n\"I have preserved them both upon my heart,\" said the youth, \"and would\nsooner have parted with my life than with these precious gifts, for I\nesteem it my most valiant and meritorious deed that I freed the caliph\nfrom the hands of his would-be murderers.\" So saying, he drew from his\nbosom the medal and ring, and handed them to the men.\n\n\"By the beard of the Prophet! It is he! It is my ring!\" cried the tall,\nhandsome man. \"Grand vizier, let us embrace him, for here stands our\nsavior.\" To Said it was like a dream. The two men embraced him, and\nSaid, prostrating himself, said:\n\n\"Pardon me, Ruler of the Faithful, that I have spoken so freely before\nyou, for you can be no other than Haroun-al-Raschid, the great Caliph\nof Bagdad.\"\n\n\"I am he, and your friend,\" replied Haroun; \"and from this hour forth,\nall your sad misfortunes are at an end. Follow me to Bagdad, remain in\nmy dominion, and become one of my most trustworthy officers; for you\nhave shown you were not indifferent to Haroun's fate, though I should\nnot like to put all of my faithful servants to such a severe test.\"\n\nSaid thanked the caliph, and promised to remain with him,--first\nrequesting permission to make a visit to his father, who must be\nsuffering much anxiety on his account; and the caliph thought this just\nand commendable. They then mounted horses, and were soon in Bagdad. The\ncaliph showed Said a long suite of splendidly decorated rooms that he\nshould have, and, more than that, promised to build a house for his own\nuse.\n\nAt the first information of this event, the old brothers-in-arms of\nSaid's--the grand vizier's son and the caliph's brother--hastened to\nthe palace and embraced Said as the deliverer of their noble caliph,\nand begged him to become their friend. But they were speechless with\nastonishment when Said, drawing forth the prize medal, said: \"I have\nbeen your friend for a long time.\" They had only seen him with his\nfalse beard and dark skin; and when he had related how and why he had\ndisguised himself--when he had the blunt weapons brought to prove his\nstory, fought with them, and thus gave them the best proof that he was\nthe brave Almansor--then did they embrace him with joyful exclamations,\nconsidering themselves fortunate in having such a friend.\n\nThe following day, as Said was sitting with the caliph and grand\nvizier, Messour, the chamberlain, came in and said: \"Ruler of the\nFaithful, if there is no objection, I would like to ask a favor of\nyou.\"\n\n\"I will hear it first,\" answered Haroun.\n\n\"My dear first-cousin, Kalum-Bek, a prominent merchant of the bazar,\nstands without,\" said Messour. \"He has had a singular transaction with\na man from Balsora, whose son once worked for Kalum-Bek, but who\nafterward stole from him and then ran away, no one knows whither. Now\nthe father of this youth comes and demands his son of Kalum, who hasn't\nhim. Kalum therefore begs that you will do him the favor of deciding\nbetween him and this man, by the exercise of your profound wisdom.\"\n\n\"I will judge in the matter,\" replied the caliph. \"In half an hour your\ncousin and his opponent may enter the hall of justice.\"\n\nWhen Messour had expressed his gratitude and gone out, Haroun said:\n\"That must be your father. Said; and now that I am so fortunate as to\nknow your story, I shall judge with the wisdom of Salomo. Conceal\nyourself, Said, behind the curtain of my throne; and you, grand vizier,\nsend at once for that wicked police justice. I shall want his testimony\nin this case.\"\n\nBoth did as the caliph ordered. Said's heart beat fast as he saw his\nfather, pale and stricken with grief, enter the hall of justice with\ntottering steps; while Kalum-Bek's smile of assurance, as he whispered\nto his cousin, made Said so furious that he had difficulty in\nrefraining from rushing at him from his place of concealment, as his\ngreatest sufferings and sorrows had been caused by this cruel man.\n\nThere were many people in the hall, all of whom were anxious to hear\nthe caliph speak. As soon as the Ruler of Bagdad had ascended the\nthrone, the grand vizier commanded silence, and asked who appeared as\ncomplainant before his master.\n\nKalum-Bek approached with an impudent air, and said: \"A few days ago I\nwas standing before the door of my shop in the bazar, when a crier,\nwith a purse in his hand, and with this man walking near him, went\namong the booths, shouting: 'A purse of gold to him who can give any\ninformation about Said of Balsora.' This Said had been in my service,\nand therefore I cried: 'This way, friend! I can win that purse.' This\nman, who is now so hostile to me, came up in a friendly way and asked\nme what information I possessed. I answered: 'You must be Benezar,\nSaid's father.' and when he affirmed that he was, I told him how I had\nfound the young fellow in the desert, rescued him and restored him to\nhealth, and brought him back with me to Bagdad. In the joy of his heart\nhe gave me the purse. But when now this unreasonable man heard, as I\nwent on to tell him, how his son had worked for me, had been guilty of\nvery wicked acts, had stolen from me and then run away, he would not\nbelieve it, and quarrelled with me for several days, demanding his son\nand his money back; and I can not return them both, for the gold is\nmine as compensation for the news I furnished him, and I can not\nproduce his ungrateful son.\"\n\nIt was now Benezar's turn to speak. He described his son, how noble and\ngood he was, and the impossibility of his ever having become so\ndegraded as to steal. He requested the caliph to make the most thorough\nexamination of the case.\n\n\"I hope,\" said Haroun, \"that you reported the theft, Kalum-Bek, as was\nyour duty?\"\n\n\"Why, certainly!\" exclaimed that worthy, smiling. \"I took him before\nthe police justice.\"\n\n\"Let the police justice be brought!\" ordered the caliph.\n\nTo every body's astonishment, this official appeared as suddenly as if\nbrought by magic. The caliph asked whether he remembered that Kalum-Bek\nhad come before him with a young man, and the official replied that he\ndid.\n\n\"Did you listen to the young man; did he confess to the theft?\" asked\nHaroun.\n\n\"No, he was actually so obstinate that he would not confess to any one\nbut yourself,\" replied the justice.\n\n\"But I don't remember to have seen him,\" said the caliph.\n\n\"But why should you? If I were to listen to them, I should have a whole\npack of such vagabonds to send you every day.\"\n\n\"You know that my ear is open for every one,\" replied Haroun; \"but\nperhaps the proofs of the theft were so clear that it was not necessary\nto bring the young man into my presence. You had witnesses, I suppose,\nKalum, that the money found on this young man belonged to you?\"\n\n\"Witnesses?\" repeated Kalum, turning pale; \"no, I did not have any\nwitnesses, for you know, Ruler of the Faithful, that one gold piece\nlooks just like another. Where, then, should I get witnesses to testify\nthat these one hundred gold pieces are the same that were missing from\nmy cash-box.\"\n\n\"How, then, can you tell that that particular money belonged to you?\"\nasked the caliph.\n\n\"By the purse,\" replied Kalum.\n\n\"Have you the purse here?\" continued the caliph.\n\n\"Here it is,\" said the merchant, drawing out a purse which he handed to\nthe vizier to give to the caliph.\n\nBut the vizier cried with feigned surprise: \"By the beard of the\nProphet! Do you claim the purse, you dog? Why it is my own purse, and I\ngave it filled with a hundred gold pieces, to a brave young man who\nrescued me from a great danger.\"\n\n\"Can you swear to that?\" asked the caliph.\n\n\"As surely as that I shall some time be in paradise,\" answered the\nvizier, \"for my daughter made the purse with her own hands.\"\n\n\"Why, look you then, police Justice!\" cried Haroun, \"you were falsely\nadvised. Why did you believe that the purse belonged to this merchant?\"\n\n\"He swore to it,\" replied the justice, humbly.\n\n\"Then you swore falsely?\" thundered the caliph, as the merchant, pale\nand trembling, stood before him.\n\n\"Allah, Allah!\" cried Kalum. \"I certainly don't want to dispute the\ngrand vizier's word; he is a truthful man, but alas! the purse does\nbelong to me and that rascal of a Said stole it. I would give a\nthousand tomans if he was in this room now.\"\n\n\"What did you do with this Said?\" asked the caliph. \"Speak up! where\nshall we have to send for him, that he may come and make confession\nbefore me?\"\n\n\"I banished him to a desert island,\" said the police justice.\n\n\"O Said! my son, my son!\" cried the unhappy father.\n\n\"Indeed, then he acknowledged the crime, did he?\" inquired Haroun.\n\nThe police justice turned pale. He rolled his eyes about restlessly,\nand finally said: \"If I remember rightly--yes.\"\n\n\"You are not certain about it, then?\" continued the caliph in a\nterrible voice; \"then we will ask the young man himself. Step forth,\nSaid, and you Kalum-Bek, to begin with, will count out one thousand\ngold pieces, as Said is now in the room.\"\n\nKalum and the police justice thought it was a ghost that stood before\nthem. They prostrated themselves and cried: \"Mercy! Mercy!\" Benezar,\nhalf-fainting with joy, fell into the arms of his long-lost son. But,\nwith great severity of manner, the caliph said: \"Police Justice, here\nstands Said; did he confess?\"\n\n\"No,\" whined the justice; \"I listened only to Kalum's testimony,\nbecause he was a respectable man.\"\n\n\"Did I place you as a judge over all that you might listen only to the\npeople of rank?\" demanded Haroun-al-Raschid, with noble scorn. \"I will\nbanish you for ten years to a desert island in the middle of the sea;\nthere you can reflect on justice. And you, miserable wretch, who bring\nthe dying back to life, not in order to rescue them, but to make them\nyour slaves--you will pay down, as I said before, the thousand tomans\nthat you promised if Said were only present to be called as witness.\"\n\nKalum congratulated himself at having got out of a very bad scrape so\neasily, and was just going to thank the kind caliph, when Haroun\ncontinued: \"For the perjury you committed about the hundred gold\npieces, you will receive a hundred lashes on the soles of your feet.\nFurther than this Said will have the choice of taking your shop and its\ncontents and you as a porter, or of contenting himself with ten gold\npieces for every day's work he did for you.\"\n\n\"Let the wretch go, Caliph!\" cried the youth; \"I would not take\nanything that ever belonged to him.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Haroun, \"I prefer that you should be compensated. I will\nchoose for you the ten gold pieces a day, and you can reckon up how\nmany days you were in his claws. Away with this wretch!\"\n\nThe two offenders were led away, and the caliph conducted Benezar and\nSaid to another apartment, where he related to Benezar his rescue by\nSaid, interrupted by the shrieks of Kalum-Bek, upon the soles of whose\nfeet a hundred gold pieces of full weight were being counted out.\n\nThe caliph invited Benezar to come to Bagdad and live with him and\nSaid. Benezar consented, and made only one more journey home in order\nto fetch his large possessions. Said lived in the palace which the\ngrateful caliph built for him, like a prince. The caliph's brother and\ngrand vizier's son were his constant companions; and it soon became a\nproverb in Bagdad: \"I would that I were as good and as fortunate as\nSaid, the son of Benezar.\"\n\n\n\n\"I could keep awake for two or three nights without experiencing the\nleast sensation of sleepiness, with such entertainment,\" said\nthe compass-maker, when the huntsman had concluded. \"And I have\noften proved the truth of what I say. I was once apprentice to a\nbell-founder. The master was a rich man and no miser, and therefore our\nwonder was all the more aroused on a certain occasion, when we had a\nbig job on hand, by a display of parsimony on his part. A bell was\nbeing cast for a new church, and we apprentices had to sit up all night\nand keep the fire up. We did not doubt that the master would tap a cask\nof the best wine for us. But we were mistaken. He began to talk about\nhis travels, and to tell all manner of stories of his life; then the\nhead apprentice's turn came, and so on through the whole row of us, and\nnone of us got sleepy, so intent were we all in listening. Before we\nknew it, day was at hand. Then we perceived the master's stratagem of\nkeeping us awake by telling stories; for when the bell was done he did\nnot spare his wine, but brought out what he had wisely saved on those\nnights.\"\n\n\"He was a sensible man,\" said the student. \"There is no remedy for\nsleepiness like conversation. And I should not have cared to sit alone\nto-night, for about eleven o'clock I should have succumbed to sleep.\"\n\n\"The peasantry have found that out also,\" said the huntsman. \"In\nthe long Winter evenings the women and girls do not remain alone at\nhome to spin, lest they should fall asleep in the middle of their task;\nbut a large number of them meet together, in a well-lighted room, and\ntell stories over their work.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added the wagoner, \"and their stories are often of a kind to\nmake one shudder, for they talk about ghosts that walk the earth,\ngoblins that create a hubbub in their rooms at night, and spirits that\ntorment men and cattle.\"\n\n\"They don't entertain themselves very well then, I fear,\" said the\nstudent. \"For my part, I confess that there is nothing so displeasing\nto me as ghost stories.\"\n\n\"I don't agree with you at all,\" cried the compass-maker. \"I find a\nstory that causes one to shudder very entertaining. It is just like a\nrain-storm when one is sheltered under the roof. He hears the drops\n_tick-tack_, _tick-tack_, on the tiles, and then run off in streams,\nwhile he lies warm and dry in bed. So when one listens to ghost stories\nin a lighted room, with plenty of company, he feels safe and at ease.\"\n\n\"But how is it afterwards?\" asked the student. \"When one has listened\nwho shares in this silly belief in ghosts, will he not tremble when he\nis alone again and in the dark? Will he not recall all the horrible\nthings he has heard? I can even now work myself into quite a rage over\nthese ghost stories, when I think of my childhood. I was a cheerful,\nlively boy, but perhaps somewhat noisier than was agreeable to my\nnurse, who could not think of any other means to quiet me than of\ngiving me a fright. She told me all sorts of horrible stories about\nwitches and evil spirits who haunted the house. I was too young then to\nknow that all these stories were untrue. I was not afraid of the\nlargest hound, could throw every one of my companions; but whenever I\nwas alone in the dark, I would shut my eyes in terror. I would not go\noutside the door alone after dark without a light; and how often did my\nfather punish me when he noticed my conduct! But for a long time I\ncould not free my mind from this childish fear, for which my foolish\nnurse was wholly to blame.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a great mistake,\" observed the huntsman, \"to fill a child's\nhead with such absurdities. I can answer you that I have known brave,\ndaring men, huntsmen, who did not fear to encounter several of their\nfoes at once--who, when they were searching for game at night, or on\nthe lookout for poachers, would, all of a sudden, lose their courage,\ntaking a tree for a ghost, a bush for a witch, and a pair of fire-flies\nfor the eyes of a monster that was lurking for them in the dark.\"\n\n\"And it is not only for children,\" said the student, \"that I hold\nentertainment of that kind to be in the highest degree hurtful and\nfoolish, but for every body; for what intelligent person could amuse\nhimself with the doings and sayings of things that exist only in the\nbrain of a fool? There is where the ghost walks, and nowhere else. But\nthese stories do the most harm among the country people. Their faith in\nabsurdities of this kind is firm and unwavering, and this belief is\nnourished in the inns and spinning rooms, where they huddle close\ntogether and in a timid tone relate the most horrible stories they can\ncall to mind.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" responded the wagoner; \"many a misfortune has occurred through\nthese stories, and, indeed, my own sister lost her life thereby.\"\n\n\"How was that? Through these ghost stories, did you say?\" exclaimed the\nmen, in surprise.\n\n\"Yes, certainly, by such stories,\" continued the wagoner. \"In the\nvillage where our father lived it was the custom for the wives and\nmaidens to get together with their spinning on a Winter's evening. The\nyoung men would also be there and tell many stories. So it happened\nthat one evening when they were speaking about ghosts, the young men\ntold about an old store-keeper who died ten years before, but found no\nrest in his grave. Every night he would throw up the earth, rise from\nhis grave, steal slowly along to his store, coughing as was his wont in\nlife, and there weigh out sugar and coffee, mumbling meanwhile:\n\n           \"Twelve ounces, twelve ounces, at dark midnight,\n            Equal sixteen, in broad daylight.\n\n\"Many claimed that they had seen him, and the maids and wives got quite\nfrightened. But my sister, a girl of sixteen, wishing to show that she\nwas less foolish than the others, said: 'I don't believe a word of\nthat; he who is once dead never comes back!' She said this,\nunfortunately, without a conviction of its truth, for she had been\nfrightened many times herself. Thereupon one of the young people said:\n'If you believe that, then you would have no reason to be afraid of\nhim; his grave is only two paces from that of Kate's, who recently\ndied. If you dare, go to the church-yard, pick a flower from Kate's\ngrave, and bring it to us; then we will begin to believe that you are\nnot afraid of the store-keeper's ghost. My sister was ashamed of being\nlaughed at by the others, therefore she said: 'Oh, that's easy enough;\nwhat kind of a flower do you want?' 'The only white rose in the village\nblooms there; so bring us a bunch of those,' answered one of her\nfriends. She got up and went out, and all the men praised her spirit;\nbut the women shook their heads and said: 'If it only ends well!' My\nsister passed on to the cemetery; the moon shone brightly, but she\nbegan to tremble as the clock struck twelve while she was opening the\nchurch-yard gate. She clambered over many mounds which she knew, and\nher heart beat faster and faster the nearer she came to Kate's white\nrose bush and the ghostly store-keeper's grave. At last she reached it,\nand kneeled down, trembling with fear, to pluck some roses. Just then\nshe thought she heard a noise close by; she turned around, and saw the\nearth flying out of a grave two steps away from her, and a form\nstraightened itself up slowly in the grave. It was that of an old,\npale-faced man, with a white night-cap on his head. My sister was\ngreatly frightened; she turned to look once more to make sure that she\nhad seen aright; but when the man in the grave began to say, in a nasal\ntone: 'Good evening, Miss! where do you come from so late?' she was\nseized with a deathly terror, and collecting all her strength, she\nsprang over the graves, ran to the house she had just left, and\nbreathlessly related what she had seen; then she became so weak that\nshe had to be carried home. Of what use was it that we found out the\nnext day that it was the grave-digger who was making a grave there, and\nwho had spoken to my poor sister? Before she could comprehend this she\nhad fallen into a high fever, of which she died three days afterwards.\nShe had gathered the roses for her own burial wreath.\"\n\nA tear dropped from the wagoner's eye as he concluded, while the others\nregarded him with sympathy.\n\n\"So the poor child died in this implicit faith,\" said the young\ngoldsmith. \"I recollect a legend in that connection, which I should\nlike to tell you, and that unfortunately is connected with such a\ntragedy.\"\n\n\n\n\n                         THE CAVE OF STEENFOLL.\n\n                           A SCOTTISH LEGEND.\n\nOn one of Scotland's rocky islands, there dwelt many years ago, two\nfishermen, who lived in complete harmony. Both were unmarried; neither\nof them had any relatives living; and their common labor, although\ndifferently directed, sufficed to support them both. They were of about\nthe same age, but in person and disposition they resembled each other\nas little as do an eagle and a sea-calf.\n\nKaspar Strumpf was a short, stout man, with a broad, fat, full-moon\nface, and good-natured, laughing eyes, to which sorrow and care\nappeared to be strangers. He was not only fat, but sleepy and lazy as\nwell; and therefore the house work, cooking and baking, and repairing\nof nets for the capture of fish for their own table and for the market,\ndevolved on him, as well as a large part of the cultivation of the\nsmall field attached to their cabin. Quite the opposite was his\ncompanion--tall and lank, with Roman nose and keen eyes; he was known\nas the most industrious and luckiest fisherman, the most daring\ncliff-climber after birds and down, the hardest field worker, on the\nwhole island. Besides all this, he was considered the keenest trader on\nthe Kirkwall market; but as his wares were good, and his transactions\nabove reproach, every one dealt willingly with him. Thus William Falcon\nand Kaspar Strumpf--with whom the former, avaricious as he was, freely\ndivided his hardly-earned gains--not only made a good living, but were\nin a fair way of acquiring a certain degree of wealth. But a competence\nwould not satisfy Falcon's covetous soul; he wanted to be rich,\nextremely rich, and as he had already found out that riches accumulate\nbut slowly in the usual course of industry, he at last settled into the\nconviction that he should have to attain his riches through some\nextraordinary stroke of fortune. When this idea had once taken\npossession of his mind, there was no room left for any thing else, and\nhe began to talk this shadowy windfall over with Kaspar Strumpf, as\nthough it had already come to pass. Kaspar, who received everything\nthat Falcon said as scripture, repeated all this to his neighbors: and\nso the report was spread abroad that William Falcon had either sold his\nsoul to the evil one, or had at least received an offer for it from the\nprince of the infernal regions.\n\nAt first, these reports caused much amusement to Falcon; but gradually\nhe began to entertain the notion that a spirit might sometime reveal a\ntreasure to him, and he no longer contradicted his acquaintances when\nthey twitted him on the subject. He continued his usual occupations,\nbut with far less zeal than before, and often consumed a great part of\nthe time, that he had formerly passed in fishing or other useful\navocations, in idle search for some kind of an adventure by which he\nshould suddenly become rich. To still further complete this unfortunate\ntendency of his mind, it happened that as he was standing one day on\nthe lonely sea-shore, looking out on the restless sea as if he were\nexpecting his good fortune would come from thence, a large wave rolled\na yellow ball to his feet amongst a mass of moss and loosened stone--a\nball of gold!\n\nFalcon stood as if bewitched. His hopes, then, had not been\nunsubstantial dreams; the sea had given him gold, beautiful shining\ngold, the fragment probably of a heavy bar of gold which the sea had\nrolled on its bottom into the size and shape of a musket ball. And now\nit was clear to his mind that somewhere on this coast there must have\nbeen a treasure ship wrecked, and that he had been selected as the\nchosen one to raise this buried treasure from the sea. From this time\nforth, this search for treasure became the passion of his life. He\nstrove to conceal the golden nugget even from his friend, so that\nothers might not discover his purpose. He neglected everything else,\nand spent his days and nights on this coast, not casting his net for\nfishes, but throwing out a scoop, that he had specially prepared for\nthe purpose, for gold.\n\nBut he found poverty instead of wealth; for he earned nothing now\nhimself, and Kaspar's sleepy efforts would not support them both. In\nthe search for the larger mass of gold, not only the nugget was used\nup, but the entire property of the two men as well. But as Strumpf had\nformerly received the largest part of his living by Falcon's efforts,\ntaking it all as a matter of course, so now he looked on the profitless\nundertaking of his friend silently and without a murmur; and it was\njust this meek forbearance on the part of his friend that spurred\nFalcon on to continue his restless search for wealth. But what made him\nstill more active in his search was, that as often as he laid down to\nrest and closed his eyes in sleep, a word was sounded in his ear that\nhe seemed to have heard very plainly, and that always appeared to be\nthe same word, and yet he could never recall it. To be sure, he did not\nsee what connection this circumstance, singular as it was, might have\nwith his present purpose; but upon a spirit like William Falcon's\neverything made an impression, and even this mysterious whisper helped\nto strengthen his belief that great good luck was in store for him,\nwhich he expected to find only in a heap of gold.\n\nOne day he was surprised by a storm on the shore in the same place\nwhere he had found the nugget, and he was forced to take refuge from\nits fury in a cave near by. This cave, which the inhabitants called the\ncave of Steenfoll, consists of a long underground passage opening on\nthe sea, with two entrances, and permitting a free passage of the waves\nthat were continually foaming through them with a loud roar. This cave\ncould be entered only from one place--through a fissure from above,\nthat was but seldom approached except by venturesome boys, as in\naddition to the natural dangers of the spot, the cavern was reported to\nbe haunted. Falcon let himself down through this opening with some\ndifficulty, for about twelve feet, and took a seat on a projecting\npiece of rock beneath an overhanging ledge, where, with the roaring\nwaves beneath his feet and the raging storm above his head, he fell\ninto his usual train of thought about the wrecked ship and what kind of\na ship it might have been; for in spite of all his inquiries, he could\nnot obtain any information of a vessel having been wrecked on this\nspot, even from the oldest inhabitants. How long he sat thus he did not\nknow himself; but when he finally awoke from his reveries, he found\nthat the storm was over, and he was about to clamber up again, when a\nvoice from out of the depths pronounced the word \"_Car-milhan_\" very\ndistinctly. He climbed up to the top again, and looked down into the\nabyss once more in great terror. \"Great Heavens!\" exclaimed he, \"that\nis the word that disturbs my sleep! What does it mean?\" \"_Carmilhan!_\"\nwas the sighing response that came once more from the cave; and he fled\nto his hut like a frightened deer.\n\nFalcon was no coward; his fright was more from surprise than fear; and,\nmore than this, the greed for gold was too powerful in him to allow of\nhis being easily driven from his dangerous path. Once, as he was\nfishing with his scoop for treasure by moonlight, opposite the cave of\nSteenfoll, his scoop caught on something. He pulled with all his\nstrength, but the mass was immovable. In the meantime the wind had\nrisen, dark clouds overcast the sky, the boat rocked and threatened to\nturn over; but Falcon did not lose his presence of mind; he pulled and\npulled at his scoop until the resistance ceased, and as he felt no\nweight he concluded that his rope had broken. But just as the clouds\nwere about to obscure the moon's light, a round, black mass appeared on\nthe surface of the water, and the word that haunted him, \"_Carmilhan_,\"\nwas spoken. He made a quick effort to seize the object; but as soon as\nhe stretched out his arm it disappeared in the darkness, and the coming\nstorm forced him to seek protection under the rocks near by. Here,\novercome by exhaustion, he fell asleep, only to be tormented in dreams\nby an unbridled imagination, and to suffer anew the pangs experienced\nin his waking hours, caused by his restless search for wealth.\n\nWhen Falcon waked, the first rays of the rising sun fell upon the bosom\nof the sea, as smooth now as a mirror. He was just about to set out on\nhis accustomed work, when he saw something coming towards him from the\ndistance. He soon recognized it as a boat. Within it sat a human\nfigure; but what aroused his greatest astonishment was that the vessel\ncame on without the aid of sail or oar, and its prow pointed for land\nwithout the person sitting in the boat paying any attention to the\nrudder, if there were one. The boat came nearer, and finally stopped\nnear William's boat. Its occupant proved to be a little dried-up old\nman, dressed in yellow linen, and wearing a red peaked night-cap. His\neyes were closed, and he sat as motionless as a mummy. After vainly\nshouting at him and jarring the boat. Falcon was in the act of making a\nline fast to the boat to tow it off, when the little man opened his\neyes, and began to bestir himself in such a manner as to fill even the\nbold fisherman's mind with dread.\n\n\"Where am I?\" asked he in Dutch, after a deep sigh. Falcon who had\nlearned something of that language from the Dutch herring-fishermen,\ntold him the name of the island, and inquired who he was and what\nerrand brought him here.\n\n\"I have come to look for the _Carmilhan_.\"\n\n\"The _Carmilhan_? for Heaven's sake, what is that?\" cried the curious\nfisherman.\n\n\"I won't give an answer to questions addressed to me in such a manner,\"\nreplied the little man.\n\n\"Well then,\" shouted Falcon, \"what is the _Carmilhan_?\"\n\n\"The _Carmilhan_ is nothing now; but once it was a beautiful ship,\ncarrying more gold than ever a vessel carried before.\"\n\n\"Where was it wrecked, and when?\"\n\n\"It was a hundred years ago; where, I do not know exactly. I come to\nsearch for the spot and recover the lost gold; if you will help me we\nwill divide what we find.\"\n\n\"With my whole heart; only tell me what I must do.\"\n\n\"What you will have to do requires courage. You must go just before\nmidnight to the wildest and loneliest region on the island, leading a\ncow, which you must slaughter there, and get some one to wrap you up in\nthe cow's fresh hide. Your companion must then lay you down and leave\nyou alone, and before it strikes one o'clock you will know where the\ntreasures of the _Carmilhan_ lies.\"\n\n\"It was in just such a way that old Engrol was destroyed, body and\nsoul!\" cried Falcon, with horror. \"You are the evil one himself,\"\ncontinued he as he rowed quickly away. \"Go back to hell! I won't have\nanything to do with you.\"\n\nThe little man gnashed his teeth, and cursed him; but Falcon, who had\nseized both oars, was soon out of hearing, and on turning round a rocky\npromontory was out of sight as well.\n\nBut the discovery that the evil one was taking advantage of his avarice\nby seeking to ensnare him with gold, did not open the eyes of the\nblinded fisherman, but on the contrary he determined to make use of the\ninformation the little man had given him, without putting himself in\nthe power of the evil one. So while he continued to fish for gold on\nthe desolate coast, he neglected the prosperity offered by large\nschools of fish off other parts of the coast as well as all other\nexpedients to which he had once turned his attention, and sank with his\ncompanion into deeper poverty from day to day, until the common\nnecessaries of life began to fail them. But although this ruin might be\nwholly ascribed to Falcon's obstinacy and cupidity, and the maintenance\nof both had fallen on Kaspar Strumpf alone, yet the latter never once\nreproached his companion, but on the other hand continued to display\nthe same subjection to him, and the same confidence in his superior\nunderstanding, as at the time when everyone of his undertakings was\nsuccessful. This circumstance increased Falcon's sorrows not a little,\nbut drove him into a still keener search for gold, hoping thereby soon\nto be able to indemnify his companion for so great forbearance. The\nword _Carmilhan_ still haunted him in his sleep. In short, need,\ndisappointed hopes, and avarice, drove him finally into a species of\ninsanity, so that he really resolved to do that which the little man\nhad advised--although knowing that, as the legend ran, he thereby gave\nhimself up to the powers of darkness.\n\nKaspar's objections were all in vain. Falcon became the more\ndetermined, the more Kaspar besought him to give up his desperate\npurpose; and finally the good, weak-minded fellow consented to\naccompany him and assist him in carrying out his plan. The hearts of\nboth men were saddened, as they tied a rope to the horns of a beautiful\ncow that they had owned since she was a calf, and that was now their\nlast piece of property; they had often refused to sell her before,\nbecause they could not bear the thought of letting her go into strange\nhands. But the evil spirit that now controlled Falcon's actions\ntriumphed over his better nature; nor did Kaspar know how to restrain\nhim in anything.\n\nIt was now September, and the long nights of the Scottish Winter had\nalready begun. The night clouds were driven along before the raw night\nwind, and were banked up in masses like icebergs. Deep shadows filled\nthe ravines between the mountains and the peat-bogs, and the troubled\nchannels of the streams appeared black and fearful. Falcon led the way\nand Strumpf followed, shuddering at his own boldness. Tears filled\nKaspar's eyes as often as he looked at the poor creature that was going\nso unconsciously and trustfully to its death, to be dealt it by the\nhand that had always fed and caressed it.\n\nWith much difficulty they entered a narrow marshy valley, which was\nhere and there strewn with rocks, with patches of moss and heathers,\nand was shut in by a chain of wild mountains whose outlines were lost\nin a gray mist, and whose steep sides had seldom been ascended by a\nhuman foot. They approached a large rock in the centre of the valley\nover the shaking bog, from which a frightened eagle flew screaming into\nthe sky. The poor cow lowed, as if aware of the terrors of the place\nand the fate that awaited her. Kaspar turned aside to wipe away\nthe fast falling tears. He looked down to the rocky opening through\nwhich they had come, from which point could be heard the breakers on\nthe distant coast, and then up to the mountain peaks, upon which a\ncoal-black cloud had settled, from which might be heard from time to\ntime dull mutterings of thunder. As he looked toward Falcon he found\nthat his friend had made the cow fast to the rock, and now stood with\nuplifted ax in the very act of dealing her death blow.\n\nThis was too much for Kaspar. Wringing his hands, he fell upon his\nknees. \"For God's sake, William Falcon!\" shouted he in despairing\ntones, \"save yourself! Spare the cow! Save yourself and me! Save your\nsoul! Save your life! And if you will persist in tempting God, wait at\nleast until to-morrow and sacrifice some other animal than our own\ncow!\"\n\n\"Kaspar, are you crazy?\" shrieked Falcon, like a madman, while he still\nheld the ax swinging in the air. \"Shall I spare the cow and starve?\"\n\n\"You shall not starve,\" answered Kaspar, resolutely. \"As long as I have\nhands you shall not suffer hunger. I will work for you day and night,\nso that you do not endanger the peace of your soul, and let the poor\ncreature live for my sake!\"\n\n\"Then take the ax and split my head!\" shouted Falcon, in desperation.\n\"I won't move from this spot until I have what I desire. Can you raise\nthe treasures of the _Carmilhan_ for me? Can your hands earn more than\nthe merest necessaries of life? But you can put an end to my misery.\nCome, and let me be the victim!\"\n\n\"William, kill the cow, kill me! It does not matter to me, I was only\nanxious about the salvation of your soul. Alas! this was the altar of\nthe Picts, and the sacrifice that you would bring belongs to the\ndarkness.\"\n\n\"I don't know anything about that,\" cried Falcon, laughing wildly, like\none who is resolved not to listen to anything that might swerve him\nfrom his purpose. \"Kaspar, you are crazy and make me crazy, too. But\nthere,\" continued he, throwing away the ax and picking up his knife\nfrom the stone as if about to stab himself; \"there, I will kill myself\ninstead of the cow!\"\n\nKaspar was at his side in a twinkling, tore the murderous weapon from\nhis hand, seized the ax, poised it high in the air, and brought it down\nwith such a force on the poor cow's head, that she fell dead at her\nmaster's feet.\n\nA flash of lightning, accompanied by a peal of thunder, followed this\nrash act, and Falcon stared at his friend in astonishment. But Strumpf\nwas disturbed neither by the thunder-clap nor by the fixed stare of his\ncompanion; and without speaking a word, fell to work at removing the\nhide. When Falcon had recovered from his amazement, he assisted his\ncompanion at this task, but with as evident aversion as he had before\nmanifested eagerness to see the sacrifice completed. During their work\nthe thunder-storm had gathered, the thunder reverberated among the\nmountains, and fearful flashes played about the rock; while the wind\nroared through the lower valleys and along the coast. And when at last\nthe two fishermen had stripped the hide off, they found that they were\nwet through to the skin. They spread the hide out on the ground, and\nKaspar wrapped and tied Falcon up in it. Then, for the first time, when\nall this was done, poor Kaspar broke the long silence by saying in a\ntrembling voice, as he looked down at his deluded friend: \"Can I do\nanything more for you, William?\"\n\n\"Nothing more,\" replied the other; \"farewell!\"\n\n\"Farewell,\" responded Kaspar. \"God be with you, and pardon you, as I\ndo.\"\n\nThese were the last words Falcon heard from him, for Kaspar disappeared\nin the darkness; and immediately thereafter the most terrible\nthunder-storm occurred that William had ever experienced. It began with\na flash, that revealed to Falcon's sight not only the mountains and\nrocks in his immediate vicinity, but also the valley below, with the\nfoaming sea and the rocky islets in the bay, between which he thought\nhe had a vision of a large foreign ship, dismasted; though the sight\nwas instantly lost again in the inky darkness. The thunder-claps were\ndeafening. A mass of splintered rock rolled down the mountain-side and\nthreatened to crush him. The rain poured down in such torrents that the\nnarrow, marshy valley was flooded with a stream that soon reached to\nFalcon's shoulders; fortunately Kaspar had laid him with the upper part\nof his body on a slight elevation, else he would surely have drowned.\nThe water rose still higher, and the more Falcon exerted himself to get\nout of his dangerous situation, the tighter did the hide seem to wrap\nitself about his limbs. All in vain did he call for Kaspar. Kaspar was\nfar away. He did not dare to call on God in his distress, and a shudder\nran through his frame whenever he thought of appealing for assistance\nto the powers into whose clutches he was conscious of having delivered\nhimself.\n\nAlready the water crept into his ears; now it touched the edge of his\nlips. \"Oh, God! I am lost!\" screamed he, as he felt the water sweep\nover his face; but in the same instant the sound of a waterfall close\nby came dimly to his ears, and his face was immediately uncovered. The\nflood had forced a passage through the stone; and as the rain slackened\nand the sky grew lighter, so did his despair abate, and a ray of hope\nreturned to his mind. But although he felt as exhausted as if just\nemerged from a death-struggle, and ardently wished to be released from\nhis imprisonment, still the purpose of his desperate efforts was not\nyet accomplished, and with the vanishing of immediate deadly peril, the\ndemon of greed returned to his breast. But, convinced that he must\nremain in his present situation in order to attain his end, he kept\nvery quiet, and finally, overcome by cold and exhaustion, fell into a\nsound sleep.\n\nHe might have slept two hours, when a cold wind blowing over his face,\nand a roaring, as of oncoming waves, aroused him from his happy state\nof oblivion. The sky was darkened anew. A flash, like that which had\nushered in the first storm, lighted up once more the surrounding\nregion, and he fancied he had another vision of the strange ship, that\nwas now poised for an instant on the crest of an enormous wave close to\nthe Steenfoll cliffs, and then appeared to shoot suddenly into the\nrocky chasm. He continued to stare after the phantom, as the sea was\nnow illuminated by unceasing flashes of lightning, when suddenly a\nwater-spout rose from the valley, near where he lay, and dashed him so\nviolently against a rock as to deprive him of his senses. When he\nrecovered consciousness, the weather had cleared, the sky was bright,\nbut the lightning still continued.\n\nHe lay close at the base of the mountains that shut in this valley,\nfeeling so badly bruised that he had no desire to stir. He heard the\nquieter beating of the surf, mingled with a solemn melody like that of\na psalm. These tones were at first so faint that he thought they must\nbe an illusion; but they occurred again and again, each time clearer\nand nearer, and at last he thought he could distinguish the melody of a\npsalm which he had heard on board a Dutch fishing-smack the Summer\nbefore. Finally he could also make out voices, and he seemed to be able\nto distinguish the words of the song. The voices were now in the\nvalley, and he pushed himself, with difficulty, to a stone, upon which\nhe raised his head, and perceived a procession of human figures,\nevidently the singers he had heard, and who were coming directly\ntowards him. Care and grief were expressed on the faces of these\npeople; and water was dripping from their clothes. Now they were close\nto him, and their song ceased. At their head were several musicians;\nthen followed some seamen, and after these came a tall and strong man\nin a costume richly decorated with gold, apparently belonging to a past\nage. A sword hung at his side, and he carried in his hand a stout\nSpanish cane with a gold head. At his left side walked a negro boy,\nwho, from time to time, handed his master a long-stemmed pipe, from\nwhich the latter would take several grave puffs and then walk on. He\nstopped bolt upright before Falcon, while other men, less splendidly\ndressed, ranged themselves on either side of him. They all had pipes in\ntheir hands, not, however, as costly as that of their leader. Behind\nthem came still other persons, among them being several women, some of\nwhom had children in their arms or at their apron-strings, and all in\ncostly foreign costumes. A crowd of Dutch sailors brought up the rear\nof the procession, each one having a quid of tobacco in his mouth, and\nholding between his teeth a little cutty-pipe, which he smoked in\ngloomy silence.\n\nThe fisherman shuddered as he looked at this singular assembly; but his\nexpectation that something would come of it all kept his courage up.\nFor some time the strange people stood around him thus, and the smoke\nfrom their pipes floated over them like a cloud, through which peeped\nthe stars. The men closed in on Falcon in an ever-narrowing circle; the\nsmoking became more and more vehement, and the clouds that arose from\npipe and mouth increased in density.\n\nFalcon was a bold, daring man; he had prepared himself beforehand for\nextraordinary occurrences; but when he saw this innumerable crowd\npressing in on him as if to crush him by their numbers, his courage\nfailed him, great drops of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he\nthought he would perish in a spasm of fright. But one may imagine his\nhorror when, as he chanced to turn his eyes, he saw, sitting motionless\nand erect, close by his head, the little old man in the yellow linen\nsuit, looking just as he had the first time except that now, as if\nmaking fun of the whole assembly, he, too, had a pipe in his mouth. In\nthe mortal fright that now took possession of him, Falcon cried out to\nthe leader of this assembly:\n\n\"In the name of whomsoever you serve, who are you? and what do you want\nwith me?\"\n\nThe tall man drew three whiffs, even more gravely than before; then\ngave the pipe to his servant and answered very coldly:\n\n\"I am Alfred Frank van Swelder, commander of the ship _Carmilhan_, of\nAmsterdam, which, on the voyage home from Batavia, went to the bottom\nwith man and mouse on this rocky coast. These are my officers, those my\npassengers, and beyond, my brave crew who were all drowned with me. Why\nhave you summoned us from our dwellings deep in the sea? Why do you\ndisturb our rest?\"\n\n\"I wish to know where the treasure of the _Carmilhan_ lies.\"\n\n\"On the bottom of the sea.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"In the cave of Steenfoll.\"\n\n\"How can I recover it?\"\n\n\"A goose dives into the abyss for a herring; is not the treasure of the\n_Carmilhan_ of as much value?\"\n\n\"How much of it shall I recover?\"\n\n\"More than you will ever spend.\"\n\nThe little man in yellow grinned horribly at this reply, while all the\nothers laughed aloud.\n\n\"Are you through?\" inquired the commander, further.\n\n\"I am. Farewell!\"\n\n\"Farewell, until we meet again!\" replied the Dutchman, and turned to\ngo; the musicians took the lead again, and the whole procession marched\naway in the same order in which it had come, and with the same solemn\nsong, which grew ever fainter and fainter in the distance, until\nfinally it was lost in the roar of the breakers.\n\nFalcon now exerted his utmost strength to get out of the hide, and he\nat last succeeded in freeing one arm, with which he was able to loosen\nthe rope that was wound round him, and soon had stepped out of the\nhide. Without stopping to look about him, he hastened down to his hut,\nand found poor Kaspar Strumpf lying on the ground in an insensible\ncondition. With some difficulty he restored him to consciousness, and\nthe good fellow shed tears of joy on once more beholding the friend of\nhis youth, whom he had given up for lost. But this happy consolation\nvanished quickly, when he learned what a desperate undertaking Falcon\nnow had in mind.\n\n\"I would rather cast myself into hell than to look any longer at these\nbare walls and reflect on our misery. Follow me, or stay here; I am\ngoing at any rate.\"\n\n\nWith these words. Falcon seized a torch, a tinder-box, and a rope, and\nhastened away. Kaspar ran after him as fast as he could, and found his\nfriend standing on the ledge of the rock upon which he had once sought\nsafety from the storm, and ready to let himself down into the raging\nabyss. When Kaspar found that his entreaties had no effect on the\ncrazed man, he prepared to descend after him; but Falcon ordered him to\nremain where he was and hold on to the rope. With an amount of exertion\nthat could only have been supplied by the blindest of passions, greed,\nFalcon clambered down into the cave, and at last came to a projecting\npiece of rock, just below which the black waves, crested with foam,\nrushed along with a dreadful roar. He looked about him eagerly, and\nfinally saw something glistening in the water directly beneath where he\nstood. He laid down his torch, plunged in, and seized a heavy object\nwhich he managed to bring back with him. It was an iron box filled with\ngold pieces. He shouted up to his companion what he had found; but he\nwould not pay the least attention to Kaspar's entreaties to content\nhimself with what he had. Falcon believed that this was only the first\nfruit of his long endeavors. He plunged into the waves once more--a\npeal of laughter arose from the sea, and William Falcon was never seen\nagain.\n\nKaspar went back to the hut, but as a changed man. The strange shocks\nwhich his weak head and sensitive heart had experienced, wrecked his\nmind. He wandered about, day and night, staring before him in an\nimbecile way, pitied and yet avoided by all his former acquaintances.\nOne stormy night a fisherman claimed to have recognized William Falcon\non the shore among the crew of the _Carmilhan_, and on that same night\nKaspar Strumpf disappeared. He was sought for every-where, but no trace\nof him was ever found; but the legend runs that he has often been seen,\ntogether with Falcon, among the crew of the spectre ship, which since\nhis loss appears at stated times at the cave of Steenfoll.\n\n\n\n\"It is long past midnight,\" said the student, when the young goldsmith\nhad concluded his story; \"there cannot well be any further danger, and\nI, for my part, am so sleepy that I would advise that we all lay down\nand go to sleep with a sense of perfect security.\"\n\n\"I should not feel safe before two o'clock in the morning,\" said the\nhuntsman; \"the proverb says, from eleven till two is the thief's hour.\"\n\n\"I am of the same opinion,\" observed the compass-maker; \"for if they\nmean us any harm, there is certainly no time so well adapted to their\npurpose as the small hours. Therefore, I think it would be well if the\nstudent were to continue his story, which he did not finish.\"\n\n\"I will not refuse your request,\" responded the student, \"although our\nneighbor, the huntsman, did not hear the beginning of it.\"\n\n\"I will try to imagine it, only go on,\" replied the huntsman.\n\n\"Well then,\"--the student had just begun, when they were interrupted by\nthe barking of a dog. All held their breaths and listened. At the same\ninstant one of the servants rushed in from the countess's room, and\nannounced that from ten to twelve armed men were approaching the inn.\n\nThe huntsman seized his rifle, the student his pistol, the journeymen\ntheir canes, while the wagoner drew a large knife from his pocket. Thus\nthey stood staring at one another helplessly.\n\n\"Let us station ourselves at the head of the stairs!\" cried the\nstudent. \"Two or three of these villains shall meet their death before\nwe are overpowered.\" So saying he gave the compass-maker his other\npistol, with the understanding that they should fire one after the\nother. They took their places on the stairs--the student and the\nhuntsman first, and near them the courageous compass-maker, who kept\nhis pistol pointed down the centre of the stair-way. The goldsmith and\nthe wagoner stood behind them, ready to do their best if it should come\nto a hand-to-hand fight.\n\nThey had stood thus but a few moments, when the house-door opened, and\nthey heard several voices whispering.\n\nNow they heard the steps of many men nearing the stair-way. The steps\ncame up the stairs, and when about half way up three men were made out,\nwho were evidently not prepared for the reception that awaited them. As\nthey turned round the pillar that supported the flooring above, the\nhuntsman called out: \"Halt! One step further, and you are dead men.\nCock your guns, friends, and take good aim!\"\n\nThe robbers shrank back; returned hastily to their companions below,\nand conferred with them. After a while one of them came back and said:\n\"Gentlemen, it would be folly in you to sacrifice your lives for\nnothing; for there are enough of us to completely destroy you; but\nreturn to your rooms and not one of you shall be harmed in the least,\nnor will we take a farthing from you.\"\n\n\"What is your purpose, then?\" demanded the student. \"Do you think we\nwill trust such villains as you? No indeed! If you have any business\nwith us, come on, in God's name; but the first one who ventures up here\nI will brand on the forehead so that he will never suffer from headache\nagain!\"\n\n\"Surrender the lady to us then,\" answered the robber. \"She shall not\nsuffer harm; we will merely conduct her to a safe place, where she can\nremain in comfort, while her servants return to the count and inform\nhim that he can ransom her for twenty thousand guldens!\"\n\n\"Shall we listen to such propositions?\" exclaimed the huntsman, furious\nwith rage as he cocked his gun. \"I will count three, and if you are not\noff before I say three, I will pull the trigger! One, two--\"\n\n\"Hold!\" shouted the robber in a tone of command. \"Is it customary to\nshoot at an unarmed man, who is holding a friendly parley with you?\nFoolish fellow, you might shoot me dead, and after all not perform a\nvery heroic deed; but here stand twenty of my comrades who would avenge\nme. How would it benefit your lady countess if you lay dead or stunned\non the floor? Believe me, if she will go with us without offering\nresistance she shall be treated with every consideration, but if you\ndon't put down your gun before I have counted three, it shall fare hard\nwith her. Put down your gun!--One, two, three!\"\n\n\"These dogs are not to be trifled with,\" whispered the huntsman to his\ncompanion, as he obeyed the robber's command. \"Really I am not afraid\nof my own life, but if I were to shoot down one of them, it might be so\nmuch the worse for my lady. I will consult with the countess.\" Then\nturning to the robber he continued: \"Give us a truce of half an hour in\norder to prepare the countess. It would kill her if she were to be\ninformed of this suddenly.\"\n\n\"Granted,\" replied the robber, at the same time stationing a guard of\nsix men on the stair-case.\n\nBewildered and irresolute, the unfortunate travellers followed the\nhuntsman to the countess's chamber, which was close to the stairs, and\nso loudly had the men spoken that the lady had not missed a word of\nwhat had been said. She was pale, and trembled violently, but\nnevertheless was firmly resolved to accept her fate.\n\n\"Why should I jeopardize the lives of so many brave men?\" said she.\n\"Why demand of you, to whom I am a stranger, an idle defence? No; I see\nno other chance of rescue than to follow these wretches.\"\n\nAll were impressed by the lady's spirit and misfortune. The huntsman\nwept, and swore that he could not survive this disgrace. The student\nreviled himself and his stature of six feet. \"If I were only half a\nhead shorter and had no beard,\" said he, \"I should know how to act; I\nwould dress myself in the lady countess's clothes, and these wretches\nshould find out only too late what a blunder they had made.\"\n\nFelix also had been deeply moved by the lady's misfortune. Her whole\npresence came so familiarly and affectingly before him, that it seemed\nto him as if the mother whom he had lost in his youth was now in this\nterrible situation. He would cheerfully have given his life for hers.\nAnd, as the student spoke, his words awakened an idea in his mind; he\nforgot all anxiety and every consideration but that of the rescue of\nthis lady.\n\n\"If that is all,\" said he, stepping forward timidly, and coloring as he\nspoke, \"if only a short stature, a beardless chin, and a courageous\nheart are needed to rescue this lady, then perhaps I am not unfit for\nthat purpose. Put on my coat, gracious lady, hide your beautiful hair\nbeneath my hat, take my bundle on your back and go your way as Felix,\nthe goldsmith.\"\n\nAll were astonished at the youth's spirit, while the huntsman fell on\nhis neck in an ecstasy of joy. \"Goldsmith,\" cried he, \"you will do that?\nYou will slip into my gracious lady's clothes and thus save her? The\ngood God has prompted you to do it. But you shall not go alone; I will\nshare your captivity, will remain at your side as your best friend, and\nwhile I live they shall not harm you.\"\n\n\"I too will go with you, as true as I live!\" exclaimed the student.\n\nMuch persuasion was required before the countess would consent to this\nscheme. She could not bear the thought that a stranger should sacrifice\nhimself for her; she could not help thinking that if the robbers\nshould afterward discover the deception practiced on them, they would\ntake a terrible revenge on the unfortunate youth. But finally she was\nover-persuaded, partly by the entreaties of the young man, and partly\nby the reflection that if she was saved she would make every exertion\nto rescue her savior. The huntsman and the other travellers accompanied\nFelix into the student's room, where he quickly threw on some of the\ncountess's clothes. To still further disguise him, the huntsman secured\nsome locks of the maid's false hair to the goldsmith's head, and tied\non the lady's hat. All declared that he would never be known; while the\ncompass-maker roundly asserted that if he had met him on the street he\nshould take off his hat without the slightest suspicion that he was\nbowing to his courageous comrade.\n\nThe countess in the meanwhile, with the help of her maid, had dressed\nherself in the clothes she found in the goldsmith's knapsack. With the\nhat drawn down over the forehead, the staff in her hand, and the\nknapsack on her back, she was completely disguised; and the travellers\nwould have laughed not a little at any other time, over this comical\nmasquerade. The new travelling journeyman thanked Felix with tears, and\npromised the speediest assistance.\n\n\"I have only one request to make,\" answered Felix. \"In the knapsack you\nhave on your back there is a small box; preserve this with the utmost\ncare, for if it should be lost, I should never be happy again. I must\ncarry it to my godmother and----\"\n\n\"Godfried, the huntsman, knows where my castle is,\" interrupted the\nlady. \"Every thing shall be given back to you just as it was; for I\nhope you will come yourself, noble young man, to receive the thanks of\nmy husband and myself.\"\n\nBefore Felix could reply, the harsh voices of the robbers were heard\ncalling from the stairs that the time was up, and that everything was\nready for the countess's journey. The huntsman went down to them, and\ndeclared that he could not leave the countess, and would rather go with\nthem, wherever they might lead, than to return to his master without\nhis mistress. The student also insisted that he should be allowed to\naccompany the lady. The robbers discussed the matter for some time, and\nfinally consented to the arrangement, provided that the huntsman should\nat once surrender his weapons. Then they gave orders that the other\ntravellers should remain perfectly quiet while the countess was being\ntaken away.\n\nFelix pulled down the veil that was spread over his hat, sat down in a\ncorner with one hand supporting his head, and, with the manner of one\nin deep grief, awaited the robbers. The travellers had withdrawn to the\nother room, but left the door ajar so that they could see all that\noccurred. The huntsman sat down with an appearance of sadness, but\nkeeping a sharp eye on the corner of the room that the countess had\noccupied. After they had sat thus for a few moments, the door opened,\nand a handsome stately man of about thirty-six years of age entered the\nroom. He wore a kind of military uniform, an order on his breast, a\nlong sabre at his side, and in his hand he carried a hat decorated with\nbeautiful feathers. Two of his men guarded the door immediately after\nhis entrance.\n\nHe approached Felix with a low bow; he seemed to be somewhat\nembarrassed in the presence of a lady of rank, as he made several\nattempts before he was able to speak connectedly.\n\n\"Gracious lady,\" said he, \"cases happen now and then in which one must\nhave patience; such an one is yours. Do not think that I shall for even\na moment lose sight of the respect due to so superior a lady. You shall\nhave every comfort, and will have nothing to complain of except perhaps\nthe fright you have suffered this evening.\" He paused here, as if\nawaiting an answer; but as Felix made no reply, he continued: \"Do not\nlook upon me as a common thief. I am an unfortunate man, whom adverse\ncircumstances have forced into this life. We are desirous of leaving\nthis region forever, but need money for that purpose. It would have\nbeen an easy matter for us to fall upon merchants and stages, but\nthereby we should have brought lasting misfortune on many people. Your\nhusband, the count, inherited half a million thalers not six weeks ago.\nWe ask for twenty thousand guldens of this superabundance; certainly a\njust and moderate demand. You will, therefore, have the goodness to\nwrite a note to the count at once, informing him that we are holding\nyou for a ransom, that he must send the money as quickly as possible,\nand that unless he does so--you understand me, we should be compelled\nto treat you with much less consideration. The ransom will not be\naccepted unless brought by a single man, under a pledge of the\nstrictest secrecy.\"\n\nThis scene was viewed with the most anxious interest by all the guests\nof the inn, but most anxiously of all by the countess. She trembled\nevery moment lest the young man should betray himself. She was firmly\nresolved to ransom him for a large sum, but just as strong was her\nresolve not to take a single step with these robbers for any earthly\nconsideration. She had found a knife in the goldsmith's coat pocket.\nShe held it open in her hand, prepared to kill herself rather than\nsuffer such a fate. Not less anxious was Felix himself. To be sure, he\nwas consoled and strengthened by the reflection that it was a manly and\npraiseworthy act to come to the assistance of a helpless lady as he was\ndoing, but he feared lest he should betray himself by each movement or\nby his voice. His alarm increased when the robber spoke of his writing\na letter. How should he write it? By what title should he address the\ncount? In what style should he write the letter, without betraying\nhimself? But his anxiety rose to the highest pitch, when the robber\nchief laid paper and pen before him, and requested him to lift his veil\nand write the letter.\n\nFelix did not know how becoming this disguise was to him, or he would\nnot have entertained the least fear of discovery. For, as he finally\nfelt forced to raise his veil, the robber chief, surprised by the\nbeauty of the lady and her somewhat manly and spirited features,\nregarded her with still greater respect. This fact did not escape the\nyoung goldsmith's attention; and satisfied that at least for a moment\nthere was no danger of discovery, he took up the pen and wrote to his\npretended husband, after a form that he had once read in an old book:\n\n\n\"My Lord and Husband:--I, unhappy woman, have been seized, on my\njourney, in the dead of night, by people whom I cannot credit with good\nintentions. They will keep me a prisoner until you, Sir Count, have\npaid down the sum of twenty thousand guldens for me. This is provided\nyou do not inform the authorities of this matter, or seek their\nassistance; and that you send the money by a single messenger to the\nforest inn in the Spessart. Otherwise I am threatened with a long and\nsevere imprisonment. Begging for the speediest deliverance,\n                                    I am your unhappy\n                                                       WIFE.\"\n\n\nHe handed this remarkable letter to the robber chief, who read it\nthrough and signified his approbation.\n\n\"It rests with you now to decide,\" said he, \"whether you will be\naccompanied by the huntsman or your maid. I shall send one of them to\nyour husband with this letter.\"\n\n\"The huntsman, and that gentleman there, will accompany me,\" answered\nFelix.\n\n\"Very well,\" returned the robber, going to the door and summoning the\ncountess's maid. \"Just give this woman her instructions.\"\n\nThe maid appeared, shivering and shaking. Felix too turned pale when he\nreflected that here he was in danger once more of betraying himself.\nStill the unexpected courage that had carried him safely through the\nformer ordeal, returned. \"I have no further commands for you,\" said he,\n\"except that you desire the count to take me from this unfortunate\nsituation as quickly as possible.\"\n\n\"And,\" added the robber, \"that you recommend the count most earnestly\nand explicitly to keep silent about all this, and not to undertake any\naction against us, before his wife is in his hands. Our spies would\ngive us timely warning of any such demonstrations on his part, and I\nwould not then be answerable for the consequences.\"\n\nThe trembling maid promised to obey these instructions. She was further\nordered to pack what dresses and linen the lady countess might need in\na small bundle, as they could not hamper themselves with much luggage;\nand when this had been done, the robber chief, with a low bow,\nrequested the lady to follow him. Felix stood up, the huntsman and the\nstudent followed, and, preceded by the robber, all three descended the\nstairs.\n\nBefore the inn stood a large number of horses. One of them was\npointed out to the huntsman; another, a beautiful pony provided with a\nside-saddle, stood ready for the countess; while a third was given to\nthe student. The leader lifted the young goldsmith to the saddle, fixed\nhim firmly in his seat, and then mounted a horse himself. He rode to\nthe right of the lady, while another of the robbers rode at her left\nside. The student and huntsman were similarly guarded. As soon as the\nband of robbers were mounted, the leader gave a loud and clear whistle\nas a signal to start, and shortly the whole troop had disappeared in\nthe forest.\n\nThe company gathered in the chamber of the inn, gradually recovered\nfrom their terror after the departure of the robbers. As is generally\nthe case after some great misfortune or sudden danger has passed by,\nthey would have been very cheerful had not their thoughts been occupied\nwith their three companions, who had been led away before their very\neyes. They all broke out in praise of the young goldsmith, and the\ncountess wept when she reflected how deeply she was indebted to one\nupon whom she had no claim, whom she had never even known. It was a\nconsolation for them all to know that the heroic huntsman and the brave\nstudent had accompanied him, and could comfort him in his hours of\ndespondency. They even entertained a hope that the experienced forester\nwould discover a means of escape for himself and companions. They\nconsulted together as to what they had better do. The countess resolved\nthat, as she was bound by no oath to the robbers, she would at once\nreturn to her husband, and make every exertion to discover their\nhiding-place, and set their prisoners free. The wagoner promised to go\nto Aschaffenburg and summon the officials to organize a pursuit of the\nrobbers, while the compass-maker was to continue his journey.\n\nThe travellers were not disturbed any more that night; silence reigned\nin the forest inn, that had an hour before been the theatre of terrible\nscenes. But in the morning, when the servants of the countess went\nbelow to prepare for her departure, they came running back, and\nreported that they had found the landlady and her hostler bound on the\nfloor, and begging for assistance.\n\nThe travellers gazed at one another in astonishment. \"What?\" cried the\ncompass-maker. \"Then these people must have been innocent. We have done\nthem wrong, for they can have no association with the robbers.\"\n\n\"I will allow myself to be hanged in their place,\" returned the\nwagoner, \"if we were not right after all. This is only a sham, designed\nto prevent their conviction. Don't you remember the suspicious\nappearance of this inn? Don't you remember how, when I started to go\ndown-stairs, the trained dog would not let me pass? how the landlady\nand the hostler appeared instantly, and asked in a surly way what I was\nafter? Still, all this was well for us, or at least for the lady\ncountess. If things had worn a less suspicious air in the public room,\nif the landlady had not aroused our distrust, we should not have\nremained together, nor have kept awake. The robbers could have attacked\nus in our sleep, or at least would have guarded our doors, so that the\nsubstitution of the brave young goldsmith for the countess would not\nhave been possible.\"\n\nThey all agreed with the wagoner, and determined to lodge a complaint\nagainst the landlady and her servant, before the magistrate. Still,\nin order to be on the safe side, they concluded not to manifest the\nleast token of suspicion just yet. The servants and the wagoner went\ndown-stairs, loosened the bonds of the robbers' accomplices, and\nconducted themselves as sympathetically and sorrowfully as possible. In\norder to conciliate her guests still more, the landlady charged each\none but a very small amount, and extended them a hearty invitation to\ncall again.\n\nThe wagoner paid his reckoning, took leave of his companions in\nmisfortune, and started on his road. After him the two journeymen went\noff. Light as the goldsmith's bundle had been made, it still seemed\nheavy to the delicate lady. But still heavier was her heart, when the\ntraitorous landlady stretched out her hand to take leave of her at the\ndoor. \"Why,\" cried she, \"what kind of a spark are you, to be going out\ninto the world so young? You must be a spoiled fellow, whom the master\nchased out of his shop. But that's none of my business; do me the honor\nto stop here on your return journey. Good luck to you!\"\n\nThe countess was so nervous, and trembled so, that she did not dare\nreply, least she should be betrayed by her voice. The compass-maker,\nnoticing her confusion, took his companion by the arm, bade good-bye to\nthe landlady, and sang a jovial song as they struck out into the\nforest.\n\n\"Now I am really in safety,\" cried the countess, when they had put a\nhundred paces between them and the inn. \"To the last moment I feared\nthat the landlady would recognize me, and have her servant lock me up.\nOh, how can I thank you for all you have done? Come to my castle; you\nmust at least return to meet your travelling companions again.\"\n\nThe compass-maker consented, and while they were thus speaking, the\ncountess's carriage came rolling up behind them; the door was quickly\nopened, the lady sprang inside, waved a farewell to the young\njourneyman, and was driven rapidly away.\n\nAbout this time, the robbers and their prisoners reached the camping\nplace of the band. They had ridden over a rough forest road at a fast\ntrot, exchanging not a word with their prisoners, and conversing among\nthemselves in low tones only when they changed their course. They\nfinally came to a halt just above a deep ravine. The robbers\ndismounted, and their leader assisted the goldsmith from his horse,\napologizing for the fast and wearisome ride he had forced him to take,\nand inquiring whether the gracious lady felt very much fatigued.\n\nFelix answered him in as gentle a tone as he could assume, that he was\nin need of rest; and the robber offered his arm to escort him into the\nravine. The descent was a very steep one, and the footpath was narrow\nand precipitous. At last they were safely down. Felix saw before him by\nthe faint light of the opening day, a small narrow valley not more than\na hundred paces in circumference, that lay deep in a basin formed by\nthe precipitous rocks. Some six or eight small, board and log huts were\nbuilt in this ravine. A few untidy women peeped out curiously from\nthese hovels, and a pack of twelve large dogs and their countless\npuppies surrounded the new-comers, howling and barking. The chief led\nthe countess to the best one of these huts, and told her that this was\nexclusively for her own use; and granted Felix's request that the\nhuntsman and the student might be permitted to remain with him.\n\nThe hut was furnished with deer-skins and mats, which served at once\nfor a carpet and for seats. Some jugs and dishes, made out of wood, a\nrusty old fowling-piece, and in the further corner a couch made of a\ncouple of boards and a few woollen blankets, which could hardly be\ndignified by the name of a bed, were the only appointments of the\nplace.\n\nLeft alone together for the first time in this miserable hut, the three\nprisoners had time to think over their strange situation. Felix, who\ndid not for a moment repent of his noble action, but who was still\nnervous as to what would become of him in case of a discovery, gave\nutterance to loud complaints; but the huntsman quickly checked him, and\nwhispered:\n\n\"For God's sake, be quiet, dear boy; don't you know that they will be\nlistening to us.\"\n\n\"Each word uttered in such a tone as that would create suspicion in\ntheir minds,\" added the student.\n\nNothing remained to poor Felix but to weep silently. \"Believe me, Mr.\nHuntsman,\" said he, \"I do not weep for fear of these robbers, or\nbecause of this miserable hut; no, it is quite another kind of sorrow\nthat oppresses me. How easily might the countess forget what I said to\nher so hastily, and then I should be considered a thief and thus made\nmiserable forever.\n\n\"But what is it, then, that causes you so much anxiety?\" inquired the\nhuntsman, wondering at the demeanor of the young man, who, up to this\ntime, had borne himself so courageously.\n\n\"Listen, and you will do me justice,\" answered Felix. \"My father was a\nclever goldsmith of Nuremberg, and my mother, previous to her marriage,\nhad served as maid to a lady of rank, and when she married my father\nshe was finely fitted out by the countess whom she had served. The\ncountess remained a good friend to my parents, and after my birth she\nstood as my godmother and made me many presents. And when my parents\ndied of a pestilence, and I, left alone in the world, was about to be\nsent to the poorhouse, this lady godmother heard of my misfortune and\nplaced me in a boarding-school. When I was of the proper age, she wrote\nto know if I would like to learn my father's trade. I jumped at the\nchance, and she apprenticed me to a master of the art in Wuerzburg. I\ntook readily to the work, and had soon made such progress that I was\ngiven a certificate, and could set out as a travelling journeyman. I\nwrote this to my lady godmother, and she answered at once that she\nwould give me the money for my outfit. With the letter she sent some\nsplendid stones, and requested me to give them a beautiful setting, and\nbring the ornament to her myself as a proof of my skill, and receive my\ntravelling money at the same time. I have never seen my lady godmother,\nand you may imagine with what pleasure I undertook her commands. I\nworked day and night on the ornament, and turned out such a beautiful\nand delicate piece of work that even the master was astonished at my\nskill. When it was completed, I packed my knapsack carefully, took\nleave of my master, and started out on the journey to my lady\ngodmother's castle. Then,\" continued he, breaking into tears, \"these\nvillainous robbers happened along and destroyed all my hopes. For if\nyour lady countess loses the ornament, or forgets what I told her and\nthrows away my old knapsack, how shall I ever face my lady godmother?\nHow should I prove my story? How could I replace the stones? And my\ntravelling money would also be lost, and I should appear as an\nungrateful fellow who had foolishly surrendered his charge. And,\nfinally, would any one believe me if I were to relate this wonderful\nadventure?\"\n\n\"Be of good cheer!\" replied the huntsman. \"I do not believe that your\nornament can be lost while in the keeping of the countess; and even if\nsuch a thing should occur, she would be sure to make the loss good to\nher deliverer, and would herself bear witness to these mischances. We\nwill leave you now for some hours, for we really need sleep, and after\nthe excitement of this night you ought to take some rest. Afterwards in\nconversing with one another let us forget our misfortune for the time\nbeing, or, better still, let us think about our escape.\"\n\nThey went away Felix remained alone, and made an attempt to follow the\nhuntsman's advice. When, after some hours, the student and huntsman\nreturned, they found their young friend in a much better mood. The\nhuntsman told the goldsmith that the chief of the band had assured him\nthat the lady should have every attention; and that in a few moments\none of the women whom they had seen about the huts would serve the lady\ncountess with coffee, and offer her services as attendant. They\nresolved, in order not to be disturbed, to refuse this favor; and when\nthe ugly old gypsy woman came, set the breakfast before them, and\ninquired in an obsequious manner whether she could be of any further\nservice, Felix motioned to her to leave, and as she still lingered, the\nhuntsman drove her out of the door. The student then narrated all that\nthey had learned about the camp.\n\n\"The hut in which you live, beautiful lady countess,\" began he, \"seems\noriginally to have been designed for the leader of the band. It is not\nso roomy, but it is much finer than the others. Beside this, there are\nsix others, in which the women and children live, for there are seldom\nmore than six robbers at home. One stands guard not far from this hut;\nanother below him, on the way to the path that leads out of the ravine;\nand a third stands as sentinel above, at the entrance to the ravine.\nEvery second hour they are relieved by the three others. More than\nthis, each guard has two large dogs near him, and they are all so\nwide-awake that one can not set foot outside the hut without being\nbarked at. I have no hope that we can steal out of this place.\"\n\n\"Don't make me sad; I feel more cheerful after my nap,\" returned Felix.\n\"Don't give up all hope, and if you fear discovery, let us rather talk\nabout something else, and not be troubled about the future. Herr\nStudent, you began a story in the inn; continue it now, for we have\ntime to amuse ourselves.\"\n\n\"I can scarcely remember what it was,\" answered the young man.\n\n\"You were relating the legend of 'The Marble Heart,' and had reached\nthe point where the landlord and the other gambler had put Charcoal\nPete out of doors.\"\n\n\"All right; it comes back to me now,\" replied he. \"Well, if you wish to\nhear more of it, I will continue.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           THE MARBLE HEART.\n\n                              SECOND PART.\n\nWhen Peter went to his glass-works on Monday morning, he found not only\nhis workmen there, but also other people who do not make very pleasant\nvisitors--the sheriff and three bailiffs. The sheriff bade Peter good\nmorning, asked how he had slept, and then took out a long register, on\nwhich were inscribed the names of Peter's creditors. \"Can you pay or\nnot?\" demanded the sheriff in a severe tone. \"And be quick about the\nmatter too, for I have not much time to spare, and the prison is a\nthree hours ride from here.\" Peter, in great despondency, confessed\nthat he was unable to pay the claims, and left it to the sheriff to\nappraise his house, glass-works, stable, and horses and carriage.\n\nWhile the officials were conducting their examination, it occurred to\nPeter that the Tannenbuehl was not far away, and as the little man had\nnot helped him, he would try the big man. He ran to the Tannenbuehl as\nfast as though the officers had been at his heels; and it seemed to\nhim, as he rushed by the spot where he had first spoken to the Little\nGlass-Man, that an invisible hand seized him--but he tore himself out\nof its grasp, and ran on till he came to the boundary line, which he\nremembered well; and hardly had he shouted: \"Dutch Michel! Dutch\nMichel!\" when the giant raftsman, with his immense pole, stood before\nhim.\n\n\"Have you come at last?\" said the giant, laughing. \"Do they want to\nstrip you for the benefit of your creditors? Well, be quiet; your whole\ntrouble comes, as I told you it would, from the Little Glass-Man--the\nhypocrite. When one gives, one should give generously, and not like\nthis miser. But come,\" continued he, turning towards the forest,\n\"follow me to my house, and we will see whether we can make a trade.\"\n\n\"Make a trade?\" reflected Peter. \"What can he want from me? How can I\nmake a bargain with him? Does he want me to do him some service, or\nwhat is it he's after?\"\n\nThey walked over a steep forest path, and suddenly came upon a dark and\ndeep ravine. Dutch Michel sprang down the rocks as if they were an easy\nmarble stair-case; but Peter came near fainting with fright, when Dutch\nMichel on reaching the bottom, made himself as tall as a church\nsteeple, and stretched out an arm as long as a weaver's beam, with a\nhand as broad as the table in the tavern, and shouted in a voice that\nechoed like a deep funeral bell: \"Set down on my hand and hold fast to\nthe fingers, and you will not fall.\" Peter tremblingly obeyed him,\ntaking a seat on the giant's hand, and holding on to his thumb.\n\nThey went down and down for a great distance, but still, to Peter's\nastonishment it did not grow darker; on the contrary, it seemed to be\nlighter in the ravine, so that for some time his eyes could not endure\nthe light. The farther they descended, the smaller did Dutch Michel\nmake himself, and he now, in his former stature, stood before a house\nneither better nor worse than those owned by wealthy peasants in the\nBlack Forest. The room into which Peter was conducted did not differ\nfrom the rooms of other houses, except that an indescribable air of\nloneliness pervaded it. The wooden clock, the enormous Dutch tile\nstove, the utensils on the shelves, were the same as those in use\nevery-where. Michel showed him to a seat behind the large table and\nthen went out, returning soon with a pitcher of wine and glasses. He\npoured out the wine, and they talked at random, until Dutch Michel\nbegan to tell about the pleasures of the world, of strange lands, and\nof beautiful cities and rivers, so that Peter at last became possessed\nof a strong desire to travel also, and told the giant so openly.\n\n\"However desirous you might be of undertaking anything, a couple of\nquick beats of your silly heart would make you tremble; and as for\ninjured reputation, for misfortune, why should a sensible fellow\ntrouble himself with such matters? Did you feel the insult in your head\nwhen recently you were called a cheat and swindler? Did your stomach\npain you when the sheriff came to turn you out of house and home? Tell\nme, where were you conscious of pain?\"\n\n\"In my heart,\" answered Peter, laying his hand on his breast; for it\nseemed to him as though his heart was swinging to and fro unsteadily.\n\n\"You have--don't take it amiss--you have thrown away many hundred\nguldens on idle beggars and other low fellows; how did that benefit\nyou? They blessed you, and wished you a long life; do you therefore\nexpect to live the longer? For the half of that wasted money you could\nhave employed physicians in your illness. Blessings?--Yes, it's a fine\nblessing to have your property seized and yourself put out of doors!\nAnd what was it that induced you to put your hand in your pocket\nwhenever a beggar held out his tattered hat?--your heart, once more\nyour heart; and neither your eyes nor your tongue, your arms nor your\nlegs, but your heart. You took it--as the saying is--too much to\nheart.\"\n\n\"But how can one train himself so that it would not be so any more? I\nam exerting myself now to control my heart, and still it beats and\ntorments me.\"\n\n\"Yes, no doubt you find that the case,\" replied the giant, with a\nlaugh. \"You, poor fellow, can not manage it at all; but give me the\nlittle beating thing, and then you will see how much better off you\nwill be.\"\n\n\"Give you my heart?\" shrieked Peter in terror. \"I should certainly die\non the spot! No, never!\"\n\n\"Yes, if one of your learned surgeons was to perform the operation of\nremoving the heart from your body, you would certainly die; but with me\nit would be quite another thing. Still, come this way, and satisfy\nyourself.\" So saying, he got up, opened a chamber door, and took Peter\ninside. The young man's heart contracted spasmodically as he stepped\nover the sill, but he paid no attention to it, for the sight that met\nhis eyes was strange and surprising. On a row of shelves stood glasses\nfilled with a transparent fluid, and in each of these glasses was a\nhuman heart; the glasses were also labeled with names, written on paper\nslips, and Peter read them with great curiosity. Here was the heart of\nthe magistrate at F., of the Stout Ezekiel, of the King of the Ball, of\nthe head gamekeeper; there were the hearts of six corn factors, of\neight recruiting officers, of three scriveners--in short, it was a\ncollection of the most respectable hearts within a circumference of\nsixty miles.\n\n\"Look!\" said Dutch Michel. \"All these have thrown away the cares and\nsorrows of life. Not one of these hearts beats anxiously any longer,\nand their former possessors are glad to be well rid of their\ntroublesome guests.\"\n\n\"But what do they carry in the breast in place of them?\" asked Peter,\nwhose head began to swim at what he had seen.\n\n\"This,\" answered the giant, handing him, from a drawer, a _stone\nheart_.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Peter, as a chill crept over him. \"A heart of marble?\nBut look you, Dutch Michel, that must be very cold in the breast.\"\n\n\"Certainly; but it is an agreeable coolness. Why should a heart be\nwarm? In winter the warmth of it is of no account; good cherry rum you\nwould find a better protection against the cold than a warm heart, and\nin summer, when you are sweltering in the heat, you can not imagine how\nsuch a heart will cool you. And, as I said before, there will be no\nfurther anxiety or terror, neither any more silly pity, nor any sorrow,\nwith such a heart in your breast.\"\n\n\"And is that all you are able to give me?\" asked Peter discontentedly.\n\"I hope for money, and you offer me a stone!\"\n\n\"Well, I think a hundred thousand guldens will do you to start with. If\nyou handle that well, you can soon become a millionaire.\"\n\n\"One hundred thousand!\" shouted the poor charcoal burner joyfully.\n\"There, don't beat so violently in my breast, we will soon be through\nwith one another. All right, Michel; give me the stone and the money,\nand you may take the restless thing out of its cage.\"\n\n\"I thought you would show yourself to be a sensible fellow,\" said Dutch\nMichel smiling. \"Come, let us drink once more together, and then I will\ncount out the money.\"\n\nSo they sat down to the wine again, and drank until Peter fell into a\ndeep sleep. He was finally awakened by the ringing notes of a bugle\nhorn, and behold, he sat in a beautiful carriage, driving over a broad\nhighway, and as he turned to look out of the carriage, he saw the Black\nForest lying far behind him in the blue distance. At first he could\nhardly realize that it was he himself who sat in the carriage; for even\nhis clothes were not the same that he had worn yesterday. But he\nremembered every thing that had occurred so clearly, that he said: \"I\nam Charcoal Pete, that is certain, and nobody else.\"\n\nHe was surprised that he felt no sensation of sorrow, now that for the\nfirst time he was leaving behind him his home and the woods where he\nhad lived so long. He could neither sigh nor shed a tear, as he thought\nof his mother whom he was leaving in want and sorrow; for all this was\na matter of indifference to him now. \"Tears and sighs,\" thought he,\n\"homesickness and melancholy, come from the heart, and--thanks to Dutch\nMichel--mine is cold and stony.\"\n\nHe laid his hand on his breast, and it was perfectly quiet there. \"If\nhe has kept his word as well with the hundred thousand guldens as he\nhas about the heart, I shall be happy,\" said he, and at once began a\nsearch in his carriage; he found all manner of clothes, as fine as he\ncould wish them, but no money. At last he came upon a pocket which\ncontained many thousand thalers in gold, and drafts on bankers in all\nthe large cities. \"Now it's all just as I wanted it,\" thought he; and\nsettling himself comfortably in a corner of the carriage, he journeyed\nout into the wide world.\n\nHe traveled for two years about the world, looking out from his\ncarriage to the right and left at the buildings he passed by; and when\nhe entered a city he looked out only for the sign of the tavern. After\ndinner he would be driven about the town, and have the sights pointed\nout to him. But neither picture, house, music, dancing, nor any thing\nelse, rejoiced him. His heart of stone could not feel an interest in\nany thing, and his eyes and ears were dulled to all that was beautiful.\nNo pleasures remained to him but those of eating, drinking and\nsleeping. Now and then, it is true, he recalled the fact, that he had\nbeen happier when he was poor and worked for his own support. Then\nevery beautiful view in the valley, the sound of music and song, had\nrejoiced him; then he had been satisfied with the simple fare that his\nmother had prepared and brought out to his fires. When he thus thought\nof the past, it seemed very singular to him that he could not laugh at\nall now, while then every little jest had amused him. When others\nlaughed, he simply affected to do the same as a mere matter of\npoliteness; but his heart did not join in the merriment. He felt then\nthat although he was destitute of emotion, yet he was far from being\ncontented. It was not homesickness or melancholy, but dullness,\nweariness, and a joyless life, that finally drove him back to his\nnative place.\n\nAs he passed by Strasbourg and saw the dark forest in the distance, as\nhe once more saw the strong forms and honest, faithful faces of the\ninhabitants of the Black Forest, as his ear caught the strong, deep,\nwell-remembered tones of his countrymen's voices, he put his hand\nquickly to his heart, for his blood danced through his veins, and he\nthought he should both weep and rejoice; but--how could he be so\nfoolish?--he had only a heart of stone, and stones are without feeling,\nand neither laugh nor weep.\n\nHis first visit was to Dutch Michel, who received him with much show of\nfriendliness. \"Michel,\" said Peter, \"I have travelled and have seen\nevery thing, but experienced only weariness. Upon the whole, the stone\nI carry in my breast saves me from many things; I never get angry, am\nnever sad, but at the same time I am never happy, and it seems to me as\nif I only half lived. Can not you make the stone heart a little more\nsensitive? or, give me back rather my old heart. I was accustomed to it\nfor twenty-five years, and even if it did sometimes lead me into a\nfoolish act, still it was a contented and happy heart.\"\n\nThe Spirit of the Forest laughed scornfully. \"When you are once dead,\nPeter Munk,\" replied he, \"your heart shall not be missing; then you\nshall have back your soft, sensitive heart, and then you will have an\nopportunity to feel whatever comes, joy or sorrow. But in this world it\ncan never be yours again. Still, Peter, although you have travelled, it\nwon't do you any good to live in the way you have been doing. Settle\ndown somewhere here in the forest, build a house, marry, double your\nwealth; you were only in want of some employment. Because you were\nidle, you experienced weariness; and now you would charge it all to\nthis innocent heart.\"\n\nPeter saw that Michel was right, so far as idleness was concerned, and\nresolved to devote his energies to acquiring more and more riches.\nMichel presented him with another hundred thousand guldens, and the two\nparted on the best of terms.\n\nThe news soon spread throughout the Black Forest that Charcoal Pete, or\nGambler Pete, was back again, and richer than before. Things went on as\nthey had done. When he had been reduced to beggary, he was kicked out\nof the tavern door; and when now, on one Sunday afternoon he drove up\nto the tavern, his old associates shook his hand, praised his horse,\ninquired about his journey; and when he began to play with the Stout\nEzekiel again for silver thalers, he stood higher than ever in the\nesteem of the hangers-on. Instead of the glass business, he now went\ninto the timber trade; but this was only for sake of appearance, as his\nchief business was that of a corn factor and money lender. Fully half\nof the inhabitants of the Black Forest gradually fell into his debt, as\nhe only lent money at ten per cent interest, or sold corn to the poor,\nwho could not pay cash for it, at three times what it was worth. He\nstood in intimate relations with the sheriff, and if one did not pay\nMr. Peter Munk on the day his note fell due, the sheriff would ride\nover to the debtor's place, seize his house and land, sell it without\ndelay, and drive father, mother and child into the forest. At first\nthis course of action caused Peter some little trouble, for the people\nwho had been driven out of their homes blockaded his gates,--the men\npleading for time, the women attempting to soften his heart of stone,\nand the children crying for a piece of bread. But when he had provided\nhimself with a couple of savage mastiffs, this charivari, as he called\nit, very soon ceased. He whistled to the dogs, and set them on the pack\nof beggars, who would scatter with screams in all directions. But the\nmost trouble was given him by an old woman, who was none other than\nPeter's mother. She had been plunged into misery and want, since her\nhouse and lot had been sold, and her son, on his return, rich as he\nwas, would not look after her wants. Therefore she occasionally\nappeared at his door, weak and old, leaning on a staff. She dared not\nenter the house, for he had once chased her out of the door; but it\npained her to live on the charity of other people, when her own son was\nso well able to provide for her old age. But the cold heart was never\ndisturbed by the sight of the pale, well-known features, by her\npleading looks or by the withered, outstretched hand, or the tottering\nform. And when on a Saturday she knocked at his door, he would take out\na sixpence, grumbling meanwhile, roll it up in a piece of paper, and\nsend it out to her by a servant. He could hear her trembling voice as\nshe returned thanks and wished that all happiness might be his; he\nheard her steal away from the door coughing, but gave her no further\nthought, except to reproach himself with having thrown away a good\nsixpence.\n\n\nFinally Peter began to think about getting married. He knew that there\nwas not a father in the whole Black Forest who would not have been glad\nto give him his daughter; but he meant to be particular in his choice,\nfor he wished that in this matter, too, his luck and his judgment\nshould be recognized. Therefore he rode all through the forest,\nsearching here and there, but not one of the beautiful Black Forest\nmaidens seemed beautiful enough for him. Finally, after he had looked\nthrough all the ball rooms in a vain search for his ideal beauty, he\none day heard that the daughter of a certain woodchopper was the most\nbeautiful and virtuous of all the Black Forest maidens. She lived a\nvery quiet life, kept her father's house in the neatest order, and\nnever showed herself at a ball, not even on holidays. When Peter heard\nof this Black Forest beauty, he resolved to obtain her, and rode to the\nhut to which he was directed. The father of the beautiful Lisbeth\nreceived the gentleman in much surprise, but was still more astonished\nto hear that this was the wealthy Mr. Peter Munk, and that the\ngentleman wished to become his son-in-law. Believing that now all his\ncares and his poverty were at an end, the old man did not hesitate very\nlong, but consented to the match without stopping to consult his\ndaughter's inclinations, and the good child was so dutiful that she\nmade no objections, and soon became Mrs. Peter Munk.\n\nBut things did not go as well with the poor girl as she had dreamed.\nShe thought she had a perfect knowledge of how to manage a house; but\nshe could not do any thing that seemed to please her husband. She had\nsympathy with poor people, and, as her husband was so rich, she thought\nit would be no sin to give a farthing to a poor beggar woman or to hand\nan old man a cup of tea. But when Peter saw her do this one day, he\nsaid, in a harsh voice and with angry looks: \"Why do you waste my means\non idlers and vagabonds? Did you bring anything into the house, that\nyou can throw money away like a princess? If I catch you at this again,\nyou shall feel my hand!\"\n\nThe beautiful Lisbeth wept in her chamber over the cruel disposition\nof her husband, and often did she feel that she would rather be\nback in her father's hut than to live with the rich but miserly and\nhard-hearted Peter. Alas, had she known that her husband had a marble\nheart, and could neither love her nor any one else, she would not have\nwondered so much at his actions. But whenever she sat at the door, and\na beggar came up, took off his hat and began to speak, she now cast her\neyes down that she might not see the poor fellow, and clasped her hands\nlighter lest she should involuntarily feel in her pocket for money. So\nit happened that the beautiful Lisbeth came to be badly spoken of\nthroughout the entire Forest, and it was asserted that she was even\nmore miserly than Peter himself.\n\nBut one day while Lisbeth was sitting before the house, spinning, and\nhumming a song--for she felt in unusually good spirits, as the weather\nwas fine and Peter had ridden off--a little old man came up the road,\ncarrying a large, heavy sack. Lisbeth had heard him panting while he\nwas still at some distance, and she looked at him sympathetically,\nthinking that so old and weak a man ought not to carry so heavy a\nburden.\n\nIn the meantime the man had staggered and panted up, and when he was\nopposite Lisbeth, he almost fell down under the sack. \"Alas, take pity\non me, madame, and hand me a glass of water,\" said the little man; \"I\ncan not go another step, and I fear I shall faint.\"\n\n\"But at your age you ought not to carry such a heavy load,\" said\nLisbeth.\n\n\"Yes, if I was not forced by poverty to serve as a messenger,\" answered\nhe. \"Alas, a rich lady like you does not know how poverty pinches, and\nhow refreshing a drink of water would be on such a hot day.\"\n\nOn hearing this Lisbeth rushed into the house, took a pitcher from the\nshelf and filled it with water; but when she returned with it, and had\ncome within a few feet of the man, she saw how miserable he appeared as\nhe sat on the sack, and, remembering that her husband was not at home,\nshe set the pitcher of water to one side, got a goblet and filled it\nwith wine, laid a slice of rye bread on top of it, and brought it out\nto the old man. \"There; a sip of wine, at your age, will do you more\ngood than water,\" said she. \"But don't drink it so hastily, and eat\nyour bread with it.\"\n\nThe little man looked at her in astonishment, while tears gathered in\nhis eyes. He drank the wine and then said: \"I have grown old, but I\nhave seen few people who were so merciful, and who knew how to make\ngifts as handsomely and heartily as you do, Frau Lisbeth. And for this\nyour life on earth shall be a happy one; such a heart will not remain\nwithout a reward.\"\n\n\"No, and she shall have her reward on the spot!\" shouted a terrible\nvoice; and as they turned, there stood Peter with an angry face.\n\n\"So you were pouring out my best wine for beggars, and giving my own\ngoblet to the lips of a vagrant? There, take your reward!\"\n\nLisbeth threw herself at his feet and begged his forgiveness; but the\nheart of stone felt no pity; he turned the whip he held in his hand,\nand struck such a blow with the butt of it on her beautiful forehead,\nthat she sank lifeless into the arms of the old man. When Peter saw\nthis, he seemed to regret it on the instant, he bent down to see\nif there was still life in her, but the little man said to him in a\nwell-known voice: \"Don't trouble yourself. Charcoal Peter! It was the\nsweetest and loveliest flower in the Black Forest; but you have\ndestroyed it, and it will never bloom again.\"\n\nThe blood left Peter's cheeks, as he said: \"It is you then, Herr\nSchatzhauser? Well, what is done, is done, and must have come to pass.\nI hope, however, that you won't charge me with being her murderer\nbefore the magistrate.\"\n\n\"Wretch!\" exclaimed the Little Glass-Man, \"how would it console me to\nbring your mortal frame to the gallows? It is not earthly judges whom\nyou have to fear, but other and severer ones, for you have sold your\nsoul to the evil one.\"\n\n\"And if I have sold my heart,\" shrieked Peter, \"you and your miserable\ntreasures are to blame for it! You, malicious spirit, have led me to\nperdition, driven me to seek help of another, and you are answerable\nfor it all.\"\n\nBut hardly had Peter said this, when the Little Glass-Man swelled and\ngrew, and became both tall and broad, while his eyes were as large as\nsoup plates, and his mouth was like a heated oven from which flames\ndarted forth. Peter threw himself on his knees, and his marble heart\ndid not prevent his limbs from trembling like an aspen tree. The Spirit\nof the Forest seized him by the neck with the talons of a hawk, and\nwhirled him about as a whirlwind sweeps up the dead leaves, and then\nthrew him to the ground with such force that all his ribs cracked.\n\"Earth-worm!\" cried he, in a voice like a roll of thunder, \"I could\ndash you to pieces if I chose, for you have insulted the Master of the\nForest. But for this dead woman's sake, who has given me food and\ndrink, you shall have an eight days' reprieve. If you don't mend your\nways by that time, I will come and grind your limbs to powder, and you\nshall die in all your sins!\"\n\nNight had come on, when some men who were passing saw the rich Peter\nMunk lying on the ground. They turned him over, and searched for signs\nof life; but for some time their efforts to restore him were in vain.\nFinally one of them went into the house and brought out some water,\nwith which they sprinkled his face. Thereupon Peter drew a long breath,\ngroaned, and opened his eyes, looked about him, and inquired after\nLisbeth; but none of them had seen her. He thanked the men for the\nassistance they had rendered him, slipped into his house and searched\nevery-where; but Lisbeth was nowhere to be found, and what he had taken\nfor a horrible dream was the bitter truth.\n\nWhile he was sitting there quite alone, some strange thoughts came into\nhis mind; he was not afraid of anything, for his heart was cold; but\nwhen he thought of his wife's death, the thought of his own death came\nto him and he reflected how heavily he should be weighted on leaving\nthe world--burdened with the tears of the poor, with thousands of their\ncurses, with the agony of the poor wretches on whom he had set his\ndogs, with the silent despair of his mother, with the blood of the good\nand beautiful Lisbeth; and if he could not give an account to the old\nman, her father, if he should come and ask, \"Where is my daughter?\" how\nshould he respond to the question of Another, to whom all forests, all\nseas, all mountains, and the lives of all mortals, belong?\n\nHis sleep was disturbed by dreams, and every few moments he was\nawakened by a sweet voice calling to him: \"Peter, get a warmer heart!\"\nAnd when he woke he quickly closed his eyes again; for the voice that\ngave him this warning was the voice of Lisbeth, his wife.\n\nThe following day he went to the tavern to drown his reflections in\ndrink, and there he met the Stout Ezekiel. He sat down by him; they\ntalked about this and that, of the fine weather, of the war, of the\ntaxes, and finally came to talk about death, and how this and that one\nhad died suddenly. Peter asked Ezekiel what he thought about death and\na future life. Ezekiel replied that the body was buried, but that the\nsoul either rose to heaven or descended to hell.\n\n\"But do they bury one's heart also?\" asked Peter, all attention,\n\n\"Why, certainly, that is also buried.\"\n\n\"But how would it be if one did not have his heart any longer?\"\ncontinued Peter.\n\nEzekiel looked at him sharply as he spoke those words. \"What do you\nmean by that? Do you imagine that I haven't a heart?\"\n\n\"Oh, you have heart enough, and as firm as a rock,\" replied Peter.\n\nEzekiel stared at him in astonishment, looked about him to see if any\none had overheard Peter, and then said:\n\n\"Where do you get this knowledge? Or perhaps yours does not beat any\nmore?\"\n\n\"It does not beat any more, at least not here in my breast!\" answered\nPeter Munk. \"But tell me--now that you know what I mean--how will it be\nwith our hearts!\"\n\n\"Why should that trouble you, comrade?\" asked Ezekiel laughing. \"We\nhave a pleasant course to run on earth, and that's enough. It is\ncertainly one of the best things about our cold hearts, that we\nexperience no fear in the face of such thoughts.\"\n\n\"Very true; but still one will think on these subjects, and although I\ndo not know what fear is, yet I can remember how much I feared hell\nwhen I was a small and innocent boy.\"\n\n\"Well, it certainly won't go very easy with us,\" said Ezekiel. \"I once\nquestioned a school-master on that point, and he told me that after\ndeath the hearts were weighed, to find out how heavily they had sinned.\nThe light ones then ascended, the heavy ones sank down; and I think\nthat our stones will have a pretty good weight.\"\n\n\"Alas, yes,\" replied Peter; \"and I often feel uncomfortable, that my\nheart is so unsympathetic and indifferent, when I think on such\nsubjects.\"\n\nOn the next night, Peter heard the well-known voice whisper in his ear,\nfive or six times: \"Peter, get a warmer heart!\" He experienced no\nremorse at having killed his wife, but when he told the domestics that\nshe had gone off on a journey, the thought had instantly occurred to\nhim: \"Where has she probably journeyed to?\"\n\nFor six days he had lived on in this manner, haunted by these\nreflections, and every night he heard this voice, which brought back to\nhis recollection the terrible threat of the Little Glass-Man; but on\nthe seventh morning he sprang up from his couch crying: \"Now, then, I\nwill see whether I can procure a warmer heart, for this emotionless\nstone in my breast makes my life weary and desolate.\" He quickly drew\non his Sunday attire, mounted his horse, and rode to the Tannenbuehl.\n\nIn the Tannenbuehl the trees stood too closely together to permit of\nhis riding further, so he tied his horse to a tree, and with hasty\nsteps went up to the highest point of the hill and when he reached the\nlargest pine he spoke the verse that had once caused him so much\ntrouble to learn:\n\n           \"Keeper of green woods of pine,\n            All its lands are only thine;\n            Thou art many centuries old;\n            Sunday-born children thee behold.\"\n\nThereupon the Little Glass-Man appeared, but not with a pleasant\ngreeting as before; his expression was sad and stern. He wore a coat of\nblack glass, and a long piece of crape fluttered down from his hat.\nPeter well knew for whom the Spirit of the Wood sorrowed.\n\n\"What do you want of me, Peter Munk?\" asked the Little Glass-Man in a\nhollow voice.\n\n\"I have still one wish left, Herr Schatzhauser,\" answered Peter, with\ndowncast eyes.\n\n\"Can hearts of stone have any wishes?\" said the Glass-Man. \"You have\nevery thing needful for your wicked course of life, and it is doubtful\nwhether I should grant your wish.\"\n\n\"But you promised me three wishes; and I have one left yet.\"\n\n\"Still, I have the right to refuse it if it should prove a foolish\none,\" continued the Glass-Man. \"But proceed, I will hear what it is you\nwant.\"\n\n\"I want you to take this lifeless stone out of my breast, and give me\nin its place my living heart,\" said Peter.\n\n\"Did I make that bargain with you? Am I Dutch Michel, who gives riches\nand cold hearts? You must look to him for your heart.\"\n\n\"Alas, he will nevermore give it back to me,\" replied Peter.\n\n\"Wicked as you are, I pity you,\" said the Little Glass-Man after a\npause. \"But as your wish is not a foolish one, I can not refuse you my\nassistance at least. So listen. You can not recover your heart by\nforce, but possibly you may do so by stratagem; and this may not prove\nsuch a hard matter after all, for Michel, although he thinks himself\nuncommonly wise, is really a very stupid fellow. So go directly to him,\nand do just as I shall tell you.\"\n\nThe Little Glass-Man then instructed Peter in what he was to do, and\ngave him a small cross of clear crystal. \"He can not harm you while you\nlive, and he will let you go free if you hold this up before him and\npray at the same time. And if you should get back your heart, then\nreturn to this place, where I shall be awaiting you.\"\n\nPeter Munk took the cross, impressed on his memory all the words he was\nto say, and went to Dutch Michel's ravine. He called him three times by\nname, and immediately the giant stood before him.\n\n\"Have you killed your wife?\" asked the giant, with a fiendish laugh. \"I\nshould have done it in your place, for she was giving away your wealth\nto the beggars. But you had better leave the country for a while, for\nan alarm will be given if she is not found. You will need money, and\nhave probably come after it.\"\n\n\"You have guessed rightly,\" said Peter, \"and make it a large amount\nthis time, for America is far away.\"\n\nMichel preceded Peter into the hut, where he opened a chest in which\nwas piled a large amount of money, and took out whole rolls of gold.\nWhile he was counting them out on the table, Peter said: \"You are a\nfrivolous fellow, Michel, to cheat me into thinking that I had a stone\nin the breast and that you had my heart!\"\n\n\"And is that not so?\" asked Michel, surprised. \"Can you feel your\nheart? Is it not as cold as ice? Can you experience fear or sorrow, or\ncan any thing cause you remorse?\"\n\n\"You have only made my heart stand still, but I have it just the same\nas ever in my breast, and Ezekiel, too, says that you have lied to us.\nYou are not the man who can tear a heart from another's breast without\nhis knowing it, and without endangering his life; you would have to be\na sorcerer to do that.\"\n\n\"But I assure you,\" cried Michel indignantly, \"that you and Ezekiel,\nand all the rich people who have had dealings with me, have hearts as\ncold as your own, and I have their true hearts here in my chamber.\"\n\n\"Why, how the lies slip over your tongue!\" laughed Peter. \"You may tell\nthat to some body else. Do you suppose that I haven't seen dozens of\njust such imitations on my travels? The hearts in your chamber are\nfashioned from wax! You are a rich fellow, I admit, but no sorcerer.\"\n\nThe giant, in a rage, flung open the chamber door. \"Come in here, and\nread all these labels; and look! that glass there holds Peter Munk's\nheart. Do you see how it beats? Can one imitate that too in wax?\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, it is made of wax;\" exclaimed Peter. \"A real heart\ndoesn't beat in that way; and besides, I still have my own in my\nbreast. No indeed, you are not a sorcerer!\"\n\n\"But I will prove it to you!\" cried the giant, angrily. \"You shall feel\nit yourself, and acknowledge that it is your heart.\" He took it out,\ntore Peter's jacket open, and took a stone from the young man's breast\nand held it up to him. Then taking up the beating heart, he breathed on\nit, and placed it carefully in its place, and at once Peter felt it\nbeating in his breast, and he could once more rejoice thereat.\n\n\"How is it with you now?\" asked Michel smiling.\n\n\"Verily, you were right,\" answered Peter, meanwhile drawing the little\ncrystal cross from his pocket. \"I would not have believed that one\ncould do such a thing!\"\n\n\"Is it not so? And I can practice magic, as you see; but come, I will\nput the stone back again now.\"\n\n\"Gently, Herr Michel!\" cried Peter, taking a step backward, and holding\nup the cross between them. \"One catches mice with cheese, and this time\nyou are trapped.\" And forthwith, Peter began to pray, speaking whatever\nwords came readily to his mind.\n\nThereupon, Michel became smaller and smaller, sank down to the floor,\nwrithed and twisted about like a worm, and gasped and groaned, while\nall the hearts began to beat and knock against their glass cages, until\nit sounded like the workshop of a clock-maker. Peter was very much\nfrightened, and ran out of the house, and, driven on by terror, scaled\nthe cliffs; for he heard Michel get up from the floor, stamp and rage,\nand shout after him the most terrible curses. On arriving at the top of\nthe ravine, Peter ran towards the Tannenbuehl. A terrible thunderstorm\ncame up; lightning flashed to the right and left, and shattered many\ntrees, but he reached the Little Glass-Man's territory unharmed.\n\nHis heart beat joyfully, because of the very pleasure it seemed to\ntake in beating. But soon he looked back at his past life with horror,\nas at the thunder storm that had shattered the trees behind him. He\nthought of Lisbeth, his good and beautiful wife, whom he had murdered\nin his avarice. He looked upon himself as an outcast from mankind, and\nwept violently as he came to the Glass-Man's hill.\n\nHerr Schatzhauser sat under the pine tree, smoking a small pipe, but\nlooking more cheerful than before.\n\n\"Why do you weep, Charcoal Pete?\" asked he. \"Did you not get your\nheart? Does the cold one still lie in your breast?\"\n\n\"Alas, Master!\" sighed Peter, \"when I had the cold stone heart, I never\nwept. My eyes were as dry as the earth in July; but now the old heart\nis nearly broken in thinking of what I have done. I drove my debtors\ninto misery and want, set my dogs on the poor and sick, and--you\nyourself saw how my whip fell on her beautiful forehead!\"\n\n\"Peter, you were a great sinner!\" said the Little Glass-Man. \"Money and\nidleness ruined you, until your heart, turned to stone, knew neither\njoy nor sorrow, remorse nor pity. But repentance brings pardon, and if\nI were only sure that you were very sorry for your past life, I might\ndo something for you.\"\n\n\"I do not want any thing more,\" replied Peter, with drooping head. \"It\nis all over with me. I shall never know happiness again. What can I do,\nnow that I am alone in the world? My mother will never pardon my\nbehavior toward her; and perhaps I, monster that I am, have already\nbrought her to the grave. And Lisbeth, my wife! No; rather kill me,\nHerr Schatzhauser, and make an end of my miserable life at once.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied the little man, \"if you will have it so; my ax is\nclose by.\" He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, knocked out the\nashes, and stuck it in his pocket. Then he rose slowly and went behind\nthe tree. Peter sat weeping on the grass, caring nothing for his life,\nand waiting patiently for the death-blow. After some time he heard\nlight steps behind him, and thought: \"Now he is coming.\"\n\n\"Look round once more, Peter Munk!\" shouted the little man. Peter wiped\nthe tears from his eyes and looked about him, and saw--his mother, and\nLisbeth, his wife, who both looked at him pleasantly. He sprang up\njoyfully saying:\n\n\"Then you are not dead, Lisbeth? And you too, mother, have you forgiven\nme?\"\n\n\"They will forgive you,\" said the Little Glass-Man, \"because you feel\ntrue repentance, and every thing shall be forgotten. Return home now to\nyour father's hut, and be a charcoal burner as before, and if you are\nhonest and just you will honor your trade, and your neighbors will love\nand esteem you more highly than if you had ten tons of gold.\" Thus\nspake the Little Glass-Man, and bade them farewell.\n\nThe three praised and blessed him, and then started home. The splendid\nhouse of the rich Peter Munk had vanished. The lightning had struck and\nconsumed it, together with all its treasures. But it was not far to his\nmother's hut; thence they took their way, untroubled by the loss of\nPeter's palace.\n\nBut how astonished were they on coming to the hut to find that it had\nbeen changed into a large house, like those occupied by the well-to-do\npeasants, and every thing inside was simple, was good and substantial.\n\n\"The good Little Glass-Man has done this!\" exclaimed Peter.\n\n\"How beautiful!\" cried Lisbeth; \"and here I shall feel much more at\nhome than in the great house with so many servants.\"\n\nFrom this time forth, Peter Munk was a brave and industrious man. He\nwas contented with what he had, carried on his trade cheerfully, and so\nit came to pass that through his own efforts he became well-to-do and\nwas well thought of throughout the Black Forest. He never quarreled\nagain with his wife, honored his mother, and gave to the poor who\npassed his door. When, in due course of time, a beautiful boy was born\nto him, Peter went to the Tannenbuehl and spoke his verse. But the\nLittle Glass-Man did not respond. \"Herr Schatzhauser,\" cried Peter,\n\"hear me this time; I only want to ask you to stand as godfather to my\nlittle boy!\" But there was no reply; only a puff of wind blew through\nthe pines and threw some cones down into the grass. \"I will take these\nwith me as a memento, since you will not show yourself,\" said Peter. He\nput the cones in his pocket, and went home; but when he took off his\nSunday jacket and gave it to his mother to put away, four large rolls\nof coin fell from the pockets, and when they were opened they proved to\nbe good, new Baden thalers, with not a counterfeit among them. And this\nwas the godfather's gift from the little man in the Tannenbuehl to the\nlittle Peter.\n\nThus they lived on, quietly and contentedly; and often afterwards, when\nthe gray hairs began to show on Peter's head, he would say: \"It is\nbetter to be contented with a little than to have gold and estates with\na _marble heart_.\"\n\n\n\nSome five days had now passed, and Felix, the huntsman and the student\nwere still the prisoners of the robbers. They were well treated by the\nchief and his men, but still they longed for their freedom, for each\nday that passed added to their fear of discovery. On the evening of the\nfifth day, the huntsman declared to his companions in misfortune that\nhe was fully resolved to escape that night or die in the attempt. He\nincited his companions to the same resolve, and showed them how they\nshould set about the attempt. \"The guard who is posted nearest to us, I\nwill look after,\" said he. \"It is a case of necessity, and necessity\nknows no law;--he must die!\"\n\n\"Die!\" repeated Felix in horror; \"you would kill him?\"\n\n\"I am firmly resolved to do it, when it comes to the question of saving\ntwo human lives. You must know that I overheard the robbers whispering,\nin an anxious manner, that the woods were being scoured for them; and\nthe old women, in their anger, let out the wicked designs of the band;\nthey cursed about us, and it is an understood thing that if the robbers\nare attacked we shall die without mercy.\"\n\n\"God in Heaven!\" exclaimed the young man, hiding his face in his hands.\n\n\"Still, they have not put the knives to our throats as yet,\" continued\nthe huntsman, \"therefore, let us get the start of them. When it gets\ndark I will steal up to the nearest guard; he will challenge me; I\nshall whisper to him that the countess has been suddenly taken very\nsick, and while he is off his guard I will stab him. Then I will return\nfor you, and the second guard will not escape us any more easily; and\nbetween us three the third sentinel will not stand much of a show.\"\n\nThe huntsman, as he spoke, looked so terrible that Felix was actually\nin fear of him. He was about to beg of him to give up these bloody\ndesigns, when the door of the hut opened softly, and a man's form stole\nin quickly. It was the robber chief. He closed the door carefully\nbehind him, and motioned to the prisoners to keep quiet. He then sat\ndown near Felix, and said:\n\n\"Lady countess, your situation is a desperate one. Your husband has not\nkept faith with us; not only has he failed to send the ransom, but he\nhas also aroused the government against us, and the militia are\nscouring the forest in all directions to capture me and my men. I have\nthreatened your husband with your death, if an attempt was made to\nseize us; still either your life must be of very little account to him,\nor else he does not think we are in earnest. Your life is in our hands,\nand is forfeited under our laws. Have you any thing to say on the\nsubject?\"\n\nThe prisoners looked down in great perplexity; they knew not what to\nanswer, for Felix felt sure that a confession of his disguise would\nonly increase their danger.\n\n\"It is impossible for me,\" continued the robber, \"to place a lady, for\nwhom I have the utmost esteem, in danger. Therefore I will make a\nproposition for your rescue; it is the only way out that is left you;\n_I will fly with you._\"\n\nSurprised, astonished beyond measure, they all looked at him while he\ncontinued: \"The majority of my comrades have decided to go to Italy,\nand join a band of brigands there; but for my part it would not suit me\nto serve under another, and therefore I shall make no common cause with\nthem. If, now, you will give me your word, lady countess, to speak a\ngood word for me, to use your influence, with your powerful\nconnections, for my protection, then I will set you free before it is\ntoo late.\"\n\nFelix was at a loss what to say. His honest heart was opposed to\nwillfully exposing a man, who was offering to save his life, to a\ndanger from which he might not afterwards be able to protect him. As he\nstill remained silent, the robber continued: \"At the present time,\nsoldiers are wanted every-where; I will be satisfied with the most\ncommon position. I know that you have great influence, but I will not\nask for any thing further than your promise to do something for me in\nthis case.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" replied Felix, with eyes cast down, \"I promise you to do\nwhat I can, whatever is in my power, to be of use to you. There is some\nconsolation for me in the fact that of your own free will you are\nanxious to give up this life of a brigand.\"\n\nThe robber chief kissed his hand with much emotion, and added, in a\nwhisper, that the countess must be ready to go two hours after night\nhad set in; and then left the hut with as much caution as he had\nentered it. The prisoners breathed freer, when he had gone.\n\n\"Verily,\" exclaimed the huntsman, \"God has softened his heart. How\nwonderful our means of escape! Did I ever dream that any thing like\nthis could happen in the world, and that I should fall in with such an\nadventure?\"\n\n\"Wonderful, certainly!\" said Felix; \"but have I done right in deceiving\nthis man? What will my protection amount to? Shall I not be luring him\nto the gallows, if I do not confess to him who I am?\"\n\n\"Why, how is it possible you can have such scruples, dear boy?\"\nexclaimed the student; \"and after you have played your part to such\nperfection, too! No, you needn't feel anxious on that score at all;\nthat is nothing but a lawful subterfuge. Did he not attempt the outrage\nof kidnapping a noble lady? No, you have not done wrong; moreover I\nbelieve he will win favor with the authorities, when he, the head of\nthe band, voluntarily surrenders himself.\"\n\nThis last reflection comforted the young goldsmith. In joyful\nanticipations alternating with uneasy apprehensions over the success of\nthe plan of escape, they passed the succeeding hours. It was already\ndark when the chief returned, laid down a bundle of clothes, and said:\n\n\"Lady countess, in order to facilitate our flight, it is necessary for\nyou to put on this suit of men's clothes. Get all ready. In an hour we\nshall begin our march.\" With these words, he left the prisoners; and\nthe huntsman had great difficulty in refraining from laughter. \"This\nwill be the second disguise,\" cried he, \"and I am sure that this will\nbe better suited to you than the first one was!\"\n\nThey opened the bundle and found a handsome hunting costume, with all\nits belongings, which fitted Felix well. After he had put it on, the\nhuntsman was about to throw the countess's clothes into a corner of the\nhut; but Felix would not consent to leave them there; he made a small\nbundle of them, and hinted that he meant to ask the countess to present\nthem to him, and that he would preserve them all his life as a memento\nof these eventful days.\n\nFinally the robber chief came. He was fully armed, and brought the\nhuntsman the rifle that had been taken away from him, and a powder-horn\nas well. He also gave the student a musket, and handed Felix a hunting\nknife, with the request that he would carry it and use it in case of\nnecessity. It was fortunate for the three men that it was so dark, for\nthe eager air with which Felix received this weapon might have betrayed\nhis sex to the robber. As they stole carefully out of the hut, the\nhuntsman noticed that the post near their hut was not guarded, so that\nit was possible for them to slip away from the huts unnoticed; yet the\nleader did not take the path that led up out of the ravine, but brought\nthem all to a cliff that was so nearly perpendicular as to seem quite\nimpassible. Arriving there, their guide showed them a rope-ladder\nsecured to the rocks above. He swung his rifle on his back, and climbed\nup a little way, telling the countess to follow him, and offering his\nhand to assist her. The huntsman was the last to climb up. Arriving at\nthe top of the cliff, they soon struck a foot-path, and walked away at\na fast pace.\n\n\n\"This foot-path,\" said their guide, \"leads to the Aschaffenburg road.\nWe will go to that place, as I have received information that your\nhusband, the count, is stopping there now.\"\n\nThey walked on in silence, the robber chief keeping the lead, and the\nothers following close at his heels. After a three hours' walk, they\nstopped. The robber recommended Felix to sit down and rest. He then\nbrought out some bread, and a flask of old wine, and offered this\nrefreshment to the weary ones. \"I believe that within an hour we shall\nstrike some of the outposts established by the militia all around the\nforest. In that case I beg you to bespeak good treatment for me of the\ncommanding officer.\"\n\nFelix assented, although he expected but little good to result from his\ninterference. They rested for half an hour, and then continued their\nwalk. They had gone on for about an hour, and had nearly reached the\nhighway; the day was just breaking, and the shadows of night were\ndisappearing from the forest, when their steps were suddenly arrested\nby a loud \"Halt!\" Five soldiers surrounded them, and told them that\nthey must be taken before the commanding officer, and give an account\nof their presence in the forest. When they had gone fifty paces\nfurther, under the escort of the soldiers, they saw weapons gleaming in\nthe thicket to the right and left of them; a whole army seemed to have\ntaken possession of the forest.\n\nThe mayor sat, with several other officers, under an oak tree. When the\nprisoners were brought before him, and just as he was about to question\nthem as to whence they came and whither they were bound, one of the men\nsprang up exclaiming: \"Good Heaven! what do I see? that is surely\nGodfried, our forester!\"\n\n\"You are right, Mr. Magistrate!\" answered the huntsman, in a joyful\nvoice. \"It is I, and I have had a wonderful rescue from the hands of\nthose wretches.\"\n\nThe officers were astonished to see him; and the huntsman asked the\nmayor and the magistrate to step aside with him, when he related to\nthem, in a few words, how they had escaped, and who the fourth man that\naccompanied them was.\n\nRejoiced at this news, the mayor at once made preparations to have this\nimportant prisoner conveyed to another point; and then he led the young\ngoldsmith to his comrades, and introduced him as the heroic youth that\nhad, by his courage and presence of mind, saved the countess; and they\nall took Felix by the hand, praised him, and could not hear enough from\nhim and the huntsman about their adventures.\n\nIn the meantime it had become broad daylight. The mayor decided to\naccompany the rescued ones to the town. He went with them to the\nnearest village, where a wagon stood, and invited Felix to take a seat\nwith him in the wagon; while the student, the huntsman, the magistrate,\nand many other people, rode before and after them; and thus they\nentered the city in triumph. Reports of the attack on the forest inn,\nand of the sacrifice of the young goldsmith, had spread over the\ncountry like wildfire; and just as rapidly did the news of their rescue\nnow pass from mouth to mouth. It was, therefore, not to be wondered at,\nthat they found the streets of the city crowded with people who were\neager to catch a glimpse of the young hero. Everybody pressed forward,\nas the wagon rolled slowly through the streets. \"There he is!\" shouted\nthe crowd. \"Do you see him there in the wagon beside the officer! Long\nlive the brave young goldsmith!\" And the cheers of a thousand voices\nrent the air.\n\nFelix was deeply moved by the hearty welcome of the crowd. But a still\nmore affecting reception awaited him at the court-house. A middle-aged\nman met him on the steps, and embraced him with tears in his eyes. \"How\ncan I reward you, my son?\" cried he. \"You have saved me my wife, and my\nchildren their mother; for the shock of such an imprisonment her gentle\nframe could not have survived.\"\n\nStrongly as Felix insisted that he would not accept of any reward for\nwhat he had done, the more did the count seem resolved that he should.\nAt last the unfortunate fate of the robber chief occurred to the\nyouth's mind, and he related to the count how this man had rescued him,\nthinking that he was the countess, and that therefore the robber was\nreally entitled to the count's gratitude. The count, moved not so much\nby the action of the robber chief as by this fresh display of\nunselfishness on Felix's part, promised to do his best to save the\nrobber from the punishment due his crimes.\n\nOn the same day, the count took the young goldsmith, accompanied by the\nstout-hearte", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32109", "title": "Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace", "author": "", "publication_year": 1882, "metadata_title": "Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace", "metadata_author": "Wilhelm Hauff", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:22.850247", "source_chars": 691251, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 118658}}
{"text": "Produced by Julia Miller, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMONTEZUMA.\n\n          AN EPIC\n          ON\n          THE ORIGIN AND FATE\n          OF THE\n          AZTEC NATION.\n\nBY HIRAM HOYT RICHMOND.\n\n          SAN FRANCISCO:\n          GOLDEN ERA CO\n          1885.\n\n\n\n\n  Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1883,\n        by H. H. Richmond, at\n  the office of the Librarian of Congress.\n\n  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.\n\n\n\n\n  DEDICATED\n\n  TO\n\n  HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT,\n\n  The pains-taking historian and the one of all others who induced\n  to a final effort\n\n  THIS BOOK,\n\n  By his grateful friend and ardent partisan,\n\n  THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n      EGYPT.\n\n                                                PAGE.\n\n      The Dispersal at Shinar                      1\n\n      Sojourn in Egypt                             4\n\n      Sun Worship                                  7\n\n      Expulsion from Egypt                        36\n\n      Mizraim and Lud                             37\n\n      The Mourning Shepherds                      41\n\n      The Journey                                 43\n\n\n      AZTLAN.\n\n      The Valley of the Mississippi               53\n\n      The Morning Song of the Mound Builders      59\n\n      The Evening Thanksgiving and Prayer         61\n\n      The Prophet's Death                         63\n\n      Departure of Wabun                          72\n\n      Return and Strife                           79\n\n      Prehistoric Rendezvous of the Aztecs        84\n\n      The Toltecs Journey South                   88\n\n      The Aztecs--Aztlan                          92\n\n\n      ANAHUAC.\n\n      The Aztec's Journey and Settlement South   102\n\n      The Empire of Montezuma                    105\n\n      The Landing of the Spaniards               116\n\n      Arrival of the Spaniards at Mexico         125\n\n      Death of Montezuma                         134\n\n      Conclusion                                 142\n\n      Malinche                                   151\n\n      The Harp of the West                       181\n\n\n\n\nARGUMENT OF THE POEM.\n\n\nFrom the moment of my earliest acquaintance with Colonial History, I\nhave felt all the pressure of a task laid upon me, tightening its grasp\nas I reached maturer years; that of an attempt to rescue the Aztecs from\ntheir letterless and mythical position in history, to the position which\ntheir possibilities at least argue for them; and this feeling has been\nfar less the outgrowth of the enthusiasm awakened for the Aztecs, as the\nindignation felt at the whole conduct of the Spanish Conquest.\n\nRealizing the gravity of the task, I have been led to carefully weigh\nand investigate the different theories advanced as to the origin of the\nAztecs, and to adopt the argument of the poem as the best ground on\nwhich to unite the Sun Worship of the East with the Mythology of of the\nWest.\n\nReverently, and with a full realization of how great must ever be the\ndistance between the actual work and the ideal of my early inspiration,\nI lay the gathered chaplet at the shrine of old Chapultepec, and only\nregret that the fruiting should have fallen so far short of the promise\nof its blooming.\n\nTo Hubert Howe Bancroft the living, and W. H. Prescott the dead,\ndiffering as they do in some very material respects, yet essentially the\nsame in spirit, I wish to record my indebtedness for their admirable and\nexhaustive works that have induced to a final effort the poem of which\nthis is prefatory.\n\nSome years since, I found in an abridged history of the United States, a\nbrief outline that led me back to the Dispersal at Shinar (certainly a\nsafe location for a speculative beginning) for the origin of the Aztec\nrace.\n\nIt occurs to me now, with a shade of the ludicrous, that if safety were\nthe all-important thing in the premises, I might have gone back a step\nfarther to the figs and pomegranites of Eden, and prayed for the shade\nof Adam to cover the exotic which I have humbly tried to rescue from\nwhat seems to me to be an undeserved obscurity. The careful analogies\ndrawn between Egypt and the Aztecs by both Prescott and Bancroft could\nbe better met by locating the origin at Shinar than at any other point,\nas it takes us back to a date where we may consistently locate the\nShepherd Kings and the overrunning of Mizraim by them, a part of Egypt's\nearly history which is outlined (more or less briefly) by nearly all\nearly historians.\n\nAs to the initial period of Sun Worship and its origin, I could of\nnecessity have but little aid, and if I have seemed a little too\nspeculative, I have only this apology: The prodigy of Egypt's\nprehistoric development, and the manufacture of glass, antedating\nhistoric research. It needs no great imaginative tension to crown some\nincipient philosopher not only with the discovery of glass, but, that in\nits proper shape, it could be made to concentrate the solar rays, and\nproduce fire; and at that day and age, what possible superstitions might\nresult from these discoveries!\n\nAfter the re-establishment of the Mizraim descent, and the consequent\nexpulsion of the \"Sons of Lud,\" the line of their journey is the natural\noutgrowth of their religious fanaticism. They know that India and the\nfar East are inhabited, and they seek the uninhabited track for their\nexit.\n\nThe Mound Builders seem to be historic cousins of the Aztecs, certainly\nthe superiors of the aborigines of the North and Middle Atlantic.\n\nThe expulsion of the Mound Builders will admit of many theories, and I\nhave simply adopted the one that occurred to me as consistent with the\nChristian inspiration of all great events.\n\nThe settlement of Mexico by the Aztecs, (as a branch of the Mound\nBuilders) follows naturally in the wake of previous events, and the\nchain is thus made complete, with no serious hazard to its consistency\nas merely speculative drama, leading up to what is plainly historical.\n\nI have striven to be historically consistent, following the letter of\nevents closely, taking conjectural ground in but few instances.\n\nIf I have seemed to be censorious, even to rancor at times, I have only\ngiven vent to the repressed indignation of Prescott and other authors on\nthe subject of the Spanish Conquest.\n\nThe only possible justification for the excesses of Cortez and his\nadherents, is the age in which the Conquest took place; and those who\nseek to justify it in this way, point to the opening of the present\ncentury, and to Napoleon, decoying the imbecile king and the weak\nAsturias into abdication and banishment to make room for his brother\nJoseph. This is a plague-mark upon the present century, and though a\nplain case of retributive justice through the visiting of the sins of\nthe fathers upon the children, still the fact remains that the attempt\nto bring _right_ of any multiple of wrongs, must always record a\nfailure.\n\nA sufficient answer to the latitude of the age, is the fact that a\ncorresponding age gave us Plymouth, and not long after Penn's colony;\nnor can the Spaniards claim the same justification for excesses as these\ncoincident colonists, all of whom had felt the lash of religious\nintolerance. The Spanish Conquest, antedating the divisions that\nfollowed the reformation, has no such covert for their lustful\nexcrescences.\n\nAny system of religious ethics that severs human responsibility from the\ndomain of conscience, and furnishes a market for the indulgences that\ncover all the excesses of the body politic, cannot be expected to bring\nforth the best of fruit from a bloom so blighted by human lust, and so\nblackened by human selfishness.\n\nIf, amid all of their intolerance and deceit, they had respected the\nhomely records and the grotesque landmarks of the nation they destroyed,\nthe cavaliers might have shown them as a slight palliation, and at once\nfurnished the historian the shadow of justification for their abuses;\nbut the mental caste that could adopt any, and every device of deception\nand treachery to accomplish its ends, threw itself at once into the arms\nof a priestcraft, if possible more implacable than themselves; and\nobedient to their demands, tore down their landmarks, and ground their\nrecords to powder.\n\nSurely, there is no fanaticism like religious fanaticism, and no\nlicentiousness like that of the unbridled devotee of the Church.\n\nFinally, as a whole, I feel confident that my effort will not fail to\ncreate food for thought, and eventually justify the effort which called\nit forth. To a nature partially Huguenot in its origin, and more so in\nsympathy and inclination, I have tried to add the temperate element that\nwould impart freedom from undue prejudice and passion; but as the work\nis of necessity vindicatory on the one hand, and repressive on the\nother, I have been compelled to use good, plain Saxon words in the\nclosing pages, justified only by the verity of their signification.\n\nThe body of the work is given in decimeters, varying in only a few\ncases where the expression seemed to require a different form.\n\nI would rather not close these already extended remarks without\nrecording my testimony, with that of others, of the positive pleasure\nexperienced both in the progress and completion of a work of this\ncharacter; and if I shall have been as fortunate in securing and\nretaining an auditory, I shall be twice blessed; for our highest\nambition should ever be that of contributing to the happiness of others.\n\nThe reward of earnest labor, conscientiously performed, is the prize\nonly _once_ exceeded in the economy of things, and that _once_ beyond\nthe ken of our divulgence; yet, may we not hope that there is no actual\nseverance between the earthly type and the heavenly reality, that the\ncrown honestly won, and the prize worthily gained on earth, may both,\nretaining their semblance, the more perfectly glow in the clearer\natmosphere of heaven.\n\n                                                    H. H. R.\n\n\n\n\nMONTEZUMA.\n\n\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\n\n\n\nEGYPT.\n\n\nTHE DISPERSAL AT SHINAR.\n\n      As mariner upon the rocky sea,\n        Without a compass, helm, or heavenly hope,\n      A part of Earth's great ancestry to be\n        Upon the plains of Shinar; and they grope\n      In nature's darkness; they have lost the way\n        That leadeth to the Father, and can find\n      No clue of that great Presence, once their stay,\n        And still as near; but sin doth make us blind,\n      And when it fastens on the soul, the Father fades away.\n\n      How wholly lost, when man cannot descry\n        One token of his Maker in the soul--\n      One step remains, the animal must die;\n        But death has superseded its control,\n      Since the immortal \"Ego\" is no more,\n        The spirit gone from its companion, dust--\n      The ashes are but animate in vain\n        When love, and light, have given place to lust\n      And conscience gives no puncture for its pain.\n\n      Thus were they gathered, in this day far gone,\n        So near the causeway of the almighty past,\n      That retrospect brings close, the thought of God--\n        We wonder that a cloud could overcast,\n      So primitive a people, that the Shepherd's voice\n      Should leave no lingering echo, for the ear, so tokened and so\n            choice.\n\n      And they would build a city, and a tower\n        Whose top would reach the very verge of Heaven;--\n      The puniest arm, is puissent in power,\n        When to its grasp supernal aid is given;\n      But muscles may, like cordage, swell the arm,\n        And arteries, like rills of mountains flow.\n      Weak is the blood that breakers them to harm,--\n        The fires of passion but a moment glow.\n\n      They, as the infants play upon the rim\n        Of ancient Ocean, had been rocked to sleep\n      In the bare arms of Nature; she would trim\n        Her lamps for them, and patient vigil keep\n      Upon their slumbers; and Heaven, to them,\n        Was but a brilliant, close-spread canopy,\n      Or crystal dome, a sort of diadem\n        Just out of easy reach, and they could see\n      No reason why they might not build a tower\n        Would intercept it; and their foolish pride\n      Supposed this little caprice of the hour,\n        Through all the after age, would witness of their power.\n\n      They made them bricks, and steadily they reared\n        The spiral column heavenward; the Great Eye\n      Bent vigilantly on them, as they neared\n        The upper ether, silent as the sky\n      Draws round its garniture; into each soul\n        Crept the first rootlets of an unknown tongue;\n      Each household head placed under his control\n        The elements of intercourse, first flung\n      Together by the great Teacher; just before\n        When they had dropped from their exulting hands\n      The rough-made tools; they closed forevermore\n        Their mutual labor, though in other lands\n      They could resume their use, this was the last\n        Of the poor monument that they had reared--\n      The workmen stand in wonderment aghast,\n        Though they had wrought together, and had cheered\n      Each other in their task, each quivering lip\n        Breathed but confusion to the other's ears,\n      No more from common cup of thought they sip,\n        But forced to strangerhood for many, many years.\n\n      In what a school was fashioned our first thought.\n        How the poor soul is dumbed, and quivering,\n      When we conceive what the Great Master wrought.\n        How are we littled, what a nameless thing\n      \"Is man, that thou art mindful\" thus \"of him.\"\n        Thou settest up, and pullest down, and we--\n      Our hearts are hushed, our vision is made dim--\n      Mites in the balance of imponderate destiny.\n\n      A camp in Central India, 'neath the palms,\n        And where the lap of nature is so full,\n      That all the world may beggar it of alms\n        And drink of its repletion; a mere tool\n      Of hungry Kingdoms, thirsty Dynasties--\n        The finger-tips of Alexander's arm--\n      The plethorite of the Augustan age--\n        The gilt that margins all the tapestries\n      Down through middle ages; and the charm\n        That lends a mellow fragrance to the page\n      Of her, the Island Queen, whose arm meets arm\n        In the embrace of earth, her borders refuge from avenging harm.\n\n      A journey into Egypt, with their flocks before,\n      And peaceful conquests back, an opening door\n        To vast historic truths, a Niobe\n      Moaning her children's travail in advance,\n        A restless nomad people, like the sea,\n      Stirred by involuntary force, whose billows dance\n      To music of the spheres, stern Autocrat, and yet a slave to\n            its own mastery.\n\n\nSOJOURN IN EGYPT.\n\n        O Egypt! how shall we approach thy face?\n      How steal from thy dumb lips one scrap of song?\n        Thou stand'st alone, and sendest from thy place\n      One word, that human lips have shaped for thee,\n      To seal thy mighty arch with \"mystery.\"\n        Time calls his children 'round him, and they each\n      Give answer to their names; gray Troy and Greece\n        Pour out the lesson their dumb lips would teach,\n      Carthage, Phoenicia, Parthia and Rome\n        Clothe death with all the eloquence of speech;\n      And each form linklets of an unbroke chain.\n        But they are youthful; in perspective dim\n      As if unmoved with either joy or pain.\n        With arms enfolded, and with eye all fixed,\n      A silent portal in the track of time.\n        In the rough surge of nations still unmixed,\n      Where the great fathers left thee in the Sphinx,\n        And heaped the sands upon thy broken links,\n      Thou dost look down the ages to defy\n      Tradition, inspiration, and all future progeny.\n\n      She sleeps as they advance; their lowing kine\n        And noisy herds before them, and with the flute\n      And siren song, they win, as with old wine,\n        Their way into the slumbering and the mute\n      Endormir of old Nile; but Egypt wakes,\n        And breast to breast, opposes their advance.\n      In vain against the shepherd crew, she breaks\n        Her ill-spent arrows, shattered every lance,\n      And Mizraim's sons the rod of empire yield\n        To sons of Lud; they spread their many tents\n      On Nile's unequaled garniture of field,\n        The one discordant note in her great eloquence.\n\n      How Nature heals what man has thus laid waste,\n        The stoic songsters of the worlds orchaste\n      Sing the same song, for friend and foe alike,\n        They lift no arm upon a world defaced\n      With war's stern tread, but with one voice they strike\n        The note of conquest or the requiem\n      Of some o'ertoppled Realm, Nature moves on\n        To shame the bugle blare, or sound of drum,\n      And sets her thousand nestlings in the dust of the\n            unnumbered nations that are gone.\n\n      One after one, in stately march of time,\n        Kings pass, like common people, to the dust;\n      Unless by over-reaching, and the crime\n        Of too much selfhood, they are rudely thrust\n      A little sooner to their Maker's hands,\n        And their succession made accelerate\n      By that potention, which each scepter mans,\n        To fix each calendar, with human date.\n      No mortal is a law unto himself,\n        And much less, he who holds the reins of power;\n      For wisdom seldom is concentrated so,\n        That one weak soul is master of the hour,\n      Unquestioned arbiter of human fate,\n        Free to subdue, to persecute, to kill\n      The soul that reaches this enlarged estate,\n        Meets with a giant in the human will,\n      That soon or late, will crush him with its skill.\n\n\nSUN WORSHIP.\n\n      Dread Guard! whose portal is another world,\n        Thy mandate never can be circumscribed;\n      Only that Hand thy car to being whirled,\n        And set thy lips, forevermore unbribed,\n      Can break the seal of silence; we look out,\n        And over both eternities, and waste\n      Our energies, to find some well-tried route\n        Out of life's labyrinth, where we may taste\n      The true nepenthe that disarms all doubt.\n\n      Beyond all human ken the key is kept;\n        Our prison is too strong, and will not break,\n      Our Keeper's eyes are those that never slept,\n        Yet never slept for love and our dear sake;\n      Touched by God's hand, the bolts will always yield;\n        We rule him; in our weakness, if we ask,\n      Our asking turns the desert to a field,\n        And shapes a coronal of every task.\n      A pestilence has struck this favored land--\n      Religion pleads in health; it now must take command.\n      The gods of Egypt, all are impotent,\n        The people beat the empty air in vain;\n      No orgie gains the purchase of content,\n        Their altars only mock the nation's pain.\n      The King has called a council to discuss\n        The best-laid methods of religious thought.\n      Of counselors, there is an overplus,\n        And many are the schemes that they have brought,\n      All conjured since they lost their way. The years\n        Had slowly passed, since God himself had spoke,\n      And hearts are human things, and their hot tears,\n        Melting their souls to harmony, in echoing murmur broke:\n\n                  O Soul! that is all song,\n                    O Heart! that is all love,\n                  O Right! that knows no wrong,\n                  O Arm! that is all strong,\n                    Upon our bosoms move.\n\n                  O Eye! that is all sight,\n                    O Voice! that is all sound,\n                  O Life! that is all might,\n                  O Wing! that is all flight,\n                    Where, where can you be found?\n\n                  O Ear! that only hears,\n                    O Voice! that only sings,\n                  O Eye! that knows no tears,\n                  O Time! that counts no years,\n                    Lend us thy gift of wings.\n\n                  O Faith! that wants no form,\n                    O Hope! all unafraid,\n                  O Sun! without a storm,\n                  O Summer! always warm,\n                    Where shall our hearts be stayed?\n\n                  O Spirit! infinite,\n                    O thou unchanging Word!\n                  Whose echoes round us flit,\n                  With all the past enlit,\n                    O make thee to be heard!\n\n      So sang the gathered choral of the King,\n        And so, with saddened hearts, responded all\n      The gathered multitude; with what a spring\n        Is set the chords of Nature; and the call\n      From any searching soul a unit is\n        Of universal and insatiate thirst.\n      The longing story one may sing as his,\n        Responsive hearts all echo with the first,\n      Which shows how deep are all of our desires;\n        How earnestly we peer out in the dark!\n      How are we freighted, all, with latent fires!\n        How, on our souls and in our hearts, the Master leaves His mark!\n\n      There rose, from on the outskirts of the crowd,\n        One bowed with lengthened years, yet nobly bent\n      With the more potent weight of earnest thought;\n        His massive brain and princely bearing lent\n      A more than common strength to his clear eye,\n        As, on his shepherd's staff, his form was bent;\n      Near to the King, with faltering step he came,\n        And spake, as if a master spake, with all his soul aflame.\n\n      \"Oh King, and sons of Lud! No pardon asks\n      Old Kohen for the words that leap his lips;\n      No earthly throne gives warrant to my voice;\n      But he, the God, of whom our fathers told,\n      The God of Noah; he, at whose command\n      The patriarch bent to labor; and till twice\n      A hundred harvest moons had waned, wrought on\n      The ark, and saved the seed of man to earth,\n      He, he, has spoken! and his words have sunk\n      So deeply in my heart I must be heard.--\n\n      \"Thus saith the Lord: 'O truant sons of Lud,\n      Why grope ye in the dark, why not return\n      To the great Father's house? How have I called\n      And waited for an answer to my suit!\n      O sons of men, return! repent! believe!\n      Where have ye wandered, that ye have not heard\n      The voice of your Jehovah in the wind,\n      And on the storm and tempest, when in wrath\n      He thunders in the ears of men; repent!\n      And on the desert in the hot simoom\n      Writ fervent words to warn you of your way.\n\n      \"'I am the God, of whom your fathers spake;\n      Out of all chaos did I call the earth,\n      And out of dust, your great ancestor made;\n      And hardly his clay swaddlings put on,\n      Ere from his rib I called his helpmeet forth,\n\n      \"'Your mother Eve; I have bespoken wrath;\n      Yet, on the threshold of your life I placed\n      The ministry of love, and with my lips\n      I kissed the clay to life. How have I longed\n      To hold the race as I their fathers held,\n      Encircled in the Everlasting Arms;\n      But ye would not; ye are yourselves, a law,\n      To your own beings in my image made,\n      And ye must choose to live, to love, to learn.\n      How great is my compassion, and how long\n      I have kept watch, and waited for my lost!\n\n      \"'My very anger is the throne of love.--\n      Because I could not lose the multitudes,\n      The myriads of millions yet unborn,\n      I spoke your father Noah into work,\n      And set afloat the remnant of his loins,\n      And oped the gates of Heaven to flood the earth.\n      I saw the race go down to watery graves,\n      In sorrow; and I saw a deeper wound\n      Had I but spared; I struck the seedling off,\n      Rather than smite the tree; I move in storms\n      To purify; and in the tempest smite\n      Only to save.\n                      I saw the impious hands\n      Your fathers raised in Shinar, and I came\n      And in the night, gave each another tongue,\n      And scattered their device, and smote their lips\n      That they raised not to mine. How could I see\n      Their folly and not smite? I loved them so;\n      Ye, who have children, look within your hearts,\n      And in them see the miniatures of mine;\n      More of the parent than your soul can feel.\n\n      \"'Behold in me the source and spring of love;\n      I followed with paternal care to Ind,\n      I saw, and I stood guard upon your steps;\n      More than a father's love was in my soul,\n      More than a mother's tenderness inurned.\n      The mountains are the mole-hills of my strength;\n      Yet am I weak in love; I would not send\n      One single child to the eternal world\n      All unprepared; but ye have gone astray;\n      Ye are my flock, and I would turn you back\n      Before the wolves shall fatten of your flesh.\n\n      \"'Bring offerings from your herds, the choicest bring,\n      (Are they not also mine?) and altars build\n      And offer them thereon, but further bring\n      The contrite heart, and the unsullied hand,\n      Bring, as your fathers told you, Abel brought,\n      And I will meet you on the altar's brink,\n      With fire from Heaven, and consume it all.\n      Ask not again to look upon my face;\n      Ye cannot look, and live; I only speak,\n      As I now speak, through Kohen; he it is,\n      Out from among you I have set apart\n\n      \"'To be my sponsor; listen to my words:\n      Build up your altars, offer from your best;\n      Am I not better than the best you have?\n      When ye have builded, pray; pour out your hearts\n      As ye pour out the blood; prayer is the key\n      To my most inner soul; the voice of love\n      Is prayer. It is the angel's wing that fell\n      Never yet short of Paradise. The voice\n      That trembles on the lips of infancy,\n      When reaching out to reason, and the last\n      That passes with the shadow of the sun\n      When life's last slope is reached, and never yet\n      Has the repentant spirit left unalmsed.\n\n      \"'Have ye not heard how \"Enoch walked with God,\n      And he was not,\" because I drew him up?\n      He kept so closely locked in my embrace,\n      That there was nothing left of him to die.\n      So would I have you walk, and learn the way;\n      For I am very near each human soul,\n      And ye may blend your being into mine,\n      And, losing self, be only found of me.\n      Ye all through Adam sinned; but there will come\n      A time when, in the second Adam, will the first\n      Transgression be atoned; your altars then\n      May all be turned to ashes; for I send\n      My best beloved, my ever blessed Son,\n      The Prince of Peace, to save the sin-cursed earth\n\n      \"'From the first great offense, and to prepare\n      The creature for creation's judgment day;\n      Himself, upon the altar will be placed,\n      A final offering for the sins of men.\n\n        \"'Thus is our justice smothered o'er with love;\n      The law is satisfied, when Love, made King,\n      Bends down the neck to bear the ills of earth.\n      Therefore return:\n      And I will warm you back to perfect life,\n      If you but follow me. Come in, and rest,\n      I am your husbandman, and all I have\n      Is on my table; feast, and fill yourselves.\n      I am your vintner; here is wine, and here\n      Is honey; satisfy your wants, I am\n      Your garden, Eden is restored in me.\n        O children that are lost! be found again;\n      I am your Shepherd, and my arms shall bear\n      The weak ones of the flock. Do any thirst?\n      I am your Spring, your parched lips to cool;\n      Come and be one with me! and I will be\n      More than your souls could ever frame to ask.\n        Come to my open arms, O sons of men!\n      They are not full without you; in my heart\n      Is loneliness, though from itself it draw\n      Companionship. Had I but called to life\n      The pliant clay of Adam, and not breathed\n      My spirit in his nostrils, then could he\n\n      \"'Filled out his measure with a lesser life,\n      Without the test of law; but how much more\n      To live as he could lived, divinely great\n      In mastery of earth, and only on\n      The single test, obedience to our will;\n      Yet, he fell short, and I foresaw it all\n      And suffered it, that human eyes might see\n      The glories of redemption, and behold\n      The one Incarnate Son, the Soul of Love,\n      The Second Self of Me.\n\n                    \"'O sons of men,\n      Fall down! behold his coming in a glass;\n      Behold and see him, in the fire I send\n      From Heaven upon your altars, and repent;\n      And when the time is fully ripe, behold\n      He cometh in the flesh! and ye shall see\n      The very Son and Sanction of my heart.\n      Oh! is it not enough? Can even I\n      Do more? Your children shall behold my words\n      Grown to fulfillment, and they all shall see\n      The Son of God become the Son of Man;\n      And ye may see, by faith, if ye implant\n      The tree of your redemption, so its leaves\n      May cover Egypt and the rest of earth.\n\n      \"'The pestilence that darkens at your door\n      Came as a cry, from Mizraim in bonds;\n\n      \"'Strike off his chains! and I will lift you up.\n      Love ye your neighbor, as ye love yourselves;\n      His bruises and your pestilence shall pass\n      Together from the land. Live ye pure lives,\n      And all your blackness shall become as snow.\n      Make room for me among you; in the morn\n      Let rise your incense to the throne of grace;\n      Bring me your noon oblation; in your thanks\n      Let evening have its holicaust of love.\n      When spring puts forth her promise, offer up;\n      When summer comes, enladen with its growth,\n      And when the harvest moon, with ripened sheaves,\n      Measures the fullness of my great regard;\n      Yea! when the winter brings the time of rest,\n      Forget-me-not! forget-me-not! but pour\n      Into each crevice, of the well filled year,\n      The overflow of all your thankfulness.\n\n        \"'Come in the Spring and Summer of your lives,\n      And in the yellow leaves of Autumn come,\n      And in the snow and Winter of your age;\n      Come any time, but come! stay not away!\n      And I will give you rest; and ye shall not\n      Go out again forever; but shall shine\n      Bright as the brightest stars, and ye shall sing,\n      As never angels sang; and every soul\n      Be swallowed up in sunshine evermore.\"\n\n      He ceased; and there arose from out the crowd\n      The murmuring voice of question on the air;\n      Some thought him moved of God, and long and loud\n      Gave acclamation in his favor; \"Where,\"\n      Cried they, \"can such authority be found?\n      Whence come those gracious words, if not from God?--\n      Power, wisdom, love, entripled in the sound\n      A mother's tenderness, a father's rod.\"\n\n      Then spake the unctious King; and through the King,\n      The man; for he was but a tattered rag\n      Of royalty: \"What is this wondrous thing,\n      Old Kohen, you propose? Make haste, let lag\n      Your purpose; why is it, we cannot speak\n      Face unto face with your great Deity?--\n      Our fathers say old Noah did--what leak\n      Has sprung between us, that we cannot see\n      The father as he is? as others did?\n      Am I not greater than all earthly Kings?\n      He spake our fathers, wherefore is he hid\n      That I cannot behold him? Let his wings\n      Be folded for a while, as he comes down,\n      That we may see him as he is; we came\n      To choose a god, whom we, indeed, can see;\n      Or, if his face be burnished with a flame\n      Too great for our uncovered eyes, then we\n      Are satisfied to close them in the smile\n      Of one so radiant; so we feel him near,\n      \"But we must know his presence for the while;\n      Speak Kohen! why can ye not bring him here?\"\n\n      Then answered Kohen: \"Urge me not, O King!\n      Ye know not what ye ask, if ye do seek\n      To see him as he is. A nameless thing,\n      A brow-bedabbled man, upon whose cheek,\n      Sheds everyday God's sunshine; shall he ask\n      That a decree be broken, and presume\n      To lift unhallowed voice? Though in a mask\n      Jehovah hides his presence, yet, the bloom\n      Of every flower, is but the blush he brings\n      Upon the face of nature, as he looks\n      Abroad upon his creatures; and she sings\n      From her ten thousand voices in his praise.\n      Wake to his chorus! 'Ancient of the Days,'\n      Wake children! and your faith shall blossom into wings.\"\n\n      \"Prate ye to fools,\" the incensed Monarch cries,\n      \"Nor gabble longer of your hidden Lord;\n      Who follows in his wake, this moment dies,\n      And Isis and eternal keep my word.\n      We have a score of hidden deities\n      And yet, they leave us, without aid or thought,\n      And pestilence comes in and blocks our ways\n      And where can our deliverance be bought?\n      Show the bare hand of infinite decree,\n      Show us a present help in each distress,\n      Show us the Master, we will bend the knee,\n      \"And we will follow on, in righteousness.\n      Strike! strike the chords! while we invoke the gods,\n      And with the music let our souls be blended,\n      That we may find the one, before whom nods\n      'All stripling deities, and thus our strife be ended.'\"\n      Then rose a blast of sound upon the air\n      And blended with it was the voice of song,\n      The chime of music with the moan of prayer--\n      A nation's thirst; deep, earnest and impassionately strong:\n\n        O God of gods! be with us when we pray,\n                And give us rest;\n        List our entreaty, be not far away,\n                Be near each breast.\n\n        The gods of Mizraim, we have sought in vain,--\n                They answer not;\n        Our prayers are but an empty, aching pain,--\n                We are forgot.\n\n        Though Isis bless our fields and flocks with growth,\n                And Thoth be heard;\n        Upon the tongues of wisemen, yet, is wroth\n                Some mighty lord.\n\n        Some hidden power without us; in the dark\n                We grope our way;\n        From thine own glory, lend to us a spark,\n                Be thou our day.\n\n                O, make thee to be known,\n                From thy unchanging throne,\n                  God of the trusting heart;\n                Come take us by the hand,\n                And be our sole command,\n                  And form with us a part.\n\n                Give us, to look upon\n                Thy form without a frown,\n                  Our doubts and fears displace;\n                God of the universe,\n                Remove from us, thy curse,\n                  Give us to see thy face.\n\n      \"Behold! behold, his face!\"\n      A hand is pointed to the sun;\n      \"Behold! and be ye not afraid,\n      To-day, be life, once more begun;\n      Look ye upon his face, and learn to live,\n      Look ye upon his face and learn to die;\n      His hand alone deliverance can give,\n      His light, alone, can frame the soul's reply.\n      'Hear me! ye sons of men'; all eyes were turned;\n      A stranger in their midst, whose dark eye burned\n      With an unearthly gleam, yet black as night.\n      It had no heavenly radiance, yet, was bright\n      With a mysterious blaze, that pierced the soul\n      As with an arrow to its inmost part,\n      His form, in keeping with his face, made whole\n\n      \"A man well fitted to command; a heart\n      That seemed to throb with some great passion; pent\n      And seething into purpose; his black face\n      Shone like a mirror-hood of his design.\n      His words, and his strange presence in the place\n      Gave him enraptured audience, that no one dared decline.\n\n      \"Hear me, ye sons of men: I am not come\n      To woe ye to destruction; but, to save;\n      The color of my face betrays my birth,\n      I am Mizraim's race; but of mankind\n      A brother, and I speak in soberness.\n      Because our fathers wandered from the way,\n      And left the shining pathway of the sun,\n      Because they fell to seeking other gods,\n      He suffered them to fall into your hands.\n      I will not speak, as he has feigned to speak,\n      Who claimed before me, sponsorship from God;\n      But I will make it plain that he deceived.\n      Our fathers tell of Noah and the ark,\n      And also tell of Shinar, and the time\n      Of the dispersal. It is not enough\n      To come with empty declamation, come\n      With platitudes of love, and softened terms\n      Of parenthood, and then to dash it all--\n      The yearning love of children, to the earth,\n      By words that are icicled up from death:\n      'Ask not to look upon my face again,\n      Ye cannot look and live.'\n\n      \"Shame! shame on the pretender thus to bring\n      Your expectations to the pitch of pain,\n      The summit of your hope, where, to move on\n      Is only to descent and sorrow; thus\n      To multiply his attributes of good,\n      And to describe a god so like the true,\n      The ever shining Sun, and then deny\n      The precious boon of sight; what mockery!\n      When there he stands, (eternity, as young,)\n      The broad, full shining orb, to look upon;\n      The ever radiant Arbiter of earth,\n      The great 'I am' of love; the very soul\n      Of tenderness; rising every morn\n      To kiss his sleeping children from their beds,\n      Enwrapping them, with all his piercing warmth;\n      Wooing the fragrant flowers from the earth,\n      And warming all existences to life.\n\n      \"How can the soul be blind, when such a pledge\n      Stands in eternal witness of its love?\n      The very rocks would break their raptured trance,\n      If man find not his voice in fervent praise.\n      How do the waters mirror up his face!\n      And tremble into waves at his advance.\n      The universe goes laughing into life\n      Each morn at his approach, and all the world\n      Forgets its wakefulness, when the tired wing\n      Of day is folded, and himself withdraws\n\n      \"To teach us faith in him till he return;\n      Thus every night his promise, and each morn\n      His gracious fulfillment, filling the year\n      With ripened sheaves of his remembrances.\n\n      \"We measure power by our necessities;\n      Let him forget the dawning of one day,\n      Or leave us through the circle of one moon,\n      (Which were the same to him but for his love,)\n      By what conception would we feel our loss?\n      While yet the year is young, we scatter seed,\n      And wait his fervid rays to fructify.\n      The trees put forth their bloom, that his embrace\n      May ripen into fruit; and not a growth\n      But climbs his rays to full development.\n      When Nature points with her ten thousand hands\n      To him, the almighty framer of it all,\n      Shall man forget his duty and fly off\n      On the unnumbered tangents of the brain?\n      Rather let break our voices in his praise,\n      And let each human soul, be safely borne,\n      Back to his many-chambered paradise.\n\n      \"Down on his rays man rode into the world,\n      And if we wander not, the same broad path\n      Is open for our exit; there is room\n      In his broad campus for the royal race.\n      Our bodies are of dust, and will return;\n      Only the vital spark, the shining way\n\n      \"Ere traversed; and that alone goes back\n      To join the maker in the increate,\n      The golden chambers of eternal light.\n      Look on these eyes! have they not more than Earth\n      In their deep glance? I know whereof I speak;\n      For I was led, in trancehood to the sun,\n      And in his very chambers have I walked,\n      And at his very throne have I bent down\n      To praise him; multitudes were there, who knelt\n      As I did kneel, in rapturehood and prayer.\n\n      \"High in the midst, sole source of life and light,\n      The glowing center of the shining orb\n      Sat the unchanging god; his face was that\n      Of manhood magnified; upon his cheek\n      Was more than woman's beauty deified.\n        O! once to look and live, is all the soul,\n      Though it be triply strengthened, can endure,\n      Till it do pass from this clay tenement\n      Into the morrow of the upper world;\n      But we may now and always climb the rays\n      That spring from his own countenance, and see\n      The reflex of his face; but of his form,\n      But little can be printed on our sight.\n      Enough, to know he lives, and is our life,\n      And every morning he doth search us out,\n      And lift the burden from our heavy lids,\n      That we may rise with him and to our tasks!\n\n      \"Shall we be hushed, when every bird and flower\n      Doth herald his approach? Convolvulus\n      Waits for his coming with its lips apart,\n      And Philomela will not close his note,\n      Till he do answer with his smiling face;\n      Thus the whole earth resolvent into song\n      Waits for his footsteps--how can we be dumb!\n\n                           \"There was a song\n      Which flowed, untutored, from the lips of love,\n      The ransomed ones that knelt before his throne,\n      No earthly tongues its echo could repeat,\n      So much there was of love, so much of joy,\n      So much of tenderness and innocence;\n      For they were without guile, and not a word\n      But breathed of faith, dependency and peace.\n      It praised him for his sufference of earth,\n      That he did bear its sin, yet did not smite;\n      And only once, in anger, hid his face,\n      And oped the heavens, to wash out its filth;\n      Yet, with his fervent rays, drank up the flood,\n      And set his bow a witness that again\n      Never should earth be flooded, while the years\n      Melt into centuries, till the whole race,\n      With aching hearts and scalding eyes shall come\n      Back to his all-embracing fatherhood.\n\n      \"They thanked him for his witness-watch of man,\n      That time and time, his face was partly hid,\n      \"To show the hazard of our wandering steps,\n      That in the early, and the latter rain,\n      He wept for our refreshment, till his tears\n      Shut out his fervent glances from our eyes;\n      And though he mourned our strangerhood of him,\n      Yet would he teach us that in smiles and tears\n      Are we begotten, and our lives are lost\n      If we find not the blessings that are hid\n      Beneath the rainbow tints of sorrowing.\n\n      \"Thus much, and more, that I will not essay;\n      But I was led through fields and garden walks,\n      And ornate grandeur, which the earth affords\n      Nor pattern nor approach; and though the mind\n      Be forced to utmost tension, it cannot\n      Encompass the bewilderment of sight.\n      Since my return, I cannot cast it off,\n      It lingers with me like some raptured dream,\n      And in my eyes and on my face is drawn\n      The print of its unspeakable surmount;\n      And I would call it dream, if I had not\n      A talisman, that tells me of its truth.\n      An angel led me to the central throne,\n      An angel led me back to consciousness;\n      But ere he passed the confines of the sun,\n      He handed me a clear, transparent gem,\n      And called me: 'Uri, thus it shall be said:\n      The very god commands that it be done;\n\n      \"'Uri, my light, my fire upon the earth,\n      Shall build again my altars and restore\n      With his own hand, the priesthood of the sun.\n      I will a hundredfold return the scorn\n      Of Mizraim on himself, for his neglect;\n      And from the sons of Lud I will raise up\n      A kingdom that shall shine in righteousness.'\n\n      \"This said, he handed me the talisman;\n      Which, when our altars shall have been prepared,\n      And laden with the choicest of our flock,\n      Shall claim the pledge of the eternal one,\n      With fire from his own courts to burn it up.\n\n      \"I can not say how long, or short a time,\n      I lingered thus entranced; I only know\n      I waked to find it real. The precious gem\n      Is proof of disenchantment; it is here.\n        I lay no claim on priesthood, but have told\n      The plain, uncumbered truth; when I did fall,\n      Prone to the earth in trance, I had no thought,\n      Of what would come of it; you have it all.\n      I have the stone, and we will test its power.\n      If yonder priest, with his enshrouded myth,\n      Desires to measure lances with the sun,\n      Then we will each build altars to our gods,\n      And he that first draws fire from any source,\n      Not of the earth, shall claim the forfeiture\n      Of all the other's tenantry to teach.\n\n        \"I may have said too much; I can not more\n      Than leave the rest with god, the changeless one,\n      The bright, all-shining universe of love,\n      The unfailing source, the broad, unvarying stream,\n      The very oceanhood of deity.\"\n\n      He ceased; and Kohen, rising to his feet,\n        Gave back the challenge eagerly; as might\n      The athlete spring his ready foe to meet;\n        His, was the conscious power of fearless right:\n      \"Let him lift up his altars to the sun,\n      And I will call upon the Uncreate,\n      The hand, that shaped it from chaotic void,\n      The face, whose look first taught it how to smile.\n      He may call first, that it may vantage him;\n      But other than the earth can no man bring,\n      Fire from the distant realms, except it be\n      From God, Creator of the sun, the moon and stars.\n      I am content that he do cry his god,\n      Till he be hoarse with hardihood of prayer,\n      This day shall judge between us and the right,\n      And ye shall see the bare arm of the Lord.\"\n\n      The crowd, impatient of his words, did shout\n        In Uri's acclamation; as the sun,\n      Full-faced and warm, gave back his witnesshood;\n        His ready conquest had been well begun.\n      How few there be, who see beyond their sight!\n        Even in our day of peculence and power,\n      The horizon of man has been his might,\n      Beyond his ready reach he passes into night;\n        The world is bounded by its present hour.\n      No marvel that old Uri swept the field;\n        His snare was baited for their ready sense,\n      No effort theirs, a pleasure but to yield;\n      Theirs but the open book, to them unsealed;\n        They felt no weight of future recompense;\n      And so they shouted, high and loud, his praise,\n        'Till he recalled them, with his magic voice:\n      \"Old Kohen seems in earnest; let us raise\n        Our altars quickly, that we may rejoice\n      This day, in our great father's warm embrace,\n      That we may look unblushing in his face\n      And call his fervent rays to their full test\n      Ere he shall draw the curtain in the west.\"\n\n      So said, so done; two altars were soon reared,\n      Both prophets, in full confidence appeared;\n      The offerings have been brought; and now they wait\n        Only the word; the King must give command.\n      Against gray Kohen, was the leveled fate\n        Of his unsolaced anger; yet, his hand\n      Was stayed by counsel, and he only said,\n        \"Uri calls first, let every breath\n      Be hushed upon his calling. Let the dead\n        From out their cerements beneath\n      Bear witness with our spirits that we seek\n        \"A true solution to the psalm of life.\n      Slay thou the offering, Uri, and then speak,\n        Speak the charmed word, and close the strife.\"\n\n      Uri comes forth and in one hand he brings\n      The talisman with leathern circlet stayed,\n      Enclosing surfaces convex; to this he clings\n      As though the whole earth in the balance laid,\n      Were mean in weight compared to such a gem.\n      The other holds a knife, and with a stroke\n      The offering is prepared; he looked at them,\n      The thirsting, hungry eyes that watch, then broke\n      The silence, turning full upon the sun:\n      \"Thy will, most radiant god! thy will be done.\n      O shining face! of the unchanging one,\n      Look, in the pity thou alone canst feel\n      And lead us back to life, we claim thy pledge.\n      A nation, lifts to thee their centered prayer;\n      They see thy smile, they know thy heart of hearts.\n      They hush them here, upon their altar's brink,\n      For they can go no nearer; meet, thou, them,\n      And, as we look upon thy face, may we\n      Behold thy very presence in our midst;\n      Come as a flame, to lick this offering up,\n      And all our hearts shall melt into thy smile.\"\n\n      He raised the gem before the flaming sun;\n      The rays concentered, and the flames burst forth\n      As leaping to their master. 'Twas enough.\n      The multitude, in thought, became as one.\n      And all, save Kohen, sank upon their knees;\n      And whispers of relief, fell on the breeze.\n      They were as pliant clay in Uri's hands,\n      And hung upon the breath of his commands:\n      \"Pour forth your homage, chosen of the sun,\n      Once more his warmth encloses; and we feel\n      Responsive throbbings of his fatherhood.\n      Rise and rejoice!\" Their ready voices raise\n      From lips, new touched in unison of praise.\n\n      Old Kohen was confounded at the first.\n      He had not thought it possible, to bring\n      Fire from the sun, or any mortal thing;\n      No shadow of its secret on him burst;\n      But he had heard of sorcery and arts\n      Among the sons of Mizraim, and not long\n      Before the lion of his nature starts,\n      In cold defiance of the clamorous throng,\n      To slay his offering; and his lips poured out\n      The very thunder-throe of earnest prayer;\n      A fervency that would not harbor doubt,\n      That ever is a stranger to despair.\n      Long, earnest, loud and fervently, he prayed;\n      And his gray locks ensilvering the breeze,\n      Gave pathos, to the torrent thus unstayed;\n      Yet, not for self, did he the angel seize;\n      But wrestled for his people thus misled.\n      \"Unscale their eyes, O Father!\" so he pled.\n      \"Unstop their ears, O thou, All Powerful One\n      That they may hear thy footfall on the wind.\n      Come in thy flame, and purge them with thy fire.\n      Strike off the fetters from their prisoned souls!\n      Make me an offering for their flagrant sins,\n      And I will bare my bosom to the knife,\n      And bend my neck in cheerfulness to thee,\n      So thou wilt save my people from the hand\n      Of this misguided witch of Mizraim!\"\n      His prayer had hardly ceased, ere shot the flame,\n      From upper zenith, down, and in one glow,\n      Pierced the whole altar with impetuous claim,\n      And lapped the other with its overflow.\n      The crowd, transfixed with wonder at the scene,\n      Could hardly trust the witness of their eyes,\n      And held divided counsels, till the King\n      Quenching the current of their late surprise,\n      Poured his recruited anger on Kohen.\n\n      \"Why longer parley, with a thing so plain?\n        Old Kohen had no warrant for this deed;\n      The palm was Uri's who did rightly gain\n        Fire from the sun, to him alone, we plead;\n      He drew it first, old Kohen must admit,\n        And he should paid due homage to our god;\n      And from what source did his become enlit?\n        \"We serve no phantom, with its hidden nod,\n      But look upon the face of him we serve;\n        The sun has kept his fire for us these years,\n      And we, his children, never can deserve\n        His untold blessings; though our prayers and tears,\n      Should mingle with each altar that we raise\n        In all the future ages, still our debt\n      Will always be uncancelled by our praise\n        And all our past be covered with regret.\n      We want no juggling on this sacred day,\n        That gives us back the father, we had lost.\n      Bind old Kohen, and hasten him away,\n        He shall repay his treachery with cost.\n      To-morrow shall another altar grace\n        This precious grove, made sacred to the sun,\n      And Kohen shall be offered in this place,\n        To pay the sacrilege he had begun.\"\n\n      In thy own way our Father; we must wait\n        So many times, because we cannot see;\n      Yet thou alone canst bring us to the gate,\n        How slowly do we learn to trust in thee!\n      Yet, in withholding, are the blessings hid,\n        As frequent as in giving; all our prayers\n      If they result in doing but thy bid,\n        Will scatter diamond dust above our cares.\n      The gray old Prophet murmured: \"Let God's will\n        Be done, and in abeyance I will bare my breast,\n      \"I will not doubt him though indeed he kill,\n        His chosen way must surely be the best.\"\n\n      The morrow came and at the King's command\n        The multitude assembled, and the guard\n      Brought forth the Prophet, looking proudly grand\n        As some great warrior claiming his reward\n      Of beys and laurels, wreathed into a crown;\n        They rear the pile and he awaits his doom\n      Without a menace, and without a frown.\n      Then turning to the press: \"I will assume\n      Your hearts are mine, my sons, I know it well;\n      Your eyes beheld the witness of our God,\n      And greatly were ye moved; but 'tis his will\n      That I should join my fathers in that land,\n      Where canker and corruption never comes,\n      The why, and wherefore of it, is his own;\n      I bow my head in thankfulness to him,\n      That he has deemed me worthy to exchange\n      A life of sorrow for a crown of love.\n\n      \"Ye are the servants of an earthly King,\n      And God has suffered him to lead you off,\n      His will be done; but I must tell you now\n      Your future as I read it in the glass\n      Of my illumined death:\n                           \"I see the black\n      Of Mizraim, sweep the brown of Lud from off\n      The face of Egypt; and I also see\n      A wandering race, go northward, and to east;\n      I see a bitter wintering of snow;\n      I see the sun hide back his face from them;\n      I see a boisterous buffeting at sea;\n      I see a journey southward--a new world.\"\n\n      \"And centuries flow swiftly on my sight.\n      A people proudly resting in their wealth;\n      The Son of God, in the full flight of years;\n      The conquest of the nations in his name.\n      A proud and prosperous people cross the sea\n      And swoop upon this nation of the sun;\n      Their temples crumble in the hand of God\n      And he takes back his own. All this I see\n      As what cannot avert; it is God's way,\n      And wisdom is the wastage of his throne.\n      He cannot order wrongly; I submit\n      My wasting image to his waiting hands:\n      \"Come Father! I am ready.\"\n\n      He raised him to the pile; with look divine,\n      He prone himself upon it; at the sign\n      The Prophet Uri raised the crystal stone;\n      The sun threw down its rays, and shot the flame\n      Full to the center; as the altar shone,\n      Each eye was turned, and every voice was tame,\n      As down the chancel of the deep blue sky,\n      A flaming chariot sped, and came a cry:\n      \"It is enough, come higher up; thou shalt\n      Not suffer death.\" A hand, not human, caught\n      The grand old Prophet; his recumbent form\n      Rose on their dazzled sight as rainbow in the storm.\n\n      Thus was the error fixed; and it is well\n      We leave them to their blindness for a while.\n      Misguided worship, left alone, will tell\n      Its own pathetic story: there is guile\n      To underlie each sorrow of the race.\n      Fruit comes alone from seed; somewhere is sown\n      The germ of every grief, and nature on its face\n      Bears no repentant feature; as we plant, so shall the tree\n            be grown.\n\n\nEXPULSION FROM EGYPT.\n\n          The seasons pass, till on their hands they count\n            Four palms, and to the third, a score and three\n          In life's meridian how the circles mount\n            That measure our existence, if there be\n          No canker worm that clogs the ready wheel;\n            If care hangs not upon the skirts of time;\n          And if, like most mankind, we only feel\n            Its gentle passing, by the hills we climb\n          In ambling, easy way, and retrospect\n            Surprises into thought, and we wake up\n          To feel how swift we journey. We reflect\n            After reflection barrens of its fruit, the cup\n          Which we have mixed we drink; if it be gall\n            We gulp it down the same; we cannot change\n          The current of our lives, and useless is the call\n            On any but the hand of God. 'Tis strange\n          The miracle of life should ever pass\n            And print no letters deep into the soul!\n          The years go by, and, but the tuft of grass\n            More reverent than we, tells o'er our dust its rosary,\n                in deep green scroll.\n\n\nMIZRAIM AND LUD.\n\n  Near the rim of Karoun, where the pyramids drink the dew that\n            should dampen the soil;\n  And the Nilus pours over its green level banks, its annual\n            freightage of spoil;\n  Where the date ripens dark to the child of the sun, and the\n            pomegranate colors for fruit;\n  The ibis is sounding the damps of the land, and earth in its\n            plethory mute.\n\n  The fat of the fields husks the voice of the morn, while\n            Demeter is weighing her sheaves;\n  The lotus has honied its lips for the kiss, \"and the turtle\n            in mockery grieves.\"\n  What is that, where the Orient gathers her gold, and the eye\n            wanders back to the sea?\n  What cloud on the horizon's breach can be seen? What wakens\n            the vulture's rude glee?\n\n  'Tis the shock of the battle that burdens the air, and the\n            armies that burden the eye;\n  They have met (could Elysian give landscape more fair?), have\n            met to embrace and to die.\n  The Prophet still lives, and has led to the sun all Egypt; and\n            gathered as one\n  The people to hallow the harvest-moon feast, ere the work of\n            the year is done.\n\n  But Mizraim outnumbers the children of Lud, and the shepherd kings,\n            crafty and weak,\n  Have laid tasks on their shoulders too heavy to bear, till the\n            voice of their burden must speak.\n  In vain the gray Prophet lifts up to his god his winglet of\n            prayer for peace;\n  The tempest of war has broke over the plain, and his altars can\n            bring no surcease.\n\n  The black and the bronze, the iron and brass; how they struggle\n            and grip for the field!\n  The spear and the arrow, the halbert and lance, and who shall be\n            first to yield?\n  Not the iron; it is strong and resistless in weight. Not the brass;\n            it is beaten and firm.\n  What a hecate of agony burdens the plain! what a banquet for vulture\n            and worm!\n  But the iron is too heavy, the brass is too thin, and under the\n            weight it gives way,\n  As a wall, that is breached and toppled by time; and Mizraim gains\n            the day.\n\n  Oppression, when reversed, is double weight;\n  The Slave pours lead into the lash he bore;\n  And, as the Master adds recruited hate\n  To blows, that he has learned to feel before,\n  The soul its letters of forgiveness learns\n  From only one great Master, in all time;\n  Revenge is human, and forever burns\n  Upon the trackway of retreating crime.\n  The text and testwork of their lives was lost;\n  And when the King was slain, and they o'erthrown,\n  His people paid their tyranny with cost.\n\n  Only the Prophet, with his magic stone,\n  Could purchase their withdrawal; they must leave\n  (They were the early jewels of the sun)\n  And Uri pledged their fortunes to retrieve,\n  If they would journey, where the day begun,\n  And seek the closer presence of their god,\n  In paths where human feet had never trod.\n  They must divide with Egypt; but go out\n  Well laden for the journey; should they dare\n  To turn, the heavy hand of Mizraim would not spare.\n\n  Ægyptus! thou above thy gates hath writ\n  So many times the monosylbic \"when.\"\n  We, weary of conjecture; round us flit\n  The phantoms of the past; and we again\n  Pass in review thy pages, black with mold;\n  Intemporate within a crumbling earth,\n  Against the char of empires thou dost hold\n  The charms that emulate immortal birth.\n  We write mutation on the brow of Time;\n  Thou art the changeless one of all the world--\n  Thou hast no brotherhood in any clime;\n  All mortal barbets have in vain been hurled.\n\n  \"Time conquers all things?\" Thou giv'st back the lie;\n  Above its ruins, thou dost stand, serene--\n  Eternity!--Must thou, perforce, then die?\n  What tragedy hast thou, indeed, not seen?\n  Must thou, too, look on death? thou wilt not dim;\n  But in impassive slumber, thou wilt fall\n  As sinks the sun, beneath the horizon's rim,\n  And answer only the Archangel's call.\n  We leave thee loathely, for our souls are wed\n  To thy enchanted gardenhood of lore.\n  \"The morning stars sang joy\" above thy bed,\n  The nations, in their cerements, shall pass thy door,\n  And earth be wrapped in ashes ere thy brow shall bear the fatal\n            legend, \"Nevermore.\"\n\n\nTHE MOURNING SHEPHERDS\n\n          The tambour' is silent, O god of the Nile!\n            The harp has been hung in acacian shade.\n          We are bowed to the earth, we are broken and bent,\n            And the blade of our fathers in dust has been laid.\n\n          We came, as the simoom creeps over the plain;\n          We came, as the tiger its covert forsakes;\n          As the hurricane brushes the dust from the brakes;\n          As the lightning leaps out and the thunder-god shakes.\n\n          We are shorn of our strength as with plague we are smote;\n            The axe has been wrenched from the hands that are brawn,\n          And the arms whose strong sinews till now were unbent\n            Have been broken as brittles; our prowess is gone.\n\n          O! thou bright shining god! with thy scintles of gold;\n            If thy children have gathered the glow of thy face,\n          If thy kisses, ere warmed to the lips that are cold,\n            O we pray! let us feel thy impassioned embrace.\n\n          We are journeying forth to the cradle of morn,\n            Where thy lids feel the weight of their slumbering still;\n          We would kneel at thy bed where the seasons are born,\n            And learn from thy lips the whole law of thy will.\n\n          Have we sinned in thy sight? have we slackened our pace?\n            Are we paying the forfeit in wormwood of shame?\n          We draw nearer to thee, and our lives we would place\n            In the hands of the Maker, that out of thy flame\n\n          We may gather that fire that shall glow with thy love;\n            And will never grow dim through the future of years,\n          That shall make us like thee, and our fealty prove\n            'Till we learn to forget this dark trackhood of tears.\n\n          As we turn to the East, wilt thou smile on our way?\n            Wilt thou lessen the distance between us and thee?\n          Or our hearts remain hungry, the shadow still stay\n            With its wizard arm lifted to smite as we flee.\n\n          We doubt thee no longer--we know thou wilt aid;\n            We turn to the path where thy morning rays shine;\n          We will seek thy first footfall, and all unafraid,\n            We feel thee, we love thee, we know we are thine.\n\n          We leave the old life, with the graves of our kin,\n            We turn from the sunset of dampness and death,\n          We turn where the light with its god doth begin,\n            And the praise of the day-king embalms every breath;\n\n          Where the sun slakes his thirst with the dew of the flowers,\n            Where the night flees before him far into the west,\n          Where the honey-dew clings to the fruit-laden hours,\n            Where the soul sets its table, with Joy as its guest.\n\n          So does our faith stand out against our grief;\n          So does our hope grow up into belief.\n          One God? Yes, Father, Thou! and only One.\n          We praise thee; yet, our praise is only done,\n          When we extol thee for the gift of faith.\n          Not every one can name thee; but each breath\n          May be enladen with the thought of praise\n          And all adore thy attributes--the ways\n          That they adore thee are not always thine;\n          Yet, do they bend to thy great thoroughfare and shine\n          With light from the Eternal throne; 'tis well,\n          Nor otherwise than good--it can but swell\n          The choral of thy praise; and in the end\n          These thousand thoughts of Deity, in thee, not fail to blend.\n\n\nTHE JOURNEY.\n\n          O thou! who charmed the demons in the breast\n          Of Saul, and set the universal voice\n          Of all the earth to thy unflagging song;\n          Thou royal shepherd! bend for us across\n          The bridge of ages thy leant lips, and pour\n          The echo of thy music on our souls.\n\n          And Thou of Nazareth! whose very life\n          Was as the cadence of a well-strung harp,\n          Thyself the instrument, upon whose strings,\n          Ten thousand symphonies are left entranced;\n          Pour in the empty vial of our verse,\n          Some of thy soul of music, and let shine\n          Through every darkened crevice of the heart,\n          Rays of celestial sunshine. Not in vain\n          Our humble dalliance, if thou set the charm\n          Of thine approval. Let our song be praise\n          And devotate our hands, that there be left\n          No tissue, but is animate of Thee!\n\n          The seas reach out to clasp each other's hands,\n          The greater and the less, and leap the sands\n          That tear in two their waters; but not so\n          She of the Nile; her rights will not forego.\n          The hand that rocks the crib of empire holds\n          A charm, that locks the East and West in one\n          The track of nations is her beaten path,\n          And undisputed, till the earth be done.\n          Man may disturb it, but the hand of God\n          Has placed a thousand tokens on this sod.\n\n          The flocks are gathered, and the flight began,\n          Old Uri and attendants in the van;\n          The portents were of good as far as seen,\n          Each breast a shrine of hope; thus early man\n          Gave little time to sorrow--after years\n          Were left for its fruition; light of heart,\n          These early-planted germlets of the earth,\n          Took their reverses in the better part\n          Of hardihood; they had thus early learned,\n          That in the chafe of fortune there is gain;\n          That scars are coronets, though they be burned\n          Deep in the brow of care; each gem a pain.\n          Our philosophic age with heavy draught,\n          Drinks deep in phantasies, but fails to learn\n          The wiser lesson of this early craft,\n          To catch the wheel of fortune with each turn.\n\n          East over Syria they bent their steps,\n            Meeting Euphrates many leagues above\n          Where Babylon since molded into form\n            Her mystical proportions; and so strove\n          Persistently the mastery of earth.\n            Crossing the Tigris but a span below,\n          Where Taurus from his fountains feeds the stream,\n            They traverse Persia with its after-glow\n          Of conquest; where Ispahan gave touch,\n          To chords that deify the voice of song,\n          And mellow through the ages, if so much\n          As but an echo would inspire the tongue,\n          With that enchantment, that rolls down the course\n          Of her great history. We seek in vain\n          Another Cyrus, or another force\n          Of Scripture fulfillment, with lesser pain,\n          And Time's repleted garner has no riper grain.\n\n          Still East they cross the Amoo, and above\n          Where now, Bokhara's languor and repose\n          Invites the Sclavic hordes in summer quest\n          Of forage. And Belor, giant like, still throws\n          Its shadow o'er the landscape; and the Koosh\n          Shortens the noon of summer, from the South;\n          A thousand sparkling torrents downward rush,\n          And pour their waste of waters in the mouth\n          Of Indus. They cross where Belor melts its snow,\n          To placid Cashgar's arms, sending below\n          A current to the waste of farther Nor.\n          They stand on Cobis' southern girt, and drink\n          The final retrospective of the West;\n          And keep the gloomy borders to the brink\n          Of far-off Koulon, where the Argoon lends\n          Its mite of wastage to the vast Amour;\n          And the impetuous Shilka, swiftly sends\n          Its tribute to the master of Mantchoor.\n\n          One winter they had spent upon the way,\n          Within the vale of Cashgar, where the flocks\n          Found generous herbage; but they could not stay\n          Longer than opening spring, when from the rocks\n          And passes of the Koosh, a savage tribe\n          Came fiercely on them; and again the fire\n          From Uri's sacred pebble, as a bribe\n          Saved them from ruin, and the warlike ire\n          Of Lama's devotees, for even then\n          On upper Ind, his worship had begun;\n          But superstition, ranks us all as men,\n          And mystery doth mold us into one.\n          The Argoon and the Shilka passed; they keep\n          Their steady march, down Armour's limpid tide.\n          Yet summer wastes to autumn. Seasons creep\n          So noiselessly, that our souls are open wide,\n          If we set watch upon them; unaware\n          They find us napping, in our wakeful age;\n          And how much more, in the unrisen sun\n          Of ancient man! We wonder that the page\n          Is not more blurred and blotted in the years\n          That are far gone, when knowledge only bubbled up through\n                tears.\n\n          A Winter on the Amour near the sea;\n          The Frost King strokes his heavy beard in glee,\n          In surfeit of his triumph, o'er the foe\n          That dares invade his borders; and the snow\n          Scatters its fleecy fullness o'er the land,\n          Hiding the face of Nature with its hand\n          So cold and clasping. O 'tis very hard!\n          To see familiar faces pass the ward\n          Of our immediate contact, and the earth\n          Draw back into its arms, with tightening girth\n          Our loved ones. But 'tis a heavier lot\n          To see our mother Earth, whose faithful breast\n          Has never failed to aid; so chilled in death\n          That it cannot respond, though it be rest,\n          Recuperent and needful; still the same\n          When we are starving for its warm caress,\n          And cannot spare its nursing, when our claim\n          Is mortal, and we feel the strong hand press\n          Our vitals; and we labor for our breath;\n          And Famine lends its wizard hand, to fill the tooth of death.\n\n          Old Uri vainly calls the shining god;\n            Though it may light his altar, still the flame\n          Is but a weakling; and the weary host\n            Were wrangling at his impotence, and tame\n          His efforts to assuage them. He had taught\n            His followers of a near approach; the sun\n          Seemed coy of his endeavors, for the thought\n            Of zone or solstice, had not then begun,\n          And Winter was their time of penance, when\n            Their god rode low, and frowned him out of sight.\n          They offered for his anger many gifts,\n            And set their watchmen to outwake the night.\n          In question of his rising. Why should he\n            Keep so much closer the horizon's rim\n          When they were in his quest, and sought the verge\n            Of farthest empire, in their reach of him?\n          O empty arms! and ever reaching out,\n            Fold in the blessings that your hands enclose.\n          There is nor reason, nor excuse for doubt,\n            The river of God's love so near you flows.\n          Your very feet are on the water's brink,\n            His very arms are all around you thrown,\n          You touch him in your timidness, and shrink\n            To his embraces; no human soul was ever yet alone.\n\n          They settle down to Winter, and their flocks\n          Must furnish sustenance, until the sun\n          Shall break their penance, and embrown the locks\n          Of the o'ergristled seasons; and this won,\n          They counsel further movement. Uri speaks:\n          \"Sons of the Summer God, I little thought\n          When we set out from Egypt, that our feet\n          Would be thus bruised and bled; but it is well.\n          We learn the lesson of our latent sin;\n          This trial of our faith will make us whole,\n          If we but draw the diamond out of it.\n          We have not vainly trod the heavy press\n          Of our affliction, if we firmly breast\n          The waters. I have kept faithful watch--\n          We are but self-styled lords, and forfeit much\n          Of our asserted masterhood; the birds\n          Make many less mistakes--we used to note\n          The flight of waterfowl in Egypt. Why\n          Should we not learn their wisdom in this clime?\n          Before the sun sank low, and Winter came\n          (Led by a providence that makes all things\n          To minister our wants), I watched the birds,\n          And many, turned to East, across the sea.\n          We lose our way sometimes, they never do;\n          They are much closer children to the sun\n          Than we, by their dependence--we need help\n          As much as any feathered wingster does--\n          And yet we push it back, when we might reach\n          And find a steady hand. Let us go to\n          And make us ships; that when the Spring\n          Shall beckon back to life the dormant earth,\n          And all the birds turn back in countermarch,\n          We fly against their flight, and reach the clime\n          From whence the sun has warned them to return\n          To this cold country of the nether earth.\n\n          \"Behold! these rugged trees stand stout for us,\n          And ready for our architrave; and we\n          Were better wont to labor than to dole\n          Our time in murmurs at our fate. Up! up!\n          And do! and though we suffer overmuch,\n          Our labor shall not vainly mock at us.\n          Even old Kohen saw a journey South,\n          When he did burn our eyes, as he went up,\n          And he saw fat and plenty in the land\n          Where his prophetic eye did cast our lot;\n          And we will not mistrust what leads to light,\n          Though it be lifted in a demon's hand.\"\n\n          The forests gave to them their virgin palms,\n            And they did rudely shape them into crafts;\n          Made ready for the flood, when the warm sun\n            Should waken nature with enlivening draughts;\n          But Spring wore into Summer, ere the birds\n            Gave the unspoken pledge of their return.\n          The sun, still coy, refused to climb as high\n            As it had done in Egypt; still they burn\n          With new-born hope, as they float down to sea,\n            And, moving counter to their winged friends,\n          Cross to Lopatka, where they only wait\n            Replenishment, which nature always sends,\n          Where faith is instinct as in lower life,\n            (The birds teach providence, without a chance,)\n          And so they wander on, to the Aleutes;\n            Passing and calling, as they still advance,\n          They reach to where Alaska strikes the sea,\n            In severance to meet them. They kept on,\n          Feeding on eggs of seabirds, and the meats\n            That everywhere supplied them. They have gone\n          So far on Nature's very track, and now\n            A narrow river beckons their research,\n          And they pass upward, till a mountain range\n            Confronts their passage, like a royal perch\n          From which the gods might frown their hardihood,\n            For this intrusion of another world.\n          But they have battled with the plague and flood;\n            And though Olympus all his thunders hurled,\n          They had not turned; they saw the earnest need\n            Of pushing forward ere the sun turned back,\n          And so they crossed to where the eastern slope,\n            Feeds the McKenzie. Here an easy track\n          Leads down and cuts the stronger range in two,\n            A little while among its shadows grope,\n          When the broad prospect opened to their view.\n            They follow the receding sun in hope,\n          Still bearing to the east their steady trend,\n          Hoping to win their God to close embrace;\n          And morn and eve around their altars bend\n          In thankfulness, that they still see his face.\n          Through many valleys, virgin to their sight,\n          And many lakes, whose bosoms never stirred\n          To man, the weak pretender of God's might;\n          But nature spreads her happy hearth with beast and flower\n                and bird.\n\n\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\nAZTLAN.\n\n\nTHE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI.\n\n  Father of Waters! Nilus of the West!\n    Thou holdst thy secrets from the sons of men;\n  A knowledge of the past which none would wrest\n    Or wish to circumscribe with tongue or pen\n  To the weak bonds of history; but rather stand\n  With old De Soto on thy banks, and reverence the hand\n  That drew the fetters from thy limbs, and set thee first at birth,\n  On thy unmuzzled pilgrimage, without a peer on earth.\n\n  Better thy unbroke seal, if it would teach\n  The ponderous worm of destiny, called man;\n  How great things may be hidden from his reach,\n  And mighty things be silent, that his span\n  Is but a hand-breadth to the great unknown,\n  A thistle-down, before the breezes blown,\n  That silent and unseen God turns the mighty mill,\n  And on the brow of giant force he writes his words, \"Be still.\"\n\n  The possibles of time, are all thine own.\n  Thou hast not reared thy monuments of stone\n  To overtop the pyramids, yet wrought\n  In shapely mounds, thy sculpturehood, and caught\n  From flying Time, the lustre of his wing,\n  Which gives the semblance of perpetual Spring\n  To thy vast lap of luxuries; in thee\n  (Since man first pinioned thee to history)\n  Is found the acme of a world's desire.\n  Thy unknown crucial test, has passed the fire\n  Of many fading centuries; let none inquire\n  The secrets of thy conquest: be thou shut up with God,\n  The master molding of his hand--the jewel of his rod!\n\n  Yet in the book of Nature there is writ,\n  Without exception, all her energies,\n  As line by line, her page becomes enlit;\n  Yielding to man some new and glad surprise,\n  As Agassiz, together works with her,\n  To make the earth, her own interpreter;\n  And such a giant, must not hope to hide\n  The unfading Sanscrit, written on its side.\n\n  Thy brow wast glistered with the frost of years,\n  Ere man's first rapture, at the sight of thee;\n  Yet, were thy banks unswelled, by falling tears\n  Till he tore back thy splendid tapestry--\n  The bison and the deer unfrighted came\n  To lave upon thy borders, all were tame,\n  In their untoilsome frolics; and the beasts and birds\n  Made rolic at thy feet, in songs not marred with words.\n  But sorrow comes with knowledge; 'tis the tree,\n  That bears the samest fruit in every zone--\n  The tale of Eden is no mystery,\n  The tree will verify wherever grown.\n  And yet, in God's own providence 'tis best,\n  That Eden be repeated East and West;\n  If knowledge in the first, brought sorrowhood to earth,\n  The power to laugh and cry, were purchased at one birth.\n\n  They stand upon thy borders: Mighty Stream!\n  We will not pry thy silent lips apart,\n  To ask thee when, and how, the Prophet's dream\n  Reached its fulfillment; treasured in thy heart,\n  Let it remain as many other things\n  Are left; our language lessens their effect,\n  And makes them small in words,--the very springs\n  Of our existence, are not shown correct,\n  When crowded into verbage,--so we lay\n  Our beys upon thee, and we feel 'tis thine;\n  Thine every secret, of the grand emprise,\n  With only one unlicensed hand, the Hand of the Divine.\n\n  It is enough that after waste and want\n  And weariness of spirit they have found\n  A rest upon thy margin, that thy arms\n  Are opened to enclose them, and the sound\n  Of human voices mingle with the notes\n  Of myriad waterfowl. The thousand throats\n  Of thy unmeasured pasture, blend in praise\n  To the All Father for the countless ways\n  That point his providence. The raven's cry\n  Strikes never vainly, thy omniscient ear,\n  No effort, but is answered \"here am I,\"\n  No prayer but finds the parent very near.\n\n  The unconscious hallelujahs of the plain,\n  The untaught praises of the lofty trees,\n  The waving upward palms of laden grain,\n  The mellow notes upon the evening breeze,\n  The \"reveillies\" from off the mountain tops,\n  The nightingale's \"tattoo,\" the many lips\n  Touched only once by God, the faithful drops\n    That wear unceasing at the granite mine,\n  The praise that never sinks to prayer, the finger tips\n    That span the universal zone of life; all, all incline\n  To adoration. If we lose our way\n    (As these poor souls had done) we need but turn\n  To catch the choral of the passing day.\n    Behold on every branch and beam the altars burn!\n  And all things beckon us of God, if we but bend\n    The enquiring ear, and catch the keynote of the mighty song\n  That swells from all the universe; we too may blend\n    In the vast concord, happiest of the throng.\n\n  The rhythmal of the angels, is not far\n    From the first prattle of the infant's tongue\n  Both caught the glitter of the Eastern star;\n    The harps were both, by the same Master strung;\n  The glory of the one, glows from the face;\n      The other lifts, to meet its parent's kiss.\n      Not very far, the border land of bliss,\n  From every infant of the human race.\n    The sacred fane of childhood, when first reared,\n  How like a prophecy it should be read--\n    A thing to be adored, and sometimes feared!\n  So many unseen hands, smooth down the bed\n    Of infancy; we can but jostle with our utmost care\n  Against angelic presences that bend\n    And print their unseen kisses on the brow,\n  And with the infant earth, the Heavenly essence blend.\n\n  The wheel that never tires, and ever turns,\n    Crushing the neck of nations in its round,\n  Before whose tread, the star of empire burns,\n    Behind whose trend, the ridged and furrowed ground\n  Gives mute quiescence, to the Master hand;\n    This wheel rolls on; and now upon thy banks\n  Great River of the West the infant's cry\n    Is mingled with the forest din; thy ranks\n  Are opened to admit the \"lullaby\"\n    Of earth's last entity; thou did'st not groan\n  When buffalo and beaver found thy side,\n    Nor when thy trees, first echoed to the moan\n  Of the despondent turtle, to his bride;\n    And thou did'st smile on this invading race,\n  And open thy broad prairies, as the palm\n    Of some great hearted giant, to embrace\n  The sea-tossed wanderers, the healing balm\n    Of thy great heaving breast, rubbed almost out\n  The wrinkles from the faces of these sires\n    Of early Egypt; they forgot the drought\n  And mildew of their wanderings, and the fires\n    Of their thanksgiving altars, gave a zest\n  They never yet had felt; an empire spread\n    Around them, in the flush of its full growth\n  A bride, inviting the espousal bed.\n\n  Their ranks had been depleted; yet a few\n    Still lingered with the Prophet, who had stood\n  At the first altar; when the fervent sun\n    First answered their entreaty, and the blood\n  Was lapped by solar flame; and now, that peace\n    Enshrines their hearts, and plenty spreads their board,\n  They warm towards their leader, and return\n    To their old-fashioned loyalty; his word\n  Is sacred as the smiling of the sun\n    Whose burnished mirror likenesses their forms,\n  And in whose bosom after life is done,\n    The weary find a shelter from all storms.\n  Nor do they want a psalmist for his praise,\n    But he is found with ready harp and voice,\n  To turn the multitude, with rapturous gaze,\n    Upon the god of their unshaken choice.\n  Their morning song is mingled with the mirth,\n    That rolics from the sycamore and oak,\n  The song that swells the green and fruent earth,\n    That needs no trumpet's blare, nor kettle stroke.\n\n\nTHE MORNING SONG OF THE MOUND BUILDERS.\n\n  Once more do we turn on thy face our glad eyes,\n    Great god of the Summer! and sing,\n  With the lark and the linnet we gladly arise\n    To welcome the smile of our King.\n\n  Our hearts are made glad when we feel thee advance\n    On thy mission of mercy and might,\n  For we know that the stroke of thy conquering lance,\n    Has shattered the bulwarks of night.\n\n  We look on thy face, and our doubts are dispelled\n    By the glance of thy mellowing eye;\n  For we feel that the rains by our Master are held,\n    And we fear not to do or to die.\n\n  We felt thy embrace, many long weary years,\n    Yet the scales were not torn from our eyes;\n  We sought for a father, with prayers and with tears\n    Till we woke with a welcome surprise.\n\n  And beheld from thy face, _all_ the fatherhood shine,\n    And thy great glowing heart _all_ ablaze\n  With the love, that had lingered and grown more divine,\n    In the yearn of our wandering days.\n\n  How we leaped to thy arms, when we saw them extend!\n    How we drank of thy fervent embrace!\n  With its love like thyself, glowing on without end,\n    In the gold of thy deified face.\n\n  For our eyes were unscaled, and our hearts were unsealed;\n    We were melted to tears at the thought,\n  Of the blessings so near, that had stood unrevealed,\n    Of the Providence waiting unsought.\n\n  How could we have lost the firm grasp of thy hand,\n    With its daily improvise of love,\n  With its unsounded depths, like the count of the sand,\n    As an index, to point us above?\n\n  And now hover o'er us, great god of the day!\n    Let us never escape from thy wing,\n  For ever and ever, drive famine away,\n    Give wealth to our Summer and Spring.\n\n  Give us harvests of fruit, give us Winters of rest--\n    Let thy Provident hand never cease;\n  Grant the aged a home, on thy great shining breast,\n    When their labors shall purchase release.\n\n  Be more than we ask, give us more than our prayer--\n    All our wants, let thy wisdom disclose,\n  Till our souls shall be ripe with thy fostering care,\n    And made white for our future repose.\n\n\nEVENING THANKSGIVING AND PRAYER.\n\n                  Sinking down to thy rest,\n                  In the deep crimson West,\n          Great God! thou hast taught us repose;\n                  With thy promised return,\n                  Without doubting, we learn,\n          To wait for thy further disclose.\n\n                  In thy tenement high,\n                  Blazing over the sky,\n          Are thy sentinels, pledge of the night;\n                  And we know by their shine,\n                  That thy care is divine,\n          And we rest without fear, till the light\n\n                  Springs again from the East\n                  With its glory increased\n          By the wakening pulse of the day;\n                  And we never will doubt,\n                  That thy naked arm, stout,\n          Will drive all the shadows away.\n\n                  Yet we cannot forebear,\n                  To lift up our prayer,\n          For we know we are wanton and weak;\n                  And if once thou shouldst fail,\n                  Or thy face shouldst grow pale,\n              Where else in the world should we seek?\n                  For a father so kind,\n                  To a people so blind,\n          In our weakness, thy strength we may trace.\n                  Then fail not to return,\n                  Leave us never to mourn,\n          The wealth of thy daily embrace.\n                  O continue, we pray,\n                  To bring back the glad day;\n          Give us always, to look on thy face!\n\n          The trembling lisp of every human soul,\n            Of names more potent, then their own can be,\n          Breathes the same lesson through, from pole to pole\n            To prove the certitude of Deity.\n          Not every eye turned upward can behold\n            The face that faith alone shapes into form;\n          Not every hand can touch the gates of gold\n            That outward swing in welcome from the storm.\n          Yet is the \"Abba Father\" pendant from each tongue,\n            And every soul a furnace for its fires;\n          And sacred is each song in earnest sung,\n            When creature to Creator thus aspires.\n          We blindly grope in this, our broad of day,\n            The two eternities to thus unite;\n          The silk of infancy is turned to gray\n            Ere we have learned to tread the path aright.\n          We force our providences out of reach,\n            Throw back the hand our Father doth extend,\n          And shut our ears that he may vainly teach,\n            And all the wealth of heaven may expend\n          To warm us to reliance,--shall we dare\n            To sneer at those who grope? We grapple air\n          When it is all refulgent with our God,\n            And we may touch his garment's hem in prayer.\n\n\nTHE PROPHET'S DEATH.\n\n          Groping in undiscovered realms their way,\n          The Prophet and his people give the day\n          To finding safest lodgement, till they press\n          Well down the grand old river, to the mouth\n          Of the great Western confluent--the south\n          Seems to add Summer to the wilderness.\n\n          They cross the river, and then settle down\n            To love and labor on its grassy banks;\n          And fortune seems to have forgot its frown.\n            Years of repletion fill their shattered ranks,\n          And youth and vigor take the place of age;\n            The story of their journey is retold\n          By only few in number; and the sage,\n            Who turned their faces on their god of gold,\n          Was bent with the plethoric weight of years,\n          And summoned them to worship 'mid the tears\n          Of many, who misgave his failing strength;\n          He saw their apprehensions and at length\n          Called them together for a final word:\n          \"Sons of the Summer God! it is but wise\n          That we look out beyond the brace of years,\n          And question of the future. All the way\n          The shining surface of our god has led\n          Our toilsome footsteps; we must not forget\n          His daily nurture, nor the cloth of gold\n          With which he covers us--wakeful with the day,\n          How has he touched our eyelids with his hands,\n          And warmed us with his hovering! The night\n          Has never failed his promise of the morn.\n          How has his parenthood outwatched the stars;\n          How has the Winter melted at his glance;\n          How has his armor battled with the snows!\n          With what a tenderness he decks the fields,\n          And wooes the grasses from the dormant earth,\n          And clothes the forest with its robes of green,\n          As covert for the bison and the deer,\n          That we may find replenishment of food!\n          His providence has never failed our steps,\n          Our homage cannot cancel his regard.\n\n          \"Our father! in this failing cup of years,\n          Help us to be re-sanctified to thee--\n          Thou hast not measured to our helplessness,\n          But with unstinted hand filled up our lives\n          With blessings. Fill thou alike our hearts,\n          That we may have no room to cherish doubt,\n          But answer thy embraces, as the fields\n          Leap up to kiss thy first recumbent rays!\n          Let all our dross become thy burnished gold,\n          Shine through each crevice of our stubbornness,\n          Till in transparent purity, we reach\n          The very essence of thy godliness!\n\n                        \"Brethren of the Sun!\n          This altar is my last: You see the fire\n          Leap as an answer to my late request,\n          And it shall bear my spirit to the sun,\n          And cursed the hand that stays its homeward flight!\"\n\n          Fresh nerved he reached the altar with a bound,\n            And sank without a murmur in the flame;\n          His followers an instant gather round,\n            But he had passed out almost as he came.\n\n          They did not dare to drag him from the pile,\n            His life and effort had together ceased,\n          He passed into the future with a smile--\n            A smile, that he had been so quick released.\n          Yet, there was one (clear-sighted from the rest),\n            Who said she saw the essence of his form,\n          In brighter effigy, more richly dressed,\n            Fly out into the sunset; and the charm\n          Of her enchanted parable found faith\n            In many of the multitude; his death,\n          So like his life, had challenged all their thought\n            And they were ready to quiesce his fate, and sought\n          Some shadowed miracle to wrap his shade.\n            They gathered up the ashes, and forbade\n          Unsanctioned hands to touch them; and they reared\n            A rugged mound above the garnered dust,\n          And left him (one whom they loved less than feared).\n            To that sole arbiter, whose name is Just,\n          Our common parent, Time, whose busy hands\n            Rear many a sacred fane above our faults,\n          Flings over our excressences his sands,\n            And leaves no human stain to blot the sacred marble of\n                our vaults.\n\n          How grand is the economy of time and death!\n            We whet the knife for deep incision on the name\n          Of some misguided leader, but he fails his breath,\n            And all our better angels give him back to fame;\n          Death carries off the husk, we keep the ripened wheat,\n            And Time refines the kernel into choicest flour;\n          The atmosphere of anger is at last made sweet;\n            Our charity immortal glows; our passion, but an hour.\n          God keep us always so! It is the chosen link\n            That binds us to the race, and bids the Christ come in;\n          That holds our hands to near the eternal brink;\n            It saves us from ourselves, and breaks the tooth of sin.\n\n          The whitened garments at the eternal gate,\n          Must cover those, who have not stained another,\n          Or there will come that awful sentence: \"Wait!\n          \"Blood crieth from the ground! where is thy brother?\"\n          If thus upon the living God doth set the seal\n          Of condemnation for the false witnessing\n          How will he smite the lips of those who steal\n          His covering from the dead, and fill the sacred spring\n          Of memory, with the debris of their lives;\n          Mixing, what God has kindly torn apart,\n          And making null, the severence he strives,\n          Between the naked soul, and sin encumbered heart!\n\n          The gem was melted, and his life went out\n          In unobtrusive secrecy, and all\n          That he brought with him, passed the silent way\n          Into eternity, beyond recall.\n          He chose no sponsor to renew his place\n          But gave them back to Nature, as he found;\n          Yet was his impress fastened on the race,\n          And every morn they gathered at the mound,\n          For many after years, till they had grown\n          A nation strong in numbers, and had thrown\n          The seeds of generation far and wide,\n          And found the latent valleys without guide.\n          The lakes are made a tribute to their spoil,\n          And all the riches of the virgin soil\n          Were tested by those hardy argonauts of old;\n          And though they sought no fleece of shining gold,\n          They penetrated all the wilderness\n          That lay unclaimed before them to possess.\n\n          God drops no nobler anchorage on earth,\n          Than those who mold a nation, and a name;\n          Whose travail in the wilderness gives birth\n          To some great epoch, without thought of fame.\n          The pioneers of empire, for all time,\n          Are gold-dust, from the placers of our homes--\n          The surface croppings from a nation's prime,\n          The mellow acre of the richest loams.\n          They overgrow the boundaries of life,\n          And push the horizon far out in space.\n          With lethargy they wage a ceaseless strife,\n          And with the whirling earth, they keep their pace.\n          All honor to the soul who sets his stake\n          Where human kind have never trenched before;\n          Where only God his thunders o'er it shake,\n          And solitude shall murmur, \"nevermore.\"\n          Such men are sovereigns, though they grasp no crown,\n          And raise no jewelled scepter in the hand;\n          Yet are they Princes, in their bronze and brown,\n          And demonstrate their fitness to command.\n\n          The Norsemen, on the North Atlantic wave;\n            Columbus, passing out in unknown seas;\n          De Soto, gaining but an unknown grave;\n            The hardy Pilgrims, on their bended knees;\n          The Argonauts, upon the Western slope--\n            These are the souls no human praise can reach.\n          Each, in their turn, gave empire back to hope,\n            And all are greater than the gift of speech.\n          No pen can lustre their unfading claim;\n            No cenotaph do honor to their dust--\n          These are crown jewels on the brow of Fame;\n            Their conquest is supreme, their laurels ever just.\n\n          Yet, in the van of empire, still is left\n            The noiseless print of ancestry more grand;\n          Indentures chiseled in the highest cleft,\n            By giants of a long forgotten land,--\n          The nameless graves of centuries untold;\n            The ashes of the prehistoric age;\n          The self-forgetting litany of gold--\n            How vast their monuments, how broad their page!\n          In what a grand democracy of death\n            They lift their silent fingers to our years,\n          Melt our memorials with a single breath\n            In mute companionship of life and tears!\n\n          We are but pygmies to the almighty past,\n            The names we honor but the surface-mould;\n          Beneath must lie an empire far more vast,\n            Whose fundaments alone deserve the name of \"old.\"\n\n          Not many years, till they had found the bed\n            Of copper ore upon Superior's rim;\n          And hither many of the hardy ones were led\n            By Orchas, quick in architrave, and fleet of limb;\n          And many the fantastic implements he shaped\n            For husbandry; no want of theirs escaped\n          His eager scrutiny--the axe and blade,\n            The rough-made pick, and the encumbered spade,\n          The vessels for the housewife, and the spear,\n            And other weaponry for bison and for deer.\n          All these were fashioned in an uncouth way,\n            And yet they filled the purpose of the day.\n\n          They had not reached the iron age of thought,\n          And what they made, necessity had taught;\n          But riper years must ope the \"Sampson Mine,\"\n          And wake the rugged giant, in the shine\n          Of a meridian sunlight; they little thought\n          Of what a Hercules remained unsought,\n          So near Missouri's border; yet, not strange\n          Is their indicted ignorance--their range\n          Was circumscribed; and iron was left to rest,\n          Till man had long been cradled on the breast\n          Of patient Mother Earth--not all at once\n          Did she give up her treasures; and the dunce\n          Must grow into philosopher with years.\n          Experience with its battlehood of tears,\n          Is Nature's great interpreter; we learn\n          But slowly, till the lessons fervid burn\n          Their impress into action; then awakes\n          The slow-taught pupil into higher life--\n          Invention is the furnace-spark of strife;\n          Necessity, the hand that wields the sledge\n          Upon the patient anvil of our needs,\n          And Providence makes good its wakeful pledge\n          With plenteous harvest; from the dormant seeds\n          That lie unconed beneath our very feet\n          We stumble on to marvels, and awake\n          To find some giant force, in what we meet;\n          And in the insects of our path, leviathans, we greet.\n\n          Time's wheels, though shaken, never fail to track\n          The rut of empire, without turning back;\n          They, ceaseless whirl, with lubricate of blood,\n          Drawn from a thousand channels on the way,\n          Unrusting, through the oxydizing flood,\n          To measure centuries, or mark a day.\n          And thus, the primal pioneers move on\n          To unaccustomed progress, on the banks\n          Of the confluent streams that scar the face\n          Of the great Western basin; and their ranks\n          Are filled with happy husbandry; the land\n          Gives back its tillage, with a lavish hand.\n\n          The forests and the streams were over-full\n          With fish, and flesh to feed them, and they pass\n          One conquest, to another, in the lull\n          Of untamed nature. Garnered as a mass\n          To fill their open hands, the native corn\n          Soon covered the rich valleys, and the plant,\n          So dalliant to the race, was early born,\n          Tobacco. They were not adamant\n          Against the weaknesses so close allied\n          To human nature; and there was excess,\n          And envy, emulence, and pride,\n          And all the ills that left their first impress;\n          And yet God gave them peace. No brother's hand\n          Was raised against a brother, and the years\n          Spread fruit and plenty over a fair land\n          Destined to futurehood of bitter, bitter tears.\n\n\nDEPARTURE OF WABUN.\n\n            \"Most governed is most wayward.\" Very true;\n              Repeating history doth verify\n            That law from malefaction always grew,\n              And with its ceasing, rulership must die,\n            Except the common sway of Deity,\n              When love and service shall together blend,\n            And man, from every earthly master free,\n              Shall recognize his Father and his Friend.\n\n          These ancient prairie dwellers, had no need\n          Of stringent government; a few to lead\n          In seeding and in harvest; some to guide\n          In matters of religion, and of form;\n          The rustic swain, and his compliant bride,\n          To join in wedlock; and in time of storm,\n          To smooth the little intricates of life\n          With counsel, sage, and thus avoiding strife,\n          To guide their budding nation into bloom.\n          All claiming unction from the prophet's shade,\n          Still gave their worship to the god of day,\n          And their oblations on the altar laid.\n          Yet, the responsive accident of fire\n          Could never be recalled--they little knew\n          The secret of its coming; and they shaped\n          No other pebbles like the one so true\n          To Uri's pleadings; still they kept their faith\n          And reared their shapely mounds to meet the sun\n          With his first glance, and from the morning's breath\n          Retain their fervency, till day was done.\n          From out their number, some were set apart\n          For game and chase. The buffalo and deer\n          And wild fowl, all, paid tribute to their skill,\n          And vale and forest echoed with their cheer.\n\n          But one of these, young Wabun, shunned the group,\n          And wandered by the forest streams alone.\n          Some called him \"dreamer\"; others tried to win\n          His mooding back to mirth; but there was none\n          That seemed to reach the center of his soul;\n          He joined not in the worship of his race,\n          And seemed to be so distant in his thought,\n          That one might search the Pleiad's in his face.\n\n          There shone a star upon the eastern rim--\n            So suddenly it shot upon their view,\n          So brilliant and so placid, never dim\n            Through storm and starlight, always lit anew.\n          They marveled much, and some were sore dismayed\n            To seek the portents of this stranger star;\n          But not so, Wabun; he, all unafraid,\n            Hailed it as answer from the dim afar,\n          And showed unwonted pleasure at its sight;\n            His distance seemed to shorten, and his mind\n          Seemed mellowed by a new-born love to man--\n            A quickened tenderness to help his kind.\n\n          \"I wander in the forest; by the stream\";\n          (They gave earnest audience as he spake)\n          \"And underneath the stars--and they all tell\n          The story of a great, forgotten God.\n          I listen to the murmuring of the rain,\n          And to the mighty thunder of the clouds;\n          And see the forked lightning, in its gleam,\n          Strike the great oak to shivers, in its path;\n          I see the maize upon a thousand fields;\n          I see the goodly carpet on the earth--\n          And every grassy thread a miracle--\n          I see the sun upon his track of light,\n          The moon upon her pathway in the sky--\n          And all do tell of this forgotten God.\n          For God is of the living, not the dead:\n          The tree, the sun, the moon, the stars, and all,\n          All fill their places; but are not alive\n\n          \"As we, with thought, and purpose, and design;\n          But each doth turn upon a steady crank\n          Held by a mighty and imperious hand.\n          The bison, and the deer, and all the birds,\n          Have life, and voice, and action, such as we;\n          And yet they have no thought, except to live.\n          They build no houses, lay no harvests up--\n          We are their masters, with the right to kill.\n\n            \"All things pay tribute to our prowent hands;\n          All things we see are provident of us:\n          The sun to ripen, and the moon to watch,\n          The birds and flocks for us to gather flesh,\n          The forests and the prairies for our use,\n          The mines for metal, and the streams for fish--\n          All, all, pay tribute to our wasting hands.\n          Yet we are not a law unto ourselves:\n          Though masters, yet not gods, for we all die\n          And fall back into dust; yet are we great,\n          And greatest of earth's creatures; but for death,\n          We might claim highest unction; but our power\n          Is limited; wherefore, if we are highest type\n          Of creature earth, then must it surely be\n          That God is man, but of a higher mold;\n          Not subject unto death, but Lord of life.\n          And, if all earthly forces must conserve\n          Our being (highest born of all the earth),\n          Then back of us the great Creator stands\n\n          \"Unseen, as is Eternity unseen,\n          But felt, as is each ripple of her waves,\n          Upon the shores of our unstable life.\n          The greater is not seen. We do not see\n          The very thought that holds us in control.\n\n            \"Thus have I doled, and pondered on it well,\n          Until, upon my vision dawned that star;\n          And as upon some errand quickly sent\n          (I know not how I went, I felt so light),\n          I sped upon its rays, o'er vale, and hill,\n          And o'er a vaster water than the lakes--\n          A grand expanse of green and surging waves.\n          And, on, still on, till just before my face\n          A mother, and an infant at her breast,\n          And many seeming wise and stately men\n          Bending in homage and with offerings choice,\n          Of sweetly-scented vintage; then I sought\n          To find the wherefore of this sweet emprize;\n          And I was told this was the Son of God--\n          The One that was to come, the mighty One,\n          Redeemer of the world; that man had sinned\n          And he was come to set at one the race\n          With the All-Father; that we had been made\n          In God's own image; that the sun and moon\n          Were but his handiwork. To Him alone\n          (Invisible, yet always looking on)\n\n          \"Should homage be ascribed. All this was short\n          Yet was it printed on my pliant breast,\n          And cannot be erased. I seek no name\n          And claim no higher homage for the gleam\n          Vouchsafed my vision of the mighty past\n          And prescience of the future; tis enough\n          To know my steps directed, and to feel\n          That in my darkness I have found out God.\n          No more the unknown God, but evermore\n          The ripened type of the diviner man;\n          And as we reap the tokens of his love,\n          Remember him as Father Man of men--\n          The Infinite Perfection of our race.\"\n\n          Much more he said which made a deep impress\n          Upon the hardy hunters, and the less\n          Were those who gave no sanction to his word;\n          The greater portion followed him in thought,\n          And soon in deed. The votaries of the sun\n          Made most malignant onslaught, and they sought\n          To drive the thoughtful Wabun from his \"dream.\"\n          The strife was vain. They in their fervent hope\n          Turn to the East, into the wilderness--\n          The grand Druidic of the Eastern slope,\n          And, hid to all but God, they penetrate\n          The deep recesses of their broad estate.\n\n          The gentle Wabun held for many years\n          His hand upon the pulses of their thought;\n          Sometimes upon their love, sometimes their fears,\n          His fervent purity, its impress wrought.\n          He led them to the thousand untold charms\n          That sparkle on the rugged Eastern slope.\n          He bared to them the great Creator's arms,\n          And, in God's grandest alphabet, he read their highest hope.\n\n          Niagara was but a giant scroll,\n            Whereon God writ a token of his strength;\n          The muttering voice of its unceasing roll\n            Was but a cadence of the mighty length\n          That measures the eternities of life.\n            Its grandeur but one glitter of the gold\n          That played upon his vesture; that the strife\n            Of waters was the stream so cold,\n          Down which humanity as rudely rushed;\n            Without a thought for their eternal good,\n          With all the semblance of the Father crushed,\n            They pass down in the surge of death's unceasing flood.\n\n          The broad Atlantic lashing at the shore,\n            Was human passion--with the balance gone;\n          Endeafening the graces with its roar,\n            And blindly lashing the Eternal throne.\n          Into these miniatures, God thrust himself,\n            That every wave might glitter with his name,\n          That every rock might hold upon its shelf\n            Some semblance that their reverence might claim.\n             The kindlier tokens of paternal care,\n             On Nature's face, were beaming everywhere.\n\n          And yet, how few of us, can truly blend\n            The creature with Creator, in our sight;\n          And from the Father, grasp the hand of friend,\n            Whose stars of providence outshine the night!\n          Our eyes are fettered with an earthly bound,\n            Our narrow horizon will not enlarge;\n          Our gaze, star fixed, will drop back to the ground,\n            And will not with the infinite surcharge.\n          Only God's hand can push the barriers back,\n            And give our vision unimpeded range;\n          And with each respite, on the weary track,\n            Fix the unchangeable, where all is change.\n\n\nRETURN AND STRIFE.\n\n  No wonder, that when Wabun passed away,\n    Their torpid natures should have lost the charm\n  That held so perfect, with its gentle sway,\n    Yet slacked so quickly, with the palsied arm.\n  Infirmities are easy to impart,\n    And through the generations, they come down;\n  But God must place his hand upon each heart,\n    And press each brow where he would drop a crown.\n\n  Long brotherhood of forest, storm and flood,\n    Had schooled them for the turbulence of life.\n  The wraith of Nature made them men of blood;\n    The war of elements, the ocean's strife,\n  The thunder of Niagara now heard,\n    The lashing of Atlantic on the beach,\n  The slogan of the forest--in a word\n    The carnival, at rife, within their reach,\n  All served to spur their natures into storm.\n    How many catch the key-note of their song\n  From the surrounding elements, and warm\n    Their frozen energies, and make them strong\n  In earth's unceasing alchemy! Much more\n    The untutored savage; he has lost the key,\n  And must from Nature's chalice find the door,\n    Through which to penetrate life's mystery.\n\n  And many generations passed away,\n    Since these stern foresters had dwelt apart\n  From their ancestral brethren; till the day\n    When in their higher prowess, from the heart\n  Of the great forest fastnesses, they spring\n    As panthers, on their unsuspecting prey.\n  They have grown strong in weaponry, yet cling\n    To Deity, in their untutored way.\n  The \"happy hunting ground\" to them is Heaven;\n    And the \"Great Spirit\" still to them is God;\n  Yet, from their hearts, all tender passions driven,\n    They smite their brethren with a heavy rod.\n  A long and ceaseless struggle, many years,\n  Alternately, invasion and defense,\n  Till they are driven southward; and the fears,\n  That Kohen's prophecy would be fullfilled\n  And back of this, the agony intense\n  Of impotence in prayer so deeply chilled\n  The hearts of these poor children of the sun,\n  That they gave easy conquest to their foes;\n  And thus the struggle stubbornly begun,\n  So unresisting now, was finished without blows.\n\n  When man is shorn of strength, and there is left\n  Only Omnipotence, we kiss the rod--\n  The very rod that smites us. In the cleft\n  We would attempt to hide from Deity,\n  Yet in his anger is an answered prayer--\n  The consciousness of presence; though we flee,\n  The wrath of love, is proof of constant care.\n  But when we beat against the empty air,\n  And every echo sends us back despair,\n  And even superstition, fails to foil\n  Our souls with the deceptive glow of spoil,\n  Then are we bittered, and our path made black;\n  We grope in mists, Cimmerian, on the wrack\n  Of constant and interminable doubt,\n  A natural prey, and easy put to rout.\n\n  To South, and West, they turn their fateful way\n  Beyond the Mississippi; and their day\n  Seemed lighted with a new influx of hope.\n    The sun embraced them with a warmer smile;\n  The mellow fragrance of the Southern slope\n    Added entrancement each succeeding mile.\n  Not all at once the exodus took place,\n    For they were many, and had scattered wide;\n  Yet to the southward all had set their face\n    To seek in other fields a place to hide\n  From cruel persecutions. When our kin\n    Lends its consanguined arder to the dart,\n  How more intent, with vengeful purposes,\n    How heavier is the load upon the heart!\n\n  They scatter into fragmentary clans,\n    And in the earnest of their added woe,\n  Give birth to new religious phantasies.\n    The unclogged streams of superstition flow,\n  When down the mountains, and across the moors,\n    The heavy, swollen torrents sweep along,\n  Throwing their scattered wrecks upon the shores,\n    And breaking barriers, however strong.\n  Baal was great, when Baalbec reared her crest\n    And column after column gave her grace\n  And all the East upon her beauty smiled;\n    But when the \"owls and bats\" usurped her place,\n  The god had fallen. In the temple dust,\n  Where man, with his immortal, had so strove\n  To make the marble animate (in vain,\n  Like other myriad phantoms of the brain)\n  Time fashions into ghostly hands, that sternly point above.\n  And so, God reaps involuntary praise,\n    From every fashioning of man's design;\n  His ways, indeed, cannot be called our ways;\n    Yet his hozannas, from each crumbling shrine,\n  Teach us the servitude of all the past;\n    That human hands but fashion Heavenly aids;\n    That every sculptured mythmark only fades\n  Into eternal sunshine, at the last.\n\n    Some crossed the mountain ramparts of the West;\n  Some lingered still upon the Eastern slope;\n    The empire yet was open to their zest,\n  And all were buoyant with a new-born hope.\n    But war, like pestilence, doth warp our lives,\n  And like contagion, it infects the air.\n    Peace comes in measure, but it never thrives\n  Directly after conflict, till grows fair\n    The flesh so lately scarred. Intestine war\n  Made ravage of their ranks; they ill could spare\n    Their bravest, yet the first to fall in fratricidal jar.\n  The lines, by conflict, soon were closely drawn,\n  And from the night of struggle nations dawn,\n  Whose chiefs assume the King's prerogative.\n  Clans fall, and clansmen perish; nations live\n  That pass chaotic conflict, and ensphere\n  Their crude material, as a new-born world,\n  To individual phalanxes, and rear\n  Their rude escutcheon. As in ether whirled,\n  The new born planet tracks its trial course;\n    So must this human query find its way,\n  And failure is its fashion; but still worse\n    Are those who fail to grapple with the day,\n  But look supinely on while vested rights\n    Are trampled under foot, and raise no hand\n  In deprecating gesture; from the heights\n    Of grim impartial history will stand\n  Unfading letters, written to the shame\n    Of those whose scourges fail to make a name.\n\n\nPREHISTORIC RENDEZVOUS OF THE AZTECS.\n\n          On either side the crest of the Madre,\n          Where mountains kiss their hands to either sea,\n          One slope to blush upon the opening day,\n            The other, to drop down its tapestry\n          And hold the hand for promise of return,\n          Three nations, as three stars, to being burn.\n          The Toltecs, purest of the primal race,\n          The Chichamecs, devoted to the chase,\n          And Aztecs, strongest in the arts of war--\n          All, seeming thrown beneath one fateful star.\n          No painter limnes upon his labored scroll,\n            Be it fantastic, feast, or forest shades,\n          As war upon its victims; from the soul\n            (Plastic as new damped clay) it never fades\n          Till Time has ironed out the furrowed past;\n            And Peace, by laying fevered brows to rest,\n          Over the present has its mantle cast;\n            Then Nature folds its wardling to its breast.\n          So on these nations had been writ, in brief,\n            The deep-burned liturgy of hardened strife,\n          And through the furnace of their pungent grief,\n            They learn to plant the rootlets of their life.\n          One thing is never lacking, at the time,\n            When in their nascent passions, nations rise:\n          The craft of Priests, in every age and clime,\n            To \"point a moral,\" or portend the skies.\n          And so, from cast-off altars to the sun,\n            New pleadings to new conjured gods arose;\n          The selfish passions since the world begun,\n            All seek supernal outlet on their foes.\n\n          One thing, not far from truth, grew into form:\n            The thought of one great, universal heart,\n          That beat against the window pane of thought,\n            And formed of all existences a part.\n          How near the passions of mankind will verge,\n            Sometimes, upon the borderland of bliss!\n          And all the race is bettered if they urge\n            Continuous march; nor turn their steps amiss;\n          A little light would lead them on to God,\n            And lacking, it the race for ages plod.\n          O that the infant eye of every race\n            Might recognize at once the Master's face!\n          All brought their tribute to Tonatiuh's shrine,\n          Still burnishing the sun with rays divine.\n          True worship strengthens in the wake of years;\n             Its song grows rhythmal with repeated chant;\n          Its beauty lingers, though it disappears;\n             Rekindle, and it melts the adamant.\n          But worship on a purely human base,\n             Though it may work its legends into song\n          And deify the noblest of its race,\n             Can never be unquestionably strong.\n          The happenings of Nature clog its wheels;\n             The elements brush down its cobweb foils;\n          And from its mimicry the heart appeals,\n             And heavenly souls are not for human toils.\n          It is impossible to still the brain\n             By merely human fiat at it thrust;\n          Man journeys out, and he returns again--\n             The Father's voice alone can call him from the dust.\n\n          And yet, each effort of the human soul,\n          To force existence for its latent wings,\n          Is of an energy that leaps control,\n          Whose germ from our immortal nature springs.\n          The very latch-key of the eternal realm,\n          Though touched in ignorance, commands the door.\n          A more than human wisdom guides the helm,\n          As we approach the palm-extending shore.\n          The hungry arms that reach out after God,\n          Are as the infants for the parent's breast;\n          The soul is weary of its fruitless plod,\n          And Nature beckons it to perfect rest.\n          What though the stream be poisoned, if its flow\n            Seeks only the great ocean to be lost;\n            Not long upon its bosom is it tossed,\n          Ere it recovers its old healthful glow.\n          The old-time sparkle of the mountain spring,\n            Gleams in the dew-drop that returns to earth.\n            No poison lurks within the second birth,\n          It ever carries healing on its wing.\n          Thus, howsoe'er the soul may find its way,\n            Over the wilderness to Jordan's plain,\n            It shall not fail of its eternal gain,\n          The night so trackless shall break into day.\n          The saint, whom angels ushered through the gate,\n            With pæans of rejoicing, once did grope\n            And lose his way, and loose his hold on hope--\n          No soul that reaches it is told to wait.\n          God waits upon the effort to reply,\n            And seeing human hands stretch out for aid,\n            His stronger palm is soon upon them laid--\n          Our weakness is the signet he cannot deny.\n\n\nTHE TOLTECS JOURNEY SOUTH.\n\n          The Toltecs were the first to break the way\n            Toward the vertex of the Summer sun;\n          To catch the fervor of his ripest ray,\n            And talismise the pilgrimage begun.\n          And after many days their fasting eyes\n            Are feasted with Mexitli's[A] lovely plain--\n          So like a newly-fashioned paradise,\n            An almost Eden, sprung to life again.\n          Her placid lakes gave back her deep blue sky\n            In rivalry of Nature--Nature's charms\n          Do cast reflected multiples, and try\n            To fold us in with her unnumbered arms.\n          Not all we see, but all we feel, invites,\n            Together with our seeing, to secure\n          An unrestricted homage; all unite\n            In this uncovered world, so rich and pure\n          And lade with sunshine, ripened into form,\n            Concentered rays to leaves and blossoms grown,\n          The larch impendent with its verdant cone,\n            The oak's historic battlement of storm,\n          The cypress mourning and exultant palms,\n            The provident maguey, whose offered alms\n          Found ready acceptation at their hands,\n            The maize, which they had known in northern lands,\n          Were native to her rich and virgin soil\n            And gave the husbandman unstinted spoil.\n\n          And thus, with Nature and themselves at rest,\n          Fresh inspiration from the God of peace\n          Expands and energizes every breast,\n          And fettered manhood labors for release.\n          Invention is emancipation: Time\n          Doth loosen Nature's fetters; man invents\n          Not one of those discoveries sublime\n            That couples his poor name with consequence.\n          The world had moved a million years or so\n            Ere Galileo blundered into prison\n          For telling how we are compelled to go.\n            The fog of superstition had not risen;\n          And he whose brain peered up above the cloud,\n            To widen the horizon of his thought,\n          Must be content to leave the gnarlish crowd\n            Of puppets and of priestcraft who have fought\n          The van of progress, immemorial time,\n            In fear some newly loosened truth might break\n          Some preconcerted dogma, deeming crime\n            The impulsive movement of the soul to slake\n          The thirst that God implanted there, to burn\n            Its way into the hidden and unseen,\n          And find new thoroughfares for its return,\n            And on creation's outer verge new entities to glean.\n          So did these primal pioneers look out\n            Beyond the compass of their husbandry,\n          And challenge their surroundings; manly, stout,\n            And earnest did they seek the mystic tree\n          Of knowledge in this Eden of the West,\n            Not interdicted by Divine decree,\n          But always open to the manly quest\n            And the unflagging purpose to be free.\n          The zodiac gave up its lettered scroll\n            To their inquiries; and the measured year\n          Unsealed the clasp that held it from control,\n            And truths that had seemed very far, revealed themselves\n                quite near.\n\n\n          Their rudely fashioned lodges soon gave way\n            To buildings of a more pretentious form;\n          The forests and the quarries and the clay\n            Were forced to human vassalage. The charm\n          That held the forest templary from spoil\n            Was not entirely broken; after years\n          And Christian conquest must consume the toil\n            And travail of the centuries. Our tears,\n          Are but a poor atonement for the brand\n            Our westward march has made on Nature's back.\n          We mourn our forest fastnesses too late;\n            With hand unbridled we have torn their face,\n          And given legal sanction to their fate--\n            But what companionship can take their place?\n          Nearest to Nature's very heart of hearts,\n            The verdant monarchs beckon us to God;\n          Their benison with life alone departs;\n            They testify of Eden from the sod.\n          O man! that thy perfection should be lost,\n            When so much perfectness is left on earth!\n          How much of bitterness! With what a cost\n            Didst thou forget the sacred touch that hallowed thee\n                at birth!\n\n          The worship of Hurakin, \"Heart of Heaven,\"\n            Spoke of a healthier, higher growth of soul,\n          The consciousness of sins to be forgiven;\n            A god, whom weakness could at once control;\n          A prophecy, of Fatherhood to come;\n            A ray that pencils from the \"great white throne;\"\n          A voice to energies, that had been dumb\n            For many centuries--prophetic groan\n          Of man's insatiate thirst for betterment,\n            Not all in vain. The white-winged dove of peace\n          For many years was theirs; they came and went\n            Beyond their borders, without let or lease;\n          Found sunnier climes to South; and, as a charm\n            Was laid upon their footsteps, they advance\n          To hover closer to their ancient god.\n            They still were pliant to his fateful glance,\n          And scanned his burnished surface to inquire\n            His potency in human destiny.\n          They had forgot the legend of his fire,\n            Yet, from his searching, steadfast eye, not one of them\n                were free.\n\n          So pass they out from the historic ken--\n            Theirs, no aggressive way-mark on the earth.\n          We linger on their passage, and the pen\n            Would gladly pour regret upon the dearth\n          Of the indentures they have left to mark\n            Their peaceful, noiseless tread upon the shore;\n          But it is vain; yet out of all this dark,\n            One lesson may we glean: That evermore\n          The souls that move with nature on her march\n            Are those who drop, as she drops down her leaves;\n          They fill the earth with fruitfulness, and arch\n            The highway of the nations with their sheaves;\n          They sleep to history, but wake to God;\n            Theirs is the pass-key through eternal gates;\n          They write no vengeful Sanscrit on the sod;\n            They linger at no earthly court, but the recording seraph\n                waits\n          To write them blessed of the Lord, the jewels of the fates.\n\n\nTHE AZTECS--AZTLAN.\n\n          The silver current of the upper Grande,\n            And where the Gila penetrates the East,\n          The Zuni lines its rocky bed with sand,\n            New ground from granite that has been released\n          From mountain base. The vertebrate Madre\n            Breaks into several center-stays of spine,\n          Which form the watershed that feeds the sea,\n            On either side the sunny slopes recline.\n          Where Coronado laid in after years\n            The scepter of his Sovereign, and bespoke\n          The unbroke silence, as the cycle nears\n            The bending of the neck to Hispagniola's yoke.\n\n          Here was the fabled Aztlan; and the race,\n            Whose ancestry had circled half the globe,\n          Have now their latest destiny to face.\n            O! could they peer the darkness through, and probe\n          The deep recesses of impending time!\n            Look for one moment on what was to be!\n          How would they cling to this rude mountain clime,\n          And bar the door of their futurity!\n\n          The Aztecs were a proud and prowent race;\n          In the dispersal at the far Northeast,\n          Now many years, they held the leading place;\n          Yet, in their husbandry, they were the least.\n          Their hands were skilled to turbulence and strife;\n          The bow, the lance, and the rude hunter's knife--\n          Such were their ready implements; but peace\n          Found them all unacquainted; her surcease\n          Requires a range of weaponry diverse.\n          The hands that hew down others, lips that curse,\n          Both must be newly christened; and the arts\n          That unify the race with nature's ways\n          Must hard their hands and reimburse their hearts,\n          And time their lips with sunnier kinds of lays.\n\n          As if to fill the interim, there grew\n          From their own ranks, the fittest kind of guide,\n          A pastoral leader; who by instinct knew\n          The flowery paths that lead on either side\n          The verdant fields of husbandry and thrift;\n          The worthy Moctheuzoma[B] had this gift,\n          And led them to the conquest of the soil--\n          That easy conquering that seeks its spoil\n          Only where God intended it for man,\n          The fruits of his own labor. Thus began\n          An era of self-discipline, that led\n          The Aztecs on to greatness; and that shed\n          A tender halo over after years,\n          When memory will mingle with our tears.\n\n          He turned their eyes upon the talcite ledge,\n          And said: \"Behold, this is Tonatuah's pledge\n          Of providence against the Summer's heat\n          And the cold frosts of Winter; quarry it,\n          And fashion it for framework to your homes.\n          For centuries it has withstood the storm,\n          \"To wait upon your coming; let your feet\n          Be busy with its treasures.\" Then he turned\n          To where the clay, for years, had been inurned,\n          And said: \"Make use of this; 'tis Thaloc's[C] gift.\n          The mighty thunderer hath torn it down,\n          And ground it into ashes, for your use;\n          Mold it in shapely fragments, and the sun,\n          The warm-faced Tonatuah, will pour out\n          His warmest rays to bake it back to stone.\n          And more, this pliant clay has aptitudes\n          For vessels of all kinds, and yours are rude;\n          So in a hundred ways you may improve.\"\n\n            Then, pointing to the forest, thus he spoke:\n          \"There Tonatu' and Thaloc both did shake\n          Their well-filled branches to the earth for us,\n          That we might gather fruit, for any taste.\n          These noble trees have swelled the turf for years,\n          And now will bend the neck for our support.\n          We must be provident; for they do point\n          Their myriad fingers to the hands that gave,\n          Mute monitors, to beckon us of Heaven.\n\n          \"The fish and fowl, and all the vast menage\n          That track our mountain slopes, are all our own.\n          But look out on the earth, whose grassy turf\n          Lifts up its thousand homages to Heaven;\n          \"Whence must we gather fruit of our own toil.\n          The maize will grow if planted; the legume\n          Will ripen; and our hands will surely fill,\n          If we but ask the earth and gods to help\n          And second our endeavors. We must work.\n          The river, from the mountain, rushes on;\n          The mountain shakes its thousand plumes at her;\n          The stars do not keep quiet in the skies;\n          All nature is alert and on the watch;\n          And man must bear his burden at the mill.\"\n\n          Thus, did he lead them to their better selves,\n            And ravel out the intricates of life\n          In wisdom's stern and simple litany;\n            Gave trenchent lessons to the man and wife,\n          And scattered homes upon new harvest fields.\n            And he, who sets a household altar up,\n          And sanctifies it with the name of home,\n            Fresh sprinkled from the sacred nuptial cup,\n          Is Heaven's Ambassador in human form.\n            The hearthstone is the herald of advance;\n          The hanging of each homely crane, like one\n            Of God's unnumbered irridescent plants,\n          Sheds rainbow hues on all it shines upon,\n            And blessings bend each limb upon its tree.\n          Thrice happy is the nation thus begun,\n            For it has found the track of destiny.\n          The mines he opened, and laid bare the beds\n            Of precious minerals that underlie\n          The bases of our mountain chains.\n            \"For all our wants, we have a full supply,\"\n          Thus spake the seer. \"We shall not beat in vain\n          Against the bars that keep our souls from flight.\n          Our birth is built around by providence;\n          Our wants are wickets to unmeasured wealth.\n          If we but find the turnstile to the field,\n          We have but half the hill of life to climb;\n          The other half fades out as we advance;\n          When we have toiled out half-way distance up,\n          Lo! we have found the summit, and descend.\n\n          \"Thus do we work together with the gods;\n          If we but do our best, it is enough;\n          When we put out our arms, they reach to us,\n          Though they do span the universe, to meet\n          And draw us up, the shining heights of life.\n          So in our daily plodding; if we sow,\n          The gods will furnish harvest; if we build,\n          The gods have made the quarry and the clay;\n          Whatever purposes we have in life,\n          If they be only for our betterment,\n          The crude material is at our hands;\n          We only fashion it to suit our wants;\n          Nor is the measure stinted to our needs,\n          But all our vessels fill to overflow\n          \"Look over the green fields! Great is our want,\n          But greater the supply; on every hand\n          The wild flowers lift their heads, and what are these\n          But kisses thrown from Heaven to win us back?\n          Our appetites are but our weaker parts,\n          And easy satisfied; not so our souls;\n          They have external longings to supply;\n          And all that beautifies and brightens earth\n          Are forecasts of a kingdom yet to come.\n          As on earth's surface may be found the flowers,\n          So, underneath the shining metals are\n          The surplus of a generous providence.\n          Our fathers, on the borders of the lakes,\n          Did fashion implements of husbandry\n          From inexhaustive mines; but here we have\n          In lesser quantities, much brighter ores,\n          Fit mostly for adornment and exchange.\n\n          \"Man is not satisfied with 'hand to mouth.'\n          The beasts roam through the forests and are filled,\n          And therewith are content; not so with man.\n          Two worlds break on his vision; and the one\n          Must interlock the other in his life,\n          Or he goes blindly out into the night.\n          And it is well earth gives no perfect rest,\n          Or the hereafter would fall out of sight.\n          Man is the one ambitious animal\n          Who seeks for empire, as the brute seeks food;\n          The tame necessities are not enough,\n          But all the precious under flowers of earth\n          Must fill the measure of his discontent.\n          All men are not alike, and some must hold\n          The fullest measure of life's luxuries;\n          These pay their surplus for the others' toil;\n          With them the shining metals will be held\n          As medium for barter and for trade.\n          And as Earth decks her bosom with the flowers,\n          So will the human race adorn themselves\n          And blossom out with variance of gems.\"\n\n          Though, still encumbered with their ancient myths,\n            He pointed out the harmony of Heaven;\n          Gave why and wherefore to the dread eclipse.\n            Not his to tell them how the earth is driven\n          Upon its swinging orbit over space;\n            And yet he measured out the perfect year;\n          He looked stern Nature bravely in the face,\n            And seemed to question her without a fear.\n          Transcendent genius; thus to grapple Truth\n            Across the path still covered from his sight,\n          Yet is she merciful; her name is Ruth;\n            She never perches on so grand a height,\n          But she will answer to her children's call,\n            And spread her wings to fly to their embrace--\n          This link was never broken by our fall,\n            And writes Evangel on our troubled race.\n          With his own hand he led them to the field,\n          With his own hand he taught them how to build;\n          He showed them what true husbandry would yield,\n          How all their empty measures could be filled\n          By wakeful industry. \"Well pointed toil\n          Is touchstone to earth's treasure-box,\" said he.\n          \"Our fathers may enrich us with their spoil,\n          And we may thus evade the beaten path;\n          Yet, lying dormant on our fathers' beds,\n          Our waste brings want upon our children's heads.\n          Far better that each hand be labor-marked,\n          That all may know the purchase of their lives;\n          He loses half the journey who goes out\n          To the incertitudes of other worlds,\n          Who has not tasted what his hands have won\n          On this, his trial sphere.\"\n\n          Thus in well-chosen words, and earnest deeds,\n          He planted fruit that crowded out the weeds.\n          Ruled by divinest right of master-mind,\n          By wisdom and humility combined,\n          By heart, as well as head and hand, he wrought;\n          For there be many who can ne'er be taught\n          By any else than throbbing 'gainst their own,\n          Of some great royal heart; this is their throne;\n          And he who sways in scepterhood of love,\n          Gets his vicegerent from the throne above.\n          Through many years did Moctheuzoma reign;\n          And Aztlan prospered, and the race grew strong;\n          And when his body passed to earth again,\n          His spirit, with its wisdom, lingered long.\n\n          Thus, with a twilight halo pass the great\n            Across the threshold with a noiseless tread;\n          We linger but a moment at the gate\n            To pay our homage to the honored dead;\n          Then turn to find them still inurned with us.\n            Their silence is more eloquent than words,\n          Their passing out is but life's overplus,\n            Their tongues are tempered into two-edged swords.\n          They speak across the chasm of their graves,\n            In weightier words, in thoughts far more intense;\n          In life they mingled with its thousand waves--\n            It is God's way; death ripens eloquence.\n\n          Time trolls along with its unceasing march,\n            And Aztlan has outgrown her former bounds;\n          She holds the center of the ancient arch,\n            On the historic ladder's highest rounds.\n          She sways the queenly scepter of the past\n          Above the waymarks of a hundred realms;\n          Yet leaves but hints of the grand overcast,\n          Through which she burns her way, and overwhelms\n          Our thoughts with all the possibles of time.\n          We can but poorly comprehend, yet write her most sublime.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[A] Mexitli, Toltec for Mexico, also the god of war.\n\n[B] Moctheuzoma, the original Aztec name for Montezuma, commonly spoken\nof as the Elder Montezuma, a pastoral leader still remembered in their\nlegends.\n\n[C] Thaloc, the Aztec god of the lightning.\n\n\n\n\nPART THIRD.\n\nANAHUAC.[D]\n\n\nTHE AZTEC'S JOURNEY AND SETTLEMENT SOUTH.\n\n          Another turn of fortune's fickle wheel.\n            They journey to the South, and cast their lot\n          Upon Mexitli's lovely plain; the heel\n            Of other nations has forestalled the spot,\n          And they must win their way through turbulence\n            To reach the border of the placid lake,\n          Where conquest waits their hardly purchased chance;\n            And all of Anahuac shall feel the shake\n          Of their unconquered tread. Not many years\n            Ere nation follows nation to their thrall;\n          And many are the hot, convulsive tears,\n            Through which we read of any people's fall.\n          Our homes and hearthstones are so near the same,\n          Or column-capped, or made of homely clay--\n            Marble and gold can make no higher claim\n            Than thatch or brushwood, so they bear the name\n          Of household, hallowed for centuries or held but for a day.\n          As if to track a thousand similes\n          Of thorn and rose, of laughter and of tears,\n          War strikes its hand upon all sacristies;\n          (Religion must be bent to its decrees)\n          Holding our destinies--our hopes and fears\n          Are all within its baleful balance thrown.\n          It beats upon the organ of our lives, and history repeats\n                the wild, discordant moan.\n          So nations, whose lost anchorage must pay\n          The penalty of their forgetfulness,\n          Seek out phantasmal deities to prey\n          Upon their vitals in their sore distress.\n\n            Mars, or Mexitli[E]: though the one be crowned\n          With all the glory that bedecks old Rome,\n          The idols of the other, fiercely ground\n          To powdered pulp by Spain's invading host.\n          How much of agony they both have cost\n          Ask of the millions lost to life and home!\n          Ambition makes a Cæsar: it is well\n            It gives some recompense for all its crime;\n          For it has made the earth an endless hell,\n            Crowding its woes upon the lap of time--\n          And yet, religion spurs it to the test,\n            And priests have been the primates of its throne,\n          Chanting their auguries to fire its breast,\n            Braying all history with their undertone.\n          Nor is the \"manger,\" with its cradled Christ,\n            Free from the misinterpreting of Priest.\n            The cross where God and man have kept their tryst,\n          Been changed to leaven for inglorious feast--\n            God! must future draw its cadence from the past,\n          And plow its furrow through the same red mould?\n            Must nations be in the same furnace cast,\n          And man, the master, bought, and scourged, and sold?\n          Then is creation but a lie accursed,\n          And better that the doom upon it burst.\n          No. Though experience may slowly turn,\n          And man may learn as slowly, yet we learn.\n          The risen Christ did break the grasp of death,\n          And empire, dead in trespasses, will yet receive its breath.\n\n          Aztlan must pass through all the fated field\n            Of mythologic peculence and lore,\n          And to their sturdy priestcraft blindly yield,\n            To cipher out the destinies in store.\n          They must propitiate the gods with blood,\n            Especially their war-god must be fed,\n          And to supply their deities with food\n            Their fated subjects must be freely bled.\n          So superstition whets the fatal blade,\n            Which culminates in human sacrifice.\n          The maw of Huitzilopotchli[F] must be stayed,\n            And altars with their thousand victims rise.\n          Sad proof of imperfection in the race,\n            Nay, more, the very demon in the breast;\n          Their ignorance alone is plea for grace,\n            When in their filthiness they stand confessed.\n          \"Ye must be born again,\" the Savior said;\n            And history, through time, has craved this birth.\n          Man and his Maker must indeed be wed,\n            If we would bring redemption to the earth.\n          The empty riddle of the crucifix,\n            The shallow rattle of the Christian creeds,\n          Will leaven nothing if we fail to mix\n            The ripened grain of soul-inspiring deeds.\n          The past accuses us with bony hands;\n            We cannot shun its cold and cruel eyes;\n          The glass is turning with our future sands--\n            We face eternal destinies. God grant we be more wise!\n\n\nTHE EMPIRE OF MONTEZUMA.\n\n          The Star looked down at the Mountain;\n            And the Mountain looked down at the Sea;\n          And there was no malice in either one's breast,\n            Each was called by the Deity\n          To fill its place in the region of space\n            Of the fathomless Yet-to-be.\n          The Star didn't fall on the Mountain,\n            Nor the Mountain smite the sea;\n          But each gave cheer in the other's ear,\n            And they dwelt in harmony.\n          Why didn't the Mountain say to the Star:\n            \"Begone, with your impudent stare!\"\n          Or the Sea to the Mountain: \"How dare you intrude,\n            You presumptuous imp of the air?\"\n          Why didn't they? they were not human;\n            They couldn't talk, as we talk;\n          They were not born of a woman;\n            They never had learned to walk.\n\n          They had learned the language of patience;\n            They had learned to bear, and be dumb;\n          They had learned to hold, through heat and cold,\n            Their load, till the Master should come.\n          O infinite language of silence!\n            O eloquent, voiceless speech!\n          Help us to bear the ills that are,\n            And fetter us each to each,\n          Till all our envy goes out with the Sea,\n            And our malice goes out with the star,\n          And we silently bear what is to be--\n            Like the Mountain--gazing afar\n          To the infinite depths of an endless world,\n            Where eternity spreads its zone,\n          Where planets, countless as grains of sand,\n            Gaze out on the \"great white throne.\"\n          The pale-faced prophet Quetzalcoatl[G]\n            Had gone to the rising sun;\n          In his wizard boat he was seen to float,\n            To where the day was begun,\n          Without a sail on the wings of the gale,\n            For the land of Tlappalan[H]\n          He waved back his followers from the sea,\n            Saying he would certainly come again,\n          In the golden future, yet to be,\n            And the gods should dwell on the earth as men.\n          They had made him a god, because he was good--\n            Not always the case in the mystic love--\n          They had carved his image in stone and wood,\n            And his shrines were built on the pyramid's floor.\n          They called him the god of the earth and air,\n            And his legends were many, and often told;\n          And the priests, with sacrifice and prayer,\n            Reaped a heavy harvest of fruit and gold.\n          And oft were their faces turned to the East,\n            To claim _his_ promise, who _was_ to come;\n          And they watched the surge of the gulf's green yeast,\n            And yet the years had continued dumb.\n\n\n          Nezahualcoyotl sleeps with his fathers,[I]\n            And his son now reigns in his stead;\n          His _goodness_ succeeds to the living,\n            But his _wisdom_ goes out with the dead,\n          For both in the Lord of Tezcuco\n            Had been richly and happily wed.\n          Two nations, strike hands o'er the waters,\n            Tezcuco and Aztlan are one,\n          By the league that their fathers had plighted,\n            Since they entered this land of the sun.\n          So, the King of their neighbor, Tezcuco,\n            Has come to the Aztec Court,\n          To assist them in crowning the Monarch,\n            A Prince of much goodly report.\n          He is found on the steps of the temple;\n            He has served, both as warrior and Priest;\n          He has brought many victims to slaughter--\n            The realm has been greatly increased\n          By the sturdy sway of his conquering arm.\n            And now, he is called to reign,\n          The last of his race, to fill the place,\n            Whose honor shall prove but a life-long pain.\n\n          Montezuma[J] was young, but his sword was old,\n          And the war-god was glutted with victims and gold.\n          A pledge of his prowess: a promise to fate,\n          That the nation would prosper, the King prove great.\n          Some men are great in sorrow--there be tears\n          That crystalize to diamonds at the last.\n          They need the weight of carbonizing years;\n          Yet, how they glitter after these have past!\n          Life needs the tempering at such a forge,\n          Or it would brittle at the lightest touch;\n          But when the burden is but one vast gorge,\n          The weary soul must cry, \"It is too much.\"\n\n          Nezahualpilli[K] places the crown on his head,\n          And the victims bleed, and the altars burn;\n          The words of admonishment all are said,\n          And the buoyant crowd to their homes return.\n          \"The King is dead!\" \"Long live the King!\"\n          \"Hail!\" and \"farewell!\" how closely tread\n          The steps of the living upon the dead!\n          How are both touched with a single spring!\n          Nezahualpilli soon passes away,\n          And the rival King, he so lately crowned,\n          Divides his Kingdom, and makes a prey,\n          A figment, with empire's empty sound.\n          And Montezuma outleaps the King;\n          But is lord of an empire reaching the sea;\n          And many nations their tribute bring,\n          And some of the weak to the southward flee,\n          To pass the reach of his powerful arm,\n          And lift new prodigies to the sky,\n          To meet Earth's sunshine, shadow, and storm,\n          To finish the race, to falter and die.\n\n          He gathers his treasures from myriad mines.\n          The cotton and aloe are wove into cloth.\n          The banana and maize and wild forest vines,\n          While they load to repletion, are proof against sloth.\n          His palace is burnished with every hue\n            Of the rainbow tints of his fabulous land,\n            Where Nature entravails on every hand\n          To bring new beauties of life to view.\n          There are drapes of feather-cloth deftly made,\n          There were plumes and plushes of richest craft,\n          There were broidered robes where the colors played,\n          Like the hands that made them, dainty and daft.\n          His harem equaled his Ottoman peer,\n            There was beauty of every hue and mold--\n            The shy and the gay, the demure and bold--\n          That his provinces furnished from far and near.\n            As fine a collection of beauty and grace,\n            Of the flashing eye and the beaming face,\n          As is seen on the gates of the Euxine sea\n          At the present day, where the \"powers that be,\"\n            With the Union Jack floating above the rest,\n            Secures to that ill-omened bird its nest.\n            Their Teocallas[L] rose on every hand,\n            And half a hundred gods their worship claim;\n          Their priestcraft is a strong and haughty band;\n            Their Beckets and their Woolseys are the same\n          As those that cling upon the neck of time\n            Through all the feudal ages; we may choose\n          The leeches of the Christian Church as best--\n            They sucked the blood the State could not refuse,\n          And so did these bedizzened, of the West.\n            _These_ led their victims to the altars black,\n          _Those_ wasted theirs by torturing and pain,\n            The fatal \"itztli,\" gave the parting shock\n          To Aztec's victims; but a blacker stain\n            Rests on thy skirts, thou bloody-mantled Spain!\n          Thou the avenger of a human wrong?\n            As well might Lucifer enrobe as saint,\n          An earthquake key the carol of a song,\n            Or old Caligula[M] bring a complaint!\n          \"They slew their thousands!\" yes; and what did'st thou?\n            Thy thousands in the shadow of the cross;\n          They took not on their perjured lips thy vow;\n            Thy gold they did not mingle with their dross.\n          Through all the dark of ages did they grope;\n            Through all the light of empire did'st thou graze;\n          They pinioned superstition to their hope;\n            The monody of hell was mingled with thy praise.\n          Go back! and scour the oxyd from the gem\n            Thy lips have turned to ebony, and paint\n          Humiliation on thy doorsteps. Stem!\n            Stem the black pool of Styx! and find a saint\n          Whose blood shall gain forgiveness for thy past;\n            But count no beads upon the path of time--\n          Earth's execration is too justly cast--\n            Thy very name, a synonym of crime!\n\n          They had their courts where justice was dispensed\n            With what would shame the Janus-faced machine\n          We call our jurisprudence. They commenced\n            What Christian polity was left to glean,\n          To her advantage in the after time.\n            We write \"anathema\" above the gates\n          Of what we choose to call \"barbaric clime;\"\n            And yet, the blinded goddess often waits\n          To gather wisdom at _her_ bare, black feet\n            Which, bruised and blistered, tread the narrow way\n          To where the graces uninspired meet\n            And superstition's night breaks into day.\n\n          They held the bond of family and home\n            As firmly as more favored nations hold;\n          Their homes were castles, where no man could come\n            Without the potent ses-a-me of gold.\n          The wealthy pluralized the name of wife\n            (As many Bible patriarchs once did),\n          Their virtue was the average of life--\n            There were excrescences not easy hid.\n          Yet woman was more near her half of earth\n            Than she had reached in most of Christendom.\n          She held her value and could claim her worth;\n            Not bartered with the readiness of some\n          Self-styled enlightened. Much is to be learned\n            In corners of the earth that we call \"dark,\"\n          Where jewels are for centuries inurned\n            That torches of enlightenment may tarnish with a spark.\n\n          We lay rude hands on temples not our own,\n            Nor little heed the human souls enshrined;\n          The sacred crevice of each hard-marked stone\n            But coldly cover with the virdict, \"blind.\"\n          God help us, that we point a hand more pure,\n            And raise the casement with a grander trust;\n          The hands that lift it must indeed be clean,\n            Or comes the humbling challenge, \"Is it just?\"\n          One \"great white throne\" shall judge us, one and all;\n            One great white Hand shall hold the scales of fate,\n          Or clothed in light, or covered with a pall,\n            We tread the way through one eternal gate.\n          God grant the temples we so rudely spoil,\n            May not accuse us when we stand alone!\n          But hearts are human things, and they do coil\n            The infinite in blindness. Not a groan\n          Escapes the index of the Father Son.\n            A child in blindness still is but a child,\n          And held with greater yearning to be won.\n            Our cold, hard hands cannot be reconciled\n          To one warm Heart that throbs for all mankind,\n            And covers, with a common love, the race;\n          And leads, with greater tenderness, the blind,\n            That they more closely feel His clasp, who cannot see His\n                face.\n\n          The arts of husbandry were well advanced:\n            They sowed and reaped unstinted from the soil;\n          The sun, with ripening fervor, on them glanced,\n            And gave them back, a hundred fold, their toil.\n          They had not lost their ancient faith in him,\n            Though other gods their scattered homage claim\n          His breast was their Elysian; never dim\n            The ancient hope that hung upon his name.\n          Their maize and maguey shone upon the plain,\n            Their chocolate gave nourishment and zest,\n          The corn gave recompense for sugar-cane,\n            Their banquets were provided with the best;\n          Fish from the ocean, fruits from every clime,\n            So diverse, yet within such easy reach;\n          The tropics and the temperates enchime\n            With all their plumaged babblings of speech;\n          And they interpreted the varied whims\n            That Nature holds embryoed in her breast.\n          They climbed the boughs and shook her heaviest limbs,\n            Too burdened for the garner to be missed.\n          This ancient mother never yet has failed\n            Her children in their earnest search for food;\n          She may be panoplied and heavy mailed,\n            Yet does her larder furnish all when fully understood.\n\n          Take all in all, and measure by the test--\n            The stern, hard test of history--and we find\n          That Aztlan, very far from being best,\n            Still was a prodigy. That she was blind\n          In her religious ethics, none deny;\n            That she had faults, no champion gainsays;\n          She lifted bloody hands against the sky;\n            She filled the avenging measure of her days.\n          But God is God, and man is always man;\n            And earthly judgment is at best a snare.\n          And never, since the human race began,\n            Has turned to Heaven more piteous despair\n          Than her sad eyes, burnt out with agony;\n            Moaning above her nation, and her name,\n          The bitter monody of \"Not to be,\"\n            The deep humiliation, and the shame\n          That sent her crouching at the foot of Spain;\n            (The fairest daughter of the wilderness)\n          Without a hand to solace in her pain,\n            Or ray of hope to lighten her distress.\n\n          Could she been gently led, and tenderly,\n            To higher life and holier resolve,\n          Had charity bent forth her noble sway,\n            The Christian graces that with Earth revolve\n          Without the wasting friction, paid their suit\n            To win her back to wakefulness from sin--\n          How would she compensate the victor's hand,\n            And kiss the rod that smote with its regard!\n          But to be \"drawn and quartered\" like the brute,\n            And made the sport of passion; to begin\n          A life of vassalage, with such a slave\n            Yclept as master, claiming from above\n          The license that Jehovah never gave\n            Except the iron hand was woven o'er with love--\n          It is too much! God's justice is not lame.\n            Hypocrisy may steal and wear the cloak,\n          And don the ermine, with its fair, false claim;\n            With crucifix and litany may croak;\n          But Time o'ertakes it and it falls to earth\n            Like Judas on its immolating sword,\n            And it must learn to curse its hour of birth.\n          It is the pledge of destiny--the stern, unwritten word.\n\n\nTHE LANDING OF THE SPANIARDS.\n\n          The Courier[N], new laden from the coast,\n          Has hastened to the council of the King\n          With most portentious tidings: picture-prints\n          That tell of boats that float upon the wing;\n          And pale-faced warriors, clad in shining scales.\n          The monarch hears with trembling; he has long\n          Looked for the coming of great Quetzalcoatl,\n          And, though he felt his nation to be strong,\n          Yet had he feared his reign would be the last.\n          The oracles had read him overcast,\n          With some impending destiny--the ruse\n          Which priests have always found to compass their abuse.\n\n          The chiefs of church and state are all convened\n            To canvas, and compare their theories,\n          And much of wisdom surely can be gleaned\n            From these firm-visaged counsellors of his;\n          And Montezuma[O] is the first to speak--\n            His dark, sad eyes are beautifully bright;\n          He was not philosophic like the Greek,\n            And yet his words made glitter of the night:\n\n          \"We swing upon the hinges of our fate,\n          Most reverend priests and worthy counsellors,\n          And it is well we counsel and conform\n          Our future to the fashion of events.\n          The rising sun has sent inquiring rays\n          For many years, to greet our coming god,\n          And lo! he now turns back from Tlapalan;\n          \"And what must we, but welcome his advance?\n          Ye long have held me kindred of the gods;\n          Yet I deny me what your partial eyes\n          Have kenned upon my unassuming face.\n          I am as other men, though more advanced;\n          And if great Quetzalcoatl takes back my crown,\n          I bow in humble vassalage to him.\n          For what am I, to question his advance?\n          A moth, upon the torches' fervent ray;\n          An anthill, at the foot of 'Catapetl.\n\n          And I have sometimes thought most worthy priests,\n          That we have drawn the lightning from the cloud\n          By a mistaken worship of the gods.\n          No one will question my religious zeal,\n          For I brought many victims to the block;\n          But human blood doth have a subtile voice\n          That reaches ears our eyes have never seen;\n          And though the itztli opens to the heart,\n          Some heart may beat far out in open space\n          That whispers its avengement on the air.\n          Our gods have brought us victory, 'tis true;\n          And yet, great Nezahualcoyotl did spurn\n          The shedding of all human blood, to gods;\n          And when great Quetzalcoatl was on the earth,\n          Our gods were satisfied with other blood.\n          The angels of the mighty past cry out\n          Against the damning practice. Why not now,\n          \"For once and all, wash off our bloody hands?\n          These human cries pierce farther than we know;\n          These human souls may ride into the sun;\n          We cannot claim his broad, uncumbered breast,\n          To the exclusion of the rest of earth.\n          The god of earth and air may come to judge\n          At this dark moment for this very sin;\n          Then let us look him boldly in the face,\n          And if we have offended, make amends;\n          If our mistaken zeal has overdone,\n          Surely his heart will cover up our faults,\n          And we may thus propitiate his wrath.\"\n\n          Then rose the ancient High Priest, Tlalocan,[P]\n          And in his sternest manner, thus he spake:\n          \"Great Montezuma! king, of earthly kings!\n          The heart of Tlalocan is bruised and broke\n          To hear the words his monarch has vouchsafed\n          Such sacrilege belongeth not to kings;\n          Great Huitzilopotchli must, indeed, be strayed,\n          Or, he will shake his thunders on the earth,\n          And, strike the Aztecs from the face of him.\n          War is the wastage of all human flesh,\n          And whether man be stricken on the field,\n          Or, with the sacred itztli, offered up,\n          The measure must be met with human blood.\n\n\n          \"Thy empire has been purchased at this price,\n          And cannot otherwise perpetuate.\n          The earth and heaven, both have set their mark\n          Upon the bosom of the placid lake;\n          And by the coming of those fiery stars,\n          That flashed their baleful faces in the sky,\n          All omenous that anger brooded o'er,\n          The gods have read the purpose of your soul;\n          And thus forwarn you that you must retract.\n          They cry for victims and must be appeased;\n          They gave you conquest without stay or stint,\n          When you did furnish, full to their desire;\n          But there are few within the shambles now,\n          And they must be replenished, or the doom,\n          That has forshadowed on the Eastern sky,\n          Will flash and fall upon your naked head.\n          Great Quetzalcoatl will come and strike you down,\n          And grind you into ashes in his wrath.\"\n\n          Then spoke the sturdy Counselor Teuhtlile[Q]:\n          \"Tlalocan holds the nearest place to heaven,\n          And in his zeal, doth sound the ready key\n          That rhythms with your empire. We must suit\n          Our action with his words, or we are lost.\n          These pale-faced warriors must be met with alms;\n          The gods must be appeased with fresh supplies.\n\n\n          \"Let me, myself, go down upon the coast,\n          And with our ready painters bring you back\n          A full account of what we look upon.\n          And if, perchance, these be the van of him\n          Whose coming we have watched these many years,\n          Then will we counsel further the emprise,\n          And in the watch and wake of all events,\n          Be not o'ertaken, but forestall the time.\"\n\n          \"Your counsel has the sanction it desires;\n          I would not measure lances with the gods,\"\n          The monarch answered: \"In the dust I bend,\n          And plead the weakness of a human heart.\n          The South shall furnish victims for the block;\n          And Teuhtlile shall repair him to the coast;\n          The dread monition of the flaming stars\n          May be evaded with our ready zest.\n          Our gold and precious stones, with lavish hand,\n          Shall be poured out to coy them from our track;\n          For what are all the earth's indulgences,\n          Against the smiling favor of the gods?\"\n\n          \"Repair thou to the coast, my good Teuhtlile,\n          With plenteous retinue, and goodly stores;\n          With cotton fabrics of the latest cast;\n          With shields and cuirasses inlaid with gold;\n          The burnished mirror of the fervent sun;\n          The silver shining circlet of the moon;\n\n          \"With robes of feather-cloth made rich with pearls;\n          And other trophies that your tact shall find.\n          Receive them kindly, as becomes their state;\n          And let thy wisdom gather in the full,\n          Their purpose and intent upon our land;\n          It may fall out they are as other men,\n          Unsanctioned at the chambers of the gods,\n          Yet must our moderation pave the way,\n          Till we have fully compassed their intent.\"\n\n          So said, so done; the embassy went forth\n            To meet the wily Spaniard on the coast;\n          They little dreamed of what a forest fox\n            They had to meet; they little knew the boast\n          That hung upon the challenge of their fate.\n            Their superstitions made them ready prey;\n          They opened wide their hospitable gate,\n            And gave the jewel of their life away.\n          It mattered little how they forced it back,\n            And tried to parley with their destiny;\n          The hungry lion was upon their track,\n            And they were lost forever and for aye.\n\n          Done in the name of Christ? Oh, spare the word!\n            Let not the Nazarene be buffeted;\n          Gold was the souvenir; the pitying Lord\n            Was, with this nation, just as deeply bled.\n          Their superstitions were the ready springs\n            The Spaniards played upon to break their hearts;\n          Deceit, as damnable as serpents' stings,\n            Barbed with its cruel spines their poisoned darts.\n\n          The embassy returned, and others went;\n            Still could they not force back this coming cloud--\n          The steady purpose and the black intent,\n            That wove with cunning fingers at their shroud.\n          Had Spain come as the Pilgrims at Cape Cod,\n            Or Penn upon the Delaware, to lead\n          The Aztec back to fatherhood and God,\n            And let their sturdy manhood for them plead,\n          How ready could their faces been upturned,\n            And hearts been melted into Christian mold!--\n          The brand of hell was on their bare backs burned,\n            And they were ground to ashes for their gold!\n\n          Did Christ e'er suffer such supreme disgrace?\n            Or on the cross; or in Gethsemane?\n          Did heavier drops of blood stand on his face\n            Than there were forced by this foul treachery?\n          Oh! how the patient Nazarene must bend\n            And break beneath fresh crosses every day--\n          Fresh Judases betraying him as friend,\n            And scorpions to sting him in the way!\n          Thank God! the time is coming when, as Judge,\n            The Man of Sorrows, ermined and supreme,\n          No longer as a packhorse or a drudge,\n            Shall hold the scales and watch the balance beam!\n\n          How heavy did he make the widow's mite;\n            How do the tears of men bend down the scale;\n          How ponderous is a pennyweight of right;\n            How do the little things of life prevail!\n          The Spanish Conquest, sometime, will be tried\n            Against the heart Malinche[R] threw away,\n          And Aztec's tears be placed against your pride.\n            O Hispagniola! you will rue the day--\n          A feather and a mountain to be weighed--\n            How shall the beam fly up at your disgrace,\n          How shall your curse, a hundred fold, be paid,\n            And what a glory light up Aztlan's face!\n\n          You came, like tender shepherds to the fold,\n            Yet, like a wolf, you tore the frighted flock;\n          You kissed but to decoy them from their gold;\n            Your seeming calm was but the earthquake's shock.\n          Your empty babble of the cross and Christ,\n            Was but the mask to cover your deceit;\n          Your hearts were canker, but your words enticed,\n            And _never_ did a fouler scheme make conquest more complete.\n\n          Not Aztlan, with her bare and bleeding breast,\n            Alone, hath felt thy treachery too late;\n          Columbus, in his chains and sorely pressed,\n            Bends to thy penalty for being great.\n          A thousand white-robed saints with bony palms\n            Shake their accusing fingers in thy face;\n          Their bodies burned, their souls changed into psalms.\n            To chant in mournful cadence thy disgrace.\n\n\nARRIVAL OF THE SPANIARDS AT MEXICO.\n\n          November comes as Autumn's requiem,\n            To sigh and sough the harvest, and the field,\n          The winged ecstatics mourn, and then are dumb,\n            And life and growth in full submission yield.\n          Mexitli is not altogether clad\n            In nature's winding sheet of yellow leaves;\n          And yet her year is getting old and sad,\n            And youth and fruitage at his bedside grieves.\n          As on the lingering footsteps of the year--\n            A stranger and the Winter, hand in hand,\n          Both on the threshold as two ghosts appear.\n            One strikes the orbit with its wasting sand,\n          The other coils around the nation's throat;\n            The nation and the year together die;\n          Both on the waste of time are set afloat,\n            And sound alike death's mighty mystery.\n\n          In all the glitter at his vast command,\n            Went Montezuma to receive his guests;\n          If gold be great, then was it truly grand.\n            The royal plume upon his forehead rests;\n          His feet pressed soles of heavy beaten gold;\n            His cloak and anklets sprinkled o'er with pearls,\n\n          And only noble hands are left to hold\n          The blazing palanquin. Like titled Earls,\n          They guard the skirts of royalty from stain\n          Against the common people; all the same\n          As in our ripened age. 'Tis hard to gain\n          Much on the sodden march of royalty,\n          Where accident supplants all other claim.\n          The monarch in the easy prime of life,\n          But lightly bronzed. The glowing, mellow hue\n          That lit his cheek, seemed borrowed from the sun,\n          And shadowing a heart that beat as true\n          To God and country as he knew their names,--\n          As any monarch that e'er wore a crown.\n          His open-hearted welcome, like himself,\n          Was, as the hardy yeoman, bare and brown.\n\n          He felt that he was meeting destiny,\n            Yet, to its solving, he would bend the knee\n          With dignity and grace; not turn away,\n            But face it with a ready, cheerful glance,\n          And meeting night, surcharge it with the day;\n            And grasping, break, if possible, the lance\n          That he felt sure was leveled at his breast.\n            He did not know the Inquisition stood,\n          With rack and torture at his very gate;\n            That it had traveled half the world for blood\n          To whet its throat for St. Bartholomew\n            And came with ravening appetite for him.\n          Those wary messengers he little knew,\n          Or those brown eyes would suddenly grown dim,\n          And the warm heart would furnaced up its heat;\n            And he would grappled at its very throat;\n          And man to man, and blood to blood, would meet,\n            And not a plume above one corselet float\n          To bear the story back of it to Spain.\n            They were not schooled in all the arts of war,\n          Nor were they wise in all the world's deceit;\n            Yet would they fought beneath their fated star,\n          And challenged every stubborn step, though it had proven vain.\n\n          But in this fleecy covering, the wolf\n            So hid its teeth that it was at the door\n          Before they dreamed of treachery. The gulf\n            Lay many leagues behind their foes; its shore\n          And all the distance had been gained by stealth.\n            Tlascala had been humbled on the march,\n          And promised spoils from Montezuma's wealth;\n            But they had reached the keystone of the arch,\n          At superstition's beck. The Aztec's gods\n          Had chained their valor, or their greater odds\n            Would crushed the viper, as it should have been,\n            And left it to a purer age, to seek a common kin.\n          The Monarch gave them hostelry and cheer,\n            Food of the rarest and the sparkling pulque,\n          And quarters for their troopers, all quite near\n            To his own palace gates. The very bulk\n          Of his well-laden markets was thrown down\n            To their repletion, for their loaded board.\n          They fared as princes favored of the crown,\n            Of all the best the Kingdom could afford.\n          The fair Malinche was interpreter,\n            And Montezuma spoke to them through her.\n\n          He told them of the mighty Quetzalcoatl,\n          And how he recognized them as his kin;\n          He thought he had their history, the whole\n          Vast riddle of their ancient origin.\n          \"I rule a mighty nation,\" quoth the King.\n          \"All Anahuac is subject to my sway;\n          And yet, I recognize that you have come\n          From the strong palace of a mightier lord,\n          To whom I bend as subject; and with you\n          We now will sway the scepter of his will.\n          We long have watched his coming from the East,\n          And now that he has sent his messengers,\n          Our hearts are ready for his wise commands.\n          We would have urged your coming on before,\n          But that we heard of tales of cruelty,\n          Which, haply we may now believe as false,\n          We welcome you with all our open hearts,\n\n          \"And hope you may enjoy our humble fare.\n          We are not wise, as you are, for our lives\n          Have not caught wisdom from the fountain head,\n          And hung upon the lips of Quetzalcoatl;\n          Yet are we cousins in the faded past,\n            And welcome you as brothers and as friends.\"\n\n          How caught the Spanish Chieftain at the words!\n            How did he gloat upon this artifice!\n          How useless hung their heavy-hilted swords\n            That they should win a nation at this price!\n          With what a care he turned the dusty past,\n            To cover up the semblance of disguise;\n          And fix their superstition still more fast,\n            That he might clutch and carry home the prize.\n\n          \"There _is_ grandeur in the tented field;\n            The bivouac and the smoldering camp-fires.\"\n          The human soul unconsciously must yield\n            To its supremest charm, where man aspires\n          To meet his fellow-man at one great bar;\n            And \"valor speaks to valor\" of its claim,\n          In all the panoply of stubborn war,\n            And drops the gauntlet in a nation's name.\n          It may be terrible, but it is grand\n            To see the banners flaunting in the breeze;\n          To hear the bugle blare and stern command;\n            And see opposing forces strive to seize\n          From Nature's stern arbitrament of force\n            The laurel that shall deck the victor's brow;\n          And turn the stream of nations from its course.\n            The cutting of new sod by such a plow\n          May tear up all the tender ties of life;\n             And hearts be turned to ashes in its path;\n          These are the ponderous incidents of strife,\n            And made legitimate when wrath meets wrath;\n          But when the assassin creeps into our hearts,\n            And draws around him all their sanctities,\n          And he becomes a parcel of our parts,\n            And all we have or claim are made as his,\n          What human brush can paint the upraised hand\n            That smites our confidence at such an hour?\n          What simile can human tongue command?\n            It is, indeed, beyond our mortal power.\n          We talk of devil, but the word is tame;\n            It cannot reach the climax we have sought;\n          It only frets us into hotter flame,\n            And beggars all the litany of thought.\n\n          I do not claim that Cortez was not brave;\n            Nor would I tear one laurel from his brow.\n          I only claim he stole the devil's glaive;\n            He held it then, and let him hold it now.\n          The issues of their lives are both with God,\n            The brown-eyed Monarch and the dark-eyed Knight.\n          The flowers of charity should strew the sod\n            Above them both; yet, Cosmos! was it right?\n          O world of human hearts and human lives!\n            Was Montezuma worthy of this fate?\n          O world of husbands! world of tender wives!\n            Behold your Aztlan! bleeding, desolate,\n          And say, if all their multiple of sins,\n            Though they be blacker than the blackest night,\n          Were worthy of the end that now begins\n            To grind them down to powder? Was it right\n          For Spain to steal the scepter from the hand\n            That held it out in welcome to their doors,\n          And poured their treasures out as free as sand,\n            And oped with lavish all their loaded stores;\n          To steal the key of superstition's gate,\n            And break the lock upon their hard-earned gold,\n          And, fattening at their table, steal their plate,\n            And feasting on their lambs to steal their fold;\n          To make a prison of the room he gave\n            In which to hold the Monarch as a slave?\n          O pitying God! thy thunderbolts were scarce.\n            Why crushed they not this hell-begotten farce?\n\n          And when the Aztecs, goaded to the quick\n            By the proud insolence of such a horde,\n          Could bear no longer parley, but were sick\n            Of such a visitor at such a board,\n          And rose en masse to crush the viper's fang,\n            They bring the Monarch out to face the crowd,\n          And plead for their immunity; the pang\n            That wrung his breast (for he, indeed, was proud)\n          Was like an arrow in his royal heart;\n            And yet he prayed for their forgiveness then,\n          And like a martyr bravely bore their part--\n            Search history; and find out greater men,\n          And they are less forgiving. There he stood,\n            His nation thronged before him, in its wrath;\n          Yet did he plead, before this multitude,\n            To spare the serpent, now across their path;\n          He could not name a promise not unbroke,\n            He could not offer one excuse for time,\n          He could not tell them why to hold their stroke,\n            He plead for hands scarred over with their crime.\n\n          Did ever charity reach loftier height?\n            Can Christian Spain outshine this sad, brown face?\n          How many souls in Christiandom, as white,\n            Would faced his countrymen, from such a place?\n          Great Montezuma! where shall we find room!\n            When Spain has such a multitude of saints\n          To save your enemies, you courted doom,\n            Yet would not kiss the cross with your complaints;\n          Therefore, anathema!--It will not do,\n            To pass a heretic at Heaven's gate;\n          You held no mumbled crucifix to view--\n            The Infallible has said it, you must wait.\n          Wait for a riper age to touch the chord\n            That quivers, all unconsciously, your praise;\n          When justice, _only_, draws the tardy sword,\n            And Earth's abhorrence covers those old days\n          With its repentant ashes, then my King\n            May rest his memory upon stubborn facts\n          Nor minstrels falter when they fain would sing\n            Their elegies implanted with _his_ acts.\n          The Holy Inquisition, from old Spain,\n            And St. Bartholomew, from \"Ma belle France,\"\n          The hissing fagots of sweet Mary's reign--\n            These million martyrs, with their melting glance,\n          Look at _his_ agony, across the sea,\n            _Who_, blind in superstition, groped his way\n          O'er harmless victims and much misery\n            To where the rays were slanting into day.\n          In Europe's face the star of Bethlehem,\n            With its benignant splendor, shed its light;\n          _These_ but the groping nomads of old Shem,\n            Lost in the meshes, of a rayless night.\n          _Those_, neath the palm of Earth's philosophy;\n            _These_ on the torchless desert, not a star\n          To guide them through life's potent mystery;\n            _Those_ bringing all the wisdom from afar,\n          Though Montezuma's sins had cried to Heaven\n            In a far greater stress; yet what were they,\n          Paling his cruelties, and still forgiven,\n            To pour out greater vials the next day?\n          O Spain! you lent the sanction of your name,\n            To cover up the foulest deed of time;\n          Upon your skirt is fastened this great shame,\n            And nation never wore the brand of a more causeless crime.\n\n\nDEATH OF MONTEZUMA.\n\n          One sad, sad task, awaits my faltering pen,\n          And I have done. One flower upon _his_ grave,\n          Who in his dying could, alas! not save\n          His country from the vulturous maw of men.\n          They played upon the monarch with their arts,\n            Till he became a captive in their hands;\n          It was consistent with their _Christian_ hearts\n            That their good host should follow their commands.\n          They said their _Christian_ lord across the sea\n            Must have his treasure for their _Christian_ use.\n          All this was bitter, yet, he did agree,\n            And bent a patient knee to their abuse.\n\n          They struck their temples, and the red, right hand\n            Of Aztlan rose upon them. They could bear\n          To see their monarch littled, and their land\n            Made tribute to a stranger; but, beware\n          Stern warriors of Castile! touch not their gods.\n            The hearts of Aztlan are but human hearts,\n          And at some shrine the whole creation nods;\n            Invade the sanctum, and the whole man starts.\n          Las Casas[S] would have won them with his love--\n            The potent key that opens every gate.\n          Let not deceit claim sanction from above;\n            It may assist upon the wheels of fate,\n          But what Spain offered through such legatees\n            Was worse than powder on the bated flame.\n          To gather fruit from such ill-freighted trees,\n          Was worse than stealing nightmare from a dream.\n\n          In Christ's good name they stole the monarch's gold;\n            They changed the name of Christ to treachery;\n          They gathered all the spoils their hands could hold,\n            And pointed to their Master on the tree.\n          Their Master? No! since Lucifer was hurled\n            Down from the shining chambers of the just\n          To vent his spleen upon a new-made world,\n            He never had a worthier task in trust,\n          Than that he gave to Spain's inglorious knights,\n          To rob this people of their vested rights.\n\n          The people gather at the palace gates,\n            And vengeance writes itself upon each face;\n          Their generosity no longer waits,\n            They spit upon, and spurn the outraged place.\n          It harbors those who wrote themselves as knaves\n            Upon the pliant tablets of their lives,\n          And now the incensed nation only craves\n            Deliverance for their children and their wives.\n          They know the belching cannon of the knights\n            Will make sad havoc in their stately host;\n          They know that Spain and Fate to-day unite;\n            They know, if fortune fails them, all is lost;\n          But they can bear no longer to be torn,\n          And swear by all the gods to pluck this thorn.\n          The Spaniards see their perfidy, too late;\n          And call great Montezuma to the gate.\n          \"Why are my people here to-day in arms?\n          These stranger friends are still my welcome guests;\n          They soon will turn them backward to their homes.\n          Shall we raise hands against great Quetzalcoatl?\n          We fight against the gods? Lay down your arms!\n          Go to your homes, and all shall yet be well,\n          And peace shall reign in all Tenochtitlan[T]!\"\n          They bent before him reverently at first.\n          It was a moment--then their anger burst:\n          \"Base Aztec! woman! coward! sneaking slave!\n          The whites have made a puppet of your name!\n          Talk not of fighting 'gainst our honored gods;\n          We soil their sacred robes if we submit!\"\n          A cloud of stones and arrows flew the air;\n          And Montezuma fell a victim of _their_ rage and _his_ despair.\n          His heart had broke when he beheld the throng,\n          For he was burning with his country's wrong;\n          And when the missiles smote his fevered crest,\n          His very soul was reaching out for rest.\n          _They_ only helped to roll the burden off,\n            So long imprinted on his saddened face--\n          It was _too_ much to hear his people scoff--\n            He fell; and they removed him from the place.\n          He never rose again, nor wished to rise;\n            He made no effort to outlive his land;\n          He felt _his_ weakness, and he heard _her_ cries;\n            He saw _her_ sinking with _his_ wasting sand.\n          He knew his enemies had stole the garb\n            Of gods to fasten on him their deceit;\n          That they had stung the nation with their barb,\n            And he would not survive its sore defeat.\n          He felt their scoffings were deserved of him,\n            For he should gathered wisdom with his years;\n          He saw his weakness when his sight was dim,\n            And poured his wasting moments out in tears.\n\n          They called the Priest to shrive him for his death--\n            The worthy Monk Olmedo[U] takes his palms;\n          It is in vain; his very latest breath\n            Repulses all their uninvited alms.\n          He dies an Aztec--honor to his name!\n           And spurns the symbols that have crushed him down.\n          What mockery when he is all aflame\n            With their abuses! Give him back his crown,\n          His country's honor, and its hard-earned gold.\n            But force no wormwood to his fevered lips;\n          His hand is pulseless, and will soon be cold;\n            His life was shadow; and his death--eclipse.\n\n          Great are the consolations of the cross--\n            The Father-Son of Calvary, and time.\n          Their glory compensates a kingdom's loss;\n            But piety must not be wed to crime.\n          Did all the roses blossom from the cross,\n            And all the thorns grow out upon the waste?\n          Then were the metal guarded from the dross,\n            And every crust be suited to our taste;\n          But bitter-sweet is all the book of life,\n            And thorns and roses crowd the tangled way;\n          And good and evil, always, are at strife--\n            Night always dogs the footsteps of the day.\n          Yet \"figs cannot be gathered from the thorn,\"\n            Nor \"grapes from thistles,\" says the patient Lord--\n          One great, good life, like a new angel born,\n            Is the most potent sermon ever heard.\n\n          The hands that smote the Monarch in the face\n            Did honor to his ashes, cold and dead.\n          Their anger was rubbed out, and not a trace\n            Was left, as with their slow and measured tread\n          They bore his sacred ashes to the tomb\n            Within the walls of old Chapultepec,\n          Where stately trees, and flowers perennial bloom,\n            And, all the pulses of their lives in check,\n          Bow down to kiss the shrine of memory.\n            The sacred hush of death comes none too oft\n          To still the fevered brain and make us free--\n            It is a gentle hand, and moves so soft\n          That it compensates all our misery\n            By chaining all the lions of our life\n          And placing durance on the throbbing drum\n            That marshals us to earth's unpitying strife.\n            How should we reverence the hand that strikes our passions\n                dumb!\n\n          Cortez and Montezuma; Aztlan, Spain--\n            The very mingling of these words is pain.\n          The one, bold, cold, unscrupulous and brave,\n            And making of each obstacle a slave;\n          Seeking _his_ glory in the name of Christ,\n            To gain his ends unfaithful to each tryst.--\n          The fault is with the ethics of his race,\n            Which justify the means for _any_ end,\n          And leave the moral aspect without place,\n            And to the foulest acts their ready sanction lend.\n          The thought of holding man to his account,\n            And throwing merit against circumstance,\n          Of cleansing souls at one great common fount,\n            Of holding out to man an equal chance--\n          These things were not considered in the least.\n            The glory of himself and Spain were first;\n          All the excesses pardoned by the Priest\n            Weaned the poor soul from any moral thirst.\n          A golden apple trembled on the limb,\n            And he must pluck it, at whatever cost.\n          What matter whose?--it should belong to him;\n            It was too tempting, and must not be lost:\n          The wall that lay before it must be scaled,\n            The owner of the field must be destroyed,\n          And if his _prowess_, in the effort failed,\n            _Deceit_ and _treachery_ must be employed.\n          The unbridled passions of the human soul\n            Linked with the crucifix in his emprise.\n          The lion, loosened and in full control--\n            The semblance of the Lamb to Aztlan's eyes:\n          A faithful offspring of the Papish loins,\n            The features of the Church in duplicate,\n          Though baser metals pass for golden coins,\n            Only earth's charity can make brave Cortez great.\n\n          But Montezuma conquers all our thought--\n            Tenochtitlan and old Chapultepec.\n          No greener shrine for memory can be sought;\n            The heart and conscience both alike bedeck\n          The unfading spectre of a soul sincere,\n            Who tugged at destiny against the dark--\n          The hand, unconscious, drops its laurels here.\n            His brown hands could not helm the fateful bark\n          Against the baleful breakers of old Spain;\n            Yet, who _is_ proof against the foils of men.\n          His life is but a psalmody of pain.\n            What soul unmoved can touch it with the pen?\n          The link that bound the old world with the new,\n            With pure and patient hands, might been upturned,\n          And every missing chapter brought to view\n            By Clio gathered, and again inurned\n          In history's cloister; Egypt and Aztlan\n            Strike palms upon the bridges of the years;\n          But Spain denies the privilege to man,\n            And fills the vacuum with a nation's tears.\n          O Monarch of the fading, mighty past!\n            Great Montezuma! we are wed to thee.\n          Back of thy name the ocean is so vast\n            That we can only write--Eternity,\n          And leave the secret in thy broken breast.\n            We would that we could taken thy warm palm,\n          Held out in welcome from the mellow West,\n            And poured upon thy stricken life the balm\n          Of real enlightenment; and point thee back,\n            Over the ridges of the years, to God;\n          To where your people lost the beaten track,\n            And ever afterward were left to plod.\n          Those great sad eyes, once filled with light from Heaven,\n            Would shone like diamonds when they found the way,\n          And every fibre of thy nature striven\n            To turn thy nation's darkness into day.\n          Alas! 'tis vain! we beat the empty air.\n            Our tears are mingled with thy wasting breath;\n          We _all_ are torn with thy warm heart's despair,\n            And mourn with Aztlan at thy fateful death.\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n          From sire to son the stern bequeathment falls\n            Of some misguided action in the past,\n          And, though our nature with the victim calls\n            And we are smitten with his overcast,\n          Still are we weak against the wheels of fate,\n          Which leaves the pensioner thus desolate.\n\n          The by-ways of the father must turn back\n            Sometime upon the highway that he left;\n          Though dark and sinuous may be the track,\n            And life of all its luster be bereft,\n          Still hangs the heavy impulse on the soul,\n          Unsatisfied, till it shall reach its goal.\n\n          The destiny was hard that brought proud Spain\n            Upon the fading summerland of gold;\n          Its retribution is no less a pain;\n            The grip of fate, so pulseless and so cold,\n          Brings back the shudder to the human heart;\n            Humanity is wounded with _each_ part\n          That feels the puncture of her cruel blade.\n            Nor is the censure less upon the hand\n          That strikes _so_ hard to force the debt thus paid.\n            The tender conquest of some heathen land\n          The brightest jewel is, of any crown--\n          God never licensed human hand to strike a foe when down.\n\n          When Spain's recruited army turned them back\n            To glut their ire on Guatamozin's head,\n          There never was a deeper furrowed track,\n            More thickly cindered with the myriad dead;\n          And when at last his bloody sceptre fell,\n          Tenochtitlan was likest to a hell.\n\n          The brave barbarian was put to rack\n            To force divulgence of his scattered gold.--\n          Is there a garment of a deeper black,\n            To cover up the fingers that could hold\n          Such hellish orgies after all the past?\n          The palm is thine, O Spain! and hold it to the last!\n\n          Yet one more turn upon the screw of time:\n            Thy red, right hand must slay this waif of fate;\n          And thou must put the climax to the crime,\n            And crush the heart thou has made desolate.\n          Enough! thou art the acme of the earth--\n          May God's great pity ever spare thy duplicated birth!\n          No, no, not Spain! _her_ better angel waits,\n            And _has_ been waiting all these weary years\n          For Castellar to open wide her gates,\n            That she may wash her garments with her tears;\n          But priestcraft, Rome, or demon, all the same--\n            That makes a desert of her rich champaign;\n          And sends her forth through history, so tame.\n          It is, her evil genius; but it is not Spain.\n\n\n          As Kohen prophesied, their race was run--\n            Their error cleaved upon them as a curse;\n          The fading phalanx of the Summer sun\n            Has crossed the borders of the universe.\n          We only catch the shadow of their flight;\n          They pass out with the sunset into night.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[D] Anahuac, the country dominated by the Aztecs at the time of the\nconquest.\n\n[E] \"Mars or Mexitli.\" I have taken the easier of the names given to the\nwar-god. Huitzilopotchli or Mexitli both were used, the former more in\ngeneral use than the latter, at the time of the conquest.\n\n[F] Huit-zilo-potch-li, the Aztec war-god.\n\n[G] Quetzalcoatl, the god of the harvest, probably some ancient leader\ndeified. See Prescott.\n\n[H] Tlappalan, the Elysian to which Quetzalcoatl passed, probably\nreferred to the chambers of the sun.\n\n[I] Nez-a-hual-co-yotl, one of the famous kings of Tezcuco (a nation\nallied to that of the Aztecs). Prescott enlarges on his character, truly\na wonderful one for the time and age.\n\n[J] Montezuma, a corruption from the original Aztec, which was\nMoctheuzoma.\n\n[K] Nez-a-hual-pil-li, successor to Neza-hual-co-yotl, and a worthy one,\nthough not so gifted.\n\n[L] Tecollas, Temples of worship.\n\n[M] Caligula, a Roman Emperor whose name has become a synonym of crime.\n\n[N] Courier, a courier came daily from the coast, and Couriers from\ndifferent parts of the Empire; their only script was the picture prints;\nrude, it is true, and yet wonderful in conveying the different shades of\nmeaning.\n\n[O] Montezuma's protest against human sacrifice though not literally\nfact, so far as the historic record is concerned, is hazarded as not\ninconsistent with his historic character.\n\n[P] Tlalocan, Prescott has not left on record the name of the High\nPriest, and the name given, I have thought in keeping with the Aztec\nlanguage.\n\n[Q] Teuhtlile, the Embassador sent to meet Cortez. He was high in the\ncouncils of the King.\n\n[R] Malinche, Interpreter and Mistress of Cortez.\n\n[S] Las Casas, a worthy Spanish Padre, who was constantly protesting\nagainst the villanous conduct of the cavaliers. Prescott pays him a\nglowing tribute.\n\n[T] Te-noch-ti-tlan, the Aztec for the city of Mexico.\n\n[U] Olmedo, a priest of that easy piety that characterized the cavalier,\nready to grant absolution in case of all excesses.\n\n\n\n\nMALINCHE.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nI may properly place \"Malinche\" as supplementary to \"Montezuma,\" as\ndealing with characters coincident to, and cotemporaneous with those\nconcerned in the \"Conquest,\" and also as covering a period subsequent\nto, and immediately succeeding the Conquest.\n\nTo the student of history, Malinche (in her position of interpreter\nduring the entire period of the Conquest) presents at once so much that\nis unique and charming, and yet such a sad commentary on the criminal\npractices of the sixteenth as well as the nineteenth centuries, that I\nhave often wondered that a stronger and more practiced hand has not ere\nthis claimed the privilege of championship.\n\nAccording to Prescott, she was born in the town of Painnalla, Province\nof Coatzacualco, in the southeastern extremity of what is now Mexico;\nthat she was the daughter of a Cacique (a sort of provincial Governor)\nand prospective heiress to large estates; that after the death of her\nfather, her mother, with indecent haste, forms another union, and in\ntime presents the stepfather with a son; that they jointly combine to be\nrid of Malinche, whom they sell to itinerant traders; and, to cover\ntheir device, they pretend that she is sick and use the child of a\nservant for their criminal pantomime; the child dies, thus completing\nthe deception, except the hypocritical mourning to which this unnatural\nmother is said to have been equal.\n\nMalinche is sold by the traders to the Cacique of Tabasco, and reaches\nmaturity about the time of the Conquest. She seems to have been a\nfavorite in the house of the Cacique, which would indicate that he had\nbecome acquainted with her origin, and after the surrender of the town\nto Cortez, she is one of the twenty female slaves presented to the\nConqueror and his allies.\n\nEither from enlarged opportunities or her natural aptness, and probably\nboth, she is found by Cortez to be just the person he needs for\ninterpreter. Mutual attraction leads them into the closest relations,\nand it is but just to Malinche to state that there is no indication of\nher knowledge of the Conqueror's wife in Cuba, until she arrives at the\nCapitol. There is also nothing to indicate more than a momentary\nestrangement between Malinche and Catalina.\n\nCatalina lived but about three months after her arrival at Mexico; and\nit seems that Malinche assumes the same relations as before, when Cortez\njourneys South, where in time they reach the precincts of the maiden's\nnativity, and she meets her mother, after all the years of their cruel\nseparation. Here the beautiful sincerity of the Christianity she had\nespoused, shines forth as she quiets her mother's fears, and professes\nto doubt her mother's original intent to sell her. She loads her mother\nwith jewels and seems to cherish no feeling not consistent with the\nwarmest relations of daughter and mother.\n\nThe statement soon after is, that Cortez presents her to Don Xamarillo\nwith all the sanction of marriage, and he enriches her with some of the\nlargest estates in her native province; and there the historic account\ncloses. Incidentally, it is mentioned that a son was born during the\nperiod of this _affaire du coeur_.\n\nI stated that the historic account closes here, but M. Charny and others\nenlarge on the traditionary feeling of South Eastern Mexico, and if we\nmay credit his statements (and many times tradition carries more heart\nand more of the essential elements of truth in it than the cold pencil\nof history), Malinche is so woven into the social structure as to become\nalmost the patron saint of that part of the country.\n\nAnd Prescott (rather inclined to the fruit than the blossom of history)\nspeaks of Malinche as being reverently held by the Aztec descendants as\nthe guardian angel of Chapultepec.\n\nI have endeavored thus to present the salient features of this part of\nthe historic drama, adding and enlarging only as it became necessary to\nconnect the events and do justice to the fair subject of the endeavor;\nand whatever criticism may be offered, I can, without hesitancy, claim\nthe credit of candor and a desire to eliminate from all the facts of the\ncase the plain, unvarnished truth.\n\nI began at first to write the idyl in nine-syllabic measure, but soon\nfound myself cramped in expression, and in recopying I have thrown off\nrestraint and used the double terminal with both nine and ten syllables,\nhaving no desire and finding no occasion to use the eight syllable\nmeasure which Longfellow has so immortalized in the \"Song of Hiawatha.\"\n\nThe sacred relations of man and wife, like those of any other\n_sacrament_ entered into voluntarily, are no less binding in the\n_spirit_ than in the _letter_ of the law; and it is a gratifying truth\nthat the statutes of many of the States of the Union are being so\nremodeled as to recognize the _fact_, rather than the _form_ of\nmarriage; and the tendency is, certainly toward the correction of many\nabuses, as leading to a more enlarged knowledge of social\nresponsibilities.\n\nAs long as the sad story of Malinche has a present application, and may\nbe said to be the perspective of the grossly distorted foreground of our\nsocial structure, so long will its rehearsal have its use in the world;\nand I only regret that a stronger hand and a more perfect pen might not\nhave been loaned to its portrayal.\n\n                                                    H. H. RICHMOND.\n\n\n\n\nMALINCHE.\n\n\n          Old Painnalla of Coat-za-cual-co,\n          Passing down the road of the \"Conquest,\"\n          Through the silent portals of Lethe,\n          Was greatest of Mexican hamlets;\n          The birthplace of brown-eyed Malinche,\n          Whom the Spaniards call Dona Marina;\n          And the noble Cacique, great Tezpitla,\n          With his shrew of a wife, Zunaga--\n          All are names deserving of story,\n          For they cling to the garment of greatness.\n\n          A daughter is born to Zunaga,\n          And the worthy Cacique Tezpitla,\n          Though he warms to the little stranger,\n          Had hoped that the gods would have given\n          A son and Cacique for the province.\n          They named their young daughter Malinche;\n          The priest called the gods to protect her,\n          And sprinkled her brow and her bosom\n          With water, the purest of emblems;\n          Commends her to Tez-cat-li-po-ca,\n          The soul of the earth and the heavens;\n          To Quet-zal-coatl, god of the harvest;\n          And at all the shrines with their homage,\n          They offered the richest of jewels.\n\n          Tezpitla soon sleeps with his fathers,\n          And Malinche, too young to have known him,\n          Has hardly begun with her prattle,\n          Ere he passes away to the sunset,\n          To the palace of gold Tonatu',\n          Where his warriors had gone on before him\n          To their rest, in the dazzling chambers\n          That shine from the face of the day god.\n\n          Zunaga a little while murmurs,\n          And mourns at the chieftain's departure,\n          When Mohotzin, a friend of Tezpitla\n          (Who had shared oft times in his battles\n          And sat many times at his table),\n          In sympathy visits the widow;\n          And his sympathy turns to wooing,\n          His wooing and winning are easy.\n          For Zunaga (the name of the faithless)\n          Yields a ready ear to his sighing,\n          And pity is parent of loving.\n          The bride takes the place of the widow,\n          And the funeral leads to the wedding.\n\n          A son is soon born to Mohotzin,\n          And the sire with the faithless Zunaga,\n          Bend their heads to the hurt of the helpless,\n          To disherit the artless daughter;\n          She sends up inquisitive glances,\n          To the guilty eyes of her parents.\n          Thus the perfect faith of our childhood,\n          Stands to smite at the evil endeavor,\n          Yet how is it cruelly wounded\n          By the cunning hand of its kindred!\n\n          She is sold as a slave to the merchants,\n          Whose itinerant traffic encounters\n          This cruel and conscienceless couple.\n          Scarcely five years the miniature maiden,\n          When decoyed from her favorite pastimes,\n          Under guise of a frolicsome journey;\n          She is hurried away into bondage,\n          To gain the estate for her brother.\n          And all this is done under shadow\n          To cover the basest of actions.\n          Malinche is said to be dying,\n          The mother is bent at the bedside,\n          Where is laid the child of a servant;\n          It dies, to complete the deception,\n          And Zunaga bewails, as is fitting\n          In well painted actions, the daughter.\n          The funeral pageant is greater\n          Than the one attending Tezpitla;\n          And thus, did the misnomered mother\n          Strive to hide the print of her sinning.\n\n          How fares it with bonnie Malinche,\n          Thus stung in the morn of her childhood?\n          The merchants have gone to Tabasco,\n          The slaves are the bearers of burden,\n          The maid is thus borne from her kindred.\n          She, too young to plead for ransom,\n          Little heeds the force of her venture;\n          And in time, they have traversed the river,\n          And have reached the town of Tabasco.\n          The merchants immured in their traffic,\n          Sell the maid to a wealthy landlord,\n          The worthy Cacique of the province.\n\n          Thus cruelly shorn of her birthright,\n          Malinche grows up as a servant\n          In the house of this wealthy master,\n          The playmate and charm of his children.\n          She gathers the boon of contentment\n          With the easy faith of her childhood.\n          Her mother is almost forgotten,\n          When a former nurse of Zunaga,\n          Having served the time of her ransom,\n          Has sought the Cacique for employment.\n          She knows the whole piteous story,\n          Of the maid and her heartless mother;\n          Her soul is drawn back to the maiden,\n          And she knows, with the whole of her nature,\n          That this is her old master's daughter.\n          And Malinche, across the threshold,\n          Calls back all the thoughts of her childhood,\n          And each feels the grasp of the other,\n          And the past is all plain to Malinche.\n\n          The noble Cacique of Tabasco\n          Heard all of the pitiful story,\n          And swore, by the gods, to avenge her\n          \"Of her cruel and faithless mother,\n          With her heart as hard as the itztli,\n          The sanctified blade of the prophet.\"\n          He would seek the king, Moctheuzoma,\n          That ruled in the city of temples,\n          Tenochtitlan, greatest of cities,\n          And tell him the tale of Malinche,\n          That all of her wrongs might be righted\n          And the maiden restored to her birthright.\n\n          But, in the white heat of his anger,\n          A stranger appears at the river--\n          'Tis the pale-faced chief, and his army,\n          With his soldiers clad like the fishes,\n          With the shining scales for their frontlets,\n          With their weapons charged with the lightning,\n          Like the thunderbolts of great Thaloc,\n          With their four-legged gods, like the bison,\n          With the head of a man in the center,\n          And the flaming nostril distended,\n          Breathing fire, like the front of a dragon,\n          When they shake the earth with their tramping.\n          Surely these were the legates of heaven,\n          Great Quetzalcoatl, surely fought with them.\n          And in vain was the chieftain's endeavor,\n          Tabasco soon fell to their prowess,\n          And they must now purchase appeasement.\n          And the worthy Cacique of Tabasco\n          Forgets all his pledges of ransom,\n          And Malinche is one of the twenty,\n          Of the maids that he gives to Cortez.\n          As pure as the bright water lily\n          That shines from the rim of Tezcuco;\n          As bright as the rays of Tonatu',\n          Rising out of the gulf of Mexitli;\n          As chaste as the moon in its glances,\n          At the mirroring face of Chalco;\n          As fresh as the breezes that banquet\n          The morn in the isles of the spices--\n          Even such was the Maid of Painnalla,\n          The beautiful brown-eyed Malinche.\n\n          Cortez has been seeking a sponsor\n          To ravel the intricate language,\n          When he is informed of the maiden,\n          And she is first brought to his presence.\n          A favorite child of the household,\n          She is robed in the neatest of vestures.\n          The feather-cloth covers her shoulders,\n          Her waist is enclosed with a girdle\n          Holding skirt of the finest of cotton,\n          Her feet on the daintiest sandals,\n          Her face, veiled with gossamer pita,\n          Lends the highest charm to her blushes.\n\n          With Aguilar first she converses\n          (He had lived some years with the natives,\n          Borne ashore where his vessel had stranded).\n          She had learned all the various shadings,\n          The many and quaint dialections,\n          Of the several Anahuac nations;\n          And not long till the noble Castilian\n          Yields its palm to her ready conquest.\n          The mighty commander, brave Cortez,\n          With his piercing dark eyes, was her teacher;\n          For love is the aptest of pupils,\n          And the heart is your ready translator.\n          The words of the Chief were no longer\n          The meaningless voice of the stranger,\n          But the language of Spain and of heaven.\n\n          Cortez, cast a thought to the island;\n          To his early love, Catalina;\n          To the prison of fierce Velasquez;\n          His reluctant marriage in Cuba.\n          Yet, how faithful had been the Dona!\n          And never yet had been broken\n          _His_ pledges of perfect devotion;\n          But the morals of Hispagniola\n          Are subject to easiest bending.\n          The priest giving ready indulgence\n          To sins that are nearest to nature,\n          And Malinche, robbed of her birthright\n          And denied the boon of a mother,\n          Had only her love to direct her,\n          Which led her unerring to Cortez;\n          He opened his arms to receive her,\n          (She, the purest jewel of Aztlan)\n          And, as moth falls into the torchlight,\n          She fell to his brilliant alluring.\n\n          If purest of wifely devotion,\n          With its love that is _all_ of woman,\n          If the absence of wrong intention\n          In the innocent glow of nature,\n          Uninspired by the shadow of evil,\n          Made her wife, she was wife of Cortez.\n          Not a whisper of Catalina,\n          His beautiful wife on the island,\n          Had the chieftain given the maiden;\n          And she felt as free as the water\n          On the rugged brink of 'Morenci;\n          As the bee to gather the honey\n          From the nectaries on the mountains\n          And the multiple bloom of the valleys.\n          She thought there was naught to prevent her\n          From her lavish of love on the Chieftain.\n\n          O the faith that is always faultless,\n          That ever grows up toward Heaven,\n          (To the center of love returning)\n          Whence it sprang as seed from the Godhead!\n          How its track is hounded by evil!\n          How its purity pants in the darkness!\n          How it flutters into the pitfalls!\n          And how its white wings are broken\n          And its plumage stained and bedraggled!\n          But 'tis only the earth that despoils it,\n          To teach it more earnest endeavor,\n          To lift the wing higher in ether,\n          And fix the eye firmer on Heaven.\n\n          But alas! for bonnie Malinche;\n          Her faith had no heavenly fragrance,\n          Except in its helpless dependence.\n          It knew not the way of the angels,\n          But groped like the vine in the cavern,\n          Always reaching out for the sunlight,\n          Always tender and white of fiber.\n          And the worthy father, Olmedo,\n          Taught the maid the lore of the ages;\n          Taught of life, and death, and the Savior,\n          And the beautiful boon, resurrection,\n          And the story of Magdalene,\n          Of much loving, and much forgiving;\n          Yet he whispered naught of the Chieftain,\n          And the maiden lived on in blindness,\n          Though \"Credos\" and \"Ave Marias\"\n          Fell as pearls from the lips thus laden\n          With the story of Jesu' and Mary.\n          And as Christ touched the lips of childhood\n          And made them the text of his sermon,\n          (The innocent sponsors of Heaven)\n          Malinche, enrapt at the story,\n          Shined out through her every action,\n          Translating the life of the God-Son,\n          To speak in behalf of her people.\n          She plead for the chiefs of Tlascala--\n          Las Casas had no abler ally\n          When he struck the stone heart of Cortez--\n          And the stonier heart of Castile,\n          In his earnest prayer for the Aztecs\n          And the ill-starred King Moctheuzoma.\n          Her blood gave its ardent petition\n          In behalf of her race and her people,\n          Her bronzed hand pressing the balance\n          On the side of mercy and manhood.\n\n          When the light first shines in the cavern\n          Damp and dark with moldering ages,\n          It gathers each gleam of the crystals\n          That cycles have hoarded in brilliance;\n          So the heart, groping back to the sunlight,\n          Over graves of its superstitions,\n          Throws its shoots through every crevice\n          That promises health to its fibers.\n          Thus the virgin soul of Malinche\n          (The image of God on its tablet)\n          Made the glow of her first impressions\n          The heart and the soul of the gospel.\n\n          But how cunningly clasp the fetters\n          That fate has unconsciously molded;\n          And yet, how they pinion our passport\n          On the trend of further indulgence--\n          The conquest was hardly completed,\n          And the maid in the fullest enjoyment\n          Of the treasure she aided to purchase\n          When the island divulges its secret,\n          And the wife of his early loving,\n          And the wife of his after loathing,\n          Appears at the door of the Chieftain.\n          O Malinche! brown-eyed Malinche!\n          The finger of fate is upon you;\n          The wrongs of your conscienceless mother\n          Were the scar and bane of your _childhood_.\n          The years with their velveted footfalls\n          Have forced them far back in the shadows,--\n          But here comes a heart that is bleeding\n          For the touch of its earliest treasure.\n          With an even right you have won it;\n          Upon your warm bosom have worn it.\n          But another, unknown, has possessed it,\n          And puts forth her hand to recover.\n          Will you strike at her just petition?\n          Love is love; but hers is the older,\n          And it has grown sharp with its longing;\n          The hunger of years is upon it,\n          And pleads all the patience of loving.\n\n          They met, the brown maid of Painnalla\n          And the pale, blushing rose of the island,--\n          Malinche and sad Catalina.\n          The Dona gave voice to her murmur\n          In words that were pungent and bitter,\n          Reproaching the maid for the beauty\n          That had stolen the heart of her husband.\n          But Malinche returned no reproaches\n          When she heard the whole truth from the Dona;\n          But her tears, as the dew of the morning,\n          Which like diamonds filled her dark lashes,\n          Smote the tender heart of the maiden:\n\n          \"O maiden, most hard and unconscious!\"\n          Cried Malinche, out of her sobbing,\n          \"Hear the bitter tale of my lifetime;\n          And the Heavenly melting of pity\n          Will fill all the place of your loathing.\"\n          Then she told her the whole sad story--\n          How her cruel mother betrayed her,\n          How she fell a slave to the Chieftain,\n          And was called upon to interpret.\n          \"But the heart is easily broken,\n          Fair maiden!\" Malinche continued.\n          \"And before I knew, I had fallen;\n          And I hung on his matchless features,\n          The wonderful glow of his prowess,\n          And the liquid flow of his language,\n          Till I could no longer resist him.\n          I thought I was free to embrace him,\n          And I gave my whole life to his keeping.\n          How I thrilled to his first caressing,\n          And panted to gather his kisses!\n          How I hung on the lips of the morning\n          That shadowed his life with new danger!\n          Could I die for the love I bore him,\n          I would pity the weight of the casket\n          That gave such a featherlike measure;\n          Could I stand in the breach of danger\n          To shelter his form from the missile,\n          I could mourn that the Father had given\n          But only one heart for the arrow.\n          I loved him! I loved him! I loved him!\n          And this is my furtherest pleading.\"\n\n          And long ere Malinche had finished\n          The Dona had mingled her weeping,\n          And each held the hand of the other\n          In truce of their worthless repining;\n          And Malinche, as Magdalene,\n          Would have washed the feet of her Master,\n          But the Dona rather preferred her\n          As companion and friend in pastime;\n          So they passed their time in the solace\n          Of a friendship closely cemented.\n\n          But the beautiful flower of the island\n          Fell a prey to the varying climate\n          And the dormant love of the Chieftain.\n          She pointed her white hands to heaven,\n          And she gave back to Mary Mother\n          Her tired soul as white as the snowdrift.\n          The busy brown hands of Malinche\n          Had never once tired of their office\n          In smoothing her feverish pillows.\n          Her fresh, perfect faith pointing upward,\n          Helped to pinion the soul for its passage.\n          \"Farewell to thee, fair Catalina!\n          Though you tore my heart with your coming,\n          You have torn it worse with your going.\n          May the angels, shrouding your sorrow,\n          Pour their multiple bliss in your welcome,\n          And paradise pant with your beauty,\n          And Heaven, as white as your goodness,\n          Shine out through the doors for Malinche;\n          For I envy your early passage,\n          And would gladly have gone before you.\n          I have found earth's love but a fetter\n          To cripple the wing of our exit.\"\n\n          And after he humbled the Aztecs,\n          The Chieftain soon turned to the southward,\n          Still holding the hand of Malinche,\n          As if the cold palm of the Dona\n          Had never intruded its presence;\n          His memory, cold as her pulses,\n          Gave hardly a throb at departure,\n          But Malinche wept o'er her ashes,\n          And prayed that the blessing of Heaven\n          Might comfort the soul of the Dona;\n          Yet she held not her hand from the Chieftain,\n          Though she chid with the love of the turtle;\n          Yet her heart could not harrow its fallow\n          Though a hundred-fold lay in the effort.\n\n          The ill-fated Chief Guatamozin\n          (Who succeeded the great Moctheuzoma,\n          And so stubbornly fought for his people)\n          Had fared the same fate of the Monarch,\n          Except that he gazed on the ashes,\n          And saw the cold ghost of his nation\n          Pass out through the gates of the sunset,\n          And all just a little before him.\n          He attended Cortez on his journey,\n          With other great men of his people;\n          Never man was more loyal to master\n          Than the throneless King to his Chieftain--\n          To the cavalcade came a rumor,\n          That the life of Cortez was endangered\n          By a plot of the Aztec attendants\n          (Cortez was the stoniest master,\n          To the Knights as well as the natives,\n          And no wonder his life should be threatened.\n\n          The scar of a crime on our nature,\n          With remembrance of wrong we inflicted,\n          Puts a double watch on our victim;\n          We are prone to measure in manner,\n          Each soul in the pitiful bushel\n          That holds the shrunk grains of _our_ manhood.)\n          And Cortez turned his eyes for an answer,\n          To the plot that was laid for his footsteps,\n          On the staunch Aztec King, Guatamozin;\n          He had fought a brave battle for Aztlan,\n          And the Spaniards had felt his prowess\n          In the hardly wrenched sword of their triumph;\n          But when the despair of his nation\n          Settled down on his heart as a mountain,\n          No treachery lingered to poison\n          The flow of his deeply drawn sadness.\n\n          Yet, the wrongs he had laid on the people,\n          Stalked out as a ghost on the Chieftain.\n          And the sad eyes of poor Guatamozin,\n          Were his guilty conscience' accuser;\n          And though not a stain was upon him,\n          Yet the Chief was condemned by Cortez.\n          Then Malinche's warm heart overflowing,\n          When she saw how unjust was the sentence,\n          Gave its plea with the beautiful pathos\n          Of the life that is simple and loving.\n          Though she was baptized as a Christian,\n          And was charmed with the life of the God-Son,\n          Yet the water the priest sprinkled on her\n          Purged not from her veins the warm Aztec\n          Which, charged with a just indignation,\n          Poured out on her Chieftain its measure:\n\n          \"As a faithful God is my witness--\n          Not a throb of my heart has wasted\n          Its pulse on the suit of another,\n          Since you glittered my life with its purchase,\n          I have loved you too well for my worship,\n          Which has hardly a God, but my Chieftain;\n          But I plead for my country and people--\n          You showed me a Christ that was loving,\n          Whose life was a psalm of forgiveness,\n          Who touched the hot lips of our anger\n          With the tender finger of patience.\n          I was won by his great example,\n          It warmed the cold stone of the Aztec\n          With the radiant beams of the morning;\n          It loosened the chains from the ankles\n          That were swift on errands of mercy;\n          It tore off the scales from the eyelids\n          That were blinded with superstition;\n          Gave freedom to innocent victims,\n          From the fearful death of the itztli;\n          And winged back the soul to its manor,\n          From the desert and dust of the ages.\n\n          \"But where is the Christ you were pleading--\n          The merciful God of your banner?\n          The nails of the cross are your sword points,\n          And his pleadings the parent of carnage.\n          His merciful words are but margods,\n          To hurl on your host to the slaughter.\n          As I pleaded for Moctheuzoma\n          That you spare him the shame of his prison,\n          So I plead for the brave Guatamozin,\n          Though he fought so hard for the Aztecs,\n          I would balance my life on his honor.\n          The traitor is not of such metal,\n          At your front--in your face--he may strike you;\n          But he takes not the night for his helmlet,\n          Nor is treachery ever his weapon.\n          Then spare him, my noble Hernando!\"\n          But her prayers were in vain for the victim,\n          The heart of Cortez was relentless;\n          And another brave soul winged its passage,\n          To try if the gates of the city\n          Still turn for the broken in spirit.\n\n          In time they drew near to Painnalla,\n          And the tale of her childhood confronts her,\n          Though she hardly can call up one feature\n          To gaze on the face of another,\n          And each say to each, \"We are brothers\";\n          Yet the story has lived with her living,\n          And been fanned by the fervor of gossip;\n          And Malinche's warm heart has been shaken,\n          O'er the bitterest brink of a trial.\n\n          Her Chieftain, grown great with his conquest,\n          Thrusts the knife of his pride to her heartstrings,\n          In search of some noble alliance;\n          And she must be weaned from his wooing.\n          As only _one_ God lighteth Heaven,\n          She has held the _one_ place in his household,\n          Than which has the earth none more sacred.\n          Yet the shade of the poor Catalina\n          Has shown her how weak is the Chieftain,\n          And the bolt is thus broken in falling;\n          Still her whole heart presses the balance,\n          And a sacred thing was her loving,\n          For love is the latch-key to Heaven.\n\n          But she tries to force back her sorrow\n          At the sacred shrine of her birthplace;\n          And the angels are gentle that hover\n          At the rustic shade of the hearthstone.\n          All the sorrow comes out of the shadow,\n          All the bitterness bathes in the sunshine,\n          The stubbornest pangs of resentment\n          Are cooled to the calm of forgiveness;\n          And charity cradles the armor\n          That was harnessed in bristling anger.\n\n          Her mother is summoned with others\n          At the call of Cortez to assemble,\n          And Malinche sees mother and brother\n          Through the soul of an earnest hunger.\n          She (young in all things but her sorrow,\n          And with only her nature to prompt her)\n          Beholds, with the heart of a daughter,\n          The mother that cruelly spurned her,\n          In the fading Spring of her lifetime.\n          The mother, as ready responding\n          To the tie that her crime would have broken,\n          Sees her child, like the face of a spectre,\n          Rising out of the grave to accuse her,\n          And in terror would fly from her presence;\n          But Malinche sprang forward to grasp her,\n          And, forgetting all else but her mother,\n          Poured out her full heart in caresses,\n\n          Saying, \"Surely, my mother, you knew not\n          When you sold me away to the traders;\n          Surely, not with your voice could you sanction,\n          Your words would have frozen together,\n          And not with your heart you consented.\n          The blood would have whited to marble;\n          Some artifice surely was practiced.\n          My mother was _always_ my mother;\n          And though you unwittingly sold me,\n          Malinche is free to forgive you.\n          Take back to your bosom your daughter,\n          It is all for the best that we parted,\n          For it gave me my sweet Mary Mother\n          With her child, the immaculate God-Son;\n          And better a slave and a Christian,\n          Than a priest in the pay of the temple.\n          And, yet, how I longed for a mother,\n          To show the clear trail for my footsteps,\n\n          And to hold the white hand of my childhood!\n          With no other mother but Mary\n          (Sweet Mary, the soul of compassion),\n          I have tried to grow up towards Heaven;\n          But a mother on earth is the blessing\n          That can never be held by another.\n          Our flesh will not float on the pinions\n          That bear to Elysian our spirits;\n          Our hearts are too warm for the angels,\n          To hush with their transparent fingers;\n          Our lips are too ready for kisses\n          To be cooled to the calm of devotion;\n          Our hands are too warm in another's\n          To be folded in supplication;\n          Too much of the earth is about us\n          To be lost in the halo of Heaven--\n          So we need the cool heart of the mother\n          That has passed the hot chaos of passion,\n          To temper the pulse that is wayward.\n\n          \"Yet I cannot have wandered so greatly,\n          When love was the only impulsion,\n          Such a distance away from the Master\n          Whose name is the essence of loving;\n          But he sees the bare heart in its throbbing,\n          And the crystallized faith of my footsteps\n          That were only too quick in their choosing.\n          Surely, Love, the benificent Master,\n          Springing forth from the bosom of Mary,\n          To smother the earth with caresses,\n          Will drop a light hand on the shoulder\n          That shadows a heart that has wandered\n          By only its warm overflowing.\"\n\n          She loaded her mother with jewels,\n          And left not the shadow of malice\n          To stain the fair skirts of her mercy,\n          But canceled her wrongs with caresses,\n          And covered the past with forgiveness.\n          Thus she bore the whole soul of the Gospel\n          To the hungry hearts of her people;\n          And the heart is not hard to the sermon\n          That carries a life for its background\n          As perfectly pure as the precept.\n          The heathen is waiting the harvest--\n          Only hallowed hands for the sickle;\n          When the life and the lip move together\n          Millennium waits on the morning.\n\n          The trial that sometimes had shadowed\n          Comes at last in its fullness upon her,\n          And the pride of Cortez seeks another\n          For the place that is only Malinche's.\n          And he offers to Don Xamarillo\n          The tremulous hand of the maiden,\n          As if it was his to bestow her\n          As a chattel--a token of friendship--\n          On his friend and bosom companion.\n          The anger of love was upon her,\n          And all of her beauty shone brightest,\n          As she flashed on her recreant lover\n          The flaming scourge of her protest:\n\n          \"I came as a slave to your camp-ground;\n          You lifted me out of my bondage,\n          For you knew I was free in my birthright.\n          You wooed me, and won me as lover,\n          And only as wife could have worn it;\n          I have drawn on your love as a garment.\n          You first sought me out as a sponsor,\n          But the language of Spain is a magnet\n          That drew me all out of Malinche\n          And made me a part of her Chieftain;\n          And now you would sunder the tendrils\n          And force back the vine from the branches\n          Where they learn't all of life in reclining,\n          And never can unlearn the lesson.\n\n          \"O, Hernando, you know not Malinche!\n          If you think she can cherish another\n          In the heart she too willingly gave you;\n          Were you priest of the Aztec temple,\n          And should raise in your hand the itztli,\n          To open the breast of your victim;\n          My heart would leap out at your calling,\n          E're the word of your summons was spoken.\n          Ask me to anticipate Heaven,\n          And my life would be swift in its forfeit.\n          But to learn the love of another,\n          And to wean me from your caresses,\n          Is beyond the wisdom of granting.\n          The logic of love hath a limit,\n          Only God can re-tension our heart-strings.\n\n          \"Oh, Hernando! my prince and my primate,\n          My husband on earth and in Heaven!\n          Let me cling to your feet as a hand-maid,\n          And wash with my tears, as another\n          Did moisten the feet of our Savior,\n          But drive me not hence from your presence.\n          I can never love Xamarillo--\n          He can fetter the hand of Malinche,\n          But her heart will go over the ocean\n          And will smite at your breast when you proffer\n          Your hand to some delicate Dona.\n\n          \"Not alone is the voice of my pleading,\n          But an angel in Heaven confronts you;\n          The white wings of sweet Catalina,\n          Shall flutter the breath of your wooing:\n          You sent her too early to Heaven\n          To quiet the shade of her anguish.\n          Two wives--one on earth, one in Heaven--\n          Throw their _love_ and _your_ pride in the balance;\n          And another whose innocent glances\n          Should burn all the dross from your nature,\n          Your child is a witness against you;\n          God has sent him a pledge of my wifehood,\n          To nail the black lie of denying.\n\n          \"Though no priest gave the mystical signet,\n          Surely God heard the vows that were spoken\n          When our hearts took their place at the wedding;\n          And who shall say nay to a union,\n          When Love gives our souls to each other?\n          God is Love, and no higher can speak it.\n          O, Hernando! be father and husband,\n          Be angel and saint to Malinche!\n          She kneels, as she would at God's altar,\n          To plead for the heart you have broken.\n          O, turn from your pride, and but touch it,\n          And it will bloom over with blessing,\n          And will hallow the hand that shall heal it!\"\n\n          All in vain did she plead with the Chieftain;\n          His pride was the bane of his footsteps.\n          The angel of Love would have held him,\n          But the blood of old Spain was too purple,\n          And smothered her tender endeavor.\n          The grip of his purpose still held him,\n          And Malinche, now passive with anguish,\n          Was given to Don Xamarillo\n          With all the sanction of marriage.\n          He was kind, indulgent and loving,\n          And she was made wealthy by Cortez\n          Giving back the estate of her mother\n          And much of the wealth of the province,\n          As if he would purchase appeasement.\n          The Chieftain made lavish atonement,\n          As far as the world could atone her;\n          But her heart was impossible healing.\n\n          Though her charities gave her some solace,\n          And she strove with the earnest of pathos\n          To lose in the anguish of others\n          The shadow of self and of sorrow,\n          Yet she wended her way, broken-hearted;\n          And, as if like the spirit of Aztlan,\n          With the mark of perpetual sadness,\n          With the head bending over and brooding--\n          As groping her way to the sunset,\n          Peering out for the light that was passing\n          For ever and aye with the shadows--\n          She fell asleep with her people,\n          And an angel was born in Heaven.\n\n          And a guardian angel descended,\n          And gathered thy ashes, dead Aztlan!\n          And spread her white wings o'er the casket,\n          To wait for the sound of the trumpet\n          That called thee to life and to freedom.\n          It rode on the wing of the North Wind,\n          And shook the whole earth when it sounded.\n          And no plainer hozanna gave echo,\n          Than arose from thy halls, Montezuma,\n          When the shade of Malinche gave battle,\n          And the armies of Spain were dismembered,\n          As Mexitli arose from her ashes,\n          And a star was replanted in Heaven!\n\n          And now, in the dusk of the evening,\n          When lovers await at the casement,\n          The tokened response of their ladies,\n          When Chapultepec garlands her tablets\n          With the beautiful plumage of springtime,\n          And a thousand sprays of the sunlight\n          Give her walls all the charm of enchantment,\n          Malinche is seen through the shadows,\n          The unsummoned guest at each wedding;\n          The unspoken tryst of all lovers;\n          Wherever two hands are united,\n          The hand of a third presses o'er them.\n          The troth of two hearts is cemented\n          By the one that was cruelly broken.\n          No symbol of faith can be stronger,\n          Than \"The love that is true as Malinche's.\"\n\n          And she watches the fate of the nation\n          With the jealous eye of a mother,--\n          A mother, whose voice more than others\n          Taught their lips the first lisp of the Gospel,\n          And tendered their steps toward Heaven.\n          A saint, at whose shrine they all gather\n          When the shadow of war hovers o'er them,\n          And the eagle swoops down from the mountain\n          To cover the snake with his talons.\n          And they pledge anew to the banner\n          That arose again with the nation,\n          When the three hundred years of their bondage\n          Forged their broken links into missiles\n          To drive Spain into the ocean.\n\n          Thus she holds the warm palm of her people\n          With a memory stronger than shadow,--\n          She lives; and the Spirit of Aztlan,\n          \"The beautiful sphinx of the ages,\"\n          With its foot at the threshold of empire,\n          And its hand on the pulse of the sunrise,\n          And its crown of all possible setting,\n          Has no brighter gem than Malinche.\n\n\n          Blest Mary! the mother of God,\n            And tenderest daughter of Heaven!\n          Thou, too, hast passed under the rod,\n            And with thy great sorrow hast striven!\n          Shall a child of misfortune e'er wait\n            On this side the Beautiful City,\n          When thy hand is the turn of the gate,\n            And thy voice hath the magic of pity?\n          No; the word shall be spoken ere thought,\n            And the prayer be granted ere spoken,\n          And the gate shall swing open unsought\n            To the heart that is bleeding and broken.\n\n          The devils that tore Magdalene\n            May gnash at the sorrow of others;\n          Since a pitying Christ uttered \"peace,\"\n            Mankind become sisters and brothers.\n          Our faith hangs not on the morrow,\n            But is instant and on the wing;\n          With the common signet of sorrow,\n            We pass to the court of the King.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HARP OF THE WEST.\n\n\n      Fair Clime of the sunset! more richly endowed\n      Than Hispan' the knightly, or Gallia the proud--\n          Where the lakes of old Scotia are lost in the maze\n      Of thy thousand that mirror their heavy fringed banks\n      Of mountain and crag, and the stateliest ranks\n          That ever stood sentinel-watch to the gaze\n      Of a sky bending closer, and breathing more near\n      Than the heart ever throbbed to the fall of a tear.\n\n      Though the soul be as barren as Gobi's bleak heath\n      And the spirit of song in the cold throes of death,\n          Can humanity throttle the play of the breeze\n      O'er the harp that old Nature unwittingly strung,\n      When the windows of Heaven wide open were flung,\n          For a thousand years to thy masterful trees?\n      Can the ear fail to hear, or the eye fail to see\n      Thy rich crown! thy sweet song! great Yo Semite?\n\n      Though the brow of Olympus be crowded with thrones,\n      And the cliffs of Parnassus resound with the tones\n          Of the Muses that sang at the foot of their god,\n      Not Apollo's great steeds, nor the flame of his car,\n      Nor Mars, with the terrible glitter of war,\n          Can dazzle the face of thy sun and thy sod,\n      Bright Star of the West! Thou art Empire's own idol,\n      The steed of the lightning, untamed to the bridle!\n\n      What is History's wreath but a record of death!\n      Time breathes on the tablet, it fades with his breath;\n          But Nature has written in language so strong\n      That Eternity's finger alone can displace,\n      And write its own letters to fill up the space.\n          Our castles are mountains--our history, long,--\n      So long that we simply write God on the page,\n      And leave other Nations to guess at our age.\n\n      Our song is the present; God fills up the past,\n      With his rock-written letters; a volume so vast\n          No hand may transcribe what He leaves as his own.\n      From Sinai we came with his prophet of old,\n      To the valley where glitters the altar of gold--\n          Shall we break, in our frenzy, the tables of stone?\n      No! the letters are fresh, and deep graven the hand.\n      Far too sacred our charge! As He writ, let them stand!\n\n      When these tablets of Nature shall yield to the brain,\n      And some bard shall interpret the words they contain,\n          What a song shall burst forth from the prison of thought!\n      As his hand shall pass over the magical strings,\n      And each chord at his touch into unison springs,\n          As the wing of his impulse is hastily caught,\n      No harp more divine in the turn of the earth\n      Shall throb to the measures of sorrow and mirth!\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes.\n\nMany stanzas do not end with any punctuation. As author's intent could\nnot be divined, this was retained.\n\nAt times, a continued quotation was given a new opening quotation mark\nat the start of a new page. As, again, author's intent was not obvious\nthis was left as printed. Stanzas across pages were difficult to place.\n\nPage vi, \"underserved\" changed to \"undeserved\" (to be an undeserved)\n\nPage vi, period added at end of paragraph (all early historians.)\n\nPage vii, \"aborgines\" changed to \"aborigines\" (superiors of the\naborigines)\n\nPage vii, \"occured\" changed to \"occurred\" (occurred to me)\n\nPage ix, \"intolerence\" changed to \"intolerance\" (intolerance and deceit)\n\nPage ix, space added after comma (palliation, and)\n\nPage 10, opening double quotation mark replaced single quotation mark\n(\"Thus saith the Lord: 'O truant)\n\nPage 10, opening double quotation mark replaced single quotation mark\n(\"'I am the God, of whom)\n\nPage 11, word \"I\" added to text to replace smudged text (I kissed the\nclay to life)\n\nPage 18, \"deliverence\" changed to \"deliverance\" (where can our\ndeliverance)\n\nPage 21, \"yonr\" changed to \"your\" (into your hands)\n\nPage 32, \"warrent\" changed to \"warrant\" (had no warrant)\n\nPage 37, space added between words (is weighing)\n\nPage 42, space added between words (clings to)\n\nPage 59, \"they\" changed to \"thy\" (on thy face)\n\nPage 60, space added after comma (ask, give)\n\nPage 77, \"recessess\" changed to \"recesses\" (deep recesses of)\n\nPage 81, \"Ominpotence\" changed to \"Omnipotence\" (Only Omnipotence, we)\n\nPage 81, \"dispair\" changed to \"despair\" (us back despair)\n\nPage 83, \"fraticidal\" changed to \"fratricidal\" (fall in fratricidal jar)\n\nPage 86, \"tribue\" changed to \"tribute\" (brought their tribute to)\n\nPage 89, \"emanciapation\" changed to \"emancipation\" (is emancipation:\nTime)\n\nPage 91, \"pefectness\" changed to \"perfectness\" (so much perfectness)\n\nPage 104, \"slowy\" changed to \"slowly\" (learn as slowly)\n\nPage 117, footnote, \"sacrafice\" changed to \"sacrifice\" (protest against\nhuman sacrifice)\n\nPage 118, \"Quetzalcoalt\" changed to \"Quetzalcoatl\" (Quetzalcoatl takes\nback)\n\nPage 118, \"Nezahualcoyolt\" changed to \"Nezahualcoyotl\" (great\nNezahualcoyotl did spurn)\n\nPage 119, footnote, \"Aztic\" changed to \"Aztec\" (with the Aztec language)\n\nPage 126, \"yoeman\" changed to \"yeoman\" (the hardy yeoman)\n\nPage 132, \"crusifix\" changed to \"crucifix\" (no mumbled crucifix)\n\nPage 133, \"repentent\" changed to \"repentant\" (its repentant ashes)\n\nPage 133, \"Bethleham\" changed to \"Bethlehem\" (the star of Bethlehem)\n\nPage 141, \"veiw\" changed to \"view\" (brought to view)\n\nPage 156, \"appeasment\" changed to \"appeasement\" (now purchase\nappeasement)\n\nPage 164, \"compainon\" changed to \"companion\" (As companion and)\n\nPage 168, \"warned\" changed to \"warmed\" (It warmed the cold)\n\nPage 168, \"radient\" changed to \"radiant\" (the radiant beams)\n\nPage 172, \"anothers\" changed to \"another's\" (arm in another's)\n\nPage 175, \"comfronts\" changed to \"confronts\" (Heaven confronts you)\n\nPage 179, \"Tought\" changed to \"Taught\" (Taught their lips)\n\nPage 181, \"statliest\" changed to \"stateliest\" (the stateliest ranks)", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32110", "title": "Montezuma: An Epic on the Origin and Fate of the Aztec Nation", "author": "", "publication_year": 1885, "metadata_title": "Montezuma: An Epic on the Origin and Fate of the Aztec Nation", "metadata_author": "Richmond", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:22.915880", "source_chars": 250746, "chars": 250746, "talkie_tokens": 57811}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading\nTeam (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by\nInternet Archive/American Libraries\n(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\nNote: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/diaryofbatteryaf00reic\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).\n\n      The original text does not contain a Table of Contents. The\n      Table of Contents included near the beginnning of this file\n      was created by the transcriber as an aid for the reader.\n\n      A list of corrections is at the end of the e-book.\n\n\n\n\n\nDIARY OF BATTERY A, FIRST REGIMENT\nRHODE ISLAND LIGHT ARTILLERY.\n\nby\n\nTHEODORE REICHARDT.\n\nWritten in The Field.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nProvidence:\nN. Bangs Williams, Publisher.\n1865.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n   PREFACE.\n   DIARY.\n      1861.\n      1862.\n      1863.\n      1864.\n   Roster of Battery A.\n   REMARKS.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nCOMRADES OF BATTERY A:--The time for the fulfilment of my promise to you,\nhas arrived. The days of our trials, hardships and sufferings are past,\nand it but remains to memorize the period during which we were battling\nfor the sacred cause of the Union. Although we have not seen the closing\ncontest of this sanguinary strife, yet I feel confident that we have done\nour share towards securing a good end, and nobly has the old battery\nsustained the honor and name of Rhode Island. Of all the light batteries\nLittle Rhody sent to the seat of war, none was ever equal to the old\nSecond, or Battery A, in efficiency, endurance, and the intelligence of\nthe men. Truly did an officer remark: \"My men can fight without officers.\"\n\nIt is no easy task to give a true and satisfactory record of our three\nyears service;--only the entreaties of my comrades induced me to undertake\nit. It is a natural wish to possess a copy of the records, to refer in\nfuture days to those of the past; it will not only be of interest to the\nmembers of the battery, but also to their friends and relatives.\n\nHardly had the first call for three months men been responded to, by\nsending the First Regiment, Col. Burnside, along with the First Battery,\nCapt. Charles H. Tompkins, before the military authorities of Rhode Island\ncontemplated to organize another regiment of infantry and a second\nbattery. Enrollments progressed rapidly, and but a few days after, not\nless than four hundred men were desirous of linking their fortunes with\nthe battery; the armory on Benefit street was the rendezvous of men from\nsunrise till late in the night, eager to acquire the most indispensable\nknowledge of military tactics, foot drill, and manual of the piece, as\nspeedily as possible. Some men were so anxious as to come before daylight,\nand would not leave in the evening until the armorer persuaded them to. We\nexpected to get mustered into the three months service; but the federal\ngovernment, by issuing a call for 75,000 men for not less than three\nyears, left no other alternative but to serve the said term. Messrs.\nParkhurst and Albert Munroe were untiring in their exertions to complete\nthe efficiency of the battery. At last the day that was to transform us\nfrom citizens into soldiers, arrived, the requisite number to man the\nbattery being selected out of four hundred, by Surgeon Wheaton. On the\nfifth day of June, 1861, at five o'clock, P. M., we were mustered into the\nservice of the United States for three years, unless sooner discharged. A\nfew days afterwards, the battery, together with the Second Regiment,\ninfantry, marched to Dexter Training Ground. Tents were pitched, and the\npeople of Providence enjoyed the unusual spectacle of a field-camp, of\nreveilles, dress-parades, firing of artillery by sunrise and sunset, of\ntattoo and taps. The unusual sight attracted multitudes of men, women and\nchildren, day after day. While in camp, mounted battery drills wore away\nthe hours of impatience; men in those days were eager for the fray. During\nour stay on Dexter Ground, all of our battery carriages were exchanged for\nnew ones, (the pieces were James' brass rifle guns,) which we hailed as a\nsign of our early departure. Ammunition arrived on the evening of the 18th\nof June, and the limber chests being filled during the night, the rising\nsun of the 19th witnessed our leave of friends and dear ones, perhaps\nnever to be seen again. Only those who have experienced such emotions\nthemselves, can imagine the sad feeling, to leave whatever is dear to the\nheart, for three long years. But the time is past; the little band that\nwas spared from carnage and disease has returned; they will forget all\nsorrow amidst the joyous welcome of their friends. Yet all joy is mingled\nwith sadness. Some will look in vain for familiar faces. Let there be a\nlasting place in our memory for those who sleep forever on the\nblood-stained fields of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania.\n\n\n\n\nDIARY.\n\n\n_Wednesday, June 19, 1861._--Embarkation of the Second Battery on the\nsteamer Kill Von Kull, and of the Second Rhode Island Infantry, on the\nState of Maine.\n\nEarly in the morning the tents were struck, everything packed up, order\nwas given to mount, and by nine o'clock we commenced our march through\nWestminster street; from thence, through South Main street, to India\nPoint, where the steamers lay, and started by about four o'clock in the\nafternoon. The docks were crowded immensely during the day; the fair sex,\nespecially, was strongly represented. Amid the pealing of cannon and the\nfarewell cheers of the multitude, we gradually distanced the shore. Those\npresent will well remember that memorable day. Gov. Sprague and the\npatriotic Bishop Clark accompanied the Second Regiment, infantry, on the\nState of Maine. On our approaching Fort Adams, we were saluted by the\nartillery there. By nightfall, we were made acquainted with the first\ngovernment ration--pilot bread, the so-called salt-junk, and a cup of\ncoffee. The meat was of a rather poor quality, although it was served out\nwith good grace by our respected captain, W. H. Reynolds.\n\n_Thursday, June 20._--We steamed past Fort Schuyler, Hurl Gate, New York\ncity, crossed the bay, and landed at Elizabethport, by ten o'clock A. M.\nAfter a delay of several hours at the railroad depot, the train started\noff. Much sympathy was displayed by the people of New Brunswick, Trenton,\nEaston and other places we passed through. Loud cheering hailed us at\nevery station; strawberries, pies, &c., were freely handed in the cars.\n\n_Friday, June 21._--Arrived at Harrisburg early in the morning. Coffee,\nbread and pies were given to us by inhabitants of that place. After a\nshort halt, we resumed our journey, crossed the Susquehanna river, passed\nLittle York, and arrived at Baltimore by eight o'clock in the evening. Our\nbattery was immediately loaded on flats, drawn by horses to the top of the\nhill, the horses unhitched then, and the cars rolled down the other side\nto the Washington depot. Order was given not to accept of any refreshments\nfrom the citizens. No demonstration was made, the throwing of a few bricks\non the cars, in the neighborhood of the depot, excepted. Started for\nWashington by ten o'clock.\n\n_Saturday, June 22._--Arrival at the National Capital. By daylight the\ncupola of the Capitol greeted our eyes, a reviving sight after three\nsleepless nights. Col. Ambrose E. Burnside and Capt. Chas. H. Tompkins had\na breakfast prepared for us, consisting of roast beef, soft bread and\ncoffee. After unloading battery, we marched towards Camp Sprague, and\nestablished our quarters on the left of those of the First R. I. infantry\nregiment and battery. Our camp was named \"Camp Clark,\" in honor of the\ncelebrated Bishop Clark, of Rhode Island, the model of a Christian\nminister and true patriot.\n\n_Sunday, June 23._--The sanctity of the day was well observed throughout\nthe camp, and increased by an impressive sermon, preached by Bishop Clark.\nIn the afternoon, passes were given to the men to visit the city. The day\nclosed with a dress parade, President Lincoln and other functionaries\nbeing present.\n\n_Monday, June 24._--Grand review of the Rhode Island troops by President\nLincoln and Gen. Scott. Marched in front of the White House and through\nthe principal streets of Washington.\n\nFrom this time up to the 4th of July, nothing of importance occurred;\neverything went on quiet and pleasant; battery drills and manual of the\npiece were the usual occupation. Sometimes the long roll would be beat\nduring the night, or guards would fire at some imaginary object of\nsuspicion. On such an occasion a cow was shot.\n\n_Thursday, July 4._--The day was duly celebrated in camp. Rhode Island\nfurnished her troops with a good dinner. Prof. Sweet treated the multitude\nwith a tight rope performance. The day passed off smoothly, with the\nexception of a strange display of authority by a few corporals, laboring\nunder the idea that their dignity was injured by the men not paying enough\nrespect to them. In those days gunners and caisson corporals played\ngentlemen. They not only expected to be saluted by privates, but induced\nthe men of their respective detachments to hire negroes to black the boots\nfor all the men, while actually it was only to wait on the corporals; yet\nthey did not want to stand the expense alone. Let it be said in our honor,\nwe allowed this humbug to be of but short duration. I cannot help\nmentioning the names of the men of the fourth detachment, not because the\nmen were any better than others, but because it furnished the most\ncommissioned and non-commissioned officers of any other in the battery.\nCorporals, Charles H. Clark and Harry C. Cushing. Privates, Wm. Drape,\nGeorge Greenleaf, John H. Lawrence, Ben. S. Monroe, Richard Percival,\nTheodore Reichardt, Robert Rowbottom, Robert Raynor, Charles V. Scott, and\nArnold A. Walker.\n\n_Tuesday, July 9._--A sad accident occurred to-day. At section drill,\nthrough some unknown cause, a limber-chest of Lieut. Vaughan's section,\nfilled with cartridges, exploded, while the gunner Morse, and privates\nBourne and Freeman were mounted. They were thrown some twenty feet up in\nthe air. Morse and Bourne died within the space of an hour. Freeman, being\nbadly injured, recovered after a lingering sickness. Two drivers were\nslightly wounded, and two horses injured. We escorted the bodies of Morse\nand Bourne to the depot, to be sent to Rhode Island.\n\n_Thursday, July 11._--Grand review before President Lincoln, Gens. Scott\nand Fremont. Salutes were fired.\n\n_Monday, July 15._--Great excitement in camp; order was received to get\nready for a forward movement; ammunition packed; haversacks and canteens\nwere issued.\n\n_Tuesday, July 16._--The morning of that day found us marching across the\nLong Bridge, directly through Fort Runyon, on the Virginia side; did not\nmarch over seven miles; after which we formed in line of battle and\nprepared to camp for the night, this being the first night in the open\nair. All quiet during the night.\n\n_Wednesday, July 17._--Resumed our march soon after break of day, and\nentered Fairfax Court House, contrary to our expectations, towards one\no'clock, at mid-day, the rebels having evacuated the town shortly before\nour entrance. Their rear guard could be plainly seen some distance off.\nOur battery formed in park near the court house. Some of the boys were\nvery lucky in finding a good dinner served on a table in one of the\nhouses, besides some articles of value, undoubtedly belonging to some\nconfederate officers. Some picket firing during the night.\n\n_Thursday, July 18._--Advance at daylight. A part of the Union army, Gen.\nTyler's troops, engaged. This conflict the rebels call battle of Bull Run.\nWhile the contest was raging, our division halted two miles to the left of\nFairfax Court House, at a place called Germantown. We could plainly hear\nthe distant booming of artillery, and were impatiently waiting for the\norder, \"forward.\" Towards four o'clock P. M., we advanced again;\npreparations were made to get in action; sponge buckets filled with water,\nand equipments distributed among the cannoniers. But when we approached\nCentreville, intelligence came that our troops got worsted and the contest\nwas given up. Our division went to camp within a mile and a half of\nCentreville. Strong picket lines were drawn up.\n\n_Friday, July 19._--Camp near Centreville. The troops remained quiet all\nday. Fresh beef as rations.\n\n_Saturday, July 20._--Quiet during the day. About six o'clock in the\nevening the army got ready to advance; but after council of war was held\nby the chief commanders, they concluded to wait till the next day.\n\n_Sunday, July 21._--Battle of Manassas Plains. This battle will always\noccupy a prominent place in the memory of every man of the battery. They\nall expected to find a disorganized mob, that would disperse at our mere\nappearance; while, to the general surprise, they not only were better\ndisciplined, but also better officered than our troops. We started by two\no'clock in the morning, but proceeded very slowly. Passed Centreville\nbefore break-of-day. When the sun rose in all its glory, illuminating the\nsplendid scenery of the Blue Ridge mountains, though no sun of Austerlitz\nto us, we crossed the bridge over the Cub Run. By this time, the report\nof the 30-pounder Parrott gun belonging to Schenck's command, who had met\nthe enemy, was heard. Our division turned off to the right, and marched\nsome miles through dense woodland, to the Warrenton road. Towards ten\no'clock, nothing could be seen of the enemy yet, and the belief found\ncirculation that the enemy had fallen back. Experience proved that, had we\nremained at Centreville, the rebel army would undoubtedly have attacked\nus; but hearing of our advance they only had to lay in ambush, ready to\nreceive us. At the aforesaid time, the Second Rhode Island infantry\ndeployed as skirmishers. We advanced steadily, till arriving at the Bull\nRun and Sudley's church, a halt was ordered to rest the men and the\nhorses. But it should not be; the brave Second R. I. Regiment, coming up\nto the enemy, who was concealed in the woods, their situation was getting\ncritical. The report of cannon and musketry followed in rapid succession.\nOur battery, after passing Sudley's church, commenced to trot in great\nhaste to the place of combat. At this moment Gen. McDowell rode up in\ngreat excitement, shouting to Capt. Reynolds: \"Forward with your light\nbattery.\" This was entirely needless, as we were going at high speed, for\nall were anxious to come to the rescue of our Second regiment. In quick\ntime we arrived in the open space where the conflict was raging already in\nits greatest fury. The guns were unlimbered, with or without command; no\nmatter, it was done, and never did better music sound to the ears of the\nSecond Regiment, than the quick reports of our guns, driving back the\nadvancing foe. For nearly forty minutes our battery and the Second\nRegiment, defended that ground before any other troops were brought into\naction. Then the First Rhode Island, Seventy-first New York, and Second\nNew Hampshire, with two Dahlgren howitzers, appeared, forming on the right\nand left. The enemy was driven successfully in our immediate front. Our\nbattery opened on one of the enemy's light batteries to our right, which\nleft after a short but spirited engagement, in a rather demoralized state.\nGriffith's, Ayer's and Rickett's batteries coming up, prospects really\nlooked promising, and victory seemed certain. The rebel line gradually\ngiving way. Gen. McDowell, seeing the explosion of perhaps a magazine or a\ncaisson, raised his cap, shouting, \"Soldiers, this is the great explosion\nof Manassas,\" and seemed to be highly pleased with the work done by our\nbattery. Owing to different orders, the battery, towards afternoon, was\nsplit into sections. Capt. Reynolds, with Lieuts. Tompkins and Weeden, off\nto the right, while the two pieces of the left section, to the left;\nLieuts. Vaughan and Munroe remaining with the last mentioned. Firing was\nkept up incessantly, until the arrival of confederate reinforcements,\ncoming down from Manassas Junction, unfurling the stars and stripes,\nwhereby our officers were deceived to such a degree as to give the order,\n\"Cease firing.\" This cessation of our artillery fire proved, no doubt,\ndisastrous. It was the turning point of the battle. Our lines began to\nwaver after receiving the volleys of the disguised columns. The setting\nsun found the fragments of our army not only in full retreat but in a\ncomplete rout, leaving most of the artillery in the hands of the enemy.\nOur battery happened to be the only six gun volunteer battery, carrying\nall the guns off the battle-field, two pieces in a disabled condition. A\nbattery-wagon and forge were lost on the field. Retreating the same road\nwe advanced on in the morning. All of a sudden the cry arose, \"The Black\nHorse Cavalry is coming.\" The alarm proved to be false; yet it had the\neffect upon many soldiers to throw away their arms. But the fears of many\nsoldiers that the enemy would try to cut off our retreat, were partly\nrealized. Our column having reached Cub Run bridge, was at once furiously\nattacked on our right by artillery and cavalry. Unfortunately, the bridge\nbeing blocked up, the confusion increased. All discipline was gone. Here\nour battery was lost, all but one gun, that of the second detachment,\nwhich was carried through the creek. It is kept at the armory of the\nMarine Artillery, in Providence. At the present time, guns, under such\ncircumstances, would not be left to the enemy without the most strenuous\nefforts being made to save them. We assembled at the very same camp we\nleft in the morning. Credit is due to Capt. Reynolds, for doing everything\npossible for the comfort of his men. At midnight the defeated army took\nup its retreat towards Washington. Our battery consisting of one gun, and\nthe six-horse team, drove by Samuel Warden.\n\n_Monday, July 22._--Arrived at, and effected our passage across the Long\nBridge, by ten o'clock, and found ourselves once more at Camp Clark, where\nwe had a day of rest after our _debut_ on the battle-field yesterday,\nunder the scorching sun of Virginia.\n\n_Wednesday, July 24._--Lieut. Albert Munroe addressed the battery in\nregard to the battle, and attributed our defeat to the want of discipline.\nThe men felt very indignant at his remarks. \"We had to come down to\nregulations, the same as in the regular army, and should consider\nourselves almost as State prison convicts.\" We have since seen that he\nmeant no insult towards the battery; but have found out to our\nsatisfaction that he spoke the truth, for we have seen the time that put\nus almost on the same level with convicts.\n\n_Thursday, July 25._--Received the first government pay in gold. The First\nRegiment left Camp Sprague for home, marching by our camp. Capt. Reynolds\nproposed cheers for every company, which was spontaneously replied to.\n\n_Saturday, July 27._--Men of every detachment were selected to accompany\nan expedition on board a steamer towards Aquia Creek, to try one of James'\nrifled guns of heavy calibre upon the rebel battery there. They all\nreturned in the evening without any disaster having occurred.\n\n_Sunday, July 28._--The Second Battery left Camp Clark by four o'clock P.\nM., for Harper's Ferry, to receive the guns of the First Battery, whose\nterm of service had expired. Gov. Sprague made a short speech to the men.\nThe battery travelled by way of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, via\nAnnapolis Junction and the Relay House.\n\n_Monday, July 29._--Arrived at Sandy Hook by two o'clock P. M. Relieved\nthe First Battery, the pieces being turned over to us. They started for\nhome in the evening. Our camp is one mile from Weavertown. The right\nsection under Lieut. Vaughan, took position on Maryland Heights, which\ncommand Loudon Heights and Harper's Ferry. Gen. Banks is in command of\nthis department. From this time, up to the thirteenth of August, nothing\nexciting occurred. Battery drill in the morning and the manual of the\npiece in the afternoon. Extremely hot weather during daytime. Capt.\nReynolds went home on a furlough.\n\n_Tuesday, August 13._--News arrived towards evening that the rebels were\nmaking a demonstration at Berlin and Point of Rocks. Lieut. Vaughan's\nsection left Maryland Heights, going directly towards Berlin by eight\no'clock. The other sections, commanded by Lieut. Munroe, left Sandy Hook\nfor Point of Rocks, marched all night, and arrived at said place the next\nmorning, by seven o'clock.\n\n_Wednesday, August 14._--The Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania, commanded by Col.\nGeary, occupied the town. We established our camp about five o'clock, P.\nM., close to that of the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania Volunteers.\n\n_Thursday, August 15._--Witnessed the drumming out of a soldier of the\nTwenty-eighth Pennsylvania for stealing from his comrades.\n\n_Friday, August 16._--Return of Capt. Reynolds, with the Third Battery,\nafterwards Battery B, Rhode Island Light Artillery, and some recruits for\nours. The newly raised battery should have relieved us, and taken our\npieces, as we had the promise of entirely new ones. We all expected to\nreturn to Washington; but Col. Geary, being in the immediate neighborhood\nof rebel troops, remonstrated against our departure, saying he would not\nrely on a new battery at such a critical moment. Owing to this, the Third\nBattery returned to Washington the same evening, in command of Lieut.\nVaughan, he being promoted to Captain. Sergeant-Major Randolph was\npromoted to Lieutenant. All quiet up to\n\n_Wednesday, August 21._--The Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania received two guns\nfor their own use. Signs of a demonstration show themselves this evening.\nAll our baggage was sent off; the tents only left standing, ready to be\nburnt in case we had to leave.\n\n_Thursday, August 22._--The right section left Berlin and went towards\nFrederick City.\n\n_Friday, August 23._--Rebel cavalry plainly to be seen on the other side\nof the Potomac.\n\n_Saturday, August 24, and Sunday, August 25._--Quiet. Great slaughter\namongst turkeys and chickens!\n\n_Monday, August 26._--Great excitement. Reports of artillery firing in the\ndirection of Edwards Ferry, created considerable stir. Capt. Reynolds,\nwith two pieces, started towards Edwards Ferry. We changed our camp out of\nthe enemy's sight. Nothing of interest from this time up to\n\n_Sunday, September 1._--Col. Geary received three hundred additional men\nfor his regiment.\n\n_Monday, August 2._--Orders arrived for our remaining section to unite\nforthwith with the rest of the battery at Darnestown. The morning was\nbeautiful. The battery got ready to march. Col. Geary had his regiment\ndrawn up in line. The whole regiment presented arms as we passed by, they\nbeing greatly attached to us, while we gave nine cheers and a Narragansett\nfor Col. Geary and his brave regiment. This day's march will always be a\npleasant recollection for the surviving. Our road was leading through the\nmost beautiful parts of Maryland. Late in the afternoon we arrived at\nDarnestown, and united once more with the rest of the battery, after\nhaving been parted for three weeks. Gen. Banks' headquarters are there,\nand all the troops of his command, lying around the town. We had a very\npleasant camp, but should not enjoy it long.\n\n_Wednesday, September 4._--After returning from a battery drill, orders\nawaited our section, in command of Lieut. J. A. Tompkins. We left\nDarnestown at five o'clock P. M., going at a fast rate towards Great\nFalls, a distance of ten miles. At our arrival we found the Seventh\nPennsylvania Regiment, commanded by Col. Harvey. During the day the enemy\nhad some pieces of artillery in position, to bear on the water-works at\nGreat Falls, and on the Seventh Pennsylvania Volunteers, firing a hundred\nrounds. Only one man was wounded. Col. Harvey guided our battery through\nthe woods at midnight. Our section took position on the edge of a knoll,\nwhile the Seventh fortified our guns. It rained during the night.\n\n_Thursday, September 5._--At dawn of day, contrary to our expectations,\nthe enemy did not open on us again. Having had no food since the day\nbefore, some of us went to the town, and as fortune would have it, found\nbread, molasses, and that renowned coffee kettle, the fourth detachment\nwill well remember. We enjoyed a good soldiers' breakfast. Lieut.\nTompkins, behaving towards the men like a gentleman, they would have done\nmost anything for him. In several cases he relieved our wants, out of his\nown purse. Late in the afternoon we left Great Falls, marching towards\nSeneca Mills, as the enemy made various demonstrations up and down the\nPotomac. Rain falling incessantly, and passing through dense woods\nmarching became a matter of impossibility, and it was decided to halt by\nthe roadside until daylight. An unoccupied house being close by, we all\ntook possession of it, and found ourselves quite comfortable.\n\n_Friday, September 6._--A bright morning greeted our eyes. The clear sky\npromised a pleasant day. We discovered an orchard near by, which furnished\nus with a variety of the most beautiful peaches. After taking a good\nsupply of them, marching was resumed. Arrived by nine o'clock A. M. at\nCamp Jackson, occupied by the Thirty-fourth Regiment New York Volunteers,\nCol. LaDue. We were well received. Towards evening, the Colonel and Lieut.\nTompkins took the fifth piece along, in the direction of the Potomac,\ngetting the gun in position close to the canal, after masking it. All\nquiet during the night.\n\n_Sunday, September 8._--A few shots were fired into the Old Dominion,\nwithout any response by the enemy.\n\n_Monday, September 9._--Major Charles H. Tompkins, in company with Col.\nWheaton, of the Second Rhode Island Regiment, tried a few shots, without\nreply.\n\n_Tuesday, September 10._--Gov. Sprague, Col. Wheaton, Major Tompkins, and\nCapt. Reynolds, visited the section on picket. Quiet up to\n\n_Monday, September 16._--In the evening, some of the Thirty-fourth New\nYork Regiment crossed the river, had a skirmish with the rebels, and\nreturned with the loss of four men. Capt. Reynolds being promoted to\nMajor, left the battery. So did Lieut. Albert Munroe, promoted to\nCaptain. Lieut. Tompkins, also promoted, took command of our battery.\n\n_Tuesday, September 17._--Our piece kept on firing at an imaginary enemy\nfor a whole hour; the Major of the Thirty-fourth being present. Nothing\nremarkable up to\n\n_Sunday, September 22._--Squads of cavalry and infantry visible on the\nVirginia shore. Great changes took place during this period. Orderly J. H.\nNewton being promoted to Lieutenant, took command of the left section.\nSergeants Owen and Randolph, after having been promoted to Lieutenants,\nleft the battery, and were transferred to other Rhode Island batteries.\nThe State having organized a regiment of light artillery, on the\nthirteenth of August, we were no longer called the Second Battery, but\nBattery A.\n\n_Monday, September 23._--Orders came to leave the picket line at dark, and\nreturn to Camp Jackson.\n\n_Tuesday, September 24._--We were paid off in gold for two months service.\nQuiet in Camp Jackson up to\n\n_Monday, September 30._--The section returned to Darnestown, and the\nbattery was once more together.\n\n_Tuesday, October 1._--One o'clock A. M. Orders arrived to return\nimmediately to Seneca Mills. The left section marched at once, arriving\ntowards daybreak. At sunrise, the fifth gun went on picket duty once\nmore. Lieut. Newton, Sergeants Hammond and Read, were with the left\nsection. Commenced to throw up intrenchments during the night.\n\n_Thursday, October 3._--Left the picket line again, returned to Camp\nJackson, started for Darnestown by six o'clock, and arrived there by eight\no'clock P. M. Thus ended our stay at Seneca Mills, the most pleasant\nperiod of our three years service. Vegetables and fruit, chickens and\npigs, were plenty, for we owned the whole plantation of that old rebel\nPeters, who was sent to Fort Lafayette for treason. The Thirty-fourth New\nYork, having the picket line on the river, always proved good companions.\nThe view of the surrounding country is really imposing, including Sugar\nLoaf Mountain, the natural observatory of the signal corps. Some\nremarkable items must not be forgotten--for instance, novel songs of \"The\nNice Legs;\" \"Jimmy Nutt's Measuring the Guard Time by the Moon;\"\n\"Griffin's Apple Sauce,\" and \"Doughnuts for Horses.\"\n\n_Sunday, October 6._--Camp at Darnestown. The battery received three new\nguns in the afternoon. Lieut. J. G. Hassard, having joined our battery, at\nDarnestown, commanded the right section as First Lieutenant. Company\ncooking was introduced by him. Before that, every detachment done its own\ncooking. The enterprise itself, of cooking for the whole company, and the\nselling of a part of the rations, for raising a company fund, would have\nbeen well enough, but the management was extremely poor. Some days we\nfared well; on other days there would be no dinner, but a detestable bacon\nsoup, hardly fit for hogs. We were told that the government rations would\nnot admit of a dinner every day. But what good did it do then to sell\nrations, under the pretext of raising a company fund? This is a question\nwhich never could nor never will be satisfactorily explained by those who\nstarted it.\n\n_Monday, October 7._--Capt. Tompkins very suddenly marched off to Harper's\nFerry, with the right section. Thunder storm in the evening.\n\n_Friday, October 11._--A new lieutenant for our battery arrived to-day.\nJeffrey Hassard, our First Lieutenant's brother.\n\n_Sunday, October 13._--Gov. Sprague visited the camp. Private Benedict\ndeserted.\n\n_Tuesday, October 15._--Parade drill of the battery, in presence of Gov.\nSprague, and Col. Tompkins, the drill proving very satisfactory. Capt.\nVaughan visited us the same evening, and addressed us as follows: \"Boys, I\ndeserve to be kicked for ever leaving this battery, because, by right, it\nis my battery, and I should be with you.\" (Vociferous cheering, and cries,\n\"Give us our old officers, and we will show you that we can drill.\") Capt.\nVaughan, mounting his horse, appeared very much affected. Turning round\nonce more, he said, \"I am hanging around; it is hard for me to leave\nyou.\" Answer of the men: \"We know it. You are a man every inch of you.\"\nNine cheers for Capt. Vaughan, our old First Lieutenant, vibrated through\nthe air.\n\n_Wednesday, October 16._--Battery drill, and speech by our First\nLieutenant. Gen. Banks visited our camp this evening. Nothing important up\nto\n\n_Saturday, October 19._--Gen. Banks and staff honored our battery drill\nwith their presence. Col. Geary of the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania, and\nCapt. Tompkins, with the right section, had a fight with the rebels at\nHarper's Ferry and Bolivar Heights. Our right section, occupying Maryland\nHeights, fired into Bolivar and on a rebel battery on Loudon Heights. Even\nthe drivers served an old iron gun. Col. Geary's troops, crossing the\nriver in scows, carried the fight to Bolivar Heights. No loss of men in\nthe right section.\n\n_Monday, October 21._--Battle of Ball's Bluff. Gen. Stone crossed the\nPotomac near Conrad's Ferry, across Harrison's Island, with Col. Baker's\nbrigade, this morning. (Forty-second New York, Fifteenth and Twentieth\nMassachusetts Regiments, and a piece of artillery, of Capt. Vaughan's\nbattery. The rest of the battery stayed on Harrison Island.) By seven\no'clock in the evening, the whole division of Gen. Banks left Darnestown,\ngoing to Edwards Ferry. Our battery started about nine o'clock. Arriving\nat Poolesville, we heard of the disastrous result. Our troops had\nwithdrawn from Ball's Bluff. Col. Baker's corpse was brought into town.\n\n_Tuesday, October 22._--Arrived at Edwards Ferry by six o'clock A. M. Two\nthousand men were already landed on the Virginia shore, opposite the\nferry, others were continually crossing on canal boats. Since daylight,\nrain fell incessantly. On the Virginia side, skirmishing was going on all\nday. At five o'clock both lines of battle advanced. A brisk fight\ncommenced. Two brass howitzers of Rickett's battery, First United States\nArtillery, did good execution, being in position on the Virginia shore.\nWhile the fight continued, the Twenty-eighth Pennsylvania, Col. Geary, the\nTwenty-ninth, Col. Mury, and Van Allen's cavalry, were sent as\nreinforcements across the Potomac. Fighting ceased an hour afterwards.\nCapt. Vaughan went to the enemy's lines, under a flag of truce, to see\nabout some of his wounded men in the hands of the rebels. Gen. McClellan\narrived at night.\n\n_Wednesday, October 23._--A clear day. The enemy in great force around\nLeesburg. We can see the church steeples of that place. Skirmishing kept\nup all day. In the evening our battery received orders to embark and cross\nthe river,--Capt. Tompkins, having come back from Harper's Ferry, with the\nright section, the evening before,--three guns were already loaded on a\ncanal boat, together with Company C, First Maryland Regiment, and started;\nbut the current of the stream being too strong, and losing half of the\noars, they had to return again. Orders awaited us already to disembark\nimmediately, and return to camp. All the troops withdrew from the Virginia\nshore before daylight,--eight thousand men in all.\n\n_Thursday, October 24._--After all the troops had been withdrawn, the\nrebel pickets held the line close to the river, and fired a shot once in a\nwhile. Rickett's, ours, and Captain Bess' batteries, were drawn up in one\nline. Our battery is detached to General Williams' brigade.\n\n_Friday, October 25._--Remained the same, at Edwards Ferry.\n\n_Saturday, October 26._--General Williams' brigade and our battery marched\noff to Muddy Branch in the morning. Arrived there, in camp of the\nTwenty-eighth New York, in the afternoon.\n\n_Sunday, October 27._--Established our camp.\n\n_Monday, October 28._--Commenced to build a stable for horses, three\nhundred feet long. Captain Bess, our chief of artillery. Our battery\nremained at Muddy Branch up to the twenty-seventh of November. Little is\nto be said of this period. Drill as usual. Received the news of the taking\nof Beaufort, South Carolina, and the capture of Slidell and Mason. Captain\nReynolds visited the battery for the last time, having been promoted to\nLieutenant Colonel of the Rhode Island artillery, and transferred to\nanother department.\n\n_Wednesday, November 27._--The battery left Muddy Branch, with the\nunderstanding to go into winter-quarters near Poolesville. We were told\nthat we should have many drills together with Battery B, no longer Captain\nVaughan's battery, who, having had disagreements, left the service. We\nmarched by nine o'clock in the morning. The weather was very unpleasant,\nraining and freezing all day. Passed through Poolesville at four o'clock,\nand commenced to pitch tents by five o'clock. Our camp is next to Battery\nB's, commanded by Lieutenant Perry. We had a good reception by the men,\nwho treated all of us to coffee.\n\n_Thursday, November 28._--Thanksgiving day. Governor Sprague furnished\ntwenty turkeys for us.\n\n_Friday, 29th, and Saturday, November 30._--A stable for the horses\ncommenced on.\n\n_Sunday, December 1, to Tuesday the 10th._--Nothing of any consequence\nhappened. Camp wore a wintry aspect. The time was mostly occupied in\nbuilding stables for the horses. Colonel Tompkins, now on General Stone's\nstaff, arrived at Poolesville; we did no longer belong to General Banks'\ndivision, but to General Stone's.\n\n_Tuesday, December 10._--Our division had quite an interesting sham-fight\nat Poolesville, four regiments of infantry, three batteries, and Van\nAllen's cavalry partaking in it. We fired blank cartridges. Van Allen's\ncavalry had several men injured in charging.\n\n_Wednesday, December 11._--While going to a drill, through Poolesville, on\ntrot, Corporal Burrows was thrown off the limber-chest, and his leg\nbroken by a wheel passing over him.\n\n_Thursday, December 12._--Great artillery manoeuvre.\n\n_Friday, December 13._--Batteries A and B were ordered to report near\nConrad's Ferry, where we arrived before sunrise, it being only five miles\nfrom our camp. While going through the woods, orders were given not to\ntalk loud, the distance between us and the enemy being not more than three\nmiles at the time. The enemy's position, which was a fortified one,\nconsisting of two forts, called Beauregard and Johnson, had already been\nreconnoitred from a balloon, the day before. At our arrival, we found\nGeneral Stone and Colonel Tompkins, with two companies of Van Allen's\ncavalry, two companies of the Thirty-fourth New York, and two of the First\nMinnesota, already there. We opened on the two forts, without much effect.\nLieutenant Perry was more successful, with his Parrott guns. The enemy\ncould be seen standing in squads by his artillery, yet no reply was made.\nBy four o'clock we all withdrew, except the Parrott guns of Battery B,\ndoing picket duty. The old members will remember, when returning to camp,\nLieutenant Perry rode that nigger down. Quiet up to\n\n_Wednesday, December 18._--The right section went to Conrad's Ferry, but\nreturned in the evening.\n\n_Wednesday, December 25._--Christmas. Our officers presented the company\nwith a barrel of beer.\n\n_Thursday, December 26._--The project was started to build huts for\nwinter-quarters. Details were made every day, to cut heavy timber, which\nwas done for a week. But luckily, it failed completely, as it would have\ntaken at least four months to get ready, by the plan worked on. Officers\nquarters had to be built first, then non-commissioned officers, and last,\nthe poor privates. In fact, a great nuisance in the army, is the illegal\nusing of soldiers for manual service for the benefit of commissioned\nofficers, which is altogether contrary to army regulations. It is\nrevolting to the mind, to see men, who perhaps never have been anything at\nhome, make slaves of their equals, just because they happen to be in\ncommand of them, and this, they give the wrong name of discipline.\n\n_Friday, December 27._--Arrival of Battery B, Pennsylvania artillery,\ncoming from McCall's division, after having participated in the battle of\nDrainesville.\n\n_Monday, December 30._--The centre section, commanded by Lieutenant\nJeffrey Hassard, relieved the section of Battery B, on picket at Conrad's\nFerry. Our detachment accidentally changed its position in the battery--we\nwere transferred to the centre section, being the fourth piece, sixth\ndetachment. We arrived at the ferry by one o'clock P. M., and took up our\nquarters in a deserted nigger-shanty. Splendid view of the Potomac and\nBlue Ridge Mountains. At night, the camp-fires of the rebels were\nvisible.\n\n_Tuesday, December 31._--On picket, at Conrad's Ferry. The rebel camp\nplainly to be seen. Infantry and cavalry drilling outside the forts.\n\nEND OF THE YEAR 1861.\n\n\n\n\n1862.\n\n_Our Campaigns in the year 1862: The campaign to Winchester, under General\nBanks. The great Peninsular campaign, under General McClellan. The\ncampaign in Maryland under the same; and Burnside's campaign on the\nRappahannock, ending with the battle of Fredericksburg._\n\n\n_Wednesday, January 1._--Battery in camp near Poolesville; we, the centre\nsection, on picket at Conrad's Ferry. Our picket duty, at this place, has\nbeen a very pleasant one, being very light, except the guard duty. Firing\nof videttes was very frequent during the night. But never did either party\ndisturb the other with artillery practice during our stay. Sometimes\nsignal rockets were sent up on the Maryland side, by rebel sympathizers,\nwhich were generally answered from the Virginia shore. General Stone had\nstrong block-houses, of solid oak-timber, built on the line from Muddy\nBranch to Conrad's Ferry, for the defence of the Maryland side, large\nenough to hold three hundred men each. May it be remembered, pigs had to\nsuffer in our neighborhood. The weather, having been pleasant for weeks,\nbecame very wintry after the first of January.\n\n_Sunday, January 5._--Battery G, Captain Owen, Rhode Island, (four\ntwenty-pound Parrott guns and two howitzers,) arrived at Poolesville.\n\n_Tuesday, January 7._--Great liveliness in the rebel forts,--bands playing\nand soldiers strengthening the fortifications.\n\n_Thursday, January 9._--Severe cold since yesterday. The Potomac froze\nto-day. A steam tug coming up the river, was a rare sight to both sides.\n\n_Friday, January 10._--An officer of the First Minnesota Regiment appeared\nat our quarters, communicating that rebel pickets occupied Harrison's\nIsland.\n\n_Saturday, January 11._--Nothing stirring.\n\n_Sunday, January 12._--Considerable picket firing. Nothing important up to\n\n_Monday, January 20._--The centre section was relieved from picket at\nConrad's Ferry, by the left section, under Lieut. Newton. The guns of the\nformer remained there to be taken by the left section.\n\n_Wednesday, January 22._--Received two months pay. News arrived in the\nevening of the Union victory at Springfield, Kentucky, and death of the\nrebel General Zollicoffer, in honor of which a national salute of\nthirty-four guns was fired. Quiet in camp, the latter part of January.\n\n_Saturday, February 1._--During the past month the right section done\npicket duty once on the Potomac.\n\n_Monday, February 3._--The left section relieved the right section to-day.\n\n_Friday, February 7._--Received the news of the surrender of Fort Henry.\n\n_Saturday, February 8._--General Stone was arrested to-day. General\nSedgwick takes his command.\n\n_Monday, February 10._--The centre section relieved the left section at\nConrad's Ferry.\n\n_Thursday, February 13._--Considerable picket firing. Captain Owen opened\nwith his twenty-pound Parrott guns, from Edwards Ferry, on Fort\nBeauregard. Kept up firing for an hour. Four negroes crossed the river,\nbringing two horses along. Owen's Battery opened a second time in the\nafternoon.\n\n_Friday, February 14._--One of the pickets of the Thirty-fourth New York,\nshot the rebel officer of the day, passing the picket line alongside the\nriver.\n\n_Saturday, February 15._--Heavy firing in the direction of Drainesville.\nSnow-storm.\n\n_Sunday, February 16._--Official news of the taking of Fort Donelson.\n\n_Monday, February 17._--We (centre section) were relieved from picket duty\nby the right section, Lieutenant J. G. Hassard.\n\n_Saturday, February 22._--Camp Wilkes. The rebels fired salutes in honor\nof Washington's birth-day.\n\n_Sunday, February 23._--The rebels opened with their artillery, the first\ntime during the winter, demolishing a government wagon.\n\n_Monday, February 24._--Orders came in the afternoon to get ready to march\nthe coming day. New knapsacks were issued, and rations kept ready for\nthree days. Great times in camp, especially in the sixth detachment, all\nthe rations on hand being sold to Benson's for whiskey. Who would not\nremember S. that evening, the stove, and O! Su!\n\n_Tuesday, February 25._--Sedgwick's division left Poolesville at eight\no'clock, A. M. Marched through Barnesville, and after several unsuccessful\nattempts to get the artillery across the Sugar Loaf Mountain, stopped over\nnight at the foot of the mountain. A very cold night. No tents.\n\n_Wednesday, February 26._--Marched at seven o'clock A. M. Arrived at\nAdamstown by eleven o'clock A. M. General Banks was at Harper's Ferry\nalready. Troops were passing by railroad, en route for Harper's Ferry, all\nthe time. Our battery went in park, for the rest of the day, close to the\nrailroad. General McClellan passed through in a special train. Rain all\nnight.\n\n_Thursday, February 27._--The battery was loaded on cars in the morning.\nThe baggage teams, and the drivers with the battery-horses, went on the\nturnpike road, through Jefferson City, Petersville, Knoxville, and\nWeavertown, and arrived at Sandy Hook by nightfall. The cannoniers, coming\nby railroad, made a raid on a number of express boxes, after which,\neatables and all sorts of liquors being plenty, all night, the happiness\nof the men reached such a degree, as to make it impossible to post a\nguard,--Novel and Drape being the happiest men in the sixth detachment,\nwhile Jim Lewes hallooed for Billy Knight all the time. The night was\nextremely windy and cold.\n\n_Friday, February 28._--The battery crossed the Potomac to Harper's Ferry\non a pontoon bridge. We occupy one of the government buildings on the\nhill.\n\n_Saturday, March 1._--Remained in our quarters up to\n\n_Friday, March 7._--Left Harper's Ferry. Detached to General Gorman's\nbrigade. Marched till within a mile of Charlestown, Virginia, and went in\ncamp to the left of the road, close to the First Minnesota, Colonel Sully.\n\n_Saturday, March 8._--Remained in camp near Charlestown, and received new\nSibly tents to-day.\n\n_Monday, March 10._--Marched through Charlestown, and thence to\nBerryville. On this occasion, something happened that wants mentioning.\nWhen leaving Poolesville, Captain J. A. Tompkins ordered the men to carry\nthe knapsacks on the back. This is contrary to regulations. It created a\ngreat deal of dissatisfaction. The lot of a soldier is hard enough,\nwithout irritating him unreasonably. But, honor to the lamented hero,\nGeneral Sedgwick, who, riding by our battery, at Charlestown, peremptorily\nordered Captain Tompkins to have no more knapsacks carried by any of his\nmen. An engagement was anticipated. Rebels were seen beyond Ripton. By one\nand a-half o'clock, our left section unlimbered, and fired two shells\ntowards Berryville. Van Allen's, and the Eighth Michigan cavalry, drove\nthe rebel cavalry, two hundred and fifty strong, out of the town. Our\nbattery followed closely--Gorman's brigade in our rear. The stars and bars\nwere lowered from the church steeple, and a substitute furnished in the\nshape of the colors of the First Minnesota. The pieces of the battery were\nbrought in separate position by sections.\n\n_Tuesday, March 11._--Halted at Berryville during daytime. In the evening,\nthe battery united outside the town, going in camp; but the guns in\nposition.\n\n_Wednesday, March 12._--Some men of the First Minnesota, and Corporal\nButler, of our battery, took possession of Gregg's printing office, of\n\"The Berryville Observator,\" and published quite a number of copies of\nsaid paper. News of McClellan's occupation of Manassas arrived, in\nconsequence of which, a salute of forty guns was fired. In the evening,\nwhen Captain Tompkins rode into camp, the assembly was blown at once, and\nhe addressed the men as follows: \"Boys, a fight is going on at Winchester,\nand this battery must be there within twenty-five minutes.\" Camp was\nstruck, and the battery on the road, when the order was countermanded.\n\n_Thursday, March 13._--At Berryville. Marched by eight o'clock A. M.\ntowards Winchester. When within two miles of the latter place, orders\narrived for our division to return to Harper's Ferry. General Banks'\ntroops were occupying Winchester already. Arrived at Berryville again by\nfour o'clock in the afternoon.\n\n_Friday, March 14._--Marched to our old campground, beyond Charlestown.\n\n_Saturday, March 15._--Marched to Harper's Ferry, and occupied the\ngovernment building, in which we were quartered before, again. A heavy\nrain-storm to-day.\n\n_Saturday, March 22._--We left Harper's Ferry in the morning. During the\nafternoon, the battery was loaded on railroad cars at Sandy Hook. The\ntrain started by seven o'clock in the evening, for Washington.\n\n_Sunday, March 23._--Arrived at Washington by eleven o'clock A. M., and\nunloaded the battery at once. Marched from the depot to the camp of the\nNew England cavalry. The guns were guarded near the depot. The horses,\nunder charge of Captain Tompkins, and Lieutenant J. G. Hassard, were\ncoming on the country road.\n\n_Monday, March 24._--At Camp \"Dunkins.\" Quiet.\n\n_Tuesday, March 25._--The drivers arrived with the horses. In the\nafternoon, our James' rifle guns were returned to the Washington Arsenal,\nand those of Battery I, First United States regulars, given to us. They\nconsist of four Parrott guns and two brass howitzers.\n\n_Wednesday, March 26._--Camp Dunkins. Nothing important.\n\n_Thursday, March 27._--We are to join McClellan's army on the Peninsula.\nHad battery drill in the afternoon, and directly after that marched to the\nfoot of G street to load the battery. Recruits arrived from Rhode\nIsland,--Joseph Brooks, who was taken prisoner at the Bull Run battle\namongst them.\n\n_Friday, March 28._--The guns were loaded on board the propeller Novelty;\nthe horses on the barge Onrust. Those of the right section on the schooner\nCharmer. The vessels started by twelve o'clock M. Dropped anchor in front\nof Alexandria at six o'clock in the evening.\n\n_Sunday, March 30._--On board the Onrust. Started again at daylight in tow\nof the steamer Golden Gate, having four companies of the First Minnesota\naboard. Anchored near Port Tobacco in the evening.\n\n_Monday March 31._--Steamed down the Chesapeake Bay, and dropped anchor\nopposite Fortress Monroe.\n\n_Tuesday, April 1._--Two French men-of-war and the Monitor, close to the\nOnrust. Eighteen men from the centre section were sent to Hampton Roads in\na small boat, in the afternoon, to unload the battery from the Novelty.\nSome of the other sections arrived there before us. At dark the centre\nsection was sent back to the schooner; but, unable to find it in the dark,\nhad to go aboard of one of the schooners occupied by Battery B.\n\n_Wednesday, April 2._--Returned to Hampton at daylight. The battery and\nhorses were unloaded at once. General Sedgwick ordered the battery to go\nto camp outside of Hampton, which was done in the afternoon.\n\n_Thursday, April 3._--Hampton Roads. Great concentration of McClellan's\narmy. Our battery has to give up the tents.\n\n_Friday, April 4._--The Second Corps on the move. Started by eight o'clock\nA. M.; by four o'clock we went into park at Big Bethel, to camp for the\nnight.\n\n_Saturday, April 5._--Marched at daybreak. Cannonading going on in front\nof Yorktown. General McClellan passed the line amidst great cheering of\nthe troops. Strong intrenchments were found near Howard's Mills. At six\no'clock P. M. we went to camp three miles from Yorktown.\n\n_Sunday, April 6._--Great scarcity of food. Our battery went on a\nreconnoisance with General Burns' brigade. Only the pieces were taken\nalong, with eight horses to each. We are in plain sight of Yorktown. See\nthe rebel flag floating from the parapet. They fire very frequently at our\ntroops. After running suddenly against some of the enemy's batteries, we\nreturned to our former camp, \"Winfield Scott.\"\n\n_Monday, April 7._--Siege of Yorktown. The engineers at work. Heavy\nordnance on the way from Fortress Monroe.\n\n_Tuesday, April 8._--All the provisions and forage has to be brought on\nthe backs of mules and horses from Shipping Point and Cheeseman's Creek,\nthe roads being impassable for wagons.\n\n_Friday, April 11._--Our battery at rest since Tuesday. News of the battle\nof Pittsburg Landing.\n\n_Sunday, April 13._--Governor Sprague, General Barry, and Lieutenant\nColonel Reynolds in our camp to-day.\n\n_Wednesday, April 16._--An engagement going on near Warwick Creek. Our\ndivision is ordered forward. We advanced to within two miles of the\nrebels' first line. The battery went to camp. Battery B was in action.\n\n_Thursday, April 17._--Our two howitzers go to the front. Considerable\nfighting was going on during the night. Our four Parrott guns ready to\nmarch at a minute's notice.\n\n_Friday, April 18._--At three o'clock P. M., orders came for our Parrott\nguns to advance to within a mile of the enemy; when, getting in sight of\nthe rebels, we were saluted by a twelve-pound shot, the only fired at us\nthis day. The sections divided, the guns were unlimbered. We kept up a\ndesultory fire until sunset. The guns were sighted for the night. The\norder given to fire one gun every thirty minutes at the enemy's works,\nwhich was carried out.\n\n_Saturday, April 19._--A brisk cannonade, kept up since daylight from our\nside, without response from the enemy. By six o'clock P. M. the enemy\nfired three times at Carlile's battery. Heavy picket firing at ten o'clock\nin the night.\n\n_Sunday, April 20._--The rebel infantry fired several heavy volleys into\nour lines, doing no damage however. Generals Sumner, Sedgwick and Gorman\ninspected the line. Our battery fired steadily all the morning. We were\nrelieved at four o'clock by Battery B, and went back to camp.\n\n_Monday, April 21._--Camp Scott. The Vermont brigade, under General Smith,\nwas defeated at Warwick Creek. Temporary suspension of beating drums,\nsounding the bugle, and playing of musicians.\n\n_Tuesday, April 22._--At nine o'clock A. M. we went to the front. The\nenemy fired twice at our arrival. We did not respond. In the evening we\nfell back to the woods, covered by the Fifteenth Massachusetts regiment. A\nsiege gun was fired during the night.\n\n_Wednesday, April 23._--At the front. The enemy fired twice in the\nmorning, and several times in the evening. Fire returned in both cases. At\ndark we fell back again, in reserve.\n\n_Thursday, April 24._--At the front. We were relieved at nine o'clock A.\nM., by Battery B. News arrived of McDowell's occupation of Fredericksburg.\nHeavy cannonade in the night.\n\n_Saturday, April 26._--Fighting going on. Our battery was ordered to the\nfront. At our arrival, fighting closed, and we went back to camp.\n\n_Monday, April 28._--Going to the front. At ten o'clock P. M., General\nSedgwick ordered Captain Tompkins to take his battery to the Redoubt No.\n7, to cover the finishing of Battery No. 8. The rebels commenced heavy\nshelling, to which we replied vigorously. Sections of Batteries B and G\nwere also engaged in it. They returned to their camps at nightfall. We\nfell back in reserve, supported by the Fifteenth Regiment Massachusetts\nvolunteers.\n\n_Tuesday, April 29._--At daylight we took position in Battery No. 8,\nsupported by one company of telescope-rifle sharp-shooters. The rebels\nkept up a heavy fire all day. We went back in reserve at dark.\n\n_Wednesday, April 30._--Battery No. 8. We were relieved in the morning by\nBattery B. Heavy cannonading in the night.\n\n_Thursday, May 1._--News of the capture of New Orleans.\n\n_Friday, May 2._--Camp \"Winfield Scott.\" Steady cannonading all day.\n\n_Saturday, May 3._--The rebels are preparing to evacuate Yorktown. Heavy\nfiring, day and night.\n\n_Sunday, May 4._--Evacuation of Yorktown. Our lines advanced at daybreak,\nand found the fortifications deserted by the rebels, leaving most of the\nsiege-guns behind. Stoneman's cavalry is following up the enemy's\nrear-guard. Our whole army ready to march.\n\n_Monday, May 5._--A battle going on at Williamsburgh since morning. Our\ndivision marched into Yorktown towards afternoon, under a heavy rain.\nExplosions of torpedoes very frequent. We commenced to camp inside the\nfortifications, but we were ordered to march towards Williamsburgh\nimmediately. The column started; halted shortly after on the turnpike\nroad, and remained during the night, under an incessant rain. This was one\nof the most horrid nights we ever saw in the service. At two o'clock in\nthe morning orders came for us to retire to our camps to rest.\n\n_Tuesday, May 6._--Our battery moved to the river, close to Yorktown,\nready to be shipped. General Franklin's corps is embarking already. We\nloaded ammunition all day.\n\n_Wednesday, May 7._--Our guns were put aboard the steamer Delaware. We\nstarted for West Point, at the mouths of the Pamunkey and Mattapony\nrivers. Arrived there at five o'clock P. M., and dropped anchor for the\nnight. General Franklin's corps had a fight with the enemy's rear-guard.\n\n_Thursday, May 8._--Captain Arnold, of the regular artillery, inspected\nthe unloading of our battery. We camp close to the Pamunkey.\n\n_Saturday, May 10._--West Point. The horses were landed to-day. By five\no'clock P. M., we marched two miles, and camped at Elkhorn, on the\nPamunkey.\n\n_Sunday, May 11._--General McClellan arrived here to-day. He brought the\nnews of the destruction of the Merrimac.\n\n_Monday, May 12._--At Elkhorn. Inspection of the division.\n\n_Thursday, May 15._--Marched towards New Kent Court House, fifteen miles\nfrom Elkhorn. Our camp five miles from Cumberland Landing.\n\n_Friday, May 16._--Camp Stumps, near New Kent Court House.\n\n_Sunday, May 18._--Marched through the last mentioned place, and went to\ncamp after having proceeded two miles. Remained there till\n\n_Wednesday, May 21._--Marched at six o'clock A. M. Passed the Savage\nHouse, at the Baltimore cross-roads, (headquarters of McClellan,) St.\nPeter's Church, where Washington was married to Mrs. Custis, and went to\ncamp a few miles from Bottoms' Bridge. General McClellan issued two\nrations of whiskey to the soldiers.\n\n_Thursday, May 22._--Remained in camp near Bottoms' Bridge, on the York\nRiver Railroad. During the afternoon, a heavy hailstorm occurred. Pieces\nof ice, two inches in diameter, were found.\n\n_Friday, May 23._--We marched across the railroad to Coal Harbor, to camp.\nWe seem to be held as a reserve corps, ready to reinforce both wings of\nthe army.\n\n_Saturday, May 24._--Camp at Coal Harbor. Fighting is going on near the\nChickahominy. The balloon is up.\n\n_Sunday, May 25._--At Coal Harbor. All quiet.\n\n_Monday, May 26._--Orders came to be ready to march. Everything was packed\nup; but we remained.\n\n_Tuesday, May 27._--Coal Harbor. Fitz John Porter's corps, fighting near\nHanover Court House. Great excitement amongst the troops.\n\n_Wednesday, May 28._--The Second corps marched four miles this morning, to\nsupport Fitz John Porter's corps, near Mechanicsville. Went in line of\nbattle near New Bridge, and remained there all day.\n\n_Thursday, May 29._--Our corps returned to Coal Harbor by four o'clock P.\nM. Seven hundred prisoners were brought in.\n\n_Friday, May 30._--Near Coal Harbor. Heavy rain.\n\n_Saturday, May 31._--Commencement of the battles of the Seven Pines and\nFair Oaks. At two o'clock P. M., the battle began on the south side of the\nChickahominy. The enemy attacked Casey's division. The Second corps got\nready immediately, the Second division, General Sedgwick, leading to the\nChickahominy. We crossed at Grape Vine Bridge, built by the First\nMinnesota, Colonel Sully, Battery I, First United States Regulars, being\nthe first artillery to cross, under great difficulties, the guns sinking\nin up to the axle. Our battery followed next. Great excitement seemed to\nprevail about getting artillery forward. But for the timely arrival of the\nSecond and Thirty-fourth New York, Fifteenth Massachusetts, and First\nMinnesota Regiments, the day would have been lost--especially, the two New\nYork regiments, fought with great determination. Not until night set in,\nthe battle ceased. Our battery stood in the middle of the road all night.\nThe order was to be in line of battle by two o'clock A. M.\n\n_Sunday, June 1._--Battle of Fair Oaks. Long before daylight our battery\nwas brought in line of battle in front of the house in which General\nSumner afterwards established his headquarters. The First Minnesota\nsupported us. The battle reopened at daylight, with great fury, the enemy\nhaving been reinforced all night. Artillery was not used a great deal in\nthis battle, but the musketry fire exceeded any ever heard during the war.\nIn spite of the enemy's efforts, he was completely repulsed by ten o'clock\nA. M., retreating to Richmond. General McClellan appeared in front of the\nline of battle, encouraging the troops for the coming struggle.\n\n_Monday, June 2._--Fair Oaks. In line of battle since two o'clock A. M.\nThe First Minnesota is fortifying our position. Cannonading going on near\nMechanicsville, in the afternoon. The enemy is shelling our line on the\nrailroad. Trains are arriving at the station with supplies. A heavy\nshower.\n\n_Tuesday, June 3._--The army is fortifying its line.\n\n_Wednesday, June 4._--Heavy rain storm. All the bridges over the\nChickahominy destroyed.\n\n_Thursday, June 5._--Brisk fighting near Mechanicsville all day.\n\n_Friday, June 6._--Fair Oaks. Expiration of our first year in the service.\nVery quiet on the line.\n\n_Saturday, June 7._--General Burns' brigade made a reconnoisance, in\nconsequence of which a short fight took place.\n\n_Sunday, June 8._--The enemy made a severe attack on our position this\nmorning. Bad conduct of Baxter's Zouaves. Generals Sedgwick and Gorman\nforced them to return to the front. Visit of General McClellan, Duc de\nChartres, the Count of Paris, Prince de Joinville, the Spanish Generals\nPrim and Milano del Bosch, Senor Justo San Miguel, Colonel Denteure,\nColonel Cordazo, Senor de Sales, and Senor Perez Caloo, Spanish historian.\nThey remained fifteen minutes at the headquarters of General Sumner, and\nmade quite a show.\n\n_Monday, June 9._--Fair Oaks. The rebels open on General Gorman's picket\nline, without inflicting any damage.\n\n_Tuesday, June 10._--Fair Oaks. Heavy rain. The enemy opened with\nartillery on General Smith's division, towards evening.\n\n_Wednesday, June 11._--Fair Oaks. In line of battle since two o'clock A.\nM. An attack expected every moment.\n\n_Thursday, June 12._--Fair Oaks. Our whole line is fortifying stronger.\nBaxter's Zouaves are building breastworks of solid timber. Splendid moon\nnights.\n\n_Friday, June 13._--Fair Oaks. We are in line of battle since three\no'clock A. M. At five o'clock the enemy opened on our line with two\nParrott guns, two Napoleons, and a howitzer, killing a man of Company I,\nFirst Minnesota, and wounding one of the Thirty-fourth New York Regiment.\nGeneral McClellan inspected the whole line of Sumner's corps. Orders were\ngiven to strengthen the breastworks. Generals Sumner and Sedgwick change\ntheir headquarters, their former quarters being too much under fire.\n\n_Saturday, June 14._--Fair Oaks. The First Minnesota were intrenching all\nday. Very quiet along the line. Great raid of Stuart's cavalry at White\nHouse Landing.\n\n_Sunday, June 15._--Fair Oaks. Heavy firing in the direction of Fort\nDarling.\n\n_Monday, June 16._--Fair Oaks. General Sickles' brigade had a short\nengagement with the rebels. General McClellan passed the line towards\nevening. Heavy firing on both wings of the army.\n\n_Tuesday, June 17._--Heavy cannonading in the direction of Fort Darling.\n\n_Wednesday, June 18._--Fair Oaks. General Porter's artillery had quite an\nengagement. In the afternoon the whole of the Second corps got ready for\naction. Our battery was harnessed up. The infantry of Richardson's\ndivision advanced under cover of two light batteries. The engagement was\nof short duration. Our loss, one hundred and seventy, killed and wounded,\nall of Richardson's division. General McClellan was present.\n\n_Thursday, June 19._--Fair Oaks. The enemy lost nearly four hundred men in\nyesterday's engagement.\n\n_Friday, June 20._--Fair Oaks. Heavy skirmishing along the whole line.\n\n_Saturday, June 21._--Fair Oaks. The whiskey rations are countermanded\nto-day. During the night we were called under arms five times, the rebels\nmaking repeated attacks on the railroad.\n\n_Sunday, June 22._--Quiet along the line.\n\n_Monday, June 23._--Fair Oaks. Short engagement on the railroad. Thunder\nshower at night.\n\n_Tuesday, June 24._--Fair Oaks. The enemy attacked at two o'clock A. M.\n\n_Wednesday, June 25._--Heavy engagement near Old Church, lasting all day.\nHeintzleman's corps engaged. Our loss, one thousand men.\n\n_Thursday, June 26._--Fair Oaks. Battle of Gaines' Farm. General Fitz John\nPorter was attacked on the north side of the Chickahominy this morning.\nThe battle was going on till nine o'clock P. M., with great fury, when\nGeneral Porter drove the enemy, as could be seen from our position. The\npeal of artillery was terrible, and the sky at night in a constant blaze.\nGreat cheering along our line at ten o'clock in the night. All the bands\nplaying national airs.\n\n_Friday, June 27._--Fair Oaks. Battle of Gaines' Mills. Stonewall Jackson\nopened the battle this morning with overpowering numbers against General\nPorter. We could see from our position how the rebels drove Porter's\ntroops from one position to the other. They are already fighting near Coal\nHarbor. General McClellan ordered General Sumner to hold his position at\nall hazards. By twelve o'clock A. M. we were attacked by the rebels with\ngreat determination. Four batteries opened on our centre and Smith's\ndivision, but were finally repulsed. General Porter is utterly defeated.\nMeagher's Irish brigade went to cover his retreat. Troops are marching and\ncounter-marching all night. Great cheering within the rebel lines.\n\n_Saturday, June 28._--Fair Oaks. Our centre was attacked again this\nmorning at ten o'clock. The enemy was handsomely repulsed, leaving one\nhundred and fifty, killed and wounded, inside our lines,--Colonel Lamar,\nof Georgia, among the latter. Our situation is very critical, our right\nflank being turned. General Porter lost nine thousand men and twenty-four\nguns, and is crossing Bottoms' Bridge. The rebels occupy White House\nLanding. Towards evening, all the baggage teams were sent away, and all\nsurplus ammunition, arms and commissary stores destroyed. The army is\npreparing to retreat. A part of the Second corps had already left, when\norders arrived that our position must be held. A deep gloom is prevailing\nover the whole army.\n\n_Sunday, June 29._--Evacuation of Fair Oaks. At three o'clock A. M. orders\ncame for us to leave as quick as possible. Smith's division had already\nfallen back two miles, which movement completely exposed our right flank.\nThe rebels followed at our very heels. After marching a mile, General\nSumner hastily formed a line of battle, crossing the railroad. We were\nnot held long in inactivity. The rebels, in command of Magruder, soon\nattacked with three brigades of infantry and three batteries. This fight\nbears the name of battle of Peach Orchard. Our battery was in close\naction, supported by General French's brigade. Pettit's New York eight gun\nbattery, was sent to our assistance towards three o'clock P. M. By General\nSumner's skilful manoeuvring we were enabled to fall back to Savage\nStation, leaving the dead and wounded behind. At the latter place, half of\nthe Potomac army was drawn up in line of battle. The quantity of\nammunition and stores at that place was immense. (Who would not remember\nthe great explosion of the railroad train at Bottoms' Bridge.) About five\no'clock P. M., the battle of Savage Station commenced, and kept on until\nlate at night with great desperation. Our battery was within dangerous\nrange of the enemy's fire, but not engaged. About nine o'clock, we fell\nback to the White Oak Swamp, arriving there at midnight.\n\n_Monday, June 30._--Battle of Glendale Farm. This battle is known by five\ndifferent names: White Oak Swamp, Glendale Farm, Golding's Farm, Turkey\nBend, and of Charles City Road. At daybreak we formed in line of battle.\nThe enemy appeared shortly after. The battle opened at different points.\n(Every one recollects the delay of our retreat on that day, in covering\nour extensive trains, which occupied seventeen miles length of road.) At\nthree o'clock P. M. the rear of the trains passed by, just in time, as we\nwere attacked immediately after. The battle lasted until night. Sergeant\nHammond, Seidlinger, and Slocum were wounded. Battery B, Pennsylvania\nArtillery, was taken by the rebels, right in our front. The gunboats\nparticipated in the battle. We fell back at midnight, leaving our dead and\nwounded on the field. Our battery carried their wounded off, but left one\ncaisson behind, a lynch-pin giving way. No other could be found during the\nexcitement.\n\n_Tuesday, July 1._--Battle of Malvern Hill. We arrived at that place by\ntwo o'clock A. M. The Potomac army occupied a splendid position. Prepared\nfor the expected enemy. The rear-guard came up at daylight, amidst\ncheering and the playing of the bands. Our battery filled ammunition, but\nduring the whole day had the good fortune to be kept constantly in\nreserve. Still, we were under fire constantly. Captain Coleman, of Rhode\nIsland, collected letters and moneys from those who wanted to send them to\ntheir friends at home, before the battle commenced. Private Cooper was\nshot in the leg, by one of our own men; also a horse of Captain Tompkins.\nAbout ten o'clock the great battle commenced, artillery being used mostly.\nNever was such heavy cannonading heard on this continent before that. The\ngunboats threw shells at four miles distance. Weeden's Rhode Island\nbattery lost seven men by one of the gunboat shells. The battle raged\nuntil late in the night, ending with the repulse of the rebel army. Every\none expected an advance on the enemy the coming morning; but in vain.\n\n_Wednesday, July 2._--Malvern Hill. After a few hours rest, orders were\ngiven at two o'clock A. M. to get ready,--to our astonishment,--to fall\nback to Harrison Landing. The rain fell in torrents. The troops were\ncompletely demoralized; every man was going on his own hook. A great many\nthrew away their arms without any reason. Order was given to abandon at\nonce any piece of artillery that should get stuck. Soldiers fired their\nguns off in all directions. Not less than forty men were killed by such\ncareless practice. Harrison Landing is only six miles from Malvern Hill.\nThe whole army was crowded in a complete mud-hole. The spirit of the men\nis very low. Our wounded, left in Malvern Hill hospital, had to foot their\nway to Harrison Landing in the best manner they could. In spite of the\nmud, we all enjoyed the first good night's rest for some weeks past.\n\n_Thursday, July 3._--Harrison Landing. The enemy brought artillery to bear\nupon our camps this morning; but their guns were taken by the Fourteenth\nIndiana, of General Shields' division. At one time, all of our troops were\ndrawn up in line of battle. The gunboats fired some shots.\n\n_Friday, July 4._--The army spread out in different camps this morning.\nThe Second corps moved at least a mile away from the landing. The day was\nduly celebrated by firing salutes and playing of bands. General McClellan\nreviewed the troops.\n\n_Monday, July 7._--We changed our location this morning and established a\nnew camp in the woods. The rebel gunboat \"Teazer\" was captured by the\nMonitor. President Lincoln visited the army. The troops passed review\nbefore him. Kirby's battery fired a salute. Our battery cheered for\nGeneral Sumner.\n\n_Tuesday, July 8._--Intensely hot weather. The army is fortifying the\nouter lines, facing towards Malvern Hill.\n\n_Sunday, July 13._--Camp near Harrison Landing. Sergeant Budlong was\nreduced to the ranks for insubordination and insulting language towards\nLieutenant John G. Hassard.\n\n_Monday, July 14._--Near Harrison Landing. Secretary Stanton visited the\narmy.\n\n_Tuesday, July 15._--Near Harrison Landing. Notice was given by the\nSanitary Commission to-day to send a number of men to receive the\ndelicacies destined for us, (Battery A,) which was done accordingly. But\nwe never enjoyed the benefit of it, as everything disappeared in the\nofficers' quarters. My comrades in Providence can testify to this\nstatement. Heavy shower in the evening.\n\n_Sunday, July 20._--Near Harrison Landing. Mounted inspection.\n\n_Tuesday, July 22._--Near Harrison Landing. Great review of the Second\ncorps by General McClellan. The troops presented a splendid appearance,\nconsidering the hardships endured. Our battery fired a salute.\n\n_Wednesday, July 23._--Harrison Landing. We changed camp again, inside of\nthe woods.\n\n_Thursday, July 24._--Harrison Landing. Very severe heat.\n\n_Friday, July 25._--Our battery was taken to the James River, to clean the\ncarriages.\n\n_Saturday, July 26._--Harrison Landing. Heavy shower.\n\n_Sunday, July 27._--Harrison Landing. Mounted inspection.\n\n_Monday, July 28._--Harrison Landing. Our two howitzers were exchanged for\nParrott guns from Battery G, New York volunteers, Captain Frank.\n\n_Tuesday, July 29._--Harrison Landing. Jimmy Nutts was disabled while\ndismounting from a limber-chest.\n\n_Friday, August 1._--The rebels opened on us with a battery last night,\nfrom the south side of the James River, killing seven men, and damaging\nseveral transports. Our gunboats silenced them soon after.\n\n_Monday, August 4._--Harrison Landing. Reconnoisance in force. Sedgwick's\nand Richardson's divisions, besides other bodies of troops, cavalry, and\nhorse artillery, under command of General Joe Hooker, assembled by four\no'clock P. M., and left our line of fortifications at sunset. We marched\nall night, in the direction of Charles City Court House. About one\no'clock in the night the column halted.\n\n_Tuesday, August 5._--About four o'clock A. M., our column advanced,\nthrowing out skirmishers. By five o'clock the gunboats were heard firing\nin the direction of Malvern Hill. At this time we were marching in the\nneighborhood of the White Oak Swamp, on the Charles City road, the same\none we retreated by after the seven days' battles. General Hooker's force,\namounting to twenty thousand men, advanced rapidly on to Malvern Hill. A\nsmall engagement took place between our cavalry and horse artillery, and\nthe enemy. But the plan of capturing the rebel force, consisting of but\ntwelve hundred men, failed entirely. They escaped, leaving only two dead\nand fifty prisoners in our hands. Our loss was four killed and twelve\nwounded. Captain Benson, of the regular horse artillery, was killed. The\nLieutenant Colonel of the Eighth Illinois cavalry, mortally wounded. The\ncause of the enemy's escape was attributed to Brigadier General Frank\nPatterson, son of General Patterson of Bull Run notoriety. General\nMcClellan appeared in the afternoon, in high glee. We remained on the spot\nall day. In the evening our battery was brought in position, facing White\nOak Swamp. Beautiful moon night. We slept once more on the great\nbattle-field.\n\n_Wednesday, August 6._--On Malvern Hill. Stayed all day, and expected to\nstay all night. Tents were pitched, with a view to remain longer; but\nabout nine o'clock P. M., picket firing commenced, and at midnight, very\nsuddenly, orders were given to get ready to march back to Harrison\nLanding. The report circulated that the enemy was advancing with superior\nnumbers. About half ways, we were met by the greater part of the Army of\nthe Potomac, covering our retreat.\n\n_Thursday, August 7._--Arrived at Harrison Landing at three and a half\no'clock A. M., and went back to our old camp.\n\n_Friday, August 8._--Harrison Landing. The rebels occupy Malvern Hill\nagain. Intensely hot weather--113° in the shade.\n\n_Saturday, August 9._--Our battery was cleaned to-day. Splendid moon\nnight.\n\n_Monday, August 11._--Harrison Landing. Preparations to evacuate the\nplace. All the baggage to be sent away by transports, and rations for six\ndays to be kept on hand.\n\n_Tuesday, August 12._--Harrison Landing. Fitz John Porter's corps started\nto-day.\n\n_Wednesday, August 13._--Harrison Landing. News of General Pope's battle\nat Cedar Mountain.\n\n_Friday, August 15._--Harrison Landing. Everything is packed, and the\nbattery hitched up. Troops were marching by all night. Sumner's corps to\nbe the rear-guard.\n\n_Saturday, August 16._--Left Harrison Landing at three o'clock A. M.\nMarched on the river road and halted at dark, in line of battle.\n\n_Sunday, August 17._--March through Charles City Court House. To-day's\nmarch was one of the most disagreeable ever made, being very hot, and so\ndusty as to make all the trees look white. Plenty of dead horses and mules\non the road. Arrived at the Chickahominy river at midnight. All the\nartillery crossed over the large pontoon bridge, of ninety-seven boats,\nduring the night.\n\n_Monday, August 18._--The infantry crossed since daybreak, followed by the\ncavalry and horse artillery. One gunboat is close to the bridge. The\nrebels showed themselves, without molesting our rear-guard. One of our\nbatteries opened on them. By ten o'clock we resumed our march. Our corps\nwent to camp in the afternoon.\n\n_Tuesday, August 19._--March through Williamsburg. Some dismounted guns,\nfrom the battle in May, were still standing in the streets. We passed Fort\nMagruder, and went to camp two miles from the latter.\n\n_Wednesday, August 20._--Marched at six o'clock A. M., and went to camp a\nmile from Yorktown.\n\n_Thursday, August 21._--Tedious march through Yorktown, Howard's Mills,\nover Shipping Point to Hampton Roads, where we arrived by five o'clock P.\nM., having marched twenty-two miles to-day. The infantry has gone to\nNewport News.\n\n_Friday, August 22._--Hampton Roads. Heavy rain.\n\n_Saturday, August 23._--Hampton Roads. Troops are continuously shipped.\n\n_Sunday, August 24._--Hampton Roads. Heavy rain. Kirby's and our battery\nmarched to the landing. Both batteries were loaded on board the\nferry-boat Jefferson. Men and horses remained ashore for the night.\n\n_Tuesday, August 26._--Hampton Roads. Men and horses were shipped on board\nthe schooners Buena Vista and Clara Belle. The schooners were taken by\ntug-boat to Fortress Monroe, waiting for further orders. At six o'clock P.\nM., the steamer \"Forrest City,\" having the Second United States cavalry on\nboard, attached our schooner in tow, and started for Alexandria. In\nconsideration of having the troops rested from their tedious marching\nacross the Peninsula, contrabands were engaged by the government to load\nthe vessels. An overseer of such a working party reported to our battery.\nBut Lieutenant J. Hassard suggested that he would rather have the men of\nthe battery do the work, as they had not done anything lately. I owe it to\nthe members of Battery A, to mention those facts.\n\n_Wednesday, August 27._--In sight of Aquia Creek. Received orders to\nproceed to Alexandria the next morning.\n\n_Thursday, August 28._--Left Aquia Creek at four o'clock A. M. Passed\nMount Vernon by seven, Fort Washington by eight, and arrived at Alexandria\nby ten o'clock. Both batteries, horses and all, were unloaded by five\no'clock P. M. Marched through Alexandria at once, and went to camp outside\nthe city.\n\n_Friday, August 29._--Alexandria. Our battery, accompanied by the Seventh\nMichigan Regiment, and Fifty-ninth New York, left this morning, going\ntowards the Chain Bridge, on which an attack was anticipated. We passed\nthrough Fort Runyon, on the road leading to Manassas, turning off to Fort\nEthan Allen, covering the Chain Bridge. The fort was occupied by the One\nHundred and Twenty-third Pennsylvania, Seventy-first New York, and\nEleventh New Jersey regiments. We took position one mile in front of it.\n\n_Saturday, August 30._--Near Fort Ethan Allen. Heavy cannonading in the\ndirection of Manassas Junction. Two regiments of cavalry are making a\nreconnoissance towards Leesburg. At five o'clock P. M. we went to Fort\nEthan Allen, crossed the Potomac over Chain Bridge, and marched until\neight o'clock. Coming up to General Dana's brigade, we halted for the\nnight.\n\n_Sunday, August 31._--At three o'clock in the morning, all the troops of\nour corps marched through Georgetown, crossed the Potomac, over the\nAqueduct Bridge, and proceeded on the road to Fairfax Court House. After\nsunrise it commenced to rain. Paroled prisoners, captured from Stonewall\nJackson, passing us on the road, gave us no bright picture of the second\nbattle of Bull Run. We halted at one o'clock, about four miles from the\nCourt House. About seven o'clock P. M., order arrived from General\nSedgwick, to take up our march. After various marching and\ncounter-marching, we arrived at the Court House by one o'clock in the\nnight.\n\n_Monday, September 1._--Fairfax Court House. At seven o'clock A. M. we\nproceeded to Germantown, going in position, facing Chantilly. Troops were\ncoming in from Centreville all day. General McDowell's corps, who lost\nnearly all their artillery, amongst them. An engagement, lasting from five\no'clock P. M. till dark, was going on at Chantilly amidst a heavy thunder\nshower. Generals Kearney and Stevens were killed. About six o'clock P. M.\nwe fell back to Fairfax Court House, camping on the same spot we occupied\na year ago, while under Captain Reynolds, previous to the first battle of\nBull Run.\n\n_Tuesday, September 2._--Fairfax Court House. During the whole night,\ntroops were marching to the defences of Washington. Pope's and McClellan's\narmies are rapidly falling back, Sumner's corps covering the retreat, as\nusual. We left the Court House at eight o'clock A. M., forming a line of\nbattle on Flint Hill. Heavy clouds of dust, from the rebel columns,\nmarching towards the Potomac, could be seen in the distance. Not being\nattacked, our line of march was resumed; but shortly afterwards, a rebel\nbattery opened on our rear, directly from the town. General Sumner ordered\none section of our battery, and the First Minnesota infantry, to take\nposition, planting the two guns of the right section, one on each side of\nthe road. Shortly after dark the enemy appeared. We could hear the\nunlimbering of the artillery. At that moment we opened lively with shell\nand canister, while Colonel Sully threw his regiment across the road, and\nkept up a brisk musketry fire on the advancing cavalry of the enemy. Being\nunable to use their artillery, the rebels retreated instantly. Seven men\nof the First Minnesota were killed and wounded. One of our limber-chests\nwas upset, the pole being broken by the horses, injuring John Setton,\ndriver, and one horse. Colonel Sully, anxious to fall back, advised\nCaptain Tompkins not to lose any time, and if needs be, to abandon the\ngun. Captain Tompkins replied, he would carry the gun along or share the\nfate of it. We all went to work, tying the two guns and limbers together\nwith ropes and straps. In the vicinity of Vienna, a body of cavalry made a\ncharge on our column, firing at us with pistols and carbines. The First\nMaryland Cavalry, and Company I, First Minnesota, left us without offering\nany resistance to them. The greatest excitement prevailed for some time.\nGeneral Sumner gave credit to our battery for not having left the guns.\nSome said the charge was made by a party of our own cavalry by mistake;\nbut the dead and wounded, found in rebel uniform, contradicted that. After\na weary march, we arrived near Fort Ethan Allen, at three o'clock A. M.\n\n_Wednesday, September 3._--Sumner's corps marched across the Chain Bridge\nto Tenallytown, and went to camp.\n\n_Thursday, September 4._--Tenallytown, Maryland. Heavy cannonade on the\nupper Potomac.\n\n_Friday, September 5._--Tenallytown. The rebel army has crossed the\nPotomac. We left Tenallytown this morning. Marched to Rockville, twelve\nmiles from Washington, and went to camp three miles from that place. New\nclothes were issued to-night.\n\n_Saturday, September 6._--Near Rockville. This morning the cavalry and our\nbattery advanced several miles, going in position on a hill. Thirty\ncavalrymen were captured last night. Scouts coming in the afternoon\ninformed of the enemy's presence, only four miles from us. We fell back\nuntil, to our surprise, we found the whole of the Second corps in line of\nbattle. Our battery took position immediately. The whole road was covered\nby our artillery.\n\n_Sunday, September 7._--Near Rockville. The rebel army occupies Frederick\nCity. Our cavalry dashed into Poolesville. We marched only six miles\nto-day.\n\n_Tuesday, September 9._--We started by ten o'clock, A. M., and marched\nseven miles. Our cavalry had a fight at Barnesville.\n\n_Wednesday, September 10._--March to Clarksburg. Our advance is getting\nvery slow.\n\n_Thursday, September 11._--March to Hyattstown, eight miles from\nFrederick. We formed in line of battle on a hill in front of the town. Our\nskirmishers advanced, but could not find the enemy.\n\n_Friday, September 12._--Left Hyattstown at nine o'clock A. M., marched\nonly five miles and went to camp. Eight thousand men, cavalry and horse\nartillery, passed by this afternoon. Signal lights can be seen on Sugar\nLoaf Mountain.\n\n_Saturday, September 13._--Early in the morning, we marched through\nUrbana. General McClellan passed by at ten o'clock, crossing the Monocacy\nriver. Triumphant entrance into Frederick City. The houses and inhabitants\nof the city presented a good appearance. Flags were floating all over.\nGeneral McClellan was surrounded by all of his corps and division\ncommanders, on the roadside. The troops cheered while marching by. Our\ncavalry and horse artillery drove the rebel rear-guard out of the city,\nand are chasing them up the South Mountain Pass, the smoke of the\nartillery is plainly to be seen. The engine house in Frederick City is\nfull of prisoners.\n\n_Sunday, September 14._--Battle of South Mountain. General Burnside,\nmarching all of last night, attacked the enemy, near Berkley, early this\nmorning. Our corps left Frederick by eight o'clock A. M., marching towards\nthe mountain. Considerable time was lost by getting on the wrong road. We\narrived on the top of the first range of mountains by three o'clock P. M.,\nand witnessed one of the grandest scenes ever seen during the war,--the\ncontest for the possession of South Mountain Pass. At five o'clock P. M.\nthe pass was forced on the point of the bayonet, by the troops under\nGeneral Reno, who fell during the charge. We arrived at Berkley by ten\no'clock at night.\n\n_Monday, September 15._--March through South Mountain Pass. The\nbattle-field gives evidence of the desperate fighting of yesterday. Our\nadvance guard is pressing the rear of the enemy through Boonesboro, where\nwe passed through at eleven o'clock A. M. The church and barns are full of\nwounded and rebel prisoners. The inhabitants seem to be elated at our\nentrance. After going two miles further, we halted four hours. Skirmishing\nwas going on near Kettysville. After dark we marched through the town.\n\n_Tuesday, September 16._--Battle of Antietam. The battle commenced about\neight o'clock, opening with heavy cannonading. Our division changed\nposition during the afternoon, going from the centre to the right, passing\nthrough Kettysville, and crossed Antietam Creek before dark. We were not\nengaged to-day.\n\n_Wednesday, September 17._--Battle of Antietam and Sharpsburg. Since four\no'clock A. M., the battle is raging furiously. Joe Hooker gained some\nground early in the morning, but was wounded soon after the beginning. Our\nbattery was ordered to take position close to Hooker's line. The\nbattle-field wore a terrific aspect, at our arrival. Before reaching the\ndesignated position, we had to pass through the enemy's artillery fire for\nnearly a mile. Two men of our battery, Fred. Phillips and Patrick Larkins,\nwere wounded, before getting in position. Marching through a cornfield, we\nsaw one of our batteries, entirely demolished, and hundreds of dead and\nwounded lying around. Crossing the fields, we were heartily cheered by our\nfamous old Sedgwick's division, which was advancing on the enemy like\nveterans. We took our position near a cemetery and in front of a burning\nfarm-house, a place already fought for all the morning, as could be seen\nby the dead and wounded strewn around. We relieved a battery of Hooker's\ncommand, and were supported by but two companies of the Twenty-eighth\nPennsylvania infantry, commanded by a sergeant. Here we fought, repeatedly\nagainst artillery and infantry, for four hours and a half. At one time our\nsituation was very critical. The enemy, after driving Gorman's brigade, on\nour right, came charging from that direction. We used double charges of\ncanister. There was a time when half of the battery was compelled to cease\nfiring. The order, \"limber to the rear,\" was given; but, fortunately, not\nheard, as it would have resulted in the certain capture of the battery. At\nthat critical turn, Captain Tompkins called on our infantry support to\nadvance and do their duty, which they did, enabling us to load again. The\nenemy, after failing to take the battery, retreated slowly, leaving his\nbattle-flag behind, which, by right, should have been given to the\nbattery, as it fell before the infantry support advanced. Our ammunition\ngiving away, Captain Tompkins sent word to be relieved. John Leech\ndeserves due mentioning here, for carrying notice through the hottest\nfire, regardless of his personal safety, to bring rescue to his comrades.\nShortly afterwards, Battery G, Rhode Island, came to relieve us. We left\nthe field under a heavy fire of the enemy's batteries, leaving our dead\nand wounded behind. Battery G fired only a few rounds, and left the\nposition we held for four hours and a half. The ground was taken by the\nenemy. We returned to our former rendezvous, near Hoffman's farm, and\nreceived a written compliment from General Sumner for our good behavior.\nOur loss was: Killed--Sergeant Reed, John Lawrence, Joe Bosworth, Stone.\nWounded--Budlong, John Church, Robert Raynor, F. C. Preston, Sherman\nLarkin, Zimmerli, Corporal Childs, Fred. Phillips, Francis Phillips,\nCargill, Abner Wilder, and Theodore Reichardt. We lost nine horses. During\nthe afternoon, we loaded ammunition. The battle raged till night set in,\nprincipally near Sharpsburg. Colonel Miles surrendered Harper's Ferry,\nwith eleven thousand five hundred men, to Stonewall Jackson.\n\n_Thursday, September 18._--Antietam. Both armies are skirmishing briskly\nsince daylight. Our battery left Hoffman's farm in the morning, and went a\nlittle nearer to the battle-field. Lieutenant Jeffrey Hassard started,\nwith eight selected men, to obtain the bodies of our dead, but was not\nable to accomplish it, the enemy's sharpshooters firing on our approach.\nDuring the afternoon a truce was concluded between the two armies, for the\npurpose of burying the fallen. The remains of Sergeant Reed, John\nLawrence, Joe Bosworth and Ed. Stone, were recovered in a mutilated\nstate, and interred in the evening in the presence of the battery.\n\n_Friday, September 19._--The enemy has fallen back to the Potomac.\nThousands of dead are covering the field yet. We remained quiet all day.\n\n_Saturday, September 20._--Antietam. We exchanged three guns with Pettit's\nNew York battery. Our battery marched back to Boonsboro, close to\nMcClellan's headquarters, in the afternoon. Having settled down for the\nnight, we were suddenly aroused and ordered to march immediately to\nSharpsburg. An engagement was going on at Shepardstown, close to the\nPotomac, ending to our disadvantage. We passed through Sharpsburg at two\no'clock in the night, and went into park outside of the town.\n\n_Sunday, September 21._--Sharpsburg, McClellan's headquarters. Cannonading\nstill sounding from the Potomac. There is scarcely a house in Sharpsburg,\nwhich shows no marks of our artillery fire. The inhabitants admit that\nGeneral Burnside gave them a right smart shelling.\n\n_Monday, September 22._--Sharpsburg, headquarters of McClellan. Sumner's\ncorps marched to Harper's Ferry to-day; but we remained, receiving a new\nbattery of three-inch rifle guns.\n\n_Tuesday, September 23._--Sharpsburg. We left the place at two o'clock P.\nM. Crossed the Antietam, and marched to the foot of Maryland Heights,\ngoing to camp for the night.\n\n_Wednesday, September 24._--We arrived at Harper's Ferry at ten o'clock\nA. M., and went to camp on Bolivar Heights.\n\n_Sunday, September 28._--Bolivar. Mounted inspection.\n\n_Wednesday, October 1._--President Lincoln visited the Army of the\nPotomac. Our battery fired a salute of twenty-one guns.\n\n_Friday, October 3._--Bolivar. Mounted inspection.\n\n_Sunday, October 5._--Bolivar. Mounted inspection. The Seventh Regiment,\nRhode Island infantry, arrived at Sandy Hook, Maryland.\n\n_Thursday, October 9._--Bolivar. We were paid off for five months service.\n\n_Thursday, October 16._--Bolivar. Reconnoisance in force. Ten thousand men\nstarted early in the morning under command of General Hancock. The enemy\nwas found near Charlestown, opening on us with artillery. Battery A,\nFourth Regular Artillery, went into action. Our battery supported the\nFourth regulars, and the enemy's battery left soon. Battery A, Fourth\nregulars, had a caisson blown up, one man killed and four wounded. We\noccupied Charlestown, going in position outside of the town, pointing to\nBerryville and Smithfield. Heavy rain in the evening. The cars were\nrunning between Harper's Ferry and Charlestown all night, carrying off\ngrain from the latter place to Harper's Ferry. The troops were in line of\nbattle during the night.\n\n_Friday, October 17._--Charlestown, Virginia. In position. We left\nCharlestown at two o'clock P. M. Marched back to Halltown. At that place\nGeneral Hancock formed a line of battle, an attack of the rebels being\nanticipated. All the artillery went in position on high ground, while the\ninfantry formed below. We remained on the hill all night. It was very cold\nduring the night.\n\n_Saturday, October 18._--We returned to Bolivar Heights early in the\nmorning, and went back to camp.\n\n_Tuesday, October 21._--Battery drill in the morning.\n\n_Sunday, October 26._--Captain Tompkins went off on a furlough.\n\n_Monday, October 27._--Bolivar. General Burnside has crossed the Potomac\nat Berlin.\n\n_Wednesday, October 29._--Bolivar. We are under marching orders.\n\n_Thursday, October 30._--Bolivar. Troops are crossing the Shenandoah river\nall day. Our battery left Bolivar at two o'clock P. M. Marched through\nHarper's Ferry and crossed the Shenandoah by way of pontoons. Advanced on\nthe Leesburg turnpike six miles. After sunset we went to camp for the\nnight.\n\n_Friday, October 31._--Loudon Valley. We were mustered in for two months\npay; after that, changed camp, and remained quiet for the rest of the day.\nTroops are passing by all day.\n\n_Saturday, November 1._--Loudon Valley. We commenced marching at ten\no'clock in the direction of Snicker's Gap, passed Snickersville, and\nformed in line of battle in the evening, near Wood Grove. Marched ten\nmiles to-day. A number of pigs were killed during the night.\n\n_Sunday, November 2._--Wood Grove. Commenced marching at eight o'clock A.\nM. A fight was in progress between Burnside's corps and the rebels. We\ncould see the firing of guns. Camped at seven o'clock P. M. Cold and rainy\nweather.\n\n_Monday, November 3._--Marched at ten o'clock A. M., towards Union and\nUpperville. Firing was heard in the afternoon. Shortly afterwards we could\nsee Pleasanton's cavalry running close after the enemy's. We went to camp.\nSplendid moon night. Great slaughter amongst pigs, sheep, and chickens.\n\n_Tuesday, November 4._--Loudon Valley, Virginia. We marched through\nUpperville about 1 o'clock P. M. General Burnside and staff passed by. At\nthree o'clock we came through Paris, at the foot of Ashby Gap. Occupied\nthe heights of Ashby Gap and went in position. A most splendid view\npresented itself to our eyes. The whole Shenandoah Valley, Winchester,\nBerryville, Bunker Hill, and other places could distinctly be seen. The\nenemy's camp fires were visible on the other side of the Shenandoah river.\nThe weather is very cold.\n\n_Wednesday, November 5._--Ashby Gap. Remained in position all day. Some of\nus had quite a time, killing a young bull. A fearful cold night. Some snow\nfell.\n\n_Thursday, November 6._--We left Ashby Gap at eight o'clock A. M. Marched\nseven miles, and went to camp near Cubb run.\n\n_Friday, November 7._--We remained in camp to-day. The horses are in a bad\ncondition, and most of the men without shoes. Snow fell three inches deep.\n\n_Saturday, November 8._--Marched in the morning with only four horses to a\ngun. Passed through Salem and Rectortown. Generals McClellan, Burnside,\nand Sumner, rode past the line. We went to camp at four o'clock P. M.\n\n_Sunday, November 9._--Arrived at Warrenton at twelve o'clock M., and went\nto camp outside of the town.\n\n_Monday, November 10._--Warrenton. To the astonishment of the army, it was\nannounced to-day that General McClellan was to be removed from the Army of\nthe Potomac, and the command transferred to General Burnside. The troops\nturned out on parade along the road. General McClellan and staff passed\nby. He seemed to be greatly affected. The air rang with the cheers of the\ntroops for their old commander.\n\n_Tuesday, November 11._--Warrenton. The army is poorly supplied with\nprovisions at present.\n\n_Wednesday, November 12._--Warrenton. We received the first mail since the\ntwenty-first of October.\n\n_Saturday, November 15._--Left Warrenton this morning. Marched nine miles\nand went to camp.\n\n_Sunday, November 16,_--Started at eight o'clock A. M. Marched fifteen\nmiles and went to camp.\n\n_Monday, November 17._--Left at eight o'clock A. M. for Falmouth. Pettit's\nBattery went in position on a hill opposite Fredericksburg, and had quite\nan action with a rebel battery. Our battery advanced to support, but did\nnot fire. At five o'clock P. M. we retired and went to camp.\n\n_Tuesday, November 18._--Camp near Falmouth. The Army of the Potomac is\ndivided in three grand divisions. Sumner commands the right, Franklin the\nleft, Joe Hooker the centre, and Sigel the reserve.\n\n_Thursday, November 20._--We moved our camp closer to Falmouth. It rained\nall day.\n\n_Wednesday, November 26._--Near Falmouth. Lieutenant Henry Newton left the\nbattery and service to-day.\n\n_Thursday, November 27._--Thanksgiving day, but a poor one for us. The\narmy lives on hard bread, pork and coffee.\n\n_Sunday, November 30._--The railroad to Aquia Creek is in operation now.\n\n_Monday, December 1._--The men of our battery cleaned up the camp of the\nFirst Minnesota regiment. A guard was kept on the ground all night.\n\n_Tuesday, December 2._--Near Falmouth. The battery moved on the new\nground.\n\n_Wednesday, December 3._--A stable for the officers' horses in the course\nof building.\n\n_Monday, December 8._--Commenced to build a stable for the battery\nhorses.\n\n_Wednesday, December 10._--New clothes were given out to-day. Everything\nready for an advance.\n\n_Thursday, December 11._--Bombardment of Fredericksburg. Last night a\nlarge part of the artillery was brought in position, close to the river,\nand before daybreak, about one hundred and thirty guns were throwing shell\nand shot in the city, without eliciting any reply, except from rebel\nsharpshooters in the cellars on the river line, compelling the engineers\nto give up the attempt of laying pontoons across the river. Fires broke\nout in several places during the day. Towards evening, two companies, one\nof the Seventy-first New York, (Tammany,) and one of the Seventh Michigan,\nvolunteered to cross the Rappahannock on scows, charged on the\nsharpshooters, and took fifty prisoners, losing fifteen killed. The\npontoon bridge was completed shortly after, and three thousand men entered\nthe city before night. We remained this side of the Rappahannock. Our\nbattery was close to the river all day, but did not fire.\n\n_Friday, December 12._--Troops are crossing over on the pontoons to\nFredericksburg. Our battery moved towards the river about eight o'clock A.\nM. Near the bridge we were received by a tremendous fire from the enemy's\nbatteries on St. Mary's Heights, but, fortunately, sustained no loss. Not\nso, Frank's New York battery, they having one man killed and several\nwounded. One shot took effect in stopping one of their pieces. Without\ndelay we crossed the Rappahannock. Artillery, cavalry and infantry went\nover all the morning. A new regiment crossed the bridge at four o'clock\nP. M., their band playing the tune of \"Bully for you.\" All of a sudden the\nenemy's batteries opened on the regiment, which run back in bad order,\ncommitting the mistake of running right in the enemy's fire. The troops\nare committing depredations all over the town. The stores were completely\nransacked. Most every man had a lot of tobacco. In the evening, the\nbattery marched around the town, but returned again to our former place,\nclose to the river. The scenes in the streets were really picturesque.\nSoldiers could be seen, sitting on splendid furniture, mixing dough for\nflap-jacks. Most of our battery were cooking all night.\n\n_Saturday, December 13._--The battle of Fredericksburg. Firing commenced\nabout eleven o'clock in the morning. Captain Tompkins left the battery\nto-day, being promoted to Major. Making his farewell speech to us, he\nintroduced our new commander, Captain Arnold, who addressed the company,\nalso, saying, he understood we were a fighting set, and he would stick to\nus to the last. Shortly after that the command, \"forward,\" was given, and\nwe went to the outskirts of the town. Shell and shot were ploughing\nthrough the streets already. Our battery went in action by sections,\nposted at different roads leading to St. Mary's Heights. The battery kept\nup a constant fire all the afternoon. Some of the nine months regiments\nbehaved very badly, leaving the field ingloriously, without orders.\nBattery B, Rhode Island, Frank's New York battery, and Kirby's regular\nartillery, smooth-bore guns, were ordered out to encourage the infantry,\nwhile Humphrey's division of regular infantry, were in readiness as a\nreserve. General Couch wanted our battery to advance to the extreme front;\nbut, thanks to Colonel Morgan, chief-of-artillery, who objected to that,\nit was not done. Lieutenant Jacob Lamb made the most splendid shots during\nthe day. Owing to our being covered by houses, our loss was small. Henry\nHicks was shot through both heels by a musket ball, making the amputation\nof both of his legs necessary. Captain Arnold's horse was shot. After the\naction was over, we occupied the surrounding houses, which were found well\nstocked with all sort of provisions. Cooking and eating was kept up all\nnight. The caissons recrossed the river during the night, for a new supply\nof ammunition. The night was very cold, and the groans of the wounded on\nthe field of battle, sounded terrible.\n\n_Sunday, December 14._--Fredericksburg. The rebel batteries opened early,\nfiring thirty-two pound shells. One shell took effect in the centre\nsection, tearing off the head of Sergeant Thompson's horse, splintering\nthe limber-chest, fracturing a heel of Charles Spencer, and wounding an\ninfantry man. Our pieces were instantly pulled out of sight. Our infantry\nfortified during the night past. We expected another assault to be made\nto-day; but General Sumner's advice, in the council of war, was against\nit. The rebel sharpshooters kept up an incessant fire all day, killing\nquite a number of our men that were exposing themselves. The day was\nwell-spent by the battery in cooking and baking, Jim Harrison and Stacy,\nacting as cooks and bottle-washers.\n\n_Monday, December 15._--Fredericksburg. The enemy's artillery and\nsharpshooters were firing all day. Our guns were kept out of sight during\nthe afternoon. Generals Howard, Couch and Sully, inspected our lines, and\nsaid they would send a brigade of infantry to fortify our position. The\nmen of our battery worked all day, throwing up breastworks behind a fence.\nOnce in a while the rebel batteries threw a shell at us. The weather has\nbeen beautiful since we occupied the city. While we were sleeping by our\nguns, orders came at eleven o'clock in the night, to pack up quietly and\nget away as quick as possible, which was executed without the least noise,\nevery man being anxious to move away, but not without being loaded with\nall sorts of provisions. We recrossed the Rappahannock at twelve o'clock\nin the night. The whole army followed during the night under cover of the\nbatteries. We lay down to rest immediately after arriving on the other\nside. One gun of the right section was dismounted, one limber and several\nwheels disabled.\n\n_Tuesday, December 16._--The rain commenced pouring down in streams since\nfour o'clock in the morning. A deep gloom spread all over the army in\nconsequence of our unsuccessful movement. At six o'clock A. M., our\nbattery returned to the old camp on the hill, which was no small\nundertaking, the mud being a foot deep. At dark, Captain Arnold, with a\nsquad of men, went to the river to obtain the trail of the dismounted gun.\n\n_Wednesday, December 17._--Camp near Falmouth. General Sigel's reserve\ncorps is camping around Falmouth. Our camp has its usual appearance. It is\ncold, and snowing.\n\n_Saturday, December 20._--The troops are building winter-quarters.\n\n_Wednesday, December 24._--Great inspection in camp, by Generals Sumner,\nHoward, and Sully, and their staffs. They all expressed their satisfaction\nwith the appearance of the battery. This was the last visit of the\nvenerable hero, General Sumner, to our battery.\n\n_Friday, December 26._--The pontoons were sent to Belle Plains.\n\n_Wednesday, December 31._--Quiet in camp.\n\n\n\n\n1863.\n\n\n_Thursday, January 1._--Camp near Falmouth. The army is very poorly\nprovisioned.\n\n_Monday, January 5._--A new stable for the battery horses commenced, below\nthe ravine.\n\n_Tuesday, January 6._--The news of the battle of Murfreesboro arrived.\n\n_Thursday, January 15._--Our camp was partly burned down to-day, through a\nfire in the camp of the Thirty-fourth Regiment New York volunteers.\n\n_Friday, January 16._--A severe storm. Rations are to be cooked for three\ndays. We are kept in uneasiness all the time, about moving.\n\n_Saturday, January 17._--Great review of the army by General Burnside.\n\n_Sunday, January 18._--The coldest day we have had this winter.\n\n_Tuesday, January 20._--The Army of the Potomac commenced another move\nto-day. Troops are marching by, towards United States Ford. The weather is\nof the poorest kind, raining and snowing.\n\n_Wednesday, January 21._--Our corps is retained in camp yet. Quite a\nmiracle.\n\n_Thursday, January 22._--A heavy storm.\n\n_Friday, January 23._--Franklin's corps is marching back to the\nwinter-quarters. The great forward movement is given up. The troops are\nreturning in disgust. Some of the artillery left their guns sticking in\nthe mud. Bodies of soldiers were found dead in the woods, having perished\nfrom exposure.\n\n_Saturday, January 24._--Stragglers are coming in yet.\n\n_Monday, January 26._--We were paid off for two months.\n\n_Tuesday, January 27._--Heavy rain.\n\n_Wednesday, January 28._--Severe snow-storm.\n\n_Thursday, January 29._--Generals Burnside, Sumner and Franklin left the\narmy to-day. Joe Hooker is in command now.\n\n_Sunday, February 1._--Mounted and foot inspection.\n\n_Monday, February 2._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Tuesday, February 3._--Captain Arnold was thrown from his horse, and left\non furlough.\n\n_Wednesday, February 4._--The battery commences to build chimneys and\nfire-places.\n\n_Thursday, February 5._--Received the first soft bread since we left\nHarper's Ferry.\n\n_Sunday, February 22._--Heavy snow-storm. Washington's birth-day. Our\nbattery fired thirty-four guns. Ours and the rebel batteries fired in\nhonor of the day.\n\n_Saturday, February 28._--Robert Raynor, wounded at the battle of\nAntietam, returned from the Baltimore hospital.\n\n_Thursday, March 5._--General Joe Hooker is reviewing the Army of the\nPotomac.\n\n_Friday, March 6._--The first battery drill this year.\n\n_Tuesday, March 10._--Snow to-day.\n\n_Thursday, March 12._--A part of the army was kept under arms all night,\nthe enemy being reported about to make a demonstration in our rear.\n\n_Friday, March 13._--The cavalry is reconnoitering to-day.\n\n_Tuesday, March 17._--St. Patrick's day. Great horse-race at the\nheadquarters of Generals Meagher and Sickles. During the afternoon,\ncannonading was heard in the direction of Stafford Court House. The\nlong-roll sounded in all the camps, but the troops were not to be\nsurprised. The demonstration did not amount to much.\n\n_Wednesday, March 18._--The enemy attacked our lines at Rappahannock\nStation yesterday.\n\n_Friday, March 20._--Snow-storm.\n\n_Saturday, March 21._--Snow-storm.\n\n_Monday, March 23._--The death of General Sumner was read to the troops\nto-day.\n\n_Wednesday, March 25._--The cavalry has crossed the Rappahannock.\n\n_Monday, March 30._--Inspection of our baggage. Three spare wheels were\ntaken from the battery by general order.\n\n_Tuesday, March 31._--Snow-storm.\n\n_Wednesday, April 1._--At two o'clock in the morning we were aroused by\nColonel Morgan, chief-of-artillery. Order was given to hitch up, and be\nready to move, on account of the rebel cavalry crossing United States\nford. After sunrise the horses were unhitched again and everything was\nquiet.\n\n_Friday, April 3._--Review of the Second division by General Gibbons, near\nFalmouth.\n\n_Sunday, April 5._--Snow-storm.\n\n_Wednesday, April 8._--President Lincoln and family at Joe Hooker's\nheadquarters.\n\n_Friday, April 10._--Muster, in the Army of the Potomac.\n\n_Saturday, April 11._--Battery drill in the morning.\n\n_Tuesday, April 14._--The army under marching orders. Eight days' rations\nto be kept on hand.\n\n_Saturday, April 18._--Grain is already kept on caissons and limbers, and\none bag on top of the gun.\n\n_Monday, April 20._--Secretary Stanton at the headquarters.\n\n_Wednesday, April 22._--Our battery was paid off for four months service\nby Major King.\n\n_Thursday, April 23._--A heavy rain.\n\n_Monday, April 27._--Received orders at eight o'clock P. M., to march in\nthe morning.\n\n_Tuesday, April 28._--Reveille at two o'clock in the morning. Left camp at\nsix o'clock A. M. We were attached to the Third division under General\nFrench. The Second remained behind. We marched six miles towards the\nRappahannock; halted at mid-day, and camped in the woods. The pontoon\ntrain passed by in the evening.\n\n_Wednesday, April 29._--Marched again at two o'clock P. M., and went to\ncamp at dark three miles from the river. Rainy weather.\n\n_Thursday, April 30._--Our cavalry has crossed the Rappahannock without\nopposition. The pontoons were laid. Before crossing an address of General\nHooker was read in line, to the effect that the Twelfth and Fifth corps\nhad turned the enemy's left flank, by crossing the Rapidan at Germania\nFord, compelling the enemy to fight us on our own ground. Our battery\ncrossed at five o'clock P. M. After marching four miles further towards\nChancellorsville, one hundred and sixty prisoners passed by. The troops\nwere highly elated at crossing the Rappahannock so easy, as the shore was\nstrongly fortified, and by nature well-adapted for defence. While marching\nto Chancellorsville in the moonlight, Joe Hooker and staff passed by, and\nthe rumor circulated, all at once, that Fredericksburg was taken, and the\nrebel army in full retreat towards Gordonsville.\n\n_Friday, May 1._--The battle opened about ten o'clock A. M., near the\nChancellorsville and Fredericksburg Plank-road. The First and Second\ndivisions of the Second corps, commanded by General Couch, formed at two\no'clock P. M. Our battery advanced about a mile. Going down a hill we were\nsuddenly received by one of the enemy's batteries, whereupon we\ncountermarched to the top of the hill, going in position immediately.\nGeneral Sykes' division of regulars fought bravely in front of us, till\nthey had to fall back on our battery, we kept up firing for some time,\nuntil General Hancock arrived, informing General Couch that his position\nwas completely outflanked, and that he had better withdraw. The very\nminute our pieces were reversed, the command, \"fix bayonets,\" could\nplainly be heard from the rebel line of infantry in the woods. We left at\ndouble quick. Our whole line fell back to the tavern. At that moment, the\nThird corps, under command of General Daniel Sickles, advanced in line of\nbattle, doing good service. Our battery retired to our former place of\nrendezvous. The fight continued until seven o'clock P. M. Splendid\nmoonlight night.\n\n_Saturday, May 2._--Battle of Chancellorsville. At four o'clock P. M., the\nbattle reopened with great fury. General Stonewall Jackson, massing his\nforces against our right, completely surprised the Eleventh corps, driving\nthem in great confusion. The roaring of artillery, and the musketry fire,\nwere really terrific. After sunset, the fire slackened a little; but at\nmoonrise, raged again in all its fury, till late in the night. Our\nartillery suffered heavily during to-day's battle. Some of it was captured\nby the rebels. A new line of battle was formed at eleven o'clock in the\nnight. The situation of our battery was anything but pleasant. Having long\nrange guns, and our position being close to the woods, nothing could be\nused, with any effect, but canister. Our line of battle is getting\nshorter.\n\n_Sunday, May 3._--Battle of Chancellorsville. Our battery was ordered to\nfall back to the Rappahannock at daylight. Marching back, the First corps,\ncommanded by General Reynolds, passed us, going to the front. Arriving at\nthe brick house, near the river, we found some batteries posted there\nalready,--Kirby's amongst them. Our line of battle fell back to the\nrifle-pits we occupied last night. The enemy holds the plank-road and\ntavern. The battle is raging again since six o'clock A. M. About ten\no'clock A. M., Lieutenant Kirby ordered his and our battery to the front\nagain, on his own responsibility. We marched back, but very unwillingly.\nOn the way, a division of the Third corps met us, marching back to the\nriver, with a rebel colonel and half of his regiment, as prisoners, and\ncarrying four rebel battle-flags as trophies. Arriving at the front, to\nour pleasant surprise, we found out that our battery was not wanted at\nall. Colonel Morgan appeared to be very angry, as there was no use of any\nrifled batteries. Kirby's battery went in action. Lieutenant Kirby was\nmortally wounded shortly after arriving in the line of battle. We returned\nto the brick house, near the river, sending back our horses and limbers to\ncarry the guns of the Fifth Maine Battery off the battle-field. This\nbattery sustained a heavy loss. Their guns were saved by Meagher's Irish\nbrigade. We heard to-day that General Sedgwick, commanding the Sixth\ncorps, and the Second division of the Second, carried St. Mary's Heights\nby storm, but had to give them up again the next day. Sedgwick is fighting\nhard near Banks' Ford, being pressed towards the Rappahannock. Some of our\ncavalry and horse artillery have gone to form a junction with him.\nFighting was kept up most of the night. Our battery enjoyed a good night's\nrest. The horses were unharnessed.\n\n_Monday, May 4._--General Sedgwick's corps is fighting ever since\ndaybreak. Little fighting was done near Chancellorsville. The battle is\nevidently over. We all know that our army, though superior in numbers, has\nbeen defeated by the rebels. We remained all day and night at the\nbrick-house, close to the river.\n\n_Tuesday, May 5._--Firing is heard on our left since daybreak. Orders came\nfor ours, Pettit's, and Thomas' New York batteries, to recross the\nRappahannock forthwith. We crossed at United States Ford, going in\nposition on the surrounding heights, which enfilade the other side. A\nheavy shower in the evening.\n\n_Wednesday, May 6._--Our whole force has retreated across the river during\nthe night. The rear guard crossed at eight o'clock this morning. Eight\nbatteries are in position to cover the retreat. The engineers commenced to\nbreak off the pontoons. Some of the rebel skirmishers appeared, but\nretreated as soon as our batteries opened on them. Captain Thomas' battery\nhad quite an action with a rebel battery, losing two men killed and\nseveral wounded. The action was kept up until a rebel caisson was blown\nup, whereon firing ceased. The pontoon train got in motion at three\no'clock P. M., and the artillery at four o'clock. The roads were in a\nhorrible condition. It rained at intervals during the day. In the evening\na heavy rain set in, making it disagreeable beyond description. Our\nbattery was stuck in the woods several times, till at last we were\ncompelled to stop for the night. Quite a number of our battery's men\ntravelled on their own hook, that night. Discipline was getting very\nloose. This night will never be forgotten by any man in the battery.\n\n_Thursday, May 7._--The weather cleared off in the morning. We resumed our\nmarch at eight o'clock, arriving in camp at ten.\n\n_Friday, May 8._--Camp near Falmouth. General Sedgwick's corps came in\nfrom Banks' Ford. This corps suffered a heavy loss. At five o'clock P. M.\nour battery was ordered to report near the Lacy House. We arrived there at\ndark, going in camp close to the Thirty-fourth New York regiment.\n\n_Saturday, May 9._--Opposite Fredericksburg. This morning we placed our\nguns in position behind breastworks, occupied by a German battery from New\nYork, before we came. We are close to the railroad bridge. The Second\ndivision is camping around us again. Stonewall Jackson, having\naccidentally been wounded by some of his own men, died to-day. The\nThirty-fourth New York regiment changed camp this afternoon.\n\n_Sunday, May 10._--The weather is pleasant. The ringing of bells, and the\nsinging in the churches of Fredericksburg, can be heard plainly on this\nside of the river. People are walking in the streets just as usual. We\nare exchanging words with the rebel videttes across the river.\n\n_Monday, May 11._--Opposite Fredericksburg. Bands are playing in the rebel\ncamps. Some of their regiments are in parade line,--having muster by all\nappearances.\n\n_Thursday, May 14._--Corporals Stephen M. Greene and William Rider left on\nten days furlough. A one hundred pounder Parrott gun arrived from\nWashington, by way of Aquia Creek. A heavy thunder-shower.\n\n_Friday, May 15._--The battery received a number of recruits from Battery\nG, Rhode Island, and from some of the infantry regiments.\n\n_Monday, May 18._--Opposite Fredericksburg. We commenced to build summer\nshades.\n\n_Wednesday, May 20._--We had to furnish one corporal and three privates as\nheadquarters guard for the artillery brigade, to-day.\n\n_Sunday, May 24._--The news of General Grant's victory on the Big Black\nriver in Mississippi, were read in line.\n\n_Monday, May 25._--Corporals Greene and Rider returned from Rhode Island.\n\n_Tuesday, May 26._--Bill Drape mistook this day for Thanksgiving, living\nin such grand style.\n\n_Wednesday, May 27._--French's division marched to Kelly's Ford in great\nhaste.\n\n_Saturday, May 30._--We were paid off for two months service.\n\n_Sunday, May 31._--Great excitement prevailed this morning. We were roused\nat half-past three o'clock, and the battery hitched up. Battery A, Fourth\nRegulars, went in position instantly. The Thirty-fourth New York infantry\nformed as support for our battery. But nothing happened; everything quiet\nin the afternoon.\n\n_Monday, June 1._--At four o'clock P. M. the battery had to be hitched up\nagain.\n\n_Tuesday, June 2._--New shelter tents were distributed. This afternoon we\nhad division drill, under Generals Hancock and Gibbons.\n\n_Thursday, June 4._--Order to be ready to march at a minute's notice.\n\n_Friday, June 5._--Left our camp near the river, establishing another near\nGeneral Hancock's headquarters, two miles from the depot. Five o'clock P.\nM.--a fight is going on near the Lacy gas works. Our battery opened on\nFredericksburg. The Sixth corps crossed the river on pontoons, and took\nthe first line of rifle-pits, making some prisoners. Fighting kept on till\nseven o'clock, P. M. From our camp the flash of the batteries could\nplainly be seen.\n\n_Saturday, June 6._--Expiration of our second year of service. Artillery\nfiring going on at intervals between Sedgwick's corps and the rebels. A\nheavy shower in the evening.\n\n_Sunday, Jane 7._--We got ready to march during the day.\n\n_Tuesday, June 9._--Changed camp again, but moving a short distance only.\nThe Thirty-fourth New York regiment started for home, their time of\nservice having expired. A heavy cavalry fight occurred at Beaver Ford,\nbetween Pleasanton, Gregg, and Dufour, and Stuart and Fitz Hugh Lee. The\nlatter was taken prisoner.\n\n_Thursday, June 11._--The rebel batteries opened on Sedgwick's corps.\n\n_Friday, June 12._--The rebels fired at our balloon near Banks' Ford. The\nTwenty-fourth regiment, New Jersey nine months men, went home to-day,\ntheir time being out. We lost five men by it, who were on detached duty in\nthe battery--honest John amongst them.\n\n_Saturday, June 13._--Our army begins to leave the Rappahannock. The\nsupplies at the depot are carried to Aquia Creek with the most possible\nspeed. The First, Third, Fifth, Eleventh and Twelfth corps started towards\nWarrenton. All the pontoon trains, but General Sedgwick's, have gone. The\none hundred pounder Parrott gun was brought in position to-day, and fired\nonce by Major Tompkins, after which the gun rolled off the platform. The\nSecond and Sixth corps comprise all the troops that are left in front of\nFredericksburg. At seven o'clock P. M. a heavy shower set in. Our battery\nwas ordered to proceed to the Lacy House. Sedgwick's corps is recrossing\nthe river. We left camp in a heavy rain, at ten o'clock in the night,\narrived near the river at twelve, and got in position. The thirty-pounder\nParrott gun battery, (Connecticut,) left at once. The one hundred pounder\nParrott gun was taken to the railroad. The Sixth corps passed by all\nnight. The pontoon train and heavy artillery left at four o'clock A. M. on\n\n_Sunday, June 14._--Opposite Fredericksburg, in position, behind redoubts.\nOnly the Second corps is remaining yet. The rebels were quite surprised to\nfind our troops across the river. They walked around their rifle-pits in\nsquads, and fired at us and our infantry pickets on the shore; but the\ngeneral commanding threatened to open on them with artillery, if they did\nnot stop it. During the afternoon the rebel troops lying around St. Mary's\nheights, marched and countermarched. Towards evening, we could see the\ncannoniers pull their guns by hand outside of the redoubts, and march off\nin the direction of Culpepper. We had orders to leave fifteen minutes\nafter dark. A deserter swam across the river into our lines about seven\no'clock. Nine o'clock P. M.--leaving the Rappahannock. The guns were\nlimbered up quietly. We started on the telegraph road, crossed Stoneman's\nSwitch, and marched all night.\n\n_Monday, June 15._--Arrived at Stafford Court House about seven o'clock A.\nM. We found a part of the Sixth corps in line of battle. The Second corps\nwent in line of battle instantly. The balloon went up for the last time, a\ngood sign of better prospects, for the balloon never brought luck to our\narmy. At eleven o'clock, marching was resumed. We crossed Aquia Creek at\nthree o'clock P. M., going in position near by, and remained there for\nthe rest of the day and night. The day was terribly hot,--110° in the\nshade. Eighteen men died from the effects of the heat. A man of the\nTwenty-eighth Massachusetts regiment broke his neck, falling over a stump\nof a tree. We marched seventeen miles since leaving Falmouth. Reports of\nartillery firing can be heard all day.\n\n_Tuesday, June 16._--The column got in motion at three o'clock in the\nmorning. Heavy cannonade in the direction of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We\narrived at Dumfries about ten o'clock A. M. Rations were issued there, and\nour march resumed at noon. The right section of our battery, under\nLieutenant Peter Hunt, was acting rear-guard to-day. We passed Wolf's run\nat seven o'clock, and went to camp for the night, after having marched\ntwenty miles. The strong fortifications at Wolf Run Shoals, are counted to\nthe defences of Washington.\n\n_Wednesday, June 17._--This morning we marched to Fairfax Station, (six\nmiles,) and formed in line of battle. Our corps numbers not more than\neight thousand effective men. The roads leading to Manassas are full of\nthe army trains, coming from Warrenton.\n\n_Thursday, June 18._--Near Fairfax Station, in line of battle.\n\n_Friday, June 19._--Near Fairfax Station. Marched at four o'clock P. M.,\nand arrived at Centreville about six. Went in position in one of the\nredoubts. A heavy shower in the night.\n\n_Saturday, June 20._--Centreville. Great row between the Tammany regiment,\nNew York, and some of the new troops under General Hayes. We left\nCentreville at one o'clock P. M., crossed the Cub Run, and marched over\nthe old battle-field of Bull Run at five o'clock, which awoke all the\nbitter feelings of the troops, especially the sight of the skeletons of so\nmany brave soldiers lying around. It is a shame to the country that the\nremains of those men, who fell in the two battles, are not better taken\ncare of, as the ground lies within our lines. Arriving at Gainesville, the\nFirst and Third divisions, and our battery went to camp. The Second\ndivision marched to Thoroughfare Gap in the night.\n\n_Sunday, June 21._--At Gainesville. A battle is going on between\nPleasanton's and Stuart's cavalry near Ashby Gap. Our cavalry pickets near\nGainesville, were driven in this afternoon. Three companies of infantry,\nand the right section, got ready for support. About seven o'clock P. M.,\nGeneral Stahl's division of cavalry, with three rifled guns and a\nfour-pound howitzer, taken from Moseby, near Fairfax Court House, two\nweeks ago, passed through, going to Warrenton. A dangerous experiment was\nmade by John Tyng this evening. Pounding on a round shell, lying there\nsince the second battle of Bull Run, the shell exploded amidst a crowd of\nthe battery, without hurting any one.\n\n_Monday, June 22._--Gainesville. It was read in line that General\nPleasanton, supported by Barnard's division of infantry, Fifth corps,\ngained a victory over Stuart's cavalry at Upperville and Ashby Gap, taking\ntwo guns and a quantity of small arms.\n\n_Tuesday, June 23._--Gainesville. Trains came up from Alexandria this\nmorning, bringing supplies. Stahl's cavalry came back from Warrenton.\n\n_Thursday, June 25._--Gainesville. Orders came to pack up. Two trains\narrived from Alexandria, bringing supplies, and the news that the\ntelegraph line had been broken and several cars burned, between this place\nand Fairfax Station, by guerillas. We left Gainesville at noon, crossed\nthe Bull Run, marched on the Winchester and Leesburg turnpike, passed\nSudley's church, taking the same route we did under McDowell, going to and\ncoming from the first Bull Run battle, until we turned off to Gum Spring,\nhalting for the night. Marched eighteen miles in all. Battery B, lost a\ncaisson and two men taken prisoners, coming from Thoroughfare Gap.\n\n_Friday, June 26._--Gum Spring. Left at ten o'clock A. M., going to\nEdward's Ferry, where we arrived by eight o'clock P. M.--ten miles march.\nTwo pontoon bridges are drawn across the Potomac. Troops are going over\nall the time. We halted for the purpose of camping. Tents were pitched,\nbut the order came at ten o'clock P. M., that all the troops had to cross\nbefore daylight. General Hayes' brigade of Heintzelman's corps, consisting\nof the Thirty-ninth, One Hundred and Eleventh, One Hundred and\nTwenty-fifth, and One Hundred and Twenty-sixth New York regiments, was\nattached to the Second corps.\n\n_Saturday, June 27._--Crossed the Potomac at two o'clock in the morning.\nWent to rest a mile from the river. Remained until two o'clock P. M.\nResumed marching. Passed through Poolesville at four, Barnesville at nine,\nand went to camp at the foot of Sugar Loaf Mountain at ten o'clock P. M.\n\n_Sunday, June 28._--Resumed our march at six o'clock A. M., passed through\nUrbana by one, and came in sight of Frederick at three o'clock P. M. We\nwent in position on a hill, five miles from the city, having marched nine\nmiles. Joe Hooker has been superseded by General Meade in the command of\nthe Army of the Potomac. The rebels occupied Carlisle, in Pennsylvania.\n\n_Monday, June 29._--Marched at eight o'clock. Crossed the Monocacy river.\nAfter passing through Frederick, we turned off to the Baltimore road,\ncrossing the Stone Bridge. We went through Mount Pleasant, Liberty, Union\nBridge and Uniontown. Cherries are plenty on the road. The people in\ngeneral are very patriotic, doing anything for the soldiers. This day's\nmarch, thirty-five miles, is the longest ever made by the battery,\nexcepting that after the first Bull Run battle. We went to camp at ten\no'clock in the night.\n\n_Tuesday, June 30._--Uniontown. Our corps is resting to-day. Whiskey is\nvery abundant round here. We have marched one hundred and thirty-nine\nmiles since the fourteenth of June.\n\n_Wednesday, July 1._--Left Uniontown in the morning, passed through\nTaneytown, and were two miles from Gettysburg at dark, having marched\nfifteen miles. The First and Eleventh corps fought a battle to-day, losing\nthe town of Gettysburg. General Reynolds, of the First corps, was killed.\n\n_Thursday, July 2._--Second day's battle of Gettysburg. In line of battle\nsince six o'clock in the morning. The First, Second, Third and Eleventh\ncorps in array. Skirmishers firing briskly. Artillery commenced to play.\nNothing of importance was done, until about half-past four, our left wing\nadvanced and opened the battle. The centre and left were soon hotly\nengaged. Our battery was in action all the afternoon. The Third corps lost\nground towards evening, until General Hancock advanced with the First and\nSecond corps and decided the day. The enemy made another demonstration on\nthe right, without success. The battle raged until nine o'clock in the\nnight. One time it seemed as if we were all surrounded. Battery A, Fourth\nregulars, reversed their pieces ready to fire to the rear. This battery\nand ours fired canister in the evening. Our fourth piece was disabled\nearly in the action, and sent to the rear in charge of Corporal W. Drape.\nOne of the rear wheels of the fourth caisson, was shot away. When night\nsettled down upon the battle-field, each army rested for the final blow.\n\n_Friday, July 3._--Third day's battle of Gettysburg. The enemy's batteries\non his right opened on us before daylight. Three limbers of Battery A,\nFourth regulars, were blown up early in the morning. Our caissons were\nsent after ammunition several times. At eleven o'clock firing ceased,\nrations were given out, and the men commenced cooking. At one o'clock, all\nof a sudden, two signal guns were fired by the enemy, followed by the most\nterrific cannonade of more than a hundred pieces of artillery, playing on\nour centre. Our reply did not seem to make any impression at all. That\ndreadful artillery fire seemed to paralyze our whole line for a spell.\nSuddenly as it commenced it ceased, and three immense lines of infantry\nadvanced to take our almost annihilated batteries. Battery B, Rhode\nIsland, A, Fourth regulars, I, First regulars, and Pettit's New York\nBattery, were taken, but not held by the rebels. Our battery withdrew\ntheir guns with honor, leaving the dead, some of the wounded, and two\ncaissons behind. At the time of our leaving, the battle was at its turning\npoint. The most desperate fighting was done on Cemetery Hill and the\nEmmettsburg road. The field presented a ghastly appearance. Our officers\nbehaved very well, especially Lieutenant Jacob Lamb, who, being wounded in\nthe hand, refused to leave the field, carried ammunition and encouraged\nthe men. Our loss was: Killed--Patrick Lannegan, first piece, shot in the\ngroin; John Zimmerli, fourth piece, head taken off by a cannon ball; Simon\nCreamer, sixth piece, skull severed by a shell. Wounded--Lieutenant J.\nLamb, hand; Sergeant Benjamin Childs, shoulder; Corporal W. Rider, arm;\nCorporal W. R. Calder, back; Corporal Shaw, shoulder; Privates--Grady, leg\noff, died afterwards; Gil. Harrison, foot; Higgins, arm shot away, died\nafterwards; Markey, shoulder; Curtis, foot, slightly; Googin, arm,\nslightly; Cargill, leg; Byron Snow, back; Walter Arnold, leg; Wellman,\nelbow, slightly; Morrissey, leg, badly; Hathaway, shoulder; Shampman, hip;\nTuttle, arm; Carlier, slightly; Middleton, leg, slightly; Dawson,\nslightly; Tomdorf, leg, slightly; Oaks, slightly. Jack Hughes, and Long\nClark and his brother, ran away. Our battery went two miles to the rear,\nin an exhausted condition. The Sixth corps reached the battle-field about\nthree o'clock P. M.\n\n_Saturday, July 4._--Gettysburg. The battle is over. The skirmishers of\nthe two armies are yet still confronting each other. Three men of our\nbattery rode back to the battle-ground to inter our dead; but found them\nalready buried by Battery C, Rhode Island. Lannegan was buried near our\ncamp; also, Lieutenant Cushing, Battery A, Fourth Regulars--this battery\nis to be consolidated with Battery I, First Regulars. The great artillery\nassault on our centre, was the last effort of Lee's army to force our\nlines from Cemetery Hill. The rebels' ammunition must have been nearly\nexpended after that. Our battery used as much as twenty-two hundred rounds\nof ammunition, during the battle. The town of Gettysburg is occupied by\nour forces. A heavy shower this evening.\n\n_Sunday, July 5._--Battlefield of Gettysburg. Our army has taken twelve\nthousand prisoners. The rebels are in full retreat. Pleasanton's cavalry\nand the Sixth corps are in pursuit. Our battery will be consolidated with\nBattery B, Rhode Island. We received a new supply of ammunition and\nmarched off on the Baltimore road, by seven o'clock P. M., going in camp\nnear Littletown, six miles from Gettysburg, by nine P. M. It rained during\nthe night.\n\n_Monday, July 6._--Remained in camp near Littletown all day. General\nFrench took a pontoon train from the rebels near Williamsport. The Potomac\nreported to be very high.\n\n_Tuesday, July 7._--Marched to Taneytown, seven miles, and went to camp,\non account of the infantry having been without rations for several days.\nThe Twelfth corps passed through this afternoon. The town is under\ncontribution of rations for the troops.\n\n_Wednesday, July 8._--Left Taneytown early. Marched twenty-four miles\nduring a tremendous rain-storm. Passed through Woodsborough and\nWalkersville, and went to camp in a field of oats, live miles from\nFrederick City. The news of the surrender of Vicksburg were read in line\non the road.\n\n_Thursday, July 9._--Marched at seven o'clock A. M. Passed through\nFrederick City, which was guarded by the Seventh Regiment, New York\nmilitia, and a new battery; Jefferson City and Perkinsville, crossed the\nSouth Mountain and went to camp for the night, not far from Sharpsburg.\nNear Frederick we saw the body of the spy Richardson, hung on a tree by\norder of General Buford of the cavalry. Marched eighteen miles to-day.\n\n_Friday, July 10._--Marched through Kettysville. The Third corps, General\nFrench, was fighting yesterday, and cannonading is going on now. Passed\nthe battle-field of Antietam at twelve o'clock M., going to camp three\nmiles beyond. The Twelfth corps is camping close to us. The different\ncorps are fortifying their positions.\n\n_Saturday, July 11._--Marched four miles. Passed through Tillmington. The\nenemy was found in front. Our columns formed in line of battle.\nSkirmishing was kept up briskly. The rebels fell back a little, as our\nartillery opened on them. The cavalry advanced in a body at half-past four\no'clock, gaining some ground. At midnight, the infantry was ordered to\nadvance and take possession of the Hagerstown road. We remained all night.\nWe have marched two hundred and twenty-three miles since the fourteenth of\nJune.\n\n_Sunday, July 12._--We advanced a short distance at eight o'clock A. M.\nOur infantry is half a mile ahead. Skirmishing was going on all the\nmorning. Artillery is used once in a while. All the artillery of the Fifth\ncorps passed by between four and six o'clock P. M. A heavy shower this\nafternoon. In the evening, we changed our position, advancing a quarter of\na mile nearer to the front.\n\n_Monday, July 13._--Changed position in the morning, going a short\ndistance behind breastworks. Three fortified lines are already formed by\nour army. A battle is expected. We remained in our new position all day.\nIt rained the whole evening and night.\n\n_Tuesday, July 14._--Advance and reconnoissance of parts of the Second,\nFifth and Twelfth corps, cavalry ahead. Our battery marched on the\nWilliamsport turnpike. Cannonading and musketry fire could be heard at\nmid-day. The roads are very muddy. Rebel caissons, full of ammunition, are\nfrequently found on the roadside. Lee's army is crossing the Potomac at\nFalling Waters. General Kilpatrick charged through Williamsport, capturing\nthe rear guard, consisting of eight hundred men. On our approach, a short\nbut desperate fight was going on at one of the redoubts, close to the\nriver. A brigade, in command of General Pettigrew, defending the redoubt,\nhoisted the white flag. Forty men of the Eighth Michigan cavalry,\ncharging, in good faith of their surrender, were all slaughtered after\ngoing in the trap. The redoubt was carried by the infantry shortly after;\nbut General Pettigrew and most of his men escaped. We had a heavy shower\nthis evening.\n\n_Wednesday, July 15._--The greater part of the army is marching towards\nSharpsburg. Our battery returned to its former position. We were told to\nrest until one o'clock P. M., as we had to do some marching yet. About\nthree o'clock we started, passed through Sharpsburg at five o'clock, and\nmarched halfway to Maryland Heights, going to camp late at night. The\nSecond and Twelfth corps occupy the place.\n\n_Thursday, July 16._--The battery followed the canal road, passed Harper's\nFerry, Sandy Hook, and went to camp in Pleasant Valley. All these places\nare full of our troops. Marched two hundred and fifty-six miles since the\nfourteenth of June. The engineers are laying pontoons at Berlin and\nHarper's Ferry. Iron-clad cars, with a howitzer in each, are running\nbetween Washington and Harper's Ferry. News of the surrender of Port\nHudson, and the occupation of Morris Island, near Charleston, by our\ntroops.\n\n_Friday, July 17._--Camp in Pleasant Valley. At rest for the day.\n\n_Saturday, July 18._--Left Pleasant Valley at six o'clock A. M. The Second\nand Third corps crossed the Potomac to Harper's Ferry on pontoons, and the\nShenandoah river on the trestlework bridge. Marched eight miles into\nLoudon Valley, going in camp.\n\n_Sunday, July 19._--Loudon Valley. New clothes were issued to the battery.\nWe started at six o'clock A. M., marching only four miles. The country\nabounds in delicious blackberries.\n\n_Monday, July 20._--Marched ten miles on the Leesburg turnpike, and camped\noutside of Bloomfield.\n\n_Tuesday, July 21._--Camp at Bloomfield. Captain McMahon is to be shot\nto-morrow for killing Captain McManners.\n\n_Wednesday, July 22._--Bloomfield, Virginia. Started by one o'clock P. M.\nMarched through Upperville by six, and Paris by seven o'clock in the\nevening, going to camp at the foot of Ashby Gap. Marched eight miles\nto-day. Captain McMahon's sentence to be shot, has been changed by\nPresident Lincoln to ten years in the State Prison. The Fifth Regular\ncavalry met the rebels at Manassas Gap.\n\n_Thursday, July 23._--Left Ashby Gap early, marching on the mountain road,\nleading to Front Royal. Arrived at Markham's Station, on the Manassas Gap\nRailroad, by three o'clock P. M. Passed Linden at five. The Stone Church\nthere is full of our wounded from the engagement two days previous. The\nThird corps engaged the enemy during the day. We went to park at eight\no'clock P. M., in Manassas Gap, near the village of Petersburg. The Fifth\ncorps is ahead of the Second. We marched twelve miles to-day.\n\n_Friday, July 24._--A desperate fight took place on Wapping Heights\nyesterday. Our infantry under General Spinola charged the enemy three\ntimes. Lee's army is marching towards Culpepper Court House. Their long\nline of trains are visible on the other side of the Shenandoah river. Our\ntroops are in want of rations, and the horses need forage. The army left\nManassas Gap at one o'clock P. M. Our corps went to camp outside of\nMarkham's Station, for the night.\n\n_Saturday, July 25._--Started at six o'clock A. M. We had a very difficult\nmarch over the mountains, in intensely hot weather. Lost several horses\nduring the day. Passed through Rectortown. Our rear was once attacked by\nguerillas. Arrived at White Plains by three o'clock P. M. Our battery\nparked near the woods. Rations were given out. A heavy rain fell this\nevening.\n\n_Sunday, July 26._--Left White Plains at five o'clock, A. M., taking the\ncourse of the Manassas Gap Railroad, turning off to New Baltimore, from\nthere to Warrenton, arriving at noon. The battery rested until half-past\none o'clock, and marched to Warrenton Junction. The weather was intensely\nhot. Dead and dying soldiers were lying along the roadside. Our battery\nlost six horses. We marched twenty-four miles to-day. The troops camped\nhalf a mile from the railroad. A shower fell in the night.\n\n_Monday, July 27._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. We have marched three\nhundred and thirty-four miles since the fourteenth of June. A heavy fall\nof rain in the night.\n\n_Tuesday, July 28._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. We remained quiet. A\nshower in the night.\n\n_Wednesday, July 29._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. Remained quiet. A\nfall of rain in the evening.\n\n_Thursday, July 30._--Camp near Warrenton Junction. At six o'clock in the\nevening, we were ordered to march, going only six miles further and went\nto camp at Elktown.\n\n_Friday, July 31._--Went six miles further, towards Morrisville, going in\ncamp. Clothes were issued this evening.\n\n_Saturday, August 1._--The third division of the Second corps, and our\nbattery, marched back to Elktown. Our camp is very pleasantly situated\nnear the woods.\n\n_Sunday, August 2._--Camp at Elktown. The weather is very hot.\n\n_Monday, August 3._--The battery was paid off for two months service.\n\n_Tuesday, August 4._--Camp at Elktown. Cannonade in the direction of the\nRappahannock.\n\n_Friday, August 7._--Battery B drew horses to-day.\n\n_Saturday, August 8._--Elktown. Battery B separated from Battery A,\n(ours,) getting a new set of guns at Morrisville.\n\n_Thursday, August 13._--A heavy fall of rain to-day.\n\n_Saturday, August 15._--Elktown. Troops are going to Alexandria.\n\n_Thursday, August 20._--The rebels made a demonstration from the vicinity\nof Dumfries.\n\n_Saturday, August 22._--General Warren took command of the Second corps.\nHe inspected our battery to-day. Hot weather.\n\n_Monday, August 31._--Elktown. Reconnoisance of the Second corps.\nIntelligence was brought that Wade Hampton's cavalry had crossed over to\nthe northside of the Rappahannock on a raid. Our cavalry is to follow\nthem up, while infantry and artillery are guarding the different fords on\nthe river. We marched by daybreak, going fifteen miles, and went in park\none mile from United States Ford.\n\n_Friday, September 4._--Return from the Rappahannock. The battery left at\nsix o'clock P. M., followed by the First division. We did not go back to\nElktown, but were ordered to report at Morrisville. Kilpatrick's cavalry\nreturned, having destroyed the gunboat taken by the rebels.\n\n_Wednesday, September 9._--Morrisville. Mounted drill.\n\n_Thursday, September 10._--Mounted drill.\n\n_Friday, September 11._--Cannonading heard in the direction of the\nRappahannock.\n\n_Saturday, September 12._--Morrisville. The Second corps left camp at ten\no'clock A. M., marched to Bealton Station, from there to Rappahannock\nStation, going in camp for the night. The First and Fifth corps are\ncamping near the fords. Our cavalry has crossed the river, and is\nskirmishing with the rebels; We marched ten miles to-day.\n\n_Sunday, September 13._--At Rappahannock Ford. The whole cavalry corps is\nacross the river. The Second corps crossed about eight o'clock A. M., on a\npontoon bridge. The cavalry and horse artillery are already fighting\nbetween Brandy Station and Culpepper Court House. We halted for an hour at\nBrandy Station, on the road to Culpepper. Three rebel guns, and twenty\nartillerymen, who were Maryland rebels, and well dressed, captured by\nKilpatrick's cavalry, were carried by. We arrived in Culpepper at six\no'clock P. M. The view of the surrounding country is splendid. Our cavalry\ndrove Stuart's cavalry clear to Cedar Mountain, occasionally firing a gun\nat them. We were in line of battle, the artillery on the hills, and a part\nof the infantry around Culpepper Court House. Rain fell during the night.\n\n_Monday, September 14._--In line of battle at Culpepper Court House. The\ncavalry still fighting near the Rapidan.\n\n_Tuesday, September 15._--Culpepper Court House. Cannonading going on\nsince morning.\n\n_Wednesday, September 16._--Culpepper Court House. At nine o'clock A. M.,\norders came for the Third division, our battery and Battery B, to advance.\nWe marched through the town to Cedar Mountain, General Pope's battle\nground, and occupied the hill during the evening and night, in line of\nbattle. We could see the rebel artillery fire on our cavalry at Raccoon\nFord. Marched eight miles to-day. A very cold night.\n\n_Thursday, September 17._--Cedar Mountain. Left at ten o'clock, A. M.,\nmarching only three miles. Heavy skirmishing was going on during the\nafternoon at Robinson's Creek. The rebels are in strong force on the\nRapidan. Our battery went to camp near the woods in the evening. A heavy\nfall of rain all night.\n\n_Friday, September 18._--Near Robinson's Creek. Two deserters, of the\nFourteenth Connecticut regiment, were shot to-day, in presence of the\nThird division, Batteries A and B, Rhode Island. At the same time a fight\nwas going on near the Rapidan.\n\n_Saturday, September 19._--Near Robinson's Creek. We changed camp. The\nbattery was hitched up until four o'clock P. M. Quiet until\n\n_Tuesday, September 22._--A cavalry fight took place on the other side of\nRobinson's Creek.\n\n_Wednesday, September 23._--Robinson's Creek. Fighting going on all the\nafternoon. We can see the troops manoeuvring on the other side of the\ncreek. Artillery was firing rapidly. Afterwards we found out that\nKilpatrick's cavalry returned from a reconnoissance, the enemy disputing\nhis passage fiercely.\n\n_Thursday, September 24._--Robinson's Creek. The battery was paid off for\ntwo months service. New clothes were issued in the afternoon.\n\n_Sunday, September 27._--The Eleventh and Twelfth corps are leaving the\nArmy of the Potomac, going to join the Western army.\n\n_Tuesday, September 29._--Our battery, without the caissons, turned out\nthis afternoon under cover of the woods, to Robinson's Creek, to support\nthe cavalry, they making a dash on the rebel picket lines towards evening,\nwhich was done in good style. We did not fire, and returned to camp at\ndark.\n\n_Friday, October 2._--It rained all day. A deserter was shot in the First\ndivision.\n\n_Saturday, October 3._--Robinson's Creek. The Third brigade of the Third\ndivision, Second corps, under General Paddy Owen, came to camp this\nevening, close to our battery.\n\n_Sunday, October 4._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Monday, October 5._--The Sixth corps arrived to-day to relieve ours, (the\nSecond.)\n\n_Tuesday, October 6._--The Second corps left Robinson's Creek, at seven\no'clock, A. M., returning to Culpepper. The main body of the army camps\naround Culpepper. The town presents a lively aspect.\n\n_Friday, October 9._--Lee's army reported to operate on our flank.\n\n_Saturday, October 10._--Culpepper Court House. The army is in line of\nbattle around Culpepper. A battle expected. Our battery marched three\nmiles to the right of Culpepper, going in position in the woods at night.\nThe engineers of the Second division were cutting trees all night. The\nposition of our battery is very poor, as manoeuvring is absolutely\nimpossible in these woods. Lee's whole army is in motion on our right\nflank.\n\n_Sunday, October 11._--Our corps fell back to Culpepper at two o'clock in\nthe morning, halting there until daybreak, when we marched back to\nRappahannock Station, the Sixth corps in our rear. The whole army is\nfalling back. Infantry are busy levelling the redoubts that cover the\nford. The battery went to Bealton Station, going in park.\n\n_Monday, October 12._--Bealton Station. Heavy fighting going; on between\nKilpatrick's and Stuart's cavalry. At twelve o'clock the Second and Sixth\ncorps received orders to recross the Rappahannock. Arriving there in quick\ntime, we crossed immediately, and formed in line of battle. The two corps,\ndrawn up in a straight line, half-way between Brandy Station and the\nRappahannock, presented a splendid sight. The enemy fell back to Culpepper\nafter sunset. General Gregg's cavalry was defeated at White Sulphur\nSprings to-day. Orders came suddenly, at twelve o'clock in the night, to\nfall back across the Rappahannock.\n\n_Tuesday, October 18._--We arrived at Bealton Station before daybreak, and\nwere immediately ordered to White Sulphur Springs, to support Gregg; but\nthe order was countermanded when we were within a few miles from there. We\nmarched at once in the direction of Warrenton Junction, and halted at\ndark, on account of the Third corps trains. Marched twenty-five miles\nsince last night.\n\n_Wednesday, October 14._--Action on Coffee Hill and at Bristow Station.\nThe Second corps was in motion at three o'clock in the morning. Large\nfires were burning all along the roadside. Near daybreak, one of our\ncaissons and one of Battery B's, were upset in crossing a stream. Reports\nof carbines greeted our ears, astonishing everybody, as no attack from the\nenemy was expected. Great excitement prevailed at first. Several men of\nthe First division were killed and wounded, the rebels opening furiously\non a hill where the infantry were busy cooking coffee. The rebel force\nconsisted of cavalry and horse-artillery. Our battery took position on the\nhill, but changed front soon after, firing to the rear, facing a deep\ncreek below the hill. Generals Warren and Caldwell were present. General\nWarren ordered General Hayes to march his division directly to Manassas\nJunction, and if opposed by the enemy, to charge with the bayonet at once.\nA short time after a battery appeared in our front. Captain Arnold wished\nto open fire; but, incredible as it sounds, yet true, General Caldwell\nwould not allow it, taking the rebels for our own troops. They unlimbered,\nand opened a well-directed fire on our battery, which had a very exposed\nposition. Our fire did not seem to have much effect. General Caldwell did\nnot remain after finding out his mistake. Our battery was compelled to\nwithdraw. A section of regular artillery tried to get in position, but was\nunable to do so. The line of march was taken up immediately, cavalry and\nhorse-artillery marching on both flanks. We were not disturbed any more\nuntil four o'clock P. M., our troops suddenly met the enemy on the\nrailroad at Bristow Station. Only four guns of our battery were at hand,\nthe right section acting as rear guard. We were opposed by a six gun\nbattery, having mostly white horses. A desperate engagement followed,\nlasting one hour. We fired point blank most of the time. The rebel\nbattery was nearly annihilated, and five of their guns carried away by\nour infantry; but our battery deserves due credit for the capture of the\nrebels. The right section arrived after the engagement was over, taking up\nits position instantly. At dark the enemy suddenly attacked us on our left\nflank, bringing a battery to bear on us from the other side of the\nrailroad; but the dam being too high, they could not fire with accuracy.\nWe changed front at once, opening fire, and silencing the battery shortly\nafter, ending the engagement thereby. Hill's corps and Stewart's cavalry\nwere the opposing forces. The Second corps captured five guns and nearly a\nthousand prisoners. We all crossed Kettle Run, late in the night, marched\nto Centreville via Manassas Junction, arriving there in a tired-out\ncondition. Our loss at Bristow Station was: Killed--Philip Crayton.\nWounded--John Moran, died afterwards; M. Desmond, James Gardner, Patrick\nHealey, and Theodore Reichardt.\n\n_Thursday, October 15._--Centreville. The battery is refilling ammunition.\n\n_Friday, October 16._--A heavy rain. The battery advanced in front of Cub\nRun.\n\n_Saturday, October 17._--Cub Run. Cannonading is going on near Bull Run.\nThe left section received new guns. During the afternoon the engineers\nlaid a pontoon bridge across Cub Run, without meeting any opposition. The\nbattery turned out to support, while a brigade of cavalry and some horse\nartillery, crossed the Run to reconnoitre.\n\n_Sunday, October 18._--Cub Run. The cavalry is fighting on the way from\nManassas Junction to Bristow Station.\n\n_Monday, October 19._--A heavy fall of rain at four o'clock in the\nmorning. The Second and Third corps crossed Cub Run by daybreak, marched\nover Bull Run and Manassas Junction, and went to camp two miles from\nBristow Station. The infantry carries rations for ten days. We marched\neight miles to-day. The rebels have broken up the Orange and Alexandria\nrailroad.\n\n_Tuesday, October 20._--Marched over the battle-field at Bristow Station\nand through Greenwich, going in position on Coffee Hill at dark. Marched\neighteen miles to-day.\n\n_Wednesday, October 21._--Remained on Coffee Hill all day. The remains of\nthe soldiers who fell here on the fourteenth were buried by our troops.\nThe Third corps advanced further.\n\n_Thursday, October 22._--Coffee Hill. Changed camp this afternoon.\n\n_Friday, October 23._--Marched to within two miles of Warrenton Junction,\ngoing in camp.\n\n_Saturday, October 24._--Camp near Warrenton Junction.\n\n_Monday, October 26._--Cannonading going on, some distance off. All the\nartillery of our corps was packed up until half-past six o'clock.\n\n_Wednesday, October 28._--Skirmishing going on at Bealton Station.\n\n_Saturday, October 31._--Camp near Warrenton. The battery was mustered in\nfor two months service, by Captain Hassard, of Battery B. Mounted\ninspection at eleven o'clock A. M., by Lieutenant Colonel Munroe,\nChief-of-Artillery of the Second corps, our former lieutenant.\n\n_Friday, November 6._--Review of the artillery of the Second corps, by\nLieutenant Colonel Munroe.\n\n_Saturday, November 7._--The army in motion. All the corps are marching\ntowards the Rappahannock. Forced march to Bealton Station. Our corps took\nthe road towards Kelly's Ford. The Sixth corps surprised the rebels\ncompletely at Rappahannock Ford, charged on their works, and captured four\nguns, four colors, and eight hundred prisoners--four colonels and three\nlieutenant colonels amongst them. The Third corps took four hundred\nprisoners. After arriving at Kelly's Ford, our corps went to camp for the\nnight.\n\n_Sunday, November 8._--At Kelly's Ford. The Second and Third corps crossed\nthe river at half-past six o'clock A. M., on pontoons, forming in line of\nbattle. No opposition was met with when we advanced. Ewell's corps seemed\nto have occupied the ford, winter quarters having been built already. The\ndifferent corps advanced two miles further from the river. Our corps\ncamped on Colonel Thomas' plantation in the evening.\n\n_Monday, November 9._--Camp on Colonel Thomas' plantation. The first snow\nfell. All remains quiet.\n\n_Wednesday, November 11._--The battery changed camp. All the artillery of\nthe Second corps is forming one camp. The enemy is on the other side of\nthe Rapidan.\n\n_Thursday, November 12._--We were paid off for two months service.\n\n_Saturday, November 14._--A heavy shower fell about nine o'clock in the\nevening.\n\n_Sunday, November 15._--Our battery was packed up, ready to march, all the\nmorning. Heavy cannonading going on at the Rapidan. The order to march was\ncountermanded in the afternoon. It rained all day.\n\n_Monday, November 16._--Mounted inspection by Lieutenant Colonel Munroe in\nthe afternoon. The first train of cars crossed the bridge over\nRappahannock Ford.\n\n_Wednesday, November 18._--Review, in honor of some English officers. Our\nbattery was harnessed up, but did not turn out.\n\n_Saturday, November 21._--It rained all day.\n\n_Sunday, November 22._--New clothes were issued to the battery.\n\n_Thursday, November 26._--Thanksgiving day. The army is advancing again.\nThe Second and Fifth corps marched by daybreak. Before marching, it was\nannounced to the troops, that the western army, at Chattanooga, achieved a\ngreat victory over Bragg's forces. Arriving at Germania Ford, most of the\nartillery, our battery amongst it, was brought in position, while the\ncavalry charged across the Rapidan. Approaching the enemy's works, they\nwere found deserted. A pontoon bridge was immediately laid for the\ninfantry. The artillery had to ford the river. We marched on the\nplank-road, leading to the Wilderness, until seven o'clock P. M., going in\nposition by eight. All the troops are in line of battle. A severely cold\nnight.\n\n_Friday, November 27._--Resumed our march on the plank-road, turning off\nto the Orange Court House road by nine o'clock A. M. Our skirmishers met\nthe enemy at the Red Tavern. Brisk skirmishing commenced, and some of the\nshort range artillery went in action. We remained on the roadside until\nfive o'clock P. M., going in park then. A large quantity of rails were\nsecured by the battery boys to keep large fires burning all night.\n\n_Saturday, November 28._--The order was to be awake by three o'clock in\nthe morning. At daybreak our lines advanced, but the enemy fell back some\ndistance. Our line of battle followed rapidly until ten o'clock A. M.,\nwhen suddenly our advance was checked in front of Mine Run. Finding the\nrebel army in battle array, presenting a formidable line, our battery was\nbrought in position at once; but, shortly afterwards, ordered to advance\nand open fire on them. Our unexpected firing broke the front line of\ninfantry very soon; but two batteries taking the position, opened a\nterrible fire on our battery. Owing to our exposed position, we had to\nwithdraw our guns by hand to the rear, where the ground formed a sort of\nravine. At this time, Rickett's Pennsylvania battery, and Ames' New York\nbattery, opened from our left. Our battery fired sixty rounds. We had one\nman wounded, Burrill,--a detached infantry man,--a cannon ball breaking\nhis arm. Shortly after we retired to our former position. All hands went\nto digging until eleven o'clock in the night. About midnight we were\nordered to fall back on Red Tavern. The roads are in a horrid condition.\nRain set in early in the morning.\n\n_Sunday, November 29._--Red Tavern. March of the Second corps and a\ndivision of the Sixth to the left flank, at seven o'clock A. M. All the\nrear boxes of the caissons were left behind, so as not to impede the march\non the muddy roads. We turned off to the Gordonsville plank-road. Our\ncavalry was skirmishing all the time. Passing through the woods, the\nenemy's batteries opened a heavy fire, but were responded to by our horse\nartillery. A line of battle was formed at once. Our battery went in\nposition on a knoll, close to the woods. The enemy ceased firing at dark,\nand the glare of both armies camp-fires was soon visible. The night was\nvery cold. We are only three miles from Orange Court House.\n\n_Monday, November 30._--Most of the infantry of the Second corps, and the\ndivision of the Sixth, advanced before daylight, with the intention to\ntake the enemy's works by assault. It was understood that we should open\nfire at an elevation of nine degrees, by the first bugle sound. The\nsecond signal of a bugle should be for the infantry to storm the works.\nBut we waited in vain for any signal, General Warren stating the works\ncould not be taken without immense loss of life; the main works being\nbuilt of solid logs, two feet thick, the breastworks eleven feet high and\nsix feet thick, mounted with eighteen guns. Our battery opened several\ntimes on the enemy, who was endeavoring to carry artillery by our front.\nSergeant Olney made a splendid shot during the morning. Heavy cannonading\nwas kept up on the right the whole forenoon; but neither army seemed to be\nvery anxious to open the battle. Horse artillery fired on our position\nseveral times, without doing any damage. During the afternoon the right\nsection took position ahead of us, a little to our right, firing some. Our\nwhole line was fortified during the day. At dark, our battery was ordered\nto fall back to the rear, which was gladly responded to. Going about two\nmiles, we went in park close to the Fredericksburg plank-road.\n\n_Tuesday, December 1._--All the trains are going towards the Rapidan.\nTroops were marching back all the afternoon. The right section of our\nbattery, under Lieutenant Hunt, was sent back to the front to guard the\nOrange road, but returned again in the evening. At eleven o'clock in the\nnight, the Second corps commenced marching to the rear, on the\nFredericksburg plank-road. Our battery was the last of the corps. The\nnight was cold but clear. The moon shone. We travelled very fast. A\ndivision of cavalry and some horse artillery concluded the rear-guard. We\nmarched all night. Large fires were burning on both sides of the road.\nSometimes the woods were all on fire. On this march we were undergoing\ngreat sufferings, many of us having no overcoats.\n\n_Wednesday, December 2._--We crossed the Rapidan at Culpepper Ford, early\nin the morning. All the troops went over at once; the cavalry cutting off\non a shorter route. The pontoons were taken off immediately, while the\ntroops halted to rest on the other side of the Rapidan. The rebel\nvan-guard made its appearance, but were shelled by our horse artillery,\ndispersing them soon. We marched until eight o'clock P. M., when we\nreached our old camp on Colonel Thomas' plantation. The mansion was\ndestroyed entirely by our troops during the seven days campaign across the\nRapidan. This is the first night for some time, we rest again in peace.\n\n_Friday, December 4._--All the artillery changed camp.\n\n_Saturday, December 5._--Left at eight o'clock A. M., and went to camp\nnear Stevensburg, five miles from Culpepper; the poorest place that could\nbe selected in winter time, as there is no firewood near at hand.\n\n_Sunday, December 6._--Camp near Stevensburg. Lieutenant Lamb left the\nbattery, going to Battery C, Rhode Island. Lieutenant Blake, formerly\norderly sergeant of Battery B, took his place.\n\n_Monday, December 7._--Camp near Stevensburg. The infantry of the Second\ncorps marched to the woods to build winter-quarters.\n\n_Tuesday, December 8._--Camp near Stevensburg. The artillery brigade left\ncamp, going to winter-quarters within one and a-half miles of Brandy\nStation.\n\n_Wednesday, December 9._--Camp near Mountain Run. Everybody is cutting\nwood for winter-quarters. A battalion of engineers are building a bridge\nover the Mountain Run. Lieutenant Colewell arrived for our battery.\n\n_Thursday, December 10._--The artillery brigade changed camp, going across\nMountain Run at noon, and again by four o'clock P. M.\n\n_Friday, December 11._--It is now decided to remain here for the winter,\nand orders were given to build winter-quarters. A general order was read\nin line, to the effect that veterans, wishing to re-enlist, would get\neight hundred dollars bounty and a furlough of thirty days.\n\n_Saturday, December 12._--It was announced that soldiers could obtain\nfurloughs for ten days. The building of winter-quarters is progressing. It\nrained to-day.\n\n_Wednesday, December 16._--Mounted inspection by Lieutenant Colonel\nMunroe. Orderly Sergeant Thompson went home on a furlough.\n\n_Thursday, December 17._--Captain Arnold left on a furlough of ten days.\n\n_Friday, December 18._--Private Bontemps arrived in the battery after\nseven months absence. Raid of guerillas on the Orange and Alexandria\nRailroad.\n\n_Sunday, December 20._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Tuesday, December 22._--Commenced building stables for the horses.\n\n_Thursday, December 24._--Cold weather.\n\n_Saturday, December 26._--Orderly Sergeant Thompson returned from home.\n\n_Sunday, 27_, _Monday, 28_, _Tuesday, 29_, _Wednesday, 30_, _and Thursday,\nDecember 31._--Rainy weather all this time.\n\n\n\n\n1864.\n\n\n_Friday, January 1._--Winter-quarters at Mountain Run. Cold weather.\n\n_Saturday, January 2._--Many horses die from the cold.\n\n_Wednesday, January 6._--Cold weather.\n\n_Thursday, January 7._--Mountain Run. Snow storm.\n\n_Monday, January 11._--The use of countersigns commenced again from this\nday.\n\n_Friday, January 15._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Monday, January 18._--Rain.\n\n_Thursday, January 21._--Mrs. Captain Arnold arrived in camp.\n\n_Sunday, January 24._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Friday, January 29._--Mounted drill before General Hayes.\n\n_Tuesday, February 2._--First thunder-shower.\n\n_Friday, February 5._--The First Minnesota regiment marched off at\ndaybreak, going home to reorganize.\n\n_Saturday, February 6._--Reveille at four o'clock in the morning. We had\norders to march by six o'clock A. M., with a blanket and rations for three\ndays. The infantry of the Second corps, and all the long range artillery,\nmarched through Stevensburg to the Rapidan. Arriving at Morton's Ford,\nskirmishing commenced between ours and the rebel infantry. A rebel battery\non a hill opened on our battery, while going in position close to the\nriver. We did not open immediately, as the rebel battery fired but a few\nrounds. The Third division, under General Hayes, forded the stream. At\nfour o'clock in the afternoon, General Webb, of the Second division,\nordered the infantry to advance, and our battery to fire. We used\ntwenty-four rounds. The infantry pushed on, half-way up the hill, but had\nto retire at dark. Our battery fired fifteen more rounds, by Lieutenant\nColonel Munroe's order. The infantry kept on fighting until seven o'clock\nin the evening. It rained all day.\n\n_Sunday, February 7._--In line of battle at Morton's Ford. All of our\ninfantry recrossed last night. The rebel sharpshooters advanced to their\nrifle-pits, firing on us. We remained quiet nearly all day. At dark we\nreturned to camp, arriving about ten o'clock P. M. The roads were in a\nfloating condition. The loss of our corps amounts to three hundred men.\n\n_Friday, February 12._--Sergeant Greene and Eugene Googins, went to Rhode\nIsland for the purpose of recruiting. Mounted drill.\n\n_Sunday, February 14._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Tuesday, February 16._--Monthly mounted inspection, by Captain Thompson,\nacting chief-of-artillery.\n\n_Wednesday, February 17._--The battery was paid off for two months\nservice. Some of the men received clothing money.\n\n_Friday, February 19._--Review of the artillery of the Second corps by\nGeneral Warren.\n\n_Sunday, February 21._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Monday, February 22._--Washington's birthday. Battalion drill of the\nartillery of the Second corps, by Captain Thompson.\n\n_Tuesday, February 23._--Review of the Second corps and General\nKilpatrick's cavalry division. The review was held between Stevensburg and\nPony Mountain. The weather was splendid. The troops presented a good\nappearance. Generals Meade and Warren, Senator Sprague, and many ladies\nwere present.\n\n_Saturday, February 27._--The Sixth corps is going towards the Rapidan, on\na reconnoissance. We have orders to keep three days rations on hand, and\nbe ready to march.\n\n_Tuesday, March 1._--A heavy fall of rain.\n\n_Saturday, March 5._--Rain.\n\n_Sunday, March 6._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Thursday, March 17._--St. Patrick's day. Monthly inspection by Captain\nThompson.\n\n_Friday, March 18._--One section of each battery in the corps had to turn\nout for target-shooting in the afternoon.\n\n_Saturday, March 19._--All the artillery had to go in position on the\nhill, but returned soon to the camp again.\n\n_Tuesday, March 22._--We were paid off for two months service. Snow-storm.\n\n_Friday, March 25._--The Army of the Potomac is to be divided in three\ncorps. The Second will be consolidated with the Third corps, and commanded\nby General Hancock; the Fifth corps commanded by General Warren; The First\nand Sixth corps by General Sedgwick.\n\n_Saturday, March 26._--Lieutenant General Grant arrived at Brandy Station.\n\n_Sunday, March 27._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Tuesday, March 29._--A heavy rain.\n\n_Wednesday, March 30._--Rickett's Pennsylvania battery changed camp, going\non top of the hill on the other side of Mountain Run.\n\n_Friday, April 1._--Rain.\n\n_Saturday, April 2._--Rain.\n\n_Sunday, April 3._--We exchanged ammunition with Thompson's Pennsylvania\nbattery.\n\n_Monday, April 4._--Captain Thompson's battery left for Washington.\n\n_Tuesday, April 5, and Saturday, April 9._--A heavy fall of rain on both\ndays.\n\n_Monday, April 11._--Mounted inspection by the new chief-of-artillery,\nColonel Tidball, of the Fourth Heavy Artillery, New York.\n\n_Tuesday, April 12._--Eugene Googins and Bill Taylor returned from\nProvidence.\n\n_Thursday, April 14._--Fred Frown, promoted to captain, arrived to-day,\nand was presented with a sabre, in presence of Colonel Tompkins and\nLieutenant Colonel Munroe, by Battery B, his new command.\n\n_Sunday, April 17._--Lieutenant Colewell left the battery to-day, being\ndischarged on his application.\n\n_Tuesday, April 19._--The artillery practised target-shooting in the\nmorning.\n\n_Wednesday, April 20._--Review of the artillery of the Second corps, by\nGeneral Hancock. The corps has eight batteries now.\n\n_Friday, April 22._--Review of the Second corps, numbering nearly forty\nthousand men, by General Grant.\n\n_Sunday, April 24._--Mounted inspection.\n\n_Monday, April 25._--This afternoon, a private of the Nineteenth\nMassachusetts regiment was hung for violating a woman eighty years old.\n\n_Wednesday, April 27._--The battery broke up winter-quarters this morning,\nand went to camp between Stevensburg and Pony Mountain. Sergeant Greene\nreturned from recruiting.\n\n_Friday, April 29._--The battery changed camp again, moving close to the\ninfantry.\n\n_Saturday, April 30._--We were mustered in for two months service.\n\n_Sunday, May 1._--Mounted inspection. Burnside's corps arrived at\nWarrenton Junction.\n\n_Tuesday, May 3._--The Army of the Potomac commences the great campaign\nagainst Richmond. General Grant is with the army. Our battery left camp at\neight o'clock in the evening, and marched all night.\n\n_Wednesday, May 4._--Arriving at the Rapidan, we halted but a few minutes.\nOur cavalry was already across. About six o'clock A. M., we forded the\nriver at Ely's Ford. The infantry crossed on a pontoon bridge. We marched\ndirectly towards the Wilderness, and arrived at Chancellorsville at noon.\nOne division of the Second corps formed in line of battle, facing\nFredericksburg, and remained there all day and night.\n\n_Thursday, May 5._--Battle in the Wilderness. At seven o'clock in the\nmorning, the army was in motion, on the road leading to Spottsylvania. The\nSixth corps was in possession of Mine Run. Fighting commenced on our right\nabout one o'clock P. M. The First division, Batteries A and B, Rhode\nIsland, turned to the left at four o'clock P. M. Parts of our corps were\nhotly engaged near sunset. Our battery went in position near a farm house,\nand commenced to fortify immediately. So did the infantry on our left. The\ntroops on our left were to be withdrawn, but suddenly ordered to halt as\nthe rebel cavalry was reported to attack our left. In the night, our\nbattery withdrew some distance to the rear, going in park. General Hayes\nwas killed to-day.\n\n_Friday, May 6._--Battle in the Wilderness. The troops were awake at three\no'clock in the morning. Our battery returned to its position at daybreak,\nand was strengthening the fortifications. Incessant musketry fire was\ngoing on from five o'clock until ten o'clock A. M. Most of the fighting\ntook place in the woods. Very little artillery had been used so far. The\nright section of our battery went to the rear to guard a road against the\nrebel cavalry. The enemy opened on our left with artillery, but was\nvigorously replied to by the Tenth Massachusetts battery. Heavy\ncannonading was going on on the extreme right. One gun of Rickett's\nPennsylvania battery bursted. A general attack from the rebels was\nexpected in the evening; but all remained, quiet during the night. We\nstayed within our fortifications all night, laying alongside of our guns.\n\n_Saturday, May 7._--Battle in the Wilderness. We were fortifying our\nposition stronger yet. Little fighting was done in our front to-day. The\nwoods are on fire, exposing the wounded to a horrible death. General\nSheridan's cavalry has been fighting hard all day, near Todd's Tavern. Our\nbattery went to the rear at eight o'clock in the evening; but was kept in\nreadiness for marching all night.\n\n_Sunday, May 8._--Battle in the Wilderness. Fredericksburg is in our\npossession. All of our wounded are sent there. The Second corps advanced\nas far as Todd's Tavern, forming in line of battle, the cavalry on the\nflanks. Fighting was kept on until night, mostly in the woods. Artillery\nnot much used. General Grant and staff passed by. The infantry was\nfortifying all night.\n\n_Monday, May 9._--Battle in the Wilderness. Line of battle at Todd's\nTavern. Before break of day, our battery took position behind breastworks,\nbuilt by the Thirty-ninth New York Regiment. But no engagement took place\nat this point. We left the position at noon, marching to the right. About\nthree o'clock we got sight of the enemy's trains on the other side of the\nPo Creek. The right section, under Lieutenant Hunt, and one of Battery B,\nwent in action, shelling the rebel trains. An hour afterwards, the rebels\nbrought four pieces of horse artillery to bear on the two sections, but\nwere silenced in twenty minutes. Walter Arnold, of our battery, was\nslightly wounded. Battery B had two men killed. The Second corps crossed\nthe Po Creek at dark. Our battery went to park at ten o'clock P. M.\nGeneral Sedgwick was killed by a sharpshooter. Picket firing all night.\n\n_Tuesday, May 10._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. Fighting commenced all\nalong the line. A report of the fall of Petersburg was read to all the\ntroops. Our battery went a few rods to the rear, to be out of the way. The\nright section started off, and had an action of half an hour's duration,\ncoming very near being flanked. At eleven o'clock, our whole battery went\nto the rear, which was threatened by the enemy. We went in action on the\nroadside, firing for half an hour. The rebels evidently drove our\ninfantry. The battery changed position, having the open field in the front\nand the woods in the rear and no road left to retreat but one, which was\nalready endangered by the enemy. General Barlow, commanded our troops at\nthis point. It was decided now to withdraw the right and centre sections,\nleaving the left section to cover the retreat, without any support at all,\nto oppose the enemy, who was massing three formidable lines of infantry\nagainst us. Captain Arnold and Lieutenant Blake remained with the left\nsection, giving orders to load and lay down until the enemy should be very\nnear. This was done accordingly. At command of Captain Arnold, the pieces\nwere fired with good effect, and two of the rebel guns soon silenced. The\nleft section fired point blank during this action. Four lines of rebel\ninfantry advanced on the left, throwing back our line of infantry across\nthe only remaining road. Captain Arnold ordered our two guns to be brought\nto the rear by hand, limbering up from the rear, and try to make through\nthe woods. The sixth piece escaped; but not the fifth, the wheels getting\nstuck between trees. The enemy being very close upon us, opened such a\nterrific musketry fire on the piece as to make the horses unmanageable.\nBesides that, the cannoniers being all new men, left. Nobody remained but\nCaptain Arnold, Lieutenant Blake, Sergeant Calder, myself and the\ndrivers. We found it impossible to remove the gun, and had to abandon it\ntherefore, and crossed the Po Creek, the best way we could. The batteries\non the other side of the creek, opened furiously on the victorious enemy.\nThe remainder of our line of infantry fell back across the creek; but over\none thousand men were taken prisoners. Two men of our left section were\nwounded--Reynolds and Willy of the fifth piece. The latter had to be left\non the field. Arriving at the battery, our comrades rejoiced to see us\ncome back safe. We were engaged all the afternoon, setting fire to several\nshanties which served as rendezvous for sharpshooters. In the evening, we\nblew up a caisson of a rebel battery, which rode up at full speed, trying\nto get in action, causing them to withdraw immediately. We were in\nposition all night.\n\n_Wednesday, May 11._--Battle near Spottsylvania. Our battery fortified\nbefore daybreak. Heavy skirmishing, and some firing of artillery, was kept\nup all day. A heavy shower fell in the evening. Our horses were\nunharnessed and sent to the rear of the woods. At ten o'clock in the night\nour corps received orders to leave. We marched all night.\n\n_Thursday, May 12._--Battle of Spottsylvania Court House. Great assault of\nHancock's corps, supported by the Sixth. Near daybreak we arrived on the\nextreme left of our army. The infantry, was already formed in line, ready\nfor an impetuous onset. General Hancock and his division commanders rode\nup in front of the lines harranguing the troops. The long line advanced\nsuddenly, soon disappearing in the fog that hung over the ground. After a\nshort but desperate engagement, the works were carried, and two Generals,\nStewart and Johnson, eighteen pieces of artillery, seven colors, and three\nthousand men, captured. Our battery changed position three times while in\naction. When in the second position, our horses were unhitched to carry\nthe captured rebel artillery to the rear. Our third position was close to\nthe line of works taken from the enemy. We were hotly engaged for two\nhours. The rebels concentrated all their forces towards this point. Our\nammunition giving away, we were compelled to withdraw. The musketry fire\nwas so severe that, had we remained a few minutes longer, we would\nundoubtedly have lost half of our men. Battery C, Fifth Regulars, occupied\nour position afterwards, but had to leave, and abandon two guns. The\nbattle raged all day, and the loss of both armies was very heavy. Our army\ntook eight thousand prisoners. During the day, our battery returned to the\nposition held first, remaining there the rest of the day and night.\n\n_Friday, May 13._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. Skirmishing continued.\nOur battery changed position twice in the afternoon, going in park at\nlast, unhitched and unharnessed. According to an official announcement to\nthe army we captured two generals, eight thousand men, eighteen guns, and\ntwenty-seven colors from the rebels. Our loss since we entered the\nWilderness is estimated at forty thousand men in all. The rebels held\ntheir position all day, making the line of works taken yesterday, very\nuncomfortable. Picket-firing was kept up all night. One of our battery, by\nthe name of Hoyle, a recruit, was shot in the foot while going near to the\nouter line.\n\n_Saturday, May 14._--The rebels are falling back. General Sheridan's\ncavalry has done great damage in their rear. Our fourth detachment\nreceived a rebel gun to-day, in place of the one lost on the tenth of May.\nTwo more guns and caissons were taken from the enemy to-day. A mortar\nbattery was playing on the enemy's lines all day. Rainy weather.\n\n_Sunday, May 15._--Our battery left at half-past one o'clock in the\nmorning, marching but a few miles. The Second corps was relieved by the\nEighth, General Augur, being in reserve for a few days. We rested all day.\nA heavy shower fell in the evening.\n\n_Monday, May 16._--Remained quiet all day. It was read in line that\ntwenty-three thousand men, reinforcements, were on the way.\n\n_Tuesday, May 17._--All the batteries were reduced to four guns. The guns\nof our left section were sent to Belle Plain, by way of Fredericksburg. We\nchanged camp at four o'clock P. M., and again about six, and marched off\nabout ten o'clock in the night, going to the right of the line.\n\n_Wednesday, May 18._--At daybreak, heavy fighting commenced on the right.\nOur battery was in position, but as reserve. Generals Grant and Meade were\nin front of our battery, watching the progress of the contest, which was\nfought almost precisely where the great assault of the twelfth instant\ntook place. Battery B, Rhode Island, was in action. Many of the new\ntroops, the Corcoran Legion amongst them, took part in this fight. We\nreturned to our camping-place in the afternoon.\n\n_Thursday, May 19._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. We changed camp at\neleven o'clock A. M., going in front of the army headquarters, and were\npleasantly situated on the edge of the woods. A little after three o'clock\nP. M., great excitement prevailed on the line, the rebels being reported\nto have made an attack on the Fredericksburg road. Our battery was ordered\nout, going two miles. The fight was nearly over at our arrival, the enemy\nbeing driven back. We returned to the camp with orders to be ready to\nmarch at eleven o'clock P. M. The battery remained packed up all night,\nbut did not leave.\n\n_Friday, May 20._--Near Spottsylvania Court House. Quiet all day. Started\nat eleven o'clock in the night. The battery wagons were all uncovered. We\nmarched all night.\n\n_Saturday, May 21._--Forced march of the Second corps. Crossed the Mat\nriver at seven o'clock in the morning, struck the Fredericksburg and\nGordonsville Railroad, and entered Bowling Green at noon. A fair-looking\ntown. Nine thousand of our cavalry and horse artillery passed through\nearly in the morning, scattering the militia of the place. Marching\nfurther, we arrived at Milford Station at five o'clock P. M. This is an\nimportant railroad junction, with a good depot, and many dwelling houses.\nOur cavalry and horse artillery occupied the surrounding farms. At six\no'clock P. M., we crossed the Mattapony river, over a stationary bridge,\ngoing in park for the night. About seven o'clock the rebels ran out two\nguns, firing on our camps for a short time. We marched twenty-five miles\nto-day.\n\n_Sunday, May 22._--On the Mattapony river. We advanced but one mile, at\nseven o'clock A. M., taking our position in the line of battle, and\nfortified at once; but, after finishing the works, we had to give them up\nto another battery, and dug a new line of intrenchments about one hundred\nyards off. This created great dissatisfaction among the men. Heavy firing\nwas going on to our right, some ten miles off. An attack from the enemy on\nour corps was expected, but we were not disturbed.\n\n_Monday, May 23._--The Second corps was in motion again at daybreak. After\nmarching ten miles, we crossed the Pole Cat Creek. About noon we arrived\nin the vicinity of the North Anna River, the Fifth corps being there\nalready. After an hour's rest, our right section was ordered to advance,\ntaking position behind a narrow strip of woods, in front of the river. The\nrest of the battery, and all the other batteries of the corps, came soon\nafter, and went in position. At three o'clock P. M., a desultory fire was\nopened on the enemy's works, ceasing by five o'clock. The right section\nwas ordered to go in advance of the line of battle, in front of a strong\nredoubt of the enemy, and to open furiously, and be a signal to all the\nbatteries of the corps. The enemy offered great resistance for some time.\nIf it had not been for a few very large trees in front of our position, we\nwould have lost a number of men. A heavy cannonade was kept up until dark,\nwhen our assaulting columns carried the works at the point of the bayonet.\nThe right section having expended all ammunition, filled up at once and\ncrossed the Creek; being the first artillery on the other side of the\nNorth Anna River. We went in position, fortifying during the night.\n\n_Tuesday, May 24._--Battle on the North Anna River. There was more or less\nfighting since daybreak. The enemy's artillery fired continuously on the\nstationary bridge leading across the North Anna. Our sharpshooters and\ninfantry carried the bridge at ten o'clock A. M. Our battery was attached\nto General Birney's division to-day, and ordered to the right of the\nbridge to engage the enemy's battery shelling it. We engaged the battery\nfor an hour without any result at all, as they were strongly fortified.\nTom Steere was shot in the leg by a sharpshooter. We were relieved by\nBattery K, Fourth Regulars, and returned to our first position. At four\no'clock P. M. we crossed the bridge over the North Anna river, under the\nenemy's artillery fire. The cannoniers were told to scatter and go ahead\nof the battery, as horses were likely to draw the enemy's fire. We\nsustained no loss in this movement. Most of the infantry of the corps were\nin line of battle on the south side of the river. Our battery took\nposition behind breastworks thrown up by our troops, and sheltered by a\nVirginia mansion, instantly. A short engagement took place before dark;\nbut a heavy shower setting in, put an end to it.\n\n_Wednesday, May 25._--Southside of the North Anna River. The battery was\nordered to advance at eight o'clock A. M. The cannoniers were sent ahead\nwith shovels and pick-axes, to fortify our position. Not much of any\nconsequence was done in our front during the day, some sharpshooting\nexcepted. The corps had three fortified lines of battle. Our battery was\nin the first--skirmishers in front of us. The mortar-battery was playing\nall the afternoon. Shower in evening.\n\n_Thursday, May 26._--Southside of the North Anna river. The Ninth corps\nwas considerably engaged. We held our line all day. Shower in evening. Our\nforces evacuated the southside of the North Anna River at ten o'clock in\nthe night, going back to where the first line of battle was formed during\nthe fight on the North Anna River, and rested until the next morning.\n\n_Friday, May 27._--Flank march to the Pamunkey River. Sheridan's cavalry,\nthe Fifth and Sixth corps ahead; the Second and Ninth corps in the rear.\nStarted about noon, and halted at eight o'clock, P. M., having marched\nfifteen miles. About eleven o'clock in the night we went three miles\nfurther and rested in a ploughed field.\n\n_Saturday, May 28._--Resumed marching at seven o'clock in the morning.\nCrossed the Pamunkey River about four o'clock P. M., on a pontoon bridge.\nGeneral Meade's headquarters were on the southside of the river. Going a\nmile further, our battery went to camp, unhitched and unharnessed. The\nsmoke of our gunboats on the Pamunkey River, was visible.\n\n_Sunday, May 29._--Southside of the Pamunkey River. The battery was\nhitched up at two o'clock in the morning. We remained until evening.\nMarched off by seven o'clock, but returned soon after. We left camp again\nat eleven o'clock in the night, marched on the Mechanicsville road, going\nin park by one o'clock A. M., on\n\n_Monday, May 30._--Within twenty miles of Richmond. The infantry was\nfortifying all of last night. Before daybreak, our battery was ordered to\nthe extreme front, only one thousand yards from the enemy's works. We were\nset to work digging; but ordered back to the rear, until the engineers had\nthrown up breastworks. It was lucky for us that we could not be seen by\nthe enemy, on account of the fog, or else but few would have escaped. At\nnoon the battery returned, taking position behind the works. Shortly after\nthe enemy opened, concentrating a heavy artillery fire on our battery,\nwhich was vigorously replied to by our four guns. Lieutenant Peter Hunt\nwas the only man hurt, a piece of a shell fracturing his right heel.\nDuring the afternoon a twenty-four pounder mortar battery was posted\nbetween our guns, keeping up a regular bombardment. Fighting lasted until\neight o'clock in the evening. At that time, five of our batteries were\nplaying on the enemy's works, which were considerably damaged. Our horses\nwere sent a half mile to the rear.\n\n_Tuesday, May 31._--The rebels evacuated their line of intrenchments\nduring last night. We could hear the noise created by the removal of the\nartillery, mistaking it for the arrival of reinforcements. General\nBarlow's division occupied the works at ten o'clock A. M. A brass battery\nwas put in position, keeping up a steady fire on the retiring enemy.\nConsiderable fighting was going on along the whole line to-day. The rebel\nsharpshooters were very troublesome, firing from high trees. Norris L.\nChurch was shot in the head at eleven o'clock A. M., and died ten minutes\nafterwards. We changed position about eight o'clock in the evening, going\na-half mile to the right.\n\n_Wednesday, June 1._--Heavy fighting was going on at Coal Harbor. The\nSixth corps, and the Eighteenth, General Baldy Smith, being engaged with\nthe rebels. Our battery was supported by two companies of the\nTwenty-eighth Massachusetts regiment, but not engaged to-day. The Second\ncorps commenced moving at dark, and marched all night.\n\n_Thursday, June 2._--Battle of Coal Harbor. We arrived at Coal Harbor\nabout ten o'clock in the morning. Fighting was still going on. The rebels\nhad attacked the Sixth and Eighteenth corps about two o'clock in the\nmorning, but were repulsed losing five hundred and twenty prisoners, who\npassed by our battery. We were not in action to-day, but yet exposed to\nthe enemy's artillery fire. Our horses were unhitched and unharnessed for\nthe night.\n\n_Friday, June 3._--Battle on Gaines' Farm. The battle began at four\no'clock in the morning. Our battery took position about eight o'clock A.\nM., but changed it two hours after, going nearer to the front, and\nengaging one of the enemy's batteries at once. The breastworks in our\nfront were of a very weak construction. During the afternoon the enemy\nfired with solid shot. As soon as they struck our breastworks, they\nstopped. It was only to ascertain the exact range. The use of\nstrengthening the breastworks was demonstrated to the men of the first\npiece, but they did not feel disposed to work. At eight o'clock in the\nevening, the enemy's batteries commenced a heavy cannonade on our lines.\nHaving gained the precise range of our battery, they fired very correct,\ntwo shots passing clear through the breastworks, wounding five men of the\nfirst piece: W. Sweet, in the face; Gileo, slightly, in the face; Swett,\nin the back, badly; Coleman, in the groin; and Whitford, right arm shot\noff. The engagement lasted a-half an hour. We were told afterwards, that\nthe firing of our battery caused great havoc amongst the rebels. Charles\nLake was badly wounded by a shell, during the day. In the night, Major\nJohn G. Hassard brought orders for our battery to take an advanced\nposition in front of Gaines' Hill, before daybreak the next morning,\nsaying he would see to the erection of strong breastworks by the\nengineers.\n\n_Saturday, June 4._--Battle on Gaines' Farm. At the appointed time, we\nwent to take position on Gaines' Hill, but were disagreeably surprised to\nfind no fortifications at all. The Fourth Regiment, New York Heavy\nArtillery, had just began to throw up a miserable frame of rotten rails.\nBesides that, these men were scared to death, and, as soon as the\nsharpshooters commenced to fire, could not be induced to work any longer.\nWe were compelled to lay down, the breastworks being so poor that we did\nnot dare to provoke the enemy's artillery fire, and standing by the guns\nwould have been sure death. It was clear to every one's mind that some\nmean, malignant villain, not worthy of wearing shoulder-straps, had got\nthe battery in this dreadful position purposely, for our term of service\nexpired the next day, and we had long-range guns, while short range guns\nwere fired a quarter of a mile in our rear, the shells exploding over our\nheads, instead of reaching the rebel works. Captain Arnold, sending word\nto the commanding general, informing him of our dangerous situation,\nengineers were set to work in our rear, throwing up strong works. After\ntheir completion, prolongs were attached to each gun, and these pulled by\nhand behind the works, without any loss at all. Shortly after that,\nCaptain Dow's Maine battery fired a signal, and all our batteries opened\non the long line of rebel works on Gaines' Hill, keeping up the\nbombardment for two hours. At eight o'clock in the evening, the enemy\ndetermined to open the fight again, provoked an artillery duel of\nthree-quarters of an hour's duration, ending the day's contest. Patrick\nMurray was slightly wounded to-day.\n\n_Sunday, June 5._--On Gaines' Hill. The enemy's sharpshooters kept up a\ndeadly fire on our lines all day. Captain Arnold called on General Hancock\nto have our battery relieved, our time being out. Major Hassard appeared\nshortly afterwards, bringing orders that we were to be relieved by Captain\nAmes' New York battery. Just as we were getting ready to go to the rear,\nthe enemy opened with artillery, and the _old battery_ replied once more,\nkeeping up fire until nine o'clock in the night, fighting three hours\nbeyond our time of service. On the appearance of Captain Ames' battery, we\nquietly withdrew our guns, and marched to the rear, being cheered by all\nthe troops we passed, as the services of the battery were well known in\nthe Second corps, General Hancock saying himself, he was sorry to lose the\nbattery, as it was the best one in the whole corps. Arriving in the rear,\nwe joined our battery-wagon, forge and caissons.\n\n_Monday, June 6._--On Gaines' Farm. Captain Arnold is going home with the\nold members of the battery. Lieutenant Gamaliel L. Dwight took command of\nthe remnants of Battery A. A number of non-commissioned officers went to\nthe quarters of Colonel Tompkins to obtain their warrants before going\nhome. We changed camp in the evening, but were still exposed to the\nenemy's artillery fire.\n\n_Tuesday, June 7._--On Gaines' Farm. The old members returned all articles\nthat go by the name of camp-equipage, to the battery; the non-commissioned\nofficers, their sabres and pistols. Some old member made the following\nproposition: \"Our time having expired, and yet being under the enemy's\nfire, we should go a mile further to the rear, to sleep in the woods, as\nit would be no honor to get killed or wounded now.\" The proposition was\nreadily accepted, and carried into effect.\n\n_Wednesday, June 8._--Before break-of-day the old members assembled at the\ncamp of Battery A. Captain Arnold procured a mule team to carry our\nbaggage, and off we went at seven o'clock A. M. Never marched men with a\nbetter will, the fifteen miles to White House Landing, where we arrived by\ntwo o'clock P. M. Fortune smiled on us once more. We were put on board the\npropeller New Jersey at four o'clock, steaming down the Pamunkey, and\ndropping anchor opposite West Point about nine o'clock P. M.\n\n_Thursday, June 9._--On board the New Jersey. The journey resumed at four\no'clock in the morning. Steamed down the York River, past Yorktown,\nGloucester Point, up the Chesapeake Bay, dropping anchor twenty miles from\nAquia Creek.\n\n_Friday, June 10._--On board the New Jersey. Steamed up the Potomac early\nin the morning. Most of the men were below deck to clean up and put their\nnew clothes on, reserved for this occasion by most of the old members,\nwhen we laid in winter-quarters near Brandy Station. Our captain, and the\ncrew of the propeller, were quite astonished, seeing us come up in new\nuniforms. At three o'clock P. M., the propeller stopped at the Washington\nNavy Yard, landing eighty condemned horses. We left the vessel about four\no'clock, at the foot of Sixth street, proceeding to the Soldier's Home,\nand remained at the barracks over night.\n\n_Saturday, June 11._--Washington. We left at eleven o'clock A. M., in the\nexpress train. Came through Baltimore and Philadelphia, arriving in New\nYork City by eleven o'clock in the night. We took up our quarters at the\nPark Barracks.\n\n_Sunday, June 12._--New York City. We were at liberty to go wherever we\npleased, until five o'clock P. M., leaving in the train for Rhode Island.\nArrived at Stonington by twelve o'clock P. M. Owing to some accident, we\nhad to stay there all night.\n\n_Monday, June 13._--We left Stonington at daybreak, arriving in Providence\nat six o'clock in the morning. It is unnecessary to give a description of\nour reception in this book. I believe it is well remembered by the\ninhabitants of Providence, and the old members of Battery A.\n\n_On Saturday, the 18th of June_, we were mustered out of the United States\nservice, in Railroad Hall.\n\n_On Monday, the 20th of June_, we attended the funeral of our lieutenant,\nPeter Hunt, who died from the effects of his wounds.\n\n\n\n\nRoster of Battery A, JUNE 6, 1861.\n\n\nCaptain.\n\n  WILLIAM H. REYNOLDS.\n\n\nFirst Lieutenants.\n\n  THOMAS F. VAUGHAN,\n  J. ALBERT MUNROE.\n\n\nSecond Lieutenants.\n\n  JOHN A. TOMPKINS,\n  WILLIAM B. WEEDEN.\n\n\nSergeants.\n\n  George E. Randolph, Sergeant Major.\n  Albert E. Adams, Quartermaster Sergeant.\n  John H. Hammond, First Sergeant.\n  William H. Walcott,\n  G. Holmes Wilcox,\n  Charles D. Owen,\n  Francis A. Smith,\n  Henry Newton.\n\n\nCorporals.\n\n  Charles M. Read,\n  Charles H. Clark,\n  Nathan T. Morse,\n  Gamaliel L. Dwight,\n  William A. Sabin,\n  H. Vincent Butler,\n  Albert Remington,\n  James B. Buffum,\n  Harry C. Cushing,\n  George W. Field,\n  T. Frederic Brown,\n  Seabury S. Burroughs.\n\n\nArtificers.\n\n  Michael Grady,\n  Daniel W. Marshall,\n  Alexander K. Page,\n  Dexter D. Pearce,\n  James T. Rhodes,\n  George A. Stetson.\n  Nelson H. Arnold, Bugler.\n\n\nPrivates.\n\n  Aldrich, Stephen W.\n  Allen, George W. D.\n  Adams, George A.\n  Barker, William C.\n  Byrne, George\n  Byars, George\n  Bennett, Henry H.\n  Butler, Freeman\n  Brown, Clavis G.\n  Bup, Frederick\n  Brown, Joshua\n  Benedict, Frederick H.\n  Bontems, Charles E.\n  Brooks, Joseph\n  Bourn, William E.\n  Collins, Timothy\n  Collins, James H.\n  Cargill, Charles\n  Child, Benjamin H.\n  Cortell, Elmer D.\n  Calder, Wesley R.\n  Chaffee, George W.\n  Chaffee, Charles E.\n  Chester, George W.\n  Curtis, Horace M.\n  Carter, Frank\n  Church, William\n  Cooper, James\n  Codding, Charles D.\n  Crandall, Henry B.\n  Church, John\n  Drape, William\n  Desmond, Michael\n  Loughlin, Robert\n  Lewis, James\n  Lannegan, Patrick\n  Luther, Hesekiel W.\n  Luther, Levi\n  Lawrence, John H.\n  Lynott, John\n  Lindsey, Benjamin F.\n  McKay, John G.\n  Messinger, Eli\n  Messinger, George\n  Munroe, Benjamin S.\n  Moran, John\n  Morrison, William\n  McDonough, John\n  Marcy, Albourne W.\n  Mowry, Charles H.\n  Martin, Benjamin F.\n  McCannack, John O.\n  Navin, John\n  Olney, Amos M. C.\n  Peck, William F.\n  Percival, Richard\n  Pearce, William B.\n  Potter, Edward\n  Phillips, Frederick A.\n  Pratt, Henry L.\n  Reichardt, Theodore\n  Reichardt, Adolphus\n  Rider, William H.\n  Remington, Richard T.\n  Rawbottom, Robert\n  Raynor, Robert\n  Day, Henry F.\n  Donnegan, Patrick\n  Franklin, George W.\n  Freeman, Edward R.\n  Fletcher, Calvin\n  Flood, Thomas\n  Googin, Eugene\n  Gardner, James\n  Greenleaf, George T.\n  Griffin, John\n  Griffin, John, 2d\n  Gladding, Olney D.\n  Goldsmith, James H.\n  Griswold, George S.\n  Greenhalgh, William T.\n  Green, Stephen M.\n  Graham, Henry T.\n  Humphrey, Preston A.\n  Harrison, Gilbert T.\n  Haynes, William\n  Hoit, Joseph S.\n  Hicks, Henry F.\n  Irons, Lewis W.\n  Jenckes, Albert T.\n  Jollie, Thomas\n  Lake, Charles W.\n  Shaw, Edward\n  Sayles, Thomas W.\n  Shepardson, George A.\n  Slocum, George L.\n  Scott, Charles V.\n  Stanley, Milton\n  Seddon, John\n  Swain, Reuben C.\n  Thornley, Richard\n  Thompson, John B.\n  Taylor, William H.\n  Towle, Augustus S.\n  Vose, Warren L.\n  Wales, Joseph W.\n  Weeks, Edwin E.\n  Wild, John\n  Weeden, Amos C.\n  Warden, Wendell\n  Warden, Samuel T.\n  Walsh, John\n  Walker, Stephen\n  Walker, Arnold A.\n  Watson, John T.\n  Wellman, George A.\n  Whalers, John\n  Zimmerli, John\n\n\n\n\nREMARKS.\n\n\nCaptain William H. Reynolds, promoted to lieutenant colonel at Darnestown,\nMaryland.\n\nFirst Lieutenant Thomas F. Vaughan, promoted to captain at Point of Rocks,\nMaryland.\n\nFirst Lieutenant J. Albert Munroe, promoted to captain at Darnestown,\nMaryland.\n\nSecond Lieutenant John Tompkins, promoted to captain at Darnestown,\nMaryland; promoted to major at Fredericksburg, Virginia.\n\nSecond Lieutenant Wm. B. Weeden, promoted to captain at Point of Rocks,\nMaryland.\n\nSergeant Major George E. Randolph, promoted to lieutenant at Point of\nRocks, Maryland; promoted to captain at Darnestown, Maryland.\n\nQuartermaster Sergeant Albert E. Adams, promoted to lieutenant at\nFalmouth, Virginia.\n\nSergeant John H. Hammond, left the battery at Harrison Landing.\nTransferred to Portsmouth Grove, Rhode Island, and made lieutenant in\nHospital Guard.\n\nSergeant William H. Walcott, promoted to lieutenant in the regular army,\nat Point of Rocks, Maryland.\n\nSergeant G. Holmes Wilcox, left the battery at Harrison Landing, sick.\n\nSergeant Charles D. Owen, promoted to lieutenant at Point of Rocks,\nMaryland; promoted to captain at Darnestown, Maryland.\n\nSergeant Francis A. Smith, promoted to lieutenant at Darnestown,\nMaryland.\n\nSergeant Henry Newton, promoted to lieutenant at Darnestown, Maryland.\nLeft the battery at Falmouth, Virginia, sick.\n\nCorporal Charles M. Read, promoted to sergeant; killed at Antietam,\nMaryland.\n\nCorporal Charles H. Clark, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant at\nDarnestown, Maryland.\n\nCorporal Nathan T. Morse, killed in Washington, D. C.\n\nCorporal Gamaliel L. Dwight, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant\nat Poolesville; promoted to captain at Coal Harbor, Virginia.\n\nCorporal William A. Sabin, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant at\nPoolesville, Maryland.\n\nCorporal H. Vincent Butler, left the battery at Falmouth, Virginia, having\nreceived a commission in the navy.\n\nCorporal James B. Buffum, promoted to sergeant; left the battery at\nFalmouth, Virginia, sick.\n\nCorporal Harry L. Cushing, promoted to sergeant; promoted to lieutenant in\nregular army.\n\nCorporal George W. Field, promoted to first sergeant; to lieutenant at\nMuddy Branch, Maryland.\n\nCorporal T. Frederic Brown, promoted to sergeant; to lieutenant at\nHarrison Landing; to captain at Brandy Station, Virginia.\n\nCorporal Seabury S. Burroughs, disabled at Poolesville, Maryland. Left the\nbattery.\n\nMichael Grady, returned home with battery, having served three years.\n\nDaniel W. Marshall, left the battery at Falmouth, Virginia.\n\nAlexander K. Page, returned home with battery, having served three years.\n\nDexter D. Pearce, returned home with battery, having served three years.\n\nJames P. Rhodes, promoted to lieutenant at Warrenton, Virginia. Left the\nbattery one year after, near the same place.\n\nGeorge A. Stetson, captured at first Bull Run.\n\nBugler Nelson A. Arnold, left the battery at Washington, D. C.\n\nPrivate Stephen W. Aldrich, promoted to corporal; returned with battery,\nhaving served three years.\n\nThomas M. Aldrich, returned with battery, having served three years.\n\nGeorge W. D. Allen, injured at first Bull Run. Left the battery at\nWashington D. C.\n\nGeorge A. Adams, left the battery at Darnestown, Maryland.\n\nWilliam C. Barker, returned with battery, having served three years.\n\nGeorge Byrne, returned with battery, having served three years.\n\nJoseph Byars, left at Poolesville, Maryland.\n\nHenry H. Bennett, promoted corporal; returned with battery\n\nFreeman Butler, left the battery at Washington, D. C.\n\nClavis G. Brown, left the battery at Washington, D. C.\n\nFrederic Bup, killed at first Bull Run.\n\nJoshua Brown, wounded and taken prisoner at first Bull Run.\n\nFrederick H. Benedict, deserted at Darnestown, Maryland.\n\nCharles E. Bontems, returned with battery.\n\nJoseph E. Brooks, wounded and taken prisoner at first Bull Run. Returned\nto battery at Washington, before going to Peninsula. Returned with\nbattery.\n\nWilliam E. Bourn, killed in Washington, D. C.\n\nTimothy Collins, returned with battery.\n\nJames H. Collins, left the battery at Washington, D. C.\n\nCharles Cargill, wounded at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.\n\nBenjamin H. Child, promoted to corporal and sergeant; to lieutenant at\nBrandy Station, Virginia.\n\nElmer L. Cortell, promoted to corporal; sergeant; lieutenant. Left the\nbattery at Point of Rocks, Maryland.\n\nWesley B. Calder, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nGeorge W. Chaffee, promoted to corporal. Left the battery at Harrison\nLanding. Afterwards died.\n\nCharles E. Chaffee, promoted to corporal; sergeant; left the battery at\nWarrenton, Virginia.\n\nGeorge N. Chester, returned with battery.\n\nHorace M. Curtis, wounded, and left the battery at Gettysburg.\n\nFrank Carter, returned with battery.\n\nWilliam C. M. Church, left the battery at Washington, D. C.\n\nJames Cooper, wounded, and left the battery at Malvern Hill.\n\nCharles D. Codding, returned with battery.\n\nHenry B. Crandall, returned with battery.\n\nJohn Church, wounded at Antietam and left the battery.\n\nWilliam Drape, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nMichael Desmond, wounded at Bristow's Station, and left the battery.\n\nHenry F. Day, left in Washington.\n\nPatrick Donnegan, left the battery in Falmouth.\n\nGeorge W. Franklin, left the battery at Poolesville.\n\nEdward R. Freeman, wounded at Washington, and left the battery.\n\nEugene Googins, returned with battery.\n\nJames Gardner, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nGeorge J. Greenleaf, promoted to corporal; sergeant; quartermaster\nsergeant. Returned with battery.\n\nJohn Griffin, returned with battery.\n\nOlney D. Gladding, wounded at Bull Run, and died in Georgetown, D. C.\n\nGeorge L. Griswold, left at Washington.\n\nStephen M. Greene, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery.\n\nHenry T. Graham, left the battery at Sandy Hook.\n\nPreston A. Humphrey, returned with battery.\n\nGilbert F. Harrison, wounded, and left at Gettysburg.\n\nWilliam Haines, left at Washington.\n\nJoseph S. Hoyt, left at Washington.\n\nHenry F. Hicks, wounded at Fredericksburg, and left the battery.\n\nLewis W. Irons, returned with battery.\n\nAlbert J. Jenckes, left the battery at Berlin, Maryland.\n\nThomas Jollie, left the battery at Harrison Landing.\n\nCharles W. Lake, wounded at Coal Harbor. Returned with battery.\n\nRobert Laughlin, left the battery at Antietam.\n\nJames Lewis, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nPatrick Lannegan, killed at Antietam.\n\nHesekiel W. Luther, promoted to corporal. Left at Harrison Landing.\n\nLevi Luther, left at Harrison Landing.\n\nJohn H. Lawrence, killed at Antietam.\n\nJohn Lynott, returned with battery.\n\nBenjamin F. Lindsey, left the battery at Poolesville, Maryland.\n\nJohn G. McKay, returned with battery.\n\nEli Messinger, detailed to hospital steward. Left the battery at\nPoolesville, Maryland.\n\nGeorge Messinger, left the battery at Poolesville.\n\nBenjamin S. Munroe, left the battery at Yorktown.\n\nJohn Moran, wounded at Bristow Station, and died in hospital at\nAlexandria.\n\nWilliam Morrison, returned with battery.\n\nJohn McDonnough, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nAlbourne W. Marcy, left the battery at Harrison Landing. Died on his way\nhome.\n\nCharles H. Mowry, deserted at Warrenton, and turned guerilla.\n\nBenjamin F. Martin, left the battery at Thom's Farm.\n\nJohn O. McCannack, left the battery at Washington.\n\nJohn Navin, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery.\n\nAmos M. C. Olney, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Re-enlisted.\n\nRichard Percival, left at Harrison Landing.\n\nWillard B. Pierce, promoted to corporal; first sergeant; promoted to\nlieutenant at Elktown, Virginia.\n\nEdward Potter, left the battery at Washington.\n\nFrederick A. Phillips, wounded, and left at Antietam.\n\nHenry A. Pratt, left at Washington.\n\nTheodore Reichardt, promoted to corporal. Returned with the battery.\n\nAdolphus Reichardt, wounded and left at Bull Run.\n\nWilliam H. Rider, promoted to corporal, and wounded and left at\nGettysburg.\n\nRichard Remington, left at Poolesville.\n\nRobert Rawbottom, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery.\n\nRobert Raynor, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nEdward Shaw, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nThomas W. Sayles, left the battery at Yorktown.\n\nGeorge A. Shepardson, left the battery at Warrenton.\n\nGeorge L. Slocum, returned with battery.\n\nCharles V. Scott, promoted to corporal; sergeant; to lieutenant at Brandy\nStation, Virginia.\n\nMilton Stanley, left the battery at Point of Rocks.\n\nJohn Seddon, wounded at Flint Hill, and left the battery.\n\nReuben Swaine, left at Antietam.\n\nRichard Thornley, promoted to corporal. Returned with battery.\n\nJohn B. Thompson, promoted to corporal; sergeant; first sergeant. Returned\nwith battery.\n\nWilliam H. Taylor, re-enlisted.\n\nAugustus S. Towle, promoted to corporal; sergeant. Returned with battery.\n\nWarren L. Vose, wounded, taken prisoner and died at Bull Run.\n\nJoseph Wales, returned with battery.\n\nEdwin Weeks, wounded at Bull Run and left at Washington.\n\nJohn Wild, returned with battery.\n\nAmos A. Weeden, left at Point of Rocks.\n\nWendell Warden, left at Harper's Ferry.\n\nSamuel P. Warden, left at Fortress Monroe.\n\nJohn Walsh, returned with battery.\n\nStephen Walker, left at Harrison Landing.\n\nArnold A. Walker, promoted to corporal. Left at Falmouth. Died on his way\nhome.\n\nGeorge A. Wellman, deserted at Falmouth.\n\nJohn Zimmerli, killed at Gettysburg.\n\n\n\n\n  GENERAL AGENCY FOR\n  Publishers, News Dealers and Booksellers.\n\n\n  ESTABLISHED FEBRUARY 1, 1856.\n\n\n  N. BANGS WILLIAMS,\n  AMERICAN AND FOREIGN\n  Newspaper and Periodical\n  AGENCY,\n  Nos. 113 and 115 Westminster Street,\n  OPPOSITE THE ARCADE,\n  PROVIDENCE, R. I.\n\n\n  PLAIN AND FANCY STATIONERY\n  AT WHOLESALE AND RETAIL.\n\n\n  A GOOD ASSORTMENT OF BLANK BOOKS\n  Always on hand and manufactured to order in any desired style.\n\n\n  EVERY DESCRIPTION OF BOOK BINDING\n  DONE AT SHORT NOTICE.\n\n\n\n  N. BANGS WILLIAMS,\n  WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALER IN\n  American and Foreign Fancy Goods,\n  AND YANKEE NOTIONS,\n  Nos. 113 and 115 Westminster Street,\n  PROVIDENCE, R. I.\n\n\n  MEERSCHAUM AND BRUYERE PIPES,\n  Cigar Tubes, Pipe Stems, Tobacco Boxes, Cigar Cases, Match Cases,\n  WALKING CANES, LAMP LIGHTERS,\n  TOBACCO POUCHES, PORTE MONNAIES, WALLETS,\n  CHINA, CLAY, LAVA, AND WOOD PIPES,\n  AND A\n  Complete Stock of Smokers' Articles,\n  INCLUDING A GREAT VARIETY OF\n  SMOKING AND CHEWING TOBACCO,\n  PERFUMERY, SOAPS, AND TOILET ARTICLES,\n  BRUSHES, COMBS,\n  Pocket Cutlery, Razors, Scissors, &c.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nThe following typographical errors have been corrected:\n  \"gunnner\" corrected to \"gunner\" (page 9)\n  \"we\" corrected to \"were\" (page 11)\n  \"comissioned\" corrected to \"commissioned\" (page 29)\n  \"dificulties\" corrected to \"difficulties\" (page 44)\n  \"Augast\" corrected to \"August\" (page 56)\n  \"Petit's\" corrected to \"Pettit's\" (page 67)\n  \"Sedwick's\" corrected to \"Sedgwick's\" (page 86)\n  \"regiiment\" corrected to \"regiment\" (page 89)\n  \"cannnonade\" corrected to \"cannonade\" (page 96)\n  \"reat\" corrected to \"great\" (page 118)\n  \"o!cock\" corrected to \"o'clock\" (page 134)\n\nOther than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in\nspelling and hyphenation have been retained.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32111", "title": "Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery", "author": "", "publication_year": 1865, "metadata_title": "Diary of Battery A, First Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery", "metadata_author": "Reichardt", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:22.950780", "source_chars": 210157, "chars": 210157, "talkie_tokens": 49874}}
{"text": "Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  CHILD _vs._ PARENT\n\n\n\n\n  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n  NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS\n  ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO\n\n  MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED\n  LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA\n  MELBOURNE\n\n  THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.\n  TORONTO\n\n\n\n\n  CHILD VERSUS PARENT\n\n  _Some Chapters on the Irrepressible Conflict\n  in the Home_\n\n  BY\n  STEPHEN S. WISE\n\n  RABBI OF THE FREE SYNAGOGUE\n\n  Author of \"The Ethics of Ibn Gabirol,\" \"How to Face Life,\"\n  \"Free Synagogue Pulpit,\" etc.\n\n  New York\n  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n  1922\n\n  _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\n  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1922,\n  BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\n  Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1922.\n\n  BROWN BROTHERS, LINOTYPERS\n  NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\n  TO THE MEMORY\n  OF\n  MY MOTHER,\n  SABINE DE FISCHER WISE\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                          PAGE\n\n       I. FACING THE PROBLEM                          1\n\n      II. BACK OF ALL CONFLICTS                      11\n\n     III. SOME PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES UNMET       19\n\n      IV. THE ART OF PARENTAL GIVING                 30\n\n       V. THE OBLIGATION OF BEING                    41\n\n      VI. WARS THAT ARE NOT WARS                     53\n\n     VII. CONFLICTS IRREPRESSIBLE                    62\n\n    VIII. CONFLICTING STANDARDS                      69\n\n      IX. THE DEMOCRATIC REGIME IN THE HOME          76\n\n       X. REVERENCE THY SON AND THY DAUGHTER         84\n\n      XI. THE OBSESSION OF POSSESSION                94\n\n     XII. PARENTS AND VICE-PARENTS                  104\n\n    XIII. WHAT OF THE JEWISH HOME?                  113\n\n     XIV. THE JEWISH HOME TODAY                     120\n\n      XV. THE SOVEREIGN GRACES OF THE HOME          127\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nFACING THE PROBLEM\n\n\nOne way of averting what I have called the irrepressible conflict is\nto insist that, in view of the fundamental change of attitude toward\nthe whole problem, the family is doomed. Even if the family were\ndoomed, some time would elapse before its doom would utterly have\novertaken the home. In truth, the family is not doomed quite yet,\nthough certain views with respect to the family are,--and long ought\nto have been,--extinct. Canon Barnett[A] was nearer the truth when he\ndeclared: \"Family life, it may be said, is not 'going out' any more\nthan nationalities are going out; both are 'going on' to a higher\nlevel.\" To urge that the problem of parental-filial contact need not\nlonger be considered, seeing that the family is on the verge of\ndissolution, is almost as simple as the proposal of the seven-year-old\ncolored boy in the children's court, in answer to the kindly inquiry\nof the Judge: \"You have heard what your parents have to say about you.\nNow, what can you say for yourself?\" \"Mistah Judge, I'se only got dis\nhere to say: I'd be all right if I jes had another set of parents.\"\n\nFor the problem persists and is bound to persist as long as the\nrelationships of the family-home obtain. The social changes which have\nso markedly affected marriage have no more elided marriage than the\nvast changes which have come over the home portend its dissolution. It\nis as true as it ever was that the private home is the public hope. A\nnation is what its homes are. With these it rises and falls, and it\ncan rise no higher than the level of its home-life. Marriage, said\nGoethe, is the origin and summit of civilization; and Saleeby[B]\noffers the wise amendment: \"It would be more accurate to say 'the\nfamily' rather than marriage.\" Assuming that the family which is the\ncellular unit of civilization will, however modified, survive modern\nconditions, the question to be considered is what burdens can the\nhome be made to assume which properly rest upon it, if it is to remain\nworth while as well as be saved?\n\nNothing can be more important than to seek to bring to the home some of\nthe responsibilities with which other agencies such as school and church\nare today unfitly burdened. False is the charge that school and church\nfail to co-operate with the home. Truer is the suggestion that church\nand school have vainly undertaken to do that which the home must largely\ndo. The teacher in church and school may supplement the effort of the\nparent but cannot and may not be asked to perform the work of parents.\nThe school is overburdened to distraction, the church tinkers at tasks\nwhich in the nature of things must fall to parents or be left undone.\nAnd the school is attempting to become an agency for the universal\nrelief of the home, which cannot be freed of its particular\nresponsibilities even by the best-intentioned school or church.\n\nAnother quite obvious thesis is that conflicts arise between parents\nand children not during the time of the latter's infancy or early\nchildhood but in the days of adolescence and early adulthood. The\nreal differences--rather than the easily quelled near-rebellions of\nchildhood--come to pass when child and parent meet on terms and\nconditions which seem to indicate physical and intellectual equality\nor its approach. I do not say that the processes of parental guidance\nare to be postponed until the stage of bodily and mental equivalence\nhas been reached but that the conflicts are not begun until what is or\nis imagined to be the maturity of the child raises the whole problem\nof self-determination. The latter is a problem not of infants and\njuveniles but of the mature and maturing.\n\nIt may be worth while briefly to indicate the various stages or phases\nof the relationship of parents and children. In the earliest period,\nparents are for the most part youngish and children are helpless. This\nperiod usually resolves itself into nothing more than a riot of\ncoddling. In the next stage, parents begin to approach such maturity\nas they are to attain, while children are half-grown reaching ten or\ntwelve years. This is the term of unlessened filial dependence,\nthough punctuated by an ever-increasing number of \"don't.\" In the\nthird stage parents at last attain such maturity as is to be their\nown,--years and maturity not being interchangeable terms,--for,\ndespite mounting years some parents remain infantile in mind and\nvision and conduct. Children now touch the outermost fringe or border\nof maturity in this time of adolescence, and the stage of friction,\nwhether due to refractory children or to undeflectible parents,\nbegins. Coddling has ended, or ought to have ended, though it may\npersist in slightly disguised and sometimes wholly nauseous forms.\nDependence for the most part is ended, save of course for that\neconomic dependence which does not greatly alter the problem.\n\nThe conflict now arises between what might roughly be styled the\nparental demand of dutifulness and the equally vague and amorphous\nfilial demand for justice--justice to the demands of a new\nself-affirmation, of a crescent self-reliance. And after the storm and\nfire of clashing, happily there supervenes a still, small period of\npeace and conciliation unless in the meantime parents have passed, or\nthe conflict have been followed by the disaster of cureless\nmisunderstanding. It may be well, though futile, to remind some children\nthat it is not really the purpose of their parents to thwart their will\nand to stunt their lives and that the love of parents does not at filial\nadolescence, despite some Freudian intimations, necessarily transform\nitself into bitter and implacable hostility. To such as survive, parents\naging or aged and children maturing or mature, this ofttimes becomes the\nperiod most beauteous of all when children at last have ceased to make\ndemands and are bent chiefly upon crowning the aging brows of parents\nwith the wreath of loving-tenderness.\n\nOne further reservation it becomes needful to make. I must need limits\nmyself more or less to parental-filial relations as these develop in\nhomes in which it becomes possible for parents consciously to influence\nthe lives of their children, not such in which the whole problem of life\nrevolves around bread-winning. I do not consider the latter type of home\na free home. It is verily one of the severest indictments of the social\norder that in our land as in all lands bread-winning is almost the sole\ncalling of the vast majority of its homes. I do not maintain that all\nproblems are resolved when this problem is ended, but the fixation\nrespectively of parental and filial responsibilities hardly becomes\npossible under social-industrial conditions which deny leisure and\nfreedom from grinding material concern to its occupants.\n\nThe miracle of high nurture of childhood is enacted in countless homes\nof poverty and stress, but the miracle may not be exacted. It was hard\nto resist a bitter smile during the days of war, when the millions were\nbidden to battle for their homes. Under the stress of war-conditions,\nsome degree of sufficiency, rarely of plenty, fell to the lot of the\nhomes of toil and poverty--the customary juxtaposition is not without\ninterest. But now that the war is ended, the last concern of the masters\nof industry is to maintain the better and juster order of the war days,\nand the primary purpose seems to be to penalize \"the over-rewarded and\ngreedy toilers\" of the war-days, selfishly bent upon extorting all the\nstandards of decent living out of industry.\n\nCutting short this disgression, the direst poverty seems unable to\navert the wonder of parents somehow rearing their children to all the\ngraces of noble and selfless living. But, I repeat, this is a largesse\nto society on the part of its disinherited, whose high revenge takes\nthe form of giving their best to the highest. We may, however, make\ncertain demands upon the privileged who reward themselves with leisure\nand all its pleasing tokens and symbols. For these at least have the\nexternal materials of home-building. Need I make clear that the homes\nof too much are as gravely imperilled as the homes of too little?\n\nMany homes survive the lack of things. Many more languish and perish\nbecause of the superabundance to stifling of things, things, things.\nThe very rich are ever in peril of losing what once were their homes,\na tragedy almost deeper than that of the many poor who have no home to\nlose. The law takes cognizance in most one-sided fashion of the fact\nthat a home may endure without moral foundations but that it cannot\nexist without material bases. Despite attempts on the part of the\nState or States to avert the breaking up of a home solely because of\nthe poverty of the widowed mother, it still is true that many homes\nare broken up on the ground of poverty and on no other ground. Saddest\nof all, mothers take it for granted that such break-up is unavoidable.\n\nOnly two reasons justify the State's withdrawal of a child from its\nparental roof,--incurable physical and mental disability in a child,\nwhose parents are unable to give it adequate care, or moral disability\non the part of parents. If the latter ground be valid, material\ncircumstances ought no more to hold parent and child together than the\nabsence of them ought to drive parent and child apart. A child\nresident on Fifth Avenue in New York may be in greater moral peril\nthan a little waif of Five Points. Societies for the prevention of\ncruelty to children ought to intervene as readily when moral leprosy\nnotoriously pervades the home of the rich as the State intervenes when\nchildren's health is neglected or their moral well-being endangered in\na home of poverty. I have sometimes thought that an orphan asylum\nought to be erected for the benefit of the worse than orphaned\nchildren of some notoriously corrupt, even when not multi-divorced,\nheads of society. Such a protectory for the unorphaned, though not\nfatherless and motherless, might serve a more useful purpose than do\nsuch orphanages as, having captured a child, yield it up reluctantly\neven to the care of a normal home.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nBACK OF ALL CONFLICTS\n\n\nIt may seem to be going rather far back, to be dealing with the\nproblem _ab ovo et ab initio_, to hold as I do that much of the\nclashing that takes place between the two generations in the home is\nthe outcome of an instinctive protest against the unfitness of the\nelders to have become parents. It is far more important to speak to\nparents of their duty to the unborn than to dwell on filial piety\ntouching parents living or dead. Children have the right to ask of\nparents that they be well-born. Such children as are cursed and doomed\nto be born may not only curse the day that they were born but them\nthat are answerable for the emergence from darkness to darkness.\n\nEven if we did not insist upon dealing with fundamentals, children\nwould, and they will, question the right of unfit parents to have\nbegotten them. A new science has arisen to command parents not only\n\"to honor thy son and thy daughter\" but so to honor life in all its\nsanctity and divineness as to leave a child unborn,--if they be unfit\nfor the office of parenthood. Honor thy father and thy mother living\nor dead is good; but not less good is it to honor thy son and\ndaughter, born and unborn. Some day the State,--you and I,--will step\nin and enforce this command and will visit its severest condemnation\nand even penalty upon parents, not because a child has been born to\nthem illegitimately in a legal or technical sense, but because in a\nvery real and terrible sense they have been guilty of mothering and\nfathering a child into life which is not wholly viable--that is\nunendowered with complete opportunity for normal living.\n\nSome day we shall surround marriage and child-bearing with every\nmanner of safeguard and ultimately the major findings of eugenics will\nbe embodied into law and statute. The duty of parents to a child born\nto them is high, but highest of all at times may be the duty of\nleaving children unborn. Race suicide is bad, but an unguided and\nunlimited philoprogenitiveness may be worse. About a decade ago, it\nwas considered radical on the part of certain representatives of the\nchurch to announce that they would not perform a marriage ceremony for\na man and woman, unless these could prove themselves to be physically\nuntainted. Later the States acted upon this suggestion and forbade\ncertain persons entering into the marriage relation.\n\nSome day we shall pass from what I venture to call negative and physical\nmalgenics to positive and spiritual eugenics. The one is necessary to\ninsure the birth of healthy and normal human animals: the latter will be\nadopted in the hope of making possible the birth and life of normal\nsouls. The normal, wholesome, untainted body must go before, but it can\nonly go before. For it is not an end to itself but means to an end, and\nthat end the furtherance of the well-being of the immortal soul.\n\nBut in reality the eugenic responsibility of parents is a negative one\nand, being met, the second and major responsibility remains to be met.\nThe former involves a decision; the latter the conduct of a lifetime.\nOnce upon a time and not so long ago, it might have been said that\nparents are not responsible for the heredity of which they are the\ntransmitters. Today, with certain limitations, we charge parents with\nthe responsibility of heredity which they bestow or inflict as well as\nwith the further and continuous responsibility of environment.\nWhatever may be held with respect to the duty of parents as\n\"hereditarians,\" there can be no doubt that it is the obligation of\nparents consciously to determine, as far as may be, the content of the\nhome environment. I would go so far, and quite unjestingly, as to\nmaintain that the least some parents can do for their children is\nthrough environmental influence to neutralize the heredity which they\nhave inflicted upon them. Unhappily, it may be, we cannot choose our\ngrandparents, but we can in some measure choose our grandchildren.\n\nBut environmental influence is more than a mouth-filling phrase.\nParenthood and the begetting of children are not quite interchangeable\nterms. The continuity of parental functioning is suggested by the Hebrew\norigin of the term, child, which is etymologically connected with\nbuilder, parents being not the architects of a moment but the builders\nof a lifetime. This means that we are consciously to determine the\napparently indeterminable atmosphere of our children's life and home.\nThat this involves care of the bodily side of child-being goes without\nsaying, but, as we have in another chapter pointed out, this stress\nseems to be needless. The primary and serious responsibility of parents\nis bound up with the education of a child. And the first truth to be\nenunciated is that parents can no more leave to schools the intellectual\nthan to priest and church the moral training of a child.\n\nI remember to have asked a father in a mid-Western city to which it\nhad been brought home that its schools were gravely inadequate--why\nhe, a man of large affairs, did not set out to remedy the conditions.\nHis answer was, \"I do my duty to the schools when I pay my school\ntaxes.\" This was not only wretched citizenship but worse parenthood\nand still worse economics. It does much to explain the failure of the\nAmerican school which is over-tasked by the community and pronounced\na bankrupt, because it cannot accept every responsibility which the\nparental attitude dumps upon it. However much the school can do and\ndoes, it cannot and should not relieve the home of duties which\nparents have no right under any circumstances to shirk. A wise teacher\nin a distant city once wrote to me, having reference to the peace\nproblem: \"I personally see no hope for peace until something spiritual\nis substituted for the worship of the golden calf. And as a teacher I\nmust say, if I speak honestly, that there is an increasing aversion to\nsolitude and work both on the part of parents and pupils, due to false\nviewpoints of values and as to how the genuine can be acquired.\"\n\nTwo of the, perhaps the two, most important influences in the life of\nthe child are dealt with in haphazard fashion. Parents later wonder\nwhere children have picked up their strange ideals and their\nsurprising standards. Not a few of the roots of later conflict can be\ntraced back to the earlier years, when children find themselves in\nschools wholly without parental co-operation and flung at amusements\nbound to have a disorganizing effect upon their lives. While parents\nmust accept the co-operation of the school, the latter cannot be a\nsubstitute for the home nor the teacher a substitute for the parent.\nThe school cannot operate in the place of the home, though it may\nco-operate with it. The school cannot do the work of a mother, not\neven the work of a father.\n\nThe same is true of parents in relation to college and university.\nAgain I am thinking not of the youth who works and wins his way to and\nthrough college but of that type of family in which a college\neducation for the children is as truly its use and habit as\ngolf-playing by the father after fifty. The college-habit, I have\nsaid, is a bit of form when it is not a penalty visited upon a youth,\nwho, after an indifferent or worse record at a preparatory school,\nmust be forced into and through college. All of the consequences of\ncollege-education except a degree many somehow manage to avert.\nCollege education should be offered to youth as opportunity or reward,\nor parents will come to be shocked by the futility of it and the\nalmost uniformly evil sequelae thereof. And parents have the right as\nupon them lies the duty to insist that their sons shall not loaf and\nrowdyize through four years at college and, when they do acquiesce in\nthe ways and manner and outlays of the college-loafer and the\ncollege-rounder, they must not expect a bit of parchment to convert\nhim into an alert, ambitious, industrious youth. If they do, as they\nare almost certain to do, the conflict will begin.\n\n\n\n\n\nSOME PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES UNMET\n\n\nI have sometimes thought that a glimpse of the want of deep and\ngenuine concern touching the education of children is to be gotten in\nthe rise of summer camps in great numbers during recent years. I do\nnot deny the place or value of a camp for children and youth. I have\ncome into first-hand contact with some admirable camps for boys and\ngirls and, as I looked at some visiting parents, could not avoid the\nregret that the separation between parent and child was to be of a\nbrief summer's duration. Two months in the year of absence from the\nhome can hardly suffice to neutralize the effect of ten months of\nparental presence and contact. I quite understand that the ideal\narrangement in some homes would be to send the child to camp during\nthe summer months and to send the parents out of the home, anywhere,\nduring the rest of the year, an arrangement that is not quite\nfeasible in all cases.\n\nMy query is--granted the value of the camp, how many parents have\nthought the problem through for themselves, a query suggested not by\nthe inferior character of some camps, but by the celerity with which\nthe camp-craze has swept over the country. In many camps children are\nsure to profit irrespective of the character of the home whence they\nare sent, but surely there are some camps a stay in which can but\nlittle benefit children. Now why do camps so speedily multiply, and\nwhy are children being sent to them in droves? The real reason is\nother than the oft-cited difficulty of placing children decently in\nother than summer hotels.\n\nThe instant vogue of summer camps met a parental need, the need of\ndoing something with and for children with whom, released from school,\nparents did not know how to live, finding in the camp an easy way out\nof a harassing difficulty. Why do parents so live that in order to\nhave a simple, wholesome life for their children, it is necessary to\nsend them off to the woods in so-called camps the charm of which lies\nin their maximum difference from hotels and in their parentlessness?\nThe unreasoned haste with which children flocked in multitudes to the\ncamps is a testimony to the failure of parents to live in normal,\nintimate contact with their children, and a prophecy, I have no doubt,\nof the conflict certain to develop out of the stimulated difference in\ntastes between child and parents.\n\nI, too, believe that children, especially city-reared children with\nall their sophistications and urbanities, should be brought nearer to\nthe simplicities of nature during the vacation period. But why not by\nthe side and in the company when possible of parents? The truth is\nthat, apart from the merits and even excellence of some camps, parents\nare so little accustomed to living with their children that when the\nsummer months force the child into constant contact with parents, the\nlatter grow embarrassed by the necessity for such contact, and the\ncamp is chosen as a convenient way out of a serious domestic problem.\nMy complaint is not against camps but against the multiplication of\nthem necessitated by the helplessness of parents who face the need of\nsharing the life of their children. And some of these parents are the\nvery ones who will later wonder that \"our children have grown away\nfrom us.\"\n\nI am often consulted by parents who express their grief at that strange\nbent in their children, which moves a son or daughter to seek out low\ntypes of amusement and the companionship bound up therewith. I quiz the\ncomplaining parents and learn that no attempt was ever made parentally\nto cultivate cleaner tastes, that the child was incessantly exposed to\nall the vulgarities and indecencies of the virtually uncensored motion\npicture theatre. Recreation is become a really serious problem in our\ntime, immeasurably more important than it was in the youth of the now\nmiddle-aged, such as the writer, when a Punch and Judy show and a most\nmild and quite immobile picture or stereopticon were considered the\noutstanding entertainments of the year.\n\nHow many parents take their children's amusement seriously, as they\ntake their own, and are concerned that these shall be, as they can be\nmade, free from all that is vulgar and unclean? If the well-to-do,\nwho might have other recreations, are given to the motion picture, is\nit to be wondered at that in the poorer quarters of New York, if a\nchild be too small to be tortured by being kept at the side of its\nparents throughout a motion picture performance, it may be checked in\nits go-cart as one would check an umbrella. There is an electric\nindicator on the side of the screen which flashes the check-number to\ninform parents when their child is in real or fancied distress.\n\nA writer in the _Outlook_, May 19, 1915, deals with the vulgarizing of\nAmerican children and particularly the vulgarizing and corrupting power\nof the movies. He commented editorially, as I have done elsewhere, on\nthe extraordinary absence of parental care for the minds of children in\ncurious contradiction to the supersedulous care of the body: \"Many\ninfluences are at work to vulgarize American children, and little is\ndone by many parents to protect the mental health of their children.\nNeither time nor money is spared to preserve them in vigor and strength,\nto protect them from contamination. Meanwhile, those minds are the prey\nof a great many influences, which, if not actually evil, are\nvulgarizing. What is going on is not so much the corruption of young\npeople in America as their vulgarization.\" Parents are not less\nvulgarized, but the awakening and shock come when children are grown and\nare found to show the effects of what was innocent amusement, of what\nproves to have been deeply corrupting and degrading to the spirit.\n\nBut it is not enough for parents to censor the theatres frequented by\ntheir children and when they can to debar them from attendance at\ndisgustingly \"sexy\" plays. It is their business as far as they can to\ncultivate in their children the love of the best in letters and in the\narts. It is not enough to call a halt to the pleasure-madness of our\nchildren; it is needful that their recreations be guided into\nwholesome and creative channels. Happily books and pictures and,\nthough less so, music, are accessible to all, and it remains true that\nwe needs must love the highest when we see or hear it. Intellectual\ncompanionship is a primal necessity in the home contacts. Partially\nbecause of the craze for visible and audible entertainment, we have\nlost the habit of reading. Why trouble to plough for ten or twelve\nhours through a volume when one may look upon its contents picturized\nwithin the duration of an evening's performance at the theatre and in\naddition the \"evil of solitariness\" be avoided?\n\nThere is a real advantage in the old-time habit of reading aloud in\nthe home. It is one conducive to community of interest and a\nheightened tone of home-contacts. It is far better to make dinner or\nlibrary conversation revolve around worth-while books than worthless\npersons. It may not be easy for some parents to acquire or achieve\nthis home habit of reading aloud but it is of the highest importance\nthat children be enabled to respect their parents as thinking and\ncultivated persons if these they can become. One cannot help\nregretting that reading aloud is becoming a lost art. One hardly knows\nhow badly reading aloud can be done and how wretchedly it is for the\nmost part taught until one asks one's children to read aloud.\n\nThe choice and the art of reading can best be stimulated and guided\nwithin the intimacy of the home. It may, as I have said, be difficult\nfor parents, especially fathers, to accustom themselves to the\npractice of reading aloud. It may seem sternly and cruelly taskful to\nread to and with one's children when it is so much pleasanter to\nexercise one's mind at bridge whist with contemporaries or to yield to\nthe pleasurable anodyne of the \"movies.\" And yet I do not know of a\ntruer service that parents can render children than to foster a taste\nfor worth-while books, for the best that has been said and sung, if\none may so paraphrase, so that these may know and love the great\nthings in prose and poetry alike. It is never too late to begin the\nhabit of reading any more than adults ever find it too late to learn\nto dance or to play bridge.\n\nAlice Freeman Palmer has put it[C]: \"You will want your daughter to feel\nthat you were a student, too, when she becomes one, and that the\nlearning is never done as long as we are in God's wonderful world.\" What\na difference it will make when all mothers have such relations with\ntheir children beside the life of love. When I say that it is for you to\nlive with your children, I do not mean that you are to go to the theatre\nwith them daily or thrice weekly, for that is merely sharing pastimes\nwith them. I say live with them, not merely join them in their\namusements. Not only is reading good and needful but the right kind of\nreading. I sometimes wonder as I look upon cultivated persons handing\ntheir adolescent children sheaves of magazines, cheap, vulgar, nasty. We\ncannot expect that our children can for years feed upon the trivial and\nephemeral and then give themselves to things big and worth-while.\n\nIn one of his stimulating volumes,[D] Frederic Harrison suggests that\nmen who are most observant as to the friends they make or the\nconversation they share are carelessness itself as to the books to\nwhich they entrust themselves and the printed language with which they\nsaturate their minds. Are not parents often carelessness itself with\nrespect to the books to which even very young children are suffered to\nentrust themselves? A book's not a book! Some books are vacant, some\nare deadening, some are pestilential. Wisely to help children to the\nright choice of books, remembering that reading is to be of widest\nrange and that in reading there are innumerable aptitudes, is to\nrender one of the most important of services to a child.\n\nThe editor of a woman's magazine recently pointed out that in one year\nnine thousand eight hundred and forty-six girls wrote to her about\nbeauty problems, and seventeen hundred and seventy-six asked advice\nwith respect to other problems, \"the throbbing, vital questions that\nbeset the social and business life of the modern girl.\" Out of what\nkind of homes have come these young women, whose quest is of\ncomplexion-wafers? The figures of the magazine editor are above all\nthings a _testimonium paupertatis_, intellectual and spiritual, to\nmultitudes of American homes. What kind of mothers will these young\nwomen make? Do they dream of rearing fine sons and noble daughters, or\nwill they be satisfied to become child-bearers at best rather than\nbuilders of men and women? But there is something more, and it is more\nclosely related to our particular problem. It is from the empty, poor,\nhowever rich, homes that bitter protest and heartbreaking revolt will\nemerge. For some children are bound in the end to despise the cramping\nintellectual and moral poverty of their childhood homes,--whence\nconflict takes its rise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE ART OF PARENTAL GIVING\n\n\nParents must be made to see that the really irrepressible conflicts\nare not begun when children are fourteen, sixteen and eighteen but\nrather four, six, eight; in other words, are ascribable to causes long\nanterior to the occasions which disclose their unavoidableness. Thus\nparents may find themselves in collision with maturing children over\nthe utterly sordid and gleamless character of their lives, or, what is\nnot less grave in its consequences, their \"visionary and impractical\nways, so different from our well-tried _modus vivendi_.\" It is quite\nsafe to predict the rise of conflict of one character or another when\nparents are unmindful of the higher responsibilities of their\nvocation, the responsibility of making clear to children the reality\nof moral and spiritual values.\n\nThe supreme parental responsibility is to give or to help children to\nachieve for themselves those standards by which alone men truly live,\nto give to children the impulse that shall reveal not what they may live\nby but what they ought to live for. The one potent way to avoid future\nconflict is so to make for, not point to, a goal that children shall not\nbecome mere money-grubbers or perpetuators of ancient prejudices or\nmaintainers of false values or lawless upholders of the law.\n\nParents would do well to have in mind that the most just and terrible\nof reproaches are often left unspoken. I am thinking of a youth who\nhad inherited a very large fortune. Happening to point out to him to\nwhat uses his means might be put, this youth replied: \"My parents\nnever ceased to tell me what not to do, but they never told me what it\nis that I ought to do. There are no _oughts_ in my life which I have\ngotten from my father. I have learned what I ought not to do and I\nsuppose that I know that.\" This was the young heir's revolt and, if\nhis word be true, wholly just revolt against the spirit of those\nparents who seem to imagine it to be enough if they teach their\nchildren such fundamentals as the perils of violating statutory law,\nthe inexpediency of coming into conflict with those ordinances which\nit is the part of convention never to violate.\n\nIn one word, it is not enough to forbid and interdict. Obedience to\n_don'ts_, however multitudinous, is not even the beginning of morality\nthough it lead to a certain degree of personal security. Forbidding\none's children to steal may keep them out of jail, but that is hardly\nthe highest end of life. More must be given them, such affirmations of\nfaith and life as make for high ideals, for true standards, for real\nvalues. I have heard parents, lamenting over a child's misconduct,\noffer the following in self-exculpation: \"I never did or said anything\nthat was wrong in the presence of my children,\" it being forgotten\nthat children may be present unseen, that they may overhear the\nunuttered. But, one is tempted to ask, Did you by any chance or of\ndesign say or do aught in the presence of your child that was\naffirmatively and persuasively right?\n\nI can never forget a scene I witnessed many years ago. Shortly after\nthe passing of his father, a son entered the death chamber, shook his\nfist in the face of his dead father and exclaimed with tearless and\nyet heartbreaking grief: \"You are responsible for the ruin of my\nlife.\" Later I learned that the father was a mere accumulator of money\nwho had believed every paternal duty to have been fulfilled because he\ngave and planned to bequeath possessions to his children. Multitudes\nof parents there are who during their lifetime should be made\nconscious of the lives they are suffering to go to wreck, theirs the\nmajor responsibility. Happily for some parents, most children who\nsurvey the ruin of their lives fail to fix the responsibility where it\nproperly belongs,--in parental neglect of the obligation to bring to\nchildren moral stimulus and spiritual guidance.\n\nBut the important thing for parents is not to guard their speech lest\nchildren overhear them but to guard their souls that children be free\nto see all. If Emerson was right with respect to a man's character\nuttering itself in every word he speaks, this is truest of all within\nthe microcosm of the home, wherein children are relentlessly attentive\nto parental speech and silence alike, pitiless assessors of omission\nas well as commission. What parents are, not what they would have\nthemselves imagined to be by children, shines through every word and\nact, however scrupulous be parental vigilance over speech and conduct.\nIt may be very important for parents to be watchful of their tongues\nas they are rather frequently urged to be. But it is rather more\nimperative to be watchful over their lives. We are tempted to forget\nthat parental duties are positive as well as negative, that it is not\nenough for parents not to hurt a child, not to do injury to his moral\nand spiritual well-being. For of all beings parents must, paraphrasing\nthe word of the German poet, be aggressively and resistlessly good,\npervasively beneficent, throughout their contact with a child.\n\nIt is a problem whether it be more necessary to counsel children to\nhonor parents or to bid parents be deserving as far as they may be of\nthe honor of children. Years ago a great teacher of the nation pleaded\nas men commonly plead for reverence and honor on the part of children\ntoward parents. But in truth we have no right to plead for reverence\nfilial unless to that plea there be added solemn entreaty to the\nelders to make it possible for the young to do them reverence and\nhonor. When we, the elders of this day, bemoan the want of unity\nbetween our children and ourselves, let us not be so sure of our\nchildren's unworthiness but rather ask ourselves whether we are worthy\nof that which our parents enjoyed at our hands, the reverence and\nhonor which must needs underlie unity in the home.\n\nHonor, in a word, must lie in the daily living of parents ere they may\nawait it at the hands of children. The father, who is nothing more\nthan a cash register or coupon-scissors, is undeserving of honor from\nchildren, however many and goodly be his gifts to them. And the\nmother, whose life is given to the trivialities and inanities of every\nseason's mandate, merits not her children's reverence despite all\nBiblical injunction. Children cannot be expected to do more than\noutward and perfunctory obeisance to fathers who care solely for the\nthings of this world, success however achieved, money however gained\nand used, power whatever its roots and purposes, nor do honor to\nmothers whose passion is for the lesser and the least things of life.\n\nI remember to have estranged a dear friend by urging in the pulpit that,\nunless parents strive as earnestly to merit honor as children should\nseek to yield it, they will not have it nor yet have been deserving of\nit. Let us for a moment get a nearer glimpse of how the matter works out\nfrom day to day. How can a mother whose life is spent in pursuit of the\nworthless expect reverence, though the time may come when she will yearn\nfor it and rue her failure to have won it? The disease of incessant\ncard-playing has laid low multitudes of wives and mothers, that\ncard-gambling which has been described by former President Eliot as an\nextraordinarily unintelligent form of pleasurable excitement.\n\nThere was a time when, in the speech of the Apocryphal teacher of\nwisdom men strove for the prizes that were undefiled. But the prizes\nof the card table are not only defiled but defiling. They fill the\nlives of women not a few with mentally hurtful and morally enervating\nexcitement. The substitution of the delirium of the gaming table for\nthe durable satisfactions of life that come from worth-while\nintellectual pursuits is ever a disaster. What manner of children are\nto be reared by a generation of bridge-experts, of women half-crazed\nwith the pleasures of the card-table, to whom no prize of life is as\nprecious as the temptation of bridge-whist. I recently heard the\nrecital of a bit of conversation between parent and child: \"Mother, is\ncard playing terribly important?\" \"Why do you ask?\" \"Well, I went to\nsee my aunt and she was playing cards with three friends, and, when\ngrandmother came into the room, no one rose to meet her. So I thought\nthat the game must be awfully important and the prizes very fine or\nthey would have arisen when grandma entered, wouldn't they?\"\n\nEven if there were no fear of later conflict, it would still be the\nduty of parents to give themselves to children, that is to have\nsomething to give, to make something of themselves that their gift be\nworth while. And for the giving of self there can be no substitute\nthough one may reinforce oneself in many ways. Parents cannot give\nthemselves to children vicariously. A young woman, mother of a little\none which I had expected to find with her, calmly answered my inquiry\ntouching the child, \"A child's place is with its nurse.\" One begins to\nunderstand the tale of the little girl who declared that when she was\ngrown she wished to be a nurse so that she might be with her children.\nThere may be and are times when a child's place is with its nurse if\nthe household be burdened with one, but to lay it down as a general\nrule that a child's place is always apart from its mother and by the\nside of its nurse is to disclose the manner of maternal neglect in the\nhomes of many well-circumstanced folk. I have said before that Lincoln\nis to be congratulated rather than commiserated with upon the fact\nthat he had little schooling and no nurses, seeing that in the place\nof schools, teachers, nurses, governesses, he had a mother and the\nimmediacy of her unvicarious care.\n\nUnless parental-filial contact be direct rather than intermediate,\nparents cannot help a child to be as well as to have and to do, to\nlive as well as to earn a livelihood. Parents can give a child little\nor nothing until they learn that a child is more than a body or\nintellect, a body to be fed and clothed, a mind to be furnished and\ntrained. When parents come to remember that a child is, not has, a\nsoul to be developed, they will cease to stuff their children's bodies\nand cram their minds while starving their souls. How often, alas, do\nparents pamper their children in their lower nature while pauperizing\ntheir higher nature, because of their failure to see that not alone\nwere they co-authors of a child-body but that they are to be the\ncontinuing re-makers of a child's mind and spirit.\n\nAre there quite enough parents like the father of a friend into whose\nyoung hands at leave-taking from home his father placed a Bible and a\ncopy of the poems of Burns with the parting word,--Love and cling to\nboth, but if you must give up the Bible cling to Burns. But verily we\ncan give nothing more to our children than clothes and food and money\nuntil we remember to make something of ourselves. It is not easy for\nthe stream of domestic influence to rise higher than the parental\nlevel. Time and again I have heard a father exclaim: \"I am going to\nleave my boy so well off that he won't have to shoulder the burdens\nwhich all but crushed me.\" Less often have I seen a father so rear\nhis son that he revealed his inmost purpose to be the fostering of his\nson's nobleness. Are there as many parents who would have their\nchildren finely serviceable as highly successful?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE OBLIGATION OF BEING\n\n\nBut the primary duty of parents is to learn and to teach that happiness\nis not the supreme end of life and to dare to live it. We are so bent\nupon giving to our children that we forget to ask aught of them. We seem\nto be unmindful of what the wisest teacher of our generation has called\nthe danger of luxury in the lives of our children. Those parents who in\nlargest measure have learned to do without seem to think that they must\noverwhelm their children with things. How many parents are equal to the\nwisdom of the heroic Belgian mother who would not permit her children to\nleave Belgium in the hour of its deepest stress and suffering, saying:\n\"Yes, we intended to take our children to England for safety but when we\nremembered that in the future they might hold important positions in our\ncountry and perhaps be influential in future leadership, we did not\nwant them to come to this work ignorant of what our people have\nundergone and suffered during this terrible war. They would not have\nknown because they would have spent all the period of the war in\npleasant living in England. When we thought of this, we felt with\nsinking hearts that we owed it to them and their country to keep them\nhere, though we knew and know now that there is great danger.\" Did not\nthis Belgian mother serve her children infinitely better than do those\nparents who imagine that they must deny their children nothing save the\npossibility of discomfort and want?\n\nEdward Everett Hale tells a story which clearly shows what Emerson\nthought best for a young man and wherein he conceived the\nresponsibility of parents to lie. I congratulated him as I\ncongratulated myself on the success of our young friend, and he said:\n\"Yes, I did not know he was so fine a fellow. And now, if something\nwill fall out amiss, if he should be unpopular with his class, or if\nhe should fail in business, or if some other misfortune can befall\nhim, all will be well.\" He himself put it, \"Good is a good doctor,\nbut bad is sometimes a better.\"\n\nWith one further evil effect, perhaps the worst, of the habitude of\nceaseless parental giving, I have dealt elsewhere. It fosters more\nthan all else the parental sense of possession. Have I not given my\nchildren everything?--asks a hyper-wasteful father or a\nsuper-bounteous mother. Yes, it might be answered, you have given them\n_everything_ and that is all you have given them. Giving a child\nthings without number is no guarantee of peace or beauty in the\nparental-filial relation. Giving, giving, eternal giving is bound to\nnarcotize into sodden self-satisfaction, or at last to rouse to\nprotest an awakening soul. If, Mr. Successful or Madam Prosperous, you\nthink that you are satisfying your children because you are giving\nthem an abundance of things, you may be destined some day to suffer a\nsorry awakening. Remember that too many things kill a home more surely\nthan too few. Children may ask and ought to ask more of parents than\nthings, and, far from being satisfied with things, they ought to\ndemand of parents that these minimize things and magnify that of\nlife which is unconditioned by things. To magnify the home is not to\nfurnish it richly but to give it noble content.\n\nOver-stressing the physical side of the life of children and\nunder-emphasizing the spiritual side of their life leads inevitably to\ncertain results. Some years ago, I knew a family in which both parents\ndied within a brief period. There was some perfunctory grief, though\nin each case the funeral was one of the new-fashioned kind, marked\nalike by tearlessness and the use of motorcars. The interesting thing,\nas I looked upon these comfortable, unworried, immobile children, was\nthat probably it had been the dream of the parents for a lifetime to\nmake their children comfortable and happy. Well, the parents had\nwonderfully succeeded, had so succeeded in the matter of making their\nchildren comfortable that not even the death of parents in swift\nsuccession could shake them out of their deep-rooted comfortableness\neven for a moment. Within a few weeks of the passing of the mother, I\nmet the son and heir--heir rather than son--at an amateur baseball\ngame in which he was one of the vociferous and gleesome\nparticipants, with a cigar perched in his mouth at that angle which\nis, I believe, considered good form at a baseball game.\n\nAs I surveyed that sorry specimen of filial impiety, apparently\nwithout reverence for his parents or respect for himself, I was moved\nto ask myself where lies the fault, whose the ultimate responsibility?\nTrue enough, the children of those parents were rather empty-headed\nand superficial beings, but it was the parents who were primarily at\nfault. The mother was a blameless rather than a good woman, and the\nfather was an unseeing, soulless money-grubber with but one aim in\nlife--namely, to multiply his children's rather than his own comforts,\nand to enable them to indulge in every manner of luxury. These gave\ntheir children things and only things, and still there was something\ntouching in the devotion of the parents, however poor and mistaken its\nobjects. But there was something repulsive in the indifference of the\nchildren to the parents who had lived for naught else than their\nwell-being, however mistakenly conceived.\n\nParents who give their children only things must face the fact that\nthey make themselves quite dispensable, seeing that they are not\nthings. For things and the wherewithal to secure them are alone\nindispensable according to the parental standards. The ultimate\nresponsibility? Any possibility of change involves the re-education of\nparents. Parents must learn long before parenthood what are the values\nin life for which it is worth while to toil and to contend. The root\nof the matter goes very deep in conformity to the hint of Oliver\nWendell Holmes with respect to the time at which a child's education\nis to be begun.\n\nSome years past, I came upon a ludicrous illustration of the maximum\ncare devoted to the physical nature and the minimum devoted to the\nmoral and spiritual nurture of child-life. I heard a very\nwell-circumstanced mother declare: \"I never permit my child to have a\ncrumb of food handed it by its governess which has not previously been\ntasted by me.\" Quite innocently I asked: \"Where is the little\ngentleman?\" The answer was: \"Napoleon--I call him that because his\nname was Caesar--is at the 'movies' this afternoon.\" Upon further\ninquiry, I learned that the mother did not know the name and nature of\nthe play upon which her son was looking, and that in order to keep him\nout of mischief he was sent every afternoon to the motion picture\ntheatres. Here was the good mother tasting every mouthful fed to the\nheir-apparent lest harm befall him, and, yet, he was spending an hour\nor more daily in attendance at a motion-picture theatre where poison\nrather than food might be and probably was fed to the child's mind.\nBut no hesitation and no fear were felt on that score. Underlying the\none concern and the other unconcern is a crude materialism which\nassumes that the avenue of access to a child's well-being is feeding\nbut that the mind, howsoever fed and impoisoned, even of a little\nchild, could somehow be trusted to take care of itself.\n\nThere are certain things which we deny to our children partly because\nwe have them not, and yet again because we are not often conscious of\nthe need of them in the life of the child. I place first\nspiritual-mindedness; second, the sense of humility, and third, the\nart of service. These three graces must come again into the life of\nour children from the life of their parents and they can hardly come\nin any other way. If they come not, it will be an unutterable loss\nfrom every point of view, remembering the word of a distinguished\nuniversity president, \"the end of the home is the enlargement and\nenrichment of personality, the performance of the duty owed to general\nsociety in making contributions for its betterment.\"\n\nI address myself particularly to Jewish parents when I say to them\nthat it is a terrible blunder to ignore the spiritual responsibility\nwhich rests upon them. A Christian child is almost invariably touched\nby the circumambient spiritual culture but the Jewish child is in the\nmidst of a non-Jewish culture and almost untouched by spiritual\ninfluences. The home gives little, the Jewish religious school gives\nno more than a fragmentary education in the things of Jewish history\ninstead of exercising a characteristic spiritual influence. And, as\nfor the Synagogue, it is the part of kindness or of guilt to be silent\ntouching its hardly sufficing influence in American Israel in the\ncreation of a distinctive spiritual atmosphere or the enhancement of\ndefinite spiritual values.\n\nWith respect to the spirit of humility, I happened not long ago to\nconfer with two young men, one of whom is about to enter into the\nministry. When asked quite conventionally what it was that had moved\nhim to think of himself as especially fitted for the ministry, his\nanswer was: \"I feel that I am a born leader of men.\" On the other\nhand, I asked a young graduate of an American university who was about\nto leave for Europe what was his life's purpose, and he answered: \"To\nserve in the foreign mission field.\" Is it not true that the youth who\nfelt that he was a born leader and sought a field in which he could\nexercise the qualities of leadership lacked spirituality, was wholly\nwithout humility, evidently did not have the faintest understanding of\nthe possibilities of service, and the other revealed the possession of\nspiritual-mindedness, of humility and finally the spirit of service.\n\nThere is no more serious indictment to be framed against the family\nthan that it does little and often nothing to foster the social\nspirit. The home is not often enough a school of applied social\nethics, and the home that is not is likely to witness such conflict as\narises out of revolt against the smugly self-centered and unsocialized\nhome on the part of those sons and daughters who have caught a gleam\nof the social life. If we had or could share with our children the\nspirit of service, would not great numbers of young people throughout\nthe land rise up, eager for service to Israel in the midst of its\nterrible needs at home and abroad? Few were the well-circumstanced\nyouth in the course of the war, who gave themselves to service through\nagencies classed as non-military, and fewer still such as volunteered\nfor service as relief workers in East-European lands at the close of\nthe war--again among the well-to-do. This is very largely a matter of\nupbringing, of the ideals implanted by parents and teachers. What is\nyour son's ideal of living? Is it to serve or to be served? Do you try\nhard enough to get out of your son's head the notion that being served\nby butler and valet and chauffeur is the greatest thing in the world?\nThe greatest thing in the world is not being served but serving, to be\nleast served and most serviceable.\n\nAs Tolstoy put it, I believe shortly before his death, woman's bearing\nand nursing and raising children will be useful to humanity only when\nshe raises up children not merely to seek pleasure but to be truly the\nservants of mankind. The ultimate question underlying every other is,\nwhat are you giving to the souls of your children? And the answer\nis,--what you are. \"In my dealing with my child, my Latin and Greek,\nmy accomplishments and my money, stead me nothing. They are all lost\non him: but as much soul as I have avails. If I am merely willful, he\ngives me a Roland for an Oliver, sets his will against mine, one for\none, and leaves me, if I please, the degradation of beating him by my\nsuperiority of strength. But if I renounce my will and act for the\nsoul, setting that up as umpire between us two, out of his young eyes\nlooks the same soul; he reveres and loves with me.\"[E]\n\nThus pleads Emerson in the name of the child's potential oversoul.\nNot long ago, I made an attempt to interest a young woman of a\nwell-known family in social service. She shuddered as if some\nverminous thing had been held up to her gaze. \"Not for me that kind of\nthing.\" You must teach your children the methods and the practice of\nselfless service. If you do not, well, your children may rise up\nagainst you or fall to your own level, or, worst of all, awaken and\ndiscover what you are.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nWARS THAT ARE NOT WARS\n\n\nEvery difference between parent and child is somehow assumed to be\nrooted in and ascribable to the inherent perversities of the\nparental-filial relation. When scrutinized, these will often be found\nto be wholly unrelated thereto. Ever are parents and children ready to\ntake it for granted that their clashing arises out of the relation\nbetween them when in truth, viewed dispassionately and from the\nvantage-ground of remoteness, parent and child are not pitted against\neach other at all. They are persons whose conflict has not the\nremotest bearing upon the relation that obtains between them. Would\nnot much heartache be avoided, if parents and children clearly\nunderstood that the grounds of difference between themselves, however\nserious and far-reaching these sometimes become, are not related to or\nconnected with the special relation that holds them together?\n\nThus the irritations of propinquity may not be less irritating when\nseen to arise out of the fact of physical contact rather than from the\ncircumstance of intellectual antagonism or moral repulsion, but it is\nwell to know that such irritations are not the skirmishes of life-long\ndomestic war. I say \"irritations of propinquity,\" for, excepting among\nthe angels, the status of propinquity cannot be permanently maintained\nwithout at least semi-occasional irritation. Professor R. B. Perry,[F]\ndealing with domestic superstitions, declares, in reference to\nscolding: \"The family circle provides perpetual, inescapable, intimate\nand unseasonable human contacts.... Individuals of the same species\nare brought together in every permutation and combination of\nconflicting interests and incompatible moods.... The intimacy and\nclose propinquity of the domestic drama exaggerates all its values,\nboth positive and negative.\"\n\nNot only does the unavoidable persistence of physical contacts\naccount, however unprofoundly, for occasional differences in the home,\nbut another and parallel circumstance ought never to be lost sight\nof. There are two samenesses in the home, the sameness of blood and\nthe sameness of contacts. Putting it differently, the oneness of\nenvironment for all the tenants of a home continues and sometimes\nintensifies the strain in either sense of blood-oneness. This may\nsound playful to those who have never bethought themselves touching\nthe enormous difficulties that arise in the home insofar as some\nparents, having inflicted a certain heredity upon their offspring, are\nfree to burden these filial victims with an environment escape from\nwhich might alone enable them to neutralize or palliate the evil of\ntheir heritage. I have in an earlier passage asked the query whether\nfilial revolt is not the unconscious protest of children against the\nauthors or transmitters of hereditary defect or taint.\n\nLet me name two types or kinds of what are held to be conflicts\nbetween parents and children, which are not conflicts in any real\nsense of the term; first, intellectual differences and, second, the\ninevitable but impersonal antagonism of the two viewpoints or\nattitudes which front each other in the persons of parent and child.\nAs for purely intellectual differences, it is well to have in mind the\nworld's current and suggestive use of the term \"difference of\nopinion\"--Carlyle saying of his talk with Sterling: \"Except in opinion\nnot disagreeing\"--as if that in itself were quite naturally the\nprecursor of strife and conflict. If difference of opinion oft deepen\ninto conflict, is it not because in the home as in the world without\nwe have not mastered the high art of patiently hearing another\nopinion? Graham Wallas[G] would urge: \"A code of manners which\ncombined tolerance and teachability in receiving the ideas of others,\nwith frankness and, if necessary courageous persistence in introducing\none's own ideas.... Whether we desire that our educational system\nshould be based on and should itself create a general idea of our\nnation as consisting of identical human beings or of indifferent human\nbeings\" is the problem with which Wallas[H] faces us.\n\nIn the world without men may flee from one another but the walls of\nthe home are more narrow. And within the home-walls, for reasons to be\nset forth, the merest differences of opinion, however honestly\nconceived and earnestly held, may be viewed as pride of ancient\nopinion on the one hand and forwardness of youthful heresy on the\nother. Parents are no more to be regarded as intolerably tyrannical\nbecause of persistence in definite opinions than children are to be\nviewed as totally depraved or curelessly dogmatic because of\nunrelinquishing adherence to certain viewpoints. I am naturally\nthinking of normal parents, if normal they be, who would rather be\nright than prevail, not of such parents as imagine that they must\nnever yield even an opinion, nor yet of children surly and snarling\nwho do not know the difference between vulgar self-insistence and high\nself-reverence. For the father a special problem arises out of the\ntruth that the mother presides over the home as far as children are\nconcerned and as long as they remain children, and he steps in to\n\"rule\" ordinarily after having failed through non-contacts to have\nestablished a relationship with children. This is the more\nregrettable because often it becomes almost the most important\nbusiness of a father, through studied or feigned neglect, to\nneutralize the over-zealous attention of a mother, such attention as\nmakes straight for over-conventionalization.\n\nTo regard differences of opinion as no more than differences of\nopinion will always be impossible to parents and children alike until\nthese have learned how to lift these things to and keep them on an\nimpersonal level. And of one further truth, previously hinted at,\nparents and children must become mindful,--that what, viewed\nsuperficially and personally, is their clashing, is nothing more than\nthe wisdoms of the past meeting with the hopes of the future--past and\nfuture embodied in declining parent and nascent child.\n\nBecause of their fuller years and the circumstance of protective\nparenthood, parents are conservators, maintainers, perpetuators. Because\nof their uninstructed years and freedom from responsibility, children\noften become radical, uprooters and destroyers at the imperious behest\nof the future. These impersonal clashings of past and future can be kept\non an impersonal basis, provided parents can bring themselves to see\nthat things are not right merely because they have been and that things\nare not wrong solely because they have not been before.\n\nPerhaps at this point, though parents have experience to guide them\nand children only hopes to lead them, it is for parents to exercise\nthe larger patience with hope's recruits, even though these find light\nand beauty alone in the rose tints of the future's dawn. Felix Adler\nhas wisely said: \"A main cause is the presumption in favor of the\nlatest as the best, the newest as the truest.... The passion for the\nrecent reacts on the respect or the want of respect that is shown to\nthe older generation.... Now if one group of persons pulls in one\ndirection and another group pulls in exactly the opposite direction,\nthere is strain; and if the younger generation pulls with all its\nmight in the direction of changing things, and if the older generation\nleans back as far as it can and stands for keeping things as they are,\nthen there is bound to be a tremendous tension.\"\n\nIt may be true, as has lately been suggested by the same wise teacher,\nthat the children of our time are in protest against parents, because\nthese are the authors and agents of the sadly blundering world by them\ninherited. Is it not also true and by children to be had in mind that\nparents are fearful of the ruthless urge and, as it seems, relentless\ndrive of the generation to be, which become articulate in the\nimpatiences of youth? Dealing with the difference that arises out of\nthe fact of parents facing pastward and children futureward, Professor\nPerry declares[I]: \"The domestic adult is in a sort of backwash. He is\nlooking toward the past, while the children are thinking the thoughts\nand speaking the language of tomorrow. They are in closer touch with\nreality, and cannot fail, however indulgent, to feel that their\nparents are antiquated.... The children's end of the family is its\nbudding, forward-looking end: the adult's end is, at best, its root.\nThere is a profound law of life by which buds and roots grow in\nopposite direction.\"\n\nIt were well for parents and in children to remember that past and\nfuture meet in the contacts of their common present, and that these\nconflict-provoking contacts are due neither to parental waywardness\nnor to filial wilfulness. These are not unlike the seething waters of\nHell Gate, the tidal waters of river and sound, meeting and clashing,\nand out of their meeting growing the eddies and whirlpools which have\nsuggested the name Hell Gate bears. Through these whirling waters\nthere runs a channel of safety, the security of the passerby depending\nupon the unresting vigilance of the navigator. The whirl of the waters\nis not less wild because the meeting is the meeting of two related\nbodies, two arms of the self-same sea.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nCONFLICTS IRREPRESSIBLE\n\n\nIf it be true, as true it is, that many of the so-called wars are not\nwars at all, there are on the other hand conflicts arising between\nparents and children which cannot be averted, conflicts the\nconsequences of which must be frankly faced. To one of such conflicts\nwe have already alluded,--that which grows out of impatience with what\nEmerson calls \"otherness.\" But this, while not grave in origin, may\nand ofttimes does develop into decisive and divisive difference.\n\"Difference of opinion\" need not mar the peace of the parental-filial\nrelation, unless parents or children or both are bent upon achieving\nsameness, even identity of opinion and judgment. It is here that\nparents and children require to be shown that sameness is not oneness,\nthat, as has often been urged, uniformity is a shoddy substitute for\nunity, and that it is the cheapest of personal chauvinisms to insist\nupon undeviating likeness of opinion among the members of one's\nhousehold. For, when this end is reached, intellectual impoverishment\nand sterility, bad enough in themselves in the absence of mental\nstimulus and enrichment, are sure to breed dissension.\n\nAn explicable but none the less inexcusable passion on the part of\nparents or children for sameness--a passion bred of intolerance and\nunwillingness to suffer one's judgment to be searched--is fatally\nprovocative of conflict and clashing. Let parents seek to bring their\njudgments to children but any attempt at intellectual coercion is a\nspecies of enslavement. It may be good to persuade another of the\nvalidity of one's judgments, but such persuasion on the part of\nparents should be most reluctant lest children feel compelled to adopt\nuntested parental opinion, and the docility of filial agreement\nfinally result in intellectual dishonesty or aridity. Than this\nnothing could be more ungenerous, utilizing the intimacies of the home\nand the parental vantage-ground in the interest of enforcement of\none's own viewpoints. If I had a son, who, every time he opened his\nmouth, should say, \"Father, you are right,\" \"Quite so, pater,\" \"Daddy,\nI am with you,\" I should be tempted to despise him. I would have my\nson stand on his feet, not mine, nor any chance teacher's or boy\ncomrade's, or favorite author's, but his own, and see with his own\neyes and hear with his own ears, nerving me with occasional dissent\nrather than unnerving me with ceaseless assent.\n\nChildren are equally unjustified in attempting to compel parental\nadoption of filial views, but for many reasons it is much easier for\nparents to withstand filial coercion than the reverse, and up to this\ntime the latter coercion has been rather rarer than the former. \"The\nidea of the unity of two lives for the sake of achieving through their\nunsunderable union the unity of the children's lives with their own,\"\nciting the fine word of Felix Adler, is a very different thing,\nhowever, from lowering the high standards of voluntary unity to the\nlevel of compulsory uniformity.\n\nAnother cause of clashing may be briefly dealt with, for it is not\nreally clashing that it evokes. They alone can clash who are near to\none another, and I am thinking of an unbridgeable remoteness that\nwidens ever more once it obtains between parents and children. Not\nclash but chasm, when parents and children find not so much that their\nideals are so pitted against one another as to occlude the hope of\nharmonious adjustment, as that in the absence of ideals on one side or\nthe other there has come about an unbridgeable gap. Nothing quite so\ntragic in the home as the two emptinesses or aridities side by side,\nwith all the poor, mean, morally sordid consequences that are bound to\nensue! And the tragedy of inward separation or alienation is\nheightened rather than lessened by the circumstance that the bond of\nphysical contact persists for the most part unchanged.\n\nReally serious clashing often grows out of the question of callings\nand the filial choice thereof. It is quite comprehensible that parents\nshould find it difficult not to intervene when children, without\ngiving proper and adequate thought, are about to choose a calling\nunfitting in itself or one to which they are unadapted. But here we\ndeal with a variant of the insistence that parental experience shall\navert filial mischance or hurt. And here I must again insist that\nchildren have just the same right to make mistakes that we have\nexercised. They may not make quite as many as we made. It does not\nseem possible that they could. But, in any event, they have the right\nto make for that wisdom which comes of living amid toil and weariness\nand agony and all the never wholly hopeless blundering of life.\n\nUpon parents may lie the duty to offer guidance, but compulsion is\nalways unavailing and when availing leaves embitterment behind. It is\nwoeful to watch a child mar its life but forcible intervention rarely\nserves to avert the calamity. One is tempted to counsel parents to\nconsider thrice before they urge a particular calling upon a child. I\nhave seen some young and promising lives wrecked by parental\ninsistence that one or another calling be adopted. That a father is in\na calling or occupation is a quite insufficient reason for a son being\nconstrained to make it his own. A man or woman in the last analysis\nhas the right of choice in the matter of calling, and parents have no\nmore right to choose a calling than to choose a wife or husband for a\nson or daughter.\n\nA most fertile cause of conflict is at hand in the normal\ndetermination of parents to transmit the faith of the fathers to the\nchildren. The conflict is often embittered after the fashion of\nreligious controversy, when parents are inflexibly loyal to their\nfaith, passionately keen to share their precious heritage with the\nchildren, while children grow increasingly resolved to think their own\nand not their fathers' thoughts after God. It is easier to commend\nthan to practice the art of patience with the heretical child, and yet\nour age is mastering that art,--the cynic would aver because of\nwide-spread indifference. Surely there can be no sorrier coercion than\nthat which insists upon filial acquiescence in the religious dogmas\nheld by parents, not less sorry because the parents may be merely\nrenewing the coercive traditions of their own youth.\n\nIt is a hurt alike to children and to truth, to say nothing of the\ninstitutions of religion, to command faith the essence and beauty of\nwhich lies in its voluntariness. But if parents are not free to\ncoerce the minds of their children touching articles of faith, it is\nfor children to remember what was said of Emerson,--that \"he was an\niconoclast without a hammer, removing our idols so gently it seemed\nlike an act of worship.\" The dissenter need not be a vandal and the\nfilial dissenter ought to be farthest from the vandal in manner\ntouching the religious beliefs of parents. I would not carry the\nreverent manner to the point of outward conformity, but it may go far\nwithout doing hurt to the soul of a child, provided the spiritual\nreservations are kept clear.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nCONFLICTING STANDARDS\n\n\nThe conflict of today is oftenest one between parental orthodoxy and\nfilial liberalism or heresy. My own experience has led to the\nconviction that the clashing does not ordinarily arise between two\nvarying faiths but rather between faith on the one hand and unfaith or\nunconcern with faith on the other. As for the Jewish home, the problem\nis complicated by reason of the truth, somehow ignored by Jew and\nnon-Jew, that the religious conversion of a Jew usually leads to\nracial desertion as far as such a thing can be save in intent. In the\nJewish home, racial loyalty and religious assent are so inextricably\ninterwoven,--with ethical integrity in many cases in the\nbalance,--that it is not to be wondered at that conflict oft obtains\nwhen the loyalty of the elders is met by the dissidence of the younger\nand such dissidence is usually the first step on the way that leads\nto a break with the Jewish past.\n\nAnd the battle, generally speaking, is not waged by parents on behalf\nof the child's soul nor yet in the interest of imperilled Israel, but\nin the dread of the hurt that is sure to be visited upon the guilt of\ndisloyalty to a heritage cherished and safeguarded through centuries\nof glorious scorn of consequences. I should be grieved if a child were\nto say to me: \"I cannot repeat the ancient Shema Yisrael, the\nwatchword of the Jew: I find it necessary to reject the foundations of\nthe Jewish faith.\" My heart, I say, would be sad, but I would not\ndream of attempting to coerce the mind of a child. I would look with\nhorror and with heartbreak upon the act of a child, who under one\npretext or another took itself out of the Jewish bond and away from\nJewish life. If, I repeat, a child of mine were to say \"I can have\nnothing to do with Israel,\" I would sorrow over that child as lost\nbecause I should know that its repudiation of the household of Israel\nwas rooted in selfishness colored by self-protective baseness. But,\nlet me again make clear, if a child should say \"I cannot truly affirm\nGod or His unity,\" I could not decently object, however harassed and\nunhappy I might feel. I could not tolerate the vileness of racial\ncowardice and desertion in a child, but I would have no right to break\nwith it because of religious dissent.\n\nOne of the conflicts irrepressible arises when there comes to be a\ndeep gulf fixed between the standards of parents and children, so deep\nas to make harmonious living impossible. Though it seem by way of\nexcuse for children, it must be admitted that parental guidance is\nofttimes woefully lacking, when suddenly falls some edict or interdict\narbitrarily and unexpectedly imposed for which there has been no\npreparation whatsoever. It may be torturing for parents to face the\nfacts, but they have no right to refuse to reap what they have sown,\nto accept the wholly unavoidable consequences of the training of their\nchildren. Parents who ask nothing of children for the first twenty\nyears may not suddenly turn about and ask everything. You cannot until\nyour child is twenty give all and after twenty forgive nothing.\nParents may not be idiotically doting for twenty years and then\nsuddenly become austerely exacting. I have seen parents, who accept a\nyoung son's indolence, luxuriousness and dissipation of mind and body\nas quite the correct thing for youth, later yield to regret over the\nmental enervation and moral flabbiness of these sons.\n\nA mother came to me not very long ago in tears over her son who had\nmarried a poor wanton creature. What I could no more than vaguely hint\nto the mother was that she had in some part prepared her son for the\nmoral catastrophe by attiring herself after the manner of a woman of the\nstreets. The household that exposes a son to the necessity of living\ndaily by the side of poor imitations of the street-woman will find his\nideals of womanhood sadly undermined in the end. The mother who does not\noffer a son a glimpse of something of dignity and fineness in her own\nlife, alike in matter and manner, may expect little of her son.\nStandards at best must be cultivated and illustrated through the years\nof permeable childhood and cannot be improvised and insisted upon\nwhenever in parental judgment it may become necessary.\n\nThere is little to choose between the tragedy of parental rejection of\nchildren's standards and filial abhorrence of the standards of\nparents. And both types of tragedy occur from time to time. Sometimes\nconflict is well, not conflict in the sense of ceaseless clashing but\nas frank and undisguised acceptance of the fact of irreconcilably\ndiscrepant standards. Better some wars than some peace! There are\ntimes when parents and children should conflict with one another, when\napproval is invited or tolerance expected of the intolerable and\nabhorrent, whether in the case of an unworthy daughter or a viciously\ndissolute son. I make the proviso that such conflict, decisive and\nfinal, can be as far as parents are concerned without the abandonment\nof love for the erring daughter or wayward son.\n\nSeverer, if anything, the conflict becomes when it is children who are\nbidden to endure and embrace what they conceive to be the lower\nstandards of parents. The clashing may not be less serious because\ninward and voiceless rather than outward and vocal. If parents feel\nfree to reprove children, it behooves them to have in mind that\nchildren are and of right ought to be free to disapprove of parents,\nthough the conventions seem to forbid children to utter such\ndisapproval. Outward assent may cover up the most violent disapproval,\nand parenthood should hardly be offered up in mitigation or\nextenuation any more than the status of orphanhood should shield the\nparricide or matricide. And it cannot be made too clear, children have\nthe right to reject for themselves the lower standards of parents.\n\nBefore me has come from time to time the question whether it is the\nbusiness of a daughter to yield obedience to a mother who would inflict\nlow and degrading standards upon her child. Or the question is put thus:\nwhat would you say to a son, who refuses to enter into and have part in\nthe business of his father which he believes to be unethical, though the\nfather and the rest of the world view it as wholly normal and\nlegitimate? I may not find it in me to urge a child not to obey a\nparent, neither would I bid a son or daughter waive the scruples of\nconscience in order to please a parent. Times and occasions there are, I\nbelieve, when a child is justified in saying to parents in the terms of\nfinest gentleness and courtesy--the filial _fortiter in re_ must above\nall else be _suaviter in modo_--it is not you whom I disobey, because I\nmust obey a law higher than that which parents can impose upon me. I\nmust obey the highest moral law of my own being.\n\nBut this decision is always a grave one and must be arrived at in the\nspirit of earnestness and humility, never in the mood of defiance.\nWhether or not this entail the necessity of physical separation is less\nimportant than that it be clearly understood that there is a higher law\neven than parental mandate or filial whim, that parents and child alike\ndo well to understand. Parents dare not fail to act upon the truth that,\nif intellectual coercion be bad, the unuttered and unexercised\ncompulsions toward a lower moral standard are infinitely worse. A child\nmay not forget that, when parental dictate is repudiated in favor of a\nhigher law, it must in truth be a higher law which exacts obedience. And\neven peace must be sacrificed when the higher law summons.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE DEMOCRATIC REGIME IN THE HOME\n\n\nThe parental-filial relation is almost the only institution of society\nthat has not consciously come under the sway of the democratic regime\nor rather influences. Within a century, the world has passed from the\nimperial to the monarchical and from the monarchical to the democratic\norder--save in two rather important fields of life, industry and the\nhome. In these two realms the transformation to the democratic modus\nremains to be effected,--I mean of course the conscious, however\nreluctant, acceptance thereof. True it is that many children and fewer\nparents have made and will continue to make it for themselves, but the\nprocess is one which the concerted thought and co-operative action of\nparents and children can far better bring to consummation. The\ndifficulty of the transformation is increased almost indefinitely by\nthe microscopic character of the family unit. It is not easy to keep\nthe open processes of the State up to the standards of democracy,--how\nmuch more difficult the covert content of the inaccessible home!\n\nIn all that parents do with respect to the home, assuming their\nacceptance of the democratic order and its requirements, they may not\nforget that the home, like every educational agency of our time, must\n\"train the man and the citizen.\" Milton's insistence is not less\nbinding today than it was when first uttered nearly three centuries\nago. A man cannot be half slave and half free. He cannot be fettered\nby an autocratic regime within the home and at the same time be a free\nand effective partner in the working out of the processes of\ndemocracy. Democracy and discipline are never contradictory and the\ndiscipline of democracy can alone be self-discipline. Professor Patten\nin his volume, \"Product and Climax,\"[J] hints at a real difficulty:\n\"We want our children to retain the plasticity of youth, and yet we\nbelieve in a disciplinary education and love to put them at difficult\ntasks, having no end but rigidity of action and a narrower viewpoint.\nAt the same breath we ask for heroes and demand more democracy.\"\n\nWhat is really involved when the matter is reduced to its simplest\nterms, is seen to be a new conception of the home. For many centuries,\nit has been a world or realm wherein parents filled a number of roles\nor parts,--chief among these regents on thrones, dispensers of bounty,\nteachers of the infant mind. Any survey of the home today that surveys\nmore than surface things must take into account one other figure,--or\nset of figures,--the figure of a child. And the child not as the\nsubject of the parental regent, however wise, nor yet as the\nunquestioning pupil of the parental tutor, however infallible! The\nhome can no longer remain, amid the crescent sway of the democratic\nideal, a kingdom with one or two or even more thrones, nor yet a\ndebating society. Shall we say parliament, seeing that in Parliament\nand Congress it is reputed to be the habit of men to plead for truth\nrather than for victory?\n\nThe home must become a school wherein parents and children alike sit\nas eager learners and humble teachers, a school for parents in the\nlatter days in the arts of renunciation and for children in the fine\narts of outward courtesy and inward chivalry. In such a classroom the\nchild will learn to think non-filially for itself, though it will not\ncease to feel filially. Under such auspices, the child will be neither\na manageable nor an unmanageable thing but a person bent upon\nself-direction and self-determination through the arts of\nself-discipline. In the interest of that self-discipline which\nparental example can do most to foster, let it be remembered by\nparents that no rule is as effective with children as self-mastery,\nthat the only convincing and irrefutable authority is inner\nauthoritativeness. Spencer has laid down the ideal for the home: \"to\nproduce a self-governing being; not to produce a being to be governed\nby others.\" If parents are so unwise as to postpone and deny the right\nof children to live their lives until after their parents are dead, it\nmay be that these will die too late for their own comfort. Parents who\nrely upon parental authority, whatever that may mean, in dealing with\nchildren ought to be quietly chloroformed or peacefully deposited in\nthe Museum of Natural History by the side of the almost equally\nantique Diplodoccus.\n\nThe teacherless classroom, the school which is without direction and\nwithout dogma _ex cathedra_, is a peculiarly fitting metaphor to\ninvoke. It may serve to remind children that the newly achieved\nequivalence of the home is not to result in parental subjection or\nsubordination, that the inviolable rights of personality are not\nexactly a filial monopoly,--crescent filial tyranny being little less\nintolerable than obsolescent parental despotism--that the passing of\nthe years does not make it exactly easier to abandon or to forswear\npersonality. It were little gain to substitute King Log of filial rule\nfor King Stork of parental command. Filial domination, in other words,\nis not less odious because of its novelty. In a recent number of _The\nOutlook_, E. M. Place, writing on \"Democracy in the Home,\" puts it\nwell: \"There are two kinds of despotism in the home that are alike and\nequally intolerable: One is parental and the other is filial.\"\n\nBernard Shaw[K] is quite unparadoxical and almost commonplace in his\nfear that there is a possibility of home life oppressing its inmates.\nThe peril is not of revolt against the oppressions of home life by its\ninmates but of unrevolting submission which were far worse on their\npart. From such oppressions there is but one escape, the deliberate\nintroduction of a democratic regime. \"It is admitted that a democracy\ndevelops and trains the individual while an autocracy dwarfs and\nrepresses the possibilities within. The parent who is autocratic, who\nsays do this and do that because I say so without appealing to the\nreason and judgment of the child, can never create the real home, the\none in which good citizens are made. The democratic home where the\nindividual welfare and the general welfare are given due\nconsideration, where conduct is the result of the appeal to reason, is\nas much the right of the child as a voice in his own government is the\nright of an adult.\"\n\nAnd one thing more! Some marriages are intolerable and the only way of\npeace, not of cowardice or of evasion, is the way out. Without at\nthis time entering into the question whether the multiplicity of\ndivorces is imperilling the social order, I make bold to say that it\nought not be considered an enormity on the part of children nor an\nindictment of parents, if parents and adult children conclude to live\napart, unharassed and untortured by the conditions of propinquity.\nFewer children would enter into obviously fatal marriages if marriage\nwere not regarded as the only decent and respectable way out of the\nhome for a daughter. Who does not know of young people marrying in\norder to escape from the home? I do not mean to imply that all young\npeople who desire to escape from the home are the victims of domestic\nrepression and parental tyranny, but I have often deemed it lamentable\nthat, for some young people as I have known them, marriage offered the\nonly excuse or pretext for taking oneself out of the home. Such\nself-exile from home by the avenue of marriage often leads to tragedy\ngraver than any from which it was sought to take refuge. But a\ndemocratic regime in the home must include the possibility of\nhonorable and peaceable withdrawal therefrom.\n\nIt should be said by way of parenthesis that marriage is not always a\nsecure refuge from the undemocratically ordered home. For parental\nintervention in the life of married children is not unimaginable.\nUnder my observation there came some months ago the story of parents,\nwho quite forcibly withdrew the person of their daughter and her\ninfant child from her and her husband's home because the latter was\nunwilling or unable to expend a grotesquely large sum for its\nmaintenance. This is merely an exaggerated example of the insistence\non the part of parents on the unlessened exercise of that power of\ncontrol over children, which is the very negation of democracy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nREVERENCE THY SON AND THY DAUGHTER\n\n\nReverence thy son and thy daughter lest thy days seem too long in the\nland which the Lord thy God giveth thee. One of the elements making\nfor conflict between parent and child is the desire of parents who ask\nfor love, taking respect for granted, and the insistence of children,\ntaking love for granted, that parental respect be yielded them. There\nare many causes that make mutual respect in any real sense difficult\nbetween parent and child, parents asking love for themselves as\nparents, children seeking respect for themselves as persons. After\ndealing for two decades or nearly that with a child in the terms of\nlove, parents do not find it easy to treat a child with the reverence\nthat is offered to one deemed a complete, rational, unchildlike person.\n\nAn eminent theologian once declared that it was easy enough to love\none's neighbors but hard to like them. So might many parents in truth\nsay that it is easy, yea, inevitable, to love their children but very\ndifficult to yield them the reverence of which upon reflection they\nare found to be deserving. And it happens that parents can and do give\ntheir children all but the one thing which they insist upon having\nfrom parents, namely, a decent respect. Such respect is in truth\nimpossible as long as parents always think of themselves as parents\nand of children as children. The temptation presses to urge parents\nsometimes to forget that they are parents, and to suggest to children\nsometimes to remember that they are children--in any event,\nsemi-occasionally to recall that to parents children are ever and\nquite explicably children.\n\nParents cannot begin too soon to treat children with respect. One of\nthe most disrespectful as well as stupid things that can be done in\nrelation to a child is to treat it like a monkey trained for\nexhibition purposes in order to \"entertain\" some resident aunt or\nvisiting uncle. The worst way to prepare a child for self-respect is\nto exhibit him to ostensibly admiring relatives as if he or she were\na rare specimen in a zoölogical garden. Too many of us are Hagenbacks\nto our children, not so much for the sake of otherwise unoccupied\nrelatives or especially doting grandparents as for the sake of\nflattering our own cheap and imbecile pride.\n\nThe relation of mutual respect cannot obtain between parent and child\nas long as the instinct of parental proprietorship is dominant, as\nlong as there is a failure to recognize that a child's individuality\nmust be reckoned with. But there must be the underlying assumption\nthat a child's judgment may be entitled to respect, in other words, is\nnot inherently contemptible. Once assumed that a child may cease to be\na child and become a person able to think, decide, choose, act for\nitself, there is no insuperable difficulty in determining when a\nchild's judgment is entitled to respect, provided of course by way of\npreliminary that parents are ready to put away the pet superstition of\nparental infallibility and impeccability. Nothing so calculated to win\na child's reverence as parental admission of fallibility generally and\nof some error of thought and speech in particular!\n\nOne rarely hears or learns of a child who feels that parents fail to\nlove it but one comes upon children not a few, normal beings rather than\nthose afflicted with the persecution complex, who deeply lament the fact\nthat parents do not treat them with the reverence owing from normal,\nwholesome beings to one another. It is this that more than anything else\nmakes some children impatient of the very name, children, the term with\nits ceaseless implication of relative existence becoming odious to them.\nNo one will maintain that it is easy to achieve relations of reciprocal\nreverence between parent and child, viewing the fact that family\nintimacies while tending to foster affection do not make for the\nstrengthening of respect. For respect is most frequently evoked by the\nunknown and unfamiliar even as the familiar and the known, because it is\nknown, touches the springs of affection. Parental reverence may not be\nunachievable, but it involves the acceptance of a child as a\nself-existent being, intellectually, morally, spiritually.\n\nOne of the results of the liberating processes of our age is the\ndeeping consciousness of children that they have the unchallengeable\nright to live their own lives, under freedom to develop their own\npersonalities. Revolting against the superimposition of parental\npersonality, the more deadening because childhood is imitative, they\nhave begun to hearken to Emerson's counsel to insist upon themselves.\nToo often they carry their fidelity to this monition to the\nillegitimate length of insistence upon idiosyncracy rather than of\nemphasis upon personality. To cherish and defend every fleeting\nopinion as sacred and unamendable dogma is not insistence upon self\nbut wilful pride of opinion. And yet even such self-insistence is\nbetter than such self-surrender as dwarfs children and by so much\nbelittles parents.\n\nIt may seem superfluous to second the claim of children to\nself-determination, but in truth parents have so long and so\ncrushingly overwhelmed their once-defenceless children with the _force\nmajeure_ of their own personality that even a parent may welcome the\nlong-deferred revolt making for self-determination. The child has\nrightfully resolved not to be a perfect replica,--usually a duplicate\nof manifold imperfections,--but to be itself with all its own\nimperfections on its head. This is the answer to the question whether\nchildren ought ever suffer their minds to be coerced. Intellectual\ncompulsion and spiritual coercion are always inexcusable, though in\nthe interest of that much-abused term, the higher morality, children\nmay resort to the accommodation of conformity without sacrifice of the\nsubstance of individuality and its basic self-respect.\n\nAnd when I venture to hint at the concession of outward conformity\nwithout of course doing violence to the scruples of conscience, the\nconcession that will bid children to tread the pathway of conformity in\nexternals, I call to mind and to witness a quarter-century's experience\nin the ministry. In the course of it, it has fallen to my lot to be\nconsulted by numerous children. In only one case has a child said to me,\nI regret my obedience to my parents' will. But times without number have\nchildren said to me, How I rejoice, though sometimes it seemed hard,\nthat I followed the counsel of my mother, that I yielded to my father's\nwill. But one may not bid parents reverence their children and respect\ntheir sense of freedom without intimating to children, howsoever\nreluctantly, that even parents have some inalienable rights, and that\nchildren ought to accord some freedom to parents, even though these be\nlikely to abuse it. Parents, too, must be regarded as free agents.\nFilial usurpation of parental freedom is not wholly unprecedented in\nthese days of reappraisal of most values.\n\nParents and children alike will be helped to reverence one another as\nfree agents when they learn that infringement upon the freedom of\nanother is for the most part such an obtrusion of self into the life\nof another as grows out of the contentlessness of one's own life. No\nman or woman whose life is full and worth-while has enough of spare\ntime and strength to find it possible to meddle in busy-bodying\nfashion with the life of others. Nagging, no matter by whom, is just\ndomestic busy-bodying, growing out of the failure to respect the\npersonality of another and out of the vacuity of one's own life.\nNagging, however ceaseless, is not correction. Conflict must not be\nconfounded with scolding any more than love and petting are the same\nthing. Scolding, nagging, ceaseless fault-finding, these are not\nconflicts nor even the symptoms thereof. These are usually nothing\nmore than signs of inner conflict and unrest finding petty and\nunavailing, because external, outlets. No home irrespective of\ncircumstance can be free from conflict in which there is a failure to\nunderstand that every member of the household is a self-regarding and\ninviolate personality and that the physical contacts of the family\nlife are no excuse for the ceaseless invasion of personality.\n\nI have not said economically, though it is not always easy for parents\nto remember that economic dependence in no wise involves intellectual,\nmoral, spiritual dependence. The difficulty, as has already been\npointed out, is greatly enhanced by reason of the fact that parents\nand children are too apt to label and classify and pigeon-hole one\nanother, parents assumed to be visionless maintainers and conservators\nof the status quo and children regarded as vandal disturbers of the\nbest possible of worlds.\n\nTo confound voluntary reverence with the obligations of gratitude is\nindeed the woefullest of blunders. I have sometimes thought that the\nparental-filial relationship is not infrequently strained because it\nrests upon bounty or indebtedness, acknowledged or unacknowledged.\nThere is a strain which ofttimes proves too hard to be borne between\nbenefactor and beneficiary. This strain may be eased if parents will\nbut avoid thinking of themselves as benefactors and children will but\nremember that the fact of adolescence or post-adolescence does not\ncancel all the relationships and conditions of earlier life. I cannot\nconceive of deeper unwisdom than to rest one's case with children in\nthe matter of unyielded obedience or ungranted reverence or aught else\nupon the basis of gratitude. It is as futile as it is vicious to dream\nof exacting gratitude, seeing that gratitude is not a debt to be paid,\nleast of all a toll to be levied. Is there really much to choose\nbetween the parent plaintively appealing for filial gratitude and the\ntermagant wife insistently clamoring for love.\n\nIf parents bent upon having gratitude and appreciation would but\nremember that during the years in which parents do most for their\nchildren the latter are blissfully unconscious, it would help them\nover the rough places of seeming inappreciation and ingratitude. The\nfirst ten years of a child's life are those of most constant and\ntender service on the part of parents, the period of deepest anxieties\nand uttermost sacrifices. And yet the fact of infancy and early\nchildhood precludes the possibility of remembrance, understanding,\nappreciation. The conscious relation of parent and child does not\nreally begin much before the tenth year.\n\nA wise teacher of the Northwest once said: \"Children are either too\nyoung or too old to be physically punished.\" Something of the same\nkind might be said with respect to appeals for gratitude. Either these\nare unnecessary or else they are unavailing. In any event, the\nrelation between parent and child must never be brought down to the\nlevel of one of bestowal and acceptance of bounty and the obligations\nthereby entailed. The highest magnanimity is needed on the part of\nparents, so deep and uncancellable is the debt of children,--by\nparents to be obliterated from memory, by children to be translated\ninto the things of life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE OBSESSION OF POSSESSION\n\n\nThe undemocratic character of the home reveals itself in a way that is\nfamiliar enough,--the way of parental possession. Nothing could be\nmore difficult for parents to abandon than the sense of ownership,\ntenderly conceived and graciously fostered. And yet, hard as the\nlesson may be, it must be learned by parents that the spirit of\nproprietorship cannot coexist with the democratic temper in the home.\n\nI sometimes regret that children are not born full-grown, that they do\nnot subsequently develop or devolve into babies, so that the earliest\naspect of a child, diminutive, helpless, should not, as it does, evoke\nthe sense of absolute and exclusive ownership. If children would only\nat six months or a year begin to argue, vigorously to combat their\nparents' views, the ordinary transition from bland acquiescence to\nover-facile dissent would be somewhat less harsh and startling. The\nthing, which perhaps does most to intensify the shock and pain\nincidental to divergence of opinion, is that the first eight or ten\nyears of childhood give no intimation or little more than intimation\nof the possibility of conflict in later years. The unresisting\nacquiescence of children in never-ending bestowal of parental bounty\noffers no hint of the possibility of future strife. The legal plea of\nsurprise might almost be offered up by parents, who find, as one of\nthem has expressed it, that, when children are young, they \"stay put,\"\ncan be found whenever sought. Later they neither stay nor are put, but\nmove tangentially and, it would seem by preference, into orbits of\ntheir own,--and not always heavenly orbits.\n\nSome parents never wean themselves nor even seek to do so from the\nsense of proprietorship, which is sure to be rudely disturbed unless\nparents are wise to yield it up. No grown, reasoning, self-respecting\nperson wishes to be or to be dealt with as a being in fief to another.\nOfttimes it proves exceedingly hard for fond parents to relinquish the\nsense of ownership, for the latter is deeply satisfying and even\nflattering to the owner. In very truth, parents must come to\nunderstand that children are not born to them as possessions. The\nparental part does not confer ownership rights. Children should not be\nregarded and cherished as a life-long possession nor even for a time.\nThey are entrusted by the processes of birth and the decree of fate to\nparents, to be cared for during the days of dependence, to be nurtured\nand developed till maturity, the latter to mark the ending of the\nperiod of conscious parental responsibility.\n\nAs long as children have not reached adolescence and the consciousness\nthereof, they may endure nor even note the mood of parental\npossession. But once complete self-consciousness dawns, the sense of\nownership becomes intolerable to any child that is more than a\ndomestic automaton, and, if persisted in, makes any wholesomeness of\nrelation between parent and child unthinkable. Many years ago, a sage\nfriend tendered me some unforgettable counsel. I had, perhaps\nunwisely, commiserated with him upon the fact that his lovely\nchildren, sons and daughters alike, were leaving the parental roof\nand beginning their lives anew in different and remote parts of the\nland. His answer rang prompt and decisive: \"Children were not given to\nus to keep. They are placed with us for a time in trusteeship and now\nthat they are old enough to leave us and to stand upon their own feet,\nit is well for them to make their own homes and become the builders of\ntheir own lives.\" This sage and his like-minded wife had achieved the\nart of dispossessing themselves of their children, or rather they had\nnever suffered themselves to tread the pathway of possession.\n\nTo a rational adult the sense of possession by another is irksome,\nsave in the case of youthful lovers whose irrationality may for a time\ntake the form of pleasure in the fact of possession by another. But\nwhen sanity enters into the joy of the love-relation, then the sense\nof ecstasy in being possessed vanishes and with its passing comes a\nrenewal of self-possession which alone is complete sanity.\nSelf-possession brooks no invasion or possession of personality by\nanother. The matter of possession becomes gravely disturbing because\nthe parental tendency in the direction of proprietorship becomes\nkeenest at a time when children are least disposed to be possessed in\nany way. As children near adulthood, they desire to be autonomous\npersons rather than things or possessions. Then the conflict comes,\nand, though not consciously, is fought for and against possession.\n\nBriefly, adolescence brings with it an insistence upon the end of the\nrelative and the beginning of absolute, that is unrelated, existence.\nSomehow and for the most part unhappily, the child's insistence upon\nabsolute self-possession and self-existence comes at a time,--it may\nbe evocative rather than synchronous--when parents most desire or feel\nthe need to be parents. This craving for a maximum of parenthood, not\nin the interest of filial possession, is evoked by the normal,\nadolescent child, as it begins to find its main interests and\nabsorptions outside of the home, with the consequent loosening of what\nseemed to be irrefragably close and intimate ties. And the parental\nsense of proprietary supervision is not lessened by the circumstance\nthat the child now faces those problems the rightful solution of\nwhich means so much to its future.\n\nThus does the conflict arise. Children, though they know it not or know\nit only in part, face the great tests and challenges of life, rejoicing\nthat these are to be their experiences, their problems, their tests.\nParents view these self-same challenges and are deeply concerned lest\nthese prove too much for children and leave them broken and blighted\nupon life's way. It is really fairer to say that what is viewed as the\nparental instinct of possession is really nothing more than the\neagerness of parents somehow to bestow upon children the unearned fruits\nof experience. It is the primary and inalienable right of children to\nblunder, to falter upon the altar-steps, and blundering is a teacher\nwiser though costlier than parents. Reckoning and rueing the price they\nhave paid for the lessons of experience, parents, whose good-will is\ngreater than their wisdom, insist upon the right to transmit to children\nthrough teaching these lessons of experience. But they fail to realize\nthat certain things are unteachable and intransmissible.\n\nConfounding the classroom with the school of life, it is assumed that\ncertain truths are orally teachable. Children, building better than\nthey know, insist that the wisdom of experience cannot be orally\ncommunicated, that it is not to be acquired through parental bestowal\nor teaching or insistence, but solely through personal effort, and,\nthough at first they know it not, through hardship and suffering.\nWisdom cannot be imparted to children by parents under an anaesthesia\nthat averts pain and suffering. Hard is it for parents to accept the\ntruth pointed out by Coleridge that experience is only a lamp in a\nvessel's stern, which throws a light on the waters we have passed\nthrough, none on those which lie before us.\n\nThe conflict then is between children who insist upon the privilege of\nacquiring the wisdom of life through personal experience which includes\nblundering and suffering, and parents whose sense of possession\nstrengthens their native resolution to bring to loved children all the\nbenefits and gains of life's experiences without permitting children to\npay the price which life exacts. And parents, in the unreasoning\npassion to ward off hurt and wound from the heads of children, forget\nthat if the wisdom of experience were transmissible we should have moral\nstagnation and spiritual immobility in the midst of life.\n\nBut if parents may not expect to be able to transmit the body of their\nlife-experience to children, neither should children assume that the\nmultiplication table is an untested hypothesis because accepted by\nparents, or that elementary truths are wholly dubious because parental\nassent has been given thereto. If parents must learn that children\ncannot be expected to regard every thesis as valid solely because held\nby parents, children need hardly take it for granted, though it may of\ncourse be found to be true, that the parental viewpoint is uniformly\nerring and invalid.\n\nIf parents, who are tempted to yield to the instinct of proprietorship\nrather, as we have seen, than of domination, would but understand, as\nwas lately suggested in a psychological analysis of Barrie's \"Mary\nRose,\" that there are women who mother the members of their circles so\npersistently that they impose a certain childishness on them, the\nmother's influence often producing incompetence and timidity! To such\nparents, however, as will not admit the fact of possession, it remains\nto be pointed out that parents do not live forever and are usually\nsurvived by their children. The \"owned\" child is not unlikely with the\nyears to become and to remain a poor, miserable dependent\nintellectually and spiritually, once its parents are gone.\n\nView another case, the marriage of the \"owned\" child, even when it\ndoes not accept any marriage that offers as a mode of release from\nparental bondage. I have had frequent occasion to note that the\n\"owned\" child, freed from parental suppression, is often revenged upon\nparental tyranny by an era of luxurious despotism, or, what is worse,\nrenews the reign of ownership and dependence by becoming the \"owned\"\nwife or undisowned husband, a sorry, beggarly serf, whose lifelong\ndependence in the worst sense is largely the sequel to parental\nproprietorship or overlordship. The parental tyranny that is\nwell-meant and gentle yields place in marriage to a tyranny that is\nmost untender and may even be brutal, its victim, male or female,\nhabituated by parental usage to the art of unrevolting submission, or,\nwhen not thus habituated, goaded to a vindictive and compensatory\nsense of mastery.\n\nTo urge parents to relinquish the sense of possession, to prepare them\nfor the day when they shall find it inevitable to \"give up,\" is to do\nthem a real service. Let them prepare with something of fortitude for\nthe day that comes to many parents, which is to establish and confirm\nthe fact of parental dispensableness. The fortitude may have to be\nSpartan in character. It is our fate, and parents, who are practised\nin the art of long-suffering endurance, must learn to bear this last\ntest of strength with undimmable courage and even to rejoice therein.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nPARENTS AND VICE-PARENTS\n\n\nThere is a further problem over and beyond all those heretofore set\nforth,--the problem, which might be described under the term, the\ncomplication of relatives, the problem, shall we call it, of help or\nhindrance from family members, who, asked or unasked and usually\nunasked, undertake to act as vice-parents prior to the resignation or\ndecease of parents. The relationship is not ordinarily one of\nreciprocity, for, however great be the help or hurt that can be done\nto a child by an intervening kinsman or kinswoman, the relation of the\nchild to him or her does not as a rule root very deep in the life of\nthe younger person.\n\nOne thing parents may ask, though usually they do not: one thing\nchildren ought to ask, though usually they would not; namely, that\nwhen relatives touch the life of parent and child,--as they not\ninfrequently do,--they shall exert their influence on behalf of\nunderstanding between parent and child. I have seen much done to wreck\nthe home by those who forget that the parental-filial relation is a\nsanctuary not lightly to be trespassed upon even by those who\nphysically dwell in close proximity thereto.\n\nOne of the commonest forms of pernicious intervention is the attempt\nto mitigate parental severity, to soften parental asperity, on the\npart of nice, soft, respectable kinsmen and kinswomen, who regard a\nchild under twenty years or even under twenty-five in some cases as a\nlittle lap-dog to be caressed and fondled, but in no wise to be dealt\nwith as a human to whom much may be given and from whom more must be\nasked. Parents' standards may seem, and even be, exigent, but the\nattempt to modify their rigor may not be made by those lacking in\nfundamental reverence for a child, and in conscious hope for its wise,\nnoble, self-reliant maturity.\n\nThe kind uncle and the indulgent aunt have no right under heaven to\nwreak their unreasoning tenderness upon niece or nephew in such\nfashion as to make any and every standard seem cruelly exigent to\nthe child. Parents are not uniformly, though oft approximately,\ninfallible, and family members have the right and duty to take counsel\nwith, which always means to give counsel, to parents but not in the\npresence of children. I have seen children moved to distrust of\nparental mandate and judgment even when these were wise and just by\nreason of the malsuggestion oozing forth from relatives, the zeal of\nwhose intervention is normally in inverse proportion to the measure of\ntheir wisdom. Childish rebellion against parental guidance, however\nenlightened, oft dates from the time of some avuncular remonstrance\nagainst or antique impatience with parents \"who do not understand the\ndear child.\" But there is another and a better way, and kinsfolk can\nfrequently find it within the range of their power to supplement\nparental teaching in ways that shall be profitable alike to child and\nparent.\n\nThe nearest, the most constant impact upon the child is that of the\nmother, and less often of the father. The mountain summit to which\ngreatness ascends in the sight of multitudes is often nothing more\nthan some height, reached in loneliness and out of the sight of the\nworld by a brave, mother-soul, wrestling through unseen and unaided\nstruggle for that, which shall later be disclosed to the world as the\nimmortal achievement of a child and so acclaimed by the plaudits of\nthe world. One remembers, for example, that the mother of William\nLloyd Garrison wrote of her colored nurse during her illness: \"A slave\nin the sight of man, but a freeborn soul in the sight of God.\" Thus is\nshe revealed as the mother of the Abolition struggle.\n\nProfessor Brumbaugh,[L] who ceased for a time to be a good teacher in\norder to be an indifferent Governor of his Commonwealth, tells the\nstory of Pestalozzi taken by his grandfather to the homes of the poor,\nthe child saying: \"When I am a man, I mean to take the side of the\npoor.\" \"He lived like a beggar that he might teach beggars to live\nlike men.\" Truly one must find the mother behind or rather before the\nman. The mother of Emerson is thus described by his son[M]: \"To a\nwoman of her stamp, provision for her sons meant far more than mere\nfood, raiment and shelter. Their souls first, their minds next, their\nbodies last; this was the order in which their claims presented\nthemselves to the brave mother's mind. Lastly in those days the body\nhad to look after itself very much; more reverently they put it, the\nLord will provide.\" After his first week of Harvard life, Mrs. Emerson\nwrote to her son[N]: \"What most excites my solicitude is your moral\nimprovement and your progress in virtue. Let your whole life reflect\nhonor on the name you bear.\" Curious from the viewpoint of modern\npractice that nothing was said about the weekly or fortnightly hamper\nof goodies or the cushions shortly to follow,--to say nothing of the\nceaselessly entreated remittance!\n\nThe influence of a father upon his son comes to light as one reads Dr.\nEmerson's life of his father: \"In view of the son's shrinking from all\nattempts to wall in the living truth with forms, his father's early\nwish and hope, while still in Harvard, of moving to Washington and\nthere founding a church without written expression of faith or\ncovenant, is worthy of note.\" One comes to see that a man is what he\nis because of the love he bears his mother, as one reads of Commodore\nPerkins[O] that on the eve of the Battle of Mobile Bay he wrote to\nher: \"I know that I shall not disgrace myself no matter how hot the\nfighting may be, for I shall think of you all the time.\" Thomas\nWentworth Higginson[P] tells that his own strongest impulse in the\ndirection of anti-slavery reform came from his mother. Being once\ndriven from place to place by an intelligent negro driver, my mother\nsaid to him that she thought him very well situated after all; on\nwhich he turned and looked at her, simply saying: \"Ah, Missus, free\nbreath is good.\" Respecting his arrest later in connection with John\nBrown and Harper's Ferry, Higginson writes[Q]: \"Fortunately it did not\ndisturb my courageous mother, who wrote: 'I assure you it does not\ntrouble me, though I dare say that some of my friends are\ncommiserating me for having a son riotously and routously engaged.'\"\n\nAgain and again, we look back and find that the great deed or noble\nutterance of some historic figure is merely the echo of an earlier\nword or deed of a forbear. We have seen it in the influences that\nshaped or in any event steered Garrison, Mazzini, Pestalozzi. Former\nPresident Tucker[R] of Dartmouth College declares that the memorable\nspeech of the Defender of the Constitution is to be explained not by\nhis own greatness. His father had made it before him.... This speech\nwas in his blood. The fact is that the great address of the Defender\nof the Constitution was made by his father fifty years earlier when\nColonel Webster moved New Hampshire to enter the Union.\" The\ngrandfather of Theodore Parker was the minister of Concord at the time\nof the Concord fight and on the Sunday previous he had preached on the\ntext: \"Resistance to tyrants is obedience to God.\"\n\nThat a kinsman or kinswoman may equal, even surpass, a parent in\ninfluence wide and deep upon a child might be variously illustrated.\nNo more familiar illustration obtains than that of Mary Moody, aunt\nof Emerson, of whom his son writes: \"She gave high counsel. It was the\nprivilege of certain boys to have this immeasurably high standard\nindicated in their childhood, a blessing which nothing else in\neducation could supply. Lift up your aims, always do what you are\nafraid to do, scorn trifles,--such were the maxims she gave her\nnephews and which they made their own.... Be generous and great and\nyou will confer benefits on society, not receive them, through life.\nEmerson himself said of his aunt[S]: her power over the mind of her\nyoung friends was almost despotic, describing her influence upon\nhimself as great as that of Greece or Rome.\n\nIt may in truth often be a sister who brings strength and heartening\nto a man. Ernest Renan writes to his sister Henriette[T]: \"But that\nideal does not exist in our workaday world, I fear. Life is a\nstruggle, Life is hard and painful, yet let us not lose courage. If\nthe road be steep, we have within us a great strength; we shall\nsurmount our stumbling-block. It is enough if we possess our\nconscience in rectitude, if our aim be noble, our will firm and\nconstant. Let happen what may, on that foundation we can build up our\nlives.\" Again he wrote to her: \"My lonely, tired heart finds infinite\nsweetness in resting upon yours. I sometimes think that I could be\nquite happy in a simple, common life, which I should ennoble from\nwithin. Then I think of you and look higher.\" The tender inquisitress\nwas not satisfied, declares the biographer of Renan,[U] until all was\npure, exact, discreet and true. She said to her brother: Be thou\nperfect. Most of all she sought to cultivate in him the habit of\nveracity, a habit the seminary had not inculcated it appears. So great\nwas the influence of Henriette that for years afterward not only did\nher brother act as she would bid him act, but, far rarer triumph of\nher love, he thought as she would have bid him think, in all\nseriousness, in all tenderness, with a remote and noble elevation,\nchecking as they rose those impulses toward irony, frivolity,\nscepticism, which she had not loved.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nWHAT OF THE JEWISH HOME?\n\n\nBefore answering the question, what of the Jewish home, before\ndiscussing the problem to what extent does the irrepressible conflict\ntake place therein, it is needful to place the Jewish home in its\nproper setting. In truth, the historical glory of the Jewish home, let\nJews remember and non-Jews learn, is the most beautiful and honorable\nchapter in Jewish history. Nothing can dim the brightness of its\none-time splendor. If nothing else of Israel were to survive, the\nmemory of the home would honor and glorify Israel for all time. Truly\nthere is nothing in world history quite comparable thereto.\n\nSomehow the world without has been touched to awe at the beauty and\nradiance of the home in Israel. It has felt that the reverent love\nwithin the Jewish home was more than love and reverence, that these\nwere touched by that beauty of holiness which gave to them their\nexalted quality. The Jewish home blended two ideals, patriarchal and\nmatriarchal. It was never patriarchate alone, nor yet solely\nmatriarchate. It was a home governed by a joint sovereignty. It rested\nno more truly upon tender love for the mother than upon real reverence\nfor the father. In a sense, it might be thought that herein the Jewish\nhome was not unique, for Plato had said: \"After the gods and\ndemi-gods, parents ought to have the most honor.\" And Aristotle had\nadded: \"It is proper to give them honor such as is given to the gods.\"\nBut the God whom Israel honored stood infinitely higher than the gods\nwhom the Greeks honored before parents. Canon Driver points out in the\nCambridge Bible that duty to parents stands next to duties toward God:\nthe penalty for cursing them is death even as the penalty for\nblaspheming God. Ibn Ezra held that, if Israel keep this\ncommandment,--Honor thy father and thy mother,--it will not be exiled\nfrom the promised land. Exiled it was from the promised land, but\nobedience to the fifth Commandment did much to make the life of\nIsrael despite exile one of the beauty of promise fulfilled.\n\nThe grace and glory of the Jewish home were twofold. The selflessness\nof parents evoked such filial tenderness and self-forgetfulness as to\nbring about the perfect understanding of togetherness. The reverence\nof the Jewish child for parents continued even beyond death. The\npassing of the visible presence of a parent little lessened and often\ngreatened the revering love of the Jewish child. This accounts for the\npathos and romance associated with the \"Kaddish\" chant of the Hebrew\nliturgy, forerunner of the Mass, and perhaps in the mind of Jesus when\nhe bade, Do this in remembrance of Me. This glorification of the\nAuthor of death as well as life, is not to be viewed as a symbol of\nancestor-worship but rather as a sign of the tenderest of human pieties.\n\nWhat the child was in the Jewish home it became because of what its\nparents were toward it. To say that the Jewish mother has been\nunsurpassed in the history of men because she dreamed that a child by\nher borne might become a Messiah of its people does not quite touch\nthe roots of the unbelievable tenderness and beauty of maternal\ndedication in the Jewish home. Neither is the relation of the Jewish\nfather and child wholly to be explained by the fact of his involuntary\naloofness from the world and his dependence upon the home for\nwhatsoever of peace and joy this world could give him. It is not too\nmuch to say that the Messianic ideal of the Jewish mother and the fact\nof the Jew's exclusion from the world without may have tended to\ndeepen and to hallow parental love, but the mystery abides not less\nwondrous in some ways than the mystery of Israel's survival.\n\nCertain perils, it might be imagined, were the inevitable\naccompaniment of or sequel to this wonderful love and reverence within\nthe Jewish home,--the peril of repression of the inner life of the\nchild chiefly and also of the parent. But students of Jewish history\nwould hardly aver that the intellectual and spiritual nature of the\nchild was really stifled or stunted by reason of the illimitable\nfilial reverence. And if at times there was intellectual\nself-repression and spiritual self-surrender, who can measure the\ninmost and invisible gains which accrued to and rewarded the child?\n\nIt is a happy thought of Renan[V] that all the joys of Israel are in\nreality an enlargement of the family life; their feast is a repast in\ncommon, the natural eucharist to which the poor is admitted, a\nthanksgiving for life as it is with its limits, which do not prevent\nit from being present under the eye of Jahweh who dispenses good and\nevil. The Fifth Commandment bade more than obedience on the part of\nchildren to parents; by indirection it enjoined parents and children\nalike to magnify the home, to make it the centre and core of Israel's\nlife, so that it became the very salvation of Israel when no other\nsalvation was at hand.\n\nThe very name that is given to Israel, the house of Israel, seems to\nhave been prophetic of what the family life of Israel was destined to\nbe. The house of Israel and the life of the Jewish home became\ninterchangeable terms. That the Jewish home safeguarded and\nperpetuated Israel through ages of darkness and tears and tragedy is\ntrue beyond peradventure. Whether this home-life in all its dignity\nand grandeur was the result of the ghetto is rather doubtful. The\nghetto, which was the environment of the exile in its narrowest terms,\ngave to Israel an unique opportunity for the development of what might\nbe called its genius for home-life. But if opportunity and genius\nconjoined to create the result, this genius was inspired and fortified\nfrom generation to generation by willing, even eager, obedience to the\nFifth Commandment of the Decalogue.\n\nOne might search far and wide without finding a finer illustration of\nthe character of the Jewish parental-filial relation than the\nimmemorial service in the Jewish home, commonly known as the Seder or\nservice of the Passover eve. That Seder with its family symposium has\nbeen the glory of Israel throughout the ages. Ofttimes its serene joy\nand august peace have been marred by brutal attack and onslaught, but\neven this, the invasion by the world's hosts, has but served to lend a\nnew dignity and pathos to its beauty. Precious and historic memories\nrevolve about this family-scene, the children turning to the parents\nfor counsel and teaching and parents turning to their children and\ngiving these of their best by bringing God and the recognition of His\nwonderful leading to the life of the child.\n\nThat Seder of the Passover eve in the Jewish home reminds one of the\nBiblical parable,--for parable it is though the chronicler know it\nnot,--that even in slave-ridden Egypt the angel of death could not\ntouch the Jewish home. It was exempt from the ravages of death,\nbecause within it was something of immortal quality, something immune\nto the challenge of destruction. The Jew who knows something of the\nhistory of his people, over and beyond the list of boarding-schools so\nChristian as to shut out Jewish children, knows that this was\nprefigured by the prophet when he announced in the unforgettable word\nof the Hebrew Bible: And He shall turn the heart of the parents to the\nchildren and the heart of the children to the parents. That is exactly\nwhat the Jewish home did, turning the hearts of parent and child to\neach other, knitting them together in one indissoluble tie, so that\nthe home become as naught else the very soul of Israel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE JEWISH HOME TO-DAY\n\n\nSo much for the traditions of the Jewish home! What of it in this day\nand generation? The fact cannot be denied that the Jewish home is\nseriously threatened in our time. I do not go so far as a commentator\non Jewish affairs, who declared as long as a decade ago: \"The Jewish\nhome, as we have known and loved it for ages, has ceased to be. It is\nno longer a Jewish home but the home of Jews. All the grace and beauty\nof Jewish ceremonial and custom have died out of it. The young\ngeneration goes out into the world, unaffected by the influences that\nheld past generations loyal, and so Judaism and the community go alike\nto waste.\" And, yet, that the indictment is not wholly unjustifiable\ncame to me when I learned of a Jewish mother who insisted upon a young\nmarried daughter averting the birth of a child, because its coming\nwould interfere with and abbreviate a long-planned summer vacation in\nEuropean lands. The home which trifles with life's dignities and\nsanctities in this fashion is become a mockery of the one-time\nmajestic Jewish home.\n\nIt will be noted that the reference is not to the vast majority of\nJewish homes in West European lands and in our lands, for these are\nthe homes of the poor. And the homes of the poor present a problem,\nwhich in the absence of economic-industrial adjustment no ethical\naspiration will solve. As for the largest number of Jewish homes in\nAmerica, in them dwell victims of the mass migration movement which\nhas within two generations transplanted huge numbers from continent to\ncontinent. Who will decide which raises the more serious problem, the\ninvoluntary migration of the hapless many or the voluntary imitation\nof the world by an unhappy few? There has really been more than a\nmigration, for innumerable hosts have suddenly been compelled not only\nto wander from one continent to another but to leave one world behind\nthem and to enter into a wholly new world.\n\nThe move is not merely from Russia or Roumania, Galicia or the Levant\nto America; it is a plunge into a new world-life with all that such\nsudden sea-change involves. This transplantation to strange climes and\nan alien life results in many cases in the tragedy of utter\nmisunderstanding and alienation between parent and children, a tragedy\nremaining for some Zangwill to portray. But it is not only the homes\nof the poor and the oppressed Jews the texture of which has greatly\naltered within a generation. For within the homes of the well-to-do in\nIsrael a graver and a sadder peril has come to threaten as a result of\nthe repudiation, though it be implicit, of parental responsibility at\nits highest and of filial duty at its finest, which repudiation in\ntruth is sequent upon the abandonment of the ancient and long\nunwearied idealism of the Jew.\n\nIf the homes of the poor are endangered from without, the home of the\nrich is in peril from within. Prosperity and its abandonment of the\nhighest have undermined the home to a degree beyond the possibility of\nthe effect of adversity. If it behoove children not to be over-insistent\nupon their parents accepting their ways and becoming exactly like them,\nit is trebly necessary for children to understand that foreignism in\nparents does not justify them in compelling parents to assimilate the\nexternals of the new world and its new life. Under these circumstances,\nparents have a peculiar right to be themselves, to insist upon the\nessentials of their own _modus vivendi_, to cherish and maintain the\nthings by which they lived in a past arbitrarily cut off.\n\nIt ought to be said that the Jewish home has been more menaced by the\nlife of the world into which Israel has in some part entered than by\nany other circumstance. The truth is that the Jew's home is become a\npart of the world and in its new orientation (or occidentalization)\nhas lost its other-wordly touch or nimbus. Thus Israel never really\nfound it necessary to stress filial obedience. The latter has always\nbeen one of the things taken for granted. Save for its obviously\nnecessary inclusion in the Decalogue, the Jew has always dealt with\nfilial obedience as it dealt with the theory of divine existence or\nthe fact of Israel's persecution taking all alike for granted.\n\nIf the conflict in the home is a little sharper within than without\nJewish life, this is in some degree the defect of its quality. The\nlarge part played by the home in the life of the Jew makes the\ntransition to the new order seem harsh and bitter. The Jewish parent\nof yore lived his life within the walls of the home, and the Jewish\nmother particularly passed her days within the limits of a home. It is\nnot easy for the Jewish mother to surrender that sense of possession\nwhich grows out of undivided preoccupation with child or children,\nthat sense of possession fostered as much by a child's sense of\ndutifulness as by parental concern. The Jewish mother, whom the\nmiddle-aged have known and loved, found her deepest and most\nengrossing interest in the days and deeds of her children. It may be\nand it is necessary for the Jewish mother to relinquish her long-time\nsense of ownership, but let it not be imagined to be easy. And it is\nthe harder because with, perhaps before, its relinquishment comes a\nsense of deep loss and hurt to the child.\n\nNor would the necessity of yielding up the sense of possession in\nitself be so serious, if there did not coincide with it an ofttimes\nexaggerated sense of independence in the Jewish child. We may be\nwitnessing an almost conscious break with the centuried tradition of\nfilial self-subordination, or it may be that the revolt of the Jewish\nchild seems more serious than it is because of the filial habit of\nobedience in the life of the Jewish home. Whatever be the explanation\nof the new filial role in the Jewish home, it is a sorry thing that\nIsrael in its assimilative passion should be ready to surrender the\nhome and its historic content, should be so unsure of itself and so\nsure of the world without as to be willing to give up its best and\nmost precious for the sake of uniformity with the world.\n\nAnd there are Jews who forget that the world reverences and honors the\nJewish home even as it reveres the Bible of the Jew! A wise friend has\nwritten: \"Whenever and wherever I have been asked by non-Jews what I\nconsider the greatest and most permanent contribution of the Jew to\ncivilization, I have always answered: the Jewish home. Ancient Greece\nknew of no real home as we understand it. Israel did.\" But it is not\nenough to laud the Jewish home of old. If Jews are to rest satisfied\nwith praises of the Jewish home that was instead of seeking to beautify\nand ennoble the Jewish home that is, then, remembering the word of\nJuvenal, virtue is the sole and only nobility, may it truly be said of\nthe Jew in the language of the rabbis: \"As the dust differs from the\ngold, so our generation differs from the generations of the fathers.\"\n\nAnd yet there is no Jewish question here, though there be a Jewish\naspect of the wider problem we are considering. Jewish parents have in\nthe past for reasons given or hinted at been almost Chinese in their\nadoration of a child. And when the day of parenthood dawns, these may\nbe as unwisely adoring and hopelessly indulgent touching their\nchildren as were their parents. It may be that in the past Jewish\nparents have given more to their children than have non-Jewish. Let\nless be given parentally and more be asked,--Jewish parent and Jewish\nchild need this counsel most.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nTHE SOVEREIGN GRACES OF THE HOME\n\n\nThe home lies somewhere between the outer and the inner life of man\nand its life touches and is touched by both. It is one of the highways\nthrough which one passes from the inner to the outer life, the place,\nto change the figure, where the inner life is touched by the outer\nworld and by it tested and searched and challenged. The place of the\nhome in relation to the inner life is shown forth by the truth that\nnothing which the world can give balances the hurts and wounds one may\nsuffer within the home. Yet such is the magic and mystery of the home\nthat it can heal every wound, which the world without inflicts. It is\nin the home that the peace of the inner life most clearly reveals\nitself, that one's soul finds itself most nearly invulnerable to the\nwounds of the world without. Shakespeare is true to the facts, if\nfacts they may be called, in his tremendous picture of the storm on\nthe heath, which in its terror is less terrible than the storm in the\nhome-life of the banished and broken Lear.\n\nThe relations of the home constitute a test which nearly every one of\nus must meet and unhappiest is he who is outside of their range. No\nschool, no testing-place like that of the home! And it is well to bear\nin mind that no man greatly succeeds in life, who fails in his own\nhome, not merely because the rewards of the world cannot compensate\nfor the failure of home-life, but because no successes without save\nfrom utterly tragic failure him who has failed within the home!\n\nHome may be heavenly in its harmonies or hellish in its discords. To\nmaintain that the difference is the result of love or lovelessness in\nthe home does not tell the whole story. Whether home is to be heaven\nor hell, wracked by discord or attuned to harmony, depends upon them\nthat make it, all of them, yea, upon the all of all that make a home.\nOne alone may mar a home, any one of its members, husband or wife,\nparent or child, brother or sister, though all together are needed to\nminister to its perfection.\n\nAnd how are the harmonies to be achieved and the discords to be\navoided? And the answer is,--through courtesy, consideration,\ncomradeship,--all in turn, alike in the major and minor issues of\nlife, going back to self-rule not self-will. Courtesy and\nconsideration together constitute the chivalry of the home, courtesy\nits outer token, consideration its inner prompting. The chivalry of\nthe home is a reminder, occasionally required by both parents and\nchildren, that courtesy is not a grace if reserved for and bestowed\nsolely upon strangers. The man or child, who is a churl at home and\nlimits his courtesy extra-murally, is not only a pitiable boor but a\ncontemptible hypocrite.\n\nAnd consideration is something more than courtesy, for the latter\nsprings from it as both are rooted in the sympathy which is the _origo\net fons_ of comradeship. Consideration like an angel comes, moving the\nfamily members to think with and for others, not of themselves as\npitilessly misunderstood but as capable of understanding others\nbecause possessed of the will to understand.\n\nBut there can be neither outward courtesy nor inmost consideration,\nleast of all comradeship, unless there be the grace of avoidance of\nthose temptations to selfishness, which more than all else blight the\nhome by leading to conflict irrepressible and irreconcilable.\nUnselfishness in its higher or lower sense is the _conditio sine qua\nnon_ of the parental-filial relation, even as selfishness is deadly\nnot only to those who are guilty of it but to those who needlessly\nendure it. For selfishness it is which more than all else converts the\nhome into a prison, even a dungeon. Parents have the right to ask of\nchildren that they shall avoid the besetting sin of childhood, namely,\nselfishness, though usually the guilt of filial selfishness rests upon\nthe head of parents who long suffer children to indulge in selfishness\nfor the sake of parental indulgence. Fostering filial selfishness is\nofttimes little more than a cheap and easy way of holding oneself up\nfor self-approval and to filial commendation.\n\nNothing is more important than to teach children, especially the\nchildren of the privileged, the art of unselfishness unless it be for\nthe parents of privileged children to practice it. The fact that\nmany, many families in our days are of the one or two-children variety\ngives to the child a tremendous impact in the direction of\nself-centredness,--toward what I have elsewhere called an egocentric\nor \"meocentric\" world. If, however, as happens too commonly, children\nare treated by selfishly and idiotically indulgent parents during the\nyears of childhood and adolescence as if every one of them were the\ncenter of the universe, it will little avail to cry out against the\nchild's selfishness just because he or she has reached twenty.\nOther-centredness will not be substituted for self-centredness at\ntwenty, however much parents may be dismayed, if during the first\ntwenty years the perhaps native selfishness of the child have been\nministered to in every imaginable way.\n\nIn order to deepen the spirit of filial unselfishness it is needful to\ngive or rather to help children to have and to hold an aim bigger than\nthemselves. Given unselfishness, the freedom from self-seeking and\nself-ministration and the presence of the will to minister and to\nforbear, that unselfishness which is the exclusive grace neither of\nparent nor of child, then comradeship, the hand-in-hand quest of life,\nbecome possible. Then and only then may parent and child become\ncomrades, not fellow-boarders and roomers and hoarders, but\nfellow-travelers and sojourners alike along life's way. Without\ncomradeship, whatever else there be, there can be no such thing as home.\nComradeship shuts out the sense of possession, prevents the invasion of\npersonality, averts alike parental tyranny and filial autocracy.\n\nBut comradeship is not to be achieved through the word of parents and\nchildren,--Go to, let us be comrades. For comradeship is that which\ngrows out of the cumulative and united experience of parent and child,\nif these have so lived and so labored together that unconsciously and\ninevitably there come to pass the fellowship of life's pilgrimage in\nreal togetherness, comrades with souls \"utterly true forever and aye.\"\nNo compulsion to sympathy and understanding and forbearance where the\nspirit of comradeship dwells! And such comradeship is unaffected by\noutward circumstance or by diversities of viewpoint or of educational\nopportunity or of worldly possession.\n\nPerhaps comradeship ought to be stressed for a moment, viewing a\ntendency not quite uncommon to shelve parents, however politely, on\nthe part of children once they imagine themselves to have become\nmature beings. Parental euthenasia can be practised or attempted in\nmany and subtle ways. Sir William Osler's forty years as a limit,--of\ncourse the attribution is essentially fallacious,--fit into the notion\nof those children who are for an easy and if possible painless\nsuperannuation of lagging parents.\n\nNeedless to insist, comradeship means infinitely more than physical\nproximity. If children but knew how at last when they are grown and\nmaturing, parents sometimes hunger for the companionship of son and\ndaughter, these might be ready to give up some of their comrades\nwhether first-rate or third-rate to satisfy the hunger of the parental\nheart for companionship with the child. True, it is, that parents must\nfit themselves throughout life for such comradeship, keeping their\nhearts young and their minds unclosed. But frequently the failure is\ndue to the sheer selfishness of children, that selfishness which\nconsiders not nor forbears, which lightly misunderstands and\nunadvisedly rejects the parent as comrade on the way, though the\nparent-heart hunger and ache. Children should not require exhortation\nto the end that they remember parents are not feeders, clothiers,\nstewards, landlords, boarding-house keepers, and that in exceptional\ncases these continue to have the right to live after passing the\nMethuselah frontier of fifty or sixty.\n\nOne is polite in exchange of courteous word even with one's hotel\nclerk. Occasionally one confides in the mistress of a boarding-house.\nIf children but knew the pain some parents feel in that attitude of\nchildren which reduces them in their own sight to the level of utterly\nnegligible rooming-house keepers for strangers, they could not demean\nthemselves as they do. This complaint has been voiced to me a number\nof times within recent years, alike by people of cultivation and by\nsimple, untutored folk. In the former case, the filial silences are\ngenerally due to disagreements and misunderstanding. There is such a\nthing as the acceptance of hospitality on the part of children which\ncompels certain reciprocal courtesies. When children for any reason\nare unable or unwilling to yield the elementary courtesies of the\nhome, it is for them in all decency to decide whether they are\njustified in accepting its hospitality.\n\nAnd comradeship must welcome not regret, nurture not stifle, the fine\nimpatiences of youth, the eager, oft unconsidered, superb, at best\nresistless, idealisms of youth. Parents are not to mistake this finely\nimpatient idealism for unreasoning impetuosity. They are to remember\nthat, howsoever inconveniently and troublingly, youth represents the\nungainsayable imperiousness of the future. Parental scoffing and\ncynicism are more chilling to the heart of youth than the world's\nderision. The world's scornful darts fall hurtless upon the shield of\nhim, armed by parental hand for life's battle with the weapons of\nidealism. And in comradeship it is not enough for parents not to mock\nnor to be scornful of children's so-called impracticable ideals. Where\nthese are not, parents must commend them by their own works rather\nthan command them by their words. Comradeship always means the taking\nof counsel and not the giving of commands. But there can be no taking\nof counsel with youth at twenty if the parental habit have been one of\ncommand prior to that time. Twenty years of absolutism cannot suddenly\nbe replaced by the democratic way of holding counsel.\n\nParents must be willing to forfeit all save honor in pressing upon\nyouth the categorical and undeniable summons of the ideal. Parents\nmust sometimes, ofttimes, be immovably firm, so firm as to be ready to\nlose the love of children rather than to sacrifice their self-respect.\nMen and women are not worthy of the dignity and glory of parenthood\nwho lack the courage to brave the frown of a child, the strength to\nfront a child's displeasure. Remembering that parents usually love\ntheir children not wisely but too well and that children love their\nparents wisely but not too well, let the gentleness of parents be\nlifted up and hallowed by firmness and the firmness of children be\nhallowed and glorified by gentleness.\n\nIf anything the case is still harder for the uneducated or slightly\neducated parents of children, who have been enabled to tread the\nhighway of education. It seems indecent on the part of these to\ntreat parents in contemptuous fashion, sitting at table with them but\nnever exchanging a word of converse. Even when children have virtually\nattained the heights of omniscience, it is well for them to remember\nthat earth's greatest are not too proud to hold converse with the\nlowliest, and that one's education is measured not by the number of\nlanguages one speaks but by the fineness of spirit that shines through\none's speech, however ungrammatical and one's acts however unveneered.\nComradeship is not to be bought by parents, neither can it be bribed\nby children. It must not mean the forfeiture of standards. The\ncomradeship that it not suffered to hold the target ever higher is not\ncomradeship but compromise. The comradeship that dare not press higher\nstandards is not comradeship. The comradeship that fears to urge the\nennobling ideal is not comradeship but concession.\n\nI have before me as I write a letter or a fragment of a letter written\nby a young sergeant of the French army to his parents ere he fared\nforth in early August, 1914, to Lorraine,--a youth of promise on the\neve of fulfilment. These are his words, unread until after his death\nin the following month, which he gloriously met, fighting to the end\nagainst the overwhelming numbers to which he refused to surrender. \"Be\nsustained by the contemplation of the beautiful which you cannot fail\nto love, and which brings you to the eternal principle to which our\nsoul returns.... It is not they who pass for whom we must mourn. I\ndesire but one thing, that I may have a death worthy of the life of my\nadmirable and truly loved father.\" No conflict here but perfect\nconcord, the concord of a perfect comradeship. The father a\ndistinguished servant of his country in war and peace, the mother a\nseeker after God and the highest, had been as his comrades, going just\na little before and teaching him how to live and toil and hope. He\ndared all and fell with peace in his heart and faith in his\nunconquered soul that all was well, that the comradeship of earth\nwould merge at last in the comradeship eternal.\n\nThe Prophet was right: \"And he shall turn the hearts of the fathers to\nthe children and the hearts of the children to the fathers.\" For the\nMessiah is born when the hearts of parents and children are turned to\neach other in reverence and selflessness. For then it is that the home\nis brought nearer to the presence of God and that clashing and\nconflict end--when, in the word of a noble teacher of our generation,\nit is remembered that \"the child is itself a gift, first to parents\nout of the infinite, then by them to the eternal.\"\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes\n\n\n[A] Toward Social Reform, p. 111.\n\n[B] Parenthood and Race Culture, p. 193.\n\n[C] Life of Alice Freeman Palmer, p. 68.\n\n[D] Choice of Books, p. 8.\n\n[E] Emerson, \"The Oversoul.\"\n\n[F] Atlantic Monthly, August, 1921, p. 221.\n\n[G] Our Social Heritage, p. 60.\n\n[H] _Idem_, p. 95.\n\n[I] _Idem_, p. 224.\n\n[J] P. 63.\n\n[K] Getting Married, Preface, pp. 132-133.\n\n[L] The Making of a Teacher, p. 34.\n\n[M] Emerson in Concord (E. W. Emerson) p. 8.\n\n[N] Emerson in Concord, p. 21.\n\n[O] Tucker, Public-Mindedness, p. 133.\n\n[P] Cheerful Yesterdays, p. 123.\n\n[Q] Cheerful Yesterdays, p. 160.\n\n[R] Public-Mindedness, p. 77.\n\n[S] Higginson, Contemporaries, p. 2.\n\n[T] Darmesteter, Life of Renan, p. 45.\n\n[U] _Idem_, p. 103.\n\n[V] History of Israel, Vol. II, p. 163.\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note:\n\n\n* The footnotes have been moved to the end of the book.\n\n* Pg 6 Corrected spelling of words \"needs limit\" to \"need limits\"\nlocated in the phrase \"I must needs limit myself\".\n\n* Pg 20 Corrected spelling of word \"harrassing\" to \"harassing\" located\nin the phrase \"out of a harrassing difficulty\".\n\n* Pg 43 Corrected spelling of word \"relalation\" to \"relation\" located\nin the phrase \"parental-filial relalation\".\n\n* Pg 71 Corrected spelling of word \"harrassed\" to \"harassed\" located\n in the phrase \"however harrassed and unhappy\".\n\n* Pg 82 Corrected spelling of word \"unharrassed\" to \"unharassed\" located\nin the phrase \"to live apart, unharrassed\".\n\n* Pg 95 Corrected spelling of word \"excedingly\" to \"exceedingly\" located\nin the phrase \"it proves excedingly hard\".\n\n* Pg 130 Corrected spelling of word \"irreconciliable\" to\n\"irreconcilable\" located in the phrase \"conflict irrepressible and\nirreconciliable\".]", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32118", "title": "Child Versus Parent: Some Chapters on the Irrepressible Conflict in the Home", "author": "", "publication_year": 1922, "metadata_title": "Child Versus Parent: Some Chapters on the Irrepressible Conflict in the Home", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:23.234839", "source_chars": 148481, "chars": 148481, "talkie_tokens": 33049}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by Ron Swanson\n\n\n\n      file which includes the original map.\n      See 32125-h.htm or 32125-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32125/32125-h/32125-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32125/32125-h.zip)\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Page numbers in curly brackets have been included in the\n      text to facilitate use of the index.\n\n\n\n\n\nRULERS OF INDIA\n\nEdited by\nSir William Wilson Hunter, K.C.S.I, C.I.E.\nM.A. (Oxford): Ll.D. (Cambridge)\n\nLORD CLIVE\n\nLondon\nHenry Frowde\nOxford University Press Warehouse\nAmen Corner, E.C.\n\nNew York\nMacmillan & Co., 66 Fifth Avenue\n\n\n[Illustration: The Indian Empire]\n\n\n\nRULERS OF INDIA\nLORD CLIVE\n\nby\n\nCOLONEL G. B. MALLESON, C.S.I.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nOxford\nAt The Clarendon Press: 1893\n\nOxford\nPrinted at the Clarendon Press\nBy Horace Hart, Printer to the University\n\n\n{5}\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe following list represents the works of the last century which I\nhave consulted to write this _Life of Lord Clive_:\n\nOrme's _History of Indostan_ (original edition); _The Siyaru-l\nMuta-akherin_ of Ghulám Husain Khán (Review of Modern Times),\ntranslated copy; Cambridge's _War in India_ (containing the Journal\nof Stringer Lawrence); _The Memoir of Dupleix_ (in French); Grose's\n_Voyage to the East Indies_; Ive's _Voyage and Historical Narrative_;\n_Transactions in India from the commencement of the French War in\n1756_ (published in 1786); Caraccioli's _Life of Lord Clive_;\nVansittart's _Narrative of the Transactions in Bengal_; Ironside's\n_Narrative of the Military Transactions in Bengal in 1760-1_;\nVerelst's _English Government in Bengal_; some numbers of the\n_Asiatic Annual Register_; Kindersley's _Letters_; and Scrafton's\n_Letters_; and, for the earlier period--that displaying the period\nimmediately preceding and following the dawn of genius--the recently\nwritten extracts from the Madras records by Mr. G. W. Forrest.\n\nOf works of scarcely less value published during the present century,\nI have consulted the admirable volumes by Colonel Mark Wilks, which\nbring the _History of Southern India_ down to the storming of\nSeringapatam in 1799; _The Journal of Captain Dalton_, {6}one of the\nheroes of Trichinopoli, written at the period of Clive's early\nvictories, but only given to the world, with a memoir of his career,\nin 1886; Lord Stanhope's _History of England_; Malcolm's _Life of\nClive_; and above all, that mine of wealth to a searcher into the\ndetails of Clive's services in Bengal, Colonel Broome's _History of\nthe Bengal Army_. Colonel Broome was my intimate and valued friend.\nHe knew more about the history of the rise of the English in India\nthan any man I ever met. He had made the subject a life-study. He had\nread every tract, however old, every letter, however difficult to\ndecipher, every record of the period up to and beyond the time of Job\nCharnock, and he was a past-master of his subject. He had collected\nan enormous mass of materials, the more bulky of which were dispersed\nat his untimely death. But I have seen and handled them, and I can\nstate most positively, from my own knowledge, that every item of\nimportance culled from them is contained in the admirable volume to\nwhich I have referred, and which was published in 1850. There is,\nalas, only that volume. Colonel Broome had set apart a vast mass of\nmaterials for his second, and had resolved to complete the work at\nSimla, to which place he was proceeding for the summer of, I think,\n1870. But, in the course of transit, the box containing the materials\nwas mysteriously spirited away, and I have not heard that it was ever\nfound. From the nature of the documents collected I cannot but regard\nthe loss as irreparable.\n\nG. B. MALLESON.\n\n\n{7}\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAP.                                                          PAGES\n   I. EARLY YEARS  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    9-15\n\n  II. SOUTHERN INDIA IN 1744 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   16-22\n\n III. HOW THE WAR IN THE KARNÁTIK AFFECTED THE FRENCH AND\n      ENGLISH SETTLEMENTS  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   23-31\n\n  IV. HOW THE FORTUNES OF ROBERT CLIVE WERE AFFECTED BY THE\n      HOSTILITIES BETWEEN THE FRENCH AND ENGLISH IN SOUTHERN\n      INDIA  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   32-41\n\n   V. CLIVE DECIDES FOR THE CAREER OF A SOLDIER  . . . . . .   42-50\n\n  VI. THE FIRST YEAR OF SOLDIERING AT TRICHINOPOLI AND ARCOT   51-59\n\n VII. 'THE SWELL AND DASH OF A MIGHTY WAVE'  . . . . . . . .   60-74\n\nVIII. CLIVE IN ENGLAND; AND IN BENGAL  . . . . . . . . . . .   75-89\n\n  IX. THE BATTLE OF PLASSEY  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   90-106\n\n   X. HOW CLIVE DEALT WITH THE SPOILS OF PLASSEY: HIS\n      DEALINGS WITH MÍR JAFAR; WITH THE PRINCES OF SOUTHERN\n      INDIA; WITH THE DUTCH  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  107-137\n\n  XI. THE SECOND VISIT OF CLIVE TO ENGLAND . . . . . . . . .  138-148\n\n XII. THE REIGN OF MISRULE IN BENGAL . . . . . . . . . . . .  149-158\n\nXIII. THE PURIFYING OF BENGAL  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  159-170\n\n XIV. THE POLITICAL AND FOREIGN POLICY OF LORD CLIVE: HIS\n      ARMY-ADMINISTRATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCES . . . . . . .  171-191\n\n  XV. THE RETURN OF THE CONQUEROR-STATESMAN, AND THE\n      RECEPTION ACCORDED TO HIM BY HIS COUNTRYMEN: HIS\n      STRUGGLES; AND HIS DEATH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  192-212\n\n      INDEX  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  213-229\n\n\n\n\n_NOTE_\n\nThe orthography of proper names follows the system adopted by the\nIndian Government for the _Imperial Gazetteer of India_. That system,\nwhile adhering to the popular spelling of very well-known places,\nsuch as Punjab, Poona, Deccan, &c., employs in all other cases the\nvowels with the following uniform sounds:--\n\n_a_, as in wom_a_n: _á_, as in f_a_ther: _i_, as in k_i_n: _í_, as in\nintr_i_gue: _o_, as in c_o_ld: _u_, as in b_u_ll: _ú_, as in r_u_ral.\n\n\n{9}\n\n\nLORD CLIVE\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\nEARLY YEARS\n\n\nTowards the close of the year 1744 there landed at Madras, as writer\nin the service of the East India Company, a young Englishman just\nentering the twentieth year of his existence, named Robert Clive.\n\nThe earlier years of the life of this young man had not been\npromising. Born at Styche, near Market Drayton, in Shropshire, he had\nbeen sent, when three years old, to be cared for and educated at\nManchester, by a gentleman who had married his mother's sister, Mr.\nBayley of Hope Hall. The reason for this arrangement, at an age so\ntender, is not known. One seeks for it in vain in the conduct and\ncharacter of his parents; for although his father is described as\nirascible and violent, his mother was remarkable for her good sense\nand sweet temper. To her, Clive was wont to say, he owed more than to\nall his schools. But he could have seen but little of her in those\nearly days, for his home was always with the Bayleys, even after the\ndeath of Mr. Bayley, and he was ever treated {10}there with kindness\nand consideration. After one or two severe illnesses, which, it is\nsaid, affected his constitution in after life, the young Robert,\nstill of tender years, was sent to Dr. Eaton's private school at\nLostocke in Cheshire: thence, at eleven, he was removed to Mr.\nBurslem's at Market Drayton. With this gentleman he remained a few\nyears, and was then sent to have a brief experience of a public\nschool at Merchant Taylors'. Finally, he went to study at a private\nschool kept by Mr. Sterling in Hertfordshire. There he remained\nuntil, in 1743, he was nominated to be a writer in the service of the\nEast India Company.\n\nThe chief characteristics of Robert Clive at his several schools had\nbeen boldness and insubordination. He would not learn; he belonged to\na 'fighting caste'; he was the leader in all the broils and escapades\nof schoolboy life; the terror of the masters; the spoiled darling of\nhis schoolmates. He learned, at all events, how to lead: for he was\ndaring even to recklessness; never lost his head; was calmest when\nthe danger was greatest; and displayed in a hundred ways his\npredilection for a career of action.\n\nIt is not surprising, then, that he showed the strongest aversion to\ndevote himself to the study which would have qualified him to follow\nhis father's profession. A seat at an attorney's desk, and the\ndrudgery of an attorney's life, were to him as distasteful as they\nproved to be, at a later period, to the eldest son of Isaac Disraeli.\nHe would have a career which promised action. If such were not open\nto him {11}in his native land, he would seek for it in other parts of\nthe world. When, then, his father, who had some interest, and who had\nbut small belief in his eldest son, procured for him the appointment\nof writer in the service of the East India Company, Robert Clive\naccepted it with avidity.\n\nProbably if he had had the smallest idea of the nature of the duties\nwhich were associated with that office, he would have refused it with\nscorn. He panted, I have said, for a life of action: he accepted a\ncareer which was drudgery under a tropical sun, in its most\nuninteresting form. The Company in whose service he entered was\nsimply a trading corporation. Its territory in India consisted of but\na few square miles round the factories its agents had established,\nand for which they paid an annual rental to the native governments.\nThey had but a small force, composed principally of the children of\nthe soil, insufficiently armed, whose chief duties were escort duties\nand the manning of the ill-constructed forts which protected the\nCompany's warehouses. The idea of aggressive warfare had never\nentered the heads even of the boldest of the English agents. They\nrecognized the native ruler of the province in which lay their\nfactories as their overlord, and they were content to hold their\nlands from him on the condition of protection on his part, and of\ngood behaviour and punctual payment of rent on their own. For the\ncombative energies of a young man such as Robert Clive there was\nabsolutely no field on Indian soil. The duties devolving on a writer\nwere {12}the duties of a clerk; to keep accounts; to take stock; to\nmake advances; to ship cargoes; to see that no infringement of the\nCompany's monopoly should occur. He was poorly paid; his life was a\nlife of dull routine; and, although after many years of toil the\nsenior clerks were sometimes permitted to trade on their own account\nand thus to make large fortunes, the opportunity rarely came until\nafter many years of continuous suffering, and then generally when the\nclimate had exhausted the man's energies.\n\nTo a young man of the nature of Robert Clive such a life could not be\ncongenial. And, in fact, he hated it from the outset. He had left\nEngland early in 1743; his voyage had been long and tiring: the ship\non which he sailed had put in at Rio, and was detained there nine\nmonths; it remained anchored for a shorter period in St. Simon's Bay;\nand finally reached Madras only at the close of 1744. The delays thus\noccurring completely exhausted the funds of the young writer: he was\nforced to borrow at heavy interest from the captain: the friend at\nMadras, to whom he had letters of introduction, had quitted that\nplace. The solitary compensating advantage was this, that his stay at\nRio had enabled him to pick up a smattering of Portuguese.\n\nWe see him, at length arrived, entering upon those hard and\nuninteresting duties to undertake which he had refused a life of far\nless drudgery in England in a congenial climate and under a sun more\nto be desired than dreaded. Cast loose in the profession he had\n{13}selected, separated from relatives and friends, he had no choice\nbut to enter upon the work allotted to him. This he did sullenly and\nwith no enthusiasm. How painful was even this perfunctory\nperformance; how keenly he felt the degradation--for such he deemed\nit--may be judged from the fact recorded by his contemporaries and\naccepted by the world, that for a long time he held aloof from his\ncompanions and his superiors. These in their turn ceased after a time\nto notice a young man so resolute to shun them. And although with\ntime came an approach to intercourse, there never was cordiality. It\nis doubtful, however, whether in this description there has not\nmingled more than a grain of exaggeration. We have been told of his\nwayward nature: we have read how he insulted a superior functionary,\nand when ordered by the Governor to apologize, complied with the\nworst possible grace: how, when the pacified superior, wishing to\nheal the breach, asked him to dinner, he refused with the words that\nalthough the Governor had ordered him to apologize, he did not\ncommand him to dine with him: how, one day, weary of his monotonous\nexistence, and suffering from impecuniosity, he twice snapped a\nloaded pistol at his head; how, on both occasions, there was a\nmisfire; how, shortly afterwards, a companion, entering the room, at\nClive's request pointed the pistol outside the window and pulled the\ntrigger; how the powder ignited, and how then Clive, jumping to his\nfeet, exclaimed, 'I feel I am reserved for better things.'\n\n{14}These stories have been told with an iteration which would seem\nto stamp them as beyond contradiction. But the publication of Mr.\nForrest's records of the Madras Presidency (1890) presents a view\naltogether different. The reader must understand that the Board at\nFort St. David--at that time the ruling Board in the Madras\nPresidency--is reporting, for transmission to Europe, an account of a\ncomplaint of assault made by the Rev. Mr. Fordyce against Clive.\n\nIt would appear from this that Mr. Fordyce was a coward and a bully,\nbesides being in many other respects an utterly unfit member of\nsociety. It had come to Clive's ears that this man had said of him,\nin the presence of others, that he, Clive, was a coward and a\nscoundrel; that the reverend gentleman had shaken his cane over him\nin the presence of Mr. Levy Moses; and had told Captain Cope that he\nwould break every bone in his (Clive's) skin. In his deposition Clive\nstated that these repeated abuses so irritated him, 'that he could\nnot forbear, on meeting Mr. Fordyce at Cuddalore, to reproach him\nwith his behaviour, which, he told him, was so injurious he could\nbear it no longer, and thereupon struck him two or three times with\nhis cane, which, at last Mr. Fordyce returned and then closed in with\nhim, but that they were presently parted by Captain Lucas.'\n\nThe Board, in giving its judgement on the case, recapitulated the\nmany offences committed by Mr. Fordyce, the great provocation he had\ngiven to Clive, and suspended him. With regard to Clive they\n{15}recorded: 'lest the same,' the attack on Fordyce, 'should be to\nMr. Clive's prejudice, we think it not improper to assure you that he\nis generally esteemed a very quiet person and no ways guilty of\ndisturbances.' It is to be inferred from this account that, far from\ndeserving the character popularly assigned to him, Clive, in the\nthird year of his residence in India, was regarded by his superiors\nas a very quiet member of society.\n\nStill, neither the climate nor the profession suited him. 'I have not\nenjoyed,' he wrote to one of his cousins, 'a happy day since I left\nmy native country.' In other letters he showed how he repented\nbitterly of having chosen a career so uncongenial. Gradually,\nhowever, he realized the folly of kicking against the pricks. He\nassociated more freely with his colleagues, and when the Governor,\nMr. Morse, sympathizing with the young man eating out his heart from\nennui, opened to him the door of his considerable library, he found\nsome relief to his sufferings. These, at last, had reached their\nterm. Before Clive had exhausted all the books thus placed at his\ndisposal, events occurred which speedily opened to him the career for\nwhich he had panted.\n\n\n{16}\n\n\nCHAPTER II\nSOUTHERN INDIA IN 1744\n\n\nIt will contribute to the better understanding of the narrative of\nthe events which plunged the English into war in 1745, if we take a\nbird's-eye view of the peninsula generally, particularly of the\nsouthern portion, as it appeared in the year preceding.\n\nOf India generally it is sufficient to say that from the year 1707,\nwhen the Emperor Aurangzeb died, authority had been relaxing to an\nextent which was rapidly bringing about the disruption of the bonds\nthat held society together. The invasion of Nadír Sháh followed by\nthe sack of Delhi in 1739 had given the Mughal dynasty a blow from\nwhich it never rallied. Thenceforward until 1761, when the third\nbattle of Pánípat completed the catastrophe, the anarchy was almost\nuniversal. Authority was to the strongest. The Sallustian motto,\n'Alieni appetens sui profusus,' was the rule of almost every noble;\nthe agriculturists had everywhere abundant reason to realize 'that\nthe buffalo was to the man who held the bludgeon.'[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: The late Lord Lawrence used to tell me that when he was\nActing Magistrate and Collector of Pánípat in 1836, the natives were\nin the habit of describing the lawlessness of the period which ceased\nin 1818 by using the expressive phrase I have quoted.]\n\n{17}The disorder had extended to the part of India south of the\nVindhyan range which was then known under the comprehensive term of\nthe Deccan. When Aurangzeb had conquered many Súbahs, or provinces,\nof Southern India, he had placed them under one officer, to be\nnominated by the Court of Delhi, and to be called Súbahdár, or chief\nof the province. As disorder spread after his death the Súbahdárs and\ninferior chiefs generally began to secure themselves in the provinces\nthey administered. The invasion of Nadír Sháh made the task generally\neasy. In the Deccan especially, Chin Kílich Khán, the chief of a\nfamily which had served with consideration under Akbar and his\nsuccessors, whose father had been a favourite of Aurangzeb, who had\nhimself served under that sovereign, and who had obtained from the\nsuccessors of Aurangzeb the titles of Nizám-ul-Múlk and Asaf Jáh,\ntook steps to make the Súbahdárship of Southern India hereditary in\nhis family. The territories comprehended under the term 'Deccan' did\nnot, it must be understood, include the whole of Southern India.\nMysore, Travancore, Cochin were independent. But they comprehended\nthe whole of the territories known now as appertaining to the Nizám,\nwith some additions; the country known as the 'Northern Circárs'; and\nthe Karnátik.\n\nBut the Karnátik was not immediately under the government of the\nSúbahdár. It was a subordinate territory, entrusted to a Nawáb,\nbounded to the north by the river Gundlakamma; on the west by the\nchain {18}of mountains which separate it from Mysore; to the south by\nthe possessions of the same kingdom (as it then was) and by Tanjore;\nto the east by the sea. I have not mentioned the kingdom of\nTrichinopoli to the south, for the Nawábs of the Karnátik claimed\nthat as their own, and, as we shall see, had occupied the fortress of\nthat name during the period, prior to 1744, of which I am writing.\n\nIt will be seen then, that, at this period, whilst the nominal ruler\nof the Deccan was Chin Kílich Khán, better known as Nizám-ul-Múlk, as\nI shall hereafter style him, the Nawáb of the Karnátik, who ruled the\nlands bordering on the sea, including the English settlement of\nMadras and the French settlement of Pondicherry, was a very powerful\nsubordinate. The office he held had likewise come to be regarded as\nhereditary. And it was through the failure of the hereditary line,\nthat the troubles came, which gave to Robert Clive the opportunity to\ndevelop the qualities which lay dormant within him.\n\nBefore I proceed to describe those events, it seems advisable to say\na few words regarding the two settlements to which I have just\nreferred; of the principles which actuated their chiefs; and of the\ncauses which brought them into collision.\n\nThe English had made a first settlement on the Coromandel coast in\nthe year 1625 at a small place, some thirty-six miles to the south of\nMadras, known now as Armagon. Seven years later they obtained from\nthe Rájá of Bisnagar a small grant of land, called {19}by the natives\nChennapatanam from the village contained thereon. They re-named the\nplace Madras, and built there a fort round their storehouses which\nthey named Fort St. George. In 1653 the Company in London raised the\nagency at Madras to the position and rank of a Presidency. Towards\nthe end of the seventeenth century the establishment there counted a\npopulation of 300,000 souls. In 1744 the town consisted of three\ndivisions: that to the south (the White Town) extending about four\nhundred yards in length from north to south, and about one hundred\nyards in breadth. There resided the Europeans, mainly English. They\nhad there about fifty houses, two churches, one of them Catholic;\nlikewise the residence of the chief of the factory. All these were\nwithin the enclosure called Fort St. George. That somewhat pompous\ntitle represented merely a slender wall, defended by four bastions\nand as many batteries, very slight and defective in their\nconstruction, and with no outworks to defend them. This division was\ngenerally known as the 'White Town.' To the north of it, and\ncontiguous, was another division, much larger and worse fortified,\nprincipally tenanted by Armenian and Indian merchants, called the\nBlack Town. Beyond this, again to the north, was a suburb, where the\npoorer natives resided. These three divisions formed Madras. There\nwere likewise to the south, about a mile distant from the White Town,\ntwo other large villages, inhabited solely by natives; but these were\nnot included within that term. The English at this period did not\nexceed {20}three hundred in number, and of these two-thirds were\nsoldiers, but few of whom had seen a shot fired.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: Vide Orme's _History of Indostan_ (Edition 1773), vol.\ni. p. 65.]\n\nThe English colony in Madras was a trading colony. Not one of its\nmembers, up to this period, had the smallest thought of embroiling\ntheir presidency in the disputes which were frequent amongst the\nnative chieftains. They wished to be let alone; to remain at peace;\nto conciliate friendship and goodwill. They were content to\nacknowledge the lords of the soil as their masters; to pay for the\nprotection they enjoyed at their hands by a willing obedience; to\nward off their anger by apologies and presents.\n\nBut there was a French colony also on the same coast, and in that a\ndifferent policy had begun to prevail. In the year 1672 the King of\nBíjapur had sold to some French traders, led by a very remarkable\nman, Francis Martin, a tract of land on the Coromandel coast,\neighty-six miles to the south-south-west of Madras. On this tract,\nclose to the sea, was a little village called by the natives\nPuducheri. This the French settlers enlarged and beautified, and made\ntheir chief place of residence and trade. By degrees the name was\ncorrupted to Pondicherry, a title under which it became famous, and\nunder which it is still known.\n\nSo long as M. Martin lived, the policy of the French settlers was\nsimilar to that of the English at Madras. Nor did it immediately\nchange when Martin died (December 30, 1706). Up to 1735, when M.\nBenoit {21}Dumas was appointed Governor-General of the French\npossessions in India (for they had besides possessions on the Malabar\ncoast and at Chandranagar, on the Húglí, in Bengal) it was in no way\ndeparted from. M. Dumas, however, almost immediately after his\nassumption of office, adopted the policy of allying himself closely\nwith native princes; of taking part in their wars; with the view of\nreaping therefrom territorial and pecuniary advantage. This policy,\nof which he was the inventor, was, we shall see, carried to the most\nextreme length by his successor, M. Dupleix.\n\nIt will clear the ground for the reader if we add that the prosperity\nof the rival settlements was greatly affected by the action of their\nrespective principals in Europe. On this point all the advantages lay\nwith the English. For, whilst the Company of the Indies at Paris,\nand, it must be added, the French Government likewise, starved their\ndependency in India, and supplied them with inefficient and often\nill-timed assistance, the East India Company, and the Government of\nthe King of England, made a far better provision for the necessities\nof Madras.\n\nIt must, however, in candour be admitted that at the outset the\nFrench were better supplied with men and money than the English.\nUntil the importance of the quarrel was recognized in Europe it\nbecame then a contest between the natural qualities of the men on the\nspot--a test of the capabilities of the races they represented.\n\n{22}I turn now, after this brief explanation of the position in\nSouthern India in 1744, to describe the causes which led to the\ncatastrophe which supervened very shortly after the arrival in India\nof the hero of this history.\n\n\n{23}\n\n\nHOW THE WAR IN THE KARNÁTIK AFFECTED THE FRENCH AND ENGLISH\nSETTLEMENTS\n\n\nThe trouble came from the Karnátik. The family of the chief who had\nheld the position of Nawáb at the time of the death of Aurangzeb had\nadopted the new fashion, then becoming universal, of making the post\nhereditary in his family. Saádat-ullá Khán, the Nawáb in question,\nhad himself been regularly appointed in 1710 by the court of Delhi.\nAfter a peaceful rule of twenty-two years he had died (1732) without\nissue, after having appointed his nephew, Dost Alí, to succeed him as\nNawáb, the younger brother of Dost Alí, Bakar Alí, to be governor of\nthe fort and district of Vellore; and Ghulám Husén, the nephew of his\nfavourite wife, better known as Chánda Sáhib, to be Diwán, or prime\nminister, to his successor.\n\nThese dispositions were carried out. But they were by no means\npleasing to the Súbahdár of the Deccan, the Nizám-ul-Múlk to whom the\nreader has been introduced. That eminent nobleman was not content\nthat his subordinates should act as he was prepared to act himself.\nHis sanction had not been {24}obtained to the transaction. He used\nthen his influence at Delhi to prevent the confirmation which, even\nin those disturbed times, every chieftain sought to obtain for every\nact of spoliation. For the moment he proceeded no further. He was\ncontent to leave Dost Alí in the position of a nobleman ruling\nwithout the authority of his liege lord, himself, or of the master of\nboth, the court of Delhi.\n\nNizám-ul-Múlk had justly thought that time would avenge him. Four\nyears after his accession, the death of the ruler of Trichinopoli\ninduced Dost Alí to send an army under his son Safdar Alí and his\nDiwán Chánda Sáhib, to capture that fortress. Under the pretence of\ncollecting revenue these two princes visited Madras and Pondicherry\nin their progress southwards, and at the latter place Chánda Sáhib\nentered into those intimate relations with the French which were to\ninfluence greatly the events which were to follow. They proceeded\nthence to Trichinopoli and took possession of the fortress, the\nwidowed queen having, it is said, fallen in love with Chánda Sáhib.\nThe latter remained there as governor, whilst Safdar Alí returned to\nhis father at Arcot.\n\nThe new Diwán appointed in the place of Chánda Sáhib, Mír Ásad, began\nat once to insinuate charges of ambition against his predecessor, and\nexpressed his opinion that Chánda Sáhib, once ruler of Trichinopoli,\nwould not easily let go his hold. In this opinion he was supported by\nthe Nawáb's eldest son, Safdar Jang. Doubtless they were right, but\ntheir {25}utterances, freely expressed, served only to put Chánda\nSáhib on his guard; and he commenced to store the fortress with\nprovisions.\n\nThe acquisition of Trichinopoli by the Nawáb of the Karnátik had\nserved only to inflame the mind of his liege lord, Nizám-ul-Múlk,\nagainst him. For a time, however, the disorders in Northern India,\nthe threatened invasion of Nadír Sháh, and, finally, that invasion,\nheld his hand. At last, however, his wrath over-mastered his\njudgement, and, in 1739, at the very time when the invasion of Nadír\nSháh was in full swing, he gave permission to the Maráthás to attack\nTrichinopoli. In May of the following year, 1740, consequently, a\nMaráthá army of 10,000 men, led by Raghují Bhonsla, entered the\nKarnátik, met the hurriedly raised force of Dost Alí at the\nDamalcherri Pass, defeated it with great slaughter, and took prisoner\nthe Diwán, Mír Ásad. Dost Alí was among the slain. The victors, then,\nlistening to the persuasions of their prisoner, the Diwán, agreed to\nquit the province on receiving a payment, at stated intervals, of a\ntotal sum of ten million of rupees. Safdar Alí was then proclaimed\nNawáb at Arcot, and Chánda Sáhib proceeded thither to do him homage.\n\nDuring the preceding two years the French governor of Pondicherry, M.\nDumas, had so strengthened the fortifications of that town, that it\nhad come to be regarded by the natives as impregnable. During the\nMaráthá invasion, then, Chánda Sáhib {26}had sent thither his family,\nand his example had been followed by Safdar Alí. After the\ninstallation of the latter at Arcot, the two princes proceeded to\nvisit the French governor, who gave them a magnificent reception. On\nleaving, Safdar Alí took with him his family, whilst Chánda Sáhib,\nstill suspecting danger, directed his own wives to remain at\nPondicherry until events should more clearly develop themselves.\n\nHe had not to wait long. Safdar Alí, jealous of his prosperity, had\ninduced the Maráthás, never unwilling, to make a fresh incursion into\nthe Karnátik, and to dispose of Chánda Sáhib. In December of the same\nyear then, just four years before Clive landed in India, those\nwarriors entered the province, so deceived Chánda Sáhib as to induce\nhim to sell them the ample stores of grain he had collected, and, as\nsoon as they had received them, laid siege to Trichinopoli. Chánda\nSáhib sustained a siege of nearly three months with great resolution,\nbut then, his remaining stores of grain having been exhausted, was\nforced to surrender (March 26, 1741). The Maráthás, having plundered\nthe town, departed for Sátára, taking with them Chánda Sáhib in close\ncustody, and leaving one of their most famous leaders, of whom we\nshall hear further, Morári Ráo, with 14,000 of their best troops, to\nguard the place, and to act as discretion or greed might suggest.\n\nThe events I have recorded had encouraged among the nobles of the\nprovince a spirit of disorder in {27}sympathy with the times. No man\nfelt quite safe. Safdar Alí himself, but half reassured, sent for\nsafety his family to the custody of the English at Madras, whilst,\nquitting the comparatively defenceless Arcot, he took up his abode in\nthe strong fortress of Vellore. There his treasures had been stored,\nand there Murtizá Alí, who had married his sister, was governor. This\nman was treacherous, cowardly, and very ambitious. No sooner had he\nunderstood that his relationship by marriage did not shield him from\nthe payment of money due to the Nawáb, than he proceeded to debauch\nthe army, and to enlist on his side the neighbouring nobles. He then\npoisoned his brother-in-law. The poison not taking immediate effect,\nhe persuaded a Patán to stab the Nawáb to the heart. He then declared\nhimself Nawáb.\n\nHe was proclaimed alike at Vellore and Arcot. But his usurpation did\nnot last long. Even in those days there was a public conscience, and\nthe murder he had committed had been too brutal not to arouse\nindignation. The army rose against him. Fearing for his life, he\ndisguised himself in woman's clothes, and escaped to Vellore.\n\nOn the flight of Murtizá Alí becoming known the army proclaimed\nSaiyud Muhammad Khán, the son of Safdar Alí, then residing at Madras\nunder the protection of the English, to be Nawáb. The young prince\nand his mother were at once removed to the fort of Wandiwash, the\nruler of which had married his father's sister.\n\n{28}It was this moment that Nizám-ul-Múlk chose as the time to\nintervene. Entering Arcot at the head of a large army (March, 1743)\nhe completely pacified the province; then, marching on Trichinopoli,\ncompelled the Maráthás to yield it and to evacuate the Karnátik.\nPossessing himself of the person of the newly proclaimed Nawáb, whom\nhe declined to recognize, he proclaimed his own commander-in-chief,\nKhojá Abdullah, to be Nawáb of the Karnátik, and then returned to\nGolconda.\n\nUnfortunately for the peace of the province Khojá Abdullah, a strong\nman, never took up the government of the Karnátik. He had returned\nwith his master to Golconda, and had made there his preparations to\nset out. On the very morning which he had chosen for that purpose he\nwas found dead in his bed. It was clear that he had been poisoned.\nSuspicion fell at once upon the nobleman who had originally been an\nurgent candidate for the office, and who now obtained it. He was an\nexperienced soldier of good family, whose name was Anwar-ud-dín.\n\nNizám-ul-Múlk knew that the appointment would not be popular in the\nprovince so long as there should remain alive any member of the\nfamily of Saádat-ullá. He had therefore announced that the\nappointment of Anwar-ud-dín was provisional, and that the young\nprince, Saiyud Muhammad, already proclaimed Nawáb, should succeed to\nthat post on his arriving at the age of manhood, remaining during the\ninterval under the guardianship of Anwar-ud-dín, {29}to be by him\ninstructed in the art of governing. Anwar-ud-dín promised to carry\nout the will of his liege lord, and on his arrival in the Karnátik,\nassigned to the young prince the fort of Arcot, with a sufficient\nretinue of Patán soldiers. There the boy remained, treated with the\ndeference due to his position.\n\nBut he was doomed. A few weeks after his arrival at Arcot it devolved\nupon him to preside at the wedding of one of his near relations.\nAmongst those who came to the ceremony was the murderer of his\nfather, Murtizá Alí, laden with presents for the bridegroom. Strange\nas it may seem, the murderer was courteously received. But shortly\nafter his entrance within the fort an unseemly disturbance was\ncreated by the disorderly entrance into the presence of thirteen\nPatán soldiers, who insolently demanded payment of the arrears they\nalleged to be due to them. With some difficulty they were forcibly\nejected. But in the evening, as Anwar-ud-dín approached, attended by\nhis courtiers and preceded by his guards, these thirteen Patáns\nmanaged to mingle with the latter, and one of them, rushing towards\nthe daïs on which was the chair occupied by the young prince,\nascended the steps leading to it, and, in a supplicatory attitude,\nmade as though he would throw himself at his feet and demand pardon\nfor the offence of the morning. But instead of this he plunged his\ndagger, which he had concealed on his person, into the prince's\nheart. He was almost instantly cut down by the attendants. The\nconfusion was extreme. Suddenly it was {30}discovered that Murtizá\nAlí had quitted the fort, had mounted his horse, and, accompanied by\nhis armed followers, had galloped towards Vellore. Suspicion\nnaturally fell upon this proved murderer, and the nobles generally\nendeavoured to exculpate themselves at his expense.\n\nBut suspicion fell likewise upon Anwar-ud-dín. Who, so much as he,\nwould benefit by the death of Saiyud Muhammad? He was practically\nonly guardian to the young prince, bound to resign his office as soon\nas the latter should attain his majority. Nor were these suspicions\nlessened when it was found that Nizám-ul-Múlk at once transmitted to\nAnwar-ud-dín a complete commission as Nawáb of Arcot. Vainly did the\nNawáb deny all complicity in the bloody deed. Murtizá Alí was silent.\n'It was supposed,' wrote Mr. Orme, 'that the only proofs he could\nhave brought against Anwar-ud-dín would at the same time have\ncondemned himself.' And this probably was true.\n\nSuch then was the political position in Southern India when Clive\nlanded at Madras in 1744. The titular Emperor of Delhi was Muhammad\nSháh, still reeling under the consequences of the invasion of Nadír\nSháh and the sack of Delhi but five short years previously. The\nSúbahdár of the Deccan was still Nizám-ul-Múlk, possessing sufficient\ninfluence to have secured the succession in Southern India for his\nsecond son, Nasír Jang.[1] The Nawáb of the Karnátik, {31}styled\nofficially, of Arcot, was a stranger to the province, the unpopular\nand suspected Anwar-ud-dín. His authority there was not very secure.\nThere were many pretenders waiting for the first mishap: amongst them\nhis confederate in the murder of Saiyud Muhammad; Chánda Sáhib, still\nin confinement at Sátára; and many others. The elements of danger\nabounded everywhere. There were few petty chiefs who did not dub\nthemselves 'Nawábs,' and aspire to positions higher than those held\nby them at the moment. The match alone was wanting to produce a\ngeneral flame.\n\n[Footnote 1: Elliot's _History of India as told by its own\nHistorians_, vol. viii. p. 113.]\n\nUnder ordinary circumstances this state of affairs would not\nnecessarily have affected the European settlers on the coast. But for\nthem, too, the crisis was approaching. In 1740 the death of the\nEmperor, Charles VI, had thrown the greater part of Europe into a\nblaze. Three years later England had entered the field as an upholder\nof the Pragmatic Sanction. The news of this intervention, which\nnecessitated war with France, reached India towards the close of\n1744, and immediately affected the relations towards one another of\nthe rival settlements on the Coromandel coast.\n\n\n{32}\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\nHOW THE FORTUNES OF ROBERT CLIVE WERE AFFECTED BY THE HOSTILITIES\nBETWEEN THE FRENCH AND ENGLISH IN SOUTHERN INDIA\n\n\nThe events narrated in the second and third chapters must be studied\nby the reader who wishes to understand the India of 1744-65--the\nIndia which was to be the field for the exercise of the energies of\nthe hero of this biography. It was an India, he will see, differing\nin all respects from the India of the present day: an India which may\nnot improperly be termed an Alsatia, in which, as we have seen,\nmurder was rampant, and every man fought for his own hand. What it\nthen was it would be again were the English to leave the people to\ntheir own devices.\n\nIn the autumn of 1744 the Governor of Pondicherry, M. Dupleix, who\nhad succeeded Dumas in October, 1741, received a despatch from his\nDirectors notifying that a war with England was impending; requiring\nhim to diminish his expenditure; to cease to continue to fortify\nPondicherry; and to act with the greatest caution. A little later\nthey wrote to say that war had actually been declared, that they had\ninstructed {33}the Governor of the Isle of France to proceed to the\nIndian Seas with a squadron he was preparing; and that they required\nhim to second that officer, M. de la Bourdonnais, in his enterprise.\nFearing, however, that La Bourdonnais might arrive off the coast only\nafter some mischief had been done, they specially urged Dupleix to\nendeavour to arrange with the Governor of Madras that the war in\nEurope should not extend to the two settlements in India.\n\nSimilarly, the Governor of Madras, Mr. Morse, had received\ninformation and instructions from his masters. They were, however, of\na nature differing in some respects from those received by the French\nauthorities. They were to the effect that war had been declared; that\nhe might at any moment expect the arrival of Commodore Barnett with a\nstrong squadron off Madras, and that that squadron would be employed\nfor the annihilation of the French commerce and the destruction of\ntheir possessions. It is easy to see, then, that when Morse received\nfrom the French Governor a proposal that the two settlements should\npreserve neutrality, he was compelled to decline it.\n\nThus threatened, for the reply of Mr. Morse led him to believe that\nthe English would use their advantage to the utmost, Dupleix appealed\nto the common suzerain of the two settlements, to the Nawáb\nAnwar-ud-dín. He reminded him of the long-standing friendship between\nthe rulers of the French settlement and his predecessors; how the\nFrench, in times of danger and difficulty, had ever extended their\nhospitality to the {34}Nawábs and their friends; and represented in a\nstriking manner the disadvantage which must accrue to the rulers of\nthe Karnátik if the foreign settlements were to be permitted to wage\nwar upon one another, for the reason that their respective nations\nhad quarrelled in Europe. The mind of the Nawáb was much impressed by\nthis cogent reasoning. He had no idea of the fighting qualities of\nthe settlers. They had up to that time behaved as peaceful traders,\ndeferential to the lords of the soil. He would that they should\nremain so. He therefore informed Mr. Morse that he would not permit\nan infraction of the peace between the two nations on the soil of the\nKarnátik.\n\nFor the moment the plague was stayed. Commodore Barnett's squadron\narrived, intercepted and captured the French merchantmen, but could\nnot attempt anything against Pondicherry. In April, 1746, Barnett\ndied, and the command devolved upon Commodore Peyton. In June of the\nsame year Peyton heard that some French vessels had been seen off\nCeylon. They must be, he thought, the squadron of La Bourdonnais. He\nproceeded, then, to cruise off Negapatam to intercept it. On July 6,\nthe two squadrons came in contact. They fought that afternoon and the\nnext morning. After an indecisive combat on the 7th, the English\ncommodore, finding that one of his best ships had sprung a leak,\nsheered off, and made sail for Trincomalee, leaving to the Frenchmen\nall the honours and advantage of the day. On the evening of the 8th\nof July the French squadron anchored off Pondicherry.\n\n{35}The result of the conference between the Admiral of the fleet and\nthe Governor of Pondicherry was a resolution that the former should\nattack Madras, aided by the soldiers supplied by the latter. On the\nevening of the 12th of September, 1745, the French fleet sailed for\nMadras, arrived within cannon-shot of the English fort on the 15th at\nmid-day; La Bourdonnais then landed 1,100 European soldiers, some\nsipáhís, and a few Africans, and summoned the place to surrender.\n\nMadras was in no position to resist him. The only chance possessed by\nMr. Morse of saving the fort had lain in his obtaining from the Nawáb\nthe protection which the latter had afforded to Pondicherry when he\nhimself had threatened that town. He had applied for that protection,\nbut in such a manner as to ensure the rejection of his prayer. He had\nsent his messenger empty-handed into the presence of Anwar-ud-dín, to\ndemand as a right the protection which that nobleman had granted to\nDupleix as a favour. The Nawáb, probably waiting for the presents\nwhich, as an Indian prince, he expected from the petitioner, had\ngiven no reply when the fleet of La Bourdonnais appeared before\nMadras on the 15th of September.\n\nOn the evening of the 19th the Governor sent a messenger to La\nBourdonnais to treat. After much negotiation it was agreed that at\nnoon of the day at which they had arrived, September 21, Fort St.\nGeorge and the town of Madras should be surrendered to the French;\nthat the English garrison and all the English {36}in the town should\nbecome prisoners of war; that the civil functionaries should be set\nfree on their parole that they should not carry arms against France\nuntil they should be regularly exchanged. There were other secret\nconditions, but it is unnecessary to the narrative to refer to\nthese.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: For a correct account of these see the author's _History\nof the French in India_, a new edition of which is about to appear.]\n\nThe capture of Madras by the French took completely by surprise the\nNawáb Anwar-ud-dín. On learning the movements of the French against\nthat place he had despatched a special messenger ordering them to\ndesist. The letter he conveyed reached Dupleix after Madras had been\nconquered, but whilst it remained still in the hands of La\nBourdonnais. For a time he temporized with the Nawáb, whilst he\nendeavoured to bring La Bourdonnais, with whom he had difficulties as\nto the disposal of the place, to reason. A terrific storm heralding\nthe north-east monsoon settled the second question by compelling the\nFrench admiral to sail for the islands with the remnant of the fleet\nit had scattered. On the 29th of October, Dupleix was sole director\nof French interests in India and on the Indian seas. His negotiations\nwith the Nawáb were of a more complicated character. I lay particular\nstress upon them here because it was his action with reference to\nthat potentate which inverted the position theretofore held between\nthe native of India and the European; which called into the field the\nbrilliant military qualities of Clive; {37}which necessitated the\nlong struggle for predominance in Southern India between France and\nEngland.\n\nWhen day succeeded day and the Nawáb gradually came to the conviction\nthat the audacious ruler of the French settlement had no real\nintention of transferring to him the conquest La Bourdonnais had\nmade, he resolved to take it by force. He sent, therefore, his eldest\nson, Ma'afuz Khán, with a force of about 10,000 men, mostly cavalry,\nto enforce his demand. But, in face of the small French garrison\noccupying the place, these men soon discovered that they were\npowerless. When, with a great display of vigour, they had mastered\nthe positions which secured a supply of water to the town, the\ngarrison made a sortie and retook them. That was the first awakening.\nThe second was more startling, more pregnant with consequences. A\nsmall force of 230 Europeans and 700 natives, sent by Dupleix under\nthe command of a trusted officer named Paradis to relieve Madras,\nencountered the entire army of Ma'afuz Khán on the banks of the river\nAdyar, close to the village of Maliapur, then and to the present day\nknown as St. Thomé,[2] defeated it with great slaughter, the\nFrenchmen wading breast-high through the water to attack the soldiers\nof the Nawáb. This victory, few in numbers as were the victors, must\never be regarded as pre-eminently a decisive battle. It brought into\nview, {38}silently but surely, the possibility of the conquest of\nIndia by one or other of the two European powers on the Coromandel\ncoast.\n\n[Footnote 2: From the fact identified by Bishop Heber and Professor\nH. H. Wilson, that it is the place where the Apostle St. Thomas is\nsaid to have been martyred on December 5, A.D. 58.]\n\nIn a narrower sense it confirmed the possession of Madras to Dupleix.\nThenceforth, as far as his eye could see, he had nought to fear in\nIndia. On the 9th of November Paradis entered Madras; he made there\nnew provisions for the conquered English, confiscating all the\nmerchandize that had been found within the town by La Bourdonnais. He\nthen ordered all the English who should decline to take an oath of\nallegiance to the French governor within four days to quit the town;\nthe English officials he permitted to dispose of their property; then\nto remove to Pondicherry as prisoners on parole. There were some\namongst them who, possibly prescient of the future, declined to\nsubscribe to terms which would tie their hands. These escaped to Fort\nSt. David, a small fort purchased by the English in 1691, close to\nthe important town of Gúdalúr, sixteen miles to the south of\nPondicherry. Amongst these was the young writer who had had but\ntwo years' experience of India, and who was called Robert Clive.\n\nHardly had that young writer reached Fort St. David than he was\ncalled upon to share in its defence. It very soon became evident that\nthe policy of Dupleix was a root-and-branch policy; that he was\nresolved to expel the English from all their settlements. With\nrespect to Fort St. David, however, he was foiled partly by the\nstupidity of his generals, partly by the {39}island stubbornness of\nthe defenders. Four times did the French endeavour to take that small\nfort; four times, owing to circumstances upon which it is not\nnecessary to enter, did they fail. Meanwhile there arrived an English\nsquadron under Admiral Griffin, and later, to reinforce him, a fleet\nand army under Admiral Boscawen (August 11, 1748). By this arrival\nthe positions of the rivals on the coast became inverted. From being\nbesiegers the French became the besieged. For Boscawen at once laid\nsiege to Pondicherry.\n\nThen began (August 19, 1748) the first siege of Pondicherry by the\nEnglish troops, assisted to a certain extent by those of the Nawáb.\nMany gallant deeds were performed on both sides. For a time Paradis\nwas the soul of the defence. When he was killed, which happened\nwhilst making a sortie on the 11th of September, the entire labour of\ndirecting the necessary measures fell upon Dupleix. In the attack\nwere many good men and true. Boscawen himself gave an example of\ndaring which was universally followed. Amongst those who were\nspecially remarked was the hero of this book. A contemporary writer,\nwhose journal[3] of the siege is before me, remarks regarding that\nyoung writer, that he 'served in the trenches on this occasion, and\nby his gallant conduct gave the first prognostic of that high\nmilitary spirit, which was the spring of his future actions, and the\nprincipal source of the decisive intrepidity {40}and elevation of\nmind, which were his characteristic endowments.' The efforts of the\nbesiegers shattered, however, before the sturdy defence of the\nFrench. On the 17th of October the English were forced to raise the\nsiege, leaving dead from the fire of the enemy or from sickness 1065\nmen. The English fleet remained for a year off the coast, and then\nsailed for England: the garrison, formerly the garrison of Madras and\nof Fort St. David, retired to the latter place, carrying with it\nRobert Clive, soon to be joined there by one of the most\ndistinguished men whose careers have illustrated the history of the\nEnglish in India, Major Stringer Lawrence.[4]\n\n[Footnote 3: See _Asiatic Annual Register_ for 1802.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Major Lawrence had arrived from England on the 13th of\nJanuary 1747, commissioned to command all the Company's troops in\nIndia. From Mr. Forrest's Madras Records we find that his salary as\nMajor was 300 pounds per annum, and 50 pagodas per month for other\nallowances, besides 70 pounds per annum as third in Council. It was\nhe who had repulsed the fourth attack made by the French on Fort St.\nDavid in the spring of that year. In the early days of the siege of\nPondicherry he had had the misfortune to be taken prisoner. Released\nby the conditions of the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, he then resumed\ncommand at Fort St. David.]\n\nIt is probable that, after the raising of the siege of Pondicherry,\nthe French would have resumed their operations against Fort St.\nDavid, for, early in 1749, reinforcements in men and money had\nreached them. But before they could move, information reached them\nthat, on the 7th of October, 1748, peace had been signed between the\ntwo nations at Aix-la-Chapelle. By the terms of this treaty the\nconquests made by the two countries were to be restored. The French,\n{41}therefore, instead of renewing their attack on Fort St. David,\nwere compelled to restore Madras, its fortifications undermined, and\nits storehouses empty.[5] This restoration was the more distasteful\nto them, when they found, as they very soon found, that from the\nforce of events, the hostilities which had ceased in Europe were, by\nvirtue of a legal fiction, to be continued in India. They were still\nto fight the battle for supremacy, not as principals, but as allies\nof the native princes who, in the disorder accompanying the\ncatastrophe of the Mughal empire, fought for their own hand, against\nthe native allies of the English.\n\n[Footnote 5: Forrest, page 4. The report which he gives _in extenso_,\nminuted by the Council of the Madras Presidency, runs as follows:\n'The condition we have received it (Madras) in is indeed very\nindifferent, the French having undermined the fortifications, and\nrifled it of all useful and valuable stores.'\n\nThe official statement is quite opposed to the private accounts\nhitherto accepted as true.]\n\n\n{42}\n\n\nCHAPTER V\nCLIVE DECIDES FOR THE CAREER OF A SOLDIER\n\n\nBefore the conditions of the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle had become\nknown in India, the English governor of Fort St. David had despatched\nthence a small force of 430 Englishmen and 1000 sipáhís to assist the\nex-Rájá of Tanjore, who had been dethroned for gross misconduct, to\nrecover his kingdom. That, at least, was the nominal reason. The\nambition to obtain for the English possession of Devikota, a fort on\nthe river Coleroon, at the point where that river runs into the sea,\nwas the true cause of the action. The force was commanded by Captain\nCope, an officer of inferior merit. Clive accompanied it as a\nvolunteer. The expedition failed from causes which it was impossible\nto combat. The ex-Rájá had no partisans, and the season was that of\nthe monsoon-storms.\n\nStill the idea was too popular to be abandoned. After the treaty\nbetween the two nations had reached India the expedition was\ntherefore resumed. This time Major Lawrence, released by the action\nof that treaty, assumed the command. He took with him the entire\navailable European force of the Company, leaving only a few to man\nthe defences, and giving Clive a commission for the time only, to\naccompany {43}him as lieutenant, proceeded to Devikota by sea, landed\nhis troops, and commenced to batter the place. On the morning of the\nfourth day a practicable breach was pronounced, and a storming party\nwas ordered. By his conduct Clive had already won the esteem of\nLawrence,[1] and it was to him that he gave command of the party.\n\n[Footnote 1: The partiality which induced Lawrence to entrust Clive\nwith so important a duty is to be found under his own hand. 'A man of\nundaunted resolution,' he writes in his memoirs, 'of a cool temper,\nand a presence of mind which never left him in the greatest danger.\nBorn a soldier, for, without a military education of any sort or much\nconversing with any of the profession, from his judgement and good\nsense, he led an army like an experienced officer and a brave\nsoldier, with a prudence that certainly warranted success. This young\nman's early genius surprised and engaged my attention, as well before\nas at the siege of Devikota, where he behaved in courage and\njudgement much beyond what could have been expected from his years,\nand his success afterwards confirmed what I had said to so many\npeople concerning him.' Cambridge's _War in India_, pp. 18-19.]\n\nTo lead a storming party is an honour full of danger. So found Clive\non this occasion. Of the twenty-nine Europeans who composed it,\ntwenty-six were swept away by the enemy's horsemen, the sipáhís\nhalting and witnessing the deed. Clive with the three survivors\nmanaged to join the main body which was advancing under Lawrence, and\nthis body, repulsing a charge of cavalry which endeavoured to thwart\nit, pushed vigorously on, and stormed Devikota. Abandoning the cause\nof the ex-Rájá, Lawrence then made a treaty with the powers that\nwere, in virtue of which Devikota was ceded to the East India\nCompany, and the Rájá paid all the expenses of the {44}war. The force\nreturned to Fort St. David to find the fleet of Admiral Boscawen\nstill off the coast.\n\nBut, during the absence of the English troops, there had occurred in\nthe Karnátik one of those revolutions which were not uncommon in the\ndays of the dissolution of the Mughal empire.\n\nOn the 17th of April, 1748, the titular King of Delhi, Muhammad Sháh,\nhad died. His son, Ahmad Sháh, had succeeded him. Rather less than a\nmonth later, the Súbahdár of the Deccan, the famous Nizám-ul-Múlk,\nalso died. He had in his lifetime arranged that the succession to the\ninheritance of the Deccan should devolve upon his second son, Nasír\nJang, and Ahmad Sháh at once confirmed the nomination.[2] But those\nwere not the days when a succession to vast power and great\nterritories went unopposed. A claimant to the sovereignty of the\nDeccan soon appeared in the person of Muzaffar Jang, grandson of the\nlate Súbahdár, and at the moment holding the government of Bíjapur.\nNot sufficiently powerful to press his claim without assistance\nMuzaffar Jang proceeded at once to Sátára, enlisted the Maráthás in\nhis cause, persuaded them to release Chánda Sáhib, and to supply him\nwith troops. The arrangement between the two princes was that, in\ncase of success, Muzaffar Jang should become Súbahdár of the Deccan,\nChánda Sáhib Nawáb of the Karnátik. It is necessary to state these\nfacts clearly, because the war, thus initiated, formed the basis of\nthe continued hostilities {45}between the French and English after\npeace had been proclaimed in Europe.\n\n[Footnote 2: Elliott's _History of India_, pp. 112-3, vol. viii.]\n\nThe reader may recollect that in the earlier part of this book[3] I\nhave shown how Chánda Sáhib had formed a very high opinion of the\nFrench and how he had cultivated their friendship. Resolving now to\navail himself of former favours, he made overtures to Dupleix, and\nobtained from him promise of substantial assistance. These promises\nwere kept, and, towards the end of July, 1749, a detachment of French\nsoldiers joined the armies of the two conspirators at the Damalcherri\nPass. A few days later (August 3) they met at Ambúr the army of\nAnwar-ud-dín, completely defeated it, slew Anwar-ud-dín himself, took\nprisoner his eldest son, the Ma'afuz Khán who had been defeated by\nParadis at St. Thomé, and forced the second son, Muhammad Alí, to\nsave himself by flight to Trichinopoli. Marching straight to Arcot,\nMuzaffar Jang proclaimed himself Súbahdár of the Deccan, and Chánda\nSáhib to be Nawáb of Arcot. As the French had espoused the cause of\nChánda Sáhib it was natural that the English should sustain the\nclaims of the rival. This rival was Muhammad Alí, the son of the late\nNawáb, just escaped from the field of Ambúr. The two pretenders,\nwhose cause had been adopted by the French, then proceeded to\nPondicherry. There Dupleix, whose vision on political matters was\nremarkably clear, insisted that before committing themselves\n{46}further, they should rid themselves of the only possible rival\nthen at large, and should march against Trichinopoli. This they\nhesitated to do so long as the English fleet should remain off the\ncoast.\n\n[Footnote 3: Chapter III.]\n\nThis was the situation when Lawrence and Clive returned from the\nstorming of Devikota. The chief of the English settlement was then\nMr. Floyer, a gentleman who had a great dread of responsibility. The\nfighting party in the Council of Fort St. David urged that Muhammad\nAlí should be supported, that the English fleet should remain off the\ncoast, and that Trichinopoli should be defended. The admiral declared\nhis willingness to remain if Mr. Floyer would only ask him. But\nFloyer shrank from the responsibility. Consequently the fleet sailed\non the 1st of November, leaving behind 300 men as an addition to the\ngarrison.\n\nThe very day after the disappearance of the English fleet had become\nknown (November 2), Muzaffar Jang and Chánda Sáhib, with their French\nallies, marched towards Trichinopoli. But the two Indian princes had\nbeen most improvident. They had spent all their funds. To obtain more\nthey assailed the strong fortress of Tanjore, captured one of the\ngates of the fortress, and forced the Rájá to agree to pay them very\nlarge sums. But the wily prince, learning that Nasír Jang was\nmarching to his aid, managed to delay the chief payment until he had\nascertained that the Súbahdár was within striking distance of the\nplace. He then point-blank refused to hand over {47}the money. The\nnews of the approach of Nasír Jang spread disorder in the ranks of\nthe armies of Muzaffar Jang and Chánda Sáhib, and they hurriedly\nretreated on Pondicherry.\n\nScenes of indescribable turmoil followed. In one of the skirmishes\nthat ensued there occurred an event which, unpromising as it appeared\nat the outset, proved the means of the temporary accomplishment of\nthe plans of the two conspirators. In a skirmish Muzaffar Jang was\ntaken prisoner and placed in irons by the Súbahdár. When in that\nposition, however, he managed to corrupt three of the principal\nchiefs who followed the banner of that prince. Their schemes were\ncommunicated to Chánda Sáhib and to his French allies. The result was\nthat when the two rival armies joined battle at a place sixteen miles\nfrom the strong fortress of Gingi, which, meanwhile, the French under\nBussy had captured, Nasír Jang's own levies turned against him and\nslew him; released Muzaffar Jang, and acknowledged him Súbahdár of\nthe Deccan.\n\nThis event occurred on the 16th of December, 1750. Chánda Sáhib\nhimself carried the news of the accomplished revolution from the\nbattlefield to Pondicherry. The new Súbahdár followed him, and, for a\nwhile, French interests seemed predominant in the Karnátik. Then, for\na moment, the tide seemed to ebb. On his way to Aurangábád Muzaffar\nJang was slain by the very three conspirators who had compassed the\ndeath of his predecessor. The French {48}troops with the force,\ncommanded by the energetic Bussy, speedily avenged his death, and\ncaused Salábat Jang, the third son of the late Nizám-ul-Múlk, to be\nproclaimed his successor. As Bussy with a force of French troops was\nto remain with him as his protector, it seemed as though French\ninfluence was destined to remain predominant in Southern India.\n\nAnd so but for one man it would have remained, increasing its\nstrength until its roots had spread far and wide below the surface.\nThis, we believe, is the true lesson of the early part of this\nbiography. It was one man's genius which, meeting the French on the\nground of their own selection, seized their idea, made it his own,\nand worked it to their destruction. It was Clive who hoisted Dupleix\nwith his own petard. We shall now see how.\n\nAfter the return of the troops from the conquest of Devikota, the\nGovernment of Fort St. David had appointed Clive to be Commissary of\nthe forces. Before, however, he could assume the duties of the office\nhe had fallen sick, and had been sent by the doctors for a cruise in\nthe Bay of Bengal. On his return thence in the early days of 1751 he\nfound great demands on his activity. It devolved on him to equip a\nforce of 280 English and 300 sipáhís, ordered, under Cope, to proceed\nto Trichinopoli, still threatened by the French and their allies.\nThis accomplished, Clive was directed to accompany, as Commissary, a\nlarger force of 500 English, 1000 sipáhís, and 100 Africans, ordered,\nunder Captain Gingens, for Volkonda, 38 miles {49}to the\nnorth-north-east of Trichinopoli, there to intercept a French force\nmarching in that direction.\n\nGingens was not a strong officer, and by gross mismanagement he\nallowed the French to get the better of him. Clive, whose soldier's\neye and martial instincts disapproved entirely of the evils he could\nnot, from his position, prevent,[4] then and there quitted the force\nand returned to Fort St. David.\n\n[Footnote 4: Captain Dalton, who served under Captain Gingens, writes\nof him in his journal as 'a man of unfortunately jealous temper which\nmade him mistrust the goodwill of any who offered to give him\nadvice.' Vide _Memoir of Captain Dalton_, 1886, pp. 93-4.]\n\nThe return of Clive was opportune. The new Governor, Mr. Saunders, a\nman of a large and comprehensive intellect, was waiting the arrival\nof troops from England to fit out a new expedition of 80 Englishmen\nand 300 sipáhís to convoy provisions to Trichinopoli. He had no\nofficer, however, to whom he dared entrust the command. A civilian of\nhis Council, Mr. Pigot, was then deputed to lead the force the first\nforty miles, when it would be beyond the reach of hostile attack, and\nClive volunteered to go with him. The force set out in July, 1751,\nand on the third day reached Verdachelam, the point indicated. Thence\nthe two English civilians turned back as had been arranged, and,\nthough attacked on the way by a swarm of native horsemen, reached\nFort St. David in safety. The detachment then marched through a safe\ncountry to Trichinopoli.\n\nA few days later fresh troops arrived from England. Mr. Saunders was\nanxious to despatch these to {50}reinforce the troops under Gingens,\nbut again the same difficulty presented itself. Meanwhile Clive had\ndeliberately considered his position. As a civilian, he had had a\ncareer which did not satisfy him. As Commissary, it had been his fate\nto witness the inefficient leading of others, without any authority\nto interfere. He felt within him the power to command. His transfer\nto the military service would, he saw, relieve the Governing Council\nfrom a great difficulty, and give him, possibly, a command which he\ncould exercise for the benefit of his country. Very soon did he\ndecide. Mr. Saunders, whose appreciation of him was not inferior to\nthat of Major Lawrence, sanctioned the transfer of his name to the\nmilitary list, bestowed upon him the commission of captain,[5] and\ndirected him to proceed at once, with a detachment of the few troops\navailable, to Devikota, to place himself there under the orders of\nCaptain Clarke, whose total force would thus be augmented to 100\nEnglish, 50 sipáhís, and one field-piece. The two officers were then\nto march with this detachment to Trichinopoli. There Clive was to\ntake stock of the position and report to Mr. Saunders.\n\n[Footnote 5: The order of appointing Clive ran as follows:--'Mr.\nRobert Clive, who has lately been very serviceable in conducting\nseveral parties to camp, offering to go, without any consideration of\npay, provided we will give him a Brevet to entitle him to the rank of\na Captain, as he was an Officer at the Siege of Pondichery, and\nalmost the whole time of the War, and distinguished himself on many\noccasions, it is conceived that this Officer may be of some service,\nand, therefore, now ordered that a Brevet be drawn out, and given\nhim.' Forrest.]\n\nThis happened towards the end of July, 1751.\n\n\n{51}\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\nTHE FIRST YEAR OF SOLDIERING AT TRICHINOPOLI AND ARCOT\n\n\nThe state of affairs in Trichinopoli was sufficient to cause\nconsiderable alarm as to the result of the war. Chánda Sáhib was\nbesieging that fortress with a very large native force, aided by 900\nFrenchmen. His rival, Muhammad Alí, depended solely on the 600\nEnglish who were assisting him, for of his own troops there were but\n5000, and of these 2000 were horsemen.\n\nBut that which most impressed Clive when he arrived there with\nCaptain Clarke early in August was the depression which filled the\nminds of the native prince and the English soldiers. The treasury of\nMuhammad Alí was exhausted, and he despaired of success. The English\nsoldiers had no confidence in their leaders, and, with a few\nexceptions,[1] the leaders had no confidence in themselves. To rouse\nleaders and men from their apathy Clive felt that something startling\nmust be attempted. Not indeed at Trichinopoli, for Captain Gingens,\nwho commanded there, though a brave man, was scarcely equal to taking\n{52}a bold initiative in face of the preponderating troops of the\nenemy. Alike at school, and in his researches in the Governor's\nlibrary at Madras, Clive had read of the achievements of great\ncommanders who, pressed hard by enemies at home, had changed the fate\nof the campaign by carrying the war into the enemy's country. What an\nopportunity for such a strategy where he was! To take Trichinopoli\nChánda Sáhib had massed all, or nearly all, his available troops\nbefore that place, leaving the capital of the Karnátik, Arcot,\nabsolutely denuded of trustworthy fighting men. The true method of\nrelieving the former place was to seize and hold the latter.\nImpressed with this idea, Clive returned to Fort St. David and\ncommunicated it to Mr. Saunders. This large-minded man embraced the\nplan with fervour, and although at the two principal places held by\nthe English, Madras and Fort St. David, he had but 350 English\nsoldiers, he resolved to risk 200 of them on the expedition.[2] The\ncommand of it he gave to Clive, but one month before a simple\ncivilian, and despatched him forthwith to Madras, to march thence\nwith his raw levies, most of them recently arrived from England.\n\n[Footnote 1: One of these exceptions was Captain John Dalton, whose\njournal, published in 1886 (Messrs. W. H. Allen & Co.), adds much to\nour knowledge of the individuals engaged in the campaign.]\n\n[Footnote 2: Forrest, page 10. The Board unanimously concurred with\nMr. Saunders.]\n\nIt was on the 26th of August, 1751, that Clive set forth from Madras\non the march which was to bring to him immortal fame, and to secure\nfor his countrymen the first footing on the ladder which was to\nconduct them to empire. He had with him 200 English {53}soldiers, 300\nsipáhís, and three small field-pieces. Of his eight officers, four\nwere volunteers from the civil service who, with two of the others,\nhad never been under fire. On the 29th the little force reached\nKanchípuram, 42 miles from Madras and 27 from Arcot. There he learned\nthat that place was garrisoned by about 1200 native soldiers, that\nthe discipline was lax, and that a surprise was quite feasible; but\nthat the place itself was capable of a good defence. He did not wait\nlonger. Setting out in a terrible storm, he reached the vicinity of\nArcot on the 31st, surprised the fort, and compelled the town to\nsurrender, without losing a single man. Having taken measures to\nstore provisions, he marched on the 4th September to the mud fort of\nTímerí, frightened the 600 native soldiers encamped there into\nretreating, and returned. Two days later, having been informed that\nthe enemy had again gathered there to the number of 2000, he marched\nagain against them, attacked and completely defeated them. From want\nof heavy guns he did not take the fort.\n\nRelieved from the chances of immediate attack, Clive returned to\nimprove, as far as he could, the defences of the place he had\ncaptured. One of his first acts had been to write to Madras for some\n18-pounder guns. These were at once despatched. But the enemy, now\nfully awake, attempted to intercept them at Kanchípuram. To save his\nguns Clive marched thither with all his force except 80 men. He did\nsave the guns, but the enemy, profiting by his {54}absence, attacked\nArcot with all their available numbers. The garrison, however, small\nas it was (30 Englishmen and 50 sipáhís), had become imbued with\ntheir leader's spirit. They repulsed the attack, Clive brought the\nguns into the fort, and the enemy dispersed.\n\nMeanwhile the news of the brilliant enterprise had spread far and\nwide; had brought hope to the defenders of Trichinopoli, and alarm\nand irritation to Chánda Sáhib and his French allies. More even than\nthat. The important kingdom of Mysore, the ruler of which had been\nlong pressed by the rival combatants, declared now in favour of\nMuhammad Alí, and sent an army under its Dalwai (Prime Minister) to\nassist him. The native chiefs who ruled the territories which\nconnected the beleaguered town with the eastern coast followed the\nexample of Mysore;--an enormous gain, for it ensured the safety of\nthe English convoys from the coast. Greatly impressed with these\ndefections, Chánda Sáhib at once despatched 3000 of his best troops\nto join the forces which his son, Rájá Sáhib, was commanding in North\nArcot. There they would be joined by 150 Frenchmen. One of Clive's\nobjects had thus been already attained. The capture of Arcot had\nenormously weakened the enemy's attack: had more than proportionately\nincreased the strength of the defence of Trichinopoli.\n\nThe eyes of India south of the great Vindhyan range were now turned\nupon Arcot. Upon its successful or unsuccessful defence depended the\nfuture in India of the two European nations which, though\n{55}nominally at peace, were warring desperately against each other.\nThe siege began on the 23rd of September. It was characterized by\nextraordinary tenacity, great daring, infinite powers of resource, on\nthe part of Clive and the defenders. The sipáhís vied with the\nEnglish alike in courage and in capacity to withstand fatigue,\nhunger, and thirst. Their self-denial, displayed when they insisted\nthat the water which was brought to them under much difficulty should\nbe offered first to their European comrades, went the round of the\nworld. It gave evidence of the cordiality which was to exist for a\ncentury, and to be renewed in 1861-2 under conditions more favourable\nthan ever. At length, after more than seven weeks of continuous\npounding, the breach became practicable. The rumour that the great\nMaráthá soldier, Morári Ráo, was approaching the place to lend a hand\nto Clive, determined Rájá Sáhib to utilize his advantage without\ndelay. On the 14th of November he sent every available man to the\nbreach. The garrison, enfeebled though they were by privations, few\nin number from their losses, separated by the necessities of the\ndefence, met their assailants with a courage as stern, a resolution\nas dogged, as that which, in difficult circumstances, English\nsoldiers have always displayed. After an hour's fierce fighting, in\nwhich the French took no part, the besiegers fell back, beaten,\nbaffled, and humiliated. At two o'clock that afternoon they begged to\nbe allowed to bury their dead. At two o'clock the following morning\nthey disappeared in the direction of Vellore.\n\n{56}Thus ended the siege of Arcot. It had lasted fifty days. The\nmanner in which it ended gave the English, and especially the English\nleader, a prestige which had an enormous effect on the campaigns that\nfollowed. What a great thing this much-abused 'prestige' is in India\nwas illustrated by the fact that the minds of the native princes and\npeoples all over the southern part of the peninsula turned to Clive\nas to a master whom they would follow to the death. He inverted the\npositions of the two nations, confounded by his brilliant action the\nschemes of Dupleix, and, very soon afterwards, was able to impose his\nwill, representing the will of the English nation, upon all the\nnative princes who ruled or reigned in the territories of Haidarábád\nand the Karnátik.\n\nFor--another great feature in the character of this man--Clive never\nleft a work half-finished. The blow, he felt, was weak and paltry\nunless it were driven home. So he felt, so he acted, on this\noccasion. On the 19th he took Timerí, the fort which had before\nbaffled him. Joined then by Morári Ráo with 1000 Maráthá horsemen, he\nmarched on Arni, seventeen miles south of Arcot, to attack Rájá\nSáhib, who had taken post there with the army which had lately\nbesieged him, reinforced by French troops just arrived from\nPondicherry. The superiority in numbers of the force of Rájá Sáhib\nwas so great that, when he noted the approach of Clive, he turned to\nmeet him. Clive halted where he was. He had recognized that his\nposition was excellent for defence, covered in front {57}by\nrice-fields impracticable for guns, on the right by a village, and on\nthe left by a grove of palm-trees. There he ranged his troops to meet\nthe threatened attack.\n\nIt came very quickly, for the space between the two forces was but\n300 yards. The enemy had discovered a narrow causeway leading across\nthe marshy ground to the village on Clive's right. Heralding their\napproach with an advance of cavalry, they directed a portion of their\nhorsemen to assail the village on the right; another portion to drive\nMorári Ráo from the grove; whilst the main body of the infantry\nshould cross the causeway. The last-named was a dangerous operation\nin the face of a man like Clive, for whilst the narrowness of the\ncauseway rendered the advance slow, it gave time to Clive to\nconcentrate upon it the fire of his guns. And this he did. For a time\nthe French, who led the attack, marched boldly. At length they came\nunder the full fire of the guns. It was the story of the bridge of\nArcola, but there was no Bonaparte to lead them on. They hesitated,\nhalted, then fell back with precipitation; and, quitting the\ncauseway, formed on the rice-fields, almost touching the cavalry on\ntheir left, who were fighting fiercely to gain an entrance into the\nvillage. This was the supreme moment, and Clive's genius utilized it\nto the utmost. Whilst the enemy were busily engaged on the right and\nleft, their centre still reeling under the losses sustained on the\ncauseway, he detached a body of English soldiers into the\n{58}village, directing them to seize the head of the causeway, and,\ntraversing it rapidly with a portion of the sipáhís, to dash on the\nenemy's centre, and seize their guns. Well was he served. No sooner\ndid the enemy perceive the English on the causeway than a panic\nstruck their centre, and they hastened to fall back. The panic\ncommunicated itself to the two wings, already severely handled; they\ntoo let go their hold, and turned to follow their comrades. True to\nthe principle referred to in a preceding page, Clive pressed them\nhardly, not staying pursuit until darkness rendered it fruitless. The\nrecord of this, his first real battle, fought against more than\ndouble his numbers, was a splendid one. Whilst his own losses were\nbut eight sipáhís of his own force, and some fifty horsemen of his\nMaráthá allies, there were killed or wounded fifty Frenchmen and\nabout three times that number of the natives. Whilst the English had\nfought mostly under cover, the enemy had had the disadvantage of\nbeing exposed, especially on the causeway.\n\nFit sequel to the defence of Arcot was this fight at Arni. It\ndispersed the army of Rájá Sáhib, caused many of his soldiers, always\nin the East inclined to side with the strongest, to desert to the\nvictors; it induced the ruler of the fort of Arni to declare for\nMuhammad Alí; and it deprived the enemy of their military chest. From\nits field Clive marched rapidly on Kanchípuram, took possession,\nafter a short siege, of the strong pagoda which, meanwhile, had been\n{59}seized by the enemy; then, having placed in Arcot a sufficient\ngarrison, returned to Madras, thence to Fort St. David, having\ncarried out to the letter the programme he had submitted at the\nlatter place to Governor Saunders.\n\nWell had he done it. The army of Chánda Sáhib, doubled up by the\nterrible blow struck in the very centre of his possessions, still\nindeed held the position before Trichinopoli, but, from an enemy\nconfident, boastful, certain of ultimate success, he had become an\nenemy timid, irresolute, doubtful of the issue, shrinking from his\nown shadow. The prestige gained by the young Englishman paralyzed his\nvitality. It required apparently but one more blow to complete his\ndemoralization. The one condition of that blow was that it must be\nstruck quickly, suddenly, before the enemy should have time to\nrecover. Considerations such as these, we may be sure, formed the\nstaple of the conversations at Fort St. David between the young\ncaptain and the Governor after the return of the former from Arcot.\n\n\n{60}\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n'THE SWELL AND DASH OF A MIGHTY WAVE'[1]\n\n\n[Footnote 1: 'The battle of Napoleon was the swell and dash of a\nmighty wave before which the barrier yielded, and the roaring flood\npoured onwards, covering all things.' Sir W. Napier's _Peninsular\nWar_.]\n\nBut there was one distinguished actor in the events I have recorded\nwho was by no means inclined to sit passively under the severe blow\nwhich had but just upset all his calculations. This man was Dupleix,\nthe Governor of Pondicherry. The plan of taking Trichinopoli had been\nhis plan. To take that place he had used all the resources open to\nhim: he had, in fact, for that purpose pawned the resources of\nPondicherry. But one thing he had not done. He had not removed from\nthe court of the Súbahdár the one competent general, Bussy-Castelnau,\ngenerally known as Bussy, to carry out his ideas. He had bent all his\nhopes on Law of Lauriston, nephew of the famous Scotch financier, and\nwho commanded the French troops before Trichinopoli. He leant,\nhowever, on a reed, on which, when a man leaneth, it pierces\nhis hand. As a soldier under command Law was excellent. As a\nCommander-in-chief he was pitiable, dreading responsibility,\ntimid, nervous, wanting in {61}every quality of a general. At the\nmoment Dupleix did not know this. He had seen Law fight well and\ngallantly at the siege of Pondicherry: he had known him full of\nself-confidence, and he had believed him capable of great things.\n\nWhen, then, Clive struck that blow at the middlepiece of the Karnátik\ndominion, which paralyzed the army before Trichinopoli, Dupleix,\nwhose brain had not been paralyzed, sent the most pressing orders to\nLaw not to care for events passing at Arcot, but to redouble his\nefforts against the fortress he was besieging; to use every effort to\ntake the place before Clive's unexpected blow should produce its\nnatural consequences. To accomplish this end he despatched to him a\nbattering-train and all the Frenchmen he had available.\n\nDupleix could transmit his orders, but he could not send with them\nthe daring spirit which inspired them. Law had before Trichinopoli\n900 French soldiers, of excellent quality, 2000 sipáhís trained in\nthe French fashion, and the army of Chánda Sáhib. It was a force to\nattempt anything with in India. If a superior officer on the spot had\nsaid to Law 'Attack!' he would have attacked with conspicuous\ncourage. But it was the weakness of his nature that, being in\ncommand, he could not say the word himself. Therefore he did nothing.\n\nBut to Clive, recognizing all that was possible, ignorant only of the\ncharacter of the French commander, the situation seemed full of\ndanger. He {62}must strike again, and strike immediately. The\nsuccessful blow at the middlepiece must be followed up by a blow at\nthe head. That head was Trichinopoli. He prepared therefore, as soon\nas the recruits expected from England should arrive, to march to that\nplace, and compel the raising of the siege.\n\nDupleix had divined all this. Once again was this young Englishman to\nbaffle him. As Law would not act he must devise some other means to\ndefeat him. Why, he said to himself, should I not take a leaf from\nthe Englishman's book, reconquer Arcot, possibly attack Madras, and\nmake it evident to the native princes that Pondicherry is still the\nstronger? The idea pleased him, and he proceeded, in the most secret\nmanner, to act upon it.\n\nIncited by the urgent requests and promises of Dupleix, Rájá Sáhib,\nthe beaten of Arni, quietly levied troops, and joined by a body of\n400 Frenchmen, appeared suddenly before Punamallu on the 17th of\nJanuary. Punamallu is a town and fort in the Chengalpat district,\nthirteen miles west-south-west from Madras. The town, but not the\nfort, fell at once into the hands of the enemy. Had the allies then\nmarched on Madras they might have taken it, for it had but a garrison\nof 100 men. They preferred, however, to march on Kanchípuram. There\nthey repaired the damages the English had done to the defences of the\ngreat pagoda, and, leaving 300 sipáhís to defend it, marched to\nVendalúr, twenty-five miles to the south of Madras, and established\nthere a {63}fortified camp, whence they levied contributions on the\nsurrounding country. Their plan was so to coerce northern Arcot as to\ncompel the English to quit Trichinopoli, to save it.\n\nThey had succeeded in thoroughly alarming alike the English and the\npetty chieftains in alliance with them when information of their\naction reached Fort St. David. There Clive and Saunders were busily\nengaged in preparing for the new expedition which the former was to\nlead, as soon as the drafts from England should arrive, to the relief\nof Trichinopoli. The information changed all their plans. Saunders at\nonce sent a pressing message to Bengal to despatch all available\nEnglish soldiers to Madras. Thither Clive proceeded; took command of\nthe 100 Englishmen forming its garrison; and ordered from Arcot\nfour-fifths of the troops stationed there. On the 20th of February\nthe troops from Bengal arrived: on the 21st the Arcot garrison was\nwithin a march of Madras. On the following morning Clive quitted that\nfort, and, joined as he marched forth by the men from Arcot, took the\ndirection of Vendalúr, having, all told, 380 Englishmen, 1300\nsipáhís, and six field-pieces. His movements, however, had become\nknown to the enemy. These, therefore, had quitted Vendalúr on the\nnight of the 21st; had marched by various routes to Kanchípuram; and,\nre-uniting there, had pushed with all speed towards Arcot. There they\nhad made arrangements to be received, but their plot had been\ndiscovered, and {64}finding their signals unanswered, they had\nmarched to Káveripák, a town ten miles to the east of Arcot. There,\nin front of the town, they encamped, in a position previously\ncarefully chosen as the one most likely to invite surprise, for which\nthey proceeded to thoroughly prepare themselves.\n\nClive, meanwhile, had been marching on Vendalúr. He had made some way\nthither when scouts reached him with the news that the birds had\nflown, and in different directions. To gain further information he\ncontinued his march and reached Vendalúr. After staying there five\nhours certain information reached him that he would find the enemy at\nKanchípuram. Thither he proceeded, and there he arrived at four\no'clock on the morning of the 23rd, having made a forced march, with\na rest of five hours, of forty-five miles. It was then nine o'clock\nin the morning, and he resolved to rest for the day.\n\nBut, after his men had slept a few hours, the anxiety of Clive\nregarding Arcot impelled him to break their slumbers, and order them\nforward. They set out accordingly about one o'clock, and about sunset\ncame in sight of Káveripák, but not of the French hidden in front of\nit. The French leader, in fact, had laid his plans with the greatest\nskill. A thick mango-grove, covered along two sides by a ditch and\nbank, forming almost a redoubt, roughly fortified along the faces by\nwhich the English must advance, covered the ground about 250 yards to\nthe left of the road looking eastwards. There the French {65}had\nplaced, concealed from view, their battery of nine guns and a portion\nof their best men. About a hundred yards to the right of the road,\nalso looking eastwards, was a dry watercourse, along the bed of which\ntroops could march, sheltered, to a great extent, from hostile fire.\nIn this were massed the rest of the infantry, native and European.\nThe cavalry was in the rear, hidden by the grove, ready to be\nlaunched on the enemy when they should reach the ground between the\nwatercourse and the grove. The men were on the alert, expecting\nClive.\n\nThe space at my disposal will not permit me to give the details of\nthe remarkable battle[2] which followed. It must suffice to say that\nno battle that was ever fought brought into greater prominence the\ncharacter of its commander. In the fight before Káveripák we see\nClive at his best. He had marched straight into the trap, and,\nhumanly speaking, was lost. It was his cool courage, his calmness in\ndanger, his clearness of mind in circumstances of extraordinary\ndifficulty, his wonderful accuracy of vision, the power he possessed\nof taking in every point of a position, and of at once utilizing his\nknowledge, that saved him. He was, I repeat, lost. He had entered the\ntrap, and its doors were fast closing upon him. Bravely did his men\nfight to extricate him from the danger. Their efforts were\nunavailing. Soon it came about that the necessity to retreat\n{66}entered almost every mind but his own. Even the great historian\nof the period, Mr. Orme, wrote that 'prudence counselled retreat.'\nBut to the word prudence Clive applied a different meaning. To him\nprudence was boldness. What was to become of the British prestige, of\nthe British position in Southern India, if he, without cavalry, were\nto abandon the field to an enemy largely provided with that arm, and\nwho would be urged to extraordinary energy by the fact that the\nunconquered hero of Arcot had fled before them?\n\n[Footnote 2: The reader who would care to read such a detailed\naccount will find it in the writer's _Decisive Battles of India_, ch.\nii.]\n\nNo: he would think only of conquering; and he conquered. After four\nhours of fighting, all to his disadvantage, he resolved to act, _in\npetto_, on the principle he had put into action when he first seized\nArcot. He would carry the war into the enemy's position. By a very\ndaring experiment he discovered that the rear of the wooded redoubt\noccupied by the French had been left unguarded. With what men were\navailable he stormed it; took the enemy by surprise, the darkness\nwonderfully helping him; and threw them into a panic. Of this panic\nhe promptly took advantage; forced the Frenchmen to surrender; then\noccupied their strong position, and halted, waiting for the day. With\nthe early morn he pushed on and occupied Káveripák. The enemy had\ndisappeared. The corpses of fifty Frenchmen and the bodies of 300\nwounded showed how fierce had been the fight. He had, too, many\nprisoners. His own losses were heavy: forty English and thirty\nsipáhís. {67}But he had saved Southern India. He had completely\nbaffled the cunningly devised scheme of Dupleix.\n\nThe consequences of the battle were immediately apparent. Northern\nArcot having been freed from enemies, Clive returned to Fort St.\nDavid, reached that place the 11th of March, halted there for three\ndays, and was about to march to strike a blow at the other extremity,\nTrichinopoli, when there arrived from England his old and venerated\nchief, Stringer Lawrence. The latter naturally took command, and two\ndays later the force Clive had raised, and of which he was now second\nin command, started with a convoy for Trichinopoli. On the 26th it\nwas met eighteen miles from that fortress by an officer sent thence\nto inform Lawrence that the French had despatched a force to\nintercept him at Koiládí, close to and commanding his line of\nadvance. By great daring, Lawrence made his way until he had passed\nbeyond the reach of the guns of the badly-commanded enemy and the\nfort, and before daybreak of the following morning was joined by a\nsmall detachment of the garrison: another, of greater force, met him\na little later. He had, in fact, practically effected a junction with\nthe beleaguered force at the outpost of Elmiseram when he learned\nthat the French were marching against him. They contented themselves,\nhowever, with a fierce cannonade: for, as Clive advanced to\ncover the movement of the rest of the force, they drew back, and\nLawrence, with his troops, and the convoy he was escorting, entered\n{68}Trichinopoli. The French commander was so impressed by this feat\nof arms, which gave the defenders, now assisted by Morári Ráo and the\nDalwai of Mysore, a strength quite equal to his own, that he fell\nback into the island of Seringham. There he was faced on one side by\nLawrence. To cut off his communications with the country on the\nfurther side of the river Kolrun, Lawrence despatched Clive[3] with\n400 English and some 700 sipáhís, accompanied by some Maráthá and\nTanjore cavalry, to occupy the village of Samiáveram, a village\ncommanding with three others the exit from the island on the only\npracticable route. Clive set out on the 7th of April, occupied\nSamiáveram the same day, and, two days later, made his position\nstronger by storming and occupying the pagoda of Mansurpet, and the\nmud fort of Lalgudi. There still remained Paichanda. The occupation\nof this would complete the investment of the island on that side.\n\n[Footnote 3: It is a striking testimony to the prestige Clive had\nalready acquired with the native princes that when Muhammad Alí, the\nDalwai, and Morári Ráo were consulted by Lawrence as to co-operating\nin the expedition, they consented only on the condition that Clive\nshould command.]\n\nMeanwhile Dupleix, thoroughly disgusted with Law had despatched M.\nd'Auteuil with a small force to take command in his place. Whilst\nClive was engaged in occupying the two places he had stormed, and was\npreparing to attack the third, d'Auteuil was approaching the town of\nUtátur, fifteen miles beyond Samiáveram, the headquarters of Clive.\nHe arrived {69}there on the 13th of April, and although his force--\n120 Frenchmen, 500 sipáhís, and four field-pieces--was far inferior\nto that of Clive, he resolved to make a flank-march to the river and\nopen communications with Law. He sent messengers to warn that officer\nof his intention, and to beg him to despatch troops to meet him. But\nClive captured one of these messengers, and resolved to foil his\nplans.\n\nD'Auteuil had set out on the morning of the 14th, but had not\nproceeded far when he noticed the English force barring the way, and\nreturned promptly to Utátur. Clive then fell back on Samiáveram.\n\nThere was a strongly fortified pagoda, named Paichanda, on the north\nbank of the Kolrun, forming the principal gateway into the island of\nSeringham, which Clive had intended to take, but which, owing to the\nmovements of d'Auteuil, he had not yet attempted. On receiving the\nmessage from d'Auteuil of which I have spoken, Law had resolved to\ndebouch by this gateway, and fall on Clive whilst he should be\nengaged with d'Auteuil. But, when the time for action came, unable to\nbrace himself to an effort which might have succeeded, but which\npossessed some element of danger, he despatched only eighty\nEuropeans, of whom one-half were English deserters, and 700 sipáhís,\nto march by the portal named, advance in the dark of the night to\nSamiáveram, and seize that place whilst Clive should be occupied\nelsewhere. The knowledge of English possessed by {70}the deserters\nwould, he thought, greatly facilitate the task.\n\nHis plan very nearly succeeded to an extent he had never\ncontemplated. Clive had returned from his demonstration against\nd'Auteuil, and, worn out and weary, had laid himself down to sleep in\na caravanserai behind the smaller of the two pagodas occupied as\nbarracks by his men. They also slept. This was the position within\nthe village when a spy, sent forward by the leader of the surprising\nparty, returned with the information that Clive and his men were\nthere, and were sleeping. This news decided the commander to press on\nand to seize the great Englishman where he lay. By means of his\ndeserters he deceived the sentries. One of the former, an Irishman,\ninformed the tired watchmen that he had been sent by Lawrence to\nstrengthen Clive. The party was admitted, and one of the garrison was\ndirected to lead its members to their quarters. They marched quietly\nthrough the lines of sleeping Maráthás and sipáhís till they reached\nthe lesser pagoda. There they were again challenged. Their reply was\na volley through its open doors on the prostrate forms within it.\nThey went on then to the caravanserai and repeated their action\nthere.\n\nAgain was Clive surprised. Once more were the coolness, the clearness\nof intellect, the self-reliance, of one man pitted against the craft\nand wiles of his enemies. Once again did the one man triumph. He was,\nI repeat, as much surprised as the least of his {71}followers. Let\nthe reader picture to himself the situation. To wake up in darkness\nand find an enemy, whose numbers were unknown, practically in\npossession of the centre of the town, in the native inn of which he\nhad gone peacefully to sleep but two hours before; his followers\nbeing shot down; some of them scared; all just awakening; none of\nthem cognizant of the cause of the uproar; many of the intruders of\nthe same nation, speaking the same language as himself; all this\noccurring in the sandy plains of India: surely such a situation was\nsufficient to test the greatest, the most self-reliant, of warriors.\nIt did not scare Clive. In one second his faculties were as clear as\nthey had ever been in the peaceful council chamber. He recognized, on\nthe instant, that the attackers had missed their mark. They had\nindeed fired a volley into the caravanserai in which he had lain with\nhis officers, and had shattered the box which lay at his feet and\nkilled the sentry beside him, but they had not stopped to finish\ntheir work. Instantly Clive ran into one of the pagodas, ordered the\nmen there, some two hundred, to follow him, and formed them alongside\nof a large body of sipáhís who were firing volleys in every\ndirection, whom he believed to be his own men. To them he went,\nupbraided them for their purposeless firing, and ordered them to\ncease. But the men were not his men, but French sipáhís. Before he\nhad recognized the fact, one of them made a cut at him with his\ntalwar, and wounded him. Still thinking they were {72}his own men,\nClive again urged them to cease fire. At the moment there came up six\nFrenchmen, who summoned him to surrender. Instantly he recognized the\nsituation. Instantly his clear brain asserted itself. Drawing himself\nup he told the Frenchmen that it was for them and not for him to talk\nof surrender; bade them look round and they would see how they were\nsurrounded. The men, scared by his bearing, ran off to communicate\nthe information to their commander. Clive then proceeded to the other\npagoda to rally the men posted there. The French sipáhís took\nadvantage of his absence to evacuate the town. The Frenchmen and the\nEuropean deserters meanwhile had occupied the lesser pagoda. They had\nbecome by this time more scared than the surprised English. Their\nleader had recognized that he was in a trap. His mental resources\nbrought to him no consolation in his trouble. He waited quietly till\nthe day broke, and then led his men into the open. But Clive had\nwaited too; and when the Frenchmen emerged, he received them with a\nvolley which shot down twelve of them. They hurried back to their\nplace of shelter, when Clive, wishing to stop the effusion of blood,\nme to the front, pointed out to them their hopeless position, and\noffered them terms. One of them, an Irishman, levelled his musket at\nClive, and fired point-blank at him. The ball missed Clive, but\ntraversed the bodies of two sergeants behind him. The French\ncommander showed his disapproval of the act by surrendering with his\nwhole force. Clive had {73}sent the Maráthás and the cavalry to\npursue the French sipáhís. These caught them, and cut them up, it is\nsaid, to a man.\n\nThus ended the affair at Samiáveram. I have been particular in giving\nthe details which illustrate the action of Clive, because they bring\nhome to the reader the man as he was: a man not to be daunted, clear\nand cool-headed under the greatest difficulties; a born leader;\nresolute in action; merciful as soon as the difficulties had been\novercome: a man, as Carlyle wrote of another, not less distinguished\nin his way, 'who will glare fiercely on an object, and see through\nit, and conquer it; for he has intellect, he has will, force beyond\nother men.'\n\nThe end was now approaching. On the 15th of May, Clive captured\nPaichanda. He then marched on Utátur, forced d'Auteuil to retreat on\nVolkonda, and, following him thither, compelled him (May 29) to\nsurrender. Three days later Law followed his example. The entire\nFrench force before Trichinopoli gave itself up to Major Lawrence.\nIts native allies did the same. The one regrettable circumstance in\nthe transaction was the murder of Chánda Sáhib at the instance of his\nrival.\n\nAfter this, Clive returned to Fort St. David; was employed during the\nfall of the year in reducing places which still held out against the\nNawáb. This campaign tried his constitution, already somewhat\nimpaired, very severely, and on its conclusion, in the beginning of\nOctober, he proceeded to Madras to rest {74}from his labours. There\nhe married Miss Maskeleyne, the sister of a fellow-writer, with whom,\nin the earlier days of his Indian life, he had contracted a\nfriendship. But his health continued to deteriorate, and he was\nforced to apply for leave to visit Europe. This having been granted,\nhe quitted Madras in February, 1753, full of glory. His character had\ncreated his career. But for his daring, his prescience, his genius,\nand his great qualities as a soldier, it is more than probable that\nDupleix would have succeeded in establishing the basis of a French\nempire in Southern India.\n\n\n{75}\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\nCLIVE IN ENGLAND; AND IN BENGAL\n\n\nThe visit of Clive to England was scarcely the success hoped for. His\nfame had preceded him, and the Court of Directors had assured him,\nthrough the Governor of Madras, that they had 'a just sense of his\nservices.' Perhaps the person who had been the most astonished at his\nbrilliant success was his own father. He had remarked, when he first\nheard of his victories, that 'the booby had some sense after all.'\nBut then it must be recollected that the father had seen but little\nof the boy during his childhood and growing years, and that his\nunfavourable impression had been derived probably from the aversion\nshown by the lad to enter his own profession. But even he, now, was\nprepared to follow the stream, and give a hearty reception to the\ndefender of Arcot. So, at first, Clive was fêted and toasted in a\nmanner which must have convinced him that his services were\nappreciated. The Court of Directors carried out the promise I have\nreferred to by giving a great banquet in his honour, and by voting\nhim a diamond-hilted sword as a token {76}of their esteem. This\nhonour, however, Clive declined unless a similar decoration were also\nbestowed upon the chief under whom he had first served, Major\nStringer Lawrence.\n\nClive had earned sufficient money to live with great comfort in\nEngland. He did not look forward then to return to India as an\nabsolute certainty. Rather he desired to enter Parliament, and await\nhis opportunity. It happened that the year following his arrival the\ndissolution of the existing Parliament gave him an opportunity of\ncontesting the borough of St. Michael in Cornwall. He was returned as\na supporter of Mr. Fox, but the return was petitioned against, and\nalthough the Committee reported in his favour, the House decided,\nfrom a purely party motive, to unseat him. This disappointment\ndecided Clive. He had spent much money, and with this one result--to\nbe thwarted in his ambition. He resolved then to return to the seat\nof his early triumphs, and applied to the Court for permission to\nthat effect.\n\nThe Court not only granted his request, but obtained for him the\ncommission of lieutenant-colonel in the royal army, and named him\nGovernor and Commander of Fort St. David, with succession to the\nGovernorship of Madras.\n\nClive took with him to India three companies of artillery and 300\ninfantry. He was instructed to convey them to Bombay, and, joined by\nall the available troops of the Company and their Maráthá allies, to\nendeavour to wrest the Deccan from French {77}influence. But, just as\nhe was sailing, he discovered that, through royal influence, Colonel\nScott of the Engineers, then on the spot, had been nominated to the\ncommand, with himself as his second. Not caring to take part in an\nexpedition in which his own voice would not be the decisive voice,\nClive was anxious to proceed to take up his government at Fort St.\nDavid, when, on his arrival, he learned the death of Colonel Scott.\nThis event recalled him to the original plan. But another\ncomplication ensued. Very shortly before he had arranged to march\nthere came the information that the French and English on the\nCoromandel coast had entered into a treaty, binding on the two\nnations in India, not to interfere in the warlike operations of\nnative princes. The Deccan project, therefore, had to be abandoned.\n\nAnother promptly took its place. A small fort built by the great\nSivají on a small island in the harbour of Viziadrug, called by the\nMuhammadans Gheriá, had for many years past been made the\nheadquarters of a hereditary pirate-chief, known to the world as\nAngria. This man had perpetrated much evil, seizing territories,\nplundering towns, committing murders, robbing peaceful vessels, and\nhad made his name feared and detested along the entire length of the\nMalabar coast. The necessity to punish him had long been admitted\nalike by the Maráthás and the English. The year preceding the Bombay\nGovernment had despatched Commodore Jones with a squadron to attack\nAngria's possessions. Jones accomplished {78}something, but on\narriving before Dábhol he was recalled on the ground that the season\nwas too late for naval operations on that coast.\n\nIn the autumn of the following year Admiral Watson came out to assume\ncommand of the squadron. It had by this time become more than ever\nnecessary to bring the affair to a definite conclusion, and, as Clive\nand his troops were on the spot, the Bombay Government, acting with\nthe Maráthás, resolved to despatch the fleet and army to destroy the\npiratical stronghold. Of the expedition, which reached its\ndestination in February, it is sufficient to state that in two days\nit destroyed Gheriá. Thence Clive pursued his voyage to the\nCoromandel coast, and arrived at Fort St. David on the 20th of June.\n\nOn that very day there occurred in Calcutta the terrible tragedy of\nthe Black Hole. The Súbahdár of Bengal, Bihár, and Orissa, the Nawáb\nSiráj-ud-daulá, had, for some fancied grievance, prompted probably by\nthe hope of plunder, seized the English factory at Kásimbázár, near\nhis capital of Murshidábád, plundered it, imprisoned the garrison,\nand had thence marched against Calcutta. He attacked that settlement\non the 15th of June, and after a siege of four days, conducted with\ngreat want of leading on the part of the English, obtained possession\nof it. The English Governor, Mr. Drake, the senior military officer,\nand many others, had fled for refuge on board the ships in the river\nHúglí, which immediately had weighed anchor and stood downwards,\nleaving about 145 men, some of {79}them high in office, and one lady,\nMrs. Carey, a prey to the enemy. These were seized and taken before\nthe Nawáb and his commander of the forces, Mír Jafar by name. The\nNawáb spoke kindly to them, and ordered that they should be guarded\nfor the night, having no intention whatever, there is the strongest\nreason to believe, that any harm should befall them. But, owing to\nthe natural cruelty or indifference of their guards, they were\nthrust, after the departure of the Nawáb, into a small room, about\neighteen feet square, ill ventilated, and just capable of receiving\nthem when packed together so closely as to render death certain to\nthe majority. Vainly did they remonstrate; vainly did they send a\nmessage to the Nawáb: he was asleep, and no one dared to awaken him.\nInto that hole they were locked, and in it they remained until the\nlight of day showed that the pestiferous atmosphere had been fatal to\nall of them except twenty-three. These were then released and taken\nbefore the Nawáb. Far from expressing regret for the sufferings of\nwhich he had been the involuntary cause, the Nawáb questioned them\nonly about the place in which their treasure had been hidden. For, so\nfar, he had been greatly disappointed at the result of his raid.\n\nThe story of the capture of Kásimbázár reached Madras on the 15th of\nJuly. The Governor immediately despatched a detachment of 230\nEuropean troops for the Húglí, under command of Major Kilpatrick, and\nthis detachment reached its position off {80}the village of Falta on\nthe 2nd of August. For the moment we must leave it there.\n\nIt was not until three days after the arrival of Kilpatrick at Falta\nthat information of the Black Hole outrage reached Madras. The\nposition there was critical. The Governor was in daily expectation of\nhearing that war had been declared with France, and he had already\nparted with a large detachment of his best troops. The question was\nwhether, in the presence of the possible danger likely to arise from\nFrance, he should still further denude the Presidency he\nadministered. The discussion was long. Happily it was finally\nresolved to despatch to the Húglí every available ship and man. The\ndiscussion as to the choice of the commander was still more\nprolonged; but, after others had insisted on their rights, it was\nfinally determined to commit the command of the land-forces to\nClive--who had been summoned from Fort St. George to the\nconsultation--in subordination, however, to Admiral Watson,\ncommanding the squadron. It was not until the second week of October\nthat every detail was settled, nor until the 16th of that month that\nthe fleet sailed for the Húglí. The first ship reached the river, off\nFalta, the 11th of December. But with the exception of two, one laden\nwith stores, the other grounding off Cape Palmyras, but both of which\njoined at a later period, the others reached their destination at\nperiods between the 17th and 27th of that month.\n\nThe land-forces at the disposal of Clive consisted, {81}including the\nfew remnants of Kilpatrick's detachment,[1] which had suffered\ngreatly from disease, of 830 Europeans, 1200 sipáhís, and a detail of\nartillery. One ship, containing over 200, had not arrived, and many\nwere on the sick-list.\n\n[Footnote 1: Orme states that one-half of them had died and that only\nthirty were fit for duty.]\n\nOn the 17th of December Watson had written to the Nawáb to demand\nredress for the losses suffered by the Company, but no answer had\nbeen vouchsafed. As soon then as all the ships, the two spoken of\nexcepted, had assembled off Falta, Watson wrote again to inform him\nthat they should take the law into their own hands. On the 27th the\nfleet weighed anchor, and stood upwards. On the 29th it anchored off\nMaiápur, a village ten miles below the fort of Baj-baj. It was\nobvious to both commanders that that fort must be taken; but a\ndifference of opinion occurred as to the mode in which it should be\nassailed, Clive advocating the proceeding by water, and landing\nwithin easy distance of the place, Watson insisting that the troops\nshould land near Maiápur, and march thence. Clive, much against his\nown opinion, followed this order. Landing, he covered the ten miles,\nand posted his troops in two villages whence it would be easy to\nattack the fort on the morrow. The troops, tired with the march, and\nfearing no enemy, then lay down to sleep. But the Governor of\nCalcutta, Manikchand, had reached Baj-baj that very morning with a\nforce of 2000 foot and 1500 horse. He had noted, unseen, all {82}the\ndispositions of Clive, and at nightfall he sallied forth to surprise\nhim. The surprise took effect, in the sense that it placed the\nEnglish force in very great danger. But it was just one of those\nsituations in which Clive was at his very best. He recognized on the\nmoment that if he were to cause his troops to fall back beyond reach\nof the enemy's fire, there would be a great danger of a panic. He\nordered therefore the line to stand firm where it was, whilst he\ndetached two platoons, from different points, to assail the enemy.\nOne of these suffered greatly from the enemy's fire, but the\nundaunted conduct of the English in pressing on against superior\nnumbers so impressed the native troops that they fell back, despite\nthe very gallant efforts of their officers to rally them. Clive was\nthen able to form his main line in an advantageous position, and a\nshot from one of his field-pieces grazing the turban of Manikchand,\nthat chief gave the signal to retire. That night the fort of Baj-baj\nwas taken by a drunken sailor, who, scrambling over the parapet,\nhailed to his comrades to join him. They found the place abandoned.\n\nOn the 2nd of January Calcutta surrendered to Clive. A great\naltercation took place between that officer and Watson as to the\nappointment of Governor of that town. Watson had actually nominated\nMajor Eyre Coote, but Clive protested so strongly that, eventually,\nWatson himself took possession, and then handed the keys to Mr.\nDrake, the same Drake who had so shamefully abandoned the place at\nthe time of {83}Siráj-ud-daulá's attack. Three days later Clive\nstormed the important town of Húglí, once a Portuguese settlement,\nafterwards held by the English, but at the time occupied for the\nNawáb.\n\nMeanwhile that prince, collecting his army, numbering about 40,000\nmen of sorts, was marching to recover his lost conquest. To observe\nhim Clive took a position at Kásipur, a suburb of Calcutta, now the\nseat of a gun-factory. As the Nawáb approached, the English leader\nmade as though he would attack him, but finding him prepared, he drew\nback to await a better opportunity. By the 3rd of February the entire\narmy of the Nawáb had encamped just beyond the regular line of the\nMaráthá ditch. Thither Clive despatched two envoys to negotiate with\nthe Nawáb, but finding that they were received with contumely and\ninsult, he borrowed some sailors from the Admiral, and, obtaining his\nassent to the proposal, resolved to attack him before dawn of the\nnext day. Accordingly at three o'clock on the morning of the 4th of\nFebruary, Clive broke up, and, under cover of one of those dense fogs\nso common in Bengal about Christmastime, penetrated within the\nNawáb's camp. Again was he in imminent danger. For when, at six\no'clock, the fog lifted for a few seconds, he found the enemy's\ncavalry massed along his flank. They were as surprised at the\nproximity as was Clive himself, and a sharp volley sent them\nscampering away. The fog again descended: Clive knew not exactly\nwhere he was; his men were becoming confused; and Clive {84}knew that\nthe step from confusion to panic was but a short one. But he never\nlost his presence of mind. He kept his men together; and when, at\neight o'clock, there was a second lifting of the fog, and he\nrecognized that he was in the very centre of the enemy's camp, he\nmarched boldly forward, and not only extricated his troops, but so\nimpressed the Nawáb that he drew off his army, and on the 9th signed\na treaty, by which he covenanted to grant to the English more than\ntheir former privileges, and promised the restoration of the property\nhe had seized at the capture of Calcutta. This accident of the fog\nand its consequences form, indeed, the keynote to the events that\nfollowed. The circumstances connected with it completely dominated\nthe mind of the Nawáb; instilled into his mind so great a fear of the\nEnglish leader that he came entirely under his influence, and, though\noften kicking against it, remained under it to the end. This feeling\nwas increased when, some weeks later, Clive, learning that war had\nbeen declared between France and England, attacked and conquered the\nFrench settlement of Chandranagar (March 23), in spite of the Nawáb's\nprohibition. He displayed it to the world a little later, by\ndismissing from his court and exiling to a place a hundred miles\ndistant from it a small detachment of French troops which he had\nthere in his pay, commanded by the Law who had so misconducted the\nsiege of Trichinopoli, and by recalling his army from Plassey, where\nhe had posted it, to a point nearer to his capital.\n\n{85}Of Siráj-ud-daulá something must be said. The province which he\nruled from his then capital of Murshidábád had been one of the great\nfiefs which the dissolution of the Mughal Empire had affected. The\nfamily which had ruled it in 1739 had had the stamp of approval from\nDelhi. But when the invasion of Nadír Sháh in that year overthrew for\nthe time the authority of the Mughal, an officer named Alí Vardi\nKhán, who had risen from the position of a menial servant to be\nGovernor of Bihár, rose in revolt, defeated and slew the\nrepresentative of the family nominated by the Mughals in a battle at\nGheriá, in January, 1741, and proclaimed himself Súbahdár. Alí Vardi\nKhán was a very able man. Having bribed the shadow sitting on the\nthrone of Akbar and Aurangzeb to recognize him as Súbahdár of Bengal,\nBihár, and Orissa, he ruled wisely and well. On his death in 1756 he\nhad been succeeded by his youthful grandson, the Siráj-ud-daulá, who,\nas we have seen, had come, so fatally for himself, under the\ninfluence of Clive.\n\nFor all the actions of Clive at this period prove that he was\nresolved to place matters in Bengal on such a footing as would render\nimpossible atrocities akin to that of the Black Hole. Were he to quit\nBengal, he felt, after accomplishing the mission on which he had been\nsent, and that mission only, what security was there that the\nSúbahdár would not return to wreak a vengeance the more bitter from\nthe mortifications he had had to endure? No, there {86}was but one\ncourse he could safely pursue. He must place the Company's affairs on\na solid and secure footing. Already he had begun to feel that such a\nfooting was impossible so long as Siráj-ud-daulá remained ruler of\nthe three provinces. As time went on the idea gathered strength,\nreceiving daily, as it did, fresh vitality from the discovery that\namong the many noblemen and wealthy merchants who surrounded the\nSúbahdár there were many ready to betray him, to play into his own\nhand, to combine with himself as against a common foe.\n\nSoon his difficulty was to choose the man with whom he should ally\nhimself. Yár Lutf Khán, a considerable noble, and a divisional\ncommander of the Siráj-ud-daulá's army, made, through Mr. Watts, the\nEnglish agent at Kásimbázár, the first offer of co-operation, on the\nsole condition that he should become Súbahdár. It was followed by\nanother from a man occupying a still higher position, from the\nBakhshí, or Commander-in-chief, Mír Jafar Khán. This Clive accepted,\nreceiving at the same time offers of adhesion from Rájá Duláb Ráo;\nfrom other leading nobles, and from the influential bankers and\nmerchants of Murshidábád.\n\nThen began those negotiations one detail of which has done so much to\nstain the name of the great soldier. The contracting parties employed\nin their negotiations one Aminchand, a Calcutta merchant of\nconsiderable wealth, great address, unbounded cunning, and absolutely\nwithout a conscience. When {87}the plot was at its thickest, this\nman--who was likewise betraying the confidence which Siráj-ud-daulá\nbestowed upon him, when the least word would have rendered it\nabortive--informed the Calcutta Select Committee, through Mr. Watts,\nthat unless twenty lakhs of rupees were secured to him in the\ninstrument which formed the bond of the confederates, he would at\nonce disclose to the Súbahdár the plans of the conspirators. The\ninevitable result of this disclosure would have been ruin to all the\nconspirators; death to many of them. To baffle the greed of this\nblackmailer, Clive caused two copies of the document to be drawn up,\nfrom one of which the name of Aminchand was omitted. To disarm his\nsuspicions, the false document was shown him. This latter all the\ncontracting parties had signed, with the exception of Admiral Watson,\nwho demurred, but who, according to the best recollection of Clive in\nhis evidence before the Committee of the House of Commons, did not\nobject to have his name attached thereto by another.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: These are the facts of the transaction: they will be\ncommented upon in a future page. Vide comment near the end of Chapter\nX.]\n\nSpace would fail were I to detail the various modes employed by the\nconfederates to produce on the mind of Siráj-ud-daulá the conviction\nthat his only safety lay in battle with the English. He had tried\nmany methods to escape the dilemma, to rid himself of the heavy hand\nof Clive. He had made overtures to Bussy at Haidarábád; to the\nMaráthás; to the Court {88}of Delhi; to the Nawáb-Wazir of Oudh. But\nevery proposed combination had fallen through. He had quarrelled with\nMír Jafar, with his chief nobles, with the bankers. He had suspected\ntreachery, but had never been quite certain. At last, on the\nthirteenth of June, information was brought to him that the English\nagent, Mr. Watts, and his subordinates, had fled from Kásimbázár,\nafter an interview with Mír Jafar, at the time in his disfavour. Then\nhe gave way: then he realized that, without the aid of his nobles, he\nwas helpless: then he guessed the whole plot; the schemes of Clive;\nthe treason of his own people: then he turned to Mír Jafar for\nreconciliation, imploring him not to abandon him in his distress. Mír\nJafar and the other nobles, most of whom were in the plot, all swore\nfealty and obedience, Mír Jafar leading the way. They would risk\neverything for the Súbahdár. They would drive back the cursed\nEnglish, and free Bengal from their influence. Recovering his\nequanimity from these assurances, Siráj-ud-daulá ordered his army to\nmarch to an intrenched camp he had prepared near the village of\nPlassey, in the island of Kásimbázár,[3] twenty-two miles distant.\nThere was some difficulty regarding the arrears of pay of his men,\nfailing the settlement of which they refused to march. But, with\nfriendly assistance {89}this difficulty was overcome; the army set\nout three days later for its destination, and arrived in the\nintrenched camp on the 21st of June.\n\n[Footnote 3: Kásimbázár is called an island because whilst the base\nof the triangle which composes it is watered by the Ganges, the\nwestern side, on which lies Plassey, is watered by the Bhágirathí;\nthe eastern by the Jalangí.]\n\nI propose now briefly to record the movements of Clive: then to\ndescribe the decisive battle which followed his arrival on the\nisland.\n\n\n{90}\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\nTHE BATTLE OF PLASSEY\n\n\nMeanwhile Clive had made every preparation for the advance of his\narmy. A considerable portion of it had been stationed at\nChandranagar. To that place he despatched on the 12th of June all the\nsoldiers available, and 150 sailors lent him by the Admiral, leaving\nCalcutta guarded by a few sick Europeans, some sipáhís to look after\nthe French prisoners, and a few gunners to man the guns on the\nramparts. On the 13th he quitted Chandranagar, the Europeans, with\nthe guns, munitions, and stores, proceeding by water in 200 boats,\ntowed by natives against the stream, the sipáhís marching along the\nright bank of the river, on the highroad made by the Mughal\nGovernment from Húglí to Patna.[1] The force consisted, all told, of\nabout 900 Europeans, 200 men of mixed native and Portuguese blood who\nserved with the Europeans, a small detail of lascars, and 2100\nsipáhís. The artillery consisted of eight six-pounders and two small\nhowitzers.\n\n[Footnote 1: Vide Broome's _History of the Bengal Army_, p. 137.]\n\n{91}The day after the force had set out Clive despatched to the\nSúbahdár a communication tantamount to a declaration of war; and he\nproceeded, as he approached the enemy's camp, to act as though such a\ndeclaration had been accepted. On the 16th he reached Paltí, a town\non the western bank of the Kásimbázár river about six miles above its\njunction with the Jalangí. Twelve miles higher up he came within\nstriking distance of Katwá, the Governor of which was supposed to be\none of the conspirators. Clive, expecting that the opposition would\nnot be serious, despatched to occupy it, on the 17th, 200 Europeans\nand 500 sipáhís, under Major Eyre Coote. But either the Governor had\nchanged his mind or he had only feigned compliance, for he prepared\nto resist Coote's attack. Coote at once made preparations for an\nassault, and took such dispositions, that the garrison, recognizing\nthe futility of resistance, and fearing to be cut off, evacuated the\nplace, leaving large supplies in the hands of the victors.\n\nThe next day, the 18th, a terrific storm raging, the force halted.\nThe day following, Clive, who had committed himself to the enterprise\nmainly on the conviction that Mír Jafar would support him, received a\nletter from that nobleman, informing him that he had feigned\nreconciliation with the Súbahdár and had taken an oath not to assist\nthe English, but adding that 'the purport of his convention with them\nmust be carried into execution.' This strange letter from the man\nupon whose co-operation he particularly {92}depended led Clive to\ndoubt whether, after all, Mír Jafar might not betray him. Under this\npossibility, the sense of the extreme danger of the enterprise in\nwhich he was engaged revealed itself to him more clearly than it had\never presented itself before. To cross an unfordable river in the\nface of a vastly superior enemy, at a distance of 150 miles from all\nsupport, would, he felt, be a most hazardous undertaking. Should Mír\nJafar be faithless to him, as he had appeared to be to his master,\nand should the English force be defeated, there would scarcely\nsurvive a man to tell the tale. Again would Calcutta be in\njeopardy--this time probably beyond redemption. Under the influence\nof such thoughts he resolved not to cross the river until he should\nreceive from Mír Jafar more definite assurances.\n\nThe next day, the 20th, a messenger arrived from his agent, Mr.\nWatts, who was then at Kalná, carrying a letter to the effect that\nbefore he quitted Murshidábád he had been engaged in an interview\nwith Mír Jafar and his son, when there entered some emissaries of the\nSúbahdár; that, in the presence of these, Mír Jafar had denounced Mr.\nWatts as a spy, and had threatened to destroy the English if they\nshould attempt to cross the Bhágírathí. This letter decided Clive. He\nresolved to summon a Council of War.\n\nThere came to that Council, about noon of the 21st of June, the\nfollowing officers: Colonel Clive, Majors Kilpatrick and Grant,\nCaptains Gaupp, {93}Rumbold, Fischer, Palmer, Le Beaume, Waggonner,\nCorneille, and Jennings, Captain-Lieutenants Parshaw and\nMolitore;--Major Eyre Coote, Captains Alexander Grant, Cudmore,\nArmstrong, Muir, Campbell, and Captain-Lieutenant Carstairs. The\nquestion submitted to them was: 'whether under existing\ncircumstances, and without other assistance, it would be prudent to\ncross the river and come to action at once with the Nawáb, or whether\nthey should fortify themselves at Katwá, and wait till the monsoon\nwas over, when the Maráthás or some other country power might be\ninduced to join them.' Contrary to the usual custom, Clive spoke\nfirst, the others following according to seniority. Clive spoke and\nvoted against immediate action. He was supported by the twelve\nofficers whose names immediately follow his own name in the list I\nhave given, and opposed by the owners of the seven last names, Major\nEyre Coote speaking very emphatically in favour of action; the\nmajority of the Council, we thus see, siding with Clive.\n\nThe subsequent career of Eyre Coote, especially in Southern India,\nproved very clearly that as a commander in the field he fell far\nshort of Robert Clive, but on this occasion he was the wiser of the\ntwo. Some years later Clive, giving his evidence before a Select\nCommittee of the House of Commons, emphatically stated that had he\nabided by the decision of the Council it would have caused the ruin\nof the East India Company. As it was, he reconsidered his vote the\nmoment the Council was over. It is said that he {94}sat down under a\nclump of trees, and began to turn over in his mind the arguments on\nboth sides. He was still sitting when a despatch from Mír Jafar[2]\nreached him, containing favourable assurances. Clive then resolved to\nfight. All doubt had disappeared from his mind. He was again firm,\nself-reliant, confident. Meeting Eyre Coote as he returned to his\nquarters, he simply informed him that he had changed his mind and\nintended to fight, and then proceeded to dictate in his own tent the\norders for the advance.\n\n[Footnote 2: Vide Ives's _Voyage and Historical Narrative_, p. 150.\nMr. Ives was surgeon of the _Kent_ during the expedition to Bengal,\nand was a great friend of Admiral Watson.]\n\nAt sunrise on the 22nd the force commenced the passage of the river.\nBy four o'clock it was safe on the other side. Here a letter was\nreceived from Mír Jafar, informing Clive of the contemplated\nmovements of the Nawáb. Clive replied that he 'would march to Plassey\nwithout delay, and would the next morning advance six miles further\nto the village of Dáudpur, but if Mír Jafar did not join him there,\nhe would make peace with the Nawáb.' Two hours later, about sunset,\nhe commenced his march amid a storm of heavy rain which wetted the\nmen to the skin. In all respects, indeed, the march was particularly\ntrying, for the recent rains had inundated the country, and for eight\nhours the troops had to follow the line of the river, the water\nconstantly reaching their waists. They reached Plassey, a distance of\nfifteen miles, at one o'clock on the morning of the 23rd of June, and\nlay {95}down to sleep in a mango-grove, the sound of drums and other\nmusic in the camp of the Nawáb solacing rather than disturbing them.\nThe Súbahdár had reached his headquarters twelve hours before them.\n\nThe mango-tope in which the English were resting was but a mile\ndistant from the intrenched position occupied by Siráj-ud-daulá's\narmy. It was about 800 yards in length and 300 in breadth, the trees\nplanted in regular rows. All round it was a bank of earth, forming a\ngood breastwork. Beyond this was a ditch choked with weeds and\nbrambles. The length of the grove was nearly diagonal to the river,\nthe north-west angle being little more than 50 yards from the bank,\nwhilst at the south-west corner it was more than 200 yards distant. A\nlittle in advance, on the bank of the river, stood a hunting-box\nbelonging to the Nawáb, encompassed by a wall of masonry. In this,\nduring the night, Clive placed 200 Europeans and 300 natives, with\ntwo field-pieces. But in the morning he withdrew the greater part of\nthem.[3] He had with him 950 European infantry and artillery, 200\ntopasses, men of mixed race, armed and equipped as Europeans, 50\nsailors with seven midshipmen attached, 2100 sipáhís, a detail of\nlascars, and the field-pieces already mentioned.\n\n[Footnote 3: Vide Orme's _History of India_, and Broome's _History of\nthe Bengal Army_.]\n\nOn the spot which the Nawáb had selected for his intrenched camp the\nriver makes a bend in the form of a horseshoe, with the points much\ncontracted, {96}forming a peninsula of about three miles in\ncircumference, the neck of which was less than a quarter of a mile in\nbreadth. The intrenchment commenced a little below the southern point\nof this gorge, resting on the river, and extending inland for about\n200 yards, and sweeping thence round to the north for about three\nmiles. At this angle was a redoubt, on which the enemy had mounted\nseveral pieces of cannon. About 300 yards to the eastward of this\nredoubt was a hillock covered with jungle, and about 800 yards to the\nsouth, nearer Clive's grove, was a tank, and 100 yards further south\nwas a second and larger one. Both of these were surrounded by large\nmounds of earth, and, with the hillock, formed important positions\nfor either army to occupy. The Súbahdár's army was encamped partly in\nthis peninsula, partly in rear of the intrenchment. He had 50,000\ninfantry of sorts, 18,000 horse of a better quality, and 53 guns,\nmostly 32, 24, and 18-pounders. The infantry was armed chiefly with\nmatchlocks, swords, pikes, bows and arrows, and possessed little or\nno discipline; the cavalry was well-trained and well-mounted; the\nguns were mounted on large platforms, furnished with wheels, and\ndrawn by forty or fifty yoke of powerful oxen, assisted by elephants.\nBut the most efficient portion of his force was a small party of\nforty to fifty Frenchmen, commanded by M. St. Frais, formerly one of\nthe Council of Chandranagar. This party had attached to it four light\nfield-pieces.[4]\n\n[Footnote 4: For these details see Orme, Broome, Clive's _Evidence\nbefore the Committee of the House of Commons_, Clive's _Report to the\nCourt of Directors_, Sir Eyre Coote's _Narrative_, and Ives's _Voyage\nand Historical Narrative_. The account which follows is based\nentirely on these authorities.]\n\n{97}At daybreak on the 23rd of June the Nawáb moved his entire army\nout of the intrenchment and advanced towards the position occupied by\nClive, the several corps marching in compact order. In front was St.\nFrais, who took post at the larger tank, that nearest Clive's grove.\nOn a line to his right, near the river, were a couple of heavy guns,\nunder the orders of a native officer. Behind these two advanced\nparties, and within supporting distance, was a chosen body of 5000\nhorse and 7000 foot, under the immediate command of the Nawáb's most\nfaithful general, Mír Madan.[5] The rest of the Nawáb's army extended\nin a curve, its right resting on the hillock near the camp; thence\nsweeping round in dense columns of horse and foot to the eastward of\nthe south-east angle of the grove. Here, nearest to the English, were\nplaced the troops of Mír Jafar, then those of Yár Lutf Khán, beyond\nthese Rájá Duláb Rám. The English within the grove were thus almost\nsurrounded by the river and the enemy; but in view of the promised\ntreachery of Mír Jafar, the greatest danger was to be apprehended\nfrom their immediate front, viz. from St. Frais, with his little body\nof Frenchmen, and from Mír Madan.\n\n[Footnote 5: See Elliot's _History of India_, vol. viii. p. 428.]\n\nFrom the roof of the hunting-house Clive watched his enemy take up\nthe positions which would hold {98}him, if their generals were true\nto their master, in a vice. 'They approached apace,' he wrote in a\nletter of July 26 to the Secret Committee of the Court of Directors,\n'and by six began to attack us with a number of heavy cannon,\nsupported by the whole army, and continued to play on us very briskly\nfor several hours, during which our situation was of the utmost\nservice to us, being lodged in a large grove, with good mud banks. To\nsucceed in an attempt on their cannon was next to impossible, as they\nwere planted in a manner round us, and at considerable distances from\neach other. We therefore remained quiet in our post, in expectation\nof a successful attack upon their camp at night. About noon the enemy\ndrew off their artillery and returned to their camp.'\n\nSo far, up to mid-day, we have the outline of the fight as narrated\nby Clive; it is, however, but an outline. It would seem that the\naction commenced by a discharge of one of the four guns of St. Frais.\nThis discharge killed one and wounded another of the men of the\nEuropean battalion. Immediately afterwards the whole of the enemy's\nguns opened fire, but their shots flew high, and did but little\nmischief. Clive meanwhile had drawn up his troops in line in front of\nthe grove, their left resting on the hunting-box, with the exception\nof two guns and two howitzers which he had posted at some brick-kilns\nsome 200 yards in front of the hunting-box spoken of. These, as soon\nas the enemy opened, replied promptly and effectively. The remaining\nsix guns, placed three on {99}each flank of the European battalion\nwhich formed the centre of his line, answered the heavy batteries of\nthe enemy, but, from their small calibre, made but little impression.\n\nAfter a cannonade of half an hour, the English having lost ten\nEuropeans and twenty sipáhís in killed and wounded, Clive withdrew\nthem under shelter of the grove, leaving one detachment at the\nbrick-kilns, another at the hunting-box. This retrograde movement\ngreatly encouraged the enemy. They brought their guns much nearer,\nand their fire became more vigorous and sustained. But its effect was\nless fatal, for the English troops were protected by the trees and\nthe mud bank, and, sitting down, were but little exposed. This\nwarfare continued till about eleven o'clock, the casualties being far\ngreater on the side of the Nawáb's army than among the English. Then\nClive summoned his principal officers to a conference, and it was\nresolved that the troops should occupy their existing positions until\nmidnight, and should then attack the Nawáb's camp. We may regard the\nclose of the conference as occurring about the same time as the\nwithdrawal of the enemy's artillery indicated by Clive in the above\nextract from his despatch.\n\nFor, scarcely was the conference over, than the skies poured down a\nfierce shower, such as occurs often during the rainy season, which\nlasted an hour. Then it was that the enemy's artillery fire slackened\nby degrees almost to the point of ceasing, for the rain had damaged\ntheir ammunition, left almost completely {100}without cover. Clive\nhad been more careful of his powder, so that when the enemy's horse,\nbelieving the English guns as powerless as their own, advanced\ntowards the grove to charge, they were received with a fire which\nemptied many a saddle, and sent them reeling back. In this charge Mír\nMadan, previously referred to, was killed.[6]\n\n[Footnote 6: Elliot states, on the authority of the J'ami'ut\nTaw'ari'kh, that he was accidentally struck by a cannon-ball.\n_History of India_, vol. viii. p. 427.]\n\nThe death of this brave and faithful soldier greatly disheartened the\nSúbahdár. He sent for Mír Jafar, and implored him to remain faithful\nto his oath. Taking off his turban and casting it at the feet of his\nuncle,[7] he exclaimed in humble tones, 'Jafar, that turban thou must\ndefend.' Mír Jafar promised, but instead of performing, the\ndegenerate Muhammadan returned to his confederates and sent a\ndespatch to Clive, informing him of all that had passed, and begging\nhim to push on immediately, or, if that were impossible, not to fail\nto attack during the night. His letter did not reach Clive till late\nin the evening. Meanwhile other influences had been at work to bring\nabout a similar result.\n\n[Footnote 7: Mír Jafar had married the sister of Alí Vardi Khán, the\nNawáb's father.]\n\nIt is impossible not to feel sympathy for the youthful prince,\nsurrounded by traitors, his one true adherent killed. Scarcely had\nMír Jafar quitted him when there came to him another traitor, Rájá\nDuláb Rám, who commanded the army corps nearest to the position\n{101}he had taken. The Rájá found his master in a state of great\nagitation. The English were showing themselves in the open; his own\nmen were giving way; hope was vanishing quickly. Instead of\nencouraging the Súbahdár to fight it out, the treacherous Rájá gave\nfuel to his fears, told him the day was lost, and urged him to flee\nto Murshidábád. In an evil hour for his dynasty and for himself,\nSiráj-ud-daulá yielded to his persuasions, and, ordering his troops\nto retire within the intrenchment, mounted a swift dromedary, and\nfled, accompanied by 2000 horsemen, to his capital.\n\nIt was then two o'clock. The first hour since Clive's conference had\nbeen marked by the heavy rain; the second by the repulse of the\nSúbahdár's horsemen; the following up of the repulsed attack; the\nconversations of the Súbahdár with his two treacherous generals. By\ntwo o'clock the enemy's attack had completely ceased, and they were\nobserved yoking their oxen preparatory to withdrawing within the\nintrenchment as the Súbahdár had ordered. There remained only on the\nground that body of forty gallant Frenchmen under St. Frais, whom I\nhave described as occupying the ground about the larger tank, that\nnearest to the grove. The post was an important one, for from it the\nEnglish could have taken the retreating enemy in flank, and have\ninflicted heavy loss upon them. St. Frais was nearly isolated, but\nhe, too, had seen the advantage the English would derive from\noccupying the position, and, faithful amid the faithless, he, with\nthe gallantry of his nation, {102}resolved to defend it until it\nshould be no longer defensible.\n\nThere was with the army a very gallant officer, Major James\nKilpatrick, who had greatly distinguished himself in Southern India,\nand who, on this occasion, commanded the Company's troops. Kilpatrick\nhad noted the firm front displayed by St. Frais, the great advantage\nto be derived from occupying the position he held, the disadvantage\nof leaving him to hold it whilst the English force should advance. He\nresolved, then, to expel him: so sending word to Clive of his\nintentions, and of the reason which prompted his action, he marched\nwith two companies towards St. Frais.\n\nClive, meanwhile, seeing the enemy's attack broken, yet deeming it\nbetter, not having received Mír Jafar's letter, to wait till the sun\nshould have descended before making the decisive attack, had\nproceeded to the hunting-box to rest after so many hours of fatigue\nand excitement, to be followed, he believed, by many more, having\nfirst given orders that he should be informed of any change that\nmight occur in the enemy's position. He was there when the message of\nKilpatrick reached him. Rising, he hurried to the spot, met\nKilpatrick as he was advancing to the assault, reprimanded him for\nhaving taken such a step without orders, but seeing him so far\nforward, he took himself the command of the detachment, sending back\nKilpatrick to the grove to bring the remainder of the troops. When\nSt. Frais recognized {103}the earnestness of the English, and that he\nwas entirely without support, he evacuated the post, and retreated to\nthe redoubt at the corner of the intrenchment. There he placed his\nguns ready for action.[8]\n\n[Footnote 8: This episode is not specially mentioned by Clive, but it\nrests on irrefragable evidence. Vide Orme, vol. ii. p. 176: see also\nSir Eyre Coote's _Narrative_; also Malcolm's _Life of Lord Clive_,\nvol. i. p. 260.]\n\nMeanwhile, whilst the English force was thus advancing, the army\ncorps commanded by Mír Jafar was observed to linger behind the rest\nof the retreating enemy. It was noticed, further, that when it had\nadvanced almost abreast of the northern line of the grove, it faced\nto its left and advanced in that direction. For a time it seemed to\nthe English officers as though the troops composing it were about to\nmake a raid on their baggage, and a party with a field-piece was sent\nforward to check them. The corps then halted, remained so for a time,\nthen slowly retired, taking, however, a direction which led it apart\nfrom the other corps of the enemy. We shall return to them in a few\nmoments.\n\nWhilst this corps was executing the manoeuvre I have described, Clive\nhad advanced to a position whence he could cannonade the enemy's\ncamp. The effect of this fire was to cause great loss and confusion\namongst the troops of the Súbahdár, at the same time that the\nEnglish, giving, by their advance, their flank to the French in the\nredoubt, suffered also. To put {104}an end to this cross-fire Clive\nsaw that the one remedy was to storm the redoubt. He was unwilling,\nhowever, to risk his troops in a severe contest with the French so\nlong as the army corps, the movements of which I have described in\nthe preceding paragraph, should continue to occupy its apparently\nthreatening position. That corps might be the corps of Mír Jafar, but\nthere was no certainty that it was so, for Clive had not then\nreceived Mír Jafar's letter, nor was he aware of the flight of the\nNawáb. It was just at this critical moment that he observed the corps\nin question making the retrograde movement I have referred to. Then\nall doubt was over in his mind. It must, he was convinced, be the\ncorps of his adherent. Certain now that he would not be molested, he\nhurled his troops against the redoubt and the hillock to the east of\nit. St. Frais displayed a bold front, but, abandoned almost\nimmediately by his native allies, and deeming it wiser to preserve\nhis handful of Europeans for another occasion, he evacuated the\nredoubt, leaving his field-pieces behind him. His resistance was the\nlast opposition offered to the English. The clocks struck five as he\nfell back, thus tolling the memorable hour which gave to England the\nrichest province in India; which imposed upon her the necessity to\nadvance upwards from its basis until she should reach the rocky\nregion called with some show of reason the 'Glacis of the Fortress of\nHindustán.'\n\nJust as the beaten and betrayed army was moving {105}off with its\nimpedimenta, its elephants, its camels, leaving to be scrambled for\nan enormous mass of baggage, stores, cattle, and camp equipage, Clive\nreceived messengers from Mír Jafar requesting an interview. Clive\nreplied by appointing a meeting for the morrow at Dáudpur, a village\ntwenty miles to the south of Murshidábád. Thither the bulk of the\ntroops, their spirits cheered by the promise made them that they\nwould receive a liberal donation in money, marched that evening;\nwhilst a detachment under Eyre Coote went forward in pursuit, to\nprevent the enemy from rallying. After a short halt, to enable the\ncommissariat to exchange their small and worn-out bullocks for the\nsplendid oxen of the Súbahdár, the troops pressed on, and at eight\no'clock the entire force was united at Dáudpur.\n\nSuch was the battle of Plassey. The loss of the English force was\nextremely small, amounting to seven Europeans and sixteen sipáhís\nkilled, and thirteen Europeans and thirty-six sipáhís wounded. No\nofficer was killed: two were wounded, but their names are not\nrecorded. A midshipman of the _Kent_, Shoreditch by name, was shot in\nthe thigh, whilst doing duty with the artillery. The enemy's\ncasualties were far greater. It was calculated to be, in killed and\nwounded, about a thousand, including many officers. They had been far\nmore exposed than the English. Writing, in the letter already\nreferred to, of the phases of the action between two and five\no'clock, Clive states that their horse exposed {106}themselves a\ngreat deal; that 'many of them were killed, amongst the rest four or\nfive officers of the first distinction.'\n\nClive had gained his victory. We have now to record the use that he\nmade of it.\n\n\n{107}\n\n\nCHAPTER X\nHOW CLIVE DEALT WITH THE SPOILS OF PLASSEY: HIS DEALINGS WITH MÍR\nJAFAR; WITH THE PRINCES OF SOUTHERN INDIA; WITH THE DUTCH\n\n\nThe following morning Clive despatched Mr. Scrafton and Omar Beg[1]\nto escort Mír Jafar to his camp. The time had arrived when one at\nleast of the spoils of Plassey was to be distributed.\n\n[Footnote 1: Omar Beg was a confidential agent of Mír Jafar, attached\nto Clive's person.]\n\nLong previous to the battle Clive had received various proposals from\nthe three general officers who had commanded the three principal army\ncorps at Plassey. First, Yár Lutf Khán had made him a bid, his main\ncondition being that he should be proclaimed Súbahdár.[2] Then Mír\nJafar outbad him, bringing with him Rájá Duláb Rám, who would be\ncontent with the office of Finance Minister under the Mír. It had\nbeen arranged that whilst Mír Jafar should be proclaimed Súbahdár of\nthe three provinces, he should confirm to the English all the\nadvantages ceded by Siráj-ud-daulá in the preceding February; should\ngrant to the Company all the lands lying to the south of Calcutta,\ntogether with a slip of ground, {108}600 yards wide, all round the\noutside of the Maráthá Ditch;[3] should cede all the French factories\nand establishments in the province; should pledge himself that\nneither he nor his successors in the office of Súbahdár should erect\nfortifications below the town of Húglí; whilst he and they should\ngive to, and require from, the English, support in case of\nhostilities from any quarter. Mír Jafar covenanted likewise to make\nvery large payments to the Company and others under the name of\nrestitution for the damages they had suffered since the first attack\non Calcutta; others also under the title of gratification for\nservices to be rendered in placing him on the _masnad_.[4] In the\nformer category were reckoned one karor, or ten millions, of rupees\nto be paid to the Company; ten lakhs to the native inhabitants of\nCalcutta, seven lakhs to the Armenians. Under the second head\npayments were to be made to the army, the squadron, and the members\nof the Special Committee of Calcutta, to the extent noted below.[5]\n\n[Footnote 2: Súbahdár was the correct official title of the governor,\nor, as he is popularly styled, the Nawáb, of Bengal.]\n\n[Footnote 3: It must be recollected that in those days the Maráthás\nwere regarded as serious and formidable enemies. It was against their\ndepredations that the ditch round Calcutta, known as the 'Maráthá\nDitch,' had been dug.]\n\n[Footnote 4: _Masnad_, a cushion, signifying the seat of supreme\nauthority.]\n\n[Footnote 5: The Squadron was to receive 2,500,000 rupees; the Army,\nthe same; Mr. Drake, Governor of Calcutta (the same who had quitted\nCalcutta and his companions to take shelter on board ship at the time\nof Siráj-ud-daulá's attack), 280,000; Colonel Clive, as second in the\nSelect Committee (appointed before the war to negotiate with Mír\nJafar), 280,000; Major Kilpatrick, Mr. Watts, and Mr. Becher, as\nmembers of the said Committee, 240,000 each. I may here state in\nanticipation that, in addition to these sums, the following private\ndonations were subsequently given, viz.: to Clive, 1,600,000 rupees;\nto Watts, 300,000; to the six members of Council, 100,000 each; to\nWalsh, Clive's secretary and paymaster to the Madras troops, 500,000;\nto Scrafton, 200,000; to Lushington, 50,000; to Major A. Grant,\ncommanding the detachment of H.M.'s 39th regiment, 100,000.]\n\n{109}The first of these contracts, now become binding, was to be\ncarried out on the morning of the 24th of June, at the interview\nbetween the two principal parties, Clive and Mír Jafar. It has\noccurred to me that the reader may possibly care to know something\nmore, little though it be, of the antecedents of this general, who,\nto his own subsequent unhappiness, betrayed his master for his own\ngain.\n\nMír Muhammad Jafar was a nobleman whose family had settled in Bihár.\nHe had taken service under, had become a trusted officer of, Alí\nVardi Khán, the father of Siráj-ud-daulá, and had married his sister.\nOn his death, he had been made Bakhshí, or Commander-in-chief, of the\narmy, and, in that capacity, had commanded it when it took Calcutta\nin June, 1756.[6] Between himself and his wife's nephew,\nSiráj-ud-daulá, there had never been any cordiality. The latter, with\nthe insolence of untamed and uneducated youth, had kicked against the\nauthority of his uncle; had frequently insulted him; and had even\nremoved him from his office. Mír Jafar had felt these slights\nbitterly. {110}Living, as he was, in an age of revolution, dynasties\nfalling about him, the very throne of Delhi the appanage of the\nstrongest, he felt no compunction in allying himself with the\nforeigner to remove from the throne--for it was virtually a\nthrone--of Murshidábád the man who alternately insulted and fawned\nupon him. Little did he know, little even did he reck, the price he\nwould have to pay. Fortunately for his peace of mind at the moment\nthe future was mercifully hidden from him. But those who are familiar\nwith the history of Bengal after the first departure thence of Clive\nfor England will admit that never did treason so surely find its own\npunishment as did the treason of Mír Jafar.\n\n[Footnote 6: There can be no doubt about this. 'About five o'clock\nthe Nawáb entered the fort, carried in an open litter, attended by\nMír Jafar Khán, his Bakhshí or General-in-chief, and the rest of his\nprincipal officers.' He was present when the English were brought\nbefore the Nawáb: vide Broome, p. 66. Orme, vol. ii. p. 73, makes a\nsimilar statement.]\n\nBut he is approaching now, with doubt and anxiety as to his\nreception, the camp in which he is to receive from his confederate\nthe reward of treason, or reproaches for his want of efficient\nco-operation on the day preceding. On reaching the camp, writes the\ncontemporaneous historian of the period,[7] 'he alighted from his\nelephant, and the guard drew out and rested their arms, to receive\nhim with the highest honours. Not knowing the meaning of this\ncompliment, he drew back, as if he thought it a preparation to his\ndestruction; but Colonel Clive, advancing hastily, embraced him, and\nsaluted him Súbahdár of Bengal, Bihár, and Orissa, which removed his\nfears.' They discoursed then for about an hour. Clive pressed upon\nhim the great necessity of proceeding at once to {111}Murshidábád to\nlook after Siráj-ud-daulá, and to prevent the plunder of the\ntreasury. The new Súbahdár assented, and, returning to his army, set\nout and arrived at the capital the same evening. Clive, having sent\nfriendly letters to the other chief conspirators, made a short march\nof six miles to the village of Baptá, and encamped there for the\nevening. At noon the day following he proceeded to Madhupur, whence\nhe despatched Messrs. Watts and Walsh, with an escort of 100 sipáhís,\nto arrange for the payments noted in a preceding page. These soon\nfound that the treasury was not at the moment equal to the demand.\nThey arranged accordingly that one moiety should be paid down: of\nthis moiety two-thirds in hard coin, one-third in jewels and plate;\nthat the second moiety should be discharged by three equal payments,\nextending over three years.\n\n[Footnote 7: Orme, vol. ii. p. 178.]\n\nWhilst these negotiations were progressing, Clive, having ascertained\nthat the other chief conspirators had accepted the terms offered to\nthem, entered the city of Murshidábád (July 29), attended by 200\nEuropeans and 300 sipáhís, and took up his quarters in the palace of\nMurádbágh, his followers encamping in the garden attached to it. Here\nhe was waited upon by Míran, the eldest son of Mír Jafar, and with\nhim he proceeded to the Súbahdár's palace, where Mír Jafar and his\nprincipal officers were waiting to receive him. Clive, after saluting\nMír Jafar, led him to the _masnad_, and, despite some affected\nunwillingness on the part of the Mír, seated him upon it, hailed him\nwith the usual {112}forms as Súbahdár, offering at the same time a\nnazar of 100 _ashrafís_.[8] He then, through an interpreter,\naddressed the assembled nobles, congratulated them on the change of\nmasters, and urged them to be faithful to Mír Jafar. The usual\nceremonies followed, and the new ruler was publicly proclaimed\nthroughout the city.\n\n[Footnote 8: The value of an _ashrafía_, at a later period called by\nthe English 'Gold Muhr,' was about 1_l_. 11_s_. 8_d_. A 'nazar' is a\ngift offered and received when people of rank pay their respects to a\nprince. It is more properly called 'Nazráná.']\n\nIt is impossible to quit this subject without recording, as briefly\nas possible, the fate of the relative Mír Jafar had betrayed and\nsupplanted. Siráj-ud-daulá, fleeing, as we have seen, from the field\nof Plassey, had reached Murshidábád the same night. The next morning\nthe news of the total rout of his army reached him. He remained in\nhis palace till dusk, then, accompanied by his favourite wife, he\nembarked on a boat, hoping to find refuge in the camp of M. Law, who\nwas advancing from Bhágalpur. But at Rájmahál the strength of the\nrowers gave out, and the young prince rested for the night in the\nbuildings of a deserted garden. There he was discovered, and, taken\nback, was made over to Mír Jafar. The interview which followed will\nrecall to the English historical student the scene between James II\nand the Duke of Monmouth. There was the same vain imploring for life\non the one side, the same inexorable refusal on the other. That same\nnight Siráj-ud-daulá was stabbed to death in his cell.\n\n{113}Another scene, scarcely less revolting in its details, had\noccurred the preceding day. I have mentioned the two treaties made by\nthe conspirators, the one the real treaty, the other a counterpart,\ndrawn up to deceive Aminchand. In the distribution of the plunder it\nhad become necessary to disclose the truth to the wily Bengal\nspeculator. For him there need be but little pity. Entrusted with the\nsecrets of the conspirators, he had threatened to betray them unless\ntwenty lakhs of rupees should be secured to him in the general\nagreement. He was, in a word--to use an expression much in use at the\npresent day--a 'blackmailer.' Clive and the officers with whom he was\nacting thought it justifiable to deceive such a man. The hour of his\nawakening had now arrived. The two treaties were produced, and\nAminchand was somewhat brutally informed by Mr. Scrafton that the\ntreaty in which his name appeared was a sham; that he was to have\nnothing. The sudden shock is said to have alienated his reason. But\nif so, the alienation was only temporary. He proceeded on a\npilgrimage to Malda, and for a time abstained from business. But the\nold records of Calcutta show that he soon returned to his trade, for\nhis name appears in many of the transactions in which the English\nwere interested after the departure of Clive.\n\nNor was the dealing with Aminchand the only matter connected with the\ndistribution of the spoil which caused ill-feeling. There had been\nmuch bitterness stirred up in the army by the fact that the\n{114}sailors who had fought at Plassey should receive their share of\nthe amount promised to the navy in addition to that which would\naccrue to them as fighting men. A mixed Committee, composed of\nrepresentatives of each branch of the military service, had decided\nagainst the claims of the sailors to draw from both sources, and\nClive was appealed to to confirm it. But Clive, who, in matters of\ndiscipline, was unbending, overruled the decision of the Committee,\nplaced its leader, Captain Armstrong, under arrest, and dissolved the\nCommittee. In a dignified letter Clive pointed out to the Committee\ntheir error, and drew from them an apology. But the feeling rankled.\nIt displayed itself a little later in the acquittal of Captain\nArmstrong by a court-martial. In other respects the distribution of\nthe money was harmful, for it led to excesses among officers and men,\nand, consequently, to a large increase of mortality.\n\nMeanwhile the new Súbahdár began to find that the State-cushion was\nnot altogether a bed of roses. The enormous sums demanded by his\nEnglish allies, and by other adherents, had forced him, as soon as\nClive had left for Calcutta, to apply the screw to the wealthier of\nhis new subjects. Even his fellow-conspirators felt the burden. Rájá\nDuláb Rám, whom he had made Finance Minister, with the right to\nappropriate to himself five per cent. on all payments made by the\nTreasury, retired in dudgeon to his own palace, summoned his friends,\nand refused all intercourse with Mír Jafar. The Rájá of Purniah and\nthe Governor of {115}Bihár went into rebellion. The disaffection\nreached even the distant city of Dháká, where the son of Sarfaráz,\nthe representative of the ancient family ruling in Bengal, lived in\nretirement and hope. Under these circumstances Mír Jafar, though he\nwell knew what it would cost him, made an application for assistance\nto Clive.\n\nThe English leader had expected the application. He had recognized\nlong before that, in the East, power depends mainly on the length of\nthe purse, and that, from having exhausted his treasury, Mír Jafar\nwould be forced to sue to him _in forma pauperis_. Clive had studied\nthe situation in all its aspects. The blow he had given to native\nrule by the striking down of the late Súbahdár had rendered absolute\ngovernment, such as that exercised by Siráj-ud-daulá, impossible.\nThenceforth it had become indispensable that the English should\nsupervise the native rule, leaving to the Súbahdár the initiative and\nthe semblance. Clive had reason to believe that whilst Mír Jafar\nwould be unwilling to play such a rôle, he would yet, under pressure,\nplay it. He had seen that the new ruler was so enamoured of the\nparaphernalia of power that, rather than renounce it, he would agree\nto whatever terms he might impose which would secure for him nominal\nauthority. There was but one point regarding which he had doubts, and\nthat was whether the proud Muhammadan nobles to whom, in the days of\nthe glories of the Mughal empire, great estates had been granted in\nBengal, would tamely submit to a system {116}which would give to the\nWestern invaders all the actual power, and to the chief of their own\nclass and religion only the outer show.\n\nThe application from Mír Jafar, then, found Clive in the mood to test\nthis question. Mír Jafar had thrown himself into his hands; he would\nuse the chance to make it clear that he himself intended to be the\nreal master, whilst prepared to render to the Súbahdár the respect\nand homage due to his position. Accordingly he started at once\n(November 17) for Murshidábád with all his available troops, now\nreduced at Calcutta to 400 English and 1300 sipáhís, and reached that\nplace on the 25th, bringing with him the disaffected Rájá of Purniah.\nHis peace he made with the Mír Jafar; then, joined by the 250\nEuropeans he had left at Kásimbázár, he proceeded to Rájmahál, and\nencamped there close to the army of the Súbahdár, who had marched it\nthither with the object of coercing Bihár.\n\nThis was Clive's opportunity. Bihár was very restive, and the\nSúbahdár could not coerce its nobles without the aid of the English.\nClive declined to render that aid unless the Súbahdár should, before\none of his soldiers marched, pay up all the arrears due to the\nEnglish, and should execute every article of the treaty he had\nrecently signed. For Mír Jafar the dilemma was terrible. He had not\nthe money; he had made enemies by his endeavours to raise it. In this\ntrouble he bethought him of Rájá Duláb Rám, recently his Finance\nMinister, but whom {117}he had subsequently alienated. Through\nClive's mediation a reconciliation was patched up with the Rájá. Then\nthe matter was arranged in the manner Clive had intended it should\nbe, by giving the English a further hold on the territories of the\nSúbahdár.\n\nIt was agreed that Clive should receive orders on the treasury of\nMurshidábád for twelve and a half lakhs of rupees; assignments on the\nrevenues of Bardwán, Kishangarh, and Húglí for ten and a half: for\nthe payments becoming due in the following April, assignments on the\nsame districts for nineteen lakhs: then the cession of the lands\nsouth of Calcutta, so long deferred, was actually made--the annual\nrental being the sum of 222,958 rupees. These arrangements having\nbeen completed, Clive accompanied the Súbahdár to the capital of\nBihár, the famous city of Patná. There they both remained, the\nSúbahdár awaiting the receipt of the imperial patents confirming him\nin his office; Clive resolved, whatever were the personal\ninconvenience to himself, not to quit Patná so long as the Súbahdár\nshould remain there. They stayed there three months, a period which\nClive utilized to the best advantage, as it seemed to him at the\nmoment, of his countrymen. The province of Bihár was the seat of the\nsaltpetre manufacture. It was a monopoly[9] farmed to agents, who\nre-sold the saltpetre on terms bringing very large profits. Clive\nproposed to the {118}Súbahdár that the East India Company should\nbecome the farmers, and offered a higher sum than any at which the\nmonopoly had been previously rated. Mír Jafar was too shrewd a man\nnot to recognize the enormous advantages which must accrue to his\nforeign protectors by his acquiescence in a scheme which would place\nin their hands the most important trade in the country. But he felt\nthe impossibility of resistance. He was a bird in the hands of the\nfowler, and he agreed.\n\n[Footnote 9: The possession of this monopoly became the cause of the\ntroubles which followed the departure of Clive, and led to the\nlife-and-death struggle with Mír Kásim.]\n\nAt length (April 14) the looked-for patents arrived. Accompanying\nthat which gave to the usurpation of Mír Jafar the imperial sanction\nwas a patent for Clive, creating him a noble of the Mughal empire,\nwith the rank and title of a Mansabdar[10] of 6000 horse. The\ninvestiture took place the day following. Then, after marching to\nBárh, the two armies separated, the Súbahdár proceeding to\nMurshidábád; Clive, after a short stay at that place, to Calcutta.\n\n[Footnote 10: For the nature of Mansab, and the functions of the\nholder of a Mansab (or Mansabdar) the reader is referred to\nBlochmann's _Ain-í-Akbarí_. By the original regulations of Akbar, who\nfounded the order, the Mansabdars ranked from the Dahbashi, often\nCommander-in-Chief, to the Doh Hazári, Commander of 10,000 horse, to\nthe Mansabdars of 6000 downwards. Vide _Ain-í-Akbarí_ (Blochmann's),\np. 237 and onwards.]\n\nClive had returned to Calcutta, May 24, absolute master of the\nsituation. He had probed to the bottom the character of the Súbahdár,\nand had realized that so long as he himself should remain in India,\nand Mír Jafar on the _masnad_, the English need fear no attack. But,\nin the East, one man's life, especially {119}life of a usurper, is\nnever secure. In those days the risks he incurred were infinitely\ngreater than they are now. Clive had noted the ill-disguised\nimpatience of several of the powerful nobles, more especially that of\nMíran, the son, and of Mír Kásim, the son-in-law, of the Súbahdár. He\nhad left, then, the greater part of his English soldiers at\nKásimbázár, close to the native capital, to watch events, whilst he\nreturned to Calcutta to trace there the plan of a fortress which\nwould secure the English against attack. The fort so traced, received\nthe name of its predecessor, built by Job Charnock in the reign of\nKing William III, and called after him, Fort William.\n\nNearly one month later, June 20, there arrived from England\ndespatches, penned after learning the recapture of Calcutta, but\nbefore any knowledge of the events which had followed that recapture,\nordering a new constitution for the administering of the Company's\npossessions in Bengal. The text of the constitution, ridiculous under\nany circumstances, was utterly unadapted to the turn events had\ntaken. It nominated ten men, not one of whom was competent for the\ntask, to administer the affairs of Bengal. The name of Clive was not\nincluded amongst the ten names. It was not even mentioned.\nFortunately for the Company, the ten men nominated had a clearer idea\nof their own fitness than had their honourable masters. With one\nconsent, they represented the true situation to the Court of\nDirectors, and then, with the same unanimity, requested Clive {120}to\naccept the office of President, and to exercise its functions, until\nthe pleasure of the Court should be known. Clive could not but accede\nto their request.\n\nFor, indeed, it was no time for weak administration and divided\ncounsels. Again had the French attempted to recover the position in\nSouthern India which Clive had wrested from them. Count Lally, one of\nthe brilliant victors of Fontenoy, had been sent to Pondicherry with\na considerable force, and the news had just arrived that he was\nmarching on Tanjore, having recalled Bussy and his troops from the\ncourt of the Súbahdár of the Deccan. With the news there had come\nalso a request that the Government of Bengal would return to the\nsister Presidency the troops lent to her by the latter in the hour of\nthe former's need to recover Calcutta.\n\nClive felt all the urgency of the request; the possible danger of\nrefusing to comply with it; the full gravity of the situation at\nMadras. He also was one of those who had been lent. If the troops\nwere to return, it was he who should lead them back. But he felt\nstrongly that his place, and their place also, was in Bengal.\nEspecially was it so in the presence of the rumours, already\ncirculating, of great successes achieved by Lally, and by the French\nfleet. Such rumours, followed by his departure, would certainly\nincite the nobles of Bengal and Bihár, with or without Mír Jafar, to\nstrike for the independence which they felt, one and all, he had\nwrested from them.\n\nMatters, indeed, in the provinces of Bengal and {121}Bihár had come\nto bear a very threatening aspect. The treasury of Mír Jafar was\nexhausted by his payments; his nobles were disaffected; the moneyed\nclasses bitterly hostile. Threatened on his northern frontier by a\nrebellious son of the King of Delhi and by the Nawáb-Wazír of Oudh,\nMír Jafar was in the state of mind which compels men of his stamp to\nhave recourse to desperate remedies. For a moment he thought\nseriously of calling the Maráthás to his assistance. Then the\nconviction forced itself upon him that the remedy would be worse than\nthe disease, and he renounced the idea. At last, when the army of the\nrebel prince had penetrated within Bihár, and was approaching Patná,\nhe resigned himself to the inevitable, and besought abjectly the\nassistance of Clive.\n\nClive had resolved to help him when affairs in Southern India reached\na point which required his immediate attention. A letter from the\nRájá of Vizianagram reached him, informing him that the effect of the\nrecall by Lally from Aurangábád of the troops under Bussy had been to\nleave the Northern Sirkárs[11] without sufficient protection; that he\nand other Rájás had risen in revolt, and urgently demanded the\ndespatch thither of some English troops, by whose aid they could\nexpel the few Frenchmen left there. It was characteristic of Clive to\nseize the points of a difficult situation. Few men who had to meet on\ntheir front a dangerous invasion, would have dared to despatch, to a\ndistant point, the troops he {122}had raised to repel that invasion,\nremaining himself to meet it from resources he would improvise. But,\nwithout a moment's hesitation or a solitary misgiving, Clive\nrecognized that the opportunity had come to him to complete the work\nhe had begun, six years before, in Southern India; that a chance\npresented itself to transfer the great influence exercised by Bussy\nat the court of the Súbahdár of the Deccan to his own nation. Leaving\nto himself then the care of Bengal and Bihár he directed a trusted\nofficer, Colonel Forde, to proceed (October 12) with 500 Europeans,\n2000 sipáhís, and some guns to Vizagapatam, to unite there with the\nRájá's troops, to take command; and to expel the French from the\nNorthern Sirkárs: then, if it were possible, to assume at the court\nof the Súbahdár the influence which the French had till then\nexercised. It is only necessary here to say that Forde, who was one\nof the great Indian soldiers of the century, carried both points with\nskill and discretion. He beat the French in detail, and compelled\nthem to yield their fortresses; and, when the Súbahdár marched to\ntheir aid, he succeeded, with rare tact, in inducing him to cede to\nthe English the whole of the territories he had conquered, and to\ntransfer the paramount influence at his court to the English. The\nvictories of Forde laid the foundation of a predominance which,\nplaced some forty years later on a definite basis by the great\nMarquess Wellesley, exists to the present day. It is not too much to\nassert that this splendid result was due to {123}the unerring\nsagacity, the daring under difficult circumstances, of Robert Clive.\n\n[Footnote 11: The districts of Ganjám, Vizagapatam, Godávari, and\nKrishna.]\n\nMeanwhile the solicitations of Mír Jafar increased in importunity.\nEven the Great Mughal called upon Clive, as a Mansabdar, to assist\nhim to repress the rebellion of his son. Clive did not refuse. As\nsoon as his preparation had been completed, he set out, February,\n1759, for Murshidábád with 450 Europeans and 2500 sipáhís, leaving\nthe care of Calcutta to a few sick and invalids. He reached\nMurshidábád the 8th of March, and, accompanied by the Mír Jafar's\narmy, entered Patná on the 8th of April. But the rumour of his march\nhad been sufficient. Four days before the date mentioned the\nrebellious prince evacuated his positions before the city, and,\neventually, sought refuge in Bundelkhand. Clive entered Patná in\ntriumph; put down with a strong hand the disturbances in its\nvicinity; and then returned to Calcutta, in time enough to hear of\nthe victorious course of Forde, although not of its more solid\nresult.\n\nBefore he had quitted Patná, Mír Jafar had conferred upon him, as a\npersonal jágír,[12] the Zamíndárí {124}of the entire districts south\nof Calcutta then rented by the East India Company.\n\n[Footnote 12: A jágír is, literally, land given by a government as a\nreward for services rendered. A Zamíndárí, under the Mughal\ngovernment, meant a tract, or tracts of land held immediately of the\ngovernment on condition of paying the rent of it. By the deed given\nto Clive, the East India Company, which had agreed to pay the rents\nof those lands to the Súbahdár, would pay them to Clive to whom the\nSúbahdár had, by this deed, transferred his rights. It may here be\nadded that the Company denied the right of Clive to the rents which\namounted to 30,000 pounds per annum, and great bitterness ensued. The\nmatter was ultimately compromised.]\n\nClive had scarcely returned to Calcutta when there ensued\ncomplications with the Dutch.\n\nDuring the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Holland had posed in\nthe East as a rival, often a successful rival, of the three nations\nwhich had attempted to found settlements in those regions. She had\nestablished a monopoly of trade with the Moluccas, had possessed\nherself of several islands in the vicinity of the Straits, had\nexpelled Portugal from Malacca (1641), from Ceylon (1658), from the\nCelebes (1663), and from the most important of her conquests on the\ncoasts of Southern India (1665). In the beginning of the eighteenth\ncentury the Dutch-Indian Company possessed in the east seven\nadministrations; four directorial posts; four military commands; and\nfour factories. The Company was rich, and had but few debts.\n\nAmongst the minor settlements it had made was the town of Chinsurah,\non the Húglí, twenty miles above Calcutta. Chinsurah was a\nsubordinate station, but, until the contests between the Nawáb and\nthe English, it had been a profitable possession. We have seen how,\nunder the pressure of Clive, Mír Jafar had made to the English some\nimportant trade-concessions. It was certain that sooner or later,\nthese would affect the trade, the profits, and the self-respect, of\nthe European rivals of Great Britain. Prominent as traders amongst\nthese were the Dutch. Amongst {125}the changes which they felt most\nbitterly were (1) the monopoly, granted to the English, of the\nsaltpetre trade; (2) the right to search all vessels coming up the\nHúglí; (3) the employment of no other than English pilots. These\ninjuries, as they considered them, rankled in their breasts, and they\nresolved to put a stop to them. To effect that purpose they entered\ninto secret negotiations with Mír Jafar. These, after a time, ended\nin the entering into an agreement in virtue of which, whilst the\nDutch covenanted to despatch to the Húglí a fleet and army\nsufficiently strong to expel the English from Bengal, the Súbahdár\npledged himself to prepare with the greatest secrecy an army to\nco-operate with them. This agreement was signed in November, 1758,\njust after Clive had despatched Forde, with all the troops then\navailable, to the Northern Sirkárs, but before his march to Patná,\nrecorded, with its consequences, in the preceding pages. The secret\nhad been well kept, for Clive had no suspicion of the plot. He knew\nhe had the Súbahdár in the hollow of his hand, so far as related to\nthe princes of the soil; he knew the French were powerless to aid the\nSúbahdár: and he never thought of the little settlement of Chinsurah.\n\nIn the month of June, 1759, just following the return of Clive to\nCalcutta, the Mír Jafar received from the Dutch a secret intimation\nthat their plans were approaching maturity. He stayed then but a\nshort time at the English seat of government, but returned\n{126}thither in October, to be at hand when the expected crisis\nshould occur. Meanwhile rumours had got about that a considerable\nDutch fleet was approaching the Húglí, and, in fact, a large Dutch\nvessel, with Malayan soldiers, did arrive at Diamond Harbour. Clive\nhad at once demanded from the Dutch authorities an explanation, at\nthe same time that he innocently apprised Mír Jafar of the\ncircumstance, and of the rumour. The Dutch authorities explained that\nthe ship had been bound for Nágapatnam, but had been forced by stress\nof weather to seek refuge in the Húglí.\n\nIn October, whilst Mír Jafar was actually in Calcutta, the Dutch made\ntheir spring. It was a very serious attack, for the Dutch had four\nships, carrying each thirty-six guns; two, each carrying twenty-six;\none, carrying sixteen, and had on board these 700 European soldiers\nand 800 Malays: at Chinsurah they had 150 Europeans, and a fair\nnumber of native levies: behind them they had the Súbahdár. To meet\nthem Clive had but three Indiamen, each carrying thirty guns, and a\nsmall despatch-boat. Of soldiers, he had, actually in Calcutta and\nthe vicinity, 330 Europeans, and 1200 sipáhís. The nearest of the\ndetachments in the country was too distant to reach the scene of\naction in time to take part in the impending struggle. There was aid,\nhowever, approaching, that he knew not of.\n\nClive revelled in danger. In its presence his splendid qualities\nshone forth with a brilliancy which {127}has never been surpassed.\nHis was the soul that animated the material figures around him. His\nthe daring with which he could inspire his subordinates; imbue them\nwith his own high courage; and make them, likewise, 'conquer the\nimpossible.'\n\nHis conduct on the occasion I am describing is pre-eminently worthy\nof study. A short interview with Mír Jafar filled his mind with grave\nsuspicions. He did not show them. He even permitted Mír Jafar to\nproceed to Húglí to have an interview with the Dutch authorities. But\nwhen the Súbahdár despatched to him from that place a letter in which\nhe stated that he had simply granted to the Dutch some indulgences\nwith respect to their trade, he drew the correct conclusion, and\nprepared to meet the double danger.\n\nIn his summary of the several courses he would have to adopt he\ndismissed altogether the Súbahdár from his mind. Him he feared not.\nWith the Dutch he would deal and deal summarily. He had already\ndespatched special messengers to summon every available man from the\noutposts. He now called out the militia, 300 men, five-sixths of whom\nwere Europeans, to defend the town and fort; he formed half a troop\nof volunteer horsemen, and enlisted as volunteer infantry all the men\nwho could not ride; he ordered the despatch-boat to sail with all\nspeed to the Arakan coast, where she would find a squadron under\nAdmiral Cornish ready to send him aid; he ordered up, to lie just\nbelow the fort, the three Indiamen of {128}which I have spoken: he\nstrengthened the two batteries commanding the most important passages\nof the river near Calcutta, and mounted guns on the nascent Fort\nWilliam. Then, when he had completed all that 'Prudentia' could\nsuggest, the rival goddess, 'Fortuna'[13] smiled upon him. Just as he\nwas completing his preparations, Colonel Forde and Captain Knox,\nfresh from the conquest of the Northern Sirkárs, arrived to\nstrengthen his hand. To the former Clive assigned the command of the\nwhole of his available force in the field: to the latter, the charge\nof the two batteries.\n\n[Footnote 13: 'Nullum numen abest si sit Prudentia; nos te, Nos\nfacimus Fortuna, deam.' _Juvenal_.]\n\nUp to that period the Dutch had endeavoured to pose as peaceful\ntraders. But no sooner had their negotiations with Mír Jafar been\ncompleted, and they had received his permission to ascend to\nChinsurah, than they threw off the mask, and sent an ultimatum to\nClive threatening vengeance unless the English should renounce their\nclaim of the right of search, and redress the other grievances they\nenumerated. Clive replied that in all his actions he had been guided\nby the authority vested in him by the Súbahdár, the representative of\nthe Great Mughal; that he was powerless in the matter; but that if\nthey would refer their complaints to the Súbahdár, he would gladly\nact the part of mediator. The Dutch commander, however, paid no heed\nto this somewhat vague reply, but acted as though it were a\n{129}declaration of war. For, on receipt of Clive's letter he\nattacked and captured seven small vessels lying off Falta, among them\nthe despatch-boat above referred to, tore down the English colours,\nand transferred the guns and material to their own ships. Then,\nhaving plundered the few houses on the riverbanks, he continued his\nupward course, with his ships, although, from the want of pilots,\ntheir progress was necessarily slow.\n\nClive, on hearing of these demonstrations, prepared to act on the\ninstant. First, he sent a despatch to the Súbahdár, telling him that\nthe quarrel between the two European nations must be fought out\nalone, adding, however, to test Mír Jafar, a paragraph to the effect\nthat the Súbahdár would convince him of his sincerity and attachment\nif he would directly surround their (the Dutch) subordinates, and\ndistress them in 'the country to the utmost.' Then he ordered Forde\nto occupy Bárnagar on the left bank of the Húglí, five miles from\nCalcutta; to cross thence with his troops and four field-pieces to\nShirirámpur, nine miles distant; to be ready, either there or beyond\nit, to intercept the Dutch troops, in the event of their trying to\nreach Chinsurah by land. Then, learning that the Dutch ships had\nprogressed as far as the Sankrál reach, just below the fire of the\nEnglish batteries, and were landing their troops with directions to\nmarch directly on Chinsurah, he issued orders for immediate action.\n\nRecognizing on the instant that, by landing, the {130}enemy's troops\nhad severed themselves from their base--the ships--he despatched Knox\nto join Forde, and sent information to the latter of the probable\nroute the enemy's troops would take, leaving it to him to deal with\nthem as he might consider advisable. Then he sent orders to Commodore\nWilson, the senior of the captains of the Indiamen, to demand from\nthe Commander of the Dutch squadron a full apology for the insults he\nand his subordinates had been guilty of, the return of the\nindividuals and of the plunder he and they had taken, and their\nimmediate departure from the Húglí. Failing prompt compliance with\nall these demands, Wilson was to attack the enemy's squadron.\n\nThe scene that followed deserves to rank with the most glorious\nachievements of English sailors. The three captains were all built in\nthe heroic mould. Not one of them felt a doubt of victory when they\nwere ordered to attack a squadron in all respects more than double in\nnumbers and weight of metal to their own. It must suffice here to\nsay[14] that, the proposal of the English Commodore having been\nrefused by the Dutch, the English captains bore down upon the enemy;\nafter a contest of little more than two hours, captured or sank six\nof their ships; the seventh, hurrying out to sea, fell into the hands\nof two ships of war, then entering the river. Well {131}might the\nvictors exclaim, in the language of our great national poet:--\n\n                       'O, such a day,\n  So fought, so followed, and so fairly won,\n  Came not till now to dignify the times,\n  Since Caesar's fortunes.'\n\n[Footnote 14: For a detailed account of this action see the author's\n_Decisive Battles of India_.]\n\nThis success left the Dutch soldiers, then on their way to Chinsurah,\nabsolutely without a base. They could only find safety in success,\nand success was denied them. They were first repulsed by Forde in an\nattack they made on a position he had taken at Chandranagar, and the\nnext day almost destroyed by the same gallant officer, joined by\nKnox, in a battle at the village of Biderra, nearly midway between\nChandranagar and Chinsurah. Few victories have been more decisive. Of\nthe 700 Europeans and 800 Malays landed from the ships, 120 of the\nformer and 200 of the latter were left dead on the field; 300, in\nabout equal proportions, were wounded; and the remainder, with the\nexception of 60 Dutch and 250 Malays, were taken prisoners. Forde had\nunder his command on this eventful day (November 25) 320 Europeans,\n800 sipáhís, and 50 European volunteer cavalry. The previous day,\nreckoning that he would have to fight the enemy with his inferior\nnumbers, he had sent a note to Clive asking for implicit\ninstructions. Clive, who was playing whist when the note reached him,\nknowing with whom he was dealing, wrote across it, in pencil: 'Dear\nForde, Fight them immediately: I will send you the order {132}in\nCouncil to-morrow,' and sent back the messenger with it.\n\nThe two victories were in all respects decisive. Never again did the\nDutch trouble the tranquillity of India. Mír Jafar was cowed. Three\ndays after the victory of Biderra, his son, Míran, arrived from\nMurshidábád with 6,000 horse, for the purpose, he explained, of\nexterminating the Dutch. Clive, always merciful in victory, gave to\nthese, against their baffled confederate, the protection which he\nconsidered due to a foe no longer to be dreaded.\n\nClive now regarded the British position in Bengal so secure that he\nmight return to England to enjoy there the repose and the position he\nhad acquired. He had compressed into three years achievements the\nmost momentous, the most marvellous, the most enduring, recorded in\nthe history of his country. Landing with a small force below Calcutta\nin the last days of 1756, he had compelled the Súbahdár, who had been\nresponsible for the Black Hole tragedy, though guiltless of designing\nit,[15] to evacuate Calcutta, to witness without interfering his\ncapture of Chandranagar. Determined, then, in the interests of his\ncountry, to place matters in Bengal on such a footing that a\nrepetition of the tragedy of 1756 should be impossible, he resolved\nto replace Siráj-ud-daulá, himself the son of a usurper, by a native\nchieftain {133}who should owe everything to the English, and who\nwould probably allow himself to be guided by them in his policy. To\nthis end he formed a conspiracy among his nobles, fomented discontent\namong his people, and finally forced him to appeal to arms. At\nPlassey Clive risked everything on the fidelity to himself of the\nconspirators with whom he had allied himself. They were faithful. He\ngained the battle, not gloriously but decisively, and became from the\nmorrow of the victory the lord paramount of the noble whom he placed\nthen on the _masnad_. Possibly it was partly policy which impelled\nhim to give his nominee no chance from the beginning. Certain it is,\nthat Mír Jafar was, from the moment of his accession, so handicapped\nby the compulsion to make to his allies enormous payments, that his\nlife, from that moment to the hour of his deposition, presently to be\nrelated, was not worth living. The commercial concessions which Clive\nhad forced from him gave the English an _imperium in imperio_. But\nthe Súbahdár was in the toils. When invasion came from the north he\ntried his utmost to avoid asking for the aid of Clive. But Clive,\nwho had sent his best soldiers to conquer the Northern Sirkárs,\nand to establish permanent relations with the Súbahdár of the\nDeccan--relations which secured to England a permanent predominance\nin the most important districts of southern India--was indispensable.\nHis assistance, given in a manner which could not fail to impress the\nnatives of India--for the enemy fled at his approach--riveted the\n{134}chains on the Súbahdár. Then came the invasion of the Dutch. For\nthe first time a superior hostile force of Europeans landed on the\nshores of British India. The Súbahdár, anxious above all things to\nrecover his freedom of action, promised them his assistance. Clive\nshone out here, more magnificently than he had shone before, as the\nundaunted hero. Disdaining to notice the action of the Súbahdár, he\ngave all his attention to the European invaders; with far inferior\nmeans he baffled their schemes; and crushed them in a manner such as\nwould make them, and did make them, remember and repent the audacity\nwhich had allowed them to imagine that they could impose their will\non the victor of Káveripák and Plassey. He had made the provinces he\nhad conquered secure, if only the rule which was to follow his own\nshould be based on justice, against the native rulers; secure for\never against European rivals assailing it from the sea.\n\n[Footnote 15: Siráj-ud-daulá had given instructions that the\nprisoners should be safely cared for, and had then gone to sleep. It\nwas the brutality of his subordinate officers which caused the\ncatastrophe.]\n\nThat, during this period, he had committed faults, is only to say\nthat he was human. But, unfortunately, some of his faults were so\ngrave as to cast a lasting stain on a career in many respects worthy\nof the highest admiration. The forging of the name of Admiral Watson,\nalthough the name was attached to the deed with, it is believed, his\napproval,[16] was a crime light in comparison with the purpose for\nwhich it {135}was done--the deceiving of the Bengálí, Aminchand. It\nis true that Aminchand was a scoundrel, a blackmailer, a man who had\nsaid: 'Pay me well, or I will betray your secrets.' But that was no\nreason why Clive should fight him with his own weapons: should\ndescend to the arena of deceit in which the countrymen of Aminchand\nwere past-masters. Possibly the atmosphere he breathed in such\nsociety was answerable, to a great extent, for this deviation from\nthe path of honour. But the stain remains. No washing will remove it.\nIt affected him whilst he still lived, and will never disappear.\n\n[Footnote 16: In his evidence before the Committee of the House of\nCommons Clive said regarding the fictitious treaty: 'It was sent to\nAdmiral Watson, who objected to the signing of it; but, to the best\nof his remembrance, gave the gentleman who carried it (Mr.\nLushington) leave to sign his name upon it.']\n\nThen again, as to his dealings with Siráj-ud-daulá and Mír Jafar. The\nwhole proceedings of Clive after his capture of Calcutta prove that\nhe intended to direct all his policy to the removal of that young\nprince from the _masnad_. Some have thought that the Black Hole\ntragedy was the cause of this resolve. But this can hardly be so, for\nMír Jafar, the commander-in-chief of the army which seized Calcutta\nin 1756, was equally implicated in that transaction. The suggestion\nthat Siráj-ud-daulá was intriguing with the French at Haidarábád is\nequally untenable, for Clive knew he had little cause to fear their\nhostility. Clive not only expelled that prince, but, by his policy,\nhis extortions, his insistance to obtain control of the saltpetre\ntraffic, rendered it impossible for his successor to govern. Success\nattended his policy so long as he remained on the spot to control his\nsubordinates, but it was inevitable that, sooner or later, there\nwould come {136}a revulsion. The warlike natives of Bihár had not\nbeen conquered, and they knew it. They had helped Clive, not that\nthey should become subject to the foreigner from the sea, but that\nthey might have a native ruler whom they trusted, in place of one\nwhom they disliked. When they realized that the result of this change\nwas not only subjection to the islanders, but impoverishment to\nthemselves, they broke into what was called rebellion, and showed on\nmany a bloody field that it was not they, only Siráj-ud-daulá, who\nhad been conquered at Plassey.\n\nThis was the most dangerous legacy of the policy and action of Clive.\nHe recognized its shadowy existence. He wrote to his successor, Mr.\nVansittart, when he transferred to him his own office, that the only\ndanger he had to dread in Bengal was that which might arise from\nvenality and corruption. He might have added that the spoils of\nPlassey had created a state of society in which those vices were\nprominent; that the saltpetre monopoly, with the duties and\nexemptions which had followed its acquisition, had confirmed them.\nThe Súbahdár himself recognized the new danger which would follow the\ndeparture of Clive. In his mind he was the moderator who, satisfied\nhimself, would have stayed the hands of others. To quiet the\nnewcomers there would be fresh rapacity, more stringent despoilings.\nHe felt, to use the expression of the period when Clive quitted\nBengal, that 'the soul was departing from the body.'\n\nClive made over charge to Mr. Holwell, of Black {137}Hole notoriety,\npending the arrival of Mr. Vansittart, the 15th of February, 1760.\nWith the sanction of the Court he had nominated Major Calliaud to be\nCommander of the Forces. Four members of his Council retired about\nthe same time as himself.\n\n\n{138}\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\nTHE SECOND VISIT OF CLIVE TO ENGLAND\n\n\nDuring his administration of four years in Bengal Clive had been\ngreatly hampered by the contradictory orders he had received from the\nCourt of Directors. In that Court there were four parties: the party\nof alarmists at the aggrandizement of the Company's possessions in\nIndia; the party of progressists; the middle party, composed of men\nwho would retain all that had been conquered, but who, not\nunderstanding the necessity which often compels a conqueror to\nadvance that he may retain, would on no account sanction the\nproceeding of a step further; a fourth party bent only on acquiring\nplunder. As one or other of these parties obtained preponderance in\nthe Court, so did the orders transmitted to India take their colour.\nIn those days, it must be remembered, there was no Board of Control\nto regulate and, if necessary, to modify, even entirely to alter, the\nrulings of the General Court. Thus it was that the agent on the spot,\nfinding the orders from England constantly changing, was driven to\nrely upon his own judgement, and to act on his own responsibility.\nThis did not signify so much so long as there was, on the spot,\n{139}holding supreme authority, a Clive or a Warren Hastings. But\nwhen the local chief authority was in the hands of men wanting alike\nin intellect, in high principle, and in nerve, the situation was\nlikely to become dangerous in the extreme.\n\nFor the moment, when Clive quitted India, the situation was tranquil.\nBut it might become at any moment the reverse. Therefore it was that\nClive had recommended as his successor a man whom he believed he had\nsounded to the core, and in whom he had found one after his own\nheart. But there is no proverb more true than that contained in the\ncriticism passed by Tacitus on Galba, 'Omnium consensu capax imperii,\nnisi imperasset.' We shall see presently how the conduct of\nVansittart corresponded to this aphorism.\n\nA little more than a year before quitting the shores of Bengal, Clive\nhad addressed to Mr. Pitt, afterwards Lord Chatham, then Secretary of\nState, a letter (January 7, 1759) in which he had represented the\ndifficulties of the actual situation, and had suggested a mode of\ndealing with them. He had described the actual Súbahdár as a man\nattached to the English, and as likely to continue that attachment\n'while he has no other support,' but totally uninfluenced by feelings\nof gratitude, feelings not common to his race. On the other hand, he\nwas advanced in years; his son, Míran, was utterly unworthy, so\nunworthy 'that it will be almost unsafe trusting him with the\nsuccession.' He added immediately, as though prescient of the events\n{140}which were to follow, 'In case of their,' the native princes,\n'daring to be troublesome,' they--a body of 2000 English soldiers--\nwould 'enable the Company to take the sovereignty upon themselves.'\nAfter detailing how the transfer would be easy, and palatable, rather\nthan otherwise, to the natives generally, Clive proceeded to\nrepresent that so large a sovereignty might possibly be an object too\nextensive for a mercantile company, and to suggest that it might be\nworthy of consideration whether the Crown should not take the matter\nin hand. The points he urged were the following: First, the ease with\nwhich the English 'could take absolute possession of these rich\nkingdoms, and that with the Mughal's own consent, on condition of\npaying him less than a fifth of the revenues thereof.' There would\nremain a surplus of two millions, besides most valuable productions\nof nature and art. He dwelt, secondly, on the influence in Europe\nwhich would thereby accrue to England, and the enormous increase of\nprestige and of the advantages which prestige conveys, on the spot.\nHe added that a small force of European troops would be sufficient,\nas he could enlist any number of sipáhís, who 'will very readily\nenter our service.' This letter he transmitted by the hands of Mr.\nWalsh, his secretary during the campaign of Plassey and the year\nfollowing, and whom he describes as 'a thorough master of the\nsubject,' 'able to explain to you the whole design and the facility\nwith which it may be executed.'\n\nMr. Pitt received the letter, but was deterred from {141}acting upon\nit by difficulties which arose in his mind from his want of knowledge\nof India and of matters connected with that country. To the son of a\nman whose father had been Governor of Madras in the days when the\nEnglish were the humble lessees of the lords of the soil, the\nproposition to become masters of territories far larger and richer\nthan their island home, seemed beset with difficulties which, if it\nmay be said without disrespect to his illustrious memory, existed\nsolely in his own imagination--for they have since been very easily\novercome.\n\nThe letter served to make Clive personally known to the great\nstatesman when he landed in England in September or October, 1760. He\nhad returned a very rich man; he was full of ambition; his fame as a\nsoldier had spread all over the kingdom. Pitt, shortly before his\narrival (1758), had spoken of him in the House of Commons as a\n'Heaven-born General,' as the only officer, by land or sea, who had\nsustained the reputation of the country and added to its glory. The\nKing himself, George II, when the Commander-in-chief had proposed to\nhim to send the young Lord Dunmore to learn the art of war under\nPrince Ferdinand of Brunswick, had replied, 'What can he get by\nattending the Duke of Brunswick? If he want to learn the art of war,\nlet him go to Clive.' These expressions show at least the temper of\nthe times, the feelings which would inspire the welcome which England\nwould give to her latest hero. And yet the welcome itself fell far\nshort of that which Clive had {142}anticipated. From the Crown there\nwas no immediate recognition; from the Court of Directors, a hostile\nsection of which held the supremacy, he received worse than neglect.\nAlmost their first act was to dispute his right to the jágír which\nMír Jafar had bestowed upon him.[1] From the general public there was\nno demonstration. Clive felt that in England as in India he would\nhave to fight his way upwards.\n\n[Footnote 1: See Chapter X, footnote 12.]\n\nHis health was not very good. He suffered from rheumatism, which had\nassailed him in Bengal, and which bore a strong resemblance to\nrheumatic gout. Scarcely had he recovered from this malady when he\nwas assailed by the insidious disease which, afterwards, but rarely\nleft him. This caused a depression of spirits which gradually wore\nout his body. As a boy he had suffered at intervals from similar\nattacks. They increased now in intensity, baffling the physicians who\nattended him. He bore up bravely, however, and pushed forward with\nhis wonted energy the ambitious plans he had formed in the intervals\nof quiet and repose.\n\nAt the age of thirty-five, with an enormous fortune, great ambition,\nand sanguine hopes for the future, Clive trusted that the illness he\nsuffered from would eventually yield to treatment, and he entered on\nhis campaign in England with the confidence in himself which had been\none secret of his success in India. He had hoped, on his arrival, to\nhave been at once raised to the House of Peers. But the honours of\nthe {143}Crown, long delayed, took the shape only of an Irish\npeerage. With this he was forced to be content, and, being debarred\nfrom the Upper House, made all his arrangements to become a member of\nthe Lower. He speedily obtained a seat in that House.\n\nPossibly he marred his prospects by the line which he took in\npolitics. In October, 1760, George II had died. The new King, whose\nproudest boast was that he had been born an Englishman, made Lord\nBute Secretary of State. Soon after Pitt resigned, because the rest\nof the Ministry refused to support him in his policy of going to war\nwith Spain, the Duke of Newcastle still remaining nominal head of the\nCabinet. In 1762 the Duke resigned, and Lord Bute became Prime\nMinister. Sir John Malcolm states that Lord Clive was offered his own\nterms if he would support the Bute Ministry. But Clive had given his\nmental adhesion in another quarter, and therefore refused his\nsupport, and was, it is stated, treated coldly in consequence.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: Vide Malcolm's _Clive_, vol. ii. p. 203: also Gleig, p.\n134. There would seem to be some mistake as to the reason given by\nMr. Gleig for his statement that Clive refused his support to the\nBute Administration because of his devotion to George Grenville; for\nGeorge Grenville held the post of one of the principal Secretaries of\nState in Lord Bute's Ministry.]\n\nThough not a supporter of the Bute Administration, Clive did not\nrefrain from volunteering to it his advice when the preliminaries of\npeace between France and England were under discussion. Both Powers\nwere resolved that the peace should extend to their possessions in\nIndia. Clive wrote therefore to {144}Lord Bute suggesting the terms\nupon which, in his opinion, it was absolutely necessary for the\nsafety of the East India Company he should insist. Prominent among\nthese were (1) the absolute limitation of the number of troops the\nFrench might retain in Southern India, and (2) a prohibition to admit\ninto Bengal Frenchmen other than those engaged in commercial\nenterprises. Lord Bute so far followed the advice as to induce the\nFrench to agree not to maintain troops either in Bengal or the\nNorthern Sirkárs. But when he would go further, and, on the\nsuggestion of Mr. Lawrence Sulivan, Chairman of the Court of\nDirectors, make the recognition of certain native princes a clause in\nthe projected treaty between the two Powers, Clive, with his habitual\nprescience, denounced the clause as fraught with consequences most\ndisastrous to the position of England in India, and persuaded the\nMinister to withdraw it.\n\nThe gentleman above referred to, Mr. Lawrence Sulivan, had become,\nfrom pure motives of jealousy, one of the bitterest enemies of Clive.\nSulivan had served in India without distinction, but had succeeded in\namassing there a handsome fortune, and being a man of bold address\nand pushing manners, had become a Director of the Company. Whilst\nClive was still in India Sulivan had professed the most unbounded\nadmiration for him and his achievements, and, by thus professing, had\nobtained the support of the followers of Clive when he made a bid for\nthe Chairmanship of the Court. This he secured, and, being a man\n{145}of considerable self-assertion and determination, succeeded in\nbecoming the dictator of the Council. Up to that time he had given\nhis support to Clive, but no sooner did he hear of the departure of\nhis hero for England, than, dreading the effect of his arrival upon\nhis own influence, he had become his most bitter opponent. He it was\nwho stimulated his colleagues to object to the donation of the jágír\nto Clive, mentioned in a previous page. The grounds to the objection\nwere rather hinted at than expressed, for in those days the Court\ncould not deny the right of the Súbahdár to bestow, or of Clive to\naccept, so handsome a gift. The real motive was to exclude Clive from\na seat in the India House, and for a time Sulivan succeeded.\n\nThe hostility of Sulivan found an outcome in the progress of\npolitical affairs. Clive had voted against the Peace of Paris\n(February 10, 1763). Lord Bute, indignant at the opposition his\nmeasure encountered, had made his power felt by dismissing three\ndukes from their lord-lieutenancies, and he was very angry with\nClive. He then sought and obtained the alliance of Sulivan to crush\nhim. Up to that point Clive had remained quiescent; but at this new\noutrage he turned. Very shortly afterwards Sulivan came before the\nCourt of Proprietors for re-election. To defeat him Clive had\npurchased a large amount of India Stock and divided it amongst his\nfriends. At the show of hands there was a large majority against\nSulivan, but when the ballot-box was appealed to the position was\nreversed, and Sulivan and his majority were returned. {146}For the\nmoment Clive's defeat was crushing, and he prepared to meet the\nconsequences of it. His opponents did not delay to show their hands.\nAgain was the question of the jágír mooted. The eminent counsel\nemployed by Clive gave an opinion that the Court had no case.\nHowever, the Sulivan party persevered. Just on the eve of the trial,\nhowever, there came news from India which produced a revolution of\nopinion in the Court. The reports from Calcutta showed that the\ncombined avarice, greed, misgovernment, and tyranny of the civil\nauthorities left by Clive in Calcutta had produced a general\nuprising; had almost undone the great work Clive had accomplished;\nthat there was no one on the spot who could be trusted to restore\norder; but that unless such a task were committed to a competent man,\nthe possessions of the Company in Bengal would be in the greatest\ndanger. This intelligence caused a panic in the India House.\nInstinctively the name of Clive came uppermost to every lip. The\nProprietors were summoned to meet in full Court. Panic-stricken, they\nforced upon Clive the office, not merely of President, but of\nGovernor-General, with very full powers. That their conduct regarding\nthe jágír might not be pleaded by him as an objection to accept\noffice, the Proprietors passed a resolution that the proceedings\nregarding the jágír should be stopped, and that the right of Clive to\nit should be officially recognized.\n\nThis was indeed a triumph. The policy, _reculer pour mieux sauter_,\nhad been eminently justified. {147}But Clive was as generous in\nvictory as he had been great in defeat. He declined to profit by the\nenthusiasm of the Proprietors. Declaring that he had a proposal to\nmake regarding the jágír, which he was confident the Court would\naccept, he proceeded to declare that it would be impossible for him\nto proceed to India leaving behind him a hostile Court and a hostile\nchairman; that at least the existing chairman must be changed. He\ncarried the Proprietors with him, and measures were taken for a fresh\nelection.\n\nThis election took place on the 25th of April, 1764. At it one-half\nof the candidates proposed by Sulivan were defeated, he himself being\nreturned by a majority of one only. The chairman and deputy-chairman\nelected were both supporters of Clive. In the interval (March, 1764)\nClive had been nominated Governor-General and Commander-in-chief of\nBengal. To draw the fangs of the Council in Calcutta, four gentlemen\nwere nominated to form with him a Select Committee authorized to act\non their own authority, without reference to the Council.\n\nOne word, before the great man returns to the scenes of his triumphs,\nclothed with the fullest authority, regarding the instrument used by\nMr. Sulivan and his friends to torture him. No sooner had the new\nCourt been elected than Clive made to it his suggestion regarding the\njágír. He proposed, and the Court agreed, that for a period of ten\nyears, the company should pay to him the full amount of the jágír\nrents, unless he should die before, when the {148}payments would\ncease; the ultimate disposal of the jágír to be made when the\noccasion should arise.\n\nThese matters having been settled, the officers to serve under him\nhaving been selected by himself, Clive, attended by two of the four\nmembers who had been appointed by the Court to accompany him, Messrs.\nSumner and Sykes, embarked for Calcutta the 4th of June, 1764. Lady\nClive did not go with him. She had to remain in England to\nsuperintend the education of her children.\n\n\n{149}\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\nTHE REIGN OF MISRULE IN BENGAL\n\n\nClive had chosen Mr. Vansittart to succeed him as President of the\nCouncil in Bengal because he believed he had recognized in him a man\nwho would do all in his power to put down the growing system of\nvenality and corruption. I have already shown how he had written to\nhim before he quitted India. The words he had used were: 'The\nexpected reinforcements will, in my opinion, put Bengal out of all\ndanger but that of venality and corruption.' But Clive had not\nsufficiently considered that the very fact that the new President had\nbeen selected from Madras instead of from amongst the men who had\nserved under his immediate orders was likely to cause jealousy among\nthe latter; that Vansittart, notwithstanding his estimated lofty\nmoral nature,[1] had no strength of character; {150}no such\npersuasive powers as could win men to his side; no pre-eminent\nabilities; no force of will, such as Clive himself would have\ndisplayed, to dominate or, in case of great emergency, to suspend a\nrefractory colleague. He was but one of the herd, well-meaning,\nopposed in principle to the venality and corruption then in vogue,\nbut, in every sense of the term, ordinary. Even with respect to the\ntwo vices he denounced, he was an untried and untempted man.\n\n[Footnote 1: One anecdote will demonstrate the extent of the 'lofty\nmoral nature' attributed by Clive to Mr. Vansittart. After Clive had\nbeen a year or so in England he wrote to Vansittart requesting him to\nselect for him and despatch to him an elephant, as he wished to\npresent one to the King. Vansittart chose and despatched the elephant\nfor presentation to his Majesty, not as a gift from Clive, but as\nfrom himself.]\n\nHis capacity for rule was put to the test very soon after he had\nassumed the reins of office. Those reins had not, as I have said,\nbeen handed to him by Clive. He had taken them from Mr. Holwell at\nthe very end of July (1760). In the interval an event had occurred\nwhich had changed the general position in Bengal. Five months after\nClive had quitted Calcutta (July 2, 1760) Míran, the only son of the\nSúbahdár, Mír Jafar, was struck dead by lightning. The reader may\nrecollect the passage in his letter to Mr. Pitt, wherein Clive\nreferred to this young man. He had described him as 'so cruel,\nworthless a young fellow, and so apparently an enemy to the English,\nthat it will be almost unsafe trusting him with the succession.' If\nanother successor, with an unquestionable title, had been immediately\navailable, the death of Míran would have been no calamity. But there\nwas no such successor. The next son in order of succession had seen\nbut thirteen summers. Outside of that boy and his younger brothers\nwere many claimants, not one of them with an indefeasible title. Mír\nJafar himself {151}was older even than his years. It devolved then,\nwith the tacit consent of the nobles, on the Council at Calcutta, to\nnominate the successor to Míran. Such was the state of affairs when\nMr. Vansittart arrived, and took his seat as President of the\nCouncil.\n\nIt happened that there were in Bengal at this time two officers who\nhad rendered conspicuous service to the State, Majors Calliaud and\nKnox. During the very month in which Clive had quitted Calcutta,\nthese officers had marched with such English troops and sipáhís as\nwere available, to assist in the repelling of an invasion made by the\ntitular King of Delhi, prompted, it was believed, by Míran, and had\nrepulsed, with great loss to the enemy, an attempt made to storm the\ncity of Patná. Vansittart, who knew Calliaud well alike as a friend\nand as a man trusted by Clive, summoned him to attend the Council\nupon the deliberations of which the future of Bengal depended. The\ndiscussions were long and somewhat heated. The party in the Council\nwhich represented most accurately the opinions of Clive, as rendered\nin his letter to Mr. Pitt, already referred to,[2] was of opinion\nthat whilst Mír Jafar should be allowed to reign during the remainder\nof his life, opportunity should be taken of his death to transfer the\ndirect {152}administration to the English. If this opportunity had\nbeen taken to carry out some such policy it is probable that the\nevils which followed would have been avoided.\n\n[Footnote 2: Clive's letter had been written during the life of\nMíran. After detailing his character and the growing infirmities of\nMír Jafar, he had added: 'so small a body as 2000 Europeans will\nsecure us against any apprehensions from either the one or the other;\nand, in case of their daring to be troublesome, enable the Company to\ntake the sovereignty upon themselves.']\n\nThe discussions were still proceeding when there arrived an envoy\nfrom the Súbahdár, his son-in-law, Mír Muhammad Kásim, a man of\nability, tact, great persuasive powers, no scruple, and, in a certain\nsense, a patriot. Mír Kásim had coveted the succession vacant by the\ndeath of Míran. He had divined the plans of the English; he hated\nthem as the enemies of the race of conquerors who had ruled Bengal\nand its people for centuries. He despised them as venal: and he had\nresolved to use them for his own advantage. He had brought with him a\nbag full of promises, and, though nominally the representative of Mír\nJafar, had come resolved to work for his own interests.\n\nAdmitted into the secret deliberations of the Council, Mír Kásim soon\nrealized that, with the single exception of Major Calliaud, he could\nbuy them all. Even the scrupulousness of Mr. Vansittart vanished\nbefore his golden arguments. He bought them. For certain specified\nsums of money to be paid by him to each member of Council,[3] these\nofficial Englishmen covenanted to dethrone their ally of Plassey, Mír\nJafar, and to seat on the _masnad_ his son-in-law, Mír Kásim. Three\ndays after the signature of the treaty Mír {153}Kásim set out to make\nhis preparations for the coming event, and two days afterwards Mr.\nVansittart started for Murshidábád to break the news to Mír Jafar.\nHis very first official act had been a violation of the principle\nprescribed to him by Clive as the one the non-indulgence in which\nwould secure the English from all danger.\n\n[Footnote 3: He included even Major Calliaud, but without the\nconsent, and after the departure from India, of that officer.]\n\nThe events which followed must be stated very briefly. Vansittart\nobtained from Mír Jafar his resignation. The one condition stipulated\nby the old man was that thenceforth he should reside, under the\nprotection of the English, at Calcutta, or in its immediate vicinity.\nFor that city he started the following morning (September 19). Mír\nKásim proceeded to Patná to complete the arrangements which had\nfollowed the repulse of the invasion of Bihár by the troops of Sháh\nAlím, and was there formally installed by Sháh Alím himself as\nSúbahdár of Bengal, Bihár, and Orissa.\n\nMír Kásim possessed all the capacities of a ruler. He knew thoroughly\nthe evils under which the three provinces were groaning, and he\nproceeded with all the energy of a nature which never tired to reform\nthem. He moved his capital to Mungír, a town with a fortress, on the\nright bank of the Ganges, commanding Northern and Eastern Bihár, and\nnearly midway between Calcutta and Benares. He then proceeded to\nreform his infantry on the English system, enlisting in his service\ntwo well-known soldiers of mixed or Armenian descent, Samru and\n{154}Markar, to command brigades of their own, and to aid in the\ntraining of the other soldiers. So far he achieved success. But when\nhe proceeded to alleviate the misery of his people, he found that the\nfatal gift of the salt monopoly enabled the English to thwart all his\nefforts. For not only did the English use the authority they\npossessed to the great impoverishment of the soil, but they gave to\ntheir friends and dependents licences exempting from the payment of\nduty in such profusion, that the people of Bengal and Bihár suffered\nto an extent such as, in the present day, can with difficulty be\ncredited. Never, on the one side, was there so insatiable a\ndetermination to become rich, no matter what misery might be thereby\ncaused to others; never, on the other, a more honest endeavour, by\nsacrifices of any kind, to escape the ruin caused by such cruel\nexactions.\n\nAt last, when he had exhausted appeal after appeal to the Calcutta\nauthorities, Mír Kásim recognized that his only chance of escape from\nthe pressure too hard to be borne, was to appeal to the God of\nBattles. He was ready; the English, he believed, were not. He had\nexcellent fighting material; generals who would not betray him. On\nthe other hand, he knew that Clive and Calliaud had quitted India,\nand he did not believe that either had his equal amongst the men on\nthe spot. Accordingly, just after he had received a demand from\nCalcutta, compliance with which would have completed the ruin then\n{155}impending, he took the bold step of abolishing all transit\nduties, and of establishing free-trade throughout his territories.\nAnticipating the consequences of this bold act, he notified to his\ngenerals to be prepared for any movement the English might make.\n\nHere, in the space allotted,[4] it must suffice to state that the\nEnglish, amazed that such a worm as the Súbahdár of the three\nprovinces should dare to question their commands, sent two of their\nnumber to remonstrate with him. But, whilst they were negotiating,\nanother Englishman, one of their own clique, a civil officer named\nEllis, furious at the idea of stooping to negotiate, made\npreparations to seize the important city of Patná. At the head of a\nsmall force he did surprise (June 25, 1763) that city during the\nhours before daybreak, but the garrison of the citadel and of a large\nstone building refused to admit him. Little caring for this, he\npermitted his men to disperse to plunder. Meanwhile the commander of\nthe Súbahdár's troops, Mír Mehdí Khán, had started for Mungír to\nrepresent to his master the turn events had taken. On his way\nthither, a few miles from the city, he encountered the troops in his\nmaster's service commanded by Markar, the Armenian. Markar, as in\nduty bound, at once marched on Patná, found the English still\nplundering, drove them out of the city, and forced them to take\nrefuge in a factory outside of it. {156}There he besieged them, and\nthence he forced them to retreat (June 29). Meanwhile the Súbahdár\nhad despatched his other brigade, under Samru, to Baksar, to cut off\nthe retreat of the English, whilst he urged Markar to follow them up.\nMarkar followed, caught, and attacked them between the two\nplaces--the 1st of July--and completely defeated them. The English,\nof whom there were 300, aided by 2,500 natives, fought with their\nusual courage; but they were badly led, were discouraged, and were\ncompletely beaten. Those who did not fall on the field were taken\nprisoners, re-conveyed to Patná, and were there eventually put to\ndeath.\n\n[Footnote 4: For a detailed account of the events preceding and\nfollowing this action on the part of Mír Kásim, the reader is\nreferred to the author's _Decisive Battles of India_, New Edition,\npp. 133-174.]\n\nSuch was the mode in which the war began. Had not the English\npossessed, though they knew it not until experience had taught them,\na commander not inferior to any of the men who had done so much for\nthe glory of their country in the East, it is probable that Mír\nKásim, who, according to a contemporary writer,[5] 'was trained to\narms,' and who 'united the gallantry of the soldier with the sagacity\nof the statesman,' would have driven them to their ships.\n\n[Footnote 5: The author of an admirable book, written at the time,\nentitled, _Transactions in India from 1756 to 1783_.]\n\nFrom such a fate they were saved by the skill, the devotion, the\nsupreme military talents of Major John Adams. This officer, placed in\ncommand, defeated Mír Kásim's army, after a very bloody battle, at\nKátwá (July 19); again, a few days later, after a most stubborn\nresistance, at Gheriá. But neither {157}of these battles was decisive\nof the war. When, however, the month following, Adams stormed the\nimmensely strong position of Undwá Nala, defended by 40,000 men, and\ncaptured 100 pieces of cannon, Mír Kásim recognized that the war was\nover. He made no attempt to defend either Rájmahál, Mungír, or Patná.\nOn the fall of the latter city (November 6) he fled to Oudh to take\nrefuge there with the Nawáb-Wazír, and to instigate him to espouse\nhis cause.\n\nIt is only necessary to add that he succeeded in persuading that\nprince to attempt the venture. He attempted it, however, only to\nrepent his audacity, for, after much manoeuvring, the English, led by\nMunro, afterwards Sir Hector--who, after an interval of the incapable\nCarnac, had succeeded Adams, killed by the climate and the fatigues\nof the campaign--inflicted a crushing defeat upon him on the plains\nof Baksar (October 23, 1764); then Munro, pursuing his victorious\ncourse, occupied successively Benares, Chanár, and Allahábád. In\nMarch, 1765, the English overran Oudh, occupying Lucknow and\nFaizábád; then went on to beat the enemy at Karra, and again at Kálpi\non the Jumna. Then the Nawáb-Wazír, 'a hopeless wanderer,' threw\nhimself on the mercy of the conquerors. These behaved to him with\nconspicuous generosity, repaid by his successors in late years. The\nEnglish frontier was, however, not the less advanced, practically, as\nfar as Allahábád. Such was the military position when Clive returned\nto Calcutta as Governor in May, 1765.\n\n{158}Meanwhile the English, on the outbreak of the war with Mír\nKásim, had restored Mír Jafar, receiving the usual gratuities for\nthemselves and stipulating for exemptions from all duties except two\nand a half per cent. on salt. As for Mír Kásim, it is only necessary\nto add that he died some years later at Delhi in extreme poverty.\nWith all his faults he was a patriot.\n\n\n{159}\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\nTHE PURIFYING OF BENGAL\n\n\nWhen Clive quitted England for Bengal (June 4, 1764) he knew only\nthat the war with Mír Kásim was raging, and that Mír Jafar had been\nreinstated in his position. It was not until he reached Madras, the\n10th of April following, that he learned that Mír Kásim had been\nfinally defeated, that his followers had submitted, that Mír Jafar\nwas dead, and that the Nawáb-Wazír of Oudh had thrown himself on the\nclemency of the English. In the interval of twenty-three days which\nelapsed before his arrival in Calcutta (May 3), he had time, in\nconsultation with the two members of the Select Committee who\naccompanied him, Messrs. Sykes and Sumner, to deliberate regarding\nthe course of action which it would behove him to adopt on his\narrival there.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: The other two were General Carnac and Mr. Verelst.]\n\nOne of his first acts on arrival was to remodel the army. He placed\nGeneral Carnac at its head, divided the European infantry into three\nbattalions, gave regimental commands to two officers who had\naccompanied him from England, and regulated all the {160}superior\nappointments in a manner the best adapted, in his opinion, to secure\nefficiency.\n\nHe dealt likewise with the Civil Service. Nothing had impressed Clive\nmore than the evil effects of the predominance of venality and\ncorruption during the rule which had followed his first departure,\nand he was resolved to put them down with a strong hand. He found, on\nhis landing, a subject which gave him the opportunity he desired for\nshowing publicly the bent of the line of conduct he intended to\npursue.\n\nFour months before his return, Mír Jafar, worn out by anxiety and\ntrouble, had passed away. His position had become degraded, even in\nhis own eyes. From having been, as he was on the morrow of Plassey,\nthe lord of three rich provinces, he had become, to use the words of\na contemporary Englishman,[2] 'a banker for the Company's servants,\nwho could draw upon him as often and to as great an amount as they\npleased.'\n\n[Footnote 2: Mr. Scrafton. See Scrafton's _Letters_.]\n\nWe have seen how the members of Council had benefited pecuniarily by\nthe elevation of Mír Jafar to the _masnad_ in 1757; by that of his\nsuccessor in 1763; by Mír Jafar's re-elevation the same year. The\nopportunity of again selecting a successor was not to be passed over\nwithout their once again plunging their hands in the treasury of\nMurshidábád. They found that there were two candidates for the vacant\noffice, the son of Míran, and therefore grandson of Mír Jafar, and\nthe eldest surviving son of that {161}Nawáb. The decision arrived at\nby the Council, then reduced by vacancies to eight members, was to\nsell the succession to the candidate who should bid the highest price\nfor it. They decided in favour of the son of Mír Jafar, for, although\nillegitimate, he was of an age at which he could act on his own\nauthority; the other was a minor, whose revenues would have to be\naccounted for. In return for their complaisance, it was agreed that\nthey should receive a sum of money, to be divided as they might\narrange, close upon ten lakhs of rupees; in addition, there was to be\npaid another sum, just over ten lakhs, for secret services rendered\nby one of their number, Mr. Gideon Johnstone, and by a Muhammadan,\nMuhammad Ríza Khán, who also, in pursuance of the arrangement, was\nnominated Deputy-Nawáb. This shameful bargain was signed, sealed, and\ndelivered on the 25th of February, little more than two months before\nLord Clive landed.\n\nAn order from the India Office, which reached Calcutta just thirteen\ndays before the death of Mír Jafar, and which prohibited--by a new\ncovenant, to be signed by all the Civil Servants in India--the\nacceptance by such servants of presents of any kind from the natives\nof India, greatly strengthened the hands of Clive in dealing with\nthis transaction. Finding that in the Council itself he would be\nsubjected to much cavilling, he at once superseded its action by\ndeclaring (May 7) that the Select Committee[3] had been constituted.\nHe then, with that Committee, {162}assumed the whole powers of the\nGovernment, took an oath of secrecy, and had a similar oath\nadministered to the only two of his colleagues who were present. He\nthen set himself to examine all the matters connected with the\nsuccession to the office of Súbahdár of the three provinces.\n\n[Footnote 3: See Chapter XI.]\n\nHe had to deal with men whom a long course of corruption had rendered\nabsolutely shameless. Charged by Clive with having violated the\norders of their masters in accepting presents after such acceptance\nhad been prohibited, they replied that they had taken Clive himself\nas their model, and referred to his dealings with Mír Jafar in 1757,\nand afterwards at Patná, when he accepted the famous jágír. The reply\nnaturally was that such presents were then permitted, whereas now\nthey were forbidden. Clive added, among other reasoning, that then\nthere was a terrible crisis; that for the English and Mír Jafar it\nwas then victory or destruction, whereas now there was no crisis; the\ntimes were peaceful, the succession required no interference. He\nagain charged the members of Council with having put up the Súbahdár\nfor sale to the highest bidder, in order that they might put the\nprice of it into their own pockets, and with having used indecent\nhaste to complete the transaction before his arrival.\n\nClive could at the moment do no more than expose these men, now\npractically powerless. He forced them, however, to sign the new\ncovenants. But his treatment of them rankled in their minds. They\n{163}became his bitterest enemies, and from that time forward used\nall the means at their disposal to harass, annoy, and thwart him.\nWhen, finally, he drove them from the seats they had disgraced, in\nthe manner presently to be related, they carried their bitterness,\ntheir reckless audacity, and their slanderous tongues to England,\nthere to vent their spleen on the great founder of British India.\n\nHaving silenced these corrupt men, Clive turned his attention to the\nbest means of regulating, on fair terms, commercial interests between\nthe native and the foreigner. He soon recognized that the task of\nHercules when he was set to cleanse the stables of King Augeas was\nlight in comparison with the task he had undertaken. In the first\nplace he was greatly hampered by the permission which the Court of\nDirectors had granted to their Civil Servants to engage in private\ntrade. So poorly paid were they, indeed, that private trade, or a\ncompensation for it, had become necessary to them to enable them to\nlive decently. The proposed compensation was afterwards adopted of\nfixing their salaries on a scale which would take away all temptation\nto indulge in other methods of obtaining money. Vainly did Clive\npress upon the Court the adoption of this alternative. Amongst our\ncountrymen there is one class whose business it is to rule; but there\nare often other classes which aspire to that privilege, and which\nseize the opportunity afforded them to exercise power, but whose\nmembers possess neither the education, the enlightenment, nor the\nturn {164}of mind to do so with success. Of this latter class were\nthe men who had become the Directors of the East India Company. These\nmen possessed no prescience; they were quite unable to make a correct\nforecast; they could consider only the present, and that dimly. They\ncould not realize that the world was not standing still, and they\nwould have denounced that man as a madman who should have told them\nthat the splendid daring of Clive had made them the inheritors of the\nMughal empire. Seeing only as far as the tips of their noses, these\nmen declined to increase the salaries of their servants or to\nprohibit private trade.\n\nHercules could bend to his process of cleansing the stables of the\nKing of Elis, the rivers Alpheus and Peneus. Clive could not bend the\nCourt of Directors. The consequence was that his labour was great,\nhis success incomplete. The utmost he could do, and did do, was to\nissue an order abrogating the privilege, used by the Civil Servants\nto the ruin of the children of the soil, to grant passes for the\ntransit of merchandize free of duty; restricting such privilege to\ncertain authorities named and defined. Upon the private trade of the\ncivilians he imposed restrictions which minimized as far as was\npossible, short of its abolition, the evils resulting from permission\nto trade, bringing it in fact to a great extent under the control of\nthe Government. In both these respects his reforms were wider, and\nwent deeper, than those which Mír Kásim had vainly asked from Mr.\nVansittart and his Council.\n\nWith regard to the salt monopoly, Clive had made {165}investigations\nwhich proved that the trade in that commodity had been conducted in a\nmanner which, whilst securing enormous profits for the few, had\npressed very hardly on the many. He endeavoured to reduce this evil\nby placing the trade on a settled basis which, whilst it would secure\nto the natives a supply of the article at a rate not in excess of\nthat which the poor man could afford, would secure to the servants of\nthe Company fixed incomes on a graduated scale. His scheme, he knew,\nwas far from being perfect, but it was the best he could devise in\nthe face of the refusal of the India Office to increase salaries, and\ncertainly it was a vast improvement on the system it superseded.\nWhilst it secured to the Company's servants in all departments an\nadequate, even a handsome, income, it reduced the price of salt to\nthe natives to an amount from ten to fifteen per cent. below the\naverage price to them of the preceding twenty years.\n\nThis accomplished, Clive proceeded to reconstitute the Calcutta\nCouncil. According to the latest orders then in existence this\nCouncil was composed of a president and sixteen members: but the fact\nof a man being a member of Council did not prevent him from accepting\nan agency in other parts of the Company's territories. The result was\nthat many of the members held at the same time executive and\nsupervising offices. They controlled, as councillors, the actions\nwhich they had performed as agents. There had been in consequence\ngreat laxity, much wrongdoing, complete failure of justice. Clive\nremedied {166}this evil by ruling that a member of Council should be\nthat and nothing more. He encountered great opposition, even amongst\nthe members of the Select Committee, but he carried through his\nscheme.\n\nOf this Select Committee it may here be stated that Clive used its\nmembers solely as a consultative committee. Those members had their\nduties, not always in Calcutta. Thus, whilst Carnac was with the\narmy, Sykes acted at Murshidábád as the Governor's agent; Verelst\nsupervised the districts of Burdwán and Mednípur: Mr. Sumner alone\nremained with Clive. This gentleman had been nominated to succeed\nClive in case of his death or resignation. But it had become evident\nto Clive long before the period at which we have arrived that he was\nin every way unfitted for such an office. Infirm of purpose,\nsympathizing to a great extent with the corrupt party, wanting in\nenergy, Sumner had given Clive but a slack support. This was the case\nespecially in the matter of the reform of the Council just narrated.\n\nPursuing his inquiries Clive soon discovered that the administration\nof the civil districts and divisions by the Company's officers had\nbeen as faulty and corrupt as it well could be. The case, after\nexamination and report, was tersely put by the Court of Directors in\ntheir summary of the state of Bengal on his arrival there. They\ndescribed the three provinces, Bengal, Bihár, and Orissa, as 'a\n_súbah_'[4] disarmed, with {167}a revenue of almost two millions\nsterling, at the mercy of our servants, who had adopted an unheard-of\nruinous principle, of an interest distinct from that of the Company.\nThis principle showed itself in laying their hands upon everything\nthey did not deem the Company's property. To reform the abuses so\ndescribed Clive invoked the assistance of those who ought to have\nbeen immediately concerned in the introduction of juster\nadministration. He invited the young Nawáb and his councillors to\nCalcutta, and held with them long conferences. The disclosures which\nfollowed more than confirmed the worst fears he had entertained\nregarding the all but universal corruption of the members of the\nCivil Service. It was in consequence of these disclosures that he\ncompelled the retirement from the Council, as he had found it\ncomposed on his arrival, of five of its members, and suspended the\nremaining three. He filled up the vacancies thus caused by indenting\non Madras for a sufficient number of civilians to raise the total\nnumber of councillors to twelve.\n\n[Footnote 4: The word 'Súbah' is used here to mean one of the large\ndivisions of the Mughal empire.]\n\nThese sweeping reforms produced their natural effect. Clive became\nhated. The civilians and their friends and accomplices acted\naccording as their natures were dominated by fear or by love of\nrevenge. Of the former, one, greatly inculpated, the chief agent of\nPatná, committed suicide. Of the latter, many formed amongst\nthemselves an association, of which the following were some of the\nprincipal articles:--'all visits to the Governor were forbidden; no\n{168}invitations from him or from the members of the Select Committee\nwere to be accepted; the gentlemen coming from Madras were to be\ntreated with neglect and contempt; every member who should deviate\nfrom these rules would be denounced and avoided.' At a later period\ntheir hostility indicated itself in a more serious manner.\n\nOf the young Súbahdár Clive formed but a poor opinion. He seemed to\nhim a nullity. The one man of ability about him, the minister\nMuhammad Ríza Khán, the chief of those who had been bribed to raise\nhim to the _masnad_, was absolutely without scruple. Clive was most\nunwilling to trust the political education of the Súbahdár to such a\nman, or to others about him who possessed his unscrupulousness but\ndid not share his ability. But it was difficult to discover a better\nman; and Clive had ultimately to be content with the endeavour to\nlessen his influence by associating with him Rájá Duláb Rám--the\ngeneral who had conspired with Mír Jafar before Plassey--and with the\nhead of the great banking-house of the Sét family. But the influence\nof Ríza was too deeply founded to be lightly shaken.\n\nThe introduction of the reforms I have noted caused a great strain on\nthe constitution of the illustrious man whose iron will carried them\nthrough. He had to fight against a faction of interested men,\nassailed by abuse, thwarted by opposition, and opposed secretly by at\nleast one of the colleagues sent to support him. He was absolutely\nalone in the contest. {169}But his brave heart and his resolute will\ncarried him through. It was far more trying than fighting a battle,\nor planning and carrying through a campaign. In those cases there is\nalways the excitement of constant action; the daily, often hourly,\nsurvey of the positions; the _certaminis gaudia_ so eloquently\ndescribed by Attila; 'the holiday,' as that great conqueror called\nit, 'of the battle-field.' In the daily examinations of deeds which\ncall a blush to the cheek, and of devising measures to repress them\nin the future, Clive found none of these excitements. But though the\nwork was dreary and heartrending, though, by reason of the opposition\nhe encountered, it called into action all his mental vigour, all his\nintelligence, all his determination, it was terribly exhausting. It\nwore him out. Well might Sir John Malcolm write that it may be\nquestioned 'whether any of Clive's many and great achievements called\nforth more of that active energy and calm firmness for which he was\ndistinguished than was evinced in effecting the reform of the Civil\nService of Bengal.'\n\nThere accompanied, moreover, in all his civil contests, another\nmental trial. From causes which have been stated none of the reforms,\nhe constantly felt, could be stamped as 'thorough.' They were none of\nthem complete. He did much; he broke down corruption; he laid the\nfoundation for a permanent and perfect reform; he checked an enormous\nevil; he infused a healthier tone into the younger members of the\nservice; he aided largely towards {170}the rehabilitation of the\nBritish name, then sunk deep in the mire. But the want of intuition,\nof foresight, of the Court of Directors rendered it impossible for\nhim to do more. That ultimate aim was to come after him; his\nprinciples were to triumph; his harassing work had not been done in\nvain. It was by adopting in their entirety the principles of Lord\nClive that the Civil Service of India became one of the noblest\nservices the world has ever seen; pure in its honour; devoted in the\nperformance of its duties; conspicuous for its integrity and ability.\nIt has produced men whose names would have given lustre to any\nadministration in the world, and it continues to produce them still.\nThe work of a great man lives after him. There is not a member of the\nCivil Service of India who does not realize that for them Clive did\nnot live in vain.\n\nOur admiration for him at this epoch of his career will be the\ngreater when we realize that the administrative reforms I have\nmentioned were only a part of the duties which devolved upon him.\nSimultaneously with the dealing with them he had to devote his time\nand attention to other matters of the first importance. To the\nconsideration of these I shall ask the reader's attention in the next\nchapter.\n\n\n{171}\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\nTHE POLITICAL AND FOREIGN POLICY OF LORD CLIVE: HIS\nARMY-ADMINISTRATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCES\n\n\nOn the 25th of June Clive started on his tour northward. His presence\nwas urgently needed on the frontier, for he had to deal with two\nhumiliated princes, the Nawáb-Wazír of Oudh, and the actual inheritor\nof the empire of the Mughal, Sháh Alím, now a houseless fugitive, his\ncapital occupied by the Afgháns, possessing no resources but such as\nmight accrue from the title which he bore.\n\nAt Murshidábád, which he took on his way upwards, Clive had to settle\nwith the young Súbahdár the system which it would be incumbent upon\nhim to introduce into the three provinces, as governor under the\nover-lordship of the English. The positions of the native ruler and\nthe western foreigner had become completely inverted since the\nperiod, only nine years distant, when Siráj-ud-daulá marched against\nCalcutta to expel thence those who were his vassals. The system to be\nimposed now on the Súbahdár provided that he should become a\n{172}Nawáb-Názim, responsible for the peace and for the maintenance\nof public order in the three provinces, for the administration of\njustice, and for the enforcing of obedience to the law; that there\nshould be a Diwán, or chief minister, empowered to collect the yearly\nrevenue of the provinces, responsible for all disbursements, and for\nthe payment of the surplus into the Imperial treasury. This system\nhad prevailed in the time of the Emperor Aurangzeb. But there was\nthis important difference. In Clive's scheme, whilst Nujm-ud-daulá\nwould be Nawáb-Názim, the East India Company would occupy, from that\ntime forth and for ever, the position of Diwán; and the Imperial\ntreasury would be the treasury of the Company. The scheme was agreed\nto by the young Nawáb and his surroundings. But in working it, one\npart was found to place a power that would be abused in the hands of\nthe Nawáb-Názim. Accordingly, a few months later, that prince was\nrelieved of the responsibility for the maintenance of the public\npeace, for the administration of justice, and for the enforcing of\nobedience to the law. In a word, the Company became the rulers of the\nthree provinces, the Nawáb-Názim a cypher. Nay, more, the sum of\nmoney which the Nawáb-Názim was to have at his disposal was limited\nto fifty-three lakhs of rupees; from this he was to defray the entire\nexpenses of his court. Was it for such a result, might the shade of\nMír Jafar inquire, that the nobles of the three provinces combined to\nbetray Siráj-ud-daulá?\n\n{173}After having thus settled the affairs of the Company at\nMurshidábád, Clive proceeded by way of Patná to Benares, to meet\nthere his friend General Carnac and the suppliant Nawáb-Wazír of\nOudh. This interview was, in the eyes of Clive, likely to be fraught\nwith the most important consequences, for he was bent on the securing\nof a frontier for the English possessions such as would offer the\nbest points of defence against invasion; for, in his view, it was to\nbe permanent.\n\nIt ought not to be attributed as a great political fault to Clive\nthat his mind had not realized the fact that to maintain it is often\nnecessary to advance. In a word, it would be most unfair to judge the\naction of 1765-6 by the lights of the experience of the century which\nfollowed. Up to the year 1757 the unwarlike inhabitants of Bengal had\nbeen the prey of the Mughal or the Maráthá. But in 1765, so far as\ncould be judged, neither was to be feared. The Maráthá power had\nsuffered in 1761, on the field of Pánípat, near Delhi, one of the\nmost crushing defeats ever inflicted on a people, and Clive had no\npower of divining that the genius of a young member of one of their\nruling families, who escaped wounded from the field, would, in a few\nyears, raise the Maráthá power to more than its pristine greatness.\nAs for the Mughal, his power was gone for ever; the representative\nprince was at the very moment a fugitive at Allahábád, not possessed\nof a stiver. What was there to be feared from him or from his family?\nIn the {174}three provinces the English possessed the richest parts\nof India. It was surely good policy, he argued, if he could by treaty\nwith his neighbours, and by occupying the salient points which\ncovered them, render them unassailable.\n\nAfter some preliminary conversation with the Nawáb-Wazír, Clive found\nthat it would be necessary to proceed to Allahábád to confer there\nwith the titular emperor, Sháh Alím. He found that prince full of\nideas as to the possibility of recovering with the aid of Clive his\nlost possessions in the north-west. Nothing was further from Clive's\nmind than an enterprise of that character, and, with his accustomed\ntact he soon convinced the two princes that it was necessary first to\nsettle the English frontier before discussing any other subject. He\nthen proceeded to develop his plan. He demanded the cession of the\nfortress of Chanár to the English; the provinces of Karra and\nAllahábád to the Emperor, to be held, on his behalf, by the English;\nthe payment by the Nawáb-Wazír of fifty lakhs, for the expenses of\nthe war just concluded; an engagement from him never to employ or\ngive protection to Mír Kásim or to Samru; permission to the East\nIndia Company to trade throughout his dominions, and to establish\nfactories within them. The Nawáb-Wazír agreed to every clause except\nto that regarding the factories. He had observed, he stated, that\nwhenever the English established a footing in a country, even though\nit were only by means of a commercial {175}factory, they never budged\nfrom it; their countrymen followed them; and in the end they became\nmasters of the place. He then pointed out how, in nine years, the\nsmall factory of Calcutta had absorbed the three provinces, and was\nnow engaged in swallowing up places beyond their border. He would\nnot, he finally declared, submit his dominions to the same chance.\nRecognizing his earnestness, and having really no desire to plant\nfactories in Oudh, Clive wisely gave way on that one point. He\ncarried, however, all the other points. It was further arranged that\nthe Zamíndár of Benares, who had befriended the English during the\nwar, should retain his possessions in subordination to the\nNawáb-Wazír; that a treaty of mutual support should be signed between\nthe English, the Nawáb-Wazír, and the Súbahdár of the three\nprovinces; and that should English troops be required to fight for\nthe defence of the Nawáb-Wazír's country, he should defray all their\nexpenses.\n\nSubsequently at Chaprá, in Bihár, Clive met the Nawáb-Wazír, the\nrepresentative of Sháh Alím, agents from the Ját chiefs of Agra, and\nothers from the Rohillá chiefs of Rohilkhand. The avowed purpose of\nthe meeting was to form a league against Maráthá aggression, it\nhaving been recently discovered that that people had entered into\ncommunications with Sháh Alím for the purpose of restoring him to his\nthrone. Then it was that the question of the English frontier was\ndiscussed. It was eventually agreed that one {176}entire brigade\nshould occupy Allahábád, to protect that place and the adjoining\ndistrict of Karra;[1] that a strong detachment of the second brigade\nshould occupy Chanár; two battalions Benares; and one Lucknow. On his\nside the Emperor granted firmans bestowing the three provinces upon\nthe East India Company 'as a free gift without the association of any\nother person,' subject to an annual payment to himself and successors\nof twenty-six lakhs of rupees, and to the condition that the Company\nshould maintain an army for their defence.\n\n[Footnote 1: Karra was a very important division and city in the time\nof the Mughals, and is repeatedly referred to by the native\nhistorians whose records appear in Sir H. Elliot's history. See vols.\nii, iii, iv, v and viii. The city is now in ruins.]\n\nOn the 19th of May following the Súbahdár of the three provinces\ndied. The arrangements made by Clive had deprived the position of all\npolitical importance. The individuality of the person holding that\nonce important office was therefore of little importance. The next\nheir, a brother, naturally succeeded. The only change made on the\noccasion was the reduction of the allowance for all the expenses of\nthe office from fifty-three to forty-one lakhs of rupees.\n\nOn one point Clive continued firm. Although, practically, the English\nhad now become the masters of the three provinces, the Súbahdár only\nthe show-figure, he insisted that the former should still remain in\nthe background. The revenue was still to be collected in {177}the\nname, and nominally on behalf of the native prince. The utmost he\nwould permit in a contrary direction was to appoint English\nsupervisors, to see that the native collectors did their duty. Beyond\nthat he would not go. In the eyes of the world of India the three\nprovinces were to continue a _Súbah_, administered by a Súbahdár. The\ncontrol of the English was to remain a matter for arrangement with\nthe actual ruler, their real power only to be prominently used when\noccasion might require, and then, likewise, in the name of the\nSúbahdár.\n\nWe have fortunately from his own hand the principles which guided\nhim, and which he hoped would guide his successors, in their\nrelations to the other powers of India. In a State paper[2] written\nbefore his departure, he thus expressed his views: 'Our possessions\nshould be bounded by the provinces.' 'We should studiously maintain\npeace; it is the groundwork of our prosperity. Never consent to act\noffensively against any Powers except in defence of our own, the\nKing's, or the Nawáb-Wazír's dominions, as stipulated by treaty; and,\nabove all things, be assured that a march to Delhi would be not only\na vain and fruitless project, but attended with destruction to your\nown army, and perhaps put a period to the very being of the Company\nin Bengal.' In a word, to borrow the criticism of the author from\nwhose work I have quoted, 'the English were to lie snugly\n{178}ensconced in the three provinces of Bengal, Bihár, and Orissa.\nThe frontier of Oudh was to form a permanent barrier against all\nfurther progress.' Such a policy might commend itself to the\ntheorist, but it was not fitted for the rough throes of an empire in\ndissolution, its several parts disputed by adventurers. Within a\nsingle decade it was blown to the winds.[3]\n\n[Footnote 2: _Early Records of British India_, by Talboys Wheeler. In\nthis interesting work the paper quoted from is given _in extenso_.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Wheeler.]\n\nThere is one subject upon which it becomes me to touch slightly\nbefore considering the army administration. During one of his visits\nto Murshidábád it was discovered that, in his will, the late\nSúbahdár, Mír Jafar, had bequeathed five lakhs of rupees to Clive.\nThe discovery was made after Clive, in common with the other servants\nof the Company, had bound himself not to accept any presents from\nnatives of India. He could not therefore take the legacy himself. But\nthe money was there--practically to be disposed of as he might\ndirect. He resolved, with the approval of his Council, to constitute\nwith it a fund for the relief of the officers and men of the\nCompany's army who might be disabled by wounds or by the climate.\nThus was formed the institution which, under the title of 'Lord\nClive's Fund,' served to bring help and consolation to many poor and\ndeserving servants of the Company for nearly a century. By a strange\nfreak of fortune this fund reverted, in 1858, on the transfer of\nIndia to the Crown, to the descendants of the very man who could not,\nor believed he could not, accept it, when bequeathed to him, for\nhimself.\n\n{179}Whilst dealing with the internal administration of the country,\nand arranging for the protection of its frontier, Clive had not been\nunmindful of the other duty strongly impressed upon him by the Court\nof Directors, that of examining the pay and allowances of their\nmilitary officers, with special reference to an allowance known as\nBatta. Batta, in a military sense, represented the extra sum or\nallowance granted to soldiers when on field duty. Practically it had\nbeen granted on the following principle. Officers had been allowed a\nfixed monthly pay and allowances, not including batta, when they were\nserving in garrison. When they took the field they drew an extra sum\nas batta, known as full batta; but when they were detached to an\nout-station, not being actually in the field, they drew only half\nthat amount, which was called half-batta. After the battle of\nPlassey, Mír Jafar, in the profusion of his gratitude, had bestowed\nupon the officers an additional sum equal to full batta. This was\ncalled 'double batta,' and as long as the army was in the field,\nfighting for the interests of that chief, he continued, with the\nsanction of the Council of Calcutta, to disburse that allowance. Mír\nKásim, on his succession, had expressed his intention to continue\nthis payment, and had assigned to the Company, for that purpose\namongst others, the revenues of three districts. But the Court of\nDirectors, not fully realizing that the transaction with Mír Kásim\nwas one eminently advantageous to themselves, and forgetting that the\nreceipt of the revenues of the three provinces {180}was accompanied\nby an obligation, chose to forget the latter point, and accepting the\nrevenues, issued peremptory orders to discontinue the disbursement of\ndouble batta. This order seemed so unjust that the then Council of\nCalcutta (1762), on receiving it, went thoroughly into the question,\nand, in a despatch to the Court, submitted the case for the officers\nin the strongest terms. The reply of the Court adds one proof to many\nof the unfitness of men not belonging to the ruling class to exercise\nsupreme authority. The Directors refused the prayer of their servants\non grounds which, by no artifice of despatch-writing, could be made\nto apply to the circumstances of the case.\n\nThat reply was dated the 9th of March, 1763. Just one month earlier\nthe Calcutta Council had appointed a Special Committee on the spot to\nexamine and report upon the question. But before the Committee could\ncomplete its inquiries there broke out that war with Mír Kásim, which\ncalled for the extraordinary exertions of the class whose claims were\nunder examination. The services of Majors Adams and Carnac, two of\nthe members of the Committee, were required in the field, and it was\nby the splendid exertions of the former and his officers that the\nCompany was rescued from imminent peril. The inquiry dropped during\nthe war.\n\nBut although the splendid exertions of the officers saved British\ninterests in 1763, the Court of Directors did not the less persist in\nresolving to curtail their {181}allowances. On the 1st of June, 1764,\nwhilst the army, having conquered Mír Kásim, stood opposed to the\nforces of the Nawáb-Wazír of Oudh, they despatched the most precise\norders that the allowance of double batta should be discontinued from\nthe date of the receipt of their order. Probably the Court of\nDirectors was the only ruling body in the world which would have\ndared to issue an order greatly curtailing allowances to an army in\nthe field, opposed to greatly superior forces whose triumph would\nmean destruction to the Company. But this is but one instance of the\ndogged incapacity to rule with which the history of the Court of\nDirectors abounds.\n\nWhen the despatch reached India the army had but just gained the\nbloody and decisive battle of Baksar. The Calcutta Council dared not,\nat such a moment, carry out the orders of the Court. There were other\nreasons for delay. Lord Clive was on his way from England, and to\nhim, probably, special instructions had been given.\n\nWe have seen the course which Lord Clive pursued with reference to\nthe other branches of the administration. It was the end of the year\n1765 before he touched the army. Then he issued instructions that\nfrom the 1st of January, 1766, the double batta should be withdrawn,\nexcept as regarded the second brigade, then stationed at Allahábád.\nThis brigade, on account of the high prices of provisions at the\nstation, and the expense of procuring the necessary supplies from\nEurope, was to be allowed double batta in the field, {182}and the old\noriginal single batta in cantonments or in garrison, until it should\nbe recalled within the provinces. This rule was to be applied to all\ntroops beyond the Karmnásá. Clive directed further that the rest of\nthe army should receive single batta when marching or in the field,\nand half single batta when in cantonment or in garrison, as at Mungír\nor Patná; but when at Calcutta or within the Presidency division the\nofficers would receive no batta at all, but free quarters in lieu of\nit.\n\nThe order was badly received by the officers. They had enjoyed the\nprivilege of double batta and its accessories so long that they had\ncome to regard such allowances as their right by prescription. They\nat once memorialized the Government with a view to obtain a\nmodification. But the reply Clive invariably gave them was to the\neffect that the orders of the Court had left him no option in the\nmatter. Driven into a corner, their regard for their interests got\nthe better of their sense of discipline. The officers of the several\nbrigades and regiments entered into a correspondence with one\nanother, formed committees, and decided to wrench by force the\nrights, as they deemed them, of which the order of the Court had\ndeprived them. In a word, the European army of India, officers and\nmen--for the men were prepared to follow the lead of the\nofficers--combined against the Government.\n\nSpace will not permit me, nor is it requisite, that I should detail\nthe measures they adopted to bend the {183}Government to their will.\nIt must suffice to state that the mutiny was of a most formidable\ncharacter. So complete was the organization of the conspiring\nofficers, so well laid were their plans, so secret had been their\nmeasures, that, during the period of four months the organization was\nin progress, not a single whisper of it had reached the Government.\nClive received the first intimation of it when he was officially\ninformed of it by the commander of the first brigade--a man who\nsympathized with the movement and desired its success. At the moment\nthe conspirators were ready for action. That they possessed the\nsympathy of the members of the Civil Service was shown by the fact\nthat the latter subscribed 140,000 rupees to aid the movement, and\nsupplied the conspirators with copies of the proceedings of the\nGovernment.\n\nFormidable as was the situation no living man was so well qualified\nto deal with it as was Clive. In the hour of danger he soared above\nhis fellows. The danger here was greater than the danger of Arcot;\nthan at the surprises of Káveripák and of Samiáveram; than during the\nhour of doubt at Plassey. His opponents were his own men--men whom he\nhad led to victory. They possessed all the fortified places, the\nguns, the material of war. From the frontier came rumours of the\nadvance of a Maráthá army, 60,000 strong, to wrest Allahábád and\nKarra from his hand. But there he was, the same cool, patient,\ndefiant man he had been when confronted by the bayonets of the\n{184}French at Káveripák and Samiáveram. He knew that the Government\nhe represented was in the most imminent danger, that if the mutineers\nshould move forward, he had not the means to oppose them.\n\nThe manner in which Clive met this danger is a lesson for all time.\nNot for an instant did he quail. Never was he more resolved to carry\nout the orders he had issued regarding batta than when he was told,\nthat, in the presence of the enemy on the frontier, the officers\nwould resign their commissions if the order were not withdrawn.\n\nFor the moment, fortunately, the conspirators had resolved to await\nhis action. He, then, would take the initiative. On the very day when\nhe received the report of the existence of the conspiracy he formed a\ncommittee, composed of himself, General Carnac, and Mr. Sykes, to\ncarry out the plan of action he had formed. First, he and they\nresolved to send immediately to Madras for officers. Then they passed\na resolution declaring that any officer resigning his commission\nshould be debarred from serving the Company in any capacity, and sent\ncopies of it to the several brigades for distribution to all\nconcerned. Clive then hurried to Murshidábád; he addressed the\nrecalcitrant officers stationed there; spoke to them in terms firm,\nyet conciliatory; told them they were acting very wrongly and very\nfoolishly; that they were infringing the very discipline which they\nknew to be the mainstay of an army; that although immediate success\nmight be theirs, they must be beaten {185}in the long run; that such\nconduct could only be pardoned on condition of immediate submission.\nTouched by the language of the man who had been to them an object of\nveneration, all the officers, two young lieutenants excepted,\nhesitated--then submitted absolutely. This success was followed by\nsimilar results at the other stations in the Presidency division,\nvisited by Carnac and Sykes. In that division only two captains and a\nlieutenant continued recalcitrant.\n\nThere remained then only the important centres of Mungír, Bánkípur\n(Patná), and Allahábád, the officers stationed there being bound to\neach other by the most solemn engagements. At the first-named of\nthese places the Commandant was Sir Robert Fletcher, himself a\nwell-wisher to the plot. When the officers there simultaneously\ntendered their resignation, agreeing to serve for fifteen days longer\nwithout pay, Fletcher received them with sympathy, and told them he\nwould forward their letter to headquarters. At Bánkípur, then the\nmilitary cantonment of Patná, the commandant, Sir R. Barker, one of\nthe superior officers who had accompanied Clive from England, acted\nfar differently. Before replying, he communicated with Lord Clive,\nthen at Murshidábád, and received from him instructions to place\nunder arrest every officer whose conduct should seem to him to come\nunder the construction of mutiny, and to detain such at Bánkípur\nuntil it might be possible to convene a general court-martial to try\nthem. To render {186}complete the necessary numbers of field-officers\nClive promoted on the spot two officers known to be loyal. The\nBánkípur officers followed, nevertheless, the conduct of their\ncomrades at Mungír, and resigned in a body. Barker not only declined\nto accept those resignations, but arrested four of the ringleaders,\nand despatched them by water to Calcutta. This bold action paralyzed\nthe recalcitrants, and followed up as it was by the journey of Clive\nto Mungír, accompanied by some officers who had come round from\nMadras, it dealt a blow to the mutineers from which they never\ncompletely rallied.\n\nBut at Allahábád the danger was still more menacing. There and at the\nstation of Surájpur, only two officers, Colonel Smith, and a Major of\nthe same name, were absolutely untainted: four were but slightly so,\nand could be depended upon to act with the Smiths in an emergency;\nall the others had pledged themselves to 'the cause.' Those of the\nlatter stationed at Allahábád displayed their disaffection in the\nusual manner, whereupon Major Smith, commanding there, calling on the\nsipáhís to support him, placed under arrest every officer in the\nplace, the four slightly tainted officers excepted. He then informed\nthe mutinous officers that he would shoot down without mercy any and\nevery officer who should break his arrest. This action was most\neffective. All the officers but six submitted and were allowed to\nreturn to duty. The six were deported to Patná, to be tried there. A\nsimilar course was followed by Colonel Smith at {187}Surájpur, with\nthe result, however, that nearly one half of the officers remained\nrecalcitrant, and were despatched under arrest to Calcutta.\n\nMeanwhile, at Mungír, the officers continued in a thorough state of\ndisorganization, the commander, Sir Robert Fletcher, encouraging\nthem. The day before Clive's arrival, an officer whom he had sent in\nadvance, Colonel Champion, surprising the officers in full conclave,\nlearned from them that they desired to recount their grievances to\nClive in person. On learning this Clive directed them to parade with\ntheir men the following morning, giving directions simultaneously to\nChampion, to bring to the ground two battalions of sipáhís, under the\ncommand of Captain F. Smith, an officer known to be loyal. Then a\nvery curious circumstance happened. Smith had but just entered the\nfort with his sipáhís when he noticed that the Europeans, infantry\nand artillery, were turning out to mutiny. Without a moment's\nhesitation he marched towards them with his sipáhís; seized, by a\nbold strategic movement, a mound which was the key of the position,\ncompletely dominating the ground on which the Europeans were drawn\nup. The latter, who were on the point of quitting the fort, noting\nthe commanding position occupied by the sipáhís, halted and\nhesitated. Smith took advantage of the pause thus caused to tell them\nthat unless they should retire instantly to their barracks he would\nfire upon them. At the moment Sir R. Fletcher came up, began to\nencourage the revolters, and to distribute {188}money amongst them;\nsuddenly, however, taking in the exact position, he changed his tone,\nordered the recalcitrant officers to leave the fort within two hours,\nand reported the whole circumstance to Lord Clive. The officers left\nat once, and the incident closed for the day; but when, the following\nmorning, Clive entered the fort, and addressed the assembled soldiers\non the wickedness of their conduct, praised and rewarded the sipáhís\nfor their behaviour, the men gave way. The mutiny, as far as Mungír\nwas concerned, was over. Meanwhile the officers expelled by Fletcher\nhad encamped within a short distance of Mungír, resolved to wait\nthere the arrival of their comrades from other stations. But they had\nto deal with a man who would stand no trifling. Clive despatched to\nthem an order to set out forthwith for Calcutta; and to quicken their\nmovements he sent a detachment of sipáhís to see that his order was\nobeyed. After that there was no more mutiny at Mungír, or in the\nstations dependent upon it.\n\nAt Bánkípur the officers, notwithstanding the action of Sir R.\nBarker, previously noted, had sent their commissions _en bloc_ to\nLord Clive. But the news of the occurrences at Mungír startled and\nfrightened them. When, then, Lord Clive arrived at Patná, he found\nthe officers penitent and humble, and that his only task was to\npardon. There, too, he learned with pleasure the successful action of\nthe two Smiths at Allahábád and Surájpur. He remained then at Patná,\nto crush the last embers of the mutiny, and to arrange {189}for the\nbringing to justice of the ringleaders. This last task he performed\nin a manner which tempered justice with mercy. Fletcher, who had\nplayed a double part, and whose actions were prompted by personal\ngreed, was brought to a court-martial and cashiered. Five other\nofficers were deported, but of these, one, John Neville Parker, was\nreinstated in 1769, and survived to render glorious service to the\nCompany, giving his life for his masters in 1781.\n\nThe comparative ease with which Clive suppressed this formidable\nconspiracy was due to one cause alone. No sooner did Clive hear of\nthe combination than, instead of waiting to be attacked, he seized\nthe initiative: the mutineers allowed him to strike the first blow;\nstanding on the defensive in their isolated positions, they gave the\nopportunity to Clive to destroy them in detail. It was the action\nwhich Napoleon employed against the Austrians in 1796, 1805, and in\n1809. It is useless to speculate what might have been the result if\nClive had stood, as the majority of men would have stood, on the\ndefensive. By the opposite course he not only saved the situation,\nbut achieving a very decisive victory, struck a blow at\ninsubordination which gave an altered tone to the officers of the\narmy, then as much hankering after ungodly pelf as were their\nbrethren in the Civil Service. Never, throughout his glorious career\nas a soldier, did Clive's character and his conduct stand higher than\nwhen, in dealing out punishment for the {190}mutiny which he, and he\nalone, had suppressed, he remembered the former services of the\nsoldiers who had been led away, and gave them all, a few\nincorrigibles excepted, the opportunity to retrieve their characters\non future fields of battle.\n\nThe task of Clive in India had now been accomplished. Thoroughly had\nhe carried through the mission entrusted to him. He had cleansed, as\nfar as was possible, the Augean stable. He had given himself no\nrecreation: he was completely worn out. He had announced to the Court\nof Directors so far back as 1765 his intention to resign as soon as\nhe could do so without inconvenience to the public interests. The\nCourt, in reply, whilst most handsomely acknowledging his services,\nhad begged him to devote yet one year to India. When that letter\nreached him, December 1766, he had already accomplished all that,\nwith the means and powers at his disposal, it was possible to carry\nthrough. He felt then that, broken in health, he might retire with\nhonour from the country he had won for England. Having penned a\nvaluable minute, laying down the principles which should guide the\npolicy of his successor, based upon his own action during the\npreceding three years, he made over to one of his colleagues of the\nSelect Committee, Mr. Verelst,[4] the office of Governor, and\nnominating Colonel Richard Smith, then on the frontier, to {191}be\nCommander-in-chief, Mr. Sykes, Mr. Carter, and Mr. Beecher, to form,\nwith the Governor, the Select Committee, he bade farewell to his\nfriends, and, on the 29th of January, 1767, embarked on board the\ngood ship _Britannia_ for England.\n\n[Footnote 4: Mr. Sumner, whose weak character I have described, and\nwho had been designated Lord Clive's successor, had been forced to\nresign his seat on the Select Committee.]\n\n\n{192}\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\nTHE RETURN OF THE CONQUEROR-STATESMAN, AND THE RECEPTION ACCORDED TO\nHIM BY HIS COUNTRYMEN: HIS STRUGGLES; AND HIS DEATH\n\n\nOne of the ablest and most impartial of English historians, the fifth\nEarl Stanhope, has thus summed up his appreciation of the results of\nthe second administration of Clive in India: 'On the whole it may be\nsaid that his second command was not less important for reform than\nhis first had been for conquest. By this the foundations, at least,\nof good government were securely laid. And the results would have\nbeen greater still could Clive have remained longer at his post.' It\nwas impossible he could remain. In December, 1766, his weakness was\nso great as to disable him from writing. He required rest, and as we\nhave seen he embarked for England at the close of the month\nfollowing, to find there, alas! no rest, but, on the contrary, the\nbitterest, the most persistent, the most unscrupulous enemies; their\nattacks prompted by the corrupt officials whom he had driven from the\nposts they had abused, and who were able, nevertheless, to enlist in\ntheir vile {193}persecution statesmen of great renown holding high\noffice under the Crown.\n\nIt is a pitiful tale, this persecution of a man who had rendered the\nmost magnificent services to his country. The one blot minute\ninvestigation had been able to find in his career was the treatment\nof Aminchand. But Aminchand was a blackmailer who had threatened to\nbetray a state-secret of enormous importance unless he were paid a\nsum out of all proportion to the services he rendered. Such a man\ndeserves no commiseration. His treachery, if Clive had refused to\nsubscribe to his terms, would have involved the death of thousands,\nand might have driven the English out of Bengal. Clive fought him\nwith the same Asiatic weapon Aminchand had levelled against himself,\nand beat him. That his action was wrong in morals, unworthy of his\nlofty nature, is unquestionable. But it is not so certain that, under\nsimilar pressure, in circumstances so critical, those who most\nbitterly denounced him would have acted otherwise. Some writers have\naverred, and until recently it has been accepted, that the deceit\ndrove Aminchand to madness. But inquiry has dissipated this fiction.\nHe was, it is true, startled into insensibility by the discovery of\nthe fact that he had been imposed upon, but, after visiting the\nshrine of a famous saint in Málwá, he returned to his business in\nCalcutta and prospered till his death. As to the other part of the\nsame transaction, the signing of the name of Admiral Watson, Clive\nstated on oath, in his evidence {194}before the House of Commons,\nthat although the admiral had refused to sign the document, he had,\nto the best of his belief, permitted Mr. Lushington to affix his\nname; and certainly amongst those who benefited by the transaction\nwas Admiral Watson himself, who, after the triumph of the\nconspirators, claimed even more than he received. But it was on these\ntwo points that the miscreants whom Clive, in his second\nadministration, had driven from the posts they had sullied, and their\nallies, based a persecution which tortured the enfeebled frame of the\nconqueror.\n\nClive's real fault in the eyes of the leaders of the persecution was\nthat he had become rich himself, and had prevented them from\nfattening on the plunder of the country he had conquered. To most\nmen, in fact to all but a very few men, in England and in France,\nIndia was a _terra incognita_ whither a certain few repaired young,\nand whence they returned, in the prime of their manhood, rich, and\noften with a great reputation. Why was it that such men were at once\nsubjected to the vilest persecution? The fact that they were so is\nincontestable. Clive himself and Warren Hastings, whose reputation\nhas recently been splendidly vindicated by two great Englishmen,[1]\nare cases in point in England; Dupleix and La Bourdonnais and Lally,\nin France. It is the saddest of sad stories; the men who had rendered\nthe most brilliant {195}services to their respective countries\nfinding their bitterest enemies often amongst the Ministers of the\nCrown. There is little to discriminate between the conduct of\nparliamentary England and despotic France except in the degree of\nmisery and punishment to which they alike subjected the most\nillustrious of their countrymen who had served in India.\n\n[Footnote 1: Sir Fitzjames Stephen in the case of Nanda-Kumár: Sir\nJohn Strachey in reference to the charges respecting Oudh and\nRohilkhand.]\n\nTo return. It will be remembered that in his second administration\nClive had purified the Civil Service of Bengal. The corrupt men whom\nhe had ejected had returned to England whilst he was still in India,\nthe charges made against them accompanying or preceding them in the\ndespatches transmitted to the Court of Directors. On receiving these\ndespatches the Court, having taken the opinions of their own lawyers\nand of those of the Crown, resolved to bring the culprits to trial\nfor having accepted presents from the natives after they had received\nthe order from the Court making such acceptance penal. But the\ninculpated men were rich and they resolved to appeal from the\nDirectors to the Proprietors. There had been a difference between\nthese two bodies as to whether the annual dividends should be\nincreased from ten, the amount recommended by the Court, to twelve\nand a half per cent. At the annual meeting the votes of the men\ndismissed by Clive enabled the Proprietors to carry their point. The\ncorrupt clique utilized this victory by proposing and carrying a\nresolution that the prosecutions instituted against them should be\ndismissed. This was accordingly done.\n\n{196}Two months later, July 14, Clive landed in England. He was well\nreceived. The King and Queen admitted him to private audiences. The\nCourt of Directors received him in full conclave, immediately after\nhis reception by their Majesties, thanked him for his splendid\nachievements, and immediately convened a general Court to confirm the\nproposal that the jágír, granted him by Mír Jafar, should be\nconfirmed to him for an additional ten years. This resolution was\nunanimously passed.\n\nSo far there was no sign of the coming storm. Not a sound of the\ndistant hurricane had been wafted to the ears of Clive. He had\nreturned as ambitious as he ever had been, resolved to devote to the\nservice of his country the energies he had displayed in the East.\nAlready he had made arrangements to secure seats for himself and for\nsix of his relatives, when, to rest before the elections should take\nplace, he started for Paris (January, 1768) with Lady Clive and a\nsmall party. He was very confident in the future. He had received\npersonally the King's commands to lay before his Majesty his ideas of\nthe Company's affairs both at home and abroad, with a promise of his\nMajesty's countenance and protection in anything he might attempt for\nthe good of the nation and the Company. He had seen so much of what\nhe called 'the ignorance and obstinacy' of the Court of Directors,\nwho, he stated in a letter to his successor, Mr. Verelst, 'are\nuniversally despised and hated,' that he felt sure his would be the\nhand, in the coming meeting of the Court {197}of Proprietors, to stay\ntheir fall or to renew their vitality. In a word, his confidence was\nnever greater, never did he feel more assured regarding the future.\n\nYet, during this confidence of the soul, this longing for political\nwarfare, his nearest friends could easily detect that he had not\nsufficiently recovered from the strain of his last three years in\nIndia. His body did not respond to the call of the ever active brain.\nHis friends and his physicians urged him then to take a complete rest\nand holiday of fourteen to fifteen months in France. With difficulty\nthey induced him to stay eight months. Then he returned to find that\nhe and his six relatives had, in his absence, been elected Members of\nParliament.\n\nHis return produced a renewal of the activity of his enemies. They\nfilled London with stories of his rapacity. Sir Robert Fletcher,\nwhose shameful conduct during the mutiny of the officers I have\nrecorded, wrote against him a pamphlet which irritated him greatly.\nHe was hardly to be prevented from answering it. There were other\nconsiderations which, at this time, affected his career. When the\ngeneral election at which he and his friends were returned had taken\nplace, the Ministry was presided over by the Duke of Grafton, Lord\nChatham being Lord Privy Seal and Lord North Chancellor of the\nExchequer. At the end of 1769 Chatham was forced by the state of his\nhealth, which had long been bad, to resign; and in the January of the\nyear following, the Duke of Grafton resigned and was succeeded as\nFirst Lord of the Treasury {198}by Lord North. Clive had not posed as\na supporter of either of these administrations. He had declared\nhimself to be a supporter of George Grenville, the head of the\nGrenville Whigs, who were then in opposition. It has been claimed[2]\nfor him that Clive declined to commit himself to any party of the\nIndian policy of which he was ignorant. But none of the members of\nLord North's Cabinet knew anything of India, and if Clive, commanding\nseven votes, had been asked to join it, he might have educated his\ncolleagues on the subject. An opportunity of following such a course\nseemed to occur when Mr. Wedderburn, an able lawyer and a personal\nally of Clive, joined the North Ministry, but Clive remained staunch\nto the Grenville connexion, exercising but little influence, and\nexposed all the time to the bitter shafts of his enemies, which\nincreased every day in intensity and venom. To make the situation\nstill less endurable George Grenville died (November, 1770).\n\n[Footnote 2: Malcolm's _Clive_.]\n\nMeanwhile affairs in India were not progressing satisfactorily. In\nBengal, indeed, Mr. Verelst, acting on the lines laid down by Clive,\nhad with the support of his colleagues succeeded in maintaining peace\nand prosperity. But in Madras, the incursions of Haidar Alí, an\nadventurer who by sheer ability and daring had climbed to the highest\nplace in the kingdom of Mysore, had caused the English in that\nPresidency severe losses, and forced them to incur an expenditure\nwhich deprived the Proprietors of Indian {199}Stock of all chance of\ndividends for some time to come. To meet this financial embarrassment\nthe Crown and the Company could dream of no other device than the\nfutile one of sending to India three commissioners, who, under the\nname of Supervisors, should have full power over all the other\nservants of the Company. They nominated accordingly Mr. Vansittart,\nwho, from having been the warmest friend of Clive, had become his\nbitterest opponent; and who, but for the successful opposition of\nClive and his friends, would have been appointed Governor in\nsuccession to Mr. Verelst. With him they associated Mr. Scrafton, an\nold and valued servant of the Company; and Colonel Forde, the\nconqueror of the Northern Sirkárs and of Biderra--both intimate\nfriends and adherents of Clive. These gentlemen sailed in the\n_Aurora_ frigate in the autumn of 1769. The _Aurora_ reached the Cape\nin safety, but was never heard of after she had quitted Simon's Bay.\nIt was supposed that she foundered at sea.\n\nSome considerable time elapsed before it had been realized in England\nthat the Supervisors had failed them, and that it would be necessary\nto take other measures to remedy existing evils. Meanwhile events had\nhappened which increased the necessity for immediate and effective\naction. In 1770 the three provinces were visited by a famine\nexceeding in intensity all the famines of preceding ages. There had\nbeen, in years gone by, no beneficent strangers from the West to\nmake, as in later years, provision for the {200}occurrence of so\ngreat a calamity. The rains had failed; the water in the tanks had\ndried up; the rice-fields had become parched and dry. There were but\nfew stores handy to enable the foreigner to disburse the necessary\ngrain. It was the first famine-experience of the English, and they\ntoo had made no provision for it. The misery was terrible. The large\ncentres of industry, the only places where there was a chance of\nobtaining food, became thronged with the dying and the dead. The\nrivers floating corpses to the sea became so tainted that the very\nfish ceased to be wholesome food. In summing up, two years later, the\neffects of the famine on the population, the Governor-General in\nCouncil declared that in some places one-half, and, on the whole,\none-third of the inhabitants had been destroyed. It need scarcely be\nadded that this terrible calamity affected the Proprietors of East\nIndia Stock in a manner, to them the most vital:--it destroyed their\nprospects of large dividends.\n\nTo remedy this evil the brains of the Court of Directors could devise\nno other scheme than that which the foundering of the _Aurora_ had\npreviously baffled: they would send out other Supervisors. But Lord\nNorth had taken the matter in hand. He brought in a bill providing\nfor the constitution in Calcutta of a Supreme Court, to consist of a\nChief Justice and three Puisné judges, appointed by the Crown; giving\nto the Governor of Bengal authority over the two other Presidencies,\nwith the title of {201}Governor-General, to be assisted and\ncontrolled by a Council of five members. The great blot of this bill\nwas the clause which gave a controlling power to the Council. The\nGovernor-General had in it but one vote, and in case of equality, a\ncasting-vote. Mr. Warren Hastings who, twelve months before, had\nsucceeded Mr. John Cartier[3] as Governor, was appointed first\nGovernor-General of India.\n\n[Footnote 3: Mr. Cartier had succeeded Mr. Verelst in 1769.]\n\nThe war with Haidar Alí and the famine in Bengal had brought India\nand Indian matters very prominently into the parliamentary\ndiscussions of 1771, 1772 and 1773, and during these the name of Lord\nClive had not been spared. The attacks against him were led\nprincipally by General Burgoyne, a natural son of Lord Bingley, best\nknown in history as the commander who surrendered a British army,\n5,791 strong, to the American colonists.[4] In April, 1772, this\nofficer had become Chairman of a Select Committee composed of\nthirty-one members, to inquire and report on Indian affairs. Another\nCommittee, called Secret, and composed of thirteen members nominated\nby ballot, was appointed, on the motion of Lord North, in November of\nthe same year, to take into consideration the whole state of the\nCompany's affairs. Into the other proceedings of these committees\nthis volume has no cause to enter; but they had scarcely been\nconstituted when they began to let fly their arrows at Lord Clive.\nThe chief cause of these attacks {202}is so well stated by the\nsober-minded historian,[5] that I cannot refrain from quoting his\nremarks. 'Besides the public wrongs of which he (Lord Clive) stood\naccused, there was also, it may be feared, a feeling of personal envy\nat work against him. His vast wealth became a more striking mark for\ncalumny when contrasted with the financial embarrassments of the\nDirectors in whose service he had gained it. And his profusion, as\never happens, offended far more persons than it pleased. He had\nbought the noble seat of Claremont from the Duchess Dowager of\nNewcastle, and was improving it at lavish cost. He had so far\ninvested money in the smaller boroughs that he could reckon on\nbringing into Parliament a retinue of six or seven friends or\nkinsmen. Under such circumstances the Select Committee, over which\nBurgoyne presided, made Clive their more especial object of attack.\nThey drew forth into the light of day several transactions certainly\nnot well formed to bear it, as the forgery of Admiral Watson's\nsignature, and the fraud practised on Aminchand. But at the same time\nthey could not shut out the lustre of the great deeds he had\nperformed. Clive himself was unsparingly questioned, and treated with\nslight regard. As he complains, in one of his speeches: \"I their\nhumble servant, the Baron of Plassey, have been examined by the\nSelect Committee more like a sheep-stealer than a member of this\nHouse.\" And he adds, with perfect truth: \"I am sure, Sir, if I had\nany sore {203}places about me, they would have been found: they have\nprobed me to the bottom; no lenient plasters have been applied to\nheal; no, Sir, they were all of the blister kind, prepared with\nSpanish flies and other provocatives.\"'\n\n[Footnote 4: At Saratoga, October 17, 1777.]\n\n[Footnote 5: Lord Stanhope's _History of England_, vol. vii. pp.\n353-4.]\n\nThroughout these attacks Clive never lost his calmness or his\npresence of mind. Never once did his lofty spirit quail. He stood\nthere still the unconquered hero, ready to meet every charge,\nsometimes retorting, but always nobly, on his adversaries. His\nfriends rallied gallantly round him. His particular friend, Mr.\nWedderburn, then Solicitor-General, gave him a support as valuable as\nit was unstinted. When his administration in Bengal was spoken of by\nhis old enemy, Mr. Sulivan, in the House in a manner which, whilst\nnot directly attacking it, conveyed the impression that there was a\ngreat deal more in the background, Clive went through every phase of\nhis career in Bengal, defending his own action in a style which\ngained for him admiration. It was not, however, until the month of\nMay, 1773, that General Burgoyne defined the vague charges which had\ntheretofore supplied the place of argument, and brought them forward,\nas a vote of censure, in three resolutions. These resolutions ran as\nfollows: (1) 'that all acquisitions made under the influence of a\nmilitary force, or by treaty with foreign princes, did of right\nbelong to the State'; (2) 'that to appropriate acquisitions so made\nto the private emoluments of persons entrusted with any civil or\nmilitary power {204}of the State is illegal'; (3) 'that very great\nsums of money, and other valuable property, had been acquired in\nBengal from princes and others of that country by persons entrusted\nwith the civil and military powers of the State by means of such\npowers; which sums of money and valuable property have been\nappropriated to the private use of such persons.'\n\nThese resolutions named nobody. But in the speech in which they were\nintroduced Burgoyne took care that there should be no doubt as to the\nperson against whom they were directed. He dwelt, with a bitterness\nnot to be surpassed, on all the delinquencies, real and imaginary, of\nthe conqueror of Bengal. He traced all the misfortunes which had\nsubsequently happened to the Company to the treasonable compact which\nhad dethroned Siráj-ud-daulá and placed Mír Jafar on his seat, and\ndenounced the conduct of the authors of that transaction as 'black\nperfidy.' He denounced, also, in terms equally severe, the treatment\nof Aminchand; the forging of the name of Admiral Watson; the\nagreement, which, he said, had extorted from Mír Jafar enormous sums,\nunder the guise of presents, to the leading servants of the Company\nin Bengal. On the second administration of Clive, which was really a\nlong struggle against the corruption by which he was surrounded,\nBurgoyne railed as bitterly and as unsparingly. Nor was he content\nwith merely railing. Before he sat down he declared that if the House\nshould pass his resolutions he would not stop there, but would\nproceed to follow them up with others, his {205}object being to\ncompel those who had acquired large sums of money in the manner he\nhad denounced to make a full and complete restitution.\n\nThe Solicitor-General, Wedderburn, conducted the defence for Clive,\nand it was noticeable that the party styled 'the King's Friends,'\namongst many others, gave him their support. The Attorney-General,\nThurlow, supported Burgoyne, and the Prime Minister, Lord North,\nvoted with him. The voting on these resolutions did not, however,\nindicate the real sense of the House, for many of those who supported\nthem thought it would be better for the cause of Clive that the\nfurther resolutions threatened by Burgoyne should be proceeded with\nin order that a decisive vote should be taken on a motion implicating\nClive by name rather than on resolutions of a vague and general\ncharacter. The resolutions, then, were carried.\n\nBurgoyne then proceeded, as he had promised, to follow up his\nvictory. On the 17th of May he brought forward the following\nresolution: 'That it appears to this House that the Right Honourable\nRobert, Lord Clive, Baron of Plassey, in the kingdom of Ireland,\nabout the time of the deposition of Siráj-ud-daulá, and the\nestablishment of Mír Jafar on the _masnad_, through the influence of\nthe powers with which he was entrusted as member of the Select\nCommittee and Commander-in-chief of the British forces, did obtain\nand possess himself of two lakhs of rupees as Commander-in-chief, a\nfurther sum of two lakhs and eighty thousand rupees as member of the\nSelect {206}Committee, and a further sum of sixteen lakhs or more,\nunder the denomination of a private donation, which sums, amounting\ntogether to twenty lakhs and eighty thousand rupees, were of value,\nin English money, of two hundred and thirty-four thousand pounds; and\nthat in so doing the said Robert Clive abused the power with which he\nwas entrusted, to the evil example of the servants of the public, and\nto the dishonour and detriment of the State.'\n\nNo one could say that these charges were not sufficiently pointed.\nClive met them with his accustomed resolution. He rejoiced that the\nreal issue had come at last; that the great jury of the nation, the\nHouse of Commons, was, after so long an interval devoted to calumny,\nto abuse, to vague and shadowy charges, to record its vote on the\nreal question. On their decision on this resolution he would stand or\nfall. The alternative which his fiercest fights had presented to him,\nthe necessity to conquer or to be disgraced, was presented to him\nhere. He had won those fights by the exercise rather of his lofty\nmoral qualities than by his skill as a soldier, and by the exercise\nof the same qualities he would win this one also. And he did win it.\nAfter Burgoyne, introducing his resolution, had traversed the same\nground he had followed in the preceding resolutions, and had\nconcluded by calling upon the House, like the old Roman heroes, 'to\nstrike when the justice of the State requires it,' Clive rose to\ndefend himself. Recapitulating the services he had rendered, he\nreminded the {207}House that the transactions in Bengal, upon which\nBurgoyne relied for a conviction, had been known in their general\ntenour to the Company and the Crown when they had thanked him, not\nonce but repeatedly, for his services. He proceeded then to expose\nthe interested and revengeful motives of the clique which had\ninstigated the attack, not sparing even those in high places who,\nfrom various causes, had allowed themselves to sanction it. Turning\nfrom that point, he asked prominent attention to the fact that the\nIndia Office, now his accuser, had almost forced him to proceed for\nthe second time to Bengal, and had expressed a deep regret that his\nhealth had not allowed him to stay there longer. 'After certificates\nsuch as these,' he added, 'am I to be brought here like a criminal,\nand the very best parts of my conduct construed into crimes against\nthe State?' Stating then that the resolution, if carried, would\nreduce him to depend on his paternal inheritance of 500 pounds per\nannum, he continued: 'But on this I am content to live; and perhaps I\nshall find more real content of mind and happiness than in the\ntrembling affluence of an unsettled fortune. But, Sir, I must make\none more observation. If the definition of the hon. gentleman\n(Colonel Burgoyne) and of this House, that the State, as expressed in\nthese resolutions, is, _quoad hoc_, the Company, then, Sir, every\nfarthing I enjoy is granted to me. But to be called upon, after\nsixteen years have elapsed, to account for my conduct in this manner,\nand after an uninterrupted enjoyment of my {208}property, to be\nquestioned, and considered as obtaining it unwarrantably, is hard\nindeed; it is a treatment I should not think the British Senate\ncapable of. But if such should be the case, I have a conscious\ninnocence within me that tells me my conduct is irreproachable.\n_Frangas non flectes._[6] My enemies may take from me what I have;\nthey may, as they think, make me poor, but I shall be happy. I mean\nnot this as my defence, though I have done for the present. My\ndefence will be heard at that bar, but before I sit down I have one\nrequest to make to this House: that when they come to decide upon my\nhonour, they will not forget their own.'\n\n[Footnote 6: 'You may break, but you shall not bend, me.']\n\nThe debate was adjourned, and in the few days following some\nwitnesses gave evidence at the bar of the House. Lord Clive's\nevidence, given before the Select Committee, was also read there. In\nthe debate that followed, Mr. Stanley proposed to omit the words\ninculpating the honour of Clive. Mr. Fuller seconded this amendment,\ngoing even further, and striking out the sentence referring to the\nexercise of undue influence. His suggestion was accepted, and the\nHouse proceeded to discuss the amendment as so altered. After a\nprotracted debate the division was called for, when it was found that\n155 members had voted for the amendment and 95 against it. This\nvictory stripped Burgoyne's resolutions of all their sting. Vainly\ndid a member of his party attempt to restore the battle by moving\nthat Clive had abused the {209}powers intrusted to him in acting as\nhe avowedly had acted. The House refused to re-open that question.\nFinally, at five o'clock in the morning, the House passed the\nfollowing resolution, which consummated the defeat of Burgoyne: 'That\nRobert, Lord Clive, did, at the same time, render great and\nmeritorious services to his country.' On this conclusion to the\nviolent attacks on Clive, Lord Stanhope, well versed in Parliamentary\nprocedure, thus wrote: 'Such a vote might be deemed almost a verdict\nof acquittal. Certainly, at least, it showed a wise reluctance to\ncondemn. It closed the whole case, and Clive had no further\nParliamentary attack to fear.'\n\nBut though the victory was gained, the struggle affecting the\npersonal honour and fortune of a proud and sensitive man had made\ndeep inroads upon the constitution of one who had been long suffering\nfrom the acute agony caused by the malady contracted in India. Freed\nfrom the attack of his enemies, he might, had his health been only\ntolerable, have looked forward to a high command in the war just\nabout to break out with the colonists of North America. There he\nwould have been in his place; there, under the influence of constant\naction, he would have forgotten his troubles; even his oft-recurring\nspasms might have disappeared. But, after the Parliamentary contest\nwas over, with the waning of the ever-present excitement, his health\nbecame worse. In vain did he repair to Bath to try the effect of its\nwaters. In vain, finding that for him the virtues of the Bath waters\nhad {210}departed, did he proceed to the Continent for travel. Rest\ncame not. A complication of disorders prevented sleep, and travel\nfailed to remedy the evil. His mind had no longer the sustaining\npower which in former days had enabled him to meet with tranquillity\nthe frowns of Fortune. He returned to England in 1774, and shortly\nafterwards, in November of that year, when apparently thoroughly\nconscious,[7] fell by his own hand. 'To the last,' wrote Lord\nStanhope, 'he appears to have retained his serene demeanour and stern\ndominion of his will.' It is difficult for us who have followed his\ncareer to realise the terrible upsetting of the balance of the great\nbrain which had brought such an act within the bounds of possibility.\n\n[Footnote 7: Lord Stanhope relates a story regarding the manner of\nClive's death, told by the Earl of Shelburne, afterwards the first\nMarquis of Lansdowne, to the person from whom he (Lord Stanhope)\nreceived it. 'It so chanced, that a young lady, an attached friend of\nhis (Clive's) family, was then upon a visit at his house in Berkeley\nSquare, and sat writing a letter, in one of its apartments. Seeing\nLord Clive walk through, she called him to come and mend her pen.\nLord Clive obeyed her summons, and taking out his penknife fulfilled\nher request; after which, passing on to another chamber, he turned\nthe same knife against himself.']\n\n'Such was the end,' says a French writer, 'of one of the men who did\nthe most for the greatness of England.' That foreign verdict is at\nleast incontestable. Caesar conquered Gaul for his country; Hannibal\ncaused unrest to Rome for nearly a quarter of a century; Wellington\ndrove the French from Portugal and Spain. The achievement of Clive\nwas more splendid than any one of these. He founded for this little\nisland in the {211}Atlantic a magnificent empire; an empire famous in\nantiquity, renowned since the time of Alexander, whose greatest\nsovereign had been the contemporary of Queen Elizabeth, more\nenlightened than any of her predecessors, more tolerant, a more\nfar-sighted statesman even than she. He was, according to Lord\nStanhope, emphatically 'a great man.' But he was more than a great\nman. Like Caius Julius, he united two personalities; he was a great\nstatesman and a great soldier. He was a man of thought as well as a\nman of action. No administration surpasses, in the strength of will\nof the administrator, in excellence of design, in thoroughness of\npurpose, and, as far as his masters would permit, in thoroughness of\naction, his second administration of Bengal. No general who ever\nfought displayed greater calmness in danger, more coolness of brain,\nthan did Clive at Káveripák, at Samiáveram, at Calcutta, when, on the\nfog rising, he found himself enveloped by the Súbahdár's army, 40,000\nstrong. Nothing daunted him; nothing clouded his judgement; his\ndecision, the decision of the moment, was always right. In a word, he\nwas a born master of men.\n\nBut, says the moralist, he committed faults, and at once the false\ntreaty made with Aminchand is thrown into the face of the historian.\nYes, he did do it; and not only that, he stated in his evidence\nbefore the House of Commons that if he were again under the same\ncircumstances he would do it again. None of his detractors had had\nthe opportunity of judging of {212}the terrible issues which the\nthreatened treachery of Aminchand had opened to his vision. Upon the\ndecision of Clive rested the lives of thousands. To save those lives\nthere appeared to him but one sure method available, and that was to\ndeceive the deceiver. I think his decision was a wrong one, but it\nshould always be remembered that, as Clive stated before the\nCommittee, he had no interested motive in doing what he did do; he\ndid it with the design of disappointing a rapacious man and of\npreventing the consequences of his treachery. He was in a position of\nterrible responsibility, and he acted to save others. Let the stern\nmoralist stand in the same position as that in which Clive stood, and\nit is just possible he might think as Clive thought. At all events,\nthis one fault, for fault it was, cannot or ought not to be set up as\na counterweight against services which have given this island the\nhighest position amongst all the nations of the earth. The House of\nCommons, after a long debate, condoned it. Might not Posterity, the\nPosterity which has profited by that very fault, be content to follow\nthe lead of the House of Commons? With all his faults, Clive was 'one\nof the men who did the most for the greatness of England.' That fact\nis before us every day. His one fault hastened his death, from the\nhandle it gave to the envious and the revengeful, and took from him\nthe chance of gaining fresh laurels in America. May not the\never-living fact of his services induce us to overlook, to blot out\nfrom the memory, that one mistake, which he so bitterly expiated in\nhis lifetime?\n\n\n{213}\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nADAMS, Major John, defeated Mír Kásim at Kátwá, 156:\n    at Gheriá, 156:\n  stormed strong position of Undwá Nala, 157:\n  his death, 157:\n  fought against Mír Kásim, 180.\n\nAHMAD SHÁH, succeeded on the death of his father, Muhammad Sháh, 44.\n\nAIN-Í-AKBARÍ, Blochmann's, quoted, 118_n_.\n\nAIX-LA-CHAPELLE, Peace of, 40 and _n_., 42.\n\nAKBAR, mentioned, 17, 85, 118_n_.\n\nALÍ VARDI KHÁN, Governor of Bihár, 85:\n  battle of Gheriá, 85:\n  proclaimed himself Súbahdár, 85:\n  died, 85:\n  succeeded by his grandson, Siráj-ud-daulá, 85.\n\nALLAHÁBÁD, occupied by the English, 157, 174:\n  conference at, 174:\n  clauses of Clive's demand at, 174.\n\nAMBÚR, Anwar-ud-dín defeated and slain at, 45.\n\nAMERICA, war with colonists of North, 209.\n\nAMINCHAND, Calcutta merchant, 86:\n  negotiated for Clive and his allies, 86:\n  betrayed Siráj-ud-daulá's confidence, 87:\n  demanded 20 lakhs of rupees, 87:\n  his name omitted from false document by Clive, 87, 134, 135, 193,\n    202, 204, 211:\n  informed by Mr. Scrafton that he was to receive nothing, 113:\n  his pilgrimage to Malda, 113, 193:\n  returned to his business in Calcutta, 113, 193.\n\nANGRIA, pirate chief at Gheriá, 77:\n  his plunderings, 77:\n  Commodore Jones sent to attack, 77:\n  defeated by Watson and Clive, 78.\n\nANWAR-UD-DÍN, suspected poisoner of Khojá Abdullah, 28:\n  appointed provisionally Nawáb, a guardian of the young prince,\n    Saiyud Muhammad, 28:\n  suspected murderer of the young prince, 30:\n  Nawáb of Arcot, 31:\n  appealed to by Dupleix, 33:\n  attempted to prevent hostilities, 34:\n  capture of Madras took him by surprise, 36:\n  tried to regain Madras, but failed, 39:\n  finally regained Madras, 41:\n  slain, 45.\n\nARCOLA, story of the bridge of, compared to the battle of Arni, 57.\n\nARCOT, Dost Alí at, 24:\n  Safdar Alí proclaimed Nawáb at, 25:\n  Murtizá Alí declared himself Nawáb at, 27:\n  Nizám-ul-Múlk with his army entered, 28:\n  Saiyud Muhammad murdered at, 29:\n  left almost undefended, 52:\n  taken by Clive, 53:\n  attacked by the French, 54:\n  French dispersed by Clive at, 54:\n  siege of, 55:\n  strong garrison placed in, 59:\n  Arcot mentioned, 183.\n\nARMAGON, English Settlement on the Coromandel Coast, 18.\n\nARMSTRONG, Captain, at Council of War, 93:\n  arrested by Clive, 114:\n  acquitted by court-martial, 114.\n\nARMY ADMINISTRATION, 179-90.\n\nARNI, battle of, 56-58:\n  French defeated at, 58:\n  its ruler declared for Muhammad Alí, 58.\n\nASAF JÁH, title granted to the family of Chin Kílich Khán, 17.\n\n_Asiatic Annual Register_, quoted, 39_n_.\n\nAURANGZEB, died in 1707, 16:\n  placed the Súbahs he had conquered under a Súbahdár, or chief, 17:\n  mentioned, 85, 172.\n\n_Aurora_, frigate, in which Supervisors sailed, lost, 199.\n\n\nBAJ-BAJ, fort near Maiápur, taken by Clive, 82.\n\nBAKAR ALÍ, Governor of Vellore, 23.\n\nBAKHSHÍ, Siráj-ud-daulá's Commander-in-chief, 86.\n\nBAKSAR, battle of, 157, 181.\n\nBÁNKÍPUR, military cantonment of Patná, 185:\n  Sir R. Barker commandant at, 185:\n  ringleaders arrested at, 186.\n\nBAPTÁ, Clive encamped at, 111.\n\nBARDWÁN, revenue of, granted money to Clive, 117.\n\nBÁRH, Clive and Mír Jafar marched to, 118.\n\nBARKER, Sir R., commandant at Bánkípur, 185:\n  arrested ringleaders at Bánkípur, 186.\n\nBARNETT, Commodore, in command of squadron, 33:\n  died, 34.\n\nBATH, Clive went to take the waters at, 209.\n\nBATTA, 179:\n  Mír Jafar's double batta, 179:\n  discontinued, 180, 181:\n  double batta at Allahábád, 181:\n  single batta, 182.\n\nBAYLEY, Mr., Robert Clive's uncle at Manchester, 9.\n\nBEECHER, Mr., Member of Select Committee, 191.\n\nBENARES, occupied by the English, 157:\n  interview between Clive, General Carnac, and Nawáb-Wazír of Oudh\n    at, 173:\n  Zamíndár of, 175.\n\nBENGAL, Clive in, 85:\n  state of affairs in, 132:\n  Clive's achievements in, 133-6:\n  position of Bengal, 173.\n\nBHÁGÍRATHÍ, 92.\n\nBIDERRA, Dutch defeated by Forde and Knox at, 131.\n\nBIHÁR, Alí Vardi Khán, Governor of, 85:\n  Governor of, rebelled against Mír Jafar, 115:\n  Clive and Mír Jafar at, 117:\n  seat of saltpetre manufacture, 117:\n  Mír Jafar yields it to East India Company, 118.\n\nBÍJAPUR, king of, sold Puducheri to the French in 1672, named\n    afterwards Pondicherry, 20:\n  Muzaffar Jang, Governor of, 44.\n\nBISNAGAR, Rájá of, granted a small portion of land, called\n  Chennapatanam, to the English, 18, 19.\n\nBLACK HOLE of Calcutta, 78, 79, 85, 132.\n\nBLOCHMANN'S _Ain-í-Akbarí_, quoted, 118_n_.\n\nBOSCAWEN, Admiral, in command of fleet, 39:\n  laid siege to Pondicherry, 39:\n  sailed for England, 40.\n\nBOURDONNAIS, M. de la, sent in command of a squadron, 33:\n  landed at Madras, 35, 194:\n  captured Madras, 35:\n  treaty, 35.\n\n_Britannia_, ship on board which Clive returned to England, 191.\n\nBROOME'S _History of the Bengal Army_, 90_n_., 95_n_., 96_n_.,\n    109_n_.\n\nBURGOYNE, General, 201 and _n_.:\n  led attacks on Clive, 201, 203-9.\n\nBURSLEM'S, Mr., school at Market Drayton, to which Clive went when he\n    was eleven, 10.\n\nBUSSY-CASTELNAU, captured Gingi for the French, 47:\n  avenged the death of Muzaffar Jang, and caused Salábat Jang to be\n    proclaimed successor, 48:\n  retained at Dupleix's court, 60:\n  overtures with Siráj-ud-daulá at Haidarábád, 87.\n\nBUTE, Lord, Secretary of State, 143:\n  Prime Minister, 143:\n  Clive's suggestions to, 144:\n  indignant at Clive's opposition, 145.\n\n\nCALCUTTA, Black Hole of, 78-9:\n  Manikchand, Governor of, 81:\n  surrendered to Clive, 82:\n  Watson took possession and handed keys to Drake, 82:\n  Select Committee of, 87:\n  Council of, 165, 179, 180.\n\nCALLIAUD, Major, Commander of the Forces, 137:\n  fought against the King of Delhi and defended Patná, 151:\n  summoned to attend Council, 151.\n\nCAMBRIDGE'S _War in India_, quoted, 43_n_.\n\nCAMPBELL, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\nCAREY, Mrs., among the prisoners in the Black Hole of Calcutta, 79.\n\nCARNAC, General, 157:\n  placed by Clive at head of army, 159, 166:\n  met Clive at Benares, 173:\n  fought against Mír Kásim, 180.\n\nCARSTAIRS, Capt.-Lieut., at Council of War, 93.\n\nCARTER, Mr., Member of Select Committee, 191.\n\nCARTIER, Governor after Verelst, 201 and _n_.\n\nCHAMPION, Colonel, 187.\n\nCHANÁR, occupied by the English, 157:\n  ceded to the English, 174.\n\nCHÁNDA SÁHIB appointed Diwán by Saádat-ullá-Khán, 23:\n  sent with Safdar Alí to capture Trichinopoli, 24:\n  remained as Governor, 24:\n  went to Arcot to do homage to Safdar Alí, 25:\n  suspecting danger, left his family at Pondicherry, 26:\n  kept up the siege of Trichinopoli for three months, 26:\n  surrendered, 26:\n  taken off in custody, 26:\n  at Sátára, 31:\n  released, 44:\n  Nawáb of Arcot, 45:\n  marched to Trichinopoli, 46:\n  retreated to Pondicherry, 47:\n  besieged Trichinopoli, 51:\n  sent troops to join his son, Rájá Sáhib, at North Arcot, 54:\n  defeated, 56-8:\n  his army still in position before Trichinopoli, but much weakened,\n    59:\n  murdered, 73.\n\nCHANDRANAGAR, taken by Clive, 84:\n  Clive's troops stationed at, 90:\n  Dutch defeated at, 131.\n\nCHAPRÁ, in Bihár, meeting at, 175.\n\nCHARLES VI, died in 1740, 31.\n\nCHENNAPATANAM, granted to the English by the Rájá of Bisnagar, 18-19:\n  renamed Madras, 19:\n  Fort St. George built, 19:\n  Madras raised to a Presidency, 19:\n  population at the end of 17th century, 19:\n  constitution of the town in 1744, 19.\n\nCHIN KÍLICH KHÁN, took steps to make the Súbahdárship hereditary in\n    his family, 17, 23:\n  obtained titles of Nizám-ul-Múlk and Asaf Jáh, 17:\n  ruler of Deccan, 18.\n\nCIVIL SERVICE, reformed by Clive, 160, 169-70.\n\nCLAREMONT, bought by Clive, 202.\n\nCLARKE, Captain, in command at Devikota, 50:\n  at Trichinopoli, 51.\n\nCLIVE, Robert, arrived at Madras as a writer in the service of the\n    East India Company in 1744, 9, 10, 11, 30:\n  his early years not promising, 9:\n  born at Styche, 9:\n  sent to his uncle, Mr. Bayley, at Manchester when three years old,\n    9:\n  sent to school at Lostocke, 10:\n  removed to Market Drayton, 10:\n  brief experience of public school-life at Merchant Taylors', 10:\n  private school in Hertfordshire till appointed writer, 10:\n  his character at his several schools, 10:\n  belonged to a 'fighting caste,' 10:\n  learned to lead, 10:\n  life of an attorney distasteful to him, 10:\n  duties and life of a writer not congenial to Clive, 12-13:\n  left England in 1743, 12:\n  delayed at Rio for nine months, 12:\n  insulted a superior functionary, 13:\n  assaulted by the Rev. Mr. Fordyce, 14:\n  regarded as a quiet member of society by his superiors, 15:\n  Mr. Morse, Governor at Madras, befriended him, 15:\n  state of India when Clive arrived described, 16-30:\n  Clive's fortunes affected by the hostilities between the French and\n    the English, 32-41:\n  conspicuous in the first siege of Pondicherry, 39:\n  retired to Fort St. David, 40:\n  joined the expedition to Devikota as a volunteer, 42:\n  under Major Lawrence stormed Devikota, which was ceded to the East\n    India Company, 43:\n  situation when Clive returned from Devikota described, 45-48:\n  appointed Commissary of the Forces, 48:\n  ill and ordered for a cruise, 48:\n  on his return he equipped a force for Trichinopoli, 48:\n  accompanied a larger force to Volkonda, 49:\n  objecting to Captain Gingen's commands and mismanagement he\n    returned to Fort St. David, 49:\n  volunteered to go with Mr. Pigot to accompany a force with\n    provisions to Trichinopoli, 49:\n  went as far as Verdachelam, 49:\n  returned to Fort St. David, 49:\n  determined to become a soldier, 50:\n  Governor of Madras gave him the commission of captain, 50:\n  directed him to go to Devikota with troops and join Capt. Clarke,\n    50:\n    and report from Trichinopoli to Mr. Saunders, 50:\n  Clive impressed by the depressed condition of the native prince and\n    English soldiers, 51:\n  resolved to remedy conditions, 51, 52:\n  returned to Fort St. David to consult Mr. Saunders, 52:\n  despatched to Madras with 200 soldiers, 52: 300 sipáhís, 53:\n  reached Kanchípuram, 53:\n  went on to Arcot, 53:\n  defeated the natives at Tímerí, 53:\n  sent for guns from Madras, 53:\n  guns intercepted at Kanchípuram, 53:\n  marched to save the guns, and in his absence the enemy attacked\n    Arcot, 54:\n  brought the guns into the fort and the enemy dispersed, 54:\n  siege of Arcot, 55:\n  took Timerí, 56:\n  marched to Arni to attack Rájá Sáhib, 56:\n  dispersed the enemy, 58:\n  marched to Kanchípuram and took possession, 58:\n  returned to Madras and then to Fort St. David, 59:\n  Dupleix attempting to reconquer Arcot, Clive was sent with troops\n    to meet him, 63:\n  reached Vendalúr and marched on to Kanchípuram, 64:\n  after a short halt, proceeded to Káveripák, where the French were\n    concealed, 64, 65: battle, 66: Clive won, 66:\n  baffled Dupleix, 67:\n  returned to Fort St. David, 67:\n  prepared to go to Trichinopoli, 67:\n  despatched by Lawrence to occupy Samiáveram, 68:\n  his engagements with d'Auteuil, 68, 69:\n  Clive surprised at Samiáveram, 70:\n  defeated the enemy, 72, 73:\n  captured Paichanda, 73:\n  forced d'Auteuil to surrender at Volkonda, 73:\n  Clive returned to Fort St. David, 73:\n  proceeded to Madras for rest, 73:\n  married Miss Maskeleyne, 74:\n  left Madras on sick-leave, 74:\n  Clive in England, 75:\n  Court of Directors gave him a great banquet, 75:\n  voted him a diamond-hilted sword, 75:\n  stood for St, Michael, returned as supporter of Mr. Fox, 76:\n  unseated, 76:\n  returned to India, 76:\n  appointed Lieut.-Colonel, and named Governor and Commander of Fort\n    St. David, with succession to the Governorship of Madras, 76:\n  took troops to India with instructions to convey them to Bengal,\n    76:\n  Clive and his troops attacked and destroyed Gheriá, 78:\n  went along the Coromandel Coast back to Fort St. David, 78:\n  Clive sent to the Húglí, 80:\n  landed near Maiápur, marched to Baj-baj, 81:\n  surprised in the night by Manikchand, Governor of Calcutta, 82:\n  Calcutta surrendered to Clive, 82:\n  Admiral Watson took possession, 82:\n  Clive stormed Húglí, 83:\n  treaty with the Nawáb, 84:\n  conquered Chandranagar, 84:\n  Clive's dealings with Siráj-ud-daulá, 85-88:\n  preparations for war, 90:\n  the battle of Plassey, 91-106:\n  English loss small, 105:\n  Clive's great victory, 105, 106:\n  Clive's dealings with Mír Jafar, 109-11, 115-23:\n    with Aminchand, 113:\n  spoils of Plassey disputed, 113-7:\n  created Mansabdar, 118:\n  his dealings with the Princes of Southern India, 123:\n  the Dutch invasion, 124-30:\n  defeat of the Dutch, 130-2:\n  Clive's achievements in Bengal, 133-7:\n  leaves Bengal 1760, 137:\n  Clive's second visit to England, 138-48:\n  Clive's letter to Mr. Pitt, 139-41:\n  Clive's fame as a soldier, 141:\n  did not receive a warm welcome, 142:\n  ill health, 142:\n  made an Irish peer, 143:\n  not a supporter of the Bute Administration, 143:\n  Mr. Lawrence Sulivan, enemy of Clive, 144:\n  Sulivan's objection to the donation of the jágír to Clive, 145:\n  Clive voted against the Peace of Paris, 145:\n  Sulivan tried to exclude Clive from a seat in the India House, 145:\n  Clive defeated, 146:\n  disturbance in Calcutta caused a panic in the India House, 146:\n  Clive urged to accept the office of Governor-General, 146:\n  fresh election by the Court of Proprietors, and Clive returned,\n    147:\n  Clive's proposal regarding the jágír, 147:\n  Clive started for India, 148:\n  Clive appointed Vansittart to succeed him as President of the\n    Council in Bengal, 149:\n  disturbances arose about the successor to Míran, who had died\n    suddenly, 150-1:\n  war broke out, 156:\n  Clive returned to Calcutta, 157:\n  remodelled the army and the Civil Service, 159-60:\n  presents from the Natives to Civil Servants prohibited, 161:\n  Clive's dealings with the corrupt faction, 162-3:\n  his attempts to improve the Company's trade, 163-5:\n  re-constitution of the Calcutta Council, 165-6:\n  the Select Committee, 166:\n  his attempts to reform civil administration, 166-7:\n  Clive hated, 167:\n  his good influence over the younger members of the service, 169:\n  Clive's tour northward, 171:\n  Clive's instructions to the young Súbahdár at Murshidábád, 171,\n    172:\n  he proceeded to Benares, 173:\n  after an interview with Nawáb-Wazír, they proceeded to Allahábád to\n    confer with Sháh Alím, 174:\n  Clive's demands, 174:\n  Nawáb-Wazír granted all except the one regarding factories, 174-5:\n  the meeting at Chaprá, 175:\n  league formed against Maráthá aggression, 175:\n  question of the English frontier discussed, 175-6:\n  Clive's views regarding the Súbah, the English to keep in the\n    background, the power to be in the hands of the Súbahdár, 176-7:\n  'Lord Clive's Fund,' 178:\n  Clive's army administration, 179-89:\n  'double batta,' 179, 181-2:\n  conspiracy in the army, 184-9:\n  Clive's mode of suppressing it, 189:\n  Clive resigned in 1766, and returned to England in 1767, 191:\n  his persecutions, 192-6, 201-9:\n  visit to Paris, 196:\n  on return to England found he was elected Member of Parliament,\n    197:\n  affairs in India unsatisfactory, 198-201:\n  attacks on Clive, 201-9:\n  his acquittal, 209:\n  went to Bath to try the waters, 209:\n  went abroad, 210:\n  returned to England, 210:\n  his death, 210:\n  comments on the life of Clive, 211, 212.\n\nCLIVE'S _Evidence before the Committee of the House of Commons_,\n    quoted, 96_n_., 135_n_.\n\nCLIVE'S _Report to the Court of Directors_, quoted, 96_n_.\n\nCOCHIN, independent territory, 17.\n\nCOMMISSARY OF FORCES, Clive appointed, 48.\n\nCOOTE, Major Eyre, nominated Governor of Calcutta by Admiral Watson,\n    82:\n  Clive objected to the nomination, 82:\n  sent by Clive to occupy Katwá, 91:\n  at Council of War, 93:\n  sent with a detachment, after Plassey, 105.\n\nCOOTE'S _Narrative_, quoted, 96_n_., 103_n_.\n\nCOPE, Captain, mentioned in the account of the assault against Clive\n    by Mr. Fordyce, 14:\n  commander of Force sent to help ex-Rájá of Tanjore, 42:\n  sent to Trichinopoli, 48.\n\nCORNEILLE, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\nCORNISH, Admiral, on the Arakan coast, 127.\n\nCOROMANDEL COAST, English Settlement at Armagon on the, 18.\n\nCOUNCIL OF WAR, 92-3:\n  question submitted to, 93.\n\nCOURT OF DIRECTORS fêted Clive on his return to England, 75-6:\n  appointed Clive Lieut.-Colonel, and named him Governor and\n    Commander of Fort St. David, with succession to Governorship of\n    Madras, 76:\n  Clive's letter to, 98, 105-6:\n  appointed ten men to manage affairs in Bengal, 119:\n  constitution of, 138:\n  disputed Clive's right to the jágír, 142:\n  granted to Civil Servants right to private trade, 163:\n  summary of the state of Bengal by, 166-7:\n  batta, 179-81:\n  curtailed their allowances, 180, 181:\n  received Clive well in England, 196:\n  sent out supervisors, 199, 200.\n\nCUDDALORE, Mr. Fordyce assaulted Clive at, 14.\n\nCUDMORE, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\n\nDÁBHOL, Commodore Jones recalled from, 78.\n\nDAMALCHERRI, pass in the Karnátik, 25, 45.\n\nDÁUDPUR, 94:\n  meeting between Mír Jafar and Clive at, 105:\n  entire force united at, 105.\n\nD'AUTEUIL, sent by Dupleix to take Law's place, 68:\n  approached Utátur, 68:\n  surprised Clive, 70:\n  defeated by Clive, 73:\n  retreated to Volkonda, 73:\n  surrendered to Clive, 73.\n\nDECCAN, territories belonging to, 17:\n  territories independent of, 17.\n\n_Decisive Battles of India_, by Colonel Malleson, 66_n_., 131_n_.,\n    156_n_.\n\nDELHI, sack of, 16, 30:\n  Siráj-ud-daulá's overtures to Court of, 88:\n  Muhammad Sháh, Emperor of, 30:\n  King of, threatened rebellion against Mír Jafar, 121:\n  invasion of, 151:\n  defeated by Calliaud and Knox, 151:\n  Mír Kásim died at, 158.\n\nDEVIKOTA, English tried to possess the Fort of, 42:\n  Clive sent to join Major Lawrence at, 50.\n\nDHÁKÁ in rebellion against Mír Jafar, 115.\n\nDIAMOND HARBOUR, Dutch vessels at, 126.\n\nDISRAELI, Isaac son of, mentioned, 10:\n  life of an attorney as distasteful to him as to Robert Clive, 10.\n\nDOST ALÍ, appointed to succeed Saádat-ullá Khán as Nawáb of the\n    Karnátik, 23:\n  sent his son to capture Trichinopoli, where he was slain, 25:\n  his son proclaimed Nawáb, 25.\n\nDRAKE, Mr., Governor at Calcutta, 78:\n  fled to the Húglí, 78.\n\nDRAYTON, Market, _see_ Market Drayton.\n\nDULÁB RÁM, _see_ Rájá Duláb Rám.\n\nDUMAS, M. Benoit, Governor-General of French possessions in India,\n    21:\n  at Pondicherry, 25.\n\nDUPLEIX, M., succeeded Dumas as Governor-General of French\n    possessions, 21, 32, 60, 194:\n  received instructions from the Directors on account of the\n    impending war with England, 32:\n  ordered to join M. de la Bourdonnais, 33:\n  urged to arrange with the Government of Madras that the two\n    settlements should preserve neutrality, but not granted, 33:\n  he appealed to Anwar-ud-dín, 33:\n  hostility stopped in the Karnátik, 34:\n  took Madras, 36:\n  sole director of French interests, 36:\n  sent a small force under Paradis to relieve Madras, 37:\n  slaughter at St. Thomé, 37:\n  tried to expel the English from all their settlements, 38:\n  siege of Pondicherry, 39:\n  directed the defence, 39:\n  attempted to take Trichinopoli, 60:\n  sent Law in command of troops, 60: unsuccessful, 61:\n  urged Rájá Sáhib to proceed to reconquer Arcot, and, if possible,\n    attack Madras, 62:\n  attacked Punamallu, 62:\n  marched to Kanchípuram and Vendalúr, 62:\n  Rájá Sáhib's army met by Clive at Káveripák, 64:\n  Clive surrounded by the French, 65:\n  defeated by Clive, 66:\n  sent d'Auteuil to replace Law, 68.\n\nDUTCH, monopoly of trade with the Moluccas, 124:\n  various conquests in the East, 124:\n  Dutch-Indian Company, 124:\n  settlement at Chinsurah, 124:\n  negotiations with Mír Jafar, 125:\n  Dutch fleet approaching Húglí, 126:\n  Clive demanded explanation from them, 126:\n  invasion of the, 126-30:\n  complete defeat of, 131.\n\n\n_Early Records of British India_, by Talboys Wheeler, quoted, 177 and\n    _n_.\n\nEAST INDIA COMPANY, Clive, writer in the service of, 9, 10, 11:\n  Bihár saltpetre manufacture farmed by, 118:\n  Directors of, 164:\n  Diwán of the three Provinces, 172.\n\nEATON, Dr., private school at Lostocke, to which Clive was sent till\n    he was eleven, 10.\n\nELLIOT'S _History of India_, quoted, 31_n_., 44_n_., 100_n_., 176_n_.\n\nELLIS, civil officer, prepared to seize Patná, 155:\n  defeated, 156.\n\n_Evidence before the Committee of the House of Commons_, by Clive,\n    quoted, 96_n_., 134_n_.\n\nEYRE COOTE, Major, _see_ COOTE.\n\n\nFACTORIES, not to be established by the East India Company in Oudh,\n    174:\n  Nawáb-Wazír's opinion of, 174-5.\n\nFAIZÁBÁD, occupied by the English, 157.\n\nFALTA, Major Kilpatrick with troops at, 80:\n  Admiral Watson's squadron at, 80:\n  Dutch attack off, 129.\n\nFAMINE in the three Provinces, 199-201.\n\nFISCHER, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\nFLETCHER, Sir Robert, Commandant at Mungír, 185, 187:\n  tried by court-martial and cashiered, 189:\n  his pamphlet, 197.\n\nFORDE, Colonel, sent by Clive to Vizagapatam, 122:\n  united with Rájá's troops, 122:\n  expelled French from northern Sirkárs, 122:\n  took their fortress, 122:\n  secured the influence for the English, 122:\n  fought against the Dutch, 128:\n  occupied Bárnagar, 129:\n  marched to Shirirámpur, 129:\n  Knox joined him, 130:\n  defeated Dutch, 131:\n  appointed Supervisor, 199.\n\nFORDYCE, Rev. Mr., his assault against Clive, as reported by the\n    Board at Fort St. David, 14:\n  suspended, 14.\n\nFORREST'S _Records of the Madras Presidency_ (1890), 14, 40_n_.,\n    41_n_., 50_n_., 52_n_.\n\nFORT ST. DAVID, Board at, 14:\n  English officials from Madras escaped to, 38:\n  Clive helped to defend, 38:\n  French tried to take, 39:\n  Clive appointed Governor of, 76.\n\nFORT ST. GEORGE, built at Madras, 19.\n\nFORT WILLIAM, built by Job Charnock in the reign of King William III,\n    119.\n\nFOX, Mr., Clive a supporter of, 76.\n\nFRAIS, M. St., _see_ ST. FRAIS.\n\nFRENCH COLONY, at Pondicherry, 20:\n  on the Malabar coast and at Chandranagar, in Bengal, 21.\n\nFULLER, Mr., seconded amendment to the attack against Clive, 208.\n\n\nGAUPP, Captain, at Council of War, 92.\n\nGEORGE II, King, his opinion of Clive, 141:\n  his death, 143.\n\nGHERIÁ, fort at, 77:\n  headquarters of Angria, pirate chief, 77:\n  taken by Watson and Clive, 78:\n  Alí Vardi Khán's battle at, 85.\n\nGHULÁM HUSÉN, _see_ CHÁNDA SÁHIB.\n\nGINGENS, Captain, sent to Volkonda, 48:\n  mismanaged affairs, 49:\n  in command at Trichinopoli, 51.\n\nGINGI, fortress of, 47:\n  captured by the French, 47.\n\nGOLKONDA, Nizám-ul-Múlk retired to, after taking Trichinopoli, 28.\n\nGRAFTON, Duke of, at head of Ministry, 197:\n  resigned, 197.\n\nGRANT, Major, at Council of War, 92.\n\nGRANT, Captain Alexander, at Council of War, 93.\n\nGRENVILLE, George, 198:\n  Clive a supporter of, 198:\n  his death, 198.\n\nGRIFFIN, Admiral, commanding squadron, 39.\n\nGÚDALÚR, important town near Pondicherry, 38.\n\nGUNDLAKAMMA, river in Madras, 17.\n\n\nHAIDAR ALÍ, invaded Madras, 198, 201.\n\nHAIDARÁBÁD, overtures between Siráj-ud-daulá and Bussy at, 87.\n\nHASTINGS, Warren, mentioned, 194:\n  first Governor-General of India, 201.\n\nHEBER, Bishop, quoted, 37_n_.\n\nHIGH-ROAD from Húglí to Patná made by Mughal Government, 90.\n\n_History of England_, by Lord Stanhope, 202_n_.\n\n_History of Indostan_, by Orme, quoted, 20_n_.\n\n_History of India_, by Orme, quoted, 95_n_., 109_n_.\n\n_History of India_, by Elliot, quoted, 31_n_., 44_n_., 100_n_.,\n    176_n_.\n\n_History of the Bengal Army_, by Broome, quoted, 90_n_., 95_n_.,\n    110_n_.\n\n_History of the French in India_, by Colonel Malleson, 36_n_.\n\nHOLLAND, 124.\n\nHOLWELL, Mr., in charge during Clive's absence, 136-7.\n\nHOPE HALL, the residence of Mr. Bayley, where Clive was brought up,\n    9.\n\nHÚGLÍ, river, fugitives in ships on the, 78:\n  Major Kilpatrick sent with troops to, 79:\n  Watson and Clive sent to, 80.\n\nHÚGLÍ, town, stormed by Clive, 83:\n  revenue of, granted money to Clive, 117.\n\n\n_Indostan, History of_, _see_ _History of Indostan_.\n\nINDIA passed to the Crown, 178.\n\nINDIA HOUSE, Sulivan excluded Clive from seat in, 145:\n  proprietors forced the Governor-Generalship of Bengal on Clive,\n    146:\n  sent a new covenant to Calcutta, 161:\n  refused to increase salaries, 165.\n\nIVES'S _Voyage and Historical Narrative_, quoted, 94_n_., 96_n_.\n\n\nJÁGÍR, conferred on Clive, 123 and _n_.:\n  disputed by Court of Directors, 142, 145-7.\n\nJALANGÍ, river, 91.\n\nJENNINGS, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\nJOHNSTONE, Mr. Gideon, received money for secret services, 161.\n\nJONES, Commodore, sent to attack Angria, 77:\n  recalled from Dábhol, 78.\n\n\nKALNÁ, Mr. Watts at, 92.\n\nKÁLPI, English victory at, 157.\n\nKANCHÍPURAM, Clive on his way to Arcot halted at, 53:\n  guns intercepted at, 53:\n  siege of, 58:\n  taken by Clive, 58.\n\nKARNÁTIK, territory of the Deccan, 17:\n  not immediately under the Súbahdár, 17:\n  territory entrusted to a Nawáb, 17:\n  its boundaries, 17, 18:\n  invasions and war in the, 21-31:\n  Khojá Abdullah, Nawáb of the, 28.\n\nKARRA, English victory at, 157:\n  held by the English, 174.\n\nKÁSIMBÁZÁR, Mr. Watts, English agent at, 86:\n  Siráj-ud-daulá sent an army to Plassey, in the island of, 88 and\n    _n_.:\n  troops at, 116, 119.\n\nKÁSIPUR, seat of gun-factory, 83:\n  Clive at, 83.\n\nKÁTWÁ, Major Eyre Coote sent to occupy, 91:\n  battle of, 156.\n\nKÁVERIPÁK, battle of, 64-6, 183, 211:\n  Clive defeats the French and allies, 66:\n  occupied by Clive, 66.\n\nKHOJÁ ABDULLAH, proclaimed Nawáb of the Karnátik, 28:\n  poisoned, 28.\n\nKILPATRICK, Major, sent from Madras to the Húglí, 79:\n  reached Falta, 80:\n  at Council of War, 92:\n  in command of troops at Plassey, 102:\n  marched against St. Frais, 102:\n  joined by Clive, 102.\n\nKISHANGARH, revenue of, granted money to Clive, 117.\n\nKNOX, Captain, fought against the Dutch, 128:\n  defeated the Dutch, 131:\n  fought against the King of Delhi and defended Patná, 151.\n\nKOILÁDÍ, French attempted to intercept Lawrence at, 67.\n\nKOLRUN, River, 68, 69.\n\n\nLALGUDI, mud fort of, taken by Clive, 68.\n\nLALLY, Count, sent to Pondicherry, 120:\n  marched to Tanjore, 120:\n  recalled Bussy, 120:\n  successes achieved by, 120, 194:\n  left northern Sirkárs unprotected, 121.\n\nLASCARS, with Clive at Plassey, 90, 95.\n\nLAW, of Lauriston, sent by Dupleix to Trichinopoli, 60:\n  unsuccessful, 61:\n  fought gallantly at Pondicherry, 61:\n  replaced by d'Auteuil, 68:\n  defeated by Clive at Paichanda, 69-73:\n  surrendered, 73:\n  sent by Clive near Chandranagar with troops, 84.\n\nLAWRENCE, Major Stringer, in command at Fort St. David, 40_n_.:\n  took a force to Devikota, with Clive as lieutenant, 43:\n  stormed Devikota, 43:\n  treaty, 43:\n  returned to Fort St. David, 44:\n  joined Clive, 67:\n  started with Clive for Trichinopoli, 67:\n  entered Trichinopoli, 68:\n  assisted by Morári Ráo and the Dalwai of Mysore, 68:\n  sent Clive to occupy Samiáveram, 68.\n\nLAWRENCE, Lord, quoted, 16_n_.\n\nLE BEAUME, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\n_Letters_, by Scrafton, quoted, 160_n_.\n\n_Life of Clive_, by Malcolm, 103_n_.\n\n'LORD CLIVE'S FUND,' 178.\n\nLOSTOCKE, private school where Clive was educated till he was eleven,\n    10.\n\nLUCAS, Captain, mentioned in the account of the assault against Clive\n    by Mr. Fordyce, 14.\n\nLUCKNOW, occupied by the English, 157.\n\nLUSHINGTON, affixed Admiral Watson's name to false document regarding\n    Aminchand, 194.\n\n\nMA'AFUZ KHÁN, son of Anwar-ud-dín, sent to demand Madras, 37:\n  encountered Dupleix at Maliapur, St. Thomé, 37:\n  defeated, 37:\n  taken prisoner, 45.\n\nMADHUPUR, Clive despatched Watts and Walsh to, 111:\n  Clive marched to, 111.\n\nMADRAS, Robert Clive arrives as a writer in the service of the East\n    India Service in 1744 at, 9, 30:\n  Mr. Morse Governor at, 15, 33:\n  originally Chennapatanam, 19:\n  granted to the English and re-named Madras, 19:\n  Fort St. George built, 19:\n  raised to Presidency in 1653, 19:\n  population at end of 17th century, 19:\n  constitution of the town, 19:\n  English trading colony, 20:\n  French colony, 20:\n  taken by the French, 35:\n  restored, 41.\n\n_Madras Presidency, Records of_, by Mr. Forrest, mentioned, 14,\n    40_n_., 41_n_., 50_n_., 52_n_.\n\nMAIÁPUR, Watson and Clive at, 81.\n\nMALCOLM, Sir John, mentioned, 143:\n  quoted, 169:\n  _Life of Clive_, 103_n_., 143_n_., 198_n_.\n\nMALDA, Aminchand's pilgrimage to, 113.\n\nMALIAPUR, battle between French and English at, 37.\n\nMALLESON'S, Colonel, _History of the French in India_, 36_n_.:\n  _Decisive Battles of India_, 66_n_., 130_n_., 156_n_.\n\nMANCHESTER, Clive sent to his uncle to be brought up and educated at,\n    9.\n\nMANIKCHAND, Governor of Calcutta, 81:\n  marched to Baj-baj, 81:\n  retired, 82.\n\nMANSURPET, pagoda of, taken by Clive, 68.\n\nMARÁTHÁS, took Trichinopoli, 25:\n  invasion of, 25, 26:\n  yielded Trichinopoli to Nizám-ul-Múlk, 28:\n  overtures with Siráj-ud-daulá, 87:\n  Maráthá ditch, 108:\n  defeated at battle of Pánípat, 173:\n  advance of, 183.\n\nMARKAR, the Armenian, commanded a special brigade, 154:\n  sent to Patná, 155:\n  drove the English out, 155:\n  took English prisoners, 156.\n\nMARKET DRAYTON, Clive sent to Mr. Burslem's school at, 10.\n\nMARTIN, Francis, leader of the French traders on the Coromandel\n    coast, 20, 21:\n  died 1706, 20.\n\nMASKELEYNE, Miss, married Clive, 74.\n\n_Memoir of Captain Dalton_, quoted, 49_n_., 52_n_.\n\nMERCHANT TAYLORS', Clive spent a short time at, 10.\n\nMÍRAN, son of Mír Jafar, 119:\n  arrived with an army at Murshidábád, 132:\n  struck dead by lightning, 150.\n\nMÍR ASAD, appointed Diwán in place of Chánda Sáhib, 24:\n  taken prisoner by the Maráthás, 25.\n\nMÍR JAFAR, in command of Siráj-ud-daulá's forces, 79:\n  joined Clive, 86:\n  quarrelled with Siráj-ud-daulá, 88:\n  reconciliation, 88:\n  swore fealty and to fight against Clive, 88, 91:\n  his interview with Mr. Watts, 92:\n  renounced Watts as a spy, 92:\n  threatened to destroy the English, 92:\n  favourable despatch from, 94:\n  position of his troops at Plassey, 97:\n  his interview with Siráj-ud-daulá, 100:\n  lingering of his troops, 103:\n  requested an interview with Clive, 105:\n  escorted to the camp to be proclaimed Súbahdár, 107:\n  his conditions and agreements with Clive, 107-8:\n  noble family in Bihár, 109:\n  officer of Alí Vardi Khán, 109:\n  married Alí Vardi Khán's sister, 109:\n  Bakshí of the army, 109:\n  took Calcutta, 109:\n  his meeting with Clive, 110:\n  went to Murshidábád, 111:\n  received Clive, 111:\n  proclaimed Súbahdár, 112:\n  applied to Clive for assistance, 115, 121:\n  his army at Rájmahál, 116:\n  attempt to coerce Bihár, 116-8:\n  met Clive, 116:\n  at Patná, 117:\n  marched with Clive to Bárh, 118:\n  returned to Murshidábád, 118:\n  treasury exhausted, 121:\n  conferred the jágír of the Zamíndárí on Clive, 123:\n  forced to resign, 153:\n  to reside under English protection, 153:\n  displaced by Mír Kásim, 153:\n  restored by the English, 158, 159:\n  his death, 159, 160:\n  bequeathed money to Clive, 178:\n  formation of Lord Clive's Fund, 178.\n\nMÍR KÁSIM, son-in-law of Mír Jafar, 119, 152:\n  envoy of Mír Jafar, 152:\n  wished to succeed Míran, 152:\n  his bribery successful, 152:\n  Mír Jafar to be displaced by, 152:\n  proceeded to Patná, 153:\n  installed as Súbahdár, 153:\n  good ruler, 153:\n  removed his fortress to Mungír, 153:\n  reformed his army, 154:\n  abolished transit duties, 155:\n  prepared for war, 155:\n  his army under Markar set out for Patná, 155:\n  drove the English away, 155:\n  sent Samru to Baksar, 156:\n  intercepted the English and beat them completely, 156:\n  defeated at Kátwá, 156:\n  defeated at Gheriá, 156:\n  on the fall of Patná, took refuge at Oudh, 157:\n  defeated at Baksar, 157:\n  died at Delhi, 158.\n\nMÍR MADAN, Siráj-ud-daulá's general, 97:\n  killed at Plassey, 100.\n\nMÍR MEHDÍ KHÁN, commanding Mír Jafar's troops, 155:\n  went to Mungír to report to Mír Jafar, 155.\n\nMOLITORE, Capt.-Lieut., at Council of War, 93.\n\nMORÁRI RÁO, famous Maráthá soldier, left to guard Trichinopoli, 26:\n  sent to help Clive at Arcot, 55:\n  marched with Clive to Arni, 56:\n  defeated the French, 57, 58:\n  assisted Lawrence, 68.\n\nMORSE, Mr., Governor of Madras, 15, 33:\n  befriended Clive, 15:\n  declined proposal from the French Governor that the two settlements\n    should preserve neutrality, 33:\n  demanded in vain for protection from Anwar-ud-dín, 35.\n\nMOSES, Mr. Levy, mentioned in the account of the complaint of the\n    assault of Mr. Fordyce against Clive, 14.\n\nMUGHAL DYNASTY receives a blow from which it never rallied, 16, 85,\n    173:\n  high-road from Húglí to Patná, 90.\n\nMUGHAL, Great, called on Clive to help repress the rebellion of his\n    son, 123.\n\nMUHAMMAD ALÍ, forced to flee to Trichinopoli, 45:\n  rival of Chánda Sáhib in the Deccan, 45:\n  at Trichinopoli, 51:\n  his treasury exhausted, 51.\n\nMUHAMMAD RÍZA KHÁN, nominated Deputy-Nawáb, 161, 168.\n\nMUHAMMAD SHÁH, Emperor of Delhi, 30:\n  died, 44.\n\nMUIR, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\nMUNGÍR, Mír Kásim removed his capital to, 153:\n  Sir Robert Fletcher at, 187:\n  mutiny at, 187-8.\n\nMUNRO, Sir Hector, his victory at Baksar, 157:\n  occupied Benares, Chanár and Allahábád, 157:\n  overran Oudh, 157:\n  occupied Lucknow and Faizábád, 157:\n  defeated enemy at Karra and Kálpi, 157:\n  Nawáb-Wazír of Oudh surrendered himself to, 157.\n\nMURÁDBÁGH, palace of, Clive at, 111.\n\nMURSHIDÁBÁD, capital of Siráj-ud-daulá, 78, 85:\n  bankers and merchants of, join Clive, 86:\n  Mír Jafar's interview with Mr. Watts at, 92:\n  Clive entered, 111:\n  treasury of, granted money to Clive, 117:\n  Clive at, 171.\n\nMURTIZÁ ALÍ, Governor of Vellore, 27:\n  poisoned his brother-in-law, 27:\n  proclaimed himself Nawáb, 27:\n  his flight, 27:\n  present at the royal wedding, 29:\n  sudden disappearance, 30:\n  suspected murderer of the young Prince, 30.\n\nMUZAFFAR JANG, claimed succession to the Deccan, 44:\n  Governor of Bíjapur, 44:\n  enlisted service of Maráthás, 44:\n  proclaimed himself Súbahdár of the Deccan, 45:\n  marched to Trichinopoli, 46:\n  at Tanjore, 46, 47:\n  retreated on Pondicherry, 47:\n  taken prisoner, 47:\n  released, 47:\n  acknowledged Súbahdár, 47:\n  slain on his way to Aurangábád, 47.\n\nMYSORE, an independent territory, 17:\n  sent an army to assist Muhammad Alí, 54:\n  assisted Lawrence at Trichinopoli, 68.\n\n\nNADÍR SHÁH, invasion of, 16, 17, 25, 30, 85.\n\nNEGAPATAM, squadron cruised off, 34.\n\nNAPIER'S, Sir W., _Peninsular War_, quoted, 60_n_.\n\n_Narrative_, Sir Eyre Coote's, quoted, 96_n_., 103_n_.\n\nNASÍR JANG, son of Nizám-ul-Múlk, succeeded in Southern India, 30,\n    44:\n  slain by his own levies, 47.\n\nNEWCASTLE, Duke of, 143.\n\nNEWCASTLE, Dowager Duchess of, sold Claremont to Clive, 202.\n\nNIZÁM-UL-MÚLK, title granted to the family of Chin Kílich Khán, 17:\n  Nawáb of the Karnátik, 18:\n  Súbahdár of the Deccan, 23:\n  objected to the appointments in the Karnátik made by\n    Saádat-ullá-Khán, 23:\n  gave the Maráthás permission to attack Trichinopoli, 25:\n  entered Arcot with a large army, 28:\n  marched on to Trichinopoli, 28:\n  compelled the Maráthás to yield, 28:\n  proclaimed his own commander Khojá Abdullah to be Nawáb of the\n    Karnátik, 28:\n  Nawáb poisoned, 28:\n  he appointed Anwar-ud-dín, provisionally, and to act as guardian to\n    Saiyud Muhammad, 28:\n  died, 44.\n\nNORTH, Lord, Chancellor of the Exchequer, 197:\n  First Lord of the Treasury, 198:\n  his Bill, 200-1.\n\n'NORTHERN CIRCARS,' territory of the Deccan, 17.\n\nNUJM-UD-DAULÁ, Nawáb-Názim, 172.\n\n\nOMAR BEG, sent to escort Mír Jafar to Clive's camp, 107.\n\nORME, Mr., quoted, 20_n_., 30, 81_n_., 95_n_., 96_n_., 103_n_.,\n    109_n_., 111_n_.\n\nOUDH, overtures of Siráj-ud-daulá to the Nawáb-Wazír of, 88:\n  Nawáb-Wazír of, threatened rebellion against Mír Jafar, 121:\n  Nawáb-Wazír of, protects and aids Mír Kásim, 157:\n  throws himself on the mercy of the English, 157, 159:\n  Clive's dealings with Nawáb-Wazír of, 171, 173-8.\n\n\nPAICHANDA, taken by Clive, 73.\n\nPALMER, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\nPALMYRAS, Cape, 80.\n\nPALTÍ, town on the Kásimbázár river, 91.\n\nPÁNÍPAT, battle of, mentioned, 16, 173.\n\nPARADIS, sent by Dupleix to relieve Madras, 37:\n  entered Madras, 38.\n\nPARKER, John Neville, tried by court-martial, 189:\n  reinstated, 189.\n\nPARSHAW, Capt.-Lieut., at Council of War, 93.\n\nPATNÁ, capital of Bihár, Clive accompanied Mír Jafar to, 117:\n  Clive entered and subdued, 123:\n  Mír Jafar conferred jágír on Clive at, 123:\n  Patná stormed, 151:\n  English plunders at, 155:\n  Mír Kásim died at, 158.\n\nPEACE OF PARIS, Clive voted against, 145.\n\nPEERAGE, Clive raised to an Irish, 143.\n\n_Peninsular War_, by Sir W. Napier, quoted, 60_n_.\n\nPEYTON, Commodore, commanded squadron on Commodore Barnett's death,\n    34:\n  cruised off Negapatam, 34:\n  sailed for Trincomalee, 34.\n\nPIGOT, Mr., sent with provisions, 49.\n\nPITT, Mr. (afterwards Lord Chatham), Secretary of State, 139:\n  Clive's letter to, 139:\n  Clive describes Míran as unfit to succeed, 139, 150:\n  points urged in the letter, 140:\n  Pitt unable to answer the letter, 141:\n  Pitt's opinion of Clive, 141:\n  resigned, 143:\n  Lord Privy Seal, 197:\n  resigned on account of ill health, 197.\n\nPLASSEY, army recalled by Clive from, 84:\n  Siráj-ud-daulá sent an army to, 88:\n  Clive's army reached, 94:\n  battle of, 94-106, 183:\n  spoils of Plassey, 107-17:\n  effects of the spoils, 136.\n\nPONDICHERRY, French settlement, 18:\n  French squadron anchored off, 34:\n  Dumas, Governor of, 25:\n  siege of, 39-41:\n  English officials from Madras sent as prisoners to, 38:\n  siege of, 39:\n  armies of Chánda Sáhib and Muzaffar Jang retreated on, 47:\n  Law distinguished at siege of, 61.\n\nPRAGMATIC SANCTION, England upholder of, 31.\n\nPROPRIETORS, Court of, 145-7.\n\nPURNIAH, Rájá of, rebelled against Mír Jafar, 114-5:\n  went with Clive to Murshidábád to make peace with Mír Jafar, 116.\n\n\nRAGHUJÍ BHONSLA, leader of the Maráthás, 25.\n\nRÁJÁ DULÁB RÁM, joined Clive, 86:\n  position of his troops at Plassey, 97:\n  treacherously advised Siráj-ud-daulá to flee from Plassey to\n    Murshidábád, 101:\n  Finance Minister, 107, 114:\n  retired to his palace, 114:\n  refused all intercourse with Mír Jafar, 114:\n  reconciliation with Mír Jafar, 117, 168.\n\nRÁJÁ SÁHIB, son of Chánda Sáhib, in command at North Arcot, 54:\n  joined by the French, 54:\n  siege of Arcot, 55:\n  retreated to Vellore, 55:\n  defeated at Arni, 57-8:\n  took Punamallu, 62:\n  repaired damage at Kanchípuram, 62:\n  encamped at Vendalúr, 62-3:\n  quitted Vendalúr, 63:\n  in ambush at Káveripák, 64:\n  remarkable battle of Káveripák, 64-6:\n  defeated by Clive, 66:\n  retreated to Seringham, 68.\n\nRÁJMAHÁL, Siráj-ud-daulá discovered hiding at, 112:\n  Mír Jafar and Clive at, 116.\n\nRIO, Clive delayed for nine months at, 12:\n  Clive picked up a little Portuguese at, 12.\n\nRUMBOLD, Captain, at Council of War, 92.\n\n\nSAÁDAT-ULLÁ KHÁN, Nawáb of the Karnátik, 23:\n  died in 1732, 23:\n  appointed Dost Alí, his nephew, to succeed, 23:\n  Bakar Alí to be Governor of Vellore, 23:\n  and Ghulám Husén or Chánda Sáhib to be Diwán afterwards, 23.\n\nSAFDAR ALÍ, son of Dost Alí, sent to capture Trichinopoli, 24:\n  proclaimed Nawáb, 25:\n  persuaded Maráthás to advance on the Karnátik, 26:\n  siege of Trichinopoli, 26:\n  surrendered, 26:\n  sent his family to Madras, 27:\n  took refuge at Vellore, 27:\n  poisoned by his brother-in-law, 27:\n  his son proclaimed Nawáb by the army, 27.\n\nSAIYUD MUHAMMAD KHÁN, son of Safdar Alí, proclaimed Nawáb, 27:\n  Anwar-ud-dín appointed his guardian, 28:\n  murdered, 30.\n\nSALÁBAT JANG, proclaimed Súbahdár on the death of Muzaffar Jang, 48.\n\nSALLUSTIAN MOTTO, quoted, 16.\n\nSALT MONOPOLY, 164, 165.\n\nSAMIÁVERAM, occupied by Clive, 68:\n  battle at, 69-72:\n  Clive's victory, 73, 183, 211.\n\nSAMRU, Armenian, in command of a special brigade, 153-4:\n  sent to Baksar, 156.\n\nSARFARÁZ, son of, at Dháká, in rebellion against Mír Jafar, 115.\n\nSÁTÁRA, Chánda Sáhib, prisoner at, 26, 31:\n  Muzaffar Jang proceeded to, 44.\n\nSAUNDERS, Mr., Governor of Fort St. David, 49:\n  sent Clive under Mr. Pigot to take provisions to Trichinopoli, 49:\n  gave Clive his captaincy, 50:\n  sent him to Devikota, 50.\n\nSCOTT, Colonel, nominated Commander, with Clive as second, 77:\n  his death, 77.\n\nSCRAFTON, Mr., sent to escort Mír Jafar to Clive's camp, 107:\n  informed Aminchand of false document, 113:\n  appointed Supervisor, 199:\n  _Letters_, quoted, 160_n_.\n\nSELECT COMMITTEE appointed, 147, 161, 191:\n  opposition of, 166.\n\nSERINGHAM, island to which French retreated from Trichinopoli, 68,\n    69.\n\nSÉT, banking-house of the Sét family, 168.\n\nSHÁH ALÍM, troops of, repulsed the invasion of Bihár, 153:\n  installed Mír Kásim as Súbahdár, 153:\n  Clive's dealing with, 171:\n  his capital occupied by the Afgháns, 171:\n  meeting with Clive at Allahábád, 174.\n\nSIRÁJ-UD-DAULÁ, Súbahdár, 78:\n  seized factory at Kásimbázár, 78:\n  marched to Calcutta, 78:\n  took possession, 78:\n  Black Hole of Calcutta, 78-9:\n  Murshidábád capital of, 78, 85:\n  grandson of Alí Vardi Khán, 85:\n  overtures to Bussy at Haidarábád, 87:\n  to the Maráthás, 87:\n  to Delhi, 88:\n  to Nawáb-Wazír of Oudh, 88:\n  quarrelled with Mír Jafar, 88:\n  reconciliation with Mír Jafar to fight against Clive, 88:\n  sent his army to Kásimbázár, 88:\n  Clive sent declaration of war to, 91:\n  at Plassey, 95:\n  fled to Murshidábád, 101, 112:\n  discovered hiding at Rájmahál, 112:\n  made over to Mír Jafar, 112:\n  interview with Mír Jafar, 112:\n  stabbed, 112.\n\nSIVAJÍ, built a fort at Gheriá, 77.\n\nSMITH, Captain F., 187:\n  at Mungír, 187.\n\nSMITH, Colonel, 186:\n  commanding at Surájpur, 186:\n  nominated Commander-in-chief by Clive, 191.\n\nSMITH, Major, 186:\n  commanding at Allahábád, 186:\n  arrested officers, 186.\n\nSTANHOPE, Earl, quoted, 192, 209, 210 and _n_., 211:\n  _History of England_, 202_n_.\n\nSTANLEY, Mr., proposed an amendment in the attack against Clive, 208.\n\nST. FRAIS, Mons., commanding French at Plassey, 96:\n  formerly member of Council of Chandranagar, 96:\n  commenced action at Plassey, 98:\n  remained when Siráj-ud-daulá fled, 101:\n  met by Kilpatrick, 102:\n  retreated, 103:\n  his final resistance and death, 104.\n\nSTERLING, Mr., private school in Hertfordshire, where Clive went on\n    leaving Merchant Taylors', until he was nominated writer in the\n    service of the East India Company, 10.\n\nSTYCHE, Robert Clive born at, 9.\n\nSÚBAH, province, 17, 166, 177.\n\nSÚBAHDÁR, chief of a súbah or province, 17:\n  Nizám-ul-Múlk, Súbahdár of the Deccan, 23:\n  on his death struggles for succession, 44-7:\n  Alí Vardi Khán, Súbahdár of Bengal, Bihár and Orissa, 85:\n  Siráj-ud-daulá succeeded him, 85:\n  attempts to dethrone the Súbahdár, 86.\n\nSULIVAN, Mr. Lawrence, Chairman of Court of Directors, 144:\n  enemy of Clive, 144, 203:\n  excluded Clive from seat in the India House, 145:\n  elected at Court of Proprietors, 145:\n  his candidates for second election defeated, 147.\n\nSUMNER, Mr., accompanied Clive to Calcutta, 148, 159.\n\nSURÁJPUR, Colonel Smith stationed at, 186.\n\nSYKES, accompanied Clive back to Calcutta, 148, 159:\n  agent at Murshidábád, 166:\n  member of Select Committee, 191.\n\n\nTACITUS, quoted, 139.\n\nTANJORE, troops sent from Fort St. David to help the ex-Rájá, 42.\n\nTHOMÉ, St., battle at, 37.\n\nTHURLOW, Attorney-General, supported Burgoyne in his attack against\n    Clive, 205.\n\nTÍMERÍ, Clive's victory at, 53:\n  Clive takes the fort of, 56.\n\n_Transactions in India_, quoted, 156 and _n_.\n\nTRAVANCORE, independent territory, 17.\n\nTRICHINOPOLI, kingdom claimed by the Nawábs of the Karnátik, 18:\n  death of the ruler of, 24:\n  captured by Dost Alí, 24:\n  Chánda Sáhib, Governor of, 24:\n  taken by the Maráthás, 25:\n  siege of, 26:\n  surrender of, 26:\n  yielded by the Maráthás to Nizám-ul-Múlk, 28:\n  Clive escorted troops on their way to, 49:\n  sent with Major Lawrence to report from, 50:\n  besieged by Chánda Sáhib, 51:\n  Law in command of French troops and sipáhís before Trichinopoli,\n    61.\n\nTRINCOMALEE, the English squadron sailed away from the French to, 34.\n\n\nUNDWÁ NALA, taken by Major Adams, 157.\n\nUTÁTUR, d'Auteuil at, 68.\n\n\nVANSITTART, successor to Clive, 136, 149:\n  his character, 149-50:\n  bribed by Mír Kásim, 152:\n  forced Mír Jafar to resign, 153:\n  appointed Supervisor, 199.\n\nVELLORE, Safdar Alí took refuge at, 27:\n  Murtizá Alí, Governor at, 27.\n\nVENDALÚR, French encampment at, 62-3:\n  French quit, 63:\n  Clive at, 64.\n\nVERDACHELAM, the point to which Clive accompanied the troops with\n    provisions for Trichinopoli, 49.\n\nVERELST, appointed Governor by Clive, 190, 196, 198.\n\nVIZAGAPATAM, Colonel Forde at, 122.\n\nVIZIADRUG, harbour of, 77.\n\nVIZIANAGRAM, letter to Clive demanding troops from Rájá of, 121.\n\nVOLKONDA, Clive sent under Captain Gingens to, 48:\n  surrender of d'Auteuil at, 73.\n\n_Voyage and Historical Narrative_, by Ives, quoted, 94_n_., 96_n_.\n\n\nWAGGONNER, Captain, at Council of War, 93.\n\nWALSH, sent with Watts to Madhupur, 111:\n  Clive's secretary, 140:\n  charged with the letter to Mr. Pitt, 140.\n\nWANDIWASH, Saiyud Muhammad Khán and his mother sent to, 27.\n\n_War in India_, by Cambridge, quoted, 43_n_.\n\nWATSON, Admiral, in command of squadron, 78:\n  destroyed Gheriá, 78:\n  sent to the Húglí, 80:\n  arrived at Falta, 80-1:\n  anchored at Maiápur, 81:\n  nominated Major Eyre Coote, Governor of Calcutta, 82:\n  took possession himself, 82:\n  handed keys to Drake, 82:\n  objected to sign false document regarding Aminchand's demand, 87.\n\nWATTS, Mr., English agent at Kásimbázár, 86, 87:\n  at Kalná, 92:\n  his letter to Clive with news of Mír Jafar's faithlessness, 92:\n  denounced as spy, 92:\n  sent to Madhupur, 111.\n\nWEDDERBURN, Mr., able lawyer and ally of Clive, 198:\n  Solicitor-General, 203.\n\nWELLESLEY, Marquess, mentioned, 122.\n\nWHEELER, Talboys, quoted, 177 and _n_., 178_n_.\n\nWHITE TOWN, a division of Madras, 19.\n\nWILSON, Prof. H. H., quoted, 37_n_.\n\nWILSON, Commodore, sent by Clive to demand apology from the Dutch,\n    failing which, to attack their squadron, 130:\n  Dutch refusal and consequent attack, 130:\n  completely defeated Dutch, 131.\n\nWRITER in the service of the East India Company, duties of, 12:\n  Clive appointed, 10, 11, 12:\n  not congenial to Clive, 12.\n\n\nYÁR LUTF KHÁN, a commander in Siráj-ud-daulá's army, 86:\n  offered to join Clive to displace Siráj-ud-daulá, and to become\n    himself Súbahdár, 86, 107:\n  position of his troops at Plassey, 97.\n\n\nZAMÍNDÁRÍ, conferred on Clive by Mír Jafar, 123.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32125", "title": "Rulers of India: Lord Clive", "author": "", "publication_year": 1893, "metadata_title": "Rulers of India: Lord Clive", "metadata_author": "G. B. Malleson", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:23.438571", "source_chars": 346962, "chars": 346962, "talkie_tokens": 88690}}
{"text": "Produced by Katherine Ward and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\n\n\n\n\n\nMAIDS WIVES AND BACHELORS\n\n  by\n  AMELIA E. BARR\n\n\n  Author of \"Jan Vedder's Wife,\" \"A Bow of Orange Ribbon,\" etc.\n\n\n  NEW YORK\n  DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY\n  1898\n\n\n  Copyright, 1898,\n  By Dodd, Mead and Company\n\n  University Press:\n  John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                                  PAGE\n  Maids and Bachelors                                                1\n  The American Girl                                                 13\n  Dangerous Letter-Writing                                          23\n  Flirts and Flirtation                                             32\n  On Falling in Love                                                38\n  Engaged To Be Married                                             47\n  Shall our Daughters have Dowries?                                 56\n  The Ring Upon the Finger                                          67\n  Flirting Wives                                                    73\n  Mothers-in-Law                                                    86\n  Good and Bad Mothers                                              97\n  Unequal Marriages                                                114\n  Discontented Women                                               125\n  Women on Horseback                                               145\n  A Good Word for Xanthippe                                        155\n  The Favorites of Men                                             160\n  Mothers of Great and Good Men                                    170\n  Domestic Work for Women                                          175\n  Professional Work for Women                                      187\n  Little Children                                                  200\n  On Naming Children                                               205\n  The Children's Table                                             217\n  Intellectual \"Cramming\" of Boys                                  225\n  The Servant-Girl's Point of View                                 231\n  Extravagance                                                     240\n  Ought we to Wear Mourning?                                       248\n  How To Have One's Portrait Taken                                 254\n  The Crown of Beauty                                              272\n  Waste of Vitality                                                281\n  A Little Matter of Money                                         288\n  Mission of Household Furniture                                   293\n  People Who Have Good Impulses                                    302\n  Worried to Death                                                 307\n  The Grapes We Can't Reach                                        313\n  Burdens                                                          319\n\n\n\n\nMaids and Bachelors\n\n\nWomen who have devoted themselves for religious purposes to celibacy\nhave in all ages and countries of the world received honor, but those\nupon whom celibacy has been forced, either through the influence of\nuntoward circumstances, or as a consequence of some want or folly in\nthemselves, have been objects of most unmerited contempt and dislike.\nUnmerited, because it may be broadly asserted that until the last\ngeneration no woman in secular and social life remained unmarried from\ndesire or from conviction. She was the victim of some natural\ndisadvantage, or some unhappy circumstance beyond her control, and\ntherefore entitled to sympathy, but not to contempt.\n\nOf course, there are many lovely girls who appear to have every\nadvantage for matrimony, and who yet drift into spinsterhood. The\nmajority of this class have probably been imprudent and over-stayed\ntheir market. They have dallied with their chances too long. Suddenly\nthey are aware that their beauty is fading. They notice that the\nsuitable marriageable men who hung around them in their youth have\ngone away, and that their places are filled with mere callow youths.\nThen they realize their mistakes, and are sorry they have thought\nbeing \"an awfully silly little thing\" and \"having a good time\" the end\nof their existence. Heart-aches and disappointments enough follow for\ntheir punishment; for they soon divine that when women cease to have\nmen for lovers, and are attended by school-boys, they have written\nthemselves down already as old maids.\n\nClosely allied to these victims of folly or thoughtlessness are the\nwomen who remain unmarried because of their excessive vanity--or\nnatural cruelty. \"My dear, I was cruel thirty years ago, and no one\nhas asked me since.\" This confession from an aunt to her niece, though\ntaken from a play, is true enough to tell the real story of many an\nold maid. Their vanity made them cruel, and their cruelty condemned\nthem to a lonely, loveless life. Close observation, however, among the\nunmarried women of any one's acquaintance will reveal the fact that it\nis not from the ranks of silly or cruel women that the majority of old\nmaids come. Men do not, as a rule, dislike silly women; and by a wise\nprovision of nature, they are rather fond of marrying pretty, helpless\ncreatures who cannot help themselves. Neither are cruel women\nuniversally unpopular. Some lovers like to be snubbed, and would not\nvalue a wife they had not to seek upon their knees. There are,\ntherefore, always chances for the silly and cruel women.\n\nIt is the weak, colorless women, who have privately strong prejudices,\nand publicly no assertion of any kind, that have, even in youth, few\nopportunities. They either lack the power to love strongly or they\nlack the power to express their feelings. They have not the courage to\ntake any decided step. They long for advances, and when they are made,\nrecoil from them. They are constitutionally so timid that they fear\nany step or any condition which is a positive and final change. If\nmarriage had some reservations and uncertainties, some loopholes\nthrough which they could drag themselves as a final resort, they would\nbe more sure of their own wishes. These are the Misses Feeble-minds,\nwho cast the reproach upon feminine celibacy.\n\nThey feel that in some way they have been misunderstood and wronged,\nand they come finally to regard all other women as their enemies. They\nworry and fret themselves continually, and the worry and fret sharpen\nalike their features and their temper. Then their condition is\nprecisely the one most conducive to complaining and spiteful\ngossiping; and they fall, in their weakness and longing for sympathy,\nto that level. Thus to the whole class is given a reputation for\nmalevolent railing which does not by any means belong to it. In fact,\nmarried women are generally more venomous than old maids. The words of\nmarried women have greater weight, and they do more harm; for they can\nmake suggestions and accusations which an old maid could not make\nwith any propriety. An old maid's gossip is generally without\nintentional malice; she has nothing to do, and she wants to make\nherself agreeable; while married women, having plenty else to do,\nmust, as a general thing, talk scandal from pure ill-nature.\n\nThere is a large majority of old maids who are to be sincerely\nrespected, and from whose numbers men with sense and intelligence may\nchoose noble wives. They are the pretty, pure, sensible women who have\nbeen too modest, and too womanly, to push and scramble in the social\nranks. They have dwelt in their own homes, and among their own people,\nand no one has sought them out. They have seen their youth pass away,\nand all their innocent desires fade, and they have suffered what few\ncan understand before they reached that calm which no thought of a\nlover troubles. Sweet faded flowers! How tenderly we ought to regard\nthese gentle victims of those modest household virtues which all men\nprofess to admire, but which few seem desirous to transplant into\ntheir own homes.\n\nAnother class, somewhat kindred to this, is composed of women who have\nnever found their ideal, and have never allowed themselves to invent\nfor any other man those qualities which would elevate him to their\nstandard. And these women, again, are closely allied to those who\nremain unmarried because they do not, and will not, conform to\nconventionalities and social rules. They are clever and odd, and\nlikely to remain odd, especially if they refuse to men--as they are\nmost likely to do--that step or two in advance which is the only way\nto reconcile them to witty or intellectual women.\n\nThese varieties of unmarried women are mainly the victims of natural\npeculiarities, or of circumstances they are not responsible for. But\nwithin the last generation the condition of feminine celibacy has\ngreatly altered. It is a fact that women in this day, considerately,\nand in the first glory of their youth, elect themselves to that\ncondition. Some have imbibed from high culture a high conception of\nthe value of life, and of what they ought to do with their lives; and\nthey will not waste the days of their youth in looking for a husband\nin order to begin their work. Others have strong individuality, and\nrefuse to give up their time into another's keeping. The force of\ncharacter displayed by such resolutions naturally leads to celibacy.\nNo one but a very weak man would be attracted by women of such vital\npurpose, and weak men would not be tolerated by such strong women.\n\nThe wise and the thoughtful may well give such voluntary old maids the\nfull credit of their purpose, for the generality will not believe in\nresolutions so much above their own consciences and intelligence. They\nwill still sneer at their condition, and refuse to admit that it is of\nchoice. They will throw at them that wearisome old fable of the fox\nand the grapes, when they might much more correctly quote Sappho's\nsong of the ripe apples left on the topmost branches of the\napple-trees: \"Not because they were forgotten of the gatherers, but\nbecause _they were out of their reach_.\"\n\nIn accord with the fresh development, we are told that the number of\nunmarried women in the country is steadily on the increase. But this\nincrease will not be ranged among the silly, the weak, or the cruel of\nthe sex. It will come from that class of women whose eyes have been\nopened by the spread of education and refinement; women not afraid to\nwork for themselves, and who indeed have thoughtfully concluded that\ntheir own efforts and their own company will be far better for them\nthan the help and company of any man not perfectly in sympathy with\nthem, or their inferior either in moral or mental calibre. For it is\nnot always a duty to marry; but it is always a duty to live up to our\nhighest conception of what is right and noble and elevating.\n\nBut from whatever cause the women of the present and future\ngenerations remain unmarried, they will have no need to dread the\ncondition, as unmarried women of the previous generations have had\ngood cause to do. Every year finds them more independent. They are\nconstantly invading fresh trades, and stepping up into more important\npositions. They live in pretty chambers; they dress charmingly; they\nhave a bank account; they go to the opera and the theatres in their\nown protection; and instead of being the humble poor relations of\nmarried sisters and brothers, they are now their equals, their\npatrons, and their honored guests. Besides which, old maids have begun\nto write novels; and in them they have given us such exquisite\nportraits of their order--women so rich in every womanly grace--hat we\nare almost compelled to believe the unmarried women in our midst to be\nthe salt of the community.\n\nAt any rate, we are beginning to shift the blame and the obloquy of\nthe position to the old bachelors, where it rightly belongs; and this\nis at least a move in the just and proper direction. For old bachelors\nhave no excuse whatever for their condition. If we omit the natural\nand necessary exceptions, which are few enough, then pure selfishness\nand cowardice must account for every other case. Their despised\nold-bachelorhood is all their own fault. They have always had the\ntremendous privilege of asking for what they wanted; and half the\nbattle was in that privilege. Men don't have wives because they don't\nask for them; and they don't ask for them because they don't want\nthem; and in this condition lie their shame and their degradation, and\nthe well-deserved scorn with which the married part of both sexes\nregard them.\n\nMen are also much more contemptible and useless in their celibacy than\nare women. An old maid can generally make herself of service to some\none. If she is rich, she attaches herself to church work, or to art,\nor to the children of brothers and sisters. Or she travels all over\nthe world, and writes a book about her adventures. If she is poor, she\nworks hard and saves money; and thus becomes an object of interest and\nrespect in her own set. Or she is nurse and helper for all that need\nher help in her village, or her church, or her family. At any rate,\nshe never descends to such depths of ennui and selfishness as do the\nold bachelors who loll about on the club sofas, or who dawdle\ndiscontentedly at afternoon teas. An old maid may be troublesome in\nchurch business, or particular in household affairs; but it takes an\nold bachelor to quarrel with waiters and grumble every one insane\nabout his dinner menu. An old maid may gossip, but she will not bore\nevery one to death about her dyspepsia; and if she has to starve\nothers, we may be very certain she would never fall under that tyranny\nof valets and janitors which are the \"sling and arrows\" of wealthy,\nselfish old bachelors.\n\nOn the whole, then, the unmarried woman is becoming every year more\nself-reliant, and more respectable and respected, and the unmarried\nman more effeminate and contemptible. We look for a day, not far off,\nwhen a man will have to become a member of some religious order if he\nwishes a reputable excuse for his celibacy; and even in secular life\nit would not be a bad idea to clothe bachelors after forty years of\nage in a certain uniform. They might also after that age be advised to\nhave their own clubs and recreations; for their assumption of equality\nwith those of their sex who have done their duty as men and citizens\nis a piece of presumption that married men ought to resent. Men who\nmarry are the honorable progenitors of the future; and their\nself-denying, busy lives not only bless this generation, but prepare\nfor the next one. The old bachelor is merely a human figure, without\nduties and without hopes. Nationally and socially, domestically and\npersonally, he is a spoon with nothing in it!\n\n\n\n\nThe American Girl\n\n\nOne of the most interesting, piquant, and picturesque of all types of\nfeminine humanity is the American girl,--not the hothouse variety,\nreared for the adornment of luxury, but the every-day, every-where\ngirls that throng the roads leading to the public schools and the\nnormal schools, and who, even, in a higher state of culture fill the\nhalls of learned colleges with a wondrous charm and brightness,--girls\nwho have an aim in life, a mission to fulfil, a home to order, who\nknow the worth of money, who are not ashamed to earn it, and who\nmanage out of limited means to compass all their desires for pretty\ndresses and summer vacations, and even their pet dream of an ocean\nvoyage and a sight of the Old World.\n\nPhysically, these girls enjoy life at its highest point. Look at their\nflushed cheeks and bright, fearless eyes, and watch their light,\nswift, even steps. They have no complaint to make of the heat, or the\nsunshine, or the frost; they have not yet heard of the east wind. Rain\ndoes not make them cross; and as for the snow, it throws them into a\ndelicious excitement; while the wind blowing their dresses about them\nin colored clouds only makes them the more eager to try their strength\nagainst it.\n\nThat these girls so physically lovely should have the proper mental\ntraining is a point of the gravest personal and national importance.\nAnd it is the glory of our age that this necessity has been nobly met.\nFor the American girl, \"Wisdom has builded her house and hewn out her\nSeven Pillars;\" and as she points to the lofty entrance she cries to\nall alike, \"Go up; the door is open!\" If the girls of fifty years ago\ncould have known the privileges of our era how would they have\nmarvelled and rejoiced and desired \"to see their day.\"\n\nBut manifold as her privileges are, the American girl generally knows\nhow to use them. She proves daily that the parable of the ten talents\ndid not refer to men only. Indeed, the fault girls are most likely to\nfall into is the belief that they each and all possess every one of\nthe talents. In reality this is so seldom the case that it is\nimpossible to educate all girls after one pattern; and it is therefore\na grand thing for a girl to know just what she can and cannot do. For\nif she have only five talents there is no advantage to be gained by\ncreating fictitious ones, since the noblest education is that which\nlooks to the development of the natural abilities, whether they be few\nor many, fashionable or unfashionable.\n\nAsk the majority of people \"What is education?\" and they will be apt\nto answer \"The improvement of the mind.\" But this answer does not take\nus one step beyond the starting-point. Probably the best and most\ngenerally useful rule for a girl is a deliberate and conscientious\ninquiry into her own nature and inclinations as to what she wants to\ndo with her education. When she has faithfully answered the inquiry\nshe is ready to prepare herself for this end. For it is neither\nnecessary nor yet possible that every girl should know everything.\nBesides which, the growth of individuality has made special knowledge\na thing of great value, and on all occasions of importance we are apt\nto defer to it. If we cross the Atlantic we look for a captain who has\na special knowledge of its stormy ways. If we are really ill we go to\na specialist on our ailment, no matter what \"pathy\" we prefer. Special\nknowledge has a prima facie worth, and without inquiry into a subject\nwe are inclined to consider specialists on the subject better informed\nthan those who have not this qualification. Hence the importance of\ncultivating some one talent to such perfection as will enable a girl,\nif need be, to turn it into money.\n\nThere is another point in the preparation of the American girl for the\nduties of life which is often undervalued, or even quite ignored; it\nis the little remembered fact that all our moral and intellectual\nqualities are very dependent for their value on our surroundings. The\nold Quakers used to lay great stress upon being \"in one's right\nplace.\" When the right person is in the right place there is sure to\nbe a success in life; failure in this respect is almost certain\nmisfortune; a fine accountant before the mass, a fine lady in the\nwilderness, are out of their places, and have lost their opportunity.\nAnd so educational accomplishments which would bring wealth and honor\nin a great city may be detrimental to happiness and a drag on duty in\nan isolated position.\n\nHence the importance of a girl finding out first of all what she wants\nto do with her education. For in this day she is by no means cramped\nin her choice; the most desirable occupations are open to her; she may\nselect from the whole world her arena, and from the fullness thereof\nher reward. But if her object be a more narrow and conventional one,\nif all she wishes is to be loved and popular in her own small\ncommunity, then--if she is wise--she will cultivate only such a happy\narrangement of graceful, usual accomplishments as prevail among her\nclass and friends. For a very clever woman cannot be at home with very\nmany people. She is too large for the regular grooves of society; she\ndoes not fit into any of its small aims and enjoyments; and though\nshe may have the kindest heart, it is her singularities only that will\nbe taken notice of. If, then, popularity be a girl's desire, she must\nnot obviously cultivate herself, must not lift herself above her\nsurroundings, nor lift her aspirations higher than the aims which all\nhumanity have in common. And it is a very good thing for humanity that\nso many nice girls are content and happy with such a life object; for\nthe social and domestic graces are those which touch existence the\nclosest, which sweeten its bitter griefs and brighten its dreariest\nhours.\n\nIt would be foolish to assert that the American girl is without\nfaults. Physically and mentally, she may stand on her merits with any\nwomen in the world; morally, she has the shortcomings that are the\nshadows of her excellences. Principally she is accused of a want of\nreverence, and setting aside for the present her faults as a daughter,\nit may be admitted that in general she has little of this quality. But\nit is largely the consequence of her environments. Reverence is the\nvirtue of ignorance; and the American girl has no toleration for\nignorance. She is inquisitive, speculative, and inclined to rely on\nher own investigations; while the spirit of reverence demands, as its\nvery atmosphere, trust and obedience. It is therefore more just to say\nthat she is so alert and eager herself that when she meets old men and\nwomen who have learned nothing from their last fifty years of life,\nand who therefore can teach her nothing, she does not feel any impulse\nto offer reverence to mere years. But if gray hairs be honorable,\neither for matured wisdom, extensive information, or practical piety,\nshe is generally inclined to give that best of all homage, the\nreverence which springs from knowledge and affection, and which is a\nmuch better thing than the mere forms of respect traditionally offered\nto old age.\n\nIt is also said that the American girl is a very vain girl, fond of\nparading her beauty, freedom, and influence. But vanity is not a bad\nquality, if it does not run to excess. It is the ounce of leaven in a\ngirl's character, and does a deal of good work for which it seldom\ngets any credit. For a great deed a great motive is necessary; but\nhow numberless are the small social and domestic kindnesses for which\nvanity is a sufficient force, and which would be neglected or ill-done\nwithout its influence! As long as a girl's vanity does not derive its\ninspiration from self-love there is no necessity for her to wear\nsackcloth to humiliate it. We have all known women without vanity, and\nfound them unpleasant people to know.\n\nThere is one fault of the American girl which is especially her fault,\nand which ought not to be encouraged or palliated although it is\nessentially the shadow of some of her greatest excellences--the fault\nof being in too great a hurry at all the turning-points of her life.\nWhen she is in the nursery she aches to go to school. When she is a\nschoolgirl, she is impatient to put on long dresses and become a young\nlady. As soon as this fact is accomplished, she feels there is not a\nmoment to lose in choosing either a career or a husband. She is always\nin a hurry about the future, and so frequently takes the wrong turn at\nthe great events of life. She leaves school too soon; she leaves home\ntoo soon; she does everything at a rush, and does not do it as well as\nif she \"made haste slowly.\"\n\nBut what a future lies before these charmingly brilliant American\ngirls, if they are able to take the fullest possession of it! The\ngreat obstacle in this achievement is the apparently wholesome opinion\nthat education is sufficient. But the very best education will fall\nshort of its privileges if it be not accompanied with that moral\ntraining which we call discipline. Discipline is self-denial in all\nits highest forms; it teaches the excellent mean between license and\nrepression; without it a girl may have plenitude of knowledge, and a\nlamentable want of sweetness; so that one only second rate on her\nintellectual side may be a thousand times more lovable than one who is\nfirst rate on her intellectual side, but lacks that fine flavor of\ncharacter which comes from the expansion of noble inward forces,\ndisciplined and directed to good ends.\n\nEvery one understands that no character, however intellectual, is\nworth anything that is not morally healthy; but morality in a woman\nis not in itself sufficient. She must have in addition all those\ncharming virtues included in that word of many lights and shades and\nsubtle meanings--womanliness; that word which signifies such a variety\nof things, but never anything but what is sweet and tender and\ngracious and beautiful.\n\n\n\n\nDangerous Letter-Writing\n\n\nYoung women are proverbially fond of playing with edged tools, and of\nall such dangerous playthings a habit of promiscuous, careless\nletter-writing is the worst; for in most cases the danger is not\nobvious at the time, and the writer may even have forgotten her\nimprudence when she has to meet the consequences. The romance, the\ngush, the having nothing particular to do, the almost insane egotism\nwhich makes some young women long to exploit their own hearts, caused\npoor Madaline Smith to write those foolish letters to a man whose\nevery good quality she had to invent, and who afterwards tortured her\nwith these very letters into a crime which made her stand for months\nwithin the shadow of the gallows. She had not patience to await until\nthe real lover came, and then when he did come these fatal letters\nstood between her and her happiness, and her fair name.\n\nThe very instinct which leads to constant letter-writing, goes with a\nconstitutional want of caution, and therefore indicates a necessity\nfor intelligent self-restraint. If young women, when writing letters,\nwould only project themselves into the future and imagine a time when\nthey might be confronted with the lines which they have just penned,\nmany an ill-advised missive would go into the fire instead of into the\nmail bag. Indeed, if letters at all doubtful in spirit or intent were\nlaid aside until \"next morning\" many a wrong would be left undone,\nmany a friendship would be preserved unbroken, and many an imprudence\nbe postponed and so uncommitted. If indeed a woman could say\ntruthfully, \"This letter is my letter, and if mischief comes of it I\nalone have the penalty to pay,\" expansive correspondence might be less\ndangerous. But no one can thus limit folly or sin, and its consequence\nmay even touch those who were not even aware of the writing of the\nletter.\n\nThe abuse of letter-writing is one of the greatest trials of the\nepoch. Distance, which used to be a protection, is now done away with.\nEvery one cries out, and insists upon your listening. They write\nevents while they are only happening. People unknown intrude upon your\ntime and take possession of it. Enmities and friendships thousands of\nmiles away scold or caress; one is exacting, another angry, a third\nlays upon your conscience obligations which he has invented. For a\nmere nothing--a yes, or a no--idle, gushing people fire off continual\nnotes and insist upon answers. Now this kind of letter-writing exists\nonly because postage is cheap; if such correspondents had to pay\ntwenty-five cents for giving their opinions, they would not give them\nat all. It is an impertinence also, for though we may like persons\nwell enough to receive from them a visit, or even to return it, it is\na very different thing to be called upon to retire ourselves with pen\nand ink and note paper, and give away time and interest which we are\nnot inclined to give.\n\nPlenty of girls write very clever letters,--letters that are an echo\nof their own circle, full of a sweet audacity and an innocent swagger\nof knowledge of the world and of the human heart that is very\nengaging. And the temptation to write such letters is very great,\nespecially as both the writer and her friends are apt to imagine them\nevidence of a large amount of genius. Indeed, some who have a\nspecially bright pen, or else a specially large circle of admirers and\nflatterers, arrive speedily at the conviction that they can just as\neasily write a book. So without reason and without results, they get\nthemselves heart-burning and heart-ache and disappointment. For there\nis absolutely no kindred whatever between this graceful, piquant\neloquence _du billet_ and the fancy, observation, and experience\nnecessary to successful novel writing.\n\nIf a girl really has a vein of true sentiment, she ought not at this\nday to give it away in letter-writing. There is a safer and more\nprofitable way to use it; she can now take it to market and sell it\nfor pudding, for the magazines and ladies' newspapers. Sentiment and\nfancy have a commercial value; and instead of sealing them up in a\ntwo-cent envelope for an acquaintance,--who is likely very\nunappreciative, and who perhaps tosses them into the fire with a\ncontemptuous adjective,--she might send them to some long-suffering\neditor. These men know the depths of the girlish heart in this\nrespect, and they have a patience in searching for the gold among the\ndross that is not generally believed in. Therefore, if a girl must\nwrite, let her send her emotions to the newspapers; an editor is a far\nmore prudent confidant than her very dearest friend.\n\nReally, the day for letter-writing is past. As an art it is dead, as\nconvenience it remains; but it has lost all sentiment. Even Madame de\nSévigné could not be charming on a postal card, and for genuine\ninformation the general idea is to put it into twenty words and send\nit by telegraph. So, then, it is a good thing for young women to get\nover, as soon as possible, the tendency of their years to sentimental\nletter-writing. They will thus save themselves many a heart-ache in\nthe present and many a fear for the future. For if they do not write\nletters they cannot feel hurt because they are not answered. They\ncannot worry because they have said something imprudent. They will not\nmake promises, in the exaltation of composition, which they will\neither break or hate to keep when they are in their sober senses. They\nwill also preserve their friendships longer, for they will not deprive\nthem altogether of that charm which leaves something to the\nimagination.\n\nOf course there are yet such things as absolutely necessary letters;\nand these, in their way, ought to be made as perfect as possible.\nFortunately, perfection in this respect is easily attainable, its\nessentials being evident to all as soon as they are stated. First, a\nletter which demands or deserves the attention of an answer, ought to\nhave it as promptly as if we were paying a bill. Second, we ought to\nwrite distinctly, for bad handwriting represents a very dogged,\nself-asserting temper,--one, too, which is unfair, because if we put\nforward our criticisms and angularities in a personal meeting, they\ncan be returned in kind, but to send a letter that is almost\nunintelligible admits of no reprisal but an answer in some equally\nprovoking scrawl. Even if the writing is only careless, and may be\nread with a little trouble, we have no right to impose that extra\ntrouble. Third, it is a good thing to write short letters. The cases\nin which people have written long letters, and not been sorry for\nhaving done so, are doubtless very rare. No one will ever be worse for\njust saying plainly what she has to say and then signing her name to\nit plainly and in full. For a name half signed is not only a\nvulgarity, it indicates a character unfinished, uncertain, and\nhesitating.\n\nThere is a kind of correspondence which is a special development of\nour special civilization, and which it is to be hoped will be\ncarefully avoided by the young woman of the future,--that is, the\nwriting of letters begging autographs. A woman who does this thing has\na passion which she ought immediately to arrest and compel to give an\naccount of itself.\n\nIf she did so, she would quickly discover that it is a mean passion,\nmasquerading in a character it has no right to, and no sympathy with.\nAn autograph beggar is a natural development, though not a very\ncreditable one. She doubtless began her career of accumulation with\ncollecting birds' eggs in the country, where they could be got for\nnothing. Butterflies were probably her next ambition. Then perhaps\nthat mysterious craze for postage stamps followed. After such a\ntraining, the mania for autographs would come as a matter of course.\nAnd the sole and whole motive of the collecting business is nothing at\nall but the vulgar love of possessing, and especially of possessing\nwhat costs nothing.\n\nIt is amusing and provoking to notice the air of complaisance with\nwhich some of these begging epistles are suffused. The writers seem\nincapable of conceiving statesmen, artists, and authors who will not\nbe as pleased to give as they are to ask. But in reality, a man or a\nwoman, however distinguished, who feels a request for his or her\nautograph to be a compliment, is soaked in self-conceit, and the large\nmajority certainly do look upon such requests as simply impertinent\nbegging letters. The request, indeed, carries an affront with it, no\nmatter how civilly it may be worded, as it is not that particular\nautograph that is wanted, for the beggars generally prefix as an\nexcuse the bare-faced fact that they have already begged hundreds.\nCertainly no self-respecting woman will care to put herself among the\nhost of these contemptible seekers after a scrap of paper.\n\nSpeaking broadly, a woman's character may be in many respects fairly\ngauged by her habits on the subject of letter-writing; as fairly,\nindeed, as we may gauge a man's by his methods of dealing with money.\nIf we know how a man gets money, how he spends it, how he lends it,\nborrows it, or saves it, we have a perfect measurement for his temper\nand capabilities. And if we know how a woman deals with her letters,\nhow many she gets, how many she sends, how long or how short they are,\nif they are sprawly and untidy, or neat and cleanly, and how they are\nsigned and sealed, then we can judge her nature very fairly, for she\nhas written herself down in an open book, and all who wish may read\nher.\n\n\n\n\nFlirts and Flirtation\n\n\nFlirting is the product of a highly civilized state of society.\nPeople in savage, or even illiterate life have no conception of\nits delicate and indefinable diplomacy. A savage sees a woman \"that\npleases him well,\" pays the necessary price for her, and is done with\nthe affair. Jane in the kitchen and John in the field look and\nlove, tell each other the reason why, and get married. \"Keeping\ncompany,\" which is their nearest approach to flirtation, has a\ndefinite and well-understood end in view, the approaches to which are\nunequivocal and admit of no other translation.\n\nFlirts are of many kinds. There is the quiet, \"still-water\" flirt, who\nleads her captives by tender little sighs and pretty, humble,\nbeseeching ways; who hangs on every word a man says, asks his advice,\nhis advice only, because it is so much better than any one else's.\nThat is her form of the art, and a very effective one it is.\n\nAgain, the flirt is demonstrative and daring. She tempts, dazzles,\ntantalizes her victims by the very boldness with which she approaches\nthat narrow but deep Rubicon dividing flirting from indiscretion. But\nshe seldom crosses it; up to a certain point she advances without\nhesitation, but at once there is a dead halt, and the flirtee finds\nthat he has been taken a fool's journey.\n\nThere are sentimental flirts, sly little pusses, full of sweet\nconfidences and small secrets, and who delight in asking the most\nsuggestive and seductive questions. \"Does Willy really believe in love\nmarriages?\" or, \"Is it better to have loved and lost than never to\nhave loved at all?\" etc.\n\nIntellectual flirts hover about young poets and writers, or haunt\nstudios and libraries, and doubtless are delightfully distracting to\nthe young ideas shooting in those places.\n\nEverybody knows a variety of the religious flirt,--those demure lilies\nof the ecclesiastical garden, that grow in the pleasant paths where\npious young rectors and eligible saints walk. Perhaps, as their form\nof flirting takes the shape of votive offerings, district visiting,\nand choir singing, their perpetual gush of sentiment and hero-worship\nis advantageous, on the principle that it is an ill wind that blows\nnobody good.\n\nAll of these female varieties have their counterparts among male\nflirts, and besides, there are some masculine types flagrantly and\nuniversally common. Such is the bold, handsome bird of prey, who\nadvances just far enough to raise expectation and then suddenly\nretires. Or the men who are always _insinuating_, but who never make\nan honest declaration; who raise vague hopes with admirable skill and\npoetic backgrounds, and keep women madly and hopefully in love with\nthem by looks and gestures they never give an interpretation to. When\nthey are tired they retire slowly, without quarrel, without\nexplanation; they simply allow their implied promises to die of\nneglect.\n\nThen there is the prudent flirt, who trifles only with married women;\ndangles after those subtle, handsome creatures who affect blighted\nlives and uncomfortable husbands, and who, having married for\nconvenience, are flirting for love. Such women are safe entertainment\nfor the cowardly male flirt, who fears a flirtation that leads\nperchance to matrimony, but who has no fears about his liability to\ncommit bigamy. There are \"fatherly\" male flirts, and \"brotherly\" and\n\"friendly\" flirts, but the title is nothing but an agreed-upon centre\nof operations.\n\nYet it is difficult to imagine how, in a polished state of society,\nflirting could be done without. Some sort of preliminary examination\ninto tastes, disposition, and acquirements is necessary before\nmatrimony, and a woman cannot carry a list of her desirable qualities,\nnor a man advertise his temper and his income. The trouble is that no\ndefinite line can be drawn, no scale of moral values can decide where\nflirting ends and serious attentions begin; and society never agrees\nas to what is innocent and what reprehensible.\n\nThere are ill-natured people who call every bright, merry girl that is\na favorite with gentlemen, that talks, sings, and dances well, a\n\"terrible flirt;\" who admit nothing as propriety but what is\nconventionally correct and insipid. The media of flirting are indeed\nendless; a clever woman can find in simply _listening_ a method of\nconveying the most delicate flattery and covert admiration. Indeed,\nflirting in its highest quality is an art requiring the greatest\namount of tact and skill, and women who would flirt and be blameless,\nno matter how vast their materials, must follow Opie's plan and \"mix\nthem with brains.\"\n\nIt used to be a maxim that no gentleman could be refused by a lady,\nbecause he would never presume beyond the line of her encouragement;\ntherefore it is to be presumed, on this rule, no lady advances further\nthan she is willing to ratify. But such a state of society would be\nvery stupid and formal, and we should miss a very piquant flavor in\nlife, which even very good and great people have not been able to\nresist.\n\nUpon this rule we must convict Queen Elizabeth as an arrant flirt, and\n\"no lady;\" we should be compelled to shake our heads at the fair\nThrale and the great Dr. Johnson, at naughty Horace Walpole and Mrs.\nHannah More, and to even look with suspicion on George Whitefield and\n\"good Lady Huntingdon.\"\n\nNo, in polished society flirting in a moderate form is an amusement,\nand an investigation so eminently suited to the present condition of\nthe sexes that a much better one could be better spared. In one case\nonly does it admit of no extenuating circumstances,--that of the\nmarried flirt of both sexes.\n\nA flirt may not indeed be an altogether lovely character, even with\nall her alluring faults; but she is something a great deal nicer than\na prude. All men prefer a woman who trusts them, or gayly challenges\nthem to a combat, in which she proposes their capture, to her who\naffects horror at masculine tastes and ways, and is always expecting\nthem to do some improper, or say some dreadful, thing. Depend upon it,\nif all the flirts were turned into prudes, society would have gone\nfurther to fare worse.\n\n\n\n\nOn Falling in Love\n\n  \"Something there is moves me to love; and I\n  Do know I love, but know not how, or why.\"\n\n\nThere is in love no \"wherefore;\" and we scarcely expect it. The\nworking-world around must indeed give us an account of their actions,\nbut lovers are not worth much in the way of rendering a reason; for\nhalf the charm of love-making lies in the defiance of everything that\nis reasonable, in asserting the incredible, and in believing the\nimpossible. And surely we may afford ourselves this little bit of\nglamour in an age judging everything by the unconditional and the\npositive; we may make little escapades into love-land, when all the\nold wonder-lands, from the equator to the pole, are being mapped out,\nand dotted over with railway depots, and ports of entry.\n\nFalling in love is an eminently impractical piece of business, and yet\nNature--who is no blunderer--generally introduces the boy and girl\ninto active adult life by this very door. In the depths of this\ndelicious foolishness the boyish heart grows to the measure of\nmanhood; bats and boats and \"fellows\" are forever deposed, and lovely\nwoman reigns in their stead. To boys, first love is, perhaps, more of\nan event than to girls, for the latter have become familiar with the\nroutine of love-making long before they are seriously in love. They\nsing about it in connection with flowers and angels and the moon; they\nread Moore and Tennyson; they have perhaps been the confidants of\nelder sisters. They are waiting for their lover, and even inclined to\nbe critical; but the first love of a boy is generally a surprise--he\nis taken unawares, and surrenders at discretion.\n\nPerhaps it is a good stimulant to faith in general, that in the very\noutset of it we should believe in such an unreasonable and wonderful\nthing as first love. Tertullian held some portions of his faith simply\n\"because they were impossible.\" It is no bad thing for a man to begin\nlife with a grand passion,--to imagine that no one ever loved before\nhim, and that no one who comes after him will ever love to the same\ndegree that he does.\n\nThis absolute passion, however, is not nearly so common as it might\nwell be; and Rochefoucauld was not far wrong when he compared it to\nthe ghosts that every one talks about, but very few see. It generally\narises out of extreme conditions of circumstances or feelings; its\nfood is contradiction and despair. It is doubtful if Romeo and Juliet\nwould have cared much for each other if the Montagues and Capulets had\nbeen friends and allies, and the marriage of their children a\nnecessary State arrangement; and Byron is supported by all reasonable\nevidence when he doubtfully inquires:\n\n  \"If Laura, think you, had been Petrarch's wife,\n  Would he have written sonnets all his life?\"\n\nThis excessive passion does not thrive well either in a high state of\ncivilization. \"King Cophetua and the Beggar-maid\" is the ballad of an\nage when love really \"ruled the court, the camp, the grove.\" The\nnineteenth century is not such an age. At the very best, King\nCophetua would now do pretty much as the judge did with regard to Maud\nMuller. Still no one durst say that even in such a case it was not\nbetter to have loved and relinquished than never to have loved at\nall.\n\n  \"Better for all that some sweet hope lies\n  Deeply buried from human eyes.\"\n\nHow can love be the be-all and the end-all of life with us, when\nsteam-looms and litigation, railway shares and big bonanzas, cotton\nand corn, literature and art, politics and dry goods, and a thousand\nother interests share our affections and attentions? It is impossible\nthat our life should be the mere machinery of a love plot; it is\nrather a drama in which love is simply one of the _dramatis personæ_.\n\nThis fact is well understood, even if not acknowledged in words; the\nsighs and the fevers, the hoarding of flowers and gloves, the broken\nhearts and shattered lives, all for the sake of one sweet face, still\nexist in literature, but not much in life. Lovers of to-day are more\ngiven to considering how to make housekeeping as easy as matrimony\nthan to writing sonnets to their mistresses' eyebrows. The very\ndevotion of ancient times would now be tedious, its long protestations\na bore, and we lovers of the nineteenth century would be very apt to\nyawn in the very face of a sixteenth-century Cupid. Let the modern\nlover try one of Amadis' long speeches to his lady, and she would\nlikely answer, \"Don't be tiresome, Jack; let us go to Thomas' and hear\nthe music and eat an ice-cream.\"\n\nIs love, then, in a state of decay? By no means--it has merely\naccommodated itself to the spirit of the age; and this spirit demands\nthat the lives of men shall be more affected by Hymen than by Cupid.\nLovers interest society now solely as possible husbands and wives,\nfathers and mothers of the republic. Lord Lytton points out this fact\nas forcibly exemplified in our national dramas. Every one feels the\nlove scenes in a play, the sentimental dialogues of the lovers,\nfatiguing; but a matrimonial quarrel excites the whole audience, and\nit sheds its pleasantest tears over their reconciliation. For few\npersons in any audience ever have made, or ever will make, love as\npoets do; but the majority have had, or will have, quarrels and\nreconciliations with their wives.\n\n\"Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them--but not\nfor love;\" and if this was true of Shakespeare's times, it is doubly\nso of ours. If there ever was any merit in dying for love, we fail to\nsee it; occasionally a man will wildly admit that he is making a fool\nof himself for this or that woman, but though we may pity him, we\ndon't respect him for such a course. Women, still more rarely than\nmen, \"make fools of themselves\" on this score; and in spite of all\npoets assert to the contrary, they are eminently reasonable, and their\naffections bear transplanting.\n\nIn other respects we quite ignore the inflation of old love terms.\n\"Our fate,\" \"our destiny,\" etc., resolve themselves into the simplest\nand most natural of events; a chat on a rainy afternoon, a walk home\nin the moonlight, mere contiguity for a season, are the agents which\noften decide our love affairs. And yet, below all this, lies that\ninexplicable something which seems to place this bit of our lives\nbeyond our wisest thoughts. We can't fall in love to order, and all\nour reasoning on the subject resolves itself into a conviction that\nunder certain inexplicable conditions, \"it is possible for anybody to\nfall in love with anybody else.\"\n\nPerhaps this is a part of what Artemus Ward calls the \"cussedness\" of\nthings in general; but at any rate we must admit that if \"like\nattracts like,\" it attracts unlike too. The scholar marries the\nfoolish beauty; the beauty marries an ugly man, and admires him.\nPoverty intensifies itself by marrying poverty; plenty grows plethoric\nby marrying wealth. But how far love is to blame for these strange\nattractions, who can tell? Probably a great deal that passes for love\nis only reflected self-love, the passion to acquire what is generally\nadmired or desired. Thus beautiful women are often married as the most\ndecorous way of gratifying male vanity. A pleasant anecdote, as the\nScotch say, _anent_ this view, is told of the Duc de Guise, who after\na long courtship prevailed on a celebrated beauty to grant him her\nhand. The lady observing him very restless, asked what ailed him.\n\"Ah, madame,\" answered the lover, \"I ought to have been off long ago\nto communicate my good fortune to all my friends.\"\n\nBut the motives and influences that go to make up so highly complex an\nemotion as love are beyond even indication, though the subject has\nbeen a tempting one to most philosophical writers. Even Comte descends\nfrom the positive and unconditional to deify the charmingly erratic\nfeminine principle; Michelet, after forty volumes of history, rests\nand restores himself by penning a book on love; the pale, religious\nPascal, terrified at the vastness of his own questions, comforts\nhimself by an analysis of the same passion; and Herbert Spencer has\ngone _con amore_ into the same subject. But love laughs at philosophy,\nand delights in making fools of the wise for its sake.\n\nIt is easy to construct a theory, but the first touch of a white hand\nmay demolish it; easy to make resolutions, but the first glance of a\npair of bright eyes may send them packing. It is easy for men to be\nphilosophers, when they are not lovers; but when once they fall in\nlove there is no distinction then between the fool and the wise man.\nHowever, we can be thankful that love no longer demands such outward\nand visible tokens of slavery as she used to. In this day lovers\naddress their mistresses as women--not goddesses. Indeed we should say\nnow of men who serve women on their knees, \"_When they get up, they go\naway_.\"\n\n\n\n\nEngaged To Be Married\n\n  \"Woo'd and married and a'.\n    Woo'd and married and a':\n  An' is na she very weel aff\n    That is woo'd and married and a'?\"\n\n\nIt is a beautiful fancy that marriages are ordained in heaven; it is a\npractical fact that they are made on earth; and that what we call \"our\ndestiny,\" or \"our fate,\" is generally the result of favorable\nopportunities, sympathetic circumstances, or even pleasant contiguity\nfor a season. Hence we always expect after the summer vacation to hear\nof a number of \"engagements.\" The news is perennially interesting; we\nmay have seen the parties a thousand times, but their first appearance\nin their new character excites all our curiosity.\n\nGenerally the woman expands and beautifies, rises with the occasion,\nand puts on new beauty with the confidence of an augmenting wardrobe\nand an assured position. There is nothing ridiculous in her attitude;\nher wedding trousseau and marriage presents keep her in a delightful\nstate of triumphant satisfaction, and if she has \"done well unto\nherself,\" she feels entitled to the gratitude of her family and the\nenvy of all her female acquaintance.\n\nThe case is not so socially pleasant for her accomplice; it is always\nan awkward thing for a man to announce his engagement. His married\nfriends ask him prosaic questions, and \"wish him joy,\"--a compliment\nwhich of itself implies a doubt; or they tell him he is going to do a\nwise thing, and treat him in the interval as if he was naturally in a\nstate of semi-lunacy. His bachelor friends receive the news either\nwith a fit of laughter, an expressive, long-drawn whistle, or at best\nwith the assurance that they \"consider marriage a good thing, though\nthey are not able to carry out their principles.\" But he is soon aware\nthat they regard him virtually as a deserter; they make parties\nwithout including him; he drops out of their consultations; he has\nlost his caste among the order of young men, and has not been\nadmitted among the husbands of the community; he hangs between two\nstates; is not of _that_, nor yet quite of _this_.\n\nNaturally enough, there are a variety of opinions on the subject of\nprolonging or cutting as short as possible this preliminary stage.\nThose who regard marriage as a kind of commerce, whose clearing house\nis St. Thomas's or St. Bartholomew's, will, of course, prefer to\nclinch the contemplated arrangement as soon as possible. Their\nbusiness is intelligible; there is \"no nonsense about them;\" and, upon\nthe whole, the sooner they get to ordering dinner and paying taxes the\nbetter. Many of us have sat waiting in a dentist's room with a\ntooth-ache similar to that which made Burns\n\n  \"Cast the wee stools owre the meikle;\"\n\nand some of us have watched for an editor's decision with feelings\nwhich would gladly have annihilated the interval.\n\nBut it is not alone the prosaic and the impatient who are averse to a\nlong engagement: the methodical, whose arrangements it tumbles upside\ndown; the busy, whose time it appropriates; the selfish, who are\ncompelled during it to make continual small sacrifices; the shy, who\nfeel as if all the other relations of life had retired into the\nbackground in order to exhibit them as \"engaged men;\" the greedy, who\nlook upon the expected love-offerings as so much tribute money,--these\nand many other varieties of lovers would gladly simplify matrimony by\nreducing its preliminaries to a question and a ceremony. Yet if Love\nis to have anything like the place in life that it has in poetry; if\nwe really believe that marriage ought to be founded on sympathy of\ntastes and principles; if we have any faith in that mighty ruler of\nhearts and lives, a genuine love affair,--we shall not wish to dim the\nglory of marriage by denying it this sojourn in a veritable enchanted\nland; for in its atmosphere many fine feelings blossom that never\nwould have birth at all if the niceties of courtship were superseded\nby the levelling rapidity of marriage. If people are _really_ in love\nthey gain more than they lose by a reasonable delay. There is time for\nthe reading and writing of love-letters, one of the sweetest\nexperiences of life; the tongue and pen get familiar with affectionate\nand noble sentiments; indeed I doubt if there is any finer school for\nmarried life than a full course of love-letters. But if the marriage\nfollow immediately on the engagement, all love-letters and all\nlove-making must necessarily have a flavor of furniture and dress, and\nof \"considerations.\" I admit that love-making is an unreasonable and\nimpractical piece of business; but in this lies all its charm. It\ndelights in asserting the incredible and believing the impossible.\nBut, after all, it is in the depths of this delicious foolishness that\nthe heart attains its noblest growth. Life may have many grander hopes\nand calmer joys in store,--\n\n  \"But there's nothing half so sweet in life\n  As Love's young dream.\"\n\nTherefore we ought to look with complaisance, if not with approbation,\non young people serenely passing through this phase of their\nexistence; but the fact is, we are apt to regard it as a little trial.\nLovers are so happy and self-satisfied that they do not understand\nwhy everybody else is not in the same supreme condition. If the house\nis ever so small, they expect a clear room to themselves.\n\nYet such an engagement, of reasonable length, is to be advised\nwherever young people are tender and constant in nature, and really in\nlove with each other. I would only ask them to be as little\ndemonstrative in public as possible, and to carry their happiness\nmeekly, for, in any case, they will make large demands on the love,\npatience, and toleration of their friends. But perhaps one of the\ngreatest advantages of a prolonged engagement is the security it\nbrings against a _mésalliance_. Now, to a man a _mésalliance_ is the\nheaviest weight he can carry through life; but to a woman it is simply\ndestruction.\n\nThe best women have an instinctive wish to marry a man superior to\nthemselves in some way or other; for their honor is in their husbands,\nand their status in society is determined by his. A woman who, for a\npassing fancy, marries a man in any way her inferior wrongs herself,\nher family, and her whole life; for the \"grossness of his nature\"\nwill most probably drag her to his level. Now and then a woman of\ngreat force of character may lift her husband upward, but she accepts\nsuch a labor at the peril of her own higher life. Should she find it\nequally impossible to lift him to her level or to sink to his, what\nremains? Life-long regrets, bitter shame and self-reproach, or a\nforcible setting of herself free. But the latter, like all severe\nremedies, carries desperation instead of hope, with it. Never can she\nquite regain her maiden place; an _aura_ of a doubtful kind fetters\nand influences her in every effort or relation of her future life.\n\nIn the early glamour of a love affair, women do not see these things,\nbut fathers and mothers do; they know that \"the world is _not_ well\nlost for love,\" and they have a right to protest against such folly.\nIn an imprudent love affair, every day is so much gained; therefore\nwhen this foolishness is bound up in the heart of a youth or a maiden,\nthe best of all plans is to arrange for time,--as long an engagement\nas possible.\n\nBut I will suppose that all my unmarried readers have found proper\nmates who will stand the test of parental wisdom and a fairly long and\nexacting engagement, and that after some happy months they will not\nonly be \"woo'd,\" but \"married and a'.\" Now begins their real life, and\nfor the woman the first step is _renunciation_. She must give up with\na good grace the exaggeration and romance of love-making, and accept\nin its place that far better tenderness which is the repose of\npassion, and which springs from the tranquil depths of a man's best\nnature.\n\nThe warmest-hearted and most unselfish women soon learn to accept\nquiet trust and the loyalty of a loving life as the calmest and\nhappiest condition of marriage; and the men who are sensible enough to\nrely on the good sense of such wives sail round the gushing adorers,\nboth for true affection and comfortable tranquillity.\n\nJust let a young wife remember that her husband necessarily is under a\ncertain amount of bondage all day; that his interests compel him to\nlook pleasant under all circumstances to offend none, to say no hasty\nword, and she will see that when he reaches his own fireside he wants\nmost of all to have this strain removed to be at ease; but this he\ncannot be if he is continually afraid of wounding his wife's\nsensibilities by forgetting some outward and visible token of his\naffection for her. Besides, she pays him but a poor compliment in\nrefusing to believe what he does not continually assert; and by\nfretting for what it is unreasonable to desire she deeply wrongs\nherself, for--\n\n  \"A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,\n  Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.\"\n\n\n\n\nShall our Daughters have Dowries?\n\n\nThose who occupy themselves reading that writing on the wall which we\ncall \"signs of the times\" may ponder awhile the question which Mr.\nMessinger puts with such plaintive appeal to the parents of this\ngeneration: \"Shall our daughters have dowries?\" But in the very\ncommencement of his argument he abandons the case he has voluntarily\ntaken up, and enters a plea, not for the daughters, but for the young\nmen who may wish to marry the daughters. Also in urging upon parents\nthe duty of endowing their daughters he seems to have lost sight of\nthe fact that \"dowry,\" in its very spirit and intention, does not\npropose to care for the husband, but is solely in the interest of the\nwife.\n\nHe asserts, doubtless with accuracy, that the average income of young\nmen is $1,100 a year, and he finds in this fact a sufficient reason\nfor the decrease of marriage among them. It is no reason at all; for a\nlarge and sensible proportion of young men do marry and live happily\nand respectably on $1,100 a year, and those who cannot do so are very\nclearly portrayed by Mr. Messinger, and very little respected by any\nsensible young woman.\n\nBut it is not to be believed that they form any preponderating or\ninfluential part of that army of young men who are the to-morrow of\nour great republic. Let any reader count, from such young men as are\nknown to him, the number who would divide their $1,100 as Mr.\nMessinger supposes them to do:--\n\n  Dress for self and wife      $600\n  Apartments                    400\n  Amusements                    100\n\nI venture to say the proportion would be very small indeed.\n\nFor the majority of young men know that nothing worth having is\nlost in the sharing. They meet in their own circle some modest,\nhome-making girl whom they love so truly that they can tell her\nexactly what their income is, and then they find out that their own\nideas of economy were crude and extravagant compared with the\nwondrous ways and means which reveal themselves to a loving woman's\ncomprehension of the subject. The Oranges, Rutherford, and every\nsuburb of New York are full of pretty little homes supported\nwithout worry, and with infinite happiness, upon $1,100 a year,\nand perhaps, indeed, upon less money.\n\nThe difficulty with the class of young men whose case Mr. Messinger\npleads is one deserving of no sympathy. It is a difficulty evoked by\nvanity and self-conceit, of which Fashion and Mrs. Grundy are the\nbugbears. Why should a young man capable of making only $1,100 a year\nexpect to marry a girl whose parents are rich enough to guard her\n\"from every wind of heaven, lest it visit her face too roughly\"? \"Is\nit fair treatment of the expected husband,\" Mr. Messinger asks, that a\ngirl \"should be habituated to live without work and then be handed\nover to her husband with nothing but her clothing and bric-à-brac?\"\nYes, it is quite fair treatment. If the husband with his $1,100 a year\nelects to marry a girl not habituated to work, he does it of his own\nchoice: the father of the girl is probably not at all desirous of his\nalliance; then why should the father deprive himself of the results of\nhis own labor and economy to undo the folly and vanity of the young\nman's selection? As for the girl, if she has deliberately preferred\nher lover to her father, mother, home, and to all the advantages of\nwealth, she has the desire of her heart. It may be quite fair that she\nshould have this desire, but it may be very unfair that her father,\nmother, and perhaps her brothers and sisters, should be robbed to make\nher desire less self-sacrificing to her. For if the young man with his\npoverty is acceptable to both the daughter and her parents, the latter\nmay be safely trusted to do all that is right in the circumstances.\n\nThe most objectionable part of Mr. Messinger's argument is the servile\nand mercenary aspect in which it places marriage. \"What equality can\nexist,\" he asks, \"where one (the man) supplies all the means of\nsubsistence and performs all the labor?\" That a husband should provide\nthe means of subsistence is the very Magna Charta of honorable\nmarriage; and nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand so\naccept it. It is the precise point on which all true husbands feel the\nmost keenly sensitive. They want no other man--no matter what his\nrelationship or friendship--to support their wives. And under no\ncircumstances does the husband perform all the labor resulting from a\nmarriage. That he may be a true man, a father and a citizen, it is\nnecessary that he have a home; and in the care of the home, in the\nbringing-forth and the bringing-up of the family, in the constant\ndemands upon her love and sympathy, the wife performs a never-ceasing\nmultitude of duties that tax her heart and her body in every\ndirection,--a labor of love in comparison with which her husband's\ndaily routine over his \"entries\" or his \"orders\" is a trifling drain\nof vitality. For a wife and mother must keep every faculty and feeling\n\"at attention;\" but a clerk over his ledger keeps a dozen faculties\non the premises to do the work of one. And in behalf of all true and\ntrusted wives I deny in totality the idea that they go to their\nhusbands with \"painful shrinking\" for the money necessary to carry on\nthe mutual home, or that there is in any beloved wife's heart the most\nfleeting thought of \"dependence.\" Mr. Messinger does a great and\nshameful wrong to the majority of husbands and wives by such an\nassertion.\n\nIndeed, this gentleman's experience seems to have been an unusually\nsad one, nine out of ten of his friends having died in early middle\nage from the undue expenditure of nerve and vital force in their\nefforts to provide for their families in what they doubtless\nconsidered a suitable manner; and he evidently thinks that if their\nwives had been dowered this result would probably have been averted.\nIt is extremely improbable. The wife's small income would far more\nlikely have led to a still more extravagant way of living; for the\ngenius of the American is to live for to-day and take care for the\nmorrow when the morrow comes.\n\nIn many respects it is the genius of the age. Old forms of thought\nand action are in a state of transition. No one can tell what\nto-morrow may bring forth. The social conditions which inspired the\nfathers of the past to save for their posterity are passing away; and\nI speak from knowledge when I assert that they were often conditions\nof domestic misery and wrong, and that growing children suffered much\nunder them. Suppose a father has two daughters and three sons; must he\ncurtail the daughters in the education and pleasures of their youth,\nmust he limit the three boys at home and at college, in order to give\na sum of money to some unknown young man who will doubtless vow that\nhis daughter's heart and person are more than all the world to him? If\nshe be not more than all the world to him, he has no right to marry\nher; and if she be, what can be added to a gift so precious?\n\nThe tendency of the time is to dishonor marriage in every way; but\nthe deepest wrong, the most degrading element that can be introduced,\nis to make it dependent upon dowries or any other financial\nconsideration. We must remember also that in England, where dowry\nhas been a custom, it was one not particularly affecting those\nclasses whose daughters are likely to marry clerks upon small\nsalaries. It was the provision made by landed gentry for their\ndaughters, and they exacted in return an equally suitable settlement\nfrom the expectant husband. If the father gave a sum of money to\nthe bride, the bridegroom generally gave the dower-house, with the\nfurniture, silver, linen, etc., which would make it a proper home for\nher widowhood. Many a marriage has been broken off because the\nbridegroom would not make such settlements as the father considered\nthe dower demanded.\n\nMr. Messinger acknowledges that the cost of living was never so small\nas at this day, and that the difficulty in the way of young men\nmarrying is \"purely one of insane imitation and competition.\" But\nthere is no necessity for this insane competition; and why provide an\nunusual and special remedy for what is purely optional? Nobody compels\nthe young husband to live as if his income was $11,000 instead of\n$1,100. Of his own free will he sacrifices his life to his vanity,\nand there is no justice in attempting his relief by dowering his\nperhaps equally guilty wife out of the results of another man's\nindustry and economy.\n\nDowry is an antiquated provision for daughters, behind the genius of\nthe age, incompatible with the dignity of American men and the\nintelligence and freedom of American women. Besides, there are very\nlikely to be two, three, four, or more daughters in a house; how could\na man of moderate means save for all of them? And what would become of\nthe sons? The father who gives his children a loving, sensible mother,\nwho provides them with a comfortable home, and who educates fully all\ntheir special faculties, and teaches them the cunning in their ten\nfingers, dowers his daughters far better than if he gave them money.\nHe has funded for them a provision that neither a bad husband nor an\nevil fate can squander. He has done his full duty, and every good girl\nwill thankfully so accept it.\n\nAs for the young men who could imagine themselves spending, out of\n$1,100, $700 upon dress and amusements, neither the world, nor any\nsensible woman in it, will be the worse for their celibacy. For if\nthey take a wife, it will doubtless be some would-be stylish, foolish\nvirgin, whose soft hands are of no earthly use except as ring-stands\nand glove-stretchers. It is such marriages that are failures. It is in\nsuch pretentious homes that love and moderate means cannot live\nhappily together. It is in such weak hands that Pandora's box shuts,\nnot on hope, but on despair.\n\nThe brave, sensible youth does not fear to face life and all its\nobligations on $1,100 a year. With love it is enough to begin with.\nHope, ambition, industry, good fortune, are his sureties for the\nfuture. However well educated he may be, he knows that in his own\nclass he will find lovely women equally well educated. They may be\nteaching, clerking, sewing, but they are his peers. He has no idea of\nmarrying a young lady accustomed to servants and luxury, and the\nquestion of dower never occurs to him. The good girl who supplements\nhis industry by her economy, who cheers him with her sympathy, who\nshares all his thoughts and feelings, and crowns his life with love\nand consolation, has all the dowry he wants. And this is an opinion\nfounded on a long life of observation,--an opinion that fire cannot\nburn out of me.\n\n\n\n\nThe Ring Upon the Finger\n\n\nRings were probably the first ornaments ever worn, though in the\nearliest ages they had a meaning far beyond mere adornment. The\nstories of Judah and Tamar, of Pharaoh and Joseph, of Ahasuerus and\nHaman, show that as pledges of good faith, as marks of favor, and as\ntokens of authority, they were the recognized symbols. The fashion was\nan Eastern one, for the Jews were familiar with it before their\nsojourn in Egypt; indeed, it may have been one of those primeval\ncustoms which Shem, Ham, and Japhet saved from the wreck of an earlier\nworld. Certainly the people of Syria and the lords of Palestine and\nTyre used rings in the earliest times; and it is remarkable that they\nbore the same emblem which ancient Mexican rings bear,--the\nconstellation of Pisces. As an ornament, however, the ring is least\nimportant; it is an emblem. The charmed circle has potency and\nromance.\n\nGreat faith in all ages has been placed in charmed rings. Greeks\nand Romans possessed them, and the Scandinavian nations had a\nsuperstitious faith in such amulets; indeed, as chronicles declare,\nit is hard to compute how much William was indebted for his\nvictory over Harold to the influence of the ring he wore, which had\nbeen blessed and hallowed. As curative agencies, rings have also\nplayed a curious part. Until the Georgian era, rings blessed by the\nKing or Queen on Good Friday were thought to control epilepsy and\nother complaints, and something of this secret power is still\nacknowledged by the superstitious, who wear around their necks rings\nor coins that have been blessed. Rings have also been agencies for\ndeath, as well as for life. In all ages they have been receptacles\nfor subtle poisons, and thus Hannibal and Demosthenes armed\nthemselves against an extremity of evil fortune.\n\nIn the life of the English Queen Elizabeth, rings had an extraordinary\nimportance. She was notified of her ascension to the throne by the\npresentation of Mary's ring. The withholding of the ring sent by Essex\ncaused her to die in a passion of remorse and re-awakened affection;\nand no sooner was the great struggle over than her ring was taken from\nher scarcely cold finger and flung out of the window to Sir John\nHarrington, who hastened over the Border with it to the Scottish James.\n\nThere are some curious traditions regarding the stones usually set in\nrings. The ruby or carbuncle was thought to guard against illness. The\nsapphire was the favorite of churchmen, and was thought to inspire\npure desires. Epiphanes says the first tables of the Law were written\non sapphires. The emerald bestowed cheerfulness and increased wealth.\nThe opal was said to make a man invisible, the jacinth to procure\nsleep, and the turquoise to appease quarrels between man and wife.\nThings are much changed, however, since heathen sages and Rosicrucian\nalchemists defined the qualities and powers of gems. We have\ncommercial \"rings\" now, which laugh emerald ones to scorn as means of\nprocuring wealth. If the opal could make a man invisible, it might be\npopular on the first of a month, but we have better narcotics than the\njacinth, while the elaborateness of our women's toilets gives husbands\nmanifold opportunities of peace-making, quite as successful as the\nturquoise.\n\nThe Jews first used it in marriage. For this purpose they required it\nto have a certain value, and to be finally and fully purchased. If it\nwas bought on credit, or taken as a gift, its power was destroyed. The\nChristian Church early adopted the custom of the marriage ring. It was\nplaced first on the thumb, in the name of the \"Father;\" then removed\nto the first finger, in the name of the \"Son;\" to the third with the\nname of the \"Holy Ghost;\" and the \"Amen\" fixed its place on the\nfourth.\n\nRings were also the emblem of spiritual marriage and dignity as early\nas the third century. In the Romish Church the Episcopal ring is of\ngold set with a rich gem. The Pope has two rings, one bearing the\nlikeness of St. Peter, used for ordinary business; the other bearing a\ncross, and the heads of both Peter and Paul, and the reigning Pope's\nname and arms. It is used only for Bulls, and is broken at the death\nof the Pontiff; and a new one given by the city of Rome to his\nsuccessor. These rings of spiritual office were frequently worn on the\nthumb, and when the tomb of Bede was opened in May, 1831, a large\nthumb-ring was found where the right hand had fallen to dust.\n\nThe ring has been used not only for carnal and spiritual weddings, but\nalso for commercial ones. For six hundred years the Doges of Venice\nmarried, with a gold ring, the Adriatic and its rich commerce to their\ncity on the sea. As an emblem of delegated or transmitted power, the\nring has also played a remarkable part in human affairs. Pharaoh and\nAhasuerus in Biblical records are examples. Alexander transferred his\nkingdom to Perdicas with his ring. When Cæsar received the head of\nPompey, he also received his ring, and when Richard the Second\nresigned his crown to Henry of Lancaster, he did so by giving him his\nring. The coronation ring of England is of gold, in which is set a\nlarge violet ruby, carved with the cross of St. George. The custom of\nengraving sacred emblems upon rings for common wear was angrily\nreproved by so early a sage as Pythagoras; and this heathen's delicacy\nabout sacred things is commended to the notice of those women of our\nown day, who toss the holy symbol of our faith around the toilet\ntables, and wear it in very unconsecrated places.\n\nHowever, I have said enough to prove that the ring upon our finger is\na link between us and the centuries beyond the flood. We cannot escape\nthis tremendous solidarity of the human race. We are part of all that\nhas been, and the generations that follow us will look back to us and\nsay, \"They were our fathers, and we are their heirs, and lo, we are\nall one!\"\n\n\n\n\nFlirting Wives\n\n\nIf some good and thoughtful woman who died fifty years ago could\nreturn to this world, what in our present life would most astonish\nher? Would it be the wonders of steam, electricity, and science; the\ntyranny of the working classes, or the autocracy of servants? No! It\nwould be the amazing development of her own sex,--the preaching,\nlecturing, political women; the women who are doctors and lawyers; who\nlose and win money on horses, or in stocks and real estate; the women\nwho talk slang, and think it an accomplishment; who imitate men's\nattire and manners; who do their athletic exercises in public; and,\nperhaps more astonishing than all, the women who make marriage the\ncloak for much profitable post-nuptial flirtation.\n\nFor her own sex engaged in business, she might find excuses or even\nadmiration; and even for the unfeminine girls of the era, she might\nplead Mrs. Poyser's opinion, that \"the women are made to suit the\nmen.\" But for young wives notorious for their flirting and their\n\"followers,\" she could have nothing but unqualified scorn and\ncondemnation. For the sentiment demanding absolute fidelity in a wife\nmay be said to have the force of a human instinct; in all ages it has\nexacted from her an avoidance of the very appearance of evil.\nTherefore a good woman in the presence of a frivolous flirting wife\nfeels as if a law of nature were being broken before her eyes; since\nbehind the wife stands the possible mother, and the claims of family,\nrace, and caste, as well as of conjugal honor, are all in her\nkeeping.\n\nWithout any exaggeration it may be said that wife-errantry is now as\ncommon as knight-errantry once was. The young men of to-day have\ndiscovered the personal advantage and safety there is in the society\nof another man's wife. They transpose an old proverb, and practically\nsay: \"Fools marry, and wise men follow their wives.\" For, if the\nhusband be only complacent, it is such a safe thing to flirt with a\npretty wife. Young girls are dangerous and might lure them into\nmatrimony; but they have no fear of bigamy. They can whisper sweet\nwords to a gay, married flirt; they can walk, and talk, and dance, and\nride with her; they can lounge in her dusky drawing-room or in her\nopera box, and no one will ask them the reason why, or make any\nsuggestion about their \"intentions.\"\n\nHow far this custom affects the morals of the woman is not at first\nobvious; but we must insist on this recognized premise: \"Society has\nlaid down positive rules regarding the modesty of women, and apart\nfrom these rules it is hard to believe modesty can exist. For all\nconventional social laws are founded on principles of good morals and\ngood sense; and to violate them without a sufficient reason destroys\nnicety of feeling, sweetness of mind, and self-respect.\" It is no\nexcuse to say that propriety is old-maidish, and that men like smart\nwomen, or that no harm is intended by their flirtations. The question\nis: Can married women preserve their delicacy of thought and their\nnobleness of manner; can they be truly loyal to their husbands and to\nthemselves throughout the different phases of a recognized flirtation?\nIt is an impossible thing.\n\nSuppose a beautiful girl to be wooed and won by a man in every way\nsuitable to her desires. She has accepted his love and his name, and\nvowed to cleave to him, and to him only, till death parts them. The\nwooing has been mainly done in full dress, at balls and operas, or in\nhours tingling with the expectancy of such conditions. The aroma of\nroses, the rustle of silks and laces, the notes of music, the taste of\nbon-bons and sparkling wines, were the atmosphere; and the days and\nweeks went by to the sense of flying feet in a ballroom, or to\nenchanted loiterings in greenhouses, and behind palms and flowers on\ndecorated stairways.\n\nThe young wife is unwilling to believe that marriage has other and\ngraver duties. She has been taught to live in the present only, and\nshe is, therefore, cynical and apathetic concerning all things but\ndress and amusements. The husband has to return to business, which\nhas been somewhat neglected; arrears of duty are to be met. He feels\nit necessary to attend to the question of supplies; he is, likely, a\nlittle embarrassed by the long holiday of wooing and honeymooning, and\nhe would be grateful for some retrenchment and retirement, for the\npurpose of home-making.\n\nThe young wife has no such intentions; she resents and contradicts\nthem on every occasion; and after the first pang of disappointment is\nover, he finds it the most prudent and comfortable plan to be\nindifferent to her continued frivolity. He is perhaps even flattered\nto find her so much admired; perhaps, in his heart, rather thankful to\nbe relieved from the trouble of admiring her. As for any graver\nthoughts, he concludes that his wife is no worse than A's and B's and\nC's wives; that she is quite able to take care of herself, and that in\na multitude of adorers there is safety.\n\nThus, in a majority of cases, begins the career of the married flirt.\nBut the character is not a corollary of marriage, if the proper\nconditions were present when the wife was a young woman. There is no\nsalvation in the Order of Matrimony; no miracles are wrought at the\naltar of Grace Church, or at St. Thomas's. She that is frivolous,\ngiddy, and selfish is likely to continue frivolous, giddy, and\nselfish; and marriage merely supplies her with a wider field and\ngreater opportunities for the indulgence of her vanity and greed.\n\nShe re-enters society with every advantage of youth, beauty, wealth,\nand liberty; released from the disabilities under which unmarried\ngirls lie; armed with new powers to dazzle and to conquer. No longer a\ncompetitor for a matrimonial prize, she is a rival ten times more\ndangerous than she was. Setting aside the wrong done to the sacredness\nof the connubial relation, she now becomes the most subtle enemy to\nthe prospects of all the unmarried girls in her set. What is the bud\nto the perfect rose? The timid, blushing maiden pales and subsides\nbefore the married siren who has the audacity and charm of a conscious\nintelligence. It is not without good reason that special balls and\nparties have come into fashion for social buds; they are the\nnecessary sequence to the predominance of married sirens, with whom in\na mixed society no young girl can cope. They have the floor and the\npartners; they monopolize all the attention, and their pleasure is of\nthe greatest importance. And their pleasure is to flirt--to flirt in\nall places and at all hours.\n\nIn vain will some young aspirant to marriage display in the presence\nof the married flirt her pretty accomplishments. She may sing her\nsongs, and play her mandolin never so sweetly, but the young men slip\naway with some one or other of the piquant brides of the past year.\nAnd in the privacy of the smoking-room it is the brides, and not the\nyoung girls, who are talked about--what dresses they wear or are\nlikely to wear, how their hair is done, the history of the jewels\nwhich adorn them, and the clever things they have said or implied.\n\nBefore we condemn too much the society girls of the time, we ought to\nconsider the new enemy who stands in the way of their advancement to\nmarriage. Is it not quite natural that the most courageous girls\nshould refuse the secondary place to which married flirts assign\nthem, and endeavor to meet these invaders with their own weapons? If\nso, much of the forwardness of the present young girl is traceable to\nthe necessity forced upon her by these married competitors. For it is\na fact that young men go to the latter for advice and sympathy. They\ntell them about the girls they like, and their fancies are nipped in\nthe bud. For the married flirt's first instinct is to divest all other\nwomen of that air of romance with which the nobility and chivalry of\nmen have invested womanhood for centuries. So she points out with a\npitiless exactness all the small arts which other women use; and is\nnot only a rival to some young girl, but a traitor to her whole sex.\n\nAnd yet she is not only tolerated but indulged. People giving\nentertainments know that their success will be in a large measure\ndependent upon the number of beautiful young wives present. They know\nthe situation is all wrong, but they are sure they cannot either fight\nthe wrong, or put it right; and in the meantime their particular ball\nwill not increase the evil very much. Not fifty years ago it was the\nyoung beauties that were considered and looked after, and the\ngentlemen asked to an entertainment were asked with reference to the\nunmarried girls; for it was understood that any married women present\nwould, of course, be wrapped up in their own husbands. Then a wife\naccepting attentions from one young man after another would have\naroused the contempt and disapproval of every man and woman present.\n\nVanity in the first place leads young wives to flirting, but grosser\nmotives soon follow. For whatever other experiences matrimony brings,\nit generally stimulates a woman's love of money; and the married siren\nsoon makes her \"followers\" understand that she is \"a very practical\nlittle woman, and does not care for a sonnet, or a serenade, or a\nbouquet of fresh flowers.\" A summer's cruise in a fine yacht, a seat\non a coach, an opera box, a jewel, dinners, drives, and luncheons, are\nthe blackmail which the married flirt expects, in return for her\nsighs, sentiment, and advice.\n\nIt is indeed curious to note the change of fashion in this respect.\nLet any one turn over the novels of half a century ago, and he will\nsee that the favorite plan for compromising a woman's honor was to\ninduce her to accept the loan of money, or the gift of jewels. If the\nunfortunate heroine did so, no novelist would have dared to offer an\napology for her. But this age of luxury and laxity has exploded the\nscrupulous delicacy of the Evelinas and Cecilias of the old tales, and\nthe splendidly free feminine Uhlans of our modern society laugh to\nscorn the prim modesty of the Richardsonian standard. They assert, if\nnot in words yet by their actions, the right of a woman to make her\nfascinations serviceable to her.\n\nSome married women contend that their flirtations are absolutely\ninnocent friendships. But in all stations of society it is a dangerous\nthing for two people of the opposite sex to chant together the litany\nof the church of Plato. The two who could do it safely would be the\nvery two who would never dream of such an imprudence. Those who enter\ninto \"friendships\" of this kind, with what they think are the most\ninnocent intentions, should sharply arrest themselves as soon as they\nare \"talked about.\" For in social judgments, the dictum that \"people\ntalked about generally get what they deserve\" is true, however unjust\nit may appear to be.\n\nAnother class of married flirts scorn to make any apology, or any\npretence of mere friendship. They stand upon the emancipation of\nwomen, and the right of one sex to as much liberty as the other.\nThis kind of siren boldly says, \"she does not intend to be a slave\nlike her mother, and her grand-mother. She does not propose to tie\nherself, either to a house or a cradle.\" She travels, she lives in\nyachts and hotels, and she does not include a nursery in her\nplans. She talks of elective affinities, natural emotions of the\nheart, and contrasts the opportunities of such conditions with the\nlimitations and the monotony of domestic relations. She makes\nherself valueless for the very highest natural duties of womanhood,\nand then talks of her enfranchisement! Yes, she has her freedom, and\nwhat does it mean? More dresses and jewelry, more visits and\njourneys; while the whole world of parental duties and domestic\ntendernesses lies in ruins at her feet.\n\nThe relegation of the married flirt to her proper sphere and duties is\nbeyond the power of any single individual. Society could make the\nnecessary protest, but it does not; for if Society is anything, it is\nnon-interfering. It looks well to it that the outside, the general\npublic appearance of its members is respectable; with faults not found\nout it does not trouble itself. A charge must be definitely made\nbefore it feels any necessity to take cognizance of it. And Society\nknows well that these married sirens draw like magnets. Besides, each\nentertainer declares: \"I am not my sister's keeper, nor am I her\nInquisitor or Confessor. If her husband tolerates the pretty woman's\nvagaries, what right have I, what right has any one, to say a word\nabout her?\"\n\nBut it is a fact that, if Society frowned on wives who arrogate to\nthemselves the privileges both of young girls and of wives, the\ncustom would become stale and offensive. If it would cease to\nrecognize young married women who are on the terms with their husbands\ndescribed by Millamant in \"The Way of the World,\"--\"as strange as if\nthey had been married a long time, and as well bred as if they had\nnever been married at all,\"--young married women would behave\nthemselves better. It is generally thought that Mr. Congreve wrote his\nplays for a very dissolute age; in reality, they seem to have been\nwritten for a decorous, rather strait-laced generation, if we compare\nit with our own.\n\n\n\n\nMothers-in-Law\n\n\nMothers-in-Law are the mothers for whom there is no law, no justice,\nno sympathy, nor yet that share of fair play which an average American\nis willing to grant, even to an open adversary. Every petty punster,\nevery silly witling, considers them as a ready-made joke; and the\nwonder and the pity of it is that abuse so unmerited and so long\ncontinued has called forth no champions from that sex which owes so\nmuch to woman, in every relation of life.\n\nThe condition of mother-in-law is one full of pathos and self-abnegation,\nand all the reproach attached to it comes from those whose selfishness\nand egotism ought to render their testimony of small value. A young man,\nfor instance, falls in love with a girl who appears to him the sum of\nall perfections,--perfections, partly inherited from, and partly\ncultivated by, the mother at whose side she has lived for twenty years.\nShe is the delight of her mother's heart, she fills all her hopes and\ndreams for the future; and the girl herself, believes that nothing can\nseparate her from a mother so dear and so devoted.\n\nWhile the man is wooing the daughter, this wondrous capability for an\nabsorbing affection strikes him as a very pretty thing. In the first\nplace, it keeps the mother on his side; in the second, he looks\nforward to supplying this capability with a strictly personal object.\nAt this stage his future mother-in-law is a very pleasant person, for\nhe is uncomfortably conscious of the Beloved One's father and\nbrothers. He is then thankful for any encouragement she may give him.\nHe gladly takes counsel with her; flatters her opinions, makes her\npresents, and so works upon her womanly instincts concerning love\naffairs that she stands by his side when he has to \"speak to papa,\"\nand through her favor and tact the rough places are made smooth, and\nthe crooked places plain. Until the marriage is over, and the\nlonged-for girl his wife, there is no one so important in the lover's\neyes as the girl's mother.\n\nSuddenly all is changed. When the young people return from the\nbridal trip there is a different tone and a different atmosphere.\nThe young husband is now in his own house, and spreading himself like\na peacock in full feather. He thinks \"mamma\" too interfering. He\nresents the familiarity with which she speaks to _his_ wife. He\nfeels as if her speculation about their future movements was an\nimpertinence. He says without a blush that her visit was \"a bore.\"\nAnd the bride, being flattered by his desire for no company but her\nown, admits that \"dear mamma is fussy and effusive.\" Both have\nforgotten the days in which the young husband was a great deal of a\nbore to his mother-in-law,--when indeed it was very hard for her to\ntolerate his presence; and both have forgotten how she, to secure\ntheir happiness, sacrificed her own wishes and prejudices.\n\nHow often does this poor mother go to see her child before she\nrealizes she is a bore? How many snubs and heart-aches does she bear\nere she comprehends the position? She hopes against despair. She\nweeps, and wipes her tears away; she tries again, only to be again\nwounded. Her own husband frets a little with her, and then with a\ntouch of anger at his ungrateful child, advises the mother \"to let her\nalone.\" But by and by there is a baby, and she can no longer keep\naway. She has a world of loving cares about the child and its mother.\nShe is sure no one can take her place now. She is very much mistaken.\nThe baby is a new kind of baby; there has never been one quite such a\nperfect pattern before; and the parents--exalted above measure at the\nperfection they alone are responsible for--regard her pride and\ndelight as some infringement of their new honors and responsibilities.\nHappiness has only hardened them; and after a little, the mother and\nthe mother-in-law understands her loss, and humbly refrains from\ninterfering. Or, if she has an imprudent tongue, she speaks\nunadvisedly with it, and her words bite home, and the \"mother\" is\nforgotten, and the \"in-law\" remains, to barb every ill-natured word\nand account for every selfish unkindness.\n\nOf course, in a relationship which admits of endless varieties, this\ndescription fits only a certain number. But it is a very large number;\nfor there are few families who will not be able to recall some such\ncase among their members or their acquaintances. Still, many daughters\ndo more virtuously, and cherish a loyal affection for their old home.\nIf they are wise and loving and specially unselfish, they will likely\ncarry their matrimonial bark safely through those narrow shallows\nwhich separate the two households. But the trouble is that newly\nmarried people are both selfish and foolish. They feel themselves to\nbe the only persons of consequence, and think that all things ought to\nbe arranged for their pleasure. The solemn majesty of the young wife's\nhousekeeping is not to be criticised, qualified, or inspected; the\nnew-made householder does not believe that the \"earth is the Lord's,\"\nor even the children of men's; it is all his own. And their friends\ntacitly agree to smile at this egotism awhile, because all the world\nreally does love a lover; and every one is willing to grant the bride\nand bridegroom some short respite from the dreary cares and every-day\nbusiness of life.\n\nTwo points are remarkable in this persistent antagonism to the\nmother-in-law. The first is that the husband who is often specially\nvindictive against his wife's mother has very little to say against\nher male relatives. If the girl he marries is motherless, he does not\nquarrel with his father-in-law; though he may be quite as interfering\nas any mother-in-law could be. Yet if the girl, instead of being\nmotherless, is fatherless, the husband at once begins to show his love\nfor his wife by a systematic disrespect towards her mother. Yet\nperhaps a month previously he had considered her a very amiable lady,\nhe had shown her many courtesies, he had asked her advice about all\nthe details of his marriage. What makes him, a little later, accuse\nher of every domestic fault? How is it that she has suddenly become\n\"so self-opinionated\"? Never before had he discovered that she treats\nhis wife like a child, and himself as an appendage. And how does he\nmanage to make his bride also feel that \"dear mamma is trying, and so\nunable to understand things.\" It is a mystery that ends, however, in\nthe mother-in-law being made to feel that her new relative totally\ndisapproves of her. The truth is, the lover was afraid of the men of\nhis wife's family before marriage. They might seriously have\ninterfered with his intentions. After marriage he knows they will be\ncivil to him for the sake of his wife. Then, the women of the family\nwere useful to him before marriage, after it he can do without them.\nHe has got the woman he was so eager to get by any means, and he\nwishes to have her entirely. A smile, or a word, or an act of kindness\nto any one else, is so much taken from his rights. He desires not only\nto usurp her present and her future, but also her past.\n\nThe other remarkable point is the unjust shifting of all the\nmother-in-law's shortcomings to the shoulders of the wife's mother;\nthis is especially unjust, because not only the newspapers of the day,\nbut also the private knowledge of every individual, furnishes abundant\ntestimony that it is not the wife's mother, but the husband's mother,\nwho is at the bottom of nine-tenths of the domestic misery arising\nfrom this source. The wife's mother with small encouragement will\nlike, even love, the man who has chosen her daughter above all other\nwomen. The husband's mother never really likes her son's wife. And\nyoung wives are apt to forget how bitterly hard it is for a mother to\ngive her son up, at once and forever, to a girl whom she does not like\nin any way. Perhaps hitherto the son and mother have been every one,\nand everything to each other, and it is only human that the latter\nshould have to battle fiercely and constantly with an involuntary\njealousy, and a cruel quicksightedness for small faults in his wife.\nIt is only human that she should try to make trouble, and enjoy the\nfact that her son is less happy with his wife than he was with her,\nand that he comes to her for comfort in his disappointment. The love\nof a mother is often a very jealous love; and a jealous mother is just\nas unreasonable as a jealous wife; she can make life bitterly hard for\nher son's wife, and, to do her justice, she very often does so. Then\nif the wife--wounded and imprudent--goes to her own mother with her\nsorrows and wrongs, it is the natural attitude of the husband to shift\nthe blame from his own mother to his wife's mother. There are indeed\nso many ways by which this misery can enter a household that it is\nimpossible to define them; for there is just variety enough in every\ncase to give an individuality of suffering to each.\n\nWhat, then, is to be done? Let us admit at once that our relations do\ngive us half the pain and sorrow we suffer in life; but each may do\nsomething to reduce the liability. We may remember that all such\nquarrels come from excess of love, and that a quarrel springing from\nlove is more hopeful than one springing from hate. As mothers-in-law,\nwe may tell ourselves that when our children are married we no longer\nhave the first right in them. The young people must be left to make\nthe best of their life, and we must never interfere, nor ever give\nadvice until it is asked for. Another irritation, little suspected, is\nthe palpable forcing forward of the new relationship. On both sides\nit is well to be in no hurry to claim it. A girl takes a man for\nbetter or for worse, but does not therefore take all his relations.\nLove for her husband does not include admiration for all within his\nkindred; nor will it, until the millennium makes all tempers perfect.\nAnd, again, a man does not like to be dragooned into a filial feeling\nfor his wife's family. Many a man would like his new relatives better\nif they left him with a sense of perfect freedom in the matter.\n\nThe main point is that men should put a stop to a traditional abuse\nthat affects every woman in every household. They can do it! Many an\nhonest, manly fellow would burn with shame if he would only consider\nhow often he has not only permitted, but also joined in, the silly,\nunjust laughter which miserable punsters and negro minstrels and\ndisappointed lovers and other incapables fling at the women of his own\nhousehold. For if a man is married, or ever hopes to be married, his\nown mother is, or must be, a mother-in-law. If he has sisters their\ndestiny will likely put them in the same position. The fairest young\nbride has the prospect before her; the baby daughter in the cradle may\nlive to think her own mother a bore, or to think some other mother\none, if there is not a better understanding about a relationship which\nis far indeed from being a laughable one. On the contrary, the\ninitiation to it is generally a sacrifice, made with infinite\nheart-ache and anxiety, and with many sorrowful tears.\n\nIn the theatres, in the little circles of which every man's home is\nthe centre, in all places where thoughtless fools turn women and\nmotherhood into ridicule, it is in the power of two or three good men\nto make the habit derogatory and unfashionable. They can cease to\nlaugh at the wretched little jokes, and treat with contempt the vulgar\nspirit that repeats them. For the men who say bitter things about\nmothers-in-law are either selfish egotists, who have called trouble to\nthemselves from this source, or they are moral imbeciles, repeating\nlike parrots fatuous jests whose meaning and wickedness they do not\neven understand.\n\n\n\n\nGood and Bad Mothers\n\n\nThe difference between good and bad mothers is so vast and so\nfar-reaching that it is no exaggeration to say that the good mothers\nof this generation are building the homes of the next generation, and\nthat the bad mothers are building the prisons. For out of families\nnations are made; and if the father be the head and the hands of a\nfamily, the mother is the heart. No office in the world is so\nhonorable as hers, no priesthood so holy, no influence so sweet and\nstrong and lasting.\n\nFor this tremendous responsibility mother-love has always been\nsufficient. The most ignorant women have trusted to it; and the most\nlearned have found it potential when all their theories failed. And\nneither sage men nor wise women will ever devise anything to take\nthe place of mother-love in the rearing of children. If there be\nother good things present, it glorifies them; if there be no other\ngood thing--it is sufficient. For mother-love is the spirit of\nself-sacrifice even unto death, and self-sacrifice is the meat and\ndrink of all true and pure affection.\n\nStill, this momentous condition supposes some central influence, some\nobligation on the child's part which will reciprocate it; and this\ncentral influence is found to be in _obedience_. There was once a\nchild in Jewry who was called \"wonderful,\" and yet the most\nsignificant fact recorded of his boyhood is that he \"was subject unto\nhis parents.\" Indeed nothing else is told of the child, and we are\nleft to conclude that in the pregnant fact of his boyish obedience lay\nthe secret of his future perfect manhood. Unselfish love in the\nmother! cheerful obedience in the children! in whatever home these\nforces are constantly operative, that home cannot be a failure. And\nmother-love is not of the right kind, nor of the highest trend, unless\nit compels this obedience.\n\nThe assertion that affectionate firmness and even wholesome\nchastisement is unnecessary with our advanced civilization is a\nspecious and dangerous one. The children of to-day have as many\nrudimentary vices as they had in the days of the patriarchs; as a\ngeneral thing they are self-willed and inclined to evil from their\ncradles; greedy without a blush, and ready to lie as soon as they\ndiscover the use of language. A good mother does not shut her eyes to\nthese facts; she accepts her child as imperfect, and trains it with\nnever-ceasing love and care for its highest duties. She does not call\nimpudence \"smartness,\" nor insubordination \"high spirit,\" nor\nselfishness \"knowing how to take care of itself,\" nor lying and\ndishonesty \"sharpness.\" She knows, if the child is to be father to the\nman, what kind of a man such a child will make.\n\nHow to manage young children; how to strengthen them physically; how\nbest to awaken their intellects, engage their affections, and win\ntheir confidence; how to make home the sweetest spot on earth, a place\nof love, order, and repose, a temple of purity where innocence is\nrespected, and where no one is permitted to talk of indecent subjects\nor to read indecent books,--these are the duties of a good mother; and\nher position, if so filled, is one of dignity and grave importance.\nFor it is on the hearthstone she gives the fine healthy initial touch\nto her sons and daughters that is not effaced through life, and that\nmakes them blessed in their generation.\n\nThere is another duty, a very sacred one, which some mothers, however\ngood in all other respects, either thoughtlessly or with mistaken\nideas, delegate to others, the religious training of their children.\nNo Sunday-school and no church can do it for them. The child that\nlearns \"Our Father\" at its mother's knee, that hears from mother's\nlips the heroic and tender stories of the Bible, has a wellspring of\nreligious faith in his soul that no after life, however hard and fast\nand destructive, can dry up. It is inconceivable, then, how a mother\ncan permit any other woman to deprive her of an influence over her\nchildren nothing can destroy; of a memory in their lives so sweet that\nwhen every other memory is withered and approaching decay, it will\nstill be fresh and green,--yes, even to the grave's mouth. Family!\nCountry! Humanity! these three, but the greatest of the three is\nFamily; and the heart of the family is the good mother. Happy the\nchildren who have one! With them\n\n                        \"faith in womankind\n  Beats with their blood, and trust in all things high\n  Comes easy to them.\"\n\nBut if the grand essential to a good mother be self-denying,\nself-effacing love, this is a bad era for its development. Selfishness\nand self-seeking is the spirit of the time, and its chilling poison\nhas infected womanhood, and touched even the sacred principle of\nmaternity. In some women it assumes the form of a duty. They feel\ntheir own mental culture to be of supreme importance; they wish to\nattend lectures, and take lessons, and give themselves to some special\nstudy. Or the enslaved condition of their own sex troubles them;\nthey bear on their minds the oppressed shop-girls of America, or\nthe secluded odalisques in some Eastern seraglio, or they have\necclesiastic proclivities and take the chair at church meetings,\nor political ones, and deliver lectures before their special club on\nwomen's disabilities. In these and many other ways they put the\nnatural mission of womanhood aside as an animal instinct, not\nconducive to their mental development.\n\nNow, no one will object to women's devoting themselves to works of\nreligion and charity; but this devotion should come before marriage.\nIf they have assumed the position of wifehood, it is a monstrous thing\nto hold themselves degraded by its consequences, or to consider the\ncare of children a waste of their own life. The world can do without\nlearned women, but it cannot do without good wives and mothers; and\nwhen married women prefer to be social ornaments and intellectual\namateurs, they may be called philanthropists and scholars, but they\nare nevertheless moral failures, and bad mothers.\n\nSociety has put maternity out of fashion also, and considering the\naverage society woman, it is perhaps just as well. No children are\nmore forlorn and more to be pitied than the waifs of the woman whose\nlife is given up to what she calls \"pleasure.\" Humbler-born babies\nare nursed at their mother's breast and cradled in her loving arms.\nShe teaches them to walk and to read. In all their pain she soothes\nthem; in all their joys she has a part; in all their wrongs \"mother\"\nis an ever-present help and comforter. The child of the fashionable\nwoman is too often committed at once to the care of some stranger, who\nfor a few dollars a month is expected to perform the mother's duty for\nher. If it does not suck the vitiated, probably diseased, milk of some\npeasant, it has the bottle and india-rubber mouthpiece, when the woman\nin charge chooses to give it. But she is often in a temper, or sleepy,\nor the milk is not prepared, or she is in the midst of a comfortable\ngossip, or she is dressing or feeding herself, and it is not to be\nexpected she will put any sixteen-dollar-a month baby before her own\ncomfort or pleasure.\n\nThe child cannot complain of hunger, it can only cry, and very likely\nmay be struck for crying. What these neglected little ones suffer from\nthirst is a matter painful to inquire into. The nurse, accustomed to\ndrink her tea and her beer at all hours, does not, herself patronize\ncold water, and she never imagines the child needs it. Many a baby,\nafter being tortured for hours with a feverish, consuming thirst,\npasses into the doctor's hands before the trouble is recognized. But\nif the child's own mother had been nursing it she would not have been\nlong in finding out the cause of its impatient, urgent fretfulness.\n\nLet any tender-hearted woman go into the parks and watch one of these\nunhappy children in the care of its nurse. The hot sun beats down on\nthe small upturned face, and the ignorant creature in charge goes on\nwith her flirtation, or her gossip, or her novel. The child may be at\nshrieking point from lying long in one position, but there is no one\nto comprehend its necessity. During those awful hours in which its\nteeth force their way through hot and swollen gums--hours which would\nbring from adults unwritable exclamations--the forsaken little\nsufferer is at the mercy of some sleepy, self-indulgent woman, who has\nno love for it. Why, indeed, should she? If it were a matter of\ncatechism, how many educated women would be capable of nursing\ngood-naturedly for weeks a fretful, sick child not their own?\n\nAs for these neglected babies of pleasure-seeking women, they suffer\nterribly, but then their mothers are having what they consider a\nperfectly lovely time, posing at the opera or gyrating in some\nballroom, exquisitely dressed, and laughing as lightly as if there\nwere no painful echoes from their neglected nurseries. For no nurse is\napt to complain of her baby, she knows her business and her interest\ntoo well for that; she prefers to speak comfortable words, and vows\nthe \"little darling grows better and better every hour, God bless it!\"\nand, so assured, the mother goes airily away, telling herself that her\nnurse is a perfect treasure. Whatever other nurses may do, she knows\nthat her nurse is reliable. The fact is that, even where there are\nchildren in a nursery able to complain of the wrongs and cruelties\nthey have to endure, they very seldom dare to do so. Mamma is a dear,\nbeautiful lady, very far off; nurse is an ever-present power, capable\nof making them suffer still more. And mamma does not like to hear\ntales, she always appears annoyed at anything against nurse. They look\ninto their mother's face with eyes full of their sad story, if she\nonly had the heart to understand; but they dare not speak, and very\nsoon they are remanded back to their cruel keeper with a kiss, and an\ninjunction to \"be good, and do as nurse tells them.\"\n\nConsider the women to whom this class of mothers delegate their\nhigh office,--an office for which hardly any love or wisdom is\nsufficient. It would scarcely be possible in the whole world to\nfind any persons more unfit for it. Taking this class as a whole,\nthese very mothers are never tired of expatiating upon its gross\nimmorality, deceitfulness, greed, and dishonesty; yet they do not\nhesitate to leave the very lives of their children in the charge of\nthese women, whose first lessons to them are lying and deceit. It\nis a hideous system, and how hideous must that life called \"pleasure\"\nbe that can thus put aside love, reason, conscience, and break to\npieces a natural law so strong that in its purity it frequently\nproves more powerful than the law of self-preservation. Writing on\nthis subject, Frederick James Grant, F. R. C. S., in his bold and\noriginal book, \"From Our Dead Selves,\" tells of a fashionable mother\nwho put her first child out to nurse, and who, when her second died\nat birth and was brought to her bedside in its coffin, was entirely\ninterested--not in the child--but in the pretty lining and covering\nof the coffin. For it is one of the startling facts of this condition\nof motherhood that the poor infant left to some dreadful shrew, body\nand soul, has the very best care taken of its frills and coats and of\nthe wraps in its baby carriage. For these things will be seen by other\npeople's servants and commented on, and are therefore worthy of\nattention.\n\nIt is a strange state of society which tolerates this awful transfer\nof duty, and society will have the bill to pay as well as the cruel\nmother. These neglected children, whatever their birth, come really\nfrom the dangerous classes, and have a likelihood to drift there. For\nthe first moral training of a child is the most important of all, and\nin these cases it is given by women gross both through ignorance and\nvice; whose relatives are very likely at the same time living in\nsuspicious localities, or in prison wards. And, naturally enough,\ntheir first lessons to the children under them are to lie, to deceive,\nto commit small pilferings, and not be found out. They are ordered not\nto carry tales out of the nursery, or let mamma know what nurse does\nnot want known. Bad language, bad habits, hatred, petty conciliations,\nmeanness of every kind, are in the curriculum of any nursery left in\nthe care of the women usually found in them.\n\nNo one need imagine that the evil thus wrought can be eradicated in\nfuture years by a higher class of teachers. The vicious seed is sown;\nit is next to impossible to go through the field of a child's mind and\ngather it up again. It has taken root, and unless it can be crowded\nout by a nobler growth, the harvest is certain. The mother, then, who\nprefers pleasure and society to her children, whom she hands over to\nwicked and cruel nurses, is herself wicked and cruel. She may stand\nbefore the world as the personification of refinement and delicacy\nand elegance, but she is really no better than her substitute; and she\nhas no right to expect that her children will be better. In some\nfavorable cases there may come a redeeming power in future years, but\nin the main they will drift downward to their first moral impressions;\nand when they have become bad and unhappy men and women, they will not\nscruple to say, \"From our mother cometh our misery.\" These are hard\ntruths, yet one-half has not been told. For if it were not for the\nabounding number of good mothers, both rich and poor, this class of\nwomen would undermine all virtue, and everything lovely and of good\nreport.\n\nThere was once an idea that mothers were the antiseptic quality in\nsociety, that they preserved its moral tone, by insisting that the\nlanguage used and the subjects discussed before them should be such as\nwere suitable for virtuous women. But there is one kind of bad mother\nto whom questionable subjects seem highly suitable. She discusses them\nwithout reserve in the presence of her daughters, and she makes her\ndrawing-room the forum for women with queer domestic views, for\n\"Physical Culture\" women, and such-like characters. The things our\ngrandmothers went down to their graves without knowing she talks about\nin unmistakable terms before unmarried girls. A certain mother who\nboldly defended her opinion that \"girls should not be kept ignorant as\na means for keeping them innocent,\" permitted her own daughter to be\npresent during all the unsavory scandal of Vanity Fair. The child\nlearned to watch with interest the doings of women of many seasons,\nand to listen with composure to very questionable stories. Before she\nwas twelve years old she had become suspicious of the conduct of every\nwoman, and when her teacher one day asked her, \"Who was Moses?\" she\nanswered promptly, \"The son of Pharoah's daughter.\" \"Not the son,\"\ncorrected the teacher, \"the adopted son. Pharoah's daughter found him\nin the river Nile.\" \"_So_ she said,\" replied this premature\nwoman,--suspicions of women's actions and a ready assumption of the\nvery worst motives for them, being the lessons she had deduced from\nknowledge imparted before mind and experience were capable of\nreceiving it.\n\nIt is often said that \"ignorance is not innocence.\" True, but neither\nis knowledge innocence; it is most frequently the first step of\nguiltiness. What good can come of little children knowing the things\nwhich belong to maturity? Is any girl sweeter or even safer for\nknowing about the under-current of filth below the glittering crust of\ngilded society? The Chinese quarter is a fact, yet is there a mother\nwho would like her daughter to visit it? But if it is not fit to\nvisit, it is not fit to talk about. No one is ever the better for\nknowing of evil, unless they can do something to remedy it.\n\nA good mother will shield her children from the consequences of their\nown ignorance, physical and moral, and she will just as carefully\nshield them from knowledge which is hurtful because premature,--just\nas fruit green and unripe is hurtful. And no guardianship is too close\nfor this end. Mothers will generally admit this fact as regards the\nchildren of other people, but as to their own brood they cradle\nthemselves in a generous belief of its incorruptibility. Their girls\nwould never do as other girls do; and their girls are consequently\npermitted a license which they would think dangerous for any but their\nown daughters. Then some day there is a paragraph in one of the\npapers, and the men blame the man, and the women blame the girl, and\nall the time the mother is probably the guiltiest of the parties. She\nhas stimulated her daughter's imagination in childhood, she has left\nher to the choice of her companions in youth, she has trusted her\nsacred duty to circumstances, she has indulged a vague hope concerning\nthe honor and virtue of humanity, and thus satisfied her indolent\nneglect. But what right had she to expect that men would revere the\ntreasure she herself left unguarded?\n\nFor there has been no special race made for this era; what Adam,\nJacob, Samson, and David were, what Eve, Sarah, Rachel, Jael, and\nBathsheba were, the men and women of to-day are, in all their\nessentials. Circumstances only have made them to differ; and nature\nlaughs at circumstances, and goes back at any crisis to her first\nprinciples. Indeed, the good mother of to-day, instead of relaxing,\nmust increase her care over her children. For never since the world\nbegan has youth been so catered to, never has it been surrounded by so\nmany open temptations, never so much flattered, and yet at the same\ntime never have the reins of discipline been so far relaxed. Now the\nspirit we evoke we must control, or else we must become its slave.\nIf we are no longer to reverence the gray hairs of age; if young men\nare to drive the chariot of the sun, and young women are to be\nallowed to strip the Tree of Knowledge of good and evil, then it is\nhigh time some system of education was invented which will put old\nheads upon young shoulders. Alas, this can never be, for education\nis a long and composite process, made up of home influences,\nsurrounding circumstances, and early associations. When books and\nschools and teachers shall have done all they possibly can, high\nabove every Gamaliel will sit the good mother,--the first influence,\nthe first teacher, the first friend, and the last.\n\n\n\n\nUnequal Marriages\n\n\nIf there is a mistake peculiarly fatal to a young man's or a girl's\nfuture, it is that supreme act of social destruction called a\n_mésalliance_. Indeed it is not measurable by any of the usual\nconditions of life, and death itself would be a kindness compared with\nthe long misery of some kinds of _mésalliances_. They may arise from\ninequalities of birth, differences in religious faith, or great\ndiscrepancies in age; but whatever their occasion, they are always a\nfar-reaching and irretrievable mistake; the mistake _par excellence_\nof any life.\n\nAn unequal marriage is not only the most fatal blunder of life, it is\nalso the most common one; and although it is not very easy for a man\nto ruin himself with a single act, a foolish marriage will afford him\nat least one decided way. In regard to men's _mésalliances_, they\ncannot be said to be specially the temptation of youth. Foolish old\nmen who marry their cooks, and foolish young men who burden themselves\nwith some Casino divinity, keep up a very steady average. But the\nyoung man's mistake is much the worst of the two; for he has his whole\nlife before him, and has probably made no provision against such a\nsocial suicide.\n\nIf an old man marries beneath his station and culture, he believes he\nis getting the wife he most desires; and if he is disappointed, he is\nat any rate near the end of life, and he either has no children to\nsuffer from his folly, or they have already grown beyond its most\npainful reach. But a young man who binds himself to a woman who is\nevery way beneath his own station, education, and professional\nambition, is in a different case. In a very short time the disillusion\nof those senses begins under which he permitted mere physical beauty\nto bind him; and he knows that, as far as his future progress is\nconcerned, he has put a millstone about his neck.\n\nThe effect of a social _mésalliance_ on a girl is still worse. In the\nfirst place, it ought to be so; for she has to sin against the natural\ninstinct of a good woman, which is always to marry above herself, an\ninstinct which is, both physiologically and socially, noble. For a\nwoman is less than a woman who does not consider the consequence of\nmarriage, and provide in every way possible to her the best father for\nher offspring. And if she marries beneath herself socially, the almost\ncertain presumption is that the social status of her husband is the\nmeasure of his intellectual abilities, and of his personal refinement\nalso. And when a woman considers herself only in her marriage, and has\nno care for the circumstances to which she may doom her unborn\nchildren, she is an incarnation of animal selfishness.\n\nWithout stopping to analyze the sources of its disapproval, this is\nundoubtedly an instinctive motive for the persistent cold shouldering\nwhich society gives girls who degrade themselves by a _mésalliance_.\nIt is obvious to every one that she has sinned against herself, her\nfamily, her class, and the highest instincts of her sex. Women have\nno pardon for such sinners; for they see not only the present wrong,\nthey look forward also to the possible children of such a union. They\nunderstand that they will have to suffer all the limitations of\npoverty when they ought to have had all the advantages of wealth. They\nmay possibly inherit their father's vulgar tastes and tendencies, or\nthey may have to endure the misery of fine tastes without any\nopportunity to gratify them. For this premeditated sin against\nmotherhood and against posterity, good women find it hard to tolerate\nthe offender; for they know that a woman's honor is in her husband,\nand that her social station and her social life is determined by his.\n\nWhen a girl is guilty of a _mésalliance_, it is sometimes said in\nextenuation that \"she has married a man of noble disposition; and it\nis better to marry a poor, ignorant man, with a noble disposition,\nthan a rich man who is selfish and vicious.\" If the alternative was a\npositive one, yes, but there is no need to make a choice between these\ncharacters. Men of refined habits and manners and good education may\nalso have noble dispositions; and poor, ill-bred men have not always\nnoble ones; at any rate, a good woman will always find in her own\nclass just as good men as she will find in a class below her own.\n\nAll this danger is evident to parents. They know how fleeting\npassion and fancy are; and they rightly conceive that it is their\nduty by all possible means to prevent their daughter making an\nunworthy marriage. How far parents may lawfully interfere is a\nquestion not yet decided, nor yet easy to decide. The American\nidea of marriage is, theoretically, that every soul finds its\ncompanion soul, and lives happily ever after; and in this romantic\nsearch for a companion soul, young girls are allowed to roam about\nsociety, just when their instincts are the strongest and their\nreason the weakest. The French theory--to which the English is akin\nsomewhat--is that a mother's knowledge is better than a girl's fancy;\nand that the wisdom that has hitherto chosen her teachers, physicians,\nspiritual guides, and companions, that has guided her through\nsickness and health, is not likely to fail in selecting the man most\nsuitable for her husband.\n\nThis latter theory supposes women to love naturally any personable man\nwho is their own, and who is kind to them; that is, if she has a\nvirgin heart, and comes in this state from her lessons to her marriage\nduties. The American theory supposes girls to love by sympathy, and\nthrough soul attraction and personal attraction; consequently, our\ngirls are let loose early--too early--to choose among a variety of\nWills and Franks and Charlies; and the natural result is a great\nnumber of what are called \"love matches\" to which it must be\nacknowledged _mésalliances_ are too often the corollary. Between these\ntwo theories, it is impossible to make a positive selection; for the\nbad of each is so bad, and the good of each so good that both alike\nare capable of the most unqualified praise and blame. It may, however,\nbe safely asserted that the confidence every American girl has in her\nown power to choose her own husband helps to lessen the danger and to\nkeep things right. For an honorable girl may be trusted with her own\nhonor; and a dishonorable one, amid a number to choose from, may\nperadventure fare better than she deserves; for Fortune does sometimes\nbring in the bark that is not steered.\n\nMost girls make _mésalliances_ in sheer thoughtlessness, or through\nself-will, or in that youthful passion for romance which thinks it\nfine to lose their world for love. Foolish novels are as often to\nblame for their social crime as foolish men,--novels which are an\napotheosis of love at any cost! Love against every domestic and social\nobligation! Love in spite of all prudent thought of meat and money\nmatters! Love in a cottage, and nightingales and honeysuckles to pay\nthe rent! And if parents object to their daughter marrying ruin, then\nthey are represented as monsters of cruelty; while the girl who flies\nstealthily to her misery, and breaks every moral tie to do so, is\nidealized into an angel of truth and suffering.\n\nIn real life what are parents to do with a daughter whose romantic\nfolly has made her marry their groom or their footman? We have\noutlived the inexorable passions of our ancestors, and their undying\nloves and hatreds, sacrifices and revenges. Our social code tolerates\nno passion swallowing up all the rest; and we must be content with a\ndecent expression of feeling. What their daughter has done they cannot\nundo; nor can they relieve her from the social consequences of her\nact. She has chosen to put their servant above and before them, and to\nhumiliate her whole family, that she may please her low-born lover and\nherself, and she has therefore no right to any more consideration than\nshe has given. Her parents may not cease to love her, and they may\nspare her all reproaches, knowing that her punishment is certain; but\nthey cannot, for the sake of their other children, treat her socially\nabove the station she has chosen. She has become the wife of a\nservant, and they cannot accept her husband as their equal nor can\nthey insult their friends by introducing him to them. How wretched is\nthe position she has put herself in; for if the man she married be\nnaturally a low man, he will probably drag her to his level by the\n\"grossness of his nature.\" If she be a woman of strong character she\nmay lift her husband upward, but she accepts such a labor at the peril\nof her own higher life. And if she finds it impossible either to lift\nhim to her level or to sink herself to his level, what then remains?\nLife-long regrets, bitter shame and self-reproach, or else a forcible\nsetting of herself free. But the latter remedy carries desperation\ninstead of hope with it. Never can she quite regain her maiden place,\nand an _aura_ of a doubtful kind influences every effort of her future\nlife.\n\nAfter all, though men have not the reputation of being romantic, it is\ncertain that in the matter of unequal marriage, they are more\nfrequently imprudent than women. There is some possibility of lifting\na low-born woman to the level of a cultivated man, and men dare this\npossibility far more frequently than is generally supposed. Perhaps\nafter a long season they find the fine ladies with whom they have\nflirted and danced a weariness; and in this mood they are suddenly\ntaken with some simple, unfashionable girl, who does not know either\nhow to dress, or flirt, or dance. So they make the grave error of\nthinking that because fine ladies are insupportable, women who are not\nfine ladies will be sweet and companionable. But if the one be a\nblank, will that prove the other a prize? The dulness or folly of a\npolite woman is bad enough; but the dulness and folly of an uneducated\nwoman is worse. Very soon they find this out, and then comes\nindifference, neglect, cruelty, and all the misery that attends two\nruined lives.\n\nThe result of unequal marriage in both sexes is certain wretchedness,\nand this verdict is not to be altered by its exceptions, however\nbrilliant they may seem to be. For when a man of means and education\nmarries an uneducated girl of low birth, or a woman of apparent\nculture and high social position marries her servant, and the\nmarriages are reasonably happy, then it may be positively said,\n\"_There has been no mésalliance_.\" The husband and wife were unequal\nonly in their externals. The real characters of both must have been\nvulgar and naturally low and under-bred.\n\nIt is folly to talk of two beings unequally married \"growing\ntogether,\" or of \"time welding their differences,\" and making things\ncomfortable. Habit indeed reconciles us to much suffering, and to many\ntrials; but an unequal marriage is a trial no one has any business to\nhave. It is without excuse, and therefore without comfort. When the\nAlmighty decrees us a martyrdom he blends his peace and consolations\ntherewith; but when we torture ourselves our sufferings rage like a\nconflagration. Perhaps the chain may be worn, as a tight shoe is worn\ninto shape until it no longer lames; but oh, the misery in the\nprocess! And even in such case the resigned sufferer has no credit in\nhis patience; quite the contrary, for he knows as well as others know,\nthough submission to what God ordains is the very height of energy and\nnobility, submission to the mistakes we ourselves make is the very\nclimax of cowardice and weakness.\n\n\n\n\nDiscontented Women\n\n\nDiscontent is a vice six thousand years old, and it will be eternal;\nbecause it is in the race. Every human being has a complaining side,\nbut discontent is bound up in the heart of woman; it is her original\nsin. For if the first woman had been satisfied with her conditions, if\nshe had not aspired to be \"as gods,\" and hankered after unlawful\nknowledge, Satan would hardly have thought it worth his while to\ndiscuss her rights and wrongs with her. That unhappy controversy has\nnever ceased; and, with or without reason woman has been perpetually\nsubject to discontent with her conditions, and, according to her\nnature, has been moved by its influence. Some it has made peevish,\nsome plaintive, some ambitious, some reckless, while a noble majority\nhave found in its very control that serene composure and cheerfulness\nwhich is granted to those who conquer, rather than to those who\ninherit.\n\nBut, with all its variations of influence and activity, there has\nnever been a time in the world's history when female discontent has\nassumed so much and demanded so much as at the present day; and both\nthe satisfied and the dissatisfied woman may well pause to consider\nwhether the fierce fever of unrest which has possessed so large a\nnumber of the sex is not rather a delirium than a conviction; whether\nindeed they are not just as foolishly impatient to get out of their\nEden, as was the woman Eve six thousand years ago.\n\nWe may premise, in order to clear the way, that there is a noble\ndiscontent which has a great work to do in the world; a discontent\nwhich is the antidote to conceit and self-satisfaction, and which\nurges the worker of every kind continually to realize a higher ideal.\nSpringing from Regret and Desire, between these two sighs, all\nhorizons lift; and the very passion of its longing gives to those who\nfeel this divine discontent the power to overleap whatever separates\nthem from their hope and their aspiration.\n\nHaving acknowledged so much in favor of discontent, we may now\nconsider some of the most objectionable forms in which it has attacked\ncertain women of our own generation. In the van of these malcontents\nare the women dissatisfied with their home duties. One of the saddest\ndomestic features of the day is the disrepute into which housekeeping\nhas fallen; for that is a woman's first natural duty and answers to\nthe needs of her best nature. It is by no means necessary that she\nshould be a Cinderella among the ashes, or a Nausicaa washing linen,\nor a Penelope forever at her needle, but all women of intelligence now\nunderstand that good cooking is a liberal science, and that there is a\nmost intimate connection between food and virtue, and food and health,\nand food and thought. Indeed, many things are called crimes that are\nnot as bad as the savagery of an Irish cook or the messes of a\nfourth-rate confectioner.\n\nIt must be noted that this revolt of certain women against housekeeping\nis not a revolt against their husbands; it is simply a revolt\nagainst their duties. They consider housework hard and monotonous and\ninferior, and confess with a cynical frankness that they prefer to\nengross paper, or dabble in art, or embroider pillow-shams, or sell\ngoods, or in some way make money to pay servants who will cook their\nhusband's dinner and nurse their babies for them. And they believe that\nin this way they show themselves to have superior minds, and ask credit\nfor a deed which ought to cover them with shame. For actions speak\nlouder than words, and what does such action say? In the first place,\nit asserts that any stranger--even a young uneducated peasant girl\nhired for a few dollars a month--is able to perform the duties of\nthe house-mistress and the mother. In the second place, it substitutes\na poor ambition for love, and hand service for heart service. In the\nthird place, it is a visible abasement of the loftiest duties of\nwomanhood to the capacity of the lowest-paid service. A wife and\nmother cannot thus absolve her own soul; she simply disgraces and\ntraduces her holiest work.\n\nSuppose even that housekeeping is hard and monotonous, it is not more\nso than men's work in the city. The first lesson a business man has to\nlearn is to do pleasantly what he does not like to do. All regular,\nuseful work must be monotonous, but love ought to make it easy; and at\nany rate the tedium of housework is not any greater than the tedium of\noffice work. As for housekeeping being degrading, that is the veriest\nnonsense. Home is a little royalty; and if the housewife and mother be\nof elements finely mixed and loftily educated, all the more she will\nregard the cold-mutton question of importance, and consider the\nquality of the soup, and the quantity of chutnee in the curry, as\nrequiring her best attention. It is only the weakest, silliest women\nwho cannot lift their work to the level of their thoughts, and so\nennoble both.\n\nThere are other types of the discontented wife, with whom we are all\ntoo familiar: for instance, the wife who is stunned and miserable\nbecause she discovers that marriage is not a lasting picnic; who\ncannot realize that the husband must be different from the lover, and\nspends her days in impotent whining. She is always being neglected,\nand always taking offence; she has an insatiable craving for\nattentions, and needs continual assurances of affection, wasting her\ntime and feelings in getting up pathetic scenes of accusation, which\nfinally weary, and then alienate her husband. Her own fault! There is\nnothing a man hates more than a woman going sobbing and complaining\nabout the house with red eyes; unless it be a woman with whom he must\nlive in a perpetual fool's paradise of perfection.\n\nThere are also discontented wives, who goad their husbands into\nextravagant expenditure, and urge them to projects from which they\nwould naturally recoil. There are others, whose social ambitions slay\ntheir domestic ones, and who strain every nerve, in season and out of\nseason, and lose all their self-respect, for a few crumbs of\ncontemptuous patronage from some person of greater wealth than their\nown. Some wives fret if they have no children, others just as much if\nchildren come. In the first case, they are disappointed; in the\nsecond, inconvenienced; and in both, discontented. Some lead\nthemselves and others wretched lives because they have not three times\nas many servants as are necessary; a still greater number because they\ncannot compass a life of constant amusement and excitement.\n\nA very disagreeable kind of discontented woman is the wife who,\ninstead of having a God to love and worship, makes a god of her\nreligion, alienates love for an ecclesiastical idea, or neglects\nher own flesh and blood to carry the religious needs of the world;\nforgetting that the good wife keeps her sentiments very close to her\nown heart and hearth. But perhaps the majority of discontented wives\nhave no special thing to complain of; they fret because they are\n\"so dull.\" If they took the trouble to look for the cause of this\n\"dulness,\" they would find it in the want of some definite plan of\nlife, and some vigorous aim or object. Of course any aim implies\nlimitation, but limitation implies both virtue and pleasure. Without\nrule and law, not even the games of children could exist, and the\nmore strictly the rules of a game are obeyed, the greater the\nsatisfaction. A wife's duty is subject to the same conditions. If\naimless, plaintive women would make strict laws for their households,\nand lay out some possible vigorous plan for their own lives, they\nwould find that those who love and work have no leisure for\ncomplaining.\n\nBut from whatever cause domestic discontent springs, it makes the home\nfull of idleness, ennui, and vagrant imaginations, or of fierce\nextravagance, and passionate love of amusement. And as a wife holds\nthe happiness of many in her hands, discontent with her destiny is\npeculiarly wicked. If it is resented, she gets what she deserves; if\nit is quietly endured, her shame is the greater. For nothing does so\nmuch honor to a wife as her patience; and nothing does her so little\nhonor as the patience of her husband. And however great his patience\nmay be, she will not escape personal injury; since none are to be held\ninnocent who do harm even to their own soul and body. Besides, it is\nthe inflexible order of things that voluntary faults are followed by\ninevitable pain.\n\nMarried women, however, are by no means the only complainers. There\nis a great army of discontents who, having no men to care for them,\nare clamoring, and with justice, for their share of the world's work\nand wages. Such women have a perfect right to make a way for\nthemselves, in whatever direction they best can. Brains are of no sex\nor condition, and at any rate, there is no use arguing either their\nability or their right, for necessity has taken the matter beyond the\nreach of controversy. Thousands of women have now to choose between\nwork, charity, or starvation, for the young man of to-day is not a\nmarrying man. He has but puny passions, and his love is such a very\nlanguid preference that he cannot think of making any sacrifice for\nit. So women do not marry, they work; and as the world will take good\nwork from whoever will give it, the world's custom is flowing to them\nby a natural law.\n\nNow, earnest, practical women-workers are blessed, and a blessing; but\nthe discontented among them, by much talking and little doing,\ncontinually put back the cause they say they wish to advance. No\nwomen are in the main so discontented as women-workers. They go into\nthe arena, and, fettered by old ideas belonging to a different\ncondition, they are not willing to be subject to the laws of the\narena. They want, at the same time, the courtesy claimed by weakness\nand the honor due to prowess. They complain of the higher wages given\nto men, forgetting that the first article of equal payment is equal\nworth and work. They know nothing about what Carlyle calls \"the\nsilences;\" and the babble of their small beginnings is, to the\nbusy world, irritating and contemptible. It never seems to occur to\ndiscontented working-women that the best way to get what they want\nis to act, and not to talk. One silent woman who quietly calculates\nher chances and achieves success does more for her sex than any\namount of pamphleteering and lecturing. For nothing is more certain\nthan that good work, either from man or woman, will find a market;\nand that bad work will be refused by all but those disposed to give\ncharity and pay for it.\n\nThe discontent of working-women is understandable, but it is a wide\njump from the woman discontented about her work or wages to the woman\ndiscontented about her political position. Of all the shrill\ncomplainers that vex the ears of mortals, there are none so foolish as\nthe women who have discovered that the founders of our republic left\ntheir work half finished, and that the better half remains for them to\ndo. While more practical and sensible women are trying to put their\nkitchens, nurseries, and drawing-rooms in order, and to clothe\nthemselves rationally, this class of discontents are dabbling in the\ngravest national and economic questions. Possessed by a restless\ndiscontent with their appointed sphere and its duties, and forcing\nthemselves to the front in order to ventilate their theories and show\nthe quality of their brains, they demand the right of suffrage as the\nsymbol and guarantee of all other rights.\n\nThis is their cardinal point, though it naturally follows that the\nright to elect contains the right to be elected. If this result be\ngained, even women whose minds are not taken up with the things of the\nState, but who are simply housewives and mothers, may easily predicate\na few of such results as are particularly plain to the feminine\nintellect and observation. The first of these would be an entirely new\nset of agitators, who would use means quite foreign to male\nintelligence. For instance, every favorite priest and preacher would\ngain enormously in influence and power; for the ecclesiastical zeal\nwhich now expends itself in fairs and testimonials would then expend\nitself in the securing of votes in whatever direction they were\ninstructed to secure them. It might even end in the introduction of\nthe clerical element into our great political Council Chambers,--the\nbishops in the House of Lords would be a sufficient precedent,--and a\ngreat many women would really believe that the charming rhetoric of\nthe pulpit would infuse a higher tone in legislative assemblies.\n\nAgain, most women would be in favor of helping any picturesque\nnationality, without regard to the Monroe doctrine, or the state of\nthe finances, or the needs of the market. Most women would think it a\ngood action to sacrifice their party for a friend. Most women would\nchange their politics, if they saw it to be their interest to do so,\nwithout a moment's hesitation. Most women would refuse the primary\nobligation on which all franchises rest,--that is, to defend their\ncountry by force of arms, if necessary. And if a majority of women\npassed a law which the majority of men felt themselves justified in\nresisting by physical force, what would women do? Such a position in\nsequence of female suffrage is not beyond probability, and yet if it\nhappened, not only one law, but _all_ law would be in danger. No one\ndenies that women have suffered, and do yet suffer, from grave\npolitical and social disabilities, but during the last fifty years\nmuch has been continually done for their relief, and there is no\nquestion but that the future will give all that can be reasonably\ndesired. Time and Justice are friends, though there are many moments\nthat are opposed to Justice. But all such innovations should imitate\nTime, which does not wrench and tear, but detaches and wears slowly\naway. Development, growth, completion, is the natural and best\nadvancement. We do not progress by going over precipices, nor re-model\nand improve our houses by digging under the foundations.\n\nFinally, women cannot get behind or beyond their nature, and their\nnature is to substitute sentiment for reason,--a sweet and not\nunlovely characteristic in womanly ways and places; yet reason, on the\nwhole, is considered a desirable necessity in politics. At the Chicago\nFair, and at other convocations, it has been proven that the\nstrongest-minded women, though familiar with platforms, and deep in\nthe \"dismal science\" of political economy, when it came to disputing,\nwere no more philosophical than the simplest housewife. Tears and\nhysteria came just as naturally to them as if the whole world wagged\nby impulse only; yet a public meeting in which feeling and tears\nsuperseded reason and argument would in no event inspire either\nconfidence or respect. Women may cease to be women, but they can never\nlearn to be men, and feminine softness and grace can never do the work\nof the virile virtues of men. Very fortunately this class of\ndiscontented women have not yet been able to endanger existing\nconditions by combinations analogous to trades-unions; nor is it\nlikely they ever will; because it is doubtful if women, under any\ncircumstances, could combine at all. Certain qualities are necessary\nfor combination, and these qualities are represented in women by their\nopposites.\n\nConsidering discontented women of all kinds individually, it is\nevident that they must be dull women. They see only the dull side of\nthings, and naturally fall into a monotonous way of expressing\nthemselves. They have also the habit of complaining, a habit which\nquickens only the lower intellect. Where is there a more discontented\ncreature than a good watch-dog? He is forever looking for some\ninfringement of his rights; and an approaching step or a distant\nbark drives him into a fury of protest. Discontented women are always\negotists; they view everything in regard to themselves, and have\ntherefore the defective sympathies that belong to low organizations.\nThey never win confidence, for their discontent breeds distrust and\ndoubt, and however clever they may naturally be, an obtrusive self,\nwith its train of likings and dislikings, obscures their judgment,\nand they take false views of people and things. For this reason, it\nis almost a hopeless effort to show them how little people\ngenerally care about their grievances; for they have thought about\nthemselves so long and so much that they cannot conceive of any\nother subject interesting the rest of the world. We may even admit\nthat the women discontented on public subjects are often women of\ngreat intelligence, clever women with plenty of brains. Is that the\nbest? Who does not love far more than mere cleverness that sweetness\nof temper, that sunny, contented disposition, which goes through the\nworld with a smile and a kind word for every one? It is one of the\nrichest gifts of heaven; it is, according to Bishop Wilson,\n\"nine-tenths of Christianity.\"\n\nFortunately, the vast majority of women have been loyal to their sex\nand their vocation. In every community the makers and keepers of homes\nare the dominant power; and these strictures can apply only to two\nclasses,--first, the married women who neglect husband, children, and\nhomes, for the foolish _éclat_ of the club and the platform, or for\nany assumed obligation, social, intellectual or political, which\nconflicts with their domestic duties: secondly, the unmarried women\nwho, having comfortable homes and loving protectors, are discontented\nwith their happy secluded security and rush into weak art, or feeble\nliterature, or dubious singing and acting, because their vanity and\nrestless immorality lead them into the market place, or on to the\nstage. Not one of such women has been driven afield by indisputable\ngenius. Any work they have done would have been better done by some\nunprotected, experienced woman already in the fields they have\ninvaded. And the indifference of this class to the money value of\ntheir labor has made it difficult for the women working because they\nmust work or starve, to get a fair price for their work. It is the\nbaldest effrontery for this class of rich discontents to affect\nsympathy with Woman's Progress. Nothing can excuse their intrusion\ninto the labor market but unquestioned genius and super-excellence of\nwork; and this has not yet been shown in any single case.\n\nThe one unanswerable excuse for woman's entrance into active public\nlife of any kind is _need_, and, alas, need is growing daily, as\nmarriage becomes continually rarer, and more women are left adrift in\nthe world without helpers and protectors. But this is a subject too\nlarge to enter on here, though in the beginning it sprung from\ndiscontented women, preferring the work and duties of men to their own\nwork and duties. Have they found the battle of life any more ennobling\nin masculine professions than in their old feminine household ways? Is\nwork done in the world for strangers any less tiresome and monotonous\nthan work done in the house for father and mother, husband and\nchildren? If they answer truly, they will reply, \"The home duties were\nthe easiest, the safest, and the happiest.\"\n\nOf course all discontented women will be indignant at any criticism of\ntheir conduct. They expect every one to consider their feelings\nwithout examining their motives. Paddling in the turbid maelstrom of\nlife, and dabbling in politics and the most unsavory social questions,\nthey still think men, at least, ought to regard them as the Sacred\nSex. But women are not sacred by grace of sex, if they voluntarily\nabdicate its limitations and its modesties, and make a public display\nof unsexed sensibilities and unabashed familiarity with subjects they\nhave nothing to do with. If men criticise such women with asperity it\nis not to be wondered at; they have so long idealized women that they\nfind it hard to speak moderately. They excuse them too much, or else\nthey are too indignant at their follies, and unjust and angry in their\ndenunciation. Women must be criticised by women; then they will hear\nthe bare, uncompromising truth, and be the better for it.\n\nIn conclusion, it must be conceded that some of the modern discontent\nof women must be laid to unconscious influence. In every age there is\na kind of atmosphere which we call \"the spirit of the times,\" and\nwhich, while it lasts, deceives as to the importance and truth of its\ndominant opinions. Many women have doubtless thus caught the fever of\ndiscontent by mere contact, but such have only to reflect a little,\nand discover that, on the whole, they have done quite as well in life\nas they have any right to expect. Then those who are married will\nfind marriage and the care of it, and the love of it, quite able to\nsatisfy all their desires; and such as really need to work will\nperceive that the great secret of content abides in the unconscious\nacceptance of life and the fulfilment of its duties,--a happiness\nserious and universal, but full of comfort and help. Thus they will\ncease to vary from the kindly race of women, and through the doors of\nLove, Hope, and Labor, join that happy multitude who have never\ndiscovered that life is a thing to be discontented with.\n\n\n\n\nWomen on Horseback\n\n\nEvery woman ought to know how to ride. It is the most healthy of\nexercises; and in a life of vicissitudes she may some day find it the\nonly method of travel--perchance the only method of saving her life.\n\nThe first element of enjoying horse exercise is good riding. Good\nriding is an affair of skill, a collection of trifles, which, if\nthoroughly mastered, makes the rider feel thoroughly secure.\n\nA man or a boy may learn to ride by practice; that is, he may tumble\noff and on until experience not only gives him confidence, but\nsecurity and even elegance. It is not so with a woman. Her seat is\nartificial; she must be taught how to keep it; for though she may have\na father or brother who has \"good hands,\" and who can show her how to\nhandle reins and humor her horse's mouth, he cannot teach her to sit\nin her saddle because he cannot sit in it himself.\n\nThe horse which a lady rides should be up to her weight, well-trained,\nand docile, for a woman on horseback has little to help her but her\nhand and her whip. If the flap of the saddle be large, the pressure of\nthe left leg is almost useless, and the folds of her riding dress very\noften interfere with the discipline of the spur.\n\nThe whip is therefore her chief reliance, and its management is of\ngreat importance. As it is really to supply the place of a man's right\nleg and spur, it should be stiff and real, however light and\nornamental. The skin of the hippopotamus makes one both light and\nsevere. There is little difficulty in using it on the right side of\nthe horse, but to use it on the near side is a matter of both skill\nand caution. Remember, first, never to strike a horse over any part of\nthe head or neck; second, if necessary to strike him on the forehand,\nquietly lift the whip to an upright position, then let it firmly and\nsuddenly descend along the shoulder and instantly return to the\nupright position; third, to strike the near hindquarter properly\nrequires a firm and graceful seat. Pass the right hand gently behind\nthe waist, as far as possible, without distorting in the least the\nposition of the body, and strike by holding the whip between the first\ntwo fingers and thumb. This action ought to be performed without\ndisturbing either the position or action of the bridle hand.\n\nAs the riding dress of a gentleman should never be groomish, so that\nof a lady should never be fast or flashy. The hat should sit tightly\nto the head, for the hands are needed for reins and whip, and cannot\nsafely be continually occupied in its adjustment. The plainer it is,\nthe more ladylike; but if plumes are used, then those of the cock,\npheasant, peacock, or heron, are most suitable. The habit, if for real\nuse, may be lined a foot deep with leather. In English hunting\ncounties light vests are sometimes worn in bright weather, and in\nwinter, over-jackets of sealskin. It is well to remember that it is\nthe chest and back which need double protection, both during and\nafter hard riding. Skirts are seriously in the way. The snug flannel\nunder-dress and the pantalets of the same cloth as the habit are all\nthat is necessary. Light, high boots are a great comfort in riding\nlong distances, and almost equally good are gaiters of heavy cloth,\nvelvet, or corduroy.\n\nThe saddle ought always to have what is called the hunting-horn on the\nleft side; yet however common it is in the North, I never saw it on a\nsaddle in Texas during ten years. The right-hand pommel is in the way,\nand the best saddles have now only a flat projection in its place. It\nprevents the rider from putting the right hand as low as a restive\nhorse requires it, and young and timid riders are apt to get a habit\nof leaning on it.\n\nThe value of the hunting pommel is very great. If the horse leaps\nsuddenly up, it holds down the left knee, and makes it a fulcrum to\nkeep the right one in its proper place. In riding down steep places it\nprevents sliding forward, and assists greatly in managing a hard\npuller. A rider cannot be thrown on it, and it renders it next to\nimpossible that she should be thrown on the other pommel; besides, it\ngives the habit and figure a much finer appearance.\n\nBut it is necessary for every lady to have this pommel as carefully\nfitted to her person as her habit is. Not only see the saddle in\nprogress, but _sit on it_. A chance saddle may seem to suit; so also,\nif a No. 4 shoe is worn, a ready-made 4 may be wearable; but as a shoe\nmade to fit the wearer's foot is always best, so also is a saddle that\nis adjusted to the rider's proportions.\n\nA stirrup may be an advantage, if the foot is likely to weary; but\nsince the general introduction of the third pommel it is not necessary\nto a woman in the way that it is to a man. A woman, also, is very apt\nto make it a lever for \"wriggling\" about in her saddle,--a habit that\nis not only very ungraceful, but which gives many a horse a sore back,\nwhich a firm, quiet seat never does.\n\nReins should not be given to a learner; her first lessons should be on\na led horse. The best horsewomen in England have been taught how to\nwalk, canter, gallop, trot, and leap without the assistance of reins.\nI do not advocate the plan for general use, but I do know that\nlearners are apt to acquire the habit of holding on by the bridle.\n\nWhen the hand is trusted with reins, hold them in both hands. One\nbridle and two hands are far better than two bridles and one hand. The\npractice of one-handed riding originated in military schools; for a\ntrooper has a sword or lance to carry, and riding-schools have usually\nbeen kept by old soldiers. But who attempts to turn a horse in harness\nwith one hand? Don't hold the reins as if you were afraid of letting\nthem go again, for this not only gives a \"dead\" hand, but compels the\nrider's body to follow the vagaries of the horse's head. Lightly and\nsmoothly, \"as if they were a worsted thread,\" hold the reins; and from\nthe time the horse is in motion till the ride is finished, never cease\na gentle sympathetic feeling upon the mouth. Women generally attain a\n\"good hand\" easier than men. In the first place, it is partly natural\nand spontaneous; in the second, they do not rely so much upon their\nphysical strength and courage. A man in the pride of his youth is apt\nto despise this manipulation.\n\nMany riders say it is better for a woman to use only the curb; but if\nshe does this, all chance of learning \"hand\" is gone. I say, let her\nuse the reins in both hands, slackening or tightening according to the\npace she wishes, and the horse's eagerness. If she succeeds in this,\nand never keeps \"a dead pull,\" she is a long way toward being a good\nhorsewoman. As to turning, there is no better rule than Colonel\nGreenwood's simple maxim: \"When you wish to turn to the right, pull\nthe right-hand rein stronger than the left\"--and _vice versa_.\n\nAll women should learn to canter before learning to trot. It is a much\neasier pace, and helps to give confidence. To canter _with the right\nforeleg leading_, make an extra bearing on the right rein, and a\nstrong pressure with the left leg, heel, or spur; at the same time\nbring the whip across the near forehand of the horse. If he hesitates,\npass the hand behind the waist and strike the near hindquarter.\n\nTo canter _with the left foreleg leading_, the extra bearing must be\nmade on the left rein, by turning up the little finger toward the\nright shoulder, and using the whip on the right shoulder or flank.\nNever permit the horse to choose which foreleg shall lead; make him\nsubject to your will and hand; and it is a good plan to change the\nleading leg when in a canter. In all movements remember to keep the\nbridle arm close to the body, and do not throw the elbow outward. The\nmovements of the hand must come from the wrist alone, and the bearings\non the horse's mouth be made by gently turning upward the little\nfinger, at the same time keeping the hand firmly closed upon the\nreins.\n\nThe horse is urged to trot by bearing equally on both reins, and using\nthe whip gently on the _right_ flank. Sit well down in the saddle, and\nrise and fall with the action of the horse, springing lightly from the\nin-step and the knee. Nothing is uglier than rising too high, and\nbesides its awkward, ungraceful appearance, it endangers the position.\nIf the horse strikes into a canter of his own accord, bring him at\nonce to a halt and begin again, or bear strongly on both reins till he\nresumes his trot, or else break the canter by bearing strongly on the\nrein opposite to his leading leg. Always begin at a gentle pace, and\nnever trot a moment after either fear or fatigue is felt.\n\nThe horsemanship of a lady is never complete until she has learned to\nleap; for even if she intend nothing beyond a canter in the park,\nhorses will leap at times without permission. When a horse rises to a\nleap, lean _well forward_, and bear gently on the mouth. When he makes\nthe spring, strike the right flank (if necessary). As he descends,\n_lean backward_, pressing the leg firmly against the hunting pommel,\nand bearing the bridle strongly on the mouth. Collect the horse with\nthe whip, and urge him forward at speed.\n\nI shall now say a few words about mounting and dismounting, though\nevery tyro imagines these to be the easiest of actions. In mounting,\nstand close to the horse, with the right hand on the middle pommel,\nthe whip in the left hand, and the left hand on the groom's right\nshoulder. Do not scramble, but spring, into the saddle; sit well down,\nand let the right leg hang over the pommel _a little back_, for if the\nfoot pokes out, the hold is not firm. Lean rather back than forward,\nfirm and close from the hips downward, flexible from the hips upward.\nThe reins must be held apart a little above the level of the knee. In\ndismounting, first take the right leg from its pommel, then the left\nfrom the stirrup. See that the dress is clear from all the pommels,\nespecially the hunting one; let the reins fall on the horse's neck,\nplace the left hand on the right arm of the groom, and the right hand\non the hunting-pommel, and descend to the ground on the balls of the\nfeet.\n\nI have one more subject to notice. It is this: If a woman is to go out\nriding, no matter who may be her chaperon, nor whether it be in the\npark or the hunting field, she ought to know _how to take care of\nherself_; not with obtrusive independence, but with that modest,\nunassuming confidence which is the result of a perfect acquaintance\nwith all that the situation demands.\n\n\n\n\nA Good Word For Xanthippe\n\nBY WAY OF APOLOGY, EXPLANATION, AND DEFENCE\n\n\nWe may be pardoned, perhaps, for judging the living according to our\nhumor, but the dead, at least, we should judge only with our reason.\nBecome eternal, we should endeavor to measure them with the eternal\nrule of justice. If we did this, how many characters having now an\nimmortality of ill, would secure a more favorable verdict. For\ntwenty-three centuries Xanthippe has been regarded as the type of\neverything unlovely in womanhood and wifehood. We forget all the other\nGrecian matrons of Periclean times, to remember this poor wife with\nscorn. Yet if we would bestow half the careful scrutiny on an accurate\nanalysis of her position which is given to other texts of classical\nwriters, we might find her worthy of our sympathy more than scorn.\n\nIn the \"Memorabilia\" of Xenophon (II.2) Socrates is represented as\npointing out to his eldest son, Lamprocles, the duty of paying a\nrespectful attention to a mother who loved him so much better than any\none else, and he calls him a \"wretch\" who should neglect it. Indeed,\nthe picture he draws of the maternal relation is one of the finest\nthings in ancient literature. Would Socrates have urged respect and\nobedience towards a mother unworthy of it? Would Lamprocles have\nreceived the fatherly flogging and reproof as meekly as he did if he\nhad not been sensible of his error? And if there had been anything\nincongruous in Socrates demanding for Xanthippe Lamprocles' respect\nand obedience, would not Xenophon have noticed it? But it is not to\nphilosophers and fathers we appeal for Xanthippe; mothers and\nhousewives must judge her. When she married Socrates he was a\nsculptor, and, according to report, a very fair one,--not, perhaps, a\nPhidias, but one doing good, serviceable, paying work. He had a house\nin Athens, and people paid rent and went to market then as now; and\nhe had a wife and family whom it is evident he ought to support.\nDoubtless Xanthippe was a good housekeeper,--women with sharp tempers\nusually have that compensation,--but who can keep house amiably upon\nnothing? Mr. Grote tells us that Socrates relinquished his paying\nprofession and devoted himself to teaching, \"excluding all other\nbusiness to the neglect of all means of fortune.\"\n\nIf he had taken money for teaching, perhaps Xanthippe might not have\nopposed him so much; but he would neither ask nor receive reward. The\nfact probably was, Socrates had a delight in talking, and he preferred\ntalking to business. Whatever _we_ may think of his \"talks,\" Xanthippe\ndid not likely consider them anything wonderful. Nothing but a jury of\nwomen whose husbands have \"missions,\" and neglect everything for them,\ncould fairly judge Xanthippe on this point. It is of no use for us to\nsay, \"Socrates was such a great man, such a divine teacher;\" Xanthippe\ndid not know it, and a great many of the wisest and greatest of the\nAthenians had no more sense in this respect than she had. Aristophanes\nregularly turned him into sport for the theatres. What Christian wife\nwould like that? Comic plays were written about him, and the gamins\nunder the porticos ridiculed him. If he had been honored, Xanthippe\nwould have forgiven his self-imposed poverty; but to be poor, and\nlaughed at! Doubtless he deserved a good portion of the curtain\nlectures he got.\n\nThen Xanthippe had another cause of complaint in which she will be\nsure of the sympathy of all wives. Socrates did not share in its full\nbitterness the poverty to which he condemned his family. While she was\neating her pulse and olives at home, he was dining with Athenian\nnobles, and drinking wine by the side of the brilliant Aspasia or the\nfascinating Theodite.\n\nWe see Socrates, \"splendid through the shades of time,\" as a great\nmoral teacher; but many of the Athenians of his day laughed at him,\nand very few admired him. At any rate he did not provide for the wants\nof his household, and even a bachelor like Saint Paul severely\ncondemns such a one. Certainly the men of Athens did not admire\nSocrates, and probably the women of Xanthippe's acquaintance\nsympathized with her,--to a woman of her temperament a very great\naggravation. It may be said all this is special pleading, but when we\nhave knocked at the door of certain truths in vain, we should try and\nget into them by the window.\n\n\n\n\nThe Favorites of Men\n\n\nIt may be taken as a rule that women who are favorites with men are\nvery seldom favorites with their own sex. Wherever women congregate,\nand other women are under discussion, men's favorites are named with\nthat tone of disapproval and disdain which infers something not quite\nproper--something undesirable in the position. If specific charges are\nmade, the \"favorite\" will probably be called \"an artful little flirt,\"\nor she will be \"sly\" or \"fast.\" Matrons will wonder what the men see\nin her face or figure; and the young girls will deplore her manners,\nor rather her want of manners; or they will mercifully \"hope there is\nnothing really wrong in her freedom and boldness, but----\" and the\nsigh and shrug will deny the charitable hope with all the emphasis\nnecessary for her condemnation. For if a girl is a favorite with the\nmen of her own set, she is naturally disliked by the women, since she\nattracts to herself far more than her share of admiration; and the\nadmiration of men, whether women acknowledge it or not, is the desire\nand delight of the feminine heart, just as the love of women is the\ndesire and delight of the masculine heart.\n\nIn their social intercourse two kinds of women please men: the\nbright, pert woman, who says such things and does such things as no\nother woman would dare to say and do, and who is therefore very\namusing; and the sympathetic woman who admires and perhaps loves\nthem. But these two great classes have wide and indefinite varieties,\nand the bright little woman with her innocent audaciousness, and\nthe graceful, swan-necked angel, with her fine feelings and her softly\nspoken compliments, are but types of species that have infinite\npeculiarities, and distinctions. The two women, sitting quietly in\nthe same room and dressed in the same orthodox fashion, may not\nappear to be radically different, but as soon as conversation and\ndancing commence, the one, in a frankly outspoken way, says just\nwhat she thinks, and charms in the most undisguised manner, while the\nother must be looked for in retired corners, quiet and demure,\nlistening with pensive adoration to her companion's cleverness,\nand flirting in that insidious way which sets other women's cheeks\nburning with indignation.\n\nAn absolutely womanly ideal for the purposes of flirtation or of\nplatonic friendship--if such an emotion exists--is not supposable; for\nman is himself so many-sided that the woman who is perfect in one's\nestimation would be uninteresting in another's. It is, however, very\ncertain that the women men flirt with are not the women men marry.\nTheir social favorites, are not the matrimonial favorites, and\ntherefore it is not a good thing for a girl's settlement that she\nshould get the reputation of being a \"gentlemen's favorite.\" It is\nrather a position to be avoided, for the brightest or sweetest girl\nwith this character will likely pass her best years in charming all\nwithout being able to fix one lover to her side for life. This is the\nsecret of the great number of plain married women whom every one\ncounts among his acquaintances.\n\nThe position of a favorite is no easy one. She has to cultivate many\nqualities which should be put to better use and bring her more\nsatisfactory results. She must have discrimination enough to value\nflirting at its proper value; for if she confounds love-making with\nlove, and takes everything _au grand serieux_, her reputation as a\nsafe favorite would be seriously endangered. In her flirtations she\nmust never permit herself to show whether she be hit or not. She must\nnever suffer a fop to have any occasion for a boast. She must avoid\nevery circumstance which would allow a feminine rival an opportunity\nfor a sneer. She must be able to give and take cheerfully, to conceal\nevery social wound and slight, and to be deaf to every disagreeable\nthing. In short, she must be armed at every point, and never lay down\nher arms, and never be off watch. It is therefore a position whose\nrequirements, if translated into active business life, would employ\nthe utmost resources of a fertile and energetic man.\n\nAnd what are the general results of talents so varied and so\nindustriously employed? As a usual thing, the gentlemen's favorite\ndances and flirts her way from a brilliant girlhood to a fretful,\nneglected _femme passée_. She has in the meantime had the mortification\nof seeing the plain girls whom she despised become honored wives and\nmothers, and possibly leaders in that set of the social world of which\nshe still makes one of the rank and file of spinsterhood. Her\ndisappointments, in spite of her careful concealment of them, tell\nupon her physique. She sees the waning of her power, and the\napproaches of that winter of discontent which wasted opportunities are\nsure to bring.\n\nSpurred with a sense of haste by some unhappy slight, she perhaps\nunadvisedly marries a man who ten years previously would not have\nventured to clasp her shoe-buckle. If he happens to possess a firm\nwill and a strong character, he will try to pull her sharply up to his\nmark, and there will be endless frictions and reprisals, with all\ntheir possible results. If he is some old lover, weak in purpose,\nfatuous and brainless in his admiration, then the foolish flirting\nvirgin will likely become a foolish flirting wife; and a miserable\ncomplaisance will bring forth its natural outgrowth of contempt and\ndislike, and perhaps culminate in some flagrant social misdemeanor.\n\nTo be a favorite with men is not, then, a desirable honor for any\nwoman. They will admire her loveliness, sun themselves in her smiles,\nand catch a little ephemeral pleasure and glory in her favor; but they\nwill not marry her. And the reason, though not very evident to a\nthoughtless girl, is at least a very real and powerful one. It is\nbecause such a girl _never touches them on their best side_, and never\nreveals in herself that womanly nature which a man knows instinctively\nis the foundation of wifely value,--that nature which expresses itself\nin service for love's sake, as a very necessity of its being.\n\nOn the contrary, a \"favorite\" leans all to one side, and that side is\nherself. She is overbearing and exacting in the most trivial matters\nof outward homage. She will be served on the bended knee, and her\nservice is a hard and ungrateful one. And this is the truth about\nsuch homage: men may be compelled to kneel to a woman's whims for a\nshort time, but when they do find courage to rise to their feet they\ngo away forever.\n\nSo that, after all, the estimate of women for those of their own sex\nwho are favorites of a great number of men is a very just one. It is\nneither unfair nor untrue in its essentials, for in this world we can\nonly judge actions by their consequences; and the consequences of a\nlong career of general admiration do not justify honorable mention of\nthe belle of many seasons. She can hardly escape the results of her\nsocial experience. She must of necessity become false and artificial.\nShe cannot avoid a morbid jealousy of her own rights, and a painful\njealousy of the successes of those who have passed her in the\nmatrimonial career.\n\nNor can she, as these qualities strengthen, by any means conceal their\npresence. Every attribute of our nature has its distinctive\natmosphere; it is subtle and invisible as the perfume of a plant, but\nit makes itself distinctly present,--even when we are careful to\npermit no translation of the feeling into action. Men are not\nanalyzers or inquirers into character, as a general rule, but the\nbright ways and witty conversation of their favorite does not deceive\nthem. Sooner or later they are sensitive to the restlessness,\ndisappointment, envy, and hatred, which couches beneath the smiles and\nsparkle. They may put the knowledge away at the time, but when they\nare alone they will eventually admit and understand it all.\n\nAnd the saddest part of this situation is that they are not at all\nastonished at what their hearts reveal to them. They know that they\nhave expected nothing better, nothing more permanently valuable. They\ntell themselves frankly that in this woman's society they never looked\nfor imperishable virtues; she was only a pretty _passe-temps_--a woman\nsuitable for life's laughter, but not for its noblest duties and\ndiscipline.\n\nFor when good men want to marry, they seek a woman for what _she is_,\nnot for what she looks. They want a gentlewoman of blameless honor,\nwho will love her husband, and neither be reluctant to have children\nnor to bring them up at her knees; who will care for her house duties\nand her husband's comfort and welfare as if these things were an\nEleventh Commandment. And such women, fair and cultured enough to make\nany home happy, are not difficult to find. However peculiar and\nindividual a man may be, there are very few in a generation who cannot\nconvince some good woman that their peculiarities are abnormal genius,\nor refined moral sensitiveness, or some other great and rare\nexcellency.\n\nTherefore, before a girl commits herself to a course of frivolity and\ntime-pleasing, which will fasten on her such a misnomer as a\n\"favorite\" of men, let her carefully ponder the close of such a\ncareer. For, having once obtained this reputation, she will find it\nvery hard to rid herself of its consequences. And it is, alas, very\nlikely that many girls enter this career thoughtlessly, and not until\nthey are entangled in it find out that they have made a mistake with\ntheir life. Then they are wretched in the conditions they have\nsurrounded themselves with, and yet are afraid to leave them. Their\npopularity is odious to them. They stretch out their hands to their\nwasted youth, and their future appalls them. They weep, for they think\nit is too late to retrieve their errors.\n\nNo! It is never too late to lift up the head and the heart! It is\nalways the right hour to become noble and truthful and courageous once\nmore! In short, there is yet a Divine help for those who seek it; and\nin that strength all may turn back and recapture their best selves.\nWhile life lasts there is no such time as \"too late!\" And oh, the good\nthat fact does one!\n\n\n\n\nMothers of Great and Good Men\n\n\nWomen are apt to complain that their lot is without influence. On the\ncontrary, their lot is full of dignity and importance. If they do not\nlead armies, if they are not state officers, or Congressional orators,\nthey mould the souls and minds of men who do, and are; and give the\ninitial touch that lasts through life. The conviction of the mother's\ninfluence over the fate of her children is old as the race itself;\nancient history abounds with examples; and even the destinies of the\ngods are represented as in its power. It was the mothers of ancient\nRome that made ancient Rome great; it was the Spartan mothers that\nmade the Spartan heroes. Those sons went out conquerors whose mothers\narmed them with the command, \"With your shield, or on it, my son!\"\n\nThe power of the mother in forming the character of the child is\nbeyond calculation. Can any time separate the name of Monica from that\nof her son Augustine? Never despairing, even when her son was deep\nsunk in profligacy, watching, pleading, praying with such tears and\nfervor that the Bishop of Carthage cried out in admiration, \"Go thy\nway; it is impossible that the son of these tears should perish!\" And\nshe lived to see the child of her love all that her heart desired. Nor\nare there in all literature more noble passages than those which St.\nAugustine consecrates to the memory of a parent whom all ages have\ncrowned with the loftiest graces of motherhood.\n\nBishop Hall says of his mother, \"She was a woman of rare sanctity.\"\nAnd from her he derived that devoted spirit and prayerful dignity\nwhich gave him such unbounded influence in the church to which his\nlife was consecrated. The \"divine George Herbert\" owed to his mother a\nstill greater debt, and the famous John Newton proposes himself as \"an\nexample for the encouragement of mothers to do their duty faithfully\nto their children.\" Every one is familiar with the picture which\nrepresents Dr. Doddridge's mother teaching him, before he could read,\nthe Old and New Testament history from the painted tiles in the\nchimney corner. Crowley, Thomson, Campbell, Goethe, Victor Hugo,\nSchiller and the Schlegels, Canning, Lord Brougham, Curran, and\nhundreds of our great men may say with Pierre Vidal:\n\n  \"If aught of goodness or of grace\n    Be mine, hers be the glory;\n  She led me on in wisdom's path\n    And set the light before me.\"\n\nPerhaps there was never a more wonderful example of maternal influence\nthan that of the Wesleys' mother. To use her own words, she cared for\nher children as \"one who works together with God in the saving of a\nsoul.\" She never considered herself absolved from this care, and her\nletters to her sons when they were men are the wonder of all who read\nthem. Another prominent instance is that of Madame Bonaparte over her\nson Napoleon. This is what he says of her: \"She suffered nothing but\nwhat was grand and elevated to take root in our souls. She abhorred\nlying, and passed over none of our faults.\" How large a part the\nmother of Washington played in the formation of her son's character,\nwe have only to turn to Irving's \"Life of Washington\" to see. And it\nwas her greatest honor and reward when the world was echoing with his\nrenown, to listen and calmly reply, \"He has been a good son, and he\nhas done his duty as a man.\"\n\nJohn Quincy Adams owed everything to his mother. The cradle hymns of\nhis childhood were songs of liberty, and as soon as he could lisp his\nprayers she taught him to say Collins' noble lines, \"How sleep the\nbrave who sink to rest.\" No finer late instance of the influence of a\nmother in the formation of character can be adduced than that of\nGerald Massey. His mother roused in him his hatred of wrong, his love\nof liberty, his pride in honest, hard-working poverty; and Massey, in\nhis later days of honor and comfort, often spoke with pride of those\nyears when his mother taught her children to live in honest\nindependence on rather less than a dollar and a half a week. The\nsimilar instance of President Garfield and his mother is too well\nknown to need more than mention.\n\nThere can be no doubt of the illimitable influence of the mother in\nthe formation of her child's character. The stern, passionate piety of\nMrs. Wesley made saints and preachers of her children; the ambition\nand bravery of Madame Bonaparte moulded her son into a soldier, and\nthe beautiful union of these qualities helped to form the hero beloved\nof all lands,--George Washington. I do not say that mothers can give\ngenius to their sons; but all mothers can do for their children what\nMonica did for Augustine, what Madame Bonaparte did for Napoleon, what\nMrs. Washington did for her son George, what Gerald Massey's mother\ndid for him, what ten thousands of good mothers all over the world are\ndoing this day,--patiently moulding, hour by hour, year by year, that\ncumulative force which we call character. And if mothers do this duty\nhonestly, whether their sons are private citizens or public men, they\nwill \"rise up and call them blessed.\"\n\n\n\n\nDomestic Work for Women\n\n\nTo that class of women who toil not, neither spin, and who, like\ncontented ravens, are fed they know not how nor whence, it is\nsuperfluous to speak of domestic service; for their housekeeping\nconsists in \"giving orders,\" and their marketing is represented by\ntradesmen's wagons and buff-colored pass-books. Yet I am far from\ninferring that, because they can financially afford to be idle, they\nhave a right to be so. They surely owe to the world some free gift of\nlabor, else it would be hard to see why they came into it. Not for\nornaments certainly, since Parian marble and painted canvas would be\nboth more economical and satisfactory; not for housewives, for their\nhouses are in the hands of servants; not for mothers, for they\nuniversally grumble at the advent and responsibility of children.\n\nBut to the large majority of women, domestic service ought to be a\nhigh moral question, especially to those who are the wives of men\nstriving to keep up on limited incomes the reality and the appearance\nof a prosperous home; all the more necessary, perhaps, because the\nappearance is the condition on which the reality is possible.\n\nToo often a false notion that usefulness and elegance are incompatible,\nthat it is \"unladylike\" to be in their kitchens, or come in contact\nwith the baker and butcher, makes them abrogate the highest honors of\nwifehood. Or perhaps they have the misfortune to be the children of\nthose tender parents who are permitted without loss of reputation to\neducate their daughters for drawing-room ornaments in their youth, and\nyet do nothing to _insure_ them against a middle age of struggle and\nprivation, and an old age of misery.\n\nTo such I would speak candidly--not without thought--not without\npractical knowledge of what I say--not without strong hopes that I may\ninfluence many warm, thoughtless hearts, who only need to be once\nalive to a responsibility in order to feel straitened and burdened\nuntil they assume and fulfil it.\n\nIs it fair, then, is it just, kind, or honorable, that the husband day\nafter day should be bound to the wheel of a monotonous occupation, and\nthe wife fritter away the results in frivolity or suffer them to be\nwasted in extravagant and yet unsatisfactory housekeeping? Supposing\nthe magnificent affection of the husband makes him willing to coin his\nlife into dollars, in order that the wife may live and dress and visit\naccording to her ideal, ought she to accept an offering that has in it\nso strong an odor of human sacrifice?\n\nEven if it be necessary to keep up a certain style, it is still in the\nwife's power to make the husband's service for this end a reasonable\none. Personal supervision of the marketing will save twenty per cent,\nand I am afraid to say how much might be saved from actual waste in\nthe kitchen by the same means; and this is but the beginning.\n\nYet saving is only one item in the wife's lawful domestic service; if\nher husband is to be a permanently successful man, she must take care\nof his digestion. It may seem derogatory to thought, enterprise, and\nvirtue to assert that eating has anything to do with them. I cannot\nhelp the condition; I only know that it exists, and that she is but a\npoor wife who ignores the fact.\n\nThe days when men stuck to their \"roast and boiled\" as firmly as to\ntheir creed are, of necessity, disappearing. The fervid life we are\nall leading demands food that can be assimilated with the least\npossible detriment to, or expenditure of, the vital powers. \"Thoughts\nthat burn\" are no poetic fancy; the planning, the calculating that a\nbusiness man performs during the day literally burns up the material\nof conscious life. It is the wife's duty to replenish the fires of\nintellect and energy by fuel that the enfeebled vitality can convert\nmost easily into the elements necessary to repair the waste.\n\nThe idea that it is derogatory for cultivated brains and white hands\nto investigate the stock-jar and the stew-pan is a very mistaken one.\nThe daintiest lady I ever knew, the wife of a merchant who is one of\nour princes, sees personally every day to the preparation of her\nhusband's dinner and its artistic and appetizing arrangement on the\ntable. I have not the smallest doubt that the nourishing soups, the\ndelicately prepared meats, the delicious desserts, are the secret of\nmany a clear-headed business transaction, household investments that\nmake possible the far-famed commercial ones. This mysterious\nrelationship between what we _eat_ and what we _do_ was dimly\nperceived by Dr. Johnson when he said that \"a man who did not care for\nhis dinner would care for nothing else.\"\n\nArtistic cooking derogatory! Why, it is a science, an art, as sure to\nfollow a high state of civilization as the fine arts do. No persons of\nfine feelings can be indifferent to what they eat, any more than to\nwhat they wear, or what their household surroundings are. A man may be\ncompelled by circumstances to swallow half-cooked bloody beef and\nboiled paste dumplings, and yet it may be as repugnant to him as it\nwould be to wear a scarlet belcher neckerchief, a brass watch-chain,\nand a cotton-velvet coat. Yet his wife may be ignorant or indifferent;\nhe is too much occupied with other matters to \"make a fuss about it,\"\nand so he shuts his eyes, opens his mouth, and takes whatever his cook\npleases to send him. I do not like to be uncharitable, but somehow I\ncan't help thinking that a wife who permits this kind of thing is\nunworthy of her wedding ring.\n\nLet her take a volume of F. W. Johnston's \"Domestic Chemistry\" in her\nhand, and go down into her kitchen. She will be in a far higher region\nof romance than Miss Braddon can take her into. She will learn that it\nis her province to renew her husband physically and mentally by\ndexterously depositing the right kind of nutriment upon the inward,\ninvisible frame. The wonders of science shall supersede then, for her,\nthe wonders of romance. To feed the sacred fire of life will become a\nnoble office; she will count it as honorable, in its place, to make a\nfine soup or a delicate Charlotte Russe as to play a Beethoven sonata\nor read a German classic.\n\nTruly, I think that it is almost a sin for a housekeeper with all her\nsenses to be ignorant of the laws of chemistry affecting food. Yet the\nsubject is so large and complicated that I can only indicate its\nimportance; but I am sure that women of affection and intelligence who\nmay now for the first time accept the thought, will follow my hints to\nall their manifold conclusions. One of these conclusions is so\nimportant that I cannot avoid directing special attention to it,--the\nmoral effect of proper food.\n\nDo not doubt that all through life high things depend on low ones; and\nin this matter it must be evident to every observing woman that food\nis often the _nerve_ of our highest social affections. There is an\nacute domestic disorder which Dr. Marshall Hall used to call \"the\ntemper disease.\" Need I point out to wives the wonderful sympathy\nbetween this disease and the dining-table? Do they not know that a\nfretful, belated, ill-cooked breakfast has the power to take all the\nenergy out of a sensitively organized man, and make his entire day an\nuncomfortable failure?\n\nOn the contrary, a cheerful room, a snowy cloth, coffee \"with the\naroma in,\" bread whose amber crust and light, white crumb is a\npicture, in short, a well-appointed, quiet, comfortable first meal has\nin it some subtle influence of strength and inspiration for work. I\nhave seen men rise from such tables _joyful_--full of such gratitude\nand hope as I can well believe only found expression in that silent\nuplifting of the heart to God which is, after all, our purest prayer.\n\nThen when at evening he returns weary, faint and hungry, a fine sonata\nor an exquisite painting will not much comfort him. I even doubt\nwhether a religious service could profitably take the place of his\ndinner; for we _know_, if we will acknowledge it, that the importunate\ndemands of the flesh do cry down the still small voice of devotion.\nBut how different we feel after eating; then we are disposed for\nsomething higher, the mind is elevated to gracious thoughts, the brain\ngives reasonable counsel, the heart generous responses. And I speak\nwith all reverence when I say that many of our darkest hours in\nspiritual things are not to be attributed to an angry God or a hidden\nSaviour, but to physical repletion or inanition. But if these\nwonderfully fashioned bodies be the \"temple of the Holy Ghost,\" how\nshall we expect the comforts of God in a disordered or ill-kept\nshrine?\n\nThus it is in the power of the housewife to turn the work of the\nkitchen into a sacrifice of gladness, and to make the offices of the\ntable a means of grace. Certain it is that she will decide whether her\nhusband is to be commercially successful or not; for if a man will be\nrich, he must ask his wife's permission to be so. And if he will be\nphysically healthy, mentally clear, morally sweet, she must take care\nthat his home furnish the proper food and stimulus on which these\nconditions depend. Nor will she go far wrong if she take as a general\nrule, lying at the foundation, or in close connection with them all,\nSydney Smith's pleasant hyperbolic maxim, \"Soup and fish explain half\nthe emotions of life.\"\n\nWe will suppose that the housewife is also the house-mother, and\nthat she is not content with apathetically remarking that \"her\nchildren are beyond her control,\" and so sending them away to\nnurses and boarding schools; but that she really strives to\nencourage every virtue, draw out every latent power, and make both\nboys and girls worthy of the grand future to which they are heirs. Who\nshall say now that woman's domestic sphere is narrow, or unworthy of\nher highest powers? For if she accepts honestly and solemnly all her\nresponsibilities, she takes a position that only good women or\nangels could fill.\n\nNor need house duties shut her out from all service except to those of\nher own household. In these very duties she may find a way to help her\npoorer sisters far more efficient than many of more pretentious\npromise. When she has become a scientific, artistic cook, let her\npermit some ignorant but bright and ambitious girl to spend a few\nhours daily by her side, and learn by precept and example the highest\nrules and methods of the culinary art. Girls so instructed would be\nreal blessings to those who hired them, and would themselves start\nlife with a real, solid gain, able at once to command respectable\nservice and high wages.\n\nI am quite aware that such a practical philanthropist would meet with\nmany ungracious returns, and not a few insinuating assertions that her\ncharity was an insidious attempt to get work \"for nothing.\" But a good\nwoman would not be deterred by this; she has had but small experience\nof life who has not learned that it is often our very best and most\nunselfish actions which are suspected, simply because their very\nunselfishness makes them unintelligible; and if we do not reverence\nwhat we cannot understand, we suspect it.\n\nIt may seem but a small thing to do for charity's sweet sake, but who\nshall measure the results? Say that in the course of a year four young\ngirls receive a practical knowledge of the art of cooking, how far\nwill the influence of those four eventually reach? The larger part of\nall our good deeds is hid from us,--wisely so, else we should be\novermuch lifted up. We have nothing to do with aggregate results, and\nI believe that the woman who provides intelligently for her\nhousehold, makes it cheerful and restful, and finds heart and space to\nhelp some other woman to a higher life, has the noblest of \"missions,\"\nthe grandest of \"spheres,\" and is most blessed among women.\n\nShe who adds to household duties maternal duties fills also the\nhighest national office, since to her hands are committed--not indeed\nthe laws of the republic but the fate of the republic; for the\nchildren of _to-day_ are the _to-morrow_ of society, and its men of\naction will be nothing but unconscious instruments of the patient love\nand prayerful thought of the mothers who taught them. And yet let the\nwomen who are excused from this office be grateful for their\nindulgence. Alas! how many shoulders without strength have asked for\nheavy burdens.\n\n\n\n\nProfessional Work for Women\n\n\"LABOR! ALL LABOR IS NOBLE AND HOLY!\"\n\n\nThat man should provide and woman dispense are the radical conditions of\ndomestic service; conditions which I believe are highly favorable to\nthe development of the highest type of womanhood. But at the same\ntime they are far from embracing all women capable of high development,\nnor are they perhaps suitable for every phase of character included\nin that myriad-minded creature--woman.\n\nFor just as one tree attains its most perfect beauty through\nsheltering care, and another strikes the deepest roots and lifts\nthe greenest boughs by self-reliant struggles, so also some women\nreach their highest development through domestic duties, while\nothers hold their life most erect through public service and\nenforced responsibilities.\n\nIt has taken the world, however, nearly 6,000 years to come to the\nunderstanding that these latter souls must not be denied their proper\narena, that brains have no sex, and that it is well for the world to\nhave its work done irrespective of anything but the _capability_ of\nthe workers. But it has now so far accepted the doctrine that women\nwho must labor if they would live honestly and independently need no\nlonger do so under sufferance or suspicion. Wherever they can best\nmake their way the road is open, and they are encouraged to make it;\nnor am I aware of any serious restriction laid on them, except one,\nwhose true kindness is in its apparent severity,--namely, that the\ndebutante must justify her work by her success in it. I call this\nkind, because favor and toleration are here unkind; since she who\nstands from any other reason than absolute fitness will sooner or\nlater fall by an inevitable law.\n\nThe great curse of women, educated and yet unprovided for, is not that\nthey have to labor, but that, having to work, they cannot find the\nwork to do. Nor is it generally their fault; they have probably been\nmiseducated in the old idea that marriage is the only social salvation\nprovided whereby woman can be saved; and no one having married them,\nwhat are these compulsory social sinners to do?\n\nA great number turn _instinctively_ to literature for help and\ncomfort; and their instinct in many respects is not at fault; for\nliterature is one of the few professions that from the first has dealt\nkindly and honorably with women. Here the race is fair; if the female\npen is fleetest, it wins.\n\nBut writing _does not_ come by nature; it is an art to be seriously\nand sedulously pursued. My own reflection and experience lead me to\nbelieve that within the last thirty years its methods have radically\nchanged. That condition of inspiration and mental excitement once\nconsidered the native air of genius has lost much of its importance;\nand people now ordinarily write by the exercise of their reason and\nreflection, and by the continual and faithful cultivation of such\nnatural powers as they are endowed with. Upon the whole, it is a mark\nof rational progress, and opens the field to every woman who is\nthoughtful and cultivated and willing to study industriously. Not\nundervaluing the mood of inspiration, I yet honestly believe that for\npractical bread-winning purposes reason and study are the most\neffectual aids, and the hours devoted to personal culture by acquiring\ninformation just so much \"stock in trade\" acquired.\n\nThe motives for writing, too, have either changed with the method, or\nelse writers have become more honest, as they have become more\nreasonable. I can remember when every author imagined himself\ninfluenced by some unworldly consideration, such as the desire to do\ngood, or to instruct, or at least because he had something to say\nwhich constrained him to write. But people now sell their knowledge as\nthey sell any other commodity; the best and the greatest men write\nsimply for money, and no woman need feel any conscientious scruples\nbecause her own pressing cares sometimes obliterate the full sense of\nher responsibility. God does not work alone with model men and women.\nHe takes us just as we are; and I _know_ that the stray arrow shot\nfrom the bow when the hand was weary and the mind halting has often\nstruck nearer home than those set with scrupulous exactness and sped\nwith careful aim.\n\nBesides writing, there are other literary occupations specially suited\nto women, such as index-makers, amanuenses, and proof-readers. The\nfirst need a clear head and great patience, but the remuneration is\nvery good. An amanuensis must have a rapid hand, a fair education, and\nsuch a quick, sympathetic mind as will enable her to readily adapt\nherself to the author's moods, and in some measure follow his train of\nthought. Proof-reading pre-supposes a general high cultivation, enough\nknowledge of French, Latin, etc., to read and correct quotations, and\nan intimate acquaintance with general literature, as well as grammar,\northography, and punctuation. But though a responsible position,\nwomen, both from physical and mental aptitude, fill it better than\nmen. They have a faculty of detecting errors immediately, often\nwithout knowing why or how, and are both more patient and more expert.\nThe editors of the _Christian Union_ practically support me in this\nopinion, and the carefully correct type of the paper is evidence of\nthe highest order. The conditions of these three employments being\npresent, the mere technicalities of each are of the simplest kind, and\nvery easily acquired.\n\n\"A fair field and no favor\" has also been freely granted to women in\nevery department of music and art. But in its highest branches public\nopinion is inexorable to mediocrity; and success is absolutely\ndependent on great natural abilities, thoroughly and highly\ncultivated. But there are many inferior branches in which women of\naverage ability, properly educated, may make honorable and profitable\nlivelihoods. Such, for instance, as engraving on wood and steel,\nchasing gold and silver, cutting gems and cameos, and designing for\nall these purposes.\n\nNot a few women (and men too) make good livings by designing costumes\nfor the large dry-goods houses and the fashionable modistes; but the\ngood designer is a creator, and this faculty has always hitherto been\nconfined to a small number both of men and women. The ability to draw\nby no means proves it; this is only the tool, the design is the\nthought. Therefore schools of design, though they may furnish natural\ndesigners with tools, cannot make designers. If designing, then, is a\nwoman's object, she must not deceive herself; for if the \"faculty\ndivine\" is not present she may devote years to study, and never rise\nabove the mere copyist.\n\nIt is usually conceded that antiquity and general \"use and wont\"\nconfer a kind of claim to any office. If so, then women have an\ninherited right, almost wide as the world, and coeval with history, to\npractise medicine. Every one recognizes them as the natural physicians\nof the household, and under all our ordinary ailments it is to some\nwise woman of our family we go for advice or assistance. As Miss Cobbe\nsays,--\n\n\"Who ever dreams of asking his grandfather, or his uncle, his footman,\nor his butler what he shall do for his cold, or to be so kind as to\ntie up his cut finger?\" Yet women regard such requests as perfectly\nnatural, and are very seldom unable to gratify them.\n\nMedicine as a profession for women has almost won its ground; and as\nit is a science largely depending on insight into individual\npeculiarities, it would seem to be specially their office. An\nillustrious physician says, \"There are no diseases, there are diseased\npeople;\" and the remark explains why women--who instinctively read\nmental characters--ought to be admirable physicians.\n\nIndeed female physicians have already gained a position which entitles\nthem to demand their male opponents to \"show cause why\" they may not\nshare in all the honors and emoluments of the faculty. That the\nprofession, as a means of employment for women, is gaining favor is\nevident from their large attendance at the free medical colleges for\nwomen in this city, nor are there any facts to indicate that their\npractice is less safe than that of men; and if accidents have taken\nplace, they were doubtless the result of ignorance, and not of sex.\n\nTheodore Parker favored even the legal profession for women, giving it\nas his opinion that \"he must be rather an uncommon lawyer who thinks\nno feminine head could compete with him.\" Most lawyers are rather\nmechanics at law, than attorneys or scholars at law; and in the\nmechanical part women could do as well as men, could be as good\nconveyancers, could follow precedents as carefully and copy forms as\nnicely. \"I think,\" he adds, \"their presence would mend the manners of\nthe court on the bench, not less than of the bar.\"\n\nBut though, if properly prepared, there would seem no reason why women\ncould not write out wills, deeds, mortgages, indentures, etc., yet I\ndoubt much whether they have the natural control and peculiar\naptitudes necessary for a counsellor at law. But no one will deny a\nwoman's capability to teach, even though so many have gone into the\noffice that have no right there; for mere ability is not enough.\nTeachers, like artists, are born teachers, and the power to impart\nknowledge is a free gift of nature.\n\nThose, then, who accept the office without vocation for it, just for a\nlivelihood, both degrade themselves and it. The duties undertaken with\nreluctance lack the spirit which gives light and interest; the\nchildren suffer intelligently, the teacher morally. But if a woman\nbecomes a teacher, having a call which is unmistakable, she is doubly\nblessed, and the world may drop the compassionate tone it is fond of\ndisplaying toward her, or, if it is willing to do her justice, may pay\nher more and pity her less.\n\nThe question of a woman's right to preach is one that conscience\nrather than creeds or opinions must settle. It must be allowed that\nher natural influence is, and always has been greater than any\ndelegated authority. She is born priestess over every soul she can\ninfluence, and the question of her right to preach seems to be only\nthe question of her right to extend her influence. In this light she\nhas always been a preacher; it is her natural office, from which\nnothing can absolve her. A woman must influence for good or evil every\none she comes in contact with; by no direct effort perhaps, but simply\nbecause she must, it is her nature and her genius.\n\nWhether women will ever do the world's highest work as well as men, I\nconsider, in all fairness, yet undecided. She has not had time to\nrecover from centuries of no-education and mis-education: She is only\njust beginning to understand that neither beauty nor tact can take the\nplace of skill, and that to do a man's work she must prepare for it as\na man prepares; but even if time proves that in creative works she\ncannot attain masculine grandeur of conception and power of execution,\nshe may be just as excellent in her own way; and there are and always\nwill be people who prefer Mrs. Browning to Milton, and George Eliot to\nLord Bacon.\n\nAt first sight there seems some plausibility in the assertion that\nwoman's physical inferiority will always render her unfit to do men's\nwork. But all physical excellence is a matter of cultivation; and it\nwould be very easy to prove that women are not naturally physically\nweaker than men. In all savage nations they do the hardest work, and\nMr. Livingstone acknowledged that all his ideas as to their physical\ninferiority had been completely overturned.\n\nIn China they do the work of men, with the addition of an infant tied\nto their back. In Calcutta and Bombay, they act as masons, carry\nmortar, and there are thousands of them in the mountain passes bearing\nup the rocky heights baskets of stone and earth on their heads. The\nwomen in Germany and the Low Countries toil equally with the men.\nDuring the late war I saw American women in Texas keep the saddle all\nday, driving cattle or superintending the operations in the\ncotton-patch or the sugar-field. Nay, I have known them to plough,\nsow, reap, and get wood from the cedar brake with their own hands.\n\nWoman's physical strength has degenerated for want of exercise and\nuse; but it would be as unfair to condemn her to an inferior position\non this account as it was for the slave master to urge the necessity\nof slavery because of the very vices slavery had produced. However, if\nwomen are really to succeed they must give to their preparation for a\nprofession the freshest years of life. If it is only taken up because\nmarriage has been a failure, or if it is pursued with a divided mind,\nthey will always be behind-hand and inferior. But the compensation is\nworth the sacrifice. A profession once acquired, they have home,\nhappiness, and independence in their hands; the future, as far as\npossible, is secure, the serenity and calmness of assurance\nstrengthens the mind and sweetens the character, and from the\nstandpoint of a self-sustaining celibacy marriage itself assumes its\nloftiest position; it is no longer the aim, but the crown and\ncompletion of her life; for _she need not_, so she _will not_, marry\nfor anything but love, and thus her wifehood will lose nothing of the\ngrace and glory that belongs to it of right.\n\n\n\n\nLittle Children\n\n\nThe teachers of a people have need of a far greater wisdom than its\npriests. The latter are but the mouthpiece of an oracle so clear that\na wayfaring man, though a fool, may understand it. The former are the\ninterpreters in the mysterious communings of ignorance with\nknowledge.\n\n\"Only a few little children,\" says the self-sufficient and the\ninefficient teacher. Twenty-five years' experience among little\nchildren has taught me that in spiritual and moral perceptiveness, and\nintuitive knowledge of character, they are far nearer to the angels\nthan we are.\n\nConsider well what a mystery they are! Who ever saw two children\nmentally alike? More fresh from the hands of the Maker, they still\nretain the infinite variety which is one of the marks of his boundless\nwealth of creation. In a few years, alas! they will take on the\nstereotyped forms of the class to which they belong; but for a little\nspace heaven lies about them, and they dwell among us--so much of\n_this_ world, and so much of _that_.\n\nTwenty years ago I thought I understood little children; _to-day_ I am\nsure I do not: for now I know that every one has a hidden life of its\nown, which it knows instinctively is foolishness to the world, and\nwhich therefore it never reveals. Now, if you can humble yourself, can\nbecome as a little child, can win a welcome to this inner life, let me\ntell you that you have come very near to the kingdom of heaven. Better\nthan the writings of schoolmen, better than the lives of the saints,\nwill such an experience be for you; therefore treat it with reverence\nand tenderness; for it is an epistle written by the finger of God on\nan innocent and guileless heart.\n\nConsider, too, what sublimity of faith these little ones possess! The\nangels believe; for they know and see; men believe--upon \"good\nsecurity\" and indisputable \"evidences;\" a little child believes in God\nand loves its Saviour simply on your representation. O cold and\ndoubting hearts!--asking science and philosophy, height and depth, to\nexplain; terrified but not instructed by the eternal silence of the\ninfinite spaces above you!--humble yourselves, that you may be\nexalted; become fools, that you may become wise! The human intellect\nis a blind guide, but if you seek God through the _heart_, then \"a\nlittle child can lead you.\"\n\nIn your intercourse with young children, try and estimate rightly\n_their delicate fancy_; for they are the true poets.\n\n  \"Not in entire forgetfulness,\n  And not in utter darkness,\n  But trailing clouds of glory do they come.\"\n\nAnd I think it was of them God thought when he made the flowers and\nbutterflies. Their little voices are the natural key of music, their\ngraceful carriage and sprightly abandon the very poetry of motion. As\nMichael Angelo's imprisoned angel pleaded out of dumb marble, so the\ndivinity within them pleads in the beauty of their forms, the clear\nheaven of their eyes, the white purity of their souls, for knowledge\nand enlargement.\n\n\"Only a little child!\" O mother! saved by thy child-bearing in faith\nand holiness; peradventure thou nursest an angel! O teacher! made\nhonorable by thine office, how knowest thou but what thy class is a\nveritable school of the prophets, and that children \"set for the rise\nand the fall of many in Israel\" are under thy hand?\n\nWe are accustomed to speak of the \"simplicity\" of a child, _I know_\nthat mysteries are revealed unto babes, hid from the men full of years\nand high on the staff of worldly wisdom. And I remember that case in\nold Jerusalem. He who spake as never man spake \"took a little child\nand set him in the midst\" for an example. So, then, while given to our\ncharge they are also set for our instruction. Like them, we are to\nreceive the kingdom of God, believing without a cavil or a doubt in\nour Father's declarations. Like them, we are to depend on our Father\nin Heaven for our daily bread, being careful for nothing. Like them,\nwe are to retain no resentments, and if angry, to be easily pacified.\nLike them, we are to be free from ambition and avarice, from pride and\ndisdain. These things are not natural to us, else Jesus had not said,\n\"Ye must _become_ as little children,\" and that except we do so _we\nshall not enter the kingdom of Heaven_.\n\nAnd that we might not err, God has set these visiting angels at our\nfiresides, and at our tables; he has made them bone of our bone and\nflesh of our flesh; nay, he has placed them in the heavens like a\nstar,--\n\n  \"To beacon us to the abode\n  Where the eternal are.\"\n\nPass by the Learned, the Mighty, and the Wise, for they are dust; but\nlet us reverence the \"Little Children,\" for they are God's messengers\nto us.\n\n\n\n\nOn Naming Children\n\n\nThere is a kind of physiognomy in the names of men and women as well\nas in their faces; our Christian name is ourself in our thoughts and\nin the thoughts of those who know us, and nothing can separate it from\nour existence. Unquestionably, also, there is a luck in names, and a\ncertain success in satisfying the public ear. To select fortunate\nnames, the _bona nomina_ of Cicero, was anciently a matter of such\nsolicitude that it became a popular axiom, \"A good name is a good\nfortune.\" From a good name arises a good anticipation, a fact\nnovelists and dramatists readily recognize; indeed, Shakespeare makes\nFalstaff consider that \"the purchase of a commodity of good names\" was\nall that was necessary to propitiate good fortune.\n\nImagine two persons starting in life as rivals in any profession, and\nwithout doubt he who had the more forcible name would become the more\nfamiliar with the public, and would therefore, in a business sense, be\nlikely to be the more successful. We all know that there are names\nthat circulate among us instantly, and make us friends with their\nowners, though we have never seen them. They are lucky people whose\nsponsors thus cast their names in pleasant and fortunate places.\n\nIt is a matter, then, of surprise that among civilized nations the\ngenerality, even of educated people, are so careless on this subject.\nNow evil is as often wrought for want of thought as for want of\nknowledge, and as a stimulant to thought in parents the following\nsuggestions are offered.\n\nIt is not well to call the eldest son after the father, and the eldest\ndaughter after the mother. The object of names is to prevent\nconfusion, and this is not attained when the child's name is the same\nas the parent's. Nor does the addition of \"junior\" or \"senior\" rectify\nthe fault; besides, the custom provokes the disrespectful addition of\n\"old\" to the father. There is another very subtle danger in calling\nchildren after parents. Such children are very apt to be regarded with\nan undue partiality. This is a feeling never acknowledged, perhaps,\nbut which nevertheless makes its way into the hearts of the best of\nmen and women. It is easier to keep out evil than to put it out.\n\nIf the surname is common, the Christian name should be peculiar.\nAlmost any prefix is pardonable to \"Smith.\" John Smith has no\nindividuality left, but Godolphin Smith really reads aristocratically.\nJames Brown is no one, but Sequard Brown and Ignatius Brown are lifted\nout of the crowd. Some people get out of this difficulty by iterating\nthe name so as to compel respect. Thus, Jones Jones, of Jones's Hall,\nhas a moral swagger about it that would be sure to carry it through.\n\nIt is often a great advantage to have a very odd name, a little\ndifficult to remember at first, but which when once learned bites\nitself into the memory. For instance, there was Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy;\nwe have to make a hurdle-race over it, but once in the mind it is\nnever forgot.\n\nRemember in giving names that the children when grown up may be in\nsituations where they will have frequently to sign their initials, and\ndo not give names that might in this situation provoke contemptuous\nremark. For instance, David Oliver Green,--the initials make \"dog;\"\nClara Ann Thompson,--the initials spell \"cat.\" Neither should a name\nbe given whose initial taken in conjunction with the surname suggests\na foolish idea, as Mr. P. Cox, or Mrs. T. Potts.\n\nIf the child is a boy, it may be equally uncomfortable for him to have\na long string of names. Suppose that in adult life he be comes a\nmerchant or banker, with plenty of business to do, then he will not be\nwell pleased to write \"George Henry Talbot Robinson\" two or three\nhundred times a day.\n\nIt is not a bad plan to give girls only one baptismal name, so that if\nthey marry they can retain their maiden surname: as Elizabeth Barrett\nBrowning, Harriet Beecher Stowe. This is the practice among the\nSociety of Friends, and is worthy of more general adoption, for we\nshould then know at once on seeing the name of a lady whether she was\nmarried, and if so, what her family name was. In Geneva and many\nprovinces of France the maiden family name of the wife is added to the\nsurname of the husband; thus, if a Marie Perrot married Adolphe Lauve,\nthey would after marriage write their names respectively, Adolphe\nPerrot-Lauve and Marie Perrot-Lauve. The custom serves to distinguish\nthe bachelor from the married man, and is worthy of imitation; for if\nVanity unites in the same escutcheon the arms of husband and wife,\nought not Affection to blend their names?\n\nGenerally the modern \"ie,\" which is appended to all names that will\nadmit of it, renders them senseless and insipid. Where is the\nimprovement in transforming the womanly loveliness of Mary into\nMollie? Imagine a Queen Mollie, or Mollie Queen of Scots! There is\nsomething like sacrilege in such a transformation. Take Margaret, and\nmutilate the pearl-like name into Maggie, and its purity like a halo\nvanishes, and we have a very commonplace idea in its stead. If we must\nhave diminutives, commend us to the old style. Polly, Kitty, Letty,\nDolly, were names with some sense and work in them, and which we\npronounce like articulate sounds.\n\nThere is no greater injustice than the infliction of a whimsical or\nunworld-like name on helpless infancy; for, as it is aptly said, \"How\nmany are there who might have done exceedingly well in the world had\nnot their characters and spirits been totally _Nicodemused_ into\nnothing!\"\n\nIt is certainly a grave question if in the matter of Christian names\nour regard for the dead past should blind our eyes to the future\ncomfort and success of our children. Why have we so many George\nWashingtons? The name is a great burden for any boy. He will always\nfeel it. Inferiority to his namesake is inevitable. Besides, this\npromiscuous use of great names degrades them; it is not a pleasant\nthing to see a George Washington or a Benjamin Franklin in the police\nnews for petty larceny.\n\nFor the most part Old Testament names are defective in euphony, and\nvery inharmonious with English family names. The female names are\nstill less musical. Nothing can reconcile us to Naomi Brett, Hephzibah\nDickenson, or Dinah Winter. And to prove that the unpleasant effect\nproduced by such combinations does not result from the surnames\nselected, let us substitute appellations unexceptionable, and the\nresult will be even worse,--Naomi Pelham, Hephzibah Howard, Dinah\nNeville! A Hebrew Christian name requires, in most cases, a Hebrew\nsurname.\n\nSome parents very wisely refuse for their children all names\nsusceptible of the _nicking_ process, thinking with Dr. Dove that \"it\nis not a good thing to be Tom'd or Bob'd, Jack'd or Jim'd, Sam'd or\nBen'd, Will'd or Bill'd, Joe'd or Jerry'd, as you go through the\nworld.\" Sobriquets are to be equally deprecated. We know a beautiful\nwoman who when a girl was remarkable for a wealth of rippling, curling\nhair. Some one gave her the name of \"Friz,\" and it still sticks to the\ndignified matron. Wit, or would-be wit, delights to exercise itself\nafter this fashion, but a child's name is too precious a thing to be\nridiculed.\n\nFanciful names are neither always pretty nor prudent. Parents have\nneed of the gift of prophecy who call their children Grace, Faith,\nHope, Fortune, Love, etc. It is possible that their after-life may\nturn such names into bitter irony.\n\nFor the sake of conciliating a rich friend never give a child a\ndisagreeable or barbaric name. It will be a thorn in his side as long\nas he lives, and after all he may miss the legacy.\n\nA child, too, may have such an assembly of unrhythmical names that he\nand his friends have to go jolting over them all their lives. Suppose\na boy is called Richard Edward Robert. The ear in a moment detects a\njumble of sounds of which it can make nothing. If many Christian names\nare decided upon, string them together on some harmonious principle;\nnames that are mouthfuls of consonants cannot be borne without bad\nconsequences to the owner.\n\nThe euphony of our nomenclature would be greatly improved by a\njudicious adaptation of the Christian name to the surname. When the\nsurname is a monosyllable the Christian name should be long. Nothing\ncan reconcile the ear to such curt names as Mark Fox, Luke Harte, Ann\nScott; but Gilbert Fox, Alexander Hart, and Cecilia Scott are far from\ndespicable.\n\nAmong the many excellent Christian names, it is astonishing that so\nfew should be in ordinary use. The dictionaries contain lists of about\ntwo hundred and fifty male and one hundred and fifty female names, but\nout of these not more than twenty or thirty for each sex can be called\nat all common.\n\nYet our language has many beautiful names, both male and female,\nworthy of a popularity they have not yet attained. Among the male, for\ninstance,--Alban, Ambrose, Bernard, Clement, Christopher, Gilbert,\nGodfrey, Harold, Michael, Marmaduke, Oliver, Paul, Ralph, Rupert,\nRoger, Reginald, Roland, Sylvester, Theobald, Urban, Valentine,\nVincent, Gabriel, Tristram, Norman, Percival, Nigel, Lionel, Nicholas,\nEustace, Colin, Sebastian, Basil, Martin, Antony, Claude, Justus,\nCyril, etc.,--all of which have the attributes of euphony, good\netymology, and interesting associations.\n\nAnd among female names why have we not more girls called by the noble\nor graceful appellations of Agatha, Alethia, Arabella, Beatrice,\nBertha, Cecilia, Evelyn, Ethel, Gertrude, Isabel, Leonora, Florence,\nMildred, Millicent, Philippa, Pauline, Hilda, Clarice, Amabel, Irene,\nZoe, Muriel, Estelle, Eugenia, Euphemia, Christabel, Theresa, Marcia,\nAntonia, Claudia, Sibylla, Rosabel, Rosamond, etc.?\n\nThere are some curious superstitions regarding the naming of children,\nwhich, as a matter of gossip, are worth a passing notice. The\npeasantry of Sussex believe that if a child receive the name of a dead\nbrother or sister, it also will die at an early age. In some parts of\nIreland it is thought that giving the child the name of one of its\nparents abridges the life of that parent. It is generally thought\nlucky to have the initials of Christian name and surname the same, and\nalso to have the initials spell some word. In the northwestern parts\nof Scotland a newly named infant is vibrated gently two or three times\nover a flame, with the words, \"Let the flames consume thee now or\nnever;\" and this lustration by fire is common to-day in the Hebrides\nand Western Isles. There is a wide-spread superstition that a child\nwho does not cry at its baptism will not live; also one which\nconsiders it specially unlucky if anything interferes to prevent the\nbaptism at the exact time first appointed. In many parts of Scotland\nif children of different sexes are at the font, the minister who\nattempted to baptize the girl before the boy would be interrupted. It\nis said to be peculiarly unfortunate to the child if a priest that is\nleft-handed christens it. In Cumberland and Westmoreland a child going\nto be christened carries with it a slice of bread and cheese, and this\nis given to the first person met. In return the recipient must give\nthe babe three different things, and wish it health and fortune. We\nhave witnessed the last-mentioned custom very frequently, and once in\na farm-house at the foot of Saddleback Mountain we saw a very singular\nmethod of deciding what the name of the child should be. Six candles\nof equal length were named, and all lit at the same moment. The babe\nwas called after the candle which burned the longest.\n\nWe have mentioned these superstitions as curious proofs that our\nignorant ancestors considered the naming of children an important\nevent; and we should feel sorry if they tended to weaken in any\nmeasure previous thoughts. For, careless as we may be of the fact, it\nstill remains a fact beyond doubt, that the name of a person is the\nsound that suggests the idea of him or her,--it is a portrait painted\nin letters. Therefore we cannot be too careful not to give one that\nwill be a shame or an embarrassment, or which will even condemn the\nbearer to the commonplace.\n\n\n\n\nThe Children's Table\n\n\nIt is to be hoped that the best way of feeding children in order to\nproduce the finest possible physical development will ere long have\nthe amount of attention that is devoted to the improvement of horses,\ncattle, and sheep. For both men and women have begun to realize that\nmentally and spiritually we are largely dependent on the co-operation\nof a healthy body; hence there has arisen a certain school, not\ninaptly designated \"Muscular Christianity.\"\n\nThe physical welfare of a child is the first consideration forced\nupon the mother. Long before the intellect dawns, long before it\nknows good from evil, there is important work to do. A healthy, pure\ndwelling-place is to be begun for the lofty guests of mind and\nsoul. Alas, how little has this been considered! How often have\ngreat minds been cramped by sickly, dwarfed bodies! How often have\naspiring souls been bound by earthly fetters of irritating pain!\n\nWho shall deliver children from the unwise indulgences, fanciful\ntheories, and inherited mistakes of their parents? This is not the\nprovince of religion; a mother may be intensely religious, and at the\nsame time cruelly ignorant in the treatment of the child,--whom yet\nshe loves with all her heart.\n\nWhen men and women lived simply and naturally Nature in a large\nmeasure took care of her own; but in our artificial life we must seek\nthe aid of Science to find our way back to Nature. And if science has\nbeen able to teach us how to improve our breed of horses, and bring to\na state of physical perfection our cattle and sheep, by simply\nselecting nutriments, she can also give the seeking mother directions\nfor building up a strong and healthy body for the immortal soul to\ntarry in and work from. For, humiliating as we may regard it, we\ncannot battle off this fact of God, that the vital processes in\nanimals and men are substantially the same.\n\nIn the dietary of children the two great mistakes are over-feeding and\nunder-feeding; but of the two evils the last is the worst. Repletion\nis less injurious than inanition; and according to my observation\ngluttony is the vice of adults rather than of children. If they do\nexceed, the cause may generally be traced to the fact that they have\nsuffered a long want of the article they revel in. For instance, if at\nrare intervals candies and sweetmeats are within their reach, they do\ngenerally make themselves sick with an over supply of them; but this\nis but the Nemesis that ever follows unnatural deprivations of any\nkind.\n\nNothing is more necessary to a child than sugar. Its love of it is not\nso much to please its palate as to satisfy an urgent craving of its\nnecessity. Sugar is so important a substance in the chemical changes\ngoing on in the body that many other compounds have to be reduced to\nsugar before they are available as heat-making constituents. In fact\nthe liver is a factory for transforming much of the nutriment we take,\nin other forms, into sugar.\n\nIt may be said, \"If sugar is a great heat-maker, so also is fat meat,\nwhich most children very much dislike.\" The one fact proves the other.\nFat meat and sugar are both great heat-producers, but the child craves\nsugar and dislikes fat because its weak organism can deal with the\nsugar, but cannot manage the fat. Every mother must have noticed that\ndelicate children turn sick at fat meat and usually crave sweets. Poor\nlittle things! they want something to make the vital fire burn more\nrapidly. Sugar in proper proportions is fuel judiciously added; fat is\nfuel they have not strength to assimilate, and therefore reject. Of\ncourse no mother understands me to say that children should therefore\nbe fed on sugar; but only that they should have a fair and regular\nproportion of it in some form or other; in which case they would feel\nno more temptation to exceed in occasional opportunities.\n\nAnother dominant desire with growing children is fruit. They will eat\nfruits, ripe or unripe; a sour apple or a ripe strawberry seems\nequally acceptable. It is common to attribute summer complaints of all\nkinds to them, and to carefully limit children in their use. The fact\nis that all fruits contain a vegetable acid which is a powerful tonic\nand one peculiarly acceptable to the stomach. Fruits ought to form a\npart of every child's food all the year round,--fresh fruits in\nsummer, apples and oranges in winter. But they must be given regularly\nwith the meals, and not between them. They will then fulfil their\ntonic office in the system, and never under ordinary circumstances do\nthe least harm.\n\nHow often have we seen children in mistaken kindness largely\nrestricted to bread and milk, puddings and vegetables; nay, told in\nanswer to their craving looks that \"meat was not good for little boys\nand girls.\" Now, consider first why adults eat meat. Is it not to\nrepair the loss we suffer from active work, the exhaustion from mental\nefforts, and to supply afresh the vital warmth, much of which is lost\nevery day by simple radiation? In all these ways children usually\nexhaust life quicker than adults. They run where we walk, they jump,\nthey skip, they are seldom still. Their studies are as severe a mental\nstrain to them as our business cares to us. Their bodies are quite as\nmuch exposed to loss of heat by radiation as ours--in some cases more\nso. But children have a most important demand on their vitality which\nadults have not: they have to grow. Who, therefore, needs strong and\nnutritious food more than children? They ought to have meat, plenty of\nit, as much as they desire; and with the meat, bread and vegetables,\nmilk, sweets, and fruits. For variety is another grand condition of\nhealthy food,--no one kind of food (however good) being able to supply\nall the different elements the body needs for perfect health and fine\ndevelopment.\n\nIf children have any urgent desire for some particular diet it would\nbe well for parents to hesitate and investigate before denying them.\nThey have no means of coming to any secret understanding with the\nchild's stomach; but Nature generally asks pertinaciously for any\nspecial necessity, and Nature is never wrong. Neither is it well to\nlimit the quantity any more than the kind of food given to children.\nTheir necessities vary with causes too involved for any parent\nconstantly to keep in view. The state of the weather, the amount of\nelectricity, or moisture in the atmosphere, study, sleep, exercise,\nthe condition of digestion, even the mental temper of the child might\ndifferently influence the condition and demands of nearly every meal.\nNo dietary theory that did not consider all these and many more\nconditions would be reliable. What, then, are we to do? Have more\nconfidence in natural instincts. If children ask \"for more,\" ten to\none they feel more truly than we can reason on this subject.\n\nOn general principles it may be assumed children ask as directed by\nNature; they desire what she needs and as much as she needs. Of\ncourse, all advice must be of a general nature; special limitations\nare supposed in the power of every thoughtful mother. But the great\nprinciple is to remember that energy depends on the amount, not of\nfood, but of nutritive food; for if a pound of one kind of food gives\nas much nutriment as four pounds of another, surely that is best for\nchildren (and adults too) which tries their digestion least.\n\nWhat the next generation will be depends upon the physical, mental,\nand moral training of the children of to-day. These children are the\nto-morrow of society. Are they to be puny and dyspeptic, fretting and\nworrying through life as through a task? Or, are they to be finely\ndeveloped, sweetbreathed, clear-eyed, light-spirited mediums for\ndivine aspirations and intellectual and material works?\n\nO mothers! do not despise the humble-looking foundation-stone of\nlife--good health. You have the earliest building up of the body; see\nthat you spare no elements necessary for its perfection. Be liberal;\ndoubt your own theories rather than Nature; trust the child where you\nare at a loss, just as a lost man throws the reins on his horse's neck\nand trusts to something subtler than reason--instinct.\n\nIn whatever light the subject of children's food is regarded, the\ngreat principle is we--cannot get power out of nothing. If the child\nis to have health, energy, intellect, there must be present the\nnecessary physical conditions. These are not the result of accident,\nbut of generous consideration.\n\n\n\n\nIntellectual \"Cramming\" of Boys\n\n\nA little girl, who made a study of epitaphs, was greatly puzzled to\nknow \"where all the bad people were buried.\" Perhaps just as great a\npuzzle to a reflective mind is, What comes of all the promising boys?\n\nWe will allow, first, that a great deal of \"promise\" exists only in\nthe partiality of parents; that a bright, intense childhood is\nfrequently so different from the mechanical routine of adult life that\nthe simple difference strikes the parent as something remarkable,\nwhereas it is, perhaps, only a strong case of contrast between the\nnatural and the artificial. This is proven by the fact that as the boy\nbecomes part and parcel of the every-day world he gradually falls into\nits ways, adopts its tone, and in no respect attempts to rise above\nits level.\n\nFortunately, however, the change is so gradual that parents scarcely\nperceive when or how they lost their exalted hopes; and by the time\nthat Jack or Will has imbibed a fair amount of knowledge, and settled\ncontentedly down to his desk and high stool, they also are well\npleased and inclined to forget that they had ever dreamt the boy might\nsit upon the bench, or, perhaps, fill with honor the Presidential\nchair.\n\nAllowing such boys a very respectable minority, and allowing also a\nlarge margin for that unfortunate class who\n\n  \"Wise so young, they say, do ne'er live long,\"\n\nthere is still good reason for us to ask, What becomes of all the\npromising boys?\n\nWe are inclined to arraign as the first and foremost of deceivers and\ndefrauders in this matter the modern educational art of _Cram_. It is\nto education what adulteration is to commerce. It is far worse, for\nhere it is not money that is stolen, it is a parent's best and highest\nhopes; it is a boy's whole future life and its success. For the system\nrests upon a fallacy, namely, that it is possible for boys of twenty\nto know everything, from the multiplication-table to metaphysics, from\nGreek plays to theological dogmas.\n\nTo the average boy such intellectual feats are simply impossible; but\nhe is plucky and fertile in expedients; he is neither disposed to be\nbeaten nor able really to overtake his task, so he uses his brains\ncarefully, and makes the greatest possible show on the greatest\npossible number of subjects.\n\nPerhaps nothing in our present system of education is so demoralizing\nand unjust as the custom of public examinations. In them interest and\nvanity play into each other's hands; genuine acquirement and principle\n\"go to the wall.\" The teachers and the boys alike know that they are\nnever true criterions of progress, that they are seldom even fair\nrepresentations of the actual course of study. Weeks, months are spent\nin preparations for the deceitful display; even then true merit, which\nis generally modest by nature, does itself injustice, and vain\nself-assurance comes off with flying colors.\n\nThe Cram teacher scatters seed over a large amount of mental surface,\ninstead of thoroughly cultivating the most promising portions; and he\nbrings before the parents and the public the few ears gleaned on all\nthe acres as samples of crops which he knows never will be gathered.\nYet to his own pedantic vanity, or his self-interest, he sacrifices\nthe prime of many a fine boy's life. Therefore we are disposed to\nbelieve that if parents would inexorably refuse to sanction these\npretentious public displays, there would be probably a much less\naccumulation of bare facts, but a far greater cultivation of natural\nabilities, and a far more thorough development of decided aptitudes.\n\nMechanical drudgery, instead of intelligent labor, is the inevitable\nmethod where cramming a boy, instead of educating him, is the favorite\nsystem. No mental faculties, except the memory, receive any\ndiscipline, and the knowledge disappears as fast as it was gained. All\ntaste for laborious habits of thought are lost, and if a boy\noriginally possessed a love for learning he is soon disgusted at what\nhis simple nature tells him is pretence and unreal, and judging the\ntrue by a false standard he conceives an honest disgust for\nintellectual labor, and pronounces it all a sham.\n\nFew boys can even mentally go through a course of \"cramming\" and come\nout uninjured. The majority of the finest intellects develop tardily,\nand their superiority is in fact greatly dependent upon the staying\npowers conferred by physical strength and wisely considered\nconditions. There are of course exceptions, where an inherited force\nof genius stamps the boy from the first and defies all systems to\ncrush it. But it is the average boy, and not the exceptional one, that\nmust be considered in all methods of education.\n\nIn this matter boys are not to be blamed. They naturally accept the\nmaster's opinions as to the value of his plan; they rather enjoy a\nneck-and-neck race with each other in superficial acquirements, and\nthe whole tendency of our social life supports the tempting theory.\nEvery one wants to possess without the trouble of acquiring; every one\nwould have a reputation without the labor of earning it. In an age\nwhich prides itself upon the speed with which it does everything,\nwhich makes a merit of doing whatever is to be done in the shortest\nand quickest way possible, it is easy to perceive how a certain class\nof teachers, and parents too, would be willing to believe that the old\nup-hill road to knowledge might be graded and lined and made available\nfor rapid transit.\n\nBut nothing can be more illogical than to apply social rules and\nconditions to mental ones. The former are constantly changing, the\nlatter obey fixed and immutable laws. There is not, there never has\nbeen, there never will be, any short cuts to universal knowledge; and\nthe boy who is made to waste time seeking one will have either to\nrelinquish his object altogether, or else, turning back to the main\nroad, find his early companions who kept to it hopelessly ahead of\nhim. Learning is a plant that grows slowly and whose fruit must be\nwaited for. It is a long time, even after having learned anything,\n_that we know it well_.\n\n\n\n\nThe Servant-Girl's Point of View\n\n\nA great deal has been said lately on the servant-girl question, always\nfrom the mistresses' point of view; and as no _ex-parte_ evidence is\nconclusive, I offer for the servant-girl side some points that may\nhelp to a better understanding of the whole subject.\n\nIt is said, on all hands, that servants every year grow more idle,\nshowy, impudent, and independent. The last charge is emphatically\ntrue, and it accounts for and includes the others. But then this\nindependence is the necessary result of the world's progress, in which\nall classes share. Steam has made it easy for families to travel, who,\nwithout cheap locomotion, would never go one hundred miles from home.\nIt has also made it easy for servants to go from city to city. When\nwages are low and service is plenty in one place, a few dollars will\ncarry them to where they are in request.\n\nFifty years ago very few servants read, or cared to read. They are now\nthe best patrons of a certain class of newspapers; they see the \"Want\ncolumns\" as well as other people; and they are quite capable of\nappreciating the lessons they teach and the advantages they offer. The\nnational increase of wealth has also affected the position of\nservants. People keep more servants than they used to keep; and\nservants have less work to do. People live better than they used to\nlive, and servants, as well as others, feel the mental uplifting that\ncomes from rich and plentiful food.\n\nBut one of the main causes of trouble is that a mistress even yet\nhires her servant with some ancient ideas about her inferiority. She\nforgets that servants read novels, and do fancy work, and write lots\nof letters; and that service can no longer be considered the humble\nlabor of a lower for a superior being. Mistresses must now dismiss\nfrom their minds the idea of the old family servant they have learned\nto meet in novels; they must cease to look upon service as in any way\na family tie; they must realize and practically acknowledge the fact\nthat the relation between mistress and servant is now on a purely\ncommercial basis,--the modern servant being a person who takes a\ncertain sum of money for the performance of certain duties. Indeed the\ncondition has undergone just the same change as that which has taken\nplace in the relation between the manufacturer and his artisans, or\nbetween the contractor and his carpenters and masons.\n\nIt is true enough that servants take the money and do not perform\nthe duties, or else perform them very badly. The manufacturer,\nthe contractor, the merchant, all make the same complaint; for\nindependence and social freedom always step _before_ fitness for\nthese conditions, because the condition is necessary for the\nresults, and the results are not the product of one generation.\nSurely Americans may bear their domestic grievances without much\noutcry, since they are altogether the consequences of education\nand progress, and are the circumstances which make possible much\nhigher and better circumstances.\n\nFor just as soon as domestic service is authoritatively and publicly\nmade a commercial bargain, and all other ideas eliminated from it,\nservice will attract a much higher grade of women. The independent,\nfairly well-read American girl will not sell her labor to women who\ninsist on her giving any part of her personality but the work of her\nhands. She feels interference in her private affairs to be an\nimpertinence on any employer's part. She does not wish any mistress to\ntake an interest in her, to advise, to teach, or reprove her. She\nobjects to her employer being even what is called \"friendly.\" All she\nasks is to know her duties and her hours, and to have a clear\nunderstanding as to her work and its payment. And when service is put\nupon this basis openly, it will draw to it many who now prefer the\nharder work, poorer pay, but larger independence, of factories.\n\nServants are a part of our social system, but our social system is\nbeing constantly changed and uplifted, and servants rise with it. I\nremember a time in England when servants who did not fulfil their\nyear's contract were subject to legal punishment; when a certain\nquality of dress was worn by them, and those who over-dressed did so\nat the expense of their good name; when they seldom moved to any\nsituation beyond walking distance from their birthplace; when, in\nfact, they were more slaves than servants. Would any good woman wish\nto restore service to this condition?\n\nOn the servant's part the root of all difficulty is her want of\nrespect for her work; and this, solely because her work has not yet\nbeen openly and universally put upon a commercial basis. When domestic\nservice is put on the same plane as mechanical service, when it is\nlooked upon as a mere business bargain, then the servant will not feel\nit necessary to be insolent and to do her work badly, simply to let\nher employer know how much she is above it. Much has been done to\ndegrade service by actors, newspapers, and writers of all kinds giving\nto the domestic servant names of contempt as \"flunkies,\" \"menials,\"\netc., etc. If such terms were habitually used regarding mechanics, we\nmight learn to regard masons and carpenters with disdain. Yet domestic\nservice is as honorable as mechanical service, and the woman who can\ncook a good dinner is quite as important to society as the man who\nmakes the table on which it is served.\n\nYet, whether mistresses will recognize the change or not, service has\nin a great measure emancipated itself from feudal bonds. Servants have\nnow a social world of their own, of which their mistresses know\nnothing at all. In it they meet their equals, make their friends, and\ntalk as they desire. Without unions, without speeches, and without\nstriking,--because they can get what they want without striking,--they\nhave raised their wages, shortened their hours, and obtained many\nprivileges. And the natural result is an independence--which for lack\nof proper expression asserts itself by the impertinence and\nself-conceit of ignorance--that has won more in tangible rights than\nin intangible respect.\n\nMistresses who have memories or traditions are shocked because\nservants do not acknowledge their superiority, or in any way\nreverence their \"betters.\" But reverence for any earthly thing is the\nmost un-American of attitudes. Reverence is out of date and\noffensively opposed to free inquiry. Parents do not exact it, and\npreachers do not expect it,--the very title of \"Rev.\" is now a verbal\nantiquity. Do we not even put our rulers through a course of\nhand-shaking in order to divest them of any respect the office might\nbring? Why, then, expect a virtue from servants which we do not\npractise in our own stations?\n\nIt is said, truly enough, that servants think of nothing but dress.\nAlas, mistresses are in the same transgression! This is the fault of\nmachinery. When servants wore mob-caps and ginghams, mistresses wore\nmuslins and merinos, and were passing fine with one good silk dress.\nMachinery has made it possible for mistresses to get lots of dresses,\nand if servants are now fine and tawdry, it is because there is a\ngeneral leaning that way. Servants were neat when every one else was\nneat.\n\nTo blame servants for faults we all share is really not reasonable. It\nmust be remembered that women of all classes dress to make themselves\nattractive, and attractive mainly to the opposite sex. What the young\nladies in the parlor do to make themselves beautiful to their lovers,\nthe servants in the kitchen imitate. Both classes of young women are\nanxious to marry. There is no harm in this desire in either case. With\nthe hopes of the young ladies we do not meddle; why then interfere\nabout nurse and the policeman? service is not an elysium under the\nmost favorable circumstances. No girl gets fond of it, and a desire to\nbe mistress of her own house--however small it may be--is not a very\nshameful kicking against Providence.\n\nThe carrying out of three points, would probably revolutionize the\nwhole condition of service:--\n\n_First._ The relation should be put upon an absolutely commercial\nbasis; and made as honorable as mechanical, or factory, or store\nservice.\n\n_Second._ Duties and hours should be clearly defined. There should be\nno interference in personal matters. There should be no more personal\ninterest expected, or shown, than is the rule between any other\nemployer and employee.\n\n_Third._ If it were possible to induce yearly engagements, they should\nbe the rule; for when people know they have to put up with each other\nfor twelve months, they are more inclined to be patient and\nforbearing; they learn to make the best of each other's ways; and\nbearing becomes liking, and habit strengthens liking, and so they go\non and on, and are pretty well satisfied.\n\n\n\n\nExtravagance\n\n\nThe Anglo-Saxon race is inherently extravagant. The lord and leader of\nthe civilized world, it clothes itself in purple and fine linen, and\nlives sumptuously every day, as a prerogative of its supremacy.\n\nThis trait is a very early one, and the barbaric extravagance of \"The\nField of the Cloth of Gold\" only typified that passion of the race for\nsplendid apparel and accessories which in our day has reached a point\nof general and prodigal pomp and ostentation.\n\nNo other highly civilized nations have this taste for personal\nparade and luxurious living to the same extent. The French, who\nenjoy a reputation for all that is pretty and elegant, are really\nparsimonious, and it is as natural for a Frenchman to hoard his\nmoney as it is for a dog to bury his bone, while a Dutchman or a\nGerman can grow rich on a salary which keeps an American always\nscrambling on the verge of bankruptcy.\n\nSome time ago Lord Derby said: \"Englishmen are the most extravagant\nrace in the world, or, at least, only surpassed by the Americans.\" And\nthe \"surpassing\" in this direction is so evident to any one familiar\nwith the two countries that it requires no demonstration,--an American\nhousehold, even in the middle classes, being a model school for\nthrowing away the most money for the least possible returns.\n\nAmerican women have a reputation for lavish expenditure that is\nworld-wide, but they are not more extravagant than American men. If\none spends money on beautiful toilets and splendidly dreary\nentertainments, the other flings it away on the turf, on cards or\nbilliards, or in masculine prodigalities still more objectionable. In\nmost fashionable houses the husband and wife are equally extravagant,\nand the candle blazes away at both ends.\n\nTo foreigners, the most noticeable extravagance of Americans is in the\nmatter of flowers. Winter or summer, women of very modest means must\nhave flowers for their girdle. They will pay fifty cents for a rose or\ntwo when half-dollars are by no means plentiful, and it is such a\npretty womanly taste that no man has the heart to grumble at it; only,\nif the women themselves would add up the amount of money spent in this\ntransitory luxury, say during three months, they would be astonished\nat their own thoughtlessness.\n\nFor of all pleasures flower-buying is the most evanescent; before the\nday is over the fading buds are cast into the refuse cart, and the\nmoney might just as well have been cast into the street.\n\nAs for the amount spent in floral displays at weddings, funerals,\ntheatres, balls, and dinners, it must be presumed that people who thus\nwaste hundreds of dollars on articles that are useless in a few hours\nhave the hundreds of dollars to throw away, and that they enjoy the\npastime of making floral ducks and drakes with their money. But if\nthey do not enjoy it, then why do they not imitate the economy of Beau\nBrummel, who, when compelled by his debts to make some sacrifice of\nluxuries, resolved to begin retrenchment by curtailing the rose water\nfor his bath?\n\nLarge floral outlays are just as fantastic an extravagance, for though\nflowers in moderation are beautiful, in excess they are vulgar, and\neven disagreeable. The Greeks, who made no mistakes about beauty and\nfitness, contented themselves with a garland and a rose for their wine\ncup. They would never have danced and feasted and wedded themselves in\na charnel-house of dying flowers.\n\nOur dressing and dining is done on the same immense scale. Lucullus\nmight preside at our feasts, and queens envy the jewels and costumes\nof our women. Perhaps the size of the country and its transcendent\npossibilities in every direction instinctively incite those who have\nthe means to lavishness of outlay. People who live under bright high\nskies, and whose horizons are wide and far-reaching, imbibe a\nlargeness of expression which is not satisfied with mere words; and if\nwe look at our extravagance in this way, we may regard it as a\nnational trait, developed from our natural position and advantages.\n\nOf course, it is easy to say that Americans are lavish because, as Dr.\nWatts puts it, \"it is their nature to\" be, but the real reason for the\novergrown luxury of the last two or three decades is to be found in\nthe rapid increase of the vulgar rich, the very last class worthy of\nour imitation. Are not the absurd blunders of the poor man who strikes\noil a common subject for witticisms and stories?\n\nProfuse display will probably be the only social grace the newly rich\ncan dispense. So, then, if wealth increases more rapidly than\nculture, it is sure, in the very nature of things, to be squandered\nostentatiously; for the men whose minds are in a stunted state, being\nfit for nothing else, will throw their money away on cards or horses\nor any other fashionable form of dissipation; and the women in the\nsame mental incompleteness, knowing nothing but how to dress and\ndance, when they have wealth thrust upon them will be able to find no\nbetter use for it than to dress and dance all the more conspicuously.\n\nThis senseless love of display, once inaugurated in a city set or in a\nsmall town, is apt to take the lead: first, because all the snobs will\ncater to it; second, because sensible people know that they cannot\nstart a reform movement without making themselves unpopular, and going\nto a great deal of trouble and expense.\n\nFor, however extravagant the machinery of society is, it has the\nenormous advantage of being there, and few people can afford to live\nagainst it. For to do as every one else does, and to go with the\nstream, is much easier than to set good examples that no one wants to\nfollow. Indeed it takes a tremendous exercise of pluck, thought,\ntrouble, time, and energy to reduce an establishment that has been an\nextravagant one to a more economical footing.\n\nThe justification of private extravagant expenditure is found in the\nnecessity of a class who will have leisure to encourage the\nintellectual tastes and ambitions of the nation. And this end might be\naccomplished if only matters could be so arranged that a shower of\ngold should descend on the right people in the right place at the\nright time.\n\nBut wealth is no more to the worthy than the race is to the strong,\nand so it often finds outlets for dispersion for which there is no\njustification, and whose sole object is that sensual life pictured in\n\"Lothair,\"--fine houses, great retinues, costly clothing, clubs,\nyachts, conservatories, etc., etc.,--in fact, an existence without a\ncrumpled rose-leaf, that would make a man a mixture of the sybarite\nand satyr. Such specimens of humanity may occasionally be found in\nAmerica, but they are not yet a distinct class, nor are they likely to\nbecome one in our pushing, up-and-down, constantly changing society.\nIndeed, amid the earnest strivings, the intellectual aspirings and the\nmechanical wonders of steam and electricity which environ us, a\nsemi-monster of the Lothair type would be as incongruous as a faun on\nthe Avenue or a Pagan temple on mid-Broadway.\n\nIf we would only take the trouble to examine the facts before our eyes\nwe have constantly in our university towns the proof that high\nculture and moderation in dress and living go together. Take\nCambridge, Mass., for instance; its very best society is singularly\nunostentatious, and the wives and daughters of its educated\ndignitaries entertain without extravagance, and look for respect and\nadmiration from some loftier standpoint than their dress trimmings.\n\n\n\n\nOught we to Wear Mourning?\n\n\nThis is a question that from the earliest days of Christianity has at\ntimes agitated the Church. It was specially dominant in the first\ncenturies, when every divergence from Jewish or Pagan rites was almost\nan act of faith. Now the Jews, after the death of their relatives,\nwore sackcloth during their time of mourning, which lasted from seven\nto forty days. They sat on the ground, and ate their food off the\nearth; they neither dressed themselves, nor made their beds, nor went\ninto the bath, nor saluted any one. This excess of grief rarely lasted\nlong; then a great feast was made for the surviving friends of the\ndead; or the bread and meat were placed upon his grave for the\nbenefit of the poor. (Tobit iv. 17; Eccles. xxx. 18; and Baruch vi.\n27.)\n\nIt was natural for the Christian, with the hope set before him, to\noppose this despairing sorrow, and we find Saint Jerome praising those\nwho partially abandoned it; while Cyprian declares he was \"ordered by\nDivine revelation to preach that Christians should not lament their\nbrethren delivered from the world, nor wear any mourning habits for\nthem, seeing that they were gone to put on white raiment, nor give\noccasion for unbelievers by lamenting those as lost whom we affirm to\nbe with God.\"\n\nAs the Church lapsed from its simplicity into forms and ceremonies,\nvestments of all kinds, and for every purpose and occasion, gained\nimportance; and the first serious protestation against mourning\ngarments came from the Quakers. To these spiritual men and women it\nseemed absurd to wear black garments for those whom they believed had\nput on everlasting white. The majority of the early Methodists held\nthe same opinion, though in a less positive form. It is remarkable,\nhowever, that Christians alone assume the woeful, despairing black\ngarments which seem to denote not only the loss of life, but the end\nof hope. Ancient Egypt wore yellow in memory of departed friends; the\nGreeks and Romans used white garments for mourning; the Chinese also\nconsecrate white to the services of death, and the Mohammedans wear\nblue, because it is the color of the visible heavens.\n\nTherefore I ask, if we must wear a distinct dress to typify our\nsorrow, why black? Black has now become objectionable from having lost\nall the sacred meaning it once possessed. It is no longer the livery\nof grief. The blonde belle wears it because it sets off her fine\ncomplexion; the brunette, because it admits of the vivid contrasts so\nsuitable to her brilliant beauty. The prudent wear it because it is\neconomical and ladylike; and all women know that it imparts grace and\ndignity, and drapes beautifully; so, for these and many other reasons,\nit has within the last fifty years become an every-day dress, one just\nas likely to express vanity as grief.\n\nThe reasons set forth by the Quakers for its abandonment cover the\nground, and are at least worthy of our consideration. They are: First,\nthat mourning had its origin in a state of barbarism, and prior to the\nrevelation of \"life eternal through Jesus Christ,\" and is therefore\nnot to be observed in civilized and Christianized countries. Second,\nthat the trappings of grief are childish where the grief is real, and\nmockery where it is not. Third, that mourning garments are absolutely\nuseless: for if they are intended to remind us of our affliction, true\ngrief needs no such reminder; if to point out our grief to others,\nthey are an impertinence, for true sorrow courts seclusion; and if as\na consolation, they are only powerful to remind of an irrevocable\npast. Fourth, their inconvenience: too often the house of death is\nturned by them into a busy work-shop; and the souls bowed down with\ngrief are made to trouble themselves about mourning ornaments and\nbecoming weeds. Fifth, their bad moral influence: the gracefulness of\nthe costume stills the grief that ought to be stilled by religion; and\nas in a large family there must be many mourners in form only, the\nequivocation of dress is a sort of moral equivocation. Sixth, their\nexpense. This is really a great item in the resources of the poor, and\noften straitens for years; besides causing them, in the hour of their\ndesolation, to be so worried and anxious about the robing of the body\nas to miss all the lessons God intended for the soul.\n\nThe advocates for mourning plead the veiling of the heavens in black\nat the death of Christ; and the universality and continuance of the\ncustom, in all ages, all countries, and all faiths. I am aware that\nthe subject is one in which strangers cannot intermeddle; the question\nwhen it arises must be settled by every heart individually. But, at\nleast, if mourning garments are to be worn, let us not defeat every\nargument in their favor by fashioning them of the richest stuffs, and\nin the most stylish manner. This is to ticket them as the thinnest of\nmockeries. And after all, if we approve mourning, and wish our friends\nto hold us in remembrance after death, can we not find a better way\nthan by crape and bombazine? Yes, crape and bombazine wear out, and\nmust finally be cast off; but the \"memorial of virtue is immortal.\nWhen it is present, men take example of it, and when it is gone, they\ndesire it: it weareth a crown, and triumpheth forever.\"\n\n\n\n\nHow To Have One's Portrait Taken\n\n\nHaving one's portrait taken is no longer an isolated event in one's\nlife. It has become a kind of domestic and social duty, to which even\nthough personally opposed, one must gracefully submit, unless he would\nincur the odium of neglecting the wishes of his family circle and the\ncomplimentary requests of his acquaintances.\n\nIt would seem at first sight that nothing is easier than to go to a\nphotographer's and get a good likeness. Nothing is really more\nuncertain and disappointing. In turning over the albums of our\nfriends, how often we pass the faces of acquaintances and don't know\nthem at all! How is this? Simply because, at the moment when the\npicture was taken, the original was unlike herself. She was nervous,\nher head was screwed in a vise, her position had been selected for\nher, and she had been ordered to look at an indicated spot, and keep\nstill. Such a position was like nothing in her real life, and the\nexpression on the face was just as foreign. The features might be\nperfectly correct, but that inscrutable something which individualizes\nthe face was lacking.\n\nNow if the amenities of social life require us to have our pictures\ndone, \"it were as well they were well done,\" and much toward this end\nlies within the sitter's choice and power.\n\nFirst as to the selection of the artist. It is a great mistake to\nimagine that photography is a mere mechanical trade. There is as much\ndifference between two photographers as between two engravers. Nor\nwill a fine lens alone produce a good picture. The pose of the sitter,\nthe disposition of lights and shadows, the arrangement of drapery, are\nof the greatest consequence. A good artist has almost unlimited power\nin this direction. He can render certain parts thinner by plunging\nthem into half-tone or by burying their outline in the shade, and he\ncan deepen and augment other portions by surrounding them with light.\nThus, if the head is too small for beauty, he can increase its size by\nthrowing the light on the face; and if it is too large, he can\ndiminish it by choosing a tint that would throw one half of the face\ninto shadow.\n\nIf the artist has a lens which perpetually changes its focus, the\nresult is a portrait in which the outlines are delicately soft and\nundefined. A _view lens_, or one that is perfectly flat, occupies\nnearly two minutes to complete the likeness, and the consequence is,\nthe sitter moves slightly, and the required softness is obtained in an\naccidental manner. It is evident, therefore, that the most rapidly\ntaken pictures are not necessarily the best. Then people have a\nhundred different aspects, and to seize the best and reproduce it is\nthe function of genius, and not of chemicals.\n\nHaving selected a good artist, and one, also, whose position has\nenabled him to secure the best tools, the next duty of the sitter\nregards herself and her costume. In photography a good portrait may be\nquite nullified by the choice of bad colors in dress. Finery is the\ncurse of the artist, but if he works in oils he can leave it out or\ntone it down. In photography, as the sitter comes, so she must be\ntaken, with all her excellences or her imperfections on her head.\n\nThe colors most luminous to the eye, as red, yellow, orange, are\nalmost without action; green acts feebly; blue and violet are\nreproduced very promptly. If, then, a person of very fair complexion\nwere taken in green, orange, or red, the lights would be very\nprominent, and the portrait lack energy and detail. The best of all\ndresses is black silk,--_silk_, not bombazine, or merino, or any\ncottony mixture, as the admirable effect depends on the gloss of the\nsilk, which makes it full of subdued and reflected lights that give\nmotion and play to the drapery. A dead-black dress without this\nshimmer would be represented by a uniform blotch; a white dress looks\nlike a flat film of wax or a piece of card-board; but a combination of\nblack net or lace over white is very effective, though rarely ventured\nupon. An admirable softness and depth of color are given to\nphotographs by sealskin and velvet.\n\nComplexion must be considered with dress. Blondes can wear much\nlighter colors than brunettes. Brunettes always make the best pictures\nwhen taken in dark dresses, but neither blondes nor brunettes look\nwell in positive white. Are any pictures so universally ugly as bridal\nones? All violent contrasts of color spoil a picture, and should be\nparticularly guarded against; and jewelry imparts a look of\nvulgarity.\n\nBlondes suffer most in photographic pictures; their golden hair loses\nall its brilliancy, and their blue eyes, so lovely to the poet, are\nperplexity to the photographer. Before facing the lens, blondes should\npowder their yellow hair nearly white; it is then brought to about the\nsame photographic tint as in nature.\n\nFreckles, which are hardly any blemish in the natural face, become, on\naccount of their yellow tint, very unpleasantly distinct in a\nphotographic picture, and often give to the face a decidedly spotted\nlook. They are easily disguised for the occasion. There ought to be in\nthe dressing-room of every studio a mixture of a little oxide of zinc\nand glycerine; this is to be thinned with rose-water till of the\nconsistence of cream, and applied to the face with a piece of sponge\nprevious to the photographing process. It leaves the skin a delicate\nwhite color, and masks all freckles and discolorations. Let a lady\nwith freckles try her picture first without this mixture, and again\nafter the sponge and the cosmetic, and the value of the receipt will\nbe at once appreciated. Its use has long been advocated by the\n_British Journal of Photography_.\n\nIn connection with this fact we may offer a few words of advice to\nladies whose skins are apt to tan and freckle when exposed to the\nsummer sun. Blue is, of all colors, most readily affected by light;\nand yellow is, of all colors, the least readily susceptible to it. If,\nthen, a fine complexion is desired, the blue veil must be rigorously\ndiscarded, however becoming. Green could take its place, but a little\nyellow net would be better to save a delicate complexion than all the\nwashes and Kalydors ever invented. Freckles and tan are nothing more\nthan the darkening of the salts of iron in the blood by the action of\nlight; and as blue is, of all colors, most easily affected by it, as\nwe have said, any one can see how destructive to a fine skin a blue\nveil must be in sunny weather.\n\nIf the photograph is to be colored, the shade of the costume is not\nnearly of so much importance; but it may always be borne in mind that\nclose-fitting light garments increase the size of the head, hands, and\nfeet, and that a flowing ample dress renders these parts light and\ndelicate. The advantage of coloring photographs is very great, if the\nartist be an able and judicious one, for that _hardness_ of outline,\nwhich is more artificial than natural, may be in a great measure\nremedied by a clever brush; only, always object to _solid_ colors; the\nmost transparent water-colors alone should be used. However, it is a\ndisputed question whether artificial coloring, however well done,\nimproves photographs, since it certainly, in some measure, robs them\nof that accuracy and that air of purity which are the distinctive\nclaims of the art. The next improvement in this method of limning\nfaces will undoubtedly be the compelling of the sun--the source of\nall color--to paint the pictures he draws; and a number of recent\nfacts point to this improvement as very probable within a short time.\n\nNever permit yourself to be the lay figure of a photographer's ideal\nlandscapes. The cutting up of a portrait with balustrades, pillars,\nand gay parterres is fatal to the effect of the figure, which should\nbe the only object to strike the eye. No photographic portrait looks\nso well as one with a perfectly plain background, but if some\naccessory is desired, then see that it does not turn the central\nfigure into ridicule. If you have always lived in some modest home, do\nnot be made to stand in marble halls or amid splendid imaginary\ndomains. Young ladies reading in full evening costume, with water and\nswans behind them, or standing in trailing silks and laces in a\nmountain pass, are ridiculous enough. We saw a few days ago the face\nof a lovely girl looking out of a Champagne basket. The picture was\nartistically taken, but the extravagant conceit of the surroundings,\nutterly at variance with the original's character, completely spoiled\nthe picture. We have in mind also a famous belle sitting in an\nelaborate toilet in a room full of books and materials for writing and\nstudy, though all her little world knows that she never reads aught\nbut the lightest of novels, and never writes anything but an\ninvitation or a love-letter. Actresses taken in character may require\nan elaborate artificial background in order to assist the illusion,\nbut private ladies, as a rule, look infinitely better without it.\n\nIn ladies' portraits the setting-off of beauty is the thing to be\nborne in mind. This, in a photograph, is, in a great measure, a\nquestion of lights and shadows, and of their distribution. For every\nface there is a light and a shadow to be specially selected as the one\nthat will show it to the best advantage. The most becoming light is\none level with, or even somewhat beneath, the face, it being a great\nmistake to suppose the foot-lights on the stage unbecoming. A top\nlight, such as we get in ordinary photographic rooms, augments the\nprojection of the forehead, and throws a deep shadow over the eyes.\nThe bridge of the nose, the lower lip, and chin separate themselves,\nas it were, in clear lights, from the rest of the face, and such an\neffect is very unbecoming and inappropriate for a young girl.\n\nIf the features are prominent, a clear bright light increases very\ndecidedly that prominence, and also imparts a peculiar hardness to the\nexpression that has probably no existence in the model. Therefore\ninsist that, as far as possible, the light from above shall be got rid\nof, and a light from the side brought into use.\n\nThere is as much character in the human figure as in the face;\nconsequently full-length portraits are best, because they add to the\nfacial resemblance the attitude and peculiarities of the figure. If\nthe portrait is half-size, then the attitude ought to indicate the\nposition of the lower extremities. In bust portraits the head is\neverything, the bust merely sustains and indicates its size and\nproportion. The head, however, should never be represented without the\nbust, for the effect of such a portrait is a total want of unity; it\noffers no point of comparison by which the rest of the body can be\njudged,--a matter of great importance, as this is one of the most\nstriking characteristics of the individual.\n\nA _carte de visite_ is a more agreeable likeness than a larger one,\nbecause it is taken with the middle of the lens, where it is truest;\nhence it is never out of drawing. Also, it hides rather than\nexaggerates any roughness of the face; and, again, it is so moderate\nin price that we can afford to distribute the pictures generously.\n\nPhotographs have a bad name for durability, and when we look over our\nalbums and see those that were once strong and expressive now pale and\nfaded, we are forced to admit that their beauty is evanescent. But\nthis disadvantage is very much the fault of the artist. There is\nnothing in the chemical constitution of photographs--formed as they\nare by the combination of the precious metals--to make them\nevanescent. The trouble lies in the last process through which they\npass. This process leaves them impregnated with a destructive\nchemical, and the removal of all traces of it is a difficult and\ntedious thing. To be finished effectually, the pictures ought to be\nbathed for a day in a good body of water constantly agitated and\nchanged. Artists who are jealous of their art and of their personal\nreputation insist on this process being thoroughly attended to, but\nwith inferior photographers the temptation to neglect it is very\ngreat, especially as in many cases the vicious chemical adds to the\npresent brilliancy of the picture. They are further tempted by the\nimpatience of sitters, who are often importunate for an immediate\nfinish of their pictures. But if a durable portrait is wanted, ladies\nmust allow the artist time for the proper cleansing of their\nphotograph.\n\nTo the large majority of people the first interview with their\nphotographic portrait is a heavy disappointment. They express\nthemselves by an eloquent silence, turn it this way and that, hold it\nnear and far off. After a little while they become used to it in its\nvelvet frame, though they never in their heart acknowledge its\ntruthfulness. Again, there are others to whom photography is very\nfavorable, and they show to more advantage in their pictures than\never they did in reality. These last are people whose features\nare well balanced and proportioned, but who are not generally\nconsidered beautiful. Faces dependent for beauty on their mobility\nand expression suffer most, and are indeed, in their finer moods,\nalmost untranslatable by this process.\n\nStill, setting aside all artistic considerations, photographic\nportraits have a great social value, not only because they fairly\nindicate the _personnel_ of their models, but because they so\nfaithfully represent textures that we can form a very good idea from a\n_carte de visite_ of the social position of the sitter, and\nincidentally, from the cut, style, and material of the dress, a very\ngood notion also of their moral calibre.\n\nMany things are permissible in photographic portraits--which may be\nretaken every few months--that would justly be deprecated in a\nfinished oil portrait destined to go down with houses and lands to\nunborn generations. In such a picture any intrusion of the imagination\nis an impertinence if made at the slightest expense of truth.\n\nThe great value of an oil portrait is this: the divine, almost\nintangible light of expression hovering over the face is seized on by\nliving skill and intellect, and imprisoned in colors. The sitter is\nnot taken in one special moment, when his eyes are fixed and his\nmuscles rigid, but in a free study of many hours the characteristics\nof the face are learned, and some felicitous expression caught and\nfixed forever. This is what gives portrait painting its special value,\nand drives ordinary photographic portraits out of the realms of art\ninto those of mechanism.\n\nArtists have various ways of treating their sitters. Some throw them\ninto a Sir-Joshua-like attitude, and put in a Gainsborough background.\nOthers compass the face all over, and map it out like a chart, taking\nelevations of every mole and dimple. But whenever an artist feels\nunsafe away from his compasses, and cannot trust himself, sitters\nshould not trust him.\n\nThere is a real pleasure in sitting to a master in his art, a real\nweariness and disgust in sitting to a tyro. It must be remembered that\nnot only is the best expression to be caught, but that the _features_\nof any face vary so much under physical changes and mental moods that\ntheir differences may actually be measured with a foot-rule. An\nordinary artist will measure these distances; an extraordinary artist\nwill catch their subtle effects, and will draw the features as well as\nthe expression at their very best.\n\nA really fine oil portrait should look as well near by as it does at a\ndistance.\n\nSuffer no artist to leave out blemishes which contribute to the\ncharacter of the original; ugly or pretty, unless a portrait is a\nlikeness, it is worthless. There are very clever artists who cannot\npaint a true portrait, because they leave every picture redolent of\nthemselves. Thus Bartolozzi in engraving Holbein's heads, made\neverything Bartolozzi. But in a portrait the individuality of the\nsitter should permeate and usurp the whole canvas, so that in looking\nat it we should think only of the person represented, and quite forget\nthe artist who brought him before us.\n\nIt is an axiom that every full-length portrait requires a curtain and\na column, every half-length a table, every kit-kat a full face. But\nsurely such rules betray barrenness of invention. Every good position\ncannot be said to have been exhausted. Why should not every portrait\nbe treated as a part of an historical picture in which the sitter's\nposition and background and accessories produced the tone and feeling\nmost suitable to his ordinary life? Raphael in his portrait of Leo the\nTenth exhibits a faithful study of such subordinates. There is a\nprayer-book with miniatures, a bell on the table, and a mirror at the\nback of the chair reflecting the whole scene. One of Rembrandt's most\ncharming portraits is that of his mother cutting her nails with a pair\nof scissors.\n\nNever suffer any artist to slur over or hide the hand. The hand is a\nfeature full of beauty and individuality. Any one who has noticed how\nVandyck studied and worked out its peculiarities, what beauty and\nexpression he gave to it, will never undervalue its power as an\nexponent of personality again.\n\nThe portraits of men or women occupying prominent positions should\nalways have their name and that of the artist on the back. If this\nhad been done in times past, how many nameless portraits, now of\nlittle value, would be held in high estimation! From the time of Henry\nthe Eighth to the time of Charles the First it was usual to insert in\na corner the armorial bearings of the person represented. This did\nnot, indeed, accurately identify the individual, but it made it easier\nto determine. There is a masterpiece of Vandyck's in the National\nGallery of England that goes by the name of \"Gevartius.\" But no one\nknows who Gevartius was. Here is an old man's head made memorable for\nall time,--a head which would be thought cheap at $10,000, and which,\nif it were for sale, would attract connoisseurs from all parts of the\ncivilized world, and it is without a name. How much more valuable and\ninteresting it would be if its history were known! Therefore no\nfeeling of modesty should prevent eminent characters from insuring the\nidentity of their pictures. Let us imagine a picture of Abraham\nLincoln and one of Professor Morse two hundred years hence, with the\nname attached in one case, and a mere tradition of identity in the\nother, and it will be easy to estimate the difference in value.\n\nAmericans have been accused of an undue taste for portraiture; the\ntaste has its foundation in the character of the nation. It\ncorresponds with that estimation of the personal worth of a man, and\nthat full appreciation of individual independence, which form such\nimportant elements in our national character.\n\n\n\n\nThe Crown of Beauty\n\n\nThe glory and the crown of physical perfection is beautiful hair.\nVenus would not charm us if she were bald, and neither poet, painter,\nnor sculptor would dare to give us a \"subject\" which should lack this,\nthe charm of all other charms. Neither is it a modern fancy. Homer,\nwhen he would praise Helen, calls her \"the beautiful-haired Helen,\"\nand Petronius, in his famous picture of Circe, makes much of \"trailing\nlocks.\"\n\nThe loveliness of long hair in woman seems never to have been\ndisputed, and it had also a very wide acceptance as a mark of\nmasculine strength and beauty. St. Paul, it is true, says that it is a\nshame to a man to have long hair, but his opinion is not to be taken\nwithout reservation, for both the traditions of poetry and painting\ngive to the Saviour, and also to the Beloved Disciple, long locks of\ncurling brown hair. The Greek warriors and most of the Asiatic nations\nprided themselves on their long hair, and the Romans gave a great\nsignificance to it by making it the badge of a freeman. Cæsar, too,\ndistinctly says that he always compelled the men of a province which\nhe had conquered to shave off their hair in token of submission.\n\nThe Saxon and Danish rulers of England were equally famous for their\nlong yellow locks, and the fashion continued with little or no\nintermission until the dynasty of the Tudor kings. They affected, for\nsome reason or other, short hair; and \"King Hal\" is undoubtedly\nindebted for his \"bluff look\" to the short, thick crop which he wore.\nThe fashion even extended to the women of that age, and their pictured\nfaces, with their hair all hidden away under a _coif_, have a most\nhard, stiff, and unlovely appearance. Under the Stuarts, long, flowing\nhair again became fashionable with the Royalist party, who made their\n\"love locks\" the sign and emblem of their loyalty. On the contrary,\nthe Puritans made short hair almost a tenet of faith and a part of\ntheir creed. Within the last ten years hair has been again the sign of\npolitical feeling, for, during the Civil War, the Southern women in\nfavor of the Confederacy wore one long curl behind the left ear, while\nthose in favor of the Union wore one behind each ear.\n\nDuring the last century men have gradually cut their hair shorter and\nshorter. They pretend, of course, fashion dictates the order; but a\nwoman may be allowed to doubt whether necessity did not first dictate\nto fashion. Certainly ladies prefer in men hair that is moderately\nlong, thick, and curling, to the penitentiary style of last year. And\nsuppose they could have long hair, but cut it for their own comfort,\nthe act says very little for their gallantry. I have no need to point\nto the chignons, braids, and artifices which women use to lengthen\ntheir hair in order to please men, who decline to return the\ncompliment, even to a degree that would be vastly becoming to them.\n\nAfter the length of hair, color is the point of most interest. In\nreality there are but two colors, black and red. Brown, golden,\nyellow, etc., are intermediate, the difference in shade being\ndetermined by the sulphur and oxygen or carbon which prevails. In\nblack hair, carbon exceeds; in golden hair, sulphur and oxygen. It has\nbeen insisted that climate determines the color of hair; that\nfair-haired people are found north of parallel 48°; brown hair between\n48° and 45°; which would include Northern France, Switzerland,\nBohemia, Austria, and touch Georgia and Circassia, Canada, and the\nnorthern part of Maine; and that below that line come the black-haired\nraces of Spain, Naples, Turkey, etc., etc. But this is easily\ndisproved. Take, for instance, the parallel 50° and follow it round\nthe world. Upon it may be found the curly, golden-haired European; the\nblack, straight hair of the Mongolian and American Indian, and again,\nin Canada, it will give us the fair-haired Saxon girl. So, then, it is\nrace, and not climate, which determines the color. I am inclined to\nthink, too, that temperament has something to do with it, since we\nfind black-haired Celts, golden-haired Venetians, and fair and\nblack-haired Jews.\n\nThe ancient civilized nations passionately admired red hair. Greeks,\nRomans, Chinese, Turks, and Spaniards have given it to their warriors\nand beauties. Somehow among the Anglo-Saxon race it has a bad\nreputation. Both in novels and plays it is common to give the rascal\nof the plot \"villanous red hair;\" and in the English school of\npainters, the traitor Judas is generally distinguished by it. In the\nEast, black is the favorite color, and the Persians abhor a red-haired\nwoman. Light brown or golden hair is the universal favorite. The\nGreeks gave it to Apollo, Venus, and Minerva. The Romans had such a\npassion for it that, in the days of the Empire, light hair brought\nfrom Germany (to make wigs for Roman ladies) sold for its weight in\ngold. The Germans themselves, not content with the beautiful hair\nNature had given them, made a soap of goat's tallow and beechwood\nashes to brighten the color. Homer loved \"blondes,\" and Milton and\nShakespeare are full of golden-haired beauties, while the pages of\nthe novelist and the galleries of painters, ancient and modern, show\nthe same preference.\n\nLavater insists greatly on the color of hair as an index to the\ndisposition. \"Chestnut hair,\" he says, \"indicates love of change and\ngreat vivacity; black hair, passion, strength, ambition, and energy;\nfair hair, mildness, tenderness, and judgment.\"\n\nFashion has dressed the hair in many absurd and also in many beautiful\nforms; but through all changes, curls, floating free and natural, have\nhad a majority of admirers. Some one says that \"of all the revolvers\naimed at men's hearts, curls are the most deadly,\" and from the\npersistent instinct of women in retaining them, I am inclined to\nindorse this statement. The Armenians and some other Asiatics twist\nthe hair into the form of a mitre; the Parthians and Persians leave it\nlong and floating; the Scythians and Goths wear it short, thick, and\nbristling; the Arabians and kindred people often cut it on the crown.\nIn the South of Europe, \"to be in the hair\" is a common expression for\nunmarried girls, because they wear their hair long and flowing, while\nmatrons put it up in a coil at the back of the head.\n\nUntil the ninth century in England, Nature pretty much led the\nfashions in hair-dressing; then plaits turned up on each side of the\ncheek were introduced; and in the eleventh century the hair all\ndisappeared under the head-dress of that time. Early in the sixteenth\ncentury ladies began to \"turn up\" the hair. Queen Margaret of Navarre\nfrizzed and turned back her abundant locks just as the women of our\nown day do. The custom, too, that is now prevalent of braiding the\nhair in two long locks and tying them at the ends with ribbons was a\nfavorite style in the early part of the seventeenth century. In the\neighteenth century women used powder to such an extent as almost to\ndestroy the color of the hair, and during the past hundred years every\npossible arrangement and non-arrangement has had a temporary favor.\n\nI have nothing to say about the customs of the present day. If there\nis any property in which a woman has undisputed right, it is surely\nin her own hair; and if she chooses to wear it in an unbecoming or\ninartistic style, it is certainly no one's business that I can\nperceive. Assuredly not the men's, since I have already shown that\nthey, either through inability or selfishness, decline to wear the\nthick, flowing locks with which Nature crowns manly strength and\nbeauty, and which are all women's admiration.\n\nThe majority of women have a natural taste in this matter, and very\nfew are so silly as to sacrifice their beauty to fashion. Two or three\nrules are fundamental in all arrangements of the hair: one is that a\nsuperabundance at the back of the head always imparts an animal\nexpression; another, that it is peculiarly ugly to sweep the whole\nforehead bare. The Greeks, supreme authorities on all subjects of\nbeauty and taste, were never guilty of such an atrocity. In all their\nexquisite statues the hair is set low. A third is that \"bands\" are the\nmost trying of all _coiffures_, and never ought to be adopted except\nby faces of classic beauty. To add them to a round, merry face with a\nnose retroussé is as absurd as to put a Doric frieze on an irregular\nbuilding. A general and positive one is that all hair is spoiled, both\nin quality and color, by oiling, for it takes from it that elasticity\nand lightness which is its chief charm and characteristic; the last\n(which I have no hope ladies will heed just at present) is, never to\nhide the natural form of the head.\n\n\n\n\nWaste of Vitality\n\n\nIf we come to reflect upon it, in middle age we find that the one\ngreat cause of departure from the ideal in real life is our liability\nto take cold. Almost all our pleasures are bound up with this\nprobability, for when we have taken cold we are far too stupid either\nto give or enjoy pleasure. And there is no philosophy connected with\ncolds. Serious illnesses are full of instruction and resignation, but\nwho thinks of being resigned to a cold, or of making a profitable use\nof it?\n\n\"Chilly\" is a word that of late years has come to be a frequent and\npitiably significant one on the lips of the middle-aged. They have a\nterror of the frost and snow which they once enjoyed so keenly, and\nthey really suffer much more than they will allow themselves to\nconfess.\n\nThe most invigorating and inspiriting of all climates is 64°, but if\nthe glass fall to 50°, chilly people are miserable; they feel\ndraughts everywhere, especially on the face, and very likely the first\nsymptoms of a neuralgic attack. At 40°--which must have been the\nin-door winter temperature of our forefathers--they become irritable\nand shivery, and lose all energy. If the temperature fall below 30°,\nthey \"take cold,\" and exhibit all the mental inertia and many of the\nphysical symptoms of influenza, which nevertheless has not attacked\nthem.\n\nLet us at once admit a truth: the young and robust despise the chilly\nfor their chilliness, for there is such a thing as physical pride, and\na very unpleasant thing it is in families. These physical Pharisees\nare always recommending the \"roughing\" and \"hardening\" process, and\nthey would gladly revive for the poor invalid the cold-water torture\nof the past.\n\nWithout being conscious of it, they are cruel. Chilly people are not\nmade better by the unsympathetic remarks of those of quicker blood.\nThere is no good in assuring them that the cold is healthy and\nseasonable. They feel keenly the half-joking imputation of\n\"cosseting,\" though perhaps they are too inert and miserable to defend\nthemselves.\n\nStrong walking exercise is the remedy always proposed. Many cannot\ntake it. Others make a laudable effort to follow the prescription, and\nperhaps during it feel a glow of warmth to which in the house--though\nthe house is thoroughly warmed--they are strangers. But half an hour\nafter their return home the tide of life has receded again, and they\nare as chilly and nervous as before.\n\nNevertheless, they have passed through an experience which, if they\nwould consider it, indicates their relief, if not their cure. While\nout-of-doors they thought it necessary to cover their feet with warm\nhosiery and thick boots, the head with a bonnet and veil, their hands\nwith gloves and a fur muff, their body with some fur or wadded garment\nhalf an inch thick. In short, when they went out they imitated Nature,\nand protected themselves as she does animals.\n\nBut just as soon as they return home they uncover their head and\nhands, replace the warm, heavy clothing of the feet with some of a\nmore elegant but far colder quality, and take off altogether the thick\nwarm garments worn out-of-doors. A bear that should follow the same\ncourse when it went home to its snug subterranean den would naturally\nenough die of some pulmonary disease. Nations which are subjected to\nlong and severe winters have learned the more natural and excellent\nway. The Laplander keeps on his fur, the Russian his wadded garment,\nthe Tartar his sheep-skin, the Shetlander goes about in his house in\nhis wadmal. It is only in our high state of civilization that men and\nwomen divest themselves of half their clothing with the thermometer\nbelow zero, and then run to the fire to warm their freezing hands and\nfeet.\n\nIf warm clothing protects us out of the house, it will do the same in\nthe house; and it is no more \"coddling,\" and much more sensible and\nsatisfactory than cowering over a grate. Under the head-dress a silk\nskullcap is a most effective protection against draughts, and would\nprevent many an attack of neuralgia. A silk or wash-leather vest will\nkeep the body at a more equable temperature than the best fire. A\nshawl to most middle-aged ladies is a graceful toilet adjunct even in\nthe house, and it is capable of retaining as well as of imparting much\nwarmth. When very chilly after removal of outside wraps, or from any\nother cause, try a wadded dressing-gown over the usual clothing. In\nfive minutes the added comfort will be recognized.\n\nThe secret is, then, to keep the body at its proper temperature in the\nhouse by the adoption of sufficient warm clothing, instead of trusting\nto artificially heated atmosphere. No one will be more liable to take\ncold out of the house because she has been warm in the house. There is\nno more sense in shivering in-doors in order to prepare the body to\nendure the out-door climate than there would be in sleeping with too\nfew blankets for fear of increasing the sense of cold when out of\nbed.\n\nA stuffy room, with air constantly heated to 75°, is the most\nefficacious invention ever devised for ruining health. But it is\nequally true that _habitual warmth_ is the very best preserver of\nconstitutional strength in middle and old age; and undoubtedly this is\nbest maintained by a temperature of 68° and plenty of clothing.\n\nA very important aid to warmth is a proper diet. Many women who suffer\ncontinually from a sense of chill, below the tide of healthy life,\nhave yet constantly at hand an abundance of nourishing food. But they\neat one day at one hour, the next at another; they don't care what\nthey eat, and take anything a flippant-minded cook chooses to send\nthem; they wait for some one when themselves hungry, out of mere\ndomestic courtesy; and when their husbands are from home they take tea\nand biscuits because it is not worth while giving servants the trouble\nof cooking for them alone. In all these and many similar ways vitality\nis continually lost, and with every loss of vitality there is a\ncorresponding access of slow, chilly, shivering inertia.\n\nIt is a great mistake that women are taught from childhood that it is\nmeritorious in their sex to conceal their own wants, and to postpone\ntheir own convenience to that of fathers, brothers, husbands, and even\nservants. For in the end they break down, and are left in a state of\nill health in which all the wheels of life run slow. The trouble, in a\nsentence, is that women _have no wives_--no one to remind them when\nthey are in a draught, or come in with wet feet, no one to get them a\nwarm drink when chilly, and ward off the little ills (which soon\nbecome great ones) by loving, thoughtful, constant care and\nattention.\n\nAll women know how hard it is to live the usual life of work and\namusement in a physical condition of far below the requisite strength.\nNothing induces this condition like chronic chill. In it no vitality\ncan be gained, and very much may be continually lost. Therefore every\nplan should be tried which promises to raise the temperature to a\nhealthy standard. Try the effect of a room heated to 68°, and plenty\nof warm, constantly warm clothing.\n\n\n\n\nA Little Matter of Money\n\n\n\"It is unpleasant not to have money,\" says Mr. Hazlitt; indeed, it has\nbecome a sort of social offence to be short of virtue in this respect;\nfor both nationally and personally, we are loath to confess so tragic\na calamity. We may assert that, having food and clothes, we are\ntherewith content, and that we would not encounter the perils and\nsnares of vast wealth; but are we quite sure that this humility and\ncontentment is not a fine name for being too lazy to earn money, or\ntoo extravagant to keep it? Again, if all were content with the simple\nsatisfaction of their necessities--if nobody wanted to be rich--nobody\nwould be industrious or frugal, or strive to acquire knowledge. Who\nthen would build our churches, and endow our colleges? Who would send\nout missionaries, and encourage science and inventions? The golden\ngrapes may be out of our reach, but they are a noble fruit when\npressed by kindly hands, and have given graciously unto the world\ntheir wine of consolation.\n\nThe fact is that we have come to a time in which the want of money is\nabout as bad a moral distemper as the love of it. The latter position\nis an admitted truth; the former is only beginning to put forth its\nclaims to the notice of professed moralists. Whatever special virtue\nthere was in poverty seems to be in direct antagonism to the spirit of\nthe present day; for there is no doubt that worldly prosperity has\ncome to be regarded as one of the legitimate fruits of the gospel. The\nmodern Church puts forth her hands and grasps the promise of the life\nthat now is, as well as that which is to come. Why not? Money gives a\npower of doing good that nothing material can equal. Even \"The Truth\"\nhas now to depend on the currency, and the most evangelical societies\npay treasurers as well as missionaries.\n\nThe amount of money in a man's pocket is a great moral factor. He who\nhas plenty of ready cash and is not good-natured needs a thorough\nchange, and nothing but being born again will cure him. But the man\nwho is in a chronic state of poverty is a man placed in selfish\nrelations to every one around him. How hard it is for such a one to be\ngenerous, just, and sympathetic! He is almost compelled to look on his\nfellow-creatures with the eye of a slave-merchant, to consider: How\ncan they profit me? What can I gain by them? He must marry for money,\nor not marry for the want of it. His friendship is a kind of traffic.\nHis religion is subject to considerations, for he will either go to\nchurch for a certain connection, or he will not go at all because of\nthe collections.\n\nNow, there is abundance of living strength in Christianity to meet\nthis and all other special wants of the age. There is no doubt that\nmoney is the principle of our social gravitation, and we need\npreachers who will not be afraid to tell us the truth, even though\nnobody has ever told it just in that particular way before. We accept\nwithout demur all that has been said about the evils of loving money;\nwill some of our spiritual teachers tell us how to avoid the evils and\ncure the moral and physical distress caused by the want of money?\nThat this is a gigantic evil, we have constant proof in the daily\npapers; in murder, theft, suicide, domestic misery and cruelty. These\ncriminals are far seldomer influenced by the love of money than by the\nwant of it. If instead of being without a dollar, they had had\nsufficient for their necessities, would they have run such risks,\nincurred such guilt, staked life on one desperate chance, flung it\naway in despairing misery?\n\nOf course the word \"sufficient\" is very elastic. It can be so moderate\nand temperate; and again it can grasp at impossibilities. \"My wants,\"\nsaid the Count Mirabel, \"are few: a fine house, fine carriages, fine\nhorses, a complete wardrobe, the best opera box, the first cook, and\nplenty of pocket-money--that is all I require.\" He thought his desires\nvery temperate; so also did the Scotchman, who, praying for a modest\ncompetency, added, \"and that there be no mistake, let it be seven\nhundred pounds a year, paid quarterly in advance.\" There are indeed\nall sorts of difficulties connected with this question, and anybody\ncan find their way into them. But there must also be a way out; and if\nour guides would survey the ground a little, they would earn and have\nour thanks. For undoubtedly this want of money is as great a\nprovocation to sin as the love of it. An empty purse is as full of\nwicked thoughts as an evil heart; and the Father who allotted seven\nguardian angels to man, and made five of them hover round his\npockets--empty or full--knew well his most vulnerable points.\n\n\n\n\nMission of Household Furniture\n\n\nHave wood and paper and upholstery really any moral and emotional\nagencies?\n\nCertainly they have. Not very obvious ones perhaps, but all-pervading\nand ever-persistent in their character; since there is no day--scarcely\nan hour--of our lives in which we are not, either passively or\nconsciously, subject to their influences. Our cravings after elegance\nof form, glimmer and shimmer of light and color, insensibly elevate and\ncivilize us; and the men and women condemned to the monotony of bare\nwalls and unpicturesque surroundings--whether they be devotees in\ncells, or felons in dungeons--are the less human for the want of these\nthings. The want, then, is a direct moral evil, and a cause of\nimperfection.\n\nThe desire for beautiful surroundings is a natural instinct in a pure\nmind. How tenaciously people who live in dull streets, and who never\nsee a sunrise, nor a mountain peak, nor an unbroken horizon, cling to\nit is proved on all sides of us by the picturesqueness which many a\nmechanic's wife imparts to her little twelve-feet-square rooms. And it\nis wonderful with what slender materials she will satisfy this hunger\nof the eye for beauty and color. A few brightly polished tins, the\nmany-shaded patchwork coverlets and cushions, the gay stripes in the\nrag carpet, the pot of trailing ivy or scarlet geranium, the shining\nblack stove, with its glimmer and glow of fire and heat, are made by\nsome subtle charm of arrangement both satisfactory and suggestive.\n\nIn spite of all arguments about the economy of \"boarding,\" who does\nnot respect the men or women who, at all just sacrifices, eschew a\nboarding-house and make themselves a home?\n\nA man without a home has cast away an anchor; an atmosphere of\nuncertainty clings about him; he advertises his tendency to break\nloose from wholesome restraints. So strongly is the force of this home\ninfluence now perceived that the wisest of our merchants refuse to\nemploy boys and women without homes, while the universal preference is\nin favor of men who have assumed the head of the house, and thus given\nhostage to society for their good behavior.\n\nBut a house is not a _home_ till it is swept and garnished, and\ncontains not only the wherewithal to refresh the body, but also\nsomething for the comfort of the heart, the elevation of the mind, and\nthe delight of the eye.\n\nIf we would fairly estimate the moral power of furniture, let us\nconsider how attached it is possible for us to become to it. There are\nchairs that are sacred objects to us: the large, easy one, in which\nsome saint sat patiently waiting for the angels; the little high chair\nwhich was some darling baby's throne till he \"went away one morning;\"\nthe low rocker, in which mother nursed the whole family of stalwart\nsons and lovely daughters.\n\nAsk any practised student or writer how much he loves his old desk,\nwith its tidy pigeon-holes and familiar conveniences. Have they not\nmany a secret between them that they only understand? Are they not\nfamiliar? Could they be parted without great sorrow and regrets?\nNothing is more certain than that we do stamp ourselves upon dead\nmatter, and impart to it a kind of life. Is there a more pathetic\npicture than that of Dickens's study after his death? Yet no human\nfigure is present; there is nothing but furniture, the desk on which\nhe wrote those wonderful stories, and the empty chair before it.\n\nNothing but the empty chair and the confidential desk to speak for the\ndead master; but how eloquently they do it!\n\nOur furniture ought, therefore, to be easy and familiar. We cannot\ngive our hearts to what is uncomfortable, no matter how quaint or rich\nit may be. And though it is always pleasant to have colors and forms\nassorted with perfect taste, it is not desirable to have the effect so\nperfect that we are afraid to make use of it, lest we destroy it. No\nfurniture ought to be so fine that we dare not light a fire for fear\nof smoking it, or let the sunshine in for fear of fading it. In such\nrooms we do not lounge and laugh and eat and rest and live,--we only\nexist.\n\nThe proper character of drawing-rooms is that of gayety and\ncheerfulness. This is attained by light tints, and brilliant colors\nand gilding; but the brightest colors and the strongest contrasts must\nbe on the furniture, not on the walls and ceilings. These must be\nsubordinate in coloring, or the effect will be theatrical and vulgar.\n\nThe dining-room ought to be one of the pleasantest in the house; but\nit is generally in the basement. It ought to be a room in which there\nis nothing to remind us of labor or exertion, for we have gone there\nto eat and to be refreshed. A few flowers, a dish of fruits, snowy\nlinen and china, glittering glass and silver, a pleasant blending of\nwarm and neutral tints are essentials. For ornaments, rare china,\nIndian vases, Eastern jars suggestive of fine pickles or rare\nsweetmeats, and a few pictures on the walls, representing only\npleasant subjects, and large enough to be examined without exertion,\nare the best.\n\nAdvantages of locality, a refined diner will always perceive and\nappropriate. Thus I used to dine frequently with a lady and gentleman\nwho in the spring always altered the position of the table, so that\nwhile eating they could look through the large open windows, and see\nthe waving apple-blossoms and breathe the perfumed air, and listen to\nthe evening songs of the birds. Bedrooms should be light, cleanly, and\ncheerful; greater contrasts are admissible between the room and the\nfurniture, as the bed and window-curtains form a sufficient mass to\nbalance a tint of equal intensity upon the walls. For the same reason\ngay and bright carpets are often pleasant and ornamental.\n\nStaircases, lobbies, and vestibules should be cool in tone, simple in\ncolor, and free from contrasts. Here the effects are to be produced by\nlight and shadow, rather than by color. Every one must have noticed\nthat some houses as soon as the doors are opened look bright and\ncheerful, while others are melancholy and dull. The difference is\ncaused by the good or bad taste with which they are papered. Yet who\nshall say what events may arise from such a simple thing as the first\nimpressions of an important visitor? And these impressions may\ninvoluntarily receive their primal tone from a light, cheerful, or\ndull, dark hall paper.\n\nAll rooms open to the public must have a certain air of conventional\narrangement; but the parlor in every home ought to be a room of\ncharacter and individuality. Here is the very shrine and sanctuary of\nthe Lares and Penates. Here is the grandmamma's chair and knitting,\nand mamma's work-basket, and the sofa on which papa lounges and reads\nhis evening paper. Here are Annie's flowers and Mary's easel and\nJack's much-abused class-books. Here the girls practise and the boys\nrig their ship and mamma looks serious over the house books. In this\nroom the picture papers lie around, every one's favorite volume is on\nthe table, and the walls are sacred to the family portraits. In this\nroom the family councils are held and the dear invalids nursed back to\nlife. Here the boys come to say \"good-bye\" when they go away to school\nor to business. Here the girls, in their gay party-dresses, come for\npapa's final bantering kiss and mamma's last admiration and\nadmonition. Ah, this room!--this dear, untidy, unfashionable parlor!\nIt is the citadel of the household, the very _heart of the home_.\n\nNone can deny the influence which childhood's home has over them, even\nunto their hoary-hairs; the memory of a happy, comfortable one is\nbetter than an inheritance. The girls and boys who leave it have a\npositive ideal to realize. There is no speculation in their efforts;\nthey _know_ that home is \"Sweet Home.\" But in all their imaginings\nchairs and tables and curtains and carpets have a conspicuous place.\nThis life is all we have to front eternity with, therefore nothing\nthat touches it is of small consequence. It is something to the body\nto have comfortable and appropriate household surroundings, it is much\nmore to the mind. Is there any one whose feelings and energies are not\ndepressed by a cold, comfortless, untidy room? And who does not feel a\npositive exaltation of spirit in the glow of a bright fire and the\ncosey surroundings of a prettily furnished apartment?\n\nGod has not made us to differ in this respect. A pleasant home is the\ndream and hope of every good man and woman. As Traddles and his dear\nlittle wife used to please themselves by selecting in the shop windows\ntheir contemplated service of silver, so also many honest, hopeful\ntoilers fix upon the chairs and curtains that are to adorn their homes\nlong before they possess them. The dream and the object is a great\ngain morally to them. Perhaps they might have other ones, but it is\nequally possible that the possession of this very furniture is the\nvery condition that makes higher ones possible.\n\nDepend upon it \"A Society for the Improved Furnishing of Poor Men's\nHomes\" would be a step taken in the seven-leagued boots for _the\nelevation of poor men's and women's lives_.\n\n\n\n\nPeople Who Have Good Impulses\n\n\nThere is a raw material in humanity--often very raw--called impulse,\nor enthusiasm; and some people are very proud of possessing this\nspasmodic excellence. They talk glibly of their \"good impulses,\" their\n\"noble impulses,\" their \"generous impulses,\" but the fact is that the\nmajority of impulses are neither good nor noble; while they are, of\nall guides in human affairs, the most questionable. For impulses do\nnot come from settled principles, but rather from a loose habit of\nmind--a mind just drifting along, and ready to accept any new\nsuggestion as an \"impulse,\" an \"inspiration,\" a \"command.\" We believe\nfar too readily the cant about emotion, and erratic genius, and suffer\nourselves to be imposed upon by fussy, impulsive people; for if we\nare at all allied with such, it is impossible to escape imposition;\nsince we have to be patient enough for two, and so bear an undue\nburden of civility and good manners.\n\nIt may be said that such a discipline is not to be despised, and could\nbe made a lesson of spiritual grace. But if we are not sick, why\nshould we take medicine? Lessons God sets us, He helps us to learn,\nbut there are no promises for those who impose penance upon\nthemselves. And it is a penance to associate with impulsive, fussy\npersons; for no matter how good their impulses are, they are simply\nnowhere--as far as noble, enduring work is concerned--beside\nwell-considered plans, carried out by cool, consistent people, who\nknow what can be done and do it,--just as much next year as this year;\njust as well in one place as in another.\n\nMinisters of the gospel know this fact perhaps better than any other\nmortals. They are constantly finding out how uncertain a quantity good\nimpulses are to depend upon. For they have not the habit of\nmaterializing into good actions; they are evanescent pretenders to\nrighteousness; they tell more flattering tales than ever Hope told.\nAll too soon the practical, calm minister discovers that impulse and\nenthusiasm are but rudimentary virtues, and seldom available for any\nreal, good work. The men of service, either in spiritual or temporal\nwork, are men whom nothing hurries or flurries; who are never in\nhaste, and never too late. They are not men of impulse, but of\nconsideration. Whether they are going to deliver a sermon or keep a\nmomentous appointment, to get a high office or a sum of money, or\nmerely to catch an express train, they are perfectly cool, and always\nin time. Of course, impulsive people keep appointments and catch\ntrains, but oh, what a fuss they make about it!\n\nUnfortunately, calm, grand natures are not of indigenous growth, and\nwe do not do all we might to cultivate them. If we took more time to\nthink, we should be less impulsive, more reasonable, less shallow. If\nwe made less haste, we should make more speed. \"Slow and sure win the\nrace\" is a proverb embodying a great truth. Fussy, impulsive people\nnever get at the bottom of things, never give an impartial judgment,\nnever are masters of any difficult situation; for the power of\ndeliberation, of staving off personal likes and dislikes, of waiting,\nof knowing when to wait and when to move,--are powers invariably\nlinked with a cool head and a clear, calm will. But none of these\ngrand qualities come at the call of impulse. Even good impulses are of\nno practical value until they crystallize into good deeds. Without\nthis result the impulse or the intention to do great things may be a\nserious spiritual danger; the soul may satisfy itself with its\nimpulses and designs, and rest upon them; forgetting what place of\nineffectual regret is paved with good intentions.\n\nIn a certain sense it is true that the power of taking things in a\ncool, practical way is often an affair of the pulse, and so many\nbeats, more or less, per minute, make a person fussy or serene. But it\nis only true in measure. Forethought and preparation--realizing what\nis likely to happen, and what is best to be done--are great helps to\nkeeping cool and calm. The will also can work miracles. I believe in\nthe will because I believe that the human will is God's grace. Those\nwho say, \"I cannot\" are those who think, \"I will not.\" Besides which\nthere are heavenly powers that wait to help our infirmities. Paul did\nnot hesitate to pray for the removal of his physical infirmity, and\nthe \"sufficient grace\" that was promised him will be just as freely\ngiven to us. Indeed, I may rest the question here, for this is our\ngreat consolation: one cannot say too much of the Divine help. It will\nkeep all in perfect peace that trust in it.\n\n\n\n\nWorried to Death\n\n\nTo say \"we are worried to death\" is a common expression; but do we\nreally comprehend the terrible truth of the remark? Do we realize that\nthe hounds of care and anxiety and fretful inability may actually tear\nand torment us into paresis, or paralysis, or dementia, and as\nvirtually worry us to death, as a collie dog worries a sheep, or a cat\nworries a mouse? And yet, if we are Christian men and women, worrying\nis just the one thing not needful; for there are more than sixty\nadmonitions in the Bible against it; and the ground is so well covered\nby them that between the first \"Fear not\" and the last, every\nunnecessary anxiety is met, and there is not a legitimate subject for\nworrying left.\n\nAre we troubled about meat and money matters? We are told to \"consider\nthe fowls of the air; they sow not, neither do they reap nor gather\ninto barns; yet your Heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much\nbetter than they?\"\n\nHave we some malignant enemy to fight? Fear not! \"If God be for us,\nwho can be against us?\"\n\nAre we in sorrow? \"I, even I, am He that comforteth you.\"\n\nAre we in doubt and perplexity? \"I will bring the blind by a way that\nthey know not. I will lead them in paths they have not known. I will\nmake darkness light before them, and crooked things straight.\"\n\nDo we fear that our work is beyond our strength? \"He giveth power to\nthe faint; and to them that have no might, He increaseth strength.\"\n\nAre we sick? He has promised to make all our bed in our sickness.\n\nDo we fear death? He has assured us that in the valley and shadow of\ndeath He will be with us.\n\nIs the worry not for ourselves, but for wife and children that will be\nleft without support and protection? Even this last anxiety is\nprovided for. \"Leave thy fatherless children to me, and let thy\nwidows trust in me, and I will preserve them alive.\"\n\nNow, if we really believe that God made these promises, how shameful\nis our distrust! Do we think that God will not keep His word? Do we\ndoubt His good-will toward us? When He says that He will make all\nthings work together for our good, is the Holy One lying to our\nsorrowful hearts? Thirty years ago I was thrown helpless, penniless,\nand friendless upon these assurances of God; and in thirty years He\nhas never broken a promise. He is a God that keepeth both mercy and\ntruth. I believe in His goodness. I trust in His care. I would not, by\nworrying, tell Him to His face that He either has not the power or the\ngood-will to help and comfort me.\n\nWorriers live under a very low sky. They allow nothing for probabilities\nand \"Godsends.\" They suffer nothing to go by faith. All times and all\nplaces supply them with material. In summer, it is the heat and the\ndogs and the hydrophobia. In winter, it is the cold, and the price of\ncoal. They take all the light and comfort out of home pleasures;\nand abroad their complaints are endless. Yet to argue with worriers\nis of little use; convince them at every point, and the next moment\nthey return to their old aggravating, vaporing _credo_.\n\nWhat remains for them then? They must pray to God, and help\nthemselves. Egotism and selfishness are at the bottom of all worrying.\nIf they will just remember that there is no reason why they should be\nexempted from the common trials of humanity, they may step at once on\nto higher ground; for even worrying is humanized, when it is no longer\npurely selfish and personal.\n\nIt is usually idle people who worry. Men and women whose every hour is\nfull of earnest business do not try to put two hours' care and thought\ninto one. Even a positive injury or injustice drops easily from an\nhonestly busy man. He has not time to keep a catalogue of his wrongs,\nand worry about them. He simply casts his care upon Him who has\npromised to care for him--for his health, and wealth, and happiness,\nand good name; for all the events of his life, and for all the hopes\nof his future.\n\nWorriers would not like to see written down all the doubtful things\nthey have said of God, and all the ill-natured things they have said\nof men; besides, they might consider that they are often righteously\nworried, and only suffering the due reward of some folly of their own.\nWould it not be better to ask God to put right what they have put\nwrong; to lay hold of all that is good in the present; to refuse to\nlook forward to any possible change for the worse? I know a good man\nwho, when he feels inclined to worry over events, takes a piece of\npaper and writes his fears down, and so faces \"the squadron of his\ndoubts,\"--finding generally that they vanish as they are mustered.\n\nCome, let us take Cheerfulness as a companion. Let us say farewell to\nWorrying. Cheerfulness will bid us ignore perplexities and annoyances;\nand help us to rise above them. God loves a cheerful liver; and when\nwe consider the sin and sorrow, the poverty and ignorance, on every\nside of us, we may well hold our peace from all words but those of\ngratitude and thanksgiving. Worrying is self-torment. It is always\npreparing \"for the worst,\" and yet never fit to meet it. Cheerfulness\nis a kind of magnanimity; it listens to no repinings; it outlooks\nshadows; it turns necessity to glorious gain; and so breathing on\nevery gift of God, Hope's perpetual joy, it enables us, mid pleasant\nyesterdays, and confident to-morrows,--\n\n  To travel on life's common way,\n  In cheerful godliness.\n\n\n\n\nThe Grapes We Can't Reach\n\n\nThe grapes we can't reach are not, as a general thing, sour grapes;\nand it is a despicable kind of philosophy that asserts them to be so.\nWhy should we despise good things because we do not possess them?\nCicero, indeed, says that \"if we do not have wealth, there is nothing\nbetter and nobler than to despise it.\" But this assertion was\nartificial in the case of Cicero, and it is no nearer the truth now\nthan it was two thousand years ago.\n\nIn fact, on the question of money this dictum appeals to us with great\nforce; for though it may be true that some of the best things of life\ncannot be bought with money, it is equally true that there are other\ngood things that nothing but money can buy. Therefore, to follow\nCicero's advice and despise wealth if we have not got it, is to\ndespise a great many excellent things; and not only that, it is to\ndespise also the power of imparting these excellent things to other\npeople. The golden grapes may be out of our reach, but we need not say\nthe fruit is sour; rather let us give thanks that others have been\nable to gather and press the rich vintage and to give graciously to\nthe world of its wine of consolation.\n\nIn the same way it has long been, fashionable to assert a contempt for\n\"the bubble reputation,\" whether sought on the battlefield or in the\nsenate, or forum, or study. But why despise one of the grandest moral\nforces in the universe? For when a man can get out of self to follow\nthe fortunes of an idea, when he can fall in love with a cause, when\nhe can fight for some public good, when he can forfeit life, if need\nbe, for his conviction, the \"reputation\" that is sure to follow such\nabnegation and courage is not a \"bubble;\" it is a glorious fact,--one\nthrough which the general level of humanity is raised and the whole\nworld impelled forward.\n\nI do not say that all persons who conscientiously use to their utmost\nability the one or two talents they possess are not as happy as\nthey can be. Thank God! life can be full in small measures. But if\nany man or woman has been given five or ten talents, I do say they\nhave no right to keep them for their own delectation, falling back\nupon such cheap sentiments as the hollowness of fame and the\n\"bubble reputation.\" Fame is not a bubble; it is a power whose\nbeneficent achievements have done a great deal toward making this\nworld a comfortable dwelling-place.\n\nA great many high-sounding maxims in use at the present day have lost\ntheir application. There was a time, centuries ago, when the\nhumiliations attending any upward climb were sufficient to deter a\nsensitive, honorable soul. But such days are forever past. Any one now\nbearing precious gifts for humanity finds the gates lifted up and a\nwide entrance ready for him. Men and women can make what mark they are\nable to make, and the world stands watching with sympathetic heart.\nThey will not find its \"reputation\" a \"bubble.\"\n\nAnother fine, windy theme of warning from \"sour-grape\" philosophers is\nthe hollowness of friendship and the general insincerity of the world.\nThey have \"seen through\" the world, they know all its falseness and\nworthlessness; and, as the world is far too busy to dispute their\nassertions or to defend itself, the superior discernment of this class\nof people is not brought to accurate accounting. As a matter of fact,\nhowever, people generally get just as much consideration from the\nworld, and just as much fidelity from their friends, as they deserve.\nA friend may ask us to dinner, but not therefore should we expect that\nhe share his purse with us. Community of taste and sentiment does not\nimply community of goods. But, for all this, friendship is not hollow,\nnor are the grapes of its hospitality sour.\n\nI may notice here the prevalent opinion that there is no such\nfriendship now in the world as there used to be. \"There are no Davids\nand Jonathans now,\" say the unbelievers in humanity. Very true, for\nDavid and Jonathan did not belong to the nineteenth century. To keep\nup such a friendship, we require, not a spare hour now and then, but\nan amount of certain and continuous leisure. There are still great\nfriendships among boys at school and young men in college, for they\nhave a large amount of steady leisure; and this is necessary to signal\nfriendship. When we have more time, we shall have more and stronger\nfriendships.\n\nThe vanity of life, the deceitfulness of women, the falseness of love,\nthe impossibility of happiness, the passing away of all that is lovely\nand of good report, are old, old, old texts of complaint. Men and\nwomen talk about them until they feel ever so much better than the\nrest of the world; and such talk enables them to look down with proper\ncontempt upon the hypocrisies of society,--that is, of their next-door\nneighbors and near acquaintances,--and fosters a comfortable, but\ndangerous self-esteem. The world, upon the whole, is a good world to\nthose who try to be good and to do good, and every year it is growing\nbetter. During the last fifty years how much it has grown! How\nsympathetic, how charitable, how evangelizing it has become! Yes,\nindeed, if we choose to do so, we shall meet with far more good hearts\nthan bad ones, and the topmost grapes are not sour.\n\n\n\n\nBurdens\n\n\nThere are two kinds of burdens--those that God lays on us, and those\nwhich we lay on ourselves. When God lays the burden on the back, he\ngives us strength to carry it. There never was a Christian who, in\nhis weariest and dreariest hours, could not say, \"His grace is\nsufficient.\" If God smiles on him, he can smile under any burden that\nhe may have to carry. He can go up the \"hill of difficulty\"\nsinging, and walk confidently into the very land of the shadow of\ndeath. For God's burdens are easy to bear; because he walks with us,\nand when the journey is too great, and the burden too heavy, and\nour hearts begin to fail and faint, he is sure to whisper, \"Cast thy\nburden upon me, and I will sustain thee.\"\n\nThe burdens that are hard to bear are those we lay upon ourselves.\nWhat a burden to themselves, and to every one around them, are the\nlazy and the unemployed! If it is a man, prayers should be offered up\nfor his family and his dependents,--for who is so morbid and\nmelancholy, so pettish and fretful, so devoured by spleen and ennui,\nas the man with nothing to do? There is a lion in every way to him. He\nis out of God's order of creation; the busy world has no sympathy with\nhim; society has no use for him; no one is the better for his life,\nand no one is sorry for his death. He is simply the fungus of living,\nactive, breathing humanity. The lazy lay a burden on their backs which\nwould appall men who have fought winds and waves, and searched the\nbowels of the earth, and bound to their will the subtle forces of\nelectricity and steam.\n\nThe burdens we bind for ourselves we shall have to bear alone. God is\nnot going to help us, and angels stand afar off; good men and women\nare not here bound by the injunction, \"Bear ye one another's burdens.\"\nThe envious, the proud, the drunkard, the seducer, the complainer, the\nlazy, etc., must bear their self-inflicted burdens, till they perish\nwith them.\n\nIf the kingdom of heaven could be taken by some wonderful _coup\nd'état_, many would be first that are now last. But of great deeds\nlittle account is to be made. They are indigenous in every condition\nof society. It is a great life that is never a failure. A great life\ncomposed of a multitude of little burdens, cheerfully borne, and\nlittle charges faithfully kept. And this is a kind of Christian\nwarfare, that is specially to be carried on in the sphere of the home.\nMany a professor, faithful in all the weightier matters of the law and\nthe sanctuary, and blameless in the eyes of the world, is a rock of\noffence in his own household. His wife doubts his religion, his\nchildren fear him, and his servants call him a hard master. He pays\nall his tithes of mint, anise, and cummin to the church and society,\nbut as regards the little burdens of his own household, he is worse\nthan a publican.\n\nSmall burdens make up the moral and religious probation of a majority\nof women, for they have but rare occasion for the exercise of such\nfaith and fortitude as commands the eye of the world. But these\nburdens, though apparently small and contracted in their sphere, are\nnot only very important in their results, but often singularly\nirritating. Sickly, fretful children--impertinent, lazy servants--a\nthoughtless, irregular husband--a hundred other burdens so small she\ndoes not like to say how heavy she feels them to be and how sorely\nthey weary her,--these are \"her warfare;\" and because the Master has\nlaid them upon her, shall she not bear them? The world may call them\n\"little burdens,\" but there is nothing small in the eyes of Infinity.\n\nIn no way can a woman cultivate beauty and strength of character so\nwell as in the patient bearing and carrying of the small burdens that\nevery day await her--the headaches and toothaches--the weariness and\nweakness incident to her position and condition. For it is the glory\nof a woman that her weakness or weariness never shrouds a household in\ngloom, or makes the atmosphere electrical with impatience and\nirritability. To carry her burden, whatever it may be, cheerfully, is\nnot a little victory, and such daily victories make the last great one\neasy to be won. It is hard to die before we have learned to live; but\ndeath is easy to those who have conquered life. To such the grave is\nbut a laying down of all burdens, a rest from labor and obligation,\nwhile yet their works of love and unselfishness do follow them with\nfruit and blessing.\n\nWe must not forget that in our journey through life, there are burdens\nwhich we may lawfully make our own. We may help the weak and the\nstruggling on to their feet, when they have fallen in the battle of\nlife. We may comfort those \"touched by the finger of God.\" We may copy\nthe Good Samaritan, not forgetting the oil and two pence. We may wipe\nthe tears from the eyes of the widow and the fatherless. In bearing\nsuch burdens as these, we shall find ourselves in good company; for in\nthe tabernacles of sanctified suffering we may come near to the Divine\nBurden Bearer; and going on messages of mercy, we may meet angels\ngoing the same way.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32135", "title": "Maids, Wives, and Bachelors", "author": "", "publication_year": 1898, "metadata_title": "Maids, Wives, and Bachelors", "metadata_author": "Amelia E. Barr", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:23.655329", "source_chars": 327287, "chars": 327285, "talkie_tokens": 74081}}
{"text": "A Treatise on Relics\n\n                                    By\n\n                               John Calvin\n\n                   Translated from the French Original\n\n                                 With An\n\n                        Introductory Dissertation\n\n  On the Miraculous Images, as Well as Other Superstitions, of the Roman\n                    Catholic and Russo-Greek Churches.\n\n                               By the Late\n\n                        Count Valerian Krasinski,\n\n     Author of “The Religious History of the Slavonic Nations,” etc.\n\n                             Second Edition.\n\n                                Edinburgh:\n\n                         Johnstone, Hunter & Co.\n\n                                   1870\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nPreface.\nPreface To The Second Edition.\nIntroductory Dissertation.\n   Chapter I. Origin Of The Worship Of Relics And Images In The Christian\n   Church.\n   Chapter II. Compromise Of The Church With Paganism.\n   Chapter III. Position Of The First Christian Emperors Towards Paganism,\n   And Their Policy In This Respect.\n   Chapter IV. Infection Of The Christian Church By Pagan Ideas And\n   Practices During The Fourth And Fifth Centuries.\n   Chapter V. Reaction Against The Worship Of Images And Other\n   Superstitious Practices By The Iconoclast Emperors Of The East.\n   Chapter VI. Origin And Development Of The Pious Legends, Or Lives Of\n   Saints, During The Middle Ages.\n   Chapter VII. Analysis Of The Pagan Rites And Practices Which Have Been\n   Retained By The Roman Catholic As Well As The Græco-Russian Church.\n   Chapter VIII. Image-Worship And Other Superstitious Practices Of The\n   Graeco-Russian Church.\nCalvin’s Treatise On Relics, With Notes By The Translator.\nPostscript.\nList Of Works Published By Johnstone, Hunter, & Co., Edinburgh.\nFootnotes\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe Treatise on Relics by the great Reformer of Geneva is not so generally\nknown as it deserves, though at the time of its publication it enjoyed a\nconsiderable popularity.(1) The probable reason of this is: the absurdity\nof the relics described in the Treatise has since the Reformation\ngradually become so obvious, that their exhibitors make as little noise as\npossible about their miraculous wares, whose virtues are no longer\nbelieved except by the most ignorant part of the population of countries\nwherein the education of the inferior classes is neglected. And, indeed,\nnot only Protestants, but many enlightened Roman Catholics believed that\nall the miracles of relics, images, and other superstitions with which\nChristianity were infected during the times of mediæval ignorance would be\nsoon, by the progress of knowledge, consigned for ever to the oblivion of\nthe dark ages, and only recorded in the history of the aberrations of the\nhuman mind, together with the superstitions of ancient Egypt, Greece, and\nRome. Unfortunately these hopes have not been realised, and are still\nremaining amongst the _pia desideria_. The Roman Catholic reaction, which\ncommenced about half a century ago by works of a philosophical nature,\nadapted to the wants of the most intellectual classes of society, has,\nemboldened by success, gradually assumed a more and more material\ntendency, and at length has begun to manifest itself by such results as\nthe exhibition of the holy coat at Treves, which produced a great noise\nover all Germany,(2) the apparition of the Virgin at La Salette, the\nwinking Madonna of Rimini, and, what is perhaps more important than all,\nthe solemn installation of the relics of St Theodosia at Amiens; whilst\nworks of a description similar to the Life of St Francis of Assisi, by M.\nChavin de Malan, and the Lives of the English Saints, which I have\nmentioned on pp. 113 and 115 of my Introduction are produced by writers of\nconsiderable talent and learning. These are significant facts, and prove,\nat all events, that in spite of the progress of intellect and knowledge,\nwhich is the boast of our century, we seem to be fast returning to a state\nof things similar to the time when Calvin wrote his Treatise. I therefore\nbelieve that its reproduction in a new English translation will not be out\nof date.\n\nOn the other side, the politico-religious system of aggression followed by\nRussia has now taken such a rapid development, that the dangers which\nthreaten the liberties and civilization of Europe from that quarter have\nbecome more imminent than those which may be apprehended from the Roman\nCatholic reaction. Fortunately England and France have taken up arms\nagainst the impious crusade proclaimed by the Imperial Pope of Russia. I\nthink that the term _impious_, which I am advisedly using on this\noccasion, is by no means exaggerated; because, how can we otherwise\ndesignate the proceedings adopted by the Czar for exciting the religious\nfanaticism of the Russians, as, for instance, the letter of the Archbishop\nof Georgia, addressed to that of Moscow, and published in the official\nGazette of St Petersburg, stating, on the authority of the Russian\nGeneral, Prince Bagration Mukhranski, that during an engagement between\nthe Russians and the Turks, which recently took place in Asia, the Blessed\nVirgin appeared in the air and frightened the Turks to such a degree that\nthey took to flight!(3) I have developed this subject in the last chapter\nof my Introduction, in order to show my readers the religious condition of\nthe Russian people, because I think that without it a knowledge of the\npolicy now followed by their Government cannot be well understood, or its\nconsequences fully appreciated.\n\nEDINBURGH, _May 1854_.\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.\n\n\nThe valuable Dissertation which forms such a fitting commentary upon John\nCalvin’s Treatise on Relics, was written by the late lamented author on\nthe eve of the Crimean War, in 1854. It has been out of print for several\nyears, but in these days of Popish assumption and claims to Infallibility,\nit has been thought that a new edition would prove acceptable, and be\nfound useful in directing attention to the mummeries and absurdities\nengrafted on the True Christian Faith, by the false and corrupt Church of\nRome.\n\nEDINBURGH, _January 1870_.\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY DISSERTATION.\n\n\n\n\nChapter I. Origin Of The Worship Of Relics And Images In The Christian\nChurch.\n\n\nHero-worship is innate to human nature, and it is founded on some of our\nnoblest feelings,—gratitude, love, and admiration.—but which, like all\nother feelings, when uncontrolled by principle and reason, may easily\ndegenerate into the wildest exaggerations, and lead to most dangerous\nconsequences. It was by such an exaggeration of these noble feelings that\nPaganism filled the Olympus with gods and demigods,—elevating to this rank\nmen who have often deserved the gratitude of their fellow-creatures, by\nsome signal services rendered to the community, or their admiration, by\nhaving performed some deeds which required a more than usual degree of\nmental and physical powers. The same cause obtained for the Christian\nmartyrs the gratitude and admiration of their fellow-Christians, and\nfinally converted them into a kind of demigods. This was more particularly\nthe case when the church began to be corrupted by her compromise with\nPaganism, which having been baptized without being converted, rapidly\nintroduced into the Christian church, not only many of its rites and\nceremonies, but even its polytheism, with this difference, that the\ndivinities of Greece and Rome were replaced by Christian saints, many of\nwhom received the offices of their Pagan predecessors.(4) The church in\nthe beginning tolerated these abuses, as a temporary evil, but was\nafterwards unable to remove them; and they became so strong, particularly\nduring the prevailing ignorance of the middle ages, that the church ended\nby legalising, through her decrees, that at which she did nothing but wink\nat first. I shall endeavour to give my readers a rapid sketch of the rise,\nprogress, and final establishment of the Pagan practices which not only\ncontinue to prevail in the Western as well as in the Eastern church, but\nhave been of late, notwithstanding the boasted progress of intellect in\nour days, manifested in as bold as successful a manner.\n\nNothing, indeed, can be more deserving of our admiration than the conduct\nof the Christian martyrs, who cheerfully submitted to an ignominious\ndeath, inflicted by the most atrocious torments, rather than deny their\nfaith even by the mere performance of an apparently insignificant rite of\nPaganism. Their persecutors were often affected by seeing examples of an\nheroic fortitude, such as they admired in a Scævola or a Regulus,\ndisplayed not only by men, but by women, and even children, and became\nconverted to a faith which could inspire its confessors with such a\ndevotion to its tenets. It has been justly said that the blood of the\nmartyrs was the glory and the seed of the church, because the constancy of\nher confessors has, perhaps, given her more converts than the eloquence\nand learning of her doctors. It was, therefore, very natural that the\nmemory of those noble champions of Christianity should be held in great\nveneration by their brethren in the faith. The bodies of the martyrs, or\ntheir remnants, were always, whenever it was possible, purchased from\ntheir judges or executioners, and decently buried by the Christians. The\nday on which the martyr had suffered was generally marked in the registers\nof his church, in order to commemorate this glorious event on its\nanniversaries. These commemorations usually consisted in the eulogy of the\nmartyr, delivered in an assembly of the church, for the edification of the\nfaithful, the strengthening of the weak, and the stimulating of the\nlukewarm, by setting before them the noble example of the above-mentioned\nmartyr. It was very natural that the objects of the commemoration received\non such an occasion the greatest praises, not unfrequently expressed in\nthe most exaggerated terms, but there was no question about invoking the\naid or intercession of the confessors whose example was thus held out for\nthe imitation of the church.\n\nWe know from the Acts that neither St Stephen, the first Christian martyr,\nnor St James, who was killed by Herod, were invoked in any manner by the\napostolic church, because, had this been the case, the inspired writer of\nthis first record of the ancient church would not have omitted such an\nimportant circumstance, having mentioned facts of much lesser consequence.\nHad such a practice been in conformity with the apostolic doctrine, it\nwould have certainly been brought forward in the epistles of St Paul, or\nin those of other apostles. There is also sufficient evidence that the\nfathers of the primitive church knew nothing of the invocation, or any\nother kind of worship rendered to departed saints. The limits of this\nessay allow me not to adduce evidences of this fact, which may be\nabundantly drawn from the writings of those fathers, and I shall content\nmyself with the following few but conclusive instances of this kind.\n\nSt Clement, bishop of Rome, who is supposed to have been instituted by St\nPaul, and to be the same of whom he speaks in his Epistle to the\nPhilippians iv. 3, addressed a letter to the Corinthians on account of\ncertain dissensions by which their church was disturbed. He recommends to\nthem, with great praises, the Epistles of St Paul, who had suffered\nmartyrdom under Nero, but he does not say a word about invoking the aid or\nintercession of the martyr, who was the founder of their church, and which\nwould have been most suitable on that occasion, if such a practice had\nalready been admitted by the Christians of his time. On the contrary, he\nprays God for them, “_because it is He who gives to the soul that invokes\nHim, faith, grace, peace, patience, and wisdom_.” St Polycarp, bishop of\nSmyrna, who lived in the second century, addressed a letter to the\nPhilippians, but he says nothing in it to recommend the invocation of St\nPaul, who was the founder of their church, and as such would have been\nconsidered as its patron saint, had the worship of the saints been at that\ntime already introduced amongst the Christians. The most important and\npositive proof that the primitive Christians, not only did not pay any\nadoration to the martyrs, but decidedly rejected it, is the epistle which\nwas issued by the church of Smyrna after the martyrdom of its bishop, whom\nI have just mentioned. It states that the Pagans had, at the instigation\nof the Jews, closely watched the Christians, imagining that they would\nendeavour to carry away the ashes of Polycarp in order to worship him\nafter his death, because these idolaters knew not that the Christians\ncannot abandon Jesus Christ, _or worship any one else_. “_We worship_,”\nsays the same document, “_Jesus Christ, who is the Son of God_; but with\nregard to the martyrs, the disciples of Christ and imitators of his\nvirtues, _we love them, as they deserve it, on account of the\nunconquerable love which they had for their Master and King; and would to\nGod that we should become their disciples and partakers of their zeal_.”\n\nI could multiply proofs of this kind without end, but I shall only\nobserve, that even in the fourth century the orthodox Christians\nconsidered the worship of every created being as idolatry, because the\nopponents of the Arians, who considered Jesus Christ as created and not\nco-essential with God the Father, employed the following argument to\ncombat this dogma:—“If you consider Jesus Christ a created being, you\ncommit idolatry by worshipping him.”\n\nAdmiration is, however, akin to adoration, and it was no wonder that those\nwhose memory was constantly praised, and frequently in the most\nexaggerated terms, gradually began to be considered as something more than\nsimple mortals, and treated accordingly. It was also very natural that\nvarious objects which had belonged to the martyrs were carefully preserved\nas interesting mementoes, since it is continually done with persons who\nhave acquired some kind of celebrity, and that this should be the case\nwith their bodies, which have often been embalmed. It is, however,\nimpossible, as Calvin has justly observed,(5) to preserve such objects\nwithout honouring them in a certain manner, and this must soon degenerate\ninto adoration. This was the origin of the worship of relics, which went\non increasing in the same ratio as the purity of Christian doctrines was\ngiving way to the superstitions of Paganism.\n\nThe worship of images is intimately connected with that of the saints.\nThey were rejected by the primitive Christians; but St Irenæus, who lived\nin the second century, relates that there was a sect of heretics, the\nCarpocratians, who worshipped, in the manner of Pagans, different images\nrepresenting Jesus Christ, St Paul, and others. The Gnostics had also\nimages; but the church rejected their use in a positive manner, and a\nChristian writer of the third century, Minutius Felix, says that “the\nPagans reproached the Christians for having neither temples nor\nsimulachres;” and I could quote many other evidences that the primitive\nChristians entertained a great horror against every kind of images,\nconsidering them as the work of demons.\n\nIt appears, however, that the use of pictures was creeping into the church\nalready in the third century, because the council of Elvira in Spain, held\nin 305, especially forbids to have any picture in the Christian churches.\nThese pictures were generally representations of some events, either of\nthe New or of the Old Testament, and their object was to instruct the\ncommon and illiterate people in sacred history, whilst others were\nemblems, representing some ideas connected with the doctrines of\nChristianity. It was certainly a powerful means of producing an impression\nupon the senses and the imagination of the vulgar, who believe without\nreasoning, and admit without reflection; it was also the most easy way of\nconverting rude and ignorant nations, because, looking constantly on the\nrepresentations of some fact, people usually end by believing it. This\niconographic teaching was, therefore, recommended by the rulers of the\nchurch, as being useful to the ignorant, who had only the understanding of\neyes, and could not read writings.(6) Such a practice was, however,\nfraught with the greatest danger, as experience has but too much proved.\nIt was replacing intellect by sight.(7) Instead of elevating man towards\nGod, it was bringing down the Deity to the level of his finite intellect,\nand it could not but powerfully contribute to the rapid spread of a pagan\nanthropomorphism in the church.\n\nThere was also another cause which seems to have greatly contributed to\nthe propagation of the abovementioned anthropomorphism amongst the\nChristians, namely, the contemplative life of the hermits, particularly of\nthose who inhabited the burning deserts of Egypt. It has been observed of\nthese monks, by Zimmerman, in his celebrated work on Solitude, that “men\nof extraordinary characters, and actuated by strange and uncommon\npassions, have shrunk from the pleasures of the world into joyless gloom\nand desolation. In savage and dreary deserts they have lived a solitary\nand destitute life, subjecting themselves to voluntary self-denials and\nmortifications almost incredible; sometimes exposed in nakedness to the\nchilling blasts of the winter cold, or the scorching breath of summer’s\nheat, till their brains, distempered by the joint operation of tortured\nsenses and overstrained imagination, swarmed with the wildest and most\nfrantic visions.”(8) The same writer relates, on the authority of\nSulpicius Severus, that an individual had been roving about Mount Sinai\nnearly during fifty years, entirely naked, and avoiding all intercourse\nwith men. Once, however, being inquired about the motives of his strange\nconduct, he answered, that, “enjoying as he did the society of seraphim\nand cherubim, he felt aversion to intercourse with men.”(9)\n\nMany of these enthusiasts imagined, in their hallucinations, they had a\ndirect intercourse with God himself, who, as well as the subordinate\nspirits, appeared to them in a human shape. The monks of Egypt were,\nindeed, the most zealous defenders of the corporeality of God. They\nviolently hated Origines for his maintaining that He was spiritual.\nTheophilus, bishop of Alexandria, opposed this error; but the monks\nassembled in great force, with the intention of murdering him; and he\nescaped this danger by addressing them in the words which Jacob used to\nEsau, “I have seen thy face, as though I had seen the face of God.”—(Gen.\nxxxiii 10.) This compliment, which could be interpreted as an\nacknowledgment of a corporeal God, appeased the wrath of the monks, but\nthey compelled Theophilus to anathematise the writings of Origines.\n\nThe following anecdote is characteristic of the strong tendency of human\nnature towards anthropomorphism. An old monk, called Serapion, having been\nconvinced by the arguments of a friend that it was an error to believe God\ncorporeal, exclaimed, weeping, “Alas, my God was taken from me, and I do\nnot know whom I am now worshipping!”(10) I shall have, in the course of\nthis essay, opportunities to show that the monks have always been the most\nzealous and efficient promoters of image-worship.\n\nThe following rapid sketch of the introduction of image-worship into the\nChristian church, and of its consequences, has been drawn by a French\nliving writer, whose religious views I do not share, but whose profound\nerudition, fairness, and sincerity, are deserving of the greatest praise:—\n\n“The aversion of the first Christians to the images, inspired by the Pagan\nsimulachres, made room, during the centuries which followed the period of\nthe persecutions, to a feeling of an entirely different kind, and the\nimages gradually gained their favour. Reappearing at the end of the fourth\nand during the course of the fifth centuries, simply as emblems, they soon\nbecame images, in the true acceptation of this word; and the respect which\nwas entertained by the Christians for the persons and ideas represented by\nthose images, was afterwards converted into a real worship.\nRepresentations of the sufferings which the Christians had endured for the\nsake of their religion, were at first exhibited to the people in order to\nstimulate by such a sight the faith of the masses, always lukewarm and\nindifferent. With regard to the images of divine persons of entirely\nimmaterial beings, it must be remarked, that they did not originate from\nthe most spiritualised and pure doctrines of the Christian society, but\nwere rejected by the severe orthodoxy of the primitive church. These\nsimulachres appear to have been spread at first by the Gnostics,—_i.e._,\nby those Christian sects which adopted the most of the beliefs of Persia\nand India. Thus it was a Christianity which was not purified by its\ncontact with the school of Plato,—a Christianity which entirely rejected\nthe Mosaic tradition, in order to attach itself to the most strange and\nattractive myths of Persia and India,—that gave birth to the images. And\nit was a return to the spiritualism of the first ages, and a revival of\nthe spirit of aversion to what has a tendency of lowering Divinity to the\nnarrow proportions of a human creature, that produced war against those\nimages. But the manners and the beliefs had been changed. Whole nations\nhad received Christianity, when it was already escorted by that idolatrous\ntrain of carved and painted images. Only those populations amongst whom\nthe ancient traditions were preserved could favour this reaction. The\nclergy were, moreover, interested in maintaining one of their most\npowerful means of teaching. The long and persevering efforts of the\nIconoclasts proved therefore ineffective; and the Waldenses were not more\nfortunate. Wickliffe, the Hussites, and Carlostad, attacked the images;\nbut it was reserved only to the Calvinists to establish in some parts of\nEurope the triumph of the ideas of the Iconoclasts. The shock was\nterrible. The Religionists frequently committed acts of a fanatical and\nsenseless vandalism; and art had many losses to deplore. But the\nidolatrous tendency was struck at its very root; and Catholicism itself\nfound, after the struggle, more purity and idealism in its own\nworship.(11) The Reformed perceived afterwards the exaggeration of their\nprinciples; and though they continued to defend the entrance of their\ntemples to the simulachres, condemned by God on Mount Sinai, they spared\nthose which had been bequeathed by the less severe and more material faith\nof their fathers.”(12)\n\nThe principal cause of the corruption of the Christian church, by the\nintroduction of the Pagan ideas and practices alluded to above, was,\nhowever, chiefly the lamentable policy of compromise with Paganism which\nthat church adopted soon after her sudden triumph by the conversion of\nConstantine. The object of this policy was to lead into her pale the\nPagans as rapidly as possible; and, therefore, instead of making them\nenter by the strait gate, she widened it in such a manner, that the rush\nof Paganism had almost driven Christianity out of her pale. The example of\nthe emperors, who, professing Christianity, were, or considered themselves\nto be, obliged, by the necessities of their position, to act on some\noccasions as Pagans, may have been not without influence on the church. I\nshall endeavour to develop this important subject in the following\nchapters; and, in order to remove every suspicion of partiality, I shall\ndo it almost entirely on the authority of an eminent Roman Catholic writer\nof our day.\n\n\n\n\nChapter II. Compromise Of The Church With Paganism.\n\n\nI have described, in the preceding chapter, the causes which made\nChristian worship gradually to deviate from its primitive purity, and to\nassume a character more adapted to the ideas of the heathen\npopulation,—numbers of whom were continually joining the church. It was,\nparticularly since the time of Constantine, because its festivals,\nbecoming every day more numerous, and its sanctuaries more solemn,\nspacious, and adorned with greater splendour,—its ceremonies more\ncomplicated,—its emblems more diversified,—offered to the Pagans an ample\ncompensation for the artistic pomp of their ancient worship. “The\nfrankincense,” says an eminent Roman Catholic writer of our time, “the\nflowers, the golden and silver vessels, the lamps, the crowns, the\nluminaries, the linen, the silk, the chaunts, the processions, the\nfestivals, recurring at certain fixed days, passed from the vanquished\naltars to the triumphant one. Paganism tried to borrow from Christianity\nits dogmas and its morals; Christianity took from Paganism its\nornaments.”(13) Christianity would have become triumphant without these\ntransformations. It would have done it later than it did, but its triumph\nwould have been of a different kind from that which it has obtained by the\nassistance of these auxiliaries. “Christianity,” says the author quoted\nabove, “_retrograded_; but it was this which made its force.” It would be\nmore correct to say, that it advanced its external progress at the expence\nof its purity; it gained thus the favour of the crowd, but it was by other\nmeans that it obtained the approbation of the cultivated minds.(14)\n\nThe church made a compromise with Paganism in order to convert more easily\nits adherents,—forgetting the precepts of the apostle, to beware of\nphilosophy and vain traditions, (Col. ii. 8,) as well as to refuse profane\nand old wives’ fables, (1 Tim. iv. 7.) And it cannot be doubted that St\nPaul knew well that a toleration of these things would have rapidly\nextended the new churches, had the quantity of the converts been more\nimportant than the quality of their belief and morals.\n\nThis subject has been amply developed by one of the most distinguished\nFrench writers of our day, who, belonging himself to the Roman Catholic\nChurch, seeks to justify her conduct in this respect, though he admits\nwith the greatest sincerity that she had introduced into her polity a\nlarge share of Pagan elements. I shall give my readers this curious piece\nof special pleading in favour of the line of policy which the church had\nfollowed on that occasion, as it forms a precious document, proving, in an\nunanswerable manner, the extent of Pagan rites and ideas contained in the\nRoman Catholic Church, particularly as it proceeds, not from an opponent\nof that church, but from a dutiful son of hers. The work from which I am\nmaking this extract is, moreover, considered as one of the master-pieces\nof modern French literature, and it was crowned by one of the most learned\nbodies of Europe—the _Academie des Inscriptions et des Belles Lettres_ of\nParis.(15)\n\n“The fundamental idea of Christianity,” says our author, “was a new,\npowerful idea, and independent of all those by which it had been preceded.\nHowever, the men by whom the Christian system was extended and developed,\nhaving been formed in the school of Paganism, could not resist the desire\nof connecting it with the former systems. St Justin, St Clement (of\nAlexandria), Athenagoras, Tatian, Origenes, Synesius, &c., considered\nPagan philosophy as a preparation to Christianity. It was, indeed, making\na large concession to the spirit of the ancient times; but they believed\nthat they could conceal its inconveniences by maintaining in all its\npurity the form of Christian worship, and rejecting with disdain the\nusages and ceremonies of polytheism. When Christianity became the dominant\nreligion, its doctors perceived that they would be compelled to give way\nequally in respect to the external form of worship, and that they would\nnot be sufficiently strong to constrain the multitude of Pagans, who were\nembracing Christianity with a kind of enthusiasm as unreasoning as it was\nof little duration, to forget a system of acts, ceremonies, and festivals,\nwhich had such an immense power over their ideas and manners. The church\nadmitted, therefore, into her discipline, many usages evidently pagan. She\nundoubtedly has endeavoured to purify them, but she never could obliterate\nthe impression of their original stamp.\n\n“This new spirit of Christianity—this eclectism, which extended even to\nmaterial things—has in modern times given rise to passionate discussions;\nthese borrowings from the old religion were condemned, as having been\nsuggested to the Christians of the fourth and fifth centuries by the\nremnants of that old love of idolatry which was lurking at the bottom of\ntheir hearts. It was easy for the modern reformers to condemn, by an\nunjust blame, the leaders of the church; they should, however, have\nacknowledged, that the principal interest of Christianity was to wrest\nfrom error the greatest number of its partisans, and that it was\nimpossible to attain this object without providing for the obstinate\nadherents of the false gods an easy passage from the temple to the church.\nIf we consider that, notwithstanding all these concessions, the ruin of\nPaganism was accomplished only by degrees and imperceptibly,—that during\nmore than two centuries it was necessary to combat, over the whole of\nEurope, an error which, although continually overthrown, was incessantly\nrising again,—we shall understand that the conciliatory spirit of the\nleaders of the church was true wisdom.\n\n“St John Chrysostom says, that the devil, having perceived that he could\ngain nothing with the Christians by pushing them in a direct way into\nidolatry, adopted for the purpose an indirect one.(16) If the devil, that\nis to say, the pagan spirit, was changing its plan of attack, the church\nwas also obliged to modify her system of defence, and not to affect an\ninflexibility which would have kept from her a great number of people\nwhose irresolute conscience was fluctuating between falsehood and truth.\n\n“Already, at the beginning of the fifth century, some haughty spirits,\nChristians who were making a display of the rigidity of their virtues, and\nwho were raising an outcry against the profanation of holy things, began\nto preach a pretended reform; they were recalling the Christians to the\napostolic doctrine; they demanded what they were calling a true\nChristianity. Vigilantius, a Spanish priest, sustained on this subject an\nanimated contest with St Jerome. He opposed the worship of the saints and\nthe custom of placing candles on their sepulchres; he condemned, as a\nsource of scandal, the vigils in the basilics of the martyrs,(17) and many\nother usages, which were, it is true, derived from the ancient worship. We\nmay judge by the warmth with which St Jerome refuted the doctrines of this\nheresiarch of the importance which he attached to those usages.(18) He\nforesaw that the mission of the Christian doctrine would be to adapt\nitself to the manners of all times, and to oppose them only when they\nwould tend towards depravity. Far from desiring to deprive the Romans of\ncertain ceremonial practices which were dear to them, and whose influence\nhad nothing dangerous to the Christian dogmas, he openly took their part,\nand his conduct was approved by the whole church.\n\n“If St Jerome and St Augustinus had shared the opinions of Vigilantius,\nwould they have had the necessary power successfully to oppose the\nintroduction of pagan usages into the ceremonies of the Christian church?\nI don’t believe that they would. After the fall of Rome, whole populations\npassed under the standards of Christianity, but they did it with their\nbaggage of senseless beliefs and superstitious practices. The church could\nnot repulse this crowd of self-styled Christians, and still less summon\nthem immediately to abandon all their ancient errors; she therefore made\nconcessions to circumstances, concessions which were not entirely\nvoluntary. They may be considered as calculations full of wisdom on the\npart of the leaders of the church, as well as the consequence of that kind\nof irruption which was made at the beginning of the fifth century into the\nChristian society by populations, who, notwithstanding their abjuration,\nwere Pagans by their manners, their tastes, their prejudices, and their\nignorance.(19)\n\n“Let us now calculate the extent of these concessions, and examine whether\nit was right to say that they injured the purity of the Christian dogmas.\n\n“The Romans had derived from their religion an excessive love of public\nfestivals. They were unable to conceive a worship without the pompous\napparel of ceremonies. They considered the long processions, the\nharmonious chaunts, the splendour of dresses, the light of tapers, the\nperfume of frankincense, as the essential part of religion. Christianity,\nfar from opposing a disposition which required only to be directed with\nmore wisdom, adopted a part of the ceremonial system of the ancient\nworship. It changed the object of its ceremonies, it cleansed them from\ntheir old impurities, but it preserved the days upon which many of them\nwere celebrated, and the multitude found thus in the new religion, as much\nas in the old one, the means of satisfying its dominant passion.(20)\n\n“The neophytes felt for the pagan temples an involuntary respect. They\ncould not pass at once from veneration to a contempt for the monuments of\ntheir ancestors’ piety; and in ascending the steps of the church, they\nwere casting a longing look on those temples which a short time before had\nbeen resplendent with magnificence, but were now deserted. Christianity\nunderstood the power of this feeling, and desired to appropriate it to its\nown service; it consented, therefore, to establish the solemnities of its\nworship in the edifices which it had disdained for a long time.(21) Its\ncare not to offend pagan habits was such, that it often respected even the\npagan names of those edifices.(22) In short, its policy, which, since the\ntimes of Constantine, was always to facilitate the conversion of the\nPagans, assumed, after the fall of Rome, a more decided character, and the\nsystem of useful concessions became general in all the churches of Europe;\nand it cannot be doubted that its results have been favourable to the\npropagation of Christian ideas.(23)\n\n“There is, moreover, a peculiar cause to which the rapid decline of the\npagan doctrines in the west must be ascribed, and I shall endeavour to\nplace this powerful cause in its true light, carefully avoiding mixing up\nwith a subject of this importance all considerations foreign to the object\nof my researches.\n\n“Nestorius, patriarch of Constantinople, after having defended a long time\nthe true faith, strayed from it on a subject which proved a\nstumbling-stone to so many theologians—I mean, the nature of Jesus Christ.\nNestorius distinguished in the Son of God two natures, a divine and a\nhuman one; and he maintained that the Virgin Mary was not the mother of\nGod (Θεοτοκος), but the mother of the man (ἀνθρωποτοκος). This doctrine,\nwhich was a new and bolder form given to Arianism, spread in the two\nempires, and gained a great number of partisans amongst the monasteries of\nEgypt. Many monks could not almost suffer that Jesus Christ should be\nacknowledged as God, and considered him only as an instrument of the\nDivinity, or a vessel which bore it (Θεοφορος).\n\n“The celebrated St Cyrillus, bishop of Alexandria, wrote an epistle to\nthose monks, in order to call them back to respect for the traditions\nestablished in the church, if not by the apostles—who, in speaking of the\nholy virgin, never made use of the expression, _mother of God_—at least by\nthe fathers who succeeded them. The quarrel became general and violent;\nthe Christians came to blows everywhere. Nestorius seemingly wished to\ndraw back, being frightened by the storm which he had himself raised. ‘I\nhave found,’ said he, ‘the church a prey to dissensions. Some call the\nholy virgin the _mother of God_; others only the _mother of a man_. In\norder to reunite them, I have called her the _mother of Christ_. Remain,\ntherefore, at peace about this question, and be convinced that my\nsentiments on the true faith are always the same.’ But his obstinacy and\nthe ardour of his partisans did not allow him to go beyond this false\nretraction. The necessity of a general council was felt, and the Emperor\nTheodosius II. ordered in 431 its convocation at Ephesus. On the 21st June\n431, two hundred bishops condemned Nestorius, and declared that the Virgin\nMary should be honoured as the _mother of God_. This decision was\naccepted, notwithstanding some vain protestations, by the universal\nchurch. The fathers of the council of Ephesus had no thought of\nintroducing into the church a new dogma or worship. The Virgin Mary had\nalways been considered by them as the _mother of God_, and they made now a\nsolemn declaration of this belief, in order to reply to the attack of\nNestorius, and to remove every incertitude about a dogma which had not\nhitherto been opposed. But these great assemblies of Christians,\nnotwithstanding the particular motive of their meeting, were always\nproduced by some general necessity which was felt by the Christian\nsociety, and the results of their decrees went often beyond the provisions\nof those by whom they were framed.\n\n“Though I am far from believing that it is allowable to weigh in the\nscales of human reason the dogmas of Christianity, I do not think that it\nis prohibited to examine which of these dogmas has been the most\ninstrumental in detaching the Pagans from their errors.\n\n“We have several times penetrated, in the course of our researches, into\nthe conscience of the leaders of Paganism, and we have always found that\nit was entirely under the influence of political views and interests.\nThese interests, which so powerfully acted upon the politician’s mind, had\nbut a feeble hold upon that of the inhabitants of the country. And,\nindeed, what interest could the agriculturists, the artisans, and the\nproletarians, have in maintaining the integrity of the Roman constitution,\nor in preserving the rights of the senate, as well as the privileges,\nhonours, and riches of the aristocracy? Being destined, as they were under\nany religion whatever, for a life of labour and privation, they might\nchoose between Christianity and Paganism, without having their choice\nactuated by any personal interest. It is therefore necessary to seek for\nanother cause of that obstinate attachment which the lower classes of the\ntown and country population showed for the practices of a worship whose\nexistence was for a century reduced to such a miserable state.\n\n“I shall not dwell on what has been said about the tyranny of habit, which\nis always more severe wherever minds are less enlightened. I shall\nindicate another cause of the obstinacy of the Pagans, which was founded\nat least upon an operation of the mind—upon a judgment—and was,\nconsequently, more deserving of fixing the attention of the church than\nthat respect of custom against which the weapons of reason are powerless.\n\n“The Christian dogmas, penetrating into a soul corrupted and weakened by\nidolatry, must have, in the first moment, filled it with a kind of terror.\nAnd, indeed, how was it possible that the Pagans, accustomed as they were\nto their profligate gods and goddesses, should not have trembled when they\nheard for the first time the voice of God, the just but inexorable\nrewarder of good and evil? Should not a solemn and grave worship, whose\nceremonies were a constant and direct excitation to the practice of every\nvirtue, appear an intolerable yoke to men who were accustomed to find in\ntheir sacred rites a legitimate occasion to indulge in every kind of\ndebauchery? The fear of submitting their lives to the rule of a too rigid\nmorality, and to bow their heads before a God whose greatness terrified\nthem, kept for many years a multitude of Pagans from the church.\n\n“If it has entered the designs of Providence to temper the severe dogmas\nof Christianity by the consecration of some mild, tender, and consoling\nideas, and by the same adapted to the fragile human nature, it is evident\nthat, whatever may have been their aim, they must have assisted in\ndetaching the last Pagans from their errors. The worship of Mary, the\nmother of God, seems to have been the means which Providence has employed\nfor completing Christianity.(24)\n\n“After the council of Ephesus the churches of the East and of the West\noffered the worship of the faithful to the Virgin Mary, who had\nvictoriously issued from a violent attack. The nations were as if dazzled\nby the image of this divine mother, who united in her person the two most\ntender feelings of nature, the pudicity of the virgin and the love of the\nmother; an emblem of mildness, of resignation, and of all that is sublime\nin virtue; one who weeps with the afflicted, intercedes for the guilty,\nand never appears otherwise than as the messenger of pardon or of\nassistance. They accepted this new worship with an enthusiasm sometimes\ntoo great, because with many Christians it became the whole Christianity.\nThe Pagans did not even try to defend their altars against the progress of\nthe worship of the mother of God; they opened to Mary the temples which\nthey kept closed to Jesus Christ, and confessed their defeat.(25) It is\ntrue, that they often mixed with the worship of Mary those pagan ideas,\nthose vain practices, those ridiculous superstitions, from which they\nseemed unable to detach themselves; but the church rejoiced, nevertheless,\nat their entering into her pale, because she well knew that it would be\neasy to her to purge of its alloy, with the help of time, a worship whose\nessence was purity itself.(26) Thus, some prudent concessions, temporarily\nmade to the pagan manners and the worship of Mary, were two elements of\nforce which the church employed in order to conquer the resistance of the\nlast Pagans,—a resistance which was feeble enough in Italy, but violent\nbeyond the Alps.”(27)\n\n\n\n\nChapter III. Position Of The First Christian Emperors Towards Paganism,\nAnd Their Policy In This Respect.\n\n\nI have given in the preceding chapter a description, traced by one of the\nmost learned Roman Catholic writers of our day, of the compromise between\nChristianity and Paganism, by which the church has endeavoured to\nestablish her dominion over the adherents of the latter. I shall now try\nto give a rapid sketch of the circumstances which undoubtedly have\ninfluenced the church, to a considerable degree, in the adoption of a line\nof policy which, though it certainly has much contributed to the extension\nof her external dominion, has introduced into her pale those very errors\nand superstitions which it was her mission to destroy, and to deliver\nmankind from their baneful influence.\n\nThere is a widely-spread but erroneous opinion, that the conversion of\nConstantine was followed by an immediate destruction of Paganism in the\nRoman empire. This opinion originated from the incorrect statements of\nsome ecclesiastical writers; but historical criticism has proved, beyond\nevery doubt, that, even a century after the conversion of that monarch,\nPaganism was by no means extinct, and counted many adherents, even amongst\nthe highest classes of Roman society.\n\nWhen Constantine proclaimed his conversion to the religion of the Cross,\nits adherents formed but a minority of the population of the Roman\nempire.(28) The deficiency of their numbers was, however, compensated by\ntheir moral advantages; for they were united by the worship of the one\ntrue God, and ardently devoted to a religion which they had voluntarily\nembraced, and for which they had suffered so much. The Pagans were, on the\ncontrary, disunited, and in a great measure indifferent to a religion\nwhose doctrines were derided by the more enlightened of them, though,\nconsidering it as a political institution necessary for the maintenance of\nthe empire, they often displayed great zeal in its defence. The Christians\nof that time may be compared to the Greeks when they combated the Persians\non the field of Marathon and at Thermopylæ; but, alas! their victory under\nConstantine proved as fatal to the purity of their religion as that of the\nGreeks under Alexander to their political and military virtues. Both of\nthem became corrupted by adopting the ideas and manners of their conquered\nadversaries.\n\nSome writers have suspected that the conversion of Constantine was more\ndue to political than religious motives; but though great and many were\nthe faults of that monarch, his sincerity in embracing the Christian\nreligion cannot be doubted, because it was a step more contrary than\nfavourable to his political interests. The Christians formed, as I have\nsaid above, only a minority of the population of the empire, and\nparticularly so in its western provinces. There was not a single Christian\nin the Roman senate; and the aristocracy of Rome, whose privileges and\ninterests were intimately connected with the religious institutions of the\nempire, were most zealous in their defence. The municipal bodies of the\nprincipal cities were also blindly devoted to the national religion, whose\nexistence was considered by many as inseparable from that of the empire\nitself; and these bodies were generally the chief promoters of those\nterrible persecutions to which the Christians had been so many times\nsubjected. The Pagan clergy, rich, powerful, and numerous, were ever\nzealous in exciting public hatred against the Christians; and the legions\nwere chiefly commanded by those officers who had united with Galerius in\ncompelling Diocletian to persecute the Christians. The capital of the\nempire was the particular stronghold of the ancient creed. “Rome,” says\nBeugnot, in the work from which I have so largely drawn, “was the cradle\nand the focus of the national belief. Many traditions, elevated to the\nrank of dogmas, were born within her pale, and impressed upon her a\nreligious character, which still was vividly shining in the times of\nConstantine. The Pagans of the west considered Rome as the sacred city,\nthe sanctuary of their hopes, the point towards which all their thoughts\nwere to be directed; and the Greeks, in their usual exaggeration,\nacknowledged in her, not a part of the earth, but of heaven.”—(_Libanii\nEpistolæ_, epist. 1083, p. 816.) “The aristocracy, endowed with its many\nsacerdotal dignities, and dragging in its train a crowd of clients and\nfreedmen, to whom it imparted its passions and its attachment to the\nerror, furnished, by the help of its immense riches, the means of\nsubsistence to a greedy, turbulent, and superstitious populace, amongst\nwhom it could easily maintain the most odious prejudices against\nChristianity. The hope of acquiring a name, a fortune, or simply to take a\npart in the public distributions, attracted to that city from the\nprovinces all those who had no condition, or, what is still worse, those\nwho were dissatisfied with theirs. Italy, Spain, Africa, and Gallia sent\nto Rome the _elite_ of their children, in order to be instructed in a\nschool, the principal merit of whose professors was, an envious hatred of\nevery new idea, and who had acquired a melancholy reputation during the\npersecutions of the Christians. The standard of Paganism was waving in\nfull liberty on the walls of the Capitol. Public and private sacrifices,\nsacred games, and the consultation of the augurs, were prevailing to the\nutmost in that _sink of all the superstitions_.(29) The name of Christ was\ncursed, and the speedy ruin of his worshippers announced, in every part of\nthat place, whilst the glory of the gods was celebrated, and their\nassistance invoked. How cruel must have been the situation of the\nChristians, left in the midst of that city, where, at every step, a\ntemple, an altar, a statue, and horrible blasphemies were revealing to\nthem the ever active power of the Lie! They dared not either to found\nchurches, to open schools, or even publicly to reply to what was spoken\nagainst them, at the theatres, at the forum, or at the baths: so that they\nseemed to exist at Rome only in order to give a greater _eclat_ to the\ndominion of idolatry.”—(Vol. i., p. 75.) It was no wonder that such a\nreligious disposition of Rome had placed it in a continual and strenuous\nopposition to Constantine, and his Christian successors; and this\ncircumstance may be considered as an additional motive which induced\nConstantine to transfer the capital of the empire from Rome to Byzantium,\nthough this measure may have been chiefly brought about by political\nconsiderations. In removing his residence to a more central point of the\nempire, he at the same time drew nearer to the eastern provinces, where\nChristianity had many devoted adherents. Constantinople became the capital\nof the Christian party, whence it gradually developed its sway over the\nother parts of the empire, but the Pagans maintained meanwhile their\nground at Rome, in such a manner, that it seems to have been uninhabitable\nto the Christian emperors; because we see even those of them who ruled the\nwestern provinces fixing their residence either at Milan or Ravenna, and\nvisiting only on some occasions the city of the Cæsars, which had become,\nsince the foundation of Constantinople, the fortified camp of\nPaganism.(30)\n\nConstantine proclaimed full religious liberty to all his subjects. This\nmeasure, dictated by a sound policy, and in perfect harmony with the true\nspirit of his new religion, was not, however, sufficient to relieve him\nfrom the difficulties of his personal position, as he united in his person\ntwo characters diametrically opposed one to another. Being a Christian, he\nwas at the same time, as the emperor of Rome, the head and the\nrepresentant, not only of its political, but also of its religious\ninstitutions. This circumstance forced him into a double line of policy,\nwhich I shall describe in the words of M. Beugnot:—\n\n“There were in Constantine, so to say, two persons,—the Christian and the\nemperor. If that monarch had not been endowed with a rare intellect, he\nwould have, by confounding these two characters, raised in his way\nobstacles which he could not overcome. As a Christian, he showed\neverywhere his contempt for the vain superstitions of the ancient worship,\nand his enthusiasm for the new ideas. He conferred with the bishops; he\nassisted _standing_ at their long homilies; he presided at the councils;\nhe deeply meditated the mysteries of Christianity; and he struggled\nagainst the heresiarchs with the ardour of a Christian soldier and the\ngrief of a profoundly convinced soul. As emperor, he submitted to the\nnecessities of a difficult position, and conformed, in all grave matters,\nto the manners and beliefs which he did not feel sufficiently strong\nopenly to shock. On endowing the purple, he became the heir of that long\nseries of emperors who had all remained faithful to the worship of the\nfather-land; and he wrapt himself, so to say, in the ancient traditions\nand recollections of pagan Rome; for it was an inheritance which he could\nnot renounce, without danger to himself as well as to the empire.\n\n“When we observe some actions of Constantine, evidently tinged with\nPaganism, we must consider less their external form than the relation in\nwhich they stood towards the constitution of Rome, which that emperor had\nno desire to destroy. We shall then become convinced that his conduct was\nthe result of necessity, and not that of a crooked policy. As an\nindividual, he was free; as an emperor, he was a slave; and his greatest\nmerit, according to our opinion, was to have soundly judged the\nembarrassments of this situation. Animated as he was with a lively zeal\nfor the truths of Christianity, it was very natural that he should employ\nthe imperial power in order to break down all the obstacles to its\nprogress. But this would have involved him in an open war with a nation,\nthe majority of whom were composed of Pagans; and it is very likely that\nhe would have succumbed in such a contest. He understood this; and it\nprevented him giving way to the entreaties, and even complaints, of\nover-zealous Christians.”—Vol. i., p. 88.\n\nConstantine was, notwithstanding his conversion to Christianity, the\nsupreme pontiff of pagan Rome. The title of this dignity was given him on\nthe public monuments, and he performed its functions on several occasions;\nas, for instance, in 321, several years after his conversion, he wrote to\nMaximus, prefect of Rome, as follows:—\n\n“If our palace or any public monument shall be struck by lightning, the\nauguries are to be consulted, according to the ancient rites (_retento\nmore veteris observantiæ_), in order to know what this event indicates;\nand the accounts of these proceedings are immediately to be sent to us.\nPrivate individuals may make similar consultations, provided they abstain\nfrom secret sacrifices, which are particularly prohibited. With regard to\nthe accounts stating that the amphitheatre was recently struck by\nlightning, and which thou hast sent to Heraclianus the tribune, and master\nof offices, know that they must be delivered to us.”\n\nThis is undoubtedly a very strange document for a Christian monarch, who\nofficially commands to consult the Pagan oracles, and, as its concluding\nwords seem to imply, is anxious to maintain, on similar occasions, his\nrights as the supreme pontiff of Paganism.\n\nIt was also in his quality of supreme pontiff that Constantine instituted,\nsoon after his accession, the Francic games, for the commemoration of his\nvictory over the Franks, and which were celebrated, during a considerable\ntime, on the 18th of the kalends of August; and, in 321, the Sarmatic\ngames, on the occasion of his victory over the Sarmatians, and celebrated\non the 6th of the same month. These games were real Pagan ceremonies, and\nreprobated on this account by the Christian writers of that time.(31)\n\nI could quote other instances of a similar kind; but I shall conclude this\nsubject by observing, that a medal has been preserved, upon which\nConstantine is represented in the dress of the supreme pontiff,—_i.e._,\nwith a veil covering his head.\n\nConstantine was, indeed, very anxious not to offend the Pagan party. In\n319 he published a very severe law against the soothsayers; expressing,\nhowever, that this prohibition did not extend to the public consultations\nof the _Haruspices_, according to the established rites. And a short time\nafterwards he proclaimed another law on the same subject, in which he\nstill more explicitly declares that he does not interfere with the rites\nof the Pagan worship.(32)\n\nIt must be observed, that the Romans, as well as the Greeks, had two kinds\nof divination: the public, which were considered as legitimate; and the\nsecret, which were generally forbidden. This last had been prohibited by\nsome former emperors; and the laws of the Twelve Tables declared them\npunishable with death. Constantine seems to have been very anxious that\nhis intention on this subject should not be mistaken; and he published in\n321 an edict, by which he positively allows the practice of a certain kind\nof magic, by the following remarkable expressions:—\n\n“It is right to repress and to punish, by laws justly severe, those who\npractise, or try to practise, the magical arts, and seek to seduce pure\nsouls into profligacy; but those who employ this art in order to find\nremedies against diseases, or who, in the country, make use of it in order\nto prevent the snow, the wind, and the hail from destroying the crops,\nmust not be prosecuted. Neither the welfare nor the reputation of any one\nare endangered by acts whose object is to insure to men the benefits of\nthe _divinity_ and the fruits of their labour.”—_Codex Theodosianus_, lib.\nix., f. 16, _apud_ Beugnot.\n\nThis was, undoubtedly, a very large concession to the superstitions of\nPaganism made by a Christian monarch, and from which he was, perhaps,\nhimself not entirely free. It is well known that Constantine, after his\npublic declaration of Christianity, introduced the _labarum_,(33) as a\nsign of the dominion of the new faith; but it was generally placed on his\ncoins in the hands of the winged statue of the Pagan goddess of Victory.\nBesides these coins of Constantine, there are many others of the same\nmonarch, having inscriptions in honour of Jupiter, Mars, and other Pagan\ndivinities. The Pagan aristocracy of Rome seem to have been resolved to\nignore the fact that the head of the empire had become a Christian, and to\nconsider him, in spite of himself, as one of their own. Thus, after his\ndeath, the senate placed him, according to the usual custom, among the\ngods; and a calendar has been preserved where the festivals in honour of\nthis strange divinity are indicated. The name of _Divus_ is given to him\non several coins; and, what is very odd, this Pagan god is represented on\nthe above-mentioned medals holding in his hand the Christian sign of the\n_labarum_.\n\nWe thus see that Constantine, instead of persecuting the adherents of the\nnational Paganism, was following a policy of compromise between the two\ncharacters united in his person, that of a Christian and of a Roman\nemperor. This did not, however, prevent him from heaping favours of every\nkind upon the Christian church,—favours which proved to her much more\ninjurious than all the persecutions of the former emperors. And, indeed,\nthe Christians, who had nobly stood the test of adversity, were not proof\nagainst the more dangerous trial of a sudden and unexpected prosperity.\n\nThe first favour granted by Constantine to the Christians, and which he\ndid even before his public confession of their faith, was the extension to\ntheir clergy of the exemption from various municipal charges enjoyed by\nthe Pagan priests, on account of their being obliged to give at their\nexpense certain public games. The Christian clergy were thus placed in a\nmore favourable position than the Pagan priests, because, though admitted\nto equal immunities, they were not subjected to the same charges; and\nthus, for the first time, a bribe was offered for conversion to a religion\nwhich had hitherto generally exposed its disciples to persecution.\n“Numbers of people, actuated less by conviction than by the hope of a\nreward, were crowding from all parts to the churches, and the first favour\ngranted to the Christians introduced amongst them guilty passions, to\nwhich they had hitherto remained strangers, and whose action was so rapid\nand so melancholy. The complaints of the municipal bodies, and the\ndisorder which it was producing in the provincial administration, induced\nConstantine to put some restrictions on a favour which, being granted\nperhaps somewhat inconsiderately, did more harm than good to the interests\nof the Christian religion.”—_Beugnot_, vol. i., p. 78.\n\nConstantine increased his favours to the Christians after he had publicly\nembraced their faith. “The ecclesiastical historians,” says the author\nwhom I have just quoted, “enumerate with a feeling of pride the proofs of\nhis generosity. They say, that the revenues of the empire were employed to\nerect everywhere magnificent churches, and to enrich the bishops. They\ncannot be, on this occasion, accused of exaggeration. Constantine\nintroduced amongst the Christians a taste for riches and luxury; and the\ndisappearance of their frugal and simple manners, which had been the glory\nof the church during the three preceding centuries, may be dated from his\nreign.”—_Ibid._, p. 87.\n\nThe ecclesiastical historian Eusebius, a great admirer of Constantine,\nwhose personal friend he was, admits himself, that the favours shown by\nthat monarch to the church have not been always conducive to her purity.\n\nIn short, the sudden triumph of the church under Constantine was one of\nthe principal causes of her corruption, and the beginning of that\ncompromise with Paganism, described in the preceding chapter. Paganism,\nthough weakened through its abandonment by the head of the state, was by\nno means broken down at the time of Constantine’s death. Many of its\nzealous adherents were occupying the principal dignities of the state, as\nwell as the most important civil and military offices; but its chief\nstronghold was Rome, where its partisans were so powerful, that the\nunfortunate dissensions which divided the Christians were publicly exposed\nto ridicule in the theatres of that city. The Arian writer Philostorgus\nsays that Constantine was worshipped after his death, not as a saint, but\nas a god, by the orthodox Christians, who offered sacrifices to the statue\nof that monarch placed upon a column of porphyry, and addressed prayers to\nhim as to God himself. It is impossible to ascertain whether examples of\nsuch mad extravagance had ever taken place amongst Christians or not; but\nthe Western church has not bestowed upon his memory the honours of\nsaintship, though she has been generally very lavish of them.(34) Thus the\nfirst Christian emperor was canonised only by the Pagans.\n\nThe sons of Constantine followed the religious policy of their father; and\nthe facility with which his nephew, Julian the Apostate, had restored\nPaganism to the rank of the dominant religion, twenty-four years after his\ndeath, proves how strong its party was even at that time. Julian’s reign\nof eighteen months was too short to produce any considerable effect upon\nthe religious parties into which the Roman empire was then divided. After\nhis death, the imperial crown was offered by the army to Sallust, a Pagan\ngeneral, who having refused it on account of his great age, it was\nbestowed upon Jovian, a Christian, who reigned only three months. The\nlegions elected, after Jovian’s death, Valentinian, who, though a sincere\nChristian, strictly maintained the religious liberty of his subjects; and\nthe same policy was followed by his brother and colleague Valens, who\ngoverned the eastern part of the empire, and was an Arian. Valentinian’s\nson and successor, Gratian, though educated by the celebrated poet\nAusonius, who adhered to the ancient worship, was a zealous Christian. He\npublished, immediately after his accession, an edict allowing perfect\nreligious liberty to all his subjects, with the exception of the\nManicheans and some other sects. He granted several new privileges to\nChristians, but he continued to conform for some time to the duties\ninherited from his Pagan predecessors, of which the most remarkable\ninstance was, that he caused his father to be placed amongst the gods,\naccording to the general custom followed at the death of the Roman\nemperors.(35)\n\nThough greatly enfeebled by the continual advance of Christianity,\nPaganism was still the established religion of the state. Its rites were\nstill observed with their wonted solemnity, and its power was still so\ngreat at Rome, that a vestal virgin was executed in that city for the\nbreach of her vow of chastity, subsequently to the reign of Gratian. These\ncircumstances induced, probably, the above-mentioned emperor to respect\nthe religious institutions of Rome during the first years of his reign,\nbut (382), acting under the advice of St Ambrose, he confiscated the\nproperty belonging to the Pagan temples, and the incomes of which served\nfor the maintenance of priests and the celebration of sacrifices. He\nabolished, at the same time, all the privileges and immunities of the\nPagan priests, and ordered the altar and statue of the goddess of Victory\nto be removed from the hall of the senate, the presence of which gave to\nthat assembly, though it already contained many Christian members, the\ncharacter of a Pagan institution.\n\nThe senate sent a deputation to Gallia, where Gratian was at that time, in\norder to remonstrate against these measures, and to present to him, at the\nsame time, the insignia of the supreme pontificate of Rome, which none of\nhis Christian predecessors had yet refused. But Gratian rejected these\nemblems of Paganism, saying that it was not meet for a Christian to accept\nthem. This would have been probably followed by other more decided\nmeasures, had he not perished a short time afterwards in a rebellion.\nTheodosius the Great, whom Gratian had associated with him, adopted a\ndecidedly hostile policy towards Paganism, and proclaimed a series of laws\nagainst it. Thus, in 381, he ordered that those Christians who returned to\nPaganism should forfeit the right of making wills; but as these apostasies\ncontinued, he ordered, in 383, that the apostates should not inherit any\nkind of property, either left by will or descended by natural order of\nsuccession, unless it were left by their parents or a brother. In 385 he\nproclaimed the penalty of death against all those who should inquire into\nfuturity by consulting the entrails of the victims, or try to obtain the\nsame object by _execrable_ and _magic_ consultations, which evidently\nreferred to those secret divinations that had been prohibited by\nConstantine, as well as his Pagan predecessors. In the course of the year\n391, he published a series of edicts, prohibiting under pain of death\nevery immolation, and all other acts of idolatry under that of\nconfiscation of the houses or lands where they had been performed.\n\nTheodosius died in 395, but had his life been prolonged, he would probably\nhave developed still farther his policy against Paganism, which was\ngreatly weakened in the course of his reign. Many Pagan temples,\nparticularly in the Eastern provinces, were destroyed during his reign by\nthe Christians, acting without the orders of the emperor, but not punished\nby him for these acts of violence. He did not, however, constrain the\nPagans to embrace Christianity; and, notwithstanding that he proclaimed\nseveral laws against their worship, he employed many of them even in the\nhighest offices of the state.(36) Notwithstanding the severe laws\npublished by Theodosius against idolatry, Rome still contained a great\nnumber of pagan temples, and the polytheist party continued to be strong\nin the senate, as well as in the army, which is evident from the two\nfollowing facts. When Alaric elected in 409 Attalus emperor of Rome, the\nnew monarch distributed the first dignities of the state to Pagans, and\nrestored the public solemnities of the ancient worship, in order to\nmaintain himself on the throne by the support of the Pagan party; which\nproves that, though a century had already elapsed since the conversion of\nConstantine, this party was not yet considered quite insignificant. About\nthe same time, Honorius having proclaimed a law which excluded from the\noffices of the imperial palace all those who did not profess his religion,\nwas obliged to revoke it, because it gave offence to the Pagan officers of\nthe army. Arcadius, who succeeded Theodosius on the throne of the Eastern\nempire, proclaimed, immediately after his accession in 398, that he would\nstrictly enforce the laws of his father against Paganism, and he issued in\nthe following year new and more severe ordinances of the same kind. The\nblow which may be said to have overturned Paganism in the Roman empire did\nnot, however, come from its Christian monarchs, but from the same hand\nwhich destroyed its ancient capital, and inflicted upon the Western empire\na mortal wound which it did not survive many years.\n\nThe Goths, whom the energy and wise policy of Theodosius had maintained in\ntheir allegiance to the empire, being offended by Arcadius, revolted, and\ninvaded his dominions under Alaric, in 396. They ravaged the provinces\nsituated between the Adriatic and the Black Seas, and penetrated into\nGreece, where Paganism, notwithstanding all the enactments of Theodosius,\nwas still prevailing to a very great extent. The principal cities of\nGreece were devastated by the Goths, who, recently converted to Arianism,\nand having no taste for arts, destroyed all the temples, statues, and\nother pagan monuments, with which they met. Athens escaped the fury of the\ninvaders, but the celebrated temple of Eleusis, whose mysteries continued\nin full vigour in spite of all the laws which had been published against\npolytheism, was destroyed, whilst its priests either perished or fled.\nThis catastrophe was so much felt by the adherents of the ancient worship\nin Greece, that many of them are said to have committed suicide from\ngrief. “Since the defeat of Cheronea, and the capture of Corinth, the\nGreek nationality had never experienced a severer blow than the\ndestruction of its temples and of its gods by Alaric,” says an eminent\nGerman writer of our day.(37) It was, indeed, a mortal blow to a religion\nwhich maintained its sway by acting upon the senses and the imagination,\nas well as upon the feelings of national pride or vanity, because it\ndestroyed all the means by which such feelings were produced. Alaric and\nhis Goths seem to have been destined by Providence to precipitate the fall\nof Paganism at Rome, as well as in Greece, because the capture and sack of\nthe eternal city by these barbarians, in 410, accelerated the ruin of its\nancient worship more than all the laws proclaimed against it by the\nChristian emperors. The particulars of this terrible catastrophe have been\namply described by Gibbon, and I shall only observe, that though\nChristians had suffered on that occasion as much as Pagans, the worship of\nthe latter was struck at the very root of its existence by the complete\nruin of the Roman aristocracy, who, although frequently indifferent about\nthe tenets of the national polytheism, supported it with all their\ninfluence as a political institution, which could not be abolished without\ninjuring the most vital interests of their order.(38) The decline of\nPaganism from that time was very rapid. It is true that we have sufficient\nhistorical evidence to show that pagan temples were still to be found at\nRome after its sack by the Goths, and that many Pagans were employed, in\nthe Western as well as in the Eastern empires, in some of the most\nimportant offices of the state; but their number was fast disappearing,\nand the exercise of their religion was generally confined to the domestic\nhearth, to the worship of the _Lares_ and _Penates_. It seems to have been\nparticularly prevalent amongst the rustic population of the provinces, and\nit was not entirely extinct in Italy even at the beginning of the sixth\ncentury; because the Goth, Theodoric the Great, who reigned over that\ncountry from 493 to 526, published an edict forbidding, under pain of\ndeath, to sacrifice according to the Pagan rites, as well as other\nsuperstitious practices remaining from the ancient polytheism.\n\nI have given this sketch of the state of Paganism after the conversion of\nConstantine, and of the policy which was followed towards it by the first\nChristian emperors, because it seems to explain, at least to a certain\ndegree, the manner in which Christianity was rapidly corrupted in the\nfourth and fifth centuries by the Pagan ideas and practices which I shall\nendeavour to trace in my next chapter.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV. Infection Of The Christian Church By Pagan Ideas And Practices\nDuring The Fourth And Fifth Centuries.\n\n\nI have said that the council of Elvira, in Spain, held in 305, prohibited\nthe use of images in the churches. Other canons of the same council show\nthat even then Christians were but too prone to relapse into the practices\nand customs of Paganism; because they enact very severe ecclesiastical\npenances against those Christians who took part in the rites and festivals\nof the Pagan worship.(39)\n\nIf such enactments were required to maintain the purity of Christian\ndoctrine, at a time when its converts, instead of expecting any worldly\nadvantages, were often exposed to severe persecution, and consequently had\nno other motives for embracing it than a mere conviction of its truth, how\nmuch more was this purity endangered when conversion to Christianity led\nto the favour of the sovereign, and when the church, instead of severely\nrepressing the idolatrous propensities of her children, endeavoured to\nfacilitate as much as possible the entrance of the Pagans into her pale!\nLet me add, that the mixture of Christianity with Paganism in various\npublic acts of the first Christian emperors, which I have described in the\npreceding chapter, could not but contribute to the general confusion of\nideas amongst those Christians whom the church was continually receiving\ninto her pale, with all their pagan notions. I have described, in the\nsecond chapter of this essay, the policy of compromise adopted by the\nchurch after the conversion of Constantine. I shall now describe the\nconsequences of this policy, by giving a sketch of the Christian society\nwhich it produced, and which has been drawn, on the authority of\necclesiastical writers, by the same author whose description and defence\nof that policy I have given in the above-mentioned chapter.\n\n“Towards the beginning of the fifth century, the propagation of\nChristianity amongst the upper classes of Roman society met still with\nmany obstacles; but the influential persons who had broken with the error,\nremained at least faithful to their new creed, and did not scandalise\nsociety by their apostasy. The senatorial families which had embraced\nChristianity gave, at Rome, the unfortunately too rare example of piety\nand of all the Christian virtues; the case was different with the converts\nbelonging to the lower, and even the middle classes of Roman society. The\ncorruption of manners had made rapid progress amongst them during the last\nfifty years of the fourth century; and things arrived at such a pass, that\nthe choice of a religion was considered by the people as an act of the\ngreatest indifference. The new religion was embraced from interest, from\ncuriosity, or by fashion, and afterwards abandoned on the first occasion.\nIt was, in fact, not indifference, because indifference induces people to\nremain in the religion in which they were born; it was a complete atheism,\na revolting depravity, an openly-expressed contempt of all that is most\nsacred. How many times the church, which struggled, but in vain, against\nthe progress of the evil, had occasion to lament the too easy recruits\nwhom she was making amongst the inferior ranks of society!(40) People\ndisgracefully ignorant, without honour, without a shadow of piety,\npolluted by their presence the assemblies of the faithful. They are those\nwhom the fathers of the church designated by the name of the _mali\nChristiani_—_ficti Christiani_, and against whom their eloquent voices\nwere often resounding. The heretics, the promoters of troubles and\nseditions, always counted upon those men, who seemed to enter the church\nonly in order to disturb her by their turbulent spirit, or who consented\nto remain in the true faith only on condition of introducing into the\nusages of Christian worship, a crowd of superstitions whose influence was\nfelt but too long;(41) whilst the slightest sign of Paganism was\nsufficient to call back to it those servants of all the parties.\n\n“It was then, unfortunately, a too common thing to see men who made a\nprofession of passing, without any difficulty, from one religion to\nanother, as many times as it was required by their interests. The\nprinciple of that inconceivable corruption in the bosom of a religion\nwhich was not yet completely developed, dated from a period anterior to\nthat which we are describing.(42) The councils and the emperors had\nstruggled in vain against apostasy, which the multitude of heresies, and\nthe vices of the times, had placed amongst legitimate actions.\n\n“Theodosius began in 381 to punish the apostates by depriving them of the\nright to make wills. In 383, he modified this law in respect to the\napostate catechumens; but the general principle maintained all the\napostates _absque jure Romano_. Valentinian II. followed the example of\nhis colleague, and applied the before-mentioned dispositions to those\nChristians who became Jews or Manicheans. We know, from a law of 391, that\nthe nobility was infected by the general spirit of the age, because\nValentinian enacted, by this law, that those nobles who became apostates\nwere to be degraded in such a manner that they should not count even _in\nvulgi ignobilis parte_. In 396, Arcadius deprived again of the right to\nmake wills those Christians _qui se idolorum superstitione impia\nmaculaverint_.(43) The political authorities, therefore, cannot be accused\nof having remained indifferent to the progress of the evil. We must now\nshow how little power the laws had in a time like that which we are\ndescribing.\n\n“One day, St Augustinus presented to the assembly of the Christians of\nHippona, a man who was to become celebrated amongst renegades; born a\nPagan, he embraced Christianity, but returned again to the idols, and\nexercised the lucrative profession of an astrologer; he now demanded to be\nreadmitted into the church, that is to say, to change for the third time\nhis religion. St Augustinus addressed, on that occasion, the\nabove-mentioned assembly in the following manner:—\n\n“ ‘This former Christian, terrified by the power of God, is now repenting.\nIn the days of his faithfulness, he was enticed by the enemy, and became\nan astrologer; seduced and deceived himself, he was seducing and deceiving\nothers; he uttered many lies against God, who gave men the power to do\ngood, and to do no evil; he said that it was not the will of men which\nmade men adulterers, but Venus; that it was Mars who rendered people\nmurderers; that justice was not inspired by God, but by Jupiter; and he\nadded to it many other sacrileges. How much money he has swindled from\nself-styled Christians! How many people have purchased the lie from him!\nBut now, if we are to believe him, he hates the error, he laments the loss\nof many souls; and feeling himself caught by the demon, he returns toward\nGod full of repentance. Let us believe, brethren, that it is fear which\nproduces this change. What shall we say? perhaps we must not rejoice so\nmuch at the conversion of this pagan astrologer, because once being\nconverted, he may seek to obtain the clerical office; he is penitent,\nbrethren, and asks only for mercy. I recommend him to your hearts, and to\nyour eyes. Let your hearts love him, but let your eyes watch him. Mark him\nwell; and wherever you shall meet him, show him to those of your brethren\nwho are not present here. This will be an act of mercy, because we must\nfear that his seductive soul should change again, and recommence to do\nmischief. Watch him; know what he says, and where he goes, in order that\nyour testimony may confirm us in the opinion that he is really converted.\nHe was perishing, but now he is found again. He has brought with him the\nbooks which have burnt him, in order to throw them into the fire; he\nwishes to be refreshed by the flames which shall consume them. You must\nknow, brethren, that he had knocked at the door of the church before\nEaster, but that the profession which he had followed, rendering him\nsuspected of lies and fraud, he was kept back, but shortly afterwards\nreceived. We are afraid of leaving him exposed to new temptations. Pray to\nChrist for him.’\n\n“Socrates(44) speaks of a sophist of Constantinople, called Ecebolus, who\nconformed with a marvellous facility to all the changes of fortune which\nChristianity was undergoing. During the reign of Constantine, he affected\nthe greatest zeal for the new belief; but when Julian became emperor, he\nresumed his ancient devotion to the gods of Paganism. After the death of\nthat monarch, he gave great publicity to his repentance, and prostrated\nhimself before the churches, crying to the Christians, ‘Tread me under\nyour feet, as the salt which has lost its savour!’ Socrates\nadds:—‘Ecebolus remained what he has always been,—_i.e._, a fickle and\ninconstant man.’ St Augustinus could certainly say the same of his\nastrologer. Is it not surprising to find apostasy still prevalent at a\ntime when no sensible man could believe in the restoration of the ancient\nworship? The appearance of Julian must have upset many a mind, shaken many\na conscience, and given to the triumph of Christianity the character of a\ntransitory event. But, at the end of the fourth century, it was impossible\nto abandon the church and return to the idols, except by a feeling which\ncould not but excite profound pity. I therefore understand why St\nAugustinus had consented to plead with the Christians in favour of a\nwretch already charged with three apostasies: he wished, above all, to\ntake from him the name of a Pagan, being convinced that whoever consented\nno longer to sacrifice to the false gods would finally belong to the true\nreligion. A neophyte, restrained by the leaven of all the pagan passions,\nmight remain more or less time on the threshold of the church, but sooner\nor later he was sure to cross it.(45) The leaders of the church considered\nit always a favourable presumption when a citizen consented to call\nhimself no longer a Pagan. This first victory appeared to them a sure\npresage of a true conversion; and they recommended to the Christians that\nthey should not apply the dangerous epithet of _Pagan_ to those of their\nbrethren who had failed, but simply to call them _sinners_. They\nendeavoured, in short, to make them forget Paganism; and in order to\nattain this object, they even forbade to pronounce its name.(46)\n\n“The ancient worship was not only obstructing the development of\nChristianity by covert and insidious attacks, but it was also vitiating\nthe discipline of the church, because its sway upon the manners of the\nconverts was something more like a real tyranny than the natural remnant\nof its former influence. It is, indeed, surprising with what facility it\nintroduced into the sanctuary of the true God its superstitious spirit,\nits relaxed morals, and its love of disorder. How little the church was\nthen,—_i.e._, seventy years after the conversion of\nConstantine,—resembling what she ought to have been, or what she became\nafterwards!(47) St Jerome had intended, towards the end of his life, to\nwrite an ecclesiastical history; but it was in order to show that the\nchurch, under the Christian emperors, went on continually declining.\n_Divitiis major, virtutibus minor_ (Greater in wealth, smaller in virtue),\nwas the severe sentence which St Jerome must have pronounced with regret,\nbut the justice of which is proved by all the historical documents of that\nperiod. This illustrious leader of Christianity, whose mind was more\ninclined to enthusiasm than dejection, frequently lost all energy, by\nreflecting on the deplorable condition of the church, declaring that he\nfelt no longer any power to write. A sufficient number of historians have\nrepresented in vivid colours the excessive luxury of the bishops during\nthat time, as well as the greediness, the ignorance, and the misconduct of\nthe clergy; I shall therefore choose from this melancholy picture only\nthose parts which refer to the history of Paganism.\n\n“All the arts of divination remained still in the highest favour amongst\nChristians, even when the grave men of the Pagan party had been, for a\nlong time, showing for these practices of idolatry either a conventional\nrespect or an open contempt.(48) They swore by the false gods,—they\nobserved the fifth day, dedicated to Jupiter,—and they took a part in the\nsacred games, feasts, and festivals of the Pagans. Christian ceremonies\ndid not preserve almost any thing of their ancient majesty. It was not a\nrare occurrence to hear pagan hymns chanted at Christian solemnities, or\nto see Christians dancing before their churches, according to the custom\nof Paganism. There was no more decency observed in the interior of those\nchurches: people went there to speak about business, or to amuse\nthemselves; the noise was so great, and the bursts of laughter so loud,\nthat it was impossible to hear the reading of the Scriptures; the\ncongregation quarrelled, fought, and sometimes interfered with the\nofficiating priest, pressing him to end, or compelling him to sing,\naccording to their taste. St Augustinus was therefore warranted in calling\nthis so powerful influence of the ancient worship a persecution of the\ndemon, more covert and insidious than that which the primitive church had\nsuffered.\n\n“All these scandalous facts are attested by the bishop of Hippona (St\nAugustinus) and by that of Milan (St Ambrose); it is therefore impossible\nto doubt their authenticity. It may, however, be said, that such a state\nof corruption was local, and peculiar to the churches of Africa and Milan;\nI must therefore produce new evidence, in order to show that the\ncalamitous effect of the pagan manners was felt in all the provinces.\n\n“St Gaudentius, bishop of Brescia, a contemporary of St Augustinus,\nvigorously combated idolatry in his diocese; and the following is an\nextract from one of his sermons:—\n\n“ ‘You neophytes, who have been called to the feast of this salutary and\nmystical Easter, look how you preserve your souls from those aliments\nwhich have been defiled by the superstition of the Pagans. It is not\nenough for a true Christian to reject the poisoned food of the demons; he\nmust also fly from all the abominations of the Pagans,—from all the frauds\nof the idolaters, as from venom ejected by the serpent of the devil.\nIdolatry is composed of poisonings, of enchantments, ligatures, presages,\naugurs, sorceries, as well as of all kinds of vain observances, and,\nmoreover, of the festival called _Parentales_; by means of which idolatry\nis reanimating error; and indeed men, giving way to their gluttony, began\nto eat the viands which had been prepared for the dead; afterwards they\nwere not afraid of celebrating in their honour sacrilegious\nsacrifices,—although it is difficult to believe that a duty towards their\ndead is discharged by those who, with a hand shaking from the effects of\ndrunkenness, place tables on sepulchres, and say, with an unintelligible\nvoice, _The spirit is thirsty_.(49) I beseech you, take heed of these\nthings, in case God should deliver to the flames of hell his contemners\nand enemies, who have refused to wear his yoke.’\n\n“Who may wonder that such Christians allowed the pagan idols, temples, and\naltars to remain, and to be honoured on their estates, as is attested by\nthe same bishop? St Augustinus, whom I am not tired of quoting, because no\nother doctor of that time expressed so vividly the true Christian ideas,\nlamented this monstrous worship, which was neither Paganism nor\nChristianity. ‘Many a man,’ says he, ‘who enters the church a Christian,\nleaves it a Pagan,’ However, far from despairing, he wrote to the virgin\nFelicia, ‘I advise thee not to be affected too much by these offences;\nthey were predicted, in order that, when they should come, we might\nremember that they had been announced, and consequently not be hurt by\nthem.’ But the Pagans, for whom this premature corruption of Christianity\nwas not a predicted thing, rejoiced in contemplating the extent of its\nprogress; they would not believe the duration of a worship which had so\nrapidly arrived at the period of its decline, and they were repeating in\ntheir delusion this celebrated saying, ‘Christians are only for awhile;\nthey will afterwards perish, and the idols will return.’ ”—_Beugnot_, vol.\nii. p. 97, _et seq._\n\nThis melancholy picture of Christian society, at the beginning of the\nfifth century, drawn by M. Beugnot, on the authority of the ecclesiastical\nwriters, is, indeed, as gloomy as that of Roman society in general, which\nhad been so graphically described about the same time by the pagan author\nAmmianus Marcellinus, and reproduced by Gibbon. It was very natural that\nsuch a corrupted soil should produce the rankest growth of superstition,\nand rapidly bring about that melancholy reaction which was not inaptly\nstyled by Gibbon, “the revival of polytheism in the Christian church.”\nThis wretched state of things was, as I have said before, chiefly due to\nthat policy of compromise by which the leaders of the church sought to get\nas many Pagans as possible into her pale, and who consequently were\nbaptised without being converted. This compromise with Paganism was often\ncarried to great extremes; and the history of the conversion of Florence,\nwhich I have extracted from M. Beugnot’s work, gives one of the most\nstriking instances of those unprincipled proceedings:—“Florence paid\nparticular honours to the god Mars. It was not without regret that it\nabandoned the worship of this divinity. The time of its conversion had\nbeen assigned to the second or the third century, but the vagueness of\nthis date deprives it of all authority. Yet, whatever may have been the\ncentury in which the conversion of Florence took place, it could not be a\nsubject of edification and joy to the Christians. The traditions of that\ncity predicted to it great calamities if the statue of Mars was either\nsullied, or put into a place unworthy of it. The Florentines stipulated,\ntherefore, on accepting the new religion, that Mars should be respected.\nHis statue was consequently neither broken nor sullied, but it was\ncarefully taken from his temple, and placed on a pedestal near the river,\nwhich flows through the city. Many years after this, the new Christians\nfeared and invoked that god who was dethroned only by halves. When almost\nall the pagan temples had fallen either by the stroke of time, or under\nthe blows of the Christians, the heathen palladium of Florence stood still\nerect on the banks of the Arno; and, according to one of the most\nenlightened historians that Italy has produced during the middle ages (G.\nVillani, lib. i., cap. 60), the demon who had remained in the statue\nrealised, in the thirteenth century, the old prediction of the\nEtruscans.(50) Compromises of the kind which took place at Florence became\nvery common during the fifth century, and when, at a later period,\nChristianity wished to annul them, it met with great obstacles.”—(BEUGNOT,\nvol. i., p. 286.)\n\nThe Jews had been brought up in the knowledge of the true God, and their\nfaith could not but be strengthened by the miracles with which their\nexodus from Egypt was accompanied, and yet a short absence of Moses from\ntheir camp was sufficient to make them call for gods that would go before\nthem, and to induce them to worship an image evidently borrowed from the\nidolatry of those very Egyptians by whom they had been so much oppressed.\nIt was, therefore, no wonder that society, educated for many centuries\nunder the influence of Paganism, were continually returning to their\nancient rites, superstitions, and manners, though under a new name, and in\na modified form. If we consider further, that such a man as Aaron had not\nsufficient strength to resist the senseless demands of the multitude, and\neven consented to mould an object for their idolatry, how could the\nleaders of the church oppose the pressure of Paganism, which they had\nincautiously admitted into her pale, and which, under the assumed name of\nChristianity, was establishing its dominion over the church? There was no\ninspired prophet amongst the Christians of that time, to restore the\npurity of their faith in the same manner as Moses did amongst the Jews,\nafter his return from Mount Sinai. The Christian church was therefore left\nfor centuries under the oppression of pagan superstitions, from which, as\nyet, only a small portion of her has been emancipated, though I firmly\nbelieve that she will be one day entirely restored to her pristine purity.\nThis hope, however, is not founded upon the mere advance of human\nintellect, because, in spite of its boasted progress, it seems now to be\npowerless against the daily growing reaction of the above-mentioned\nsuperstitions, even in places whence they apparently had been banished for\never, but because Christianity is of a divine and not human origin.\n\nThere was no lack of opposition to this universal corruption of the church\non the part of several true Christians, and there were undoubtedly many\nmore instances of this noble conduct than those which have reached us, but\nthe records of them were probably either lost in the lapse of ages, or\ndestroyed by their opponents. I have already mentioned the prohibition of\nthe use of images in the churches by the council of Elvira in 305. The\ncouncil of Laodicea, held about 363, declared, in its seventy-fifth canon,\n“_That Christians ought not to abandon the church, and retire elsewhere in\norder to invoke angels, and form private assemblies, because it is\nprohibited. If, therefore, any one is attached to this secret idolatry,\nlet him be anathema, because he has left our Lord Jesus Christ, and has\nbecome an idolater._” It is therefore evident that this superstition,\nexpressly prohibited by St Paul, Col. ii. 18, was then secretly practised\nin some private assemblies, though it was afterwards introduced into the\nWestern as well as the Eastern church. The council of Carthage, held\ntowards the end of the fourth century, condemned the abuse of the honours\nwhich were paid to the memory of the martyrs by the Christians of Africa,\nand ordered the bishops to repress them, _if the thing might be done, but\nif it could not be done on account of the popular emotions_, to warn at\nleast the people. This proves how weak the bishops felt their authority to\nbe against the prevailing superstitions amongst their flocks, and that\nthey preferred suffering the latter to risking the former.\n\nThere were, however, Christians who opposed, in a bold and uncompromising\nmanner, the pagan errors and abuses which had infected the church. St\nEpiphanius, archbishop of Salamis, in the fourth century, celebrated for\nhis learning, and whose virtues St Jerome extols in the most glowing\nterms, explicitly condemned the worship of created beings, “because,” he\nobserved, “the devil was creeping into men’s minds under the pretence of\ndevotion and justice, and, consecrating human nature by divine honours,\npresented to their eyes various fine images, in order to separate the mind\nfrom the one God by an infamous adultery. Therefore, though those who are\nworshipped are dead, people adore their images, which never had any life\nin them.” He further remarked, “that there was not a prophet who would\nhave suffered a man or a woman to be worshipped; that neither the prophet\nElias, nor St John the beloved disciple of the Lord, nor St Thecla (who\nhad received the most extravagant praises from the fathers), were ever\nworshipped; and that, consequently, the virgin was neither to be invoked\nnor worshipped.” “_The old superstition_,” says he, “_shall not have such\npower over us as to oblige us to abandon the living God, and worship his\ncreature._”(51)\n\nThe same St Epiphanius relates, in a letter addressed to John, bishop of\nJerusalem, that having arrived during a journey at a village called\nAnablatta, he found in its church a veil suspended over the door, with a\nfigure representing _Christ or some saint_. He was so indignant at this\nsight that he immediately tore the veil to pieces, and advised the wardens\nof that church to employ it as a shroud to bury a dead body. As the people\nof the place complained that the veil of their church was destroyed,\nwithout giving them in its place another, Epiphanius sent them one; but he\nexhorted in his letter the above-mentioned bishop of Jerusalem, in whose\ndiocese Anablatta was situated, to order the priests of that place not to\nsuspend any more such veils in the church of Christ, _because they are\ncontrary to our religion_.\n\nThe authenticity of this letter, which bears such strong evidence against\nthe use of images in churches, was rejected by Bellarmine and the\necclesiastical historian Baronius, but it has been admitted by Petau and\nsome of the ablest writers of the Roman Catholic Church. It was translated\ninto Latin by St Jerome, and is found in all the collections of his works.\n\nThe most celebrated opponent of the abuses with which the church had been\nalready infected at that time was Vigilantius. His writings have not been\npreserved, and we know his opinions only from their refutation by St\nJerome, and from which we may conclude that this reformer of the fifth\ncentury maintained the same doctrines which were afterwards defended by\nthe Waldensians, Wycliffe, the Hussites, and which are now professed by\nthe Protestant Christians. He was born at Calagorris in Gallia; he became\na priest at Barcelona, and contracted in that place an intimate friendship\nwith St Paulinus, afterwards bishop of Nola. Vigilantius went to Italy in\norder to see this friend of his, and having an intention to visit\nPalestine and Egypt, took from him an introduction to St Jerome. They\nbecame great friends with St Jerome, who was much pleased with the marks\nof approbation shown by Vigilantius during a sermon which he preached. He\nalso acknowledges that he, as well as several others, would have died from\nstarvation, if Vigilantius had not assisted them with his own and his\nfriends’ money; and he says, in his answer to Paulinus, “You will learn\nfrom the mouth of _the holy priest, Vigilantius_, with what affection I\nhave received him.” This affection disappeared, however, as soon as Jerome\nlearned that Vigilantius had accused him in Egypt of being too partial to\nOrigenes, and the _holy priest_ became an _impertinent_, whose silly\nspeeches he had observed during their first interview. He made use of\nseveral injurious expressions in speaking of the former object of his\nadmiration, and which do not well accord with the gravity of his\ncharacter, as, for instance, calling him often _Dormitantius_ instead of\n_Vigilantius_. His indignation knew no bounds when he heard, in 404, that\nVigilantius, who was then in Gallia, had attacked several practices which\nhad crept into the church, and he dictated in one single night a vehement\nanswer to the opinions of Vigilantius, who, according to this writer,\ntaught as follows:—\n\nThat the honours paid to the rotten bones and dust of the saints and\nmartyrs, by adoring, kissing, wrapping them in silver, and enclosing them\nin vessels of gold, placing them in churches, and lighting wax candles\nbefore them, was idolatry.\n\nThat the celibacy of the clergy was heresy, and their vows of chastity a\nseminary of lewdness.\n\nThat to pray for the dead, or desire their prayers, was superstition, and\nthat we can pray one for another only as long as we are alive.\n\nThat the souls of the departed apostles and martyrs were at rest in some\nparticular place, and could not leave it, in order to be present in\nvarious places, for hearing the prayers addressed to them.\n\nThat the sepulchres of the martyrs should not be venerated; that vigils\nheld in churches should be abolished, with the exception of that at\nEaster; that to enter monastic life was to become useless to society, &c.\n&c.\n\nThe answer of Jerome to the above-mentioned opinions of Vigilantius is a\ncurious mixture of violence and casuistry. He declared his _quondam_\nfriend and _holy priest_, Vigilantius, a greater monster than all those\nwhich nature had ever produced, the Centaurs, the Behemoths, the Syrens,\nthe triple-bodied Gerion of Spain; that he was a most detestable heretic,\nventing foul blasphemies against the relics of the martyrs, who were\nworking miracles everyday. “Go,” says he to Vigilantius, “into the\nchurches of those martyrs, and thou shalt be cleansed from the evil spirit\nby which thou art now possessed, and feel thyself burning, not by those\nwax candles which offend thee, but by invisible flames, which will force\nthat demon who talks within thee to confess that he is the same as that\nwho had personated, perhaps a Mercury, a Bacchus, or some other of the\nheathen gods, amongst their followers,” &c. He is unable, however, to\nproduce any other argument in support of the worship of relics than the\nexample of those who had practised it. “Was it wrong,” he exclaims, “of\nthe bishops of Rome to celebrate divine service on the graves containing\nthe bones of St Peter and St Paul, which, according to Vigilantius, were\nnothing better than dust? The Emperor Constantius must then have committed\na sacrilege by translating the holy relics of Andrew, Luke, and Timothy,\nto Constantinople; the Emperor Arcadius must be then also considered\nsacrilegious, as he has translated the bones of the blessed Samuel from\nJudea to Thrace; then all those bishops who consented to preserve mere\ndust in vessels of gold or wrapt in silk, were not only sacrilegious, but\nwere fools; and, finally, that all these people must have been fools who\nwent out to meet these relics, and received them with as much joy as if\nthey were the prophet himself alive, because the procession which carried\nthem was attended by crowds of people from Palestine to Chalcedon, singing\nthe praises of Christ, whose servant Samuel was.”\n\nThere is no abuse in the world which cannot be justified, if the example\nof persons occupying a high station or that of great numbers is sufficient\nfor it. The advocates of the adoration of relics in our own days may\ndefend it by the fact that about half a million of people went in 1845 to\nworship the holy coat of Treves, and that still more recently great\nhonours were paid to the relics of St Theodosia at Amiens, by a number of\ndistinguished persons,—bishops, archbishops, and even cardinals. The\n_autos da fé_ of the Spanish and Portuguese inquisitions could not be\nwrong, since kings, queens, and the most eminent persons of the state,\napproved them by their presence. Idolatry cannot be an error, since so\nmany monarchs, statesmen, and learned men, had conformed to its rites;\nwhilst, on the other side, the same reason may be pleaded for the penal\nlaws of Ireland, and other enactments against the Roman Catholics, because\nthey were established and maintained by so many parliaments. Jerome\nmaintained that it was a calumny of Vigilantius to say that the Christians\nburnt candles in daylight, though he admitted that it was done by some men\nand women in order to honour the martyrs. He did not approve of it,\nbecause their zeal was without knowledge; but he thought that on account\nof their good intention, they would be rewarded according to their faith,\nlike the woman who had anointed the feet of our Lord. He also tried to\njustify the use of candles by those passages of the Scriptures where an\nallusion was made to _lamps and lights_; as, for instance, the parable of\nthe virgins, the expression of the Psalm cxix. 105, “Thy word is a lamp\nunto my feet, and a light unto my path.”\n\nThe rest of the arguments which St Jerome employs in refuting what he\ncalls the errors and heresies of Vigilantius are of a similar nature to\nthose which have been given above; and it is really astonishing to see\nthat a man like this celebrated father, who is generally considered as one\nof the great luminaries of the church, not only by Roman Catholics, but\nalso by some Protestants, could descend to such miserable shifts, and\nindulge in such violent language as he did, in his answer to Vigilantius,\nwhich bears a strong mark of having been dictated more by his personal\nfeelings against his former friend and benefactor, than by a conviction of\nthe justice of the cause which he was defending on that occasion. It is,\nhowever, evident from the other writings of the same father of the church,\nthat his imagination was much more powerful than his reasoning faculties,\nand that he had entirely forgotten the precept of St Paul, to “_refuse\nprofane and old wives’ fables_”—(1 Timothy iv. 7)—because no one has ever\nindulged in more absurd fables than this good father did, in his lives of\nSt Hilarion and St Paul, two celebrated monks, and of which the following\nis a fair specimen:—\n\n“A Christian citizen of Majuma, called Italicus, kept horses for racing,\nbut was continually beaten by his rival, a pagan ducumvir of Gaza, who, by\nusing certain charms and diabolical incantations, contrived always to damp\nthe spirits of the Christian’s horses, and to give vigour to his own.\nItalicus applied, therefore, for help to St Hilarion, who, thinking that\nit was improper to make prayers for such a frivolous object, advised\nItalicus to sell his horses, and to give their price to the poor, for the\nsalvation of his soul. Italicus represented, however, that he was\ndischarging against his inclination the duties of a public office, and\nthat as a Christian could not resort to magical means, he addressed\nhimself to a servant of God, particularly as it was important to defeat\nthe inhabitants of Gaza, who were known as enemies of Christ, and that it\nwas not so much for his own interests as for those of the church that he\nwished to overcome his rival. Hilarion, convinced by these reasons, filled\nwith water an earthen vessel, from which he usually drank, and delivered\nit to Italicus, who sprinkled with the water his horses, his chariots and\ncharioteers, his stables, and even the barriers of the racing ground. The\nwhole city was in a great excitement, the idolaters deriding the\nChristians, who loudly expressed their confidence of victory. The signal\nbeing given, the Christian’s horses flew with an extreme rapidity, and\nleft those of his rival far behind. This miracle produced a very great\neffect upon the spectators, and many persons, including the beaten party,\nbecame converts to Christianity.”\n\nThe above-mentioned work is filled with fables still more extravagant than\nthe one which I have related, and which entirely throw into the shade the\ncelebrated tales of Munchausen. Jerome complained that many people, whom,\nin his Christian meekness, he calls _Scyllean dogs_, were laughing at the\nstories related in those works, and which he begins by invoking the\nassistance of the Holy Ghost. Was it then a wonder that a Christianity,\ndefended by such wretched superstitions, was frequently abandoned by\nindividuals, who, comparing the Christian legends of the kind quoted above\nwith the fictions of Pagan mythology, preferred the latter as being more\npoetical? and, indeed, we have instances of the ridicule which the Pagans\nattempted to throw upon Christianity, by comparing its saints with their\nown gods and demigods.\n\nI must, however, return once more to Vigilantius.(52) The Roman Catholic\nhistorian of the church, Baronius, who calls him “_a horned beast, a fool,\nand furious, who had reached the last degree of folly and fury_,” &c.,\n&c., maintains that his heresy was solemnly condemned by the Pope Innocent\nI., whom the bishops of Gallia had addressed on this subject. He also says\nthat the same heresy produced terrible consequences; because two years\nafter Vigilantius had spread his doctrines, the Vandals and other\nbarbarians invaded Gallia, and destroyed all his adherents. Admitting even\nwith Baronius that Vigilantius was a damnable heretic, it cannot be denied\nthat this learned historian had a very strange notion of divine justice,\nbecause the barbarians alluded to above destroyed a great number of\nchurches and relics, as well as those who prayed at their shrines, whilst\nVigilantius died quietly, and, notwithstanding the assertion of Baronius,\nnever was excluded from the communion of the church, or even condemned by\nher legal authorities.\n\nWe know from Vigilantius’ opponents that his opinions were approved by\nmany, and there can be no doubt that there was, not only in his days, but\nlong after him, a good number of witnesses for the truth, who opposed the\nrapid spread of Pagan ideas and practices in the church. Thus, at the end\nof the sixth century, Serenus, bishop of Marseilles, removed all the\nimages from his church, because the people worshipped them. This produced\na great discontent amongst many people of his diocese, who appealed to\nPope Gregory I. in favour of the images. The Pope advised a middle course,\n_i.e._, that the images should remain in the church, but that it should\nnot be allowed to worship them. Serenus, however, who well knew that the\none infallibly led to the other, refused to comply with the papal\ninjunctions, upon which Gregory wrote to him again, saying that he praised\nhis zeal in not suffering the worship of any thing that was made by the\nhand of man; but that images should not be destroyed, because pictures\nwere used in churches to teach the ignorant by sight what they could not\nread in books, &c.(53)\n\nWe therefore see that at the end of the sixth century, the celebrated Pope\nGregory I., surnamed the Great, considered the worship of images as an\nabuse to be prohibited, but which was afterwards legalised by his\nsuccessors, and an opposition to it declared heresy.\n\nI could produce other evidences to show that the worship of images was\ncondemned by many bishops and priests of the period which I have\ndescribed, though they approved their use as a means of teaching the\nilliterate, or tolerated them as an unavoidable evil. The limits of this\nessay allow me not, however, to extend my researches on this subject, and\nI shall endeavour to give in the next chapter a rapid sketch of the\nviolent reaction against the worship of images in the east by the\niconoclast emperors, and of the more moderate, but no less decided,\nopposition to the same practice in the west by Charlemagne.\n\n\n\n\nChapter V. Reaction Against The Worship Of Images And Other Superstitious\nPractices By The Iconoclast Emperors Of The East.\n\n\nThe worship of images, as well as other Pagan practices, introduced into\nthe church during the fourth and fifth centuries, were prevailing in the\neast as much as in the west; and I have mentioned, p. 9, that the monks,\nparticularly those of Egypt, had greatly contributed to the introduction\nof anthropomorphism into the Christian church. A great blow to\nimage-worship was given in the east by the rise and rapid progress of\nMahometanism, whose followers, considering it as idolatry, destroyed many\nobjects to which certain miraculous virtues had been ascribed, and they\nconstantly taunted the Christians with their belief in such superstitions.\nThe Jews addressed the same reproaches to the Christians; “yet,” as Gibbon\nhas justly observed, “their servitude might curb their zeal and depreciate\ntheir authority; but the triumphant Mussulman, who reigned at Damascus,\nand threatened Constantinople, cast into the scale of reproach the\naccumulated weight of truth and victory.”(54) And, indeed, there could not\nbe a stronger argument against the efficacy of images than the rapid\nconquest by the Mahometans of many Christian cities which relied upon a\nmiraculous defence by some images preserved in their churches. This\ncircumstance could not but produce, in the minds of many thinking\nChristians, a conviction of the absurdity of image-worship, and the spread\nof such opinions must have been promoted by congregations who had\npreserved the purity of primitive worship, and of whom it appears that\nthere were several still extant in the eighth century, as well as by the\ninfluence of Armenia, a country with which the eastern empire had frequent\nintercourse of a political and commercial nature, and whose church\nrejected at that time the worship of images. This party wanted only a\nleader and favourable circumstances in order publicly to assert their\ncondemnation of the prevailing practice, which they considered as sinful\nidolatry. The accession of Leo III., the Isaurian, in 717, who, from an\ninferior condition, rose by his talents and military prowess to the\nimperial throne, gave to that party what they required, for he shared\ntheir opinions, and was a man of great energy and ability. The troubles of\nthe state, which the valour and political wisdom of Leo saved from\nimpending ruin, occupied too much the first years of that emperor’s reign\nto allow him to undertake a reform of the church. But in 727 he assembled\na council of senators and bishops, and decided, with their consent, that\nall the images should be removed in the churches from the sanctuary and\nthe altar, to a height where they might be seen, but not worshipped, by\nthe congregation.(55) It was, however, impossible to follow long this\nmiddle course, as the adherents of the images contrived to worship them in\nspite of their elevation, while their opponents taxed the emperor with\nwant of zeal, holding out to him the example of the Jewish monarch, who\nhad caused the brazen serpent to be broken. Leo therefore ordered all\nkinds of images to be destroyed; and though his edict met with some\nopposition,(56) it was put into execution throughout the whole empire,\nwith the exception of the Italian provinces, which, instigated by Pope\nGregory II., a zealous defender of images, revolted against the emperor,\nand resisted all his efforts to regain his dominion over them. This\nmonarch died in 741, after a not inglorious reign of twenty-four years,\nand was succeeded on the throne by his son Constantine VIII., surnamed\nCopronymus. All the information which we possess about this monarch, as\nwell as the other iconoclast emperors, is derived from historians\nviolently opposed to their religious views. These writers represent\nConstantine VIII. as one of the greatest monsters that ever disgraced\nhumanity, stained by every imaginable vice; and having exhausted all the\nusual terms of opprobrium, they invent some such ridiculous expressions as\na “_leopard generated by a lion, an aspic born from the seeds of a\nserpent, a flying dragon_,” &c.; but they do not adduce in confirmation of\nthese epithets any of those criminal acts which have disgraced the reigns\nof many Byzantine emperors, whose piety is extolled by the same writers.\nWe know, moreover, by the evidence of those very historians who have\nbespattered with all those opprobrious terms the memory of Constantine,\nthat he was a brave and skilful leader, who defeated the Arabs, the most\nformidable enemies of the empire, and restored several of its lost\nprovinces, and that the country was prosperous under his reign of\nthirty-four years—741 to 775.\n\nThe beginning of Constantine’s reign was disturbed by his own\nbrother-in-law, Artabasdes, who, supported by the adherents of the images,\ncompeted for the imperial throne, but was defeated, and his party crushed.\nConstantine, desiring to abolish the abuse, which he regarded as idolatry,\nby a solemn decision of the church declared, in 753, his intention to\nconvoke for this object a general council; and in order that the question\nat issue should be thoroughly sifted, he enjoined all the bishops of the\nempire to assemble local synods, and to examine the subject, previously to\nits being debated by the general council. This council, composed of three\nhundred and thirty-eight bishops, met at Constantinople in 754, and, after\nhaving deliberated for six months, decided that, _conformably to Holy Writ\nand the testimony of the fathers, all images were to be removed from the\nchurches, and whoever would dare to make an image, in order to place it in\na church, to worship it, or to keep it concealed in his house, was, if a\nclerk, to be deposed, if a layman, to be anathematised_. The council\nadded, that those who adhered to the images were to be punished by the\nimperial authorities as _enemies of the doctrine of the fathers, and\nbreakers of the law of God_. This decision was pronounced by the assembled\nbishops unanimously, and without a single dissentient voice, which had\nnever been the case before. This assembly took the title of the Seventh\nEcumenical Council, and the emperor ordered its decision to be put into\nexecution throughout all his dominions. The images were removed from the\nchurches, and those which were painted on the walls covered with\nwhitewash. The principal opposition to the imperial order was offered by\nthe monks, who were always the chief promoters of image-worship; and\nConstantine is accused of having repressed this opposition with a violence\ncommon to that barbarous age. He is said to have entertained the greatest\nhatred against these monks, calling them idolaters, and their dresses the\n_dress of darkness_—an opinion with which many persons will be found to\nchime, I think, even in our own time. Constantine died in 775, and was\nfollowed on the throne by his son, Leo IV., who inherited the religious\nviews of his father; whilst his wife, Irene, a beautiful and talented, but\nambitious and unprincipled woman, was a secret worshipper of images. Leo,\nwho was of a weak constitution, died after a reign of five years,\nappointing Irene the guardian of his minor son Constantine, who was then\nten years old. Irene governed the empire with great ability, but was too\nfond of power to surrender it to her son at his coming of age, and he\ntried to obtain by force what was due to him by right. The party of Irene\nproved, however, the stronger; and young Constantine was taken prisoner,\nand his mother caused him to be deprived of sight. Irene’s orders were\nexecuted in such an atrocious manner, that the unfortunate prince died in\nconsequence.(57) Irene governed the empire with great splendour, but her\nfirst object was to restore the worship of images; and the machinations by\nwhich she accomplished this object have been so well related by Gibbon,\nthat I cannot do better than copy his account of them:—\n\n“Under the reign of Constantine VIII., the union of the civil and\necclesiastical power had overthrown the tree, without extirpating the root\nof superstition. The idols, for such they were now held, were secretly\ncherished by the order and the sex most prone to devotion; and the fond\nalliance of the monks and females obtained a final victory over the reason\nand authority of man. Leo IV. maintained with less rigour the religion of\nhis father and grandfather, but his wife, the fair and ambitious Irene,\nhad imbibed the zeal of the Athenians,(58) the heirs of the idolatry\nrather than philosophy of their ancestors. During the life of her husband,\nthese sentiments were inflamed by danger and dissimulation, and she could\nonly labour to protect and promote some favourite monks, whom she drew\nfrom their caverns, and seated on the metropolitan thrones of the east.\nBut as soon as she reigned in her own name, and in that of her son, Irene\nmore seriously undertook the ruin of the iconoclasts, and the first step\nof her future persecution was a general edict for liberty of conscience.\nIn the restoration of the monks, a thousand images were exposed to the\npublic veneration; a thousand legends were invented of their sufferings\nand miracles. By the opportunities of death and removal, the episcopal\nseats were judiciously filled; the most eager competitors for celestial or\nearthly favour anticipated and flattered the judgment of their sovereign;\nand the promotion of her secretary Tarasius gave Irene the patriarch of\nConstantinople, and the command of the Oriental church. But the decrees of\na general council could only be repealed by a similar assembly; the\niconoclasts, whom she convened, were bold in possession, and averse to\ndebate; and the feeble voice of the bishops was re-echoed by the more\nformidable clamour of the soldiers and the people of Constantinople. The\ndelay and intrigues of a year, the separation of the disaffected troops,\nand the choice of Nice for a second orthodox synod, removed these\nobstacles; and the episcopal conscience was again, after the Greek\nfashion, in the hands of the prince.”—_Gibbon’s Roman Empire_, chap. xlix.\nThis council, held in 786, restored the worship of images by the unanimous\nsentence of three hundred and fifty bishops. The acts of this synod have\nbeen preserved, and they are stated by Gibbon to be “a curious monument of\nsuperstition and ignorance, of falsehood and folly.” I am afraid that\nthere is but too much truth in this severe judgment of Gibbon; and the\nfollowing passage relating to the same council, which I have extracted,\nnot from Gibbon, or any writer of the school to which he belonged, but\nfrom the celebrated Roman Catholic historian of the church, Abbé Fleury,\nwill enable the reader to form his own judgment on this subject.\n\nAfter describing the confession of faith signed by that council, which\ndeclared that the images of the saints are to be worshipped, because they\nremind us of those whom they represent, and make us participators in their\nmerits, he says:—\n\n“The last passages showed that God was making miracles by means of images;\nand in order to confirm it, a discourse, ascribed to St Athanasius, was\nread. It contained the account of a pretended miracle, which happened at\nBeryt, with an image of Christ, which, having been pierced by the Jews,\nemitted blood, which healed many sick persons. The fathers of the council\nwere so much moved by this account that they shed tears. It is, however,\ncertain, that this discourse is not by St Athanasius, and it is even very\ndoubtful whether the story which it contains is true. Thus it appears that\namongst all the bishops present at this council, there was not a single\none versed in the science of criticism, because many other false documents\nwere produced in that assembly. This proves nothing against the decision\nof the council, because it is sufficiently supported by true documents. It\nonly proves the ignorance of the times, as well as the necessity of\nknowing history, chronology, the difference of manners and styles, in\norder to discern real documents from spurious ones.”(59)\n\nThus, according to the authority of one of the most eminent writers of the\nRoman Catholic Church, the second Council of Nice, the first synod which\nhas given an explicit and solemn sanction to one of the most important\ntenets of the Western and the Eastern churches, was composed of such\nignorant and silly prelates, that an absurd fable, contained in a forged\npaper, could sway their minds and hearts in such a manner as to make them\nshed tears of emotion, and that there was not a single individual amongst\nthese venerable fathers sufficiently informed to be able to discover a\nfabrication so gross that it did not escape the attention of scholars who\nlived many centuries afterwards.\n\nIrene rigorously enforced the decrees of this council against the\nopponents of images; and that woman, guilty of the death of her own son,\nand suspected of that of her husband, is extolled by ecclesiastical\nwriters as a most pious princess. A contemporary Greek writer, and a\nzealous defender of image-worship, the monk Theodore Studites, places her\nabove Moses, and says that “she had delivered the people from the Egyptian\nbondage of impiety;” and the historian of the Roman Catholic Church,\nBaronius, justifies her conduct by the following argument: that the hands\nof the fathers were raised by a just command of God against their\nchildren, who followed strange gods, and that Moses had ordered them to\nconsecrate themselves to the Lord, even every man upon his son, and upon\nhis brother, Exod. xxxii. 29, so that it was a high degree of piety to be\ncruel to one’s own son; consequently Irene deserved on this account the\nfirst crown of paradise; and that if she had committed the murder of her\nson from motives of ambition, she would be worse than Agrippina, mother of\nNero; but if she did it through zeal for religion, as it appears by the\nencomium which she had received from very holy men who lived at that time,\nshe deserves to be praised for her piety.\n\nIrene’s piety, shown by the restoration of images, and the persecution of\ntheir opponents, was indeed so much appreciated by the church, that she\nreceived a place amongst the saints of the Greek calendar. She was,\nhowever, less fortunate in her worldly affairs; because she was deposed in\n802 by Nicephorus, who occupied the imperial throne, and exiled to Lesbos,\nwhere she died in great poverty. He did not abolish the images, nor allow\nthe persecution of their opponents; and the ecclesiastical writers\nrepresent him, on account of this liberal policy, as a perfect monster.\nNicephorus perished in a battle against the Bulgarians in 811, and his\nsuccessor Michael, who persecuted the iconoclasts, unable to maintain\nhimself on the throne, retired into a convent, after a reign of about two\nyears, and the imperial crown was assumed by Leo V., a native of Armenia,\nand one of the most eminent leaders of the army, which elevated him to\nthis dignity.\n\nThough all that we know about Leo V. is derived from authors zealously\nopposed to his religious views, yet, notwithstanding all their _odium\ntheologicum_, they are obliged to admit that he was gallant in the field,\nand just and careful in the administration of civil affairs. Being the\nnative of a country whose church still resisted the introduction of\nimages, he was naturally adverse to their worship, and the manner in which\nhe abolished it in his empire deserves a particular notice; because,\nthough related by his enemies, it proves that he was a sincere scriptural\nChristian.\n\nAccording to their relation, Leo believed that the victories obtained by\nthe barbarians, and other calamities to which the empire was exposed, were\na visitation of God in punishment of the worship of images; that he\ndemanded that a precept for adoring the images should be shown to him in\nthe gospels, and as the thing was impossible, he rejected them as idols\ncondemned by the Word of God. They also say, that the attention of Leo\nbeing once drawn to this passage of the prophet Isaiah, “_To whom then\nwill you liken God? or what likeness will you compare unto him? The\nworkman melteth a graven image, and the goldsmith spreadeth it over with\ngold and casteth silver chains_,” (xl. 18, 19,) this circumstance\nirritated him more than any thing else against the images. He communicated\nhis sentiments to the patriarch, and requested him either to remove the\nimages, or to show a reason why they were worshipped, _since __ the\nScriptures did not order it_. The patriarch, who was an adherent of the\nimages, tried to elude this demand by various sophisms, which, not having\nsatisfied the emperor, he ordered divines of both parties to assemble in\nhis palace, and represented to them that Moses, who had received the law,\nwritten with the hand of God, condemned, in the most explicit terms, those\nwho adored the works of men’s hands; that it was idolatry to worship them,\nand great folly to attempt to confine the Infinite in a picture of the\nsize of an ell. It is said that the defenders of the images refused to\nspeak for the three following reasons:—1. That the canons prohibited to\ndoubt what had been determined by the second Council of Nice; 2. That the\nclergy could not deliberate upon such matters in the imperial palace, but\nin a church; and, 3. That the emperor was not a competent judge on this\noccasion, because he was resolved to abolish the images. The emperor\ndeposed the patriarch, who defended the images, replacing him by another\nwho shared his own sentiments, and convened a council, which, with the\nexception of a few of its members, decided for the abolition of the\nimages. The emperor ordered their removal, and sent several of their\ndefenders into exile; he soon, however, allowed them to return, and only\nsome few of the most zealous of them died in exile. The most celebrated of\nthese sufferers was Theodore Studites; and as he has obtained on this\naccount the honour of saintship, his opinions on the nature of images\ndeserve a particular notice. He maintained that as the shadow cannot be\nseparated from the body, as the rays of the sun are inseparable from that\nplanet, so the images are inseparable from the subjects which they\nrepresent. He pretended that an image of Christ should be treated as if it\nwere Christ himself, saying, “_The image is nothing else than Christ\nhimself, except the difference of their essence; therefore, the worship of\nthe image is the worship of Jesus Christ_.” He considered those who were\nremoving images as “_destroyers of the incarnation of Christ, because he\ndoes not exist if he cannot be painted_. We renounce Christ if we reject\nhis image; and refuse to worship him, if we refuse to adore his\nimage.”(60)\n\nThis defence of image-worship is, I think, a faithful exposition of the\nanthropomorphistic ideas, which, as I have mentioned before, p. 9, had\nbeen chiefly generated by the morbid imagination of the Egyptian monks,\nand were supported by that numerous class, which formed the most zealous\nand efficient defenders of the images. Leo V. was murdered in a church in\n820; and Michael II., surnamed the Stammerer, whom the conspirators placed\non the throne, did not allow the images to be restored, though he was\nmoderate in his religious views. He recalled the defenders of the images\nfrom exile, and seemed to steer a middle course between the enemies and\nthe defenders of images, though he shared the opinions of the former. He\nwas succeeded in 829 by his son, Theophilus,—a most decided opponent of\nimages,—and whose valour and love of justice are acknowledged by his\nreligious adversaries. He died in 841, leaving a minor son, Michael III.,\nunder the regency of his wife, Theodora. This princess, whose personal\ncharacter was irreproachable, governed the empire during thirteen years,\nwith considerable wisdom; but being an adherent of images, she restored\ntheir worship,(61) which has since that time continued in the Greek Church\nin perhaps even a more exaggerated form than in the Roman Catholic one,\nand which can be without any impropriety called _iconolatry_, since\n_idolatry_ may be perhaps considered as an expression too strong for ears\npolite.\n\nThe struggle between the iconoclasts and the iconolaters, of which I have\ngiven a mere outline, but which agitated the Eastern empire for nearly a\ncentury and a half, ending in the complete triumph of the latter, deserves\nthe particular attention of all thinking Protestants; because it is\nvirtually the same contest that has been waged for more than three\ncenturies between Protestantism and Rome,(62) and which seems now to\nassume a new phasis. I do not think that the ignorance of those times may\nbe considered as the principal cause of the triumph of the iconolatric\nparty, and that the spread of knowledge in our own day is a sufficient\nsafeguard against the recurrence of a similar contingency. There was in\nthe eighth and ninth centuries a considerable amount of learning at\nConstantinople, where the treasures of classical literature, many of which\nhave since been lost, were preserved and studied.(63) The Greeks of that\ntime, though no doubt greatly inferior to the modern Europeans in physical\nscience, were not so in metaphysics and letters, whilst the gospel could\nbe read by all the educated classes in its original tongue, which was the\nofficial, literary, and ecclesiastical language of the Eastern empire. The\nByzantine art was, moreover, very inferior to that of modern Europe, and\ncould not produce, except on some coarse and rustic intellects, that\nbewitching effect, which the works of great modern painters and sculptors\noften produce upon many refined and imaginative minds. It has been justly\nremarked, by an accomplished writer of our day, that “the all-emancipating\npress is occasionally neutralised by the soul-subduing miracles of\nart.”(64)\n\nThe Roman Catholic Church perfectly understands this _soul-subduing_ power\nof art, and the following is the exposition of her views on this subject\nby one of her own writers, whom I have already quoted on a similar\nsubject, p. 51.\n\n“That pictures and images in churches are particularly serviceable in\ninforming the minds of the humbler classes, and for such a purpose possess\na superiority over words themselves, is certain.\n\n\n    “Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,\n    Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fldelibus et quæ\n    Ipse sibi tradit spectator.”\n\n    —_Horace de Arte Poetica_, v. 180.\n\n    “What’s through the ear conveyed will never find\n    Its way with so much quickness to the mind,\n    As that, when faithful eyes are messengers,\n    Unto himself the fixed spectator bears.”\n\n\n“The remark of a heathen poet is corroborated by the observations of the\nmost celebrated amongst ancient and modern Christian writers. So persuaded\nwas St Paulinus of Nola, fourteen hundred years ago, of the efficacy\npossessed by paintings for conveying useful lessons of instruction, that\nhe adorned with a variety of sacred subjects the walls of a church which\nhe erected, and dedicated to God in honour of St Felix.\n\n“Prudentius assures us how much his devotion was enkindled, as he gazed\nupon the sufferings of martyrs, so feelingly depicted around their tombs\nand in their churches. On his way to Rome, about the year 405, the poet\npaid a visit to the shrine of St Cassianus, at Forum Cornelii, the modern\nImola, where the body of that Christian hero reposed, under a splendid\naltar, over which were represented, in an expressive picture, all the\nsufferings of his cruel martyrdom.(65) So moved was Prudentius, that he\nthrew himself upon the pavement, kissed the altar with religious\nreverence, and numbering up with many a tear those wounds that sin had\ninflicted upon his soul, concluded by exhorting every one to unite with\nhimself in intrusting their petitions for the divine clemency to the\nsolicitude of the holy martyr Cassianus, who will not only hear our\nrequest, but will afford us the benefit of his patronage.”(66)\n\nThe anecdote of Prudentius evidently proves that what originally had been\nintended for the instruction of the people, may very easily become an\nobject of their adoration. If a man of a superior education, like\nPrudentius,(67) could be carried away by his feelings in such a manner as\nto address his prayers to a dead man, how much greater must be the effect\nof images upon less cultivated minds! and I have related, p. 88, on the\nauthority of the great Roman Catholic historian, Fleury, that the fathers\nof the second Council of Nice, who, according to the same authority, were\na very ignorant set, shed tears at the sight of an image represented in an\nabsurd and fictitious story.\n\nSuch are the effects produced in teaching religion by means of images.\nThere can be no doubt about the truth of the observations contained in the\nlines of Horace, which the author of “Hierurgia” quotes in defence of\nimages; but these observations refer to the theatre, and it appears to me\nthat the application of purely scenic precepts to the house of God is\nsomething very like converting divine service into a comedy.\n\nThe limits of this essay allow me not to discuss the chances of an\niconolatric reaction in our days. I shall only observe, that in several\ncountries where the iconoclasts of the Reformation had gained a\npredominant position, they were entirely crushed by the iconolatric\nreaction, and that a _fond alliance of females and monks_, supported by\nthe ruling powers of the state, achieved in these parts as great a victory\nas that which it obtained in the east under Irene and Theodora, not only\nover the reason of man, but even over the authority of the Word of God;\nand I believe that the only human means of preventing similar\ncontingencies are free institutions, which allow the fullest liberty of\ndiscussion in regard to all religious opinions.\n\nI have said before, p. 82, that the Pope opposed the abolition of images\nproclaimed by the Emperor Leo III., and that this opposition was shared by\nthe imperial provinces of Italy, which revolted on that occasion against\ntheir sovereign, and separated from the Byzantine empire. It was therefore\nnatural that the second Council of Nice, which restored the worship of\nimages, should obtain the approbation of Pope Hadrian I.; but his desire\nto impose the enactments of that council upon the churches of the West met\nwith a decided opposition on the part of Charlemagne. This great monarch,\nwho is so celebrated by his efforts to convert the Pagan Saxons,\nprosecuted with all the barbarity of his age, and whom the church has\nplaced amongst her saints, was so offended by the enactments of the second\nCouncil of Nice in favour of the worship of images, that he composed, or\nwhat is more probable, ordered to be composed in his name, a book against\nthat worship, and sent it to Pope Hadrian I., as an exposition of his own\nsentiments, as well as of those of his bishops, on the subject in\nquestion. This work, though written in violent language, contains many\nvery rational views about images, and unanswerable arguments against all\nkinds of adoration offered to them. The substance of this celebrated\nprotest is as follows:—\n\nCharlemagne says, that there is no harm in having images in a church,\nprovided they are not worshipped; and that the Greeks had fallen into two\nextremes, one of which was to destroy the images, as had been ordained by\nthe Council of Constantinople, under Constantine Copronymus, and the other\nto worship them, as was decided by the second Council of Nice under Irene.\nHe censures much more severely this latter extreme than the former,\nbecause those who destroyed images had merely acted with levity and\nignorance, whilst it was a wicked and profane action to worship them. He\ncompared the first to such as mix water with wine, and the others to those\nwho infuse a deadly poison into it; in short, there could be no comparison\nbetween the two cases. He marks, with great precision, the different kinds\nof worship offered to the images, rejecting all of them. The second\nCouncil of Nice decided that this worship should consist of kisses and\ngenuflexions, as well as of burning incense and wax candles before them.\nAll these practices are condemned by Charlemagne, as so many acts of\nworship offered to a created being. He addresses the defenders of the\nworship of images in the following manner:—\n\n“You who establish the purity of your faith upon images, go, if you like,\n_and fall upon your knees and burn incense before them_; but with regard\nto ourselves we shall seek the precepts of God in his Holy Writ. _Light\nluminaries before your pictures_, whilst we shall read the Scriptures.\n_Venerate, if you like, colours_; but we shall worship divine mysteries.\n_Enjoy the agreeable sight of your pictures_; but we shall find our\ndelight in the Word of God. _Seek after figures which cannot either see,\nor hear, or __ taste_; but we shall diligently seek after the law of God,\nwhich is irreprehensible.” He further says:—“I see images which have such\ninscriptions, as for instance St Paul, and I ask, therefore, those who are\ninvolved in this great error, why they do call images _holy (sanctus)_,\nand why they do not say, conformably to the tradition of the fathers, that\nthese are images of the _saints_? Let them say in what consists the\nsanctity of the images? Is it in the wood which had been brought from a\nforest in order to make them? Is it in the colours with which they are\npainted, and which are often composed of impure substances? Is it in the\nwax, which gets dirty?” He taunts the worshippers of images, pointing out\nan abuse which even now is as inevitable as it was then. “If,” says he,\n“two pictures perfectly alike, but of which one is meant for the Virgin\nand the other for Venus, are presented to you, you will inquire which of\nthem is the image of the Virgin and which is that of Venus, because you\ncannot distinguish them. The painter will call one of these pictures the\nimage of the Virgin, and it will be immediately put up in a _high place,\nhonoured, and kissed_; whilst the other, representing Venus, will be\nthrown away with horror. These two pictures are, however, made by the same\nhand, with the same brush, with the same colours; they have the same\nfeatures, and the whole difference between them lies in their\ninscriptions. Why is the one received and the other rejected? It is not on\naccount of the sanctity which one of them has, and the other has not; it\nis, then, on account of its inscription; and yet certain letters attached\nto a picture cannot give it a sanctity which it otherwise had not.”\n\nThis work was published for the first time in 1549, by Tillet, Roman\nCatholic bishop of Meaux in France, though under an assumed name, and it\nhas been reprinted several times. Its authenticity, which had been at\nfirst impugned by some Roman Catholic writers, was finally established\nbeyond every dispute, and acknowledged by the most eminent writers of the\nRoman Catholic Church, such as Mabillon, Sirmond, &c. It is a very\nremarkable production, for it most positively rejects every kind of\nworship offered to images, without making any difference between _Latria_\nand _Dulia_, and I think that its republication might be of considerable\nservice at the present time.(68)\n\nThe Pope sent a long letter in answer to the protest of Charlemagne, which\ndid not, however, satisfy that monarch, because he convened in 794 a\ncouncil at Frankfort, at which he presided himself. This synod, composed\nof three hundred bishops of France, Germany, and Spain, and at which two\nlegates of the Pope were present, condemned the enactment of the second\nCouncil of Nice respecting the worship of images.\n\nThis decree of the Council of Frankfort is very important, because it not\nonly condemned the worship of images, but it virtually rejected the\ninfallibility of the Popes, as well as of the General Councils, since it\ncondemned what they had established.\n\nThe opposition to the worship of images continued amongst the Western\nchurches for some time after the death of Charlemagne. Thus an assembly of\nthe French clergy, held at Paris in 825, condemned the decree of the\nsecond Council of Nice as decidedly as it was done by the work of\nCharlemagne and the Council of Frankfort. Claudius, bishop of Turin, who\nlived about that time, opposed the worship of images, which he removed\nfrom his churches, calling those idolaters who adhered to this practice;\nhe also condemned the adoration of relics, of the figure of the cross,\n&c.; and he was not inaptly called, on this account, by the Jesuit\nhistorian Maimbourg, the first Protestant minister.\n\nThere are other traces of a similar opposition during the ninth century,\nbut it seems to have entirely disappeared in the tenth, and it was again\nrenewed by the Albigenses in the eleventh century. Their history, however,\nis foreign to the object of the present essay; and I shall endeavour to\ngive in my next chapter a short sketch of the legends of the saints,\ncomposed during the middle ages.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI. Origin And Development Of The Pious Legends, Or Lives Of\nSaints, During The Middle Ages.\n\n\nA collection of the lives of the saints of the Roman Catholic calendar has\nbeen accomplished by the Jesuits, and is well known as that of the\nBollandists, from the name of its first originator Bollandus. It extends\nto fifty-three huge folios, though it has reached only to the middle of\nOctober,(69) each day having a number of saints assigned to it for\ncommemoration. It contains, among a mass of the greatest absurdities, a\ngood deal of valuable information relating to the history of the middle\nages, particularly in respect to the customs and prevailing ideas of that\nperiod. A great, if not the greatest part of the saints whose lives are\ndescribed in that collection have never existed, except in the imagination\nof their biographers; and the best proof of this is that the learned\nBenedictine monk, Dom Ruinart, an intimate friend and collaborator of the\ncelebrated Mabillon, has reduced the acts of martyrs, whom he considers as\ntrue, to one moderate quarto, though the same work contains a refutation\nof the Protestant Dodwell, who maintained that the number of the primitive\nmartyrs had been greatly exaggerated by their historians.(70)\n\nThe Christian church was already, at an early period of her existence,\ndisturbed by a great number of forgeries, relating to the history and\ndoctrine of our Lord and his disciples;(71) but the spirit in which they\nwere written, so contrary to that of the true Gospel, and the gross\nabsurdities which they contain, were convincing proofs of the apocryphal\ncharacter of those writings, which, consequently, were rejected as such\nfrom the canon of Scripture. If the church could not escape such abuses at\na time when she was not yet infected by Pagan ideas and practices, she\nbecame still more exposed to them after the abovementioned corruptions,\nand when, as has already been said, p. 20, the Christian society was\ninvaded by whole populations, who, notwithstanding their abjuration of\nheathenism, were Pagans in their manners, their tastes, their prejudices,\nand their ignorance. There were, moreover, very great difficulties in\nobtaining authentic information about the lives of the martyrs. I have\nsaid, p. 3, that their memory was usually preserved in the churches to\nwhich they had belonged. This was, however, entirely a local affair, and\nthough the report of such events had undoubtedly circulated amongst other\nChristian congregations, there was no general register of martyrs\npreserved by the whole church, which had no central point of union. The\nmeans of communication between various places were, moreover, at that time\nvery imperfect, and this difficulty was increased by the persecutions to\nwhich the primitive churches were often exposed. These persecutions\ndispersed many churches, destroying their registers and other documents\nbelonging to them, whilst even a much greater number of them experienced a\nsimilar calamity from the barbarian nations who successively invaded the\nRoman empire. The accounts of the sufferings and death of the martyrs\nrest, therefore, with the exception of some comparatively few\nwell-authenticated cases, upon the authority of vague and uncertain\ntraditions. These traditions were generally collected and put in writing\nonly centuries after the time when the event to which they relate had, or\nis supposed to have taken place. It was therefore no wonder that the\nsubjects of many such accounts are purely imaginary. The nature of the\ngenerality of these legends, or lives of martyrs and other saints, may be\njudged of best from the following opinion expressed on this subject by a\nRoman Catholic clergyman of unsuspected orthodoxy:—\n\n“What shall I say of those saints of whose life we don’t know either the\nbeginning or the progress,—of those saints to whom so many praises are\ngiven, though nobody knows anything about their end? Who may pray to them\nto intercede for him, when it is impossible to know what degree of credit\nthey enjoy with God? We shall be obliged, indeed, to consider the most\npart of the acts of martyrs, which are now produced with so much\nconfidence, as so many fables, and reject them as nothing better than\nromances. It is true that their lives are written, like that of St\nOvidius, St Felicissimus, and St Victor! But, O God! what lives! what\nlibels! lives deserving a place in the Index of the Prohibited Books,\nsince they are filled with falsehoods, vain conjectures, or, to say the\nleast, are ascribing to unknown and apocryphal saints the true acts of the\nmost illustrious martyrs. Such things cannot but bring about a great\nconfusion in the history of the church, not to say in religion itself. It\nis in this manner that the actions of St Felicissimus, who is generally\nbelieved to have been a deacon to St Sixtus, are ascribed to a new\nFelicissimus; and the virtues of St Victor of Milan are now given to a new\nVictor, who has been recently brought to Paris. As regards the life of St\nOvidius, is there anything in it more than words and words? and can we\nfind in it anything solid? This little book speaks of a leaden plate upon\nwhich the senatorial dignity and the year of this saint’s martyrdom are\ninscribed. Why is not this inscription given? Why is not at least the\nprecise date of his martyrdom named? It is said that St Ovidius suffered\ntowards the end of the second century; is this the manner of fixing the\nyear of his death? No, no; the ancients did not mark the time in such a\nmanner; they did not take an uncertain century for the certain epoch of a\nyear. I am much afraid that this inscription is by no means so authentic\nas people wish to persuade us. But there was found in his grave a little\nglass vessel; a palm is engraved upon his sepulchre; and his skull has the\nappearance of being pierced with a lance. Well, these marks may prove that\nSt Ovidius was a martyr; but are they sufficient to establish the truth of\nhis life, such as it has been published?”(72)\n\nI would, however, observe, that many writers of the lives of saints,\nwithout excepting those who are considered legitimate, have rendered\nthemselves guilty of something worse than the plagiarism of which the\nlearned Mabillon complains in the passage given above. They may be accused\nof having blasphemously parodied the Scriptures, and particularly the\nGospels, by ascribing many of the miracles recorded in the Bible to the\nsubjects of their biographies. M. Maury, the French savant whom I have\nalready quoted (p. 11), has traced a great number of miracles ascribed to\nvarious saints, which are nothing but imitations of this kind. This\nsacrilegious plagiarism is not confined to the middle ages, but has been\npractised in modern times, as is evident from the two following miracles\nascribed to the celebrated Jesuit saint, Francis Xavier, who died in 1552.\nIt is said that during his residence in Japan a woman of his acquaintance\nlost her daughter, after having sought in vain during her illness for St\nFrancis, who was absent on some journey. At his return the bereaved mother\nfell at his feet, and said, weeping, like Martha to our Saviour, “Lord, if\nthou hadst been here, my daughter had not died,”—(John xi. 21.) The saint,\nmoved by the entreaties of the mother, ordered her to open the grave of\nher daughter, and restored her to life. Another time the same saint said\nto a father whose daughter had died, in the same manner as Jesus Christ\nsaid to the centurion whose servant was sick, “Go thy way; thy daughter is\nhealed.”(73)\n\nHad these miracles been performed in our part of the world, they would\nhave converted crowds of Protestants, and thus greatly advanced the\nprincipal object of the order to which St Francis Xavier belonged; but the\nair of Europe seems to have been unfavourable for such wonderful\nexperiments, since the good saint was obliged to betake himself to Japan\nin order successfully to perform them.\n\nIt is true that the legend writers make no attempt at concealing these\nimitations, but, on the contrary, insist upon the likeness of the miracles\nperformed by their saint to those of our Saviour, as a proof of the high\ndegree of sanctity attained by the former. No saint, however, of the Roman\nCatholic or Græco-Russian calendar had so many miracles ascribed to him,\nparticularly of the kind mentioned above, as St Francis of Assisi, the\ncelebrated founder of the mendicant monks, and who, considering the\nimmense influence which his disciples have exercised on the Catholic\nworld, was perhaps one of the most extraordinary characters which the\nmiddle ages produced.\n\nIt has been frequently observed, that genius is akin to madness, and that\nthe partition by which the two are separated is so thin that it\noccasionally becomes quite imperceptible. Such a condition of the human\nmind has perhaps never been exemplified in a more striking manner than by\nthe life of this famous saint, which presents a strange mixture of the\nnoblest acts of charity and self-devotion, the wildest freaks of a madman,\nand of genial conceptions worthy of the most eminent statesman and\nphilosopher. The best proof of his genius is the great influence which the\norder instituted by him has exercised during several centuries in many\ncountries, and which even now has not yet lost its vitality. It must also\nbe admitted, that neither St Francis nor his disciples can be charged with\nany of those atrocities by which the life of his contemporary St Dominic,\nof bloody memory, the founder of the inquisition, and the preacher of the\ncrusade against the Albigenses, as well as the annals of his order, are\nstained. Neither can it be denied that Francis, as well as his followers,\nhave on many occasions mitigated the barbarity of their age. His immense\npopularity is, however, as I think, chiefly due to the circumstance that\nhis order, principally destined to act upon the lower classes, was\nrecruited from the most numerous and most ignorant part of the population;\nand is it necessary to observe that the less men are educated, the more\nthey are prone to credulity and exaggeration? Much learning was not\nrequired for the admission to this democratic order, and its ranks were\nincreased by the creation of a class whose members remained in the world,\nbinding themselves only to the observation of some devotional practices\nand moral precepts. All this contributed to spread the order of St\nFrancis, to which both sexes are admitted, with a marvellous rapidity over\nmany countries; at the same time its members were extolling the virtues\nand supposed miracles of their founder in the most exaggerated and often\nludicrous manner, of which the following anecdote may serve as a\nspecimen:—A Franciscan monk, who was one day preaching about the merits of\nthe founder of his order, began his sermon in the following manner: “Where\nshall I place the great St Francis? Amongst the saints? This is not enough\nfor his merits. Amongst the angels? no, ’tis not enough. Amongst the\narchangels? ’tis not enough. Amongst the seraphims? ’tis not enough.\nAmongst the cherubims? ’tis not enough.” He was, however, on a sudden\nreleased, by one of his hearers, from his perplexity about a proper\nlocation for his saint, who, rising from his seat, said, “Reverend father,\nas I see that you cannot find for St Francis a proper place in heaven, I\nshall give up to him mine on this bench;” which having said, he left the\nchurch.\n\nThe story does not say whether this good monk was satisfied with the place\nso unexpectedly offered to his saint, or where he would have stopped\nwithout this timely interruption; but we know, from many other cases, that\nSt Francis was compared by his disciples to our Saviour. Thus, in a work\npublished by the Father Bartholomeus of Pisa, and entitled “The Golden\nBook of the Conformities of the Life of St Francis with that of Jesus\nChrist,”(74) the author maintains that the birth of St Francis was\nannounced by prophets; that he had twelve disciples, one of whom, called\nJohn Capella, was rejected by him, like Judas Iscariot by our Lord; that\nhe had been tempted by the devil, but without success; that he was\ntransfigured; that he had suffered the same passion as our Saviour, though\nhe never was subject to any persecution or ill-usage, but died quietly, in\n1218, amidst his devoted admirers. Other writers pushed even farther the\nblasphemous comparison, boasting that St Francis had performed many more\nmiracles than our Lord, because Christ changed water into wine but once,\nwhilst St Francis did it thrice; and that instead of the few miraculous\ncures mentioned in the Gospels, St Francis and his disciples had opened\nthe eyes of more than a thousand blind, cured more than a thousand lame,\nand restored to life more than a thousand dead.\n\nThe greatest miracle, however, that has ever been wrought by St Francis\nhas taken place in our own days, and its authenticity admits of no doubt\nwhatever. It is a life of this famous saint, published by M. Chavin de\nMalan; and my readers may form an adequate idea of its contents by the\nfollowing extract from an admirable article in the “Edinburgh Review” for\nJuly 1847:—“Though amongst the most passionate and uncompromising devotees\nof the Church of Rome, M. Chavin de Malan also is in one sense a\nProtestant. He protests against any exercise of human reason in examining\nany dogma which that church inculcates, or any fact which she alleges. The\nmost merciless of her cruelties affect him with no indignation, the\nsilliest of her prodigies with no shame, the basest of her superstitions\nwith no contempt. Her veriest dotage is venerable in his eyes. Even the\natrocities of Innocent III. seem to this all-extolling eulogist but to\naugment the triumph and the glories of his reign. If the soul of the\nconfessor of Simon de Montfort, retaining all the passions and all the\nprejudices of that era, should transmigrate into a doctor of the Sorbonne,\nconversant with the arts and literature of our own times, the result might\nbe the production of such an ecclesiastical history as that of which we\nhave here a specimen,—elaborate in research, glowing in style, vivid in\nportraiture, utterly reckless and indiscriminate in belief, extravagant up\nto the very verge of idolatry in applause, and familiar far beyond the\nverge of indecorum with the most awful topics and objects of the Christian\nfaith.”—(Pp. 1, 2.)(75)\n\nNow, I ask my reader whether the publication of such a work, in the year\nof grace 1845, at Paris, is not a perfect miracle, and undoubtedly much\nmore genuine than all those which it describes?\n\nWe live indeed in an age of wonders, physical as well as moral, and\nneither of them have escaped the all-powerful influence of the great\nmoving spring of our time, and the principal cause of its rapid\nadvance,—_i.e._, competition. England, which is foremost in many, and not\nbehind in any, inventions and discoveries of the day, has maintained her\nrank, and even perhaps gone ahead, in the production of such moral\nmiracles as that of which I have given a specimen above. And, indeed, the\nlives of the English saints, published in the years 1844 and 1845, in the\ncapital of this Protestant country, may fearlessly challenge a comparison\nwith the work of M. Chavin de Malan. They are, moreover, ascribed to a\nclergyman of the Church of England, who, though he has since gone over to\nRome, was at that time receiving the wages of the Protestant Establishment\nof this country as one of its servants and defenders.(76) The few\nfollowing extracts from this curious work will enable my readers to judge\nwhether I have over-estimated the capabilities of this work for a\nsuccessful competition with its French rival:—\n\n“Many of these (legends) are so well fitted to illustrate certain\nprinciples which should be borne in mind in considering mediæval miracles,\nthat they deserve some attention. Not that any thing here said is intended\nto _prove_ that the stories of miracles, said to be wrought in the middle\nages, are true. Men will always believe or disbelieve their truth, in\nproportion as they are disposed to admit or reject the antecedent\nprobability of the existence of a perpetual church, endowed with unfailing\ndivine powers. And the reason of this is plain. Ecclesiastical miracles\npresuppose Catholic faith, just as Scripture miracles, and Scripture\nitself, presuppose the existence of God. Men, therefore, who disbelieve\nthe faith, will of course disbelieve the story of the miracles, which, if\nit is not appealed to as a proof of the faith, at least takes it for\ngranted. For instance, the real reason for rejecting the account of the\nvision which appeared to St Waltheof in the holy Eucharist, must be\ndisbelief of the Catholic doctrine.”(77)\n\nThe miracle alluded to above, and which cannot be rejected without\ndisbelief in the Catholic doctrine, is as follows:—“On Christmas-day, when\nthe convent was celebrating the nativity of our Lord, as the friar was\nelevating the host, in the blessed sacrifice of the mass, he saw in his\nhand a child fairer than the children of men, having on his head a crown\nof gold studded with jewels. His eyes beamed with light, and his face was\nmore radiant than the whitest snow; and so ineffably sweet was his\ncountenance, that the friar kissed the feet and the hands of the heavenly\nchild. After this the divine vision disappeared, and Waltheof found in his\nhands the consecrated water.”(78)\n\nThe whole collection is full of similar stories, some of which are really\noutrageous; as, for instance, that which it relates about St Augustine,\nthe great apostle of England.\n\nThis saint was, during his peregrinations about the country, received with\ngreat honours in the north of England; “but,” says the work in question,\n“very different from this are the accounts of his travels in Dorsetshire.\nWhile there, we hear of his having come to one village, where he was\nreceived with every species of insult. The wretched people, not content\nwith heaping abusive words upon the holy visitors, assailed them with\nmissiles, in which work, the place being probably a sea-port, the sellers\nof fish are related to have been peculiarly active. Hands, too, were laid\nupon the archbishop and his company. Finding all efforts useless, the\ngodly company shook the dust from their feet, and withdrew. The\ninhabitants are said to have suffered the penalty of their impieties, even\nto distant generations. All the children born from that time bore and\ntransmitted the traces of their parents’ sins in the shape of a loathsome\ndeformity.”(79)\n\nThe writer who relates this story had not the courage or the honesty of M.\nChavin de Malan to tell that the insult offered to the holy visitors\nconsisted in attaching tails of fish to their robes, and that the\nloathsome deformity, with which the children of the perpetrators of that\ninsult were born during many generations, was a tail.\n\nAbsurd as this monkish story is, it is nevertheless characteristic of the\nspirit of the sacerdotal pride and vindictiveness which would punish a\nsilly joke, by which the dignity of the priestly order was offended, with\na heavy calamity, entailed upon the innocent descendants of its\nperpetrators through many generations; and yet the fables of this modern\nmythology cannot be, according to our author, rejected _without disbelief\nof the Catholic doctrine_. This is not, however, his personal opinion; and\nhe has only asserted, in a more decisive manner than it has been done for\na considerable time, a principle which the Roman Catholic Church cannot\ndisavow, though it may place her in an embarrassing position; and as an\nillustration of this, I shall give the following anecdote:—\n\nUnder the reign of Frederic II., a Prussian soldier stole a costly\nornament from an image of the Virgin, which enjoyed a great reputation for\nits miraculous powers. The theft being discovered, the culprit pleaded in\nhis defence that, having addressed a fervent prayer to the above-mentioned\nimage for help in his poverty, it gave him this ornament to relieve him\nfrom his distress. This affair was reported to the king, who, being much\namused by the soldier’s device, required the Roman Catholic bishop in\nwhose diocese this theft was committed to give a positive opinion whether\nthe image in question could work miracles of this kind or not? The bishop\ncould not, without showing _disbelief in the Catholic doctrine_, deny the\npossibility of the miracle, and was therefore obliged to give an\naffirmative reply. The king, therefore, pardoned the soldier, on condition\nof never accepting presents from this or any other image or saint\nwhatever.\n\nThe author of this essay, though a firm believer in the existence of God\nand the truth of the Scriptures, has not the advantage of being inspired\nwith faith in the Catholic doctrine; he therefore will continue his\nresearches in the same manner as before.\n\nMany legends originated from misunderstanding the emblematic character of\nsome pictures. Thus the celebrated Spanish lady saint and authoress, St\nTheresa, was, on account of her eloquent and impassioned effusions of love\naddressed to the Deity, painted by a Spanish artist having her heart\npierced with an arrow, in allusion to the words of the Psalmist, “For\nthine arrows stick fast in me,” &c.—(Ps. xxxviii. 2.) She died quietly in\nher convent towards the end of the sixteenth century, and though the\nparticulars of her life and death are generally known, there were some\nlegend writers who related that she died a martyr, pierced by an arrow. If\nsuch confusion of ideas could happen in a time when literature and science\nhad made considerable progress, and when the art of printing was already\nuniversally known, how much more frequently such things must have occurred\nduring the prevailing ignorance of the middle ages! And, indeed, there are\nmany wild legends which have originated from a similar source, and of\nwhich the most celebrated is that of St Denis, which has been also related\nof other saints. This martyr, supposed to have been beheaded, was\nrepresented holding his head in his hand, as an emblem of the manner of\nhis death. The writer of his legend took this emblem for the\nrepresentation of a real fact, and loosening the reins of his imagination,\nrelated that the saint, after having been beheaded, took up his head,\nkissed it, and walked away with it.(80)\n\nIt is a general tendency of a gross and unenlightened mind to materialise\nthe most abstract and spiritual ideas, and then what is simply an allegory\nbecomes with him a reality. It was this tendency which, during the\nmediæval ignorance, gave often a literal sense to what is only typical,\nand it was carried so far that even the parables of our Lord were\nconstructed into real stories. Thus, Lazarus was a poor saint who lived in\ngreat want, and was made after his death the patron of beggars and lepers.\nThe parable of the prodigal son has furnished materials for many a legend;\nand to crown all these pious parodies, a monk has shown to the well-known\nEastern traveller Hasselquist, the very spot upon which the good Samaritan\nassisted the wounded man, who had been left unheeded by the priest and the\nLevite. Future rewards and punishments, heaven and hell, were also\nrepresented in a grossly material manner, that gave rise to many absurd\nlegends, generally invented with the object of supporting the pretensions\nof the church, to have the power of sending at pleasure the souls of the\ndeparted to either of these places.(81)\n\nI have already spoken of the effects which the solitary and ascetic life\nof the early monks produced upon their imagination. The same thing took\nplace amongst the recluses of the convents, but particularly nunneries.\n“The imaginations of women,” says a celebrated author whom I have already\nquoted, “as their feelings are more keen and exquisite, are more\nsusceptible and ungovernable than those of men; more obnoxious to the\ninjurious influence of solitude; more easily won upon by the arts of\ndelusion, and inflamed by the contagion of the passions.” Hence we may\naccount for the rapidity with which in orphan houses, cloisters, and other\ninstitutions, where numbers of the sex are intimately connected with each\nother, the sickness, humour, habits, of one, if conspicuous and\ndistinguished, become those of all. I remember to have read in a medical\nwriter of considerable merit, that in a French convent of nuns, of more\nthan common magnitude, one of the sisters was seized with a strange\nimpulse to mew like a cat, in which singular propensity she was shortly\nimitated by several other sisters, and finally, without a solitary\nexception, by the whole convent, who all joined at regular periods in a\ngeneral mew that lasted several hours. The neighbourhood heard, with more\nastonishment than edification, the daily return of this celestial\nsymphony, which was silenced, after many ineffectual measures, by\nterrifying the modesty of the sex with the menace, that, on any future\nrepetition of their concert, a body of soldiers, pretended to be stationed\nat the gates of the monastery, would be called in to inflict upon them a\ndiscipline at once shameful and severe.\n\n“Among all the epidemic fancies of the sex I have found upon record, none\nequals that related by Cardan to have displayed itself in the fifteenth\ncentury,—which forcibly illustrates what has been remarked of the\nintuitive contagion by which fantastic affection is propagated among\nwomen. A nun in a certain German convent was urged by an unaccountable\nimpulse to bite all her companions; and her strange caprice gradually\nspread to others, till the whole body was infected by the same fury. Nor\ndid the evil confine itself within these limits: the report of this\nstrange mania travelled from one province to another, and every where\nconveyed with it the infectious folly, from cloister to cloister, through\nthe German empire; from thence extending itself on each side to Holland\nand Italy, the nuns at length worried one another from Rome to Amsterdam.\n\n“Numberless instances might be quoted to demonstrate the force with which\nthe strangest and most wild propensities fasten themselves on the\nimagination, and conquer and tyrannise over the will, when the soul is\ndebarred from a free intercourse with its species, and left too\nuninterruptedly to its own unbridled musings. But those which we have\nrelated may be sufficient to show the danger into which he runs who\ndelivers himself unconditionally to the custody of solitude, and does not\narm himself against its faithless hospitality. Shut up in a barren and\nmonotonous leisure, without studies to occupy curiosity, without objects\nto amuse the senses, or to interest and to attract the affections to any\nthing human, fancy will escape into the worlds of chimerical existence,\nthere to seek amusement and exercise. How fondly does it then embrace and\ncherish angelical visions, or infernal phantoms, prodigies, or miracles!\nor should its reveries take another direction, with what increasing\neagerness and confidence do its hopes hunt after the delusions of alchemy,\nthe fictions of philosophy, and the delirium of metaphysics! In cases\nwhere the mind is less capacious, and its stores less copious, it will\nattach itself to some absurd notion, the child of its languid and\nexhausted powers; and bestowing its fondest confidence on this darling of\nits dotage, will abandon reason and outrage common sense.”(82)\n\nI have given this lengthened extract from Zimmerman, because I think it\nsatisfactorily explains those mystic _visions_ as well as _infernal\nphantoms_, with which the mediæval legends and chronicles, generally\ncomposed by monks, abound, and which are often unjustly ascribed to fraud\nand wilful deception. Medical science, as well as all the branches of\nnatural philosophy, being then in a very imperfect condition, such\nphenomena as those of nuns mewing like cats or biting like dogs, which are\nmentioned by Zimmerman, were not explained as nervous diseases, but\nascribed to the possession of evil spirits; and I frankly confess that I\nam by no means sure, that if cases like those mentioned above were to\nhappen in our enlightened age, there would not be found many good folks\nascribing them to a similar agency. It must be also remembered that, if\nnotwithstanding the extreme rapidity and regularity of communications in\nour own time, reports of various events are often exaggerated and even\ncompletely altered in passing from one place to another; how much more\nmust it have been the case during the time of such defective communication\nas existed previous to the invention of printing and the introduction of\nthe post! It was therefore no wonder if occurrences of such an\nextraordinary nature as those alluded to were immensely magnified by\nreport, and if it had, at least in many places, converted the mewing and\nbiting nuns into as many cats and dogs. It is, moreover, now generally\nadmitted that what is called mesmerism, but whose real nature science has\nnot yet explained, was known and practised during the middle ages, as well\nas in remote antiquity, and that many thaumaturgic operations, described\nby the mediæval legends, as well as by ancient writers, were produced by\nmeans of this still mysterious agency.\n\nI have dwelt perhaps too long on this subject, because I am afraid that\nthe observations relating to it are not confined to a distant period, but\nmay become but too often applicable to our own times. And, indeed, when we\nreflect on the rapid increase of convents and nunneries, particularly in\nthis country, and that notwithstanding the present state of civilization\nthese establishments must be filled chiefly by individuals whose\nimaginations are stronger than their reasoning powers, there can be little\ndoubt that they may again become the stage of those extraordinary\nmanifestations, the cause of which had been too exclusively ascribed to\nmediæval darkness. It cannot be doubted, that designing individuals of\nboth sexes, possessed of superior talents and knowledge, but particularly\nendowed with a strong will, may exercise not only an undue influence, but\neven an absolute power over the inmates of the above-mentioned monastic\nestablishments; and that a skilful application of mesmerism may\nefficiently promote such unlawful ends.\n\nMany local superstitious remains of Paganism,—as, for instance, miraculous\npowers ascribed to certain wells, stones, caverns,—stories about various\nkinds of fairies, &c.—have furnished ample materials to the mediæval\nlegend writers, who arranged them according to their own views. They\ngenerally retained the miraculous part of the story, frequently\nembellishing it by their own additions, but substituting the agency of the\nChristian saint, the hero of their tale, for that of the Pagan deity, to\nwhom it had originally been ascribed. It was thus that the localities\nconsidered by the Pagans as possessed of some supernatural properties, and\nresorted to by them on this account, were converted into places of\nChristian pilgrimages, with the only difference that the Pagan _genius\nloci_ was baptised with the name of a Christian saint, whose existence can\noften be no more proved than that of his heathen predecessor. Many\nhagiographers seem to have indulged their humour as much as their fancy in\ncomposing these legends, which appears from such ludicrous stories as, for\ninstance, that of St Fechin, whose piety was so fervent that when he was\nbathing in cold water it became almost boiling hot. This warm-hearted or\nhot-headed saint is said to have belonged to the Emerald isle, though,\nconsidering that his ardent piety was so very much like a manifestation of\nthe _perfervidum Scotorum ingenium_, in a somewhat exaggerated form, I am\nmuch inclined to believe him a native of the north country. There are many\ninstances of such humorous miracles, but I shall quote only that of\nLaurenthios, a famous Greek saint, and worker of miracles. Having one day\nsome business with the Patriarch of Constantinople, he was kept waiting in\nthe prelate’s ante-chamber, and feeling very warm he wanted to take off\nhis cloak. But as there was not any piece of furniture in the room, nor\neven a peg on its walls, St Laurenthios, embarrassed what to do with his\ncloak, threw it upon a ray of the sun, which was entering the room through\na hole in the shutter, and which immediately acquired the firmness of a\nrope, so that the saint’s cloak remained hanging upon it. It must not,\nhowever, be believed that the hot sun and fervid imagination of Greece\nwere absolutely requisite for the performance of such wonderful tricks;\nfor we have sufficient legendary evidence to prove that they were\nsuccessfully reproduced under the less brilliant sky of Germany and\nFrance, because St Goar of Treves suspended his cap, and St Aicadrus,\nabbot of Jumieges, his gloves upon the same piece of furniture that had\nbeen used by St Laurenthios to hang his cloak, though probably,\nconsidering that the sun is not so powerful in those countries as it is at\nConstantinople, the western saints did not venture to try its rays with\nsuch a heavy load, as had been successfully done by their eastern\ncolleague.\n\nSome miracles were invented in order to inculcate implicit obedience to\nthe ecclesiastical authorities, which is considered by the Roman Catholic\nChurch as one of, if not the most important virtue to be practised by her\nchildren. Thus it is related that when the Spanish Dominican monk, St\nVincent Ferrerius, celebrated for the great number of his miracles, was\none day walking along a street in Barcelona, a mason, falling from a high\nroof, called for his assistance. The saint answered that he could not\nperform a miracle without the permission of his superior, but that he\nwould go and ask for it. The mason remained, therefore, suspended in the\nair until St Vincent, returning with the permission, got him safely down\non the ground.\n\nIt must be admitted, that many saints, whose lives are disfigured by\nabsurd stories of their miracles, were men of great piety, adorned with\nthe noblest virtues, and who gave proofs of the most exalted charity and\nself-devotion. Unfortunately the honours of saintship have been often\nbestowed upon such sanguinary monsters as St Dominic, whose shrine would\nbe the most appropriately placed in a temple where human sacrifices are\noffered, or upon madmen who have outraged every feeling of humanity. Thus\nit is related that St Alexius left his home on the day of his wedding,\nand, having exchanged his clothes for the rags of a beggar, adopted his\nmode of life. After some time, when his appearance had become so wretched\nthat he could no longer be recognised by his friends, he returned to his\nparental house, asking for shelter. He obtained a place under the\nstaircase, and lived there by alms for seventeen years, continually\nwitnessing the distress and lamentations of his wife, mother, and aged\nfather about his loss, and was recognised only after his death by a book\nof prayers which had been given him by his mother. And it was for this\nunfeeling and even cruel treatment of his own family that he was\ncanonised! It is supposed, however, that all this story is but a fiction,\nand, for the sake of humanity, I sincerely hope that it is so.\n\nThe limits of this essay allow me not farther to extend my researches\nabout the legends of mediæval saints, and their miracles; and I shall try\nto give in my next chapter a short analysis of several practices which the\nRoman Catholic as well as the Græco-Russian Church have retained from\nPaganism.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII. Analysis Of The Pagan Rites And Practices Which Have Been\nRetained By The Roman Catholic As Well As The Græco-Russian Church.\n\n\nI have given (p. 14) the opinion of an eminent Roman Catholic modern\nauthor (Chateaubriand) about the introduction of Pagan usages into the\nChristian worship, and a long extract (pp. 16-28) from another no less\ndistinguished Roman Catholic writer of our day, describing the cause of\nthis corruption. The Roman Catholic writers of this country do not,\nhowever, treat this subject with the same sincerity as the illustrious\nauthor of the “Genie du Christianisme,” and the learned French Academician\nfrom whose work I have so largely drawn; but they try hard to deny that\nmany usages of their church bear the stamp of Paganism.(83) This is\nparticularly the case with the author of “Hierurgia,” a work which I have\nalready quoted, and which may be considered as the fairest expression of\nwhat the Roman Catholic Church teaches on the subject in question. Thus\nthe use of images in churches is represented as being authorised by\nScripture, by the following curious arguments:—\n\n“The practice of employing images as ornaments and memorials to decorate\nthe temple of the Lord is in a most especial manner approved by the Word\nof God himself. Moses was commanded to place two cherubim upon the ark,\nand to set up a brazen figure of the fiery serpent, that those of the\nmurmuring Israelites who had been bitten might recover from the poison of\ntheir wounds by looking on the image. In the description of Solomon’s\ntemple, we read of that prince, not only that he made in the oracle two\ncherubim of olive tree, of ten cubits in height, but that ‘all the walls\nof the temple round about he carved with divers figures and carvings.’\n\n“In the first book of Paralipomenon (Chronicles) we observe that when\nDavid imposed his injunction upon Solomon to realise his intention of\nbuilding a house to the Lord, he delivered to him a description of the\nporch and temple, and concluded by thus assuring him: ‘All these things\ncame to me written by the hand of the Lord, that I may understand the\nworks of the pattern.’\n\n“The isolated fact that images were not only directed by the Almighty God\nto be placed in the Mosaic tabernacle, and in the more sumptuous temple of\nJerusalem, but that he himself exhibited the pattern of them, will be\nalone sufficient to authorise the practice of the Catholic Church in\nregard to a similar observance.”—(_Hierurgia_, p. 371.)\n\nAll this may be briefly answered. There was no representation of the\nJewish patriarchs or saints either in the tabernacle or in the temple of\nSolomon, as is the case with the Christian saints in the Roman Catholic\nand Græco-Russian Churches; and the brazen serpent, to which the author\nalludes, was broken into pieces by order of King Hezekiah as soon as the\nIsraelites began to worship it.\n\nThe author tries to prove, with considerable learning and ingenuity, that\nthe primitive Christians ornamented their churches with images, and I have\nalready given, p. 51, his explanation of the Council of Elvira; but his\nassertions are completely disproved by every direct evidence which we have\nabout the places of worship of those Christians. I have already quoted, p.\n7, the testimony of Minutius Felix, that the Christians had no kind of\nsimulachres in their temples, as well as the indignation of St Epiphanius\nat an attempt to introduce them into the churches, p. 68, and for which\nthere would have been no occasion if it had been an established custom.\n\nThe most important part of his defence of the use of images is, however,\nthe paragraph entitled, “_No virtue resident in images themselves_,”\ncontaining what follows:—\n\n“Not only are Catholics not exposed to such dangers (_i.e._, idolatry),\nbut they are expressly prohibited by the church (_Concilium Tridentinum_,\nsess. xxv.) to believe that there is any divinity or virtue resident in\nimages for which they should be reverenced, or that any thing is to be\nasked of them, or any confidence placed in them, but that the honour given\nshould be referred to those whom they represent; and so particular are\ntheir religious instructors in impressing this truth upon the minds of\ntheir congregations, that if a Catholic child, who had learned its first\ncatechism, were asked if it were permitted to pray to images, the child\nwould answer, ‘No, by no means; for they have no life nor sense to help\nus;’ and the pastor who discovered any one rendering any portion of the\nrespect which belongs to God alone to a crucifix or to a picture, would\nhave no hesitation in breaking the one and tearing the other into shreds,\nand throwing the fragments into the flames, in imitation of Ezechias, who\nbroke the brazen serpent on account of the superstitious reverence which\nthe Israelites manifested towards it.”—(_Hierurgia_, p. 382.)\n\nIt is perfectly true that the Council of Trent has declared that the\nimages of Christ, of the virgin, and of other saints, are to be honoured\nand venerated, not because it is believed that there is any divinity or\nvirtue inherent in them, or that any thing is to be asked of them, or any\nconfidence placed in images, as had been done by Pagans, who put their\ntrust in idols (Psalm cxxxv. 15-18), but that “the honour given should be\nreferred to those whom they represent, so that by the images which we\nkiss, before which we uncover our heads, or prostrate ourselves\n(_procumbimus_), we worship Christ and the saints whose likeness those\nimages represent.”(84) But if there is “no divinity or virtue resident in\nimages,” as is declared by the Council of Trent, what is to become of all\nthose miraculous images which are the subject of pilgrimage in so many\nRoman Catholic countries, and the existence of whose miraculous powers has\nbeen solemnly acknowledged by the highest ecclesiastical authorities? I\nshall not attempt to enumerate those miraculous images, because their\nnumber is legion, but I shall only ask the rev. doctor whether he\nconsiders the image of the virgin of Loretto, which is the object of so\nmany pilgrimages, and to which so many miracles are ascribed, as having\nsome virtue resident in it or not? and would he break it in pieces on\naccount of the miraculous powers ascribed to it? Is he prepared to act in\nsuch a manner with the celebrated _Bambino_(85) of Rome? and are the\nmiraculous powers ascribed to it, as well as to the virgin of Loretto, and\nother images of this kind, a reality or an imposture? and, finally, what\nwill he do with the winking Madonna of Rimini, which has lately made so\nmuch noise, and which, instead of being broken to pieces or torn to shreds\nby the priests or the bishop of the place, has been approved by\necclesiastical authority? I can assure the rev. doctor, that by breaking\ninto pieces the miraculous images, carved as well as painted, he will\nbreak down many barriers which now separate the Protestant Christians from\nthose who belong to his own church. I am, however, afraid that he will\nfind many difficulties in attempting such a thing; and I must remind him,\nthat in quoting the above-mentioned canon of the Council of Trent, he\nforgot an essential part of it, which greatly modifies the declaration\nthat there is _no divinity or virtue resident in images_, saying, “That\nthe holy synod ordains that no one be allowed to place, or cause to be\nplaced, any _unusual_ image(86) in any place or church, howsoever\nexempted, except that the image be approved by the bishop: also, that no\nnew miracles are to be acknowledged or new relics recognised, unless the\nsaid bishop has taken cognizance and approved thereof, who, as soon as he\nhas obtained certain information in regard to these matters, shall, after\nhaving taken the advice of theologians and of other pious men, act therein\nas he shall judge to be consonant with truth and piety.”—(Sess. xxviii.,\n&c.)\n\nThe real meaning of the above-mentioned canon of the Council of Trent is\ntherefore, I think, that there is no divinity or virtue resident in the\nimages which are not authorised by the bishop to work miracles, and that\n_unlicensed_ images are not allowed to have any such divinity or virtue in\nthem, but that such _unusual_ carved or painted images, as those which I\nhave mentioned above, having obtained the required authorization, may work\nas many miracles as they please, or as their worshippers will believe.\n\nIt has been observed by a writer, who certainly cannot be accused of\nviolent opinions, the learned and pious Melancthon, “that it was impious\nand idolatrous to address statues or bones, and to suppose that either the\nDivinity or the saints were attached to a certain place or to a certain\nstatue more than to other places; and that there was no difference between\nthe prayers which are addressed to the Virgin of Aix la Chapelle, or to\nthat of Ratisbon, and the Pagan invocations of the Ephesian Diana, or the\nPlatean Juno, or any other statue.”(87) To these observations I shall only\nadd those of M. Beugnot, which I have given p. 27, on the marvellous\nfacility with which the worship of the virgin, established by the Council\nof Ephesus, 431, has superseded that of the Pagan deities in many\ncountries.\n\nThere is scarcely any ceremony in the Western as well as in the Eastern\nchurch, the origin of which cannot be traced to the Pagan worship. I shall\nlimit my observations on this subject to the three following objects,\nwhich constitute the most important elements in the divine service\nperformed in those churches, namely,—1. The consecrated water; 2. Lamps\nand candles; and, 3. Incense; giving the Roman Catholic explanation of\ntheir origin, as well as that which I believe to be true.\n\nWith regard to the consecrated water, it is described by the author of\n“Hierurgia” in the following manner:—\n\n“The ordinance of Almighty God, promulgated by the lips of Moses,\nconcerning the _water of separation_, and the mode of sprinkling it, are\nminutely noticed in the nineteenth chapter of the book of Numbers. In the\nbook of Exodus, we read that the Lord issued the following declarations to\nMoses:—‘Thou shalt make a brazen laver, with its foot, to wash in; and\nthou shalt set it between the tabernacle of the testimony and the altar.\nAnd the water being put into it, Aaron and his sons shall wash their hands\nand feet in it when they are going into the tabernacle of the testimony,\nand when they are to come to the altar to offer incense on it to the\nLord.’—(Exod. xxx. 18-20.)\n\n“That it was a practice with the Jews, not only peculiar to the members of\nthe priesthood, but observed amongst the people, for each individual to\nwash his hands before he presumed to pray, is a well-attested fact. The\nchurch adopted this as well as several other Jewish ceremonies, which she\nengrafted on her ritual; and St Paul apparently borrows from such ablution\nthe metaphor which he employs while thus admonishing his disciple\nTimothy:—‘I will that men pray in every place, lifting up pure hands.’—(1\nTimothy ii. 8.) That in the early ages the faithful used to wash their\nhands at the threshold of the church before they entered, is expressly\nmentioned by a number of writers.”\n\nAs to the use of holy water being of apostolic origin, he says:—\n\n“The introduction of holy or blessed water must be referred to the times\nof the apostles. That it was the custom, in the very first ages of the\nchurch, not only to deposit vessels of water at the entrance of those\nplaces where the Christians assembled for the celebration of divine\nworship, but also to have vases containing water mingled with salt, both\nof which had been separated from common use, and blessed by the prayers\nand invocations of the priest, is certain. A particular mention of it is\nmade in the constitution of the apostles; and the pontiff Alexander, the\nfirst of that name, but the sixth in succession from St Peter, whose chair\nhe mounted in the year 109, issued a decree by which the use of holy water\nwas permitted to the faithful in their houses.”—(_Hierurgia_, pp.\n461-463.)\n\nIt is rather a strange thing for Christians to imitate the religious rites\nof the Jews, whose ceremonial law,—“which stood only in meats and drinks,\nand divers _washings_, and carnal ordinances, imposed on them until the\ntime of reformation” (Heb. ix. 10),—was abolished by the New Testament.\nHowever, if this is to be done, why is not the holy water adopted by the\nRoman Catholic Church prepared in the same manner, and used for the same\nobject, as the Jewish _water of separation_, described in Numbers xix.,\nbut, on the contrary, composed in the same manner, and employed for the\nsame purpose, as the _lustral_ water of the Pagans? The fact is, that it\nhas been borrowed from the Pagan worship and not from the Jewish\nceremonial law, the truth of which is honestly acknowledged by the Jesuit\nLa Cerda, who, in a note on the following passage of Virgil,—\n\n\n    “Idem ter socios pura circumtulit unda,\n    Spargens rore levi, et ramo felicis olivæ,\n    Lustravitque viros”\n\n    —_Æneid_, lib. vi. 229—\n\n\nsays, “_Hence was derived the custom of the holy church to provide\npurifying or holy water at the entrance of their churches_.”(88) The same\ncustom was observed in the Pagan temples, at the entrance of which there\nwas a vase containing the holy or _lustral_ water, for the people to\nsprinkle themselves with, just as is now done at the entrance of the Roman\nCatholic churches. The author of “Hierurgia” mentions, as quoted above,\nthat Pope Alexander I. authorised, in the beginning of the second century,\nthe use of holy water; and yet Justin Martyr, who wrote about that time,\nsays “that it was invented by demons, in imitation of the true baptism\nsignified by the prophets, that their votaries might also have their\npretended purification by water.”(89) And the Emperor Julian, in order to\nvex the Christians, caused the victuals in the markets to be sprinkled\nwith holy water, with the intention of either starving them or compelling\nthem to eat what they considered as impure.(90)\n\nTo these evidences of the abomination in which the primitive Christians\nheld the Pagan rite of sprinkling with holy water, I may add the following\nanecdote, characteristic of the intensity of this feeling:—\n\nWhen Julian the Apostate was one day going to sacrifice in the temple of\nFortune, accompanied by the usual train of the emperors, the Pagan\npriests, standing on both sides of the temple gate, sprinkled those who\nwere entering it with the lustral or holy water in order to purify them\naccording to the rites of their worship. A Christian tribune, or superior\nofficer of the imperial guards (_scutarii_), who, being on duty, preceded\nthe monarch, received some drops of this holy water on his _chlamys_ or\ncoat, which made him so indignant, that, notwithstanding the presence of\nthe emperor, he struck the priest who had thus sprinkled him, exclaiming\nthat he did not purify but pollute him. Julian ordered the arrest of the\nofficer who had thus insulted the rites of his religion, giving him the\nchoice either to sacrifice to the gods or to leave the army. The bold\nChristian chose the latter, but was soon restored to his rank on account\nof his great military talents, and raised, after the death of Julian and\nthe short reign of Jovian, to the imperial throne as Valentinian I.(91)\n\nThis monarch was, however, by no means a bigot; on the contrary, we have\nthe unsuspected testimony of the contemporary Pagan writer Ammianus\nMarcellinus that he maintained a strict impartiality between the\nChristians and Pagans, and did not trouble any one on account of his\nreligion. He even regulated and confirmed, by a law in 391, the privileges\nof the Pagan clergy in a more favourable manner than had been done by many\nof his predecessors; and yet this monarch, who treated his Pagan subjects\nwith such an extreme liberality, committed, when a private individual, an\nact of violence against their worship which exposed him to considerable\ndanger. This, I think, is a strong proof of the horror which the\nChristians felt for a rite which constitutes now an indispensable part of\nthe service in the Western as well as in the Eastern churches, and is most\nprofusely used by them.\n\nWith regard to the candles and lamps, which form a no less important and\nindispensable part of the worship adopted by the above-mentioned churches,\nthe author of “Hierurgia” defends their use in the following manner:—\n\nAfter having described the candlesticks employed in the Jewish temple, he\nsays:—“But without referring to the ceremonial of the Jewish temple, we\nhave an authority for the employment of light in the functions of religion\npresented to us in the Apocalypse. In the first chapter of that mystic\nbook, St John particularly mentions the golden candlesticks which he\nbeheld in his prophetic vision in the isle of Patmos. By commentators on\nthe sacred Scripture, it is generally supposed that the Evangelist, in his\nbook of the Apocalypse, adopted the imagery with which he represents his\nmystic revelations from the ceremonial observed in his days by the church\nfor offering up the mass, or eucharistic sacrifice of the Lamb of God,\nChrist Jesus.\n\n“That the use of lights was adopted by the church, especially at the\ncelebration of the sacred mysteries, as early as the times of the\napostles, may likewise, with much probability, be inferred from that\npassage in their Acts which records the preaching and miracles of St Paul\nat Troas:—‘And on the first day of the week, when we were assembled to\nbreak bread, Paul discoursed with them, being to depart on the morrow, and\nhe continued his speech until midnight. And there were a great number of\nlamps in the upper chamber where we were assembled.’—(Acts xx. 7, 8.) That\nthe many lamps, so particularly noticed in this passage, were not\nsuspended merely for the purpose of illuminating, during the night-time,\nthis upper chamber, in which the faithful had assembled on the first day\nof the week to break bread, but also to increase the solemnity of that\nfunction and betoken a spiritual joy, may be lawfully inferred from every\nthing we know about the manners of the ancient Jews, from whom the church\nborrowed the use of lights in celebrating her various rites and\nfestivals.”—(_Hierurgia_, p. 372.)\n\nIt is really difficult seriously to answer such extraordinary suppositions\nas that the seven candlesticks, expressly mentioned as types of the seven\nchurches, should be an allusion to the physical lights used in the worship\nof those churches, and not to the moral and spiritual light which they\nwere spreading amongst Jews and Gentiles. Such an explanation appears to\nme nothing better than that tendency to materialise the most abstract and\nspiritual ideas to which I have alluded above, p. 126. With regard to the\npassage in the Acts xx. 7, 8, which says that there were a great number of\nlamps in the upper chamber where St Paul was preaching, I think that this\ncircumstance might have been considered as a religious rite if the apostle\nhad been preaching at noon; but as it is expressly said that he did it at\nnight, nothing can be more simple than the lighting of the upper chamber\nwith lamps. It was also very natural that there should be many of them,\nbecause as St Paul was undoubtedly often referring to the Scriptures, his\nhearers, or at least many of them, being either real Jews or Hellenists,\nmust have been continually looking to copies of the Bible in order to\nverify his quotation. It was, therefore, necessary to have the room well\nlighted, and consequently to employ many lamps. It is, indeed, curious to\nsee to what far-fetched suppositions a writer of so much learning and\ningenuity as Dr Rock is obliged to recur, in order to defend a purely\nPagan rite which has been adopted by his church, giving the simplest and\nclearest things a _non-natural sense_, similar to that which some\nRomanising clergymen have been giving to the precepts of a church which\nthey were betraying whilst in her service and pay.\n\nThe same author maintains that lights were employed from primitive times\nat divine service, saying:—\n\n“The custom of employing lights, in the earlier ages of the church, during\nthe celebration of the eucharist; and other religious offices, is\nauthenticated by those venerable records of primitive discipline which are\nusually denominated Apostolic Canons.”—(_Hierurgia_, p. 393.)\n\nNow, what is the authenticity of these canons? The author himself gives us\nthe best answer to it, saying:—\n\n“Though these canons be apocryphal, and by consequence not genuine,\ninasmuch as they were neither committed to writing by the apostles\nthemselves, nor penned by St Clement, to whom some authors have attributed\nthem; still, however, this does not prevent them from being true and\nauthentic, since they embody the traditions descended from the apostles\nand the apostolic fathers, and bear a faithful testimony that the\ndiscipline which prevailed during the first and second centuries was\nestablished by the apostles.”—(P. 394.)\n\nI shall not enter into a discussion about the value of evidence furnished\nby a work which is acknowledged to be apocryphal, and not to have been\nwritten by those to whom its defenders had ascribed its authorship;(92)\nbut I shall only remark, that one of the most eminent fathers of the\nchurch, the learned Lactantius, who flourished in the fourth century, and\nconsequently long after the time when the Apostolic Canons are supposed to\nhave been composed, takes a very different view from them in regard to\nthis practice, because he positively says, in attacking the use of lights\nby the Pagans, _they light up candles to God as if he lived in the dark,\nand do they not deserve to pass for madmen who offer lamps to the Author\nand Giver of light_?(93) And is it probable that he could approve of a\npractice in the Christian church which he condemns in the Pagan?\n\nAnd, indeed, can there be any thing more heathenish than the custom of\nburning lights before images or relics, which is nothing else than\nsacrifices which the Pagans offered to their idols?\n\nI have described above, p. 74, the manner in which St Jerome defended the\nuse of lights in the churches against Vigilantius. This defence of St\nJerome is adduced by our author in a rather extraordinary manner.\n\n“It happens not unfrequently that those very calumnies which have been\npropagated, and the attacks which were so furiously directed by the\nenemies of our holy faith in ancient times, against certain practices of\ndiscipline then followed by the church, are the most triumphant\ntestimonies which can be adduced at the present day, both to establish the\nvenerable origin of such observances, and to warrant a continuation of\nthem. In the present instance, the remark is strikingly observable; for\nthe strictures which Vigilantius passed in the fourth age, on the use of\nlights in churches, as well as on the shrines of the martyrs, and the\nenergetic refutation of St Jerome of the charge of superstition preferred\nagainst such a pious usage by that apostate, may be noticed as an\nirrefragable argument, in the nineteenth century, to establish the remote\nantiquity of this religious custom. After mentioning as a fact of public\nnotoriety, and in a manner which defied contradiction, that the\nChristians, at the time when he was actually writing, which was about the\nyear 376,(94) were accustomed to illumine their churches during mid-day\nwith a profusion of wax tapers, Vigilantius proceeds to turn such a\ndevotion into ridicule. But he met with a learned and victorious opponent,\nwho, while he vindicated this practice of the church against the objection\nof her enemy, took occasion to assign those reasons which induced her to\nadopt it. That holy father observes:—‘Throughout all the churches of the\nEast, whenever the Gospel is to be recited, they bring forth lights,\nthough it be at noon-day; not certainly to shine among darkness, but to\nmanifest some sign of joy, that under the type of corporeal light may be\nindicated that light of which we read in the Psalms, “Thy word is a lamp\nto my feet, and a light to my path.” ’ ”—(_Hierurgia_, p. 298.)\n\nNow, I would observe to the learned doctor, that St Jerome, in answering\nVigilantius, maintained, as I have shown above, p. 74, that it was calumny\nto say that the Christians burnt candles in the daylight, and that it was\ndone only by some people, _whose zeal was without knowledge_.\nConsequently, the church which has adopted this practice shows, according\nto the authority of that “holy and learned father,” that _her zeal is\nwithout knowledge_. With regard to the argument in support of the\nabovementioned practices given by St Jerome, and reproduced by our author,\nthat the Eastern churches make use of lights, I admit that it is\nunanswerable, because it is an undoubted fact that the Græco-Russian\nChurch makes an immense consumption of wax candles, chiefly burnt before\nthe images, and it remains for me only to congratulate the advocates of\nthis practice on the support which they derive from such an imperative\nauthority as that of the Græco-Russian Church.\n\nIt remains for me now only to say a few words about the _incense_, which\nforms a constituent part of the service of the Roman Catholic and\nGræco-Russian Churches, as much as the holy water and lights, and which is\ndefended by the author of “Hierurgia” in the following manner. After\nhaving described the use of incense in the Jewish temples, he says—\n\n“It was from this religious custom of employing incense in the ancient\ntemple, that the royal prophet drew that beautiful simile of his, when he\npetitioned that his prayers might ascend before the Lord like incense. It\nwas while ‘all the multitude were praying without at the hour of incense,\nthat there appeared to Zachary an angel of the Lord, standing at the right\nof the altar of incense,’—(Luke i. 10, 11). That the oriental nations\nattached a meaning not only of personal reverence, but also of religious\nhomage to an offering of incense, is demonstrable from the instance of the\nmagi, who, having fallen down to adore the newborn Jesus, and recognise\nhis divinity, presented him with gold, and myrrh, and frankincense. That\nhe might be more intelligible to those who read his book of the\nApocalypse, it is very probable that St John adapted his language to the\nceremonial of the liturgy then followed by the Christians in celebrating\nthe eucharistic sacrifice, at the period the evangelist was committing to\nwriting his mysterious revelations. In depicting, therefore, the scene\nwhich took place in the sanctuary of heaven, where he was given to behold\nin vision the mystic sacrifice of the Lamb, we are warranted to suppose\nthat he borrowed the imagery, and selected several of his expressions,\nfrom the ritual then actually in use, and has in consequence bequeathed to\nus an outline of the ceremonial which the church employed in the apostolic\nages of offering up the unbloody sacrifice of the same divine Lamb of God,\nChrist Jesus, in her sanctuary upon earth. Now, St John particularly\nnotices how the ‘angel came and stood before the altar, having a golden\ncenser; and there was given him much incense, that he should offer of the\nprayers of all the saints upon the golden altar which is before the throne\nof God; and the smoke of the incense of the prayers of the saints ascended\nup before God, from the hand of the angel.’—Apocal. viii.\n3-5.”—(_Hierurgia_, p. 518.)\n\nTo this explanation of the use of incense in the churches, I may answer by\nthe same observation which I have made, p. 144, on a similar defence of\nthe use of lights, namely, that it is a strange materialization of\nspiritual ideas by embodying into a tangible shape what is simply typical,\nand which is not warranted by any direct evidence. Such far-fetched and\nfanciful conjectures cannot be refuted by serious arguments; but as\nregards the Jewish origin of the use of incense, as well as of many other\nceremonies common to the Roman Catholic and Greek Churches, I shall give\nthe observation of the celebrated Dr Middleton, on an answer made by a\nRoman Catholic to his well-known Letter from Rome, and who, defending the\nceremonies of his Church in nearly the same manner as the author of\n“Hierurgia,” says, “That Dr Middleton was mistaken in thinking every\nceremony used by the heathens to be heathenish, since the greatest part of\nthem were borrowed from the worship of the true God, in imitation of which\nthe devil affected to have his temples, altars, priests, and sacrifices,\nand all other things which were used in the true worship.” This he applied\nto the case of _incense_, _lamps_, _holy water_, and _processions_,\nadding, “that if Middleton had been as well read in the Scriptures as he\nseemed to be in the heathen poets, he would have found the use of all\nthese in the temple of God, and that by God’s appointment.”\n\n“I shall not dispute with him,” says Middleton, “about the origin of these\nrites, whether they were _first instituted by Moses_, or _were of prior\nuse and antiquity amongst the Egyptians_. The Scriptures favour the last,\nwhich our _Spenser_ strongly asserts, and their _Calmet_ and _Huetius_\nallow; but should we grant him all that he can infer from his argument,\nwhat will he gain by it? Were not all those _beggarly elements_ wiped away\nby the spiritual worship of the Gospel? Were they not all annulled, on\naccount of _their weakness and unprofitableness_, by the more perfect\nrevelation of _Jesus Christ_?—(Gal. iv. 9; Heb. vii. 18.) If, then, I\nshould acknowledge my mistake, and recall my words, and instead of\n_Pagan_, call them _Jewish_ ceremonies, would not the use of Jewish rites\nbe abominable still in a _Christian church_, where they are expressly\nabolished and prohibited by God himself?\n\n“But to pursue his argument a little farther. While the _Mosaic_ worship\nsubsisted by divine appointment in _Jerusalem, the devil likewise_, as he\ntells us, _had temples and ceremonies of the same kind_, in order to draw\nvotaries to his idolatrous worship, which, after the abolition of the\n_Jewish_ service, was carried on still with great pomp and splendour, and\nabove all places, in _Rome_, the principal seat of his worldly empire.\nNow, it is certain that in the early times of the Gospel, the Christians\nof Rome were celebrated for their zealous adherence to the faith of\nChrist, as it was delivered to them by the apostles, pure from every\nmixture either of _Jewish_ or _heathenish superstition_, till, after a\nsuccession of ages, as they began gradually to deviate from that apostolic\nsimplicity, they introduced at different times into the church the\nparticular ceremonies in question. Whence, then, can we think it probable\nthat they should borrow them from the _Jewish_ or the _Pagan_ ritual? From\na temple remote, despised and demolished by the Romans themselves, or from\ntemples and altars perpetually in their view, and subsisting in their\nstreets, in which their ancestors and fellow-citizens have constantly\nworshipped?(95) The question can hardly admit any dispute; the humour of\nthe people, as well as the interest of a corrupted priesthood, would\ninvite them to adopt such rites as were native to the soil, and found upon\nthe place, and which long experience had shown to be useful to the\nacquisition both of wealth and power. Thus, by the most candid\nconstruction of this author’s reasoning, we must necessarily call their\nceremonies _Jewish_, or by pushing it to its full length, shall be obliged\nto call them _devilish_.\n\n“He observes that I begin my charge with the use of _incense_ as the most\nnotorious proof of their Paganism, _and like an artful rhetorician, place\nmy strongest argument in the front_. Yet he knows I have assigned a\ndifferent reason for offering that the first; because it is _the first\nthing_ that strikes the sense, and surprises a stranger upon his entrance\ninto their churches. But it shall be my strongest proof, if he will have\nit so, since he has brought nothing, I am sure, to weaken the force of it.\nHe tells us that there was _an altar of incense in the temple of\nJerusalem_, and is surprised, therefore, how I can call it _heathenish_;\nyet it is evident, from the nature of that institution, that it was never\ndesigned to be perpetual, and that during its continuance, God would have\nnever approved _any other altar_, either in _Jerusalem_ or any where else.\nBut let him answer directly to this plain question: Was there ever _a\ntemple in the world, not strictly heathenish_, in which there were\n_several altars, all smoking with incense, within our view, and at one and\nthe same time_? It is certain that he must answer in the negative; yet it\nis as certain that there were many such temples in _Pagan_ Rome, and are\nas many in _Christian Rome_; and since there never was an example of it,\nbut what was _Paganish_, before the time of _Popery_, how is it possible\nthat it could be derived to them from any other source? or when we see so\nexact a resemblance in the copy, how can there be any doubt about the\noriginal?\n\n“What he alleges, therefore, in favour of _incense_ is nothing to the\npurpose: ‘That it was used in the Jewish, and is of great antiquity in the\nChristian churches, and that it is mentioned with honour in the\nScriptures,’ which frequently _compare it to prayer_, and speak of its\n_sweet odours ascending up to God_, &c., which figurative expressions, he\nsays, ‘would never have been borrowed by sacred penmen from heathenish\nsuperstition;’ as if such allusions were less proper, or the thing itself\nless sweet, for its being applied to the purposes of idolatry, as it\nconstantly was in the time of the _same penmen_, and, according to their\nown accounts, on the _altars of Baal_, and the other _heathen idols_: and\nwhen _Jeremiah_ rebukes the people of _Judah_ for _burning incense to the\nqueen of heaven_ (Jer. xliv. 17), one can hardly help imagining that he is\nprophetically pointing out the worship paid now to the _virgin_, to whom\nthey actually _burn incense_ at this day under that very title.(96)\n\n“But if it be a just ground for retaining a practice in the _Christian_\nchurch, because it was enjoined to the _Jews_, what will our Catholic say\nfor those usages which were actually prohibited to the _Jews_, and never\npractised by any but by the _heathens and papists_? All the _Egyptian\npriests_, as Herodotus informs us, _had their heads shaved, and kept\ncontinually bald_.(97) Thus the Emperor _Commodus_, that he might be\nadmitted into that order, _got himself shaved, and carried the god Anubis\nin procession_. And it was on this account, most probably, that the\n_Jewish priests_ were commanded _not to shave their heads, nor to make any\nbaldness upon them_.—(Lev. xxi. 5; Ezek. xliv. 20). Yet this _Pagan\nrasure_, or _tonsure_, as they choose to call it, on the crown of the\nhead, has long been the distinguishing mark of the _Romish priesthood_. It\nwas on the same account, we may imagine, that the _Jewish priests were\nforbidden to make any cuttings in their flesh_ (Lev. xix. 28, xxi. 5),\nsince _that was likewise the common_ practice of certain _priests and\ndevotees among the heathens_, in order to acquire the fame of a more\nexalted sanctity. Yet the same discipline, as I have shown in my\n_Letter_,(98) is constantly practised at _Rome_ in some of their solemn\nseasons and processions, in imitation of these _Pagan enthusiasts_, as if\nthey searched the Scriptures to learn, not so much what was enjoined by\ntrue religion, as what had been useful at any time in a false one, to\ndelude the multitude, and support an imposture.”—(_Middleton’s\nMiscellaneous Works_, vol. v., p. 11, _et seq._)\n\nThe same author justly observes, that “under the _Pagan emperors_ the use\nof _incense_ for any purpose of religion was thought so contrary to the\nobligations of _Christianity_, that in their persecutions, the very method\nof _trying and converting a Christian was by requiring him only to throw\nthe least grain of it into the censer or on the altar_.”\n\n“Under the _Christian emperors_, on the other hand, it was looked upon as\na _rite_ so peculiarly _heathenish_, that the very _places or houses_\nwhere it could be proved to have been done, were, by a law of Theodosius,\nconfiscated to the government.”(99)—(_Ibid._, p. 95.)\n\nI shall conclude this essay by a short sketch of the superstitious\npractices prevailing in the Græco-Russian Church, which will be the\nsubject of my next and last chapter.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VIII. Image-Worship And Other Superstitious Practices Of The\nGraeco-Russian Church.\n\n\nThe Græco-Russian Church is perhaps the most important element of the\npolitico-religious complications in which Europe is at present involved.\nIt is, moreover, not a fortuitous cause of these complications, but has\nbeen growing during centuries, until it has reached its present magnitude,\nthough its action upon Turkey may have been prematurely brought into play\nby accidental circumstances. It comprehends within its pale about\n50,000,000 of souls, whilst it exercises an immense influence upon\n13,000,000 of Turkish, and a considerable one upon more than 3,000,000 of\nAustrian subjects, professing the tenets of that church, though governed\nby separate hierarchies. To this number must be added the population of\nthe kingdom of Greece, amounting to about 1,000,000: so that the whole of\nthe followers of the Eastern Church may be computed in round numbers at\n66,000,000 or 67,000,000 of souls.(100)\n\nThe Russian Church differs from other Greek churches, not in her tenets,\nbut in her government. From the establishment of Christianity in Russia,\ntowards the end of the tenth century, to the capture of Constantinople by\nthe Turks in 1453, the Russian Church was governed by a metropolitan,\nconsecrated by the Patriarch of Constantinople. After this event, the\nmetropolitans were consecrated by the Russian bishops till 1588, when a\npatriarch of Russia was instituted by that of Constantinople, who had\narrived at Moscow, in order to obtain pecuniary assistance for his church.\nThe patriarch enjoyed considerable influence, which modified in some\nrespects the despotic authority of the Czar. It was Peter the Great who\nabolished this dignity in 1702, after the death of the Patriarch Adrian,\nand declared himself the head of the Russian Church.\n\nHe introduced several regulations to restrict the power of the clergy, and\nto improve their education. It appears that the violent reforms by which\nthat monarch tried to introduce the civilization of western Europe amongst\nhis subjects, had produced an intellectual movement in their church, but\nwhich, not squaring with the views of the imperial reformer, was violently\nsuppressed by him. Thus, in 1713, a physician called Demetrius\nTveritinoff, and some other persons, began to attack the worship of\nimages, and to explain the sacrament of communion in the same sense as has\nbeen done by Calvin.\n\nThese reformers were anathematised by the order of the Czar, and one of\nthem was executed in 1714.(101) Next year, 1715, a Russian priest, called\nThomas, probably a disciple of the above-mentioned reformers, began\npublicly to inveigh against the worship of saints and other practices of\nhis church, and went even so far as to break the images placed in the\nchurches. He was burnt alive, and nothing more was heard afterwards of\nsuch reformers. The Russian clergy regained their influence under the\nreign of the Empress Elizabeth, 1742-62, a weak-minded, bigoted woman, who\nwas continually making pilgrimages to the shrines of various Russian\nsaints and miraculous images, displaying on those occasions such a\nsplendour and such munificence to the objects of her devotion, that the\nfinances of her state were injured by it.(102) Elizabeth’s nephew and\nsuccessor, Peter III., Duke of Holstein, who, for the sake of the throne,\nhad passed from the Lutheran communion to the Greek Church, entertained\nthe greatest contempt for his new religion. This half-crazy, unfortunate\nprince, instead of trying to reform the Russian Church by promoting a\nsuperior information amongst her clergy, offended the religious prejudices\nof his subjects by an open disregard of the ordinances of that church, and\nhis projects of violent reforms. He not only did away with all the fasts\nat his court, but he wished to abolish them throughout all his empire, to\nremove the images and candles from the churches, and, finally, that the\nclergy should shave their beards and dress like the Lutheran pastors. He\nalso confiscated the landed property of the church. Catherine II., who\nobserved with the greatest diligence those religious rites which her\nhusband treated with such contempt, and who greatly owed to this conduct\nher elevation to the throne, confirmed, however, the confiscation of the\nchurch estates, assigning salaries to the clergy and convents who had been\nsupported by that property. She made use of the influence of the\nGræco-Russian Church for the promotion of her political schemes in Poland\nand in Turkey; yet, as her religious opinions were those of the school of\nVoltaire and Diderot, which believed that Christianity would soon cease to\nhave any hold upon the human mind, she seems not to have been fully aware\nof that immense increase of power at home and influence abroad which a\nskilful action upon the religious feelings of the followers of that church\nmay give to the Russian monarchs. This policy has been formed into a\ncomplete system by the present Emperor, and it was in consequence of it\nthat several millions of the inhabitants of the ancient Polish provinces,\nwho belonged to the Greek United Church, _i.e._, who had acknowledged the\nsupremacy of the Pope by accepting the union concluded at Florence in\n1438, were forced to give up that union, and to pass from the spiritual\ndominion of the Pope to that of the Czar. This wholesale conversion was\nnecessarily accompanied with a good deal of persecution. Those clergymen\nwho had refused to adopt the imperial ukase for their rule of conscience\nwere banished to Siberia, and many other acts of oppression were committed\non that occasion, but of which only the case of the nuns of Minsk has\nproduced a sensation in western Europe. The same system of religious\ncentralization has also been applied to the Protestant peasantry of the\nBaltic provinces, many of whom were seduced by various means to join the\nRussian Church; and this policy continues to be vigorously prosecuted in\nthe same quarter, as may be seen by the following extract from the _Berlin\nGazette_ of Voss, reprinted in the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ of the 12th March\nof this year, 1854:—\n\n“Emissaries travelling about the country succeeded by every kind of\ncunning, and by holding out prospects of gain and other advantages, to\nconvert people from Lutheranism to the Greek Church. All the children,\nunder seventeen years must follow the religion of their father as soon as\nhe has entered the orthodox church. Whoever has received the\nanointment(103) can no longer return to his former creed, and those who\nwould try to persuade him to do it would be severely punished. It is even\nforbidden to the Protestant clergy to warn their congregations from going\nover to the Greek Church by drawing their attention to the difference\nwhich exists between the two religions. A great number of Greek churches\nhave been built in the Baltic provinces, and already, in 1845, it was\nordered that the converts to the Greek Church should be admitted into\nevery town; that those peasants who would leave their places of residence\nin order to join a Greek congregation should be allowed by their\nlandowners to do so;(104) and, finally, that the landowners and Protestant\nclergymen who would oppose in any way the conversion to the Greek Church\nof their peasantry and congregations, should be visited with severe\npenalties. These penalties, directed against those who would attempt to\ninduce any one, either by speeches or writings, to pass from the Greek\nChurch to any other communion, have been specified in a new criminal code.\nThey prescribe for certain cases of such a proselytism corporal\nchastisement, the knout, and transportation to Siberia.” It is also well\nknown that the Protestant missionaries, who had been labouring in various\nparts of the Russian empire for the conversion of Mahometans and heathens,\nhave been prohibited from continuing their pious exertions. And yet,\nstrange to say, there is a not uninfluential party in Prussia, which,\npretending to be zealously Protestant, supports with all its might the\npolitico-religious policy of Russia, and is as hostile to Protestant\nEngland as it is favourable to the power which is persecuting\nProtestantism in its dominions. On the other hand, it is curious to\nobserve in this country some persons of that High Church party which\naffects to repudiate the name of Protestant, and with whom _churchianity_\nseems to have more weight than Christianity, showing an inclination to\nunite with the Græco-Russian Church; and I have seen a pamphlet, ascribed\nto a clergyman of the Scotch Episcopal Church, positively recommending\nsuch a union, and containing the formulary of a petition to be addressed\nby the Episcopalians of Great Britain to the most holy Synod of St\nPetersburg, praying for admission into the communion of its church. I\nwould, however, observe to these exaggerated Anglo-catholics, who chiefly\nobject to the ecclesiastical establishment of England on account of its\nbeing a State Church, that the Russian Church is still more so, and that\nthe most holy synod which administers that church, though composed of\nprelates and other clergymen, can do nothing without the assent of its lay\nmember, the imperial procurator, and that a colonel of hussars was lately\nintrusted with this important function. The Greek Church being opposed to\nRome, some Protestants sought to conclude a union with her in the\nsixteenth century; and the Lutheran divines of Tubingen had for this\npurpose a correspondence with the Patriarch of Constantinople, between the\nyears 1575 and 1581, but which did not lead to any result, as the\nPatriarch insisted upon their simply joining his church. The Protestants\nof Poland attempted in 1599 a union with the Greek Church of their\ncountry, and the delegates of both parties met for this purpose at Vilna;\ntheir object was, however, frustrated by the same cause which rendered\nnugatory the efforts that had been made by the divines of Tubingen for\nthis purpose, the Greek Church insisting upon their entire submission to\nher authority. It is true that some learned ecclesiastics of the\nGræco-Russian Church are supposed to entertain Protestant opinions, but\nthis is entirely personal, and has no influence whatever on the systematic\npolicy of their Church, which hates Rome as a rival, but Protestantism as\na revolutionary principle. One of the ablest and most zealous defenders of\nthe Roman Catholic Church in our times, and whom a long residence in\nRussia had made thoroughly acquainted with her church, Count Joseph\nDemaistre, is of opinion that this church must finally give way to the\ninfluence of Protestantism;(105) and I think that this might be really the\ncase if the Russian Church enjoyed perfect liberty of discussion, which\nshe is very far at present from possessing. I believe, however, that such\na contingency is very possible with those Eastern churches that are not\nunder the dominion of Russia, if they were once entirely liberated from\nRussian influence and brought into contact with Protestant learning. Such\na revolution would be most dangerous, not only to the external influence\nof Russia, but even to her despotism at home, because a Protestant\nmovement amongst the Greek churches of Turkey would sever every connection\nbetween them and Russia, and very likely extend to the last-named country.\nIt is therefore most probable, as has been observed by the celebrated\nexplorer of Nineveh, Layard, that the movement alluded to above, which has\nrecently begun to spread amongst the Armenian churches of Turkey, was not\nwithout influence on the mission of Prince Menschikoff and its\nconsequences.\n\nI have said above that the mutual position of the Græco-Russian and Roman\nCatholic Churches towards one another is that of two rivals. The dogmatic\ndifference between them turns upon some abstruse tenets, which are\ngenerally little understood by the great mass of their followers, whilst\nthe essential ground of divergence, the real question at issue, is,\nwhether the headship of the church is to be vested in the Pope, in the\nPatriarch of Constantinople, or in the Czar. The Pope has allowed that\nportion of the Greek Church which submitted to his supremacy at the\ncouncil of Florence in 1438, to retain its ritual and discipline, with\nsome insignificant modifications. The Roman Catholic Church considers the\nGræco-Russian one in about the same light as she is regarded herself by\nthat of England. She acknowledges her to be _a church_, though a\nschismatic one, whose sacraments and ordination are valid, so that a Greek\nor Russian priest becomes, on signing the union of Florence, a clergyman\nof the Roman Catholic Church exactly as is the case in the Anglican Church\nwith a Roman Catholic priest who renounces the pope. The Græco-Russian\nChurch does not, however, return the compliment to the Roman Catholic one,\nany more than the Catholic does it to that of England; because a Roman\nCatholic priest who enters the Græco-Russian Church not only loses his\nsacerdotal character, just as is the case with an Anglican clergyman who\ngoes over to the communion of Rome, but he must be even baptised anew, as\nis done with Christians of every denomination who join that church,\nwhether Jews or Gentiles.\n\nThe system of reaction which the Roman Catholic Church has been pursuing\nfor many years, with a consistency, perseverance, and zeal worthy of a\nbetter cause, and not without considerable success, has created just alarm\nin the minds of many friends of religious and civil liberty. This feeling\nis but too well warranted by the open hostility which the promoters of\nthat reaction, having thrown away the mask of liberalism, are manifesting\nto the above-mentioned liberties. I shall, moreover, add, that the\npolitical complications in which Europe is now involved may be taken\nadvantage of by the reactionary party in order to advance its schemes,\nwhilst the public attention, particularly of this country, will be\nabsorbed by the events of the present war; and therefore I think that all\ntrue Protestants should, instead of relaxing, increase their vigilance, in\nrespect to the movements of the ecclesiastical reactionists. But the\ndangers which threaten from that quarter are, at least in this country, of\na purely moral character, though they are doing much mischief in families,\nand may throw some obstruction into the legislative action of the\ngovernment. They must therefore be combated with moral and intellectual\nmeans,—with spiritual, and not carnal weapons,—and they may be completely\nannihilated by a vigorous and skilful application of such means. The Pope\nof Rome, though claiming a spiritual authority over many countries, cannot\nmaintain himself in his own temporal dominion without the assistance of\nforeign powers, and is obliged to court the favour of secular potentates,\ninstead of commanding them, as had been done by his predecessors. The case\nis quite different with the Imperial Pope of Russia, who commands a\nmillion of bayonets, and whose authority is supported, not by canon, but\nby cannon law, and not by bulls, but by bullets. The material force which\nhe has at his disposal is immensely strengthened by his spiritual\nauthority over the ignorant masses of the Russian population, upon whose\nreligious feelings he may act with great facility, because his orders to\nthe clergy are as blindly obeyed as his commands to the army; and it is\nwith the object of extending and consolidating this authority over all his\nsubjects without exception that those measures of persecution and\nseduction against the Roman Catholics and Protestants, which I have\nmentioned above, have been adopted. The probable consequence of this\nreligious centralization, and the condition of the church whose exclusive\ndominion it is sought to establish in Russia, have been sketched in the\nfollowing graphic manner by an accomplished German writer, who, having\nresided many years in Russia, and being thoroughly acquainted with the\nlanguage of that country, may be considered as one of the most competent\njudges on this subject:—\n\n“He who, with attentive ear and eye, travels through the wide empire of\nthe Czar, surrounding three parts of the world with its snares, and then\ntraces the sum of his contemplations, will tremble in thought at the\ndestiny which the Colossus of nations has yet to fulfil. He who doubts of\nthe impending fulfilment of this destiny knows not history, and knows not\nRussia.\n\n“However different in origin and interest the strangely mixed hordes may\nbe which constitute this giant realm, there exists one mighty bond which\nholds them all together,—the Byzantine Church. Whoever remains out of it\nwill soon be forced into it; and ere the coming century begins, all the\ninhabitants of Russia will be of one faith.\n\n“Already that great net, whose meshes the Neva and the Volga, the Don and\nthe Dnieper, the Kyros and Araxes, form, inclose a preponderating\nChristian population, in whose midst the scattered Islamitish race, the\ndescendants of the Golden Horde, are lost like drops in the ocean. What a\nmarvellous disposition of things, that the Russian empire, whose governing\nprinciple is the diametrically opposite of the Christian law, should be\nthe very one to make of Christianity the corner, the keystone of its\nmight! And a no less marvellous disposition of things is it that the Czar,\nin whatever direction he stretches his far-grasping arms, should find\nChristian points of support whereon to knit the threads of fate for the\nfollowers of Islam, artfully scattered by him—that he should find\nArmenians at the foot of Ararat, and Georgians at the foot of Caucasus!\n\n“But of what kind is this Christianity, that masses together so many\nmillions of human beings into one great whole, and uses them as moving\nsprings to the manifestations of a power that will sooner or later give\nthe old world a new transformation?\n\n“Follow me for a moment into the Russian motherland, and throw a flying\nglance at the religious state of things prevailing there.\n\n“See that poor soldier, who, tired and hungry from his long march, is just\nperforming his sacred exercises, ere he takes his meal and seeks repose.\n\n“He draws a little image of the virgin from his pocket, spits on it, and\nwipes it with his coat sleeve: then he sets it down on the ground, kneels\nbefore it, and crosses himself, and kisses it in pious devotion.\n\n“Or enter with me on a Sunday one of the gloomy image-adorned Russian\nchurches. If the dress of those present is not already sufficient to\nindicate their difference of station, you may readily distinguish them by\nthe manner in which each person makes the sign of the cross. Consider\nfirst that man of rank, as he stands before a miracle-working image of a\nKazanshian mother of God, bows slightly before it, and crosses himself\nnotably. Translated into our vernacular the language of this personage’s\nface would run in something like the following strain:—‘I know that all\nthis is a pious farce, but one must give no offence to the people, else\nall respect would be lost. Would the people continue to toil for us, if\nthey were to lose their trust in the assurances we cause to be made to\nthem of the joys of heaven?’\n\n“Now look at that caftan-clad fat merchant, as, with crafty glance and\nconfident step, he makes up to the priest to get his soul freed from the\ntrafficking sins of the past week.\n\n“He knows the priest, and is sure that a good piece of money will meet\nwith a good reception from him; that is why he goes so carelessly, in the\nconsciousness of being able to settle in the lump the whole of his sinful\naccount; and when the absolution is over, he takes his position in front\nof the miraculous image, and makes so prodigious a sign of the cross, that\nbefore this act all the remaining scruples of his soul must vanish away.\n\n“Consider, in fine, that poor countryman, who steals in humbly at the\ndoor, and gazes slyly round him in the incense-beclouded spaces. The pomp\nand the splendour are too much for the poor fellow.\n\n“ ‘God,’ he thinks, ‘but what a gracious lord the Emperor is, that he\ncauses such fine churches to be built for us poor devils! God bless the\nEmperor!’ And then he slips timidly up to some image where the golden\nground and the dark colours form the most glaring contrast, and throws\nhimself down before it, and crosses the floor with his forehead, so that\nhis long hair falls right over his face, and thus he wearies himself with\nprostrations and enormous crossings, until he can do no more for\nexhaustion. For the poorer the man in Russia, the larger the cross he\nsigns and wears.”(106)\n\nThis description of the religious state of the Russian people, given by a\nwriter who is not very partial to their country, may be perhaps suspected\nof exaggeration, or considered as being too much of a caricature; I shall\ntherefore give my readers the observations which have been made on the\nsame subject by another German author, Baron Haxthausen, a great admirer\nof Russia, who travelled over that country in 1843, under the patronage of\nthe Emperor, in order to study the state of its agriculture and industry,\nas well as the social condition of the working-classes.\n\n“A foreigner is struck,” says the Baron, “by the deep devotion and the\nstrict observance of the ordinances and customs of the church shown by\nRussians of rank and superior education. I had already, at Moscow, an\nopportunity of seeing it. Prince T., a young, elegant Muscovite dandy,\nconducted me about the churches of the Kremlin, and almost in every one of\nthem he knelt down before some particularly venerated object,—as the\ncoffin of a saint, the image of a Madonna,—and touched the ground with his\nforehead, and devoutly kissed the object in question. I observed the same\nthing at Yaroslaf. Madame Bariatynski (the wife of the governor) and\nanother lady conducted me about the churches of that city, and as soon as\nwe entered one of them, both these ladies approached an image of the\nVirgin, fell down before it, _without any regard to their __ dresses_,\ntouched with their foreheads the ground, and kissed the image, making\nsigns of the cross; and these were ladies belonging to the highest\nsociety, and of the most refined manners. Madame Bariatynski had been a\nlady of the court, and the ornament of the first drawing-rooms of St\nPetersburg. Her mind is uncommonly cultivated, and she has a thorough\nknowledge of French and German literature; and, indeed, when we were\nwalking to see these churches, along the banks of the Volga, she\ndiscussed, in an animated and ingenious manner, the matchless beauty of\nGoethe’s songs, and recited from memory his Fisherman. Even in the\nstrictest Roman Catholic countries, as, for instance, Bavaria, Belgium,\nRome, Munster, such public demonstrations of piety are not to be met,\nexcept in some exceedingly rare cases, with women, but never with men. The\neducated classes have in this respect separated from the lower ones. Even\npeople who are very devout consider such excessive manifestations of piety\nas not quite decent, nay, though they dare not confess it, they are in\nsome measure ashamed of them. In Russia the case is different. There are\nperhaps as many freethinkers, and even atheists, as in western Europe, but\neven they submit, at least in public, and when they are in their own\ncountry, unconditionally, and almost involuntarily, to the customs of\ntheir church. In this respect, no difference whatever may be observed\nbetween the highest and the commonest Russian; the unity of the national\nchurch and of the national worship predominates everywhere.”(107)\n\nIt is almost superfluous to observe that a church which has such a hold on\nthe national mind of Russia must be a powerful engine in the hands of her\nImperial Pope, whose political authority is thus immensely strengthened by\nthe influence of religion. But I think it will be, perhaps, not\nuninteresting to my readers to compare this baptised idolatry of the\nmodern Russians with that which had been practised by their unbaptised\nancestors about a thousand years ago, and the following account of which\nis given by Ibn Foslan, an Arabian traveller of the tenth century, who saw\nRussian merchants in the country of the Bulgars, a Mahometan nation who\nlived on the banks of the Volga, and the ruins of whose capital may be\nseen not far from the town of Kazan:—\n\n“As soon as their (Russian) vessels arrive at the anchoring place, every\none of them goes on shore, taking with him bread, meat, milk, onions, and\nintoxicating liquors, and repairs to a high wooden post, which has the\nlikeness of a human face carved upon it, standing surrounded with small\nstatues of a similar description, and some high ones erected behind it. He\nprostrates himself before this wooden figure, and says, ‘O Lord, I have\narrived from a distant country; I have brought with me so and so many\ngirls,(108) so and so many sable skins;’ and when he has enumerated all\nhis merchandise, he lays before the idol the things which he has brought\nwith him, and continues his prayer, saying, ‘Here is a present which I\nhave brought thee, and I wish thou wouldst send me a customer who has\nplenty of gold and silver, who will not bargain with me, but purchase all\nthat I have to sell at my own price.’ When his commerce does not prosper,\nhe brings new presents to the idol, and when he meets with some new\ndifficulties he makes gifts also to the small statues, but when he is\nsuccessful he offers oxen and sheep.”(109)\n\nKissing constitutes the principal part of the Russian worship of images\nand relics, and is most liberally bestowed on those objects of adoration,\nwhilst I believe that the Roman Catholic Madonnas maintain a more\ndignified state, and do not allow such familiarities to their worshippers,\nunless on some particular occasions or to some privileged persons. The\nEmperor himself sets the example of this pious _osculation_, a striking\ninstance of which occurred in the summer of last year, 1853, under\ncircumstances which deserve a particular notice.\n\nI have said above, p. 161, that several millions of the followers of the\nGreek United Church had been forced by the present emperor to transfer\ntheir spiritual allegiance from the Pope to himself. Several of their\nchurches contain miraculous images of the Virgin, of more or less repute,\nand which were obliged to share the fate of their worshippers, and to\nbecome schismatics as much as the latter. Their vested rights have not\nbeen, however, injured in any way by this revolution, because they\ncontinue to be worshipped, and to work miracles as they did before, or,\nwhat is the same thing, they are fully authorised to do so. The Russian\ngovernment followed on this occasion its usual line of policy, which is to\npromote those who have joined it, forsaking their former party; and thus\none of the most distinguished of these miracle-working converts, the\nMadonna of Pochayoff, a little town in Wolhynia, was transferred from her\nprovincial station to Warsaw, and placed there in a newly built Russian\ncathedral, probably with the object of inducing the Roman Catholic\ninhabitants of that capital to imitate an example set to them in such a\nhigh quarter, and to acknowledge the spiritual authority of the Czar as\nmuch as they are obliged to submit to his temporal dominion. When the\nemperor was going last year to Olmutz, in order to persuade the Austrian\ncourt to support his policy in Turkey, he passed through Warsaw, and\nrepairing, immediately after his arrival in that city, to the Russian\ncathedral, kissed the above-mentioned miraculous image of the Madonna of\nPochayoff with such fervour that it produced quite a sensation upon all\nthose who were present, and was noticed in the newspapers as a proof of\nthe autocrat’s piety. Yet whether this Madonna, notwithstanding her\noutward conversion to the Græco-Russian Church, remains a Romanist at\nheart, or whether, for some other reason, she could or would not support\nthe views of her imperial worshipper, the result of the Czar’s voyage to\nOlmutz proved that the caresses which he had bestowed upon the Madonna in\nquestion were _love’s labours lost_. It may be also observed, that the\nemperor himself seems not to have been quite sure of the effects of his\npious addresses to the now schismatic Madonna of Pochayoff, because it is\nwell known that this man, who, as I have said above, p. 161, had torn from\nthe spiritual authority of the Pope, by a violent persecution, many\nmillions of souls, knelt during his visit to Olmutz, with all the marks of\ndeep devotion, at a Roman Catholic high mass; whilst the Prince of\nPrussia, who was also present on that occasion, stood by without taking a\nhypocritical part in a worship which was contrary to his religion.\n\nThis image-kissing propensity of the Russians was the cause of a tragical\nevent during the plague at Moscow in 1771. It usually happens during a\npublic calamity that rumours of a wild and absurd nature are circulated\namongst the ignorant part of the population, and it was thus that, when\nthe pestilence was raging in the above-mentioned capital, a report was\nspread that an image of the Virgin, placed at the entrance of a church,\nhad the power of preventing infection. Thousands of people repaired to the\nmiraculous image, and endless processions were wending along the streets\ntowards the same object of adoration, which was overloaded with rich\nofferings by its worshippers, and adorned with costly jewels. As was to be\nexpected, this superstitious practice, instead of preventing the\ninfection, powerfully contributed to its increase; because the kisses\nwhich the crowd lavishly bestowed on the miraculous image could not but\npropagate the disease. The Archbishop of Moscow, Ambrose, an enlightened\nprelate, in order to stop this mischief, removed the image from the place\nwhere it had been exposed into the interior of the church; but this wise\nmeasure produced a violent riot, and an infuriated mob rushed into the\nsanctuary and murdered the venerable old man at the foot of the altar,\nwhere he was officiating, dressed in his pontificals.\n\nIt is probably the same image of which Bodenstedt, whose account of the\nRussian Church I have quoted above, p. 169, relates the following\nanecdote. After having spoken of the usurpations of Russia beyond the\nCaucasus, under pretence of protecting the Christian population of those\nparts, he says:—\n\n“The Russian policy, which conceals its grasping claws under the cloak of\nreligion, may be not inaptly compared to a lady well known at Moscow, who,\nto the great edification of the bystanders, kissed the miraculous Madonna,\nsituated close to the Kremlin, with so much fervour, that the most costly\ndiamond of the jewels with which this image is covered remained in her\nmouth.” And he adds, in a note, “The thing was afterwards discovered, and\nthe writer of this was himself present when this lady, the wife of a\nRussian general, was obliged publicly to crave the forgiveness of the\nimage for this act of desecration. It is said that when this noble lady\nwas judicially examined about this affair, she pleaded in her defence that\nhaving loved and worshipped the image in question devoutly during many\nyears, she believed herself entitled to a little _souvenir_ from the\nMadonna.”(110) The Russian lady of rank seems not to have been so\ningenious as the Prussian soldier, whose story I have related on p. 118.\nAnd it must be remarked that the Russian images expose their worshippers\nto the temptations of mammon much more than the Roman Catholic ones;\nbecause, whilst the latter are often valuable as objects of art, the\nformer have usually silver or golden garments, often set with precious\nstones, which entirely cover the painting except the face, generally by no\nmeans a model of beauty. The gifts which the Russians bestow on their\nimages are immense, and the most celebrated place for the accumulation of\nsuch treasures is the convent of Troitza, or Trinity, situated about fifty\nEnglish miles from Moscow, and considered as a kind of national sanctuary\nof Russia.(111) Baron Haxthausen, whom I have quoted on p. 173, says that\nthe value of sacred vases and ornaments accumulated in that place\nsurpasses all that may be seen of this kind any where else, without even\nexcepting Rome and Loretto; and he thinks that the quantity of pearls\ncontained in those ornaments is perhaps greater than is to be found in the\nwhole of Europe.(112)\n\nThe grave of St Sergius, the founder of that convent in the fourteenth\ncentury, is adorned with gold and precious stones, and the silver canopy\nover it is said to weigh 1200 pounds. The most remarkable object contained\nin that convent is, however, the image of that saint which accompanied\nPeter the Great during all his campaigns, and on which are inscribed the\nnames of all the battles and stormings of towns at which it had been\npresent. I do not know whether this image had a part in other expeditions\nof the Russian army, but I have read this year in the newspapers that when\na division of grenadiers was passing through Moscow, on their way to\nTurkey, the Archbishop of that capital addressed them, firing their zeal\nfor the religious war in which they were going to take part, and after\nhaving blessed them with the image of St Sergius, the same to which I\nalluded above, gave it them as a companion of their expedition. The allied\ntroops must therefore be prepared to encounter that _bellicose_ saint\nsomewhere on the Danube, unless he has been ordered to the shores of the\nBaltic for the defence of the capital. The custom of taking with them\nimages considered as miraculous, during a campaign, was followed by the\ngenerals of the Greek empire on many occasions. Thus it is related by a\nByzantine writer,(113) that in 590 Philippicus, a general of the Emperor\nMauritius, when going to engage the Persians in battle, took an _image\nwhich was not made by the hands of man_, and carried it about the ranks of\nhis army, in order to purify his soldiers, and that he gained, after this\nceremony, a complete victory. It must, however, be remarked that when\nPhilippicus was replaced by another general, called Priscus, the latter,\nrelying too much on the protection of the image which _was not made by the\nhands of man_, diminished the rations of the soldiers, and gave them other\ncauses of offence; they revolted, and when Priscus, in order to subdue the\nriot, paraded the image in question, the mutineers threw stones at it. I\ndon’t know exactly how this business ended, but it is said that the Greek\ngenerals usually liked to have an image of the kind alluded to, in order\nto appease their troops in cases of mutiny and discontent; and I believe\nthat, considering the gross ignorance and superstition of the Russian\nsoldiers, the image of St Sergius may do good service in similar cases,\nand for which these soldiers have but too many reasons. The Greek emperors\nalso sometimes provided with miraculous images the ambassadors who were\nsent on important missions. I don’t know whether the Russian diplomacy,\nwhich has performed so many wonders, has ever had recourse to the\nassistance of such images, or to that of any supernatural agency.\n\nThe miraculous images of the Græco-Russian Church are generally considered\nas _not made by the hands of man_, whilst those of the Roman Catholic\nChurch are usually believed to be painted by St Luke. The most celebrated\nMadonnas of Russia, as those of Kazan, Korennaya, Akhtyrka, &c., are\nbelieved to have dropt from heaven, in the same manner as the Diana of\nEphesus, and other Greek idols of repute. They are called _yavlenneeye\nicony_, _i.e._, revealed images, and their number is considerable, though\nall of them do not enjoy an equal reputation for miraculous powers. The\nnumber of images of various descriptions is, I think, much greater in\nRussia than in any other country, and they are called by the common\npeople, not images, _icony_, but gods, _boghi_; and many of their\nworshippers are so ignorant, that they take every kind of picture or\nengraving for the _boghi_, and devoutly cross themselves before them. A\nGerman officer of engineers, in the Russian service, related to the author\nthat he had a Russian servant, a young lad of a very devout disposition,\nwho pasted every engraving which he could lay hold on, upon the wall over\nhis bed, in order to address his prayers to them. This officer once missed\nsome plates, containing mathematical figures, which had dropt from a book\nof geometry, and he found afterwards that his pious servant, having picked\nthem up, gave them a place in his pantheon. If this strange divinity had\nbeen found amongst the objects worshipped by that poor lad by some very\nprofound foreign traveller, unacquainted with the Russian people, it is\nmore than probable that he would have taken it for a mystical object of\nadoration, and written a learned dissertation to explain its emblematic\nsense.\n\nEvery household in Russia has its own little sanctuary, consisting of one\nor more images, ornamented according to the means of the owner, and placed\nin a corner opposite to the principal door. Every one who enters the room\nmakes a sign of the cross, bowing to these _penates_, the place under\nwhose shrine is considered as the seat of honour, reserved at meals for\nthe father of the family, or the most respected guest.\n\nThe Russians are great _exclusives_ in respect to their images, and every\nbeliever has at least one of them stuck on the wall near his sleeping\nplace, for his especial use and comfort; whilst people who are continually\nmoving about, as carriers, pedlars, soldiers, &c., have their pocket\ndivinities with them; and the description of the devotional exercises of a\nRussian soldier, given on p. 171, is by no means a caricature. This\nexclusiveness was much greater before the reforms introduced by the\nPatriarch Nicon in the seventeenth century than it is at present.(114)\nContemporary travellers relate that people brought into the churches their\nown images, trying to get for them on the walls of the church the place\nwhich they considered the best; and thus it often happened that these\nimages, being placed opposite to the altar, people in praying to them\nturned their backs to the officiating priest, which generally produced\ngreat confusion, and disturbed the performance of divine service. There\nwas a very great competition amongst those people in ornamenting their\nimages as showily as possible; and as the sanctity of an image was\nincreased, according to the opinion of those baptised idolaters, in\nproportion to the richness of its ornaments, it often happened that a poor\nman, who could not afford to trim up smartly his own image, addressed his\nprayers to that of his richer neighbour. Such an adoration, however, was\nconsidered as contraband; and when the lawful owner of the image caught\none of those pious interlopers, he not only sharply rebuked him, but\nfrequently gave him a sound thrashing, saying that he did not go to the\nexpense of decorating his image that another should obtain its\nfavours.(115)\n\nScandalous scenes of this description have been abolished in the\nestablished church by the reforms of the Patriarch Nicon, alluded to\nabove, but something very like it may still be witnessed in the churches\nof the _Raskolniks_, who have separated from the established church on\naccount of those reforms. These people often bring their own images to the\nchurches to pray before them, and it frequently happens amongst the boys\nwho worship in this way, that some of them, perceiving that their\nneighbour has a finer image than their own, they steal it from him,\nsubstituting that which belongs to them. This produces quarrels and\nfighting amongst these boys, who reproach one another, saying, You\nSo-and-so, you have stolen my fine image which cost my father two roubles,\nand left me this wretched one, which is not worth fifty copecs, _i.e._,\nhalf a rouble. These scenes would be ludicrous if they were not positively\nblasphemous, because these images are called on such occasions, as is\nalways done, by the name of gods, _boghi_.\n\nIt has been observed by some travellers in Russia that the image-dealers\nof that country do not sell their wares, but, by a kind of legal fiction,\nexchange them for a certain sum, and that consequently they are disposed\nof at a fixed price. This is, however, not the case, and the image-dealers\nof Russia make no exception to the other merchants of that country, who\ngenerally ask for their goods the treble of their value, and a reasonable\nprice can only be obtained by hard bargaining. Only consecrated images,\n_i.e._, those which have been sprinkled by a priest with holy water,\ncannot be, I think, made an object of traffic.\n\nThe orthodox Russians have no less veneration for fine churches than for\nsplendidly adorned images, and the well-known German dramatic writer\nKotzebue gives in the relation of his forced voyage to Siberia,(116) under\nthe Emperor Paul, a characteristic trait of this disposition. The titulary\ncounsellor(117) Shchekatikhin, who conducted him to the place of his\nexile, Kurghan, in the south of Siberia, showed a great reverence to all\nthe churches which they passed by. Whenever they passed a fine church\nconstructed of solid masonry, he doffed his cap and crossed himself most\nfervently, whilst he treated very cavalierly all those which were built of\nwood, making a hardly perceptible sign of the cross in their honour. This\nnational propensity to treat respectfully the great and disdainfully the\nlittle, of which M. Shchekatikhin’s piety was such a characteristic\nexemplification, has been, in its application to churches, described by\nthe great admirer of Russia, Baron Haxthausen, whose account of the\ndevotional practices observed by the upper classes of that country I have\ngiven above, p. 173, in the following manner:—\n\n“We saw, in most part of the villages on our road, fine new churches built\nof stone or brick; but in one of them, called Novaya, I saw for the first\ntime an old wooden church, built of logs, and covered with boards and\nshingles, such as they generally had been every where in Russia. These\nwooden churches continually disappear, being replaced by those constructed\nof masonry. The Russian peasantry consider it a particular honour to have\nin their village a church of stone or brick. To leave a village with a\nchurch of stone in order to settle in a place which has but a wooden one,\nis considered as a degradation, and the inhabitants of the former would\nhardly intermarry with those of the latter. The villages which have only a\nwooden church, therefore, do all that they can in order to rise to an\nequal grade with those who have one of stone or brick. This shows how the\npride of rank pervades the mind of the Russians in every form of life, and\nin every class of the population. In cases of this kind, no promotion but\nonly a sum of money is required in order to obtain the desired rank. It\nmay be purchased by constructing a church of stone or brick. Such a church\ncosts ten, twenty, or thirty thousand silver roubles (six roubles equal to\none pound); but nothing is more easy than to get this sum. A dozen of\nstout fellows disperse in various directions, to collect by begging the\nsum required for the construction of the projected church, which is done\nwithout any expense, as the collectors are hospitably received in every\nhouse. As soon as the necessary sum is obtained, the village petitions the\ngovernment for a plan and for an architect, because the plan of every such\nchurch must be approved at St Petersburg. Thus, in a few years, a fine\nchurch is built, constructed in the modern style, and the rank of the\nvillage rises in its own and in its neighbours’ opinion.\n\n“Such things cannot be done in Western Europe, partly because an active\nreligious feeling amongst the people disappears more and more,(118) and\npartly on account of the great fluctuation of their ideas, and want of\nstability in their opinions. With the Russian it is quite otherwise. This\nnation has no political ideas: but two sentiments pervade its whole\nbeing—a common feeling of nationality, and a fervent attachment to the\nnational church. Whenever these two feelings take hold of the Russian’s\nmind, he is ready willingly to sacrifice without a moment’s hesitation his\nlife and property.”(119)\n\nIt is these two national feelings that the Emperor Nicholas is now trying\nto excite to the utmost pitch, and there can be little doubt that if he\nsucceeds in his object there will be a hard struggle between barbarity and\ncivilization, though the final triumph of the latter, to the advantage not\nonly of the victors, but also of the vanquished, cannot be doubted for a\nmoment. I must, however, return to Baron Haxthausen, who continues his\naccount of the Russian village churches, saying,—\n\n“It must not be forgotten, in order to understand how such large\ncollections for a church of some obscure village, and made for the most\npart amongst the peasants, are obtained, that _giving_ is as much in the\nRussian character as _taking_. Nowhere property hangs upon such loose\nthreads and changes hands with such rapidity as in Russia. To-day rich,\nto-morrow poor. People earn and squander away almost simultaneously; they\ncheat and are cheated; they steal with one hand, and give away with the\nother. The common Russian sets not his heart on any kind of property; he\nloses with perfect equanimity what he had just earned, in the hope of\ngetting it again to-morrow.\n\n“The Russian is, moreover, naturally good-hearted, charitable, and\nliberal. A shopkeeper who had perhaps just cheated his neighbour of the\nvalue of 20 copecs, without feeling any qualms of conscience on the\nsubject, will give one moment after it a rouble for the construction of a\nchurch in some village to which he is a perfect stranger.”(120)\n\nThus, what Cicero said of Catiline, _Sui profusus alieni cupiens_, is\napplicable, not only to individuals, but also to nations, whose actions\nare swayed by feeling without being regulated by principle. It is almost\nsuperfluous to observe that a nation thus disposed, and with whom\nsuperstitious practices have a greater weight than religious principles,\nmay be easily precipitated into the most violent and dangerous courses,\nwhich to accomplish seems now to be the object of the Emperor of Russia.\n\nThe Græco-Russian Church has an immense number of relics of saints, to\nwhich all that Calvin has said of those of the Roman Catholic Church is\napplicable. I have given, in a note to his treatise on this subject, an\naccount of St Anthony’s relics in Russia, as a counterpart to those which\nthe same saint possesses in western Europe. There are, indeed, many relics\nto the exclusive possession of which both these churches lay an equal\nclaim, each of them representing her own as the only genuine, and that of\nher rival as a spurious one. The most celebrated of these disputed relics\nis the holy coat of Treves, and that of Moscow. It is well known what a\nnoise the former of these produced in 1844, when an immense number of\npilgrims came to worship it; and it is pretended that it had been found by\nthe Empress Helena, with the true cross, and presented by her to the town\nof Treves. The coat of Moscow was given as a present to the Czar by a Shah\nof Persia, and its genuineness was established by a Russian archbishop,\nwho asserted that, when he passed through Georgia on his return from\nJerusalem, he saw in a church of that country a golden box placed upon a\ncolumn, and which, as it was told to him, contained the coat without a\nseam of our Lord. This statement was corroborated by an eastern monk, then\nat Moscow, who related that it was generally believed in Palestine, that\nwhen the soldiers cast lots for the possession of that coat, it fell to\nthe part of one of them, who, being a native of Georgia, took it with him\nto his native land. These statements were sufficient to establish the\nauthenticity of the relic, which consequently was licensed to work\nmiracles and worked them.(121)\n\nThe most celebrated collection of relics in Russia is found in the town of\nKioff, on the Dnieper, and where the bodies of many hundreds of saints are\ndeposited in a kind of crypt called _Piechary_, _i.e._, caverns. The\nchronicles relate that the digging of this sacred cavern was commenced in\nthe eleventh century by two monks called Anthony and Theodosius, who had\ncome from the Mount Athos, for their own and their disciples’ abode. It\nwas gradually extended, but the living established themselves afterwards\nin a convent above ground, leaving to the dead the part under it. This\nstatement is considered to be authentic, but the numerous bodies of the\nsaints with which the long subterranean galleries of that cavern are\nfilled, have never been satisfactorily accounted for. It is the opinion of\nmany, that the nature of the soil is so dry, that, absorbing all the\nmoisture, it keeps the dead bodies which are deposited there in a more or\nless perfect state of preservation; and it is said that an enlightened\narchbishop of Kioff proved it by a successful experiment, putting into\nthat place the bodies of two women, who had been confined as prisoners in\na nunnery for their many vices. Be it as it may, Kioff is the resort of an\nimmense number of pilgrims, who arrive from all parts of Russia, to\nworship the bodies of the saints, and the riches accumulated by their\npious donations at that place are only second to those of Troitza (p.\n181).\n\nThe shrines of Jerusalem, which attract crowds of pilgrims from all parts\nof the Christian world, had been for a long time a subject of dispute\nbetween the Latins and the Greeks, and it is well known that the\npolitico-religious complications in which Europe is at present involved\nhave arisen from the claims of Russia relating to those shrines. It will,\ntherefore, I think, be not uninteresting to my readers to see the devout\nmanner in which these shrines are worshipped by the pilgrims of the\nGræco-Russian Church; and I subjoin the two following accounts of this\nsubject, written at an interval of a century and a half, in order that my\nreaders may be able to judge for themselves whether the progress of\ncivilization during this period has had much influence on the pilgrims\nalluded to above.\n\nThe first of these accounts is an extract from the diary of an English\nclergyman, the Rev. Henry Maundrell, a Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford,\nand chaplain to the English factory at Aleppo, who visited Jerusalem in\nthe year 1697:—\n\n“_Saturday, April 3d._—We went about mid-day to see the function of the\nholy fire. This is a ceremony kept by the Greeks and Armenians, upon a\npersuasion that every Easter Eve there is a miraculous flame descends from\nheaven into the Holy Sepulchre, and kindles all the lamps and candles\nthere, as the sacrifice was burnt at the prayer of Elijah.—(1 Kings\nxviii.)\n\n“Coming to the church of the Holy Sepulchre, we found it crowded with a\nnumerous and distracted mob, making a hideous clamour, very unfit for that\nsacred place, and better becoming bacchanals than Christians. Getting,\nwith some struggle, through this crowd, we went up into the gallery, on\nthat side of the church next the Latin convent, whence we could discern\nall that passed in this religious frenzy.\n\n“They began their disorders by running round the Holy Sepulchre with all\ntheir might and swiftness, crying out as they went, ‘_Huia!_’ which\nsignifies ‘_This is he_,’ or, ‘_This is it_,’ an expression by which they\nassert the verity of the Christian religion. After they had by their\nvertiginous circulations and clamours turned their heads, and inflamed\ntheir madness, they began to act the most antic tricks and postures, in a\nthousand shapes of distraction. Sometimes they dragged one another along\nthe floor, all around the sepulchre; sometimes they set one man upright on\nanother’s shoulders, and in this posture marched round; sometimes they\nturned men with their heels upwards, and hurried them about in such an\nindecent manner as to expose their nudities; sometimes they tumbled round\nthe sepulchre, after the manner of tumblers on the stage. In a word,\nnothing can be imagined more rude or extravagant than what was acted upon\nthis occasion.\n\n“In this tumultuous frantic humour they continued from twelve to four of\nthe clock, the reason of which delay was because of a suit that was then\nin debate before the cadi betwixt the Greeks and Armenians, the former\nendeavouring to exclude the latter from having any share in this miracle.\nBoth parties having expended (as I was informed) five thousand dollars\nbetween them in this foolish controversy, the cadi at last gave sentence\nthat they should enter the Holy Sepulchre together, as had been usual at\nformer times. Sentence being thus given, at four of the clock both nations\nwent on with their ceremony. The Greeks first set out in a procession\nround the Holy Sepulchre, and immediately at their heels followed the\nArmenians. In this order they compassed the Holy Sepulchre thrice, having\nproduced all their gallantry of standards, streamers, crucifixes, and\nembroidered habits on this occasion.\n\n“Toward the end of this procession, there was a pigeon came fluttering\ninto the cupola over the sepulchre, at the sight of which there was a\ngreater shout and clamour than before. This bird, the Latins told us, was\npurposely let fly by the Greeks to deceive the people into an opinion that\nit was a visible descent of the Holy Ghost.\n\n“The procession being over, the suffragan of the Greek patriarch (he being\nhimself at Constantinople), and the principal Armenian bishop, approached\nto the door of the sepulchre, and cutting the string with which it was\nfastened and sealed, entered in, shutting the door after them, all the\ncandles and lamps within having been before extinguished in the presence\nof the Turks and other witnesses. The exclamations were doubled as the\nmiracle drew nearer its accomplishment, and the people pressed with such\nvehemence towards the door of the Sepulchre, that it was not in the power\nof the Turks set to guard it with the severest checks to keep them off.\nThe cause of their pressing in this manner is the great desire they have\nto light their candles at the holy flame, as soon as it is first brought\nout of the Sepulchre, it being esteemed the most sacred and pure, as\ncoming immediately from heaven.\n\n“The two miracle-mongers had not been above a minute in the Holy Sepulchre\nwhen the glimmering of the holy fire was seen, or imagined to appear,\nthrough some chinks of the door, and certainly Bedlam itself never saw\nsuch an unruly transport as was produced in the mob at this sight.\nImmediately after came out the two priests, with blazing torches in their\nhands, which they held up at the door of the Sepulchre, while the people\nthronged about with inexpressible ardour, every one striving to obtain a\npart of the first and purest flame. The Turks in the meantime, with huge\nclubs, laid on them without mercy; but all this could not repel them, the\nexcess of their transport making them insensible of pain. Those that got\nthe fire applied it immediately to their beards, faces, and bosoms,\npretending that it would not burn like an earthly flame; but I plainly saw\nnone of them could endure this experiment long enough to make good that\npretension.\n\n“So many hands being employed, you may be sure it could not be long before\ninnumerable tapers were lighted. The whole church, galleries and every\nplace, seemed instantly to be in a flame, and with this illumination the\nceremony ended.\n\n“It must be owned that those two within the sepulchre performed their part\nwith great quickness and dexterity; but the behaviour of the rabble\nwithout very much discredited the miracle. The Latins take a great deal of\npains to expose this ceremony as a most shameful imposture, and a scandal\nto the Christian religion, perhaps out of envy that others should be\nmasters of so gainful a business; but the Greeks and Armenians pin their\nfaith upon it, and make their pilgrimages chiefly upon this motive; and it\nis the deplorable unhappiness of their priests, that having acted the\ncheat so long already, they are forced now to stand to it, for fear of\nendangering the apostasy of their people.\n\n“Going out of the church after the event was over, we saw several people\ngathered about the stone of unction, who, having got a good store of\ncandles lighted with the holy fire, were employed in daubing pieces of\nlinen with the wicks of them and the melting wax, which pieces of linen\nwere designed for winding sheets; and it is the opinion of these poor\npeople that if they can but have the happiness to be buried in a shroud\nsmutted with this celestial fire, it will certainly secure them from the\nflames of hell.”—(P. 127, _et seq._, eighth edition, 1810.)\n\nMany people may, however, believe that scenes of such an outrageous\ndescription as that witnessed by Maundrell might have happened in his\ntime, viz., 1697, but that their repetition is quite impossible in our own\nenlightened age. The following account of the same scenes by Mr Calman,\nwhose veracity is attested by a high authority, and who had an opportunity\nof seeing it only a few years ago, which has been reproduced in a little,\nand now particularly interesting book, “The Shrines of the Holy\nLand,”(122) may enable my readers to judge of the influence which the\nboasted march of intellect has produced on the Græco-Russian pilgrims, who\nassemble every Easter at Jerusalem.\n\n“To notice all that was passing,” says Mr Calman, “within the church of\nthe Holy Sepulchre during the space of twenty-four hours, would be next to\nimpossible, because it was one continuation of shameless madness and\nrioting, which would have been a disgrace to Greenwich and Smithfield.\nOnly suppose for a moment the mighty edifice crowded to excess with\nfanatic pilgrims of all the Eastern Churches, who, instead of lifting pure\nhands to God, without wrath and quarrelling, are led, by the petty\njealousy about precedency which they should maintain in the order of their\nprocessions, into tumults and fighting, which can only be quelled by the\nscourge and whip of the followers of the false prophet.\n\n“Suppose, farther, those thousands of devotees running from one extreme to\nthe other, from the extreme of savage irritation to that of savage\nenjoyment, of mutual revellings and feastings, like Israel of old, who,\nwhen they made the golden calf, were eating and drinking, and rising to\nplay. Suppose troops of men stripped half naked, to facilitate their\nactions, running, trotting, jumping, galloping to and fro, the breadth and\nlength of the church, walking on their hands with their feet aloft in the\nair, mounting on one another’s shoulders, some in a riding and some in a\nstanding position, and by the slightest push are all sent to the ground in\none confused heap, which made one fear for their safety.\n\n“Suppose, farther, many of the pilgrims dressed in fur caps, like the\nPolish Jews, whom they feigned to represent, and whom the mob met with all\nmanner of insult, hurrying them through the church as criminals who had\nbeen condemned, amid loud execrations and shouts of laughter, which\nindicated that Israel is still a derision amongst these heathens, by whom\nthey are still counted as sheep for the slaughter.\n\n“About two o’clock on Saturday afternoon, the preparations for the\nmiraculous fire commenced. The multitude, who had been hitherto in a state\nof frenzy and madness, became a little more quiet, but it proved a quiet\nthat precedes a thunderstorm. Bishops and priests, in full canonicals,\nthen issued forth from their respective quarters, with flags and banners,\ncrucifixes and crosses, lighted candles and smoking censers, to join or\nrather to lead a procession, which moved thrice round the church, invoking\nevery picture, altar, and relic in their way to aid them in obtaining the\nmiraculous fire.\n\n“The procession then returned to the place from whence it started, and two\ngrey-headed bishops, the one of the Greek and the other of the Armenian\nChurch, were hurled by the soldiers through the crowd, into the apartment\nwhich communicated with that of the Holy Sepulchre, where they locked\nthemselves in; there the marvellous fire was to make its first appearance,\nand from thence issue through the small circular windows and the door, for\nthe use of the multitude. The eyes of all—men, women, and children—were\nnow directed towards the Holy Sepulchre with an anxious expression,\nawaiting the issue of their expectation. The mixed multitude, each in his\nor her own language, were pouring forth their clamorous prayers to the\nVirgin and the saints to intercede for them on behalf of the object for\nwhich they were assembled, and the same were tenfold increased by the\nfanatic gestures and the waving of the garments by the priests of their\nrespective communions, who were interested in the holy fire, and who were\nwatching by the above-mentioned door and circular windows, with torches in\ntheir hands, ready to receive the virgin flame of the heavenly fire, and\ncarry it to their flocks.\n\n“In about twenty minutes from the time the bishops locked themselves in\nthe apartment of the Holy Sepulchre, the miraculous fire made its\nappearance through the door and the two small windows, as expected. The\npriests were the first who lighted their torches, and they set out on a\ngallop in the direction of their lay brethren; but some of these\nerrandless and profitless messengers had the misfortune to be knocked down\nby the crowd, and had their firebrands wrested out of their hands, but\nsome were more fortunate, and safely reached their destination, around\nwhom the people flocked like bees, to have their candles lighted. Others,\nhowever, were not satisfied at having the holy fire second hand, but\nrushed furiously towards the Holy Sepulchre, regardless of their own\nsafety, and that of those who obstructed their way, though it has\nfrequently happened that persons have been trampled to death on such\noccasions.\n\n“Those who were in the galleries let down their candles by cords, and drew\nthem up when they had succeeded in their purpose. In a few minutes\nthousands of flames were ascending, the smoke and the heat of which\nrendered the church like the bottomless pit. To satisfy themselves, as\nwell as to convince the Latins, the pilgrims, women as well as men,\nshamefully exposed their bare bosoms to the action of the flame of their\nlighted candles, to make their adversaries believe the miraculous fire\ndiffers from an ordinary one in being perfectly harmless.\n\n“The two bishops, who a little while before locked themselves in the\napartment of the Holy Sepulchre, now sallied forth out of it. When the\nwhole multitude had their candles lighted, the bishops were caught by the\ncrowd, lifted upon their shoulders, and carried to their chapels, amidst\nloud and triumphant acclamations. They soon, however, reappeared at the\nhead of a similar procession to the one before, as a pretended\nthank-offering to the Almighty for the miraculous fire vouchsafed.”—(P.\n121, _et seq._)\n\nIt appears, by comparing these two narratives of one and the same thing,\nthough separated by a distance of a hundred and fifty years, that the only\ndifference which will be found between them is, that in the time of\nMaundrell, 1697, the miraculous fire was produced in about one minute’s\ntime, whilst the performance of the same trick required twenty when it was\nobserved by Mr Calman. And, indeed, it has been justly observed by both\nthese writers, that the exhibitors of the miraculous fire, having\ncontinued so long to practise this imposture, cannot leave it off without\nruining their authority and influence over those whom they have thus been\ncheating for many centuries. This circumstance has been most pointedly\nexpressed by the author of the work from which I have extracted Mr\nCalman’s description of this pious, or rather impious, fraud, and who\nsays:—\n\n“Had it been an occasional miracle, as time had rolled on, and truth had\nmore and more illuminated the human mind, the practice might have been\ngradually discontinued. As the priests had grown more honest, and the\npeople more enlightened, they might have mutually consigned these pious\nfrauds to the oblivion of the darker ages; and if the blush of shame had\nrisen up at the memories of the past, the world would have respected them\nthe more for their honesty of purpose.\n\n“But an _annual miracle_, always of the same specific kind, exhibited on\nthe same spot, and at the same hour,—an _annual miracle_,—at what point of\ntime should this be discontinued? and, if discontinued, would it not be\nmanifest either that heaven had forsaken its favourites, or that all the\npast had been delusion and imposture?”—(Pp. 127, 128.)\n\nAnd it is the authority of a church supported by such impious and shameful\nimpostures as this miraculous fire that a number of Anglicans, including\nseveral dignitaries of the church, are anxious of preserving against\nProtestant encroachments, and protest against the existence of the\nProtestant bishopric of Jerusalem, for fear that it might injure the faith\nof the pilgrims, and put an end to such sacred juggleries as the one\ndescribed above, which outrivals the most superstitious practices of\nancient or modern Paganism! And it is for the predominance of this same\nchurch that the autocrat of Russia has now plunged Europe into a war which\nmay prove one of the bloodiest that modern times have witnessed, and\nproclaimed a Græco-Russian crusade against the Ottoman Porte and its\nChristian allies! This last-named circumstance may, I think, render it not\nuninteresting to my readers to know the manner in which this question is\nviewed by Russians of elevated rank and superior education. I would\ntherefore recommend to their attention a little pamphlet(123) recently\npublished in English by an accomplished Russian, who had studied at the\nUniversity of Edinburgh, and had enjoyed friendly intercourse with the\nmost eminent characters of that learned body, leaving with all those who\nhad known him a most favourable impression of his personal character and\ntalents. His opinions, therefore, are not those of an ignorant fanatic, or\na hireling of the Government, but must be considered as an expression of\nthose entertained by the upper classes of Russian society. He compares in\nthis pamphlet the position of Russia towards the followers of the Eastern\nChurch in Turkey, to that of England towards the Protestants of other\ncountries, saying:—\n\n“You translate the Bible into all living languages, not excluding the\nTurkish idiom, and you distribute the holy volumes to the shopkeeper of\nConstantinople, and to the shepherd who tends his camels amidst the ruins\nof Ephesus. We are not as laborious propagators of the faith; but yet we\nwould fain intercede in favour of the Turk when your copy of the Bible has\nconverted him to the Christian faith, and who, by the law of the land,\nmust have his head cut off for this transgression. Mark that the\nobligation is much more binding on us than it is on you, and not the less\nbinding from the job having been begun by yourselves. The Turks are spread\namongst the Greeks and surrounded by them. There are ten thousand chances\nto one, that if the Moslem be converted at all, it is to that creed of\nwhich the church stands in his immediate eye, and that creed is ours. But,\nstrange to say, it is because of that very chance that we are to be\nprohibited from meddling in the matter. With the French and with the\nEnglish the case is far different. They, indeed, we are told, claim the\nright of protection only over thousands; but you claim that same right\nover millions, and, therefore, you shall not have it. The question you\nmay, however, say, is not fairly put, for should a Turk be converted, and\non the point of losing his head, we are ready to interpose with our\nauthority, even though it be to the Greek Church that he should have\nturned. Well! but place yourselves for a moment in our situation. Are we\nto leave to you the work which has been done in our vineyard, and not\nstand up for those who have embraced the cross, merely because there are\nmillions in that realm who embrace it? The case stands equally the same\nwith regard to the far greater number of human beings who are born and\nhave grown up in the profession of our faith. Without attempting to prove\nthat they are exposed to constant cruelty and oppression, a fact which has\nbeen strenuously denied without the denial having ever been proved, it is\nabundantly known, and an indisputable fact, that the Greeks are in a state\nof continual bondage, deprived of the dearest rights of men, condemned, in\na religious point of view, to a state of thraldom such as exists in no\nother part of the world, inasmuch as the supreme head of their church is\ninstalled in his dignity, maintained in the same, or deposed by a\nsovereign professing a faith hostile to his own. Is such a state of things\nto be tolerated by those who are its victims? and is not this in itself a\nhardship greater than any other that can be imagined? The English have\ngiven us, in a period, it is true, of greater zeal for their faith, an\nexample of active sympathy manifested by them towards their brothers in\nbelief, subjects of a neighbouring and powerful sovereign. The case was\nnot as urgent as the one to which I compare it, inasmuch as the Huguenots\nof France were not the subjects of a Mussulman sovereign. But this,\nperhaps, will be brought home as an argument against me, for such is the\nhatred of sects proceeding from the same faith, that England would,\nperhaps, have borne more meekly the hardships endured by the Calvinistic\nbrethren, if they had been subjected thereunto by a Soliman, and not by\nhim who styled himself the most Christian king of France. However this may\nbe, it is said at present that, whether oppressed or no, the Greeks never\nsolicited our intervention. To this it may be answered, that the whole\ndifficulty would have been solved by the very fact of the solicitation,\nfor had they had the courage and the means to send a similar and unanimous\nmessage to the Emperor of Russia, they would have had the strength and\nunanimity required themselves to strike the blow, and make all\nintervention useless. The fact of their having not risen as a man in their\nown cause, is a sufficient explanation for their want of boldness in\nsoliciting their deliverance at the hands of a foreign state. But laying\naside the question of the _subjects_ of the Ottoman empire professing the\nGreek faith, to speak of the much more vital interest of the faith itself,\nprofessed as it is by ourselves, let it be permitted to me to submit to\nyour candid decision, if the work of defending that faith does not belong\npre-eminently to us, and neither to the English nor the French. We\ntolerate in the whole extent of our empire both the Roman Catholic and the\nLutheran communions of faith; we have millions of subjects professing both\ncreeds; we build churches for them. Long before the Roman Catholics were\nemancipated in England, the posts of the highest honour, of the greatest\nconfidence, and of the largest perquisites in the army, the senate, and\nthe supreme council of the empire, were opened indiscriminately by us to\nmen professing the Greek, Roman, or Lutheran creeds. Is it because of our\ntolerance with respect to sects not our own, that we are condemned to be\nindifferent to the hardships of those of our own faith? Are we not only to\nallow your church to stand unmolested within our own realm, but also to\nallow our own church to fall in ruins within the limits of a neighbouring\nstate? If so, you condemn our toleration, you call it indifference and\ndisbelief.”—(P. 9, _et seq._)\n\nIt is perfectly true that there are in Russia several millions of\nProtestants and Roman Catholics, and that many of the highest offices,\ncivil as well as military, are occupied by them; for it is well known that\nthe most efficient servants of the Russian government are chiefly\nforeigners, either by birth or extraction. This tolerance, however, is\nalways getting more and more restricted; and I have alluded above, on pp.\n161-163, to the persecution of the Greeks united with Rome, as well as the\nsystematical proselytism by force and fraud amongst the Protestants of the\nBaltic provinces. The author says that a Mahometan who becomes a convert\nto Christianity must lose his head by the laws of Turkey, but he does not\ntell us what fate awaits a follower of the Greek Church in Russia who\nwould become a Roman Catholic or a Protestant. M. de Custine relates, in\nhis well-known work on Russia,(124) that a Russian gentleman, who enjoyed\na high social position at Moscow, published a work, which the censor\nallowed in an unaccountable manner to pass, maintaining that the influence\nof the Roman Catholic Church is much more favourable to the progress of\ncivilization than that of the Græco-Russian one, and that the social\ncondition of Russia would have been much more advanced by the former than\nit has been by the latter. This work produced a great sensation, and the\npunishment of the author of such a blasphemy was loudly demanded by the\northodox Russians. This affair being submitted to the Emperor, he declared\nthat the author was _insane_, and ordered to treat him accordingly. The\nunfortunate individual consequently was put into a madhouse, and though\nperfectly sane, was subjected to the most rigorous treatment as a lunatic,\nso that he nearly became in reality what he was _officially_ declared to\nbe, and it was only after several years of this moral and physical torture\nthat he was permitted to have a little more liberty, though still retained\nin confinement.\n\nI do not know what has become of this unfortunate man, but the truth of\nthis nameless act of tyranny has been fully admitted by Mr Gretsch, who\nwrote, by the order of the Russian Government, an answer to the work of\nCustine. He says that the individual in question, a Mr Chadayeff, having\ncommitted an action which the laws of Russia punish with great severity,\nthe Emperor Nicholas, desiring to save the culprit from the penalty which\nhe had incurred, ordered, by an act of mercy, to treat him simply as a\nmadman.\n\nNow, I think that the penalty of physical death, inflicted by the Turkish\nlaw on the converts from Mahometanism to Christianity, may be considered\nas humane, if compared to the murder of soul and intellect by the slow\nprocess of a moral and physical torture, to which a man has been subjected\nin Russia for his religious opinions; and if such an atrocious punishment\nwas inflicted by an act of _imperial mercy_, as a mitigation of the\nseverity of the law, what would it have been if the letter of that law had\nbeen fulfilled? “_Ferrea jura, insanumque forum._”\n\nIf, according to the opinion of the Russian writer, his countrymen have a\nright of interfering in behalf of the followers of their church in Turkey,\non account of the community of their faith, the same right is possessed by\nGreat Britain and other Protestant States, as well as by France and other\nRoman Catholic powers, to interfere in behalf of their brethren in the\nfaith who are oppressed by Russia. With regard to the observation of the\nsame author, “that the Greeks are in a continual state of bondage,\ndeprived of the dearest rights of men, condemned, in a religious point of\nview, to a state of thraldom such as exists in no other part of the world,\ninasmuch as the supreme head of their church is installed in his dignity,\nmaintained in the same, or deposed, by a sovereign professing a faith\nhostile to his own,” I must remark that he has forgotten, in saying that\nsuch a state of thraldom exists not in any other part of the world, to\nadd, _except in Russia_, because all the Roman Catholic bishops and other\ndignitaries of their church, as well as the Protestant superintendents,\npresidents of consistories, &c., “are installed in their dignity,\nmaintained in the same, or deposed, by a sovereign professing a faith\nhostile to their own.” And his question, “Is such a state of things to be\ntolerated by its victims? and is it not in itself a hardship greater than\nany other that can be imagined?” is as much applicable to the Protestants\nand Roman Catholics of Russia as it is to the Christians of Turkey.\n\nThe “Russian, Quondam Civis Bibliothecæ Edinensis,” carries his zeal for\nthe orthodox Greek Church so far as to recommend its adoption to the\nEnglish:—\n\n“Do you not see every day, in your own country, the encroaching action of\nthe See of Rome? And here I cannot refrain from exclaiming, how strange it\nis to see every day converts in crowds passing from the Protestant to the\nRoman faith, and not pausing for a moment to reflect if they have not a\nsmaller space to cross, and a safer haven to come to in the bosom of the\nGræco-Catholic Church, the same as that of Rome, minus the anti-apostolic\ndouble procession of the Holy Ghost, minus an infallible pope, minus the\nsale of indulgences, and last, though not least, minus the arbitrary\nexclusion of the blood of Christ from the holy communion given to laymen!\nIs it not strange, that on the moment of abjuring your reformations, you\nshould fly into the arms of a church which _has_ introduced reformations\nof its own, and not appeal to that one church which professes with evident\ntruth to have admitted no changes at all, and kept intact the purity of\nher tradition? But, again, this is no theological disquisition.\nWitnessing, however, as I said above, in your own kingdom, the daily\nincreasing influence of the Roman See, you can surely understand how\nlegitimately jealous we must be of the same influence extending within the\nprecincts of our sheepfold. And, therefore, not only is our faith to be\npreserved unmolested, but the saving deed is to be done by _us_, and not\nthrough the agency of English and French ambassadors or fleets, to be\nachieved in the name of the faith we profess in common with our Greek\nbrethren, and by no means stipulated in the name of universal freedom of\nthought. I think I have said enough to prove the vital and cordial\ninterest which Russia cannot but take in the cause of her own church, and\nof those who profess it in Turkey, and the paramount necessity she is\nunder of making that cause her own.”—(P. 12, _et seq._)\n\nIf the Russian author is so anxious to convert the British Protestants to\nthe Græco-Russian, or, as he calls her, “Græco-Catholic” Church, he may\ntranslate her controversial works into English, and build places of\nworship where image-kissing, prostration, incense, and holy water, may be\nexhibited for the edification of the British heretics, _ad libitum_.\nNobody will interfere with their ceremonies, not even with their\npreachings against Protestantism, because its disciples in Great Britain\nare satisfied with defending their religion by spiritual weapons, and do\nnot resort to material arms, except in repressing either public or private\nacts of violence. As regards the dogmatic pre-eminence of his church over\nthat of Rome,—her rejection of the “_anti-apostolic double procession of\nthe Holy Ghost_,”—which has been, I think, retained by the English Church,\n&c., I leave this subject to the decision of theologians, but shall only\nobserve that the worship of images, relics, and other pagan practices,\nwhich I have described in this chapter, do not prove much in favour of the\n_purity of her tradition_. I would also ask whether it is in accordance\nwith this tradition that the Russian clergy, notwithstanding all their\nclaims to apostolic succession, are governed by the Czar, who sometimes\ndelegates for this purpose a colonel of hussars,(125) which office, I\nbelieve, was never known, even in the most militant of churches? It has\nbeen, indeed, well said by the Marquis de Custine, that the Russian clergy\nare but an army wearing regimentals somewhat different from the dress of\nthe regular troops of the empire. The papas and their bishops are under\nthe direction of the emperor, a regiment of clerks, and that is all.(126)\nIt is in order to extend the advantages of this military organization to\nthe Christians of Turkey that Russia, according to the opinion of our\nauthor, “_is __ under the paramount necessity of making their cause her\nown_.” All that I say is, that she felt the same necessity of making the\ncause of the Greeks and Protestants of Poland _her own_, and that she\nended by making the same thing with their country.\n\nThe politico-religious complications into which Europe has now been thrown\nby the ambition of Russia have induced me particularly to dwell upon the\nmeans which the church of that country offers for the promotion of the\npolitical schemes of its rulers. With regard to the superstitious\npractices borrowed from Paganism, and peculiar to that church, the most\nremarkable is, perhaps, that heathen custom called _parentales_, mentioned\nbefore, p. 62, and which may be found in different parts of Russia. People\nassemble on Monday, after the Easter week, in churchyards, where they eat\nand drink to great excess, in commemoration of their deceased relatives.\nThere are many other similar practices, as, for instance, that of\nproviding the dead body with a kind of passport or written testimony of\nhis religious conduct, &c., probably imported with the Christian religion\nby the Greek Church, because at the time of the conversion of Russia, this\nchurch had already introduced painted though not carved(127) images, to\nwhich allusion has been made on p. 12 of this Essay.\n\n\n\n\n\nCALVIN’S TREATISE ON RELICS, WITH NOTES BY THE TRANSLATOR.\n\n\nSt Augustinus complains, in his work entitled “The Labour of Monks,” that\ncertain people were, even in his time, exercising a dishonest trade,\nhawking about relics of martyrs, and he adds the following significant\nwords, “_should they really be relics of martyrs_,” from which we may\ninfer, that even then abuses and deceits were practised, by making simple\nfolks believe that bones, picked up any where, were bones of saints. Since\nthe origin of this abuse is so ancient, there can be no doubt that it has\ngreatly increased during a long interval of years, particularly as the\nworld has been much corrupted since that age, and has continued to\ndeteriorate until it has arrived at its present condition.\n\nNow, the origin and root of this evil has been, that, instead of\ndiscerning Jesus Christ in his Word, his Sacraments, and his Spiritual\nGraces, the world has, according to its custom, amused itself with his\nclothes, shirts, and sheets, leaving thus the principal to follow the\naccessory.\n\nIt did the same thing with the apostles, martyrs, and other saints, and,\ninstead of observing their lives in order to imitate their examples, it\ndirected all its attention to the preservation and admiration of their\nbones, shirts, sashes, caps, and other similar trash.\n\nI know well that there is a certain appearance of real devotion and zeal\nin the allegation, that the relics of Jesus Christ are preserved on\naccount of the honour which is rendered to him, and in order the better to\npreserve his memory. But it is necessary to consider what St Paul says,\nthat every service of God invented by man, whatever appearance of wisdom\nit may have, is nothing better than vanity and foolishness, if it has no\nother foundation than our own devising. Moreover, it is necessary to set\nthe profit derived from it against the dangers with which it is fraught,\nand it will thus be found that, to have relics is a useless and frivolous\nthing, which will most probably gradually lead towards idolatry, because\nthey cannot be handled and looked upon without being honoured, and in\ndoing this men will very soon render them the honour which is due to Jesus\nChrist. In short, the desire for relics is never without superstition, and\nwhat is worse, it is usually the parent of idolatry. Every one admits that\nthe reason why our Lord concealed the body of Moses, was that the people\nof Israel should not be guilty of worshipping it. Now, we may conclude\nthat the act to be avoided with regard to the body of Moses must be\nequally shunned with regard to the bodies of all other saints, and for the\nsame reason—because it is sin. But let us leave the saints, and consider\nwhat St Paul says of Jesus Christ himself, for he protests that he knew\nhim not according to the flesh, but only after his resurrection,\nsignifying by these words, that all that is carnal in Jesus Christ must be\nforgotten and put aside, and that we should employ and direct our whole\naffections to seek and possess him according to the spirit. Consequently\nthe pretence that it is a good thing to have some memorials either of\nhimself or of the saints, to stimulate our piety, is nothing but a cloak\nfor indulging our foolish cravings which have no reasonable foundation;\nand should even this reason appear insufficient, it is openly repugnant to\nwhat the Holy Ghost has declared by the mouth of St Paul, and what can be\nsaid more?\n\nIt is of no use to discuss the point whether it is right or wrong to have\nrelics merely to keep them as precious objects, without worshipping them,\nbecause experience proves that this is never the case.\n\nIt is true that St Ambrose, in speaking of Helena, the mother of the\nEmperor Constantine the Great, who sought with great trouble and expense\nfor the cross of our Lord, says that she did not worship the wood, but the\nLord who was suspended upon it. But it is a very rare thing, that a heart\ndisposed to value any relics whatever should not become to a certain\ndegree polluted by some superstition.\n\nI admit that people do not arrive at once at open idolatry, but they\ngradually advance from one abuse to another until they fall into this\nextremity, and, indeed, those who call themselves Christians have, in this\nrespect, idolatrised as much as Pagans ever did. They have prostrated\nthemselves, and knelt before relics, just as if they were worshipping God;\nthey have burnt candles before them in sign of homage; they have placed\ntheir confidence in them, and have prayed to them, as if the virtue and\nthe grace of God had entered into them. Now, if idolatry be nothing else\nthan the transfer elsewhere of the honour which is due to God, can it be\ndenied that this is idolatry? This cannot be excused by pretending that it\nwas only the improper zeal of some idiots or foolish women, for it was a\ngeneral custom approved by those who had the government of the church, and\nwho had even placed the bones of the dead and other relics on the high\naltar, in the greatest and most prominent places, in order that they\nshould be worshipped with more certainty.\n\nIt is thus that the foolish fancy which people had at first for collecting\nrelics, ended in this open abomination,—they not only turned from God, in\norder to amuse themselves with vain and corruptible things, but even went\non to the execrable sacrilege of worshipping dead and insensible\ncreatures, instead of the one living God. Now, as one evil never comes\nalone but is always followed by another, it thus happened that where\npeople were seeking for relics, either of Jesus Christ or the saints, they\nbecame so blind that whatever name was imposed upon any rubbish presented\nto them, they received it without any examination or judgment; thus the\nbones of an ass or dog, which any hawker gave out to be the bones of a\nmartyr, were devoutly received without any difficulty. This was the case\nwith all of them, as will be shown hereafter.\n\nFor my own part, I have no doubt that this has been a great punishment\ninflicted by God. Because, as the world was craving after relics, and\nturning them to a wicked and superstitious use, it was very likely that\nGod would permit one lie to follow another; for this is the way in which\nhe punishes the dishonour done to his name, when the glory due to him is\ntransferred elsewhere. Indeed, the only reason why there are so many false\nand imaginary relics is, that God has permitted the world to be doubly\ndeceived and fallen, since it has so loved deceit and lies.\n\nThe first Christians left the bodies of the saints in their graves,\nobeying the universal sentence, that _all flesh is dust, and_ TO DUST IT\nMUST RETURN, and did not attempt their resurrection before the appointed\ntime by raising them in pomp and state. This example has not been followed\nby their successors; on the contrary, the bodies of the faithful, in\nopposition to the command of God, have been disinterred in order to be\nglorified, when they ought to have remained in their places of repose\nawaiting the last judgment.\n\nThey were worshipped; every kind of honour was shown to them, and people\nput their trust in such things. And what was the consequence of all this?\nThe devil, perceiving man’s folly, was not satisfied with having led the\nworld into one deception, but added to it another, by giving the name of\n_relics of saints_ to the most profane things. And God punished the\ncredulous by depriving them of all power of reasoning rightly, so that\nthey accepted without inquiry all that was presented to them, making no\ndistinction between white or black.\n\nIt is not my intention now to discuss the abominable abuse of the relics\nof our Lord, as well as of the saints, at this present time, in the most\npart of Christendom. This subject alone would require a separate volume;\nfor it is a well-known fact that the most part of the relics which are\ndisplayed every where are false, and have been put forward by impostors\nwho have most impudently deceived the poor world. I have merely mentioned\nthis subject, to give people an opportunity of thinking it over, and of\nbeing upon their guard. It happens sometimes that we carelessly approve of\na thing without taking the necessary time to examine what it really is,\nand we are thus deceived for want of warning; but when we are warned, we\nbegin to think, and become quite astonished at our believing so easily\nsuch an improbability. This is precisely what has taken place with the\nsubject in question. People were told, “This is the body of such a saint;\nthese are his shoes, those are his stockings;” and they believed it to be\nso, for want of timely caution. But when I shall have clearly proved the\nfraud which has been committed, all those who have sense and reason will\nopen their eyes and begin to reflect upon what has never before entered\ntheir thoughts. The limits of my little volume forbid me from entering but\nupon a small part of what I would wish to perform, for it would be\nnecessary to ascertain the relics possessed by every place in order to\ncompare them with each other. It would then be seen that every apostle had\nmore than four bodies,(128) and each saint at least two or three, and so\non. In short, if all the relics were collected into one heap, the only\nastonishment would be that such a silly and clumsy imposition could have\nblinded the whole earth.\n\nAs every, even the smallest Catholic church has a heap of bones and other\nsmall rubbish, what would it be if all those things which are contained in\ntwo or three thousand bishoprics, twenty or thirty thousand abbeys, more\nthan forty thousand convents, and so many parish churches and chapels,\nwere collected into one mass?(129) The best thing would be not merely to\nname, but to visit them.\n\nIn this town (Geneva) there was formerly, it is said, an arm of St\nAnthony; it was kissed and worshipped as long as it remained in its\nshrine; but when it was turned out and examined, it was found to be the\nbone of a stag. There was on the high altar the brain of St Peter; so long\nas it rested in its shrine, nobody ever doubted its genuineness, for it\nwould have been blasphemy to do so; but when it was subjected to a close\ninspection, it proved to be a piece of pumice-stone. I could quote many\ninstances of this kind; but these will be sufficient to give an idea of\nthe quantity of precious rubbish there would have been found if a thorough\nand universal investigation of all the relics of Europe had ever taken\nplace. Many of those who look at relics close their eyes from\nsuperstition, so that in regarding these they _see_ nothing; that is to\nsay, they dare not properly gaze at and consider what they properly may\nbe. Thus many who boast of having seen the whole body of St Claude, or of\nany other saint, have never had the courage to raise their eyes and to\nascertain what it really was. The same thing may be said of the head of\nMary Magdalene, which is shown near Marseilles, with eyes of paste or wax.\nIt is valued as much as if it were God himself who had descended from\nheaven; but if it were examined, the imposition would be clearly\ndetected.(130) It would be desirable to have an accurate knowledge of all\nthe trifles which in different places are taken for relics, or at least a\nregister of them, in order to show how many of them are false; but since\nit is impossible to obtain this, I should like to have at least an\ninventory of relics contained in ten or twelve such towns as Paris,\nToulouse, Poitiers, Rheims, &c. If I had nothing more than this, it would\nform a very curious collection. Indeed, it is a wish I am constantly\nentertaining to get such a precious repertory. However, as this is too\ndifficult, I thought it would be as well to publish the following little\nwarning, to awaken those who are asleep, and to make them consider what\nmay be the state of the entire church if there is so much to condemn in a\nvery small portion of it;—I mean, when people find so much deception in\nthe relics I shall name, and which are far from being the thousandth part\nof those that are exhibited in various parts of the world, what must they\nthink of the remainder? moreover, if those which had been considered as\nthe most authentic proved to be fraudulent inventions, what can be thought\nof the more doubtful ones? Would to God that Christian princes thought a\nlittle on this subject! for it is their duty not to allow their subjects\nto be deceived, not only by false doctrine, but also by such manifest\nimpositions. They will indeed incur a heavy responsibility for allowing\nGod to be thus mocked when they could prevent it.\n\nI hope, however, that this little treatise will be of general service, by\ninducing people to think on the subject; for, if we could have the\nregister of all the relics that are to be found in the world, men would\nclearly see how much they had been blinded, and what darkness and folly\noverspread the earth.\n\nLet us begin with Jesus Christ, about whose blood there have been fierce\ndisputations; for many maintained that he had no blood except of a\nmiraculous kind; nevertheless the natural blood is exhibited in more than\na hundred places. They show at Rochelle a few drops of it, which, as they\nsay, was collected by Nicodemus in his glove. In some places they have\nphials full of it, as, for instance, at Mantua and elsewhere; in other\nparts they have cups filled with it, as in the Church of St Eustache at\nRome. They did not rest satisfied with simple blood; it was considered\nnecessary to have it mixed with water as it flowed out of his side when\npierced on the cross. This is preserved in the Church of St John of the\nLateran at Rome.\n\nNow, I appeal to the judgment of every one whether it is not an evident\nlie to maintain that the blood of Jesus Christ was found, after a lapse of\nseven or eight hundred years, to be distributed over the whole world,\nespecially as the ancient church makes no mention of it?\n\nThen come the things which have touched the body of our Lord. Firstly, the\nmanger in which he was placed at his birth is shown in the Church of\nMadonna Maggiore at Rome.\n\nIn St Paul’s Church there are preserved the swaddling clothes in which he\nwas wrapped, though there are pieces of these clothes at Salvatierra in\nSpain. His cradle is also at Rome, as well as the shirt his mother made\nfor him.\n\nAt the Church of St James, in the same city, is shown the altar upon which\nhe was placed at his presentation in the temple, as if there had been many\naltars, according to the fashion of the Popish churches, where any number\nof them may be erected. This is what they show relating to the time of\nChrist’s childhood.\n\nIt is, indeed, not worth while seriously to discuss whence they obtained\nall this trash, so long a time after the death of Jesus Christ. That man\nmust be of little mind who cannot see the folly of it. There is no mention\nof these things in the Gospels, and they were never heard of in the times\nof the apostles. About fifty years after the death of Jesus Christ,\nJerusalem was destroyed. Many ancient doctors have written since,\nmentioning fully the occurrences of their time, even to the cross and\nnails found by Helena, but these absurdities are not alluded to. But what\nis more, these things were not brought forward at Rome during the days of\nSt Gregory, as may be seen from his writings; whilst after his death Rome\nwas several times taken, pillaged, and almost destroyed.\n\nNow, what other conclusion can be drawn from these considerations but that\nall these were inventions for deceiving silly folks? This has even been\nconfessed by some monks and priests, who call them _pious frauds_, _i.e._,\n_honest deceits_ for exciting the devotion of the people.\n\nAfter these come the relics belonging to the period from the childhood to\nthe death of Jesus Christ, such as the water pots in which Christ changed\nwater into wine at the marriage feast of Cana in Galilee.\n\nOne would naturally inquire how they were preserved for so long a time?\nfor it is necessary to bear in mind that they were not discovered until\neight hundred or a thousand years after the performance of the miracle.\n\nI cannot tell all the places where these water pots are shown; I only know\nthat they can be seen at Pisa, Ravenna, Cluny, Antwerp, and Salvatierra in\nSpain.(131)\n\nAt Orleans they have even the wine which was obtained by that miracle, and\nonce a-year the priests there give to those who bring offerings a small\nspoonful, saying that they shall taste of the very wine made by our Lord\nat the marriage feast, and its quantity never decreases, the cup being\nalways refilled. I do not know of what date are his shoes, which are\npreserved in a place at Rome called _Sancta Sanctorum_, or whether he had\nworn them in his childhood or manhood; but this is of little moment, for\nwhat I have already mentioned sufficiently shows the gross imposition of\nproducing now the shoes of Jesus Christ, which were not possessed by the\napostles in their time.\n\nNow, let us proceed to the last supper which Christ had with his apostles.\nThe table is at St John of the Lateran at Rome; some bread made for that\noccasion at Salvatierra in Spain; and the knife with which the paschal\nlamb was carved is at Tréves. Now, it is necessary to observe that Christ\nmade that supper in a borrowed room, and on going from thence he left the\ntable, which was not removed by the apostles. Jerusalem was soon\nafterwards destroyed. How, then, could the table be found after a lapse of\neight hundred years?\n\nMoreover, in the early ages tables were made of quite a different shape to\nthose of our days, for people then took their repasts in a lying, not in a\nsitting posture—a circumstance expressly mentioned in the Gospels. The\ndeceit is therefore quite manifest, without more being added to prove it.\n\nThe cup in which Christ gave the sacrament of his blood to the apostles is\nshown at Notre Dame de l’Isle, near Lyons; and there is another in a\nconvent of Augustine monks in the Albigéois;—which is the true one?\nCharles Sigonius, a celebrated historian of our times, says, in his fourth\nbook on Italy, that Baldwin, second king of Jerusalem, captured in 1101,\nwith the assistance of the Genoese, the town of Cesarea in Syria, and\namongst the spoils taken by his allies was a vessel or cup of emerald,\nwhich was considered to have been made use of by Jesus Christ at his last\nsupper. “Therefore,”—these are his own words,—“this cup is even now\ndevoutly preserved in the town of Genoa.”\n\nAccording to this account, our Lord must have had a splendid service on\nthat occasion; for there would be as little propriety in drinking from\nsuch a costly vessel without having the rest of the service of a similar\ndescription, as there is in some Popish pictures where the Virgin Mary is\nrepresented as a woman with her hair hanging over her shoulders, dressed\nin a gown of cloth of gold, and riding on a donkey which Joseph leads by\nthe halter. We recommend our readers to consider well the Gospel texts\nrelating to this subject.\n\nThe case of the dish upon which the paschal lamb was placed is still\nworse, for it is to be found at Rome, at Genoa, and at Arles. If these\nholy relics be genuine, the customs of that time must have been quite\ndifferent from ours, because, instead of changing viands as we now do, the\ndishes were changed for the same food!\n\nThe same may be said of the towel with which Jesus Christ wiped the feet\nof the apostles, after having washed them; there is one at Rome at the\nLateran, one at Aix-la-Chapelle, and one at St Corneille of Compiegne,\nwith the print of the foot of Judas. Some of these must be false.\n\nBut we will leave the contending parties to fight out their own battles,\nuntil one of them shall establish the reality of his case. It appears to\nme, however, that trying to make people believe that a towel which Jesus\nChrist had left in the place where it was used, had in several hundred\nyears afterwards found its way into Germany and Italy, is nothing better\nthan a gross imposture.\n\nI nearly forgot to mention the bread with which five thousand persons were\nmiraculously fed in the desert, and of which a bit is shown at Rome, and\nanother piece at Salvatierra in Spain.\n\nThe Scripture says that a portion of manna was preserved in remembrance of\nGod having miraculously fed his people in the desert; but the Gospel does\nnot say a word respecting the preservation of the fragments of the five\nloaves for a similar purpose; the subject is not mentioned in any ancient\nhistory, nor does any ecclesiastical writer speak of it. It is therefore\nvery easily perceived that the above-mentioned pieces of bread are of\nmodern manufacture.\n\nThe principal relics of our Lord are, however, those relating to his\npassion and death. And the first of them is the cross. I know that it is\nconsidered to be a certain fact that it was found by Helena, the mother of\nthe Emperor Constantine; and I know also that some ancient doctors have\nwritten about the manner in which the discovery was certified that it was\nthe true cross upon which our Lord had suffered. I think, however, that it\nwas a foolish curiosity, and a silly and inconsiderate devotion, which\nprompted Helena to seek for that cross. But let us take for granted that\nit was a laudable act, and that our Lord had declared by a miracle that it\nwas the real cross, and let us consider only the state of the case in our\nown time.\n\nIt is maintained undoubtingly that the cross found by Helena is still at\nJerusalem, though this is contradicted by ecclesiastical history, which\nrelates that Helena took a piece of it, and sent it to her son the\nemperor, who set it upon a column of porphyry, in the centre of a public\nplace or square, whilst the other portion of it was enclosed by her in a\nsilver case, and intrusted to the keeping of the Bishop of Jerusalem;\nconsequently, either the before-mentioned statement or this historical\nrecord must be false.\n\nNow let us consider how many relics of the true cross there are in the\nworld. An account of those merely with which I am acquainted would fill a\nwhole volume, for there is not a church, from a cathedral to the most\nmiserable abbey or parish church, that does not contain a piece. Large\nsplinters of it are preserved in various places, as for instance in the\nHoly Chapel at Paris, whilst at Rome they show a crucifix of considerable\nsize made entirely, they say, from this wood. In short, if we were to\ncollect all these pieces of the true cross exhibited in various parts,\nthey would form a whole ship’s cargo.\n\nThe Gospel testifies that the cross could be borne by one single\nindividual; how glaring, then, is the audacity now to pretend to display\nmore relics of wood than three hundred men could carry! As an explanation\nof this, they have invented the tale, that whatever quantity of wood may\nbe cut off this true cross, its size never decreases. This is, however,\nsuch a clumsy and silly imposture, that the most superstitious may see\nthrough it. The most absurd stories are also told respecting the manner in\nwhich various pieces of the cross were conveyed to the places where they\nare now shown; thus, for instance, we are informed that they were brought\nby angels, or had fallen from heaven. By these means they seduce ignorant\npeople into idolatry, for they are not satisfied with deceiving the\ncredulous, by affirming that pieces of common wood are portions of the\ntrue cross, but they pretend that it should be worshipped, which is a\ndiabolical doctrine, expressly reproved by St Ambrose as a Pagan\nsuperstition.\n\nAfter the cross comes the inscription, “_Jesus of Nazareth, King of the\nJews_,” which was placed upon it by order of Pilate. The town of Toulouse\nclaims the possession of this relic, but this is contradicted by Rome,\nwhere it is shown in the Church of the Holy Cross. If these relics were\nproperly examined, it would be seen that the claims of both parties are\nequally absurd.\n\nThere is a still greater contradiction concerning the nails of the cross.\nI shall name those with which I am acquainted, and I think even a child\ncould see how the devil has been mocking the world by depriving it of the\npower of discernment on this point. If the ancient writers, such as the\necclesiastical historian Theodorite, tell the truth (_Historia\nTripartita_, lib. ii.), Helena caused one of the nails to be set in the\nhelmet of her son Constantine, and two others in the bridle of his horse.\nSt Ambrose, however, relates this differently, saying that one of the\nnails was set in the crown of Constantine, a second was converted into a\nbridle-bit for his horse, and the third was retained by Helena. Thus we\nsee that twelve hundred years ago there was a difference of opinion on\nthis subject, and how can we tell what has become of the nails since that\ntime? Now, they boast at Milan that they possess the nail which was in\nConstantine’s bridle; this claim is, however, opposed by the town of\nCarpentras. St Ambrose does not say that the nail was attached to the\nbridle, but that the bit was made from it,—a circumstance which does not\nagree with the claims of Milan or Carpentras. There is, moreover, one nail\nin the Church of St Helena at Rome, and another in that of the Holy Cross\nin the same city; there is a nail at Sienna, and another at Venice.\nGermany possesses two, at Cologne and Tréves. In France there is one in\nthe Holy Chapel at Paris, another in the same city at the church of the\nCarmelites, a third is at St Denis, a fourth at Bruges, a fifth at the\nabbey of Tenaille in the Saintonge, a sixth at Draguignau, the whole\nnumber making fourteen shown in different towns and countries.(132) Each\nplace exhibiting these nails produces certain proofs to establish the\ngenuineness of its relic, but all these claims may be placed on a par as\nequally absurd.\n\nThen follows the iron spear with which our Saviour’s side was pierced. It\ncould be but one, and yet by some extraordinary process it seems to have\nbeen multiplied into four; for there is one at Rome, one at the Holy\nChapel at Paris, one at the abbey of Tenaille in Saintonge, and one at\nSelve, near Bourdeaux.\n\nWith regard to the crown of thorns, one must believe that the slips of\nwhich it was plaited had been planted, and had produced an abundant\ngrowth, for otherwise it is impossible to understand how it could have\nincreased so much.\n\nA third part of this crown is preserved at the Holy Chapel at Paris, three\nthorns at the Church of the Holy Cross, and a number of them at St\nEustache in the same city; there are a good many of the thorns at Sienna,\none at Vicenza, four at Bourges, three at Besançon, three at Port Royal,\nand I do not know how many at Salvatierra in Spain, two at St James of\nCompostella, three at Albi, and one at least in the following\nplaces:—Toulouse, Macon, Charroux in Poitiers; at Cleri, St Flour, St\nMaximim in Provence, in the abbey of La Salle at St Martin of Noyon,\n&c.(133)\n\nIt must be observed, that the early church has made no mention of this\ncrown, consequently the root that produced all these relics must have\ngrown a long time after the passion of our Lord. With regard to the coat,\nwoven throughout without a seam, for which the soldiers at the cross cast\nlots, there is one to be seen at Argenteuil near Paris, and another at\nTréves in Germany.\n\nIt is now time to treat of the “_sudary_,” about which relic they have\ndisplayed their folly even more than in the affair of the holy coat; for\nbesides the sudary of Veronica, which is shown in the Church of St Peter\nat Rome, it is the boast of several towns that they each possess one, as\nfor instance Carcassone, Nice, Aix-la-Chapelle, Tréves, Besançon, without\nreckoning the _fragments_ to be seen in various places.(134)\n\nNow, I ask whether those persons were not bereft of their senses who could\ntake long pilgrimages, at much expense and fatigue, in order to see\nsheets, of the reality of which there were no reasons to believe, but many\nto doubt; for whoever admitted the reality of one of these sudaries shown\nin so many places, must have considered the rest as wicked impostures set\nup to deceive the public by the pretence that they were each the real\nsheet in which Christ’s body had been wrapped. But it is not only that the\nexhibitors of this one and the same relic give each other mutually the\nlie, they are (what is far more important) positively contradicted by the\nGospel. The evangelists who speak of all the women who followed our Lord\nto the place of crucifixion, make not the least mention of that Veronica\nwho wiped his face with a kerchief. It was in truth a most marvellous and\nremarkable event, worthy of being recorded, that the face of Jesus Christ\nwas then miraculously imprinted upon the cloth, a much more important\nthing to mention than the mere circumstance that certain women had\nfollowed Jesus Christ to the place of crucifixion without meeting with any\nmiracle; and, indeed, had such a miracle taken place, we might consider\nthe evangelists wanting in judgment in not relating the most important\nfacts.\n\nThe same observations are applicable to the tale of the sheet in which the\nbody of our Lord was wrapped. How is it possible that those sacred\nhistorians, who carefully related all the miracles that took place at\nChrist’s death, should have omitted to mention one so remarkable as the\nlikeness of the body of our Lord remaining on its wrapping sheet? This\nfact undoubtedly deserved to be recorded. St John, in his Gospel, relates\neven how St Peter, having entered the sepulchre, saw the linen clothes\nlying on one side, and the napkin that was about his head on the other;\nbut he does not say that there was a miraculous impression of our Lord’s\nfigure upon these clothes, and it is not to be imagined that he would have\nomitted to mention such a work of God if there had been any thing of this\nkind. Another point to be observed is, that the evangelists do not mention\nthat either of the disciples or the faithful women who came to the\nsepulchre had removed the clothes in question, but, on the contrary, their\naccount seems to imply that they were left there. Now, the sepulchre was\nguarded by soldiers, and consequently the clothes were in their power. Is\nit possible that they would have permitted the disciples to take them away\nas relics, since these very men had been bribed by the Pharisees to\nperjure themselves by saying that the disciples had stolen the body of our\nLord? I shall conclude with a convincing proof of the audacity of the\nPapists. Wherever the holy sudary is exhibited, they show a large sheet\nwith the full-length likeness of a human body on it. Now, St John’s\nGospel, chapter nineteenth, says that Christ was buried according to the\nmanner of the Jews; and what was their custom? This may be known by their\npresent custom on such occasions, as well as from their books, which\ndescribe the ancient ceremony of interment, which was to wrap the body in\na sheet, to the shoulders, and to cover the head with a separate cloth.\nThis is precisely how the evangelist described it, saying, that St Peter\nsaw on one side the clothes with which the body had been wrapped, and on\nthe other the napkin from about his head. In short, either St John is a\nliar, or all those who boast of possessing the holy sudary are convicted\nof falsehood and deceit.(135)\n\nIn the Church of St John of the Lateran at Rome, they show the reed which\nthe soldiers, mocking Christ in the house of Pilate, placed in his hand,\nand with which they afterwards smote him on the head. In the Church of the\nHoly Cross at Rome they show the sponge which was filled with vinegar, and\ngiven him to drink during his passion. Now, I would ask, how were these\nthings obtained? They must have been formerly in the hands of infidels.\nCould they have delivered them up to the apostles to be made relics of? or\ndid they preserve them themselves for future times?\n\nWhat a sacrilege to make use of the name of Jesus Christ in order to\ninvent such absurd fables!\n\nAnd what can we think of the pieces of silver received by Judas for\nbetraying our Saviour? The Gospel says that he returned this money to the\nchief priests, who bought with it the potter’s field for a burial-place\nfor strangers.\n\nBy what means were these pieces of silver obtained from the seller of that\nfield? It would be too absurd to maintain that this was done by the\ndisciples of Jesus Christ; and if we are told that they were found a long\ntime afterwards, it will be still less probable, as this money must have\npassed through many hands. It is therefore necessary to prove, that either\nthe person who sold his field did so for the purpose of obtaining the\nsilver pieces in order to make relics of them; or that he afterwards sold\nthem to the faithful. Nothing of this kind has ever been mentioned by the\nprimitive church.(136) To the same class of impositions belong the steps\nof Pilate’s tribunal, which are exhibited in the Church of St John of the\nLateran, as well as the column to which Christ was fastened during the\nflagellation, shown in the Church of St Prasedo in the same city, besides\ntwo other pillars, round which he was conducted on his way to Calvary.\nFrom whence these columns were taken it is impossible to conjecture. I\nonly know that the Gospel, in relating that Jesus Christ was scourged,\ndoes not mention that he was fastened to a column or post. It really\nappears as if these impostors had no other aim than to promulgate the most\nfallacious statements, and, indeed, they carried this to such a degree of\nextravagance, that they were not ashamed to make a relic of the tail of\nthe ass upon which our Lord entered into Jerusalem, which they show at\nGenoa.(137) One really cannot tell which is most wonderful,—the folly and\ncredulity of those who devoutly receive such mockeries, or the boldness of\nthose who put them forth.\n\nIt may be said that it is not likely all these relics should be preserved\nwithout some sort of correct history being kept of them. To this I reply\nthat such evident falsehoods can never bear the slightest resemblance to\ntruth, how much soever their claims may be supported by the names of\nConstantine, Louis IX., or of some popes; for they will never be able to\nprove that Christ was crucified with fourteen nails, or that a whole hedge\nwas used to plait his crown of thorns,—that the iron of the spear with\nwhich his side was pierced had given birth to three other similar pieces\nof iron,—that his coat was multiplied threefold,—and that from his single\nsudarium a number of others have issued, or that Jesus Christ was buried\nin a manner different from that described in the Gospels.\n\nNow, if I were to show a piece of lead, saying, “This piece of gold was\ngiven me by a certain prince,” I should be considered a madman, and my\nwords would not transmute the lead into gold.\n\nThus it is precisely when people say, “This thing was sent over by Godfrey\nde Bouillon after his conquest of Judea.” Our reason shows us that this is\nan evident lie. Are we then to be so much imposed upon by words as to\nresist the evidence of our senses?\n\nMoreover, in order to show how much reliance may be placed on the\nstatements which are given about these relics, we must remark that those\nconsidered the principal and most authentic at Rome have been, according\nto those accounts, brought thither by Vespasian and Titus. Now, this is\nsuch a clumsy fabrication,—they might just as well tell us that the Turks\nwent to Jerusalem in order to carry off the true cross to Constantinople!\n\nVespasian conquered and ravaged a part of Judea before he was elected\nemperor, and his son Titus completed that conquest by the capture and\ndestruction of Jerusalem. They were both Pagans, and had no more regard\nfor Christ than if he had never existed on earth. Consequently to maintain\nthat Vespasian and Titus carried off the above-mentioned relics to Rome,\nis even a more flagrant falsehood than the stories about Godfrey of\nBouillon and St Louis.\n\nMoreover, it is well known that the times of St Louis were very\nsuperstitious. That monarch would have accepted as a relic, and\nworshipped, any thing that was represented to him as having belonged to\nthe Holy Virgin; and, indeed, King Louis and other crusaders sacrificed\ntheir bodies and their goods, as well as a great portion of their\ncountry’s substance, merely to bring back with them heaps of foolish\ntrifles, having been taught to consider them as the most precious jewels\nof the world.\n\nIt must be here mentioned, that in Greece, Asia Minor, and other eastern\ncountries, people show, with full assurance, counterpart old rubbish,\nwhich those poor idolaters imagine they possess in their own country. How\nare we to judge between the two contending parties? One party says that\nthese relics were brought from the East; but the Christians now inhabiting\nthose lands maintain that the same relics are still in their possession,\nand they laugh at our pretensions. How can it be decided betwixt right and\nwrong without an inquiry, which will never take place? Methinks the best\nplan is to let the dispute rest as it is, without caring for either side\nof the question.\n\nThe last relics pertaining to Jesus Christ are those which relate to the\ntime after his resurrection,—as, for instance, a piece of broiled fish\nwhich St Peter presented to him on the sea-shore. This fish must have been\nstrongly spiced, and prepared in some extraordinary manner, to be\npreserved for so long a period. But, seriously, is it likely that the\napostles would have made a relic of a portion of the fish which they had\nprepared for their dinner? Indeed, I think that whoever will not perceive\nthis to be an open mockery of God, deserves not to be reasoned with.\n\nThere is also the miraculous blood which has flowed from several\nhosts,—as, for instance, in the Churches of St Jean-en-Greve at Paris, at\nSt Jean d’Angeli at Dijon, and in many other places. They show even the\npenknife with which the host at Paris was pierced by a Jew, and which the\npoor Parisians hold in as much reverence as the host itself. For this they\nwere well blamed by a Roman Catholic priest, who declared them to be worse\nthan the Jews, for worshipping the knife with which the precious body of\nChrist was pierced. I think we may apply this observation to the nails,\nthe spear, and the thorns; and consequently those who worship those\ninstruments used at our Lord’s crucifixion are more wicked than the Jews\nwho employed them for that purpose.\n\nThere are many other relics belonging to this period of our Lord’s\nhistory, but it would be tedious to enumerate them all. We shall therefore\npass them over, and say a few words respecting his images,—not the common\nones made by painters and carvers, but those considered as actual relics,\nand held in particular veneration. Some of these images are believed to\nhave been made in a miraculous manner, like those shown at Rome in the\nChurch of the blessed Virgin, in Portici, at St John of the Lateran, at\nLucca, and other places, and which they pretend were painted by angels. I\nthink it would be ridiculous to undertake a serious refutation of these\nabsurdities, the profession of angels not being that of painters, and our\nLord Jesus Christ desired to be known and remembered otherwise than by\ncarnal images.\n\nEusebius, it is true, relates, in his Ecclesiastical History, that our\nLord sent the likeness of his face to King Abgarus;(138) but the\nauthenticity of this account has no better proof than that of a fairy\ntale; yet, supposing it were true, how came this likeness to be found at\nRome (out of Abgarus’ possession), where people boast to have it now?\nEusebius does not mention where it was in his time, but he merely relates\nthe story as having happened a long time before he wrote; we must\ntherefore suppose that this image reappeared after a lapse of many\ncenturies, and came from Edessa to Rome.\n\nThey have forged not only images of Christ’s body, but also copies of the\ncross. Thus they pretend at Brescia to have the identical cross which\nappeared to the Emperor Constantine. This claim is, however, stoutly\nopposed by the town of Constance, whose inhabitants maintain that the\nabove-mentioned cross is preserved in their town, and not at Brescia.\n\nBut let us leave the contending parties to settle this point between\nthemselves, though it would be easy enough to show the absurdity of their\npretensions, because the cross which, according to some writers, appeared\nto Constantine, was not a material cross, but simply a vision.\n\nThere are several carved images, as well as paintings, of Jesus Christ to\nwhich many miracles are attributed. Thus the beard grows on the crucifixes\nof Salvatierra and Orange, and other images are said to shed tears. These\nthings are too absurd for serious refutation, and yet the deluded world is\nso infatuated that the majority put as much faith in these as in the\nGospels.\n\n_The Blessed Virgin._—The belief that the body of the Virgin was not\ninterred on earth, but was taken to heaven, has deprived them of all\npretext for manufacturing any relics of her remains, which otherwise might\nhave been sufficiently abundant to fill a whole churchyard;(139) yet in\norder to have at least something belonging to her, they sought to\nindemnify themselves for the absence of other relics with the possession\nof her hair and her milk. The hair is shown in several churches at Rome,\nand at Salvatierra in Spain, at Maçon, St Flour, Cluny, Nevers, and in\nmany other towns. With regard to the milk, there is not perhaps a town, a\nconvent, or nunnery, where it is not shown in large or small quantities.\nIndeed, had the Virgin been a wet-nurse her whole life, or a dairy, she\ncould not have produced more than is shown as hers in various parts.(140)\nHow they obtained all this milk they do not say, and it is superfluous\nhere to remark that there is no foundation in the Gospels for these\nfoolish and blasphemous extravagances.\n\nThe Virgin’s wardrobe has produced an abundant store of relics. There is a\nshirt of hers at Chartres, which has been fully celebrated as an idol, and\nthere is another at Aix-la-Chapelle.\n\nI do not know how these things could have been obtained, for it is certain\nthat the Apostles and first Christians were not such triflers as to amuse\nthemselves in this way. It is, however, sufficient for us to consider the\nshape of these articles of dress, in order clearly to see the impudence of\ntheir exhibitors. The shirt at Aix-la-Chapelle is a long clerical\nsurplice, shown hanging to a pole, and if the Blessed Virgin had been a\ngiantess, she would still have felt much inconvenience in wearing so large\na garment.\n\nIn the same church they preserve the shoes of St Joseph, which could only\nfit the foot of a little child or a dwarf. The proverb says that liars\nneed good memories, so as not to contradict their own sayings. This rule\nwas not followed out at Aix-la-Chapelle, otherwise care would have been\ntaken to maintain a better proportion of size between the shoes of the\nhusband and the shirt of the wife. And yet these relics, so devoid of all\nappearance of truth, are devoutly kissed and venerated by crowds!\n\nI know of only two of her head-dresses; one is at the abbey of St Maximian\nat Treves, and the other is at Lisio in Italy. They may be considered\nquite as genuine as the Virgin’s girdle at Prato and at Montserrat, as her\nslipper at St Jaqueme, and as her shoe at St Flour.\n\nNow, those who are at all conversant with this subject well know that it\nwas not the custom of the primitive church to collect shoes and stockings,\n&c., for relics, and also that for five hundred years after the death of\nthe Virgin Mary there was never any talk of such things. It really seems\nas if these well-known facts would be sufficient to prove the absurdity of\nall these relics of the Virgin; but her worshippers, not merely satisfied\nwith the articles I have just enumerated, endeavour to ascribe to her a\nlove of dress and finery. A comb of hers is shown in the church of St\nMartin at Rome, and another in that of St Jean-le-Grand at Besançon,\nbesides others that may be shown elsewhere. Now, if this be not a mockery\nof the Virgin, I do not know what that word implies. They have not\nforgotten her wedding-ring, which is shown at Perusa.\n\nAs it is now the custom for a husband to present his bride with a ring at\nthe marriage ceremony, they imagined it to be so in the time of the\nVirgin, and in her country, consequently, they show a splendid ring as the\none used at her wedding, forgetting the state of poverty in which she\nlived.\n\nRome possesses four of her gowns, in the churches of St John of the\nLateran, St Barbara, St Maria _supra Minervam_, and St Blasius; whilst at\nSalvatierra they boast of having fragments of a gown belonging to her.\n\nI have forgotten the names of other towns where similar relics are\nshown.(141)\n\nIt is sufficient to examine the materials of these vestments in order to\nsee the falsehood of their claims, for their exhibitors give to the Virgin\nthe same sort of robes with which they dress up her images.\n\nIt remains now to speak of her images—not of the common ones, of which\nthere are so many everywhere, but of those which are distinguished from\nthe rest by some particular claims. Thus at Rome there are four, which\nthey pretend were painted by St Luke the evangelist. The principal one is\nin the church of St Augustine, which they say St Luke had painted for his\nown use; he always carried it about his person, and it was buried with\nhim. Now, is it not a downright blasphemy to turn thus a holy evangelist\ninto a perfect idolater? And what reason had they for believing that St\nLuke was a painter? St Paul calls him a physician. I do not know from\nwhence they obtained this notion; but supposing it was so, is it possible\nto admit that he would have painted the Virgin for the same purpose as the\nPagans did a Jupiter, a Venus, or any other idol?\n\nIt was not the custom of the primitive Christians to have images, and it\nonly became so a long while afterwards, when the Church was corrupted by\nsuperstition. Moreover, the whole world is filled with representations of\nthe Blessed Virgin, which are said to have been painted by the same\nevangelist.(142)\n\nI shall not say any thing about St Joseph, whose shoes at Aix-la-Chapelle\nI have already mentioned, and whose other similar relics are preserved in\nmany places.(143)\n\nST MICHAEL.\n\nIt may be supposed that I am joking when I speak of the _relics of an\nangel_, considering how absurd and ridiculous it is to do so, yet,\nalthough the hypocrites certainly know this well, they have made use of\nthe name of St Michael to delude the ignorant and foolish; for they show\nat Carcassone his falchion, which looks like a child’s dagger, and his\nshield, which is no larger than the knob of a bridle. Is it possible for\nman or woman to exist who can believe such mockery?(144) It is indeed a\nblasphemy, under a garb of devotion, against God and his angels. The\nexhibitors of the above-mentioned relics endeavour to support their\nimposture by the testimony of Scripture that the archangel Michael\ncombated with Satan; but if he was conquered by the sword, it would at\nleast have been one of a different size and calibre than the toy to which\nI have alluded. People must, however, be very silly to believe that the\nwar waged by angels and the faithful against the devil is a carnal\nencounter, fought with material weapons. But as I said before, at the\ncommencement of this treatise, the world has rightly deserved to be led\nastray into such absurdities, for having lusted after idols, and\nworshipped them instead of the living God.\n\nST JOHN THE BAPTIST.\n\nProceeding in due order, we must now treat of St John the Baptist, who,\naccording to the evangelical history—_i.e._, God’s Word of Truth—was,\nafter being beheaded, buried by his disciples. Theodoret, the eminent\nchronicler of the Church, relates that his grave was at Sebaste, a town in\nSyria, and that some time after his burial the grave was opened by the\nPagans, who burnt his bones and scattered their ashes in the air. Eusebius\nadds, however, that some men from Jerusalem, who were present on the\noccasion, secretly took a little of these ashes and carried them to\nAntioch, where they were buried in a wall by Athanasius.\n\nWith regard to his head, Sosomen, another chronicler, relates that it was\ncarried to Constantinople by the Emperor Theodosius; therefore, according\nto these ancient historians, the whole body of John the Baptist was burnt\nwith the exception of his head, and the ashes were all lost excepting the\nsmall portion secretly taken away by the hermits of Jerusalem. Now, let us\nsee what remains of the head are extant.\n\nThe face is shown at Amiens, and the mask which is there exhibited has a\nmark above the eye, caused, they say, by the thrust of a knife, made by\nHerodias. Amiens’ claim to this relic is, however, disputed by the\ninhabitants of St John d’Angeli, who show another face of St John.\n\nWith regard to the rest of the head, its top, from the forehead to the\nback part, was at Rhodes, and I suppose must now be at Malta, at least the\nknights boast that the Turks had restored it to them. The back of the head\nis at St John’s Church at Nemours, the brains at Nogent le Rotrou, a part\nof the head is at St Jean Maximin, a jaw is at Besançon, a portion of a\njaw is at St John of the Lateran, and a part of the ear at St Flour in\nAuvergne. All this does not prevent Salvatierra from possessing the\nforehead and hair; at Noyon they have a lock of the hair, which is\nconsidered to be very authentic, as well as that at Lucca, and many other\nplaces.\n\nYet in order to complete this collection, we must go to the monastery of\nSt Sylvester at Rome, where the whole and real head of St John the Baptist\nwill be shown to us.\n\nPoets tell us a legend about a king of Spain who had three heads; if our\nmanufacturers of relics could say the same of St John the Baptist, it\nwould greatly assist their lies; but as such a fable does not exist, how\nare they to get out of this dilemma?(145)\n\nI shall not press them too hard by inquiring how could this head be so\ndivided and distributed, or how have they procured it from Constantinople?\nI shall merely observe, that either St John must have been a miracle, or\nthat those who possess so many parts of his head are a set of the most\naudacious cheats.\n\nWhat is more than this, they boast at Sienna of possessing an arm of that\nsaint, which is contrary, as we have already said, to the statements of\nall the ancient historians; and yet this fraud is not only suffered, but\neven approved of, for in the kingdom of Antichrist nothing is too bad\nwhich can serve to keep people in a state of superstition.\n\nAnother fable has been invented respecting St John the Baptist. When his\nbody was burnt, they say that the finger with which he had pointed out our\nLord Jesus Christ had remained whole and uninjured by the fire. Now this\nstory may easily be refuted by the ancient historians, because Eusebius\nand Theodoret distinctly state that the body had already become a skeleton\nwhen the Pagans burnt it; and they certainly would not have omitted the\nrelation of such a miracle in their histories if there had been any\nfoundation for it, having been but too eager to narrate such events even\nas are quite frivolous. But supposing that this miracle had really taken\nplace, let us seek where this finger is now to be found. There is one at\nBesançon in the Church of St John the Great, a second at Toulouse, a third\nat Lyons, a fourth at Florence, and a fifth at St Jean des Aventures, near\nMaçon. Now I request my readers to examine this subject, and to judge for\nthemselves whether they can believe, that whilst St John’s finger, which,\naccording to their own tradition, is the only remainder of his body, is at\nFlorence, five other fingers can be found in sundry other places, or, in\nshort, that six are one, and one is six. I speak, however, only of those\nthat have come to my knowledge; but I make no doubt, if a careful inquiry\nwere made, that one might discover half a dozen more of St John’s fingers,\nand many pieces of his head, besides those I have enumerated.(146)\n\nThere are many relics of another kind shown as having belonged to St John\nthe Baptist; as, for instance, one of his shoes is preserved in the Church\nof the Carthusians at Paris. It was stolen about twelve years ago; but it\nwas very soon replaced by that sort of miracle never likely to cease so\nlong as there are shoemakers in the world.\n\nAt St John of the Lateran, at Rome, they boast of having his haircloth\nmentioned in the Gospels. The Gospel speaks of his raiment of camel’s\nhair, but they endeavour to convert it into a horse-hair garment.(147)\n\nThey have also at the same church the altar before which he prayed in the\ndesert, as if altars were in those days erected on every occasion and in\nevery place. I wonder, indeed, that they have not ascribed to him the\nsaying of the mass.\n\nAt Avignon they show the sword with which he was beheaded, and at\nAix-la-Chapelle the sheet which was spread under him at that time. Is it\nnot absurd to suppose that the executioner would spread a sheet under one\nwhom he was about to kill?\n\nBut admitting that this should be the case, how have they obtained these\ntwo objects? Is it likely that the man who put him to death, whether a\nsoldier or executioner, should have given away his sword and the sheet we\nhave mentioned, in order to be converted into relics?\n\nST PETER AND ST PAUL.\n\nIt is now time to speak of the apostles, and I shall begin with St Peter\nand St Paul. Their bodies are at Rome; one part of them in the church of\nSt Peter, and the other in that of St Paul. We are told that St Sylvester\nweighed their bodies in order to divide them into equal parts. Both their\nheads are preserved also at Rome in St John of the Lateran. Besides the\ntwo bodies we have just mentioned, many of their bones are to be found\nelsewhere, as at Poitiers they have St Peter’s jaw and beard. At Treves\nthere are several bones of the two apostles. At Argenton in Berri they\nhave St Paul’s shoulder, and in almost every church dedicated to these\napostles there will be found some of their relics. At the commencement of\nthis treatise I mentioned that St Peter’s brains, which were shown in this\ntown (Geneva), were found on examination to be a piece of pumice stone,\nand I have no doubt that many of the bones considered to belong to these\ntwo apostles would turn out to be the bones of some animal.\n\nAt Salvatierra they have St Peter’s slipper. I do not know what shape it\nis, or of what material it is made; but I conclude it to be similar to the\nslippers of the same apostle shown at Poitiers, and which are made of\nsatin embroidered with gold. It would seem as if they had made him thus\nsmart after his death as a compensation for the poverty which he suffered\nduring his lifetime. Their bishops look now so showy in their pontificals,\nthat no doubt it would be thought derogatory to the apostles’ dignity if\nthey were not dressed out in the same style. They take, therefore, figures\nwhich they gild and ornament all over, and name them as St Peter or St\nPaul, forgetting that it is well known what was the condition of these\napostles whilst in this life, and that they wore the raiments of the poor.\n\nThey show also at Rome St Peter’s episcopal chair and his chasuble, as if\nthe bishops of that age had thrones to sit upon. The bishops then were\nengaged in teaching, consoling, and exhorting their flocks both in public\nand private, setting them an example of true humility, but not teaching\nthem to set up idols, as is done by those of our day. With regard to his\nchasuble, I must say that it was not then the custom to put on disguises,\nfor farces were not at that time performed in the churches as they are\nnow. Thus, to prove that St Peter had a chasuble, it is necessary to show\nin the first place that he had played the mountebank, as the priests do\nnow whenever they intend to serve God.\n\nIt is, however, no wonder that they have given him a chasuble since they\nhave assigned an altar to him, there being no more truthful foundation for\nthe one than for the other. It is well known what kind of mass was said at\nthat time. The apostles simply celebrated the Lord’s Supper, and this\nrequires no altar; but as to the celebration of the mass, it was then not\nheard of, nor was it practised for a long time afterwards.(148) It is,\ntherefore, evident that those who invented all these relics never expected\ncontradiction, or they would not have devised such audacious falsehoods.\nThe authenticity of St Peter’s altar at Rome (which I have just mentioned)\nis denied by Pisa, that town pretending to possess the real one. The least\nobjectionable of St Peter’s relics is undoubtedly his staff, it being most\nprobable that he had made use of one during his travels, but unfortunately\nthere are two of them at Cologne and Treves, each town claiming exclusive\npossession of the identical one.(149)\n\nTHE OTHER APOSTLES.\n\nWe shall speak of the rest of the apostles together, in order to get\nquicker over the matter, and we will relate, in the first place, where\ntheir whole bodies are to be found, that our readers, by comparison, may\nbe able to form their own opinions on the subject. All know that the town\nof Toulouse boasts of possessing the bodies of six, namely, St James the\nMajor (brother of St John), St Andrew, St James the Minor, St Philip, St\nSimeon, and St Jude. At Padua they have the body of St Matthias, at\nSalerno that of St Matthew, at Orconna that of St Thomas, in the kingdom\nof Naples that of St Bartholomew.\n\nNow, let us reckon up those apostles who possess two or three bodies. St\nAndrew has a duplicate at Amalfi, St Philip and St James the Minor both\nhave duplicates at Rome, _ad sanctos Apostolos_, St Simeon and St Jude the\nsame in St Peter’s Church. St Bartholomew enjoys an equal privilege at\nRome, in the church bearing his name. Here we have enumerated six of them,\neach provided with two bodies, and St Bartholomew has an additional skin\ninto the bargain, which is shown at Pisa.(150) St Matthew, however,\noutrivals them all, for besides the body at Padua, which we have before\nmentioned, he has another at Rome in the church of St Maria Maggiore, a\nthird at Treves, and an additional arm at Rome.(151)\n\nIt is true that the bits and scraps of St Andrew’s body, scattered in\nvarious places, counterbalance, in some measure, the superiority of St\nMatthias; for he has at Rome, in St Peter’s Church, a head, and a shoulder\nin that of St Chrysostom, an arm at St Esprit, a rib at St Eustache, I do\nnot know how many bones at St Blaise, and a foot at Aix in Provence.\n\nNow, as St Bartholomew has left his skin at Pisa, so he has left there a\nhand; at Treves he has also some bones, of which I forget the number; at\nFrejus a finger, and at Rome there are other of his bones; so that, after\nall, he is not the poorest of the apostles, others not having such a\nnumber of relics. St Matthew and St Thomas are the poorest of all. The\nfirst has only, besides his body at Salerno, which we have mentioned, some\nbones at Treves, an arm in the church of St Maria at Rome, and in that of\nSt Nicolas his head; though it may be that other of his relics may have\nescaped my knowledge, which would be no wonder, for who is not confused\nwith this ocean of impostures?(152)\n\nAs they pretend, in their tales, that the body of St John the Evangelist\ndisappeared immediately after it was deposited in the grave, so they\ncannot produce any of his bones, and they therefore sought for a\ncompensation amongst his clothing, &c. Thus they show at Bologna the cup\nfrom which he was forced to drink poison by order of the Emperor Domitian.\nProbably owing to some wonderful process of alchemy, the same cup exists\nalso in the church of St John of the Lateran at Rome.\n\nThey have also his coat, and the chain with which he was bound when\nbrought from Ephesus to Rome, as well as the oratory at which he used to\npray when in prison.(153)\n\nST ANNA.\n\nWe must now hurry on, or we shall never quit this labyrinth. We will,\ntherefore, only briefly mention the relics of those saints who were our\nLord’s contemporaries, and then proceed to those of the martyrs, &c.,\nleaving our readers to form their own conclusions from these brief\nsketches.\n\nSt Anne, the mother of the Blessed Virgin, has a whole body at Apt in\nProvence, and another at Notre Dame de l’Isle at Lyons. She has a head at\nTreves also, a second at Duren near Cologne, and a third at a town called\nafter her name in Thuringhia. I shall not speak of her other relics shown\nin more than a hundred different places. I remember that I myself kissed\none of her relics, kept at the abbey of Orcamps near Noyon, on the\noccasion of a grand festival held in its honour.\n\nLAZARUS, MARY MAGDALENE, ETC.\n\nLazarus has, to my knowledge, three bodies, at Marseilles, Autun, and\nAvalon. A protracted lawsuit took place between the two last-named towns\nconcerning the validity of their respective claims to the possession of\nthe real body of this saint. Yet after an immense expense, both parties\nmay be said to have gained their suit, for neither forfeited its title to\nownership. With regard to Mary Magdalene, she owns but two bodies, one at\nAuxerre, and another of very great celebrity, with its head detached, at\nSt Maximin, in Provence.\n\nOf their numerous relics scattered over the world I shall not speak. I\nwould merely inquire whether Lazarus and his sisters ever went to preach\nin France; for those who have read the accounts given by ancient\nhistorians of those times cannot fail to be convinced of the folly of this\nfable.(154)\n\nST LONGINUS, AND THE THREE WISE MEN, OR KINGS.\n\nThe individual who pierced the side of our Lord on the cross has been\ncanonised under the name of St Longinus, and after having thus baptized\nhim, they have bestowed upon him two bodies, one of which is at Mantua,\nand the other at Notre Dame de l’Isle at Lyons.(155)\n\nThe same has been done with the wise men who came to worship our Lord at\nthe nativity. In the first place they settled their number, telling us\nthat there were three. Now the Gospel does not mention how many were\npresent, and some eminent ecclesiastical writers have maintained their\nnumber to have been fourteen, as mentioned for instance in that imperfect\ncommentary on St Matthew which is ascribed to Chrysostom.\n\nMoreover, the _Gospel_ calls them _wise men_, but they have elevated them\nto the dignity of kings, without bestowing on them, however, either\nkingdoms or subjects. Finally, they have been baptized under the names of\nBalthazar, Melchior, and Gaspar. Now, supposing we concede to them these\nfables, frivolous as they are, it is certain that the wise men returned to\nthe east, for the Gospel informs us of this, and we may conclude that they\ndied in their native land, there being no reason for thinking otherwise.\nNow, who transferred their bodies to the west, for the purpose of\npreserving them as relics? It would be quite ridiculous, however, for me\nto attempt seriously to refute such a palpable imposture. Let Cologne and\nMilan, both of which towns pretend to possess relics of these _wise men_,\nor _kings_, decide this question between themselves.(156)\n\nST DIONYSIUS.\n\nSt Dionysius is considered to be one of the most celebrated of ancient\nmartyrs, as a disciple of the apostles, and as the Evangelist of France.\nOccupying such high rank, it is therefore very natural that his relics\nshould be so liberally dispersed; his whole bodies are, however, only\npreserved at the Abbey of St Dénis in France, and at Ratisbon in Germany.\nAbout a century ago Ratisbon instituted a lawsuit at Rome to prove that\nthe body in its possession was truly that of the saint, and the justice of\nthe claim was established by a decision of the Papal Court, delivered in\nthe presence of the French Ambassador. And yet, any one so bold as to dare\nto assert at St Dénis that theirs was not the real body would run the risk\nof being stoned for blasphemy; whilst those who oppose the claim of\nRatisbon are considered as heretics, rebellious to the decision of the\nHoly See.(157)\n\nST STEPHEN.\n\nThe whole body of St Stephen is at Rome, his head is at Arles, and his\nbones are in more than three hundred places; and the Papists, as if to\nshow themselves to be the partisans of those who murdered him, have\ncanonized the stones with which he was killed.\n\nIt may be asked how these stones were obtained, but to my mind this would\nbe a foolish question, as stones may be picked up anywhere, without\nincurring any trouble or expense in their transport. These stones are\nshown at Florence, at the convent of the Augustine monks at Arles, and at\nVigan in Languedoc, &c.\n\nWhoever will close his eyes and allow his understanding to be set aside,\nmay believe that these are the identical stones with which St Stephen\nsuffered martyrdom, but whoever will exert his reason a little cannot but\nlaugh at this imposition. The Carmelite monks of Poitiers discovered some\nof these stones only fourteen years ago, to which they ascribed the virtue\nof assisting women in the pains of travail; but the Dominican monks, from\nwhom a rib of St Margarita which possessed the same virtue had been\nstolen, were very indignant, and raised a great outcry at the deception\npractised by the Carmelites, but the latter gained the body by firmly\nmaintaining their rights.\n\nTHE HOLY INNOCENTS.\n\nIt was not at first my intention to mention the Holy Innocents, for if I\nwere to enumerate a whole army of their relics, it might always be said to\nme in reply that history is not contradicted by that, as their number has\nnever been mentioned to us. I shall not dwell, therefore, upon their\nmultitude, merely observing that they are to be found in every part of the\nworld. I would ask, however, how it came to pass that their graves were\ndiscovered so long after their massacre, since they were not considered as\nsaints when their murder by Herod took place? And then, how were these\nnumerous bodies conveyed to the many places where they are now to be seen?\nTo these questions but one answer can be given—“All this occurred five or\nsix hundred years after their death.” How can any but idiots believe such\nthings?\n\nBut supposing even that some of their bodies had really been discovered,\nhow came so large a number of them to be transported to France, Italy, and\nGermany, and to be distributed amongst so many towns situated so far\napart? This can only be a _wholesale_ deception.\n\nST GERVASIUS AND ST PROTASIUS.\n\nThe sepulchres of these two saints were discovered at Milan in the time of\nSt Ambrose, as testified by him. This fact is confirmed also by the\nevidence of St Jerome, St Augustine, and several others; consequently\nMilan maintains its possession of the real bodies of these saints.\nNevertheless, they are likewise to be seen at Brissach in Germany, and in\nthe Church of St Peter at Besançon, besides an immense number of different\nparts of their bodies scattered throughout the land, so that each of them\nmust have had at least four bodies.\n\nST SEBASTIAN.\n\nThis saint, from the wonderful power his remains possessed of curing the\nplague, was put into requisition and more sought after than many of his\nbrother saints, and no doubt this popularity was the cause of his body\nbeing quadrupled. One body is in the church of St Lawrence at Rome; a\nsecond is at Soissons; the third at Piligny, near Nantes, and the fourth\nat his birth-place, near Narbonne. Besides these, he has two heads at St\nPeter’s at Rome, and at the Dominican church at Toulouse. The heads are,\nhowever, empty, if we are to believe the Franciscan monks of Angers, as\nthey pretend to possess the saint’s brains. The Dominicans of Angers\npossess one of his arms, another is at St Sternin, at Toulouse, a third at\nCase Dieu in Auvergne, and a fourth at Montbrisson. We will pass over the\nsmall fragments of his body, which may be seen in so many churches. They\ndid not rest satisfied with this multiplication of his body and separate\nlimbs, but they converted into relics the arrows with which he was killed.\nOne of these is shown at Lambesc in Provence, another is in the Augustine\nconvent at Poitiers, and there are many others in different towns.\n\nST ANTHONY.\n\nA similar reason has bestowed on St Anthony the advantage of\nmultiplication of his remains, he being considered as an irrascible saint,\nburning up all those who incur his displeasure; and this belief caused him\nto be dreaded and reverenced. Fear creating devotion, and producing also a\nuniversal desire to possess his relics, on account of the profits and\nadvantages to be derived therefrom, Arles therefore had a long and severe\ncontest with Vienne (in France) respecting the validity of the bodies of\nthis saint possessed by each of these towns.\n\nThe issue was the same as in other similar disputes, _i.e._, matters\nremained in the same state of confusion as before; for if the truth had\nbeen established, both parties would have lost their cause.\n\nBesides these two bodies, St Anthony has a knee in the Church of the\nAugustines at Albi, and several other limbs at Bourg, Maçon, Ouroux,\nChalons, Besançon, &c.\n\nSuch are the advantages of being an object of dread and fear, otherwise\nthis saint might possibly have been permitted to remain quietly in his\ngrave.(158)\n\nST PETRONILLA—ST HELENA—ST URSULA—AND THE ELEVEN THOUSAND VIRGINS.\n\nI must not forget to mention St Petronilla, St Peter’s daughter, who has a\nwhole body at Rome, in the church dedicated to her father, besides other\nrelics in that of St Barbara. This does not, however, prevent her from\nowning another body in the Dominican convent at Mans, which is greatly\nvenerated for the virtue it possesses of curing fevers. St Helena has not\nbeen so liberally provided for. Besides her body at Venice, she has but an\nextra head in the Church of St Gereon at Cologne.(159) St Ursula beats her\nhollow in this respect; for she has a whole body at St Jean d’Angely, and\na head into the bargain at Cologne, besides three separate limbs, and\nvarious fragments at Mans, Tours, and Bergerat. The companions of this\nsaint are called _the eleven thousand virgins_, and although this is a\nrespectable number, yet it is still too small, considering that the\nremains of these virgins are to be seen everywhere; for besides there\nbeing about one hundred cart-loads of their bones at Cologne, there is\nhardly a town where one or more churches have not some relics of these\nnumerous saints.(160)\n\nIf I was to enumerate all the minor saints I should enter a labyrinth\nwithout possibility of egress. I shall, therefore, rest satisfied with\ngiving a few examples, leaving my readers to judge from these of the rest.\nFor instance, there are two churches at Poitiers, one attached to the\nconvent of Selle, and the other dedicated to the saint in question,\nbetween which a great dispute has been going on as to the possession of\nthe real body of St Hilarion.\n\nThe lawsuit upon this point has been suspended for an indefinite time, and\nmeanwhile the idolaters worship two bodies of one and the same individual.\n\nSt Honoratus has a body at Arles, and another at the island of Lerins,\nnear Antibes.\n\nSt Giles has a body at Toulouse, and a second in a town bearing his name\nin Languedoc.\n\nI could quote an infinite number of similar cases. I think that the\nexhibitors of these relics should at least have made some arrangement\namongst themselves the better to conceal their barefaced impostures.\nSomething of this sort was managed between the canons of Trêves and those\nof Liége about St Lambert’s head. They compounded, for a sum of money, not\nto show publicly the head in their possession, in order to avoid the\nnatural surprise of the public at the same relic being seen in two\ndifferent towns situated so near to each other. But, as I have already\nremarked at the commencement of this treatise, the inventors of these\nfrauds never imagined any one could be found bold enough to speak out and\nexpose their deceptions.\n\nIt may be asked, how it came to pass that these manufacturers of relics,\nhaving collected and forged without any reason all that their imaginations\ncould fancy in any way, could have omitted subjects pertaining to the Old\nTestament?\n\nThe only reply I can give to this query is, that they looked with contempt\non those subjects, from which they did not anticipate any considerable\ngain.\n\nStill they have not entirely despised them, for they pretend to have the\nbones of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the church of _St Maria supra\nMinervam_, at Rome. They also boast of possessing, at St John of the\nLateran, the ark of alliance, with Aaron’s rod, though the same rod is\nalso at the Holy Chapel in Paris, whilst some pieces of it are preserved\nat Salvatierra. Moreover, at Bordeaux they maintain that St Martial’s rod,\nwhich is exhibited in the church of St Severin, is no other than that of\nAaron. It seems, indeed, that they would wish with this rod to perform\nanother miracle; formerly it was turned into a serpent, whereas now they\nwould convert it into three different rods! It is very likely that they\nmay have other relics of objects mentioned in the Old Testament, but the\nfew we have here alluded to show that they have treated them much in the\nsame style as those belonging to Christian times.\n\nI now beg to remind my readers of what I mentioned at the beginning of\nthis work, that I have had no commissioners for visiting the numerous\nchurches of the different countries enumerated by me, nor must my\ndescription be taken for a register or inventory of all that can be\ndiscovered respecting relics. I have mentioned about half-a-dozen towns in\nGermany, but three in Spain I think, about fifteen in Italy, and between\nthirty and forty in France, and even of these few examples I have not\nrelated all that I might concerning them. Now, let us only imagine what a\nmass might be raised out of all the relics which are to be seen in\nChristendom, if they were collected and arranged together in proper order.\nI speak, however, only of those countries which we know and frequent; for\nit is most important to observe that all the relics belonging to Christ\nand the apostles which are displayed in the west are also to be seen in\nGreece, Asia, and all other countries where Christian Churches are in\nexistence. Now, what are we to say when the Eastern Christians assert\ntheir claims?\n\nIf we contradict them, alleging on our part that the body of such a saint\nwas brought to Europe by merchants, that of another by monks, that of a\nthird by a bishop, that a part of the crown of thorns was sent to a king\nof France by an emperor of Constantinople, and another part was carried\noff in time of war, and so on of every object of the kind, they would\nshake their heads, and laugh at us! How are such differences to be\nsettled? In every doubtful case we can only judge by conjecture, and, in\nfollowing this out, the adherents of the Eastern Churches are sure of\nsuccess, because their claims are more probable than those of their\nopponents. It is indeed a difficult point for the defenders of relics to\nsettle.\n\nFinally, I beseech and exhort, in the name of God, all my readers to\nlisten to the truth now clearly displayed before them, and to believe\nthat, by God’s especial providence, those who have endeavoured thus to\nlead mankind astray have been rendered so blind and careless as to neglect\na proper concealment of their deceptions, but that, like Midianites having\ntheir eyes put out, they run one against another, for we all know that\nthey quarrel amongst themselves, and mutually injure each other. Whoever\nis not wilfully prejudiced against all reason must certainly be convinced\nthat the worship of relics, whether true or false, is an abominable\nidolatry; yet should not this even be the case with him, he must\nnevertheless perceive the evident imposture, and whatever may have been\nhis former devotion to relics, he must lose all courage in kissing such\nobjects, and become entirely disgusted with them.\n\nI repeat what I said at the commencement of this treatise, that it would\nbe most important to abolish from amongst us Christians this pagan\nsuperstition of canonising relics, either of Christ or of his saints, in\norder to make idols of them; for this is a defilement and an impurity\nwhich should never be suffered in the Church. We have already proved that\nit is so by arguments, and also from the evidence of Scripture. Let those\nwho are not yet satisfied look to the practices of the ancient fathers,\nand conform to their examples. There are many holy patriarchs, many\nprophets, many holy kings, and other saints mentioned in the Old\nTestament. God ordained at that time the observance of more ceremonies\nthan are needed now. Even funerals were performed then with more display\nthan at present, in order to represent symbolically the glorious\nresurrection, especially as it had not then been so clearly revealed by\nthe Word of God as it is to ourselves.\n\nDo we ever read in that book that these saints were taken from their\nsepulchres as idols? Was Abraham, the father of the faithful, ever thus\nraised? Was Sarah ever removed from her grave? Were they not left in\npeace, with the remains of all other saints? But what is more conclusive,\nwas not the body of Moses concealed by God’s will, in such a manner that\nit never has been or can be discovered? Has not the devil contended\nconcerning it with the angels, as St Jude says? Now, what was our Lord’s\nreason for removing that body from the sight of men, and why should the\ndevil desire to have it exhibited to them? It is generally admitted that\nGod wished to put away from his people of Israel all temptation to commit\nidolatry, and that Satan desired its introduction amongst them.\n\nIt may be said, however, that the Israelites were inclined to\nsuperstition. I ask, how stands the case now with ourselves? Is there not,\nwithout comparison, more perversity in this respect amongst Christians\nthan there ever was amongst the Jews of old?\n\nLet us call to mind the practice of the early church. It is true that the\nfirst Christians were always anxious to get possession of the bodies of\nthe martyrs, lest they might be devoured by beasts or birds of prey, and\ndecently to bury them, as we read was the case with the bodies of St John\nthe Baptist and St Stephen. This solicitude was shown, however, in order\nto inter them in their graves, and there to leave them until the day of\nthe resurrection; but they did not expose these remains to the sight of\nmen for their adoration.\n\nThe unfortunate custom of canonising saints was not introduced into the\nChurch until it had become perverted and profaned, partly by the folly and\ncupidity of its prelates and pastors, and partly because they were unable\nto restrain this innovation, as people were seeking to deceive themselves\nby giving their hearts to puerile follies, instead of to the true worship\nof God. If we wish, in a direct manner, to correct this abuse, it is\nnecessary to abolish entirely what has been so badly commenced and\nestablished against all reason. But if it is impossible to arrive at once\nat such a clear comprehension of this abuse, let people at least have\ntheir eyes opened to discern what the relics are which are presented for\ntheir adoration.\n\nThis is indeed no difficulty for those who will only exercise their\nreason, for amongst the numerous evident impostures we have here\nmentioned, where may we find one real relic of which we may feel certain\nthat it is such as is represented?\n\nMoreover, all those that I have enumerated are nothing comparatively to\nthe remainder yet untold by me. Even whilst this treatise is in the press,\nI have been informed of many relics not mentioned in it; and if a general\nvisitation of all existing relics were possible, a hundredfold more\ndiscoveries would be made.\n\nI remember when I was a little boy what took place in our parish. On the\nfestival day of St Stephen, the images of the tyrants who stoned him (for\nthey are thus called by the common people) were adorned as much as that of\nthe saint himself. Many women, seeing these tyrants thus decked out,\nmistook them for the saint’s companions, and offered the homage of candles\nto each of them. Mistakes of this kind must frequently happen to the\nworshippers of relics, for there is such confusion amongst them that it is\nquite impossible to worship the bones of a martyr without danger of\nrendering such honours by mistake to the bones of some brigand or thief,\nor even to those of a horse, a dog, or a donkey.\n\nAnd it is equally impossible to adore the ring, the comb, the girdle of\nthe Virgin Mary, without the risk of adoring instead objects which may\nhave belonged to some abandoned person.\n\nNow, those who fall into this error must do so willingly, as no one can\nfrom henceforth plead ignorance on the subject as their excuse.(161)\n\n\n\n\n\nPOSTSCRIPT.\n\n\nThe following extract from the _Ecclesiastical Gazette_ of Vienna has been\nreproduced in an Extraordinary Supplement of the _Allgemeine Zeitung_, of\nAugsburg, for the 11th May 1854. I subjoin a translation of it in a\npostscript, as an additional evidence of the persecution to which the\nGreek Church united with Rome has been subjected in Russia, and which I\nmentioned on page 161 of this work:—\n\n\n    “Spies appointed for this especial purpose transmitted, in their\n    reports to the Government, lists of such individuals as were\n    suspected to be Catholics at heart; and if all the exaggerated\n    accounts which had been made of the Spanish Inquisition were true,\n    they would be thrown into the shade by the proceedings that were\n    adopted against the above-mentioned individuals. And indeed it is\n    an averred fact, that many of them fell a victim to starvation,\n    blows, and other cruel treatment. The Catholic inhabitants of\n    Worodzkow were forced with stripes, by the Governor and his\n    satellites, to sign a _voluntary_ petition, expressing their\n    ardent wish to be received into the pale of the orthodox Russian\n    Church. The names of those who could not write were signed by\n    others, and whoever showed the slightest manifestation of his\n    desire to remain a Catholic, after having performed this\n    _voluntary_ act, was treated as one guilty of high treason. The\n    same proceedings as at Worodzkow were adopted in a hundred other\n    places, whose _voluntary_ petitions were obtained with bloody\n    stripes of the knout. The unfortunate petitioners were, in order\n    to perform this operation, dragged from their homes, sometimes to\n    a distance of 18 or 20 versts (1-½ verst to an English mile), and\n    those who steadfastly refused to sign were treated by the Russian\n    papas with the utmost cruelty and indignity. They were put into\n    irons, barred up in cold prisons without any fire, starved, thrown\n    into large tubs filled with an icy and stinking water, and most\n    mercilessly beaten, so that many, in order to escape from such\n    torments, signed the _voluntary_ petition, with hearts as bleeding\n    as their bodies. Many succumbed under these fearful persecutions,\n    which were not much inferior to that which the Christians had\n    suffered under the reign of Diocletian. The Papa Stratanovich\n    extorted the signatures made by the feverishly agitated hands of\n    the clerical victims, whilst his lay associate, Waimainich\n    Zokalinski, performed the same charitable office to other\n    unfortunate individuals. Some of these miserable persons were\n    reduced by starvation and every kind of ill-treatment to such a\n    condition, that they were almost unconscious of what they did in\n    signing the _voluntary_ petitions for the reception into the pale\n    of the Russian Church, all of which were obtained by more or less\n    similar means.\n\n    “It appears from a great mass of documentary evidence, containing\n    the names of localities and persons, that the proselytism of 1841\n    was carried out in the following manner:—Military authorities, and\n    Russian papas or priests, visited Catholic villages, and having\n    called together the Catholic peasantry and landowners of the\n    neighbourhood, declared that they must join the Russian Church,\n    throwing into prison those who resisted the summons. In the most\n    part of cases, a petition for this object was signed by some hired\n    wretches in the name of all the community, of whom many often knew\n    nothing about this business, but when they behaved as Catholics,\n    they were punished, as guilty of high treason.”\n\n\nThe _Allgemeine Zeitung_ states, in giving this extract from the\n_Ecclesiastical Gazette_ of Vienna, that this periodical contains many\nwell-authenticated cases of religious persecution against the Roman\nCatholics of Russia; and I have little doubt that if the Protestants of\nWestern Europe had taken as much pains to ascertain and denounce the\npersecution of their brethren in the Baltic provinces of Russia, which I\nhave mentioned on p. 162, as is done, be it said to their great honour, by\nthe Roman Catholics, they would find many acts of persecution directed\nagainst the above-mentioned Protestants, as flagrant as those which have\njust been described.\n\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF WORKS PUBLISHED BY JOHNSTONE, HUNTER, & CO., EDINBURGH.\n\n\nMAGAZINES:—\n\n*The Christian Treasury*; Containing Contributions from Ministers and\nMembers of various Evangelical Denominations. Edited by HORATIUS BONAR,\nD.D. Super royal 8vo. Monthly Parts, £0  0  6. Weekly Numbers, 0  0  1.\n\n*The Children’s Hour*; A Monthly Magazine for our Young Folks. Edited by\nM. H., Author of “Rosa Lindesay,” etc. Crown 8vo. Beautifully Illustrated,\n0 0 3.\n\n*The Reformed Presbyterian Magazine*; Containing Home and Missionary\nIntelligence relating to the Reformed Presbyterian Church in Scotland.\nDemy 8vo. Monthly, 0  0  4.\n\nJ. H. & CO.’S SIXPENNY SERIES.\n\nSuper royal 32mo, cloth limp. Illustrated.\n\n1. JEANIE HAY, THE CHEERFUL GIVER. And other Tales.\n\n2. LILY RAMSAY; OR HANDSOME IS WHO HANDSOME DOES. And other Tales.\n\n3. ARCHIE DOUGLAS; OR, WHERE THERE’S A WILL THERE’S A WAY. And other.\n\n4. MINNIE AND LETTY; OR, THE EXPECTED ARRIVAL. And other Tales.\n\n5. NED FAIRLIE AND HIS RICH UNCLE. And other Tales.\n\n6. MR GRANVILLE’S JOURNEY. And other Tales.\n\n7. JAMIE WILSON’S ADVENTURES. And other Tales.\n\n8. THE TWO FRIENDS. And other Tales.\n\n9. THE TURNIP LANTERN. And other Tales.\n\n10. JOHN BUTLER; OR, THE BLIND MAN’S DOG. And other Tales.\n\n11. CHRISTFRIED’S FIRST JOURNEY. And other Tales.\n\n12. KATIE WATSON, THE CONTENTED LACEMAKER. And other Tales.\n\n13. BIDDY, THE MAID OF ALL WORK.\n\n14. MAGGIE MORRIS: A TALE OF THE DEVONSHIRE MOOR.\n\nJ. H. & CO.’S SHILLING PACKETS OF REWARD BOOKS.\n\nSuper Royal 32mo, in Illuminated Covers.\n\n1. SHORT TALES TO EXPLAIN HOMELY PROVERBS. By M. H. A Series of Twelve\nPenny Books. Illustrated.\n\n2. SHORT STORIES TO EXPLAIN BIBLE TEXTS. By M. H. A Series of Twelve Penny\nBooks. Illustrated.\n\n3. WISE SAYINGS, AND STORIES TO EXPLAIN THEM. By M. H. A Series of Twelve\nPenny Books. Illustrated.\n\n4. LITTLE TALES FOR LITTLE PEOPLE. A Series of Six Twopenny Books.\nIllustrated.\n\n*J. H. & CO.’S ONE SHILLING SERIES.*\n\nSuper royal 32mo, extra cloth, bevelled boards, Illustrated.\n\n1. THE STORY OF A RED VELVET BIBLE. By M. H.\n\n2. ALICE LOWTHER; OR, GRANDMAMMA’S STORY ABOUT HER LITTLE RED BIBLE. By J.\nW. C.\n\n3. NOTHING TO DO; OR, THE INFLUENCE OF A LIFE. By M. H.\n\n4. ALFRED AND THE LITTLE DOVE. By the Rev. F. A. Krummacher, D.D. And THE\nYOUNG SAVOYARD. By Ernest Hold.\n\n5. MARY M’NEILL; OR, THE WORD REMEMBERED. A Tale of Humble Life. By J. W.\nC.\n\n6. HENRY MORGAN; OR, THE SOWER AND THE SEED. By M. H.\n\n7. WITLESS WILLIE, THE IDIOT BOY. _By the Author of __“__Mary\nMatheson,__”__ etc_.\n\n8. MARY MANSFIELD; OR, NO TIME TO BE A CHRISTIAN. By M. H.\n\n9. FRANK FIELDING; OR, DEBTS AND DIFFICULTIES. By Agnes Veitch.\n\n10. TALES FOR “THE CHILDREN’S HOUR.” By M. M. C.\n\n11. THE LITTLE CAPTAIN: a Tale of the Sea. By Mrs George Cupples.\n\n12. GOTTFRIED OF THE IRON HAND: a Tale of German Chivalry.\n\n13. ARTHUR FORTESCUE; OR, THE SCHOOLBOY HERO. By Robert Hope Moncrieff.\n\n14. THE SANGREAL; OR, THE HIDDEN TREASURE. By M. H.\n\n15. COCKERILL THE CONJURER; OR, THE BRAVE BOY OF HAMELN.\n\n16. JOTTINGS FROM THE DIARY OF THE SUN. By M. H.\n\n17. DOWN AMONG THE WATER WEEDS. By Mona B. Bickerstaffe.\n\nJ. H. & CO.’S EIGHTEENPENCE SERIES.\n\nSuper royal 32mo, extra cloth, richly gilt sides and edges, Illustrated.\n\n1. SHORT TALES TO EXPLAIN HOMELY PROVERBS. By M. H.\n\n2. SHORT STORIES TO EXPLAIN BIBLE TEXTS. By M. H.\n\n3. ALFRED AND THE LITTLE DOVE. By the Rev. F. A. Krummacher, D.D. And\nWITLESS WILLIE, THE IDIOT BOY. By the Author of “Mary Matheson,” etc.\n\n4. THE STORY OF A RED VELVET BIBLE: and HENRY MORGAN; OR, THE SOWER AND\nTHE SEED. By M. H., Editor of “The Children’s Hour.”\n\n5. ARTHUR FORTESCUE; OR, THE SCHOOLBOY HERO. By Robert Hope Moncrieff. And\nFRANK FIELDING; OR, DEBTS AND DIFFICULTIES. By Agnes Veitch.\n\n6. MARY M’NEILL; OR, THE WORD REMEMBERED. By J. W. C. And other Tales.\n\n7. ALICE LOWTHER; OR, GRANDMAMMA’S STORY ABOUT HER LITTLE RED BIBLE. By J.\nW. C. And other Tales.\n\n8. NOTHING TO DO; OR, THE INFLUENCE OF A LIFE: and MARY MANSFIELD; OR, NO\nTIME TO BE A CHRISTIAN. By M. H.\n\n9. BILL MARLIN’S TALES OF THE SEA. By Mrs George Cupples.\n\n10. GOTTFRIED OF THE IRON HAND. And other Tales.\n\n11. THE STORY OF THE KIRK: a Sketch of Scottish Church History. By Robert\nNaismith.\n\n12. THE HIDDEN TREASURE. And other Tales. By M. H.\n\n13. LITTLE TALES FOR LITTLE PEOPLE. By Various Authors.\n\n14. WISE SAYINGS, AND STORIES TO EXPLAIN THEM. By M. H.\n\n*J. H. & CO.’S HALF-CROWN SERIES.*\n\nExtra fcap. 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth.\n\n1. ROSA LINDESAY, THE LIGHT OF KILMAIN. By M. H. Illustrated.\n\n2. NEWLYN HOUSE, THE HOME OF THE DAVENPORTS. By A. E. W. Illustrated.\n\n3. ALICE THORNE; OR, A SISTER’S WORK. Illustrated.\n\n4. LABOURERS IN THE VINEYARD. By M. H. Illustrated.\n\n5. THE CHILDREN OF THE GREAT KING. By M. H. Illustrated.\n\n6. LITTLE HARRY’S TROUBLES. By the Author of \"Gottfried.\" Illustrated.\n\n7. SUNDAY SCHOOL PHOTOGRAPHS. By the Rev. Alfred Taylor, Bristol,\nPennsylvania.\n\n8. WAYMARKS FOR THE GUIDING OF LITTLE FEET. By the Rey. J. A. Wallace.\n\n9. 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And other Tales. Illustrated.\n\n15. JAMES NISBET; A STUDY FOR YOUNG MEN. By the Rev. J. A. Wallace.\n\n16. THE WHITE ROE OF GLENMERE. By Mona B. Bickerstaffe. And other Tales.\nIllustrated.\n\n17.  NOBLE RIVERS, AND STORIES CONCERNING THEM. By Anna J. Buckland.\nIllustrated.\n\n*J. H. & CO.’S FIVE SHILLING SERIES.*\n\nBound in cloth, bevelled boards, richly gilt sides and edges.\n\n1.  THE CHILDREN’S HOUR ANNUAL. First Series. 656 pp. Extra fcap. 8vo.\nIllustrated.\n\n2.  THE CHILDREN’S HOUR ANNUAL. Second Series. 640 pp. Extra fcap. 8vo.\nIllustrated.\n\n3.  SKETCHES OF SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS. By the Rev. Andrew Thomson, D.D.\nCrown 8vo. Illustrated.\n\n4.  STARS OF EARTH; OR, WILD FLOWERS OF THE MONTHS. By Leigh Page. Crown\n8vo. With Original Illustrations by the Author.\n\n5.  ELIJAH; THE DESERT PROPHET: A Biography. By the Rev. H. T. Howat.\nCrown 8vo. Illustrated.\n\nAfflicted’s Refuge (The); or, Prayers adapted to various Circumstances of\nDistress. 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Demy 12mo, cloth limp, 0 1\n0.\n\n——Cloth boards, 0 1 3.——Superior Edition, Printed on Superfine Paper,\nextra cloth, bevelled boards, antique, 0 2 6.——Full calf, lettered,\nantique, 0 5 0.\n\nDill (Edward Marcus, A.M., M.D.) The Mystery Solved: or, Ireland’s\nMiseries: Their Grand Cause and Cure. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 0 2 6.\n\n——The Gathering Storm; or, Britain’s Romeward Career: A Warning and Appeal\nto British Protestants. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 0 1 0.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n    1 An English translation of this Treatise was published under the\n      following title:—“A very profitable Treatise, declarynge what great\n      profit might come to all Christendom yf there were a regester made\n      of all the saincts’ bodies and other reliques which are as well in\n      Italy as in France, Dutchland, Spaine, and other kingdoms and\n      conntreys. Translated out of the French into English by J. Wythers,\n      London, 1561.” 16mo. I have made my translation from the French\n      original, reprinted at Paris in 1822.\n\n    2 It is well known that more than half a million of pilgrims went to\n      worship the holy coat of Treves in 1844, and that many wonderful\n      stories about the cures effected by that relic were related. Several\n      of these stories are not altogether without foundation, because\n      there are many cases where imagination affects the human body in\n      such a powerful manner as to cause or cure various diseases. It was\n      therefore to be expected that individuals suffering from such\n      diseases should be at least temporarily relieved from their ailings\n      by a strong belief in the miraculous powers of the relic. Cases of\n      this kind are always noticed, whilst all those of ineffectual\n      pilgrimage are never mentioned.\n\n    3 A translation of this letter was published in the _Allgemeine\n      Zeitung_ of Augsburg.\n\n    4 Thus St Anthony of Padua restores, like Mercury, stolen property; St\n      Hubert, like Diana, is the patron of sportsmen; St Cosmas, like\n      Esculapius, that of physicians, &c. In fact, almost every profession\n      and trade, as well as every place, have their especial patron saint,\n      who, like the tutelary divinity of the Pagans, receives particular\n      honours from his or her _protégés_.\n\n    5 In his Treatise given below.\n\n    6 “Quod legentibus Scriptum, hoc et idiotis, præstat pictura, quia in\n      ipsa ignorantes vident quid sequi debeant, in ipsas legunt qui\n      litteras nesciunt,” says St Gregory.—_Maury, Essai sur les\n      Legendes_, &c., p. 104.\n\n    7 “Quoniam talis memoria quæ imaginibus fovetur, non venit es cordis\n      amore, sed ex visionis necessitate.”—_Opus illustrissimi Caroli\n      magni contra Synodum pro adorandis imaginibus_, p. 480, (in\n      18—1549),—a work of which I shall have an opportunity more amply to\n      speak.\n\n    8 See his chapter on the “Ill Effects of Solitude on the\n      Imagination”—English translation.\n\n    9 Ibid.\n\n   10 “Fleury Histoire Eccles.,” lib. xxi. chap. 15.\n\n   11 The author of this sketch says himself, in a note, “Yet this\n      idolatry is far from having entirely disappeared. Pilgrimages, and a\n      devotion to certain images, but particularly to that of the Virgin,\n      are still continuing,” &c. This was said in 1843. I wonder what he\n      will say now, when this idolatry is reappearing, even in those parts\n      of Europe where the Calvinists had, according to his expression,\n      struck at its very root.\n\n   12 “Essai sur les Legendes Pieuses du Moyen Age,” par Alfred Maury, pp.\n      111, _et seq._\n\n   13 “Chateaubriand Etudes Historiques,” vol. ii. p. 101.\n\n   14 “Histoire de la Destruction du Paganisme dans l’Empire d’Orient,”\n      par M. Chastel, Paris, 1850, p. 342 _et seq._\n\n   15 “Histoire de la Destruction du Paganisme en Occident,” par A.\n      Beugnot, Member of the French Institute, Paris, 1835, 8vo, 2 vols.\n\n_   16 Translator’s Note._—Was not the introduction of pagan rites into\n      the church the indirect way to idolatry alluded to in the text?\n\n_   17 Author’s Note._—The festivals of the martyrs was a very large\n      concession made to the old manners, because all that took place\n      daring those days was not very edifying.\n\n_   18 Translator’s Note._—I shall give in its proper place a more ample\n      account of Vigilantius.\n\n_   19 Author’s Note._—These compromises were temporary, and the church\n      revoked them as soon as she believed that she could do it without\n      inconvenience. She struggled hard against the calends of January,\n      after having for a considerable time suffered these festivities; and\n      when she saw that she could not succeed in abolishing them, she\n      decided to transport the beginning of the year from the first of\n      January to Easter, in order to break the Pagan customs.\n\n_   20 Author’s Note._—“The Saturnalia, and several other festivals, were\n      celebrated on the calends of January; Christmas was fixed at the\n      same epoch. The Lupercalia, a pretended festival of purification,\n      took place during the calends of February; the Christian\n      purification (Candlemas) was celebrated on the 2d of February. The\n      festival of Augustus, celebrated on the calends of August, was\n      replaced by that of St Peter _in vinculis_, established on the 1st\n      of that month. The inhabitants of the country, ever anxious about\n      the safety of their crops, obstinately retained the celebration of\n      the _Ambarvalia_; St Mamert established in the middle of the fifth\n      century the _Rogations_, which in their form differ very little from\n      the _Ambarvalia_. On comparing the Christian calendar with the Pagan\n      one, it is impossible not to be struck by the great concordance\n      between the two. Now, can we consider this concordance as the effect\n      of chance? It is principally in the usages peculiar only to some\n      churches that we may trace the spirit of concessions with which\n      Christianity was animated during the first centuries of its\n      establishment. Thus, at Catania, where the Pagans were celebrating\n      the festival of Ceres after harvest, the church of that place\n      consented to delay to that time the festival of the Visitation,\n      which is celebrated everywhere else on the 2d July.”—_F. Aprile\n      Cronologia Universale di Sicilia_, p. 601. I would recommend to\n      those who wish to study this subject the work of _Marangoni_, a very\n      interesting work, though its author (whose object was to convince\n      the Protestants who attacked the discipline of the Roman Catholic\n      Church on account of these concessions) tried to break the evident\n      connection which exists between certain Christian and Pagan\n      festivals.\n\n_   21 Author’s Note._—“There are at Rome even now several churches which\n      had formerly been pagan temples, and thirty-nine of them have been\n      built on the foundations of such temples.”—_Marangoni_, pp. 236-268.\n      There is no country in Europe where similar examples are not found.\n      It is necessary to remark, that all these transformations began at\n      the end of the fifth century.\n\n_   22 Author’s Note._—At Rome four churches have pagan names, viz:—_S.\n      Maria Sopra Minerva_, _S. Maria Aventina_, _St Lorenzo in Matuta_,\n      and _St Stefano del Cacco_. At Sienna, the temple of Quirinus became\n      the church of _St Quiricus_.\n\n_   23 Translator’s Note._—And still more to their corruption.\n\n_   24 Translator’s Note._—Christ has said, “Come unto me, all ye that\n      labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke\n      upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye\n      shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden\n      is light.”—Matt. xi. 28-30. I would ask the learned author, whether\n      these words of our Saviour are not sufficiently mild, tender, and\n      consoling, and whether there was any necessity to _consecrate_ some\n      new ideas in order to temper their severity?\n\n_   25 Author’s Note._—Amongst a multitude of proofs I shall choose only\n      one, in order to show with what facility the worship of Mary swept\n      away in its progress the remnants of Paganism which were still\n      covering Europe:—Notwithstanding the preaching of St Hilarion,\n      Sicily had remained faithful to the ancient worship. After the\n      council of Ephesus, we see eight of the finest Pagan temples of that\n      island becoming in a very short time churches dedicated to the\n      Virgin. These temples were, 1. of Minerva, at Syracuse; 2. of Venus\n      and Saturn, at Messina; 3. of Venus Erigone, on the Mount Eryx,\n      believed to have been built by Eneas; 4. of Phalaris, at Agrigent;\n      5. of Vulcan, near Mount Etna; 6. the Pantheon, at Catania; 7. of\n      Ceres, in the same town; 8. the Sepulchre of Stesichorus.—V. _Aprile\n      Cronologia Universale di Sicilia_. Similar facts may be found in the\n      ecclesiastical annals of every country.\n\n_   26 Translator’s Note._—The time when the church is to accomplish this\n      purification has, alas! not yet arrived.\n\n   27 Beugnot, vol. ii., book xii., chap. 1, pp. 261-272.\n\n   28 The opinions of different writers on the number of Christians in the\n      Roman empire at the time of Constantine’s conversion greatly varies.\n      The valuation of Staudlin (“Universal Geshichte der Christlichen\n      Kirche,” p. 41, 1833) at half of its population, and even that of\n      Matter (“Histoire de l’Eglise,” t. i. p. 120), who reduces it to the\n      fifth, are generally considered as exaggerated. Gibbon thinks that\n      it was the twentieth part of the above-mentioned population; and the\n      learned French academician. La Bastie (“Memoires de l’Academie des\n      Inscripter,” &c.) believes that it was the twelfth. This last\n      valuation is approved by Chastel (“Histoire de la Destruction du\n      Paganisme en Orient,” 1850, p. 36) as an average number, though it\n      was much larger in the East than in the West. The celebrated passage\n      of Tertullian’s “Apology,” in the second century, where he\n      represents the number of Christians in the Roman empire to be so\n      great, that it would have become a desert if they had retired from\n      it, is considered by Beugnot (vol. ii. p. 188) as the most\n      exaggerated hyperbole which has ever been used by an orator.\n\n_   29 Translator’s Note._—Expression of St Jerome, Op. iv. p. 266. It\n      would be curious to know what this father of the church would have\n      said of the present Rome.\n\n   30 Beugnot, vol. i., p. 86.\n\n   31 “Ludorum celebrationes, deoram festa sunt.”—Lactantius,\n      _Institutiones Divin._, vi., 20, _apud_ Beugnot.\n\n   32 “Adite aras publicas adque delubra, et consuetudinis vestræ\n      celebrate solemnia: nec enim prohibemus preteritæ usurpationis\n      officia libera luce tractari.”\n\n   33 The _labarum_ was a cross, with the monogram of Christ.\n\n   34 The Græco-Russian church has, however, given him a place in her\n      calendar on the 21st May, but only in common with his mother Helena.\n      This was done only a considerable time after his death.\n\n   35 Beugnot, upon the authority of Ausonius, vol. i., p. 321.\n\n   36 Thus Symmachus, one of the leaders of the old aristocracy of Rome,\n      celebrated for his learning, virtues, and staunch adherence to the\n      national polytheism, was invested by Theodosius with the dignity of\n      a consul of Rome; the well known Greek orator, Libanius, was created\n      prefect of the imperial palace; and Themistius, who had been\n      invested with the highest honours under the preceding reigns, was\n      created by Theodosius prefect of Constantinople, received in the\n      senate, and entrusted for some time with the education of Arcadius.\n      These distinguished polytheists never made a secret of their\n      religious opinions, but publicly declared them on several occasions.\n      Many of Theodosius’ generals were avowed Pagans, but enjoyed no less\n      his confidence and favour.\n\n   37 Fallmerayer, “Geschichte der Morea,” vol. i., p. 136.\n\n_   38 Vide supra_, pp. 30-32.\n\n   39 I think that it will not be uninteresting to my readers to know how\n      the Roman Catholic Church explains this prohibition, and which may\n      be best seen from the following piece of ingenious casuistry, by one\n      of her ablest defenders in this country:—“Canon xxxvi. of the\n      Provincial Council held in 305, at Eliberis, in Spain, immediately\n      refutes the error of Bingham. (Bingham maintained the same opinion\n      on the images which is expressed in the text.) The pastors of the\n      Spanish church beheld the grievous persecution that Diocletian had\n      commenced to wage against the Christian faith, which had for a\n      lengthened period enjoyed comparative repose, under the forbearing\n      reign of Constantius Cæsar, father of Constantine the Great. They\n      assembled to concert precautionary measures, and amongst other\n      things, they determined that, in the provinces under their immediate\n      jurisdiction, there should be no fixed and immovable picture\n      monuments, such as fresco paintings or mosaics, no images of Christ\n      whom they adored, nor of the saints whom they venerated, on the\n      walls of the churches which had been erected and ornamented during\n      the long interval of peace which the Christians had enjoyed.\n      ‘Placuit,’ says the council, ‘picturas in ecclesia esse non debere,\n      ne quod colitur et adoratur, in parietibus depingatur,’ (Con. Elib.,\n      _apud Labbeum_, tom i. p. 972.) This economy was prudent and adapted\n      to the exigency of the period. The figures of Christ and of his\n      saints were thus protected from the ribaldry and insults of the\n      Pagans. But this well-timed prohibition demonstrates, that the use\n      of pictures and images had already been introduced into the Spanish\n      church.”—_Hierurgia, or Transubstantiation, Invocation of Saints,\n      Relics, &c., expounded by D. Rock, D.D._, second edition, p. 374,\n      _note_. There can be no doubt that the enactment in question proves\n      that images were used at that time amongst the Spanish Christians,\n      as a law prohibiting some particular crimes or offences shows that\n      they were taking place at the time when it was promulgated; but the\n      opinion that the above-mentioned enactment was not a prohibition of\n      images, but a precautionary measure in their favour, must be\n      supported either by the other canons of the same council, which\n      contain nothing confirmatory of this opinion, or by the authority of\n      some contemporary writer, and is without such evidence quite\n      untenable, and nothing better than a mere sophism, I have given this\n      explanation of the Council of Elvira by a Roman Catholic writer as a\n      fair specimen of the manner in which all other practices of their\n      church, derived from Paganism, are defended.\n\n_   40 Translator’s Note._—And yet the same writer has defended this\n      manner of recruiting the church.—_Vid. supra_, p. 17.\n\n_   41 Translator’s Note_.—And yet this system of concession has been\n      called by the same author _true wisdom._—_Vid. supra_, p. 18.\n\n_   42 Translator’s Note._—It dated from the time when the Christian\n      church began to make a compromise with Paganism.\n\n   43 Who would defile themselves by the impious superstition of the\n      idols.\n\n   44 An ecclesiastical writer of the fifth century.\n\n_   45 Translator’s Note._—Importing usually into the Christian church\n      that leaven of Paganism which is mentioned in the text.\n\n_   46 Translator’s Note._—Retaining meanwhile, however, the thing itself.\n\n_   47 Translator’s Note._—It is a great pity that the author leaves us in\n      the dark about the time when this great improvement in the Roman\n      Catholic Church to which he alludes took place.\n\n   48 St Augustinus relates, in the fourth book of his Confessions, chap,\n      iii., that he was diverted from the idea of studying astrology by a\n      pagan physician, who made him understand all the falsehood and\n      ridicule of that science.\n\n   49 A similar custom is still prevalent is Russia. _Vide infra_, “On the\n      Superstitions of her Church.”\n\n_   50 Author’s Note._—In 1215, Buondelmonte was murdered by the Amidei at\n      the foot of the statue of Mars. This murder produced at Florence a\n      civil war, which, gradually spreading over all Italy, gave birth to\n      the factions of the Guelphs and Ghibelines.\n\n   51 Basnage, “Histoire de l’Eglise,” p. 1174.\n\n   52 An interesting account of Vigilantius was published by the Rev. Dr\n      Gilly, the well-known friend of the Waldensians.\n\n_   53 Vide supra_, p. 8.\n\n   54 Gibbon’s “Roman Empire,” chap. xlix.\n\n   55 The Greeks and Russians worship their images chiefly by kissing\n      them, and it was probably on this account that it was ordered to\n      raise them to a height where they could not be reached by the lips\n      of their votaries, because this means could not prevent them from\n      bowing to them.\n\n   56 It is related that the women were the most zealous in defending the\n      images, and that an officer of the emperor, who was demolishing a\n      statue of Christ placed at the entrance of the imperial palace, was\n      murdered by them.\n\n   57 Gibbon and some other writers think that Constantine survived for\n      some time the loss of his eyes, but I have followed in the text the\n      general opinion on this event.\n\n   58 Irene was a native of Athens.\n\n   59 Vol. ix. p. 429, _et seq._\n\n   60 Extracts from the works of this celebrated monk, and his life,\n      _apud_ Basnage _Histoire de l’Eglise_, p. 1375.\n\n   61 Theodora, on being appointed by her husband regent during the\n      minority of her son, was obliged to swear that she would not restore\n      the _idols_. The Jesuit Maimbourg, who wrote a history of the\n      iconoclasts, maintains that, in restoring the worship of images, she\n      did not commit a perjury, because _she swore that_ she would not\n      restore the _idols_, but not _images_, which are not idols.\n\n   62 I may add, as well as the Russo-Greek Church, which, as I shall have\n      an opportunity to show afterwards, is no less opposed to\n      Protestantism than her rival, the Church of Rome.\n\n   63 Thus, for instance, the well-known work of the celebrated patriarch\n      Photius, written in the ninth century, contains extracts from and\n      notices of many works which have never reached us.\n\n   64 “Edinburgh Review,” July, 1841, p. 17.\n\n   65 According to the author of “Hierurgia,” Cassianus suffered martyrdom\n      under the reign of Julian the Apostate; we know, however, from\n      history, that no persecution of Christians had taken place under\n      that emperor. Cassianus’ body is still preserved at Imola, but\n      according to Collin de Plancy he has besides a head at Toulouse.\n\n   66 “Hierurgia,” by D. Rock, D.D., second edition, p. 377, _et seq._\n\n   67 Prudentius was known as a man of great learning, and had filled some\n      important offices of the state.\n\n   68 The title of this book is—“Opus illustrissimi Caroli Magni, nutu\n      Dei, Regis Francorum, Gallias, Germaniam, Italiamque sive harum\n      finitimas provincias, Domino opitulante, regentis, contra Synodum\n      quæ in partibus Greciæ, pro adorandis imaginibus, stolide sive\n      arroganter gesta est.”\n\n   69 I think that it has recently been completed at Brussels.\n\n   70 The title of Ruinart’s work is—“Acta primorum Martyrum sincera et\n      selecta ex libris, cum editis, tum manuscriptis, collecta eruta vel\n      emendata.” 4to, Paris 1687, and several editions afterwards.\n\n   71 The most important of these Apocrypha of the New Testament, some of\n      which have reached us, whilst we know the others from the writings\n      of the fathers, are the Gospels according to St Peter, to St Thomas,\n      to St Matthias, the Revelations of St Peter, the Epistle of St\n      Barnabas, the Acts of St John, of St Andrew, and other apostles.\n\n   72 Mabillon on the Unknown Saints, p. 10. _Apud_ Basnage, p. 1047.\n\n   73 “Vie de St François Xavier,” par le Pere Bouhours, 1716. _Apud_\n      Maury, p. 22.\n\n   74 “Liber Aureus Inscriptus, Liber Conformitatum Vitæ Beati ac\n      Seraphici Patris Francisci, ad Vitam Jesu Christi Domini Nostri.” It\n      went through several editions.\n\n   75 The title of this curious work is “Histoire de St François d’Assise,\n      par Emile Chavin de Malan.” Paris: 1845.\n\n   76 “Edinburgh Review,” April 1847, p. 295.\n\n   77 History of St Waltheof, p. 2 in the 5th vol. of the collection.\n\n   78 Ibid., p. 24.\n\n   79 Life of St Augustine of Canterbury, Apostle of the English, p. 237,\n      in the 1st volume of the English Saints, mentioned above.\n\n   80 There is a German story which is evidently a parody of this legend.\n      It says that an individual who was passionately fond of playing at\n      nine-pins committed a crime for which he was sentenced to be\n      beheaded. He requested, as a favour which was usually granted to\n      culprits before their execution, to indulge once more in his\n      favourite game. This demand being conceded, he began to play with\n      such ardour that he entirely forgot his impending execution. The\n      executioner, who was present, got tired of waiting for the culprit,\n      and seizing a moment when he stretched his neck picking up a ball\n      from the ground, cut off his head. The culprit was, however, so keen\n      in the pursuit of his game, that he seized his own head, and having\n      made with it a successful throw, exclaimed, “Haven’t I got all the\n      nine?”\n\n   81 An old German ballad gives a fair specimen of the ideas which people\n      entertained of the joys of heaven. It says, amongst other\n      things:—“Wine costs not a penny in the cellar of heaven; angels bake\n      bread and cracknels at the desire of every one; vegetables of every\n      kind abundantly grow in the garden of heaven; pease and carrots grow\n      without being planted; asparagus is as thick as a man’s leg, and\n      artichokes as big as a head. When it is a lent day, the fishes\n      arrive in shoals, and St Peter comes with his net to catch them, in\n      order to regale you. St Martha is the cook and St Urban the\n      butler.”—See Maury, p. 88.\n\n   82 Zimmerman’s “Solitude Considered with respect to its Dangerous\n      Influence upon the Mind and Heart.” English translation. Ed. 1798,\n      p. 102, _et seq._\n\n_   83 Vide supra_, p. 17.\n\n   84 “Mandat sancta synodus omnibus episcopis et caeteris, ut juxta\n      catholicae et apostolicae ecclesiae usum, a primaevis Christianae\n      religionis temporibus receptum, de legitimo imaginum usu fideles\n      diligenter instruunt, docentes eos, imaginis Christi et Deiparae\n      Virginis, et aliorum sanctorum, in templis praesertim habendas et\n      retinendas, eisque debitum honorem et venerationem impertiendam; non\n      quod credatur inesse aliqua in divinitas, vel virtus, propter quam\n      sint colendae; vel quod ab iis aliquod sit petendum; vel quod\n      fiducia in imaginibus sit figenda, veluti olim fiebat a gentibus,\n      quae in idolis (Psalm cxxxv.) spem suam collocabant: sed quoniam\n      honos, qui eis exhibetur, refertur ad prototypae, quae illae\n      representant, ita ut per imagines, quae osculamur, et coram quibus\n      caput aperimus et procumbimus, Christum adoremus; et sanctos quorum\n      illae similitudinem gerunt veneremur.”—Sessio xxv. _de Invocatione\n      Sanc. et Sacr. Imag._\n\n   85 The following description of this little idol is given by a\n      well-known French writer of last century:—“This morning, when I was\n      quietly walking along a street towards the capitol, I met with a\n      carriage, in which sat two Franciscan monks, holding on their knee\n      something which I was unable to distinguish. Every body was stopping\n      and bowing in a most respectful manner. I inquired to whom were\n      these salutations directed? ‘To the _Bambino_,’ I was answered,\n      ‘whom these good fathers are carrying to a prelate, who is very ill,\n      and whom the physicians have given up.’ It was then explained to me\n      what this _Bambino_ is. It is a little statue, meant for Jesus, made\n      of wood, and richly attired. The convent which has the good fortune\n      of being its owner has no other patrimony. As soon as any body is\n      seriously ill, the _Bambino_ is sent for, in a carriage, because he\n      never walks on foot. Two monks take him and place him near the bed\n      of the patient, in whose house they remain, living at his expense,\n      until he dies or recovers.\n\n      “The _Bambino_ is always driving about; people sometimes fight at\n      the gate of the convent in order to get him. He is particularly busy\n      during the summer, and his charges are then higher, in proportion to\n      the competition and the heat, which I think is quite\n      right.”—_Dupaty, Lettres sur l’Italie_, let. xlviii.\n\n      The _Bambino_ continues to maintain his credit; and I have read not\n      long ago in the newspapers, that an English lady of rank, who had\n      joined the communion of Rome, was performing the duties of his dry\n      nurse on a festival of her adopted church.\n\n_   86 Insolitam imaginem._ I have made use in the text of the English\n      Roman Catholic translation of the canons of the Council of Trent, by\n      the Rev. Mr Waterworth.\n\n   87 “Omnia hæc impia sunt et cultus idolorum, alloqui ipsas statuas aut\n      ossa, aut fingere Deum aut sanctos magis in uno loco, seu ad hanc\n      statuam alligatos esse quam ad alia loca. Nihil differunt\n      invocationes quæ fiunt ad Mariam Aquensem seu Ratisbonensem ab\n      invocationibus ethnicis, quæ flebant ad Dianam Ephesiam, aut ad\n      Junonem Platæensem, aut ad alias statuas.”—_Respon. ad Articul.\n      Bavaric_, art. 17, p. 381.\n\n   88 Middleton’s “Miscellaneous Works,” vol. v., p. 96, edition of 1755.\n\n   89 Ibid., p. 97.\n\n   90 Hospinian, “De Origine Templ.,” lib. ii. cap. 23; _apud_ Middleton,\n      _loco citato_.\n\n   91 Beugnot, vol. i. p. 231, on the authority of Sosomenes.\n\n   92 There are some Protestant writers who attach great value to the\n      apostolic canons, as, for instance, Dr Beveridge, Bishop of St\n      Asaph, who wrote a defence of them.\n\n   93 “Institutiones Christianæ,” lib. vi., cap. 2; apud, “Hospinian de\n      Origine Templorum,” lib. ii., cap. 10.\n\n   94 This date is a mistake, and I would have taken it for a misprint if\n      the author had not said before, that “Vigilantius attacked the\n      practices of the church in the fourth age.” I have, in speaking of\n      this subject, p. 71, followed the authority of the great historian\n      of the Roman Catholic Church, Fleury, who says that Jerome answered\n      Vigilantius in 404.\n\n_   95 Vid. supra_, p. 14, _et seq._, the opinions of Chateaubriand and\n      Beugnot on the same subject.\n\n   96 The appellation of _regina cælorum_, queen of heaven, is frequently\n      given to the blessed Virgin in Roman Catholic litanies and hymns\n      addressed to her. The queen of heaven mentioned by Jeremiah is\n      supposed to be the same as Astarte, or the Syrian Venus.\n\n   97 Herodot., lib. ii., p. 36,—\n\n      “Qui grege linigero circumdatus et grege calvo,\n      Plangentis populi currit derisor Anubis.”\n\n      _Juvenal_, vi. 532.\n\n   98 He describes in it the well-known Roman Catholic practice of\n      flagellation or self-whipping, which has been, and is still, done by\n      the priests and votaries of several Pagan deities.\n\n   99 “Namque omnia loca quae thuris constiterit vapore fumasse, si tamen\n      ea fuisse in jure thurificantium probabitur, fisco nostro adsocianda\n      censemus,” &c.—_Vid._ also _supra_, p. 48.\n\n  100 I give these numbers on the authority of the Almanac de Gotha.\n\n  101 The facts of this curious affair have never been published, but they\n      are preserved in the ecclesiastical archives of Moscow, and a copy\n      of them in the ecclesiastical academy of St Petersburgh.—_Strahl’s\n      Beyträge zur Russischen Kirchengeschichte_, p. 239.\n\n  102 Hermann Geschichte von Russland, 1853, vol. v., p. 89.\n\n  103 Anointment with oil makes a part of the Greek ritual of baptism.\n\n  104 These regulations may appear strange in a country like this, but in\n      Russia all the population is divided into various classes, and\n      nobody can pass from one of them into another without the\n      authorization of the Government; as, for instance, if a peasant or\n      agriculturist wishes to become a burgher by settling in a town. The\n      peasantry in the Baltic provinces were emancipated under the reign\n      of the Emperor Alexander, but the landowners still maintain a\n      certain authority over them.\n\n  105 The Pope, book iv., chap. 1.\n\n  106 Bodenstedt’s Morning Land; or, Thousand and One Days in the East.\n      Second Series, vol. i., p. 61, _et seq._, a work which is\n      particularly interesting at the present time.\n\n  107 Studien über Russland, vol. i., p. 101.\n\n  108 The Russians of that time were known as slave dealers, according to\n      Benjamin of Tudela, a Jewish traveller of the same period.\n\n  109 Travels of Ibn Foslan, German translation, by Frähn, p. 7.\n\n  110 “Die Völker des Kaukasus,” p. 284.\n\n  111 It owned before the confiscation of the church estates more than a\n      hundred thousand male serfs.\n\n  112 Studien über Russland, vol. i. p. 87.\n\n  113 Simocatta, _apud_ Basnage, p. 1332.\n\n  114 This reform, accomplished in the reign of Alexius, father of Peter\n      the Great, consisted chiefly in the correction of the text of the\n      Slavonic Scriptures and liturgical books, which had been greatly\n      disfigured by the ignorance of successive copyists, and in the\n      prohibition of some superstitious practices, which had usurped an\n      important part in the divine service of the Russian Church. These\n      wise reforms produced, however, a violent opposition, and several\n      millions separated from the established church, and are known,\n      though divided into many sects, under the general appellation of\n      _Raskolniks_, _i.e._, schismatics, whilst they call themselves\n      _Starovertzi_, or those of the old faith, and designate the\n      established church by the name of the Niconian heresy.\n\n  115 Leveque, Histoire de Russie revue, par Malte Brun et Depping, tom.\n      iv. p. 131.\n\n  116 The title of this book is “Das Merk würdige Jahr Meines Lebens”—“The\n      Memorable Year of my Life.” It has been, I believe, translated into\n      English.\n\n  117 A civil grade equal to that of a captain in the army.\n\n  118 The author observes in a note that, in former times, a petty\n      ecclesiastical prince, the Archbishop of Cologne, could conceive and\n      partly execute the gigantic plan of the Cologne minster, and that in\n      the present time, though the whole of Germany had undertaken to\n      build the remainder of it, her people would have abandoned this\n      project long ago, if it were not supported by the kings. He ought,\n      however, I think, to confine his remarks to Germany, because there\n      are certainly more places of worship built by voluntary\n      contributions in England than in Russia.\n\n  119 Studien über Russland, vol. i. p. 91.\n\n  120 Studien über Russland, vol. i. p. 93.\n\n  121 Leveque, Histoire de Russie, vol. iv., p. 133.\n\n  122 London: Longman & Co. 1854.\n\n  123 The title of this curious production is, “An Appeal on the Eastern\n      Question to the Senatus Academicus of the Royal College of\n      Edinburgh. By a Russian, Quondam Civis Bibliothecæ Edinensis.”\n      Edinburgh: Thomas C. Jack, 92 Princes Street. London: Hamilton,\n      Adams, & Co. 1854.\n\n  124 Letter xxxvi., at the end.\n\n_  125 Vide supra_, p. 184.\n\n  126 “Custine’s Russia,” letter xxxvi. The same opinion is expressed by\n      Baron Haxthausen, whom I have quoted above, and who says, “The sons\n      of the papas and other young men acquire in the seminaries and\n      ecclesiastical academies a certain degree of theological learning,\n      after which they indue the monacal dress, and are inscribed on the\n      rolls of some convent, without however remaining in it. They enter\n      the offices of bishops and archbishops to perform their personal as\n      well as clerical service. Their position becomes then exactly the\n      same as that of the military aides-de-camp of the Generals, and of\n      the civil ones of ministers, and it is from amongst them that\n      bishops, archimandrites, abbots, &c., are chosen. It is a career\n      like every other service in Russia. Several of these ecclesiastics\n      may have chosen their calling from a real devotion; the most part of\n      them are, however, driven into it by an immeasurable ambition,\n      selfishness, speculation, and vanity, the curse of the upper classes\n      of Russia.”—(_Studien über Russland_, vol. i., p. 89.) It must be\n      remarked that all the dignities of the Greek church are reserved for\n      the monastic or _regular_ clergy, whilst the secular (who cannot\n      take orders without being married) do not rise above the station of\n      a parish priest. This last-named function, which gives no prospects\n      of promotion, is generally left to such theological students as are\n      not fit for any thing better, and, with some few honourable\n      exceptions, they are generally an ignorant and drunken set, treated\n      with very little respect by the upper classes. The following\n      anecdote, characteristic of the moral and intellectual condition of\n      that class of the Russian clergy, was related to the author by a\n      friend who had resided for some time in Russia. A landowner of the\n      government of Kazan, Mr Bakhmetieff, who was very fond of the\n      pleasures of the table in the old style, was in the habit of\n      inviting to his revels the priests of the neighbourhood. Once, when\n      his clerical guests had got so drunk as to lose all consciousness,\n      their host, who was less overpowered by the effect of drink,\n      determined to play them a practical joke, by daubing their beards\n      with melted wax. The distress of these poor fellows, on awaking from\n      their sleep, at this strange unction of their beards, was very\n      great, because it was impossible to get rid of the wax without\n      greatly injuring that hirsute appendage, upon which so much of their\n      personal respectability rests. They became the laughing-stock of\n      their congregations, and the story made a great noise over all the\n      country.\n\n  127 The Greek Church admits no carved images, as being prohibited by the\n      second commandment.\n\n  128 They have considerably more, as will be shown presently.\n\n  129 Every altar in a Roman Catholic church must contain some relic.\n\n  130 It is said to have been made of pasteboard.\n\n  131 There are, besides the five water pots mentioned by Calvin, thirteen\n      others, at St Nicolo of the Lido at Venice, at Moscow, at Bologne,\n      at Tongres, at Cologne, at Beauvaia, at the abbey of Port Royal at\n      Paris, and at Orleans, though the Gospel mentions but six. The\n      materials of which they are made are very dissimilar to each other,\n      and so are their respective measures, whilst those mentioned in the\n      Gospel seem to have been all of the same size.\n\n  132 There are, besides these, thirteen more, unknown probably to Calvin;\n      but it would be too tedious to enumerate where they may be seen.\n\n  133 If a diligent inquiry were instituted after these relics in\n      particular, four times as many as are here enumerated might be found\n      in other parts.\n\n  134 I have employed the term Sudary, which has been adopted by Webster,\n      from the Latin word _sudarium_, to designate the relic in question.\n\n  135 It appears that a kerchief with the likeness of the face of Jesus\n      Christ imprinted on it, and covered with blood and sweat, was kept\n      in a church at Rome in the eleventh century, for it is mentioned in\n      the brief of Pope Sergius IV., dated 1011. We do not know what tales\n      respecting this relic were related at that time, but it appears that\n      copies of it called _Veronies_, _i.e._, a corruption of _verum\n      icon_, “the true image,” were sold; and no doubt this appellation\n      gave rise to the legend of _Sancta Veronica_ who wiped the face of\n      Christ with her kerchief as he was going to Calvary. There are many\n      versions of this legend, as for instance that it was this woman whom\n      Christ had cured of the bloody issue, whilst again it is maintained\n      that she was no less a person than Berenice, niece to King Herod. It\n      is also related that after the dispersion of the apostles, St\n      Veronica went in company with Mary Magdalene, Martha, and Lazarus,\n      to Marseilles, where she wrought many miracles with her kerchief.\n      The Emperor Tiberius heard of these miracles, and having fallen ill,\n      he summoned Veronica to Rome. She cured him in a moment, and was\n      rewarded with great honours and rich presents. The remainder of her\n      life was spent at Rome in company with St Peter and St Paul, and she\n      bequeathed the miraculous kerchief to Pope St Clement. It must,\n      however, be observed, that this legend has not obtained the official\n      approbation of the Roman Catholic Church, though St Veronica is\n      acknowledged and has a place in the calendar for the 21st of\n      February; and it is said she suffered martyrdom in France. With\n      regard to the large sudaries or sheets upon which the whole body of\n      Jesus Christ is impressed, and the absurdity of which Calvin has so\n      clearly exposed, the most celebrated of these is that at Turin. Its\n      history is curious, inasmuch as it shows that the efforts of\n      enlightened and pious prelates to prevent idolatrous practices\n      invading their churches proved unavailing against that general\n      tendency to worship visible objects, so strongly implanted in\n      corrupt human nature, that even in this enlightened age we are\n      continually witnessing such manifestation of its revival as may be\n      compared only to that of the dark period of the middle ages. The\n      most striking instances undoubtedly are those of the holy coat of\n      Treves, and the relics of St Theodosia, which have been recently\n      installed at Amiens, with great pomp, and in the presence of the\n      most eminent prelates of the Roman Catholic Church, who seem now to\n      be as anxious to promote this kind of fetishism, as some of their\n      predecessors were formerly to repress the same abuse. But let us\n      return to our immediate subject—the _holy sudarium_ of Turin. It is\n      a long linen sheet, upon which is painted in a reddish colour a\n      double likeness of a human body, _i.e._, as seen from before and\n      from behind, quite naked with the exception of a broad scarf\n      encircling the loins. It is pretended that this relic was saved by a\n      Christian at the taking of Jerusalem by Titus, and it was preserved\n      for many centuries by the faithful.\n\n      In 640 it was brought back to Palestine, from whence it was\n      transferred to Europe by the Crusaders. It was taken by a French\n      knight named Geoffroi de Charny, who presented it to the collegiate\n      church of a place called _Liré_, which belonged to him, and which is\n      situated about three leagues from the town of Troyes, in Champagne;\n      the donor declaring, on that occasion, that this holy sheet was\n      taken by him from the infidels, and that it had delivered him in a\n      miraculous manner from a prison dungeon into which he had been cast\n      by the English.\n\n      The canons of that church, seeing at once the great profits to be\n      derived from such a relic, lost no time in exhibiting it, and their\n      church was soon crowded with devotees. The bishop of Troyes, Henri\n      de Poitiers, finding however no proofs of the authenticity of this\n      relic, prohibited it to be shown as an object of worship, and it\n      remained unheeded for twenty-four years.\n\n      The sons of Geoffroi de Charny, about the year 1388, obtained\n      permission from the Papal legate to restore this relic of their\n      father’s to the church of Liré, and the canon exposed it in front of\n      the pulpit, surrounding it with lighted tapers, but the bishop of\n      Troyes, Peter d’Arcy, prohibited this exhibition under pain of\n      excommunication. They afterwards obtained from the king, Charles\n      VI., an authorization to worship the _holy sudarium_ in the church\n      of Liré. The bishop upon this repaired to court, and represented to\n      the king that the worship of the pretended sheet of Jesus Christ was\n      nothing less than downright idolatry, and he argued so effectually\n      that Charles revoked the permission by an edict of the 21st August\n      1389.\n\n      Geoffroi de Charny’s sons then appealed to Pope Clemens VII., who\n      was residing at Avignon, and he granted permission for the holy\n      sudarium to be exhibited. The bishop of Troyes sent a memorial to\n      the Pope, explaining the importance attached to this so-called holy\n      relic. Clemens did not, however, prohibit the sudarium to be shown,\n      but he forbade its being exhibited as the _real_ sudary of Jesus\n      Christ. The canons of Liré, therefore, put aside their sudary, but\n      it reappeared in other places, and after being shown about in\n      various churches and convents it remained at Chambery in 1432, where\n      nobody dared to impugn its reality. From that time its fame\n      increased, and Francis I., king of France, went a pilgrimage on\n      foot, the whole way from Lyons to Chambery, in order to worship this\n      linen cloth. In 1578 St Charles Borromeo having announced his\n      intention of going on foot to Chambery to adore the holy sudary, the\n      Duke of Savoy, wishing to spare this high-born saint the trouble of\n      so long a pilgrimage, commanded the relic to be brought to Turin,\n      where it has since remained, and where the miracles performed by it\n      and the solemn worship paid to it, may be considered as a proof that\n      its authenticity is no longer doubted.\n\n      There are about six holy sudaries preserved in other churches,\n      besides the pieces shown elsewhere.\n\n  136 Calvin, speaking of the silver pieces for which Judas betrayed our\n      Lord, does not say where they are shown. Two of them are preserved\n      in the Church of the Annunciation at Florence, one in the Church of\n      St John of the Lateran, and another in that of the Holy Cross at\n      Rome. There is one piece at the Church of the Visitandine Convent at\n      Aix in Provence besides many other places where they are\n      displayed.—_Collin de Plancy, Dictionaire des Reliques._\n\n  137 The whole skeleton of the animal is preserved at Vicenza, enclosed\n      in an artificial figure of an ass.\n\n  138 Eusebius relates, that Abgarus, king of Edessa, having heard of\n      Christ’s teaching and miracles, sent an embassy to acknowledge our\n      Lord’s divinity, and to invite him to his kingdom, in order to cure\n      Abgarus of a complaint of long standing; upon which Christ sent him\n      the likeness mentioned in the text. Now, it is impossible for one\n      moment to admit, that, if such an important fact had any truthful\n      foundation, it would have been left unrecorded by the apostles.\n\n  139 The Roman Catholic Church maintains that the Blessed Virgin was\n      carried to heaven by angels, and it commemorates this event by the\n      festival of the Assumption on the 15th August. This belief was\n      unknown to the primitive church; for, according to a Roman Catholic\n      writer of undoubted orthodoxy, the Empress Pulcheria, in the fifth\n      century, requested the Bishop of Jerusalem, Juvenal, to allow her to\n      have the body of the Virgin, in order to display it for the public\n      adoration of the faithful at Constantinople.—(Tillerant’s “Memoires\n      Ecclesiastiques.”)—There are many other proofs that, even at that\n      time, when many idolatrous practices had begun to corrupt the\n      church, the Virgin’s body was generally believed to be in earth, and\n      not in heaven.\n\n  140 Vials filled with such milk were shown in several churches at Rome,\n      at Venice in the church of St Mark, at Aix in Provence, in the\n      church of the Celestins at Avignon, in that of St Anthony at Padua,\n      &c. &c., and many absurd stories are related about the miracles\n      performed with these relics.\n\n  141 There are about twenty gowns of the Blessed Virgin exhibited in\n      various places. Many of them are of costly textures, which, if true,\n      would prove that she had an expensive wardrobe.\n\n  142 The number of miraculous images of the Virgin in countries following\n      the tenets of the Roman Catholic and Greek Churches is _legion_, and\n      a separate volume would be required if we were to give even an\n      abridged account of them.\n\n  143 “The most celebrated relic of St Joseph is his ‘_han_,’ _i.e._, the\n      sound or groan which issues from the chest of a man when he makes an\n      effort, and which St Joseph emitted when he was splitting a log of\n      wood. It was preserved in a bottle at a place called Concaiverny,\n      near Blois, in France.”—_D’Aubigne’s Confessions de Sancy_, chap.\n      ii. _apud_ Colin de Plancy.\n\n  144 It is said that as late as 1784, at Mount St Michael in Bretagne, a\n      Swiss was vending feathers from the archangel Michael’s wings, and\n      that he found purchasers for his wares.\n\n  145 This multiplication of St John’s head reminds one of an anecdote\n      related by Miss Pardoe in her “City of the Magyar.” A museum of\n      curiosities was kept in the chateau of Prince Grassalkovich in\n      Hungary, and it was usually shown to strangers by the parish priest\n      of that place. This worthy man was once conducting a traveller over\n      the collection, and showed him amongst other curiosities two skulls,\n      of large and small size, saying of the first, “This is the skull of\n      the celebrated rebel Ragotzi;” and of the second, “That is the skull\n      of the same Ragotzi when he was a boy!”\n\n  146 Calvin has not rendered full justice to the relics of John the\n      Baptist exhibited in various places. He only mentions the different\n      parts of his head and the fingers; and the quantity altogether shown\n      implies no doubt that the head was one of no ordinary dimensions. He\n      evidently was not aware that there are about a dozen whole heads of\n      St John the Baptist, which are or were exhibited in different towns.\n      The most remarkable of them was undoubtedly that one which the\n      notorious Pope John XXIII., who was deposed for his vices by the\n      Council of Constance, had sold to the Venetians for the sum of fifty\n      thousand ducats; but as the people of Rome would not allow such a\n      precious relic to quit their city, the bargain was rescinded. The\n      head was afterwards destroyed at the capture and pillage of Rome by\n      the troops of Charles V. in 1527. There are, besides, many other\n      parts of St John’s body preserved as relics. A part of his shoulder\n      was pretended to have been sent by the Emperor Heraclius to King\n      Dagobert I.; and an entire shoulder was given to Philip Augustus by\n      the Emperor of Greece. Another shoulder was at Longpont, in the\n      diocese of Soissons; and there was one at Lieissies in the Hainault.\n      A leg of the saint was shown at St Jean d’Abbeville, another at\n      Venice, and a third at Toledo; whilst the Abbey of Joienval, in the\n      diocese of Chartres, boasted of possessing twenty-two of his bones.\n      Several of his arms and hands were shown elsewhere, besides fingers\n      and other parts of his body; but their enumeration would be too\n      tedious here.\n\n  147 Calvin here alludes to the haircloth worn by the monks of some\n      orders, and other Roman Catholic devotees, instead of the ordinary\n      shirt.\n\n  148 There is a French edition of the New Testament, published, I think,\n      at Louvaine, in which the 13th chapter of Acts, 2d verse, is thus\n      translated: “_Etquand ils disotent la messe_,”—“And when they were\n      saying mass.”\n\n  149 The relics of Peter and Paul became at an early period the objects\n      of veneration to the Christians of Rome. Gregory the Great relates\n      that such terrible miracles took place at the sepulchres that people\n      approached them in fear and trembling, and he adds that those who\n      ventured to touch them were visibly punished. The Emperor Justinian,\n      desiring some relics of these two apostles, some filings from their\n      prison chains, and sheets that had been consecrated by having been\n      laid over their bodies, were sent to him; but some time afterwards\n      these relics were touched and handled without persons suffering any\n      visible punishment for so doing. Their heads were transferred to the\n      church of St John of Lateran, and their bodies were divided and\n      placed in the churches of St Peter and St Paul in the Ostian Road.\n      We have seen in the text that different parts of their bodies are\n      shown in many places, and the celebrated D’Aubigné relates that\n      France had possessed formerly the entire bodies of Peter and Paul\n      before the Huguenots burnt and destroyed a great number of the\n      relics in that country.\n\n  150 This relic is considered a very efficient remedy for cutaneous\n      disorders.\n\n  151 Calvin was evidently in haste to get over his task, as he intimated\n      to us at the commencement of this chapter. He has made very great\n      omissions. In the first place, he appears to have forgotten the body\n      of St James the Major at Compostella in Spain, one of the most\n      celebrated places of pilgrimage of the Western Church. According to\n      the legend, this apostle went to Spain to preach Christianity and\n      then returned to Jerusalem, where he was beheaded by Herod.—(Acts\n      xii.) His body was afterwards removed by his disciples to Spain.\n      This is, therefore, his second body. He has a third at Verona, and a\n      fourth at Toulouse, besides several heads elsewhere. The other\n      apostles have also more bodies than are mentioned in the text, but\n      the limits of this work forbid enumeration.\n\n  152 St Matthew is not so poor in relics as Calvin supposed, for we could\n      quote several whole bodies, as well as members, with which he was\n      not acquainted.\n\n  153 An oratory is a small chapel or cabinet, adorned with images of\n      saints, &c., and used by the Roman Catholics for private devotions.\n      The absurdity of ascribing to John the Evangelist the possession of\n      such an oratory is too palpable a falsehood to require any comment.\n\n  154 According to the well-known Jesuit writer Ribadeneira, the Jews\n      seized Lazarus, Mary Magdalene, Martha, Marcella, Maximin,\n      Celidonius (supposed to have been the man born blind, who was\n      restored to sight by Jesus Christ), and Joseph of Arimathea, and\n      placing them on board a vessel without helm, oars, or sails,\n      launched it forth into the sea. By a miracle the vessel reached\n      Marseilles, where Lazarus was appointed the first bishop of that\n      town. Maximin became bishop of Aix, Joseph of Arimathea went to\n      England, Martha entered a convent, and Mary, after preaching in\n      various parts of Provence for some time, retired into the desert of\n      St Beaume, to weep and lament over her sins.—_Flower of Saints, July\n      22._\n\n  155 The legends say that the soldier, whom they name Longinus, was\n      struck with blindness immediately after piercing Jesus Christ’s\n      side. He perceived the enormity of his crime, recognised the\n      divinity of our Lord, and having rubbed his eyes with the blood\n      which was on his lance, he recovered his sight, and finally became a\n      monk in Cappadocia. It is true that neither the Gospels nor the\n      early ecclesiastical writers mention anything respecting St\n      Longinus, but Ribadeneira and other narrators of legends speak much\n      of him. The reader may possibly object to the tale of his becoming a\n      monk, since in those days there were none; but that difficulty\n      merely requires the addition of another miracle.\n\n  156 Calvin is wrong here. Milan only assumes to have possession of the\n      graves of the wise men, not their bodies, which were removed to\n      Cologne at the capture of Milan in 1162, by Frederick Barbarossa.\n\n_  157 Vid. supra_, p. 120.\n\n  158 St Anthony is venerated, or rather worshipped, by the Eastern as\n      well as the Western Church, and he seems to have bestowed his\n      favours upon each with the utmost impartiality, for a body of his is\n      shown at Novgorod, in Russia, where a church, with a convent\n      attached to it, is dedicated to him. The legend concerning St\n      Anthony’s arrival at Novgorod is curious. It is said that this\n      saint, whilst at Rome, was commanded by an angel, in a dream, to go\n      and convert the inhabitants of Novgorod. In obedience to this\n      angelic injunction, St Anthony embarked on a millstone, and floated\n      on this extraordinary craft down the Tiber, passed over the\n      Mediterranean, Atlantic, and Baltic seas, and arrived safely at the\n      river Wolchow, upon which stream Novgorod is situated, having\n      accomplished the whole voyage in four days—a marvellous speed\n      indeed, and which completely shames all the wonders of modern steam\n      navigation! The date assigned to this wonderful voyage happens to be\n      that of a few centuries _after_ St Anthony’s death, but we suppose\n      this too must be considered as another miracle.\n\n  159 Calvin is much mistaken about Helena, who was better provided for\n      than he imagined. Besides the body mentioned in the text, she has\n      one in the Church of _Ara Cæli_, at Rome. There was one also at\n      Constantinople, in the Church of the Twelve Apostles, and another at\n      Hauteville, near Epernay, in Champagne.\n\n  160 The legend tells us that an English chief, after conquering and\n      taking possession of Lower Brittany, returned to his native land in\n      search of wives for his army and himself. He married Ursula, an\n      English princess, and took eleven thousand maidens as brides for his\n      companions in arms. Ursula, whilst journeying with this bridal train\n      to join her husband, was driven by a storm into the mouth of the\n      Rhine, and arrived at Cologne. There they were beset by a party of\n      Huns, who murdered them all. Their bodies were discovered at Cologne\n      in the 16th century, and the remains of St Ursula, which at first\n      were mixed with those of her companions, were pointed out, by a\n      miracle, for the special veneration of the faithful. Several of\n      these virgins have relics in various parts of Europe, and they are\n      distinguished by proper names, as, for instance, St Ottilla, St\n      Fleurina, &c. &c.. The origin of this absurd legend is ascribed by\n      some antiquarians to the following inscription found upon a\n      tomb:—“_St Ursula et XI. M. V._,” _i.e._, _et 11 martyres virgines_,\n      which, through ignorance or wilful deceit, has been converted into\n      _millia virgines_—11,000 virgins. Other savans believe that the\n      inscription meant “_St Ursula et Undecimilla, martyres virgines_,”\n      and that _Undecimilla_, which was the proper name of a virgin\n      martyr, was mistaken by some ignorant copyist for an abbreviation of\n      _undecim millia_, 11,000.\n\n  161 It must be remarked that many relics described in this Treatise were\n      destroyed during the religious wars, but particularly by the French\n      Revolution. I recommend to those who have an interest in this\n      subject the observations made on it in Sir George Sinclair’s\n      Letters, p. 88, _et seq._", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32136", "title": "A Treatise on Relics", "author": "", "publication_year": 1543, "metadata_title": "A Treatise on Relics", "metadata_author": "Jean Calvin", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:23.690287", "source_chars": 450865, "chars": 450865, "talkie_tokens": 102960}}
{"text": "The Rural Science Series\n\n                          Edited by L. H. Bailey\n\n                         Rural Wealth and Welfare\n\n         Economic Principles Illustrated and Applied in Farm Life\n\n                                    By\n\n                         Geo. T. Fairchild, LL.D.\n\n                                 New York\n\n                          The MacMillan Company\n\n                      London: MacMillan & Co., Ltd.\n\n                                   1900\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nDedication\nPreface.\nIntroduction. General Welfare.\nPart I. Productive Industries: Analysis of Aims, Forces, Means and\nMethods.\n   Chapter I. Aims Of Industry.\n   Chapter II. Forces In Production Of Wealth.\n   Chapter III. Labor Defined And Classified.\n   Chapter IV. Capital Defined And Classified.\n   Chapter V. Personal Attainments.\n   Chapter VI. Combination Of Forces For Individual Efficiency.\n   Chapter VII. Methods Of Association.\n   Chapter VIII. Exchange: Advantages, Limitations And Tendencies.\n   Chapter IX. Value The Basis Of Exchange.\n   Chapter X. Exchange—Its Machinery.\n   Chapter XI. Banks And Banking.\n   Chapter XII. Deferred Settlement And Credit Expansion.\n   Chapter XIII. Technical Division Of Labor.\n   Chapter XIV. Aggregation Of Industry.\n   Chapter XV. Special Incentives To Production.\n   Chapter XVI. Business Security.\nPart II. Distribution of Wealth for Welfare.\n   Chapter XVII. General Principles Of Fair Distribution.\n   Chapter XVIII. Wages And Profits.\n   Chapter XIX. Conflict Between Wage-Earners And Profit-Makers.\n   Chapter XX. Proceeds Of Capital: Interest And Rent.\n   Chapter XXI. Principles Of Interest.\n   Chapter XXII. Principles Of Land Rent.\nPart III. Consumption of Wealth.\n   Chapter XXIII. Wealth Used By Individuals.\n   Chapter XXIV. Prudent Consumption.\n   Chapter XXV. Imprudent Consumption.\n   Chapter XXVI. Social Organization For Consumption.\n   Chapter XXVII. Economic Functions Of Government.\n   Chapter XXVIII. Economic Machinery Of Government.\nConclusion.\nIndex.\nAdvertisements.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION\n\n\nTo The Thousands Of Students In Agricultural Colleges\nWith Whom I Have Studied Economic Questions\nDuring The Past Thirty-Five Years\n\nThis little volume is thankfully dedicated\n\nIn Remembrance Of\nMany Pleasant Hours\n\nGeo. T. Fairchild\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn giving these pages to the public I offer no apology for a restatement\nof fundamental principles always requiring adjustment to new life and\ncircumstances; but economic literature has usually dealt too exclusively\nwith the phenomena of manufactures and commerce to gain the sympathy of\nrural people. An experience of more than thirty years in handling such\nsubjects at the Michigan and Kansas Agricultural Colleges, together with\nthe expressed confidence of former pupils whose judgment I trust, has led\nme into the effort to bring the subject home to farmers and farmers’\nfamilies in this elementary way.\n\nI have carefully refrained from quotations, or even references to works\nconsulted, for the obvious reason that such formalities would distract the\nattention of most readers from the direct, common-sense thinking desired,\nand render the style of the book more complex. I hereby acknowledge my\ndebt to the leading writers of past and present upon most of the topics\ntreated, not excluding any school or party.\n\nThe statements of facts I have taken from best authorities, with care to\nverify, if possible, by comparisons. Many data have been diligently\ncompiled and rearranged for more exact presentation of facts, and the\nphenomena of prices of farm crops have been analyzed with especial care.\nThe necessities of the printed volume have to some extent obscured the\ncharts by reduction, but I trust they may be intelligible and interesting\nto all students of agricultural interests.\n\nNo attempt has been made to argue or to expound difficulties beyond a\nsimple statement of principles involved, and the spirit of controversy has\nbeen absent from my thoughts throughout. Whatever bias of opinion may\nappear is without a tinge of bitterness toward those who may differ. I\ntrust that men of all views may recognize in these pages the wish of their\nauthor to have only truth prevail.\n\nIn offering this volume to farmers I do not assume that all questions of\nwealth and welfare can be settled by rule. I hope to point out the actual\ntrend of facts, the universal principles sustained by the facts, and means\nof most ready adjustment to circumstances in the evolutions of trade and\nmanufacture. The business sense of farmers is appealed to for the sake of\ntheir own welfare. Several important questions of rural welfare have been\ntouched only suggestively because the limits of the volume could not admit\nof fuller treatment.\n\nMy gratitude is offered especially to Professor Liberty H. Bailey, of\nCornell University, to whose suggestion and patient attention the\nexistence of this volume is due.\n\nGeorge T. Fairchild.\n\nBEREA COLLEGE, KENTUCKY,\nMarch 1, 1900.\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION. GENERAL WELFARE.\n\n\n_Elements of welfare._—The welfare of communities, like that of\nindividuals, is made up of health, wealth, wisdom and virtue. If we can\nsay of any human being that lie is healthy, wealthy, wise and good, we are\nsure of his satisfaction so far as it depends upon self. When a community\nis made up of individuals kept in health and strength from birth to old\nage, sustained with accumulated treasures, wise enough to use both\nstrength and wealth to advantage, and upright, just and kind in all human\nrelations, our ideals of welfare are met.\n\nThese are four different kinds of welfare, each of which is essential, and\nonly confusion of thought follows any attempt to treat them all as wealth,\nhowever they may be intermingled and exchanged. Health is essential in\ngaining a full measure of wealth and wisdom, and perhaps in maintaining\ngenuine character; but a healthy life gives no assurance of complete\nwelfare. The facts concerning health in a community make a distinct\nsubject of study for promotion of welfare, and we call it public hygiene.\nThe science of education deals with ways and means of securing public\nwisdom. The science of government includes all facts relative to public\nvirtue. So the facts by which we know the nature and uses of accumulated\nwealth in any community make a distinct study under the name economic\nscience; it deals with certain definite groups of facts. To call\neverything good “wealth” and everything evil “ilth” adds nothing but\nconfusion to our thoughts.\n\n_Mutual welfare._—Every human being in society is directly interested in\nthe study of wealth as related to his own and his neighbors’ welfare. No\none can understand his relations to those about him in the family, the\nneighborhood, his country and the world without some understanding of the\nsources and uses of wealth all about him. His very industry gains its\nreward by certain means in society depending upon economic principles. His\nmotives for accumulating wealth have a distinct place. His uses of\naccumulated wealth are a part of the general facts which make wealth\ndesirable. So the study of wealth in society must be everybody’s study, if\neach wishes to do best for himself or for his neighbors. In such study of\nwelfare every one finds his interests completely blended with the\ninterests of others. His existence is part of a larger existence called\nsociety, from which he receives himself in large measure and most of his\nsatisfaction; to which he contributes in like measure a portion of its\nessential character and future existence.\n\nThe old idea that one gives up freedom of self for the advantages given by\nsociety has no foundation in fact, because we are born into our place in\nsociety without power to escape its advantages, disadvantages or\nresponsibilities. The maxim “Each for all and all for each” is thoroughly\ngrounded in the constitution of man; his needs and abilities enforce\nsociety and insist upon community of interests. Even personal wealth\nconfers little welfare outside of its relations to other human beings. The\nwhole progress of the human race tends toward acceptance of the clear\nvision of Tennyson, where\n\n\n    “All men find their good in all men’s good,\n    And all men join in noble brotherhood.”\n\n\nEach stage in the progress of the conquest of nature to meet human wants,\nfrom the gathering of wild fruits, through hunting and fishing,\ndomestication of animals, herding, and tillage of permanent fields, to the\nmanufacture of universal comforts and tools, and to general commerce, has\nmade more important the welfare of neighbors. Even the wars of our century\nare waged in the name of and for the sake of humanity. The study of\nindividual welfare involves the public welfare. Welfare of a class is\ndependent upon the welfare of all classes. Wealth of individuals is\ngenuine wealth in connection only with the wealth of the world. Welfare\nwithout wealth would imply the annihilation of space, of time, and of all\nforces acting in opposition to wishes.\n\n_Wealth in farming._—The subject of the following pages is wealth, how it\nis accumulated, how distributed to individual control and how finally\nconsumed for the welfare of all concerned. But special reference is made\nto the sources of wealth as a means of welfare in rural life, and to the\nbearing of definite economic principles upon farming, especially in these\nUnited States of America. Farming is, and must always remain, a chief\nfactor in both wealth and welfare, and its relations to the industry of\nthe world grow more important to every farmer as the world comes nearer to\nhim. We cannot now live in such isolation as our fathers loved. The\nmarkets of the world and the methods of other farmers all over the world\naffect the daily life of every tiller of the soil today. Commerce in the\nproducts of farm and household reaches every interest, when the ordinary\nmail sack goes round the world in less time than it took our immediate\nancestors to go as pioneers from Massachusetts to Ohio. It seems possible\nto show from the experiences of farm life the essential principles of\nwealth-making and wealth-handling, including the tendencies under a\nworld-wide commerce. These every farmer and laborer needs for his\nbusiness, for his home, and for his country.\n\nNature Of Wealth\n\n_Wealth defined._—If we look at the objects which men number in speaking\nof their wealth, we shall soon find the list differing in important\nparticulars from the list of things which they enjoy. All enjoyable things\ncontribute to welfare, but not all are wealth. Some, like the air and the\nsunshine, if never lacking, cannot be counted, _because no storing against\nfuture need is practicable_; but the fan that cools the air and the coal\nthat gives heat are counted when they are stored as means of meeting\nfuture wants. If we could not foresee wants of ourselves or of those\ndependent upon us, we could not gather means of supply for those wants. If\nwe had all wants supplied at a wish or a prayer, we should have no\nincentive to store. The pampered child whose every wish is met has no\nclear conception of wealth or its uses. Let him be without a meal, and he\nseeks provision for the future by an effort to save what is left over from\nhis last meal and by exertion to add to his store in anticipation of want.\nThus wants, to be met only by exertion, are the foundation of the\nuniversal ideas of wealth, and whatever we have stored as a provision\nagainst wants becomes our wealth. If hunger were our only desire, our\nwealth would include only stores of food, conveniences for storing, means\nof increasing the store, and means of utilizing the articles to be eaten.\nEach desire adds to the range of articles which may enter our list of\nobjects of wealth until enumeration is impossible. None of these, however,\nwill be stored as wealth beyond the limits of anticipated use: if so\nstored, they add nothing to the supposed wealth. An isolated family, able\nto consume only thirty bushels of potatoes in a season, is not more\nwealthy from having three hundred bushels stored: the wealth is measured\nby actual relations to wants not otherwise supplied. Even in a populous\ncity, the three hundred bushels of potatoes become a store of wealth only\nwhen other people need them and _are able in turn to meet other wants of\nthe owners_.\n\nIndeed, we soon come to estimate any object of wealth according to its\npower, directly or indirectly, to meet the first want that comes. A\ncherished memento of friendship may be ever so gratifying, and yet find no\nplace in our account of wealth, because it can serve no purpose in meeting\nother wants.\n\nAny object of wealth may cease to be counted, not because it has changed,\nbut because wants have changed. The last year’s bonnet goes for a song,\nbecause the fashion changes; the reaper rots behind the barn or at the\nroadside, because the harvester is wanted in its place. So the wealth in\nany object is limited by its relation to the present or prospective wants\nof its owner, and his control to meet these wants. The wealth of any\ncommunity is its store of material objects suited to the current wants or\nfitted to exchange with other communities for more suitable articles of\nuse. We estimate it only by thinking of uses in producing pleasure or\npreventing pain, its limitations in quantity to a certain range of wants,\nand its control for use or transfer by an owner.\n\n_Wealth distinguished from power._—Wealth is not to be confused with power\nof other kinds. Power may be for future exertion; wealth is the result of\nexertion. Power may take any form of welfare,—health, wisdom, character,\nas well as wealth. So no personal abilities can be counted as wealth,\nhowever useful they may be as means of gaining it. Jenny Lind’s abilities\nas a singer may have been better than wealth; but exertion of those\nabilities in the United States enabled her to carry back to Europe wealth\nof which she had none before coming. The ingenuity of Elias Howe exerted\nupon the sewing machine has been an immense source of wealth and welfare\nto the world, but it alone could not secure him daily food. Your words and\nmy music combined in a song fit to tickle the fancy of the multitude may\ntransfer wealth to our pockets, but it was in neither the words nor the\nmusic, nor yet in the song, and still less in the power to contrive them.\nIf wealth in material things had not been in possession of the multitude,\nthe same sweet sounds might have given satisfaction to the crowds without\nan idea of wealth in the transaction. Much of the welfare of the world is\nfrom exertion of powers entirely independent of wealth. The chief joys of\nhome are not measured by the wealth in our tenement. The chief welfare of\nsociety is only incidentally connected with wealth.\n\nChart No. I\n\n_Fluctuation of Farms and Farm Interests since 1850_\n\nAt the top is shown the relative size of farms at the close of each census\nperiod, with the number of acres tilled and untilled. The lower part of\nthe chart shows the changes in different farm interests, especially in the\namount and character of capital employed and the number of people engaged\nin agriculture. Assuming the conditions of 1850 to be par, the increase or\ndecrease is shown for each kind of live stock, the number of farms, the\ntotal farm population, and the number of farm managers, as well as the\nvaluation of real estate and of live stock. To illustrate, take No. 4, the\nnumber of cattle, excluding the cows. In 1860 there were 1.5 times as many\nas in 1850. In 1870, on account of the consumption and disturbance of the\nwar, the number was reduced to 1.4 times as many. In 1880 there were more\nthan 2.3 times as many, and in 1890 there were 3.48 times as many. In a\nfew instances the estimate for 1897, though not an accurate enumeration,\nis added for comparison. A careful study of these various changes will\nshow that while the total population in 1890 was only 2.7 times the\npopulation of 1850, the total number of people employed in farm\noccupations of every kind was 2.88 times as great; although the number of\nindependent farmers was only 2.28 times as great. The total value of real\nestate in farms was over four times as great, and the total value of live\nstock exactly corresponded. The number of cows, sheep and hogs had not\nkept up with the population; while the number of beef cattle and horses\nand mules had increased much more rapidly. The fact that the value of live\nstock had increased in much greater proportion than the numbers shows that\nthere has been great improvement in the individual character of the\nanimals. That the average wealth of farm proprietors is more than\nthree-fourths as large again is shown by comparison of the number of\nfarmers with the value of the farms. That the number of mules, cattle and\nhogs actually decreased between 1860 and 1870 indicates the enormous\nconsumption of the armies in the Civil War.\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n  Chart I. Showing the rate of increase in farms and farm live stock as\n             compared with population. See explanation, p. 8.\n\n\nChart No. II\n\n_Progress of the United States in Farm Crops since 1850_\n\nThis chart indicates to the eyes facts shown by the census reports as to\nthe relative increase or decrease of certain staple crops in comparison\nwith the population. Assuming the conditions of 1850 to be par, the\nseveral lines indicated by numbers show the ratio of the several crops to\nthe crop of 1850. Thus the wheat crop in 1860 was nearly .75 greater than\nin 1850; in 1870 it was 2.87 times as great; in 1880 it was nearly 4.6\ntimes as great; only a little greater in 1890, but in 1897 was nearly 6\ntimes as great. It should be remarked that the census returns are founded\nupon the crop of the previous year, and therefore, will not exactly\ncorrespond with current estimates. At a glance it will appear that rye,\nbuckwheat, sweet potatoes, sugar and rice have nowhere nearly kept up with\nthe increase of population, while all the other crops have been\nconsiderably in excess. The barley crop could not be shown upon the chart\nfor want of room, but is more than fifteen times as great. The cultivation\nof fruits is estimated to be twenty times as great, although the census\nreturns give insufficient figures for accuracy. It is evident that the\npeople of the United States demand a better living, as well as raise more\nprofitable crops, than in 1850. Some striking illustrations of the effects\nof the Civil War are seen in the falling off of many crops during that\nperiod. Only oats, wheat and potatoes increased beyond the increase in\npopulation. Most of the others actually diminished; and the staple\nproducts of the southern states prior to the war have scarcely as yet\nregained their previous standing. This is accounted for in part by the\nimmense destruction of capital, but in larger part by the entire change in\nconditions of plantation cultivation.\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n   Chart II. Showing the rate of increase in total crops for the given\n                     period. See explanation, p. 10.\n\n\n_Wealth in material objects._—Our attention is called to wealth in\ncomparing two material objects of desire. One has more uses, more\nimportant uses, more rare uses, than another; or one is less easily\nobtained than another. In either case we prize that one in store, as the\nmore important. We compare two farms, as material aids to different\nowners, and call both wealth in different degrees. We note the condition\nof two countries as to all the machinery of industry, and know that one\nhas greater wealth than the other. We compare the accumulations of this\ngeneration with those of our fathers, and rejoice in our advance in wealth\nas one important form of power to gain a genuine welfare. Thus, in\ncomparing our country’s inventory by the census of 1890 with that of 1850,\nwe find that while its people are only 2.7 times as many, there are 3.15\ntimes as many farms of exactly the same number of acres, though more of\neach is cultivated, and that the value of property used in farming is more\nthan four times as great; so we know that the farmers have increased in\nwealth and welfare as compared with our fathers. See Charts I and II.\n\n_Rural wealth analyzed._—A brief analysis of rural wealth in any\nestablished community will help to understand the meaning of the word and\nits relation to welfare. First may be named the farm fields and\nplantations brought by exertions continued through long years from raw\nforest or prairie to present tilth and productiveness. An English farmer,\nwhen asked how long it took to establish a certain permanent pasture,\nreplied, “Three hundred years.” Second, all fences, drives and farm\nbuildings, for convenience of handling and storing produce and stock.\nThird, all the tools and implements of the trade. Fourth, all domestic\nanimals of every kind, and all attendants of their sustenance and growth,\nincluding feed and manure. Fifth, all contrivances for marketing and\npreparing for market. Sixth, all highways between neighbors and toward\nmarket. Seventh, all local elevators, stock-yards and depot facilities.\nEighth, the homes, with all material comforts and utensils. Ninth, any\nstore of provisions in cellar, pantry, smokehouse or bin. Tenth, all\npersonal belongings for clothing, adornment and enjoyment. Eleventh, the\nfamily libraries and associated treasures. Twelfth, any actual store of\ngold, silver or other current wealth available for future wants. This does\nnot include notes, mortgages, bonds, or any other promises to pay, nor\ncertificates of stock in any business enterprise, because these are mere\ntitles to wealth supposed to exist elsewhere,—as distinct from the wealth\nas the deed is from the farm. Thirteenth, any peculiar advantages of\nlocation, scenery, pure air, pure water and agreeable temperature, that\nare controlled by owners for personal advantage or enjoyment, and can be\nobjects of desire to others. Fourteenth, any “good will” attached to, and\npart of, particular farms, due to long established methods and facilities\nin preparing or marketing produce. If such “good will” is attached to a\nperson rather than to the place, it is not wealth, but power.\n\nThe last two are seldom distinctly enumerated by the assessor, yet they\nare clearly estimated in any exchange of places or transfer of titles.\nThey are owned, used and transferred like other forms of wealth, and save\nfuture exertions to obtain them. All these are wealth because they\ncontribute to welfare through being accumulated materials to meet future\nwants, and are to be measured in any estimate by their relation to the\nwants they will satisfy and the exertions they will save.\n\n_Future wants certain._—Wants and exertions are readily seen to be at the\nfoundation of all ideas of wealth as indicated above. If we are uncertain\nas to the continuance of any wants or uncertain as to the conditions for\nmeeting those wants, we stop accumulation of materials for satisfying\nthem. Exertion stops unless the satisfaction to be gained by our effort is\nforeseen with a reasonable certainty. The farmer is never absolutely sure\nof returns for his labor upon the cornfield; but he is reasonably certain,\nand is absolutely certain that the crop will not come without labor. This\nassumed continuance of individual wants and their relations gives the\ngrand motive for wealth gathering.\n\nThe means of protection and support for physical life will be needed by\nourselves and our children. Tools of better form and machinery of better\nmanufacture will be needed to reduce exertion in future. Reduced exertion\nfor a given satisfaction will mean a fuller supply of things we are going\nto need still. If these wants are fully met, we are going to have leisure\nto satisfy larger and higher wants. It is the certainty that each advance\nof wealth will bring advancing wants to consume more wealth, that gives a\ngenuine motive to activity in gaining wealth, i.e., in accumulating the\nthings to be used. The degree of uncertainty in all future plans leads to\nover-estimating the importance of gold, diamonds or any forms of wealth\nthat can most easily be transferred between places or individuals, or be\nturned to account in each change of necessities.\n\n_Ownership._—The importance of wants and exertion emphasizes the\nimportance of the individual self in all ideas of wealth. The _ownership_\nof one’s _own_ abilities and their products is absolutely essential to his\ncare for accumulation, and that care is in proportion to his security in\nsuch ownership. Directly or indirectly, every exertion and every sacrifice\nmust depend upon confidence that it will bring its object; but\nwealth-getting has no object without control, in some measure, of results.\nThis fact makes individual ownership an essential to the highest exertion,\na natural sequence to the right of liberty.\n\nProperty rights are grounded in the general and individual welfare, as\nshown in human nature and in the progress of the world along the line of\nprotection to property. Those communities are most happy which best\nprotect individual property. As J. E. Thorold Rogers remarks, “Sacredness\nis accorded to private property, because society prospers by it.” Even\ntheorizers who denounce individual property-holding found their argument\nupon the equity of individual rights in property. War is less harmful than\nanarchy, because it ensures a measure of control. Slavery has sometimes\nbeen less injurious than war in giving security to enjoy a portion of\nself. But a conquest of freedom by bloodshed is worth its cost in\nself-control. Civilization advances as individual responsibility for\nproperty, as well as everything else, is recognized.\n\nChristianity is ideally practical in upholding every man’s right to\nself-control in the interest of all. It distinguishes equity from equality\nin distribution of all good, wealth included. Public property is rightly\npublic when the wants and energies of all the community are best provided\nfor by such common ownership. Proof in each particular case is essential\nagainst the presumption that individual needs are the best impulses to\nprovision for welfare. Even common property is limited necessarily to the\nnumbers who can use it. No property or wealth can exist for anybody\nwithout the control of some human individuals for whom it is accumulated.\n\n_Wants individual._—We are likely to lose sight of the essential\nindividuality of wants and exertions which make wealth possible, because\nin any community exchange of services modifies the direct relation of each\nman’s wants to his accumulations. Assuming that others, wanting food, will\nexchange clothing for it, one man stores food alone, but in quantities far\nbeyond his own need, measuring its relation to all his material wants\nthrough the wants and exertions of others. He feels even more sure of the\ncontinued activity of wants and powers among a multitude than if he had\nbut one neighbor; but individuals, after all, must need his products and\nexert themselves to meet the need, or all his calculations fail.\n\n_Progress in welfare._—Economic progress must show a larger welfare to\nindividuals of the community. The familiar figure by which a commonwealth\nis compared to an animal organism fails to include the important fact that\nthe individuals of the commonwealth furnish the only reason for the\nexistence of the commonwealth itself, as well as its only means of\nexistence. The cells of the animal, or even the most important organs,\nhave no reason for existence in themselves. Each individual man furnishes\nthe reasons for his activity, and the needs of individual men furnish the\nonly reason for having a commonwealth.\n\nWe can speak of progress, then, only when these individuals secure a\nbetter use of wealth in some way. It may be by accumulation through saving\nfrom the full years for the empty, as older communities can endure a\ndrought with little suffering, while pioneers are ruined. It may be by an\nincreased product for a given exertion, as illustrated by every\nlabor-saving implement upon the farm or in the factory. It may be by\nlessening exertion for a given product, as in the devices of kitchen and\ndairy to make tasks lighter. It may be in better distribution of the total\nproduct through readier and fairer exchanges of services or products, as\nhappens with every improvement in transportation and every means for\nfairer understanding in a bargain. Lastly, it may be in more economical\nexpenditure for common wants, as in maintaining government machinery.\nUsually, progress has been marked along several of these lines at once, if\nnot all of them. There is reason in the statement of Charles Francis Adams\nthat the last century far exceeds the gain of a thousand years before.\n\n_Production, distribution, consumption._—Full consideration of rural\nwealth as related to welfare must first give the principles upon which\nwealth is produced, including exchange with all its machinery; for the\nmarketing of produce is today one of the chief steps in securing wealth by\nfarming. The thrifty farmer of today is the man of most business tact and\nenergy, who uses most approved means of raising, handling and marketing\nhis goods.\n\nIt also requires a careful study of principles upon which any product of\nexertions, where more than one person has contributed toward the whole,\ncan be fairly shared between the producers, however they have helped. A\nfarmer is as thoroughly interested in problems of rent, interest and\nprofits, if not in wages, as any other worker for wealth or welfare.\n\nIt further involves the study of economic uses for wealth, private and\npublic, since no wealth has found the true reason for its existence till\nthe uses to which it is put are known. This includes all questions upon\nthe economic functions of government, the ends to be served, and the\nraising and handling of revenues. If any patriots need to know for what,\nhow and in what measure their country is dependent upon their own\nresources, it is the farmers, whose homes make the bulk of the land we\nlove, whose children furnish the bone and sinew of industry, and whose\ninterests are most sensitive to misdirected energy in public\nadministration.\n\n_Security in stable government._—Agriculture, of all industries, can\nflourish in that country alone where personal and property rights are\nfully understood and respected, where claims are equitably adjusted by a\nstable government, and where taxes are properly apportioned and revenues\neconomically expended.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART I. PRODUCTIVE INDUSTRIES: ANALYSIS OF AIMS, FORCES, MEANS AND\nMETHODS.\n\n\n\n\nChapter I. Aims Of Industry.\n\n\n_Production defined._—A very little thought shows that men produce nothing\nin the sense of creating. All production is simply overcoming obstacles to\nsatisfaction of wants as we find these obstacles in space, time and form\nor substance of natural objects. In doing this we are confined to mere\nability to move things. The very highest effort of man’s energy today but\nproves the saying of Lord Bacon, “All that man can do is to move natural\nobjects to and from each other: nature working within accomplishes the\nrest.” This is fully illustrated in farm operations. The bringing together\nof soil, seed, sunshine and shower, according to their natures, secures\nthe product of nature—a crop. Moving food and water to the steers, or the\nsteers to food and water, under proper conditions of warmth, air and\nexercise, produces beef. To know how and when and where to move things so\nthat nature may meet our wishes by what always happens under the same\ncircumstances, would be to have all the arts of life; in short, production\nis the art of moving things. But we distinguish different kinds of\nproduction according to the direct results expected from our motion, as\nreducing space and time, modifying the form, or changing the substantial\nqualities of things handled.\n\n_Transportation in production._—The change of place necessary to bring\ntogether wants and those things which satisfy them is a method of\nproducing wealth most apparent everywhere. The bringing of wild fruits\nfrom the forest or the swamp to the home gives them worth. The mere\ntransportation, change of place, gives them an importance they did not\nhave on the trees or bushes. In this transportation we put the energy\nnecessary to take grain from the fields all the way to the bake-ovens, and\nfinally to our mouths, or to carry the milk from the stable or yard in\npail, can, wagon, train, delivery cart and bottle, to the lips of the\nchild whose life it maintains. Every kind of material or force expended in\nthis process of overcoming space is used in the idea that the object is\nworth the expenditure in the place finally reached. If the motion stops\nanywhere along the way, the wealth is not obtained, or at least is held\nonly in expectation until the motion can be completed. While each of fifty\nindividuals may give a hand, and pass his claim to the next for a\nconsideration, the wealth is all the way increasing in anticipation, as\nthe object comes nearer its use.\n\nIn this progress time as well as space is an important obstacle to be\novercome, and we employ all means of increasing speed, or preserving\nagainst what we call “the ravages of time,” i. e., the operation of\ninjurious forces acting in time upon most material substances. The methods\nemployed for storing, curing and forcing to maturity the various forms of\nfood needed in a community are aimed at meeting this obstacle, and add to\nits final worth; indeed these may be the means of giving value to all the\nother efforts in transportation, as in moving beef from Kansas City to New\nYork, or fresh fruit from San Francisco to Boston.\n\nIn the same process of putting things where they are needed, all merchants\nare engaged. Without the store, the order upon the shelves, the ready\nattendant and his despatch in meeting your demand, the pounds of sugar or\nsalt essential to your comfort could not be had for love or money. These\nefforts are an essential part in the motion between wants and objects to\nsatisfy them. Much of this kind of motion we include under the name\ncommerce, though that word more directly implies the exchanges involved.\nThe machinery of commerce is chiefly the means of bringing things wanted\nto the people who want them.\n\nMuch, however, of the exertion required in all industries, especially in\nfarming, is simply “to fetch and carry.” It will emphasize this fact to\nstudy, while you eat a piece of cherry pie, the processes involved in\nbringing it from the treetop, grainfield, dairy and cane-field, through\nmill and store and pantry and oven, to your plate. Transportation cuts a\ntremendous figure in production of wealth. In the first stages of social\nlife it is almost the whole. The hunter talks of “bringing in” his game.\nAustralians, Hottentots and Digger Indians lived by carrying themselves\nfrom one supply of food to another.\n\n_Transformation in production._—Much of the material gathered by us needs\nsome change of form to suit our wants. An ax-helve has in it the original\nwood of the young hickory brought from the forest, but its form is\nfashioned by effort with ax, drawshave, scraper and sandpaper, until it\nsatisfies the judgment of an expert chopper. This transformation is\nemployed in any industries where wood, ivory, the metals and other\nminerals are shaped by tools, or by molding, or pressing or bending, to\nour wishes. Most fabrics are materials put into form. The word manufacture\ncovers most of such work where materials are manipulated by shaping; but\nit also includes many operations with a different aim, to change the\nsubstance itself.\n\n_Transmutation in production._—Men have found that two metals, tin and\ncopper, melted together produce brass, different in qualities from either.\nFarmers have for many centuries contrived, by keeping nature’s forces\nunder control in the wheat field, to combine certain elements of the soil,\nincluding its moisture, into grain. The single seed has multiplied a\nhundredfold through being placed in favorable conditions, with the raw\nmaterials at hand in the fertile soil.\n\nThe process of maintaining animals with suitable food for the production\nof milk or flesh is similar. The combination of flour, water, salt and\nyeast, by heat, first mild and then intense, into a loaf of bread is a\ngood illustration of a change of qualities by rearrangement of the\nelements of a substance. It is sometimes called transmutation, and comes\nthe nearest possible to creation of material things. The chemist’s\nlaboratory exists for making such new combinations, and many of the arts\nproduce materials, like steel, which would not exist without such\ncombination. But many have seen in the art of agriculture a most prominent\nillustration of transmuting coarser elements into products adapted to\nhuman wants for food, shelter and adornment. All such work, however, is\ndone by bringing objects and forces into such contact that chemical or\nvital changes will take place while we wait.\n\n_Production extended._—In all these three directions, or in any\ncombination of them, transporting, transforming and transmuting materials,\nmen seek the production of a supply for meeting anticipated wants, and so\ncontribute directly or indirectly to welfare. No one way of producing what\nmen need, where they need it, and when they need it, has any superior\nclaim to the name production. All are making the material yield up welfare\nto the one who needs it, and produce wealth just so far as their services\nare necessary in bringing the welfare. If ever any step in the process\nbecomes useless, it ceases to be productive of wealth and becomes waste.\nThe inventive powers of mankind are always at work to shorten the\nprocesses and hasten the advantages of production. Men study the minutest\nworkings of nature to find the conditions under which she does her part of\nthe work. The application of such minute knowledge is a chief part of\nevery art. This is also the object of science; for, as Guizot says, “It\nonly began to have a well defined existence when it confined itself to\nseeking the ‘how’ rather than the ‘why’ of nature’s workings.” This\npurpose sustains in the United States more than fifty agricultural\nexperiment stations, united in a great organization, to find how the\nnatural forces used by farmers do their work.\n\nThis prophecy of a noted economist is warranted: “Probably the greatest\neconomic revolution which the youth of today may in his old age behold,\nwill be found in this all-important branch of our industries.” When we\nknow how nature works, we can adjust our little motions in time and place\nto promote that work; we shall have the art of moving things to suit our\nneeds. Nothing can be truer than Tennyson’s line, “We rule by obeying\nnature’s powers.”\n\n\n\n\nChapter II. Forces In Production Of Wealth.\n\n\n_Nature._—When men learn to meet their wants by exertion in accord with\nnature’s ways, they are said to use the forces of nature in production of\nwealth. Every accumulation of materials for satisfying future needs\nimplies some control over natural objects. If advantage is taken of\nnatural motions or other activities to bring about larger accumulation,\nthe man whose plans secure this has gained control over, and so\nproperty-rights in, the natural force which he has harnessed. The wind\ncaught by a sail and the water controlled by a dam contribute to the\npower, and indirectly to the wealth, of the man who contrives to make them\nmove things for him. The directive actions of men necessarily appropriate\nthe natural objects which they use, together with all the qualities of\nthose objects.\n\n_Energy._—Human exertion produces wealth, as we have seen, whenever it\nanticipates and provides for future wants by securing at hand the things\nto be used. So far as this anticipation includes control of forces or\nqualities in nature, these natural agencies contribute to wealth of\nindividuals or communities. So voluntary human exertion is combined with\ninvoluntary forces of outside nature to give wealth. No amount of gold in\nAlaska is wealth until some human ability has appropriated it to human\nuses; but the mere fact of locating a claim for mining purposes gives the\nprospector advantage over any other man because of his foresight. So every\nactivity of nature may become a factor in wealth by human ingenuity in\nmaking it useful.\n\n_Natural forces._—Such natural agencies for producing wealth are seen in\nthe simple properties of material bodies, such as the metals or woods or\ngrains or fruits or flowers possess. We secure these properties for our\nuses. Gravity, sound, heat, light, electricity, chemical affinity,\ncrystallization, even life itself, are names for certain forms of energy\nin nature which men are using more or less to meet their wants. Whenever\nexertion is needed to provide for using these, the thought of wealth is\nconnected with the forces themselves. The fish in the sea and rivers\nbecome wealth to one who has caught them, and even more distinctly the\nproperty of the community which has protected them in breeding. Sunlight\nmay reach all alike in welfare, but the man who has contrived to make it\nprint pictures for him has made sunlight into wealth in the picture.\nEqually so the farmer’s energy and contrivance use the properties of soil\nand climate and the vital energies of seeds to make wealth in a crop.\n\n_Control for welfare._—As each individual worker gains control over any of\nthese properties or forces he advances in wealth and welfare. It becomes\nhis own means of meeting wants. If all individuals in a community share in\nsuch control, they think of the good things as part of the general\nwelfare, and do not enumerate them in anybody’s wealth except when\ncomparing their own condition with that of another community. Advantages\nof this kind constantly tend to become more universal, and so to count\nvery little in individual wealth. Many advantages of civilization today\nbelong to all the world alike, so that nature seems to meet our wants\ngratuitously; but the story of progress shows that these are gifts\ninherited from the wealth of past ages. The human exertion which they once\ncost is overlooked in the ease of the present. Mere fire was once a\ntreasure to be cherished and kept at much expenditure of strength and\nforesight. Now we kindle a fire so easily that nobody thinks of it as a\npart of the world’s wealth.\n\n_Land as a force._—Land represents a combination of natural energies and\nproperties so important as to be named sometimes as a distinct force in\nproduction. It implies, first, needed space for various kinds of exertion\nin both country and town. Second, it includes all mineral, vegetable and\nanimal bodies that are found above, on or under the surface. Third, it is\nsoil, an essential part of a farmer’s equipment in using nature’s\nprocesses of growth.\n\nAs most of these properties of land can be put to use only by repeated and\ncontinued exertion in the same place, a large portion of the earth is\nnecessarily apportioned to individual control, i. e., to the ownership of\nthose who can direct its uses, and so it becomes wealth. The sea in most\nof its uses to men requires no such local control, and so is not owned by\na nation even; but the harbors, ships and wharves, the oyster-beds and\nfishing banks, soon become the property of some body of men that will make\nand keep them useful. Even a pathway over the high seas may yet be\ncontrolled for the safety of the huge steamers that dash across.\n\nLand, except when used for absolutely universal welfare, must be under\nindividual control, and even then other individuals may have the right of\nway because of its necessity in the common use. Peculiarities of property\nin land arising from limitations in quantity or quality will be spoken of\nunder _Scarcity Prices_ and _Rent_. They differ from similar questions as\nto any other form of property only because this form of property seems\nmore permanent. Any force of nature brought under control by individual\neffort contributes to wealth of individuals till all gain equal control.\nPeculiarities of climate affect the quality of wool, cotton, grains and\nfruit, and even the beef and mutton raised under it. But these effects we\nconnect with the land. Such peculiarities also affect manufactures of\nvarious kinds, and so location has value.\n\n_Effort for gain._—Voluntary human effort is always made with the\nexpectation of gain from its exertion; otherwise it would not be made. As\nGuizot says, “Our ideal is to procure the maximum of utility with the\nminimum of effort.” The exertion is always counted in the cost of any\nproduct, whatever the natural forces employed. If the crop fails, or the\nproduct is unsalable, the effort has lost its expected reward, and\nprospective losses are estimated with more or less care in judging whether\na product is worth the exertion. The half crop of a droughty year costs as\nmuch as the full crop of a plenteous year, and compensation for the loss\nis expected from the surplus of the full crop.\n\nIn estimating the exertion given, all human energies are counted, whether\nthey belong to the present, like muscular power, good eyesight, quick\nintelligence; or to the past, like dexterity from training, superior\nknowledge, accumulated tools, established character. If the immediate\nexertion is most prominent, the word labor includes the whole exertion. If\ntools and machinery are used, capital is a contributor to the product and\ntakes its share. If skill or knowledge or character become important,\npersonal attainments are a chief cause of the product, and so a chief\nclaimant in the reward.\n\n\n\n\nChapter III. Labor Defined And Classified.\n\n\n_Labor defined._—Exertion of any kind for meeting individual wants we call\nlabor, whether it simply gathers food from the forest, or contrives the\nmost intricate machinery for satisfying wants that may take years to grow.\nExertion that has no end beyond itself, no matter how severe it may be, we\ncall play, and consider it important in public welfare only as it aids in\nhealth and morals. Labor is separated, too, from all exertions to destroy\nor injure the welfare of others, if we can see their object. Any person\nclaiming to labor professes to have given his exertions for the\nsatisfaction of somebody’s wants without doing violence to the welfare of\nothers in the community. Whenever we do not assume this we concede a state\nof war, violence and destruction taking the place of production and\naccumulation. These may require exertions usually classed with labor; but\nare punished instead of being rewarded, unless we can establish their\nfinal advantage in a larger welfare for humanity, or in defense of\nsociety.\n\n_Productive labor._—The various classifications of labor serve merely to\ncall attention to peculiar relations implied in the results. If exertion\nresults in giving additional wealth, or power to produce wealth, it is\ncalled productive labor; but if it contributes only to immediate comfort\nor pleasure or safety it is called unproductive. The distinction is useful\nso far as it enables us to be prudent in adjusting energies to meet real\nwants. All labor is maintained by the product of exertions. Any labor\nexpended without a product must be provided for by an increased product\nfrom some other form of labor. A farmer may sustain life upon the food he\nraises; but the wife who makes his house a home cannot live on the product\nof her labors. She may add to the value of some products directly, as in\nturning milk into butter, and raw materials into palatable food; but her\nchief energy may be in getting satisfaction for the household out of\nmaterials gained by her husband. Both are essential to the welfare of\neither, and prudence requires a proper adjustment between them. A force of\nphysicians may be needed to keep a community in working condition; but if\na whole community tried to live as doctors some other community must\nfurnish the material wealth to sustain them.\n\nAny increase of labor upon material products, either directly or\nindirectly, may increase ability to meet future wants, while increase of\nlabor upon present uses of wealth may diminish ability for the future. The\nwealth of a community is the product of all the labors that contribute to\nmake material nature useful. This classification is important in studying\nthe question of productive consumption of wealth, but does not decide\nwhich gives best results. It is a serious error to assume that the worker,\nwhose labor is directly applied to materials, gives to our wealth all its\nvalue. If several men are building a house, one may contribute as much to\nthe building by cooking for the rest as if he worked in turn in the\nconstruction. In the same way all the household, if well ordered, aid\ntoward the result of their united labors. The physician who shortens the\nillness of a farmer contributes his share toward raising the farmer’s\ncrop. The lawyer who makes property safer, and the minister who gives\nstronger motives for exertion, are sharers in the force that brings the\nproduct.\n\n_Physical, mental, moral labor._—The classification of labor according to\nthe powers employed serves to call attention to the wide range of\nexertions rightly classed as labor. If the exertion is chiefly muscular,\nlabor of hands, shoulders, legs or any part of the body, it is properly\ncalled physical. If the main effort is that of the intellect in planning,\ninventing, contriving ways and means, or in remembering, counting or\nthinking of any kind, it is just as truly labor, but mental. If the chief\nexertion is in the good will that resists temptations, guards interests,\ncontrols violence and folly, secures order and devises liberal things for\nsociety, the labor is moral. Moral labor is often recognized in wages,\nfaithfulness being more important in some services than in others, and\npaid for. Mechanical devices for promoting honesty or watchfulness may\nsave, in part, moral labor.\n\nThis view of labor helps us to see the wide range of efforts that unite in\nproduction of wealth, since all the energies of a man may be employed in\nhis work. The successful farmer is one who makes the most of all his\nabilities—his muscles, his mind and his heart—and his hard work is far\nfrom being confined to his hands. The three kinds of labor are combined in\nsome proportion in every life, but the best and most productive life his\nmost room for hard thinking and self-control.\n\n_Operative, executive, speculative labor._—In the advancing complexity of\nsociety a still more important classification of labor is apparent. If a\nman’s effort of any kind is simply to follow directions in an established\nroutine, it is called operative labor, and the laborer becomes an\noperative. He works usually by the day, hour or piece, under a foreman or\noverseer. Beyond the task set for him, he has no thought nor will. Over\nhim is a director—the foreman, overseer, contractor or boss—whose chief\neffort is to carry forward to completion some plan committed to him as a\ntrust. The foreman’s labor is largely mental and moral in adjusting tasks\nand keeping the operatives, “the hands,” well employed. This is well named\nexecutive labor, and requires peculiar abilities and character.\n\nStill farther away from the mere task is the effort that devises the plan;\nadjusts part to part, decides upon materials suitable for each part,\nestablishes the ideal of excellence for every part and for the whole, and\nforesees its actual uses. Invention of every kind illustrates the exertion\nof foresight in planning, but such exertion is not confined to technical\ninvention. The farmer who lies awake nights to plan his year’s work so\nthat he may have the largest returns for his undertakings in marketable\nproducts, gives the same kind of effort as the inventor. A good name for\nthis is speculative labor,—an exertion to foresee and provide for future\nneeds of society.\n\nIn much of farm life all these are mingled: the same man devises the plan,\nexecutes his own ideas, and performs the tasks himself. But every one\nrealizes the difference of success growing out of the planning. Many a\ngood man needs to follow another’s plans, and not a few “work better for\nothers than they can for themselves.” In some great undertakings the\nprojector and planner, the contractor and overseer and the worker of\ndetails are necessarily separated. This may be well illustrated in the\nconstruction of a great building, for which an architect gives all\nattention to a plan, and may require a considerable force of assistants\nand draftsmen to embody his ideas on paper; then contractors, one or\nseveral, secure material, employ men and direct them in placing materials\nin form and combination to suit the plans; but a host of workmen move as\ndirected at the will of a foreman to pile brick, mortar, stone, iron or\ntimber according to the plan. The labor of the architect makes possible\nthe entire structure—makes the work for all that enter into his labors.\n\nThis classification into speculative, executive and operative labor helps\nto a fair estimate in sharing the proceeds of combined labors, and gives a\nproper importance to the inventive and foreseeing energy which causes the\ngrowth of civilization. _That form of exertion which has done most to meet\nthe world’s wants is speculative labor._\n\n_Invention in farming._—A capital illustration of speculative labor,\nproductive in the highest degree, is the invention of reaping machinery.\nThe inventor has gained riches by his contrivance, but the world has\ngained far more by his foresight and ingenuity. Similar energy has been\nput into all labor-saving machinery, and still plays an important part in\ndevising the best uses for it.\n\nEvery farmer has a similar need of planning for every field he plows.\nThere is a certain draft for each horse, a certain speed for the plow, a\ncertain adjustment of harness to the team, which gives a full return for\nthe force employed. A failure to find this causes waste. All the effort of\nscientific research into causes and conditions of growth or disease of\nplants and animals is speculative labor, out of which the next advance of\nagriculture must come. The mere operative power of a laborer can be\nsupplanted by brute force or by machinery, but nothing can ever supplant\nthe intelligent foresight that invents, plans and devises the end to be\nreached, and the ways and the means for reaching it.\n\nThe very foundation of any success in farming is clear foresight and\ndistinct planning for a succession of crops, each to be tended, harvested,\nstored and marketed in the very nick of time. The best energy of every\nfarmer is properly given to finding what crop to raise, how and when to\nhave it ready for the world that is going to need it. He best meets his\nown daily wants when “Mr. Contrivance” stands by him in all his efforts.\nThis contrivance is the chief exertion of a successful farmer’s life.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IV. Capital Defined And Classified.\n\n\n_Capital distinguished from wealth._—Whenever material wealth is used not\ndirectly in meeting present wants, but to produce more wealth suited to\nfuture wants, it is called capital. Any store of good things devoted only\nto meeting wants as they come is thought of as wealth, as well as possible\ncapital, since at any time it may be made the means of creating other\nwealth to more than take its place. The distinction grows wholly out of\nthe uses of wealth, not its forms. A horse used, or to be used, as a force\nin production by drawing loads is counted as capital; but if used for mere\npleasure-riding is only wealth, which leaves no material return when\nconsumed. Thus the same horse may, in the hands of a breeder, a trainer,\nor a liveryman be capital, but in the hands of a fancier or a pleasure\nseeker be only wealth, to be used as wanted.\n\nWealth in dwellings or public buildings constructed for enjoyment rather\nthan protection of a working community is not capital, and may be\ndestroyed by fire or storm without serious disturbance of industry. The\nloss is bravely met, the hardship endured and extra energy put into\nrestoration. A farmer may lose a fine house and by living in less comfort\nfor a time restore it, while the loss of his teams or his barns may\ncripple his industry. In the great Chicago fire of 1871 the wealth\ndestroyed is estimated at $50,000,000, while the loss of actual capital\nmay have been only $5,000,000. An energetic use of the capital remaining\nwrought apparent wonders in the restoration of wealth. Indeed, the total\ncapital of our country is supposed to be only three times the annual\nproduct of industry, though a century of labor could not restore it if\ndestroyed entirely, because effective tools would be wanting.\n\nThe capital of an individual is such a portion of his wealth as he is\nusing to maintain and increase his wealth. The capital of a country\nincludes all the farms, so far as they are made such by improvements\ndirectly or indirectly, including all ways and means of communication and\ntransportation, for roads contribute to all goods drawn over them; all\nbuildings devoted to systems of production, including necessary protection\nof laborers themselves; all tools, machines and contrivances for power;\nall animals employed in connection with industry; all materials of\nconstruction or growth; all materials consumed in securing and maintaining\npower, as fuel, lubricating oil, etc., or in performing operations of\nmanufacture, as dye stuffs; subsistence for the workers, the brutes they\nuse, and the families which keep up the life and comfort of the people;\nthe necessary stock in trade, that all wants may be readily supplied; all\nthe machinery of trade for ready transfers, including any actual wealth in\nform of money; all the governmental machinery for protection and\nmaintenance of order, as a first essential to wealth-producing.\n\nAll these are more simply grouped in their different relations to labor\nunder three classes: first, as sustaining labor by food, clothing,\nprotection and material on which to work; second, as aiding efficiency by\ntools, machines and stored up forces; third, as stimulating exertion by\nreducing present anxieties and arousing more far-reaching plans for future\nundertakings, illustrated by possession of satisfactory stocks of goods or\ncomfortable homes for families.\n\n_Capital a time-saver._—All these forms of wealth serve in production by\nextending the possible waiting between an effort of any kind and the\ngreater satisfaction secured by it. No community could begin farming as a\nbusiness until it had secured housing and seeds and tools and provisions\nin some form for most of a year’s sustenance. All the capital that\nconstructs a great thoroughfare is used in getting ready to satisfy wants\nin many future years. Capital furnishes subsistence for laborers of every\nkind during those years of waiting for a product. This is true capital,\nbecause the object of its use is a greater product of wealth; but the\nproduct may be long delayed. So all accumulated wealth in every form\nrepresents sustained labor during the past. Professor Taussig estimates\nthe accumulation of subsistence in all existing goods at five years of\nlabor for the community. The total value of farms in our country is just\nabout five times the average annual product of the farms, though a large\nportion of the land is unused.\n\n_Capital circulating or fixed._—A further distinction is desirable between\ncapital in food, fuel or stock in trade, which may be turned at a single\nuse into new wealth, and capital in buildings, bridges, roads and farms,\nwhich may be used many times in adding new wealth before they entirely\ndisappear or give place to new forms of capital. The first is called\ncirculating capital, and the last fixed capital.\n\nThe degree of permanence in fixed capital is indefinite of course—even\ndrains vary in permanence—and the line between the two is not always\neasily drawn, yet the distinction is real. Most men distinguish “the\nplant” in any enterprise from “the current supplies,” and realize that\nsome fit proportion exists between them. A farm well equipped can not be\nhandled to advantage without a proportional investment in current\nsupplies. Many a renter cannot pay his rent for want of means to work his\nfarm profitably. If the farm were given him, he would still be hampered by\nthe same lack of consumable goods to turn at once into larger products.\nMany a “land poor” farmer would gain at once by exchange of acres for more\n“current supplies” for his farming, such as food for help, feed for teams\nand stock, seed or fertilizers for his crops, or young stock to consume\nthe raw product of his fields. In the fourteenth century the stock of\nEuropean farms was worth three times the value of the farms. Similar\nconditions are found now in some newer portions of the United States. It\nis impossible to estimate exactly the existing ratio between fixed and\ncirculating capital from statistics at hand. Farmers in older, more\ndeveloped regions can use, without suffering, a larger per cent of fixed\ncapital than pioneers can, because the circulation is more rapid. For the\nsame reason the raising of staple annual crops gives place to double\ncropping, dairying and full feeding as land grows more valuable, frequent\nreturns serving instead of large circulating capital.\n\nIn general, the wealth of a community is better judged by its fixed\ncapital, while its thrift is known from its circulating capital. Fixed\ncapital is always secured by consumption of circulating capital. The\nextension of railroads always implies great reduction of ready supplies.\nMoney _between_ individuals and communities ranks as circulating capital,\nbut _within_ any community the stock of money needed for domestic trade\nmay be thought of as a permanent machine. Even machinery may be\ncirculating capital in the hands of one who manufactures or sells it,\nthough fixed when located in its work, and for the whole community is\n“fixed” as soon as its destined use is determined by its form. Thus the\ndistinction, though real, is flexible. Its importance in discussing the\nindustries of a country, or in understanding the relations of various\nindustries to each other and to the world, will appear later in the book.\n\n_Capital unproductive._—Capital is sometimes said to be unproductive in\ncontrast with _productive_, although the very nature of capital requires\nproductiveness. The occasion for this distinction is in the fact that\nmeans devoted to future production of wealth in a particular way may be\nyears in returning the product; the destination is evident and the return\nconfidently expected, yet the owner is without income or near prospect of\nincome. Such ventures are seen in the reclaiming of waste lands by\ndrainage, the equipment of extensive mines, and the construction of dykes\nand levees. Land held for sale or use in the indefinite future is a most\ncommon illustration of unproductive capital.\n\nIf wealth in some readily exchangeable form is intended for productive\nuse, but is held for a satisfactory opportunity, it is sometimes called\nfree or _floating capital_. It may be available for any temporary use, and\nso afloat among a variety of investments. Some great enterprises, like the\nbuilding of the Suez canal, are begun in view of attracting floating\ncapital. Borrowers generally look to such accumulations for their supply\nof funds.\n\n_Capital in farming._—A clear view of the uses of capital may be gained\nfrom estimating the needs of a young farmer just starting out for himself.\nFor all his equipments he must depend upon the time and effort of somebody\nembodied in form of tools, material and sustenance, for capital in any\nform is simply this. A farm of 160 acres improved, or already out of the\ncrude pioneer stage, represents about ten years of one man’s time, say\n$3,000. A house suitably furnished for himself and his young wife means\nthree years of time, $1,000. His barns and corrals and intersecting fences\ncost two years of time, $600. His team and stock and the necessary tools\nmake nearly three years of time again, $900. Seed, feed, provisions,\nclothing, insurance and wages for help, all to be used before his first\nyear’s crop is sold, require at least $500 worth of time, or nearly two\nyears more. The needed capital for such a farm thus represents full\neighteen years of the time of an able-bodied man, or $6,000. If we add to\nthis the cost of bringing to mature age and intelligence the three able\nand efficient workers needed to manage and work that farm, we shall credit\nthe past, without counting the time and energy of the young people\nthemselves in growing and learning and gaining their skill, with thirty\nyears of labor; $10,000, put into the farm and its occupants as they stand\nready for a year’s work. This accumulation is likely to show all the forms\nof capital described.\n\n_Capital conservative._—Capital, especially in fixed forms, being in its\nnature the conserving of energy, is necessarily an incentive to\nconservatism in society, since any great and sudden changes in the habits\nof a community involve rapid consumption or destruction of capital.\nCapital is said to be “timid.” This statement means simply that all owners\nand users of capital who realize the time required for accumulating it\nhesitate to risk its destruction in doubtful enterprises, uncertain\nconfidence or venturesome experiments in government or financiering. War,\nriots, or even revenue laws, may destroy fixed capital that has been the\ngrowth of a century. A small change in tariff laws has rendered useless\nimmense factories. For the same reason farmers, having so large a fixed\ncapital in farms and farm machinery, do not take kindly to political\nchanges involving doubtful consequences. States where the capital is still\ncirculating may readily venture upon experiments financial or political,\nsince little time is lost even in destructive results. People in new\ncountries take risks readily because they have less to risk.\n\n\n\n\nChapter V. Personal Attainments.\n\n\n_Accumulated energies._—The force accumulated through personal effort in\ntraining, education and discipline is similar to capital in the fact that\nit represents a period of time between the effort and its full\naccomplishment, and that it is devoted to production of wealth. It differs\nfrom capital in being immaterial human energy, exceedingly useful in\ncombination with capital, but a part of the laborer, not his tools. It is\ngained by devoting time, attention, thought and practice to acquiring\nmethods of greatest efficiency in any act of labor. It requires surplus\nenergy in labor at any task to gain, not only the material result, but\npower to do the same task better and more easily next time. All the time\nexpended in acquiring such powers is put into the value of what is finally\nproduced. Any peculiar tact or ability developed becomes an essential part\nof individual powers, and its product, like that of any form of exertion,\nbecomes the property of the individual.\n\nIn this way, not only is the cost of gaining skill or education, or of\nestablishing habits, returned in the product, but often a considerable\nincrement, or gain, from the larger demand for such abilities. A skilled\nartisan’s labor meets more urgent demands for its use.\n\n_Skill._—If this extra exertion takes the form of training muscles, nerves\nand brain to act with speed and accuracy as judgment directs, we call the\nattainment _skill_. Even if the action required is simple, dexterity comes\nonly by practice, and in special cases may multiply the product many\ntimes. Two men may shear sheep with equal accuracy, but one has three\ntimes the speed of the other. His skill secures employment at three times\nthe wages of the other, with profit to the employer, because the extra\nspeed saves room, attendance and risk over employing three men at\none-third the rate. The shearer profits by the rarity of his skill in\ngetting the wages of three men, with the support of but one, and in more\nconstant employment. When the operation is more complex, and success\ninvolves larger interests, skill counts indefinitely more, and as society\ngrows complex the room for exercise of skill becomes larger and more\nvaried. The wide difference between pioneer farming and market-gardening\nillustrates this. The history of agriculture shows the slow development of\nskill in the furrow, the ditch and hedge, and in the handling and breeding\nof stock. Farmers once barely scratched an acre a day with their rude plow\nand were long in learning the use of a harrow. No attempt, according to\nProfessor Rogers, to improve the breeds of cattle and sheep appeared\nbefore the eighteenth century in England. Most early improvements in\nfarming skill came from the industrious monks, whose intelligence fostered\nskill.\n\nThe advantage given by skill perpetuates skill from generation to\ngeneration through aptitude and superior training, and so the people of a\nneighborhood or a country may inherit such power in contrast with other\nregions. “Yankee ingenuity” has become proverbial through such natural\nextension.\n\n_Discipline._—Education serves the same purpose by acquisition of\nknowledge in such ways as to give wisdom in its application. It involves\nan exercise of intelligence to the establishing of sound judgment. Broader\nthan skill in its range, it increases the possibilities of skill as\nstorage of power. The skill of the surgeon would never have existed but\nfor the brightening of his intelligence by education. The electrician’s\ntraining depends upon a broad foundation of education in knowledge of the\nmatters he handles so dextrously. In farming, this source of stored up\npower has until very recently been ignored. While men in many professions\nwere multiplying their individual power by spending youth in school, the\nfarm boy would be simply trained at the plow, without the enlargement of\npractice in thinking required elsewhere. Such education has become at\nlength, like skill, a requisite of each generation in order that our\ncivilization may be maintained. For this the states build and the nation\nsustains agricultural colleges.\n\n_Character._—Just as important, though often overlooked in enumerating\neconomic forces, is the acquired personal habit of self-control. Without\nit both skill and education avail but little, and it may do its work\nindependently of both. “Tried and trusted” expresses our estimate of the\nimportance of long practice of virtue in meeting obstacles. The formation\nof habits—personal, business and moral,—is a matter of time and\ndiscipline. It costs exertion through a series of years; but the power\naccumulated may be needed only once, in some great emergency.\n\nThe character of the workman, the tradesman and the farmer enters more or\nless into the product of his toil and gives it value. Though I may not\ncare from whence come the shoes I wear, or the butter I eat, I do care for\nthe genuineness of both, for which I must depend upon the genuine\ncharacter of the makers and sellers of both. This, too, is maintained from\ngeneration to generation by its successful use in acquiring both power and\nwealth. It cannot be had without the expenditure of time, energy and means\nof the fathers and mothers of one age upon their successors.\n\n_Importance of attainments._—All these personal attainments, whether\nconfined to individuals or extended over whole communities, must be\nreckoned among producing powers and reckoned with in estimate of earnings.\nA community deficient in either is low in ability to supply its own wants\nor the world’s wants, and no amount of material capital can take their\nplace. They are superior to capital in being less destructible by fire or\nflood, and more easily turned to account in new enterprises as needed. No\ncapital is perpetual, even in most fixed forms, nor is any personal\nattainment sure to remain of direct use; but the latter has a larger\nexpectation of usefulness and greater permanence in the economy of\nnations.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VI. Combination Of Forces For Individual Efficiency.\n\n\n_Ideal manliness._—Every community has highest efficiency and best\ncivilization when each individual member has the largest range of\nabilities to meet wants, and the largest range of wants to be met. An\nideal civilization involves the distinct aim of gaining for each mature\nperson in any association the fullest development of all abilities and all\nmaterials and tools for their use. This is amply illustrated in a family\nof well grown, well trained, well educated, trustworthy men and women with\nsufficient capital under control to maintain the highest activity of every\npersonal power and attainment. Childhood and old age must always be\nprovided for by exertions of those whose abilities are in their prime, and\naccidental weakness of every kind is met from the same strength.\n\nAny mature person is best equipped for productive industry when, sound in\nboth body and mind, he has the accumulated energy of the past for his use\nin the shape of capital and hereditary traits, together with skill,\neducation and established character. Such a man is recognized at once to\nhave his place among “the heirs of all the ages in the foremost files of\ntime.” Any people claiming leadership among nations must depend upon its\nrepresentatives of such a fully equipped body of men for that leadership.\n\n_From savage to enlightened._—The increasing importance of such full\nmanliness, as society becomes more complex in both wants and efforts, is\neasily seen. In ruder life muscular energy and endurance, with some slight\ningenuity, are sufficient to meet the ruder needs, with some chance of\nsaving for future wants of a growing family, which will continue the same\nround of muscular contest with savage conditions.\n\nThe American Indians have given the fairest exhibition of the kind of\nwelfare which such exertion and accumulation afford. The weak disappear\nquickly, because the strong have too little surplus of energy to care for\nthem. Among those left, both burdens and means of satisfaction are quite\nequally distributed, because of essentially equal powers of exertion. But\nin older and more civilized communities large portions of the people are\ndependent upon the rest for knowledge, ingenuity and skill to keep the\nvery much larger supply of material needed for maintaining the\ncivilization. At this stage of progress a man with only muscular\ndevelopment finds himself entirely dependent upon some one else for the\nplans by which all must live. A savage cannot share equally with the wise\nman either in the burden of caring for the community or in the welfare\nwhich the community enjoys.\n\nIt is easy to see that the relative importance of accumulated wealth in\nthe shape of capital or of skill or of the character which results from\ngenerations of training, becomes more and more distinct as the community\nbecomes more developed. Any man, then, who is lacking capital, skill and\nmorals, or all three, is in some respects like the savage, and will find\nhis equals among the savages. For this reason a pioneer country affords\nopportunity for a youth without skill or personal attainments of any kind\n“to grow up with the country;” and the famous advice, “Go west, young man,\ngo west,” applies strictly to such a youth, and with less and less\ndirectness in proportion as the young man has control of himself and of\naccumulated wealth.\n\nA simple diagram (Chart III) may illustrate the progress of civilization\nfrom the general poverty and inefficiency of rude pioneer life to the\npower of a thoroughly organized and developed community. The poor man, in\nthe sense of one whose abilities are undeveloped and who has no visible\nmeans of support, is relatively less able to care for himself in the\nenlightened community than in the ruder pioneer life. In this sense, and\nthis alone, the poor man grows poorer with advancing civilization. This\nmay easily be seen by comparing a thrifty farming community of today and\nall the accumulated stock, machinery and tools of the farms, with the same\ncommunity sixty years earlier, when all was practically wilderness. A\nstrong man with an ax and a hoe could enter the wilderness anywhere and\nlive nearly as well as any of his neighbors. Such a man in the higher\ncountry life of our times must work for some one else at wages, or must be\nsupported at public expense. In either case he feels his poverty. At the\nsame time, the extreme of suffering is less likely to be reached in the\nricher community. The poorest man has comforts of which the pioneers never\ndreamed. Even a tramp can live on the fat of the land, but not by his own\nexertions. The failure of a crop in the pioneer country means starvation\nfor a large portion of the few inhabitants. A failure in the older\ncommunity means suffering for a few in diminished food and clothing, but\nall live on the accumulations of the past.\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n Chart III. Illustrating the relative importance of labor and saving, in\n    the progress of civilization from its beginnings in pioneer life.\n\n\n_Developing civilization._—This essential advantage of accumulating power\nin individuals, as civilization advances, is necessarily connected with\nthe very nature of civilization and growth. As no conceivable device can\nmake a babe as efficient as a man, so no contrivance, political or social,\ncan make an undeveloped man equal to a fully developed one.\n\nThe intense community of interests in high civilization makes even more\nimportant the individual abilities of each sharer in those interests. For\nthis reason every device for universal education, development of skill and\nstrengthening of character, and every check upon deterioration of personal\nstrength or wisdom or virtue is to be considered. Any neglect of the\nindividual in his development of personal attainments retards the\ndevelopment of the community. Any device for the equal distribution of\nwealth which does not increase individual thrift in the use of wealth at\nleast retards the growth of the community, and may very quickly reduce the\npower of the community as a whole until it reaches the inefficiency of\nsavage life.\n\nAll true charity, even equity, requires that the object of distribution of\nwealth shall be the greater efficiency of each individual. If there shall\never be a community of individuals gaining equal enjoyment, it will be\nmade up of those possessing essential equality in personal powers and\nattainments, and in accumulated capital as well.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VII. Methods Of Association.\n\n\n_Simple association._—While the absolute equality of individuals referred\nto in the preceding chapter is practically impossible, the community of\ninterests as civilization advances becomes much closer through various\nplans of association of individuals in common work. Indeed, the community\nis a community because a multitude of individuals work together. The\nsimplest form of association is seen where men work in gangs, all acting\nalike, as in lifting a log or a rock, hoeing the field, or in building an\nembankment by shoveling. Among farmers the habit of exchanging work, so\ncommon in pioneer settlements, illustrates the advantage of combination.\nThis may be called simple association, by which many hands make light\nwork.\n\n_Complex association._—A more complex association is found in even the\nrudest settlement when one man undertakes a particular kind of labor for\nall his neighbors, they in turn doing a different kind of work for him. A\nfarmer in a new settlement found the children of himself and neighbors\nwithout a school, and agreed for several winters to teach a school as many\ndays as his neighbors would chop in his clearing. This association cleared\nthe land and supplied the school. Such exchanges of labor develop rapidly\nin every growing community and form the basis of a most extensive\ncommerce. When “Adam delved and Eve span” the family was far better\nprovided for than if both had undertaken to delve and spin. The fair\nexchange of products makes each man’s product more useful to both himself\nand his neighborhood. Such association is less noticeable in a community\nof farmers, where all are seeking essentially the same products, than in\nalmost any other community. Yet the presence of the blacksmith, the\nshoemaker, the wagonmaker and the tailor contribute very largely to the\ncomfort of all concerned.\n\nOne chief disadvantage of farms remote from villages is the want of ready\nexchange, or association by different employments. The part which such\nexchange plays in the accumulation and distribution of the wealth of the\nworld is so great that several chapters will be needed to present its\nimportance. The study of exchanges is sometimes thought to cover the whole\nquestion of wealth. It is often treated as separate from production. But\nits advantages and disadvantages are most easily seen by considering all\nits bearings upon the increased product of a multitude of workers.\n\n_Compound association._—A still closer association, sometimes called\ncompound association, is found where several workers combine efforts of\ndifferent kinds in a single finished product. It is easily illustrated in\nan ordinary dairy, where one of the family drives up the cows, another\ndoes the milking, another sets the milk and cares for the purity of all\nutensils, another perhaps skims the milk and churns the butter, and still\nanother works and packs it. All this labor of many hands has its\nimportance represented in the butter packed for use. The particular\nadvantages of this division of labor will be treated in a future chapter.\n\n_Aggregation of forces._—A still further advance in association appears\nwhen many laborers in many ways, with multitudes of tools and machinery,\nare combined in a huge establishment in such a way as to employ all\nefficiently. This is illustrated in the so-called bonanza farms of the\nwest, but more distinctly appears in the great manufactories, or in any\nextensive coöperation or great enterprise. A study of these will also\nrequire a future chapter.\n\nWhile all these methods of association blend with and into each other in\nevery kind of community, a careful analysis of each is necessary to a full\nunderstanding of their relation to welfare. For this reason it is best to\nanalyze and illustrate each by itself. The succeeding chapters will take\nup all the intricacies of exchange before presenting the special\nadvantages and disadvantages of technical division of labor and of great\ncorporations.\n\n\n\n\nChapter VIII. Exchange: Advantages, Limitations And Tendencies.\n\n\n_Exchange in production._—The immense importance of exchange in promoting\nthe welfare of communities is easily granted, and is illustrated in every\nvillage store or even in every simple farming community. Today the market\nfor farm products is easily felt to be the most important consideration,\nand weighs in every farmer’s mind when buying or selling his farm. When a\nstate like Kansas raises from six to ten times as much wheat as its people\ncan use, exchange is evidently an essential factor in every farmer’s\nwelfare.\n\nThe multitude of everyday wants in most households supplied only through\ncommerce shows the extent and importance of this exchange of labor\nthroughout the world. The great advantages, however; may be seen by a\nlittle more careful analysis of the growth of individual powers under a\nready system of exchange. Every laborer becomes effective by experience in\nsome particular industry. A thousand years will not perfect a single\nworker in any of the thousands of employments needed to supply his wants.\nEvery farmer knows the weakness of a beginner in farming, coming from any\nother business; and without exchange, every workman must always be a\nbeginner in everything. Exchange is one of the chief motives to\naccumulation, since others’ wants as well as our own are kept in view. The\n“hand to mouth” liver is almost always a man of all work, thinking little\nof exchange. It is especially a stimulant to saving, since it makes\ncapital itself more useful and brings it directly into competition with\nall other forces. Products stored in the granary have their significance\nbecause of exchange.\n\nStill more important is the cultivation of special abilities, impossible\nwithout exchange. The indefinitely varied powers of human nature are made\nmost useful where each can devote his talent to a definite business; and\nusually the talent best fitted to a business is attracted toward it.\nHabits, too, which are the chief labor-saving characteristics in human\nnature; become all-important, and enable an individual to do a large part\nof his work with the least possible care. The routine of everyday life is\nfollowed with little effort or pain. The more regular the routine the\neasier it is to follow.\n\nA still greater advantage to communities is found in the enlargement of\nthe range of wants in all individuals. The superiority of enlightened men\nover savages is largely due to their greatly increased needs, since\nnecessity, the mother of invention, compels exertion and finds the way to\nsatisfaction. It seems, however, that exchange contributes most\nextensively to welfare by combining individuals into a community, and\nsmaller communities into a larger, until the whole world is brought into\nsympathy. Thus every human being gains the advantage of growth in mind and\ncharacter through some contact with every other human being within the\ncommercial world. If ever a reign of peace and plenty shall extend over\nthe world, no one doubts the importance of commerce and intimate exchange\nin bringing that time. The full advantage of free exchange in promoting\nhuman welfare cannot be over-estimated.\n\n_Exchange limited by powers._—With all its advantages, there are certain\nobstacles in the way of its extension, always more or less effective in\nlimiting its range. A community can have few exchanges among individuals\nif all are busied in the same or similar trades. A farming community has\nlittle need of buying and selling among the farmers. A horse trade or an\nexchange of one brute for another may supply all necessities. In larger\ncommunities similar limitations are found where abilities are similar, or\nwhere habits in education, government or religion are very uniform. In\nsuch cases opportunities for exchange are limited, and commerce itself\ngrows slowly.\n\nThe story of pioneer settlements is uniformly one of slow and uncertain\ncommerce for want of the variety in wants and abilities which makes the\nvery foundation of exchange. Sometimes “day’s work for day’s work” is the\nlimit of exchange throughout a whole region or country. In the world at\nlarge limitations often arise from hostile feelings between nations, and\nas yet the highest freedom of exchange between people under different\ngovernments has seldom been reached. The United States affords the\nbrightest example of people with varied characteristics developed through\nthe stimulating effect of ready exchange.\n\n_Commerce over-estimated._—So rapid has been the advancement of systems of\nexchange within the last half century that men are prone to over-estimate\nthe importance of commerce and its interests. The amount of wealth in\nmotion exaggerates the importance of wealth itself, so that multitudes\noverlook the foundation in productive industry, and become mere bettors\nupon the market, attempting to catch a part of the moving wealth as it\npasses. Any speculation in mere commercial transactions may become a very\nserious obstacle to legitimate industry by its effect upon both the\nindustry itself and the incentives to industry among the people. This\ndanger is increased by the greatly extended interest in exchange among the\nrural population.\n\nScarcely a farmer in our country is beyond the effect of any extensive\ncommerce throughout the world. The crops of South America and of the\nRussian plains are now as important to a farmer of Dakota as his own,\nsince all must find a common market in the manufacturing countries of\nEurope. Speculation on the Chicago Board of Trade is likely to be as\ninteresting to a farmer in Nebraska as to members of the Board. He is even\ntempted to try his hand at speculation, either directly through a\ncommission house or indirectly through the marketing of his grain. In\neither case he is caught by the dangerous motion of modern commerce. The\nchief remedy for these tendencies must be found in a wider acquaintance\nwith the facts of commercial life and a clearer perception of what is\ngenuine commerce.\n\nEvery farmer needs to distinguish, and distinguish carefully, the actual,\nnecessary machinery of trade and the principles underlying it, that he may\nappreciate the genuine and oppose the false. On this account several\nchapters are given to questions of exchange, with an effort to bring into\nmore prominent light the ways in which all commerce affects the farmer’s\nlife.\n\n\n\n\nChapter IX. Value The Basis Of Exchange.\n\n\n_The nature of value._—Perhaps no question in the discussion of wealth is\nof greater importance than the nature of value. Certainly the measurement\nof value in all our property is the basis of all exchanges, of all book\naccounts, and of all inventories. The worth of any piece of property in\nsuch estimates always involves some comparison, either of things possessed\nor of exertion required or of satisfaction yielded. In comparing an apple\nand a peach, both equally attainable, we may value the peach most highly\nbecause it gratifies desires in higher degree. Thinking of future uses, we\nmay value the apple more highly because it will keep longer, and so be\navailable for future wants. In considering all the kinds of satisfaction\nto be provided for, we may think of the peach as desired by more people\nwho are likely to render us service, and therefore more readily\nexchangeable, and so of higher value. Again, the peach may be at the top\nof the tree and the apple within reach, in which case we may think whether\nthe peach will give enough greater satisfaction to make it worth the\ngreater exertion to get it. In this way a single individual, who has wants\nto be gratified only by exertion, forms an idea of value as founded upon\nsome relation between his wants and his powers, between the desires to be\ngratified and the qualities of the object expected to give satisfaction.\n\nSince wealth always implies an accumulated store of good things, every one\ncomes to think of the worth of his accumulation as estimated by what it\nwill do at any time, in any place, in satisfying any need. So, most\nnaturally, we associate our ideas of value with trade. An exchange of\nhorses brings in not only the present qualities of each horse for present\nservice, but all the qualities and circumstances affecting the\npossibilities of disposing of the horse whenever something else is needed\nmore. An expert judge of horses not only knows when the horse is sound in\nwind and limb, and what are the signs of docility, speed, etc., but also\nwhat the rest of the world considers the qualities of a satisfactory\nhorse. In all experience peculiar circumstances, varying the relation\nbetween wants and satisfaction, affect immensely our estimate of value.\nWhen an ancient king shouted, “My kingdom for a horse!” he was doubtless\nmoved by the uselessness of a kingdom to one about to lose his life in\nbattle for want of a horse and also by the difficulty at that particular\nmoment of gaining a horse.\n\nIn ordinary experience everybody estimates value by some comparison with\nwhat he can obtain in exchange. A picture of a friend may be priceless in\ntwo senses: first, of so great importance to its owner that nothing can\nbuy it; second, of so little importance to anybody else that nobody will\ngive anything for it. In any inventory of wealth the picture could not be\ncounted; it is valueless. But in any judgment of personal welfare it may\nbe beyond price. So, in the universal experience, the term value has come\nto be used as essentially connected with exchanges and with property as\nstored to meet all kinds of wants.\n\n_Value in services._—In a similar way experience has developed the idea of\nvalue with reference to services. A service may be invaluable, as when a\nphysician saves the life of his patient, but the value of that service is\nestimated by the return expected in the community where the physician and\nhis patient live. Many services of highest usefulness and most important\nin welfare cannot be valued in terms of wealth, because no wealth can\nsecure them. Love and patriotism and philanthropy cannot be had for\nwealth. But in comparison of two services rendered for hire, both are\nmeasured by their general utility, either directly or indirectly, and even\nthis estimate is modified by the readiness with which either service can\nbe secured. One who seeks the service of an artist who stands alone among\nten thousand people, may be willing to give the services of a thousand\nother men, which can be had for a trifle, because they are everywhere\nabounding.\n\n_Essentials of value._—Experience seems, therefore, to settle upon three\nconditions for value in any article of wealth or any service rendered.\nFirst, the article or service must have utility—that is, it must be useful\nin satisfying somebody’s wants, either present or future. Second, those\nwants must be of such a nature that effort on the part of some human being\nwill be necessary to gratify them. Nothing which can be had at all times\nby mere desire of it can have value. Third, the object must be of such a\nnature as to command other services or exchange of other wealth. For this\nreason it must be transferable from one owner to another.\n\n_Utility as related to value._—While utility is a basis of all values, it\nis not the chief element in measuring the value of wealth. The things of\nhighest utility, like air and water, have no value as long as trifling\nexertion will bring them. Even land is without appreciable value so long\nas any person can obtain it by settling upon it.\n\nIn general, we measure utility by the relation between the nature of any\nobject and human nature as expressed in wants. A bushel of wheat has\nutility equal to the number of loaves of bread it will furnish to hungry\nhumanity. In this respect every bushel may have the same utility as every\nother. This would be true if every bushel of wheat was wanted by hungry\npeople able to exert themselves in securing it; but if five bushels of\nwheat are sufficient for each human being in a year’s supply of bread, a\ndistribution to all the world of more than five bushels to each would make\nsome of the wheat useless. So if the world’s product of wheat more than\nsupplies the world’s want, the extra amount will be without utility unless\nsome means of storing against future want is devised. In that case the\nutility of the stored portion will be lessened by the extra exertion\nrequired to store it until the need comes. One may be glad to pay\ntwenty-five cents for a good dinner, but an equally good dinner offered\nimmediately afterwards will have no utility, unless he can save it for\nsupper. If the dinners offered are so many as to imply that several will\nbe useless, the value of each is likely to be affected by this estimate of\nlost utility in some. Dinners in that case are liable to be furnished for\nwhat they are worth for cold suppers.\n\nIf any article of commerce, like wheat, has its highest utility in one way\nof meeting wants, as in bread, that utility will have a strong influence\nupon value as long as the supply of wheat is not too great for this want.\nIf the supply of wheat should be so great that only a small portion could\nbe used for bread, other utilities would be sought. It would be used for\nfeeding hens, and perhaps for cattle feed. If still the amount is too\ngreat to be consumed, it might be used for starch. In this case the least\nuseful portion is likely to furnish the estimate of value for the whole.\nBoth the raiser of wheat and the user will consider the lowest use as the\nprobable basis for sale.\n\nBefore the opening of the Erie canal a farmer in northern Ohio drew a load\nof wheat twelve miles in hope of a market. The dealer said: “It isn’t\nworth anything, since nobody has any use for it. If you had a load of\nsand, I could pay you for that, to fill the mud-hole in front of my\nstore.” Since the utility of some wheat was nothing, the value of all\nwheat tended to nothing. On the other hand, if wheat is scarce in the\ncommunity, it will be used only to meet the wants of the delicate or the\nfastidious, whose comfort and life may depend upon it. In that case its\ngeneral value will be estimated by its higher utility, whatever other use\nit is put to. That is called a final utility, which, in any particular\ncase, is the lowest use implied in consuming the supply. And this final\nutility is the only one influencing the estimate of value.\n\nIt is possible, therefore, that the total utility of anything, like a\npaper of tacks, for instance, may be greatly increased, since it has\nindefinitely more uses than when tacks were first made. Yet the supply of\ntacks is so enormous that to consume them we must use them for trifling\npurposes; and therefore their value is a trifle. When we have water to\nthrow away, its value is nothing. When water is limited to culinary uses,\nits value is considerable. When water is sufficient only to slake extreme\nthirst, its value is beyond price. Even the prospect of a future supply\ndiminishes the utility of any commodity, since time is an important\nelement in satisfaction. Thus a store of potatoes in early spring, however\nwell preserved, has its final utility lowered, and therefore its value\nlessened, by the prospect of new potatoes.\n\nOn the other hand, the present value of a field of grain or the young\norchard is dependent upon its utility in meeting a future want. Everything\nwhich enhances prospective utility of any article enhances its value; and\neverything which diminishes the chance of such utility, like bad weather,\ninsects or plant diseases, diminishes the present value. In this way risk\ndiminishes the value of wealth subject to it and increases the value of\nwealth which has passed by it.\n\nIn general, the usefulness of anything is no criterion for measuring\nvalue, because other elements of value are more important. Henry C. Carey\nsays, “Utility is the measure of man’s power over nature; value is the\nmeasure of nature’s power over man.” This may be a striking way of saying\nthat great utility implies a discovery of uses, while great value often\nindicates only difficulty in securing what has great usefulness.\n\n_Exertion as related to value._—Since utility, however essential to value,\nis not its measure, we are led to consider whether the exertion required\nto obtain any article desired may not measure its worth. This is certainly\na matter of prime consideration, and many have been led to suppose the\ncost of production, by which is meant all the exertion necessary to bring\nany commodity to its final consumer, to be the sole and absolute measure\nof value.\n\nThis supposition, if ever correct, is subject to great modifications. None\nknow better than farmers that a bushel of wheat from one field may have\ncost twice as much as a bushel from another field, without any possible\ndistinction in value. Every mechanic knows that what he has accomplished\nwith great exertion may have been duplicated by some labor-saving device\nwith half the exertion, the two values being essentially equal. Nothing is\nmore common than to find articles in the market sold without regard to\ncost because they are superseded by more desirable articles. Indeed, the\nmost ardent defender of cost as the sole basis of value is obliged to\nnotice multitudes of exceptions to the rule. Yet it must be granted that\nonly those articles involving effort in securing them have value at all,\nand in general the amount of effort actually put forth has some relation\nto our estimate of value.\n\nIn general, men do not exert themselves more than necessary to meet wants,\nand in any exchange with others estimate the value of what they have\nproduced by the exertion expended. Yet, as products of the same kind\nexchange in the same market without regard to their individual cost, it is\nevident that some other principle must be discovered. Nevertheless, no\nfarmer will continue indefinitely the raising of a crop which brings in\nthe market less than a fair average return for his labor in raising it. In\na series of years he expects his wheat to return a fair compensation for\nlabor expended. In the same way every manufacturer expects a full return\nfor all cost of all his efforts, and would not continue his work from year\nto year without such expectation. Moreover, when for any reason the market\nvalue of anything is much above its cost, somebody is ready to increase\nthe supply of that particular article, and more will add their efforts in\nthe same direction until its value approaches nearly the general cost of\nproduction as compared with the cost of other products selling in the same\nmarket.\n\n_Normal value._—In this way the cost of production is said to fix the\nnormal value of any article of commerce capable of production in\nindefinite quantity and within limited time. For this reason farmers are\ninterested in finding the average cost of production of wheat, corn, etc.,\nwithin a region supplying their market. They are even interested in\nknowing the conditions for wheat raising in India, South Africa and\nAustralia, since the cost of production there may influence the value of\nwheat throughout the world. The normal value of products capable of\nindefinite multiplication tends always toward the value of the least\ncostly. This is shown in the effect of labor-saving machinery upon the\nvalue of cloths and other goods. It is equally true in agriculture that\nwheat raising upon cheap land with extensive use of machinery and\neconomical methods of culture and harvesting brings down the normal value.\nSo long as more land can be applied to wheat raising with these\nadvantages, the less productive methods may be too costly for the market.\n\nOn the other hand, if any production cannot be largely extended so that\nthe supply in market barely meets the requirements of purchasers, the\ntendency of normal values is toward the cost of the most costly part of\nthe product required to meet wants. This is because the supply is kept up\nonly by the exertion of the greater amount of labor as well as the less.\nIf farmers in western prairie country can raise corn at an expense of 15\ncents per bushel, as they can upon an average, so long as that region can\nraise all the corn required no less productive region can force the normal\nprice above what will keep western farmers raising corn. When the western\ncrop fails, the price is far above normal value, and may even go above the\ncost of the most costly corn in market, under a principle called the law\nof supply and demand.\n\nSince improvements in method so constantly lessen the normal value of\nproducts, Mr. Carey made the effort to measure value by “cost of\nreproduction,” meaning, I suppose, that any article produced at any time\nand place is likely to bring in any market a price equal to the cost of\nsimilar articles produced under the most improved methods anywhere used in\nthe present. This, of course, does not apply to articles not desired in\nthe present, because deteriorated or out of fashion or less useful than\nsome new device for a similar use, but only to those articles of full\nutility in having all the qualities needed to meet the desire of\npurchasers. Even a diamond like the famous “Kohinoor” would have its\nalmost priceless value reduced to the cost of securing similar jewels\nequally desirable if a process of crystallizing carbon were suddenly\ndiscovered. It is easy to see, then, that cost measures value only so far\nas it is directly connected with the available supply in any market. Under\nordinary circumstances the supply cannot be increased unless the cost is\nmet, but the rule is modified by any peculiarity of season, or conditions\nof trade, or production by cheaper methods or cheaper labor, or by the\nchanging wants of a community. The application of all these influences may\nbe studied under the so-called law of supply and demand.\n\n_Supply and demand; markets._—The law of supply and demand is only a\nstatement of the general fact that market value tends to increase with\nincrease of demand and to decrease as the supply to meet the demand\nincreases. It must be understood that a market means a particular spot\nwhere buyers and sellers of any article of commerce meet at a particular\ntime. The supply is the amount offered for sale at a given price. The\ndemand is the amount buyers will purchase at the same price.\n\nThus, if on a certain day sellers offer in Chicago 10,000 hogs, with a\nwillingness to take $5 per cwt., they represent the supply. If on the same\nday in the same place buyers are willing to take 10,000 hogs at $5 per\ncwt., $5 will be the market price, and the supply and demand will be\nequal. If, however, only 5,000 hogs would be bought at $5 per cwt., 5,000\nhogs will be without buyers, and their owners will seek, by lowering the\nprice, to find buyers at $4.50 per cwt., if necessary. Since all the\nsellers will feel the same pressure, the tendency of market value will\nimmediately be downward. Buyers willing to pay $5 per cwt., finding many\nsellers, will expect a reduction in price, and the price will certainly go\ndown until the hogs purchased equal the entire supply. And that will not\nbe until the buyers are stimulated by reduction of price, so that as many\nhogs are wanted as there are for sale. If that point is reached at a price\nof $4.50 per cwt., the market value is found there. The limit of time\nwithin which this reduction takes place will depend upon the ability and\nwillingness of sellers to wait. If the product offered is perishable, or\ncostly in keeping on the market, the reduction will be speedy. Otherwise\nit may be held indefinitely with the hope of compelling buyers to come to\nthe higher prices, in which case it is practically taken out of the\nmarket. Only those commodities are practically in the market which are\nheld for sale at the market price. Only those buyers practically enter the\nmarket who are able and willing to give the market price.\n\n_The higgling of the market._—The process of reaching an agreement between\nbuyers and sellers is called the higgling of the market, and represents\nthe conflict between the wishes of sellers to get the most possible for\ntheir products, and the wishes of buyers to get the most possible for\ntheir money. In fact, both buyers and sellers have the same motive: to\nmake their own exertions go as far as possible in supplying their own\nwants. The fact that money enters into the transaction makes no difference\nwith the bargain. Two farmers trading horses have exactly the same desire:\nto get the full worth of the horse to be given. A genuine bargain usually\nbenefits both parties. Even in a horse trade each owner expects to be\nbenefited by the exchange; and only a jockey seeks that benefit in taking\nadvantage of his neighbor’s ignorance or inexperience.\n\nSo, in the general market, every seller gains what he desires more than\nwhat he possesses, and every buyer has exactly the same experience. Two\nfriends may exchange books if either would be benefited by the exchange.\nIn that case the one gaining the less valuable book gains the satisfaction\nof giving to his friend. Both are still profited, one by the larger value\nreceived, and the other by the pleasure of giving. In such an exchange no\nbasis of value is reached, but in any ordinary bargain the final\nadjustment will be as nearly as possibly upon the test of value in the\nmarket. Between one buyer and one seller, the bargain is likely to turn to\nthe advantage of the one who is quickest to discover the weakness of the\nother. If two persons are discussing the price of a house for which the\nseller wishes $1,000, but will sell for even $600, and for which the buyer\nhopes to give only $600, but will pay even $1,000, the seller will\ngradually lower his price, and the buyer gradually raise his offer until\none or the other discovers the working of his neighbor’s mind. These are\nthe natural conditions for sharp bargaining.\n\nIn the larger market the interests of a multitude of buyers and a\nmultitude of sellers have weight, and no shrewdness can prevent a\nsettlement upon such a price as comes nearest to satisfying all parties.\nThe so-called law of supply and demand is a brief statement of the fact\nthat sales cannot be made in open market above the mark where buyers and\nsellers agree, and that mark is essentially the price at which all who are\nwilling to buy at the price current are met by those who are willing to\nsell at the same current price. With reference, then, to all articles sold\nin open market, it is safe to say that the only test of value is the price\nwhich the public is willing to pay. So universal is the acceptance of this\nprinciple in practical affairs that everybody estimates the value of his\nproperty by the price at which it will sell. Any appraiser or assessor who\nshould adopt a different principle would be considered wholly\nuntrustworthy.\n\n_Freedom in markets._—In this higgling of the market it is absolutely\nnecessary that buyers and sellers have essential freedom of choice and\nfairly equal information. There may be conditions of law preventing free\ncompetition, as under the regulation of prices attempted in various\ncountries prior to the present century. In England, during nearly four\ncenturies, limits of prices for nearly every article of food and clothing\nwere named by law. Yet in every instance the conditions of the market were\nstronger than the laws, and the restriction upon free competition and free\ndiscussion of prices actually destroyed the open market. The conditions of\na bankrupt sale at auction reduce the competition to a struggle between\nbuyers. In this case a very slight collusion between the buyers may\ndestroy the market. This is frequently illustrated in the sale of real\nestate after foreclosure of mortgages. The unnatural conditions of auction\nat any price are so evident as to make common the secret employment of\nsham bidders, shrewd enough to push actual buyers as far as they will go\nwithout preventing the sale. Somewhat similar conditions may exist in a\ngreat cattle market, in which immense quantities of cattle are delivered\nby owners, while the number of buyers is few. The great packing houses\nhave the advantage of being almost the sole bidders for what must be sold\nat their price. These conditions, however, are not made by the packing\nhouses, but by the large supply subject to immediate sale. Such conditions\nare much more noticeable in the market for ripe berries, when a slight\nexcess of supply makes these perishable products of trifling value.\n\nConditions on the other extreme, from scarcity of supply and anxiety of\nbuyers, may also interfere with a free market. Any scarcity in food\nproducts leads to an anxiety on the part of consumers to buy and an equal\ndisposition on the part of owners to hold for higher prices. In this case,\nwhile the law of supply and demand is still active, the effects are quite\nout of the ordinary course. Thus, for a long time it has been estimated\nthat a scarcity of one-tenth in the natural supply of wheat raises the\nprice three-tenths, scarcity of two-tenths raises the price eight-tenths,\nscarcity of three-tenths raises the price one and six-tenths, scarcity of\nfour-tenths raises the price two and eight-tenths, and scarcity of\none-half makes the price of the half-crop four and a half times greater. A\ndecrease in the supply of less essential foods evidently cannot have equal\neffect. Thus, a scarcity of sugar, causing increased price, will directly\nreduce consumption of sugar, so that the limit may be easily reached. The\nsame conditions may exist with reference to meats, since a high price\ndiminishes the demand from the disposition of people to eat less meat.\nIndeed it has passed into almost a proverb that dear bread makes cheap\nmeat, for the reason that few will diminish the supply of daily bread, but\nthe mass are willing to lessen the meat diet to save expense.\n\nSimilar conditions, affecting every market for any commodity, may easily\nbe discovered. Yet in spite of all these extreme fluctuations, no better\ntest of value has been suggested than the market price in open,\nunrestrained competition of buyers and sellers.\n\n_The market price._—In the discussion of value so far, the term market\nprice has been used because perfectly familiar to everyone. It is\nnecessary, however, to call attention to the fact that price always\nindicates an estimate of value in units of current money. If that money\nitself has a fluctuating value, the same article may have at different\ntimes different prices with the same value, or the same price with\ndifferent values. Thus market prices in our country during and after the\ncivil war, in which a paper currency gave the unit of prices, cannot\nsafely be compared with each other, and can far less be compared with\nprices upon a specie basis.\n\nEven the reduction to a so-called gold basis may give misleading ideas in\nregard to the market, since a new element of speculation in gold enters\ninto the calculation. In all the accompanying illustrations of fluctuating\nprices, this particular abnormal condition has been carefully excluded.\nAny fluctuations in the value of money metals, necessarily affecting the\nrelation of market price to market value, will be treated under standards\nof price in Chapter X.\n\n_Prices of farm products; the crop year._—The actual fluctuations of\nmarket prices under the law of supply and demand can be most clearly seen\nby a careful study in the same definite market during a period of years.\nFor illustration here the staple products of the farm have been chosen,\nand the markets of Chicago and New York, as most truly representative,\nhave furnished the facts for study. These facts are presented to the eye\ndirectly by a series of charts, each of which has been most carefully\nprepared from official records, and gives within narrow limits a large\nrange of investigation. In every case involving annual crops, it seemed\nnecessary to rearrange statistics so as to cover the actual year affected\nby the crop in question. September 1 was chosen as the beginning of each\nyear, because that date is nearest the time when the new crop of the\nseason appears in market and directly affects the price of such products\nin store. All calculations upon live stock have been brought to the same\nbasis, for the reason that the supply of marketable stock is largely\ndependent upon the supply of feed for stock. It seems very desirable that\nall statistics in regard to markets and productive industry should be\nbrought to a uniform year. The year given in these charts seemed best to\nsuit the subjects treated. It is possible, however, that for all data\nconvenience would settle upon July 1, the beginning of the fiscal year in\nthe United States, as the best for beginning the universal statistical\nyear. Each chart in the series, of course, requires its particular\nexplanation.\n\nThe fluctuations of supply and prices for series of years are exhibited in\nthe Charts 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 and 12, and these are explained in detail at the\nclose of the chapter.\n\n_Fluctuations with season._—Every product of the farm is known to have\nconditions favorable or unfavorable from the mere changes of season\naffecting the prospective supply. Conditions equally dependent upon the\nseasons have something to do with demand. The result of both combined is\nworthy of study by farmers and dealers in farm produce, that all may get\nthe full benefit of such knowledge as the study affords. For this purpose,\ncharts showing the annual fluctuations of staple products in the leading\nmarkets have been carefully prepared. These may have a greater usefulness\nthan simply to illustrate the law of supply and demand, since it is within\nthe possibility of actual practice to in some degree modify by provident\nforesight the extremes of fluctuation. It is hoped that the suggestiveness\nof these charts may help the most enterprising farmers to adjust their\npractice to conditions of market.\n\nCharts Nos. 7, 10, 11 and 13 illustrate the fluctuations as related to\nseasons.\n\n_Law of diminishing returns._—In considering the value of farm products,\nit is necessary to notice a natural tendency in all products of the earth\ntoward greater cost of effort in production. This is called the law of\ndiminishing returns, and is illustrated in every industry where the\naccumulations of nature are depended upon for making labor effective.\nHunting, fishing and mining afford familiar illustrations of more work of\nthe same kind for equal product.\n\nAgriculture, however, gives the most extensive available illustration of\nthe facts grouped under this law. In the first place, the farmer is\nsubject to it by mere location. The product of a field near his house and\nbarn costs less exertion than the product of a more distant field. In the\nsecond place, he is likely to have chosen for his first efforts in crop\nraising the land most readily yielding its fertility in crops. If he\nextends his operations to less productive soil, he must work more for the\nsame product. In the third place, if a certain amount of work upon a\ncertain field will give him twenty bushels of wheat, he must give a good\ndeal more than twice as much work in the way of tillage and manufactured\nfertilizer to make a crop of forty bushels. The proof of this is clear in\nthe disposition of farmers to buy more land instead of to increase labor\nupon a limited space possessed.\n\nA specific statement of the law of diminishing returns is that _in the\ncultivation of land an increased amount of effort under usual conditions\nfails to give a correspondingly increased amount of produce_.\n\n_Exceptions to law of diminishing returns._—Exceptions to this law are\neasy to find, as where the first selection of land in a new country has\nhad reference rather to safety from wild beasts and savages or malarial\ndiseases than actual store of fertility. Another exception is found in any\nnew country, where imperfect adjustment of labor to conditions of soil and\nclimate are liable at the outset to prevent the full use of natural powers\nof the soil. So evident are these two exceptions in imperfectly developed\nagriculture that some have disputed the general fact, yet all must admit\nthe certainty of diminished returns from multiplication of the same kind\nof efforts upon the same space, and general proof is abundant in all long\nsettled communities.\n\n_Effect of improved farming._—Counteracting this tendency to diminishing\nreturns, and in many instances more than overcoming the difficulty, is a\ntendency toward improved methods in farming by more perfect application of\nlabor to the soil, better developed crops, better adaptation of live stock\nto culture, improved machinery of every sort, and more extended range of\noperations in farming, reducing the restraints of space by improved\ntransportation and more economical use of natural fertilizers; in short,\nby any improvement through which labor is made more directly effective in\neither quantity or quality of agricultural products. The whole story of\nthe development of agriculture in all these ways furnishes abundant\nillustration of this counteracting tendency. In some regions it has more\nthan counter-balanced the tendency to diminishing returns. Various staple\nproducts, like wheat, show in their diminishing value the advance in\nmethods of culture and adjustment of labor to production.\n\n_Diminishing values._—The above is only a particular illustration of the\ngeneral tendency of all values to diminish with every improvement in\ntools, machinery, economy of materials and saving of time, as the world\ngains wisdom in applying labor to the meeting of material wants. With\nevery discovery of more perfect power or better use of natural forces,\nlike electricity, or easier ways of handling raw materials, as in\ndeveloping aluminum from crude clay, the value of the product quickly\ndiminishes.\n\nA familiar illustration is found in the manufacture of steel. The\nso-called Bessemer process, introduced some thirty years ago, reduced the\nactual labor of making steel from iron by more than one-half. Improved\nfurnaces and greatly enlarged operations have reduced still further the\nlabor involved, until now steel often takes the place of iron, and the\nvalue of all such products is greatly diminished. This is easily\nillustrated by comparison of prices during a series of years, as shown in\nchart No. 14. That this reduction in price is not the result of poorly\npaid labor, but of better returns for labor expended, is evident to any\none investigating the tendency of wages or of living among wage-earners,\nor of the general improvement in welfare of communities where these\nlabor-saving methods are applied. Any hardship connected with these\ndiminished values falls chiefly upon the laborers who fail to adjust their\nwork to the improved method. But even they gain for the diminished value\nof their product a larger return on the whole through exchanges than the\nhigher values had brought them before.\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n   Chart IV. Comparison of the numbers of live stock with increases in\n              population and mileage of railroad, 1860-1898.\n\n\nCHART NO. 4\n\n_Numbers of live stock compared with increase of population and mileage of\nrailroad, 1860 to 1898, in the United States_\n\n_Explanation._—This chart exhibits to the eyes a comparative increase of\n(1) population, (2) sheep, (3) hogs, (4) railroad mileage, (5) beef\ncattle, (6) cows, (7) horses, (8) mules. The figures followed in making\nthis chart are taken from the best estimates available, chiefly from the\nreports of the United States Department of Agriculture. It shows that\nrailroad mileage has increased faster than the population, with some\nslight exceptions, and its fluctuations mark quite distinctly the periods\nof financial speculation and distress. The great fluctuations in the line\nof sheep raising may be seen to have some correspondence with special\ntariff legislation. The striking opposition of hog raising to sheep\nraising is in accord with the universal experience that farmers easily\nturn from one to the other. The rapid development immediately following\nthe civil war represents the restocking of farms and the great expansion\nin farm industry so noticeable during that period. The falling off in\nnumbers of live stock during the last five years is evidently a reaction\nfrom a very apparent over-production in many directions during the\nprevious ten years. The miles of railroad are shown in thousands, the\npopulation and live stock in millions.\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\nChart V. Showing the acreage and yield of Indian corn, wheat, and oats in\n                the United States, 1862-1897. Pages 84-87.\n\n\nCHART NO 5.\n\n_Acreage and yield of corn, wheat and oats, 1862 to 1897, in the United\nStates_\n\n_Description._—This chart is intended to show the fluctuations from year\nto year in acres devoted to the three staple crops, together with\nfluctuations in the corresponding years in yield of each. Figures on the\nright show the number of millions of acres. Figures on the left give\nmillions of bushels. Continuous lines show the acreage. Dotted lines show\nthe yield. For convenience of comparison, the line of increasing\npopulation is added. The broken lines indicate what might have been the\nconsumption of each of these staples within our own country, if the people\nhad used throughout all the years as much of each as during the five years\nof plenty from 1888 to 1892. Lines marked 1 tell the story for corn; those\nmarked 2 for wheat; and those marked 3 for oats. In comparing the number\nof acres as given on the right with the number of bushels as given on the\nleft, it will be seen that an average yield of corn is assumed to be 25\nbushels per acre; an average yield of wheat, 12 bushels; and an average\nyield of oats, 28 bushels. The variations of the dotted lines above or\nbelow the continuous line show whether the yield was greater or less than\nthese averages. The average assumed is evidently too high for the oats.\n\n_Explanation._—Several important facts are shown. First, there has\nevidently been a very great increase in the amount of these staple crops\nin proportion to the population, with a recent tendency toward reduction.\nSecond, all three have exceeded the needs for domestic consumption, and at\nthe same time; while it is evident that the rate of consumption in the\nearly years could not have been equal to that of recent years. This\nappears very striking with reference to corn. An explanation of the\nincreased consumption of corn may be found in its larger use for fattening\npork and beef for export as well as for domestic consumption. It has also\nentered quite largely, through improved manufacture of meals, starches and\nsyrups, into table use. The consumption of oats is known to have greatly\nincreased in its use for breakfast food. The per capita consumption of\nwheat, while slightly increased in some quarters through the cheapening of\nflour, has been diminished by the larger use of corn and oats, and a far\ngreater variety of table food. Quite probably, however, the data as to\ncorn raising in the first few years of this period are not complete. The\nyears of the war made such statistics difficult to obtain. The difficulty\nwith reference to wheat raising was by no means as great, since the wheat\nraising regions were more directly accessible. Third, the seasons of\nabundance and those of poor crops can easily be seen. It is evident that\nwhile the three crops are not always poor together, they are too\nfrequently so to balance each other in meeting the risks of farmers.\nFourth, it appears that the fluctuations in yield are much greater in late\nyears. This is accounted for by the greatly increased proportion of lands\ncultivated upon the plains of the western states and subject to greater\nfluctuations of climate. It will be noticed that the acreage frequently\nfalls off in the years showing inferior yield. This shows that sowing and\nplanting have frequently been affected by unpropitious weather. In fact,\nwheat fields have frequently been plowed up in the spring and not counted\nin return of acreage. Reductions in the acreage of wheat, however, appear\nfrequently succeeding an immense crop. This indicates the effect of low\nprices. Fifth, the bearing of the total product upon the prices of these\nstaples, while suggested by the greatly increased amount, will be more\nclearly seen by reference to Chart No. 6.\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n  Chart VI. Fluctuations in prices of wheat, Indian corn and oats in New\n                      York, 1878-1898. Pages 87-91.\n\n\nCHART NO. 6\n\n_Fluctuation of prices of wheat, corn and oats in New York, 1878 to 1896._\n\n_Explanation._—This chart exhibits the average price of each of these\nthree staples in September, December and May of each year. These months\nare chosen as giving without too great complication the widest range with\nreference to a particular season. September gives usually the price of the\nfirst of the new crop; December shows usually the fullest marketing of\ncrops; May marks the month of largest speculation with reference to the\nincoming crop. Corn is less distinctly affected by these peculiarities,\nbeing subject to different conditions of the weather as well as of\nmarketing. But the correspondence in price to a certain extent is easily\nperceived at a glance. The reason for this correspondence is partly in the\nuniform effect of seasons, as shown in Chart No. 5, and partly in the fact\nthat either of the crops may supplement, in certain respects, a deficiency\nin either of the others.\n\n_Wheat prices._—With reference to wheat, No. 1 in the chart, further\nparticulars as to prices are shown. The horizontal line in each year gives\nthe average price of the year; the diagonal line gives the extremes of\nprices, highest and lowest, within the twelve months from September to\nSeptember again. The dot within the circle gives the estimated average of\nfarm prices on the first of December, as given by the Department of\nAgriculture. The relation of this, somewhat constant, to the New York\nprice for December, as given in the line directly above it, may be of\ninterest as showing the average actual expense of bringing wheat from all\nover the United States to the New York market. Where the difference of the\ntwo prices is more than an average, a speculative turn in the market\nduring December is indicated, the farm price being fixed on the first day\nof December. The same fact of speculation is also shown in years where the\ndiagonal line is longer than usual.\n\n_Special variations._—At the top of the chart is shown the world’s visible\nsupply of wheat for each year, each horizontal line indicating 500,000,000\nbushels. The shaded portion gives the amount exported by the United States\nand the part above the shaded portion indicates the amount consumed or\nstored within the country. Thus, in the year 1894-5 the total wheat crop\nof the world was 2,672,000,000 bushels, of which the United States\nfurnished 460,000,000, 144,000,000 of this amount being exported. This\nyear marked the lowest price of wheat in the record, together with the\nlargest crop in the world, though not in the United States. A\nproportionally small amount exported explains the falling out of the\nbottom of the wheat market. By reference to Chart No. 5, it will be seen\nthat while the wheat crop of that year was considerably above the average,\nthe corn crop and oat crop were far below the average. This explains the\nfact appearing in Chart No. 6, that the price of wheat was lower than the\nprice of corn at the beginning of that year. It is probable that the use\nof wheat as a substitute for corn in feeding stock actually saved the\nwheat from a still lower price. The crop of 1891, the largest on record in\nthe United States, was accompanied by a moderate crop in the rest of the\nworld following two other moderate crops, indeed two short crops, for the\nentire world. The large amount of wheat exported explains the reason why\nthe fall of prices was not greater in this country. That the price did not\nfall faster was due to the fact, remembered by many, that farmers, as well\nas speculators, held to the crop with the expectation of larger demand\nfrom abroad. When the crop of 1892 was felt to be still larger throughout\nthe world, the price fell rapidly, in spite of a smaller crop in the\nUnited States. But when the prospect of an inferior crop in this country\nfor 1893 was felt in the spring, the price rose a trifle. Yet as soon as\nthe harvests of the world showed an enormous crop outside the United\nStates, the price dropped again. The crop of 1889 was a short one in the\nworld, and apparently should have affected the price of wheat in this\ncountry more than appears; but when the total amount exported is seen to\nleave more than an average crop in store, it is easy to see why the price\nin this country did not rise. The explanation of this small exportation is\nin the fact that the greater part of the shortage in yield was in\ncountries like Russia, from which no demand was felt, because the people\nsimply went without. The starvation of people in such countries affected\nthe demand for wheat in this country only so far as our benevolence\nenlarged the market. The peculiar shape of the line of wheat prices in\n1889 without any correspondence in prices of corn and oats is due to a\nspeculative movement for December wheat in Chicago. The attempted corner\nin wheat failed suddenly, or it might have produced a line similar to that\nof 1897-8, due to the famous long-continued Leiter corner.\n\n_Sources of information._—The object of this chart, taken altogether, is\nto show the general law of market prices as governed by supply and demand\nfrom the actual facts in the market for wheat. The facts are taken from\nthe best records available. The prices are from the daily record of the\nProduce Exchange of New York. The average price for the year and the\nfluctuations within the year are given for the period from September 1,\nwhen the new crop appears, to the August following, this being the period\nactually corresponding in market with a year represented by the crop\nfigures. The estimate of the world’s crop since 1885 is taken from\ncarefully prepared statistics in the United States Department of\nAgriculture. The estimates prior to that date do not include the entire\nworld, because no statistics can be reached, but they do include the most\ncareful estimates of all countries whose product entered into the world’s\nmarket. No effort has been made, for fear of complicating the chart, to\nshow a similar correspondence between supply and price in reference to\ncorn and oats. The tables following, however, give data for such\ncomparison with reference to this country alone. The export of corn and\noats has been too limited to play any great part in modifying prices.\n\n                                 [Table.]\n\n    Table of production—wheat, corn, oats, 1878 to 1897. (Figures give\n                           millions of bushels)\n\n\nCHART NO. 7\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n    Chart VII. Annual fluctuations in the price of wheat in New York,\n                           1878-1897. Page 91.\n\n\n_Annual fluctuations in the price of wheat. Highest year, lowest year, and\naverage of twenty years in New York, 1878 to 1897_\n\n_Explanation._—This chart is intended to show the tendencies of the market\nfor wheat from month to month throughout the market year. In the center is\ngiven the averages of highest prices and of lowest prices for each month\nin the New York Produce Exchange during the period from September, 1878,\nto August, 1897, inclusive. The horizontal lines between the averages of\nextremes give the average price for the twenty years in the several\nmonths. The diagonal lines give for each month the extreme fluctuation\nduring the twenty years. Above the lines of averages are given the\nfluctuations by months in the year 1881-2, the year of highest prices. The\nupper of the two continuous lines gives the top prices of the month and\nthe lower the bottom prices. The short horizontal lines give the average\nprice for each month; and the double horizontal line across the chart\nrepresents the average price for the year. Below, the fluctuations in\nwheat prices for 1894-5, the year of lowest prices, are shown in the same\nway. At the top of the chart are given, in millions of bushels, the\nreceipts of wheat in New York. The shaded double column in the center\nunder each month gives the average receipts for twenty years. To the left,\na single column shows the receipts for 1894-5. To the right, a single\ncolumn gives the receipts for 1881-2. Since the receipts at New York are\nchiefly for export, the general correspondence between receipts and prices\nis rather a result of a larger application of supply and demand than an\nexposition of it. The chief use of the chart is to show the fluctuation of\nprices under varying local conditions. The figures on the left give the\nprice per bushel, and the figures on both left and right at the top\nindicate millions of bushels.\n\nCHART NO. 8\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n       Chart VIII. Prices of wheat in England, 1300-1890. Page 93.\n\n\n_Prices of wheat in England for 600 years, 1300 to 1900_\n\n_Description._—This chart is to show at a glance the history of the wheat\nmarket in England for the past six hundred years. The record of the first\nfour hundred years is taken from Rogers’ “Agriculture and Prices.” That\nfor the eighteenth century, less complete, is taken from Schoenhof’s\n“History of Money and Prices.” The nineteenth century record is from the\nreport of the statistician of the United States Department of Agriculture.\nAll are reduced with care to the basis of bushels and dollars and cents.\nThe figures on the right and left show the price per bushel in United\nStates money.\n\n_Explanation._—The heavy horizontal lines show the average price during a\nperiod of ten years, though in a few instances the period is longer. The\ndiagonal lines show the extremes of fluctuation during the period which\nthey cover. During the first two hundred and fifty years the coinage of\nEngland made the shilling in which prices were reckoned a much larger\nunit, practically three times as great as at present. The dots within\ncircles indicate where the horizontal lines might have been had the unit\nbeen always the same. The same dots crossed cover a period of forty years\nin which prices are somewhat uncertain, from transition between the old\nstandard and the new. The beginning of the nineteenth century shows a\nremarkable condition of the wheat market, due chiefly to the wars in which\nEngland was engaged, together with issues of paper money affecting the\nstandard of value. The record is especially interesting from showing,\nfirst, the great fluctuations natural from unequal seasons; second, the\ngradual increase in cost of production under the law of diminishing\nreturns; third, the effects of changes in money legislation; fourth, the\neffect of extra consumption in times of war; and fifth, the effects of the\npresent world-wide commerce in overcoming the law of diminishing returns.\nA more complete record for the eighteenth century would add to the\ninterest, if not to the effectiveness of the chart.\n\n_Relation to wages._—For convenience of comparison, the average price of\nwheat in France during periods of twenty-five years, as given by\nSchoenhof, is added by dotted horizontal lines. The double line across the\nchart indicates the range of average day’s wages of house mechanics in\nEngland, without indicating the extreme of fluctuations. It seems evident\nthat wages and subsistence have something in common.\n\nCHART NO. 9\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n    Chart IX. Prices of hogs and hams in Chicago, 1884-1907. Page 95.\n\n\n_Prices of live hogs and green hams in Chicago, 1884 to 1897_\n\n_General description._—This chart exhibits the fluctuations in prices of\nlive hogs and green hams as shown by reports of the Chicago Board of Trade\nfrom September, 1884, to August, 1897, together with the visible supply of\nlive hogs in the market from month to month and for the entire year. The\nfigures to right and left give dollars per cwt. of live hogs, and per\nbarrel of green hams. The figures upon the upper third of the chart, right\nand left, indicate the number of thousands of live hogs received in\nChicago during the successive months, as indicated by the dark lines. The\nfigures at the top of the chart under the date line give the number of\nthousands of hogs received during the entire year. The year is taken from\nSeptember to August following, because the hog crop is in large measure\ndependent upon the corn crop coming into use in September.\n\n_Prices of live hogs._—No. 3, irregular line, gives the fluctuation of top\nprices in every month from September, 1884, to August, 1897, for fat hogs.\nThe total range is between $3.30 per cwt. in September, 1896, and $8.80 in\nFebruary, 1893. A somewhat striking general correspondence is readily seen\nbetween this line of prices and a line connecting the ends of the lines\nindicating the monthly supply of live hogs at the top of the chart. The\naverage price of the year is easily seen to be low when the supply for the\nyear is high, and high when the supply is low, though in some instances\nthe effect of an increased supply is evidently anticipated in the prices.\nThus, an increase of 2,000,000 of hogs in 1889-90 over the supply in\n1888-9 is anticipated by falling prices during the early part of 1889. In\na similar way, the effect of a diminished supply in the summer of 1895 is\nnot so marked upon the prices as might have been the case had not the\nprospect been strong for a large supply in the fall of 1895. Whatever\ninfluence the local manipulation of the market may have had, it is\nperfectly evident that conditions of supply and demand have overwhelming\ninfluence.\n\n_Prices of green hams and mess pork._—No. 2, giving the range of prices\nper barrel of green hams, shows fluctuations in some respects\ncorresponding to the prices of live hogs, but with variations due in a\nmeasure, undoubtedly, to speculative interests in these products. The\nrange is from $6.60 in December, 1897, to $13.80 in May, 1893,\ncorresponding with the range in the prices of live hogs. Were there room\nupon the chart, it would be easy to show an almost exactly corresponding\nfluctuation in the prices of mess pork, which article is one affected\nlargely by speculation, though even that speculation is dependent upon\nprospective supply and demand. The prices of mess pork at the New York\nProduce Exchange during the same period ranged from $9 a barrel in 1885-6\nto $15.80 and $15.60 in 1887-8, $14.20 in 1889-90, $11.75 in 1891, $14.20\nin 1892, $22.60 in 1893, and gradually down to $7.25 in 1896-7.\n\nCHART NO. 10\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n Chart X. Prices of hogs and pork at Chicago, 1892-3 and 1896-7, highest\n                        and lowest year. Page 98.\n\n\n_Prices of hogs and pork products at Chicago Board of Trade for 1892-3 and\n1896-7, the highest year and the lowest year_\n\n_Annual fluctuation, 1892-3._—This chart presents a comparison between the\nprices of live hogs, fresh hams and mess pork in the year of highest\nrange, with the prices of the same in the year of lowest range. The\nfigures on the left indicate the prices per cwt. of live hogs and per bbl.\nof green hams and mess pork. No. 1 gives, in the dotted line above the\ndate figures, the highest price of mess pork in each month of the year,\nwhile the dotted line below the date figures gives the lowest price for\nthe corresponding months. The range in any month is found in the distance\nbetween the heavy dots on the line following the name of the month. Thus\nthe highest price in April, 1893, is $19.35, and the lowest price in the\nsame month, $15.50. The range throughout the year is from $21.80 in May to\n$12 in August. No. 2 gives the same facts with reference to the prices per\nbarrel of green hams; and No. 3 gives the corresponding facts as to prices\nof live hogs.\n\n_Annual fluctuation, 1896-7._—Nos. 4, 5 and 6, marked by more distinct\nlines, show the range of prices for these three related articles of\ncommerce for the year 1896-7. No. 4 gives the prices of green hams, which\nin this year averaged higher than the prices of mess pork, although the\nfluctuations of mess pork are the greater. At the top of the chart are\ngiven in thousands the number of live hogs received in Chicago during the\ntwo years.\n\nOn the right of each month are the numbers for 1892-3; on the left the\nnumbers for 1896-7. The lines connecting the shaded portion show the\nfluctuations from month to month in the supply. A general, though not a\nperfect, correspondence is perceptible.\n\nCHART NO. 11\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\nChart XI. Annual fluctuations of prices of pork in Chicago, 15 years. Page\n                                   100.\n\n\n_Annual fluctuations in pork prices in Chicago—average of fifteen years_\n\n_Average annual fluctuations._—This chart is intended to show the annual\nrange of prices as shown by reports of the Board of Trade of Chicago, from\nSeptember, 1883, to August, 1897. The figures, right and left, give prices\nper cwt. of live hogs, and per barrel of green hams and mess pork. The\nfigures opposite the shaded lines at the top indicate receipts of live\nhogs in thousands, by the average in each month, for the fifteen years.\nThe year is taken from September to August following, for correspondence\nwith the crop year, as in previous charts.\n\n_Explanation._—No. 1 gives in the upper continuous line the average of top\nprices for mess pork in successive months; and in the lower line the\naverage of bottom prices for the same months. The long, diagonal lines\nshow the extreme of fluctuations in each month during the entire fifteen\nyears. Thus the lowest price reached during the month of April in any year\nwas $8.05, while the highest was $25.50. The lowest price in November of\nany year was $6.40, while the highest price in the same month was $15.50.\nNo. 2 gives in the same way the average of top prices and bottom prices\nduring the fifteen years for green hams; and by its diagonal lines, the\nextremes of fluctuation. No. 3 presents a corresponding showing of average\ntop and bottom prices of live hogs, with extreme fluctuations. No. 4, at\nthe top of the chart, gives the average receipts of live hogs in Chicago\nduring the several months of the year, counted in thousands.\n\nThe supply of hogs.—The correspondence between the receipts of live hogs\nand the average market price in each month is worthy of study. Every\nfarmer can see in what months of the year the market is fullest. It is\nalso evident that the fluctuations in mess pork are much more extensive\nthan in live hogs or fresh products. This is doubtless due to the\npossibility of speculation in a product which can be held for future\nmarket. Nevertheless, it is quite evident that the prices of mess pork\nhave some direct connection with the supply available.\n\nCHART NO. 12\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n  Chart XII. Prices of cattle and beef in Chicago, 1884-1897. Page 103.\n\n\n_Prices of cattle and mess beef in Chicago, 1884 to 1897_\n\n_Description._—This chart is planned to show the prices of cattle and the\nprices of mess beef from month to month from September, 1884, to August,\n1897, together with the supply of cattle received in Chicago in each month\nand for each year. The figures right and left on the lower part, give in\ndollars the prices per hundred pounds live weight, and per barrel of extra\nmess beef. Above, to right and left, the figures indicate thousands of\nlive cattle received in Chicago.\n\n_Explanation._—No. 1 gives the lowest price in successive months of lowest\nquality of beef steers. No. 2 gives the highest price in successive months\nfor stock cattle. No. 3 gives the highest price in successive months for\nbest quality of beef steers. No. 4 shows the fluctuations in the highest\nprice per barrel of extra mess beef from month to month. No. 5 shows, by\nlength of lines in each month, the receipts of cattle in Chicago by\nthousands. No. 6 gives the number of thousands of cattle received in each\nyear. As in previous charts, the year runs from September 1 to August of\nthe year following, though the relation of the beef market to the crops of\nthe year is not so marked as that of the pork market. Although the\ncorrespondence in prices between these various parts of the cattle trade\nis not absolute, it is too striking to be consistent with independence of\ncauses. The price of stock cattle has some elements not found in the price\nof beef cattle; and the price of lowest quality of beeves for canning\npurposes is naturally more uniform than any other prices.\n\nCHART NO. 13\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\n Chart XIII. Annual fluctuations in prices of cattle and beef in Chicago,\n                           1883-1897. Page 104.\n\n\n_Annual fluctuation in prices of cattle and beef, Chicago, 1883 to 1897_\n\n_Explanation._—This chart is intended to illustrate the changes of prices\nin successive months upon the average of fifteen years, as to stock\ncattle, beef steers, mess beef and beef hams. The data are taken from the\ndaily records of the Chicago Board of Trade, from September, 1883, to\nAugust, 1897. The figures to right and left indicate prices in dollars per\nhundred pounds live weight, and per barrel of beef products. No. 1\nindicates the range of prices for beef hams. The upper line gives the\naverage of highest prices in each month for fifteen years. The lower line\ngives the average of lowest prices for the same period. The diagonal lines\ngive the extremes of prices within the fifteen years.\n\n_Mess beef and beef steers._—No. 3 gives the average of highest and lowest\nprices for mess beef. Nos. 4 and 6 give respectively the average of\nhighest and lowest prices for beef steers. The diagonals give the extremes\nfor beef steers during the entire period. No. 5 gives the average of\nhighest prices for stock cattle.\n\n_Supply of cattle._—In the center, No. 2, is given the average receipts of\ncattle in the Chicago market for each month. The unshaded portion at the\nend of the lines, represents the average reshipment of cattle. Thus\nSeptember, on the average, brings 265,000 cattle to Chicago and reships\n90,000; while October brings nearly 283,000 and reships 82,000.\n\n_Peculiarities of mess beef market._—It will be noticed that the prices of\nbeef hams give an annual curve, entirely distinct from either of the\nothers. This indicates the fluctuation in demand entirely out of keeping\nwith the supply. It is quite possible that the opening and closing of\nnavigation upon the Great Lakes may be an important influence. Certainly\nthe change of the season between cold and heat is an important element,\nsince the lowest month, and that of least fluctuation, is December. The\nmonth of highest prices is August, and those of greatest fluctuation are\nMay, June and September. The curve of prices for mess beef has a fair\ncorrespondence with the numbers of cattle slaughtered in Chicago. The line\nindicating top prices of beef cattle has peculiarities of its own, because\nit stands for quality as well as quantity, representing the fancy lots,\nwhich are necessarily somewhat more irregular than the average. The line\nof prices for stock cattle is evidently affected by the variations in\ndemand by feeders. The line of lowest prices for beef cattle, No. 6, is\nquite probably affected by quality as well as supply.\n\nCHART NO. 14\n\n                                 [Chart.]\n\nChart XIV. Wholesale prices of iron, kerosene, etc., New York, 1867-1896.\n                                Page 106.\n\n\n_Prices of iron, kerosene, etc., 1867 to 1896_\n\n_Description and Explanation._—This chart gives the prices from year to\nyear for steel rails, bar iron, pig iron and nails in the New York market,\neach dot indicating the average for the year. The average prices for the\ncorresponding years for refined kerosene are also shown. No. 1 gives\nprices per ton of steel rails, into which enters all the influence of the\nimproved methods of manufacture. No. 2 represents the prices of bar iron\nper ton, less affected by improvements but influenced by the substitution\nof steel. No. 3 gives the prices of nails per thousand pounds. For\ncomparison with the other prices of iron, the prices of nails must be\ndoubled. All will realize the immense improvements made in the manufacture\nof nails. No. 4 gives the prices per ton of pig iron. It is evident that\nall these forms of iron and steel have stood in the market under the same\ngeneral influences, with slight modifications from special characteristics\nof production or use. No. 5 gives the average price in each year for one\nhundred gallons of refined kerosene oil. The price per gallon can be found\nby reading the figures as cents instead of dollars. In the same way the\nprice of ten pounds of nails can be found. It should be said, however,\nthat all these prices are the wholesale prices, retail prices being\nsubject to local influences, sometimes even to custom, which prevents\ntheir adhering closely to the prices in larger markets.\n\n_Even monopoly affected._—These articles have been chosen as illustrating\nthe essential law of prices even under the advance of combination of\ncapital upon an enormous scale. The iron industries and the Standard Oil\nCompany come nearest, perhaps, to fulfilling the conditions of monopoly\nfound anywhere. Yet the actual effect of improved methods in great\ncombinations is seen to have reached the mass of the people in spite of\nany tendency to sustain prices by combination. A line, No. 6, indicating\nthe general trend of wages for farm hands in the North, is added to more\nclearly indicate the distribution of welfare through such improvements in\nmethod. For still other purposes, the fluctuating price of silver bullion\nis shown in line No. 7.\n\n\n\n\nChapter X. Exchange—Its Machinery.\n\n\n_Free communication._—From what has been said in the preceding chapter as\nto the nature of value and price, it will appear that the most fundamental\ncondition for ready exchange is perfectly free communication between\nindividuals as to wants and abilities to meet wants. There is implied,\nalso, an absolute protection of property rights and of equity in dealing\nthrough the laws and customs of the community. No one acquires property\nfor the purpose of exchange unless he can foresee the possibility of\ncarrying out the exchange at any future time. He must also feel that he is\nprotected by surrounding circumstances from misinformation as to values.\nIn short, any community is ready for free exchange among its members only\nwhen it maintains the conditions for fair competition. To this fairness of\ncompetition many things contribute, aside from the governmental machinery.\nThere can be little trade without a common language, and the full\nadvantages of common speech are reached through every facility for ready\ncommunication between all the individuals of the community. An universal\npress, postal facilities, telegraph and telephone systems have all grown\nup in meeting this need.\n\nThe same is true of established market places, boards of trade and produce\nexchanges. Not only does the multitude of exchanges in one place lessen\nthe cost of such exchanges, but these make it possible for multitudes to\nreach a fair understanding of what is wanted and what is offered in any\nline of production. This need accounts for the tendency so frequently\nnoticed to establish great centers of trade in particular commodities. The\nworld wants a fair understanding of what the world contains, and these\nmethods of bringing together buyers and sellers are the natural outgrowth\nof this need.\n\n_Full statistics._—The same end is served still more fully by frequent\npublication of price-lists, and a daily record of the transactions in any\nmarket gives information which every dealer can use to advantage. Public\nstatistics, carefully and honestly prepared, serve both buyers and sellers\nof any article of commerce. The farmer needs as much as anybody the\nfullest information as to what his fellow farmers have to sell, whether\nthey are immediate neighbors or in distant parts of the world. The price\nof wheat on any farm ought, if perfect understanding is reached, to\nconform to the general law of supply and demand throughout the world, and\nthe yield of wheat in Russia, India and South America affects the value of\nevery bushel raised in our country.\n\nEvery advance in the perfection of statistics and the rapidity of\ncollection makes more certain the bargain of every producer and consumer.\nPeople have sometimes opposed the gathering of statistics for fear that\nlarge dealers and speculators may take unfair advantage from such\ninformation. But a careful consideration will show that managing of the\nmarket depends chiefly upon want of information on one side of the\nbargain. If farmers were as thoroughly informed as to the crops of the\nworld as carefully collected statistics might make them, no false rumors\ncould mislead them in selling their produce. The evident tendency toward\nmore stable markets, as shown by the records of the last twenty years, is\naccounted for partially, at least, by the more perfect information\navailable. If farmers themselves would take interest in furnishing\naccurate estimates of the extent and condition of every product held for\nsale, they would in the long run reap the highest advantages of clearly\nunderstanding the supply and demand in the markets of the world. This\nwould do more to destroy the demoralizing force of mere speculation than\nany possible legal enactment.\n\n_Ready transportation._—An equally important part of the machinery of\nexchange is easy transportation. Every improvement in the transportation\nof persons or products not only lessens the cost of the article when\ndelivered, but increases the actual stability of price and range of the\nmarket.\n\nThe pioneer farmers of northern Ohio found absolutely no market for their\nwheat until the opening of the Erie canal. Farmers upon western prairies\nfound corn their cheapest fuel until railway transportation brought coal\nmines and corn fields into closer relations. The rural community which\ntakes pains to have good roads not only lessens the cost of hauling grain\nto market by saving friction and toil, but actually enlarges its market at\nhome. Hard roads enable them to do four times the work they can do on soft\nroads. In the same way any improvement of railroads, construction of pipe\nlines for gas and oil, or introduction of pneumatic tubes, for mails and\nlight packages in cities, directly spreads the range of market for the\nproducts of every individual laborer and makes more sure the returns for\nany effort he may give in production. Perhaps this is even more easily\nseen by considering how the world’s markets are opened by improvement in\nwater transportation. Water freight on a bushel of wheat from Chicago to\nNew York from 1865 to 1874 averaged over twenty-two cents; from 1885 to\n1894 it was less than seven cents.\n\nThe universality of markets for all kinds of products is clearly shown by\nrealizing what we have within reach of every country community today. Such\neasy transportation adds to the productive abilities of every person. Over\nordinary roads the cost of transporting wheat two hundred miles is equal\nto its value at the end of the journey. Corn will usually pay its way not\nmore than half that distance. So in countries where railroads do not exist\nthe people consume only what they themselves produce, or devote themselves\nto very few products, and so occupy only a portion of their time. In the\nbest developed regions of our country, every family can reach a steady\nsupply of all kinds of goods, and can know that every article produced has\nits proper place in the market without waste. The cost of delivering bread\nin Boston is greater than the cost of carrying the flour in it two\nthousand miles. This ready transportation leads to more complete and more\ndefinite occupation and so to larger returns in the way of satisfaction\nfrom all efforts. The extended market gives added value to all permanent\nor fixed capital. It makes both farms and homes more useful, if full\nadvantage of such improvements is taken. At the same time, values of land\ntend toward an equality throughout the world.\n\n_Diminishing cost of transportation._—That the cost of transportation\nkeeps diminishing in spite of combinations of capital to prevent it, and\nin spite of local legislation restricting it, proves that the increasing\nperfection of machinery and the accession of capital in railroads and\nwaterways are stronger than the purposes of men. That freights are\nregulated by “what the traffic will bear” is merely another way of saying\nthat transportation comes under the universal law of values—what the\nservice is worth in the market, or what people are willing to give for it.\nAccording to good authority, the net profit of carrying one ton of freight\none mile has fallen in twenty-five years from one cent to less than\none-ninth of a cent. The same principle fixes a classification of freight\naccording to service. We can afford to pay more for carrying valuable\nproduce than for carrying cheaper products. It also leads to special rates\nfor developing traffic, as illustrated in rates on baled alfalfa hay from\nwestern plains to Chicago.\n\nWise managers, if not misled by speculation in stocks, care more for\nenlarging traffic than for immediate returns upon a smaller bulk, because\nthe bulk of profit is greater. A good illustration of development of a\nspecial traffic is found in the milk trains running two hundred or three\nhundred miles to supply the city of New York. The railroads are compelled\nby the needs of the traffic to carry the milk cheaply enough to prevent\nits being made into butter and cheese. Laws regulating this charge are\neffective, because such a necessity exists in the nature of the case.\n\n_Weights and measures._—Another important growth in the machinery of trade\nis found in standards of quantity,—weights and measures of every kind. It\nis scarcely possible to realize the uncertainty of exchange without exact\nweights and measures. The story of the Indian trader who bought furs by\nweight, putting his hand upon the scales for one weight and his foot for\nits double, illustrates how uncertain such judgments of quantity may be\nwithout system. The present names of weights and measures indicate their\norigin in similar ways.\n\nMeasures have usually been connected with some part of the body: as\n“finger,” used one way in measuring the load of a gun and another on a\nstocking; “hand,” still used in measuring the height of horses; “span,”\nonce considered sufficiently definite for any measurement; “foot,” now\nmade to conform to an accurate system; and “pace,” still used in many\ncommunities. Connected with the arm, are “cubit” and “yard.” Many ladies\nstill measure their dress goods by arm’s lengths. For small measures,\n“grain” and “barley-corn,” still used as names, indicate dependence upon\naverage quantity in articles of general growth.\n\nToday all civilized governments settle upon a definite system of measures\nand weights, all accurately connected with each other and with some\nprecise dimension in nature supposed to be invariable. Our common yard is\ndistinctly associated with a pendulum vibrating seconds; and in the great\ndecimal system, adopted by most countries in Europe, and likely to be\nreached in all countries, the whole is connected with a measured meridian\nupon the earth’s surface. Care is then taken to have standard measures and\nweights prepared in such a way as to be free from all effects of any\nchange of temperature, and legal enactments distinctly define each measure\nand weight, actually punishing one for the crime of using false weights or\nmeasures. Units of quantity thus enter into all our calculations and form\nan essential basis of all exchange. Cheating in measure and weight grows\nless and less possible with this clear understanding of exact units. The\nNew York Legislature has defined the size of fruit packages, and the\nMassachusetts poultry raisers ask a law requiring eggs to be sold by\nweight.\n\n_Metrical system._—If the whole world should unite on a single decimal\nsystem of measures and weights, like that now used in most of Europe, all\nwould be gainers from the reduction of misunderstandings and\nmiscalculations increasing the cost of exchange. The difficulty of\nadopting a new system arises chiefly from the absolute importance of any\nsystem and the unconscious use of that to which people are already\naccustomed, together with its application in a thousand unthought of ways\nto every tool and every rule. That the advantage of a uniform decimal\nsystem would more than balance the difficulty of change, no student of the\nsubject now doubts. Some have estimated the saving at nearly one-half of\nthe present clerk hire. Our government has already taken steps for such a\nchange, though years may be required to accomplish it.\n\n_Standards of quality._—The machinery of exchange also involves standard\nunits of quality, but these must vary with every different kind of\ncommodity. Custom has given rise to all sorts of devices for expressing\ndegrees of fineness, strength and hardness, as well as more delicate\nqualities of flavor and odor. Boards of Trade often establish offices of\ninspection with brands upon grains, flour, butter, pork, etc., and these\nbecome definite parts of a contract which the government rightly enforces.\nPrivate trade-marks and brands, if honestly used, become a prominent\nelement in exchange. These are protected rightly by being filed with the\ngovernment, which secures to the originator his sole use of such a proof\nof quality.\n\nIn some articles of trade, when a whole community is interested, the\ngovernment goes further and undertakes inspection and branding by an\nofficial. This in most states applies to kerosene oil, first for public\nsafety, but afterwards for protection of exchange. Laws regulating the\nquality of fertilizers are based upon the necessity of knowledge, that\nbargains may be fair; and in many parts of our country now the branding of\nground feeds, with an analysis of their qualities, is deemed an essential\nof safe bargaining. The extent to which this effort to establish the\ncertainty of qualities may need to be carried can be estimated by the\nrecent agitation over adulterations of food products. All believe that, as\nbuyers, they have a right to know the quality of what they buy. It is\nconceivable that markets may some time establish a system of terms,\ndescriptive of qualities, almost as definite as weights and measures. All\nthis contributes to fair competition in exchange.\n\n_Standards of value._—More important still in the machinery of exchange is\na standard unit of value. We have seen that value in any article of\ncommerce can be fixed in terms of any other article, but prices remain\nindefinite so long as there is want of universal appreciation or appraisal\nin essentially the same terms and ideas. The tendency toward definite\nprices in well understood units of value is as clearly perceptible in the\nprogress of commerce as is the tendency toward definiteness in weights and\nmeasures.\n\nIn early ages almost any article of common use, so that its qualities\nmight be generally understood, has served as a standard of value, in terms\nof which all wealth has been estimated. Communities engaged in grazing\ncounted all their wealth by cattle. Homer’s heroes wore armor valued in\ncattle, and early Roman coins bore the images of cattle, while the very\nname of Roman coins, _pecunia_, is supposed to have been derived from the\nname of the flock. Communities of fishermen for a long period have\nestimated wealth in dried fish. More mechanical peoples have used some\narticle of manufacture, like nails in some Scottish villages and the\ncountry cloth of western Africa. Sometimes a single prime article of\nexport has served the purpose, like tobacco in the colony of Virginia and\ndried hides on the plains of South America. In most of pioneer America the\nhunters’ pelts have served the same purpose, the average “coonskin” having\na value which all could understand. As communities became more wealthy the\ndisplay of wealth in ornaments made of precious metals and in precious\nstones has led to the use of these as standards of value. American Indians\nused their wampum, and African tribes employed peculiar shells. But as\ncommerce increased, embracing wider regions, gold and silver became the\nstaple article of value everywhere, since these, so easily tested for\npurity, could have their value estimated definitely by weight. Thus the\nstandard unit of value has been definitely connected with standard\nweights.\n\n_Coinage._—Gradually these weights, for greater ease of transfer and for\nclearer understanding of values, became the basis of coinage. The stamp of\nthe coiner became a certificate of quality and quantity, and finally, as\nin the case of weights and measures, governments assumed the whole\nresponsibility for fixing the weight and fineness of coins, and reduced\nall coinage to system, that every citizen might know the value of the unit\nin which he estimates any article of commerce.\n\nThe early coins were definite weights of gold, silver or copper, and in\nmany countries coins still bear the names that indicate their original\nweight. Yet arbitrary rulers have often sought to cheat their subjects by\nissuing coins of lighter weight and baser metal. The French livre, now the\nfranc, is one seventy-second of its original value. English coins were\ndebased ten times between the years 1299 and 1601 to exactly one-third of\ntheir original value. The loss from such debasement falls almost wholly\nupon the poor, whose wages fail to buy the usual food and clothing. Henry\nVIII reduced the coins of his realm again and again, until it would have\ntaken five years’ revenue of Elizabeth’s reign to restore the currency.\nElizabeth chose to take the standards as she found them, but to establish\nan absolute degree of purity and fix by law the weight of each coin in the\nsystem. The standard of purity since maintained in England is 22 carats,\nor eleven-twelfths fine, and weights have been maintained in spite of\nseveral efforts to reduce them. Other nations have taken similar steps\nwith varying standards of purity: .835 in the Latin union, .9 in the\nUnited States, and over .96 in most coinage of western Asia. In this way\nthe standard of value for every citizen of a country is as clearly defined\nas the standard of weight, and every transaction in trade, with every\naccount of such transaction, involves that unit.\n\n_United States coinage._—A brief statement of the system of coinage now\nestablished in the United States may illustrate the definiteness of the\nstandards of value. The United States mint at Philadelphia and its\nbranches at New Orleans, Denver, San Francisco and Carson have the sole\nauthority for making coins. Any effort at coinage by outside parties is\ncriminal. The mint receives the gold and silver by weight and assay of\npurity, melts and refines and mixes with alloy, to bring the mass to\nrequired fineness, nine-tenths pure, and casts the metal into bars called\nbullion. These bars are then most carefully assayed, and, if found of\nexact standard purity, are rolled and drawn into plates the thickness of\nthe coins desired. From these plates disks are punched by machinery, each\ndisk being weighed, and if found too light thrown aside, if too heavy\nreduced by filing, until every disk represents exactly the required weight\nof the coin desired. The disks then pass through a milling machine which\nraises the edges, and when cleaned by dilute acid and carefully dried, are\nstamped by a steel die with some device covering both surfaces completely.\nThis effectually gives the seal of the nation to the purity and weight of\nthe coin, and, since it covers the whole surface, prevents the possibility\nof reducing that weight without marring the coin.\n\n_United States standards._—The system of coinage in the United States\nsince 1873 embraces standard coins of gold, silver, nickel and copper, but\ngold alone actually furnishes the standards of value, all other coins\nbeing at present subsidiary. Gold is coined for individuals free; that is,\na certain weight of metal presented at the mint is assayed, to determine\nthe exact weight of pure gold, and an equal weight of pure gold is\nreturned to the owner in coin. Sometimes a slight charge for the expense\nof coinage is made and called seigniorage. At present no such charge is\nmade, for the reason that when a nation bears the cost of coinage, foreign\ncoins are kept from circulation, and its own coins are current everywhere.\n\nThe standard unit of value for the United States is 25.8 grains of gold\nnine-tenths fine, and this is called a dollar, although no coin of this\nweight is at present struck. In actual practice, the standard is shown in\nthe ten-dollar piece, or eagle, weighing 258 grains. The half eagle (five\ndollars) and the quarter eagle (two dollars and fifty cents) indicate upon\ntheir face their relation to the principal coin. The double eagle, or\ntwenty-dollar piece, is coined for greater convenience. These coins\nconnect all the currency of the country directly with the market value of\ncommodities in the world, through gaining their value directly from the\nmarket value of gold, where gold is bought and sold. Thus gold furnishes\nthe standard of value with which all other values are compared.\n\nSilver coins of the United States are made from silver purchased by the\ngovernment. The dollar, adopted from the Spanish rix-dollar, itself\nderived from the German thaler, is by law a coin of 412-½ grains of silver\nnine-tenths fine. This silver dollar has a story of its own, which will be\ngiven later, and does not form a part of the system of 1873. The half\ndollar, the quarter dollar, and the dime, for fractional currency, are\nproportional parts of 385.8 grains of silver nine-tenths fine. These are\nabout five per cent less in weight than the proportional parts of the\nsilver dollar. The original purpose of this reduced weight was to prevent\nthe consumption of these coins in ordinary uses by making them worth on\nthe face a little more than their bullion value. These fractional coins\nare legal tender in the courts to the amount of five dollars. In nickel\nand copper coins no effort has been made for many years to maintain a\nstandard of value, the amount of metal in any of them being far less in\nvalue than their face. They are legal tender only to the amount of\ntwenty-five cents.\n\n_Fluctuation of standards._—In the study of the precious metals as the\nstandard of prices, it is necessary to remember that the value of these\nmetals, like that of all products of labor, is subject to considerable\nfluctuations. The very fact that gold and silver are durable metals, not\neasily consumed or readily worn away, tends to make the increased product\nin a series of years less and less valuable. While the ordinary increase\nin product may be provided for by increased demand through extended\nexchange, the very improvements in the machinery of exchange, especially\nthe extension of general credit, operate in the opposite direction.\n\nIt is certain that the value of gold and silver within one hundred years\nafter the discovery of America, when European nations took possession of\naccumulations among the inhabitants of Central and South America,\ndiminished to a little more than one-fourth of the value previous to that\ndiscovery. It is estimated that the value of gold since the discovery of\n1849, in California, followed by the opening of mines in Australia and\nSouth Africa, has been reduced to little more than three-fifths of its\nvalue in 1850. This estimate is based upon careful comparisons between\nwhat an ounce of gold in 1850 would buy of some hundred staple products,\nand what the same ounce of gold will buy today of the same hundred\nproducts. The test is a somewhat uncertain one, from the fact that many\nproducts are much more affected by improved methods of production than\nothers, and changes of habits and customs among the people greatly affect\nthe prices by changing demands. The combination of a large number of\nproducts being less likely to be affected than any one, the comparison is\nworthy of some confidence. Nevertheless, it is possible for two different\npersons, making different selections for comparison, to arrive at very\ndiverse results. If the selected articles are those of ready manufacture\nwhere improved methods have most largely entered, the value of gold will\nseem to have increased; if, on the other hand, the selected articles are\nraw materials, in which the law of diminishing returns gives greater cost\nof production, the value of gold will seem to have diminished.\n\nA test easily applied, though not absolutely correct, is in the amount of\nlabor of the most common sort which an ounce of gold would pay for at the\ndifferent periods compared. Careful comparisons show that an ounce of gold\ntoday buys more of all sorts of manufactured articles and more of most\narticles of food, though less of the better class of meats and less of\nlabor, than ever before. This fluctuation in the value of gold has its\nchief importance in connection with long extended credits, though its\ninfluence is felt in other directions through a common system of accounts,\nin which the standard unit of some system of coinage is the sole basis of\ncomparisons. If the standard unit is growing less valuable, in a series of\nyears the book-keeper will show a constantly increasing total of wealth;\nif, on the other hand, it is growing more valuable, the books will show an\napparent loss. Were a perfectly uniform standard possible, all interests\nwould be best provided for.\n\n_Ratio of silver to gold._—More directly important in its effect upon\nexchanges is the unequal fluctuation of gold and silver when both are made\nthe standard of value. That silver and gold are from independent sources,\nsubject to variations of their own in product and processes of extraction,\nmakes it impossible that they should sustain always the same ratio to each\nother in value.\n\nA careful study of the subject by Professor Rogers shows that early in the\nthirteenth century one pound of gold was worth ten pounds of silver, at\nthe close of that century would buy twelve and one-half pounds of silver,\nand in the middle of the fourteenth century bought thirteen and\nthree-fourths pounds; but in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, after\nthe new world was pillaged, one pound of gold bought from ten and one-half\nto twelve pounds of silver. In the seventeenth century fifteen pounds of\nsilver went for one pound of gold, and in the eighteenth, fifteen and\none-half pounds. Early in the nineteenth century the ratio was fixed in\nthis country at sixteen of silver to one of gold, and that estimate was\nassumed to be essentially correct as late as 1877, when a pound of gold\nwould exchange in the market for three and one-half pounds of platinum,\nseven pounds of aluminum, sixteen pounds of silver, seventy-one pounds of\nnickel, 942 pounds of tin, 1,696 pounds of copper. Twenty years have\nproduced great changes in both the total annual products and the relative\ncost of mining. The estimate of 1877 would now be incorrect for any of the\nmetals named. A pound of gold now buys 1,540 pounds of aluminum, the\nchange being due to an invention for reducing aluminum ore. It now takes\nabout thirty-seven pounds of silver to pay for one pound of gold, a change\nin part due to new systems of coinage in which silver plays a subordinate\npart, but chiefly due to the greatly increased product of rich mines and\ngreatly improved methods of reducing ores.\n\n_The cheaper money drives out the good money._—In any system of coinage,\nemploying both silver and gold as standards, it is found by actual\nexperience, repeated hundreds of times, that a change in the ratio between\nthe two metals in open market always leads to hoarding for speculative\npurposes of the most costly metal of the two.\n\nThus, in our country previous to 1873, when silver was worth more than\none-sixteenth of its weight in gold, uncoined silver was necessarily worth\nmore than coined silver for some purposes, and the coins already struck\nwere worth more in the manufacture of spoons and plate than to circulate\nas coins. Prior to 1853, when the half dollars, quarter dollars and dimes\nwere coined at the ratio of sixteen to one, such coins could not be kept\nin circulation, for the reason that they were worth more than their face\nvalue. The law of 1853 reduced the weight of these coins so that their\nmarket value as silver was sure to remain a trifle less than their face\nvalue. The result was no further melting up of these small coins for use\nin the arts or for bullion. This fact is only one illustration of what is\ncalled Gresham’s law, formulated in the time of England’s base coinage\nduring the sixteenth century, but noticed centuries earlier, that _cheap\nmoney always drives out a more costly money_. The principle is as constant\nas human nature, that nobody will give a greater value when a less value\nwill serve the same purpose. For this reason, no country in recent times\nhas been able to keep both gold and silver as the actual standards of\nvalue at the same time. Either the ratio must be changed with every\nfluctuation of either metal, or one of the metals must be undervalued in\nthe system of coinage, as has been done in England for the greater part of\nthis century; or else the total coins of the cheaper metal must be limited\nin amount, as has been done by the Latin Union in Europe during the last\ntwenty-five years. In either case the tendency is toward a single\nstandard. The commercial world prefers a stable, well understood unit to a\nchangeable one. And while the fluctuations of gold alone affect somewhat\nthe stability of prices, these are thought of less importance than the\nnecessary legal adjustments for new systems of coinage.\n\n_Monometalism and bimetalism._—The discussion has led to two opposing\nviews, distinguished as monometalism and bimetalism. The monometalist\nholds that since one metal only can, under ordinary circumstances, set the\nstandard of price, it is wise to choose the one subject to the least\nfluctuation for the universal standard. The bimetalist holds that a\nnation, or at any rate a group of nations, can fix by agreement the price\nof gold and silver in terms of each other, when used as money. Since the\nuse of these metals as money makes the chief demand for them, it is\nthought possible to make this legal ratio hold upon the total product of\nboth gold and silver. If, then, in any country the supply of gold should\nbe out of due proportion with silver, its overvaluation will at once\nattract gold from other countries until it becomes no more profitable\nthere than elsewhere. The result is assumed to be a somewhat ready\nequalization of values for the territory establishing the standard, so\nthat the actual fluctuations of the standard unit will follow the line of\nlowest prices for either of the metals. The monometalist feels certain\nthat the actual withdrawal from circulation, and so from use as money, of\nthe higher priced metal causes greater hardship and probably greater\nfluctuations in values of other commodities than any fluctuation of a\nsingle standard can produce.\n\nIt is very certain that the commercial world recognizes the tendency\ntoward a single standard, and that the coinage systems of all civilized\ncountries are practically, if not in definite form, based upon a single\nstandard. The countries of wide commerce and extensive credit are using\nthe gold standard. The less developed countries adhere to the silver\nstandard. Many which nominally sustain both have, by some legal\nrestriction in the coinage of silver, become practical supporters of the\ngold standard. Few, if any, thorough students of the subject believe it\npossible by statute in the present conditions of mining and commerce to\nbring the commercial world anywhere back to the ratio of sixteen to one,\nestablished in the United States in 1834. Statute law might declare a\nsheep to be equal to a horse, but no power on earth could make it pull as\nmuch. So even agreement among nations, by legal enactments, cannot enforce\nan unnatural relation between two products.\n\nNATIONAL STANDARDS OF VALUE, 1899\n\n_Gold_            _Gold, with       _Gold or          _Silver_\n                  silver limited_   silver_\nGreat Britain,    United States,    Haiti, Uruguay,   Mexico, Central\nGermany,          France,           Argentine         America,\nSweden, Norway,   Belgium, Italy,   Republic,         Columbia,\nDenmark,          Switzerland,      Venezuela,        Bolivia, Peru,\nAustro-Hungary,   Greece, India.    Spain, Servia,    Equador, China,\nRoumania,                           Bulgaria,         Hong Kong and\nTurkey,                             Netherlands,      Straits, Cochin\nPortugal,                           Algeria, Tunis,   China.\nBrazil, Canada,                     Japan, Java,\nNewfoundland,                       etc.,\nEgypt, Russia,                      Philippine\nChile.                              Islands,\n                                    Hawaii.\n\n_Actual bimetalism._—It is necessary to caution against supposing that the\nuse of both gold and silver as currency in any country implies true\nbimetalism, nor is it at all certain that the making of either gold or\nsilver legal tender at option touches the question of bimetalism. Only the\nissue by free coinage at the will of the owner of both metals shows a\ndistinct attempt to maintain bimetalism. The actual maintenance of both\nstandards has always been, and always will be, by alternation, when the\nratio of the two metals as to value is established at very nearly the\nmarket value of the two metals in bullion.\n\nPopular demand for a return to the old ratio in the United States is\nfounded in part upon misconception of commercial principles and largely\nupon a misunderstanding of current events during a financial crisis. The\nsupposed dangers from a single standard of value are largely exaggerated\nfrom confusion of standards with currency in exchange. It is quite\nconceivable that gold may still serve as a standard unit of value, while\n90 per cent of exchanges have no other use for gold beyond its furnishing\nterms of comparison. We must measure value by value, and the unit of value\nmust be true to its name, just as we measure length by something long. But\nthe number of yardsticks in actual use in a store may have no constant\nratio to the number of yards of cloth sold by that measure. The folding of\ncalico in yard folds relieves the yardstick, but does not change the\nnature of the yard. So gold, or silver, is relieved of many functions in\nexchange through banking systems without materially affecting its use as a\nstandard unit.\n\n_The multiple standard._—It is proper to mention in connection with units\nof value a theoretical device for overcoming the necessary fluctuation in\nall articles of value. This is sometimes called the multiple standard. The\nplan, in brief, is to appoint a committee of experts, whose record of\ncurrent prices, in some general market, for a hundred or more staple\narticles of commerce, shall be compared from week to week, or day to day,\nin such a way as to indicate how far above or below the average the price\nof any article may be. If, then, gold is made a legal tender, a comparison\nof its price with the average of all prices will show how much weight of\ngold must be given on any day to actually return a value exactly\nequivalent to what was borrowed sixty days or a year previous, when the\nratio of gold to average prices was different. In this way it is supposed\nthat natural fluctuations in gold, silver or any other commodity made\nlegal tender for debt can be fully provided for without loss to either\ndebtor or creditor.\n\nThe objections to this ideal standard are the practical difficulty of\nsettling, first, the wide range of commodities to serve as the basis;\nsecond, the importance to be given each in adjusting the standard; and\nthird, the nature of the commission under which the work should be done.\nIn the history of the world, custom has preceded law in devising for\nwelfare; in this, law without experience will have to precede custom. The\ndifficulty which most men would experience in understanding and trusting\nsuch a system puts off indefinitely the possibility of a general adoption.\n\n_The currency._—The last essential in perfect freedom of exchange is a\nsatisfactory means of transferring completely and quickly all property\nright in any article of trade. Exchange of commodity for commodity or\nservice for service is possible to a very limited extent, since the man\nwho wants my horse may have nothing which I want in return, or if he has,\nthe values may be unequal, and one or the other must remain in debt, which\nmeans that one of the articles belongs in part to both. In some new\ncountries exchanges are confined to this slow and uncertain method of\nbarter, where nobody can buy until he finds a neighbor wanting just what\nhe himself has to sell. Traders in such countries contrive to accumulate a\nvariety of things needed by all sorts of people, that they may be ready\nwith some kind of exchange to meet particular wants. No community,\nhowever, begins to reap the clear advantages of exchange until some\nuniversally acceptable medium of exchange is discovered and accepted. The\nprocess of developing this medium is essentially the same as that\ndescribed in establishing a standard of value; and so the word money\nnaturally represents both the standard of value and the common currency of\ntrade. It is easy, however, to see by further examination that the two\nfunctions of money are quite easily separable, and that, while it is\ndifficult to substitute for the standard of value, a variety of\nsubstitutes can serve as currency.\n\nIn speaking of coinage hitherto, the standard of value has been assumed to\nbe the most important, but in fact a large proportion of our coin serves\nsimply as currency without materially affecting the standard of value.\nThis is true of all the fractional coins, which are purposely over-valued,\nand equally true of the silver dollar under existing circumstances. In\nfact, the primary use of coin was simply for the purpose of transferring\nproperty. In the words of Aristotle, 350 B. C., “Men invented among\nthemselves, by way of exchange, something which they should mutually give\nand take, and which, being really valuable in itself, might easily be\npassed from hand to hand for purposes of daily life.” This coined money\nsupplies the needed means of exchange most readily because it carries its\nvalue with it. In all civilized communities, and in many only partially\ncivilized, it is readily exchangeable for any article of commerce. It is\nalso valued in proportion to its weight, so that any bulk in gold or in\nsilver may be easily divided by exchange for smaller coins. With a little\npainstaking the coins are made identical in value, so that every trader\nknows what he gives and receives. They are exceedingly durable, resisting\nalmost all the forces of nature with little loss. For this reason they are\nlikely to have an almost universal value, that is to be wanted by\neverybody, in any place, at any time, and under any circumstances. These\nfacts are proved by the tendency to hoard such coins whenever individuals\nhave a surplus of wealth beyond present wants, or whenever there is risk\nin using wealth as capital because of distrust of government, of\nindividuals or of future enterprise. A buried treasure is almost sure to\nbe in the form of coins.\n\nUnder a system of coinage, inequalities in exchange are easily adjusted,\nlike “the boot” in a horse trade, or the balance between produce carried\nto the store and the articles carried away. Most of all, coin is used\nwhere for any reason there is distrust of the future. Coin, or its\nequivalent in bullion, is needed in all transactions where credit is\nwanting. This appears prominent in all lawless communities with a\nfluctuating population, and may be found in ignorant communities where\nmethods of credit are not established. It is often essential in the\nsettlement of claims between hostile countries, and is the final means of\nadjusting balances in all foreign trade. Occasionally this need appears in\na universal panic, where each man takes his fellow by the throat, saying,\n“Pay me that thou owest.”\n\n_Coin a part of a country’s capital._—The coined money of a country thus\nbecomes wealth in store for constant use as a machine of exchange. Its\noperation is effective when it keeps in constant motion, being itself\nconsumed very slowly in the wear and tear of motion. It is sometimes\ncompared to an endless screw, transmitting motion to everything else with\nwhich it comes in contact. Like other machines, it may be either too\nabundant or too scarce for the best advantage of the country. In either\ncase there is waste. When the coin is idle it is unproductive, but suffers\nless waste from deterioration than almost any other kind of machine. In\ncase of scarcity the cost of its use is increased under the general law of\nsupply and demand, exactly as the cost of other machinery in use is\nadvanced when many desire to use it. This machine is a prominent part of\nthe capital of a country, greater in some countries than in others. In\nFrance the value of coin is estimated to be 3 per cent of the value of all\nreal estate, including buildings. The use of such a machine makes a\nmaterial part of the annual cost of exchanges. The coin of England, where\ninterest is comparatively low, costs for its use in interest, wear and\ntear, and re-coinage more than $20,000,000 annually.\n\nAn additional cost to individuals is in the extra risk of carrying such\nwealth, as shown in express charges and special insurance, and still\ngreater expense for safe keeping, and a considerable use of time in\ncounting. These facts have led to many devices for lessening the need of\nkeeping wealth in this form.\n\n_Credit by accounts._—The most obvious method of avoiding the use of coin\nin exchanges is a current account between individuals having many\ntransactions in trade. A farmer carries his butter, eggs, fruits, grains\nand live stock, perhaps, to a single dealer in all these articles, and\ntakes in return articles of household use or for any necessity as he\nrequires them, from a spool of thread to a harvester. If both keep\naccurate accounts, a settlement once in six months satisfies most\nconveniently all the requirements of perfect trade. Indeed the settlement\nis needed only that the accounts may be verified. Except for the dangers\nof waste in unlimited credit and carelessness in expenditure where future\nwealth is drawn upon, this method of exchange is simple and inexpensive.\nIn the nature of the case, however, it must be limited, for safety, to\ntrade between people having confidence in each other’s honesty of purpose\nand ability to keep correct accounts. It also requires a mutual\nexpectation of ability on the part of either to meet indebtedness at any\nfuture time of settlement.\n\n_Credit by due-bills._—An extension of this credit in well established\ncountries, so as to take in other persons than the two involved in book\naccount, is found in due-bills, notes of hand payable on demand, or more\nformal securities, any of which may require a final decision in court.\nThese pass from hand to hand, often in connection with coin, and under\nordinary circumstances serve their purpose cheaply. In some countries a\nnote of hand, with endorsement of each user, may make exchanges until it\nis covered with endorsements. The danger of waste is considerable from the\nimpossibility of knowing the financial standing and honesty of the various\nendorsers, and the system is limited, of course, to the range of\nconfidence in such trustworthiness. So easy is it to extend this credit of\nindividuals beyond the range of safety that most governments have found it\nnecessary to protect their citizens against its dangers by limiting or\nprohibiting its use as currency.\n\n_Credit currency._—So convenient, however, and so economical is the use of\ncredit, that all well established nations have developed systems for the\nissue of a credit currency founded upon the stability of strong\ncorporations or upon the national credit. Nations themselves have often\nissued bills of credit in the form of notes, or promises to pay at the\nnational treasury. If these are payable on demand in the coin of the\nrealm, they are said to be redeemable. If the time of payment is\nuncertain, or indefinitely postponed, they are said to be irredeemable.\nThus we have the many forms of paper money so familiar to everybody and\nthe various practices and speculative theories regarding it, which make a\nlarge part of the discussion of financial questions throughout the world.\n\nNo one doubts the worthlessness of currency in any form of note, from\nindividual or firm, which cannot be paid when presented. The notes of the\ngovernment, so long as that government is considered stable, may circulate\nreadily, and even after doubts exist as to the final ability of the\ngovernment to redeem, they still circulate, perhaps with greater\nreadiness, in the feeling that hoarding is utter loss and the stopping of\ntrade in the ordinary perishable products of industry will be an enormous\ndisaster. This feeling often leads to the use of a currency without value,\nlike the token money used for change in the absence of legal coins. Though\nnobody is bound to redeem these tokens, everybody takes the risk of loss\nas less disastrous than no exchange. Paper money issued by corporations is\nuniversally considered dangerous to the interests of communities, unless\nvery carefully restricted within distinct and clearly understood limits.\nThe discussion of such issues will be given in another chapter devoted to\nbanking. The issue of paper money by governments has been a frequent\ndevice for enforcing contributions of citizens to extraordinary expenses\nin war or other disaster. A history of such issues cannot be given within\nthe limits of this book, but is well worth the study of those who seek an\nunderstanding of the powers and limitations of government under natural\nlaws, in making a satisfactory currency. A government’s stamp upon the\npiece of paper is so far good, and only so far, as it secures to the\nreceiver of the paper an equivalent value to what he gave for it. If the\ngovernment itself is unable to give that value, it can never insure the\nability or the willingness on the part of any individual to give such\nvalue. While millions of dollars in such form may serve as currency\nwithout any deterioration, as at the present time, when government\npromises in all the various forms amount to nearly $1,000,000,000, should\nany of these, on any day, be refused payment for want of means in\ngovernment possession, every individual in the land would feel that the\nvalue of his possessions in the shape of such notes was made just so far\ndoubtful as the chances of redemption are postponed. All issues of such\nnotes at once become certificates of debt rather than credit, and lose, to\ngreater or less extent, their exchangeable value.\n\nIn the extraordinary issue of “greenbacks” during the civil war, the\npurchasing power of a paper dollar was reduced to less than half, and\ngradually appreciated in value as the expectation of early redemption\nincreased. The effect of such issues upon government revenues will be\ntreated in its proper connection. As currency, it certainly robs each\ncreditor and holder while depreciating, and as surely robs each debtor\nwhile appreciating. As wage earners are universally creditors, according\nto prevailing customs, they suffer most in a depreciation of money values:\ni. e., they work for dollars at one value and a week or a month later\nreceive them to expend at a less value. Speculative debtors, on the other\nhand, always thrive on depreciating currency, paying their debts in what\ncosts less exertion. Under appreciating currency, the creditors gain, be\nthey bankers or workmen.\n\n_Banking._—The peculiar convenience for saving found by experience in the\nuse of each of these methods of settlement in exchange leads to a natural\ncommingling of all. Coins serve some purposes best, and accounts have a\nlimited range; notes of hand are often desirable, and paper money, if\nsafe, is universally convenient. This natural combination has led to a\nmore systematic arrangement for handling various kinds of currency, called\nbanking. The most obvious addition to the machinery of exchange in the\nsystem of banking is the possibility of immediate transfer of property\nright in a bank deposit by check and account, or by a draft in account\nbetween banks, or by bills of exchange in more distant transactions. The\nbank deposit is made up of individual wealth, or titles to wealth,\nsupposed to be immediately available for use in exchange. It may consist\nof all the kinds of currency described or conceivable. Checks are orders\nupon these individual accounts or deposits, and by their means exchanges\nare made with great ease and little risk between individuals in the same\nneighborhood or even in distant cities or distant countries. The cost of\nstoring, handling or transferring any form of currency is reduced to a\nminimum. So far-reaching is this comparatively modern machine of exchange\nthat it is properly assumed to be the means of settling 90 per cent of all\nexchanges, domestic and foreign, with almost no use of money in any of its\nnumerous forms. Its importance as a machine of commerce entitles banking\nto a more distinct consideration, and chapter XI will be devoted to the\nsubject.\n\n_Deferred settlement._—In certain stages of civilization exchanges\ninvolve, not simply present wealth, but prospective accumulation. A farmer\nmay purchase his farm upon the assurance of crops and stock to be raised\nin a series of years. In this exchange final settlement is deferred by\nnotes payable at definite future dates, the promise to pay being secured\nby a deed in trust, a mortgage deed or individual endorsement. If many\nindividuals are united, a purchase may be made by means of issuing more\nformal notes called bonds, the property of the company being pledged for\nthe payment of the bonds when due. Sometimes such purchases are made by\nthe issue of stock, establishing the right of the seller to a certain\nundivided share in the wealth controlled by the company. In this case the\ntime of final settlement is indefinitely postponed, to be fixed by limits\nof the charter or by a vote of the stock-holders. All these certificates\nof indebtedness serve to a limited extent in exchange of property. So far\nas they enter into commerce, after the first transaction, they are simply\narticles of purchase and sale, having a more or less established market\nvalue. Since they usually represent an accumulating interest or a\nprovisional dividend, the market value is constantly fluctuating, and they\ncan therefore serve almost no purpose of currency.\n\nThe ease with which such notes, bonds and stock can be made the basis of a\nsingle purchase in establishing some enterprise gives to them an\nindefinite influence in trade, sometimes immensely extending the apparent\npurchasing power of a community. The advantages and disadvantages of such\ndeferred settlement are so varied and important as to make it worth while\nto treat the subject more extensively than is proper in this analysis, and\nsuch treatment will be found in Chapter XII.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XI. Banks And Banking.\n\n\n_Origin of banks._—Attention has been called to the banks of the country\nas a most important part of the machinery of exchange. It is proper to\ndescribe more fully the nature of the machine and its operations. A clear\nunderstanding of the character and process of banking on the part of all\nthe people both extends its influence and diminishes its dangers. Banking,\nlike everything else in civilization, has had a natural growth. The\ndifferent steps in its growth have been devised for the sake of meeting\nthe needs of a growing commerce, and banking can exist only where\ncommercial transactions are frequent and constant.\n\nThe word bank, distinctly related to the English word bench, is supposed\nto have been adopted from the fact that early Jewish dealers in money sat\nby a bench in the streets of Italian cities. The commercial city of Venice\nis supposed to have been the seat of the first organization distinctly\nnamed a bank. This was a corporation of money lenders who handled their\ncapital in the form of coin by exchanging it for notes of individuals.\nThis was as early as the twelfth century. Since that time in every\ncivilized community there has been experiment upon methods for quickening\nexchanges through such organizations, some of which have been of great\nadvantage and some have brought disaster. The modern system of banking is\nthe result of all these centuries of experience, a history of which cannot\nbe given here.\n\n_Bank described._—A brief description of the most modern form of banks\nunder state or national restrictions will help to understand how these\ninstitutions serve the world of commerce.\n\nIn simplest terms, a bank is a company founded for the sole purpose of\ndealing in coin and current certificates of credit of every form, the\nprime object being the convenience of people in making exchanges of any\nkind. Sometimes a bank is called upon simply to make change, or, as we\nsay, to break a valuable coin or a bill of large denomination into smaller\npieces. On the border land between two countries the banker serves a\ntraveler by exchanging the coins of the country he leaves for coins of the\ncountry he enters.\n\nOften the bank, equipped with safe protection against fire or robbers,\nreceives the wealth of others in any form of money for safe keeping, with\nprovision for its being paid when it is needed, whenever and wherever the\nowner directs. The same bank may be asked to exchange the money in its\npossession for notes of individuals payable on demand or at definite\nfuture time. It may even issue notes of the firm in place of the\nindividual notes received, acquaintance of a community with the standing\nof the bank as a dealer in money making its notes circulate where\nindividual notes would not. In this case the wider credit of the bank is\nexchanged for the limited credit of individuals. In the end a well\nestablished bank in close association with a system of banks is expected\nto do any service that has to do with either money or credit, so long as\nthe credit approximates cash transactions, and has not drifted into\noverdue debts requiring courts and officials for collection.\n\nSo important are all these functions of a bank to the interests of society\nthat distinct provision is needed in the law of the land for establishing\nthe bank and maintaining its efficiency. The double system of government\nin our country known as state and national leads to two classes of banks,\ncalled state or national according as they are organized under authority\nof state government or under national laws.\n\n_State banks._—The independent laws of any state are supposed to provide\nsuch restrictions as the people desire for the management of banks. Any\nbank chartered by the state government is subject simply to the laws of\nthe state pertaining to banks and is called a state bank, whatever the\nname under which it does business.\n\nThe laws of the different states vary indefinitely, but the essentials of\na banking law quite recently established in one of the states may serve to\nillustrate the modern ideals as to safe, legitimate banking. Under this\nlaw a bank must be a corporation of not less than five persons who have\nsubscribed for the entire stock and have paid at least 50 per cent of the\nvalue of this stock before beginning business, with provision for payment\nof 10 per cent each month until the whole of the capital stock is paid for\nin cash. Each stock-holder is individually liable to an amount equal to\nthe value of his stock for any debts of the bank in excess of its original\nstock. Having settled upon a name distinct from all others, its\napplication is made to a bank commissioner for a charter to do business in\nbanking according to the laws of the state. Under the charter issued by\nthe commissioner, the bank is required to be managed by a board of\ndirectors, from five to thirteen in number, which board elects the needed\nofficers and appoints the necessary clerks. It cannot increase its capital\nexcept by fully paid stock, and can do no other kind of business, like\nbuying and selling of goods and lands, or managing factories and\nrailroads. It is authorized to receive deposits and make loans at interest\nnot above legal rate, provided it keeps on hand available funds, including\nbank balances, amounting to 20 per cent of its total deposits, and never\nloans to one individual or firm more than 15 per cent of the paid up\ncapital of the bank. A penalty of fine and imprisonment follows conviction\nof any officer for receiving deposits after general insolvency is known.\n\nEach bank is required to report to the commissioner at least quarterly,\nand whenever called upon to publish its report; while failure to comply\nwith requirements of the commissioner in report or otherwise brings\nimmediate forfeiture of the charter. The commissioner or his deputy must\nvisit each bank at least once a year and whenever occasion may require.\nIf, upon examination, a bank is found insolvent the commissioner himself\ntakes charge of the business for final settlement of its affairs. These\nimportant restrictions and careful inspection are thought necessary to\nsecure the public interests in banking. The state through its bank\ncommissioner gives guaranty to the public of legitimate and safe banking.\nThe value of that guaranty, of course, depends upon the honesty,\nexperience and executive ability of the bank commissioner, whose term of\noffice and compensation should make him as independent as possible of any\nweakening influence. Under present arrangements no state banks issue their\nnotes as currency because of a national tax of 10 per cent, which prevents\na possible profit from its issue. Present state laws, therefore, make no\nprovision for that function, unless by statutes existing before the\norganization of national banks. The states still have the constitutional\nright, apparently, to charter banks of issue, but the advantages of\nuniformity throughout the nation are so evident as to make such action\nvery improbable.\n\n_National banks._—The so-called national banks organized under authority\nof United States government have been in existence since 1863, and have\nproved, so far as currency is concerned, such an improvement upon anything\npreceding in the way of bank issues, that few have advocated any return to\nformer methods. The system as now existing places the authority of the\nUnited States in an officer called the comptroller of the currency. The\nlaw requires an association of five or more persons with a definite name\nand location, having not less than $100,000 capital ($50,000 in small\ntowns) all paid within six months of beginning business. Share-holders are\nindividually responsible for debts of the bank, aside from their stock, to\nan amount equal to their stock.\n\nIn banks having over $5,000,000 capital a surplus of 20 per cent may take\nthe place of this individual responsibility. Not less than one-fourth of\nthe capital stock, usually one-third, is deposited in the United States\nTreasury in the form of registered bonds of the United States, to be held\nexclusively for security of circulating notes. These notes are issued to\nthe bank by the comptroller to the amount of not more than 90 per cent of\nthe market value of the bonds deposited. These notes, printed by the\ngovernment, signed, registered and sealed in the United States Treasury,\nin denominations from five dollars to one thousand dollars, become money\nwhen signed by the officers of the bank whose name they bear. The cost of\nthese notes, together with the cost of restoring when worn out, as well as\nthe expenses of the comptroller’s office, are met by a tax of 1 per cent\nper annum, paid semi-annually, upon the average amount of notes in\ncirculation during the previous six months. Such notes are not a legal\ntender, but are received at par for all dues to the United States except\nduties on imports, and for all demands against the United States except\ninterest on the public debt and in redemption of currency. Any other issue\nof notes is prohibited, and worn out notes are cancelled and burned in the\nTreasury of the United States, being replaced by new.\n\nThe banks in sixteen principal cities are required to hold a reserve equal\nto 25 per cent of their circulating notes in lawful money of the United\nStates, namely coin or treasury notes, and all other banks must have a\nreserve equal to 15 per cent of their circulating notes in the same form.\nThis reserve is held for the redemption of the notes, provision being made\nfor such redemption at the Sub-treasury of the United States in New York\ncity, bank balances and clearing house certificates in the larger cities\nbeing counted as part of the reserve. The object of this is to secure\nready redemption of any note in all parts of the nation.\n\nThe comptroller’s office includes expert examiners, and to it each bank\nmust report at least five times a year, with other special reports as\ncalled for. Each bank is subject to examination at the pleasure of the\ncomptroller, and in case of failure to redeem bills or comply with the\nlaw, the comptroller has power to take possession of the bank and close\nits business. The usual banking business of any national bank proceeds\naccording to the laws of the state in which it exists, the legal rate of\ninterest of the state being compulsory.\n\n_Advantages and disadvantages of national bank currency._—The advantage of\nsuch a uniform system of bank notes is evident. The bills are secure\nbeyond the possibility of doubt as to their final redemption, and\ntherefore circulate freely without reference to the failure of the bank\nissuing them. In case of failure, all the banks form a ready machinery for\ncollecting the bills for final redemption at the United States treasury.\nThe frequent reports and expert inspection give as satisfactory means of\nmaintaining safe management as can be secured by law. The possibility of\nconnivance between examiners and bank officers is reduced to a minimum.\n\nAt the same time, there are disadvantages from several sources. First,\nUnited States bonds do not form a permanent basis. Second, the market\nvalue of these bonds and the low rate of interest make the use of capital\nin the shape of circulating notes less profitable than other capital in\nthe bank. This is especially true in the newer communities where interest\nis high, and banks so located are likely to surrender their circulating\nnotes at times when money loaning is most profitable, and thus cause a\nfluctuating volume of currency in the country. Third, the national banks\nare easily made objects of suspicion as to matters of legislation with\nreference to money.\n\n_Government banks._—Similar institutions under direct management of\ngovernment officers have often been thought of as bringing the banking\nmachinery within the direct judgment of the people, and so best meeting\nthe wants of the community as a whole. The advantages of unity and\npublicity in such a system seem evident, and yet in actual practice the\nsafeguards against misuse of power have proved on trial less satisfactory\nin such methods than in several others. The history of debased coinage\nalready referred to shows that men in power may easily disregard the\ninterests of the people, and under popular government both officers and\nlegal restraints are subject to changes in the interest of localities and\nparties. It is possible that a stable body of experts might manage such an\ninstitution under laws as stable as the Constitution with success. But the\nrestraints of law are most effective upon institutions outside official\ncircles.\n\nA government bank is subject to extreme pressure from popular demand under\nany financial distress to issue currency for general improvements in\npublic buildings, parks, etc., which can bring no return and afford no\nmeans of redemption. Even the demand of unfortunate debtors for extended\nloans may push the bank into excessive issues, and finally lead to the\nscaling of debts and currency together in an effort to escape the results\nof over-issue.\n\n_Bank business._—Whatever the organization of a bank, its business must be\nessentially the same. It receives deposits from its customers for safe\nkeeping and for convenience in use by means of checks. A check is simply\nan order to pay, and, if the receiver is a customer of the bank, amounts\nto merely a transfer of deposits from one owner to another on the books of\nthe bank. A thousand dollars safely kept in the bank vault may thus change\nowners a hundred times by means of checks properly recorded. In large\ntransactions the check, because of its economy, takes place of any other\nform of currency. The bank must also deal in drafts, by which exchanges\ncan be made in different cities, and in bills of exchange, distinguished\nfrom ordinary drafts by special reference to foreign trade. It may also\nhold, as a part of its available machinery, clearing house certificates,\nwhich are statements of balances due in the daily settlement between the\nbanks belonging to a clearing house association.\n\nAll these form a part of the machinery of every-day exchange, and together\nwith a complete system of book-keeping make the utmost facility in the use\nof money.\n\nThey also greatly economize in the use of money by saving cost of counting\nand of transfer, and by securing against losses. If the system offered no\nmore advantages than this safe and ready use of good money, the banks\nwould be practically indispensable. But they have a still greater use in a\nsafe extension of credit. The perfection of system in banking makes it\npossible for one who habitually fulfils his promises to purchase anywhere\nin the world on the shortest notice with the simple guaranty of credit in\nthe bank where he does business. A traveler wishing to have funds in\nsafe-keeping, and yet available on a journey around the world, may obtain\nthrough a bank familiar with his business standing a letter of credit,\nupon which he can draw, wherever he may be, against the deposit in his\nfavor, and his draft will be paid, through a series of banks, at the bank\nnear his business connections. Thus the credit of the world is bound\ntogether by the banking system grown up to meet the necessities of trade.\n\n_The clearing house._—All forms of credit referred to above, where dealers\nare customers of a single bank, are easily brought together upon the books\nof that bank, and will practically cancel each other. The customers of\nmany banks in large cities may have their checks and drafts brought into a\nsingle system of book-keeping through a clearing house, which is simply a\nbank of banks. At a certain hour each day, in the larger cities twice a\nday, each bank of the city brings to the clearing house all checks and\ndrafts against any other banks. These are quickly sorted, charged to the\nseveral banks against which they are drawn, and credited to the banks from\nwhich they are brought. The balance of debit and credit is settled then\nand there, either by transfer of cash, or by issue of a clearing house\ncertificate that a bank has a balance in its favor, and so only a small\namount of cash is used in settling all transactions of an immense\nbusiness. The clearings of a single day reach hundreds of millions of\ndollars, and form an index of the business prosperity of the country.\n\nThe system saves the risk and cost of transferring back and forth immense\namounts of coin and currency, and brings the business men of the country\ninto ready contact with each other. It is an essential part of the means\nof settlement between different cities and different countries. A debt in\nany part of the world can be paid through a draft on London, which by\nmeans of the clearing house and its associated banks can be purchased\nanywhere and paid without delay. Since the purchasing power of any part of\nthe world is chiefly in what it has to sell, the constant motion of checks\nand drafts in opposite directions will balance each other. If there were\nno long time credits, the purchases of any city would essentially equal\nits sales; and so with perfect clearance all trade would be quickly\nadjusted with but little use of money except for retail business.\n\n_Other clearing systems._—So evident are the advantages of clearing houses\nin banking that the system extends to many other interests. Railroad\ncorporations balance accounts against each other by exchange of tickets\nissued by the different roads. Large combinations of dealers in implements\nor other goods find a similar service available where they can work\ntogether with confidence. Express companies sharing in a common service\ndivide the final proceeds upon the same principle. So evident is the\nadvantage that the growth has been rapid during recent years, and seems\nlikely to extend still further.\n\nSome effort has been made to establish farmers’ exchanges upon a similar\nplan, but as yet with little success. The obstacles are chiefly in the\nwant of business confidence in business habits among the farmers\nthemselves. Since the system is strictly a credit system, exact promptness\nin meeting engagements and constant dealing in the same channels are\nabsolutely necessary. Most farmers, having comparatively few transactions\nfrom day to day, are loath to attach themselves as constant customers in\nany association. With larger experience and more neighborly contact they\nare finding it possible to work in association for various purposes, and\nwill doubtless enlarge their means of business credit as their progress in\nmutual understanding increases.\n\n_Government inspection._—The principal support of universal credit through\nbanking is the assurance that uniform methods, honest in principle and\naccurate in execution, are followed. To secure these results a system of\ngovernment inspection and guaranty seems absolutely necessary. If the\npublic faith is to be maintained, the ground of that faith must be\npublicly established. The more complete the examination by trusted\nofficials and the more frequent the publication of official reports, the\nbetter the public credit. It seems possible that even individual\ntrustworthiness may become a matter of government record as it is now of\nprivate consideration in all business circles. One chief guaranty of\ncredit through the banks is the strict inquiry made by the banks\nthemselves into the business standing of their customers. If the record\nwere perfect, the chief weakness of the credit system would be largely\nremoved.\n\n_The balance of trade._—The bulk of trade between countries, that is of\ndealers in different countries, is settled in the usual routine of banking\nas has been indicated; but since under present systems the standards of\nvalue are given in different terms in different countries, somewhat more\nof friction remains in such trade. A greater attention is given to the\nfact of final settlement in coin or bullion. The price of exchange from a\ncountry whose dealers owe more than is due them, under the law of supply\nand demand, soon arises to an amount sufficient to cover the cost of\ntransporting gold or silver. When these metals are used in payment by\ntransportation from one country to another they are said to indicate the\nbalance of trade; that is, they show that more of other property comes\ninto the country than goes out. This balance of trade is supposed to show\nthe relative prosperity of a nation, and is said to be against it when the\nnation buys more than it sells.\n\nIt is usually sought in the difference between the value of coin or\nbullion exported and of that imported. In two sets of circumstances a\nlarge correction is necessary to show the actual condition of trade. One\nis where a nation is buying on long credit, as in case of great\nenterprises like railroads or factories, constructed by sale of bonds in\nforeign countries or by sale of any other securities, government or\nindividual, in a foreign land. The other is where a country like our own\nis a large producer of gold and silver by mining. In this case the\nproducts of the mines are as proper an article of export as the products\nof the farms or of the factories, and should be estimated as a part of the\nnatural exports. For these reasons the balance of trade must be carefully\nscrutinized before being accepted as proof of a nation’s progress in\npoverty or wealth.\n\n_Bank loans._—So far, in dealing with the subject of banking, no mention\nhas been made of the function of extending individual credit by time\nloans. One of the original purposes of banking was to make a convenient\noffice for the meeting of borrowers and lenders. The banks are still the\ngo-betweens of those who have money to lend and those who have to borrow.\nIn fact, every banking association is assumed to be a corporation of money\nlenders. Under ordinary circumstances this corporation is able to loan to\nindividuals whose credit is good all of its capital not otherwise employed\nin the machinery of the bank, a considerable portion of deposits from its\ncustomers, and to a certain extent its own credit in the commercial world.\nIn the case of a national bank a portion of capital is loaned to the\ngovernment in the purchase of bonds, which are the basis of its\ncirculating notes. The circulating notes, from 60 per cent to 90 per cent\nof the value of the bonds, are an extension of credit; that is, the\ncapital already loaned on time to the government is partially loaned again\nto individuals. Again, the deposits of the customers, to be drawn as\nneeded, in ordinary circumstances are not needed the same day. The bank\nsoon learns by experience what portion it is safe to lend from day to day\nto individuals who are sure to make payments when promised. Double\nsignatures, or endorsements, double the surety of prompt payment.\n\nThus the banks are enabled to provide safe keeping for money without\ncharge, and even to pay a low rate of interest upon considerable deposits\nwhen times are good. In this way legitimate borrowers and legitimate\nlenders find a close connection in the bank. A legitimate lender is one\nwho has property not needed at present for his own use. A legitimate\nborrower is one who can use capital to advantage in production. Any\nproducer may at one part of a year be a lender and afterward a borrower to\nadvantage of everybody. If the banks are thoroughly satisfactory the\nproceeds of the fall crops may serve the busy manufacturers as circulating\ncapital during the winter. Again, the proceeds of the spring sales of\ngoods and machinery may tide the farmers over the season of growth.\n\nIn this way labor of every kind is sustained by labor of every other kind.\nIn all these ways the banking power of a country is extended to several\ntimes the coin money in circulation, and that with perfect safety. But it\nis possible for banks to be tempted through the very perfection of their\nown credit. The note of an individual has no established market value. A\ndeposit in the bank is valued as cash. It is possible to secure the credit\nof having a bank deposit by discounting an individual note. If that note\nis a time note the bank has increased its immediate liabilities by the\namount of a nominal deposit, with only a promise to pay in the future to\nrest upon. To lend to an individual is practically to enter into\npartnership with his fortune. The fortunes of the group of individuals\nrepresenting the bank is less doubtful than that of any one person. The\nborrower in this instance pays in the discount of his note the difference\nin risk between his fortune and that of the combination. Such deposits\npurchased upon credit must be distinguished from deposits of cash, lest\nthe bank should nominally increase its power to lend while in fact it has\nalready lent up to its ability. Sometimes such nominal deposits are\nmaintained by persons deeply in debt for the sake of paying a larger rate\nof interest than is allowed by law.\n\n_Safety of banking._—In times of business prosperity a bank with usual\nbusiness caution as to customers, is safe for all concerned. And yet, in\nthe very nature of extended credit, it has promised to pay on any\nparticular day, if demanded, far more than it has cash in hand. Its\nliabilities embrace the whole of its deposits except a small portion made\nfor a definite time, and all its issues of currency subject to redemption.\nTo meet these engagements its immediate resources are whatever currency in\nany form of coin or bills it may have at hand. This amount, since its\nprofits are made from lending, not from holding, must be small in\nproportion to its liabilities. The bulk of its means of payment is in\nnotes not yet due, and to be collected when due. Of other property it is\nlikely to have bonds of municipalities or of great corporations, and these\nare supposed to be a more available form of resources than individual\nnotes, because they usually have a definite market value and can be sold\nor used as security for loans in any money market. If real estate forms a\npart of the capital, it can never be made available for immediate use.\nHence any bank dealing in mortgages on real estate invests its funds where\nthey cannot be had when wanted. All banking schemes based upon security in\nland have necessarily failed, because land has no current use in trade.\n\nUnder the pressure of panic, from whatever source, each depositor is sure\nto demand every cent due him from the bank, and just as certainly the\nbank’s own resources are insufficient to meet those dues without the sale\nof bonds and notes in other markets. For these reasons in any great period\nof distrust the banks are obliged to suspend payments. Since all the banks\nof the community are in similar circumstances they cannot help each other,\nand time must be given for the collection of loans, according to\nagreement, that the gradual accumulation of ready cash may return to the\nvault, and so to the depositors, all that has been loaned. Because of this\nnecessary instability bankers watch most carefully the tendencies of the\nmoney market, and necessarily reduce their loans for safety when any\nanxious pressure begins. For the same reason legitimate banking is limited\nto short time loans—on demand, thirty, sixty, ninety days—the shorter\nbeing the safer. Laws sometimes prohibit a bank from dealing in any other\nbusiness, where a stock of goods must tie up funds, or from speculation in\nreal estate, which confines capital more certainly.\n\nIn most banks the amount to be loaned to a single individual or firm is\nlimited to a small portion, one-tenth to one-fifth, of the total capital.\nThe principal causes of failure in banking are defalcation of officers,\nmisuse of funds in speculative enterprises, dealing in speculative\nsecurities or on boards of trade, careless loaning to poor paymasters,\ninvestment in long time securities not readily marketable, or sacrifice in\nhurried sale of stocks and bonds under the pressure of panic.\n\nThe better the customers of a bank understand its condition and\nmanagement, the less is its danger, for the basis of banking, as of the\ncredit of the world, is the public confidence. Farmers who acquaint\nthemselves with the workings of neighboring banks by making use of their\naid in business benefit both themselves and their neighbors. The progress\nof the world demands of every farmer a closer contact with business and,\ntherefore, a greater familiarity with business methods. Even the burden of\ndebts will be lessened when farmers understand and appreciate the\nadvantage of systematic credit. The dangers from over expansion of credit\nare lessened when all the people clearly understand the essential\nconditions for maintaining credit. The final perfection of a banking\nsystem depends upon the interest of the whole people, with a fair\nknowledge of the growth already made.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XII. Deferred Settlement And Credit Expansion.\n\n\nThe general bearing of settlement in trade, deferred by promises to pay in\nthe distant future, has been several times referred to in preceding\nchapters; but its bearing upon the general welfare is so marked in many\nways as to deserve more particular treatment. The special form by which\none man becomes a purchaser on the strength of future abilities may have\nlittle importance in the total result, but some peculiarities of the\ndifferent forms are worthy of mention.\n\nA _standing account_ without definite period of settlement easily becomes\na temptation to waste, as well as a source of worry, when the account is\nextended. A friend remarks, “You never seem so well off as when you don’t\nexpect to pay for what you buy, although the reason may be that you can’t\npay for it.” The fact that the day of settlement may be indefinitely\npostponed makes the temptation to overestimate the chances of future\nability. An account almost certainly insures the purchase of ordinary\nsupplies without asking the price, and only frequent and complete\nsettlement makes safe for ordinary people the expenditure of income\nthrough store accounts.\n\n_Promissory notes_ due at a definite time have less effect upon the\nimagination; yet payment a year hence seems always easier than payment\nnow. Only repeated bitter experiences teach one to say, as I once heard an\nold gentleman, when offered a horse to replace his dead one without limit\nas to the time of payment, “That sounds very well, my friend, but it is a\nmighty hard way at the latter end.” Every farmer familiar with country\nauctions, with a year’s credit upon purchases, sees the effect of such\npostponements in magnifying the value of articles purchased.\n\nA note secured by _chattel mortgage_ in the nature of the security is less\nextended and has the distinct hardship of future payment presented in the\npossible loss of the chattel offered as security. The chattel mortgage,\ntherefore, becomes a favorite method for short time delays in payment, not\nonly because the security is good, but because the full attention of the\nmaker is given to the necessity of payment.\n\nA most familiar form of deferred payment for farm property is the\n_mortgage note_, secured by a deed entitling the holder to take possession\nof the farm, or real estate of any kind, upon failure of the maker of the\nnote to meet its conditions. This is esteemed the best possible security\nfor payments long deferred, because the ordinary values of real estate in\na growing country like ours increase rather than diminish. Except in cases\nof overvaluation from speculative investment, or in the settlement of a\nnew country under misconception of its conditions, the security remains\nample. And even then the lender has no greater risk than the borrower.\nSince final settlement by foreclosure of mortgage involves the law’s\ndelay, increased by the natural sentiment growing up about a home which\nhas been occupied for years, such mortgage notes are only to a limited\nextent available in general commerce. In large measure they are likely to\nstand between the original purchaser and seller. The exception to this is\nfound in investment of large trust funds, as with insurance companies and\nendowments of colleges and other benevolent institutions. In these cases a\npermanent investment, with stated income, is desirable, and mortgage notes\nwith five to ten years’ credit give better rates of income than long time\nbonds of great corporations or governments. The ease with which purchase\nis made by a mortgage tempts many a young man to promise more than he can\nfulfil. The weight of the farm mortgage is felt throughout the country,\ndoubling the disaster of every deficient crop. Variations from the\nmortgage in deeds of trust and instalment contracts have essentially the\nsame relation to credit, involve essentially the same burdens, and differ\nonly in the legal forms for taking possession of the real estate in\ndefault of payment.\n\nWhere a company or a community defers payment for its purchases, it is\nsaid to issue _bonds_, which are simply formal notes, usually with\nattached notes, or coupons, for interest at stated times, issued by\nqualified officers under specific legislation. These are so easily\nunderstood and tested for their quality as to become a part of the general\ncredit of the country. They gain a well understood market value, and pass\nfrom hand to hand with greatest readiness. This fact adds to the ease with\nwhich they may be issued, while the extended time, from ten to thirty\nyears, increases both the convenience of possession and the readiness to\nissue. The people of a city do not hesitate to supply themselves with\nmagnificent waterworks at the expense of the people a generation later.\nThus municipal indebtedness is easy to contract, and the hard lesson of\npaying for dead horses is seldom effectually learned. More insidious still\nis the temptation to issue the bonds of a county for the building of a\nrailroad, whose prospective benefit in adding to the value of lands is\nindefinitely magnified. A community of farmers already burdened by\nmortgages can be tempted into additional burdens in county bonds from\nexpectation that a new railroad will double the value of their farms. The\nfacility with which states and nations negotiate bonds is so well\nunderstood that it scarcely needs mention. Yet the burdens of taxation so\ngrievously felt are often self-inflicted by the people who favor unbounded\nindebtedness. It is rarely the case that a well-to-do school district is\nnot better off when it meets the cost of its schoolhouse by immediate\ntaxes rather than to postpone payment by bonds.\n\nThe organization of a _stock company_ involves a peculiar system of\ndeferred payments, in that every holder of stock becomes in a sense both\ndebtor and creditor. He is debtor to all his associate shareholders, and\nis also their creditor to the extent of his share. _Stock certificates_,\nlike bonds, may pass from hand to hand with ease, and foster the innate\nspirit of speculation among a commercial people. The organization of a\nstock company, especially of a great trust, is made relatively easy from\nthis fact, and in this way the general credit of a people is indefinitely\nextended. A prosperous corporation is likely to distribute the results of\nits prosperity by increased issues of stock, and the readiness with which\nthe public accepts such issues makes natural, though vicious, the\nso-called _watering of stock_, familiar to all. The immediate object of\nwatered stock in fairly managed companies is the immediate distribution\namong shareholders of any increased value without increased cost. As the\nfarms along a line of railway may have doubled their value with no\nexpenditure in improvements, so the railroad itself may have doubled its\nvalue in the possibility of earnings through the rapid development of\nsettlements along the line. In ordinary ways this increased value will be\nshown in the market price of the stock, but an issue of more stock to the\npresent holders of stock certificates will keep down the price of\nindividual shares and yet give the benefit of the increased value to\nshareholders.\n\n_The stock exchange._—The last mentioned forms of indebtedness so easily\nbecome matters of everyday purchase and sale as to lead to the business of\nstock brokerage, found everywhere in greater or less extent. In large\ncities the brokers naturally unite for convenience of business in the\nso-called stock exchange, in which the market price of all current forms\nof indebtedness or deferred payments is fixed from day to day, or from\nhour to hour, by the higgling of the market, just as the price of produce\nis fixed in the produce exchange. Naturally, as in the case of produce, a\nfictitious business, purely speculative, grows up around the legitimate\ndealing in stocks and bonds. Other forms of deferred payments enter less\ninto the business of the brokers, because the market value of any\nparticular mortgage or individual note cannot be easily determined outside\nthe immediate neighborhood where it is made. The chief way in which these\nenter the general brokers’ market is through the stock or bonds of large\nbrokers’ companies, sometimes called guaranty loan companies. In this way\nthe universal extension of credit through deferred payments finally has\nits effect upon the general confidence. The broker’s business grows\nlegitimately out of the need of ready transfer of claims, for the sake of\nlarger use of the floating capital of the country, and readiness of\ninvestment in more fixed forms. It adds, however, to the dangers of\nextended credit by making more easy the gratification of present wants\nthrough expectation of future ability. The broker makes his gain, without\nreference to the final settlement, by taking a commission upon the loan.\nHis interest leads to an overestimate of the borrower’s ability, and cases\nare not infrequent where appraisers of real estate have been hired by\nbrokers to misrepresent the value of property, for the sake of securing\nimproper loans.\n\nEvery period of expanding credit in speculative movements has furnished\nproofs of this tendency. A standing example is furnished in mining stocks,\nin which the temptation to misrepresent prospects by “salting” and false\nassays is proverbial. Almost as notorious are the misrepresentations\nassociated with bonds of newly established cities or other municipalities.\nNot all such misrepresentation is intended fraud, but the immediate\ninterest of the broker clouds his judgment as to conditions of final\nsettlement. With little to lose and everything to gain in the immediate\ntransaction, his judgment is necessarily biased. The merely speculative\nbuying and selling of stocks by margins has little to do with the general\ncharacter of indebtedness, except to increase somewhat the risks of\nlegitimate brokerage. The “bulls and bears” on exchange make their gains\nby fluctuations in market values, and, like all gamblers, delight in\nproducing false impressions upon their opponents in the game. This fact\nadds to the uncertainty of all standing credit, and so increases the\nnatural rate of interest. This effect upon interest will be noticed in\nconsidering the nature of interest and conditions affecting it.\n\n“_Borrowed money._”—In all the forms of deferred payment, except standing\naccounts, it is customary to represent the amount of the debt as “borrowed\nmoney,” no matter how the transaction occurs. When a farmer buys his farm\nwith a promise to pay five years hence, his note is said to represent so\nmuch “borrowed money,” while in fact he has simply borrowed the farm. The\nreason is, that the farm is represented by its value in dollars, and the\npromise is to return that value in dollars at the end of five years.\n\nThe same is true, in fact, of all purchases on credit. Even when the\npurchase is made by means of a note at the bank, the actual transfer of\nproperty is from the owner of the farm to its prospective owner, the bank\nsimply acting as agent, and interposing its credit or capital only to\npromote the exchange. In many instances no money in any form is used, and\nwhere it is employed at some stage of the transaction, it is used, as in\nany other exchange, simply as a machine of transfer. Even the final\nsettlement is likely to be made through the ordinary channels of trade,\nwithout the intervention of money in any of its forms. The deferred\npayment takes its place when the time of payment comes in the ordinary\neveryday transactions of the universal credit system, illustrated in\nbanking. Even if the farm is paid for by instalments, those instalments\nare simply ordinary transactions in trade, the farmer transferring the\ncheck which he receives from the sale of his steers or his wheat to the\nformer owner of the farm. The money involved is simply money of account,\nreferring to a well understood standard of value. The importance of this\nstandard in reference to deferred payments has already been referred to.\nIt cannot be overestimated. But any estimate of the currency needed, or to\nbe needed for the transaction of business, founded upon the amount of\ndeferred payments, is wholly fallacious.\n\nIt is equally wrong to suppose that the bankers are the principal\nmoney-lenders. The real lenders are those who have sold their produce, the\nuse of their tools or their time, at a price to be paid next week, next\nmonth or next year. Every man who has wages due him is as truly a\nmoney-lender, to the extent of the wages due, as any banker who accepts a\npromise to pay in the future for service or value given in the present.\nEven where the borrowed articles have been consumed or wasted, the promise\nto pay is simply a promise to return so much of value as the articles\nreceived were estimated to be worth. This may be easily seen in thinking\nof a running account at the store for the ordinary supplies of the family.\nIt may amount to five hundred dollars, if one’s credit is sufficient, and\nseem only the actual articles used, and yet to be paid for; but if settled\nby a note fixing a future definite time of payment, the debt at once\nbecomes in thought borrowed money, though no change whatever has been made\nin the actual facts. If the same purchases had been made by means of\ncredit at the bank, gained by discounting a personal note, the same\narticles exactly would have been borrowed, the bank instead of the\nmerchant being the lender. In all probability the bank has been the means\nin the first case of enabling the merchant to meet these current wants on\ncredit, for he himself has gained the credit of the bank by discounting\nhis own note. In either case the bank has been the means of serving both\nthe borrower and the lender. It is simply a machine for accommodating\nboth.\n\n_Legal tender._—All forms of deferred payments imply the possible\nintervention in final settlement of the force of government. While the\ngreat mass of promises to pay are met without an appeal to laws or courts,\nthe whole is put in such form by customs of society as to involve the\npossibility of such arbitration. Government takes no note of debts which\ncannot be proved in court, and the forms of legal proof are well settled.\nAll the formalities of credit in systems of book-keeping, forms of notes\nand bonds, and wording of stock certificates imply the possibility of\nfinal adjustment in a court of equity. For this reason, governments\nestablish some form of currency as the representative of value, which must\nbe accepted by the creditor in complete satisfaction of a debt. This is\nnaturally what custom has established as the standard of value, but\nanything else may be substituted if the government so decides. Thus,\nMassachusetts once made bullets legal tender at a certain price, up to a\ncertain number. Our government now makes copper cents and nickels legal\ntender to the value of twenty-five cents.\n\nThe current notes of the government are usually legal tender, unless\notherwise stipulated, whatever their current value. This means simply that\nthe government through its courts secures the collection of _bona fide_\ndebts, in terms of value defined by law or by contract. The assurance of\nfinal settlement, given in this way by the government, is one principal\nelement in extending credit on time. Without such machinery credit would\nbe confined to intimate acquaintances and very limited time.\n\n_Expanding credit._—All the machinery of credit tends to bring the\nfloating capital of a country within the reach of great enterprises. If a\nbody of men have faith in some great undertaking, like a continental\nrailroad or a Panama canal, their faith in the enterprise is easily made a\nbasis for the faith of others. Even the small accumulations, the savings\nof day laborers, may be turned to account in such great enterprises if the\npopular expectation of success is thoroughly aroused. The greater the\nundertaking, the greater is the general faith under skilful leadership.\n\nThe same principle applies to undertakings of less national character,\nlike immense factories or combinations in a trust. The stock of such\nenterprises is often widely distributed, and when profits are fairly\nbegun, even upon a small scale, the chances of gain on the value of the\nstock are made more prominent than the actual profits of the enterprise.\nIt is not uncommon to find enterprises starting with the expectation that\na large portion of this stock will be paid for out of the profits of the\nbusiness and the profits on a portion of the stock to be sold. This is\nespecially true when business is reviving after a period of depression. It\nis one of the first symptoms of the return of a speculative spirit. With\nthe rise of such enterprises there is almost sure to be an advance in\nprices of real estate, though it follows later.\n\nThe starting of a railroad line involves the purchase of station sites,\nand almost surely the laying out of villages at intervals along the line.\nThe promoters of the railroad are likely to be promoters of town sites as\nwell. And this increased demand for farms and lots brings a larger faith\nin the future of these locations. Everyone who can save a little from his\nincome hopes to increase that little indefinitely by investment in the\nchances of increased value of a lot or a home. Under such circumstances\nthe machinery of credit moves easily, and one does not hesitate to extend\nhis credit to the utmost for the purchase of what is increasing in value\neach day. The result is a temptation to larger expenditures.\n\nPeople who are counting their future gains are sure to have larger wants,\nand their seeming prosperity in accumulation of value gives them a larger\ncredit among dealers. The next step is an enlargement of sales of current\nsupplies of all sorts and an increasing manufacture of such supplies to\nmeet the increasing wants and naturally enhancing price. Soon the staple\nproducts of farms and factories and mines become themselves objects of\nspeculative purchase. Men buy simply to hold for the increase in price.\nThis speculation itself is a temporary cause of success, and goes on until\nsome accident somewhere reveals the exaggerated proportions of\nexpectation. Sometimes this speculative spirit continues for a series of\nyears, in which case it pervades every circle of producers and consumers.\nSometimes it is temporary and local, being produced by some special\nundertaking and destroyed by a special failure. Sometimes the death of an\nenterprising man destroys the \"boom\" he has created. When speculation is\nrife over a large territory, everybody is employed to his utmost ability,\nand the times are said to be good. All property of every kind is counted\nat its highest price in the mind of the owner, and all credits are easily\nextended from month to month, or from year to year, because of the\nuniversal faith. There seems to the casual observer no reason for doubt,\nand the most conservative judges overestimate the ability of the people.\n\n_Financial crisis._—At such a time as that described, when credits of\nevery kind are interlocked and expectations are high, the so-called\nfloating capital of the country, under indefinite promises to pay, is\ngradually being actually locked up in huge plants of machinery in great\nrailroad routes, in vacant city lots, and uncultivated farms held for\nfuture sale, or in warehouses and elevators full of the products of\nindustry,—especially such products as do not immediately deteriorate in\nquality, such as grains, cloths, raw materials of every kind and machinery\nof general use. This is apparently the property of the holders, but\nagainst it are the claims of all those who have contributed by loans on\ntime, by credit for sales, by labor unpaid for and by provisions on\naccount. One can easily see that with all these people bound together by\ncredit a single failure may be far-reaching in its effects. The inability\nof a single man to meet his promises, if those promises are widely enough\ndistributed, may bring a panic among his creditors, their creditors, and\nso on down to even the solid men, supposed to hold the accumulation of\nyears untouched by speculation. For every channel of trade is full of\ncredit, which now everybody loses.\n\nIn 1873 the promoter of the Northern Pacific railroad had borrowed\neverywhere, even the small savings of widows and workmen, through his\nintimate connection with banking. All this accumulation of savings had\nbeen expended for labor upon what was only a huge embankment, making no\npossible returns to any owner. The only possible means of continuing the\nwork was continued borrowing, or the sale of additional stock. The revenue\npromised upon the means already used could be given only by larger\nborrowing. On a certain day the amount to be borrowed was less than the\namount to be paid, and the failure of Jay Cooke to meet his expectations\nand promises was known. Within six hours every village in the land felt\nthe disaster. The financial crisis was seen and realized. Bargains\npartially completed were stopped in the midst. Materials about to be\nshipped were held at the station. Deposits at the bank were needed\nimmediately, notes due at the bank could not be extended, collectors of\naccounts appeared at every corner, thousands of workmen directly and\nindirectly employed on the great railroad building were out of employment\nand out of wages due, the banks were unable to furnish even paper currency\nto their depositors, and the whole world felt absolute loss of confidence\nin any undertaking or any expectation.\n\nI select this particular panic because its beginning was so comparatively\nsimple, its progress so evident and its results so well defined. Any other\nfailure of speculative purpose might have been equally disastrous. It\ncould hardly have been so rapid, because it could not have been so\ndirectly distributed among the masses of the people. Yet the machinery of\ncredit is such that any considerable failure in enterprise or speculation\nis felt everywhere. The banks are at once called upon for larger loans and\nfor deposits together, an impossibility in the nature of the case. All\nexchangeable forms of credit are immediately offered in market at\nconstantly decreasing prices. Current credit of every kind is checked, and\nexchange is limited to the barest necessities. All productive energies are\npractically stopped, except such as are out of the line of daily\nexchanges. Very soon all domestic expenses are reduced to the lowest\nnotch, domestic help is discharged, the well-to-do undertake to help\nthemselves, and the poor are left without resources. It seems as if all\nthe wheels of progress had stopped.\n\n_Hard times._—Succeeding such a crisis must follow hard times. Wage\nearners generally are without employment; manufactories have put out their\nfires; the warehouses full of goods are under attachment; farm produce is\nmoved very slowly to market; fancy stock of horses, cattle and sheep are\nunsalable; farm mortgages are foreclosed as rapidly as the laws allow;\nskilled workmen meet absolute necessities by half time, and common\nlaborers move from place to place in useless search for employment, their\nfamilies being barely kept alive by charity. The fact that warehouses and\ngranaries are full leads to the assumption that over-production has\ndestroyed the market and the demand for labor. This is quite probably true\nof all articles of such a nature as to be held for speculative purposes.\nThe staple grains and fancy live stock are illustrations of these. An\nuniversal over-production, so long as the articles produced are adapted to\ncurrent wants, is impossible, since every man’s product, if needed, is his\nmeans of securing another man’s product to meet his own wants.\n\nOn the other hand, the suffering of multitudes and the abstinence of\neverybody lead to the supposition that under-consumption, or failure to\nuse what we might, is a principal cause. It is undoubtedly true that fear\nof absolute want checks consumption of articles within our reach. This is\nshown by the immediate increase of consumption as soon as the fear\nsubsides. This, however, is a symptom of the times, rather than a cause.\n\nSome theorists account for the suffering by the ratio of the currency to\nthe population, claiming that a larger circulation of money will fill the\nempty pockets of the needy, forgetting that money circulates only through\nthe very channels of trade which something else has stopped. It is quite\ntrue that any financial legislation involving uncertain results\ncontributes materially to the doubt which stops the machinery. All efforts\nto make money worth less by legislation have invariably extended the\nperiod of hard times. Almost every conceivable cause has been assigned, or\ngiven as a partial explanation, for the stagnation of trade. A careful\nanalysis of these recurring periods in the history of our country in 1837,\n1848, 1857, 1873, 1887 and 1893, shows many partial causes of disaster in\nexchange, affecting the peculiar nature of each panic, yet one especial\ncause is evident in them all. That cause is large investment in fixed\ncapital from which no immediate returns can be expected.\n\n_The chief causes of hard times._—Prior to 1837 there was a rapid\ndevelopment of new country, as shown from the greatly increased receipts\nfor public lands. Every new home involves a permanent investment of\nsomebody’s savings to the extent of at least $1,000. With the settlement\nof every new region a considerable waste in real estate speculation is\nfound. A similar expansion of territory occupied by settlement immediately\nfollowed the Mexican war, and was a chief cause of reduced capital and\nconsequent lack of employment.\n\nThe crisis of 1857 was preceded by enormous waste in the Crimean war. To\nthat was added the loss of a season’s labor in a bad harvest and increase\nof cost of living, reducing profits. The latter cause was incidental to\nthis particular season, but added materially to the suffering. In this\ncountry there had also been an extensive enlargement in iron works and\nwoolen factories without corresponding products.\n\nThe panic of 1867, felt widely outside of America, was preceded by immense\nwaste of property in the civil war of the United States, a considerable\nportion of which expense, on both sides, had been borne in Europe, either\nduring the war or immediately following, through the sale of bonds.\n\nThe panic of 1873 followed immense investments of wealth in fixed capital,\nas illustrated in the Northern Pacific railroad, previously mentioned.\nBetween 1865 and 1873 30,000 miles of railroad were built in the United\nStates alone. This permanent investment involved immense debts at home and\nabroad, _with all the profits yet in the future_. The fact that imports\nincreased at the rate of nearly $100,000,000 a year in 1871 and 1872\nindicates the extent of expenditures. The Franco-Prussian war had also\nwasted great energies.\n\nThe hard times in America, shown especially in the price of farms, about\n1888 were immediately preceded by enormous investments in unsatisfactory\nfarming lands and unneeded town sites, as well as in railroad building.\nForty-nine million acres of land were sold by the government, and more\nthan 12,000 miles of railway were built. Enormous expenditures were also\nmade for school-houses, court-houses, and other public buildings by sale\nof bonds. The actual crisis was perhaps delayed and a new speculation\nfostered by large payments on the public debt. Again, there was expansion\nof credit and large investment in railroad and city building in\nanticipation of future growth, during which the small savings of\nmultitudes had been gathered up through the guaranty loan companies of the\nWest. Upon the top of this came the expenditures of 1892 and 1893 on the\ngreat World’s Exposition. The expenditure of savings in attendance upon\nthe exposition curtailed the abilities of hundreds of thousands of\nfamilies. So the panic of 1893 was in no respect an exception to the rule.\nNo sufficient data are at hand for showing exactly how great has been the\nexpenditure in unproductive enterprises, but a reference to Chart No. IV,\np. 83, giving the development of railroad building in this country, will\nshow how this form of enterprise in every case outran the increase in\npopulation immediately preceding the hard times.\n\nIt is evident to any student of the question that extra large consumption\nof floating capital has immediately preceded every period of supposed\nover-production. The chief over-production has always been in the\nmachinery of production and trade, including the costly settlement of new\nland. The immediate dismissal of labor employed in such enterprises brings\ngreatest suffering, because such laborers are always least forehanded and\nare in large numbers homeless. Such laborers also most readily become\ncompetitors for any kind of a job, and so affect current wages of those\nstill retaining their places. This emphasizes the unequal distribution of\nwealth, and leads multitudes to call for a redistribution, by fair means\nor foul. This increases the distrust of community and the disposition to\nhoard wealth in the form of money, while checking every desire to build\nfor the future.\n\n_Remedies for hard times._—The means of recovery from such a disaster are\nless easy to see than the causes. We know, in fact, that the world does\nrecover confidence among enterprising men and confidence in the future,\nsometimes surprisingly soon. We can see some of the steps by which the\nburden of debt is diminished and hopes are revived. In the first place,\nsome method of settlement out of the usual course is adopted. Most obvious\nis an agreement among banks to carry on the usual machinery of exchanges\nthrough checks, drafts and a clearing house without the use of currency.\nThis is called suspension of payment. It holds the deposits steady while\nthe transfer of ownership is easy. It saves the sacrifice of large credit\nto meet the panicky condition of small trade, and it checks the\ndisposition to hoard money in out-of-the-way places. The actual failures\nare thus confined to those actually engaged in the wasted production or\ndirectly involved as creditors of such persons. The failures in 1873 were\nsaid to have been nine in each thousand business houses; those of 1893\nwere thirteen in a thousand. The actual failures among farmers are\nconfined almost entirely to those who have been caught in the speculative\nspirit of investment in more land for the sake of increasing prices or\nhave borrowed capital to be used in other speculation. A few only have\nwasted their substance in expensive homes and luxuries.\n\nIf all forms of indebtedness could circulate freely, the final result in\nbalancing debts with debts would be quite readily reached, and the actual\nlosses would be found less than is generally supposed. An equal loss\nwithout distrust, if that were possible, would be met with new enterprise\nand extra energy instead of despondency.\n\nThe various remedies offered in proposed legislation frequently add to the\ndelays in the recovery of confidence. The issue of paper currency, while\nuniversally welcomed by the most wasteful of investors, makes those who\nstill have property more doubtful as to the future. The proposition to\nincrease demand for labor by great public improvements comes at a time\nwhen revenues are diminished and almost surely is coupled with a proposal\nof government scrip. To increase the burden of taxation at once, when the\nmass of the people are already burdened and distressed, is impossible. The\nissue of scrip, though actually a costly method of taxation, seems to the\nunthinking a way of making something out of nothing. The certain effect is\nto extend the period of doubt. Laws affecting the coinage and character of\nlegal tender, since they disturb the relation of borrower and lender\nindefinitely, postpone readjustment of confidence. Changes in the tariff\nlaws are liable to have the same effect because of uncertainty as to where\nthe influence will be most felt. Special legislation with reference to\ncontracts for labor, however well intended, are sure to hinder adjustment,\nand all agitation in favor of new experiments in government enterprises or\nin legislation as to property makes less available the capital and\ningenuity of the people.\n\n_Cure for hard times._—The only genuine cure involves a restoration of\nfaith in enterprise. It is almost as hard to establish after a commercial\npanic as after a panic in an army. The remedies best worth study are\nreally preventives, in the form of checks upon undue expansion of credits\nand distinct limits as to extension of time. Some have gone so far as to\nwish there were no laws for collection of debts, since this would actually\nprevent the great bulk of indebtedness; but it would also destroy the\nessential foundation of daily credit, one of the most productive machines\nof exchange. The best that can be done is to make more explicit the laws\nagainst frauds, and to limit easily transferred forms of credit to those\nwhose foundation can be carefully inspected. It is very desirable that all\ncorporations dealing in credit should be subject to the strictest\nexamination by a public officer.\n\n_Short credits vs. hard times._—More important than legal enactments are\nthe business habits of a community, and these can be cultivated by\nbusiness men. Farmers, of all classes of people, can foster such customs\nof careful inspection of business standing and frequent settlement of\naccounts and careful loaning as will make a panic less possible. They\nneed, however, a wider acquaintance with the machinery of business and a\nfirmer faith in the advantage to all concerned of cash payments and\nabsolute promptness in all settlements. The moral power of such a body,\namounting to one-half the population, most of whom are solid owners of\nproperty, would, if well informed and united in principle, check most of\nthe extravagances in expenditure and investment which waste the capital of\nthe country.\n\n_Bankruptcy._—In closing the discussion of hard times, it is proper to\nmention a device for removing in part the discouragement of debts where\nability to pay is entirely wanting. Of course, a settlement between debtor\nand creditors, in which the property of the debtor is divided among his\ncreditors, is always available, leaving both at liberty to begin business\nanew with a knowledge of the worst that can happen. It seems possible to\ncontrive bankruptcy laws in such shape as to secure a fair settlement of\ninsolvent business whenever the business is evidently failing. If\ndiscovery of fraud or misrepresentation could cause immediate intervention\nin a bankruptcy court, the surest possible check would be brought to bear\nupon improper credits. It is certainly to the interest of all honest\ncreditors and debtors that a fair settlement should be reached as early\nafter insolvency as possible. Such bankrupt laws should be as wide\nreaching in their uniformity as government permits. If a national bankrupt\nlaw is not sufficient, the states should combine to establish in each the\nsame general system.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIII. Technical Division Of Labor.\n\n\n_Economy of minute division._—The advantages, limits and disadvantages of\nminute division of labor are worthy of a more careful discussion, since\nthey bear upon every kind of enterprise and all classes of labor. A large\npart of the century’s progress in manufacture, and especially the\ndevelopment of machinery in production, has grown out of the extension of\nthis principle of division. An analysis of the particulars by which great\nsaving is made in the cost of production will help us not only to\nunderstand the facts better, but to extend the principle in various\ndirections. In the outset it implies the united effort of several workmen\nin succession and in close combination upon a single product. It is said\nthat a pocket knife, which we buy for fifty cents, has involved in its\nmanufacture the services of seventy-two different persons, doing different\nthings. The perfection of its finish depends upon the perfection of each\nof these persons in his single act. The cheapness depends upon the\nreadiness with which each act is performed, and the utility of every kind\nof power employed.\n\nA good illustration of division of labor may be found in the process of\nbutchering hogs in a large packing house. The live hogs enter the building\nin the upper story, while able to carry themselves on their own feet.\nTheir weight then moves them easily on through all the stages of the\nprocess. Two men catch the hogs by hooking a short chain about the hind\nleg and slipping it into the notch of an endless chain power, which hoists\nthem to the carrier, a continuous track upon which a roller attached to\nthe chain may easily move. A single man wields the knife which sticks the\nhogs. Two men are sufficient to manage the scalding trough. One directs\nthe machine through which the body of each hog is jerked to remove by\nbrushes the mass of hair. Four, perhaps, may handle scrapers as the hogs\nare dropped upon a platform, and six more may use the shaving knives by\nwhich every particle of hair is removed. Two are needed with different\ntools for beheading; and one makes place for the gambrel. Two remove the\nfeet at opposite ends, three with different implements are needed in\nremoving entrails, two are required to halve the body, while another gives\nit the final washing. The result is that each hog has passed from the pen\nto the cooling room in less than ten minutes, and the hogs pass under the\nhands of these several men at the rate of eight a minute. Each man uses\nbut one tool in one particular spot, and repeats that single act\nconstantly. By a similar division of labor eighteen men are employed in\nskinning a single beef, a different knife being used for each particular\npart of the body, and all pass in regular routine over the ten or twelve\nbeeves undergoing the operation. The rapidity of this motion can scarcely\nbe conceived by one who has witnessed simply the butchering upon a farm.\nAll this is due to a minute division of labor into as many tasks as there\nare different operations, each man having, if possible, but one distinct\nkind of motion. The saving is not only shown in the increased quantity of\nwork, but in the uniform quality as well. All the workmanship is\nessentially perfect. These advantages appear more strikingly in the\nmanufacturing arts, where the so-called factory system has brought\ndivision of labor to perfection.\n\nA brief analysis of the advantages, limitations and disadvantages is worth\nour study, because of their possible application to farm industry. So far\nthey have been felt chiefly in contributory manufactures of farm\nmachinery, facilities for transportation, with all attending manufacture,\nand the factories consuming raw materials furnished from the farms. They\napply equally well where division of labor is profitable in farm\noperations.\n\n_Extra efficiency of labor._—Most obvious advantage is seen in the saving\nof the time of a laborer, both in learning the essential parts of his\nwork, so that apprenticeship is shortened to one-tenth or one-twentieth of\nthe time required for a full trade, and in the far greater dexterity with\nwhich he works without change of tools or change of location or\ndistraction of attention. Thus a raw hand in the course of a few months\nperforms his single task more rapidly and more perfectly than an expert\nworkman who must know and practice all the parts of the business. While\nsuch a hand can scarcely be called skilled in a technical sense, in the\nnarrow application of skill to one action he may be more perfect than any\nskilled workman. The fact that each man’s work passes immediately under\nthe inspection of another, whose motion must exactly correspond in time\nand adjustment, makes any costly oversight in the shape of executive labor\nvery much less, since every step in the process tests every other step. It\nis also found that minute attention to a single detail tends toward the\nhighest improvement by invention of every tool and machine employed.\n\nWhile this system is not likely to foster the inventive spirit which\nbrings out entirely new principles in machinery, because the work grows\neasy by familiarity, it does make the workmen quick to invent the little\ndevices that perfect such machines. A broader culture and more general\ntraining discovers the difficulties and devises the entirely new method:\nthe worker hits upon improvements. Watt invented the steam engine, but a\nlazy boy employed to move the valve hit upon the automatic movement.\n\n_Increased efficiency of capital._—The efficiency of capital in production\nis greatly increased by minute division of labor. The shop room required\nfor each man is reduced to the minimum space for himself and his material.\nHis tools, while the most perfect possible, are the fewest possible.\n\nThe machinery and motive power are used to their utmost capacity\nconstantly, and the economy of larger engines and machines is well known.\nPossibly one-fifth of the power required to move all the machines used by\nten men working as independent tradesmen would provide better motion, more\nconstant and cheaper, for the ten working together under division of\nlabor. The waste in starting and stopping of machinery is almost entirely\navoided, and the condition of the machine for doing its work well is kept\nup to the best. A most important saving is in diminution of waste. The\nshortened apprenticeship and the superior dexterity make waste from\nblunders almost nothing. Still more noticeable is the saving from any\nwaste of superior abilities, either strength or judgment, upon actions\nrequiring little ability.\n\nUnder minute division of labor a strong man is kept where he is needed and\nthe child may serve where his powers are sufficient. The efficiency of\nwomen is recognized wherever applicable, and all the workers have their\nfull abilities made constantly useful. Moreover, the circulating capital\nrepresented in the raw materials is kept in use much less time than under\nthe less effective system. Since any article of manufacture passes through\nall the operations upon it in very much less time, the interest upon\ncapital employed in holding the material and in supporting the labor\nduring its changes is indefinitely less. The quicker returns from this\nmore rapid manufacture are everywhere recognized.\n\n_Limits of division._—With all its advantages, division of labor is\nlimited by circumstances. It can never be applied where, because of poor\nroads or peculiarities of temper or habit of life, the workers are\nnaturally separated. The necessary isolation of the farmers for the sake\nof space makes any combination for the sake of economy in dividing their\ntasks almost impracticable. Even where farms are small, few advantages\nfrom division of labor by different kinds of work can be adopted. The\nfarmers are too far apart to work directly into each other’s hands. It is\nlimited, too, by the natural demand for the products of labor. If the\nlabor of one man can supply all need of iron work in his community, there\nis no possibility of employing ten, even with a hundred times the\neffectiveness. This is well illustrated in the country store, which sells\neverything over the same counter. Not even the grocery department can be\nseparated until the demand is sufficient to support two store-keepers in\ntwo stores.\n\nBut even in places where division of labor is stimulated by demand, it can\ngo no further than the number of distinct motions required in carrying\nthrough the manufacture of the article made. Indeed, economy requires that\neach motion should make a complete round, so that the work begins and ends\nfor each worker with everything in the same position. The exception is\nwhen a motion with great exertion requires an interval of rest before a\nsecond. Two men with a cross-cut saw, although their motions are alike, do\nmore than twice as much as one man, because of the relief in pushing back\nthe saw.\n\nA most important limit, however, is made by the inconstancy of natural\nforces employed in any industry. This is notable in all the processes of\nagriculture. No matter how many workers combine in raising field crops,\nthey can gain but few advantages from dividing their tasks minutely. Each\nlaborer must be employed through the year, and the change of seasons\nrequires that he be ready for all the operations of the different seasons\nin planting and tilling and gathering through all the succession. Ordinary\nchanges of weather, cold or hot, wet or dry, windy or calm, make necessary\nchanges in his labor. The uncertainties of each year as to moisture and\nheat require a variety of ventures, so that no farmer dares confine\nhimself to raising but a single crop. Even under the most favorable\nconditions the different stages of growth are so intimately related that\nthe watchfulness of the same interested manager is required at every\nstage. A delicate plant must be carried delicately, even in transplanting.\nMore important still are the conditions of fertility, which make a\nrotation of crops and even mixed farming essential to highest\nproductiveness. If each field must have its definite series of cropping\nand tillage, together with the application of animal manures, the\nadvantage of these combined operations under the oversight and labor of a\nsingle farmer outweighs the advantage of more perfect division of labor.\n\nThe result of all these limitations, so obvious in agriculture, is that\nfarm work is but slightly more effective or more continuous than it was\nhundreds of years since. While improved machinery has immensely reduced\nthe cost of certain processes, a year’s labor involves innumerable changes\nof employment, so that no farmer inquires, in hiring his help, for an\nexpert in any direction, but wants a man of all work whose skill is\nlargely ingenuity in adjusting himself to the constantly changing duties.\n\n_Suggestions of fuller division of farm labor._—It seems possible, with\nthe improved condition of agriculture and the nearness of ready markets,\nto attempt a larger use of division of labor in several directions. A\ngroup of farmers, well acquainted with the possible advantages, may\nclassify their farms as grain farms, dairy farms, breeding farms, feeding\nfarms and market-gardens. Such a community of interests would find not\nonly the advantages of exchange between each other, as well as the rest of\nthe world, but would soon build up bodies of expert young men in the\nseveral specialties, whose work would be at a premium everywhere.\n\nWith these interests recognized, still greater division of labor is\npossible. An expert in the care of trees and prevention of diseases to\nfruits and vegetables can quickly find employment, and may perfect himself\nin all the requirements of successive seasons. A dairy expert may find use\nfor his superior knowledge and skill on successive tours among the dairy\nfarms. Every farm large enough to employ several men gains some of the\nadvantages of division by making each man responsible for a definite part\nof the farm work. The less the workmen are handled in gangs, the better\neach one’s abilities can be trained to meet his responsibilities. These\npossibilities are greatly increased by every device for diminishing the\neffect of weather changes. Under-drainage gives large advantages in this\ndirection from lengthening the time during which the same operation can go\nforward. Means of protecting crops in the field serve a similar end.\n\nPerhaps the easiest application to be made in any neighborhood is a system\nof marketing, through keeping an expert collector and distributor of\nproduce busy in a limited region. All the waste of articles too few to be\ncarried to market is practically saved, and constant association with the\nmarkets of the world is made possible. Especially is this applicable to\nsmall fruits, milk, butter and eggs. If this market wagon can also serve\nto carry the daily mail for all the neighborhood, the problem of rural\ndelivery would be almost solved with a trifling expense. Even where such a\nmeasure is not possible, neighboring farmers may approach such results by\ncombining for market and mail days in a circle, each taking a different\nday of the week when he will do his neighbor’s errands.\n\nWith increased confidence in mutual interests, it seems possible that\nspecialists in various directions might grow up among a united circle of\nfarmers. The use of machinery and blooded stock can certainly be greatly\nincreased by careful adjustment of interests. Great improvements in seed\nand in methods of culture may be discovered by agreement among a body of\nfarmers that certain individuals shall make a specialty of those\nimprovements. It is even conceivable that a rotation of crops might be\ncarried on upon a dozen farms, while each farmer gives his attention to\nhis specialty. It would require, of course, a much closer combination in\ncredit with each other than has yet been found among farmers. At the very\nbest, however, farming must still remain the most prominent illustration\nof limitation in the application of the great labor saving and capital\nsaving by minute division of labor.\n\n_Disadvantages of extreme division._—The great addition to wealth so\ndistinctly traced to division of labor is not gained without some\ndisadvantages to the community. Almost certainly the inactivity of body\ncompelled by confinement to a simple portion of a trade induces physical\nweakness. The health of workers in factories is often uncertain, and the\naverage of life is known to be reduced. While steadiness of employment\ncontributes to steady habits, the reduced activity contributes to\nweakness. Perhaps even more perceptible is the tendency toward narrowness\nof mind. Ingenuity is developed in the “Jack of all trades,” although his\ninformation in regard to each one may be limited. The man who knows all\nabout a very small part of one trade has little to stimulate his mind to\nexertion. Indeed, habit is liable to make his very action and judgment\npurely automatic. The fact that the raw hand can be quickly made effective\nmakes the stimulation to self-education even less than in ordinary\ncircumstances. The constant dependence of each laborer upon the routine of\nhis work and his absolute dependence upon authority for his employment\nlead naturally to lack of self-control. A man may grow almost like the\nmachine he handles, responding only to the demand of his overseer. These\ntendencies foster also a growth of class distinctions. Such workmen are\nthought of as operatives, held in a class by themselves. They may be\nexpected to know little of the interests of community outside their own\ncircle, and are often distrusted in matters of common welfare. They\nthemselves distrust the leadership of those upon whose management they\ndepend for employment.\n\nAll these disadvantages may be overcome by more community of interest\namong workers of all classes for their comfort and improvement outside\ntheir tasks. It is a fact that associations for the advancement of workers\nin social and political freedom and mutual self-support have grown most\nrapidly in the neighborhood of factories, where division of labor is\nextreme. A truly philanthropic spirit may be in entire agreement with the\nmassing of labor for greatest accomplishment. The places of least\ndevelopment are always found where crowds of laborers work in mere gangs\nor wholly unorganized. The wholesome influences surrounding rural life are\neverywhere granted so far as physical development goes. They may also be\ngranted in communities of general enterprise with reference to ready\ningenuity and judgment. The farmer’s boys moving to the cities carry not\nonly physical strength and endurance but a mental capacity for ready\nadaptation to emergencies which develops into wisdom. The majority of\nleaders in great enterprises are still expected to grow up on the farm.\nThis is undoubtedly in part due to the impossibility of cramping by\nextreme division of labor. At the same time a partial application of its\nprinciples is needed to bring leisure for some general culture and larger\nacquaintance with the progress of the world. As the evils of factory life\ncan be cured by attention, so the weaknesses of rural life can be removed\nby a careful study of its needs. True education in both quarters is\nessential as a means of mutual understanding and adjustment of interests.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIV. Aggregation Of Industry.\n\n\n_Great combinations._—The tendency toward improvement by combination of\nlaborers through the possibilities of division of labor leads to still\nlarger combinations in so-called factory systems, and even to a\ncombination of factories in large corporations. This tendency has been\nespecially marked since the multiplication of labor-saving machines and\nmore perfect systems of transportation. Indeed, the possibility of\nextensive machine using, as well as extended division of labor, rests upon\na combination of many forces under one general management. Beyond these\nadvantages, saving is found in the necessary care for waste products,\nwhich often may be turned into profit, greater freedom of action from\ncloser community of interests, greatly enlarged facilities for marketing,\nand the best possible devices for handling and transporting products.\n\nAll these advantages in great establishments are readily perceived, yet\nsome have doubted whether the gains are so distributed as actually to\nincrease the general welfare. Farmers, perhaps, as readily as any persons,\ndistrust the power of great corporations. Wage earners, generally, in the\nexpression, “corporations have no souls,” express their distrust of\nresults. Yet so far as they actually introduce improvement in production\nso that variety of products is increased and the cost of production\nreduced, the whole community gains in large measure the total saving. Any\none can realize the advantage by study of a single article of every-day\nuse. In the middle ages the cloth in a garment was worth eight times the\nwool from which it was made. Now the value is chiefly in the raw product.\nThe price of iron affects every farmer through the cost of his tools and\nimplements or the quality of either. Compare the modern steel hoe, first\nin quality and then in cost, with the hoe of fifty years since. Then\nmeasure that cost in its relation to a day’s work, as compared with the\nsame measure in 1850. All are in this way benefited by reducing the\nexertion needed to procure any one article of use, since more exertion may\nbe left for meeting other wants. If machinery and improved methods have\nentered less into the farmer’s home life, he can find his own advantage\nfrom the range of such improvements in other directions by thinking what a\npound of butter will buy for him today as compared with what it would buy\nbefore the period of machinery. (Chart No. XIV, p. 106.)\n\nThe introduction of labor-saving machines is a direct addition to human\npower and economy of time, and a means of converting useless material to\nmeet human wants. That a new machine throws out of employment workers in\nthat particular field brings a hardship which ought to be shared by the\nmultitude who are benefited; but the probabilities are great that the\nimproved method of manufacture will so increase the uses for the product\nas to bring into employment a far larger number of laborers. The spinning\njenny threw out of employment several thousand spinners in the old way,\nbut in twenty-five years the cloth-makers in England had increased from\nless than eight thousand to three hundred and twenty thousand. The\nmachines which in 1760 were thought to have ruined some eight thousand\ncloth-makers, in 1833 employed two million persons. This is only a\nstriking illustration of what has happened in every direction. It is\nperfectly evident that communities using the most machinery pay larger\nwages and far larger welfare to every laborer. It is not too much to say\nthat the actual comforts within the reach of every laborer have been more\nthan doubled within the last hundred years.\n\nA few illustrations of the actual saving in cost of production and\ndistribution may be interesting. Complicated machinery can never be used\nin producing upon a small scale, just as a small farmer can never afford\nthe use of a harvester. All the benefits of invention applied to machinery\nhave come through its use on a large scale. A factory making a thousand\npairs of shoes each year cannot use such machinery as the one making a\nmillion pairs will need. Each one of the million pairs, therefore, costs\nthe world less than each one of the thousand pairs. Again the large\nestablishment, like an immense saw mill, being obliged to care for its\nsawdust, may devise a way of making this waste product of use in pressed\nblocks for kindling, or possibly in buttons or wood ornaments. The waste\nof the shoe shop is only a nuisance, but the waste of a great shoe factory\nis ground and pressed into all sorts of useful forms. All such saving of\nwaste is so much added to the world’s store of wealth.\n\nThat the large establishment saves unnecessary friction is shown in the\norder of any great mercantile establishment. It is still more noticeable\nin immense iron works separated from every other form of industry for the\nsake of freedom of motion. In these ways, principally, there is a saving\nof labor in the huge department stores, although the facilities for\nadvertising, advantages for transportation in large bulk and the\nemployment of expert salesmen in every department contribute to the same\nresult. The general expenses of an ordinary store are estimated at nearly\n40 per cent of the difference between wholesale and retail prices. The\nsame expenses in the great coöperative store at Paris, the Bon Marché, are\nonly 14 per cent. While the controllers of capital in the large\nenterprises have the first advantage of such saving, the very necessities\nof their business compel a sharing with their employés and with the\npublic.\n\nEven the so-called trusts, supposed to be contrivances for controlling the\nmarket, have really served in many instances the welfare of the whole\ncommunity. A biscuit trust, in handling the most of the crackers in the\nmarket, saves great expense of advertising, a still greater expense in\nsales by traveling salesmen, or drummers, and immense waste of stock on\nhand through condensation into fewer warehouses, reduces its insurance to\nactual cost, and has brought to the public by means of all these savings a\ngreater variety of crackers of almost uniform quality suited to the\nfluctuations of demand at a reduced price. No one doubts that even the\nStandard Oil Company, by means of its savings through consolidation, has\nat the same time preserved the general supply of oil from waste and\nbrought it to every man’s door, with a great improvement in quality,\ncomparative safety in use, and an almost constantly diminishing price.\n\nThe record of facts shows that with all the tendency to great\naggregations, and so to concentration of power, masses of wage-earners\nhave had their hours of labor shortened, have gained facilities for\nculture in libraries, lectures and voluntary associations, have gained\nhabits more systematic, and regular methods of life with greater constancy\nof employment, have better protection of civil rights, better provision\nfor education of children, a larger insurance against accident, and a\nbetter provision for hospital care when disabled. The same system has\nprovided methods for economical use of savings in joint stock companies,\nand cultivated a general unity of purpose and appreciation of others’\nwelfare. Withal it has given to the mothers of families an immense\nincrease of leisure for home-making, and at the same time has opened\nranges of employment for women without homes. Even the rate of wages has\nnot been diminished, but rather increased, as is shown also by actual\nrecords. That the great establishments cannot pay less than average rates\nis evident from the multitudes seeking to enter their employment.\nMoreover, they must pay their workmen regularly or appear bankrupt.\nEmployers on a small scale can easily postpone upon all sorts of\npretences, and failures are frequent. Suppose the distribution of milk in\nNew York city were under a single management. A systematic division of\nterritory would at once reduce the number of milk wagons by at least\none-half. The certainty of responsibility would insure uniform purity, and\nmeans of transportation could be brought to perfection, so that the amount\nnow delivered would actually cost perhaps not more than two-thirds the\npresent price. While at present prices the profit would be large, the\nnecessity for investing those profits would at once call for extension of\nthe trade by reducing the price, and at the same time increasing the\nproceeds to farmers somewhere who furnish the larger supply. The better\nquality and larger quantity for the same money would certainly increase\nthe demand, and probably with direct benefit to the milk-raisers. The\nessential element of distrust of individual management in large\nenterprises as to fair distribution of the profits stands in the way of\nsuch a combination.\n\n_Limits to aggregation._—It is easy to see that the advantages of great\nestablishments cannot always be gained. The limits of demand restrict the\npossibility of profit in supply. The element of space in connection with\nthe market and in relation to the buyers makes an important limit. Special\nadvantages of location on a small scale may outweigh the advantages of\naggregation. Utilization of forces in nature, like pure water or water\npower, or special qualities of raw materials, may outweigh all other\nconsiderations. In general the requirement of interested oversight in a\nsingle superintendent has checked such growth. The more perfect, however,\nthe system of management, the less effective is such a limitation. It is\npossible with extreme division of labor to make distinct rules take the\nplace of personal direction, and oversight is reduced to a minimum. All\nthese limitations serve to check the too rapid growth of this factory\nsystem and to hold in check the tendency to misuse of power in possible\nmonopolies. Any raising of prices which diminishes the demand destroys the\nadvantage of a great combination. It makes its profits by the quantity of\nits products sold. A reduction of the quantity much more certainly than a\nreduction in price destroys the advantage. Hence a monopoly gained in the\nordinary progress of trade can seldom operate for any long time to advance\nprices, though it may destroy the competition of smaller establishments\ncompletely.\n\n_Disadvantages of aggregation._—It is impossible to overlook a\nconsiderable number of disadvantages to the welfare of a community in a\ntoo rapid aggregation of its industrial enterprises. It changes large\nnumbers of laborers from independent workers to wage earners, and thus\nmakes them a part of the great machine, with an immense momentum in\nproduction which does not so readily yield to the fluctuations of demand.\nAn independent worker is not worried if he has a leisure day. The great\nestablishment cannot adjust its machinery to a lessened demand without a\nuniformity of reduction in wages or time of employment, or else the\ndischarge of numbers of employés. This is one of the causes of\nover-production so evident in certain directions upon the coming of\nfinancial crises. Another great disadvantage is seen in the breakdown of\nany such enterprise. Then its employés, trained for its particular uses,\nfind themselves not only without employment, but unfitted to drop into\nother niches of usefulness. The absolute routine of the great\nestablishment so fixes habits as to make very difficult a change of work\nexcept in line of promotion in a similar organization. The dissatisfaction\nand distress from such absence of employment is more apparent than in\nordinary poverty.\n\nThe strongest objections, however, to the great aggregations are found in\nthe possibility of oppression through a monopoly of business, and\ntherefore almost absolute control by a few persons of the interests not\nonly of a large body of employés, but of every competitor upon a smaller\nscale. A large combination practically compels all to yield to its\nmethods. The certain economy of methods has led to the statement, “Where\ncombination is possible, competition ceases.” The common saying,\n“Competition is the life of trade,” becomes untrue whenever that\ncompetition implies a costly service. Competition is supposed to reduce\ncost by stimulating energy and ingenuity. But when that ingenuity can be\nbetter applied in combination, the result is the destruction of\ncompetition. Competition may drive the milk wagon faster, but combination\nwill deliver more quarts of milk in the same time. The natural opposition\nto combination rests upon the same ground as the opposition to improved\nmachinery. It certainly throws out of their ordinary employment a\nconsiderable number of independent workers.\n\nThis power of the combination is a constant temptation to unscrupulous and\ngrasping managers to increase their advantage by vicious discrimination\nand false competition, expecting the destruction of others’ business to\nincrease their own. The largeness of the operation makes more plain the\ninjustice of the maxim, “All is fair in trade.” The final dangers of\ncombination are thus likely to be overestimated. It is not true that any\nlarger proportion of false methods of business enters into the large\nestablishment than into the small, and the possibility of profit in a\ngreat combination is quite as truly dependent upon the universal welfare\nas anywhere. The same extremes of prices mark the range for these\nestablishments as for any others. The price cannot continue higher than\nbuyers will pay with an increasing disposition to buy more. It cannot\nremain lower, of course, than will enable sellers to continue living as\nwell as in any other business. Checks upon increased price come as\ncertainly from substitutes as from rival production, and the ability of\nthe people will always gauge the amount of sales. The expression “What the\ntrade will bear,” means a price such as not to diminish consumption.\nIndeed, the business principles of a great trust are essentially the same\nas those in any single manufactory. A trust which stops the work of\ncertain factories in a combination for the sake of diminishing the output,\nbecause of danger to prices from too rapid production, follows the same\nprinciple as a farmer who stops raising wheat from the probability of too\nmuch wheat in the market. The farmer would better lose the use of his land\nfor a time than lose the advantage of both land and labor by\nover-production of wheat. In the same way a trust may wisely hold its\nfixed capital unproductive till the consumption of the community reaches\nthe full extent of its power to produce. The power of one combination to\ninterfere with the workings of another by indirect methods, like\ninvestment in the other’s stock, is an evil to be treated like any fraud.\nLaws and courts are in the power of the people, and should preserve the\nrights of all.\n\nOne great danger of large combinations is the tendency to govern by iron\nrule instead of by fair judgment of individual cases. This is a difficulty\nalways connected with great enterprises, to be cured as growth advances\nthrough establishing well trained experts whose judgment makes the rules\nnot only good in themselves, but well executed. The government itself is\nsubject to the same difficulty, as seen in the handling of an army, and is\nobliged to meet it in the same way. Even the abuses often referred to from\nenormous difference of wages between the executive officers and the\ninferior operatives are quite possibly only a natural method for solving\nthese difficulties. A first-class officer has no difficulty with his men.\nIn general those institutions whose management is costly do better for\ntheir workmen than the weaker institutions with weaker men at the head.\n\nThe supposed dangers from too rapid improvement in the machinery of\nproduction are scarcely to be credited in the light of improvements during\nthe last hundred years. Every improvement has certainly given a larger\nenjoyment and better employment to the masses of people. The enterprise\nwhich invents better ways of accomplishing anything is the best possible\nmeans for enlarging and stimulating the wants and abilities of the whole\npeople. The very profits themselves are sure to awaken larger enterprise,\nand even if the accumulated surplus is distributed in so-called watered\nstock, it does not cease to promote production. The wider the distribution\nof stock, the more permanent and more generally satisfactory is the\nworking of the great combination. If employés themselves become sharers in\nthe business, the true interests of all are likely to be promoted. When\nthe savings of the multitude can be perfectly united in a joint stock\ncompany, to furnish the capital with which the same people work, the\ngeneral conditions of wealth production for all the community are fairly\nmet.\n\n_Bonanza farms._—An illustration of some effects of aggregation may be\nseen in the enormous farms of the wheat regions of America. There\nmachinery is introduced as far as possible, all work is methodically\nplanned and executed, and wholesale rates in purchases and in\ntransportation are secured. The result is that certain staple products,\nespecially wheat, are raised at a cost far below the average cost to\nmoderate farmers. The result is large profits upon the capital invested,\nin spite of the fact that such farms do not make best use of soil\nfertility and certainly do not maintain the best condition of soil for\nfuture use. This, however, is due rather to the nature of pioneer farming,\nwhich makes immediate use of the powers of the soil, than to the nature of\nthe management. It is conceivable that the same ingenuity may continue the\ndevelopment of large farms under greatly improved agriculture. In that\ncase the general effect will be much more widely felt than now. So far it\nseems that bonanza farming is confined to a very few lines of production,\nwhere everything is bent in the direction of lessening labor instead of\nbenefiting the soil or making homes.\n\nThere is no question as to the general advantage of small farms in making\nfarm homes. It is a question whether the general improvements in\nagriculture, except in machinery and its use, have not come from the\ndiligent ingenuity of the small farmer in making most of his own acres.\nBen Franklin said, “The best manure for the farm is the foot of its\nowner.” The interested constancy among small farmers certainly develops\nboth character and ability in any country. This fact has probably been one\nreason for the small farms of large parts of Europe. One-third of France\nis cultivated by owners of farms averaging 7-½ acres. Four-fifths of\nBavaria, Belgium and Switzerland are in farms of less than twelve acres.\nEven Prussia has 900,000 farms of less than four acres. These farms vary\nin quality from poorest to richest, and peasant farmers are not able to\nboast of their wealth. Yet some of the most fertile regions are made so\nand kept so by the labor employed upon the small farm. Some of them also\ninvolve large capital. The Isle of Jersey, where land is worth $1,000 an\nacre, is so divided that an average farm is eight acres. Of course, but\nlittle labor-saving machinery reaches these places. Tillage with the spade\ncosts five times as much as tillage by plough; yet the small farmer finds\nsuch advantage from its use as to call it gold mining. It is probable that\nthe strong competition of immense farms in grain raising, possibly also in\nsugar raising from either cane or beets, and in seed raising, will awaken\namong the smaller farmers attention to finer grades of farming and more\ncare for the fertility of their fewer acres.\n\nOn the whole, the tendency with increasing population is toward smaller\nfarms with more intensive farming. Whether our country, with its stronger\ncommercial energy, will follow this tendency as exhibited in northern\nEurope seems doubtful. It is not likely that we shall ever admit the legal\nrestrictions under which division and subdivision have made their way in\nthat region. The question will doubtless be settled by economic conditions\nindependent of legislation. At present we are far from either extreme, as\ncan be seen by reference to Chart No. I, p. 9.\n\n_Department stores._—Increasing application of the principles of\naggregation is seen in the so-called department stores, which not only\ndeal in everything but with everybody, extending their trade by mail over\nlarge territory. The very evident economy of such aggregation of capital\nfor purposes of exchange appeals so directly to the customers as to make\nthe sufferers in competition cry out in vain for restrictions. Such stores\nseem sure to maintain their advantage in exchange, except with reference\nto mere local distribution of every-day necessities and expert handling of\nspecialties. The community does well to give attention not so much to\nrestrictions upon this trade as to reduction of opportunity for abuse of\npower over the mass of employés under control. The great establishment\nwill certainly bring more satisfactory conditions in time than the\nmultitude of small ones beyond the reach of public inspection.\n\n_Trusts._—Of late years the advance of combination in so-called trusts has\nbeen enormous. The underlying principles of economy already illustrated\nfurnish the occasion for such combinations, but the immediate advantage to\npromoters of such enterprises, because of the supposed power in control of\nthe market, is found in the speculative interest in stocks. In this\nrespect the multiplication of trusts will furnish the principal weapon\nagainst them. Yet the dangers to the industry of the country, as well as\nto the safety of exchanges, from such rapid consolidation of management\nare easily perceived. It is certainly necessary that responsibility for\nsuch enterprises be definitely fixed upon the share-holders. And it is\nmore than probable that government inspection of such business may become\nas necessary as it now is of the banking systems of our country. Some\nstudents of the subject foresee a final assumption of absolute control by\nthe government of all industrial enterprises as a result of this tendency\nto aggregation. The question cannot be discussed in this connection, since\nit involves a wider range of welfare than can be considered under\nproduction.\n\n_Possible combinations for farming._—It is proper to close this chapter\nwith suggestions as to the possibility of gaining the advantages of\ncombination for farming communities without disturbing the present\ncondition of ownership of land. When our farmers generally shall have\noutgrown the disposition to make money by emigration, so that each farming\ncommunity is made up of farm homes with a stable population, more intimate\nassociations for farm operations than now are possible ought to become the\nrule. Suggestions have already been made as to the possibilities of\ngreater division of labor, but other advantages of combination in the way\nof labor saving can certainly be secured. More definite business methods\nand mutual confidence in a neighborhood of farmers make possible enormous\neconomies in the way of mutual protection and advantage. The removal of\nfences, with possible combination in seeding and tillage, a universal\nmethod of dealing with insects, blights, rusts and similar plant diseases,\nthe handling of products in company, and above all a perfect sympathy in\nall methods of improvement, education and development of enterprise, will\naccomplish wonders.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XV. Special Incentives To Production.\n\n\n_Good government chief._—The productive energy of any country is\nencouraged chiefly by what we call good government. This means especially\nsecurity of property rights by prevention of frauds and robbery of every\nkind, and free interchange of ideas, as well as of products of industry,\nand general public intelligence. It is not enough that individuals\nthroughout a community be fairly intelligent, but they must have\nsufficiently mutual ground of intelligence in common purposes and common\ninterests in everyday work to bring without effort a perfectly mutual\nconfidence. Where these essentials are absent no devices can operate\nextensively for the encouragement of energy in production. Where they are\npresent it is always possible to add extra incentives, to give direction\nat least to the energies of the people, and perhaps to increase those\nenergies. Some of these incentives are too important to be overlooked.\n\n_Premiums._—The most simple means of encouraging enterprise is found in\npremiums of various kinds offered by individuals, local societies or\nmunicipal authority. These operate by adding to the natural advantage of\nenergetic labor some special reward in recognition of its accomplishment.\nIllustrations are familiar in connection with so-called fairs of all kinds\nwhere prizes are distributed for the largest product of a kind, the most\nprofitable crop, the best article for any purpose, the greatest variety of\ncrops or stock, or for any conceivable device which seems to add to the\nproducing power of the community. Governments often offer premiums for\nplans of public buildings, and sometimes for offensive weapons. All of\nthese operate upon the one principle of arousing special energy by\nsuperior advantage given to the successful competitor. Its advantages are\nevident. Its disadvantages sometimes outweigh advantages. It encourages\nsomewhat the spirit of gambling, resulting in devices for winning the\nprize through false representation. It exaggerates the importance of showy\nqualities for the sake of notoriety, and it fosters those jealousies which\ntoo constantly interfere with the welfare of communities.\n\nBoth advantages and disadvantages are well illustrated in agricultural\nfairs. These have proved a most admirable stimulant to better agriculture,\nwhere clear-headed, intelligent judges have judiciously distributed prizes\nof such a nature as to have their chief use in establishing the quality of\nthe product shown without catering too distinctly for the enthusiasm of\nthe crowd or for individual profit. The chief end of all such incentives\nis rightly found in the educational influence from comparison of products\nand the establishment of standards which the whole mass of the people may\nbe led to accept.\n\n_Bounties._—A less common but extensively used incentive is in bounties.\nThese are advantages of various kinds, frequently in money, given by local\nor general authority for peculiar services or special enterprises. A\nfamiliar illustration is seen in the bounty of late years offered by\ndifferent states for the production of sugar, especially sugar from beets\nor from sorghum. The object is evidently to arouse the energies of a\ncommunity in a special direction, with the expectation that the\nestablishment of a new industry will, in the nature of exchange, promote\nthe welfare of all. Some countries have stimulated foreign exchange by a\nbounty upon exports, such as Germany now pays upon the beet sugar exported\nto other countries. Of the same nature are the gifts made by local\ncommunities for the establishment of mills, factories, railroads,\nirrigating ditches, all of which are supposed to bring profit to the\ncommunity in general in much larger proportion than the special\nenterprises have received. The principle is the same when bounties are\noffered for the destruction of wolves, foxes and other vermin, or when\nstanding rewards are given for the arrest of criminals.\n\nThere can be no question of the right of a community to offer this extra\nstimulant to particular exertions, but the wisdom is doubtful. In the\nfirst place, bounties are liable to withdraw capital and labor from more\ncertain methods of production to more uncertain methods. Indeed, the chief\nobject of the bounty is to entice into experiments those who would\notherwise hesitate. The advantage of the bounty is very liable to be\noverestimated. People hasten in steps to secure bounty without careful\nstudy of the business they undertake. This is especially true of bounties\nfor establishment of factories in new locations. They attract the least\nexperienced and most speculative men, without consideration of the far\nmore important elements of immediate market and convenient employment of\nlabor. Railroads are built for the bonds voted without care for future\nprofit. Enterprises of this kind, promoted by bounties, are especially\nliable to failure. The history of development in the west gives\noverwhelming evidence of their weakness. Even when the bounty is offered\nfor reduction of vermin, it is often misapplied. Numerous cases are on\nrecord where the bounty became a stimulant to enterprise in raising the\nvery animals to be destroyed. Even rewards for the arrest of criminals\nseem sometimes to create a body of men who thrive by fostering a criminal\nclass, with a hope of sometime getting a profit from arrests. As a means\nof stimulating general industry they are too unstable to be satisfactory.\nMost probably political parties are in constant contention over the\nmaintenance of the bounty. No more insidious enemy to the purity of\npolitics can be found than the selfish interest aroused by special\nbounties.\n\n_Monopoly privileges._—Government monopolies have been a favorite method\nin past ages of fostering particular enterprises. These are in the nature\nof an exclusive privilege, granted to individuals or corporations for the\nmanufacture or sale of particular commodities, and occasionally for\nspecial public services. These were once a method of showing royal favor,\nand the word monopoly has in its very nature the idea of inequality. Hence\nthey are unpopular under all circumstances, except when permanent and\nuniversal advantage is secured.\n\n_License._—The monopoly of service is secured by the issue of a license.\nIf granted through official favoritism, the wrong is easily appreciated;\nif granted to all who conform to necessary requirements for the general\nwelfare, as in showing qualifications for teaching, compounding of drugs,\nor practice of medicine, the license is recognized as useful. In fact, it\nseems to furnish security for satisfactory governmental service, and is\nthe basis of all promised reform in civil administration.\n\n_Patent and copyright._—The chief illustrations of a genuine monopoly\nmaintained by government authority are found in the patent upon inventions\nand the copyright upon publications. A patent is conferred upon the\ninventor of “any new and useful art, machine, manufacture or composition\nof matter, or any improvement thereof,” upon proof that the invention is\noriginal, not previously in use anywhere, and likely to be beneficial\nrather than detrimental. This patent secures to the inventor the sole\nright to make, use or exchange articles manufactured after the pattern\ndescribed, or upon the principle involved in construction. This monopoly\nis limited usually to a term of years supposed to be sufficient to secure\nto the inventor a reward for his exertion. The patent laws of the United\nStates protect the rights of an inventor for seventeen years, entitling\nhim to damages upon proof in the proper court of infringement upon his\npatent. Such protection extends, of course, only throughout the territory\nunder the same government. It may be secured, however, in foreign nations\nunder special regulation, so as to cover the most of the civilized world.\nThe copyright serves the same purpose, and is limited in much the same\nway, for securing to the products of thought or of taste a proper reward\nfor the powers exerted. It gives to an author control over publication of\nhis thoughts during a period of twenty-eight years, in order that the\nusers of his thoughts may actually pay what they are worth. This, too, is\nconfined to the limits of the government issuing it, unless by agreement\nan international copyright is provided by the laws of the several\ncountries.\n\n_Franchises._—A still more noticeable monopoly is granted by\nmunicipalities under what is called a franchise for the establishment and\nmaintenance of water supply, public means of artificial lighting and\nheating, or means of public transportation. These are under government\ncontrol usually in cities, because they employ the public streets for\ncarrying on the enterprise. The franchise is really an extension of the\nlicense in particular directions. This is usually issued with the\nexpectation of great public benefit from a large investment of capital\nwhich would not be made without relief from competition, because not\nimmediately profitable. The franchise usually carries with it certain\nrestrictions as to use of public highways and limitation to a term of\nyears. It necessarily involves the right of government inspection and\ncontrol for the general welfare.\n\n_Difficulties from monopoly privileges._—All of these monopolies are\ngranted for the purpose of conferring upon the whole community benefits\nthat could not otherwise be secured. They are wise only so far as they\nsecure this result. If the patent right system wastes the energies of\ninventors in contrivance of useless devices, there is loss; if it builds\nup a class of mere speculators, there is waste; if it fosters monopoly\nbeyond the giving of a fair reward for invention, it is robbery. The exact\nlimit of time during which a patent is good stimulates to the utmost\nexertion for wide introduction of its benefits, and at the same time\nprevents the burden of lasting monopoly. The dangers are chiefly in the\nadministration of patent laws, from the careless issue of undeserved\npatents, or in a combination under a series of patents to maintain a\nconstant monopoly. It is a safe rule to issue patents only for particular\napplications of scientific principles and not for the discovery of the\nprinciple, which can be protected in publication by copyright. Departures\nfrom this rule cut off the possibility of more perfect contrivances and\nfair competition in devices and methods. There can be no question of the\ngeneral advantage of protecting a genuine inventor from the trespass of\nothers to secure him a fair compensation. No other plan for a fair\nexchange of such services has even been suggested. The unsettled question\nis the proper limit of time for a patent to run.\n\nThe advantages and disadvantages of copyright are essentially the same in\ncharacter, though the dangers are less. Since the large part of the reward\nof an author or an artist is in the repute he may secure, there is little\ndanger of fostering an unfair spirit of monopoly. The franchise is subject\nto the same principles, but its dangers in practice are very great. So\nlong as the advantages to the corporation securing the franchise may be\nenormous, if it is sufficiently extended, there is great temptation to\nbribery, both in the original issue and in the maintenance of inspection\nand municipal control. Nothing has so interfered with good government of\ncities as the manipulation of franchises. These abuses underlie the\npopular call for municipal ownership of water works, lighting plants and\nstreet railways.\n\n_Protective duties._—A still more widely extended method of stimulating\nindustry by special incentives is seen in what is called a protective\ntariff. This is a system of duties upon articles produced in foreign\ncountries so levied as to check the natural competition by increasing\ntheir cost to consumers. The increased cost of such articles, if not too\ngreat to destroy the demand, increases the incentive to manufacture\nsimilar articles within the country.\n\nThe schedule of tariffs becomes then a very important element in all\nproductive industry, and requires the nicest adjustment to the needs and\nabilities of the nation. If associated, as is usually the case, with the\nraising of government revenues, the adjustment becomes more difficult, and\nrequires the judgment of experts in commerce as well as in statistical\nknowledge of industries and government necessities. While in any country\nthe existing tariff is presumed to have been established to meet public\nneed, the fact that there is necessarily a restriction upon freedom of\nexchange makes it always open to question. The tariff laws, like all laws\nrestricting freedom of action, must always have evident reason for\nexisting. The burden of proof rests with the one who defends such laws.\nThis is especially true with reference to tariffs, because the trend of\ncivilization is certainly toward greater freedom of intercourse in all\ndirections. The barriers between nations are generally giving way before\nthe introduction of ready transportation and quick communication. The\nstatesman who maintains the necessity of restrictive tariff must always\nstand ready to explain this obstacle to more complete association. For\nthis reason we have the constant agitation of tariff questions and the\nimpossibility of permanent settlement in any particular.\n\nFor the same reason there are always two phases of a tariff discussion.\nThe student of social science inquires chiefly as to the tendencies of\nadvancing society with reference to such restriction, and, seeing the\nbarriers becoming less and less, is likely to seek the final removal of\nevery such restriction. The statesman, busied with the immediate\nconditions of the limited community whose interests he guards, is liable\nto be for or against any particular restriction as it fosters or hinders\nthose interests. For this reason statesmen, of whatever party, are subject\nto the bias of local interests, and have even been known to change their\nviews with a change of such interests. In our own country, when party\nlines are drawn upon the tariff, it is quite possible that sectional lines\nmay also mark the party supremacy. In fact, it is possible for any man to\nbelieve in freedom of trade as the ultimate condition to be sought, while\nhe favors in immediate practice restriction or even prohibition by a\ndefinite tariff. The purpose in this chapter is to give a brief outline of\narguments for and against such tariff in general, leaving entirely to\npractical statesmanship the decision of special questions.\n\n_Reasons for protective tariff._—A system of restrictive tariffs is\nthought to contribute to the welfare of an entire community by\nartificially increasing the natural diversity of employments. If new\nenterprises can be fostered, exchanges are greatly increased, all the\nadvantages of exchange are secured within the country, and the general\nintelligence of the people is increased. With this comes the enormous\nadvantage of what is called a home market for the cruder products of\nindustry. This is especially to the interest of farmers raising bulky\nproducts or those not likely to bear transportation. It is further thought\nto foster a better agriculture by a more natural return to the soil of\nelements removed in cropping, the nearer body of population making such\nreturn possible. It is also thought to make at once available the natural\nresources of a country in mines, quarries, water powers, etc., which might\notherwise long remain useless. It is contended for as a means of checking\nunfair competition between a long established community with special\nadvantages for factory methods, either in large accumulations of capital\nor low wages of laborers, and a newer country where capital is scarce and\nwages are high. It is sometimes held to be a means of maintaining a high\nstandard of wages through the advantage actually conferred upon certain\nlines of industry, upon a supposition that competition at home without\nthese favored industries would reduce the wages maintained in other\nindustries. If a tariff on wool calls into profitable use a large amount\nof farm capital in sheep raising, every wheat raiser is at the same time\nbenefited by reduction of competition in the wheat market. If the capital\nand labor employed are enticed from other countries, the effect is the\nsame by increasing the demand at home for the wheat. That this does not\noperate so long as wheat raisers come to a market where a surplus must be\nconsumed in other countries does not destroy the argument, since the\ntendency is to reduce the surplus. The system is also thought to\nencourage, in lines of industry likely to prove productive, a rapid\ndevelopment of labor-saving machinery and new methods of manufacture,\nwhich may some time give to a nation superiority in the markets of the\nworld. To many there seems a much more important reason for restrictions,\nin order to establish every needed form of production for the sake of\nnational independence. That nation which contains within its own borders\nthe means of supplying all the wants of its people is supposed to be more\ncapable of independent growth, and to be freed from hampering competitions\nof trade, that may lead to wars and, perhaps, to extreme suffering in case\nof foreign war.\n\nFor abundant examples in support of these various propositions, appeal is\nmade to the history of the world by comparing countries developed under a\nrestrictive tariff with less developed ones free from such restrictions.\nThe history of our own country, under the ups and downs of tariff\nlegislation, is also appealed to. Even the extra cost of certain articles\nto the whole people, which is the sole basis of advantage to the fostered\ninterest, is thought to be more than compensated by the direct advantage\nof increasing competition at home, where it will have the most wholesome\neffect upon the market price. Proof of this, too, is sought in the rapid\ndevelopment of iron and steel manufacture, where protective tariffs have\nbeen most persistent.\n\n_Reasons against protective tariff._—Against a system of protective\ntariffs many strong arguments are not wanting. It is contended that a\ntariff on iron goods, for instance, is just so much an added burden upon\nall consumers of iron, and, since the bulk of consumption enters into the\ncost of articles of universal use, the greater part of the burden is borne\nby the poorer classes of people, who consume as much as the more wealthy.\nIf the restrictive tariff actually limits the introduction of foreign\ngoods, as must be the case if it acts as a stimulant in production, the\nrevenues received are far from being in due proportion with the cost to\nthe people, since essentially the same tariff is paid by the consumer\nwhether the article is imported or manufactured at home. Although it is\nnot true that in every instance the tariff is a tax, in so far as it\nbenefits the home manufacturer by advanced prices it must be. In so far as\nit operates for protection of favored industries, it certainly fails to\nserve the purposes of revenue. The diversity of employment evidently\nfostered by tariff is said to be unnatural and likely to continue\nexpensive, and any advantages of market at home are sure to be\noverestimated, especially with reference to staple products of the farm,\nsince the surplus necessarily forming a basis for prices must be sold in\nforeign countries without the advantage of direct exchange for articles of\ntheir own production. That is, if our tariff restrictions limit the market\nof a foreign people, they also limit the ability of that people to\npurchase the products which we are obliged to sell them. It is contended\nfurther that a rapid development of varied industries, instead of\nmaintaining soil fertility, tends to more rapid exhaustion by making more\nprobable the consumption of cruder products of the farm in villages and\ncities too remote for return of fertility, although within the same\ncountry. The development of natural resources under stimulant of a tariff\nis admitted by its opponents, but represented as a waste of effort, since\nthe tendency is to withdraw capital and labor from more productive\nindustries into less productive, and that, too, at the expense of the more\nproductive. If factories cannot give an equal profit with farming, it is\nabsurd to tempt capital away from the farms into factories. So, although\nwealth may be accumulated in showy enterprises, the people, as a whole,\nare less thrifty and bear unequal burdens. It is further contended that\nthe total labor of the community, when a part is used in unprofitable\ndevelopment of resources, is made on the whole less productive, and\ntherefore the people are less able to buy their neighbors’ products, and\nmust live with diminished comforts. In that case all the haste in\ndeveloping natural resources is actual waste.\n\nIf, on the other hand, the restrictive tariff invites capital from abroad\nfor the sake of gaining the trade of a country, the diminished profit of\nlabor in some foreign country compels emigration, and such emigrants are\nlikely to follow the capital. Only the poorest of foreign laborers will be\ncompelled to help themselves by emigration, and only those will gain by\nthe change of location. Thus it is said a restrictive tariff encourages\nthe least desirable form of immigration. This is illustrated in the\ndevelopment of the mining industry through the fostering effects of the\ntariff.\n\nThere can be no question that any restriction upon trade may foster the\ncontrivance of combination to secure monopoly. Hence it is often claimed\nthat the existence of trusts is due in great measure to tariff\nrestrictions, preventing the competition natural in the commercial world.\nIt is certainly true that the restriction of a patent right may make\npossible the abuses of a trust. If trusts were confined to protected\nindustries or to countries maintaining protective systems, the weight of\nthe argument would be stronger. It is certainly true, however, that the\nwider the range of competition without restriction, the greater the\nprotection against combination for sake of monopoly. The monopoly in\nkerosene oil would be a greater menace but for the possible check of\ncompetition from abroad.\n\nSuch artificial restrictions, again, prevent the naturally rapid growth of\ninternational commerce, which gives the surest foundation for more\npermanent conditions of peace and greater extension of welfare over the\nworld. The tremendous interests of the commercial world are the strongest\nsafeguard against unnecessary warfare, and the best protection to any\nnation is the fact that it makes itself needed by all the rest of the\nworld.\n\nThus inter-dependence of nations rather than independence is the essential\naim of those who seek the world’s welfare. An alliance of two peoples for\ncommercial purposes is the best guaranty of mutual support of national\ninstitutions.\n\nIn proof of all these statements, the experience of the world in widely\nvarying regions is appealed to. The natural breaking down of prohibitory\ntariffs has given opportunity for observation. Especially has the commerce\nbetween states of the Union, where it is absolutely free, shown the\ngeneral advantage of such freedom in rapid development of wealth and\nwelfare. While these states have a common interest in government, they are\nnevertheless widely distinguished in peculiarities of local government and\nin characteristics of people. While, therefore, there is possible doubt as\nto the wisdom of rapid removal of restrictions, there is every probability\nthat such restrictions will gradually be outgrown. Even the temptation to\nmake retaliatory duties, where other governments restrict against our\nproducts, is growing less with increasing experience of the true advantage\nin exchanges. The world is gradually coming to see that the better market\nany region of country affords for the rest of the world, the better market\nthe rest of the world affords for it.\n\n_Incidental tendencies from tariff._—The incidental effects of restrictive\ntariffs, and especially of the necessary instability of restrictive\nlegislation, are too interesting to pass by, though very limited space can\nbe afforded them. In the first place they contribute to a speculative\nenterprise which leads to waste of wealth in unpromising undertakings\nbecause of a necessary over-estimate of the advantage given. On the other\nhand, a reduction of the same tariff after a series of years is almost\nsure to bring panic in that line of industry previously fostered. So the\nfluctuations of tariff laws are one element in periodic expansion and\ncontraction of business. The tariff laws are certain, also, to involve the\nworst element of influence through the lobby upon legislative bodies. Even\nthough the charge of bribery be utterly false, the general respect for\nlegislative bodies is lowered by charges and countercharges for political\neffect. As an occasion for such charges scarce any other form of\nlegislation serves as well. Even the people themselves are easily assumed\nby their neighbors to weigh their opinions upon a tariff measure by their\npersonal interests.\n\nThe indirect influence of a new tariff law upon the industries of a\ncountry can scarcely be foreseen. So interlocked are all the varieties of\nmanufacture and trade that a change in price of any one article of\ncommerce may affect hundreds of others, sometimes much more than the\narticle restricted. It is easily seen that a duty upon iron of a\nparticular shape or quality may actually prohibit the use of that iron in\nsome product which already touches the margin of profit. These incidental\neffects can scarcely be foreseen by even the wisest statesman. The\npractical adjustment of conflicting interests in the framing of tariff\nlaws should be the work of experts. If all parties could unite in\nestablishing a bureau of commerce, domestic and foreign, as dignified as\nthe Supreme Court of the United States, and as independent of party\ninterference, such a body might frame a consistent tariff law, gradually\nperfecting it in adjustment to all interests and explaining its bearings\nto all parties. Such a body could take account of the great interests of\nagriculture in the commerce of the world, and weigh properly the indirect\ninfluence of restrictions. The marked influence of fluctuating tariff upon\nsheep raising, so familiar to all farmers, might then be fairly\nappreciated. Under present methods it is very certain that any tariff law\nis largely a compromise, with limited judgment, between agitating\nconflicts of interested promoters. The farmers, of all people, can afford\nto be conservative of all interests, and should favor such methods as will\nwork toward enlargement of commerce without destruction of industries. If\npossible, they will wisely seek the removal of tariff questions from\npractical politics.\n\nIn concluding this subject, it is wise to suggest that the true principle\nof regulations for national industry are the same as those for true family\neconomy. The family should so plan its work and ways as to make the best\npossible use of the powers of every member. It is no economy to buy cheap\nthings unless the members of the family can be better occupied than in\nmaking them. It is poor economy to make those things which cost more time\nand effort than would be used in making something else for exchange. Home\nproduction is best when this makes the home labor more effectual, but\nworst when it interferes with the profit of labor. The farmer who stops\nharvesting to mend his harness when he might employ the harness-maker is\nwasteful; but if he mends it on a rainy day he saves time which would\notherwise be less profitably used. So the nation whose capital and labor\nare not well employed may do wisely in developing new industries, even at\na considerable expense for introducing the new industries. But if all the\nnation’s energies are profitably employed, the costly development of\nresources may wisely wait for future capital and labor. So all special\nincentives require a constant inquiry as to beneficial results supposed to\nfollow, and the policy of the government must conform to the needs of\ngeneral welfare. Even vested rights are subject to the law of welfare\ninvolved in the original act establishing special privileges. Public use,\nnot private interest, is the true reason for the existence of any such\nprivileges or protection.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVI. Business Security.\n\n\n_Conservative influences._—We have already seen the influence of\ngovernmental organization upon various phases of production; but the chief\nfostering influence is the general stability of a community, not only in\nits laws, but in its customs and habits of life. Security in property\nrights is a chief condition for accumulation of wealth, and a still more\nnecessary condition for industry. Not even want will drive people to\nindustry when there is no certainty of possession when the work is\naccomplished. The fruits of industry must be safe. While the laws of the\ncountry are naturally considered the guardians of rights, the customs and\nhabits of the people, the actual origin of laws, are even more important.\nBad habits actually nullify good laws, while bad laws may be made quite\nendurable by good customs. Thus, the welfare of every community depends\nupon a conservative social influence, preventing abuse of opportunity for\ninjury and stimulating individual energy.\n\nThe rights of life, liberty and property must first be dear to the mass of\nthe people before laws can be framed for their protection. This is\nespecially true in a self-governing people, but is essentially the same in\nthe most absolute tyranny. So the chief safeguard for every kind of\nbusiness is the honest character of all business men, and such influences\nas establish good character and sound judgment will be fostered on the\nsimplest business principles. The farmer who sells his grain or his fruit\nby false samples cannot complain of false weights and measures at the\nelevator. The one who gloats over victory in a horse trade has no right to\ngrumble at a trickster in wool buying. The man who is caught by the offer\nof a gold brick is not only foolish, but false, and diminishes the\nsecurity of himself and everybody else in fair bargains and genuine\nbusiness. The man who takes advantage of his ignorant neighbor deserves to\nbe at the mercy of a more crafty dealer. Every one who makes a false use\nof power over a workman beneath him may expect a false use of power from\nan authority above him. So all business interests, as well as all rights,\nare secured by the right spirit in all men.\n\n_Nature of insurance._—The fundamental activity in accumulation of wealth\nis foresight; but no foresight can prevent all disasters. Fire, flood,\nwind and wave are beyond control, because in some sense they are beyond\nknowledge. Against such forces no foresight can secure. The name insurance\nis given to every method by which the burden of such unforeseen losses is\nprovided for beforehand and fairly distributed. The average of such losses\ncan easily be estimated by experience. Statistics show a wonderful\nuniformity in the misfortunes of life as well as, the fortunes. Even\nthough chance be an element in every transaction, the average of chances\ncan be distinctly calculated; and that average is essentially constant\namong a sufficiently large number of instances.\n\nAll are familiar with the application of such calculations in fire\ninsurance. Among ten thousand houses a certain number will be destroyed by\nfire every year, provided those houses are widely distributed under\nessentially similar conditions. The ten thousand house owners can insure\neach owner against entire loss of his house by mutual agreement to meet\ntheir share of the total loss. If ten houses are burned, each of the ten\nthousand house owners will pay one-thousandth part of the total loss,\nmaking a burden easily provided for. If at the beginning of the year each\nhas laid aside this sum, the loss will be met when it occurs without\ndisturbing the welfare of any. The machinery for such provision is called\nan insurance company, and the separate payment of each house owner is the\npremium or award expressing his share of the provision. This principle of\nestimating losses and providing a definite way of meeting them is the same\nin all forms of insurance. It has been recognized for hundreds of years,\nbut only recently has entered into the business life of the world in all\ndirections. For a long time false notions of reverence for the power that\nwields destiny stood in the way of such distribution of misfortune; but\nnow the mass of people everywhere regard such foresight in united sympathy\nas natural as the planting of crops.\n\n_Various methods of insurance._—Satisfactory insurance rests upon certain\ndefinite business principles which every insurer may wisely study. There\nare various devices for accomplishing the same end. A body of men\nsufficiently large to make the average of losses uniform may bind\nthemselves by a simple agreement to meet each loss as it occurs. To make\nthis plan satisfactory they will need efficient business men as officers\nto devise means and methods for making the agreement effectual, for\nestimating the actual loss in each case, and for distribution of the claim\nby assessment sufficient to cover the loss and the expense of collections\nand estimates, as well as the maintenance of the officers. These officers\nmust maintain the business standing of the organization in the community,\nso that it shall continue for a long series of years to keep its numbers\nlarge enough to maintain only the average loss.\n\nThis is a simple mutual insurance company, upon the assessment plan. Its\nweakness lies in the comparatively slight interest taken by each member in\nthe selection of its officers, in the absence of security for the payment\nof assessments when needed, in the long delay liable to attend\ncollections, and the uncertain interest of the officers in exact\nadjustment of losses. Such companies are liable to be too small to give a\nfair average of losses, and in any serious emergency to fail for want of\nexpert business ability and trustworthy character in officers.\n\nIf, instead of the assessment after losses, a definite percentage of\nprobable loss is paid in advance, the responsibility for use and\nmaintenance of such funds calls for a business character and ability in\nthe officers which usually secures better results. It especially avoids\nthe danger of slackness and failure on the part of the insurer. It leads\nto closer scrutiny of actual losses, and helps the insurer to more\ncarefully measure his interest, since he already has an investment in the\nbusiness. Any overestimate of expected losses may be returned in dividends\nto the insured, or may be retained as a surplus for security against\nlosses above the average of experience. The only weakness of this method\nis in the power entrusted to individual officers, elected on the ground of\npopularity by comparative strangers. Even when a board of directors chosen\nfrom well-known business men is added to the machinery, the dangers from\nincompetent and dishonest management are not avoided. Such directors are\ntoo prone to consider their names their only contribution to the welfare\nof the association.\n\nA joint stock company, insuring with definite premium, is likely to bring\nthe best business management, the quickest though not always the fairest\nadjustment of losses, and the confidence of the business community. Its\nprosperity, however, is hindered somewhat by the common judgment that the\ninterests of the stockholders must be against the interests of the\ninsured. The actual cheapness of insurance depends not so much upon the\namounts paid from time to time as upon the actual quality of the insurance\npurchased. Assessment companies of all kinds, without a legal lien upon\ndefinite property, are decidedly lacking in quality, since their guaranty\nof payment involves the financial credit of every person insured. No one\nshould be deceived by the promise of insurance at cost, until he knows\nexactly how genuine that insurance will remain during the period of years\nfor which he desires it.\n\n_Governmental control of insurance._—The essential importance of insurance\nand the difficulties of providing against fraud and mismanagement have led\nnaturally to government inspection, and in some countries to government\ncontrol of insurance agencies. The laws of various states provide\ndifferently for inspection and reports, and restrict the action of\ncompanies in various directions. It is probable that time will develop the\nnecessity of greater uniformity of insurance laws and more definite\nrequirements in the way of published reports and expert inspection. At\npresent, insurance commissioners often have the confidence of neither\ncompanies nor people, and no expert knowledge is demanded in the candidate\nfor that office.\n\nThe desirability of insurance by government direct is questioned so long\nas governments themselves are unstable and popular will favors laxity in\nthe business machinery. That insurance could in this way be made cheaper\nis a matter of doubt while great masses of people magnify their claims\nagainst government and minify their obligations to it. Frauds against\ngovernment in both taxes and claims are proverbial. At any rate,\ngovernments will not wisely undertake the indefinite applications of\ninsurance until larger experience and wider acquaintance with the methods\nin vogue are reached.\n\n_Applications of insurance._—The applications of insurance are indefinite\nin variety. There is no limit to the possibilities except in the lack of\nexperience to settle the average of hardships. Insurance of property\nagainst fire and storm is well understood and almost everywhere practiced.\nInsurance of life is almost equally extended, in which the head of a\nfamily may in a measure provide against the suffering of his family in his\nunexpected removal by death. This is easily extended into insurance\nagainst accident. In this, as in life insurance, there is some lack of\nexperience, as yet, as to the actual cost. It is possible even to insure\nagainst dishonesty of employés through so-called bond and security\ncompanies, which issue bonds for definite amounts payable in case of\nfailure of the person whose character is insured to meet the expectations\nof his employer. Such companies, in their own interest, exercise an\ninfluence over the character of those for whom they have given bonds by\nattention to their habits of life and business methods. They make more\nprominent the maxim, “Honesty is the best policy,” whether they actually\ncultivate honesty in fact or not.\n\nThere is no conceivable limit to the possible applications of the\nprinciples of insurance. It seems possible that a body of business\nfarmers, subject as they are to so many disasters from weather, insects\nand contagious diseases of stock and vegetation, might devise methods of\nequalizing and diminishing the disaster from such losses in a common\nsystem of insurance. As a basis for such systematic action, careful\nstatistics for large regions of country are absolutely necessary. With\nsuch losses clearly presented and averages fairly estimated, insurance\nwould be just as feasible as it is now against fire. It will be wisely\nundertaken first upon such matters as can be most definitely measured in\ndollars and cents. Losses from accidents to teams and other live stock\nhave already been studied and insurance to a limited extent attempted. The\ndifficulties of such insurance are greatly increased by the ease with\nwhich owners may contrive to market unsalable stock through a false\nrepresentation of misfortune. The possibilities, however, of extending the\nadvantages of insurance in a business of this nature are worthy of more\ncareful study.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART II. DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH FOR WELFARE.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVII. General Principles Of Fair Distribution.\n\n\n_Wealth distributed, not welfare._—In considering the principles of fair\ndistribution among all the parties contributing to production of wealth,\nit is necessary to remember that wealth and not welfare is the subject of\nthought. A child may have equal right to welfare with his father, but\ncannot in any sense have equal ownership of wealth. The welfare of a\ncomplete imbecile may be the care of the state, but he can in no sense\ncontrol wealth. Distribution of wealth cannot, therefore, include the\nsubjects of charity, but must be confined to a study of the natural\nrelations between individual owners of wealth or individual contributors\nto production, which make control of a portion of accumulated wealth\nessential to individual welfare.\n\nA pound of tea may include in its value the efforts of a hundred different\npersons. What are the principles upon which those hundred people may be\nfairly compensated by the actual consumer of the pound of tea? This\nillustrates the complexity of the whole subject of distribution. No\ndrinker of tea would dare to settle the question of fair distribution\narbitrarily. No one would even offer a theory by which a perfect\nsettlement could be reached. Yet when the pound of tea is put upon the\npantry shelf, the fifty cents paid for it has already been divided into a\nhundred unequal portions adjusted by some method of custom to meet the\nideas of every helper in the long list. Each has had some portion of the\nwealth produced, though the distribution may have taken place in different\ncountries, under different laws and customs, through a period of months or\nyears. This distribution involves the whole question of industrial\nfreedom, and rests finally upon the principle of equity as applied to\nownership of one’s powers and the product of those powers. It also\ninvolves, to a certain extent, the decision of what is properly wealth and\nwhat is properly a part of universal welfare.\n\nThe important questions connected with the subject will not be\nsatisfactorily settled until a reasonable adjustment of all claims is\nreached by the masses engaged in production. The modern discussions of the\ninterests of laborers are proof that the world is thinking more and more\nof individual rights in property, and no sweeping assertions as to\ninequity of property rights help to solve the questions. It is because\neach individual has a distinct equity in what is produced in part by his\nefforts that there is need of better adjustment. All reforms, therefore,\nmust be along the line of fair distribution, or fail of their end.\n\n_Distribution by exchange._—Ordinary observation shows that distribution\nis made chiefly in the customary method of exchange. A pound of butter may\nfind its way from the farmer’s dairy to the actual consumer in a distant\ncountry. In its final value, the consumer compensates the retail dealer\nfor his services in handling it and for advance payments, including every\nother handler and every other service, down to the boy who drove the cows\nto pasture. If the system of universal exchanges is free and fair, each\nhas received his fair compensation. In general, then, distribution of\nwealth is made automatically in the ordinary processes of production,\nexchange itself being one of the steps by which value to the consumer\nbecomes value also to the producer.\n\n_Fair exchange above laws._—Under perfect freedom of exchange, the general\nlaw of supply and demand already illustrated is more effective than any\nlaws can be in adjusting wages or profit to efforts in production, and in\nadjusting interest or rent or both to the capital employed or to other\nmeans of production controlled. Any customs or laws which interfere with\nnatural conditions of supply and demand hinder rather than help toward a\nfair adjustment. In any progressive community such laws will surely fail,\nfor the reason that in making such laws human nature is in conflict with\nitself. The history of increasing individual welfare in any part of the\nworld gives a story of more ready and free competition in open market for\nall commodities and all services. In perceiving this we must not overlook\nthe fact that fraud and ignorance, as well as arbitrary power, stand\nopposed to fair exchanges. Nor must we be satisfied with any condition\nwhich involves meeting restrictions with restrictions or force with force.\nSuch conditions must be but temporary.\n\n_Actual and nominal compensation._—In considering compensation for any\nservices, it is necessary to distinguish carefully between the actual\ncompensation in welfare and the nominal compensation in money. A farmer in\nNebraska may get a larger return for his labor with corn at 15 cents a\nbushel than he could in Massachusetts with corn at 40 cents a bushel. Just\nso a wage-earner, receiving $1.50 a day in Ohio, might lose in welfare by\nexchanging work with his neighbor in New Mexico, who gets $2.50 a day.\nThis means that $1.50 in Ohio may buy more comfort than $2.50 can buy in\nNew Mexico. This is very important in comparing the wages of different\nclasses of workmen in the same country, as well as the wages of similar\nworkmen in different countries. It has an important bearing, too, upon\nrelative profits and interest. The actual compensation in welfare is the\nnatural basis for adjustment in all distribution, and the law of supply\nand demand rests directly upon this.\n\n_Wages, profits, interest and rent take the product._—It is common to\nconsider distribution as made in the forms of wages for labor given\nwithout risk as to the product, profits to the one whose labor is\nassociated with risk of loss as well as gain, interest to the one who\nfurnishes capital in any form and waits for his compensation, and rent to\nthe landlord, or owner of estate, whose property is used for a definite\ntime and returned. It is evident that any advantage received in any of\nthese ways, at any time, must come from the actual available goods in\nstore suitable for division and consumption. The farmer cannot pay his\nhired hand with his farm, though he may be able to do so with his\nproducts. The farmer himself cannot realize his profits until he has the\nproceeds of his work in the shape of consumable goods. So, at any\nparticular time, the total of products fit for consumption makes the\nsource from which all distribution must come. Debts and credits can have\nno consideration in the total, for the reason that they exactly offset\neach other. A general conflict of interested persons as to wages, profits,\ninterest or rent comes from the difficulty of sharing in the actual goods\nat hand. The relation of each to the whole depends upon circumstances to\nbe discussed in future chapters. It is certain that the larger proportion\nof daily production goes to the mass of the people who consume their share\nfrom day to day. It is estimated that fully 80 per cent of such wealth is\nused up by those who contribute no use of capital to the productive force.\nIt seems probable also that this ratio is increasing rather than\ndiminishing, but no statistics are sufficient to show the exact facts.\n\n_Cheap standards of living._—In the natural competition of laborers with\neach other, the general standard of living—physical, intellectual and\nmoral—have an important bearing. The Chinaman in this country competes\nwith the American upon a wholly different plane of living. His habitual\nneeds being less, he is willing to work for wages that will not tempt the\nnative American. If he can do the same work, living as he does, he\nnecessarily becomes a cheaper force in production, and the American must\nfind a better field for his energies or go without employment. Under\nordinary circumstances, the introduction of laborers able to live more\ncheaply acts upon the better class of laborers exactly like the\nintroduction of labor-saving machinery. It first brings hardship from\ndirect competition, but the cheapening of products brings enlarged demands\nand so gives new impetus to production, requiring the very skill which the\nbetter class of laborers alone can furnish.\n\nThus the employment of Chinamen upon railroad embankments made places for\nnative laborers as section bosses and engineers. The Huns and Italians\nthat underbid the Irish miners in Pennsylvania have destroyed the “Molly\nMcGuires” by making the same men responsible for larger enterprises. Yet\nthe standards of living, which show a constant improvement, indicate a\ntruer freedom of competition and a clearer recognition of individual wants\nand abilities. No one can watch the development of any country without\nrealizing that its thrift, enterprise and progressive welfare depend\nlargely upon increasing wants. Men who live best produce most and enjoy\nmost.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XVIII. Wages And Profits.\n\n\n_Wages distinguished from profits._—In discussing the subject of wages and\nprofits, it is necessary to remember that both are compensation in\ndifferent ways for actual exertion. If in estimating profits we sometimes\ninclude a return for the use of capital, it is from incomplete analysis of\nthe forces in use, since the interest upon capital can easily be separated\nin all actual practice, and in most enterprises is counted as a distinct\nexpense to be provided for in entering upon the undertaking. The profits\nreally belong to the management of any undertaking, as return for the\nexertion in that management. In every-day use the term wages is applied\nonly to the stipulated amount paid from time to time for services rendered\nto another. There is practically no difference between such payments made\nfor service by the hour, day, week, month or year. If, however, the\nengagement for service is by the year, the name salary is more likely to\nbe given than wages.\n\nFurther, the term wages is most distinctly applied when the service is\nrendered as a task, and wage-earners when found in considerable bodies are\nusually called operatives, under the natural classification of labor\nexplained and illustrated in Chapter III (page 35).\n\nThe services of an overseer are much more likely to be permanently\nrequired, and his wages are therefore called a salary, estimated by the\nyear even though payments be made monthly or even weekly. In this case,\nthe labor is chiefly executive, taking a higher rank because of the\ngreater powers required. In this case the overseer is supposed to have\ndefinite plans provided for his work, and to carry out those plans to the\nbest of his ability.\n\nIf, in contrast with this, one’s efforts are given to managing a business,\ndevising the ends to be accomplished as well as planning for their\naccomplishment, he is said to have entire responsibility for results and\nto receive what he can make out of the business. His exertion is chiefly\nspeculative labor, and the returns for his _speculation_ or\nforesight—often effort of the severest kind—are termed profits. Such\nefforts have already been illustrated in Chapter III, page 35. No\ngenerally accepted name has been given to the one who thus carries the\nentire responsibility of the business, but the word manager conveys to\nmost people the general idea involved. While it is true that a manager may\nsometimes work for a salary, in general the very inventive ability\nrequired for success makes the stimulant of profits the most natural means\nof securing higher effectiveness. Most managers, even of stock companies,\nmust from the nature of the case be at least sharers in the profits.\nFarmers easily distinguish between those who work for stipulated wages,\noften called farm hands, and the farmer himself, who gets the pay for all\nhis endless variety of labor, including his constant planning, in the\nshape of profits.\n\n_Wages defined._—Hence it is fair to define wages as a stipulated sum,\npaid at stipulated times, for stipulated services, measured either by the\nnumber of distinct services or by the time of service. A wage-earner must\ntherefore be one who sells his powers, whatever they may be, for the use\nof another, bringing his own services rather than the products of those\nservices to the best market he can find. In general, he prefers the\ndefinite promise of another to the indefinite chances that he may produce\nwhat is to be wanted in the future market. Very often he considers the\nbird in the hand worth any number in the bush, and is satisfied to take a\ncertain living from day to day rather than risk his ability by his own\ncontrivance to meet larger wants. Among the wage-earners we necessarily\nfind all individuals of undeveloped powers of body or mind, dependent upon\nthe rest of the community for both tools and task; also all who render\npersonal services, and most of the laborers of all sorts in every kind of\nfactory.\n\n_Profits defined._—Profits may be defined as the indefinite returns for\nexertion, including all risks, which any manager of his own or others’\nindustry secures by bringing his products into open market. In general the\nterm includes the recompense for any kind of labor, however rendered, if\nthe uncertainty of demand and supply belongs to the one who renders the\nservice. Thus even the fees of a lawyer or a doctor come under the general\nprinciples of profits, whenever the conditions of payment in any respect\ndepend upon success. If, on the other hand, such fees are stipulated sums\nfor a stated service, they fall into the rank of wages. That the dividing\nline between wages and profits is not always clear is shown in comparing\npayment by the piece in manufacturing clothing, for instance, and payment\nby the hour for the same kind of work. In the payment by the piece, the\nstimulant of enterprise borders upon the nature of profits. In payment by\nthe hour, that stimulant is wanting. Yet we are likely to consider the\ndifference as simply a difference in method of estimating wages. Two men\nditching side by side may work, one by the day and the other by the rod.\n\nIt is possible even to combine the two systems of payment so as to involve\nboth wages and profits. Farm hands in England have been paid a certain\nprice per month, with a share in the profits, measured by the number of\ncart-loads of grain marketed. Clerks and agents frequently work for\nstipulated wages, with an added percentage upon the value of sales. Most\nfarmers in estimating the results of a year’s labor count their own\nservices, at the price of a hand, as a part of the cost of their products,\nand distinguish as profits the surplus of product above all expenditures.\nThus a farmer may estimate as outgo the interest on capital invested, the\nwear and tear of machinery, the produce consumed upon the farm, the taxes\npaid to the government, and the wages to all who labor, including himself\nand his family. Any return from his products beyond enough to meet these\noutgoes he will consider profits. These will reward him for extra\nforesight and contrivance in management and marketing, as well as risk\narising from possibility of failure in his plans, destruction of his crop\nor stock, fluctuations in price, and uncertainty of collection for his\nsales. Such risks and exertions every independent worker assumes. Usually\nthe exertions are impossible to the inexperienced, and the risks cannot be\ntaken without accumulated capital or a credit established upon well-known\ncharacter and ability. This fact naturally limits the number of\ncompetitors for profits. The effect is clearly illustrated in the\ndifference between an ordinary farm hand and the renter of a farm. Few\nfarmers would encourage the best of their farm hands to take the burden of\nrisks and care implied in renting. The successful farm renter requires\nabilities and means, gained only by experience and accumulation.\n\n_Wages vary with abilities employed._—The variation of wages among\ndifferent classes of workmen in the same calling is universally recognized\nas dependent upon the powers employed. The strictly operative labor is\nusually paid by the hour, day or week, the terms varying with the supposed\nstrength or skill exerted. Executive duties commanding monthly or yearly\nsalaries vary with the total amount of responsibility implied, the large\nestablishment requiring greater abilities than the small one. The strain\nof responsibility increases in some degree with the number of operative\nlaborers employed, and successful oversight of many hands may be essential\nto their profitable employment. In that case the salary of the overseer\ngains something of the nature of profits, since the manager gauges the pay\nby profits expected. If, as in great stock companies, a manager is hired\nat a stipulated salary, his personal abilities, as tested by\naccomplishment, are likely to be the sole gauge of wages. A successful\nmanager of a great enterprise can scarcely be said to have a market price\nfor his services, but will estimate himself in large measure by the\nprofits he might secure as an independent business man. Within limits,\nsuch salaries will vary with the experience and inventive ability\nrequired.\n\n_Supply and demand in wages._—Wages in general are subject as truly to the\nlaw of supply and demand as are the products of labor. If few places are\nvacant and many applicants seek those places, it is impossible to prevent\nthe reduction of wages through the anxiety of some applicants to secure\nplaces. On the other hand, if few applicants seek the places open to many,\neach will find the employer most willing to give an increase of wages for\nhis work. Laws cannot prevent such natural competition, though they may\nhinder it. Even organization under secret bonds can only temporarily\nrestrain. Human nature is stronger than any arbitrary restriction.\n\nIn general, then, wages in any particular occupation may be affected\ndirectly by limited competition. Any necessity for peculiar abilities of\nbody or mind, or for preparation by education or training, makes certain,\nas far as it goes, a limited competition, and therefore the opportunity\nfor higher than ordinary wages. In the same way, if unavoidable hardships\nor dangers are involved, comparatively few workers will seek such\nemployment and can have larger pay. If, however, the dangers carry with\nthem a stimulating excitement and exhibition of daring, arousing\nadmiration for the worker, this may offset entirely the effect of the\ndanger.\n\nSoldiers and railroad employés for such reasons do not command pay in\nproportion to the dangers met. Any employment where there are obstacles to\nnatural advancement or where continuance is uncertain does not attract\napplicants except by higher wages. Illustrations of all these occasions\nfor limited competition are found everywhere.\n\n_Stimulants to competition._—If any occupation shows circumstances making\nentrance easy for new applicants, or if advantages for promotion are\nreadily seen, or if it seems to have a special respectability with the\nadvantage of social privileges, especially if it in some respects seems a\nwork of philanthropy, there will be multitudes ready to engage, and\nwilling to undertake the work at less than average compensation. It is\ncommonly said that these peculiar advantages are a part of the\ncompensation. They operate simply as a stimulant to competition, making\nmore people willing to enter such employment at small wages than would be\nwilling without these special advantages.\n\nA good illustration of such employments is found in common school\nteaching. While a teacher does need an expensive preparation, and success\nis dependent upon special adaptability to the work, it is nevertheless\ntrue that the work can be taken up readily and as readily laid down; it\nconfers upon the applicant the privilege of social recognition and\nsomewhat of personal dignity; it gives opportunities for some note in the\ncommunity, and, with all, it is considered a work of philanthropic\ncharacter, entitling to the gratitude of the public. The result is that\nteachers everywhere command less of salary or wages in proportion to their\nabilities than other classes of wage-earners. Fortunately, this stimulant\nto competition appeals largely to those characteristics of the individual\nteacher which make him more serviceable in his calling. The opportunity\nfor a life of study, added to other considerations, makes still more\neffective the competition of earnest, philanthropic students, such as the\nworld needs for teachers.\n\nIn the lower ranks of teachers, competition is still more increased by the\nfact that common school teaching can be temporarily carried on in the\nintervals of study, without interfering with mental growth. Teaching is\nalso specially adapted for the temporary employment of young men and women\nnot quite ready to enter the actual life work. Acquaintance with human\nnature, which it fosters, is thought to be good preparation for home and\nbusiness life. The employments in which women largely engage as\nwage-earners are chiefly of this temporary character. The fact that the\nlife work of most women must be the making of the home hinders competition\nin employments where long apprenticeship or special skill of any kind may\nbe demanded. Any temporary employment not only appeals to her sense of\ncapacity for earning wages, but seems better adapted to her future. If\nthat employment at the same time affords opportunity for social life and\ncalls for the natural adornments of youth, the young woman considers wages\nonly a small part of the general consideration, and is satisfied with a\nbare living. Hence clerkships in stores, subordinate positions as teachers\nand places as typewriters are crowded with applicants at wages\ninsufficient for a life-time support. Employment in domestic service,\nwhich might be supposed more consistent with the larger work of life, is\nrendered less attractive by the almost entire absence of social privileges\nand natural opportunities for advancement in knowledge of the world. Girls\nwho would prefer house work, with equal social freedom and the natural\nstimulant of contact with other young people, compete for lower wages in\nless satisfactory employment during the years of their girlhood. This is\nless noticeable in country life, where girls in domestic service become a\npart of the household and share in the privileges of the young people at\nhome.\n\nAnother illustration of the depressing effect upon wages of excessive\ncompetition is found in the work of women upon cheap clothing. This work\nis usually done by the piece in the home, and can be taken up at intervals\nbetween household duties. Many women consider earnings of this kind a mere\naddition of spending money to a somewhat meager support in their home\nlife. It can be carried on without display, and so preserves the dignity\nof persons who would otherwise shrink from wage earning. The result is a\nvery serious competition, reducing wages below even enough to sustain life\nand character.\n\nThese are only illustrations of what happens in every calling when\ncircumstances stimulate excessive competition. Relief can come only from\nlarger range of satisfactory employment and a clearer distinction in favor\nof genuine wage-earners and genuine employers among the mass of the\npeople. The customs of society have a much stronger influence upon the\nlife of women in steady employments than upon that of men. A thoroughly\nenlightened community can do much to enlarge the sphere of such women as\nare naturally wage-earners, by proper encouragement of their enterprise.\n\n_Fluctuation of wages._—Wages in every employment are just as naturally\nsubject to fluctuation under the law of supply and demand as are prices of\ncommodities. Whatever operates to increase the number seeking employment,\nor to diminish the amount of employment open to competition, reduces the\nwages. Whatever increases the opportunity for employment, or diminishes\nthe number of persons seeking employment, increases the wages. This is\nwell illustrated in the cost of harvest hands in a year of large crops as\ncompared with a year of small crops. Any financial disturbance, checking\nthe building of railroads and other great enterprises, brings multitudes\nof would-be farm hands to compete with those who naturally follow farming.\nOn the other hand, the introduction of factories or mining industries has\nsometimes affected directly the wages of farm hands through a large region\nby lessening competition.\n\n_Upward tendency of wages._—It is certain that the general tendency of\nwages in all employments is upward rather than downward, in spite of\nserious disturbances from financial depression often repeated. The gradual\nincrease of welfare among wage-earners is greater even than the increase\nin money wages. Those who are inclined to join in the cry that the former\ntimes were better than these can be answered as they were in Solomon’s\ntime, “Thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this.” No doubt the\ntransition from small workshops to large ones and from small factories to\ngreat combinations has caused friction in adjustment to the new\nconditions. Many are now wage-earners who were once profit-gainers. But\nwith the improvements in association and a clearer understanding of\nabilities and needs, each worker becomes a stronger factor than ever\nbefore in bringing about a fair competition and a satisfactory\ncompensation.\n\nThere are still new difficulties in every change of method. The influence\nof custom often retards freedom of movement, makes more slow the natural\nrise of wages, and hinders a gradual adjustment to new conditions. In many\ncases it prevents individual enterprise among wage-earners, and crowds\nfrom the higher ranks into competition with the lower because of no\nnatural outlet for ambition. Even laws intended to protect laborers\nsometimes operate against them. Thus a law restricting the terms of\ncontract between workmen and their employer has sometimes prevented the\nemployer from investing capital in a business which otherwise would have\nincreased the opportunity for labor, and so would have actually increased\nwages.\n\nThe effect of free schools upon ability to earn is generally recognized.\nThe best estimates place the increase resulting from common school\neducation at fully 25 per cent. Some of the best establishments are\nlimiting their offers of employment to young people who have had the\nadvantage of even high school training. This more general education tends\nin two ways to increase the compensation of wage-earners: first, by giving\na clear knowledge of abilities that makes competition fairer; and second,\nby increasing the general effectiveness of all production, which enlarges\nthe sum to be divided.\n\nEvery movement toward greater social freedom and uniformity of opportunity\ncontributes to the same end. Next to slavery, social caste is the chief\nobstacle to free and fair competition of laborers. Any barriers of race,\nsocial organizations, or even churches, which cultivate exclusiveness in\nany direction, in the end work hardship. If they bring temporary advantage\nto a few, they are sure to hamper the freedom of many. The welfare of the\ncommunity is surest when social conditions favor the freest communication\nin all ranges of employment, whether in wage-earning or in profit-making.\n\nThe cheapening of transportation in recent years, bringing all the world\nnearer, has had various effects upon wages. It has destroyed, to a\nconsiderable extent, the inequality of wages between different regions of\ncountry. If laborers of any kind are scarce, a telegram will within a few\nhours bring numbers from some place where they are too plenty. The result\nis a tendency to greater uniformity throughout the world. As yet the full\neffects of this progress are not realized. Some hardships will undoubtedly\nbe endured from the ready introduction of unskilled laborers from crowded\ncountries into our less densely peopled country. But with a larger range\nof production opened by cheap labor, our better workmen will find more\nconstant and more remunerative employment. If restrictions upon\nimmigration are necessary, it must be to prevent too sudden a transition,\nhindering adjustment to new conditions. The danger of overcrowded\npopulation comes more certainly to the nation excluding itself from the\ngreat world by excluding the rest of the world from itself.\n\nThe general effect of improved machinery has been several times referred\nto already. Its advantages come to the wage-earner directly in multiplying\nemployments and in multiplying the demand by cheapening products.\nIndirectly, the benefits are still greater, because these cheaper products\nform the bulk of living for the workers. It is probable that even the\nbetter living thus provided has raised the efficiency of labor so as to\ncommand better wages. It is certain that every movement of civilization\nwhich gives a clearer knowledge of human nature and the world about us\nadds to the power of every man, whatever his work. We may welcome every\nelement of progress in this enlightenment as a direct help to the portion\nof humanity recognized as wage-earners. The better the masses of people\nunderstand each other the better each understands himself; and that\nunderstanding is the best protection against oppression of circumstances\nor of men.\n\n_Variation in profits._—Profits in various pursuits, like wages, are\naffected by limited competition. The need of special abilities and\nexperience in any particular undertaking keeps back the timid from that\nenterprise, and the accumulation of experience of a peculiar kind hinders\none from turning to other occupations. Even if a young man is willing to\ntake the risk of inexperience as a manager, he can seldom gain the\nconfidence of those who control capital. Hence competition in new and\nuntried enterprises is slight, and profits are often great. Other\nundertakings are of such a nature as to involve great uncertainty. The\nrisk of failure retards the cautious, and so the most enterprising win\ngreat returns. In estimating such returns, we overlook the failures and\ncount only the great successes. Sometimes accidental opportunities open to\nthe few a limited range of enormous profits. Legislation fostering\nmonopoly sometimes favors such opportunities. These are usually temporary,\nand such advantage cannot long be maintained under the most fortunate\nconditions. Secret methods have sometimes controlled the market for\nindividuals with enormous gain, and in a few instances a nation has\nmaintained such secrecy with apparent success. But these, too, quickly\nyield before competing enterprise, since wage-earners under such employers\nmust share to some extent the secret, and will have the stimulant of\nenormous profits to use the secret for themselves.\n\n_Profits in competition._—Profits are themselves a stimulant to\ncompetition, and competition in every pursuit tends to reduce the profits.\nIf any circumstance apparently insures more than average profits in any\nundertaking, competition becomes excessive and profits vanish. The promise\nof a tariff on wool leads farmers to expect an advance in the profits of\nsheep raising. Competition begins in the purchase of flocks, by which the\nprofits of those already in the business are greatly increased.\nCompetition continues by multiplication in the flocks until sellers of\nsheep are more plenty than buyers. Thus, the stimulant to competition has\noperated to lessen profits in the end. A famous sheep raiser in New York,\nwhen asked to give a maxim for success in the business, answered, “Buy\nwhen your neighbors sell, and sell when your neighbors buy.”\n\nSimilar experience has been noted in various pursuits. The tendency,\nhowever, with wider knowledge of others’ wants and efforts is toward a\ngreater uniformity of profits. Modern methods of production and clearer\nperception of ways and means make it easier for competition to have its\nfull effect between different kinds of business, as well as in the same\nbusiness. The more we know of our neighbor’s work through the daily press\nand extensive travel, the fairer is the opportunity for competition to\nact. This tendency brings hardship to the weaker portion of managers\nengaged in any particular business. This makes the power of so-called\ntrusts and great combinations apparently harmful. In the end, however, the\nresult is more constant profits, though smaller, and the advantage of the\nwhole community in a more stable business. It is even conceivable that the\nstimulant of fair profits may finally reach a larger proportion of the\ncommunity through interest in the great establishments than in the past\nfrom the unequal and uncertain returns of independent managers.\n\nEven among professional men, whose fees for services have somewhat the\nnature of profits, the same law of competition, dependent upon supply and\ndemand, holds sway. The compensation of an author for his publications,\nthough protected by copyright, is dependent upon conditions limiting\ncompetition or stimulating it. It is customary for surgeons, physicians\nand dentists to make a fee proportional to the demand for their services.\nThus the skilled dentist, who is wanted by ten times as many people as he\ncan serve, raises his price till the demand is limited to meet his\nstrength. This enables younger men at smaller prices to gain the\nopportunity to establish like reputations by doing equally good work.\n\n_Profits in agriculture._—The profits in agriculture are subject to the\nsame laws. Many influences operate in both directions. The limitation of\nland fit for agricultural purposes has a tendency in itself to increase\nthe profits of land-holders, under the principle of monopoly, though its\nchief effect is on land values. The increasing wealth of the world, and\nthe greatly increased wants of the civilized community, multiplying\nmanufactures, limit competitors more and more. The relative number of\nfarmers in our country is gradually diminishing, while the demand for food\nis actually increasing beyond the increase in population. Men are\npredicting every year a scarcity price for wheat,—unwisely,\nprobably,—through the limited range of possibilities in wheat raising. The\nintroduction of labor-saving machinery enables enterprising farmers to\ngreatly increase their product for the same number of acres, and still\nfurther to increase the range of management so as to make larger farms a\npossibility. The rapid advance of means of transportation has so widened\nthe range of competition as to make the farmer in one part of the world\ncompete with the farmers of every other part. The staple products,\nespecially wheat, being so easily adapted to new countries, are constantly\nliable to over-production. At the same time the effects of a bad season in\nany particular region, while reducing the crop, are not likely to advance\nthe price to the same extent as formerly. The opening of vast regions once\nconsidered deserts to a rapid settlement by farmers for the sake of the\nprofits in land speculation has again and again wrought changes in the\nentire business of agriculture. Similar effects may be expected still with\nthe development of South America, South Africa and Siberia.\n\nAll these facts tend now to make the profits in agriculture decline, and\nthe fact that farm life has certain attractions in establishing permanent\nhomes for families and life-time associations, contributes to this\ntendency by holding people to their place as farmers for at least a\ngeneration. The possibility of independent enterprise, even with small\nprofit, and the freedom of family life from interference of neighbors make\nlarge numbers of farmers willing to continue their business in spite of\nthe reduced earnings.\n\n_Fluctuation in profits._—It is proper to call attention to the rapid\neffects of any change in market upon the profits of any enterprise. Wages\nare in large measure an anticipation of profits, and so far as they are\naffected by changes in market prices, it is largely through estimates upon\naverages. Custom has much to do with wages demanded and paid, but profits\nare fluctuating constantly with the fluctuation of prices, with every\nchange of methods affecting competition, with every introduction of\nimproved machinery and with every accident of fortune.\n\nNo better illustration of this fact can be given than is familiar to every\nfarmer in comparison of results from the work of different seasons. With\nthe same outgo for labor he may find the profits of two successive years\nwide apart. One year has granted the fortune of good crops with fair\nprices, while the other has yielded him a half crop when the prices of his\nproduct in the world are low. Possibly the improved machinery in wheat\nraising, applicable to the great farms of Minnesota, Dakota and\nCalifornia, has caused him to bring a costly product into close\ncompetition with a cheap one. Possibly, too, he has been tempted to\nexcessive use of labor-saving machinery himself at too great cost for the\ntransition, and it is more than probable that, stimulated by the high\nprice of oats last year, he, with thousands of his neighbors, has made an\nextra crop of oats this year, to the actual destruction of the market. In\nall these cases the farmer himself suffers directly, while his hired hand\nis affected only indirectly by the unwillingness of farmers in some\nseasons to employ as much labor.\n\n_Profits offset by losses._—The actual profits in any enterprise are often\noverestimated by our failing to notice that all the waste of unthrifty\nundertakings comes practically out of the profits of the more thrifty.\nWage-earners as a class are protected against losses by frequent\nsettlements and by public sentiment. The losses of the unthrifty managers\ncome out of the accumulations of previous thrift, or else are borne by the\nthrifty men who have trusted them. The bulk of bad debts in failure of any\nenterprise is for materials, machinery, etc., furnished by other\nproducers. In great financial depression, the profit-makers bear the evil\ndirectly, while the wage-earners feel the effects in the lessened\ncompetition for their service.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XIX. Conflict Between Wage-Earners And Profit-Makers.\n\n\n_The nature of the conflict._—The mutual interest of all whose energies\nare used in production, that the total product of wealth should be as\ngreat as possible, is often disturbed by doubt as to the fair division of\nwhat is produced. Under the modern factory system, the multitude sustain\nthe relation of employés to a comparatively few employers. Antipathies are\nliable at any time to arise between these two classes of workers. Those\nwho officially control wealth in great enterprises are subject to\nsuspicion of unfair treatment of their less independent employés.\nIgnorance among the mass of laborers of the intricacies of business life\ncontributes to such suspicion. In fact, the so-called conflict of capital\nand labor is a struggle for and against profits. Interest and rent are\nonly indirectly involved in the question. The manager’s profits may be\nassumed by both manager and wage-earners to arise from reduction of wages.\nThe necessary reticence of business managers and the frequent arbitrary\ndecisions as to wages help the wage-earner to feel that his interests\nconflict with those of his employer.\n\nIt is well for all to realize that this conflict, when there is one, is\nnot so much between the rich and the poor as between the struggler for\nprofits and the struggler for wages. In many instances the true solution\nlies in the same direction, if both could see the facts alike. It is an\nacknowledged fact that generous wages make enlightened, energetic\nlaborers, and that greater profits come in the long series of undertakings\nfrom the most intelligent service. A farm-hand at $20 a month is sometimes\nworth more than two at $15. On the other hand, if markets are low and\nprofits decline, permanence of employment will depend upon a readiness of\nwage-earners to accept a new adjustment of wages to conditions. Everything\nwhich fosters a better understanding between profit-makers and\nwage-earners contributes to the welfare of both. Everything which hinders\nsuch understanding injures the welfare of both. The cost of such friction\nis borne by both parties. But in the long run, the wage-earners are liable\nto carry the larger part. Even the destruction of property by rust, decay,\nor even violence, comes back upon the wage-earners who might have been\nemployed in its use, quite as truly as upon the manager whose profits and\naccumulations are wasted.\n\n_Obstacles to fair understanding._—The necessary ills connected with\nadvancing civilization, in the laying aside of old methods for new, in the\nadoption of extensive machinery, and in the more perfect competition with\nthe world, fall upon both profit-maker and wage-earner. The wage-earner\nfeels the immediate loss of his usual opportunities. The profit-maker\nfeels the weight of providing new machinery, devising new methods and\ntaking the longer range of chances. All these ills are met in time by\nintelligent and hopeful struggles for the best. In the worst conditions\never brought by improved machinery, a very few years have brought relief\nand improvement to the very class of laborers injured.\n\nThe danger is that wholesome competition upon a clear basis of fair\nunderstanding and free range of enterprise may be checked by legislation\nor organization for class purposes. Against the interests of the mass of\nthe people are all extended franchises, giving arbitrary control for long\nperiods of years over any industry; monopolies sustained by patent rights\nor protective duties; trusts, so far as they imply a combination of men to\nresist the law of supply and demand; and laws which in any way favor one\nclass of people engaged in one kind of industry as opposed to any or every\nother.\n\nQuite as prominent are those hindrances which come from every kind of\nfraud, including adulteration and misrepresentation of products, deception\nas to market conditions, false credit, and violence of every kind. The\nmore perfect the light thrown upon all the conditions of production, the\nbetter the understanding which all men may have of a neighbor’s welfare,\nand the easier it is to put ourselves in our neighbor’s place.\n\n_Strikes._—The methods of warfare between wage-earners and profit-makers\nare quite generally understood under the names of strikes, boycotts and\nlockouts. The occasion for a strike, which means a sudden stopping of work\nby the employés of an establishment, is usually some question of immediate\nadvantage to the workmen. A desire for increased wages, fewer or different\nhours of labor, or the removal of some restriction upon habits or\nassociations, gradually becomes general, and through some permanent or\ntemporary organization united action is taken. Quite frequently a strike\nis occasioned by a sudden and apparently arbitrary reduction of wages,\naffecting a large body of men. Many strikes are inaugurated in the\ninterests of discharged workmen, when the organization to which they\nbelong is supposed to be interested.\n\nThus a strike is always a form of warfare, and should be entered upon only\nafter the same careful consideration that makes war sometimes a necessity.\nUnder ordinary circumstances and upon general principles, no body of\nworkmen has any more right to suddenly stop work without notice than\nrailway managers have to stop a daily milk train. The end to be secured\nmust be important enough to humanity to overbalance the injury of the\nstrike itself.\n\nSince a strike is an effort to produce a corner in the labor market, it\nwill succeed in the end sought only when conditions for cornering the\nmarket are favorable. Even then the loss to the entire community is\nconsiderable. The injury to property, while directly borne by the\nprofit-makers, is widely distributed. First, all wages stop and\nwage-earners suffer. Second, ability to pay debts ceases and capital\nowners suffer. Third, insurance companies have their risks increased and\nall insurers suffer. Fourth, the market for the products is demoralized\nand all consumers suffer. Fifth, almost always social disorder results,\npolice expenses are greatly increased, and all taxpayers suffer. Sixth, in\nthe end the relation between employers and employed is more strained and\nless free than before, so that all humanity suffers.\n\nThe chances of success, as indicated by the record of many years, are\nsmall, and apparent successes are often temporary. And yet the world\nrecognizes the right of a body of laborers to strike, just as it\nrecognizes the right of revolution to secure the general welfare. Formerly\na combination of workmen in a strike was treated as a conspiracy and\npunished as such. Now the general rule is absolute freedom of combination\nwith rigorous repression of fraud and violence. This enables any body of\nmen to make a serious test of the conditions of a labor market, at the\nrisk, primarily, of their own welfare, but with serious strain upon the\ngeneral good. It leaves room for the possible breaking down of old\ncustoms, which are stronger than law, and it sometimes proves, like a war\nfor liberty, a means of great enlightenment to those who take part in it.\nIt is properly held as the last resort in the struggle for fair\nrecognition of the rights and necessities of wage-earners.\n\nIt is noticeable that the tendency to strikes among the more skilled\nworkmen is diminishing, and that the mass of communities are weighing\ntheir own interests more carefully as they see the general destructiveness\nof the method. At present strikes are expected among laborers of least\nskill, where they are, from usual conditions, least effective. Strikes are\nfrequent among coal miners, where wages are liable to reach the lowest\npossible mark because of the ease of competition from all parts of the\nworld, though the effect of such strikes in bettering the condition of\nminers has scarcely been felt. The fact that destruction of property and\nthe natural waste from strikes is so widely distributed among workmen and\nconsumers retards popular sympathy, and the fact that strikes increase the\nrisk of capital employed, and actually reduce the amount of capital in\nuse, diminishes the chance of increasing wages or comfort in those\nemployments where they are likely to occur. It seems evident that some\nbetter remedy for oppressive conditions of wage-earners must take the\nplace of strikes.\n\n_The boycott._—The boycott is a comparatively recent device for enlarging\nthe field of combat to include not only the employés of an establishment\nbut the consumers of its products. This is especially applicable to those\nindustries the products of which are largely consumed by wage-earners,\nwhose sympathies can be depended upon to carry it out. It asks all\nsympathizers to refuse to purchase products from the employer or firm\nattacked. A great bakery, for instance, can easily be ruined by a boycott,\nif its customers are chiefly wage-earners. It is easily applied in cases\nwhere custom has allowed the use of a label from some organization of\nworkers. It has been attempted with some success against a railroad so\nrelated to other roads as to require the services of sympathizers with its\nstriking employés to carry its freight to final destination. An instance\nof its widest application is in an effort to persuade the people of a city\nto refuse to patronize the street-car system.\n\nThe warlike nature of this method is apparent in the effort to use terror\nas one means of persuasion. In this case it uniformly overreaches itself\nin destroying public sympathy with the strikers. That it has a possible\nplace in the struggle of wage-earners for their rights cannot be disputed,\nsince it corresponds with the nature of a blockade or a siege in other\nwarfare. But its nature as a method of warfare is equally clear, and its\nuse in the interests of humanity belongs, with all war, as a last resort.\n\n_The lockout._—Lockout is a name given to a method employed by managers to\nprevent the continuance of a strike by aid of the sympathy of employés not\ndirectly interested. It often happens that a comparatively small body of\nworkmen in a great factory strike for higher wages, and are sustained in\ntheir strike by the sympathy and support of other workmen in the same\nfactory. Under these conditions the employer is tempted to stop all work\nby a sudden closing of all shops, that the pressure of suffering among a\nlarge body of wage-earners may force the smaller body to accept the old\nconditions. The lockout seldom gains a popular sympathy, for the reason\nthat employers appear to be using this method of warfare from a superior\nposition of power. And yet no one can dispute the general right of\nemployers to control of their business. Such a sudden stopping of business\nwithout an attack by a strike or some similar provocation would be\nconsidered inhuman, and popular sympathy would be wholly with the laborers\nand consumers interested.\n\n_General evils of such conflicts._—The incidental effects of such violent\nopposition between profit-makers and wage-earners are certainly\ndetrimental to all interests. The great multitude of farmers throughout\nthe country depend for welfare upon the body of people using farm\nproducts, and all the waste of power from enforced idleness of\nwage-earners, managers and machinery is shared by farmers through\ndiminished power of the rest of the world as consumers. In only a few\ninstances have strikes affected agriculture directly, partly because the\nrelations of employer and employed are so largely personal; partly because\nthe supply of agricultural laborers for the season is usually large; but\nchiefly because wage-earners upon farms in this country expect eventually\nto become themselves proprietors, and so no separate organization is\nprobable. In some countries, however, where wage-earners in farming\ncommunities are a class by themselves, a strike has been the only method\nby which the barrier of custom and law, built up through many generations,\ncould be broken. The great agricultural strike in England will always be\nremembered as having elevated the standard of labor and living in that\ncountry. It is to the interest of all farmers to cultivate a better\nunderstanding between employers and employed than can be maintained with\nany general expectation of strikes, boycotts, lockouts or similar warlike\nmethods of settling fair wages.\n\n_Trades’ unions._—The organizations known as trades’ unions, in which the\nwage-earners in any particular kind of business unite for self-protection,\nhave had a gradually widening influence upon the relation of managers to\nemployés. Once they were characterized as “machinery by which 10 per cent\nof the working classes combine to rob 90 per cent,” because the advantage\nsecured usually comes out of the consumers of products. But today\nreasonable doubts of the general advantage of a well-managed trades’ union\nhave disappeared. If once they seemed a conspiracy against society in\ngeneral, they are now recognized as a part of the general progress in\nmutual recognition of rights and privileges. It seems right to expect from\nthem still larger usefulness, with a clearer perception of their\nimportance. It is evident that they contribute somewhat to general\nintelligence of their members, and so far as this is true they help toward\ngreater efficiency. At the same time they help to maintain stability of\nemployment and stability of other conditions surrounding labor.\n\nA brief enumeration of ends they may serve directly will help to\nappreciate their importance. First, they can as truly estimate the market\nvalue of wages by gathering statistics from all parts of the country and\nfrom other countries as can any organization in commerce estimate the\nmarket value of produce. Second, they can serve as an employment bureau in\nfurnishing information of places where work is wanted, thus equalizing the\nadvantages as well as the burdens of their associates. Third, they can\nmake more uniform and more satisfactory the customs in regard to the\nlength of a day’s work or privileges of any kind associated with the work\nas perquisites. Fourth, they can, if they will, find the true gradation of\nskill and of wages among workmen, so as to establish a natural line of\nadvancement. Fifth, they rightly do, and can still further, serve for\nmutual support in cases of illness, and for protection of a community\nagainst fraud in pleas of poverty. Sixth, they may easily and properly, if\nthey will, provide for insurance of character, both as men and as workmen,\nby issuing certificates, and under proper provision giving bonds, such as\nare required in many positions of trust. Seventh, they may extend their\noperations even to the taking of jobs that require a variety of work\ncontinuing through a period of time. Eighth, they can, under most\nfavorable circumstances, undertake various stock enterprises, especially\ncoöperative stores, thus securing an incentive to saving, and diminishing\nthe spirit of antagonism against the profit-makers. Finally, though they\nhave the best possible organization for a successful strike, if necessary,\nthey can subordinate this disposition toward warfare to a broader\nmachinery for fair consideration of all interests and for individual\narbitration of rights.\n\nSuch organizations, under good management, win the respect of all, and\nfind a recognition of their methods satisfactory. Farmers’ clubs and\ngranges, though far from reaching ideal efficiency, furnish suggestions of\nthe general utility. Unfortunately, these organizations, having little if\nany basis of capital, have seldom been incorporated under the laws of the\nstate. Could the powers and purposes of such organizations be established\nupon a basis of statute law, the range of their usefulness might be\ngreatly increased. They might even sustain a method for enforcing in the\ncourts the collection of wages, where the single wage-earner often accepts\nthe half loaf in a compromise rather than meet the expense and loss of\ntime involved in a law suit. Certainly the establishment of legal\nrelations between the trades’ union and the state would give to it a\ncharacter and stability most likely to promote all interests.\n\n_Federations of labor._—The so-called federations of labor, in which\npractically the only bond of union between individuals is the fact that\nall are wage-earners, have so far worked out but a small part of the\nproblem involved in their existence. They have the advantage of uniting\nlarge numbers and a variety of interests; but they have the disadvantage\nof subordinating all other interests to the supposed conflict between\nemployers and employed. Their tendency is almost certain toward lowering\nstandards of efficiency, and attempting by class legislation to get the\nadvantage of mere numbers.\n\nIt is almost impossible that the organization shall be kept out of the\nfield of bargains in politics and contrivance for special legislation,\ndemoralizing to the whole country. Too often the votes of members are made\na bribe for securing certain favors. In the nature of the case, they\nsustain a body of officers whose chief business is in danger of becoming\nthat of either political agitators or political bosses. The machinery of\norganization is liable to reduce the independence of individuals. The\norganization itself is liable to demand a personal subordination almost\nequivalent to military rule, and the badge of the society may mark a man\nas under direction of authority. Even in questions where the majority\nrule, the force of the federation requires the caucus principle of\nabsolute adherence, even though the majority represents the weakest and\nleast intelligent part of the organization. The demoralizing effect of\nsuch methods, including wholesale trading of opinions, is liable to debase\ncitizenship, and so to diminish the individual self-respect, which is the\nhighest possible protection for laborers.\n\n_Courts of arbitration._—Arbitration between employers and employed, in\ncases of serious misunderstanding, has long been advocated as a wise means\nof settling differences. The obstacles to its general, voluntary adoption\nare considerable. Employers object because it involves the admission of an\noutsider as a judge of their business methods. The employés object because\nthey fear the sympathy of arbitrators with the superior intelligence,\nwealth and power of employers. Yet there seems no good reason why a\nrepresentative body of men, chosen for character and ability, should not\nbe appealed to by both parties in a contest which has already broken up\nthe natural relations of business. As has been shown, the whole community\nsuffers in every interruption of production and trade, and so far the\ncommunity has the right, and should have the legal privilege, of insisting\nupon the fairest and quickest means of settling the controversy. In far\nless important difficulties between individuals, society insists that\neither individual shall have the right to bring the other into court.\n\nSociety is waiting only to settle the best form of a court of arbitration\nfor labor difficulties. The trend of popular judgment is in favor of a\nwell-organized commission, having the dignity if not the authority of a\nsupreme court. That such commissions have not generally come up to the\nideal is due largely to political influence among leaders of\norganizations, so that the commissioners become the choice of a faction\nrather than of the people. It is conceivable that the functions of judges\nin a series of state courts may be so enlarged under carefully framed laws\nas to include the duty of arbitration in labor contests.\n\nIf the people are not yet ready for compulsory settlement of such\nquestions, the time is surely coming, under the enormous aggregation of\nindustries and the immense combination of employés, when the judgment of\nthe people expressed in due form of law will control both employer and\nemployé. The whole world is recognizing methods of arbitration as better\nthan warfare. It will soon insist that these minor wars within the\ncommonwealth shall cease.\n\n_Profit-sharing._—Some general system of preventing antipathy between\nprofit-makers and wage-earners seems desirable. Certain interests are\nknown to be mutual, and both employers and employed welcome any system by\nwhich those mutual interests can further the success of the business.\nAmong the methods proposed, and sometimes successfully employed, the most\nprominent is profit-sharing. This implies on the part of employers after\npayment of current wages a distribution, at stated times, far enough apart\nto secure a fair average in the profit and loss account, of some portion\nof net profits among all the wage-earners. The per cent of net profits to\nbe thus distributed is matter of agreement, and the basis of distribution\nis naturally the scale of wages accepted by the employés in their contract\nfor employment. The particular methods of applying these principles vary\nwith circumstances, but in all cases depend upon the actual confidence of\nemployés in their employers. The effects seem to be good, bad or\nindifferent, in proportion to the general intelligence and stability of\nthe employés. With really skilled workmen, established in homes and\nfeeling responsibility as citizens, profit-sharing stimulates to the\nhighest energy. With weak and irresponsible wage-earners it is likely to\nbring waste and sometimes false notions in regard to wealth production.\n\nThe weakness of the whole system is the lack of provision for fairly\nsharing burdens in the constantly recurring periods of loss. If the\nemployé’s share of the profits is consumed upon comfort or luxury, he is\neven less prepared than without such profits to meet the loss of not only\nprofits, but his wages, in times of depression. If these additional\nearnings shared as profits become an insurance to the wage-earner, a sort\nof reserve for sustenance and safety in the necessary times of weakness in\nany industry, they stimulate the best characteristics of saving and\ncharacter-building, and cultivate a disposition to meet all emergencies in\npatience. It is quite customary, therefore, in any system of\nprofit-sharing to provide also an investment for the employés in a reserve\nfund, from which the necessities of the business and the needs of the\nwhole community of workers may be met. Such a method, if wisely managed,\nmakes the interests of the employés coincide with those of the employer.\nIf added to this there is ample opportunity for suggestions as to\nenlargement and improvement of the business in all minutiæ, the best\nabilities of the workmen are called out and the heartiest sympathy is\npossible. There still remains against such a system the objections, that\nlosses are not shared as truly as profits, and that employés are liable to\nrequire too intimate an acquaintance with the condition of their\nemployer’s business to foster the success of the enterprise. Its\nsuccessful application is so far confined to lines of business easily\ncomprehended and direct in their methods.\n\n_Sliding scales of wages._—Another device for connecting directly with the\nfluctuations of business any compensation of wage-earners is called the\nsliding scale of wages. This is an attempt to make each sharer in\nproduction depend directly upon the price of products in the market for\nrate of wages. The wages of different workers are adjusted to each other\nby contract upon some ratio established by experience, and then the wages\nof each are made to vary from month to month with the average price of the\nfinished product in the general market. This subjects all parties directly\nto the fluctuations of the business in both profit and loss. Its success\nis dependent upon the confidence placed by employés in the fairness of the\nadjustment. It stimulates to highest productiveness when prices are high,\nand checks production slightly when prices are low. But it provides no\ndirect method for readjusting business under the pressure of great changes\nin methods of management, nor does it save from strong antipathy against\nthe improvement of a business by labor-saving machinery. Its successful\nemployment depends in general upon the character and efficiency of\nemployers and the general intelligence and enterprise of employés.\n\n_Coöperative industry._—Coöperative industries are sometimes advocated as\na complete solution of labor difficulties. The system implies a union of\nindependent workmen, all of whom shall be sharers in the capital employed\nas well as in the labor involved, including management. The management of\nthe enterprise is entrusted to chosen members of the coöperative force,\nand wages or salaries are fixed according to abilities employed,\nessentially upon the scale of current wages outside the coöperative\nenterprise. All profits are then shared among all members of the\nassociation in proportion to their wages. But an investment of such\nprofits in the growth of the business is an essential part of the plan.\n\nThis method satisfies the ideal of equity in division of wealth produced,\nprovided the basis of adjustment between classes of wage-earners is\naccepted as fair. The principal difficulty in this respect arises in\nreference to the salary of managers and overseers. Such salaries are less\nclearly defined in the labor market, being usually complicated with\nprofit-making, and are liable to be considered out of all proportion with\nthe wages of other workers. If underestimated, the marked abilities\nrequired in management are likely to be withdrawn from the enterprise for\nindependent management in profit-making.\n\nThe chief difficulties, however, with coöperative production grow from the\nwant of confidence of the multitude of shareholders in their managers. Few\nkinds of business can be carried on successfully under a body of absolute\nrules, and fewer still will bear the delays and hesitation required for a\ngeneral consultation of many authorities. The comparatively few instances\nof genuine success in coöperative production are due, in the first place,\nto the comparative simplicity of the undertaking; and, in the second\nplace, to the genius of some organizer, who has been willing to contribute\nhis superior abilities for the sake of the enterprise itself rather than\nthe compensation.\n\nA few principles may be fairly drawn from the general experience. First,\nall shareholders must be actual workers, in some way responsible for a\npart of the production. Second, the influence of each shareholder must in\nsome way be held in direct ratio to his share in the production. Third,\nthe system of accounts must be such as all can fairly understand. Fourth,\nthe management must be entrusted to a chosen few, whose interests are\nchiefly in the business itself, whose character secures the confidence of\nall, and whose administrative ability is not too much hampered by rules.\n\nThe opportunity for coöperative industry is nowhere greater than in a\ncommunity of farmers. Butter and cheese factories, cold storage plants and\nmilk stations invite the coöperation of interested farmers upon the\nsimplest possible basis of agreement. The multiplication of such\nenterprises is desirable, and the farmers of every community may\nprofitably study the conditions of success. The greatest obstacle\nheretofore, has been the want of competent management, and the distrust\naroused and maintained by the inefficiency and fraud of managers. It is\npossible, too, that farmers generally do not recognize the actual\nimportance of executive abilities, and are unwilling to pay the salary\nactually earned by a thoroughly competent man.\n\n_Legal restrictions as to labor._—It is natural for those who suffer in\nthe struggle for better wages to seek the support of law in restrictions\nupon contracts as to wages, hours of employment and conditions of comfort.\nThe principle that governments must protect the weak against the strong in\nany community is a thoroughly established one. Yet its applications are\nsubject to continual readjustment. Multitudes of experiments have been\ntried, affecting the whole range of inequalities in wages and perquisites.\nIn many instances, wages have been fixed by law, and that for long periods\nof time, but without relieving in any respect the actual force of\ncompetition among wage-earners themselves. Indeed, the tendency of very\nexplicit enactments is to weaken the individual ability of wage-earners by\ndestroying ambition. Wages fixed by law are necessarily as low as the\naverage would be in a free competition; otherwise production is hindered\nand capital is diminished. With this low average any worker of more than\naverage ability gains nothing by exerting his ability, but does gain ease\nby neglect. Thus enforced uniformity reduces the energy of the producing\nforces and practically closes the doors of advancement from wage-earning\nto profit-making.\n\nA similar effect is found in efforts to regulate the hours of labor by\nlaw, except where the law simply defines the meaning of a day’s work or\nemphasizes the importance of public health and vitality rather than\nequality in distribution. Humanity has done much in reducing hours of\ntoil, and may yet do more; but it will be for humanity’s welfare in larger\nconsiderations than are measured by money. The eight-hour question, so\nconstantly agitated in certain callings, concerns the entire people just\nso far,—and no farther,—as the general health and energy of the community\ndepend upon it. Farming communities stand aloof from its application; and\nyet there is no question that the farmer’s home might be even better than\nit is for developing physical and mental vigor, if hours of toil were more\ncarefully restricted to meet the conditions of healthful growth and\nactivity.\n\nOther conditions, affecting the employment of children and women, are\nproper subjects of restriction by law; for these also involve the\nconsideration of general welfare in the elevation of the physical, mental\nand moral characteristics of the race. Upon the same plane must be put all\nlegal restrictions upon methods and machinery, reducing the dangers from\naccident and promoting the comfort of employés. All restrictions serve\ntheir purpose only so long as they are appreciated as having their reason\nfor existence in general welfare. The rights of an employer, under\ncontract with his employé, like the rights of a parent in control of his\nchild, are subject to the law of good will; and the world will yet find a\nway to make its restrictions felt wherever recklessness or carelessness or\ngreed destroys good will.\n\n_Nationalization of industry._—A somewhat popular suggestion in solution\nof labor difficulties is the so-called nationalization of industry. This,\nin general terms, is a proposition to equalize compensation and avoid\nfluctuation in both wages and employment by public control of all\nindustries under official management. While this involves some principles\nof socialism, more properly discussed in connection with consumption of\nwealth, its relations to productive industry may be briefly presented\nhere. The plans proposed are as yet expressed only in most general terms.\nEven the method of bringing about such a revolution of thought, feeling\nand action has not been devised. Still less ready is anyone to point out\nthe details of a plan for the actual production. The nearest associated\nideas are found in governmental services through a post office department\nor the management of a system of transportation. Most advocates of the\nmethod overlook the fact that in such government administration of partial\nindustries the law of competition is still operative between these\nenterprises and the universal industry of the people.\n\nThe difficulties in governmental management under present conditions are\nanything but small, especially under popular rule, where the dominion of\nparty and the influence of position are all-powerful. Under monarchial\nrule the organization of such industries becomes like that of an army, in\nwhich arbitrary power predominates. It seems easy to see that any effort\nto solve the problems of labor employment by national control involves\nfinally the arbitrary decision of power, in adjustment of both duties and\ncompensation. The management by officials, however those officials are\nappointed, is not necessarily wiser, more efficient or more benevolent\nthan the management by interested men, whose life is in natural contact,\nthrough business relations, with employés. Those who have had experience\nwith official control under popular government are not likely to expect a\nreadjustment of all interests from the standpoint of politicians to be\nmarked by either universal good will or universal common sense. It is\nreasonable to suppose that wherever general welfare in actual use of\nwealth can be best promoted by public control, such control will come\nthrough the free exercise of individual judgment with reference to the\nwork in hand. While there ought to be no objection on the part of any to a\ngovernment enterprise which can be shown to serve in that way the greatest\ngood of all, nobody ought to assume that the nationalization of industries\nis for the greatest good. Each great undertaking will require its own\nproof, not only of the welfare to be expected, but of the practical means\nby which that end can be secured.\n\n_The spirit of equity chief._—The trend of experience goes to show that\ntrue economic interests, not only of the community but of individuals, are\nin accord with general principles of welfare. It seems certain that\ncommunities paying the highest wages are those which gain the highest\nreturn for labor in product, and maintain the highest general rates of\nprofit. In general, also, those enterprises which are controlled with most\ncare for equity in wages and for the general welfare of employés are most\nstable under fluctuations of business and most genuinely successful. While\nwealth may be accumulated unjustly in the hands of those who oppress their\nneighbors, there can be no doubt that in long periods of time the best\nadjustment of all interests gives not only the truest welfare but the\nlargest wealth and the best use of it. The spirit of equity must\neventually control both managers and wage-earners, and no other\ndisposition can furnish a final solution of the problems of distribution\nbetween employers and employed. If employers are greedy, the wrong will\nnot be righted by an equal display of greed on the part of wage-earners.\nThe spirit of true philanthropy is the only proper spirit for discussion\nof these questions.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XX. Proceeds Of Capital: Interest And Rent.\n\n\n_Practical distinctions._—The terms interest and rent are distinguished in\nactual practice by the fact that interest is paid for the use of capital\nin some circulating form, while rent is paid for the use of fixed capital.\nOne who borrows anything, expecting to return not the thing itself but its\nequivalent in value, is said to borrow upon interest. One who borrows the\nsame thing, expecting to return the identical thing, is said to pay rent\nfor its use. Thus interest is paid for control of circulating capital\nuntil an equivalent is returned, and rent is paid for control of fixed\ncapital until the same articles are returned in prime condition. A farmer\nwho borrows a mowing machine from the warehouse, giving his note for its\nvalue, pays, when he returns that value at the end of the year, interest\nupon his note. If he borrows the same machine from his neighbor under\ncontract to return the machine in good condition at the end of the season,\nhe pays rent for its use. The young man who borrows his neighbor’s farm,\nexpecting at the end of five years to make that farm his own, gives a\nmortgage note, promising at the end of five years to return an equivalent\nvalue for the farm, with annual interest. If, on the contrary, he expects\nto return the farm itself at the end of five years, without reduction in\nvalue, he makes a lease, embodying this agreement, with annual rent for\nuse of the farm.\n\nBoth interest and rent are liable to involve the element of risk as to the\nproper return of the valuable thing promised, and to that extent they\npartake of the nature of profits. The true interest and rent are\nindependent of the possible risk, and have to do simply with the advantage\nnaturally accruing to the possessor of wealth from its use as capital, and\nforming one of the chief reasons for accumulating wealth at all.\n\nIn technical discussion the term rent is usually confined to the\ncompensation secured from appropriation of space, peculiar location,\nnatural fertility, mineral deposits, water privileges, or any natural\nadvantage to be used in production. In this limited meaning rent is\nconfined to the advantage gained by the owner of wealth in any form so\naffected by the law of supply and demand as to gain a scarcity value. The\nterm unearned increment,—meaning an increase of value without cost of\nexertion,—has been largely applied to such cases, and illustrations are\ntaken chiefly from the ownership of land and similar natural forces. The\nsame unearned increment, however, accrues to the possessor of any article\nof value or any personal attainment, which through increasing wants of the\ncommunity becomes, on that account alone, more valuable in market. Thus a\nbin full of wheat, saved from a year of plenty to a year of scarcity, has\ngained a value abnormal,—that is, from the fact of its scarcity. Yet no\none would think of applying the term rent in such a ease, because the\nforesight which stored the grain gains its compensation in profits. If the\nsame kind of foresight has plotted a city upon wild lands, and held a\nportion of those plotted lots until a crowded population competes for\ntheir use, such wealth is said to be gained upon the principle of rent.\nThe difference seems to be chiefly in the greater permanence and the\ngradual advancement of the profits secured.\n\nThe every-day operations of a farming community illustrate both interest\nand rent in all their complications and definitions. Every farmer, in\nestimating the cost of his wheat crop, may properly calculate both the\ninterest on his capital invested in tools, teams, machinery and wages, and\nthe rent of his land, keeping distinct accounts of interest and rent; or\nhe may combine in one account as interest the use of capital in machinery\nand land. If he owns the whole establishment, he is likely to combine both\ninterest and rent with the return for his foresight and energy in managing\nthe farm under the name profits. All these returns, however, come for\ndifferent reasons, though under the same general principle of values\nexpressed in the law of supply and demand. The farmer working a rented\nfarm and the one working a mortgaged farm are alike paying both rent and\ninterest, since every farm involves both the wealth accumulated by\nexertion and the wealth advanced by increasing population. While the owner\nof the mortgaged farm apparently pays interest, if at the end of the term\nof the mortgage the farm is returned to its former owner by foreclosure,\nthe result is that the mortgagee, while nominally owner of the land, has\nsimply been a renter. In a fair settlement of equities he will have paid\nfor the use of the land he has cultivated. Interest and rent are thus seen\nto be terms separated rather by peculiarities of application than by\ndifference of principle. It is proper, however, to treat them separately\nfor the sake of more perfect understanding of the conditions applicable to\neach.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXI. Principles Of Interest.\n\n\n_Reasons for interest._—The propriety of interest under any circumstances\nhas often been questioned, and its rightfulness is still bitterly\ndisputed. Both church and state have at times denounced the receiving of\ninterest as criminal. Yet in actual practice of commercial life throughout\nthe world interest has been sustained in all ages. The Jewish law\nprohibited interest between neighbors, where the reason for borrowing was\nassumed to be poverty, but authorized it in dealings with foreigners,\nwhere the transaction was assumed to be in trade. The principle upon which\ninterest in all productive industry is actually founded is that capital,\ngained by exertion and saved by self-control, secures to its present\npossessor such advantages of time and choice of use for his abilities as\ncan be given by nothing else. In the study of production we have seen that\ntime-saving is an important result of capital in its various forms. A\ncarpenter’s kit of tools represents a value in use equal at least to the\ntime he might consume in making them. He can afford to keep them for\nanother’s use only while they bring to him the advantage of that\ntime-saving. His neighbor is willing to secure him in that advantage by\npaying him for the use of the tools all, or nearly all, that he gains by\nusing tools over what he would have without them. The borrower will still\nbe the gainer by opportunity to do work not possible without the tools.\nThe bargain between borrower and lender, like any bargain, is a fair one\nonly when both are benefited. The limits of fairness in the deal are\nnaturally reached when a clear understanding of all conditions is had in\nopen market. Neither borrower nor lender can take advantage of the other\nwithout fraud. Neither is under obligation to give to the other without an\nequivalent. The whole question rests upon service rendered, as truly as in\nany other bargain.\n\nA large proportion of the opposition to interest arises from a\nmisconception of the phrase, “borrowed money.” The fact is that borrowing\nand lending have to do chiefly with other forms of wealth. Most notes are\ngiven for the transfer of all sorts of property under a promise to return\nequal value in the future. Money may not enter into the transaction at\nall, except as the standard of value is in terms of money. Even when money\nis exchanged for a note, the borrower hastens to part with the money for\nthe tools or provisions which make him a profitable producer. In payment\nof his note he offers money again, simply because it commands every\ndesirable form of value for the owner of the wealth. If a farmer wants a\nwagon without the present means to buy, he offers the dealer his promise\nto pay after six months, when the corn crop just planted shall have\nmatured. If the dealer cannot afford to hold the note because he needs the\ncapital in his business, that others may be supplied with wagons, either\nthe farmer or the dealer carries the note to some one who _can_ afford to\nwait for returns, which may be either a banker, whose business provides\njust such accommodation, or a neighboring farmer who has just sold his\nwool. In either case, the first farmer borrows what he wants in carrying\non his business, and at the end of six months, through a similar\ntransaction of finding some one ready to take his product, pays his note\nwith corn. (See p. 164.)\n\nInterest is never confined to money transactions, nor even to those in\nwhich terms of money are used. All owners of productive wealth gain\ninterest in its use as truly as in lending it. The farmer is not a\nmoney-lender in general, because his wealth will bring him larger profit\nby its use as stock or machinery. Even when he borrows from his neighbors,\nit is possible that he secures a larger interest, though he calls it\nprofit, than he pays the lender. Interest is often paid in kind. The\nlaughable story of borrowing a hen from one neighbor and a sitting of eggs\nfrom another, to be returned after a time with advantage, is actually\nparalleled by some transactions. A friend of mine having a magnificent\npasture agreed with his neighbor, who owned a fine flock of ewes, to\npasture that flock for three years, returning at the end of that time just\ntwice the number of sheep received. He explained to me that he had made a\ngreat bargain, since the wool would pay for the use of the pasture, and he\nshould have at the end of the three years a flock about equal to the flock\nhe returned. This bargain involved interest at the rate of 33-⅓ per cent,\nwithout any terms of money, and an indefinite profit to the owner of the\npasture in addition to an average price for such use. This profit is his\nreturn for the risk undertaken; since he promised to double the flock\nunder any circumstances, and if foot-rot or scab had ruined the flock\nunder his management, he would still have the same obligation toward the\nowner.\n\nSuch bargains will always be made so long as both parties are benefited,\nfor no possible construction of laws and no diatribes of fanatics can\nprevent them. Any calculation as to the enormous growth of wealth by\ninterest is more than balanced by a similar calculation of the\nmultiplication of wealth by production. If Abraham’s shekels at compound\ninterest make an impossible sum of money, Abraham’s flock of sheep with\nthe ordinary rate of increase makes an equally impossible worldful.\n\n_Varying rates of interest._—Interest rates are subject to fluctuation and\nvariations under the natural relations of borrowers and lenders very much\nas are prices of commodities. Variations, in comparison of different\nregions, are due to several causes. In any community where enterprise is\ngreat and industrial forces are unusually productive, the interest rates\nare high as compared with another community with few competitors in\nindustrial enterprise and less productive forces. Thus in countries having\nnew land producing large crops with moderate exertion and an increasing\npopulation ready to put in such crops, the return for the use of capital\nin provisions, stock and machinery is great, and the lender gets high\nrates of interest. If, added to this apparent productiveness, there are\nrisks of failure from droughts, storms and injurious insects, the bargain\nis more favorable to the lender in expressed terms, though it may be less\nfavorable in actual results. Thus risk enters practically into\ncalculations of interest, whatever the circumstances.\n\nInterest varies in the same region with a variation of energy and\nproductive enterprise or of the speculative spirit undertaking great\nimprovements, and on the other hand with any change of circumstances\naffecting universal credit. Distrust on the part of anybody reduces the\nreadiness with which borrowers find lenders. In times of widespread lack\nof confidence, when all credit becomes debt, the borrower is likely to\noffer unusual rates of interest. And the few who are willing to lend at\nall expect enormous profits in such interest.\n\nSimilar variations in rates of interest are found between different\nclasses of borrowers, due to the variation of risk. Thus promises to pay\non demand, with personal security of two good paymasters, will usually be\naccepted at very low rates of interest, since the owner of wealth so\nloaned feels sure of having the wealth when he wants it. Government loans\nin times of peace and prosperity being essentially without risk, approach\nvery near the same low rate of interest, since the owner of these\nsecurities believes himself at any time able to command the use of his\nwealth for any purpose by a transfer of these securities. If for any\nreason, official or legislative, public confidence is disturbed, rates of\ninterest on such securities rise proportionally through the sale at a\ndiscount. Even a law prohibiting such sale would have exactly the contrary\neffect to that intended, because of creating additional distrust. Loans\nupon time, if secured by productive landed estate not subject to unusual\nrisks, can usually be made at moderate rates, and form a fair basis for\njudging the normal interest in any region. Loans secured by chattel\nmortgage bring higher rates, because the chattels involved are a less\ncertain means of payment than landed estate. Loans secured upon\nunproductive lands, whether in prospective farms or city lots, are made at\nhigh rates, not only because these lands fail to furnish in themselves the\nmeans of interest payment, but because they represent the speculative\nenergy of their owners with unmeasured risk. All these variations and\nfluctuations are found in every community, and grow out of the natural\nwants of borrowers and the natural feelings of lenders. Custom may have\nsomething to do with rates in special cases, as it has to do with wages\nand retail prices, but in the range of frequent dealing between borrowers\nand lenders rates follow the higgling of the market as truly as prices of\ncommodities.\n\n_Usury laws._—It has been the custom for ages to distinguish between\ninterest and usury, interest being supposed to be a fair payment for use\nof borrowed wealth and usury a larger payment in the distress of a\nborrower. Usury once meant only use, the equivalent of interest, but since\nit was once prohibited by law in England, the name is now attached to what\nis still prohibited by law, an interest above a definite rate prescribed\nby statute. The object of such legal restrictions is evidently protection\nof the borrower against extortion. Yet it is practically proved by\nexperience of the world that such restrictions operate against the\nborrower by limiting lenders in open market and sometimes closing the\nmarket entirely. The would-be borrower, under adverse conditions in the\nmarket, is obliged to find in some byway a lender whose scruples against\ninfringement upon the law may be overcome by extra payment. Under such\ncircumstances there is no market rate, and borrowers bind themselves in\nnumerous ways to special payments not in direct conflict with the letter\nof the law. Evasions of restrictions under such circumstances are\ninevitable. A farmer buys a hundred-dollar horse, giving a note, payable\nin one year without interest, for $120; or he sells his note to a neighbor\nat what he will give; or he goes to a broker and pays him a commission for\nsecuring a loan at the legal rate of interest. Even at a bank, prohibited\nby law from taking more than the legal discount on the pain of losing its\ncharter, a borrower may give his note for $500, tacitly agreeing to leave\non deposit a fifth of the sum, thus paying interest on $500 for the use of\n$400.\n\nAll these forms of evasion are easily adopted with very little possibility\nof conviction, even when usury is charged. Even in the most flagrant\nviolation of laws the chances of conviction are greatly restricted by the\nfact that a prosecuting witness, who, after making a contract in violation\nof law, takes advantage of that law to violate his contract, destroys all\ncredit for himself, and so comes under the ban of society. The best\nmethods of public restriction against extortion of any kind in interest,\nin rent or in prices of commodities are those that provide for publicity\nof contracts. Where no legal restrictions upon rates of interest are\nfixed, current rates are much more likely to be public and widely\nadvertised, and extortion is less possible than where the law encourages\nsecret contracts by the need of evasion. It is quite possible that society\nwill find a way of securing against the extortion of pawn-shops and secret\nbrokerage by a public organization competing honestly for the same\npatronage. Such companies have been organized in a few cities with success\nin meeting the wants of the distressed, under such restrictions of charter\nand management as insure fair dealing. It seems as possible to regulate\nsuch matters by license and inspection as it is to control the hack-men of\na whole city.\n\n_Loan associations._—It is proper in this connection to refer to loan\nassociations, the growth of recent years. The purpose of such associations\nis direct coöperation in borrowing and lending among neighbors similarly\nsituated as to property. They are especially adapted to assist\nwage-earners in securing comfortable homes, for which they can pay\ngradually from their earnings. The system, however, has been widely\nextended, to the advantage of different classes of property owners, even\nto the establishment of coöperative banks among farmers. The essentials to\nsuccess and safety in such associations are, first, that they shall be\nstrictly local, confined to territory within which mutual acquaintance can\ngive a fair basis for genuine credit; second, the objects sought by\nindividual borrowers must be fairly equal in risk as well as in ends to be\nserved; third, the management must be thoroughly trustworthy, with a\ngenuine interest of all shareholders in the selection of officers; fourth,\nall shareholders should have similar relations to the association as both\nborrowers and lenders, and each shareholder’s responsibility should cease\nat the final settlement of his obligation; fifth, provision should be made\nfor frequent auditing of accounts, official reports and inspection.\n\n_Uses of interest._—In closing the subject of interest, it is well to\nrecall the fact that interest exists in the very nature of productive\nenergies, and that ability to transfer the use of property in any form of\ncapital without transferring the interest is most useful to society. It\nsustains the aged, who must otherwise be wholly dependent, and the\nchildhood of the race in all development of body, mind and soul. Interest\nsustains the mass of educational and charitable institutions, as well as\nthe individual life of multitudes whose present earnings could not keep\nbody and soul together. Moreover, the possibility of paying interest\nsecures to the enterprising young men of the world the opportunity to make\ntheir highest energies productive. Thus the matter of interest pervades\nthe thrift of society as well as the sustenance, and cultivates everywhere\nthat present economy which provides for the rainy day. The fact that\nnearly one-fifteenth of the population of the United States are depositors\nin savings banks alone proves the extent and importance of interest to the\ngeneral welfare. With added facilities for depositing small savings in\npostal savings banks, the advantage would be still more widely felt, and\nthe general economy in the use of both earnings and capital would be\npromoted. All this extension of interest-bearing increases the tendency\neverywhere noticed to a diminution of current rates. With a multiplication\nof capital in any community, the rates of wages increase, while the rates\nof interest diminish. Both tendencies are natural effects of the same\ncause.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXII. Principles Of Land Rent.\n\n\n_Rent values of land._—The general character of rent, as connected with\nthe use of fixed capital and so associated with interest, has already been\ntouched upon. In that sense it depends upon the fact that possession of\nwealth is universally an advantage in production of future wealth and is\nsubject to all the peculiarities affecting interest. But land rent, as\nrepresented in the value of farms, city lots, mineral claims, fisheries,\nwater privileges, wharves, etc., has peculiarities of its own. Its\nconnection directly with rural wealth in the value of farm lands makes it\nof special importance in this discussion. While rent, as such, is\ncomparatively unimportant to farming interests in the United States, where\nmost of the land is worked by its owners, the principle is involved as\nfully in the transfer value of farms as it is in countries where land is\nalmost universally rented for farm purposes, like England and Ireland. It\nis simply necessary to remember that the rent question in such a country\nas England, where land is seldom transferred from owner to owner (but all\nvalues are expressed in the terms of annual rental), is quite different in\nform from the question in our country, where transfer of landed property\nis free and common, and the rental is regulated largely by current rates\nof interest upon land values. In England, too, the rent question involves\nlong standing relations between the people and landed proprietors who, for\ngeneration after generation, have been rulers of the people as well as\nlandlords, and are still the natural magistrates over the renters upon\ntheir estates. Yet the principal occasion for rents in such countries is\nexactly the same as that for varying values of land in the United States.\nPeculiar intricacies of methods of rent-paying and of terms in leases,\nvarying with the customs of different countries, have little importance in\nthe United States, except for comparisons.\n\nThe United States afford superior advantages for the study of land values\nfairly independent of restrictive laws or customs. The rapid settlement of\nwild lands by farmers and the rapid building of cities under free\ncompetition give the fairest illustration of tendencies in land values to\nbe found in the world. The fact that the government for the past fifty\nyears has encouraged the settlement of new land at the bare cost of\nestablishing ownership makes the problem almost as simple as if the\ngovernment had no voice in the distribution.\n\nIt may be proper to recall the conditions under which any individual has\nbeen able to secure the absolute control of land as a proprietor: First,\nby preëmption, involving temporary residence until the land is purchased\nand patented, at the nominal price of $1.25 an acre, or $2.50 within ten\nmiles of such railroads as may have been subsidized by a gift of one-half\nthe land within the same limits. Second, by homestead preëmption, by which\nany head of a family, present or prospective, can secure 160 acres of land\nby payment of certain registration fees, amounting in all to less than $20\nupon the average, and making his residence upon the land for a period of\nfive years. The issue of a patent at the end of the five years establishes\nownership. The soldier’s homestead, offered to those who had served as\nvolunteers in the army of the nation, varied from this only in a reduced\nterm of residence. Third, homesteaders, as well as others, could secure\nadditional lands under a provision for tree culture on the treeless\nprairies, the requirement being the planting of a few acres of trees and\nthe maintenance of culture on those acres for a period of eight years.\nEven the establishment of trees in permanent growth was not a requisite.\nFourth, by certain outlay for irrigation purposes in arid lands a tract of\n640 acres could be secured. In addition to these, certain land grants to\nthe several states led to the issue of scrip, entitling the possessor to\nlocate on government lands upon payment of only fees of registration.\nCertain states, within whose borders public lands did not exist, being\nunable to hold lands in other states or territories, sold scrip at less\nthan half the price asked by the government for lands.\n\nAll these methods operated not only as a stimulant to the settlement of\nnew territory, but as a check upon rising values of land in the older\ncommunities. Nevertheless, this rapid development has given the best of\nopportunities for watching the tendencies of land values.\n\n_Propriety of land rent._—The right of property in land, like every other\nproperty right, rests upon its advantage in the welfare of communities.\nAmong savage tribes individual control of plots of ground would interfere\nwith welfare, as hindering the only use to which the land is put in\nhunting. Among people living by herding no nice dividing lines are needed,\nthough strife between herdsmen, since the days of Abraham and Lot, results\nfrom the mingling of herds upon the same feeding grounds. With the actual\ntillage of soil, control of the space tilled becomes absolutely necessary,\nand more necessary with every improvement in agriculture which takes the\nnature of permanent improvement upon the soil. No agriculture beyond the\nmerest skinning of the surface has ever existed without permanent\noccupation. Even where the land is distinctly owned, but used under\ntemporary leases, few permanent improvements in agriculture are possible.\n\nThe necessary permanence of control over the products of toil makes an\nessentially permanent control of land necessary to the common welfare. For\nthis reason the progress of civilization everywhere demands more distinct\nboundaries of landed property, and this in the interest of the whole\ncommunity, which shares in the progress. The more intensive and far-seeing\nthe methods of farming become, the greater the necessity for fixed\nboundaries. This necessity is recognized in all provisions for exact\nsurveys, complete records of transfers in ownership; and finally for\ngovernment guaranty of title. Such ownership underlies all prudential\nconsumption of wealth for future returns. The loss to communities from\nwant of it is seen in the waste of game in unappropriated countries and\nthe destruction of the seals in the seal fisheries. Yet this ownership is\nstill subject under all circumstances to the law of welfare for the entire\ncommunity. The community’s right of eminent domain has always been\nrecognized in the need of public highways and other public improvements,\nand is likely to be still further recognized with any new necessity, like\nthe control of injurious insects or quarantine against disease. Yet none\nof these restrictions diminish the necessity of ownership, in the sense of\nindividual control for all purposes of agriculture, manufactures, commerce\nand social relations. This individual control is intimately connected with\nour ideas of rent, and would be still, though all the lands were managed\nunder one proprietorship, and that a public one. Rent would accrue and be\npaid, though the whole people held title to the land.\n\n_The sources of land values._—The value of land, like every other value,\nis the result of comparisons. Whatever advantage is given to a producer by\nhis possession of land is likely to form his estimate of its value. In the\ncomparison of two farms of equal dimensions every difference in fertility,\nlocation as to drainage, exposure, or convenience to market or social\nadvantages, adaptability to improved methods in agriculture and\nconvenience of arrangement, will enter into the estimate of worth. If one\nof the farms can be had for the asking, the other will be worth just what\nits advantages will add to the power of the owner in the production of\nwealth, provided both are considered alike as simply machines for\nproducing food. Usually, however, economy in the consumption of wealth is\nconsidered also. In a new country lands most easily accessible and readily\ntillable are chosen first. With added demand for food, less accessible or\nless easily tillable lands are occupied. At once the more accessible have\na value equal to the greater ease with which the same product can be\noffered in market. If the difference were only a mile of hauling all\nproduce and all commodities for which produce is exchanged, that cost of\ntransportation would make the value of the nearest land. If the difference\nis simply in yield for a given amount of labor, the land which yields\nthirty bushels of wheat to the acre, when land which yields twenty bushels\ncan be had for the taking, will be worth ten bushels of wheat a year, and\nits value will be estimated in dollars at a sum which securely at interest\nwill bring a similar return. If, by and by, the demand for food or\nimprovement in transportation or an easier method makes it worth while to\ncultivate land yielding only ten bushels of wheat to the acre, the annual\nvalue of land yielding twenty bushels will be ten bushels, and that of the\nland yielding thirty bushels will have become twenty bushels.\n\nThus the rent, and correspondingly the value of farms, increases with the\nincreasing demand for farm products, whether that demand results from the\nincreased number of eaters at hand, from the increased ability of these\neaters to supply their wants, or from ready transportation to eaters\nelsewhere. Many influences in various directions affect the tendency to an\nincrease of land values with the increase of population. Some have been\nled to the assumption that only the multiplication of food-eaters,\nincreasing the need for land, makes rent possible. Connecting it with the\ntheory of Malthus that population tends to increase in geometrical ratio,\nwhile food can increase only in arithmetical ratio, they have denounced\nrent as a price paid to monopolists under stress of danger from\nstarvation. These forget that rent is payable as truly out of increasing\nabilities of individuals to meet increasing wants as under the spur of\nmore distressing wants. Indeed, starvation, or the approach to it, never\npays rent, however strong an incentive it may be to promise rent.\n\n_Rent in price of products._—Does the value of the land upon which my\nwheat is raised enter into the price of my wheat? If all land values were\ndestroyed, would the wheat of the world be cheaper, because its cost would\nbe diminished? The price at any time is just enough to bring the supply to\nmarket and keep it there. A portion of the supply has cost even more than\nit brings to its owner. If any brings more than cost, the difference goes\neither to the energetic raiser using improved methods, or to the fortunate\nreceiver of timely showers, or to the possessor of the fruitful field.\nNeither the profit of the raiser, through his method and the shower, nor\nthe rent of the fertile field has made a bushel of wheat less or more\nvaluable in market. The value of the wheat in the market makes both the\nprofit and the rent. If the value of wheat falls, the value of best wheat\nlands sometimes follows; but land values do not directly affect prices of\nproducts, though they may be directly dependent upon those prices.\n\nIndirectly, however, the value of land may affect prices of products.\nLand, in certain speculative movements of society, gains a value for\nfuture use. If the fertile fields are held for speculative purposes, less\nfertile fields must furnish a limited supply at increased price. If the\nfields are wanted for homes, the supply must come from a distance at\ngreater cost, or be raised on fewer acres by more costly tillage, and will\nnot come till the price is increased. Thus high rents, or land values, if\nmaintained by outward forces may diminish the total product, and so affect\nprices. But no conspiracy of land holders can affect the price of their\nproducts so long as their lands are employed in supplying the market.\n\n_Variation in land values._—Rents vary in different countries under\nvarious customs of those countries, and so land values can be compared\nonly by knowing the customs and laws which influence the transfer of\nlanded property, either by deed or by lease. Differences in value are\noften due to considerations entirely distinct from production. Farms are\nhomes as well as machines; and the privileges of home life, with all the\nrelations of family, friendship and patriotic associations, may rouse\ncompetition that greatly influences the market value of farms. In any\ncommunity, whatever custom or law hinders competition in farming affects\nthe relative value of farms in productive industry. Peculiarities in the\nmethod of holding lands have much to do with their value. The hopes and\nexpectations of the people have large influence. Whatever stimulates\nenterprise and increases speculative energy enlarges the estimate of land\nvalue. Whatever depreciates abilities or discourages enterprise diminishes\nland value. Whatever encourages permanent improvements and far-sighted\nplans in farming increases land prices. Whatever discourages the spirit of\nimprovement reduces such prices.\n\nIn some of these ways it is possible to account for great differences of\nvalue in regions apparently equal in natural advantages. Thus nobody wants\nlands in Turkey, however fertile, in comparison with lands in a free\ncountry like ours. Countries under a poor system of agriculture with\ninefficient labor cannot maintain high value of land. Ignorance and\nthriftlessness in a community of laborers operates in the same way. Thus\nthe habits of the people, as well as their laws, enter into the question\nof rent. In countries where large estates are parceled out to renters,\ngeneration after generation, the customary terms of leases as to time,\nmethod of payment, adjustment of improvements, restrictions as to methods\nof tillage, and requirement of capital, enter largely into the question of\nrents. In some the fear of eviction under arrearages cuts a prominent\nfigure; in others the confiscation of improvements destroys all\nenterprise. Upon the continent of Europe, in some places, the payment of\nrent in produce,—what we call working of land upon shares,—greatly limits\nindividual enterprise, though it gives to the land owner a direct control\nin the methods employed on the land. Restrictions of law or of custom upon\ntransfer of ownership always have the effect of diminishing the general\nproductiveness by hindering the natural competition of productive\nenterprise. The result of all laws of entail, by which enormous estates\nare held from generation to generation under control of the same family,\nis universally deprecated because of its interference with the natural law\nof supply and demand as to farms and homes. All such restrictions favor\nthe spirit of monopoly and cultivate arbitrary power, which in every way\nhinders progress.\n\n_Recent decrease of land values._—In the United States during recent years\nthere has been a decided shrinkage of land values in most of the country.\nSeveral evident causes appear worthy of mention. The most evident is a\nrapid increase of farms on the western plains, recently bringing their\nproducts into the competition. These prairie regions give the largest\nrange for farming in the world. In the same connection is the\nintroduction, upon these immense fields of cheap land, of extensive\nmachinery by which the productive power of labor is multiplied. The labor\nof one man for 300 days is said to have produced in California 5,000\nbushels of wheat, so that one man’s labor on many acres gives to each of\n1,000 people a barrel of flour a year. Next to this is the opening of new\nagricultural enterprises in South America, Australia, India and South\nAfrica, with still greater prospects in Siberia—all the result of great\nimprovements in transportation, opening to these regions the world’s great\nmarkets. This has pushed the supply of staple products toward the\ncondition of over-production. The same cause has diminished the demand for\nour staples by greatly stimulating the consumption of foreign fruits and\nnuts. Most recently has come the depression from loss of confidence in\nenterprise, through excessive speculation and waste of capital,\nundermining the market for land as well as for all the machinery of\nproduction. In these conditions the whole world has shared.\n\n_Population drifting to cities._—The drift of farm population toward the\ncities is a symptom of the changed conditions, not a cause. If, as decided\nby an expert investigator, three men on a farm do the work that fourteen\ndid forty years ago, the farms can well spare to the cities an increasing\nnumber of its boys and girls. The drift is real and permanent, diminishing\nrural population in 100 years from 96 per cent of the whole to 70 per\ncent, though exaggerated in figures through arbitrary division between\ntowns and cities. This movement has been noticed the world over since\n1848, when machinery began to affect agricultural production.\n\nThat this drift is wholesome is evident, if we look at the diversity of\nemployment resulting and the improved welfare of all. A simple comparison\nof figures from the United States census will show the readjustment of\nemployment. No one can doubt the advantage gained in the entire nation.\n\n_Abandoned farms._—The most disturbing feature of this readjustment is the\ndesertion of some farms in the rougher parts of New England and the drier\nparts of the West. These lands will find a profitable use in the woodlots\nthrough the East, and in grazing ranges through the West, with slight\npermanent loss. They are not signs of poverty, but of a developing thrift,\njust as the abandoned country woolen mills tell the story of immense\ngrowth in the factory methods. While individuals seeking profit in sale or\nrent of their farms may suffer in any such shrinkage of local values, it\nmust not be forgotten that the total of rural welfare is not necessarily\ndiminished. Land values, aside from improvements, are everywhere evidence\nof limitations to welfare in some special direction. If human enterprise\nand invention and thrift lessen such limitations, the world is better off.\n\nThe great mass of farmers, who think more of their homes than of property,\nwill suffer little from lower prices of land unless such low prices result\nfrom a general lack of thrift and of adaptation to new circumstances.\nWhile the changes in price which affect reduction of rent values do\nrequire readjustment of plans and methods, the farmer who keeps in touch\nwith the world’s work will not suffer, but gain, in the general\nadvancement. In many instances, the low condition of farm property is due\nto unthrifty neglect of farmers in whole neighborhoods. Bad roads, short\nschools, weak fences and poor stock are as often a cause as an effect of\nlow prices of land. Whole regions in our country suffer in this way from\nunthrift, whatever the price of farm products or of lands.\n\n_Farms in the United States._—These are under conditions best suited to\nattend the general thrift of the world in every way. Ownership is not\ncomplicated in any way with magisterial duties or prestige or entailment,\nas in England. It is not so distinctly hereditary as to embarrass\nagriculture by extreme subdivision of farms, as in France and other\nportions of Europe. It is in no danger of combination into great estates\nunder absentee landlords, as in Ireland. Its laws of transfer and guaranty\nare growing more and more simple and direct, while protection to homestead\nrights is strong. Farmers themselves have such responsibility in state and\nnation as to make their genuine interests felt everywhere, and no system\nof caste can make them a peasantry, as in most of the Old World. Indeed,\nthe farmer in every region makes his farm; and the enterprising, educated\nfarmer of the next generation in our country will find in himself the\nforces at work to give value to his land. The speculative movement in land\nholding will be outgrown when genuine farm homes are more prized for their\nwelfare than for their wealth; but this very welfare will maintain a\nstable value in lands.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART III. CONSUMPTION OF WEALTH.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIII. Wealth Used By Individuals.\n\n\n_Wealth to be consumed for welfare._—The only economic motive for the\naccumulation of wealth is its use in promotion of welfare. While the old\nmaxim says, “A penny saved is worth two gained,” every one recognizes the\npenny as absolutely worthless except in view of some utility to be gained\nin spending it. So with every form of wealth. All economic value\ndisappears when the thought of use is wanting. Such use, whether\npractically instantaneous, like the destruction of the gunpowder\nprojecting the bullet, or extended through hundreds of years, as in the\nwearing out of a castle, or a bridge, is properly called consumption of\nwealth.\n\nA majority of the great problems concerning social welfare are connected\nwith the use of wealth, and therefore fall under the discussion of\nconsumption. Indeed, so long as there is little accumulated wealth, as in\nthe savage state, social problems have little significance. The statement\nof the Apostle Paul, “The love of money is the root of all evil,” while\nnot confined in application to wealth already accumulated, has its most\nimportant bearing in the fact that wealth accumulated is itself a power to\nbe used or abused by whoever controls it. The saying of Emerson, “The best\npolitical economy is care and culture of men,” applies most strictly to\nthe uses of wealth and the methods of its consumption. The great question\nof today in every civilized land is, How can the accumulations of power in\nthe shape of wealth made by this generation be used to establish a\ncontinuous welfare, not only for this generation, but for its successors?\nThe wants of society today include not only a reasonable provision for\nlife and health and wisdom and virtue during the life of those who are now\nactive, but an equal provision for the same wants increased with each\nsucceeding generation. In all thought of consuming wealth, we must\nremember that power in this form is rightly used only when power in some\nother form results. Thus wealth is consumed, according to natural laws,\neither for reproducing itself in more advantageous form or for sustaining\nhuman power in form of health or wisdom or virtue.\n\nWe have social welfare as the result of wealth consumed, or used up.\nSociety is interested in all the wealth accumulated, and the methods of\nits accumulation and its fair distribution are a part of social machinery;\nyet these have their chief significance in the final consumption. It is\nnot what we have, but what we do with it, that makes society interested in\nour possessions. It is not what society has, but how it uses it, that\nsettles the chief questions of welfare or illfare. Not only gunpowder, but\nevery conceivable power in material wealth, has blessing or bane in the\nuse to which it is put. So the welfare of a community cannot be judged by\nthe amount and kind of wealth produced or by the methods in production or\nby the distribution of ownership. These may be significant in showing the\ntrend of social customs as to individual control, but the last inquiry\nwill still have to be, What welfare comes to the entire community when all\nthis wealth is used? Moreover, no analysis of qualities in any substance\ncalled wealth can measure the welfare involved in its use. Its relation to\nthe individual using it and his relation to the whole community, with a\ncareful analysis of wants met and character developed, must be considered.\nThe final question is, How many and what kind of wants are satisfied?\n\n_Use of wealth individual._—It is necessary to realize that the social\norganization is maintained solely for the sake of individuals. All study\nof welfare and illfare is a study of individual human beings. The mutual\nrelations of these human beings in society are means to individual life,\ngrowth and enjoyment. Even the total power of a generation in society is\ndependent upon how the individual wants of individual members of that\nsociety are met. Some of the greatest mistakes in estimating social\nwelfare arise from overlooking the essential individuality of wants, upon\nwhich all wealth depends for its use.\n\nThis individuality makes the proper consumption of wealth largely a\nquestion of right and wrong. The possessor of any form of wealth is\nobliged to recognize his place in society as a promoter of welfare, and\nsociety compels, as far as it is able, a recognition of individual needs.\nYet the very nature of consumption, as concerned with individual wants,\nmakes individual judgment supreme in the use of wealth. It is my ideal of\ngood health, high culture and sound morals that must be met for my\nenjoyment. My welfare, so long as I have rational powers, is the meeting\nof my ideal. Society rightly hesitates to interfere with my ideals by\nforce as long as my actions do not disturb the welfare of my neighbors.\nThe necessity of human liberty for actual welfare limits the control of\nsociety to very evident infringements upon others’ welfare in every\nactivity, including the use of wealth as well as other powers. This very\nrestriction is in the interest of highest total enjoyment of welfare in\nthe whole community.\n\n_Individual responsibility for use of wealth._—In estimating the proper\nuses of wealth, it is necessary to remember that mere animal existence is\na very small part of human welfare. It would not be enough for any human\nsociety that every individual in it be fed, clothed, warmed and maintained\nin reasonably long life. The highest uniformity of mere animal enjoyment\nwould not make a society worthy to be called human. Even uniformity of\nwants far higher, with uniform supply for those wants, would give but\nlittle organization and but little total welfare if that uniformity was\nbrought by curtailment of natural powers or by constraint that hinders\ngrowth. The most natural fact among human beings, as in all the rest of\nnature, is variety; and every conception of proper consumption of wealth\nmust involve this thought of variety of individuals in wants and powers\nleft free to grow. It is a purely false assumption that the ideal\ncommunity toward which all ought to strive is a community of equals in\neither ability or capacity. That is the ideal community which gives to\nevery member of it opportunity to make most of himself; that is, to make\nhimself most useful, and able to enjoy the truest use of his powers.\n\nHence we find the tendency in every community, with reference to wealth as\nto other individual forces, to recognize early and complete personal\nresponsibility. This personal responsibility makes the question of\nconsumption of wealth a question of morals as well as of wisdom. The whole\ndiscussion here turns upon the wisdom or unwisdom of certain personal uses\nor social uses of what the world has accumulated. We can ask what use of\nwealth is prudent, what imprudent; then what social organization best\ndevelops the wisdom which secures a prudent use of wealth; and finally,\nhow far and in what ways society can act as a unit in the place of\nindividuals. The machinery of government then becomes a part of every\nperson’s welfare, and his relation to its maintenance by contribution of\nhis wealth is a part of prudent consumption. The economic question in\nconsumption, then, involves not so much what one can get from society as\nwhat he can give to society, since his welfare comes largely through\norganization in the use of accumulated wealth.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIV. Prudent Consumption.\n\n\n_Prudent uses of wealth._—It has already been suggested that a proper use\nof wealth looks always beyond the present. We accumulate, not only to\nspend, but to spend in such a way as will give larger abilities in the\nfuture. The name prudential consumption has been given to all that use of\nwealth which has for its end the maintenance of individual powers at\nhighest efficiency for the longest life and provision for a more efficient\nposterity with more efficient instruments of production.\n\nIt is prudential use of wealth to gather into the farm, not only such\nmachinery in the shape of buildings, fences and roadways as will make the\nfuture labor more effective, but all possible fertility that will make the\nfuture owners of the farm a larger welfare in possession. All wealth put\ninto the form of productive capital is prudentially consumed. All\nso-called permanent improvements which look to the better satisfaction of\nfuture wants fulfil the condition of prudent foresight. All public\nimprovements are really such, when this far-seeing provision for future\nwants and abilities of society is made. Such methods are the genuine\neconomic saving in which the community should be encouraged. A saving\nwhich merely stores against a future personal want contributes less to\ngeneral welfare, and does not stimulate the natural growth of wants in the\nindividual, which is the chief source of increasing power. The one who\nsaves that he may have better tools with which to do more for his future\nsatisfaction, not only adds to his physical abilities to meet his daily\nwants, but adds the strongest stimulant to energy in his work. The supply\nof ordinary wants being provided for, new wants arise.\n\nIn the spirit of prudential consumption such wants are encouraged as give\ngreater and greater abilities. Thus the ideal of life is constantly\nraised, and the struggle is not for existence but for higher enjoyment and\nmore genuine welfare. The wealth which comes in this accumulation of\ncapital for larger accomplishment aids true philanthropy. The whole world\ngets more of welfare with every addition made by farmers to their working\ncapital. In the same way all increase of capital in machinery, tools,\nwarehouses, ships and other means of transport contribute to a\nphilanthropy that makes society richer.\n\nSuch saving is entirely opposed to the miserly spirit which hides wealth\nbecause of mere love of possession or fear of future want. It is the true\nway of both spending and having, since it expends earnings for that which\ncontinues to aid in bringing larger returns to meet increasing want. That\nsocial system is most prudent for the world which accumulates productive\ncapital without reducing any part of society to poverty. Prudence,\nhowever, requires that this capital saving be adjusted to the abilities of\nthe community in which it is to be used. The building of an enormous\nfactory, where skill has yet to be developed and where a market is\nwanting, would be the height of imprudence. Such waste is sometimes seen\nunder the false stimulant of a bounty or a restrictive tariff. Just so,\ngreat public improvements upon rivers, harbors and highways are a part of\neconomy and prudent investment of wealth only when a community is able to\nuse them to advantage. The test of prudence in capital saving is in its\nnice adjustment to the abilities of the users.\n\n_Prudent adjustment of capital._—A still further adjustment is required by\nprudence between the capital put into fixed forms and the circulating\ncapital needed for best use of the more lasting machinery. A farmer is\nsaid to be stock poor when he overloads his farm or crowds his farm\nbuildings with growing stock. Having all his capital in stock, he is\nunable to handle it to advantage, and must readjust his capital in live\nstock to his capital in the farm and machinery by selling some of his\nstock and adding to the value of his farm. On the other hand, many a\nfarmer is land poor, where the bulk of his capital is invested in land,\nwhile he cannot command circulating capital in stock and wages sufficient\nto make the land useful. He needs, in the spirit of prudence, to sell some\nof his land for the sake of current funds to invest in live stock and in\nlabor. The same principle applies to all investments of capital. A\nrailroad may so exhaust the funds of the community in building it that it\ncannot be fairly manned for work. Sometimes a whole nation invests so\nlargely in permanent forms of capital as to bring distress and poverty\nfrom want of means to use the great machine.\n\nPrudence also requires a further adjustment between the amount of labor\ndirectly producing wealth and that employed in what may be called the arts\nof consumption, contributing directly to personal comfort and enjoyment.\nThe neatness of a farmer’s yard, outbuildings, fences and machinery is a\npart of his welfare. It also indicates a certain thrift, which enhances\nthe value of the farm. But it is a proper sign of such thrift when it\ngrows naturally out of the productive energy employed upon the crops and\nthe stock. The wealth used in maintaining this neatness is not wasted, but\nit will not reproduce itself. It must be supplied from other sources in\ndirect production. All services in the household, in contributing to\nbodily comfort of the family, make an essential part of human welfare, but\nprudence requires such an adjustment of these services to the total\nwealth-producing energy that they may be maintained without reducing the\ntotal power. All public expenditures in the care of streets and parks are\nan essential to welfare so long as the sources of wealth production are\nkept the more active from such advantages. The test of prudence in all\nsuch adjustment is the increase of power in wealth-production, along with\nincreasing welfare.\n\n_Provision for future wants._—True prudence is largely foresight, and so\nis the enterprise of speculative energy which provides any product for a\nfuture market. No more careful adjustment is necessary than that which\nsecures such a product of farm or factory as the world will need when it\nreaches its actual market. The greatest wisdom is needed in studying the\nconditions of a community with reference to its future wants, and the\nsupply actually accumulating for meeting those wants.\n\nFarmers need, as truly as any producers, to know the wants of the world\nfor which they are producing food. The crops they plant in the spring will\nactually be consumed in large measure during the following year. Prudence\nsuggests that they plant such crops as will be most in demand. If they\njudge by the market today, they are in danger of two errors: first, of\noverestimating the future demand, which may be satisfied before the new\ncrop comes; second, of diverting from ordinary staple crops too large a\nportion of the crop-raising force. Common experience has taught that a\nhigh price of hops or onions or broom corn has almost certainly wrought a\nreduction of the price for succeeding crops below the normal cost. Still\nlarger foresight is needed with reference to the raising of live stock,\nwhich requires more than a single season’s investment of capital. To stock\na farm with hogs, sheep, cattle or horses, requires from one to five years\nof accumulated capital. The record of farm stock shows successive waves of\nsuch production in direct opposition to prudence. (Chart No. 4, p. 83.)\n\nThe manufacturing world has similar experiences of imprudent consumption\nin the effort to forestall a market. But the record of failures in this\nrespect is scarcely as marked, because of more business-like collection of\ninformation for the guidance of judgment. Farmers too generally follow the\nlead of their neighbors in adjustment of crops or stock. Manufacturers\nmore generally try to do what their rivals are not doing. Success in\nproducing what is not finally wanted we call overproduction. While the\nwhole world is warned against this, each individual producer fails to\nstudy as well as he might the means of avoiding it.\n\nPrudential consumption does not properly provide for those speculative\ndealings which end simply in a readjustment of wealth by gains on the one\nside through losses on the other. All these imply an actual waste of\nwealth and energy, whether they are exhibited in a gambling machine or a\nboard of trade. But there are certain great enterprises, like wonderful\ninventions, which involve a prudential consumption of wealth. The wealth\nconsumed in developing the electric telegraph system, or in laying the\nAtlantic cable, everyone would judge to be well invested. Every thought of\nprudence sustains such expenditure. Yet the spirit of invention, as a mere\nventure in desire to hit upon something which may chance to be wanted,\nshows lack of prudence, and the world suffers by great waste of energy in\nthis direction. The only test of prudential consumption in provision for\nthe future market is in the careful study of all conditions, favorable and\nunfavorable.\n\n_Consumption for growth._—True prudence in public improvements has just\nbeen mentioned, but such prudence has a larger range in promoting the\npermanent growth of human powers and capacities. Every wise father wishes\nhis children to know more, be more efficient in the arts of life, and\nenjoy more of true welfare than he does. Communities which show no\nadvancement in these respects are called dead, and decay is sure to\nfollow. Prudence looks after all educational interests by expending wealth\nupon the means of education; not only sustaining schools, but making more\npermanent provision and increasing facilities for instruction. This is not\nonly a means of preserving and wisely using the wealth accumulated, but a\nmeans of increased production. Such prudence suggests large endowments for\npublic education, including the support of government machinery for\nuniformity of education. A similar prudence sustains the philanthropic\nspirit which maintains all the means of philanthropy. The endowment of\nasylums for the weak and afflicted and the support of religious\ninstitutions are prudent ways not only of caring for present welfare, but\nof increasing the welfare of the future. The next generation will be\nstronger and happier for the prudent foresight of this generation in\novercoming obstacles to health and wisdom and virtue. To leave wealth thus\ninvested is far better for successors than to leave it in form for ready\nconsumption upon temporary wants. Thus all prudent consumption of wealth\nhas for its basis the genuine welfare of a continuous society of human\nbeings subject to improvement. Any forming community looks surely to\nfuture welfare when it invests wealth in good homes, good schools and good\nchurches.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXV. Imprudent Consumption.\n\n\n_Society interested in imprudence._—This fact, that the wealth of each\ngeneration is so largely dependent upon the prudence of the preceding,\nemphasizes the importance of public sentiment in favor of prudential\nconsumption. Public criticism naturally attacks the most noticeable\nfailures of prudence, and it therefore seems worth while to consider some\nof those imprudent forms of consumption which society may seek to prevent.\nIt is also proper to consider the ways in which society may act for\nprevention of imprudence.\n\n_Luxurious consumption._—The question of luxury in the same society with\nextreme poverty is always prominent. Luxury is supposed to be extravagant\nexpenditure in meeting individual wants. Though such wants may be real and\nlegitimate, lavish expenditure by any portion of a community seems at\nfirst sight a trespass upon common welfare. Some have considered that\nperson wanting in good will to his fellows who expends upon his own\ncomfort more than his neighbors can afford. Others define luxury to be\nexpenditure for living above the average expenditure in the whole\ncommunity. Still others regard any expenditure a luxury which is not\nneeded to maintain physical powers.\n\nIt is easy to see that all these efforts at definition are imperfect,\nbecause the idea of luxury implies such a mode of life as does not\ncontribute to the total welfare, and each one’s idea of total welfare\nenters into his definition of luxury. It is an evident fact that the\nso-called luxuries of one generation become the actual necessities of the\nnext. This is because the life of the race means more and includes more\nwith each succeeding generation. To live in the twentieth century will\nmean, as it has always meant in the past, to have such exercise of every\nability as circumstances permit. Luxury is therefore always relative to\nthe duties one has to perform, as well as to the society in which one\nmoves. Moreover, luxury is relative to individual abilities and individual\nplans. It would be luxury for a farmer to go without a needed plow for the\nsake of buying a lawn mower. It would be luxury for a student to own two\ncoats, if he must go without a dictionary to buy the second.\n\nIt is easy to settle the luxuries of others, but less easy to so define\nluxury that the public can agree in the definition. In general, it is\ndescribed to be a meeting of fanciful rather than real wants. Any\nindividual in society is spending his wealth in luxury if he allows his\nimagination to conjure up adornments of person or household which\ncontribute chiefly to display rather than to comfort or enlightenment. All\nsuch adornments of person, or home, or the public streets, as cultivate\ngenuine taste and inspire to more of energy contribute to the general\nwelfare far more than mere expenditure for food can do. Yet in times of\nstarvation the food must come first. The world sometimes sneers at the\ndesire among very poor people to cultivate flowers and maintain a canary\nor other pets; yet every philanthropist knows that these desires are among\nthe strongest incentives to greater thrift and keener exertion.\n\n_Legal restrictions upon luxury._—With all this difficulty in definition\nand the certainty of change from age to age, there is nevertheless a\ndisposition on the part of society to restrict actual luxury. Again and\nagain this has led to enactment of laws prohibiting expenditure in certain\ndefinite forms. The dress of ladies of rank has been restricted as to\nstyle and quantity of material and ways of making. The variety upon a\ndinner table has been limited to a certain number of dishes and certain\nkinds of food.\n\nAll of these have been egregious failures, from the impossibility of\nmeasuring results upon the general progress of civilization. The indirect\neffects of ingenuity in dress and cooking have been on the whole so\nbeneficial that the world cannot afford to hinder it. The intricacies of\nFrench cooking seem to an ordinary household extreme luxury, yet that very\ningenuity has cheapened the cost of living, to a large portion of the\nworld, by rendering palatable the coarser vegetables and cheaper meats\nwhich lie within the reach of the poor.\n\nNo real student of human nature would now attempt, unless it be in the\nemergency of a great famine, to restrict expenditures by law upon the plea\nof luxury. Still, society as a whole has some voice in directing the\njudgment of individuals. Public opinion is an effective check upon\ndesires. The good will of the multitude is more important to the mass of\nmen than any particular gratification. It is proper, therefore, to discuss\nat any time and at all times the limits of luxury, both for ourselves and\nfor our neighbors. The sole cure for imprudent expenditure in luxuries is\nindividual culture of mind and heart and conscience, so that each may do\nhis best to secure, not only the good will of his neighbors, but their\nwelfare.\n\n_Wasteful consumption._—Wasteful expenditure through ignorance or\nrecklessness is more common and more weakening than luxury. Its limits\ncannot be described, since it covers expenditures of every kind, from the\nsimplest provision for food and clothing to the most elaborate structures\nand wildest schemes of development. Though noticeable wastes are seen in\nthe households of the rich, they are relatively larger among the poor.\n\nYet any attempt to regulate such waste by law is futile, chiefly from the\nfact that it ignores the personal responsibility and wants which make\nindividual character. It is properly applied to the imbecile and the\ninsane, as well as to children and youth, through the appointment of a\nprudent guardian. Society can protect itself only by fostering more\ncomplete systems of education in the arts of life. The tendency of our\ntimes toward a more technical education, especially in reference to the\nhome and the common industries of life, marks the growth of public opinion\ntoward a clearer ideal of prudence against waste. The study of economic\nprinciples in every department of life, and especially the clear\nunderstanding of everyday facts as to the things men handle and use,\ncannot but give wisdom for preventing waste.\n\n_Vicious consumption._—It is customary to distinguish from all other forms\nof imprudent consumption of wealth such vicious indulgence of appetites as\nnot only consumes accumulated wealth but diminishes power in production.\nSuch vicious indulgence is the result of cultivating unnatural and\ndestructive appetites. Familiar illustrations are those connected with the\ndrink habit, the opium habit, or any other vice whose chief effect is seen\nupon the individual life of the one indulging himself. These involve the\nvery highest wastefulness, because they destroy not only wealth, but\nability. Nobody can begin to compute in terms of money the actual waste of\nour country through indulgence in strong drink. The value of liquors\nconsumed is no measure of the entire wastefulness. Yet this is more than\nenough to furnish all with bread.\n\nThe wrongfulness of such indulgence, from its harm to society through\nreducing the power of the race, is seldom disputed. Yet the right of\nsociety to restrict the individual indulgence is quite generally disputed.\nThe larger need of freedom in the exercise of judgment among mature\nmembers of a community outweighs the need of preventing even vice. Society\ndoes well to bring the restraints of law upon the immature, whose judgment\nis not yet formed, thus supplementing by law the directive energy of\nparental control. It may yet go further, and prohibit such indulgence to\nall who have lost the power of self-control. But in general it has been\nfound impossible to enforce restriction upon vicious indulgence except\nwhere such acts occasion direct suffering upon others, or help to maintain\nan immoral business. The right of restraint and constraint, even to\nprohibition, of that which fosters vice and extends its range must be\nadmitted by all thoughtful persons. Still, the right to prohibit and the\npower to prohibit are not identical. The only sure preventive is early\neducation of public conscience through the training of youth to a clear\nunderstanding of the vicious practices and their relation to the poverty\nand weakness and crime of humanity.\n\n_Destructive consumption._—A more obvious trespass upon prudential\nconsumption is criminal destructiveness of every kind. Until society\noutgrows a condition in which fraud, theft, robbery and murder must be\nwarded off by locks and bars, by immense bodies of policemen and armed\nmilitia, its wealth cannot be wholly invested for welfare. The possibility\nof such crimes as arson or train obstruction and destruction shows the\ncondition of the best of modern communities to be far from ideal. Nobody\npretends to measure the actual waste in society resulting from such\ncriminal purposes. It extends to almost every detail of production and\ntrade, and occupies a large portion of the inventive and executive energy\nof the people. Organized society attempts to restrain such waste by its\npolice force, or by restraining laws and in actions enforced by severe\npenalties. Every honest man is financially interested in the conviction of\nevery knave. Sympathy with fraud, even in trifles, is contributing toward\nsuch destructive waste.\n\nIn this connection the enormous expenditure in maintenance of standing\narmies and navies for the protection of national boundaries is of special\nimportance. Reduction of this waste of wealth and power should be desired\nby every class of society. Though war has been the means by which human\nliberty has grown, it has also been the means of crushing it. It would\nseem that every incentive is offered each citizen to make an appeal to\narms and the maintenance of armies a most remote necessity. Yet it seems\nthat the mass of men of every rank are tenacious of national honor. While\nmost communities have abandoned the duel as both wasteful and immoral in\npersonal difficulties, the spirit of the duel is still rife in the\ndifferences between nations. A clearer perception of mutual interests in\nnational welfare will bring nations, like individuals, to accept some\nmethod of enforcing neutral judgment for settling disputes, in place of\nwar. The farmers of a country, being nearly 50 per cent of its people, and\nbearing a large proportion of the expense of armies and wars, have a\ntremendous interest in maintaining peace. This can be done not so much by\nreducing the provision for armies as by cultivating the spirit of fair\nsettlement, against the false patriotism which claims everything for one’s\nown nation.\n\n_False notions of waste._—Wasteful expenditure and luxury and possibly\neven vicious indulgence are often excused with the plea that expenditures\nof this kind make employment for labor, and so aid the poor. While it is\ntrue that multitudes are employed in catering to the vices of others, all\nmust grant that the same wealth might be much better employed in other\noccupations. More than that, the larger wealth resulting from accumulation\nin place of waste would provide capital needed for fuller employment of\nall who can work. All imprudent expenditure reduces the power of society\nto accumulate wealth for giving occupation to all who will work. Moreover,\nsuch wastefulness creates a tendency toward thriftless character among the\npeople. The welfare of the whole community depends upon the thrift of the\nwhole community. The thriftlessness of rich men’s sons is more damaging\nthan the thriftlessness of tramps, because it is more tempting to others.\nAny man who lives simply to spend, however busy he keeps himself, is one\nof the wasteful ones in the community, unless he has some higher object\nthan gratifying his desires. The energetic idler may be doing his worst\nfor the community without being ranked as a spendthrift, because he makes\nsuch idleness respectable. It should be the desire of all good citizens to\nincrease the ability of every other citizen, not only to live, but to live\nwell. This thriftlessness can be overcome only by a strong public\nsentiment that corrects the early tendencies of youth to waste of means\nand energy.\n\n_Waste in rivalry._—There is another kind of wastefulness resulting from\nexcessive competition for a particular business or a particular trade.\nImmense amounts are expended upon rival advertisements, all of which enter\ninto the general cost to consumers. A multitude of retail dealers maintain\nstocks of goods entirely out of proportion to the needs of the community,\nbecause they are rivals in trade. Very likely the business rents are\nhigher than they need be because of such rivalry. Not only is there a\nstrong competition for a place, but also for showy equipment and elegance\nof display. All this could be saved by better organization. A still more\nevident waste is from the multiplication of agents and middle men of all\nkinds, employed simply in catching trade. Some of them act simply as\ninterlopers, hoping to gain a small commission without the use of capital\nor painstaking in their business. These are the useless middle men\nmaintained at the expense of the community. Full market reports and\ngeneral information of buyers and sellers greatly reduce such waste.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXVI. Social Organization For Consumption.\n\n\n_Individualism._—While the social organization is necessarily thought of\nas a group of individuals, whose individual wants and plans and growth and\ncharacter must be the chief incentive for action, it is necessary to avoid\nthe extreme of individualism. In escaping from the false analogy implied\nin considering society an organism, there is a tendency to make the\nindividual not only of final importance but independent of association.\nExcess of competition is represented in the maxim, “Every man for\nhimself.” In the effort to carry out this maxim and in opposition to\nrestraints of society, whether by law or by custom, many are led to\nadvocate an abolition of organization, leaving all welfare to be secured\nby appeal to the individual judgment and conscience of men. It is true\nthat back of all law is the law of righteousness in individual souls.\n\nUnder the name of “autonomy” theorists propose to appeal to this\nconscience of individuals, making every soul a law to itself. Such\ntheorists assume that every human being will be wise and virtuous, or take\nthe consequences of his failure. They forget that all organizations for\nconstraint are a part of the natural consequences of failure in\nself-control.\n\nUnder the name of “anarchy” groups of people all over the world have\nunited to destroy what they consider arbitrary rules in government.\nAnarchists differ from autonomists in putting foremost the destruction of\nexisting governments. Their ideals of right and wrong and their methods of\nindividual action for individual welfare are left for the future to\ndevelop, after the rule of the present has become no-rule. Their present\norganization, as far as it is public, appears to be, in almost direct\ncontradiction of their principles, an absolute despotism. The same idea\nhas gained followers in some countries, particularly in Russia, under the\nname of “nihilism.”\n\nWhile in some instances such movements may be but a natural reaction\nagainst tyranny, the view of human wants and human welfare which all these\nadvocates present is far from being correct. The grand economic fact that\ngroups are superior to individuals in actual efficiency is beyond dispute;\nand it is equally true, though not so often stated, that groups gain\ngreatest satisfaction for a given consumption of wealth. It is only when\ngreat numbers share in satisfaction that the highest range of wants can be\ngratified. Moreover, even individual wants are largely social. Each finds\nhis highest pleasure in the society which nature has provided. The chief\nreasons for accumulating wealth are in what men can do for each other. Any\nindividualism which overlooks these principles is opposed to welfare, and\nso self-contradictory.\n\nThe famous French phrases, “laissez faire” and “laissez passer,” which\nrepresent the individualistic side of economic theory, are often extended\nbeyond the intent of the phrase makers. They mean essentially, let do, let\ngo, and have their proper application in an appeal to conservative society\nto so modify laws and customs that individual enterprise, ingenuity and\nthrift shall be stimulated to its best by freedom. Freedom from\nrestrictions in right-doing, under the evident motive furnished by general\nwelfare, is an ideal for society. In economic directions it has great\nimportance. No thinker can fail to see the trend of civilization toward\nsuch freedom. So far in the history of the world the enlargement of\nindividual responsibility, by freedom from constraint among the mature\nmembers of society, has been the chief mark of progress. Yet the\nconstraint of welfare, and of the general judgment as to what is welfare,\nas well as the necessity for agreement as to ways and means of reaching\nit, are better recognized today than ever before. The extreme of\nindividualism destroys the natural constraint of a common judgment.\n\n_Socialism._—The opposite extreme is the assumption that common wants are\nof supreme importance and common judgment absolutely efficient. Under the\nname of “communism” it stands in direct contrast with anarchy. Anarchists\nand communists may unite upon a platform of a single plank, opposition to\nexisting institutions; but in all ideals and purposes and plans for future\nwelfare they are absolutely opposed to each other. The natural community\nof interests so evident in society gives a fair basis for the general\nprinciples of communism. No doubt the welfare of all is the interest of\neach, and the world is growing to recognize it. Among a group of beings\nperfectly wise and virtuous there could be no clashing of either interests\nor judgment. The ideal of Louis Blanc, “From every man according to his\npowers, to every man according to his wants,” would represent the natural\nactivity of such a group. But in application to humanity, as it is and is\nbound to be by its weakness and waywardness, it seems abstractly ideal. In\nfact it is only roughly applicable in ends to be served, and suggests\nalmost nothing as to ways and means. Like the golden rule, it applies to\nthe disposition and purpose of the actor, but leaves the acts to be\ndecided by individual judgment.\n\nThe numerous phases of opinion in application of this principle cannot be\npresented even by name in this short chapter. They are worthy of study as\nindicating a growth of opinion and sentiment in recognition of the mutual\ndependence of all human beings. They are also worthy of study as\nindicating how arbitrary a zealot may become in enforcing his opinions\nupon others. All of them are grouped somewhat loosely under the name of\n“socialism,” but there are many gradations in the supremacy of the social\nideal over the individual welfare. There are also many shades of opinion\nas to how the final result of social supremacy shall be reached. Many are\nexpecting a revolution by force of arms to establish the ideals of the\nleaders. More are opportunists, snatching every opportunity in\nlegislation, in decision of courts, and in executive power, to apply their\nmethods.\n\nUnder the name of “collectivism” appeals are made to the multitude to\ncombine their energies under leadership: first, to overcome present\nrestraints; and then to secure combined action in all modes of production\nand consumption. “Nationalism” is more familiar to our thought in the\nUnited States, as embracing the aim of a somewhat noisy party to bring\nabout the compulsory organization of all industries under the control of\nthe nation, even to placing all property and all methods of consumption\nunder an official despotism.\n\nFew recognize the actual logic of their views as compelling complete\nsubjection of every individual to others’ judgment, and fewer still have\nany idea of the official machinery needed for such control. The great\nmajority are satisfied in seeing evils which might be cured by greater\nsocial accord, expecting at once to vote into existence the necessary\nmachinery. Most of these are misled into considering wealth and its uses\nto be the chief elements of welfare. They forget that wealth is only a\nmeans of accomplishing one’s purposes toward his fellows and himself. The\ngreed of power and position and praise are far stronger as evil motives\nthan greed of wealth. If wealth were distributed by omniscient wisdom and\npower according to the maxim of Louis Blanc, the higher welfare would\nstill be as far away as ever, unless the same omniscience should control\nall actions. Such control by outward force would banish the very idea of\nvirtue, the highest of all welfare.\n\nIt is easy to see that every form of socialism, in practical methods,\ninvolves a leveling process inconsistent with human nature and its\nsurroundings. Equality of environments is possible only by reducing all to\nthe lowest condition. Equality of aspirations reduces all toward the most\nbrutal of the race. Even equality of efficiency reduces all to the power\nof the least efficient. So the whole range of method, assuming equality of\nwealth as important to welfare, lowers the welfare of the whole by\ndestroying the best abilities and the best capacities for enjoyment in\norder to prevent inequality.\n\nAnd yet it has not been proved that equality in any of these particulars\nis desirable. It is equally beyond proof that actual equality is possible.\nThe most absolute communism implies the greatest inequality in official\npower. Even the pleasing phrase, “Equality of opportunity,” will not bear\nanalysis as applied to human nature and human welfare, under the very\nhighest ideals of social unity. Indeed, the lesson of facts in all\nactivity is that inter-dependence of _unlike_ and _unequal_ forces makes\nthe true unity of organization, and the surest welfare of multitudes. That\neach individual should have the best opportunity possible for his own\ndevelopment is best for each and for all in a community; but that such\nopportunities shall be equal in any other sense no wisdom can contrive.\nMost socialistic theories presuppose almost immediate change of human\nnature under the new form of administration. But for this supposition\nthere is little ground in the history of the race or of all nature. Growth\nthere will be, and evolution of ideals; but the administration grows out\nof these, instead of being their cause.\n\n_Socialistic tendencies._—Socialistic theories gain adherence under the\nprovocation of certain tendencies in society. First, they appear whenever\nby oppression or fraud of any kind a community is made up of one class\npossessing wealth directly opposed to another class without wealth, with\nno extended middle class, and therefore with no ready means of transition\nfrom one class to another. As long as the doors are open for real progress\nin power of accomplishment, all the way from poverty to wealth, society\nhas a unity in its variety that is better than any c", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32158", "title": "Rural Wealth and Welfare: Economic Principles Illustrated and Applied in Farm Life", "author": "", "publication_year": 1900, "metadata_title": "Rural Wealth and Welfare: Economic Principles Illustrated and Applied in Farm…", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:24.259747", "source_chars": 590258, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 104638}}
{"text": "Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.fadedpage.com\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n_By George Palmer Putnam_\n\n\n\nThe Southland of North America\n\n(_See Announcement at Back of this Volume_)\n\n[Illustration: The Columbia River Valley and Mount Adams\n\nCopyright, Gifford, Portland, Ore.]\n\n\n\n\n  In the\n\n  Oregon Country\n\n\n  Out-Doors in Oregon, Washington, and California\n\n  Together with some Legendary Lore, and\n\n  Glimpses of the Modern West in\n\n  The Making\n\n\n  By\n\n  George Palmer Putnam\n\n  Author of \"The Southland of North America\" etc.\n\n\n  With an Introduction by\n\n  James Withycombe\n\n  Governor of Oregon\n\n\n  With 52 Illustrations\n\n\n  G. P. Putnam's Sons\n\n  New York and London\n\n  The Knickerbocker Press\n\n  1915\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1915\n\n  BY\n\n  GEORGE PALMER PUTNAM\n\n\n  The Knickerbocker Press, New York\n\n\n  Dedicated to\n  THE EMBLEM CLUB\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nWhen one has lived in Oregon for forty-three years, and when one's\nenthusiasm for his home increases year after year, naturally all that is\nsaid of that home is of the most vital interest. Especially is it\nacceptable if it is the outgrowth of a similar enthusiasm, and if it is\nwell said.\n\nFor a considerable span of time I have been reading what others have\nwritten about the Pacific Coast. In the general western literature, it\nhas seemed to me, Oregon has never received its merited share of\nconsideration. Just now, with the Expositions in California attracting a\nworldwide interest westward, and with the Panama Canal giving our\ndevelopment a new impetus, it is especially appropriate that Oregon\nreceive added literary attention. And it is reasonable to suppose that\nthe stranger within our gates will find interest in such literature,\nprovided it be of the right sort, just as Oregonians must welcome a\nsound addition to the State's bibliography, written by an Oregonian.\n\nSo, because I like the spirit of the following pages, admire the method\nof their presentation, and deeply desire to promote the success of all\nthat will tend toward a larger appreciation of Oregon's possibilities, I\nrecommend this book to the consideration of dwellers on the Pacific\nCoast, and those who desire to form acquaintance with the land it\nconcerns.\n\n[Illustration: hand written signature]\n\n  _Governor of Oregon._\n\n  SALEM, OREGON,\n\n  _January 20th, 1915._\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nOften enough a preface is an outgrowth of disguised pretentiousness or\ninsincere humility. Presumably it is an apology for the authorship, or\nat least an explanation of the purpose of the pages it introduces.\n\nBut no one is compelled to write a book; and, in truth, publishers\nhabitually exert a contrary influence. It is a fair supposition,\ntherefore, when a book is produced, that the author has some good reason\nfor his act, whether or not the book itself proves to be of service.\n\nAmong many plausible apologies for authorship, the most reasonable is,\nit seems to me, a genuine enthusiasm for the subject at hand. If one\nloves that with which the book has to do the desire to share the\npossession with readers approaches altruism. In this case let us hope\nthat the enthusiasm, which is real, and the virtue, which is implied,\nwill sufficiently cloak the many faults of these little sketches, whose\nmission it is to convey something of the spirit of the out-of-door land\nthey picture--a land loved by those who know it, and a land of limitless\nwelcome for the stranger who will knock at its gates.\n\nThe Oregon Country, with which these chapters are chiefly concerned, has\nbeen the goal of expeditioning for a century and a quarter. First came\nCaptain Robert Gray in 1792, by sea. Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,\ntwelve years later, tracked 'cross country from the Missouri to the\nmouth of the Columbia. In 1810, the Astor expedition, under Wilson and\nHunt, succeeded, after hardships that materially reduced the party, in\nmaking its way from St. Louis to the Columbia and down the river to the\nmouth, where was founded the town of Astoria. Finally, after a\nhalf-century of horse-and-wagon pioneering, the first railroads spanned\nthe continent in 1869. But the Union Pacific and Central Pacific were\nmore the concern of California than of Oregon, for the Northwest had no\niron trail to link it with the parent East until in 1883 the Northern\nPacific Railway, under the leadership of Henry Villard, reached\nPortland.\n\nSo Oregon was discovered by sea and land, and finally, as highways of\nsteel replaced the dusty trails of the emigrants, she has come into her\nown. From within and without she has builded, and what she has done for\nher sons, and offers to her settlers, has established a place for her in\nthe respectful attention of the world.\n\nNow, in the year nineteen hundred and fifteen, a new era is dawning for\nOregon and for all our Western Coast, through fresh enterprise, this\ntime again by sea. The waters of the Atlantic and Pacific have been\njoined at Panama, our continental coast line, to all intents and\npurposes, being made continuous, and the two Portlands, of Oregon and\nMaine, become maritime neighbors. Our East and our West have clasped\nhands again at the Isthmus, and comparative strangers as they are, there\nis need for an introduction when they meet.\n\nNot strangers, perhaps; better brothers long separated, each unfamiliar\nwith the attainments and the developed character of the other. The\nyounger brother, the Westerner, has from the very nature of things\nchanged most. His growth, in body, mind, and experience, is at times\ndifficult for the Easterner to fathom. A generation ago, he was such an\nimmature fellow, so lacking in poise, in accomplishments, and even in\ncertain of those characteristics which comprise what the East chooses to\nconsider civilization; and his country, compared with what it is to-day,\nwas so crudely developed.\n\nThe Easterner this year is the one who is coming to his brother of the\nWest, because of the Canal, the Expositions celebrating its completion,\nand an immediate inclination to \"see America first\" impressed upon our\npublic for the most part by the present war-madness of Europe.\n\nIt would be rank presumption for any one person to pretend to speak a\nword of explanation to that visitor on behalf of the Coast. As a fact,\nno explanation is required; the States of the Pacific are their own\nexplanation, and their people must be known by their works. Secondly,\nthe Coast is such a vast territory that what might be a reasonably\nintelligent introduction to one portion of it would be utterly\ninapplicable elsewhere.\n\nSo this little book does not undertake to present a comprehensive\naccount of our westernmost States, or even of the Oregon Country. It is\nintended simply to suggest a few of the many attractions which may be\nencountered here and there along the Pacific, the references to which\nare woven together with threads of personal reminiscence pertaining to\ncharacteristic phases of the western life of to-day. For the stranger it\nmay possess some measure of information; it should at least induce him\nto tarry in the region sufficiently long to secure an impression of the\nbyways as well as of the highways. For the man to whom Oregon,\nCalifornia, or Washington stands for home, these pages may contain an\necho of interest--for we are apt to enjoy most sympathetic accounts of\nthe things we love best. But for visitor or resident, or one who reads\nof a country he may not see, the chief mission of these chapters is to\nchronicle something of their author's enthusiasm for the land they\nconcern, to hint of the pleasurable possibilities of its out-of-doors,\nand, mayhap, to offer a glimpse of the new West of to-day in the\npreparation for its greater to-morrow.\n\n  G. P. P.\n  BEND, OREGON,\n  December 25, 1914.\n\n\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENT\n\n\nSome of the material in this book has been printed in substantially the\nsame form in _Recreation_ whose Editor has kindly sanctioned its further\nutilization here.\n\nFor the use of many photographs I am indebted to the courtesy of\nofficials of the Oregon-Washington, and Spokane, Portland and Seattle\nrailways.\n\nG. P. P.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE\n\n  I.--\"OUT WEST\"                                                       1\n\n  II.--THE VALLEY OF CONTENT                                           9\n\n  III.--THE LAND OF LEGENDS                                           19\n\n  IV.--THE LAND OF MANY LEAGUES                                       37\n\n  V.--HOW THE RAILROADS CAME                                          54\n\n  VI.--THE HOME MAKERS                                                64\n\n  VII.--ON OREGON TRAILS                                              76\n\n  VIII.--UNCLE SAM'S FORESTS                                          90\n\n  IX.--A CANOE ON THE DESCHUTES                                      105\n\n  X.--OLYMPUS                                                        116\n\n  XI.--\"THE GOD MOUNTAIN OF PUGET SOUND\"                             130\n\n  XII.--A SUMMER IN THE SIERRAS                                      153\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\n  THE COLUMBIA RIVER VALLEY AND MOUNT\n  ADAMS                                                    _Frontispiece_\n\n  Copyright, Gifford, Portland, Ore.\n\n  \"THE MAN FROM BOISÉ DESCRIBES GOD'S\n  COUNTRY IN TERMS OF SAGEBRUSH AND\n  BROWN PLAINS\"                                                        2\n\n  \"THE PALOUSE DWELLER PICTURES WHEAT\n  FIELDS.\" THE GRAIN COUNTRY OF EASTERN\n  WASHINGTON                                                           2\n\n  From a photograph by Frank Palmer, Spokane,\n  Wash.\n\n  A WESTERN MOUNTAINEERING CLUB ON THE\n  HIKE                                                                 6\n\n  From a photograph by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  ALONG THE WILLAMETTE                                                12\n\n  MOUNT SHASTA                                                        12\n\n  From a photograph by Weister Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  MOUNT HOOD FROM LOST LAKE                                           20\n\n  Copyrighted photo by W. A. Raymond, Moro, Ore.\n\n  NATIVES SPEARING SALMON ON THE COLUMBIA                             22\n\n  Copyright 1901 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.\n\n  COASTING ON MOUNT HOOD                                              22\n\n  From a photograph by Weister Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  THE PACIFIC                                                         24\n\n  Copyright 1910 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  ALONG THE COLUMBIA. \"GROTESQUE ROCKS\n  RISE SHEER FROM THE RIVER'S EDGE\"                                   24\n\n  Copyright 1910 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  CELILO FALLS ON THE COLUMBIA                                        28\n\n  Copyright 1902 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.\n\n  THE NORTH ABUTMENT OF THE BRIDGE OF THE\n  GODS                                                                28\n\n  Copyright 1902 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.\n\n  WHERE THE OREGON TRUNK RAILWAY CROSSES\n  THE COLUMBIA. \"THE RIVER ROLLS BETWEEN\n  BANKS OF BARRENNESS\"                                                30\n\n  Copyright 1912 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  COLUMBIA RIVER. THE LAND OF INDIAN\n  LEGENDS                                                             30\n\n  Copyright 1909 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.\n\n  THE DALLES OF THE COLUMBIA                                          32\n\n  From a photograph by Weister Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  ALONG THE COLUMBIA RIVER. \"A REGION OF\n  SURPASSING SCENERY\"                                                 34\n\n  Copyright 1912 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  CENTRAL OREGON TRAVEL IN THE OLD DAYS                               38\n\n  A CENTRAL OREGON FREIGHTER. \"YOU WILL\n  FIND THEM EVERYWHERE IN THE RAILLESS\n  LAND, THE FREIGHTERS AND THEIR TEAMS\"                               38\n\n  IN THE DRY-FARM LANDS OF CENTRAL OREGON.\n  \"SERRIED BY VALLEYS, WHERE THE GOLD OF\n  SUN AND GRAIN, AND VAGRANT CLOUD\n  SHADOWS, MADE GORGEOUS PICTURINGS\"                                  42\n\n  CROOKED RIVER CANYON, NOW SPANNED BY A\n  RAILROAD BRIDGE                                                     56\n\n  IN THE DESCHUTES CANYON. \"THE RIVER\n  WINDS SINUOUSLY, SEEKING FIRST ONE, AND\n  THEN ANOTHER, POINT OF THE COMPASS\"                                 56\n\n  Copyright 1911 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  ALONG THE CANYON OF THE DESCHUTES                                   62\n\n  Copyright 1911 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  IRRIGATION--\"FIRST, PARCHED LANDS OF SAGE;\n  THEN THE FLOW\"                                                      68\n\n  Series Copyright 1909 by Asahel Curtis\n\n  IRRIGATION--\"NEXT, WATER IN A MASTER\n  DITCH AND COUNTLESS MAN-MADE RIVULETS\n  BETWEEN THE FURROWS\"                                                68\n\n  \"IT WAS A VERY TYPICAL STAGECOACH\"                                  70\n\n  IN THE HOMESTEAD COUNTRY                                            70\n\n  A VALLEY OF WASHINGTON. \"THE BIG WESTLAND\n  SMILES AND RECEIVES THEM ALL\"                                       74\n\n  From a photograph by Frank Palmer, Spokane, Wash.\n\n  A TRAILSIDE DIP IN A MOUNTAIN LAKE                                  78\n\n  \"SLIDING DOWN SNOW-FIELDS IS FUN, THOUGH\n  CHILLY\"                                                             78\n\n  ON THE TRAIL IN THE HIGHLANDS OF THE\n  CASCADES                                                            80\n\n  \"A SKY BLUE LAKE SET LIKE A SAPPHIRE IN\n  AN EMERALD MOUNT\"                                                   80\n\n  THE TRAILS ARE NOT ALL DRY-SHOD                                     84\n\n  \"OUR TRAIL WOUND BENEATH A FAIRY FOREST\"                            84\n\n  AN OREGON TRAIL                                                     86\n\n  From a Photograph by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  \"PACKING UP\" AT A DESERTED RANGER\n  STATION                                                             96\n\n  USING THE FOREST FIRE TELEPHONE AT A\n  RANGER STATION                                                      96\n\n  AN OREGON TROUT STREAM                                             100\n\n  From a Photograph by Raymond, Moro, Ore.\n\n  CANOEING AND DUCK SHOOTING MAY BE\n  COMBINED ON THE DESCHUTES                                          108\n\n  ON A BACKWATER OF THE DESCHUTES                                    108\n\n  ALONG THE DESCHUTES, THE \"RIVER OF FALLS.\"\n  \"IT ROARS AND RUSHES, IN WHITE-WATERED\n  CASCADES\"                                                          112\n\n  Copyright 1911 By Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  \"CANOEING IS THE MOST SATISFACTORY METHOD\n  OF TRAVEL EXTANT\"                                                  118\n\n  THE PACK TRAIN ABOVE TIMBER LINE                                   118\n\n  From a photo by Belmore Browne\n\n  \"THE HUMES GLACIER, OVER WHICH WE WENT\n  TO MOUNT OLYMPUS\"                                                  128\n\n  \"OUR NATURE-MADE CAMP IN ELWHA BASIN\"                              128\n\n  THE \"GOD MOUNTAIN\" OF PUGET SOUND                                  132\n\n  Copyright 1910 by L. G. Linkletter\n\n  \"THE LIVE OAKS OF BERKELEY'S CAMPUS\"                               156\n\n  From a photograph by Wells Drury, Berkeley, Cal.\n\n  LOOKING ACROSS THE CLOUDS TO MOUNT\n  ADAMS FROM THE FLANKS OF RAINIER                                   156\n\n  Copyright 1909 by L. G. Linkletter\n\n  \"WE GLORIED IN THE SHEER MIGHTINESS OF\n  EL CAPITAN\"                                                        158\n\n  \"A VAST FLOWER GARDEN MAINTAINED ENTICINGLY\n  BY DAME NATURE\"                                                    160\n\n  Copyright 1912 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.\n\n  LIGHT AND SHADOW IN YOSEMITE                                       160\n\n  SUNRISE AT HETCH-HETCHY                                            164\n\n  THE GOVERNMENT ROAD THAT LEADS TO\n  MOUNT RAINIER                                                      164\n\n\n\n\nIn the Oregon Country\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\"Out West\"\n\n\n\"What is the most pronounced difference between East and West?\" A\nBostonian once asked me that. I was East after a year or two of\nwesterning, and he seemed to think it would be easy enough to answer\noff-hand. But for the life of me I could find no fit reply. For a time\nthat is--and then it struck me.\n\n\"Everyone is proud of everything out West,\" said I. \"Local patriotism is\na religion--if you know what I mean.\"\n\nYou who have lived on the Pacific Slope will understand. You who have\nvisited the Pacific Slope will half-understand. Did you ever hear of a\nNew Jersey man fighting because his town was maligned? You never did!\nHave you yet encountered a York State small-town dweller who would\ndevote hours to proving that his community was destined to outdistance\nall its neighbors because God had been especially good to it--and ready\nto back his boast to the limit? No indeed! Yet most of us have seen\nWesterners actually come to blows protecting the fair name of their\nchosen town, and I know scores of them who can, and will, on the\nslightest provocation, demonstrate that their particular Prosperity\nCenter is the coming city of destiny.\n\nIn short every Westerner is inordinately proud of his town and his\ncountry. On trains you hear it, in hotel lobbies, on street corners. The\nstranger seated at your side in the smoking compartment regales you with\ndescriptions of his particular \"God's Country.\" If ever there was an\noverworked phrase west of the Missouri, it is that, and the inventor of\na fitting synonym should reap royal rewards, in travelers' gratitude if\nnothing else. The man from Boisé describes \"God's Country\" in terms of\nsagebrush and brown plains; the Palouse dweller pictures wheat fields,\nmentioning not wind storms and feverish summer mercury; the\nCalifornian sees his poppy-golden hills; the eyes of the Puget Sound\ndweller are bright with memories of majestic timber and broad waterways,\nunclouded by any mention of gray rain; the man from Bend talks of\nrushing rivers and copper-hued pines, his enthusiasm for the homeland\nunalloyed by reference to summer dusts; the orchard owner of Hood River\nor Wen-atchee has his heaven lined with ruddy apples, and discourses\namazing figures concerning ever-increasing world market for the product\nof his acres; he who hails from the Coast cities, whose all-pervading\npassion is optimism, weaves convincing prophecies of the golden future.\nAnd so it goes. Each for his own, each an enthusiast, a loyal patriot, a\nrabid disciple. Eastern travel acquaintances produce the latest\nphotograph of their youngest offspring, but the Westerner brings forth\nviews and plats of his home town; no children of his own flesh are more\nbeloved.\n\nYes, truly, it is a bore. The thing is overdone. There is too much of\nit. And yet--well, it is the very spirit of the West, a natural\nexpression of the pride of creation, for these men of to-day are\ncreating homes and towns, and doing it under fiercely competitive\nconditions. They have builded upon their judgment and staked their all\nupon the throw of fortune. They are pleased with their accomplishments\nand vastly determined to bend the future to their ends. It is arrogance,\nno doubt, but healthy and happy, and the very essence of youthful\naccomplishment. And its very insistency and sincerity spell success, and\nare invigorating to boot.\n\n[Illustration: \"The Palouse dweller pictures wheat fields.\" The grain\ncountry of eastern Washington\n\nFrom a photograph by Frank Palmer, Spokane, Wash.]\n\n[Illustration: \"The man from Boisé describes God's country in terms of\nsagebrush and brown plains\"]\n\nThe old differences between East and West are no more, of course. Except\nfor a trifle more informality under the setting sun, clothes and their\nwearing are the same. The Queen's English is butchered no more\ndistressingly in California than in Connecticut. Proportionately to\nresources, educational opportunities are identical. Music and the arts\nare no longer strangers where blow Pacific breezes, nor have they been\nfor decades. The West is wild and woolly no more, railroads have\nreplaced stagecoaches, fences bisect the ranges, free land is almost a\nthing of the past. Yet, withal, existence for the peoples of the two\nborders of our continent is not cast in an identical mold.\n\n\"Back East\" residents are apt to regard the West as a land of\ncuriosities, human and natural. \"Out West\" dwellers are inclined to be\nsupercilious when they mention the ways of the Atlantic seaboard.\n\nAll statements to the contrary notwithstanding, East is East, and West\nis West, no matter how fluently they mingle. The difference between them\nis not to be defined by conversational metes and bounds. It is not\nmerely of miles, of scenery, or of manners, or even of enthusiasm. It\nis, in fact, quite intangible, and yet it exists, as anyone who has\ndwelt upon both sides of our continent realizes. Aside from the\ntrivialities--which are wrapt up in such words as \"culture,\" \"custom,\"\n\"precedent,\" and the like--the fundamental, explanatory reason for the\nintangible differences is one of years. Most of the West is buoyantly\nyouthful, some of it blatantly boyish. Much of the East is in the prime\nof middle age, some of it senile. Naturally the East is inclined to\nconservative pessimism--an attribute of advancing years--and the West to\nimpulsive optimism.\n\nDo not foster the notion that the term \"extreme\" West really applies,\nfor it doesn't. The West, as I have seen it, is too nervous, socially\nspeaking, to dare extremes. It is too inexperienced to essay\nexperiments, too desirous of doing the correct thing. While it wouldn't\nfor the world admit the fact, socially it is quite content to keep its\nintelligent eyes on the examples set back East, and even then its\nreplica of what it sees is apt to be a modified one.\n\nIf this bashfulness holds good socially, it emphatically does not\ncommercially. For in things economic there is far more dash and daring,\nand bigness of conception and rapidity of realization in Western\nbusiness affairs than in those of the East. Opportunity is knocking on\nevery hand, and those who think and act most quickly become her lucky\nhosts. The countries of the West are upbuilding with a rapidity for the\nmost part inconceivable to Europe-traveled Easterners, and affairs move\nat a lively pace, so that the laggards are left behind and only the\nable-bodied can keep abreast of the progress. And with all the dangers\nof the happy-go-lucky methods, the pitfalls of the inherent gambling\nthat lies beneath the surface of much of it, Western business life\nundoubtedly offers the favored field for the young man of to-day who\nhas, in addition to the normal commercial attributes, the ability to\nkeep his head.\n\n[Illustration: A Western mountaineering club on the hike\n\nFrom a photograph by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\nGreeley's advice was never sounder than to-day; revised, it should read:\n\"Come West, young man, and help the country grow.\"\n\nThe start has just been made. Perhaps the days of strident booms are\nover (let us trust so), and it may be that the bonanza opportunities are\nfor the most part buried in the past, together with the first advent of\nthe railroads, the discoveries of gold, and the exploitation of\nagriculture, which gave them birth. But the West is getting her second\nwind. The greater development is yet to come; the Panama Canal, with\nquickened immigration, manufacturing, and a more thorough-going\ncultivation of resources than ever in the past, spell that. What has\ngone before is trivial and inconsequential in comparison with what is to\ncome. Pioneering is along different lines than in the old days, but it\nstill is pioneering, and the call of it is as insistent for ears\nproperly tuned.\n\n  I hear the tread of pioneers\n    Of cities yet to be,\n  The first low wash of waves where soon\n    Will roll a human sea.\n\nThe waves have wet the shores, but their true advance has scarce begun.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nThe Valley of Content\n\n\nOregon--the old Oregon Territory of yesterday and the State of\nto-day--is our very own. It was neither bought, borrowed, nor stolen\nfrom another nation. It is of the United States because our fathers came\nhere first, carved out homes from the wilderness, and unfurled their\nflag overhead; through the most fundamental of rights--that of\ndiscovery, coupled with possession and development.\n\nThe New England States we inherited from Britain, although the will was\nsorely contested. For Louisiana we paid a price. Texas and California we\nannexed from Mexico, and purchased New Mexico and Arizona. Alaska was\nbought from Russia for a song. Alone of all the United States the old\nOregon Territory became ours by normal acquisition.\n\nThence, perhaps, is the compelling attraction for the native-born of\nOregon to-day. Mayhap a touch of historic romance clings about the\ncountry; or it may be simply the feeling of bigness, the broad\nexpansiveness of the views, the mightiness of mountains, the splendor of\nthe trees, and the air's crisp vitality that make Oregon life so worth\nwhile.\n\nWhatever the explanation, it is assuredly a pleasant place in which to\nlive, this land of Oregon, and the transplanted Easterner cannot but be\nconscious of its attractions, just as he is of the myriad delights of\nthe entire Coast country. A land of delight it is, from Puget Sound to\nthe riviera of California, from the snow mountains to the sagebrush\nplains, where rose the dust of immigrants' \"prairie schooners\" not so\nmany years ago.\n\nThe guardian of Oregon's southern gateway is Shasta, and close beside\nits gleaming flanks rolls the modern trail of steel whereon the wayfarer\nfrom San Francisco passes over the Siskiyous into the valleys of the\nRogue and the Umpqua.\n\nShasta displays its attractions surpassingly well. An appreciative\nnature placed this great white gem in a wondrously appropriate setting\nof broken foothills and timbered reaches that billow upward to the snow\nline from the south and west, with never a petty rival to break the calm\ndominance of the master peak, and nothing to mar the symmetry of the\ncool green woodlands. For Shasta stands alone, and from its isolation is\ndoubly impressive. One sees it all at once, as the train clambers up the\ngrades towards Oregon, not a mere peak among many of a range, but an\nindividual cone, neighborless and inspiring. Shasta has a volcanic\nhistory, and but a few hundred years ago bestirred itself titanically,\ncasting forth balls of molten lava which to-day are encountered for\nscores of miles roundabout, weird testimonials to the latent strength\nnow seemingly so reposeful beneath the calm crust of the earth.\n\nUp and still up, into the timbered mountains, you are borne, until the\nvery heart of the tousled Siskiyous is about you. Then all at once the\ndivide lies behind and with one locomotive instead of several the train\nswings downward and northward into Oregon, winding interminably, and\ntwisting and looping along hillsides and about the heads of little\nstreams, which grow into goodly rivers as you follow them. Slowly the\nserried mountains iron out into gentler slopes dimpled with meadows, and\nhere and there are homes and cultivated fields, and steepish roads of\nmany ruts. Then the rushing Rogue River is companion for a space, and\norchards and towns dot the wayside. More rough country follows, the\nRogue and the Umpqua are left behind in turn, and the rails bear you to\nthe regions of the Willamette.\n\nA broad valley, rich, prosperous, and beautiful to look upon, is the\nWillamette, and a valley of many moods. Neither in scenic charms nor\nagricultural resourcefulness is its heritage restricted to a single\nfield. There are timberland and trout stream, hill and dale, valley and\nmountain; rural beauty of calm Suffolk is neighbor to the ragged\npicturesqueness of Scotland; there are skylines comparable with\nNorway's, and lowlands peaceful as Sweden's pastoral vistas; the giant\ntimber, or their relic stumps, at some pasture edge, spell wilderness,\nwhile a happy, alder-lined brook flowing through a bowlder-dotted field\nis reminiscent of the uplands of Connecticut. Altogether, it is a rarely\nvariegated viewland, is this vale of the Willamette.\n\n[Illustration: Along the Willamette]\n\n[Illustration: Mount Shasta\n\nFrom a photograph by Weister Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\nYou have seen valleys which were vast wheat fields, or where orchards\nwere everywhere; in California and abroad you have viewed valleys\ndedicated to vineyards, and from mountain vantage points you have\nfeasted your eyes upon the greenery of timberland expanses; all the\nworld over you can spy out valleys dotted with an unvaried checkerboard\nof gardens, or green with pasture lands. But where have you seen a\nvalley where all of this is mingled, where nature refuses to be a\nspecialist and man appears a Jack of all outdoor trades? If by chance\nyou have journeyed from Medford to Portland, with some excursioning from\nthe beaten paths through Oregon's valley of content, you have viewed\nsuch a one.\n\nFor nature has staged a lavish repertoire along the Willamette. There\nare fields of grain and fields of potatoes; hop yards and vineyards\nstand side by side; emerald pastures border brown cornfields; forests of\nprimeval timber shadow market garden patches; natty orchards of apples,\npeaches, and plums are neighbors to waving expanses of beet tops. In\nshort, as you whirl through the valley, conjure up some antithesis of\nvegetation and you must wait but a scanty mile or two before viewing it\nfrom the observation car.\n\nAs first I journeyed through this pleasant land of the Willamette, a\nlittle book, written just half a century ago, fell into my hands, and\nthese words concerning the valley, read then, offered a description\nwhose peer I have not yet encountered:\n\n     The sweet Arcadian valley of the Willamette, charming with meadow,\n     park, and grove! In no older world where men have, in all their\n     happiest moods, recreated themselves for generations in taming\n     earth to orderly beauty, have they achieved a fairer garden than\n     Nature's simple labor of love has made there, giving to rough\n     pioneers the blessings and the possible education of refined and\n     finished landscape, in the presence of landscape strong, savage,\n     and majestic.\n\nThen Portland. Portland, the city of roses and the metropolitan heart of\nOregon, stands close to where the Willamette, the river of our valley of\ncontent, meanders into the greater Columbia. Were this a guidebook I\nmight inundate you with figures of population, bank clearings, and land\nvalues, all of them risen and still rising in bounds almost beyond\nbelief. I might narrate incidents of the city's building--how stumps\nstood a half dozen years ago where such and such a million dollar\nhostelry now rises, or how so-and-so exchanged a sack of flour for lots\nwhose value to-day is reckoned in six figures. But these are matters of\nbusiness, and business was divorced years ago from the simple pleasures\nof the out-of-doors.\n\nPortland is a city of prosperity. That fact strikes home to the most\ncasual observer. Blessed above all else--especially in the eyes of an\nEasterner--is its freedom from poverty. There are no slums, no \"lower\neast side\" like New York's rabbit warrens, no Whitechapel hell holes. It\nis a clean, youthful city, delightfully located on either side of its\nriver and rising on surrounding hills of rare beauty. Its metropolitan\nmaturity, indeed, is all the more remarkable for its youth, as seventy\nyears ago the site of the town was a howling wilderness, set in the\nmidst of a territory peopled at best by a few score whites.\n\nIt was in 1845 that the first settler, Overton by name, made his home\nwhere now is Portland. Close after him came Captain John H. Couch, who\nlocated a donation land claim where is now the northern portion of the\ncity. And from that beginning gradually grew the city of to-day which\nin the California gold rush of the early fifties received her first\nnotable impetus through her position as a commanding supply point for\nthe fast-crowding and lavishly opulent sister State to the south.\n\nBorn at the hands of pioneers and weaned with the gold of California,\nthe city was sturdily founded, and to-day the strength of the pioneer\nblood and the glow of the golden beginnings are still upon her.\n\nThe fairest of fair Portland is seen from her show hilltop, Council\nCrest. The days are not all sunny, but when they are and neither \"Oregon\nmist\"--which is a local humor for downright rain--nor clouds obscure the\noutlook, the easterly skyline from Council Crest is a superbly pleasing\nintroduction to the State. Over the mists of the lowlands you see Mount\nHood, and to have seen Mount Hood, even from afar, is to have tasted the\nrarest visual delight of all the Northwest land. Shasta, to the south,\nwas an imposing welcomer to the empire of surpassing views, but Hood\noutdoes Shasta and its snow-crowned neighbors of the old Oregon country\nas completely as the pinnacles of Switzerland overshadow their lesser\ncompanions of the Italian Alps. Hood, somehow, breathes the very spirit\nof the State it stands for; its charm is the essence of the beauty of\nits surroundings, its stateliness the keynote of the strength of the\nsturdy West. It is a white, chaste monument of hope, radiantly setting\nfor its peoples roundabout a mark of high attainment.\n\nA city of destiny its friends call Portland, and a mountain of destiny\nsurely is Hood--its destiny to diffuse something of the spirit of\nhealthful happiness and fuller ideals for those, at least, who will take\ntime from the busy rush of their multiplying prosperity.\n\nAnd here again, on Council Crest, I venture to turn back to 1860;\nventure at least again to quote from the literary heritage of Theodore\nWinthrop, who saw Oregon's mountains then and wrote of them and their\ninfluences these lines:\n\n     Our race has never yet come into contact with great mountains as\n     companions of daily life, nor felt that daily development of the\n     finer and more comprehensive senses which these signal facts of\n     nature compel. That is an influence of the future. The Oregon\n     people, in a climate where being is bliss,--where every breath is a\n     draught of vivid life,--these Oregon people, carrying to a new and\n     grander New England of the West a fuller growth of the American\n     Idea, under whose teaching the man of lowest ambitions must still\n     have some little indestructible respect for himself, and the brute\n     of most tyrannical aspirations some little respect for others;\n     carrying there a religion two centuries farther on than the crude\n     and cruel Hebraism of the Puritans; carrying the civilization of\n     history where it will not suffer by the example of Europe,--with\n     such material, that Western society, when it crystallizes, will\n     elaborate new systems of thought and life. It is unphilosophical to\n     suppose that a strong race, developing under the best, largest, and\n     calmest conditions of nature, will not achieve a destiny.\n\nBe that as it may, no man, seeing Hood from Portland for the first time,\ncould but experience a longing to answer the call of the beckoning\nmountain, and to find for himself the secrets of the land that lies\nbeyond it. And so Hood was the piper which called us to the hinterland\nof Oregon, where, quite by chance, we stayed, until now we find we are\nOregonians, by adoption and by choice.\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Land of Legends\n\n\nThe nomenclature of the Northwest suffered at the hands of its\nEnglish-speaking discoverers, for much that was fair to the ear in the\nIndian names has been replaced with dreary commonplaces, possessing\nneither beauty nor special fitness.\n\nTwo Yankee sea captains tossed a coin to decide whether they would name\nthe city Portland or Boston. The Boston skipper lost, and \"Multnomah,\"\nwhich was the old Indian name for the place and means \"Down the Waters,\"\nbecame prosaic Portland. Because some Methodist missionaries preferred a\nname with a Biblical twang to the Indian \"Chemeketa,\" meaning the \"Place\nof Peace,\" Oregon's capital of to-day became Salem and the title which\nthe red men gave their council ground was abandoned.\n\nThe Great River was first known as the Oregon, just why no authority\nseems to tell us reliably but later became the Columbia when the ship of\nthat name sailed across its bar. Jonathan Carver's choice in names,\nhowever, if no longer bestowed upon the river, soon became that of all\nits lower regions, and they acquired the lasting title of the Oregon\nCountry.\n\nThe old Oregon, the Columbia of to-day, was the gateway to the Pacific\nfor the explorers and the immigrants of yesterday. For Lewis and Clark\nit opened a friendly passageway through the mountain ranges, and\nlikewise for the human stream of immigration which later followed its\nbanks from the East. So is it too a modern portal of prosperity for\nPortland, as this greatest river of the West concentrates the tonnage of\nmuch of three vast states by water grades at Portland's door, and two\ntranscontinental railroads follow its banks, draining the wealth of the\nInland Empire while enriching it, just as the river itself physically\ndrains and adds wealth to the territory it traverses.\n\n[Illustration: Mount Hood from Lost Lake\n\nCopyrighted photo by W. A. Raymond, Moro, Ore.]\n\nTo us the Columbia was a gateway to the hinterland, for our pilgrimage\nupon it was easterly, up into the land of sunshine beyond Mount Hood\nand the Cascade mountain range, starting, on an impulse, after viewing\nthe snow-covered barriers from the heights of Portland. And as we\njourneyed easterly up the great river, whose water came from lakes of\nthe Canadian Rockies distant fourteen hundred miles, we found ourselves\nat once in a region of surpassing scenery and a land of quaint Indian\nlegends.\n\nA great wall of mountains shuts off the coastal regions from eastern\nOregon and Washington. The two divisions are as dissimilar in climate\nand vegetation as night and day. To the west is rain and lush growth; to\nthe east, drought and semi-arid desert. West of the Cascades are fir\nforests cluttered with underbrush and soggy with springs, while east are\ndry pine lands, park-like in their open beauty. The high plains of the\nhinterland are yellow grain fields chiefly, and irrigation is the right\nhand of agriculture; in the Willamette Valley, nature brings forth all\nthings in a revel of productivity.\n\nThe Columbia cleaves this great wall asunder, breaking through the\nmountains in a gorge some three thousand feet deep. Here was the\nmythical bridge of the gods, which, legend narrates, once spanned the\nriver from one mountainous bank to the other until ultimately it fell\nand dammed the stream. You come upon the site of the legendary bridge\nwhere Government locks now circumnavigate the cascades, a fall in the\nriver of wondrous beauty, hemmed in on north and south by timbered\nmountains. Sunken forests hereabout indicate that at one time the\nriver's course was checked by some great dam or volcanic convulsion, and\nevery evidence in the geological surroundings points to stupendous\nnatural cataclysms which distorted the face of nature leaving the\nsublime formations of the present.\n\nAs the train or boat bound up the Columbia progresses through this weird\nportal, fortunate you are if told the myths of this region which so\ntruly is a land of legends, as we were; of the mythical struggle between\nMount Hood on the south and Mount Adams on the north, in whose progress\nHood hurled a vast bowlder at his adversary which fell short of its\nintended mark, destroying the bridge; of the quaint fire legend of the\nKlickitats which later I chanced upon in print in Dr. Lyman's\nentertaining book _The Columbia River_.\n\n[Illustration: Natives spearing salmon on the Columbia\n\nCopyright 1901 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.]\n\n[Illustration: Coasting on Mount Hood\n\nFrom a photograph by Weister Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\nA father and two sons came from the East to the land along the\nColumbia, and the boys quarreled over the division of their chosen\nacres. So, to end the dispute, the father shot an arrow to the west and\none to the north, bidding his sons make their homes where the arrows\nfell. From one son sprang the tribe of Klickitats, while the other\nfounded the nation of Multnomah. Then Sahale, the Great Spirit, erected\nthe Cascade Range as a barrier wall between them to prevent possibility\nof friction. The remainder of Dr. Lyman's pretty myth is best told in\nhis own words:\n\n     But for convenience' sake, Sahale had created the great tamanous\n     bridge under which the waters of the Columbia flowed, and on this\n     bridge he had stationed a witch woman called Loowit, who was to\n     take charge of the fire. This was the only fire of the world. As\n     time passed on Loowit observed the deplorable condition of the\n     Indians, destitute of fire and the conveniences which it might\n     bring. She therefore besought Sahale to allow her to bestow fire\n     upon the Indians. Sahale, greatly pleased by the faithfulness and\n     benevolence of Loowit, finally granted her request. The lot of the\n     Indians was wonderfully improved by the acquisition of fire. They\n     began to make better lodges and clothes and had a variety of food\n     and implements, and, in short, were marvellously benefitted by the\n     bounteous gift.\n\nBut Sahale, in order to show his appreciation of the care with which\nLoowit had guarded the sacred fire, now determined to offer her any gift\nshe might desire as a reward. Accordingly, in response to his offer,\nLoowit asked that she be transformed into a young and beautiful girl.\nThis was accordingly effected, and now, as might have been expected, all\nthe Indian chiefs fell deeply in love with the guardian of tamanous\nbridge. Loowit paid little heed to any of them, until finally there came\ntwo chiefs, one from the north called Klickitat and one from the south\ncalled Wiyeast. Loowit was uncertain which of these two she most\ndesired, and as a result a bitter strife arose between the two. This\nwaxed hotter and hotter, until, with their respective warriors, they\nentered upon a desperate war. The land was ravaged, until all their new\ncomforts were marred, and misery and wretchedness ensued. Sahale\nrepented that he had allowed Loowit to bestow fire upon the Indians, and\ndetermined to undo all his work in so far as he could. Accordingly he\nbroke down the tamanous bridge, which dammed up the river with an\nimpassable reef, and put to death Loowit, Klickitat, and Wiyeast. But,\ninasmuch as they had been noble and beautiful in life, he determined to\ngive them a fitting commemoration after death. Therefore he reared over\nthem as monuments the great snow peaks; over Loowit, what we now call\nMt. St. Helen's; over Wiyeast, the modern Mt. Hood; and, above\nKlickitat, the great dome which now we call Mt. Adams.\n\n[Illustration: The Pacific\n\nCopyright 1910 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\n[Illustration: Along the Columbia--\"Grotesque rocks rise sheer from the\nriver's edge\"\n\nCopyright 1910 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland. Ore.]\n\nUp through timbered hillsides, from green fields, from the verdure of\nthe western flanks of the Cascades, winds the great river. The banks\nbecome steeper, the mountains behind them more rugged. Fairy threads of\nsilver, falling water, flutter down from cliffs. Grotesque rocks, mighty\nmonuments erected by a titan fire god when the world was young, rise\nsheer from the river's edge. Cumbersome fish wheels revolve sedately\nwhere the silver-sided salmon run in the springtime. The railroads cling\nclose to the stream, perforce tunneling where nature has provided no\npassageway, and the boat ploughs against the current which here and\nthere is swift and swirling as the cascades are approached. Then through\nthe locks you go, or by them if you travel by the steel highways, and\nquickly the scenes change, these new ones painted in a vastly different\nvein from those that have gone before.\n\nThe lofty, steep-walled hills become more gentle, and their cloak of\ngreen timber merges into brown grass. The river rolls between banks of\nbarrenness as we emerge on the western rim of the land of little rain,\nfor the moisture-laden clouds from the Pacific are thwarted in their\neastern progress by the mountain barrier, along whose summits they\ncluster weeping, in their baffled anger, upon the wet westerly slopes,\nwhile the dry sunny eastland mocks their dour grayness. Close beside\nthe river is the harshest of all this rainless land; sand blows, the\ncliffs are bare and black, the hillsides bleak and brown. But ever so\nlittle away from the barren valley bottom are rich regions of orchards\nand green fields, and easterly, in the countries of Walla Walla,\nPalouse, and John Day, far-reaching fields of grain abound. Farming is\nupon a bonanza basis, and the bigness of it all is reminiscent of the\nDakotas, were it not for the majestic mountain skylines, blessed visual\nreliefs lacking altogether in the continental mid-regions. The volume\nthen, is bound misleadingly, and those who see naught but its\nunprepossessing exterior gain no inkling of its charming hidden\nchapters.\n\nThen come The Dalles of the Columbia, close to the town of the same\nname, where the river, a sane waterway for a half a thousand miles\nabove, suddenly goes mad for a brief space of lawless waterfall and\nrock-rimmed cascades. At Walla Walla--whose very name means \"where the\nwaters meet\"--the two chief forks of the old Oregon River converge, the\nColumbia proper and the Snake, the one draining a northern empire, the\nother swinging southerly through Idaho, \"the gem of the mountains\" as\nthe Indians baptized it. Thence the great stream flows westerly some one\nhundred and twenty miles until it reaches the outlying ridge of the\nCascade chain, there encountering a huge low surface paved with\nglacier-polished sheets of basaltic rock. These plates, says Winthrop\nParker, who saw them as a trail follower in the early 'sixties, gave the\nplace the name _Dalles_, thanks to the Canadian voyageurs in the Hudson\nBay service. A brief distance above this flinty pavement the river is a\nmile wide, but where it forces tumultuous passageway through the rocks\nit narrows to a mere rift compressed, if not subdued, by the adamantine\nbarriers it cannot force asunder. Where the sides grow closest through\nthree rough slits in the rocky floor the white waters bore, each chasm\nso narrow that a child could cast a stone across.\n\nOn either hand are monotonous plains, gray with sagebrush and brown with\nsunburned grass. Rough hills rise northerly, in Washington. Eastward\nroll lower broadening lands, but turbulent with lesser hills. West is\nthe great ridge of the Cascade Range, with Hood rising majestic guardian\nover all, and the broad Columbia vanishing into the very heart of the\nshadowed mountains, unchecked on its seaward quest. The summer sunlight\nis blinding bright and the sky ethereal blue. An Indian hovel, or a\nragged home of a fish-spearer beside the rushing waters, furnishes\ncontrast--that of puny humanity in the face of nature at her mightiest.\nThe view is at once compellingly beautiful and weirdly repelling. Few\nwould live along the great river or thereabout from choice; and yet\nthe view of it--the startling, colorful panorama--is golden treasure\nbeyond the dreams of avarice.\n\nIt is this setting which marked the old-time entrance into Central\nOregon. Those words \"old-time,\" are characteristic of the swift-moving\ncountry; for using them, I refer to but six years ago, when Oregon's\nhinterland was a wilderness so far as railroads were concerned. These\ndalles of the Columbia, a milepost on the old transcontinental trail,\nare a place seen and passed to-day by those who rush on rails in brief\nhours where the pioneers of fifty years ago labored weeks. Also were\nthese dalles prominent in Indian life in the quiet midyears of the last\ncentury, when beavers were more plentiful than palefaces. Indeed, back\nto the very beginnings of Northwestern Indian lore their story goes,\ncoming to us, like so much else of the misty past of the Oregon Country,\nin a quaint legend.\n\n[Illustration: Celilo Falls on the Columbia\n\nCopyright 1902 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.]\n\n[Illustration: The north abutment of the Bridge of the Gods\n\nCopyright 1902 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.]\n\nIn the late 'fifties Theodore Winthrop made his way 'cross country from\nPort Townsend, on Puget Sound, to The Dalles on the Columbia. His book,\n_The Canoe and the Saddle_, describes that pioneer excursion through\nIndian land, traversing what was in reality an untrodden wilderness. Its\ncharm of literary expression is in no whit less fascinating than the\nwealth of its adventurous material, but the two, like the writer, are\nfar behind us, and all of the pleasant account I would refer to here is\nthe last chapter, which concerns the arrival at The Dalles, then an\noutpost of civilization.\n\nLooking down upon the valley of The Dalles, Winthrop writes a half\ncentury ago:\n\n     Racked and battered crags stood disorderly over all that rough\n     waste. There were no trees, nor any masses of vegetation to soften\n     the severities of the landscape. All was harsh and desolate, even\n     with the rich sun of an August afternoon doing what it might to\n     empurple the scathed fronts of rock, to gild the ruinous piles with\n     summer glories, and throw long shadows veiling dreariness. I looked\n     upon the scene with the eyes of a sick and weary man, unable to\n     give that steady thought to mastering its scope and detail without\n     which any attempt at artistic description becomes vague\n     generalization.\n\n     My heart sank within me as the landscape compelled me to be gloomy\n     like itself. It was not the first time I had perused the region\n     under desolating auspices. In a log barrack I could just discern\n     far beyond the river, I had that very summer suffered from a\n     villain malady, the smallpox. And now, as then, Nature harmonized\n     discordantly with my feelings, and even forced her nobler aspects\n     to grow sternly ominous. Mount Hood, full before me across the\n     valley, became a cruel reminder of the unattainable. It was\n     brilliantly near, and yet coldly far away, like some mocking bliss\n     never to be mine, though it might insult me forever by its scornful\n     presence.\n\n[Illustration: Columbia River. The land of Indian legends\n\nCopyright 1909 by Benj. A. Gifford, The Dalles, Ore.]\n\n[Illustration: Where the Oregon Trunk Railway crosses the Columbia. \"The\nriver rolls between banks of barrenness\"\n\nCopyright 1912 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\nEvidently it was while held captive by the \"villain malady\" that\nWinthrop learned from the Indians the legend of The Dalles, which he\ntold so well that to paraphrase it would be folly. Here I give it, as\nextracted from the thumb-marked little book whose publication date is\n1863:\n\n     The world has been long cycles in educating itself to be a fit\n     abode for men. Man, for his part, has been long ages in growing\n     upward through lower grades of being, to become whatever he now may\n     be. The globe was once nebulous, was chaotic, was anarchic, and is\n     at last become somewhat cosmical. Formerly rude and convulsionary\n     forces were actively at work, to compel chaos into anarchy and\n     anarchy into order. The mighty ministries of the elements warred\n     with each other, each subduing and each subdued. There were\n     earthquakes, deluges, primeval storms, and furious volcanic\n     outbursts. In this passionate, uncontrolled period of the world's\n     history, man was a fiend, a highly uncivilized, cruel, passionate\n     fiend.\n\n     The northwest was then one of the centres of volcanic action. The\n     craters of the Cascades were fire-breathers, fountains of liquid\n     flame, catapults of red-hot stones. Day was lurid, night was\n     ghastly with this terrible light. Men exposed to such dread\n     influences could not be other than fiends, as they were, and they\n     warred together cruelly, as the elements were doing.\n\n     Where the great plains of the Upper Columbia now spread, along the\n     Umatilla, in the lovely valley of the Grande Ronde, between the\n     walls of the Grand Coulee, was an enormous inland sea filling the\n     vast interior of the continent, and beating forever against\n     ramparts of hills, to the east of the desolate plain of the\n     Dalles.\n\n     Every winter there were convulsions along the Cascades, and gushes\n     of lava came from each fiery Tacoma, to spread new desolation over\n     desolation, pouring out a melted surface, which, as it cooled in\n     summer, became a fresh layer of sheeny, fire-hardened dalles.\n\n     Now as the fiends of that epoch and region had giant power to harm\n     each other, they must have of course giant weapons of defence.\n     Their mightiest weapon of offence and defence was their tail; in\n     this they resembled the iguanodons and other \"mud pythons\" of that\n     period, but no animal ever had such force of tail as these terrible\n     monster fiendmen who warred together all over the Northwest.\n\n     As ages went on, and the fires of the Cascades began to accomplish\n     their duty of expanding the world, earthquakes and eruptions\n     diminished in virulence. A winter came when there was none. By and\n     by there was an interval of two years, then again of three years,\n     without rumble or shock, without floods of fire or showers of\n     red-hot stones. Earth seemed to be subsiding into an era of peace.\n     But the fiends would not take the hint to be peaceable; they warred\n     as furiously as ever.\n\n     Stoutest in heart and tail of all the hostile tribes of that\n     scathed region was a wise fiend, the Devil. He had observed the\n     cessation in convulsions of Nature, and had begun to think out its\n     lesson. It was the custom of the fiends, so soon as the Dalles\n     plain became agreeably cool after an eruption, to meet there every\n     summer and have a grand tournament after their fashion. Then they\n     feasted riotously, and fought again until they were weary.\n\n     [Illustration: The Dalles of the Columbia\n\n     From a photograph by Weister Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\n     Although the eruptions of the Tacomas had ceased now for three\n     years, as each summer came round this festival was renewed. The\n     Devil had absented himself from the last two, and when, on the\n     third summer after his long retirement, he reappeared among his\n     race on the field of tourney, he became an object of respectful\n     attention. Every fiend knew that against his strength there was no\n     defence; he could slay so long as the fit was on. Yet the idea of\n     combined resistance to so dread a foe had never hatched itself in\n     any fiendish head; and besides, the Devil, though he was feared,\n     was not especially hated. He had never won the jealousy of his\n     peers by rising above them in morality. So now as he approached,\n     with brave tail vibrating proudly, all admired and many feared him.\n\n     The Devil drew near, and took the initiative in war, by making a\n     peace speech.\n\n     \"Princes, potentates, and powers of these infernal realms,\" said\n     he, \"the eruptions and earthquakes are ceasing. The elements are\n     settling into peacefulness. Can we not learn of them? Let us give\n     up war and cannibalism, and live in milder fiendishness and growing\n     love.\"\n\n     Then went up a howl from deviltry. \"He would lull us into crafty\n     peace, that he may kill and eat safely. Death! death to the\n     traitor!\"\n\n     And all the legions of fiends, acting with a rare unanimity, made\n     straight at their intended Reformer.\n\n     The Devil pursued a Fabian policy, and took to his heels. If he\n     could divide their forces, he could conquer in detail. Yet as he\n     ran his heart was heavy. He was bitterly grieved at this great\n     failure, his first experience in the difficulties of Reform. He\n     flagged sadly as he sped over the Dalles, toward the defiles near\n     the great inland sea, whose roaring waves he could hear beating\n     against their bulwark. Could he but reach some craggy strait among\n     the passes, he could take position and defy attack.\n\n     But the foremost fiends were close upon him. Without stopping, he\n     smote powerfully upon the rock with his tail. The pavement yielded\n     to that titanic blow. A chasm opened and went riving up the valley,\n     piercing through the bulwark hills. Down rushed the waters of the\n     inland sea, churning boulders to dust along the narrow trough.\n\n     The main body of the fiends shrunk back terror-stricken; but a\n     battalion of the van sprang across and made one bound toward the\n     heart-sick and fainting Devil. He smote again with his tail, and\n     more strongly. Another vaster cleft went up and down the valley,\n     with an earth quaking roar, and a vaster torrent swept along.\n\n     Still the leading fiends were not appalled. They took the leap\n     without craning. Many fell short, or were crowded into the roaring\n     gulf, but enough were left, and those of the chiefest braves, to\n     martyr their chase in one instant, if they overtook him. The Devil\n     had just time enough to tap once more, and with all the vigor of a\n     despairing tail.\n\n     [Illustration: Along the Columbia River. \"A region of surpassing\n     scenery\"\n\n     Copyright 1912 by Kiser Co., Portland, Oregon.]\n\n     He was safe. A third crevice, twice the width of the second, split\n     the rocks. This way and that it went, wavering like lightning\n     eastward and westward, riving a deeper cleft in the mountains that\n     held back the inland sea, riving a vaster gorge through the\n     majestic chain of the Cascades, and opening a way for the torrent\n     to gush oceanward. It was the crack of doom for the fiends. A few\n     essayed the leap. They fell far short of the stern edge, where the\n     Devil had sunk panting. They alighted on the water, but whirlpools\n     tripped them up, tossed them, bowled them along among floating\n     boulders, until the buffeted wretches were borne to the broader\n     calms below, where they sunk. Meanwhile, those who had not dared\n     the final leap attempted a backward one, but wanting the impetus of\n     pursuit, and shuddering at the fate of their comrades, every one of\n     them failed and fell short; and they too were swept away, horribly\n     sprawling in the flood.\n\n     As to the fiends who had stopped at the first crevice, they ran in\n     a body down the river to look for the mangled remains of their\n     brethren, and, the undermined bank giving way under their weight,\n     every fiend of them was carried away and drowned.\n\n     So perished the whole race of fiends.\n\n     As to the Devil, he had learnt a still deeper lesson. His tail\n     also, the ensign of deviltry, was irremediably dislocated by his\n     life-saving blow. In fact, it had ceased to be any longer a needful\n     weapon! Its antagonists were all gone; never a tail remained to be\n     brandished at it, in deadly encounter.\n\n     So, after due repose, the Devil sprang lightly across the chasms he\n     had so successfully engineered, and went home to rear his family\n     thoughtfully. Every year he brought his children down to the\n     Dalles, and told them the terrible history of his escape. The fires\n     of the Cascades burned away; the inland sea was drained, and its\n     bed became a fair prairie, and still the waters gushed along the\n     narrow crevice he had opened. He had, in fact, been the instrument\n     in changing a vast region from a barren sea into habitable land.\n\n     One great trial, however, remained with him, and made his life one\n     of grave responsibility. All his children born before the\n     catastrophe were cannibal, stiff-tailed fiends. After that great\n     event, every newborn imp of his was like himself in character and\n     person, and wore but a flaccid tail, the last insignium of\n     ignobility. Quarrels between these two factions embittered his days\n     and impeded civilization. Still it did advance, and long before his\n     death he saw the tails disappear forever.\n\nSuch is the Legend of The Dalles,--a legend not without a moral.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nThe Land of Many Leagues\n\n\nIt was a very \"typical\" stagecoach. That is, it was typical of the style\nBroadway would have expected in the production of a _Girl of the Golden\nWest_ or _The Great Divide_. Very comfortably you may still see them in\nmoving picture land--a region where the old West lives far woolier and\nwilder than it ever dared to be in actual life.\n\nHowever, this stage was neither make-believe nor comfortable. It was\nvery real and very comfortless. The time was six years ago and the place\nthe one hundred miles of worse than indifferent road between Shaniko and\nBend, in Central Oregon.\n\n\"Do you chew?\" asked the driver.\n\nI who sat next to him, plead innocence of the habit.\n\n\"Have a drink?\" said he later, producing a flask. And again I asked to\nbe excused.\n\n\"Don't smoke, neither, I suppose?\" The driver regarded me with\nsuspicion. \"Hell,\" said he, \"th' country's goin' to the dogs. These here\ncivilizin' inflooences is playing hob with everythin'. Las' three trips\nmy passengers haven't been fit company for man or beast--they neither\ndrank nor chawed. Not that I mean to be insultin'\"--I assured him he was\nnot--\"but times certainly have changed. The next thing along 'll come a\nrailroad and then all this goes to the scrap heap.\"\n\nHis gesture, with the last word, included the battered stage, the\ndejected horses, and the immediate surroundings of Shaniko Flats. For\nthe life of me I could see no cause for regret even supposing his\nprophecy came true to the letter! Twenty hours later, when the\nspringless seat, influenced by the attraction of gravitation in\nconjunction with the passage of many chuck holes, had permanently warped\nmy spinal column, I would have been even more ready to endorse the\nthreatened cataclysm.\n\n[Illustration: Central Oregon travel in the old days]\n\n[Illustration: A Central Oregon freighter. \"You will find them\neverywhere in the railless land, the freighters and their teams\"]\n\nSince that day when the old driver foresaw the yellow perils of\n\"civilizin' inflooences\" they have indeed invaded the land for which,\nuntil a couple of years ago, his four horses and his rattletrap stage\nformed the one connecting link with the \"outside.\" The \"iron horse\" has\nswept his old nags into oblivion, and two great railroads carry the\npassengers and packages which he and his brothers of the old Shaniko\nline transported in the past.\n\nThe change has come in five short years. Those, who, like myself, went\na-pioneering for the fun of it, making for Central Oregon because upon\nthe map it showed as the greatest railroadless land, have seen the warm\nbreath of development work as picturesque changes there as ever in the\nstory-book days when the West was in its infancy. We are young men, we\nwho chanced to Oregon's hinterland a few seasons gone by, yet already\ncan we spin yarns of the \"good old days\" which have a real smack of\nromance to them and cause the recounters themselves to sigh for what has\ngone before and, betimes, to pray for their return--almost!\n\nAlmost, but not actually. For who prefers twenty odd hours of\nstagecoaching to travel in a Pullman? or seriously bemoans the advent of\nelectric lights, running water, cement sidewalks, and other\nappurtenances of material development? Yet, of course, I realize full\nwell how tame and inconsiderable the \"pioneering,\" if by such a name it\ncan be dignified, of Central Oregon in the last decade must appear in\nthe eyes of Oregon's real pioneers, who came across the plains and\nstaked out the State with monuments of courage driven deep with\nprivation and far-sighted enterprise. Yet, while half our Eastern\ncousins believe the West utterly prosaic, and half are confident that\nsome of it is still the scene of dashing adventure, and the dwellers of\nthe Coast cities themselves are morally certain that all Oregon conducts\nitself along metropolitan lines, the fact remains that most of the big\nland between the Cascades and Blue Mountains was untouched yesterday and\nis to-day the pleasantest--and the least hackneyed--outdoor playland\navailable in all the West.\n\nCentral Oregon occupied an eddy in the stream of Western progress. On\nthe north the Columbia flowed past her doors, and the stream of\nimmigration, first following the water and later the railroads, ignored\nthe uninviting portals. Rock-rimmed toward the Columbia, lined with\nhills on the east, hedged in by the Cascades on the west, and remote\nfrom California's valleys on the south, this empire of 30,000,000 acres\nhas been a giant maverick, wandering at will among the ranges neglected\nby development. In 1911 the railroads roped the wanderer, when they\nforced their way southward from the Columbia up the canyon of the\nDeschutes. But my stage journey was two years prior to that.\n\nShaniko was a jumping-off place. It was the end of the Columbia Southern\nrailroad, which began at Biggs--and if a road can have a worse\nrecommendation than that I know it not! Biggs, under the grassless\ncliffs beside the Columbia, baked by sun, lashed by wind, and blinded\nwith sand, was impossible; and had it not been for the existence of\nBiggs one truthfully might call Shaniko the least attractive spot in the\nuniverse! The transcontinental train deposited me at Biggs and the\nColumbia Southern trainlet received me, after a brief interval dedicated\nto bolstering up the inner man with historic ham sandwiches and coffee\ninnocent of history, served in a shack beside a sand dune.\n\nSeventy miles separates Biggs from Shaniko, and a long afternoon was\nrequired to negotiate the distance. For an hour the diminutive train\npanted up oppressive grades, winding among rain-washed coulees, where\nthe soil was red adobe and the rocks were round and also tinged with\nred. Stunted sagebrush clothed the hillsides scantily, their slopes\nserried by cattle trails as evenly as contour lines upon a map. Then,\nthe rim of the Columbia hills gained, away we rattled southward, more\ndirectly and with some pretense of speed, across a rolling plateau of\nstubble fields and grain lands, dotted here and there with homes and\nserried by rounded valleys where the gold of sun and grain, and the gray\nof vagrant cloud shadows, made gorgeous picturings. Westerly, beyond the\ndrab and golden foreground and the blue haziness of the middle distance,\nthe Cascade Range silhouetted against a sky whose tones became richer\nand more cheerful as evening approached.\n\nWith the evening came Shaniko. \"The evil that men do lives after them,\"\nsaid Mark Antony, \"the good is oft interred with their bones.\" So let it\nnot be with Shaniko, for then in truth, of this town whose brightest day\nhas gone little indeed would survive.\n\n[Illustration: In the dry-farms lands of Central Oregon. \"Serried by\nvalleys, where the gold of sun and grain, and vagrant shadows, made\ngorgeous paintings.\"]\n\nShaniko was the railroad point for all Central Oregon when I first made\nits acquaintance, and from it freighters hauled merchandise to towns as\nfar distant as two hundred miles. Stages radiated to the south, and, in\n1909, a few hardy automobiles tried conclusions with the roads. The\nsheep of a sheepman's empire congregated there, giving Shaniko one boast\nof preëminence--it shipped more wool than any other point in the State.\nWith streets of mud or dust, according to the season, a score or so of\nframe shacks, its warehouses, livery barns, corrals, shipping pens, and\nhotels, Shaniko in its prime was a busy lighting place for birds of\npassage, a boisterous town of freighters, cowmen, and sheep herders. It,\nlike its stagecoaches, was typical, I suppose, of the town found a\ndecade or so ago upon our receding frontiers, and still encountered in\nthe fancies of novelists whose travels are confined to the riotous\nterritory east of Pittsburg.\n\n\"Where are you bound?\" my table neighbor asked me at supper.\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" said I truthfully.\n\n\"Oh, a land seeker. Well, when it comes right down to getting something\nworth while--something for nothing, you might say--the claims down by\nSilver Lake can't be beat. They--\" and he launched into a rosy\ndescription of the land of his choice which lasted until the presiding\nAmazon deftly transferred the fork I had been using to the plate of pie\nshe placed before me, a gentle lesson in domestic economy. My informant\nwas a professional \"locator\" whose business it is to combine the\nlandless man and the manless land with some profit to himself, in the\nshape of a fee for showing each \"prospect\" a suitable tract of untaken\nearth hitherto the property of Uncle Sam.\n\nAnother neighbor took me in hand. The odor of gasolene about him--it was\neven more pungent than the fumes of other liquids, taken\ninternally--proclaimed him an auto driver.\n\n\"If you don't know where to go, let me show you,\" was the offer of this\nwould-be guide and philosopher--I assume him a philosopher on the ground\nthat any pilot in Central Oregon in those days must be one.\n\nIn answer to my inquiries he bade me hie straight to Harney County. It\nwas two hundred and fifty miles away. But I lost heart, stuck to my\noriginal half-resolve, and declared Bend my objective point. In later\nexperience it was borne home to me that those pioneer auto men of\nShaniko always sang loudest the praises of the most distant point; their\nrate was ten or fifteen cents per mile per passenger, and on the face of\nit their business acumen is apparent!\n\nOne hundred miles of staging--five hundred and twenty-eight thousand\nfeet of dust, if it be summer, or mud, if it be winter; Heaven knows how\nmany chuck holes, how many ruts, how many bumps! The ride, commencing at\neight one evening, ended about six the next. No early Christian martyr\nwas more thoroughly bruised and stiffened at the hands of Roman mobs\nthan the tenderfoot traveler on the memorable Shaniko-Bend journey! And\nthere were so many rich possibilities--nay, probabilities--of diversion.\nWinter blizzards on Shaniko Flats were to be expected, while after thaws\nthe heavy stages \"bogged down\" with aggravating regularity. The steep\nvillainous road of the Cow Canyon grade upset many a vehicle, and well I\nrecall one January night, when a two-day rain had turned to snow, when\nthe air was freezing but the mud was soft, how the up-stage and the\ndown-stage met in the awful hours where there was no turning out:\nclothing was ruined that night, and dispositions warped beyond repair,\nwhile passengers labored and swore and labored again until at last one\nstage had been snaked out of the way on a hand-made shelf, so to speak,\nand a passing effected. Later, we, who were Shaniko bound, were capsized\nin the mud. Half-frozen, wholly exhausted, we finally reached the\nrailroad one hour after the day's only train had departed! But those\nwere incidents of the road.\n\n\nI think I never before saw a man lose his eye and recover it. Yet that\nwas the optical antic played by my companion \"inside.\" He was a horse\nbuyer, and I attributed his leer to a cast of character one naturally\nconnects with horse-trading, until all at once he was groping on the\nfloor.\n\n\"Lost something?\" I inquired politely.\n\n\"My eye.\"\n\nOn bank holidays I have heard 'Arry say that to 'Arriet at 'Ammersmith,\nbut as an exclamation, not an explanation. \"My eye, he's lost something\nvaluable, and is British in his expression,\" thought I innocently. So I\ninquired if I could help him in the search.\n\n\"And er--what was it you lost?\" I added.\n\n\"My eye!\" He glowered up at me, and the flicker of the match I held\nshowed a one-eyed face--the eye that had stared at me askew a few\nminutes before was missing!\n\nFinally the glass optic was recovered, and he explained that the dust,\nworking in about it, irritated him, so that occasionally he slipped it\nout for cleaning with his handkerchief. During such a polishing it had\nslipped to the floor. \"I never get caught,\" he added with a touch of\npride, \"here's number two, in case of accidents,\" and he fished a\nsubstitute from his pocket. That second eye, I noted by daylight later,\nwas blue, while his own was brown. No doubt it is difficult to get eyes\nthat match.\n\nAs we bumped along a valley bottom, shrouded in our tenacious cloud of\ndust, the driver, with whom I rode again, pointed out a couple of\nultra-prosperous appearing ranches.\n\n\"Millionaires row,\" he chuckled. \"They don't pay interest, but they're\nreal wild and western when it comes to frills. Further up the line\nyou'll see somethin' rich, perhaps.\"\n\nThe promised attraction was a young gentleman in a silk shirt and white\nflannels following a plow down a furrow, and in turn followed by an\naristocratic-looking bulldog. \"The dawg,\" explained my companion, \"is\nblue blood Borston. His pedigree's a heap longer than mine and valued at\nmore thousand dollars than I dare tell. His boss there has a daddy worth\na million or so, and when he himself ain't farmin' he scoots around in a\nfive-thousand-dollar ortermobile. But mostly he plays rancher an' makes\nhay an' beds down the hawses an' all the rest of it. It's a queer game.\nCrazy's what I call it. There's a whole nest of 'em hereabouts.\"\n\nSo we saw the un-idle rich laboring in the fields. In the nature of\nthings the old-timers regard the species with amusement, figuring, now\nand then, how many cuttings of alfalfa it would take to pay for the\nBoston bull, and attempting to determine why anyone with an income\nshould elect such an existence, with the wide world at their beck!\n\nThis was my introduction to the land of great distances--twenty odd\nhours of toil over rolling plains of sagebrush, green-floored valleys,\ntimbered hill lands, always--their indelible influence is the first\nimpression of the newcomer whose outlook is a fraction higher than the\nearth he treads--always with the mountains of the western skyline\ndominating whatever panorama presented itself. Peaks turbaned with\nwhite, tousled foothills, olive green, their limitless forests of pine\nsurging upward from the level of the sage-carpeted, juniper-studded\nplains. The land of many miles, and of broad beautiful views, is\nOregon's hinterland.\n\nMany miles? Aye, truly. My friend Kinkaid drives his auto trucks to\nBurns, one hundred and fifty miles to the southeast. Southwards to\nSilver Lake is another truck line, ninety miles long, which daily bears\nUncle Sam's mails to the inland communities, a notable example of the\npioneering of this age of gasolene. Each morning automobiles start from\nBend, the railroad's end, for paltry jumps of from fifty to three\nhundred miles, and the passengers drink their final cup of coffee with\nthe indifference a Staten Island dweller accords a contemplated trip\nacross the bay.\n\nViewed sanely, the contempt for distances is appalling--at least as\ndistance is measured elsewhere. An instance, this: Burns is one hundred\nand fifty miles from Bend; a year or two ago, through the enterprise of\ncitizens of the two communities, a new road was \"opened\"\nbetween--scarcely a road, but a passageway among the sagebrush navigable\nwith motor-driven craft. It is to celebrate! So some forty citizens of\nBend, in a fourth that many cars, make the little jaunt to Burns. They\nleave at dawn: they reach Burns that night: they are dined and wined and\nthe road-marriage of their town is fittingly celebrated; then, another\ndawn being upon them, they deem it folly to waste time with trivialities\nlike sleep, they crank their cars, and they are back at Bend, and lo! it\nis but the evening of the second day!\n\nThe past, naturally, was worse than the present, so far as the\ndifficulties of great mileage are concerned. The little town of Silver\nLake in south-central Oregon, to-day is in the lap of luxury,\ntransportationly speaking, being but a beggarly ninety miles from a\nrailroad. But in the early 'nineties no one but a centipede would have\nconsidered frequent calls at Silver Lake with any equanimity. Then all\nthe freight came from The Dalles, two hundred and thirty miles to the\nnorth, and the tariff often showed four cents a pound, which must have\ncontributed fearfully to the high cost of living, not to mention the\ncost of high living, with wet goods weighing what they do. When the\nroads were good and teamsters moderately sober the round trip occupied\nforty days, one way light, the return loaded. In all the two hundred and\nthirty miles Prineville was the only town, and some of the camps were\ndry.\n\n\"Th' town couldn't help but grow,\" an oldtimer confided to me. \"Yer see,\nit was such a durn fierce trip, after a feller tried it once he never\nwanted ter repeat--so he stayed with us!\"\n\nBurns, over in Harney County, in the southeastern portion of the State,\nis another example of what the long haul means. During the summer of\ncomparatively good roads the one hundred and fifty miles to the railroad\nisn't especially serious, but when winter comes the \"outside\" is far\naway indeed, and often for two months no freight at all contrives to\nnegotiate the gumbo, snow, and frozen ruts. So, late in the autumn the\nBurns merchant lays in a winter stock, while the auto trucks hibernate,\nand the burdens of such forehandedness, no doubt, are shifted to the\nshoulders of his customers.\n\nModernity has not swept the field clean, even to-day, and gasolene\nscarce yet outranks hay as a fuel for the mile makers. The settler and\nthe land looker move on their restless rounds in the white-canvassed\nprairie schooner of old, and the great freighting outfits, which have\nborne the tonnage of the West since there was a white man's West, still\nchurn the dust with the hoofs of their straining horses and the wheels\nof their lurching wagons. You will find them everywhere in the railless\nlands, the freighters and their teams. They are camped by the water-hole\nin the desert, or where there is no water, and they must depend upon\nbarrels they bring with them. The little fire of sagebrush roots or\ngreasewood shows the string of wagons--two, three, or four--strung out\nby the roadside with the horses, from four to twelve, munching hay. They\nare in the timber, in the country of lakes to the south, on the grassy\nranges. In fact, you find the freighters where there is freight to be\nhauled, and that is--where men are.\n\nBut to-day all of Central Oregon is not railroadless land, the trail of\nsteel has pushed to the heart of the country, and what a contrast to the\nold Shaniko stage days it is to roll smoothly into Bend over\nninety-pound rails! Picturesque, too, was the sudden breaking of the\nlong spell when the transportation kings constructed their lines up the\nCanyon of the Deschutes. Twice, as they built, I walked the length of\nthat hundred-mile-long defile, seeing the dawn of progress in the very\nbreaking, and viewing what is to me the most stupendously appealing\nriver scenery in all the Northwest--this same Canyon of the Deschutes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHow the Railroads Came\n\n\nWhen the West moves, it moves quickly. The map of Oregon had long shown\na huge area without the line of a single railroad crossing it. This\nrailless land was Central Oregon, the largest territory in the United\nStates without transportation. Then, almost over night, the map was\nchanged.\n\nNormal men, if they are reasonably good, hope to go to Heaven.\nWesterners, if they are off the beaten track, hope for a railroad; and\nif they have one road they hope for another! You who dwell in the little\nland of suburban trains and commutation tickets have no conception of\nthe vital significance of rail transportation in the Land of Many Miles.\n\nIn Central Oregon the railroad question was one of life and death. The\ncountry had progressed so far without them, and could go no farther.\nFarm products not qualified to find a market on their own feet were next\nto worthless, timber could not be milled, irrigation development was at\na standstill. The people had seen so many survey stakes planted and grow\nand rot and produce nothing, and had been fed upon so many railroad\nrumors, that there was no faith in them.\n\n\n\"I think it's a railroad!\" gasped the telephone operator as she called\nme to the booth. Her eyes were bright. It was as if a Frenchman had\nsaid, \"Berlin is taken!\"\n\nBut I, a skeptic hardened by many shattered hopes, smiled incredulously.\nNevertheless, I took the receiver with a tremor born of undying\noptimism--the optimism of the railless land.\n\n\"It's long distance,\" whispered the operator, torn between a sense of\nduty and a desire to eavesdrop.\n\n\"Hello!\"\n\nThe only answer was a grinding buzz; a mile or two of Shaniko line was\ndown--it usually was.\n\nThen Prineville cut in and The Dalles said something cross and a faint\ninquiry came from Portland, far away. Yes, I was waiting.\n\n\"Hello, Putnam?\" The speaker was the managing editor of a Portland\nnewspaper. \"Gangs have broken loose in the Deschutes Canyon,\" said he.\n\"One of 'em is Harriman, we know, but the others are playing dark. Think\nit's Hill starting for California. You go--\" then the buzz became too\nbad.\n\nFinally The Dalles repeated the instructions. I was to go down the\nCanyon of the Deschutes and find out all about it. The head and nearest\nend of the Canyon was fifty miles away, and the Canyon itself was one\nhundred miles long. Glory be! But it was a railroad, and before I\nstarted the town was in the first throes of apoplectic celebration.\n\nI went to Shaniko by auto, and thence by train to Grass Valley, midway\nto the Columbia. From Grass Valley a team took me westward to the rim of\nthe Canyon of the Deschutes. There were fresh survey stakes and a gang\nof engineers working with their instruments on a hillside. Very\nobliging, were those engineers; they would tell me anything; they were\nbuilding a railroad; it was headed for Mexico City and they themselves\nwere the owners! Below was a new-made camp, where Austrians labored on\na right of way that had come to life almost over night. This was a\nHarriman camp; orders were, apparently, to get a strangle hold on the\nbest line up the narrow Canyon--to crowd the other fellows out. But the\nmystery surrounding those \"other fellows\" clung close. From water boy to\ntransit man they knew nothing, except that they were working for a\nfamous contracting firm and that they emphatically were not in the\nemploy of Hill interests.\n\n[Illustration: Crooked River Canyon, now spanned by a railroad bridge]\n\n[Illustration: In the Deschutes Canyon. \"The river winds sinuously,\nseeking first one, and then another, point of the compass\"\n\nCopyright 1911 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\nThis, which was no news at all, I 'phoned to Portland, and then set\nabout visiting the suddenly awakened Canyon.\n\nIt is the only entrance from the north to the plateaus of Central\nOregon, a deep gorge cut by the river through the heart of the hills. So\none fine morning in July, 1909, after a generation of apathy, suddenly\nthe two great systems, whose tracks follow opposite banks of the\nColumbia, threw their forces into the field, attempting to secure\ncontrol of this strategic gateway. Altogether, it was a very picturesque\nduel; the quick move was characteristic of the country, and the very\nunexpectedness of it somehow was half-expected. And in the end, after\nall the strategy and bluff and blocking tactics with shovels and with\nlaw briefs, the duel was a draw, and to-day each railroad follows the\nwaters of the Deschutes.\n\nDuring my observation of this picturesque battle of the Canyon, I walked\nits length twice, and saw amusing incidents in plenty.\n\nAt one point the Hill forces established a camp reached only by a trail\nwinding down from above, its only access through a ranch. Forthwith the\nHarriman people bought that ranch, and \"No trespassing\" signs, backed by\narmed sons of Italy, cut off the communications of the enemy below. At a\nvantage point close to the water both surveys followed the same\nhillside, which offered the only practical passageway. One set of grade\nstakes overlapped the other, a few feet higher up. The Italian army,\nworking furiously all one Sabbath morning, \"dug themselves in\" on the\ngrade their engineers had established in most approved military style.\nBut while they worked the Austrians came--these literally were the\nnationalities engaged in this \"Battle of the Hillsides,\" unrecorded by\nhistory!--and hewed a grade a few feet above the first, the meanwhile\ndemolishing it. That angered Italy, whose forces executed a flank\nmovement and started digging still another grade _above_ the hostiles,\ninadvertently dislodging bowlders which rolled down upon the rival\nworkers below. Then a fresh flanking movement, and more bowlders and\nnearly a riot! And so it went, until the top was reached, and there\nbeing no more hillside to maneuver upon, and no inclination to start\nover again, the two groups called quits and spent the balance of the day\nplaying seven-up, leaving settlement of their burlesque to courts of\nlaw. And there were times when \"coyote holes\"--which are tunnels of\ndynamite--exploding on one side of the river, somehow sent shattered\nrock and pebbles in a dangerous deluge upon the tents across the stream.\n\nThe struggle for transportation supremacy was bitter enough, and comic,\ntoo, in spots. But the stage set for its acting was superb beyond\ncompare.\n\nNot without reason, the defile of the Deschutes has been called the\n\"Grand Canyon of the Northwest.\" For a full one hundred miles the river\nraces at the bottom of a steep-walled canyon, its sides here and there\npinching in to the water's very edge, and often enough with sheer\ncliffs towering mightily, their bases lapped by the white foam of\nrapids. Great rounded hills, green in spring, brown in summer, and white\nunder the snows of winter, climb into the sky a thousand feet and more\non either hand. Their sides are ribbed with countless cattle trails,\nlike the even ripples of the wind and tide on a sandy beach. Strange\ncontorted rock formations thrust forth from the lofty slopes, and\noccasional clutters of talus slides spill down into the water. Rich hues\nof red and brown warm the somber walls, where prehistoric fires burned\nthe clay or rock, or minerals painted it. White-watered, crystal springs\nare born miraculously in the midst of apparent drought, offering arctic\ncold nectar the year around. The river winds sinuously, doubling back\nupon itself interminably, seeking first one, and then another, point of\nthe compass, a veritable despair for railroad builders whose companion\nword for \"results\" must be \"economy.\" Despite the stifling\noppressiveness of that canyon bake-oven in July, with breezes few and\nfar between and rattlesnakes omnipresent, the ever-changing grandeur was\nenough to repay for near-sunstroke and foot weariness.\n\nHowever, enjoyment of the scenery was not my mission. I was supposed to\ndiscover, authentically, who was backing that other road--where the\nmillions were coming from. If it was Hill, it meant much to Oregon, for\nas yet the \"Empire Builder\" had never truly invaded the state, and if\nnow he planned a great new line to California the railroad map of the\nWest would indeed be disrupted. But at the end of ten days I knew no\nmore than on the first.\n\nAt the farmhouse where they took me in to dinner mine host was highly\nelated, for the survey crossed the corner of his southern \"forty\" and he\nsaw visions of a fat right-of-way payment and of a railway station.\nLater--his optimism was characteristic--surely a city would spring up,\nwith corner lots priced fabulously. \"Then,\" said he to Mandy, \"we'll go\nto Yerrup.\" It was, of course, long before Yerrup became a shambles.\n\nThe old man was reminding me of the growth of Spokane--that universal\nexample of the West!--which expanded from nothing to more than one\nhundred thousand in thirty years, when Mandy interrupted the universal\npastime of counting your lots before they are sold by producing a\nsoiled printed form.\n\n\"Can you tell me if this has any value now?\" she asked.\n\nIt was a voucher of the Great Northern Railroad.\n\n\"Where did you get it?\"\n\nShe narrated how a crew had laid out the preliminary survey, now\nfollowed by the mysterious workers, coming through there secretly the\nprevious autumn.\n\n\"They told us they was surveyin' water power,\" said she. \"The papers\nnever said nothing about it, and neither did we. They bought buttermilk\nhere, an' when the Ol' Man cashed in the slips he forgot this one.\nWonder if it's too late to get it paid?\"\n\nI told her it wasn't. In fact, I bought it myself, paying face value. It\nwas $1.40.\n\nThen I made tracks for the 'phone, eighteen miles away. Here, at last,\nwas positive evidence that the Great Northern, the Hill system, was the\npower behind the new line. Six months ago while Oregon slept, they had\nmade the secret survey upon which they were now constructing. A very\npretty scoop, as western newspapering goes! I offered my driver an\nextra dollar for haste's sake.\n\n[Illustration: Along the Canyon of the Deschutes\n\nCopyright 1911 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland. Ore.]\n\nThe managing editor listened while I outlined my beat over the wire. His\nsilence seemed the least bit sad.\n\n\"Dandy story,\" said he. \"If we'd had it yesterday it would have been\nfine. But--\" There was no need for him to go further; I knew the worst.\n\nAn afternoon paper had wrecked my yarn. The emissary of the Hills, who\nhad traveled secretly and under an assumed name all through the Interior\ndetermining whether or not the new line should be undertaken, had that\nmorning told his story. The Hills were in the open as the backers of the\nOregon Trunk. By a matter of hours a precious scoop was ancient history!\n\nThat man built much of the Panama Canal. He is one of the world's\nbest-known construction engineers and railroaders. But I shall never\nforgive his tell-tale interview--it was premature. And some day I shall\npresent for payment that voucher for $1.40, mentioning also the dollar I\ngave the driver, to John F. Stevens.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThe Home Makers\n\n\nThe horses are ill mated, the wagon decrepit. Baling wire sustains the\nharness and the patched canvas of the wagon top hints of long service.\n\n\"How far to Millican's?\" says the driver.\n\nHe is a young man; at least, his eyes are young. His \"woman\" is with him\nand their three kiddies, the tiniest asleep in her mother's lap, with\nthe dust caked about her wet baby chin. The man wears overalls, the\nwoman calico that was gaudy once before the sun bleached it colorless,\nand the children nameless garments of uncertain ancestry. The wife seems\nvery tired--as weary as the weary horses. Behind them is piled their\nhousehold: bedding, a tin stove, chairs, a cream separator, a baby's\ngo-cart, kitchen utensils, a plow and barbed wire, some carpet; beneath\nthe wagon body swings a pail and lantern, and water barrel and axe are\nlashed at one side.\n\nWe direct them to Millican's.\n\n\"Homesteading?\" we inquire.\n\n\"Not exactly. That is, we're just lookin'.\"\n\nThere are hundreds like these all over the West, \"just lookin',\" with\ntheir tired wives, their babies, their poverty, and their vague\nhopefulness. They chase rainbows from Bisbee to Prince Rupert. Some of\nthem settle, some of them succeed. But most of them are discontented\nwherever Fortune places them, and forever move forward toward some\nnew-rumored El Dorado just over the hill.\n\n  There's a race of men that don't fit in,\n    A race that can't stay still;\n  So they break the hearts of kith and kin,\n    And they roam the world at will.\n  They range the field and they rove the flood,\n    And they climb the mountain's crest;\n  Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,\n    And they don't know how to rest.\n\nThat, of course, is rather picturesque, and, taken all in all, your\naverage wanderer of the wagon road merits little heroics. His\naspirations are apt to be earthy, and too often he seeks nothing loftier\nthan a soft snap. In the final analysis some of our western gypsies\ndesire nothing more ardently than a rest.\n\nThe wanderer is the shiftless land seeker, and is to be distinguished\nfrom the sincere home seeker who fares forth into strange lands with his\nfamily and his _penates_, and who finds vacant government land and\nproceeds to \"take it up.\" The best of all the free acres went years ago,\nalong with the free timber and the other compensations for pioneering,\nbut here and there remote areas worth having still remain. About the\nlast of these, and by all odds the greatest, was in Central Oregon when\nthe railroads opened the doors of immigration a few years ago.\n\nBefore the railroads came I went from Bend southeasterly through what is\nnow well called the \"homestead country,\" and in all the one hundred and\nfifty miles traversed we saw three human habitations: the stockman's,\nGeorge Millican, the horse breeder, Johnny Schmeer, and the sheepman's,\nBill Brown. The rest of it was sagebrush and jack rabbits, with a band\nof \"fuzz-tails\" stampeding at the sight of us and a few cattle nipping\nthe bunch grass. My companions were a locator and a man who took up one\nof the first \"claims\" in all that country, at Hampton Valley, one\nhundred and thirty miles from a railroad.\n\nTo-day there are schools out there, homes, fences, and plowed fields.\nSome of it is very good land, and the modern pioneers are prospering.\nSome of it is not so good, and there have been failures and\ndisappointments as in all the homestead districts of all the West, past\nand present. For there is truth in the old saying that for the most part\nthe first crop of homesteaders fails, and the success of the late comers\nis built upon the broken hopes of the pioneers. However that may be, the\nbattle against the odds set up by a none too bountiful nature is often\nenough pitiful, and occasionally heroic.\n\nPicture an unbroken plain of sagebrush. Low hills, a mile distant, are\nfringed with olive-green juniper trees; all the rest is gray, except the\never blue sky which must answer for the eternal hope in the hearts of\nthe home makers--God smiles there. In the midst of the drab waste is a\nspeck of white, a tent. A water barrel beside it tells the story of the\nlong road to the nearest well--no road, but a trail, for this is well\noff the beaten path and such luxuries as surveyed highways are yet to\ncome. The tent is the very outpost of settlement, a mute testimonial of\nthe insistent desire to possess land of one's very own.\n\nOur car stops to inquire the way, and a woman appears. Yes, it is forty\nmiles to Brookings' halfway house, as we had guessed.\n\n\"And to Bend?\" We ask what we already know, perhaps because the woman--a\ngirlish woman--so evidently would prolong the interruption to her\nsolitude.\n\n\"About one hundred and twenty--a long way!\" She smiles, adding, simply,\n\"John's there.\"\n\nSmall wonder she clutches at us! John has been gone a fortnight, and for\ntwo days she has not even seen the Swansons, her \"neighbors\" over the\nhill, three miles away. Like a ship in the night, we all but passed\nher--passed with never a greeting for which her heart hungered, never a\nword from the \"outside\" to break the hard monotony. She is utterly\nalone, except for the rabbits and the smiling sky. Her husband is wage\nearning. And she sticks by their three hundred and twenty acres and does\nwhat she can with a mattock and a grubbing hoe. They have a well\nstarted, and some fence posts in the ground. Some day, she says, they\nwill make a home of it.\n\n[Illustration: Irrigation--\"First, parched lands of sage; then the flow\"\n\nSeries Copyright 1909 by Asahel Curtis]\n\n[Illustration: Irrigation--\"Next, water in a master ditch and countless\nman-made rivulets between the furrows\"]\n\n\"We always dreamed of having a home,\" she explains a bit dreamily. \"But\nit never seemed to come any closer on John's wages. So when we read of\ngetting this land for nothing it seemed best to make the try. But of\ncourse it isn't 'free' at all--we've discovered that. And oh! it costs\nso much!\"\n\nWe commiserate. We would help, and vaguely seek some means.\n\nHelp? Yes, gladly she will accept it, says the little woman--but not for\nherself. \"Good gracious, why should I need it?\" Nor have we the heart to\noffer reasons. But if we have a mind to be helpful, she continues, there\nis a case over in eighteen-eleven--she names the section and\ntownship--where charity could afford a smile. She tells us, then, of a\nhalf-sick woman with three infants, left on the homestead while the\nhusband goes to town. There, instead of work, he gets drink, and fails\nto reappear with provisions. But the woman will not give up the scrap of\nland she has set her heart on, and doggedly remains. When the neighbors\nfind her, she and the children have existed for five days solely on\nboiled wheat. \"And we needed it so for seeding,\" is her lament.\n\nOur hostess of the desert stands by the ruts, waving to us through the\ndust of our wake, the embodiment of the spirit of pioneering, which\nburns to-day as brightly as ever in the past, could we but search it out\nand recognize it.\n\nSuch as she are home makers. However, the free lands are overridden with\ngamblers in values, with incompetents, with triflers. They are the chaff\nwhich will scatter before the winds of adversity. The others will\nsucceed, just as they have succeeded elsewhere on the forefronts of\ncivilization; the pity of it is that their lot may not be made easier,\nsurer.\n\nReturning from that trip I read a chapter in a book, newly published,\ndealing with this selfsame land. Concerning the homesteader I found\nthese words:\n\n     I have seen many sorts of desperation, but none like that of the\n     men who attempt to make a home out of three hundred and twenty\n     acres of High Desert sage.... A man ploughing the sage--his woman\n     keeping the shack--a patch of dust against the dust, a shadow\n     within a shadow--sage and sand and space!\n\n[Illustration: \"It was a very typical stagecoach\"]\n\n[Illustration: In the homestead country]\n\nThe author is a New Englander, who had seen Oregon with scholastic eyes.\nThe harsh frontier had no poetry, no hope, for him--only hopelessness.\nBut the woman in the tent, the Swansons over the hill, and the hundreds\nof other Swansons scattering now, and for many years gone by, over the\nlands of the setting sun, know better, though their grammar be inferior\nand their enthusiasm subconscious. Men saw and spoke as did the New\nEnglander when Minnesota was being wrested from the wilderness, when\npeople were dubbed insane for trying conclusions with the Palouse\ncountry, when the Dakotas were considered agricultural nightmares. In\nthe taming of new empires unbridled optimism is no more prevalent than\nblinded pessimism.\n\nCloser to home I know another woman, a farmer, too. Hers is an irrigated\nranch, and she works with her shovel among the ditches as sturdily as\nthe hired man. Poor she is in wealth, as it is reckoned, and her husband\npoorer still in health, for he was rescued from a desk in the nick of\ntime. He is fast mending now, and confesses to a rare pleasure in making\ntwo blades of grass grow where none at all grew in the unwatered sands.\nAnd in truth, simply watching the accomplishments of irrigation is tonic\nenough to revive the faint. First, parched lands of sage; the grub hoe\nand the mattock clear the way, and then the plow. Next, water, in a\nmaster ditch and countless, man-made rivulets between the furrows.\nFinally--presto! the magic of a single season does it--green fields of\nclover and alfalfa smile in the sun!\n\nBut Heaven forbid that this should smack of \"boosting\"! (There, by the\nway, you have the most-used, and best-abused, word in all the West.) It\nis not so intended, for the literature of professional optimism is\nlegion, and needs no reinforcement. The Oregon country is no more wedded\nto success than many another, nor is it a land where woman can wrestle\nwith man's problems more happily than elsewhere. The incidents of these\npages mean simply that beneath the dull surface may be found, ever and\nanon, a glow of something stirring; prick the dust, and blood may run.\n\nThe West, which is viewed here chiefly as a playland, is a mighty\ninteresting workaday land, too, and numberless are the modern tragedies\nand comedies of its varied peoples at their varied tasks. Rules and\nprecedents are few and far between; it is each for himself in his own\nway. The blond Scandinavian to his logged-off lands, the Basque to his\nsheep herding; the man from Iowa dairies, and the Carolinian, who never\nbefore saw alfalfa, sets about raising it; the Connecticut Yankee, with\nan unconscionable instinct for wooden nutmegs, sells real estate; the\ncollege man with poor eyes or a damaged liver, as the case may be,\nbecomes an orchardist at Hood River or Medford. Somehow, some place,\nthere is room for each and every one, and the big Westland smiles and\nreceives them all, the strong to prosper and the weak to fail, according\nto the inexorable way of life.\n\nSome come for wealth and some for health--a vast army for the latter,\nwere the truth always known. The highness and the dryness of the\nhinterland draw many to it in their battle against the White Plague, and\nwhile victory often comes, there comes, too, defeat.\n\nAn empty shack I know could tell such a tale--the tragedy of a good\nfight lost. They were consumptives, both of them, and they lived in a\nlowland city, west of the mountains. The Doctor gave the old, old edict:\nthe only chance was to get away from the damp, to live out of doors in\na higher, sunnier climate. The boy--he was scarcely more than that--bade\nfarewell to his sweetheart and came over the mountains, where he found\nland and built the shack that was to be their home and their\nhaven--where they were to become sun-browned and robust. The\nself-evident conclusion outruns the tale, I fear. The girl, who\nsmilingly sent her lover eastward, dreaming of the happiness so nearly\ntheirs, was distanced in her race for the sunny goal by Death. To-day\nthe shack stands vacant.\n\n[Illustration: A valley of Washington. \"The big Westland smiles and\nreceives them all\"\n\nFrom a photograph by Frank Palmer, Spokane, Wash.]\n\nA friend, who knew the girl and the story, and loves the land she hoped\nto see, wrote this to hearten her when the doctors realized that the\nhome upon whose threshold she wavered was far, far distant from the one\nher lover fashioned \"over the eastern mountains\":\n\n  Over the eastern mountains\n  Into a valley I know,\n  Into the air of uplands,\n  Into the sun, you go.\n\n  Warm is a day in the upland;\n  Warm is the valley, and bright;\n  Glittering stars are shining\n  Over the valley at night.\n\n  Here in the western lowland\n  Patiently I remain,\n  Under the clouds, in darkness,\n  Under the dismal rain.\n\n  Patient I wait, well knowing\n  The joy that is to be:\n  Into the east you're going\n  To build a home for me.\n\n  Rather would I go with you,\n  But, staying, I smile and sing,\n  For winter is almost over,\n  And soon will come the spring.\n\n  Then to the home you have made me,\n  Singing, still singing, I'll go\n  Over the eastern mountains\n  Into a valley I know.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nOn Oregon Trails\n\n\nAt Shaniko I denied being a land seeker. Yet such I actually was,\nalthough seeking\n\n  Oregon, a land of plenty\n  Where one dollar grows to twenty\n\nnot because of the financial fruitfulness the verse implies, but rather\nbecause it was a land where outdoor pleasures are readily accessible.\nThe logical outcome of land seeking is home making, and so in due course\nwe became Oregonians; and now from our Oregon home we pilgrimage along\nthe varied trails of the Pacific Playland, whose beginnings are but\nacross our doormat, when fancy leads and the exchequer permits.\n\nAll of us read with envy of the \"big trips,\" the splendid outings to the\nends of the earth, made by scientists and sportsmen, and those who are\nneither but possess the instincts, income, and the inclination. Simply\nbecause we cannot follow such examples is no reason to suppose they\nappeal to us less than to the fortunate adventurer _de luxe_ for whom\nAfrican expeditioning, Labrador or Alaskan game trails, mountain scaling\nin Peru, or hunting along the Amazon are matters of every-year routine.\nSome day, we, too, hope for such mighty vacationing--when our ship comes\nin, or the baby gets big enough to be left behind, or the boss lengthens\nour vacation, as the case may be. But for the present there is a \"when\"\nor an \"if\" not to be ignored.\n\nSo we content ourselves with lesser adventures in contentment, which\nafter all, for solid pleasureable happiness, are perhaps the best. And\nwe who live in the Pacific Playland find mountain, forest and river,\nfish and game, to our hearts' content; with a modicum of enterprise it\nis no trick at all to devise trips worth taking, whether viewed from the\nstandpoint of woodsman, mountaineer, hunter, or fisher, and all within a\nhundred miles of home.\n\nTherein, indeed, lies the answer to this query, which a transplanted\nEasterner hears ever and anon:\n\n  Why do you live in the West?\n\nFor when it comes right down to the truly important things of life, like\nfly-fishing, mountaineering, and canoeing, the Pacific Coast is a region\nof unsurpassed satisfaction. Out-of-doors is always on tap, and when the\nhackneyed call of the red gods comes, it is easily answered.\n\nAdventures in contentment truly--the utter content of simplicity and\nisolation. Also, ventures in optimism, for where the trails wind\nmountainward there is just one place for the pessimist, and that is at\nhome.\n\n[Illustration: A trailside dip in a mountain lake]\n\n[Illustration: \"Sliding down snow-fields is fun, though chilly\"]\n\nThe infallible Mr. Webster defines success as \"the prosperous\ntermination of an enterprise.\" Mr. Webster is wrong, however, when it\ncomes to camping, as my friend Mac and I recently demonstrated beyond\npossibility of argument. The prime object of the trip in question was\ngame. We were out ten days and returned with no game; the venison we\ncounted ours still roams the hills, and the grouse are sunning\nthemselves--except the half-dozen the puppies ate! It came about in this\nwise. We started in sunshine and forthwith encountered the business\nend of a storm, comprised, in about equal parts, of blizzard, tropical\ndownpour, and tornado. It continued for four days, soaked and half-froze\nus, and swept the highlands clean of game, in preference for sheltered\nvalleys, far away and inaccessible to us. We hunted persistently,\nhowever, and walked countless miles. Incidentally, we lost our horses,\nand spent one strenuous day tracking them. Finally Fortune relented a\ntrifle and we bagged a half-dozen grouse, which we treasured and bore\nhomeward for our family tables. But a persistently unkind fate elected\nthat we sleep beside a forest ranger's cabin where also reposed a litter\nof spaniel puppies, who forced an entrance to our packs in the night and\ndevoured every vestige of grouse except a few of the less nutritious\nfeathers.\n\nAssuredly that enterprise had no prosperous termination; yet, somehow,\nin the illogical way of the woods it seemed to us a success--we had\nenjoyed it so!\n\nAfter all, camping is a queer game, totally inexplicable to the\nuninitiated. As with some kinds of sinning, the more you do the more you\ndesire. Assuredly it is a madness--a species of midsummer madness, in\nwhose throes the sufferer renounces most of the comforts of\ncivilization, assuming instead all the discomforts of the wilderness.\nThese campers are lovers of the Open, and like lovers the world over,\nthere is no reason in them. In the wooing season they hie in pursuit of\ntheir beckoning mistress, who permits closest approach, seemingly, where\nthe trails are the least trodden, the timber the tallest, and the\nmountains the mightiest.\n\nThere are many delightful methods of taking such pilgrimages, but none\nmore alluring than a-horseback, with all one's worldly goods lashed to\nthe back of a pack-horse, so that freedom of movement is limited only by\none's will and one's woodcraft.\n\nTypical of western mountain lakes is Cultas, which nestles on the\neastern flanks of the Cascades not far from the summit. A wooded\nmountain of its own name rises from its southern rim, and elsewhere it\nis bordered by sandy strands as white as Cape Cod beaches, by stretches\nof marsh and meadow and by higher banks studded with giant pines, whose\ntrunks nature painted golden copper and the sun burnishes each day.\nThere we cast adrift from civilization; the trail ended and our riding\nhorses took to the water at the lakeside, knee-deep wading over round,\nslippery rocks being preferable to battling through the thickets of\nlodgepole pine which cluttered the bank.\n\n[Illustration: On the trail in the highlands of the Cascades]\n\n[Illustration: \"A sky blue lake set like a sapphire in an emerald\nmount\"]\n\nA lake of trout and sky-blue water is Cultas, where the leisurely may\npitch permanent camp to their hearts' content, and revel in the luxuries\nof perfect outdoor loafing, tempered to suit the taste with fly-casting\nexcursions 'round on rafts, and hunting tramps through the timber, where\none need go no great way to spy the tracks of deer and occasional bear,\nor surprise grouse perched fatally low. Further westerly, though, the\ngrouse-shooting is better, and an average rifle-shot can bag a plenty of\nthe big fat birds in September. Poor grouse! \"The good die first,\" said\nWordsworth, and so with birds; for the good are the fat, who, through an\nexcess of avoirdupois, lag in flight and alight on lower branches and\nare easiest shot.\n\nFrom Cultas there was no trail other than such a one as mother sense\nadvised and the compass indicated was properly directioned. Our\nobjective point was the north and south trail reputed to follow the\nsummit of the Cascade Range, up whose eastern flanks we were laboring.\nFinally we found it, though of trail worthy of the name there was none;\na scattered line of aged blazes alone indicated where the trail itself\nonce had been. With some floundering over down logs, many a false start\nand mistaken way, and a deal of patient diligence, we contrived to hold\nto the blazes, winding beneath a fairy forest of giant fir, tamarack,\nspruce, and pine, here and there skirting a veritable gem of a sky-blue\nlake set like a sapphire in an emerald mount, and occasionally tracking\nacross a gay little mountain meadow, until at last we hunted out tiny\nLink Lake, where we camped beneath trees whose trunks were streaked with\nage wrinkles long before Astor pioneered his way down the Columbia.\n\nAnd so it went for several days; there were miles of pleasant trails,\neach mile unlike its predecessor and each holding in store some of those\nalways expected unforeseen surprises which make trails, fly-fishing,\nand (reportedly) matrimony, so fascinating. There were camp places\nby lake, stream, and meadow, each and every one delightful,\nall entirely attractive either by the glow of the camp-fire or viewed\nin the dawn light as one peered out from the frosted rim of the\nsleeping-bag--frosted without, but deliciously warm within. Trails and\ncamps, indeed, so satisfying that any one of them might merit weeks of\nvisitation, instead of hurried hours.\n\nA word concerning trails, here--offered with the diffidence of an ardent\namateur! Primarily, I suppose, trails are made to be followed; that, at\nleast, seems the logical excuse for their existence. Yet my advice is to\nlose them as speedily as possible--temporarily, at least. So long as\nthere is grass and water (there is always fuel, and your food is with\nyou) no harm can befall, and assuredly losing the trail, or letting it\nlose you, is an admirable way to drop formality and get on an intimate\nfooting with the country traversed. One method is like rushing along the\nhighways of a strange land in an auto; the other approximates a\nleisurely following of the byways on your own two feet. The comparison\nis overdone, no doubt, but it has the virtue of fundamental truth.\n\nPeople who \"never lose the trail\" and always proceed on schedule are to\nbe regarded with suspicion and pity; suspicion because they probably\nprevaricate, and pity because they don't know what they miss! A\nschedule should be left behind, in the world of business appointments,\ntime-tables, and other regrettable impedimenta of civilization. So long\nas you know when mealtime comes, to plan further is folly.\n\nMaps, also, are not to be taken over-seriously, or followed too\nreligiously. Despite their neat lines, and scale of miles and inherent\nair of authority, they are deceivers ever, and apt to prove hollow\ndelusions and snares when given the acid test of implicit confidence.\nSometimes only annoyance results, but occasionally the outcome of\nmisplaced trust is serious.\n\nEvery one who has been above the snow line, under his or her own power,\nso to speak, understands that there is no satisfaction quite like that\nof getting to the top of a mountain. The most leisurely and unambitious\nmortal, once he finds the 500-foot contour lines slipping away behind\nhim, acquires something of the true mountaineering itch. We inherited\nthat itch from previous attacks of the mountain malady. So standing\nknee-deep in the rank grass of the Sparks Lake prairies, and seeing the\nsnow fields crowding down close to us, seemingly just behind the\ntimber which fringed our meadow camping place, we realized full well\nthat to-morrow's work held for us some five thousand feet of climb.\n\n[Illustration: The trails are not all dry-shod]\n\n[Illustration: \"Our trail wound beneath a fairy forest\"]\n\nOnce, in Central America, I stood upon a peak whence were visible both\nthe Atlantic and the Pacific. Again, in western Washington, from the\nsummit of Mt. Olympus, I have seen the silver waters of Puget Sound to\nthe east and the Pacific Ocean westward. From the South Sister we saw no\nocean--no water other than the myriad lakes nestling broadcast among the\nfoothills. No water, but two seas--eastward a brown sea of sagebrush and\ngrain lands, the plateau of Central Oregon, and westward the billowing\nsea of smoky Willamette Valley lowlands, blue and hazy and softly tinted\nas any soberer canvas of the color-master Turner. Two vast panoramas of\nland reaching to the horizon, the one bounded by the truly blue Blue\nMountains that marked the whereabouts of Idaho, the other by the low\ncloud banks hovering over the coast hills flanking the Pacific--those we\ngazed down upon to the east and west, while north and south straggled\nthe great ridge of the Cascade Range, cleaving the old Oregon country\ninto two astonishingly dissimilar halves.\n\nSouth we glimpsed the pride of California's mountains, glorious Shasta.\nNorth, a filmy white spectre, harassed by a turmoil of darker cloud, was\nthe peak of Mt. Adams, some two hundred and fifty miles distant.\nNearer--yet scarcely close at hand, for almost two hundred miles\nseparated us--stood Hood, guardian of the Columbia, whose valley could\nbe guessed by the shadowed depressions in the hill lands. Nearer were\nJefferson, Squaw Mountain, Broken Top, and lesser peaks. As mountain\nviews go, it was perfection--and all mountain views are perfect.\n\nWe ate our snack of lunch, drank our canteen dry, smoked our pipes, and\nreveled in viewing the world below us. Then, like the hackneyed army of\nthe Duke of York, we marched right down again. Only be it noted that the\ndescent was a marvel of rapid transit, especially where the long snow\nslopes were concerned. If you have done it, you know. If you haven't,\nsuffice it to say that one sits upon a portion of one's architecture\ndesigned for general repose, and upon it slides to lower altitudes with\na speed that often takes breath away and always materially dampens that\nafore-mentioned anatomical portion, if not one's ardor. Snow sliding,\nhowever negotiated, is exhilarating and great fun--even if the slider\nbecomes tangled with the attraction of gravitation, completing his\ndescent head foremost!\n\n[Illustration: An Oregon Trail\n\nFrom a photograph by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\nAt dusk, we reached the camp, with tired legs and a mighty hunger. It\nwas late--too late to attempt much in the way of an elaborate meal, even\nas \"elaborateness\" is reckoned when you have been on the trail for a\nfortnight. So we compromised on a \"light\" repast, which included, if I\nremember aright, such infinitesimal items as a couple of quarts of\ncoffee, a panful of bacon, a can of peaches, a package of raisins, and\nsundry other lesser matters.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" we agreed, \"we will have a feed. A real feed, worthy of the\nname. A feed that will go down in campers' history. A feed, in short,\nthat will make us feel that we have been FED.\"\n\nWith that resolution we set to work. It was tiresome and sleepy work, to\nbe sure, but thorough for all that. It was, indeed, as if we made our\ngastronomic will before ending the trip, for ere we clambered into our\nblankets the pride of the larder, the best of what was left in the\npack-saddles, was placed in our biggest pot.\n\nIt was to be a mulligan--a mighty mulligan. In it there were venison,\nham, bacon, potatoes, onions, a dash of corn, a taste of tomatoes,\nremnants of bannocks, some persistent beans, and a handful of rice; it\nwas freckled with raisins and seasoned to the king's taste. Almost\ndevoutly we laid it to rest, placing the big pot upon the fire and\nreinforcing the dying blaze with lasting knots. Then, with contented\nsighs, we dove into sleeping-bags and blankets, and forthwith passed\ninto the land of dream-mountains, where one coasted for eons down\ncomfortably warm snow slopes, and venison mulligan flowed in the streams\ninstead of water.\n\nAlas for dreams! Like the proverbial worm, the log turned--and with it\nthe pot, bottom up. In the wee small hours the sound of sizzling ashes\nwaked us, and we roused to discover the fragrant juices of our precious\nmulligan oozing into the hungry ground.\n\nTragedy? Truly yes; a sad, sad campers' tragedy. But what could we do?\nIt avails nothing to cry over spilt mulligan. So once more we nestled\nin the blankets and drifted off into the Land of Nod, dreaming sadly of\nwrecked mulligan and gladly of future excursions in the wondrous,\npleasant mountain land of Oregon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nUncle Sam's Forests\n\n\nOnce we reached a certain ranger station after sundown. It was the end\nof a long trail day, our horses were tired, we were fagged, and darkness\nwas hard upon us. The only good grass in sight was the forty-acre fenced\npasture surrounding the Forest Service cabin. So opening the gate we\nentered the forbidden land, unsaddled, and turned the horses lose.\n\nJust as we had the fire started and the coffee boiling, up came the\nranger, with a star on his shirt and an air of outraged authority about\nhim. \"You can't make camp here,\" said he. My partner had a legal turn of\nmind, and came back quickly with the observation that we had already\ndone so.\n\n\"Well, you'll have to unmake it, then,\" continued Uncle Sam's\nrepresentative. \"This here isn't for campers; it's reserved for the\nService.\"\n\nAnd thereafter, with considerable bluntness, he told us to \"git,\" and\nquickly. Our arguments were in vain. The fact that it was dark, that we\nwere played out, that there was no other horse feed near, availed not at\nall. With him it was no case for logic. Like a good and faithful servant\nhe always came back to the beginning with the statement, \"Them's the\nrules and I gotter enforce 'em.\"\n\nBut in the meantime the coffee boiled and the horses wandered farther\nfrom us. The ranger became exasperated.\n\n\"You're trespassing,\" he expostulated. \"This is private property\nand----\"\n\n\"Whose property?\" My partner hit the nail on the head. But the ranger\ndidn't see the rocks ahead.\n\n\"Property of the Forest Service, of course,\" said he.\n\n\"And who is the Forest Service?\"\n\n\"Why, it's--it's--\" the ranger stuttered a bit, seeking adequate\nexplanation. \"It's the Government, of course.\"\n\nThe ranger swelled with pride--after all, hadn't he demonstrated himself\nthe representative of our omnipotent nation? But pride precedeth falls.\n\n\"And who is the Government?\" persisted my partner, as he poured his cup\nfull of coffee from the battered pot.\n\nBut before an Armageddon of violence was reached I interrupted and\ndispelled the threatened storm. For as it happened we were privileged\ncharacters, of a sort, and our note from the District Supervisor\nextending the special courtesies of the Service turned the rising wrath\nof our ranger into the essence of hospitality. We never again heard of\nthe rules from him.\n\nHowever, my friend had expressed a monumental conclusion. Our pasture\nwas the property of the Forest Service, the Service was a part of the\nGovernment, and the Government is of and for the people--us common\npeople. Therefore that pasture was ours--Q.E.D.! Of course the principle\ndoesn't work out in practice, because the Service, in the proper conduct\nof its affairs, must have strict property rights like any other\norganization or individual. But, broadly speaking, that is the truth of\nthe matter. And in justice to the new spirit of the Forest Service, and\nthe aims and methods of its employees of to-day, it is well to state\nthat the ranger in question was of the old school, which regarded its\nreserves as its own sacred property and operated somewhat on the\nantedated motto of some railroads of the past, \"The public be damned.\"\n\nFor whatever one's feeling regarding the economic phase of national\nforests, from the casual camper's standpoint there is no doubt that\ntheir conduct to-day is admirable. Viewed from this angle they are great\nplaygrounds, and as in Oregon alone the national forests embrace an\nastounding total of more than sixteen million acres, their importance to\nthe recreationist is evident. On the doors of the ranger stations are\nsigns which read: \"Property of the United States. For the use of\nofficers of the Forest Service.\" Leaving off the trespass warning which\nconcludes the text of the cloth notices, one might change the other\nsentence thus: \"For the use of whomever enjoys out-of-doors\"; then you\nwould have the meaning of the Western forest reserves in a nutshell, so\nfar as campers are concerned.\n\nIf you are a settler who unsuccessfully seeks \"elimination\" of a\nhomestead on the ground that it is \"more valuable for agricultural\npurposes than for timber,\" or a timber speculator, or even a mill owner\ndesirous of cheap logs, your enthusiasm for \"conservation\" may be a\nnegligible quantity. Certainly if you are a vote-seeker you will damn it\nwhenever opportunity affords, for that is politically fashionable, and\nalways safe--unlike woman suffrage, prohibition, and tariff questions;\nconservation is an architectural phenomenon, for it is a fence with only\none side in a West whose people consider themselves robbed of their\nheritage of natural wealth, which most of them are all for turning into\ndollars as fast as logging-roads and band-saws can contrive. \"To-day for\nto-day; let the morrow care for itself,\" they say. But if you are merely\na foolish camper, with a secret dread of the time when the old earth\nwill be divested totally of her timber covering, you may actually be\ngrateful for the manner in which the reserves are administered. Your\nplayground is cared for and guarded and improved. Maps, often accurate,\nare obtainable. The trails are well blazed and well kept, and new trails\nand roads are constantly being installed for the double purpose of\nmaking the forests more accessible to the public and to simplify fire\nfighting.\n\nFor above all, of course, the great good work is the ceaseless battle\nagainst fire--now far more one of prevention than of extinction. Visible\nand arresting signs of the fire-war are encountered everywhere--notices\nwarning against the risks and losses of forest fires, exhortations on\nthe criminal dangers of leaving camp-fires burning, reminders to the\nsmokers about forgotten cigarettes. These, and a score more, stare the\ntrail follower in the face at intervals upon his way, until hostility to\nthe plundering fire god is so thoroughly drummed home as to become a\nsort of second nature.\n\nThe more frequented trails, as I have said, are plastered with fire\nwarning signs. Once one of them all but broke up a contented camping\ntrip, in this wise:\n\nAfter a two days' ride in a driving rain storm and a night in wet\nblankets, we came to a deserted ranger station, and in it found a\nwelcome refuge. Our blankets spread in a dry corner, we set to work upon\na fire, just beyond the overhang of what had once been a porch roof.\n\nThat fire was a task! If we were soaked, the woods were wetter still,\nand everything normally inflammable seemed as water-logged as a dishrag.\nHowever, Mac fared forth with his double-bitted axe, and in due course\nsecured some near-dry chips from the sheltered side of a dead tree.\nHowever, the chips showed no overweening desire to ignite, despite Mac's\nmost tender efforts. The rain beat on his face, mud plastered his knees,\nwater from the shake roof trickled down his neck, and matches and temper\napproached exhaustion while he struggled coaxingly with the stubborn\nfire god.\n\nOn a tree just behind the would-be fire maker was a Forest Service sign,\nwhose large letters read: \"Beware of Setting Fires!\" Glancing up from\nMac at his sodden task to that sign a latent sense of humor somewhere\nwithin my damp person overbalanced discretion, and I burst into\nuproarious laughter.\n\nSomehow Mac took my levity quite to heart.\n\n\"Well,\" said he--or something with the same number of letters--\"if you\nthink you can make this dodgasted fire burn better'n I can, come out and\ntry--the water's fine.\"\n\nThere were embellishments, too, not fit to print in a modest book,\nregarding a loafer who would hang back in the dry places while the only\nintelligent member of the party, etc. But when he saw the sign even\nirate Mac had to laugh, too.\n\n\"Whoever posted that warning,\" said he, \"ought to be compelled to come\nin September and try to set a fire hereabout! He'll get a medal for\nincendiarism if he succeeds!\"\n\nAt all events the National Forests occupy an all-important place in the\nPacific Playland, if mountains and woods figure at all in your\nitinerary. The Californian Sierras are in the \"reserves,\" as are the\nCascades and much of the coast mountains of Oregon and Washington. There\nare countless other outing places in the three States, of course, for\nmany prefer the automobile to the pack-horse, and the beach to the\nhighlands, and for such, the road maps of the automobile associations\nand the shore line of the Pacific open an endless field of pleasure.\n\nIn hunting and fishing, too, the sportsman need not confine himself to\nthe mountain regions, and whether the hunter use gun or camera there are\nregions throughout the three States where his rewards for patient\ndiligence will be ample. Ducks and geese abound, from the Sacramento\nmarshes to the sloughs of the Columbia and the myriad shooting grounds\nof Puget Sound, and there are deer and bear and occasionally a cougar or\ncat scattered through the hills. Coyotes roam the sagebrush plains,\ndevastating neighbors to the sage hens and rabbits, grouse lurk in the\ntimbered foothills, and gay Chinese pheasants are prospering--where they\nhave been \"planted\" by the State game authorities.\n\nWith all the rivers, and all the lakes, of the three States to choose\nfrom, it would be folly to list any special ones of marked piscatorial\nvirtue, even if one were able where superlatives are appropriate in\ndescribing so many. Suffice to say that from actual experience I know\nthat there are streams in the Sierras, in the Oregon Cascades, and in\nthe Olympics of Washington whose very contemplation would make Izaak\nWalton long for reincarnation. Back East--in New Brunswick and Cape\nBreton, for instance--one often catches as many and as large trout, and\nsometimes more and larger, than in the Western streams. But after all,\nthe fish are a small part of the fishing. The tame sameness of the\nsurroundings of the down-east waters compares ill with the theatrical\nbigness and infinite variety of setting of most of the Western rivers,\nwhere half the delight is the recurring glimpses of snowy peaks and the\nmajestic companionship of colossal trees.\n\nBeside a little lake not far from the summit of the Cascades is a small\ncabin. It is squatty in appearance and strongly constructed, but has\nneither the earmarks of a ranger's station nor of a trapper's winter\nhome. A few yards away, where a little creek enters the lake, a rather\nelaborate dam adds to the mystery.\n\n\"It's a fish station,\" explained Mac cryptically.\n\nLater I heard arrangements made for the transportation of half a ton of\ngrub to the cabin--a matter of fifty miles of wagon haul, twelve by\npack-horse, and five by boat. The supplies were to be brought in before\nthe snows came in the Fall, and buried beside the cabin so that the\ncanned stuff and the potatoes would not freeze. Then the occupants who\nwere to eat the rations would put in their appearance about April 1st,\nwhen the trails were hidden beneath many feet of snow and packing would\nbe nearly an impossibility.\n\nFor the cabin represented the first link in the work of trout\npropagation, as conducted by the State Fish and Game Commission. Two\nexperts go to it when the first spring thaws attack the drifts and the\nlittle creek grows restless beneath its winter quilt of snow and ice.\nThe first year they waited too long, and when they came and built their\ndam the female fish already had gone up the creek to lay their eggs. But\nthis year they dared the rear-guard of winter, and arrived in time to\ntrap hundreds of trout fat with roe. For six weeks they labor collecting\nthe eggs which later are sent to the State hatchery at Bonneville to be\nhatched. Later the fingerlings are distributed where most needed\nthroughout Oregon.\n\nThe fisherman who pays his license fee often enough knows next to\nnothing of the good work that is being done for him by those who aim not\nonly to keep the streams from being \"fished out,\" but also to improve\nthe fishing. This cabin by the lakeside represents the start of the\nwork, and bitter hard work some of it is, too.\n\n[Illustration: An Oregon trout stream\n\nFrom a photograph by Raymond, Moro, Ore.]\n\nThe fish car, \"Rainbow,\" with its load of cans filled with trout fry,\nreaches the railroad point selected for distribution. There the local\nwarden has gathered a legion of volunteer automobiles in which the cans\nare rushed to the streams and lakes near by and their contents planted.\nThat is the easy simple \"planting.\" The difficulties come when the\nstreams or lakes are scores of miles from a railway or even a road, and\nthe carrying must be done by pack-train. In 1912 and 1913, for instance,\none hundred and sixteen lakes scattered throughout the Cascade Mountains\nwere stocked; that is, waters suitable for trout culture but hitherto\nwithout fish were prepared for the fisherman of next summer, and an\never-increasing number of desirable fishing places provided. And in the\ncases numbered here, every can of fry used was carried many miles on\npack-horses; one trip occupied eight days, and even then, thanks to many\nchanges of water, out of ten thousand fry only fifty died!\n\nHunting is an out-of-door pursuit all to itself. The man who at home\nwould lift a beetle from his garden walk rather than crush it becomes an\nardent murderer when he camps. Probably there are no adequate apologies.\nAnd yet we all get the fever at some time or another, and taste the\nfascination of pitting our wits and woodcraft against the native cunning\nof the wild thing we stalk. Your ethical friend--who probably is a\nvegetarian to boot!--here at once objects. He says the contest is\ncruelly uneven; that the odds of a high-powered rifle spoil the\nargument. Which, in a way, is quite true. But Heaven knows we would\nnever taste venison or have bear rugs before our den fires if their\ncapture was left to our naked hands!\n\nHowever, this is dangerous ground, and most of us brush past it when\nvacation time comes, and take out our hunting license as automatically\nas we make up our order for corn-meal and bacon. From our rods we expect\nfull creels, and hope for game from the guns.\n\n\"Any luck?\"\n\nThat is the first question when you get home, and a negative answer\nimplies defeat. Unless you get something, be prepared for the\nI-thought-as-much expression when your friend sympathizes with you. An\nincentive and a temptation it is--some of the worst of us and some of\nthe best of us have nearly fallen (nearly, I say) and offered gold to a\nsmall boy with the basket which was full of fish when ours was empty.\nAnd the game laws--there, in truth, is where sportsmanship at times is\nforced into tight corners!\n\nWe had hunted deer for two solid, leg-wearying days. But the woods were\nvery dry, and the deer heard us long before we saw them, except for a\ndoe or two, uncannily aware of the safety of their sex. On the morrow we\nhit the homeward trail, and were disconsolate at the prospect of a\nvenisonless return.\n\nCrackle!\n\nSomething moved in the thicket below me. Another stir and the\n\"something\" resolved itself into a deer. Up came the light carbine--the\nweapon _par excellence_ for saddle trips--while I sighted across seventy\nyards of sunshine at the brown beast moving gracefully about, nipping at\nhanging moss and oblivious of danger.\n\nBut the carbine did not speak. Conscience and familiarity with the game\nlaws battled for some thirty seconds with inclination and desire for\nvenison. Then conscience won, and the doe continued her dainty feeding,\nundisturbed.\n\nIn days gone by, our copy-book mottoes told us that \"Virtue is its own\nreward.\" As a general thing such automatic recompense is unsatisfactory,\nso when really first-class examples of more tangible returns for virtue\narise, they deserve recording. And this was one of them. For no sooner\nhad I formed the good resolve, and acted on it, venison or no venison,\nthan there came another soft _crack-crackle_ of dry twigs, and a second\nbrown animal appeared.\n\nBang!\n\nThe first shot hit just abaft the shoulder and the fine buck lay dead\nbefore he knew his plight.\n\nAnd if that was not immediate reward for virtue, I defy explanation!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nA Canoe on the Deschutes\n\n\nThere are larger rivers than the Deschutes, and wilder, and some better\nfor the canoe; many shelter more ducks, and a few more trout than does\nOregon's \"River of Falls.\" But if there are any more beautiful or varied\nI have yet to make their acquaintance.\n\nThe Columbia is, of course, a continental stream whose very mightiness\nprevents any adequate comprehension of its entity; it must be enjoyed by\nsections, in small potions. The Willamette is almost pastoral, a sterner\nWestern edition of the English Thames, with a score of rollicking\ntributaries, rough as the mountains that breed them. The Sacramento,\nlike linked sweetness, is long drawn out, and the boisterous brooks of\nthe Sierras seem rather upland freshets than substantial rivers.\nSuperlatives are risky tools on the Pacific Slope where they appear\nappropriate so often, but even so, with no apologies to the Pitt, the\nSnake, the Williamson, the Rogue, and other neighbors, greater and\nlesser, the Deschutes appeals to me as the richest of them all in\nscenery and pleasurable attractions. From the snow banks of its birth to\nthe Columbia I have played companion to its waters on horseback, in\ncanoe, in automobile, driving, afoot, and on a train, and with\nfamiliarity has come no contempt, but ever-increasing admiration.\n\nThe Deschutes is a river of many rôles: it roars and rushes in\nwhite-watered cascades, it sparkles gently in a myriad rippling rapids,\nit is sedate as a mill pond; sometimes its banks are fields flanked with\nflowers, sometimes steep slopes with black pools below and great trees\nabove, sometimes lined with alders or with the needle-carpeted forest\nmarching out to the very water's edge. Such it is for the first hundred\nmiles. Below, leaving the land of trees and meadows, it plunges for a\nsecond century of miles through a spectacular canyon, walled in by\ncliffs and abrupt hillsides, often rising almost sheer a thousand feet.\n\"The Grand Canyon of the Northwest,\" those who know it call this stretch\nof the Deschutes. Above, billowing back from the rim, is a great\ngolden-brown land of wheat fields, with a marvelous mountain westerly\nskyline.\n\nOn the river's western flank, between it and the Cascade Range, is a\nplayland of beautiful pine timber, crystal lakes, and mountained\nmeadows, bounded on one hand by snow-capped peaks and on the other by\nthe broad plains that sweep eastward to Idaho.\n\nOne August we foregathered in this happy hunting ground with our canoe\nand our grub, near the headwaters of the Deschutes, in the heart of a\nregion of sunshine, mountain prairie, glorious trees, and laughing\nwater. One hundred miles of liquid highway lay before us, and we envied\nno one.\n\nCrane Prairie is a broad mountain meadow, hemmed in by timbered\nfoothills that climb to the snow mountains, glimpsed here and there from\nthe prairie land. The Deschutes divides into three streams, each\nmeandering down from little lakes tucked away in the timber at the base\nof the snow slopes that feed them. All around the prairie is a\ndelightful region intersected by trails, dotted with lakes and meadows;\naltogether a pleasant place for ramblings, either on foot or horseback,\nwith fishing, hunting, and mountain climbing as tangible objectives.\n\nThe first stage of our outing was a stationary one, so far as the canoe\nwas concerned, for a week was devoted to expeditioning here and there\nupon and around Crane Prairie. There was excellent fishing, and we saw\njust enough of the trails and the mountains to realize something of\ntheir possibilities.\n\nThen one morning, before the sunlight had filtered over the hills and\ndown through the pine boughs, we launched the _Long Green_, our canoe\nwhich had made the transcontinental trip from Oldtown, Maine, and\nstarted it upon a more venturesome, if less lengthy trip. Ours, by the\nway, was an equal suffrage outing. Its feminine better-half paddled as\nstrenuously, cast a fly as optimistically, and \"flipped\" hot cakes as\ndiligently as did the male member. Altogether, she demonstrated beyond a\ndoubt that the enjoyment of an Oregon canoe trip need not depend upon\none's sex or previous condition of servitude.\n\n[Illustration: Canoeing and duck shooting may be combined on the\nDeschutes]\n\n[Illustration: On a backwater of the Deschutes]\n\nComfortable canoeing is the most entirely satisfying method of travel\nextant. It is noiseless, it is easy, and there is enough uncertainty and\nrisk about it to lend a special charm. Just as the best of fishing is\nthe unknown possibility of the next cast--your biggest trout may rise to\nthe fly!--so it is when you drift down stream in a canoe, for every\nturn discloses a fresh vista and behind every bend lurks some rare\nsurprise. It may be an unsuspected rapid, requiring prompt action;\nperhaps a tree has fallen across the river, necessitating a flanking\nportage or a hazardous scurry beneath it; mayhap a particularly inviting\npool will appear, when one must \"put on the brakes\" and \"full speed\nastern\" ever so hastily before a fatal shadow spoils the fishing\nchances. There are other possibilities without number, some of them\nrealities for us, as when we came face to face with a deer, to our vast\nmutual astonishment, or, quietly drifting down upon a madam duck and her\nfluffy feathered family, gave them all violent hysterics. The little\nbirds were unable to fly, and the mother, who would not desert them and\nlacked courage to hide along the bank, herded her family down stream for\nmany miles with heartbreaking squawks and much splashing of wings.\n\nA portage is either one of the interesting events of a canoe trip or its\nmost despised hardship, according to the disposition of those\nconcerned--not to mention the length, breadth, and thickness of the\nportage itself! Regarded in its most pessimistic light, a portage is a\nnecessary evil, and, like a burned bannock, is swallowed with good grace\nby the initiated. In Eastern Canada, the land of _patois_ French, a\nportage is a portage. In Maine, and elsewhere, it is apt to be a\n\"carry.\" West of the Rockies, one neither \"portages\" nor \"carries,\" but\n\"packs\" the canoe, for on the Pacific Slope everything borne by man or\nbeast is \"packed,\" just as it is \"toted\" south of the Mason and Dixon\nline. But portage, carry, or pack, the results are the same. Reduced to\ntheir lowest equation, it usually means a sore back and a prodigious\nappetite--there should be a superlative for prodigious, as all camping\nappetites are that; dare one say \"prodigiouser\"?\n\nOur hundred miles of river included but two portages of consequence,\nboth around falls. Fortunately in each instance the packing was across a\ncomparatively level stretch, free from underbrush, as is almost all of\nthis great belt of yellow pine that follows the eastern slopes of the\nCascades from the Columbia to California. There were minor carries, once\nover a low bridge, where the bands of sheep cross to the mountain summer\nranges of the forest reserves, and several times an easy haul, with\ncanoe loaded, around the end of a fallen tree or crude forest ranger's\nbridge made of floating logs held together for the most part with baling\nwire.\n\nNow and again the river was bordered by nature-made fields, knee-deep\nwith flowers; there were purple lupin everywhere and vermilion Indian\npaint-brush, and a score of other gay blossoms. Often for the pleasure\nof tramping through this pretty outdoor garden, we would let the canoe\nfollow its own sweet will at the end of a rope, while we walked down the\nbank, perhaps intimately investigating the households of beavers or\ncasting a royal coachman along the shadowed water close beside the edge.\n\nThe special delight of camping, as anyone knows who has tried it, is\nthat life all at once becomes so simple away from the high-pressure\nworld of telephones, time-tables, dinner engagements, and other\nnecessary evils. That is the essence of outing pleasure. The fishing,\nthe canoeing, the hunting, climbing, or what-not are really relegated to\nobscurity in comparison with this one great boon. When our physical\nsystem runs down, we take medicine; when our mental system gets out of\ngear, we crave a dose of the open, which means of simplicity.\n\nA canoe trip is simplicity personified. In the first place, you are\nlaunched into the wide world of out-of-doors with your entire household,\nfrom dining table to bed, concentrated in a couple of bundles that\nrepose amidships in the craft which is the beginning and the end of your\ntransportation possibilities. The rest is \"up to you.\" If you would get\nsomewhere, it is necessary to paddle, always exercising due diligence to\nkeep the craft right side up and escape fatal collisions with vexatious\nrocks and snags. In that department--locomotion--there is just enough\nactive responsibility to keep it thoroughly worth while, and more than\nenough relaxation, as the current carries the canoe along with only now\nand then a guiding dip of the paddle, to make it all a most pleasurable\nloaf.\n\nEvery stopping place was a new experience, and, it should be said, each\nseemed even more beautiful than its predecessor.\n\n\"There's a bully place. See--there under the big pine.\"\n\n[Illustration: Along the Deschutes, the \"River of Falls.\" \"It roars and\nrushes, in white-watered Cascades\"\n\nCopyright 1911 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\nWith a stroke or two of the paddles the _Long Green_ arrived gently at\nthe bank beneath that pine, and out would come the box of grub, the\ngunny sack of pots and frying pans, and the rolls of bedding. Then the\ncanoe was drawn from the water, and, inverted, pressed into double\nservice as a table and a rain shelter, in case of need. Our waterproof\nsleeping-bags were supposed to do as much for us, and on two occasions\nshowers dampened our slumbers, if not our spirits.\n\nThe important work of camping, which is not work at all, but play, is in\nthe commissary department. It has four stages: lighting the fire,\ncooking, eating, and cleaning up; the third is, by all odds, the most\npopular.\n\nConcerning fire making, volumes have been written. It is quite possible\nto learn from these incendiary publications exactly how to prepare the\nproper, perfect kind of a fire under any and all circumstances. Study\nalone is required to master the art--on paper! But in reality, making a\nquick and satisfactory camp-fire, like creating frying-pan bread, is a\nsubtle attainment that can be mastered only by practice. No two people\nagree; it is easier to start a dispute over the details of a camp-fire\nthan about anything imaginable, not even excepting the \"best trout fly\nmade\"--and that, every fisherman knows, is a matter of piscatorial\npreference that has disrupted humanity since the days of Izaak Walton.\n\nCamp cooking is another art. There, again, place not all thy faith in\nbooks, for they are deceivers when it comes to a bit of bacon, a frying\npan, some corn-meal and flour, and a pinch of baking powder. The only\nsatisfactory rule is to have as few ingredients as possible and to have\nplenty of them. Flour, corn-meal, bacon, dried apples, butter, hardtack,\nsugar, salt, coffee, baking powder, beans--those form the essential\nfoundation. There is an endless list of edibles that may be added, which\nrun the gastronomic gamut from molasses to canned corn. But the way to\nlearn real camp cooking, and by all odds the best procedure for\nhappiness in transportation, is to take a small variety and keep each\narticle in a cloth bag, which insures few troublesome packages and no\ndisastrous leaks.\n\n\"Cleanin' up\" is no trick at all, when there is a river full of water a\ndozen feet from the fire, and it is simply a matter of two pots and two\ntin plates. There, indeed, the joys of camp life come home to the\nfeminine member of the expedition most forcibly of all.\n\n\"Isn't it heavenly! Only two plates to wash!\" expressed the essence of\nher satisfaction.\n\nTwo plates to wash, two paddles to manipulate, two healthful, happy\nweeks of out-of-doors, all as enjoyable for a woman as for a man--that\nwas our Deschutes River canoe trip. And there are a score or more of\nother Oregon outings as delightful.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nOlympus\n\n\nIn the hilly residential section of Tacoma is a studio-workshop. On a\ncertain September morning its inward appearance indicated the recent\npassage of a tornado--a human tornado of homecoming after a long\ncampaign of camping. From dunnage bags, scattered about the floor,\nshowered sleeping-bags, ruck sacks, a nest of cook pots, \"packs,\" the\nrubber shoes of the north country, belts, knives, ammunition, and a\nthousand and one odds and ends. In a corner was an oiled silk tent, the\nworse for wear. Elsewhere, a clutter of ice axes, snowshoes, glacier\nspikes, guns, photographs, and hides occupied the available space.\n\nThe room and its contents smacked of the regions that lie about the\nArctic circle, and thence, indeed, they had just come. For Mine Host was\nbarely back from Mt. McKinley and many months of venturesome exploration\nin Alaska.\n\nNext to watching the other fellow prepare his camping kit and discuss\nplans for the Big Trip, when you yourself are to stay at home, I think\nthe most exasperating experience is to hear the good tales told by the\nman fresh returned from some thrilling expedition. As you listen to the\nstory of the big untrodden places, the routine of your everyday life\nseems woefully petty, and you are all at once distracted with a mad\nresolve to go and do likewise. It is a dangerous symptom, and should be\nprescribed for immediately--though the only real remedy I know is to\nclose one's eyes and ears and flee from the place of temptation. For\nthis is the Wanderlust, the joyful plague of the sinner who has lost all\ncount of time and ties in following some wilderness trail, and desires\nnothing more than to lose them again.\n\nIf McKinley and Alaska were out of reach, across Puget Sound lay a\ncloser land of mountains and little-trodden trails. \"Why not try\nOlympus?\"\n\nThe suggestion was no sooner made than accepted. Before I entered the\nroom six months of stay-at-home was my unquestioned outlook, but all at\nonce a hike to Olympus appeared the most reasonable thing in the world.\n\nMine Host, upon whom the blame rests, was out of the running, for he\nstarted East the next day. But his companion, the Mountain Climber,\nalthough scarcely yet with a taste of civilization after months in the\nwilderness, was in a receptive frame of mind. It took us two minutes to\ndecide definitely upon the excursion. Twenty minutes more and we had\npicked outfits from the wealth of paraphernalia all about us, and at\nmidnight we saw the lights of Seattle's water front vanish astern as a\nSound steamer bore us toward Port Angeles on the Olympic peninsula.\n\nAt times on our journey the Mountain Climber reminded me that on his\ninland voyaging Stevenson traveled with a donkey. Inasmuch as our pack\nanimal was a horse, that rather hurt my feelings; the inference was so\nobvious. However, that horse was more than half mule, so far as\ndisposition is concerned. We hired him at Port Angeles and Billy was his\nname.\n\n  \"And when I walk, I always walk with Billy,\n  For Billy knows just how to walk,\"\n\nchanted the Mountain Climber as we started out blithely. But long ere we\ncrossed the divide separating the town from the valley of the Elwha\nRiver we realized that if Billy knew how to walk he emphatically refused\nto put his knowledge into practice. For Billy was a stubborn loafer\nuntil it came to night time, when he bent his pent-up energy to getting\nas far from camp as possible between dusk and sun-up.\n\n[Illustration: \"Canoeing is the most satisfactory method of travel\nextant\"]\n\n[Illustration: The pack train above timber line\n\nFrom a photo by Belmore Browne]\n\nThere are three distinct methods of travel on the trail. You may ride\nhorses and carry your supplies on a pack-horse. You may walk and let the\npack animal do the burden bearing. Or you may be a host unto yourself\nand bear your entire household on your back, with your own legs\nsupplying locomotion. On this trip we chose the middle course, and\nwalked, while Billy was our common carrier. Back packing is a strenuous\nundertaking where many miles are to be covered, and yet a superfluity of\nhorses is a nuisance if the going is rough and instead of gaining speed\nwith many animals you actually lose it. So it seemed to us the best way\nwas to go afoot, with a single pack-horse.\n\nThe brawling Elwha was our guide to Olympus, for its headwaters spring\nalmost from the base of the mountain, and our trail wandered up the bank\nof the stream until, perhaps a dozen miles beyond our departure point\nfrom the highroad, we came to an appetizing meadow, and the pleasantest\nmountain home imaginable.\n\nIt was the log house of the \"Humes Boys,\" who seem as much of an\ninstitution in the Olympics as the mountains themselves. Bred in the\nAdirondacks the Humes migrated westward and hit upon this isolated\nhomestead in the corner of Washington, where a growing influx of hunters\nand fishermen finds them out and they are kept busy during the summer\nmonths as guides and packers to the many vacationists who know them and\ntheir knowledge of the surrounding regions. In the winter they trap\nand--I imagine from the evident tastes of Grant Humes--read good books\non out-of-door subjects, close to the glowing stove, while the winds\nwhistle up and down the valley and the snow piles high. Gardeners, too,\nthey are in a modest way, raising all their vegetables. And cooks! What\ncooks! In years gone by some pioneer settler had planted plum trees, and\nwhen we first saw Grant Humes no housewife was busier with jelly-making\nthan he.\n\n\"It's a bother now, and I don't suppose I enjoy it more than any other\nman likes such work,\" said he. \"But when we're here in January and\nFebruary, pretty well shut off from the world, and there's a great\nsameness about the food, I tell you a hundred glasses of plum jelly look\nalmighty good--not to mention tasting!\"\n\nI can vouch for the taste of it in September; if the midwinter season\nimproves the flavor I'm in a most receptive mood for a Christmas\ninvitation to the cabin on the Elwha!\n\nFor those who have the right sort of taste, existence such as the\nHumes's must seem quite Utopian. Their garden and their rifles,\nsupplemented by importations from the store \"down below,\" feed them;\ntheir meadows supply hay for their stock; fuel of course is everywhere,\nand a little captivated stream brought to the house in a hand-hewed\nflume supplies an icy approximation of \"running water.\" Hemming in the\nmeadowland oasis are giant hills, their neighboring flanks hidden by\nmighty timber, their summits gray and brown beneath mantles of brush and\nberry, closing in the valley so resolutely that its hours of sunlight\nare almost as meager as in the cavernous fjord lands of Norway.\n\nAfter Humes's the trail wound through abysmal forest depths, skirting\nfir and pine and cedar of unbelievable girth, or making irksome detours\nwhere some fallen monarch blocked the way. Needles and ferns there were\nunderfoot, a drapery of moss overhead, and everywhere a penetrating\nsilence. The most _silent_ woods imaginable are those of the wet coast\ncountry, where the trees are enormous and set close together, thickets\nand ferns clutter the ground beneath them, and moss clings to the lower\nlimbs; sunlight, if not a total stranger, at best is but an itinerant\nacquaintance.\n\nWhen the whim seized it the fickle trail deserted one bank of the Elwha\nfor the other, one of us leading Billy across while his companion, in\nvain effort to keep dry-shod, essayed perilous crossings on logs, often\nas not resulting in disaster.\n\nToward evening of the fourth day we dragged Billy up a final hill.\nExcept for scattered and weather-beaten blazes, all vestiges of the\ntrail had vanished, and, in fact, Grant Humes had told us that no one\nhad been that way for two years, a fact testified by fallen trees and\nthe unrepaired destruction of spring freshets. Hidden at the base of\ngiant Douglas firs was all that remained of the Elwha, now scarcely more\nthan a brook, its waters opaquely white with the silt of glaciers close\nat hand. Suddenly we emerged upon a hillock and below us lay Elwha\nBasin, where the river has its birth.\n\nA cup, carpeted with grass, walled with crags; an amphitheater studded\nwith trees, hemmed in by banks of snow, and roofed by blue sky--such is\nthe basin of the Elwha. At the far end is a wall of rock, over which\ntumbles the jolly little infant river in a silvery cascade, and beyond\nis a snow bank jutting into the greenery of an upper meadow. From a dark\ncave at the glacial snowbank's base the river seemed to have its start,\nthough beyond the snow, from still loftier cliffs, fluttered another\nribbon of water coming from unseen heights beyond. Westerly a few jagged\nsnow peaks peered down upon us over the nearer cliffs, and great shadows\nreached across the pleasant valley to the very base of our little hill\nof vantage.\n\nAt the near end of the basin we found a wonderful camp place all\nprepared by our thoughtful nature hostess. It was a cave at the foot of\na cliff, whose ceiling of overhanging rock protected admirably against\nthe vagaries of the elements, while wood and water were close at hand,\nand ferns and flowers made Elysian setting. We turned Billy loose in\nthe knee-high grass, where he spent a week of loafing, unable, for once,\nto escape, thanks to the cliffs and a back trail easily blocked by\nfelling a few small trees. Happily, then, we sprawled upon our blankets,\nwith the sweet-smelling spruce boughs beneath us and the warm light of\nthe fire playing odd pranks with the dancing shadows in our rock-roofed\nresting place. Beyond the ghostly circle of the firelight were the jet\noutlines of trees, and, farther, reaching up to a million stars, the\nmountains. And beyond those mountains lay Olympus, for whom we had come\nso far and now must go still farther.\n\nThe few unessentials of our commissary we left at the cave, and with\ngrub for five days and bedding on our backs, and the ice axes in our\nhands, like the bear of the song, we started over the mountain to see\nwhat we could see.\n\nA steep snow chute called the Dodwell and Rickson Pass was our way of\npassage over the divide to the Queets Basin, where the river of that\nname commenced its journey to the Pacific, while behind us the melting\nsnows that formed the Elwha found outlet eastward in Puget Sound. As we\ntrudged up the steep slopes of the Pass it was soon apparent that other\ntravelers beside ourselves used the snowy route, for broad tracks showed\nwhere bruin on his own broad bottom had coasted down the incline but a\nfew hours previously, a recreation youthful bears seem to enjoy about as\nthoroughly as men cubs. There was indeed a goodly population of bear in\nthe upper regions of the Queets, and the hide of one of them is at my\nfireside now. It would have been no trick at all to kill several, for we\nsaw them daily foraging among the blueberry uplands, with their pink\ntongues snaking out first on one side, then on the other, garnering in\nthe fruit from the low bushes. But we could pack only one skin, so we\nleft the others warming their owners, where they most properly belonged.\n\nQueets Basin is a rough mountain valley, covered for the most part only\nwith berry bushes, and with rocky gorges cutting its surface where the\nriver's several branches had worn away deep courses. Overshadowing the\nbasin were the outposts of Olympus itself, with the snout of Humes's\nglacier thrusting its icy seracs almost into the berry land, and the\npinnacled peaks behind rising majestically against the northern\nskyline. Westward, the roaring Queets vanished down a canyon, through a\ncountry of the roughest kind, and, we were told, one hitherto\nunexplored. A journey to the sea following the white-watered Queets\nwould be a worth-while experience, we thought, seeing the first mile of\nit; but like many another, the Mountain Climber and I, unless we live to\nthe age of Methuselah and devote all our years to outings, will never be\nable to take one half the trips we have planned and secretly long for;\nexclusive of our cherished ramble down the Queets!\n\nThe packs slipped from our backs at the base of a giant fir, and we\ncalled it camp. Next to the bear who almost thrust his nose into my bed\nnext morning, my most vivid recollection of that camp was the blueberry\nbread we concocted in the frying-pan, which was fit for the very gods of\nold Olympus.\n\nThen we climbed Olympus.\n\nComing on the heels of Mt. McKinley, it was no great feat of\nmountaineering for the Mountain Climber, but nevertheless it combined\nhappily all the varied attractions of climbing. The ascent of Olympus\ndoes, indeed, entail almost every sort of mountaineering, and some of it\nreasonably difficult and dangerous. In the first place, the approach to\nthe mountain is perhaps its crowning feature; it is a man's sized trip\nto get within striking distance, and to its inaccessibility is due the\nfact that up to 1907 it was unscaled. When once reached, there are\ngoodly glaciers to be conquered, vast snow fields to be negotiated, some\nhard ice work, and a lot of stiff climbing, all at long range from the\nnearest practical base camp.\n\nBy daybreak we were under way. Through bushes, across a ravine, up a\nnarrow tongue of snow in a \"chimney,\" and then over a shoulder of rock\ndébris, an outshoot of the lower lateral moraine of the Humes's glacier,\nand we found ourselves on the seracs of the glacier's snout, with no\nchoice but to take to them. By the time we had found a way over the\nbroken green ice, with its sudden chasms, the sun was warm at our backs\nand the chill of the dawn was forgotten. Then we emerged from the ice\nhummocks which mightily resembled a storm-tossed sea suddenly petrified,\nand commenced the leg-wearying ascent of the long snow field above,\nwhich clothed the glacier and stretched toward a rim of dark cliffs, the\nsummit of the divide between us and Olympus proper. Toward the lowest\nsaddle in this rocky wall we set our course.\n\nFrom the top of this new divide we gazed upon the clustering peaks of\nOlympus across the huge glacier of the Hoh River. Jagged peaks they\nwere, half-clothed, at times, with clouds, their ragged rocky pinnacles\nshowing black in contrast to the dazzling fields of snow which stretched\naway below us as in some Arctic scene.\n\nGetting down to the Hoh glacier proved difficult work, nearly every\nfoothold of the descent being cut with our axes in the steep ice wall\ndown which we worked, while yawning crevasses below our course were\ndistinctly unpleasant reminders of what might happen should the leader\nslip and the rope man be insecurely anchored with his ice axe.\n\nThen a mile up steep snow slopes, and detours around the base of lesser\npiles of rock rising almost perpendicularly from the floor of snow, and\nwe were at the foot of the final climb. A last wild scramble up a\nchimney, the way made risky by slipping stones and treacherously rotten\nrock, a tug of the rope, a helping hand, and we were on the summit of\nOlympus!\n\n[Illustration: \"The Humes glacier, over which we went to Mount Olympus\"]\n\n[Illustration: \"Our nature-made camp in Elwha basin\"]\n\nFrom no peak that either of us had ever climbed, in the Pacific Playland,\nAlaska, or Northern Europe, had we looked upon more picturesquely\nrugged, varied, or altogether fascinating mountain scenery. Olympus\nstands at the dividing of the ways of a half-dozen watersheds, and from\nits summit one sees canyons radiating in all directions from the\nglaciers that cluster on its flanks and those of its lesser neighbors,\nin whose depths are growing streams that rush away to Puget Sound and\nthe Pacific. All about, west, northeast, and south, are snow-clad,\nsaw-tooth peaks, lined with glaciers. Billowing over these wild summits\nand hiding them each in turn, were wondrously tinted cloud banks, whose\noverhanging effects of light and shadow, and freakish alteration of the\nview made of the broad panorama a titanic kaleidoscope.\n\nFor an hour we sat there, our sweaters about us, munching raisins and\nreveling in the scenic wonders of the world below us. From a metal tube,\nwell protected in a rock monument, we took and read the records of\nprevious climbers, left since the first ascent in 1907. And then, after\nthe habit of our kind, we added the story of our own expedition to the\nothers and started on the homeward trail toward our cave and patient\nBilly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\"The God Mountain of Puget Sound\"\n\n\nLess than fifty years ago what is now Seattle numbered scarce a thousand\ninhabitants, and the present city of Tacoma was a cluster of shacks\nabout a sawmill. Puget Sound, to-day a highway of commerce, was an\nalmost unknown inland sea, its waters furrowed only by the prows of\nIndian canoes.\n\nBut for centuries beyond number the great mountain of Puget Sound has\nbeen as it is to-day, the mountain beautiful, dominating all the Sound\ncountry. In Seattle its name is Rainier, and Tacoma insists the city's\ntitle is the mountain's as well. Call it what you will to-day,\nyesterday, in the talk of the Indian fishers of Whulge, it was known as\nTacoma, a word generically applied to snow mountains.\n\nNo truly great mountain in America is as readily accessible and as\nwidely enjoyed as Tacoma-Rainier. To Seattle and Tacoma it is an\never-present companion, and all the Puget Sound country basks in its\nshadow. A most excellent automobile road winds through its forests up to\nthe snow fields, the only highway on this continent which actually\nreaches a living glacier. Railroads go close to the mountain, and a\ndelightful hotel and several camps supply every inducement and comfort\nfor luxurious stays in close proximity to the final peak. From these\nplaces as headquarters one may make countless excursions round about the\nmountain, over magnificently beautiful trails, seeing its glaciers, its\nforests, its flowers, and its surpassing views, and there are always\nguides ready to lead the way to the top, an ascent which offers all the\nthrills and most of the experiences of the most arduous mountaineering\nin the Alps. In short, there is an almost limitless field of recreation\nround about Tacoma-Rainier, and it is but for you to choose the mode of\nyour enjoyment.\n\nSeeing this \"Mountain that was God,\" and climbing it, are matters of\nalmost normal routine to the residents of the Puget Sound country and\nthe visitors to its sister cities. It is the accepted thing to do--and\none supremely worth while--but to add another account of an ascent of\nTacoma-Rainier, or detailed description of its wonders, to the many\nalready in print, would be indeed carrying coals to Newcastle.\n\nSo, recommending you to the several excellent books on the subject,\ninstead of essaying further description of the mountain to-day I'll\nventure to repeat what appeals to me as the best of the many Indian\nlegends relating to it. The wording of the story is that of Theodore\nWinthrop, in his book _The Canoe and Saddle_, from which in a previous\nchapter I borrowed the delightful legend of the Dalles.\n\n[Illustration: The \"God Mountain\" of Puget Sound\n\nCopyright 1910 by L. G. Linkletter]\n\nThe story, says Winthrop, was told to him by Hamitchou at Nisqually,\npresumably about 1860, and here is his interpretation:\n\n     \"Avarice, O Boston Tyee,\" quoth Hamitchou, studying me with dusky\n     eyes, \"is a mighty passion. Now, be it known unto thee that we\n     Indians anciently used not metals nor the money of you blanketeers.\n     Our circulating medium was shells,--wampum you would name it. Of\n     all wampum, the most precious is Hiaqua. Hiaqua comes from the far\n     north. It is a small, perforated shell, not unlike a very opaque\n     quill toothpick, tapering from the middle, and cut square at both\n     ends. We string it in many strands, and hang it around the neck\n     of one we love--namely, each man his own neck. We also buy with it\n     what our hearts desire. He who has most hiaqua is best and wisest\n     and happiest of all the northern Hiada and of all the people of\n     Whulge. The mountain horsemen value it; the braves of the terrible\n     Blackfeet have been known, in the good old days, to come over and\n     offer a horse or a wife for a bunch of fifty hiaqua.\n\n     \"Now, once upon a time there dwelt where this fort of Nisqually now\n     stands a wise old man of the Squallyamish. He was a great fisherman\n     and a great hunter; and the wiser he grew, much the wiser he\n     thought himself. When he had grown very wise, he used to stay apart\n     from every other Siwash. Companionable salmon-boilings round a\n     common pot had no charms for him. 'Feasting was wasteful,' he said,\n     'and revelers would come to want,' and when they verified his\n     prophecy, and were full of hunger and empty of salmon, he came out\n     of his hermitage and had salmon to sell.\n\n     \"Hiaqua was the pay he always demanded; and as he was a very wise\n     old man, and knew all the tideways of Whulge, and all the enticing\n     ripples and placid spots of repose in every river where fish might\n     dash or delay, he was sure to have salmon when others wanted, and\n     thus bagged largely of its precious equivalent, hiaqua.\n\n     \"Not only a mighty fisher was the sage, but a mighty hunter, and\n     elk, the greatest animal of the woods, was the game he loved. Well\n     had he studied every trail where elk leave the print of their\n     hoofs, and where, tossing their heads, they bend the tender twigs.\n     Well had he searched through the broad forest, and found the\n     long-haired prairies where elk feed luxuriously; and there, from\n     behind palisade fir-trees, he had launched the fatal arrow.\n     Sometimes, also, he lay beside a pool of sweetest water, revealed\n     to him by gemmy reflections of sunshine gleaming through the woods,\n     until at noon the elk came down, to find death awaiting him as he\n     stooped and drank. Or beside the same fountain the old man watched\n     at night, drowsily starting at every crackling branch, until, when\n     the moon was high, and her illumination declared the pearly water,\n     elk dashed forth incautious into the glade, and met their midnight\n     destiny.\n\n     \"Elk-meat, too, he sold to his tribe. This brought him pelf, but,\n     alas, for his greed, the pelf came slowly. Waters and woods were\n     rich in game. All the Squallyamish were hunters and fishers,\n     though none so skilled as he. They were rarely absolutely in want,\n     and, when they came to him for supplies, they were far too poor in\n     hiaqua.\n\n     \"So the old man thought deeply, and communed with his wisdom, and,\n     while he waited for fish or beast, he took advice within himself\n     from his demon--he talked with Tamanous. And always the question\n     was, 'How may I put hiaqua in my purse?'\n\n     \"Tamanous never revealed to him that far to the north, beyond the\n     waters of Whulge, are tribes with their under lip pierced with a\n     fish-bone, among whom hiaqua is plenty as salmonberries are in the\n     woods that time in midsummer salmon fin it along the reaches of\n     Whulge.\n\n     \"But the more Tamanous did not reveal to him these mysteries of\n     nature, the more he kept dreamily prying into his own mind,\n     endeavoring to devise some scheme by which he might discover a\n     treasure-trove of the beloved shell. His life seemed wasted in the\n     patient, frugal industry, which only brought slow, meager gains. He\n     wanted the splendid elation of vast wealth and the excitement of\n     sudden wealth. His own peculiar tamanous was the elk. Elk was also\n     his totem, the cognizance of his freemasonry with those of his own\n     family, and their family friends in other tribes. Elk, therefore,\n     were every way identified with his life; and he hunted them farther\n     and farther up through the forests on the flanks of Tacoma, hoping\n     that some day his tamanous would speak in the dying groan of one of\n     them, and gasp out the secret of the mines of hiaqua, his heart's\n     desire.\n\n     \"Tacoma was so white and glittering, that it seemed to stare at him\n     very terribly and mockingly, and to know his shameful avarice, and\n     how it led him to take from starving women their cherished lip and\n     nose jewels of hiaqua, and to give them in return only tough scraps\n     of dried elk-meat and salmon. When men are shabby, mean, and\n     grasping, they feel reproached for their groveling lives by the\n     unearthliness of nature's beautiful objects, and they hate flowers\n     and sunsets, mountains and the quiet stars of heaven.\n\n     \"Nevertheless,\" continued Hamitchou, \"this wise old fool of my\n     legend went on stalking elk along the sides of Tacoma, ever\n     dreaming of wealth. And at last, as he was hunting near the snows\n     one day, one very clear and beautiful day of late summer, when\n     sunlight was magically disclosing far distances, and making all\n     nature supernaturally visible and proximate, Tamanous began to work\n     in the soul of the miser.\n\n     \"'Are you brave?' whispered Tamanous in the strange, ringing, dull,\n     silent thunder-tones of a demon voice. 'Dare you go to the caves\n     where my treasures are hid?'\n\n     \"'I dare,' said the miser.\n\n     \"He did not know that his lips had syllabled a reply. He did not\n     even hear his own words. But all the place had become suddenly\n     vocal with echoes. The great rock against which he leaned crashed\n     forth, 'I dare.' Then all along through the forest, dashing from\n     tree to tree and lost at last among the murmuring of breeze-shaken\n     leaves, went careering his answer, taken up and repeated\n     scornfully, 'I dare.' And after a silence, while the daring one\n     trembled and would gladly have ventured to shout, for the\n     companionship of his own voice, there came across from the vast\n     snow wall of Tacoma a tone like the muffled threatening plunge of\n     an avalanche into a chasm, 'I dare.'\n\n     \"'You dare!' said Tamanous, enveloping him with a dread sense of an\n     unseen, supernatural presence; 'you pray for wealth of hiaqua.\n     Listen!'\n\n     \"This injunction was hardly needed; the miser was listening with\n     dull eyes kindled and starting. He was listening with every rusty\n     hair separating from its unkempt mattedness, and outstanding\n     upright, a caricature of an aureole.\n\n     \"'Listen,' said Tamanous, in the noonday hush. And then Tamanous\n     vouchsafed at last the great secret of the hiaqua mines, while in\n     terror near to death the miser heard, and every word of guidance\n     toward the hidden treasure of the mountains seared itself into his\n     soul ineffaceably.\n\n     \"Silence came again more terrible now than the voice of\n     Tamanous,--silence under the shadow of the great cliff,--silence\n     deepening down the forest vistas,--silence filling the void up to\n     the snows of Tacoma. All life and motion seemed paralyzed. At last\n     Skai-ki, the Blue-Jay, the wise bird, foe to magic, sang cheerily\n     overhead. Her song seemed to refresh again the honest laws of\n     nature. The buzz of life stirred everywhere again, and the inspired\n     miser rose and hastened home to prepare for his work.\n\n     \"When Tamanous has put a great thought in a man's brain, has\n     whispered him a great discovery within his power, or hinted at a\n     great crime, that spiteful demon does not likewise suggest the\n     means of accomplishment.\n\n     \"The miser, therefore, must call upon his own skill to devise\n     proper tools, and upon his own judgment to fix upon the most\n     fitting time for carrying out his quest. Sending his squaw out to\n     the kamas prairie, under pretense that now was the season for her\n     to gather their store of that sickish-sweet esculent root, and that\n     she might not have her squaw's curiosity aroused by seeing him at\n     strange work, he began his preparations. He took a pair of enormous\n     elk-horns, and fashioned from each horn a two-pronged pick or\n     spade, by removing all the antlers except the two topmost. He\n     packed a good supply of kippered salmon, and filled his pouch with\n     kinnikinnick for smoking in his black stone pipe. With his bows and\n     arrows and his two elk-horn picks wrapped in buckskin hung at his\n     back, he started just before sunset, as if for a long hunt. His\n     old, faithful, maltreated, blanketless, vermilionless squaw,\n     returning with baskets full of kamas, saw him disappearing moodily\n     down the trail.\n\n     \"All that night, all the day following, he moved on noiselessly, by\n     paths he knew. He hastened on, unnoticing outward objects, as one\n     with controlling purpose hastens. Elk and deer, bounding through\n     the trees, passed him, but he tarried not. At night he camped just\n     below the snows of Tacoma. He was weary, and chill night-airs\n     blowing down from the summit almost froze him. He dared not take\n     his fire-sticks, and, placing one perpendicular upon a little\n     hollow on the flat side of the other, twirl the upright stick\n     rapidly between his palms until the charred spot kindled and\n     lighted his 'tipsoo,' his dry, tindery wool of inner bark. A fire,\n     gleaming high upon the mountainside, might be a beacon to draw\n     thither any night-wandering savage to watch in ambush, and learn\n     the path toward the mines of hiaqua. So he drowsed chilly and\n     fireless, awakened often by dread sounds of crashing and rumbling\n     among the chasms of Tacoma. He desponded bitterly, almost ready to\n     abandon his quest, almost doubting whether he had in truth received\n     a revelation, whether his interview with Tamanous had not been a\n     dream, and finally whether all the hiaqua in the world was worth\n     this toil and anxiety. Fortunate is the sage who at such a point\n     turns back and buys his experience without worse befalling him.\n\n     \"Past midnight he suddenly was startled from his drowse and sat\n     bolt upright in terror. A light! Was there another searcher in the\n     forest, and a bolder than he? That flame just glimmering over the\n     treetops, was it a camp-fire of friend or foe? Had Tamanous been\n     revealing to another the great secret? No, smiled the miser, his\n     eyes fairly open, and discovering that the new light was the moon.\n     He had been waiting for her illumination on paths heretofore\n     untrodden by mortal. She did not show her full, round, jolly face,\n     but turned it askance as if she hardly liked to be implicated in\n     this night's transactions.\n\n     \"However, it was light he wanted, not sympathy, and he started up\n     at once to climb over the dim snows. The surface was packed by the\n     night's frost, and his moccasins gave him firm hold; yet he\n     traveled but slowly, and could not always save himself from a\n     glissade backwards, and a bruise upon some projecting knob or crag.\n     Sometimes, upright fronts of ice diverted him for long circuits, or\n     a broken wall of cold cliff arose, which he must surmount\n     painfully. Once or twice he stuck fast in a crevice and hardly drew\n     himself out by placing his bundle of picks across the crack. As he\n     plodded and floundered thus deviously and toilsomely upward, at\n     last the wasted moon paled overhead, and under foot the snow grew\n     rosy with coming dawn. The dim world about the mountain's base\n     displayed something of its vast detail. He could see, more\n     positively than by moonlight, the far-reaching arteries of mist\n     marking the organism of Whulge beneath; and what had been but a\n     black chaos now resolved itself into the Alpine forest whence he\n     had come.\n\n     \"But he troubled himself little with staring about; up he looked,\n     for the summit was at hand. To win that summit was well-nigh the\n     attainment of his hopes, if Tamanous were true; and that, with the\n     flush of morning ardor upon him, he could not doubt. There, in a\n     spot Tamanous had revealed to him, was hiaqua--hiaqua that should\n     make him the richest and greatest of all the Squallyamish.\n\n     \"The chill before sunrise was upon him as he reached the last curve\n     of the dome. Sunrise and he struck the summit together. Together\n     sunrise and he looked over the glacis. They saw within a great\n     hollow all covered with the whitest of snow, save at the center,\n     where a black lake lay deep in a well of purple rock.\n\n     \"At the eastern end of this lake was a small irregular plain of\n     snow, marked by three stones like mountains. Toward these the miser\n     sprang rapidly, with full sunshine streaming after him over the\n     snows.\n\n     \"The first monument he examined with keen looks. It was tall as a\n     giant man, and its top was fashioned into the grotesque likeness of\n     a salmon's head. He turned from this to inspect the second. It was\n     of similar height, but bore at its apex an object in shape like the\n     regular flame of a torch. As he approached, he presently discovered\n     that this was an image of the kamas-bulb in stone. These two\n     semblances of prime necessities of Indian life delayed him but an\n     instant, and he hastened on to the third monument, which stood\n     apart on a perfect level. The third stone was capped by something\n     he almost feared to behold, lest it should prove other than his\n     hopes. Every word of Tamanous had thus far proved veritable; but\n     might there not be a bitter deceit at the last? The miser trembled.\n\n     \"Yes, Tamanous was trustworthy. The third monument was as the old\n     man anticipated. It was a stone elk-head, such as it appears in\n     earliest summer, when the antlers are sprouting lustily under their\n     rough jacket of velvet.\n\n     \"You remember, Boston tyee,\" continued Hamitchou, \"that elk was the\n     old man's tamanous, the incarnation for him of the universal\n     Tamanous. He therefore was right joyous at this good omen of\n     protection; and his heart grew big and swollen with hope, as the\n     black salmonberry swells in a swamp in June. He threw down his\n     'ikta'; every impediment he laid down upon the snow; and unwrapping\n     his two picks of elk-horn, he took the stoutest, and began to dig\n     in the frozen snow at the foot of the elk-head monument.\n\n     \"No sooner had he struck the first blow than he heard behind him a\n     sudden puff, such as a seal makes when it comes to the surface to\n     breathe. Turning round much startled, he saw a huge otter just\n     clambering up over the edge of the lake. The otter paused, and\n     struck on the snow with his tail, whereupon another otter and\n     another appeared, until, following their leader in slow solemn\n     file, were twelve other otters, marching toward the miser. The\n     twelve approached and drew up in a circle around him. Each was\n     twice as large as any otter ever seen. Their chief was four times\n     as large as the most gigantic otter ever seen in the regions of\n     Whulge, and certainly was as great as a seal. When the twelve were\n     arranged, their leader skipped to the top of the elk-head stone,\n     and sat there between the horns. Then the whole thirteen gave a\n     mighty puff in chorus.\n\n     \"The hunter of hiaqua was for a moment abashed at his uninvited\n     ring of spectators. But he had seen otter before, and bagged them.\n     These he could not waste time to shoot, even if a phalanx so\n     numerous were not formidable. Besides, they might be tamanous. He\n     took to his pick, and began digging stoutly.\n\n     \"He soon made way in the snow, and came to solid rock beneath. At\n     every thirteenth stroke of his pick, the fugleman otter tapped with\n     his tail on the monument. Then the choir of lesser otters tapped\n     together with theirs on the snow. This caudal action produced a\n     dull muffled sound, as if there were a vast hollow below.\n\n     \"Digging with all his force, by and by the seeker for treasure\n     began to tire, and laid down his elk-horn spade to wipe the sweat\n     from his brow. Straightway the fugleman otter turned, and swinging\n     his tail, gave the weary man a mighty thump on the shoulder; and\n     the whole band, imitating, turned, and, backing inward, smote him\n     with centripetal tails, until he resumed his labors, much bruised.\n\n     \"The rock lay first in plates, then in scales. These it was easy to\n     remove. Presently, however, as the miser pried carelessly at a\n     larger mass, he broke his elk-horn tool. Fugleman otter leaped\n     down, and, seizing the supplemental pick between his teeth, mouthed\n     it over to the digger. Then the amphibious monster took in the same\n     manner the broken pick, and bore it round the circle of his suite,\n     who inspected it with puffs.\n\n     \"These strange magical proceedings disconcerted and somewhat\n     baffled the miser; but he plucked up heart, for the prize was\n     priceless, and worked on more cautiously with his second pick. At\n     last its bows and the regular thumps of the otters' tails called\n     forth a sound hollower and hollower. His circle of spectators\n     narrowed so that he could feel their panting breath as they bent\n     curiously over the little pit he had dug.\n\n     \"The crisis was evidently at hand.\n\n     \"He lifted each scale of rock more delicately. Finally he raised a\n     scale so thin that it cracked into flakes as he turned it over.\n     Beneath was a large square cavity.\n\n     \"It was filled to the brim with hiaqua.\n\n     \"He was a millionaire.\n\n     \"The otters recognized him as the favorite of Tamanous, and retired\n     to a respectful distance.\n\n     \"For some moments he gazed on his treasure, taking thought of his\n     future grandeur among the dwellers by Whulge. He plunged his arm\n     deep as he could go; there was still nothing but the precious\n     shells. He smiled to himself in triumph; he had wrung the secret\n     from Tamanous. Then, as he withdrew his arm, the rattle of the\n     hiaqua recalled him to the present. He saw that noon was long past,\n     and he must proceed to reduce his property to possession.\n\n     \"The hiaqua was strung upon long, stout sinews of elk in bunches of\n     fifty shells on each side. Four of these he wound about his waist;\n     three he hung across each shoulder; five he took in each\n     hand;--twenty strings of pure white hiaqua, every shell large,\n     smooth, unbroken, beautiful. He could carry no more; hardly even\n     with this could he stagger along. He put down his burden for a\n     moment, while he covered up the seemingly untouched wealth of the\n     deposit carefully with the scale stones, and brushed snow over the\n     whole.\n\n     \"The miser never dreamed of gratitude, never thought to hang a\n     string of the buried treasure about the salmon and kamas tamanous\n     stones, and two strings around the elk-head; no, all must be his\n     own, all he could carry now, and the rest for the future.\n\n     \"He turned, and began his climb toward the crater's edge. At once\n     the otters, with a mighty puff in concert, took up their line of\n     procession, and, plunging into the black lake, began to beat the\n     water with their tails.\n\n     \"The miser could hear the sound of splashing water as he struggled\n     upward through the snow, now melted and yielding. It was a long\n     hour of harsh toil and much back-sliding before he reached the rim,\n     and turned to take one more view of this valley of good fortune.\n\n     \"As he looked, a thick mist began to rise from the lake center,\n     where the otters were splashing. Under the mist grew a cylinder of\n     black cloud, utterly hiding the water.\n\n     \"Terrible are storms in the mountains; but in this looming mass was\n     a terror more dread than any hurricane of ruin ever bore within its\n     wild vortexes. Tamanous was in that black cylinder, and as it\n     strode forward, chasing in the very path of the miser, he\n     shuddered, for his wealth and his life were in danger.\n\n     \"However, it might be but a common storm. Sunlight was bright as\n     ever overhead in heaven, and all the lovely world below lay\n     dreamily fair, in that afternoon of summer, at the feet of the rich\n     man, who now was hastening to be its king. He stepped from the\n     crater edge and began his descent.\n\n     \"Instantly the storm overtook him. He was thrown down by its first\n     assault, flung over a rough bank of iciness, and lay at the foot\n     torn and bleeding, but clinging still to his precious burden. Each\n     hand still held its five strings of hiaqua. In each hand he bore a\n     nation's ransom. He staggered to his feet against the blast. Utter\n     night was around him--night as if daylight had forever perished,\n     had never come into being from chaos. The roaring of the storm had\n     also deafened and bewildered him with its wild uproar.\n\n     \"Present in every crash and thunder of the gale was a growing\n     undertone, which the miser well knew to be the voice of Tamanous. A\n     deadly shuddering shook him. Heretofore that potent Unseen had been\n     his friend and guide; there had been awe, but no terror, in his\n     words. Now the voice of Tamanous was inarticulate, but the miser\n     could divine in that sound an unspeakable threat of wrath and\n     vengeance. Floating upon this undertone were sharper tamanous\n     voices, shouting and screaming always sneeringly, 'Haha,\n     hiaqua,--ha, ha, ha!'\n\n     \"Whenever the miser essayed to move and continue his descent, a\n     whirlwind caught him and with much ado tossed him hither and\n     thither, leaving him at last flung and imprisoned in a pinching\n     crevice, or buried to the eyes in a snowdrift, or gnawed by\n     lacerating lava jaws. Sharp torture the old man was encountering,\n     but he held fast to his hiaqua.\n\n     \"The blackness grew ever deeper and more crowded with perdition,\n     the din more impish, demoniac, and devilish; the laughter more\n     appalling; the miser more and more exhausted with vain buffeting.\n     He determined to propitiate exasperated Tamanous with a sacrifice.\n     He threw into the black cylinder storm his left-handful, five\n     strings of precious hiaqua.\"\n\n     \"Somewhat long-winded is thy legend, Hamitchou, Great Medicine-Man\n     of the Squallyamish,\" quoth I. \"Why didn't the old fool drop his\n     wampum--shell out, as one might say,--and make tracks?\"\n\n     \"Well, well!\" continued Hamitchou, \"when the miser had thrown away\n     his first handful of hiaqua, there was a momentary lull in\n     elemental war, and he heard the otters puffing around him\n     invisible. Then the storm, renewed, blacker, louder, harsher,\n     crueller than before, and over the dread undertone of the voice of\n     Tamanous, tamanous voices again screamed, 'Ha, ha, ha, hiaqua!'\n     and it seemed as if tamanous hands, or the paws of the demon\n     otters, clutched at the miser's right-handful and tore at his\n     shoulder and waist belts.\n\n     \"So, while darkness and tempest still buffeted the hapless old man,\n     and thrust him away from his path, and while the roaring was\n     wickeder than the roars of tens and tens of bears when a-hungered\n     they pounce upon a plain of kamas, gradually wounded and terrified,\n     he flung away string after string of hiaqua, gaining never any\n     notice of such sacrifice, except an instant's lull of the cyclone\n     and a puff from the invisible otters.\n\n     \"The last string he clung to long, and before he threw it to be\n     caught and whirled after its fellows, he tore off a single bunch of\n     fifty shells. But upon this, too, the storm laid its clutches. In\n     the final desperate struggle, the old man was wounded so sternly\n     that, when he had thrown into the formless chaos, instinct with\n     Tamanous, his last propitiatory offering, he sank and became\n     insensible.\n\n     \"It seemed a long slumber to him, but at last he awoke. The jagged\n     moon was just paling overhead, and he heard Skai-ki, the Blue-Jay,\n     foe to magic, singing welcome to sunrise. It was the very spot\n     whence he started at morning.\n\n     \"He was hungry, and felt for his bag of kamas and pouch of\n     smoke-leaves. There, indeed, by his side were the elk-sinew strings\n     of the bag, and the black stone pipe-bowl,--but no bag, no kamas,\n     no kinnikinnick. The whole spot was thick with kamas plants,\n     strangely out of place on the mountainside, and overhead grew a\n     large arbutus tree, with glistening leaves, ripe for smoking. The\n     old man found his hardwood fire-sticks safe under the herbage, and\n     soon twirled a light, and, nurturing it in dry grass, kindled a\n     cheery fire. He plucked up kamas, set it to roast, and laid a store\n     of the arbutus leaves to dry on a flat stone.\n\n     \"After he had made a hearty breakfast on the chestnut-like\n     kamas-bulbs, and, smoking the thoughtful pipe, was reflecting on\n     the events of yesterday, he became aware of an odd change in his\n     condition. He was not bruised and wounded from head to foot, as he\n     expected, but very stiff only, and as he stirred, his joints\n     creaked like the creak of a lazy paddle upon the rim of a canoe.\n     Skai-ki, the Blue-Jay, was singularly familiar with him, hopping\n     from her perch in the arbutus, and alighting on his head. As he put\n     his hand to dislodge her, he touched his scratching-stick of bone,\n     and attempted to pass it, as usual, through his hair. The hair was\n     matted and interlaced into a network reaching fully two ells down\n     his back. 'Tamanous,' thought the old man.\n\n     \"Chiefly he was conscious of a mental change. He was calm and\n     content. Hiaqua and wealth seemed to have lost their charms for\n     him. Tacoma, shining like gold and silver and precious stones of\n     gayest luster, seemed a benign comrade and friend. All the outer\n     world was cheerful and satisfying. He thought he had never awakened\n     to a fresher morning. He was a young man again, except for that\n     unusual stiffness and unmelodious creaking in his joints. He felt\n     no apprehension of any presence of a deputy tamanous, sent by\n     Tamanous to do malignities upon him in the lonely wood. Great\n     Nature had a kindly aspect, and made its divinity perceived only by\n     the sweet notes of birds and hum of forest life, and by a joy that\n     clothed his being. And now he found in his heart a sympathy for\n     man, and a longing to meet his old acquaintances down by the shores\n     of Whulge.\n\n     \"He rose, and started on the downward way, smiling, and sometimes\n     laughing heartily at the strange croaking, moaning, cracking, and\n     rasping of his joints. But soon motion set the lubricating valves\n     at work, and the sockets grew slippery again. He marched rapidly,\n     hastening out of loneliness into society. The world of wood, glade,\n     and stream seemed to him strangely altered. Old colossal trees,\n     firs behind which he had hidden when on the hunt, cedars under\n     whose drooping shade he had lurked, were down, and lay athwart his\n     path, transformed into immense mossy mounds, like barrows of\n     giants, over which he must clamber warily, lest he sink and be half\n     stifled in the dust of rotten wood. Had Tamanous been widely at\n     work in that eventful night?--or had the spiritual change the old\n     man felt affected his views of the outer world?\n\n     \"Traveling downward, he advanced rapidly, and just before sunset\n     came to the prairies where his lodge should be. Everything had\n     seemed to him so totally altered, that he tarried a moment in the\n     edge of the woods to take an observation before approaching his\n     home. There was a lodge, indeed, in the old spot, but a newer and\n     far handsomer one than he had left on the fourth evening before.\n\n     \"A very decrepit old squaw, ablaze with vermilion and decked with\n     countless strings of hiaqua and costly beads, was seated on the\n     ground near the door, tending a kettle of salmon, whose blue and\n     fragrant steam mingled pleasantly with the golden haze of sunset.\n     She resembled his own squaw in countenance, as an ancient smoked\n     salmon is like a newly dried salmon. If she was indeed his spouse,\n     she was many years older than when he saw her last, and much better\n     dressed than the respectable lady had ever been during his miserly\n     days.\n\n     \"He drew near quietly. The bedizened dame was crooning a chant,\n     very dolorous,--like this:\n\n       'My old man has gone, gone, gone,--\n       My old man to Tacoma has gone.\n       To hunt the elk, he went long ago.\n       When will he come down, down, down,\n       Down to the salmon-pot and me?'\n\n       'He has come from Tacoma down, down, down,--\n       Down to the salmon-pot and thee,'\n\n     shouted the reformed miser, rushing forward to supper with his\n     faithful wife.\"\n\n     \"And how did Penelope explain the mystery?\" I asked.\n\n     \"If you mean the old lady,\" replied Hamitchou, \"she was my\n     grandmother, and I'd thank you not to call names. She told my\n     grandfather that he had been gone many years;--she could not tell\n     how many, having dropped her tally-stick in the fire by accident\n     that very day. She also told him how, in despite of the entreaties\n     of many a chief who knew her economic virtues, and prayed her to\n     become the mistress of his household, she had remained constant to\n     the Absent, and forever kept the hopeful salmon-pot boiling for his\n     return. She had distracted her mind from the bitterness of sorrow\n     by trading in kamas and magic herbs, and had thus acquired a\n     genteel competence. The excellent dame then exhibited with great\n     complacency her gains, most of which she had put in the portable\n     and secure form of personal ornament, making herself a resplendent\n     magazine of valuable frippery.\n\n     \"Little cared the repentant sage for such things. But he was\n     rejoiced to be again at home and at peace, and near his own early\n     gains of hiaqua and treasure, buried in a place of security. These,\n     however, he no longer overesteemed and hoarded. He imparted\n     whatever he possessed, material treasures or stores of wisdom and\n     experience, freely to all the land. Every dweller by Whulge came to\n     him for advice how to chase the elk, how to troll or spear the\n     salmon, and how to propitiate Tamanous. He became the Great\n     Medicine Man of the Siwashes, a benefactor to his tribe and his\n     race.\n\n     \"Within a year after he came down from his long nap on the side of\n     Tacoma, a child, my father, was born to him. The sage lived many\n     years, beloved and revered, and on his death-bed, long before the\n     Boston tilicum or any blanketeers were seen in the regions of\n     Whulge, he told this history to my father, as a lesson and a\n     warning. My father, dying, told it to me. But I, alas! have no\n     son; I grow old, and lest this wisdom perish from the earth, and\n     Tamanous be again obliged to interpose against avarice, I tell the\n     tale to thee, O Boston tyee. Mayest thou and thy nation not disdain\n     this lesson of an earlier age, but profit by it and be wise.\"\n\nSo far Hamitchou recounted his legend without the palisades of Fort\nNisqually, and motioned, in expressive pantomime, at the close, that he\nwas dry with big talk, and would gladly wet his whistle.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nA Summer in the Sierras\n\n\nOur Western literary disciple, Bret Harte, is responsible for some such\nstatement as this, through the mouthpiece of one of his lively\nmountaineers:\n\n\"Tain't no use, you ain't got good sense no more. Why, sometimes you\ntalk jest as if you _lived in a valley_!\"\n\nDoesn't that epitomize the contempt of the highlander for the lowlander?\n\nA lover of the Californian Sierra reasonably would be expected to\noriginate such a philosophy. For while all mountains approach\nperfection, existence in the California cordillera is as near Utopian as\nthis old earth offers. That, of course, applies only to the out-of-door\nlover. For the others I dare venture no judgment; in their blindness\nthey love best their cities and their rabbit-warren homes, and the\nlogical desires of sunshine and forest are dried out of them by steam\nheat and contaminated by breathing much-used oxygen.\n\nHumans, generally speaking, have their chief habitat in the lowlands.\nCompelling reasons, aside from choice, are responsible for this state of\naffairs. For instance, there are not enough highlands to go around.\nThen, too, valleys and plains are better adapted to the customary\noccupations of the genus _homo_, especially that obsessing mania for the\naccumulation of cash. But despite their habits and their environment, a\nsatisfactory proportion of the valley dwellers love the hill country,\nand when they have mountains for neighbors revel in the opportunities\nthereby afforded.\n\nIn California the lot of the lowlander is blessed beyond compare, for\nthe most enticing playland imaginable is at his beck, and he is offered\na scenic menu _à la carte_, so to speak, which includes about everything\nthe Creator devised in the way of out-of-door attractions. There is sea\nbeach and forest, poppy-gilded plain and snow-quilted mountain. From a\nsemi-tropical riviera, with the scent of orange blossoms still in his\nnostrils, he may mount above the snow line in a few brief hours. One day\nhe bathes in the Pacific, inhaling the dank, sea-smelling fog, and the\nnext finds himself in the grandest forests of America, breathing the\ncrisp air of lofty altitudes. Revel in the gentle south of France or\nAlpine Switzerland; enjoy the mildness of Florida or the rugged\nmountaineering of the Rockies; drink Chianti in an Italian vineyard or\ncast a trout fly in a brawling Scottish stream; view fragments of Canton\nwithin gunshot of the Golden Gate and then glimpse utter desert by the\nshores of the Salton Sea--in short, choose what you will, and in\nCalifornia it awaits you.\n\n\nThe breezy bay of San Francisco, blue Tamalpais, and the live-oaks of\nBerkeley's campus we left behind, swinging easterly and south through\nthe hot, rich valley of the San Joaquin until the railroad ended and our\ntrail began. Before us lay a summer in the Sierras; a summer in no wise\ndefinitely organized in advance, but ninety days of wandering at will\nunburdened by itinerary and guided chiefly by the whim of the moment.\n\nA wonder of the world supremely worth seeing is Yosemite and when you\nsee it, if the possibility offers, avoid the hackneyed methods. The\nbest way ever devised to get acquainted with the Wonder-Valley, or any\nother of Nature's masterpieces, is the simplest: it consists in\nprogressing upon your own two feet. So it was that we entered the\nYosemite Park, and under our own power, so to speak, we negotiated many\nscores of miles over trails good and bad, and often guided by no trail\nat all.\n\nTo add even a modest description of Yosemite Valley to the far-reaching\nbibliography already in existence would be indeed carrying coals to a\nliterary Newcastle. If you want guidebooks, history, or information upon\nits flowers and its trees, simply whisper the word \"Yosemite\" in any\nwest-coast bookstore and you will be led to shelves bulging with volumes\nthat are authoritative, comprehensive, attractive, and, many of them,\ninteresting. It is suggested, however, that the wonders of the Valley\nwill break upon you with all the greater splendor if reading about them\nis postponed until after you have made visual acquaintance with what\nNature has written under the blue California sky in characters of trees,\ncliffs, rushing rivers, giant trees, and myriad flowers.\n\n[Illustration: \"The live oaks of Berkeley's campus\"\n\nFrom a photograph by Wells Drury, Berkeley, Cal.]\n\n[Illustration: Looking across the clouds to Mount Adams from the flanks\nof Rainier\n\nCopyright 1909 by L. G. Linkletter]\n\nGo, then, as did we, with a pack on your back and without plans. Or,\nif needs be, patronize the hotel or one of the luxurious camps, and\nthence see the sights of the Park at leisure through the medium of the\nstagecoaches which go nearly everywhere over the excellent roads.\n\nAs for us, we had a scrap of a tent and a box of provisions which we\ntrundled, after a deal of vexatious bargaining, a mile or so in a\nborrowed wheelbarrow to an enchanted camping spot beside a brimful\nbrook, shaded by primeval trees and sheltered from the welter of humans\nwho promenade promiscuously by a convenient arboreal jungle. There we\nmade our headquarters, by extending our fragmentary canvas fly between\nour blankets and the heavens and establishing a megalithic fireplace at\narm's reach from the running water, where we cooked three or more times\na day.\n\nFor a happy fortnight we did those things which Yosemite visitors are\nsupposed to do. We gloried in the sheer mightiness of El Capitan from\nbelow, and reveled in the views from its crest. From Inspiration Point,\non the road to the Big Trees, we were inspired beyond expectation by the\nmagnificent panorama of the cliff-encompassed canyon, with the silver\nwaterfalls lighting its shadowed walls like threads of gossamer against\nthe gray background of the rocks. Close at hand we were deafened by the\nthundering waters of Bridal Veil and Nevada, and we clambered up the\ntrails to see the highland rivers that gave them birth. A glad summer\nday was devoted to the Mariposa Grove pilgrimage where discreet soldiers\nwatched lest we abscond with a flower or treelet, or, I suppose, commit\nthat universal sin of American self-publicity, scratch our puny initials\nupon the gnarled columns of the most ancient and the grandest monuments\nNature has erected on our continent--the Sequoias.\n\nThen, having reveled in the prosaic recreations of Yosemite--and the\nfirst view of the Valley alone is worth the entire pilgrimage,\nremember--we picked up our beds and walked. That is, the blankets were\nstrapped on our backs, and the rudiments of a commissary stowed in our\nricksacks. So equipped, with our creature comforts provided for to the\nextent of about fifty pounds per man, we \"cached\" the balance of our\nprovender and equipment in a rocky cave (where a bear subsequently\neffected destructive inroads) and struck out for Tuolumne Meadows and\nHetch-Hetchy.\n\n[Illustration: \"We gloried in the sheer mightiness of El Capitan\"]\n\nIn the course of our unplanned wanderings we followed up the Merced\nRiver, past Nevada Falls and through the meadowed beauties of the Little\nYosemite. Ultimately, by ways uncharted, so far as we were aware, we\nviewed the Merced Canyon where Lakes Washburn and Merced nestle in the\nheart of a little-traveled fairyland, and thence struck 'cross-country\nto the upper regions of the other great river of the Park, the Tuolumne.\n\nAll the Tuolumne Meadow country is sheer delight, for mountaineer,\nfisherman, naturalist, and lover of the out-of-doors whose tastes are\nunspecific; well has John Muir called it \"the grand central camp-ground\nof the Sierras.\" It is a vast meadow, hemmed in by a mountain region\nbeyond compare for expeditioning, with legions of royal trout ready for\nthe fly, and a vast flower garden maintained enticingly by Dame Nature\nduring the summer sunshine season.\n\nThe trip we took from the Meadows, again without trail, was down the\nTuolumne to Hetch-Hetchy Valley. The journey's start literally was\nflower-strewn, and we tramped carefully lest we crush over-many of the\npurple daisies and tiny violets dotting the dewy grass, while lupin\noffered gentle resistance to our progress. First came the canyon of\nConness Creek, shaded with groves of hemlock, and neighbored by three\nfalls, the first of the countless cataracts which mark the wild river's\ncourse through the rockbound gorge, to the valley of our destination,\nmiles below.\n\nBeyond the falls the stream flows quietly for a space, between banks\nlined with pines and deciduous trees. As Marion Randall Parsons has\nquoted, here,\n\n  Willows whiten, aspens quiver,\n  Little breezes dusk and shiver\n  Thro' the wave that runs forever\n  By the island in the river\n    Flowing down to Camelot.\n\nAnd standing beside the white waters with the ground shaking underfoot\nto the tune of their mighty onrush, with the meadows, trees, and flowers\nround about, the awesome cliffs for guardians, and the bright blue sky\nover all, it requires no visionary to conjure up legendary cities at\nthis river's end, for but half lend yourself to the notion and the\nglorious Sierran stream becomes a beckoning highway to a land of\npleasant dreams.\n\n[Illustration: \"A vast flower garden maintained enticingly by Dame\nNature\"\n\nCopyright 1912 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.]\n\n[Illustration: Light and shadow in Yosemite]\n\nOf the Tuolumnic canyon journey this same lover of the Sierras, Mrs.\nParsons, has sketched the following description:\n\n     It is impossible to do justice to the canyon after one brief\n     journey through it; impossible to set down in order the details of\n     that day's travel and the next, confused as they were by the\n     consciousness of tired muscles and eyes bewildered by the all too\n     hurried succession of interests. Little more than impressions\n     remain--memories of cliffs rising from three to five thousand feet\n     above us; of a walk of half a mile on stepping stones along the\n     river; of more talus-piles; of the entrance into the rattlesnake\n     zone; of a walk through a still forest of tall firs and young\n     cedars, where our voices seemed to break the silence of ages; of\n     more talus-piles; of a camp beneath the firs among deep fern-beds,\n     and of the red ants that there congregated; of more brush and more\n     talus-piles; of a look down Muir Gorge and a hot climb up a\n     thousand feet over the rocks to the cairn of stones containing the\n     precious register; of a cliff extending to the river's edge which\n     presented the alternative of edging across it on a crack or\n     climbing a five-hundred-foot hill to get around it.\n\n     The Tuolumne is one of the largest of our Sierra rivers, much\n     greater in volume than its quieter neighbor, the Merced. Its falls,\n     often of an imposing height, are none of them sheer, none of them\n     giving that impression of pure joy of living with which the Merced\n     waters leap into the great Nevada abyss. For the Tuolumne's is a\n     sterner, stormier course, beset with giant rocks against which\n     even its splendid strength is impotently hurled, and its joy is the\n     joy of battles. But it is a strange thing, standing beside one of\n     these giant cataracts where the ground shakes with the impact and\n     where every voice of wind or living creature is silenced in the\n     roar of the maddened waters, to see under what a delicate fabric\n     this Titan's force is veiled--a billowing, gossamer texture,\n     iris-tinted, with jeweled spray flying high upon the wind.\n\nThen came Hetch-Hetchy, after two days of strenuous pursuit of the\nTuolumne's galloping waters.\n\nWhen we were there Hetch-Hetchy was a valley untrammeled, carpeted with\ngrass and flowers, walled by mighty cliffs, traversed by the unfettered\nTuolumne. Of late, as all the outdoor world knows, its freedom has been\nbartered and its fate sealed--the fate of being drowned beneath a\nreservoir whose waters are to quench the thirst of San Francisco.\nProbably, from an engineering standpoint, the knell of Hetch-Hetchy is a\nmasterpiece; perhaps economically it is wisdom; but none who have\ndelighted in the valley's hospitality but deem it tragedy of the darkest\ndie.\n\nBe that as it may, the waters are yet unstored and Hetch-Hetchy is still\na camp-ground, and for the city-bred or the city-weary it offers\npanacea beyond compare as it has since the beginning of all things, when\ncities were as little thought of as reservoirs. Regarding the horrors of\nindustrial civilization, William Morris once urged humanitarian effort\n\"until the contrast is less disgraceful between the fields where the\nbeasts live and the streets where men live.\" And Hetch-Hetchy, even in a\nregion of loveliness, is perhaps Nature's strongest sermon in her\nwordless arraignment of the physical follies of civilization--at least\nthat so-called civilization which is wound around with unashamed\nartificialities and the ugliness of urban existence.\n\nOur week in Hetch-Hetchy we wished might have been a month, but the\ncalendar moves relentlessly in the Sierra as elsewhere, and only too\nsoon the days were numbered until we must abandon Yosemite Park and\nstrike southward into other mountain regions, with other companionship.\nSo back we \"hiked\" to our valley base camp, rescued what the bears had\nleft of our stored property, and renewed acquaintance with the railroad\nat Merced.\n\nDuring the rest of that most excellent summer my fortunes were thrown\nin with those of the Sierra Club, the Californian member of the Coast's\ntrio of notable mountain-climbing organizations, the other two being the\nMazamas of Portland and the Mountaineers of Seattle.\n\nThis organized back-to-naturing, so to speak, deserves a large measure\nof attention and a vast deal of praise. The official purpose of the\nSierra Club is \"to explore, enjoy, and render accessible the mountain\nregions of the Pacific Coast.\" Its aim, like those of its brother\norganizations of the West and East, is to \"publish authentic information\nconcerning the mountain regions and to enlist the support and\ncooperation of the people and the Government in preserving the forests\nand other natural features of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.\" With such a\nplatform these clubs of the Pacific accomplish much real good and often\nare the sponsors for forward-looking movements of wide importance. Also,\ntheir experience and their organized methods each summer make possible\nlengthy excursions into the mountain regions whose scope would be beyond\nthe individual means of many who join forces with the club on these\ncommunity outings. Hundreds of miles of new trails are laid out and\nold ones improved, peaks are climbed and records left, often trout are\nplanted in barren lakes, and everyone is given an educational experience\nin the ways of the Open. Also--and primarily--all hands have a royal\ngood time.\n\n[Illustration: The Government road that leads to Mount Rainier]\n\n[Illustration: Sunrise at Hetch-Hetchy]\n\nAt Tracy, in the San Joaquin Valley, where the Sierra Club special train\nstopped for supper, I joined the party. That night I felt conspicuous,\nfor six weeks of tramping in the Yosemite had removed the last traces of\npresentability from my costume; however, when at dawn the hikers of the\nmorrow emerged from the sleeping-cars at Porterville, white collars, low\nshoes, long skirts, and all the other impedimenta of civilized apparel\nwere replaced by workaday garments, while khaki and flannel shirts were\nmuch in evidence.\n\nFor two days the long line struggled along the trail leading into the\ncanyon of the Kern. From oak and chaparral to pines and bear clover,\nsilver fir, and nature-made gardens of columbine, red snow plant, and\ncyclamen we mounted, and then still higher to a silent tamarack country.\nThen down interminably to Fish Creek, and camp, and Charlie Tuck, who\nwas--and no doubt still is--the Celestial ruler of the club's\nall-important culinary department.\n\nFishing, minor side trips, some fish-planting, and all the attractions\nof outdoor camp life occupied a week in the lower Kern Valley. Then camp\nwas removed ten miles up the canyon to the junction of the Big Arroya\nand the Kern, whence were engineered ascents of the Red Kaweah and of\nWhitney, highest of all the mountains in the United States, each reached\nthrough side trips of several days' duration, and each opening up a\nfresh, new field of highland delights.\n\nThe trails of the Sierra, like trails the world over, are endlessly\nappealing--only the Sierran footways seem somehow richer in variety than\nothers known to me. The entire mountain world unfolds from the shifting\nvantage points of these ribbons, threading its most sacred temples,\nclear and strong through the valleys, distinguishable only by the\npresence of many blazes upon the tree trunks where pine needles plot\ntheir obliteration, zigzagging dizzily up steep slopes, crossing rivers\non perilous logs or buried knee-deep beneath the rushing waters of the\nford, skirting sky-reflecting lakes, hiding beneath summer snowbanks, or\ntraversing waste highlands, marked only by the cairns that lift their\nwelcome heads against the sky. Underfoot there is the needle carpet,\nspringy ground, shoe-cutting rocks, or deep-trodden dust, where the\nwayfarer comes to the journey's end a monument of ghostly gray. Overhead\nis always the tender blue of the summer California sky, with here and\nthere a snowy cloud, for contrast's sake. Most impressive is the trail\nthat clambers among the snow-clad heights, where the chilling air of the\npeaks makes the blood run fast and the heart rejoice; its beauty most\nappreciable where it follows brawling brooks and shadowed valleys, or\nmeanders among woods, pillared with great trees and roofed with swaying\nboughs, ever and anon emerging into tiny, exquisite glades. Such is the\nSierra trail, each mile a thing of individual charm and happy memory.\n\nThe physical ways and means of the outing are as near perfect as may be\nwhere one hundred and twenty humans are turned loose in the wilderness.\nThe perfection is, of course, the outgrowth of long experience and\ncareful planning. Pack-trains take in the provisions well in advance;\nthe day's \"hike\" is laid out, and \"grub\" is in waiting when the\nallotted number of miles lie behind; side trips are arranged, and when\nthere is climbing of consequence, experienced leaders pilot the way. And\nyet, withal, the month-long holiday is far from being disagreeably \"cut\nand dried,\" and there seems always sufficient opportunity for freedom to\nsatisfy individual tastes. Nor, because of the numbers, need one lack\nprivacy; on the trail and at camp the excursionist may restrict himself\nto his own unimpeachable society, he may join a small group of chosen\nspirits, or associate with the general unit. In short, there is\nopportunity to satisfy every taste on a Sierra Club outing, which holds\nequally true of the other mountain organizations of the Coast, each of\nwhich conducts admirable activities in its chosen field.\n\nThe last bright recollection of that Sierra summer is the camp-fire\nwhich closed the final day--and all camp-fires are pleasant memories. It\nwas beneath the mighty trees of the Giant Forest that we spent the final\nnight, the light of our blaze insignificant 'midst the shadows of these\nhuge trunks, the quiet summer night all about. The inner circle of faces\nshowed ruddy in the reflected firelight, the outer edges of the group\nwere deep in shadow. In the center, close to the fire, his figure\noutlined by its glow, stood John Muir, president of the Club,\nnaturalist, explorer, lover of the Sierras, and loved by all. That night\nhe shared with us, as often he had done before, his knowledge of those\nintimates of his, the Californian mountains, with whom he had lived so\nlong and so understandingly. And now, in this December, six years since\nthat evening in the Giant Forest, comes the news that John Muir has been\ngathered to his fathers, and that this splendid apostle of the\nout-of-doors will never again share its treasured secrets at Sierran\ncamp-fires.\n\n\n\n_An amusing, instructive, and tempting account of travel in the byways\njust off the new highway._--N. Y. Sun.\n\n  The Southland\n\n  of\n\n  North America\n\n  Rambles and Observations in\n  Central America\n\n  By\n  George Palmer Putnam\n\n  Author of \"In the Oregon Country,\" etc.\n\n  _With 96 Illustrations from Photographs by the Author, and\n  a Map, 8°, 440 Pages, $2.50_\n\n\"The author has traveled much along the coasts and in the interior of\nthese jungle-clad Latin-American countries and states, so near and yet\nso little regarded or understood by their big northern neighbor in the\nfamily of western nations.\n\nThough primarily devoted to the present-day aspects of the countries\nvisited--their pressing political problems, industrial experiments, and\nfurther possibilities of development, social structure, and national\nideals--the book takes many excursions into the past, and ventures now\nand then into prediction concerning the future.\n\nLife takes on novel and curious aspects in these alien lands, where\nthere is more regard for festivals than for public improvements, and the\noutlander must take his chances of meager accommodation in inns by\ncourtesy, surrounded by a careless, pleasure-loving throng.\n\nHow this populace differs from the rest of the Latin-American world,\nwhat are their customs, diversions, inmost thoughts, and ideals--these\nare topics on which the author enlarges, in keenly observant fashion,\nand with the true spirit of an experienced traveler.\n\nThe volume has many fine illustrations, and through its descriptive\npassages runs a vein of excellent humor.\"--N. Y. _Sun_.\n\n\n  The Winning of the\n  Far West\n\n  A History of the Regaining of Texas, of the Mexican War, of\n  the Oregon Question; and of the Successive Additions\n  to the Territory in the United States within\n  the Continent of America, 1829-1867\n\n  By\n\n  Robert McNutt McElroy, Ph.D.\n\n  Edwards Professor of American History, Princeton University\n  Author of \"Kentucky in the Nation's History,\" etc.\n\n  _8°. With Illustrations and Maps. $2.50_\n\nThis volume is designed as a continuation of Theodore Roosevelt's\nwell-known work, _The Winning of the West_. It begins with the history\nof the Texas Revolution under General Sam Houston, tracing the origin of\nthat struggle to President Jackson's determination, so often announced\nin his letters of that period, to \"regain Texas, peaceably if we can,\nforcibly if we must.\"\n\nThe author has had access to large collections of Jackson's letters,\nmost of which have never been published, and his treatment of the\nsubject is distinctly new.\n\nThe volume then traces the origin of the Mexico-American war, showing\nfrom official documents that the declaration of war was not due to the\nencounter between the forces of General Taylor and those of General\nArista on the banks of the Rio Grande, but had been positively decided\nupon by President Polk and his Cabinet before the news of that\nengagement reached Washington.\n\nThe Mexican War is treated in detail, the accounts of the battles being\nbased upon official documents and military reports.\n\nThe events leading up to the conquest of New Mexico and California, and\nthe settlement of the old controversy over the ownership of the Oregon\nregion, are treated as phases of the western movement. Then follows a\nfull discussion of the Compromise of 1850, and the volume closes with\nthe Purchase of Alaska.\n\n\n  Mountaineering and\n  Exploration in the\n  Selkirks\n\n  A Record of Pioneer Work among the\n  Canadian Alps, 1908-1912\n\n  By Howard Palmer\n\n  Corresponding Member of the Geographical Society\n  of Philadelphia, Fellow of the Royal\n  Geographical Society\n\n  _With 219 Illustrations and 2 New Maps. $5.00_\n\nA contribution to the description and history of a region that has been\nsadly neglected. The author is the first to have surveyed and\nphotographed a large territory of the Selkirks, covering about 600\nsquare miles in the northerly part. His superb photographs, some taken\nfrom the top of the loftiest peaks, are a great addition to this\nimportant and fascinating work.\n\n\n  The Lower Amazon\n\n  A Narrative of Explorations in the Little-Known Regions\n  of the State of Pará, on the Lower Amazon, with a\n  Record of Archæological Excavations on Marajó\n  Island at the Mouth of the Amazon River,\n  and Observations on the General Resources\n  of the Country\n\n  By Algot Lange\n\n  Author of \"In the Amazon Jungle\"\n  Late officially connected with the Bureau of Indian Affairs\n  of the Brazilian Federal Government\n\n  _With an Introduction by Frederick S. Dellenbaugh\n  8°. 100 Illustrations and Maps. $2.50_\n\nTo readers of Algot Lange's former book, \"In the Amazon Jungle,\" the\npresent volume needs no introduction. No explorer of modern times has\nhad a more adventurous or more fruitful career. The scientific,\narchæological, and topographical results of his explorations are only\nexceeded by the adventure of his expeditions, and he has proved himself\na faithful and supremely interesting raconteur. The scene of his present\nvolume lies in the extreme eastern part of that vast division of South\nAmerica lying on both sides of the greatest river in the world.\n\nThe explorer's adventure with a nest of boa-constrictors, his discovery\nof an island covered with pottery of an ancient race, and of tribes of\nstark naked Indians living in the most primitive style, using stone axes\nand making dugouts as they must have been made many centuries ago, is\nsupplemented by his valuable information of the undeveloped wealth of\nthe vast tract traversed.\n\n  New York    G. P. Putnam's Sons    London\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's In the Oregon Country, by George Palmer Putnam", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32164", "title": "In the Oregon Country\r\nOut-Doors in Oregon, Washington, and California Together with some Legendary Lore, and Glimpses of the Modern West in the Making", "author": "", "publication_year": 1915, "metadata_title": "In the Oregon Country", "metadata_author": "George Palmer Putnam", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:24.362538", "source_chars": 223664, "chars": 223664, "talkie_tokens": 51950}}
{"text": "Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian\nLibraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  A\n  DISCOURSE\n  ON THE\n  PLAGUE:\n\n  BY\n\n  _RICHARD MEAD_,\n\n  Fellow of the College of Physicians,\n  and of the Royal Society; and\n  Physician to his MAJESTY.\n\n  The NINTH EDITION corrected and enlarged.\n\n  _LONDON_,\n  Printed for A. MILLAR, against _Catharine-Street_,\n  in the _Strand_:\n\n  And J. BRINDLEY in _New-Bond-Street_.\n\n  MDCCXLIV.\n\n\n\n\n  TO THE\n  RIGHT HONOURABLE\n  _James Craggs_, Esq;\n\n  ONE OF\n  His MAJESTY'S Principal Secretaries\n  of State.\n\n\n_SIR_,\n\nI MOST humbly offer to You my Thoughts concerning the _Prevention of the\nPlague_, which I have put together by your Command. As soon as you were\npleased to signify to me, in his _Majesty's_ Absence, that their\nExcellencies the _Lords Justices_ thought it necessary for the publick\nSafety, upon the Account of the _Sickness_ now in _France_, that proper\nDirections should be drawn up to defend our selves from such a Calamity;\nI most readily undertook the Task, though upon short Warning, and with\nlittle Leisure: I have therefore rather put down the _principal Heads of\nCaution_, than a _Set of Directions in Form_.\n\nTHE _first_, which relate to _the performing Quarantaines_, &c. You, who\nare perfectly versed in the History of _Europe_, will see are agreeable\nto what is practised in other Countries, with some new Regulations. _The\nnext_, concerning the _suppressing Infection here_, are very different\nfrom the Methods taken in former Times among _Us_, and from what they\ncommonly do _Abroad_: But, I persuade my self, will be found agreeable\nto Reason.\n\nI MOST heartily wish, that the wise Measures, the _Government_ has\nalready taken, and will continue to take, with Regard to the _former_ of\n_these_, may make the _Rules_ about the _latter_ unnecessary. However,\nit is fit, we should be always provided with proper _Means of Defence_\nagainst so terrible an _Enemy_.\n\nMAY this short _Essay_ be received as one Instance, among many others,\nof the Care, you always shew for Your Country; and as a Testimony of the\ngreat Esteem and Respect, with which I have the Honour to be,\n\n  _SIR_,\n\n      _Your most obedient, and\n          Most humble Servant,_\n\n              R. MEAD.\n\n  Nov. 25.\n  1720.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONTENTS.\n\n\nThe Preface,                                        Page i\n\n\nPART I.\n\n_Of the_ PLAGUE _in General_.\n\nCHAP I. Of the Origine and Nature of the PLAGUE,         1\n\nCHAP II. Of the Causes which spread the PLAGUE,         41\n\n\nPART II.\n\n_Of the Methods to be taken against the_ PLAGUE.\n\nCHAP I. Of preventing Infection from other Countries,   80\n\nCHAP II. Of stopping the Progress of the PLAGUE,\nif it should enter our Country,                        100\n\nCHAP III. Of the Cure of the PLAGUE,                   151\n\n\n\n\nTHE PREFACE.\n\n\nTHIS Book having at first been written only as a Plan of Directions for\npreserving our Country from the =Plague=[1] was then very short and\nconcise. An Act of Parliament being immediately after made for\nperforming =Quarantaines= &c. according to the Rules here laid down, it\npassed through seven Editions in one year without any Alterations. I\nthen thought proper to make some =Additions= to it, in order to shew the\nReasonableness of the Methods prescribed, by giving a more full\nDescription of this Disease, and collecting some Examples of the good\nSuccess which had attended such Measures, when they had been put in\nPractice. At the same time I annex'd a short Chapter relating to the\nCure of the Plague; being induced thereto by considering how widely most\nAuthors have erred in prescribing a Heap of useless and very often\nhurtful Medicines, which they recommend under the specious Titles of\n=Antidotes=, =Specifics= and =Alexipharmacs=: hoping that the great\nResemblance, which I had observed between this Disease and the =Small\nPox=, would justify my writing upon a Distemper which I have never\nseen.\n\nINDEED the =Small Pox= is a true =Plague=, tho' of a particular kind,\nbred, as I have shewn all Pestilences are, in the same hot =Egyptian=\nClimate, and brought into =Asia= and =Europe= by the way of Commerce;\nbut most remarkably by the War with the =Saracens=, called the =Holy\nWar=, at the latter end of the eleventh and the beginning of the twelfth\nCentury[2]. Ever since which time the morbific Seeds of it have been\npreserved in the infected Cloaths and the Furniture of Houses: and have\nbroken out more or less in all Countries, according as the hot and moist\nTemperature of the Air has favoured their Spreading and the Exertion of\ntheir Force. The =Measles= is likewise a =Plague sui generis=, and owes\nits Origin to the same Country.\n\nI have now revised my little Work once more: and though I cannot find\nany reason to change my Mind as to any material Points which regard\neither the =Preventing= or the =Stopping= the Progress of =Infection=;\nyet I have here and there added some new =Strokes= of Reasoning, and,\nas the Painters say, retouch'd the =Ornaments=, and hightened the\n=Colouring= of the =Piece=.\n\nTHE Substance of the long Preface to the last Edition is as follows.\n\nI have insisted more at large upon the =Infection= of this Disease,\nthan I could ever have thought needful at this time, after =Europe= has\nhad Experience of the Distemper for so many Ages; had I not been\nsurprized by the late Attempts of some Physicians in =France= to prove\nthe contrary, even while they have the most undeniable Arguments against\nthem before their Eyes. In particular, I cannot but very much admire to\nsee Dr. =Chicoyneau=, and the other Physicians, who first gave us\n=Observations= on the =Plague=, when at =Marseilles=, relate in the\n=Reflections=, they afterwards published upon those Observations, the\nCase of a Man, who was seized with the =Plague=, upon his burying a\nyoung Woman dead of it, when no one else dared to approach the Body; and\nyet to see them ascribe his Disease, not to his being =infected= by the\nWoman, but solely to his Grief for the Loss of her, to whom he had made\nLove, and to a =Diarrhoea=, which had been some time upon him[3]. No\nquestion but these concurred to make his Disease the more violent; and\nperhaps even exposed him to contract the =Infection=: but why it should\nbe supposed, that he was not =infected=, I cannot imagine, when there\nwas so plain an Appearance of it. I am as much at a Loss to find any\nColour of Reason for their denying =Infection= in another Case, they\nrelate, of a =young Lady= seized with the =Plague=, upon the sudden\nSight of a =PESTILENTIAL TUMOR=, just broke out upon her Maid; not\nallowing any thing but the Lady's Surprize to be the Cause of her\nIllness[4].\n\nTHE Truth is, these Physicians had engaged themselves in an\n=Hypothesis=, that the =Plague= was bred at =Marseilles= by a long Use of\nbad Aliment, and grew so fond of their Opinion, as not to be moved by\nthe most convincing Evidence. And thus it mostly happens, when we\nindulge Conjectures instead of pursuing the true Course for making\nDiscoveries in Nature.\n\nI KNOW they imagine this their Sentiment to be abundantly confirmed\nfrom some Experiments made by Dr. =Deidier=[5] upon the =Bile= taken\nfrom Persons dead of the =Plague=: which having been either poured into\na Wound made on purpose in different =Dogs=, or injected into their\nVeins, never failed, in many Trials, to produce in them all the Symptoms\nof the Pestilence, even the external ones of =Bubo's= and =Carbuncles=.\nOne Dog, upon which the Experiment succeeded, had been known, for three\nMonths before, to devour greedily the corrupted =Flesh= of infected\nPersons, and =Pledgets= taken off from =Pestilential Ulcers=, without\nreceiving any Injury. From hence they conclude[6] that this Disease is\nnot communicated by =Contagion=, but originally bred in the Body by the\nCorruption of the =Bile=. This Corruption, they say, is the Effect of\nunwholsome Food; and the =Bile= thus corrupted produces a Thickness and\na Degree of Coagulation in the Blood, which is the Cause of the =Plague=:\nTho' this they allow to be inforced by a bad Season of the Year, and\nthe =Terrors= of Mind and Despair of the Inhabitants.\n\nTHESE Experiments are indeed curious, but fall very short of what they\nare brought to prove. The most that can be gathered from them is this:\nThat =Dogs= do not, at least not so readily, receive =Pestilential\nInfection= from Men, as Men do from one another: And also, that the\n=Bile= is so highly corrupted in a Body infected with the =Plague=, that\nby putting it into the Blood of a =Dog= it will immediately breed the\nsame Disease.\n\nBUT it does not follow from hence, that the =Bile= is the Seat of the\nDisease, or that other Humors of the Body are not corrupted as well as\n=this=. I make no question but the whole Mass of Blood is, in this Case,\nin a State of Putrefaction; and consequently that all the Liquors\nderived from it partake of the Taint.\n\nACCORDINGLY it appeared afterwards from some Experiments made by Dr.\n=Couzier=[7], that not only the =Blood=, but even the =Urine= from an\ninfected person, infused into the crural Vein of a Dog communicated the\n=Plague=. I will venture to affirm, that if, instead of =Bile=, =Blood=,\nor =Urine=, the =Matter= of the =Ulcers= had been put into a Wound made\nin the Dog; it would have had at least an equally pernicious Effect: As\nmay well be concluded from the Inoculation of the Small Pox.\n\nAS to the Dog's eating the =corrupted Flesh= and =purulent Matter= of\nthe Patients; it ought to have been considered that there are some\nPoisons very powerful when mixed immediately with the Blood, which will\nnot operate in the Stomach at all: As in particular the =Saliva= of the\nmad Dog and the =Venom= of the Viper[8]. And therefore Dr. =Deidier=\nhimself, some Months after his former Experiments, found that\n=pestiferous Bile= itself was swallowed by Dogs without any Harm[9].\n\nTHE right Inference to be made from these Experiments, I think, would\nhave been this: That since the Blood and all the Humors are so greatly\ncorrupted in the Plague, as that Dogs (tho' not so liable to catch the\nDistemper in the ordinary way of Infection, as Men are) may receive it\nby a small Quantity of any of these from a diseased Subject being mixed\nwith their Blood; it may well be supposed, that the =Effluvia= from an\ninfected Person, drawn into the Body of one who is sound, may be\npestiferous and productive of the like Disorder.\n\nMY Assertion, that these =French= Physicians have before them the\nfullest Proofs of this =Infection=, not only appears from these\nInstances of it, I have observed to be recorded by themselves; but\nlikewise from what Dr. =le Moine= and Dr. =Bailly=[10] have written, of\nthe Manner in which the =Plague= was brought to =Canourgue= in the\n=Gevaudan=: as also from an amazing Instance they give us of the great\nSubtilty of this =Poison=, experienced at =Marvejols=: where no less\nthan =sixty= Persons were at once infected in a =Church=, by one that\ncame thither out of an infected House. The =Plague= was carried from\n=Marseilles= to =Canourgue=, as follows. A =Gally-Slave=, employed in\nburying the Dead at =Marseilles=, escaped from thence to the Village of\n=St. Laurent de Rivedolt=, a League distant from =Correjac=: where\nfinding a Kinsman, who belonged to the latter Place, he presented him\nwith a =Waistcoat= and a =pair of Stockings= he had brought along with\nhim. The =Kinsman= returns to his Village, and dies in two or three\nDays; being followed soon after by =three Children= and their =Mother=.\nHis =Son=, who lived at =Canourgue=, went from thence, in order to bury\nthe Family; and, at his Return, gave to his =Brother-in-law= a =Cloak=\nhe had brought with him: the =Brother-in-law= laying it upon his Bed,\nlost a little =Child= which lay with him, in one Day's Time; and two\nDays after, his Wife; =himself= following in seven or eight. The\n=Parents= of this unhappy Family, taking Possession of the =Goods= of the\nDeceased, underwent the same Fate.\n\nALL this abundantly shews how inexcusable the foresaid Physicians in\n=France= are, in their opposing the common Opinion that the =Plague= is\ncontagious. However, I have paid so much Regard to them, as to insist\nthe more largely upon the Proof of that =Contagion=; lest the Opinion of\nthose, who have had so much Experience of the Disease, might lead any\none into an Error, in an Affair of such Consequence, that all my\nPrecepts relating to =Quarantaines=, and well nigh every particular Part\nof my Advice, depends upon it: For if this Opinion were a Mistake,\n=Quarantaines=, and all the like =Means of Defence=, ought to be thrown\naside as of no use. But as I continue persuaded, that we have the\ngreatest Evidence, that the =PLAGUE= is a =contagious= Disease; so I\nhave left, without any Alteration, all my Directions in respect to\n=Quarantaines=: in which, I hope, I have not recommended any Thing\n=prejudicial to Trade=; my Advice being very little different from what\nhas been long practised in all the =trading= Ports of =Italy=, and in\nother Places. Nay, were we to be more remiss in this than our\nNeighbours, I cannot think but the =Fear= they would have of us, must\nmuch obstruct our =Commerce=.\n\nBUT I shall pursue this Point no farther: the rather because a very\nlearned Physician among themselves has since, both by strong Reasoning\nand undeniable Instances, evinced the Reality of =Contagion=[11].\n\nIN a word, the more I consider this Matter, the more I am convinced\nthat the Precepts I have delivered, both with regard to the Preventing\nthe Plague from coming into a Country, and the Treatment of it when\npresent, are perfectly suitable to the Nature of the Distemper, and\nconsequently the fittest to be complied with. But how far, in every\nSituation of Affairs, it is expedient to grant the =Powers=, requisite\nfor putting all of them in Practice, it is not my proper Business, as a\nPhysician, to determine. No doubt, but at all Times, these =Powers=\nought to be so limited and restrained, that they may never endanger\nthe Rights and Liberties of a People. Indeed, as I have had no other\nView than the Publick Good in this my Undertaking, and the Satisfaction\nof doing somewhat towards the Relief of Mankind, under the greatest of\nCalamities; so I should not, without the utmost Concern, see that any\nThing of mine gave the least Countenance to Cruelty and Oppression.\n\nBUT I must confess, I find no Reason for any Apprehensions of this\nkind, from any thing I have advanced. For what extraordinary Danger can\nthere be, in lodging =Powers= for the proper Management of People under\nthe Plague, with a =Council of Health=, or other Magistrates, who shall\nbe accountable, like all other Civil Officers, for their just Behaviour\nin the Execution of them? Though this I must leave to those, who are\nbetter skilled in the Nature of Government. But sure I am, that by the\nRules here given, both the =Sick= will be provided for with more\nHumanity, and the Country more effectually defended against the Progress\nof the Disease, than by any of the Methods heretofore generally put in\nPractice, either in our own, or in other Nations.\n\nTHE Usage among =Us=, established by =Act of Parliament=, of\n=Imprisoning= in their Houses every Family the =Plague= seizes on,\nwithout allowing any one to pass in or out, but such as are appointed by\nAuthority, to perform the necessary Offices about the Sick, is certainly\nthe severest Treatment imaginable; as it exposes the whole Family to\nsuffer by the same Disease; and consequently is little less than\nassigning them over to the cruellest of Deaths: As I have shewn in the\nDiscourse.\n\nTHE Methods practised in =France= are likewise obnoxious to great\nObjections. =Crowding= the Sick together in =Hospitals= can serve to no\ngood Purpose; but instead thereof will =promote= and =spread= the\n=Contagion=, and besides will expose the Sick to the greatest Hardships.\nIt is no small Part of the Misery, that attends this terrible Enemy of\nMankind, that whereas moderate Calamities open the Hearts of Men to\n=Compassion= and =Tenderness=, this greatest of Evils is found to have\nthe contrary Effect. Whether Men of wicked Minds, through Hopes of\nImpunity, at these Times of Disorder and Confusion, give their evil\nDisposition full Scope, which ordinarily is restrained by the Fear of\nPunishment; or whether it be, that a constant View of Calamities and\nDistress does so pervert the Minds of Men, as to blot out all Sentiments\nof Humanity; or whatever else be the Cause: certain it is, that at such\nTimes, when it should be expected to see all Men unite in one common\nEndeavour, to moderate the publick Misery; quite otherwise, they grow\nregardless of each other, and Barbarities are often practised, unknown\nat other Times. Accordingly =Diemerbroek= informs us, that he himself\nhad often seen these =Hospitals= committed to the Charge of Villains,\nwhose Inhumanity has suffered great Numbers to perish by Neglect, and\nthat sometimes they have even smothered such as have been very weak, or\nhave had nauseous Ulcers difficult to cure. Insomuch, that in many\nPlaces the Sick have chose to lay themselves in Fields, in the open\nAir, under the slightest Coverings, rather than to fall into the\nbarbarous Hands of those who have had the Management of these\nHospitals[12].\n\nTHE rigorous Restraints observed at their =Lines=, are attended also\nwith the like Inconveniences. For by absolutely denying a Passage to\nPeople from =infected= Places, they subject to the same common Ruin,\nboth from the Disease, and from the Disorders committed in such Places,\nthose, whom their Fortunes would otherwise furnish with Means of\nescaping: and this, no doubt, in every free Country, must be looked upon\nas an unjust =Infringement of Liberty=, and a Diminution of Mens natural\nRights, not to be allowed.\n\nNOW, under all these Difficulties, I cannot but with the greatest\nSatisfaction observe, that my =Precepts= are well nigh, nay altogether\nfree from them; and yet a proper Regard is had to the Disease. As soon\nas ever the =Sick= are grown numerous, I advise, that they be left in\ntheir Houses, without any of those unmerciful Restraints heretofore put\nupon them and the Families they belonged to. I might, perhaps, have\njustly directed, that whenever those, who frequent or dwell in an\n=infected= House, go abroad, they should be obliged to carry about them\n=a long Stick= of some remarkable Colour, or other =visible Token=, by\nwhich People may be warned from holding too free Converse with them:\nthis being the Practice on these Occasions, as I have heard, in some\nPlaces. The =Removal of the Sick= from their Houses, I advise only at\nthe beginning, when it will be attended with none of the forementioned\nInconveniences: but is what, for the most Part, those Sick should\nthemselves desire. It has hardly ever been known, when the Disease did\nnot first begin among the =Poor=. Such therefore only will be subject to\nthis Regulation, whose Habitations by the Closeness of them are in all\nRespects very incommodious for diseased Persons. So that my Advice\nchiefly amounts to the giving Relief to the =Poor=, who shall first be\n=infected=, by removing them into more convenient Lodgings than their\nown, where they shall be better provided for than at home. And the\n=Removal= of them will not be attended with that Danger, it is natural\nfor the Unskilful to apprehend in so dreadful a Disease; because it is\nevery Day practised in the =Small-Pox=, with great Safety. And whereas I\nhave before observed, that People have often suffered in the publick\n=Hospitals= by the Inhumanity of their Attendants; in this Case, little\nor nothing of that kind is to be feared: for I have proposed this\n=Removal= of the =Sick= only, at a Time, when a long =Series= of\n=Calamities= has not yet bred Disorders and Hardness of Heart. Nay, it\nmay be reasonably expected that they should rather be used with the\ntenderest Care, when every one shall believe the Stopping of the\nDistemper, and consequently their own Safety to depend upon it. And as\nthis Treatment will be both safe and beneficial to the =Sick=, so it\nwill be much more evidently for the Advantage of the sound Part of the\nFamily, and of those who live near them. For as the =poorer= Sort of\nPeople subsist by their daily Labour, no sooner shall the =Plague= have\nbroke out among them, but the sick Families, and all their Neighbours\nlikewise, if not relieved by the Publick, shall be abandoned to perish\nby =Want=, unless the Progress of the Distemper put a shorter Period to\ntheir Lives.\n\nTHIS Observation, that the_ Plague _usually begins among the =Poor=,\nwas the Reason, why I did not make any Difference in my Directions for\n=removing the Sick=, in regard to their different Fortunes, when I first\ngave my Thoughts upon this Subject: which however, to prevent Cavils, I\nhave at present done; and have shewn what Method ought to be taken, if\nby some unusual Chance, the =Plague= should at the beginning enter a\nwealthy Family. And, in this Case, I have advised nothing, which I would\nnot most readily submit to my self: For I should much rather chuse to be\nthus removed from my Dwelling, with the Distemper upon me, to save my\nFamily, than they, by being shut up with me, should be all exposed to\nperish. And as this Way of treating diseased Families is the most\ncompassionate, that can be devised with any regard to the restraining\nthe Progress of the Distemper; so it is still much preferable to what\nwas formerly practised amongst us, on other Accounts. For, according to\nwhat I have advised, it is only required, to =remove some few= Families\nat the beginning of the Disease: whereas the Method of =shutting up=\nHouses was continued through the whole Course of the Sickness. Perhaps\nthe Plague, under this Management, may not reach half a Score Families:\nI have given Instances, where it has thus been stopt in =One=.\n\nWHAT relates to the inclosing =Infected= Places with =Lines=, I have so\nregulated, that no body can be subjected to any Degree of Hardship\nthereby: for I have provided, that free Liberty be given to every one,\nthat pleases, to depart from the =Infected= Place, without being put to\nany other Difficulty, than the Performance of a short =Quarantaine= of\nabout three Weeks, in some Place of Safety. So that no one shall be\ncompelled to continue in the infected Town, whom his own Circumstances\nwill not confine.\n\nTHIS part of my Directions is not so =general= as the rest, because\nsome Places are too great to admit of it: which occasioned my proposing\nit with a Restriction[13]. But as this is a great Inconvenience to the\nrest of the =Country=, so it is far from being any Advantage to the\n=Place= thus left unguarded. For when all, who leave an =infected= Place,\ncarry with them =Certificates= of their having submitted to such\n=Quarantaine=, as may remove all Cause of Suspicion, =Travelling= will be\nmuch more safe and commodious, than otherwise it can be. For want of\nthis, when the =Plague= was last at =London=, it was difficult to\nwithdraw from it, while the =Country= was every where afraid of\n=Strangers=, and the =Inns= on the =Roads= were unsafe to lodge in for\nthose, who travelled from the =City=; when it could not be known, but\n=Infection= might be received in them by others come from the same\nPlace.\n\nAND from hence it happened that the =Plague=, when last in =England=,\nthough much more moderate, and though it continued not above one Year\nin the City of =London=, did yet spread it self over a great Part of\n=England=, getting into =Kent=, even as far as =Dover=; into =Sussex=,\n=Hampshire=, =Dorsetshire=, =Essex=, =Suffolk=, =Norfolk=,\n=Cambridgeshire=, =Northamptonshire=, =Warwickshire=, =Derbyshire=, and,\nto mention no more, as far as =Newcastle=[14].\n\nTHUS, as I have examined through the Course of the following =Treatise=,\nwith all possible Care, into the Agreement of my =Precepts= with the\nNature of the =Plague=; so I have now considered how far they can\nconveniently be put in Practice.\n\nBUT it is time to have done with a Subject by no means agreeable.\n\nI shall therefore conclude all I have to say upon this Matter, with a\n=Paper= well deserving Perusal, which is come to my Hands, since the\nfollowing Sheets were finished; and therefore too late to be made use\nof in its proper Place: for which Reason, I shall give it here entire.\nThis =Paper= contains the Methods taken by his late =Majesty=, when the\n=Plague= in the Year 1712. had entered his =Dominions= in =Germany=. It\nwas delivered to me from Mr. =Backmeister=, the Secretary at =Hanover=\nto his =Majesty= for the =German= Affairs, who was the Person, that\nissued out the =Orders= that were given. This =Relation= I requested\nfrom the Secretary, being desirous to know how far the =Measures= then\ntaken, agreed with my =Directions=: because I had been informed, that\nthey were very successful. And I have the Satisfaction to find them very\nconformable to my =Precepts=; and that they had so much the desired\nEffect, as to stop the =Plague= from spreading beyond the small Number\nof =Towns= and =Villages= recited at the beginning of the =Paper=.\n\n\n=HANOVER=, Feb. 10. N. S. 1722.\n\nIN 1712 and 1713, the Plague raged in these Parts, at the following\nPlaces.\n\n=TOWNS.=\n\n  =Lunenbourg=,\n  =Zell=,\n  =Haarbourg=, twice.\n\n=VILLAGES.=\n\n  =Nienfeldt=,\n  =Holdenstedt=,\n  =Melle=,\n  =Bienenbuttel=,\n  =Achem=,\n  =Trebel=,\n  =Brinckem=,\n  =Goldenstedt=,\n  =Fallingbostel=.\n\nIN the last =Place=, three labouring Men, who had made their Escape\nfrom =Hamburgh=, got into a Barn in the Night, and were found dead there\nthe next Morning, with Marks of the Plague upon them: but the Progress\nof the Infection was stopt by burning the Barn.\n\nAS soon as any Village was infected, the first Thing done was to make\na =Line= round it, thereby to hinder the Inhabitants from communicating\nwith others. Those who were thus shut up, were immediately furnished\nwith Provisions: a Physician was sent to them; and especially some\nSurgeons; a Minister to officiate particularly to Persons infected; a\nNurse; Buriers; =&c.=\n\nTHE principal Management of this whole Affair consisted in two Things:\n1. In =separating= the Sick from the Sound; and 2. In =cleaning= well\nthe Houses which had been infected.\n\nWHEN any Person was taken ill, he was obliged to leave his Lodging,\nand retire into a =Lazaretto= or =Hospital=, built for that Purpose. The\nother Persons, who appeared to be well in the same House, were obliged,\nwhen it was practicable, to strip themselves in the Night quite naked,\nto put on other Clothes, which were provided for them, and to go to\nperform =Quarantaine= in a House appointed for it, after having burnt\nthe Clothes, they had put off. Persons were made to change their\nClothes, and those they put off were burnt, as often as was judged\nnecessary: For Example, this was done when those who had recovered their\nHealth, came out of the =Lazaretto= and went into =Quarantaine=; and\nlikewise, when (after the Disease was ceased) the Women who attended the\nSick, the Buriers, and Surgeons, went into =Quarantaine=.\n\nIN Summer, ordinary =Barracks= (or Huts) were made for those of the\ncommon People, who were obliged to quit infected Houses: which Barracks\nwere afterwards burnt, when they had been made Use of.\n\nAS soon as the People were come out of an infected House, it was nailed\nup, and Centinels were posted there, that nothing might be stolen out of\nit. In the Country, when such a House was not of very great Value, and\nit might be done without Danger, it was =burnt=, and the Loss was made\ngood to the Owner, at the Expence of the Publick. But in Towns, where\nthis could not be done, without the Hazard of burning the Town, Men were\nhired to go into the Houses, and bring into the Court-Yard, or before\nthe House, whatever Goods they found in it susceptible of Contagion, and\nthere =burn= them: but to prevent the Fright which this might raise\namong the Neighbours, such Goods were sometimes put into the Cart, used\nto carry off dead Bodies, and so conveyed out of the Town and burnt. At\nfirst, the Method taken, was only to =bury= such Goods deep in the\nGround: but it was found by several Examples, that they were dug up\nagain, and that the Infection was thereby renewed. Before People were\npaid for their Houses and Effects, that were burnt, it was discovered,\nthat they often laid some of their Goods out of the Way, and that the\nContagion was spread by them: but after they came to be paid what was\nreasonable, by the Publick, they willingly let all be burnt, without\nconcealing any thing.\n\nIN Summer, the Cattle were left abroad, and the Inhabitants, who had\nnot the Plague in their Houses were obliged to look after them: In\nWinter, the Sound Persons were obliged, before they left an infected\nHouse, to kill the Cattle belonging to it, and to bury them ten Foot\ndeep in the Ground near the House.\n\nSo far the former Preface.\n\n\nI think it now proper to take Notice, that an =Act of Parliament= (as\nabove mentioned in this Preface) formed upon the Precepts here\ndelivered, having been passed on =December 8, 1720.= the two last\n=Clauses= in the said Act, relating to the =removing= of Sick Persons\nfrom their Habitations, and the making of =Lines= about Places infected,\nwere on =October 19= of the following Year, repealed.\n\nTHIS looks as if the Rules prescribed were not right and just: I must\ntherefore observe, in Justification of myself, that this was not the\nCase. Nothing was urged in that Repeal against the Reasonableness of\nthe Directions in themselves, more than in these Words: =That the\nExecution of them might be very grievous to the Subjects of this\nKingdom=. But this I have proved to be quite otherwise.\n\nTHE Truth of the Matter is this: Some great Men, both of the Lords and\nCommons, who were in the =Opposition to the Court=, objected that the\n=Ministry= were not to be intrusted with such =Powers=, lest they should\nabuse them; since they might, upon Occasion, by their Officers, either\nremove or confine Persons not favoured by the Government, on Pretence\nthat their Houses were infected.\n\nVAIN and groundless as these Fears were, yet the Clamours industriously\nraised from them were so strong, that a great Officer in the State\nthought fit to oblige his Enemies by giving way to them: and tho' a\n=Motion= made in the House of Commons for repealing these two Clauses had\njust been rejected; yet upon making the same in the House of Lords, with\nhis Consent, the thing was done.\n\nWHETHER private or public Considerations had the greater Share in\nbringing about this Compliance, I will not determine. Such\n=Counter-Steps= will happen in a Government, where there is too much of\n=Faction=, and too little of a =Public Spirit=. This I very well\nremember, that a learned Prelate, now dead, who had more of =Political=\nthan of =Christian= Zeal, and was one who made the loudest Noise about\nthe =Quarantaine= Bill, frankly owned to me in Conversation, that tho'\nthe Directions were good, yet he and his Friends had resolved to take\nthat Opportunity of shewing their Disaffection to the =Ministry=.\n\nBUT after all, it contributed not a little to the carrying this Point,\nthat the Plague was now ceased at =Marseilles=, and a Stop put to its\nProgress in the =Provinces=. And I cannot but take notice that this last\ngood Service was done by the same Method, which, tho' in a more moderate\nway, I have here proposed. For it is well known that the Regent of\n=France= did at last set Bounds to the Contagion by =Lines= and =Barriers=\nguarded by Soldiers: which wise Resolution saved not only his own but\nother Countries from the spreading of a Disease, which seems to have\nbeen of as violent a kind as ever was brought into =Europe=.\n\nHOWEVER, if there were any Severity in Orders of this kind, every Man\nought to consider himself as a Member of the Society; by the Laws of\nwhich as he receives many Advantages, so he gives up somewhat of his\nown private Rights to the Public: and must therefore be perfectly\nsatisfied with whatever is found necessary for the common Good; altho'\nit may, on particular Occasions, bring upon him some Inconveniences and\nSufferings.\n\n     Salus Populi suprema Lex est.\n\nDoes any body complain of ill usage upon his House being ordered to be\nblown up, to stop the Progress of a Fire which endangers the whole\nStreet: when he reflects that his Neighbour, who by this means escapes,\nmust have suffered the same Loss for his sake, had it so happened that\neach had been in the other's Habitation?\n\nBUT in truth, there is no Cruelty, but on the contrary real Compassion\nin these Regulations, with the Limitations I have made: and I am fully\npersuaded that whoever with Judgment considers the nature of this\nDisease, will easily see that the Rules here laid down are not only the\nbest, but indeed the only ones that can effectually answer the purpose.\nAnd therefore I should not doubt but that, if this Calamity (which God\navert!) should be brought into our Country, even the Voice of the People\nwould cry out for Help in this way: notwithstanding wrong Notions of\ntheir =Liberties= may sometimes over-possess their Minds, and make them,\neven under the best of Governments, impatient of any =Restraints=.\n\n\n\n\nPART I.\n\nOf the PLAGUE in general.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. I.\n\n_Of the Origine and Nature of the Plague._\n\n\nMY Design in this Discourse being to propose what Measures I think most\nproper to defend the Nation against the _Plague_, and for this End to\nconsider the Nature of _Pestilential Contagion_ as far as is necessary\nto set forth the Reasonableness of the Precepts I shall lay down; before\nI proceed to any particular Directions, I shall enquire a little into\nthe Causes, whence the _Plague_ arises, and by what Means the Infection\nof it is spread.\n\nIN the most ancient Times _Plagues_, like many other Diseases, were\nlooked upon as _divine Judgments_ sent to punish the Wickedness of\nMankind: and therefore the only Defence sought after was by Sacrifices\nand Lustrations to appease the Anger of incensed Heaven.[15]\n\nHOW much soever may be said to justify Reflexions of this Kind, since we\nare assured from sacred History, that divine Vengeance has been\nsometimes executed by _Plagues_; yet it is certain, that such\nSpeculations pushed too far, were then attended with ill Consequences,\nby obstructing Inquiries into natural Causes, and encouraging a supine\nSubmission to those Evils: against which the infinitely good and wise\nAuthor of Nature has in most Cases provided proper Remedies.\n\nUPON this Account, in After-Ages, when the Profession of Physick came to\nbe founded upon the Knowledge of Nature, _Hippocrates_ strenuously\nopposed this Opinion, that _some particular Sicknesses were Divine, or\nsent immediately from the Gods_; and affirmed, that _no Diseases came\nmore from the Gods than others, all coming from them, and yet all owning\ntheir proper natural Causes: that the Sun, Cold, and Winds were_ divine;\n_the Changes of which, and their Influences on human Bodies, were\ndiligently to be considered by a Physician_.[16]\n\nWHICH general Position this great Author of Physick intended to be\nunderstood with respect to _Plagues_ as well as other Distempers: How\nfar he had reason herein, will in some measure appear, when we come to\nsearch into the Causes of this Disease.\n\nBUT in order to this Inquiry, it will be convenient, in the first place,\nto remove an erroneous Opinion some have entertained, that the _Plague_\ndiffers not from a _common Fever_ in any thing besides its greater\nViolence. Whereas it is very evident, that since the _Small-Pox_ and\n_Measles_ are allowed to be Distempers distinct in _Specie_ from all\nothers, on account of certain Symptoms peculiar to them; so, for the\nsame reason, it ought to be granted, that the _Plague_ no less differs\nin Kind from ordinary Fevers: For there are a Set of distinguishing\nSymptoms as essential to the _Pestilence_, as the respective Eruptions\nare to the _Small-Pox_ or _Measles_; which are indeed (as I have\nmentioned in the Preface) each of them _Plagues_ of a particular kind.\n\nAS the _Small-Pox_ discharges itself by _Pustules_ raised in the Skin;\nso in the _Plague_ the noxious Humour is thrown out either by _Tumors_\nin the Glands, as by a _Parotis_, _Bubo_, and the like; or by\n_Carbuncles_ thrust out upon any part of the Body. And these Eruptions\nare so specific Marks of this Distemper, that one or other of them is\nnever absent: unless through the extreme Malignity of the Disease, or\nWeakness of Nature, the Patient sinks, before there is time for any\nDischarge to be made this way; that Matter, which should otherwise have\nbeen cast out by external _Tumors_, seizing the _Viscera_, and producing\n_Mortifications_ in them.\n\nSOMETIMES indeed it happens, by this means, that these _Tumors_ in the\n_Glands_, and _Carbuncles_, do not appear; just as a bad kind of the\n_Small-Pox_ in tender Constitutions sometimes proves fatal before the\n_Eruption_, by a _Diarrhoea_, _Hæmorrhage_, or some such Effect of a\nprevailing Malignity.\n\nTHE _French_ Physicians having distinguished the Sick at _Marseilles_\ninto five _Classes_, according to the Degrees of the Distemper,\nobserved _Bubo's_, and _Carbuncles_, in all of them, except in those of\nthe _first Class_, who were so terribly seized, that they died in a few\nHours, or at farthest in a Day or two, sinking under the Oppression,\nAnxiety, and Faintness, into which they were thrown by the first Stroke\nof the Disease; having Mortifications immediately produced in some of\nthe _Viscera_, as appeared upon the Dissection of their Bodies[17]. And\nthis Observation of the _French_ Physicians, which agrees with what\nother Authors have remarked in former _Plagues_, fully proves, that\nthese Eruptions are so far from being caused solely by the greater\n_Violence_ of this Disease, than of other Fevers, that they are only\nabsent, when the Distemper is extraordinary fierce; but otherwise they\nconstantly attend it, even when it has proved so mild, that the first\nNotice, the Patient has had of his Infection, has been the Appearance of\nsuch a _Tumor_: as, besides these _French_ Physicians, other Authors of\nthe best Credit have assured us. From whence we must conclude, that\nthese _Eruptions_ are no less a Specific Mark of this Disease, than\nthose are, by which the _Small Pox_ and _Measles_ are known and\ndistinguished. And as in the first _Class_ of those attacked with the\nPlague, so likewise in these two Distempers we often find the Patient to\ndye by the violence of the Fever, before any Eruption of the Pustules\ncan be made.\n\nTHIS Circumstance of the Plague being mortal before any Eruptions\nappeared, was attended with a great misfortune. The Physicians and\nSurgeons appointed to examine the dead Bodies, finding none of the\ndistinguishing Marks of the Disease, reported to the Magistrates that it\nwas not the _Plague_; and persisted in their opinion, till one of them\nsuffered for his Ignorance, and himself, with part of his Family, dyed\nby the Infection: this Assurance having prevented the necessary\nPrecautions[18].\n\nAND this in particular shews us the difference between the true\n_Plague_, and those _Fevers_ of extraordinary Malignity, which are the\nusual Forerunners of it, and are the natural Consequence of that ill\nState of Air, we shall hereafter prove to attend all _Plagues_. For\nsince all those Fevers, from which People recover without any Discharge\nby Tumors in the Glands, or by _Carbuncles_, want the _characteristic_\nSigns, which have been shewn to attend the slightest Cases of the true\n_Plague_; we cannot, upon any just Ground, certainly conclude them to be\na less Degree only of that Distemper: but as far as appears, they are of\na different Nature, are not ordinarily _Contagious_ like the _Plague_,\nnor yet have any such necessary relation to it, but that such Fevers do\nsometimes appear, without being followed by a real _Pestilence_.\n\nON the other hand, I would not be understood to call every _Fever_ a\n_Plague_, which is followed by Eruptions resembling these here\nmentioned: For as every _Boil_ or _Pustule_, which breaks out upon the\nSkin, is not an Indication of the _Small Pox_, nor every Swelling in\nthe _Groin_ a _Venereal Bubo_; so there are _Carbuncles_ not\nPestilential, and other Fevers, besides the _Plague_, which have their\nCrisis by _Tumors_ and _Abscesses_, and that sometimes even in the\n_Parotid_ or other Glands. There is indeed usually some difference\nbetween these Swellings in the _Plague_, and in other Fevers, especially\nin the time of their coming out: for in the _Plague_ they discover\nthemselves sooner than in most other Cases. But the principal difference\nbetween these Diseases, is, that the Plague is infectious, the other\nnot; at least not to any considerable Degree.\n\nAND this leads me to another Character of this Disease, whereby it is\ndistinguished from ordinary Fevers, which is the _Contagion_\naccompanying it. This is a very ancient Observation. _Thucydides_ makes\nit a part of his Description of the _Plague_ at _Athens_[19]; and\n_Lucretius_, who has almost translated this Description of _Thucydides_,\ndwells much upon it[20]. _Aristotle_ makes it one of his[21]\n_Problems_, How the _Plague infects_ those who approach to the Sick. And\nwhat is of more Consequence, _Galen_ himself is very clear in it[22];\nfor he has these words: +hoti syndiatribein tois loimôttousin\nepisphales, apolausai gar kindynos, hôsper psôras tinos+, _&c. that it\nis unsafe to be about those, who have the Plague, for fear of catching\nit, as in the Itch_, &c. Indeed this is a thing so evident, that we find\nit at present the current Opinion of all Mankind, a very few Persons\nonly excepted, who have distinguished themselves by their Singularity in\nmaintaining the opposite Sentiment. And it is something strange that any\none should make a Question of a thing so obvious, which is proved\nsufficiently by one Property only of the Disease, that whenever it\nseizes one Person in a House, it immediately after attacks the greatest\npart of the Family. This Effect of the _Plague_ has been so remarkable\nat all times, that whoever considers it well, cannot possibly, I think,\nhave any Doubt remaining, or require any stronger Argument to convince\nhim, that the Disease is infectious. For this very reason the\n_Small-Pox_ and _Measles_ are generally allowed to be _contagious_;\nbecause it is observed, that when either of these Diseases is got among\na Family, it usually seizes successively the greatest part of that\nFamily, who have not had it before: at least if such in the Family hold\nfree Communication with the Sick. And by the same Argument the _Plague_\nmust be concluded to be infectious likewise. It cannot be pretended,\nthat this is occasioned in the _Plague_ from this only, that the sound\nPersons are render'd more than ordinarily obnoxious to the unhealthy\nAir, or whatever be the common Cause of the Disease, by being put into\nfear and dispirited, upon seeing others in the same House taken sick:\nFor if this were the Case, _Children_, who are too young to have any\nApprehensions upon this Account, would escape better than others, the\ncontrary of which has been always experienced.\n\nIT is true, some have not been attacked by the Disease, though\nconstantly attending about the Sick. But this is no Objection against\nwhat is here advanced: for it is as easily understood how some Persons,\nby a particular Advantage of Constitution, should resist Infection, as\nhow they should constantly breath a noxious Air without hurt. An odd\nObservation of _Diemerbroek_ deserves notice in this Place; That, part\nof a Family removed into a Town free from the _Plague_, was observed by\nhim to be taken ill of it soon after the part left behind in the\ndiseased Town fell sick: which certainly could scarce have happened,\nunless a Communication between the Healthy and the Sick, by Letters or\notherwise, was capable of causing it[23]. Of the same Nature is a\nCircumstance recorded by _Evagrius_ of the _Plague_, which he describes,\nand what, he owns, surprized him very much: That, many of those, who\nleft infected Places, were seized with the _Plague_ in the Towns to\nwhich they had retired, while the old Inhabitants of those Towns were\nfree from the Disease[24]. But to multiply Proofs of a thing so evident,\nis needless; innumerable are at hand, and several will occasionally\noccur in the following Parts of this Discourse, when we come to speak in\nparticular of the ways, by which this Infection is conveyed about. I\nshall therefore say no more in this Place, but only, that all the\nAppearances attending this Disease are very easily explained upon this\nPrinciple, and are hardly to be accounted for upon any other. We learn\nfrom hence the reason why when the _Plague_ makes its first Appearance\nin any Place, though the Number of Sick is exceeding small, yet the\nDisease usually operates upon them in the most violent manner, and is\nattended with its very worst Symptoms. Now was the Disease produced not\nby imported _Contagion_, but from some Cause, which had its Original in\nthe diseased Place, and consequently from a Cause gradually bred, the\ncontrary must happen: the Diseased would at first not only be few in\nNumber, but their Sickness likewise more moderate than afterwards, when\nthe morbific Causes were raised to their greatest Malignity. From the\nsame Principle we see the reason, why People have often remained in\nSafety in a diseased Town, only by shutting themselves up from all\nCommunication with such, as might be suspected of giving them the\nDisease. When the _Plague_ was last in _England_, while it was in the\nTown of _Cambridge_, the Colleges remained entirely free by using this\nPrecaution. In the _Plague_ at _Rome_ in the Years 1656 and 1657, the\n_Monasteries_ and _Nunneries_, for the most part, defended themselves by\nthe same Means[25]: Whereas at _Naples_, where the _Plague_ was a little\nbefore, these _Religious Houses_, from their Neglect herein, did not\nescape so well[26]. Nay the Infection entered none of the _Prisons_ at\n_Rome_[27], though the Nastiness of those Places exposes them very much.\nBut, to avoid Prolixity, I shall give only one Instance more. I think it\ncannot be explained in any other reasonable manner, how the last\n_Plague_ in the City of _London_, which broke out in the parish of St.\n_Giles's in the Fields_ towards the latter end of the Year 1664, should\nlie a-sleep from _Christmas_ to the middle of _February_, and then break\nout again in the same Parish; and after another long rest till _April_,\nshew itself again in the same Place[28].\n\nTO proceed: Whoever examines the Histories of _Plagues_ in all times,\nwhich have been described with any Exactness, will find very few, that\ndo not agree in these essential Marks, whereby the _Plague_ may be\ndistinguished from other _Fevers_. I confess an Instance or two may be\nfound to the contrary; perhaps the History of our own Country furnishes\nthe most remarkable of any[29]. But Examples of this kind are so very\nrare, that I think it must be concluded, that the _Plague_ is usually\none and the same Distemper.\n\nIN the next place I shall endeavour to shew, that the _Plague_ has\nalways the same Original, and is brought from _Africa_, the Country\nwhich has entail'd upon us two other infectious Distempers, the\n_Small-Pox_ and _Measles_. In all Countries indeed _Epidemic Diseases_\nextraordinarily mortal, are frequently bred in _Goals_, _Sieges_,\n_Camps_, &c. which Authors have often in a large Sense called\n_Pestilential_: But the true _Plague_, which is attended with the\ndistinguishing Symptoms before described, and which spreads from Country\nto Country, I take to be an _African_ Fever bred in _Æthiopia_ or\n_Egypt_, and the _Infection_ of it carried by Trade into the other Parts\nof the World.\n\nIT is the Observation of _Pliny_, that the _Pestilence_ always travels\nfrom the _Southern_ Parts of the World to the _Western_, that is, in his\nPhrase, into _Europe_[30]. And the most accurate Accounts in all Times\nof this Disease, wherever it has raged, bring it from _Africa_.\n_Thucydides_[31], in his admirable Description of the famous _Plague_\nof _Athens_, says, that it began in Upper _Æthiopia_, then came into\n_Egypt_, from whence it was spread first into _Persia_, and afterwards\ninto _Greece_.\n\nTHERE is in all ancient History no Account of any _Plague_ so dreadful\nas that, which broke out at _Constantinople_ in the time of the Emperor\n_Justinian A. D._ 543. This is said to have spread its Infection over\nall the Earth, and to have lasted fifty two Years. The History of it is\nvery well told by _Evagrius_[32], and yet more learnedly by\n_Procopius_[33]: and they both observe, that the Distemper had its Birth\nin _Æthiopia_ or _Egypt_.\n\nTHIS is likewise agreeable to the modern Relations of Travellers and\nMerchants from _Turkey_, who generally inform us, that the frequent\n_Plagues_, which depopulate that Country, are brought thither from the\nCoast of _Africa_: insomuch that at _Smyrna_, and other Ports of that\nCoast, they often know the very Ship which brings it. And, in these\nlatter Ages, since our Trade with _Turkey_ has been pretty constant, the\n_Plagues_ in these Parts of _Europe_ have evidently been brought from\nthence.\n\nTHE late _Plague_ in _France_ came indisputably from _Turkey_, as I\nshall particularly shew in some of the following Pages. The _Plague_,\nwhich broke out at _Dantzick_ in the Year 1709, and spread from thence\nto _Hamburgh_, _Copenhagen_, and other Cities in the _North_, made its\nway thither from _Constantinople_ through _Poland_, &c. And the last\n_Plague_ in this City, if we may believe Dr. _Hodges_, had the same\nOriginal, being brought to us from _Holland_, but carried to them by\n_Cotton_ imported from _Turkey_[34].\n\nTHE greatest _Mortality_ that has happen'd in later Ages, was about the\nmiddle of the fourteenth Century; when the _Plague_ seized Country after\nCountry for five Years together[35]. In the Year 1346 it raged in\n_Egypt_, _Turkey_, _Greece_, _Syria_, and the _East-Indies_; in 1347\nsome Ships from the _Levant_ carried it to _Sicily_, _Pisa_, _Genoa_,\n&c. in 1348 it got into _Savoy_, _Provence_, _Dauphiny_, _Catalonia_,\nand _Castile_, &c. in 1349 it seized _England_, _Scotland_, _Ireland_,\nand _Flanders_; and the next Year _Germany_, _Hungary_ and _Denmark_:\nand in all Places, where it came, it made such heavy Destruction, that\nit is said to have dispeopled the Earth of more than half its\nInhabitants[36]. Now since _Africa_ had a share of this _Plague_ in the\nvery beginning, I question not but it had its first Rise in that\nCountry; and not in _China_, as _M. Villani_, in his History of those\nTimes, relates from the Report of _Genoese_ Seamen, who came from those\nParts, and said it was occasion'd there by a great _Ball of Fire_, which\neither burst out of the Earth, or fell down from Heaven[37]. But this\nRelation is so very incredible, that I cannot think we ought at all to\nrely upon it: seeing we have no Instance of a _Plague_, which was\noriginally bred in that Country.\n\nIT is very remarkable, that the several Countries of _Europe_ have\nalways suffered more or less in this way, according as they have had a\ngreater or lesser Commerce with _Africa_; or with those Parts of the\n_East_, that have traded thither. Which Observation, by the by, may help\nto solve a Difficulty concerning the great Increase of People among the\n_Northern_ Nations in ancient Times, more than at present; for in those\nAges, having no Communication at all with _Africa_, they were not wasted\nwith _Plagues_, as they have been since.\n\nAS the People of _Marseilles_, from the first Foundation of their City\nby the _Phoceans_, were famous for Trade, and made long Voyages\nSouthwards on the _African_ Coast[38]; so they have in all times been\nvery liable to the Plague. A French Author[39] in a History of the late\nPlague at _Marseilles_ reckons up twenty Plagues that have happened in\nthat City; notwithstanding it is by its situation one of the most\nhealthy and pleasant Places in _France_, and the least subject to\nepidemic Distempers. But if we had no Records of this in History, an odd\nCustom among them, mentioned in Antiquity[40], of the way they made use\nof to clear themselves from this Distemper, would be a proof of it.\nTheir manner at such times was, that some one poor Man offered himself\nto be maintained at the publick Expence with delicate Food for a whole\nYear: at the end of which he was led about the City dressed in\nconsecrated Garments and Herbs; and being loaded with Curses as he went\nalong, that the Evils of the Citizens might fall upon him, he was at\nlast thrown into the Sea[41].\n\nAGREEABLE to this Remark upon Trade is the Observation of _Procopius_ in\nhis forecited History, that the _Plague_ was always found to spread from\n_Maritime_ Places into the _Inland_ Countries: which has ever since been\nconfirmed by Experience.\n\nHAVING shewn this Disease to be a Distemper of a distinct Species, and\nto take its Rise only in _Africa_; we must next seek for its Cause in\nthat Country and no where else. We ought therefore to consider, what\nthere is peculiar to that Country, which can reasonably be supposed\ncapable of producing it. Wherefore I shall briefly set down as much as\nserves for this purpose of the State of _Grand Cairo_ in _Egypt_, and of\n_Æthiopia_, the two great Seminaries of the _Plague_: Travellers\nrelating that these Countries are more infested with it than most other\nParts of _Africa_.\n\n_GRAND CAIRO_ is crouded with vast Numbers of Inhabitants, who for the\nmost part live very poorly, and nastily; the Streets are very narrow,\nand close: it is situate in a sandy Plain at the Foot of a Mountain,\nwhich by keeping off the Winds, that would refresh the Air, makes the\n_Heats_ very stifling. Through the midst of it passes a great _Canal_,\nwhich is filled with Water at the overflowing of the _Nile_; and after\nthe River is decreased, is gradually dried up: Into this the People\nthrow all manner of Filth, Carrion, _&c._ so that the Stench which\narises from this, and the Mud together, is insufferably offensive[42].\nIn this Posture of things, the _Plague_ every Year constantly preys\nupon the Inhabitants; and is only stopt, when the _Nile_, by\noverflowing, washes away this Load of Filth; the _Cold Winds_, which set\nin at the same time, lending their Assistance, by purifying the Air.\n\nIN _Æthiopia_ those prodigious Swarms of _Locusts_, which at some times\ncause a Famine, by devouring the Fruits of the Earth, unless they happen\nto be carried by the Winds clear off into the Sea, are observed to\nentail a new Mischief upon the Country, when they die and rot, by\nraising a _Pestilence_[43]; the Putrefaction being hightened by the\nexcessive _Intemperance of the Climate_, which is so very great in this\nCountry, that it is infested with violent _Rains_ at one Season of the\nYear, for three or four Months together[44]. And it is particularly\nobserved of this Country, that the _Plague_ usually invades it, whenever\nRains fall during the sultry Heats of _July_ and _August_[45], that is,\nas _Lucretius_ expresses it, when the Earth is\n\n     _Intempestivis pluviisque et solibus icta_[46].\n\nNOW if we compare this last Remark of the _Intemperance of the Climate_\nin _Æthiopia_, with what the _Arabian_ Physicians[47], who lived near\nthese Countries, declare, that _Pestilences_ are brought by\n_unseasonable_ Moistures, Heats, and want of Winds; I believe we shall\nbe fully instructed in the usual Cause of this Disease. Which from all\nthese Observations compared together, I conclude to arise from the\n_Putrefaction_ so constantly generated in these Countries, when _that_\nis hightened and increased by the ill State of Air now described; and\nespecially from the _Putrefaction_ of animal Substances.\n\nIT is very plain, that animal Bodies are capable of being altered into a\nMatter fit to breed this Disease: because this is the Case of every one\nwho is sick of it, the Humours in him being corrupted into a Substance\nwhich will _infect_ others. And it is not improbable, that the volatile\nParts with which Animals abound, may in some ill States of Air in the\nsultry Heats of _Africa_ be converted by Putrefaction into a Substance\nof the same kind: since in these colder Regions, we sometimes find them\nto contract a greater Degree of Acrimony than most other Substances will\ndo by _putrefying_, and also more dangerous for Men to come within the\nreach of their Action; as in those pernicious, and even poysonous\nJuices, which are sometimes generated in corrupted Carcasses: Of which I\nhave formerly given one very remarkable Instance[48], and, if it were\nnecessary, many more might be produced, especially in _hydropic Bodies_,\nand in _cancerous Tumors_. Nay more, we find _animal Putrefaction_\nsometimes to produce in these _Northern_ Climates very fatal Distempers,\nthough they do not arise to the Malignity of the true _Plague_: For such\n_Fevers_ are often bred, where a large Number of People are closely\nconfined together; as in _Goals_, _Sieges_, and _Camps_.\n\nAND perhaps it may not be here amiss to remark, that the _Egyptians_ of\nold were so sensible how much the _Putridness_ of dead Animals\ncontributed towards breeding the _Plague_, that they worshipped the Bird\n_Ibis_ for the Service it did in devouring great Numbers of Serpents;\nwhich they observed did hurt by their Stench when dead, as well as by\ntheir Bite when alive[49].\n\nBUT no kind of _Putrefaction_ is ever hightened in these _European_\nCountries to a degree capable of producing the true _Plague_: and we\nlearn from the Observation of the _Arabian_ Physicians, that some\nIndisposition of the _Air_ is necessary in the hottest Climates, either\nto cause so exalted a Corruption of the forementioned Substances, or at\nleast to enforce upon Mens Bodies the Action of the _Effluvia_ exhaled\nfrom those Substances, while they putrefy. Both which Effects may well\nbe expected from the sensible ill Qualities of the _Air_ before\ndescribed, whenever they continue and exert their Force together any\nconsiderable time.\n\nWHAT I have here advanced of the first Original of the _Plague_, appears\nto me so reasonable, that I cannot enough wonder at Authors for quitting\nthe Consideration of such manifest Causes for _Hidden Qualities_; such\nas _Malignant Influences of the Heavens_; _Arsenical_, _Bituminous_, or\nother _Mineral Effluvia_, with the like imaginary or uncertain Agents.\n\nTHIS however I do not say with design absolutely to exclude all\nDisorders in the _Air_, that are more latent than the intemperate _Heat_\nand _Moisture_ before mentioned, from a Share in increasing and\npromoting the Infection of the _Plague_, where it is once bred: for I\nrather think this must sometimes be the Case; like to what is observed\namong us in relation to another infectious Distemper, namely, the\n_Small-Pox_, which is most commonly spread, and propagated by the same\nmanifest Qualities of the _Air_ as those here described: Notwithstanding\nwhich, this Distemper is sometimes known to rage with great Violence in\nthe very opposite Constitution of _Air_, _viz._ in the Winter during dry\nand frosty Weather. But to breed a Distemper, and to give force to it\nwhen bred, are two different things. And though we should allow any such\nsecret Change in the _Air_ to assist in the first Production of the\nDisease; yet it may justly be censured in these Writers, that they\nshould undertake to determine the _Specific Nature_ of these secret\nChanges and Alterations, which we have no means at all of discovering:\nSince they do not shew themselves in any such sensible manner, as to\ncome directly under our Examination; nor yet do their Effects, in\nproducing the _Plague_, point out any thing of their _Specific Nature_.\n\nALL that we know, is this, that the Cause of the _Plague_, whatever it\nbe, is of such a Nature, that when taken into the Body, it works such\nChanges in the Blood and Juices, as to produce this Disease, by suddenly\ngiving some Parts of the Humours such corrosive Qualities, that they\neither excite inward _Inflammations_ and _Gangrenes_, or push out\n_Carbuncles_ and _Bubo's_; the _Matter_ of which, when suppurated,\ncommunicates the like Disease to others: But of the manner how this is\ndone, I shall discourse in the following Chapter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. II.\n\n_Of the Causes which spread the Plague._\n\n\nI HAVE been thus particular in tracing the _Plague_ up to its first\nOrigine, in order to remove, as much as possible, all Objection against\nwhat I shall say of the Causes, which excite and propagate it among us.\nThis is done by _Contagion_. Those who are Strangers to the full Power\nof _this_, that is, those who do not understand how subtile it is, and\nhow widely the Distemper may be spread by _Infection_, ascribe the Rise\nof it wholly to the malignant Quality of the _Air_ in all Places,\nwherever it happens; and, on the other hand, some have thought that the\nConsideration of the infectious Nature of the Disease must exclude all\nregard to the Influence of the _Air_: Whereas the _Contagion_\naccompanying the Disease, and the Disposition of the _Air_ to promote\nthat _Contagion_, ought equally to be considered; both being necessary\nto give the Distemper full force. The Design therefore of this Chapter,\nis to make a proper Balance between these two, and to set just Limits to\nthe Effects of each.\n\nFOR this purpose, I shall reduce the Causes, which spread the _Plague_,\nto three, _Diseased Persons_, _Goods transported from infected Places_,\nand _a corrupted State of Air_.\n\nTHERE are several Diseases, which will be communicated from the Sick to\nothers: and this not done after the same manner in all. The\n_Hydrophobia_ is communicated no other way than by mixing the morbid\nJuices of the diseased Animal immediately with the Blood of the sound,\nby a _Bite_, or what is analogous thereto; the _Itch_ is given by\n_simple Contact_; the _Lues Venerea_ not without _a closer Contact_; but\nthe _Measles_, _Small-Pox_, and _Plague_ are caught by a _near Approach_\nonly to the Sick: for in these three last Diseases Persons are render'd\nobnoxious to them only by residing in the same House, and conversing\nwith the Sick.\n\nNOW it appears by the Experiments mentioned in the _Preface_, of giving\nthe _Plague_ to _Dogs_ by putting the _Bile_, _Blood_ or _Urine_ from\ninfected Persons, into their Veins, that the whole mass of the animal\nFluids in this Disease is highly corrupted and putrefied. It is\ntherefore easy to conceive how the _Effluvia_ or Fumes from Liquors so\naffected may taint the ambient Air. And this will more especially\nhappen, when the Humours are in the greatest Fermentation, that is, at\nthe Highth of the Fever: as it is observed that fermenting Liquors do at\nthe latter end of their intestine Motion throw off a great Quantity of\ntheir most subtile and active Particles. And this Discharge will be\nchiefly made upon those Glands of the Body, in which the Secretions are\nthe most copious, and the most easily increased: such are those of the\nMouth and Skin. From these therefore the Air will be impregnated with\n_pestiferous Atoms_: which being taken into the Body of a sound Person\nwill, in the Nature of a _Ferment_, put the Fluids there into the like\nAgitation and Disorder.\n\nTHE Body, I suppose, receives them these two ways, by the _Breath_, and\nby the _Skin_; but chiefly by the former.\n\nI THINK it certain that _Respiration_ does always communicate to the\nBlood some Parts from the Air: Which is proved from this Observation,\nthat the same Quantity of Air will not suffice long for breathing,\nthough it be deprived of none of those Qualities, by which it is fitted\nto inflate the Lungs and agitate the Blood, the Uses commonly ascribed\nto it. And this is farther confirm'd by what the learned Dr. _Halley_\nhas inform'd me, that when he was several Fathom under Water in his\n_Diving Engine_, and breathing an Air much more condensed than the\nnatural, he observed himself to breath more slowly than usual: Which\nmakes it more than probable, that this conveying to the Blood some\nsubtile Parts from the Air, is the chief Use of _Respiration_; since\nwhen a greater Quantity of _Air_ than usual was taken in at a time, and\nconsequently more of these subtile Parts received at once by the Blood,\na less frequent _Respiration_ sufficed.\n\nAS to the _Skin_, since there is a continual Discharge made thro' its\ninnumerable _Pores_, of the matter of _insensible Perspiration_ and\n_Sweat_; it is very possible that the same Passages may admit subtile\nCorpuscles, which may penetrate into the inward Parts. Nay it is very\nplain that they do so, from what we observe upon the outward Application\nof _Ointments_ and warm _Bathings_: which have their Effects by their\nfinest and most active Parts insinuating themselves into the Blood.\n\nIT is commonly thought, that the _Blood_ only is affected in these Cases\nby the morbific _Effluvia_. But I am of opinion, that there is another\nFluid in the Body, which is, especially in the beginning, equally, if\nnot more, concerned in this Affair: I mean the _Liquid of the Nerves_,\nusually called the _Animal Spirits_. As _this_ is the immediate\nInstrument of all Motion and Sensation, and has a great Agency in all\nthe glandular Secretions, and in the Circulation of the Blood itself;\nany considerable Alteration made in it must be attended with dangerous\nConsequences. It is not possible that the whole Mass of Blood should be\ncorrupted in so short a Time as that, in which the fatal Symptoms, in\nsome Cases, discover themselves. Those Patients of the _first Class_,\nmentioned in the beginning of this Discourse, particularly the _Porters_\nwho opened the infected Bales of Goods in the _Lazaretto_'s of\n_Marseilles_, died upon the first Appearance of Infection, as it were by\na sudden Stroke; being seized with Rigors, Tremblings, Heart-Sickness,\nVomitings, Giddiness and Heaviness of the Head, an universal Languor and\nInquietude; the Pulse low and unequal: and Death insued sometimes in a\nfew Hours.\n\nEFFECTS so sudden must be owing to the Action of some Corpuscles of\ngreat Force insinuated into, and changing the Properties of, another\nsubtle and active Fluid in the Body: and such an one, no doubt, is the\n_Nervous Liquor_.\n\nIT is not to be expected that we should be able to explain the\nparticular manner by which this is brought about. We know too little of\nthe Frame of the Universe, and of the Laws of _Attractions_,\n_Repulsions_ and _Cohesions_ among the minutest Parcels of Matter, to be\nable to determine all the Ways by which they affect one another,\nespecially within animal Bodies, the most delicate and complicated of\nall the known Works of Nature. But we may perhaps make a probable\nConjecture upon the Matter. Our great Philosopher, whose surprising\nDiscoveries have exceeded the utmost Expectations of the most\npenetrating Minds, has demonstrated that there is diffused through the\nUniverse a _subtile_ and _elastic Fluid_ of great Force and Activity.\nThis he supposes to be the Cause of the _Refraction_ and _Reflection_ of\nthe Rays of Light; and that by its _Vibrations_ Light communicates Heat\nto Bodies: and, moreover, that this readily pervading all Bodies,\nproduces many of their Effects upon one another[50].\n\nNOW it is not improbable that the _Animal Spirits_ are a thin Liquor,\nseparated in the Brain, and from thence derived into the Nerves, of such\na Nature that it admits, and has incorporated with it, a great Quantity\nof this _elastic Fluid_: which makes it a vital Substance of great\nEnergy. And a Liquor of this kind must be very susceptible of\nAlterations from other active Bodies of a different Nature from it, if\nthey approach to and are mixed with it: as we see some _Chemical\nSpirits_ upon their being put together, fall into a Fermentation, and\nmake a Composition of a quite different kind.\n\nIF therefore we allow the _Effluvia_ or _Exhalations_ from a corrupted\nMass of Humours in a Body that has the _Plague_ to be volatile and firey\nParticles, carrying with them the Qualities, of those fermenting Juices\nfrom which they proceed; it will not be hard to conceive how these may,\nwhen received into the _nervous Fluid_ of a sound Person, excite in it\nsuch intestine Motions as may make it to partake of their own\nProperties, and become more unfit for the Purposes of the animal\nOeconomy. But of this more in another Place.\n\nTHIS is one means by which the _Plague_, when once bred, is spread and\nincreased: but the second of the forementioned Causes, namely, _Goods\nfrom infected Places_, extends the Mischief much wider. By the\npreceding Cause, the _Plague_ may be spread from _Person_ to _Person_,\nfrom _House_ to _House_, or perhaps from _Town_ to _Town_, tho' not to\nany great Distance; but this carries it into the remotest Regions. From\nhence the trading Parts of _Europe_ have their principal Apprehensions,\nand universally have recourse to _Quarantaines_ for their Security. The\nUniversality of which Practice is a strong Argument, that _Merchandize_\nwill communicate _Infection_: for one cannot imagine, that so many\nCountries should agree in such a Custom without the most weighty\nReasons. But besides, there is not wanting express Proof of this, from\nparticular Examples, where this Injury has been done by several sorts of\nGoods carried from infected Places to others. Some of these I shall\nhereafter be obliged to mention; at present I shall confine my self to\nthree Instances only. The _first_ shall be of the Entrance of the\n_Plague_ into _Rome_ in the Year 1656, which we are assured was conveyed\nthither from _Naples_ by Clothes and other Wares from that Place,\nbrought first to Port _Neptuno_, and carried from thence to the\nNeighbouring Castle of St. _Lawrence_: which after having been kept some\ntime there, were conveyed into _Rome_[51]. The _second_ Instance I shall\ntake is from the Account given us of the Entrance of the Plague into\n_Marseilles_[52]; which being drawn up with great Exactness, may be the\nmore rely'd on. It appears indisputably by this Account, that the\nMischief was brought thither by Goods from the _Levant_. For the first,\nwho had the Distemper, was one of the _Crew_ of the _Ship_, which\nbrought those _Goods_: the next were those, who attended upon the same\n_Goods_, while they were under _Quarantaine_; and soon after the\n_Surgeon_, whom the Magistrates of _Marseilles_ appointed to examine the\nBodies of those, who died.\n\nTHIS Relation, if duly consider'd, is, I believe, sufficient to remove\nall the Doubts any one can have about the Power of _Merchandize_ to\nconvey _Infection_: for it affords all the Evidence, the most scrupulous\ncan reasonably desire. Possibly there might be some Fever of\nextraordinary Malignity in _Marseilles_, such as is commonly called\n_Pestilential_, before the Arrival of these Goods: But no such Fever has\nany indisputable Right to the Title of _Pestilence_, as I have before\nshewn. On the contrary, these two, the real _Pestilence_, and such\n_Pestilential Fevers_, must carefully be distinguished, if we design to\navoid all Mistakes in reasoning upon these Subjects.\n\nSOME such Fever of uncommon Malignity, I say, might perhaps be in\n_Marseilles_ before the Arrival of these Goods. There might likewise\nperhaps be an Instance or two of _Fevers_ attended with _Eruptions_,\nbearing some Resemblance to those of the _Plague_: for such I my self\nhave sometimes seen here in _London_. But it is not conceivable, that\nthere should be any Appearance of the true _Plague_ before that time:\nfor it was full six Weeks from the time of the Sailor's Death, which had\ngiven the Alarm, and raised a general Attention, before the Magistrates\nreceived Information of any one's dying of the _Plague_ in the City.\nAnd I believe it was never known, that the _Plague_, being once broke\nout, gave so long a Truce in hot Weather.\n\nTHE _Plague_, which has this present Year almost depopulated _Messina_,\naffords a _third_ Instance of the same kind. By an authentic Relation of\nit, published here[53] we are informed, that a _Genoese_ Vessel from the\n_Levant_, arrived at that City; and upon notice given that a Sailor, who\nhad touched some Cases of _Cotton Stuffs_ bought up at _Patrasso_ in the\n_Morea_, where the Distemper then raged, was dead of the Plague, in the\nVoyage; the Ship was put under _Quarantaine_: during which time the\n_Cotton Stuffs_ were privately landed. The Master and some Sailors\ndying three days after, the Vessel was burnt. These Goods lay for some\ntime concealed, but were soon after publickly sold: upon which the\nDisease immediately broke out in that _Quarter_ where they were opened;\nand afterwards was spread through the whole City.\n\nI think it not improper, for the fuller Confirmation of the present\nPoint, to give a Relation communicated to me by a Person of\nunquestionable Credit, of the like Effect from Goods, in respect to the\n_Small-Pox_; which Distemper is frequently carried in the Nature of the\n_Plague_ both to the _East_ and _West-Indies_ from these Countries, and\nwas once carried from the _East-Indies_ to the _Cape of Good Hope_, in\nthe following manner. About the Year 1718, a ship from the _East-Indies_\narrived at that Place: In the Voyage three Children had been sick of\nthe _Small-Pox_: The foul Linen used about them was put into a Trunk,\nand lock'd up. At the Ship's Landing, this was taken out, and given to\nsome of the Natives to be washed: Upon handling the Linen, they were\nimmediately seized with the _Small-Pox_, which spread into the Country\nfor many Miles, and made such a Desolation, that it was almost\ndispeopled.\n\nIT has been thought so difficult to explain the manner how _Goods_\nretain the Seeds of _Contagion_, that some[54] Authors have imagined\n_Infection_ to be performed by the Means of _Insects_; the _Eggs_ of\nwhich may be conveyed from Place to Place, and make the Disease when\nthey come to be _hatched_. But as this is a Supposition grounded upon\nno manner of Observation, so I think there is no need to have recourse\nto it. If, as we have conjectured, the _Matter_ of _Contagion_ be an\nactive Substance generated chiefly from animal Corruption; it is not\nhard to conceive how this may be lodged and preserved in soft porous\nBodies, which are kept pressed close together.\n\nWE all know how long a time _Perfumes_ hold their Scent, if wrapt up in\nproper Coverings: And it is very remarkable, that the strongest of\nthese, like the Matter we are treating of, are mostly _animal Juices_,\nas _Mosch_, _Civet_, &c. and that the Substances, found most fit to keep\nthem in, are the very same with those, which are most apt to receive and\ncommunicate Infection, as _Furrs_, _Feathers_, _Silk_, _Hair_, _Wool_,\n_Cotton_, _Flax_, &c. the greatest part of which are likewise of the\n_animal_ kind.\n\nNOTHING indeed can give us so just a Notion of _Infection_, and more\nclearly represent the manner of it, than _Odoriferous_ Bodies. Some of\n_these_ do strangely revive the animal Spirits; others instantaneously\ndepress and sink them: We may therefore conceive that, what active\nparticles emitted from any such Substances do, is in the like way done\nby _Pestiferous_ Bodies; so that _Contagion_ is no more than the effect\nof volatile offensive Matter drawn into the Body by our _Smelling_.\n\nTHE third Cause we assigned for the spreading of _Contagion_, was a\ncorrupted State of _Air_. Although the _Air_ be in a right State, yet a\nsick Person may infect those who are very near him: As we find the\n_Pestilence_ to continue sometimes among the _Crew_ of a Ship, after\nthey have sailed out of the Infectious Air wherein the Disease was first\ncaught. A remarkable Accident of this Nature is recorded to have\nhappened in the _Plague_ at _Genoa_ in the Year 1656. Eleven Persons put\nto Sea in a _Felucca_, with design to withdraw themselves from the\n_Contagion_, and retire into _Provence_; but one of them falling sick of\nthe _Plague_ soon after they had imbarked, infected the rest; insomuch\nthat others being taken ill, and dying in their turns, they were not\nadmitted any where, but were forced to return from whence they came: and\nby that time the Boat arrived again at _Genoa_ no more than one of them\nsurvived[55].\n\nHOWEVER in this Case the Malady does not usually spread far, the\n_contagious_ Particles being soon dispersed and lost. But when in a\ncorrupt Disposition of the _Air_ the _contagious_ Particles meet with\nthe subtile Parts generated by that Corruption, by uniting with them\nthey become much more active and powerful, and likewise of a more\ndurable Nature; so as to form an infectious Matter capable of conveying\nthe Mischief to a greater distance from the diseased Body, out of which\nit was produced.\n\nIN general, a _hot Air_ is more disposed to spread _Contagion_ than a\ncold one, as no one can doubt, who considers how much all kinds of\n_Effluvia_ are farther diffused in a _warm Air_, than in the contrary.\nBut moreover, that State of _Air_, when unseasonable Moisture and want\nof Winds are added to its Heat, which gives birth to the _Plague_ in\nsome Countries, will doubtless promote it in all. For _Hippocrates_ sets\ndown the same Description of a _Pestilential State_ of Air in his\nCountry, as the _Arabians_ do of the Constitution, which gives Rise to\nthe _Plague_ in _Africa_[56]. _Mercurialis_ assures us the same\nConstitution of _Air_ attended the _Pestilence_ in his time at\n_Padua_[57]: and _Gassendus_ observed the same in the _Plague_ of\n_Digne_[58]. Besides, it is easy to shew how the _Air_, by the sensible\nill Qualities discoursed of in the last Chapter, should favour\ninfectious Diseases, by rendering the Body obnoxious to them.\n\nINDEED other hurtful Qualities of the _Air_ are more to be regarded than\nits Heat alone: for the _Plague_ is sometimes stopt, while the Heat of\nthe Season increases, upon the Emendation of the _Air_ in other\nrespects. At _Smyrna_ the _Plague_, which is yearly carried thither by\nShips, constantly ceases about the 24th of _June_, by the dry and clear\nWeather they always have at that time: the unwholsome Damps being then\ndissipated that annoy the Country in the _Spring_. However, the Heat of\nthe Air is of so much Consequence, that if any Ship brings it in the\nWinter Months of _November_, _December_, _January_, or _February_, it\nnever spreads: but if later in the Year, as in _April_ or afterwards,\nit continues till the time before mentioned.\n\nBUT moreover, what was said before of some latent Disorders in the _Air_\nhaving a share in spreading the _Plague_, will likewise have place in\nthese Countries; as the last _Plague_ in the City of _London_ remarkably\nproves, the Seeds of which, upon its first Entrance, and while it was\nconfined to a House or two, preserved themselves through a hard frosty\n_Winter_, and again put forth their malignant Quality as soon as the\nWarmth of the _Spring_ gave them force: but, at the latter end of the\nnext Winter they were suppressed so as to appear no more, though in the\nMonth of _December_ more than half the _Parishes_ of the City were\ninfected.\n\nA _corrupted State_ of Air is, without doubt, necessary to give these\ncontagious Atoms their full force; for otherwise it were not easy to\nconceive how the _Plague_, when once it had seized any Place, should\never cease but with the Destruction of all the Inhabitants: Which is\nreadily accounted for by supposing an Emendation of the Qualities of the\n_Air_, and the restoring of it to a healthful State capable of\ndissipating and suppressing the Malignity.\n\nON the other hand, it does not appear, that the _Air_, however\ncorrupted, is usually capable of carrying Infection to a very great\ndistance; but that commonly the _Plague_ is spread from Town to Town by\ninfected Persons and Goods: for there are numberless Instances, where\nthe _Plague_ has caused a great Mortality in Towns, while other Towns\nand Villages, very near them, have been entirely free. And hence it is,\nthat the _Plague_ sometimes spreads from Place to Place very\nirregularly. _Thuanus_[59] speaks of a _Plague_ in _Italy_, which one\nYear was at _Trent_ and _Verona_, the next got into _Venice_ and\n_Padua_, leaving _Vicenza_, an intermediate Place, untouched, though the\nnext Year that also felt the same Stroke: a certain Proof that the\n_Plague_ was not carried by the _Air_ from _Verona_ to _Padua_ and\n_Venice_; for the infected _Air_ must have tainted all in its Passage.\nWe have had lately in _France_ one Instance of the same Nature, when the\n_Plague_ was carried at once out of _Provence_ several Leagues into the\n_Gevaudan_. Usually indeed the _Plague_, especially when more violent\nthan ordinary, spreads from infected Places into those which border upon\nthem: which probably is sometimes effected by some little Communication\ninfected Towns are obliged to hold with the Country about them for the\nsake of Necessaries, the Subtlety of the Venom now and then eluding the\ngreatest Precautions; and at other times by such as withdraw themselves\nfrom infected Places into the Neighbourhood.\n\nI OWN it cannot be demonstrated, that when the _Plague_ makes great\nRavage in any Town, the Number of Sick shall never be great enough to\nload the _Air_ with infectious _Effluvia_, emitted from them in such\nPlenty, that they may be conveyed by the Winds into a neighbouring Town\nor Village without being dispersed so much as to hinder their producing\nany ill Effects; especially since it is not unusual for the _Air_ to be\nso far charged with these noxious _Atoms_, as to leave no Place within\nthe infected Town secure: insomuch that when the Distemper is at its\nHighth, all shall be indifferently infected, as well those who keep from\nthe Sick, as those who are near them; though at the beginning of a\n_Plague_ to avoid all Communication with the Diseased, is an effectual\nDefence. However, I do not think this is often the Case: just as the\n_Smoak_, with which the _Air_ of the City of _London_ is constantly\nimpregnated, especially in _Winter_, is not carried many Miles distant;\nthough the Quantity of it is vastly greater than the Quantity of\ninfectious _Effluvia_, that the most mortal _Plague_ could generate.\n\nBUT, to conclude what relates to the _Air_, since the ill Qualities of\nit in these _Northern_ Countries are not alone sufficient to excite the\n_Plague_, without imported _Contagion_, this shews the Error of a common\nOpinion, countenanc'd by Authors of great Name[60], that we are\nnecessarily _visited_ with the _Plague_ once in thirty or forty Years:\nwhich is a mere Fancy, without Foundation either in Reason or\nExperience; and therefore People ought to be delivered from such vain\nFears. Since the _Pestilence_ is never originally bred with us, but\nalways brought accidentally from abroad, its coming can have no relation\nto any certain Period of Time. And although our three or four last\n_Plagues_ have fallen out nearly at such Intervals, yet that is much\ntoo short a Compass of Years to be a Foundation for a general Rule.\nAccordingly we see that almost fourscore Years have passed over without\nany Calamity of this kind.\n\nTHE _Air_ of our Climate is so far from being ever the Original of the\ntrue _Plague_, that most probably it never produces those milder\ninfectious Distempers, the _Small-Pox_ and _Measles_. For these Diseases\nwere not heard of in _Europe_ before the _Moors_ had entered _Spain_:\nand (as I have observed in the _Preface_) they were afterwards\npropagated and spread through all Nations, chiefly by means of the Wars\nwith the _Saracens_.\n\nMOREOVER, we are so far from any Necessity of these periodical Returns\nof the _Plague_, that, on the contrary, though we have had several\nStrokes of this kind, yet there are Instances of bad _Contagions_ from\nabroad being brought over to us, which have proved less malignant here,\nwhen our _Northern Air_ has not been disposed to receive such\nImpressions.\n\nTHE _Sweating Sickness_, before hinted at, called _Sudor Anglicus_ and\n_Febris Ephemera Britannica_, because it was commonly thought to have\ntaken its Rise here, was most probably of a foreign Original: and though\nnot the common _Plague_ with _Glandular Tumors_, and _Carbuncles_, yet a\nreal _Pestilence_ from the same Cause, only altered in its Appearance,\nand abated in its Violence, by the salutary Influence of our Climate.\nFor it preserved an Agreement with the common _Plague_ in many of its\n_Symptoms_, as _excessive Faintness_ and _Inquietudes_, _inward\nBurnings_, &c. these _Symptoms_ being no where observed in so intense a\nDegree as here they are described to have been, except in the true\n_Plague_: And, what is much more, it was likewise a _contagious_\nDisease.\n\nTHE first time this was felt here, which was in the Year 1485, it began\nin the Army, with which King _Henry_ VII. came from _France_ and landed\nin _Wales_[61]: and it has been supposed by some to have been brought\nfrom the famous Siege of _Rhodes_ by the _Turks_ three or four Years\nbefore, as may be collected from what Dr. _Keyes_ says in one Place of\nhis Treatise on this Disease[62]. Besides, of the several returns which\nthis has made since that time, _viz._ in the Years 1506, 1517, 1528, and\n1551, that in the Year 1528 may very justly be suspected to have been\nowing to the common _Pestilence_, which at those times raged in\n_Italy_[63] as I find one of our Historians has long ago\nconjectured[64]: and the others were very probably from a _Turkish_\nInfection. If at least some of these Returns were not owing to the\nRemains of former Attacks, a suitable Constitution of Air returning to\nput the latent Seeds in Action before they were quite destroyed. It is\nthe more probable that this Disease was owing to _imported Contagion_;\nbecause we are assured, that this Form of the Sickness was not peculiar\nto our Island, but that it made great Destruction with the same Symptoms\nin _Germany_, and other Countries[65].\n\nI call this Distemper a _Plague_ with lessened Force: because though its\ncarrying off thousands for want of right Management was a Proof of its\nMalignity, which indeed in one respect exceeded that of the common\n_Plague_ itself (for few, who were destroyed with it, survived the\nSeizure above one Natural Day) yet its going off safely with _profuse\nSweats_ in twenty four Hours, when due care was taken to promote that\nEvacuation, shewed it to be what a learned and wise Historian calls it,\n_rather a Surprize to Nature, than obstinate_ to _Remedies_; who\nassigns this Reason for expressing himself thus, that _if the Patient\nwas kept warm with temperate Cordials, he commonly recovered_[66]. And,\nwhat I think yet more remarkable, _Sweating_, which was the natural\n_Crisis_ of this Distemper, has been found by great Physicians the best\nRemedy against the common _Plague_: by which means, when timely used,\nthat Distemper may sometimes be carried off without any external\n_Tumors_. Nay besides, a judicious Observer informs us, that in many of\nhis Patients, when he had broken the Violence of the Distemper by such\nan artificial _Sweat_, a natural _Sweat_ not excited by Medicines would\nbreak forth exceedingly refreshing[67].\n\nAND I cannot but take notice, as a Confirmation of what I have been\nadvancing, that we had here the same kind of Fever in the Year 1713,\nabout the Month of _September_, which was called the _Dunkirk Fever_, as\nbeing brought by our Soldiers from that Place. This probably had its\nOriginal from the _Plague_, which a few Years before broke out at\n_Dantzick_, and continued some time among the Cities of the _North_.\nWith us this Fever began only with a Pain in the Head, and went off in\nlarge _Sweats_ usually after a Day's Confinement: but at _Dunkirk_ it\nwas attended with the additional Symptoms of _Vomiting_, _Diarrhoea_,\n&c.\n\nTO return from this Digression: From all that has been said, it appears,\nI think, very plainly, that the _Plague_ is a real Poison, which being\nbred in the Southern Parts of the World, is carried by Commerce into\nother Countries, particularly into _Turky_, where it maintains itself by\na kind of Circulation from Persons to Goods: which is chiefly owing to\nthe Negligence of the People there, who are stupidly careless in this\naffair. That when the Constitution of the _Air_ happens to favour\n_Infection_, it rages there with great Violence: that at that time more\nespecially diseased Persons give it to one another, and from them\n_contagious Matter_ is lodged in Goods of a loose and soft Texture,\nwhich being pack'd up and carried into other Countries, let out, when\nopened, the imprisoned Seeds of _Contagion_, and produce the Disease\nwhenever the _Air_ is disposed to give them force; otherwise they may be\ndissipated without any considerable ill Effects. And lastly, that the\n_Air_ does not usually diffuse and spread these to any great Distance,\nif Intercourse and Commerce with the Place infected be strictly\nprevented.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\nOf the Methods to be taken against the PLAGUE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. I.\n\n_Of preventing Infection from other Countries._\n\n\nAS it is a Satisfaction to know, that the _Plague_ is not a Native of\nour Country, so this is likewise an Encouragement to the utmost\nDiligence in finding out Means to keep our selves clear from it.\n\nTHIS Caution consists of two Parts: _The preventing its being brought\ninto our Island_; and, if such a Calamity should happen, _the putting a\nStop to its spreading among us_.\n\nTHE first of these is provided for by the established Method of obliging\nShips, that come from _infected_ Places, to _perform Quarantaine_: As to\nwhich, I think it necessary, that the following Rules be observed.\n\nNEAR to our several Ports, there should be _Lazaretto's_ built in\nconvenient Places, on little Islands, if it can so be, for the Reception\nboth of Men and Goods, which arrive from Places suspected of\n_Infection_: The keeping Men in _Quarantaine_ on board the Ship being\nnot sufficient; the only use of which is to observe whether any die\namong them. For _Infection_ may be preserved so long in Clothes, in\nwhich it is once lodged, that as much, nay more of it, if Sickness\ncontinues in the Ship, may be brought on Shore at the end than at the\nbeginning of the forty Days: Unless a new _Quarantaine_ be begun every\ntime any Person dies; which might not end, but with the Destruction of\nthe whole Ship's Crew.\n\nIF there has been any _contagious_ Distemper in the Ship; the _sound_\nMen should leave their Clothes, which should be sunk in the Sea, the Men\nwashed and shaved, and having fresh Clothes, should stay in the\n_Lazaretto_ thirty or forty Days. The reason of this is, because Persons\nmay be recovered from a Disease themselves, and yet retain _Matter_ of\n_Infection_ about them a considerable time: as we frequently see the\n_Small-Pox_ taken from those, who have several Days before passed\nthrough the Distemper.\n\nTHE _Sick_, if there be any, should be kept in Houses remote from the\n_Sound_, and, some time after they are well, should also be washed and\nshaved, and have fresh Clothes; whatever they wore while sick being sunk\nor buryed: And then being removed to the Houses of the _Sound_, should\ncontinue there thirty or forty Days.\n\nI AM particularly careful to destroy the _Clothes_ of the Sick, because\nthey harbour the very _Quintessence_ of _Contagion_. A very ingenious\nAuthor[68], in his admirable Description of the _Plague_ at _Florence_\nin the Year 1348, relates what himself saw: That two _Hogs_ finding in\nthe Streets the _Rags_, which had been thrown out from off a poor Man\ndead of the Disease, after snuffling upon them, and tearing them with\ntheir Teeth, they fell into Convulsions, and dy'd in less than an Hour.\nThe learned _Fracastorius_ acquaints us, that in his time, there being a\n_Plague_ in _Verona_, no less than twenty five Persons were successively\nkill'd by the Infection of one _Furr_ Garment[69]. And _Forestus_ gives\na like Instance of seven Children, who dy'd by playing upon Clothes\nbrought to _Alckmaer_ in _North-Holland_, from an infected House in\n_Zealand_[70]. The late Mr. _Williams_, Chaplain to Sir _Robert Sutton_,\nwhen Embassador at _Constantinople_, used to relate a Story of the same\nNature told him by a _Bassa_: that in an Expedition this _Bassa_ made to\nthe Frontiers of _Poland_, one of the _Janizaries_ under his Command\ndy'd of the _Plague_; whose Jacket, a very rich one, being bought by\nanother _Janizary_, it was no sooner put on, but he also was taken sick\nand dy'd: and the same Misfortune befel five _Janizaries_ more, who\nafterwards wore it. This the _Bassa_ related to Mr. _Williams_, chiefly\nfor the sake of this farther Circumstance, that the Incidents now\nmentioned prevailed upon him to order the burning of the Garment:\ndesigning by this Instance to let Mr. _Williams_ see there were _Turks_,\nwho allowed themselves in so much Freedom of Thought, as not to pay that\nstrict Regard to the _Mahometan_ Doctrine of Fatality, as the Vulgar\namong them do.\n\nIF there has been no Sickness in the Ship, I see no reason why the Men\nshould perform _Quarantaine_. Instead of this, they may be washed, and\ntheir Clothes aired in the _Lazaretto_, as Goods, for one Week.\n\nBUT the greatest Danger is from such _Goods_, as are apt to retain\nInfection, such as _Cotton_, _Hemp_ and _Flax_, _Paper_ or _Books_,\n_Silk_ of all sorts, _Linen_, _Wool_, _Feathers_, _Hair_, and all kinds\nof _Skins_. The _Lazaretto_ for these should be at a Distance from that\nfor the Men; and they must in convenient Warehouses be unpack'd, and\nexposed, as much as may be, to the fresh Air for forty Days.\n\nTHIS may perhaps seem too long; but as we don't know how much time\nprecisely is necessary to purge the Interstices of spongy Substances\nfrom _infectious Matter_ by fresh Air, the Caution cannot be too great\nin this Point. Certainly the time here proposed, having been long\nestablished by general Custom, ought not in the least to be retrenched;\nunless there could be a way found out of trying when Bodies have ceased\nto emit the noxious Fumes. Possibly this might be discovered by putting\ntender _Animals_ near to them, particularly little _Birds_: because it\nhas been observed in Times of the _Plague_, that the Country has been\nforsaken by the _Birds_; and those kept in Houses have many of them\ndied[71]. Now if it should be found, that _Birds_ let loose among Goods\nat the beginning of their _Quarantaine_, are obnoxious to the\n_Contagion_ in them, it may be known, in good measure, when such Goods\nare become clean, by repeating the Trial till _Birds_ let fly among them\nreceive no hurt. But the Use of this Expedient can be known only by\nExperience. In the mean time, I own I am fond of the _Thought_, in\ncompassion to poor Labourers, who must expose their Lives to danger, in\nthe attendance upon this Work: and tho' I am well aware that there are\n_Plagues_ among Animals, which do not indifferently affect all kinds of\nthem, some being confined to a particular _Species_, (like the Disease\nof the _Black Cattle_ here, a few Years since, which neither proved\ninfectious to other Brutes, nor to Men;) yet it has always been observed\nthat the true _Plague_ among Men has been destructive to all Creatures\nof what kind soever.\n\nA very remarkable Story, lately communicated to me by a Person of\nundoubted Credit, is too much to the purpose to be here omitted. The\nFact is this. In the Year 1726, an English Ship took in Goods at _Grand\nCairo_, in the time of the _Plague's_ raging there, and carried them to\n_Alexandria_. Upon opening one of the Bales of Wool in a Field, two\n_Turks_ employed in the Work were immediately killed: and some _Birds_,\nwhich happened to fly over the Place, dropp'd down dead.\n\nHOWEVER, the Use of _Quarantaines_ is not wholly frustrated by our\nIgnorance of the exact time required for this Purification: since the\n_Quarantaine_ does at least serve as a Trial whether Goods are infected\nor not; it being hardly possible that every one of those, who are\nobliged to attend upon them, can escape hurt, if they are so. And\nwhenever that happens, the Goods must be destroyed.\n\nI TAKE it for granted, that the _Goods_ should be _opened_, when they\nare put into the _Lazaretto_, otherwise their being there will avail\nnothing. This is the constant Practice in the _Ports_ of _Italy_. That\nit is so at _Leghorn_, appears by the Account lately published of the\nManner, in which _Quarantaines_ are there performed: and I find, that\nthe same Rule is observed at _Venice_, from an authentic Paper, I have\nbefore me, containing the Methods made use of in that City, where\n_Quarantaines_ have been enjoined ever since the Year 1484; at which\ntime, as far as I can learn, they were first instituted in _Europe_. In\nthat Place all _Bales_ of _Cotton_, of _Camel_'s or of _Beaver_'s\n_Hair_, and the like, are _ript_ open from end to end, and _Holes_ made\nin them by the _Porters_ every Day, into which they thrust their naked\nArms, in order that the Air may have free Access to every part of the\nGoods. That some such Cautions as these ought not to be omitted, is\nclearly proved by the Misfortune, which happened in the Island of\n_Bermudas_ about the Year 1695; where, as the Account was given me by\nthe learned Dr. _Halley_, a Sack of _Cotton_ put on Shore by Stealth,\nlay above a Month without any Prejudice to the People of the House,\nwhere it was hid: but when it came to be distributed among the\nInhabitants, it carried such a _Contagion_ along with it, that the\nLiving scarce sufficed to bury the Dead. This Relation Dr. _Halley_\nreceived from Captain _Tucker_ of _Bermudas_, Brother to Mr. _Tucker_\nlate Under-Secretary in our Secretary's Office.\n\nINDEED, as it has been frequently experienced, that of all the Goods,\nwhich harbour _Infection_, _Cotton_ in particular is the most dangerous,\nand _Turky_ is almost a perpetual _Seminary_ of the _Plague_; I cannot\nbut think it highly reasonable, that whatever _Cotton_ is imported from\nthat part of the World, should at all Times be kept in _Quarantaine_:\nBecause it may have imbibed _Infection_ at the Time of its packing up,\nnotwithstanding no Mischief has been felt from it by the Ship's Company.\nAnd the length of Time from its being pack'd up to its Arrival here, is\nno certain Security that it is cleared from the _Infection_. At least,\nit is found, that the Time employed by Ships in passing between _Turky_\nand _Marseilles_, is not long enough for Goods to lose their\n_Infection_: as appears not only from the late Instance, but also from\nan Observation made in a certain _Memorial_, drawn up by the Deputy of\nTrade at _Marseilles_[72]. _Marseilles_ is the only Port in _France_\nallowed to receive Goods from the _Levant_, on Account of its singular\nConvenience for _Quarantaines_, by Reason of several small _Islands_\nsituate about it. The _Ports_ of _France_ in the _Western Ocean_ having\nhad a Desire to be allowed the same Liberty, their Deputies presented,\nin the Year 1701, a _Memorial_ to the _Royal Council of Trade_,\ncontaining several Reasons for their Pretensions. To this the _Deputy_\nat _Marseilles_ makes Reply in the _Memorial_ I am speaking of, in which\nthis Advantage of _Marseilles_ for _Quarantaines_ above the other\nPorts, is much insisted upon: and, to evince the Importance thereof, it\nis declared in express Words, that many Times Persons have been found in\nthat Place to die of the _Plague_ in their Attendance upon Goods under\n_Quarantaine_. Now if it be certain, that Goods have retained Infection\nduring their Passage from _Turkey_ to _Marseilles_; it is too hardy a\nPresumption to be admitted in an Affair so important as this, that they\nmust necessarily lose all Contagion in the Time of their coming to us,\nbecause the Voyage is something longer. But besides this, there are some\nfew Instances of Goods, that have retained their Infection many Years.\nIn particular, _Alex. Benedictus_ gives a very distinct Relation of a\nFeather Bed, that was laid by seven Years on Suspicion of its being\ninfected, which produced mischievous Effects at the End of that great\nLength of Time[73]. And Sir _Theodore Mayerne_ relates, that some\nClothes fouled with Blood and Matter from _Plague_ Sores being lodged\nbetween _Matting_ and the Wall of a House in Paris, gave the _Plague_\nseveral Years after to a Workman, who took them out, which presently\nspread through the City[74].\n\nWHAT makes _Cotton_ so eminently dangerous, is its great Aptitude to\nimbibe and retain any Sort of _Effluvia_ near it; of which I have\nformerly made a particular Experiment, by causing some _Cotton_ to be\nplaced for one Day near a Piece of _putrefying Flesh_ from an amputated\nLimb, in a Bell-Glass, but without touching it: for the _Cotton_ imbibed\nso strong a Taint, that being put up in a close Box, it retained its\noffensive Scent above ten Months, and would, I believe, have kept it for\nYears. If, instead of the Fumes of _putrefied Flesh_ from a sound Body,\nthis _Cotton_ had been thus impregnated with the Fumes of corrupted\nMatter from one sick of the _Plague_; I make no doubt but it would have\ncommunicated Infection. And the Experiment would have succeeded alike in\nboth Cases, if instead of _Cotton_, _Silk_, _Wool_, or _Hair_ had been\ninclosed in the Vessel: Animal Substances being the most apt to attract\nthe volatile Particles, which come from Bodies of the same Nature with\nthemselves.\n\nAS all reasonable Provisions should be made both for the _Sound_ and\n_Sick_, who perform _Quarantaine_; so the strict keeping of it ought to\nbe inforced by the severest _Penalties_. And if a Ship comes from any\nPlace, where the _Plague_ raged, at the Time of the Ship's Departure\nfrom it, with more than usual Violence; it will be the securest Method\nto _sink_ all the _Goods_, and even the _Ship_ sometimes: especially if\nany on Board have died of the Disease.\n\nNOR ought this farther Caution to be omitted, that when the _Contagion_\nhas ceased in any Place by the Approach of Winter, it will not be safe\nto open a free Trade with _it_ too soon: because there are Instances of\nthe _Distemper_'s being stopt by the Winter Cold, and yet the Seeds of\nit not destroyed, but only kept unactive, 'till the Warmth of the\nfollowing Spring has given them new Life and Force. Thus in the great\n_Plague_ at _Genoa_ about four-score Years ago, which continued Part of\ntwo Years; the first Summer about _ten Thousand_ died; the Winter\nfollowing hardly any; but the Summer after no less than _sixty\nThousand_. Likewise the last _Plague_ at _London_ appeared the latter\nEnd of the Year 1664, and was stopt during the Winter by a hard Frost of\nnear three Month's Continuance; so that there remained no farther\nAppearance of it 'till the ensuing Spring[75]. Now if Goods brought from\nsuch a Place should retain any of the latent _Contagion_, there will be\nDanger of their producing the same Mischief in the Place, to which they\nare brought, as they would have caused in that, from whence they came.\n\nBUT above all, it is necessary, that the _Clandestine Importing_ of\nGoods be punished with the utmost Rigour; from which wicked Practice I\nshould always apprehend more Danger of bringing the _Disease_ than by\nany other Way whatsoever.\n\nTHESE are, I think, the most material Points, to which Regard is to be\nhad in defending ourselves again _Contagion_ from other Countries. The\nparticular Manner of putting these Directions in Execution, as the\n_Visiting_ of _Ships_, _Regulation_ of _Lazaretto's_, &c. I leave to\nproper Officers, who ought sometimes to be assisted herein by able\nPhysicians.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. II.\n\n_Of Stopping the Progress of the_ Plague, _if it should enter our\nCountry._\n\n\nTHE next Consideration is, what to do in Case, through a Miscarriage in\nthe publick Care, by the Neglect of Officers, or otherwise, such a\nCalamity should be suffered to befal us.\n\nTHERE is no _Evil_ in the World, in which the great Rule of _Resisting\nthe Beginning_, more properly takes Place, than in the present Case; and\nyet it has unfortunately happened, that the common Steps formerly taken\nhave had a direct Tendency to hinder the putting _this Maxim_ in\nPractice.\n\nAS the _Plague_ always breaks out in some particular Place, it is\ncertain, that the Directions of the _Civil Magistrate_ ought to be such,\nas to make it as much for the Interest of infected Families to discover\ntheir Misfortune, as it is, when a House is on _Fire_, to call in the\nAssistance of the Neighbourhood: Whereas, on the contrary, the Methods\ntaken by the Publick, on such Occasions, have always had the Appearance\nof a severe _Discipline_, and even _Punishment_, rather than of a\n_Compassionate Care_; which must naturally make the _Infected_ conceal\nthe Disease as long as was possible.\n\nTHE main Import of the _Orders_ issued out at these Times was[76]; As\nsoon as it was found, that any House was infected, to keep it shut up,\nwith a _large red Cross_, and these Words, _Lord, have Mercy upon us_,\npainted on the Door; Watchmen attending Day and Night to prevent any\none's going in or out, except such _Physicians_, _Surgeons_,\n_Apothecaries_, _Nurses_, _Searchers_, &c. as were allowed by Authority:\nAnd this to continue at least a Month after all the Family was _dead_ or\n_recovered_.\n\nIT is not easy to conceive a more dismal Scene of Misery, than this:\nFamilies lock'd up from all their Acquaintance, though seized with a\nDistemper which the most of any in the World requires Comfort and\nAssistance; abandoned it may be to the Treatment of an inhumane Nurse\n(for such are often found at these times about the Sick;) and Strangers\nto every thing but the melancholy Sight of the Progress, Death makes\namong themselves: with small Hopes of Life left to the Survivers, and\nthose mixed with Anxiety and Doubt, whether it be not better to die,\nthan to prolong a miserable Being, after the Loss of their best Friends\nand nearest Relations.\n\nIF _Fear_, _Despair_, and all _Dejection of Spirits_, dispose the Body\nto receive _Contagion_, and give it a great Power, where it is received,\nas all Physicians agree they do; I don't see how a Disease can be more\ninforced than by such a Treatment.\n\nNOTHING can justify such _Cruelty_, but the Plea, that it is for the\nGood of the whole _Community_, and prevents the spreading of\n_Infection_. But this upon due Consideration will be found quite\notherwise: For while _Contagion_ is kept nursed up in a House, and\ncontinually encreased by the daily Conquests it makes, it is impossible\nbut the _Air_ should become tainted in so eminent a degree, as to spread\nthe _Infection_ into the Neighbourhood upon the first Outlet. The\nshutting up Houses in this Manner is only keeping so many _Seminaries_\nof _Contagion_, sooner or later to be dispersed abroad: For the waiting\na Month, or longer, from the Death of the last Patient, will avail no\nmore, than keeping a _Bale_ of infected _Goods_ unpack'd; the Poyson\nwill fly out, whenever the _Pandora's Box_ is opened.\n\nAS these Measures were owing to the Ignorance of the true Nature of\n_Contagion_, so they did, I firmly believe, contribute very much to the\nlong Continuance of the _Plague_, every time they have been practised in\nthis City: And no doubt, they have had as ill Effects in other\nCountries.\n\nIT is therefore no wonder, that grievous Complaints were often made\nagainst this unreasonable Usage; and that the Citizens were all along\nunder the greatest apprehensions of being thus _Shut up_. This\noccasioned their concealing the Disease as long as they could, which\ncontributed very much to the inforcing and spreading of it: and when\nthey were confined, it often happened that they broke out of their\n_Imprisonment_, either by getting out at Windows, _&c._ or by bribing\nthe Watchmen at their Doors; and sometimes even by murdering them. Hence\nin the Nights, people were often met running about the Streets, with\nhideous _Shrieks_ of _Horror_ and _Despair_, quite _Distracted_, either\nfrom the violence of the Fever, or from the Terrors of Mind, into which\nthey were thrown by the daily Deaths they saw of their nearest\nRelations.\n\nIN these miserable Circumstances, many ran away, and when they had\nescaped, either went to their Friends in the Country, or built Hutts or\nTents for themselves in the open Fields, or got on board Ships lying in\nthe River. A few also were saved by keeping their Houses close from all\ncommunication with their Neighbours[77].\n\nAND it must be observed, that whenever popular Clamours prevailed so\nfar, as to procure some Release for the _Sick_, this was remarkably\nfollowed with an Abatement of the Disease. The _Plague_ in the Year 1636\nbegan with great Violence; but leave being given by the King's Authority\nfor People to quit their Houses, it was observed, That _not one in\ntwenty of the well Persons removed fell sick, nor one in ten of the Sick\ndied_[78]. Which single Instance alone, had there been no other, should\nhave been of Weight ever after to have determined the Magistracy against\ntoo strict Confinements. But besides this, a preceding _Plague_, _viz._\nin the Year 1625, affords us another Instance of a very remarkable\nDecrease upon the discontinuing to _shut up_ Houses. It was indeed so\nlate in the Year, before this was done, that the near Approach of Winter\nwas doubtless one Reason for the Diminution of the Disease, which\nfollowed: Yet this was so very great, that it is at least past dispute,\nthat the Liberty then permitted was no Impediment to it. For this\n_opening_ of the Houses was allowed of in the beginning of _September_:\nand whereas the last Week in _August_, there died no less than four\nthousand two hundred and eighteen, the very next Week the _Burials_ were\ndiminished to three thousand three hundred and forty four; and in no\nlonger time than to the fourth Week after, to eight hundred and fifty\ntwo[79].\n\nSINCE therefore the Management in former Times neither answers the\nPurpose of _discovering the Beginning_ of the _Infection_, nor of\nputting a stop to it when _discovered_, other Measures are certainly to\nbe taken; which, I think, should be of this Nature.\n\nTHERE ought, in the first Place, _a Council of Health_ to be\nestablished, consisting of some of the principal Officers of State, both\nEcclesiastical and Civil, some of the chief Magistrates of the City, two\nor three Physicians, _&c._ And this _Council_ should be intrusted with\nsuch Powers, as might enable them to see all their Orders executed with\nimpartial Justice, and that no unnecessary Hardships, under any Pretence\nwhatever, be put upon any by the Officers they employ.\n\nINSTEAD of _ignorant old Women_, who are generally appointed _Searchers_\nin Parishes to inquire what Diseases People die of, that _Office_ should\nbe committed to _understanding and diligent Men_: whose Business it\nshould be, as soon as they find any have dy'd after an uncommon Manner,\nparticularly with _livid Spots_, _Bubo's_, or _Carbuncles_, to give\nNotice thereof to the _Council of Health_; who should immediately send\nskilful Physicians to examine the suspected Bodies, and to visit the\nHouses in the Neighbourhood, especially of the _poorer_ Sort, among whom\nthis Evil generally begins. And if upon their Report it appears, that a\n_Pestilential Distemper_ is broken out, they should without Delay order\nall the Families, in which the Sickness is, to be _removed_; the _Sick_\nto different Places from the _Sound_: but the Houses for both should be\nthree or four Miles out of Town; and the _Sound_ People should be\n_stript of all their Clothes_, and _washed_ and _shaved_, before they go\ninto their new Lodgings. These Removals ought to be made in the Night,\nwhen the Streets are clear of People: which will prevent all Danger of\nspreading the Infection. And besides, all possible Care should be taken\nto provide such Means of Conveyance for the _Sick_, that they may\nreceive no Injury.\n\nAS this Management is necessary with Respect to the _Poor_ and _meaner_\nSort of People; so the _Rich_, who have Conveniences, may, instead of\nbeing carried to _Lazaretto's_, be obliged to go to their\nCountry-Houses: provided that Care be always taken to keep the _Sound_\nseparated from the _Infected_. And at the same Time all the Inhabitants\nwho are yet well, should be permitted, nay encouraged to leave the Town,\nwhich, the thinner it is, will be the more healthy.\n\nNO manner of _Compassion_ and _Care_ should be wanting to the\n_Diseased_; to whom, when lodged in _clean_ and _airy_ Habitations,\nthere would, with due Cautions, be no great Danger in giving Attendance.\nAll Expences should be paid by the Publick, and no Charges ought to be\nthought great, which are counterbalanced with the saving a Nation from\nthe greatest of Calamities. Nor does it seem to me at all unreasonable,\nthat a _Reward_ should be given to the Person, that makes the first\nDiscovery of _Infection_ in any Place: since it is undeniable, that the\nmaking known the _Evil_ to those, who are provided with proper Methods\nagainst it, is the first and main Step towards the overcoming it.\n\nALTHOUGH the Methods taken in other Countries, as well as in our own,\nhave generally been different from what we have here recommended; yet\nthere are not wanting some Instances of extraordinary Success attending\nthese Measures, whenever they have happened to be put in Practice.\n\nTHE Magistrates of the City of _Ferrara_ in _Italy_ in the Year 1630,\nwhen all the Country round about them was infected with the _Plague_,\nobserving the ill Success of the Conduct of their Neighbours, who, for\nFear of losing their Commerce, did all they could to conceal the\nDisease, by keeping the Sick in their Houses, resolved, whenever\noccasion should require, to take a different Method. Accordingly, as\nsoon as they received Information, that one had died in their City of\nthe _Pestilence_, they immediately removed the whole Family he belonged\nto into a _Lazaretto_, where all, being seven in Number, likewise died.\nBut though the Disease was thus malignant, it went no farther, being\nsuppressed at once by this Method. Within the Space of a Year the same\nCase returned seven or eight Times, and this Management as often put a\nStop to it. The Example of this _City_ was afterwards followed more than\nonce by some other Towns in the same Territory with so good Success,\nthat it was thought expedient, for the common Good, to publish in the\n_Memoirs_ of the People of _Ferrara_ this Declaration: _That the only\nRemedy against the Plague is to make the most early Discovery of it,\nthat is possible, and thus to extinguish it in the very Beginning_[80].\n\nNO less remarkable than this Occurrence at _Ferrara_, is what happened\nat _Rome_ in the _Plague_, I have taken Notice of before, in the Year\n1657. When the Disease had spread itself among both Rich and Poor, and\nraged in the most violent Manner; the _Pope_ appointed Cardinal\n_Gastaldi_, to be Commissary General of Health, giving him for a Time\nthe Power of the whole _Sacred College_, with full Commission to do\nwhatever he should judge necessary. Hereupon he gave strict Orders, that\nno sick or suspected Persons should stay in their own Houses. The _Sick_\nhe removed, upon the first Notice, to a _Lazaretto_ in the _Island_ of\nthe _Tyber_; and all who were in the same Houses with them to other\n_Hospitals_ just without the City, in order to be sent to the _Island_,\nif they should fall sick. At the same Time he took diligent Care to send\naway their _Goods_ to an airy Place to be cleansed. He executed these\nRegulations with so much Strictness, that no Persons of the highest\nQuality were exempted from this Treatment; which occasioned at first\ngreat Complaints against the _Cardinal_ for his Severity; but soon after\nhe had general Thanks: for in two Months Time, by this means, he\nentirely cleared the City of the _Pestilence_, which had continued in it\nalmost two Years. And it was particularly observed, that whereas before,\nwhen once the Disease had got into a House, it seldom ended without\nseizing the whole Family; in this Management scarce five out of an\nhundred of the sound Persons removed were infected[81].\n\nI CANNOT but take Notice, that the _Plague_ was stopp'd at _Marseilles_\na full Fortnight by the same Measures, and probably might have been\nwholly extinguished, had not new Force been given it by the unseasonable\nConfidence of the Inhabitants upon this Intermission: which, we are\ninformed, was so great, that they would not believe the _Pestilence_ had\nbeen at all among them, and publickly upbraided the Physicians and\nSurgeons for frighting them causlesly[82]. At this Time, no doubt, they\nmust have neglected the Cautions necessary for their Security so much,\nas to leave us no room to be surprized, that the Disease should after\nthis break out again with too great Violence to be a second Time\novercome.\n\nBUT, besides these Examples in foreign Countries, we have one Instance\nof the same Nature nearer Home. When the _Plague_ was last here in\n_England_, upon its first Entrance into _Poole_ in _Dorsetshire_, the\nMagistrates immediately suppress'd it, by removing the _Sick_ into\n_Pest-Houses_, without the Town, as is well remember'd there to this\nTime. A very remarkable Occurrence has greatly contributed towards\npreserving all the Circumstances of this Transaction in Memory. They\nfound some Difficulty in procuring any one to attend upon the _Sick_\nafter their Removal: which obliged the Town to engage a _young Woman_,\nthen under Sentence of Death, in that Service, on a Promise to use\ntheir Interest for obtaining her Pardon. The young Woman escaped the\nDisease, but neglecting to solicite the Corporation for the\nAccomplishment of their Engagement with her, three or four Months after\nshe was barbarously hanged by the _Mayor_ upon a Quarrel between them.\n\nI WOULD have it here observed, that as the Advice I have been giving is\nfounded upon this Principle, that the best Method for stopping\nInfection, is to separate the _Healthy_ from the _Diseased_; so in small\nTowns and Villages, where it is practicable, if the _Sound_ remove\nthemselves into _Barracks_, or the like airy Habitations, it may\nprobably be even more useful, than to remove the _Sick_. This Method has\nbeen found beneficial in _France_ after all others have failed. But the\nSuccess of this proves the Method of _Removing the Sick_, where this\nother cannot be practised, to be the most proper of any.\n\nWHEN the _sick Families_ are gone, all the Goods of the Houses, in which\nthey were, should be _buried_ deep under Ground. This I prefer to\n_burning_ them: because, especially in a close Place, some infectious\nParticles may possibly be dispersed by the Smoak through the\nNeighbourhood; according to what _Mercurialis_ relates, that the\n_Plague_ in _Venice_ was augmented by burning a large Quantity of\ninfected Goods in the City[83]. A learned Physician of my Acquaintance\nlately communicated to me the Relation of a Case, (given to him by an\nApothecary, who was at the Place when the Thing happened) very proper\nto be here mentioned. The Story is this. At _Shipston_, a little Town\nupon the River _Stour_ in _Worcestershire_, a poor Vagabond was seen\nwalking in the Streets with the _Small-Pox_ upon him. The People\nfrightened took Care to have him carried to a little House, seated upon\na Hill, at some Distance from the Town, providing him with Necessaries.\nIn a few Days the Man died. They ordered him to be buried deep in the\nGround, and the House with his Cloaths to be burnt. The Wind, being\npretty high, blew the Smoak upon the Houses on one Side of the Town: In\nthat Part, a few Days after, eight Persons were seized with the\n_Small-Pox_. So dangerous is _Heat_ in all Kinds of pestilential\nDistempers, and so diffusive of Contagion. And moreover the Houses\nthemselves may likewise be demolished or pulled down, if that can\nconveniently be done; that is, if they are remote enough from others:\notherwise it may suffice to have them thoroughly cleansed, and then\nplastered up. And after this, all possible Care ought still to be taken\nto remove whatever Causes are found to breed and promote _Contagion_. In\norder to this, the _Overseers_ of the Poor (who might be assisted herein\nby other Officers) should visit the Dwellings of all the meaner Sort of\nthe Inhabitants; and where they find them _stifled up too close_ and\n_nasty_, should lessen their Number by sending some into better\nLodgings, and should take Care, by all Manner of Provision and\nEncouragement, to make them more _cleanly_ and _sweet_.\n\nNO good Work carries its own Reward with it so much as this kind of\n_Charity_: and therefore, be the Expence what it will, it must never be\nthought unreasonable. For nothing approaches so near to the first\nOriginal of the _Plague_, as Air pent up, loaded with Damps, and\ncorrupted with the Filthiness, that proceeds from _Animal Bodies_.\n\nOUR _common Prisons_ afford us an Instance of something like this, where\nvery few escape what they call the _Goal Fever_, which is always\nattended with a Degree of _Malignity_ in Proportion to the _Closeness_\nand _Stench_ of the Place: and it would certainly very well become the\nWisdom of the Government, as well with regard to the Health of the\n_Town_, as in Compassion to the _Prisoners_, to take Care, that all\n_Houses of Confinement_ should be kept as airy and clean, as is\nconsistent with the Use, to which they are designed.\n\nTHE _Black Assise_ at _Oxford_, held in the Castle there in the Year\n1577, will never be forgot[84]; at which the _Judges_, _Gentry_, and\nalmost all that were present, to the Number of three hundred, were\nkilled by a _poisonous Steam_, thought by some to have broken forth from\nthe _Earth_; but by a _noble_ and _great_ Philosopher[85] more justly\nsupposed to have been brought by the _Prisoners_ out of the _Goal_ into\n_Court_; it being observed, that they alone were not injured by it.\n\nAT the same Time, that this Care is taken of _Houses_, the proper\nOfficers should be strictly charged to see that the _Streets_ be washed\nand kept clean from _Filth_, _Carrion_, and all manner of _Nusances_;\nwhich should be carried away in the _Night Time_: nor should the\n_Laystalls_ be suffered to be too near the City. _Beggers_ and _idle\nPersons_ should be taken up, and such miserable Objects, as are neither\nfit for the common _Hospitals_, nor _Work-Houses_, should be provided\nfor in an _Hospital of Incurables_.\n\nORDERS indeed of this Kind are necessary to be observed at all Times,\nespecially in populous Cities; and therefore I am sorry to take Notice,\nthat in these of _London_ and _Westminster_ there is no good _Police_\nestablished in these Respects: for want of which the Citizens and\nGentry are every Day annoyed more ways than one.\n\nIF these early _Precautions_, we have mentioned, prove successful, there\nwill be no need of any Methods for _Correcting the Air_, _Purifying\nHouses_, or of _Rules for preserving particular Persons from Infection_:\nto all which, if the _Plague_ get head, so that the _Sick_ are too many\nto be removed (as they will be when the Disease has raged for a\nconsiderable Time) Regard must be had.\n\nAS to the _first_: _Fire_ has been almost universally recommended for\nthis Purpose, both by the Ancients and Moderns; who have advised to make\nfrequent and numerous _Fires_ in the Towns infected. This _Precept_, I\nthink, is almost entirely founded upon a Tradition, that _Hippocrates_\nput a stop to a _Plague_ in _Greece_ by this means. But it is to be\nobserved, that there is no mention made of any Thing like it in the\nWorks of _Hippocrates_. The best Authority we have for it, is the\nTestimony of _Galen_, though it is also mentioned by other Authors.\n_Galen_, recommending _Theriaca_ against the _Pestilence_, has thought\nfit, it seems, to compare it to _Fire_; and, upon this Conceit, relates,\nthat _Hippocrates_ cured a _Plague_, which came from _Æthiopia_ into\n_Greece_, by purifying the Air with _Fires_; into which were thrown\nsweet-scented Herbs, and Flowers, together with Ointments of the finest\nFlavour. It is remarkable, that among the _Epistles_ ascribed to\n_Hippocrates_, which, though not genuine, yet are older than _Galen_,\nthere is a _Decree_ said to be made by the _Athenians_ in Honour of this\nFather of Physicians, which, making mention of the Service he had done\nhis Country in a _Plague_, says only, that he sent his Scholars into\nseveral Parts, with proper Instructions to cure the Disease. By which it\nshould seem, that this Story of the _Fires_ was hardly or not at all\nknown at the Time, when these _Letters_ were compiled. And _Soranus_ may\nyet more confirm us, that it was framed long after the Death of\n_Hippocrates_: for _Soranus_ only says in general, that _Hippocrates_\nforetold the coming of the _Pestilence_, and took care of the Cities of\n_Greece_; without any mention of having used this particular Expedient.\n_Plutarch_ indeed speaks of a Practice like this as commonly approved\namong Physicians, which he makes use of to illustrate a certain Custom\nof the _Egyptians_: of whom he says, that they _purify_ the Air by the\nFumes of _Resin_ and _Myrrh_, as Physicians correct the Foulness, and\nattenuate the Thickness thereof in Times of _Pestilence_, by _burning\nSweet-Woods_, _Juniper_, _Cypress_[86] &c.\n\nTHIS I take to be the Sum of what can be learned from Antiquity in\nRelation to this Point; from whence we may see, that Writers have\nconcluded a little too hastily for the use of _common Fires_ in this\nCase, upon the Authority and Example of _Hippocrates_, though we should\nallow the Fact as related by _Galen_: when it will not from thence\nappear that _Hippocrates_ himself relied upon them; since he thought it\nnecessary to take in the Assistance of _aromatic Fumes_. But as this\nFact is not grounded upon sufficient Authority, so it is needless to\ninsist long upon it. The Passage I have brought from _Plutarch_ will\nbetter explain what was the Sentiment of those Physicians who approved\nthe Practice. It seems they expected from thence to dispel the Thickness\nand Foulness of the Air. And no doubt but such evil Dispositions of the\nAir, as proceed from _Damps_, _Exhalations_, and the like, may be\ncorrected even by _common Fires_, and the Predisposition of it from\nthese Causes to receive Infection sometimes removed. But I think this\nMethod, if it be necessary, should be put in Practice before the coming\nof the _Pestilence_. For when the Distemper is actually _begun_, and\nrages, since it is known to _spread_ and _increased_ by the _Heat_ of\nthe _Summer_, and on the contrary checked by the _Cold_ in _Winter_;\nundoubtedly, whatever increases that _Heat_, will so far add Force to\nthe Disease: as _Mercurialis_ takes notice, that _Smiths_, and all those\nwho worked at the _Fire_ were most severely used in the _Plague_ at\n_Venice_ in his Time[87]. Whether the Service _Fires_ may do by\ncorrecting any other ill Qualities of the Air, will counterbalance the\nInconvenience upon this Account, Experience only can determine: and the\nfatal Success of the Trials made here in the last _Plague_, is more than\nsufficient to discourage any farther Attempts of this Nature. For\n_Fires_ being ordered in all the _Streets_ for three Days together,\nthere died in one Night following no less than four thousand (if we may\nbelieve Dr. _Hodges_:) whereas in any single Week before or after, never\ntwice that Number were carried off[88]. And we find that upon making\nthe same Experiment in the last _Plague_ at _Marseilles_, the Contagion\nwas every Day spread more and more thro' the City with increas'd Rage\nand Violence[89].\n\nWHAT has been said of _Fires_, is likewise to be understood of _Firing\nof Guns_, which some have too rashly advised. The proper Correction of\nthe Air would be to make it _fresh_ and _cool_: Accordingly the\n_Arabians_[90], who were best acquainted with the Nature of\n_Pestilences_, advise People to keep themselves as _airy_ as possible,\nand to chuse Dwellings exposed to the Wind, situate high, and refreshed\nwith running Waters.\n\nAS for _Houses_, the first Care ought to be to keep them _clean_: for as\n_Nastiness_ is a great Source of _Infection_, so _Cleanliness_ is the\ngreatest Preservative; which shews us the true Reason, why the _Poor_\nare most obnoxious to _Contagious Diseases_. It is remarked of the\n_Persians_, that though their Country is surrounded every Year with the\n_Plague_, they seldom or never suffer any Thing by it themselves: and it\nis likewise known, that they are the most _cleanly_ People of any in the\nWorld, and that many among them make it a great Part of their Religion\nto remove _Filthiness_ and _Nusances_ of every Kind from all Places\nabout their Cities and Dwellings[91].\n\nBESIDES this, the _Arabians_ advise the keeping Houses _cool_, as\nanother Method of their _Purification_, and therefore, to answer this\nEnd more fully, they directed to strew them with _cooling_ Herbs, as\n_Roses_, _Violets_, _Water-Lilies_, &c. and to be washed with _Water_\nand _Vinegar_: than all which, especially the last, nothing more proper\ncan be proposed. I think it not improper likewise to _fume_ Houses with\n_Vinegar_, either alone or together with _Nitre_, by throwing it upon a\n_hot Iron_ or _Tile_; though this be directly contrary to what modern\nAuthors mostly advise, which is to make Fumes with hot things, as\n_Benzoin_, _Frankincense_, _Storax_, &c. from which I see no reason to\nexpect any Virtue to destroy the Matter of _Infection_, or to keep\nparticular Places from a Disposition to receive it; which are the only\nthings here to be aimed at. The _Smoak_ of _Sulphur_, perhaps, as it\nabounds with an _acid Spirit_, which is found by Experience to be very\n_penetrating_, and to have a great Power to repress _Fermentations_, may\npromise some Service this way.\n\nAS hot Fumes appear to be generally _useless_, so the Steams of\n_Poisonous Minerals_ ought to be reckoned _dangerous_: and therefore I\ncannot but dissuade the use of all _Fumigations_ with _Mercury_ or\n_Arsenic_. Much less would I advise, as some have done, the wearing\n_Arsenic_ upon the _Pit_ of the _Stomach_ as an _Amulet_: since this\nPractice has been often attended with very ill Consequences, and is not\ngrounded upon any good Authority, but probably derived from an Error in\nmistaking the _Arabian_ Word _Darsini_, which signifies _Cinnamon_, for\nthe _Latin de Arsenico_, as I have formerly shewn[92].\n\nTHE next thing after the _Purifying of Houses_, is to consider by what\nMeans particular _Persons_ may best defend themselves against\n_Contagion_: for the certain doing of which, it would be necessary to\nput the _Humours_ of the _Body_ into such a State, as not to be\nalterable by the _Matter of Infection_. But since this is no more to be\nhoped for, than a _Specific Preservative_ from the _Small-Pox_; the most\nthat can be done, will be to keep the Body in such Order, that it may\nsuffer as little as possible. The _first Step_ towards which, is to\nmaintain a good State of Health, in which we are always least liable to\nsuffer by any external Injuries; and not to weaken the Body by\nEvacuations. The _next_ is, to guard against all _Dejection of Spirits_,\nand _immoderate Passions_: for these we daily observe do expose Persons\nto the more common _Contagion_ of the _Small-Pox_. These Ends will be\nbest answered by living with Temperance upon a good generous Diet, and\nby avoiding _Fastings_, _Watchings_, _extreme Weariness_, &c. _Another_\nDefence is, to use whatever Means are proper to keep the _Blood_ from\n_Inflaming_. This, if it does not secure from _contracting Infection_,\nwill at least make the _Effects_ of it less violent. The most proper\nMeans for this, according to the Advice of the _Arabian_ Physicians, is\nthe repeated Use of _acid Fruits_, as _Pomegranates_, _Sevil Oranges_,\n_Lemons_, _Tart Apples_, &c. But above all, of _Wine Vinegar_ in small\nQuantities, rendered grateful to the Stomach by the Infusion of some\nsuch Ingredients as _Gentian Root_, _Galangal_, _Zedoary_, _Juniper\nBerries_, &c. Which Medicines by correcting the _Vinegar_, and taking\noff some ill Effects it might otherwise have upon the Stomach, will be\nof good Use: but these, and all other hot _aromatic_ Drugs, though much\nrecommended by Authors, if used alone, are most likely to do hurt by\n_over-heating_ the Blood.\n\nI CANNOT but recommend likewise the Use of _Issues_. The properest Place\nfor them I take to be the inside of the Thigh a little above the Knee.\nBesides, the smoaking _Tobacco_, much applauded by some, since it may be\nput in Practice without any great Inconvenience, need not, I think, be\nneglected.\n\nBUT since none of these Methods promise any certain Protection; as\n_leaving_ the Place infected is the surest _Preservative_, so the next\nto it is to avoid, as much as may be, the _near Approach_ to the _Sick_,\nor to such as have but _lately recovered_. For the greater Security\nherein, it will be adviseable to avoid all _Crouds of People_. Nay, it\nshould be the Care of the _Magistrate_ to prohibit all unnecessary\n_Assemblies_: and likewise to oblige all, who get over the Disease, to\n_confine_ themselves for some time, before they appear abroad.\n\nTHE Advice to keep at a Distance from the _Sick_, is also to be\nunderstood of the _Dead Bodies_; which should be _buried_ at as great a\nDistance from Dwelling-Houses, as may be; put _deep_ in the Earth; and\n_covered_ with the exactest Care; but not with _Quick-Lime_ thrown in\nwith them, as has been the Manner abroad: For I cannot but think that\n_This_, by _Fermenting_ with the putrefying Humours of the Carcases, may\ngive rise to noxious Exhalations from the Ground. They should likewise\nbe _carried out_ in the _Night_, while they are yet fresh and free from\n_Putrefaction_: Because a Carcase not yet beginning to corrupt, if kept\nfrom the Heat of the Day, hardly emits any kind of Steam or Vapour.\n\nAS for those, who must of necessity attend the _Sick_; some farther\nDirections should be added for their Use. These may be comprehended in\ntwo short Precepts. _One_ is, not to _swallow their Spittle_ while they\nare about the _Sick_, but rather to _spit_ it out: _The other_, not so\nmuch as to _draw in their Breath_, when they are very near them. The\nreason for both these appears from what has been said above concerning\nthe Manner, in which a sound Person receives the Infection. But in case\nit be too difficult constantly to comply with these _Cautions_,\n_washing_ the _Mouth_ frequently with _Vinegar_, and _holding_ to the\n_Nostrils_ a _Sponge_ wet with the same, may in some measure supply\ntheir Place.\n\nTHIS is the Sum of what I think most likely to stop the Progress of the\n_Disease_ in any Place, where it shall have got Admittance. If some few\nof these Rules refer more particularly to the City of _London_, with\nsmall Alteration they may be applied to any other _Place_. It now\nremains therefore only to lay down some Directions to hinder the\nDistemper's spreading from _Town_ to _Town_. The best Method for which,\nwhere it can be done, (for this is not practicable in very great Cities)\nis to cast up a _Line_ about the _Town infected_, at a convenient\nDistance; and by placing a _Guard_, to hinder People's passing from it\nwithout due Regulation, to other Towns: but not absolutely to forbid any\nto withdraw themselves, as was done in _France_, according to the usual\nPractice abroad; which is an unnecessary Severity, not to call it a\nCruelty. I think it will be enough, if all, who desire to pass the\n_Line_, be permitted to do it, upon Condition they first perform\n_Quarantaine_ for about twenty Days in _Tents_, or other more convenient\n_Habitations_. But the greatest care must be taken, that none pass\nwithout conforming themselves to this Order; both by keeping diligent\n_Watch_, and by _punishing_, with the utmost Severity, any that shall\neither have done so, or attempt it. And the better to discover _such_,\nit will be requisite to oblige all, who travel in any Part of the\nCountry, under the same Penalties, to carry with them _Certificates_\neither of their coming from Places not _infected_, or of their passing\nthe _Line_ by Permission.\n\nTHIS I take to be a more effectual Method to keep the _Infection_ from\nspreading, than the absolute refusing a Passage to People upon any\nTerms. For when Men are in such imminent Danger of their Lives where\nthey are, many, no doubt, if not otherwise allowed to escape, will use\nEndeavours to do it secretly, let the Hazard be ever so great. And it\ncan hardly be, but some will succeed in their Attempts; as we see it\nhas often happen'd in _France_, notwithstanding all their Care. But one\nthat gets off thus clandestinely, will be more likely to carry the\nDistemper with him, than twenty, nay a hundred, that go away under the\npreceding Restrictions: especially because the _Infection_ of the Place,\nhe flies from, will by this Management be rendered much more intense.\nFor confining People, and shutting them up together in great Numbers,\nwill make the Distemper rage with augmented Force, even to the\nincreasing it beyond what can be easily imagined: as appears from the\nAccount which the learned _Gassendus_[93] has given us of a memorable\n_Plague_, which happened at _Digne_ in _Provence_, where he lived, in\nthe Year 1629. This was so terrible, that in one _Summer_, out of _ten\nthousand_ Inhabitants, it left but _fifteen hundred_, and of them all\nbut _five_ or _six_ had gone through the _Disease_. And he assigns\n_this_, as the principal Cause of the great Destruction, that the\nCitizens were too closely confined, and not suffered so much as to go to\ntheir Country-Houses. Whereas in another _Pestilence_, which broke out\nin the same Place a Year and an half after, more Liberty being allowed,\nthere did not die above _one hundred_ Persons.\n\nFOR these Reasons, I think, to allow People with proper _Cautions_ to\nremove from an infected Place, is the best Means to suppress the\n_Contagion_, as well as the most humane Treatment of the present\nSufferers: and, under these Limitations, the Method of _investing_\nTowns infected, which is certainly the most proper, that can be advised,\nto keep the Disease from spreading, will be no Inconvenience to the\nPlaces _surrounded_. On the contrary, it will rather be useful to them;\nsince the Guard may establish such _Regulations_ for the Safety of\nthose, who shall bring Provisions, as shall remove the Fears, which\nmight otherwise discourage them.\n\nTHE securing against all Apprehensions of this Kind, is of so great\nImportance, that in _Cities_ too large to be invested, as, for Example,\nthis City of _London_, the _Magistrates_ must use all possible Diligence\nto supply this Defect, not only by setting up _Barriers_ without their\nCity, but by making it in the most particular manner their Care to\nappoint such _Orders_ to be observed at them, as they shall judge will\nbe most satisfactory to the Country about.\n\nTHOUGH Liberty ought to be given to the _People_, yet no sort of _Goods_\nmust by any means be suffered to be carried over the _Line_, which are\nmade of _Materials_ retentive of _Infection_. For in the present Case,\nwhen _Infection_ has seized any Part of a Country, much greater Care\nought to be taken, that no _Seeds_ of the _Contagion_ be conveyed about,\nthan when the Distemper is at a great Distance: because a _Bale of\nGoods_, which shall have imbibed the _Contagious Aura_ when pack'd up in\n_Turky_, or any remote Parts, when unpack'd here, may chance to meet\nwith so healthful a Temperament of our Air, that it shall not do much\nhurt. But when the Air of any one of our Towns shall be so corrupted,\nas to maintain and spread the _Pestilence_ in it, there will be little\nReason to believe, that the Air of the rest of the Country is in a much\nbetter State.\n\nFOR the same Reason _Quarantaines_ should more strictly be enjoined,\nwhen the _Plague_ is in a bordering Kingdom, than when it is more\nremote.\n\nTHE Advice here given with respect to _Goods_, is not only abundantly\nconfirmed from the Proofs, I have given above, that _Goods_ have a Power\nof spreading _Contagion_ to distant Places; but might be farther\nillustrated by many Instances of ill Effects from the Neglect of this\nCaution in Times of the _Plague_. I shall mention two, which happen'd\namong us during the last _Plague_. I have had occasion already to\nobserve, that the _Plague_ was in _Poole_. It was carried to that Place\nby some _Goods_ contained in a _Pedlar's Pack_. The _Plague_ was\nlikewise at _Eham_ in the Peak of _Derbyshire_, being brought thither by\nmeans of a Box sent from _London_ to a Taylor in that Village,\ncontaining some Materials relating to his Trade. There being several\nIncidents in this latter Instance, that will not only serve to establish\nin particular the Precepts I have been giving, in relation to Goods, but\nlikewise all the rest of the Directions, that have been set down, for\nstopping the Progress of the _Plague_ from one Town to another; I shall\nfinish this Chapter with a particular Relation of what passed in that\nPlace. A Servant, who first opened the foresaid _Box_, complaining that\nthe Goods were damp, was ordered to dry them at the Fire; but in doing\nit, was seized with the _Plague_, and died: the same Misfortune\nextended itself to all the rest of the Family, except the Taylor's Wife,\nwho alone survived. From hence the Distemper spread about and destroyed\nin that Village, and the rest of the Parish, though a small one, between\ntwo and three hundred Persons. But notwithstanding this so great\nViolence of the Disease, it was restrained from reaching beyond that\nParish by the Care of the Rector; from whose Son, and another worthy\nGentleman, I have the Relation. This Clergyman advised, that the _Sick_\nshould be removed into _Hutts_ or _Barracks_ built upon the _Common_;\nand procuring by the Interest of the then Earl of _Devonshire_, that the\nPeople should be well furnished with Provisions, he took effectual Care,\nthat no one should go out of the Parish: and by this means he protected\nhis Neighbours from Infection with compleat Success.\n\nI have now gone through the chief Branches of _Preservation_ against the\n_Plague_, and shall conclude with some general Directions concerning the\n_Cure_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAP. III.\n\n_Of the Cure of the Plague._\n\n\nIT appears, from what has been said in the beginning of this Discourse,\nthat the _Plague_ and the _Small-Pox_ are Diseases, which bear a great\nSimilitude to each other: both being _Contagious Fevers_ from _Africa_,\nand both attended with certain _Eruptions_. And as the _Eruptions_ or\n_Pustules_ in the _Small-Pox_ are of two Kinds, which has caused the\nDistemper to be divided into two Species, the _distinct_ and\n_confluent_; so we have shewn two Sorts of _Eruptions_ or _Tumors_\nlikewise to attend the _Plague_. In the first and mildest Kind of the\n_Small-Pox_ the _Pustules_ rise high above the Surface of the Skin, and\ncontain a digested _Pus_; but in the other, the _Pustules_ lie flat, and\nare filled with an indigested _Sanies_. The two kinds of critical\n_Tumors_ in the _Plague_ are yet more different. In the most favourable\nCase the _Morbific Matter_ is thrown upon some of the softest _Glands_\nnear the Surface of the Body, as upon the _inguinal_, _axillary_,\n_parotid_, or _maxillary_ Glands: the first Appearance of which is a\nsmall Induration, great Heat, Redness, and sharp Pain near those Glands.\nThese _Tumors_, if the Patient recover, like the _Pustules_ of the\ndistinct _Small-Pox_, come to a just Suppuration, and thereby discharge\nthe Disease. In worse Cases of the Distemper, either instead of these\n_Tumors_, or together with them, _Carbuncles_ are raised. The first\nAppearance of them is a very small indurated _Tumor_, not situate near\nany of the fore-mention'd Glands, with a dusky Redness, violent Heat,\nvast Pain, and a blackish _Spot_ in the middle of the _Tumor_. This\n_Spot_ is the beginning of a _Gangrene_, which spreads itself more and\nmore as the _Tumor_ increases.\n\nBUT, besides the Agreement in these critical Discharges, the two\nDistempers have yet a more manifest Likeness in those _livid_ and _black\nSpots_, which are frequent in the _Plague_, and the Signs of speedy\nDeath: for the same are sometimes found to attend the _Small-Pox_ with\nas fatal a Consequence; nay, I have seen Cases, when almost every\n_Pustule_ has taken this Appearance. Moreover, in both Diseases, when\neminently malignant, Blood is sometimes voided by the Mouth, by Urine,\nor the like[94]. And we may farther add, that in both Death is usually\ncaused by Mortifications in the _Viscera_. This has constantly been\nfound in the _Plague_ by the Physicians in _France_: and I am convinced,\nfrom Accounts I have by me, of the Dissection of a great many, who had\ndied of the _Small-Pox_, that it is the same in that Distemper.\n\nTHIS Analogy between the two Diseases, not only shews us, that we\ncannot expect to cure the _Plague_ any more than the _Small-Pox_, by\n_Antidotes_ and _Specific Medicines_; but will likewise direct us in the\nCure of the Distemper, with which we are less acquainted, by the Methods\nfound useful in the other Disease, which is more familiar to us.\n\nIN short, as in the _Small-Pox_, the chief Part of the Management\nconsists in clearing the _Primæ Viæ_ in the beginning; in regulating the\nFever; and in promoting the natural Discharges: so in the _Plague_ the\nsame Indications will have Place. The great Difference lies in this,\nthat in the _Plague_ the Fever is often much more acute than in the\nother Distemper; the Stomach and Bowels are sometimes inflamed; and the\nEruptions require external Applications, which to the _Pustules_ of the\n_Small-Pox_ are not necessary.\n\nWHEN the Fever is very acute, a cool _Regimen_, commonly so beneficial\nin the _Small-Pox_, is here still more necessary. But whenever the Pulse\nis languid, and the Heat not excessive, moderate Cordials must be used.\n\nTHE Disposition of the Stomach and Bowels to be inflamed, makes\n_Vomiting_ not so generally safe in the _Plague_ as in the _Small-Pox_.\nThe most gentle _Emetics_ ought to be used, none better than\n_Ipecacuanha_; and great Caution must be had, that the Stomach or Bowels\nare not inflamed, when they are administer'd: for if they are, nothing\nbut certain Death can be expected from them: otherwise at the beginning\nthey will be always useful. Therefore upon the first Illness of the\nPatient it must carefully be considered, whether there appear any\nSymptoms of an Inflammation having seized these Parts: if there are any\nMarks of this, all _Vomits_ must be omitted; if not, the Stomach ought\nto be gently moved.\n\nTHE _Eruptions_, whether _glandular Tumors_, or _Carbuncles_, must not\nbe left to the Course of Nature, as is done in the _Small-Pox_; but all\nDiligence must be used, by external Applications, to bring them to\n_Suppurate_. Both these _Tumors_ are to be treated in most respects\nalike. As soon as either of them appears, fix a _Cupping-Glass_ to it\nwithout _scarifying_; and when that is removed, apply a _suppurative\nCataplasm_, or _Plaster_ of warm Gums.\n\nIF the _Tumors_ do not come to _Suppuration_, which the _Carbuncle_\nseldom or never does; but if a thin _Ichor_ or Matter exudes through the\nPores; or if the _Tumor_ feel soft to the Touch; or lastly, if it has a\nblack _Crust_ upon it, then it must be _opened_ by _Incision_, either\naccording to the length of the _Tumor_, or by a _crucial Section_. And\nif there is any Part _mortified_, as is usually in the _Carbuncle_, it\nmust be _scarified_. This being done, it will be necessary to stop the\nBleeding, and dry up the _Moisture_ with an _actual Cautery_, dressing\nthe Wound afterwards with _Dossils_, and _Pledgits_ spread with the\ncommon _Digestive_ made with _Terebinth. cum Vitel. Ov._ and dip'd in a\nMixture of two Parts of warmed Oil of _Turpentine_, and one Part of _Sp.\nSal. Ammon._ or in _Bals. Terebinth._ and over all must be put a\n_Cataplasm of Theriac. Lond._\n\nTHE next Day the Wound ought to be well _bathed_ with a _Fomentation_\nmade of warm _aromatic_ Plants with Spirit of Wine in it; in order, if\npossible, to make the Wound digest, by which the _Sloughs_ will\nseparate. After this the _Ulcer_ may be treated as one from an ordinary\n_Abscess_.\n\nFARTHER, in the _glandular Tumors_, when they suppurate, we ought not to\nwait, till the _Matter_ has made its way to the outer Skin, but to open\nit as soon as it is risen to any Bigness: because these _Tumors_ begin\ndeep in the Gland, and often mortify, before the Suppuration has reached\nthe Skin, as the Physicians in _France_ have found upon dissecting many\ndead Bodies.\n\nTHIS is the Method in which the _Plague_ must be treated in following\nthe natural Course of the Distemper. But the Patient in most Cases runs\nso great Hazard in this way, notwithstanding the utmost Care, that it\nwould be of the greatest Service to Mankind under this Calamity, if some\nartificial Discharge for the corrupted Humours could be found out, not\nliable to so great Hazard, as the natural Way. To this Purpose _large\nBleeding_ and _profuse Sweating_ are recommended to us upon some\nExperience.\n\nDR. _Sydenham_ tried both these Evacuations with good Success, and has\nmade two very judicious Remarks upon them. The _first_ is, that they\nought not to be attempted unless in the Beginning of the Sickness,\nbefore the natural Course of the Distemper has long taken Place:\nbecause otherwise we can only expect to put all into Confusion without\nany Advantage. His _other_ Observation is, that we cannot expect any\nprosperous Event from either of these Evacuations, unless they are very\ncopious: there being no Prospect of surmounting so violent a Malignity\nwithout bolder Methods than must be taken in ordinary Cases.\n\nAS for _Bleeding_, by some Accounts from _France_, I have been informed,\nthat some of the Physicians there have carried this Practice so far, as\nupon the first Day of the Distemper to begin with bleeding about twelve\nOunces, and then to take away four or five Ounces every two Hours after.\nThey pretend to extraordinary Success from this Method, with the\nAssistance only of cooling _Ptisanes_, and such like Drinks, which they\ngive plentifully at the same Time. Such profuse Bleeding as this may\nperhaps not suit with our Constitutions so well as with theirs; for in\ncommon Cases they use this Practice much more freely than we: Yet we\nmust draw Blood with a more liberal Hand than in any other Case, if we\nexpect Success from it. I shall excuse myself from defining exactly how\nlarge a Quantity of Blood is requisite to be drawn, for want of\nparticular Experience: but I think fit to give this Admonition, that, in\nso desperate a Case as this, it is more prudent to run some hazard of\nexceeding, than to let the Patient perish for want of due Evacuation.\n\nAS for _Sweating_, which is the other Method proposed, it ought, no\ndoubt, to be continued without Intermission full twenty-four Hours, as\nDr. _Sydenham_ advises. He is so particular in his Directions about it,\nthat I need say little. I shall only add, that _Theriaca_, and the like\nsolid Medicines, being offensive to the Stomach, are not the most proper\n_Sudorifics_. I should rather commend an Infusion in boiling Water of\n_Virginia Snake-Root_, or, in want of this, of some other warm\n_Aromatic_, with the Addition of about a fourth Part of _Aqua\nTheriacalis_, and a proper Quantity of Syrup of Lemons to sweeten it.\nFrom which, in Illnesses of the same kind with the _Goal Fever_, which\napproaches the nearest to the _Pestilence_, I have seen very good\nEffects.\n\nWHETHER either of these Methods, of _Bleeding_, or of _Sweating_, will\nanswer the Purpose intended by them, must be left to a larger Experience\nto determine; and the Trial ought by no means to be neglected,\nespecially in those Cases, which promise but little Success from the\nnatural Course of the Disease.\n\n_FINIS._\n\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] See the Dedication.\n\n[2] _Vide_ Huet. De rebus ad eum pertinentibus, _pag._ 23.\n\n[3] Observations sur la Peste de Marseille, p. 38, 39, 40.\n\n[4] Ibid. _p._ 113.\n\n[5] _Vid._ Philos. Transactions No. 370.\n\n[6] Le Journal des Sçavans, 1722. _pag._ 279.\n\n[7] _Vid._ Dissertation sur la Contagion de la Peste. A Toulouse 1724.\n\n[8] _Vid._ Mechanical Account of Poisons, _pag._ 24.\n\n[9] Vid. Philos. Trans. No. 372.\n\n[10] _Vid._ Lettre de Messieurs _Le Moine_ et _Bailly_.\n\n[11] Astruc, Dissertation sur la Contagion de la Peste. A Toulouse,\n1724. 8o.\n\n[12] _Diemerbroek_ De Peste, _p._ 120.\n\n[13] In these Words, _Where it can be done_.\n\n[14] _Vid._ the _Gazettes_ of the Years 1665. _and_ 1666.\n\n[15] Celsus de Medic. in Praesat. Morbos ad iram deorum immortalium\nrelatos esse, et ab iisdem opem posci solitam.\n\n[16] Libr. De morbo sacro; et libr. De aëre, locis, et aquis.\n\n[17] Observat. et Reflex, touchant la Nature, etc. de la Peste de\nMarseilles, pag. 47. et suiv.\n\n[18] Journal de la Contagion à Marseilles, pag. 6.\n\n[19] Lib. 2. +Hoti heteros aph' heterou, therapeias\nanapimplamenoi, hôsper ta probata ethnêskon; kai ton pleiston phthoron\ntouto enepoiei; eite gar mê theloien dediotes allêlois prosienai,\napôllunto erêmoi, kai oikiai pollai ekenôthêsan aporia tou\ntherapeusantos; eite prosioien, diephtheironto, kai malista hoi aretês\nti metapoioumenoi.+ The beginning of this Passage, as it here stands,\nthough it is found thus in all the Editions of _Thucydides_, is\ncertainly faulty, +therapeias anapimplamenoi+ being no good\nSense. The Sentence I shall presently cite from _Aristotle_ shews that\nthis may be rectified only by removing the Comma after +heterou+,\nand placing it after +therapeias+, for +prosanapimplêmi+\nin _Aristotle_ absolutely used signifies _to infect_. With this\nCorrection, the Sense of the Place will be as follows: _The People took\nInfection by their Attendance on each other, dying like Folds of Sheep.\nAnd this Effect of the Disease was the principal Cause of the great\nMortality: for either the Sick were left destitute, their Friends\nfearing to approach them, by which means Multitudes of Families perished\nwithout Assistance; or they infected those who relieved them, and\nespecially such, whom a Sense of Virtue and Honour obliged most to their\nDuty._\n\nThe Sense here ascribed to the word +anapimplêmi+ is confirmed\nyet more fully by a Passage in _Livy_, where he describes the Infection\nattending a Plague or Camp Fever, which infested the Armies of the\n_Carthaginians_ and _Romans_ at the Siege of _Syracuse_, in such words,\nas shew him to have had this Passage of _Thucydides_ in view; for he\nsays, _aut neglecti desertique, qui incidissent, morerentur; aut\nassidentes curantesque eadem vi morbi repletos secum traherent_. Lib.\nxxv. c. 26.\n\n[20] L. 6. v. 1234.\n\n  ----nullo cessabant tempore apisci\n  Ex aliis alios avidi contagia morbi.\n\nEt v. 1241.\n\n  Qui fuerant autem praesto, Contagibus ibant.\n\n\n[21] Sect. I. +Dia ti pote ho loimos monê tôn nosôn malista tous\nplêsiazontas tois therapeuomenois prosanapimplêsi?+\n\n[22] +Peri diaphoras pyretôn, Bib. 1.+\n\n[23] De Peste, c. iv. annot. 6.\n\n[24] Evagrii Histor. Eccles. l. iv. c. 29.\n\n[25] Gastaldi De avertenda et profliganda Peste, p. 117.\n\n[26] Ibid. p. 118.\n\n[27] Ibid. p. 117.\n\n[28] See Bills of Mortality for the Year 1665.\n\n[29] The Sweating Sickness.\n\n[30] Nat. Hist. l. vii. c. 50.\n\n[31] Histor. l. ii.\n\n[32] Histor. Ecclesiast. l. iv. c. 29.\n\n[33] De Bello Persico, l. ii. c. 22.\n\n[34] Vid. Hodges De Peste.\n\n[35] Vid. Istorie di Matteo Villanni, l. I. c. 2.\n\n[36] Mezeray Hist. de France, Tom. i. p. 798.\n\n[37] Villani, loco citato.\n\n[38] Vid. Huet. Histoire du Commerce des Anciens, p. 88.\n\n[39] Relation Historique de tout ce qui s'est passé à Marseille pendant\nla derniere Peste.\n\n[40] Vid. Serv. Comment. in Virgil. Æneid, l. iii. v. 57.\n\n[41] This was a kind of _Expiatory Sacrifice_, as the _Scape-Goat_ among\nthe Jews, _Levit._ xvi. And the Wretches thus devoted to dye for the\nSins of the People were called +Katharmata+, _Purgations_. Vid.\nAristophan. in Plut. ver. 454. et in Equit. ver. 1133. et Scholiast.\nibid. _Suidas_ adds that when the Sacrificed Person was cast into the\nWater, these Words were pronounced, +Peripsêma hêmôn genou+, _Be\nthou our Cleansing_. And I observe, by the by, that the Apostle _Paul_,\n1 _Corinth._ iv. 13. alluding very probably to this wicked Custom, makes\nuse of both these Words, where speaking of himself in the plural number,\nhe says, +Hôs perikatharmata tou kosmou egenêthêmen, pantôn peripsêma+;\nfor some of the best MSS. instead of +Os perikatharmata+, read +Hôsper+,\nor +Hôsperei katharmata+; that is, _We have been looked upon as Wretches\nfit only to be Sacrificed for the Public good, and cast out of the World\nby way of Attonement for the Sins of the whole Society._\n\n[42] Vid. Le Brun Voyage au Levant, c. 38.\n\n[43] Vid. Ludolf. Histor. Æthiop. lib. i. c. 13. et D. August. De\ncivitat. Dei, lib. iii. c. ult.\n\n[44] Vid. Ludolf. Histor. Æthiop. lib. i. c. 5. et Comment.\n\n[45] J. Leo Hist. Afric. lib. i.\n\n[46] Lib. vi. v 1100.\n\n[47] Rhas. et Avicen.\n\n[48] Essay on Poysons, p. 178.\n\n[49] Cicero de Nat. Deor. lib. i. § 36. speaking of these Birds, says:\n_Avertunt Pestem ab Aegypto, cum volucres angues ex vastitate Libyae\nvento Africo invectas interficiunt atque consumunt; ex quo fit ut illae\nnec morsu vivae noceant, nec odore mortuae._\n\n[50] Newton's Optics, Qu. 18 to 24.\n\n[51] Gastaldi, De Peste, p. 116.\n\n[52] Journal de ce qui s'est passé à Marseilles, _etc._\n\n[53] Vid. The London Gazette, July 23, 1743.\n\n[54] Kircher, Langius, _&c._\n\n[55] Toulon, Traité de la Peste.\n\n[56] _Hippocr._ Epid. l. iii. That _Hippocrates_ describes here the\nConstitution of Air accompanying the true _Plague_, contrary to what\nsome have thought, _Galen_ testifies in his Comment upon this Place, in\nlibr. De Temper. l. i. c. 4. and in lib. De differentiis Febr. lib. i.\nc. 4.\n\n[57] Vid. _Mercurial._ Prælect. De Pestilent.\n\n[58] Notitia Eccles. Diniensis.\n\n[59] Histor. lib. lxii.\n\n[60] Sydenham De Peste.\n\n[61] Vid. Caium, De Febr. Ephemer. Britan. and Lord _Bacon_'s History of\n_Henry_ VII.\n\n[62] Pag. 162. Edit. Lovan.\n\n[63] Vid. Rondinelli Contagio in Firenze, et Summonte Histor. di Napoli.\n\n[64] Lord _Herbert_'s History of _Henry_ VIII.\n\n[65] Thuani Histor. lib. 5.\n\n[66] Lord _Verulam_'s History of _Henry_ VII.\n\n[67] Vide Sydenham, De Peste, An. 1665.\n\n[68] Boccaccio Decameron. Giornat. prim.\n\n[69] De Contagione, l. iii. c. 7.\n\n[70] Observat. l. vi. Schol. ad Observ. 22.\n\n[71] Diemerbroeck, De Peste, l. 1. c. 4.\n\n[72] Memorials presented by the Deputies of the Council of Trade, in\n_France_, to the Royal Council, Pag. 44 and 45.\n\n[73] Alex. Benedict. De Peste, cap. 3.\n\n[74] In a Paper of Advice against the _Plague_, laid before the King and\nCouncil by Sir _Theod. Mayerne_ in the Year 1631. _MS._\n\n[75] Hodges, De Peste.\n\n[76] Vid. _Directions for the Cure of the_ Plague _by the_ College _of_\nPhysicians; _and Orders by the_ Lord Mayor _and_ Aldermen _of_ London,\n_published_ 1665.\n\n[77] Vid. a Journal of the Plague in 1665. by a Citizen. London, 1722.\n\n[78] Discourse upon the Air, by _Tho. Cock_.\n\n[79] Vid. The shutting up Houses soberly debated, _Anno_ 1665.\n\n[80] Muratori governo della Peste, lib. I. c. 5.\n\n[81] Cardin. Gastaldi, De avertendâ Peste, c. 10.\n\n[82] Journal de ce qui s'est passé à Marseilles, &c. p. 9, 10, 11.\n\n[83] De Pestilent. cap. 21.\n\n[84] Camden. Annal. Regin. Elizab.\n\n[85] Lord _Verulam_, Natural History, Cent. 10. Num. 194.\n\n[86] Plutarch lib. de Isid. et Osir.\n\n[87] De Peste, c. 22.\n\n[88] Hodges, De Peste, pag. 24.\n\n[89] Journal de la Peste de Marseilles, pag. 19. et Relation Historique\nde tout ce qui s'est passé à Marseilles pendant la derniere Peste, pag.\n77.\n\n[90] Rhazes, De re Medica, lib. 4. c. 24. & Avicenn. Can. Med. lib. 4.\nc. 1.\n\n[91] Gaudereau Relation des Especes de la Peste que reconnoissent les\nOrientaux.\n\n[92] Mech. Account of Poisons, Essay III.\n\n[93] Notitia Ecclesiae Diniensis.\n\n[94] Vid. Observ. et Reflex. sur la Peste de Marseilles, p. 333.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nIn the original text, the Preface is printed in italics. For ease of\nreading, non-italicized text in this section is represented by =text=.\n\nIn the remainder of the text, passages in italics are indicated by\n_underscore_.\n\nLong \"s\" has been modernized.\n\nThe original text includes Greek characters. For this text version these\nletters have been replaced with +transliterations+.\n\nThe following misprints have been corrected:\n  \"Phsician\" corrected to \"Physician\" (page 4)\n  \"that that\" corrected to \"that\" (page 50)\n  \"Qarantaine\" corrected to \"Quarantaine\" (page 92)\n  \"the the\" corrected to \"the\" (page 95)\n\nOther than the corrections listed above, inconsistencies in spelling and\nhyphenation have been retained from the original.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's A Discourse on the Plague, by Richard Mead", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32171", "title": "A Discourse on the Plague", "author": "", "publication_year": 1744, "metadata_title": "A Discourse on the Plague", "metadata_author": "Richard Mead", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:24.480942", "source_chars": 160627, "chars": 160627, "talkie_tokens": 41265}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images\ngenerously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries\n(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\nNote: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/witchstories00lintrich\n\n\n\n\n\nWITCH STORIES\n\nCollected by\n\nE. LYNN LINTON,\n\nAuthor of \"Azeth the Egyptian,\" \"Amymone,\" Etc.\n\n\n\n\"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.\"--EXODUS XXII. 18.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon:\nChapman and Hall, 193 Piccadilly.\n1861.\n\n[_The right of Translation reserved._]\n\nLondon: Printed By W. Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIn offering the following collection of witch stories to the public, I do\nnot profess to have exhausted the subject, or to have made so complete a\nsummary as I might have done, had I been admitted into certain private\nlibraries, which contain, I believe, many concealed riches. But I had no\nmeans of introduction to them, and was obliged to be content with such\nauthorities as I found in the British Museum, and the other public\nlibraries to which I had access. I do not think that I have left much\nuntold; but there must be, scattered about England, old MSS. and unique\ncopies of records concerning which I can find only meagre allusions, or\nthe mere names of the victims, without a distinctive fact to mark their\nspecial history. Should this book come to a second edition, any help from\nthe possessors of these hitherto unpublished documents would be a gain to\nthe public, and a privilege which I trust may be afforded me.\n\nNeither have I attempted to enter into the philosophy of the subject. It\nis far too wide and deep to be discussed in a few hasty words; and to sift\nsuch evidence as is left us--to determine what was fraud, what\nself-deception, what actual disease, and what the exaggeration of the\nnarrator--would have swelled my book into a far more important and bulky\nwork than I intended or wished. As a general rule, I think we may apply\nall the four conditions to every case reported; in what proportion, each\nreader must judge for himself. Those who believe in direct and personal\nintercourse between the spirit-world and man, will probably accept every\naccount with the unquestioning belief of the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies; those who have faith in the calm and uniform operations of\nnature, will hold chiefly to the doctrine of fraud; those who have seen\nmuch of disease and that strange condition called \"mesmerism,\" or\n\"sensitiveness,\" will allow the presence of absolute nervous derangement,\nmixed up with a vast amount of conscious deception, which the insane\ncredulity and marvellous ignorance of the time rendered easy to practise;\nand those who have been accustomed to sift evidence and examine witnesses,\nwill be utterly dissatisfied with the loose statements and wild distortion\nof every instance on record.\n\nE. LYNN LINTON.\n\n_London_, 1861.\n\n\n\n\nThe Witches of Scotland\n\n\nScotland was always foremost in superstition. Her wild hills and lonely\nfells seemed the fit haunting-places for all mysterious powers; and long\nafter spirits had fled, and ghosts had been laid in the level plains of\nthe South, they were to be found lingering about the glens and glades of\nScotland. Very little of graceful fancy lighted up the gloom of those\npopular superstitions. Even Elfame, or Faërie, was a place of dread and\nanguish, where the devil ruled heavy-handed and Hell claimed its yearly\ntithe, rather than the home of fun and beauty and petulant gaiety as with\nother nations: and the beautiful White Ladies, like the German Elle-women,\nhad more of bale than bliss as their portion to scatter among the sons of\nmen. Spirits like the goblin Gilpin Horner, full of malice and unholy\ncunning,--like grewsome brownies, at times unutterably terrific, at times\ngrotesque and rude, but then more satyr-like than elfish,--like May\nMoulachs, lean and hairy-armed, watching over the fortunes of a family,\nbut prophetic only of woe, not of weal,--like the cruel Kelpie, hiding\nbehind the river sedges to rush out on unwary passers-by, and strangle\nthem beneath the waters,--like the unsained laidly Elf, who came tempting\nChristian women, to their souls' eternal perdition if they yielded to the\ndesires of their bodies,--like the fatal Banshie, harbinger of death and\nruin,--were the popular forms of the Scottish spirit-world; and in none of\nthem do we find either love or gentleness, but only fierceness and crime,\nenmity to man and rebellion to God. But saddest and darkest and unholiest\nof all was the belief in witchcraft, which infested society for centuries\nlike a sore eating through to the very heart of humanity, and which was\nnowhere more bitter and destructive than among the godly children of our\nNorthern sister. Strange that the land of the Lord should have been the\nfavourite camping-ground of Satan, that the hill of Zion should have had\nits roots in the depths of Tophet!\n\nThe formulas of the faith were as gloomy as the persons. The power of the\nevil eye; the faculty of second sight, which always saw the hearse plumes,\nand never the bridal roses; the supremacy of the devil in this\nGod-governed world of ours, and the actual and practical covenant into\nwhich men and women daily entered with him; the unlimited influence of the\ncurse, and the sin and mischief to be wrought by charm and spell; the\npower of casting sickness on whomsoever one would, and the ease with which\na blight could be sent on the corn, and a murrain to the beasts, by those\nwho had not wherewithal to stay their hunger for a day, these were the\nchief signs of that fatal power with which Satan endowed his chosen\nones--those silly, luckless chapmen who bartered away their immortal souls\nfor no mess of pottage even, and no earthly good to breath or body, but\nonly that they might harm their neighbours and revenge themselves on those\nwho crossed them. Sometimes, indeed, they had no need to chaffer with the\ndevil for such faculties: as in the matter of the evil eye; for Kirk, of\nAberfoyle, tells us that \"some are of so venomous a Constitution, by being\nradiated in Envy and Malice, that they pierce and kill (like a Cockatrice)\nwhatever Creature they first set their Eyes on in the Morning: so was it\nwith Walter Grahame, some Time living in the Parock wherein now I am, who\nkilled his own Cow after commending its Fatness, and shot a Hair with his\nEyes, having praised its Swiftness (such was the Infection of ane Evill\nEye); albeit this was unusual, yet he saw no Object but what was obvious\nto other Men as well as to himselfe.\" And a certain woman looking over the\ndoor of a byre or cowhouse, where a neighbour sat milking, shot the calf\ndead and dried up and sickened the cow, \"by the venomous glance of her\nevill eye.\" But perhaps she had got that venom by covenant with the devil;\nfor this was one of the prescriptive possessions of a witch, and ever the\nfirst dole from the Satanic treasury. When Janet Irving was brought to\ntrial (1616) for unholy dealings with the foul fiend, it was proved--for\nwas it not sworn to? and that was quite sufficient legal proof in all\nwitchcraft cases--that he had told her \"yf schoe bure ill-will to onie\nbodie, to look on them with opin eyis, and pray evill for thame in his\nname, and schoe sould get hir hartis desyre;\" and in almost every witch\ntrial in Scotland the \"evil eye\" formed part of the counts of indictment\nagainst the accused. The curse was as efficacious. Did a foul-mouthed old\ndame give a neighbour a handful of words more forcible than courteous, and\ndid terror, or revenge, induce, or simulate, a nervous seizure in\nconsequence, the old dame was at once carried off to the lock-up, and but\nfew chances of escape lay between her and the stake beyond. To be skilful\nin healing, too, was just as dangerous as to be powerful in sickening; and\nto the godly and unclean of the period all sorts of devilish cantrips lay\nin \"south-running waters\" and herb drinks, and salves made of simples;\nwhile the use of bored stones, of prayers said thrice or backwards, of\n\"mwildis\" powders, or any other more patent form of witchcraft, though it\nmight restore the sick to health, yet was fatally sure to land the user\nthereof at the foot of the gallows, and the testimony of the healed friend\nwas the strongest strand in the hangman's cord. This, indeed, was the\nsaddest feature in the whole matter--the total want of all gratitude,\nreliance, trustiness, or affection between a \"witch\" and her friends. The\ndearest intimate she had gave evidence against her frankly, and without a\nsecond thought of the long years of mutual help and kindliness that had\ngone before; the neighbour whom she had nursed night and day with all\nimaginable tenderness and self-devotion, if he took a craze and dreamed of\nwitchcraft, came forward to distort and exaggerate every remedy she had\nused, and every art she had employed; her very children turned against her\nwithout pity or remorse, and little lips, scarce dry from the milk of her\nown breasts, lisped out the glibbest lies of all. Most pitiful, most sad,\nwas the state of these poor wretches; but instructive to us, as evidencing\nthe strength of superstition, and the weakness of every human virtue when\nbrought into contact and collision with it. What other gifts and powers\nbelonged to the witches will be best gathered from the stories themselves;\nfor varied as they are, there is a strange thread of likeness running\nthrough them all; specially is there a likeness in all of a time or\ndistrict, as might be expected in a matter which belonged so much to mere\nimitation.\n\nScotland played an unenviable part in the great witch panic that swept\nlike an epidemic over Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies. It suited with the stern, uncompromising, Puritan temper, to\ntear this accursed thing from the heart of the nation, and offer it,\nbleeding and palpitating, as a sacrifice to the Lord; and accordingly we\nfind the witch trials of Scotland conducted with more severity than\nelsewhere, and with a more gloomy and savage fanaticism of faith. Those\nwho dared question the truth of even the most unreliable witnesses and the\nmost monstrous statements were accused of atheism and infidelity--they\nwere Sadducees and sinners--men given over to corruption and uncleanness,\nwith whom no righteous servant could hold any terms. And then the\nministers mingled themselves in the fray; and the Kirk like the Church,\nthe presbyter like the priest, proved to be on the side of intolerance and\nsuperstition, where, unfortunately, priests of all creeds have ever been.\nAnd when James VI. came with his narrow brain and selfish heart, to\nformularize the witch-lie into a distinct canon of arbitrary faith, and\ngive it increased political significance and social power, the reign of\nhumanity and common sense was at an end, and the autocracy of cruelty and\nsuperstition began. It is a dreary page in human history; but so long as a\nspark of superstition lingers in the world it will have its special and\ndirect uses.\n\nThe first time we hear of Scottish witches was when St. Patrick offended\nthem and the devil alike by his uncompromising rigour against them: so\nthey tore off a piece of a rock as he was crossing the sea and hurled it\nafter him; which rock became the fortress of Dumbarton in the days which\nknew not St. Patrick. Then there was the story of King Duff (968), who\npined away in mortal sickness, by reason of the waxen image which had\nbeen made to destroy him; but by the fortunate discovery of a young maiden\nwho could not bear torture silently, he was enabled to find the\nwitches--whom he burnt at Forres in Murray, the mother of the poor maiden\nwho could not bear torture among them: enabled, too, to save himself by\nbreaking the wasting waxen image roasting at the \"soft\" fire, when almost\nat its last turn. Then we come to Thomas of Ercildoune, whom the Queen of\nFaërie loved and kept; and then to Sir Michael Scot of Balweary, that\nfamous wizard, second to none in power; while a little further removed\nfrom those legendary times we see the dark figure of William Lord Soulis,\nwho was boiled to death at Nine Stane Brig, in fitting punishment for his\ncrimes. And then in 1479 twelve mean women and several wizards were burnt\nat Edinburgh for roasting the king in wax, and so endangering the life of\nthe sovereign liege in a manner which no human aid could remedy; and the\nEarl of Mar was at their head, and very properly burnt too. And in 1480\nIncubi and Succubi held the land between them, and even the young lady of\nMar gave herself up to the embraces of an Incubus--a hideous monster,\nutterly loathsome and deadly to behold; and if the young ladies of the\nnobility could do such things, what might not be expected from the\ncommonalty? But now we come out into the light of written history, and the\nfirst corpse lying on the threshold is that of the beautiful Lady Glammis\n(1537).\n\n\nTHE STORY OF LADY GLAMMIS[1]\n\nOne of the earliest, as she was one of the noblest, victims of this\ndelusion, politics and jealousy had as much to do with her death as had\nsuperstition. Because she was \"one of the Douglases,\" and not because she\nwas convicted as a sorceress, did William Lyon find her so easy a victim\nto his hate. For it was he--the near relative of her first husband,\n\"Cleanse the Causey\" John Lyon, Lord Glammis,--who ruined her, and brought\nher young days to so shameful an end. And had he not cause? Did she not\nreject him when left a widow, young and beautiful as but few were to be\nfound in all the Scottish land? and, rejecting him, did she not favour\nArchibald Campbell of Kessneath instead, and make over to him the lands\nand the beauties he had coveted for himself, even during the life of that\npuling relative of his, \"Cleanse the Causey\"? Matter enough for revenge in\nthis, thought William Lyon: and the revenge he took came easy to his hand,\nand in fullest measure. For Lady Glammis, daughter of George, Master of\nAngus, and grand-daughter of that brave old savage, Archibald\nBell-the-Cat, was in no great favour with a court which had disgraced her\ngrandfather, and banished her brother; and consequently she found no\nprotection there from the man who was seeking her ruin. Perhaps, too, she\nhad mixed herself up with the court feuds and parties then so common, and\nthus had given some positive cause of offence to a government which must\ncrush if it would not be crushed, and extirpate if it would not be\ndestroyed. Be that as it may, William Lyon soon gathered material for an\naccusation, and Lady Glammis found that if she would not have his love he\nwould have her life. She was accused on various counts; for having\nprocured the death of her first husband by \"intoxication,\" or unholy\ndrugging, for a design to poison the king, and for witchcraft generally,\nas a matter of daily life and open notoriety; and for these crimes she was\nburnt, notwithstanding her beauty and wealth and innocence and\nhigh-hearted bravery, notwithstanding her popularity--for she was beloved\nby all who knew her--and the honour of her stainless name. And once more,\nas so often, hatred conquered love, and the innocent died that the guilty\nmight be at rest.\n\nI must omit any lengthened notice of the trial of Janet Bowman in 1572, as\nalso of that of a notable witch Nicneven, which name, \"generally given to\nthe Queen of the Fairies, was probably bestowed upon her on account of her\ncrimes, and who, when 'her collore craig with stringis whairon wes mony\nknottis' was taken from her, gave way to despair, exclaiming, 'Now I have\nno hoip of myself,' saying, too, that 'she cared not whether she went to\nheaven or to hell.'\" The Record has preserved nothing beyond the mere\nfact of the first, while the foregoing extract is all that I can find of\nthe second; so that I am obliged to pass on to the pitiful tale of--\n\n\nBESSIE DUNLOP AND THOM REID.[2]\n\nPoor douce honest Bessie Dunlop, spouse to Andro Jak in Lyne, deposed,\nafter torture, on the 8th day of November, 1576, that one day, as she was\ngoing quietly enough between her own house and Monkcastle yard, \"makeand\nhevye sair dule with hirself,\" weeping bitterly for her cow that was\ndead, and her husband and child who were lying \"sick in the land-ill,\" she\nherself still weak after gissane, or child-birth, she met \"ane honest,\nwele, elderlie man, gray bairdit, and had ane gray coitt with Lumbart\nslevis of the auld fassoun; ane pair of gray brekis and quhyte schankis\ngartanit abone the kne; ane blak bonet on his heid, cloise behind and\nplane befoir, with silkin laissis drawin throw the lippis thairof; and ane\nquhyte wand in his hand.\" This was Thom Reid, who had been killed at the\nbattle of Pinkye (1547), but was now a dweller in Elfame, or Fairy Land.\nThom stopped her, saying, \"Gude day, Bessie.\" \"God speid yow, gude man,\"\nsays she. \"Sancta Marie,\" says he, \"Bessie, quhy makis thow sa grit dule\nand sair greting for ony wardlie thing?\" Bessie told him her troubles,\npoor woman, and the little old gray-bearded man consoled her by assuring\nher that though her cow and her child should die, yet her husband would\nrecover; and Bessie, after being \"sumthing fleit\" at seeing him pass\nthrough a hole in the dyke too narrow for any honest mortal to pass\nthrough, yet returned home, comforted to think that the gude man would\nmend. After this, she and Thom foregathered several times. At the third\ninterview he wanted her to deny her baptism, but honest Bessie said that\nshe would rather be \"revin at horis taillis\" (riven at horses' tails); and\non the fourth he came to her own house, and took her clean away from the\npresence of her husband and three tailors--they seeing nothing--to where\nan assemblage of eight women and four men were waiting for her. \"The men\nwer cled in gentilmennes clething, and the wemens had all plaidis round\nabout them, and wer verrie semelie lyke to se.\" They were the \"gude\nwychtis that wynnit (dwelt) in the court of Elfame,\" and they had come to\npersuade her to go back to fairy-land with them, where she should have\nmeat and clothing, and be richly dowered in all things. But Bessie\nrefused. Poor crazed Bessie had a loyal heart if but a silly head, and\npreferred her husband and children to all the substantial pleasures of\nElfame, though Thom was angry with her for refusing, and told her \"it\nwould be worse for her.\"\n\nOnce, too, the queen of the fairies, a stout, comely woman, came to her,\nas she was \"lying in gissane,\" and asked for a drink, which Bessie gave\nher. Sitting on her bed, she said that the child would die, but that the\nhusband would recover; for Andro Jak seems to have been but an ailing\nbody, often like to find out the Great Mysteries for himself, and Bessie\nwas never quite easy about him. Then Thom began to teach her the art of\nhealing. He gave her roots to make into salves and powders for kow or yow\n(cow or sheep), or for \"ane bairne that was tane away with ane evill blast\nof wind or elfgrippit:\" and she cured many people by the old man's fairy\nteaching. She healed Lady Johnstone's daughter, married to the young Laird\nof Stanelie, by giving her a drink brewed under Thom's auspices, namely,\nstrong ale boiled with cloves, ginger, aniseed, liquorice, and white\nsugar, which warmed the \"cauld blude that gaed about hir hart, that causit\nhir to dwam and vigous away,\" or, as we would say, to swoon. And she cured\nJohn Jake's bairn, and Wilson's of the town, and her gudeman's sister's\ncow; but old Lady Kilbowye's leg was beyond them both. It had been crooked\nall her life, and now Thom said it would never mend, because \"the march of\nthe bane was consumit, and the blude dosinit\" (the marrow was consumed,\nand the blood benumbed). It was hopeless, and it would be worse for her\nif she asked for fairy help again. Bessie got fame too as a \"monthly\" of\nLyne. A green silk lace, received from Thom's own hand, tacked to their\n\"wylie coitts\" and knit about their left arms, helped much in the delivery\nof women. She lost the lace, insinuating that Thom took it away again, but\nkept her fatal character for more medical skill than belonged to an\nordinary canny old wife. In the recovery of stolen goods, too, she was\neffective, and what she could not find she could at least indicate. Thus,\nshe told the seekers that Hugh Scott's cloak could not be returned,\nbecause it had been made into a kirtle, and that James Baird and Henry\nJameson would not recover their plough irons, because James Douglas, the\nsheriff's officer, had accepted a bribe of three pounds not to find them.\nLady Blair having \"dang and wrackit\" her servants on account of certain\nlinen which had been stolen from her, learnt from Bessie, prompted by\nThom, that the thief was no other than Margaret Symple, her own friend and\nrelation, and that she had dang and wrackit innocent persons to no avail.\nBessie never allowed that Thom's intercourse with her was other than\nhonest and well conducted. Once only he took hold of her apron to drag her\naway to Elfame with him; but this was more in the way of persuasion than\nlove making, and she indignantly denied the home questions put to her by\nthe judges with but scant delicacy or feeling for an honest woman's shame.\nInterrogated, she said that she often saw Thom going about like other men.\nHe would be in the streets of Edinburgh, on market days and other,\nhandling goods like any living body, but she never spoke to him unless he\nspoke first to her: he had forbidden her to do so. The last time she met\nhim before her arrest he told her of the evil that was to come, but\nbuoyed her up with false hopes, assuring her that she would be well\ntreated, and eventually cleared. Poor Bessie Dunlop! After being cruelly\ntortured, her not very strong brain was utterly disorganized, and she\nconfessed whatever they chose to tax her with, rambling through her wild\ndreamy narrative with strange facility of imagination, and with more\ncoherence and likelihood, than are to be found in those who came after\nher. Adjudged as \"confessit and fylit,\" she was \"convict and brynt\" on the\nCastle Hill of Edinburgh--a mournful commentary on her elfin friend's\nbrave words and promises.\n\n\nALISON PEARSON AND THE FAIRY FOLK.[3]\n\nOn the 28th of May, 1588, Alesoun Peirsoun, in Byrehill, was haled before\na just judge and sapient jury on the charge of witchcraft, and seven\nyears' consorting with the fairy folk. This Alesoun Peirsoun, or, as we\nshould now write it, Alison Pearson, had a certain cousin, one William\nSimpson, a clever doctor, who had been educated in Egypt; taken there by a\nman of Egypt, \"ane gyant,\" who, it is to be supposed, taught him many of\nthe secrets of nature then hidden from the vulgar world. During his\nabsence, his father, who was smith to king's majesty, died for opening of\n\"ane preist-buik and luking vpoune it:\" which showed the tendency of the\nfamily. When Mr. William came back he found Alison afflicted with many\ndiseases, powerless in hand and foot, and otherwise evilly holden; and he\ncured her, being a skilful man and a kindly, and ever after obtained\nunlimited influence over the brain and imagination of his crazed cousin.\nHe abused this influence by taking her with him to fairy land, and\nintroducing her to the \"gude wychtis,\" whose company he had affected for\nmany years. In especial was she much linked with the Queen of Elfame, who\nmight have helped her, had she been so minded. One day being sick in\nGrange Muir, she lay down there alone, when a man in green suddenly\nappeared to her and said that if she would be faithful he would do her\ngood. She cried for help, and then charged him in God's name, and by the\nlaw he lived on, that if he came in God's name and for the welfare of her\nsoul, he would tell her. He passed away on this, and soon after a lusty\nman, and many other men and women came to her, and she passed away with\nthem further than she could tell; but not before she had \"sanit,\" or\nblessed herself and prayed. And then she saw piping, and merriness, and\ngood cheer, and puncheons of wine with \"tassis,\" or cups to them. But the\nfairy folk were not kind to Alison. They tormented her sorely, and treated\nher with great harshness, knocking her about and beating her so that they\ntook all the \"poustie,\" or power out of her side with one of their heavy\n\"straiks,\" and left her covered with bruises, blue and evil-favoured. She\nwas never free from her questionable associates, who used to come upon her\nat all times and initiate her into their secrets, whether she liked it or\nno. They showed her how they gathered their herbs before sunrise, and she\nwould watch them with their pans and fires making the \"saws\" or salves\nthat could kill or cure all who used them, according to the witches' will;\nand they used to come and sit by her, and once took all the \"poustie\" from\nher for twenty weeks. Mr. William was then with them. He was a young man,\nnot six years older than herself, and she would \"feir\" (be afraid) when\nshe saw him. What with fairy teaching, and Mr. William's clinical\nlectures, half-crazed Alison soon got a reputation for healing powers; so\ngreat, indeed, that the Bishop of St. Andrews, a wretched hypochondriac,\nwith as many diseases as would fill half the wards of an hospital, applied\nto her for some of her charms and remedies, which she had sense enough to\nmake palateable, and such as should suit episcopal tastes: namely, spiced\nclaret (a quart to be drunk at two draughts), and boiled capon as the\ninternal remedies, with some fairy salve for outward application. It\nscarcely needed a long apprenticeship in witchcraft to prescribe claret\nand capon for a luxurious prelate who had brought himself into a state of\nchronic dyspepsia by laziness and high living; yet the jury thought the\nrecipe of such profound wisdom that Alison got badly off on its account.\n\nMr. William was very careful of Alison. He used to go before the fairy\nfolk when they set out on the whirlwinds to plague her--\"for they are ever\nin the blowing sea-wind,\" said Allie--and tell her of their coming; and he\nwas very urgent that she should not go away with them altogether, since a\ntithe of them was yearly taken down to hell, and converts had always first\nchance. But many people known to her on earth were at Elfame. She said\nthat she recognized Mr. Secretary Lethington, and the old Knight of\nBuccleugh, as of the party; which was equivalent to putting them out of\nheaven, and was a grievous libel, as the times went. Neither Mr. William's\ncare nor fairy power could save poor Alison. After being \"wirreit\n(strangled) at ane staik,\" she was \"conuicta et combusta,\" never more to\nbe troubled by epilepsy or the feverish dreams of madness.\n\n\nTHE CRIMES OF LADY FOWLIS.[4]\n\nNobler names come next upon the records. Katherine Roiss, Lady Fowlis, and\nher stepson, Hector Munro, were tried on the 22nd of June, 1590, for\n\"witchcraft, incantation, sorcery, and poisoning.\" Two people were in the\nlady's way: Margery Campbell the young lady of Balnagown, wife to George\nRoiss or Ross of Balnagown, Lady Katherine's brother; and Robert Munro her\nstepson, the present baron of Fowlis, and brother to the Hector Munro\nabove mentioned. If these two persons were dead, then George Ross could\nmarry the young Lady Fowlis, to the pecuniary advantage of himself and the\nfamily. Hector's quarrel was on his own account, and was with George Munro\nof Obisdale, Lady Katherine's eldest son. The charges against the Lady\nKatherine were, the unlawful making of two pictures or images of clay,\nrepresenting the young lady of Balnagown and Robert Munro, which pictures\ntwo notorious witches, Christian Ross and Marioune M'Alester, _alias_\nLoskie Loncart, set up in a chamber and shot at with elf arrows--ancient\nspear or arrow-heads, found in Scotland and Ireland, and of great account\nin all matters of witchcraft. But the images of clay were not broken by\nthe arrow-heads, for all that they shot eight times at them, and twelve\ntimes on a subsequent trial, and thus the spell was destroyed for the\nmoment; but Loskie Loncart had orders to make more, which she did with a\nwill. After this the lady and her two confederates brewed a stoup or\npailful of poison in the barn at Drumnyne, which was to be sent to Robert\nMunro. The pail leaked and the poison ran out, except a very small\nquantity which an unfortunate page belonging to the lady tasted, and \"lay\ncontinewallie thaireftir poysonit with the liquour.\" Again, another \"pig\"\nor jar of poison was prepared; this time of double strength--the brewer\nthereof that old sinner, Loskie Loncart, who had a hand in every evil pie\nmade. This was sent to the young laird by the hands of Lady Katherine's\nfoster-mother; but she broke the \"pig\" by the way, and, like the page,\ntasting the contents, paid the penalty of her curiosity with her life. The\npoison was of such a virulent nature that nor cow nor sheep would touch\nthe grass whereon it fell; and soon the herbage withered away in fearful\nmemorial of that deed of guilt. She was more successful in her attempts on\nthe young Lady Balnagown. Her \"dittay\" sets forth that the poor girl,\ntasting of her sister-in-law's infernal potions, contracted an incurable\ndisease, the pain and anguish she suffered revolting even the wretch who\nadministered the poison, Catherine Niven, who \"scunnerit (revolted) with\nit sae meikle, that she said it was the sairest and maist cruel sight that\never she saw.\" But she did not die. Youth and life were strong in her, and\nconquered even malice and poison--conquered even the fiendish\ndetermination of the lady, \"that she would do, by all kind of means,\nwherever it might be had, of God in heaven, or the devil in hell, for the\ndestruction and down-putting of Marjory Campbell.\" Nothing daunted, the\nlady sent far and wide, and now openly, for various poisons; consulting\nwith \"Egyptians\" and notorious witches as to what would best \"suit the\ncomplexion\" of her victims, and whether the ratsbane, which was a\nfavourite medicine with her, should be administered in eggs, broth, or\ncabbage. She paid many sums, too, for clay images, and elf arrows\nwherewith to shoot at them, and her wickedness at last grew too patent for\neven her exalted rank to overshadow. She was arrested and arraigned, but\nthe private prosecutor was Hector Munro, who was soon to change his place\nof advocate for that of \"pannel;\" and the jury was composed of the Fowlis\ndependents. So she was acquitted; though many of her creatures had\npreviously been convicted and burnt on the same charges as those now made\nagainst her; notably Cristiane Roiss, who, confessing to the clay image\nand the elf arrows, was quietly burnt for the same.\n\nHector Munro's trial was of a somewhat different character. His stepmother\ndoes not seem to have had much confidence in mere sorcery: she put her\nfaith in facts rather than in incantations, and preferred drugs to charms:\nbut Hector was more superstitious and more cowardly too. In 1588, he had\ncommuned with three notorious witches for the recovery of his elder\nbrother, Robert; and the witches had \"pollit the hair of Robert Munro, and\nplet the naillis of his fingeris and taes;\" but Robert had died in spite\nof these charms, and now Hector was the chief man of his family. Parings\nof nails, clippings of hair, water wherein enchanted stones had been laid,\nblack Pater-Nosters, banned plaids and cloths, were all of as much potency\nin his mind as the \"ratoun poysoun\" so dear to the lady; and the method of\nhis intended murder rested on such means as these. They made a goodly pair\nbetween them, and embodied a fair proportion of the intelligence and\nmorality of the time. After a small piece of preliminary sorcery,\nundertaken with his foster-mother, Cristiane Neill Dayzell, and Mariaoune\nM'Ingareach, \"one of the most notorious and rank witches of the country,\"\nit was pronounced that Hector, who was sick, would not recover, unless\nthe principal man of his blood should suffer for him. This was found to be\nnone other than George Munro, of Obisdale, Lady Katherine's eldest son,\nwhose life must be given that Hector's might be redeemed. George, then,\nmust die; not by poison but by sorcery; and the first step to be taken was\nto secure his presence by Hector's bedside. \"Sewin poistes\" or messengers\ndid the invalid impatiently send to him; and when he came at last, Hector\nsaid never a word to him, after his surly \"Better now that you have come,\"\nin answer to his half-brother's unsuspecting \"How's a' wi' ye?\" but sat\nfor a full hour with his left hand in George's right, working the first\nspell in silence, according to the directions of his foster-mother and the\nwitch. That night, an hour after midnight, the two women went to a \"piece\nof ground lying between two manors,\" and there made a grave of Hector's\nlength, near to the sea-flood. A few nights after this--and it was\nJanuary, too--Hector, wrapped in blankets, was carried out of his sick\nbed, and laid in this grave; he, his foster-mother, and M'Ingareach all\nsilent as death, until Cristiane should have gotten speech with their\nmaster, the devil. The sods were then laid over the laird, and the witch\nM'Ingareach sat down by him, while Cristiane Dayzell, with a young boy in\nher hand, ran the breadth of nine rigs or furrows, coming back to the\ngrave, to ask the witch \"who was her choice.\" M'Ingareach, prompted of\ncourse by the devil, answered that \"Mr. Hector was her choice to live and\nhis brother George to die for him.\" This ceremony was repeated thrice, and\nthen they all returned silently to the house, Mr. Hector carried in his\nblankets as before. The strangest thing of all was that Mr. Hector was not\nkilled by the ceremony.\n\nHector Munro was now convinced that everything possible had been done, and\nthat his half-brother must perforce be his sacrifice. In his gratitude he\nmade M'Ingareach keeper of his sheep, and so uplifted her that the common\npeople durst not oppose her for their lives. It was the public talk that\nhe favoured her \"gif she had been his own wife;\" and once he kept her out\nof the way \"at his own charges,\" when she was cited to appear before the\ncourt to answer to the crime of witchcraft. But in spite of the tremendous\nevidence against him, Hector got clear off, as his stepmother had done\nbefore him, and we hear no more of the Fowlis follies and the Fowlis\ncrimes. Nothing but their rank and the fear of the low people saved them.\nSlighter crimes than theirs, and on more slender evidence, had been\nsufficient cause for condemnation ere now; and Lady Katherine's\npoisonings, and Hector Munro's incantations, would have met with the fate\nthe one at least deserved, save for the power and aid of clanship.\n\n\nBESSIE ROY.\n\nThe month after this trial, Bessie Roy, nurreych (nurse) to the Leslies of\nBalquhain, was \"dilatit\" for sorcery generally, and specially for being \"a\ncommon awa-taker of women's milk.\" She took away poor Bessie Steel's, when\nshe came to ask alms, and only restored it again when she was afraid of\ngetting into trouble for the fault. She was also accused of having, \"by\nthe space of tual yeiris syne or thairby,\" past to the field with other\nwomen to pluck lint, but instead of following her lawful occupation, she\nhad made \"ane compas (circle) in the eird, and ane hoill in the middis\nthairof;\" out of which hole came, first, a great worm which crept over\nthe boundary, then a little worm, which crept over it also, and last of\nall another great worm, \"quhill could nocht pas owre the compas, nor cum\nout of the hoill, but fell doune and deit.\" Which enchantment or sorcery\nbeing interpreted meant, by the first worm, William King, who should live;\nby the second small worm, the unborn babe, of which no one yet knew the\ncoming life; and by the third large worm the gude wyffe herself, who\nshould die as soon as she was delivered. Notwithstanding the gravity and\ncircumstantiality of these charges, Bessie Roy marvellously escaped the\nallotted doom, and was pronounced innocent. \"Quhairvpoune the said Bessie\naskit act and instrument.\" Two women tried the day before, Jonet Grant and\nJonet Clark, were less fortunate. Charged with laming men and women by\ntheir devilish arts--whereof was no attempt at proof--they were convicted\nand burnt; as also was Meg Dow, in April of the same year, for the\n\"crewell murdreissing of twa young infant bairns,\" by magic.\n\nAnd now we come to a very singular group of trials, opened out by that\nclumsy, superstitious pedant, whose name stands accursed for vice and\ncruel cowardice and the utmost selfishness of fear--James VI. of Scotland.\nIf anything were wanting to complete one's abhorrence of Carr's patron and\nRaleigh's murderer--one's contempt of the upholder of the divine right of\nkings in his own self-adoration as God's vicegerent upon earth--it would\nbe his part in the witch delusion of the sixteenth century. Whatever of\nblood-stained folly belonged specially to the Scottish trials of this\ntime--and hereafter--owed its original impulse to him; and every groan of\nthe tortured wretches driven to their fearful doom, and every tear of the\nsurvivors left blighted and desolate to drag out their weary days in\nmingled grief and terror, lie on his memory with shame and condemnation\nineffaceable for all time.\n\n\nTHE DEVIL'S SECRETARY.[5]\n\nOn the 26th of December, 1590, John Fian, _alias_ Cuningham (spelt Johanne\nFeane, _alias_ Cwninghame), master of the school at Saltpans, Lothian, and\ncontemptuously recorded as \"Secretar and Register to the Devil,\" was\narraigned for witchcraft and high treason. There were twenty counts\nagainst him, the least of which would have been enough to have lighted up\na witch-fire on that fatal Castle Hill, for the bravest and best in the\nland. First, he was accused of entering into a covenant with Satan, who\nappeared to him in white, as he lay in bed, musing and thinking (\"mwsand\nand pansand,\" says the dittay in its quaint language) how he should be\nrevenged on Thomas Trumbill, for not having whitewashed his room,\naccording to agreement. After promising his Satanic majesty allegiance and\nhomage, he received his mark, which later was found under his tongue, with\ntwo pins therein thrust up to their heads. Again, he was found\nguilty--\"fylit\" is the old legal term--of \"feigning himself to be sick in\nthe said Thomas Trumbill's chamber, where he was stricken in great\necstacies and trances, lying by the space of two or three hours dead, his\nspirit taken, and suffered himself to be carried and transported to many\nmountains, as he thought through all the world, according to his\ndepositions.\" Note, that these depositions were made in the midst of\nfearful torture, and recanted the instant after. Also, he was found\nguilty of suffering himself to be carried to North Berwick church, where,\ntogether with many others, he did homage to Satan, as he stood in the\npulpit, making doubtful speeches, saying, \"Many come to the fair, and all\nbuy not wares;\" and desired him \"not to fear, though he was grim, for he\nhad many servants who should never want, or ail nothing, so long as their\nhair was on, and should never let one tear fall from their eyes so long as\nthey served him;\" and he gave them lessons, and said, \"Spare not to do\nevil, and to eat and drink and be blithe, taking rest and ease, for he\nshould raise them up at the latter day gloriously.\" But the pith of the\nindictment was that he, Fian, and sundry others to be spoken of hereafter,\nentered into a league with Satan to wreck the king on his way to Denmark,\nwhither, in a fit of clumsy gallantry, he had set out to visit his future\nqueen. While he was sailing to Denmark, Fian and a whole crew of witches\nand wizards met Satan at sea, and the master, giving an enchanted cat into\nRobert Grierson's hand, bade him \"cast the same into the sea, holà,\" which\nwas accordingly done; and a pretty capful of wind the consequence. Then,\nwhen the king was returning from Denmark, the devil promised to raise a\nmist which should wreck him on English ground. To perform which feat he\ntook something like a football--it seemed to Dr. Fian like a wisp--and\ncast it into the sea, whereupon arose the great mist which nearly drove\nthe cumbrous old pedant on to English ground, where our strong-fisted\nqueen would have made him pay for his footing in a manner not quite\ncongenial to his tastes. But, being a Man of God, none of these charms and\ndevilries prevailed against him. A further count was, that once again he\nconsorted with Satan and his crew, still in North Berwick church, where\nthey paced round the church wider shins (wider scheins?), that is,\ncontrary to the way of the sun. Fian blew into the lock--a favourite trick\nof his--to open the door, and blew in the lights which burned blue, and\nwere like big black candles held in an old man's hand round about the\npulpit. Here Satan as a \"mekill blak man, with ane blak baird stikand out\nlyke ane gettis (goat's) baird; and ane hie ribbit neise, falland doun\nscharp lyke the beik of ane halk; with ane lang rumpill (tail); cled in\nane blak tatie goune, and ane ewill favorit scull bonnett on his heid;\nhaifand ane blak buik in his hand,\" preached to them, commanding them to\nbe good servants to him, and he would be a good master to them, and never\nlet them want. But he made them all very angry by calling Robert Grierson\nby his Christian name. He ought to have been called \"Ro' the Comptroller,\nor Rob the Rower.\" This slip of the master's displeased them sorely, and\nthey ran \"hirdie girdie\" in great excitement, for it was against all\netiquette to be named by their earthly names; indeed, they always received\nnew names when the devil gave them their infernal christening, and they\nmade themselves over to him and denied their holy baptism. It was at this\nmeeting that John Fian was specially accused of rifling the graves of the\ndead, and dismembering their bodies for charms. And many other things did\nthis Secretar and Register to the devil. Once, at the house of David\nSeaton's mother, he breathed into the hand of a woman sitting by the fire,\nand opened a lock at the other end of the kitchen. Once he raised up four\ncandles on his horse's two ears, and a fifth on the staff which a man\nriding with him carried in his hand. These magic candles gave as much\nlight as the sun at noonday, and the man was so terrified that he fell\ndead on his own threshold. He sent an evil spirit, who tormented a man for\ntwenty weeks; and he was seen to chase a cat, and in the chase to be\ncarried so high over a hedge that he could not touch her head. The dittay\nsays he flew through the air--a not infrequent mode of progression with\nsuch people. When asked why he hunted the cat, he said that Satan had need\nof her, and that he wanted all the cats he could lay hands on, to cast\ninto the sea, and cause storms and shipwrecks. He was further accused of\nendeavouring to bewitch a young maiden by his devilish cantrips and horrid\ncharms; but, by a wile of the girl's mother, up to men's arts, he\npractised on a heifer's hairs instead of the girl's, and the result was\nthat a luckless young cow went lowing after him everywhere--even into his\nschool-room--rubbing herself against him, and exhibiting all the languish\nand desire of a love-sick young lady. A curious old plate represents John\nFian and the heifer in grotesque attitudes; the heifer with large,\ndrooping, amorous eyes, intensely ridiculous--the schoolmaster with his\nmagic wand drawing circles in the sand. These, with divers smaller\ncharges, such as casting horoscopes, and wearing modewart's (mole's) feet\nupon him, amounting in all to twenty counts, formed the sum of the\nindictment against him. He was put to the torture. First, his head was\n\"thrawed with a rope\" for about an hour, but still he would not confess;\nthen they tried fair words and coaxed him, but with no better success; and\nthen they put him to the \"most severe and cruell pains in the worlde,\"\nnamely, the boots, till his legs were completely crushed, and the blood\nand marrow spouted out. After the third stroke he became speechless; and\nthey, supposing it to be the devil's mark which kept him silent, searched\nfor that mark, that by its discovery the spell might be broken. So they\nfound it, as stated before, under his tongue, with two charmed pins stuck\nup to their heads therein. When they were drawn out--that is, after some\nfurther torture--he confessed anything which it pleased his tormentors to\ndemand of him, saying how, just now, the devil had been to him all in\nblack, but with a white wand in his hand; and how, on his, Fian's,\nrenouncing him, he had brake his wand, and disappeared. The next day he\nrecanted this confession. He was then somewhat restored to himself, and\nhad mastered the weakness of his agony. Whereupon it was assumed that the\ndevil had visited him through the night, and had marked him afresh. They\nsearched him--pulling off every nail with a turkas, or smith's pincers,\nand then thrusting in needles up to their heads; but finding nothing more\nsatanic than blood and nerves, they put him to worse tortures, as a\nrevenge. He made no other relapse, but remained constant now to the end;\nbearing his grievous pains with patience and fortitude, and dying as a\nbrave man always knows how to die, whatever the occasion. Finding that\nnothing more could be made of him, they mercifully came to an end. He was\nstrangled and burnt \"in the Castle Hill of Edinbrough, on a Saterdaie, in\nthe ende of Januarie last past 1591;\" ending a may be loose and not\nover-heroic life in a manner worthy of the most glorious martyr of\nhistory. John Fian, schoolmaster of Saltpans, with no great idea to\nsupport him, and no admiring friends to cheer him on, bore himself as\nnobly as any hero of them all, and vindicated the honour of manhood and\nnatural strength in a way that exalts our common human nature into\nsomething godlike and divine.\n\n\nTHE GRACE WIFE OF KEITH AND HER CUMMERS.[6]\n\nFian was the first victim in the grand battue offered now to the royal\nwitchfinder; others were to follow, the manner of whose discovery was\nsingular enough. Deputy Bailie David Seaton of Tranent, had a half-crazed\nservant-girl, one Geillis Duncan, whose conduct in suddenly taking \"in\nhand to helpe all such as were troubled or grieved with anie kinde of\nsicknes or infirmitie,\" excited the righteous suspicions of her master. To\nmake sure he tortured her, without trial, judge, or jury; first, by the\n\"pillie-winks\" or thumbscrews, and then by \"thrawing,\"--wrenching, or\nbinding her head with a rope--an intensely agonizing process, and one that\ngenerally comes in as part of the service of justice done to witch and\nwizard. Not confessing, even under these persuasions, she was \"searched,\"\nand the mark was found on her throat: whereupon she at once confessed;\naccusing, among others, the defunct John Fian, or Cuningham, Agnes Sampson\nat Haddington, \"the eldest witch of them all,\" Agnes Tompson of Edinburgh,\nand Euphemia Macalzean, daughter of Lord Cliftonhall, one of the senators\nof the College of Justice. Agnes Sampson's trial came first. She was a\ngrave, matronlike, well-educated woman, \"of a rank and comprehension above\nthe vulgar, grave and settled in her answers, which were to some purpose,\"\nand altogether a woman of mark and character. She was commonly called the\n\"grace wyff\" or \"wise wyff\" of Keith; and, doubtless, her superior\nreputation brought on her the fateful notice of the half-crazed girl; also\nit procured her the doubtful honour of being carried to Holyrood, there to\nbe examined by the king himself. At first she quietly and firmly denied\nall that she was charged with, but after having been fastened to the\nwitches' bridle,[7] kept without sleep, her head shaved and thrawn with a\nrope, searched, and pricked, she, too, confessed whatever blasphemous\nnonsense her accusers chose to charge her with, to the wondrous\nedification of her kingly inquisitor. She said that she and two hundred\nother witches went to sea on All-Halloween, in riddles or sieves, making\nmerry and drinking by the way: that they landed at North Berwick church,\nwhere, taking hands, they danced around, saying--\n\n  \"Commer goe ye before! commer goe ye!\n  Gif ye will not goe before, commer let me!\"\n\n\nHere they met the devil, like a mickle black man, as John Fian had said,\nand he marked her on the right knee; and this was the time when he made\nthem all so angry by calling Robert Grierson by his right name, instead of\nRob the Rower, or Ro' the Comptroller. When they rifled the graves, as\nFian had said, she got two joints, a winding-sheet, and an enchanted ring\nfor love-charms. She also said that Geillis Duncan, the informer, went\nbefore them, playing on the Jew's harp, and the dance she played was\nGyllatripes; which so delighted gracious Majesty, greedy of infernal news,\nthat he sent on the instant to Geillis, to play the same tune before him;\nwhich she did \"to his great pleasure and amazement.\" Furthermore, Agnes\nSampson confessed that, on asking Satan why he hated King James, and so\ngreatly wished to destroy him, the foul fiend answered: \"Because he is the\ngreatest enemy I have;\" adding, that he was \"un homme de Dieu,\" and that\nSatan had no power against him. A pretty piece of flattery, but availing\nthe poor wise wife nothing as time went on. Her indictment was very heavy;\nfifty-three counts in all; for the most part relating to the curing of\ndisease by charm and incantation, and to foreknowledge of sickness or\ndeath. Thus, she took on herself the sickness of Robert Kerse in Dalkeith,\nthen cast it back, by mistake, on Alexander Douglas, intending it for a\ncat or a dog: and she put a powder containing dead men's bones under the\npillow of Euphemia Macalzean, when in the pains of childbirth, and so got\nher safely through. As she went on, and grew more thoroughly weakened in\nmind and body, she owned to still more monstrous things. Item, to having a\nfamiliar, in shape of a dog by name Elva, whom she called to her by \"Holà!\nmaster!\" and conjured away \"by the law he lived on.\" This dog or devil\nonce came so near to her that she was \"fleyt,\" but she charged him by the\nlaw he lived on to come no nearer to her, but to answer her\nhonestly--\"Should old Lady Edmistoune live?\" \"Her days were gane,\" said\nElva; \"and where were the daughters?\" \"They said they would be there,\"\nsaid Agnes. He answered, one of them should be in peril, and that he\nshould have one of them. \"It sould nocht be sa,\" cried the wise wife; so\nhe growled and went back into the well. Another time she brought him forth\nout of the well to show to Lady Edmistoune's daughters, and he frightened\nthem half to death, and would have devoured one of them had not Agnes and\nthe rest gotten a grip of her and drawn her back. She sent a letter to\nMarian Leuchope, to raise a wind that should prevent the queen from\ncoming; and she caused a ship, 'The Grace of God,' to perish--the devil\ngoing before, while she and the rest sailed over in a flat boat, entered\nunseen, ate of the best, and swamped the vessel afterwards. For helping\nher in this nefarious deed, she gave twenty shillings to Grey Meill, \"ane\nauld, sely, pure plowman,\" who usually kept the door at the witches'\nconventions, and who had attended her in this shipwreck adventure. Then,\nshe was one of the foremost and most active in the celebrated\nstorm-raising for the destruction, or at least the damage of the king on\nhis return from Denmark; giving some curious particulars in addition to\nwhat we have already had in Fian's indictment; as, that she and her sister\nwitches baptized the cat by which they raised the storm, by putting it,\nwith various ceremonies, thrice through the chimney crook. \"Fyrst twa of\nthame held ane fingar, in the ane syd of the chimnay cruik, and ane vther\nheld ane vther fingar in the vther syd, the twa nebbis of the fingaris\nmeting togidder; than they patt the catt thryis throw the linkis of the\ncruik, and passit it thryis vnder the chimnay;\" afterwards they knit four\ndead men's joints to the four feet of the cat, and cast it into the sea,\nready now to work any amount of mischief that Satan might command. Then\nshe made a \"picture,\" or clay image, of Mr. John Moscrop, father-in-law to\nEuphemia Macalzean, to destroy him, at the said Euphemia's desire. She was\nalso at all the famous North Berwick meetings, where Dr. Fian was\nsecretary, registrar, and lock-opener; where they were baptized of the\nfiend, and received formally into his congregation; where he preached to\nthem as a great black man; and where they rifled graves and meted out the\ndead among them. She also confessed to taking a black toad, and hanging\nhim up by his heels, collecting all his venom in an oyster shell for three\ndays, and she told the king that it was then she wanted his fouled linen,\nwhen she would have enchanted him to death--but she never got it. She had\ntwo Pater Nosters, the white and the black. The white ran thus:--\n\n  \"White Pater Noster,\n  God was my Foster,\n  He fostered me,\n  Under the Book of Palm Tree.\n  Saint Michael was my Dame,\n  He was born at Bethlehem,\n  He was made of flesh and blood,\n  God send me my right food:\n  My right food and dyne two\n  That I may to yon kirk go,\n  To read upon yon sweet book,\n  Which the mighty God of Heaven shoop.\n  Open, open, Heaven's yaits,\n  Stick, stick, Hell's yaits.\n  All Saints be the better,\n  That hear the white prayer Pater Noster.\"\n\n\nThere was no harm in this doggerel, nor yet much good; little of blessing,\nif less of banning; nor was the Black more definite. It was shorter, which\nought to have ranked as a merit:--\n\n         Black Pater Noster.\n  \"Four newks in this house, for holy angels,\n  A post in the midst, that's Christ Jesus,\n  Lucas, Marcus, Matthew, Joannes,\n  God be into this house and all that belongs us.\"\n\n\nTo \"sain\" or charm her bed she used to say,--\n\n  \"Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John\n  The bed be blest that I ly on.\"\n\nAnd when the butter was slow in coming, it was enough if she chanted\nslowly--\n\n  \"Come, butter, come!\n  Come, butter, come!\n  Peter stands at the gate.\n  Waiting for a buttered cake,\n  Come, butter, come,\"\n\nsaid with faith and unction, she was sure to have at once a lucky\nchurn-full.\n\nThese queer bits of half-papistical, half-nonsensical doggerel were\nconsidered tremendous sins in those days, and the use of them was quite\nsufficient to bring any one to the scaffold; as their application would,\nfor a certainty, destroy health, and gear, and life, if it were so willed.\nAnd for all these crimes--storm-raising, cat-baptizing, and the\nrest--Agnes Sampson, the grave, matronlike, well-educated grace wife of\nKeith, was bound to a stake, strangled, and burnt on the Castle Hill, with\nno one to seek to save her, and no one to bid her weary soul God-speed!\n\nBarbara Napier, wife to a burgess of Edinburgh, and sister-in-law to the\nLaird of Carschoggill, was then seized--accused of consorting with Agnes\nSimpson, and consulting with Richard Grahame, a notorious necromancer, to\nwhom she gave \"3 ells of bombezie for his paynes,\" all that she might gain\nthe love and gifts of Dame Jeane Lyon, Lady Angus; also of having procured\nthe witch's help to keep the said Dame Jeane \"fra wometing quhen she was\nin bredin of barne.\" She was accused of other and more malicious things;\nbut acquitted of these: indeed the \"assisa\" which tried her was\ncontumacious and humane, and pronounced no doom; whereon King James wrote\na letter demanding that she be strangled, then burnt at the stake, and all\nher goods escheated to himself. But Barbara pleaded that she was with\nchild; so her execution was delayed until she was delivered, when \"nobody\ninsisting in the persute of her, she was set at libertie.\" The\ncontumacious majority was tried for \"wilful error on assize--acquitting a\nwitch,\" but got off with more luck than usual.[8]\n\nEuphemia Macalzean,[9] or as we should say, Maclean, was even higher game.\nShe was the daughter of Lord Cliftonhall, and wife of Patrick Moscrop, a\nman of wealth and standing; a firm, passionate, heroic woman, whom no\ntortures could weaken into confession, no threats terrify into submission.\nShe fought her way, inch by inch, but she was \"convict\" at last, and\ncondemned to be burnt alive: the severest sentence ever pronounced against\na witch. In general they were \"wirreit\" or strangled before being burnt.\nThere is good reason to believe that her witchcraft was made merely the\npretence, while her political predilections, her friendship for the Earl\nof Bothwell, and her Catholic religion, were the real grounds of the\nking's enmity to her, and the causes of the severity with which she was\ntreated. Her indictment contains the ordinary list of witch-crimes,\ndiversified with the additional charge of bewitching a certain young\nJoseph Douglas, whose love she craved and found impossible to obtain, or\nrather, to retain. She was accused of giving him, for unlawful purposes,\n\"ane craig cheinzie (neck chain), twa belt cheinzies, ane ring, ane\nemiraut,\" and other jewels; trying also to prevent his marriage with Marie\nSandilands, and making Agnes Simpson get back the jewels, when her spells\nhad failed. The young wife whom Douglas married, and the two children she\nbore him, also came in for part of her alleged maleficent enchantments.\nShe \"did the barnes to death,\" and struck the wife with deadly sickness.\nShe was also accused of casting her own childbirth pains, once on a dog,\nand once on the \"wantoune cat;\" whereupon the poor beasts ran distractedly\nout of the house, as well they might, and were never seen again. She\nmanaged this marvellous piece of sleight-of-hand by getting a bored stone\nfrom Agnes Sampson, and rolling \"enchanted mwildis\"--earth from dead men's\ngraves--in her hair. Another time she got her husband's shirt, and caused\nit to be \"woumplit\" (folded up) and put under her bolster, whereby she\nsought to throw her labour pains upon him, but without effect; as is not\nto be wondered at. She bewitched John M'Gillie's wife by sending her the\nvision of a naked man, with only a white sheet about him; and Jonett\nAitcheson saw him with the sleeves of his shirt \"vpoune leggis, and taile\nabout his heid.\" She was also accused of endeavouring to poison her\nhusband; and it was manifest that their union was not happy--he being for\nthe most part away from home, and she perhaps thinking of the other\nhusband promised her, Archibald Ruthven; which promise, broken and set\naside, had made such a slander and scandal of her marriage with Patrick\nMoscrop. And it was proved--or what went for proof in those days--that\nAgnes Sampson, the wise wife, had made a clay image of John Moscrop, the\nfather-in-law, who should thereupon have pined away and died, according to\nthe law of these enchantments, but, failing in this obedience, lived\ninstead, to the grief and confusion of his daughter-in-law. All these\ncrimes, and others like unto them, were quite sufficient legal causes of\ndeath; and James could gratify his superstitious fears and political\nanimosity at the same time, while Euphemia Maclean--the fine, brave,\nhandsome Euphemia--writhed in agony at the stake to which she was bound\nwhen burned alive in the flames: \"brunt in assis quick to the deid,\" says\nthe Record--the severest sentence ever passed on a witch. This murder was\ndone on the 25th July, 1591.\n\n\"The last of Februarie, 1592, Richard Grahame wes brant at y{e} Cross of\nEdinburghe for vitchcrafte and sorcery,\" says succinctly Robert Birrel,\n\"burges of Edinburghe,\" in his \"Diarey containing divers Passages of\nStaite and uthers memorable Accidents, from y{e} 1532 zeir of our\nRedemption, till y{e} beginning of the zeir 1605.\" \"And in 1593, Katherine\nMuirhead was brunt for vitchcrafte, quha confest sundrie poynts yrof.\"\nRichard Graham was the \"Rychie Graham, ane necromancer,\" consulted by\nBarbara Napier; the same who gave the Earl of Bothwell some drug to make\nthe king's majesty \"lyke weill of him,\" if he could but touch king's\nmajesty on the face therewith; it was he also who raised the devil for Sir\nLewis Ballantyne, in his own yard in the Canongate, whereby Sir Lewis was\nso terrified that he took sickness and died. Even in the presence of the\nking himself, Rychie boasted that \"he had a familiar spirit which showed\nhim many things;\" but which somehow forgot to show him the stake and the\nrope and the faggot, which yet were the bold necromancer's end, little as\nthe poor cozening wretch merited such an awful doom.\n\n\nTHE TWO ALISONS.\n\nJune, 1596, had nearly seen a nobler victim than those usually accorded.\nJohn Stuart, Master of Orkney, and brother of the Earl, \"was dilatit of\nconsulting with umquhile Margaret Balfour, ane wich, for the\ndestructionne of Patrik Erll of Orkney, be poysoning.\" In the dittay she\nis called \"Alysoun Balfour, ane knawin notorious wich.\" Alisoun, after\nbeing kept forty-eight hours in the \"caschiclawis\"[10]--her husband, an\nold man of eighty-one, her son, and her young daughter, all being in ward\nbeside her, and tortured--was induced to confess. She could not see the\nold man with the Lang Irons of fifty stone weight laid upon him; her son\nin the boots, with fifty-seven strokes; and her little daughter, aged\nseven, with the thumbscrews upon her tender hands, and not seek to gain\ntheir remission by any confession that could be made. But when the torture\nwas removed from them and her, she recanted in one of the most moving and\npathetic speeches on record--availing her little then, poor soul! for she\nwas burnt on the Castle Hill, December 16th, 1594, and her confession\ntreasured up to be used as future evidence against John Stuart. Thomas\nPalpla, a servant, was also implicated; but as he had been kept eleven\ndays and nights in the caschiclaws (or caspie-claws); twice in the day for\nfourteen hours \"callit in the buitis;\" stripped naked and scourged with\n\"ropes in sic soirt that they left nather flesch nor hyde vpoun him;\" and,\nas he recanted so soon as the torture was removed, his confession went for\nbut little. So John, Master of Orkney, was let off, when perhaps he had\nbeen the only guilty one of the three.\n\nIn October[11] of the same year (1596), Alesoun Jollie, spous to Robert\nRae, in Fala, was \"dilatit of airt and pairt\" in the death of Isobell\nHepburn, of Fala: and the next month, November, Christian Stewart, in\nNokwalter, was strangled and burnt for the slaughter of umquhile Patrick\nRuthven, by taking ane black clout from Isobell Stewart, wherewith to work\nher fatal charm. It does not appear that she did anything more heinous\nthan borrow a black cloth from Isobell, which might or might not have been\nleft in Ruthven's house; but suspicion was as good as evidence in those\ndays, and black clouts were dangerous things to deal with when women had\nthe reputation of witches. So poor Christian Stewart was strangled and\nburnt, and her soul released from its troubles by a rougher road, and a\nshorter, than what Nature would have taken if left to herself. \"Strange\nthat while all these dismal affairs were going on at Edinburgh, Shakspeare\nwas beginning to write his plays, and Bacon to prepare his essays. Ramus\nhad by this time shaken the Aristotelian philosophy, and Luther had broken\nthe papal tyranny.\"[12] Truly humanity walks by slow marches, and by\npainful stumbling through thorny places!\n\n\nTHE TROUBLES OF ABERDEEN.[13]\n\nAberdeen was not behind her elder sister. One man and twenty-three women\nwere burned in one year alone for the crime of witchcraft and magic; and\nthe Records of the Dean of Guild faithfully detail the expenses which the\ntown was put to in the process. On the 23rd of February, 1597, Thomas\nLeyis cost them two pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence, for \"peattis,\ntar barrelis, fir, and coallis, to burn the said Thomas, and to Jon\nJustice for his fie in executing him;\" but Jonet Wischart (his mother),\nand Isobel Cocker, cost eleven pounds ten shillings for their joint\ncremation; with ten shillings added to the account for \"trailling of\nMonteithe (another witch of the same gang) through the streits of the town\nin ane cart, quha hangit herself in prison, and eirding (burying) her.\"\nThe dittay against these several persons set forth various crimes. Janet\nWischart, who was an old woman notorious for her evil eye, was convicted,\namongst other things, of having \"in the moneth of Aprile or thairby, in\nanno nyntie ane yeiris, being the first moneth in the raith (the first\nquarter) at the greiking\" (breaking) of the day, cast her cantrips in\nAlexander Thomson's way, so that one half of the day his body was \"rossin\"\n(burned or roasted) as if in an oven, with an extreme burning drought, and\nthe other half melting away with a cold sweat. Upon Andrew Wobster--who\nhad put a linen towel round her throat, half choking her, and to whom she\nsaid angrily, \"Quhat wirreys thow me? thow salt lie: I sall give breid to\nmy bairnis this towmound, and thou sall nocht byd ane moneth with thin, to\ngif tham breid\"--she had laid such sore cantrips, that he died as she\npredicted: which was a cruel and foul murder in the eyes of the law,\nforbye the sin of witchcraft. But she had other victims as well. James\nLow, a stabler, refused to lend her his kiln and barn, so he took a\n\"dwining\" illness in consequence, \"melting away like ane burning candle\ntill he died.\" His wife and only son died too, and his \"haill geir,\nsurmounting three thousand pounds, are altogether wrackit and away.\"\nBeside this evidence there was his own testimony availing; for he had\noften said on his death-bed, that if he had lent Jonet what she had\ndemanded, he would never have suffered loss. She had also once brought\ndown a dozen fowls off a roost, dead at her feet; and had ruined a woman\nand her husband, by bidding them take nine grains or ears of wheat, and a\nbit of rowan tree, and put them in the four corners of the house--for all\nthe mischance that followed after was due to this unholy charm; and once\nshe raised a serviceable wind in a dead calm, by putting a piece of live\ncoal at two doors, whereby she was enabled to winnow some wheat for\nherself, when all the neighbours were standing idle for want of wind; and\nshe bewitched cows, so that they gave poison instead of milk; and oxen, so\nthat they became furious under the touch of any one but herself; and she\nsent cats to sit on honest folks' breasts, and give them evil dreams and\nthe horrors; and furthermore, she was said to have gone to the gallows in\nthe Links, and to have dismembered the dead body hanging there, for\ncharms; and twenty-two years ago she was proved to have been found sitting\nin a field of corn before sunrising, peeling blades, and finding that it\nwould be \"ane dear year,\" for the blade grew widershins, and it was only\nwhen it grew sungates (from east to west) that it would be a full harvest\nand cheap bread for the poor; and once her daughter-in-law had found her,\nand another hag, sitting stark by her fireside, the one mounted on the\nshoulders of the other, working charms for her health and well-being. So\nshe cost the town of Aberdeen the half of eleven pounds odd shillings, for\nthe most effectual manner of carrying out her sentence, which was, that\nshe \"be brint to the deid.\"\n\nHer son Thomas Leyis was not so fortunate as her husband and daughters:\n\"qwik gangand devills\" were these; for they escaped the flames this time,\nand were banished instead. But Thomas was less lucky. He was dilatit of\nbeing a common witch and sorcerer, and the partner of all his mother's\nevil deeds. One of his worst crimes was having danced round the\nmarket-cross of Aberdeen, he and a number of witches and sorcerers--the\ndevil leading; \"in the quhilk dans, thow, Thomas, was foremost, and led\nthe ring, and dang the said Katherine Mitchell (another of the accused)\nbecause scho spillit your dans, and ran nocht so fast about as the rest.\"\nThomas had a lover too, faithless Elspet Reid, and she, turning against\nhim, as has been the manner of lovers through all time, gave tremendous\nevidence in his disfavour. She said that he had once offered to take her\nto Murrayland, and there marry her; a man at the foot of a certain\nmountain being sure to rise at his bidding, and supply them with all they\nwanted; and when he was confined in the church-house, she came and\nwhispered to him through the window, and the man in charge of Thomas swore\nthat she said she had been meeting with the devil according to his orders,\nand that when she sained herself he had \"vaniest away with ane rwmleng\n(rumbling).\" In the morning, too, before the old mother's conviction, \"ane\newill spreit in lyiknes of ane pyit (magpie),\" went and struck the\nyoungest sister in her face, and would have picked out her eyes, but that\nthe neighbours to the fore dang the foul thief out of the room; and again,\non the day after conviction, and before execution, the devil came again as\nane kae (crow), and would have destroyed the youngest sister entirely had\nhe not been prevented: which two visitations were somehow hinged on to\nThomas, and included in the list of crimes for which he was adjudged\nworthy of death.\n\nHelen Fraser, of the same \"coven,\" was a most dangerous witch. She had the\npower to make men transfer their affections, no matter how good and\nwholesome the wife deserted:--and she never spared her power. By her\ncharms she caused Andrew Tullideff to leave off loving his lawful wife and\ntake to Margaret Neilson instead: so that \"he could never be reconceillit\nwith his wife, or remove his affection frae the said harlot;\" and she made\nRobert Merchant fall away from the duty owing to his wife, Christian\nWhite, and transfer himself and his love to a certain widow, Isobel Bruce,\nfor whom he once went to sow corn, and fell so madly in love that he could\nnever quit the house or the widow's side again; \"whilk thing the country\nsupposed to be brought about by the unlawful travelling of the said Helen;\n\"and was further _testified by Robert himself_,\" says Chambers\nsignificantly. Helen Fraser was therefore burnt; and it is to be hoped\nthat the men returned to their lawful mates.\n\nIsobel Cockie, who was burnt in company with Thomas Lee's mother, old\nJonet, meddled chiefly with cows and butter. She could forespeak them so\nthat they should give poison instead of milk, and the cream she had once\noverlooked was never fit for the \"yirning.\" Her landlord once offended her\nby mending the roof of her house while she was from home, and Isobel, who\ndid not choose that her things should be pulled about in her absence, and\nperhaps some of her cantrips discovered, \"glowrit up at him, and said, 'I\nsall gar thee forthink it that thow hast tirrit my hows, I being frae\nhame.'\" Whereupon Alexander Anderson went home sick and speechless, and\ngat no relief until Isobel gave him \"droggis,\" when his speech and health\nreturned as of old. Isobel had been the dancer immediately after Thomas\nLees at the Fish Cross, \"and because the dewill playit not so melodiously\nand well as thow cravit, thow took his instrument out of his mouth, then\ntuik him on the chafts (chops) therewith, and playit thyself theiron to\nthe haill company.\" What further evidence could possibly be required to\nprove that Isobel Cockie was a witch, and one that \"might not be suffered\nto live\"?\n\nOther trials did Aberdeen entertain that year on this same wise and\nChristian count. There was that of Andrew Man, a poor old fellow specially\npatronized by the Queen of Fairy who sixty years ago had come to his\nmother's house, where she was delivered of a bairn just like an ordinary\nwoman, and no devil or Queen of Elfin at all. Andrew was then but a boy,\nbut he remembered it all well, and how he carried water for her, and was\npromised by her that he should know all things, and should be able to cure\nall sorts of sickness except the \"stand deid;\" and that he should be \"well\nentertainit,\" but should seek his meat ere he died, as Thomas Rhymer had\ndone in years long past. Twenty-eight years after this the queen came\nagain, and caused one of his cattle to die on a hillock called the\nElf-hillock, but promised to do him good afterwards; and it was then that\ntheir guilty albeit poetic and loving intercourse began. Andrew was told\nin his dittay that he could cure \"the falling sickness, the bairn-bed, and\nall other sorts of sickness that ever fell to man or beast, except the\n_stand-deid_, by baptizing them, reabling them in the auld\ncorunschbald,[14] and striking of the gudis on the face, with ane foot in\nthy hand, and by saying their words, 'Gif thou wilt live, live; and gif\nthow wilt die, die,' with sundry other orisons, sic as Sanct John and the\nthree silly brethren, whilk thow canst say when thow please, and by\ngiving of black wool and salt as a remeid for all diseases, and for\ncausing a man prosper, so that his blude should never be drawn.\" Once,\nAndrew Man, by putting a patient nine times through a hasp of unwatered\nyarn, and a cat as many times backwards through the same hasp, cured the\npatient by killing the cat. This was logical, and quite easy to be\nunderstood. Andrew's devil whom he affirmed to be an angel, and whose name\nwas Christsonday, was raised by saying Benedicite, and laid again by\nputting a dog under his arm, then casting it into the devil's mouth with\nthe awful word \"Maikpeblis!\" \"The Queen of Elphen has a grip of all the\ncraft,\" says the dittay, \"but Christsonday is the gudeman, and has all\npower under God; and thow kens sundry deid men in their company, and the\nking that died at Flodden, and Thomas Rhymer is there.\" And as the queen\nhad been seen in Andrew's company in a rather beautiful and poetic manner,\nthe whole affair was settled, and no man's mind was left in doubt of the\nold creature's guilt. For, Andrew was told, \"Upon Rood-day in harvest, in\nthis present year, whilk fell on a Wednesday, thow saw Christsonday come\nout of the snaw in the likeness of a staig (young male horse), and the\nQueen of Elphen was there, and others with her, riding upon white\nhackneys.\" \"The elves have shapes and claithes like men, and will have\nfair covered tables, and they are but shadows, but are starker (stronger)\nnor men, and they have playing and dancing when they please; the queen is\nvery pleasant, and will be auld and young when she pleases; she makes any\nking whom she pleases.... The elves will make thee appear to be in a fair\nchalmer, and yet thow wilt find thyself in a moss on the moor. They will\nappear to have candles, and licht, and swords, whilk will be nothing else\nbut dead grass and straes.\" So Andrew's doom was sealed, for all that he\ndenied his guilt, and he was convicted and burnt like the rest.\n\nMarjory Mutch came to her end because, having a deadly hatred against\nWilliam Smith, she bewitched his oxen, as they were ploughing, so that\nthey all ran \"wood\" or mad that instant, broke the plough, and two of them\nplunged up over the hills to Deer, and two ran up Ithan side, and could\nnever be taken or apprehended again. She was notorious for bewitching\ncattle; and that she was a witch, and good for nothing but burning, a\ngentleman proved to the satisfaction of all present, for he found a soft\nspot on her which he pricked without causing any pain; a test that ought\nto have been eminently satisfactory and conclusive--but was not; for she\nwas \"clenged\"--cleansed, or acquitted.\n\nEllen Gray, convicted of many of the ordinary crimes of witchcraft, did\naway with all chance of mercy for herself when, on being taken, she looked\nover her shoulder, saying, \"Is there no mon following me?\" and Agnes\nWobster was a witch because in a great snow she took fire out of a \"cauld\nfrosty dyke,\" and carried the same to her house. They were both burnt, as\nthey merited. Jonet Leisk cast sickness and disease on all she knew, and\nmade whole flocks run \"wode\" and furious; geese too; but she was\n\"clenged,\" or cleared; so was Gilbert Fidlar; but Isobell Richie, Margaret\nOg, Helen Rogie, and others, were burnt, for the satisfaction of offended\njustice.\n\nMargaret Clark, too, came to no good end, because being sent for by the\nwife of Nicol Ross, when in child-bed, she gave her ease by casting her\npains upon Andrew Harper, who fell into such a fury and madness during\nher time of travail, that he could not be holden, and only recovered when\nthe gentlewoman was delivered. And what did Violet Leys do, but bewitch\nWilliam Finlay's ship so that she never made one good voyage again, all\nbecause her husband had been discharged therefrom, and Violet the witch\nwas most mightily angered? And Isobell Straquhan, too, had she not powers\nbanned even in the blessing? She went one day to \"Elspet Murray in\nWoodheid, she being a widow, and asked of her if she had a penny to lend\nher, and the said Elspet gave her the penny; and the said Isobell took the\npenny and bowit (bent) it, and took a clout and a piece of red wax, and\nsewed the clout with a thread, the wax and the penny being within the\nclout, and gave it to the said Elspet Murray, commanding her to use the\nsaid clout to hang about her craig (neck), and when she saw the man she\nloved best, take the clout, with the penny and wax, and stroke her face\nwith it, and she so doing, would attain into the marriage of that man whom\nshe loved.\" She also made Walter Ronaldson leave off beating his wife, by\nsewing certain pieces of paper thick with threads of divers colours, and\nputting them in the barn among the corn, since which time Walter left off\ndinging his poor spouse, and was \"subdued entirely to her love.\" So\nIsobell Straquhan made one of the tale of twenty-two unfortunate wretches\nwho were executed in Aberdeen that year, for the various crimes of\nwitchcraft and sorcery.\n\nNo evidence was too meagre for the witch-hunters; no accusation too\nabsurd; no subterfuge or enormity sufficiently transparent to show the\ntruth behind. When Margaret Aiken, \"the great witch of Balwery,\"[15] went\nabout the country dilating honest women for witches, \"by the mark between\ntheir eyes,\" it was evident to all but the heated and credulous, such as\nJohn Cowper, the minister of Glasgow, and others, that she used this as a\nmere means to save time, she herself having been tortured into confession,\nand now seeing no way of safety but by complicity and witch-finding. She\ntold of one convention held on a hill in Atholl, where there were\ntwenty-three hundred witches, and the devil among them. \"She said she knew\nthem all well enough, and what mark the devil had given severally to every\none of them. There was many of them tried by swimming in the water, by\nbinding of their two thumbs and their great toes together, for being thus\ncasten in the water, they floated ay aboon.\" It was not only the\nmalevolent witch that suffered in this wild raid made against reason and\nhumanity. The doom dealt out to the witch who slew was equally allotted to\nthe witch who saved. Yet the witchologists made a difference between the\ntwo.\n\n\"Of witches there be two sorts,\" says Thomas Pickering, in his 'Discovrse\nof the damned Art of Witchcraft,' printed 1610, \"_the bad witch_ and _the\ngood witch_; for so they are commonly called. The _bad witch_ is he or she\nthat hath consulted in league with the Deuill; to vse his helpe for the\ndoing of hurte onely, so as to strike and annoy the bodies of men, women,\nchildren, and cattell, with diseases and with death itselfe; so likewise\nto raise tempests by sea and by land, &c. This is commonly called _the\nbinding_ witch.\n\n\"The _good witch_ is he or she that by consent in a league with the Deuill\ndoth vse his helpe for the doing of good onely. This cannot hurt, torment,\ncurse, or kill, but onely heale and cure the hurt inflicted vpone men or\ncattell by badde witches. For as they can doe no good but onely hurt; so\nthis can doe no hurt but good onely. And this is that order which the\nDeuill hath set in his kingdome, appointing to severall persons their\nseverall offices and charges. And the Good Witch is commonly called the\nVnbinding Witch.\"\n\nBut the good witch, as Pickering calls her, was no better off than the\nbad. Indeed she was held in even greater dread, for the black witch hurt\nonly the body and estate, while the white witch hurt the soul when she\nhealed the body; the healed part never being able to say \"God healed me.\"\nWherefore it was severed from the salvation of the rest, and the wholeness\nof the redemption destroyed. In consequence of this belief we find as\nsevere punishments accorded to the blessing as to the banning witches; and\nno movement of gratitude was dreamt of towards those who had healed the\nmost oppressive diseases, or shown the most humane feeling and kindness,\nif there was a suspicion that the power had been got uncannily, or that\nthe drugs had more virtue than common.\n\n\nWHITE WITCHES.[16]\n\nThus on November the 12th, 1597, Janet Stewart in the Canongate, Christian\nLevingstone in Leith, Bessie Aiken, also of Leith, and Christian Sadler of\nBlackhouse, were brought to trial for no worse crimes than healing and\nhelping sundry of their neighbours. Christian Levingstone was \"fylit and\nconvict\" for abusing (deceiving) Thomas Gothray, who went to her\ncomplaining that his gear went from him, and that he was bewitched; which\nshe said was true; promising to help him, and \"let him see where the\nwitchcraft was laid.\" So she took him down his own stair, and dug a hole\nwith her knife, and took out a little bag of black plaid, wherein were\nsome grains of wheat, worsted threads of many colours, some hair, and\nnails of men's fingers, affirming that he was bewitched by these means,\nand bidding his wife catch them in her apron. If this bag had not been\nfound, said Christian, he would have been wrackit both in mind and body;\nwhich was a clear case of \"abusing,\" if you will. This \"scho deponit in\npresens of my Lord Justice vpoun the tent day of Julij last past to be of\nveritie.\" She also said that her daughter had been taken away by fairy\nfolk, and that she had learnt all her wise-wife knowledge from her, and as\na proof of this knowledge, she prophesied that Gothray's wife, then \"being\nwith barne,\" should bear a man child; which proved to be true, to the sad\nstrengthening of the accusations against her. Another time she and\nChristian Sadler were prayed by Robert Bailie, mason in Haddington, to go\nand cure his wife. Christian Sadler recommended her to take three pints of\nsweet wort, and boil it with a quantity of fresh butter; which she did,\nand drank it too, but with no good effects of healing, as we may suppose.\nAgain, shortly before her accusation, she was sent for by Christian\nSadler, on some other devil's deed; and together they made Andrew\nPennycuik a cake baked with the blood of a red cock; but he could not eat\nit. Then they took his shirt and dipped it in the well at the back of his\nhouse, and brought it to him and put it on him, dripping as it was,\n\"quhairthrow he maist haif sownit amang their hands,\" giving him to\nunderstand that now he would be mended, \"albeit that it was onlie plane\nabusione, as the event declarit.\" Not finding the cake of red cock's\nblood or the dripping shirt of great efficacy, Andrew went then to Janet\nStewart, craving his health at her hands \"for God's sake;\" but we are not\ntold the result.\n\nJanet Stewart was fylit for going to Bessie Inglis in the Kowgate, Bessie\nbeing deidlie sick; when Janet took off her \"mutche and sark\" (cap and\nshift), washed them in south-running water, and put them on her again at\nmidnight, wet as they were, saying three times, \"In the name of the\nFather, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.\" She also \"fyrit,\" or put a hot iron\ninto water, and burnt straw at the four corners of the bed, as Michael\nClarke, smith, had learnt her; and she healed women of the mysterious\nchild-bed disorder called wedonymph, by taking a garland of woodbine and\nputting them through it, afterwards cutting it into nine pieces, which she\nthrew into the fire. This charm she said she had learnt from Mr. John\nDamiet, an Italian, and a notorious enchanter. And she cured sundry\npersons of the falling-evil by hanging a stone about their necks for five\nnights, which stone she said she got from Lady Crawford.\n\nChristian Sadler was \"fylit and convict\" for taking in hand to heal the\nyoung Laird of Bargany, with a salve made of quicksilver, which she rubbed\ninto the patient, alleging that she learnt it of her father; but she did\nthe same by \"unlessum\" (unwholesome) means, said the dittay, she having no\nsuch knowledge as would enable her to cure leprosy, which the most expert\nmen in medicine are not able to do. Robert Hunter, too, since deceased,\nhaving a flaw in his face, she undertook to cure with a mixture of\nquicksilver in a drink. She said the flaw was leprosy, but it was nothing\nof the kind; and \"God knows how the drink was composed,\" but the\ngentleman died twelve hours after, \"as was notourlie confessit of hirself,\nand can nocht be denyit, quhairby scho was giltie of his death be hir\ncraft; ministering to him vnlessum things, quhairof he deit suddenlie.\" So\nthe four women were convicted and condemned, sentenced to be strangled at\na stake, then burnt, and all their goods forfeit to the crown. Only Bessie\nAiken got off by reason of her pregnancy; and after having suffered \"lang\npuneischment be famine and imprisonment,\" was finally banished the kingdom\nfor life.\n\nIn July, 1602, James Reid suffered for the same kind of offences--taking\nthree pennies and a piece of \"creisch\" (grease) from the bag of his master\nthe devill, whom he met on Bynnie-crags, and learning from him the art of\nhealing by means of silk laces, south-running waters, charms,\nincantations, and other \"unlessum\" means. He cured Sarah Borthwick by his\nsorcery and devilry, bringing her south-running water from the\n\"Schriff-breyis-well,\" and casting a certain quantity of salt and wheat\nabout her bed: and he consulted with certain for the destruction of David\nLibbertoune, baxter and burges of Edinburgh, his spouse, their corn, and\ngoods, by taking a piece of raw flesh, and making nine nicks in it, then\nputting part under the mill door and part under the stable door; while, to\nruin the land, he enchanted stones and cast them on the fields. He cured\nJohn Crystie of a swelling, by putting three silk laces round his leg for\nten weeks; and his deeds becoming notorious and his character lost, he was\nadjudged worthy of death, and judicially murdered accordingly.\n\nWho was safe, if a half-fed scrofulous woman had fancies and the megrims?\nThe first person on whom her wild imagination chose to cast the grim\nshadow of witchcraft was surely doomed, however slight the evidence, or\nwhatever the manifest quality of the disease. There was poor Patrick\nLowrie, fylit July 23, 1605--what had he done? Why, he and Jonet Hunter,\n\"ane notorious wich,\" bewitched Bessie Saweris' (Sawyer's) her corn, and\ntook all her fisnowne (fushion, foison, pith, strength, flavour) from her;\nand then he fell foul of certain \"ky,\" so that they gave no milk; and he\nhad cured the horse of Margaret Guffok, the witch of Barnewell, twenty\nyears ago; and struck Janet Lowrie blind; and, as a climax, uncannily\nhelped Elizabeth Crawford's bairn in Glasgow, which had been strangely\nsick for the last eight or nine years. And the way in which he helped her\nwas thus. He took a cloth off the said bairn's face, \"saining\" it, and\ncrossing the face with his hand; he kept the cloth for eight days, then\ncame back and covered her face again with it; whereupon the child slept\nwithout moving for two days, and at the end of that time Patrick Lowrie\nwakened her, and her eye, which \"had been tynt throw disease, was restored\nto her, and in five days she was cured and mended.\" He was also fylit of\nhaving met the devil on the common waste at Sandhills, in Kyle, when a\nnumber of men and women were there; and for having entertained him under\nthe form of a woman, one Helen M'Brune (this was a succubus); also of\nhaving received from him a hair belt, at one end of which was the\nsimilitude of \"four fingeris and ane thumbe, nocht far different from the\nclawis of the devill;\" which belt Jonet Hunter had, and it was burnt at\nher trial; also of having dug up dead bodies, to dismember them for his\ndeadly charms; and also for being \"ane cowmone and notorious sorcerer,\nwarlok, and abuser of the peopill, be all vnlawfull charms and devillische\nincantationes, vset be him this xxiiij yeir begane.\" To which terrific\narray was added the testimony of Mr. David Mill, who said how, in his own\nplace, he was \"brutit and commonlie called Pait ye Witch, and that he gat\nhis father's malison,\" and had been spoken of as sure to make an ill end.\nSo he did, poor fellow; for the Lord Advocate threatened to prosecute the\nassize if they acquitted him, which insured his effectual condemnation,\nand Pate the Witch was burnt with his fellows.\n\n\nTHE MISDEEDS OF ISOBEL GRIERSON.[17]\n\nTwo years afterwards, on March the 10th, 1607, Isobel Grierson, \"spous to\nJohn Bull,\" came into court with anything but clean hands. She was accused\nof having visited Adam Clarke and his wife--they lying decently in bed,\ntheir servant being in the other bed beside them--not as an honest woman,\nbut in the form of a cat, being accompanied by other cats which made a\ngreat and fearful noise. Whereat Adam Clarke, his wife, and servant were\nso affrighted they were almost mad. At the same time arrived the devil in\nthe shape of a black man, and came to the servant girl then standing on\nthe floor, and drew her up and down the house in a fearful manner, first\ntaking the curtche (cap) off her head and casting it into the fire,\nwhereby the poor woman had a sickness which lasted six weeks. Isobel\nkilled William Burnet by casting a cutting of plaid in at his door, after\nwhich the devil, for the space of half a year, perpetually appeared to\nhim as a naked child, holding an enchanted picture in his hand, and\nstanding before the fire; but sometimes he appeared as Isobel herself,\nwho, when William Burnet called to her by name, would vanish away. So she\nhaunted and harried him till he pined away and died. She bewitched Mr.\nBrown, of Prestonpans, by throwing an enchanted \"tailzie\" (cut or piece)\nof beef at his door, sending the devil to distress him for half a year,\nappearing to him herself in the form of an infant bairn, and so hardly\ntreating him, that Brown died as Burnet had done. Then she bewitched\nRobert Peddan, who got no good from any remedy, and knew not what ailed\nhim, until he suddenly remembered that he and Isobel had had a quarrel\nabout nine shillings which he owed her and would not pay; so he went to\nher and paid her, asking humbly for his health again; which came. Robert\nPeddan deposed, too, that, being once at his house, she wanted her cat,\nwhereupon she opened his window, put out her hand, and drew the cat in: at\nwhich time was working a brewing of good sound ale, which all turned to\n\"gutter dirt.\" Another time she or her spirit went at night to his house\nand drew Margaret Donaldson, his wife, out of her bed, and flung her\nviolently against the floor; whereat the wife was very ill and sore\ntroubled, and cried out on her. Isobel, hearing of this, went to the\nneighbours, and said they were to bring her and Margaret together again;\nwhich they did; and Margaret had her health for nine or ten days. But Meg,\nnot leaving off calling out against her, Isobel went to her, \"and spak to\nhir mony devillisch and horribill words,\" saying, \"The faggot of hell\nlycht on thé, and hell's cauldron may thow seith in!\" So Meg was sick\nagain after this; and as a poor beggarwoman coming to the door to ask\nmeat told her she was bewitched, for that she had the right stamp of it,\nthe case grew serious, and Margaret cried out more loudly than before.\nThen Isobel went again to her house with a creil on her back, and said\npassionately, \"Away, theiff! I sall haif thy hairt for bruitting of me sae\nfalslie;\" which so frightened Meg that she took to her bed, and Isobel was\narrested, tried, convicted, and burnt.\n\n\nBARTIE PATERSON'S CHARM.[18]\n\nThat same year James Brown was ill. Bartie Paterson went to him, and gave\nhim drinks and salves made of green herbs, and bade him \"sitt doun on his\nkneis thre seuerall nychtis, and everie nycht, thryse nyne tymes, ask his\nhelth at all living wichtis, aboue and vnder the earth in the name of\nJesus.\" He gave Alexander Clarke a drink of Dow-Loch water--poor Alexander\nClarke was fond of consulting witches--causing him each time he lifted the\nmug to say, \"I lift this watter in the name of the Father, Sone, and Holy\nGhaist, to do guid for their helth for quhom it is liftit.\" And he was\nable to cast a spell over cattle by saying--\n\n  \"I charme thé for arrow-schot,\n  For dor-schot, for wondo-schot,\n  For ey-schot, for tung-schot,\n  For lever-schot, for lung-schot,\n  For hert-schot, all the maist,\n  In the name of the Father, the Sone, and Haly Ghaist.\n  To wend out of fleisch and bane,\n  Into stek and stane,\n  In the name of the Father, the Sone, and Haly Ghaist. Amen.\"\n\nSo the law put a stop to his incantations, and he was strangled and\nburnt, and all his goods escheit to the crown. But the crown did not get a\nvery full haul, for poor Bartie was scarce removed from beggary.\n\n\nBEIGIS TOD AND HER COMPEERS.[19]\n\nIn 1608, on May the 27th, Beigis Tod in Lang Nydrie came to her fate. She\nhad long been a frequenter of Sabbaths, and once was reproved by the devil\nfor being late, when she answered respectfully, \"Sir, I could wyn na\nsoner!\" Immediately thereafter she passed to her own house, took a cat,\nand put it nine times through the chimney work, and then sped to Seaton\nThorne \"be north the yet,\" where the devil called Cristiane Tod, her\nyounger sister, and brought her out. But Cristiane took a great fright and\nsaid, \"Lord, what wilt thou do with me?\" to whom he answered, \"Tak na\nfeir, for ye sall gang to your sister Beigis, to ye rest of hir cumpanie\nquha are stayand vpoun your cuming at the Thorne.\" Cristiane Tod, John\nGraymeill, Ersche (Irish), Marion, and Margaret Dwn, who were of that\ncompany that night, had all been burnt, so now Beigis had her turn. She\nfell out with Alexander Fairlie, and made his son vanish away by continual\nsweating and burning at his heart, during which time Beigis appeared to\nhim nightly in her own person, but during the day in the similitude of a\ndog, and put him almost out of his wits. Alexander went to her to be\nreconciled, and asked her to take the sickness off his son, which at first\nshe refused, but afterwards consenting, she went and healed the youth, a\nshort time before she was arrested--to be burnt. Two years after this\nGrissel Gairdner was burnt for casting sickness upon people; and in 1613\nRobert Erskine and his three sisters were executed--he was beheaded--for\npoisoning and treasonable murder against his two nephews. But before this,\nin 1608, the Earl of Mar brought word to the Privy Council that some women\ntaken at Broughton or Breichin, accused of witchcraft, and being put to\n\"ane assize and convict albeit they persevered constant in their deniall\nto the end, yet they wes burnet _quick_ after sic ane crewell maner that\nsum of thame deit in dispair, renunceand and blasphemand, and vtheris,\nhalf brunt, brak out of the fyre and wes cassin _quick_ into it againe,\nquhill they war brunt to the deid.\" Even this horrible scene does not seem\nto have had any effect in humanizing men's hearts, or opening their eyes\nto the infamy into which their superstition dragged them; for still the\nwitch trials went on, and the young and the old, and the beautiful and the\nunlovely, and the loved and the loveless, were equally victims, cast\nwithout pity or remorse to their frightful doom.\n\nSixteen hundred and sixteen was a fruitful year for the witch-finders.\nThere was Jonka Dyneis of Shetland,[20] who, offended with one Olave, fell\nout in most vile cursings and blasphemous exclamations, saying that within\na few days his bones should be \"raiking\" about the banks: and as she\npredicted so did it turn out--Olave perishing by her sorcery and\nenchantments. And not content with this, she cursed the other son of the\npoor widowed mother, and in fourteen days he also died, to Jonka's own\nundoing when the Shetlanders would bear her iniquities no longer. And\nthere was Katherine Jonesdochter, also of Shetland, who cruelly\ntransferred her husband's natural infirmities to a stranger: and Elspeth\nReoch of Orkney, who pulled the herb called melefowr (millfoil?) betwixt\nher finger and thumb, saying, \"In Nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritûs\nSancti,\" thus curing men's distempers in a devilish and unwholesome\nmanner: and Agnes Scottie, who refused to speak word to living man before\npassing \"the boundis of hir ground, and their sat down, plaiting her feit\nbetwixt the merchis,\" that a certain woman might have a good childbirth;\nwho was also convicted \"of washing the inner nuke of her plaid and\naprone,\" for some wicked and sinister purpose; for what sane Scottish\nwoman would wash her clothes more than was absolutely necessary? and who\ncould curse as well as cure, and transfer as well as give the sickness she\ncould heal: and Marable Couper who threw a \"wall piet\" at a man who spoke\nill of her, and made his face bleed, so that he went mad, and could only\nbe recovered by her laying her hands on him, whereby he received his\nsenses and his health again: and Agnes Yullock, who went to the guid wyfe\nof Langskaill, and by touching her gave her back her health: and William\nGude, who had power over all inanimate things, and by his touch could give\nthem back the virtue they had lost. These are only a few, very few, of the\ncases to be found in the various judiciary records of the year 1616--a\nyear no worse than others, and no better, where all were bad and\nblood-stained alike.\n\nIn 1618 one of the saddest stories of all was to be read in the tears of a\nfew sorrowful relatives, and in the exultation of those fanatics who\nrejoiced when the accursed thing plucked out from them was of more goodly\nsavour and of a fairer form than usual, and thus was a meeter sacrifice\nfor the Lord. Of all the heartrending histories to be found in the records\nof witchcraft, the history of Margaret Barclay and her \"accomplices\" is\nsaddest, most sorrowful, most heartrending.\n\n\nTHE PITIFUL FATE OF MARGARET BARCLAY.[21]\n\nMargaret was a young, beautiful, high-spirited woman, wife of Archibald\nDein, burgess of Irvine, and not on the best of terms with John Dein, her\nhusband's brother. Indeed, she had had him and his wife before the Kirk\nsession for slander, and things had not gone quite smoothly with them ever\nsince. When, therefore, the ship, The Grace of God, in which John Dein was\nsailing, sank in sight of land, drowning him and all his men, the old\nquarrel was remembered, and Margaret, together with Isobel Insh and John\nStewart, a wandering \"spaeman,\" was accused of having sunk the vessel by\ncharms and enchantments. Margaret disdainfully denied the charge from\nbeginning to end: Isobel said she had never seen the spaeman in her life\nbefore; but Stewart \"clearly and pounktallie confessit\" all the charges\nbrought against him, and also said that the women had applied to him to be\ntaught his magic arts, and that once he had found them both modelling\nships and figures in clay for the destruction of the men and vessel\naforesaid. And as it was proved that Stewart had spoken of the wreck\nbefore he could have known it by ordinary means, suspicion of sorcery fell\nupon him, and he was taken: and made his confession. He said that he had\nvisited Margaret to help her to her will, when a black dog, breathing fire\nfrom his nostrils, had formed part of the conclave; and Isobel's own\nchild, a little girl of eight, added to this, a black man as well.\nIsobel, after denying all and sundry of the charges brought against her,\nunder torture admitted their truth. In the night time she found means to\nescape from her prison, bruised and maimed with the torture as she was;\nbut in scrambling over the roof she fell to the ground, and was so much\ninjured that she died five days afterwards. Margaret was then tortured:\nthe spaeman had strangled himself, which was the best thing he could do,\nonly it was a pity he did not do it before; and poor Margaret was the last\nof the trio. The torture they used, said the Lords Commissioners, was\n\"safe and gentle.\" They put her bare legs into a pair of stocks, and laid\non them iron bars, augmenting their weight one by one, till Margaret,\nunable to bear the pain, cried out to be released, promising to confess\nthe truth as they wished to have it. But when released she only denied the\ncharges with fresh passion; so they had recourse to the iron bars again.\nAfter a time, pain and weakness overcame her again, and she shrieked\naloud, \"Tak off! tak off! and befoir God I will show ye the whole form!\"\nShe then confessed--whatever they chose to ask her; but unfortunately, in\nher ravings, included one Isobel Crawford, who when arrested--as she was\non the instant--attempted no defence, but, paralyzed and stupefied,\nadmitted everything with which she was charged. Margaret's trial\nproceeded: sullen and despairing, she assented to the most monstrous\ncounts: she knew there was no hope, and she seemed to take a bitter pride\nin suffering her tormentors to befool themselves to the utmost. In the\nmidst of her anguish her husband, Alexander Dein, entered the court,\naccompanied by a lawyer. And then her despair passed, and she thought she\nsaw a glimmer of life and salvation. She asked to be defended. \"All that\nI have confessed,\" she said, \"was in an agony of torture; and before God\nall that I have spoken is false and untrue. But,\" she added pathetically,\nturning to her husband, \"ye have been owre lang in coming!\" Her defence\ndid her no good; she was condemned, and at the stake entreated that no\nharm might befall Isobel Crawford, who was utterly and entirely innocent.\nTo whom did she make this prayer? to hearts turned wild and wolfish by\nsuperstition; to hearts made fiendish by fear; to men with nothing of\nhumanity save its form--with nothing of religion save its terrors. She\nmight as well have prayed to the fierce winds blowing round the\ncourt-house, or the rough waves lashing the barren shore! She was taken to\nthe stake, there strangled and burnt: bearing herself bravely to the last.\nPoor, brave, beautiful, young Margaret! we, at this long lapse of time,\ncannot even read of her fate without tears; it needed all the savageness\nof superstition to harden the hearts of the living against the actual\npresence of her beauty, her courage, and her despair!\n\nIsobel Crawford was now tried; \"after the assistant minister, Mr. David\nDickson, had made earnest prayer to God for opening her obdurate and\nclosed heart, she was subjected to the torture of the iron bars laid upon\nher bare shins, her feet being in the stocks, as in the case of Margaret\nBarclay.\" She endured this torture \"admirably,\" without any kind of din or\nexclamation, suffering above thirty stone of iron to be laid on her legs,\nnever shrinking thereat in any sort, but remaining steady and constant.\nBut when they shifted the iron bars, and removed them to another part of\nher legs, her constancy gave way, as Margaret's had done, and she too\nbroke out into horrible cries of \"Tak off! tak off!\" She then\nconfessed--anything--everything--and was sentenced: but on the way to her\nexecution she denied all that she had admitted, interrupted the minister\nin his prayer, and refused to pardon the executioner, according to form.\nHer brain had given way, and they fastened to the stake a bewildered,\nraving maniac. God rest their weary souls!\n\n\nMARGARET WALLACE AND HER DEAR BURD.[22]\n\nMargaret Wallace (1622), spous to John Dynning, merchant and citizen of\nGlasgow, hated Cuthbert Greg. She had sent Cristiane Grahame to him,\nwanting his dog; but he would not give it, saying, \"I rather ye and my\nhussie (cummer, gossip) baith was brunt or ye get my dog.\" Margaret,\ncoming to the knowledge of this speech, went to him angrily, and said,\n\"Ffals land-loupper loun that thow art, sayis thow that Cristiane Grahame\nand I sall be brunt for witches? I vow to God I sall doe ye ane evill\nturne.\" So she did, by means of a cake of bread, casting on him the most\nstrange, unnatural, and unknown disease, such as none could mend or\nunderstand. Suspecting that he was bewitched, his friends got her to come\nand undo the mischief she had done: so she went into the house, took him\nby the \"schaikill bane\" (shoulder-blade) with one hand, and laid the other\non his breast, but spoke no word, only moved her lips; then passed from\nhim on the instant. The next day she went again to his house, and took him\nup out of bed, leading him to the kitchen and three or four times across\nthe floor, though he had been bedridden for fifteen days, unable to put\nhis foot to the ground. And if all that was not done by devilish art and\ncraft, how was it done? asked the judges and the jury. Another time she\nwent to the house of one Alexander Vallange, where she was taken with a\nsudden \"brasch\" of sickness, and was so hardly holden that they thought\nshe would have \"ryved\" herself to fits. She cried out piteously for her\n\"dear burd,\" and the bystanders thought she meant her husband: but it\nturned out to be the witch Cristiane Grahame that she wanted--whom they\nimmediately sent for. Cristiane came at once, and took Margaret tenderly\nin her arms, saying \"no one should hurt her dear burd, no one;\" then\ncarried her down stairs into the kitchen, and so home to her own house.\nThe little daughter of the house ran after them; on the threshold, she was\nseized with a sudden pain, and falling down cried and screamed most\nsorely. Her mother went to lift her up crossly, but she called out,\n\"Mother, mother, ding me nocht, for there is ane preyne (pin) raschet\nthrow my fute.\" She \"grat\" all the night, and was very ill; her parents\nwatching by her through the long hours: but when Margaret wanted the\nmother to let her be cured by Cristiane's aid, she said sternly, no, \"scho\nwad commit her bairne to God, and nocht mell with the devill or ony of his\ninstrumentis.\" However, Margaret Wallace healed the little one unbidden;\nby leaping over some bits of green cloth scattered in the midst of the\nfloor, and then taking her out of bed and laying her in Cristiane\nGrahame's lap--which double sorcery cured her instantly. Cristiane Grahame\nhad been burnt for a witch some time before this trial; and now Margaret\nWallace, in this year of our Lord 1622, was doomed to the same fate: bound\nto a stake, strangled, burnt, her ashes cast to the wind, and all her\nworldly gear forfeit to king's majesty, because she was a tender-hearted,\nloving woman, with a strong will and large mesmeric power, and did her\nbest for the sick folk about her.\n\n\nTHOM REID AGAIN.[23]\n\nIsobell Haldane confessed before the Session of Perth, May 15, 1623, that\nshe had cured Andro Duncan's bairn by washing it and its sark in water\nbrought from the Turret Port, then casting the water into a burn; but in\nthe going \"scho skaillit (spilt) swm quhilk scho rewis ane evill rew,\nbecaus that if onye had gone ower it they had gottyn the ill.\" She\nconfessed, too, that about ten years since, she, lying in her bed, was\ntaken forth, whether by God or the devil she knows not, and carried to a\nhill: the hill-side opened, and she went in and stayed there from Thursday\nto Sunday at eleven o'clock, when an old man with a gray beard brought her\nforth. The old man with the gray beard, who seems to have been poor Bessie\nDunlop's old acquaintance, told her many things after this visit. He told\nher that John Roch, who came to the wright's shop for a cradle, need not\nbe so hasty, for his wife would not be lighter for five weeks, and then\nthe bairn should never lie in the cradle, but would die when baptized: as\nit proved, and as John Roch deposed on her trial. Also, he told her that\nMargaret Buchanan, then in good health, should prepare herself for death\nbefore Fastings Even, which was a few days hence; and Margaret died as she\npredicted. And Patrick Ruthven deposed that he, being sick--bewitched by\none Margaret Hornscleugh--Isobell came to see him, and stretched herself\nupon him, her head to his head, her hands on his, and so forth, mumbling\nsome words, he knew not what. And Stephen Ray deposed that three years\nsince he had detected Isobell in a theft, whereon she clapped him on the\nback, and said, \"Go thy way; thow sall nocht win thyself ane bannok of\nbreid for yeir and ane day;\" and so it proved. He pined away, heavily\ndiseased, and did not do a stroke of work for just three hundred and\nsixty-six days, of the full four-and-twenty hours' count. But Isobell said\nthat her sole words were, \"He that delyueret me frome the ffairy ffolk\nsall tak amends on thé:\" and that she had never meaned to harm him, nor\neven to answer him ungently. But she confessed to various charms; such as\na cake made of small handsful of meal, gotten from nine several women who\nhad been married, virgins--through a hole in which sick children were to\nbe passed, to their decided cure; and she confessed to getting water,\nsilently going, and silently returning, from the well of Ruthven, in which\nto bathe John Gow's child; and to having made a drink of focksterrie[24]\nleaves for Dan Morris's child, who \"wes ane scharge\" (changeling or fairy\nchild), which focksterrie drink she made it swallow; when it died soon\nafter. So Isobell Haldane shook hands with life, and went back to Thom\nReid and the fairy folk on the hill, helped thither by the hangman.\n\n\nBESSIE SMITH.\n\nIn the July of this same year Bessie Smith of Lesmahago also confessed to\nsundry unlawful doings. When people who were ill of the heart fevers went\nto her for advice, instead of employing honest drugs such as every\nChristian understood and nauseated, she bade them kneel and ask their\nhealth \"for God's sake, for Sanct Spirit, for Sanct Aikit, for the nine\nmaidens that died in the boor-tree in the Ladywell Bank. This charm to be\nbuik and beil to me, God grant that sae be.\" This charm, with the\n\"wayburn\" leaf to be eaten for nine mornings, was sufficient to prove\nBessie Smith of Lesmahago a necromancer; and the presbytery of Lanark did\nquite righteously, according to its lights, when they made her come before\nthem and confess her crimes, humbly. Fortunately, they did not burn her.\n\n\nTHOMAS GRIEVE'S ENCHANTMENTS (1623).[25]\n\nThomas Grieve was a notorious enchanter, according to the Session, which\nprided itself on being \"ripely advised.\" He put a woman's sickness on a\ncow, which ran mad, and died in consequence; and he cured William Kirk's\nbairn by stroking its hair back from its face and wrapping it in an\nenchanted cloth, whereby it slept, and woke healed. He cured cattle of\n\"the heastie,\" or any other bovine disease untranslateable, by sprinkling\nthe byre with enchanted water; and he cured sick people by putting them\nthrough a hank of yarn, which then he cut up and threw into the fire,\nwhere it burned blue. He healed one woman by \"fyring\"--putting a hot iron,\nwhich was supposed to burn the obsessing witch--into some magic water\nbrought from Holywell, Hill-side, and making her drink it; and he cured\nanother woman by burning a poor hen alive, first making her carry it,\nwhen half roasted, under her arm; and he took in hand to heal Elspeth,\nsister of John Thomson, of Corachie--passing with her two brothers in the\nnight season from Corachie towards Burley, enjoining them not to speak a\nword all the way, and whatever they heard or saw, not to be anywise\n\"effrayed,\" saying \"it micht be that thai would heir grit rumbling and sie\nvncouth feirfull apparitiones, but nothing suld annoy thame.\" Arrived at\nthe ford at the east of Birley he washed her sark; and during the time of\nthis washing there was a great noise made by fowls in the hill, beasts\nthat arose and fluttered in the water--\"beistes that arrais and\nflichtered\" in the water; and when he put her sark upon her again, Elspeth\nmended and was healed. And of another patient he propounded this wise\nopinion, come to by the examination of his sark: \"Allace, the withcraft\nappointit for ane vther hes lichtit vpoune him,\" but it had not yet\nreached his heart. And further than all this, which was bad enough, he\nmade signs and crosses, and muttered uncouth words, and believed in\nhimself and the devil: so he was strangled and burnt, and an end come to\nof him: for which the neighbours all were glad, even those he had\nbenefited, and the ministers were quite satisfied that they had given\nglory to God in the holiest manner open to them.\n\n\nKATHERINE GRANT AND HER STOUP.[26]\n\nKatherine Grant, in the November of the year 1623, was dilatit for that\nshe had gone to Henry Janies' house, with \"a stoup in hir hand, with the\nboddome foremost, and sat down ryght fornent the said Henrie, and gantit\nthryce on him: and going furth he followit hir; and beiyan the brigstane,\nscho lukit over her shoulder, and turned up the quhyt of her eye, quhair\nby her divilrie, their fell ane great weght upoun him that he was forcit\nto set his bak to the wall, and when he came in, he thoucht the hous ran\nabout with him, and theirefter lay seik ane lang tyme.\" Katherine Grant\nwas not likely to overcome the impression of such testimony as this: that\nshe should have gone to any man's house and yawned thrice, and added to\nthis devilry the further crime of looking over her shoulder, was quite\nenough evidence of guilt for any sane man or woman in Orkney. Can we\nwonder, then, that she was not suffered to vex the sunlight longer by\ncarrying pails bottom upwards, or yawning thrice in the faces of decent\nfolk, and that she was taken forth to be strangled, burnt, and her ashes\ncast to the four winds of the merciful heaven?\n\n\nTHE MISDEEDS OF MARION RICHART.[27]\n\n\"Mareoune\" Richart, _alias_ Langland, dwelt on one of the wild Orkney\nislands, not far from where mad Elspeth Sandisome kept the whole country\nin fear lest she should do something terrible to herself or to others.\nMarion was invited to go the house, and try her skill at curing her, for\nshe was known to be an awful witch, and able to do whatever she had a mind\nin the way of healing or killing. So she went, and set herself to her\ncharm. She took some \"remedie water\"--which she made into \"remedy water,\"\nby carrying it in a round bowl to the byre where she cast into it\nsomething like \"great salt,\" taken from her purse, spitting thrice into\nthe bowl, and blowing in her breath--and with this magic \"remedie watter\nforspeking,\" she bade Elspeth's woman-servant wash her feet and hands, and\nshe would be as well as ever she had been before. This was bad enough; but\nworse than this, she came to Stronsey on a day, asking alms of \"Andro\nCoupar, skipper of ane bark,\" to whom said Andrew rudely, \"Away witch,\ncarling; devils ane farthing ye will fall!\" whereupon went Marion away\n\"verie offendit; and incontinentlie he going to sea, the bark being vnder\nsaill, he ran wode, and wald half luppen ourboord; and his sone seing him\ngat him in his armes, and held him; quhairvpon the sicknes immediatelie\nleft him, and his sone ran made; and Thomas Paiterson, seeing him tak his\nmadnes, and the father to turn weill, ane dog being in the bark, took the\ndog and bladdit him vpon the twa schoulderis, and thaireftir flang the\nsaid dogg in the sea, quhairby those in the bark were saiffed.\" So Marion\nRichart, _alias_ Langland, learnt the hangman's way to the grave in the\nyear of grace 1629; and her corpse was burned, when the hangman's rope had\ndone its work.\n\n\nLADY LEE'S PENNY AND THE WITCHES OF 1629.[28]\n\nIsobel Young, spous to George Smith, was burnt, in 1629, for curing\ncattle, as well as for the other crimes belonging to a witch. She had\nsought to borrow Lady Lee's Penny--a precious stone or amulet, like to a\npiece of amber, set in a silver penny, which one of the old Lee family had\ngotten from a Saracen in the Crusades--and which Lee Penny was to help\nher in her incantations, for curing \"the bestiall of the routting evill,\"\nwhatever that might have been. But Lady Lee let her have only a flagon of\nwater in which the amulet had been steeped, which did quite as well, and\nhelped to set the stake as quickly as anything else would have done.\nVarious other mischancy things did Isobel Young. She stopped a certain\nmill, and made it incapable of grinding for eleven days: she forespoke a\ncertain boat, and though all the rest returned to Dunbar full and richly\nladen, this came back empty, whereby the owner was ruined: she bewitched\nmilk that it would give no cream, and churns, so that no butter would\ncome: she twice crossed the mill water on a wild and stormy night, when\nthe milne horses could not ride it out, and where there was no bridge of\nstone or wood; but Isobel the witch crossed and recrossed those raging\nwaters under the stormy sky, and came out at the end as dry as if from a\nkiln. And was not this as unholy as taking off her \"curch\" at William\nMeslet's barn-door, and running \"thrice about the barn widdershins,\"\nwhereby the cattle were caused to fall dead in \"great suddainty?\" Then, as\nfurther iniquity, she had dealings with Christian Grinton, another witch,\nwho one night came out of a hole in the roof in the likeness of a cat; and\nshe cast a sickness from off her husband, and laid it on his brother's\nson, who, knowing full well that he was bewitched, came to the house, and\nthere saw the \"firlott\"--a certain measure of wheat--running about, and\nthe stuff poppling on the floor, which was the manner of the charm.\nDrawing his sword, this husband's brother's son ran on the pannel (the\naccused) to kill her, but was witch-disabled, and only struck the lintel\nof the door instead; so he went home and died, and Isobel Young was the\ncause of his death by the cantrip wrought in the locomotive firlott and\nthe poppling grain. Forbye all this, she was seen riding on \"ane mare\"--at\nleast her apparition was seen so riding--and by her sorcery and devilish\nhandling the mare was made to cast its foal, and since died. So Isobel\nYoung was of no more value to the world or its inheritors, and died by the\ncord and the faggot, decently, as a convicted witch should. And Margaret\nMaxwell and her daughter Jane were haled before the Lords of Secret\nCouncil for having procured the death of Edward Thomson, Jane's husband,\n\"by the devilish and detestable practice of witchcraft;\" and Janet Boyd\nwas tried for \"the foul and detestable crime\" of receiving the devil's\nmark, besides being otherwise dishonestly intimate with him; but this was\nin 1628, and we are now in 1629: and then the Lords of the Privy Council\npublished a thundering edict, forbidding all persons to have recourse to\nholy words, or to make pilgrimages to chapels, and requiring of its\nCommissioners to make diligent search in all parts for persons guilty of\nthis superstitious practice, and to have up and put in ward all such as\nwere known to be specially devoted thereto. The meaning of the decree was\nto plague the Catholics, and Hibbert quotes part of this \"Commission\nagainst Jesuits, Priests, or Communicants and Papists, going in\npilgrimage.\" But whatever the political significance of the edict, the\nsocial effect was to make the search after the White Witches, or Black,\nhotter and more bitter than ever.\n\n\nELSPETH CURSETTER AND HER FRIENDS.[29]\n\nElspeth Cursetter was tried, May 29 (still in 1629), for all sorts of bad\nactions. She bade one of her victims \"get the bones of ane tequhyt\n(linnet), and carry thame in your claithes\"; and she gave herself out as\nknowing evil, and able to do it too, when and to whomsoever she would; and\nshe sat down before the house of a man who refused her admittance--for she\nwas an ill-famed old witch, and every one dreaded her--saying, \"Ill might\nthey all thrive, and ill may they speed,\" whereby in fourteen days' time\nthe man's horse fell just where she had sat, and was killed most\nlamentably. But she cured a neighbour's cow by drawing a cog of water out\nof the burn that ran before William Anderson's door, coming back and\ntaking three straws--one for William Anderson's wife, and one for William\nCoitts' wife, and one for William Bichen's wife--which she threw into the\npail with the water, then put the same on the cow's back; by which charm\nthe three straws danced in the water, and the water bubbled as if it had\nbeen boiling. Then Elspeth took a little quantity of this charmed water,\nand thrust her arm up to the elbow into the cow's throat, and on the\ninstant the cow rose up as well as she had ever been; but William\nAnderson's ox, which was on the hill, dropped down dead. Likewise she\nworked unholy cantrips for a sick friend with a paddock (toad), in the\nmouth of a pail of water, which toad was too large to get down the mouth,\nand when it was cast forth another man sickened and died immediately: and\nshe spake dangerous words to a child, saying, \"Wally fall that quhyt head\nof thine, but the pox will tak the away frae thy mother.\" As it proved,\nfor the little white head was laid low a short time after, when the\nsmall-pox raged through the land. \"Thow can tell eneugh yf thow lyke,\"\nsaid the mother to her afterwards, \"that could tell that my bairne wold\ndie so long befoir the tyme.\" \"I can tell eneugh if I durst,\" replied\nElspeth, over proud for her safety. But in spite of all this testimony,\nElspeth got off with \"arbitrary punishment,\" which did not include burning\nor strangling, so was luckier than her neighbours. Luckier than poor Jonet\nRendall was, who, on the 11th of November (1629), was proved a witch by\nthe bleeding of the corpse of the poor wretch whom she had \"enchanted\" to\nhis death. For \"as soon as she came in the corpse having lain a good\nspace, and not having bled any, immediately bled much blood, as a sure\ntoken that she was the author of his death.\" And had she not said, too,\nwhen a certain man refused her a Christmas lodging, \"that it wald be weill\nif the gude man of that hous sould make ane other yule banket\" (Christmas\nbanquet); by which curse had he not died in fifteen days after? Wherefore\nwas she a proved murderess as well as witch, and received the doom\nappointed to both alike. Alexander Drummond was a warlock who cured all\nkinds of horrid diseases, the very names of which are enough to make one\nill; and he had a familiar, which had attended him for \"neir this fifty\nyeiris:\" so he was convicted and burnt.\n\nThen came Jonet Forsyth, great in her art. She could cast sickness on any\none at sea, and cure him again by a salt-water bath; she could transfer\nany disease from man to beast, so that when the beast died and was opened,\nnothing could be found where its heart should have been but \"a blob of\nwater;\" she knew how to charm and sain all kinds of cattle by taking\nthree drops of a beastie's blood on All Hallow E'en, and sprinkling the\nsame in the fire within the innermost chamber; she went at seed time and\nbewitched a stack of barley belonging to Michael Reid, so that for many\nyears he could never make it into wholesome malt; and this she did for the\ngain of Robert Reid, changing the \"profit\" of the grain backwards and\nforwards between the two, according as they challenged or displeased her.\nAll this did Jonet Forsyth of Birsay, to the terror of her neighbours and\nthe ultimate ruin of herself, both in soul and body. Then came Catherine\nOswald,[30] spouse to Robert Aitcheson, in Niddrie, who was brought to\ntrial for being \"habite and repute\" a witch--defamed by Elizabeth Toppock\nherself a witch and, as is so often the case, a dear friend of Katie's.\nElizabeth need not have been so eager to get rid of her dear friend and\ngossip, for she was burnt afterwards for the same crimes as those for\nwhich poor Catherine suffered the halter and the stake. It seems that\nKatie was bad for her enemies. She was offended at Adam Fairbairn and his\nwife, so she made their \"twa kye run mad and rammish to died,\" and also\nmade a gentleman's bairn that they had a-fostering run wood (mad) and die.\nAnd she fired William Heriot's kiln, full of grain; and burnt all his\ngoods before his eyes; and made his wife, in a \"frantick humour,\" drown\nherself; and she cursed John Clark's ground, so that for four years after\n\"by hir sorceries, naether kaill, lint, hempe, nor any other graine\" would\ngrow thereon, though doubly \"laboured and sowen.\" She bewitched Thomas\nScott by telling him that he looked as well as when Bessie Dobie was\nliving, whereby he immediately fell so deadly sick that he could not\nproceed further, but was carried on a horse to Newbiggin, where he lay\nuntil the morrow, when \"a wife\" came in and told him he was forespoken.\nAnd other things as mischievous--and as true--did Catherine Oswald, as the\nRecord testifies. She was well defended, and might have got off, but that\na witness deposed to having seen Mr. John Aird the minister, and a most\nzealous witch-finder, prick her in the shoulder with a prin, and that no\nblood followed thereafter, nor did she shrink as with pain or feeling. And\nas there was no gainsaying the evidence of the witch-mark, Satan and Mr.\nJohn Aird claimed their own. Was Catherine's brand like a \"blew spot, or a\nlittle tate, or reid spots, like flea-biting?\" or with \"the flesh sunk in\nand hallow?\" according to the description of such places, published by Mr.\nJohn Bell, minister of the gospel in Gladsmuir. We are seldom told of what\nprecise character the marks were, only that they were found, pricked, and\ntested, and the witch hung or burnt on their testimony.\n\n\nSANDIE AND THE DEVIL.[31]\n\nSoon after Catherine Oswald's execution, one of her crew or covin, who had\nbeen with her on the great storm in \"the borrowing days (in anno 1625), on\nthe Brae of the Saltpans,\" a noted warlock, by name Alexander Hunter, or\nHamilton, _alias_ Hatteraick, which last name he had gotten from the\ndevil, was brought to execution on the Castle Hill. It was in 1629 that he\nwas taken. It was proved that on Kingston hills he had met with the devil\nas a black man, or, as Sinclair says, as a mediciner; and often\nafterwards he would meet him riding on a black horse, or he would appear\nas a corbie, cat, or dog. When Alexander wanted him he would beat the\nground with a fir stick lustily, crying, \"Rise up, foul thief!\" for the\nmaster got but hard names at times from his servants. This fir stick, and\nfour shillings sterling, the devil gave to him when the compact was first\nmade between them; and he confessed, moreover, that when raised in this\nmanner he could only be got rid of by sacrificing to him a cat or dog, or\nsuch like, \"quick.\" Also he set on fire Provost Cockburn's mill of corn,\nby taking three stalks from his stacks, and burning them on Garleton\nHills; and he owned to a deadly hatred against Lady Ormiston, because she\nonce refused him \"ane almous,\" and called him \"ane custroune carle.\" So,\nto punish her, he and some witches raised the devil in Salton Wood, where\nhe appeared like a man in gray clothes, and gave him the bottom of a blue\nclew, telling him to lay it at the lady's door: \"which he and the women\nhaving done, 'the lady and her daughter were soon thereafter bereft of\ntheir naturall lyfe.'\" But Sinclair's account is the most graphic. I will\ngive it in his own words:--\n\n\"Anent Hattaraick, an old Warlock.\n\n\"This man's name was Sandie Hunter, who called himself Sandie Hamilton,\nand it seems so called Hattaraik by the devil, and so by others as a\nNickname. He was first a Neatherd in East Lothian, to a gentleman there.\nHe was much given to charming and cureing of men and Beasts, by words and\nspels. His charms sometimes succeeded and sometimes not. On a day, herding\nhis kine upon a Hill side in the summer time, the Devil came to him in\nform of a Mediciner, and said, 'Sandie, you have too long followed my\ntrade, and never acknowledged me for your master. You must now take on\nwith me, and I will make you more perfect in your calling.' Whereupon the\nman gave up himself to the devil, and received his Mark with this new\nname. After this he grew very famous throw the countrey for his charming\nand cureing of diseases in men and beasts, and turned a vagrant fellow\nlike a Jockie, gaining Meat, Flesh, and Money by his Charms, such was the\nignorance of many at that time.\n\n\"Whatever House he came to, none durst refuse Hattaraik an alms, rather\nfor his ill than his good. One day he came to the yait of Samuelstown,\nwhen some Friends after dinner were going to Horse. A young Gentleman,\nBrother to the Lady, seeing him, switcht him about the ears, saying, 'You\nWarlok Cairle, what have you to do here?' whereupon the Fellow goes away\ngrumbling, and was overheard to say, 'You shall dear buy this, ere it be\nlong.' This was _Damnum Minatum_. The young Gentleman conveyed his Friends\na far way off, and came home that way again, where he slept. After supper,\ntaking his horse and crossing Tine-water to go home, he rides throw a\nshadowy piece of a Haugh, commonly called the Allers, and the evening\nbeing somewhat dark he met with some Persons there that begat a dreadful\nconsternation in him, which for the most part he would never reveal. This\nwas _malum secutum_. When he came home, the Servants observed terror and\nfear in his countenance. The next day he became distracted, and was bound\nfor several days. His sister, the Lady Samuelstoun, hearing of it, was\nheard to say, 'Surely that knave Hattaraik is the cause of his Trouble.\nCall for him in all haste.' When he had come to her, 'Sandie,' says she,\n'what is this you have done to my brother William?' 'I told him,' says\nhe, 'I should make him repent his striking of me at the Yait lately.' She\ngave the Rogue fair words, and promising him his Pock full of Meal with\nBeef and Cheese, persuaded the Fellow to cure him again. He undertook the\nbusiness; 'but I must first,' says he, 'have one of his Sarks,' which was\nsoon gotten. What pranks he plaid with it cannot be known. But within a\nshort while the gentleman recovered his health. When Hatteraik came to\nreceive his wadges, he told the Lady, 'Your Brother William shal quickly\ngoe off the Countrey but shall never return.' She, knowing the Fellow's\nprophecies to hold true, caused her Brother to make a Disposition to her\nof all his patrimony, to the defrauding of his younger brother George.\nAfter that this Warlock had abused the Countrey for a long time, he was at\nlast apprehended at Dunbar, and brought into Edinburgh, and burnt upon the\nCastle Hill.\" But not until he had delated several others of hitherto good\nrepute, so that for the next few months the witch-finder's hands were\nfull.\n\n\nTHE MIDWIFE'S DOUBLE SIN.\n\nNotably was arrested about this time, Alie Nisbet, midwife; and three\nothers. Alie was accused of witchcraft; and of a softer, but as heinous a\ncrime as witchcraft. This she confessed to; but the breaking of the\nseventh commandment in Christian Scotland, in the year 1632, was a far\nmore dangerous thing than we can imagine possible in our laxer day; and\nAlie was on the horns of a dilemma, either of which could land her in\nruin, death, and perdition. She was accused, among other things, of\nhaving taken her labour pains from off a certain woman, using \"charmes and\nhorrible words, amongs which thir ware some, _the bones to the fire and\nthe soull to the devill_;\" but this Alie denied, strenuously, though she\nadmitted that she might have bathed the woman's legs in warm water, which\nshe had bewitched for good, by putting her fingers into it and running\nthrice round the bed, widershins; but the spoken charm as given she would\nhave none of. The labour pains, however, left the woman, and were foully\nand unnaturally cast upon another who had no concern therewith, so that\nshe died in four-and-twenty hours from that time, and Alie was the\nmurderess by all the laws of sorcery. She was accused, also, of having\npoured some enchanted water on a threshold over which a servant girl,\nagainst whom she had a spite, must pass, and the servant girl died\ntherefrom. Alie was wirriet and burnt and troubled the world no more.\n\n\nKATHERINE GRIEVE AND JOHN SINCLAIR.[32]\n\nKatherine Grieve, too (1633), was brought to judgment and sentenced to be\n\"taken to the mercat crose and brunt in the cheick, in example of others,\"\nwith the future prospect, that if she haunted suspected places, or used\ncharms \"scho sould be brunt in asches to the dead without dome or law, and\nthat willinglie, of hir owne consent.\" For Katherine's curses had wronged\nboth man and beast, which evil thing she had brought to pass by the power\nof the devil her master. However, she was forced to undo her evil, and by\nlaying on of hands cure the sore she had made: so she got off with this\nsmaller punishment of branding, and a rebuke. And there was John Sinclair\ntried that same year; a cruel villain to others, if loving to his own. For\nunder silence and cloud of night he took his distempered sister, sitting\nbackward on the horse, and carried her from where she lay to the Kirk of\nHoy. Then a voice came to him, saying \"Seven is too many, but four might\ndo;\" and in the morning a boat with five men in it struck on the rocks,\nand four perished, but one was saved; by which fiendish and unholy\nsacrifice John Sinclair's sister was cured. He was proved to be their\nmurderer, for when the dead men were found, and he was \"forcit to lay his\nhandis vpoun thame, they guishit out with bluid and watter at the mouth\nand noise.\" John Sinclair's thread of life needed no more waxing to make\nit run smoothly and easily. The hangman knew where the knot lay; and cut\nit to the perfect satisfaction of all the country.\n\n\nBESSIE BATHGATE'S NIPS.[33]\n\nA year after this Bessie Bathgate, spouse to Alexander Rae, fell into\ntrouble and the hands of the police. George Sprot, wobster, had some cloth\nof Bessie's, which he kept too long for her thinking. She went and took it\nviolently away, and nipped his child in the thigh till it skirled, \"and of\nwhich nip it never convalesced, but dwamed thereof and died by hir\nsorcerie.\" Also, said Sprot's wife, giving her child an egg that came out\nof Bessie's house there struck out a lump as big as a goose egg upon the\nchild, which continued on her till her death, which was occasioned by\nnothing else than this \"enchanted egg.\" Furthermore she threatened Sprot\nthat \"he should never get his Sunday's meat to the fore by his work;\" and\nhe forthwith fell into extreme poverty, by which her words came true. To\nWilliam Donaldson she said--he outrunning her as she chased him to beat\nhim for calling her a witch--\"Weill, sir, the devill be in your feit,\" and\nhe fell lame and impotent straightways, and so continued ever since. Other\nthings of the same kind did she, bewitching Margaret Horne's cow that it\ndied, \"and that night it died there was women seen dancing on the rigging\nof the byre;\" also she was seen by \"two young men at 12 howers at even\n(when all persons are in their beds) standing barelegged and in hir sark\nvalicot, at the back of hir yard, conferring with the devill, who was in\ngray cloaths;\" which, with other offences of the same nature, were, we\nshould have thought, heavy enough to have lost a world. But Elizabeth\nBathgate, spouse to Alexander Rae, was acquitted; though how the verdict\ncame about no one can possibly understand.\n\nIt was not that any fit of mercy or humanity had come over the people.\nMore than twenty poor wretches suffered about this time, Sir George Home\nof Manderston, being one of the chief of the prosecutors: for Sir George\nand his wife did not live very lovingly together, and she was given to\nwitches and warlocks--or they said she was--to see if she could not get\nrid of him by enchantments and sorceries: so Sir George had a pleasant\nmixture of spite and self-defence in his onslaught, and the whole\ncountry-side was in a stir. About this time too, John Balfour, of\nCorhouse, took on himself the office of witch-finder and pricker by\nthrusting \"preens\" into the marks; but he was not accepted quite blindly,\nand measures were taken for examining his pretensions to this special\nbranch of knowledge. In general the pricker was the master of the\nsituation, and brought all the rest to his feet.\n\n\nBESSIE SKEBISTER.[34]\n\nAll the honest men of the isle knew Bessie Skebister. She was the\nshrewdest witch in the whole country, and it was a usual thing with them\nwhen they thought their boats in danger to send to her to know the truth;\nand, \"Giff Bessie say it is weill, it is weill\" was a common proverb in\nthe Orkney Islands. She did other things besides foreknowing the fall of\nstorms, for she took James Sandieson when in a strange distemper and\ntormented him greatly. \"In his sleip, and oftymes waking,\" says the\ndittay, \"he was tormented with yow, Bessie, and vther two with yow, quhom\nhe knew not, cairying him to the sea, and to the fyre, to Norroway,\nYetland, and to the south--that ye had ridden all this wayes, with ane\nbrydle in his mouth.\" Moreover, Bessie was a \"dreamer of dreams,\" as well\nas a rider of sick men's souls; so she was strangled and burnt.\n\n\nTHE TRIAL OF SPIRITS.[35]\n\nThe trial of Katherine Craigie (1640), had a certain dash of poetry and\nromance in it, not often found in these woeful stories. Friend Robbie--now\nfriend, now foe--lay a-dying, and Katherine must needs go see him with\nthe rest. The wild waves were beating round that rugged Orkney Isle, when\nKatherine went over the heather to Robbie's house. \"What now, Robbie! ye\nare going to die!\" she said. \"I grant that I prayed ill for yow, and now I\nsee that prayer hath taken effect. Jonet,\" quoth she, turning to the wife,\n\"if I durst trust in yow, I sould knaw quhat lyeth on your guidman and\nholdis him downe. I sould tell whether it was ane hill spirit, ane kirk\nspirit, or ane water spirit that so troubles him.\" Jonet was too anxious\nnot to promise secrecy or help, or anything else that Katherine wished; so\nthe next morning, before daylight, Katherine brought three stones to\nRobbie's house, and put them into the fire, where they remained until\nafter sunset. While the night was passing, they were taken from the fire,\nand put under the threshold of the door, then, in the early morning,\nthrown, one after the other, into a pail of water, where Jonet heard one\nof them \"chirle and chirme.\" Upon which Katherine said that it was a kirk\nspirit that troubled the guidman Robbie, and he must be washed with the\nwater in which the stones had \"chirled and chirmed.\" This ceremony was\nrepeated thrice, and at the third time Katherine herself washed Robbie, on\nwhom this unusual cleansing had most powerful and beneficial effects. When\none thinks of the normal state of filth in which these honest people\nlived, it is not surprising if any form of ablution proved of a most\nsupernatural benefit. But Katherine Craigie got into the trouble from\nwhich there was no escape; and friend Robbie went back to his dirt,\npersuaded of the Satanic agency of a bath.\n\nQuite as full of poetic feeling was James Knarstoun's manner of charming\nwith stones, when he took one stone for the ebb, another for the hill, and\nthe third for the kirkyard, listening carefully as to what stone should\nmake the \"bullering\" noise that would betray the tormenting spirit, and\nenable the magician to send him home again: a process through which\nKatherine Carey went (1617) when she found that her patient was troubled\nwith the spirit of the sea, which would not let him bide in peace and\nquiet. Such touches as these redeem the subject from the sad monotony of\nsorrow and death which else pervades it from end to end, and lift it from\nthe domain of the devil into the brighter and lovelier world of the\nSpirits of Nature.\n\n\nSIXTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-THREE.\n\nIn 1643 there was a fierce onslaught against the poor persecuted servants\nof the devil. Thirty women suffered at once in Fife alone; and the more\nzealous of the ministers hounded on the people to terrible cruelties.\nThere was one John Brugh,[36] \"a notorious warlock in the parachin of\nFossoquhy, by the space of 36 yearis,\" who was wirreit at a stake and\nburnt; and Janet Barker and Margaret Lauder, \"indwellers and servands in\nEdinburgh,\" who came to confession boldly, and showed that they had read\nthe story of Europa to some purpose, though to a great deal of confusion.\nThey accused Janet Cranstoun of seducing them, by promising them that if\nthey gave themselves over to her and the devil, they should be \"as trimlie\nclad as the best servands in Edinburgh.\" Coupled with the fact that they\nhad witch-marks, their confession was accepted as undeniable, and their\nfate inevitably sealed.\n\nAnd there was Marion Cumlaquoy,[37] in Birsay, who bewitched David\nCumlaquoy's corn seed, and made it run out too soon. She had been very\nanxious to know when David would sow, and when she was told, she went and\nstood \"just to his face\" all the time he was casting, and that year his\nseed failed him, so that he could only sow a third of his land; though he\nhad as much grain as heretofore, and it had never run out too soon all the\nyears he had farmed that land. And she went to Robert Carstairs' house by\nsunrise one day, bringing milk to his good mother, though not used to show\nsuch attention; and as she left she turned herself three several times\n\"withershins\" about the fire, and that year Robert Carstairs' \"bear\n(barley) was blew and rottin,\" and his oats gave no proper meal, but made\nall who ate thereof heart-sick, albeit both bear and oats were good and\nfresh when he put them in the yard. And if all this was not proof against\nMarion Cumlaquoy, what would the Orkney courts hold as proof? As the past,\nso the present; and Marion Cumlaquoy must learn in prison and at the stake\nthe evils that honest folk found in her power of \"enchanting\" corn and\ncrops. There were many others in this same year, to catalogue whom would\nbecome at least wearisome and monotonous: they must be passed by\nunmentioned, and left to the silence and oblivion which is the privilege\nof the unfortunate dead.\n\nBut among the victims was one Agnes Finnie,[38] a bitter-tongued,\nevil-tempered old hag, who had a curse and a threat for every one who\noffended her; who killed young Fairlie with a terrible disorder, because\nhe called her \"Winnie Annie;\" and laid so frightful a disease on Beatrix\nNisbet, for some other trifling offence, that she lost the use of her\ntongue; who made a \"grit jist\" (great joist) fall down on the leg of\nEuphame Kincaid's daughter, because Euphame called her a witch on being\ncalled by her a drunkard; and appeared to John Cockburn in the night--the\ndoors and windows being fast closed--terrifying him by her hideous old\napparition in his sleep, because he had disagreed with her daughter; and\nwho did all other wicked and uncanny things, like a raving, unprincipled,\nold hag as she was. She even forespoke Alexander Johnstone's bairne, so\nthat it was eleven years old before it could walk, and all because she was\nnot made godmother, or \"had not gotten its name;\" and she made Margaret\nWilliamson sick and blind, by saying most outrageously, \"The devill blaw\nthé blinde!\" And she was a bad mother and evil exemplar to her daughter,\nbringing her up to be as vile as herself, at least in the way of\nquarrelling and fighting with her neighbours, and then backing her with an\nunfair amount of her own supernatural powers. Thus, one day, Margaret\nRobinson, the daughter in question, was using high words with Mawse\nGourlay, spouse of Andrew Wilson, and Mawse, in a rage, called her \"ane\nwitche's get,\" which was about the worst thing that could be said in those\ndays between a couple of scolds. \"Gif I be ane witche's get,\" cried\nMargaret, in extremest fury, \"the devill ryve the saull out of ye befoir I\ncome again!\" After which cruel and devilish imprecation, helped on by\nWinnie Annie's horrible art used at Margaret's instigation, Andrew Wilson\nbecame \"frenatik\" and stark mad: his eyes starting out of his head in the\nmost terrible and frightful manner as he went about, ever pronouncing\nthese words as his ordinary and continual speech--the perpetual raving of\nhis madness--\"The devill ryve the saull out o' me!\" For all which\ncrimes--though she was ably defended--though, when her house was searched,\n\"there was neither picture, toad, nor any such thing found therein, which\never any witch in the world was used to practize,\"--yet the evidence was\nheld to be too strong, and Winnie Annie Finnie was ordained to be \"brunt\nto the deid,\" and her ashes cast out to the winds of heaven.\n\nJanet Brown[39] was another of those who got into hot quarters. She\nconfessed that she had charmed James Hutton and Janet Scott with these\nwords:--\n\n  \"Our Lord forth did raide,\n  His foal's foot slade;\n  Our Lord down lighted,\n  His foal's foot righted;\n  Saying flesh to flesh, blood to blood, and stane to stane,\n  In our Lord his name.\"\n\n\nShe said this was a charm that had been learnt her by a nameless man from\nStrathmiglo; but Margaret Fisher,[40] in Weardie, spoke it somewhat\ndifferently. She had for her spell:--\n\n  \"Our Lord to hunting red,\n  His sool-soot sled,\n  Down he lighted,\n  His sool-soot righted;\n  Blod to blod,\n  Shinew to shinew,\n  To the other sent in God's name,\n  In the name of the Father, Sone, and Holy Ghost.\"\n\nEither version was equally efficacious as a cure to the sick and a curse\nto the whole; and equally deadly as a crime in those who used it. And\nthere was Margaret Young, \"ane honest young woman of good reputation,\nwithout any scandal or blot,\" who lay miserably in prison for ten weeks,\nwithout trial or release; but she got off at last on her husband's\nbecoming her surety. And Jonet Thomeson, who bewitched Andrew Burwick's\ncorn, so that when carried to the mill it leapt up into his wife's face\nlike mites, and as it were \"nipped\" her face until it swelled; and when it\nwas made into \"meat,\" neither he nor his wife could abide the smell of it;\nand when they did manage to eat it, it tasted like pins (\"went owre lyke\nprinsis\"), and could not be quenched for thirst: and the dogs would not\neat of it, and the neighbours would not buy it; so poor Andrew Burwick's\ngear was destroyed, and his means most sorely diminished. For all which\ndeadly sorcery and malice Jonet Thomeson, _alias_ Greibok, was made to\nsmart severely.\n\nMarion Peebles[41] came to an untimely end, not unreasonably, according to\nthe witch-haters. She was \"a wicked, devilish, fearful, and abominable\ncurser,\" and the world could not be too soon rid of her; for had she not\nchanged herself into the likeness of an unchristian beast, a mere\nshapeless monster, a huge and ugly \"pellack-quhaill\" (porpoise), and in\nthis form wrecked the boat of Edward Halcro, to whom she and her husband\nhad \"ane deadlie and veneficial malice?\" Halcro and four other men were in\nthe boat, and public suspicion pointed at once to Marion, and affirmed\nthis wreck to be caused by her wicked deed. So when two of the dead bodies\nwere brought to land, she and her husband had to undergo the\n_bahr-recht_--the ordeal by touch of the dead--to prove themselves\ninnocent or guilty. When they came where they lay the \"said umquhile\nEdward bled at the collar-bane or craig-bane;\" the other in the hand and\nfingers, \"gushing out bluid thairat, to the great admiration of the\nbeholders, and judgment of the Almytie.\" Many and heavy were Marion's\nmisdeeds. She cursed Janet Robinson, and \"accordingly showers of pains and\nfits fell upon the victim.\" She looked upon a cow, and it \"crappit\ntogidder till no lyfe was leukit for her.\" She took away the profit of\nEdward Halcro's brewing, and destroyed the milk of Andrew Erasmusson's kye\nfor thirteen days. Indeed, her character was so well known that when\nSwene, her husband, was working in a peat moss where a sickly fellow was\none of the gang, his fellows would ask him seriously \"if he could not make\nhis wife go to her pobe (foster-father) the devil, and bid him loose a\nknot, so that the man might get back his health?\" Once she cast a sickness\non a woman, then took it from her and flung it on a calf, which went mad\nand died; and she crippled a man, then cured him under compulsion, by\nputting her fingers first to his leg and then to the ground, which she did\ntwice, muttering to herself; but the report of this getting about, she was\nangry and banned the man once more, yet once more was forced to cure\nhim;--this time by means of a bannock prepared with her own hands, whereby\nshe cast his malady on a cow. Poor cowey died of her strange sickness, and\npoor Marion died of a worse disease--the rope and the faggot: and then the\nneighbourhood slept in peace.\n\n\nSINCLAIR'S STORIES.[42]\n\nOn a certain day in a certain month, A.D. 1644, a woman went to the house\nof another woman in Borrowstonness. She went early, and instantly fell to\nmauling and pulling her, crying, \"Thou traitour thief, thou thought to\ndestroy my son this morning, but it was not in thy power!\" And then she\npulled her mutch from off her head, and mauled and maltreated her anew.\nNow the meaning of the row was, that this woman had a son out at sea, whom\nshe, so cruelly assaulted, had sought to destroy by means of a sudden\nstorm raised by magic means this very day. The storm was actually raised,\nand many of the crew suffered; but the son of the woman at Borrowstonness\nwas washed overboard by one wave, and washed on board again by another\nwave, which so filled all the mariners with amaze that they came ashore.\nThe dispute between the two women becoming noised abroad, and the thing\nbeing as the one had said, it was found that they were both in equal\nfault--that the one had done, and the other known, too much; wherefore\nthey were burnt as witches, and the world had the satisfaction of hearing\nthem confess before they died.\n\nAnother woman, \"about thirty and two, or three and thirty years of age, a\nmost beautiful and comely person as was in the country about,\" wife to one\nGoodaile, a cooper, in Carrin, was fyled for a witch and put in prison.\nShe was the devil's favourite and dear delight; and at their meetings she\nwas the person whom \"he did most court and embrace, calling her constantly\nmy dear mistress, setting her always at his right hand, to the great\ndiscontent of his old haggs, whom, as they now conceived, he slighted;\"\nbut her time came at last, and the law caught hold of her in place of the\ndevil, and gave her a yet more stringent embrace. James Fleming, a\nsea-captain, and a man of great personal courage and physical strength,\nwas set to watch her, for the magistrates feared lest the devil should\nattempt her rescue, since he loved her so well; and to him she said, that\nif she got no deliverance by one o'clock in the morning, she would lay her\nbreast open to him and confess freely. James Fleming, a little alarmed at\nthis, and not liking to encounter the devil single-handed, took down\nfourteen of his ship's company with him, \"not forgetting the reading of\nScripture and earnest prayer to God.\" Sure enough the foul fiend came: for\non a sudden at midnight a tremendous hurricane arose, which unroofed the\nhouse where they all were, and threatened to bring the whole place about\ntheir ears, and a voice was heard calling to her by a strange name to come\naway: \"at which time she made three several loups upward, increasing\ngradually till her feet were as high as his breast.\" But though James\nFleming's hair was standing widershins on his head, and though his heart\nfailed him for dread and fear, and he \"beteached\" himself to God \"with\ngreat amazement,\" yet his muscles continued as serviceable as ever, and at\nlast got the better even of the Prince of Darkness. He held this beautiful\nand comely person in his powerful arms, and kept her there, through all\nher struggles to get free; and at last succeeded in throwing her down upon\nthe ground, where for some time she grovelled and foamed like one in the\nfalling sickness, and then sank into a deep sleep. When she awaked she\ncomplained bitterly of the devil, saying how that he had promised to\nrelease her and carry her over to Ireland, touching at Paisley by the way,\nwhere she had a sister living; but now she saw through all his treachery\nand perfidiousness, and understood how she had been made his dupe. She was\nburnt in all penitence and good conduct, as was also another woman about\nthe same time, who, putting up her arm to swear that she was not a witch,\nhad it suddenly withered and stiffened so that she could not bring it back\nagain; nor was she able to do so, until a minister who was there, had\nintreated God in her behalf; for the ministers were always men of mighty\npower on such occasions, and either made or marred at their pleasure. If\nthey chose to accept a case as possession, they prayed and exorcised; but\nif it seemed good to them to call it witchcraft, then the poor wretch's\nlife was doomed, and no man might hope to save. It was very seldom they\ncared so much for humanity as to choose the more merciful of the two\nabsurdities. Sometimes, though, the devil was as good as his word, and\nmade at least an attempt, if a clumsy one, to release his servants: as\nwhen he took Helen Eliot from the steeple of Culross where she was\nconfined, and carried her in his arms through the air. He might have\nlanded her in safety somewhere--who knows?--had she not cried out, \"O God!\nwhither are you taking me?\" At which words he let her fall \"at the\ndistance from the steeple of about the breadth of the street of Edinburgh,\nwhereby she broke her legs and otherwise seriously injured herself.\" Many\nthousand people flocked to see the dimple which her heels had made, and\nover which no grass would grow again. So at last they built a stone dyke\nround it, and kept the impression safe.\n\nIn 1649 Lady Pittathrow was delated of witchcraft. She was put in prison\nwaiting for her trial; but one morning she was found dead, having\nstrangled herself, or been strangled by the devil--the world might\ndetermine which according to its pleasure. Shortly after, Bessie Grahame\nwas apprehended for a few drunken words said against John Rankin's wife,\nwho had since died. During a confinement of thirteen weeks she was\nvisited by the minister, who found her obdurate in confession, and was\nmuch inclined to find her innocent of crime. But Alexander Bogue, a\npricker, came to examine her, and discovered the mark, into which he\nthrust a pin, which neither pained nor drew blood. Still she was held to\nbe innocent, until one day Mr. James Fergusson, the minister, heard her\ntalking to the devil as soon as she was alone. He knew it was the devil,\nfor his voice was hollow and ghoustie, and the servant, Alexander Sympson,\nwas like to have fallen back for fear. Still Bessie would never confess\nanything beyond general unworthiness and the usual tale of vague misdeeds,\nowning, indeed, to a special horror of him, the minister, and how she was\nnot \"let to love him,\" as indeed was no special miracle; and then she fell\nto railing at him bitterly, which was less a miracle than all else. So she\nwas burnt, dying obdurate and unconfessed; and thus another murder reeked\nup to heaven, crying aloud for vengeance, because John Rankin's wife died\nsuddenly, and an intemperate old woman swore in her cups and had a habit\nof speaking to herself.\n\nAgnes Gourlay was accused of charming milk. She told Anna Simpson to throw\na small quantity of the milk into the \"grupe\" or sewer of the byre,\nsaying, \"God betak us to! May be they are under the earth that have as\nmuch need of it as they that are above the earth!\" After which bread and\nsalt were to be put into the cows' ears, and milk would come. Agnes got\noff by penance and confession: which was more than Janet Couts did, or\nArchibald Watt, _alias_ \"Sole the Paitlet;\" though eleven other poor\ncreatures delated escaped their doom, partly because the burgh of Lanark\ndisliked having so many mouths to feed in prison pending their trial.\n\nAt Lauder, in 1649, Hob Grieve was accused of witchcraft. Twenty years\nagone his wife, who had been burnt for a witch, told Hob that he might get\nrich if he would follow her counsel and go along with her. So he went with\nher to a haugh on Gallow-water, to meet, as she said, a gentleman there;\nbut he saw only a large mastiff dog, \"which amazed him.\" At last came the\ndevil as a black man, telling him that if he would take suit and service\nwith him he should be made rich. He was to be officer at the meetings, and\nhold the door at the sabbaths. Hob consented, and for eighteen years held\nthat office; but it does not seem that the foul fiend kept his part of the\ncondition, for Hob had enough to do to find salt for his porridge. He was\nalways poor, and remained poor to the end, with all the kicks and none of\nthe halfpence; and for his eighteen years of servitude got only suspicion\nand ill-will, without fat or fry to comfort him. When taken, he \"delated\"\nmany, who, for the most part, confessed. After he had filled the prison,\nso that it could hold no more, he accused another still, a woman of\nLauder. The magistrate kept the secret, wishing to wait until some of the\naccused were \"emptied out,\" having nowhere to put her; but the devil,\nalways at mischief, went to her in the night time, and told her what Hob\nGrieve had said. Next day she arose and came to the prison, railing at\nHob, calling him warlock and slave to the devil, and what not. She was\ntold to go home, but she sat down on the Tolbooth stairs, and said she\nwould never stir until she and that slave of Satan had been confronted.\nThe bailie himself came to her, and told her to go home; but that was too\nmild a proceeding. \"No,\" she cried, \"I must be set face to face with that\nrascal who has delated me, an honest woman, for a witch.\" She was set face\nto face with him, and she fell down on her bare knees, and cursed him.\nSays she, \"Thou common thief, how dare thou for thy soul say that ever\nbefore this time thou saw me or I saw thee, or ever was in thy company,\neither alone or with others?\" Hob listened to her railings patiently, till\ncommanded by the bailie to speak, when says he, \"How came she then to know\nthat I had called her a witch? Surely none but the devil, thy old master\nand mine, has told thee so much.\" \"The devil and thou perish together, for\nhe is not my master though he be thine. I defy the devil and all his\nworks!\" said the woman. Then Hob reminded her of the many times and places\nwhere they had met while in the same service; whereat she cried, \"Now I\nperceive that the devil is a lyar and a murderer from the beginning, for\nthis night he came to me, and told me to come and abuse thee; and never\ncome away till I was confronted with thee, and he assured me that thou\nwould deny all and say, thou false tongue, thou lyest!\" She then confessed\nall with which she was charged, and was executed. Hob was a very penitent\nsinner: being now a mere lunatic, he was easy to manage, and exceeding\nconfidential in his confessions. He said that once in Musselburgh water\nthe devil had tried to drown him when he had a heavy creil on his back;\nand even since he had been in prison he had come to cast him into the\nfire. But though there was a very crowd \"fylit\" by this poor maniac, he\nwas innocent of the death of a certain woman who was hanged a short time\nafter. The magistrates, glutted to satiety with victims, wanted to save\nher; but she would accept no chance offered to her. She had been fyled as\na witch, she said, and as a witch she would die. And had not the devil\nonce, when she was a young lassie, kissed her, and given her a new name?\nReason enough why she should die, if even nothing worse lay behind. At\nlast the day of her execution came, and she was taken out to be burnt with\nthe rest. On her way to the scaffold she made this lamentable\nspeech:--\"Now all you that see me this day, know that I am now to die a\nwitch by my own confession; and I free all men, especially the ministers\nand magistrates, of the guilt of my blood. I take it wholly on myself. My\nblood be upon my own head; and as I must make answer to the God of heaven\npresently, I declare I am as free of witchcraft as any child; but being\ndelated by a malicious woman, and put in prison under the name of a witch,\ndisowned by my husband and friends, and seeing no ground of hope of my\ncoming out of prison or ever coming in credit again, through a temptation\nof the devil, I made up that confession on purpose to destroy my own life,\nbeing weary of it, and choosing rather to die than to live.\" How many poor\nwretches had been like this unhappy creature--disowned by husband and\nfriends, seeing no ground of hope of ever coming in credit again, and\ntherefore in despair choosing rather to die than to live! In this special\ncase even the magistrates, usually so passionately determined that all the\naccused should be found guilty and suffer death, even they seem to have\nsought her release, and to have refused the evidence of her confession as\nlong as they could; but the times were not sufficiently enlightened for\nthem to refuse it altogether; and so she gained the fiery goal whither her\nanguish and despair impelled her.\n\n\nMANIE HALIBURTON.[43]\n\nIn 1649, John Kinnaird, the witch-finder, made deposition that he had\n\"pricked\" Patrik Watson, of West Fenton, and Manie Haliburton, his spouse,\nand that he had found the devil's mark on Patrik's back a little under the\npoint of his left shoulder, and on Manie's neck a little above her left\nshoulder; of which marks they were not sensible (had no feeling in them),\nneither came there any blood when pricked. So Manie, seeing that the scent\nwas hot and the game up, made confession, and saved further trouble. She\nsaid that eighteen years ago, the devil had come to her in likeness of a\nman, calling himself a physician, saying that he had good salves, and\nspecially oylispek (oil of spike or spikenard), wherewith he would cure\nher daughter, then sick. So she bought some of his salves, and gave him\ntwo English shillings for her bargain, forbye bread and milk and a pint of\nale. In eight days' time he came again, and stayed all night; and the next\nmorning, Patrik being \"forth\" and Manie yet in bed, she became more\nintimately acquainted with the devil than an honest woman should. We do\nnot read that Manie was tortured, and, considering that it was not an\nunusual thing to keep suspected witches twenty-eight days and nights on\nbread and water, they being stripped stark naked, with only a haircloth\nover them, and laid on a cold stone, or to put them into hair-shirts\nsteeped in vinegar, so that the skin might be pulled from off them, we\nfeel that poor Manie got off pretty well with only cremation as the result\nof her mad confessions.\n\nBut one of the most extraordinary things of all was that wonderful bit of\nknavery and credulity called\n\n\nTHE DEVIL OF GLENLUCE,[44]\n\nwhen Master Tom Campbell set the whole country in a flame, and brought no\nend of notice and sympathy upon his house and family. In 1654 one Gilbert\nCampbell was a weaver in Glenluce, a small village not far from Newton\nStewart. Tom, his eldest son, and the most important personage in the\ndrama, was a student at Glasgow College; and there was a certain old\nblaspheming beggar, called Andrew Agnew--afterwards hanged at Dumfries for\nhis atheism, having said, in the hearing of credible witnesses, that\n\"there was no God but salt, meal, and water\"--who every now and then came\nto Glenluce to ask alms. One day old Andrew visited the Campbells as\nusual, but got nothing; at which he cursed and swore roundly, and\nforthwith sent a devil to haunt the house, for it was soon after this\nrefusal that the stirs began, and the connection was too apparent to be\ndenied. For what could they be but the malice of the devil sent by old\nAndrew in revenge? Young Tom Campbell was the worst beset of all, the\ndemon perpetually whistling and rioting about him, and playing him all\nsorts of diabolical and malevolent tricks. Once, too, Jennet, the young\ndaughter, going to the well, heard a whistling behind her like that\nproduced by \"the small slender glass whistles of children,\" and a voice\nlike the damsel's, saying, \"I'll cast thee, Jennet, into the well! I'll\ncast thee, Jennet, into the well!\" About the middle of November, when the\ndays were dark and the nights long, things got very bad. The foul fiend\nthrew stones in at the doors and windows, and down the chimney head; cut\nthe warp and threads of Campbell's loom; slit the family coats and bonnets\nand hose and shoon into ribbons; pulled off the bed-clothes from the\nsleeping children, and left them cold and naked, besides administering\nsounding slaps on those parts of their little round rosy persons usually\nheld sacred to the sacrifices of the rod; opened chests and trunks, and\nstrewed the contents over the floor; knocked everything about, and\nill-treated bairn and brother; and, in fact, persecuted the whole family\nin the most merciless manner. The weaver sent his children away, thinking\ntheir lives but barely safe, and _in their absence there were no assaults\nwhatever_--a thing to be specially noted. But on the minister's\nrepresenting to him that he had done a grievous sin in thus withdrawing\nthem from God's punishments, they were brought back again in contrition.\nOnly Tom was left behind, and nothing ensued until Tom appeared; but\nunlucky Tom brought back the devil with him, and then there was no more\npeace to be had.\n\nOn the Sunday following Master Tom's return, the house was set on\nfire--the devil's doing: but the neighbours put the flames out again\nbefore much damage had ensued. Monday was spent in prayer; but on Tuesday\nthe place was again set on fire, to be again saved by the neighbours'\nhelp. The weaver, in much trouble, went to the minister, and besought him\nto take back that unlucky Tom, whom the devil so cruelly followed and\nmolested; which request he, after a time, \"condescended to,\" though\nassuring the weaver that he would find himself deceived if he thought\nthat the devil would quit with the boy. And so it proved; for Tom, having\nnow indoctrinated some of his juniors with the same amount of mechanics\nand legerdemain as he himself possessed, managed that they should be still\nsore troubled--the demon cutting their clothes, throwing peats down the\nchimney, pulling off turf and \"feal\" from the roof and walls, stealing\ntheir coats, pricking their poor bodies with pins, and raising such a\nclamour that there was no peace or rest to be had.\n\nThe case was becoming serious. Glenluce objected to be made the\nhead-quarters of the devil; and the ministers convened a solemn meeting\nfor fast and humiliation; the upshot of which was that weaver Campbell was\nled to take back his unlucky Tom, with the devil or without him. For this\nwas the point at issue in the beginning; the motive of which is not hard\nto be discovered. Whereupon Tom returned; but as he crossed the threshold\nhe heard a voice \"forbidding him to enter that house, or any other place\nwhere his father's calling was exercised.\" Was Tom, the Glasgow student,\nafraid of being made a weaver, consent or none demanded? In spite of the\nwarning voice he valiantly entered, and his persecutions began at once. Of\ncourse they did. They were tremendous, unheard of, barbarous; in fact, so\nbad that he was forced to return once more for a time to the minister's\nhouse; but his imitator or disciple left behind carried on business in his\nabsence. On Monday, the 12th day of February, the demon began to speak to\nthe family, who, nothing afraid, answered quite cheerily: so they and the\ndevil had long confidential chats together, to the great improvement of\nmind and morals. The ministers, hearing of this, convened again, and met\nat weaver Campbell's, to see what they could do. As soon as they entered,\nSatan began: \"Quum literatum is good Latin,\" quoth he. These were the\nfirst words of the Latin rudiments, as taught in the grammar-school. Tom's\nclassical knowledge was coming into play.\n\nAfter a while he cried out, \"A dog! a dog!\" The minister, thinking he was\nalluded to, answered, \"He thought it no evil to be reviled of him;\" to\nwhich Satan replied civilly, \"It was not you, sir, I spoke to: I meant the\ndog there;\" for there was a dog standing behind backs. They then went to\nprayer, during which time Tom--or the devil--remained reverently silent;\nhis education being not yet carried out to the point of scoffing.\nImmediately after prayer was ended, a counterfeit voice cried out, \"Would\nyou know the witches of Glenluce? I will tell of them,\" naming four or\nfive persons of indifferent repute, but one of whom was dead. The weaver\ntold the devil this, thinking to have caught him tripping; but the foul\nfiend answered promptly, \"It is true she is dead long ago, but her spirit\nis living with us in the world.\"\n\nThe minister replied, saying, \"Though it was not convenient to speak to\nsuch an excommunicated and intercommuned person, 'the Lord rebuke thee,\nSatan, and put thee to silence. We are not to receive information from\nthee, whatsoever fame any person goes under. Thou art seeking but to\nseduce this family, for Satan's kingdom is not divided against itself.'\"\nAfter which little sparring there was prayer again; so Tom did not take\nmuch by this move.\n\nAll the while the young Glasgow student was very hardly holden, so that\nthere was more prayer on his special behalf. The devil then said, on their\nrising, \"Give me a spade and a shovel, and depart from the house for\nseven days, and I will make a grave and lie down in it, and shall trouble\nyou no more.\"\n\nThe good man Campbell answered, \"Not so much as a straw shall be given\nthee, through God's assistance, even though that would do it. God shall\nremove thee in due time.\" Satan cried out, impudently, \"I shall not remove\nfor you. I have my commission from Christ to tarry and vex this family.\"\nSays the minister, coming to the weaver's assistance, \"A permission thou\nhast, indeed; but God will stop it in due time.\" Says the demon,\nrespectfully, \"I have, sir, a commission which perhaps will last longer\nthan yours.\" And the minister died in the December of that year, says\nSinclair. Furthermore, the demon said he had given Tom his commission to\nkeep. Interrogated, that young gentleman replied in an off-hand way, that\n\"he had had something put into his pocket, but it did not tarry.\" They\nthen began to search about for the foul fiend, and one gentleman said, \"We\nthink this voice speaks out of the children.\" The foul fiend, very angry\nat this--or Master Tom frightened--cries out, \"You lie! God shall judge\nyou for your lying; and I and my father will come and fetch you to hell\nwith warlock thieves.\" So the devil discharged (forbade) the gentleman to\nspeak anything, saying, \"Let him that hath a commission speak (meaning the\nminister), for he is the servant of God.\" The minister then had a little\nreligious controversy with the devil, who answered at last, simply, \"I\nknew not these scriptures till my father taught me them.\" Nothing of all\nthis disturbing the easy faith of the audience, they, through the\nminister, whom alone he would obey, conjured him to tell them who he was;\nwhereupon he said that he was an evil spirit come from the bottomless pit\nof hell, to vex this house, and that Satan was his father. And then there\nappeared a naked hand, and an arm from the elbow downward, beating on the\nfloor till the house did shake again, and a loud and fearful crying, \"Come\nup, father! come up, father! I will send my father among ye! See! there he\nis behind your backs!\"\n\nSays the minister, \"I saw, indeed, a hand and an arm, when the stroke was\ngiven and heard.\"\n\nSays the devil, \"Saw ye that? It was not my hand, it was my father's; my\nhand is more black in the loof.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Gilbert Campbell, in an ecstacy, \"that I might see thee as well\nas I hear thee!\"\n\n\"Would ye see me?\" says the foul thief. \"Put out the candle, and I shall\ncome but[45] the house among you like fire-balls; I shall let ye see me\nindeed.\"\n\nAlexander Bailie of Dunraget said to the minister, \"Let us go ben,[46] and\nsee if there is any hand to be seen.\" But the demon exclaimed, \"No! let\nhim (the minister) come ben alone: he is a good honest man: his single\nword may be believed.\" He then abused Mr. Robert Hay, a very honest\ngentleman, very ill with his tongue, calling him witch and warlock: and a\nlittle while after, cried out, \"A witch! a witch! there's a witch sitting\nupon the ruist! take her away.\" He meant that there was a hen sitting on\none of the rafters. They then went to prayer again, and, when ended, the\ndevil cried out, \"If the good man's son's prayers at the College of\nGlasgow did not prevail with God, my father and I had wrought a mischief\nhere ere now.\" Ah, Master Tom, did you then know so much of prayer and the\ninclining of the counsels of God?\n\nAlexander Bailie said, \"Well, I see you acknowledge a God, and that\nprayer prevails with him, and therefore we must pray to God, and commit\nthe event to him.\" To whom the devil replied, having an evident spite\nagainst Alexander Bailie, \"Yea, sir, you speak of prayer, with your\nbroad-lipped hat\" (for the gentleman had lately gotten a hat in the\nfashion with broad lips); \"I'll bring a pair of shears from my father's\nwhich shall clip the lips of it a little.\" And Alexander Bailie presently\nheard a pair of shears go clipping round his hat, \"which he lifted, to see\nif the foul thief had meddled with it.\"\n\nThen the fiend fell to prophesying. \"Tom was to be a merchant, Bob a\nsmith, John a minister, and Hugh a lawyer,\" all of which came to pass.\nTurning to Jennet, the good man's daughter, he cried, \"Jennet Campbell,\nJennet Campbell, wilt thou cast me thy belt?\"\n\nQuoth she, \"What a widdy would thou do with my belt?\"\n\n\"I would fain,\" says he, \"fasten my loose bones together.\"\n\nA younger daughter was sitting \"busking her puppies\" (dressing her\npuppets, dolls), as young girls are used to do. He threatens to \"ding out\nher harns,\" that is, to brain her; but says she quietly, \"No, if God be to\nthe fore,\" and so falls to her work again. The good wife having brought\nout some bread, was breaking it, so that every one of the company should\nhave a piece. Cries he, \"Grissel Wyllie! Grissel Wyllie! give me a piece\nof that haver bread. I have gotten nothing this day but a bit from\nMarritt,\" that is, as they speak in the country, Margaret. The minister\nsaid to them all, \"Beware of that! for it is sacrificing to the devil!\"\nMarritt was then called, and inquired if she had given the foul fiend any\nof her haver bread. \"No,\" says she; \"but when I was eating my due piece\nthis morning, something came and clicked it out of my hands.\"\n\nThe evening had now come, and the company prepared to depart; the\nminister, and the minister's wife, Alexander Bailie of Dunraget, with his\nbroad-lipped hat, and the rest. But the devil cried out in a kind of\nagony--\n\n\"Let not the minister go! I shall burn the house if he goes.\" Weaver\nCampbell, desperately frightened, besought the minister to stay; and he,\nnot willing to see them come to mischief, at last consented. As he turned\nback into the house, the devil gave a great gaff of laughing, saying,\n\"Now, sir! you have done my bidding!\" which was unhandsome of Tom--very.\n\n\"Not thine, but in obedience to God, have I returned to bear this man\ncompany whom thou dost afflict,\" says the minister, nowise discomposed,\nand not disdaining to argue matters clearly with the devil.\n\nThen the minister \"discharged\" all from speaking to the demon, saying,\n\"that when it spoke to them they must only kneel and pray to God.\" This\ndid not suit the demon at all. He roared mightily, and cried, \"What! will\nye not speak to me? I shall strike the bairns, and do all manner of\nmischief!\" No answer was returned; and again the children were slapped and\nbeaten on their rosy parts--where children are accustomed to be whipped.\nAfter a while this ended too, and then the fiend called out to the\ngood-wife, \"Grissel, put out the candle!\"\n\n\"Shall I do it?\" says she to the minister's wife.\n\n\"No,\" says that discreet person, \"for then you shall obey the devil.\"\n\nUpon which the devil shouted, with a louder voice, \"Put out the candle!\"\nNo one obeyed, and the candle continued burning. \"Put out the candle, I\nsay!\" cries he, more terribly than before. Grissel, not caring to continue\nthe uproar, put it out. \"And now,\" says he, \"I will trouble you no more\nthis night.\" For by this time I should suppose that Master Tom was sleepy,\nand tired, and hoarse.\n\nOnce again the ministers and gentlemen met for prayer and exorcism; when\nit is to be presumed that Tom was not with them, for everything was quiet;\nbut soon after the stirs began again, and Tom and the rest were sore\nmolested. Gilbert Campbell made an appeal to the Synod of Presbyters, a\ncommittee of whom appointed a special day of humiliation in February,\n1656, for the freeing of the weaver's house from this affliction. In\nconsequence whereof, from April to August, the devil was perfectly quiet,\nand the family lived together in peace. But after this the mischief broke\nout again afresh. Perhaps Tom had come home from college, or his father\nhad renewed his talk of settling him firmly to his own trade: whatever the\ncause, the effect was certain, the devil had come back to Glenluce.\n\nOne day, as the good-wife was standing by the fire, making the porridge\nfor the children, the demon came and snatched the \"tree-plate,\" on which\nwas the oatmeal, out of her hand, and spilt all the meal. \"Let me have the\ntree-plate again,\" says Grissel Wyllie, very humbly; and it came flying\nback to her. \"It is like if she had sought the meal too she might have got\nit, such is his civility when he is intreated,\" says Sinclair. But this\nwould have been rather beyond even Master Tom's power of legerdemain.\nThings after this went very ill. The children were daily thrashed with\nheavy staves, and every one in the family underwent much personal damage;\nuntil, as a climax, on the eighteenth of September, the demon said he\nwould burn the house down, and did, in fact, set it on fire. But it was\nput out again, before much damage was done.\n\nAfter a time--probably by Tom's going away, or becoming afraid of being\nfound out--the devil was quieted and laid for ever; and Master Tom\nemployed his intellect and energies in other ways than terrifying his\nfather's family to death, and making stirs which went by the name of\ndemoniac.\n\nThis account is taken almost verbatim from an article of mine in \"All the\nYear Round;\" and if a larger space has been given to this than to many\nother stories, it is because there was more colouring, and more\ndistinctness in the drawing, than in anything else that I have read.\nThough scarcely belonging to a book on witches, there is yet a hook and\neye, if a very slender one, in the fact that the old beggar, Andrew Agnew,\nwas hanged; and we may be sure that it was not only his atheism, but also\nhis naughty tricks with Satan, and his connection with the devil of\nGlenluce, that helped to fit the hangman's rope round his neck. There are\nmany other stories of haunted houses, notably, Mr. Monpesson's at Tedworth\ncaused by the Demon Drummer, and the Woodstock Devil who harried the\nParliamentary Commissioners to within an inch of their lives, and others\nto the full as interesting; but there is no hook and eye with\nthem--nothing by which they can be hung on to the sad string of witches,\nor witchcraft murders. Baxter has two or three such stories; and the\ncurious in such matters will find a large amount of interesting matter in\nthe various works referred to at the foot of the pages; matter which could\nnot be introduced here, because of its not belonging strictly to the\nsubject in hand. I do not think that any candid or unprejudiced person\nwill fail in seeing the dark shadow of fraud and deceit flung over every\nsuch account remaining. The importance of which, to me, is the evident and\ndistinct likeness between these stories and the marvels going on now in\nmodern society.\n\n\nJONET WATSON AND THE DEVIL IN GREEN.\n\nSteadily went on these appalling judicial crimes. In February, 1658, two\nwomen and a man were in the Tolbooth at Edinburgh, imprisoned on the\ncharge of witchcraft. One of the women died in prison, the other, Jonet\nAnderson,[47] confessed that before her marriage, which had been only\nthree months ago, she had given herself up body and soul to the devil, and\nthat when she was married she had seen him standing by the pulpit. She was\nkept only so long as was necessary to prove her not pregnant, and then was\nexecuted, fully repentant. In August four women, \"ane of them a maiden,\"\nwere burnt on the Castle Hill in ghastly company; and soon after five more\nfrom Dunbar; and then again nine from Tranent, all confessing. These\nseemed to have stayed the appetite of the magistrates for a time, as we\ncome across no more until 1661, when a painful collection of lies,\nslanders, and confessions again harrow up every feeling, and outrage every\nreasoning faculty.\n\nJonet Watson was one of the first to make her confession. She said that in\nApril last, bypast or thereby, she being at the burial of Lady Dalhousie,\na rix dollar was given to Jean Bughane, to be divided among a certain\nnumber of poor folk, whereof she was one. But Jean ran away with the\nmoney, so poor Jonet got none of it: whereat being very grieved and angry,\nwhen she came to her own house she wished to be revenged on Jean, and at\nthe wish appeared the devil in the likeness of a pretty boy in green\nclothes, and asked: \"what ailed her, and what revenge would she have?\" He\nthen gave her his mark and left her under the form of a black dog, and for\nthree days after she had a gnat constantly with her, and one morning when\nshe was changing her linen it sat down upon her shoulder, where she had\none of her marks. Also about the time of last Baal-fyre night (the\nbeginning of May) she was at a meeting in Newton-dein, where was the devil\ndressed in green clothes, with a black hat on his head. And here she\ndenied Christ, and took upon herself to be his servant, he laying his hand\non her head, and receiving from her \"all that was under his hand,\" when he\ngave her the name of \"weill-dancing Jonet,\" and she and a few more danced\nlike Tam o' Shanter's hags, and probably tired the devil out.\n\nBeatrice Leslie[48] was a witch too, and Agnes, wife of William Young,\ngave her some wholesome advice and honest reproof on the matter, whereby\nBeatrice was offended, and gave her a terrible look; and that very night\nWilliam Young awakened out of his sleep all in terror and dismay, crying\nout that Beatrice, with a number of cats, was devouring him. Beatrice had\na cat which two coal-heaving damsels killed by letting some coals fall on\nit, afterwards adding to their offence by throwing away her coal-basket.\nSo Beatrice cursed them, and told them \"they should see an ill sight\nbefore eight days were past:\" as it fell out, for according to her\nthreatening they were both killed in the coal-pit, though no one else was\nhurt; and when she was brought to see and touch the corpses, the one bled\nat the nose and the other at the ear, thus proving her guilt beyond the\npossibility of denial. Also she helped Alexander Wilson's wife in\nchild-bed, by cantrips and unholy sleights; sticking a bare knife betwixt\nthe bed and the straw, sprinkling salt about the bed, and saying, \"Lord,\nlet never ane worse wight waken thee, nor hes laid thee downe,\" with other\nvillanies, unwholesome to honest folk; so Beatrice Leslie saw the sun for\nthe last time between the cord and the flames.\n\n\nTHE LANTHORNE AND THE BAHR-RECHT.[49]\n\nChristian Wilson, _alias_ the Lanthorne, which name she had gotten from\nthe devil at the time of her baptism, was too famous in her generation.\nShe lived near her brother Alexander, and there was notorious ill blood\nbetween them, perhaps because of her notorious evil proceedings. One\nevening Alexander was found dead in his own house, naked, with his face\ntorn and cut, but without a spot of blood anywhere. Yet a \"greate lumpe of\nfleisch\" had been cut out of his cheek more cleanly than any ordinary\nrazor could have cut either flesh or cheese. Christian bore herself\nstrangely. She expressed no sorrow, perhaps because she felt none, and\nabsolutely refused to see or touch the corpse according to the fashion of\nthe honest and the orthodox of the time. This refusal did her much harm in\nmen's minds, for was it not very evident that she was afraid of the\nbier-law, or bahr-recht, which, in 1661, when all this took place, was\nsuch a useful agent of the police, and helped so powerfully to the\ndiscovery of murder? The bailies and ministers heard the rumours affecting\nher, and commanded her to be brought into the house to touch the corpse,\nas the rest had done. \"She came trembling all the way to the house, but\nshe refused to come nigh the corpse, or to touch it, saying that 'she\nnever touched a dead corpse in her life.'\" The neighbours did not allow of\nher plea, and dragged her to the murdered man, that she might touch it\nsoftly. She went forward to do so. \"But before shoe did it, the Sone being\nshyning in at the howse, shoe exprest herselfe thus, humbly desyring that,\n'as the Lord made the Sone to shine and give light into that howse, that\nalso he would give light to discovering of that murder!' And with these\nwords shoe tuitching the wound of the dead man verie softlie, it being\nwhyte and cleane, without any spot of blood or the lyke, yet immediately,\nwhile her fingers was upon it, the blood rushed owt of it, to the greate\nadmiratioune of all the behoulders, who tooke it for discoverie of the\nmurder according to her own prayers.\" Another charge, no less grave than\nthat of murder, was, that William Richardson, having felled one of her\nhens with a stone, she frowned on him threateningly, and said he should\nnever throw another stone. And he never did; for immediately he fell into\nane \"franicie\" and madness, took to his bed, and died in a few days, all\nthe time of his sickness crying out against Cristiane Wilson, who, he\nsaid, was tormenting him in the likeness of a grey cat. After his death\nhis nephew teased the witch by calling her \"The Lanthorne,\" which every\none knew to be her devil-name; but Cristiane threatened him, and said that\n\"if he did not hold his peace she would make him die by the same death as\nhis uncle,\" which was proof sufficient of the truth of the grey cat and\nher guilty sorcery. This was the same Cristiane Wilson who, when she was\nbeing carried off to Nidrie, there to be confronted with another witch,\nwas suddenly lifted off the pillion by a furious blast of wind, which she\ngot the devil to raise in the hope of her rescue. But though she was blown\ninto the stream, she swam lightly as a witch should and as only a witch\ncould, and her jailers fished her out again, to secure her better for the\nfuture. As the sky was cloudless when the blast arose, and as no storm\nfollowed after, there was no possibility of doubting the Satanic origin of\nthat mighty puff of wind. Besides, did not Jennot Cock, another confessing\nwitch, say to John Stevin, when he told her that Cristiane was to be\ncarried to Nidrie to-morrow, \"Will not yow think it a sport, if the\ndeivill raise a whirrell of wind, and tak her away from among yow by the\ngette (way) to-morrow?\" This and that together made the thing certain; and\nthe fall of the poor wretch was included in the dittay as one of the\ncounts against her, proving her witchcraft.\n\nWitch-finding now increased rapidly in Scotland. No fewer than fourteen\nspecial commissions were issued for the sole purpose of trying witches for\nthe sederunt of November the 7th, 1661; and on the 23rd of January, 1662,\nfourteen more were made out. It was the popular amusement of the day, and\nno one or two men then living could have turned the tide in favour of\nthese poor persecuted creatures. Even Sir George Mackenzie, that \"noble\nwit of Scotland,\" failed to make any reasonable impression on the besotted\npublic, though his pleadings and writings got him into immense disfavour\nwith the religious part of the community, and caused him to be ranked as\nan atheist and Sadducee, and classed with the Pilates and Judases of\nhistory. Though it had been the Bull of Pope Innocent VIII. in 1484,\nwhich had first stirred up the zeal of the godly against witchcraft, and\nwritten that terrible text, \"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,\" in\nstill more terrible characters of blood and suffering, yet Calvinistic\nScotland soon outstripped even the superstitious Papacy in her frantic\npiety, and poured out a sea of innocent blood which will stain her pages\nwith an ineffaceable stain, for ever and for ever. Yet she was nearly a\nhundred years behind Rome in her zeal, for it was not till June, 1563,\nthat she made the subject matter for legislation at all, and then the\nEstates[50] enacted \"that 'nae person take upon hand to use any manner of\nwitchcrafts, sorcery, or necromancy, nor give themselves furth to have ony\nsic craft or knowledge thereof therethrough abusing the people;' also,\nthat 'nae person seek ony help, response, or consultation, at ony sic\nusers or abusers of witchcrafts ... under pain of death.' This is the\nstatute under which all the subsequent witch trials took place.\" But bad\nas it was under the Presbyterians and the Elders, it is true that under\nthe Restoration the witch persecutions in Scotland were even more\nexcessive than during the reign of the Covenanters, and that the return of\nCharles II. brought satisfaction and pleasure to the younger women only of\nhis dominions, but nothing save torture to the old, the poor, and the\ndespised. Ray says that about a hundred and twenty witches suffered in the\nyear 1661, the year after the Restoration had brought joy and gladness to\nall loyal hearts; so that it mattered little whether Puritan or Cavalier,\nPresbyterian or Episcopalian, had the upper hand. Superstition was the\ngreatest lord of all, and a slavish adherence to a few words fettered men\ndown hopelessly to ignorance and wickedness.\n\nAt this time (1661) John Kincaid and John Dick were the most notorious\nprickers; and they let no one escape whom they had the chance of hurting.\nOne John Hay, an old man of sixty, and of untarnished reputation, fell\ninto Dick's hands, accused of sorcery by \"a distracted woman,\" whose words\nwere not worth the wind that wafted them. But Dick shaved him, and pricked\nhim, and tortured him in all allowable ways, then sent him off to\nEdinburgh, two hundred miles away, to be locked up in the Tolbooth,\npending further proceedings. The case against him was too slight for even\nthose times to entertain, and he was liberated on his own petition, and a\nfew testimonials: but John Dick was not reproved, nor was his zeal thought\nextreme or passionate.\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS.\n\nMargaret Bryson[51] quarrelled with her husband about the selling of a\ncow; she went to the house-door, \"and there did imprecate that God or the\ndevil might take her from her husband;\" which naturally ended in the\ndevil's appearing and forcing her into the covenant with him that had its\nfinal expression at the stake.\n\nMargaret Hutchison was a witch, too. She laid on Henry Balfour the pains\nof a child-bed woman, and caused such a universal swelling of his body\nthat he died thereof; and she threatened John Boost for calling her a\nwitch, and threw a piece of raw flesh against his house, which the very\ndogs and cats would not eat; and she sent a plague of cats to John Bell's\nhouse, and tormented him and his wife by appearing at their hearth-side at\nnight, combing her hair: so Margaret Hutchison was no better than she\nshould be, and the world was well rid of her.\n\nIsabel Ramsey for her part was convicted of taking sixpence from the\ndevil, and entering into a long chat with him upon sundry local matters;\nand, indeed, she herself confessed that he gave her a dollar, which turned\ninto a sklaitt stane: for nothing that the devil did for these witches\never turned to good, so that one is more surprised at their stupidity than\noffended by their guilt.\n\nJennet Cock[52] had an ill name, past all forbearance or overlooking. She\nwas never easy unless she was after some evil, and the world must\npositively be quit of her. She bewitched William Scott's bonny bay horse,\nworth pounds and pounds of money, and made him mad; and she told a brute\nwho beat her that he should live to be hanged, which not very unlikely\nprediction was fulfilled; and she kept company with the devil on terms\nthat no honest woman should endure; and she and Jean Dickson, another\nwitch, cured a neighbour's child by cutting off a dog's head, with which\nthey played some devilish cantrip that healed the bairn; and she it was\nwho made that speech concerning Christiane Wilson and the gaff of wind; so\nJennet Cock was adjudged dangerous to be at large, and was put into\nprison, there to await her trial. And she was tried, but, strange to say,\nacquitted of the charges brought against her; she was not let loose\nthough, but kept still in durance till a fresh case could be completed\nagainst her. Jennet Cock was rather notorious for her evil eye and power\nof overlooking, and in her dittay is thus charged:--\"There being an\noutcast betwixt yow and Jeane Forrest, because schoe had called yow a\nwitch, yow came to the said Jeane, her landlord's house, where she was\nwith some nyghboures, desyreing to make aggriement betwixt yow. Ye\nmalitiouslie and bitterlie girneing and gnashing your teeth, and beating\nyour hands upon your knies, said, 'O them that called me a witch! O them\nthat called me a witch!' And at that tyme, the said Jeane Forrest, her\nchylde being in good health, on the morne the chylde, by your sorceries\nand witchcraft dyed; and the mother, at the chylde's departour, called out\nwith a loud voyce upone her nighbours, saying, 'Alace! that ever I had\nadoe with that witch Janet Cock, for shoe has been at my bed syd all this\nnight standing, and I could not get red of her: and behold the fruit of\nit--my chylde is dead!'\" This deposition was made September 10, 1661, and\nsurely Jennet Cock never escaped the consequences of such a cantrip as\nthis!\n\nMarion Grinlaw[53] and Jean Howison, \"the survivors of ten women and a man\nwho had been imprisoned at Musselburgh,\" petitioned the Council for their\nrelease. \"Some of the rest died of cold and hunger. They themselves had\nlain in durance _forty weeks_, and were now in a state of extreme misery,\n_although nothing could be brought against them_. Margaret Carvie and\nBarbara Horniman, of Falkland, had in like manner been imprisoned at the\ninstance of the magistrates and parish minister, had lain six weeks in\njail, subjected to a great deal of torture by one who takes upon him the\ntrial of witches by pricking; and so great was their sufferings that life\nwas become a burden to them, notwithstanding that they declared their\ninnocence, and nothing to the contrary had been shown. The Council ordered\nall these women to be liberated:\" which was a marvellous outstep of\nhumanity, and one for which its previous acts could hardly have prepared\nus. The next year it seems to have had a small side-blow of rationality.\nIt had become sensible of the vile inhumanity of John Kincaid, and threw\nthe wretch into prison, then issued a proclamation repudiating the seizure\nof suspected persons, which had been made illegally, unauthorizedly, and\nout of only envy and covetousness. Nevertheless, it took care to issue\ntwelve fresh commissions for trying witches, immediately after; being\nchiefly anxious to keep all the business in its own hands, and shut the\ndoor against any outside free lances. John Kincaid lay for nine weeks in\njail, then was liberated only on condition that he would prick no more\nwithout warrant. He sent up a whining petition, setting forth that he was\nan old man, and if confined longer might be brought to mortal sickness; so\nto avert this terrible catastrophe, the old sinner had his liberty given\nto him again: he ought to have had instead the doom of the murderer for\nblood-money!\n\n\nCLOWTS AND THE SERPENT.[54]\n\nIn the parish of Innerkip, on March 4, 1662, Marie Lamont, a \"young Woman\nof the adge of Eighteen Yeares,\" offered herself for voluntary confession.\nShe said that five years ago Kattrein Scot taught her to take kyes' milk.\nShe told her to go out in misty mornings with a hair rope (harrie\ntedder), which she was to draw over the mouth of a mug, saying, \"In God's\nname, God send us milk, God sent it, and mickle of it.\" By which means she\nand Kattrein got much of their neighbours' milk which they made into\nbutter and cheese. Also she said, that two years and a half since, the\ndevil came to them at Kattrein Scot's house, where many of them were\npresent, and gave them all wine to drink and wheat bread to eat, and they\ndanced and were very merry, the devil shaking hands with them, and she\ndelivering herself over to him in baptism. And at her baptism she was\ngiven the name of \"Clowts,\" and bid to call the devil \"Serpent.\" Further,\n\"Shee confessed that at that sam tym the devil nipit her upon the right\nsyd, qlk was very painful for a tym, but yairefter he straikit it with his\nhand, and healed it; this she confesses to be his mark.\" At a certain\nmeeting which she spoke of, when she and the rest went to raise storms to\nhinder the Killing fishery, the devil came to them in the likeness of a\nbrown dog, but she and Kattrein were as cats, and in this form they ran\ninto Allan Orr's house and took a bite of a herring lying in a barrel.\nThey then put it back again, and Allan Orr's wife, afterwards finishing\nthe herring, took heavy disease, and died. The reason of this malicious\nact was, that Allan Orr had put Margaret Holm (one of the cats) out of her\nhouse, and this was the manner in which she chose to be\nrevenged--\"threitening in wrath, that he and his wife sould not be long\ntogether.\" Many other things did she confess: one of which was how the\ndevil once \"convoyed her home in the dawing; and when shee was com near\nthe house wherein she was a servant, her master saw a waff of him as he\nwent away from her.\" Another time she and some other witches met at the\nback gate of Ardgowand, where his Cloutieship appeared in the likeness of\na black man with cloven feet, directing them to take white sand and cast\nit about the gates of Ardgowand, and about the minister's house; and while\nthey were about the business he turned them into the likeness of cats, by\nshaking his hands above them. And at another time they went to cast the\nlongston into the sea, to cause storms and shipwrecks, and the devil\nkissed them as they went away, apparently better pleased than ordinarily\nwith his Clowts and Kats. All these things did poor Marie Lamont, aged\neighteen, confess to the minister and Laird of Innerkip; and they, not\nknowing the virtue of purgatives and port wine, nor understanding the\nvalue of rest and silence, took the poor young soul at her word, and found\nher guilty of all the crimes and follies with which a diseased body, and a\nmind overset and charged, had prompted her to accuse herself.\n\nAnd now we come to\n\n\nTHE WITCHES OF AULDEARNE:[55]\n\nand Isobell Gowdie's marvellous confessions: still in A.D. 1662. Isobell\nwas neither pricked nor tortured before she entered on her singular\nhistory of circumstantial lies. She was probably a mere lunatic, whose\nravings ran in the popular groove, and who was not so much deceiving, as\nself-deceived by insanity. The assize which tried her was composed of\nhighly respectable people, and she seems to have been only encouraged to\nrave, not forced to lie. She began by stating that one day, fifteen years\nago, as she was going between \"the towns\" or farmsteads of Drumdewin and\nthe Heads, she met the devil, who spoke to her and invited her to meet him\nthat night at the parish church of Auldearne. She promised that she would,\nand accordingly she went, and he baptized her by the name of \"Janet,\" and\naccepted her service. Margaret Brodie held her while she denied her\nChristian baptism; and then the devil marked her on the shoulder, sucking\nout the blood which he \"spouted\" into his hand, then sprinkled it on her\nhead, saying, \"I baptize thee, Janet, in my own name!\" But first he had\nput one hand on the crown of her head, and the other on the soles of her\nfeet, while she made over to him all that lay betwixt, giving herself body\nand soul into his keeping. He was in the Reader's desk while all this took\nplace, appearing as a \"mickle, black, hairy man\" reading out of a black\nbook; so Isobell was henceforth Janet in the witch world, and was one of\nthe most devoted of her covin; for they were divided into covins or bands,\nshe said, and placed under the leadership of proper officers. John Young\nwas the officer of her covin, and the number composing it was thirteen.\nShe and others of her band took Breadley's corn from off his land. They\ntook an unchristened child which they had raised out of its grave, parings\nof their nails, ears of all sorts of grain, and cole-wort leaves, all\nchopped very fine and small, and mixed up well together; and this charm\nthey buried on his land, whereby they got all the strength of his corn and\ngoods to themselves, and parted them among the covin. Another time they\nyoked a plough of paddocks (toads). The devil held it, and John Young\ndrove it: it was drawn by toads instead of oxen, the traces were of\nquickens (dog-grass), the coulter was a riglen's horn (ram's horn), so was\nthe sock; and they went two several times about the field, all the covin\nfollowing and praying to the devil to give them the fruit of that land,\nand that only thistles and briars might grow on it for the master's use.\nSo Breadley had trouble enough to work his land, and when it was worked he\ngot no good out of it, but only weeds and thorns, while the covin made\ntheir bread of his labour.\n\nWhen asked how she and her sister witches managed to leave their husbands\no' nights, she said that, when it was their Sabbath nights, they used to\nput besoms or three-legged stools in bed beside their husbands; so that if\nthese deluded men should wake before their return, they might believe they\nhad their wives safe as usual. The besoms and three-legged stools took the\nright form of the women, and prevented a too early discovery. To go to\nthese Sabbaths they put a straw between their feet, crying \"Horse and\nHattock in the Devil's name!\" and then they would fly away, just as straws\nin the wind. Any kind of straw would do, and they who saw them floating\nabout in the whirlwind, and did not sanctify themselves, could be shot\ndead at the witches' pleasure, and their bodies remained with them as\nhorses, and small as straws.\n\nThese night meetings always ended with a supper; the Maiden of the Covin\nbeing placed next to the devil, as he was partial to young, plump,\nblooming witches, and did not care much for the \"rigwoodie hags,\" save to\nbeat and belabour them. And after they had gotten their meat they would\nsay as a grace--\n\n  \"We eat this meat in the devil's name,\n  With sorrow and _sich_ (sighs) and mickle shame;\n  We shall destroy both house and hald;\n  Both sheep and nolt intil the fauld,\n  Little good shall come to the fore,\n  Of all the rest of the little store.\"\n\n\nAnd when supper was done, each witch would look steadily upon their\n\"grisly\" president and say, bowing low, \"We thank thee, our Lord, for\nthis!\" But it was not much to thank him for in general; for the old adage\nseems to have been pretty nearly kept to, and the cooks, at least, not to\nspeak of the meat, to be of the very lowest description. The poor witches\nnever got more from the devil than what they might have had at home; which\nwas one more added to the many proofs that the mind cannot travel beyond\nits own sphere of knowledge, and that even hallucinations are bounded by\nexperience, and clairvoyance by the past actual vision.\n\nThen Isobell went to the Downie Hills, to see the gude wichtis who had\nwrought Bessie Dunlop and Alesoun Peirsoun such sad mishap. The hill side\nopened and she went in. Here she got meat more than she could eat, which\nwas a rare thing for her to do in those days, and seemed to her one of the\nmost noticeable things of the visit. The Queen of Faerie was bravely\nclothed in white linen, and white and brown clothes, but she was nothing\nlike the glorious creature who bewitched Thomas of Ercildoun with her\nwinsom looks and golden hair; and the king was a braw man, well favoured\nand broad faced; just an ordinary man and woman of the better classes,\nbuxom, brave, and comely, as Isobell Gowdie and her like would naturally\ntake to be the ultimate perfection of humanity. But it was not all\nsunshine and delight even in the hill of Faerie, for there were \"elf\nbullis rowting and skoylling\" up and down, which frightened poor Isobell,\nas well as her auditory: for here she was interrupted and bidden on\nanother track. She then went on to say that when they took away any cow's\nmilk they did so by twining and platting a rope the wrong way and in the\ndevil's name, drawing the tether in between the cow's hinder feet, and out\nbetween her fore feet. The only way to get back the milk was to cut the\nrope. When they took away the strength of any one's ale in favour of\nthemselves or others, they used to take a little quantity out of each\nbarrel, in the devil's name (they never forgot this formula), and then put\nit into the ale they wished to strengthen; and no one had power to keep\ntheir ale from them, save those who had well sanctified the brewing. Also\nshe and others made a clay picture of a little child, which was to\nrepresent all the male children of the Laird of Parkis. John Taylor\nbrought home the clay in his \"plaid newk\" (corner), his wife brake it very\nsmall like meal, and sifted it, and poured water in among it in the\ndevil's name, and worked it about like rye porridge (\"vrought it werie\nsore, lyk rye-bowt\") and made it into a picture of the Laird of Parkis'\nson. \"It haid all the pairtis and merkis of a child, such as heid, eyes,\nnose, handis, foot, mowth, and little lippes. It wanted no mark of a\nchild; and the handis of it folded down by its sydes.\" This precious\nimage, which was like a lump of dough or a skinned sucking pig, was put to\nthe fire till it shrivelled and became red as a coal; they put it to the\nfire every other day, and by the wicked power enclosed in this charm all\nthe male children of the Laird of Parkis would suffer, unless it were\nbroken up. She and the rest went in and out their neighbours' houses,\nsometimes as jackdaws, sometimes as hares, cats, &c., and ate and drank of\nthe best; and they took away the virtue of all things left \"unsained;\" and\neach had their own powers. \"Bot,\" said Isobell, sorrowfully, \"now I haw no\npower at all.\" In another confession she told all about her Covin. There\nwere thirteen in each, and every person had a nickname, and a spirit to\nwait on her. She could not remember the names of all, but she gave what\nshe could. Swein clothed in grass green waited on Margaret Wilson, called\nPickle-nearest-the-wind: Rorie in yellow waited on Bessie Wilson, or\nThrow-the-corn-yard: the Roaring Lion in seagreen waited on Isobell\nNichol, or Bessie Rule: Mak Hector, a young-like devil, clothed in grass\ngreen, was appropriated by Jean Martin, daughter to Margaret Wilson\n(Pickle-nearest-the-wind), the Maiden of the Covin and called\nOver-the-Dyke-with-it; this name given to her because the devil always\ntakes the maiden in his hand next him, and when he would leap they both\ncry out, \"Over the dyke with it!\" Robert the Rule in sad dun, a commander\nof the spirits, waited on Margaret Brodie, Thief-of-hell-wait-upon-herself:\nhe waited also on Bessie Wilson, otherwise Throw-the-corn-yard: Isobell's\nown spirit was the Red Riever, and he was ever clothed in black: the\neighth spirit was Robert the Jakes, aged, and clothed in dun, \"ane glaiked\ngowked spirit,\" and he waited on Bessie Hay, otherwise Able-and-Stout: the\nninth was Laing, serving Elspet Nishie, re-named Bessie Bauld; the tenth\nwas Thomas, a faerie:--but there Isobell's questioners stopped her, afraid\nto hear aught of the \"guide wychtis,\" who might be then among them,\ninjuring those who offended them to death. So no more information was\ngiven of the spirits of the Covin. She then told them that to raise a wind\nthey took a rag of cloth which they wetted, then knocked on a stone with a\nbeetle (a flat piece of wood) saying thrice--\n\n  \"I knok this ragg wpon this stane,\n  To raise the wind in the Divelle's name;\n  It sall not lye, vntil I please againe!\"\n\n\nWhen the wind was to be laid, they dried the rag, and said thrice--\n\n  \"We lay the wind in the divellis name,\n  It sall not rise quhill we lyk to raise it again!\"\n\n\nAnd if the wind would not cease the instant after they said this, they\ncalled to their spirit: \"Thieffe! thieffe! conjure the wind and caws it to\nlye!\" As for elf-arrow heads, the devil shapes them with his own hand, and\nthen delivers them to elf boys who sharpen and trim them with a thing like\na packing-needle: and when Isobell was in elf-land she saw the boys\nsharpening and trimming them. Those who trimmed them, she said, are little\nones, hollow and hump-backed, and speak gruffly like. When the devil gave\nthe arrows to the witches he used to say--\n\n  \"Shoot these in my name,\n  And they sall not goe heall hame.\"\n\n\nAnd when the witches shoot them, which they do by \"spanging\" them from\ntheir thumb nails, they say--\n\n  \"I shoot yon man in the devillis name,\n  He sall nott win heall hame!\n  And this salbe alswa trw,\n  Thair sall not be an bitt of him on liew.\"[56]\n\n\nIsobell had great talent for rhymes. She told the court how, when the\nwitches wanted to transform themselves into the shape of hare or cat, they\nsaid thrice over--always thrice--\n\n  \"I sall goe intill ane haire,\n  With sorrow, and sych, and mickle caire;\n  And I sall goe in the divellis name,\n  Ay whill I com hom againe.\"\n\n\nOnce Isobell said this rhyme, when Patrik Papley's servants were going to\nlabour. They had their dogs with them, and the dogs hunted her--she in the\nform of a hare. Very hard pressed, and weary, she had just time to run to\nher own house, get behind the chest, and repeat--\n\n  \"Hair, hair, God send thé caire,\n  I am in a hairis likeness now,\n  But I sall be a woman ewin now;\n  Hair, hair, God send thé caire!\"\n\nElse the dogs would have worried her, and posterity have lost her\nconfessions. Many other doggrels did Isobell teach her judges; but they\nwere all of the same character as those already given: scanty rhymes in\nthe devil's name, when they were not actual paraphrases of the mass book.\nSome were for healing and some for striking; some in the name of God and\nall the saints, others in the devil's name, boldly and nakedly used; but\nboth equally damnable in the eyes of the judges, and equally worthy of\ndeath. The elf-arrows spoken of before were of great use. The devil gave\nthem to his covin and they shot men and women dead, right and left.\nSometimes they missed, as when Isobell shot at the Laird of Park as he was\ncrossing the burn, and missed, for which Bessie Hay gave her a great cuff:\nalso Margaret Brodie, when she shot at Mr. Harie Forbes, the minister at\nAuldearne, he being by the standing stanes; whereupon she asked if she\nshould shoot again, but the devil answered, \"Not! for we wold nocht get\nhis lyf at that tym.\" Finding the elf-arrows useless against Mr. Harie\nForbes, they tried charms and incantations once when he was sick. They\nmade a bag, into which they put the flesh, entrails, and gall of a toad, a\nhare's liver, barley grains, nail pairings, and bits of rag, steeping all\nin water, while Satan stood over them, saying--and they repeating after\nhim--\n\n  \"He is lying in his bed, and he is seik and sair,\n  Let him lye in till that bedd monthes two and dayes thrie mair!\n  He sall lye in till his bed, he salbe seik and sair,\n  He sall lye in till his bedd, monthes two and dayes thrie mair!\"\n\n\nWhen they said these words they were all on their knees with their\nhair about their shoulders and eyes, holding up their hands to\nthe devil, beseeching him to destroy Mr. Harry; and then it was\ndecided to go into his chamber and swing the bag over him. Bessie\nHay--Able-and-Stout--undertook this office, and she went to his room,\nbeing intimate with him, the bag in her hands and her mind set on slaying\nhim by its means; but there were some worthy persons with him at the time,\nso Bessie did no harm, only swung a few drops on him which did not kill\nhim. They had a hard taskmaster in the devil--Black Johnnie, as they used\nto call him among themselves. But he used to overhear them, and would\nsuddenly appear in the midst of them, saying, \"I ken weill anewgh what ye\nwer saying of me,\" and then would beat and buffet them sore. He was always\nbeating them, specially if they were absent from any of the meetings, or\nif they forgot anything he had told them to do. Alexander Elder was being\ncontinually thrashed. He was very soft and could never defend himself in\nthe least, but would cry and scream when the devil scourged him. The women\nhad more pluck. Margaret Wilson--Pickle-nearest-the-wind--would defend\nherself finely, throwing up her hands to keep the strokes from her; and\nBessie Wilson--Throw-the-corn-yard--\"would speak crusty with her tongue\nand would be belling against him soundly.\" He used to beat them all up and\ndown with scourges and sharp cords, they like naked ghosts crying, \"Pity!\npity! mercy! mercy, our Lord!\" But he would have neither pity nor mercy,\nbut would grin at them like a dog, and as if he would swallow them up. He\nwould give them most beautiful money, at least to look at; but in\nfour-and-twenty hours it would be all gone, or changed to mere dirt and\nrubbish. The devil wore sometimes boots and sometimes shoes, but ever his\nfeet were cloven, and ever his colour black. This, with some small\nvariations, was the sum of what Isobell Gowdie confessed in her four\ndepositions taken between the 13th of April and 27th of May in the year of\ngrace 1662.\n\nJanet Braidhead, spous to John Taylor, followed next. Her first\nconfession, made on the 14th of April, set forth how that she had known\nnothing of witchcraft until her husband and his mother, Elspeth Nishie,\nhad taught her; her first lesson from them being the making of some\n\"drugs\" which were to charm away the fruit and corn, and kill the cattle,\nof one John Hay in the Mure. After that, she was taken to the kirk at\nAuldearne, where her husband presented her for the devil's baptism and\nmarking, which were done in the usual manner. She also gave evidence of\nthe clay picture which was to destroy all the male children of the Laird\nof Park; and she gave a long list of the frequenters of the Sabbaths,\nincluding some of the most respectable inhabitants of the place; and in\nmany other things she confirmed Isobell Gowdie's depositions, specially in\nall regarding the devil and the unequivocal nature of their connection\nwith him, which was put into plain and unmistakable language enough.\n\nWe are not told the ultimate fate of Isobell Gowdie and Janet Braidhead,\nbut they had confessed enough to burn half Scotland, and it is not likely\nthat they escaped the doom assigned to their order.\n\n\nTHE SECRET SINS OF MAJOR WEIR.[57]\n\nOn the 4th of April, 1670, one Major Thomas Weir, an old man of seventy,\nexpiated his crimes on the Gallowlie of Edinburgh. A bad man, surely; a\ncanting, loose-lived hypocrite, who made his puritanism the cloak for his\nsecret crimes, serving sin with his body in daily and most detestable\nservice, while his lips spoke only of zeal to God and the soul's devoutest\nexercise. Still, it was a terrible fate for nothing more heinous than an\nunclean life; a purification by fire in truth, but not for the\nsanctification of souls. Perhaps he would have got off altogether, had he\nnot been charged with witchcraft. Incest and the foulest vices were bad\nenough, but witchcraft was worse. Yet no intelligible charge of sorcery\nwas brought against this man save the fact that he got the love of all\nmanner of women, poor and old though he was; and the testimony of a\nfrightened woman who gave a rambling account of shapes, and lights, and\nwomen, all gathered down in Stinking-close, near to where the major lived;\nall of which were, of course, phantoms, spectres, or devils, conjured up\nby his magical and devilish arts. This, and the frantic saying of his poor\nold sister, when she heard of his death, that if they had burnt his staff\nthey had destroyed his power, formed about the sum of the witchcraft\nevidence against him. He was arrested on his own confession. Unable to\nbear the weight of his secret vices, he gave himself up to the\nauthorities, who at first were disposed to think him mad, but who\nafterwards, reporting him sane and collected enough, set him on his trial.\nAfter he had once spoken he would say no more, would make no defence and\nno further confession: he would not pray, he would not appeal to God. Like\na beast he had lived, like a beast he would die, and \"since he was going\nto the devil,\" he said, \"he did not wish to anger him.\" He would have no\npaltering with an outraged God by the way; so the fire and the faggot came\nas the culmination of a life which in its mildest phase was infamous, but\nwhich belonged to no lawful tribunal of man to punish.\n\nIf he died sullenly and in mute and dumb despair, his sister's anguish\nfound wild and desperate expression. She told her judges all about her\nhorrible life with him, and how he had been long given up to sorcery and\nmagic, as well as to things not now to be mentioned; and how his power lay\nin that staff of his which had been burnt along with him. That thornwood\nstaff, with its crooked head and carved figures like satyrs running\nthrough, seems to have heavily burdened the poor creature's mind, for she\ntold her judges that when she wished to plague her brother she would hide\nit, and give it back to him only when he threatened to reveal her nameless\ninfamy if she did not restore it. On the morning of her execution she said\nthat she would expiate the most shameful life that had ever been lived by\ndying the most shameful death; but no one knew exactly what she meant.\nWhen she came to the place of execution--she was mercifully hung--she\nbegan to talk wildly of the Broken Covenant, and exhort the people back to\ntheir old faith, and then she attempted to throw off all her clothes that\nshe might die \"naked and ashamed.\" This was the lowest depth of\ndegradation of which her crazed old brain could conceive, and was what she\nmeant in the morning when alluding to the manner of her death. The\nexecutioner had to struggle mightily with her before he was able to\novermaster her, she smiting him on the cheek the while; but at last he\nflung her \"open-faced\" on the ground, and threw some linen cloths over\nher; but \"her hands not being tyed when she was throwen over, she laboured\nto recover hirselfe, and put in her head betwixt two of the steps of the\nleather, and keiped that powster for a tyme, till she was put from itt.\"\nIt is curious to mark the little bit of sanity in all this mournful\nlunacy, when the familiar things of life were spoken of. She had always\nbeen a great spinner, and the fame now went abroad that the devil had\nhelped her in this. Asked if it was not so, she at the first denied\ndisdainfully; use only and industry, she said, had made her so deft at her\nwork, and the devil had done nothing for her; but afterwards she maundered\noff into some nonsense about her yarn, and how her distaff was often found\nfull when she had left it empty; and how the weaver could never weave the\nthread spun from this yarn, which, of course, was \"devil's dust\" of the\ntrue kind. She was mad enough, the wretched being, and could not fail to\ntrip if stones were laid in her path. But her first instincts respecting\nher every-day occupation were right, and are singularly illustrative of\nsome of the phenomena of madness, and of how intimately with one's life is\ninterwoven common sense, even in the fibres of a diseased brain. She said\nfurther that she was persuaded \"her mother was a witch, for the secretest\nthing that either I myself or any of the family could do, when once a mark\nappeared upon her brow, she could tell it them, though done at a great\ndistance! Being demanded what sort of a mark it was, she answered, 'I have\nsome such like mark myself when I please, on my forehead.' Whereupon she\noffered to uncover her head for visible satisfaction; the minister\nrefusing to behold it, and forbidding any discovery, was earnestly\nrequested by some spectators to allow the freedom: he yielded. She put\nback her head-dress, and, seeming to frown, there was an exact horse-shoe,\nshaped for nails, in her wrinkles--terrible enough, I assure you, to the\nstoutest beholder.\" Her further confessions were curious, involving, as\nthey did, a visit from a tall woman who had one child at her back and one\nor two at her feet; and who came to her, wanting her to speak to the Queen\nof Fairy, and to strike and do battle with the said queen on her behalf.\nThe next day came \"ane little woman,\" with a piece of a tree, or the root\nof some herb, and she told her that so long as she kept the same she\nshould do well, and should attain all she might desire. So she spun at her\nyarn, and found more yarn on the \"pirn\" than she thought to find; which\nfrightened her. This took place when she \"keeped a school at Dalkeith, and\nteached childering.\" She also rambled on about a fiery chariot in which\nshe and her brother had paid visits, and of his mysterious visitors and\nhis thornwood staff; and when nothing more was to be got out of her she\nwas hung, and the world was all the cleaner for the loss of so much folly\nand wickedness from out the general mass.\n\n\nTHE DUMB GIRL OF POLLOK.[58]\n\nOn the 14th of October, Sir George Maxwell, of Pollok, and his household\nwere much agitated and disturbed. He had been taken suddenly and\ndangerously ill, with pains which read like the pains of pleurisy; and\nthough he got partially well, had still some awkward symptoms remaining. A\nyoung deaf and dumb girl, of unknown origin, signified that \"there is a\nwoman whose son has broke his fruit yeard that did prick him in the side.\"\nThis was found to mean that Jennet Mathie, relict of John Stewart,\nunder-miller in Schaw Mill, had formed a wax picture with pins in its\nside, which \"Dumby\" said was to be found in her house in a hole behind the\nfire, and which she further offered to bring to them at Pollok, provided\ncertain two of the men servants might accompany her to protect her. The\nyoung daughters of Sir George did not believe the story, but the two\nservants, Laurence Pollok and Andrew Martine, professed themselves\nconverts, and insisted on seeing the thing to an end. So they went to\nJennet's house, and into the kitchen, all standing on the floor near the\nfire; \"when little Dumby comes quickly by, slips her hand into a hole\nbehind the fire, and puts into Andrew Martine's hand, beneath his cloak, a\nwax picture with two pins in it,\" that in the right side very long, and\nthat in the left shorter: which corresponded with the severity of the\nlaird's pains. The picture was brought to Sir George; so was Jennet\nMathie, who was apprehended on the spot and whom Sir George then sent to\nprison. When questioned, she denied all knowledge of the picture or the\npins, and said it was the work of the dumb girl; but on its being shown\nthat her son Hugh had once robbed Sir George's orchard--which was what\nDumby meant by \"broke his fruit yeard\"--and that Sir George, when told\nthat he was no longer in Pollokland, but had gone to Darnlie, had said, \"I\nhope my fingers may be long enough to reach him in Darnlie\"--these\ncircumstances were held quite sufficient evidence that the Stewart family\nwould do the laird all the mischief they could. The prosecution wanted no\nstronger proof, and the affair went on.\n\nJennet was obstinate, and would confess nothing; upon which they searched\nher and found the devil's mark. After this, Sir George got better for a\nshort space, but soon the pains returned, and then the dumb girl said that\nJohn Stewart, Jennet's eldest son, had made another clay image, four days\nsince, and that it was now in his house beneath the bolster among the bed\nstraw. So she and the servants went there again, and sure enough they\nfound it; but as it was only lately made, it was soft and broke in their\nhands. John said simply he did not know who had put it there; but he and\nhis young sister Annabel were apprehended: and the next day Annabel\nconfessed.\n\nShe said, that on the 4th of January last past, while the clay picture was\nbeing formed, a black gentleman had come into her mother's house,\naccompanied by Bessie Weir, Marjorie Craig, Margaret Jackson, and her own\nbrother John. When confronted with John she wavered, but John was no\nnearer release for that. He was searched, and many marks were found on\nhim; and when found the spell of silence was broken, and he confessed his\npaction with the devil as openly as his sister, giving up as their\naccomplices the same women as those she had named. Of these, Margaret\nJackson, aged fourscore or so, was the only one to confess; but as she\nhad many witch marks she could not hope for mercy, so might as well make a\nclean breast of it at once. On the 17th of January a portion of clay was\nfound under Jennet Mathie's bolster, in her prison at Paisley. This time\nit was a woman's portrait, for Sir George had recovered by now, and the\nwitches were against the whole family equally. On the 27th Annabel made a\nfuller deposition. She said that last harvest the devil, as a black man,\nhad come to her mother's house, and required her, the deponent, to give\nherself to him; promising that she should want for nothing good if she\ndid. She, being enticed by her mother and Bessie Weir, did as was\ndesired--putting one hand on the crown of her head, and another on the\nsoles of her feet, and giving over to him all that lay between; whereupon\nher mother promised her a new coat, and the devil made her officer at\ntheir several meetings. He gave her, too, such a nip on the arm that she\nwas sore for half an hour after, and gave her a new name--Annippy, or an\nApe according to Law. Her mother's devil-name was Lands-lady; Bessie Weir\nwas called Sopha; Marjorie Craig was Rigeru; Margaret Jackson Locas; John\nStewart, Jonas; and they were all present at the making of the clay image\nwhich was to doom Sir George to death. They made it of clay, then bound it\non a spit and turned it before the fire, \"Sopha\" crying \"Sir George\nMaxwell! Sir George Maxwell!\" which was repeated by them all. Another\ntime, she said, there was a meeting, when the devil was dressed in \"black\ncloathes and a blew band, and white hand cuffs, with hoggers on his feet,\nand that his feet were cloven.\" The black man stuck the pins into the\npicture, and his name was Ejoall, or J. Jewell. For the devil delighted in\ngiving himself various names, as when he caused himself to be called\nPeter Drysdale, by Catherine Sands and Laurie Moir, and Peter Saleway by\nothers.\n\nJohn now followed suit. He confessed to his own baptism; to the hoggers on\nthe black man's legs, who had no shoes, and spoke in a voice hollow and\nghousty; to the making the clay image; and to his new name of Jonas. On\nthe 15th of February, 1677, John Stewart, Annabel Stewart, and Margaret\nJackson all adhered to these depositions, but Jennet and Bessie and\nMargerie denied them. Jennet's feet were fixed in stocks, so that she\nmight not do violence to her own life: and one day her gaoler declared\nthat he had found her bolster, which the night before was laid at least\nsix yards from the stocks, now placed beneath her; the stocks being so\nheavy that two of the strongest men in the country could hardly have\ncarried them six yards. He asked her \"how she had win to the bolster,\" and\nshe answered that she had crept along the floor of the room, dragging the\nstocks with her. Before the court she said that she had got one foot out\nof the hole, and had drawn the stocks with her, \"a thing altogether\nimpossible.\" Then John and Annabel exhorted their mother to confess,\nreminding her of all the meetings which she had had with the devil in her\nown house, and that \"a summer's day would not be sufficient to relate what\npassages had been between the devil and her.\" But Jennet Mathie was a\nstern, brave, high-hearted Scotch woman, and would not seal her sorrow\nwith a lie. \"Nothing could prevail with her obdured and hardened heart,\"\nso she and all, save young Annabel, were burnt; and when she was bound to\nthe stake, the spectators saw after a while a black, pitchy ball foam out\nof her mouth, which, after the fire was kindled, grew to the size of a\nwalnut, and flew out into sparks like squibs. This was the devil leaving\nher. As for Bessie Weir, or Sopha, the devil left her when she was\nexecuted, in the form of a raven; for so he owned and dishonoured his\nchosen ones.\n\n\"The dumbe girl, Jennet Douglas, now speaks well, and knows Latine, which\nshe never learned, and discovers things past!\" says Sinclair. But she\nstill followed her old trade. She had mesmeric visions, and was evidently\na \"sensitive;\" and some of the people believed in her, as inspired and\ndivine, and some came, perhaps mockingly, to test her. But they generally\ngot the worst off, and were glad to leave her alone again. One woman came\nand asked her \"'how she came to the knowledge of so many things,' but the\nyoung wench shifted her, by asking the woman's name. She told her name.\nSays the other, 'Are there any other in Glasgow of that name?' 'No!' sayes\nthe woman. 'Then,' said the girle, 'you are a witch!' Says the other,\n'Then are you a devil!' The girl answers 'The devil doth not reveal\nwitches; but I know you to be one, and I know your practices too.' On\nwhich the poor woman ran away in great confusion;\" as, indeed, she\nmight--such an accusation as this being quite sufficient to sign her\ndeath-warrant. To another woman who came to see and question her, she said\nthe same thing; taking her arm, and showing the landlord a secret mark\nwhich she told him the woman had got from the devil. \"The poor woman much\nashamed ran home, and a little while after she came out and told her\nneighbours that what Jennet Douglas had said of her was true, and\nearnestly entreated that they might show so much to the magistrates, that\nshe might be apprehended, otherwise the devil says she will make me kill\nmyself.\" The neighbours were wise enough to think her mad, as she was, and\ntook her home; but the next day she was found drowned in the Clyde; fear\nand despair had killed her before the stake-wood had had time to root and\nripen. The dumb girl herself was afterwards carried before the great\ncouncil at Edinburgh, imprisoned, scourged through the town, and then\nbanished to \"some forraigne Plantation,\" whence she reappears no more to\nvex her generation. God forgive her! She has passed long years ago to her\naccount, and may her guilty soul be saved, and all its burning\nblood-stains cleansed and assoilzed!\n\n\nLIZZIE MUDIE AND HER VICTIMS.[59]\n\nThe year after Sir George Maxwell's affair there was another case at\nHaddington which gave full employment to the authorities. Margaret\nKirkwood, a woman of some means, hanged herself one Sunday morning during\nchurch time. Her servant, Lizzie Mudie, who was at kirk like a good\nChristian, suddenly called out, to the great disturbance of the\ncongregation. She began repeating all the numbers--one, two, three, four,\n&c.--till she came to fifty-nine; then she stopped and cried, \"The turn is\ndone!\" When it was afterwards found that Margaret Kirkwood had hung\nherself just about that moment, and that her age was fifty-nine, Lizzie\nMudie was taken up and searched. She was found a witch by her marks, and\nsoon after confessed, delating five women and one man as her accomplices.\nBut the five women and the one man were obstinate, and would not say that\nthey were guilty, though they were pricked and searched and marks found on\nthem. Lord Fountainhall was present at the searching of the man, and he\ngives an account of it: \"I did see the man's body searched and pricked in\ntwo sundry places, one at the ribs and the other at his shoulder. He\nseemed to find no pain, but no blood followed. The marks were blewish,\nvery small, and had no protuberancy above the skin. The pricker said there\nwere three sorts of witches' marks: the horn mark, it was very hard; the\nbreiff mark, it was very little; and the feeling mark, in which they had\nsense and pain.\" \"I remained very dissatisfied with this way of trial,\"\nsays my Lord farther on, \"as most fallacious; and the fellow could give me\nno account of the principles of his art, but seemed to be a drunken,\nfoolish rogue.\" One of Lizzie Mudie's five victims was an old woman of\neighty, named Marion Phinn, who had always borne a good character, \"never\nbeing stained with the least ignominy, far less with the abominable crime\nof witchcraft.\" But though she petitioned the council to free her on her\nown caution, she was kept hand-fast and foot-bound in gaol, being far too\ndangerous in the helplessness and feebleness of her eighty years to be let\nout with the chance of bewitching mankind to death. This she could do, and\nwork all other miracles; but she could not help herself to sunlight and\nliberty.\n\n\nBRAVE OLD KATHERINE LIDDELL.[60]\n\nIn 1678 two old women of Prestonpans were burnt. They made a voluntary\nconfession, and accused a few more of their craft. These in their turn\naccusing others, in a very short time seventeen unhappy creatures were\ncollected together, all charged with the sin of witchcraft, intercommuning\nwith the devil, voluntary transformation into ravens, cats, crows, &c.,\nwith all the other stock pieces of the hallucination. The judges seemed\ninclined to favour them, and Sir John Clerk of Pennycuik, when desired to\nsit on the commission appointed to try the seven given up by the parish of\nLoanhead, declined, \"alleging drily that he did not feel himself warlock\n(that is, conjuror) enough to be judge upon such an inquisition.\" These\npoor creatures had deep sleeps, during which no pinching would awake them;\nbut though the judges saw them when in these sleeps, and heard their\nconfessions as to where they had been and what they had been doing during\nthe time, they were regarded as diabolical trances, and dealt with\naccordingly. Nine of the East Lothian women were burnt, and the \"seven of\nLoanhead were reserved for future procedure.\" Among the accused was one\nKatherine Liddell, a strong-minded, stout-hearted, old widow, who feared\nno man, spoke her mind freely, and had a body with nerves like cart ropes\nand muscles of iron. The bailie of Prestonpans, John Rutherford, had\ncaused her to be seized in the late panic, and, though there was nothing\nagainst her, he had her pricked in various parts of her body \"to the great\neffusion of her blood, and whereby her skin is raised and her body highly\nswelled, and she is in danger of life.\" A drummer, two salt-makers, and\nothers, assisted him in this torture; for John Kincaid had found zealous\nfollowers: and any man with a peculiar temperament, and a heart hardened\nby superstition against suffering, might take on himself the office of\npricker to his own soul's satisfaction, and the torture and murder of his\nfellow-creatures. Katherine Liddell, besides being actively tortured, was\nkept without sleep for six days and nights, but the stout old woman would\nconfess nothing. On the contrary, she presented a petition to the\nCouncil, charging John Rutherford and the rest with \"defamation, false\nimprisonment, and open and manifest oppression,\" and demanded vengeance\nand restitution in loud and vigorous terms. The Council, unaccustomed to\nthis sort of thing, and used only to victims as tame as they were\nconsidered powerful, soon released her, dropping her like hot iron, and\ncondemning Rutherford and his associates as too hasty and ill-advised:\nthen, somewhat further redeemed themselves by an unusual act of justice\nand common sense, in sentencing David Cowan, \"pricker\"--the one who had\nbeen the most active of her tormentors--to be confined during pleasure in\nthe Tolbooth.\n\nKatherine Liddell did not do much good to her afflicted sisterhood, though\nshe had helped herself: for that same year, in August,[61] \"the devil had\na great meeting of witches in Loudian, where, among others, was a warlock\nwho formerly had been admitted to the ministrie in the Presbyterian tymes,\nand when the bishops came in conformed with them.\" This warlock minister\nwas Mr. Gideon Penman, minister of Crighton, and a man of notoriously\nloose life; but whether he carried his defiance of good so far as to dance\nwith the hags at the Sabbath, and \"beat up those that were slow,\" and\npreach damnable doctrines and blasphemous travesties of the Christian\nfaith in the devil's services, or whether he was only an immoral\nman--better out of the ministry than in it--remains for each reader's\nprivate judgment to determine. Ten of the accused stoutly affirmed that\nMr. Gideon Penman was their devil's parson; but as he as stoutly denied\nit, he was liberated on his own security, while nine out of the ten were\ncondemned to be strangled and burnt, which was done accordingly. They\ngave some curious details, as, that, when they renounced their baptism and\ngave themselves over to Satan by laying one hand on their head and the\nother on their feet he kissed them, and that he was cold to the touch, and\nhis breath like a damp air; that he scourged them oft, and was a most\n\"wicked and barbarous master;\" and that when he administered the sacrament\nto them the bread was like wafers, and the drink like blood or black\nmoss-water: that he transformed them to the likeness of bees, and crows,\nand ravens, when they flew about from place to place as he ordered.\n\n\nTHE DEVIL IN HIS CUPS.[62]\n\nOn December 19, 1679, the parish of Borrowstonness was again in an uproar\nconcerning the evil doings of witches and wizards, the chief of whom was\nAnnaple Thomson, once a widow, but now a wife. She was charged with having\none day met the devil on her way between Linlithgow and Borrowstonness,\nwhen he \"in the lyknes of ane black man told yow that yow wis ane poore\npuddled bodie, and had ane evill lyiff, and difficultie to win throw the\nwarld; and promised that iff ye wald followe him, and go alongst with him,\nyow should never want, but have ane better lyiff; and abowt fyve wekes\ntherafter, the Devill appeired to yow, when yow wis goeing to the\ncoal-hill, about sevin o'clock in the morning. Having renewed his former\ntentatiowne yow did condescend thereto, and declared yowrselff content to\nfollow him, and becwm his servant;\"--which was bad of Annaple Thomson, and\nsure to bring her to ineffectual grief. Then some others, men and women\nboth, were further informed of their misdeeds. They were told that \"ye,\nand each person of yow, wis at several mettings with the Devill in the\nlinkes of Borrowstownes, and in the howse of yow, Bessie Vickar, and ye\ndid eatt and drinke with the Devill, and with on another, and with witches\nin hir howss in the nycht tyme; and the Devill and the said William Craw\nbrowght the ale which ye drank, extending to about sevin gallons, from the\nhowss of Elisabeth Hamilton.\" So did the rest. Margaret Pringle, whose\nright wrist the devil had grievously pained, \"but having it twitched of\nnew againe, it immediatelie becam haill;\" Margaret Hamilton, with whom the\ndevil had at sundry times \"drank several choppens of ale with yow,\" when\nthey met at the town-well at Borrowstonness and talked together like two\nold gossips; also, another Margaret Hamilton, relict of James Pullwart,\nwith whom the devil conversed in the likeness of a black man, but\nafterwards removed from her as a dog--they all committed abominable sins\nwith the devil, and entertained him familiarly like any other cummer. And\nwere they not all at the meeting with the \"Devill and other witches at the\ncroce of Murestaine,\" above Kinneil, upon \"the threttin of October last,\nwhere yow all danced, and the Devill acted the pyiper, and where yow\nendevored to have destroyed Andrew Mitchell, sone to John Mitchell, elder\nin Dean of Kinneil?\" The case was considered clear enough for all rational\nmen in Borrowstonness; so Annabel Thomson, Margaret Pringle, the two\nMargaret Hamiltons, William Craw, and Bessie Vickar, were \"found guiltie\nbe ane assyse of the abominable cryme of Witchcraft,\" and were ordered to\nbe taken to the west end of Borrowstonness, \"the ordinar place of\nexecution,\" betwixt two and four in the afternoon, and \"there be wirried\nat a steack till they be dead, and thereafter to have their bodies burnt\nto ashes.\"\n\n\nTHE GHOST OF THE BLACK-BROWED MAID.[63]\n\nIf bodies were safe after death, characters were not. Isabel Heriot was\nmaid of all work to the minister at Preston. \"She was of a low Stature,\nsmall and slender of Body, of a Black Complexion. Her Head stood somewhat\nawry upon her Neck. She was of a droll and jeering Humour, and would have\nspoken to Persons of Honour with great Confidence.\" After some short time\nof service, her master the minister began to dislike her, because she was\nnot eager in her religious duties; so he discharged her: and in 1680 she\ndied--and \"about the time of her death her face became extreamly black.\"\nTwo or three nights after her burial, one Isabel Murray saw her, in her\nwhite grave-clothes, walk from the chapel to the minister's louping-on\nstone (horse-block). Here she halted, leaning her elbow on the stone, then\nwent in at the back gate, and so towards the stable. A few nights after\nthis stones were flung at the minister's house, over the roof, and in at\nthe doors and windows; but they fell softly for the most part, and did no\nespecial damage. Yet one night, just as the minister was coming in at the\nhall door, a great stone was flung after him, which hit the door very\nsmartly and marked it. Isabel Murray was also hit with stones, and the\nserving-man who looked to the horses was gripped at the heel by something\nwhich made him cry out lustily. So it went on. Stones and clods, and\nlighted coals, and even an old horse-comb long since lost, were\nperpetually flying about, and only by severe prayer was the minister able\nto lay the devil who molested them.\n\nSoon Isabel Murray reappeared with a fresh set of circumstances concerning\nthe ghost of her namesake Isabel Heriot, the maid of all work. She said\nthat as she was coming from church between sermons, to visit her house and\nkailyard for fear some vagrant cows might have got over the dyke--which\nwere very likely of the true Maclarty type--on going down her own yard,\nwhich was next to the minister's, she saw again the apparition of Isabel\nHeriot, as she was when laid in her coffin. \"Never was an egg liker to\nanother than this Apparition was like to her, as to her Face, her Stature,\nher Motion, her Tongue, and Behaviour; her face was black like the mouten\nsoot, the very colour which her face had when she died.\" The ghost was\nwalking under the fruit-trees, and over the beds where the seeds had been\nsown, bending her body downwards, as if she had been seeking somewhat off\nthe ground, and saying, \"A stane! a stane!\" Her lap was full of stones; as\nsome people supposed the stones she cast in the night-time; and these\nstones she threw down, as if to harbour them, at a bush-root in the\ngarden. Isobel Murray, nothing daunted, goes up to her.\n\n\"Wow!\" says she, \"what's thou doing here, Isabel Heriot? I charge thee by\nthe law thou lives on to tell me.\"\n\nSays the ghost, \"I am come again because I wronged my master when I was\nhis servant. For it was I that stealed his Shekel (this was a Jewish\nshekel of gold which, with some other things, had been stolen from him\nseveral years before), which I hid under the Hearthstone in the Kitching,\nand then when I flited took it into the Cannongate, and did offer to sell\nit to a French Woman who lodged where I served, who askt where I got it.\nI told her I found it between Leith and Edinburgh.\" Then she went on to\nmake further confession. Having fyled herself for a thief she went on to\nshow how she had been also a witch. \"One night,\" says the ghost, \"I was\nriding home late from the Town, and near the Head of Fanside Brae, the\nHorse stumbled, and I said, The Devil raise thee; whereupon the Foul Thief\nappeared presently to me, and threatened me, if I would not grant to\ndestroy my Master the Minister, he would throw me into a deep hole (which\nI suppose is yet remaining); or if I could not get power over my master, I\nshould strive to destroy the Shoolmaster.\"\n\n\"It was very remarkable,\" says George Sinclair, as a kind of commentary,\n\"that one of the minister's servant-women had given to the schoolmaster's\nservant-woman some Linnings to make clean, among which there was a Cross\ncloth of strong Linning, which could never be found, though diligent\nsearch was made for it, till one morning the Master awakening found it\nbound round about his Night Cap, which bred admiration both to himself and\nhis Wife. No more skaith was the Devil or the Witches able to do him. What\nway this was done, or for what end it cannot be well known: but it is\nsomewhat probable that they designed to strangle and destroy him in the\nnight time, which is their usual time in working and doing of mischief.\nThis happened about the time (I suppose) that the Devil had charged Isabel\nHeriot to destroy this honest man. Yet within two days a young child of\nhis, of a year old, fell sick, which was quickly pulled away by death,\nnone knowing the cause or nature of the disease.\"\n\nIsabel Murray went on to say, that furthermore the ghost confessed to\nher, that she, Isabel Heriot, when in life, had met the devil a second\ntime at Elfiston Mill, near to Ormiston: and she told what foulness the\ndevil did to her. Also, one night as she was coming home from Haddington\nMarket with some horse-corn, she met the devil at Knock-hills, and he bade\nher destroy Thomas Anderson, who was riding with her. When she refused he\nthrew all the horse-corn off the horse. \"This Thomas Anderson was a\nChristian man,\" and when Murray told her tale \"well remembered that Isabel\nhad got up the next morning timeously,\" and brought home her oats which\nhad lain in the road all the night. She said too that she had cheated her\nmaster whenever she went to the market to buy oats, charging him more than\nthey cost--not an unusual practice with servants at market anywhere; and\nshe told Isabel Murray that the stone cast at her was not for herself but\nfor her goodman, who had once flung her, the ghost, into the jawhole, and\nabused her. At this point Murray said she began to be frightened, and ran\nhome in all haste. So Isabel Heriot's character was settled for ever, and\nher neighbours only thought the judgment came too late.\n\n\nTHE SUCCUBUS.[64]\n\nWilliam Barton, a loose-lived man of notoriously strong passions, was\napprehended for witchcraft. His confession included the not very frequent\nScottish element of a Succubus--a demon under the form of a beautiful\nwoman who beguiled him, and to whom he made himself over for love and\ngold. She baptized him under the name of John Baptist, gave him her mark,\nand fifteen pounds Scots in good gold as Tocher-money; and then they\nparted. When he had gone but a little way she called him back and gave him\na mark to spend at the Ferry, desiring him to keep the fifteen pounds safe\nand unbroken. At this point in his confession the poor wretch was weary,\nand asked leave to go to sleep; which, for a wonderful stretch of\nhumanity, the judges granted. Suddenly he awakened with a loud laugh. The\nmagistrates asked why he laughed?--and he said that during his sleep the\ndevil had come to him, very angry at his confession, and bidding him deny\nall when he awoke, \"for he should be his Warrand.\" After this he became\n\"obdured,\" and would never confess anything again; the devil persuading\nhim that no man should take his life. And even when they told him that the\nstake was set up and the fire built round, he only answered, \"he cared not\nfor all that, for,\" said he, \"I shal not die this day.\" How should he if\nno man was to kill him? Upon this the executioner came into the prison,\nbut fell stone dead as he crossed the threshold. Hastily the magistrates\noffered a reward to the executioner's wife if she would undertake her\nhusband's office, and strangle the poor mad fellow before he was burnt;\nwhich she agreed to do, for all that she was in great pain and grief,\nclapping her hands and crying, \"Dool for this parting my dear burd Andrew\nMartin!\" When the warlock heard that a woman was to put him to death, he\nfell into a passion of crying, saying that the devil had deceived him, and\n\"let no man ever trust his promises again!\"\n\nBarton's wife was imprisoned with him. On her side she declared that she\nhad never known her husband to be a warlock; he on his that he had never\nknown her to be a witch: but presently the mask fell off, and she\nconfessed. She said that malice against one of her neighbours had driven\nher to give herself over to the devil, that he had baptized her by the\nname of Margaratus, and taken her to be very near to him; a great deal too\nnear for even a virtuous woman's thoughts. When asked if she had found\npleasure in his society, she answered, \"Never much.\" But one night, going\nto a witches' dance upon Pentland Hills, he went before them all in the\nlikeness of a rough tanny dog, playing on a pair of pipes. The spring he\nplayed, said she, was \"The silly bit chicken, gar cast it a pickle, and it\nwill grow mickle;\" and coming down the hill they had the best sport of\nall: the devil carried the candle and his tail went, \"ey wig wag, wig\nwag!\" Margaratus was burnt with her husband.\n\n\nTHE ISLAND WITCHES.\n\nThe Orkney and Shetland islanders were rich in witchcraft superstitions.\nThey had all the Norwegian beliefs in fullest, ripest quality, and held to\neverything that had been handed down to them from Harald Harfagre and his\nfollowers. Kelpies and trows, and brownies and trolls, which somehow or\nother went out with taxation and agriculture, peopled every stream and\nevery meadow, and witches were as many as there were men who loved nature,\nor women who had a faculty for healing and the instinct of making pets.\nSomewhere about the middle of the seventeenth century a woman was adjudged\na witch because she was seen going from Hilswick to Brecon with a couple\nof familiars in the form of black crows or corbies, which hopped on each\nside of her, all the way. Which thing, not being in the honest nature of\nthese fowls to do, she was strangled and burnt. But most frequently the\nimp took the form of a cat or dog; sometimes of a respectable human being;\nas was the case about seventy years ago, when it was notorious that the\ndevil, as a good braw countryman, helped a warlock's wife to delve while\nher husband was engaged at the Haaf. According to the same authority\ntoo,[65] not longer ago than this time, when the devil dug like any navvy,\na woman of the parish of Dunrossness was known to have a deadly enmity\nagainst a boat's crew that had set off from the Haaf. The day was\ncloudless, but the woman was a witch, and storms were as easy for her to\nraise as to blow a kiss from the hand. She took a wooden basin, called a\n_cap_, and set it afloat in a tub of water; then, as if to disarm\nsuspicion, went about her household work, chanting softly to herself an\nold Norse ditty. After she had sung a verse or two she sent her little\nchild to look at the tub, and see whether the cap was _whummilled_ (turned\nupside down) or no. The child said the water was stirring but the bowl was\nafloat. The woman went on singing a little louder; and presently sent the\nchild again to see how matters stood. This time the child said there was a\nstrange swell in the water, but the cap still floated. The woman then sang\nmore loud and fierce; and again she sent. The child came back saying the\nwaters were strangely troubled, and the cap was whummilled. Then she cried\nout, \"The turn is done!\" and left off singing. On the same day came word\nthat a fishing yawl had been lost in the Roust, and all on board drowned.\nThe same story is told of some women in the island of Fetlar, who, when a\nboat's crew had perished in the Bay of Funzie, were found sitting round a\nwell, muttering mysterious words over a wooden bowl supernaturally\nagitated. The whole thing, as Hibbert says, forcibly reminds one of the\nold Norse superstition of the Quern Song.\n\nIt was no unusual thing for men and women of otherwise peaceable and\ncleanly life to tamper with the elements in those dim and distant days.\nEven seventy years ago a man named John Sutherland of Papa Stour was in\nthe habit of getting a fair wind for weather-bound vessels: and the Knoll\nof Kibister, in the island of Bressay, now called Luggie's Knowe,[66]\ntestifies by its name to the skill and sorrowful fate of a well-known\nwizard of the seventeenth century. There on that steep hill used Luggie to\nlive, and in the stormiest weather managed somehow always to have his bit\nof fresh fish: angling with the most perfect success, even when the boats\ncould not come into the bay. When out at sea Luggie had nothing to do but\ncast out his lines to have as plentiful a dinner as he could desire. \"He\nwould out of Neptune's lowest kitchen, bring cleverly up fish well-boiled\nand roasted;\" but strange and mischancy as the art was, his companions got\naccustomed to it, \"and would by a natural courage make a merry meal\nthereof, not doubting who was cook.\" But Luggie's cleverness proved fatal\nto him. Men were not even adept fishers in those days without danger, and\njealousy and fear helped to swell the reputation of his natural skill into\nsupernatural power: so he was tried for a sorcerer, and burnt at a stake\nat Scalloway. We need hardly wonder at the fate of poor Luggie,\nconsidering the times. If it were possible to hang two women on the 26th\nof January, 1681--actually to hang them in the sight of God and this\nloving pitiful human world, \"for calling kings and bishops perjured bloody\nmen,\"[67] we need not wonder to what lengths superstition in any of its\nother forms was carried. We have made a stride since then, with\nseven-leagued boots winged at the heels.\n\nA family of bright young sons[68] lived on one of the Shetland islands. A\ncertain Norwegian lady had reason to think herself slighted by one of\nthem, and she swore she would have her revenge. The sons were about to\ncross a voe or ferry; but one was to take his shelty, while the rest were\nto go by the boat. Mysteriously the shelty was found to have been loosed\nfrom its tether, and was gone; so all the heirs male of the race were\nunder the necessity of going by the boat across the voe. It was the close\nof day---a mild windless evening: not a ripple was on the water, not a\ncloud in the sky; and no one on either bank heard a cry or saw the waters\nstir. But the youths never returned home. When they were searched for the\nnext day they could nowhere be found: only the boat drifting to the shore,\nunharmed and unsteered. When the deed was done the shelty was brought back\nto its tether as mysteriously as it had been taken away.\n\nTrials and executions still went on; some at Dumfries, and some at\nColdingham[69] where Margaret Polwart was publicly rebuked for using\ncharms and incantations to recover her sick child whom \"that thief\nChristian Happer had wronged.\" But as a neighbour told her very wisely,\n\"They that chant cannot charm, or they that lay on cannot take off the\ndisease, or they that do wrong to any one, cannot recover them,\" so what\nwas the good of all her notorious cantrips with Jean Hart and Alison\nNisbet--the last of such evil fame that she had lately been scratched for\na witch--that is, had blood drawn above her breath? Margaret Polwart might\nbe thankful that she got off with only a rebuke for using charms in place\nof drugs, and consorting with witches to undo witches' work. In 1696,\nJanet Widdrow and Isobel Cochrane were brought to trial, but not burnt for\nthe present; but two poor creatures, M'Rorie and M'Quicken, did not\nescape: nor some others, of no special dramatic interest.\n\nAnd now we come to that marvellous piece of disease and imposture\ncombined, the notorious case of \"Bargarran's Daughter.\"\n\n\nTHE RENFREWSHIRE WITCHES.[70]\n\nChristian Shaw, Bargarran's daughter, was a little girl of about eleven\nyears of age, \"of a lively character and well inclined.\" On the 17th of\nAugust, 1696, she saw the woman servant, Katherine Campbell, steal a drink\nof milk from the can, whereupon she threatened to tell her mother; but\nCampbell, \"being a young woman of a proud and revengeful temper, and much\naddicted to cursing and swearing upon any light occasion,\" turned against\nher vehemently, wishing \"that the Devil might harle her soul through\nhell,\" and cursing her with violent imprecations. Five days after this,\nAgnes Naismith, an old woman of bad fame, came into the courtyard, and\nasked Christian how old she was, and how she did, inquiring also after the\nhealth of other members of the family. Christian gave her a pert answer,\nand there the matter ended; but the next night the young girl was taken\nwith fits, and the first act of the long and mournful tragedy began. In\nher fits she cried out against Katherine Campbell and Agnes Naismith,\nsaying they were cutting her side and otherwise tormenting her; then she\nstruggled as with an unseen enemy, and her body was, now bowed stiff and\nrigid, resting in an arch on her head and her heels alone, and now shaken\nwith such a strange motion of rising and falling, as it had been a pair of\nbellows; her tongue was drawn into her throat, and even the great Dr.\nBrisbane of Glasgow himself was puzzled by what name to call her passion,\nfor she began to vomit strange things, which she said the witches, her\ntormentors, forced upon her--such as crooked pins, small fowl bones,\nsticks of candle fir, filthy hay, gravel stones, lumps of candle-grease,\nand egg-shells. And still she cried out against Katherine Campbell and\nAgnes Naismith; holding long conversations with the former, whom she\naffirmed to be sitting close by when she was perhaps many miles away, and\narguing with her out of the Bible: exhorting her to repent of her sins\nwith more unction than logical clearness of reasoning. Agnes Naismith she\ntook somewhat into favour again; for the poor old woman, having been\nbrought by the parents into the chamber where she lay, and having prayed\nfor her a little simple prayer very heartily, the afflicted damsel\ncondescended to exempt her from further persecution for the moment, saying\nthat she was now her defender and did protect her from the fury of the\nrest. For the crafty child had seen too well how her first venture had\nsped not to venture on a broader cast. One day being in her fits she made\na grip with her hands as if to catch something, then exclaimed that J. P.\nwas then tormenting her, and that she had got a grip of his jerkin which\nwas \"duddie\" (tattered) at the elbows; and immediately her mother and\naunt heard the tearing of cloth, and the girl showed them in her hands two\npieces of red cloth newly torn, where never a bit of red cloth had been\nbefore. Then she went off into a swoon or \"swerf,\" and lay as if dead a\nconsiderable time. These fits continued with more or less severity far\ninto the winter of the next year, and with ever new victims claimed by her\nas her tormentors. Now it was Elizabeth Anderson; now James and Thomas\nLindsay--the latter a young lad of eleven, \"the gley'd or squint-eyed\nelf,\" as she called him; now \"the scabbed-faced lass,\" who came to the\ndoor to ask alms; and now the weary old Highland body, begging for a\nnight's lodging; then Alexander Anderson, father of Elizabeth; and Jean\nFulton, the grandmother; and then Margaret Lang--Pincht Margaret as she\nwas called--\"a Name given her by the Devil, from a Pincht Cross cloath,\nordinarily worn on her Brow;\" and her daughter, Martha Semple. Of the\ntwenty-one people accused by this wicked girl, Margaret Lang and her\ndaughter were the most remarkable--the one for her courage, her fine\ncharacter and powerful mind, the other for her youth, her beauty, and\nchild-like innocence of nature. When she heard that she was accused,\nMargaret--who had been advised to get out of the way for a time, but who\nhad answered disdainfully, \"Let them quake that dread and fear that need,\nbut I will not gang\"--went up straight to Bargarran house, and passing\ninto the chamber where Christian lay, put her arms round her and spoke to\nher soothingly, saying, \"The Lord bless thee and ding the devil frae\nthee!\" She then asked her pointedly if she had ever seen her among her\ntormentors?--to which the girl said. \"No, but she had seen her daughter\nMartha.\" Afterwards she retracted this admission and said that Margaret\nhad really afflicted her, but that she was under a spell when asked and\ncould not confess. Martha could not take things so gently. \"She was as\nwell-Favoured and Gentill a Lass as you'l look on, and about 17 or 18\nyears of Age,\" says an old authority in an anonymous letter written to a\ncouple of initials. Poor Martha! her youth and beauty and passionate\ndistress moved even the bigoted wretches who condemned her; but their\ncompassion led to nothing pitiful or merciful, and the poor, bright,\nbeautiful girl passed into the awful doom of the rest. Then the\nauthorities \"questioned\" the witches; they were pricked, according to\ncustom and the national law; and \"There was not any of them, save Margaret\nFulton, but marks were found on them, which were altogether insensible.\nThat a Needle of 3 Inches length was frequently put in without their\nknowledge, nor would any Blood come from these places.\" Elizabeth\nAnderson, a girl of seventeen, a beggar, James Lindsay, of fourteen, and\ngley'd Thomas, his brother, not yet twelve--who for a halfpenny would turn\nhimself widershins and stop a plough at a word--were found willing and\nable to confess. Elizabeth Anderson was especially determined that things\nshould not be lost for the want of finding. She said that about twenty\ndays ago her father had told her to go with him to Bargarran's yard,\nsomewhere about noon, where they met a black man with a bonnet on his\nhead, and a band round his neck, whom her father and Agnes Naismith, then\npresent, told her was the devil: that certain people, named, were also in\ntheir company; that their discourse was all of Christian Shaw, then lying\nsick, \"whose Life they all promis'd to take away by the stopping of her\nBreath;\" that they all danced in the yard; that her father \"Discharged\nher to tell anything she saw, or she would be Torn in Pieces: and that she\nwas more Affraied of the forsaid persons than she was of the Devil.\" This\nconfession was made on the 5th of February, 1697. A few days later her\nimagination was more lively. About seven years ago, she said, as she was\nplaying round the door of her grandmother, Jean Fulton's, house, she saw\n\"ane black grim man\" go into the house to her grandmother, where he abode\nfor a while talking. Jean bade her take the gentleman by the hand, and he\nwould give her \"ane Bony Black, new Coat; which accordingly she did.\" But\nhis hand was cold and she was afeard: and then he vanished away. The same\nthing happened once again, when the black gentleman and her grandmother\nfell a-talking together by \"rounding in other's ears,\" but the girl\nunderstood not what they said. This time she would not touch his hand for\nall his promises of bran new clothes; so \"the gentleman went away in a\nflight,\" and she saw him no more for long after. The next time was when\nher father \"desired her to go with him through the Country and seek their\nMeat; to which she replyed she need not seek her Meat, seeing she might\nhave Work:\" but her father prevailed, and took her to a moor where above\ntwenty people were assembled; whose names she gives in a formidable\nmuster. Now the devil tempted her anew with meat and clothes, but she\nwould not consent; so he and her father stepped aside and conferred\ntogether. Their meeting this day was for the destruction of a certain\nminister's child, which they were to effect by means of a wax picture and\npins. Another time it was for the destruction of another minister's child\nby the same means, and she heard Margaret Rodger say, \"Stay a little, till\nI stop ane Pin in the Heart of it:\" which accordingly she did. This time\nher father took her on his back over the water to Kilpatrick in a Flight,\nsaying Mount and Fly. She was with the witch crew when they drowned\nBrighouse by upsetting his boat, and when they strangled a child with a\nsea napkin: after which they all danced with the devil \"in ane black Coat,\nane Blew Bonnet, ane Blew Band,\" who played the pipes for them, and gave\nthem each a piece of an unchristened bairn's liver to eat, so that they\nshould never confess if apprehended. With other abominations too foul to\nbe repeated.\n\nThe same day, February 18th, James Lindsay, the elder of the two brothers,\nconfessed. Jean Fulton was his grandmother too, and he said that one day,\nwhen she met him, she took his little round hat and plack from him. Being\nloath to part with the same, he ran after her crying for them: which she\nrefusing, he called her an old witch, and ran away. Whereupon she\nthreatened him. Eight days after this, as he was begging through the\ncountry near Inchannan where she lived, he met her again; and this time\nshe had with her \"ane black grim man with black cloaths, ane black Hat and\nblew Band,\" who offered his hand, which James took and which he found cold\nas it gript him straitly. The gentleman asked if he would serve him for a\nBonny black coat and a black hat, and several other things, to which he\nreplied \"Yes, I'll do't.\" He then went to all the meetings, and saw all\nthe people and did all the things that Elizabeth had spoken of; even to\nstrangling Montgomerie's bairn with a sea napkin at twelve o'clock at\nnight, while the servant girl was watching by the cradle. Young Thomas the\ngley'd followed next, confessing to just the same things, even to the\nliver of the \"uncrissened bairn,\" which all eat save Elizabeth and their\ntwo selves: a slip-by that accounted for their confessions. And now\njustice had a good handful to begin with, so the work of accusation went\nbriskly forward. Bargarran's daughter still continued bringing out crooked\npins and stones and all sorts of unmentionable filth from her mouth, and\nstill went on quarrelling with the devil whom she called an old sow, and\nholding conversations with the apparitions of her tormentors, still mixed\nup fraud with epilepsy, and lies and craft and wicked guile with hysteria,\ntill the witch-fires were fairly lighted, and seven of the poor wretches\n\"done to death.\" Among whom brave Margaret and her beautiful child held\nthe most prominent place. Never for a moment did Margaret Lang lose her\ncourage or self-possession. Seeing a farmer whom she knew, among the crowd\nassembled round the gallows, she called out to him bitterly, \"that he\nwould now thrive like a green bay-tree, for there would be no innocent\nblood shed that day;\" but what she meant for irony the people took for\nconfession. When she was burned, the answer of a spectator to one who\nasked if the execution was over, showed what feeling they had about her:\n\"There's ane o' the witches in hell, an' the rest 'ill shune follow!\" said\nhe contentedly. Another man, whose stick was taken to push back the legs\nof the poor wretches as they were thrust out of the flames, when it was\nreturned to him, flung it into the flames, saying, \"I'll tak nae stick\nhame wi' me to nay hous that has touched a witch.\" When all was over and\nthe sacrifice was complete, Bargarran's daughter declared herself\nsatisfied and cured; no more \"bumbees\" came to pinch her--no more charms\nof balls of hair or waxen eggs were laid beneath her bed--no more\napparitions thronged to vex her, nor had she fits or tossings, foamings\nor strange swellings as of old; the devil left off tempting her with\npromises of a fine gentleman for a husband; the witches no longer allured\nher by phantom aprons filled with phantom almonds; the Lord \"helped the\npoor daft child,\" as Mrs. M. had prayed, though she was scarce worth the\nhelping, and the world was oppressed with her lies no more. But the blood\nof the murdered innocent lay red on the ground, and cried aloud to heaven\nfor vengeance against the murderers. The case of Bargarran's daughter has\nbeen always accepted as one of the most puzzling on record; but when may\nnot mankind be puzzled if they have but sufficient credulity? Subtract\nfrom this account the possible and the certain--the possible frauds and\nthe certain lies--and what is left? A diseased girl, hysterical and\nepileptic, full of hallucinations and pretended fancies, with a certain\nquickness of hand which the tremendous gullibility of her auditory\nrendered yet more facile--unscrupulous, mendacious; the only thing\nsurprising in the whole matter was that there was not one man of\nsufficient coolness of judgment, or quickness of perception, to see\nthrough the imposture and set his grip on it ere it passed. Dickie and\nMitchell, who a few years back visited the house where all this took\nplace, found a slit or hole in the wooden partition between her bedroom\nand the room next it; a slit, evidently made purposely, and not a natural\ndefect in the wood, and so placed that when the bed was made up (the bed\nof richly-carved oak yet stands or stood there) it could not be seen by\nany one in the room. This little fact seems to speak volumes, and to help\nmaterially towards establishing the questions of fraud and connivance. The\nremote sequel is the only consoling feature in the case. From being the\nmost notorious impostor and the most cruel, false, and deadly persecutor\nof her time, Bargarran's daughter, as Mrs. Miller, became one of the best\nand most famous spinners of fine and delicate thread. She caused certain\nmachinery to be brought from Holland, and wrought at her spinning wheel\nwith all the intelligence and zeal that, earlier, had been so miserably\nemployed to the ruin and destruction of her fellow-creatures. It is to be\nhoped that the coolness and reflection of maturity gave her grace to\nrepent of the sins of her girlhood, and that after-penitence wiped out the\nterrible stains of youthful lying and murder.\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS.\n\nThat same year also Sir John Maxwell, of Pollok, and some other gentlemen,\nwere commissioned to try two poor women, Mary Millar and Elspeth M'Ewen,\nand if guilty adjudge them to death; which they were found to be, and\nadjudged accordingly; and a few months after, Margaret Laird--still in\nRenfrewshire--was reputed to have been \"under ane extraordinary and most\nlamentable trouble, falling into strange and horrible fits, judged by all\nwho have seen her to be preternatural, arising from the devil and his\ninstruments.\" The suspected witches who were accused of troubling her,\nwere seized and put upon their trial. So was Mary Morrison, spouse of\nFrancis Duncan; but her husband petitioned so earnestly for her release\nfor sake of her \"numerous poor family\" starving in neglect at home, and\nthere being no kind of proof against her, she was at length released and\nset at liberty. \"The Lord-Advocate soon after reported to the Privy\nCouncil a letter he had received from the Sheriff of Renfrewshire, stating\nthat 'the persons imprisoned in that county as witches are in a starving\ncondition, and that those who informed against them are passing from them,\nand the sheriff says he will send them in prisoners to Edinburgh Tolbooth,\nunless they be quickly tried.' His lordship was recommended to ask the\nsheriff to support the prisoners till November next, when they would\nprobably be tried, and the charges would be disbursed by the treasury. A\ndistinct allowance of a groat a day was ordered on the 12th of January,\n1699, for each of the Renfrewshire witches.\"[71]\n\nIn July of the same year, Ross-shire contributed a famous quota. Twelve\nluckless creatures were reported at once as being guilty of the\n\"diabolical crimes and charms of witchcraft,\" and by the 2nd of January,\n1700, two of them had confessed, and were sentenced to such arbitrary\npunishment as the committee might think proper. \"This is the first\nappearance of an inclination in the central authorities to take mild views\nof witchcraft,\" says Chambers; but we have not seen the last of capital\npunishments, for on the 20th of November, 1702, Margaret Myles was hanged\nat Edinburgh. That she was a witch was proved not only by her own\nconfession, but by her inability to say the Lord's Prayer, even when the\nminister, Mr. George Andrews, tried to teach her. When he desired her to\npray \"her heart was so obdured that she answered she could not; for, as\nshe confessed, she was in covenant with the devil, who had made her\nrenounce her baptism.\" He then wished her to say the Lord's Prayer after\nhim, and she began, but she would say nothing but \"Our Father which wart\nin heaven,\" and could not by any means be got to say the right word. He\nthen reproached her, saying, \"How could she bid him pray for her, since\nshe could not pray for herself?\" and, singing two verses of the 51st\nPsalm, he made her show a little penitence. Then he essayed her again,\ntrying to make her repeat after him, \"I renounce the devil,\" but she would\nonly say, \"I unce the devil;\" \"for by no means would she say distinctly\nthat she renounced the devil, and adhered unto her baptism, but that she\nunced the devil, and hered unto her baptism. The only sign of repentance\nshe gave was after the napkin had covered her face, for then she said,\n'Lord, take me out of the devil's hands, and put me in God's.'\"\n\nThe next year, \"The Rigwoodie Witch,\" lean Marion Lillie of Spott, was had\nbefore the Kirk Session to account for her dealings in the village. She\nwas a passionate-tongued old dame, who had handled roughly one of her\nneighbours while in the condition that looked forward to Mrs. Gamp and the\ncaudle-cup; so roughly, indeed, that Mrs. Gamp and the caudle-cup were\nforestalled, and the poor woman was brought to an unpleasant pass; so the\nRigwoodie witch got something not so pleasant as a month's nursing, and\nwas put out of the way of handling pregnant women roughly for the future.\n\n\nTHE STIRK'S FOOT.[72]\n\nJean Neilson lived in Torryburn, a village in the west of Fife, and she\nand Lillias Adie, a woman of more than equivocal reputation, were not on\nthe best of terms. Jean Neilson was but a poor sickly body, full of\nfancies and uncatalogued ailments; and because she had no scientific name\nto give them, she gave Lillias the credit of having created them by her\nmagic. She swore that she was bewitched, and that old Lillias was the\nbewitcher. Upon which the ministers and elders of the kirk in Torryburn\nmet in solemn conclave on the 29th of July, and called Lillias before them\nto give an account of her bad practices. Lillias had no mind that they\nshould lose their trouble. She confessed herself a witch without further\nado; said how that she had met the devil by the side of a \"stook\" in the\nharvest field, where she had renounced her baptism and accepted him on the\ninstant as her lord and lover; how he had embraced her, when she found his\nskin cold, and saw his feet cloven like a \"stirk's.\" Since then she had\njoined in dances with him and others whom she named; for Lillias, like all\nthe rest, seemed to think there was safety in a multitude, and delated\nseveral of the parish, to bear her company in her uncomfortable position;\nand she told how, at the back of Patrick Sands' house in Vellyfield, they\nwere lighted by a mysterious light, just sufficient to let them see each\nother's faces, and to show the devil with a cap covering his ears and\nneck. The minister and elders had now rich game in view, and they held\nmeeting after meeting to examine those whom Lillias accused, and feed\ntheir ears with all the wild and monstrous tales they chose to pour into\nthem. But what became of them eventually no one now knows: only of a\nsurety Lillias Adie was burned \"within the sea mark,\" and Jean Neilson\nmight now bear her uncatalogued ailments in peace. The minister of\nTorryburn at that time was one Allen Logan--the Reverend Allen\nLogan--notorious for his skill in detecting witches, and his zeal in\nhunting them down. When administering the communion he would flash his eye\nthrough the congregation and say harshly, as by knowledge, \"You\nwitch-wife, get up from the table of the Lord,\" casting a ball for the\nconscience-stricken to kick at; when, ten to one, some poor old trembling\nwretch would totter up, and so go mumbling through the doors, \"thus\nexposing herself to the hazard of a regular accusation afterwards.\" He was\nalways \"dinging\" against witchcraft; and one day a woman called Helen Kay\ntook up her stool and went out of the church. She said she thought he was\n\"daft\" \"to be always dinging against witches thae' gait;\" but the elders\nthought differently, and Helen Kay was convicted of profanity, and\nordained to sit before the congregation and be openly rebuked.\n\n\nTHE HORRIBLE MURDER OF JANET CORNFOOT.[73]\n\nWhile Lillias Adie was being burned in the west of Fife, Beatrix Laing, at\nPittenweem in the east, was put to sore trouble. Patrick Morton, a youth\nof sixteen \"free from any known vice,\" sent up a petition to the Privy\nCouncil (June 13, 1704), stating, that being employed by his father to\nmake some nails for a ship lying off Pittenweem, Beatrix Laing, spouse to\nWilliam Brown, tailor, and late treasurer of the burgh, came and demanded\nsome nails. He \"modestly\" refused her, saying that he was engaged in\nanother job, and could not therefore work for her; whereupon she went\naway, \"threatening to be revenged, which did somewhat frighten him,\nbecause he knew she was under a bad fame and reputed for a witch.\" The\nnext day, on passing Beatrix's door, \"he observed a timber vessel with\nsome water and fire coal in it at the door, which made him apprehend that\nit was a charm laid for him, and the effect of her threatening; and\nimmediately he was seized with such a weakness in his limbs that he could\nhardly stand or walk.\" For many weeks this strange kind of lingering\ndisease and discomfort went on, he \"still growing worse, having no\nappetite, and his body strangely emaciated,\" all because of Beatrix having\n\"slockened\" fire coals in a vessel as a malevolent charm for him; till\nabout May the disease ripened, and the symptoms of hysteria and epilepsy\npresented themselves. He swelled prodigiously; his breathing was like the\nblowing of a pair of bellows; his body was rigid and inflexible; his\ntongue was drawn into his mouth; and he cried out vehemently against\nBeatrix Laing and others--for these accusations never came alone;\nprofessing to know his tormentors by their touch if brought to him,\nalthough his eyes were blinded, and the bystanders held their peace. In\nshort, he played the same antics here in the east as Bargarran's daughter\nhad played in the west. Beatrix and the rest were flung into prison, and\nevery effort was made to induce them to confess. Beatrix was pricked, and\nkept without sleep for five days and nights; but she held out manfully.\nShe would not consent to accept the modest youth's interpretation of his\nillness, and denied strongly all hand in it, and all trafficking with\nwitch charms or unholy arts. At last she was conquered. Sleeplessness and\ntorture did their appointed work, and she made a rambling statement of\nbaptismal renunciation, and the like, delating Janet Cornfort and others,\nwhich confession she recanted as soon as she had got a little strength;\nand specially that part where she had spoken of her fine packs of wool\nwhich she had sold so well at the market, coming home afterwards on a big\nblack horse, which she gave into her husband's hands. Her husband, she had\nsaid, was embarrassed with this big black horse, and asked what he should\ndo with it? to which she had answered, \"Cast his bridle on his neck and\nyou will be quit of him.\" So the horse flew off overhead with a great\nnoise, and Beatrix Laing's startled husband for the first time understood\nits real character.\n\nIn revenge at her obduracy the magistrates \"put her in the stocks, and\nthen carried her to the Thieves' Hole, and from that transported her to a\ndark dungeon, where she was allowed no manner of light, or human converse;\nand in this condition she lay for five months.\" All this while the\nmagistrates of the burgh were pressing on the Privy Council the absolute\nneed of trying her; but the Earl of Balcarres and Lord Anstruther, two\nmembers of the council connected with the district, interposed their\ninfluence, and got the poor creature set at liberty;--\"brought her off as\na dreamer,\" says the anonymous pamphlet angrily. But she was forced to\nturn her face from Pittenweem, and \"wandered about in strange places, in\nthe extremity of hunger and cold, though she had a competency at home, but\ndared not come near her own house,\" for fear of the fury and rage of the\npeople: dying at last \"undesired\" in her bed at St. Andrews.\n\nBeatrix was wandering about in strange places, safe if sorrowful, but\nAlexander Macgregor clinched her muttered charge against Janet Cornfoot by\naccusing her of perpetually haunting him--she and two other witches, and\nhis Cloutieship along with them. They tormented him chiefly in the night\ntime, while he was sleeping in his bed. Janet, under torture confessed;\nbut retracted immediately after, saying that the minister himself had\nbeaten her with his staff to make her speak out: and there being\nconsiderable doubt of her guilt in the minds of the gentry of the\ndistrict, even of the chastising minister himself, she was allowed to\nescape, by connivance. But another minister of the neighbourhood, with\nmore zeal than humanity and more grace than knowledge, stopped her in her\nflight, and sent her back to Pittenweem. There the mob got hold of her.\nThey had been fearfully excited by Beatrix Laing's acquittal and Janet's\nescape, and they were not disposed to let this unexpected glut to their\nvengeance go. They seized poor Janet Cornfoot, tied her up hard in a rope,\nbeat her unmercifully, then dragged her by the heels through the streets\nand along the shore. \"The appearance of a bailie for a brief space\ndispersed the crowd, but only to show how easily the authorities might\nhave protected their victim if they had chosen.\" Resuming their horrible\nwork, the rabble tied Janet to a rope stretching between a vessel in the\nharbour and the shore, swinging her to and fro, and amusing themselves by\npelting her with stones. Tiring at length of this sport, they let her down\nwith a sharp fall upon the beach, beat her again unmercifully, and finally\ncovering her with a door, pressed her to death (Jan. 30, 1705). Janet's\ndaughter was in the town, and knew what was taking place down by that\nblood-stained shore, but she dared not interfere; and during all the time\nthis hideous murder was going on--lasting for nearly three hours--neither\nmagistrate nor minister came forward to protect or interpose. Are verily\nand in truth \"the powers that be ordained of God,\" or has not the devil\nsometimes something to do with the laying on of hands?--so much of the\ndevil, at least, as is represented by ignorance, inhumanity, superstition,\nand cowardice, always conspicuous qualities of the more zealous of every\ndenomination.\n\nAbout this time,[74] Thomas Brown, another of the accused, died of \"hunger\nand hardship\" in prison; and at the close of the year, two Inverness men,\nGeorge and Lachlan Rattray, were executed, being found \"guilty of the\nhorrid crimes of mischievous charms, by witchcraft and malefice, sorcery\nor necromancy.\" And many witches were also burnt on the top of Spott Loan.\n\n\nTHE SPELL OF THE SLAP.[75]\n\nIn 1708, William Stensgar, of Southside, in Orkney, had rheumatism. He\nsent to an old beggar-woman, called Catherine Taylor--a cripple herself,\nbut none the less qualified to heal others by her magic arts. She came to\nhim about an hour before sunrise and took the case in hand, bidding him\nfollow her till they came to a certain kind of gate or stile, called a\nslap or grind; William's wife accompanying them with a stoup of water. At\nthis slap Catherine touched his knee, saying, \"As I was going by the way I\nmet the Lord Jesus Christ in the likeness of another man; he asked me what\ntidings I had to tell? I said I had no tidings to tell, but I am full of\npain, and can neither gang nor stand. Thou shalt go to the holy kirk, and\nthou shalt gang round about, and then sit down upon thy knees, and say thy\nprayers to the Lord, and then thou shalt be as heal as the hour when\nChrist was born.\" After this precious charm, which the old cripple said\nhad been taught her when a child, she repeated the 23rd Psalm; and then\nthe evil spirit which had caused the rheumatism was assumed to be \"telled\nout\" into the stoup of water; at all events William Stensgar would have no\nmore of it. Then the water was emptied out over the slap or gate so that\nthe next person passing by the stile might get it instead of William. One\nman who had watched this devilry from the beginning, evaded the foul fiend\nby pushing his way through the hedge higher up; but another unfortunate\nwretch, not so lucky or not so early a riser, coming blundering over the\nstile as usual, got laid hold of by the fiend which William Stensgar had\nshaken off, and was holden by it hardly.\n\n\nTHE PLAGUE OF CATS.[76]\n\nYear by year witches became scarcer, none of any special note presenting\nthemselves till we come to the case of Margaret Nin-Gilbert, of Caithness,\nwhich happened in the year 1718; the same year as that in which the\nminister of Redcastle lost his life by witchcraft, and Mr. M'Gill's house\nat Kinross (he was minister there) was so egregiously troubled by a spirit\nwhich nipped the sheets and stuck pins into eggs and meat, and clipt away\nthe laps of a gentlewoman's hood and a servant maid's gown tail, and flung\nstones down the chimney, which \"wambled a space\" on the floor, and then\ntook a flight out of the window, and threw the minister's bible into the\nfire, and spoilt the baking, and played all sorts of mad pranks to\ndisquiet the family and defy God. If such things as these could be done\nin the light of the sun, why, should not Margaret Nin-Gilbert have\nsupernatural power? Nin-Gilbert had a friend, one Margaret Olson, a woman\nof it is said wicked behaviour, whom Mr. Frazer put out of her house,\ntaking as his tenant instead one William Montgomerie. Upon this Margaret\nOlson went to her friend Nin-Gilbert, the notorious witch, and besought\nher to harm Mr. Frazer; but Mr. Frazer being a gentleman of rank and\nfortune was defended from the witches, and Nin-Gilbert confessed she had\nno power or inclination to hurt him. However, one night as he was crossing\na bridge, they attempted him, but succeeded not; and he, on being\nquestioned, said he perfectly remembered \"his horse making a great adoe at\nthat place, but that by the Lord's goodness he escaped.\" Also he had a\ngreat sickness at the time these women were taken, but he had common sense\nenough to refuse to ascribe it to them. Finding that they could not\nprevail against Mr. Frazer, they turned their attention to Montgomerie,\n\"mason, in Burnside of Scrabster,\" who was also under the ban for having\naccepted the tenancy of which Margaret Olson had been dispossessed.\nSuddenly his house became so infested with cats that it was no longer safe\nfor his family to remain there. He himself was away, but his wife sent to\nhim five times, threatening that if he did not return home to protect\nthem, she would flit to Thurso; and his servant left them suddenly, and in\nmid term, because five of these cats came one night to the fireside where\nshe was alone, and began speaking among themselves with human and\nintelligible voices. So William Montgomerie, mason at Scrabster, returned\nhome to do battle with the enemy. The cats came in their old way and in\ntheir old numbers; and William prepared his best. On Friday night, the\n28th of November, one of the cats got into a chest with a hole in it, and\nwhen she put her head out of the hole, William made a lunge at her with\nhis sword, which \"cutt hir,\" but for all that he could not hold her. He\nthen opened the chest, and his servant, William Geddes, stuck his dirk\ninto her hind quarters and pinned her to the chest. After which,\nMontgomerie beat her with his sword and cast her out for dead; but the\nnext morning she was gone; so there was no doubt as to her true character.\nFour or five nights after this, his servant, being in bed, \"cryed out that\nSome of these catts had come in on him.\" Montgomerie ran to his aid, wrapt\nhis plaid about the cat and thrust his dirk through her body, then smashed\nher head with the back of an axe, and cast her out like the first. The\nnext morning she too was gone, and there was proof positive for another\ncase. So as none of these cats belonged to the neighbourhood, and there\nwere eight of them assembled together in one night, \"this looking like\nwitchcraft, it being threatened that none should thrive in my said house,\"\nWilliam Montgomerie made petition to the Sherrif-Deput of Caithness, to\nvisit \"some person of bad fame,\" who was reported to have fallen sick\nimmediately on this encounter, and search out if she had any wounds on her\nbody or not. \"This representation seeming all the time to be very\nincredulous and fabulous, the sheriff had no manner of regard yrto.\" But\nwhen, on the 12th of February, Margaret Nin-Gilbert was seen by one of her\nneighbours \"to drop at her own door one of her leggs from the midle, and\nshe, being under bad fame for witchcraft, the legg, black and putrified,\nwas brought before the Sheriff-depute\" (not the sheriff himself, the Earl\nof Caithness, who might have had a little more common sense)--then the\nsaid Sheriff-depute ordered Nin-Gilbert to be seized and examined.\nMargaret made short work of it. Being interrogated the 8th of February,\n1719, she confessed that she was under compact with the devil, whom she\nhad met in the likeness of a black man as she was travelling some long\ntime byegone in ane evening; confessed also that he sometimes appeared to\nher as a great black horse, and other times as if riding on a black horse,\nand sometimes as a black cloud, and sometimes as a black hen. Confessed\nalso that she was at William Montgomerie's house that evening, when he\nattacked her as a cat, and that he broke her leg with the dirk or axe,\nwhich since had fallen off from the rest of her body: also, that Margaret\nOlson was there with her, who, being stronger than she did cast her on the\ndirk when her leg was broken. She then delated four other women, one of\nwhom, Helen Andrew, had been so crushed and maimed by Montgomerie, \"that\nshe dyed that same night of her wounds or few days yrafter:\" and another,\nM'Huistan, \"cast herself a few days afterwards from the rocks of\nBorrowstoun into the sea, since which time she was never seen; while a\nthird, Jannet Pyper, she identified as having a red petticoat on her.\nAsked how they managed not to be discovered said, the devil raised a fog\nor mist to conceal them.\" When her confession was ended, her accomplices\nwere apprehended; but she herself died in prison in a fortnight's time.\nMargaret Olson was then examined. She was \"tryed in the shoulders\" (for\nwitches' marks), \"where there were several small spots, some read, some\nblewish; after a needle was driven in with great force almost to the eye\nshe felt it not. Mr. Innes, Mr. Oswald, minister, and several honest\nwomen, and Bailzie Forbes, were witnesses to this. And further, that\nwhile the needle was in her shoulder, as aforesaid, she said, 'Am not I\nane honest woman now?'\" So this instance of human wickedness and folly\nended by the usual method of the cord and the stake.\n\n\nTHE YOUNG HONOURABLE'S DECEITS.\n\nJanuary, 1720, saw distress and confusion at Calder in Mid Lothian. Lord\nTorphichen's third son, the Honourable Patrick Sandilands, was bewitched,\nand the whole country was in excitement. If the devil could touch a Lord's\nson, who was safe? There was no doubt of the fact, let who would deny it.\nLord Torphichen's son though he was, the Honourable Patrick Sandilands was\nworse holden than the meanest hind on the estate. He was buffeted about\nthe room; flung down in trances, from which no horsewhippings--and it is\nto be hoped he had plenty of them, and well laid on--could revive him; he\npronounced prophecies; was lifted up in the air; taken off long journeys\nbetween the space of two flashes of light; had the gift of clairvoyance;\nand put out all the candles by his very presence--his powers depending, as\nsuch powers generally do, on darkness and confusion for their perfect\ndevelopment. Lord Torphichen soon left off the use of the horsewhip, and\nhe and all the family came to the conclusion that the Honourable Patrick\nwas bewitched. So they got hold of the witch, a brutish, ignorant,\nhalf-witted woman living in the village of Calder, and put her in prison,\nwaiting her confession. As for that, it was not difficult to get at. Yes,\nshe was a witch; had been a witch for many years; had once given the devil\nher own dead child to make a roast of; had made an image of the young\nlaird; and had three associates, two women and a man. Mad William\nMitchell, the Tinklarian Doctor,[77] as he was called, went on foot in ill\nweather without food from the West Bow to Lord Torphichen's house at\nCalder, to see what he could do towards discovering the devil in the\nwitches. This was on the 14th of January--the day of the solemn fast,\nwhich was all the help that the awakening reason of the times would allow\nthe Honourable Patrick Sandilands. True, the witch and her confederates\nwere in prison, but there was no gallows planted, and no fire set: only\nthe ministers, and elders, and saints, and people, convened in solemn and\nsacred prayer, to beseech God to drive out the devil from a lying,\nmischievous, hysterical lad. But crazy William Mitchell took very little\nby this move, Lord Torphichen not favouring his pretensions to special and\nprivate illumination. The sermon was preached in the Calder Kirk by the\nRev. Mr. John Wilkie, minister of Uphall, the sorcerers being present, and\nwas found so powerful that the devil was fairly exorcised, and the boy\nsoon after wholly recovered. In time he went to sea, rose to the command\nof an East Indiaman, but perished in a storm, leaving a meritorious name\nsingularly stained with boyish sins. \"It brings us strangely near to this\nwild-looking affair,\" says Chambers, \"that the present Lord Torphichen\n(1860) is only _nephew_ to the witch-boy of Calder.\"\n\n\nTHE LAST OF THE WITCHES.\n\nAnd now we draw near to the close of this fatal superstition. In 1726,\nWoodrow notes \"some pretty odd accounts of witches,\" had from a couple of\nRoss-shire men, but fails to give us very accurate details, save only that\none of them at her death \"confessed that they had, by sorcery, taken away\nthe sight of one of the eyes of an Episcopal minister, who lost the sight\nof his eye upon a sudden, and could give no reason for it.\" And early in\nthe year of 1727[78] the last witch-fire was kindled with which the air of\nbonnie Scotland was polluted. Two poor Highland women, a mother and\ndaughter, were brought before Captain David Ross of Littledean,\ndeputy-sheriff of Sutherland, charged with witchcraft and consorting with\nthe devil. The mother was accused of having used her daughter as her\n\"horse and hattock,\" causing her to be shod by the devil, so that she was\never after lame in both hands and feet; and the fact being satisfactorily\nproved, and Captain David Ross being well assured of the same, the poor\nold woman was put into a tar-barrel and burned at Dornoch in the bright\nmonth of June. \"And it is said that after being brought out to execution,\nthe weather proving very severe, she sat composedly warming herself by the\nfire prepared to consume her, while the other instruments of death were\ngetting ready.\" The daughter escaped: afterwards she married and had a son\nwho was as lame as herself; and lame in the same manner too; though it\ndoes not seem that he was ever shod by the devil and witch-ridden. \"And\nthis son,\" says Sir Walter Scott, in 1830, \"was living so lately as to\nreceive the charity of the present Marchioness of Stafford, Countess of\nSutherland in her own right.\"\n\nThis, then, is the last execution for witchcraft in Scotland; and in June,\n1736, the Acts Anentis Witchcraft were formally repealed. Henceforth, to\nthe dread of the timid, and the anger of the pious, the English\nParliament distinctly opposed the express letter of the Law of God, \"Thou\nshalt not suffer a witch to live;\" and declared the text upon which so\nmuch critical absurdity had been talked, and in support of which so much\ninnocent blood had been shed, vain, superstitious, impossible, and\ncontrary to that human reason which is the highest law of God hitherto\nrevealed unto men. But if Parliament could stay executions it could not\nremove beliefs, nor give rationality in place of folly. Not more than\nsixty years ago an old woman named Elizabeth M'Whirter[79] was \"scratched\"\nby one Eaglesham, in the parish of Colmonel, Ayrshire, because his son had\nfallen sick, and the neighbours said he was bewitched. Poor old Bessie\nM'Whirter was forced over the hills to the young man's house, a distance\nof three miles, and there made to kneel by his bedside and repeat the\nLord's Prayer. When she had finished, the youth's father took a rusty nail\nand scratched the poor old creature's brow in the form of a cross;\nscratched it so effectually that it was many weeks in healing, and the\nscar remained to the last day of her life. If Elizabeth M'Whirter had\nlived a generation earlier, she might have run a race with death and a tar\nbarrel, and been defeated at the end, like the poor old wretch at Dornoch.\n\nBut still the old faith lingers in those beautiful vales, and hides in the\nfastnesses of the mountain glens; still brownies haunt the ruined places,\nand witches send forth blight and bale at their will; still the elfin\npeople ride on the whirlwind and dance in the moonlight; and the hill and\nthe flood and the brae and the streamlet have their attendant spirits\nwhich vie with the churchyard ghost in impotent malevolence to men. And\nthe gift of second sight, though dying out because of these degenerate\ntimes of utilitarianism and power-loom weaving, is yet to be found where\nthe old blood runs thickest, and the old ideas are least disturbed; and\nstill the whole nation clings with spasmodic force to its gloomy creed of\nthe Predestined and the Elect, and holds by the early faith from whose\nnarrow bounds others have emerged into a brighter and a wider path. No\nmore witch-fires are now lighted on the Castle Hill; no more grave and\nreverend divines give themselves up, like Mr. John Aird, to discovering\nthe devil's mark stamped visibly on human flesh; yet the heart of the\npeople has not abandoned its ancient God, and though the altars may be\ndressed with the flowers of another season, and the name upon the plinth\nbe carved in other characters, yet is the indwelling idol the same. The\nGod which Calvinistic Scotland yet worships is the same God as that to\nwhich the witches and wizards of old were sacrificed; he is the God of\nSuperstition, the God of Condemnation, in whose temple Nature has no\nplace, and Humanity no rights.\n\n\n\n\nThe Witches of England.\n\n\n\"Every old woman with a wrinkled face, a furr'd brow, a hairy lip, a\ngobber tooth, a squint eye, a squeaking voice, or a scolding tongue,\nhaving a ragged coate on her back, a skull-cap on her head, a spindle in\nher hand, and a Dog or Cat by her side, is not only suspected but\npronounced for a witch,\" says John Gaule;[80] while Reginald Scot[81] puts\nforth as his experience:--\"One sort of such as are said to be witches, are\nwomen which be commonly old, lame, blear-eyed, pale, fowle, and full of\nwrinckles; poor, sullen, superstitious, and Papists; or such as know no\nreligion; in whose drousie minds the devill hath gotten a fine seat; so\nas, what mischief, mischance, calamity or slaughter is brought to passe,\nthey are easily perswaded the same is done by themselves; imprinting in\ntheir minds an earnest and constant imagination thereof. They are leane\nand deformed, showing melancholy in their faces, to the horror of all that\nsee them. They are doting, scolds, mad, devilish; and not much differing\nfrom them that are thought to be possessed with spirits, so firm and\nsteadfast in their opinions, as whosoever shall only have respect to the\nconstancy of their words uttered, would easily believe they were true\nindeed.\" Dr. Harsnet, in his \"Declaration of Popish Impostures,\" gives the\nsubject a masterly touch of common sense and satire:--\"These things,\"\nsaith he, \"are raked together out of old doating Heathen Histriographers,\nWizzardizing Augurs, Imposturizing Soothsayers, Dreaming Poets, Chimerical\nConceiters, and Coiners of Fables, &c. Out of these is shap'd the true\nIdea of a _Witch_, an old weather-beaten Crone, having her Chin and Knees\nmeeting for Age, walking like a Bow leaning on a Staff, Hollow-Ey'd,\nUntooth'd, Furrow'd on her Face, having her Lips trembling with the Palsy,\ngoing mumbling in the Streets: One that hath forgotten her Pater Noster,\nand yet hath a shrewd Tongue to call a Drab a Drab. If she hath learn'd of\nan old Wife in a Chimney End Pax, Max, Fax, for a Spell; or can say Sir\nJohn Grantham's Curse for the Miller's Eels, All ye that have stolen the\nMiller's Eels, laudate Dominum de Coelis: And all they that have\nconsented thereto, Benedicamus Domino: Why then beware, look about you, my\nNeighbours. If any of you have a Sheep sick of the Giddies, or a Stag of\nthe Mumps, or a Horse of the Staggers, or a Knavish Boy of the School, or\nan idle Girl of the Wheel, or a young Drab of the Sullens, and hath not\nFat enough for her Porrage, or Butter enough for her Bread, and she hath a\nlittle Help of the Epilepsy or Cramp, to teach her to roll her Eyes, wry\nher Mouth, gnash her Teeth, startle with her Body, hold her Arms and Hands\nstiff, &c. And then with an old Mother Nobs hath by Chance call'd her Idle\nyoung Housewife, or bid the Devil scratch her; then no doubt but Mother\nNobs is the Witch, and the young Girl is Owl-blasted, &c.\" Then he goes on\nto say, with more force and right judgment than one could have expected\nfrom one of his generation:--\"They that have their Brains baited, and\ntheir Fancies distemper'd with the Imaginations, and Apprehensions of\nWitches, Conjurers, and Fairies, and all that Lymphatical Chimæra, I find\nto be marshall'd in one of these five Ranks: Children, Fools, Women,\nCowards, sick or black melancholick discompos'd Wits.\"\n\nThese then are the sentiments of three somewhat wise and sane men, who\nlived in a time of universal madness, and gave their minds to the task of\nstemming the raging torrent. For the whole world was overrun with witches.\nFrom every town came crowds of these lost and damned souls; from every\nhovel peered out the cursing witch, or cried aloud for help the stricken\nvictims. These poor and old and wretched beings, upon whose heads lighted\nthe wrath of a world, and against whom every idle lad had a curse and a\nstone to fling at his will, were held capable of all but omnipotence. They\ncould destroy the babe in the womb and make the \"mother of many children\nchildless among women;\" they could kill with a look and disable with a\ncurse; bring storms or sunshine as they listed; by their \"witch-ropes,\"\nartfully woven, draw to themselves all the profit of their neighbours'\nbarns and breweries; yet ever remained poor and miserable, glad to beg a\nmouthful of meat, or a can of sour milk from the hands of those whom they\ncould ruin by half a dozen muttered words; they could take on themselves\nwhat shapes they would, and transport themselves whither they would: no\nbolt or bar kept them out, no distance by land or sea was too great for\nthem to accomplish; a straw--a broomstick--the serviceable imp ever at\nhand--was enough for them; and with a pot of magic ointment, and a charm\nof spoken gibberish, they might visit the king on his throne, or the lady\nin her bower, to do what ill was in their hearts against them, or to\ngather to themselves what gain and store they would. Yet with all this\npower the superstitious world of the time saw nothing doubtful or\nillogical in the fact of their exceeding poverty, and never stayed to\nthink that if they could transport themselves through the air to any\ndistance they chose, they would be but slippery holding in prison, and not\nvery likely to remain there for the pleasure of being tortured and burnt\nat the end. But neither reason nor logic had anything to do with the\nmatter. The whole thing rested on fear, and that practical atheism of\nfear, which denies the power of God and the wholesome beauty of Nature, to\nexalt in their stead the supremacy of the Devil. This belief in the\nDevil's material presence and power over men was the dark chain that bound\nthem all. Even the boldest opponent of the Witchcraft Delusion dared not\nfling it off; not the bravest man or freest thinker could shake his mind\nclear of this terrible trammel, this bugbear, this mere phantasm of human\nfear and ignorance, this ghastly lie and morbid delusion, or abandon the\nslavish worship of Satan for the glad freedom of God and Nature. It was\nmuch when such men as Scot,[82] and Giffard,[83] and Gaule of\nStaughton,[84] Sir Robert Filmer,[85] Ady,[86] Wagstaffe,[87] Webster,[88]\nHutchinson,[89] and half a dozen more shining lights could bring\nthemselves to deny the supernatural power of a few half-crazed old\nbeggar-women, and plead for humanity and mercy towards them, instead of\ncruelty and condemnation; but not one dare take the wider step beyond, and\ndeny the existence of that phantom fiend, belief in whom wrought all this\nmisery and despair. Even the very best of the time gave in to this\ndelusion, and discussed gravely the properties and proportions of what we\nknow now were mere lies.\n\n\"We find the illustrious author of the 'Novum Organum' sacrificing to\ncourtly suppleness his philosophic truth, and gravely prescribing the\ningredients for a witch's ointment;--Selden maintaining that crimes of the\nimagination may be punished with death;--The detector of Vulgar Errors,\nand the most humane of physicians giving the casting vote to the\nvacillating bigotry of Sir Matthew Hale;--Hobbes, ever sceptical,\npenetrating, and sagacious, yet here paralyzed and shrinking from the\nsubject, as if afraid to touch it;--The adventurous explorer, who sounded\nthe depths and channels of the 'Intellectual System' along all the\n'wide-watered' shores of antiquity, running after witches to hear them\nrecite the Common Prayer and the Creed, as a rational test of guilt or\ninnocence;--The gentle spirit of Dr. Henry More, girding on the armour of\npersecution, and rousing itself from a Platonic reverie on the Divine Life\nto assume the hood and cloak of a familiar of the Inquisition;--and the\npatient and inquiring Boyle, putting aside for a while his searches for\nthe grand Magisterium, and listening, as if spell-bound, with gratified\nattention to stories of witches at Oxford and devils at Mascon.\"[90] In\nthe Church and amongst the more notoriously \"religious\" men of the time\nit was worse. In Archbishop Cranmer's 'Articles of Visitation' (1549) is\nthis clause:--\"You shall enquire whether you know of any that use Charms,\nSorcery, Enchantments, Soothsaying, or any like Craft invented by the\nDevil;\" and Bishop Jewel, preaching before Queen Elizabeth (1558),\ninformed her how that \"witches and sorcerers within these last few years\nare marvellously increased in your Grace's realm. Your Grace's subjects\npine away even unto their death, their colour fadeth, their flesh rotteth,\ntheir speech is benumbed, their senses are bereft; I pray God they never\npractise further than upon the subject.... These eyes have seen most\nevident and manifest marks of their wickedness.\" At the next Parliament\nthe new Bill against the detestable sin of witchcraft was passed, and\nStrype says, partly on account of the Lord Bishop's earnest objurgation.\nDalton's[91] 'Country Justice' (1655) shows to what a pass, a century\nlater, witchcraft had come in credulous England. Truly Scot was right\nwhen he said that his greatest adversaries were \"young ignorance and old\ncustoms.\" They have always been the greatest adversaries of all truth. Of\nlate, thank God, the march of humanity has been steadily, if slowly,\ntowards the daylight; but at present you and I, my reader, have to do with\nthe most debasing superstition that ever afflicted history, in the matter\nof those poor wretched servants of the devil--those witches and wizards,\nwho somehow managed to lose on all sides--to suffer in time and be ruined\nfor eternity, and to get only ill-will and ill-usage from man and fiend\nalike.\n\n\nTHE WITCH OF BERKELEY.\n\nOne of our earliest English witches, so early indeed that she becomes\nmythical and misty and out of all possible proportion, was the celebrated\nWitch of Berkeley,[92] who got the reward of her sins in the middle of the\nninth century, leaving behind her a tremendous lesson, by which, however,\nafter generations did not much profit. The witch had been rich and the\nwitch had been gay, but the moment of reckoning had to come in the\nmorning; the feast had been noble and well enjoyed, but the terrible\naccount had to be paid when all was over; and the poor witch found her\nruddy-cheeked apple, now that the rind was off and eaten, filled with\nnothing but dust and ashes--which she must digest as best she may. As the\nmoment of her death approached, she called for the monks and the nuns of\nthe neighbouring monasteries, and sent for her children to hear her\nconfession; and then she told them of the compact she had made, and how\nthe Devil was to come for her body as well as her soul. \"But,\" said she,\n\"sew me in the hide of a stag, then place me in a stone coffin, and fasten\nin the covering lead and iron. Upon this place another stone, and chain\nthe whole down with heavy chains of iron. Let fifty psalms be sung each\nnight, and fifty masses be said by day, to break the power of the demons.\nIf you can thus keep my body for three nights safe, on the fourth day you\nmay bury it--the Devil will have sought and not found.\" The monks and the\nnuns did as they were desired; and, on the first night, though the demons\nkept up a loud howling and wailing outside the church, the priests\nconquered, and the old witch slept undisturbed. On the second night the\ndemons were more fierce and clamorous, and the monks and the nuns told\ntheir beads faster and faster; but the fiends were getting more powerful\nas time went on, and at last broke open the gates of the monastery, in\nspite of prayer and bolt and bar; and two chains of the coffin burst\nasunder, but the middle one held firm. On the third night the fiends raged\nsore and wild. The monastery was shaken to its foundations, and the monks\nand the nuns almost forgot their paters and their aves in the uproar that\ndrowned their voices and quailed their hearts; but they still went on,\nuntil, with an awful crash, and a yell from all the smaller demons about,\na Devil, larger and more terrible than any that had come yet, stalked into\nthe church and up to the foot of the altar, where the old woman and her\ncoffin lay. Here he stopped, and bade the witch rise and follow him.\nPiteously she answered that she could not--she was kept down by the chain\nin the middle: but the Devil soon settled that difficulty; for he put his\nfoot to the coffin, and broke the iron chain like a bit of burnt thread.\nThen off flew the covering of lead and iron, and there lay the witch, pale\nand horrible to see. Slowly she uprose, blue, dead, stark, as she was; and\nthen the Devil took her by the hand, and led her to the door where stood a\ngigantic black horse, whose back was all studded with iron spikes, and\nwhose nostrils, breathing fire, told of his infernal manger below. The\nDevil vaulted into the saddle, flung the witch on before him, and off and\naway they rode--the yells of the clamouring demons, and the shrieks of the\ntortured soul, sounding for hours, far and wide, in the ears of the monks\nand the nuns. So here too, in this legend, as in all the rest, the Devil\nis greater than God, and prayer and penitence inefficacious to redeem\niniquity.\n\n\nEARLY HISTORIC TRIALS.\n\nComing out from these purely legendary times, we find ourselves on the\nmore solid ground of an actual legal record--the 'Abbreviatio\nPlacitorum;'[93] which informs us that in the tenth year of King John's\nreign, \"Agnes, the wife of Odo the merchant, accused Gideon of sorcery (de\nsorceria), and she was acquitted by the judgment of the (hot) iron.\" This\nis the earliest historic trial to be found in any legal document in\nEngland. Nothing more appears until 1324, when two Coventry men,[94]\nspecially appointed out of twenty-seven implicated, undertook the slaying\nof the King, Edward II., the two Dispensers his favourites, the Prior of\nCoventry, his caterer and his steward, because they had oppressed the\ntown, and dealt unrighteously with its inhabitants. These two men went to\na famous necromancer then living in Coventry, called Master John of\nNottingham, whom, with his servant Robert Marshall of Leicester, they\nengaged to perform the work required. But Robert Marshall proved\nfaithless, and betrayed his master to the authorities; telling them how\nthey had received a sum of money for the work in hand, with which sum of\nmoney they had bought seven pounds of wax and two yards of canvas, to make\nseven images--six for the six already enumerated, the seventh for one\nRichard de Lowe, who had done no one any harm, but on whom they wished to\ntry the effect of the spell, as a modern anatomist would try his\nexperiments on cats, or dogs, or rabbits. He told them how he and Master\nJohn of Nottingham had been to a ruined house under Shorteley Park, about\nhalf a league from Coventry, where they remained at work from the Monday\nafter the Feast of Saint Nicholas to the Saturday after the Feast of\nAscension, making these images of wax and canvas by which they were to\nbewitch their noble enemies to death. And first, to try the potency of the\ncharm, Master John took a long leaden pin, and struck it two inches deep\ninto the forehead of the image representing Richard de Lowe, upon which\nRichard was found writhing and in great pain, screaming \"harrow!\" and\nhaving no knowledge of any man; and so he languished for some days. Then\nMaster John drew out the leaden pin from the brow, and struck it into the\nheart of the image, when immediately Richard de Lowe died, as any number\nof witnesses could testify. The necromancer and his man, and the\ntwenty-seven Coventry men implicated in this bit of sorcery, were tried\nat common law, and acquitted for want of evidence.\n\nThat same year, too, occurred one of the most picturesque trials for\nwitchcraft known: the trial of Dame Alice Kyteler, which Mr. Wright, with\nso much industry and learning, has exhumed from the dusty old records\nwhere it was buried, and set out into the light of present knowledge and\napprehension. But Dame Alice was an Irishwoman, and so does not rightly\ncome into a book on English witches; else it would be a pleasant, if sad,\nlabour to tell how she was arrested on the charge of holding nightly\nconferences with her spirit or familiar, Artisson, who was sometimes a\ncat, and sometimes a black shaggy dog, and sometimes a black man with two\ntall black companions, each carrying an iron rod in his hand--to which\nfiendish Proteus she had sacrificed, in the highway, nine red cocks, and\nnine peacocks' eyes; and also for having, between complines and twilight,\nraked all the filth of Kilkenny streets to the doors of her son-in-law\nWilliam Outlawe, murmuring to herself--\n\n  \"To the house of William, my sonne,\n  Hie all the wealth of Kilkennie towne.\"\n\nOf how, too, she blasphemously travestied the holy sacrament, having a\nwafer with the Devil's name stamped on it instead of Christ's; and how she\nhad a pipe of ointment wherewith she greased a staff \"upon which she\nambolled and gallopped thorough thicke and thin, when and what manner she\nlisted.\" But it does not belong to my present subject: nor to tell how one\nof her accomplices, poor weak Petronilla de Meath, was burnt at Kilkenny,\nnot having strength or courage to resist the monstrous confession forced\nupon her; but how the other, Basil, escaped, according to the natural law\nby which the strongest always come off the best. Perhaps the fact that\nDame Alice took refuge in England may give her a slight claim to a place\nin these pages; but the question is doubtful, so we must let her go--as\nalso her son-in-law, William Outlawe, whose strict imprisonment of nine\nweeks led to no bad result, and, let us hope, cooled his blood, which was\na trifle too near to boiling point.\n\nThen we stumble over the threshold of the chamber where Friars Bacon and\nBungay are sleeping, while stupid Miles is watching the Brazen Head whose\nbrief solemn words were spoken in vain; going forward just a few paces\nuntil we come to the death-beds of Bungay and Vandermast, and Friar\nBacon's clever cheating of the Devil at last. But we are still on the\noutskirts of legendary land, and must go on to the middle of the\nfourteenth century before we get a firm hold. About this time the subject\nof witchcraft occupied much of the attention and thought of the Church,\nbut the priests had not yet quite closed their fingers round it; for in\n1371 a man was arrested for sorcery, and \"brought before the justices of\nthe King's Bench, by whom he was acquitted for want of evidence, which\nshows that it was still looked upon merely as an offence against common\nlaw.\"[95] It was only when it became the superstition which some men are\npleased to call \"religion\" that it got stained with its deepest dyes.\nEarly in 1406 Henry IV. gave instructions to the Bishop of Norwich to\nsearch for the sorcerers, witches, and necromancers reported to be rather\nrife in that respectable diocese, and if he could not convert them from\nthe evil of their ways, he was to bring them to speedy punishment; and in\n1432 the Privy Council ordered to be seized and examined a Franciscan\nfriar of Worcester, by name Thomas Northfield; another friar, John\nAshwell; John Virley \"a clerk;\" and Margery Jourdemaine--the same Margery\ngenerally called the Witch of Eye, who, nine years later, was burnt at\nSmithfield for her complicity in the treasonable practices of Dame Eleanor\nof Gloucester. In 1441 Dame Eleanor herself was arrested, and \"put in\nholt, for she was suspecte of treason;\" and with her the Witch of Eye, who\nwas burnt; and Roger, a clerk \"longing to her,\" who was placed on a high\nscaffold against St. Paul's Cross on the Sunday, and there \"arraied like\nas he should never thrive in his garnementys;\" while heaped up round about\nwere all his instruments taken with him, to be showed among the people,\nand create a proper fear and horror in their mind. The end of poor Roger\nthe clerk was, that he was dragged from the Tower to Tyburn, there hanged,\nbeheaded, and quartered; his head set on London Bridge, and his four\nquarters sent--one to Hereford, and one to Oxenford, another to York, and\nthe fourth to Cambrigge. As for Dame Eleanor, that proud, dark,\nunscrupulous heroine of romance, every one knows the story of her disgrace\nand shame; how she came from London to Westminster, and walked through the\nstreets of the city barefooted and bareheaded, carrying the waxen taper of\ntwo pounds' weight, and doing penance before all the crowd of citizens\nassembled to see her \"on her foot and hoodles;\" and how she offered up her\ntaper on the high altar of \"Poules;\" and when all was done, was sent to\nChester prison, \"there to byde while she lyveth.\"\n\nAfter her, in 1478, comes \"the high and noble princesse Jaquet,\" Duchess\nof Bedford, charged with having, by the aid of \"an image of lede, made\nlyke a man of arms, conteyning the length of a mannes fynger, and broken\nin the myddes, and made fast with a wyre,\" turned the love of King Edward\nIV. from one Dame Elianor Butteler daughter of the old Earl of Shrewsbury,\nto whom he was affianced, unto her own child, Elizabeth Grey, sometime\nwife to Sir John Grey, knight; and in 1483 poor Jane Shore was bound to do\npenance, walking bareheaded and barefooted, clad only in her kirtle,\ncarrying a wax taper, and acknowledging her sins, because Richard of\nGloucester had a withered arm, and wanted to put a few enemies out of the\nway of that arm and its desires. He employed the same accusation against\nmany of those enemies, but so patently for political motives and without\neven the semblance of reason, that these attainders can scarcely be set\ndown in any manner to the charge of witchcraft. Then in 1484 came the bull\nof Innocent VIII., which gave authority to the inquisitors to \"convict,\nimprison, and punish\" the unfortunate servants of the Devil, who thus\nfound themselves a mark for every one's shaft.\n\nIn Henry the Eighth's time treasure-seeking was the most fashionable phase\nof necromancy. There was Neville of Wolsey's household, who consulted\nWood--gentleman, magician, and treasure-seeker extraordinary--but only for\na charm or magic ring which should bring him into favour with his prince,\nsaying that his master the Cardinal had such an one, and he would fain\nparticipate; and he did at last get Wood to make him one that would bring\nhim the love of women. Wood could find treasures wherever hidden, and was\nsure of the philosopher's stone; nay, he would \"chebard\" (jeopard) his\nlife but that he could make gold as he listed, and offered to remain in\nprison till he had accomplished it, \"twelve months on silver and twelve\nand a half on gold.\" In this same reign, too, was arrested William\nStapleton for sorcery. William[96] was a monk of St. Benet in the Holm,\nNorfolk, and William loved not his monkish life; so he got out, seeking\nmoney to buy his dispensation. And not having the money at hand himself,\nnor knowing how to get it, he took to treasure-seeking as the easiest\nmanner open to him of making a fortune. But his conjurations and his magic\nstaff only led him to some Roman remains, and nothing more; so he borrowed\nof a friend instead, then settled in Norfolk, and turned to\ntreasure-seeking again, uselessly; got into intrigues that did him no\ngood; and had three spirits, Andrea Malchus, Inchubus, and Oberion--the\nlast a dumb devil who would not speak, being in the service of my Lord\nCardinal.\n\nIn 1521 the Duke of Buckingham died on the scaffold, led into some\nimprudent actions by the predictions of his familiar magician, one friar\nHopkins; and Hopkins, to make amends, died broken-hearted shortly after.\nAnd there was the Maid of Kent (1534), Elizabeth Barton, who had trances\nand gave revelations, and was on intimate terms with Mary Magdalen and the\nVirgin, and who was probably a \"sensitive\" made use of by the Catholics to\ntry and frighten the King from his marriage with the \"gospel eyes;\" but\npoor Elizabeth Barton came to a sad pass with her revelations and trances;\nand Mary Magdalen, who had given her a letter written in heaven and all of\ngold, forgot to forewarn or shield her from her cruel and shameful end at\nTyburn that cloudy fitful day of April, with the gallows standing out\nagainst the flecked sky, and the poor raving nun, half-enthusiast\nhalf-impostor, praying bareheaded at its foot--she and her accomplices\nwaiting for the moment to die.\n\nIn 1541 we find a nobler name on the scaffold--Lord Hungerford--\"beheaded\nfor procuring certain persons to conspire that they might know how long\nHenry VIII. would live;\" and that same year an Act was passed against\nfalse prophecies, and another against conjurations, witchcraft, and\nsorcery, making it felony without benefit of clergy. But six years later\nEdward VI. abrogated that statute; not for any tenderness to witches, but\nbecause with it was bound up a prohibition against pulling down crosses.\nIn 1549 Ket's rebellion was troublesome; its vigour due partly to the old\nprophecy repeated through the plains of Norfolk--\n\n  \"Hob, Dic, and Hic, with Clubs and clouted Shoon,\n  Shall fill up Duffin-dale with slaughtered Bodies soon.\"\n\nAnd then we come to nothing more until 1559, when Elizabeth \"renewed the\nsame article of inquiry for sorcerers,\" but punishing the first conviction\nonly with the pillory. The following year eight men were taken up for\nconjurations and sorcery, and tried at Westminster, where they had to\npurge themselves by confession, penitence, and a repudiating oath. In 1562\nthe Earl and Countess of Lennox, Anthony Pool, Anthony Fortescue, and some\nothers, were condemned for treason and meddling with sorcerers; though,\nindeed, Elizabeth herself was not free from either the superstition or its\npractice; for did she not patronize Dr. Dee and his \"skryer\" John Kelly,\nwith his ranting about Madimi in her gown of \"changeable sey,\" and all the\nother spirits who came in and out of the \"show-stone,\" and talked just the\nsame kind of rubbish as spirits talk now in modern circles? But the poor\n\"figure-flinger, with his tin pictures,\" was a sorcerer not to be\nprotected, so got tried and condemned--poor figure-flinger!\n\nIn 1562, the year of Lady Lennox's business, a new Act against witchcraft\nwas passed; and in 1589 one Mrs. Deir practised conjuration against the\nQueen, for which she was tried, but acquitted for want of evidence; but\nthe Queen had excessive anguish in her teeth that year, by night and by\nday. When Ferdinand Earl of Derby died, about this time, of perpetual and\nunceasing sickness, a waxen image was found in his chamber stuffed with\nhair the exact colour of his; which sufficiently accounted for his illness\nand the mysterious manner of his death, though a Sadducee and sceptic\nmight have whispered of poison, or a physician have spoken of cholera;\nfrom which disease indeed, by the minute symptoms so carefully detailed,\nthe poor earl's death seems to have been--if not from poison, which might\nhave produced the same effects. Still, the accusation of sorcery was so\nconvenient--such a cloak for viler sins! The latter half of Elizabeth's\nreign was disgraced by many witch persecutions, for the subject was\nbeginning to attract painful notice now; and, though it was not till James\nI. had set the smouldering fragments all a-blaze that the worst of the\nevils were done, still enough was doing now for the philosopher to deplore\nand the humanitarian to lament. In 1575 many were hanged at Barking; in\n1579 three were executed at Chelmsford, four at Abingdon, and two at\nCambridge. In 1582 thirteen at St. Osith's, the evidence against one being\nthat she had been heard to talk to something when alone in her house;\nwhile of the other, a woman swore that she looked through her window one\nday, when she was out, and there \"espied a spirite to looke out of a\npotcharde from under a clothe, the nose thereof being browne like unto a\nferret.\" In 1585 one was hanged at Tyburn and one at Stanmore; 1589 saw\nthree sent into eternity at Chelmsford; in 1593 we have the witches of\nWarbois; and two years later (1595) three at Barnet and Brainford; in 1597\nseveral at Derby and Stafford; so that by degrees the thing came to be a\nnotorious matter of social life; and the poor and the aged and the\ndisliked lived in fear and peril, daily increasing. At this time, too,\npossessions were many and ghosts walked abroad without let or hindrance.\nRichard Lee saw one at Canterbury (1575), and Master Gaymore and others\nsaw another at Rye two years after. \"But,\" says Reginald Scot, \"certainely\nsome one knave in a white sheet hath cosened and abused many thousands\nthat way, specially when Robin Goodfellow kept such a coile in the\nCountry. For you shall understand that these bugs specially are spied and\nfeared of sicke folke, children, women, and cowards, which, through\nweaknesse of minde and body, are shaken with vain dreames and continuall\nfear. The Scythians, being a stout and a warlike nation, as divers writers\nreport, never see any vaine sights, or spirits. It is a common saying, a\nLion feareth no bugs. But in our childhood our mothers' maids have so\nterrified us with an ugly devil having hornes on his head, fire in his\nmouth, and a taile at his back, eyes like a bason, fanges like a dog,\nclawes like a beare, a skinne like a Niger, and a voice roring like a\nLion, whereby we start and are afraid when we hear one cry Bough; they\nhave so fraied us with bullbeggars, spirits, urchens, elves, hags,\nfairies, satyrs, pans, fauns, sylens (syrens?), kit with the cansticke,\ntritons, centaures, dwarfes, giants, imps, calcats, conjurors, nymphes,\nchangelings, incubus, Robin Goodfellow, the spoorn, the mare, the man in\nthe oke, the hell-waine, the firedrake, the puckle, Tom thombe,\nhob-gobbin, Tom tumbler, boneles, and such other bugs, that we are afraid\nof our own shadowes; insomuch as some never fear the devil, but in a dark\nnight; and then a polled sheep is a perillous beast, and many times is\ntaken for our father's soul, specially in a churchyard, where a right\nhardy man heretofore scant durst passe by night, but his haire would stand\nupright. For right grave writers report, that spirits most often and\nspecially take the shape of women, appearing to monks, &c., and of beasts,\ndogs, swine, horses, goats, cats, haires, of fowles, as crowes, night\nowles and shreek owles; but they delight most in the likenesse of snakes\nand dragons.\" All of which \"wretched and cowardly infidelity\" was rampant\nin England when good Queen Bess ruled the land--rampant doubly, so that\nthere was no holding in of this furious madness after James I. had got his\nfoot in the stirrup, and was riding a race neck and neck with the Devil.\nBut I must turn back a few years, and tell of\n\n\nTHE AFFLICTIONS OF ALEXANDER NYNDGE,\n\na precious babe of grace snatched from destruction. They are to be found\nin 'A Booke declaring the fearfull vexation of one Alexander Nyndge,\nBeynge moste Horriblye tormented wyth an euyll spirit, the xx. daie of\nJanuarie. In the yere of our Lorde 1573, at Lyeringswell in Suffolke;' and\nthis book sets forth the details of the various fits which Alexander\nNyndge indulged in, for the purpose, as it seems, of enabling his brother\nEdward to prove his power of exorcism. His first fit began one evening at\nseven--his father, mother, brothers, and the residue of the household\nbeing present; his chest and body swelled, his eyes stared wildly as if\nstarting from their sockets, his back bent inward: the household was\ndisturbed and sore affrighted, but brother Edward had courage enough to\nsay that it was an evil spirit, and undertook to exorcise it. So he\ncharged the foul fiend to come out of him, and the countenance of his\nbrother became more sad and fearful than it was before. Edward was not\ndismayed but returned to the conflict full of confidence, not giving in\neven when Alexander and the devil had a wrestle together; or rather when\nthe devil within him seemed as if he would have torn him to pieces, so\ngreat was his rage and malice. After some time of this kind of work,\nEdward got the devil to confess to one or two little matters. In the first\nplace his name was Aubon, and he came last from Ireland; he had come for\nAlexander's soul, which his brother was not disposed to give up; and by a\nstrange slip of the tongue he called Christ _his_ Redeemer: but Edward\nrebuked him, as became a learned M.A., reminding him that He was\nAlexander's Redeemer in truth, but not his, the foul fiend's. Even this\npalpable blunder did not enlighten the Nyndge household as to whose was\nreally the \"hollow ghostly\" voice proceeding out of Alexander's chest. At\nlast, when Edward had tired him very much, and powerfully shaken him, he\nsaid, gruffly, \"Bawe wawe, bawe wawe!\" and Alexander was transformed,\n\"much like a picture in a play,\" while a terrible roaring voice sounded\n\"Hellsownd.\" Then they opened the windows to allow the foul spirit to\nescape; and in two minutes Alexander leaped up joyfully, crying, \"He is\ngone! he is gone!\" After this he had a second, and then a third, attack;\nbut his brother, praying in his right ear, comforted him and finally cured\nhim, for he was never after tormented. Luckily he had not fixed upon any\nunhappy old woman as the cause of his disorder, so it passed for a case of\nsimple \"possession,\" which prayer and supplication had overcome.\n\n\nADE DAVIE'S MOURNING.[97]\n\nAde Davie, wife of Simon Davie husbandman, had a wiser man for her\nhusband, simple and unlearned as he was, than had many a wretched creature\nfor her judge. Ade suddenly became sad and pensive as she never had been\nin times past. Her husband did his best to cheer her, but Ade still\ncontinued sorrowful; when, at last her burden grew heavier than she could\nbear, falling down at Simon's feet she besought him to forgive her, for\nthat she had grievously offended both God and him. \"Her poor husband being\nabashed at this her behaviour, comforted her as he could; asking her the\ncause of her trouble and greefe; who told him that she had, contrary to\nGod's law, and to the offence of all good Christians, to the injury of\nhim, and specially to the losse of her own soul, bargained and given her\nsoul to the devill, to be delivered unto him within short space. Whereunto\nher husband answered, saying, 'Wife, be of good cheer, this thy bargain is\nvoid and of none effect; for thou hast sold that which is none of thine to\nsell: sith it belongeth to Christ, who hath bought it, and dearly paid for\nit, even with his blood, which he shed upon the crosse; so as the devil\nhath no interest in thee.' After this, with like submission, teares, and\npenitence, she said unto him, 'Oh, husband, I have yet committed another\nfault, and done you more injury; for I have bewitched you and four\nchildren.' 'Be content,' quoth he, 'by the grace of God, Jesus Christ can\nunwitch us; for none evill can happen to them that fear God.'\"\n\nThis fresh and pure idyl comes to us with a sweet and wholesome savour, in\nthe midst of the foul quagmires of superstition where it stands; and that\npoor husbandman's simple faith in God's goodness and his wife's virtue is\nmore touching than many a grand heroic deed which has the suffrages of all\nhistory to float it through the life of the world. Simon Davie was an\nunlettered man, but he was strong-hearted and believing, and, thinking\nthat earnest prayer might comfort his wife, when the time approached for\nthe Devil to come and close his bargain, knelt down by her and prayed, she\njoining with him fervently. Then they heard a low rumbling noise below\nwhich made the windows shake, and which convinced the poor wife that it\nwas the Devil trying to take possession of her soul, but barred out from\nthe chamber by the fervent prayers aforesaid. In the morning it was found\nthat the noise came from a dog which had devoured a sheep that was newly\nflayed and hung against the wall; and in due time, Ade Davie recovering\nher reason--for she was crazed, and took every fire to be the fire lighted\nto burn her for witchcraft--came to the knowledge that she had never sold\nher soul to the Devil at all, and had never bewitched husband or children,\nbut had always been a faithful wife and fond mother--afflicted with a\nlight brain and nervous imagination.\n\n\nTHE POSSESSION OF MILDRED NORRINGTON.[98]\n\nMildred, the \"base daughter\" of Alice Norrington, being seventeen years of\nage, was likewise possessed of the Devil, in much the same way as\nAlexander Nyndge had been. She lived as servant with William Spooner of\nWestwell, in the county of Kent, and her case attracted great attention.\nAll the divines of the neighbourhood assembled at Spooner's house on the\n13th of October, 1574, to endeavour to cast out the Devil by such means of\nprayer and exorcism as they had at their command. Powerfully did they\npray; mightily roared the Devil; \"And tho' we did command him many times,\nin the Name of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ, and in his mighty Power\nto speak, yet he would not, until he had gone through all his Delays, as\nroaring, crying, striving, and gnashing of teeth, and otherwise, with\nmowing and other terrible Countenances, and was so strong in the Maid that\nfour men could scarce hold her down.\" This continued for about two hours,\nand then he spoke out, but very strangely, crying, \"He comes, he comes,\"\nand \"He goes, he goes.\" When charged to tell the exorcists who had sent\nhim, he said, \"I lay in her way like a Log, and I made her run like Fire;\nbut I could not hurt her.\" \"And why so?\" said we. \"Because God kept her,\"\nsaid he. When asked when he came to her, he said, \"At night, in her bed.\"\nAnd when charged to tell them his name, he said, \"The Devil, the Devil.\"\nBut being still more powerfully exhorted, he roared and cried as before,\nand spake terrible words: \"I will kill her; I will kill her; I will tear\nher in pieces; I will kill you all!\" Asked again, and conjured so that he\ncould not escape, he was forced to confess that his name was Satan, and\nLittle Devil, and Partner, and that old Alice had sent him--old Alice in\nWestwell Street, with whom he had lived these twenty years shut up in two\nbottles. \"Where be they?\" said we. \"In the back side of her house,\" said\nhe. \"In what place?\" said we. \"Under the wall,\" said he. The other was at\nKennington, in the ground. Then we asked him what old Alice had given him.\nHe said, \"Her will, her will.\" \"What did she bid thee do?\" said we. \"Kill\nher maid,\" he said, because she did not love her. He then said that he had\nbeen to the vicarage loft in the likeness of two birds, and that old Alice\nhad sent him and his servant (another devil) to kill those whom she loved\nnot. \"How many hast thou killed for her?\" said we. \"Three,\" said he. \"Who\nare they?\" said we. \"A man and his child,\" said he. \"What were their\nnames?\" said we. \"The child's name was Edward,\" said he. \"What more than\nEdward?\" said we. \"Edward Ager,\" said he. \"What more?\" said we. \"Richard\nAger,\" said he. \"Where dwelt the man and the child?\" said we. \"At Dig, at\nDig,\" said he. This Richard Ager was a gentleman of forty pounds' land by\nthe year; a very honest man, but would often say he was bewitched, and\nlanguished long ere he died. The Devil--or Mildred for him--said that he\nhad also killed Wotton's wife, and that he used to fetch old Alice meat\nand drink and corn, and that he had been at many houses (named) doing her\nwicked will. Then he was adjured so that he could not resist, when he\ncried out that he would go, he would go, and so he departed. Then said the\nmaid, \"He is gone. Lord have mercy on me! for he would have killed me!\" So\nthose ministers and neighbours present all kneeled down and thanked God\nfor Mildred's deliverance; and she kept her countenance, and did not\nbetray herself. But a short time after, the \"bruit of her divinity and\nmiraculous trances\" spreading far and wide, Mr. Thomas Wotton, \"a man of\ngreat Worship and Wisdom, and for deciding and ordering of Matters, of\nrare and singular Dexterity,\" got to the true understanding of the case,\nwhen \"the Fraud was found, and the cozenage confessed, and she received\ncondign Punishment.\" After her trial, and when she knew the worst, she\n\"showed her Feats, Illusions, and Trances, with the Residue of all her\nmiraculous Works in the Presence of divers Gentlemen of great Worship and\nCredit at Boston-Malherb, in the House of the said Mr. Wotton.\" \"Now\ncompare this wench with the witch of Endor, and you shall see that both\nthe cozenages may be done by one art,\" says Reginald Scot.\n\n\nMISCELLANEOUS.\n\nIt was in this same year that Agnes Brigs and Rachel Pindar had to do\npenance at St. Paul's Cross, in London,[99] having been convicted of cheat\nand imposture in pretending to vomit pins and straws and old \"clouts,\" and\nother such impossibilities; and for counterfeiting possession by the\nDevil, which the philosophers of the time thought was no subject to trifle\nwith, or affect in any manner whatsoever. And then, a few years later, a\nyoung Dutchman living at Maidstone was dispossessed of ten devils, and the\nmayor of the town got to subscribe his name to the account, which turned\nout afterwards to be nothing but fraud and lies. In 1579[100] four\nwitches were hung up together, the chief accusation against one of them,\nMother Still, being, \"that she did kill one Saddocke with a touch on the\nshoulder, for not keeping promise with her for an old cloak, to make her a\nsafeguard; and that she was hanged for her labour:\" and another, Ellein\nSmith, was executed at Maldon,[101] on the testimony of her little son of\neight, who accused her of having three spirits--Great Dick in a wicker\nbottle, Little Dick in a leathern bottle, and Willet kept in a woolpack.\nUpon which the house was commanded to be searched, and \"the bottles and\npacke were found, but the spirites were banished awaie.\"\n\nAt the Rochester assizes, held 1591, Margaret Simons,[102] the wife of\nJohn Simons, of Brenchley in Kent, was arraigned for witchcraft, on the\ncharge of bewitching the son of John Ferrall the vicar. An ill-conditioned\nyoung cub was he, and prentice to Robert Scotchford, clothier; and the\nfather himself seems to have been little better than his son--making a bad\npair between them for the teacher and \"pattern child\" of Brenchley. There\nhad long been ill blood between Mr. John Ferrall, vicar, and Margaret\nSimons; and one day it came somewhat to a head; for, when the boy was\npassing Margaret's house on his way home, her little dog jumped out at him\nand barked. \"Which thing the boy taking in evil part,\" says Reginald\nScot, in his quaint, blunt, incisive way, \"drew his knife, and pursued him\ntherewith even to her door; whom she rebuked with some such words as the\nboy disclaimed, and yet neverthelesse would not be perswaded to depart in\na long time.\" The consequence of the fray was, that the boy in five or six\ndays' time fell dangerously ill. Then the vicar, \"who thought himself so\nprivileged as he little mistrusted that God would visit his children with\nsicknesse,\" declared that his son was bewitched by Margaret Simons, who\nalso had done the like evil to himself; for whenever he wished to read the\nservice with special emphasis and care his voice always failed him, so\nthat his congregation could scarce hear him at all. Margaret made answer\nthat his voice was always hoarse and low, and particularly when he\nstrained himself to speak loudest then it ever failed him: but there was\nno witchcraft in the case, for all that Mr. Ferrall had procured the\nhealth of his son at the hands of another witch, who had taken off the\ncharm and effected a perfect cure. Margaret had a very narrow escape for\nher life. The whole of the jury, save one man, were against her, but she\nhad in her favour the fact that the vicar was very unpopular, and, justly\nor unjustly, lay under some odious charges; so, what with the sane\njuryman's exertions in her favour, and Mr. Ferrall's small hold on the\ninterest and affections of his parishioners, she was brought in Not\nGuilty, and the hangman's cord fell slack from his greedy grasp.\n\nIt must have been somewhere about this time that the execution mentioned\nby Dr. More in his 'Antidote to Atheism' took place, when a mother and\ndaughter were hanged at Cambridge for witchcraft and service to the\nDevil. When the mother was called on to renounce and forsake her old\nmaster, she refused to do so, saying that he had been faithful to her for\nfourscore years, and she would not be faithless now to him. And in that\nobstinacy she died, with a courage and constancy worthy a better cause.\nThe daughter was of a contrary mind. She avowed her misdeeds, and asked\nfor pardon and grace, was penitent, and faithful, and earnest in prayer.\nAll of which the Devil took, as may be imagined, very heinously; and\nshowed his displeasure by sending, in the midst of a dead calm, so sudden\nand violent a blast of wind, that the mother's body was driven sharply\nagainst the ladder, and was like to have overturned it, while the gallows\nshook with such force that the men standing round were fain to hold the\nposts, for fear of all being flung to the ground. It was somewhat before\nthis, that at Town Malling, in Kent, one of Queen Mary's Justices, \"on the\ncomplaint of many wise men, and a few foolish boyes, laid an archer by the\nheels because he shot so near the white at buts. For he was informed and\nperswaded that the poor man played with a fly, otherwise called a devill\nor familiar. And because he was certified that the archer aforesaid shot\nbetter than the common shooting, which he before had heard of or seen, he\nconceived it could not be in God's name, but by inchantment, whereby the\narcher (as he supposed, by abusing the Queen's liege people) gained some\none day two or three shillings, to the detriment of the commonwealth, and\nto his owne inriching. And therefore the archer was severely punished, to\nthe great encouragement of archers, and to the wise example of justice,\nbut specially to the overthrow of witchcraft.\" Which quaint little\nanecdote of Scot's is worth a whole handful of jewels more richly set.\n\nWe are coming now to one of the most curious of the older trials, that\nof--\n\n\nTHE WITCHES OF S. OSEES,\n\nheld before Brian Darcey. It is contained in a rare and beautiful little\nblack-letter book,[103] and is spoken of by Scot in his 'Discovery'\nwithout much sparing of ridicule. It opens thus: \"If there hath bin at\nanytime (Right Honorable) any meanes used to appease the wrath of God, to\nobtaine his blessing, to terrifie secreete offenders by open transgressors\npunishments, to withdraw honest natures from the corruption of euill\ncompany, to diminish the great multitude of wicked people, to increase the\nsmall number of virtuous persons, and to reforme all the detestable abuses\nwhich the peruerse witte and will of man doth dayly devise, this\ndoubtlesse is no lesse necessarye than the best, that Sorcerers,\nWizzardes, or rather Dizzardes, Witches, Wise women (for so they will be\nnamed), are rygorously punished. Rygorously? sayd I; why it is too milde\nand gentle a tearme for such a mercilesse generation: I should rather have\nsayd most cruelly execueted; for that no punishment can be thought vpon,\nbe it in neuer so high a degree of torment, which may be deemed sufficient\nfor such a deuilishe and damnable practise.\" These were the sentiments of\nW. W., as propounded to his patron \"the right honourable and his singular\ngood lorde, the Lord Darcey,\" to whom he inscribes his little book. For\nBrian Darcy, evidently a relation, had lately put in practice the views\nand opinions of a worthy citizen and zealous Christian touching witches,\nat the great holocaust offered up at \"S. Osees\" (St. Osyth), in the 23rd\nyear of Queen Elizabeth's reign (1582): and witch hatred therefore ran in\nthe blood.\n\nThe first complainant in this process was Grace Thurlowe, wife of John\nThurlowe, who came to make her moan about the evil practices of her\nneighbour, Ursley Kempe, alias Grey. About twelve months since, said\nGrace, her son Davy was strangely taken and greatly tormented. Ursley\ncame, like the rest of the neighbours, to see him; but, unlike the rest,\nshe thrice took the child by the hand, saying each time, \"A good childe,\nhowe are thou loden:\" going out of the house and returning between each\nphrase, which was evidently a charm, and no holy way of pitying a sick\nchild. After this she said to Grace, \"I warrant thee, I, thy childe shall\ndoe well enough;\" and sure it was so, for that night the child slept well,\nand after another such cantrip visit from Ursula, mended entirely. This\nwas not much to complain to the magistrates about, but Grace had another\nand more grievous count. After this evident cure of her son she was\ndelivered of a woman child, and, ungratefully enough, asked not Ursley to\nbe her nurse; whereat sprang up a quarrel, and the child in consequence\nfell out of the cradle and brake its neck; not because it was clumsily\nlaid, or carelessly rocked, but because Ursley was a witch and had a\ngrievance against Grace. And to this mischance, when she heard of it, all\nthat the old dame said, was, \"It maketh no matter; for she might have\nsuffered me to have the keeping and nursing of it.\" Then a trouble and a\n\"fratch\" ensued, and Ursley threatened Grace with lameness, whereat Grace\nanswered, \"Take heed, Ursley, thou hast a naughtie name;\" but in spite of\nher warning the old witch did her work, so that Grace was taken with such\nlameness that she had to go upon her hands and knees. And thus it\ncontinued; whenever she began to amend her child fell ill, and when her\nchild was well she was cast down lame and helpless.\n\nThen Annis Letherdall had her word. Annis and Ursley had a little matter\nof commerce between them, but Annis failed the suspected woman, \"knowing\nher to be a naughtie beast.\" So Ursley in revenge bewitched Annis's child,\nand that so severely that Mother Ratcliffe, a skilful woman, doubted if\nshe could do it any good; yet for all that she ministered unto it kindly.\nAnd, as a proof that it was Ursley, and only Ursley, who had so harmed the\nbabe, and that its sad state came in no wise from bad food, bad nursing,\nand filthy habits, the little creature of only one year old, when it was\ncarried past her house, cried \"wo, wo,\" and pointed with its finger\nwindowwards. What evidence could be stronger? So then, to clinch the\nmatter and strike fairly home, the magistrate examined Thomas Rabbet,\nUrsley's \"base son,\" a child of barely eight years of age, and got his\nversion of the mother's life. The little fellow's testimony went chiefly\non the imps at home. His mother had four, he said--Tyffin, like a white\nlamb; Titty, a little grey cat; Pygine, a black toad; and Jacke, a black\ncat; and she fed them, at times with wholesome milk and bread, and at\ntimes they sucked blood from her body. He further said that his mother had\nbewitched Johnson and his wife to death, and that she had given her imps\nto Godmother Newman, who put them into an earthen pot which she hid under\nher apron, and so carried them away. One Laurence then said that she had\nbewitched his wife, so that when \"she lay a drawing home, and continued so\na day and a night, all the partes of her body were colde like a dead\ncreatures, and yet at her mouth did appeare her breath to goe and come.\"\nThus she lingered, said her husband, until Ursley came in unbidden, turned\ndown the bed-clothes, and took her by the arm, when immediately she gasped\nand died. Ursley at first would confess nothing beyond having had, ten or\neleven years ago, a lameness in her bones, for the cure of which she went\nto Cook's wife of Wesley, who told her that she was bewitched, and taught\nher a charm by which she might unwitch herself and cure her bones; which\ncharm quite answered its purpose, and had never failed her with her\nneighbours; all else she denied. But upon Brian Darcy[104] \"promising to\nthe saide Ursley that if she would deale plainely and confesse the truth\nthat she should have fauour, so by giving her faire speeche she confessed\nas followeth.\" \"Bursting out with weeping\" and falling on her knees, she\nsaid, yes, she had the four imps her son had told of, and that two of\nthem, Titty and Jack, were \"hees,\" whose office was to punish and kill\nunto death; and two, Tiffin and Piggin, were \"shees,\" who punished with\nlameness and bodily harm only, and destroyed goods and cattle. And she\nconfessed that she had killed all the folk charged against her; her\nbrother-in-law's wife, and Grace Thurlowe's cradled child, making it to\nfall out of its cradle and break its neck solely by her enchantments; and\nthat she had bewitched that little babe of Annis Letherdall's, and\nLaurence's wife, and, in fact, that she had done all the mischief with\nwhich she was charged. Then, not liking to be alone, she said that Mother\nBennet had two imps; the one a black dog, called Suckin, the other red\nlike a lion, Lyerd: and that Hunt's wife had a spirit too, for one evening\nshe peeped in at her window when she was from home, and saw it look out\nfrom a potcharde from under a bundle of cloth, and that it had a brown\nnose like a ferret. And she told other lies of her neighbours, saying that\nher spirit Tiffin informed her of all these things; and Brian Darcy sat\nthere, gloating over these maniacal revelations. But in spite of his soft\nwords and fair promises, Ursley Kempe was condemned, and executed when her\nturn came.\n\nJoan Pechey, widow, was then brought forward; and Ales Hunt, herself an\naccused witch, deposed against her that she was angry because, at a\ndistribution of bread made by the said Brian Darcy, she had gotten a loaf\nwhich was too hard baked for her; whereat in a pet she said it might have\nbeen given to some one younger, and not to her, with no teeth to eat\nthrough the crust. And then Ales watched her home, and saw her go in alone\nto her own house where no human soul was; but there she heard her say, as\nto some one, \"Yea, are you so sawsie; are yee so bolde; you were not best\nto bee so bolde with mee: For if you will not bee ruled, you shall have\nSymonds sawse; yea, saide the saide Joan, I perceive if I doe give you an\ninch you will take an ell.\" All of which talk Ales Hunt found was to no\nChristian creature, but to her foul and wicked imps. The which testimony\nher sister, Margerie Sammon, confirmed, saying that old Joan was as clever\nas their own mother (a noted witch, one Mother Barnes), or any one else\nin S. Osees skilled in sorcery and magic. Another examinate then came\nforward with a story of a bewitched cow unbewitched by a fire lighted\naround it: which, however, does not apparently touch any of the accused.\nAnd then the accuser, Ales Hunt, was made to take the place of the\naccused, and listen to the catalogue of her own sins. The chief witness\nagainst her was her little daughter-in-law (step-child?) Febey, of the age\nof eight or thereabouts, who deposed to her having two little things like\nhorses, the one white the other black, which she kept by her bedside in a\nlittle low earthern pot with wool, colour white and black, and which she\nfed with milk out of a black \"trening\" dish. When the Commissioners went\nto search the place they found indeed the board which Phoebe said was\nused to cover them, and she pointed out the trening dish whence they were\nfed; but the little things like horses were gone; when Phoebe said they\nhad been sent to Hayward of Frowicke. After a time Alice Hunt was brought\nto confess not only to two, but four, imps; two like colts, black and\nwhite, called Jack and Robbin; and two like toads, Tom and Robbyn. Mother\nBarnes, her mother, gave them to her, she said, when she died; and she\ngave her sister, Margerie Sammon, two also. When Margerie was confronted\nwith Alice and heard what she had deposed, she got very angry and denied\nthe whole tale, saying: \"I defie thee, though thou art my sister,\" saying\nthat she had never any imps given to her on her mother's death-bed, or at\nany other time. But Alice took her aside and whispered something in her\near; after which Margerie, \"with great submission\" and many tears,\nconfessed that she had in truth these two imps, given to her by her mother\nas her sister had said, and that she had carried them away that same\nevening in a wicker basket filled with black and white wool. Her mother\nhad said that if she did not like to keep them old Joan Pechey would be\nglad of them; but she did not part with them just then; and that she was\nto feed them on bread and milk, otherwise they would suck her blood. Their\nnames were Tom and Robbin, and last evening she took them away--being\nperhaps afraid to keep them longer, now that the scent was warm--and went\ninto Read's ground, where she bade them \"go.\" Immediately they skipped out\nof the wicker basket toward a barred gate going into Howe Lane, to Mother\nPeachey's house, whereat she, Margerie, said, \"All evill goe with you, and\nthe Lorde in heaven blesse mee from yee.\"\n\nAll of which Mother Peachy, who seems to have been an upright,\nhigh-spirited old dame, stoutly denied. She was threescore year and\nupwards, she said, and had lived forty years in S. Osees in honour and\ngood repute. She knew Mother Barnes, yet knew her for no witch, nor ever\nheard her to be so accompted, or to have skill in any witchery; nor was\nshe at her death-bed; nor knew she of her imps. For her own part she\ndenied that she had any \"puppettes, spyrites, or maumettes;\" or had had\nany spirits conveyed to her by Margery Sammon, or since Mother Barnes's\ndeath. She denied all that Ales Hunt had said, as, \"Yea, art thou so\nbolde,\" &c., she denied that she had had any hand in Johnson's death, as\nshe had been accused of, but when he died said only he was a very honest\nman: she also denied some very shocking passages with her son, which he,\nhowever, had been brought to confess; and when questioned more closely\nconcerning her imps, said that she had only a kitten and a dog at home.\nWhen asked of what colour were they? she answered tartly, \"Ye may goe and\nsee.\"\n\nAles Newman was also condemned and executed; being obstinate to the last;\ndenying the four counts with which she was charged, viz. her imps, the\nslaughter of her own husband, of John Johnson, and of his wife. But\nWilliam Hoke deposed that on his death-bed her husband had been\nperpetually crying out against her, saying, \"Dost thou not see--dost thou\nnot see?\" meaning the imp with which she tormented him, and which he\nstrove vainly to beat away. Seeing her obstinacy, Brian Darcy told her\nthat he would sever her and her spirits asunder; to which she answered\nquickly, \"Nay,\" sayth shee, \"that shal ye not, for I will carry them with\nmee.\" Then seeing that they took note of her words, she added, \"if I have\nany.\" The admission was enough, and she was hanged.\n\nElizabeth Bennet denied that she had had any hand in the bewitching to\ndeath Johnson or his wife, saying that the aforesaid Ales had done it all.\nBut William Bonner had his stone ready for her on the other side, accusing\nher of bewitching his wife, for \"shee, being sickely and sore troubled,\nthe said Elizabeth vsed speeches unto her, saying, a goode woman howe art\nthou loden, and then clasped her in her armes and kissed her. Wherevpon\npresently after her vpper Lippe swelled and was very bigge, and her eyes\nmuch sunked into her head, and shee hath lain sithence in a very strange\ncase.\" Yet these two women were familiar friends, and \"did accompanie much\ntogether;\" which shows that friendship was as dangerous as enmity in those\nmad times when the swelling of a lip, or the familiarity of a house pet,\ncould bring the best of a district to the gallows. And then Ursley Kemp's\ntestimony was remembered against Elizabeth, and the mysteries of Suckin\nand Liard sought to be fathomed. Elizabeth at the first was obdurate and\nwould confess to nothing beyond that she had certainly a pot, but no wool\ntherein, and no imps to lay on it; but at last she too was persuaded by\nBrian Darcy's fine false words; so falling on her knees, \"distilling\ntears,\" she made her public moan. William Byet and she dwelt as neighbours\ntogether, she said, living as neighbours should, well and easily; but\nlatterly they had fallen out, because William called her \"old Trot\" and\n\"old witch,\" and \"did ban and curse her and her cattle.\" So she replied\nwith calling him \"knave,\" saying, \"Wind it vp Byet, for it will light vpon\nyourself.\" And Byet's beast died forthwith. Then Byet's wife beat her\nswine with great \"gybels,\" and made them sick; and once she ran a\npitchfork through the side of one so that it was dead, and when the\nbutcher who bought it came to dress and cut it up, it proved \"a messel,\"\nso she had no money for it, for the butcher would not keep it and she was\nforced to take it back again. So far was only the ordinary quarrelling of\nill-tempered country folk, and nothing very damaging to confess to; but\nnow Brian Darcy's fair words drew from her all about her imp Suckin, a he\nand like a black dog, and Lierd, a she and like a hare or a lion, and red.\nSuckin had first come to her a long time ago, as she was returning home\nfrom the mill; he held her by the coats, she being amazed, but vanished\nwhen she prayed. Again, when nigh hand at home, he tugged at her coats as\nbefore, yet vanished when she prayed. The next day he came with Lierd, and\nasked \"why she was so snappish yesterday?\" and thus they were for ever\ntroubling and visiting her, till at last she yielded to their\nsolicitations, and set them to the work she was accused of. This was the\nsecond instance in which Brian Darcy found that old Ursley and her imp\nTiffin had spoken the truth.\n\nAles Manfielde bewitched John Sayer's cart, keeping it standing stock\nstill for above an hour, because she was offended that he would not let\nhis thatcher cover in an oven for her; and she lamed all Joan Chester's\ncattle, because Joan refused her some curds. So Ales Manfielde was\ncondemned and executed; but not before she made her confession. She said\nthat Margaret Greuell (Greville), twelve years since, gave her four\nimps--Robin, Jack, William, and Puppet or Mamet: they were like black\ncats, two shes and two hes, and were put into a box with some wool, and\nplaced on a shelf by her bed. But Margaret denied it all, even when Ales\nwas confronted with her; denied too that queer tale of how she had\nbewitched John Carter's two brewings, so that half a seame had to go to\nthe swill tub, all because he would not give her Godesgood. The brewing\nwas only unbewitched when John's son, a tall lusty man of thirty-six,\nmanaged to stick his arrow in the brewing-vat. He had shot twice before,\nbut missed, though he was a good shot and stood close to the vat--which\nwas evident sorcery, somehow. Margaret denied also that she had bewitched\nNicholas Strickland's wife so that she could make no butter, because\nNicholas, who was a butcher, refused her a neck of mutton. But in spite of\nall her denials, she, the hale woman of fifty-four, was condemned to\nremain in prison, heaven knows for how long; escaping the gallows by a\ngreater miracle than any recorded of herself.\n\nElizabeth Ewstace, a year younger than Margaret Greville, was told that\nshe had bewitched Robert Sanneuer, drawing his mouth all awry so that it\ncould be got into its place again only with a sharp blow; and that she\nhad killed his brother Crosse, three years ago, and bewitched his wife\nwhen with child and quite lusty and well, so that she had a most strange\nsickness, and the child died soon after its birth; that she made his cows\ngive blood instead of milk; and caused his hogs \"to skip and leap about\nthe yarde in a straunge sorte,\" because of the small bickerings to which\nS. Osees seemed specially subject. And she hurt all Felice Okey's geese,\nand in particular her favourite goose, because she, Felice, had turned\nhers out of her yard; all of which Elizabeth Eustace denied to the face of\nAlice Mansfield and her other accusers. And as, on being searched, she was\nfound to have no \"bigges\" or witch marks, she was mercifully kept in\nprison--for the time. And Annis Glascocke, wife of John the sawyer, got\ninto the trouble that had its end only in the hangman's cord, because\nMychel the shoemaker charged her with being a \"naughtie woman,\" and\nbecause Ursley Kemp, informed by Tiffin, accused her of sundry things\nabout as true as all the rest of the story. Being found well supplied with\nwitch marks, her denial was not allowed to go for much; whereupon she\nabused Ursley, and said she had bewitched her and made her like to\nherself, she, Annis Glascocke, all the time ignorant and innocent of her\ndevilish arts.\n\nThen came the sad story of Henry Celles (Selles) and his wife Cysley. They\nwere said to have killed Richard Ross's horses, because Richard had\nrefused Cicely a bushel of malt which she had come for, bringing a poke to\nput it in. And to make the accusation stronger, little Henry their son,\nonly nine years old, affirmed that at Candlemas last past about midnight\nthere came to his brother John a spirit, which took him by the left leg\nand also by the little toe, and which was like his little sister, only\nthat it was black. At which his brother cried out, \"'Father, father, come\nhelpe me; there is a black thing that hath me by the legge as big as my\nsister;' whereat his father saide to his mother, 'Why thou ----, cannot\nyou keepe your imps from my children?' Whereat she presently called it\naway from her sonne, saying, 'Come away, come away.' At which speeche it\ndid depart.\" He further said that his mother fed her imps daily with milk\nout of a black dish; that their names were Hercules, Sotheons, or Jacke\nwhich was black and a he, and Mercurie, white and a she; that their eyes\nwere like goose eyes; and that they lay on some wool under a stack of\nbroom at the old crab-tree root. And also that his mother had sent\nHercules to Ross for revenge; at which his father, when he heard of it,\nsaid, \"She was a trim fool.\" As she very likely was; but for other things\nthan sending imps to her neighbours. John, a little fellow of six and\nthree-quarters, confirmed his brother's deposition, adding to it that \"the\nimps had eyes as big as himself,\" and that his mother fed them with thin\nmilk out of a spoon. He gave the names of other people whom his mother had\nbewitched, and he showed his scarred leg, and the nail of the little toe\nstill imperfect. And Joan Smith deposed that one day, as she was making\nready to go to church, holding her babe in her arms, her mother, one\nRedworth's wife, and Cicely were all at her door, ready to draw the latch\nas she came out, \"whereat the grandmother to the childe tooke it by the\nhand, and shoke it, saying, 'A mother pugs, art thou coming to church?'\nand Redworth's wife, looking on it, said, 'Here is a iolie and likely\nchilde--God blesse it.' After which speeches, Selles his wife saide,\n'shee hath neuer the more children for that, but a little babe to play\nwithall for a time.' And she saith within a short time after her said\nchilde sickened and died. 'But,' she saith\"--her womanly heart carrying it\nover her superstition--\"'that her conscience will not serve her to charge\nthe said Cysley or her husband to be the causers of any suche matter, but\nprayeth God to forgive if they haue dealt in any such sorte.'\" Then Thomas\nDeath accused Cicely Selles and one Barker's wife of bewitching George\nBattell's wife and his own daughter Mary, who got such good of the witches\nby a wise man's ministering that she saw her tormentor standing in bodily\nshape before her; and Ales Baxter was pricked to the heart by a white imp\nlike a cat which then vanished into the bushes close by, and so badly\nholden that she could neither go nor stand nor speak, and did not know her\nown master when he came by, but was forced to be taken home in a chair by\ntwo men. All of which Henry Selles and his wife Cicely denied; specially\nthe story of the imp and the children, who, if there were imps at all in\nthe matter, were the only imps afloat. But denial did them no good, for\nCicely had witch marks, so was condemned, and the two little lying varlets\nmade themselves orphans and homeless.\n\nA very crowd of witnesses came to testify against Annis Herd. Of some she\nhad bewitched the cream, of others the milk; of some the cows or pigs or\nwives; but all this was mere floating accusation until the Commissioners\ngot hold of her little \"base\" daughter of seven, who gave them plenty of\ninformation. Asked if her mother had imps, she said \"Yes;\" in one box she\nhad six \"auices,\" or blackbirds, and in another box six like cows as big\nas rats, with short horns, lying in the boxes on white or black wool. And\nshe said that her mother gave her one of the cow imps, a black and white\none, called Crowe; and to her little brother one, red and white, called\nDonne; and that she fed the avices or blackbirds with wheat and barley and\noats and bread and cheese; giving to the cows wheat straw, bean straw, oat\nstraw, or hay, with water or beer to drink. When her brother sees these\nblackbird imps come a \"tuitting and tetling\" about him, added the little\nbase daughter, he takes and puts them in the boxes. Some of them sucked on\nher mother's hands, and some on her brother's legs, and when they showed\nher the marks she pointed them out one by one, saying, \"Here sucked aves\nand here blackbird.\" She was sharp enough though to shield herself, young\nas she was; for when asked why one of her hands had the same kind of mark,\nshe said it was burnt. Anis Herd was kept in prison, but not hanged just\nthen, for she could not, luckily for her, be got to confess to anything\nvery damaging. She said that she was certainly angry with the churl\nCartwright for taking away a bough which she had laid over a flow in the\nhighway, but she had not bewitched him or his; and that she had, truly,\nkept Lane's wife's dish fourteen days or more, as Lane's wife had said,\nand that Lane's wife had sent for the twopence which she, Anis, owed her,\nand that she had grumbled with her--also with this neighbour and that\nneighbour, according to the habits of S. Osees--but that she had bewitched\nnone of them. And she denied the avices and the blackbirds and all and\nsundry of the stories of Crow or Dun; which, indeed, with some others\nspoken of by the children, seem to have been, _if existing at all_, toys\nor treasures kept hoarded from them, to which they added these magical and\nabsurd conditions as their imaginations taught them or their examiners\nprompted.\n\nJoan Robinson, another S. Osees witch, was to blame for various acts of\nsorcery and witchcraft--hurting one woman's brood goose, and another's\nlitter of pigs, drowning cows, laming ambling mares, and the rest of the\nwitch's playful practices; all of which she, too, denied strenuously, but\nnevertheless formed one of the thirteen victims whom the offended justice\nof the times found necessary to condemn and execute. So this sad trial\ncame to an end, and Brian Darcy covered his name with infamy so long as\nW. W. has a black letter copy extant.\n\nThe following singular table is drawn up at the end of the book:--\n\n     \"The names of XIII Witches and those that have been bewitched by\n     them.\n\n     The Names of those persons that have beene bewitched and thereof haue\n     dyed, and by whome, and of them that haue receyved bodyly harme, &c.\n     As appeareth vpon sundrye Enformations, Examinations, and Confessions\n     taken by the worshipfull Bryan Darcey, Esquire; and by him certified\n     at large vnto the Queene's Maiestie's Justices of Assise of the\n     Countie of Essex, the XXIX of Marche, 1582.\n\n     S. Osythes.      The Witches. }           {Kempes wife,\n                   1. Ursley Kempe,} bewitched {Thorlowes Childe,\n                       alias Gray  } to death  {and Strettons wife.\n\n                   2. Ales Newman  }\n                       and Ursley  } bewitched {Letherdalles childe,\n                       Kempe       } to death  {and Strettons wife.\n\n     Confessed by}    The said Ales}\n       Ursley and}     and Ursley  } bewitched {Strattons Childe,}whereof\n       Elizabeth.}     Kempe       }           {Grace Thorlowe,  }they did\n                                                                 }languish.\n\n                                               {William Byet, and Joan his\n                   3. Elizabeth    } bewitched { wife, and iii of his\n                       Bennet      } to death  { beasts.\n                                               {The wife of William Willes,\n                                               {  and William Wittingalle.\n\n                      Elizabeth    }           {William Bonners Wife, John\n                       Bennet      } bewitched { Butler, Fortunes Childe;\n                                               { whereof they did languish.\n\n                      Ales Newman  } bewitched {John Johnson and his Wife,\n                                   }to death   { and her own Husband, as it\n                                               { is thought.\n\n     Confessed   } 4. Ales Hunt    } bewitched {Rebecca Durrant and vi\n     the cattell.}                 } to death  { beasts of one Haywardes.\n\n                   5. Cysley Celles} bewitched { Thomas Deaths Childe.\n                                   } to death  {\n\n     Little      }    Cysley Celles  bewitched {Rosses Mayde, Mary Death,\n     Clapton.    }                             { whereof they did languish.\n\n                      Cysley Celles} bewitched Richard Rosses horse and\n                           and     }  beasts and caused their Impes to\n     Thorpe.       6. Ales         }  burne a barne with much corne.\n                       Manfielde   }\n\n     Confessed by} 7. Ales         } bewitched {Robert Chesson, and\n     Ales        }     Manfielde   } to death  { Greuell husband to\n     Manfield.   }     and Margaret}           { Margaret.\n                       Greuell     }\n\n                      Ales         } bewitched the widdow Chesson, and her\n                       Manfielde   }  husband, v beasts and one bullocke,\n                       and Margaret}  and seuerall brewinges of beere, and\n                       Greuell     }  batches of bread.\n\n     Thorpe.       8. Elizabeth    } bewitched {Robert Stannevettes Childe,\n                       Ewstace     } to death  { and Thomas Crosse.\n\n                      Elizabeth    } bewitched Robert Stanneuet, vii milch\n                       Ewstace     }  beasts, w{h} gaue blood in steede of\n                                      milke, and seuerall of his Swine\n                                      dyed.\n\n     Little Okley. 9. Annys Herd   } bewitched {Richard Harrisons wife, and\n                                   } to death  { two wives of William\n                                               { Dowsinge, as it is\n                                               { supposed.\n\n                      Annys Herd   } bewitched Cartwright two beasts,\n                                   }  made, sheepe, and lambes xx; West\n                                   }  swine, and pigs; Diborne, a brewing\n                                   }  of beere, and seuerall other losses\n                                   }  of milke and creame.\n\n     Walton.      10. Joan Robinson} bewitched beasts, horses, swine, and\n                                   }  pigs, of seuerall men.\n\n     \"The sayd Ursley Kemp had foure spyrites, viz., their names Tettey a\n     hee like a gray Cat, Jack a hee like a black Cat, Pygin a she like a\n     black Toad, and Tyffin a she like a white Lambe. The hees were to\n     plague to death, and the shees to punish with bodily harme, and to\n     destroy cattell.\n\n     \"Tyffyn, Ursley's white Spirit, did tell her alwayes (when she asked)\n     what the other witches had done: and by her the most part were\n     appelled, which spirit telled her alwayes true. As is well approved\n     by the other Witches confession.\n\n     \"The sayd Ales Newman had the sayd Ursley Kemps spirits to vse at her\n     pleasure. Elizabeth Bennet had two spirits, viz., their names Suckyn,\n     a hee like a blacke Dog: and Lyard, red lyke a Lyon or Hare.\n\n     \"Ales Hunt had two spirits lyke Colts, the one blacke, the other\n     white.\n\n     \"11. Margery Sammon had two spirits lyke Toads, their Names Tom and\n     Robyn.\n\n     \"Cysley Celles had two spirits by seuerall names, viz., Sotheons,\n     Hercules, Jack, or Mercury.\n\n     \"Ales Manfield and Margaret Greuell had in common by agreement, iiii\n     Spirits, viz., their names Robin, Jack, Will, Puppet, alias Mamet,\n     whereof two were hees, and two were shees, lyke vnto black Cats.\n\n     \"Elizabeth Ewstace had iii Impes or Spirits of colour white, grey,\n     and black.\n\n     \"Annis Herd had vi Impes or Spirites, like auises and black byrdes,\n     and vi other like Kine, of the bygnes of Rats, with short hornes; the\n     Auises shee fed with wheat, barley, otes, and bread, the Kine with\n     straw and hay.\n\n        Annys Glascocke.  } These have not confessed any thing touching\n        12. Joan Pechey.  }   the hauing of spirits.\n        13. Joan Robinson.}\n\n        Annis Glascocke   } bewitched  { Mychell Steuens Childe.\n                          } to death   { The base Childe at Pages.\n                                       {William Pages Childe.\n\n\nThus did W. W. and Bryan Darcey finish their respective works, in which,\nperhaps, this formal tabular statement, this pretence at scientific\narrangement and accuracy, is the strangest and most revolting\nelement.[105]\n\nAnother rare and curious[106] black-letter pamphlet gives a marvellous\naccount of a woman's possession, as it happened in Somersetshire; which\nperchance we of the light-minded and sceptical nineteenth century might\ninterpret differently to what the believing sixteenth held likely.\n\n\nTHE WOMAN AND THE BEAR.\n\nOne Stephen Cooper, of Ditchet, a yeoman of honest reputation, good\nwealth, and well beloved by his neighbours, being sick and weak, sent his\nwife Margaret to a farm of his at Rockington, Gloucestershire, where she\nremained a few days--not finding all to her liking, she said. When she\nreturned she found her husband somewhat better, but she herself was\nstrange and wild, using much idle talk to him concerning an old groat\nwhich her little son had found and which she wanted to see, and raving\nabout the farm in Gloucestershire, as if she had been bewitched, and knew\nnot what she said. Then she began to change in very face, and to look on\nher husband with \"a sad and staring countenance;\" and, one night, things\ncame to a climax, for she got very wild and bad, and shook so frightfully\nthat they could scarce keep her down in the bed; and then she began\ntalking of a headless bear, which, she said, she had been into the town to\nbeat away during the time of her fit, and which had followed her from\nRockington: as the sequel proved was true. Her friends and husband\nexhorted her to prayer and patience, but she still continued marvellously\nholden, the Devil getting quite the better of her until Sunday night, when\nshe seemed to come to her worst. Suddenly the candle, which they had not\nbeen noticing, went out, and she set up a lamentable cry; they lighted\nanother, but it burnt so dim it was almost useless, and the friends and\nneighbours themselves began to be disquieted. Wildly and hurriedly cried\nMargaret, \"Look! do you not see the Devil?\" herself all terrified and\ndisturbed. They bade her be still and pray. Then said Margaret, \"Well, if\nyou see nothing now, you shall see something by and bye;\" and \"forthwith\nthey heard a noise in the streete, as it had been the coming of two or\nthree carts, and presently they in the chamber cried out, 'Lord helpe us,\nwhat manner of thing is this that commeth here!'\" For up to the bedside\nwhere the woman lay with heaving breasts and dilated eyes, came a thing\nlike a bear, only that it had no head and no tail; a thing \"half a yard in\nheight and half a yard in length\" (no bigger, Margaret? not so big as a\nwell-trussed man on all-fours?) which, when her husband saw, he took a\njoyn'd stool, and \"stroke\" at it, and the blow sounded as though it had\nfallen on a feather bed. But the creature took no notice of the man: it\nwanted only Margaret. Slowly it paddled round the bed, then smote her\nthrice on the feet, took her out of bed, and rolled her to and fro in the\nchamber, round about the floor and under the bed; the husband and friends,\nsore amazed and affrighted, only calling on God to assist them, not daring\nto lift a hand for themselves or her. And all the while the candle grew\ndimmer and dimmer, so that they could scarce see each other: which was\nwhat Margaret and the headless bear, no doubt, desired. Then the creature\ntook her in its arms, thrust her head between her legs so that he made her\ninto a round ball, and \"so roulled her in a rounde compasse like an Hoope\nthrough three other Chambers, downe an highe paire of staires, in the\nHall, where he kept her for the space of a quarter of an hour.\" The people\nabove durst not come down, but remained above, weeping pitifully and\npraying with loud and fervent prayer. And there was such a terrible stench\nin the hall, and such fiery flames darting hither and thither, that they\nwere fain to stop their noses with clothes and napkins, expecting every\nmoment to find that hell was opening beneath their feet, and that they\nwould be no longer able to keep out of harm's way and the Devil's. Then\nMargaret cried out, \"He is gone. Now he is gone!\" and her husband joyfully\nbade her come up to him again; which she did, but so quickly that they\ngreatly marvelled at it, and thought to be sure the Devil had helped her.\nYet she proved to be none the worse for the encounter: which was singular,\nas times went. They then put her in bed, and four of them kept down the\nclothes, praying fervently. Suddenly the woman was got out of bed: she did\nnot move herself by nerves, muscles, or will, of course; but she was\ncarried out by a supernatural power, and taken to the window at the head\nof the bed. But whether the devil or she opened the window, the pamphlet\ndoes not determine. Then her legs were thrust out of the window, and the\npeople heard a thing knock at her feet as if it had been upon a tub; and\nthey saw a great fire, and they smelt a grievous smell; and then, by the\nhelp of their prayers, they pulled Margaret into the room again, and set\nher upon her feet. After a few moments she cried out, \"O Lord, methinks I\nsee a little childe!\" But they paid no heed to her. Twice or thrice she\nsaid this, and ever more earnestly; and at last they all looked out at the\nwindow, for they thought to be sure she must have some meaning for her\nraving. And \"loe, they espied a thing like unto a little child, with a\nbright shining countenaunce casting a greate light in the chamber.\" And\nthen the candle, which had hitherto burnt blue and dim, gave out its\nnatural light so that they could all see each other. Whereupon they fell\nto joyful prayer, and gave thanks to God for the deliverance. And Margaret\nCooper was laid in her bed again, calm, smiling, and collected, never more\nto be troubled by a Headless Bear which rolled her about like a ball, or\nby a bright shining child looking out from the chinks of a rude magic\nlantern. As for the bear, I confess I think he was nearer akin to man than\ndevil; that he was known about Rockington in Gloucestershire; and that\nMargaret Cooper understood the conduct of the plot from first to last. But\nthen this is the sceptical nineteenth century, wherein the wiles of human\ncunning are more believed in than the power of the devil, or the miracles\nof supernaturalism. Yet this was a case which, in spite of all its fraud\nand folly so patently displayed, was cited as one of the most notorious\nand striking instances of the power of Satan over the bodies as well as\nthe souls of those who gave themselves up to the things of the world.\n\n\nTHE WITCHES OF WARBOIS.[107]\n\nIn 1589, Robert Throckmorton, Esquire, lived at Warbois, in\nHuntingdonshire. He had five daughters, the eldest of whom, Miss Joan, was\nfifteen, while the rest came down in steps, two years or so between each,\nin the ordinary manner. On the tenth of November, Mistress Jane, being\nthen near ten years of age, was suddenly seized with a kind of fit. She\n\"screeked\" loud and often, lay as if in a trance for half an hour or more,\nshook one leg or one arm and no other, \"as if the Palsie had been in it,\"\nmade her body so stiff and rigid that no man could bend her, and went\nthrough the usual forms of a young girl's hysteria. A neighbour, one Alice\nSamuel, who lived next door to the Throckmortons, went in to see the\nafflicted child; for all the neighbours were flocking in to see her as a\nkind of curiosity; and, stepping up into the chimney-side, sat hard down\nby her, she being held in another woman's arms by the fire. Suddenly the\nchild cried out, \"Did you ever see one more like a Witch than she is?\"\npointing to Mother Samuel; \"take off her black-thrumb'd cap, for I cannot\nabide to look at her.\"\n\nNothing was thought of her words at the time, the mother merely chiding\nher for her lightness of speech; but \"the old woman hearing her, sat\nstill, without saying a word, yet looked very dismally, as those that saw\nher remembered very well.\" And as well she might, poor old soul; for she\nmust have known that Mrs. Jane's light speech would in all probability be\nheavy enough to bring her down to the grave.\n\nDoctoring did the child no good. Dr. Barrow of Cambridge, the most noted\nman of the district, gave the distemper no satisfactory name, and his\nremedies were powerless to remove it; Mr. Butler, another skilful man, was\nequally at fault; and when, about a month after Mrs. Jane had been\nattacked, two other daughters were driven to the like extremity, and\n\"cry'd out upon Mother Samuel, 'Take her away, look where she standeth\nthere before us in a black thrumb'd Cap (which she commonly wore, though\nnot then); it's she that hath bewitched us, and she will kill us if you\ndon't take her away,'\" the parents were moved to believe the whole thing\nsupernatural, and that Mother Samuel had indeed bewitched them as they\nsaid. About a month after the affliction of these two, a younger child,\nnot quite nine years old, was taken like the rest; and soon after Mrs.\nJoan, of fifteen, went the same way--only more severely handled than them\nall. Mrs. Joan had a specialty in her fits. She was not only hysterical\nlike her sisters, but she had a Spirit, and this Spirit sounded in her\nears information of things to come: as, that the servants as well as the\nfive children should be bewitched--which they were, but did not become so\nnotorious as the little impostors of better blood; all recovering so soon\nas they left the house for other situations, and nothing more being heard\nof them. Things went on then in this manner, the children being\nperpetually tormented with fits, and for ever crying out against old dame\nSamuel, when, in February of the next year (1590), it was resolved to\nbring her to the house that the children might \"scratch\" her, and so\nrelieve themselves somewhat. Whereupon she, her young daughter Agnes, and\none Cicely Burder--both of whom were accused of the same malpractices as\nherself--were haled to Mr. Throckmorton's, there to undergo their\npreliminary ordeal. Every care was taken to prevent the mother from\nholding any communication with her daughter Agnes; but at the entry she\nmanaged to lean over and whisper to her. Mr. Pickering, the children's\nuncle, who had undertaken to conduct this Scratching, was ready to swear\nthat she said, \"I charge thee do not confess anything;\" but Mother Samuel\nswore, in her turn, that she had only charged her to hasten home to get\nher father his dinner; for that same father was a terrible old Turk, and\nnot likely to wait patiently for his dinner or aught else.\n\nWhen the women went into the house the children were standing by the fire,\nperfectly well; but the instant they saw Mother Samuel, they fell down in\ntheir fits, leaping and springing about like fishes newly taken out of the\nwater, drawing their heads and heels backwards, and throwing out their\narms with great groans that were terrible and troublesome to those that\nbeheld them. They screamed and struggled to get at the old woman,\nscratching at the bed-clothes, or the maids' aprons, or anything they\ncould touch, crying out, \"O! that I had her! O! that I had her!\" And when\nMr. Pickering forced Mother Samuel's hand within theirs, they scratched at\nit with so much vehemence that one of them splintered her nails \"with her\neager desire of revenge;\" doing the same by Cicely Burder, who thus, we\nare not told how or why, found herself in a dangerous and equivocal\nposition, but seems to have got well out of it in time. Or perhaps she\ndied between whiles, happily for herself.\n\nFor the next few months it was Mrs. Elizabeth Throckmorton who kept up the\nball. Mr. Pickering took her away with him to his own house, where she\nfooled them all to the top of their bent, crying out to Mother Samuel to\ntake away her mouse, for she would have none of it, and exclaiming in\npiteous tones that Mother Samuel was trying to force a cat, or a frog, or\nsometimes a toad, into her mouth; hopping about on one leg, pretending to\nbe utterly incapable of putting the other to the ground; sometimes going\nfor two steps at a time, when \"she would halt and give a beck with her\nhead as low as her knees;\" asking if no one heard the spirit within her\nlapping the milk she had just taken; playing at cards with her eyes shut,\nor seemingly so; and falling into drowsy fits which took her even in the\nmidst of meals, or any while else specially untimely. Her bewitchment took\na certain controversial turn too, and witnessed for the Pope and the\nDevil; for \"on the Eleventh, one asked her if she loved the Word of God;\nwhereupon she was much troubled and tormented. When they asked, Love you\nWitchcraft? she was content. Love you the Bible? it shaked her. Love you\nPapistry? the Devil within her was quiet. Love you Prayer? it raged. Love\nyou the Mass? it was still. Love you the Gospel? it heaved up her Belly;\nso that every good thing it disliked; but whatever concerned Popish\nIdolatry it was pleased with.\" Mr. Pickering kept this sectarian young\nlady from March to September, and then it pleased Mistress Elizabeth to\nrequire change of air and scene, and she demanded to be taken back to her\nfather's house at Warbois. There she played off her tricks with new\nvigour, when Lady Cromwell, wife of Sir Henry Cromwell, Knt., hearing of\nthese heavy afflictions came to visit the children and comfort the\nparents. The children of course went off into their customary state; it\nwas not their game to disappoint my Lady; \"and were so grievously\nTormented that it moved the good Lady's Heart with Pity, so that she could\nnot forbear Tears, and caused old Mother Samuel to be sent for, who durst\nnot deny to come, because her Husband was Tenant to Sir Henry Cromwell.\"\nAs soon as she came in, the children were so much worse that the Lady,\ntransported beyond herself, and exceedingly angry that Mother Samuel would\nnot confess to her crime, seized hold of her as she was struggling to get\nfree of their hands and slip out of the room, pulled off her kircher, and\ncut off a lock of her hair, which she gave privately to Mrs. Throckmorton\ntogether with the old dame's hairlace; bidding her burn them. The old\nwoman turning against the Lady, said, half sorrowfully, \"Madam, why do you\nuse me thus? I never did you any harm as yet:\" words to be remembered and\ntreasured up against her, when the hour came. That very night Lady\nCromwell had bad dreams concerning Mother Samuel and her cat, which she\nsaid came to strip all the flesh from her--and awakened, crying mightily\nand much distressed. From that time she had fits, and continued very\nhardly holden till her dying day, which was one year and a quarter after\nthe visit to Warbois. So Mother Samuel's words were held to have been\nwitch's threats, and the whole country was convinced that Lady Cromwell\nhad died by her magic arts, and bewitched. As she was, poor lady, with\nnervous fear and superstition and ignorance.\n\nThe next year, in the winter of 1591, Mr. Henry Pickering, a young student\nat Cambridge, tried to make Dame Samuel confess, but she would not suffer\nhim or his companions to speak, and when they desired her to speak\nsoftlier, answered: \"She was born in a Mill, begot in a Kiln, and must\nhave her Will, and could speak no softlier.\" Then Mr. Henry began to\nquestion her on her faith, but got only tart answers; so, losing patience,\nhe said that if she did not repent and confess to having worked that\nwickedness on the children, he hoped one day to see her burn at the stake,\nand that he would bring wood and faggots and the children should blow the\ncoals. To which old Dame Samuel replied that she \"would rather see him\ndoused over head in the pond;\" and so went away home, to be beaten for\ngossiping and staying late, by that terrible old Turk of hers.\n\nAnd now the children would be well only when the dame was with them; so\nthe parents sought to engage her to live with them, but the old Turk would\nnot give his consent, and beat her severely with a cudgel on the slightest\npretext. The whole thing angered him, and his dame could not do right let\nher do what she would. However, he was prevailed on to spare her for eight\nor nine days, during which time the lying little girls professed\nthemselves cured of all their haunting spirits--dun chickens, naked babes,\nand the like; to the old woman's extreme consternation and passionate\nassurances of innocence. Then the children turned against Agnes Samuel,\nthe daughter, declaring that she had bewitched them equally with the\nmother: whereupon the father, Mr. Throckmorton, went to bring her to the\nhouse; when she hid herself in an attic or loft, barricading herself in by\nsacks of wool piled up on the trapdoor. She was forced to come down at\nlast, and her fear was made the chief evidence against her. The hour had\ncome round for her on Time's cruel dial, and she could not escape the\ninevitable decree that had gone forth. All this while the old mother was\nforcibly detained at Mr. Throckmorton's house; the children pretending\nthat they could be well only in her presence, and absolutely refusing to\nlet her go, though she was sick and fearful and weary, and cried to get\nhome again to her daughter and husband. That uncompromising oaken cudgel\nof his was less terrible than the awful suspicion under which she was\nliving here; and the harassing uncertainty of her life--never knowing what\nnew lie the children might frame against her, nor how much nearer they\nmight bring her to the gallows by some wicked fancy or delusion--was\ninfinitely worse than all the oaths and ill-usage of home, of which she\nknew at least the extent and end. She seems to have been a gentle-spirited\nold creature in spite of her crusty tongue; and at the beck of every one\nwho chose to knock her about and require from her service and submission.\nWhen Mr. Throckmorton had teased and threatened and exhorted her, till she\nwas completely \"dazed and mazed\" with all she heard--and when the children\nhad acted their fits with such power and accuracy that they simulated\nnature to the life, and had impressed even her with all the wicked things\nwhich their Spirits told them of her and of her daughter--her mind,\nenfeebled by suffering and terror, gave way, and she was deluded into a\nconfession of sin and penitence; after which she obtained leave to go\nhome. As her husband gave her but a harsh welcome, angry with her for her\nweakness in confessing, she recanted as of course; when Mr. Throckmorton,\ngetting hold of her by an open window beneath which his friends were\nstationed, bullied and deluded her once more into making a confession\nwhich they might hear; and on the strength of which he carried off both\ndame and daughter, to be examined by the Bishop of Lincoln.\n\nThe Bishop found her easy. Yes, she had an imp; a dun chicken which sucked\non her chin, and which she had sent to torment the Throckmorton girls. The\ndun chicken and the rest of the spirits were now at the bottom of her\nstomach, and made her so full and heavy that she could not lace her coat,\nnor was the horse on which she rode able to carry her all the way: she had\nthree spirits, all like dun chickens--Pluck, Catch, and White, which had\nbeen given her by an \"upright man,\" extremely hard, of the name of\nLangland, of no particular dwelling and now gone beyond seas; and she had\nsent all three to the children and had plagued them sorely. This she said\nat various times, at each clause conjuring the devil and her spirits to\ninform her of the facts required by the Right Reverend Father in God.\nAfter her examination she and her daughter were committed to gaol; but Mr.\nThrockmorton got Agnes out on bail that he might take her home to the\nchildren, and see what they would say of her. This seemed to him the best\nway to complete the evidences of guiltiness against her, which at present\nwere very slight and worthless. So the net closed tighter and tighter\nround this hapless family, and soon the deep black waves, rolling onward,\ndashed over their devoted heads.\n\nWhen they heard that Agnes was brought back to Warbois, the children fell\ninto their fits again, each saying, \"I am glad, I am glad; none so glad as\nI.\" They knew the cruel sport preparing for them, and were in no hurry to\nabandon the pleasant excitement of their Possession, during which they\nwere made so many centres of public interest, petted and commiserated and\nlooked at and talked about and made of more consequence than the finest\nlady in the land. When the game was over they must sink down into the\nhumdrum lives of good little girls in a country town, of no possible\ninterest to living being outside their own house door. Surely an event to\nbe deferred to the latest moment possible! For the first three or four\ndays after Agnes' arrival they condescended to be well, but, being by that\ntime tired of their new companion, they fell back into their former state,\nand cried out against her more bitterly than they had ever done against\nher mother. She was more helpless, too, than the mother, and more entirely\nin their power; so that the sport was greater, and the fear of opposition\nor detection less. Specially did Mistress Joan, the eldest girl, torment\nher; who, being at this time seventeen, had other ideas of spirits than\ndun chickens, mice, or frogs, which were all very well in the days of her\ninfancy but quite uninteresting to her now. The manner in which she\nintroduced her Spirits was singular. One day, just after her nose had\nbled, and she had said \"it would be a good thing to throw her handkerchief\ninto the fire, and burn the young witch,\" she suddenly looked about her\nsmiling, and said, \"What is this in God's Name that comes tumbling to me?\nIt tumbles like a Foot-bal, it looks like a puppit-player, and appears\nmuch like its Dame's old thrumb Cap. 'What is your Name, I pray you?' said\nshe. The Thing answered, his Name was Blew. To which she answered, 'Mr.\nBlew you are welcome, I never saw you before; I thought my Nose bled not\nfor nothing, what News have you brought? What,' says she, 'dost thou say I\nshall be worse handled than ever I was? Ha! what dost thou say? that I\nshall now have my Fits, when I shall both hear and see and know every\nBody? that's a new Trick indeed. I think never any of my Sisters were so\nused, but I care not for you: do your worst, and when you have done, you\nwill make an end.'\" Then she cried out that Agnes Samuel had too much\nliberty, and must be more strictly looked to; for that Mr. Blew had told\nher she should have no peace till she and the old dame were hanged.\n\nMrs. Joan had opened a most prolific and amusing vein. Her imagination\nstopped at nothing, and she showed herself no mean hand at romance. She\nwas very consecutive too, and kept up the likeness well. In the evening\nMr. Blew appeared again, chiefly for the purpose of telling her that young\nNan Samuel was his Dame, and to ask when the Spirit Smack, of whom he was\njealous, had been with her. Mrs. Joan said she knew of no Smack. \"You do,\"\nsays the Thing, \"and it is he that tells you all these things, but I will\ncurse him for it.\" \"Do your worst to me or him, I care not for you,\" says\nshe. \"Farewel,\" says the Thing. \"Do you bid me farewel?\" says she;\n\"farewel, and be hanged; and come again when you are sent for.\" So then\nshe came out of her fit. The next day a strange gentleman coming, Mrs.\nElizabeth passed off into one of her wild states, and Mr. Throckmorton,\n\"to show the gentleman a wonder,\" sent for young Agnes, and made her say\nafter him, \"I charge thee, thou Devil, as I love thee, and have Authority\nover thee, and am a Witch, and guilty of this matter, that thou suffer\nthis Child to be well at this present.\" Upon which Mrs. Elizabeth wiped\nher eyes, and was perfectly well; and the wretched young girl was by so\nmany steps nearer to her doom. The next day was a grand field-day for\nMrs. Joan. Her spirits were in admirable disorder. Mr. Smack came from\nfighting with Pluck about her, for they were both in love with her, and\nhad fought with great cowl staves last night in old dame's back yard, and\nSmack had broken Pluck's head, for which Mrs. Joan was not at all\nthankful, but, when he looked for a little loving word of gratitude,\nanswered, scornfully, that she wished Pluck had broke his neck also, and\nso bid him go and be hanged for she would have nought to do with him.\nPresently in came Mr. Pluck, hanging down his broken head and looking very\nsheepish, but jealous and angry with Smack who seemed to have the best\nchance of them all with the young lady. Another day it was Catch who came\nin limping, with a broken leg got from the redoubtable Smack; but when\nMrs. Joan tried to break his other leg with a stick she had in her\nhand--for she was a very scornful young lady to them--she could not; for\never as she struck at him he leaped over the stick, \"just like a\nJack-an-apes,\" as she said. Mr. Blew's turn came next. He appeared before\nher at supper with his arm in a sling: Smack had broken it. So Smack broke\nPluck's head, Catch's leg, and Blew's arm, and then came himself to tell\nher that he would beat them all again, with the help of his cousin another\nSmack, and one Hardname, whose \"Name standeth upon eight Letters, and\nevery Letter standeth for a Word, but what his Name is otherwise we know\nnot.\" Then Smack and she conversed about the propriety of \"scratching\"\nAgnes Samuel; and it was agreed between them that she should not scratch\nher then, because her face would be healed by the Assizes, but just before\nthat time when all the world might see the marks.\n\nAnd now began a scene of painful brutality. Whenever the children fell\ninto their fits, they would only consent to be got out of them by Agnes'\nrepeating a form of conjuration, in which she acknowledged herself to be a\nwitch and guilty of their disease, commanding the devil, whom she had sent\ninto them, to leave them. Then they came round, and were well until\nstrangers called, when they invariably went off into their fits--which we\ncan quite well understand--or until they got tired of the monotony of\nhealth. The most terrible threats were held out against Nan Samuel; and\neach child talked to its particular spirit with passion and fury of\nscratching her. It came at last: the little diabolical tempers which rose\nhigher and higher with each fresh indulgence, getting weary of only fits\nand muttered communications with spirits and the thirst for blood grew\ninto a frenzy. One of the younger children, Mrs. Mary, one day fell into a\n\"very troublesome Fit,\" which held her half an hour, and at the last,\ngrowing better, she said, \"Is it true? Do you say this is the day I must\nscratch the young Witch? I am glad of it; I will pay her home both for\nmyself and Sisters.\" The young Pickering men who were standing by, hearing\nthis, sent for Agnes to come into the room; when she came in the child\ncried out, \"Art thou come, thou young Witch, who hath done all this\nmischief?\" At which Agnes seemed surprised, this being the first time Mrs.\nMary had abused her. Then one of the company told her to take Mary in her\narms, and carry her down stairs; but she had no sooner got hold of her\nthan the child fell to scratching her head and face with eager fierceness;\nthe poor girl standing still and holding down her head, not defending\nherself but only crying out pitifully, while the child scratched on her\nface a broad and bleeding wound. When she was out of breath and thus\nforced to leave off, she cried and said \"she was sorry for her cruelty,\nbut the Thing made her do it, so that she could not help herself.\" Another\nday it was another of them who fell upon the maid, she not defending\nherself or resenting, but \"crying out sadly, desiring the Lord to pitty\nher.\" Then they abused her, saying, \"Thy Mother is a Witch, thy Father is\na Witch, and thou art a Witch, and the worst of all;\" and then they\nclamoured for the father, the old Turk, and would have him in to scratch\nhim too. Just at that moment old Samuel chanced to come in to see his\ndaughter--for he knew what kind of treatment she had to undergo--when a\ngreat hubbub arose. The children cried out against him, and--wretched\nyoung hypocrites!--exhorted him in the godliest terms to confess and\nrepent; called him witch and naughty man and all the rest of the injuries\nthen current; while he retorted fiercely and rudely, and told one of the\nlittle baggages she lied--as she did. But Mr. Throckmorton got angry, and\nwould not let him go till he had pronounced the same conjuration as that\nby which his poor daughter was forced to \"fyle\" herself; and when he had\nsaid the words, the child came out of her fit, and acted amazement and\nshame to the life. So it went on: the children having their fits, being\nvisited by their spirits, of whom there were nine now afloat--three\nSmacks, Pluck, Blew, Catch, White, Callicot, and Hardname--and every day\nor so scratching poor Nan till her face and back and hands were one mass\nof scars and wounds. And then the Assize time came, and the three\nSamuels--father, mother, and daughter--were put upon their trial for\nbewitching Lady Cromwell to death, and tormenting Mrs. Joan Throckmorton\nand her sisters. There could be no mistake about it now, for not only had\nthey all three convicted themselves by their own confessions in the\nconjuration which they had been obliged to repeat, but even before the\njudge, Mrs. Jane played off the like trick, falling into a terrible fit\nwhich only old Samuel could get her out of by repeating the charm. At\nfirst he was obstinate and sturdily refused to say the words; but on the\njudge telling him that he should be brought in guilty if he did not, he\nconsented, and had no sooner said--\"As I am a witch, and did consent to\nthe death of the Lady Cromwell, so I charge thee, Devil, to suffer Mrs.\nJane to come out of her Fit at this present\"--than Mrs. Jane wiped her\neyes, looked round her, and said, \"O Lord father where am I?\" pretending\nto be quite amazed at her position. No hand is wanting when there is\nstoning to be done. Now that the Samuels were fairly convicted of\nwitchcraft in one instance, witnesses came forward to prove them guilty of\nthe like in others. It was remembered how certain persons had died who had\noffended the old dame; how others had lost their cows and whole farm stock\nin consequence of giving her rough language; how, even since she had been\nin gaol, she had bewitched to his death one of the turnkeys who had\nchained her to a bedpost, and had cruelly afflicted the gaoler's own son,\nso that he could not be recovered but by \"scratching\" her; with the\nfurther proof that when the grand jury returned a true bill, \"billa vera,\"\nagainst them, old father Samuel burst out passionately to her with, \"A\nplague of God light on thee, for thou art she that has brought us all to\nthis, and we may thank thee for it.\" So the judge, \"after good divine\ncounsel given to them, proceeded to Judgment, which was to death.\" But the\npoor old woman set up a plea of being with child, though she was near\nfourscore years of age; at which all the court laughed, and she herself\nmost of all, thinking it might save her. Some one standing near to Agnes\ncounselled her to try the like plea; but the brave young girl, who had\nsomething of her father's spirit in her, indignantly refused. \"No,\" said\nAgnes, with the gallows straight before her, and this desperate plea\nperhaps able to save her--\"no; it shall never be said that I was both\nWitch and ----.\" She died with the same haughty courage maintained to the\nlast: but old mother Samuel maundered through a vast number of\nconfessions--implicated her husband--confessed to her spirits--but with\none affecting touch of nature, through all her drivel and imbecility\nsteadily refused to criminate her daughter. No, her Nan was no witch; she\nwas clear and pure before God and towards man; and neither force nor\ncajolery could make her forswear that bit of loving truth.\n\nWhen those three helpless wretches were fairly dead, the children, upon\nwhose young souls lay the ineffaceable stain of Murder, and whose first\nsteps in life had been through innocent blood, gave up the game and\npronounced themselves cured: so we hear no more of their fits or their\nspirits, or Mrs. Joan's ghostly lovers fighting with cowl staves and\nbreaking each other's heads out of jealousy and revenge: and the last\nrecord of the case is, that Sir Henry Cromwell left an annual sum of forty\nshillings to provide for a yearly sermon against witchcraft, to be\npreached at Huntingdon by a B.D. or D.D. member of Queen's College,\nCambridge. How terrible to think that three human lives were sacrificed\nfor such wild and wilful nonsense, and that sane and thoughtful and\nnoble-minded people of this present day walk on the way towards the same\nfaith! Better by far the most chill and desolate scepticism, which at\nleast will light no Smithfield fires for any forms of creed or monstrous\nimaginings of superstition, than beliefs which can only be expressed and\nmaintained by blood, and the culmination of which is in the suffering and\ndestruction of all dissentients.\n\n\nTHE MAN OF HOPE AND THE DEVIL.[108]\n\nA young lawyer, a Mr. Darrel, had a call to the ministry. He was made\naware of this by the extraordinary sluggishness that came upon him when he\nturned to open a law book; so, as preaching puritanical sermons extempore\nwas less toilsome and cost less study than learning the intricacies of the\nCodex Anglicanus, he became converted to extreme doctrines, and was\nprincipally regarded as a Man of Hope, skilful in casting out devils and\nmarvellously apt at discovering witchcraft. His first essay at this work\nwas in 1587 with Katherine Green, a young girl of seventeen, who had some\nhysterical affection which caused her to swell to an enormous size and led\nher to fancies and delusions, as, that she saw shapes and apparitions, and\na young child without feet or legs looking at her from out a well. She\nalso had fits, which she afterwards confessed were simulated in order to\nmake her father-in-law, who was generally exceedingly severe with her,\nmore kind and pliable: but Mr. Darrel said they were the fits of\npossession, and, as a proof, cast eight devils out of her; specially one\nsturdy devil, called Middlecub, which had been sent into her by Margaret\nRoper. Mr. Darrel at once seized Margaret Roper, accusing her of this\nMiddlecub imp, and sending her off to the magistrate, Mr. Fouliamb; and in\nthe meanwhile Katherine suffered herself to be repossessed, having been\nimprudent enough to talk with the devil in the likeness of a handsome\nyoung man who met her in the lanes, where he entertained her with\npropositions of marriage, and gave her some bread to eat. Mr. Fouliamb\nhappened to be a man of sense, and discharged Margaret Roper, at the same\ntime threatening to send Darrel to prison in her stead if he took on\nhimself to calumniate honest folk without cause. This rebuff cooled the\nyoung lawyer parson's ardour a little; but in 1594 the Starkies of\nLancashire announced themselves possessed, and Mr. Darrel must needs go\ndown to vex the foul fiend that had gotten them. For he was so holy a man\nthat the devils hated him mightily, being sorely vexed in his presence,\nand crying out, \"Now he is gone; now he is gone; now blacke coate is\ngone,\" as soon as he quitted them, wearied with his wrestling. The story\nof the Starkies was this:--\n\nAnne, aged nine, and John, of ten, were taken with \"dumpish heavie\ncountenances,\" and fearful startings of their bodies, loud shouting fits,\nand convulsions. The father went to Hartley, a known conjuror, who came to\ntheir aid with popish charms and certain herbs; and so stilled them for a\nyear and a half. But when he \"fained as thought he would haue gone into\nanother countrey,\" the children fell ill again, and Mr. Starkie thought it\nbest to secure the perpetual services of the conjuror by a fee of forty\nshillings yearly. But Hartley wanted more, and thereupon began a quarrel\nwhich ended in the Possession of the children, of three scholars living at\nthe Starkies, of Margaret Byron, and lastly of Hartley himself. Now\nHartley had a devil, and whomsoever he kissed he inoculated with this\ndevil and breathed it into them. And as he was always kissing some\none--John for love often, the little wenches in jest, to Margaret Hardman\n\"promising a thraue of kisses,\" \"wrestling with Johan Smyth, a maid, to\nkiss her\"--he had given the devil in rich proportion all through the\nStarkies' house, and only Mr. Darrel could exorcise him. The possessed\nleaped about like goats, and crawled on all fours like beasts, and barked\nlike dogs, and had communications from a white dove, and saw horned devils\nunder the beds, and had visions of big black dogs with monstrous tails and\nbound with chains, and huge black cats and big mice that knocked them down\nat a blow, and left them speechless, cold, and dead. And then they took to\n\"slossinge up their meat like greedy dogges or hogges,\" and they made the\nsame noises as a broken-winded horse; and they howled and shrieked; and\none of them, Jane Ashton the servant aged thirty, fell foul of Edmund\nHartley for all his kisses and promises of marriage; and they \"yelled and\nwhupped;\" and there was in very truth the devil to pay in that horrible\nhouse when Mr. More and Mr. Darrel went to exorcise the fiends and restore\nthe possessed to their senses. After some days of prayer, and of fighting\nwith the devil who would cry out when Mr. Darrel was preaching, \"Bible\nbable, he will never have done prating, prittle prattle;\" and \"I must goe,\nI must away; I cannot tarrie; whither shall I goe? I am hot, I am too hot,\nI will not dye!\" and such like, six of them were delivered, and visibly\nand bodily dispossessed. With one, Mary Byron, the devil came up from her\nstomach to her breast, then to her throat, when it gave her \"a sore lug,\"\nwhilst a mist dazzled her eyes. Then she felt it go out of her mouth,\nleaving behind it a sore throat and a filthy smell, and it was in the\nlikeness of a crow's head, and it sat in a corner of the parlour in the\ndark; but suddenly flashing out all a fire it flew out of the window, and\nthe whole place was in a blaze, according to her imagination. John Starkie\nlost his in the shape of a man with a humpback and very ill-favoured, who,\nwhen he had gone out wished much to re-enter, but Master John withstood\nhim, and had the best of it. He was like a \"foule ugly man with a white\nbeard and a 'bulch' on his back.\" The same tale had little Ellin Holland\nand Anne Starkie to tell, all save the white beard. Elinor Hardman lost\nhers as an urchin, but presently returning through a little hole in the\nparlour, he offered her gold and silver in any quantity if she would let\nhim enter again, and when she resisted he threatened to cast her into the\nfire and the pit, and to break her neck; all of which threats being\nunheeded by the little maid of ten, he left her again in his old form of\n\"urchin.\" The next day, and the next, all these devils came again, seeking\nto repossess the children. They came in various forms--as a black raven; a\nblack boy, with his head bigger than his body; a black rough dog with a\nfirebrand in his mouth; five white doves; a brave fellow like a wooer; two\nlittle whelps that played on the table, and ran into a dish of butter; an\nape; a bear with fire in his mouth; a haystack--all, haystack as well as\nthe rest, promising them bags of gold and silver if they might come into\nthem again, but threatening to break their necks and their backs, and\nthrow them into the pit and the fire, and out of the window, if denied.\nBut Messrs. More and Darrel were instant in prayer, and successfully\nwithstood them. The children were pronounced finally dispossessed: all\nsave Jane Ashton, who went away to a popish family and became popish\nherself; wherefore the devil recovered her, says Mr. Darrel, and her last\nstate was worse than her first. As for Edmund Hartley, he was hanged at\nLancaster, chiefly through Mr. Darrel's exertions.\n\nIn 1596 Mr. Darrel had more work. Thomas Darling, \"the Boy of Burton,\" had\noffended old Alice Goodridge; so Alice possessed him, and Mr. Darrel was\nsent for the undoing. His chief weapon in this case was a ranting tract\ncalled \"The Enemie of Securitie,\" which the devil could not abide any how,\nand during the reading of which he would cry out--through the earthly\nmedium of the Boy of Burton--\"Radulphus, Belzebub can doe no good, his\nhead is stricken off with a word.\"--\"We cannot prevaile (against the\nchurch and Mr. Darrel), for they will not be holpen by witches. Brother\nRadulphus, we cannot prevaile; let us go to our mistress and torment her;\nI have had a draught of her blood to-day.\" \"Againe--'There is a woman\nearnest at prayer, get her away.' 'Nay,' quoth John Alsop (a man that was\npresent), with a loude voice, 'we cannot spare her.' Thus the Boy graced\nMistress Wightman, his aunt. And againe, 'Brother Glassop (another devil),\nwe cannot prevaile, his faith is soe strong. And they fast and pray, and a\npreacher prayeth as fast as they.'\" And \"I bayted my hooke often, and at\nlast I catcht him. Heere I was before, and heere I am againe, and heere I\nmust stay, though it be but for a short tyme. I leade them to drink,\ncarouse, and quaffe. I make them to sweare. I have leave given mee to doe\nwhat I will for a time. What is wightier than a Kinge in his owne lande? A\nKing I am, in whome I raigne, heere I am King for a time.\" With much more\nof the same kind. In the mean time old Alice Goodridge, who had wrought\nall this mischief, died in prison, while her devilish spirit or imp,\nMinnie, whom she had sent into the boy, racketed and rioted in his soul\nand body, and Mr. Darrel wrestled against him with prayer and \"the Enemie\nof Securitie.\" He finally prevailed, and after Thomas Darling had been\npossessed and dispossessed and repossessed again, delivered him from\nRadulphus and Minnie and Glassop and Beelzebub, and so had leisure to turn\nto some one else when needed.\n\nThat some one else was soon found; for there was Will Somers, a lad living\nwith Mr. Brakenbury at Ashby-de-la-Zouch during the time of Mr. Darrel's\nministry there, who was now at Nottingham, and one of the most\naccomplished demoniacs of the day. Nothing would satisfy Will but that Mr.\nDarrel should be sent for to cast the devil out of him. He had known of\nhis prowess with Katherine Wright, and the Starkies, and the Boy of\nBurton, and why should he not glorify God and the Puritans as well in\nNottingham as in Lancashire? Accordingly, that gentleman was sent for on\nthe 5th of November, 1597, and the farce began. Before Mr. Darrel even saw\nthe lad he said he was possessed, and he said the same thing to\nhimself--counterfeiting or illness being of course put out of court; and\nhe described to the bystanders in what shape the devil would appear when\ndriven out of the lad--for he would make himself visible to them if they\nhad but faith and courage and patience to see the end, and if they would\nnot be terrified when the boy \"scriehed or cryed aloude in a strange and\nsupernaturall manner; sometimes roaring fearfullye lyke a beare, and\ncrying like a swyne.\" The shapes, then, in which he would go were\nthese--\"a Mouse, a Man with a Hunch-back higher than his Head, an ugly Man\nwith a white Beard, a Crow's Head round, a great Breath, ugly like a Toad,\nan Urchin, &c.\" And he told them, also in the lad's hearing, of what other\npossessed persons had done: how they had cast themselves into fire or\nwater, gnashed with their teeth, writhed with their necks, and drawn their\nmouths awry, foaming. Then he said that Will Somers was afflicted for the\nsins of Nottingham, and God had made even the devil a preacher to deter\nthem from them; whereat Will acted by signs all the sins of Nottingham,\nand Mr. Darrel explained them to the people as he went on. With such a\nmaster as this, it was no difficult matter for the pupil to succeed. Two\nsermons were preached on his behalf. During Mr. Aldred's he lay still,\nexcepting a little struggle now and then: this was to show that Mr. Aldred\nwas not powerful as a Man of God. But when Mr. Darrel began, he roused\nhimself up, and on his describing the fourteen signs of Possession one\nafter the other, acted them all to the life as he told them off. \"He tore;\nhe foamed; he wallowed; his Face was drawn awry; his Eyes would stare and\nhis Tongue hang out; he had a Swelling would seem to run from his Forehead\ndown by his Ear and Throat, and through his Belly and Thighs, to the Calf\nof his Legs; he would speak with his Mouth scarce moving; and when they\nlooked his Tongue would seem drawn down his Throat; he would try to cast\nhimself into the Fire and Water; he would seem heavy that they could not\nlift him, and his Joints stiff that they could not bend them.\" And when\nMr. Darrel further exhorted them all to stand firm, and they would see the\nglory of God in the dispossession, he cried and rended and laid as if\ndead, just in the order which the preacher desired. Then he rose up cured\nand exorcised; but Mr. Darrel told him he might be possessed again, and he\nmust be very careful and watchful. Of course he was possessed again. He\nhad been too great a gainer by the first trial not to venture on a second.\nIf he had been bought off his apprenticeship, had large presents of\nclothes, and kept in idleness at his father-in-law's, for a first trial,\nwhat might not fall from the skies on this second occasion? So Will began\nto talk wildly of a black dog that haunted him, offering him gold and\nginger, and of the devil who came with six more shapes to torment\nhim--namely, as a cock, a crane, a snake, an angel, a toad, a newt, a set\nof viols, and dancers, and that he stood before him \"with a foure-forked\ncappe on his heade;\" sometimes, too, making noises and motions like whelps\nor \"kitlings.\" Fourteen persons were thrown into prison, accused of\nbewitching Master Will, of whom the most celebrated was Millicent Horslie,\nwhom no human skill could have saved had not the impostor betrayed himself\nin time. For Will Somers had a revelation concerning her, which must be\ntold in the words of his \"confession,\" as reported by Harsnet:--\"Maister\nDarrel told my father-in-law and others in my hearing, that he, the said\nMaister Darrel, Maister Aldred, and some others, were going to carrie\nMillicent Horsley (that present morning) to the said Maister Perkins, to\nbe examined. Whereupon, I gessing by the time of Maister Darrel's\ndeparture, and by the distance of the way, and of the likelihood that she\nwoulde deny herselfe to bee a witche, said to those that were present by\nmee in one of my fittes, about eleven of the clocke, that Millicent\nHorsley was in examining, and that she denyed herselfe to be a witch.\"\nThis coincidence was too striking an instance of supernatural power to be\noverlooked. Mr. Darrel worked on it as one of the most marvellous proofs\nof the boy's undeniable possession, and Millicent Horsley lay in gaol,\ntogether with thirteen others, to satisfy the craft of one and the\ncredulity of the other, and to prove the whole age sick, diseased, and\nenfeebled by superstition.\n\nWill's sister, Mary Cowper, seeing how pleasant and profitable a thing it\nwas to be bewitched, followed in her brother's steps, and cried out on\nAlice Freeman, a poor old creature who thought to escape by saying she was\nwith child. The plea was not a very safe one, for Mr. Darrel told her if\nshe was, it was by the devil, and she had better have held her tongue. But\nby this time the parish authorities got frightened, and interfered;\nsending Will off to the workhouse, where he still continued his fits and\nantics, until a rough fellow there, one John Shepheard, told him that if\nhe \"did not leave and rise up he would set such a pair of Knip-knaps upon\nhim as should make him rue it\"--when he gathered himself up and confessed\nhis imposture. Mr. Darrel would have none of this recantation. He said he\nwas more possessed than ever, and that it was the devil within him that\nmade him to lie. So Will wrote the following letter, as a kind of quietus\nto his zealous friend:--\n\n\"Mr. Darrel, my hearty Commendations unto you. This is to desire you that\nyou would let me be at quiet: For whereas you said that I was Possessed, I\nwas not; and for those Tricks that I did before you came, was through\nFolks Speeches that came to me: And those that I did since, was through\nyour Speeches, and others. For as you said I could not hear, I did hear\nall Things that were done in the House, and all Things that I did were\ncounterfeit; And I pray you to let it pass; for the more you meddle in\nit, the more discredit it will be for you: And I pray God, and you, and\nall the World to forgive me.\"\n\nEven this was not enough. Will was bribed over by the promise of a good\nplace in a gentleman's house if he would be properly demoniac again; and\nconsenting thereto, played again his old tricks; but the Lord Chief\nJustice, Sir Edmund Anderson, not believing a word of it all, encouraged\nhim kindly to tell the truth, and not be afraid; so Will started up and\nwas perfectly well, and for the greater satisfaction of the gentlefolks\nshowed them how he worked.\n\nAnd to prove how small was the value of evidence in those days, one\nRichard Mee--who was held to have deposed \"That he had seen William Somers\nturn his Face directly backward, not moving his Body, and that his Eyes\nwere as great as Beasts' Eyes, and that his Tongue would be thrust out of\nhis Head to the bigness of a Calve's Tongue\" when re-examined explained\nhimself thus:--\"My Meaning was that he turned his Face a good Way towards\nhis Shoulder, and that his Eyes were something gogling; and by reason that\nit was Candle-light when I saw his Tongue thrust out, and by reason of my\nConceit of the Strangeness of Somers's Troubles, it seemed somewhat bigger\nthan, if Somers had been well, I should have thought it to have been.\"\nAgain, a black dog which Will had cried out on as the devil, and which, by\nreason of his words had actually been taken for the devil with eyes\nglaring like fire, come back to repossess him, turned out to be nothing\nbut a spurrier's dog crouching in the background of the darkening chamber.\nSo, when carefully sifted, would the evidence of all such-like marvels\nprove to be merest chaff scattered on the ground; and yet, a century\nafter, Mr. Richard Boulton is found repeating the story of Will Somers'\npossession as if it had never been disproved; and there are some even now\nliving who would cite it as a case of proved spiritualism. Mr. Darrel was\ndegraded from the ministry, and committed to close prison: rather harsh\nmeasures simply because he had more faith and a little less discretion\nthan his neighbours.\n\n\nGIFFARD'S ANECDOTES.[109]\n\nGeorge Giffard, \"minister of God's word in Maldon,\" put forth a little\nbook in 1603, containing a number of witch stories and anecdotes, without\nnames, dates, or places, yet written in a manner and style evidently\nproving their reliability, and all seeming to have come within his own\npersonal knowledge as believed in by others. One, whom he knew, under the\nassumed name of one of his characters was constantly troubled by a hare,\nwhich his conscience accused him was a witch \"she stared at him so;\" and\nsometimes an ugly weasel would run through his yard; and sometimes a foul\nbig cat sit upon his barn, for which he had no manner of liking; and an\nold woman of the place, whom he had been as careful to please as if she\nhad been his mother, still frowned upon him to his exceeding discomfort;\nand a hog which overnight had eaten his meat with his fellows, quite\nhearty and well, in the morning was stark dead; and five or six hens died\ntoo, in a manner no one could understand, save by the power of witchcraft.\nAnd once another of his friends went to a cunning man who lived twenty\nmiles off, complaining of his farm-yard losses: so the cunning man took a\nglass, and bidding him look in it, showed him a certain suspected witch\ntherein, telling him that she had three or four imps, \"some call them\npuckrels,\" one of which was like a gray cat, another like a weasel, a\nthird like a mouse. There was also another cunning person--a woman--to\nwhom a father took a child that had long been lame and pained. The woman\ntold the man he had an ill neighbour, and that the child was forespoken.\n\"Marie, if he would go home and bring her some of the clothes which the\nchild lay in all night, she would tell him certainely.\" The father went\nhome and did as he was bid, when the wise woman informed him that the girl\nwas bewitched, counselled him what to do, and the \"girle is well at this\nday, and a pretie quicke girle,\" says George Giffard, with a sneer at his\nneighbour's easy faith. Another had his wife much troubled; so he, too,\nwent off to a wise woman, who told him that his wife was haunted by a\nfairy. As a counter-charm she was bidden to wear a part of St. John's\nGospel ever about her, against which the fairies could not stand, so fled.\nAnother good wife could not make her butter come: it was bewitched, and\nfor a whole week obstinately disregarded the laws of butter nature:\nwherefore they heated a spit, red hot, and thrust it into the cream--and\nit came at once. The next morning the good wife met the suspected\nwitch--\"the old filth,\" she calls her with more emphasis than euphony.\n\"Lord, how sowerly she looked upon me, and mumbled as she went! Ah, quoth\nshe, you have an honest man to your husband. I hear how he doth use me!\"\nThe wife longed to scratch the witch, her stomach rose so against her, but\nshe was afraid she would prove the stronger, for she was \"a lustie old\nquean,\" and let her pass unmolested.\n\nIn a certain village a wealthy man was suddenly reduced to comparative\npoverty by extraordinary losses in his farm; he himself fell ill, and his\nchild of seven years of age sickened and died. He sent to the same wise\nwoman at R. H., who told him that he was bewitched, and moreover, that\nthere were three witches and one wizard in the town where he lived. The\nforespoken farmer caused the one whom he most suspected to be seized and\nexamined, who at last confessed, after making \"much ado,\" and taking up\nthe time of the worshipful justice to no good. She said that she had three\nimps, a cat Lightfoot, a toad Lunch, a weasel Makeshift. Lightfoot had\nbeen given to her sixteen years ago, by one Mother Barlie of W. in return\nfor an oven cake; the toad and the weasel came of their own accord and\noffered their services gratuitously. The cat killed kine, the weasel\nkilled horses, and the toad plagued men; so the poor old creature was sent\nto the county gaol, where she died before the assizes. Another woman, old\nMother W. of Great T., had an imp like a weasel. \"She was offended highly\nwith one H. M.; home she went, and called forth her spirit, which lay in a\npot of woole under her bed: she willed him to go plague the man: he\ninquired what she would give him, and he would kill H. M. She said she\nwould give him a cocke, which she did, and he went, and the man fell sicke\nwith a greate paine in his belly, languished and died; the witch was\narraigned, condemned, and hanged, and did confesse all this.\"\n\nSeven miles hence, at W. B., a man in good health suddenly fell sick,\npined for half a year, and then died. His wife, suspecting evil doings,\nwent to a cunning woman, who showed her in a glass the likeness of the\nwitch who had destroyed him, wearing an old red cap with corners, such as\nwomen were used to wear. The old red-capped woman was taken, tried, soon\nbrought to confess to the bewitching of the man, and executed. But before\nshe died she told them all, how that she had a spirit in the likeness of a\nyellow dun cat, which came to her one night as she sat by the fire nursing\nangry thoughts against a neighbour with whom she had fallen out. She was\nfrightened, she said, but the cat bid her not be afraid, for it had served\nan old dame, that was now dead, for five years down in Kent, and would\nserve her now, an she would. The woman took the cat at its word, and by it\nkilled many a cow and hog of those who angered her: at last she sent it to\nthis man, and the cat killed him. She was hanged, and the yellow dun imp\nwas never more seen.\n\nMr. Giffard knew a church which had been robbed of its communion service:\na wise man told the churchwardens what to do and the thief would surely\nride in all haste to confess. As it proved. Another case was that of a\nchild taken piteously ill. Under the cunning man's advice the father burnt\nits clothes, and while they were burning, the witch came running in,\ngrievously pained. The child was well within two days. A butcher had a\nson, John, terribly afflicted with sores. Salves and plasters would not\nheal him; but when a cunning man showed him in a glass the form of the\nwitch who had laid this harmful thing upon him, and they had cut off some\nof the boy's hair and burnt it, the old woman came to the house in all\nspeed, crying, \"John, John, scratch me!\" So John scratched her till the\nblood came, and his sores all healed of themselves, without salve or\nplaster helping. A woman had blear eyes that were watery; a knave lodging\nat the house wrote a charm which she was always to wear about her neck,\nand never lose or look at. She wore her charm, and her eyes got quite\nwell; but one day, prompted by Eve's sin, she opened the packet, and found\na piece of paper on which was written, in the German tongue, \"The devil\nplucke out thine eyes and fill their holes with dirt.\" Terrified at the\nunholy nature of her cure, the woman flung the charm away, and her eyes\nimmediately became bleared and watery as before.[110] A woman suspected of\nwitchcraft was taken in hand by a gentleman, who undertook to induce her\nto confess. She was very stiff about the matter, and denied all dealings\nwith the devil in any way. Suddenly, at some distance from them, appeared\na weasel or a lobster, looking straight at them. \"Look!\" said the\ngentleman, \"yonder same is thy spirit!\" \"Oh, master,\" said she, \"that is a\nvermine. There be many of them everywhere.\" But as they went towards it,\nthe weasel or lobster vanished clean out of sight. \"Surely,\" said the\ngentleman, \"it is thy spirit.\" But still she denied, \"and with that her\nmouth was drawn all awrie.\" When a little further pressed she allowed all,\nand the gentleman, being no justice, sent her home, exhorting her to go to\na magistrate and ease her soul by confession. As she got home she was met\nby another witch who came violently enraged against her. \"Ah, thou beast!\nwhat hast thou done? thou hast bewrayed us all!\" she said. \"What remedy\nnow?\" said she. \"What remedy?\" saith the other, \"send thy spirit and touch\nhim.\" At that moment the gentleman felt, as it were, a flash of fire about\nhim; but he lifted his hat and prayed, and the spirit came back and said\nit could do him no hurt, because he had faith. So then they sent it\nagainst his child, and the child was taken ill with great pain and died.\nThe witches confessed and were hanged. Another witch had her spirit hidden\nin the boll of a tree; and there she held long conversations with this\nghastly Ariel, he answering in a hollow ghoustie voice, as might be\nexpected. When any offended her, she would go to the tree and release her\nimp to do them harm. She had killed many hogs, horses, and the like by\nthis spirit; but at last justice got hold of her with its mailed hand and\nkilled her. Another friend of Giffard's, also under the disguise of one of\nhis characters, was twice on a jury, when certain old women were charged\nwith harming their neighbours' goods and lives. There was no proof in\neither case, and the old women protested their innocence passionately; but\nthe jury brought them in guilty, which was perfectly logical and right\naccording to their notions of the law of that God who suffers the devil to\ntorment the sons of men, and to delude old women into the possession of\nunholy powers. What, indeed, could be done with them when, by a look or a\nword, they could afflict even unto death the most beautiful of God's\ncreatures, and send the devil to inhabit the purest of souls? The mischief\nlay in the fundamental creed, not so much in the application of it,\nterrible and bloody as it was; and it is against this creed, that I would\nmost earnestly insist. It must be remembered, too, that Giffard writes\nironically, and brings together all these cases as evidence of the\nfoolishness and wickedness of the faith.\n\n\nTHE POSSESSED MAID OF THAMES STREET.[111]\n\nIn 1603, Mary Glover, a merchant's daughter in Thames Street, gave herself\nout as bewitched, and said that Mother Jackson had done it. A little\nglimmering of reason made the physician Dr. Boncraft tell the Lord Chief\nJustice Anderson that Mother Jackson was wrongfully accused, and the girl\nwas counterfeiting. So the Lord Chief Justice caused the Recorder of\nLondon, Sir John Crook, have her to him in his chambers in the Temple. The\nmaid went with her mother and some neighbours, and in an hour's time came\nMother Jackson, disguised like a country market woman, with a muffler\nhiding her face, an old hat, and a short cloak bespattered with mire. As\nsoon as she entered the maid fell backward on the floor; \"her Eyes drawn\ninto her Head, her Tongue toward her Throat, her Mouth drawn up to her\nEar, her Bodie became stiff and senseless, Her Lips being shut closs a\nplain and audible Voice came out from her Nostrils saying 'Hang her, hang\nher.'\" The Recorder, willing to try her, called for a candle at which to\nlight a sheet of paper, then held the burning paper to her hand till a\nblister came, rising and breaking and the water running down on the floor.\nBut still the maid lay as if dead, with the Voice coming out of her\nNostrils, saying, \"Hang her, hang her.\" Not satisfied with the trial of\nburning, the Recorder got a long pin, which he made hot and thrust up her\nnostrils to see if she would \"neese,\" wink, bend her brows, or stir her\nhead; but still she lay as before, stiff, senseless, and as one dead. The\nminister, one Lewis Hughes, who tells this story which Sinclair quotes,\ntold the Recorder that he had often prayed with the maid, and that when\nhe concluded with the Lord's Prayer and came to \"but deliver us from all\nevil,\" the maid would be tost and shaken as a mastiff might shake a cur.\nThen the Recorder bade the witch say the Lord's Prayer, but she could not\nsay it: she kept on all right until the clause \"deliver us from evil,\" and\nthis she skipped over; neither would she confess that Jesus Christ was our\nLord in the Articles of the Christian Faith. When Mary was in her fits, if\nthe witch but so much as laid her hand upon her she was tost and shaken\nfearfully. This the Recorder wished to verify: so he bade first one, then\nanother, of the neighbours come forward and touch her; which they did; but\nshe never stirred till Mother Jackson touched her, when she was shaken as\nbefore. Then the Recorder said, \"Lord, have mercy upon the woman!\" for he\nwas now fully convinced; and sent poor old Mother Jackson off to Newgate.\nAs soon as she was sent off the maid came to herself, the voice ceased out\nof her nostrils, and she went home with her mother. Three weeks or more\nafter the witch was condemned, the maid had the same fits, strange and\nfearful to behold, and the Recorder told the minister, and all the\nministers of London, \"that we might be ashamed to see a Child of God in\nthe Claws of the Devil without any hope of deliverance but by such means\nas God had appointed--Fasting and Prayer.\" Then five ministers, all good\nChristians and sound believers, assembled and prayed from morning to\ncandle-light, when Mary suddenly started out of her chair--they crying\n\"Jesus help, Jesus save!\"--and came up to Lewis Hughes, in a state of\nwildness and dismay. As he stood behind her holding her by the arms, she\nlifted both herself and him off the ground, foaming at the mouth and\nstruggling thus all over the chamber; and then her strength gave way, and\nshe fell as if dead, her head hanging down and her limbs, which had been\nso stiff and frozen, now supple and limber. In a short time her eyes came\nback into their place and her tongue came out of her throat, and she\nlooked round and said cheerfully, \"Oh! he is come, he is come! The\nComforter is come! the Comforter is come! I am delivered, I am delivered!\"\nHer father hearing these words wept and said, \"These were her\ngrandfather's words when he was at the stake, the fire crackling about\nhim,\" for he died a martyr to the Reformed Faith in Queen Mary's time.\nThen she prayed and thanked God till her voice was weak, and so the\ncompany separated, and Mary went home. Afterwards she was put with Lewis\nHughes for a year, lest Satan should assault her again, and Mr. John Swan\nwrote the most canting and nauseating book on her \"case\" that ever fanatic\npenned or the duped and the gulled believed. But poor old Mother Jackson\nwas dead: and those who mourned for her, mourned in secret and silence and\nshame.\n\nThere was another case of possession, this same year--Thomas Harrison, the\nBoy of Norwich--chiefly remarkable for having procured such attention from\nthe ecclesiastical authorities that seven persons were formally licensed\nto have private prayers and fasting for his deliverance. But the bishop\nand commissioners who had seen his fits thought him an impostor, so his\ncase died out for want of public support.[112]\n\nAnd now we have the master of kingcraft on the throne, with his mania\nagainst witches, his private vices, and public follies, treacherous,\ncruel, narrow-minded, and cowardly beyond anything that has ever\ndisgraced the English throne before or since. And one of the first trials\nfor witchcraft during his reign was that disgraceful affair in which\nSomerset and his wife, Foreman, Sir Thomas Overbury, and Mrs. Turner were\nall mixed up together.\n\n\nSWEET FATHER FOREMAN.\n\nThat Carr and Lady Essex should have an intrigue together was not so bad,\nbut that Mrs. Turner should have recourse to charms and conjurations, \"to\ninchant the Viscount's affection towards her,\" that \"much time should be\nspent, many words of witchcraft, great cost in making pictures of wax,\ncrosses of silver, and little babies for that use,\" that specially, there\nshould be among the images of wax, one \"very sumptuously apparrelled in\nsilke and sattin, as alsoe another sitting in forme of a naked woman\nspreading and laying forth her haires in a glass,\" was terrible misdoing\nagainst both God and the king. The murder of Sir Thomas Overbury was\nvenial; the intrigue between his favourite and another man's wife was\nvenial too; his own vices were mere kindly flea-bites on his dignity; but\ncharms and conjurations, and my Lady Essex calling that old wizard Foreman\nher \"sweet father\"--this was more than the British Solomon could well\ndigest. So when he had got tired of Carr and wanted to be rid of him, he\nsuddenly remembered sweet Father Foreman, disciple of Dr. Dee, and Mrs.\nTurner, inventor of yellow starch for ruffs and falling bands, and not\nonly smote Somerset straight in the face for his own share, but sent a\nside shaft after him, through his \"creatures.\" Well for himself was it\nthat sweet Father Foreman was dead and buried deep; so there only remained\nMrs. Turner and one or two inferior agents in the matter--just enough to\nkeep the people amused, and satisfy the royal lust for witch blood.\nSomerset came to the block on another count, about as false as the rest;\nand Mrs. Turner swung from the gibbet in her yellow ruff on every plea but\nthe right one, and for any sin but those of her real and actual life.\nAfter her death was found her black scarf full of white crosses: and the\nmould in which Father Foreman had cast his leaden images of women; and\nwritten charms spread out on fair white parchment; and, worst of all, a\nlist of all the ladies who had gone to consult the sorcerer as to how they\nmight gain the love of other lords than their own; which list the Lord\nChief Justice would not read out in court because, said the gossips, his\nown wife's name was the first that caught his eye.\n\n\nTHE WITCHES OF NORTHAMPTONSHIRE.[113]\n\n\"Of poor parentage, and poor education,\" old Agnes Browne had but a sorry\nlife of it in the little town of Gilsborough where she lived. She had one\ndaughter, Joan Vaughan, or Varnham, \"a maide, or at least unmarried,\" says\nthe old black-letter book maliciously; \"as gratious as the mother, and\nboth of them as farre from grace as Heaven from hell;\" which Joan was \"so\nwell brought up vnder her mother's elbow, that she hangd with her for\ncompany vnder her mother's nose.\" It seems that one day, Joan, being in\nthe company of a certain Mistress Belcher, \"a virtuous and godly\nGentlewoman of the same towne of Gilsborough, whether of purpose to giue\noccasion of anger to the saide Mistris Belcher, or but to continue her\nvilde and ordinary custome of behauiour, committed something either in\nspeech or gesture so vnfitting, and vnseeming the nature of womanhood\"\nthat Mistress Belcher's patience could bear with her no longer. She got\nup, beat Joan Vaughan, and \"forced her to avoid the company.\" Joan went\naway muttering that she would be revenged; to which replied Mrs. Belcher\nstoutly, that she feared neither her nor her mother, and bade her do her\nworst. Then Joan went home to her mother, and both together devised such a\npunishment that Mrs. Belcher was griped and gnawed of her body, her mouth\ndrawn all awry, and in such powerful fits that she could scarce be held,\ncrying out incessantly in her fits, \"Here comes Joane Vaughan, away with\nJoane Vaughan!\" till all the world knew that she was bewitched, and that\nold Agnes Browne and her daughter had caused the trouble. Mistress\nBelcher's brother, one Master Avery, hearing of his sister's sickness and\nextremity, came to see her; and when he saw her, was moved to such anguish\nand indignation that he must needs go to the house of the witches to hale\nthem to his sister, that she might draw their blood. But though he twice\nessayed, he was twice arrested by some miraculous agency, spell-bound, and\nunable to move hand or foot; he could not, by any possibility, advance\nbeyond a certain spot, whereby the witches were safe for this time at\nleast, \"the devil, who was standing sentinel,\" being stronger than he.\nWherefore sorrowfully he turned back, and went home to his own place. But\nthese \"imps of the devil\" had longer arms than he, and in a very short\ntime he was as grievously tormented as his sister, his torments enduring\nuntil the witches were arrested and taken to Northampton gaol. When there,\nnothing would satisfy Mistress Belcher and her brother Master Avery but\nthat they should go to the prison and \"scratch\" the witches; which they\ndid, and both recovered of their pains marvellously on the instant.\n\"Howbeit they were no sooner out of sight, but they fell againe into their\nold traunces, and were more violently tormented than before; for when\nMischiefe is once a foote, she grows in short time so headstrong, that she\nis hardly curbed.\" Mistress Belcher and Master Avery returning home from\nNorthampton in a coach, after their godly exercise of drawing blood from\nthese two wretched women, saw suddenly a man and woman riding both upon a\nblack horse. At which Master Avery cried out that either they or their\nhorses should presently miscarry; and he had no sooner spoken than both\ntheir horses fell down dead. Wherefore, for all these crimes, as well as\nfor bewitching a young child to death, Agnes Browne and her daughter Joan\nwere adjudged guilty, and hanged on that 22nd of July, protesting their\ninnocence to the last. And then it came out that about a fortnight before\nher apprehension Agnes Browne, Katherine Gardiner, and Joan Lucas, \"all\nbirds of a winge,\" had been seen riding on a sow's back to a place called\nRavenstrop, to see one Mother Rhoades, an old witch that dwelt there. But\nbefore they got there old Mother Rhoades had died, \"and in her last cast\ncried out that there were three of her old friends comming to see her, but\nthey came too late. Howbeit she would meet with them in another place\nwithin a month after. And thus much concerning Agnes Browne and her\ndaughter Joane Vaughan,\" says the old black-letter book contemptuously.\n\nThe son of witches, Arthur Bill could not control his appointed fate.\nSuspected by the authorities, but without proof, he and his father and\nmother were swum for trial, tied cross bound and flung into the water,\nwhere they floated and did not sink. Arthur was accused of bewitching to\nher death one Martha Aspine, as also of having bewitched sundry cattle;\nand as the parents had a bad name, it was thought best to try them all.\nAfter this trial of the water, Arthur was afraid, says the black-letter\nbook, lest his father should relent and betray him and them all; whereupon\nhe sent for his mother, and both together bewitched a round ball into his\nfather's throat, so that he could not speak a word. When the ball was got\nout, the father proved the principal witness against them. The poor\nmother, who seems to have been a loving, sensitive, downcast woman,\nfainted many times during this terrible period; \"Many times complaining to\nher spirit,\" says the bitter, uncharitable, anonymous author, \"that the\npower of the Law would bee stronger than the power of her art, and that\nshee saw no other likelihood but that shee should be hanged as her Sonne\nwas like to bee: To whom her spirit answered, giuing this sorry comfort,\nthat shee should not bee hanged, but to preuent that shee should cut her\nowne throatt. Shee, hearing this sentence and holding it definitive, in\ngreat agony and horror of minde and conscience fell a rauing, crying out\nthat the irreuocable Iudgement of her death was giuen, and that shee was\ndamned perpetually; cursing and banning the time wherein shee was borne,\nand the houre wherein shee was conceiued.\" A short time after \"shee made\ngood the Deuil's worde, and to preuent the Iustice of the Law, and to\nsaue the hangman a labour, cut her owne throate.\" The poor boy was in\ngreat misery when he heard of his mother's death, and knew now that what\ndespair had done for her, the tyranny of superstition would do for him;\nyet \"he stood out stiffly for his innocence,\" and when found guilty, broke\nout into grievous cries, saying that he had now found the Law to have a\npower above Justice, for that it had condemned an Innocent. At the gallows\nhe said the same thing, refusing to confess to Martha Aspine's murder, and\n\"thus with a dissembling Tongue, and a corrupted conscience, hee ended his\ncourse in this world, with little hope or respect (as it seemed) of the\nworld to come.\" What became of his three familiars, Grissil, Ball, and\nJack, we are not informed, neither of what forms or functions they were,\nnor of what colours or dimensions.\n\nGrievously did Mistress Moulsho offend Ellen Jenkinson, when she caused\nher to be searched for witch-marks, which of course were found; for\nHelen's character was notorious, and there is no smoke without a little\nfire. So Helen, in revenge, played Mistress Moulsho a trick that brought\nherself to the gallows. For \"at that time Mistris Moulsho had a Bucke of\nclothes to be washt out. The next morning, the Mayd, when shee came to\nhang them forth to dry, spyed the Cloathes, but especially Mistris\nMoulsho's Smocke, to bee all bespotted with the pictures of Toades,\nSnakes, and other ougly Creatures, which making her agast, she went\npresently and told her mistris, who, looking on them, smild, saying\nnothing else but this: 'Here are fine Hobgoblins indeede.' And being a\nGentlewoman of a stout courage, went immediately to the house of the sayd\nHellen Ienkinson, and with an angry countenance told her of this matter,\nthreatening her that if her Linnen were not shortly cleered from those\nfoule spots shee would scratch out both her eyes; and so not staying for\nany answere, went home and found her linnen as white as it was at first.\"\nHelen was soon after arraigned for the death of a child, by witchcraft,\nbut this story of Mrs. Moulsho's clothes all bespotted with the figures of\ntoads and snakes stood in the stead of any more rational evidence. When\nfound guilty, the poor creature cried out, \"Woe is me, I now cast away!\"\nAnd when at the place of execution, she \"made no other Confession but\nthis. That shee was guiltlesse, and neuer shewed signe of Contrition for\nwhat was past, nor any sorrow at all, more than did accompany the feare of\ndeath. Thus ended this Woman her miserable life, after shee had lived many\nyeares poore, wretched, scorned, and forsaken of the world.\"\n\nOf Mary Barber, the last of the sad crew hanged at Northampton on those\nbloody assizes, the author gives no special account, but plenty of abuse,\nmixed up with the strangely cruel and immoral morality of the day. He says\nthat \"as shee was of meane Parents, so was she monstrous and hideous both\nin her life and actions. Her education and barbarous Nature neuer\npromising to the world anything but what was rude, violent, and without\nany hope of proportion more than only in the square of uitiousnesse. For\nout of the oblyuion and blindnesse of her seduced senses, she gaue way to\nall the passionate and earthly faculties of the flesh, and followed all\nthe Fantazmas Vanities and Chimeras of her polluted and vnreasonable\ndelights, forsaking the Society of Grace, and growing enamored vpon all\nthe euill that Malice or Frenzy could minister to her vicious desires and\nintendments.\" She was put in prison on the charge of bewitching a man to\ndeath, but \"the prison (which makes men bee fellowes and chambermates with\ntheeves and murtherers) the common guests of such dispised Innes, and\nshould cause the Imprisoned Party (like a Christian Arithmetician) to\nnumber and cast vp the amount of his own Life, neuer put her in minde of\nthe hatefull transgressions shee had committed, and to consider the filth\nand leprosie of her soule, and intreate heaven's mercy for the release\nthereof. Prison put her not in minde of her graue, nor the grates and\nlockes put her in remembrance of hell, which depriued her of the ioy of\nliberty, which shee saw others possesse. The iangling of irons did not put\nher in minde of the chaines wherewith shee should be bound in eternall\ntorments, vnlesse heaven's mercy vnloosed them, nor of the howling terrors\nand gnashing of teeth which in hel euery soule shall receiue for the\nparticular offences committed in this life, without vnfained and hearty\ncontrition. Shee neuer remembered or thought shee must die, or trembled\nfor feare of what should come to her after death. But as her use was\nalwaies knowne to be deuilish, so her death was at last found to be\ndesperate. For shee (and the rest before named) being brought from the\ncommon gaole of Northampton to Northampton Castle, where the Assizes are\nvsually held, were seuerally arraigned and indited for the offences they\nhad formerly committed, but to the inditement they pleaded not guilty.\nPutting therefore their causes to the triall of the Countrey, they were\nfound guilty, and deserved death by the verdit of a credible Iury\nreturned. So without any confession or contrition, like birds of a feather\nthey all held and hangd together for company at Abington gallowes hard by\nNorthampton the two and twintieth day of Iuly last past; Leauing behinde\nthem in prison many others tainted with the same corruption, who without\nmuch mercy and repentance are likely to follow them in the same tract of\nPrecedencie.\"\n\n\nTHE WITCHES OF LANCASHIRE.[114]\n\nIn Pendle Forest, a wild tract of land on the borders of Yorkshire, lived\nan old woman about the age of fourscore, who had been a witch for fifty\nyears, and had brought up her own children, and instructed her\ngrandchildren, to be witches. \"She was a generall agent for the Deuill in\nall these partes;\" her name was Elizabeth Southernes, usually called\nMother Demdike; the date of her arraignment 1612. She was the first tried\nof this celebrated \"coven,\" twenty of whom stood before Sir James Altham\nand Sir Edward Bromley, charged with all the crimes lying in sorcery,\nmagic, and witchcraft. Old Mother Demdike died in prison before her trial,\nbut on her being taken before the magistrate who convicted them all, Roger\nNowell, Esq., she made such a confession as effectually insured her due\nshare of execration, and hedged in the consciences of all who had assailed\nher from any possible pangs of self-reproach or doubt.\n\nAbout fifty years ago, she said, she was returning home from begging,\nwhen, near a stone pit in the Pendle Forest, she met a spirit or devil in\nthe shape of a boy, with one half of his coat brown and the other half\nblack, who said to her, if she would give him her soul, she should have\nall that she might desire. After a little further talk, during which he\ntold her that his name was Tibb, he vanished away, and she saw him no more\nfor this time. For five or six years Mother Demdike never asked any kind\nof help or harm of Tibb, who always came to her at \"daylight gate\"\n(twilight); but one Sabbath morning, she having her little child on her\nknee, and being in a light slumber, Tibb came to her in the likeness of a\nbrown dog, and forced himself on her knee, trying to get blood from under\nher left arm. Mother Demdike awoke sore troubled and amazed, and strove to\nsay, \"Jesus, save my child,\" but could not, neither could she say, \"Jesus,\nsave myself.\" In a short time the brown dog vanished away, and she was\n\"almost starke madde for the space of eight weekes.\" She and Tibb had\nnever done much harm, she said; not even to Richard Baldwin, for all that\nhe had put them off his land, and taken her daughter's day's work at his\nmill without fee or reward, and when she, led by her grandchild Alison\n(for she was quite blind), went to ask for pay, gave them only hard words\nand insolence for their pains, saying, \"he would burn the one, and hang\nthe other,\" and bidding them begone for a couple of witches--and worse.\nShe confessed though, after a little pressing, that at that moment Tibb\ncalled out to her, \"Revenge thee of him!\" to whom she answered, \"Revenge\nthou either of him or his!\" on which he vanished away, and she saw him no\nmore. She would not say what was the vengeance done, or if any. But if she\nwas silent, and not prone to confession, there were others, and those of\nher own blood, not so reticent. Elizabeth Device her daughter, and Alison\nand James and Jennet Device, her grandchildren, testified against her and\neach other in a wonderful manner, and filled up all the blanks in the\nmost masterly and graphic style.\n\nAlison said that her grandmother had seduced her to the service of the\ndevil, by giving her a great black dog as her imp or spirit, with which\ndog she had lamed one John Law, a petit chapman or pedlar, as he was going\nthrough Colnefield with his pack at his back. Alison wanted to buy pins of\nhim, but John Law refused to loose his pack or sell them to her; so Alison\nin a rage called for her black dog, to see if revenge could not do what\nfair words had failed in. When the black dog came he said, \"What wouldst\nthou have me to do with yonder man?\" To whom she answered, \"What canst\nthou do at him?\" and the dog answered again, \"I can lame him.\" \"Lame him,\"\nsays Alison Device; and before the pedlar went forty yards he fell lame.\nWhen questioned, he, on his side, said, that as he was going through\nColnefield he met a big black dog with very fearful fiery eyes, great\nteeth, and a terrible countenance, which looked at him steadily then\npassed away; and immediately after he was bewitched into lameness and\ndeformity. And this took place after having met Alison Device and refused\nto sell her any pins. Then Alison fell to weeping and praying, beseeching\nGod and that worshipful company to pardon her sins. She said further that\nher grandmother had bewitched John Nutter's cow to death, and Richard\nBaldwin's woman-child on account of the quarrel before reported, saying\nthat she would pray for Baldwin himself, \"both still and loud,\" and that\nshe was always after some matter of devilry and enchantment, if not for\nthe bad of others then for the good of herself. For once, Alison got a\npiggin full of blue milk by begging, and when she came to look into it,\nshe found a quarter of a pound of butter there, which was not there\nbefore, and which she verily believed old Mother Demdike had procured by\nher enchantments. Then Alison turned against the rival Hecate, Anne\nWhittle, _alias_ Chattox, between whom and her family raged a deadly feud\nwith Mother Demdike and her family; accusing her of having bewitched her\nfather, John Device, to death, because he had neglected to pay her the\nyearly tax of an aghen dole (eight pounds) of meal, which he had\ncovenanted to give her on consideration that she would not harm him. For\nthey had been robbed, these poor people, of a quarter of a peck of cut\noatmeal and linens worth some twenty shillings, and they had found a coif\nand band belonging to them on Anne Whittle's daughter; so John Device was\nafraid that old Chattox would do them some grievous injury by her\nsorceries if they cried out about it, therefore made that covenant for the\naghen dole of meal, the non-payment of which for one year set Chattox free\nfrom her side of the bargain and cost John's life. She said, too, that\nChattox had bewitched sundry persons and cattle, killing John Nutter's cow\nbecause he, John Nutter, had kicked over her canfull of milk, misliking\nher devilish way of placing two sticks across it; and slaying Anne Nutter\nbecause she laughed and mocked at her; slaying John Morris' child, too, by\na picture of clay--with other misdeeds to be hereafter verified and\nsubstantiated. So Alison Device was hanged, weeping bitterly, and very\npenitent.\n\nJames Device, her brother, testified to meeting a brown dog coming from\nhis grandmother's about a month ago, and to hearing a noise as of a number\nof children shrieking and crying, \"near daylight gate.\" Another time he\nheard a foul yelling as of a multitude of cats, and soon after this there\ncame into his bed a thing like a cat or a hare, and coloured black, which\nlay heavily on him for about an hour. He said that his sister Alison had\nbewitched Bullock's child, and that old Mother Chattox had dug up three\nskulls, and taken out eight teeth, four of which she kept for herself and\ngave four to Mother Demdike; and that Demdike had made a picture of clay\nof Anne Nutter, and had burned it, by which the said Anne had been\nbewitched to death. Also she had bewitched to death one Mitton, because he\nwould not give her a penny; with other iniquities of the same sort. He\nsaid that his mother, Elizabeth Device, had a spirit like a brown dog\ncalled Ball, and that they all met at Malking Tower; all the witches of\nPendle--and they were not a few--going out in their own shapes, and\nfinding foals of different colours ready for their riding when they got\nout: Jennet Preston was the last: when they all vanished. He then\nconfessed, for his own part, that his grandmother Demdike told him not to\neat the communion bread one day when he went to church, but to give it to\nthe first thing he met on the road on his way homewards. He did not obey\nher, but ate the bread as a good Christian should; and on the way he met\nwith a thing like a hare which asked him for the bread; but he said he had\nnot got it; whereupon the hare got very angry and threatened to tear him\nin pieces, but James \"sained\" himself, and the devil vanished. This,\nrepeated in various forms, was about the pith of what James Device\nconfessed, his confession not including any remarkable betrayal of\nhimself, or admission of any practical and positive evil. His young sister\nJennet, a little lassie of nine, supplied the deficiencies. She had\nevidently been suborned, says Wright, and gave evidence enough to have\nhanged half Lancashire. She said that James had sold himself to the devil,\nand that his spirit was a black dog called Dandy, by whom he had bewitched\nmany people to death; and she confirmed what he had said of Jennet\nPreston's spirit, which was a white foal with a black spot in its\nforehead. And then she said that she had seen the witches' meetings, but\nhad taken no part in them; and that on Good Friday they had all dined off\na roasted wether which James had stolen from Christian Swyers; and that\nJohn Bulcocke turned the spit. She said that her mother Elizabeth had\ntaught her two prayers, the one to get drink and the other to cure the\nbewitched. The one to get drink was a very short one, simply--\"Crucifixus,\nhoc signum vitam eternam, Amen;\" but this would bring good drink into the\nhouse in a very strange manner. The other, the prayer to cure the\nbewitched, was longer:--\n\n  \"Vpon Good Friday, I will fast while I may,\n  Vntill I heare them knell,\n  Our Lord's owne Bell,\n  Lord in his messe\n  With his twelve Apostles good,\n  What hath he in his hand?\n  Ligh in[115] Leath[116] wand:\n  What hath he in his other hand?\n  Heauen's doore key.\n  Open, open, Heauen doore keyes,\n  Steck, steck, hell doore.\n  Let Crizum[117] child\n  Go to it Mother mild.\n  What is yonder that casts a light so farrandly?[118]\n  Mine owne deare Sone that's nail'd to the Tree,\n  He is nail'd sore by the heart and hand,\n  And holy harne Panne.[119]\n  Well is that man\n  That Fryday spell can,\n  His Childe to learne\n  A Crosse of Blewe, and another of Red,\n  As good Lord was to the Roode.\n  Gabriel laid him downe to sleepe\n  Vpon the grounde[120] of holy weepe;\n  Good Lord came walking by,\n  Sleep'st thou, wak'st thou, Gabriel?\n  No, Lord, I am sted with stick and stake,\n  That I can neither sleepe nor wake:\n  Rise vp, Gabriel, and goe with me,\n  The stick nor the stake shall neuer deere[121] thee,\n  Sweete Jesus our Lorde. Amen.\"\n\n\nOn such conclusive testimony as this, and for such fearful crimes, James\nDevice was condemned for \"as dangerous and malicious a witch as ever lived\nin these parts of Lancashire, of his time, and spotted with as much\nInnocent bloud as euer any witch of his yeares.\" Poor lad!\n\n\"O Barbarous and inhumane Monster, beyond example; so farre from sensible\nvnderstanding of thy owne miserie as to bring thy owne naturall children\ninto mischiefe and bondage, and thyselfe to be a witnesse vpone the\ngallowes, to see thy owne children, by thy deuillish instructions, hatcht\nvp in villanie and witchcraft, to suffer with thee, euen in the beginning\nof their time, a shamefull and untimely Death!\" These are the words which\nThomas Potts addresses to Elizabeth Device, widow of John the bewitched,\ndaughter to old Demdike the \"rankest hag that ever troubled daylight,\"\nand mother of Alison and James the confessing witches; mother, also, of\nyoung Jennet of nine, their accuser and hers, by whose testimony she was\nmainly condemned. Elizabeth was charged with having bewitched sundry\npeople to death, by means and aid of her spirit, the brown dog Ball,\nspoken of by James; also she had gone to the Sabbath held at Malking\nTower, where they had assembled to consult how they could get old Mother\nDemdike, their leader, out of prison, by killing her gaoler and blowing up\nthe castle, and where they had beef and bacon and roasted mutton--the\nmutton that same wether of Christopher Swyers' of Barley, which James had\nstolen and killed; with other things as damnable and insignificant. So\nElizabeth Device, \"this odious witch, who was branded with a preposterous\nmarke in Nature even from her Birth, which was her left Eye standing lower\nthan the other, the one looking down the other looking up,\" was condemned\nto die because she was poor and ugly, and had a little lying jade for a\ndaughter, who made up fine stories for the gentlefolks.\n\nAnne Whittle, _alias_ Chattox, was next in influence, power, and age to\nMother Demdike, and she began her confession by saying that old Demdike\nhad originally seduced her by giving her the devil in the shape and\nproportion of a man, who got her, body and soul, and sucked on her left\nribs, and was called Fancie. Afterwards she had another spirit like a\nspotted bitch, called Tibbe, who gave them all to eat and to drink, and\nsaid they should have gold and silver as much as they wanted. But they\nnever got the gold and silver at all, and what they ate and drank did not\nsatisfy them. \"This Anne Whittle, _alias_ Chattox, was a very old\nwithered, spent, decrepid creature, her Sight almost gone; A dangerous\nWitch of very long continuance; always opposite to old Demdike; For whom\nthe one fauoured the other hated deadly: and how they curse and accuse one\nan other in their Examinations may appear. In her Witchcraft always more\nready to doe mischiefe to men's goods than themselves; Her lippes ever\nchattering and talking; but no man knew what. She lived in the Forrest of\nPendle amongst this wicked Company of dangerous Witches. Yet in her\nExamination and Confession she dealt always very plainely and truely; for\nvpon a speciall occasion, being oftentimes examined in open Court, she was\nneuer found to vary, but alwayes to agree in one and the selfe same thing.\nI place her in order next to that wicked Firebrand of mischiefe, old\nDemdike, because from these two sprung all the rest in order; and even the\nChildren and Friendes of these two notorious Witches.\"\n\nNothing special or very graphic was elicited about old Chattox. She had\ncertainly bewitched to death sundry of the neighbourhood, lately deceased;\nbut then they all did that; and her devil, Fancie, came to her in various\nshapes--sometimes like a bear, gaping as though he would worry her, which\nwas not a pleasant manner of fulfilling his contract--but generally as a\nman, in whom she took great delight. She confessed to a charm for blessing\nforespoken drink; which she had chanted for John Moore's wife, she said,\nwhose beer had been spoilt by Mother Demdike or some of her crew:--\n\n  \"Three Biters hast thou bitten,\n    The Hart, ill Eye, ill Tonge;\n  Three Bitter shall be thy boote,\n    Father, Sonne, and Holy Ghost,\n    a God's Name\n  Fiue Paternosters, fiue Auies,\n    and a Creede,\n  For worship of fiue woundes\n    of our Lord.\"\n\nOf course there was no help or hope for old Chattox if she said such\nwicked things as these. The righteous justice of England must be\nsatisfied, and Anne Whittle was hung--one of the twelve who sorrowed the\nsunlight in Lancaster on that bloody assize.\n\nHer daughter, Ann Redfearne, was then taken, accused of making pictures of\nclay and other maleficent arts; and she, too, was hanged; and then\nwell-born, well-bred, but unfortunate Alice Nutter--a gentlewoman of\nfortune living at Rough Lee, whose relatives were anxious for her death\nthat they might come into some property, out of which she kept them while\nliving, and between whom and Mr. Justice Nowell there was a long-standing\ngrudge on the question of a boundary-line between their several\nproperties--Alice Nutter, whom one would have thought far removed from any\nsuch possibility, was accused by young Jennet of complicity and\ncompanionship, and put upon her trial with but a faint chance of escape\nbehind her. For Elizabeth Device swore that she had joined with her and\nold Demdike in bewitching the man Mitton, because of that twopence so\nfatally refused; and young Jennet swore that she was one of the party who\nwent on many-coloured foals to the great witch meeting at Malking Tower;\nand so poor Alice Nutter, of Rough Lee, the well-born, well-bred\ngentlewoman, was hanged with the rest of that ragged crew; and her\nrelations stood in her place, quite satisfied with their dexterity.\n\nThen there was Katherine Hewitt, _alias_ Mouldheels, accused by James\nDevice, who seemed to think that if he had to be hanged for nothing he\nwould be hanged in brave company, and, by sharing with as many as could be\nfound, lessen the obloquy he could not escape; and John Bulcocke, who\nturned the spit, and Jane his mother, for the same crimes and on the same\ntestimony; for the added crime, too, of helping in the bewitching of\nMaster Leslie, about which nefarious deed other hands were also busy; and\nMargaret Pearson, delated by Chattox as entertaining a man spirit\ncloven-footed, with whom she went by a loophole into Dodson's stable, and\nsat all night, on his mare until it died. She was also accused by Jennet\nBooth, who went into her house and begged some milk for her child;\nMargaret good-naturedly gave her some, and boiled it in a pan, but all her\nreward was, that Jennet accused her of witchcraft, for there was, said\nshe, a toad, or something very like a toad, at the bottom of the pan when\nthe milk was boiled, which Margaret took up with a pair of tongs and\ncarried out of the house. Of course the toad was an imp, and Jennet Booth\nwas quite right to repay an act of neighbourly generosity by accusation\nand slander. Margaret got off with standing in the pillory in open market,\nat four market towns on four market days, bearing a paper on her head\nsetting forth her offence written in great letters, about which there\ncould be no mistake; after which she was to confess, and afterwards be\ntaken to prison, where she was to lie for a year, and then be only\nreleased when good and responsible sureties would come forward to answer\nfor her good behaviour.\n\nAnd there was Isabel Roby, who bewitched Peter Chaddock for jilting her,\nand in the spirit pinched and buffeted Jane Williams, so that she fell\nsick with the impression of a thumb and four fingers on her thigh; and\nJennet Preston, she who had the white foal spirit, and who was afterwards\nhung at York for the murder of Master Thomas Lister--for Master Thomas in\nhis last illness had been for ever crying out that Jennet Preston was\nlying on him, and when she was brought to see the body it gushed out fresh\nblood on her, which settled all doubts, if haply there had been any. So\nthe famous trial of the Pendle Witches came to an end; and of the twenty\nwho were accused twelve were hanged while the rest escaped only for the\npresent, many of them meeting with their doom a few years afterwards.\n\n\nGRACE SOWERBUTS AND THE PRIESTS.[122]\n\nAt the same time and place, namely, \"at the Assizes and Generall\nGaole-delivery, holden at Lancaster, before Sir Edward Bromley,\" old\nJennet Bierly, Ellen Bierly her daughter-in-law, and Jane Southworth, were\naccused by Grace Sowerbuts of bewitching her, so that her \"bodie wasted\nand was consumed.\" Grace was fourteen years old--a very ripe time for\nbewitchment and possession--and her evidence ran that for some years past\nshe had been fearfully tormented by these women, for that \"they did\nviolently draw her by the Haire of the Head, and layd her on the toppe of\na Hay-mowe;\" and that Jennet Bierly appeared to her, first under her own\nshape and form, then as a black dog, and that as she was going over a\nstyle \"she picked her off,\" but did not hurt her much, for soon she was\nenabled to rouse herself up, and go on her way without any great damage.\nBut often the women came to her as black dogs, tempting her to cast\nherself into the water, or dragging her into the hay-loft where they\ncovered her with hay on her head and with straw on her body, they, the\nblack dogs, lying on the top of the straw till they took away all sense\nand feeling and she knew not where she was; and oft they \"carried her\nwhere they met black things like men that danced with them and did abuse\ntheir bodies, and they brought her to one Thomas Walsham's House in the\nNight, and there they killed his Child, by putting a Nail into the Navil,\nand after took it forth of the Grave, and did boil it, and eat some of it,\nand made Oyl of the bones; and such like horrid lies,\" says honest\nWebster, indignantly. But fortunately for the three accused, Grace\nSowerbuts was a popish pet, and suspected of decided papistical leanings;\nand it was said that she was put up to all this by one Thomson, a popish\npriest, whose real name was Southworth, and who was a relation of old Sir\nJohn Southworth the great popish lord of the district; to whom also Jane,\none of the accused, was a near relative, but a hated enemy, as is often\nthe case--Sir John having been known to ride miles round to avoid passing\nby her house. Jane Southworth was a Protestant and a convert, therefore\nlikely to receive the protection of public opinion in those parts; likely,\ntoo, to be doubly hated by her relative, first for herself, and secondly\nfor her apostacy. So Grace Sowerbuts, an excitable young maid with but a\nslender regard to truth, was hit upon as the person best fitted to carry\nconfusion into the enemy's camp, and it was resolved to prove her\nbewitched by the devilish arts of the two Bierlys and the popish recusant.\nBut Sir Edward Bromley, who cared nothing for the protestations of the\nPendle witches, and hung every one of them with the most placid belief\nthat he was doing a just and righteous work, gave a very different\ncountenance to these Samesbury witches, all of whom would have been strung\nup like dogs had not the taint of papistry rested on Grace and her\nsupporters. Leading her quietly to a denial of all she had asserted, Sir\nEdward got her to confess that she was an impostor, and that every article\nof her accusation was a lie and a fallacy from beginning to end. She had\nnever known nor seen any devils; she had never been cast upon the henroof\nnor upon the hay-mow, but when she was found there she had gone of her own\naccord, and had covered herself with hay and straw to better prove the\nwitches' despite against her; she knew nothing of any child done to death\nby nails in its body; and all that she had said about the bones, and the\noil, and the tender flesh roasted at the fire, was as false as the rest.\nShe had never been possessed, but had flung herself into these fits by her\nown will and independent power; and what she did in them was a mere trick,\nwhich she could show their worships if they liked. In short, Grace\nSowerbuts was forced to play the losing game in as masterly a manner as\nmight be, and to own herself a cheat and an impostor while yet there was\ntime for pardon. So the three Samesbury witches got off with a stern\nexhortation from the judge, who scarcely seemed to relish the release of\neven Protestant witches delated by papistical accusers.\n\n\nMARY AND HER CATS.[123]\n\nMary Smith of Lynn, wife of Henry Smith, glover, was envious of her\nneighbours for their greater skill in making cheese: in the midst of her\ndiscontents, and while her mind, by its passion and evil thoughts, was in\na fit condition for the devil to enter therein, Satan came to her as a\nblack man, provoking her in a \"lowe murmuring and hissing Voyce,\" to\nforsake God and follow him; to which she \"condescended\" in express terms.\nThe devil then constantly appeared to her--sometimes as a mist; sometimes\nas a ball of fire, with dispersed spangles of black; but chiefly as a\nblack man; and sometimes as a horned man, in which shape he came to her\nwhen in prison. Mary was a good hand at banning. She cursed John Orkton,\nand wished his fingers might rot off, and they did so; she cursed\nElizabeth Hancock, whom she accused of stealing her hen, wishing that the\nbones might stick in her throat, calling her a \"prowde linny, prowde\nflurts, and shaking the hand bade her go in, for she should repent it;\"\nand incontinently Elizabeth Hancock was taken with a pinching at the\nheart, and sudden weakness of all her body, and fainting fits, and racking\npains, and madness, and raving, so that she tore the hair off her head as\nshe tossed about distracted. Her father went to a wise man, who showed him\nMary Smith's face in a glass, and bade him make a cake according to\ncertain directions, which then he was to lay, half on Bessie's head and\nhalf on her back, and which would infallibly cure her, as she was not ill\nbut bewitched. The father did so, and the daughter mended. Soon after\nthis she married one James Scot, who, having a mortal hatred against Mary\nSmith, killed her cat, and threatened that if his wife had any such fits\nas she had before they married, he would hang Mary Smith without mercy. At\nthis Mary clapped her hands, and cried \"They had killed her cat!\" and the\nnext day Elizabeth had the old nipping round her heart. So James went to\nMary and said he would most certainly take her before the magistrates, if\nshe did not amend her ways and heal his wife at once. Fortunately for Mary\nthe woman got better, and the evil day was staved off for a time. To\nCecily Balye, the maid-servant next door, she sent her cat to sit upon her\nbreast when she slept, in revenge at the maid's sweeping a little dust\nawry; and Cicely gave awful evidence how, through the thin partition which\ndivided them, she used to see Mary Smith adoring her imp in a submissive\nmanner--down on her knees, using strange gestures and uttering many\nmurmuring and broken speeches; and if she had listened, and looked more\nattentively, she might have seen and heard more: \"but she was with the\npresent spectacle so affrighted, that she hurried away in much feare and\ndistemper.\"\n\n\"The fourth endammaged by this Hagge,\" says Roberts, was one Edmund\nNewton. He was a cheesemonger, like herself, and she thought he got the\nbest of the trade; so she, or her imp in her likeness, came to him as he\nwas lying in bed, and \"whisked about his face a wet cloath of very\nloathsome savour; after which he did see one clothed in russet, with a\nlittle bush beard, who told him he was sent to looke vpon his sore legge,\nand would heale it.\" When Newton rose to take a fairer look, he saw that\nthe russet man with a little bush beard had cloven feet, so refused his\noffer of chirurgery. After this Mary was constantly sending her imps to\nhim--a toad and crabs--which crawled about the house, \"which was a shoppe\nplanchered with boords, where his seruants (hee being a shoo maker) did\nworke;\" and one of them took the toad and flung it into the fire, during\nwhich time the witch was grievously tormented. So nothing would serve\nEdmund Newton's turn but he must \"scratch her;\" yet when he strove to do\nso his nails turned like feathers, and he had no power over her, not even\nto raise the skin so much as a nine weeks' old babe might have done. At\nanother time a great water-dog ran over his bed--the chamber door being\nshut--and he fell lame in his hand, and did not recover the use of it\nagain. And then the law interfered, and Mary Smith was brought before the\nmagistrates to answer to the charge of witchcraft--by them committed to\nthe assizes--found guilty by judge and jury--and hanged by the neck till\nshe was dead, as a warning to the time and her own kind. This murder was\ndone 1616.\n\n\nRUTTERKIN.[124]\n\nThe Earl and Countess of Rutland had shown much kindness to the widow Joan\nFlower, and her two daughters Philip and Margaret. Joan and Philip were\nemployed at the castle pretty constantly as charwomen, and Margaret was\ntaken into the castle itself, \"looking both to the poultrey abroad and the\nwashhouse within doores,\" and evidently a great favourite with my Lady,\nwho trusted her much. Their good fortune raised them up a host of\nenemies, as is always the case; and backbiters went with tales to the Lord\nand Lady, saying, \"First, that Ioane Flower the Mother was a monstrous\nmalicious woman, full of oathes, curses, and imprecations, irreligious,\nand, for any thing they saw by her, a plaine Atheist; besides of late days\nher very countenance was estranged, her eyes were fiery and hollow, her\nspeech fell and enuious, her demeanour strange and exoticke, and her\nconuersation sequestered; so that the whole course of her life gaue great\nsuspition that she was a notorious witch, yea some of her neighbours dared\nto affirme that she dealt with familiar Spirits, and terrified them all\nwith curses and threatening of reuenge, if there were neuer so little\ncause of displeasure and vnkindnesse. Concerning Margaret, that she often\nresorted from the Castle to her Mother, bringing such Provision as they\nthought was vnbefitting for a seruant to purloyne, and coming at such\nunseasonable houres, that they could not but coniecture some mischeife\nbetween them, and that their extraordinary ryot and expences tended both\nto rob the Lady, and to maintaine certaine deboist and base company which\nfrequented this Ioane Flower's house the mother, and especially her\nyoungest Daughter. Concerning Philip that she was lewdly transported with\nthe loue of one Th. Simpson, who presumed to say, that she had bewitched\nhim: for he had no power to leaue, and was as he supposed maruellously\naltered both in minde and body, since her acquainted company: these\ncomplaints began many yeares before either their conuiction or publique\napprehension: Notwithstanding such was the honour of this Earle and his\nLady; such was the cunning of this monstrous woman in her obseruation\ntowards them; such was the subtilty of the Diuell to bring his purposes\nto passe; such was the pleasure of God to make tryall of his seruants; and\nsuch was the effect of a damnable womans wit and malitious enuy, that all\nthings were carried away in the smooth Channell of liking and good\nentertainment on euery side, untill the Earle by degrees conceiued some\nmislike against; and so peraduenture estranged himself from that\nfamiliarity and accustomed conferences he was wont to haue with her;\nuntill one Peate offered her some wrong; against whom she complained, but\nfound that my Lord did affect her clamours and malicious information,\nvntill one Mr. Vauasor abandoned her company, as either suspicious of her\nlewd life, or distasted with his oun misliking of such base and poore\nCreatures, whom nobody loued but the Earle's household; vntill the\nCountesse misconceiuing of her daughter Margaret and discovering some\nvndecencies both in her life and neglect of her businesse, discharged her\nfrom lying any more in the Castle, yet gave her 40_s._, a bolster, and a\nmattresse of wooll; commanding her to go home vntill the slacknesse of her\nrepayring to the Castle, as she was wont, did turne her loue and liking\ntoward this honourable Earle and his family into hate and rancor;\nwherevpon despighted to bee so neglected, and exprobated by her neighbours\nfor her Daughters casting out of doores, and other conceiued displeasures,\nshe grew past all shame and womanhood, and many times cursed them all that\nwere the cause of this discontentment, and made her so loathsome to her\nformer familiar friends and beneficial acquaintance.\"\n\nThings being come to this pass, it was not difficult to persuade the Earl\nand his Countess that, when their eldest son Henry, Lord Ross, sickened\nvery strangely, and after a while died,--when their second son Francis\nwas also tortured by a strange sickness--and the Lady Katherine their\ndaughter was in danger of her life \"through extreame maladies and vnusuall\nfits\"--it was all done by Joan Flower's witchcraft, and that the quickest\nway out of their troubles was to arrest the widow and her two daughters\nand see what could be done with them, both by their own confessions and\nthe neighbours' relations. They were arrested accordingly, and carried\nbefore the magistrates where witnesses were not awanting. The first\nevidence given was that of Philip Flower, sister to Margaret, and daughter\nof poor old Joan. On the 4th of February she confessed that her mother and\nsister \"maliced\" the Earl of Rutland, his countess, and their children,\nbecause they were put out of the Castle; wherefore her sister Margaret, by\ndesire of her mother, got Lord Henry's right-hand glove which she found on\nthe rushes in the nursery, and delivered it to Joan, who presently rubbed\nit on the back of her spirit Rutterkin, bidding him \"height and goe and\ndoe some hurt to Henry Lord Rosse,\" then put it into boiling water,\npricking it many times with a knife, and burying it in the yard with a\nwish that Lord Henry might never thrive. Whereupon he fell sick and\nshortly after died. She also said that she often saw the spirit Rutterkin\nleap on her sister Margaret's shoulder and suck her neck, and that her\nmother had often cursed the earl and his lady, and boiled feathers and\nblood together, \"vsing many Deuillish speeches and strange gestures.\" On\nthe 22nd of the same month Margaret was examined, and she also gave no\ntrouble. She confessed that truly she had got Lord Henry's glove, and that\nher mother had done with it in all particulars of stroking Rutterkin's\nback, and putting it into boiling water, and pricking, and burying it,\naccording to the words of Philip; also that some two or three years ago\nshe had found a glove of the Lord Francis', which her mother rubbed on\nRutterkin the cat and bade him go upward, and which, by her incantations\nand sorceries, caused a grievous illness to light on the little nobleman.\nAnd she got a piece of Lady Katherine's handkercher, which her mother put\ninto hot water, \"and then taking it out rubbed it on Rutterkin, bidding\nhim 'flye and go;' whereupon Rutterkin whined and cryed 'Mew,'\" and the\nmother said he had no power over Lady Katherine to hurt her. A few days\nlater both sisters were examined again, when Philip confessed that she had\na spirit which sucked her in the form of a white rat, and which she had\nentertained for the space of two or three years, on condition that it\nshould cause Thomas Simpson to love her; and Margaret allowed that she had\ntwo spirits, one white, the other black-spotted, to whom she had given her\nsoul, they covenanting to do all that she commanded them. Then she rambled\noff into a wild statement of how on the thirtieth of January last, she,\nbeing in Lincoln gaol, four devils appeared to her at eleven or twelve\no'clock at night; the one stood at her bed's foot, and had a black head\nlike an ape, and spake unto her; but what she could not well remember; at\nwhich she was very angry that he would not speak plainer and let her\nunderstand his meaning. She said that the other three were Rutterkin,\nLittle Robin, and Spirit, \"but shee never mistrusted them nor suspected\nherselfe till then.\" This closed the examinations of the two younger\nwomen: for poor old Joan had died on her way to gaol \"with a horrible\nexcruciation of soul and body,\" and so an end was come to of her. But if\nthere was nothing more to be got out of the Flower family, their\nneighbours were not backward to help them with a bad word, when handy.\nAnne Baker, evidently mad, Joan Willimot, and Ellen Greene, were brought\nto say their say in the face of the country and before the county\njustices. Joan Willimott gave evidence that Joan Flower had oftentimes\ncomplained to her of the unfriendly conduct of my Lord of Rutland, in\nturning her daughter out of the house, adding that though she could not\nhave her will of my Lord himself, she had spied his son and stricken him\nto the heart--stricken him with a white spirit, which yet could be cured\nif she so willed. Joan Willimott then \"fyled\" herself for a witch, saying\nthat she had a spirit called Pretty, given to her by her master, William\nBerry of Langholme, in Rutlandshire, whom she had served three years. When\nhe gave it to her, he bade her open her mouth and he would blow into her a\nFairy which should do her good; and she did so; and he blew into her\nmouth, and presently after there came out of her mouth a spirit which\nstood upon the ground in the shape and form of a woman, and asked of her\nher soul--which Joan granted--being willed thereto by her master. She did\nnot own to having ever hurt anyone, but said instead that she had helped\ndivers who had been stricken and forespoken, and that the use she made of\nher spirit was to know how those did whom she had undertaken to mend. She\nsaid, too, that her spirit came to her last night, in the form of a woman\nmumbling something, but she could not understand what; and that she was\nnot asleep, but was as waking as at this present. On another occasion she\nfyled two of her neighbours, saying how Cooke's wife had said that John\nPatchet might have had his child alive, if he had asked for it,\ninsinuating that Cooke's wife had forespoken the said child, and that\nPatchet's wife had an evil thing within her, and she knew it by her\ngirdle. Also that Gamaliel Greete, of Waltham, had a spirit like a white\nmouse put into him in his swearing, and that those on whom he looked with\nintent to hurt were hurt; and that he had a mark on his left arm, which\nhad been cut away; and that her own spirit had told her all this. And that\nshe, and Joan, and Margaret Flower, had met in Blackborrow hill, the week\nbefore Joan's apprehension; and that she had seen in Joan's house two\nspirits, the one like a rat, and the other like an owl, and that one of\nthem had sucked under her left ear--as she thought; and that Joan Flower\nsaid her spirits had informed her she should be neither burnt nor hanged.\n\nOn this same day Ellen Green gave in her account, saying that some six\nyears since Joan Willimott had come to her in the wolds, persuading her to\nforsake God and betake her to the devil, and she would give her two\nspirits: which this Examinate consented unto. Whereupon Joan called two\nspirits, one in the likeness of a \"kittin,\" the other of a \"moldiwarp,\"\nthe first of which was called \"pusse,\" and the second \"hiffe hiffe;\" and\nthey leapt on her shoulder, and sucked her. And that she sent the kittin\nto a baker in the town who had offended her, but whose name she had\nforgotten, and bade it bewitch him to death; and the moldiwarp she\ndespatched to Ann Dawse, for the same purpose and the same offence. And of\nother deaths by the like means did Ellen Green accuse herself; adding that\nJoan Willimott's spirit was in the form of a white dog, and that she had\nseen it suck her in Barley harvest last.\n\nAnd then came mad Ann Baker, who started with informing her audience that\nthere are four colours of planets, black, yellow, green, and blue, and\nthat black is always death, and that she saw the blue planet strike\nWilliam Fairbairn's son, but when William Fairbairn did beat her and break\nher head, his said son Thomas did mend. Yet she sent not the blue planet.\nShe said that she saw a hand appear to her, and a voice in the air say,\n\"Anne Baker, save thyself, for to-morrow thou and thy maister must be\nslain;\" and that the next day, as she and her master were together in a\ncart, suddenly she saw a flash of fire, but when she said her prayers the\nfire went away, and then a crow came and pecked her clothes; whereat she\nsaid her prayers again, and bade the crow go to whom it was sent, \"and the\nCrow went vnto her Maister and did beat him to death, and shee with her\nprayers recouered him to life: but he was sick a fortnight after and saith\nthat if shee had not had more knowledge than her Maister, both he and shee\nand all the Cattell had beene slaine.\" The rest of her confessions turned\nupon the histories of the various deaths and bewitchments with which she\nwas charged, and most of which she denied; saying, that she had merely\nlain Ann Stannidge's child on her skirt, but had done it no harm, and that\nwhen the mother had burnt the little one's hair and nail parings, and she,\nAnn Baker, had gone in to the house in great pain and suffering, she knew\nnothing whatever of this burning, but that she was sick and knew not\nwhither she went. Of the Rutland case all she knew was, that when she came\nback from Northamptonshire, whither she had gone three years ago, two good\nwives had told her that my young Lord Henry was dead, and that there was a\nglove of the said Lord buried underground, and that \"as his glove did rot\nand wast, so did the liver of the young Lord rot and wast;\" and that her\nspirit was a good spirit and in the shape of a white dog. The tract does\nnot inform us what was done with these three wretched women. The two\nFlowers were hanged, the old mother having died as I have said: but\nwhether the untimely death of a sickly lad was revenged by more innocent\nblood than this remains unknown. The death-sacrifices of savages, the\nwitches of Africa, and the Red Indian \"Medicine-men,\" are not so very far\nremoved from our own forefathers that we should quite ignore the likeness\nbetween them and the recent past at home.\n\n\nTHE BOY OF BILSTON.[125]\n\nThe war between Papists and Protestants still went on, and the favourite\nweapon with each was the old one of Possession, and its result--exorcism.\nThe patient in the present case was William Perry, a youth of twelve,\ngenerally called the Boy of Bilston, whom Joan Cock bewitched for the\nbetter showing forth the glory of God and the Church, and to the hurt of\nher own soul and body. One day William Perry met old Joan as he returned\nfrom school, and forbore to give her good time of the day, as a well-bred\nyouth should: whereat the old woman was angry, and called him \"a foul\nthing,\" saying \"that it had been better for him if he had saluted her.\" At\nwhich words the boy felt something prick him to his heart, and when he\ncame home fell into fits of the most demoniac kind. The parents seeing his\nextremity went cap and knee to some Catholics in the neighbourhood, and\nthey, after long solicitation, proceeded to the exorcising. They poured\nholy water and holy oil in goodly quantity upon him, and left supplies of\nboth to be used in their absence. The devil was sore afflicted by the\nholy water and the holy oil, and made the boy cast up pins, and wool, and\nknotted thread, and rosemary leaves, and walnut leaves, and feathers, and\n\"thrums.\" For there were three devils inside him, he said, and they had\nuncommon power. On Corpus Christi day he brought up eleven pins, and a\nknitting needle folded in divers folds; all after extreme fits and\nheavings; and then the spirit told him not to listen to the exorcising\npriest--which was a great compliment from the devil--and that the witch\nhad said she would make an end of him. When told to pray for the witch,\nthe boy and the devils were furious; but afterwards calmed down on the\nexorciser getting extra power; and then the boy prayed his prayer and grew\nbetter. Then he demanded that everything about him should be blessed, and\nthat all his family should be Catholics; but when any Puritans came in, he\nsaid the devil assaulted him in the shape of a black bird. So it was a\nvastly pretty little case of witness and conversion, and the Catholics\nmade the most of it. Joan must now be arrested; for the fits continued,\nand the young gentleman was not to be pacified with anything short of the\nwitch's blood. When brought into his presence the boy had extreme fits,\ncrying out: \"'Now she comes, now my Tormentor comes!' writhing and tearing\nand twisting himself into such Shapes as bred at once Amazement and Pity\nin the Spectators:\" so the old woman was sent to Stafford gaol, but,\nbecause this was a Popish matter, acquitted without long delay. Then the\nBishop of Coventry and Lichfield, desirous of testing the matter, and\nunwilling that the Catholics should take any glory to themselves for their\nholy oils and their anointings which were said to have calmed the most\n\"sounding fits,\" took William Perry home to the Castle, and there had him\nwatched: and watched so well that certain dirty tricks not to be spoken of\nhere were found out, and the physiological part of the \"miracle\" set at\nrest. But before this the Bishop tried the devil", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32176", "title": "Witch Stories", "author": "", "publication_year": 1861, "metadata_title": "Witch Stories", "metadata_author": "E. Lynn Linton", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:24.580009", "source_chars": 743390, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 122716}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by Julia Miller, Martin Pettit, and the Project Gutenberg\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from images\ngenerously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries\n(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\nNote: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/losgringosorinsi00wiseiala\n\n\n      +--------------------------------------------------+\n      |Transcriber's note:                               |\n      |                                                  |\n      |Obvious typographical errors have been correctetd |\n      +--------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\n\nLOS GRINGOS:\n\nOr,\n\nAn Inside View of Mexico and California, with Wanderings\nin Peru, Chili, and Polynesia.\n\nby\n\nLIEUT. WISE, U.S.N.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNew York:\nBaker and Scribner,\n145 Nassau Street and 36 Park Row.\n1849.\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress in the year 1849, by\nBaker and Scribner,\nIn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the\nSouthern District of New York.\n\nPrinted by C. W. BENEDICT,\n201 William street.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe title--_Los Gringos_--with which this volume has been christened, is\nthe epithet--and rather a reproachful one--used in California and Mexico\nto designate the descendants of the Anglo-Saxon race; the definition of\nthe word is somewhat similar to that of Greenhorns, in modern\n_parlance_, or Mohawks in the days of the Spectator. Although many of\nthe scenes were passed in those countries, yet the narrative takes a\nwider range, and embraces portions of the South American Continent in\nBrazil, Chili, and Peru,--together with visits to some of the groups of\nthe Pacific at the Sandwich, Marquesas and Society Islands.\n\nThe sketches embodied in the narrative were all written on the field of\ntheir occurrence: the characters incidentally mentioned are frequently\n_noms de mer_.\n\nIt is not expected by the Author that even the most charitable reader\nwill wholly overlook the careless style and framing of the work, or\nallow it to pass without censure; nor has it been his object to deal in\nstatistics, or any abstract reflections, but merely to compile a\npleasant narrative, such as may perchance please or interest the\ngenerality of readers; and in launching the volume on its natural\nelement--the sea of public opinion--the Author only indulges in the\naspiration--whether the reader be gentle or ungentle--whether the book\nbe praised or condemned--that at least the philanthropy of the\nPublishers may be remunerated, wherein lies all the law and the profits.\n\nNEW YORK, _October, 1849_.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n                                                                  PAGE\nWe sail from Boston, and how we felt.--Cure for\nSea-Sickness.--Delights of the Ocean.--Crossing the Equator.--What\nthe Mess was composed of.--We become reconciled to our Fate.--Pass\nCape Frio, and have no Inclination to bivouac on the Rocks.          1\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nRio Janeiro, and what is to be seen there.--Life in the\nCity.--Diamonds and Levites.--Police.--Cookery and Currency.--The\nOmnibus Jehu to Boto Fogo.                                           9\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nGloria Hill.--Il Cateto.--Architecture.--Visit from a Scorpion,\nand the Habits of other Reptiles.--The Opera.--The Emperor and\nCourt.--The Brazilians think of carrying the War into Africa.       16\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nWe leave Rio, and march towards the Horn.--Man overboard and\ndrowned.--La Plata.--We take an Albatross.--Terra del\nFuego.--Pitch of the Cape.--A Marine dies.--How the Yankee\nCorvette doubled Cape Horn.--What we did for Pastime.--Dr.\nFaustus.--The Island of Chiloe.                                     20\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nValparaiso.--Bell of Quillota and Tupongati.--Where and how the\nTown is built.--Birlochea.--Shops.--The Terraces.--El\nAlmendral.--Carmencita.--Creole Ladies.--Tertulias.--The\nSamacuéca.--Climate.--Dust.--The Donçella who caught a Flea, and\nhow she did it.--General Bulnes.--Army.--Government and\nResources.--True Elements of Happiness.                             27\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nWeigh Anchor, with some Trouble and Broken Bones.--Bid adieu to\nPleasures of the Shore.--Islands of St. Ambrose and Felix.--We\nlose some Shipmates.--Alta California.--Monterey.                   39\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nSummary of Events Preceding our Arrival.--Difficulties between\nFremont and Castro.--Operations of Naval Forces.--Skirmish at San\nPascual.--Battles of San Gabriel and La Mesa.--The Volunteers\nDisbanded.                                                          41\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTown of Monterey.--Our First Impressions.--Days of\nBarricades.--Sentinels.--The Rocky-Mountain Men.--Keg of Whiskey,\nand the Use it was put to.--The Trapper's little Anecdote\nconcerning Old Ginger and the Indians.                              47\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTreaty of Los Angeles.--The Lady that had a Strange Taste In\nJewelry.--The Disregard of Soap in those Countries.--Visit to an\nExtensive Establishment.--The Doña herself, with her Small Family\nand Prospects.                                                      53\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nMission of Carmelo.--Tramp in the Mountains.--Wolves and\nVenison.--We become bewildered, but encounter a Guide.--Boudoirs\nfor Damsels.--The Fandango.--How the Gentlemen amused\nthemselves.--We take to Hunting for Pastime.--Climate.--Juaquinito\nand his Mama.--Plains of Salinas.--Bill Anderson, his Windmill and\nHistory.--Wild Geese.--Native Entertainment.                        58\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nMaritime Alps of California.--Entrance to Bay of San\nFrancisco.--Yerbabuena.--Society.--Pranks on\nHorses.--Saddles.--New York Regiment.--The Cannibal Emigrants, and\nthe Dutchman's Appetite; with Baptiste's Remarks thereon.--Perils\nof Emigration.                                                      69\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nSousoulito.--The Belle of California.--The Bears of the same, who\nchase us.--Angel Island.--Deer and Elk Shooting.                    76\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nMonterey again.--The Pioneer Newspaper, with the Editor, Dr.\nSemple.--We Sail for the Mexican Coast.--Island of\nGuadalupe.--Peninsular of Lower\nCalifornia.--Jesuits.--Trade.--Ports and Resources.--We blockade\nMazatlan.--Reconnoissance, and the Ballet that ensued.--Yankee\nBombs.--The Ladies deceive us.--The Chased Diana.                   82\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nCruise of the Rosita.--Anchorage of Venados.--The Oyster-boat.--We\nreceived a Hostage in Doctor Barret, and learn his\nMisfortunes.--Change of Position.--We take a Prize, and afterwards\nnearly taken for another.--Set fire to the Dried Grass.--A False\nAlarm.--The Fish that broke Pat's Nose.--Our Supper and\nAttendants.--The Commodore orders us Home.                          89\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nPeriod of the Blockade of Mazatlan.--The Commandante, Telles; his\nHabits and Hospitalities.--The Frigate takes her Departure.--The\nShark.--Anchor in Monterey the Third Time.                          99\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nDispatches and Equipments.--Californian Gamesters.--The\nVacuero.--Don Herman.--The Youthful Mother and her Gay\nDeceiver.--We Sup on Eggs.--Murphy's Rancho.--Pretty\nEllen.--Picturesque Location.--Puebla.--Santa Clara.--Priests and\nIndians.--Ladies drying Beef.--Reach Yerbabuena.                   102\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nSail up the Bay.--Embarcadera of San José.--We sleep at a\nRancho.--Don Ignacio proves to be a Scamp.--Puebla.--Architecture\nand Agriculture.--Mission of Santa Clara.--The Cannonier.--The\nPadres.--The Dandies.--We attend Mass.--\"The Forwardest Gall of\nthe Mission.\"--Bear Hunt with Dan Murphy.--Rustic\nPoliteness.--Mission of San Juan.--The Gascon.--Crescencia is\ntaken with Fits.--Empirical Practice.--Get back to Monterey.       111\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nSan Francisco once more.--Head Waters.--Bay of San Pablo.--Village\nof Sinoma. Vallejo.--Captain Swayback.--Hunting.--We Kill an\nAntelope.--Straits of Carquinez.--City of Benecia.--Mares\nIsland.--Tulares Valley.                                           122\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nCalifornia becomes tranquil, and the Columbus sails for\nHome.--Sailors drilled on Shore.--We Return to Monterey.--Town\nincreasing.--The Reverend Alcalde, and how he collected\nTreasure.--Indians hung.--Diet and Games of the same.--Merendas.   130\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nFinal Adieu to Monterey.--Reach Cape San Blas, and San José.--We\nvisit Alcaldes, and how they passed their Leisure.--Our First\nSearch for the Enemy.--When we are offered a Baby, but\ndecline.--Watering Ship, and other Pleasantries.--A Small Garrison\nlanded to occupy San José.                                         136\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nDemonstrations before Mazatlan.--Summons to Surrender.--We land\nSailor Troops, and occupy the Town.--Positions and Selections for\nDefence.--Land Ordnance.--Ayuntamientos.--Mexican Morality.--Piety\nof the People.--Climate and Diseases.                              142\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nBurning Launches.--Skirmishing.--A Reefer's Idea of Bullets.--The\nRetreat.--We lose the Road, and are scared.--Affair at\nUrias.--Ambuscade.--Escaramuza. Flight.--Burial of the Slain.--We\nare presented with a Black Charger, and return to the Port.        150\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nDuties of a Garrison.--The Garita.--We Make a Night March, and\nSurprise Ligueras.--The Killed.--Lady with them.--Our\nTrophies.--The Commandante's Wife.--Is the Innocent Cause of\nMurdering a Horse.--False Alarm.--Another Night Skirmish; when the\nGuide gets a Bullet through his Head, and is Cursed by his Family. 159\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nHow they Marry in Mazatlan.--Fights with Cuchillos.--The Man who\nis divested of part of his Scalp and Ear.--Cures effected--Flying\nTrip to Urias.--Where we take General Urrea's Orderly.--Who is\nafterwards set free.                                               168\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nMexican Troop pronounce against their Leaders.--We become Poverty\nStricken.--Lancers attempt to run the Gauntlet, and carry away\nsome Buckshot.--Description of the Casa Blanca, and how we\nbehaved.--Madre Maria and Pretty Juana.--The Elite of the Town,\nwho praise us for not beating our Wives.                           173\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nDolores and her Lover; who is wounded; and who is a Coward.--Lola\ndies and is buried.                                                182\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nEl Tigre del Norte.--Mr. Bill\nFoley.--Sociedads.--Circus.--Monté.--Golden\nToad.--Carnival.--Intercourse with Foreign Society.--Hauson and\nthe Hern Hutter. Don Guillermo.--While moralising one night we are\nnearly impaled.--Our Little Housekeeper.--Pita.--Fandango de la\nTripa.--Where a Lepero abstracts our Sword and Pistols.            186\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nNews of the Peace.--The Outsiders become complimentary, and pay a\nvisit to Madre Maria.--With the Mounted Patrol and Captain Luigi\nwe ride to Venadillo, and disturb the slumbers of Señor Valverde,\nwho, with some hesitation, returns with us to the Port, being the\nlast Prisoner of the War.--A Man deserts, and we go to the\nPresidio for him.--General Anaya and Officers.--Commissioners meet\nand depart in Dudgeon.                                             194\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nSiege of San José.--Defences of Garrison.--The Summons and\nParley.--The Storming Party.--Mijares Killed with his Forlorn\nHope.--The Brave Whalemen.--Ambuscade and Prisoners.--The\nGuerrillas begin the Second Siege.--Death of M'Lenahan.--The\nGarrison Beleaguered.--Arrival of the Cyane.--Battle and Relief.   203\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nWe Begin a Journey to the City of Mexico.--Disembark at San\nBlas.--Ride to Tepic.--Cotton Mills of Barron, Forbes &\nCo.--Volcanic Masses.--Aquacatlan.--The Red-hot Patriot.--Wake of\nDon Pancho.--Plan de Barrancas.--The Piece of\nOrdnance.--Muchatilti.--Madelena.--How Horses are Hired in the\nRepublic.--Race with Banditti.                                     216\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nGuadalajara.--Señor Llamas.--The Lovely Señora.--Plaza and\nBeauty.--The Great Bridge.--Old Cypriano's Superstition regarding\nHorses' Souls.--Tepetitlan.--Puéblos del Rincon.--The Drowsy\nCommandante.--City of Leon.--Knife Duel.--Mexican Mesons, and the\nSociety therein.--Illumination and Supper.--We take Coach and\nreach Guanajuato.--The English Mint and\nMachinery.--Gaming.--Scenic Views.--Pat is a Deserter.--Don\nPancho.--Escape from Los Compadres.                                232\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nQuerétaro.--Aqueduct.--Night ride by Post.--The United States\nEscort.--City of Mexico.--We are refused a\nDrive.--Cathedral.--Palace.--Plaza.--Museum.--Sacrificial\nStone.--Manners and Customs in the Hells of\nMontezuma.--Chapultepec.--The Deep Spring where we bathed.--Moleno\ndel Rey.--Paseo.                                                   251\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nBureau of Postes.--Depart from the Aztec Capital.--Exemptions of\nGovernment Extraordinarios.--Livery Stable Woman at\nTepetitlan.--Invited to a Country Seat, and dine with Ladies.--We\nare afterwards kicked by a Horse, but continue the\njourney.--American Deserters.--Encounter Ladrons, and present our\nPassport.--Somebody killed by Mistake.--Excitement in\nQuerétaro.--Traitors of San Patricio.--Official Visits.--The\nDignitaries of the Republic.--Breakfast with a Brilliant\nColonel.--The Alemeda.--We run a Joust.--Treaty signed.            260\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nSeñor Rosa forgets our Escort, and we are scared and nearly\ncoach-wrecked.--Mine of La Luz.--Pass through Guanajuato to\nLagos.--A Pronunciamento.--Padre Jarauta, who treats us with\ncontempt, and afterwards wishes to make an _ejemplo_.--We bid a\nHasty Farewell.--An Ambulating Pulperia.--San Juan de\nLagos.--Arrieros.--Puente Calderon.--Bathing in the Rio\nGrande.--The Rayo.                                                 275\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\nBull-fight at Guadalajara.--What Fools the Beasts are, and what\nBrutes the Men are.--La Comedia.--Antique Guide.--Execution of\nRobbers.--Tequilla.--Patron of the Meson and his\nDaughters.--Endurance of Mexican Soldiers.--Adaptability of\nWestern Provinces for Military Operations.--La Nubarrada.--Horse\nJockeying.--We are made Unhappy.--Bathing in Tepic.--Rio Grande\nand Santiago.--Shower of Water Melons.--Rio San Pedro.--Rosa\nMorada.--Acaponeta.--High Mass.--Tierra Caliente, and Old Tomas,\nthe Poet.--We return to Mazatlan.                                  287\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\nDon Guillermo and Señor Molinero.--The Olas Altas, and the gay\nscenes there enacted.--Thieves and Leperos.--How to learn\nCastilian.--Evacuation of Mazatlan by the U. S. Forces.            307\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII.\n\nSailing of the Squadron.--Cross the Gulf, and arrive in La\nPaz.--Appearance of Vegetation.--How we amused\nOurselves.--Fandangos.--Ball on Shipboard.--Marine Pic Nic.--The\nCarrera.--The Uncivil Vacuero and his Rude Cattle.--The Chowder\nParty.--Perils and Pearl Fishing.--Hunting.--Game in Lower\nCalifornia.--The Cove of San Antonio, and Escape from Boatwreck.   312\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII.\n\nWhat the U. S. Government did to induce the Natives to lake up\nArms.--The Volunteer who shot his Wife.--Little Sam Patch.--Flying\nVisit to Mazatlan, and Last Farewell.                              326\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX.\n\nWe leave Mexico.--Go to the Sandwich Islands, and anchor in\nByron's Bay, or Hilo.--Natives.--Scenery.--Constables.--Meeting\nHouse.--Dialect.--Sermon.--We Depart for the Interior.--Half-way\nHouse.--Society there, and how they cook Turkeys.--Volcano of\nKilauea.--Frozen Sea of Lava.--The Great Crater.--Sulphur\nBanks.--Return to Hilo.                                            329\n\n\nCHAPTER XL.\n\nHilo.--Education.--Fondness for Liquor.--Favorite dish of roasted\nDog, and process of fattening them.--Water Nymphs.--Rainbow\nFalls.--The Wailuku.--The Three-Decker.--Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa.  339\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI.\n\nPaipolo Passage.--Maui.--Lahaina.--Cocoanut Tree, and its\nuses.--The Governor, James Young.--His Fortress.--Surf-Swimming\nby Girls, who gave us Lessons.                                     348\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII.\n\nHigh School of Lahainaluna for Boys.--Other Institutions for\nGirls.--Character of Hawaiians.--Their Crimes and Vices.--Board of\nPresbyterian Missions.--Exaggerations upon Moral Condition of the\nNatives.--Expulsion of Catholics.                                  355\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII.\n\nOahu.--Honolulu.--Rides and Drives in Vicinity.--Society.--The\nPali up the Nuana.--Saturnalia of Kanakas.--Rage for Horses.--Straw\nHamlets.--and Life within them.                                    362\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV.\n\nKing Kammehamma, or the Lonely One.--Ministers.--Presentation at\nCourt.--Furniture of the Palace.--Approach of\nRoyalty.--Speeches.--Costumes.--Princes of the blood royal, who\npatronise us.--And what became of Moses.                           368\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV.\n\nWe sail from Sandwich Islands.--The Tar of all\nWeathers.--Weather.--Currents and Passage to Marquesas.            376\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI.\n\nNukeheva.--Bay of Anna Maria.--Style of Head-dress in\nVogue.--Tattooing, and other Ornaments.--French\nGarrison.--Physical Characteristics of these\nSavages.--Bathing.--King's Residence, where we beheld a Nobleman\ndrunk with Arva.                                                   380\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII.\n\nVisit to a Distinguished Chief.--His House and Attendants.--Babies\nSwimming.--Making Fire with Sticks.--An Ancestor\nEmbalmed.--Catholics.--Vagabonds and Deserters.--Whaling\nInterests.                                                         387\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVIII.\n\nSail from Marquesas--for Society Group.--Tahiti.--Port of\nPapeetee.--The Reef.--Shores and\nBatteries.--Missionaries.--Melville.                               393\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIX.\n\nBrown Road.--Semi-Civilization.--Excursion to Pomàrce Country\nHouse at Papoa.--The Queen and her Hen-coop\nHabitation.--School.--Fondness for Flowers.--Native Dinner.--Jack\nthe Head Waiter.--Finger Glasses.--We sleep in the Palace, and are\nSerenaded.--Visit from a Tahitian Noble, and how he conducted\nhimself.--Coral Groves in the Harbor.--Islet of Motunata.          400\n\n\nCHAPTER L.\n\nTrip to the Mountains.--Teina.--Ferry-Boat, By Toanni.--Lofty\nCascade, Fortress of Faatoar.--Losses by the French.--The\nDiadem.--We spread a Banquet, and the Ladies have an\nAppetite.--Soirée by French Governor.--Departure.                  413\n\n\nCHAPTER LI.\n\nLeave Polynesia.--Accident to Topmen.--The Great Pacific.--Old\nHarry Greenfield's Yarn.--The Royal Bengal Tiger, who had a\ndifficulty with the Cook.                                          421\n\n\nCHAPTER LII.\n\nCallao.--Appearance of the Place.--The Citadel.--Rodil.--Road to\nLima.--And what may be seen in the City.--Rimac.--Public\nEdifices.--San Domingo.                                            426\n\n\nCHAPTER LIII.\n\nThe Clergy Mingling in every-day\nPanoramas.--Vespers.--Promenades.--Bull Fights.--Berlinas.--Sayas\ny Mantas, and Speculations upon uses and abuses.--Youthful Lumps\nof Gold, and Attachment to their Uncles.                           433\n\n\nCHAPTER LIV.\n\nCathedral.--Viceroy's Palace.--Plaza.--General\nCastilla.--Museum.--Antiquities.--Portraits of\nPizarro.--Opera.--The Scene not in the Play.                       439\n\n\nCHAPTER LV.\n\nValparaiso Again.--El Dorado.--Rides.--The Yorkshire Dame at the\nPost House.--Pic-Nics.--Our Lovely Country-Women.--The\nTerraces.--Monte Allegro.                                          445\n\n\nCHAPTER LVI.\n\nHomeward Bound, and the Cruise is over.                            452\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\nIt was on the last day of summer, 1846, that a large vessel of war lay\nin the stream of Boston Harbor; presently a dirty little steam tug, all\nbone and muscle, came burroughing alongside. The boatswain and his mates\nwhistled with their silver pipes, like Canary birds, and the cry went\nforth, to heave up the anchor. Soon the ponderous grapnell was loosened\nfrom its hold, and our pigmy companion clasping the huge hull in his\nhempen arms, bore us away towards the ocean; by and by, the unbleached\ncanvas fell in gloomy clouds from the wide-spread spars--the sails\nswelled to the breeze--friends were tumbling over the side--light jokes\nwere made--hats waved--cheers given, whether from the heart, or not, was\na problem, and then there came a short interval in the hoarse roar of\nsteam, as the pigmy's fastenings splashed in the water--then all was\nsilent; and the stately ship, dashing the salt tears from her eyes,\nturned her prow, in sadness, from her native land.\n\nThere were many, no doubt, of those six hundred souls on board, who\nleaving home with the sweet endearments of domestic life fresh upon\nthem, were looking forward with blanched cheeks and saddened hearts, to\nyears of distant wanderings. And there were others, too, equally\nindifferent, and regardless of the future--\n\n\n     \"With one foot on land, and one on sea,\n     --To one thing constant never,\"\n\n\nwho, perhaps, never had a home--tired of the shore--were eager for\nchange or excitement; but I question much, if there was one on board, of\nall those beating hearts, who did not anticipate a safe and joyful\nreturn. Alas! how many of these fragile aspirations were never realized.\nNumbers found a liquid tomb beneath the dark blue waves, or died a\nsailor's death in foreign climes, far away from friends and kindred, or\nreturned with broken constitutions, and wasted frames, enfeebled by\ndisease, to linger out a miserable existence on the native land they\nstill loved so well.\n\nA fortnight we sailed moderately and pleasantly in a race with the sun\ntowards the equator. The pole star slowly but surely declined in the\nnorth; faces began to assume a more cheerful aspect; we became\nreconciled to our fate; to banish those hateful things called\nreminiscences, which, even though pleasant, only make us regret them the\nmore, when gone forever. Thus we entered the tropic, and then lay\nlunging and plunging in the doldrums--clouds dead and stupid, with the\nsun making all manner of gay transparencies, at the rising, and most\nparticularly at the setting thereof. Then came another week of _una\nfuriosa calma_--a furious calm, as the Spaniards have it--bobbing about\nin undulating billows, and the tough canvass beating and chafing in\nfutile anger. It was thus we learned, those of us who had not made the\ndiscovery before, what a really animal existence one leads on shipboard;\na sort of dozing nonentity, only agreeable to those who have no\nimaginative organizations desirous of more extended sphere of action.\n\nIt does passibly well to eat and sleep away life--that is, presuming\nthe dinners be hot and eatable, and nights cool and sleepable--in smooth\nseas, and under mild suns; but when the winds are piping loud and cold,\nthe vessel diving and leaping at every possible angle of the compass,\nwith the stomachs of the mariners occasionally pitched into their heads,\nas if they were dromedaries, with several internal receptacles apiece,\ndevised purposely to withstand the thumps and concussions of salt water;\nwhen the ship is performing these sub-marine and aerial evolutions I\ntake it, as a reasonable being, there can be found a stray nook or two,\non hard ground, far more comfortable and habitable. And by way of\nparenthesis, I beg leave to recommend to any and all unfortunate persons\ngiven to aquatic recreation, and troubled with the disease whilom called\nsea-sickness, to divest the mind and body of care and clothing, tumble\ninto a swinging cot, and on the verge of starvation sip sparingly of\nweak brandy and water, nibble a biscuit, and a well-roasted potato. I\nmade this important discovery after being a sufferer ten years, and\npledge a reputation upon the strength of that martyrdom, of its\ninfallible virtues.\n\nIndeed, there are but two kinds of sailing at all bearable. I allude, of\ncourse, to those who take to it _con amore_, and are not compelled to\ncrowd all dimity to weather a lee shore and the almshouse; one where the\nglorious trade wind fills the bellying canvas, and the vessel slips\nquietly and swiftly along with the gentlest possible careening; without\nhauling and pulling of cordage, nor heavy seas, nor heavy rains, but the\nlight, fleecy clouds flying gracefully overhead, the waves blue and\nyielding, the watch dozing lazily in the shade, and the decks clean and\ntidy--it is a pretty sight, to see a noble ship properly manoeuvred,\ncome swiftly up to tie wind, the sails laid rapidly aback, with lower\ncanvas brailed up in graceful festoons, and the buoyant hull rising and\nfalling on the gentle swell, like the courtesies of Cerito or Ellsler in\nSir Roger de Coverley, with all the drapery of dimity fluttering around\nthem. Then, again, in that blue sea of seas, the Mediterranean, where\nmore than half the year one may sail over level water, with none of the\nocean swell, with delightful breezes only strong enough to fan the light\nand lofty sails to sleep, the shores of Italy or Spain lifting their\ngreen-clad hills along the beam, or the ever varying islands of the\nGrecian Archipelago coming and going, as you dart rapidly through their\nstraits. Ah! in those times, and in those seas, ships are possibly\nendurable, but of all monotonies, that of shipboard is the dullest, most\nwearisome and detestable.\n\nWeek after week passed away, one day like another, nothing to chronicle\nsave the birth of a sailor's pet in the shape of a tiny goat--taking a\nshark--the usual pious Sunday homily, and on a certain occasion one Jem\nBrooks, whose residence, in company with other cherubs, was somewhere\naloft in the main-top, whilst in the act of dropping a boat into the\nocean, some mishap attended the descent, and he dropped overboard\nhimself, thereby cracking the small bone of his leg, with a few other\ntrifling abrasions of skin and flesh. Iron life buoys that no one as yet\never did comprehend the mechanism of, always fizzing off the port-fires\nin broad day, and enshrouding themselves in utter darkness at night when\nonly needed, were instantly sent after the aforesaid Jem Brooks, who\nimbued with the wit and tenacity of his species in extremis, seized one\nof them, and in a short space returned pleasantly on board.\n\nThis was all that served to enliven our stupid existence. The winds\ncoquetted with all the perverseness of a spoiled beauty, at times\nblowing provokingly steady, then we went reeling over the seas, with\npiercingly blue skies above us, and all reconcileable elements to our\njourneyings, excepting the breeze ever blowing so pertinaciously in the\nwrong direction; at others we managed to cheat Eolus out of a puff, and\nsteal a march upon him, right into his breezy eyes, but then again he\ngave a wink, distended his huge cheeks, and blew us far away to leeward.\nIt was truly trying to the nerves to be crying patience continually,\nwhen there was no appeal--we could not exclaim with Dryden:\n\n\n     \"The passage yet was good; the wind 'tis true\n     Was somewhat high; but that was nothing new,\n     No more than usual equinoxes blew.\"\n\n\nThere was naught new nor usual about it, wind and weather were a mass of\ninconsistency; a few more revolutions of the sun, and we should have\nfound ourselves stranded in the Dahomey territory, or other equally\ndelightful regions, bordering on the Bight of Benin, in Africa; even the\ngood old captain of marines began to look worried and anxious, paid\nnightly visits to the sailing master, and with the most earnest and\nimploring tone, would ask--\"Well, Master! how _does_ she head?\" as if he\nreposed full trust in his sagacity, and for God's sake to ease his mind,\nand let him hear the worst at once. Surgeons, pursers and secretaries,\nwent off their feed, and from being rather over sanguine at times, burst\nforth with lamentable wailings in the poignancy of their despair. The\ncaptain of the ship, too, reviled creation generally, and was rather\nsnappish with officers of the watches; hinting that the yards were not\ntrimmed, ship steered properly, and other legal animadversions. Then the\nlieutenants, kind souls, abused the master, taxing him with manifold\ncrimes and delinquencies for bringing adverse breezes, did those\nsagacious creatures, and at other times becoming jocose, would advise\nhim to kick the chronometers several times around the mast to accelerate\nor diminish their rates, and talked loudly of requesting the Commodore\nto follow the first bark we might encounter, to the end that we should\nget safely into port--in fact, we were all, morally speaking, in a state\nof gangrene; morbid, morose and our circumstances getting more desperate\nhourly; but the longest night, except in the winter season off Cape\nHorn, has its dawning: the wind veered fair, whitening the ruffled water\nto windward, the noble frigate recovered her long lost energy, and with\nwhite sails swelling from trucks to the sea, shook the sparkling brine\nfrom her mane, and left a foaming wake behind; the thick, mucky, sticky\natmosphere that clung to us upon entering the tropic, was quickly\ndisplaced, by refreshing and grateful breezes.\n\nWe crossed the dividing line of the sphere, rushing and splashing down\nthe slope on the other side, carrying the whole ocean before us: myriads\nof flying fish flashed their silver-tinted wings as they broke cover,\nand flew upward at our approach. Porpoises and dolphins would dash\naround the bows, try our speed, and then disappear, perhaps, with a\ncontused eye, or bruised snout from a sparring match with the cutwater;\non we bounded with the cracking trade wind, tugging the straining canvas\ntowards Brazil.\n\nThe mess was large, and composed of strange materials--men of gravity\nand men of merriment, some who relate professional anecdotes and talk\nknowingly of ships, and sails and blocks, and nautical trash generally,\nothers, would be literary characters, who pour over encyclopedias,\ngazetteers and dictionaries, ever ready to pounce upon an indiscreet\nperson, and bring him to book in old dates or events; then there is the\nmess grumbler, the mess orator, a lawgiver and politician, and always an\nindividual, without whom no mess is properly organized, who volunteers\nto lick the American consul in whatsoever haven the ship may be, for any\nfancied grievance, but particularly if he happen to be poor, and not\ndisposed to give a series of grand dinners upon his meagre fare of\noffice.\n\nAll these individual peculiarities we had sufficient leisure to indulge\nin, and although I have asserted that ship-board is the most horrible\nmonotony in life, and hold to mine oath, yet Apollo tuned his lyre, and\nold Homer took siesta, thus by example, if anything can relieve this\ndulness, it is in the very contrast, where the mercury of one's blood is\ndriven high up by cheering prospects of favoring gales, and\nanticipations of a speedy arrival, after a tedious passage.\n\nOur amiability returned with our appetites--alas! too keenly for the\ndoomed carcass of a solitary pig, grunting in blissful ignorance of his\nfate, in a spacious pen on the gun deck. Juicy and succulent vegetables\nhad long since vacated the mess table, and the talents of our\n_cordon-bleu_, Messieurs Hypolite de Bontems, and François, were\nconstantly phrenzied with excitement, composing palatable dishes, from\nthe privacy of tins of potted meats, and hidden delicacies of the store\nrooms. We all became sociable, quizzed one another good humoredly--some\ndeclared they had been dreadfully spooney with some fair girls before\nleaving home, but were better now, and thought the marine air wholesome\nfor those complaints. Others, again, still remained faithful, compared\ntheir watches with the chronometers, to determine the exact difference\nof time on certain periods designated beforehand, with may be a choice\ncollection of stars of the first magnitude, to gaze at by night.\nNevertheless, there was a radical change for the better; we became more\ncompanionable, hobnobbed across the table, after dinner, heard with calm\ndelight orchestral music from the flutes and fiddles of papa Gheeks and\nfamily--an old gentleman from _faderland_, whom the sailors, in their\nignorance of German, had baptized \"Peter the Greeks,\" a soubriquet by\nwhich he universally went--and one of our mess had the humanity to\ninquire if the small French horn, or octave flute, had tumbled down the\nhatchway, and whether he broke his neck or was merely asphyxic. We even\nceased grumbling at the servants, and to a man all agreed that the\npassage had been of unexampled pleasantness.\n\nNothing checked our headlong speed, and the fiftieth day from Boston saw\nus close to the high, desolate mountains of cape Frio, within plain view\nof the little rocky nook where the English frigate Thetis made a futile\nattempt to batter the island over, but went down in the struggle. 'Tis\nsaid the gun room mess were entertaining the captain at dinner, who\nsomewhat oblivious to everything, save being homeward bound to merry\nEngland with a ship laden with treasure, disregarded the sailing\nmaster's wishes to alter the course, and the consequence was, after\nnight set in, the frigate struck, going eight knots--providentially the\ncrew were saved. The long Atlantic swell was rolling heavily against the\nbluff promontories, and the surf lashing far up the black heights,\ngiving many of us a nervous disinclination to making a night expedition\namong the rocks, going to sleep with a dirty shirt and mouthful of sand,\nwithout even the consolation of being afterwards laid out in clean\nlinen, to make luncheon for vultures; but since it takes a complication\nof those diversions to compose a veritable sea life, we banished\nperspective danger, and indulged in speculations upon the pleasures of\nport.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n     \"The far ships lifting their sails of white\n     Like joyful hands; come up with scattered light,\n     Come gleaming up, true to the wished for day,\n     And chase the whistling brine, and swirl into the bay.\"\n                                               REMINI. OF LEIGH HUNT.\n\n\nThe approach to Rio Janeiro, so far as God's fair handiwork is\nconsidered, presents a bold, natural, and striking grandeur, and is,\nperhaps, unsurpassed by that of any other land on earth. The mountains\nspring abruptly from the sea, in massive, well-defined outline, assuming\nat different points the most fanciful and grotesque shapes. Those to the\nsouthward make in goodly proportion the figure of a man reclining on his\nback, even to feet and eyes, while further inland are seen the narrow\ntube-like cones of the Organ Mountains, shooting high up into the sky,\nand then lower down, and around, are strewn lesser hills, sweeping and\nundulating from vale to vale, in an endless succession of picturesque\nbeauty.\n\nPassing the strait that opens into the bay, which appears narrower than\nit really is, from the steep sides of adjacent heights, the river\nexpands, and stretching away on either shore, lie graceful curves and\nindentations, whose snowy beaches are fringed with pretty dwellings,\nhalf hidden beneath the richest tropical foliage. To the left stands the\ncity, built amidst a number of elevations, but like Lisbon, it has\nneither spire nor dome to relieve the eye along the horizon. Yet this\ndrawback is in a measure lost sight of in contemplating the frowning\npeak of La Gabia, which seems to hang over, and shade the town itself;\nbut take all in all there are few lovelier scenes the eye can gaze upon,\nthan Rio.\n\nJust ten years had passed since I sailed from this noble bay, and\nalthough I had been the wide world over, in stirring scenes, quite\nsufficient as I indeed supposed to drive all recollections of it out of\nmy head, into dim obscurity and forgetfulness, yet as we approached the\nharbor, every point and islet, fort, tower, reef, grove, and hamlet,\nstarted vividly before me, as all appeared when I was a boy, and the\nlong years between dwindled away into minutes, and I fancied it but\nyesterday since we had parted.\n\nI greeted Lord Hood's nose like an old acquaintance, as it reposed in\ngigantic outline, towering above the surrounding mountains; the small\nisland near the shore with the white tower that was then just begun; the\nSugar Loaf with its smooth surface of rocks, and on the other side the\nSlaver's Bay--palmettos swinging their finger-like branches to and fro;\nand beyond, the fortress of Santa Cruz, with the sickly yellow diamond\nof Brazil, waving above; indeed, when the long speaking trumpet was\nshoved through an embrasure, I knew the old soldier's melancholy howl by\nintuition. At last the harbor's mouth was passed, we rolled up our sails\nand sank peacefully to rest on the quiet bosom of the bay.\n\nA mob of us tumbled into the boats; the ashen sails, plied by sinewy\narms, soon bumped us against what was once to me the Palace Stairs, but\neither the water had receded, or land encroached upon the bay, for where\nthe waves once washed the sea wall, and where many a time I have sat\nkicking my heels in the surf, sucking oranges the while, is now forty\nfeet from the beach, and the wall itself stands in the silliest manner\nimaginable, quite in the middle of the square. To the left is a tall\nmodern range of warehouses and the hotel Pharou. Swarms of cigar-smoking\nbipeds were lounging edgeways from the cafés and billiard rooms. I\nrecognized many old familiar faces of the boatmen, and among other rare\nbirds, the overgrown eunich organist, who used to be the wonder of my\nboyhood--there he stood as of yore, exercising his curiosity in\nscrutinizing the new comers.\n\nThe tenth of a century makes vast strides towards changing the\nappearance of things in these electrical times, and although I\ndiscovered no difference in beauties of dale, hill or mountain, for the\nOrganos still shot their needle-like peaks as high up into heaven, the\nweather was quite as calm and hot in the mornings, and as breezy in the\nafternoons, the same bells were heard ringing the most confused of\nchimes, squares were as crowded, streets no wider, and negroes as\nnumerous and spicy as ever; yet what I mean is, the animus of the town\nitself had been transmogrified. The beautiful bay was traversed by\nhateful little beetles of steamers, drawing long lines of sooty black\nsmoke through the pure air, instead of multitudes of picturesque lateen\ncraft, with the musical chants and cadences of the negro oarsmen,\nskimming and singing over the water. Then, too, streets were filled with\nomnibii, cabs, gigs, gondolas, and all other conceivable inventions for\nlocomotion, serving to make one uncomfortable from the very strivings to\navoid it: I forgive the entire African races for whistling the latest\npolkas, or rather _sistling_ through their closed teeth, for holding to\nthe ancient custom of affectionately interlacing little fingers, as they\ncome dancing, chattering and jabbering along the streets. Fleas, too,\nwere as lively and vigorous as ever, and I thought I recognised one\ncentenarian, who hopped on me with an ardor truly delightful, upon\nstepping on shore at the palace stairs. The shopping Rua Ouvidor was\nstill the same incongruous assortment of French and German shops, with\nhere and there an unobtrusive counter, behind which some Levite\ndisplayed ebony trays of twinkling brilliants, enough to make the mouth\nwater, eyes wink, and pocket bleed, should a purchase be thought of.\nBlack nurses still held their juvenile charges out from the lattice-work\ndoors and windows, with little bare legs dangling outside, to favor any\nchance pedestrian with an eleemosynary kick, should he come within\nreach. Then the same interminable lines of slaves, each a bag of coffee\non his head, preceded by a leading chorister, with small rattle, by way\nof accompaniment to the harsh chorus, as they pass swiftly on with a\nsharp jerking trot to the shipping or warehouses of the port. All this\nwas still the same to me, but in general it was not my Rio, not the spot\nwhere my first and boyish impressions were formed, of the voluptuous,\nluxurious life under tropical suns. The march of invention is rapidly\nreducing everything to a standard of its own, and I could only sigh over\nthe innovations constituting refinement in civilization, where it seems\nso little needed.\n\nA very great improvement, in all praise be it said, had taken place in\nthe order and cleanliness of the city--we were not accosted once by\nmendicants, when formerly they were as thick as lazzaroni in Naples. The\npolice was large, remarkably well organized, and the riots and\nassassinations of former days were unheard of. The cafés and hotels have\nkept pace with the times, where one may satisfy his gourmanderie with a\ncertain show of epicurianism, provided his palate be not too delicate\nfor many kinds of fishes and vegetables, with mayhap, at rare intervals,\na taste of monkey or paroquet. Yankee ice is very generally used, and a\nphilanthropic person had hung out a banner with \"Mint Juleps\" inscribed\nthereon, but the thirst for these cold institutions is not so much felt\nas in some parts of the United States; for here the weather, though hot\nand enervating, has not the oppressiveness and lassitude of our summers,\nand besides, fluids are made sufficiently cool and cooling, through the\nmedium of unglazed water jars, swung gently in the breeze.\n\nWe saw one deformed African attached to a small tray and sign, on which\nwas legibly painted \"ginger-beer,\" evidently meaning ginger pop. We\nexecrated that monster on the spot, and said to ourselves, what is the\nnecessity for leaving home, if we are to be stared out of countenance by\nour household gods, at the antipodes.\n\nAnother trifling peculiarity attracted our attention. I allude to the\ntrumpet-shaped water pipes, sticking boldly out from below every\nbalconied window, of all colors and sizes, reminding us of misshapen\nangels, with puffed out cheeks, and trombones, invariably found in the\nupper angles of miraculous, or scriptural paintings: fortunately there\nwas no rain, or we might have been gratified with a douche that the\ngreat Preussnitz himself would have been proud of.\n\nBy no art or teaching can His Imperial Majesty, with \"all the Senate at\nhis heels,\" be induced to give a respectable currency to the country.\nThe stamped paper of the empire in rais fluctuates like quicksilver at\nthe mart, and it is next to impossible to form any reasonable conjecture\nwhat change may take place from day to day. In lieu of this, copper\ncoins, nearly the diameter of ship biscuits, valued from twenty to forty\nrais, and commonly called \"dumps,\" are used in every day traffic, but\nshould a person require more than one dollar at a time, it were\nadvisable to employ a negro and basket to transport them.\n\nAmong the devices before touched upon, in the way of ambulation, was one\nwhich amused us excessively. Nothing less than a four-mule omnibus,\ndriven by the most remarkable Jehu ever beheld--evidently one who had\nseen, or at least heard of, the natty style things were conducted at\nCharing Cross before rails were laid. I had the honor to be propelled by\nthis individual a number of times, and it was well worth a \"dump\" to see\nhim pull on a very dirty buskin glove, the manner he handled the rope\nreins, give his glazed hat a rap, and button up a huge box coat, with\nthe sun pouring down a stream of noonday fire; then an encouraging yell\nto the leaders, swinging himself from side to side, away he rattled to\nthe astonishment of every wonder-loving person in the neighborhood. The\nmules acted up to their natural propensities; at times dashing along the\nsidewalks, and against houses; again coming to a dead halt, and favoring\neach other with a few slapping salutes with their heels; then off they\nclattered once more, until about to double a sharp corner, when if they\ndid not bolt into the pulperia opposite, like a Habanese volante, the\nconductor, with the most imperturbable dignity, would crack his leathern\nwhip, shout like a devil, and do his possible to run over a covey of\nmiserable lame blackies, who would start up in great bewilderment, like\nboys catching trapball, without knowing precisely in which direction\nwould be safest to dodge the eccentric vehicle. I always cheered my\nfriend with reiterated marks of approbation, as I look with leniency\nupon the peculiarities of mankind, and ever make a rule to respect the\nabsurdities of others. The Jehu whose accomplishments I have so faintly\nportrayed, can be regarded at any hour of the day, on the road to Boto\nFogo, and he will be found quite as interesting an object of curiosity\nas the Falls of Tejuco, to say nothing of the fatigue and expense of the\njourney.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\nMuch of my time was passed with friends on the shores of the bay, a\nshort distance beyond Gloria Hill, and I was in a certain degree\nrelieved from the banging and roaring of cannon fired in compliment to\ndistinguished personages, who appear to select Rio as the place of all\nothers, where they may smell powder to their noses' content; to say\nnothing of being immured on ship-board after nearly two months' passage.\nEscaping these disagreeables, I had leisure to stretch my limbs on\nshore, and enjoy the perfumes of flowers and fruit from the stems that\nbore them.\n\nIt is in the direction of the beach, or, as the Portuguese have it,\nPraya Flamingo, on the road to Il Cateto, and the charming and secluded\nlittle bay of Boto Fogo, that most of the diplomatique corps, and\nforeign merchants reside. The houses are rarely more than two stories in\nheight, a combination of Venetian and Italian orders of architecture,\nwith heavy projecting cornice, balconies and verandas, and washed with\nlight straw or bluish tints.\n\nThe saloons are always spacious and lofty, with prettily papered walls,\nand floors of the beautiful, dark polished wood of the country. Nearly\nall those residences are surrounded by extensive gardens, blooming in\nbright and brilliant foliage, only matured beneath the burning rays of a\nvertical sun. There are no springs in Rio, and the grounds are irrigated\nby miniature aqueducts, led from mountains in the rear; sufficiently\nlarge, however, to float in their narrow channels, serpents and many\nother noxious reptiles, enough to make one's hair stand erect. It is by\nno means an uncommon occurrence to find the giracea, a venomous snake,\ninsinuating themselves within the sunny marble pavements of steps and\nporticoes and I was assured by a resident, that one monster after having\nsome four feet cut off from his tail, ran away with head and remaining\nhalf with a most cricket-like and surprising degree of celerity. Indeed\nI was myself a witness to the intrusion of an individual of the scorpion\nbreed, who walked uninvited into the saloon, and was on the point of\nstepping up a young lady's ancle, when, detecting his intention, with\nthe assistance of a servant, he was enticed into a bottle that he might\nsting himself or the glass at pleasure. Being somewhat unaccustomed to\nthese little predatory incursions, I was particularly cautious during\nthe remainder of my stay, to examine every article, from a tooth-pick to\nthe couch, before touching the same. Another approximation to the same\ngenus is the white ant, possessing rather a literary turn, and I was\ntold, that it is not unusual for a million or two to devour a\ngentleman's library--covers and all, in a single night. I have never yet\nbeen able to conquer disgust for even docile, harmless, speckled-back\nlizards, and indeed all the hosts of slimy, crawling reptiles I heartily\nfear and abhor.\n\nWe found the town in a furor of enthusiasm in admiration of the song and\nbeauty of a French operatique corps. I went thrice and was well repaid\nfor the dollars, in sweet music of Auber and Donizetti--there were two\nprimas--for serious and comique--both, too, primas in prettiness. The\nAcademy of Paris Music had never, perhaps, seen or heard of Mesdames\nDuval and her partner, but La Sala San Januario had been captivated\nwith both, and beauty covers multitudes of faults, particularly with\nmen, for what care we, if the notes touch the soul, whether a crystal\nshade higher or lower than Grisi, or Persiani, so long as they flow from\nrosy lips, that might defy those last-named donnas to rival, even with\nthe brightest carmine of their toilets.\n\nThe theatre itself is a very respectable little place, having three\ntiers and parquette. The royal box faces the stage, hung with damask.\nThe whole interior of the building was quite Italian--every box railed\noff with gilded fret work, and lighted with candles swinging in glass\nshades. The Brazilians are fond of music, and all the world attended\neach representation, including the Emperor, Empress and Court. As I had,\nin times past, seen a good deal of Don Pedro, when he was a studious,\nmeditative boy, at the Palace of Boto Fogo, I was somewhat curious to\nobserve the effect of old time's cutting scythe on the Lord's anointed,\nas well as on the rest of us clay-built mortals. His face and shape of\nthe head had changed very little, but he had grown immensely; tall,\nawkward, and verging on corpulency even now, though I believe he is only\ntwenty-eight years of age. His Italian wife appeared much older. Both\nwere well and plainly dressed, attended by some half a dozen dames and\ndons of the court.\n\nThe curtain rose as the imperial party took their seats, and there were\nneither vivas, nor groaning manifestations to express pleasure or\ndisgust, from the audience. All passed quietly and orderly, like\nsensible persons, who came to hear sweet sounds, and not to be overawed\nby great people. I made the tour of the donas through a capital\nlorgnette, and although like Mickey Free, fond of tobacco and ladies, I\nmust pledge my solemn assurances, that with the exception of something\npretty, attached to the French company, there was not a loveable woman\nto be seen. I doubt not but there are rare jewels to be found in out of\nthe way spots, secluded from public gaze, but it was terra incognita to\nme, and we saw none other than the light molasses-hued damsels, who are\nfully matured at thirteen, and decidedly passée at three and twenty. In\nthe present age it is a questionable inference if saponaceous compounds\nmight not be judiciously used in removing some few stains that nature is\nentirely innocent of painting; albeit, a lovely Anglo-Saxon of my\nacquaintance was vastly horrified at thoughts of a friend espousing one\nof these cream-colored beauties, valued at a _conto_ of rais, and\nshiploads of coffee; and assured the deluded swain, with tears in her\neyes, that it would require more than half his fortune to keep his wife\nin soap--supposing she should acquire the weakness or ambition to become\nenamored of fresh water.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n     \"Uptorn reluctant from its oozy cave,\n     The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave.\"\n                                                FALCONER.\n\n\nOn the twenty-ninth of October, the anchors were loosened from their\nmuddy beds; a light land wind fanned us out of the harbor, and with a\nwhite silver moon, we began our dreary march towards Cape Horn.\n\nThe following night the ship was dashing over the seas eleven miles the\nhour. The bell had just struck eight, watch set, and the topmen came\ndancing gaily down the rigging, here and there one, with a pea jacket\nsnugly tied up and held by the teeth, preparatory to a four hours'\nsnooze in the hammocks, when a moment after the cry, \"Look out,\nBill!--Overboard!--Man overboard!\" was cried from the main rigging, and\namid the bustle that ensued, the voice of the poor drowning wretch was\nheard in broken exclamations of agony, as the frigate swept swiftly by.\nDown went the helm, and sails were taken in as she came up to the wind,\nbut by the strangest fatality, both life buoys were with difficulty cast\nadrift, and even then the blue lights did not ignite. A boat was soon\nlowered, and sent in the vessel's wake. An hour passed in the search,\nwithout hearing or seeing ought but the rude winds and breaking waves;\nand this is the last ever known of poor Bill de Conick.\n\nHe struck the channels from a fall of twenty feet up the rigging, and\nwas probably either encumbered by heavy clothing, or too much injured to\nbe able to reach the buoys.\n\nFriday, too, the day of all others in our superstitious calendar for\nthose \"who go down to the sea in ships:\" even amid a large crew, where\nmany, if not all, are utterly reckless of life, an incident of this\nnature sheds a momentary gloom around, and serves to make many reflect,\nthat the same unlucky accident might have wrapped any other in the same\nchilling shroud. There are few more painful sights in the world than to\nbehold the imploring looks, with outstretched hands, of a fellow being,\n\n\n     --\"When peril has numbed the sense and will,\n     Though the hand and the foot may struggle still--\"\n\n\nsilently invoking help, when all human aid is unavailing--before the\nangry waves press him below the surface, to a sailor's grave. Aye, there\ncan be no more dreadful scenes to make the strong man shudder than\nthese. Yet it seems a wise ordination in our natures, that the sharp\nremembrance of these painful incidents is so rapidly dispelled. This\nvery characteristic of the sailor, his heedless indifference to the\nfuture, in a great degree makes up his measure of contentment in all the\ntoils and dangers that beset his course, unconscious that time,\n\n\n     \"Like muffled drums, are beating funeral marches to the grave.\"\n\n\nA fortnight flew quickly by, the good ship going at as lively a pace. We\npassed the wide mouth of La Plata, buttoned our jackets, and slept under\nblankets. As the weather became colder, mammy Carey and her broods, with\ngoneys, albatrosses, boobies and cape pigeons, swarmed around the wake,\nto pick up the stray crumbs. Divers hooks and lines were thrown out to\nentice them aboard, but for a long interval all efforts proved\nfruitless, until one morning, an albatross abstractedly swallowed the\nbait, and much to his surprise was pulled on board, like to a boy's\nkite. He measured eleven feet four inches, with enormous quills and\nfeathers, and such a bed of down the monster had concealed about his\noily person, was never known nearer than an eider duck. He had large,\nfierce, black eyes, too, with a beak sharp, and hard enough to have\nnipped a silver dollar into bits. Whales favored us occasionally with an\ninspection--rolled their round snouts out of water--tossed a few tons of\nfoam in the air--threw up their enormous flukes--struck the waves one\nsplashing blow, and then went down to examine the soundings. Thus we\nsailed along the dull shores of Patagonia, with the long taper top\ngallant masts replaced by stumps to stand up more obstinately against\nthe furious tempests of the \"still vexed Bermoothes\" of Cape Horn, the\nbugbear of all landsmen, and the place of all others, where more yarns\nare spun, wove, and wondered at, than from China to Peru. He was a bold\nsailor any way, who first doubled the Cape, whatever others may be who\nfollow. At last came our turn, and on the afternoon of the sixteenth day\nfrom Rio, the clouds lifting, we saw the dark, jagged, rugged bluffs and\nsteeps of Staten and Terra del Fuego. The next morning we rounded Cape\nSt. John, and were received by the long swelling waves of the sister\nocean. If the great Balboa when standing on the mountains of Panama,\nregarding the placid waves of the equatorial ocean, could have known the\ntempestuous gales and giant seas of the polar regions, sporting around\nthis snowy cape, he might possibly have been less overjoyed at his grand\ndiscovery. Our pleasant weather and smooth seas clung to us, to the\nlast, and, as if loth to leave, gave one unclouded view of Staten Land,\nlike a casting in bronze, with the bleak, snow-capped heights, tinged\nby the rising sun. An hour after the bright sky was veiled by mist, the\nrising gale, from the west, brought hail and chilling rain. We lost\nsight of land, reefed the sails close down, and then bid defiance to the\nstorm. Nothing venture nothing gain, is as true with ships' rigging, as\nthimble rigging, and we staked all our hopes on a rapid passage. Sorry\nwork we made of it. The very birds were obliged to trim their pinions\nwith great nicety in beating to windward--even then a terrible gust\nruffled their plumes, and away they were driven, eddying, and screaming,\nto leeward. Still we strove the tempests to disarm, by stout hearts, and\ntough canvas, with partial success, too, for even with adverse winds, we\nmanaged to get to the southward, besides making something in the voyage;\nblessed, also, by a cool, bracing atmosphere, and day and twilight the\nwhole twenty-four hours. Though the sun in tracking his bright career in\neither hemisphere is supposed to tinge the land and sea beneath his\nblaze, with what is generally called summer, yet an exception to the\nrule exists in vicinity of Cape Horn. The days, it is true, are longer;\nin fact the night is day, but the sun diffuses no pleasant, genial\nwarmth, and is only seen peering out from behind the clouds, with a\ncareworn, desolate, blurred face, as if he was ashamed of his company,\nand had marched entirely out of his beat.\n\nIn all this time hardly an incident occurred to make us even wink,\nexcept, perhaps, the tumble of a topman from aloft, who was picked up\nwith a fractured spine; and a little sauciness, reproved by our stout\narmorer, through the intervention of an iron rod upon the limbs of a\ntall negro, thereby breaking his arm in two places. One's bones are\nbrittle in frosty weather, and young Vulcan was made to submit to severe\npersonal damages. I must chronicle also the sudden demise of a\nvenerable sergeant of marines, who departed this life one cold night,\nwhile relieving the guard under the forecastle--the next day he was\nconsigned to the mighty deep, divested of all his worldly accoutrements,\nsave a hammock and a couple of round shot, to pull him into eternity. We\nhad not exchanged nautical salutations since leaving port, and well nigh\nbelieved the ocean was deserted; however, one day there came looming\nthrough the mist and rain, a large ship, with all her flaunting muslin\nspread, running before the gale--the distance was too great to make out\nher colors, but sufficiently near to cause some of us to wonder when our\nbark's prow would be turned in the same direction, and the sheets eased\noff for home. Speaking of ships, while at Rio an American vessel of war\narrived, and our sympathies were universally enlisted on learning that\nshe had been two long months trying to reach Valparaiso, but when off\nthe Horn, or in fact after having passed it, she experienced tremendous\nhurricanes and giant waves, which blew the sails to ribbons, tore away\nthe boats, shattered the stern frame, and left her altogether in a most\ndistressing and heart-rending condition, consequently she put back. It\nwas worthy of remark, however, that she came buoyantly into the harbor,\ntricked out in a bran new suit of clothes, and when a number of officers\nwent on board to survey her pitiable plight, they could find neither\nleak nor strain, and very sensibly concluded she was one of the\nstaunchest and best corvettes in the navy, as indeed she was. John Bull\ntook back his mails and declared he would never take advantage again of\na crack Yankee sloop-of-war to forward important dispatches by.\n\nOur pleasures were now limited, no one raised his nose above the\ntaffrail if not compelled; our chief resource was reading, and after\nabsorbing heaps of ephemeral trash drifting about the decks, we sought\nthe library and poured over ponderous tomes of physics, history or\ntravels. Books find their true value a shipboard--cut off from all\namusement of the land, we derive the full benefit by reading, for more\nthan reading's sake, or for the purpose of killing time in silly\nabstraction, and many a stupid author is thoroughly digested, and many\nlabored narrations of voyages are carefully studied, whose narrators\nhave \"compiled very dull books from very interesting materials,\" and\nthey should be grateful to governments for purchasing, and thankful for\nindifferent persons to peruse them.\n\nOn the advent of Saturday nights, when the wind was blowing cold and\ndreary, we sought the lowest depths of the frigate. _Facilis decensus\naverni_, in other words, \"'tis easy to dive into the cock-pit\"--there in\na cozy state-room, we made a jovial little party, conducted on strictly\nprivate principles, for the purpose of seeking medical advice. We\nconsulted a pot-bellied gentleman, with a small copper kettle on his\nhead, illumined by a spirit lamp, whilom, termed Doctor Faustus--unlike\nthe Sangrado practitioners, the Doctor constantly poured out instead of\nin. One humorsome fellow, the President of our club, who was rather\nstout on his pins, and _carée par la base_, poured forth wit and hot\nwater by the hour, diversifying both occasionally, by ravishing strains\non the violin, and chanting Virginia melodies, which acted on the heels\nof one of our attendants, in a complicated series of jigs, called the\ndouble shuffle.\n\nAt last the fates befriended us; a new moon appeared, and the west wind\nhaving apparently blown itself out of breath, a breeze sprang up from\nsouth-east and commenced blowing the sea and ourselves in an opposite\ndirection; snow fell thick and fast, driving the thermometer below\nfreezing point, and barometer running rapidly up. As the flakes fell and\nadhered to rigging and sails, the entire mass of ropes, spars and\nhampers were soon clothed in icy white jackets. The sun broke out for a\nmoment and converted a showering cloud of snow into a magnificent bow.\nRainbows of sun and moon are beheld by the million, but seldom a novelty\nlike a _snow-bow_! The ship was hurried along at great speed on the\nsixtieth parallel, until reaching the meridian of eighty, when we bore\naway to the northward. Congratulating ourselves with the hope that the\nclerk of the weather had forgotten to announce our arrival to the court\nof winds in the great South Pacific; faint delusion!--off the gusty isle\nof Chiloe, we had a hug from a gale, which, however, exhausted itself in\na few hours, and then left us to flounder about on the mountainous backs\nof waves as best we might--then there was an interval of rain and\nsqualls from all quarters, when the breeze again came fair, and on the\nsecond of December, we anchored at Valparaiso, just five weeks from Rio\nJaneiro.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\nThere can be no greater satisfaction to a wind-buffetted rover, than\nsailing into a new place, and the consolation of knowing there are still\nothers behind the curtain. It was thus we felt, and after rounding the\nPoint of Angels, and casting anchor in the Bay of Paradise, fancied\nourselves quite in altissimo spirits, if not precisely in cielo.\n\nOn approaching the Chilian coast, the eye of course seeks the\nwhite-robed Cordilléras, and well worthy the sight they are--forty\nleagues inland, cutting the sky in sharp, clear outlines, with peaks of\nfrosted silver, until the attention is fairly arrested by the stupendous\npeak of the Bell of Quillota, and Tupongati, the colossus of all,\ntumbling as it were, from the very zenith--then nearer, diminuendoing\ndown to the ocean, are generations of lesser heights, each, however, a\ngiant in itself, until their bases are laved by the Pacific. It is a\ngrand _coup d'oeil_ at rise or set of sun; but there is a sameness\nabout masses of reddish rocks, ravines and mountains of the foreground,\nand one is apt to doubt the immense height of those beyond, from the\ngradual rise around. Moreover, there is nothing striking or diversified,\nas with their tall brothers in Switzerland or Asia; snowy tops without\nglaciers; frightful chasms, and sweeping valleys, without torrents or\nverdure; all this is nature's design, but the decorations have been\nforgotten, and bare walls of mount and deep is all that appears\nfinished.\n\nLittle can be said commendatory of Valparaiso; and truly I think the\nmost rabid of limners would meet with difficulty in getting an outside\nview from any point; for, owing to formation of the land, furrowed into\nscores of ravines by the rush and wash of creation, with the town\nrunning oddly enough along the ridges, or down in the gullies, it\nbecomes a matter of optical skill, for a single pair of eyes to compass\nmore than a small portion at a glance.\n\nThe houses are mean; streets narrow and nasty; the former are built of\nadobies--unbaked bricks of great thickness--or lathed, plastered and\nstuccoed; the latter paved with small pebbles no bigger than pigeons'\neggs, and only those running with the shores of the bay, are at all\nwalkable. A little way back in the _quebradas_, or broken ground, is\nlike stepping over angular Flemish roofs, and with a long leg and short\none, to preserve an equipoise, you may walk along these inclined planes\nwithout any serious personal danger, save what consists in liquids\nthrown on your head, and the torture endured by your corns.\n\nThere is not a single public edifice in Valparaiso worthy of even\npassing admiration. The custom house is most conspicuous, facing the\nport; the theatre fronts one of two small squares, and but a few meanly\nbuilt churches are to be found, packed away, out of sight, under the\nsteep hills back of the city. Improvements, however were planned, and\nrapidly progressing. The port for many years had been steadily rising in\nwealth and population, under the sure incentives of a large foreign\ntrade, and the enterprise of foreign residents; and all that appears\nnecessary to make the city much in advance of other commercial rivals\nin the Pacific, is that Dame Nature should play excavating Betty on the\nnext earthquake, and remove a few of the obtrusive hills that encroach\nso abruptly upon the bay.\n\nThere is an unusual bustle pervading the quay and streets, for a Spanish\nCreole town. As ships cannot approach the unprotected shores to\ndischarge their cargoes, the port is crowded with multitudes of lighters\nand whale boats, constantly passing to and fro, while porters, bending\nunder packages of goods, copper, and produce, are moving from the\n_duana_, or warehouses, to the mole and beach. Videttes of mounted\npolice are posted at every corner, and small guards of soldiers in the\nstreets, supervising the exertions of gangs of convicts at work for the\nauthorities. In emulation, also, of the means of locomotion in vogue at\nRio, there has been introduced a ricketty contrivance, of the cab genus,\ncalled _birloches_, to which is attached a horse within the shafts, and\nanother to caper at the side, similar to a Russian drosky, until a relay\nis required, when they are changed. They rattle through the town with\nreckless speed, urged by lash and spur of the driver mounted on the\noutside beast. The same system is pursued on the longest journeys, with\nmerely the addition of a larger drove of animals to make up their own\nposts from the cavalcade--the only respite from labor remaining in the\nprivilege of travelling at the same rate without the load.\n\nShops are sufficiently numerous, filled with manufactured goods from\nEurope and the United States, with lots of gimcrackery from China. In\nthe old _plaza_ at night, almost every inch of ground is occupied by\nitinerant venders of wares, toys, shoes, combs, fried fish, fruit, and\n_dulces_; each squatted on his own cloth counter, with paper lanterns at\nthe sides. The proprietors of these ambulating establishments are women\nand children. A fine band discourses delightful music, on alternate\nevenings, and when one feels disposed to say pretty speeches to pretty\ndamas, moving gracefully around, and enjoy what is in reality a touch of\nSpanish life, it were as well to saunter an hour on the _plaza_.\n\nValparaiso is extremely disproportioned in breadth to its great length,\nnecessarily so, from the jutting elevations that hang over it.\nImmediately back of the heart of the city are a number of these salient\nspurs, on one of which is planted the Campo Santo--foreign and native\ncemeteries--while those to the right have been, by trouble and means of\nthe foreigners, cleared away into small esplanades, having neat and\npretty cottages, surrounded by shrubbery--one, the flora pondia, a very\nbeautiful, but diminutive tree, blossoms luxuriantly, with delicate,\nwhite flowers, shaped like inverted cones, or bells, and although\nshedding no odor during the day, yet at night it fairly renders the air\noppressive with perfume. These lofty turrets command fine views of bay,\nshipping, and port, fully repaying the fatigue of getting up, in the\nabsence of dust, dirt and noise.\n\nTo the left, bordering close upon the harbor, is a long curving\npromenade, called _El almendral_--almond grove--for no other reason\npossibly than that there is not a vestige of trees or verdant leaves to\nbe seen. Away at the southward, in the opposite extremity of the city,\non what the sailors designate as the fore and main tops, is another\nsuccession of sharply riven ravines, filled and faced with clusters of\none storied dwellings, from the summits down to the narrow gorges\nbetween. It requires some geographical knowledge to explore these\nregions, and though the toil of clambering about the uneven chasms and\nnumerous lanes, be not pleasant, yet one is recompensed while mounting\nthe steep acclivities by the most novel and striking views of the sea\nor city at every turn--never being able to determine where the next\nflight will lead--whether but a few yards from the spot just left, with\na bird's eye view of the shipping, or shut up in small causeways between\nredly-tiled roofs, with the scene closed by barriers of whitewashed\nwalls, and even after attaining another airy eminence, under the belief\nof having the broad ocean spread out at your feet, one is startled to\nfind himself gazing quite in another direction. These tops, with the\n_quebradas_ between, are portions of the terrace, where we spent some\npleasant hours, dancing the _samacueca_, or fandangos, to the tinkling\nof guitars, swept by nimble fingers of sloe-eyed Chilians. We were\nalways received courteously and sincerely, and in making ourselves\nparticularly agreeable, have been occasionally treated to a sip of weak\nrum negus.\n\nOnce, accompanied by a friend in these exploring rambles, we had the\ngood fortune, through the medium of cigarillos, smiles, and a smattering\nof Castilian, to make the acquaintance of a hospitable old lady and her\ntwo pretty daughters. Carmencita was my favorite--lovely Carmencita! She\nwas very pretty--large, very large black eyes, half shut with roguery,\nor coquetry; an adorable plump little figure, and what with a fairy\ntouch of the guitar, a soft, plaintive voice, and a fondness for\ncigarillos, we thought her one of the most enchanting amourettes\nimaginable. Poor Carmen! She had just lost by the fell destroyer her\nlover, who was a superintendent of mines in San Felipe, but who had the\ngenerosity during his last moments, to leave his tender sweetheart a\nhandsome legacy, a letter to the French consul, and his blessing. Pretty\nCarmen! She preserved each and all of these interesting relics, with\ngreat care, and although, \"Souvent femme varie, bien fol est qui s'y\nfie,\" she resisted all further assaults upon her heart--confessed that I\nhad _buen sentimientos_, but, nevertheless, she had resolved to live and\ndie within the severest rules of platonism.\n\nI know not how or why, but there certainly is an irresistible charm,\nthat floats like a mist around Spanish creoles; indeed, creoles of all\nnations have a style of fascination peculiarly their own, which renders\nthem truly bewitching, with the power of retaining their spells as long,\nand as strong as any. Not that their features are more beautiful, eyes\nbrighter, or manners even as refined as those in older countries, for\nthey are not; but still they have soft, languishing eyes, rich, dark\nhair, and pliant, graceful forms, combined with the greatest possible\ncharm in woman, earnest, unaffected, and amiable dispositions.\n\nIt is to be wondered at, too, that in remote countries, where so few\nadvantages are attainable in education, knowledge of the world and\nsociety, that they should be so well supplied with pretty airs and\ngraces. It can only be attributable to that sublimated coquette Nature\nherself, who provides those little goods the gods deny.\n\nWe had the pleasure of attending a number of _tertulias_, or evening\nparties given in the houses of native residents, and witnessing the\ndances of the country. The _tertulia_ is easy and sociable, without form\nor ceremony. The _bayles_ are more staid affairs, where ladies are\nseated in silent rows by themselves--men very hairy and grummy--taking\nadvantage of intervals in dancing to lounge on the piazzas, swallow a\nfew mouthfuls of cigar smoke, (not a bad institution this in warm\nweather,) and exclaim, _dios que calor_! (how hot.) At one of these\nassemblies we first saw a minuet called the _samacueca_. It was\nundertaken by a beautiful young married lady, in company with a rather\ncorpulent old gentleman, and danced in a very sprightly, rogueish\nmanner. The prelude and music is similar to that of fandangos, but the\nmovements and _motif_ are far more indelicate, and it is by no means a\nmatter of difficulty to divine the meaning. Although these innocent\nballets would no doubt shockingly jar the nerves of a more refined\naudience, and many a performer might be considered \"too fine a dancer\nfor a virtuous woman,\" yet I am convinced that among these unaffected\ncreoles, naught is seen in the least degree improper, but they are\nregarded from infancy as the harmless customs and amusements of their\ncountry. As an individual I am fond of a notion of cayenne to existence,\nand only clapped hands, or cried, _brava! buena! bonita!_\n\nThe opera was in full blast--the house large and convenient, with very\npretty scenic displays, and quite a brilliant constellation of Italian\nstars to illumine the proscenium, but on no representation did there\nappear evidence in the boxes that the manager's purse was filled. We had\nthe honor of being presented to the primo basso, Signor Marti, who\nconversed pleasantly with a melodramatic voice from apparently very low\ndown in his boots. We listened to his sweet _seguadillas_ with rapture.\n\nWe found the climate truly delightful. It was the summer of the southern\nocean--pure, pleasant breezes with the sun, and clear, calm, sparkling\nnights by moon or stars. Little or no rain falls, except in the winter\nmonths, and as a consequence where the soil is fine and dry, dust covers\neverything in impalpable clouds, at the same time affording a desirable\natmosphere for that lively individual, the flea!\n\nOn the coast of Syria the Arabs hold to the proverb that the Sultan of\nfleas holds his court in Jaffa, and the Grand Vizier in Cairo; but so\nfar as our experience went in Valparaiso, we could safely give the lie\nto the adage. As an unobtrusive person myself, I have a constitutional\nantipathy to the entire race, and invariably use every precaution to\navoid their society--all to no purpose. They found me in crowds or\nsolitudes--alighted on me in swarms, like the locusts of Egypt,\ndestroying enjoyment on shore, and I fully resolved never to venture\nabroad again, of mine own free will, until some enterprising Yankee\nshall invent a trap for their annihilation.\n\nI remember one mild afternoon sauntering on the almendral, when my\nattention was drawn to a lithe, young damsel on the sidewalk, who,\nwhilst tripping along with a dainty gait, suddenly gave her foot a\nbackward twist, with a dexterous pinch at the pretty ancle, and again\nwent on like a bird. She had captured a flea! but it was a style of\npiedermain worthy of the great Adrien; a feat I was prepared to believe\nnearly equal to mounted Cossacks picking up pins from the ground with\ntheir teeth, at full speed--in fact, something really wonderful, and\nalthough I was quite confounded, and almost speechless with amazement,\nyet I followed mechanically in order to see what she could or would\naccomplish next. Nor could I repress some audible expressions of\nencouragement; but the fair _donçella_, unconscious of having performed\nanything remarkable, gave me a look, as much as to say, in the language\nof a touching nautical ballad--\n\n\n     \"Go away young man--my company forsake.\"\n\n\nSo not wishing to appear intrusive, I returned pensively to mine inn.\n\nFashions in ladies' dress are similar to those in Europe or the United\nStates, and even among the lower orders the bonnet is worn; but to my\nway of thinking, a Spanish girl's forte is in a black satin robe and\nslippers, a flowing _mantilla_, fine, smooth jetty tresses, and a waving\nfan to act as breakflash to sparkling eyes!\n\nOf the men of Chili, or at least those of them whom transient visitors\nencounter in the usual lounging resorts of _vaut-riens_,--theatres,\ncafés, tertulias, plazas, and other purlieus, they cannot be said to\ncompare with their captivating sisters--for a more indolent, hairy,\ncigar-puffing race of bipeds never existed. In dress they ape the faded\nfashions of Europe, retaining, however, the native cloak costume of the\n_poncho_. It is a capital garment for either the road or the saddle,\nleaving free play to the arms, and at the same time a protection from\ndust or rain. It is worn by all classes, and composed of the gaudiest\ncolors, occasionally resembling a remarkably bright pattern of a drawing\nroom carpet, with the head of the wearer thrust through a slit in the\ncentre.\n\nThe President of Chili during our visit was General Bulnes, a soldier of\ndistinction in the civil wars of his own state, with a laurel or two won\nin numerous bloody blows dealt upon the neighboring Peruvians. As the\nhero of Yungai, his Excellency was elevated to his present position by\nthe bayonets of the troops, but latterly he evinced a keen sagacity in\nreducing to a small force this army of vagabonds, who are prone, in\nSouth American republics, in the absence of more agreeable occupation,\nto amuse themselves with hatching conspiracies for the purpose of\nslitting the throats of their former coadjutors.\n\nThere was but one regiment of infantry, and a few hundred cavalry in\nValparaiso. The militia system, as with us, had been partially\nintroduced throughout the provinces. It answered every purpose at much\nless expense than regular troops, indeed excellently well, as a police,\nand to the credit of Señor Bulnes' subalterns, good order was most\nstrictly and promptly enforced in his sea-port.\n\nEvery one subscribed to the opinion that the government was firmly\nestablished, which may have been attributable, in some measure, to the\ndecided argument suggested by the President. Shooting, instead of\ntalking, down all opposition. By these decided proceedings he has been\nenabled to keep turbulent spirits in check, and under fear of his\ndispleasure, there had not been a revolution for a long time, which was,\nin itself, surprising.\n\nChili undoubtedly possesses resources within herself to become one of\nthe most prosperous and flourishing of the independent states of the\nSouth American continent; and could the government be induced to take\nproper steps to invite a more general emigration, and make it the\ninterest of emigrants to settle permanently in the country, by their\nvigor and enterprize, the true development of the mining and\nagricultural wealth might be easily accomplished, and this communion of\ninterests might be the means of securing Chili from the doom which seems\ndestined to await her sister republics. But notwithstanding the rapid\nstrides of liberality throughout the world, it appears that the rulers\nof all the rich soil of America, washed by the Pacific, still maintain a\ncramped policy, actuated by religious intolerance, and an indolence\nunknown elsewhere. Destitute of energy themselves, the voracious\nforeigner soon fattens on their resources, and in the end, having no\nties to bind him to a country where the religion precludes his forming\ncloser domestic relations, embarks his easily acquired fortune, to end\nhis days under an enlightened government.\n\nIt is indeed melancholy that such baneful influences do prevail, when\nthe whole universe is subscribing to more liberal notions, but as I do\nnot purpose preaching a capucinade for or against the Chilians, or take\nany extraordinary measures to discover vice or follies, what might be\ntermed the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties, and apprehensive\nlest any one should entertain ideas of me widely at variance to my real\nand confirmed opinions, I simply assure them, I have long since given\nover all philanthropic researches for that which does not affect my\nheart or digestion. I once lived with a Russian, who was blessed with a\nstomach and organs durable as the platina of his native mines, and he\never assured me, after first finishing a flask of absinthe, that hard\nhearts and good digestions were the only true elements of happiness in\nlife. Becoming a convert to this doctrine, I care not for the foibles or\nfollies of mankind, so long as people do not pick my pockets, or tread\non my toes. I take more delight in seeing a child skip the rope, a\nmonkey at his tricks, or a fish jump out of water, than all the palaces\nor churches on earth, and I had much rather chat an hour with a pert\n_dame de comptoir_, than dine with Señor Bulnes--nor were my spirits\naffected by learning the vast amount of copper exported, or the quantity\nof tea and tobacco smuggled; neither dispensations reduced the price of\nbilliards, or induced laundry women to lave linen a whit the whiter;\nthus the truth being apparent that I am an indifferent worldly person, I\nmake the merit of my necessities, in striving to live the space allotted\nme in the world, and not for it.\n\nAnd now, if I be forgiven for venting this egotistic digression and\nharangue, I promise to make my mouth a _mare clausum_ in future, for all\npersonal grievances.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\nWe were aroused one morning at peep of day by the heavy, booming report\nof a gun from the frigate, and on tearing open our eyelids, saw the\nchequered cornet flying at the fore, the signal of sailing.\nAnathematizing ships and seas, we shook fleas and dust from our heels,\nand repaired forthwith on board. Breakfast over, the shrill whistles of\nboatswain and mates called up anchor; much easier said than done, that\nponderous instrument being loth to leave his bed. And it was not until\nafter a tremendous amount of cursing and heaving had been expended, that\nit deigned to be roused out at all; even then, the ship under topsails,\nwith a fresh breeze, and forty fathoms water, the strain was\nenormous--when by a sudden surge, owing to a number of nonsensical\ncontrivances of iron teeth biting the breathing cable, they let go their\ngripe, and out flew the chain, making the whole vessel tremble from its\nquivering jar and whirl. When its fury was a little exhausted, the\nbrawny compresses were drawn, and the unruly gentleman brought to a\nstand. Then great apprehensions were felt for the seamen in the chain\nlockers. They were pulled out alive, with only a broken leg, and a\nmultitude of painful contusions. How they escaped being torn into atoms,\nin a confined box; six feet square, during the frightful contortions\nand vibrations of the immense iron snake, was little less than a\nmiracle.\n\nAt noon we were clear of the harbor, and as the sun went down, he gave\nus a last glimpse of the Bell of Quillota, and his tall companion,\nTupongati. The wind was fair, we murmured that beautiful saline\nsentiment, \"The ship that goes, the wind that blows, and lass that loves\na sailor.\" I sighed adieu to Carmencita, ordered my valet of the\nbedchamber, Giacomo, to arrange my four poster of a hammock, and then in\ndreams forgot the past.\n\nThe fourth day out we passed near to a cluster of desolate, uninhabited\nislands--St. Ambrose and Felix--the first about two miles in length, and\nrising abruptly from the ocean, to the height of fifteen hundred feet.\nNumbers of queer-shaped, pointed, rocky islets, white with guano, were\ngrouped along the base of the island, and through one was cut, by some\naction of the water, a well-defined arch, open to the sea, like a\ntelescope.\n\nPursuing an undeviating track, with glorious seas, skies and winds, on\nthe last day of the year we crossed the equator, in a longitude of 110°.\nDuring this period there were two deaths; one a good old man from\nDeutschland, named Jerry Wilson. On being asked an hour before he\nexpired, how he felt--\"First rate,\" said Jerry, and no doubt he is now,\nif not then. The other was a youth named Tildon, caused by a spasmodic\naffection of the throat, so as to prevent swallowing food, until he\nabsolutely starved to death. He made his last plunge as the sun went\ndown. The stately frigate, careless of all, went flying with\nwide-stretched pinions, towards her destination, at a speed of Jack the\nGiant-killer's boots. On the 20th of January, land ho! Alta California!\nFor forty-eight hours, we sailed lightly along the base of a compact\nridge of mountains that rose like a sea wall, seamed into ten thousand\nfurrows, the summits fringed with lofty forest trees, and not a cloud\nvisible in high heaven, then appeared a green, shelving point, of waving\npines and verdure, terminated by a reef of fearful, black rocks. Giving\nthis a wide birth, we shortly entered a wide, sweeping indentation of\nthe coast, in shape of a fish hook, with the barb at the southern end,\nfurled our sails, and moored ship in the Bay of Monterey, forty days\nfrom Valparaiso.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\nBefore resuming the thread of this narrative, it may be as well to give\na brief summary of events that had transpired previously to our arrival.\n\nPending disturbances between the United States and Mexico, when the\nquarrel had not reached an open rupture, much excitement prevailed in\nUpper California, through the agency of a few foreigners, who wished to\nrevolutionize the country. At this epoch, Mr. Fremont, of the U. S.\nTopographical Engineers, was in the heart of California, engaged upon\nscientific explorations, ostensibly in relation to the practicability of\nthe best route for emigration to Oregon. There is reason to believe,\nalso, that he was instructed to feel the geographical pulse of the\nnatives, as well as the mountain passes. Be this as it may, Mr. Fremont\nwas encamped near Monterey, with sixty followers, when José Castro, a\nMexican officer in command of the province, issued a proclamation,\nordering Fremont to leave the territory immediately, and at the same\ntime threatened to drive every foreigner away also. Fremont and his\nparty, after holding Castro's bombast in contempt, and his troops at\nbay, at last began to march, quite leisurely, towards the northern route\nfor Oregon: these occurrences happened early in the spring of 1846. On\nthe 13th of June the first movement began, on the river Sacramento,\nnear Sutler's Fort, and one of the tributaries to the head waters of San\nFrancisco. This attack was composed of a few lawless vagabonds, who,\ncarrying a banner of white, with a red border and grizzly bear, styled\nthemselves the \"Bear Party:\" they were of all nations, though claiming\ncitizenship in the United States. After stealing a drove of horses,\nbelonging to the Californians, their numbers were increased by other\nmarauding gentry to forty, when moving rapidly around the northern\nshores of the Bay of San Pablo, they surprised and captured the little\ngarrison of Sonoma, under charge of General Guadalupe Valléjo. Then they\ncommitted excesses, without the slightest recognized authority, but\npurely, it appears, from love of a little independent fighting and\nthieving on their own private accounts. Meanwhile a large naval force\nhad been hovering on the Mexican coast for a year previously, awaiting\nthe first blow to be dealt on the other side. Intelligence of the\nbattles on the Rio Grande reached Mazatlan in June, and Commodore Sloat,\nwho was there at the time, sailed for Monterey with the squadron,\narrived in July, and on the 7th hoisted the American flag, and took\nformal and legitimate possession of the territory. The same course was\npursued at San Francisco. A week afterwards the frigate Congress\narrived, and Sloat, transferring his pennant to Commodore Stockton,\nreturned home. The new Commander-in-Chief then sailed for San Pedro,\nthree hundred miles down the coast; where disembarking a force of three\nhundred seamen and marines, he marched towards the capital of Upper\nCalifornia, Pueblo de los Angeles, a town some thirty miles inland. On\nthe route, he found a body of five hundred men, under Pico, and Castro,\nthe military governor of the territory. The Californians broke up their\ncamp and dispersed, before getting a glance of the sailors' bayonets.\nStockton occupied Los Angeles, received the submission of the native\nauthorities and citizens, placed a small garrison, returned to San\nPedro, where he re-embarked for San Francisco; in the interim the\nsettlements of the valleys of Santa Clara and Sonoma were occupied by\nAmerican forces.\n\nFremont overtaken on his way through Oregon by Lieut. Gillespie,\nretraced his steps to California, and learning the U. S. flag had been\nhoisted in Monterey, proceeded with a battalion of settlers to the lower\ncountry, where they were duly enrolled. At San Francisco news reached\nStockton that the natives, six hundred strong, had risen after his\ndeparture. The Savannah sailed to aid the small garrison, which,\nhowever, had been obliged to capitulate, and Captain Mervine, with three\nhundred men, was beaten by a much smaller force.\n\nThe Commodore sailed again in the beginning of November, and landed at\nSan Diego with about 500 men. While at this place, General Kearny with\n100 dragoons arrived from a toilsome march of nearly three months from\nSanta Fé. At the Pass of San Pascual, he fell in with a Californian\nforce under Andreas Pico, and after a severe skirmish, beat them off,\nthough with great loss to himself--eighteen of his saddles were emptied,\nincluding three officers, and as many more badly wounded. Forming a\njunction with Commodore Stockton, they left San Diego for San Angelos.\nAfter a toilsome march of 150 miles, through a broken and mountainous\ncountry, on the 8th and 9th of January, their passage was opposed by\nGovernor Pico and Castro, at the river San Gabriel and plains of La\nMesa, heading a body of 500 cavalry and four field guns; after an\nobstinate resistance, the Californians were put to flight. Subsequently,\nthey fell back upon Colonel Fremont, who, with the volunteers, were en\nroute to unite with the naval forces from San Siego. The Californian\nleaders again capitulated and signed an armistice. This was the position\nof affairs on our arrival at Monterey--a few days later General Kearny\narrived, after his difficulties with Commodore Stockton and Fremont, in\nrelation to the governorship of the territory.\n\nThe news we received was by no means inspiriting, nor even the\nperspective view of matters becoming better. Among minor details, the\nwreck of the schooner Shark, at Columbia river--the drowning of a launch\nload of sailors and two officers, in San Francisco, and a host of more\ntrivial misfortunes. The vessels of the squadron were dispersed up and\ndown the coast, necessarily scattering men and officers at different\nposts, for the purpose of retaining and subjugating the country; but of\ncourse rendering the ships generally inefficient, from the great\ndiminution of their complements. The natives had been confounded and\nbewildered by speeches and proclamations--relays of fresh\ncommanders-in-chief, who, amid their own official bickerings, never\nceased forming new governments, organizing armies, appointing officers,\ncivil and military--but what served in a great degree to urge matters to\na crisis, was the banding together of a few mongrel bodies of\nvolunteers, who enhanced the pleasure of their otherwise agreeable\nsociety, by pillaging the natives of horses, cattle, saddles, household\nutensils, and the like, in quite a maraudering, buccaneering,\nindependent way; all of course under the apparent legal sanction of the\nUnited States' government, and not a doubt but demanded by the\nimperative necessity of their patriotic plunderers themselves. The\nresult was easily foretold. These miserable Californians, who at first\nwere not averse to subscribe to our laws, and to come under the flag\npeacefully and properly, were soon screwed up to such a maze of fear,\nuncertainty, and excitement, as to make all future arrangements an\naffair of exceeding difficulty. Besides, another important obstacle\nintervened; they were to be convinced that the Americans really intended\nto hold permanent possession of their country, and not to make another\nrevoke, as could be reasonably inferred from the invasion of a few years\nprevious, when we so quickly resigned the conquest--a tergiverse\nproceeding, which they, as well as more enlightened nations, were\nsomewhat at a loss to comprehend. Thus judging from experience of the\npast, they had no desire to make themselves obnoxious to their Mexican\nrulers, in case a like event should occur again; and consequently, in\nthe absence of a sufficiency of those convincing arguments done up in\nmilitary jackets and trousers, with muskets by their sides, to overawe\neven a thin population over so great an extent of territory, the\nnatives, even those at first most favorably disposed, seized the lance,\ntook a decided stand, and with the prospect of doing more fighting than\nwas originally contracted for.\n\nThese were the causes principally instrumental in bringing about the\nlast outbreak. But the Californians, without organization, arms, or\ncompetent leaders, though with all the elements to prolong the contest,\nseeing fresh arrivals of ships and troops appear on their coast, were\ninduced to throw by the lance for the lasso, and agree to an honorable\ncapitulation. Milder influences prevailed; steps were taken to\ntranquilize people's minds by a spirit of conciliation dictated by good\nsense. Useless and annoying restrictions were abolished, property of\nevery description was returned or liberally paid for, prisoners\ndischarged, paroles annulled, the blue jackets, playing soldiers on\nshore, were ordered to their respective ships, and the volunteers\ndisbanded. All this tended in a great measure to reassure the natives of\nan amicable endeavor on our part to make the new yoke rest as lightly as\npossible on their shoulders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\nThe rain came down in a steady drizzle, as we anchored in our new haven,\nbut as the falling water thinned, and rolled partially along the land,\nwe discerned an endless succession of green gentle slopes and valleys,\nwith heights of just a medium between hills and mountains, rising\ngradually from the shores of the bay, clothed and crowned with\nmagnificent vegetation. We did not call to mind any land naturally so\npicturesque and beautiful. Afterwards, when our excursions had extended\nfor many leagues in all directions, we were ever amazed to perceive on\nevery side the loveliness of plain, hill, and valley still the same.\nIndeed, for leagues in some directions it presented the appearance of\nextensive artificial parks, decked and brilliant with a carpeting of\nrich grasses and flowers, shaded by noble clusters of wide-spreading\noaks, all entirely free from undergrowth.\n\nThe town of Monterey, if it could be dignified by the title, we found a\nmean, irregular collection of mud huts, and long, low, adobie dwellings,\nstrewn promiscuously over an easy slope, down to the water's edge. The\nmost conspicuous was the _duana_--Custom House--a spacious frame\nbuilding near the landing, which unquestionably had in times past been\nthe means of yielding immense revenues to the Mexican exchequer, but now\nits roomy store-houses were empty and silent. Neither men nor\nmerchandise disturbed its quiet precincts. Notwithstanding the rain,\nnumbers of us resolved to dare the moisture, and I, for one, would wade\nabout on land, up to my neck in water, at any time to get quit of a ship\nafter forty days aquatic recreation; but here there was no resisting the\ngratefully green appearance of the shores around us: we were soon stowed\nin a boat--the oars dipped smart and strong in the water, and we went\nmerrily towards the land. Indeed I have invariably observed that\nmen-of-war's men are wont to use their arms with much vigor, on first\npulling on shore in a strange port; a physical characteristic which I am\nled to attribute to a desire on their part to test the virtues of any\nliquid compounds to be met with in the abodes of hospitable publicans.\nThe anchorage was barely half a mile from the shore, and in a few\nminutes we disembarked at a little pier, that only partially served to\ncheck the rolling swell from seaward; but what's a wet foot in a fit of\nenthusiasm, or a heavy shower! Nothing, certainly, so we scrambled up\nthe slimy steps, and while on the point of giving a yell of delight, to\nannounce our arrival in California, my pedal extremities flew upwards\nand down I sank, making a full length _intaglio_ in the yielding\nmud--this was my first impression, but after getting decently scraped by\nJack's knives, I became less excitable, and took intense delight during\nthe course of the afternoon, in beholding my companions going through\nprecisely the same performances. By cautious navigation we reached the\nmain street, then our progress was dreadfully slow and laborious. The\nmud--a sticky, red pigment, lay six good inches on the dryest level, and\nat every step our feet were disengaged by a powerful jerk, and a deep,\ngutteral noise from the slippy holes; occasionally, too, we were forced\nto climb ungainly barricades of timber, with here and there a piece of\nordnance gazing ferociously out into the surrounding country. Although a\ncasual observer might naturally have supposed that the mud would have\noffered a sufficient barrier to all the armies ever raised, still, as\ntrouble had been brewing, and most of the garrison withdrawn for an\nexpedition into the interior, these precautions were quite an imposing\ndisplay, which was, no doubt, all intended. At last, by dint of\nperseverance, we attained a firm foothold in the barracks, and then had\nbreath and leisure to look around.\n\nMonterey, before the war, contained about five hundred people, but on\nour advent there was scarcely a native to be seen: all the men had gone\nto join their belligerent friends in the southern provinces, leaving\ntheir property and dwellings to be guarded by their wives and dogs; even\ntheir ladies bore us no good will, and our salutations were returned by\na surly _adios_, extorted from closed teeth and scowling faces. The dogs\nwere more civil, and even when showing their fangs, were sagacious\nenough to keep beyond the chastening reach of Yankee arms. There were a\ngoodly number of sentinels on the alert, prowling about, with heavy\nknives in their girdles, and the locks of their rifles carefully\nsheltered from the rain; and at night it became a matter of some bodily\ndanger for an indifferent person to come suddenly in view of one of\nthese vigilant gentlemen, for with but a tolerable ear for music he\nmight detect the sharp click of a rifle, and the hoarse caution of \"Look\nout, thar, stranger;\" when if the individual addressed did not speedily\nshout his name and calling, he stood the merest chance of having another\neyelet-hole drilled through his skull.\n\nAll this at the first rapid glance gave us no very bright anticipations;\neverything looked triste and cheerless. Upon inquiring, too we were\nshocked to learn there was nothing eatable to be had, nor what was yet\nmore melancholy, naught drinkable nor smokable: everybody was so much\noccupied in making war, as to have entirely lost sight of their\nappetites. We began to indulge the faintest suspicions that somehow or\nother we had gotten into the wrong place, and that California was not so\ncharming a spot as we had been led to believe; however, there was no\nappeal, and fortunately for our health and spirits, as we were leaning\nlistlessly over the piazza of the barracks, staring might and main at\nthe little church in the distance, we beheld a body of horsemen coming\nslowly over the Verdant plains, and soon after they drew bridles, and\ndismounted before us. The _cavallada_ of spare horses were driven into\nthe corral near by, and we were presented in due form to the riders. It\nwas the most impressive little band I ever beheld; they numbered sixty,\nand, without exception, had gaunt bony frames like steel, dressed in\nskins, with heavy beards and unshorn faces, with each man his solid\nAmerican rifle, and huge knife by the hip. With all their wildness and\nferocious appearance they had quite simple manners, and were perfectly\nfrank and respectful in bearing. Their language and phraseology were\ncertainly difficult for a stranger to comprehend, for many of them had\npassed the greater portion of their lives as trappers and hunters among\nthe Rocky Mountains; but there was an air of indomitable courage\nhovering about them, with powers to endure any amount of toil or\nprivation--men who wouldn't stick at scalping an Indian or a dinner of\nmule meat;--and you felt assured in regarding them, that with a score of\nsuch staunch fellows at your side you would sleep soundly, even though\nthe forests were alive with an atmosphere of Camanche yells. They were\nthe woodsmen of our far west, who on hearing of the disturbances in\nCalifornia enrolled themselves for service in the Volunteer\nBattalion--more by way of recreation, I imagine, than for glory or\npatriotism. In truth, the natives had good reason to regard them with\nterror.\n\nWe soon became quite sociable, and after a hearty supper of fried beef\nand biscuit, by some miraculous dispensation a five-gallon keg of\nwhiskey was uncorked, and, after a thirty days' thirst, our new-found\nfriends slaked away unremittingly. Many were the marvellous adventures\nnarrated of huntings, fightings, freezings, snowings, and starvations;\nand one stalwart bronzed trapper beside me, finding an attentive\nlistener, began,--\"The last time, Captin, I cleared the Oregon trail,\nthe Ingens fowt us amazin' hard. Pete,\" said he, addressing a friend\nsmoking a clay pipe by the fire, with a half pint of corn-juice in his\nhand, which served to moisten his own clay at intervals between every\npuff,--\"Pete, do you notice how I dropped the red skin who pit the\npoisoned arrer in my moccasin! Snakes, Captin, the varmints lay thick as\nleaves behind the rocks; and bless ye, the minit I let fall old Ginger\nfrom my jaw, up they springs, and lets fly their flint-headed arrers in\namongst us, and one on 'em wiped me right through the leg. I tell yer\nwhat it is, hoss, I riled, I did, though we'd had tolerable luck in the\nforenoon--for I dropped two and a squaw and Pete got his good\nsix--barrin' that the darned villians had hamstrung our mule, and we\nwere bound to see the thing out. Well, Captin, as I tell ye, I'm not\nweak in the jints, but it's no joke to hold the heft of twenty-three\npounds on a sight for above ten minits on a stretch; so Pete and me\nscrouched down, made a little smoke with some sticks, and then we moved\noff a few rods, whar we got a clar peep; for better than an hour we seed\nnothin', but on a suddin I seed the chap--I know'd him by his\npaintin'--that driv the arrer in my hide; he was peerin' around quite\nbold, thinkin' we'd vamosed; I jist fetched old Ginger up and drawed a\nbee line on his cratch, and, stranger, I giv him sich a winch in the\nstomach that he dropped straight into his tracks; he did! in five jumps\nI riz his har, and Pete and me warn't troubled agin for a week.\" With\nsuch pleasant converse we beguiled the time until the night was somewhat\nadvanced; when, finding a vacant corner near the blazing fire, with a\nsaddle for pillow, I sank into profound slumber, and never awoke to\nconsciousness until the band was again astir at sunrise.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\nThe time passed rapidly away. The rainy season had nearly ended,--we\nwere only favored with occasional showers, and by the latter part of\nFebruary, the early spring had burst forth, and nothing could exceed the\nloveliness of the rich, verdant landscape around us. After the treaty\nand capitulation had been signed by the Picos at Los Angeles, their\npartizans dispersed, and all who resided in Monterey shortly returned to\ntheir homes. Every day brought an addition to the place--great ox-cart\ncaravans with hide bodies, and unwieldy wheels of hewn timber, came\nstreaming slowly along the roads, filled with women and children, who\nhad sought refuge in some secure retreat in the country. Cattle soon\nwere seen grazing about the hills. The town itself began to look\nalive--doors were unlocked and windows thrown open--a café and billiards\nemerged--pulperias, with shelves filled with aguadiente appeared on\nevery corner--the barricades were torn down--guns removed--and the\nCalifornians themselves rode blithely by, with heavy, jingling spurs,\nand smiling faces--the women, too, flashed their bright eyes less\nangrily upon their invaders--accepted pleasant compliments without a\nsneer, and even Doña Angustia Ximénes, who took a solemn oath upon her\nmissal a few months before, never to dance again, until she could wear a\nnecklace of Yankee ears, relented too, and not only swept gracefully\nthrough waltz and contra dança, but when afterwards one of our young\nofficers became ill with fever, she had him carried from the tent to her\ndwelling, watched him with all a woman's care and tenderness, as much as\nthough she had been the mother that bore him, until he was carried to\nhis last home. Yes, bella Señora, you may swear the same wicked oaths\nforever, and still be forgiven by all those who witnessed your\ndisinterested devotion to poor Minor.\n\nGradually these good people became aware that the Yankees were not such\na vile pack of demonios as they first believed, and thus whenever\nguitars were tinkling at the fandangos, or meals laid upon the board, we\nwere kindly welcomed, with the privilege of making as much love, and\ndevouring as many _frijoles_ as may have been polite or palatable. Upon\nvisiting the residences of the townspeople, true to the old Spanish\ncharacter there was no attempt made in show or ostentation--that is\nalways reserved for the street or alemeda, but a stranger is received\nwith cordiality, and a certain ease and propriety to which they seem to\nthe \"manner born.\" With the denizens of Monterey, even the wealthiest,\ncleanliness was an acquirement very little appreciated or practised, and\nI should presume the commodity of soap to be an article \"more honored in\nthe breach than the observance.\" For being given to cold water as a\nprinciple of lady-like existence I was something shocked on one\noccasion, to find a nice little Señorita, to whom I had been playing the\nagreeable the night previous, with a chemisette of a chocolate hue\npeeping through a slit in her sleeve; her soft, dimpled hands, too, made\nme speculate mentally upon the appearance of her little feet, and I\nforthwith resolved, in the event of becoming so deeply infatuated as to\ninduce her papa to permit a change of estate, to exact a change of\nraiment in the marriage contract.\n\nThe occasion of inspecting the arena of this young woman's vestments was\nduring a visit to her portly mamma, and I may as well, by way of\nexample, describe my reception. The dwelling was a low, one story pile\nof adobies, retaining the color of the primitive mud, and forming a\nlarge parallelogram; it enclosed a huge pen, or corral, for cattle, over\nwhich guard was carefully mounted by crowds of _gallinazos_. There were\ndivers collections of Indian families coiled and huddled about beneath\nthe porticoes and doorways, each member thereof rejoicing in great\nmasses of wiry shocks of hair, quite coarse enough to weave into bird\ncages on an emergency; there were some bee-hive shaped ovens also, from\nthe apertures of which I remarked a number of filthy individuals\nimmersed neck deep, taking, no doubt, balmy slumber, with the rain doing\nwhat they never had the energy to perform themselves--washing their\nfaces. This much for externals--men and beasts included, merely\npremising that the whole affair was situated in a quiet detachment by\nitself, a few hundred yards in rear of the village. My guide, though a\ngood pilot, and retaining a clear perception of the road, was unable to\nconvoy me safely to the house, without getting stalled several times in\nthe mire; however, I reached terra firma, thankful to have escaped with\nmy boots overflowing with mud, and then we marched boldly into the\ndomicile. We entered a large, white-washed _sala_, when, after clapping\nhands, a concourse of small children approached with a lighted tallow\nlink, and in reply to our inquiries, without further ceremony, ushered\nus by another apartment into the presence of the mistress of the\nmansion. She was sitting _a la grand Turque_, on the chief ornamental\nstructure that graced the chamber--namely, the bed, upon which, were\nsportively engaged three diminutive brats, with a mouse-trap--paper\ncigarritos--dirty feet, and other juvenile and diverting toys. The Doña\nherself was swallowing and puffing clouds of smoke alternately--but I\nmust paint her as she sat, through the haze. \"Juana,\" said she, calling\nto a short, squat Indian girl, \"_lumbrecita por el Señor_,\"--a light for\nthe gentleman--and in a moment I was likewise pouring forth volumes of\nsmoke. She wore her hair, which was black and glossy, in natural folds\nstraight down the neck and shoulders, dark complexion, lighted by deep,\nblack, intelligent eyes, well-shaped features, and brilliant, white\nteeth. I saw but little of her figure, as she was almost entirely\nenveloped in shawls and bed clothes; the arms, however, were visible,\nvery large, round and symmetrical, which of themselves induced me to\nresign all pretensions to becoming her son-in-law. She excused herself\non the plea of indisposition for not rising, and it being one I surmised\nshe was a martyr to every year or so, I very readily coincided in\nopinion, but in truth I found the Señora Mariqueta sensible,\ngood-humored, and what was far more notable, the mother of fourteen male\nand five female children--making nineteen the sum of boys and girls\ntotal, as she informed me herself, without putting me to the trouble of\ncounting the brood; and yet she numbered but seven and thirty years, in\nthe very prime of life, with the appearance of being again able to\nperform equally astonishing exploits for the future. She named many of\nher friends and relatives who had done wonders, but none who had\nsurpassed her in these infantile races. In Spain she would receive a\npension, be exempted from taxes and the militia. On being told this she\nlaughed heartily, and gave her full assent to any schemes undertaken in\nCalifornia for the amelioration of the sex. Her husband, who chanced to\nbe absent, was a foreigner, but the whole family were highly\nrespectable, and universally esteemed by their fellow citizens. After an\nhour's pleasant chat we took leave, with the promise on my part of\nteaching the eldest daughter, Teresa, the Polka, for which I needed no\nincentive, as she was extremely graceful and pretty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\nOne morning, at break of day, I left Monterey for a tramp among the\nhills; the natives by this time had become pacifically disposed, and\nthere were no serious apprehensions of getting a hide necklace thrown\nover one's head, in shape of the unerring lasso, if perchance a Yankee\nstrayed too far from his quarters. The war was virtually ended in\nCalifornia: there was no further hope for gold chains or wooden legs;\nthe glory had been reaped by the first comers; and I made the time and\nshot fly together, ranging about the suburbs. With a fowling-piece on my\narm, and a carbine slung to the back of an attendant, we pursued a\ntortuous path, through a gap in the hills, to the southward, and after a\nfour or five miles' walk we found ourselves at the Mission of Carmelo.\nIt is within a mile of the sea, protected by a neck of land, close to a\nrapid clear stream of the same name. A quaint old church, falling to\ndecay, with crumbling tower and belfry, broken roofs, and long lines of\nmud-built dwellings, all in ruins, is what remains of a once flourishing\nand wealthy settlement. It still presents a picturesque appearance,\nstanding on a little rise, above a broad fertile plain of many acres,\nadjacent to the banks of the river, and at the base a large orchard of\nfruits and flowers. Following up the stream for some leagues, through\nthe same rich level, crossing and re-crossing the pure running water,\nwith noble salmon flashing their silver sides at every fathom, we soon\nbagged as much game as we could stagger under: wild ducks, quail,\npartridges, hares of a very large size, and rabbits. Not contented with\nthis we left the valley, and struck through a narrow gorge of the\nadjoining hills. Here I caught a glimpse of a trio of _coyotes_ and\ninstantly blazed away with the carbine, which brought one of them\ntumbling down the steep, but much to my surprise his two friends\nfollowed, and actually bolstered up their wounded comrade, and assisted\nhim out of sight before I could send another bullet. They were as large\nas wolves, of a light yellowish brown, with long sharp snouts, bushy\nhanging tails, and a gait like the trot of a dog. They are very\ndisagreeable customers to sheep and other small fry, and, as I\ndiscovered subsequently, that when badly wounded, they have a very\nunpleasant way with their teeth. Continuing onward, and hardly recovered\nfrom my astonishment at the rencounter with the _coyotes_, when up\nbounded, within thirty yards, three large deer, and with the coolest\nimpudence stared me full in the face. _Maldito!_ the carbine was again\nin the hands of my companion, some distance behind, but I could not\nresist the temptation of giving a strapping buck a hail-storm of fine\nshot between the eyes. Even this only made the party a little frisky,\nkick up their heels, toss their heads, and wag their short tails. I was\nin hopes the carbine would reach me in time to send the lead more in a\nlump, but in another moment they sprang off like the wind, and the next\nseen of them was in company with a large herd, a mile away, with their\ngraceful bodies and limbs standing in clear relief against the blue sky,\nI had not a doubt but that they were relating my chagrin as a capital\nbuckish joke. By this time we had penetrated so far from ravine to hill\nas to have completely lost our bearings, and becoming quite bewildered,\nI began to entertain serious ideas of seeking some place of shelter for\nthe night. My attendant, too, had fallen down two or three times from\nexhaustion, the sun was rapidly declining, and I was not at all pleased\nwith the wild appearance of the hills and valleys that encircled us.\nThrowing away the greater part of our game, we made a toilsome effort,\nand reached the crest of an adjacent height, in hopes of getting a\nglimpse of the plains of Carmelo. Again we were disappointed; and while\non the point of making the best of our bargain, by risking a hug from\ngrizzly bears or panthers during the night, I espied a horseman slowly\nwinding his way beneath us in the gorge. By discharging a barrel of my\npiece, and continued shouts, we soon attracted attention, and thus being\nencouraged by the sight of a fellow-being, we sprang briskly down the\nsteep. However, our ally evinced no violent affection for us, and in a\ntrice wheeled his horse up the opposite face of the acclivity; there he\npaused, well out of gun-shot, and presently I heard a shrill voice\ncrying, \"_Que es lo que quiere?_\" \"We are lost,\" I replied; \"will you\nassist us?\" With many a wary glance and movement, he at last came\nfrankly towards us, and I then discovered an intelligent little fellow,\nabout ten years of age, astride a powerful animal, which he guided by a\nsingle thong of hide. Slipping from the saddle, and letting his lasso\nfall on the ground, he doffed his broad glazed _sombrero_, and stood\nawaiting my wishes. On learning our situation he gladly volunteered to\nguide us, and in return told me that he had been all day seeking stray\ncattle among the mountains, that the bears were very numerous, and that\nwe had described a wide circuit around the hills, and were within a\nshort league of the Mission. This last was highly gratifying\ninformation, and mounting my worn-out attendant on the horse, our\nlittle guide took the bridle, and led the way towards the valley. It was\nquite dark on reaching the stream, and I felt thoroughly knocked up, but\na few minutes bathe in the chill water gave me new life, and shortly\nafter we were housed in the great hall of the Mission. It chanced to be\nSunday evening, moreover, during carnival, and there were preparations\nfor a more brilliant fandango than the usual weekly affair generally\nproduced. A few horses were picketted about the great _patio_, and two\nor three ox-carts with hide bodies were serving for boudoirs to damsels,\nwho had come from afar to mingle in the ball. But the company had not\nyet assembled in the old hall, that had once served the good _frayles_\nfor a refectory; and on entering I was kindly welcomed by the Patrona\nMargarita, and her handsome coquettish daughter, Domatilda, who were the\nliege and lady hostesses of the Carmelo Mission. With her own hands the\njolly madre soon prepared me an _olla podrida_ of tomatoes, peppers, and\nthe remains in my game bag. Then her laughing nymph patted me some\n_tortillas_; and after eating ravenously, and draining a cup of\naguadiente, the hospitable old lady tumbled me into her own spacious\ncouch, which stood in an angle of the hall, and giving me a hearty slap\non the back, shouted, \"_Duerma usted bien hijo mio hasta media\nnoche_\"--Sleep like a top until midnight. I needed no second bidding,\nand in a moment was buried in deep sleep. Unconscious of fleeting hours,\nI was at length restored to life, but in the most disordered frame of\nmind; suffering under a most complicated attack of nightmare, of which\nbear-hugs, murders, manacles and music present but a slight idea of my\nagony; and indeed, when after pinching myself, and tearing my eyelids\nfairly open, I had still great difficulty in recalling my erring\nfaculties. I found my own individual person deluged with a swarm of\nbabies, who were lying athwart ships, and amid ships, fore and aft,\nheads and toes, every way; and one interesting infant, just teething,\nwas sucking vigorously away on the left lobe of my ear, while another\nlovingly entwined its little fingers in my whiskers. Nor was this half\nthe bodily miseries I had so innocently endured. A gay youth, with a\ndripping link, nicely balanced against my boots, was sitting on my legs,\nwith a level space on the bed before him, intently playing _monté_, to\nthe great detriment of the purses of his audience. On glancing around, I\nbeheld the lofty apartment lighted by long tallow candles melted against\nthe walls, whose smoke clung in dense clouds around the beams of the\nlofty hall; the floor was nearly filled, at the lower end, with groups\nof swarthy Indians and paisanos, sipping aguadiente, or indulging in the\nsame exciting amusement as the gentleman sitting on my feet. On either\nside were double rows of men and women, moving in the most bewildering\nmazes of the contra danza: turning and twisting, twining and whirling\nwith unceasing rapidity, keeping time to most inspiriting music, of\nharps and guitars; whilst ever and anon, some delighted youth would\nelevate his voice, in a shout of ecstasy, at the success of some\nbright-eyed señorita in the dance: _Ay, mi alma! Toma la bolsa!\nCaramba!_--Go it, my beauty! Take my purse! Beautiful!--It took me but\nan instant to appreciate all this; and then, being fully roused to my\nwrongs, I gave one vigorous spring, which sent the _monté_ man, candle,\ncards, and coppers, flying against the wall, and bounding to my feet I\nmade a dash at the Patrona, drank all the _licores_ on the tray, and\nseizing her around the waist, away we spun through the fandango. Long\nbefore rosy morn I had become as merry and delighted as the rest of the\ncompany. I bought a dirty pack of cards for a rial, and opened a monte\nbank, for coppers and paper cigars, and although a select party of\nIndios did their best to impose upon my youth and inexperience, yet on\nreceiving their treasure of _centavos_, winning a hatful of cigarritos,\nand only paying half a one for _importas_, I comprehended by their\ngutteral exclamations that their _compadre_ was not so verdant a person\nas they at first imagined. Thus I left them to their reflections, and\nbusied myself swearing love, and sipping _dulces_ with the brunettas;\nvowing friendship to the men; drinking strong waters; promising to\nredress all grievances, to pay all claims out of my own pocket for the\ngovernment; and ended by repudiating the Yankees, and swearing myself a\nfull-blooded Californian. However, these ebullitions were partially\nattributable to the heated rooms, and _licores_ of Madre Mariqueta; but\nwhen the golden sun came streaming into the house, the links had formed\nheavy stalactites against the walls; and notwithstanding the earnest\nsolicitations of my new made friends, I jumped up behind my little guide\nof the evening previous, and galloped off towards Monterey.\n\nThus passed my first visit to Carmelo, and scarcely a week went by that\nI did not enjoy a supper of one of the Patrona's capital ollas, with may\nbe a little wholesome exercise to digest it, at the evening fandango--it\nwas the only place where could be seen a dash of native life, but even\nthis lost its charm. During carnival, I made my homage to all who were\ndocile enough, and I must add clean enough to receive it; but whether\nowing to a want of tact, fervor, or devotion, I failed to keep the\nmercury up to boiling point, and after presenting one slim little doña\nwith a two shilling brooch of great magnitude and brilliancy--crushing\ndozens of variegated eggs on the shining tresses of others, and nearly\ndriving a horse distracted through the agency of enormous spurs, in\nhopes to show my skill and win a smile from one in particular--I at\nlast, through weariness and disgust, gave up the chase, and became a\ndevoted lover of chasing still wilder game in the beautiful regions\naround. For days and weeks I did naught but ride and hunt, and became so\ninured to long fatiguing tramps and night bivouacs, that with the\never-varying excitement of the sport, I not only slept the sounder in\nthe open air, but enjoyed better health than I had before known. The\nclimate of the interior is far dryer, clearer and more salubrious than\nby the sea. On the coast we were frequently for many successive days,\nannoyed by raw, foggy weather, and on one occasion there was a light\nfall of snow, but every league inland gives a more genial invigorating\ntemperature. There are very few unhealthy spots in either Central or\nLower California. On the low banks and tributaries of the Bay of San\nFrancisco, fever prevails to a great extent during the summer and fall,\nbut elsewhere all epidemic disorders are extremely rare. The summer\nsubsequent to our arrival in Monterey, a malignant fever attacked and\ncarried off a number of foreigners, but this, although not severe upon\nthe natives, was regarded as something extraordinary.\n\nIn these hunting excursions I was often attended by some friendly\nhunter, whose time hung heavy on his hands, but usually by the same\nlittle fellow who had been my pilot through the Carmelo mountains; his\nname was Juaquin Luis, and by far the most intelligent, handsome boy in\nthe place. On Sundays, with his gala dress of blue velvet trowsers, red\nsash, glazed hat and silver rope around it, he was quite a picture. His\nknowledge of all the roads, most intricate paths and passes for many\nleagues, was remarkable, and at times I was almost confounded at his\napparently instinctive sagacity--he knew the haunts and habits of game,\nwas a capital shot, rode a horse like part of the animal, never daunted,\nnever dismayed, never without an expedient, he was the most perfect\nchild of the woods conceivable, and quite won my heart by his\nintelligence. He was always delighted to be my companion, for not being\none of those wise children who knew their sires, his home was none of\nthe pleasantest, for his dame was living with a cross-grained cobler, in\n_relatione_, or as the youngster expressed it, she was wedded, _detras\nla iglesia_--behind the church--or in other words, had cheated the\npriest out of his marriage dues, and being, I fancied, rather given to\naguadiente, the domestic felicity of the mansion was somewhat marred;\nconsequently the boy was left to thrive upon his own resources.\nSometimes the old lady endeavored to detain him from accompanying me,\nbut I threatened to stop her grog, by reporting her conduct to the grave\nand reverend alcalde of the place, and thenceforth she contented herself\nby extorting a few rials from her child's store, at my expense.\n\nOn passing the hut on the outskirts of the town and giving a shrill\nwhistle, out sprang Juaquinito, with his little black head and sparkling\neyes shoved through the slit of his _serapa_, swinging the lasso in\nsteady circles, and noosing his horse in the corral, the next moment\nwould leap on his back, take the carbine or rifle, and off we sallied.\nAt night we made fire, ate broiled partridges without stint, and slept\nunder the same blanket. One of our excursions was to the river and\nplains of Salinas, about fifteen miles in a northerly direction, along\nthe shores of the bay. These plains vary from ten to twenty miles in\nwidth, and extend fifty or sixty into the interior, and like the great\nplain of Santa Clara, have evidently at some former period been the\nbeds of large lakes or rivers. The Salinas is walled in by compact\nridges of mountains running transversely towards the ocean, from the\nmain Sierra Madre of California. The river is a muddy rapid stream,\nsubjected to heavy freshets during the melting of the upland snows, and\ncoursing close along the southern edge of the plains. On approaching the\nheights above the plain, I suddenly checked the reins, perfectly\ntransfixed with surprise; for never in my life had I beheld such a\nmagnificent vista of its kind; one broad dead level extending far as the\neye could compass, like a solid brilliant sea of grass and flowers,\ndotted here and there by vast flocks of sheep and cattle, with the\nmargins of the stream marked out for many a league, with fringes of\ndrooping willows. Descending the hill, we swam the river, and after a\nshort ride along the verge of the plain, came to the _molino_--mill--and\nrancho of one Bill Anderson, who, with his head powdered by flour, like\na lord of the olden time, received me cordially, and being furnished\nwith fresh horses, away we started to slaughter wild geese. They were\ncongregated in myriads, both white and grey, feeding on the rich short\ngrasses, and when disturbed, the noise of their wings and throats was\ntruly deafening--they were excessively shy, and finding even buck-shot\nnot efficacious in doing its work from a fowling-piece, I was obliged to\nthrow single balls among the masses, from the carbine; by which method,\nin a few hours, we had collected a respectable horse load; they were\nquite fat, and resembled the tame goose with us in every particular,\nexcept the bill being much sharper and smaller. During the wet seasons,\na great number of natural canals intersect these lovely plains, and are\nfilled with swans, wild ducks, snipe and curlew, besides multitudes of\nquails and cranes, with now and then a large eagle to fatten on them. As\nnight set in, and the wolves were beginning to cry and howl melodiously\nafter the wounded or sleeping birds, we returned to the rancho.\n\nOur host, the afore-mentioned Bill Anderson, was a Cockney: very\nhospitable, very much given to the bottle, and withal a great talker and\nliar. His history was a simple one. Leaving England as ship-boy, he\ndeserted and drifted about the islands of the Pacific, until at last he\nfound himself stranded on the shores of California. Here he shortly\nbecame a man of importance, from having been summarily carried out of\nthe country, with the Graham party, who, like our Bear friends, had\nrendered themselves highly obnoxious to the native population. In course\nof time Bill was released, and returned; established a mill on the\nplains, married a Californian wife, and then got drunk at his leisure\nand pleasure. Bill received me again most civilly, as he also did a\nbottle of brandy. Whether attributable to my arrival, or necessity, I\ndid not pause to inquire, but certain it is that a bullock was slain\nimmediately thereafter; and, I presume in compliment to the carcass, an\ninundation of dependents of both sexes and of all hues and colors, had\ndropt in to share the feast. Bill and I, with little Juaquin retired to\nan inner apartment, which happened to be laid with a plank floor, and a\ngood fire in the place; there was a very respectable preparation for\nsupper, and being much too famished to mind the filth, I shut eyes,\nopened mouth, and ate away voraciously. Dogs soon licked the plates\nclean, in readiness for breakfast, probably; and in a couple of hours my\nthirsty host, from a too frequent application of the brandy to his\nparched lips, became very gloriously tipsy; and after indulging me with\na full confession of many sins, and all his grievances, moreover his\nutterance becoming somewhat indistinct, I bade him adios, while about\nrelating what he would observe to the \"English Secretary of State, if\nhe only had him there,\"--pointing with the bottle to his dozing sposa.\n\nMy shake-down was in a small receptacle for rubbish, fleas, and other\nlively furniture, which in getting at, I was obliged to pass a large\nroom, laid out with about five-and-twenty of the servitors--men, women,\nand children--all in heaps. There were a number of limbs obstructing the\npassage, and I was obliged to push them aside, rather unceremoniously, I\nfear, for I was greeted by a volley of Indian gutteral curses, sounding\nquite like a person who had swallowed a collection of shells, and was\nanxious to get them up more expeditiously than was possible. Being too\ntired and drowsy to heed their complaints, with Juaquinito I betook\nmyself to mat and blankets, and never moved until break of day; when I\narose, kicked up an Indian, and sent for fresh horses, and continued\nshooting geese and curlew, until the morning was far advanced; then,\nafter swearing devoted friendship to Bill Anderson, his bullocks, and\nhis wife, we departed for the port.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\nWe remained two months at Monterey; and then upon the assembling of the\nsquadron, and the arrival of a new Commodore, rather than play segundo\nviolo, and have the blue pennant of a Commander-in-Chief flaunting its\nfolds in face of our red, we were glad to lift the anchors, and sail for\nthe waters of San Francisco. Steering too far from the land, a northerly\ngale arose, and although the distance is but eighty miles, we were a\nweek in gaining our destination, on the 29th of March.\n\nThe face of the coast presents the same general aspect as that to the\nsouthward of Monterey--one great sea-wall of mountains, split into deep\nravines, and tufted with towering pines. Many of these trees that fringe\nwhat Humboldt terms the maritime Alps of California, are of enormous\nmagnitude. A German naturalist, employed in scientific pursuits in the\ncountry, assured me that he had measured pines in the Santa Cruz\nmountains fifty-seven feet in girth at the base, and carrying the lofty\ntops upon a clear shaft for two hundred and seventy feet without a\nbranch!\n\nI have also seen, in my Californian rambles, pines of immense growth,\ntaking root in the wild glens of rich and sheltered mountain gorges,\nshooting up straight and clear as javelins, with symmetrical columns\nthat would make too taunt masts for the tallest \"amiral\" that ever\nfloated.\n\nNear to the mouth of San Francisco the land recedes, and passing through\nthe narrow jaws of the Straits, which are framed in by bold,\nprecipitous, and rocky cliffs, where violent currents are sweeping and\nfoaming in eddying whirls around their base, you soon debouch into the\nouter bay. It is like a great lake, stretching away right and left, far\ninto the heart of California. To the north another aperture, and still\nanother, leads into the Bays of San Pablo and Sosun, washing the valleys\nof Sinoma and Tulares, and fed by the rivers Sacramento and San Joaquin,\nafter passing over the golden sands of the rich mines beyond. To the\nsouthward the waters are not so extended, and the bay laves the garden\nof California in the beautiful vale of Santa Clara. Green islands adorn\nthe bosom of these vast estuaries, and everywhere are found safe and\ncommodious harbors.\n\nOur anchorage was near the little village of Yerbabuena, five miles from\nthe ocean, and within a short distance from the Franciscan Mission and\nPresidio of the old royalists. The site seems badly chosen, for although\nit reposes in partial shelter, beneath the high bluffs of the coast, yet\na great portion of the year it is enveloped in chilling fogs; and\ninvariably, during the afternoon, strong sea breezes are drawn through\nthe straits like a funnel, and playing with fitful violence around the\nhills, the sand is swept in blinding clouds over the town and the\nadjacent shores of the bay. Yet with all these drawbacks the place was\nrapidly thriving under the indomitable energy of our countrymen.\nTenements, large and small, were running up, like card-built houses, in\nall directions. The population was composed of Mormons, backwoodsmen,\nand a few very respectable traders from the eastern cities of the\nUnited States. Very rare it was to see a native: our brethren had played\nthe porcupine so sharply as to oblige them to seek their homes among\nmore congenial kindred. On Sunday, however, it was not uncommon to\nencounter gay cavalcades of young paisanos, jingling in silver chains\nand finery, dashing into town, half-a-dozen abreast; having left their\nsweethearts at the Mission, or some neighboring rancho, for the evening\nfandango. Towards afternoon, when these frolicsome _caballeros_ became a\ntrifle elevated with their potations, they were wont to indulge in a\nvariety of capricious feats on horseback--leaping and wheeling--throwing\nthe lasso over each other;--or if by chance a bullock appeared, they\ntook delight while at full speed in the _carrara_, in catching the\nbeasts by a dextrous twist in the tail; and the performance was never\nsatisfactorily concluded until the bullock was thrown a complete\nsummerset over his horns. These paisanos of California, like the guachos\nof Buenos Ayres, and guaso of Chili, pass most of their existence on\nhorseback; there the natural vigor of manhood seems all at once called\ninto play, and horse and backer appear of the same piece. The lasso is\ntheir plaything, either for service or pastime; with it, the unruly wild\nhorse, or bullock, is brought within reach of the knife. Ferocious Bruin\nhimself gets his throat twisted and choked, and with heavy paws spread\nwide apart, is dragged for miles, perhaps to the bear-bait,\nnotwithstanding his glittering jaws, and giant efforts to escape.\nWithout the horse and lasso, these gentry are helpless as infants; their\nhorses are admirably trained, and sometimes perform under a skilful hand\npranks that always cause surprise to strangers. I once saw a band of\nhorses, at General Rosa's quinta, near Buenos Ayres, trained to run like\nhares, with fore and hind legs lashed together by thongs of hide; it\nwas undertaken to preserve the animals from being thrown by the Indian\nbolas, and the riders, as a consequence, lanced to death. But I was far\nmore amused one afternoon while passing a fandango, near Monterey, to\nsee a drunken _vaquero_--cattle-driver--mounted on a restive, plunging\nbeast, hold at arms length a tray of glasses, brimming with aguadiente,\nwhich he politely offered to everybody within reach of his curvettings,\nwithout ever once spilling a drop. I thought this better than Camille\nLeroux, in the polka, or a guacho picking up a cigarritto with his\nteeth, at a hand gallop! It is remarkable, too, how very long the\nCalifornian can urge a horse, and how lightly he rides, even when the\nbeast appears thoroughly exhausted, tottering at every pace under a\nstrange rider; yet the native will lift him to renewed struggles, and\nhold him up for leagues further. Nor is it by the aid of his enormous\nspurs, for the punishment is by no means so severe as the sharp rowels\nwith us; but accustomed to the horse from infancy, he appears to divine\nhis powers, and thus a mutual and instinctive bond is established\nbetween them. The saddles here, as well as those along the southern\ncoasts, partake in build of the old Spanish high peak and croupe, and\nare really intended for ease and comfort to the rider. In Chili the\npillion is used--a soft material of rugs, smooth and thick, thrown over\nthe saddle frame; but it distends the thighs too greatly. The\nCalifornian is both hard and heavy, and murderous to the horse. The\nMexican is best,--less cumbersome, more elegant in construction, and a\ngreat support to the rider. The stirrups of all are similar--weighty\nwooden structures--and the feet rest naturally in them.\n\nThere is nothing either pleasing or inviting in the landscape in the\nvicinity of Yerbabuena. All looks bare and sterile from a distance, and\non closer inspection, the deep sandy soil is covered with impervious\nthickets of low thorny undergrowth, with none of the rich green herbage,\nforests or timber as in Monterey. The roads were so heavy that the\nhorses could hardly strain, nearly knee deep, through the sand, and\nconsequently, our rides were restricted to a league's _pasear_ to the\nmission, or across the narrow strip of the peninsular to the old\npresidio; but in the town we passed the hours pleasantly, became\nconversant with the Mormon bible and doctrine, rolled ten-pins, and\namused ourselves nightly, at the monte in the _casa de bebida de Brown_;\nstill there was a great stir and bustle going on. A number of large\nmerchant ships had arrived, bringing the regiment of New York\nvolunteers, and the beach was strewn with heavy guns, carriages, piles\nof shot, ordnance stores, wagons, tents and camp equipage, whilst the\nstreets were filled with troops, who belonged to the true democracy,\ncalled one another mister, snubbed their officers, and did generally as\nthey pleased, which was literally nothing. However, in due time, they\nwere brought into the traces, and properly buckled to their duty, when\ntheir services were exerted in planting a battery of long 24-pounders,\nto command the straits, and their excitable spirits kept under control\nat their quarters in the presidio.\n\nThis was Yerbabuena as we found it on our first coming--rapidly\nspringing into importance, and bidding fair at some future day, even\nwithout the advantages to be derived from the mines which were then\nunknown, to become the greatest commercial port on the Pacific.\n\nPrevious to our arrival in the waters of Francisco, a frightful incident\ntranspired amidst the Californian mountains, which goes far to surpass\nany event of the kind heard or seen, from the black hole of Calcutta,\nto smoking the Arabs in Algeria. It relates to a party of emigrants,\nwhose shocking inhuman cannibalisms and sufferings exceeded all belief.\nThe news first reached us in Monterey, and also that a party had been\ndespatched to succor them. From an officer of the navy in charge of the\nexpedition, and from one of the survivors, a Spanish boy, named\nBaptiste, I learned the following particulars: The number of emigrants\nwere originally eighty; through a culpable combination of ignorance and\nfolly, they loitered many weeks on the route, when, upon gaining the\nsierra, the snows set in, the trails became blocked up and impassable,\nand they were obliged to encamp for the winter; their provisions were\nshortly exhausted, their cattle were devoured to the last horse's hide,\nhunger came upon them, gaunt and terrible, starvation at last--men,\nwomen and children starved to death, and were eaten by their\nfellows--insanity followed. When relief arrived, the survivors were\nfound rolling in filth, parents eating their own offspring, denizens of\ndifferent cabins exchanging limbs and meat--little children tearing and\ndevouring the livers and hearts of the dead, and a general apathy and\nmania pervaded all alike, so as to make them scout the idea of leaving\ntheir property in the mountains before the spring, even to save their\nmiserable lives; and on separating those who were able to bear the\nfatigue of travelling, the cursings and ravings of the remainder were\nmonstrous. One Dutchman actually ate a full-grown body in thirty-six\nhours! another boiled and devoured a girl nine years old, in a single\nnight. The women held on to life with greater tenacity than the men--in\nfact, the first intelligence was brought to Sutter's fort, on the\nSacramento, by two young girls. One of them feasted on her good papa,\nbut on making soup of her lover's head, she confessed to some inward\nqualms of conscience. The young Spaniard, Baptiste, was hero of the\nparty, performing all labor and drudgery in getting fuel and water,\nuntil his strength became exhausted; he told me that he ate Jake Donner\nand the baby, \"eat baby raw, stewed some of Jake, and roasted his head,\nnot good meat, taste like sheep with the rot; but, sir, very hungry, eat\nanything,\"--these were his very words. There were thirty survivors, and\na number of them without feet, either frozen or burnt off, who were\nplaced under the care of our surgeons on shore. Although nothing has\never happened more truly dreadful, and in many respects ludicrously so,\nyet what was surprising, the emigrants themselves perceived nothing very\nextraordinary in all these cannibalisms, but seemed to regard it as an\nevery day occurrence--surely they were deranged. The party who went to\ntheir relief deserved all praise, for they, too, endured every hardship,\nand many were badly frostbitten. The cause of all this suffering was\nmainly attributable to the unmeaning delay and indolence attending their\nearly progress on the route, but with every advantage in favor of\nemigration, the journey in itself must be attended with immense\nprivation and toil. The mere fact, that by the upper route there is one\nvast desert to be travelled over, many hundred miles in width, affording\nvery little vegetation or sustenance, and to crown the difficulty,\nterminated by the rugged chain of Californian mountains, is almost\nsufficient in itself to deter many a good man and strong, from exposing\nhis life and property, for an unknown home on the shores of the Pacific.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\nTarrying a fortnight at Yerbabuena, we then crossed the bay and dropped\nanchor beneath the lofty hills of Sousoulito, where we busied ourselves\nfilling up with fresh water. This anchorage is a great resort for whale\nships, coming from the north-west fishing grounds, for water and\nsupplies; the procurante of which was an Englishman, for many years a\nresident in the country, and possessing myriads of cattle, and a\nprincipality in land and mountains; among other valuables, he was the\nsire of the belle of California, in the person of a young girl named\nMarianna. Her mother was Spanish, with the remains of great personal\ncharms; as to the child, I never saw a more patrician style of beauty\nand native elegance in any clime where Castillian doñas bloom. She was\nbrunette, with an oval face, magnificent dark grey eyes, with the\ncorners of her mouth slightly curved downward, so as to give a proud and\nhaughty expression to the face--in person she was tall, graceful and\nwell shaped, and although her feet were encased in deer skin shoes, and\nhands bare, they still might have vied with any belles of our own. I\nbelieve the lovely Marianna was as amiable as beautiful, and I know her\nbright eye glancing along the delicate sights of her rifle, sent the\nleaden missive with the deadly aim of a marksman, and that she rode like\nan angel, and could strike a bullock dead with one quick blow of a keen\nblade, but notwithstanding these domestic accomplishments and\nanglo-Saxon lineage, she held the demonios Yankees in mortal abhorrence;\nbut who could blame her, they had murdered a brace of her handsomest\nlovers, and this in California, where lovers were scarce, was a crime\nnot to be forgiven.\n\nOne morning I shouldered a rifle--indebted to Don Ricardo for horses,\nand his beautiful daughter for a cup of water, and being attended by a\nlittle truant ship-boy as guide, who had been left to cure hides during\nthe absence of his vessel, we dashed inland. Crossing a belt of\nmountains, we struck the sea shore, and turning to the northward,\nascended a succession of steep hills, until we had gained a rocky\ntable-land above--there was no timber to be seen, and except the stunted\nundergrowth netted together in valleys and ravines, all was one rolling\nscene of grass, wild oats and flowers. Near by was a small sheet of\nfresh water, caught by the rain and held in by a narrow plateau,\nswarming with water fowl, and framed by broken masses of huge rocks. It\nwas a great resort for deer, and I found them herding in large bands of\nthirty and forty together, but from the nature of the country, so open\nand free from foliage, it required the utmost caution to approach within\nstriking distance. However, I managed to pop the death billets into the\nhearts of two noble bucks, and while creeping down a gully for a shot at\na third, I was startled by the shouts and gestures of the boy, \"Here's a\ngrizzly a-coming! here's a grizzly.\" Gott in heimmell, I mentally\nejaculated--there is going to be a race. Away I clambered and ran to the\nnearest height--there was a huge black monster, the size of a bullock,\ncoming from the direction of the lake, and tearing up the opposite ridge\ntowards where the horses were picketed. The frightened beasts scenting\ntheir enemy, were plunging and snorting terrifically, until at last\nthey broke their _riatas_, and plunged like mad down the steep--the boy\nwas making his heels fly as if provided with a steam engine in his\ntrowsers; then looking upon the mission as fully accomplished, I\ntightened my belt, and leaped in the tracks of my companion. I have no\naccurate means of determining the rapidity of my flight, but should any\none feel disposed to test the full capacity of his lungs and legs, he\ncan do so to the utmost, with a grizzly behind him. I little thought,\nthe last time I saw one at the _Jardin des Plantes_, and took such\ninterest in watching children feeding him with sweet buns, enclosing\nnice bits of tobacco, or a pinch of snuff, that I should encounter one\nof his brethren among the wilds of California, with the joke entirely\nthe other way. We never halted until a good mile lay between Bruin's\npaws and our own, then we could see him lazily walking along the crest\nof a hill, with a saddle of venison in his dainty jaws. One of the\nhorses in his anxiety to be foremost in the race, leaped over the boy,\ninflicting an unpleasant hoof tap on the ribs--fortunately the injury\nwas not serious, and we contrived to catch one and lasso the other; but\nmay the devil catch that bear, I was obliged to leave my strapping bucks\nto his tender mercies, and return to the ship, scared and chagrined\nbeyond measure--laughed at, of course; still I deemed it far preferable\nthan to be hugged to death, with the only consolation left in knowing\nthat what part of one is not devoured will be carefully buried,\naccording to custom, for another meal.\n\nThere is scarcely a resident in the mountains of Upper California who\nhas not, at one time or another, been attacked by these formidable\nbeasts. I saw the scars, left by the claws of one, on the broad back of\na fine old Irishman; and he informed me, that after being torn from the\nsaddle, he feigned death, until his friends, who were in sight, came\nup, and drove some balls into the beast, who never for a moment before\nremoved his powerful jaws from within two inches of his victim's face.\nThey are extremely hard to kill, and unless the bullets take effect in\nthe head or heart, are only rendered the more infuriated.\n\nPrevious to the adventure at Sousoulito, I had been in the habit of\nexpending all my powder and prowess on Angel Island. It is a very\npicturesque little spot, about three miles in circumference, rising to\nthe height of near eight hundred feet, and radiating in numberless\nridges and ravines down to the water's edge. There are many fertile\nslopes luxuriating in fine trees and vegetation, and on all sides pure\nrills of water leaping into the bay. Lying in a wide sweep of the San\nFrancisco, within a mile of the main land, the deer resort there in\ngreat numbers, to feed on the palatable herbs growing on the northern\nsides, and also for the close shelter afforded, beneath multitudes of\nthe densest network of tangled thickets that ever man or quadruped has\nexplored. Angel Island will for ever be a bright oasis in my hunting\ncareer, as it was the ground of my maiden prowess. Nor shall I soon\nforget the day, when, tired as possible after a long unsuccessful tramp,\nI happened to glance down a gentle ravine and beheld a sturdy buck\nnibbling daintily at the young shoots. Blazes! how the blood and\nexcitement came dancing back through veins and wearied frame, even to\nthe extremity of my trigger-joint! Up came the heavy tube! Click!\ncrack!--and at the instant, the wounded deer sprang convulsively in the\nair and fell back dead;--down the gully--heels up;--the edge of a\nsheath-knife made a very respectable slip athwart his throat; and the\nsame evening he was quietly reposing, among less gamey meats, under the\neye of the sentinel, on the frigate's gun-deck. I have killed many a\none since, but I shall never again feel the same thrill of triumph as\nthat I experienced in this my first effort.\n\nI also had the good fortune to slay an elk on the same island, and I\nbelieve the only one ever found there. On seeing him rush past, I at\nfirst mistook him for a horse, but on perceiving the short cocked-up\ntail, small elegant head and branching antlers, I quickly changed my\nopinion; and as he paused a second on the brow of a projection below, to\nhonor me with an inspection, I returned the compliment by laying my\ncheek to the rifle. Crack! Away he trotted--none but the does\nbound--apparently unhurt, and I followed in the wake; the next bullet\nmade him squirm, and at the third I noticed a crimson stream pouring\nfrom his mouth; then feeling satisfied there was some essential injury\ndone to his digestion, and coming again within range, about a mile from\nthe last shot, I pitched another ball right through the spine: three or\nfour frightful leaps, and down he went, plunging, groaning, and\nbleeding, to the foot of the slope. As I came up, he sprang to his feet,\nand with painful meanings attempted to give me a taste of his horns, so\nI let him have the _coup de grace_ crashing through the brains. Upon\nexamination, every shot was within four inches diameter, near the centre\nof the back, as I was each time compelled to fire, as he stood or ran,\nfrom below. It required the full strength of six stout men, with ropes,\nto drag the carcass to the beach--weighing, when dressed, over six\nhundred pounds, and we found him most delicious eating. This was my\ncrowning achievement, the pleasure enhanced by entertaining no fears\nthat the bears could rob me of the prize before getting to the boat;\nnevertheless, there were many speculations volunteered by malicious\ngentry on board, who, from the hair being somewhat rubbed off, in the\ntransit to the beach, insisted that I had massacred a pack-mule, which\nwas in itself mendacious slander.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\nHaving completed watering at Sousoulito, we left San Francisco and\nreturned to Monterey. Even during the short period of our absence a\nrapid improvement was visible. Many Mormons had arrived, the streets\nwere cleansed, and vehicles of a civilized build were occasionally\nbeheld in the town. Some companies of the Volunteer Regiment were\nencamped on the slopes of the hills, and the artillery were busily at\nwork throwing up fortifications on a pretty eminence, overlooking the\ntown and harbor. Grog shops were thriving apace--handsomely patronized\nby Jack and the soldiers,--and monté banks and gaming were following _en\nsuite_. Stone buildings were under construction; and among others,\nthrough the excellent management of the Alcalde, a large school-house\npresented a bold front to the uneducated natives; thus we had the vices\nand virtues hand in hand--no existing without them. There was also a\nlittle newspaper published weekly; for, with the usual enterprise of our\ncountrymen, and their naturally saturnine dispositions, they had pounced\nupon a fount of types, carefully secreted beneath the font of the\nchurch, and instead of being applied to their original purpose of\ndisseminating the authority of Mexican rulers, they were made to preach\nthe true republican doctrine to all unbelievers among the astonished\nCalifornians. The editor of this infantile journal was Dr. Semple, who\nalthough supposed to have been connected with the famous Bear party,\nwielded the editorial pen with the same facility as his rifle, and\nmerits all praise for having been the pioneer of civil and religious\nliberty in the country. I only trust the Doctor may live to fill his\nample pockets with gold dust, even though they be lengthy as his legs or\neditorials.\n\nRemaining barely long enough to take in provisions, we left Monterey on\nthe 19th of April, and beating clear of Piney Point, with a spanking\nbreeze, turned our prow towards the Mexican coast. A few days\nafterwards, during the night, we discovered the Island of Guadalupe,\nlaid down in the charts more than half a degree too far south,[1]\nthough, singularly enough, correct in longitude. Fortunately we had\nchanged the ship's course previously, for as the night was dark and\ncloudy we stood a chance of making a nearer acquaintance than would have\nbeen satisfactory to the noble frigate: in fact at all times we labored\nunder great disadvantages in being destitute of maps of sufficient\naccuracy for the commonest purposes of navigation, and those at all\nuseful we were obliged to compile ourselves from the rough sketches and\nexperience of navigators frequenting the coast; still we made great\nspeed, and the flying fish flew from before us as we entered the tropic.\nAt midnight, on the 26th we doubled Cape San Lucas, the extreme southern\npoint of that long finger-like Peninsular of Lower California.\n\nLower California embraces an extent of territory seven hundred miles in\nlength, and varies in breadth from thirty to eighty miles; broken up\ninto barren mountains four or five thousand feet in height, verging\nclose upon the shores of sea and gulf. The country is very unproductive,\nand only serves to subsist a small population of probably not over ten\nthousand. There are a few narrow valleys, watered by the condensation of\nclouds and mist in the dry season from the naked heights, which serves\nfor fertilizing strips of rich soil below, producing maize and fruits.\n\nThe Jesuits have, centuries ago, even in these sterile regions, planted\nthe banners of their faith, and the missions and villages that sprang up\naround them still exist. The principal places are Todos Santos, on the\nsea coast; San Antonio, in the interior; San José, La Paz, and Loretta,\nthe capital, lying on the shores of the inland gulf. There are two\nexcellent harbors--the Bay of La Paz, and another higher up called\nEscondida; both places having deep anchorage, and fresh water, for the\nlargest vessels.\n\nThere is but little trade carried on with the Peninsula: a few small\ncraft exchange country-made cheese and soap for domestic goods in San\nBlas and Mazatlan. Near Cape San Lucas had been found by the whalers a\nresort for a new species of fish, producing an oil supposed to be\nsuitable for paints. One or two ships were filled, but we heard\nsubsequently the material did not answer the desired purpose. There is\nthe island of Carmen within the gulf, which contains vast lakes of salt,\nas inexhaustible as the guano beds on the Peruvian coast. This salt is\nof excellent quality; it is cut out in large blocks, stacked, and left\nto be washed by the rains, when it becomes ready for shipping. These are\nall the known inducements for trade, of the Peninsula and the Adriatic\nof the Pacific. Guaymas, situated nearly at the head of the gulf, and\nMazatlan abreast the southern cape, though neither possess such safe\nhavens, with so good fresh water ports, still have positions more\nadaptable for commerce on the main shores of Mexico.\n\nAt daylight we were boarded by one Ritchie, who played the _rôle_ of\nmarine postmaster for our squadron; and then steering for thirty miles\nalong the high, barren, sterile coast, we hove-to off the little bay of\nSan José; communicated with one of our ships-of-war; again filled away,\nand lazily fanned across the Sea of Cortés to our destination. This\noccupied, at a snail's pace, three long days, and the next morning we\nawoke within the scorching lines of the tropics--one-half the horizon\nbounded by a dull monotonous ripple of sea, and hazy sky, and the other\nfaced by the high sierras framing the grand plateau of Mexico, and\nnearer a line of hot rugged rocks, and islets, and white sandy beaches,\ntogether with ranges of houses bordering upon the shores, and upon the\nhills; which was the goodly town of Mazatlan. We anchored, as it were,\nat sea, off the bluff promontory of Creston; an island itself, divided\nby a narrow strait from the main, and resembling a sleeping lion, with\npaws tossed before him. The British frigate Constance, a French\ncorvette, another of our own, with two merchant vessels, comprised the\nentire nautical coterie. Our arrival caused some excitement in the town,\nand we were in hopes the authorities would either strike for\nindependence, or declare themselves neutral, and thus open the port, as\nat the time we had no serious intentions of molesting them; but we were\ndisappointed in our anticipations, and found there was naught to do save\nmaintaining a dull, idle, passive blockade for a long month to come.\n\nThe day after our arrival, two armed boats were sent to make a\nreconnoissance of the old harbor, for the purpose of selecting a\nsuitable berth for the ships, in case an attack should be made. Not\nperceiving any bustle or stir pervading the town, we pulled warily in,\nuntil, on passing out from cover of the corvette's guns, we\nunconsciously raised the most infernal din imaginable. Drums rattled\nincessantly, dirty soldiers formed in companies; the Governor and suite\nattended by a guard of cavalry galloped up and down the beach. Consuls\nrun up their national flags, women and children ran up the hills; all\nevidently in great consternation at the anticipation of a hostile\ninvasion. On comprehending the true state of the case, we amused\nourselves out of musket shot, by making feints to land, and by this\nmethod we kept three or four hundred filthy villains in a violent state\nof fatigue and perspiration, running and scampering from point to point\nto oppose us. No sooner did they get comfortably posted, and weapons in\nreadiness on the cliffs, than in we would dash for the beach. At last\nthe whole garrison turned out, and getting a field piece under way,\nmanned by three jackasses, rather than give them the laugh against us,\nwe thought advisable to edge out of range, and thus when they had\ncleverly pulled the piece into a commanding position, they could only\ngreet us with a volley of execrations instead of grape shot. However, we\ncompleted our work by taking the requisite bearings and planting a buoy,\nwhich was cut adrift the same night for a large reward, and carried\nabout the town in great triumph and procession, and generally believed\nto be a Yankee bomb. Indeed, these Mazatlanese were extremely wroth and\npatriotic during the blockade, and it was only a week preceding our\nadvent, that they had illuminated the town in honor of Santa Anna's\nvictory at Buena Vista. The fact was, the Mexican general's dispatch was\nnot altogether so clear as the circumstances of the case demanded, and\nit admitted of a variety of constructions.\n\nStill, after escaping the bolts of Mars, we came near being sacrificed\nto the cestus of Venus, for, on pulling towards a rocky ledge, we\ndiscovered two sunny-faced maidens, one attired in a red camisetta, and\nthe other waiving a _manta_, in a most enticing and beguiling manner.\nIntercourse with fashionable society impelled me, from politeness, to\nregard them through a glass, and a capital spy-glass it proved to be,\nfor I was able to discern thirty or forty of their admirers temporarily\nensconced behind the rocks, and each, too, adorned with a musket. We\nhalted, made a low obeisance, and retreated rapidly on board, leaving\nthem the opportunity of forwarding a despatch by express, to\nhead-quarters, narrating how _los Yankis eran repulsados en varios\npuntos_--how the Yankees were put to flight.\n\nOn the following morning was captured the first prize--a miserable\nlittle schooner from San Blas, laden with plank and plaintains,\nrejoicing in the classic appellation of Diana, and having given the\nboats a smart pull, she was christened the chased Diana. The Patron was\nItalian, who wept like a pump--talked of his utter ruin, and starving\n_bambinos_ to such an extent, that after taking and paying liberally for\nhis fruit and lumber, he was permitted to depart; he afterwards proved\nto be an arrant rogue, and turned an honest penny while the war lasted,\nby smuggling powder to the Mexicans. He was too wily to be caught the\nsecond time.\n\nAt night there were always signal fires burning on the hill tops around\nthe town, as a warning to vessels approaching the coast; but with all\ntheir vigilance and caution, our boats after being out all night,\ngenerally returned with some indifferent prizes--at best it was but\npin-hook business, for we cared not to make war upon the poor, causing\nus constant annoyance, and after all the trouble the little prizes were\nreleased with lightened cargoes, and heavier pockets of the owners, for\nwhich no doubt, the scamps would have been pleased to be captured daily.\n\nIn a few days our consort received orders to blockade Guaymas, a port of\nsome commercial importance, nearly at the head of the gulf of\nCalifornia, and she accordingly sailed, leaving a small prize tender, a\nschooner of about forty tons, to be \"turned over,\" in a professional\nsense, to the flag-ship--there being no more enterprising person than\nmyself who cared to assume so imposing a command, I was at once\ninstalled in the skipper ship and was immediately paddled on board.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] The correct latitude is 29° 14'.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\nLeaping over the taffrail of the Rosita, without the aid of an\naccommodation ladder, I found myself the monarch of a peopled deck of\nfifteen trusty sailors, and a small boy, to whose trust, from sad\nexperience, I confided nothing uncorked or unlocked. There were the same\nnumber of carbines, pistols, pikes, cutlasses, fishing lines and a few\nother etceteras, pitched in bulk on the floor of a small cabin, just\nsufficiently bunkish to stow my very worthy first lieutenant, Mr. Earl,\nand my own rather unportly self. This, I believe, comprised all the\nequipage that was to add dignity to the flag of so tall an admiral.\nHoisting all sail in the afternoon, and bobbing about a number of hours,\nwe came to anchor during the night under lee of the Venados\nIslands--piles of rugged red rocks, five hundred feet high,--steep,\nprecipitous, parched, and arid: their situation was within a mile from\nthe main land, and ten times that space from the frigate's anchorage; an\nexcellent position for intercepting small craft, bound from the Gulf\ninto the old port of Mazatlan. We soon had the little Rosa clean and\ntrim; got up new spars, and on their tapering stems spread loftier\nmuslin than those she had been accustomed to carry, which, in the\nabsence of proper materials, the sailors had quickly fashioned out of\nduck frocks. Then we scrubbed her bottom, re-arranged the stowage, put\non a new coat of paint, so that she worked like a top, sailed tolerably\nwell, and with her Yankee pennant and flag might fairly make her old\nmasters on the shore right proud of the little craft, and indulge, as\nthey did, in some yearnings to get hold of her again. Our life was not\none of quiet repose, nor were we overburthened with luxuries and\ncomforts, but anything is better than the insufferable monotony of a\nship of war, even though one loses in comfort by the exchange; for we\nhad variety and excitement, which of itself is preferable to the tame\nstupidity of the quarter-deck of a big ship, or uninterrupted yawnings\nin the gun-room.\n\nWe were boarded the first morning by three drunken Englishmen, in a\nwhale-boat, who informed us that the frigate's boats had captured a fine\nschooner called the Correo. They also brought off what is consularly\ntermed \"a distressed American,\" a very sombre-hued person, who, by his\nown showing, gave us reason to believe him a Carolina nigger, whose\nasperities of wool and color had been somewhat softened by being\nengrafted on a more distinguished stock in the city of Boston. His\nprofession was that of cook, and the most urgent cause of bidding\nfarewell to a large and extensive assortment of friends in Mazatlan, was\nthat he became involved by some unforeseen mercantile transaction to the\namount of nine dollars, over and above his comeatable assets; for this\ndereliction from the paths of honesty, he was offered a choice of being\nhalf starved in the _carcel_ or entirely starved out of it, with a\nmusket in his embrace fighting the enemies of the republic. Amid so\nserious an accumulation of horrors, not being troubled with heavy\nbaggage, he ensconced himself within the Englishman's boat, and was\nexhibited to us on the memorable occasion of his presentation, attired\nin a white beaver hat and trowsers of but one leg. A few words we caught\nof his opening address was to the effect that,--\"bress de Lord, he was\nwunce more under de country's flag, and if dem Mexikers kotched him\nagin, dey'd have to fotch him dead.\" The following morning doctor Barret\nappeared newly skinned, in old clothes the crew had furnished, busy as a\ndemon in the mysteries of the caboose; hinting his capacity for the\noffice by proclaiming that he had been \"head bottle-washer of a\nLiverpool liner, with glass nubs on de cabin doors!\" The doctor soon\nbecame oracle of the schooner, and, albeit, tickled our palates with the\nmost savory of messes.\n\nFor a day or two we did nothing but cruise pleasantly around the\nislands, within sight of the Mexican pickets, sometimes landing on the\nlarger Venado, and scooping up, from a natural bowl, a few gallons of\nfresh water that was distilled from the dew, and trickled down between\ncrevices of the rocks. The climate, though excessively damp, was yet\ndelightfully agreeable, tempered by the most regular succession of\ndiurnal sea breezes. It never rains out of season, and were it not for\nthe heavy night dews, the very birds would famish. Until now we had made\nno prizes, saving quantities of excellent fish jerked out of old\nNeptune's bosom, without going through the forms of condemnation by a\ncourt of admiralty. Once we made a swoop on a small shallop, manned by a\ncouple of Frenchmen, but finding nothing for the trouble, and the Patron\nswearing he would, under cover of night, bring us on board something\ngreen and eatable, we set him at liberty, after whispering in my ear the\nrequest that Messieurs would discharge a carbine over his boat to\npreserve his honor; which mild compliment we promised to comply with.\nAll this did very well, and we had begun to be quite happy in our\nindependence. We discovered the best fishing rocks, clearest bathing\nbeach, and purest pool of water, when the powers above us, kind souls,\njudged we were too far removed from the parental protection of their\nguns; talked about the possibility of our being cut out, and cut up, and\nso forth; and the little Rosa was ordered to take a nearer station by\nthe Flag-ship. There we lay rolling and tumbling in the worst possible\nsea and humor, within a cable's length of the Constance, keeping a\nbright look-out on the town, and a brighter still on a surf chafing rock\nnear our counter. Then again, we would run round little Creston, which\nforms a sort of gate-post to the new port, and get in comparatively\nsmooth water, and bathe twice a day; eat sparingly, per force, and do\nanything to fill up the crevices of indolence; until at last we were\nagain ordered to resume our former position, and the Rosa gladly\nstretched her wings, and the same day dropped her anchors at the old\nbirth, under shelter of Venados.\n\nAt the faintest crack of dawn the next morning, a sail was seen creeping\nclose along the main land; in a few seconds we were springing away in\nthe whale-boat, most of us sans culottes. The chase was a large\nsloop-rigged launch, with a great big sail, swelling to the land wind,\nand urging the vessel rapidly towards the harbor. She had a long start,\nbut then eight ash oars acting on a light whale boat will make it skim\nlike a gull over the water. We were upon them before they knew it, but\non becoming aware of our proximity, and finding themselves within a\nstone's throw of the _garita_, they raised their voices in shrill notes\nfor assistance from the garrison. I felt quite assured, however, that\nMexican soldiers were not given to early rising. As a last resort the\nPatron put the helm down, hauled aft the sail, with intention of\nrunning, what I considered to be our property, on the beach. This\nproceeding laid me under the necessity of attracting attention, and\ncovering his red shirt with a carbine, I shouted, _Mira!_--look out! He\ndropped as if actually shot, the sail caught aback, the launch fell off\nfrom the wind, and in an instant we were alongside. By this time the\nguard on shore were getting their eyes open, but before they\ncomprehended the true state of the case, the distance was so wide\nbetween us, that burning powder would have been an utter waste of\nbullets; very possibly they consoled themselves, as did the Patron and\ncrew, with paper cigars. The prize proved to be from La Paz, with a\ncargo of sugar, dried fruits, and cloth; but what was far more valuable\nin our estimation a few sacks of potatoes, upon which we levied tribute,\nand then sent the vessel to the Flag-ship. We had very little reason to\nplume ourselves upon this exploit, for the same afternoon we were placed\nin a nearly similar predicament. Whilst beating between the islands and\nmain, with baffling light breezes, we became embayed, within a little\nindentation of the coast; and shortly afterwards a dozen Indian girls\nran along the beach, making most polite and hospitable offers of\nservice, if we chose to disembark. At the same time we could not help\nremarking the heads of numbers of desultory Mexicans, peeping out from\nthe under growth that lined the banks. Our position was certainly\nsomewhat critical, for the schooner had missed stays, and was sagging\nslowly into the rollers; and we became painfully alive to the fact that\nthe little Rosa would inevitably return to her former masters. But, many\nthanks to San Antonio, the breeze freshened, and getting out sweeps, and\nusing them with a will, we got the little lady's head off shore; the\nsails filled, and away we danced across the straits. This lucky change\nin our fortunes was not so well relished by our acquaintances on the\nshore, for immediately a troop of thirteen dragoons, with an officer,\nrode down to the beach, flourishing their long spears, in what we now\nthought a very furious and funny style, and then galloped and pranced\nalong the shore, to our entire satisfaction. We saluted them graciously,\nby hoisting the American ensign over the Mexican, and thus bid them\nadios. From one of the lofty eminences of the islands, which commands an\nextensive view of the plains, and suburbs of Mazatlan, we perceived,\nnear the scene of our escape, an encampment of about two hundred\nsoldiers; so we resolved to run no more risks in future, merely for the\nsake of being lanced to death for their diversion.\n\nThe next day we had another sail, and anchored near the upper island,\ndipped the last pint of fresh water from the basin, and, with one of the\nsailors I took a tramp over the hills--but such a parched, burning,\nsuffocating promenade can be found no where else: here and there were\ndense, impassable thickets of cactus and aloes, and the air reeked with\nthe odor of pelicans and nests swarming with young; while the newly\nfledged birds bore a strong resemblance to slim old gentlemen enveloped\nin yellow flannel morning gowns. On reaching the beach we were glad to\nplunge in a tepid bath, within a clear briny pool, shaded by a straight\nwall of rocks. Much refreshed, we rowed over to the windward _venado_,\nand having heard that deer had been seen, we started in pursuit. This\nisland is less abrupt than its neighbor. On the eastern side there is a\nwide slope, and at the time of our visit it was covered with tall dry\ngrass. Leaving a party to haul the seine and broil our breakfast, on the\nbeach, we commenced the ascent, and seating ourselves on a pile of\nrocks, about the summit, we perceived that the prairie beneath had been\nset on fire, and was flying towards us with the most amazing rapidity.\nWe quickly gained a rocky acclivity thirty feet above the ground, and\nhad the satisfaction of seeing the red flames lick the naked rocks at\nour feet, scorch the undergrowth to cinders, and then pass like the wind\ncoursing towards the other end of the island, leaving us nearly\nsuffocated with smoke, but thankful to have escaped the flames. This\nincident was sufficiently amusing, without indulging in the excitement\nof the chase; and we retraced our steps over the charred and blackened\nsoil to the beach, even then rather wanting in appetite for breakfast.\nThe same evening, after a delightful surfy swim, and while my pleasant\nconfrére was getting the arms recapped, nettings triced up, and all in\nreadiness for the night's vigil, preparatory to a sip of cold grog,\nincited by fumes of a cigar, we saw a rocket let off from the main, and\nbeing presently followed by a long stream of fire, terminating in a\nbright galaxy of stars from the frigate, we supposed it to be intended\nto answer a signal from us for assistance, which proved to be the case;\nfor in a few hours a large cutter, filled with men, came dashing\nalongside to aid us. We were grieved to thwart their anticipations of a\nskrimmage, and not so grateful as we should have been for the extreme\nsolicitude exercised for our well-being on board, for it was the means\nnext day of telegraphing us down to the ship. \"Come within hail,\" said\nthe bunting; \"anchor where you can comfortably.\" So it was up helm, and\nin the dusk, the Rosita crept stealthily under the sombre shade of\nCreston, and let go the _killick_ at the gap beneath the signal-tower.\nWe were neither so quiet nor secret in our movements as not to attract\nattention from the town, and shortly we could discern boats stealing\nalong the shadows of the bluff, evidently reconnoitering. We had no fear\nof a surprise, for there was always three pair of eyes on the look-out,\nand a man at the mast-head. Mr. Earl and myself having no fancy for\nbeing overrun by mice and cockroaches, snoozed away on deck, always on\nthe qui-vive; besides, the arms were constantly in perfect readiness,\nand the men to handle them as determined a set of matelots as ever\ngrasped a cutlass; and notwithstanding we were lying within point blank\ndistance of a contemptible three-gun battery, we took the precaution to\nanchor in line of the English frigate, feeling assured that our Mexican\nfriends would be exceedingly loth to pitch a round shot at us, with the\nprobability of hitting Mr. Bull on the horns; consequently, so far as\nmere safety was concerned, it did not in the least affect our repose.\n\nThe next morning, after capturing old Jack's oyster-boat, which was of\ndaily occurrence, in a friendly way, at two dollars the hundred, in\ncompany with the Correo, Captain Luigi, we sailed thirty miles down the\ncoast, but finding the ocean deserted, and not so much as a canoe to be\nseen, we beat back; the next day made our official respects to the\nfrigate, and thence returned to Venados. Here again, in the absence of\nmore agreeable excitement; we trapped crabs, shot curlew, paddled about\nthe beach, or amused ourselves hauling the seine. One afternoon, after\ntaking immense quantities of fine fishes, of every size, shape and\ncolor, one scaly mullet of plethoric caliber, weighing some forty\npounds, leaped five feet out of the net, clearing seine and floats, and\nterminated the performance by running a joust full tilt at a big burly\nIrishman, breaking the bridge of his nose, and keeling him over and over\nin the water like winkin'. \"Take him off, be Jasus!\" shouted Paddy,\naccompanied by fearful struggles in the water. It was rather a ludicrous\nincident to all except the sufferer. The same evening we had another\nvisit from the oystermen, and the trio were more than usually groggy.\nContrary to our advice, Jack determined to face the town once more,\nbrave the captain of the port, and have a lark, as he said, off the two\nhundred and more _pesos_ made on board the Yankee frigate. Away he went,\nbut, owing to his faculties being somewhat obscured, and mistaking the\nchannel, the boat got among heavy breakers, was capsized, and stove to\natoms. One man was drowned, old Jack himself water-logged, and drifted\non shore without a dollar, and the next morning was consigned to the\n_carcel_ for trading with the enemy. The remaining companion was picked\nup at daylight on a reef of rocks, and taken on board our ship; but he,\ntoo, poor follow, met with a violent death eighteen months later.\nHowever, unconscious of old Jack's misfortunes, it did not prevent us\nfrom feasting on his oysters; and the fires of the caboose were soon\nsparkling under broiling mullets, roasted potatoes, and what was to be a\n_chef d'oeuvre_ of Doctor Barret--a steaming chowder. We were about to\nbegin a series of naval entertainments. Even our little French\ngoblin-faced valet, Gashé, devoted his energies for once in his life to\nthe matter in hand; and, by the way, if ever a being on this earth was\ngifted with ubiquity, this youth was he: there was no mischief dreamed\nof that he was not an adept in. When not attempting some unknown method\nof loading or priming a carbine or pistol, he was perched on the\nfore-truck, swinging on the main-gaff, stealing sugar in the pantry,\nsmoking himself sick with a pipe, or playing pranks on the sailors; and\non a certain occasion, when he tumbled on deck from the\nfore-cross-trees--a height that would nearly have killed a mere\nmortal--we all treated it as such a capital joke, and laughed so\nunmercifully, that the imp sprang to his feet, jumped overboard, and\nswam on shore.\n\nThe little Rosa was lying calmly at anchor--watch and lookouts at their\nstations--awnings closely tented, and veiled around the\nquarter-deck--arms and ammunition glittering beneath the light from a\nlantern swinging beneath the main boom, while the arrangement for the\nbanquet was spread in two exact rows, along the lid of an arm-chest,\nwith camp-stools ranged around. Captain Luigi and his mate brought their\nown spoons and white sugar. Our worthy boatswain, Mr. Mills, who came as\nlord of the seine, was our common guest, and was spooned and fed from\nthe general contribution. We fell to and did full justice to the feast,\npleasantly diversified by a narrative from Doctor Barret of his dark\ntrue-love in Boston, and a pitched battle that suddenly arose towards\nthe close of the entertainment, between Monsieur Gashé and Captain\nLuigi's butler, a youthful Swede, called Baron Stockholm, who\nincautiously accused the valet of surreptitiously secreting divers\ntable-knives and crockery, belonging to the Correo. Thereupon the fight\nensued, and when finally concluded, much to the regret of the audience,\nour guests withdrew to a canoe, and paddled to their vessel.\n\nSoon after daylight the next morning, the report of a gun came booming\nfrom the Commodore. A large ship was lying becalmed in the offing; by\nthe aid of the glass we could see the little bright-colored flags\ntalking to the stranger, and presently our number was displayed, and the\ntelegraph said, \"Prepare to give up the schooner.\" Alas! shorn of our\nhonors, we slowly hove up the anchor--made all sail--spliced the\nmain-brace--and thus ended our fortnight's cruise in the Rosita.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\nDuring the period of our blockade, which lasted but thirty-four days,\nthere were no demonstrations made by the authorities of Mazatlan, to\npronounce against their government, nor any steps taken on our side to\ncompel them to do so. Finding there was no intention of molesting them,\nthe alarm excited by our arrival soon subsided, and with the exception\nof exchanging a few musket shots occasionally, between the boats and\nshore, everything went on as quietly and peacefully as if no hostile\nforce was at their gates. The commandante of Mazatlan was Colonel\nTelles, an Habanéro by birth, and withal a brave man. He had pronounced\nagainst Vegas, the President of the province, and the troops of the town\nbeing devoted to him, he, of course, like all other disaffected persons\nin Mexico, assumed supreme direction of affairs, and laid violent hands\non all moneys in the custom-house. He was described as a pleasant\nconvivial person, keeping quite a seraglio of his own, and altogether an\neligible acquaintance; a character, of which at a later date, when there\nwas better means of judging, we found no cause to change our opinion.\nJust previous to our arrival a messenger reached Mazatlan with\ninstructions for Telles to resign his authority to General Bustamente,\nwho was en route, and charged with full powers from the Mexican\ngovernment, to direct the province of Sinaloa. Colonel Telles very\ndiscreetly incarcerated the emmissary in the cabildo, and begged him to\ninform his master, the General, that there was no necessity for\ndisorganizing his ideas about the government of the port, as he, Telles,\nwould retain authority so long as he deemed proper. It had the desired\neffect, for there was nothing afterwards heard of Bustamente.\n\nLeaving Mazatlan to be guarded by our consort, we sailed on the morning\nof the third of June, bound once more to Upper California. Long before\ndark, Creston had disappeared below the horizon, and the ship went\ncalmly pushing her way towards the broad ocean. At meridian of the\ntwelfth, the sun measured an altitude nearly vertical, our shadows\nvanished, and we resembled that facetious Dutchman, Mr. Peter Schemmell,\nwho, it is said, disposed of his to the devil; at the same time while\nthrowing the log, a voracious monster snapped up the log-chip, swallowed\nsome fathoms of line, broke it, and went on his way unconcernedly, thus\nverifying the old song:\n\n\n     \"A shark being on our starboard, boys!\n     For sharks d'ye see don't stand,\n     But grapple all they get at, boys!\n     Like sharks they do on land.\"\n\n\nWithout any other incident worthy of remark, we continued hugging the\nwind, and describing a great segment of a circle, until after passing\nthrough the prevailing north-easterly trades, we attained a latitude of\nthirty-six, and then being met by the west winds, we turned to the\ncoast, and began sailing swiftly towards our destination.\n\nThe twenty-fifth day from Mazatlan saw us in sight of the red woods\nthat fringe the Santa Cruz mountains, and that night as the moon sank\nglimmering down, we let run the cables in the bay of Monterey.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\nBeing charged with dispatches for San Francisco, an early breakfast and\nhasty preparations soon placed me astride a dragoon's saddle. Attended\nby an artillery soldier and six horses for escort and cavallada, I drove\na sombrero hard on my head, the spur yet harder in the ribs of my\ncavallo, and away we sallied en route. The sun had passed the meridian\nwhen we reached the Salinas plains, and we stopped to change horses at\nthe Molino--a simple performance for one who can swing the lasso at any\ntime, but for those unacquainted with the mode, it is requisite to drive\nthe beasts into the corral, near every rancho, and catch one at leisure.\nI found my friend Anderson as hospitable and convivial as ever, and,\nafter a mutual exchange of greetings and drinks, we galloped off across\nthe plains. Instead of the smiling grassy deserts, gaudy flowers, and\nnarrow canals of spring, I beheld parched earth, large patches of wild\nmustard, and miles of wild oats. Before accomplishing many leagues, one\nof the best little beasts of the cavallada eluded the vigilance of my\nbody-guard, and we were compelled to abandon him. However, I made a\nforcible loan of a black mare brousing by the road-side--according to\nthe custom of the country--and which, indeed, proved an admirable ally\ntowards the close of our journey. Before entering the gorge that leads\nover the mountains on the opposite side of the Salinas, we halted at a\nrancho--and peeping in at the door of an outbuilding, I discovered two\nindustrious persons playing cards with much interest and\ndeliberation--there was no cash up, but they assured me that each bean\nbefore them, which marked the game, was a transferable I O U for a\nbullock. One of the party was brother to the last Mexican governor of\nthe territory--who absconded to Mazatlan, after showing a feeble and\nfutile resistance to Commodore Stockton. He appeared somewhat pleased by\nthe information I was able to communicate from his relative, Don José\nCastro, but not sufficiently so to interrupt the constant interchange of\nbeans between him and his grave companion. We commenced ascending the\npass that bars the road to the valley of St. Johns, and after winding a\ncouple of hours slowly among the hills, gained the topmost ridge--which\ncommands a fine triangular view of the rich slopes and plains below--and\nthen soon accomplished the descent--passing the ruined village and\ndilapidated mission of San Juan, we galloped briskly around. On the road\nI enticed a mounted Indian into service by a taste from the brandy\nbottle, to act as _vacuero_--by no means a sinecure birth with such a\nlazy perverse set of brutes as we possessed--but I was grieved to find\nthe soldier, sent as my guide and defender, had more than he was equal\nto in keeping himself and musket in the saddle. Moreover, he was neither\namiable nor companionable--a serious crime for a traveler--and I was\nobliged at times, to drive and catch the horses, talk for him, and in\nfact, do all but eat and sleep for him--which last accomplishments he\nenjoyed in perfection, having a constitution like refined steel. I am\nhappy to add, out of regard for the army, that he deserted shortly\nafterwards; although he forgot in his hurry to return a silver cup of\nmine.\n\nSkirting along the banks of a rapid stream, the shades of night began\nto fall as we drew bridles at a small rancho of one Don Herman. Our\nhost, as usual with the race, was making a slight repast on a paper\ncigar: he was very cordial, and good-looking, as was also his still\nhandsome old sposa. Like everybody I encountered before and since in the\ninterior, they inquired when the United States Government would pay for\nhorses and cattle taken during the war. _Quien sabe_--who knows--always\ncame to my aid, and I drawled it out much to the purpose. Indeed, though\nour Californian Volunteers be good men and true among their own kith and\nkindred, yet their mistaken ideas of what constituted civilized warfare\nmade them the most unscrupulous of freebooters; and they could be\ntracked far and near in their thirst for their enemy's horses and asses.\n\nMy host had no children, but, like Spanish padres, lots of nephews and\nnieces. Amid a detached group of young people, I observed a pretty\nlittle girl, as I at first supposed a child, nursing an infant, but on\ninquiry I learned that she was the mother at fourteen, and had been\nmarried two years and a half; a fact which beats East India jungles for\nthe precocity of women. Again on the road, with the husband of the\nlittle baby-mother for guide, who, by the way, was a most consummate\nscamp, incessantly urging me to make a short detour of five or six\nleagues, to dance all night at a fandango; and on taxing him with his\ngallivanting, and inconstant disposition among the softer sex, he\nreplied, with an air of triumph,--_O! yo he engañado muchas!_--Bless\nyou, I've broken the hearts of dozens--although he did not inspire me\nwith being so determined a Lothario as he himself believed.\n\nOn we spurred, and urged the jaded steeds some leagues further, when we\ncame upon the rancho of Carlos Castro. I was half famished from a long\nday's fast, but there was neither bread nor edible matter in the hut.\nAt last the buxom mistress asked me, _Quiere huevos?_--have an\negg;--_caramba! si amiga!_--Why did not you tell me of this before? She\nwas good enough to boil exactly fourteen, hard as bullets, but, what is\nequally incredible, I ate them all without salt; and then being in good\nhumor with all the world, threw a peso in the kind Señora's lap, and\nwith a lively adios, turned our horses' heads again towards the north\nstar. The moon was riding high, round, and gleaming as the silver dollar\nI had just thrown the good lady, flooding the whole lovely plain, with\nits waving fields of yellow oats, and magnificent clusters of oaks, in\none continuous vista of unexampled beauty. Five leagues beyond we struck\noff to the right, and after losing our path repeatedly, amid beds of\nwater-courses, and bolls of trees, and when I was on the point of giving\norders for a night bivouac on the sweet and yielding grain, we became\naware of our proximity to a habitation by the usual barking diapason of\nhalf an hundred dogs and curs, and I was not sorry to swing my weary\nlimbs from the saddle after a hard ride of eighty miles. In a few\nminutes I was stretched beside the proprietor of the rancho, Mr. Murphy,\nand as kind a specimen of the true Milesian as ever took leave of the\nHill of Hoath. I knew that by the kindly tone of his voice; but I fell\nsound asleep, giving the old gentleman an account of the battle of Cerro\nGordo, and never moved until long after sunrise. On awaking, I found\nmyself in a dwelling constructed of pickets, driven perpendicularly into\nthe ground, the apertures filled in with mud, and all covered by a\nroughly-thatched roof. The enclosure was rather a primitive, and I\nshould judge temporary affair, to serve the first year or two of an\nemigrant's home. The dwelling was large enough, however, to comprise\ncapacious beds in three of its angles, a couple of tables, dresser,\nchairs, and a variety of useful articles scattered around the earth\nfloor, but all presenting a far neater appearance than usually\ncharacterised the ranchos of the country. I was not left long to\nconjecture the cause of this tidiness, for whilst lacing my moccasins,\npreparatory to a yawn and shake, by way of toilette, I was saluted by a\nvery nice young woman, with the hope that I had slept well, and at the\nsame time presented with a large bowl of water and clean towel, by the\nyoung lady herself, who was afterwards introduced to me by her good\nfather, as his daughter Ellen. She was tall and well made, a very\npleasing face, lighted by fine dark grey eyes, black hair, and\nbeautifully white teeth. I learned from her own rosy lips that she was\nthe first American girl that ever walked over the mighty barrier of the\nCalifornian sierras, which she accomplished with one of her brothers,\nleaving the wagons, and her friends, to follow on a longer route. They\nwere a large family, and most of the children born in Canada, thence\n_locating_ in Missouri, and so on to the farthest West in California.\nThere were four stalwart sons, who had all more or less been engaged in\nthe last troubles, and had shown the natives a choice mould of bullets\nfrom their unerring rifles. They treated me with the utmost kindness;\nand after partaking of a capital breakfast of new eggs, hot bread, cream\nand _lomo_--tenderloin--prepared by their pretty sister, I felt quite\nequal to a short tramp among the hills, particularly upon finding the\nhorses well nigh knocked up, and requiring a few hours more rest.\n\nThe rancho was situated on the northern verge of the broad valley, on\nthe borders of a pure sparkling stream, surrounded in every direction,\nfar and near, with golden lakes of wild oats, thickly studded and shaded\nby the oaks. In company with one of the boys, Dan, we followed up the\ncourse of the stream for a mile or more, and I then had the satisfaction\nof sending a ball through and through the shoulders of a large doe.\nDragging the carcass down to the water, and divesting it of its jacket,\nwe then did the same ourselves, and swam and plashed for an hour in the\nlittle torrent. At the same time, with an extempore rod, twine, hook,\nand a \"devil's darning-needle\" for bait, Dan pulled out from a limpid\npool delightful salmon-trout, full two feet in length; I ate part of\none, and a charming fellow he was. Leaving our deer to the varmints, we\nreturned to the rancho at noon, dined, and again boot and saddle; struck\nthe road, and six or eight leisurely leagues brought us to the\nsettlement of Puebla de San José. Here I was most civilly received, and\nentertained by an American gentleman, Mr. Ruckle, to whom I bore a\nletter. Supper, good old sherry, a cigar, and four hour's sleep; up\nbetimes, and sent the jaded animals on to the Mission of Santa Clara for\na bite of grass. I remained to break my fast at the house of an\nagreeable white-toothed lady named Pico, and then, accompanied by Mr.\nRuckle, we hurried along the road which traverses the plain, shaded by\nnoble avenues of oaks and willows. The Mission stands but a league from\nthe Puebla, presents a tolerably flourishing appearance, with a\nwell-preserved church, clusters of out-buildings, and well-cultivated\ngardens. It is by far the most important and respectable settlement of\nits kind in this portion of the territory; and since the dispersion of\nthe priests, and confiscation of church-lands, has still fortunately\nretained a mite of its former wealth and influence. The good Padres, a\nscore or more years ago, were pleased to live well; and their\nwell-filled granaries, cultivated grounds, and myriads of horses and\ncattle--in all praise be it said--were the first to induce the native\nIndians, who, in brutish ignorance and social degradation are even now\nbut a remove from beasts of the field, to devote their time to some\nuseful employment. By these means the shrewd Fathers never lacked\ncomfortable houses to shelter them, nor raiment to clothe their sleek\nskins.[2]\n\nTarrying but a few minutes at Santa Clara, and selecting the best horses\nof the cavallada, I parted with Mr. Ruckle and continued my journey; the\nfirst fifteen miles was wearisome labor with our worn-out beasts, and we\nstopped for breath at a ranchito of a pretty little widow, who did the\namiable most refreshingly by handing me a dish of raspberries and cream.\nSeeing a filthy Indian poke them out of a bottle with a stick,\noccasionally giving it a suck, did not enhance the flavor of the fruit.\nA short league beyond, we came to another mud-built rancho, and our\nhorses having apparently determined to proceed no farther, accordingly\ntumbled down; there were half a dozen women and children about the hut\nbusily employed in cutting beef in long strips for drying; but they\ncontinued their occupation without deigning to cast even a glance of\nsympathy upon our pitiable plight. Indignation getting the better of my\nmisfortunes, I kicked off the spurs and marched bravely up to the\nmansion; then, after dodging about under long fringes of raw beef, I was\nsuddenly confronted by a stout dame, with a mass of meat clutched in one\nhand, and a dripping knife long as her arm in the other; this savage\napparition rather abashed me, and I timidly inquired how she did? She\nmerely gave a sharp upward jerk to her chin, with an ireful visage--as\nmuch as to say, \"I'm in excellent preservation, don't bother\nyourself\"--pointing to my foundered studs, I politely urged the\nnecessity of procuring fresh horses! \"_No, Señor! no hay!_ the horses\nare all mares, the mares are wild--there is no one to catch them\"--in\nother words--I'll see you in purgatory first. So I called up a little\nresolution, though far from feeling it, and letting the butt of my rifle\nfall heavily to the ground, I said, \"Hark ye, my friend, if you don't\nspeedily furnish me with beasts I'll make a seizure of that fine animal\nI see saddled in the corral; besides, I'm willing to pay liberally.\" At\nthe word \"money\" the patrona's features relaxed, _tu no eres\nvoluntario_--she remarked!--_por dios! no! mi alma yo soy de la marina,\ny Católico ademas!_--I'm a sailor and a good Catholic to boot. At this\nlast admission and the sight of a handful of bright pesos, the whole\nparty surrounded me--_ah! tan malicimos son esos malditos voluntarios!\nAve Maria! El oficial no es herége--es Christiano--y pagara los\ncaballos_--ah, what light-fingered gentry were the Volunteers; but the\ngentleman is a Christian, not a heretic, and going to pay like a\ntrump--they exclaimed. There was still some doubts as to whether I\nintended to pay in _effectos_ or hard tin, and if I could make it\nconvenient to liquidate a few outstanding claims which some of my\ncountrymen had forgotten to adjust; but when satisfied on that point a\nsmall boy ran off to drive in the cavallada. Meanwhile the Señora poured\nme out a cup of aguadiente, touched her lips to it, and handed it to me\nto quaff. The drove of horses was soon brought up, and as a particular\nfavor, the patrona selected her own nag to bear me--a small mare and\nnatural pacer that rattled along at a great rate without whip or\nspur--embracing the party, we again mounted and started off in fine\nstyle. The country has the same lovely aspect as in the vicinity of San\nJosé; great level plains teeming in wild grain, and wide-spreading\nfoliage of oaks, chesnuts, maple and willows, enclosed between\nhigh-swelling hills. In fact the country for more than forty leagues of\nthis broad valley is so perfectly level that a coach could be driven in\nany direction without serious obstruction; however, there is one\nannoyance to which horses are subjected, in the multitudes of holes\nburroughed by a species of ground squirrels, very frequently bringing\nhorse and rider to their faces. A few leagues rapid travelling brought\nus in sight of the southern arm of the waters of San Francisco, and\nskirting along its shores, by sunset we had left the low country,\ntraversed the rugged hills of the sea-girt peninsular, floundered knee\ndeep in the sandy road, and by nightfall I found myself comfortably\nhoused with a generous batchelor friend, Mr. Frank Ward, in Yerbabuena.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[2] This Mission, according to Vancouver, was established in 1778, by\nFranciscans, which, with one founded three years previously at San\nFrancisco, were the northernmost settlements of any description formed\nby the court of Spain, on the continental shores of north-west America,\nexclusive of Nootka. Although the Jesuits had planted the cross on the\nlower territory, on the peninsula at Loretto (1697), they had not\nexplored the west coast. Of all the numerous voyagers of note who have\nvisited and written upon California--Perouse, Vancouver, Kotzbue,\nBelcher, Wilkes, and others--there is not one whose delineations are\ncharacterized with so much truth and simplicity as Vancouver,--not only\nin this territory, but in the groups of Polynesia. He must have been\ntruly a good man. His intercourse with the untutored savages of the\nPacific was ever tempered with justice and humanity. He did more than\nany succeeding navigator in stocking the islands with cattle, and his\nscientific duties were executed with exceeding accuracy for the means at\nhis command. The English may well be proud of the renown he has shed\nupon the land of his birth; and his name will be for ever cherished in\nthe Pacific, when the unscrupulous deeds of his great Commander shall\nhave been forgotten.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\nRemaining but a few days in Yerbabuena, and when on the point of taking\nleave, I met with a brace of navy men, who were about to sail up the Bay\nfor a hunt among the hills; so giving orders to the brave courier to\njoin me at Puebla, I embarked with my friends one day at noon in a small\nlaunch, and a stiff sea-breeze soon wafted us forty miles; then entering\na narrow creek, formed by high sedgy reeds that sprang from the shallow\nwater, we performed a tortuous serpentine track, in a labyrinth that\nfairly required Ariadne's clue to thread its mazy windings; actually\nsailing sixteen miles to gain three, as the bird flies; at last we\narrived at the _embarcadera_ of San José; and after a fatiguing walk, at\ndark we came upon a tenement. The house was filled with women and dogs,\nwho chattered and cheated, dinned and dunned us to such a pitch that we\nwere obliged to seek shelter elsewhere; and accordingly we _packed_ our\nsaddles, blankets and rifles, and at about nine o'clock reached the\nestate of one Don Ignacio de Sylva. Our host received us with open arms,\nprepared a supper of beef and _tortillas_, and in return, we\ncomplimented him with strong rummers of punch; his fat spouse joined in\nthe festivities, and when the evening was somewhat advanced, a\nshake-down was arranged for us on the floor of the _sala_, which,\nfortunately for fleas and ourselves, chanced to be laid with a floor of\nboards. My slumbers were greatly disturbed by being placed in full view\nof a pretty young brunette, whose light from an adjoining apartment\nthrew her form in most distinct rays of animated beauty, amusing herself\nthe while playing with a baby, whilst her filthy villain of a husband\nregaled himself for an hour or more with a _cigarrito_. My dreams were\nnone of the pleasantest, and I was glad when day dawned to light me out\nof the dwelling, and breathe the pure morning air. _Como les gusta á los\nAmericanos el fresco_, said our lazy host, as he sat wrapped in a\nblanket on a hide, observing me take a bath in a little rivulet near by;\n_se hace daño_--be the death of him--as he blew the cigar smoke from his\nlungs with a deep sigh! Notwithstanding his indolence we found him a\nmost consummate extortioner, and after throwing every impediment in our\nway, he hired us miserable horses at an extravagant rate; and then\nmounting, we took the road over a dry, salt, marshy country. Passing the\nmission of St. Josephs, we never halted until reaching Puebla, where we\nwere most kindly welcomed by Mr. Ruckle. The town is planted in the\nmidst of the great plain, with small streams of water, which is much\nneeded elsewhere, coursing on either side. The place contained some five\nhundred inhabitants, the dwellings all of the adobie mud-built order of\narchitecture, with but one road between them: for ten leagues around the\nland is most fertile, and the country in many respects appears to\npossess great advantages, and has the reputation of being the garden of\nUpper California. We saw quantities of fruits, peas, peaches, and\ngrapes, very unripe, but the natives like them the better green.\n\nUnder no contingency does the natural face of Upper California appear\nsusceptible of supporting a very large population; the country is hilly\nand mountainous; great dryness prevails during the summers, and\noccasionally excessive droughts parch up the soil for periods of twelve\nor eighteen months. Only in the plains and valleys where streams are to\nbe found, and even those will have to be watered by artificial\nirrigation, does there seem the hope of being sufficient tillable land\nto repay the husbandman and afford subsistence to the inhabitants. Sheep\nand cattle may be raised to any extent; as the gentle slopes, clothed in\nrich wild grasses, afford excellent districts for grazing.\n\nWe breakfasted at the residence of a plain, sensible and industrious\nfamily of emigrants from Virginia, named Campbell; then strolling to the\nbanks of a little rivulet, we took siesta beneath the shade of drooping\nwillows, surrounded by groups of brunettas washing in the pools near by.\nIn the afternoon my fellow travellers left me for their hunt among the\nmountains; and upon learning that Commodore Stockton was in the village,\nI immediately made my homage. He was by long odds the most popular\nperson in California, and by his enthusiasm, energy, and determination,\naccomplished more, even with the limited means at his command, in the\nacquisition of this valuable territory, than any other man before or\nsince, who has planted his foot on the soil.\n\nThe following day was Sunday, the Fourth of July, and moreover the fast\nday of the Patron Saint of California--_Nuestra Señora del Refugio_.\nMeeting Miss Ellen Murphy and brother on the road bound to high mass at\nthe mission, I agreed to accompany them and return to their rancho in\nthe evening. There was a large assemblage in Santa Clara, and we\nattended church. The building was oblong, painted roughly in fresco, and\ndecorated with a number of coarse paintings, and lots of swallow-tailed,\ngreen and yellow satin pennants dangling from the ceiling. During\nservice an indefatigable cannonier, outside, gave frequent _feux de\njoie_, from a graduated scale of diminutive culverins--made of brass in\nshape of pewter porter pots, half filled with powder, and the charge\nrammed down with pounded bricks--this with music of kettle-drums,\ncymbals and fiddles made a very respectable din; there were two\ngentlemanly priests of the order of Saint Francisco, whose acquaintance\nI afterwards made, who preached each a brief sermon with eloquence and\nforce. Among the congregation were all the belles and dandies of the\nvalley; the former kneeled demurely on little rugs or bits of carpet in\nthe nave of the church; but the latter were lounging near the\ndoors--their gala costume is quite in keeping with Andalusia--and one\nhandsome fellow at my side took my eye, as I have no doubt he did that\nof many a brighter. He was dressed in a close-fitting blue cloth jacket;\nsky-blue velvet trowsers, slashed from the thigh down, and jingling with\nsmall filagree silver buttons; snow-white laced _calçoncillos_,\nterminated by nicely stamped and embroidered _botas_; around the waist\nwas passed a heavy crimson silk sash; a gay woollen serapa hung\ngracefully over the shoulder; in one hand a sugar-loafed, glazed\nsombrero, bound with thick silver cords; and in the other, silver spurs\nof an enormous size, each spike of the rowels two inches long: all these\nbright colors--set off by dark, brilliant eyes, jetty black locks, and\npliant figure--would have made him irresistible anywhere. Turning\ntowards me, he asked, smilingly, _Porque no se arrodilla, vd en\nMisa?_--Why don't you kneel at the Mass?--_Tengo pierna de palo_, quoth\nI, quite gravely: glancing at my pins with much interest, to discover if\nthey were of timber, he seemed to relish the joke, and we then sidled\nout of the church, and became firm friends on the spot.\n\nAfter service, I was introduced to many American emigrants, mostly\nMormons, who, in a free and easy style, had taken possession of the\noutbuildings and tenements belonging to the Mission; and who, in their\ncontempt for the kind and good Padres, and rightful proprietors of the\ndomain, were not only averse to request permission to remain for a\nseason, but were hugely indignant at the military Governor of\nCalifornia, Colonel Mason, for having issued a decree, requiring these\nlazy gentlemen to leave the lands of the Church. Notwithstanding their\nmutterings, a few weeks later they were summarily forced out by the\nbayonet.\n\nWhilst we were at mass, a serious mishap occurred to young Murphy. A\njuvenile damsel, whose cognomen was \"sugar-plumb,\" and being the only\neligible maiden for matrimony, I was assured by a hospitable dame, one\nMrs. Bennett, \"that she was the forwardest gall in the Mission,\" through\nsome silly, childish freak, frightened my friend's horse, so that the\nrestive animal broke the halter, and made long strides over the plain. A\ncouple of drunken Indians started in pursuit, but having a quarrel on\nthe way, one plunged his cuchillo up to the haft in his companion's\nthigh, which brought him, deluged in blood, from the saddle. We found\nthis poor devil and conveyed him to town; but of the runaway horse and\nsaddle, which was worth half-a-dozen Indian lives, or horses, we could\nlearn nor see nothing. We made but a short stay in Puebla, and an hour\nbefore the sun sank for the day, we put foot in stirrup, and a long\nswinging gallop of seven leagues soon carried us to good Mr. Murphy, and\na good supper.\n\nThe following morning I arose with the lark, took a long pull at the\nmilk-pail, volunteered a little surgical advice to an Indian _vacuero_\nwho being thrown from his horse, was suffering under a badly-contused\nthigh; he had bound the limb tightly with strands of hide, and was doing\na new principle of local bleeding by puncturing the flesh with sharp\nstones--a mode of treatment very much in vogue with the natives. Under\nguidance of Dan, we mounted capital horses, and sallied out for a\nbear-hunt. Entering a gentle rise of the hill sides to the southward, we\nwound around the grain-covered slopes for two hours, seeing but a few\nstray deer, and a herd of wild horses; and although the traces of Bruin\nwere everywhere visible, we were on the point of turning our steps\nhomeward, when my companion grasped me by the shoulder, pulled me back\nto the horse's flanks, and whispered, \"Thar's one! lie low, Captin! lie\nlow!\" It was a large he bear, walking about a little bowl of a valley\nbelow us, in the laziest, hoggish manner possible, going from side to\nside, rooting and tearing up the earth by wagon loads, in his search for\nground-rats--his course being directly towards us. We dismounted,\nhitched horses to the lower branches of an oak, a few yards in our rear,\ndivested ourselves of all but knives and rifles, taking the precaution\nto keep a bullet in our mouths, that they might slip easily down the\nguns in case of emergency, then crossing to the edge of the hill, we\nawaited the grizzly. He came nearly within point-blank range, when\nchanging his track, he passed over to the other side of the slope. We\ntightened girths, mounted again, and rode around to head him off; when\ngoing through the same operations as before, we ensconced ourselves\nbehind a giant tree, and remained perfectly silent; presently the\nmonster entered a knoll of bushes, within forty yards of us. \"Captin,\"\nsaid Dan, with his mouth close to my ear, \"when I whistle, plug him in\nthe head.\" I brought my rifle down, but at the moment of springing the\ntrigger, I must confess feeling some inward quakings, from all I had\nheard of their ferocity when wounded, and accordingly I intimated a\nrequest to Dan that he would open the ball. Giving a low whistle, to\nattract Bruin's attention, the long barrel rested motionless for a\nsecond against the tree, and as the beast raised his head to listen, Dan\nlet the hammer fall. _Maldito!_ the cap only exploded; but it startled\nBruin, who leaped from the shrubbery, and took to his heels. My turn\ncame, and I sent him a bullet out of twenty to the pound; wheeling on\nhis haunches, he showed a range of glittering jaws, and not seeing us,\nmade off again. We once more got in the saddle, and rushed in pursuit.\nDan had another glimpse--snapped again--I took a long range, and blazed\naway. Nothing done. On we galloped up the hills, and skirting around the\nsummits, we began slowly to descend along the brow of a ravine, in which\nwe anticipated finding the chase. We had nearly reached the base without\nperceiving him, when Dan, who was behind, shouted, \"Mind your eye,\nCaptin!\" I heard a sharp, rattling growl, and within thirty feet below\nme was Bruin, licking a stream of blood flowing from his rump. He raised\nup, snarling with rage, with huge paws and claws distended; and when\nabout making for me I fired right between the shoulders, and heard the\nlead strike _chug_. The moment after my horse plunged, took the bit in\nhis teeth, and dashed across the valley. After getting him again under\ncontrol, we tracked the bear over the crest of the hill to a small dense\nthicket, where we heard him groaning, and angrily snapping his jaws. Dan\nswore it would be \"rank pison\" to venture after him, and we both thought\nhim hit too hard to crawl out alive. I was extremely disappointed in not\nbeholding the last of him, but Dan consoled me by promising to pay him a\nvisit with the dogs the following day; which he did, but the beast was\nhalf devoured by coyotes and gallinazos, so that it was impossible to\nsave the skin. It was of a verity the most formidable beast I ever saw\noutside the bars of a cage: covered with long grizzly hair, dark upon\nthe spine, and inclining to a yellowish tinge along the shoulders. He\nmust have weighed fourteen hundred pounds.\n\nAt noon, my escort and cavallada having come up, and all ready for the\nroad, fully appreciating the honest kindness of the Murphys, I threw\nmyself in the saddle, and departed for Monterey. We had but four\nhorses--miserable beasts they were--one gave up the ghost before the\nspur had made a hole in his hide, and another was brutally murdered by\nmy illustrious soldier, who being unable, in his stupidity, to noose\nhim, brought the poor animal lifeless to the ground with two ounces of\nbuck-shot from the musket. Apart from these annoyances, we had the\nutmost difficulty in urging those we rode into the settlement of San\nJuan. On the road I was favored by a specimen of native rusticity. A\nyouthful vacuero accosted me, and walked his cavallo at my side;\nfamiliarly placing his hand on the barrel of my rifle, he frankly opened\na discourse by asking if I had any tobacco; not fancying his\nimpertinence, and thinking I detected a mischievous expression in his\nvisage, I quickly replied, with my rifle at half-cock, _No tengo. Que\ntienes pues?_ he added, with a sneer. _Dinero_, I responded, chinking\nthe coin in my pocket, upon which he made a jocose grasp at that\nreceptacle of my treasure, whereupon the solid tube of the rifle came in\nforcible contact with his nose, with such a violent collision that the\nclaret spirted over the mane of his steed. He reined quickly back--the\nwater standing in his eyes--made a demonstration of taking a whirl at me\nwith his lasso, but observing the dark hole of my rifle staring him in\nthe face, he contented himself by yelling _puñetero!_ and galloped away.\n\nI found St. Johns a detestable spot--half a score dwellings--the\nchurch, and long ranges of buildings of the Mission, more than half in\nruins, and rapidly crumbling to the ground. Thirty years before, this\nabode of the Frayles possessed twenty thousand head of horses, three\ntimes that number of horned cattle, and a thousand Indian serfs to till\ntheir broad acres. Meeting the intelligent priests who had officiated in\nSanta Clara, they directed me to a house where a lodging was procurable.\nCrossing the deserted plaza, I entered a large ill-constructed adobie\ndwelling, where I was received by a filthy young Gascon, who appeared to\nbe mayor domo, in the midst of a houseful of girls and women. I lost no\ntime in doing the amiable to my agreeable hostesses, who in turn\nprepared a supper of dirty junks of beef, and still worse _tortillas_.\n_Bifstek à la god dem_--fingers before forks--_comme l'usage en\nCalifornie_, said the Frenchman, as he vigorously commenced operations.\nBut the supper was so unpalatable and unclean a meal, that hungry as I\nwas, I fain amused myself the while, puffing cigarillos, catching fleas,\nand drinking execrably sour country wine. The feast was barely ended,\nwhen a loud screeching, and violent commotion among the women attracted\nattention; and presently there came running towards me an old beldame\nwith, _Dios de mi alma, es rd medico?_--the Lord preserve us, are you a\ndoctor. _Si! si! amiga! Medico y cirujano bueno_--Yes, Jack of all\ntrades--I replied, deeming it a fair chance of exhibiting a little\nirresponsible empirical practice. Upon inquiring the necessity for my\nprofessional abilities being called into play, I learned that the entire\nhousehold had been exerting themselves the day and night previous\ndancing at a fandango, and that one of the _jovencitas_ was attacked\nwith fits, consequent upon her exertions. The poor girl was lying on\nthe the tiled floor, her head propped up by pillows, with loose\ndishevelled dress, and rich masses of dark hair strewn over her bosom\nand shoulders, like serpents in Eden. She was moaning piteously between\nthe convulsions, and one old Hecate was striving to pry her mouth open\nwith an iron spoon, whilst another was slapping her hands and yelling\nall the while, _Crescencia! Crescencia!_ Kneeling beside the pretty\nsuffering patient, and finding her pulse throbbing like a steam-engine,\nin my ignorance I advised bleeding; but this was out of the question, as\nnothing sharper than a hatchet, jack-knife, or old steel-pen, was to be\nhad in the place; consequently, all left to be done was the application\nof hot vinegar and blankets. While superintending this process, and\nbathing her forehead, she went off again into spasms, clasped her arms\naround me, and for the space of five minutes I was favored with a\nsuccession of the warmest embraces; and, although it may not be\ngenerally credited, yet I'll venture to assert, that one may be seldom\nplaced in a more trying situation, even if a charming girl has fits.\n_Crescencia_ became calmer after this trifling ebullition, and was put\nto bed. I was anxious to sit up with the party during the night, but the\n_rieja_ declined my services, and I retired to another dormitory, where\nI slept tolerably well on a table, wrapped in a blanket, with holsters\nfor pillow. Arising at daybreak, I was concerned to find my horses had\ndisappeared from the corral, which I had reason to attribute to the kind\noffices of the Gascon. However, I paid him a dollar to have them caught,\nand upon bidding adios I gave him a _souvenir_ from the thick lash of my\nriding-whip, which was no doubt serviceable to other travellers who have\nsucceeded me.\n\nWe reached the Salinas Plains at noon; half way across my horse dropped\nwith me into a ditch, so I scrambled out, packed saddle and duds on my\nown back, gained the molino, procured a Spanish brute from the\nproprietor thereof, and the same night arrived in Monterey. I regret to\nadd, this was my last interview with Anderson--he was assassinated a few\nmonths later, by a person named Callagan.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\nThe latter part of July found the frigate again moored off Yerbabuena,\nin the waters of San Francisco. A number of us had long anticipated the\npleasure of a trip to the northward; and a fine prize schooner, the\nJulia, being unemployed, she was accordingly made ready, and, early one\nmorning, our party, with a few trifling kits, were all snugly stowed\naway on board. With the broad pennant fluttering at the main, and all\nsails spread, we soon lost sight of the anchorage. The Julia's cabin had\nfour berths sufficiently capacious for grown people, and two others,\nwhich were, in reality, intended for minors, or any adult under three\nfeet in length; a settee ran crosswise, and the intermediate space\nfilled in with a cozy table. Our mess amounted to seven, and the caterer\nhad been careful to provide servants and cooks, cold hams and tongues,\npotted oysters and biscuits, silver-topped bottles of ale and stout,\ncases of pale sherry, bundles of havannas, and what with a haunch or two\nof venison, and lots of edibles, indiscriminately packed in huge\nbaskets, we counted upon a sufficiency of _viveres_ to allay thirst and\nfamine for a week to come. Indeed, there's nothing answers so well as a\nprofusion of \"provender,\" to promote good humor and agreeable\nconversation. Major Dalgetty understood this practically and\nphilosophically. Guitars, pretty spirituelle women, babbling brooks and\nshady lawns, with a bowl of chicken salad, do very well when one goes a\npicknicking in an omnibus, or canal boat; but when it is necessary to\nrough it a bit in open air and unknown regions, we require something\nmore substantial.\n\nPassing through the inner straits, above Angel Island, we entered the\nbay of San Pablo, or Sinoma, and, with a pleasant breeze, steered for\nthe upper shores. It is a vast, circular sheet of water, twelve miles in\ndiameter, fenced in from the ocean, on one side, by a rim of broken\nhills, closely abutting upon the bay; while to the north and east, the\nland trends easily away, in less abrupt elevations, into the interior,\nleaving a base of wide, fertile plains and valleys, verging upon the\nshores.\n\nA noble ship channel takes the direction of the eastern coast, leading\ninto the straits of Carquinez, an opening quite similar to the outer\npassage from the sea. Our course lay in an opposite point, and, turning\nto the left, we sailed over shallower depths, until late in the\nafternoon, when, finding there was no water to spare betwixt the keel\nand the bottom, we dropt anchor, two miles from the land. The barge was\npresently manned, and leaving our butler, Mr. Bill Moulden, to exercise\nhis care and corkscrew over the comestibles, we rowed to the entrance of\na creek, where, after winding about in the serpentine tracks of an inlet\nfor, at the least, ten miles, we at last jumped on shore at the\n_embarcadera_ of Sinoma. The gentleman to whom we were bound, not being\napprised of our coming, but two horses were to be procured, and the rest\nof us trudged along on foot. The road was perfectly level, walking good,\nand, with sparkling stars for lanterns, in an hour we found ourselves at\nthe residence of General Vallejo, were ushered through a spacious _porte\ncocher_, into a large _sala_, and graciously received by the lady of the\nmansion, whose husband chanced to be absent on important business. It\nmay be as well to state here, that Vallejo had been the most important\npersonage in Upper California, both from family influence, intelligence\nand wealth. On the commencement of the war, notwithstanding the\nannoyance he had experienced from the Bear party, he espoused the cause\nof the United States; and, being blessed with a clear head and much\ndiscernment, saw at a glance the benefit derivable for California by a\nconnection with a staunch Republic, in preference to letting the\nterritory languish under the misrule of Mexico, or, perhaps, at some\nfuture period, to maintain the needy soldiery of a foreign monarchy. I\nbelieve myself within the mark, in estimating the General's landed\nproperty at one hundred square leagues, embracing much of the best\nagricultural and grazing districts in the country, with many of the most\neligible sites for commercial ports on the waters of San Francisco. The\nlittle Pueblo of Sinoma stands with its back resting against a ridge of\nhigh hills, shutting in, on one side, a lovely plain, near fifty miles\nin extent, and presenting much the same pleasing aspect of golden lakes\nof wild oats and luxuriant oaks, as grace the vale of Santa Clara. The\nprincipal dwellings and barracks form three sections of a square--all,\nexcept one edifice, owned and occupied by the relations and family of\nour absent host. His residence was the largest--as usual, built of\nadobies--two hundred feet long, of two stories, having a tier of\nbalconies above. The apartments we occupied below were well furnished,\nwalls papered, books and cases, prints and mirrors in profusion. We were\nsomewhat surprised, not believing so much refinement, in that which is\ntermed modern civilization, existed in the territory. The Señora\nherself, assisted by a well-behaved youth, did the honors of the supper\ntable; and after we had made a hearty meal, she retired and left us to\nthe enjoyment of chateau margaux and cigars. During supper we were\ncomplimented by a serenade, sung by a number of Russians and Germans,\nwhose harmonious chorus, and songs of \"Faderland,\" almost carried us\naway to the Rhine. We sought the music room, shortly after, where the\nlittle daughters of our entertainers were performing on the piano. They\nhad been properly instructed, and performed remarkably well; besides,\nthey were pretty, becomingly attired, and, what is still more\ncommendable, exceedingly well bred. Towards midnight we said _buenas\nnoches_, and sought our beds, where, if we had been previously a little\nastonished to find ourselves surrounded with elegance, we soon had\nreason to return to realities, by the aid of the pincer-like stings of\nthe curse of the country, _pulgas_, who, finding us tender and\npalatable, hopped about us for the remainder of the night. To evade\ntheir sharp bites, I tried to smoke myself insensible, and would no\ndoubt have succeeded in deluding myself into slumber, had not my repose\nbeen again interrupted by a loud altercation between the Admiral's\naid-de-camp and Captain Swayback, of the dragoons, who chanced to be\nbilletted together. The former, through abstraction, had swathed\nhimself, like to an Egyptian mummy, in all the clothes, and persisted in\noccupying the centre of the bed; moreover, hinting a disinclination to\npass the night with any gentleman perfumed with tobacco. Upon this, the\ncaptain became jocosely indignant; and although admitting that, in his\nvaried hardships and travels, he had been necessitated to bivouac many a\ntime under worse auspices, yet he still had a mortal antipathy to share\nhis pillow with a man; so, he betook himself to the floor, where, with\nblanket, an inverted chair for pillow, and a brilliant cigar illumining\neither corner of his month, he rendered the room dense with smoke until\ndaylight.\n\nEarly on the morrow we took a pleasant ramble about the village, and\nwere individually hugged by a tame grizzly cub, who was altogether\nmore ardent in his affectionate embraces than our recent acquaintance\nrequired--thence to breakfast on the accustomed _olla podrida_,\nwhich is a stereotyped mess everywhere with Spaniards and their\ndescendants--though at times differently prepared--here it was flanked\nby _frijoles_. The meal finished, horses were standing, ready\ncaparisoned, at the door, and whilst my friends amused themselves to\ntheir fancy, I seized a rifle, and in company with a young American,\nstarted on a hunt. We had ridden a league over the valley, when we\nperceived a small herd of antelopes; but they descried us, too, a long\nway off, and not without much trouble and hard riding, did I succeed in\nstriking one with a bullet, flying, as I may say; for never before had I\nbeheld such nimble heels. Another was wounded, also, but, with his\ncompanions, reached the highlands and escaped. The first had his fore\nleg nearly severed from his shoulder, but, notwithstanding it traversed\naround in his flight like a wheel, he still ran good four leagues before\nwe approached near enough to kill him. We soon packed the meat on a\nhorse, which is done by removing the entrails, breaking the back bone,\nand doubling the animal, horns and tail; then it is secured to the\nsaddle. Two may be carried this way; but wo to the hunter, if the sharp,\nhard hoofs happen to prick his horse, the probability being that the\nrider will describe a summerset. Highly pleased with the exploit, we\nsent our prize to the _embarcadera_. The antelope abounds in great\nnumbers in the vicinity of Sinoma. They pass more evenly over the ground\nthan deer; are far swifter, and extremely shy. We all rëassembled at the\nPuebla in good time and condition for dinner, which passed pleasantly,\nand then taking leave of our handsome, hospitable hostess, who\nexpressed much regret at the absence of Don Guadalupe, her husband, we\nmounted fresh horses and turned our backs on the little village of\nSinoma, all highly pleased with the visit. Embarking again at the head\nof the creek, with a strong favoring tide, we reached our floating\ndomicile at dark. Fatigue of the day made heavy eyelids, and supper was\nbarely despatched, before sleep shrouded us in the land of dreams.\n\nWeighing at sunrise the next day, with light winds, and charming\nweather, we bore away to the Carquinez Straits. This passage lies on the\neastern face of San Pablo; it may be a mile and a half wide, and we\nfound a broad ship channel, ranging from twelve to five fathoms\nsoundings, all the way to the head of the straits, where we anchored the\nJulia, in twenty-five feet water, within a bound of the bank. Our\nposition was at the site of an embryo city, called Benecia. The\nselection was made by Doctor Semple, and the land owned by Vallejo, in\ncompliment to whose wife the place was named. In point of natural\nadvantages, I know of no more eligible situation: the country rises in\ngentle sweeping undulations for some miles, terminating quite around by\na lofty amphitheatre of hills; the climate is equable and salubrious,\nwith a rich and fertile soil, and plenty of timber, and it is said coal\nof a superior quality exists in the vicinity. At the time of our visit a\nmania was raging in California about lands, and lots, and although\nnothing had been attempted in Benecia, except a very pretty plan on\npaper, and three miserable little board sheds, with a flat boat to ferry\ntravellers across the straits; yet from being the highest navigable\npoint, where large vessels can conveniently discharge or load from the\nmain rivers of the San Francisco, that pour into the shoal Bay of\nSossun, we predicted that eventually Yerbabuena might play a relative\nSandy Hook to a New York; _then_, nothing was known of the El Dorado\nfifty miles above: had we been aware of it we might have taken the\nlittle city off the Doctor's hands; for now, with its manifest\nadvantages, and enormous influx of emigration flowing towards\nCalifornia, there can be no bounds placed upon its progress.\n\nWe made a hunting trio during the day, crossed to the opposite shore,\nbut not being acquainted with the haunts of game, and being a little\ntimid about the prospect of meeting a grizzly, we did not venture into\nthe interior; and after a long and arduous tramp over the steep spurs of\nheights that entrenched boldly upon the straits, we saw no opportunity\nfor firing our rifles, being only repaid by a treat of delicious melons\nfound at an isolated rancho.\n\nAt nine the following morning we bid adieu to Benecia, with the credit\nof having been the largest vessel, and only one of war, that had ever\nfloated so far on the broad bosom of San Francisco. With this plume in\nour castors we were obliged to be content, as the Admiral could not\nspare time to explore further. With an ebb tide, and prevalent west\nwind, we tacked boldly from side to side; before noon had cleared the\nstraits, and entering a narrow channel that borders on the Tulares\nValley, we ran between Mares Island and the main, and again came to\nanchor. Here we tarried all day, in hopes of filling the Julia with elk;\nbut although the low banks and extensive fields of reeds are famed as\nthe resort of immense bands, yet, for a wonder, there was not a\nfour-legged animal to be seen. Fowling-pieces, however, came into\nrequisition, and we filled our bags with mallard, curlew, and plover;\nthese tit bits came in seasonably, for the antelope, which by the way\nproved most excellent, was literally on his last leg. When the ebb tide\nagain made, at night, we lifted the anchor once more, homeward bound,\nand the next afternoon were again comfortably kicking heels under the\nmess mahogany of the frigate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\nOn the 26th of July, 1847, the Columbus, seventy-four, bearing the\npennant of Commodore Biddle, sailed from San Francisco for the United\nStates, leaving the flag of the Commander-in-Chief, flying on board the\nrazee Independence. By this time most of the ships composing the\nsquadron had either rendezvouzed in Monterey or Yerbabuena. Central and\nUpper California had become perfectly tranquil, with the exception of\nsome trifling difficulties which had arisen in San Diego, between the\nNew York Volunteers and the natives. But these were speedily settled;\nand a sufficient force being now ready for service, the preparations,\nwhich had already been too long delayed, were actively begun for the\npurpose of attacking the Mexican coast. The crews of the different\nvessels were constantly exercised in companies and battalions for\nservice on land: they were taught to march and counter-march, in line,\nplatoons, and column; to throw themselves into squares; were thoroughly\ninstructed in the manual drill; and although they occasionally knocked\ntheir broad-brimmed tarpaulins off at \"Shoulder arms,\" yet upon the\nwhole they did extremely well for sailors, and on the weekly field-days\non shore, went through the evolutions in a very creditable manner.\n\nEarly in September we returned to Monterey. The bright green verdure\nthat clothed the hill sides, the beautiful mantle of green and flowers\nof spring, had long since paled beneath the blaze of summer. No rain had\nfallen; the clear rills that murmured in every gully were absorbed by\nthe parched earth. The broad lagoons near the beach were rapidly\nreceding, and mud had been converted into dust. And although vandals\nwere making the axe resound in murderous blows upon the picturesque\nbolls of fine trees that decked the slopes, there was still sufficient\ndelight for the eye to rest upon in the lovely undulating landscape\nencircling the shores of the bay.\n\nMonterey was rapidly increasing, and houses of a more substantial build\nthan the paper-like structures of Yerbabuena, were rising in the\nstreets. The fort on the hill was nearly completed, mounting a numerous\nbattery of long twenty-fours; and in the rear were stone magazines,\nbarracks, and quarters; so that the natives, if they entertained doubts\nbefore, were now convinced that their invaders had resolved to remain. A\nsalutary system of police had also been established in the town--the\nReverend Alcalde was a terror to evil doers. Woe betide the pockets of\nthose who slaughtered cattle at their door-steps, or the rollicking\ngentry vaulting at full speed through the streets, or drunken Indians,\nor quiet persons in back rooms, amusing themselves at monté--for down\ncame that ivory-headed cane--\"Alcalde de Monterey\"--like a talisman; and\nwith a pleasant smile he would sweep the white and yellow dross into his\ncapacious pockets. Others were mulcted in damages, or made to quarry\nstone for the school-house; but, whether native or foreigner, the rod\nfell impartially on their pockets, and all, more or less, contributed\ntowards the new Californian college. These measures were not relished at\nfirst by the natives, but in the end they discerned the wisdom of a\nprompt and just administration of the laws, and became devoted admirers\nof the indefatigable Alcalde.\n\nAbout this time a more serious event occurred. Two Indians were charged\nwith the murder of a foreigner; a woman, who was their accomplice,\nbetrayed them; they were tried by jury, selected equally from natives\nand strangers; the crime was clearly and indubitably proved--the\noffenders were condemned to be hung. The punishment was unknown in\nCalifornia, and a large concourse of persons assembled around the\ngallows, which was erected within sight of the town. Attended by two\npriests, the criminals, who seemed perfectly indifferent to their\nfate--in fact many thought rather pleased at being the observed of all\nobservers--were placed beneath the beam, and the cords finally adjusted\nby the pious fathers. At the signal, down came the platform, and with it\nthe murderers; but, by some unaccountable fatality, both knots slipped,\nand with the exception of being a little \"choky\" in the face, they\nsustained no injury. In a moment one of the priests mounted a horse, and\ngalloped to the Governor's, urging a reprieve on the plea of a special\ndispensation of Providence--that the criminals had been hung once, and\nwere consequently entitled to pardon. The philanthropic padre might\nbetter have saved his ride and breath, for Colonel Mason informed him,\nthat in case these villains were not executed, Providence might\ninterfere with the ropes for ever after, and moreover the sentence was\nto hang them until dead. Meanwhile the sheriff on the ground had\nreplaced the halters with unslippable hitches, as he observed that they\nwould receive \"particular fits;\" and soon after they were properly\nworked off, and swung, dangling, lifeless figures, within their timber\nframe. This event generated a feeling of bitter hostility on the part of\nthe Catholic clergy towards the local government, although generally\nconceded by the Catholics themselves to be entirely uncalled for and\nunreasonable.\n\nOn Saturday evenings, crowds of these degraded Indians, of both sexes,\nafter laboring during the week, and feeding on locusts or grasshoppers,\nwere accustomed to congregate on the outskirts of the town, where, with\ngaming and arguadiente, they were enabled to remain torpid all the\nfollowing day. Their favorite amusement was a game called\n_escondido_--hide and seek--played with little sticks; and their skill\nwas exerted by trying to discover in whose hands they were: seating\nthemselves on the ground, around a huge blazing fire, separate parties\nwere ranged on opposite sides; then beginning a low, wild chaunt, moving\ntheir bodies to and fro, groping with their hands within the serapas\nbefore them, until the perspiration starts in streams down their naked\nsides, after a strange succession of deep, harsh, gutteral grunts and\naspirations, they suddenly terminate their exertions by giving a sharp\nyell, and pointing to one of the opposite party, who, if rightly\ndetected, pays forfeit. When one set of players becomes exhausted,\nothers supply their places, and thus they keep it up the live-long\nnight.\n\nAmong the Californians an agreeable pastime, much in vogue, is the\n_merendar_--Angliee, pie-nie. They are usually given, on the patron\nsaint's day of some favorite señora or señorita, by their admirers. A\nsecluded, pleasant spot is selected a few miles away from the presidio,\nwhere provisions, wine and music are collected beforehand; then each\ncavalier, with arm thrown affectionately around his sweetheart, on the\nsaddle before him, seeks the rendezvous. Guitars and choral\naccompaniments soon are heard, and the _merenda_ begins, and is kept up\nwith the greatest possible fun and spirit: dancing, frolicking, drinking\nand love-making. There are two or three singular dances of the country:\none, called the _Son_, where a gentleman commences, by going through a\nsolo part, to quick, rattling music, then waving a handkerchief to a\ndamsel, who either pays the same compliment to another favored swain, or\nmerely goes through a few steps, without relieving the first comer, who,\nin turn, is obliged to continue the performance until a lady takes pity\nfor him. It not unfrequently happens, that when a particularly graceful\ngirl is on the floor, making her little feet rapidly pat the ground,\nlike castanets, to the inspiriting music, that some enthusiastic _novio_\nwill place his sombrero on her head, which can never be reclaimed\nwithout a handsome present in exchange. But, Heaven help us! the pranks\nand mischief indulged in on the return home; the tricks and tumbles,\nlaughter and merriment; even the horses appear to enter into the play,\nand when a cluster of gay lads and lassies have jostled one another from\nthe saddles, the waggish, animals, fully appreciating the joke, stop of\ntheir own accord. The last affair of this kind I attended, was given by\nthe best-hearted little fellow in the territory; and I am prepared to\nprove it--Señor Verde--he was an universal favorite, as well with old as\nyoung; for he was at different times taking a short _pasear_ on every\nhorse, laughing with the madres, and kissing the shy donçellas--_valgame\ndios_--but I had work in getting him into Monterey that night, for my\ncavallo carried weight--besides a big overgrown dame and myself, Verde\nhung on to the tail.\n\nWe were many weeks in Monterey, and I passed a large portion of leisure\ntime either hunting with Juaquinito, or chatting and smoking during the\nafternoons with our excellent friends, the army men, at the Fort. But at\nlast we began to tire of foggy mornings, damp nights, tough beef,\nlounging under the Consul's piazza, sweltering dust, catching fleas,\nplaying monté, and fandangos at Carmelo. The time was drawing near for\nour departure. The ships were provisioned and ready for service. Jack\nhad become quite a soldier, and we consoled ourselves with the\nprospective excitement of a descent upon the Mexican coast.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\nWe sailed from Monterey on the 16th of October--rounded Point Piños,\nand, bidding a final adieu to Upper California, bore away to the\nsouthward. On the 25th, we found ourselves near Cape San Lucas, where,\nfor three blessed days, we lay becalmed, all hands existing, as it were,\nin a warm bath of their own providing. The morning of the fourth, there\ncame a breeze, and with it, under a cloud of canvas, one of our\nfrigates, with the intelligence that she had bombarded Guaymas, and\nblown up the fortifications. No resistance had been made, and a corvette\nwas left to guard a deserted town. It was certainly a severe instance of\npatriotism, where the Mexicans left their homes and property, choosing a\nprecarious existence among the sterile mountains, rather than cry\n_peccavi!_ to the Yankee banner.\n\nAnchoring at San José, we learned that trouble was brewing on the\nPeninsula, and that some hundreds of men in arms were assembled at Todos\nSantos, a place on the seaside of Lower California, fifty miles distant.\nNothing, certainly, was more preposterous than the forgetful policy of\nour Government, in expecting to hold two thousand miles of coast with a\nhandful of men. The principal points on the Peninsula had already been\noccupied transiently by our forces; but notwithstanding proclamations\nhad been issued, declaring the \"Californias unalterably\" annexed to the\nUnited States, and that very many of the natives had warmly espoused our\nprotection; yet the very moment the ships or force were withdrawn from a\nplace, the disaffected patriots--and they were patriots--immediately\nsprang up, issued _pronunciamentos_, threatened foreign residents, and\ntheir own countrymen, who had befriended the invaders. As a consequence,\nthe whole lower portion of the territory and the Peninsula were kept in\na constant state of excitement and inquietude. Nor could we have\nreasonably expected aught else, without a respectable force to overawe\nthem.\n\nThe second evening after our arrival, a small mounted party, of thirty\nmuskets, from the flag ship, was ordered into the interior, to disperse\nthe insurrectionists at Todos Santos. They had not been absent half a\ndozen hours, when a report was circulated, that a body of the enemy were\nlying in ambuscade on the route, to attack them. A great commotion\nensued, and I was selected to proceed to the Mission and inquire into\nthe truth of the rumor. Attended by our marine postmaster Richie, we\nprocured horses on the beach, and after sliding over loose stones,\nwinding around precipices, until quite dizzy at the narrow bridle paths,\nrunning full as much risk in losing our eyes by thorns of aloe or\ncactus, as our necks, in the darkness, by the precarious foothold of the\nbeasts, we reached San José at midnight, and presented ourselves before\nthe alcaldes. We found these worthies and their wives deeply immersed in\nmonté and cigarillos. They were ignorant, as alcaldes universally are,\nof any treasonable rumors; but, on citing an old Indian woman and her\nson, who were the divining magicians of the place, we learned that, in\ntruth, a number of evil-minded persons had been in town, tampering with\nthose more peaceably disposed, in hopes of raising a sufficient force to\ncut our little band to pieces. Upon concluding our inquisitorial\nproceedings, we returned to the ship. The next morning, news was brought\nfrom La Paz, a post some distance up the Gulf, and recently occupied by\na company of the New York regiment under Lt. Col. Burton, that the\ndisaffection had extended in every direction, and the Mexicans were\nresolved to make a last struggle for lost ground on the Peninsula. The\nsame night we received more _violente extraordinarios_--break-neck\nexpresses--stating that the little town near us was about to be invaded\nby the insurgents. There was so much truth in this, that a number of\nofficers from the ships took to the road, \"accoutred as they were,\" and\na very flimsy toilet some of them appeared in, on their five mile flight\nto the watering beach. Boats were armed, and companies detailed for\nservice; but another violent extraordinary arrived, and for the time we\nremained passive. The next evening, a detachment of five-and-twenty\nmarines left the ship for shore. We were a long time disembarking, as\nthe surf was breaking ten feet high upon the open beach. Skirting along\nthickets around the town, we marched up a valley, through a deep sandy\nroad, for more than two leagues, before reaching our destination. It was\na little hamlet, called _cerrillos_, of miserable ranchos, lying upon\nthe side of a hill, where we had hopes of meeting a party of\n_guerrillas_. Our arrangements were quickly made--men posted--pieces\ncocked--the houses summoned successively--but, alas! for our\nanticipations of a skrimmage, the birds had flown some hours before,\nleaving but a few old people and children in the place. I was sadly\ndisappointed, for I had an extremely perilous path to explore in getting\nto my station--no more nor less than charging, full leap, through a\nlarge corral of sheep and cattle--with half a dozen fixed bayonets close\nat my heels--the bullocks jumping right and left, in great affright,\nand I expecting every instant some rampant bull ahead to toss me into\nthe air, or a sharp bayonet to stick me in the rear; nor did I feel\nrelieved, until the muzzle of my carbine struck the door of the rancho,\nand I found breath to cry, halt! to the party. After a deal of praying\nand screeching, from the shrill throats of women and children, the door\nfell, and, by the glare of a flickering torch, an old lady tremblingly\napproached, with a baby in each arm, crying, _Somas pobres, señor, ave\npurissima! no hay mas que esos! tome ad un niño, por el amor de\nDios?_--we are poor, but take a baby, for the love of God. We generously\ndeclined the good woman's kindness, and succeeded in allaying her alarm,\nby the assurance that we were in search of men, and not infants. Truly,\nit has a tendency to jar one's nerves, this storming a person's house\nwith armed men in the dead of the night.\n\nWe had a dreadfully fatiguing march back, and had there not been many\nrivulets to quench thirst, some of us would have been thoroughly\nexhausted. Entering the town at eight o'clock, we learned with surprise,\nthat the friends whom we went in search of had been making night hideous\nin the village itself, and only decamped towards daylight on our\napproach.\n\nA few days succeeding our arrival, the ships were busily employed\nwatering. In the southern arm of the bay is a small cove, partially\nsheltered from heavy surf by a jutting reef of rocks, where, during the\nrainy season, is the mouth of a mountain-torrent; then, the stream was\nnot visible, but on digging a little way below the sandy bed, pure\ndelightful water bubbled up, filtered through miles of coarse gravel.\nThe large boats anchored a few yards from the strand, and the men amused\nthemselves by swimming the casks off when filled. Nearly the whole\npopulation of the Mission assembled there at daylight, offering fruit,\nvegetables, and other articles for traffic. Lots of girls and women were\nthere, all far better dressed, and more comely than those we had been\ngazing upon so long in Upper California. I devoted my time to an old\nlady and two daughters, who had pitched a tent near by, and opened a\nshop for the sale of milk and eggs. Of the two damsels my adoration was\nthe younger--Eugenia--a charming little brunette, who shared my dinner,\nand, by way of a frolic, cunningly squeezed lime-juice in my month when\nasleep. This style of existence quite enchanted us; and what with\nsucking oranges, dozing in the welcome shade, and bathing half the time\nin the water,--we fancied it somewhat resembled the pleasant life in the\nSouth Sea Islands.\n\nOne of the roads, from the watering ravine to San José, had much the\nappearance of an alley through a flower-garden: the foliage blazing in\nbloom, with a plentiful display of blossoming aloes and cactus, shooting\nup into the air like Grecian columns; many of the latter twenty inches\nin diameter. The town stands in a pretty valley, with red, sterile\nmountains toppling around it. One broad street courses between two rows\nof cane and mud-built dwellings, thatched with straw, having shady\nverandahs in front, constructed of frameworks of canes and leaves,\nanswering very well to screen the burning rays of the sun, which sheds\nlight and heat, with the force of a compound blow-pipe. At the upper end\nof the avenue, standing on a slight, though abrupt, elevation from the\nvalley behind, was the _cuartel_, a small building, which at a later\nperiod was the scene of a gallant stand and siege, where a mere handful\nof our sailors and marines bravely repulsed twenty times their number of\nMexicans.\n\nWithin sight of the village is a shallow, rapid brook, which serves to\nirrigate many well-tilled plantations about the suburbs. The people were\nkind, and particularly hospitable, always welcoming us with the utmost\ncordiality. We usually dined at the house of an old Chinaman, who was a\nmiracle of a cook, and dished us up beneath the shade--plover, curlew,\nwild ducks, and olives without stint--with which, and chatting, smoking,\nlounging from house to house, and _siesta_, we got through the hours\npleasantly. On one afternoon, having somewhat soiled my outer man, in\nleaping into a puddle instead of over it, my newly-discovered sweetheart\nwashed my trowsers and shirt, whilst I dozed away on a low cot frame,\nupon which was tightly drawn a tanned sheet of leather--and a capital,\ncool, comfortable apparatus it is in warm weather. We generally returned\nto the ships by night, as the unsettled state of the neighboring country\nrendered it impossible to remain; so, after rewarding pretty Eugenia\nwith my handkerchief for her trouble, I turned my steps for the last\ntime on San José.\n\nThe expedition that started for Todos Santos on our arrival, and for\nwhich serious uneasiness was beginning to be entertained, got safely\nback on the seventh day. They found a dull, barren region to traverse,\nand were not repaid by a sight of the guerrillas, who had all decamped\nfor a rallying point near La Paz.\n\nIn consequence of the earnest solicitations made by the simple\ninhabitants of San José, for a small force to protect them from their\nbrethren in arms, who were not so favorably disposed towards the North\nAmericans, it was deemed advisable to comply with the request, and a\ndetachment of twenty marines, a nine-pounder carronade, with four\nofficers, under command of Lieut. Charles Heywood, U.S.N., were\ndetailed for the service, and the next day occupied the town.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\nMazatlan lies in latitude 23° 12' N. verging on the tropic, flanked by a\nbroad belt, ten leagues wide, of the _Tierra Caliente_, with the lofty\nmountains that support the elevated terraces and grand plateau of the\ninterior plainly visible in the background. The town is built upon a\ntriangular space formed by three hills at the angles, the apex a bluff\npromontory, extending seaward, and beyond two small islets, barely\ndivided from the frowning helmet of Creston. These salient points form\ntogether a bold, rocky partition, which with another parallel barrier to\nthe eastward, breaks off the ocean swell, sufficiently to admit of a\nsecure anchorage from all but southerly winds. This is called the New\nPort. Right and left of the town are curving sandy beaches; the one\nabreast the New Port, protected by a sand-bar, that incloses a safe\nhaven for small vessels; then further, a wide _estero_, or inlet, runs\ninland, following the bend of the coast for sixty miles to the\nsouthward; while one channel branches away to the west, encircles\nMazatlan, and passing some miles in a line with the sea, is only\nprevented from again meeting the ocean by a narrow strip of marsh and\nsand. To the right of the town commences a small patch of sand called\n_Olas Altas_, whereon some of the best buildings are situated; beyond is\nan abrupt dome-like elevation; and then farther still, is a narrow\nindentation, formerly used as the Puerto Viejo; when the beach\ncontinues in a gentle curve, as far as the eye can reach, up the gulf,\nto the northward.\n\nIn the year 1830, Mazatlan was a miserable Indian fishing village; but\nowing to its advantageous position in affording a better harbor, and\nfresh water, than existed for large vessels north of Acapulco--its\nfacilities for communication with the rich mining districts of\nZacatécas, Durango and Culiacan, besides the market opened in the\npopulous provinces bordering upon the Pacific, it soon increased in\nmagnitude to a fine thriving little city of ten thousand inhabitants,\nand became the most important commercial point on the continent north of\nthe equator.\n\nSailing from the Bay of San José, in company with the frigate Congress,\nand corvette Cyane, we crossed the Californian Gulf, and made the land\non the afternoon of November 11th. The sea breeze set in late, and the\nsun was down upon arriving at the Venados Islands. The ships were\ntogether, and having each a position assigned, the Independence passed\nahead, and standing boldly in, anchored abreast the Olas Altas beach,\nwithin half musket-shot of the shore. The Congress came to anchor in the\nold port, commanding the old road and garita, while the Cyane brought\nher guns to bear upon the eastern face of the town, from the new\nanchorage.\n\nAll remained quiet during the night on shore; the boats of the squadron\nwere gotten in the water; batteries in fighting order; guns cast loose\nand trained; besides whole hail-storms of round shot, shells, grape, and\ndivers other sorts of deadly pyrotechny, piled in stacks and racks,\naround the decks, all ready at a moment's warning to knock the town to\ndust. At sunrise a flag of truce was sent to summon the authorities. The\nCommandante Telles, in consequence of fatigue caused by galloping about\nthe place, and brandy, did not appear, but delegated his officials to\ninform the American cartel, that he could not reconcile with it his\nhonor to receive our officers, and to inform El Señor Commodore that he\nsaw no necessity for surrendering Mazatlan, but the same time he should\nretire to his camp at the Palos Prietos, beyond the environs, where he\nwould await the ruthless invaders.\n\nFour hours were given for deliberation; we were told subsequently, that\nthey anticipated four weeks, with the privilege of breaking off\nnegociations at the end of that period. Before the time had expired, the\ncompanies for landing were ready in the boats, and the artillery\nawaiting the stroke of the bell to begin the ball; but presently there\ncame alongside a dapper little personage, with intelligence that the\nMexican troops had entirely deserted the town, and no resistance would\nbe offered by the inhabitants. After all the trouble we were a little\ndisappointed, and even Uncle Ben Bunker, our worthy gunner, was quite\nexasperated, being obliged to stow away his fire-works, and secure the\nguns, for a more remote occasion.\n\nThe flotilla of twenty-nine boats had assembled around the flag ship,\nand, headed by the Commodore, we pulled between Creston and the Main,\nand made for the mole. Not a bayonet was visible. A concourse of persons\nlined the beach, who merely gratified their curiosity by scowling upon\nus, as the boats came to land and emptied their loads. In ten minutes\nour flag was flying over the town, and twenty-one guns saluted it from\nthe Independence. Field-pieces were then disembarked, placed in\nposition, the men wheeled into column, the band struck up, and away we\nmarched through Mazatlan. The house-tops were crowded with veiled\nfaces; but upon so slight an acquaintance we found difficulty in putting\nin even a wink, except at rare intervals. We reached the Cuartel, a\nlarge square building for barracks and citadel, situated on a slight\neminence in rear of the town, and commanding the main roads to the\ninterior. The sailors and marines were soon quartered, guns planted, and\nall preparations made to resist an attack. Three hundred were detailed\nfor garrison, and the remainder sent on board. From appearances, the\nMexicans had departed with great precipitation, leaving many of their\naccoutrements, some hundred stand of rifles and muskets, saddles, and a\nfew pieces of artillery. Their whole force was about eight hundred, more\nthan half regulars, and had they chosen to stand their ground, we should\nhave suffered severely, although not perhaps repulsed. Telles and his\ntroops were posted a league up the road, near the forest of Palos\nPrietos, and it was stated that his intention was to assault us; but we\nexperienced no alarm on that score, feeling assured that, after\nrelinquishing all their advantages in position, they could have no\nfurther wish to retake them.\n\nThe first few days we were occupied making reconnoissances in the\nneighborhood. Two positions were selected for fortifications: the one, a\nsteep hill, overlooking the estero; and the other, a lower eminence,\nentirely guarding the main and only approach for cavalry by land to the\nport. This was the Garita. Between these two points, in former times, a\nline had been marked out, faced by a broad and deep ditch, intended to\nconnect the western branch of the inlet with the sea, thus cutting the\ntown entirely off from the main land; but the excavation had only been\ncompleted as far as the Garita road, leaving, however, but a narrow\ncauseway open.\n\nHeavy ordnance, long twenty-four pounders, with carriages and wheels,\nmortars, and lighter guns, were brought ashore from the ships; and as\nthey were drawn through the streets, by the stout arms and shouts of\nhundreds of sailors, the inhabitants fairly looked astounded. In a short\ntime these heavy monsters were staring, with their dark cavernous\nmouths, from the esplanade of the Cuartel. Picks, shovels and barrows\nwent briskly to work; ditches, walls and parapets were commenced, and\nwent on unceasingly for many months.\n\nPrevious to our coming, a great number of the more respectable residents\nhad retired to their estates, or the towns in the vicinity; but upon\nfinding that the North Americans were not such outrageous invaders as\nthey had been led to believe, gradually these families returned to their\nhomes in Mazatlan. Meanwhile, a military and civil Governor and\nLieutenant Governor[3] had been appointed, and an _ayuntamiento_ called\nfrom among the citizens, with commissioners on our side, to arrange\npreliminaries for the municipal administration of the town. This proved\nto be a matter of very difficult adjustment. The _junta_ were averse to\nremoving the _alcobala_--a tax levied upon provisions and produce\nentering the gates--at all times a burdensome and unequal extortion,\nfalling upon the poor: this was at last yielded, and it, of course,\nbecame a very popular measure, although with little real benefit; for\nthe producers themselves were compelled to suffer severely from the\nrapacity of their own troops outside. The President of the Council was\nSeñor Créspo, a very respectable, honest person; and could he have been\ninduced to fill the post, saving a few illiberal ideas and fears of\ncompromising himself with his former friends outside, all would have\ngone on smoothly; but he refused to serve, and Señores Pelaiz and Leon\nwere appointed to preside over the civil tribunals. This caused\ndissatisfaction, as neither had a surplus of moral character to boast\nof; but as the commodity was scarce, the judgeships would have remained\nvacant a long while, before more suitable selections could have been\nfound among the Mexicans. Nevertheless, the policy pursued by us became\npopular with all classes, and there were but few exceptions to the\ngeneral wish, that our flag might float over them forever. What tended\nin a great measure to revive confidence among the wealthier inhabitants,\nwas our manner of conducting business at the custom house. The scale of\nduties, as exhibited by the Secretary of the Treasury, was modified to\nsuit this market, and, in the absence of all bribery and corruption, it\nrestored a certain harmony of association among the merchants, which,\nnecessarily, was interrupted by the Mexican policy of holding out\ninducements for every trader to undersell his neighbor; when all were\nconstantly intriguing with the government _empleados_ to get their\ncargoes through the customs, at a lower mark than usual. This system was\ndone away with, trade was thrown upon an assured basis, and it\nconsequently encouraged a more friendly intercourse. As a single\ninstance of the rapacity and extortion practiced by the Mazatlanese\nauthorities displaced by us, there were five-and-twenty officials\nemployed within the custom house; and of a yearly revenue averaging\nnearly a million of dollars, not a rial ever went to the general\ngovernment. In the first place, the Mexican tariff was frequently so\nheavy as to amount to prohibition, and to save time and the risk of\nsmuggling, it was only necessary to throw a third or fourth of the\nduties into the commandante's or collector's hands, who, in turn, made\na smaller distribution to the cormorants beneath them. Telles had it in\nhis power to have laid by half a million of money, but it all went like\nwater through his fingers, and he fled as poor as he began.\n\nThere were no restrictions placed upon the liberties or pleasures of the\npeople. They had justice by their own laws. We preserved order. Patrols\nand police parties perambulated the town night and day. After _oracion_\nhad tolled, no person was permitted to enter or leave the Garita until\nsunrise, without the risk of a bullet in his body! for sentinels were\ndoubled at night, and mounted pickets guarded the great ditch towards\nthe _estero_. No arms were permitted to be carried by citizens, and both\ngentlemen and _paisanos_ were obliged to leave them, upon entering the\ntown, at the Garita.\n\nThere was but one church in Mazatlan, for the people are not piously\ninclined, and one Padre was all we ever saw; and him the girls called\nFather Windmill. The only good public edifice is the _Duana_. The houses\ngenerally are of one story, built of bricks, or adobies, and plastered\nover; but all the wealthy residents have fine, cool and spacious\ndwellings, with flat roofs, which command pleasant views of the sea and\nenvirons. The streets are wide, having trottoirs, tolerably well paved\nand lighted. There are two small plazas, many very handsome shops, cafés\nand _sociedads_. Altogether, we found ourselves in a modern little city,\nand much nearer civilisation than in the mushroom settlements of\nCalifornia.\n\nThe climate is very warm in the morning, though tempered by cooling\nbreezes from the ocean towards afternoon. After the summer rains have\npassed, much sickness prevails, owing to the malaria that is generated\nfrom the wet, marshy plains and lagoons around the town. Congestive\nfevers and agues are then quite common, and the wealthier orders retire\nto the high lands of the interior.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[3] The last named appointment was ably filled by Lieut. Halleck, of U.\nS. Engineers, who, from his military and scientific knowledge, was of\nthe greatest assistance to the expedition.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\nThe Mexicans remained encamped but three days at Palos Prietos, when,\nleaving strong posts of cavalry to blockade the roads, and intercept\ncommunication with the town, they retired to the Presidio of Mazatlan--a\nplace eight leagues beyond--where they went into quarters. As yet they\nhad committed no hostile acts, except making a bonfire of a number of\ntheir own launches, and small craft, that had been carried for safety up\nthe Estero, to prevent them falling into Yankee hands. We could see the\ngay pennons of their lances constantly with the spy-glasses; and by this\ntime having acquired a slight idea of the topography of the immediate\nsuburbs, we began to extend our scouts further beyond the lines.\n\nThe skirmishing commenced on the 18th. With fifty men, we left the\nCuartel at midnight; pursued a path parallel with the beach, and after\nresting some hours in ditches, and nearly devoured by musquitos, at\nbreak of day found ourselves a league from the garrison. Soon after, we\ndiscovered a body of forty horsemen moving along the road in direction\nof the town. We were obliged to break cover, and run smartly to a hedge\nthat fringed the road, in hopes of intercepting their retreat, and were\nof necessity soon exposed to view. The lancers wheeled to reconnoiter,\nand then came on at a trot. We blazed away with the muskets, when they\nincreased their speed, until on reaching a thicket, they halted and\nreturned the fire from their escopetas. This continued some time, the\nballs knocking the dust up in little puffs, but too far distant to do\nany damage, when hearing the sharp pinging song of a bullet, I turned my\nhead and beheld a verdant reefer, with a cutlass strapped around his\nwaist, one hand in his pocket, and the other scratching his cheek.\n\"Hillo!\" quoth I; \"what's the matter?\"--\"Nothing but these musquitos,\"\nhe replied, and continued attentively regarding the flashes from the\nbushes. While this little fusilade was going on, we espied two officers,\nwho had probably ventured too far in advance of their troop, and were\nentirely cut off from the main body; we hailed them to surrender, but,\nwithout heeding the summons, they behaved quite coolly; moved slowly\ntowards where a dozen muskets were gazing at them, and where they were\nobliged to pass an angle of the road, when having availed themselves of\nthe last chance of even a leaf of shelter, with one arm clasping the\nhorses' necks, they half swung from the saddles, and made a desperate\nrush to pass us. A hail-storm of balls and buck-shot rained around them;\nthe horses plunged, evidently hit, and the hindmost rider fell from his\nseat, still clinging to the saddle, but the speed of the animals soon\nbore them to their companions and shelter. We afterwards learned that\nthey had lost one killed and five wounded. Pursuit was useless, our\nheels being less nimble than horses, so we formed and returned to the\nbarracks.\n\nThe night following this adventure we were out again, about three hours\npast midnight, with a single attendant, I became separated from my\nparty, and after getting bewildered among swamps and thickets, just as\nday was breaking we reached the beach. All right now, we thought, and\ntrudging stoutly over the sand, we suddenly came full upon a Mexican\npicket. We dropped as if shot. It was early dawn, and we were not\ndiscovered. They were sitting on their horses, behind a little hillock,\nwith the butts of their long lances resting on the ground; and for my\npart I already, in imagination, felt one, half through me; they were\nanxiously peering about, and we were certain that the first movement on\nour side would be attended with inevitable capture, with melancholy\nthoughts of perspective dinners on frijoles and paper cigars. So we\nremained quietly lying on the sand, until presently one exclaimed, with\nmuch emphasis, _compadre, no hay Yankis! corramos_--there are no\nYankees, let us be off. A moment later, there was heard a sharp rattle\nof musketry, soon followed by a volley; uttering loud curses, they gave\nspur, covered us with dust as they galloped by, and disappeared in the\nwoods. Regaining our feet once more, we plunged waist deep through a\nlagoon, crossed fields and fences, and reaching the main road, devoted\nall our energies to our legs. A mile of this healthful exercise\nexhausted our powers, and we paused for breath; but the troubles\napparently were not ended. A party of horsemen came dashing along the\nroad in our wake; running was out of the question, there was no more run\nleft in us, so with a cocked carbine and pistol we stood the result. Our\nfears were groundless, however; and, upon seeing ladies in the troop, we\ntook courage, and advanced to meet them. It was a Spanish family,\nreturning from Rosario, who falling accidentally between the firing of\nthe skirmishing parties, were nearly frightened out of their wits;\nindeed, one of the ladies had fainted, and been left at a rancho by the\nroadside, until a litter could be sent from town. They were not more\nrejoiced at having us for an escort than we were to avail ourselves of\ntheir protection, and we all jogged bravely into Mazatlan. Our fellows\nreturned soon after, having made a few prizes of arms, saddles, and camp\nequipage, but did no bodily harm to the enemy, who, as before, had fled.\n\nOn the night of the 19th, a plan was matured for surprising a body of\ninfantry under command of a Swiss, the former captain of the port, named\nCarlos Horn; our spies reported his position in the small hamlet of\nUrias, about seven miles up estero. A hundred men, with a small\nfield-piece, took the main road, while half this number were to embark\nin boats, pass beyond the Mexican post, land, and march down to meet the\nshore party.\n\nWe left the ships at midnight, and with muffled oars pulled silently up\nthe river. On passing the hamlet, we saw the gleam of camp fires, and\nthe cry of their sentinels arose, shrill and clear in the still night,\n_alerto! alerto!_ The oars dipped noiselessly in the water, and,\ncontinuing up the estuary, we soon came to the spot indicated by our\nguides. Scarcely had the men formed on the beach, when we heard, first a\nfew dropping shots, and then volley upon volley, from our friends to the\nleft. After groping about some time to find the road, the guide\ndiscovered that he had mistaken the landing, and we accordingly\nrëembarked. By this time, the firing from the shore party had ceased,\nand all was again quiet. Beneath the deep shade of overhanging foliage\nthat fringed the banks of the estero, the boats were carefully pushed\ndown the stream, until a narrow opening in the bushes gave a clear view\nof the broad level _marisma_, and we found ourselves directly in front\nof the village itself, with fires and lights flashing in all directions.\nWithout attracting attention, the boats were cautiously drawn within the\nthickets, the sailors forming, and lying down upon the sand. We were\nclose to the Mexicans--their sentinels not twenty yards distant, and\nevery word they uttered distinctly audible. Presently a body of horsemen\ncame clattering over the hard beach. _Quien es!_ sang out the guard.\n_Carlos!_ said the watchword, and then began an angry altercation: \"Why\ndid you fly from those cursed Yankees, when you knew they were\napproaching?\" _Porque mi Coronel, los Americanos rompieron el fuego\ncontre la advanzda--y habia balazos aqui, y alla, y que podia hacer yo?_\nrejoined the speaker--They fired upon our advance, and the bullets were\nflying so thick, that, what could I do? \"Where are they now?\" said the\nColonel. \"Oh! they have retreated to Mazatlan again.\" _Loco!_--you're a\nfool--said the Colonel, with much disgust; \"they're only awaiting\ndaylight, to be upon us--is all quiet at the water?\" _Si Señor_, not a\nsoul has passed. \"Then let the men fall in, and go through their\nexercise.\" It was about three o'clock; their men formed in ranks; horses\nwere led out, and the troopers mounted; officers began drilling their\ncompanies, encouraging them to stand firm, and the Yankees would\ncertainly be cut to pieces. Nothing was heard or seen, for an hour, but\nthe heavy thud! thud! of the ramrods in loading, and glancing of sabres\nand small arms. During all their proceedings we remained motionless.\nBy-and-bye the first grey streaks of dawn came slowly over the eastern\nhills--still we did not stir--the men, however, were becoming a little\nnervous, from resting so long in one position; and occasionally, the\nclink of a bayonet or noise of accoutrements striking together were\naudible; and just as the day was bursting forth, like a flash, as it\ndoes only in the tropics, a Mexican soldier, on duty nearly at our\nelbows--and who, by the way, disturbed our repose during the night by a\nbad cough, and talking to himself--discovered us, and sung out, _Aqui\nestá hombres!_--these were the last words he spoke--the signal was given\nalong our ranks, \"rise!--take aim--fire low.\" As the smoke rolled\nupward, we saw a number of saddles emptied, and the _marisma_ strewn\nwith dead and wounded; although taken completely by surprise, the\nMexicans were not as yet intimidated, and, shouting _viva Mexico!_ they\nimmediately gave us a heavy fire from carbines and escopetas; but our\nsailors had kneeled to load, and the leaden shower passed over. The\nfiring lasted for some minutes, when the word was given to charge! Away\nwe splashed over the _marisma_--their horsemen broke and fled, dragging\noff dead and wounded--the infantry did not make up their minds until the\nbayonets were nearly upon them, when they, too, dropped their muskets\nand plunged into the chapparal. Meanwhile the shore party was\napproaching, and had commenced a fusilade upon the advance post of the\nMexicans, and very much to our relief, after putting them to flight, the\ncheers of our friends greeted us, for the field-piece was pitching shot\nfar beyond the enemy, and a few stand of grape had already fallen about\nour heels. Sending small bodies into the thickets, we drove the\ndiscomfited troops to the hills, and then finding their cavalry had\nrallied up the road, pursued them a mile, exchanged a few shots, when,\nthe field-piece coming up, they finally made good their retreat.\n\nReturning to the hamlet, we collected a few articles of camp\nequipage--mules, horses, and arms; then digging a pit in the sand, we\nlaid the corpses of the slain within, covered them decently over, and\nerecting a rude cross, put on our hats and retired. There was a vile old\nvirago standing in the door of a rude rancho, who, during the whole\nskirmish, never for a moment ceased to curse _los demonios Yankees_; and\nalthough the walls of the house were thickly spattered with bullets,\nshe escaped unhurt; not so her comely daughter, who was grazed on the\ncheek. Our own force suffered pretty severely: one killed and twenty-two\nwounded, of whom two afterwards died. The Mexicans we learned had lost\nnine killed and eighteen badly wounded. These little affairs are capital\nsport during the flurry and excitement of action, amid the cheering and\nfiring, noise and confusion; but when the fun is over, and the surgeons\nare busied with bandages and blood--pallid faces, splintered bones,\nstreaming gun-shot wounds around--and, perhaps, a pair of lifeless legs\ndangling outside the carts near by--the scene presents a more gloomy\naspect.\n\nPlacing the disabled in boats we began our march towards the port.\nThrough the kindness of Mr. Canova, who filled the office of First\nLieutenant to our company, I transformed myself into a dragoon, my\nfriend having stumbled upon a black charger, ready equipped, which he\nplaced at my disposal: moreover, I was somewhat bruised from the blow of\na spent escopeta ball, that during the melée had struck me under the\narm, knocking me over into the water, as if--as was strongly surmised by\nmy friends--a jackass had kicked me. However, this was scandal,\nindustriously circulated by the Lieutenant-Governor, who was himself\nsorely disappointed in not getting hit, after untiring exertions amid\nthe thickest of the skirmish. Nevertheless, I lost a cutlass by the\noperation, and thought it no robbery to draw a long toledo-like weapon\nfrom the belt of a dead Mexican, which, with the image of his patron\nsaint, and a bundle of cigarillos, amply repaid me for my bruises.\n\nSome months later, in a conversation with the officer who commanded at\nUrias, he informed us that he had been aware of our coming from the\nmerchants in town, and had requested reinforcements from Telles, which,\nhowever, was not attended to; and a body of eighty cavalry, who had been\ndetailed to charge the shore party, fled without discharging a carbine.\nHe spared no abuse on the cowardice of his officers, but very highly\npraised the conduct of the soldiers.\n\nWe reached Mazatlan at noon. The day after, Telles marched to Urias,\nwith his whole force and artillery; but, hearing a report that the\nAmericans were coming to attack him with _bombas_, retreated the same\nday to Castillo, where he again encamped.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\nA month had elapsed since the occupation of Mazatlan, and we had all\nbeen busily employed upon the fortifications, and in acquiring a little\nknowledge of our new duties on shore: we dropped the sailor and assumed\nthe soldier; forgot all about rigging and ships; talked of roll-calls,\nreveillés, parades, countersigns, drills, sections, ditches, and\nparapets; the officers of the day, too, appeared in red silk sashes\nround the waist, with swords at their sides--sat in guard-rooms--sung\nout, \"Sergeant, let that man pass,\" or, \"Corporal, let the fatigue\nparties fall in\"--quite like generals of division. I had only been a\nweek in barracks, at the Cuartel, and getting initiated in the mysteries\nof soldiership, when, the fever making sad havoc among our ranks, I was\nordered to relieve the company stationed at the Garita, where the\nillness had been unusually severe. The position was a conical eminence,\nwithin three hundred yards of the sea beach, nearly surrounded by\nlagoons, and entirely commanding the main road to the port. The hill was\noriginally owned by a gentleman, who, after building a decent little\nbalconied dwelling thereon, for a summer retreat, eventually had the\nsatisfaction of removing his family thence, in carts, to the more\nwholesome air of the town. In consequence of its unhealthy situation,\ncaused by miasma that arose from the stagnant pools below, it was not\nconsidered a desirable post, notwithstanding its pretty location; and I\nmay as well add, that out of one hundred and seven officers and men who\nhad been stationed there, I was the sole individual that was not taken\nill with fever during the six months of our stay. Previous to my\noccupation, an energetic brother officer had already raised a\nbreast-high stone wall, and three guns had been planted in battery. It\nwas a place of much importance, and an equal degree of annoyance; for we\nwere obliged, with a small force of thirty men, to be extremely\nvigilant, and were kept chattering, from morn until night, in examining\nhundreds who were passing to and from the port. The house was filled\nwith fleas, too, whose attacks were far more troublesome than the\nMexicans; however, after a hard war of six weeks, constantly deluging\nthe floors with salt water, they migrated in a body, and we were never\nagain molested. Workmen came, re-plastered and washed the walls,\nrepaired windows and doors, restored cook-house and stable, so that in\nthe end we found ourselves more pleasantly quartered than in any other\nposition in town, and had no wish to leave. At the same time large\nworking parties were detailed daily from the main barracks, who were\nemployed digging a deep, wide ditch, throwing up an embankment, and\nraising a heavy stone wall immediately around what the peasantry\ndesignated our _casa blanca_--white house.\n\nDuring this period the military force outside committed robberies\nunceasingly. A few miles beyond our lines the roads were strongly\nguarded during the day, but at night were left open--the lancers and\ncavalry retiring beyond our reach. Our force was too small to occupy the\nroads permanently, without imprudently weakening the garrison of the\ntown; consequently, those thieving gentry, under the name of _alcobala_,\nlevied tribute in the most impartial manner, upon all their poor\ncountrymen alike. We had frequently gone out in small ambuscading\nparties in hopes of picking off a few of the ladrons, but without any\nsuccess. Scarcely a single individual out of hundreds who passed the\nGarita but had some bitter curses to lavish upon the _lanceros_; even\nthe poor women occasionally were muleted in their petticoats, until at\nlast they all became exasperated, and many volunteered to conduct us to\nthe retreats of their tormentors. The services of one brave paisano were\ncalled into requisition, who had been robbed of his hogs, which being\nvaluable property among the peasantry, and his revenge being warm, we\nthought he could be trusted, and indeed a staunch and valuable ally he\never afterwards proved. The expedition was under command of Captain\nLuigi, and with fifty-five men we left the Cuartel, without beat of\ndrum, at nine in the evening. Leaving the main road at the Marisma, we\nentered a pathway, closely sheltered by trees and foliage, and after two\nhours rapid marching, halted at a cluster of ranchos by the roadside.\nHere we could only learn that the Mexican cavalry had passed by at\nsunset; but during an examination of one of the huts, we laid violent\nhands upon a rude squint-eyed youth, who though half naked, and\napparently stupid, had a bag of dollars tied up in the tail of his\nshirt; him we interrogated with a bayonet at his throat, and there were\nsufficient symptoms of intelligence in him left to assure us that if he\nhimself were not attached to the party we sought, he knew the bivouac.\nWith a _riata_ around his neck, and carefully guarded, we again\nadvanced. Four miles beyond, we reached the encampment; it was situated\nin a flat little meadow, a few feet lower than the road, and girdled\nnearly around by the gully of a water-course that hemmed it in on all\nsides. Our march had been so silent as not to create alarm, and strange\nto say there was not a sentinel awake. Embers of the watch-fires gave\nsufficient light to distinguish the sleeping figures of the troops, with\nhorses picketted near. We divided our forces into two parties, one\ncommanding the pathway to the meadow, whilst the other poured in a\ndeadly fire, and immediately charged across the ravine. Taken completely\nby surprise, they jumped up in great consternation, and in their flight\nreceived the bullets from our remaining muskets; before we could reload\nthey were flying, like so many ghosts, across the field, leaving\neverything behind. On gaining the bivouac, we found it quite a\npicturesque little glade, shaded by lofty forest-trees, and beneath,\nwere a number of bough-built huts, verging on the rivulet that crossed\nthe road. We counted eight dead bodies: one poor youth was breathing his\nlast. By the fitful light of a torch I tore open a bale of linen at\nhand, passed some thick folds over the welling blood of his wounds,\nplaced a drop of brandy to his lips, and left him to die. They were\nsixty in number, and we captured all they had--carbines, lances,\nammunition, horses, saddles, and clothing, besides their private\ncorrespondence.\n\nThere was one incident connected with this _escaramuza_, which was a\nsource of deep regret to us. The wife and daughter of the commanding\nofficer had, very imprudently, been on a visit to the encampment. When\nthe attack commenced, they were sleeping in a hut, and immediately fled;\nbut the child, a little girl of ten years, had been grazed by a ball in\nthe foot, and told her mother the pebbles hurt her feet; the kind but\nunfortunate woman ran back, in the thickest of the fire, for the child's\nshoes, and, upon returning, received a mortal wound in the throat. She\nwas found by her friends, and died the following day--\n\n\n     \"O! femme c'est a tort qu'on vous nomme timide,\n     A la voix de vos coeurs vous etes intrepide.\"\n\n\nLoading our men with such articles as could be conveniently\ntransported, we burned or destroyed a large quantity of arms, munitions\nand merchandize, and then began our march towards the port. Such a\nmotley throng as we presented! Some were laden, from the muzzles of\ntheir muskets down to their heels, with every possible variety of\ntrumpery--bridles, sabres, flags, serapas, and even women's clothing;\nothers, mounted on several saddles, one a-top the other, with bundles of\nlances and fluttering pennons secured to their horses. Our trusty guide,\nin lieu of the purloined swine, had heaped bale upon bale on his horse\nand individual person, until he appeared, in the midst of his plunder,\nas if seated on a camel: our gallant captain had contented himself with\na key bugle, and a capacious uniform frock-coat, some sizes too large\nfor him: I did better--for, coming upon the dead body of an officer, I\nremoved a silver-bound saddle from his head, which, with silver-mounted\nbridle, handsome sabre, and a few other articles, I appropriated to\nmyself. Indeed, I have never since wondered at the rage one feels for\nabstracting an enemies' goods and chattels on similar occasions--such an\nitching, too, beyond mere curiosity, to search people's pockets, that,\nin a few more guerrilla excursions, I felt confident of becoming as good\na freebooter as ever drew a sword. Three months after this affair, I\nbecame great friends with a Mexican officer to whom some of these\nequipments belonged. He assured me there had been six golden ounces\nconcealed in the saddle, which I readily believed; for the leather-man,\nwho renovated it in the port, remained oblivious six weeks after\ncompleting his task. Love-letters, miniature, and commission, I returned\nto my friend; but the handsome sabre--on the blade of which is engraved,\n_No me saques sin ras' á, no me embañes sin honor_--Draw me not without\ncause, nor sheathe without honor--and saddle, I have retained, trusting\nthat El Teniente Lira will acquit me of any other motive than that of\npossessing some trifling souvenir of our first meeting at Sigueras.\n\nWe reached Mazatlan at daylight, and after arresting two members of the\nmunicipal junta, who were occupying a seat in the council, and who,\nwhile expressing much sympathy for the Yankees, had written detailed\naccounts of the distribution and strength of the garrison, I retired to\nmy cool cot at the Garita, and indulged in sleep.\n\nDonning habiliments again towards evening, I mounted my horse, and in\nriding to the plaza, had the happiness to make the acquaintance of the\nfair wife of Telles, who was _en route_ for the Presidio. Agreeably to\nrequest, I accompanied herself and suite beyond the Garita, when she\ninformed me that her liege lord was highly indebted for allowing his\nweekly supply of cogniac to pass--because good liquids were rarely met\nwith at head-quarters--but that I would be doing him a service by\nretaining a large amount of dunning billets, that passed through my\nhands to his address. Promising to comply with the Colonel's wishes, I\nbid his lady adieu; but I am sorry to add, that politeness to the\ngraceful señora was the innocent cause of my losing a beautiful horse;\nfor it was quite dark on reaching the port, and instead of going where I\noriginally intended, I paused a moment at the bowling alley, where,\nmeeting some officers of a British frigate, I gave the bridle to a\n_lepero_ to hold, and passed into the building; but scarcely had we\ncrossed the threshold, when, startled by the report of fire-arms, we all\nrushed out, and found the poor animal raining blood from a bullet in the\nthroat. The villain of a _lepero_ had shot him with a pistol from the\nholsters. A group of kind-hearted young reefers did their best to\nstaunch the blood, and one little fellow even tied his trowsers around\nthe wound; but all was unavailing, and in ten minutes my spirited\nblooded bay was dead. Oh! Mr. Smithers! you keep, a good ten-pin alley,\nsing a good song, and your wife prepares good chocolate; you are,\ntogether, good fellows; but you should never, O! Smithers! transform\nyour establishment into a knacker's yard. And you, my cruel _lepero_!\nhad I ever got a sight of you along that weapon you handled so well--ah!\nI well nigh wept for sorrow that night, and did not recover my spirits\nfor a fortnight.\n\nThe _escaramuza_ at Sigueros was the means of keeping the roads free for\na few days; but in a fortnight the Mexicans had again taken position,\nand though falling back some distance, were yet enabled to cut off all\ncommunication with Mazatlan. The paisanos, as usual, complained sadly,\nand asked protection. Accordingly, an expedition was planned, under the\nguidance of a diminutive ranchero, who, after tracing paths and diagrams\non paper without end, in hopes his individual services could be\ndispensed with, at last determined, with many misgivings, to lead the\nway to his habitation, where a troop of lancers were wont to enjoy\nthemselves upon his bounty.\n\nEarly in the evening a battalion of an hundred marines left the\ngarrison, but had barely been gone an hour, when a lot of frightened old\nwomen rushed to the Cuartel, and swore that a large body of troops were\nlanding from the estero, for the purpose of sacking the town. Rub-a-dub,\nrolled the drums--the walls were manned--and rockets went fizzing and\nbursting in the air, for assistance from the ships. Meanwhile, I was\ndespatched, with a small party, to inquire into the truth of the rumor.\nAfter making a thorough examination along the river, and scaring the\nlast breath out of a poor fisherman, dying with fever, we were convinced\nthe report was merely a ruse, a sort of counter-irritant, attempted by\nthe town's people to alarm the troops outside, and call back our men.\nThe marines had marched by the beach; and at midnight, with thirty\nmuskets, I took the main route, and lay in ambush at the cross of the\nCuliacan and Presidio roads, for the purpose of intercepting the enemy's\nretreat, in case they fled towards headquarters at San Sebastian. For\nnine hours we were nearly flayed alive by muskitoes, and only\nrecompensed for the torture by detaining some hundreds of people and\ntheir beasts. It was quite diverting to observe a simple pedestrian,\nstepping jauntily along, whistling blithely away--as the natives always\ndo when travelling alone by night--when a look-out, perched high upon an\noverhanging branch, would utter a sharp _hist!_ the traveller would\nfalter, and perhaps thinking his fears had misled him, again pass on,\nand while faintly resuming his chirrup, another energetic summons would\nquite startle him, and ten to one but down he would fall, crossing his\nbreast, and ejaculating a pious _ave purisima_! A tap on the shoulder\nwould direct them in the thickets, where, squatting on the ground, they\nnever thought of moving until permission was granted. Just at daylight,\na stout brown _muchacha_ came tripping by, and unconscious of our close\nproximity, seated herself on a rock, and unfolding a little bundle,\nbegan to comb her locks and attire in a gala dress, either for the\nSunday mass, or to create a sensation upon entering the port. After\ncarefully arranging the _camiseta_, and whilst in the act of throwing,\nas a woman only can do, her _basquina_,--a worsted petticoat--over the\nshoulders, one of my ungallant scamps hit her a smart rap with a pebble.\nGiving one terrified scream, and uttering a prayer to the Virgin, she\ndashed up the road; but, encumbered by loose drapery, soon measured her\nlength, in the most ludicrous plight, upon the sand. We assisted her to\nrise, and perceiving our lurking-place, she laughed heartily, after\nindulging the gay sailor fellow who threw the stone with a specimen of\nthe sinews in her stout arms. The women were, almost invariably, the\nvehicles for transmitting information concerning our designs in town, to\ntheir friends outside; among our multiform duties at the Garita was that\nof opening all correspondence and perusing the contents. It was\nsurprising how shrewd and accurate were many of their surmises, and the\ntender regard they still evinced for their forlorn lovers--at least on\npaper; and such imploring billets, too, from the banished _caballeros_,\nfor their faithless _amantes_ to join their fortunes in the camp, to rid\nthemselves of the hateful Yankees. Yet with all their coquetry they\nstill did their best to shield their former friends from danger, and so\ncunningly, too, as to be difficult of detection. On a certain night,\nwhile visiting the sentinels at the road, a negress came from the town,\nand in reply to the hail, as was customary with the natives, replied,\n_norte Americano_! On being told no one could pass before sunrise, she\nretraced her steps, and in attempting to steal past by another path,\ncame near being shot, notwithstanding her cries of _norte Americano_!\nUpon making a third effort some hours later, my suspicions were aroused,\nand as we were desirous of preventing all egress at the time, to my\nshame be it said, I ordered her searched. Nothing was discovered, and to\nrepay her for the indignity she had experienced, I gave her a kindly and\npaternal pat on the wool--there was the object of our search! a little\ncrumpled bit of paper, on which was scrawled, _a la carrera, entre dos\nluces, los gringos!_--be off: the Yankees will be upon you at daylight!\nBut neither threats nor entreaties could induce the black courier to\nbetray the writer.\n\nFinding no signs of the Mexicans, we marched back to Mazatlan at noon.\nThe marines shortly followed, having surprised the _lanceros_, and taken\na number of horses, arms and prisoners. But a damp was thrown over the\naffair, by their bringing in the body of our little ranchero friend,\nMadariaga, who was accidentally killed during the fray. Poor fellow! he\nwas intelligent, and we drank out of the same cup. The day after, while\nriding through the town, I saw tapers burning in a house, and upon\nentering, there was stretched the corpse--still in his bloody\nvestments--a bullet had entered behind one ear, and passed out at the\nother. A crucifix reposed upon the breast, whilst a common flat-iron lay\non the stomach. Near by, his sister was gazing mournfully at the blue,\npinched face, while close behind her stood an inhuman virago,\nanathematizing him from all the saints in the calendar, for having been\na _traidor y espia de los compatriotas_--spy upon his countrymen. The\nMexicans asserted that he had been deliberately assassinated, and\nrejoiced that he had received a worthy recompense for his traitorous\nconduct.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\nTowards the close of the year we had become quite domesticated in the\ntown, and habituated to our new duties: the dullness that ensued upon\nthe occupation had changed into animation, business, and bustle; the\nport was thickening with merchant-ships and coasters, and duties were\nrapidly rolling into the Yankee treasury; the merchants themselves had\nentered into arrangements with the Mexican officials outside, and the\nstaple export of the province--logwood--came in on the backs of hundreds\nof mules daily, to fill the homeward-bound vessels for Europe. The\nlaborious task of the garrison still went on, much to the disgust of\nJack, who swore ditching and hod carrying was no part of a sailor's\nduty. The fever still continued, in a milder form; but few new cases\nensued, although those who convalesced almost invariably relapsed, and\nwere never entirely cured until going again upon salt water. The\ntownspeople began to look less gloomily upon their invaders, and the men\nwere not averse to finger Uncle Sam's cash; and the women, bless their\nsweet, forgiving souls, sought the main plaza in the afternoons, arrayed\nin tastefully flowing robes, and graceful _ribosas_, whilst their\nsurprisingly diminutive feet beat time to the music from our bands. Nor\nwere they chary of flashing glances, or murmured salutations; and in the\ncalm nights, when pianos and harps were disturbing the still air, it was\nnot regarded as a novelty to behold a few blue-jackets, spinning around\nin dance and waltz at the fandangos, or, as the more tonnish were\ntermed, _bayles_.\n\nThe native society of Mazatlan cannot certainly boast of a very elevated\ntone of morality. Indeed I have good authority for asserting that there\nwere not fifty legitimately married couples in the town--rather a small\nproportion for ten thousand inhabitants: perhaps the marriage formula is\nconsidered a bore, and since even the rite within pale of the church is\nnot so religiously respected as elsewhere, it appears unreasonable that\nthey should place any legal check upon their domestic felicity. Still\nthis system of _relatione_, as so generally practised in Mazatlan,\nappeared to work well, and we never heard of lawsuits for children.\nOccasionally, it is true, a jealous master would thrust a _cuchillo_\ninto the tender bosom of his spouse; but what of that--it was _costumbre\ndel pais_; however, these were the exceptions.\n\nAmong the lower orders, the women were invariably gifted with amiable\ndispositions, natural in manner, never peevish or petulant, requiring\nbut little, and never happier than when moving night after night in the\nslow measure of their national dances. Even the men were not\nbad-tempered, though beyond comparison the laziest and most ignorant set\nof vagabonds the world produces. They were a quiet people also, never so\nfar forgetting their natal sloth, as to go through the exertion of\nmaking a noise. Even their knife encounters were conducted with a\ncertain show of dignity and decorum. For example, at the _esquina_ of\nsome street is a group of _leperos_--gentlemen throughout the Republic\nof Mexico, enjoying the same moral attributes as Neapolitan\nLazzaroni;--their property at all times on their backs, and residences\nprecarious; they are playing monté on a coarse blanket or _serapa_ laid\nupon the ground; one accuses another of cheating, and at the same time\ntwits him with the most deadly insult a Spaniard can offer, possibly\nbecause it is so near the truth: _tu eres cornudo_; true or false, his\nantagonist calls on all the saints to bear witness to his innocence,\nsprings to his feet, twists a serapa around the left arm, and, before\none can say Jack Robinson, their keen blades are playing in quick, rapid\npasses, seldom giving over until deep and sometimes fatal stabs are\ninterchanged; but if not seriously hurt they drink a cup of aguadiente\ntogether, light cigarillos, and continue the game until another quarrel\narises. These little passages of arms were of hourly occurrence, and the\nseverest regulations were not sufficient to repress the evil, although\nthere never was a solitary instance, during our stay, where a quarrel\nhad arisen between the townspeople and the garrison. I chanced to be an\neye-witness to one of these street skirmishes one evening, near the\n_Sociedad_. A fellow received a perpendicular cut, which severed nearly\nhalf the scalp, and the entire ear, leaving the mass hanging down the\nneck, like a flap to a pocket-book; it was properly dressed by a skilful\nsurgeon, and the man was about again in six days. Indeed the climate was\nmost efficacious for wounds, and remarkable and most extraordinary cures\nwere said to be effected; two of a serious nature came under our\nobservation. The first, a sailor-sergeant, who, while returning from his\nrounds, and walking up the Carita hill, not replying to the sentinel's\nhail from above, in a sufficiently loud tone of voice, received a\nmusket-ball in his right breast, which wounded the lung, and passed out\nof the back, below the shoulder-blade: the case was aggravated by a\nsevere and lengthened attack of fever, but the man eventually\nrecovered, and was entirely restored to health and strength. The second\ninstance was a young Mexican officer, named Soriano, who was shot by a\nrifle-bullet at Urias, transversely through the breast, beneath the\nribs. After suffering some months, under a quack, he was brought to\nMazatlan, where he was successfully treated by one of our surgeons, with\nevery prospect of speedy recovery.\n\nOf late, we had had no guerrillas worth mentioning, and were amusing\nourselves by drilling a troop of sailors into dragoons; and truly it was\na matter of as much satisfaction as mirth, to see how well the seamen\naccomplished their task; of course, it was great sport for them, but\nnaturally fearless, and all well mounted, they soon were taught to dash\nrecklessly at anything, from a stone wall to the fire from a battery,\nand in due course of time, became, for a sudden burst, quite equal to\nany Mexican emergency that chose to stand the brunt of a charge. We\nnever had the opportunity of testing their cavalryship, but I think they\nwould have made a creditable report of themselves. They were commanded\nby Captain Luigi, and at intervals I had the satisfaction of\naccompanying his troop on short excursions into the interior. One night\nwe took a flying gallop down to Urias. On the way thither, over the\nlevel marismas, the Captain's charger plunged into a hole and the whole\nleft file vaulted, or trampled, over him, but, as usual, he escaped with\nthe loss of a little parchment from the visage, while the horse had a\nbroken shoulder. On nearing the vicinity of our former _escaramuza_, I\npassed ahead with four men, and found the prize we sought, in a Mexican\nsoldier, who proved to be the orderly-sergeant of General Urrea, the\nGovernor of Durango. Our prisoner was quite taciturn at first, but on\nthe assurance that he would certainly be hung the following morning,\nand after profuse libations of _muscal_--a country liquor--he opened his\nmouth and confidence, informing us that he had left an escort at the\nPresidio, and when taken was awaiting some effects belonging to his\nmaster, from the port, to be carried to Durango. At daylight, the\narticles were seized; but, owing to the fact that some innocent persons\nwere drawn into the transaction, the Governor good-naturedly signed\npassports for the whole party, including the soldier; although his\nmaster, the General, bore no enviable reputation, for the cruelties he\nhad perpetrated upon American prisoners on the other side of the\ncontinent.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\nThe new year dawned upon us, and January and February passed rapidly\naway. The popularity of the Mexican Commandante, Telles, was waning\nfast. A number of his own officers had pronounced against him--but this,\nwith a few effective followers, was speedily put down, and the leader\nshot. However, a strong force from Culiacan was raised by the powerful\nfamily of Vegas, the legitimate Governor of Sonora--and from whom Telles\nhad wrested the command of Mazatlan--in conjunction with a body of three\nhundred troops, under one Romero, from the opposite extreme of the\nprovince Tepic, and resolved to gain the ascendancy by destroying our\nblockaders. Upon the approach of these bodies, Telles' troops refused to\nfight against their countrymen, and nothing was left for their old\ncaptain but to succumb to circumstances; these ups and downs, however,\nbeing not uncommon in Mexico, the chagrin attending the disgrace is not\ntaken seriously to heart. After a week's intrigue and negociations,\nfinding his enemies implacable, he resigned his authority, was then\nbetrayed, arrested, sent to Guadalajara under a guard, where he shortly\nafterwards expired. His case excited much sympathy, for he bore the\nreputation of being brave and generous, lavishing all he received upon\nthe treacherous friends about him, who flattered and cheated, until\nadversity stalked in, when away flew the gay birds who had made him\ntheir prey. One of these gentry did me the honor to present himself late\none night at the Carita, claiming parole as a deserter from the\nMexicans. He had been chief of the staff and cavalry, bore the name of\n_compadre_,--adviser and rascal-in-general to Telles--but having had the\nsagacity to cram his filthy pockets with fifty thousand wheels of\nfortune, of course had no further wish to remain. He pointed out all the\nweak positions, avenues of attack, and general information concerning\nthe force of the outsiders--more, I was convinced, to vent his spite on\nthose whom he had already betrayed, than from regard to us. On parting,\nthe gallant major favored me with a note of introduction to one of his\nlady-loves, coming from the interior, and remarked, with a pecuniary\nsigh, that when commanding my little post he never made less than a\nthousand pesos a month. It was upon the Mexican system--where the strong\nsteal from the weak: but here was my captain of battalion, Mr. Mitch and\nmyself--with all the trouble of guarding, examining, quarrelling, and at\ntimes beating, hundreds of paisanos daily, and devil the _centavo_ could\nwe ever extort; on the contrary, our exchequer was at a deplorably low\nebb, so much so that we were scandalously accused of playing monté for\n_quartillos_--fippennybits;--and we discussed the alternative of taking\nto the road, robbing a _conducta_ of mules laden with money, or\nremaining in the port until peace should be declared, inciting a\npronunciamento, and declaring ourselves commandantes of the province.\n\nThe united force of the Mexicans who had assembled in Rosario, amounted\nto one thousand, three hundred of which were cavalry, and seven pieces\nof artillery. They talked bravely of driving the Yankees on board the\nships, and were constantly drilling and exercising their troops and\nguns. Vegas' proclamations were clear and business-like; he established\nan internal _duana_, or custom house; declared a specified and moderate\nscale of duties--having the sense to perceive that soldiers must be fed,\nand although rich himself, he had no inclination for playing commissary\nat his own expense--and besought the merchants of the port to send their\nmerchandize to the interior. All these warlike preparations caused us\nneither alarm nor trepidation. Our works were near completion, and we\nhad twenty-six guns mounted, besides the additional security of some\nsmall hulks, moored at a ford of the estero, mounting a battery of\nPaixhans. The garrison had been slightly increased, and, altogether, we\nfelt confident of holding the port against any odds. The merchants,\nhowever, were as yet shy of trusting their valuable property within\nreach of Mexican rapacity, and consequently, the troops were beginning\nto find themselves somewhat embarrassed. The commanders quarrelled, and\nVégas himself, being heartily disgusted, forthwith fell back, with\ntroops and artillery, towards Culiacan, leaving a fourth part of his\nforce, under charge of Romero--a miscreant, who had the reputation of\nassassinating his own colonel, at the storming of Chapultepec, for a\nbeltfull of doubloons. Being thus left without the means of doing us any\ninjury, they pursued the same annoying process as their brethren before\nthem, by robbing their own countrymen, under the odious alcobala.\n\nDuring all this time we never for a moment ceased keeping up a rigid\ndiscipline, and exercising the utmost vigilance; the severest punishment\nwas impartially meted to all offenders; and our knowledge of the\ntopography of the country, for some miles round, being quite equal to\nthe Mexicans', they had good reason to keep beyond our limits. At rare\nintervals, indiscreet persons would try to run the gauntlet into town,\nand one dark night, three troopers, not seeing our guard, attempted to\nsteal in by the beach: one was astounded, on not halting at the hail, at\nreceiving a bullet through the shoulder, and they then turned bridles,\nleaving us a brass-bound hat and lance, as keepsakes. Indeed, once we\ncame nigh peppering our own patrol; fortunately, but one ball only flew\nover Captain Luigi's head. It may have been a peculiarity of some of our\nsailor sentinels, that, at night, they immersed themselves breast deep\nin little pits, resting their muskets upon mounds of sand in front, at a\ndead aim upon whoever advanced along the roads. I do not know if this\nkind of tactics be tolerated by Regulation; but Jack, in his ignorance\nof minute detail, had to place reliance on his eyes.\n\nOnce, after hearing the report of a musket, I inquired of the sentry the\ncause. \"Sir,\" said he, \"the chap wouldn't stop, so I hailed him in the\nvery best Spanish, and then fired; there he lies kickin', up the road,\nsir!\" It turned out to be an innocent stray jackass, a bad linguist, who\ncould only converse in his mother tongue. However, these little\nincidents convinced our neighbors that security did not throw us off our\nguard.\n\nWe still worked hard at the Garita--deepening the ditch--filling up\nembrasures, and raising the walls. It was fatiguing labor, for the heavy\nstone had to be wheeled from the base of the hill. Already strong frames\nof timber had been erected at angles in the walls, where three\ntwelve-pounder short guns moved on quadrants, overlooking the parapet,\nand sweeping the hill in every part, while, near the centre of the\nlittle fortress, a beautiful long brass nine traversed on a circle, that\ncould throw the iron messengers two miles over the plains below. The\nsides of the building facing the lagoons were planked up, enclosing\nspacious piazzas, and sheltering the men from nightly malaria borne\nalong by the land winds. The men were obliged to keep their quarters\nperfectly clean, and they slept comfortably in hammocks suspended from\nbeams above. Everything went on regularly--they had long since given up\nbad habits of drunkenness--and out of the entire company, but two drew\ntheir allowance of spirits. Four old dames came with the early dawn,\nbringing coffee and chocolate, which they exchanged for surplus rations\nand the privilege of washing Jack's clothes. Liberty was occasionally\ngranted to visit the port, and every day two or more were gunning around\nthe lagoons, keeping the post supplied with quantities of delicious wild\nducks and curlew, and, when the moon was full, numbers of terrapins. We\nhad strict inspection, morning and evening. At nightfall, sentries were\ndoubled on the hill and roads--the guard set--guns primed--matches\nlighted--and everything ready at a moment's notice. I am thus minute in\ndescribing these unimportant details about the Garita, for it was my\nfirst, and most probably, will be my last attempt at soldiership.\nBesides being a great source of pride and pleasure, it was the spot\nwhere I have passed many happy hours. Indeed, it was the only decent or\nhabitable post pertaining to the garrison; and I deem it not amiss to\nstate, that, had a twentieth portion of the quarter million of dollars\ncollected by us through the customs, been judiciously expended in\nrestoring the old Cuartel, and providing a few necessary comforts the\nsailors required, it would in a measure have repaid them for toils and\nhardships on ship and shore, where they were necessarily obliged to\nundergo many expenses, in a service apart from the line of their duty.\nAnd furthermore, a due regard to their personal comfort might have been\nthe means of reducing the medical estimates, and at the same time, of\nsaving many a poor fellow, whose bones now moulder beneath the sod. But\nnotwithstanding these drawbacks, it was gratifying to the officers who\ncommanded them, to know, that, even amid the novelty of their position,\nthey reflected credit on their country, and left an excellent impression\nbehind them, among the Mexicans themselves.\n\nMany of the officers who had been detailed for service at the Garita,\nwere eventually obliged, on the score of health, to leave for more\nhealthy posts; and in the end, Mr. Mitch and myself were the only ones\nleft. Our quarters were immediately over the men, in a large square\napartment, the ceiling taking the angle of the roof; two balconied\nwindows faced the sea; another overlooked the port and estero, while a\nlarge, roomy piazza commanded a wide and extensive view of the\nsurrounding plains, dotted by fields and ranches, with a high wall of\nmountains in the back ground. When in the town the heat was almost\ninsupportable; in our _casa blanca_ it was never in the least degree\noppressive. We always slept under a blanket, in white canvas cots,\nswinging from the rafters, curtained off by bunting. Bathing was our\nchief delight, and the green waves well nigh broke at the base of the\nhill, where we played in the foaming surf for hours each day. We had\nbreakfast brought from the French hotel in the town, which incident\nhappened about eleven o'clock, on a table screened off in the piazza.\nCoffee we sipped, with a spoonful of cogniac, before the morning's bath,\nto drive away the malaria. So we drank light bordeaux with the meal, and\nwhen nice fruit passed the Garita, made a selection, in lieu of the\nabolished alcobala.\n\nAh, dear Mitch, those were pleasant days! And do you ever recall our\npleasant little suppers by night--our cosy confabs--our sage\nreflections--quiet moralizings and speculations upon the reverses of\nfortune, after an interview with Don Manuel--and our schemes for reform.\nAh, my boy, those bright days have vanished. Then came the afternoon's\n_pasear_, with a troop of officers, or the good hospitable merchants of\nthe port--showy horses, jingling trappings, coursing and capering along\nthe sea-road;--to the plaza again in time for music, with a bow, or\nsmile, as the case might be, to some gracefully-robed, tiny-footed doña;\nthen a few prancing _vueltitas_ to show off, around the square, when we\ngave spur for dinner.\n\nJust without the range of our guns was a ranchito, owning for its\nmistress a jolly dame, named Madre Maria; it was not for her that we\noccasionally extended our evening's ride, but for a half-uttered _adios!\nCapitan!_ from the pearly teeth of little Juanita. I believe there never\nwas so much dirt and beauty combined. She was the sweetest mite\nimaginable, and of a style to have destroyed Murillo's slumbers. Then\npretty Juana suffered from _calenturas_--fever and ague,--and I at times\ncarried a little phial of quinine, and felt Juana's pulse and temples,\nbut the jolly patrona would shake her head roguishly, and exclaim,\njestingly,--_No es possible, Señor Chato, sin matrimonio_--you can't\nmake love without marriage. _Ah! pico largo_, I would reply, _con razon,\npero llama vd el padre Molino_--certainly, so send for Father Windmill.\nWe had a private code of signals with Maria, to hang a \"banner on the\noutward walls,\" in shape of a white petticoat, whenever the Mexican\ntroops came within hail. She mortally detested them, for they made too\nfree with her hen-roost, and muscal bottles; and on her weekly\npilgrimages to the port, seated on a quiet mule, with pretty Juana\nbehind, attired in her holiday dress, and Jesusita, the youngest and\nmost diminutive piece of womanhood, tripping along the road beside them,\nthey would pay us a visit at the _casa blanca_, with some little\npresent, of eggs or fruit; and the brave old lady would invariably\nbeseech us for a loaded carbine _para fusilar los ladrones_--to shoot\nthe scamps. Once I saw the signal with the spyglass, and attended by a\nfriend rode out to the rancho; but it was a false alarm, caused by an\nold white horse standing lazily behind the pickets. We found the group\nof Maria and daughters washing in the lagoon, nearly all in dishabille:\nJuanita with naught but a flimsy _chemisetta_, not a ceinture around the\nlittle waist, revealing the most adorable juste-milieu form--between the\nbud and the rose--with rich masses of dark hair covering her shoulders,\nand rivalling in beauty the splendor of her eyes. I drove the old lady\ninto the pond, for which indecorous behavior she launched a calibash of\nwet clothes at my head, then snatching up little Jesusa, just four years\nold, I bore her to the beach for a dip in the surf. \"How rich you are,\"\nsaid the little creature, as I commenced disrobing. \"Why?\"--\"Because you\nwear stockings.\" And this, indeed, is one of the distinctive marks of\nwealth among the lower orders throughout Mexico.\n\nIt not unfrequently happened, that reports were circulated, without much\nfoundation, that the troops outside were about to attack the post, and\nas a consequence the timid farmers living in the environs became\nalarmed, and would send their families to seek shelter within the fort.\nAt times we would be gratified with fifty or sixty women and children\nvisitors, huddled together quite contented and merry about the piazzas.\nThey had learned to place full reliance upon their invaders, and\nwhatever course we adopted was looked upon as the only correct and\nproper mode of acting. While testing the range of our guns one morning,\na carronade was accidentally discharged, and a stand of grape-shot\nstruck the lagoon below, dashing a shower of spray over a group of old\ncrones washing on the banks. I immediately ran down to see if they were\nwounded, but I found them quite cool, and even surprised that I should\nhave surmised such a thing. \"Why?\" said I. _Porque, Capitan, usted es\ncapaz para qualquiera cosa_--because you Yankees have sense for\neverything.\n\nOn Sundays our receptions were more select; then the élite of Mazatlan\nextended their promenades around the works of the garrison, and would be\ninduced to ascend the hill, and sip dulces or _italia_ at our quarters\nin the casa blanca. The gentlemen would glance over the newspapers\ndetailing revolutions or pronunciamentos in the interior, when casting\nup their eyes, with a simultaneous puff of cigar smoke, would\nexclaim--_Ay! pobre Mexico!_ and one had the sense to observe, that the\nwar was death to Mexicans, but life to Mexico. But of one fact no logic\ncould convince them--that our worthy collector of the Duana returned all\nhe received to the government--so wonderful a dispensation, that an\nhonest _administrador_ could be found in any position was entirely\nbeyond their comprehension. The ladies were generally very curious and\ninquisitive, and after affording all the information we possessed,\nrelating to domestic economy and dress, once a pair of lovely señoras,\nafter mature reflection, apparently having made up their minds, favored\nme in this strain: \"Without doubt, you North Americans are very good\npeople, and you don't beat your wives; but then you don't know how to\nlavish money on ladies like our own countrymen!\" But I interposed--\"We\nfeel obliged to pay our debts, and then pleasure afterwards.\" \"_Bah que\nimporta_,\" said they; \"all we know is, that where you Yankees give a\ndollar, our people shower gold.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\nSoon after the occupation of Mazatlan, I made the acquaintance of a\nyoung Mexican girl, of a respectable family in Guadalajara, who had\neloped with her lover, an officer stationed in this province. She was\nbetter educated, far more intelligent than the generality of her\ncountrywomen, and with all the graceful, winning ways, peculiar to\nCreoles. She was living with an old relative, in a cottage near the\nskirts of the town, and I frequently sought her society, listened to the\nlow, sweet _cançioncitas_ of her native land, or, seated beneath the\nshade of a spreading tree in the inner _patio_, she would recite by the\nhour old legendary redondillas and ballads of Mexico, while her servant\nplayed with the sweeping masses of her jet-black hair: she was very\nproud of it, and often told me, that when she became poor, it would\nserve her for a _mantilla_. She had soft feminine features, pale\ncomplexion, lighted by large, languid, dark eyes. She was a tall and\nslender girl, but with the smallest feet I ever beheld. This was\nDolores. Her mind appeared to partake of the mournful signification of\nher name, and, even during her gayest moments, she was always tinged\nwith sadness. Poor Lola! she was thinking of her lover, who had left\nwith the troops on our coming.\n\nReturning one morning from a fatiguing night skirmish, the servant\nTomasa met me on the road, and placed a note in my hand from her\nmistress. It was simply a desire to see me. Without going to the\nquarters, I turned my horse's head towards the town, and soon dismounted\nat the house. The old aunt received me with some agitation, and I could\nsee the shadow of Dolores reflected from an inner room. _Que hay Señor?\nNada, una escaramuza, no mas! Y muertos? Quien sabe! puede ser un\noficial de ustedes._--What's the news? Nothing but a skirmish. Any\nkilled? Yes, perhaps one of your officers. At this reply, Dolores\nentered the chamber, and with a quick low voice, asked, \"and the color\nof his horse, señor? white!\" She burst into tears, and sank to the\nfloor. I afterwards learned that it was her lover, who, however, had\nonly been slightly wounded. He had been in the habit of entering the\nport disguised as an _arriero_, and was expected on the morning alluded\nto. Had I known what he was capable of doing at a later day, he might\nhave lost the number of his mess, instead of receiving a buckshot in the\nleg.\n\nFrom this period, poor Dolores became more and more triste and\ndepressed. She never was seen again in the plaza--the music had lost its\ncharm--her books were thrown aside, and she would hardly mingle in\nconversation. Some weeks went by, and duty claiming all my time, I had\nnot called for many days. Late one night, Tomasa came running to the\nGarita, and with breathless haste, told me that her mistress was very\nill, and wished to see me. A few minutes' gallop took me to the door.\nThe old lady was weeping, and poor Lola was lying upon a low couch, with\nblood slowly frothing from her lips--but I thought there was a gleam of\npleasure in her eyes. She had burst a bloodvessel--at least I imagined\nso at the time, and I instantly despatched a boy on my horse for a\nsurgeon. In the sequel I discovered the cause Tomasa informed me, she\nhad heard the Señora scream, and upon entering the room, found her lying\ninsensible on the ground, deluged in blood, and on coming to, she had\nbegged her to say nothing, but send for me. The fact was, that her lover\nhad again stolen into town, and whether from idle jealousy, or natural\nbrutality of disposition, had the dastardly cruelty to beat the poor\nunresisting girl, with the hilt of a pistol, until she fell lifeless\nfrom heavy blows showered upon her breast and shoulders. This was fully\nshown by the post-mortem examination. The miscreant fled, and many an\nhour of sound sleep he cost me, in hopes of getting a glimpse of him\nalong the tube of a rifle.\n\nAt the time, there was a chance of recovery; and daily, after the\nhemorrhage ceased, I sat by her bed-side, and tried to encourage her\nwith anticipations of returning health. _No! no! me voy á morir_--It is\nall useless, I am going to die!--counting with her thin fingers--\"in\nthree weeks! _Ay de mi!_ for one last sight of my native land.\"\nSometimes I would read to her a Spanish translation of Sue's Mysteries\nof Paris, and she never tired of saying of Fleur de Marie, _Pobrecita!\nque dolor!_--Poor thing! what sufferings! She was gradually sinking, but\nstill her spirits rose, and her big black eyes became more and more\nluminous. It was sorrowful, indeed, to see a young girl, so beautiful\nand bright, just bidding adieu to life.\n\nShe had the best medical attendance, but another hemorrhage ensued, and\nthe lamp of life was fading fast. At last, Tomasa came for me: _Dios de\nmi alma! la Señora se está moriendo_--My mistress is dying. I found the\nsick chamber filled with women, and a priest, while a number of tapers\nthrew a strong light upon the nearly breathless sufferer. The padre soon\naccomplished his drawling work--a crucifix was pressed to her pallid\nlips--the bed and floor sprinkled with holy water--a hasty _avé_ was\nmuttered, and they then withdrew. Fortunately, a sister had arrived a\nfew days previously, and it was a great consolation to the dying girl. I\ndrew near, and seated myself at the couch. She placed her limp little\nhand in mine--told her sister to sever a tress from her hair when she\nwas dead--and drawing a ring from her finger, smiled faintly, saying,\n_acuerdese de mi amistad_--remember me kindly. An hour passed, and I was\nforced to leave--indeed, while every breath came fluttering to the lips,\nweaker and weaker--I could not bear to see the last--I whispered\n_adios_, kissed her pale forehead, and went away.\n\nShe expired just at midnight. During the whole period of her illness,\nshe never once murmured a reproach against her lover, but left him a\nblessing when she died. If such beautiful devotion has not heaped coals\nof fire on his head, he is less than man.\n\nThe night following her decease, I was seated on a tombstone in the\nlittle cemetery near the port, when my eye was attracted by a flickering\ntorch, and advancing, I met the corpse. We made five in all. The grave\nwas open, and we lowered her gently down. All was still, save the\nconvulsive sobs of Mañuela, and the rolling earth falling upon the\ncoffin--the dew sparkled by the reflection of the blazing torch--the\nwork was done--light extinguished, and mourners gone. Alas! poor\nDolores! I have preserved your tress and ring, and time has not yet\nerased the remembrance of your love and sufferings from a stranger's\nbreast.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\nWe could not boast of an opera, or any grand theatrical displays in\nMazatlan; but yet our sailor-troops, as sailors always do when\nunemployed, had contrived a Thespian corps, and weekly representations\nwere given, by stout tars in whiskers and petticoats--and once a grand\ntableau in commemoration of Stockton's victories at La Mesa. There was a\npretty theatre in town, where a little ranting was done, and there was\nthe usual Sunday resort in the cock-pit, where a deal of dollars changed\nhands, but the greatest spectacle of any was in the arena, where we were\nfavored by brilliant feats of horsemanship, by Mr. Bill Foley, of Circo\nOlimpico notoriety, in conjunction with his \"ingin-rubber boy.\" He was a\nuseful, amusing vagabond, who had passed more than half his life in\nMexico, and went by the savage title of _El tigre del norté_. The Tiger,\nupon the claims of national relationship, applied for the office of\ncollector to the port, but not being successful, he deigned to accept\nthe high position of forage master to the troop, but whether owing to\nhis prompt method of settling accounts, or the sphere not being\nsufficiently enlarged for his abilities, he threw up the commission in\ndisgust, declaring his countrymen were the \"ungratefullest people in the\nworld,\" and again devoted his talents to dress, love, monté, and the\narena. The last accounts of Bill, he was starring it away like a planet\nin the interior of Chili. May bright dollars attend thee, Bill, in\nwhatsoever portion of the globe thy destiny directs thee.\n\nAdded to these public _divertmientos_, there were the _sociedads_, where\nthe necessary aliment of Mexican existence was in constant operation.\nThis was monté--our usual resort was that of the gran sociedad,\nconducted by Don Manuel Carbia;--he was a diminutive old Spaniard, very\nshrewd and intelligent, and among his numerous occupations was that of a\nproprietor of launches, keeper of an almacen of ship chandlery on the\nMole, divers pulperias, billiard-tables, restaurateur, and pawnbroker in\ngeneral. Señor Carbo, as our beloved Colonel Jacobus called him, was\nnever seen without a cigar between his teeth; it acted as a kind of\nsafety valve to his vital organs, and it was strongly surmised that if\nhe ever discontinued, for an interval of five minutes, he would\ninevitably choke to death. Seated behind the long green baize-covered\ntable, with his implements of cards and dollars around him, the very\nchink of the coin lighted up his dark visage, like to a fresh cigar. He\nmerely played for amusement--so he said--and although he amused himself\nconsiderably at our expense, yet we had no grounds for just complaint;\nhe played, _bueno como caballero_--fair and above board,--and if we lost\nour cash, it was in striving to win his. Once if my memory serves me\naright, when mounted on the _caballo_--the picture of a horse on Spanish\ncards--I kicked Don Manuel so severely, that his teeth chattered like a\npair of castanets--but this did not often occur.\n\nThere was another odd character, who kept a _casa de bebida_, near the\nCuartel, where the officers sometimes touched in passing. No one knew\nwhat nation claimed him as a subject--he was a fat mottled-visaged\nBoniface, whom the Mexicans--as they always nick-name every one--had\nchristened the \"Golden Toad.\" The toad played melodiously on the flute,\nsupposed to be a mild restorative to soothe the sorrows consequent upon\nthe unfortunate state of his domestic relations.\n\nThe carnival was not carried on with much spirit, nor was Lent regarded\nwith the same pious severity as in other Catholic countries. The\nMazatlanese are not a pious people; there were, to be sure, a few\nprocessions, and fire-works, accompanied by a wooden piece of artillery,\ndischarging salvos of sugar-plums, with nightly fandangos, but this was\nall.\n\nOur intercourse and diversions were not restricted to native society,\nfor we also enjoyed a pleasant association with foreign residents. The\ncircle of our own countrymen was limited--the Consul, good Doctor\nBevans--who gave us a grand feast on leaving,--and the Anglo-American\nhouse of Mott & Talbot. From all of these gentlemen we experienced the\nutmost civility; but to Mr. Mott and his amiable lady we stand indebted\nfor many and repeated acts of kindness and hospitality, that never can\nbe too gratefully remembered.\n\nNot only in Mazatlan but all over the world, the great firm of \"Mynheer\nand Company\" chase the dollars with as keen a scent as the Yankees; and\nthere is not a nook, however remote, where these thriving Germans are\nnot filling their sacks, but still their thirst for gold does not\nprevent the pleasures of \"faderland\" from being re-enacted in their\nfar-away homes. There was one jolly Belgian there--a large, handsome,\njovial blade, ever on the vivo for fun or punch,--his house, like\nhimself, was lofty and capacious, with a cellar over the way, where one\nmight wish to live until it became dry. And the Hern Hutter, too. Will\neye of thine, my pleasant friends, ever glance at this tribute to your\nvirtues? Let us recall those delightful evenings. Old Jack's oysters,\nand, mein gott! that delicious arrack--when shall we ever taste the like\nagain?--with the piano tinkling, and the rich sonorous voice of portly\nHausen chanting the solemn _avé purissima_ until the very paving-stones\nrattled, and the lovely lips of his pretty wife were held in a painful\nstate of wide-mouthed laughter. Where art thou, O! Hern Hutter! dost\nremember Piny and Luigi, even until the matins were tolling, when we\nmounted our steeds--your own the famous piebald charger--and never\nchecked rein, until tumbling in the sparkling surf upon the sands?\n\nBesides these warm-hearted fellows, there was another to whom my heart\nstill yearns, and no time can ever banish the love I bear him. He was\nthe beau-ideal of a John Bull--burly, surly, brave, obstinate, and\nstrong in his likings or dislikings. We met at first, neither in a\npleasant mood; I was the aggrieved person, for he permitted me to\nmistake him for a Mexican, and talk bad Spanish half an hour, when he\ncoolly broke ground in Anglo-Saxon. But time removed first impressions,\nand in his little cottage by the shore, at his generous board, and in\nfact in very many ways he loaded me with favors and hospitalities, which\nI shall always recur to as among my brightest recollections of the past.\nAnd truly it is not in great cities, or teeming ports, where merchants\nare seen to social advantage; it is in out-of-the-way spots--far, far\naway--when least expected, that the traveller finds warm hearts and firm\nfriends--and none more so than in Mazatlan.\n\nI was a daily guest of Don Guillermo's, at the cottage. Dinner over, and\na rubber at whist, I usually strolled about the town--peeped in at the\nfandangos--perhaps a shy at monté--thence to arrack--music, jolly\nHausen, and so home to my quarters. Though a sort of vaut-rien\nexistence, still it was one quite in consonance with my tastes, and\nsince I am not at all competent for a clerkship, if any of my former\nfriends can employ me as a smuggler, or in any other nautical and honest\npursuit, I shall be most happy to comply with their terms.\n\nFor a short period, these my amusements were unpleasantly interrupted,\nand came within an ace of being finally closed in eternity. Sitting one\nnight, in a moralizing mood, by my friend, Mr. Mitch, during a pause in\nconversation, we were startled by the long rolling sound of the drums,\nbeating the alarm from the Cuartel. The sentries shouted from the walls,\nfor the men to get under arms, and snatching up hat and pistols, we\nrushed out. The night was quite dark, with thick fog; besides, I was\nnearly blinded from a lighted room; and mistaking the stairs by a few\ninches, I walked off the piazza--a height of fourteen feet--falling,\nmost fortunately, between three men coming out from below, with fixed\nbayonets, and escaped being impaled, by a slight wound in the wrist. I\nwas picked up insensible, and my companion thought even burnt brandy\nwould prove unavailing. However, on coming to, and being duly jerked\nabout the legs and arms, no bones being fractured, I was found whole,\nwith the exception of some severe contusions in legs, back and head.\nAfter all the row, the _generale_ was only beaten by way of precaution.\nFor some days I was confined to my cot, without being able to move,\nconsoled, however, by lots of agreeable visitors--bottles of\nliniment--good cigars--alleviated by the sympathies of an admirable\nyoung nurse. There I was, reposing \"in ordinary,\" swinging backwards and\nforwards. From one window I could see green plains and lagoons\nstretching away to the distant hills; and from the balconies, long\nstrings of mules, with their cargoes, and could hear the shrill whistles\nand cries of the arrieros, urging the perverse brutes in either\ndirection. The borders, too, of the lagoons were dotted with groups of\nwomen and children washing; and whenever I took a too long glance\nthrough the telescope, at some brown half nude figure, I was sure to\nattract the attention of my black-eyed nurse, who cunningly would place\nher finger before the lens. I always chose the mornings to study or\nwrite, when the clear, cool sea-breeze was beginning to fan the polished\nsurface of the water, as the swell rolled rippling on in gentle\nundulations towards the beach--while swarms of pelicans sailed\nsluggishly along, until sighting their prey, when, with a dart like a\nflash, they parted the waves in concentric circles around, and rested\ncontentedly on the water, packing away the little fishes in their\ncapacious pouches. Then, if our little house-keeper was docile, and not\nmimicking the Colonel, for she detested the sight of a book, I would\ndraw the table to my cot, and enjoy an hour's tranquillity. But when,\nlater in the day, the breeze began to roughen the sea into light caps of\nfoam, causing the waves to break heavily upon the shore, then the\nwindows began to struggle and slam, books and papers to whirl across the\nroom, until I was glad to put by everything, and say, _amigita\ncanta_--sing, my little friend. She would purse up her roguish lips in\nmimic affectation, and then, in a lively strain, begin some provincial\nditty--\n\n\n     \"En la Esquina de casa,\n     Un oficial mi habló.\"\n\n\nYet there are no alleviations that can recompense a person of active\nhabits for being laid up, even in lavender. In a few days I was able to\nsit a horse, and soon after, perfectly restored.\n\nThieving and pilfering were practised among the lower orders, in an\nalmost equal degree to knife combats. Leperos are thieves and liars by\nprofession, and their coarse serapas serves to conceal all their\npeccadillos. The Spectator tells us, that in the days of Charles II, a\nrascal of any eminence could not be found under forty. In Mazatlan they\nwere more precocious. Eating, sleeping and drinking, they could easily\ndispense with, for a handful of beans and the open air was an economical\nmode of life, and cost little or nothing: but a few rials were\nabsolutely indispensable to game with on feast days; and as the Leperos,\nas a body, are not fond of work, they exercised their ingenuity in\nappropriating property of others. I had escaped their depredations so\nlong, that I fancied there was nothing worth filching in my possession,\nor innocently supposed there was some kind of freemasonry established\nbetween us. However, I was soon undeceived. One morning, according to\ncustom, Miss Rita made her usual call, attended by some gay friends, and\nall attired in their prettiest robes and ribosas:--\"Would I read an\nanonymous billet in verse?\" _Si Señorita_. \"You are appointed _Teniente\nde la tripa_,\"--a ball given annually by the butchers. \"Then, would I\nmeet her at the grand fandango in the marisma?\" Of course. \"_Pues hasta\nla noche amigo mio!_\" and away they tripped down the hill in high glee.\nIn the evening after dinner at the cottage, in company with Señor\nMolinero, we strolled to the fields. A large marquée had been erected in\nthe middle of the open space, and around were smaller affairs, with\nnumerous booths, sparkling with lights, music and merriment. It was not\na very select affair, and I took the precaution to loosen my sword in\nits sheath. Presently we entered into the spirit of the frolic, and were\nsoon hand in hand with leperos and their sweethearts--sipping from every\ncup--whirling away in waltzes--dancing to the quick _jarabie_, and\nmaking ourselves particularly ridiculous when, presto! some expert thief\nsnatched my sword blade from the scabbard. Search was instantly made,\nbut the successful lepero made good his prize, and escaped. The girls\nsympathized with me, and poor Rita cried, and, regardless of being\nvice-queen of the ball, insisted upon leaving--so bounding up before me\non horseback, I landed her at her little cottage. The night was not half\nspent, so turning rein, I indulged my friend Señor Carbia with a hasty\nvisit--not at all to his satisfaction, for the fickle goddess smiled\nupon me; but as a slight check to this good fortune, another watchful\nperson had stolen a valuable pistol from my holsters while the horse was\nstanding in the patio, with a man to guard him. At the time I would\ncertainly have presented the ladron with my winnings for the pleasure of\ngiving him the contents from the remaining weapon; but eventually I\nbecame more of a philosopher--was robbed at all times unmercifully, and\nlooked upon it as a destiny. One of our good commissaries was also a\nsufferer. Being lodged in a small dwelling by himself, every few days he\nwas regularly cleaned out of his wardrobe, and frequently obliged to fly\ntrowserless to a neighbor's for a change of raiment. I once had the\nhappiness to detect a youth in a petty act of larceny. Him I had\ncarefully conveyed to the Garita, when the sailors made what they call a\n\"spread eagle\" of him, over the long gun. It was a summary process, and\nI sincerely believe, had a tendency to repress his rising predilections\nfor the future.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\nIn the month of March the first positive information relating to rumors\nof peace reached Mazatlan. It was agreeable news to a few former\n_empleados_ of the customs and courts, all idle and disaffected\nvagabonds, but the majority of peaceably-disposed citizens and foreign\nresidents were averse to our departure; they had so long been oppressed\nby Mexican misrule, intrigue, and extortion, that the law, order, and\ntolerant state of things existing under our sway, presented a too\npleasing contrast not to sigh for a continuance of it.\n\nOne of the brothers, Vaso vil Vaso--gentlemen who stood deservedly high\nin public estimation--had been appointed Governor of the Province, and\nin defence of the conduct of his fellow-citizens who had remained, and\naccepted office in Mazatlan, he published a pamphlet in Guadalajara,\ngiving a narrative of former grievances, with a truthful account of our\nproceedings; also speaking in high terms of commendation of the legality\nand justice that had characterised our policy since the occupation of\nthe port.\n\nThe Mexican force outside evinced no disposition to molest us, and ere\nthis we had discovered that it was time thrown away to pursue them:\nthere was no fighting to be had, petty skirmishing was all that had been\naccomplished; want and desertion were rapidly thinning their ranks; the\ncommanders were at swords' points, and their only resources were derived\nfrom the miserable pittance extorted by the Alcobala--in fact, they were\nfast devouring one another. At this juncture, Vegas having withdrawn his\nguns and disbanded the troops in Culiacan, was threatened by Romero with\nan attack, in case the artillery was not sent back. For this piece of\nmutiny Romero was dismissed the army, and the military command of the\nprovince devolved on a respectable officer named Don Juan Pablo Anaya,\nwho made his headquarters at the Presidio, with, however, but a mere\nhandful of soldiers.\n\nOn the last day of March the official notification of the armistice was\npromulgated in the port. A few days previous, late in the afternoon,\nsome arrieros informed me that a number of Mexican soldiers were\ncollecting a little revenue, a short distance up the road, and then I\nperceived a signal flying from the rancho of Madre Maria. This was a\nheinous offence, to come within long range of our guns; so sending a\nsmall party by the beach, I rode out myself. We arrived a minute too\nlate--the dust from their horses was just subsiding. The patrona was in\na towering passion, said there had been a brace of officers, and four\ndragoons, making merry in the house; knocking the necks off poultry and\nbottles, and demanding toll from the paisanos. Juanita added, that one\nof the gentlemen had desired his _memorias_ left at the Garita! a piece\nof politeness I was quite unprepared for. Returning to town, I forthwith\nwent in quest of the Governor. He was afloat, nor was the Captain of the\nCuartel to be found. What to do I knew not; it would have been a great\nbreach of decorum not to repay the courtesies of my afternoon visitors,\nso I concluded to consult with a _compadre_. Towards midnight I met\nCaptain Luigi, who being in want of exercise, agreed to take the\nrelief-patrol, and accompany me; the officers on duty, Mr. Baldwig and\nEarl, made up the party. Ten was our number, and the horses half wild\nwith spirits. We had an inkling of the whereabouts of our _amigos_, as\nthere was to be a grand fiésta on the morrow, some leagues up the\nCuliacan road, at the village of Venadillo; and as there was to be\ndancing and frolicking, it did not seem improbable that the Mexican\nadvance-guard should bivouac in the neighborhood. There was a round\nwhite moon to light us, and away we leaped at a slapping pace towards\nthe hamlet. A league this side we fell in with a couple of paisanos, one\nof whom not replying to our questions, with any due regard to truth,\nconcerning the locale of the troops, was speedily forced to mount behind\none of the patrol. In three bounds, he allowed himself to tumble to the\nground, but having his intellect sharpened by a sound kick from the\nhorse in the head, he then thought it advisable to cling on like wax;\nmoreover, his fears induced him to tell a straight story, and we soon\ncame in sight of the village. The entire place was filled with mules and\njackasses, their loads of fruit, vegetables, and drinkables lying beside\nthem, awaiting the great jollification of the succeeding day. In front\nof a large house, were seated on the ground some fifty or sixty curious\npersons, who, to save time, were attentively playing monté, on their\nserapas, lighted by paper lanterns. Dismounting a few rods in the rear,\nand leaving the horses in charge of two men, we silently approached the\nassembly, and taking position, I stepped up, and tapped a swarthy fellow\non the shoulder; he turned around, and upon recognizing me, exclaimed\nwith much astonishment, _Aqui están los gringos_--Holy Moses, here's the\nYankees! The whole audience began leaping to their feet, but merely\npointing to the levelled weapons behind, we besought them to resume\ntheir seats, and not utter a syllable, or a carbine might accidentally\nexplode, and drive a bullet through some one's head. Thereupon they\nagain took up the cards; when clapping a pistol to an intelligent\nperson's ear, we gave him five seconds to point out the stopping place\nof the Commandante. \"Here,\" said he, jerking his thumb over his\nshoulder, \"here, in the big rancho.\" _Y los soldados? Mas por alla en la\narboléda! Quantos? Habra cosa de cincuenta dragones!_--Where are the\ntroops? Up yonder in the grove!--about fifty. This was no joke, we\nthought, to be within musket-shot of five times our number; but since no\nalarm had yet been made, we resolved to seize the _Administrador_, We\nwalked to the door, and struck a few heavy blows. \"_Quien es?_\" said a\ngruff voice. Another blow from the hilt of a sabre. _Soldados!\nfuégo!_--fire!--was the reply. Aha! so you have a guard, Señor, and we\ninstantly placed a thick wall between our persons, that the balls might\ncirculate through the door, and meet with no resistance or obstruction\non the outside; but no report or explosion following the command, we\ndetected the ruse, and assured the individual within, that if he did not\nmake himself visible; we would return the compliment in earnest. This\nthreat unbolted the door, and in a moment I slapped El Señor\nValverde--that was his cognomen--on the shoulder; and after apologising\nfor disturbing his slumbers, at so unreasonable an hour, through anxiety\nto return his visit in the earliest possible time, desired him to equip\nin all haste for a little excursion to the port. He could not forbear\nlaughing, notwithstanding his fright. We gave him leisure to drink half\na bottle of brandy, and put on a clean shirt; when he gave up his\npapers, and assured us, with a gratified smile, that he had that very\nday sent all the cash to headquarters. And now we said, \"Amigo, where's\nyour horse?\" \"Ah,\" he replied, \"there is one here, but let me send to\nthe corral for another.\" The next instant, we found him whispering to a\nsmall boy cruising around our legs; but pointing a naked sabre to El\nSeñor's throat, we gave both him and the juvenile to understand, that\nwhispering was not allowable in polite society, and he would oblige us\nby mounting the _cavallo_ that stood ready at the door, without further\nceremony. While this was going on, our friends, Baldwig and Earl, were\ninspecting the outbuildings, and came upon the captain of the troop in a\nvery ambiguous position. He jumped up in his shirt, and flew away like\nthe wind. There was now no time to be lost: collecting a lot of handsome\narms and equipments, our horses were brought up, we leaped into the\nsaddle, tossed two dollars to the patrona, who swore some one had stolen\na sheet; said adios! to the monté men, who gave us shouts of viva! and\nappeared quite as well pleased as ourselves.\n\n\n     \"Then ho! ho! hurry; hopp, hopp, hopp.\n     Rode off the troop, with never a stop,\n         Until all gasped together.\"\n\n\nWe came bounding back the twelve miles within the hour, and after giving\nMr. Valverde a supper, were safely housed and asleep before daylight.\nBut now it came the prisoner's turn to laugh at us. I had hardly opened\nmy eyes the next morning, when an orderly came from the Governor! What's\nto pay now? thought I, and off I rode to the Cuartel. On the way I met\nCaptain Luigi, with a most serio-quizzico expression of visage, just\nfrom an interview. After being announced, in I walked. \"Good morning,\nsir.\" \"So, sir\"--a pause--\"you had the presumption to detach a force\nfrom the garrison last night, and go many miles into the interior?--I\narrest you, sir--consider yourself arrested, sir--you and Mr. Luigi\nboth, sir.\" \"But, Governor,\" I ventured to remark, \"let me explain; I\nthought you would be pleased, and a--\" \"No explanation, sir--pleased\nindeed!--when you knew the armistice had been signed!\" However, in the\nend, the Governor, who was a good amiable gentleman, consented to\nbelieve that no disrespect was intended, and received our apologies.\nWhereupon we wrote a letter that brought tears to his eyes; he asked us\nto dinner, and so the affair terminated. Mr. Valverde had all his arms\nand chattels restored--very much to the chagrin of Mr. Baldwig, who had\nalready apportioned a saddle unto his own keeping--got a good breakfast,\nand was escorted beyond our lines with _muchos cumplimientos_. The\nred-headed wretch never passed me afterwards without a face full of\nsardonic winks and grins. But from that moment, we resolved never to be\nagain patriotic on our own responsibility; and our only consolation was\nin knowing that we had made the last prisoner during the war.\n\nSome days after, one of our men deserted. He was intercepted by the\nMexicans, and since the armistice had been declared, a message was sent\nto the Governor, expressing a willingness to give him up. I attended the\nflag of truce, as interpreter. Not finding the escort at the place\ndesignated, we were requested by a Mexican officer to proceed along the\nPresidio road. Passing Urias, we gallopped on, league after league,\nuntil within a mile of headquarters, where we were politely received by\na guard and an officer, sent to conduct us to the General. The old town\nof Mazatlan, or Presidio, is situated on a broad plain, with a rapid,\nshallow, limpid stream, coursing beside it. In times past, it was a\nplace of some importance; and the ruins of large _almacens_, a\ndilapidated church, spacious dwellings, barracks and plazas, still keep\nup the belief. Yet, as the port was found to possess such manifest\nadvantages for all commercial purposes, the old town was nearly\ndepopulated for the new, and the residents were even induced to leave\ntheir pure stream of water, for the brackish element nearer the sea. The\nroad is excellent, and adapted for artillery, but every road presents\ncapital spots for ambuscades, and it would have required much caution to\nhave approached and surprised the Presidio, as we had originally\nintended. As we forded the stream, and entered the town, the whole\npopulation turned out to behold _los Yankees_--dogs barked--mothers held\nup their children--and dirty troops tried to stare us out of\ncountenance. We were conducted to a range of buildings facing the plaza,\nand presented to the commander-in-chief, General Anaya. He had a\npleasant European visage--tall, well-made, dignified and gentleman-like\nin his bearing and address--numbering, may be, some sixty years. We\nstated the business which brought us to his notice, and after some few\ninquiries from his officers, he informed us, that the officer who had\napprised the Governor was unauthorized to do so; that the deserter had\nalready escaped--which was, indeed, the politest possible, and at the\nsame time sensible way of telling us that we could not have him. He then\ncooled us off with a cup of claret and cigars; hoped all national\ndifficulties were about to cease; regarded the United States as the\nmother of Republics; boasted that he had been present, and wounded at\nthe battle of New Orleans, as aid to Jackson; and finally, turned us\nover to the kind offices of his staff. Our horses, meanwhile, had been\nwell cared for, and three hours after noon we were escorted outside the\nlines, and reached the port at night.\n\nThe next day I was ordered to proceed again to the Presidio, with a\nflag of truce, to communicate an official copy of our armistice, and\nrequest a conference, to arrange certain articles pertaining thereto. As\nwe did not get there until late in the afternoon, the escort and myself\nwere billeted for the night upon the Commissary General, Don Isidro\nBeruben, who did the honors of his house with great liberality and\nattention, to say nothing of the sweet smiles of his charming little\ndaughter Chonita. We slept soundly and rose early, walked around the\ntown, saw the graves of eight long bronze cannon, about three hundred\ntroops exercised, and were introduced to scores of officers. They were\nall delighted at the armistice, and on tiptoe to get leave once more to\nvisit the port, which they somehow regarded as a little Paris. They\noverwhelmed me with interrogatories about their friends and sweethearts:\nwhere were the Manuélas, Madelinas, Antonias, Josephas--_pobrecitas_!\nhow they must have suffered! and were they all true to their old lovers?\nOf course they were--and I vouched for the truth of the statement.\n\nAs the General had not a reply prepared, we remained to a breakfast\ngiven by our host. There were some thirty officers at table--a number of\ngenerals, and all, I believe, colonels: the Mexican army is well manned\nin the higher grades. The breakfast passed off well, with no absurd\ntoast-making, and an hour after its termination, Don Pablo requested\nmany _memorias_ to the American Commodore and governor, adding that he\nwould be pleased to meet our commissioners, as soon as he was able to\nmount his horse, being at the time somewhat troubled with a complaint of\nthe _barrica_. Then entrusted with a despatch, I had the honor of making\nmy congé--_Adios señores! Adios amigo! hasta luego!_ and so we parted.\n\nThere were one or two articles of the armistice that had been signed in\nMexico, which could not have been intended to meet the exigencies of\nports on the Pacific, and at the conference which ensued, the Mexicans,\nin return for relinquishing the alcobala, demanded the privilege of\ncollecting duties levied upon the coasting trade--it seemed a bagatelle\nthat we might easily have conceded, for it was absolutely necessary that\nsome means should be granted for their support. The commissioners,\nhowever, were not able to arrange the matter, and both parties separated\nin dudgeon. Anaya retired to the Presidio, the alcobala continued, and\nthe merchants were extremely disappointed at the rupture; for having a\nlarge amount of goods destined for Durango and the adjoining provinces,\nwhich had already passed our customs, they were unwilling to risk the\ntransit before some positive arrangement had been established between\nthe two parties.\n\nThese official misunderstandings, however, did not prevent constant\nvisits of the Mexican officers and their families to the port--a few of\nthem were pleasant, conversible, intelligent gentlemen, but generally\nspeaking, they were dirty, ill-bred persons, without moral principle,\nand the greatest liars in existence, and they invariably taxed one\nanother with being cowards. On entering Mazatlan, they were obliged to\nregister their names and report the time of departure. We were\noccasionally amused when they assured us they found great difficulty in\nthe search for their _amantes_, and had not been received with the same\nardor of affection that so long an absence would have justified.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n\nDuring the period of our occupation of Mazatlan, the remaining ships of\nthe squadron had not been idle along the neighboring shores of the gulf.\nThe Port of Guaymas, on the Main, had been closely guarded by a sloop of\nwar; and notwithstanding the immense superiority of force, under the\nMexican General, Campuzano--of five hundred regular troops--he had been\nat all times beaten, whenever attempting any demonstrations upon the\ntown--on one occasion with the loss of twenty killed and forty\nwounded;--affairs which sufficiently damped their ardor, and warned them\nto keep beyond the reach of their invaders.\n\nThe Peninsula, also, had been the theatre of more serious struggles; and\nas the events attending their history were in themselves characterised\nby the utmost gallantry, reflecting the highest degree of praise upon\nthe actors, who bore their plumes most bravely; and as they were, in\nfact, the only affairs of importance, which may be considered as\nshedding a ray of glory upon our arms, during the naval operations on\nthe Mexican coast, I may be excused for relating them more in detail.\n\nIt may be recollected, that prior to the departure of the squadron from\nLower California, through urgent solicitations made by the respectable\ninhabitants, a small detachment of marines, under command of Lieut.\nCharles Heywood, U.S.N., had been deputed to occupy the little town of\nSan José.\n\nAs I have before mentioned, the settlement is situated in a narrow\nvalley, about a league at its greatest width on the gulf, and is rapidly\nwedged in, as it falls back into the interior, by converging walls of\nlofty barren mountains. It is fertilized by a swift little stream of\npure water, which, in pleasing contrast to the parched arid hills\naround, brightens the landscape with many green patches of cultivated\nfields, fruits, and foliage. In the bosom of this little vale, upon a\nslight eminence, two miles from the bay, reposes the Mission--a village\nof some five hundred inhabitants--having a broad avenue running entirely\nthrough it, in a parallel line with the stream. At the upper end was a\nsquare adobie building, protected in the rear, by an abrupt descent to\nthe base of the plain, and the front facing and looking down upon the\nwhole length of the main street. This was designated as the Cuartel. On\nthe right, and opposite angle, stood another commodious dwelling, behind\nwhich a high wall enclosed a small court-yard: it was owned by an\nAmerican, Mr. Mott, of Mazatlan, and occupied by his agent, Mr. Eugene\nGillespie--who as an amateur in the trying events that ensued, well won\nthe guerdon of a brave and loyal gentleman.\n\nImmediately upon landing, on the 9th November, 1847, these two buildings\nwere taken possession of, and the American flag was displayed. The\nCuartel was found to be in a very dilapidated condition, and to prevent\nthe walls and roof from falling, crossbeams and pillars were used to\nprop the decayed timbers, while numbers of useless windows and doorways\nwere closed up with masonry, leaving the main entrance and another\nportal in the rear, where a platform was laid for more convenient\ntraversings of a cannon.\n\nThe low parapet which invariably surmounts the flat roofs or _azoteas_\nof Spanish houses, was raised sufficiently to afford a breast-high\nprotection, and the walls were pierced at the commanding points, with\nloop-holes for musketry: this, with a trench between the two buildings,\nconstituted the defences.\n\nThe garrison numbered twenty-five, including the Commander and his four\nsubordinates. This force, however, was swelled, in a numerical sense, by\nabout twenty friendly natives, who, in seeking protection under the\npledges conveyed in our proclamations, had timidly volunteered their\nservices, in case of assault. Still, they were of but little effective\naid, and, with their families, only served to reduce the provisions and\nuselessly waste the limited supply of ammunition with which the garrison\nhad been furnished. The gun, too, was an unwieldy nine-pounder ship's\ncarronade, mounted upon a clumsy slide, without wheels for easy\ntransportation, or any of the conveniences necessary for manoeuvering\non land. It was planted in front of the Cuartel, to sweep the avenue\nwith its fire. The force was divided between the two positions, and with\nbut forty rounds of ball cartridges in the cartouche boxes, the little\nband calmly held their ground.\n\nThe Californian partisans who had enrolled themselves for guerrilla\nwarfare on the Peninsula, were composed of mongrel bodies of deserters\nand disbanded soldiers from the Main, together with divers Yachi\nIndians, and other disaffected vagabonds, who, having nothing to lose,\nand anxious for plunder, either from their own countrymen or their\nenemies, were indifferent by what means it was to be obtained.\n\nThis force amounted in the aggregate to more than six hundred mounted\nmen, tolerably well equipped with weapons, and commanded by Pineda,\nMexia, Moreno, Angulo, and Mejares. The last-named individual had been\nformer Captain of the port of Mazatlan. He was a man of activity and\ndesperate courage, for which last quality, at a later day, he paid the\npenalty with his life.\n\nThe passions of these guerrillas had been violently inflamed by the\npersuasions and advice administered by a shrewd Mexican priest, named\nGabriel Gonzales, who, fearing probably a loss of clerical influence\namong the native population, and inheriting, with all his race, a\nnatural antipathy to the march of the Anglo-Saxon, consequent upon the\nsecession of the territory, made unceasing efforts by every means in his\npower to have a strong blow struck for its salvation. He partially\nsucceeded.\n\nThe original scheme of the Mexican leaders was, in the first instance,\nto have made a concentrated attack upon the town of La Paz, at the time\nin possession of a company of the New York regiment, under Lt. Colonel\nBurton; but perceiving the weakness of the force to contend against, in\nthe small garrison of San José, and deeming it an easy prey, they\ndivided their force, and with the moiety resolved upon its destruction.\n\nHardly had the squadron disappeared below the horizon from San José,\nbefore reports came flying thick and fast, that a serious attack was\ncontemplated. These rumors only infused renewed energy in the\npreparations for defence and resistance, nor was the garrison kept long\nin suspense.\n\nOn the morning of the 19th, ten days after the sailing of the ships of\nwar, a small cavalcade, bearing a banner of truce, entered the village,\nand by a blast of trumpets demanded a parley. Possibly, to give\nadditional weight to the summons, clouds of dust were beheld rolling\ndown the valley, and strong squadrons of cavalry scouring the roads and\nunderwood, in advance of their main body. The effect was not realized.\nThe flag of truce was met by an equal number from the Cuartel, and a\nmissive received, demanding, under the high appeal of _Dios Patria y\nLibertad_, an immediate surrender, under penalty of the horrors of\nannihilation by a greatly superior force. The reply was prompt and\ndecisive: the American commander regretting his inability to comply with\nthe summons, and declaring his intention to defend his flag against all\nodds.\n\nNegotiations being thus courteously terminated, the guerrillas, nearly\ntwo hundred strong, skirted the suburbs, and took up a position on the\nright of the American quarters, behind the church, on an elevation,\nthree hundred and fifty yards distant, laterally commanding the town; it\nwas called La Lomita.\n\nDuring the afternoon the Mexican eagle and tricolor was unfurled, and\nwith cheers and pealing bugles, they opened a fire from a six-pounder\nand musketry, continuing the work until dark. The shot, however, did but\nlittle damage to the soft adobie walls, save fracturing cornices or\nboring fresh apertures for loop holes; nor was it judged prudent to\nreturn their salutes but rarely, inasmuch as the carronade of the\nCuartel could not, without much difficulty, be brought to bear upon the\nenemies' hill, and the limited supply of ammunition rendered it\nadvisable to await closer quarters with the small arms.\n\nAs night closed around the valley, there was a cessation of firing; the\ngarrison remaining under arms momentarily anticipating a more vigorous\nattack; nor were they disappointed. By ten o'clock the besiegers had\ncautiously crept within close proximity to the occupied buildings, and\nwith a field piece in the main street, began a simultaneous assault\nfrom all directions, front and rear. Showers of bullets flew into every\nhole and aperture of the Cuartel, whilst determined efforts were made to\ngain a lodgment in the opposite house: but they were severally repulsed\nwith loss, and not an ounce of lead was thrown away, or powder idly\nburned without a definite object. Three of the garrison only, were\nwounded.\n\nA hot but ineffective fire was kept up by the assailants during the\nnight, but at daylight the force was withdrawn again to the camp at La\nLomita. All the following day the garrison were encircled by the\nguerrillas, who maintained a brisk fire of musketry from behind the\nwalls and parapets of adjoining dwellings. The disparity of numbers was\ntoo great to risk the chances of dislodging them at the point of the\nbayonet.\n\nWith the night the garrison were still under arms at their posts The\nplan of the guerrillas was to have stormed the front of the Cuartel with\nforty picked men, under cover of three field pieces, receive the\ndischarge from the nine-pounder, rush in, and capture it, whilst other\nbodies, provided with bars and ladders, were to scale the _azoteas_, and\nthen pour in a destructive fire on the occupants below. In the end,\nthese matured calculations were defeated: nevertheless, the positions\nwere well chosen, and the Mexicans in readiness for the assault. Just\nbefore midnight the garrison sentinels challenged: the hail was\nimmediately answered by trumpets sounding a charge, and a heavy fire\nfrom guns and small arms; at the same instant, Mejares, the commandant\nof artillery, with four of his followers, in leading the forlorn hope,\nwere riddled by rifle balls from the besieged, whilst another in\nstriving to bear away the body of his comrade, fell mortally wounded on\nthe same bloody heap. Deprived of the animating example of their\nleader, the storming parties faltered, thus disconcerting the entire\nmovement, and they returned to their encampment without attempting\nfurther demonstrations that night. Eight newly made graves was the sole\nglory reaped in this abortive struggle.\n\nMeanwhile a series of vigorous attacks had already been commenced upon\nthe command at La Paz, but was repulsed by a stouter resistance than was\nanticipated; equally unprepared for the gallant conduct of the little\nband at San José, and depressed by the loss of their leader, the\nguerrilla chiefs ordered their partisans to again unite in the north,\nfor a combined movement upon La Paz--as had been originally intended.\n\nThis course of action was considerably hastened, on the morning of the\n21st, by the appearance of two large vessels in the offing; eventually\nproving to be the whale ships \"Magnolia\" and \"Edward,\" of New\nBedford--Captains Simmons and Barker--who learning from a launch, near\nCape San Lucas, the state of affairs in San José, without a thought to\ntheir own interests, resolved to do the utmost for the garrison.\nStanding boldly into the bay, dropping anchor, discharging a cannon, and\ntaking in sails together, they succeeded completely in deceiving the\nguerrillas, who were posted in strength on the beach to oppose a\nlanding; and who, under the belief that the ships were either men-of-war\nor transports, fell back to their camp, and shortly after retreated up\nthe valley; not, however, without giving a parting volley to the\nCuartel, which was courteously returned by Mr. Gillespie, who knocked a\ntrooper from his saddle by a rifle-bullet.\n\nOn being informed of the straightened situation of their countrymen,\nthese bold captains, with their brave crews, armed themselves with\nmuskets, lances, spades, and harpoons from their ships, and sixty in\nnumber at once landed, and marched to the Cuartel. The provisions and\nammunition of the garrison had been nearly exhausted, and these resolute\nwhale-men instantly brought on shore a quantity of bread--all the powder\nthey possessed, and even parted with hand and deep sea leads to mould\ninto bullets! Not contented with this, they formed into companies--were\ndrilled--and evinced an enthusiasm to do good battle for those they had\nso generously and disinterestedly succored. Not only were these gallant\ndeeds undertaken without solicitation, but they nobly gave food and\nraiment to many of the timid peasantry received on board their ships. If\nany more admirable patriotism can be shown than this, let it be\ninscribed in grateful remembrance, with the names of Simmons and Barker!\n\nA few days later a government transport and corvette arrived: the\ngarrison was supplied with two more carronade guns, and an abundance of\nammunition and provisions. The quarters were considerably strengthened,\nand an adobie bastion, with four embrasures raised in front of the\nCuartel. The force was also increased by ten marines, and sixteen men\nwhose terms of service had not quite expired; many of whom were\ninvalids, and were thus merely a make-weight upon those they had been\ndetailed to assist.\n\nFor a month all remained quiet in the vicinity--the guerrillas had\nfallen back upon La Paz. Reports, however, gave every indication that\nanother and more serious attack was contemplated upon San José; but,\nnotwithstanding this state of affairs, and the events which had\ntranspired, the commander of the corvette saw no further cause for\nalarm, and being homeward-bound, sailed for the United States. The bold\nwhalers had also long since departed--although not until their services\nhad been no more required--and at length the bay was once more deserted.\n\nNo longer deterred by the men-of-war, the guerrillas, having been\nbaffled in their demonstrations upon La Paz, again resolved to attempt\nthe reduction of San José, with such an overwhelming force as to place\nthe result beyond a doubt. Accordingly, breaking up their camp, with\nthree hundred cavalry, they entered the lower valley on the 15th of\nJanuary. For a week they were posted within a league of the village,\nwhilst detached portions were employed driving off cattle and horses,\ndestroying the crops, and intercepting all communication with the\ninterior. On the 21st, a small schooner anchored in the bay, having some\narticles for the garrison. The following morning, the sea road appearing\nfree from the enemy, two officers and five men, well armed and mounted,\nstarted to communicate with the vessel. On gaining the beach, they were\nsurrounded by an ambuscade of one hundred and fifty guerrillas, and\ntaken prisoners. Shortly afterwards, they were carried up the valley:\nwith pain and anxiety, their friends saw them from the Cuartel, without\nthe means of affording them relief. Emboldened by this success, which\nwas indeed a bitter loss to the little garrison, the guerrillas\ncontracted their lines, and each day found them nearer the town. Again\nthe besieged and the native residents, with their families, were obliged\nto keep closely within their quarters. Step by step the enemy after\ngaining the main avenue, pierced the buildings on either hand, and\ncutting trenches across the transverse lanes, they succeeded in forcing\na passage, entirely concealed from view, until they gained complete\npossession of the town. And in an adobie house, within fifty yards of\nthe American battery, the walls, already three feet in thickness, were\nincreased by planting stakes inside, which were filled up with hard\ntimber and sand; and such was its strength, that twelve-pound shot,\nfired at forty yards, made no perceptible impression: from the azotea of\nthis entrenchment the Mexican flag floated in defiance.\n\nBesides these annoyances, almost every dwelling in the street was\nloopholed, occupied and protected by heavy angular barricades of pickets\nand earth, making safe points for the use of musketry, while the church\nand surrounding eminences were strongly guarded.\n\nDuring these operations the garrison had not been merely spectators.\nThey made a number of sorties, with the loss of but one man killed, and\nsucceeded in saving a small quantity of rice. But by the 10th of\nFebruary, the guerrillas had entire possession of the town, and from\nfront, sides and rear of the Cuartel, they were enabled to throw a\nraking fire. From that time forth, the fusillade was incessant; the\nleast exposure of person being made the target for a simultaneous\ndischarge of fifty bullets; and from long practice they were found well\nskilled in handling their weapons--pouring the lead in at every\naperture.\n\nOn the afternoon of the 11th, the garrison had to lament the death of\nthe second in command, Passed Midshipman Tenant McLenahan. While engaged\nat his duties on the azotea, amid a shower of deadly missiles, he was\nstruck down by a bullet in the throat, and fell with one hand clasping\nthe flagstaff that upheld the colors he had so intrepidly defended. He\nwas a young officer of undaunted resolution, courageous and energetic.\nHe expired two hours after being wounded, and was buried in rear of the\nCuartel, while the sharp whistling of bullets and reports of cannon\nechoed over his untimely grave--a fitting requiem for the noble spirit\nthat had taken its flight.[4]\n\nThe commander and a single officer were now all that remained. The whole\ngarrison numbered but sixty, including sick, wounded, and twenty of the\nenrolled natives; the buildings were crowded to excess with women and\nchildren; they were to be fed; provisions were becoming scarce; bread\nwas entirely gone, and naught remained, save a few days' salt meat on\nhalf an allowance. In addition to the want of these necessaries, the\nassailants had cut off the access to the stream in rear of the Cuartel,\nor at least so enveloped the outlets and approaches to the pools--by\nscreens of sand and barricades of pickets--as to make it a matter of\nalmost certain death to seek water, either by day or night. There was no\nother course to pursue than the arduous task of digging a well within\nthe walls. This, by the most untiring exertions, was finally\naccomplished, by boring thirty feet through the solid rock.\n\nIn such an emergency, surrounded by nearly ten times their numbers, less\nundaunted spirits might reasonably have succumbed to the perils of a\nsiege that was hourly becoming more straitened. But the beleaguered\nlittle garrison, though a small band, were true to themselves. There\nwere neither murmurs nor thoughts of surrender--they still vigilantly\nguarded the defences--with but limited rest or food--while the bullets\nand shot of the besiegers flew in by the loop-holes, or plunged through\nthe walls. Yet there was no flinching--ever on the alert--for hours and\nhours they watched the enemy, and wo betide the adventurous guerrilla,\nwho, becoming rash from fancied security, exposed an inch of flesh! the\nleaden messenger from some deadly carbine gave sad warning to his\ncomrades.\n\nIt was evidently the intention of the guerrillas to starve the garrison\ninto submission, who had already sustained a close siege of more than\nfour weeks, resisted many determined assaults, and made a number of\nsuccessful sorties. Yet their position had become eminently critical,\nand without speedy relief, their well-defended flag would have to be\nhauled down. It did not hang upon the simple results devolving upon\ncapture. They felt no greater uneasiness on that score than commonly\nfalls to the lot of the vanquished in civilized warfare. But the\ninnocent inhabitants, who had sought refuge under the inducements held\nforth by our proclamations, and who trustingly relied upon American arms\nto shield them from the inevitable fate to which they were to be devoted\nby those whose vindictive hate and malice they had provoked--and whose\n_gritos_--cries--resounded from every housetop, singling out by name,\nwith bitter taunts and revilings, those most obnoxious, and the doom in\nstore for their apostacy--were the causes that still nerved the hearts\nof their defenders.\n\nJoyfully, on the evening of the 14th of February, the garrison beheld a\nship of war sail into the bay, and though apprehensive that the\nopposition would be too great to admit of a landing, yet at daylight the\nfollowing morning an hundred of the crew disembarked, and soon after,\nthe musketry from the Mexicans opened upon them. The odds were four to\none; but steadily the seamen rushed on, pouring in their fire, and\nfighting their way, pace by pace, until met by a party from the Cuartel,\nwhen the guerrillas retreated, with a loss of fifteen killed and\nthirty-five wounded. Thus was the little band relieved, their wants\nattended to, and the sick and wounded cared for. The enemy, baffled in\ntheir enterprise, and deterred by the presence of the corvette,\ndeserted the valley for the interior.\n\nA month later, Captain Steele, of the New York volunteers, with thirty\nmounted men, left La Paz, and after a flying march of sixty miles,\nreached San Antonio, when, dashing into the plaza, they put the garrison\nto flight; rescued the party captured at San José, and returned to their\npost, with the loss of but one man killed--having performed the entire\ndistance of one hundred and thirty miles within thirty hours! Such\ngallant little forays need no comment. The prisoners had been treated\nwith extreme kindness, and although moved from place to place, never\nexperienced the slightest insult or injury.\n\nEarly in April, Lt. Col. Burton's command being reinforced by another\ncompany from the upper territory, with one hundred and fifty of the\nvolunteers, moved towards the interior; while seventy-five seamen and\nmarines left San José to form a junction at San Antonio. Before the\nbodies united, Lt. Col. Burton, with his troops, came up with the\nguerrillas, three hundred and fifty strong, at Todos Santos, and after a\nsevere action, totally defeated them, taking many prisoners and their\nleaders. By the close of the month, the town of San José was occupied by\nCaptain Naglee, of the volunteers, and the naval force was withdrawn.\n\nThus ended the war on the peninsula of California.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[4] On an eminence overlooking the bay, a small white railing and tablet\nmark the spot where the remains of poor McLenahan were subsequently\nburied, with the honors of war.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\n\nEarly in the month of May, the Ohio, 74, arrived at Mazatlan. On the\n8th, I was ordered to prepare for a journey to the city of Mexico--my\npreparations were made in five minutes; merely a saddle, sabre, spurs,\npistols, undress jacket, riding trowsers and serapa. The same night I\nrode to the Presidio, where General Anaya politely furnished me with a\nspecial passport, and afforded every facility to expedite the journey\nthrough his immediate command. Returning to the port at daylight, a\nletter of credit awaited me, which, with a dispatch enclosed in oiled\nsilk and concealed in the lining of my jacket, completed my\narrangements. A ship of war had been ordered to land me at San Blas, a\nport some one hundred and thirty miles down the coast, and considered\nthe nearest practicable route to Mexico. I was to be accompanied by a\nMexican officer, a dark pop-eyed little man, of a quiet and gentlemanly\ndemeanor, who was bound on a mission to his own government, and took\npassage with us in the frigate.\n\nAttended by light flyaway airs and calms, we were nearly three days in\naccomplishing the short distance of the voyage, and it was not until\nnightfall of the 13th, that the good ship lay becalmed a few miles from\nthe shore. With my fellow traveller, I was tossed into a boat, and after\na smart pull of two hours, we were safely landed up a narrow estero, on\nthe banks of which was placed the little town of San Blas, apparently\noverstocked with musquitos. A letter to a Chinaman, named Passio, made\nhim yell for his servants; before midnight had struck, after embracing a\nnumber of officers from two of our ships at anchor there, we went pacing\naway through the thick foliage, answering to the echo the loud shouts of\nthe friends left behind--it was thus began my rough notes and jolts on a\nMexican saddle. We were accompanied by a guide, and a pack-mule for my\ncompanion's portmanteau. My wardrobe did not require one--consisting of\ntwo shirts and a tooth-brush.\n\nThe horse I bestrode was not very beautiful to behold, certainly--being\nwhat is technically termed in animal structure--a singed cat; but\nnevertheless he rattled along bravely, without a jolt, plunge, or\nstumble, and we got on famously together. We contrived to while away\nmiles and hours, coursing along the _marismas_ of the sea, with a clear\nbright moon to light us; or winding through magnificent forests of\nsycamore and pine, beneath dense thickets, arched with vines, cactus and\nacacia;--grouped here and there with palmettos, or cocoanuts, crackling\nin the breeze--and looking for all the world like long-legged\ntrowserless turbaned Turks. The scene was quite exhilarating, and even\nmy comrade allowed his huge moustache to be parted; but whether owing to\nthe pure air, and excitement of the ride, or the yet purer brandy from\nhis _alforgas_, his hitherto taciturn tongue was let loose, and we\nbecame bosom friends on the spot. He had put sufficient in his mouth to\nsteel away his brains, and not a little to my surprise--though I\nexpressed none--he shortly proposed to me a capital plan of cheating the\ngovernment: that by keeping together--he being empowered to take horses\nfor nothing--we might charge the full amount, and halve the proceeds. I\nreadily assented, sealed the bargain by a squeeze that nearly wrenched\nhim from the saddle, and resolved to cut his fascinating society at the\nfirst convenient opportunity. This gentleman bore the reputation of\nbeing one out of a few honest officers in the Mexican army. However, it\nis but justice to state that these little sins of commission are not\nregarded in so serious a light as with us; although I could not help\nspeculating on the beautiful moral attributes possessed by the remainder\nof the army. They have a very trite saying, which hits their case\nprecisely: _Primero jo, pues mi padre_--me first, then daddy.\n\nAt about three o'clock we had left the grounds bordering upon the ocean,\nfor the first step to the temperate terrace. Alighting at a large\nrancho, we unceremoniously aroused some sleeping figures--had a mess of\nscrambled eggs--thence to horse again. We soon gained the highland, by\nbridle-paths skirting along crests of hills and ravines, until daylight\nfound us ambling from one to the other, in an everlasting up-and-down\nroute, both tiresome and monotonous. Eight leagues of this work brought\nus to the more elevated region of the plateau--a more open country, with\nnow and then a rancho--cultivated fields--broader roads, and all the\nsigns of approaching a large town; then in a moment the view opened upon\na broad, lovely plain, framed in by three noble swells of sierras, and\nbefore us lay long lines of buildings and gardens, with a thin stream\nwinding down the slopes, like a white thread--and this was Tepic.\nLeaving my compañero at a meson, I swung myself from the saddle, after a\ntwenty-eight leagues ride, within the spacious _patio_ of an American\ngentleman's house, to whom I was regularly endorsed--Mr. Bissell. He\nreceived me in the kindest manner possible--washed, shaved and\nbreakfasted me, and put all in train for a renewed start by night. We\ncalled on the Commandante Aristi, who declared the inexpressible\npleasure he experienced at the sight of me, signed my passport, and\nbowed us most politely out of the house, even to the furthermost\ndoor-step. This state visit over, I took a sound nap, and was aroused in\nseason for a bath. We rode to the green suburbs of the town, where were\nnice thatched sheds stretching half way over a rapid stream. After a\nrefreshing swim, and a sip of lemonade filled with caraway seeds, we\nreturned to dine on delightful brook trout, and pleasant vinous\naccompaniments. The horses were again equipped, and making a tour of the\ncity, we stopped at the cotton mills belonging to the wealthy English\nhouse of Barron, Forbes & Co. The _Fabrica_ stands at the base of a\nsteep hillete--composed of large white buildings, encircled by high\nwalls on three sides, and the fourth facing an impetuous torrent, from\nwhich a strong body of water is diverted to drive the machinery. The\nbanks were handsomely walled up, and laid out in parterres, prettily\nplanted with shrubbery, all bearing the impress of great care and\nbeauty. Further down the stream was an extensive garden, with broad\nalleys, arbors and spacious tanks, teeming with fruits, flowers and\nexotics of the rarest kinds.\n\nThe senior owner of the manufactory, Mr. Forbes, did the honor to play\ncicerone, and take me over the works. There were about five thousand\nspindles in operation; then working day and night. The machinery was a\nbeautiful specimen of American ingenuity; nearly all the overseers, and\nthe intelligent superintendent, Mr. Whiting, boasted of the same origin.\nNone but coarser fabrics, suitable for the Mexican market, were milled;\nbut the profits were enormous, having netted the previous year a\nfraction less than two hundred thousand dollars. The operatives were\nall natives; and although, I was told, without the wish or energy to\nrise, still they did very well in the work required.\n\nI never saw out of Europe or the United States, or Continental America,\nor in even the British Colonies, such extensive improvements keeping so\nclose a wake to the rushing march of the age; all, however, begun and\nmatured by the indomitable skill and enterprise of the intelligent\nowners.\n\nI left Tepic two hours before midnight, and made all sail under a heavy\npress of spurs and stirrups. I said adios to the _Capitan_, who assured\nme his frame was deplorably jolted, and that he felt unable to proceed.\nThe fact was, the Don carried too much weight for anything beyond a\nquarter stretch. I was recompensed for the loss of his society by the\nattendance of two dark _mozos_ as guides, and three spare horses; but\nwith the beasts I must confess having been decidedly duped: I booked\nthem to Guadalajara, but they were neither swift nor well gaited. My\nattendants expressed great regret, as a matter of course, which did not\nprevent the avalanche of blessings with which they were indulged. At\nsunrise we dismounted a minute, for coffee, at a small village, with an\nunpronouncable jaw-cracking Indian name. It was a very pretty spot,\nshrubby and treesy, with a noisy rivulet washing the door-steps of an\nold ruined chapel. A barefooted damsel was quite attentive to my\npencilling occupations, and with an inquisitive frown and nod, as much\nas to inquire--\"What on earth is he about?\"--handed me a little glazed\npot of wheat-coffee; but being a courier of the grand route, and having\nno time to satisfy the muchachita'a curiosity, I swallowed the beverage,\nthrew her a peseta, and while she was hunting for the change, we were in\nthe saddle and off. At ten of the clock we halted at the hamlet of\nOcultilti, in front of a little mud-built _fonda_, where, for a Mexican\nmiracle, was laid a tolerably clean cloth upon a table. The road thus\nfar had been hilly and rugged, and the last five miles a tedious clamber\nover a mountain-pass. My horses had given out, and I felt a strong\ninclination to shoot the lying guides for imposing on me; but the\npatrona of the inn sent every boy in the place scampering in search of\nfresh horses, while she busied herself at the fire getting a breakfast\nof everlasting _frijoles_. In reply to my anxiety for more beasts, she\ncontinually repeated--_Quien sabe! hay muchos! si Señor!_--in this part\nof Mexico the oft-repeated exclamation--Who knows! there are thousands!\nPresently appeared two ragged, filthy Indians. They approached each\nother, tipped their broad sombreros, at an angle like to the rings of\nSaturn. _Como está vd? Muy bueno! Me allegro, y la familia? Para servir\nvd!_ They kept up this strain of compliment for ten minutes, neither\nletting go hands nor hats--until my patience becoming exhausted at such\nfatiguing politeness--I let the lash of my whip fall lovingly around\ntheir legs. \"I say, my fine fellows, are there any horses to be had?\"\n_Quién sabe! Señor, hay muchos!_ they both replied in a breath; but\nnothing more satisfactory could I learn. The boys never came back! the\nmistress became less civil after getting paid for her breakfasts; and\nafter vainly waiting an hour, I felt convinced there was not a\nfour-legged brute in the hamlet, or that the two-legged ones were too\nlazy to find them. Selecting the best of our spavined jades, we stumped\nslowly on, and a league beyond came to a post-house; here a good-natured\ndame, in the absence of her helpmate, mounted a mule, and soon drove up\na cavallada. Transferring the saddles to better beasts, and followed by\na diminutive elf, to bring them back, we continued our journey. The\nroads became smoother, and less broken; the country presented a more\nsmiling aspect: green fields of grain, and cultivated plantations of the\nargave, covered the sides of hills and valleys. Pursuing a course\nthrough a well-watered district, without any evidences visible of\nvolcanic origin, our road was suddenly closed by a very curious lava\nformation--an elevation not in the highest parts more than eighty\nfeet--springing strangely and abruptly from the table land of the vale.\nThere were acres upon acres of black volcanic masses thrown up into the\nmost fantastic shapes; there were churches and altars, castles and\ncoaches, figures of men and monkeys--with clusters of straight, slender\ncactus, in full flower, shooting far above all--rearing their white and\nred torch-like heads, as if to light up the black congregation below;\nwhich from a distance struck me as bearing a miniature resemblance to\nthe Giant's Causeway. We passed this barrier, over a deep cut of\nslippery aqueous lava, when we again debouched into the _vega_, took a\nlave in a cool, clear torrent, and then came on at a great pace to the\ntown of Aguacatlan.\n\nFrom a hasty glance it appeared a nice place, and we drew up at a\nspacious meson, facing a pretty plaza, lined by magnificent rows of\nelms, with a handsome church in front. All looked gay withal: troops of\nvagabonds and girls were passing and repassing the portals. In a lofty\nhall of the Fonda, I had an excellent supper, washed down by a flask of\ncapital bordeaux, which, the maestro informed me, had lain an unsaleable\ndrug on his hands for eleven years. Passing from the sala to a shop in\nthe building, I found a crowd of idlers, absorbing cigarillos and\nhearkening to the harangue of a stout fellow, shrouded in a seedy\nserapa: he was striving to awaken their patriotism by violently\ndeclaiming against the policy, of the Mexican government, for tolerating\nan idea of peace, and lavishing a fair share of abuse upon the Yankees.\n_Christo! Señores!_ said he, \"why didn't General _Skote_ attack Piñon,\nwhere all was prepared for him, instead of creeping around the valley to\nChurubusco? Answer me that! _Porque Señores los Yankis son cobardes!\ntodos! toditos!_\"--Because every mother's son of the Americans were\ncowards. Upon the conclusion of this speech, he honored me with a\nclose inspection, and apparently not being satisfied, touched his\ncastor by way of formal introduction. \"Capitan,\" he suggested,\n\"you belong to the cavalry.\" I nodded. \"Ay, he knew that by my\n_divisas_--shoulder-straps--but he mistook me at first for one of the\nSan Patricios. Where was I bound?\" I shrugged my shoulders. \"Did I know\nMazatlan?\" I had been there. This last admission quite won his\nconfidence; so, grasping me by the elbow, he drew me aside, and informed\nme that he was on a mission to that port for the purchase of arms to put\nin the hands of flaming red-hot patriots in Guadalajara; and that any\nintelligence to further his designs would be highly acceptable. I, of\ncourse, gave him all necessary information, and at the same time dropt a\nline by the post, which was the means of giving him an opportunity to\ninspect vacant apartments in the _carcel_, for some weeks after his\narrival. Having no more time to waste, I left the good people to pump my\n_mozos_, whilst I took a short nap.\n\nBefore midnight, nerved by a cup of strong coffee, we mounted, and six\nleagues of rapid riding carried us to the post-house of Istlan. There\nwas just light enough by the moon to reveal all the quiet beauty of the\nlittle town. The square was deserted; not a dog bayed; the noble trees\nwith drooping branches reposed motionless in the air; not a sound was\nheard but the uneasy plashing of the sparkling fountain in the centre;\nand there was not a vestige of life, save a solitary twinkling taper\nthat shone through the open door of the post-house. Our shouts echoed\nback from the tall walls of the church on the opposite side of the\nplaza, and soon brought a gruff personage to the street. It was the\n_administrador_ himself. He inquired, what _demonios_ dared to raise\nsuch a din, when his venerable sire, Don Pancho, was stretched upon the\nbier, and masses to be said for his soul as soon as day dawned? I have\never remarked, that the safest mode of treating perverse, obstinate\npersons, who are resolved to quarrel, is to approach close to them, in a\nmoral sense, and--like to dealing with a fierce ram by patting him on\nthe tail--they have no space to rear and pitch into one. It is time\nenough to bid defiance when this system fails. Bowing to the saddle-bow,\nhat in hand, I thus began: \"Pardon me, my good friend! had we known of\nyour bereavement, be assured we should have torn our teeth out, rather\nthan have disturbed your grief: we are bound _extraordinario_! If there\nbe no horses, at least oblige us with a cup of water to wash down a\nmeasure of this oily _licor_ from the grand Meson of Aguacatlan, and\noblige us by touching it first to your own lips!\" I saw by the moon's\nsilver beams athwart his rubicund visage, that he relented; whereupon,\npaying him some sorrowful compliments upon the demise of his aged\nparent, I quite conquered his anger. Leaving me in charge of the defunct\nold gentleman, I puffed a cigarillo, while he went to get beasts for the\nguides, and his own mule for my use, as he assured me, _bueno y muy\nvivo_--lively as a cricket. In a few minutes we were again upon the\nroad. Skirting along the banks of a small river for a couple of leagues,\nwe then crossed to the opposite side, where hills arose in endless\nsuccession, soaring to the clouds in the distance, and where we were\ndestined to pass. It was the _Plan de Barrancas_. I had for the past\nhour been venting maledictions on the administrador and his _vivo_\nmule, for I never saw any but monks and muleteers who properly\nunderstand their peculiar management. To one, like myself, ignorant of\nthe habits of these quadrupeds--never mind how expert a horseman he may\nbe--if they ever be urged out of their usual amble on a level space,\ntheir gallop is such a jerking short pace, that the inexperienced rider\nwill be kept alternately shifting his position from withers to rump, at\nevery stride. But commend me to a good mule; over a broken country,\nwhere their delicate little hoofs find a secure foothold over shelving\nrocks, or upon the brink of a yawning precipice, where you drop the\nbridle, close your eyes and offer up an orison for your blessed mule to\nbear you safely. And with what sagacity they feel their way, and how\noften an imprudent rider will find cause to bless his stars that the\nwilful little beast takes the bit in the mouth, and obstinately pursues\nhis own path! However, as I said before, they are not pleasant animals\nwhen the danger is passed; then they become at times unreasonably\nperverse, and persuasions, punchings, or spurrings, only serve to\nexhaust strength and temper, without any avail.\n\nOur speed became necessarily slow, the country more and more barren, and\nthe paths stony and uneven; still we passed from height to height,\ngradually ascending, until we came to the base of the great _Barrancas_.\nHere, much to my surprise, commenced a well-constructed military road,\nvery broad, and coped in by a wall of loose stones, winding around the\neastern brow of the _sierra_. In some places near the summit, I am\nconfident, a dollar could be thrown four thousand feet before striking\nthe base of the gorge that splits the great chain, asunder. The view was\nbird-eyish, and rather good--with the bright green dells below, in\npretty contrast to the red basaltic rocks above--but limited by peaks of\nthe surrounding heights. The road itself is a far more substantial work\nthan the traveller is prepared to meet with in this part of Mexico,\nwhere everything relative to easy locomotion appears to have been left\nas nature and the mules will it. Still, but little reputation is lost in\nthe way of consistency; for the moment the mountain is passed, the route\nagain becomes little better than a sheep path. Although crossing this\nfine road caused me some astonishment; yet a little before, I was thrown\ninto a stupor of amazement, to behold lying in the pathway a long iron\nthirty-two pounder gun, of the heaviest ship's calibre and weight! My\n_mozos_ informed me, that this was the only one out of six that did not\nreach Guadalajara from San Blas--a distance of more than three hundred\nmiles! They were intended for service in battery, during the revolt of\n1825. Each was under the guidance of one hundred and fifty Indians with\nanimals, and it occupied many months in accomplishing the transit; but\nnotwithstanding these ample means, I'll venture to affirm that no one in\nhis natural senses, after making the journey, could be induced to\nbelieve that anything greater than a mule-pack--to say nothing of an\nenormous piece of ordnance--could be transported over such numbers of\nstreams, ravines, paths and mountains! The thing seems nearly\nimpossible.\n\nWe toiled over the Barrancas--threaded the valleys below, when taking\nanother ascent, we attained a level, barren uncultivated region, and\nshortly drew bridles at the great Meson of _Muchatilta_. From an outside\nview of the spacious inn--its fanciful frescos, and highly brilliant\nexterior--we reasonably inferred that something even more delectable\nmight be found within. Yet although the patrona was neither ill-looking\nnor ill-natured, she _siento 'd muchissimo_, and still declared there\nwas naught more palatable than _frijoles_. However, our appetites were\nkeen, and we made a good deal go a little way, for we had ridden\nnineteen leagues since midnight. Bidding adieu to my _vivo_ mule, by\npatting his sleek neck--not the least the worse for his work, while the\nhorses were well nigh done up,--I gave him a loaf of bread, in gratitude\nfor bearing me safely. With a fresh relay of horses, and the sun on the\nmeridian, we left the brightly-painted meson, and continued our journey.\nEver since mounting up to the _tierra templada_, near Tepic, the climate\nhad been delightful--neither uncomfortably warm during the day, nor too\ncool to travel with a serapa at night. By urging our cattle we made ten\nleagues, and reached the town of Madalena at twilight, where a stubborn\nold administrador refused to give me a change of horses. The fact was I\ndeceived myself, in supposing the journey could be made as quickly by\ntaking a cavallada from one city to another, as by the government post;\nand through ignorance of the formalities, I had omitted to take out a\nlicense. It is a very simple process, and consists in merely paying\nexorbitantly, at about the rate of a third of a dollar per league for\nthe privilege of demanding beasts from agents on the roads--that is\nsupposing they are to be had, and generally they are not; but if there\nchance to be found any beasts in the corral, they are such horrid\nbrutes, as not to be worth, even to a cunning cabman, the rial you are\nto pay per league. These are the animals pertaining to the Republic.\nAfter a mournful inspection of their raw hides and protruding ribs, the\nadministrador may possibly hint that if the traveller requires a good\nhorse there are two or three belonging to a neighbor that might be\nprocured by paying over and over the legal charge. This system of\ncorruption is the chief cause of the heavy expense of travelling in\nMexico: honesty in its lightest sense is unknown, and the principle\nthroughout nearly all classes is one of fraud and extortion. Indeed if\nthe rage for foreign travel ever leads our rising generations to extend\ntheir tours to these lands, their respectable governors will deserve\nmuch sympathy on cashing the bills, and perhaps be induced to believe\nthat their progeny have fallen among the Philistines.\n\nFinding nothing was to be gained from the Madelena proprietor of\nhorse-flesh, I betook myself to the Alcalde; my special passport making\nit imperative on all military and civil authorities to afford me succor,\nsustenance, and all sorts of _ausilios_--that is if they deemed\nadvisable;--but I depended more upon the yellow onças in my\ntrowsers-pocket, which gave a zest to their exertions, and did not\nrender them lukewarm in complying with the orders conveyed in the\npassport. The townspeople were under arms, and a guard of some thirty\npaisanos were assembled outside the courtroom. They received me with a\n\"present arms,\" and one adept in soldiership let his musket fall to the\nstone floor, exploding the piece, and driving a mass of paper wads, and\na quantity of slugs, over the gateway; whereupon they all put by their\nweapons, and whacked the unfortunate victim over the head with sabres.\nMy terror subsiding, I presented myself to the Alcalde, whom I\nfound--_mirabile dictu_--quite a civil, intelligent young man. He\ninformed me that a strong body of highwaymen had occupied a hill within\na league of the town, and every evening succeeded in carrying off what\nthey required, by breaking into houses, maltreating the residents, and\nrobbing every man, woman, and child on the road. He strongly urged me to\ndefer my journey until troops which were expected, could arrive, and in\nthis he was seconded by a number of travellers, who were also awaiting\nsafe convoy. The advice, though well intended, was far from changing my\npurpose to proceed, and after receipting for the value of the horses in\ncase of capture, I prepared for a start. There being no regular soldiers\nin the place, no money could induce the timid paisanos to act as escort;\nand then I began to discover the true value of my guides. They had been\nunder the ban of my displeasure for cheating me with their beasts; but\nthey had determined faces, and in reply to my question if they intended\nto fight, both exclaimed, _Hasta muerto! Señor_--until death!--this\nrestored them to favor. Entrusting each with a sum of money, I drew the\nloads from their carbines, carefully recharged them with balls and\nbuck-shot, looked to my own pistols, and mounted. Moving quietly through\nthe back streets of the town, we struck the main road, where we\nencountered a poor Padre who had been robbed of seventeen dollars,\nrelieved of his mule, and stripped of all his raiment, save gown and\ncravat. _Santa Maria!_ said my _mozos_--\"no respect for the church!\" The\ngood priest gave us his blessing, and the exact position of the\nvillains. _Adios, mi padre!_ It was eleven at night, the moon was\nrising, and we kept the horses nearly as possible in the shade of the\nroadside foliage--going very leisurely--until on the slope of a hill to\nthe right, we saw a number of fires casting a lurid blaze around, and\nfigures moving before them. Approaching nearer, a din of shouts,\nchaunts, and laughter, saluted our ears, for the rogues were evidently\nmaking merry over their potations. The road sounded hollow over the hard\nclay, and on descending a narrow canal-like passage, that just left our\nheads visible above, we unslung carbines, and with cocked weapons, I\ngave the word--_Vamanos_--let us fly. The noise of horses' hoofs\nthundering over the hard ground instantly attracted attention; we were\ngreeted by loud yells of _Quien es? halta! halta!_--and plainly saw a\nscore or more running to intercept us, with the barrels of their arms\nglancing in the moonlight; but deuce the syllable did we utter, but\ndriving the spur yet deeper into our steeds, we went flying along,\nsingle file; in thirty seconds we were shielded by a high wall of rocks,\nand in a short time had lost sight and sound of our pursuers. I think\nthey were quite unprepared for travellers at so late an hour, or our\nflight could easily have been barred. Yet it is anything else than a\njoke, to be encircled by a legion of these scamps--stripped stark\nnaked--certainly beaten and robbed--or perhaps shot. Besides there are\nso many nice secluded spots, where, like Fra Diavolo, \"on a rock\nreclining,\" behind a jutting ledge, or precipice, these rascals could\ninsinuate the dark barrel of a carbine in one's ear, and cry\n_Entregarse, o no la Vida!_--surrender, or your life!--Not pleasant,\nsurely, and I was delighted to escape scot free--clothed in my breeks.\n\nAt full gallop we rode into the town of Tequilla: considerably fatigued,\nfor I had not slept in forty hours, excepting perhaps now and then a\nbrief cat-nap in the saddle--of a second or two duration--wherein one\nmay dream of years of adventure. However, I determined to hold on twelve\nleagues beyond, to Guadalajara. It was daylight, and I found Tequilla\nquite a large place: with picturesque church, clusters of fine trees,\nall snugly posed in a bowl-like valley--fertile and well watered, with\nextensive plantations of the _argave_ extending far as the eye could\ncompass, over the neighboring country.\n\nWhilst a relay of horses were being sent for, the landlord of the meson\naccompanied me to a running brook, where I cooled my jolted\nframe--swallowed a bowl of coffee, lit a cigar, and learned that we were\nthe first travellers who had passed in five days, and that a detachment\nof cavalry was hourly looked for, to dislodge the rogues near Madelena.\nFeeling now indifferent about the matter, we got into the saddle, and\nonce more gave spur towards our destination. The road was tolerable, the\nhorses were better, and the country became more populous. Once the\ngrateful steam of fried fish involuntarily caused me to halt for a hasty\nbreakfast; but it was only for a moment--when on we rushed, up hill and\ndown slope, splashing over water-courses--passing huge, ungainly carts,\nwith hewn timber wheels, creaking and groaning to market, while vehicles\nalso of a more modern build lumbered slowly along, with six or eight\nmules ahead. Then I doffed my sombrero to a gay young officer in advance\nof a well-appointed troop of cavalry, and, with horses white with foam,\nwe dismounted at the outer garita of Guadalajara. It was a small village\nand military post, seven leagues from the city, having a great stone\narch and gateway commanding the road. Another relay, and an hour's\ngallop brought the spires and towers of the goodly town in\nsight--standing in the midst of an immense plain, and watered by a\nbranch of the Rio Grande. Passing through a town, with a noble church\nand convent, we crossed the river by a substantial stone bridge, where\nstood statues of Santa Anna and other patriots, with their noses knocked\noff, and faces otherwise scarified. After being detained for inspection\nat a guardhouse, we entered the city proper, through long lines of paved\nstreets, until we pulled up in front of the palace, at the house of Don\nDomingo Llamas, to whom I had letters.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n\nGuadalajara is a beautiful city, of an hundred thousand people, laid out\nin broad, regular streets, with solid and imposing houses, painted\noutside gaily in frescoes--and plazas, fountains, shady alamedas, richly\nadorned churches, and fine public buildings. It is the capital of the\npopulous province of Jalisco, famed for its wealth, and only second in\nimportance to the city of Mexico itself. The crowds of well-dressed\npedestrians that thronged the streets and squares, the well-appointed\ntroops, elegance of the buildings, and smart appearance of equipages and\ndashing horsemen, all gave the air, even at a rapid glance, of great\nease and opulence.\n\nThe gentleman to whom I was endorsed, Señor Llamas, had been in early\nlife an _arriero_, but by the force of merit and ability he had urged\nhimself to his level, and became a person of immense wealth, universally\nrespected, and occupying a place of high judicial trust under the state.\nHe possessed more energy, quickness and enthusiasm, than any Mexican I\nmet with, before or since. After arranging in the minutest details\neverything for my comfort and speed on the road, I went to a very good\nstopping-place, the _Fonda de Diligencia_. Here I bathed, and slept\nuntil the streets became noisy with vehicles and horses passing for the\nafternoon's drive. Facing my balcony, in an opposite dwelling, there\nappeared a lady of exceeding beauty, or, as the porter of the hotel\ntold me in reply to my exclamation, _Si Señor! bonita como un\npeso_--lovely as a dollar. She first appeared at the gilt-railed balcony\nin the dishabille of the country, that is, with only skirts of the\ndress--the sleeves and bodice hanging down in front; leaving the person\nfrom waist up only slightly concealed by the camisetta, which half\nreveals and half hides the shoulders and bosom. One must be blind,\nindeed, not to become something of a connoisseur in female beauty, after\nresiding any length of time in Mexico; for the flimsy veil, which is\nusually worn in the day by all classes of women, only serves, by the\npliant grace of their movements, to render their forms more defined and\nattractive. But to return to my vis-a-vis. At a second visit to the\nbalcony, the bodice was laced, and superb masses of hair fell like a\ndark cloud over neck and arms. At a later period the toilette was\ncompleted, with a lace mantilla, and her tresses braided in two long\nplaits. A dear little baby was crowing upon her breast, and the\nbeautiful Señora amused herself by entwining and knotting the braids of\nher hair under the infant's arms, when she swung the little fellow to\nand fro, in the most graceful manner conceivable. I never beheld so\ncharming a duet. The bell sounded for dinner--there was a well-set\ntable, and among a number of pleasant conversible persons, I made the\nacquaintance of a particularly intelligent and amiable priest, who very\nkindly acted as cicerone in my after rambles. We rose from the table\nd'hôte as the military band began the night's performance in the plaza.\nThe marble-paved paths and the benches were filled before we got there,\nand we found some difficulty in getting places; but when my cigar got\nfairly under way, and eyes widely open, I did and do still take it upon\nme to affirm, that no town in the universe can boast of so much female\nbeauty. Not only were they in fives, but fifties. My friend, the little\nPadre, appeared to be very generally beloved. Nearly all paused a moment\nto say a kind word or greeting, and thus I had a clear chance of\nobserving the pretty throngs that swept by. They were so tastefully\nattired in full flowing and becoming skirts, with no awkward stays or\ncorsets to cramp the grace of motion--the coquettish _ribosa_, never\nquiet an instant, but changing its silken folds, and half revealing the\nglancing neck and arm!--the hair, too; such hair! _ay de mi!_ no odious\nbonnets to conceal God's fair handiwork!--then their arched tiny feet,\nkissing the marble pavement, with so firm, so light, yet dignified a\ntread--and then the elders, sailing majestically astern of their lovely\nconvoys--like ships of the line--regarding with wary eyes privateers in\ndisguise of gay young cavaliers, crossing their track. _Hola!_ what\nblockade could intercept those softly audible murmurs! or the light\ndowny touch of dimpled fingers, quick as a swallow's kiss to his mate!\nor, more than all, withstand the languid, lightning glances flashed from\ntheir upper deck of eyes! _Avé purissima!_ the waking hours by day, and\nsleepless ones by night, that Spanish maidens have caused me! \"I'm not a\nlover now,\" but still, I derived great consolation in admiring these\nsweet donçellas; and fearing a relapse to former maladies, I shook hands\nwith the Padre, buckled on spurs and sabre, and as the cathedral bell\nwas tolling ten, I was leaving Guadalajara, with its blaze of lights and\nbeauty, behind me.\n\nTaking the main road for three hours, we crossed the Great Bridge, and\nturning to the north, struck the route of the Haciendas, which in lieu\nof smooth travelling and robbers, possessed the advantages of safety,\nand a more direct communication to the interior. At daylight, we had\nridden nineteen leagues, on capital animals, who never once slackened\nthe reins in their mouths. I was not only indebted to Don Domingo for\nthese excellent adjuncts to my journey, but for a few written lines\nalso, to divers persons along the road, which seemed to infuse them with\na portion of their master's energy; besides, he had sent his own trusty\ncourier with me as guide. This was an old man of sixty, strong, active,\nand honest: in youth he had proved himself a brave soldier; in virtue of\nwhich he was permitted to carry--besides his carbine--a long lance, and\npennon that fluttered in the breeze. He frequently went without sleep,\nfor three days and nights successively, when riding express for his\npatron. I made old Cypriano my commissary, and he always became\nfrightfully incensed, when called upon to pay more than he deemed the\nservice demanded; but again he would laugh heartily, when urging a beast\nthat had been overcharged, with a lash and a kick at every leap--which\nhe called taking a medios worth. Indeed Cypriano, from long riding, had\nbecome a little callous, in thus visiting the sins of the masters upon\nthe beasts, and believed in the superstition, that hired horses had no\nsouls.\n\nThe face of the country was fast losing its abruptness; mountains were\nverging into hills with table tops, and long sweeping undulations\nstretching away in the hazy distance. It was very open, fertile, and\nwell-tilled, but neither wooded, nor so profusely watered as the lands\nseaward of Guadalajara.\n\nEarly in the afternoon we entered the little town of Tepantitlan, where\na huge wheezing gentleman gave me a brute troubled with his own\ncomplaint, but transferring him to the treatment of Doctor Cypriano, we\nthen got on in fine style. The night was far advanced when we reached a\nround, portly mountain, called Cerro Gordo; where tarrying at a small\nsettlement, the keeper of a rancho surlily resisted opening his gateway,\nuntil he heard the talismanic name of Don Domingo--then the door nearly\nflew off the hinges. A relay was, with some delay and trouble, procured,\nwhen again in the saddle. The road was stony and tortuous, so that we\nhad thirteen tedious leagues to crawl and stumble over. Gladly we threw\nourselves from the fagged-out beasts, and sought the residence of a\ngood-natured paisano, owning a large rancho, a large wife, and two large\ndaughters. Giving orders to be called in an hour, my spurs were no\nsooner unclasped than I fell into heavy slumber, on a low bed beneath an\nimage of the virgin. When the time had expired, I was aroused by my\nfaithful guide. One of the girls was seated on the ground, near the\nfire, with a stone trough and roller before her, busily employed with a\nbatch of unleavened dough, of which, when consistently kneaded, she\nwould catch up a dab, press it between the palms, and as the mass\nenlarged she began patting and tossing it from hand to hand until it\nspread into round, thin cakes; they were then laid upon a flat piece of\nsheet-iron, and browned over the fire; these were _tortillas_: they have\na taste like the oaten-cakes in Scotland, and are not particularly\npalatable to a young practitioner. A chicken had also been grilled on\nsticks, which, with a mixture they called coffee, served me for\nbreakfast.\n\nHorses were ready in the corral, and saying adios to the fat family, we\ngalloped, away. A bathe in a roadside brook, and two changes of beasts,\nand at three in the afternoon we toiled slowly over some dry, chalky\nhills, and looked down upon Los Pueblos del Rincon. It was a very\npretty, verdant spot, almost hidden in foliage, and reposing in an angle\nof wide and extended plateau. Having a note to the Commandante, I went\nstraight to his quarters: but being a merchant as well as soldier, I was\ntold he could be found at his shop, in the plaza. On going thither he\nwas indulging in siesta, and notwithstanding the urgency of my\nrequests, no one could be found foolhardy enough to disturb his\nslumbers; nor was I permitted to do so myself. I then trotted across the\nsquare, and presented my passports to the Alcalde, who having already\nbeen mollified by repose, consented to find some brave individual to\nawaken the sleeping rajah opposite. \"_Señor_,\" said I, hat in hand,\n\"very sorry to incommode you, but necessity of the case,\" and so forth.\nHe continued scowling quite ferociously while buttoning his trowsers,\nand as he pulled over his suspenders, and arranged them to his\nsatisfaction, demanded what was wanted. \"Oh, nothing!\" said I, \"merely\nan order from General Yañes in Guadalajara,\" throwing the missive\ntowards him. It acted as a charm: \"_Jésu, Señor_, excuse me--those\nrascals never told me you were waiting!\"\n\nGood animals were soon provided; and amid all Don Manuel Garcia's\ngenerosity, he was pleased to sell me a bottle of sour wine from the\n_tienda_; for which we ran his beasts, with a heavy thunder-storm of\nwind and rain close upon our heels for a long six leagues. The road had\nled through a rich, level district, covered with forests of fine timber,\nand abounding in cultivated fields of grain. Presently clusters of\nspires and towers sprang from the plain, and coursing through suburbs of\nwalled gardens, convents, and country dwellings--all gratefully reposing\nbeneath the shade of overhanging trees--we entered the city of Leon. It\nincludes, with the environs, a thriving population of near sixty\nthousand souls; delightfully situated in the heart of one of the most\nsalubrious table-lands of the higher terraces of Mexico. The town,\nthough inferior to Guadalajara in elegance, can still boast of much\nmanufacturing wealth, with fine churches, spacious squares, and great\nuniformity in the general construction of the houses, while streams of\npure water traverse it in every street, and irrigate the extensive\nsuburbs around. Indeed, let a Spaniard alone for choosing a pleasant\nsite, near good water; not that these their descendants have any cleanly\npredilections that way, for, on the contrary--except for the commonest\npurposes of drinking--their general filthiness of habit induces the\nbelief that they are universally imbued with a hydrophobial aversion\nthereto.\n\nWe rode through one of the main avenues of the city, and entered the\ngrand plaza as the great bell of the cathedral was slowly tolling for\n_oraçion_, and unconsciously we checked the horses, to behold a vast\nconcourse of many thousands silently kneel--with uncovered heads, and\nfaces turned towards the church--whilst all was hushed to perfect\nstillness. I never was more deeply impressed with an emotion of awe and\nsolemnity.\n\nThree sides of the large square were lined with _portales_, or arcades;\nwith every archway and open space filled with venders of glass, cigars,\ncutlery, saddlery, bridlery, and every kind of horse equipment; all,\nhowever, destitute of workmanlike finish. The plaza itself was crowded\nwith itinerant traders, screaming in every possible intonation of voice,\ntheir different wares. Stalls and booths were also doing a large\nbusiness in _licores_ and fried bits of meat, _frijoles_ and\n_tortillas_, but what carried away the commercial palm by long odds,\nwere the _dulce_ women. There were a number of these popular saleswomen,\nsquatted beneath huge umbrellas, full ten feet in diameter--surrounded\nby crowds of buyers--to whom they were dispensing papers of colored\nsugars, candies, and sweetmeats unceasingly. I passed them again the\nnext morning, when they appeared busy as ever; and I was an eye-witness\nto a little incident, wherein a centavo's worth of sugar was the cause\nof a fatal stab. A lepero was purchasing a bit of chocolate--it fell in\nthe dirt, when another, probably thinking it a lawful prize, seized it,\nand took a large bite; whereupon the lawful owner swung a mass of heavy\nsteel spurs attached to his wrist, jingling with some force, on the\noffender's head. In a second down dropped the spurs, and serapas were\nwound round the left arms. With low, deep curses and flashing eyes,\ntheir knives gleamed in the light; the spectators cleared a ring, and to\nwork they went. I sprang upon a stone pillar, to be out of harm's way,\nand thus had a clear view of the fray. Their blades were very unequally\nmatched: one was at least eight inches, and the other not half that\nmeasurement; but both appeared adepts at the game,--watching each other\nlike wild cats, ready for a spring--moving cautiously to and fro, making\nfeints by the shielded arm, or stamp of the foot, for a minute or two;\nwhen, quick as a flash, I saw two rapid passes made by both: blood\nspirted from an ugly wound in the spur-vender's throat, but at the same\nmoment his short weapon scaled the doom of his antagonist, and he lay\nstretched upon the ground, as lifeless as the bloody steel that struck\nhim. I glanced at the wounds after the affair had terminated, and found\nthe knife had been plunged twice directly in the region of the heart.\nThere was no effort or attempt made by the beholders to arrest the\nparties; and the survivor caught up his spurs--a bystander quickly\nfolded a handsome kerchief to his neck--and threading the crowd he was\nsoon out of sight. The corpse was laid upon a liquor-stand, with a delf\nplatter upon the breast.\n\nMy letter was to apparently the mercantile nabob of Leon, Don Miguel\nObregon. He had a long range of _tiendas_, with a handsome dwelling\nfilling a large space, facing the square. He received me civilly--had\nplaces taken in the diligence, which fortunately left the following\nmorning--and leaving my horse-trappings in his charge, I engaged a\njaunty young valet, who looked far more respectable than his new master.\nHe was dressed in blue velvet slashed trowsers, silver buttons thick as\npeas, embroidered shirt, with a glazed sombrero and silver band. Juan\nconducted me to a meson, which, like all other native inns in the\nrepublic of Mexico, has two large enclosures, or court yards: the inner\nones with stalls for beasts, and the other for bipeds--the only\ndifference is, that the accommodations for the latter animals are closer\nand the apartments more confined, having as a luxury a chair, and solid\nbrick structures raised a little way from the ground, whereon one may\nsleep, if he can endure the filth and fleas. This is all the furniture\nthey rejoice in. Each lodger has a key to his own quarters, and the main\ngateway is guarded continually--not, however, sufficiently vigilant as\nto the society admitted; for the patios are crowded with improper\npersons, who every few minutes make flying trips around the inn,\nknocking at the doors; then, droves of beasts coming or\ngoing--clattering over the paved yards, mingled with the whistles and\nshouts of the _arrieros_--are not altogether provocative of repose. At\nthe _Caravanserai_ where I lodged, there was a hump-backed Ganymede, of\nthe most hideous kind. I have thought since, he would have been a mine\nof wealth to an enterprising showman; or, in the dark ages, have made an\nacceptable present to some bold Baron. Although not more than five feet\nin height, his thin lucifer-match-like legs, being split up to the hump,\ngave him the stride of a giant! and what with keen, glittering, beady\neyes, and the footfall of a cat, he made my flesh creep whenever he came\nnear me.\n\nEvery body is his own cook and housekeeper in Mexican mesons; and old\nCypriano having procured me a wool mattrass that fairly danced with\n_pulgas_, and some long tallow links, which we stuck around the\nwalls--having no fears of a conflagration--I despatched Juan for the\nbest supper to be found. This amounted to red wine, beans and sausages.\nHowever, we made merry, and treated some gay damsels outside to the\nremains of our bottle. Cypriano then extinguished our illumination, and\nstretching himself on the threshold, covered by his serapa, with a\nweapon beside him, he left me to repose. It was my first night's rest\nsince leaving San Blas, that is, if the pile of bricks and mortar which\nupheld my frame could reasonably be supposed to afford it. Yet the\nfleas, for once, caused me no sensible annoyance, and I regained my feet\nat sunrise, in readiness for further journeyings. I was pleased, too, at\nthe prospect of quitting the saddle for a coach, although with good\nbeasts I preferred the former: but to be subjected to the misery of a\nracker--then a pacer--then a trot or gallop--and by way of change, a\nhorrible combination of all, with rapid travelling, is not only enough\nto jar one's nerves and aid his digestion, but to give a disinclination\nfor a continuance of it.\n\nParting with old Cypriano, who gave me some sensible advice about\nentrusting Juan with too much change, I sought the Diligence\nFonda--swallowed a hasty breakfast, and with no heavier baggage than a\nspare shirt and tooth-brush, took my place.\n\nContrary to expectation, and agreeably disappointed, I found the coach a\nthorough modern-built Yankee vehicle--comfortable and strong, with noble\nteams of five and six horses, that tugged us along quite ten miles the\nhour. The road was good, and a heavy shower had slaked the dust. The\ncountry was again broken into rocky hills and ravines. At two o'clock we\nreached the richest mining district of Mexico, in the neighborhood of\nGuanajuato. Within a league of the city proper the route leads through a\nvalley into a deep split gorge, with rugged, arid hills running high up\non all sides. Passing a number of mining _haciendas_ of great extent,\nthe city, bit by bit, begins to unfold itself. It presents a most\nextraordinary and picturesque appearance. The houses seem toppling one\nupon the other--built in zig-zags, up and down sharp corners and\ndefiles--with the spire or towers of some church perched away in\nmid-heaven, all brightly frescoed--the bases and gorges below being\nfilled in with thick mist--leaving the loftier portions in distinct\noutline--closely resembling a city suspended in the sky. No scene of the\ntheatre could be painted more singularly novel. It fairly made me giddy,\nas we came whirling through the outer defiles--turning hither and\nthither--catching a panoramic view of the town, like a glimpse in a\nprism, or revolutions of a kaleidoscope--when every moment one might\nexpect the whole fabric thrown into a sparkling succession of bright\ncolors--and what with the continual booming of reports from blastings in\nthe distant mines, I felt quite relieved when the diligence dashed down\na little pit of a plaza, and drove through a _porte cocher_ into the\ncourt-yard of our Fonda.\n\nMy coach companions were pleasant fellows--there was a padre, two mining\nagents, a gentlemanly young Mexican officer who had been adjutant to\nValencia, at the battle of Churubusco, and beside me sat a gentleman\npossessing a remarkably handsome face and person, with the loss of his\nright arm. He was French, Mons. Ribaud; he had been many years in the\ncountry--was intimately associated with the leading chiefs and\nrevolutions of Mexico--had fought desperately, bore the marks of\nhonorable wounds, and was a man of much military experience and\nacknowledged bravery; but latterly, owing to strong personal hostility\nexisting between him and Santa Anna, he had not been employed in battles\nof the North or valley of Mexico. I found Monsieur Ribaud delightful in\nconversation, and he related to me many adventures that had befallen him\nduring his long residence in the republic. On alighting from the coach,\nI attended him to the commandante's, where my passport was properly\nconsidered and countersigned, and an aide-de-camp kindly volunteered to\nbe my guide to the mint of the English directory. Here I was presented\nto the superintendent, Mr. Jones, an American, from Connecticut, who\nappeared pleased to meet a countryman, and showed me over the\nestablishment.\n\nThe machinery was of the most primitive kind--the stamping process\nworked by hand, with a lateral wooden beam acting upon a perpendicular\nscrew; at each end of the beam there was attached a small rope, pulled\nby four men, with an aperture in the floor sufficiently large to admit a\nman, just within arm's length of the stamp, who was employed placing\nsmooth coins beneath the dies--one would naturally suppose at the\nimminent risk of having his finger and thumb nipped off at every half\nrevolution of the lever; but practice renders the operative skilful at\nthe manipulation, and the screw descends, makes the impression, which is\nas regularly displaced by the smooth dollar and ready fingers of the man\nbelow. There were two of these apparatus, and they were only able to\ncoin about thirty thousand pieces in twenty-four hours. The contrivance\nis surely a bad one, very tedious and expensive. The coiners received\nseven-eighths of a dollar per thousand, and instances of dishonesty were\nrarely known. The dies were of English manufacture, but the reason why\nMexican money presents such a rough and unfinished appearance, is purely\nowing to their government, who insist upon the impressions being\nfacsimiles of those heretofore coined at their own mints.\n\nThe smelting process, the rolling, nipping, and milling machines, were\nall much behind the age, and although the silver mines were producing\nmore than ever before known, and more than, at the period of my visit,\ncould by any possibility be coined, yet the directory have taken no\nmeasures to introduce the valuable and beautiful labor-saving\nimprovements now in operation in Europe and the United States, where the\nsame work could be accomplished by fewer persons, executed certainly at\ninfinitely less expense, and with far greater facility and despatch.\n\nI saw vast piles of pure metal in the vaults, and uncountable masses of\ndollars. Before leaving, I was introduced to Mr. Bruff, treasurer to the\ninstitution, who, with Mr. Jones, treated me with every attention and\ncivility.\n\nOur _Fonda de la diligencia_ was well kept, commodious and respectable;\nwe sat down to the ordinary as a multitude of sweet-sounding bells were\nringing and chiming away with their brazen throats for evening vespers,\nand after partaking of a Frenchified Mexican dinner, I sallied out for a\nwalk. My companion knew the town, but in wandering about the steep\nangular elevations, I never dared to look up without catching hold of a\nbalcony or leaning against a wall, fearful of becoming dizzy, and\ntumbling down somewhere.\n\nEntering the _gran sociedad_, we passed through a long suite of bright\nsaloons--nearly suffocated by cigar smoke, or deafened by the incessant\nclicking of billiard balls--when we came to the monté and loto rooms.\nHere were grouped around a dozen different tables hundreds of players,\nfrom the plumed hats and shining lace of officers, to the mean dirty\nserapas of soldiers and leperos; all, however, earnestly intent marking\nwith grains of corn the numbers on the cards, as they were yelled forth\nby the loto man, who was seated on a raised platform at one end of the\nhall, watching the little ivory spheres as they dropped one by one out\nof a cylindrical box revolving before him. Further on were the monteros\nat work--with heaps of gold and silver piled around--with eager faces,\ncompressed lips, and glittering eyes absorbed in the intense interest of\nthe game--not a word or gesture save the dull monotonous voice of the\ndealers, like to the tolling of a bell--_Juégo señores! se va!_ with\neyes that never winked and lids rigid as sheet-iron. The cards were\npulled slowly and carefully one from the other, until the game was\ndecided, when took place the rattling chink of coins, with maybe the\ndeep uttered _carajo!_ of some unlucky wight who has lost a last stake;\nyet even he pursues the easy dignity of his race, rolls and lights a\ncigarrillo, draws his cloak around him, raises his sombrero gracefully,\nand with a polite _Hasta mañana señores!_ disappears from the table.\n\nWhile moving about the apartments, my comrade pointed out two young men\nin the Mexican uniform of captains, who were deserters from the American\narmy; one had been a lieutenant, named Sullivan; both bore the marks of\ndissipation in unmistakable lines around their faces.\n\nWe again touched our hats, an invariable sign of courtesy, religiously\npractised by all civilized beings on entering or leaving a public\nassemblage, and walked into the street. We took a sort of corkscrew\npromenade for a little space, when, by some strange flight of footsteps,\nwe found ourselves on the pavement of a triangular platform. Like to the\nframe of a convex mirror, encasing a sheet of blue moonlit sky--lay\nbefore, and as it were, trembling and tottering above us--one of the\nmany remarkable and scenic views of Guanajuato. Full in front against\nthe vaulted sky stood a double towered church, with dome, spires and\nwindows glistening like a transparency, then circling around were\nbright, gay-colored dwellings, with lights dancing from casement to\ncasement, while each separate cornice, balcony and window, threw back to\nthe silver moon a thousand sparkling reflections--all admirably\ncontrasted with the sombre shadows of the deep gorge below. The scene\nwas truly beautiful, and when within a few feet of our position, the\nfull soft tones of a piano came thrilling through the still night, and a\nfemale voice rose high and sweetly, \"ah!\" cried my friend, \"there's a\ndeal to live for yet;\" and we retraced our windings to the inn.\n\nWe were aroused at the first cock-crow, to take our seats in the\ndiligence; and rattling out of the city by the road we came, mounted a\nsteep eminence, when, gaining a flat sandy region, we soon lost sight of\nGuanajuato. During the forenoon we passed through a number of fine\npopulous towns. At Irapuato, M. Ribaud and his friend left us. In\nSalamanca, where we stopped to bait and change horses, a number of\nbeggars surrounded the coach, and in one I at once detected the pure\nMilesian brogue and visage. He was whining and limping about, with a\ntattered bat and stick, imploring alms in the most ludicrous attempts at\nthe Castilian tongue. \"Why, Pat, you're a deserter,\" said I, from the\ntop of the vehicle. \"Who siz that?\" quoth he, evidently startled.\nForgetting his infirmities, clapping on his sombrero, and clenching the\nstick in readiness for a fight, or flight, as he peered among the crowd;\nand stepping up to a miserable leper, whose face had been painfully\nstereotyped into a broad grin, he poked him sharply in the ribs, and\nroared out, \"Ye lie, ye baste! I was sick in the hospital, and the\nGineral tuk me aff in his own carridge.\" Here, Pat, I'm your man! \"Ah'\nis it there ye are, Liftinint? you're a pacock ov a boy! will ye give us\na rial?\" No! but if you chance to be caught by the Yankees, you'll get a\nrial's worth of \"hearty-chokes and caper-sauce,\" I replied, going\nthrough a little pantomime with heels and neck, for his especial\nbenefit. \"No, be jasus! thim Harney blaggards will niver choke me while\nthe Dons is so ginerous.\" This was the last I saw or heard from Pat.\n\nWe rolled rapidly along all day, in great trepidation concerning\nrobbers, since the same diligence had been plundered for the eight\nsuccessive days previous. There were four inside, besides my boy and\nmyself. Early in the morning, a small, fierce-looking Yucatanese was\nsavagely bent upon slaying whoever should cross our path, and, by the\nway, this Don Pancho was a perfect specimen of an ambulating\narmory--having no less than two brace of holster pistols, a revolver,\nsword, _cuchillo_, and his coat pockets filled with enough ammunition to\nhave resisted a siege. The two last and critical posts were at hand, and\ntogether we mounted the box, with weapons in readiness. Whilst changing\nhorses for the last time, the stout _cochero_--and a very expert whip he\nwas--evinced some curiosity to know whether we intended shooting _los\ncompadres_--this is polite slang for highwaymen--in case of attack.\nBeing satisfied on that point, he declared he would not draw a rein\nuntil we again got inside. The warlike Yucatanese seconded him,\nprotesting, in his cowardice, that he was solely actuated by fears of\ncompromising the good driver; he accordingly entered the vehicle,\nhinting that his plan would be, on the first onslaught, to ensconce\nhimself under the body of the coach, and rapidly discharge a broadside\nat the enemy--a mode of tactics I by no means subscribed to. It\nconvinced me, however, that there was collusion between robbers and\n_cochero_, to make the most out of their prey, and I unequivocally\nassured the stout driver, that if he did not lash the beasts upon the\nfirst signs of danger, he should go halves with his _compadres_ from the\ncontents of my pistols; moreover, I still persisted in retaining a\nposition on top, in which I was ably seconded by a delicate young French\nartiste, who volunteered to do his _possible_, if he could be supplied\nwith arms: thereupon we made a forcible seizure from the stock of the\nbrave Don Pancho. There were but two other passengers, who, not having a\ndollar in their purses, or a stealable garment on their persons,\nexpressed utter indifference as to the course of events, lit cigars, and\ncrouched beneath the seats.\n\nAt last the long thong of hide was jerked from the leaders' heads, and\naway they plunged like demons. We sped on for a league or more, over a\nsmooth broad road, lined with dense foliage of cactus and vines; keeping\na wary look-out, and occasionally cautioning the driver, at the risk of\nhis brains, to give his horses the rein, at the first appearance of our\nexpected visitors. Indeed I was on the point of congratulating myself\nupon escaping their clutches altogether, when, as we whirled quickly\ntowards a slight declivity, the progress of the vehicle was necessarily\nimpeded by a few roods of rocky, uneven road; and at the same\nmoment--_Voila!_ said my companion, _Voila! les voleurs!_ Like magic\nsprang up on either side, behind and ahead, a dozen villanous-looking\nscoundrels; whilst to the right, upon a gentle knoll, were as many more\nmounted, holding the animals of their brethren, and calmly regarding the\nsport before them. I instantly levelled a pistol at a gentleman with a\nraised carbine in one hand, and sombrero coolly doffed in the other, who\nwas courteously observing to the cochero, _Como estámos, Don\nPepe?_--how are we?--he was directly ahead of the leaders, and as my\nfinger sought the trigger, Don Pepe knocked the barrel up with his whip,\nand shouted,--\"we are good people!\" Becoming conscious of the folly of\ncontending against such odds, I sank back to await my fate. I noticed\none swarthy old villain on horseback, who appeared chief of the gang,\nand was withal rather uneasy, urging his _hijos_--children--_Presto! de\npriesa! hombre!_--hurry! make haste!--and with good reason too, for\nhardly had the villains opened the coach-doors, and commenced rifling\nthe gallant Pancho, whilst two more had clambered up the wheels, to have\nan overhaul of the French painter and myself, when a voice cried\nout--_Los dragones! los dragones!_--and the clash of sabres greeted our\nears: _Los dragones! los dragones!_ cried we all. Away hopped the agile\n_compadres_ from the horses' heads, down jumped others from boot and\nwheels, off they scampered right and left, and in a few seconds they\nwere seen galloping off in direction of the adjacent hills. The old\nbandit who directed their movements was delayed a moment behind the\nbushes in tightening his saddle girth. My fingers itched to have a crack\nat him; but although, _De los enemigos los menos_--of enemies the fewer\nthe better--be a sage maxim, yet upon reflecting that we might have been\nfavored by the whole retreating troop with a volley from their\ncarbines--and that a coach full of passengers was not a small target--I\nvery sensibly left the weapon beneath the cushions. All this transpired\nso rapidly that when the green jackets of the troopers became visible a\nlong way up the road, we were entirely relieved of our besiegers. My\ncompanion counted twenty-six, but they got absolutely nothing for their\ntrouble; much to my regret, however, for I was in hopes the Yucatanese\nwould have been handsomely plucked, instead of only having his coat well\nnigh rent in tatters!\n\nThe dragoons were an escort sent to guard a member of the Mexican\ndeputies, who was expected by the coach. They answered our purpose quite\nas well. Nothing further occurred, except arresting a couple of\nsuspicious individuals on the road, and attended by the cavalry, we soon\narrived at the Garita of Querétaro. Here the brave Don Pancho had\nrecovered his wits, and wished to play collector for our escort, crying\nout _Afloja la bolsa, Señor_,--milk the purse;--but dispensing with his\nservices, I gave the sergeant the only ounce I had; much better pleased\nto give it voluntarily, even to be devoted to monté, than to have it\nsqueezed out by the ladrons.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n\nI arrived in Querétaro on the 20th of May--seven and a-half days from\nSan Blas. It is an antiquated city, built when rich mines were yielding\ntheir treasures in the vicinity, and as a consequence, there is no lack\nof handsome private edifices, and numbers of splendid churches. It\nstands nearly seven thousand feet above the sea, and enjoys a most\ndelightful temperature. A noble aqueduct of two miles in length, with\narches ninety feet high--spanning a plain of meadow-land--joins a tunnel\nfrom the opposite hills, and leads an abundance of excellent water, from\nten miles beyond, to the city. It is a solid and enduring structure,\nbuilt by the munificence of an old Spaniard, the Marquis de Villadil,\nprevious to the Revolution. Of late years Querétaro had lost a large\nportion of its population; the mines have become nearly exhausted, and\nit is without manufactures, or inland trade. After the occupation by the\nAmerican troops of the city of Mexico, it became the headquarters of the\nGovernment, and seat of the General Congress; and again all the world\nhad flocked thither, and not a tenantless house or spare nook was to be\nfound. Crowds were thronging the wide, well-paved streets, and mounted\ntroops and foot-soldiers, with ear-aching music of cornets, trumpets and\ndrums, were moving in all directions about the city as we entered.\n\nI had letters to an Hanoverian gentleman--Mr. George Best--who very\nhospitably lodged me at his dwelling. From him I learned that the treaty\nhad already passed the Chamber of Deputies, and only awaited the action\nof the Senate to become a law, and that the United States Commissioners\nhad been apprised of it by the Minister of Foreign Relations, sent\nexpress, the day of my arrival. I determined to continue my journey, and\nmade all preparations for leaving on the morrow.\n\nDuring the night there arose a terrible crashing thunder-storm, and a\nlarge church near us was struck by the _rayo_, shattering the great\nclock, and \"temple and tower came to the ground,\" with much jingle and\nconfusion. I slept in happy ignorance of the whole affair.\n\nI was unavoidably detained until late in the afternoon. With\npost-horses, and a single guide, we toiled over an elevated sierra at\nthe back of the city, and taking the bridle route, rode like Jehus all\nnight; only interrupted by changing animals, every seven or eight\nleagues. Once the post-boy's nag gave up the ghost, which was the cause\nof an hour's detention to procure another; and again, at a break-neck\npace I rode full tilt into a sleeping drove of swine, when my horse\nfloundered on his face, and I was shot like a battering ram into a\npuddle of mire. With these trifling mishaps, we gave rein and spur,\ntrusting to the beasts' guidance in the dark night--over bad roads,\nhills, and streams--until day dawned, when tarrying for a bath and bowl\nof coffee, we again hurried onward. At noon we struck the main route,\nand I was gratified to learn the Commissioners had not passed. Without\npausing, we arrived within five leagues of Mexico, where, from a slight\nelevation, my guide exclaimed--_Señor! mire vd la escolta!_ Some\ndistance below us wound a large cavalcade, with four-in-hand coaches,\nand trains, attended by squadrons of cavalry, magnificently mounted on\ndark bay horses, with sabres and housings flashing in the sun. I knew it\nat a glance to be the American escort. Saluting the officer leading the\nadvance, and stating my mission from the Pacific, I was immediately\npresented to the Ministers, and, much to my own relief, delivered the\ndespatches. There were a large number of officers in the escort; some\nold friends, too, with whom I had parted in as many different portions\nof the globe. Retracing my steps in company to the village I had just\npreviously left, the cavalcade halted, and I was instructed to proceed,\nand report myself to the General-in-Chief in Mexico.\n\nOnce more I galloped away, while the splendid squadrons of dragoons\nmoved slowly along by the opposite road. In two hours' quick riding, we\nturned short round a bluff promontory, and entered the great valley;\nthen for the first time I saw--far, far beyond--arise, in Alpine\ngrandeur, the snowy peaks of Popocatepetl and Iztaecehuatl, and nearer,\nthe clustering towers that sprang up from the famed city of the Aztecs.\n\nOur course traversed luxuriantly fertile plains, over one of the broad\ncausewayed roads radiating from the city--beautifully shaded by noble\ntrees, with canals of running water on either side--until at last we\npassed the unguarded garitas, and entered what Cortez called _la mas\nhermosa cosa en el mundo_--the prettiest thing in the world--Mexico!\n\nTrotting through a long, straight street, that appeared interminable, I\nstopped at a sign of _Bains Français_, where, alighting and getting quit\nof the horses, I plunged into a warm bath: then being shampooed with\nspirits--much to the horror of an attendant, who at first imagined it\nwas my intention to apply the whole bottle inwardly--and feeling much\nrefreshed, I ventured out on a voyage of discovery. The streets were\nfilled with soldiers, and I had no difficulty in finding the quarters of\nthe Commander-in-Chief, not, however, until becoming sufficiently\nwearied, wandering about the city in quest of acquaintances, of whose\naddress I had been advised. But they were all abroad, and the rain\ncoming on with darkness, I succeeded in making my way to the residence\nof General Butler. He was alone, and after an hour's conversation, he\npolitely sent an orderly with me to hunt up my friends. We stopped at a\ncoach-stand, but the instant the soldier requested a vehicle, the whole\nworshipful company of coachmen seized their reins and drove off like\nmagic. The reason of this ballet appeared to be, as the orderly hinted,\nthat they were \"done\" so frequently by the volunteers! Nevertheless,\ncoming suddenly upon one fellow, who, by dint of a dollar beforehand,\nopened his door and agreed to enter our service for the time being, we\ndrove to the clubs, cafés, sociedads, and other places of public resort,\nuntil near midnight, without finding those we were in search of, when my\nfriend, the orderly, suggested a visit to the grand ball in the Grand\nSociedad. In a few minutes I had gained admission, and making a run\nthrough the mazes of a contra danza, came plump upon the friends I\nsought. Though tired as possible after a fifty-six leagues ride, I could\nnot resist the fascination of a whirl, and catching a trim little damsel\naround the waist, off we stamped and pirouetted through the large\nsaloon. Accompanying an old friend to his quarters, I soon fell into\nheavy sleep, and never awoke until the sun was blazing in mid-day.\n\nMy visit to Mexico lasted five days. On the whole, I was not highly\nimpressed with the city. Like all other Spanish-American built towns,\nthe streets are laid out with great regularity and, excepting near the\nsuburbs, are well paved; the houses are of two stories--solid and\nimposing--without any attempt at architectural beauty--the shops\nparticularly mean and insignificant for so large a town, and not\nremarkable for either novelty or cleanliness. The city does not cover a\nlarge space proportionate to its inhabitants, but it is seldom you meet\nwith streets so densely crowded. In some quarters, towards evening, when\nleperos, vagabonds and population generally, left their dens for the\nopen air, the main avenues were so closely packed as to make it a matter\nof the utmost difficulty to pass--far more people than are seen in the\nlazzaroni haunts at the same hour in Naples, or the great thoroughfares\nof London.\n\nThe Cathedral in the Plaza is a fine building, standing on the site of\nthe ancient Aztec Teocallis, but not comparable to the meanest of its\nkind in Europe. The outside was very much pock-marked with musket balls.\nI was more pleased with the Palace than any other brick-and-mortar\nstructure that came under my observation. It occupies the eastern face\nof the Square--is of two stories, and painted a light-pink tinge--with\nimmense gateways opening into the Plaza, where were two brass guns,\ngleaming like gold. Apart from its historical associations, and having\nbeen the scene of many bloody struggles in the oft-repeated internal\nrevolutions of the Republic, it has little to recommend it. The council\nand state chambers face the Square; they are decorated with handsome\nfurniture and crimson hangings to correspond; lighted by noble windows,\nfrom floor to the lofty ceilings, with heavy stone balconies outside. In\nthe adjoining building is the National Museum, where, in a court-yard,\nsurrounded by quantities of feathers, belts, cloaks, and other Indian\nornaments, was the famous sacrificial stone, that once graced the\nancient Temple of the Aztec monarchs. It is a horizontal convex wheel\nof granite, curiously carved in hieroglyphics on the perimeter, and\nhaving a hole and gutter on top, that received the victim's head and\ncarried off the blood. In the _patio_ of the same edifice, was a huge,\nungainly colossal statue in bronze, of Philip of Spain--not worthy a\nsecond glance.\n\nUndoubtedly I saw Mexico at disadvantage; and indeed I took more\npleasure in leaning over the stone balustrades of the Palace, regarding\nthe different regiments going through their evolutions--particularly the\nSeventh Infantry--who impressed me so deeply with their soldierly\nbearing, and national pride for the hard battles they had fought and\ngallantly won, as to leave no room for admiration of the curiosities to\nbe seen of a conquered city. Indeed Mexico was almost entirely\nAmericanized. The great fondas and sociedads were all under the dominion\nof Yankees--with Yankee ice, Yankee drinks, signs, manners, habits, and\ncustoms, as if the city had been from time immemorial Yankeefied all\nover, instead of being only occupied a short twelvemonth by the troops.\nI usually dined in one of these large establishments, and excepting the\nhall of the eating saloon--from patios to attics--on every angle of the\nbroad flights of stairs, crowded one beside the other, were\ngaming-tables of every kind and description. Such a condensed essence of\nworldly hell, in all its glaring, disgusting frightfulness, never\nexisted. And there never were lack of players either--no! not one but\nwas closely surrounded by officers and soldiers--blacklegs and villains\nof all sorts--betting uncommonly high, too--many of the banks having\nsixty and eighty thousand dollars in gold alone on the tables--and once\nI saw a common soldier stake and win two hundred ounces at a single bet.\nOther saloons were filled with Mexican girls, with music and dancing,\nattended by every species of vice, all going on unceasingly, day and\nnight together. My friends called these pandemoniums the hells of\nMontezuma. Whether such scenes will be of future benefit to the\nthousands of young men whom the war had called to Mexico will be a\nmatter for future speculation.\n\nOne afternoon, accompanied by a navy friend, we rode to Chapultepec. I\nhad already visited the battle-grounds of the valley, but the last\npresented claims of greater interest. The Indian definition of the\nheight is Grasshopper Hill. It rises very strangely from the heart of\nthe great plain, within half a league of the city--on all sides steep\nand precipitous, to the elevation of about two hundred feet--and with\nMolino del Rey, forms a long parallelogram, completely walled around.\nThe former position is nearest the city, the King's windmill occupying\nthe opposite space, with a noble grove of giant cypresses between the\ntwo points.\n\nThe road runs parallel with the arches of the aqueduct, and terminates\nat the base of Chapultepec. A gateway opens upon a broad causeway,\nleading with but one angle to the esplanade of the castle. It had been\noccupied of late years as a military college; and, though strongly\nmanned by artillery and infantry, was still not susceptible of using\ncannon to advantage, when the assailing parties had approached the base\nof the hill. The walls and defences were of no great strength, and not\ncapable of resisting round shot.\n\nI had the pleasure of being made known to the Colonel commanding the\nfortress, who went with me over the works, and courteously explained the\nnature of the different battles in the neighborhood. The flat roof of\nthe castle commands a fine and extensive view of the valley, city, and\nsierras. There were many marks of the bloody business still\nvisible--shot holes, broken balconies, fractured butments, shattered\ncasements, and a precipice near the western angle, from which, when the\ncastle had been stormed and taken, numbers of the Mexican garrison had\nthrown themselves, and were crushed to death.\n\nThe grand aqueduct draws its aliment at the foot of the hill, from a\nlarge, square tank of spring water--so pure, so very pure, that in\nlooking down its almost unfathomable depths, one is apt to mistake the\ncalm, clear fluid for the very air he breathes. It was near this spot\nwhere is shown a noble cypress \"that circles in the grain five hundred\nrings of years,\" beneath whose \"giant hole\" \"the slight she slips of\nloyal blood\" were wont to gambol before the Aztec Sybarite, Montezuma;\nwhere \"Malinche's shade\" is still seen to flit amid the grove, seeking\nher gallant lover, Cortez; and where, at a less remote period, Yankee\nlinemen strewed the ground with Mexican corpses, until the spreading\ntrees were covered to the knees with blood-stained clay.\n\nWhile gazing down the crystal reservoir, we resolved, in emulation of\nthe Indian monarch, to test its virtues, and, in a moment, we were\nplunging and splashing in the icy water. It was, apart from the\nassociations connected with brown Indian divinities, the very seventh\nHeaven of a bath; but whether we sullied the pellucid clearness of the\naqueduct's tribute, or detracted from the cooling fragrance of the\ncelestial mint-juleps drained in town, we never had leisure to enquire;\nand indeed without caring a drop about the matter, we mounted our tall\nsteeds, broke branches from the legendary tree, and passing through the\nkingly forest and meadow beyond, entered the deserted walls of Molino\ndel Rey.\n\nAs I have heretofore observed, this building fills the south side of the\nsquare--a sort of irregular barrack of two stories, and some eight\nhundred feet in length. Directly fronting this structure, at the\ndistance of a few hundred yards, standing upon a very slight swell of\nthe plain, is what was termed the _Casa mata_--a small redoubt--ditched\nand flanked by trenches, standing angularly in the direction of the\nwindmill. It was the spot where our troops suffered severely, where many\nundaunted soldiers fell, under a murderous fire of artillery and\nmusketry; and where, after being repulsed, the Mexicans left their\nentrenchments, and put the wounded and dying to death in cold blood.\nThis was the reason why so small a number of prisoners were taken at the\nstorming of Chapultepec!\n\nLeaving Molino del Rey, we made a short tour of the environs, and\nreturned again by the main Paseo! It was the hour when most frequented.\nThere were but few ladies, and they not of the handsomest. Lots of queer\nantique coaches went rumbling along, and vastly neat cabs and stylish\nbarouches whirling past them--while showy, spirited Mexican barbs,\ncovered with gold and silver trappings were capering and prancing, five\nhundred steps to the minute--then an American General and staff would\nsweep by, elegantly mounted on high-mettled chargers, the small horses\nof the natives appearing like pigmies in comparison--and again along the\ngrassy roadside paths were little children astride large sheep,\ncompletely caparisoned with saddles, housings, and bridles, trotting\naway quite gaily with their innocent young burthens. We took a glance at\nall this, and giving spur, rode into the city.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n\nThe day previous to my departure from Mexico, I called at the Bureau of\nPostes for a license, and made a report of what I considered collusion\nbetwixt the Ladrons and Cochero, near Querétaro. The office was\nconducted by Mexicans; and the Administrador, quite a gentleman,--who\nexcused his servants at some length, by stating that the causes which\nprevented them from disobeying the orders of the highwaymen were fears\nof subsequent punishment, in case of escape at the time. Moreover, in\nthe present unsettled state of the country, crime had never been so\nprevalent, in consequence of the few troops at the disposal of the\nauthorities, for the purpose of keeping the roads open, from the hordes\nof deserters who mostly composed these lawless bands; and even in the\nimmediate vicinity of Mexico itself, highway robberies and murder were\nof daily occurrence. I was not convinced, although silenced, by the\nplausible courtesy of the Administrador.\n\nEarly on the morning of the 26th of May, I shook hands with my kind army\nfriends, newly capped pistols, and vaulted into the saddle. _Estámos\nlistos_--all right--said the post guide, as he succeeded in tightening\nthe circingles, by kicking the beasts under the belly--_Vamanos_.\nPulperias and tiendas were being opened; lepéros taking their morning's\ndram of _pulqae_; closely veiled faces and sombre gowns were moving to\nmass; patrols of horse and foot, returning drowsily to barracks;\nmarkets thronged; jackasses trumpetting their morning's note of\nthanksgiving, and the great city awaking again into hum and bustle;\nwhile, as the sun was climbing over the white-robed volcanoes that\nlooked down upon the beautiful valley, we passed the long lines of\nstreets and garita, gained the main road, when our pace quickened, and\non we hurried along the branching shade of the avenues. Pell mell we\nwent through droves of mules, at times driving a group of perverse\ndonkeys right and left with the impetus of a catapult--maybe, one or\nmore over, in a smoke from their own cargoes of charcoal, wood, or\nvegetables;--and long before the arrieros could right the little brutes\non their legs, with _arrés_ and blows--in readiness to treat us with\ncurses--we had swept by in our heedless flight, unmindful of all; my\nguide scrupulously consoling himself by asserting that a government\n_extraordinario_ had the the privilege to knock over everybody that\nintercepted the path. In an hour we had left canals, streams, bridges,\ncauseways, and fertile fields of the lovely _vega_, and turning to the\nright the bluff hill closed upon the scene--and this was my latest\nglimpse of Mexico.\n\nSoon leaving the main road, we branched off by narrow bridle paths, and\ncross cuts of the post route: four relays, and as many fresh guides,\ncarried me to a place called Tepetitlan. Here the horse purveyor was a\nwoman, who declared, with an ireful voice and gesture, as I drew up\nbefore her tenement, \"that the blessed virgin might send her to\npurgatory if she had a horse with a hoof to stand on--that I might\nreport her to the Alcalde or the devil, or both, or go there myself,\njust as I pleased.\" _Que mi importa_?--what do I care? And the director\nhad no right to send three expresses in one week, when she had nothing\nbut the old grey and the mare! _Ave Maria! pues!_--so help yourself!\nCracking my whip a little savagely, I crossed the verdant slope of a\nhill, and dismounted at the gate of a walled garden, having, a\ndilapidated and venerable habitation within. I was decoyed thither by a\nbrace of buxom damsels--mother and daughter--who, perceiving my\ndistress, despatched an old cripple in search of beasts.\n\nThe little town had much to recommend it; the houses were very quaint\nand antiquated, strewn, as they might be, upon the sides of a grassy\nslope--with a crumbling stone bridge and rapid brawling river coursing\nat the base. Midway between was a large old church, ivy-grown from the\nruined towers and belfry to the decayed buttresses and lintels of the\ndoorway; all around the front were broad flights of stone steps, leading\nfrom the declivities of the hill, down to a level amphitheatre-like\nspace, which was filled with glorious old trees, creeping vines, bright\ngreen grasses, ranges of marble benches beneath the shade, and in the\nmidst, a thread of a rill, plashing about the ruins of what once had\nbeen the bowl of a large fountain.\n\nBesides the picturesque charms of the village, I was recompensed for two\nhours delay, by the frolicsome Señoras, at whose estate I had tarried.\nThey very obligingly prepared me a nice little repast of frijoles--fried\neggs and tortillas--assisted me to drink a flask of bordeaux, and\nentertained me the while with a narrative of how the horrible Yankees\nhad entered their great city--for they were cockneys, these ladies, and\nmerely rusticating at their retreat--and their dreadful fears, and the\nhorror they would undergo in case the invasion extended to Tepetiltan.\nMy guide, who had been industriously eating a bowl of beans, using an\noriginal spoon like to a diminutive scoop--made in a jiffy from his\ntortillas--and swallowing beans and spoon at every mouthful, thereby\nputting himself to the trouble of reconstructing another at each\nsucceeding bite--he, I say, informed my good hostesses that I was one of\nthose _demonios Yankees_. _Ay! dios!_ said the elder; _es possible que\nvd es gringo?_--can it be true that you are a green-horn? _Si amiga_, I\nresponded. Then their curiosity was interested to know my destination,\nreligious impressions, and so forth--if I was a _herege_? And being\nassured that I was a Christian catholic, could make the cross, and name\nmore saints than they could, their good humor returned, and we made the\nold trees merry with laughter, chatting away the hours, seated upon the\nvelvet sward. Still there appeared no indication of horses, and when\nbeginning to despair, an individual saluted us, and I noticed him\nprivately telegraphing my guide as to the probable amount the _gringo_\ncould be cheated! when turning to me, with a resolute air, he exclaimed,\n_Tengo caballos hasta Tida a ocha pesos cada uno!_ This was a triple\nextortion, but, very much to his astonishment, I immediately closed the\nbargain: upon which, he darted a disappointed look upon his coadjutor,\nin not having been signalized to charge more, and then drew forth his\nbeasts from behind the garden wall. I had to be cheated, and there was\nno necessity of losing one's temper. I kissed the ladies--I say it with\nmodest pride--and pursued my route.\n\nI came on smoothly and peaceably the remainder of the day and during the\nnight, until towards daybreak, when, to keep my eyes open, I took a\nrefreshing dip in the little river Tula. On attempting to mount again,\naccidentally placing a hand on the horse's rump, he very unceremoniously\nstruck me with both heels on the thigh. I was hurled some yards, and\nfell senseless. My guide dragged me again to the stream, and I suppose\nhis novel mode of treatment had the happy effect of restoring me to\nanimation; for I partly recovered consciousness with my head beneath the\nwater, in what I thought the last struggles of strangulation. It was\nmeant, however; in kindness; and fortunately having a flask of strong\nmuscal in the _alforgas_, he bathed me, inside and out, to my great\nrelief, although I was obliged to lay on a serapa by the road side, in\nsharp pain, for two hours. Then exchanging my vicious brute with the\nguide, he assisted me into the saddle again, and we walked quietly into\nthe town of San Juan del Rio--not, however, without passing a body of\nsixteen deserters from our own army, in full uniform--who seemed to wish\nto be more sociable than I judged civil--and I was right glad to hear\nthe last of their reiterated _adios_.\n\nAt San Juan, a large _donceur_ procured magnificent horses for myself\nand a small urchin, who was sent as post-boy; after being again chafed\nwith spirits, I mounted, and with a swollen, painful leg, left the town.\nThe animal I bestrode moved with a spirited though easy gait, and\nnothing transpired for some miles. For easier travelling we had taken\nthe main road, which traversed a level, well-cultivated country, hedged\non either side with close plantations of the cactus and argave. It was\nabout nine o'clock, when my little companion called attention to three\nhorsemen, who, most unaccountably, had started up within an hundred\nyards of our rear: _Hay mala gente_--they are bad fellows--he softly\nexclaimed. They were well mounted, and like most other Mexicans on the\nroad, had the lower portions of the face bound around with colored\nhandkerchiefs, and notwithstanding the extreme mildness, not to say\nwarmth of the morning, were closely wrapped in serapas. I must confess\nseeing naught remarkable in all this; for the country was open;\napparently well travelled; shortly before, we had passed a large drove\nof pack mules, and a _hacienda_ was visible in the distance. Still I did\nnot neglect the hint of my sharp young guide, and bade him make sail\nahead. He needed no second bidding--gave a terrified look back, and\nstruck spurs to his beast. Waiting a little while, I, too, increased my\nspeed, but had not made a dozen bounds, when a loud voice called me to\nhalt! What for? said I, without pausing. _Su passaporta_, was shouted.\nPulling a heavy rifle-pistol from the holster, and bringing my horse to\na stand, I replied, \"Here's my passport!\"\n\nThey instantly checked their animals, within twenty yards, threw off\nserapas, and whilst the individual nearest me was rapidly unrolling a\ncloth from the lock of his short carbine, believing hostilities to have\ncommenced, I took deliberate aim, and fired. He was sitting diagonally\ntowards me, and the ball, of nearly an ounce in weight, struck him high\nup the chest; and I venture to assert, upon the well-known virtues of\nMons. Devisme's weapons, on the boulevarde Poissonierre, that it went\nthrough and through him, I saw his carbine fall to the ground, and heard\nhim exclaim, with both hands pressing the breast, _Madre de Dios!_ I\nmyself was of the opinion, that the sooner he said his prayers the\nbetter, and although I felt a twinge of regret at what had taken place,\nit was speedily dissipated; for at the same moment there were three or\nfour reports--two of them from persons on foot, inside the hedge; but\nnot hearing even the whistling of the bullets, I judged their aim had\nbeen somewhat inaccurate. Giving my horse the rein and spur, I went\nflying along the road. One of the mounted gentlemen alone followed in\npursuit, and finding I had the heels of him, I held my nag well in,\nuntil I had disengaged the remaining weapon, when, halting suddenly, I\ncried, _Venga mi compadre, para el cambio_--come and take your revenge.\nThe instant of perceiving the movement, he fired a pistol at random,\nshouted _puñetero!_--wheeled rapidly into the thickets, and was out of\nsight. He was at too great a distance to make sure of him, or I\ncertainly should have saved the _garotte_ a wrench. The old adage\npreserved him: _El diablo siempre cuida por los suyos_--the devil\nregards his darlings. Once more giving my willing beast the bit, I never\nceased running for five leagues; as for my leg, I had forgotten all\nabout it. Overtaking the little guide, we slackened our pace. But the\ntrouble was not ended, for presently the diligence came in sight, and as\nwe approached, what was my surprise and dismay, to observe an individual\non the box deliberately level a blunderbuss at my head, and never remove\nhis aim until the coach was lost to view! _Bueno!_ thought I; this is\ndiverting--first to shoot a thief, and then be mistaken for one!\n\nDismounting at a small pulperia, near an extensive _hacienda_, I bathed\nmy lame limb in muscal, and reloaded the pistol; during which last\noperation, the patron of the grog-shop, who looked something villanous\nin the visage, interrogated the boy, who afterwards informed me that the\nwounded rogue on the black horse was one Señor Felipe, an intimate\nfriend of the pulperia man, and greatly respected by the community at\nlarge. I was not again molested, and experienced no further\ninterruption. Three posts carried us to Querétaro late in the afternoon.\nMeeting Mons. Ribaud in the streets, I related the adventure, and he\nstrongly advised me not to make it known, as there was no calculating\nthe number of Don Felipe's associates, or the annoyance one might suffer\nfrom the sharp thrust of a knife, unexpectedly dealt by noon or\nmidnight. Subsequently I was introduced to an English gentleman, who had\nbeen robbed the day previous in the diligence--who stated, that, as\nthere chanced to be a German mechanic in the coach, the _compadres_\nmistook him for a Yankee, and very promptly blew his brains out--which\nlittle incident made me feel highly gratified that a like interesting\nepisode had not been enacted with mine own.\n\nI reported my arrival to the American Commissioners, and took quarters\nwith the officers attached to the escort. They entered the city on the\n25th, as the vote upon the Treaty was being taken in the Mexican Senate:\nvery possibly it may have hastened it. The division stood but four in\nopposition--much excitement prevailed in Querétaro, as the measure was\ndecidedly unpopular among all classes of military men; there being no\nless than twenty-seven hundred officers of the army, besides immense\nswarms of empleados and every species of Government people, awaiting the\naction of Congress. It was universally conceded by liberal-minded\npersons, that the old army should be completely disbanded, and\nregenerated on a smaller scale; but still they kept up the cry of War!\nWar! without the slightest means in men, money, or material, to carry it\non; merely as a watchword to frown down reform, without the merest hope\nor wish to do any more fighting or running--idle words and wind, and\nthus the _gritos_ of _Viva la guerra! Abajo la paz!_ were yelled in\nevery street and plaza.\n\nThe battalion of traitors, under the banner of San Patricio, who\namounted to some hundreds, had very judiciously been withdrawn from the\ncity before the coming of the American troops. Strong guards of Mexican\ncavalry were posted throughout the town to prevent any disturbance,\nsince the entrance of the escort had been strenuously opposed by the\nMinistry, but with the exception of a few stones thrown at the\nCommissioners' empty coaches, on driving to the stables, and a\ncorporal's guard of our Riflemen charging and clearing a street--for\nsome real or fancied insult--no collision took place.\n\nOur soldiers were quartered in a large, commodious church on the skirts\nof the city, and strong guards daily detailed for duty at the residences\nof their officers. They were a splendid body of cavalry, and deservedly\nelicited a deal of admiration from natives and foreigners. We were\nlodged in two spacious houses facing the principal street--the Ministers\nwith their numerous attachés in one, and the officers adjoining. Each\nedifice was big enough for a regiment. Our receiving and sleeping saloon\nwas all in one, and a fine lofty hall it was, with capital balconies in\nfront.\n\nWe passed the time very pleasantly. There were nice baths in the\nvicinity, where we laved before breakfast. We devoted the mornings to\nwalking, or lounging over the wide balconies, where, from dawn till\ndark, an audience of near a thousand leperos and vagabonds, were thickly\nseated on the opposite sides of the street, regarding with marked\nattention our minutest proceedings. Within a few minutes walk was a\ncircular promenade, closely planted with undergrowth and towering\nfoliage, where in the afternoons all the world assembled to behold their\nenemies, _Los gringos_.\n\nOne morning I had the pleasure of accompanying the commanding officer of\nthe escort and his officers on an official visit to the military\nGovernor of the town. He entered the saloon, very like Harlequin, after\nwe all were seated. He was a little man; and as the doors swung open, in\nhe bounded with open arms, and bowing most gracefully to his visitors.\nHe was not in uniform; and his only military insignia were a number of\nribbons and decorations on the breast of his coat. He had received a\nball through the cheek at the battle of Buena Vista, which was\ncarefully concealed beneath a luxuriant growth of whiskers. The\nconversation was not very general, and remaining but a brief sitting, we\nmade our salaams; upon which I could not resist complimenting the Major\nat his excessive grace whilst outbowing the General, and he assured me\nthat he had even injured the King of Naples' spine, who attempted to\nsurpass him in the business!\n\nFrom here we repaired, to attend one of our Commissioners on another\nofficial visit, to the Mexican President and Ministers. The\nreception-room was rather a mean apartment, hung with crimson curtains,\nand at the upper end was a chair of state, with others ranged around.\nThe President, Peña y Peña, pleased me more than his advisers, having\na mild, benignant expression, and evidently appeared worn down\nwith care and anxiety. Anaya was a tall, bony person, with high\ncheek-bones--denoting his Indian origin--and a stolid striped face.\nRosa, the Secretary of War, was short in stature, of swarthy complexion,\nwith full, dark, intelligent eyes. But of all the public characters, who\nheld office under the Mexican government, whom I had the opportunity of\nseeing, there was none who struck me so forcibly as one of the\ndeputies--Señor Cauto.\n\nAt the conclusion of the Presentation, a number of polite speeches were\ninterchanged, all of which impressed me as being very gracefully done,\nthough destitute of a particle of sincerity, as these empty-headed\nformalities usually are. But indeed I felt for the pitiable position of\nthose poor Mexicans, who were having bitter pills crammed down their\nthroats, though gilded by so many sweet, courteous compliments; and I\nwas glad when the audience terminated, and we had turned our backs on\nthe miserable, cowed-looking sentinel at the gate.\n\nThe officers of the escort received many civilities from the Mexicans,\nand extended others in return. The Governor had obligingly furnished a\nfull colonel, who was an excellent cicerone about the city, who ordered\ndinners, assisted in eating them, and made himself generally useful: he\nbore a surprising resemblance to the portraits of Don Quixote. On one\noccasion we had a call from a colonel of cavalry: a large, fine-looking\nfellow, flashing resplendent in gold, from the glittering plates of his\nfur shako, to the richly-chased scabbard of his sabre, and rowels of his\nbright spurs;--he must have been worth a fortune as he stood! It was his\nwish that all the American officers would honor him at a breakfast\npreparing for the occasion. The invitation was cheerfully accepted, as\nmuch, possibly, in compliment to the dashing colonel, as to the fact\nthat our own board was not so well supplied as was altogether palatable\nand proper.\n\nIt was quite a grand affair--was the breakfast--laid out in the\nbilliard-saloon of a fonda, having the bar and cooking convenient, as it\nwere, in the same apartment; there were some twenty Mexican officers at\ntable, besides ourselves; to say nothing of as many more casual\nobservers, who aided vociferously in drinking all the toasts in\nsuccession, and afterwards carefully secreted the glasses--which were\nlimited--in readiness for another toast. The first course consisted\nsimply of a wine-glass of pure cogniac--intended for an appetizer no\ndoubt--but it was probably subversive of the desired effect, for I\nnoticed, immediately afterwards, a number with watery eyes, and great\ndifficulty of articulation. This was followed by a pilaus of rice and\nchickens, beefsteaks, soups, frijoles, fruit, and viands in the most\nindiscriminate confusion. Bordeaux and sherry circulated freely, and we\nhad speeches, toasts, and sentiments: we drank the memory of every\ngeneral, living or dead, of both armies, beginning with Washington and\nHidalgo, and gave, I should imagine, upon a rough calculation, as many\nas eighty or ninety cheers for Santa Anna, and \"Skote!\" I had the\nhappiness of translating--rather freely I must confess--these different\neffusions, and also the sense of a long harangue delivered by an\nadvocate, who came late, and for that reason got comfortably _boracho_\nat once.\n\nOur gallant host, in a few disjointed observations, assured us that he\nwas not only brave himself, and loved bravery in others, but that his\nhorse was brave, and had been wounded in divers battles. _Yo soy\nvaliente!_ said the fierce colonel, pounding the orders on his capacious\nbreast, and forthwith proclaimed to the audience his intention to pay\nfor everything that anybody could possibly eat or drink for a fortnight\nto come, and seizing me by the arms, he impressively remarked that I was\nthe most intimate friend he ever had except his wife, and requested me\nto throw his huge shako up to the ceiling--solely for _amistad_, and\ngood fellowship of the thing--which I instantly did, and made the\nbearskin and golden plates ring against the rafters. Thereupon he called\nfor more wine, and desired all who loved him to break a few glasses,\ncommencing himself with a couple of decanters. At this stage of the\naction the landlord interfered, and very sensibly cut off the supplies\nof liquor, which reduced the party, who were \"merry in the halls,\" to\nconsistent behavior; when, embracing one another frequently, horses were\nordered for a turn in the Alameda. They treated us with the greatest\nkindness and hospitality, only the manner of doing it was different from\nour own. All were decorated; and one handsome young officer of the\nLancers had four emblems of defeated battles.\n\nThe Pasco was thronged by all the élite of Querétaro:\nrichly-caparisoned barbs were jingling musically with multitudes of\nlittle steel or silver drops attached to the housings; pacing, and\nfretting, and foaming, full of fire and spirit, but curbed and trained\nto short steps. Then came the well-appointed carriages of the President\nor Governor, drawn by sleek fat mules, and close behind cumbrous masses\nof timber--hewn wheels and axles lashed together with hides--all hitched\nby ropes to half a dozen, or more, dirty beasts; the vehicles themselves\nfilled with rare specimens of fat old women, decked off in gay\nhaberdashery, each holding an armful of children, all bent upon a good\nsight of the North Americans. And there were youthful faces too--bright\nglances from brighter eyes--emulating those aged matrons in curiosity,\npeering from behind waving fans, within long lines of carriages drawn up\nat the sides of the promenade. Nor had the _Gringos_ aught to fear from\nthe investigation, for there were handsome young dragoons and riflemen,\nattended by their orderlies, mounted on noble chargers with arched necks\nand shining coats, moving with a high, proud bearing, as if regarding\nwith great contempt the capering graces of their little brethren beside\nthem.\n\nAfter a number of turns around the park--the last at a thundering\ngallop, with a stride that made the natives shudder--we dashed out of\nthe gates. On our way through the city, one of our Mexican friends\nespied me, and in true Californian style, shook his bridle, gave spur,\nand came leaping like a flash towards us. I was not a novice at the\nsport, and touching one of the finest horses in the army with my heel,\nthe gallant sorrel sprang forward to greet him. We met in full career,\nmy charger stood like the great pyramid, but the shock rolled my\nantagonist into the street. I should in courtesy have got down from the\nsaddle to his assistance, but reflecting that without a ladder I never\nshould be able to get on my high steed again, I accordingly remained\nquiet. However, my friend quickly remounted, and made an earnest attempt\nto laugh; but as there chanced to be hundreds of spectators, I hardly\nthought the mirth reached his heart: he may have been somewhat allegro\nfrom the good cheer at breakfast, or have eaten something indigestible,\nyet under either dispensation, it will caution him not to run another\njoust at a Kentucky-bred charger, or he may, as in this instance, get\ntilted from the saddle. Being a sailor, I gained a great reputation for\nthis feat, and gave an entertainment on the strength of it.\n\nSome days elapsed after the Treaty had finally been acted upon in the\nMexican Senate, before the ratifications were exchanged. Mexican\ndiplomacy is proverbial, and they chose the most tortuous track to gain\nthe goal. The delay was in some degree attributable, so said the\nGovernment, to the absence of the official seal, and certain time\nrequired to make proper copies and translations; but it was with equal\nreason surmised, that it arose from causes relative to a division of the\nfirst instalment of the indemnity, as a new ministry was to be elected,\nand the old cared not to assume the odium of signing the Peace, without\nbeing fortified with the assurances of their successors that they should\nreceive the reward of their services. But here subterfuge was\nunavailing--the armistice expired on the 2d of June, and time was\nflying. At length, after refusing permission for the American cavalry\nand artillery to take up their line of march by land to the Northern\nfrontier, on the night of the 30th of May, the final signatures were\naffixed to the Treaty, and an hour later, Herrera was chosen President\nof the Republic.\n\nSoon after midnight, with a copy of this document in my jacket, and a\npromise, from the Secretary of War, of an escort for ten leagues, I once\nmore began my journey towards the Pacific Ocean.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\n\nIt was quite dark on taking my place in the diligence, but getting\ncomfortably seated, I heard one of the passengers inquire if there was\nto be an escort; so putting my head out of the window, I asked my man\nJuan if he had any idea where the troops were concealed? _No Señor, no\nhay!_--not a soul to be seen. _Bueno!_ I consoled myself by being sure\nof meeting them at the garita--and then we came to the gate, but never a\nsabre visible! Malditos were of no avail. Señor Rosa, in a multiplicity\nof _negocios_ had forgotten me! Truly, I was scared out of sleep the\nfirst few posts, but at last my eyelids gained the day--I sailed away in\nthe land of dreams, and never awoke until reaching Salamanca--much\nrefreshed and decidedly happy not to have been rifled by ladrons.\n\nIt was four o'clock and raining heavily as we drove into the cellar, as\nit were, of the sky-built city of Guanajuato. The water was bounding and\nleaping down the naked sides of the hills, converting every narrow gully\ninto a boiling torrent, until cascades and rivulets all poured into the\ndeep valley beneath, and went roaring and foaming away, increasing in\nbulk and impetuosity at every gorge, to feed some rapid river in the\nplains beyond. I was intently occupied speculating upon the chances\nwhether the diligence would be swept along with other floating matter,\nor ultimately stranded on dry land; for not long before, one of these\nsame vehicles had been caught in a freshet--carried some distance,\ndrowning three insides. But fortunately, we steered clear of these\ndangers by flood and coach--with saturated garments--and were soon\nsafely housed in the comfortable fonda.\n\nMuch to my chagrin, the rain prevented a visit to the great mines of La\nLuz. They are said to be the largest in the world, and well worthy of a\nsight, employing no less than fifteen thousand workmen, including their\nfamilies. The owner died in Querétero the day previous to my departure,\nbequeathing a fortune of twenty millions of dollars to his heirs.\n\nI left Guanajuato before daylight--the heavens were dropping tears,\nalthough not sufficiently lacrymose to keep the gorges surcharged, and\nthus we again escaped coach-wreck. We reached Leon to a late\nbreakfast--there I exchanged the youthful valet Juan for my horse\nequipments, and having but a single companion in the person of an\nEnglishman bound to Zacatecas, we continued the route: the cocheros\nswore there were none other than virtuous people in that vicinity and we\nhad no fears of being molested: the road became rocky and\nuneven--occasionally no beaten track at all--and had not the coach and\nour bones been constructed of the toughest materials, I imagine neither\ncould have reached Lagos--but we got there at three o'clock, with no\nmore serious mishap than being jolted asleep and awake, at least four or\nfive times in as many minutes.\n\nOur stopping place was a decent little fonda, administered by an old\nSpaniard. While standing in the gateway I observed two persons, and,\nfrom something indescribable in their appearance, immediately accosted\nthem in Anglo-Saxon: they were North Americans, and had resided many\nyears in Mexico: they treated me kindly, and extended every assistance\nin their power. I visited one and saw as pretty a wife and family as any\nbatchelor might envy. The town itself is extremely pretty--a remarkably\nhandsome church faces the Plaza--the houses elegantly adorned externally\nin fanciful frescoes, with designs of flowers, wreaths, gardens, and\nmythological figures, while a branch of the Rio Grande rushes swiftly\nthrough the heart of the town, fringed with a profusion of verdant\nfoliage. During my visit the river coursed in two separate channels,\ndivided by a narrow strip of pebbly sand, whereon were hundreds of\nlittle nude boys and girls, and women nearly so, bathing and washing in\nthe pools along the shores.\n\nReturning from the walk, we had hardly entered the inn, which looked\ninto the Plaza, when some fifty ragamuffins, armed with many varieties\nof weapons, but principally broken muskets and naked sabres, passed by;\nthey had music, too, an undeniable drum, which never for a moment ceased\nbeing thumped and pounded, during all the proceedings that afterwards\ntranspired. There was to be a Mexican Pronunciamento! The band marched\nstraight to the Quartel near the upper end of the square by the church,\nwhere, after much shouting, expostulation, bluster, and reading of\nproclamations, they induced about five and twenty meagre soldiers, who\ncomposed the garrison, to declare in favor of the rebellion; then a\nnumber of bottles of strong waters circulated briskly, the mob mingled\nwith the fraternised soldiery, possessed themselves of their muskets,\nbroke up into groups, and filled the air with cries of \"_Abajo los\nYankees! Viva Paredes! Viva la Guerra! Viva El Padre Jarauta!_\"\n\nThe Pronunciamento was completed.\n\nMy friends prepared me for this ebullition by stating it to be part of a\ncombined movement, fomented by Paredes, who was at Aguas Calientes,\nseven leagues beyond, awaiting the action of Guadalajara and the western\nprovinces.\n\nIt had been my intention to take the route to Mazatlan by way of\nZacatecas and Durango, but I was earnestly urged not to attempt it in\nthe present unsettled state of that district, and as the advice was\nbased on sensible grounds--not without a deal of regret--I at once\nordered horses for Guadalajara. Whilst dinner was preparing I took a\nstroll with the innkeeper, around the Plaza to get a glimpse, if\npossible, of the sanctified assassin Padre Jarauta. I had heard much of\nthe villain's atrocities, both from the papers and individuals. The\nyoung adjutant whom I met in Guanajuato related of him, that he boasted\nof having killed fifty-three Americans with his own cuchillo, and though\nstyling himself priest was nothing but a student who had taken to arms\n\"con amore.\" To say the least of this good padre, he possessed\nunparalleled courage and audacity, had done immense mischief to small\ncorps and trains of our army, and he was, in fact, the boldest,\nbloodiest Guerrilla chief in all Mexico.\n\nI was gratified for my exertions, and passed twice beside him; he was\nstriking in expression, perhaps thirty years old, with fine fierce dark\neyes, and little beard: he was about the middle height, dressed in a\nround jacket and cloak, with a short straight sword on his hip. He\nappeared absorbed with great events, regarding the sky and other\ncelestial bodies, never deigning to honor me with a glance.\n\nOne of my countrymen dined with me, and we had an excellent repast, but\nit was most unseasonably interrupted by the entrance of the host, who\nafter a short consultation with my friend, informed me that the good\nPadre Jarauta had learned the arrival of an American officer, and had\nexpressed a determination to make an _ejemplo_ of him in the square! I\nreposed full faith in his pious regard, and did not doubt for an instant\nthat he would be at all loth in executing his virtuous designs--and as\nfor my passport and papers, they might possibly have given additional\nzest to his holy orders, and been considered just long enough to cock\nhalf a dozen carbines, and--_fuego!_ However, there was no time to\ndeliberate, and but one course to avoid the dilemma--_Gracios a\nDios_--the horses were fortunately in the Corral of the meson, and in a\nvery few seconds the guide had clasped on my spurs, and I jumped into\nthe saddle. With warmest thanks to my friends, and a trifle, more solid,\nto the true Biscayno for his good offices, in the darkness, the animals\nwere led down a stone flight of steps, through some outbuildings, where,\ngaining a back street, we made the dust whirl in clouds around us, as we\ngave lash and steel to the beasts.\n\nAt early dawn we halted at a place called Encarnacion for change of\nhorses, and losing no time, mounted and struck a bypath to shorten the\ndistance. At sunrise we observed a group of travellers ahead, and pushed\non to overtake them. Perceiving, however, a wish to avoid us, and\nwarlike demonstrations begun by two individuals unslinging carbines in\nthe rear, I sent the guide in advance to relieve their anxiety; they\nproved to be the family of the commandant of Lagos, flying bag and\nbaggage to a more safe retreat; there were two ladies in the party, and\nwe remained in company for some miles: they had lost a valise in their\nflight, and, on parting, I was under the belief that they regarded me as\nthe lucky finder thereof.\n\nFurther on we passed a remarkable elevation called _La Mesa_, a table\nhill of a perfect oval, rising like the palisades of Hudson River; some\nthree hundred feet, with a dead flat surface, and but one gateway-like\naperture leading to the summit--making altogether a most regular and\ninaccessible natural fortress. My guide assured me, there was a deep,\nclear lake on top, and many acres of good soil.\n\nThe sun was getting high up, when we drew bridles at a fork of the road,\nbeneath a wide-spreading tree, and in fact the only one to be seen.\nHere, squatted on a stone, was a jolly old gentleman, with a great\nearthen jar of pulque, and platter filled with the same sour\nfermentation, on the grass before him; the guide, as in honor bound,\nswallowed a centavo's worth, but I was contented with a little diluted\nmuseal, which is far more palatable, and has much the taste of Scotch\nwhiskey. Both preparations are made from the same species of plant--the\nAmerican Argave--and to see the immense extent of land under\ncultivation--the great droves of beasts carrying the juice to market,\none might readily believe enough was made to keep the whole Mexican\nnation in one continued state of intoxication. The keeper of the small\nambulating pulperia informed us that a pronunciamento had taken place\nthat very morning at San Juan de Lagos, and that large bands of armed\nmen had entered the town at daylight. Padre Jarauta had destroyed my\nappetite the night previous, and this news equally perplexed me--for\nthere was but one route directly through the town, and I had no\ninclination to run a muck; so following the advice of my guide José\nMaria, to lay by a few hours, and learn the state of affairs from some\none passing along the road, we descended a small ravine entirely\nsheltered from view, where the horses were unsaddled, and a temporary\nscreen made with the serapas, to shield us from the noontide sun. Here I\nstretched myself upon the grass, and before many minutes elapsed had cut\nbuttons and straps from my jacket: the uniform I wore was generally\ntaken for that of a Mexican cavalry officer, but in this instance I was\nresolved to make assurance doubly sure, and not be mistaken for a\ngringo: and accordingly hurled buttons and lace far down the gully.\n\nTwo hours past meridian I was awakened by José, who reported having\nheard firing in the town, and that he had learned from a paisano, in hot\nhaste from Lagos, that Señor Jarauta, after making a forcible razzia of\nall animals to be found, marched with over a hundred compatriots for\nAguas Calientes: whether he put himself to any inconvenience or not in\nregard to my movements, I did not hear or care, so true is the adage,\n\"sacabo il pericolo, adio il santo.\" All I ever learned of his after\nhistory, was that a month later he was made prisoner by the troops of\nGeneral Bustamente, and immediately shot. Thus being relieved of the\ngood father, I gathered courage to proceed, and mounting, we gave spur\nfor San Juan de Lagos; we had but a league's travel, and I was soon put\nout of suspense, for on descending a steep hill, which led down to the\ntown, we encountered a number of arrieros, who gave the pleasing\nintelligence, that the place had declared in favor of the existing\ngovernment, and the towns people had driven the agents of Paredes\noutside, and thus we rode to a meson without molestation. I noticed\nabout eighty citizen soldiers drawn up in front of the church, listening\nto the harangue of a clerical gentleman, attired in a stove-pipe hat and\nflowing gown.\n\nThere was not a _remuda_--change--to be had for love or money in San\nJuan de Lagos; all the horses having been secured and carried into the\ncountry during the pronunciamentos; after a bowl of frijoles and\ntortillas, we were obliged to remount our wearied beasts, and toil\nslowly onward.\n\nThe same evening we reached the town of San Miguel, when another of\nthese infernal pronunciamentos was brewing, but a polite old gentleman\nprocured me a relay, and away we rattled over a dry undulating\nchampaigne country to Mirondillo, where finding another remuda, and\nleaving Cerro Gordo on the left, the full moon lighted us safely into\nTepetitlan. Here I proposed tarrying, but the meson was so filthy and\ndetestable--so full of fleas and uncomfortable, that wearied as I was,\nafter vainly trying to sleep on a table, I ordered fresh horses, and\ndeparted at midnight. In two hours, becoming too sleepy to keep the\nsaddle, notwithstanding José made his _macarte_ fast to my steed's neck\nand towed us some distance, we fell in with an encampment of arrieros\nand their mules, who, after a strict sance, very kindly allowed us to\nbivouac near their fires.\n\nIn no other part of the world do I believe there can be found such a\nworthy, brave, hardworking, and industrious class of persons as the\narrieros of Mexico; they are proverbial for honesty, and there is\nscarcely an instance known where they have proved unfaithful; trusted\nfor weeks and months with the most valuable cargoes, from silks to gold,\nin a country, too, where crime in its worst forms is rife, and where\ndetection is vain, they still appear a distinct race from their thievish\ncountrymen, and preserve an integrity seldom met with.\n\nAt the first blush of morn, the encampment was astir. Calling and\nwhistling to the mules, the sagacious brutes came regularly to the spot\nwhere their pack was deposited, were in turn loaded, and sent on after\nthe bell mules in advance. Meanwhile, the drivers prepared a hasty\nbreakfast, which was hastily eaten--the cigarillo lighted, and off they\ntrotted after their beasts. A good day's journey is six leagues--resting\nduring the heat of the day.\n\nI stood gazing at them until they disappeared in the dim light of\nmorning; then, by the embers of their fires, my guide boiled a small\nmeasure of coffee in a broken earthen pot found near by, when we put\nfoot in stirrup, and came on in the opposite direction. We rode rapidly\nto Puente Calderon, a small village at the foot of an abrupt elevation,\nwith a noisy torrent dashing its turbid waters against the stone arches\nof the bridge. It was the spot where was fought one of the bloodiest\nrevolutionary battles between the republican and royalist forces.\nDismounting at a rude dwelling fronting the shelving, rocky street, with\n_Meson de la Patria_ chalked over the entrance, we entered the patio,\nwhere was standing a huge, ungainly vehicle--a kind of family van, drawn\nby nine stout mules--while beneath the portals of the inn-yard were half\na dozen juveniles and a couple of staid, portly parents. _Para servir\nustedes_, quoth I, _Pasé vd bien_, murmured the party; _Vamonos\nalmorzar!_ and accordingly I sat down on a saddle and partook of their\nhospitality. The family were destined to Guadalajara from a two months\nsojourn on their plantations, and were as ignorant of what was going on\nin the world as a fish under water. Indeed, in this particular, they\nwere not singular examples; and the ignorance of the peasantry was\nalmost incredible. I frequently met individuals in the Western\nprovinces, who, though they had heard of the war, had not the slightest\nconception with whom--_unos gringos_--some foreigners, they would\nsay--and as for the simple information regarding short distances from\nplace to place, or the nature of the road, and such trifling matters, it\ndefied the most acute cross-examinations.\n\nThe conversation at our breakfast ran upon the war, and revolutions of\nthe country. \"And where are you from, Señor?\" asked the old lady, as she\nchucked a hot tortilla towards me. \"From Mexico, and the peace is\ndeclared!\" _Valgame Dios!_--is it possible! exclaimed they all in a\nbreath; \"and will those horrible Yankees ever leave the city?\" _Si! si!_\n\"But, Señor, we are wondering who you are?\" Oh! I'm one of those\ndemonios Yankees! _Jésu Maria! dispense mi amigo!_ screamed the Señora.\nThe old gentleman offered his apologies, and we all laughed heartily;\nbut still I remarked the younger shoots of the family observing me with\nfurtive glances, as if I might have been a wild animal lately uncaged.\nMy hunger was soon appeased, and fresh horses carried us to Puente\nGrande. The river was much swollen and flowing over its rocky bed with\nturgid violence. Before crossing, I turned up the stream, selected a\nclean grassy bank, threw off my clothes, and plunged in. It afforded me\ngreat relief, in its icy coldness, for my leg was still painful with the\nhoof-prints of the vicious brute near San Juan del Rio. My ablutions\nseemed to create much surprise and amusement to a group of brown damsels\nwashing on a green islet near by, who, on swimming towards them, changed\ntheir tune and retreated to the willowy thickets. My guide, José Maria,\nwas vastly horrified and shocked, not so much at the conduct of the\ngirls, as my own regardlessness of life and health, in ha", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32178", "title": "Los Gringos\nOr, An Inside View of Mexico and California, with Wanderings in Peru, Chili, and Polynesia", "author": "", "publication_year": 1849, "metadata_title": "Los gringos; or, An inside view of Mexico and California : with wanderings in…", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:24.666608", "source_chars": 780012, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 118038}}
{"text": "Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nInternet Archive/Canadian Libraries)\n\n\n\n\n\n                       FOLK-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE\n\n                                BY THE\n\n                 REV. T. F. THISELTON DYER, M.A. OXON.\n      AUTHOR OF “BRITISH POPULAR CUSTOMS, PAST AND PRESENT,” ETC.\n\n\n                               NEW YORK\n                  HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE\n                                 1884\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nIt would be difficult to overestimate the value which must be attached\nto the plays of Shakespeare in connection with the social life of the\nElizabethan age. Possessed of a rich treasury of knowledge of a most\nvaried kind, much of which he may be said to have picked up almost\nintuitively, he embellished his writings with a choice store of\nillustrations descriptive of the period in which he lived. Apart, too,\nfrom his copious references to the manners and customs of the time, he\nseems to have had not only a wide knowledge of many technical subjects,\nbut also an intimate acquaintance with the folk-lore of bygone days. How\nfar this was the case may be gathered from the following pages, in which\nare collected and grouped together, as far as arrangement would permit,\nthe various subjects relating to this interesting and popular branch of\nour domestic history. It only remains for me to add that the edition of\nthe poet’s plays made use of is the “Globe,” published by Messrs.\nMacmillan.\n\n                                            T. F. THISELTON DYER.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n    CHAP.                                          PAGE.\n\n      I. FAIRIES                                      1\n\n     II. WITCHES                                     25\n\n    III. GHOSTS                                      43\n\n     IV. DEMONOLOGY AND DEVIL-LORE                   52\n\n      V. NATURAL PHENOMENA                           62\n\n     VI. BIRDS                                       97\n\n    VII. ANIMALS                                    161\n\n   VIII. PLANTS                                     201\n\n     IX. INSECTS AND REPTILES                       250\n\n      X. FOLK-MEDICINE                              264\n\n     XI. CUSTOMS CONNECTED WITH THE CALENDAR        296\n\n    XII. BIRTH AND BAPTISM                          332\n\n   XIII. MARRIAGE                                   342\n\n    XIV. DEATH AND BURIAL                           362\n\n     XV. RINGS AND PRECIOUS STONES                  386\n\n    XVI. SPORTS AND PASTIMES                        394\n\n   XVII. DANCES                                     424\n\n  XVIII. PUNISHMENTS                                433\n\n    XIX. PROVERBS                                   444\n\n     XX. HUMAN BODY                                 475\n\n    XXI. FISHES                                     497\n\n   XXII. SUNDRY SUPERSTITIONS                       505\n\n  XXIII. MISCELLANEOUS CUSTOMS, ETC.                521\n\n  INDEX                                             549\n\n\n\n\nFOLK-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nFAIRIES.\n\n\nThe wealth of Shakespeare’s luxuriant imagination and glowing language\nseems to have been poured forth in the graphic accounts which he has\ngiven us of the fairy tribe. Indeed, the profusion of poetic imagery\nwith which he has so richly clad his fairy characters is unrivalled, and\nthe “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” holds a unique position in so far as it\ncontains the finest modern artistic realization of the fairy kingdom.\nMr. Dowden, in his “Shakspere Primer” (1877, pp. 71, 72) justly remarks:\n“As the two extremes of exquisite delicacy, of dainty elegance, and, on\nthe other hand, of thick-witted grossness and clumsiness, stand the\nfairy tribe and the group of Athenian handicraftsmen. The world of the\npoet’s dream includes the two—a Titania, and a Bottom the weaver—and can\nbring them into grotesque conjunction. No such fairy poetry existed\nanywhere in English literature before Shakspere. The tiny elves, to whom\na cowslip is tall, for whom the third part of a minute is an important\ndivision of time, have a miniature perfection which is charming. They\ndelight in all beautiful and dainty things, and war with things that\ncreep and things that fly, if they be uncomely; their lives are gay with\nfine frolic and delicate revelry.” Puck, the jester of fairyland, stands\napart from the rest, the recognizable “lob of spirits,” a rough,\n“fawn-faced, shock-pated little fellow, dainty-limbed shapes around\nhim.” Judging, then, from the elaborate account which the poet has\nbequeathed us of the fairies, it is evident that the subject was one in\nwhich he took a special interest. Indeed, the graphic pictures he has\nhanded down to us of\n\n    “Elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves;\n    And ye, that on the sands with printless foot,\n    Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him\n    When he comes back; you demy-puppets that\n    By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make\n    Whereof the ewe not bites,” etc.,\n\nshow how intimately he was acquainted with the history of these little\npeople, and what a complete knowledge he possessed of the superstitious\nfancies which had clustered round them. In Shakespeare’s day, too, it\nmust be remembered, fairies were much in fashion; and, as Johnson\nremarks, common tradition had made them familiar. It has also been\nobserved that, well acquainted, from the rural habits of his early life,\nwith the notions of the peasantry respecting these beings, he saw that\nthey were capable of being applied to a production of a species of the\nwonderful. Hence, as Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps[1] has so aptly written,\n“he founded his elfin world on the prettiest of the people’s traditions,\nand has clothed it in the ever-living flowers of his own exuberant\nfancy.” Referring to the fairy mythology in the “Midsummer-Night’s\nDream,” it is described by Mr. Keightley[2] as an attempt to blend “the\nelves of the village with the fays of romance.” His fairies agree with\nthe former in their diminutive stature—diminished, indeed, to dimensions\ninappreciable by village gossips—in their fondness for dancing, their\nlove of cleanliness, and their child-abstracting propensities. Like the\nfays, they form a community, ruled over by the princely Oberon and the\nfair Titania. There is a court and chivalry; Oberon would have the\nqueen’s sweet changeling to be a “knight of his train, to trace the\nforests wild.” Like earthly monarchs, he has his jester, “that shrewd\nand knavish sprite called Robin Goodfellow.”\n\n    [1] “Illustrations of the Fairy Mythology of ‘A\n    Midsummer-Night’s Dream,’” 1845, p. xiii.\n\n    [2] “Fairy Mythology,” p. 325.\n\nOf the fairy characters treated by Shakespeare may be mentioned Oberon,\nking of fairyland, and Titania, his queen. They are represented as\nkeeping rival courts in consequence of a quarrel, the cause of which is\nthus told by Puck (“Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” ii. 1):\n\n    “The king doth keep his revels here to-night:\n    Take heed the queen come not within his sight;\n    For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,\n    Because that she as her attendant hath\n    A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;\n    She never had so sweet a changeling;\n    And jealous Oberon would have the child\n    Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;\n    But she perforce withholds the loved boy,\n    Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy;\n    And now they never meet in grove or green,\n    By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,” etc.\n\nOberon first appears in the old French romance of “Huon de Bourdeaux,”\nand is identical with Elberich, the dwarf king of the German story of\nOtuit in the “Heldenbuch.” The name Elberich, or, as it appears in the\n“Nibelungenlied,” Albrich, was changed, in passing into French, first\ninto Auberich, then into Auberon, and finally became our Oberon. He is\nintroduced by Spenser in the “Fairy Queen” (book ii. cant. i. st. 6),\nwhere he describes Sir Guyon:\n\n    “Well could he tournay, and in lists debate,\n    And knighthood tooke of good Sir Huon’s hand,\n    When with King Oberon he came to faery land.”\n\nAnd in the tenth canto of the same book (stanza 75) he is the\nallegorical representative of Henry VIII. The wise Elficleos left two\nsons,\n\n                        “of which faire Elferon,\n    The eldest brother, did untimely dy;\n    Whose emptie place the mightie Oberon\n    Doubly supplide, in spousall and dominion.”\n\n“Oboram, King of Fayeries,” is one of the characters in Greene’s “James\nthe Fourth.”[3]\n\n    [3] Aldis Wright’s “Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” 1877, Preface,\n    pp. xv., xvi.; Ritson’s “Fairy Mythology,” 1875, pp. 22, 23.\n\nThe name Titania for the queen of the fairies appears to have been the\ninvention of Shakespeare, for, as Mr. Ritson[4] remarks, she is not “so\ncalled by any other writer.” Why, however, the poet designated her by\nthis title, presents, according to Mr. Keightley,[5] no difficulty. “It\nwas,” he says, “the belief of those days that the fairies were the same\nas the classic nymphs, the attendants of Diana. The fairy queen was\ntherefore the same as Diana, whom Ovid (Met. iii. 173) styles Titania.”\nIn Chaucer’s “Merchant’s Tale” Pluto is the king of faerie, and his\nqueen, Proserpina, “who danced and sang about the well under the laurel\nin January’s garden.”[6]\n\n    [4] Essay on Fairies in “Fairy Mythology of Shakspeare,” p. 23.\n\n    [5] “Fairy Mythology,” 1878, p. 325.\n\n    [6] Notes to “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” by Aldis Wright,\n    1877, Preface, p. xvi.\n\nIn “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 4) she is known by the more familiar\nappellation, Queen Mab. “I dream’d a dream to-night,” says Romeo,\nwhereupon Mercutio replies, in that well-known famous passage—\n\n    “O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you,”\n\nthis being the earliest instance in which Mab is used to designate the\nfairy queen. Mr. Thoms[7] thinks that the origin of this name is to be\nfound in the Celtic, and that it contains a distinct allusion to the\ndiminutive form of the elfin sovereign. _Mab_, both in Welsh and in the\nkindred dialects of Brittany, signifies a child or infant, and hence it\nis a befitting epithet to one who\n\n                                  “comes\n    In shape no bigger than an agate-stone\n    On the fore-finger of an alderman.”\n\nMr. Keightley suggests that Mab may be a contraction of Habundia, who,\nHeywood says, ruled over the fairies; and another derivation is from\nMabel, of which Mab is an abbreviation.\n\n    [7] “Three Notelets on Shakespeare,” pp. 100-107.\n\nAmong the references to Queen Mab we may mention Drayton’s “Nymphidia:”\n\n    “Hence Oberon, him sport to make\n    (Their rest when weary mortals take,\n    And none but only fairies wake),\n      Descendeth for his pleasure:\n    And Mab, his merry queen, by night\n    Bestrides young folks that lie upright,” etc.\n\nBen Jonson, in his “Entertainment of the Queen and Prince at Althrope,”\nin 1603, describes as “tripping up the lawn a bevy of fairies, attending\non Mab, their queen, who, falling into an artificial ring that there was\ncut in the path, began to dance around.” In the same masque the queen is\nthus characterized by a satyr.\n\n    “This is Mab, the mistress fairy,\n    That doth nightly rob the dairy,\n    And can help or hurt the cherning\n    As she please, without discerning,” etc.\n\nLike Puck, Shakespeare has invested Queen Mab with mischievous\nproperties, which “identify her with the night hag of popular\nsuperstition,” and she is represented as\n\n    “Platting the manes of horses in the night.”\n\nThe merry Puck, who is so prominent an actor in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream,” is the mischief-loving sprite, the jester of the fairy court,\nwhose characteristics are roguery and sportiveness. In his description\nof him, Shakespeare, as Mr. Thoms points out, “has embodied almost every\nattribute with which the imagination of the people has invested the\nfairy race; and has neither omitted one trait necessary to give\nbrilliancy and distinctness to the likeness, nor sought to heighten its\neffect by the slightest exaggeration. For, carefully and elaborately as\nhe has finished the picture, he has not in it invested the ‘lob of\nspirits’ with one gift or quality which the popular voice of the age was\nnot unanimous in bestowing upon him.” Thus (ii. 1) the fairy says:\n\n    “Either I mistake your shape and making quite,\n    Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite,\n    Call’d Robin Goodfellow: are you not he\n    That frights the maidens of the villagery;\n    Skim milk; and sometimes labour in the quern,\n    And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;\n    And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;\n    Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?\n    Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,\n    You do their work, and they shall have good luck:\n    Are not you he?”\n\nThe name “Puck” was formerly applied to the whole race of fairies, and\nnot to any individual sprite—_puck_, or _pouke_, being an old word for\ndevil, in which sense it is used in the “Vision of Piers Plowman:”\n\n    “Out of the poukes pondfold\n    No maynprise may us fecche.”\n\nThe Icelandic _puki_ is the same word, and in Friesland and Jutland the\ndomestic spirit is called Puk by the peasantry. In Devonshire, Piskey is\nthe name for a fairy, with which we may compare the Cornish Pixey. In\nWorcestershire, too, we read how the peasantry are occasionally\n“poake-ledden,” that is, misled by a mischievous spirit called _poake_.\nAnd, according to Grose’s “Provincial Glossary,” in Hampshire they give\nthe name of Colt-pixey to a supposed spirit or fairy, which, in the\nshape of a horse, neighs, and misleads horses into bogs. The Irish,\nagain, have their Pooka,[8] and the Welsh their Pwcca—both words derived\nfrom Pouke or Puck. Mr. Keightley[9] thinks, also, that the Scottish\n_pawkey_, sly, knowing, may belong to the same list of words. It is\nevident, then, that the term Puck was in bygone years extensively\napplied to the fairy race, an appellation still found in the west of\nEngland. Referring to its use in Wales, “there is a Welsh tradition to\nthe effect that Shakespeare received his knowledge of the Cambrian\nfairies from his friend Richard Price, son of Sir John Price, of the\nPriory of Brecon.” It is even claimed that Cwm Pwcca, or Puck Valley, a\npart of the romantic glen of the Clydach, in Breconshire, is the\noriginal scene of the “Midsummer-Night’s Dream.”[10]\n\n    [8] See Croker’s “Fairy Legends of South of Ireland,” 1862, p. 135.\n\n    [9] “Fairy Mythology,” 1878, p. 316.\n\n    [10] Wirt Sikes’s “British Goblins,” 1880, p. 20.\n\nAnother of Puck’s names was Robin Goodfellow, and one of the most\nvaluable illustrations we have of the “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” is a\nblack-letter tract published in London, 1628, under the title of “Robin\nGoodfellow: His Mad Pranks, and Merry Jests, full of honest mirth, and\nis a fit medicine for melancholy.”[11] Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps,[12]\nspeaking of Robin Goodfellow, says, “there can be no doubt that in the\ntime of Shakespeare the fairies held a more prominent position in our\npopular literature than can be now concluded from the pieces on the\nsubject that have descended to us.” The author of “Tarlton’s News out of\nPurgatory,” printed in 1590, assures us that Robin Goodfellow was\n“famosed in every old wives chronicle for his mad merry pranks;” and we\nlearn from “Henslowe’s Diary” that Chettle was the writer of a drama on\nthe adventures of that “merry wanderer of the night.” These have\ndisappeared; and time has dealt so harshly with the memory of poor Robin\nthat we might almost imagine his spirit was still leading us astray over\nmassive volumes of antiquity, in a delusive search after documents\nforever lost; or, rather, perhaps, it is his punishment for the useless\njourneys he has given our ancestors, misleading night-wanderers, “and\nlaughing at their harm.”[13] He is mentioned by Drayton in his\n“Nymphidia:”\n\n    “He meeteth Puck, which most men call\n    Hob-goblin, and on him doth fall,” etc.,\n\n“hob being the familiar or diminutive form of Robert and Robin, so that\nHobgoblin is equivalent to Robin the Goblin. _i. e._, Robin\nGoodfellow.”[14] Burton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” alludes to him\nthus: “A bigger kinde there is of them, called with us hobgoblins and\nRobin Goodfellows, that would, in superstitious times, grinde corne for\na mess of milk, cut wood, or do any manner of drudgery work.” Under his\nname of Robin Goodfellow, Puck is well characterized in Jonson’s masque\nof “Love Restored.”[15]\n\n    [11] This is reprinted in Hazlitt’s “Fairy Tales, Legends, and\n    Romances, illustrating Shakespeare and other English Writers,”\n    1875, p. 173.\n\n    [12] “Illustrations of the Fairy Mythology of the\n    Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” printed for the Shakespeare Society,\n    p. viii.\n\n    [13] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. pp. 508-512.\n\n    [14] Thoms’s “Three Notelets on Shakespeare,” p. 88.\n\n    [15] See Nares’s Glossary, vol. ii. p. 695.\n\nAnother epithet applied to Puck is “Lob,” as in the “Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” (ii. 1), where he is addressed by the fairy as\n\n    “Thou lob of spirits.”[16]\n\nWith this we may compare the “lubber-fiend” of Milton, and the following\nin Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Knight of the Burning Pestle” (iii. 4):\n“There is a pretty tale of a witch that had the devil’s mark about her,\nthat had a giant to be her son, that was called Lob-lye-by-the-Fire.”\nGrimm[17] mentions a spirit, named the “Good Lubber,” to whom the bones\nof animals used to be offered at Manseld, in Germany. Once more, the\nphrase of “being in,” or “getting into Lob’s pound,” is easy of\nexplanation, presuming Lob to be a fairy epithet—the term being\nequivalent to Poake-ledden or Pixy-led.[18] In “Hudibras” this term is\nemployed as a name for the stocks in which the knight puts Crowdero:\n\n    “Crowdero, whom in irons bound,\n    Thou basely threw’st into _Lob’s pound_.”\n\n    [16] Mr. Dyce considers that Lob is descriptive of the contrast\n    between Puck’s square figure and the airy shapes of the other\n    fairies.\n\n    [17] “Deutsche Mythologie,” p. 492.\n\n    [18] See Keightley’s “Fairy Mythology,” pp. 318, 319.\n\nIt occurs, also, in Massinger’s “Duke of Milan” (iii. 2), where it means\n“behind the arras:”\n\n    “Who forc’d the gentleman, to save her credit,\n    To marry her, and say he was the party\n    Found in Lob’s pound.”\n\nThe allusion by Shakespeare to the “Will-o’-the-Wisp,” where he speaks\nof Puck as “sometime a fire,” is noticed elsewhere, this being one of\nthe forms under which this fairy was supposed to play his midnight\npranks.\n\nReferring, in the next place, to the several names of Shakespeare’s\nfairies, we may quote from “The Merry Wives of Windsor” (iv. 3), where\nMrs. Page speaks of “urchins, ouphes, and fairies”—urchin having been\nan appellation for one class of fairies. In the “Maydes’ Metamorphosis”\nof Lyly (1600), we find fairies, elves, and urchins separately\naccommodated with dances for their use. The following is the _urchin’s_\ndance:\n\n    “By the moone we sport and play,\n    With the night begins our day;\n    As we frisk the dew doth fall,\n    Trip it, little urchins all,\n    Lightly as the little bee,\n    Two by two, and three by three,\n    And about goe wee, goe wee.”\n\nIn “The Tempest” (i. 2) their actions are also limited to the night:\n\n                                        “Urchins\n    Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,\n    All exercise on thee.”\n\nThe children employed to torment Falstaff, in “The Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (iv. 4), were to be dressed in these fairy shapes.\n\nMr. Douce regards the word _urchin_, when used to designate a fairy, as\nof Celtic origin, with which view Mr. Thoms[19] compares the _urisks_ of\nHighland fairies.\n\n    [19] “Three Notelets on Shakespeare,” pp. 79-82.\n\nThe term _ouphe_, according to Grimm, is only another form of the\ncognate _elf_, which corresponds with the Middle High-German _ulf_, in\nthe plural _ulve_. He further proves the identity of this _ulf_ with\n_alp_, and with our English _elf_, from a Swedish song published by\nAsdwiddson, in his “Collection of Swedish Ballads,” in one version of\nwhich the elfin king is called Herr _Elfver_, and in the second Herr\n_Ulfver_.\n\nThe name _elf_, which is frequently used by Shakespeare, is the same as\nthe Anglo-Saxon _alf_, the Old High-German and the Middle High-German\n_ulf_. “Fairies and elvs,” says Tollet, “are frequently mentioned\ntogether in the poets without any distinction of character that I can\nrecollect.”\n\nThe other fairies, Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, and Mustard-seed probably\nowe their appellations to the poet himself.\n\nHow fully Shakespeare has described the characteristics of the fairy\ntribe, besides giving a detailed account of their habits and doings, may\nbe gathered from the following pages, in which we have briefly\nenumerated the various items of fairy lore as scattered through the\npoet’s writings.\n\nBeauty, then, united with power, was one of the popular characteristics\nof the fairy tribe. Such was that of the “Fairy Queen” of Spenser, and\nof Titania in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream.” In “Antony and Cleopatra”\n(iv. 8), Antony, on seeing Cleopatra enter, says to Scarus:\n\n    “To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts,\n    Make her thanks bless thee.”\n\nIn “Cymbeline” (iii. 6), when the two brothers find Imogen in their\ncave, Belarius exclaims:\n\n    “But that it eats our victuals, I should think\n    Here were a fairy.”[20]\n\nAnd he then adds:\n\n    “By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,\n    An earthly paragon! behold divineness\n    No elder than a boy.”\n\n    [20] Showing, as Mr. Ritson says, that they never ate.\n\nThe fairies, as represented in many of our old legends and folk-tales,\nare generally noticeable for their beauty, the same being the case with\nall their surroundings. As Sir Walter Scott,[21] too, says, “Their\npageants and court entertainments comprehended all that the imagination\ncould conceive of what were accounted gallant and splendid. At their\nprocessions they paraded more beautiful steeds than those of mere\nearthly parentage. The hawks and hounds which they employed in their\nchase were of the first race. At their daily banquets, the board was set\nforth with a splendor which the proudest kings of the earth dared not\naspire to, and the hall of their dancers echoed to the most exquisite\nmusic.”\n\n    [21] “Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft,” 1831, p. 121.\n\nMr. Douce[22] quotes from the romance of “Lancelot of the Lake,” where\nthe author, speaking of the days of King Arthur, says, “En celui temps\nestoient appellees faees toutes selles qui sentre-mettoient\ndenchantemens et de charmes, et moult en estoit pour lors principalement\nen la Grande Bretaigne, et savoient la force et la vertu des paroles,\ndes pierres, et des herbes, parquoy elles estoient tenues et jeunesse et\nen beaulte, et en grandes richesses comme elles devisoient.”\n\n    [22] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 115.\n\n“This perpetual youth and beauty,” he adds, “cannot well be separated\nfrom a state of immortality;” another characteristic ascribed to the\nfairy race. It is probably alluded to by Titania in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” (ii. 1):\n\n    “The human mortals want their winter here.”\n\nAnd further on (ii. 1), when speaking of the changeling’s mother, she\nsays:\n\n    “But she, being mortal, of that boy did die.”\n\nAgain, a fairy addresses Bottom the weaver (iii. 1)—\n\n    “Hail, mortal!”\n\n—an indication that she was not so herself. The very fact, indeed, that\nfairies “call themselves _spirits_, ghosts, or shadows, seems to be a\nproof of their immortality.” Thus Puck styles Oberon “king of shadows,”\nand this monarch asserts of himself and his subjects—\n\n    “But we are spirits of another sort.”\n\nFletcher, in the “Faithful Shepherdess,” describes (i. 2)—\n\n    “A virtuous well, about whose flow’ry banks\n    The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds,\n    By the pale moonshine, dipping oftentimes\n    Their stolen children, so to make them free\n    From dying flesh, and dull mortality.”\n\nAriosto, in his “Orlando Furioso” (book xliii. stanza 98) says:\n\n    “I am a fayrie, and to make you know,\n    To be a fayrie what it doth import,\n    We cannot dye, how old so e’er we grow.\n    Of paines and harmes of ev’rie other sort\n    We taste, onelie no death we nature ow.”\n\nAn important feature of the fairy race was their power of vanishing at\nwill, and of assuming various forms. In “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream”\nOberon says:\n\n                        “I am invisible,\n    And I will overhear their conference.”\n\nPuck relates how he was in the habit of taking all kinds of outlandish\nforms; and in the “Tempest,” Shakespeare has bequeathed to us a graphic\naccount of Ariel’s eccentricities. “Besides,” says Mr. Spalding,[23]\n“appearing in his natural shape, and dividing into flames, and behaving\nin such a manner as to cause young Ferdinand to leap into the sea,\ncrying, ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!’ he assumes the\nforms of a water nymph (i. 2), a harpy (iii. 3), and also the Goddess\nCeres (iv. 1), while the strange shapes, masquers, and even the hounds\nthat hunt and worry the would-be king and viceroys of the island, are\nAriel’s ‘meaner fellows.’” Poor Caliban complains of Prospero’s spirits\n(ii. 2):\n\n    “For every trifle are they set upon me;\n    Sometimes like apes, that mow and chatter at me,\n    And after bite me: then like hedgehogs which\n    Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount\n    Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I\n    All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues\n    Do hiss me into madness.”\n\n    [23] “Elizabethan Demonology,” p. 50.\n\nThat fairies are sometimes exceedingly diminutive is fully shown by\nShakespeare, who gives several instances of this peculiarity. Thus Queen\nMab, in “Romeo and Juliet,” to which passage we have already had\noccasion to allude (i. 4), is said to come\n\n    “In shape no bigger than an agate stone\n    On the fore-finger of an alderman.”[24]\n\n    [24] Agate was used metaphorically for a very diminutive\n    person, in allusion to the small figures cut in agate for\n    rings. In “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2), Falstaff says: “I was never\n    manned with an agate till now; but I will inset you neither in\n    gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you back again\n    to your master, for a jewel.” In “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii.\n    1) Hero speaks of a man as being “low, an agate very vilely\n    cut.”\n\nAnd Puck tells us, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1), that when\nOberon and Titania meet,\n\n        “they do square, that all their elves, for fear,\n    Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.”\n\nFurther on (ii. 3) the duties imposed by Titania upon her train point to\ntheir tiny character:\n\n    “Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;\n    Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;\n    Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,\n    Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,\n    To make my small elves coats.”\n\nAnd when enamoured of Bottom, she directs her elves that they should—\n\n    “Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;\n    Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,\n    With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;\n    The honey bags steal from the humble-bees,\n    And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs\n    And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,\n    To have my love to bed, and to arise;\n    And pluck the wings from painted butterflies\n    To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.”\n\nWe may compare, too, Ariel’s well-known song in “The Tempest” (v. 1):\n\n        “Where the bee sucks, there suck I:\n        In a cowslip’s bell I lie;\n        There I couch when owls do cry,\n        On the bat’s back I do fly\n        After summer merrily,\n    Merrily, merrily shall I live now\n    Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.”\n\nAgain, from the following passage in “The Merry Wives of Windsor” (iv.\n4) where Mrs. Page, after conferring with her husband, suggests that—\n\n    “Nan Page my daughter, and my little son,\n    And three or four more of their growth, we’ll dress\n    Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white,\n    With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,\n    And rattles in their hands”\n\nit is evident that in Shakespeare’s day fairies were supposed to be of\nthe size of children. The notion of their diminutiveness, too, it\nappears was not confined to this country,[25] but existed in\nDenmark,[26] for in the ballad of “Eline of Villenskov” we read:\n\n    “Out then spake the smallest Trold;\n      No bigger than an ant;—\n    Oh! here is come a Christian man,\n      His schemes I’ll sure prevent.”\n\n    [25] See Grimm’s “Deutsche Mythologie.”\n\n    [26] Thoms’s “Three Notelets on Shakespeare,” 1865, pp. 38, 39.\n\nAgain, various stories are current in Germany descriptive of the fairy\ndwarfs; one of the most noted being that relating to Elberich, who aided\nthe Emperor Otnit to gain the daughter of the Paynim Soldan of\nSyria.[27]\n\n    [27] See Keightley’s “Fairy Mythology,” 1878, p. 208.\n\nThe haunt of the fairies on earth are generally supposed to be the most\nromantic and rural that can be selected; such a spot being the place of\nTitania’s repose described by Oberon in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii.\n1):[28]\n\n        “a bank where the wild thyme blows,\n    Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,\n    Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,\n    With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:\n    There sleeps Titania some time of the night,\n    Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;\n    And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin,\n    Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.”\n\n    [28] See also Thorpe’s “Northern Mythology,” 1852, vol. iii. p.\n    32, etc.\n\nTitania also tells how the fairy race meet\n\n        “on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,\n    By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,\n    Or in the beached margent of the sea.”\n\nIn “The Tempest” (v. 1), we have the following beautiful invocation by\nProspero:\n\n    “Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves;\n    And ye, that on the sands with printless foot\n    Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him\n    When he comes back—”\n\nTheir haunts, however, varied in different localities, but their\nfavorite abode was in the interior of conical green hills, on the slopes\nof which they danced by moonlight. Milton, in the “Paradise Lost” (book\ni.), speaks of\n\n                            “fairy elves,\n    Whose midnight revels, by a forest side\n    Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,\n    Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon\n    Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth\n    Wheels her pale course, they, on their mirth and dance\n    Intent, with jocund music charm his ear;\n    At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.”\n\nThe Irish fairies occasionally inhabited the ancient burial-places known\nas tumuli or barrows, while some of the Scottish fairies took up their\nabode under the “door-stane” or threshold of some particular house, to\nthe inmates of which they administered good offices.[29]\n\n    [29] Gunyon’s “Illustrations of Scottish History, Life, and\n    Superstitions,” p. 299.\n\nThe so-called fairy-rings in old pastures[30]—little circles of a\nbrighter green, within which it was supposed the fairies dance by\nnight—are now known to result from the out-spreading propagation of a\nparticular mushroom, the fairy-ringed fungus, by which the ground is\nmanured for a richer following vegetation. An immense deal of legendary\nlore, however, has clustered round this curious phenomenon, popular\nsuperstition attributing it to the merry roundelays of the moonlight\nfairies.[31] In “The Tempest” (v. 1) Prospero invokes the fairies as the\n“demy-puppets” that\n\n    “By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make,\n    Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime\n    Is to make midnight-mushrooms.”\n\n    [30] Chambers’s “Book of Days,” vol. i. p. 671.\n\n    [31] Among the various conjectures as to the cause of these\n    verdant circles, some have ascribed them to lightning; others\n    maintained that they are occasioned by ants. See Miss Baker’s\n    “Northamptonshire Glossary,” vol. i. p. 218; Brand’s “Pop.\n    Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. pp. 480-483; and also the\n    “Phytologist,” 1862, pp. 236-238.\n\nIn “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1), the fairy says:\n\n    “I do wander everywhere,\n    Swifter than the moon’s sphere;\n    And I serve the fairy queen,\n    To dew her orbs upon the green.”\n\nAgain, in the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), Anne Page says:\n\n    “And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing\n    Like to the Garter’s compass, in a ring;\n    The expressure that it bears, green let it be,\n    More fertile-fresh than all the field to see.”\n\nAnd once in “Macbeth” (v. 1), Hecate says:\n\n    “Like elves and fairies in a ring.”\n\nDrayton, in his “Nymphidia” (l. 69-72), mentions this superstition:\n\n    “And in their courses make that round,\n    In meadows and in marshes found,\n    Of them so called the fayrie ground,\n      Of which they have the keeping.”\n\nCowley, too, in his “Complaint,” says:\n\n    “Where once such fairies dance, no grass does ever grow.”\n\nAnd again, in his ode upon Dr. Harvey:\n\n    “And dance, like fairies, a fantastic round.”\n\nPluquet, in his “Contes Populaires de Bayeux,” tells us that the fairy\nrings, called by the peasants of Normandy “Cercles des fées,” are said\nto be the work of fairies.\n\nAmong the numerous superstitions which have clustered round the fairy\nrings, we are told that when damsels of old gathered the May dew on the\ngrass, which they made use of to improve their complexions, they left\nundisturbed such of it as they perceived on the fairy-rings,\napprehensive that the fairies should in revenge destroy their beauty.\nNor was it considered safe to put the foot within the rings, lest they\nshould be liable to the fairies’ power.[32] The “Athenian Oracle” (i.\n397) mentions a popular belief that “if a house be built upon the ground\nwhere fairy rings are, whoever shall inhabit therein does wonderfully\nprosper.”\n\n    [32] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 112.\n\nSpeaking of their dress, we are told that they constantly wore green\nvests, unless they had some reason for changing their attire. In the\n“Merry Wives of Windsor” (iv. 4) they are spoken of as—\n\n    “Urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white.”\n\nAnd further on (v. 4):\n\n    “Fairies, black, grey, green, and white.”\n\nThe fairies of the moors were often clad in heath-brown or lichen-dyed\ngarments, whence the epithet of “Elfin-grey.”[33]\n\n    [33] Ritson’s “Fairy Mythology,” 1878, pp. 26, 27.\n\nThe legends of most countries are unanimous in ascribing to the fairies\nan inordinate love of music; such harmonious sounds as those which\nCaliban depicts in “The Tempest” (iii. 2) being generally ascribed to\nthem:\n\n                      “The isle is full of noises,\n    Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.\n    Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments\n    Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices\n    That, if I then had waked after long sleep,\n    Will make me sleep again.”\n\nIn the “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 3), when Titania is desirous of\ntaking a nap, she says to her attendants:\n\n    “Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song.”\n\nAnd further on (iii. 1) she tells Bottom:\n\n    “I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee,\n    And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,\n    And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep.”\n\nThe author of “Round About our Coal Fire”[34] tells us that “they had\nfine musick always among themselves, and danced in a moonshiny night,\naround, or in, a ring.”\n\n    [34] Quoted by Brand, “Pop. Antiq.,” vol. ii. p. 481.\n\nThey were equally fond of dancing, and we are told how they meet—\n\n    “To dance their ringlets to the whistling wind;”\n\nand in the “Maydes’ Metamorphosis” of Lyly, the fairies, as they dance,\nsing:\n\n    “Round about, round about, in a fine ring a,\n    Thus we dance, thus we dance, and thus we sing a,\n    Trip and go, to and fro, over this green a,\n    All about, in and out, for our brave queen a,” etc.\n\nAs Mr. Thoms says, in his “Three Notelets on Shakespeare” (1865, pp. 40,\n41), “the writings of Shakespeare abound in graphic notices of these\nfairy revels, couched in the highest strains of poetry; and a comparison\nof these with some of the popular legends which the industry of\nContinental antiquaries has preserved will show us clearly that these\ndelightful sketches of elfin enjoyment have been drawn by a hand as\nfaithful as it is masterly.”\n\nIt would seem that the fairies disliked irreligious people: and so, in\n“Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), the mock fairies are said to chastise\nunchaste persons, and those who do not say their prayers. This coincides\nwith what Lilly, in his “Life and Times,” says: “Fairies love a strict\ndiet and upright life; fervent prayers unto God conduce much to the\nassistance of those who are curious hereways,” _i. e._, who wish to\ncultivate an acquaintance with them.\n\nAgain, fairies are generally represented as great lovers and patrons of\ncleanliness and propriety, for the observance of which they were\nfrequently said to reward good servants, by dropping money into their\nshoes in the night; and, on the other hand, they were reported to punish\nmost severely the sluts and slovenly, by pinching them black and\nblue.[35] Thus, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 1), Puck says:\n\n    “I am sent, with broom, before,\n    To sweep the dust behind the door.”\n\n    [35] Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. p. 483.\n\nIn “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), Pistol, speaking of the mock fairy\nqueen, says:\n\n    “Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery;”\n\nand the fairies who haunt the towers of Windsor are enjoined:\n\n    “About, about,\n    Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out:\n    Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room:\n\n\n    The several chairs of order look you scour\n    With juice of balm and every precious flower.”\n\nIn Ben Jonson’s ballad of “Robin Goodfellow”[36] we have a further\nillustration of this notion:\n\n    “When house or hearth cloth sluttish lie,\n      I pinch the maidens black and blue,\n    The bed clothes from the bed pull I,\n      And lay them naked all to view.\n          ’Twixt sleep and wake\n          I do them take,\n    And on the key-cold floor them throw;\n          If out they cry,\n          Then forth I fly,\n    And loudly laugh I, ho, ho, ho!”\n\n    [36] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Illustrations of Fairy Mythology,”\n    p. 167; see Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” pp. 122, 123.\n\nIn “Round About our Coal Fire,” we find the following passage bearing on\nthe subject: “When the master and mistress were laid on the pillows, the\nmen and maids, if they had a game at romps, and blundered up stairs, or\njumbled a chair, the next morning every one would swear ’twas the\nfairies, and that they heard them stamping up and down stairs all night,\ncrying, ‘Waters lock’d, waters lock’d!’ when there was no water in every\npail in the kitchen.” Herrick, too, in his “Hesperides,” speaks of this\nsuperstition:\n\n    “If ye will with Mab find grace,\n    Set each platter in his place;\n    Rake the fire up, and set\n    Water in, ere sun be set,\n    Wash your pales and cleanse your dairies,\n    Sluts are loathesome to the fairies:\n    Sweep your house; who doth not so,\n    Mab will pinch her by the toe.”\n\nWhile the belief in the power of fairies existed, they were supposed to\nperform much good service to mankind. Thus, in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” (v. 1), Oberon says:\n\n    “With this field-dew consecrate,\n    Every fairy take his gait;\n    And each several chamber bless,\n    Through this palace, with sweet peace;\n    And the owner of it blest,\n    Ever shall in safety rest”—\n\nthe object of their blessing being to bring peace upon the house of\nTheseus. Mr. Douce[37] remarks that the great influence which the belief\nin fairies had on the popular mind “gave so much offence to the holy\nmonks and friars, that they determined to exert all their power to expel\nthese imaginary beings from the minds of the people, by taking the\noffice of the fairies’ benedictions entirely into their own hands;” a\nproof of which we have in Chaucer’s “Wife of Bath:”\n\n    “I speke of many hundred yeres ago;\n    But now can no man see non elves mo,\n    For now the grete charitee and prayeres\n    Of limitoures and other holy freres\n    That serchen every land and every streme,\n    As thikke as motes in the sonne beme,\n    Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures,\n    Citees and burghes, castles highe and toures,\n    Thropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies,\n    This maketh that ther ben no faeries:\n    For ther as wont to walken was an elf\n    Ther walketh now the limitour himself.”\n\n    [37] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” pp. 126, 127.\n\nMacbeth, too (v. 8), in his encounter with Macduff, says:\n\n    “I bear a charmed life, which must not yield\n    To one of woman born.”\n\nIn the days of chivalry, the champion’s arms were ceremoniously blessed,\neach taking an oath that he used no charmed weapon. In Spenser’s “Fairy\nQueen” (book i. canto 4) we read:\n\n              “he bears a charmed shield,\n    And eke enchanted arms, that none can pierce.”\n\nFairies were amazingly expeditious in their journeys. Thus, Puck goes\n“swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow,” and in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” he answers Oberon, who was about to send him on a secret\nexpedition:\n\n    “I’ll put a girdle round about the earth\n    In forty minutes.”\n\nAgain, the same fairy addresses him:\n\n    “Fairy king, attend, and mark:\n    I do hear the morning lark.\n\n      _Oberon._ Then, my queen, in silence sad,\n    Trip we after the night’s shade:\n    We the globe can compass soon,\n    Swifter than the wand’ring moon.”\n\nOnce more, Puck says:\n\n    “My fairy lord, this must be done with haste,\n    For night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,\n    And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger,” etc.\n\nIt was fatal, if we may believe Falstaff in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v.\n5) to speak to a fairy: “They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall\ndie.”\n\nFairies are accustomed to enrich their favorites; and in “A Winter’s\nTale” (iii. 3) the shepherd says: “It was told me I should be rich by\nthe fairies;”[38] and in “Cymbeline” (v. 4), Posthumus, on waking and\nfinding the mysterious paper, exclaims:\n\n    “What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!\n    Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment\n    Nobler than that it covers,” etc.\n\n    [38] See Croker’s “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of\n    Ireland,” p. 316.\n\nAt the same time, however, it was unlucky to reveal their acts of\ngenerosity, as the shepherd further tells us: “This is fairy gold, boy;\nand ’twill prove so; up with’t, keep it close, home, home, the next way.\nWe are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy.”\n\nThe necessity of secrecy in fairy transactions of this kind is\nillustrated in Massinger and Field’s play of “The Fatal Dowry,” 1632\n(iv. 1),[39] where Romont says:\n\n    “But not a word o’ it; ’tis fairies’ treasure,\n    Which, but reveal’d, brings on the blabber’s ruin.”\n\n    [39] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” vol. ii. p. 493.\n\nAmong the many other good qualities belonging to the fairy tribe, we are\ntold that they were humanely attentive to the youthful dead.[40] Thus\nGuiderius, in “Cymbeline,” thinking that Imogen is dead (iv. 2), says:\n\n    “With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,\n    And worms will not come to thee;”[41]\n\nthere having been a popular notion that where fairies resorted no\nnoxious creature could be found.\n\n    [40] Ritson’s “Fairy Mythology of Shakespeare,” 1875, p. 29.\n\n    [41] Some copies read _them_.\n\nIn the pathetic dirge of Collins a similar allusion is made:\n\n    “No wither’d witch shall here be seen,\n      No goblin lead their nightly crew;\n    The female fays shall haunt the green,\n      And dress thy grave with pearly dew.”\n\nIt seems, however, that they were also supposed to be malignant; but\nthis, “it may be,” says Mr. Ritson, “was merely calumny, as being\nutterly inconsistent with their general character, which was singularly\ninnocent and amiable.” Thus, when Imogen, in “Cymbeline” (ii. 2), prays\non going to sleep,\n\n    “From fairies and the tempters of the night,\n    Guard me, beseech ye,”[42]\n\nit must have been, says Mr. Ritson,[43] the _incubus_ she was so afraid\nof.\n\n    [42] We may compare Banquo’s words in “Macbeth” (ii. 1):\n\n        “Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature\n         Gives way to in repose.”\n\n    [43] “Fairy Mythology,” pp. 27, 28.\n\nHamlet, too, notices this imputed malignity of the fairies (i. 1):\n\n                        “Then no planet strikes,\n    Nor fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm.”[44]\n\n    [44] “Comedy of Errors” (iv. 2) some critics read:\n\n        “A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough.”\n\nThat the fairies, however, were fond of indulging in mischievous sport\nat the expense of mortals is beyond all doubt, the merry pranks of Puck\nor Robin Goodfellow fully illustrating this item of our fairy-lore.\nThus, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1) this playful fairy says:\n\n    “I am that merry wanderer of the night.\n    I jest to Oberon and make him smile,\n    When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,\n    Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:\n    And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl,\n    In very likeness of a roasted crab;\n    And when she drinks, against her lips I bob,\n    And on her wither’d dewlap pour the ale.\n    The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,\n    Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;\n    Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,\n    And ‘tailor’ cries, and falls into a cough.”\n\nA fairy, in another passage, asks Robin:\n\n                        “Are you not he\n    That frights the maidens of the villagery,\n\n\n    Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?”\n\nWe have already mentioned how Queen Mab had the same mischievous humor\nin her composition, which is described by Mercutio in “Romeo and Juliet”\n(i. 4):\n\n                      “This is that very Mab\n    That plats the manes of horses in the night,\n    And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,\n    Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.”\n\nAnother reprehensible practice attributed to the fairies was that of\ncarrying off and exchanging children, such being designated\nchangelings.[45] The special agent in transactions of the sort was also\nQueen Mab, and hence Mercutio says:\n\n    “She is the fairies’ midwife.”\n\nAnd “she is so called,” says Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, “because it was\nher supposed custom to steal new-born babes in the night and leave\nothers in their place.” Mr. Steevens gives a different interpretation to\nthis line, and says, “It does not mean that she was the midwife to the\nfairies, but that she was the person among the fairies whose department\nit was to deliver the fancies of sleeping men in their dreams, those\nchildren of an idle brain.”\n\n    [45] This superstition is fully described in chapter on _Birth_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nWITCHES.\n\n\nIn years gone by witchcraft was one of the grossest forms of\nsuperstition, and it would be difficult to estimate the extent of its\ninfluence in this and other countries. It is not surprising that\nShakespeare should have made frequent allusions to this popular belief,\nconsidering how extensively it prevailed in the sixteenth and\nseventeenth centuries; the religious and dramatic literature of the\nperiod being full of it. Indeed, as Mr. Williams[46] points out, “what\nthe vulgar superstition must have been may be easily conceived, when men\nof the greatest genius or learning credited the possibility, and not\nonly a theoretical but possible occurrence, of these infernal\nphenomena.” Thus, Francis Bacon was “not able to get rid of the\nprinciples upon which the creed was based. Sir Edward Coke, his\ncontemporary, the most acute lawyer of the age, ventured even to define\nthe devil’s agents in witchcraft. Sir Thomas Browne and Sir Matthew\nHale, in 1664, proved their faith—the one by his solemn testimony in\nopen court, the other by his still more solemn sentence.” Hence, it was\nonly to be expected that Shakespeare should introduce into his writings\ndescriptions of a creed which held such a prominent place in the history\nof his day, and which has made itself famous for all time by the\nthousands of victims it caused to be sent to the torture-chamber, to the\nstake, and to the scaffold. Thus he has given a graphic account of the\ncelebrated Jeanne D’Arc, the Maid of Orleans, in “1 Henry VI.,” although\nMr. Dowden[47] is of opinion that this play was written by one or more\nauthors, Greene having had, perhaps, a chief hand in it, assisted by\nPeele and Marlowe. He says, “It is a happiness not to have to ascribe to\nour greatest poet the crude and hateful handling of the character of\nJoan of Arc, excused though to some extent it may be by the occurrence\nof view in our old English chronicles.”\n\n    [46] “Superstitions of Witchcraft,” 1865, p. 220.\n\n    [47] “Shakspere Primer,” 1877, p. 63.\n\nMr. Lecky,[48] too, regards the conception of Joan of Arc given in “1\nHenry VI.” as “the darkest blot upon the poet’s genius,” but it must be\nremembered that we have only expressed the current belief of his day—the\nEnglish vulgar having regarded her as a sorceress, the French as an\ninspired heroine. Talbot is represented as accusing her of being a\nwitch, serving the Evil One, and entering Rouen by means of her\nsorceries (iii. 2):\n\n    “France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears,\n    If Talbot but survive thy treachery.\n    Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress,\n    Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,\n    That hardly we escaped the pride of France.”\n\n    [48] “Rationalism in Europe,” 1870, vol. i. p. 106.\n\nFurther on (v. 3) she is made to summon fiends before her, but she\nwishes them in vain, for they speak not, hanging their heads in sign of\napproaching disaster.\n\n    “Now help, ye charming spells and periapts;\n    And ye choice spirits that admonish me\n    And give me signs of future accidents.\n    You speedy helpers, that are substitutes\n    Under the lordly monarch of the north,\n    Appear and aid me in this enterprise.”\n\nBut she adds:\n\n    “See, they forsake me! Now the time is come\n    That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest,\n    And let her head fall into England’s lap.\n    My ancient incantations are too weak,\n    And hell too strong for me to buckle with:\n    Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.”\n\nFinally, convicted of practising sorcery, and filling “the world with\nvicious qualities,” she was condemned to be burned. Her death, however,\nSir Walter Scott[49] says, “was not, we are sorry to say, a sacrifice to\nsuperstitious fear of witchcraft, but a cruel instance of wicked policy,\nmingled with national jealousy and hatred. The Duke of Bedford, when the\nill-starred Jeanne fell into his hands, took away her life in order to\nstigmatize her memory with sorcery, and to destroy the reputation she\nhad acquired among the French.”\n\n    [49] “Demonology and Witchcraft,” 1881, pp. 192, 193.\n\nThe cases of the Duchess of Gloucester and of Jane Shore, also\nimmortalized by Shakespeare, are both referred to in the succeeding\npages.\n\nThe Witch of Brentford, mentioned by Mrs. Page in “The Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (iv. 2), was an actual personage, the fame, says Staunton,[50]\nof whose vaticinations must have been traditionally well known to an\naudience of the time, although the records we possess of her are scant\nenough. The chief of them is a black-letter tract, printed by William\nCopland in the middle of the sixteenth century, entitled “Jyl of\nBraintford’s Testament,” from which it appears she was hostess of a\ntavern at Brentford.[51] One of the characters in Dekker and Webster’s\n“Westward Ho”[52] says, “I doubt that old hag, Gillian of Brainford, has\nbewitched me.”\n\n    [50] “Shakespeare,” 1864, vol ii. p. 161.\n\n    [51] See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 51.\n\n    [52] Webster’s Works, edited by Dyce, 1857, p. 238.\n\nThe witches in “Macbeth” are probably Scottish hags. As Mr. Gunnyon\nremarks,[53] “They are hellish monsters, brewing hell-broth, having cats\nand toads for familiars, loving midnight, riding on the passing storm,\nand devising evil against such as offend them. They crouch beneath the\ngibbet of the murderer, meet in gloomy caverns, amid earthquake\nconvulsions, or in thunder, lightning, and rain.” Coleridge, speaking of\nthem, observes that “the weird sisters are as true a creation of\nShakespeare’s as his Ariel and Caliban—fates, fairies, and materializing\nwitches being the elements. They are wholly different from any\nrepresentation of witches in the contemporary writers, and yet\npresented a sufficient external resemblance to the creatures of vulgar\nprejudice to act immediately on the audience. Their character consists\nin the imaginative disconnected from the good, they are the shadowy\nobscure and fearfully anomalous of physical nature, elemental avengers\nwithout sex or kin.”\n\n    [53] “Illustrations of Scottish History, Life, and\n    Superstition,” 1879, p. 322.\n\nIt has been urged, however, by certain modern critics, that these three\nsisters, “who play such an important part in ‘Macbeth,’ are not witches\nat all, but are, or are intimately allied to, the Norns or Fates of\nScandinavian paganism.”[54] Thus, a writer in the _Academy_ (Feb. 8,\n1879) thinks that Shakespeare drew upon Scandinavian mythology for a\nportion of the material he used in constructing these characters, and\nthat he derived the rest from the traditions of contemporary witchcraft;\nin fact, that the “sisters” are hybrids between Norns and witches. The\nsupposed proof of this is that each sister exercises the special\nfunction of one of the Norns. “The third,” it is said, “is the special\nprophetess, while the first takes cognizance of the past, and the second\nof the present, in affairs connected with humanity. These are the tasks\nof Urda, Verdandi, and Skulda. The first begins by asking, ‘When shall\nwe three meet again?’ The second decides the time: ‘When the battle’s\nlost and won.’ The third the future prophesies: ‘That will be ere the\nset of sun.’ The first again asks, ‘Where?’ The second decides: ‘Upon\nthe heath.’ The third the future prophesies: ‘There to meet with\nMacbeth.’”\n\n    [54] Spalding’s “Elizabethan Demonology,” 1880, p. 86.\n\nIt is further added that the description of the sisters given by Banquo\n(i. 3) applies to Norns rather than witches:\n\n                                        “What are these\n    So wither’d and so wild in their attire,\n    That look not like the inhabitants o’ the earth,\n    And yet are on’t? Live you? or are you aught\n    That man may question? You seem to understand me,\n    By each at once her chappy finger laying\n    Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,\n    And yet your beards forbid me to interpret\n    That you are so.”\n\nBut, as Mr. Spalding truly adds, “a more accurate poetical counterpart\nto the prose descriptions given by contemporary writers of the\nappearance of the poor creatures who were charged with the crime of\nwitchcraft could hardly have been penned.” Scot, for instance, in his\n“Discovery of Witchcraft” (book i. chap. iii. 7), says: “They are women\nwhich commonly be old, lame, bleare-eied, pale, fowle, and full of\nwrinkles; they are leane and deformed, showing melancholie in their\nfaces.” Harsnet, too, in his “Declaration of Popish Impostures” (1603,\np. 136), speaks of a witch as “an old weather-beaten crone, having her\nchin and knees meeting for age, walking like a bow, leaning on a staff,\nhollow-eyed, un-toothed, furrowed, having her limbs trembling with\npalsy, going mumbling in the streets; one that hath forgotten her\npaternoster, yet hath a shrewd tongue to call a drab a drab.”\n\nThe beard, also, to which Shakespeare refers in the passage above, was\nthe recognized characteristic of the witch. Thus, in the “Honest Man’s\nFortune” (ii. 1), it is said, “The women that come to us for disguises\nmust wear beards, and that’s to say a token of a witch.” In the “Merry\nWives of Windsor” (iv. 2), Sir Hugh Evans says of the disguised\nFalstaff: “By yea and no, I think the ’oman is a witch indeed: I like\nnot when a ’oman has a great peard; I spy a great peard under her\nmuffler.”\n\nIt seems probable, then, that witches are alluded to by Shakespeare in\n“Macbeth,” the contemporary literature on the subject fully supporting\nthis theory. Again, by his introduction of Hecate among the witches in\n“Macbeth” (iii. 5), Shakespeare has been censured for confounding\nancient with modern superstitions. But the incongruity is found in all\nthe poets of the Renaissance. Hecate, of course, is only another name\nfor Diana. “Witchcraft, in truth, is no modern invention. Witches were\nbelieved in by the vulgar in the time of Horace as implicitly as in the\ntime of Shakespeare. And the belief that the pagan gods were really\nexistent as evil demons is one which has come down from the very\nearliest ages of Christianity.”[55] As far back as the fourth century,\nthe Council of Ancyra is said to have condemned the pretensions of\nwitches; that in the night-time they rode abroad or feasted with their\nmistress, who was one of the pagan goddesses, Minerva, Sibylla, or\nDiana, or else Herodias.[56] In Middleton’s “Witch,” Hecate is the name\nof one of his witches, and she has a son a low buffoon. In Jonson’s “Sad\nShepherd” (ii. 1) Maudlin the witch calls Hecate, the mistress of\nwitches, “Our dame Hecate.” While speaking of the witches in “Macbeth,”\nit may be pointed out that[57] “the full meaning of the first scene is\nthe fag-end of a witch’s Sabbath, which, if fully represented, would\nbear a strong resemblance to the scene at the commencement of the fourth\nact. But a long scene on such a subject would be tedious and\nuninteresting at the commencement of the play. The audience is therefore\nleft to assume that the witches have met, performed their conjurations,\nobtained from the evil spirits the information concerning Macbeth’s\ncareer that they desired to obtain, and perhaps have been commanded by\nthe fiends to perform the mission they subsequently carry through.”\nBrand[58] describes this “Sabbath of the witches as a meeting to which\nthe sisterhood, after having been anointed with certain magical\nointments, provided by their infernal leader, are supposed to be carried\nthrough the air on brooms,” etc. It was supposed to be held on a\nSaturday, and in past centuries this piece of superstition was most\nextensively credited, and was one of the leading doctrines associated\nwith the system of witchcraft.\n\n    [55] “Notes to Macbeth” (Clark and Wright), 1877, p. 137.\n\n    [56] Scot’s “Discovery of Witchcraft,” 1584, book iii. chap.\n    16. See Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 235.\n\n    [57] “Elizabethan Demonology,” pp. 102, 103. See Conway’s\n    “Demonology and Devil-lore,” vol. ii. p. 253.\n\n    [58] “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 8.\n\nReferring, in the next place, to the numerous scattered notices of\nwitches given by Shakespeare throughout his plays, it is evident that he\nhad made himself thoroughly acquainted with the superstitions connected\nwith the subject, many of which he has described with the most minute\naccuracy. It appears, then, that although they were supposed to possess\nextraordinary powers, which they exerted in various ways, yet these were\nlimited, as in the case of Christmas night, when, we are told in\n“Hamlet” (i. 1), “they have no power to charm.” In spite, too, of their\nbeing able to assume the form of any animal at pleasure, the tail was\nalways wanting. In “Macbeth” (i. 3), the first witch says:\n\n    “And, like a rat without a tail,\n    I’ll do, I’ll do, and I’ll do.”\n\nOne distinctive mark, also, of a were-wolf, or human being changed into\na wolf, was the absence of a tail. The cat was said to be the form most\ncommonly assumed by the familiar spirits of witches; as, for instance,\nwhere the first witch says, “I come, Graymalkin!”[59] (i. 1), and\nfurther on (iv. 1), “Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.” In German\nlegends and traditions we find frequent notice of witches assuming the\nform of a cat, and displaying their fiendish character in certain\ndiabolical acts. It was, however, the absence of the tail that only too\noften was the cause of the witch being detected in her disguised form.\nThere were various other modes of detecting witches: one being “the\ntrial by the stool,” to which an allusion is made in “Troilus and\nCressida” (ii. 1), where Ajax says to Thersites,\n\n    “Thou stool for a witch!”\n\n—a practice which is thus explained in Grey’s “Notes” (ii. 236): “In one\nway of trying a witch, they used to place her upon a chair or a stool,\nwith her legs tied cross, that all the weight of her body might rest\nupon her seat, and by that means, after some time, the circulation of\nthe blood would be much stopped, and her sitting would be as painful as\nthe wooden horse; and she must continue in this pain twenty-four hours,\nwithout either sleep or meat; and it was no wonder that, when they were\ntired out with such an ungodly trial, they would confess themselves many\ntimes guilty to free themselves from such torture.”\n\n    [59] Graymalkin—a gray cat.\n\nAgain, it was a part of the system of witchcraft that drawing blood\nfrom a witch rendered her enchantments ineffectual. Thus, in “1 Henry\nVI.” (i. 5), Talbot says to the Maid of Orleans:\n\n              “I’ll have a bout with thee;\n    Devil or devil’s dam, I’ll conjure thee:\n    Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch.”\n\nAn instance of this superstition occurred some years ago in a Cornish\nvillage, when a man was summoned before the bench of magistrates and\nfined, for having assaulted the plaintiff and scratched her with a pin.\nIndeed, this notion has by no means died out. As recently as the year\n1870, a man eighty years of age was fined at Barnstaple, in Devonshire,\nfor scratching with a needle the arm of a young girl. He pleaded that he\nhad “suffered affliction” through her for five years, had had four\ncomplaints on him at once, had lost fourteen canaries, and about fifty\ngoldfinches, and that his neighbors told him this was the only way to\nbreak the spell and get out of her power.[60]\n\n    [60] Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” p. 181.\n\nIt was, also, a popular belief that a great share of faith was a\nprotection from witchcraft. Hence, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 2),\nDromio of Syracuse says of Nell:\n\n          “if my breast had not been made of faith and my heart of steel,\n    She had transform’d me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i’ the\n      wheel.”\n\nIn order, moreover, to check the power of witches, it was supposed to be\nnecessary to propitiate them, a ceremony which was often performed. It\nis alluded to further on in the same play (iv. 3), where Dromio of\nSyracuse says—\n\n    “Some devils ask but the parings of one’s nail,\n    A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,\n    A nut, a cherry-stone;”\n\nand in “Macbeth” we read of their being propitiated by gifts of blood.\nWitches were supposed to have the power of creating storms and other\natmospheric disturbances—a notion to which much prominence is given in\n“Macbeth.” Thus, the witches elect to meet in thunder, lightning, or\nrain. They are represented as being able to loose and bind the winds (v.\n3), to cause vessels to be tempest-tossed at sea. Hence Macbeth\naddresses them (iv. 1):\n\n    “Though you untie the winds, and let them fight\n    Against the churches; though the yesty waves\n    Confound and swallow navigation up;\n    Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down;\n    Though castles topple on their warders’ heads;\n    Though palaces and pyramids do slope\n    Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure\n    Of nature’s germins tumble all together,\n    Even till destruction sicken.”\n\nThus, by way of illustration, we may quote a curious confession made in\nScotland, about the year 1591, by Agnes Sampson, a reputed witch. She\nvowed that “at the time his majesty [James VI.] was in Denmark, she took\na cat and christened it, and afterwards bound to each part of that cat\nthe chiefest parts of a dead man, and several joints of his body; and\nthat in the night following, the said cat was conveyed into the midst of\nthe sea, by herself and other witches, sailing in their riddles, or\ncrieves, and so left the said cat right before the town of Leith, in\nScotland. This done, there arose such a tempest in the sea, as a greater\nhath not been seen, which tempest was the cause of the perishing of a\nboat or vessel coming from the town of Brunt Island to the town of\nLeith, wherein were sundry jewels and rich gifts, which should have been\npresented to the new Queen of Scotland at his majesty’s coming to Leith.\nAgain, it is confessed that the said christened cat was the cause of the\nking’s majesty’s ship, at his coming forth of Denmark, having a contrary\nwind to the rest of the ships then being in his company, which thing was\nmost strange and true, as the king’s majesty acknowledged.” It is to\nthis circumstance that Shakespeare probably alludes in “Macbeth” (i. 3),\nwhere he makes the witch say:\n\n    “Though his bark cannot be lost,\n    Yet it shall be tempest-toss’d.”\n\nWitches were also believed to be able to sell or give winds, a notion\nthus described in Drayton’s “Moon-Calf” (865):\n\n    “She could sell winds to any one that would\n    Buy them for money, forcing them to hold\n    What time she listed, tie them in a thread,\n    Which ever as the seafarer undid\n    They rose or scantled, as his sails would drive\n    To the same port whereas he would arrive.”\n\nSo, in “Macbeth” (i. 3):\n\n    “_2 Witch._ I’ll give thee a wind.\n     _1 Witch._ Thou’rt kind.\n     _3 Witch._ And I another.”\n\nSinger quotes from Sumner’s “Last Will and Testament:”\n\n          “In Ireland, and in Denmark both,\n    Witches for gold will sell a man a wind,\n    Which, in the corner of a napkin wrapp’d,\n    Shall blow him safe unto what coast he will.”\n\nAt one time the Finlanders and Laplanders drove a profitable trade by\nthe sale of winds. After being paid they knitted three magical knots,\nand told the buyer that when he untied the first he would have a good\ngale; when the second, a strong wind; and when the third, a severe\ntempest.[61]\n\n    [61] Olaus Magnus’s “History of the Goths,” 1638, p. 47. See\n    note to “The Pirate.”\n\nThe sieve, as a symbol of the clouds, has been regarded among all\nnations of the Aryan stock as the mythical vehicle used by witches,\nnightmares, and other elfish beings in their excursions over land and\nsea.[62] Thus, the first witch in “Macbeth” (i. 3), referring to the\nscoff which she had received from a sailor’s wife, says:\n\n    “Her husband’s to Aleppo gone, master o’ the Tiger:\n    But in a sieve I’ll thither sail.”[63]\n\n    [62] See Hardwick’s “Traditions and Folk-Lore,” pp. 108, 109;\n    Kelly’s “Indo-European Folk-Lore,” pp. 214, 215.\n\n    [63] In Greek, ἑπι ῥιπους πλειν, “to go to sea in a sieve,” was\n    a proverbial expression for an enterprise of extreme hazard or\n    impossible of achievement.—Clark and Wright’s “Notes to\n    Macbeth,” 1877, p. 82.\n\nStories of voyages performed in this way are common enough in Germany.\nA man, for instance, going through a corn-field, finds a sieve on the\npath, which he takes with him. He does not go far before a young lady\nhurries after him, and hunts up and down as if looking for something,\nejaculating all the time, “How my children are crying in England!”\nThereupon the man lays down the sieve, and has hardly done so ere sieve\nand lady vanish. In the case of another damsel of the same species,\nmentioned by Mr. Kelly, the usual exclamation is thus varied: “My sieve\nrim! my sieve rim! how my mother is calling me in England!” At the sound\nof her mother’s voice the daughter immediately thinks of her sieve.\nSteevens quotes from the “Life of Doctor Fian,” “a notable sorcerer,”\nburned at Edinburgh, January, 1591, how that he and a number of witches\nwent to sea, “each one in a _riddle or cive_.” In the “Discovery of\nWitchcraft,” Reginald Scot says it was believed that “witches could sail\nin an egg-shell, a cockle or muscle-shell, through and under the\ntempestuous seas.” Thus, in “Pericles” (iv. 4), Gower says:\n\n    “Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short;\n    Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for’t.”\n\nTheir dance is thus noticed in “Macbeth” (iv. 1):\n\n    “I’ll charm the air to give a sound\n    While you perform your antic round.”\n\nWitches also were supposed to have the power of vanishing at will, a\nnotion referred to in “Macbeth” (i. 3), where, in reply to Banquo’s\ninquiry as to whither the witches are vanished, Macbeth replies:\n\n    “Into the air; and what seem’d corporal melted\n    As breath into the wind.”\n\nIn his letter to his wife he likewise observes: “They made themselves\nair, into which they vanished.” Hecate, in the third act, fifth scene,\nafter giving instructions to the weird host, says:\n\n    “I am for the air; this night I’ll spend\n    Unto a dismal and a fatal end.”\n\nTo this purpose they prepared various ointments, concerning which\nReginald Scot[64] says: “The devil teacheth them to make ointment of the\nbowels and members of children, whereby they ride in the air and\naccomplish all their desires. After burial they steal them out of their\ngraves and seethe them in a caldron till the flesh be made potable, of\nwhich they make an ointment by which they ride in the air.” Lord Bacon\nalso informs us that the “ointment the witches use is reported to be\nmade of the fat of children digged out of their graves, of the juices of\nsmallage, wolf bane, and cinquefoil, mingled with the meal of fine\nwheat; but I suppose the soporiferous medicines are likest to do it,\nwhich are henbane, hemlock, mandrake, moonshade—or rather\nnightshade—tobacco, opium, saffron,”[65] etc. These witch recipes, which\nare very numerous, are well illustrated in Shakespeare’s grim caldron\nscene, in “Macbeth” (iv. 1), where the first witch speaks of\n\n            “grease that’s sweaten\n    From the murderer’s gibbet.”\n\nWe may compare a similar notion given by Apuleius, who, in describing\nthe process used by the witch, Milo’s wife, for transforming herself\ninto a bird, says: “That she cut the lumps of flesh of such as were\nhanged.”[66]\n\n    [64] “Discovery of Witchcraft,” 1584, book iii. chap. i. p. 40;\n    see Spalding’s “Elizabethan Demonology,” p. 103.\n\n    [65] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” vol. iii. pp. 8-10.\n\n    [66] Douce, “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 245, says: “See\n    Adlington’s Translation (1596, p. 49), a book certainly used by\n    Shakespeare on other occasions.”\n\nAnother way by which witches exercise their power was by looking into\nfuturity, as in “Macbeth” (i. 3), where Banquo says to them:\n\n    “If you can look into the seeds of time,\n    And say which grain will grow and which will not,\n    Speak then to me.”\n\nCharles Knight, in his biography of Shakespeare, quotes a witch trial,\nwhich aptly illustrates the passage above; the case being that of\nJohnnet Wischert, who was “indicted for passing to the green-growing\ncorn in May, twenty-two years since, or thereby, sitting thereupon\ntymous in the morning before the sun-rising; and being there found and\ndemanded what she was doing, thus answered, I shall tell thee; I have\nbeen piling the blades of the corn. I find it will be a dear year; the\nblade of the corn grows withersones [contrary to the course of the sun],\nand when it grows sonegatis about [with the course of the sun], it will\nbe a good, cheap year.”\n\nAccording to a common notion firmly believed in days gone by, witches\nwere supposed to make waxen figures of those they intended to harm,\nwhich they stuck through with pins, or melted before a slow fire. Then,\nas the figure wasted, so the person it represented was said to waste\naway also. Thus, in “Macbeth” (i. 3), the first witch says:\n\n    “Weary sev’n-nights, nine times nine,\n    Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine.”\n\nReferring to the histories of the Duchess of Gloucester and of Jane\nShore, who were accused of practising this mode of witchcraft,\nShakespeare, in “2 Henry VI.” (i. 2), makes the former address Hume\nthus:\n\n    “What say’st thou, man? hast them as yet conferr’d\n    With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,\n    With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?\n    And will they undertake to do me good?”\n\nShe was afterwards, however, accused of consulting witches concerning\nthe mode of compassing the death of her husband’s nephew, Henry VI. It\nwas asserted that “there was found in the possession of herself and\naccomplices a waxen image of the king, which they melted in a magical\nmanner before a slow fire, with the intention of making Henry’s force\nand vigor waste away by like insensible degrees.”\n\nA similar charge was brought against Jane Shore, the mistress of Edward\nIV., by Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Thus, in “King Richard III.” (iii.\n4), Gloucester asks Hastings:\n\n    “I pray you all, tell me what they deserve\n    That do conspire my death with devilish plots\n    Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail’d\n    Upon my body with their hellish charms?”\n\nAnd he then further adds:\n\n    “Look how I am bewitch’d; behold mine arm\n    Is, like a blasted sapling, wither’d up:\n    And this is Edward’s wife, that monstrous witch,\n    Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore,\n    That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.”\n\nThis superstition is further alluded to in “King John” (v. 4) by Melun,\nwho, wounded, says:\n\n    “Have I not hideous death within my view,\n    Retaining but a quantity of life,\n    Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax\n    Resolveth from his figure ’gainst the fire?”\n\nAnd, again, in “The Two Gentlemen of Verona” (ii. 4), Proteus says:\n\n              “for now my love is thaw’d;\n    Which, like a waxen image ’gainst a fire,\n    Bears no impression of the thing it was.”[67]\n\n    [67] See Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties,”\n    1879, p. 181.\n\nImages were frequently formed of other materials, and maltreated in some\nform or other, to produce similar results—a piece of superstition which\nstill prevails to a great extent in the East. Dubois, in his “People of\nIndia” (1825), speaks of magicians who make small images in mud or clay,\nand then write the names of their animosity on the breasts thereof;\nthese are otherwise pierced with thorns or mutilated, “so as to\ncommunicate a corresponding injury to the person represented.” They were\nalso said to extract moisture from the body, as in “Macbeth” (i. 3):\n\n    “I will drain him dry as hay.”\n\nReferring to the other mischievous acts of witches, Steevens quotes the\nfollowing from “A Detection of Damnable Driftes Practised by Three\nWitches, etc., arraigned at Chelmisforde, in Essex, 1579:” “Item—Also\nshe came on a tyme to the house of one Robert Lathburie, who, dislyking\nher dealyng, sent her home emptie; but presently after her departure\nhis hogges fell sicke and died, to the number of twentie.” Hence in\n“Macbeth” (i. 3) in reply to the inquiry of the first witch:\n\n    “Where hast thou been, sister?”\n\nthe second replies:\n\n    “Killing swine.”\n\nIt appears to have been their practice to destroy the cattle of their\nneighbors, and the farmers have to this day many ceremonies to secure\ntheir cows and other cattle from witchcraft; but they seem to have been\nmost suspected of malice against swine. Harsnet observes how, formerly,\n“A sow could not be ill of the measles, nor a girl of the sullens, but\nsome old woman was charged with witchcraft.”[68]\n\n    [68] See _Pig_, chap. vi.\n\nMr. Henderson, in his “Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties” (1879, p.\n182), relates how a few years ago a witch died in the village of Bovey\nTracey, Devonshire. She was accused of “overlooking” her neighbors’\npigs, so that her son, if ever betrayed into a quarrel with her, used\nalways to say, before they parted, “Mother, mother, spare my pigs.”\n\nMultiples of three and nine were specially employed by witches, ancient\nand modern. Thus, in “Macbeth” (i. 3), the witches take hold of hands\nand dance round in a ring nine times—three rounds for each witch, as a\ncharm for the furtherance of her purposes:[69]\n\n    “Thrice to thine and thrice to mine,\n    And thrice again, to make up nine.\n    Peace! the charm’s wound up.”\n\n    [69] “Notes to Macbeth,” by Clark and Wright, 1877, p. 84.\n\nThe love of witches for odd numbers is further illustrated (iv. 1),\nwhere one of them tells how\n\n    “Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined,”\n\nthis being the witches’ way of saying four times.\n\nIn Fairfax’s “Tasso” (book xiii. stanza 6) it is said that\n\n    “Witchcraft loveth numbers odd.”\n\nThis notion is very old, and we may compare the following quotations\nfrom Ovid’s “Metamorphoses” (xiv. 58):\n\n    “Ter novies carmen magico demurmurat ore.”\n\nAnd, again (vii. 189-191):\n\n    “Ter se convertit; ter sumtis flumine crinem\n    Irroravit aquis; ternis ululatibus ora\n    Solvit.”\n\nVergil, too, in his “Eclogues” (viii. 75), says:\n\n    “Numero deus impare gaudet.”\n\nThe belief in the luck of odd numbers is noticed by Falstaff in the\n“Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 1):\n\n     “They say there is divinity in odd numbers, either in\n     nativity, chance, or death!”\n\nIn “King Lear” (iv. 2) when the Duke of Albany tells Goneril,\n\n    “She that herself will sliver and disbranch\n    From her material sap, perforce must wither\n    And come to deadly use”—\n\nhe alludes to the use that witches and enchanters were commonly supposed\nto make of withered branches in their charms.[70]\n\n    [70] See Jones’s “Credulities, Past and Present,” 1880, pp.\n    256-289.\n\nAmong other items of witch-lore mentioned by Shakespeare may be noticed\nthe common belief in the intercourse between demons and witches, to\nwhich Prospero alludes in the “Tempest” (i. 2):\n\n    “Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself\n    Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!”\n\nThis notion is seriously refuted by Scot in his “Discovery of\nWitchcraft” (book iv.), where he shows it to be “flat knavery.”\n\nThe offspring of a witch was termed “Hag-seed,” and as such is spoken of\nby Prospero in the “Tempest” (i. 2).\n\nWitches were also in the habit of saying their prayers backwards: a\npractice to which Hero refers in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 1),\nwhere, speaking of Beatrice, she says:\n\n                      “I never yet saw man,\n    How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured,\n    But she would spell him backward.”\n\nFamiliar spirits[71] attending on magicians and witches were always\nimpatient of confinement.[72] So in the “Tempest” (i. 2) we find an\nillustration of this notion in the following dialogue:\n\n    “_Prospero._ What is’t thou canst demand?\n\n    _Ariel._                                  My liberty.\n\n    _Prospero._ Before the time be out? No more.”\n\n    [71] Allusions to this superstition occur in “Love’s Labour’s\n    Lost” (i. 2), “love is a familiar;” in “1 Henry VI.” (iii. 2),\n    “I think her old familiar is asleep;” and in “2 Henry VI.” (iv.\n    7), “he has a familiar under his tongue.”\n\n    [72] See Scot’s “Discovery of Witchcraft,” 1584, p. 85.\n\nLastly, the term “Aroint thee” (“Macbeth,” i. 3), used by the first\nwitch, occurs again in “King Lear” (iii. 4), “Aroint thee, witch, aroint\nthee.” That _aroint_ is equivalent to “away,” “begone,” seems to be\nagreed, though its etymology is uncertain.[73] “Rynt thee” is used by\nmilkmaids in Cheshire to a cow, when she has been milked, to bid her get\nout of the way. Ray, in his “Collection of North Country Words” (1768,\np. 52), gives “Rynt ye, by your leave, stand handsomely, as rynt you\nwitch, quoth Bessie Locket to her mother. Proverb, Chesh.” Some connect\nit with the adverb “aroume,” meaning “abroad,” found in Chaucer’s “House\nof Fame” (book ii. stanza 32):\n\n    “That I a-roume was in the field.”\n\nOther derivations are from the Latin _averrunco_: the Italian _rogna_, a\ncutaneous disease, etc.\n\n    [73] Sec Dyce’s “Glossary,” pp. 18, 19.\n\nHow thoroughly Shakespeare was acquainted with the system of witchcraft\nis evident from the preceding pages, in which we have noticed his\nallusions to most of the prominent forms of this species of\nsuperstition. Many other items of witch-lore, however, are referred to\nby him, mention of which is made in succeeding chapters.[74]\n\n    [74] “Notes to Macbeth” (Clark and Wright), pp. 81, 82.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nGHOSTS.\n\n\nFew subjects have, from time immemorial, possessed a wider interest than\nghosts, and the superstitions associated with them in this and other\ncountries form an extensive collection in folk-lore literature. In\nShakespeare’s day, it would seem that the belief in ghosts was specially\nprevalent, and ghost tales were told by the firelight in nearly every\nhousehold. The young, as Mr. Goadby, in his “England of Shakespeare,”\nsays (1881, p. 196), “were thus touched by the prevailing superstitions\nin their most impressionable years. They looked for the incorporeal\ncreatures of whom they had heard, and they were quick to invest any\ntrick of moonbeam shadow with the attributes of the supernatural.” A\ndescription of one of these tale-tellings is given in the “Winter’s\nTale” (ii. 1):\n\n    “_Her._ What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now\n    I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,\n    And tell’s a tale.\n\n    _Mam._         Merry or sad shall’t be?\n\n    _Her._ As merry as you will.\n\n    _Mam._                        A sad tale’s best for winter:\n    I have one of sprites and goblins.\n\n    _Her._                         Let’s have that, good sir.\n    Come on, sit down: Come on, and do your best\n    To fright me with your sprites: you’re powerful at it.\n\n    _Mam._ There was a man,—\n\n    _Her._                     Nay, come, sit down; then on.\n\n    _Mam._ Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly;\n    Yond crickets shall not hear it.\n\n    _Her._                       Come on, then,\n    And give’t me in mine ear.”\n\nThe important part which Shakespeare has assigned to the ghost in\n“Hamlet” has a special value, inasmuch as it illustrates many of the\nold beliefs current in his day respecting their history and habits.\nThus, according to a popular notion, ghosts are generally supposed to\nassume the exact appearance by which they were usually known when in the\nmaterial state, even to the smallest detail of their dress. So Horatio\ntells Hamlet how, when Marcellus and Bernardo were on their watch (i.\n2),\n\n              “A figure like your father,\n    Arm’d at point, exactly, cap-a-pe,\n    Appears before them, and with solemn march\n    Goes slow and stately by them.”\n\nFurther on, when the ghost appears again, Hamlet addresses it thus:\n\n                  “What may this mean,\n    That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,\n    Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon,\n    Making night hideous.”\n\nIn the graphic description of Banquo’s ghost in “Macbeth” (iii. 4), we\nhave a further allusion to the same belief; one, indeed, which is\nretained at the present day with as much faith as in days of old.\n\nShakespeare has several allusions to the notion which prevailed in days\ngone by, of certain persons being able to exorcise or raise spirits.\nThus, in “Cymbeline” (iv. 2), Guiderius says over Fidele’s grave:\n\n    “No exorciser harm thee.”\n\nIn “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 1), Ligarius says:\n\n                        “Soul of Rome!\n    Brave son, derived from honourable loins!\n    Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up\n    My mortified spirit. Now bid me run,\n    And I will strive with things impossible;\n    Yea, get the better of them.”\n\nIn “All’s Well that Ends Well” (v. 3) the king says:\n\n                  “Is there no exorcist\n    Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?\n    Is’t real that I see?”\n\nThis superstition, it may be added, has of late years gained additional\nnotoriety since the so-called spiritualism has attracted the attention\nand support of the credulous. As learning was considered necessary for\nan exorcist, the schoolmaster was often employed. Thus, in the “Comedy\nof Errors” (iv. 4), the schoolmaster Pinch is introduced in this\ncapacity.\n\nWithin, indeed, the last fifty years the pedagogue was still a reputed\nconjurer. In “Hamlet” (i. 1), Marcellus, alluding to the ghost, says:\n\n    “Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.”\n\nAnd in “Much Ado About Nothing” (ii. 1), Benedick says:\n\n    “I would to God some scholar would conjure her.”\n\nFor the same reason exorcisms were usually practised by the clergy in\nLatin; and so Toby, in the “Night Walker” of Beaumont and Fletcher (ii.\n1), says:\n\n    “Let’s call the butler up, for he speaks Latin,\n    And that will daunt the devil.”\n\nIt was also necessary that spirits, when evoked, should be questioned\nquickly, as they were supposed to be impatient of being interrogated.\nHence in “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the apparition says:\n\n    “Dismiss me. Enough!”\n\nThe spirit, likewise, in “2 Henry VI.” (i. 4) utters these words:\n\n    “Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done!”\n\nSpirits were supposed to maintain an obdurate silence till interrogated\nby the persons to whom they made their special appearance.[75] Thus\nHamlet, alluding to the appearance of the ghost, asks Horatio (i. 2):\n\n    “Did you not speak to it?”\n\nWhereupon he replies:\n\n                      “My lord, I did;\n    But answer made it none: yet once, methought\n    It lifted up its head and did address\n    Itself to motion, like as it would speak.”\n\n    [75] We may compare the words “unquestionable spirit” in “As\n    You Like It” (iii. 2), which means “a spirit averse to\n    conversation.”\n\nThe walking of spirits seems also to have been enjoined by way of\npenance. The ghost of Hamlet’s father (i. 5) says:\n\n    “I am thy father’s spirit,\n    Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night,\n    And for the day confin’d to fast in fires,\n    Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature\n    Are burnt and purg’d away.”\n\nAnd further on (iii. 2) Hamlet exclaims:\n\n    “It is a damned ghost that we have seen.”\n\nThis superstition is referred to by Spenser in his “Fairy Queen” (book\ni. canto 2):\n\n    “What voice of damned ghost from Limbo lake\n    Or guileful spright wand’ring in empty ayre,\n    Sends to my doubtful eares these speeches rare?”\n\nAccording to a universal belief prevalent from the earliest times, it\nwas supposed that ghosts had some particular reason for quitting the\nmansions of the dead, “such as a desire that their bodies, if unburied,\nshould receive Christian rites of sepulture, that a murderer might be\nbrought to due punishment,” etc.[76] On this account Horatio (“Hamlet,”\ni. 1) invokes the ghost:\n\n    “If there be any good thing to be done,\n    That may to thee do ease and grace to me,\n    Speak to me.”\n\nAnd in a later scene (i. 4) Hamlet says:\n\n    “Say, why is this? wherefore? What should we do?”\n\n    [76] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” pp. 450, 451.\n\nThe Greeks believed that such as had not received funeral rites would be\nexcluded from Elysium; and thus the wandering shade of Patroclus\nappears to Achilles in his sleep, and demands the performance of his\nfuneral. The younger Pliny tells a story of a haunted house at Athens,\nin which a ghost played all kinds of pranks, owing to his funeral rites\nhaving been neglected. A further reference to the superstition occurs in\n“Titus Andronicus” (i. 1), where Lucius, speaking of the unburied sons\nof Titus, says:\n\n    “Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,\n    That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile,\n    _Ad manes fratrum_ sacrifice his flesh,\n    Before this earthy prison of their bones;\n    That so the shadows be not unappeased,\n    Nor we disturbed with prodigies on earth.”\n\nIn olden times, spirits were said to have different allotments of time,\nsuitable to the variety and nature of their agency. Prospero, in the\n“Tempest” (i. 2), says to Caliban:\n\n            “Be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,\n    Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins\n    Shall, for that vast[77] of night that they may work,\n    All exercise on thee.”\n\n    [77] Vast, _i. e._, space of night. So in “Hamlet” (i. 2):\n\n        “In the dead waste and middle of the night.”\n\nAccording to a popular notion, the presence of unearthly beings was\nannounced by an alteration in the tint of the lights which happened to\nbe burning—a superstition alluded to in “Richard III.” (v. 3), where the\ntyrant exclaims, as he awakens:\n\n    “The lights burn blue.—It is now dead midnight,\n    Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh—\n\n\n    Methought the souls of all that I had murder’d\n    Came to my tent.”\n\nSo in “Julius Cæsar” (iv. 3), Brutus, on seeing the ghost of Cæsar,\nexclaims:\n\n    “How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?”\n\nIt has been a widespread belief from the most remote period that ghosts\ncannot bear the light, and so disappear at the dawn of day; their signal\nbeing the cock-crow.[78] The ghost of Hamlet’s father says (i. 5):\n\n    “But, soft! methinks I scent the morning air;\n    Brief let me be”—\n\nand—\n\n                  “Fare thee well at once.\n    The glow-worm shows the matin to be near,\n    And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire:\n    Adieu, adieu! Hamlet, remember me.”\n\n    [78] See p. 104.\n\nAgain, in “King Lear” (iii. 4), Edgar says: “This is the foul fiend\nFlibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock.”\n\nThe time of night, as the season wherein spirits wander abroad, is\nfurther noticed by Gardiner in “Henry VIII.” (v. 1):\n\n                        “Affairs, that walk,\n    As they say spirits do, at midnight.”\n\nIt was a prevalent notion that a person who crossed the spot on which a\nspectre was seen became subject to its malignant influence. In “Hamlet”\n(i. 1), Horatio says, in reference to the ghost:\n\n    “But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!\n    I’ll cross it, though it blast me.”\n\nLodge, in his “Illustrations of British History” (iii. 48), tells us\nthat among the reasons for supposing the death of Ferdinand, Earl of\nDerby (who died young, in 1594), to have been occasioned by witchcraft,\nwas the following: “On Friday there appeared a tall man, who twice\ncrossed him swiftly; and when the earl came to the place where he saw\nthis man, he fell sick.”\n\nReginald Scot, in his “Discovery of Witchcraft” (1584), enumerates the\ndifferent kinds of spirits, and particularly notices white, black, gray,\nand red spirits. So in “Macbeth” (iv. 1), “black spirits” are\nmentioned—the charm song referred to (like the one in act iv.) being\nfound in Middleton’s “Witch” (v. 2):\n\n    “Black spirits and white,\n      Red spirits and gray;\n    Mingle, mingle, mingle,\n      You that mingle may.”\n\nA well-known superstition which still prevails in this and foreign\ncountries is that of the “spectre huntsman and his furious host.” As\nnight-time approaches, it is supposed that this invisible personage\nrides through the air with his yelping hounds; their weird sound being\nthought to forbode misfortune of some kind. This popular piece of\nfolk-lore exists in the north of England under a variety of forms among\nour peasantry, who tenaciously cling to the traditions which have been\nhanded down to them.[79] It has been suggested that Shakespeare had some\nof these superstitions in view when he placed in the mouth of Macbeth\n(i. 7), while contemplating the murder of Duncan, the following\nmetaphors:\n\n    “And pity, like a naked new-born babe,\n    Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubim, horsed\n    Upon the sightless couriers of the air,\n    Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,\n    That tears shall drown the wind!”\n\n    [79] See Hardwick’s “Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-lore,”\n    1872, pp. 153-176.\n\nAgain, in “The Tempest” (iv. 1), Prospero and Ariel are represented as\nsetting on spirits, in the shape of hounds, to hunt Stephano and\nTrinculo. This species of diabolical or spectral chase was formerly a\npopular article of belief. As Drake aptly remarks,[80] “the hell-hounds\nof Shakespeare appear to be sufficiently formidable, for, not merely\ncommissioned to hunt their victims, they are ordered, likewise, as\ngoblins,” to—\n\n                      “grind their joints\n    With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews\n    With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make them\n    Than pard or cat o’ mountain.\n\n    _Ariel._                    Hark, they roar!\n\n    _Prospero._ Let them be hunted soundly.”\n\n    [80] “Shakespeare and His Times,” vol. i. p. 378.\n\n\n_TRANSMIGRATION OF SOULS._\n\nShakespeare has several references to the old superstitious belief in\nthe transmigration of souls, traces of which may still be found in the\nreverence paid to the robin, the wren, and other birds. Thus, in “The\nMerchant of Venice” (iv. 1), Gratiano says to Shylock:\n\n    “Thou almost makest me waver in my faith\n    To hold opinion with Pythagoras\n    That souls of animals infuse themselves\n    Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit\n    Govern’d a wolf, who, hang’d for human slaughter,\n    Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,\n    And, whilst thou lay’st in thy unhallow’d dam,\n    Infused itself in thee; for thy desires\n    Are wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.”\n\nCaliban, when remonstrating with the drunken Stephano and Trinculo, for\ndelaying at the mouth of the cave of Prospero, instead of taking the\nmagician’s life (“Tempest,” iv. 1), says:\n\n    “I will have none on’t: we shall lose our time,\n    And all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes.”\n\nIn “Hamlet” (iv. 5), in the scene where Ophelia, in her mental\naberration, quotes snatches of old ballads, she says: “They say the owl\nwas a baker’s daughter! Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we\nmay be.”[81]\n\n    [81] See _Owl_, chap. vi.\n\nAgain, in “Twelfth Night” (iv. 2), there is another reference in the\namusing passage where the clown, under the pretence of his being “Sir\nTopas, the curate,” questions Malvolio, when confined in a dark room, as\na presumed lunatic:\n\n     “_Mal._ I am no more mad than you are: make the trial of it in\n     any constant question.\n\n     _Clo._ What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?\n\n     _Mal._ That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a\n     bird.\n\n     _Clo._ What thinkest thou of his opinion?\n\n     _Mal._ I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his\n     opinion.\n\n     _Clo._ Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou\n     shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy\n     wits, and fear to kill a woodcock lest thou dispossess the\n     soul of thy grandam.”\n\nAlthough this primitive superstition is almost effete among civilized\nnations, yet it still retains an important place in the religious\nbeliefs of savage and uncivilized communities.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nDEMONOLOGY AND DEVIL-LORE.\n\n\nThe state of popular feeling in past centuries with regard to the active\nagency of devils has been well represented by Reginald Scot, who, in his\nwork on Witchcraft, has shown how the superstitious belief in demonology\nwas part of the great system of witchcraft. Many of the popular\ndelusions of this terrible form of superstition have been in a masterly\nmanner exposed by Shakespeare; and the scattered allusions which he has\ngiven, illustrative of it, are indeed sufficient to prove, if it were\nnecessary, what a highly elaborate creed it was. Happily, Shakespeare,\nlike the other dramatists of the period, has generally treated the\nsubject with ridicule, showing that he had no sympathy with the grosser\nopinions shared by various classes in those times, whether held by king\nor clown. According to an old belief, still firmly credited in the\npoet’s day, it was supposed that devils could at any moment assume\nwhatever form they pleased that would most conduce to the success of any\ncontemplated enterprise they might have in hand; and hence the charge of\nbeing a devil, so commonly brought against innocent and harmless persons\nin former years, can easily be understood. Among the incidental\nallusions to this notion, given by Shakespeare, Prince Hal (“1 Henry\nIV.,” ii. 4) tells Falstaff “there is a devil haunts thee in the\nlikeness of an old fat man;” “an old white-bearded Satan.” In the\n“Merchant of Venice” (iii. 1) Salanio, on the approach of Shylock, says:\n“Let me say ‘amen’ betimes, lest the devil cross my prayer, for here he\ncomes in the likeness of a Jew.”\n\nIndeed, “all shapes that man goes up and down in” seem to have been at\nthe devil’s control, a belief referred to in “Timon of Athens” (ii. 2):\n\n    “_Var. Serv._ What is a whoremaster, fool?\n\n    _Fool._ A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. ’Tis\n    a spirit: sometime ’t appears like a lord; sometime like a\n    lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe\n    than’s artificial one: he is very often like a knight; and,\n    generally, in all shapes that man goes up and down in from\n    fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in.”\n\nA popular form assumed by evil spirits was that of a negro or Moor, to\nwhich Iago alludes when he incites Brabantio to search for his daughter,\nin “Othello” (i. 1):\n\n    “Zounds, sir, you are robb’d; for shame, put on your gown;\n    Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;\n    Even now, now, very now, an old black ram\n    Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise!\n    Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,\n    Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you.\n    Arise, I say.”\n\nOn the other hand, so diverse were the forms which devils were supposed\nto assume that they are said occasionally to appear in the fairest form,\neven in that of a girl (ii. 3):\n\n    “When devils will the blackest sins put on,\n    They do suggest at first with heavenly shows.”\n\nSo in “The Comedy of Errors” (iv. 3) we have the following dialogue:\n\n    “_Ant. S._ Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not!\n\n    _Dro. S._ Master, is this mistress Satan?\n\n    _Ant. S._ It is the devil.\n\n    _Dro. S._ Nay, she is worse, she is the devil’s dam; and here\n    she comes in the habit of a light wench; and thereof comes\n    that the wenches say, ‘God damn me;’ that’s as much as to say,\n    ‘God make me a light wench.’ It is written, they appear to men\n    like angels of light.”\n\n(Cf. also “Love’s Labour’s Lost,” iv. 3.) In “King John” (iii. 1) even\nthe fair Blanch seemed to Constance none other than the devil tempting\nLewis “in likeness of a new untrimmed bride.”\n\nNot only, too, were devils thought to assume any human shape they\nfancied, but, as Mr. Spalding remarks,[82] “the forms of the whole of\nthe animal kingdom appear to have been at their disposal; and, not\ncontent with these, they seem to have sought for unlikely shapes to\nappear in”—the same characteristic belonging also to the fairy tribe.\n\n    [82] “Elizabethan Demonology,” p. 49.\n\nThus, when Edgar is trying to persuade the blind Gloucester that he has\nin reality cast himself over the cliff, he describes the being from whom\nhe is supposed to have just departed:\n\n    “As I stood here below, methought his eyes\n    Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,\n    Horns whelk’d and wav’d like the enridged sea:\n    It was some fiend.”\n\nAgain, Edgar says (“King Lear,” iii. 6): “The foul fiend haunts poor Tom\nin the voice of a nightingale”—the allusion probably being to the\nfollowing incident related by Friswood Williams: “There was also another\nstrange thing happened at Denham about a bird. Mistris Peckham had a\nnightingale which she kept in a cage, wherein Maister Dibdale took great\ndelight, and would often be playing with it. The nightingale was one\nnight conveyed out of the cage, and being next morning diligently sought\nfor, could not be heard of, till Maister Mainie’s devil, in one of his\nfits (as it was pretended), said that the wicked spirit which was in\nthis examinate’s sister had taken the bird out of the cage and killed it\nin despite of Maister Dibdale.”[83]\n\n    [83] Harsnet’s “Declaration of Egregious Popish Impostures,” p. 225.\n\nEven the shape of a fly was a favorite one with evil spirits, so much\nso, that the term “fly” was a popular synonym for a familiar. In “Titus\nAndronicus” (iii. 2) there is an allusion to this belief, where Marcus,\nbeing rebuked by Titus for having killed a fly, gives as his reason:\n\n                “It was a black ill-favour’d fly,\n    Like to the empress’ Moor: therefore I kill’d him.”\n\nMr. Spalding gives the following illustrations of the superstition: “At\nthe execution of Urban Grandier, the famous magician of Loudun, in 1634,\na large fly was seen buzzing about the stake; and a priest promptly\nseizing the opportunity of improving the occasion for the benefit of the\nonlookers, declared that Beelzebub had come in his own proper person to\ncarry off Grandier’s soul to hell. In 1664 occurred the celebrated witch\ntrials which took place before Sir Matthew Hale. The accused were\ncharged with bewitching two children, and part of the evidence against\nthem was that flies and bees were seen to carry into their victims’\nmouths the nails and pins which they afterwards vomited.”\n\nOnce more, another form devils assumed was that of a dead friend. Thus\n“Hamlet” (i. 4), when he confronts the apparition, exclaims:\n\n    “Angels and ministers of grace defend us!\n    Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn’d,\n    Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,\n    Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,\n    Thou com’st in such a questionable shape\n    That I will speak to thee”—\n\nfor, as Mr. Spalding remarks, “it cannot be imagined that Hamlet\nimagined that a ‘goblin damned’ could actually be the spirit of his dead\nfather; and, therefore, the alternative in his mind must be that he saw\na devil assuming his father’s likeness—a form which the Evil One knew\nwould most incite Hamlet to intercourse.”\n\nThe same idea seems present in Horatio’s mind:\n\n    “What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord,\n    Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff,\n    That beetles o’er his base into the sea,\n    And there assume some other horrible form,\n    Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason,\n    And draw you into madness?”\n\nOnce more, in the next act (ii. 2), Hamlet again expresses his doubts:\n\n                    “The spirit that I have seen\n    May be the devil: and the devil hath power\n    To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps,\n    Out of my weakness and my melancholy,\n    As he is very potent with such spirits,\n    Abuses me to damn me.”\n\nIn the Elizabethan times, too, no superstitious belief exerted a more\npernicious and baneful influence on the credulous and ignorant than the\nnotion that evil spirits from time to time entered into human beings,\nand so completely gained a despotic control over them as to render them\nperfectly helpless. Harsnet, in his “Declaration of Egregious Popish\nImpostures” (1603), has exposed this gross superstition; and a\ncomparison of the passages in “King Lear,” spoken by Edgar when feigning\nmadness, with those given by Harsnet, will show that Shakespeare has\naccurately given the contemporary belief on the subject. Mr. Spalding\nalso considers that nearly all the allusions in “King Lear” refer to a\nyouth known as Richard Mainey, a minute account of whose supposed\npossession has been given by Harsnet.\n\nPersons so possessed were often bound and shut up in a dark room,\noccasionally being forced to submit to flagellation—a treatment not\nunlike that described in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 2):\n\n    “Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;\n    Shut up in prison, kept without my food,\n    Whipp’d and tormented.”\n\nIn the “Comedy of Errors” (iv. 4) we have an amusing scene, further\nillustrative, probably, of the kind of treatment adopted in\nShakespeare’s day:\n\n    “_Courtesan._ How say you now? is not your husband mad?\n\n    _Adriana._ His incivility confirms no less—\n               Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;\n               Establish him in his true sense again,\n               And I will please you what you will demand.\n\n    _Luciana._ Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!\n\n    _Courtesan._ Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy!\n\n    _Pinch._ Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.\n\n    _Ant. E._ There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.\n\n    _Pinch._ I charge thee, Satan, hous’d within this man,\n             To yield possession to my holy prayers,\n             And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight:\n             I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.”\n\nPinch further says:\n\n    “They must be bound, and laid in some dark room.”\n\nAs Brand remarks,[84] there is no vulgar story of the devil’s having\nappeared anywhere without a cloven foot. In graphic representations he\nis seldom or never pictured without one. In the following passage, where\nOthello is questioning whether Iago is a devil or not, he says (v. 2):\n\n    “I look down towards his feet;—but that’s a fable.—\n    If that thou be’st a devil, I cannot kill thee.”\n\n    [84] “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. pp. 517-519.\n\nDr. Johnson gives this explanation: “I look towards his feet to see if,\naccording to the common opinion, his feet be cloven.”\n\nIn Massinger’s “Virgin Martyr” (iii. 3), Harpax, an evil spirit,\nfollowing Theophilus in the shape of a secretary, speaks thus of the\nsuperstitious Christian’s description of his infernal enemy:\n\n            “I’ll tell you what now of the devil:\n    He’s no such horrid creature; cloven-footed,\n    Black, saucer-ey’d, his nostrils breathing fire,\n    As these lying Christians make him.”\n\n\nGOOD AND EVIL DEMONS.\n\nIt was formerly commonly believed that not only kingdoms had their\ntutelary guardians, but that every person had his particular genius or\ngood angel, to protect and admonish him by dreams, visions, etc.[85]\nHence, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 3), the soothsayer, speaking of\nCæsar, says:\n\n                “O Antony, stay not by his side:\n    Thy demon,—that’s thy spirit which keeps thee,—is\n    Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable,\n    Where Cæsar’s is not; but, near him, thy angel\n    Becomes a fear, as being o’erpower’d.”\n\n    [85] Ibid. vol. i. pp. 365-367.\n\nThus Macbeth (iii. 1) speaks in a similar manner in reference to Banquo:\n\n                  “There is none but he\n    Whose being I do fear; and, under him,\n    My Genius is rebuked; as, it is said,\n    Mark Antony’s was by Cæsar.”\n\nSo, too, in “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2), the Chief-justice says:\n\n    “You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel.”\n\nWe may quote a further reference in “Julius Cæsar” (iii. 2), where\nAntony says:\n\n    “For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar’s angel.”\n\n“In the Roman world,” says Mr. Tylor, in his “Primitive Culture” (1873,\nvol. ii. p. 202), “each man had his ‘genius natalis,’ associated with\nhim from birth to death, influencing his action and his fate, standing\nrepresented by its proper image, as a _lar_ among the household gods and\nat weddings and joyous times, and especially on the anniversary of the\nbirthday when genius and man began their united career, worship was paid\nwith song and dance to the divine image, adorned with garlands, and\npropitiated with incense and libations of wine. The demon or genius was,\nas it were, the man’s companion soul, a second spiritual Ego. The\nEgyptian astrologer warned Antonius to keep far from the young Octavius,\n‘For thy demon,’ said he, ‘is in fear of his.’”\n\nThe allusion by Lady Macbeth (i. 5), in the following passage, is to the\nspirits of Revenge:\n\n                            “Come, you spirits\n    That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,\n    And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full\n    Of direst cruelty!”\n\nIn Nash’s “Pierce Pennilesse” we find a description of these spirits and\nof their office. “The second kind of devils which he most employeth are\nthose northern _Martii_, called the _Spirits of Revenge_, and the\nauthors of massacres and seed-men of mischief; for they have commission\nto incense men to rapine, sacrilege, theft, murder, wrath, fury, and all\nmanner of cruelties; and they command certain of the southern spirits to\nwait upon them, as also great Arioch, that is termed the Spirit of\nRevenge.” In another passage we are further told how “the spirits of the\naire will mixe themselves with thunder and lightning, and so infect the\nclime where they raise any tempest, that suddenly great mortalitie shall\nensue of the inhabitants.” “Aerial spirits or devils,” according to\nBurton’s “Anatomy of Melancholy,” “are such as keep quarter most part in\nthe aire, cause many tempests, thunder and lightnings, tear oakes, fire\nsteeples, houses, strike men and beasts,” etc. Thus, in “King John”\n(iii. 2), the Bastard remarks:\n\n    “Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot;\n    Some airy devil hovers in the sky,\n    And pours down mischief.”\n\nIt was anciently supposed that all mines of gold, etc., were guarded by\nevil spirits. Thus Falstaff, in “2 Henry IV.” (iv. 3), speaks of\nlearning as “a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil.” This superstition\nstill prevails, and has been made the subject of many a legend. Thus, it\nis believed by the peasantry living near Largo-Law, Scotland, that a\nrich mine of gold is concealed in the mountain. “A spectre once appeared\nthere, supposed to be the guardian of the mine, who, being accosted by a\nneighboring shepherd, promised to tell him at a certain time and on\ncertain conditions, where ‘the gowd mine is in Largo-Law,’ especially\nenjoining that the horn sounded for the housing of the cows at the\nadjoining farm of Balmain should not blow. Every precaution having been\ntaken, the ghost was true to his tryst; but, unhappily, when he was\nabout to divulge the desired secret, Tammie Norrie, the cowherd of\nBalmain, blew a blast, whereupon the ghost vanished, with the\ndenunciation:\n\n    ‘Woe to the man that blew the horn,\n    For out of the spot he shall ne’er be borne.’\n\nThe unlucky horn-blower was struck dead, and, as it was found impossible\nto remove the body, a cairn of stones was raised over it.”[86]\n\n    [86] See Jones’s “Credulities, Past and Present,” 1880, p. 133.\n\nSteevens considers that when Macbeth (iii. 2) says:\n\n    “Good things of day begin to droop and drowse;\n    Whiles night’s black agents to their preys do rouse,”\n\nhe refers to those demons who were supposed to remain in their several\nplaces of confinement all day, but at the close of it were released;\nsuch, indeed, as are mentioned in “The Tempest” (v. 1), as rejoicing “to\nhear the solemn curfew,” because it announced the hour of their freedom.\n\nAmong other superstitions we may quote one in the “Merchant of Venice”\n(iii. 1), where Salanio says: “Let me say ‘amen’ betimes, lest the devil\ncross my prayer.”\n\nOf the devils mentioned by Shakespeare may be noted the following:\n\n_Amaimon_ is one of the chief, whose dominion is on the north side of\nthe infernal gulf. He might be bound or restrained from doing hurt from\nthe third hour till noon, and from the ninth hour till evening. In the\n“Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 2) Ford mentions this devil, and in “1\nHenry IV.” (ii. 4) Falstaff says: “That same mad fellow of the north,\nPercy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the bastinado, and made\nLucifer cuckold.”[87]\n\n    [87] See Scot’s “Discovery of Witchcraft,” 1584, p. 393;\n    Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 264.\n\nThe north was always supposed to be the particular habitation of bad\nspirits. Milton, therefore, assembles the rebel angels in the north. In\n“1 Henry VI.” (v. 3), La Pucelle invokes the aid of the spirits:\n\n    “Under the lordly monarch of the north.”\n\n_Barbason._ This demon would seem to be the same as “Marbas, alias\nBarbas,” who, as Scot[88] informs us, “is a great president, and\nappeareth in the forme of a mightie lion; but at the commandment of a\nconjurer cometh up in the likeness of man, and answereth fullie as\ntouching anything which is hidden or secret.” In the “Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (ii. 2) it is mentioned by Ford in connection with Lucifer, and\nagain in “Henry V.” (ii. 1) Nym tells Pistol: “I am not Barbason; you\ncannot conjure me.”\n\n    [88] Ibid. p. 378.\n\nThe names of the several fiends in “King Lear,” Shakespeare is supposed\nto have derived from Harsnet’s “Declaration of Egregious Popish\nImpostures” (1603).\n\n_Flibbertigibbet_, one of the fiends that possessed poor Tom, is, we are\ntold (iv. 1), the fiend “of mopping and mowing, who since possesses\nchambermaids and waiting-women.” And again (iii. 4), “he begins at\ncurfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin.”\n\n_Frateretto_ is referred to by Edgar (iii. 6): “Frateretto calls me; and\ntells me, Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and\nbeware the foul fiend.”\n\n_Hobbididance_ is noticed as “prince of dumbness” (iv. 1), and perhaps\nis the same as Hopdance (iii. 6), “who cries,” says Edgar, “in Tom’s\nbelly for two white herring.”\n\n_Mahu_, like _Modo_, would seem to be another name for “the prince of\ndarkness” (iii. 4), and further on (iv. 1) he is spoken of as the fiend\n“of stealing;” whereas the latter is described as the fiend “of murder.”\nHarsnet thus speaks of them: “Maho was general dictator of hell; and\nyet, for good manners’ sake, he was contented of his good nature to make\nshow, that himself was under the check of Modu, the graund devil in\nMa(ister) Maynie.”\n\n_Obidicut_, another name of the fiend known as Haberdicut (iv. 1).\n\n_Smulkin_ (iii. 4). This is spelled Smolkin by Harsnet.\n\nThus, in a masterly manner, Shakespeare has illustrated and embellished\nhis plays with references to the demonology of the period; having been\ncareful in every case—while enlivening his audience—to convince them of\nthe utter absurdity of this degraded form of superstition.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nNATURAL PHENOMENA.\n\n\nMany of the most beautiful and graphic passages in Shakespeare’s\nwritings have pictured the sun in highly glowing language, and often\ninvested it with that sweet pathos for which the poet was so signally\nfamous. Expressions, for instance, such as the following, are ever\nfrequent: “the glorious sun” (“Twelfth Night,” iv. 3); “heaven’s\nglorious sun” (“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” i. 1); “gorgeous as the sun at\nmidsummer” (“1 Henry IV.,” iv. 1); “all the world is cheered by the sun”\n(“Richard III.,” i. 2); “the sacred radiance of the sun” (“King Lear,”\ni. 1); “sweet tidings of the sun’s uprise” (“Titus Andronicus,” iii. 1),\netc. Then, again, how often we come across passages replete with pathos,\nsuch as “thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west” (“Richard II.,” ii. 4);\n“ere the weary sun set in the west” (“Comedy of Errors,” i. 2); “the\nweary sun hath made a golden set” (“Richard III.,” v. 3); “The sun, for\nsorrow, will not show his head” (“Romeo and Juliet,” v. 3), etc.\nAlthough, however, Shakespeare has made such constant mention of the\nsun, yet his allusions to the folk-lore connected with it are somewhat\nscanty.\n\nAccording to the old philosophy the sun was accounted a planet,[89] and\nthought to be whirled round the earth by the motion of a solid sphere,\nin which it was fixed. In “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 13), Cleopatra\nexclaims:\n\n                                    “O sun,\n    Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in! darkling stand\n    The varying shore o’ the world.”\n\n    [89] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. x. p. 292.\n\nSupposing this sphere consumed, the sun must wander in endless space,\nand, as a natural consequence, the earth be involved in endless night.\n\nIn “1 Henry IV.” (i. 2), Falstaff, according to vulgar astronomy, calls\nthe sun a “wandering knight,” and by this expression evidently alludes\nto some knight of romance. Mr. Douce[90] considered the allusion was to\n“The Voyage of the Wandering Knight,” by Jean de Cathenay, of which the\ntranslation, by W. Goodyeare, appeared about the year 1600. The words\nmay be a portion of some forgotten ballad.\n\n    [90] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, pp. 255, 256.\n\nA pretty fancy is referred to in “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 5), where\nCapulet says:\n\n    “When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;\n    But for the sunset of my brother’s son\n    It rains downright.”\n\nAnd so, too, in the “Rape of Lucrece:”\n\n    “But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set.”\n\n“That Shakespeare thought it was the air,” says Singer,[91] “and not the\nearth, that drizzled dew, is evident from many passages in his works.\nThus, in ‘King John’ (ii. 1) he says: ‘Before the dew of evening fall.’”\nSteevens, alluding to the following passage in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” (iii. 1), “and when she [_i. e._, the moon] weeps, weeps every\nlittle flower,” says that Shakespeare “means that every little flower is\nmoistened with dew, as if with tears; and not that the flower itself\ndrizzles dew.”\n\n    [91] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. viii. p. 208.\n\nBy a popular fancy, the sun was formerly said to dance at its rising on\nEaster morning—to which there may be an allusion in “Romeo and Juliet”\n(iii. 5), where Romeo, addressing Juliet, says:\n\n                    “look, love, what envious streaks\n    Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east;\n    Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day\n    Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.”\n\nWe may also compare the expression in “Coriolanus” (v. 4):\n\n    “The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,\n    Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,\n    Make the sun dance.”\n\nMr. Knight remarks, there was “something exquisitely beautiful in the\nold custom of going forth into the fields before the sun had risen on\nEaster Day, to see him mounting over the hills with tremulous motion, as\nif it were an animate thing, bounding in sympathy with the redeemed of\nmankind.”[92]\n\n    [92] See Knight’s “Life of Shakespeare,” 1843, p. 63.\n\nA cloudy rising of the sun has generally been regarded as ominous—a\nsuperstition equally prevalent on the Continent as in this country. In\n“Richard III.” (v. 3), King Richard asks:\n\n                  “Who saw the sun to-day?\n\n      _Ratcliff._ Not I, my lord.\n\n      _K. Richard._ Then he disdains to shine; for, by the book\n    He should have braved the east an hour ago:\n    A black day will it be to somebody.”\n\n“The learned Moresin, in his ‘Papatus,’” says Brand,[93] “reckons among\nomens the cloudy rising of the sun.” Vergil, too, in his first Georgic\n(441-449), considers it a sign of stormy weather:[94]\n\n    “Ille ubi nascentem maculis variaverit ortum\n    Conditus in nubem, medioque refugerit orbe,\n    Suspecti tibi sint imbres; namque urget ab alto\n    Arboribusque satisque Notus pecorique sinister,\n    Aut ubi sub lucem densa inter nubila sese\n    Diversi rumpent radii, aut ubi pallida surget,\n    Tithoni croceum linquens Aurora cubile,\n    Heu, male tum mitis defendet pampinus uvas:\n    Tam multa in tectis crepitans salit horrida grando.”\n\n    [93] “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 241.\n\n    [94] See Swainson’s “Weather-Lore,” 1873, p. 176, for popular\n    adages on the Continent.\n\nA red sunrise is also unpropitious, and, according to a well-known\nrhyme:\n\n    “If red the sun begins his race,\n    Be sure the rain will fall apace.”\n\nThis old piece of weather-wisdom is mentioned by our Lord in St.\nMatthew, xvi. 2, 3: “When it is evening, ye say, It will be fair\nweather: for the sky is red. And in the morning, It will be foul weather\nto-day, for the sky is red and lowring.” Shakespeare, in his “Venus and\nAdonis,” thus describes it:\n\n        “a red morn, that ever yet betoken’d\n    Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,\n      Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,\n      Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.”\n\nMr. Swainson[95] shows that this notion is common on the Continent.\nThus, at Milan the proverb runs, “If the morn be red, rain is at hand.”\n\n    [95] “Weather-Lore,” pp. 175, 176.\n\nShakespeare, in “Richard II.” (ii. 4), alludes to another indication of\nrain:\n\n    “Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,\n    Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest.”\n\nA “watery sunset” is still considered by many a forerunner of wet. A red\nsunset, on the other hand, beautifully described in “Richard III.” (v.\n3)—\n\n    “The weary sun hath made a golden set.”—\n\nis universally regarded as a prognostication of fine weather, and we\nfind countless proverbs illustrative of this notion, one of the most\npopular being, “Sky red at night, is the sailor’s delight.”\n\nFrom the earliest times an eclipse of the sun was looked upon as an omen\nof coming calamity; and was oftentimes the source of extraordinary alarm\nas well as the occasion of various superstitious ceremonies. In 1597,\nduring an eclipse of the sun, it is stated that, at Edinburgh, men and\nwomen thought the day of judgment was come.[96] Many women swooned, much\ncrying was heard in the streets, and in fear some ran to the kirk to\npray. Mr. Napier says he remembers “an eclipse about 1818, when about\nthree parts of the sun was covered. The alarm in the village was very\ngreat, indoor work was suspended for the time, and in several families\nprayers were offered for protection, believing that it portended some\nawful calamity; but when it passed off there was a general feeling of\nrelief.” In “King Lear” (i. 2), Gloucester remarks: “These late eclipses\nin the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature\ncan reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the\nsequent effects; love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide; in\ncities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the\nbond cracked ’twixt son and father.” Othello, too (v. 2), in his agony\nand despair, exclaims:\n\n                           “O heavy hour!\n    Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse\n    Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe\n    Should yawn at alteration.”\n\n    [96] Napier’s “Folk-Lore of West of Scotland,” 1879, p. 141.\n\nFrancis Bernier[97] says that, in France, in 1654, at an eclipse of the\nsun, “some bought drugs against the eclipse, others kept themselves\nclose in the dark in their caves and their well-closed chambers, others\ncast themselves in great multitudes into the churches; those\napprehending some malign and dangerous influence, and these believing\nthat they were come to the last day, and that the eclipse would shake\nthe foundations of nature.”[98]\n\n    [97] Quoted in Southey’s “Commonplace Book,” 1849, 2d series,\n    p. 462.\n\n    [98] See Tylor’s “Primitive Culture,” 1871, vol. i. pp. 261,\n    296, 297, 321.\n\nIn “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 1), Shakespeare refers to a curious circumstance\nin which, on a certain occasion, the sun is reported to have appeared\nlike three suns. Edward says, “do I see three suns?” to which Richard\nreplies:\n\n    “Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;\n    Not separated with the racking clouds,\n    But sever’d in a pale clear-shining sky.\n    See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss,\n    As if they vow’d some league inviolable:\n    Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun,\n    In this the heaven figures some event.”[99]\n\n    [99] In “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 1), Edward says:\n\n                      “henceforward will I bear\n        Upon my target three fair shining suns.”\n\nThis fact is mentioned both by Hall and Holinshed; the latter says: “At\nwhich tyme the sun (as some write) appeared to the Earl of March like\n_three sunnes_, and sodainely joyned altogether in one, upon whiche\nsight hee tooke such courage, that he fiercely setting on his enemyes\nput them to flight.” We may note here that on Trinity Sunday three suns\nare supposed to be seen. In the “Mémoires de l’Académie Celtique” (iii.\n447), it is stated that “Le jour de la fête de la Trinité, quelques\npersonne vont de grand matin dans la campagne, pour y voir levre trois\nsoleils à la fois.”\n\nAccording to an old proverb, to quit a better for a worse situation was\nspoken of as to go “out of God’s blessing into the warm sun,” a\nreference to which we find in “King Lear” (ii. 2), where Kent says:\n\n    “Good king, that must approve the common saw,\n    Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st\n    To the warm sun.”\n\nDr. Johnson thinks that Hamlet alludes to this saying (i. 2), for when\nthe king says to him,\n\n    “How is it that the clouds still hang on you?”\n\nhe replies,\n\n    “Not so, my lord; I am too much i’ the sun,”\n\n_i. e._, out of God’s blessing.\n\nThis expression, says Mr. Dyce,[100] is found in various authors from\nHeywood down to Swift. The former has:\n\n    “In your running from him to me, yee runne\n    Out of God’s blessing into the warme sunne;”\n\nand the latter:\n\n    “_Lord Sparkish._ They say, marriages are made in heaven; but\n    I doubt, when she was married, she had no friend there.\n\n    _Neverout._ Well, she’s got out of God’s blessing into the\n    warm sun.”[101]\n\n    [100] “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 283.\n\n    [101] Ray gives the Latin equivalent “Ab equis ad asinos.”\n\nThere seems to have been a prejudice from time immemorial against\nsunshine in March; and, according to a German saying, it were “better to\nbe bitten by a snake than to feel the sun in March.” Thus, in “1 Henry\nIV.” (iv. 1), Hotspur says:\n\n                     “worse than the sun in March,\n    This praise doth nourish agues.”\n\nShakespeare employs the word “sunburned” in the sense of uncomely,\nill-favored. In “Much Ado” (ii. 1), Beatrice says, “I am sunburnt;” and\nin “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 3), Æneas remarks:\n\n    “The Grecian dames are sunburnt, and not worth\n    The splinter of a lance.”\n\n_Moon._ Apart from his sundry allusions to the “pale-faced,” “silver\nmoon,” Shakespeare has referred to many of the superstitions associated\nwith it, several of which still linger on in country nooks. A widespread\nlegend of great antiquity informs us that the moon is inhabited by a\nman,[102] with a bundle of sticks on his back, who has been exiled\nthither for many centuries, and who is so far off that he is beyond the\nreach of death. This tradition, which has given rise to many\nsuperstitions, is still preserved under various forms in most countries;\nbut it has not been decided who the culprit originally was, and how he\ncame to be imprisoned in his lonely abode. Dante calls him Cain; Chaucer\nassigns his exile as a punishment for theft, and gives him a thorn-bush\nto carry, while Shakespeare also loads him with the thorns, but by way\nof compensation gives him a dog for a companion. In “The Tempest” (ii.\n2), Caliban asks Stephano whether he has “not dropped from heaven?” to\nwhich he answers, “Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i’\nthe moon when time was.” Whereupon Caliban says: “I have seen thee in\nher and I do adore thee: my mistress show’d me thee, and thy dog and thy\nbush.” We may also compare the expression in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream”\n(v. 1), where, in the directions for the performance of the play of\n“Pyramus and Thisbe,” Moonshine is represented “with lanthorn, dog, and\nbush of thorn.” And further on, in the same scene, describing himself,\nMoonshine says: “All that I have to say, is, to tell you that the\nlanthorn is the moon; I, the man in the moon;[103] this thorn-bush, my\nthorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.”\n\n    [102] Baring-Gould’s “Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,” 1877,\n    p. 190.\n\n    [103] Cf. “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2): “Yet still she is the\n    moon, and I the man.”\n\nOrdinarily,[104] however, his offence is stated to have been\nSabbath-breaking—an idea derived from the Old Testament. Like the man\nmentioned in the Book of Numbers (xv. 32), he is caught gathering sticks\non the Sabbath; and, as an example to mankind, he is condemned to stand\nforever in the moon, with his bundle on his back. Instead of a dog, one\nGerman version places him with a woman, whose crime was churning butter\non Sunday. The Jews have a legend that Jacob is the moon, and they\nbelieve that his face is visible. Mr. Baring-Gould[105] says that the\n“idea of locating animals in the two great luminaries of heaven is very\nancient, and is a relic of a primeval superstition of the Aryan race.”\nThe natives of Ceylon, instead of a man, have placed a hare in the moon;\nand the Chinese represent the moon by “a rabbit pounding rice in a\nmortar.”[106]\n\n    [104] Fiske, “Myths and Mythmakers,” 1873, p. 27.\n\n    [105] “Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,” 1877, p. 197.\n\n    [106] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 10.\n\nFrom the very earliest times the moon has not only been an object of\npopular superstition, but been honored by various acts of adoration. In\nEurope,[107] in the fifteenth century, “it was a matter of complaint\nthat some still worshipped the new moon with bended knee, or hood or hat\nremoved. And to this day we may still see a hat raised to her, half in\nconservatism and half in jest. It is with deference to silver as the\nlunar metal that money is turned when the act of adoration is performed,\nwhile practical peasant wit dwells on the ill-luck of having no piece of\nsilver when the new moon is first seen.” Shakespeare often incidentally\nalludes to this form of superstition. To quote one or two out of many\ninstances, Enobarbus, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 9), says:\n\n    “Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon!”\n\n    [107] For further information on this subject, see Tylor’s\n    “Primitive Culture,” 1873, vol. i. pp. 288, 354-356; vol. ii.\n    pp. 70, 202, 203.\n\nIn “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2) the king says:\n\n    “Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine,\n    Those clouds, removed, upon our watery eyne.”\n\nIndeed, it was formerly a common practice for people to address\ninvocations to the moon,[108] and even at the present day we find\nremnants of this practice both in this country and abroad. Thus, in many\nplaces it is customary for young women to appeal to the moon to tell\nthem of their future prospects in matrimony,[109] the following or\nsimilar lines being repeated on the occasion:\n\n    “New moon, new moon, I hail thee:\n    New moon, new moon, be kind to me;\n    If I marry man or man marry me,\n    Show me how many moons it will be.”\n\n    [108] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” vol. iii. pp. 142, 143.\n\n    [109] See “English Folk-lore,” pp. 43, 44.\n\nIt was also the practice to swear by the moon, to which we find an\nallusion in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 2), where Juliet reproves her lover\nfor testifying his affections by this means:\n\n    “O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,\n    That monthly changes in her circled orb,\n    Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.”\n\nAnd again, in “The Merchant of Venice” (v. 1), where Gratiano exclaims:\n\n    “By yonder moon I swear you do me wrong.”\n\nWe may note here that the inconstancy[110] of the moon is the subject\nof various myths, of which Mr. Tylor has given the following examples:\nThus, an Australian legend says that Mityan, the moon, was a native cat,\nwho fell in love with some one else’s wife, and was driven away to\nwander ever since. A Slavonic legend tells us that the moon, king of\nnight, and husband of the sun, faithlessly loved the morning star,\nwherefore he was cloven through in punishment, as we see him in the sky.\nThe Khasias of the Himalaya say that the moon falls monthly in love with\nhis mother-in-law, who throws ashes in his face, whence his spots.[111]\n\n    [110] “Primitive Culture,” 1873, vol. i. pp. 354, 355.\n\n    [111] The words “moonish” (“As You Like It,” iii. 2) and\n    “moonlike” (“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” iv. 3) are used in the\n    sense of inconstant.\n\nAs in the case of the sun, an eclipse of the moon was formerly\nconsidered ominous. The Romans[112] supposed it was owing to the\ninfluence of magical charms, to counteract which they had recourse to\nthe sound of brazen instruments of all kinds. Juvenal alludes to this\npractice in his sixth Satire (441), when he describes his talkative\nwoman:\n\n        “Jam nemo tubas, nemo æra fatiget,\n    Una laboranti poterit succurrere lunæ.”\n\n    [112] See Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 18.\n\nIndeed, eclipses, which to us are well-known phenomena witnessing to the\nexactness of natural laws, were, in the earlier stages of civilization,\nregarded as “the very embodiment of miraculous disaster.” Thus, the\nChinese believed that during eclipses of the sun and moon these\ncelestial bodies were attacked by a great serpent, to drive away which\nthey struck their gongs or brazen drums. The Peruvians, entertaining a\nsimilar notion, raised a frightful din when the moon was eclipsed,[113]\nwhile some savages would shoot up arrows to defend their luminaries\nagainst the enemies they fancied were attacking them. It was also a\npopular belief that the moon was affected by the influence of\nwitchcraft, a notion referred to by Prospero in “The Tempest” (v. 1),\nwho says:\n\n    “His mother was a witch, and one so strong\n    That could control the moon.”\n\n    [113] Tylor’s “Primitive Culture,” vol. i. p. 329.\n\nIn a former scene (ii. 1) Gonzalo remarks: “You are gentlemen of brave\nmettle; you would lift the moon out of her sphere.” Douce[114] quotes a\nmarginal reference from Adlington’s translation of “Apuleius” (1596), a\nbook well known to Shakespeare: “Witches in old time were supposed to be\nof such power that they could put downe the moone by their\ninchantment.”[115] One of the earliest references to this superstition\namong classical authorities is that in the “Clouds” of Aristophanes,\nwhere Strepsiades proposes the hiring of a Thessalian witch, to bring\ndown the moon and shut her up in a box, that he might thus evade paying\nhis debts by a month. Ovid, in his “Metamorphoses” (bk. xii. 263), says:\n\n    “Mater erat Mycale; quam deduxisse canendo\n    Sæpe reluctanti constabat cornua lunæ.”\n\n    [114] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 16.\n\n    [115] See Scot’s “Discovery of Witchcraft,” 1584, pp. 174, 226,\n    227, 250.\n\nHorace, in his fifth Epode (45), tells us:\n\n    “Quæ sidera excantata voce Thessala,\n      Lunamque cælo deripit.”[116]\n\n    [116] For further examples, see Douce’s “Illustrations of\n    Shakespeare,” p. 17.\n\nReverting again to the moon’s eclipse, such a season, being considered\nmost unlucky for lawful enterprises, was held suitable for evil designs.\nThus, in “Macbeth” (iv. 1), one of the witches, speaking of the\ningredients of the caldron, says:\n\n    “Gall of goat, and slips of yew,\n    Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse.”\n\nAs a harbinger of misfortune it is referred to in “Antony and\nCleopatra,” where (iii. 13), Antony says:\n\n                 “Alack, our terrene moon\n    Is now eclipsed; and it portends alone\n    The fall of Antony!”\n\nMilton, in his “Paradise Lost” (bk. i. 597), speaks much in the same\nstrain:\n\n                   “as when the sun new-risen\n    Looks through the horizontal misty air\n    Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon\n    In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds\n    On half the nations.”\n\nAnd in “Lycidas,” he says of the unlucky ship that was wrecked:\n\n    “It was that fatal and perfidious bark\n    Built in the eclipse.”\n\nIts sanguine color is also mentioned as an indication of coming\ndisasters in “Richard II.” (ii. 4), where the Welsh captain remarks how:\n\n    “The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth.”\n\nAnd its paleness, too, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 2), is spoken\nof as an unpropitious sign.\n\nAccording to a long-accepted theory, insane persons are said to be\ninfluenced by the moon: and many old writers have supported this notion.\nIndeed, Shakespeare himself, in “Othello” (v. 2), tells how the moon\nwhen\n\n    “She comes more nearer earth than she was wont,\n    And makes men mad.”\n\nDr. Forbes Winslow, in his “Light: its Influence on Life and Health,”\nsays that “it is impossible altogether to ignore the evidence of such\nmen as Pinel, Daquin, Guislain, and others, yet the experience of modern\npsychological physicians is to a great degree opposed to the deductions\nof these eminent men.” He suggests that the alleged changes observed\namong the insane at certain phases of the moon may arise, not from the\ndirect, but the indirect, influence of the planet. It is well known that\ncertain important meteorological phenomena result from the various\nphases of the moon, such as the rarity of the air, the electric\nconditions of the atmosphere, the degree of heat, dryness, moisture, and\namount of wind prevailing. It is urged, then, that those suffering from\ndiseases of the brain and nervous system, affecting the mind, cannot be\nconsidered as exempt from the operation of agencies that are admitted\nto affect patients afflicted with other maladies. Dr. Winslow further\nadds, that “an intelligent lady, who occupied for about five years the\nposition of matron in my establishment for insane ladies, has remarked\nthat she invariably observed among them a greater agitation when the\nmoon was at its full.” A correspondent of “Notes and Queries” (2d\nseries, xii. 492) explains the apparent aggravated symptoms of madness\nat the full moon by the fact that the insane are naturally more restless\non light than on dark nights, and that in consequence loss of sleep\nmakes them more excitable. We may note here, that in “Antony and\nCleopatra” (iv. 9) Enobarbus invokes the moon as the “sovereign mistress\nof true melancholy.”\n\nThe moisture of the moon is invariably noticed by Shakespeare. In\n“Hamlet” (i. 1) Horatio tells how\n\n                         “the moist star,\n    Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands,\n    Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.”\n\nIn “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1) Titania says:\n\n    “Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,\n    Pale in her anger, washes all the air,\n    That rheumatic diseases do abound.”\n\nAnd in “The Winter’s Tale” (i. 2) Polixenes commences by saying how:\n\n    “Nine changes of the watery star hath been\n    The shepherd’s note, since we have left our throne\n    Without a burthen.”\n\nWe may compare, too, the words of Enobarbus in “Antony and Cleopatra”\n(iv. 9), who, after addressing the moon, says: “The poisonous damp of\nnight disponge upon me.” And once more, in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 4), we\nread of the “moonshine’s watery beams.”\n\nThe same idea is frequently found in old writers. Thus, for instance, in\nNewton’s “Direction for the Health of Magistrates and Studentes” (1574),\nwe are told that “the moone is ladye of moisture.” Bartholomæus, in “De\nProprietate Rerum,” describes the moon as “mother of all humours,\nminister and ladye of the sea.”[117] In Lydgate’s prologue to his “Story\nof Thebes” there are two lines not unlike those in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream,” already quoted:\n\n    “Of Lucina the moone, moist and pale,\n    That many shoure fro heaven made availe.”\n\n    [117] See Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 116.\n\nOf course, the moon is thus spoken of as governing the tides, and from\nits supposed influence on the weather.[118] In “1 Henry IV.” (i. 2)\nFalstaff alludes to the sea being governed “by our noble and chaste\nmistress, the moon;” and in “Richard III.” (ii. 2) Queen Elizabeth says:\n\n    “That I, being govern’d by the watery moon,\n    May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world.”\n\n    [118] See Swainson’s “Weather-Lore,” 1873, pp. 182-192.\n\nWe may compare, too, what Timon says (“Timon of Athens,” iv. 3):\n\n    “The sea’s a thief, whose liquid surge resolves\n    The moon into salt tears.”\n\nThe expression of Hecate, in “Macbeth” (iii. 5):\n\n    “Upon the corner of the moon\n    There hangs a vaporous drop profound,”\n\nseems to have been meant for the same as the _virus lunare_ of the\nancients, being a foam which the moon was supposed to shed on particular\nherbs, when strongly solicited by enchantment. Lucan introduces Erictho\nusing it (“Pharsalia,” book vi. 669): “Et virus large lunare ministrat.”\n\nBy a popular astrological doctrine the moon was supposed to exercise\ngreat influence over agricultural operations, and also over many “of the\nminor concerns of life, such as the gathering of herbs, the killing of\nanimals for the table, and other matters of a like nature.” Thus the\nfollowing passage in the “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1), it has been\nsuggested, has reference to the practices of the old herbalists who\nattributed particular virtues to plants gathered during particular\nphases of the moon and hours of the night. After Lorenzo has spoken of\nthe moon shining brightly, Jessica adds:\n\n                         “In such a night\n    Medea gather’d the enchanted herbs,\n    That did renew old Æson.”\n\nAnd in “Hamlet” (iv. 7) the description which Laertes gives of the\nweapon-poison refers to the same notion:\n\n    “I bought an unction of a mountebank,\n    So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,\n    Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,\n    Collected from all simples that have virtue\n    Under the moon, can save the thing from death.”\n\nThe sympathy of growing and declining nature with the waxing and waning\nmoon is a superstition widely spread, and is as firmly believed in by\nmany as when Tusser, in his “Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry,”\nunder “February” gave the following advice:\n\n    “Sow peason and beans in the wane of the moon,\n    Who soweth them sooner, he soweth too soon,\n    That they with the planet may rest and arise,\n    And flourish, with bearing most plentifull wise.”\n\nWarburton considers that this notion is alluded to by Shakespeare in\n“Troilus and Cressida” (iii. 2), where Troilus, speaking of the\nsincerity of his love, tells Cressida it is,\n\n    “As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,\n    As sun to day, as turtle to her mate.”\n\nThere is a little doubt as to the exact meaning of plantage in this\npassage. Nares observes that it probably means anything that is planted;\nbut Mr. Ellacombe, in his “Plant-lore of Shakespeare” (1878, p. 165),\nsays “it is doubtless the same as plantain.”\n\nIt appears that, in days gone by, “neither sowing, planting, nor\ngrafting was ever undertaken without a scrupulous attention to the\nincrease or waning of the moon.”[119] Scot, in his “Discovery of\nWitchcraft,” notes how “the poore husbandman perceiveth that the\nincrease of the moone maketh plants fruitful, so as in the full moone\nthey are in best strength; decaieing in the wane, and in the conjunction\ndo utterlie wither and vade.”\n\n    [119] See Tylor’s “Primitive Culture,” 1873, vol. i. p. 130;\n    “English Folk-Lore,” 1878, pp. 41, 42.\n\nIt was a prevailing notion that the moon had an attending star—Lilly\ncalls it “Lunisequa;” and Sir Richard Hawkins, in his “Observations in a\nVoyage to the South Seas in 1593,” published in 1622, remarks: “Some I\nhave heard say, and others write, that there is a starre which never\nseparateth itself from the moon, but a small distance.” Staunton\nconsiders that there is an allusion to this idea in “Love’s Labour’s\nLost” (iv. 3), where the king says:\n\n    “My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon:\n    She an attending star, scarce seen a light.”\n\nThe sharp ends of the new moon are popularly termed horns—a term which\noccurs in “Coriolanus” (i. 1)—\n\n                            “they threw their caps\n    As they would hang them on the horns o’ the moon.”\n\nIt is made use of in Decker’s “Match me in London” (i.):\n\n    “My lord, doe you see this change i’ the moone?\n    Sharp hornes doe threaten windy weather.”\n\nWhen the horns of the moon appear to point upwards the moon is said to\nbe like a boat, and various weather prognostications are drawn from this\nphenomenon.[120] According to sailors, it is an omen of fine weather,\nwhereas others affirm it is a sign of rain—resembling a basin full of\nwater about to fall.\n\n    [120] See Swainson’s “Weather-Lore,” pp. 182, 183.\n\nAmong other items of folk-lore connected with the moon we may mention\nthe moon-calf, a false conception, or fœtus imperfectly formed, in\nconsequence, as was supposed, of the influence of the moon. The best\naccount of this fabulous substance may be found in Drayton’s poem with\nthat title. Trinculo, in “The Tempest” (ii. 2), supposes Caliban to be a\nmoon-calf: “I hid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine.” It has been\nsuggested that in calling Caliban a moon-calf Shakespeare alluded to a\nsuperstitious belief formerly current, in the intercourse of demons and\nother non-human beings with mankind. In the days of witchcraft, it was\nsupposed that a class of devils called Incubi and Succubi roamed the\nearth with the express purpose of tempting people to abandon their\npurity of life. Hence, all badly deformed children were suspected of\nhaving had such an undesirable parentage.[121]\n\n    [121] See Williams’s “Superstitions of Witchcraft,” pp.\n    123-125; Scot’s “Discovery of Witchcraft,” bk. iv. p. 145.\n\nA curious expression, “a sop o’ the moonshine,” occurs in “King Lear”\n(ii. 2), which probably alludes to some dish so called. Kent says to the\nsteward, “Draw, you rogue; for, though it be night, yet the moon shines;\nI’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you.”\n\nThere was a way of dressing eggs, called “eggs in moonshine,” of which\nDouce[122] gives the following description: “Eggs were broken and boiled\nin salad oil till the yolks became hard. They were eaten with slices of\nonion fried in oil, butter, verjuice, nutmeg, and salt.” “A sop in the\nmoonshine” must have been a sippet in this dish.[123]\n\n    [122] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 405.\n\n    [123] Nares’s “Glossary,” 1872, vol. ii. p. 580.\n\n_Planets._ The irregular motion of the planets was supposed to portend\nsome disaster to mankind. Ulysses, in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 3),\ndeclares how:\n\n                     “when the planets\n    In evil mixture, to disorder wander,\n    What plagues and what portents! what mutiny!\n    What raging of the sea! shaking of earth!\n    Commotion in the winds! frights, changes, horrors,\n    Divert and crack, rend and deracinate\n    The unity and married calm of states\n    Quite from their fixture.”\n\nIndeed, the planets themselves were not thought, in days gone by, to be\nconfined in any fixed orbit of their own, but ceaselessly to wander\nabout, as the etymology of their name demonstrates. A popular name for\nthe planets was “wandering stars,” of which Cotgrave says, “they bee\nalso called wandering starres, because they never keep one certain place\nor station in the firmament.” Thus Hamlet (v. 1), approaching the grave\nof Ophelia, addresses Laertes:\n\n                       “What is he, whose grief\n    Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow\n    Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand\n    Like wonder-wounded hearers?”\n\nIn Tomkis’s “Albumazar” (i. 1) they are called “wanderers:”\n\n    “Your patron Mercury, in his mysterious character\n    Holds all the marks of the other wanderers.”\n\nAccording to vulgar astrology, the planets, like the stars, were\nsupposed to affect, more or less, the affairs of this world, a notion\nfrequently referred to by old writers. In “Winter’s Tale” (ii. 1),\nHermione consoles herself in the thought—\n\n            “There’s some ill planet reigns:\n    I must be patient till the heavens look\n    With an aspect more favourable.”\n\nIn “1 Henry VI.” (i. 1), the Duke of Exeter asks:\n\n    “What! shall we curse the planets of mishap\n    That plotted thus our glory’s overthrow?”\n\nAgain, King Richard (“Richard III.,” iv. 4):\n\n    “Be opposite all planets of good luck\n    To my proceeding.”\n\nAnd once more, in “Hamlet” (i. 1), Marcellus, speaking of the season of\nour Saviour’s birth, says, “then no planets strike.”\n\nThat diseases, too, are dependent upon planetary influence is referred\nto in “Timon of Athens” (iv. 3):\n\n    “Be as a planetary plague, when Jove\n    Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison\n    In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one.”\n\n“Fiery Trigon” was a term in the old judicial astrology, when the three\nupper planets met in a fiery sign—a phenomenon which was supposed to\nindicate rage and contention. It is mentioned in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4):\n\n    “_P. Hen._ Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what\n    says the almanac to that?\n\n    _Poins._ And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not\n    lisping to his master’s old tables.”\n\nDr. Nash, in his notes to Butler’s “Hudibras,” says: “The twelve signs\nin astrology are divided into four _trigons_ or triplicities, each\ndenominated from the connatural element; so they are three fiery\n[signs], three airy, three watery, and three earthy:”\n\n  Fiery—Aries, Leo, Sagittarius.\n  Airy—Gemini, Libra, Aquarius.\n  Watery—Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces.\n  Earthly—Taurus, Virgo, Capricornus.\n\nThus, when the three superior planets met in Aries, Leo, or Sagittarius,\nthey formed a _fiery trigon_; when in Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces, a\nwatery one.\n\n_Charles’s Wain_ was the old name for the seven bright stars of the\nconstellation Ursa Major. The constellation was so named in honor of\nCharlemagne; or, according to some, it is a corruption of chorles or\nchurl’s, _i. e._, rustic’s, wain. Chorl is frequently used for a\ncountryman, in old books, from the Saxon ceorl. In “1 Henry IV.” (ii.\n1), the Carrier says, “Charles’ wain is over the new chimney.”\n\n_Music of the spheres._ Pythagoras was the first who suggested this\nnotion, so beautifully expressed by Shakespeare in the “Merchant of\nVenice” (v. 1):\n\n    “There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st,\n    But in his motion like an angel sings,\n    Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.”\n\nPlato says that a siren sits on each planet, who carols a most sweet\nsong, agreeing to the motion of her own particular planet, but\nharmonizing with the other seven. Hence Milton, in his “Arcades,” speaks\nof the “celestial Sirens’ harmony, that sit upon the nine enfolded\nspheres.”\n\n_Stars._ An astrological doctrine, which has kept its place in modern\npopular philosophy, asserts that mundane events are more or less\ninfluenced by the stars. That astronomers should have divided the sun’s\ncourse into imaginary signs of the Zodiac, was enough, says Mr.\nTylor,[124] to originate astrological rules “that these celestial signs\nhave an actual effect on real earthly rams, bulls, crabs, lions,\nvirgins.” Hence we are told that a child born under the sign of the Lion\nwill be courageous; but one born under the Crab will not go forth well\nin life; one born under the Waterman is likely to be drowned, and so\nforth. Shakespeare frequently alludes to this piece of superstition,\nwhich, it must be remembered, was carried to a ridiculous height in his\nday. In “Julius Cæsar” (i. 2), Cassius says:\n\n    “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,\n    But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”\n\n    [124] “Primitive Culture,” vol. i. p. 131.\n\nIn the following passage in “Twelfth Night” (i. 3):\n\n    “_Sir Tob._                Were we not born under Taurus?\n\n    _Sir And._ Taurus! that’s sides and heart.\n\n    _Sir Tob._ No, sir; it is legs and thighs.”\n\n“Both the knights,” says Mr. Douce (“Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p.\n54), “are wrong in their astrology, according to the almanacs of the\ntime, which make Taurus govern the neck and throat.”\n\nBeatrice, in “Much Ado about Nothing” (ii. 1), says: “there was a star\ndanced, and under that was I born;” Kent, in “King Lear” (iv. 3),\nremarks,\n\n                                  “It is the stars,\n    The stars above us, govern our conditions;”\n\nand once more, in “Pericles” (i. 1), King Antiochus, speaking of the\ncharming qualities of his daughter, says:\n\n    “Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,\n    For the embracements even of Jove himself:\n    At whose conception, till Lucina reign’d,\n    Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,\n    The senate-house of planets all did sit,\n    To knit in her their best perfections.”[125]\n\n    [125] Cf. “Richard III.” (iv. 4); “1 Henry IV.” (i. 1, iii. 1);\n    “Antony and Cleopatra” (iii. 13); “The Tempest” (i. 2);\n    “Hamlet” (i. 4); “Cymbeline” (v. 4); “Winter’s Tale” (iii. 2);\n    “Richard II.” (iv. 1).\n\nThroughout the East, says Mr. Tylor,[126] “astrology even now remains a\nscience in full esteem. The condition of mediæval Europe may still be\nperfectly realized by the traveller in Persia, where the Shah waits for\ndays outside the walls of his capital till the constellations allow him\nto enter; and where, on the days appointed by the stars for letting\nblood, it literally flows in streams from the barbers’ shops in the\nstreets. Professor Wuttke declares that there are many districts in\nGermany where the child’s horoscope is still regularly kept with the\nbaptismal certificate in the family chest.” Astrology is ridiculed in a\nmasterly manner in “King Lear” (i. 2); and Warburton suggests that if\nthe date of the first performance of “King Lear” were well considered,\n“it would be found that something or other had happened at that time\nwhich gave a more than ordinary run to this deceit, as these words seem\nto indicate—‘I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other\nday, what should follow these eclipses.’” Zouch,[127] speaking of Queen\nMary’s reign, tells us that “Judicial astrology was much in use long\nafter this time. Its predictions were received with reverential awe: and\neven men of the most enlightened understandings were inclined to believe\nthat the conjunctions and oppositions of the planets had no little\ninfluence in the affairs of the world.”\n\n    [126] “Primitive Culture,” vol. i. p. 131; see Brand’s “Popular\n    Antiquities,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 341-348.\n\n    [127] “Walton’s Lives,” 1796, p. 113, note.\n\nThe pretence, also, of predicting events, such as pestilence, from the\naspect of the heavenly bodies—one form of medical astrology—is noticed\nin “Venus and Adonis:”\n\n    “Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!\n    O, never let their crimson liveries wear!\n    And as they last, their verdure still endure,\n    To drive infection from the dangerous year!\n      That the star-gazers, having writ on death,\n      May say, the plague is banish’d by thy breath!”\n\nHeroes were in ancient times immortalized by being placed among the\nstars, a custom to which Bedford refers in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 1):\n\n    “A far more glorious star thy soul will make\n    Than Julius Cæsar.”\n\nAnd, again, “Pericles” (v. 3) exclaims:\n\n    “Heavens make a star of him.”\n\nOn a medal of Hadrian, the adopted son of Trajan and Plotina, the\ndivinity of his parents is expressed by placing a star over their heads;\nand in like manner the medals of Faustina the Elder exhibit her on an\neagle, her head surrounded with stars.[128]\n\n    [128] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 397.\n\nIn “2 Henry IV.” (iv. 3) a ludicrous term for the stars is, “cinders of\nthe elements;” and in “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1) they are designated\n“candles of the night.”\n\n_Meteors._ An elegant description of a meteor well known to sailors is\ngiven by Ariel in “The Tempest” (i. 2):\n\n                     “sometime I’d divide\n    And burn in many places; on the topmast,\n    The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,\n    Then meet and join.”\n\nIt is called, by the French and Spaniards inhabiting the coasts of the\nMediterranean, St. Helme’s or St. Telme’s fire; by the Italians, the\nfire of St. Peter and St. Nicholas. It is also known as the fire of St.\nHelen, St. Herm, and St. Clare. Douce[129] tells us that whenever it\nappeared as a single flame it was supposed by the ancients to be Helena,\nthe sister of Castor and Pollux, and in this state to bring ill luck,\nfrom the calamities which this lady is known to have caused in the\nTrojan war. When it came as a double flame it was called Castor and\nPollux, and accounted a good omen. It has been described as a little\nblaze of fire, sometimes appearing by night on the tops of soldiers’\nlances, or at sea on masts and sailyards, whirling and leaping in a\nmoment from one place to another. According to some, it never appears\nbut after a tempest, and is supposed to lead people to suicide by\ndrowning. Shakespeare in all probability consulted Batman’s “Golden\nBooks of the Leaden Goddes,” who, speaking of Castor and Pollux, says:\n“They were figured like two lampes or cresset lightes—one on the toppe\nof a maste, the other on the stemme or foreshippe.” He adds that if the\nfirst light appears in the stem or foreship and ascends upwards, it is a\nsign of good luck; if “either lights begin at the topmast, bowsprit,” or\nforeship, and descends towards the sea, it is a sign of a tempest. In\ntaking, therefore, the latter position, Ariel had fulfilled the commands\nof Prospero, and raised a storm.[130] Mr. Swainson, in his\n“Weather-Lore” (1873, p. 193), quotes the following, which is to the\nsame purport:\n\n    “Last night I saw Saint Elmo’s stars,\n    With their glittering lanterns all at play,\n    On the tops of the masts and the tips of the spars,\n    And I knew we should have foul weather that day.”\n\n    [129] Ibid. p. 3.\n\n    [130] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 400.\n\nCapell, in his “School of Shakespeare” (1779, iii. 7), has pointed out a\npassage in Hakluyt’s “Voyages” (1598, iii. 450), which strikingly\nillustrates the speech of Ariel quoted above: “I do remember that in the\ngreat and boysterous storme of this foule weather, in the night, there\ncame vpon the toppe of our maine yarde and maine maste, a certaine\nlittle light, much like unto the light of a little candle, which the\nSpaniards called the Cuerpo-Santo, and said it was St. Elmo, whom they\ntake to bee the aduocate of sailers.... This light continued aboord our\nship about three houres, flying from maste to maste, and from top to\ntop; and sometimes it would be in two or three places at once.” This\nmeteor was by some supposed to be a spirit; and by others “an exhalation\nof moyst vapours, that are ingendered by foul and tempestuous\nweather.”[131] Mr. Thoms, in his “Notelets on Shakespeare” (1865, p.\n59), says that, no doubt, Shakespeare had in mind the\nwill-o’-the-wisp.[132]\n\n    [131] Purchas, “His Pilgrimes” (1625, pt. i. lib. iii. p. 133),\n    quoted by Mr. Aldis Wright in his “Notes to The Tempest,” 1875,\n    p. 86.\n\n    [132] See Puck as Will-o’-the-Wisp; chapter on “Fairy-Lore.”\n\n_Fire-Drake_, which is jocularly used in “Henry VIII.” (v. 4) for a\nman with a red face, was one of the popular terms for the\nwill-o’-the-wisp,[133] and Burton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” says:\n“Fiery spirits or devils are such as commonly work by fire-drakes, or\nignes fatui, which lead men often in flumina et præcipitia.” In\nBullokar’s “English Expositor” (1616), we have a quaint account of this\nphenomenon: “Fire-drake; a fire sometimes seen flying in the night like\na dragon. Common people think it a spirit that keepeth some treasure\nhid, but philosophers affirme it to be a great unequal exhalation\ninflamed betweene two clouds, the one hot, the other cold, which is the\nreason that it also smoketh, the middle part whereof, according to the\nproportion of the hot cloud being greater than the rest, maketh it seem\nlike a bellie, and both ends like unto a head and taill.”[134] White,\nhowever, in his “Peripateticall Institutions” (p. 156), calls the\nfiery-dragon or fire-drake, “a weaker kind of lightning. Its livid\ncolors, and its falling without noise and slowly, demonstrate a great\nmixture of watery exhalation in it.... ’Tis sufficient for its shape,\nthat it has some resemblance of a dragon, not the expresse figure.”\n\n    [133] See “Notes and Queries,” 5th series, vol. x. p. 499;\n    Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 410; Nares’s\n    “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 309.\n\n    [134] A “fire-drake” appears to have been also an artificial\n    firework, perhaps what is now called a serpent. Thus, in\n    Middleton’s “Your Five Gallants” (1607):\n\n                            “But, like fire-drakes,\n        Mounted a little, gave a crack and fell.”\n\nAmong other allusions to the will-o’-the-wisp by Shakespeare, Mr.\nHunter[135] notices one in “King Lear” (iii. 4), where Gloster’s torch\nbeing seen in the distance, the fool says, “Look, here comes a walking\nfire.” Whereupon Edgar replies, “This is the foul fiend,\nFlibbertigibbet; he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock.”\n“From which,” observes Mr. Hunter, “Flibbertigibbet seems to be a name\nfor the will-o’-the-wisp. Hence the propriety of ‘He _begins at curfew_,\nand walks till the crowing of the cock,’ that is, is seen in all the\ndark of the night.” It appears that when Shakespeare wrote, “a walking\nfire” was a common name for the _ignis fatuus_, as we learn from the\nstory of “How Robin Goodfellow lead a company of fellows out of their\nway:” “A company of young men, having been making merry with their\nsweethearts, were, at their coming home, to come over a heath; Robin\nGoodfellow, knowing of it, met them, and to make some pastime hee led\nthem up and downe the heathe a whole night, so that they could not get\nout of it, for hee went before them in the shape of a _walking fire_,\nwhich they all saw and followed till the day did appeare; then Robin\nleft them, and at his departure spake these words:\n\n    “‘Get you home, you merry lads,\n    Tell your mammies and your dads,\n    And all those that newes desire\n    How you saw a walking fire,\n    Wenches, that doe smile and lispe,\n    Use to call me willy-wispe.’”\n\n    [135] “New Illustrations of the Life, Studies, and Writings of\n    Shakespeare,” vol. ii. p. 272.\n\nAnother allusion to this subject occurs in “The Tempest” (iv. 1), where\nStephano, after Ariel has led him and his drunken companions through\n“tooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,” and at last\n“left them i’ the filthy mantled pool,” reproaches Caliban in these\nwords: “Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done\nlittle better than played the Jack with us”—that is, to quote Dr.\nJohnson’s explanation of this passage, “he has played\nJack-with-a-lanthorn, has led us about like an _ignis fatuus_, by which\ntravellers are decoyed into the mire.”[136] Once more, when Puck, in “A\nMidsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1), speaks of the various forms he\nassumes in order to “mislead night wanderers, laughing at their harm,”\nhe says:\n\n    “Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound,\n    A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire.”\n\n    [136] See Thoms’s “Notelets on Shakespeare,” p. 59.\n\nShakespeare, no doubt, here alludes to the will-o’-the wisp, an opinion\nshared by Mr. Joseph Ritson,[137] who says: “This Puck, or Robin\nGoodfellow, seems likewise to be the illusory candle-holder, so fatal to\ntravellers, and who is more usually called ‘Jack-a-lantern,’[138] or\n‘Will-with-a-wisp,’ and ‘Kit-with-the-candlestick.’” Milton, in\n“Paradise Lost” (book ix.), alludes to this deceptive gleam in the\nfollowing lines:\n\n                        “A wandering fire\n    Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night\n    Condenses, and the cold environs round,\n    Kindled through agitation to a flame,\n    Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends,\n    Hovering and blazing with delusive light,\n    Misleads th’ amaz’d night-wanderer from his way\n    To bogs and mires, and oft through pond and pool.”[139]\n\n    [137] “Fairy Mythology,” edited by Hazlitt, 1875, p. 40.\n\n    [138] Among the many other names given to this appearance may\n    be mentioned the following: “Will-a-wisp,” “Joan-in-the-wad,”\n    “Jacket-a-wad,” “Peg-a-lantern,” “Elf-fire,” etc. A\n    correspondent of “Notes and Queries” (5th series, vol. x. p.\n    499) says: “The wandering meteor of the moss or fell appears to\n    have been personified as Jack, Gill, Joan, Will, or Robin,\n    indifferently, according as the supposed spirit of the lamp\n    seemed to the particular rustic mind to be a male or female\n    apparition.” In Worcestershire it is called\n    “Hob-and-his-lanthorn,” and “Hobany’s” or “Hobnedy’s Lanthorn.”\n\n    [139] Mr. Ritson says that Milton “is frequently content to\n    pilfer a happy expression from Shakespeare—on this occasion,\n    ‘night-wanderer.’” He elsewhere calls it “the friar’s lantern.”\n\nThis appearance has given rise to a most extensive folk-lore, and is\nembodied in many of the fairy legends and superstitions of this and\nother countries. Thus, in Germany, Jack-o’-lanterns are said to be the\nsouls of unbaptized children, that have no rest in the grave, and must\nhover between heaven and earth. In many places they are called\nland-measurers, and are seen like figures of fire, running to and fro\nwith a red-hot measuring rod. These are said to be persons who have\nfalsely sworn away land, or fraudulently measured it, or removed\nlandmarks.[140] In the neighborhood of Magdeburg, they are known as\n“Lüchtemannekens;” and to cause them to appear, it is sufficient to\ncall out “Ninove, Ninove.” In the South Altmark they are termed\n“Dickepôten;” and if a person only prays as soon as he sees one, he\ndraws it to him; if he curses, it retires. In some parts, too, a popular\nname is “Huckepôten,” and “Tuckbolde.” The Jack-o’-lanterns of\nDenmark[141] are the spirits of unrighteous men, who, by a false\nglimmer, seek to mislead the traveller, and to decoy him into bogs and\nmoors. The best safeguard against them, when they appear, is to turn\none’s cap inside out. A similar notion occurs in Devonshire with regard\nto the Pixies, who delight in leading astray such persons as they find\nabroad after nightfall; the only remedy to escape them being to turn\nsome part of the dress. In Normandy these fires are called “Feux\nFollets,” and they are believed to be cruel spirits, whom it is\ndangerous to encounter. Among the superstitions which prevail in\nconnection with them, two, says Mr. Thoms,[142] are deserving of notice:\n“One is, that the _ignis fatuus_ is the spirit of some unhappy woman,\nwho is destined to run _en furolle_, to expiate her intrigues with a\nminister of the church, and it is designated from that circumstance La\nFourlore, or La Fourolle.” Another opinion is, that Le Feu Follet is the\nsoul of a priest, who has been condemned thus to expiate his broken vows\nof perpetual chastity; and it is very probable that it is to some\nsimilar belief existing in this country, at the time when he wrote, that\nMilton alludes in “L’Allegro,” when he says:\n\n    “She was pinched and pulled, she said,\n    And he by Friar’s Lanthorn led.”\n\n    [140] Thorpe, “Northern Mythology,” 1852, vol. iii. pp. 85,\n    158, 220.\n\n    [141] “Notelets on Shakespeare,” pp. 64, 65.\n\n    [142] Ibid.\n\nIn Brittany the “Porte-brandon” appears in the form of a child bearing a\ntorch, which he turns like a burning wheel; and with this, we are told,\nhe sets fire to the villages, which are suddenly, sometimes in the\nmiddle of the night, wrapped in flames.\n\nThe appearance of meteors Shakespeare ranks among omens, as in “1 Henry\nIV.” (ii. 4), where Bardolph says: “My lord, do you see these meteors?\ndo you behold these exhalations? What think you they portend?” And in\n“King John” (iii. 4), Pandulph speaks of meteors as “prodigies and\nsigns.” The Welsh captain, in “Richard II.” (ii. 4), says:\n\n    “’Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.\n    The bay-trees in our country are all wither’d,\n    And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven.”\n\n_Comet._ From the earliest times comets have been superstitiously\nregarded, and ranked among omens. Thus Thucydides tells us that the\nPeloponnesian war was heralded by an abundance of earthquakes and\ncomets; and Vergil, in speaking of the death of Cæsar, declares that at\nno other time did comets and other supernatural prodigies appear in\ngreater numbers. It is probably to this latter event that Shakespeare\nalludes in “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 2), where he represents Calpurnia as\nsaying:\n\n    “When beggars die, there are no comets seen;\n    The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”\n\nAgain, in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 1), the play opens with the following words,\nuttered by the Duke of Bedford:\n\n    “Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!\n    Comets, importing change of times and states,\n    Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,\n    And with them scourge the bad revolting stars\n    That have consented unto Henry’s death!”\n\nIn “Taming of the Shrew” (iii. 2), too, Petruchio, when he makes his\nappearance on his wedding-day, says:\n\n                 “Gentles, methinks you frown:\n    And wherefore gaze this goodly company,\n    As if they saw some wondrous monument,\n    Some comet, or unusual prodigy?”\n\nIn “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 2), the king, when telling his son how he had\nalways avoided making himself “common-hackney’d in the eyes of men,”\nadds:\n\n    “By being seldom seen, I could not stir\n    But, like a comet, I was wonder’d at.”\n\nArcite, in the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (v. 1), when addressing the altar of\nMars, says:\n\n          “Whose approach\n    Comets forewarn.”[143]\n\n    [143] See Proctor’s “Myths of Astronomy;” Chambers’s “Domestic\n    Annals of Scotland,” 1858, vol. ii. pp. 410-412; Douce’s\n    “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” pp. 364, 365.\n\n_Dew._ Among the many virtues ascribed to dew was its supposed power\nover the complexion, a source of superstition which still finds many\nbelievers, especially on May morning. All dew, however, does not appear\nto have possessed this quality, some being of a deadly or malignant\nquality. Thus Ariel, in “The Tempest” (i. 2), speaks of the “deep brook”\nin the harbor:\n\n                                “where once\n    Thou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew\n    From the still vex’d Bermoothes.”\n\nAnd Caliban (i. 2), when venting his rage on Prospero and Miranda, can\nfind no stronger curse than the following:\n\n    “As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d,\n    With raven’s feather from unwholesome fen\n    Drop on you both!”\n\nIt has been suggested that in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iii. 12)\nShakespeare may refer to an old notion whereby the sea was considered\nthe source of dews as well as rain. Euphronius is represented as saying:\n\n    “Such as I am, I come from Antony:\n    I was of late as petty to his ends\n    As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf\n    To his grand sea.”\n\nAccording to an erroneous notion formerly current, it was supposed that\nthe air, and not the earth, drizzled dew—a notion referred to in “Romeo\nand Juliet” (iii. 5):\n\n    “When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew.”\n\nAnd in “King John” (ii. 1):\n\n    “Before the dew of evening fall.”\n\nThen there is the celebrated honey-dew, a substance which has furnished\nthe poet with a touching simile, which he has put into the mouth of\n“Titus Andronicus” (iii. 1):\n\n    “When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears\n    Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew\n    Upon a gather’d lily almost wither’d.”\n\nAccording to Pliny, “honey-dew” is the saliva of the stars, or a liquid\nproduced by the purgation of the air. It is, however, a secretion\ndeposited by a small insect, which is distinguished by the generic name\nof aphis.[144]\n\n    [144] See Patterson’s “Insects Mentioned by Shakespeare,” 1841,\n    p. 145.\n\n_Rainbow._ Secondary rainbows, the watery appearance in the sky\naccompanying the rainbow, are in many places termed “water-galls”—a term\nwe find in the “Rape of Lucrece” (1586-89):\n\n    “And round about her tear-distained eye\n    Blue circles stream’d, like rainbows in the sky:\n      These water-galls in her dim element\n      Foretell new storms to those already spent.”\n\nHorace Walpole several times makes use of the word: “False good news are\nalways produced by true good, like the water-gall by the rainbow;” and\nagain, “Thank heaven it is complete, and did not remain imperfect, like\na water-gall.”[145] In “The Dialect of Craven” we find “Water-gall, a\nsecondary or broken rainbow. _Germ._ Wasser-galle.”\n\n    [145] “Letters,” vol. i. p. 310; vol. vi. pp. 1, 187.—Ed.\n    Cunningham.\n\n_Thunder._ According to an erroneous fancy the destruction occasioned by\nlightning was effected by some solid body known as the thunder-stone or\nthunder-bolt. Thus, in the beautiful dirge in “Cymbeline” (iv. 2):\n\n    “_Guid._ Fear no more the lightning flash,\n\n    _Arv._ Or the all-dreaded thunder-stone.”\n\nOthello asks (v. 2):\n\n              “Are there no stones in heaven\n    But what serve for the thunder?”\n\nAnd in “Julius Cæsar” (i. 3), Cassius says:\n\n    “And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,\n    Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone.”\n\nThe thunder-stone is the imaginary product of the thunder, which the\nancients called _Brontia_, mentioned by Pliny (“Nat. Hist.” xxxvii. 10)\nas a species of gem, and as that which, falling with the lightning, does\nthe mischief. It is the fossil commonly called the Belemnite, or\nfinger-stone, and now known to be a shell.\n\nA superstitious notion prevailed among the ancients that those who were\nstricken with lightning were honored by Jupiter, and therefore to be\naccounted holy. It is probably to this idea that Shakespeare alludes in\n“Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 5):\n\n    “Some innocents ’scape not the thunderbolt.”[146]\n\n    [146] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 369.\n\nThe bodies of such were supposed not to putrefy; and, after having been\nexhibited for a certain time to the people, were not buried in the usual\nmanner, but interred on the spot where the lightning fell, and a\nmonument erected over them. Some, however, held a contrary opinion. Thus\nPersius (sat. ii. l. 27) says:\n\n    “Triste jaces lucis evitandumque bidental.”\n\nThe ground, too, that had been smitten by a thunder-bolt was accounted\nsacred, and afterwards enclosed; nor did any one even presume to walk on\nit. Such spots were, therefore, consecrated to the gods, and could not\nin future become the property of any one.\n\nAmong the many other items of folk-lore associated with thunder is a\ncurious one referred to in “Pericles” (iv. 3): “Thunder shall not so\nawake the bed of eels.” The notion formerly being that thunder had the\neffect of rousing eels from their mud, and so rendered them more easy to\nbe taken in stormy weather. Marston alludes to this superstition in his\nsatires (“Scourge of Villainie,” sat. vii.):\n\n    “They are nought but eeles, that never will appeare\n    Till that tempestuous winds or thunder teare\n    Their slimy beds.”\n\nThe silence that often precedes a thunder-storm is thus graphically\ndescribed in “Hamlet” (ii. 2):\n\n                “‘we often see, against some storm,\n    A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still,\n    The bold winds speechless, and the orb below\n    As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder\n    Doth rend the region.’”\n\n_Earthquakes_, around which so many curious myths and superstitions have\nclustered,[147] are scarcely noticed by Shakespeare. They are mentioned\namong the ominous signs of that terrible night on which Duncan is so\ntreacherously slain (“Macbeth,” ii. 3):\n\n                                “the obscure bird\n    Clamour’d the livelong night: some say, the earth\n    Was feverous and did shake.”\n\n    [147] See Tylor’s “Primitive Culture,” vol. i. pp. 364-367.\n\nAnd in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1) Hotspur assigns as a reason for the\nearthquakes the following theory:\n\n    “Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth\n    In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth\n    Is with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’d\n    By the imprisoning of unruly wind\n    Within her womb; which, for enlargement striving,\n    Shakes the old beldam earth, and topples down\n    Steeples, and moss-grown towers.”\n\n_Equinox._ The storms that prevail in spring at the vernal equinox are\naptly alluded to in “Macbeth” (i. 2):\n\n    “As whence the sun ’gins his reflection\n    Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,\n    So from that spring, whence comfort seem’d to come,\n    Discomfort swells.”\n\n—the meaning being: the beginning of the reflection of the sun is the\nepoch of his passing from the severe to the milder season, opening,\nhowever, with storms.\n\n_Wind._ An immense deal of curious weather-lore[148] has been associated\nwith the wind from the earliest period; and in our own and foreign\ncountries innumerable proverbs are found describing the future state of\nthe weather from the position of the wind, for, according to an old\nsaying, “every wind has its weather.” Shakespeare has introduced some of\nthese, showing how keen an observer he was of those every-day sayings\nwhich have always been much in use, especially among the lower classes.\nThus the proverbial wet which accompanies the wind when in the south is\nmentioned in “As You Like It” (iii. 5):\n\n    “Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain.”\n\n    [148] See Swainson’s “Weather-Lore.”\n\nAnd again, in “1 Henry IV.” (v. 1):\n\n                            “The southern wind\n    Doth play the trumpet to his [_i. e._, the sun’s] purposes;\n    And by his hollow whistling in the leaves\n    Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day.”\n\nA popular saying to the same effect, still in use, tells us that:\n\n    “When the wind is in the south,\n    It is in the rain’s mouth.”\n\nAgain, in days gone by, the southerly winds were generally supposed to\nbe bearers of noxious fogs and vapors, frequent allusions to which are\ngiven by Shakespeare. Thus, in “The Tempest” (i. 2), Caliban says:\n\n                 “a south-west blow on ye\n    And blister you all o’er.”\n\nA book,[149] too, with which, as already noticed, Shakespeare appears to\nhave been familiar, tells us, “This southern wind is hot and moist.\nSouthern winds corrupt and destroy; they heat, and make men fall into\nthe sickness.” Hence, in “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 1), Thersites\nspeaks of “the rotten diseases of the south;” and in “Coriolanus” (i.\n4), Marcius exclaims:\n\n    “All the contagion of the south light on you.”\n\n    [149] Batman upon Bartholomæus—“De Proprietatibus Rerum,” lib.\n    xi. c. 3.\n\nOnce more, in “Cymbeline” (ii. 3), Cloten speaks in the same strain:\n“The south fog rot him.”\n\n_Flaws._ These are sudden gusts of wind. It was the opinion, says\nWarburton, “of some philosophers that the vapors being congealed in the\nair by cold (which is the most intense in the morning), and being\nafterwards rarefied and let loose by the warmth of the sun, occasion\nthose sudden and impetuous gusts of wind which were called ‘flaws.’”\nThus he comments on the following passage in “2 Henry IV.” (iv. 4):\n\n    “As humorous as winter, and as sudden\n    As flaws congealed in the spring of day.”\n\nIn “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1) these outbursts of wind are further alluded\nto:\n\n    “And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage\n    Until the golden circuit on my head,\n    Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams,\n    Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.”\n\nAgain, in “Venus and Adonis” (425), there is an additional reference:\n\n    “Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken’d\n    Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field,\n      Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,\n      Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.”\n\nIn the Cornish dialect a _flaw_ signifies primitively a cut.[150] But it\nis also there used in a secondary sense for those sudden or cutting\ngusts of wind.[151]\n\n    [150] Polwhele’s “Cornish Vocabulary.”\n\n    [151] Cf. “Macbeth,” iii. 4, “O, these flaws and starts.”\n\n_Squalls._ There is a common notion that “the sudden storm lasts not\nthree hours,” an idea referred to by John of Gaunt in “Richard II.” (ii.\n1):\n\n    “Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short.”\n\nThus, in Norfolk, the peasantry say that “the faster the rain, the\nquicker the hold up,” which is only a difference in words from the\npopular adage, “after a storm comes a calm.”\n\n_Clouds._ In days gone by, clouds floating before the wind, like a reek\nor vapor, were termed racking clouds. Hence in “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 1),\nRichard speaks of:\n\n    “Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun;\n    Not separated with the racking clouds.”\n\nThis verb, though now obsolete, was formerly in common use; and in “King\nEdward III.,” 1596, we read:\n\n                  “Like inconstant clouds,\n    That, rack’d upon the carriage of the winds,\n    Increase,” etc.\n\nAt the present day one may often hear the phrase, the rack of the\nweather, in our agricultural districts; many, too, of the items of\nweather-lore noticed by Shakespeare being still firmly credited by our\npeasantry.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nBIRDS.\n\n\nIn the present chapter we have not only a striking proof of\nShakespeare’s minute acquaintance with natural history, but of his\nremarkable versatility as a writer. While displaying a most extensive\nknowledge of ornithology, he has further illustrated his subject by\nalluding to those numerous legends, popular sayings, and superstitions\nwhich have, in this and other countries, clustered round the feathered\nrace. Indeed, the following pages are alone sufficient to show, if it\nwere necessary, how fully he appreciated every branch of antiquarian\nlore; and what a diligent student he must have been in the pursuit of\nthat wide range of information, the possession of which has made him one\nof the most many-sided writers that the world has ever seen. The\nnumerous incidental allusions, too, by Shakespeare, to the folk-lore of\nbygone days, while showing how deeply he must have read and gathered\nknowledge from every available source, serve as an additional proof of\nhis retentive memory, and marvellous power of embellishing his ideas by\nthe most apposite illustrations. Unfortunately, however, these have,\nhitherto, been frequently lost sight of through the reader’s\nunacquaintance with that extensive field of folk-lore which was so well\nknown to the poet. For the sake of easy reference, the birds with which\nthe present chapter deals are arranged alphabetically.\n\n_Barnacle-Goose._ There was a curious notion, very prevalent in former\ntimes, that this bird (_Anser bernicla_) was generated from the barnacle\n(_Lepas anatifera_), a shell-fish, growing on a flexible stem, and\nadhering to loose timber, bottoms of ships, etc., a metamorphosis to\nwhich Shakespeare alludes in “The Tempest” (iv. 1), where he makes\nCaliban say:\n\n          “we shall lose our time,\n    And all be turn’d to barnacles.”\n\nThis vulgar error, no doubt, originated in mistaking the fleshy peduncle\nof the shell-fish for the neck of a goose, the shell for its head, and\nthe tentacula for a tuft of feathers. These shell-fish, therefore,\nbearing, as seen out of the water, a resemblance to the goose’s neck,\nwere ignorantly, and without investigation, confounded with geese\nthemselves. In France, the barnacle-goose may be eaten on fast days, by\nvirtue of this old belief in its fishy origin.[152] Like other fictions\nthis one had its variations,[153] for sometime the barnacles were\nsupposed to grow on trees, and thence to drop into the sea, and become\ngeese, as in Drayton’s account of Furness (“Polyolb.” 1622, song 27, l.\n1190). As early as the 12th century this idea[154] was promulgated by\nGiraldus Cambrensis in his “Topographia Hiberniæ.” Gerarde, who in the\nyear 1597 published his “Herball, or Generall Historie of Plantes,”\nnarrates the following: “There are found in the north parts of Scotland,\nand the isles adjacent called Orcades, certain trees, whereon do grow\ncertain shell-fishes, of a white color, tending to russet, wherein are\ncontained little living creatures; which shells in time of maturity do\nopen, and out of them grow those little living things which, falling\ninto the water, do become fowls, whom we call barnacles, in the north of\nEngland brant geese, and in Lancashire tree geese; but the others that\ndo fall upon the land perish, and do come to nothing. Thus much of the\nwritings of others, and also from the mouths of people of those parts,\nwhich may very well accord with truth. But what our eyes have seen and\nhands have touched, we shall declare. There is a small island in\nLancashire called the Pile of Foulders, wherein are found the broken\npieces of old ships, some whereof have been cast thither by shipwreck,\nand also the trunks or bodies, with the branches, of old rotten trees,\ncast up there likewise, whereon is found a certain spume or froth, that\nin time breedeth into certain shells, in shape like those of the mussel,\nbut sharper pointed, and of a whitish color: wherein is contained a\nthing in form like a lace of silk, one end whereof is fastened unto the\ninside of the shell, even as the fish of oysters and mussels are. The\nother end is made fast unto the belly of a rude mass or lump, which in\ntime cometh to the shape and form of a bird; when it is perfectly formed\nthe shell gapeth open, and the first thing that appeareth is the\nforesaid lace or string; next come the legs of the bird hanging out, and\nas it groweth greater it openeth the shell by degrees, till at length it\nis all come forth and hangeth only by the bill. In short space after it\ncometh to full maturity, and falleth into the sea, where it gathereth\nfeathers and groweth to a fowl, bigger than a mallard, and lesser than a\ngoose; having black legs and bill, or beak, and feathers black and\nwhite, spotted in such a manner as is our magpie, which the people of\nLancashire call by no other name than a tree goose.” An interesting cut\nof these birds so growing is given by Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps from a\nmanuscript of the 14th century, who is of opinion that the barnacle\nmentioned by Caliban was the tree-goose. It is not to be supposed,\nhowever, that there were none who doubted this marvellous story, or who\ntook steps to refute it. Belon, so long ago as 1551, says Mr.\nHarting,[155] and others after him, treated it with ridicule, and a\nrefutation may be found in Willughby’s “Ornithology,” which was edited\nby Ray in 1678.[156] This vulgar error is mentioned by many of the old\nwriters. Thus Bishop Hall, in his “Virgidemiarum” (lib. iv. sat. 2),\nsays:\n\n    “The Scottish barnacle, if I might choose,\n    That of a worme doth waxe a winged goose.”\n\n    [152] See Harland and Wilkinson’s “Lancashire Folk-Lore,” 1867,\n    pp. 116-121; “Notes and Queries,” 1st series, vol. viii. p.\n    224; “Penny Cyclopædia,” vol. vii. p. 206, article “Cirripeda.”\n\n    [153] Nares’s “Glossary,” 1872, vol. i. p. 56.\n\n    [154] See Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” 1871, pp.\n    246-257.\n\n    [155] “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” 1871, p. 252.\n\n    [156] See “Philosophical Transactions” for 1835; Darwin’s\n    “Monograph of the Cirrhipedia,” published by the Ray Society; a\n    paper by Sir J. Emerson Tennent in “Notes and Queries,” 1st\n    series, vol. viii. p. 223; Brand’s “Popular Antiquities,” 1849,\n    vol. iii. pp. 361, 362; Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,”\n    1839, p. 14.\n\nButler, too, in his “Hudibras” (III. ii. l. 655), speaks of it; and\nMarston, in his “Malecontent” (1604), has the following: “Like your\nScotch barnacle, now a block, instantly a worm, and presently a great\ngoose.”\n\n_Blackbird._ This favorite is called, in the “Midsummer-Night’s Dream”\n(iii. 1) an ousel (old French, _oisel_), a term still used in the\nneighborhood of Leeds:\n\n    “The ousel cock, so black of hue,\n       With orange-tawny bill.”\n\nIn “2 Henry IV.” (iii. 2) when Justice Shallow inquires of Justice\nSilence, “And how doth my cousin?” he is answered: “Alas, a black\nousel,[157] cousin Shallow,” a phrase which, no doubt, corresponded to\nour modern one, “a black sheep.” In Spenser’s “Epithalamium” (l. 82),\nthe word occurs:\n\n    “The ousel shrills, the ruddock warbles soft.”\n\n    [157] See Yarrell’s “History of British Birds,” 2d edition,\n    vol. i. p. 218; “Dialect of Leeds,” 1862, p. 329. In “Hamlet”\n    (iii. 2), some modern editions read “ouzle;” the old editions\n    all have _weasel_, which is now adopted.\n\n_Buzzard._ Mr. Staunton suggests that in the following passage of the\n“Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1) a play is intended upon the words, and\nthat in the second line “buzzard” means a beetle, from its peculiar\nbuzzing noise:\n\n    “_Pet._ O slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?\n\n    _Kath._ Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.”\n\nThe beetle was formerly called a buzzard; and in Staffordshire, a\ncockchafer is termed a hum-buz. In Northamptonshire we find a proverb,\n“I’m between a hawk and a buzzard,” which means, “I don’t know what to\ndo, or how to act.”[158]\n\n    [158] Miss Baker’s “Northamptonshire Glossary,” 1854, vol. i.\n    p. 94. See Nares’s “Glossary,” 1872, vol. i. p. 124; and\n    “Richard III.,” i. 1.\n\n_Chaffinch._ Some think that this bird is alluded to in the song in the\n“Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1), where the expression “finch” is\nused; the chaffinch having always been a favorite cage-bird with the\nlower classes.[159] In “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 1) Thersites calls\nPatroclus a “finch-egg,” which was evidently meant as a term of\nreproach. Others, again, consider the phrase as equivalent to coxcomb.\n\n    [159] Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 144;\n    Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” 1866, p.\n    187. The term finch, also, according to some, may mean either\n    the bullfinch or goldfinch.\n\n_Chough._ In using this word Shakespeare probably, in most cases, meant\nthe jackdaw;[160] for in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 2) he says:\n\n          “russet-pated choughs, many in sort,\n    Rising and cawing at the gun’s report;”\n\nthe term russet-pated being applicable to the jackdaw, but not to the\nreal chough. In “1 Henry IV.” (v. 1). Prince Henry calls Falstaff\n_chewet_—“Peace, chewet, peace”—in allusion, no doubt, to the chough or\njackdaw, for common birds have always had a variety of names.[161] Such\nan appellation would be a proper reproach to Falstaff, for his meddling\nand impertinent talk. Steevens and Malone, however, finding that\n_chewets_ were little round pies made of minced meat, thought that the\nPrince compared Falstaff, for his unseasonable chattering, to a minced\npie. Cotgrave[162] describes the French _chouette_ as an owlet; also, a\n“chough,” which many consider to be the simple and satisfactory\nexplanation of _chewet_. Belon, in his “History of Birds” (Paris, 1855),\nspeaks of the _chouette_ as the smallest kind of chough or crow. Again,\nin “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 2), in the amusing scene where Falstaff, with the\nPrince and Poins, meet to rob the travellers at Gadshill, Falstaff\ncalls the victims “fat chuffs,” probably, says Mr. Harting, who connects\nthe word with chough, from their strutting about with much noise.\nNares,[163] too, in his explanation of _chuff_, says, that some suppose\nit to be from chough, which is similarly pronounced, and means a kind of\nsea-bird, generally esteemed a stupid one. Various other meanings are\ngiven. Thus, Mr. Gifford[164] affirms that _chuff_ is always used in a\nbad sense, and means “a coarse, unmannered clown, at once sordid and\nwealthy;” and Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps explains it as spoken in contempt\nfor a fat person.[165] In Northamptonshire,[166] we find the word chuff\nused to denote a person in good condition, as in Clare’s “Village\nMinstrel:”\n\n    “His chuff cheeks dimpling in a fondling smile.”\n\n    [160] See Yarrell’s “History of British Birds,” 2d edition,\n    vol. ii. p. 58.\n\n    [161] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 156; Singer’s\n    “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. v. p. 115; Dyce’s “Glossary,” 1876,\n    p. 77.\n\n    [162] Mr. Dyce says that if Dr. Latham had been acquainted with\n    the article “Chouette,” in Cotgrave, he would not probably have\n    suggested that Shakespeare meant here the lapwing or pewit.\n    Some consider the magpie is meant. See Halliwell-Phillipps’s\n    “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” 1866, p. 83. Professor Newton\n    would read “russet-patted,” or “red-legged,” thinking that\n    Shakespeare meant the chough.\n\n    [163] “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 162; Singer’s “Notes to\n    Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. v. p. 42.\n\n    [164] Massinger’s Works, 1813, vol. i. p. 281.\n\n    [165] “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” 1866, p. 86.\n\n    [166] Miss Baker’s “Northamptonshire Glossary,” 1854, vol. i.\n    p. 116.\n\nShakespeare alludes to the practice of teaching choughs to talk,\nalthough from the following passages he does not appear to have esteemed\ntheir talking powers as of much value; for in “All’s Well That Ends\nWell” (iv. 1), he says: “Choughs’ language, gabble enough, and good\nenough.” And in “The Tempest” (ii. 1), he represents Antonio as saying:\n\n                        “There be that can rule Naples\n    As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate\n    As amply and unnecessarily\n    As this Gonzalo; I myself could make\n    A chough of as deep chat.”\n\nShakespeare always refers to the jackdaw as the “daw.”[167] The chough\nor jackdaw was one of the birds considered ominous by our forefathers,\nan allusion to which occurs in “Macbeth” (iii. 4):\n\n    “Augurs and understood relations have,\n    By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth\n    The secret’st man of blood.”\n\n    [167] “Coriolanus,” iv. 5; “Troilus and Cressida,” i. 2; “Much\n    Ado About Nothing,” ii. 3; “Twelfth Night,” iii. 4; “Love’s\n    Labour’s Lost,” v. 2, song; “1 Henry VI.” ii. 4.\n\nAt the present day this bird is not without its folk-lore, and there is\na Norwich rhyme to the following effect:[168]\n\n    “When three daws are seen on St. Peter’s vane together,\n    Then we’re sure to have bad weather.”\n\nIn the north of England,[169] too, the flight of jackdaws down the\nchimney is held to presage death.\n\n    [168] Swainson’s “Weather-Lore,” 1873, p. 240.\n\n    [169] Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” 1879, p. 48.\n\n_Cock._ The beautiful notion which represents the cock as crowing all\nnight long on Christmas Eve, and by its vigilance dispelling every kind\nof malignant spirit[170] and evil influence is graphically mentioned in\n“Hamlet” (i. 1), where Marcellus, speaking of the ghost, says:\n\n    “It faded on the crowing of the cock.\n    Some say, that ever ’gainst that season comes\n    Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,\n    The bird of dawning singeth all night long.\n    And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;\n    The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,\n    No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,\n    So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.”\n\n    [170] See Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 438.\n\nIn short, there is a complete prostration of the powers of darkness; and\nthus, for the time being, mankind is said to be released from the\ninfluence of all those evil forces which otherwise exert such sway. The\nnotion that spirits fly at cock-crow is very ancient, and is mentioned\nby the Christian poet Prudentius, who flourished in the beginning of the\nfourth century. There is also a hymn, said to have been composed by St.\nAmbrose, and formerly used in the Salisbury Service, which so much\nresembles the following speech of Horatio (i. 1), that one might almost\nsuppose Shakespeare had seen it:[171]\n\n    “The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,\n    Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat\n    Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,\n    Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,\n    The extravagant and erring spirit hies\n    To his confine.”\n\n    [171] See Ibid.\n\nThis disappearance of spirits at cock-crow is further alluded to (i.\n2):[172]\n\n                 “the morning cock crew loud,\n    And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,\n    And vanished from our sight.”\n\n    [172] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. pp. 51-57;\n    Hampson’s “Medii Œvi Kalendarium,” vol. i. p. 84.\n\nBlair, too, in his “Grave,” has these graphic words:\n\n                                  “the tale\n    Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,\n    That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand\n    O’er some new-open’d grave, and, strange to tell,\n    Evanishes at crowing of the cock.”\n\nThis superstition has not entirely died out in England, and a\ncorrespondent of “Notes and Queries”[173] relates an amusing legend\ncurrent in Devonshire: “Mr. N. was a squire who had been so unfortunate\nas to sell his soul to the devil, with the condition that after his\nfuneral the fiend should take possession of his skin. He had also\npersuaded a neighbor to be present on the occasion of the flaying. On\nthe death of Mr. N. this man went, in a state of great alarm, to the\nparson of the parish, and asked his advice. By him he was told to fulfil\nhis engagement, but he must be sure and carry a cock into the church\nwith him. On the night after the funeral the man proceeded to the\nchurch, armed with the cock, and, as an additional security, took up his\nposition in the parson’s pew. At twelve o’clock the devil arrived,\nopened the grave, took the corpse from the coffin, and flayed it. When\nthe operation was concluded, he held the skin up before him and\nremarked, ‘Well, ’twas not worth coming for after all, for it is all\nfull of holes!’ As he said this the cock crew, whereupon the fiend,\nturning round to the man, exclaimed, ‘If it had not been for the bird\nyou have got there under your arm, I would have your skin too!’ But,\nthanks to the cock, the man got home safe again.” Various origins have\nbeen assigned to this superstition, which Hampson[174] regards as a\nmisunderstood tradition of some Sabæan fable. The cock, he adds, which\nseems by its early voice to call forth the sun, was esteemed a sacred\nsolar bird; hence it was also sacred to Mercury, one of the\npersonifications of the sun.\n\n    [173] 1st series, vol. iii. p. 404.\n\n    [174] “Medii Œvi Kalendarium,” vol. i. p. 85.\n\nA very general amusement, up to the end of the last century, was\ncock-fighting, a diversion of which mention is occasionally made by\nShakespeare, as in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 3):\n\n    “His cocks do win the battle still of mine,\n    When it is all to nought.”\n\nAnd again Hamlet says (v. 2):\n\n                           “O, I die, Horatio;\n    The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit”—\n\nmeaning, the poison triumphs over him, as a cock over his beaten\nantagonist. Formerly, cock-fighting entered into the occupations of the\nold and young.[175] Schools had their cock-fights. Travellers agreed\nwith coachmen that they were to wait a night if there was a cock-fight\nin any town through which they passed. When country gentlemen had sat\nlong at table, and the conversation had turned upon the relative merits\nof their several birds, a cock-fight often resulted, as the birds in\nquestion were brought for the purpose into the dining-room.\nCock-fighting was practised on Shrove Tuesday to a great extent, and in\nthe time of Henry VII. seems to have been practised within the precincts\nof court. The earliest mention of this pastime in England is by\nFitzstephens, in 1191. Happily, nowadays, cock-fighting is, by law, a\nmisdemeanor, and punishable by penalty. One of the popular terms for a\ncock beaten in a fight was “a craven,” to which we find a reference in\nthe “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1):\n\n    “No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.”\n\n    [175] Roberts’s “Social History of Southern Counties of\n    England,” 1856, p. 421; see “British Popular Customs,” 1876, p. 65.\n\nWe may also compare the expression in “Henry V.” (iv. 7): “He is a\ncraven and a villain else.” In the old appeal or wager of battle,[176]\nin our common law, we are told, on the authority of Lord Coke, that the\nparty who confessed himself wrong, or refused to fight, was to pronounce\nthe word _cravent_, and judgment was at once given against him.\nSinger[177] says the term may be satisfactorily traced from _crant_,\n_creant_, the old French word for an act of submission. It is so written\nin the old metrical romance of “Ywaine and Gawaine” (Ritson, i. 133):\n\n    “Or yelde the til us als creant.”\n\n    [176] Nares’s “Glossary,” 1872, vol. i. p. 203.\n\n    [177] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. ix. p. 256;\n    Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 112.\n\nAnd in “Richard Cœur de Lion” (Weber, ii. 208):\n\n    “On knees he fel down, and cryde, crêaunt.”\n\nIt then became _cravant_, _cravent_, and at length _craven_.\n\nIn the time of Shakespeare the word _cock_ was used as a vulgar\ncorruption or purposed disguise of the name of God, an instance of which\noccurs in “Hamlet” (iv. 5): “By cock, they are to blame.” This\nirreverent alteration of the sacred name is found at least a dozen\ntimes[178] in Heywood’s “Edward the Fourth,” where one passage is,\n\n    “_Herald._ Sweare on this booke, King Lewis, so help you God,\n    You mean no otherwise then you have said.\n\n    _King Lewis._ So helpe me Cock as I dissemble not.”\n\n    [178] Dyce’s “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 85.\n\nWe find, too, other allusions to the sacred name, as in “cock’s\npassion,” “cock’s body;” as in “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 1): “Cock’s\npassion, silence!” A not uncommon oath, too, in Shakespeare’s time was\n“Cock and pie”—_cock_ referring to God, and _pie_ being supposed to mean\nthe service-book of the Romish Church; a meaning which, says Mr. Dyce,\nseems much more probable than Douce’s[179] supposition that this oath\nwas connected with the making of solemn vows by knights in the days of\nchivalry, during entertainments at which a roasted peacock was served\nup. It is used by Justice Shallow (“2 Henry IV.,” v. 1): “By cock and\npye, sir, you shall not away to-night.” We may also compare the\nexpression in the old play of “Soliman and Perseda” (1599): “By cock and\npye and mousefoot.” Mr. Harting[180] says the “Cock and Pye” (_i. e._,\nmagpie) was an ordinary ale-house sign, and may have thus become a\nsubject for the vulgar to swear by.\n\n    [179] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 290.\n\n    [180] “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 171.\n\nThe phrase, “Cock-a-hoop”[181]—which occurs in “Romeo and Juliet” (i.\n5),\n\n    “You’ll make a mutiny among my guests!\n    You will set cock-a-hoop! you’ll be the man!”\n\n—no doubt refers to a reckless person, who takes the cock or tap out of\na cask, and lays it on the top or hoop of the barrel, thus letting all\nthe contents of the cask run out. Formerly, a quart pot was called a\nhoop, being formed of staves bound together with hoops like barrels.\nThere were generally three hoops to such a pot; hence, in “2 Henry VI.”\n(iv. 2), one of Jack Cade’s popular reformations was to increase their\nnumber: “the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it\nfelony to drink small beer.” Some, however, consider the term\nCock-a-hoop[182] refers to the boastful crowing of the cock.\n\n    [181] It is also an ale-house sign.\n\n    [182] See Dyce’s “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 85.\n\nIn “King Lear” (iii. 2) Shakespeare speaks of the “cataracts and\nhurricanoes” as having\n\n    “drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!”\n\nVanes on the tops of steeples were in days gone by made in the form of\na cock—hence weathercocks—and put up, in papal times, to remind the\nclergy of watchfulness.[183] Apart, too, from symbolism, the large tail\nof the cock was well adapted to turn with the wind.[184]\n\n    [183] See “Book of Days,” 1863, vol. i. p. 157.\n\n    [184] In “King Lear” (iv. 6), where Edgar says:\n\n                      “Yond tall anchoring bark,\n        Diminish’d to her cock; her cock, a buoy\n        Almost too small for sight.”\n\n    the word “cock” is an abbreviation for cock-boat.\n\n_Cormorant._ The proverbial voracity of this bird[185] gave rise to a\nman of large appetite being likened to it, a sense in which Shakespeare\nemploys the word, as in “Coriolanus” (i. 1): “the cormorant belly;” in\n“Love’s Labour’s Lost” (i. 1): “cormorant devouring Time;” and in\n“Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 2): “this cormorant war.” “Although,” says\nMr. Harting,[186] “Shakespeare mentions the cormorant in several of his\nplays, he has nowhere alluded to the sport of using these birds, when\ntrained, for fishing; a fact which is singular, since he often speaks of\nthe then popular pastime of hawking, and he did not die until some years\nafter James I. had made fishing with cormorants a fashionable\namusement.”\n\n    [185] For superstitions associated with this bird, see Brand’s\n    “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 218.\n\n    [186] “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 260.\n\n_Crow._ This has from the earliest times been reckoned a bird of bad\nomen; and in “Julius Cæsar” (v. 1), Cassius, on the eve of battle,\npredicted a defeat, because, to use his own words:\n\n                            “crows and kites\n    Fly o’er our heads and downward look on us,\n    As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem\n    A canopy most fatal, under which\n    Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.”\n\nAllusions to the same superstition occur in “Troilus and Cressida” (i.\n2); “King John” (v. 2), etc. Vergil (“Bucolic,” i. 18) mentions the\ncroaking of the crow as a bad omen:\n\n    “Sæpe sinistra cava prædixit ab ilice cornix.”\n\nAnd Butler, in his “Hudibras” (part ii. canto 3), remarks:\n\n    “Is it not ominous in all countries,\n    When crows and ravens croak upon trees.”\n\nEven children, nowadays, regard with no friendly feelings this bird of\nill-omen;[187] and in the north of England there is a rhyme to the\nfollowing effect:\n\n    “Crow, crow, get out of my sight,\n    Or else I’ll eat thy liver and lights.”\n\n    [187] See “Folk-Lore Record,” 1879, vol. i. p. 52; Henderson’s\n    “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” 1879, pp. 25, 126, 277.\n\nAmong other allusions made by Shakespeare to the crow may be noticed the\ncrow-keeper—a person employed to drive away crows from the fields. At\npresent,[188] in all the midland counties, a boy set to drive away the\nbirds is said to keep birds; hence, a stuffed figure, now called a\n_scarecrow_, was also called a crow-keeper, as in “King Lear” (iv. 6):\n“That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper.”\n\n    [188] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 208.\n\nOne of Tusser’s directions for September is:\n\n    “No sooner a-sowing, but out by-and-by,\n    With mother or boy that alarum can cry:\n    And let them be armed with a sling or a bow,\n    To scare away pigeon, the rook, or the crow.”\n\nIn “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 4) a scarecrow seems meant:\n\n    “Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,\n    Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper.”\n\nAmong further references to this practice is that in “1 Henry VI.” (i.\n4), where Lord Talbot relates that, when a prisoner in France, he was\npublicly exhibited in the market-place:\n\n    “Here, said they, is the terror of the French,\n    The scarecrow that affrights our children so.”[189]\n\n    [189] Cf. “Henry IV.,” iv. 2.\n\nAnd once more, in “Measure for Measure” (ii. 1):\n\n    “We must not make a scarecrow of the law,\n    Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,\n    And let it keep one shape, till custom make it\n    Their perch and not their terror.”\n\nThe phrase “to pluck a crow” is to complain good-naturedly, but\nreproachfully, and to threaten retaliation.[190] It occurs in “Comedy of\nErrors” (iii. 1): “We’ll pluck a crow together.” Sometimes the word\n_pull_ is substituted for pluck, as in Butler’s “Hudibras” (part ii.\ncanto 2):\n\n    “If not, resolve before we go\n    That you and I must pull a crow.”\n\n    [190] Miss Baker’s “Northamptonshire Glossary,” vol. ii. p.\n    161; Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 393.\n\nThe crow has been regarded as the emblem of darkness, which has not\nescaped the notice of Shakespeare, who, in “Pericles” (iv. introd.),\nspeaking of the white dove, says:\n\n    “With the dove of Paphos might the crow\n    Vie feathers white.”[191]\n\n    [191] Cf. “Romeo and Juliet,” i. 5.\n\n_Cuckoo._ Many superstitions have clustered round the cuckoo, and both\nin this country and abroad it is looked upon as a mysterious bird, being\nsupposed to possess the gift of second-sight, a notion referred to in\n“Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2):\n\n    “Cuckoo, cuckoo:[192] O word of fear,\n    Unpleasing to a married ear.”\n\n    [192] “A cuckold being called from the cuckoo, the note of that\n    bird was supposed to prognosticate that destiny.”—Nares’s\n    “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 212.\n\nAnd again, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1), Bottom sings:\n\n      “The plain-song cuckoo gray,\n    Whose note full many a man doth mark,\n      And dares not answer nay.”\n\nIt is still a common idea that the cuckoo, if asked, will tell any one,\nby the repetition of its cries, how long he has to live. The country\nlasses in Sweden count the cuckoo’s call to ascertain how many years\nthey have to remain unmarried, but they generally shut their ears and\nrun away on hearing it a few times.[193] Among the Germans the notes of\nthe cuckoo, when heard in spring for the first time, are considered a\ngood omen. Cæsarius (1222) tells us of a convertite who was about to\nbecome a monk, but changed his mind on hearing the cuckoo’s call, and\ncounting twenty-two repetitions of it. “Come,” said he, “I have\ncertainly twenty-two years still to live, and why should I mortify\nmyself during all that time? I will go back to the world, enjoy its\ndelights for twenty years, and devote the remaining two to\npenitence.”[194] In England the peasantry salute the cuckoo with the\nfollowing invocation:\n\n       “Cuckoo, cherry-tree,\n        Good bird, tell me,\n    How many years have I to live”—\n\nthe allusion to the cherry-tree having probably originated in the\npopular fancy that before the cuckoo ceases its song it must eat three\ngood meals of cherries. Pliny mentions the belief that when the cuckoo\ncame to maturity it devoured the bird which had reared it, a\nsuperstition several times alluded to by Shakespeare. Thus, in “King\nLear” (i. 4), the Fool remarks:\n\n    “The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,\n    That it had its head bit off by its young.”\n\n    [193] Engel’s “Musical Myths and Facts,” 1876, vol. i. p. 9.\n\n    [194] See Kelly’s “Indo-European Folk-Lore,” 1863, p. 99;\n    “English Folk-Lore,” 1879, pp. 55-62.\n\nAgain, in “1 Henry IV.” (v. 1), Worcester says:\n\n    “And being fed by us you used us so\n    As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo’s bird,\n    Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest;\n    Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk\n    That even our love durst not come near your sight\n    For fear of swallowing.”\n\nOnce more, the opinion that the cuckoo made no nest of its own, but\nlaid its eggs in that of another bird, is mentioned in “Antony and\nCleopatra” (ii. 6):\n\n    “Thou dost o’er-count me of my father’s house;\n    But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself,\n    Remain in’t as thou may’st.”\n\nIt has been remarked,[195] however, in reference to the common idea that\nthe young cuckoo ill-treats its foster-mother, that if we watch the\nmovements of the two birds, when the younger is being fed, we cannot\nmuch wonder at this piece of folk-lore. When the cuckoo opens its great\nmouth, the diminutive nurse places her own head so far within its\nprecincts that it has the exact appearance of a voluntary surrender to\ndecapitation.\n\n    [195] See Mary Howitt’s “Pictorial Calendar of the Seasons,” p.\n    155; Knight’s “Pictorial Shakespeare,” vol. i. pp. 225, 226.\n\nThe notion[196] “which couples the name of the cuckoo with the character\nof the man whose wife is unfaithful to him appears to have been derived\nfrom the Romans, and is first found in the Middle Ages in France, and in\nthe countries of which the modern language is derived from the Latin.\nBut the ancients more correctly gave the name of the bird, not to the\nhusband of the faithless wife, but to her paramour, who might justly be\nsupposed to be acting the part of the cuckoo. They applied the name of\nthe bird in whose nest the cuckoo’s eggs were usually\ndeposited—‘carruca’—to the husband. It is not quite clear how, in the\npassage from classic to mediæval, the application of the term was\ntransferred to the husband.” In further allusion to this bird, we may\nquote the following from “All’s Well That Ends Well” (i. 3):\n\n    “For I the ballad will repeat,\n      Which men full true shall find,\n    Your marriage comes by destiny,\n      Your cuckoo sings by kind.”\n\n    [196] Chambers’s “Book of Days,” vol. i. p. 531.\n\nThe cuckoo has generally been regarded as the harbinger of spring, and,\naccording to a Gloucester rhyme:\n\n    “The cuckoo comes in April,\n      Sings a song in May;\n    Then in June another tune,\n      And then she flies away.”\n\nThus, in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 2), the king, alluding to his predecessor,\nsays:\n\n    “So, when he had occasion to be seen,\n    He was but as the cuckoo is in June,\n    Heard, not regarded.”\n\nIn “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2) spring is maintained by the cuckoo, in\nthose charming sonnets descriptive of the beauties of the country at\nthis season.\n\nThe word cuckoo has, from the earliest times, been used as a term of\nreproach;[197] and Plautus[198] has introduced it on more than one\noccasion. In this sense we find it quoted by Shakespeare in “1 Henry\nIV.” (ii. 4): “O’ horseback, ye cuckoo.” The term _cuckold_, too, which\nso frequently occurs throughout Shakespeare’s plays, is generally\nderived from cuculus,[199] from the practice already alluded to of\ndepositing its eggs in other birds’ nests.\n\n    [197] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. p. 201.\n\n    [198] “Asinaria,” v. 1.\n\n    [199] Nares, in his “Glossary” (vol. i. p. 212), says:\n    “Cuckold, perhaps, _quasi_ cuckoo’d, _i. e._, one served; _i.\n    e._, forced to bring up a brood that is not his own.”\n\n_Domestic Fowl._ In “The Tempest” (v. 1), the word chick is used as a\nterm of endearment: “My Ariel; chick,” etc.; and in “Macbeth” (iv. 3)\nMacduff speaks of his children as “all my pretty chickens.” In\n“Coriolanus” (v. 3), hen is applied to a woman: “poor hen, fond of no\nsecond brood;” and in “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1), Petruchio says: “so\nKate will be my hen;” and, once more, “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 3), Falstaff\nsays, “How now, Dame Partlet the hen?” In “Othello” (i. 3) Iago applies\nthe term “guinea-hen” to Desdemona, a cant phrase in Shakespeare’s day\nfor a fast woman.\n\n_Dove._ Among the many beautiful allusions to this bird we may mention\none in “Hamlet” (v. 1), where Shakespeare speaks of the dove only laying\ntwo eggs:[200]\n\n             “as patient as the female dove\n    When that her golden couplets are disclosed.”\n\n    [200] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. ix. p. 294.\n\nThe young nestlings, when first disclosed, are only covered with a\nyellow down, and the mother rarely leaves the nest, in consequence of\nthe tenderness of her young; hence the dove has been made an emblem of\npatience. In “2 Henry IV.” (iv. 1), it is spoken of as the symbol of\npeace:\n\n    “The dove and very blessed spirit of peace.”\n\nIts love, too, is several times referred to, as in “Romeo and Juliet”\n(ii. 1), “Pronounce but—love and dove;” and in “1 Henry VI.” (ii. 2),\nBurgundy says:\n\n    “Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,\n    That could not live asunder, day or night.”\n\nThis bird has also been regarded as the emblem of fidelity, as in the\nfollowing graphic passage in “Troilus and Cressida” (iii. 2):\n\n    “As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,\n    As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,\n    As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre;”\n\nand in “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4) we read:\n\n                  “turtles pair,\n    That never mean to part.”\n\nIts modesty is alluded to in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1): “modest\nas the dove;” and its innocence in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1) is mentioned,\nwhere King Henry says:\n\n    “Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent\n    From meaning treason to our royal person\n    As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:\n    The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given\n    To dream on evil, or to work my downfall.”\n\nThe custom of giving a pair of doves or pigeons as a present or\npeace-offering is alluded to in “Titus Andronicus” (iv. 4), where the\nclown says, “God and Saint Stephen give you good den: I have brought you\na letter and a couple of pigeons here;” and when Gobbo tried to find\nfavor with Bassanio, in “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 2), he began by\nsaying, “I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your\nworship.” Shakespeare alludes in several places to the “doves of Venus,”\nas in “Venus and Adonis:”\n\n    “Thus weary of the world, away she [Venus] hies,\n    And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid\n    Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies\n    In her light chariot quickly is conveyed;\n    Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen\n    Means to immure herself and not be seen;”\n\nand in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (i. 1), where Hermia speaks of “the\nsimplicity of Venus’ doves.” This will also explain, says Mr.\nHarting,[201] the reference to “the dove of Paphos,” in “Pericles” (iv.\nIntrod.). The towns of Old and New Paphos are situated on the southwest\nextremity of the coast of Cyprus. Old Paphos is the one generally\nreferred to by the poets, being the peculiar seat of the worship of\nVenus, who was fabled to have been wafted thither after her birth amid\nthe waves. The “dove of Paphos” may therefore be considered as\nsynonymous with the “dove of Venus.”\n\n    [201] “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” pp. 190, 191.\n\nMahomet, we are told, had a dove, which he used to feed with wheat out\nof his ear; when hungry, the dove lighted on his shoulder, and thrust\nits bill in to find its breakfast, Mahomet persuading the rude and\nsimple Arabians that it was the Holy Ghost, that gave him advice.[202]\nHence, in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 2), the question is asked:\n\n    “Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?”\n\n    [202] Sir W. Raleigh’s “History of the World,” bk. i. pt. i.\n    ch. 6.\n\n_Duck._ A barbarous pastime in Shakespeare’s time was hunting a tame\nduck in the water with spaniels. For the performance of this\namusement[203] it was necessary to have recourse to a pond of water\nsufficiently extensive to give the duck plenty of room for making its\nescape from the dogs when closely pursued, which it did by diving as\noften as any of them came near it, hence the following allusion in\n“Henry V.” (ii. 3):\n\n    “And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck.”[204]\n\n    [203] Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876, p. 329.\n\n    [204] There is an allusion to the proverbial saying, “Brag is a\n    good dog, but Hold-fast is a better.”\n\n“To swim like a duck” is a common proverb, which occurs in “The Tempest”\n(ii. 2), where Trinculo, in reply to Stephano’s question how he escaped,\nsays: “Swam ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like a duck, I’ll be\nsworn.”\n\n_Eagle._ From the earliest time this bird has been associated with\nnumerous popular fancies and superstitions, many of which have not\nescaped the notice of Shakespeare. A notion of very great antiquity\nattributes to it the power of gazing at the sun undazzled, to which\nSpenser, in his “Hymn of Heavenly Beauty” refers:\n\n    “And like the native brood of eagle’s kind,\n    On that bright sun of glory fix thine eyes.”\n\nIn “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 3) Biron says of Rosaline:\n\n    “What peremptory eagle-sighted eye\n    Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,\n    That is not blinded by her majesty?”[205]\n\n    [205] In the same scene we are told,\n\n        “A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind.”\n\n    Cf. “Romeo and Juliet,” iii. 5; “Richard II.,” iii. 3.\n\nAnd in “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 1) Richard says to his brother Edward:\n\n    “Nay, if thou be that princely eagle’s bird,\n    Show thy descent by gazing ’gainst the sun.”\n\nThe French naturalist, Lacepede,[206] has calculated that the clearness\nof vision in birds is nine times more extensive than that of the\nfarthest-sighted man. The eagle, too, has always been proverbial for its\ngreat power of flight, and on this account has had assigned to it the\nsovereignty of the feathered race. Aristotle and Pliny both record the\nlegend of the wren disputing for the crown, a tradition which is still\nfound in Ireland:[207] “The birds all met together one day, and settled\namong themselves that whichever of them could fly highest was to be the\nking of them all. Well, just as they were starting, the little rogue of\na wren perched itself on the eagle’s tail. So they flew and flew ever so\nhigh, till the eagle was miles above all the rest, and could not fly\nanother stroke, for he was so tired. Then says he, ‘I’m the king of the\nbirds,’ says he; ‘hurroo!’ ‘You lie,’ says the wren, darting up a perch\nand a half above the big fellow. The eagle was so angry to think how he\nwas outwitted by the wren, that when the latter was coming down he gave\nhim a stroke of his wing, and from that day the wren has never been able\nto fly higher than a hawthorn bush.” The swiftness of the eagle’s flight\nis spoken of in “Timon of Athens,” (i. 1):\n\n             “an eagle flight, bold, and forth on,\n    Leaving no tract behind.”[208]\n\n    [206] Quoted by Harting, in “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 24.\n\n    [207] Kelly’s “Indo-European Folk-Lore,” pp. 75, 79.\n\n    [208] Cf. “Antony and Cleopatra,” ii. 2: “This was but as a fly\n    by an eagle.”\n\nThe great age, too, of the eagle is well known; and the words of the\nPsalmist are familiar to most readers:\n\n    “His youth shall be renewed like the eagle’s.”\n\nApemantus, however, asks of Timon (“Timon of Athens,” iv. 3):\n\n                     “will these moss’d trees,\n    That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels,\n    And skip when thou point’st out?”\n\nTurbervile, in his “Booke of Falconrie,” 1575, says that the great age\nof this bird has been ascertained from the circumstance of its always\nbuilding its eyrie or nest in the same place. The Romans considered the\neagle a bird of good omen, and its presence in time of battle was\nsupposed to foretell victory. Thus, in “Julius Cæsar” (v. 1) we read:\n\n    “Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign\n    Two mighty eagles fell; and there they perch’d,\n    Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands.”\n\nIt was selected for the Roman legionary standard,[209] through being the\nking and most powerful of all birds. As a bird of good omen it is\nmentioned also in “Cymbeline” (i. 1):\n\n                     “I chose an eagle,\n    And did avoid a puttock;”\n\nand in another scene (iv. 2) the Soothsayer relates how\n\n    “Last night the very gods show’d me a vision,\n                             ... thus:—\n    I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, wing’d\n    From the spungy south to this part of the west,\n    There vanish’d in the sunbeams: which portends\n    (Unless my sins abuse my divination),\n    Success to the Roman host.”\n\n    [209] Josephus, “De Bello Judico,” iii. 5.\n\nThe conscious superiority[210] of the eagle is depicted by Tamora in\n“Titus Andronicus” (iv. 4):\n\n    “The eagle suffers little birds to sing,\n    And is not careful what they mean thereby,\n    Knowing that with the shadow of his wing,\n    He can at pleasure stint their melody.”\n\n    [210] Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 33.\n\n_Goose._ This bird was the subject[211] of many quaint proverbial\nphrases often used in the old popular writers. Thus, a _tailor’s goose_\nwas a jocular name for his pressing-iron, probably from its being often\nroasting before the fire, an allusion to which occurs in “Macbeth” (ii.\n3): “come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose.” The “wild-goose\nchase,” which is mentioned in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 4)—“Nay, if thy\nwits run the wild-goose chase, I have done”—was a kind of horse-race,\nwhich resembled the flight of wild geese. Two horses were started\ntogether, and whichever rider could get the lead, the other was obliged\nto follow him over whatever ground the foremost jockey chose to go. That\nhorse which could distance the other won the race. This reckless sport\nis mentioned by Burton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” as a recreation\nmuch in vogue in his time among gentlemen. The term “Winchester goose”\nwas a cant phrase for a certain venereal disease, because the stews in\nSouthwark were under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Winchester, to\nwhom Gloster tauntingly applies the term in the following passage (“1\nHenry VI.,” i. 3):\n\n    “Winchester goose! I cry—a rope! a rope!”\n\n    [211] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 378.\n\nIn “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 10) there is a further allusion:\n\n    “Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss.”\n\nBen Jonson[212] calls it:\n\n                 “the Winchestrian goose,\n    Bred on the banke in time of Popery,\n    When Venus there maintain’d the mystery.”\n\n    [212] “Execration against Vulcan,” 1640, p. 37.\n\n“Plucking geese” was formerly a barbarous sport of boys (“Merry Wives of\nWindsor,” v. 1), which consisted in stripping a living goose of its\nfeathers.[213]\n\n    [213] Singer’s “Notes,” 1875, vol. i. p. 283.\n\nIn “Coriolanus” (i. 4), the goose is spoken of as the emblem of\ncowardice. Marcius says:\n\n                       “You souls of geese,\n    That bear the shapes of men, how have you run\n    From slaves that apes would beat!”\n\n_Goldfinch._ The Warwickshire name[214] for this bird is “Proud Tailor,”\nto which, some commentators think, the words in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1)\nrefer:\n\n    “_Lady P._ I will not sing.\n\n    _Hotsp._ ’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast teacher.”\n\n    [214] See “Archæologia,” vol. iii. p. 33.\n\nIt has, therefore, been suggested that the passage should be read thus:\n“’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or red-breast teacher,” _i. e._, “to\nturn teacher of goldfinches or redbreasts.”[215] Singer,[216] however,\nexplains the words thus: “Tailors, like weavers, have ever been\nremarkable for their vocal skill. Percy is jocular in his mode of\npersuading his wife to sing; and this is a humorous turn which he gives\nto his argument, ‘Come, sing.’ ‘I will not sing.’ ‘’Tis the next [_i.\ne._, the readiest, nearest] way to turn tailor, or redbreast\nteacher’—the meaning being, to sing is to put yourself upon a level with\ntailors and teachers of birds.”\n\n    [215] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 693. Some think that the\n    bullfinch is meant.\n\n    [216] Singer’s “Notes,” 1875, vol. v. p. 82; see Dyce’s\n    “Glossary,” p. 433.\n\n_Gull._ Shakespeare often uses this word as synonymous with fool. Thus\nin “Henry V.” (iii. 6) he says:\n\n    “Why, ’tis a gull, a fool.”\n\nThe same play upon the word occurs in “Othello” (v. 2), and in “Timon of\nAthens” (ii. 1). In “Twelfth Night” (v. 1) Malvolio asks:\n\n    “Why have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d,\n    Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,\n    And made the most notorious geck and gull\n    That e’er invention played on? tell me why.”\n\nIt is also used to express a trick or imposition, as in “Much Ado About\nNothing” (ii. 3): “I should think this a gull, but that the\nwhite-bearded fellow speaks it.”[217] “Gull-catchers,” or\n“gull-gropers,” to which reference is made in “Twelfth Night” (ii. 5),\nwhere Fabian, on the entry of Maria, exclaims: “Here comes my noble\ngull-catcher,” were the names by which sharpers[218] were known in\nShakespeare’s time.[219] The “gull-catcher” was generally an old\nusurer, who lent money to a gallant at an ordinary, who had been\nunfortunate in play.[220] Decker devotes a chapter to this character in\nhis “Lanthorne and Candle-light,” 1612. According to him, “the\ngull-groper is commonly an old mony-monger, who having travailed through\nall the follyes of the world in his youth, knowes them well, and shunnes\nthem in his age, his whole felicitie being to fill his bags with golde\nand silver.” The person so duped was termed a gull, and the trick also.\nIn that disputed passage in “The Tempest” (ii. 2), where Caliban,\naddressing Trinculo, says:\n\n                “sometimes I’ll get thee\n    Young scamels from the rock.”\n\nsome think that the sea-mew, or sea-gull, is intended,[221] sea-mall, or\nsea-mell, being still a provincial name for this bird. Mr. Stevenson, in\nhis “Birds of Norfolk” (vol. ii. p. 260), tells us that “the female\nbar-tailed godwit is called a ‘scammell’ by the gunners of Blakeney. But\nas this bird is not a rock-breeder,[222] it cannot be the one intended\nin the present passage, if we regard it as an accurate description from\na naturalist’s point of view.” Holt says that “scam” is a limpet, and\nscamell probably a diminutive. Mr. Dyce[223] reads “scamels,” _i. e._,\nthe kestrel, stannel, or windhover, which breeds in rocky situations and\nhigh cliffs on our coasts. He also further observes that this accords\nwell with the context “from the rock,” and adds that staniel or stannyel\noccurs in “Twelfth Night” (ii. 5), where all the old editions exhibit\nthe gross misprint “stallion.”\n\n    [217] Some doubt exists as to the derivation of _gull_. Nares\n    says it is from the old French _guiller_. Tooke holds that\n    gull, guile, wile, and guilt are all from the Anglo-Saxon\n    “wiglian, gewiglian,” that by which any one is deceived.\n    Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 267.\n\n    [218] See D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature,” vol. iii. p. 84.\n\n    [219] See Thornbury’s “Shakespeare’s England,” vol. i. pp. 311-322.\n\n    [220] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 394.\n\n    [221] Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 269.\n\n    [222] Aldis Wright’s “Notes to ‘The Tempest’,” 1875, pp. 120, 121.\n\n    [223] See Dyce’s “Shakespeare,” vol. i. p. 245.\n\n_Hawk._ The diversion of catching game with hawks was very popular in\nShakespeare’s time,[224] and hence, as might be expected, we find many\nscattered allusions to it throughout his plays. The training of a hawk\nfor the field was an essential part of the education of a young Saxon\nnobleman; and the present of a well-trained hawk was a gift to be\nwelcomed by a king. Edward the Confessor spent much of his leisure time\nin either hunting or hawking; and in the reign of Edward III. we read\nhow the Bishop of Ely attended the service of the church at Bermondsey,\nSouthwark, leaving his hawk in the cloister, which in the meantime was\nstolen—the bishop solemnly excommunicating the thieves. On one occasion\nHenry VIII. met with a serious accident when pursuing his hawk at\nHitchin, in Hertfordshire. In jumping over a ditch his pole broke, and\nhe fell headlong into the muddy water, whence he was with some\ndifficulty rescued by one of his followers. Sir Thomas More, writing in\nthe reign of Henry VIII., describing the state of manhood, makes a young\nman say:\n\n    “Man-hod I am, therefore I me delyght\n    To hunt and hawke, to nourish up and fede\n    The greyhounde to the course, the hawke to th’ flight,\n    And to bestryde a good and lusty stede.”\n\n    [224] See Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876, pp. 60-97, and\n    “Book of Days,” 1863, vol. ii. pp. 211-213; Smith’s “Festivals,\n    Games, and Amusements,” 1831, p. 174.\n\nIn noticing, then, Shakespeare’s allusions to this sport, we have a good\ninsight into its various features, and also gain a knowledge of the\nseveral terms associated with it. Thus frequent mention is made of the\nword “haggard”—a wild, untrained hawk—and in the following allegory\n(“Taming of the Shrew,” iv. 1), where it occurs, much of the knowledge\nof falconry is comprised:\n\n    “My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty;\n    And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged,[225]\n    For then she never looks upon her lure.\n    Another way I have to man my haggard,\n    To make her come, and know her keeper’s call;\n    That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites\n    That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient.\n    She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;\n    Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not.”[226]\n\n    [225] “A hawk full-fed was untractable, and refused the\n    lure—the lure being a thing stuffed to look like the game the\n    hawk was to pursue; its lure was to tempt him back after he had\n    flown.”\n\n    [226] In the same play (iv. 2) Hortensio describes Bianca as\n    “this proud disdainful haggard.” See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 197;\n    Cotgrave’s “French and English Dictionary,” sub. “Hagard;” and\n    Latham’s “Falconry,” etc., 1658.\n\nFurther allusions occur in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 1), where Viola says of\nthe Clown:\n\n    “This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;\n    And to do that well craves a kind of wit:\n    He must observe their mood on whom he jests,\n    The quality of persons, and the time;\n    And, like the haggard, check at every feather\n    That comes before his eye.”\n\nIn “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 1), Hero, speaking of Beatrice, says\nthat:\n\n             “her spirits are as coy and wild\n    As haggards of the rock.”\n\nAnd Othello (iii. 3), mistrusting Desdemona, and likening her to a hawk,\nexclaims:\n\n              “if I do prove her haggard,—\n    I’d whistle her off.”[227]\n\n    [227] “To whistle off,” or dismiss by a whistle; a hawk seems\n    to have been usually sent off in this way against the wind when\n    sent in pursuit of prey.\n\nThe word “check” alluded to above was a term in falconry applied to a\nhawk when she forsook her proper game and followed some other of\ninferior kind that crossed her in her flight[228]—being mentioned again\nin “Hamlet” (iv. 7), where the king says:\n\n                “If he be now return’d\n    As checking at his voyage.”[229]\n\n    [228] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 77; see “Twelfth Night,” ii. 5.\n\n    [229] The use of the word is not quite the same here, because\n    the voyage was Hamlet’s “proper game,” which he abandons.\n    “Notes to Hamlet,” Clark and Wright, 1876, p. 205.\n\nAnother common expression used in falconry is “tower,” applied to\ncertain hawks, etc., which tower aloft, soar spirally to a height in the\nair, and thence swoop upon their prey. In “Macbeth” (ii. 4) we read of\n\n    “A falcon, towering in her pride of place;”\n\nin “2 Henry VI.” (ii. 1) Suffolk says,\n\n    “My lord protector’s hawks do tower so well;”\n\nand in “King John” (v. 2) the Bastard says,\n\n    “And like an eagle o’er his aery[230] towers.”\n\n    [230] See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 456; Harting’s “Ornithology of\n    Shakespeare,” p. 39; Tuberville’s “Booke of Falconrie,” 1611,\n    p. 53.\n\nThe word “quarry,” which occurs several times in Shakespeare’s plays, in\nsome instances means the “game or prey sought.” The etymology has, says\nNares, been variously attempted, but with little success. It may,\nperhaps, originally have meant the square, or enclosure (_carrée_), into\nwhich the game was driven (as is still practised in other countries),\nand hence the application of it to the game there caught would be a\nnatural extension of the term. Randle Holme, in his “Academy of Armory”\n(book ii. c. xi. p. 240), defines it as “the fowl which the hawk flyeth\nat, whether dead or alive.” It was also equivalent to a heap of\nslaughtered game, as in the following passages. In “Coriolanus” (i. 1),\nCaius Marcius says:\n\n                    “I’d make a quarry\n    With thousands of these quarter’d slaves.”\n\nIn “Macbeth” (iv. 3)[231] we read “the quarry of these murder’d deer;”\nand in “Hamlet” (v. 2), “This quarry cries on havock.”\n\n    [231] Also in i. 2 we read:\n\n        “And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,\n        Show’d like a rebel’s whore.”\n\n    Some read “quarry;” see “Notes to Macbeth.” Clark and Wright,\n    p. 77. It denotes the square-headed bolt of a cross-bow; see\n    Douce’s “Illustrations,” 1839, p. 227; Nares’s “Glossary,” vol.\n    ii. p. 206.\n\nAnother term in falconry is “stoop,” or “swoop,” denoting the hawk’s\nviolent descent from a height upon its prey. In “Taming of the Shrew”\n(iv. 1) the expression occurs, “till she stoop, she must not be\nfull-gorged.” In “Henry V.” (iv. 1), King Henry, speaking of the king,\nsays, “though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when\nthey stoop, they stoop with the like wing.” In “Macbeth” (iv. 3), too,\nMacduff, referring to the cruel murder of his children, exclaims, “What!\n... at one fell swoop?”[232] Webster, in the “White Devil,”[233] says:\n\n    “If she [_i. e._, Fortune] give aught, she deals it in small parcels,\n    That she may take away all at one swoop.”\n\n    [232] See Spenser’s “Fairy Queen,” book i. canto xi. l. 18:\n\n        “Low stooping with unwieldy sway.”\n\n    [233] Ed. Dyce, 1857, p. 5.\n\nShakespeare gives many incidental allusions to the hawk’s trappings.\nThus, in “Lucrece” he says:\n\n    “Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells\n    With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon’s bells.”\n\nAnd in “As You Like It” (iii. 3),[234] Touchstone says, “As the ox hath\nhis bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath\nhis desires.” The object of these bells was to lead the falconer to the\nhawk when in a wood or out of sight. In Heywood’s play entitled “A Woman\nKilled with Kindness,” 1617, is a hawking scene, containing a striking\nallusion to the hawk’s bells. The dress of the hawk consisted of a\nclose-fitting hood of leather or velvet, enriched with needlework, and\nsurmounted with a tuft of colored feathers, for use as well as ornament,\ninasmuch as they assisted the hand in removing the hood when the birds\nfor the hawk’s attack came in sight. Thus in “Henry V.” (iii. 7), the\nConstable of France, referring to the valor of the Dauphin, says, “’Tis\na hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate.”[235] And again, in\n“Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 2), Juliet says:\n\n    “Hood my unmann’d[236] blood, bating in my cheeks.”\n\n    [234] See “3 Henry VI.” i. 1.\n\n    [235] A quibble is perhaps intended between bate, the term of\n    falconry, and abate, _i. e._, fall off, dwindle. “Bate is a\n    term in falconry, to flutter the wings as preparing for flight,\n    particularly at the sight of prey.” In ‘1 Henry IV.’ (iv. 1):\n\n        “‘All plumed like estridges, that with the wind\n        Bated, like eagles having lately bathed.’”\n\n    —Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 60.\n\n    [236] “Unmann’d” was applied to a hawk not tamed.\n\nThe “jesses” were two short straps of leather or silk, which were\nfastened to each leg of a hawk, to which was attached a swivel, from\nwhich depended the leash or strap which the falconer[237] twisted round\nhis hand. Othello (iii. 3) says:\n\n    “Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings.”\n\n    [237] See Singer’s “Notes to Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. x. p. 86;\n    Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 448.\n\nWe find several allusions to the training of hawks.[238] They were\nusually trained by being kept from sleep, it having been customary for\nthe falconers to sit up by turns and “watch” the hawk, and keep it from\nsleeping, sometimes for three successive nights. Desdemona, in “Othello”\n(iii. 3), says:\n\n                      “my lord shall never rest;\n    I’ll watch him tame and talk him out of patience;\n    His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;\n    I’ll intermingle everything he does\n    With Cassio’s suit.”\n\n    [238] See passage in “Taming of the Shrew,” iv. 1, already\n    referred to, p. 122.\n\nSo, in Cartwright’s “Lady Errant” (ii. 2):\n\n    “We’ll keep you as they do hawks,\n    Watching until you leave your wildness.”\n\nIn “The Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), where Page says,\n\n    “Nay, do not fly: I think we have watch’d you now,”\n\nthe allusion is, says Staunton, to this method employed to tame or\n“reclaim” hawks.\n\nAgain, in “Othello” (iii. 3),[239] Iago exclaims:\n\n    “She that, so young, could give out such a seeming,\n    To seel her father’s eyes up close as oak;”\n\nin allusion to the practice of seeling a hawk, or sewing up her eyelids,\nby running a fine thread through them, in order to make her tractable\nand endure the hood of which we have already spoken.[240] King Henry (“2\nHenry IV.” iii. 1), in his soliloquy on sleep, says:\n\n    “Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast\n    Seal up the ship-boy’s eyes, and rock his brains\n    In cradle of the rude imperious surge.”\n\n    [239] Also in same play, i. 3.\n\n    [240] Turbervile, in his “Booke of Falconrie,” 1575, gives some\n    curious directions as “how to seele a hawke;” we may compare\n    similar expressions in “Antony and Cleopatra,” iii. 13; v. 2.\n\nIn Spenser’s “Fairy Queen” (I. vii. 23), we read:\n\n    “Mine eyes no more on vanity shall feed,\n    But sealed up with death, shall have their deadly meed.”\n\nIt was a common notion that if a dove was let loose with its eyes so\nclosed it would fly straight upwards, continuing to mount till it fell\ndown through mere exhaustion.[241]\n\n    [241] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. pp. 777, 778; cf. Beaumont\n    and Fletcher, “Philaster,” v. 1.\n\nIn “Cymbeline” (iii. 4), Imogen, referring to Posthumus, says:\n\n                          “I grieve myself\n    To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her\n    That now thou tir’st on,”—\n\nthis passage containing two metaphorical expressions from falconry. A\nbird was said to be _disedged_ when the keenness of its appetite was\ntaken away by _tiring_, or feeding upon some tough or hard substance\ngiven to it for that purpose. In “3 Henry VI.” (i. 1), the king says:\n\n                          “that hateful duke,\n    Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire,\n    Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle\n    Tire on the flesh of me and of my son.”\n\nIn “Timon of Athens” (iii. 6), one of the lords says: “Upon that were\nmy thoughts tiring, when we encountered.”\n\nIn “Venus and Adonis,” too, we find a further allusion:\n\n    “Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,\n    Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone,” etc.\n\nAmong other allusions to the hawk may be mentioned one in “Measure for\nMeasure” (iii. 1):\n\n                    “This outward-sainted deputy,\n    Whose settled visage and deliberate word\n    Nips youth i’ the head, and follies doth _emmew_,\n    As falcon doth the fowl”\n\n—the word “emmew” signifying the place where hawks were shut up during\nthe time they moulted. In “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 4), Lady Capulet says\nof Juliet:\n\n    “To-night she’s mew’d up to her heaviness;”\n\nand in “Taming of the Shrew” (i. 1), Gremio, speaking of Bianca to\nSignor Baptista, says: “Why will you mew her?”\n\nWhen the wing or tail feathers of a hawk were dropped, forced out, or\nbroken, by any accident, it was usual to supply or repair as many as\nwere deficient or damaged, an operation called “to imp[242] a hawk.”\nThus, in “Richard II.” (ii. 1), Northumberland says:\n\n    “If, then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke,\n    Imp out our drooping country’s broken wing.”\n\n    [242] Imp, from Anglo-Saxon, _impan_, to graft. Turbervile has\n    a whole chapter on “The way and manner how to ympe a hawke’s\n    feather, howsoever it be broken or bruised.”\n\nSo Massinger, in his “Renegado” (v. 8), makes Asambeg say:\n\n                                 “strive to imp\n    New feathers to the broken wings of time.”\n\nHawking was sometimes called birding.[243] In the “Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (iii. 3) Master Page says: “I do invite you to-morrow morning\nto my house to breakfast; after, we’ll a-birding together, I have a\nfine hawk for the bush.” In the same play (iii. 5) Dame Quickly,\nspeaking of Mistress Ford, says: “Her husband goes this morning\na-birding;” and Mistress Ford says (iv. 2): “He’s a-birding, sweet Sir\nJohn.” The word hawk, says Mr. Harting, is invariably used by\nShakespeare in its generic sense; and in only two instances does he\nallude to a particular species. These are the kestrel and sparrow-hawk.\nIn “Twelfth Night” (ii. 5) Sir Toby Belch, speaking of Malvolio, as he\nfinds the letter which Maria has purposely dropped in his path, says:\n\n    “And with what wing the staniel[244] checks at it”\n\n—staniel being a corruption of stangdall, a name for the kestrel\nhawk.[245] “Gouts” is the technical term for the spots on some parts of\nthe plumage of a hawk, and perhaps Shakespeare uses the word in allusion\nto a phrase in heraldry. Macbeth (ii. 1), speaking of the dagger, says:\n\n                             “I see thee still,\n    And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood.”\n\n    [243] Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakspeare,” p. 72.\n\n    [244] The reading of the folios here is stallion; but the word\n    wing, and the falconer’s term _checks_, prove that the bird\n    must be meant. See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 832.\n\n    [245] See kestrel and sparrow-hawk.\n\n_Heron._ This bird was frequently flown at by falconers. Shakespeare, in\n“Hamlet” (ii. 2), makes Hamlet say, “I am but mad north-north-west; when\nthe wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw;” handsaw being a\ncorruption of “heronshaw,” or “hernsew,” which is still used, in the\nprovincial dialects, for a heron. In Suffolk and Norfolk it is\npronounced “harnsa,” from which to “handsaw” is but a single step.[246]\nShakespeare here alludes to a proverbial saying, “He knows not a hawk\nfrom a handsaw.”[247] Mr. J. C. Heath[248] explains the passage thus:\n“The expression obviously refers to the sport of hawking. Most birds,\nespecially one of heavy flight like the heron, when roused by the\nfalconer or his dog, would fly down or with the wind, in order to\nescape. When the wind is from the north the heron flies towards the\nsouth, and the spectator may be dazzled by the sun, and be unable to\ndistinguish the hawk from the heron. On the other hand, when the wind is\nsoutherly the heron flies towards the north, and it and the pursuing\nhawk are clearly seen by the sportsman, who then has his back to the\nsun, and without difficulty knows the hawk from the hernsew.”\n\n    [246] “Notes to Hamlet,” Clark and Wright, 1876, p. 159.\n\n    [247] Ray’s “Proverbs,” 1768, p. 196.\n\n    [248] Quoted in “Notes to Hamlet,” by Clark and Wright, p. 159;\n    see Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 416.\n\n_Jay._ From its gay and gaudy plumage this bird has been used for a\nloose woman, as “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iii. 3): “we’ll teach him to\nknow turtles from jays,” _i. e._, to distinguish honest women from loose\nones. Again, in “Cymbeline” (iii. 4), Imogen says:\n\n                               “Some jay of Italy,\n    Whose mother was her painting,[249] hath betray’d him.”\n\n    [249] That is, made by art: the creature not of nature, but of\n    painting; cf. “Taming of the Shrew,” iv. 3; “The Tempest,” ii. 2.\n\n_Kestrel._ A hawk of a base, unserviceable breed,[250] and therefore\nused by Spenser, in his “Fairy Queen” (II. iii. 4), to signify base:\n\n    “Ne thought of honour ever did assay\n    His baser breast, but in his kestrell kynd\n    A pleasant veine of glory he did fynd.”\n\n    [250] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 482.\n\nBy some[251] it is derived from “coystril,” a knave or peasant, from\nbeing the hawk formerly used by persons of inferior rank. Thus, in\n“Twelfth Night” (i. 3), we find “coystrill,” and in “Pericles” (iv. 6)\n“coystrel.” The name kestrel, says Singer,[252] for an inferior kind of\nhawk, was evidently a corruption of the French _quercelle_ or\n_quercerelle_, and originally had no connection with coystril, though in\nlater times they may have been confounded. Holinshed[253] classes\ncoisterels with lackeys and women, the unwarlike attendants on an army.\nThe term was also given as a nickname to the emissaries employed by the\nkings of England in their French wars. Dyce[254] also considers kestrel\ndistinct from coistrel.\n\n    [251] Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 74.\n\n    [252] “Notes,” vol. iii. pp. 357, 358.\n\n    [253] “Description of England,” vol. i. p. 162.\n\n    [254] “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 88.\n\n_Kingfisher._ It was a common belief in days gone by that during the\ndays the halcyon or kingfisher was engaged in hatching her eggs, the sea\nremained so calm that the sailor might venture upon it without incurring\nrisk of storm or tempest; hence this period was called by Pliny and\nAristotle “the halcyon days,” to which allusion is made in “1 Henry VI.”\n(i. 2):\n\n    “Expect Saint Martin’s summer, halcyon days.”\n\nDryden also refers to this notion:\n\n    “Amidst our arms as quiet you shall be,\n    As halcyons brooding on a winter’s sea.”\n\nAnother superstition connected with this bird occurs in “King Lear” (ii.\n2), where the Earl of Kent says:\n\n                    “turn their halcyon beaks\n    With every gale and vary of their masters;”\n\nthe prevalent idea being that a dead kingfisher, suspended from a cord,\nwould always turn its beak in that direction from whence the wind blew.\nMarlowe, in his “Jew of Malta” (i. 1), says:\n\n    “But now how stands the wind?\n    Into what corner peers my halcyon’s bill?”\n\nOccasionally one may still see this bird hung up in cottages, a remnant,\nno doubt, of this old superstition.[255]\n\n    [255] Sir Thomas Browne’s “Vulgar Errors,” bk. iii. chap. 10.\n\n_Kite._ This bird was considered by the ancients to be unlucky. In\n“Julius Cæsar” (v. 1) Cassius says:\n\n                    “ravens, crows, and kites,\n    Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us.”\n\nIn “Cymbeline” (i. 2), too, Imogen says,\n\n                        “I chose an eagle,\n    And did avoid a puttock,”\n\nputtock, here, being a synonym sometimes applied to the kite.[256]\nFormerly the kite became a term of reproach from its ignoble habits.\nThus, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iii. 13), Antony exclaims, “you kite!”\nand King Lear (i. 4) says to Goneril, “Detested kite! thou liest.” Its\nintractable disposition is alluded to in “Taming of the Shrew,” by\nPetruchio (iv. 1). A curious peculiarity of this bird is noticed in\n“Winter’s Tale” (iv. 3), where Autolycus says: “My traffic is sheets;\nwhen the kite builds, look to lesser linen”—meaning that his practice\nwas to steal sheets; leaving the smaller linen to be carried away by the\nkites, who will occasionally carry it off to line their nests.[257] Mr.\nDyce[258] quotes the following remarks of Mr. Peck on this passage:\n“Autolycus here gives us to understand that he is a thief of the first\nclass. This he explains by an allusion to an odd vulgar notion. The\ncommon people, many of them, think that if any one can find a kite’s\nnest when she hath young, before they are fledged, and sew up their back\ndoors, so as they cannot mute, the mother-kite, in compassion to their\ndistress, will steal lesser linen, as caps, cravats, ruffles, or any\nother such small matters as she can best fly with, from off the hedges\nwhere they are hanged to dry after washing, and carry them to her nest,\nand there leave them, if possible to move the pity of the first comer,\nto cut the thread and ease them of their misery.”\n\n    [256] Also to the buzzard, which see, p. 100.\n\n    [257] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. iv. p. 67.\n\n    [258] “Glossary,” p. 243.\n\n_Lapwing._ Several interesting allusions are made by Shakespeare to this\neccentric bird. It was a common notion that the young lapwings ran out\nof the shell with part of it sticking on their heads, in such haste were\nthey to be hatched. Horatio (“Hamlet,” v. 2) says of Osric: “This\nlapwing runs away with the shell on his head.”\n\nIt was, therefore, regarded as the symbol of a forward fellow.\nWebster,[259] in the “White Devil” (1857, p. 13), says:\n\n                      “forward lapwing!\n    He flies with the shell on’s head.”\n\n    [259] “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 495; see Yarrell’s “History of\n    British Birds,” 2d edition, vol. ii. p. 482.\n\nThe lapwing, like the partridge, is also said to draw pursuers from her\nnest by fluttering along the ground in an opposite direction or by\ncrying in other places. Thus, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iv. 2),\nShakespeare says:\n\n    “Far from her nest the lapwing cries away.”\n\nAgain, in “Measure for Measure” (i. 4), Lucio exclaims:\n\n               “though ’tis my familiar sin,\n    With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,\n    Tongue far from heart.”\n\nOnce more, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 1), we read:\n\n    “For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs,\n    Close by the ground, to hear our conference.”\n\nSeveral, too, of our older poets refer to this peculiarity. In Ben\nJonson’s “Underwoods” (lviii.) we are told:\n\n    “Where he that knows will like a lapwing fly,\n    Farre from the nest, and so himself belie.”\n\nThrough thus alluring intruders from its nest, the lapwing became a\nsymbol of insincerity; and hence originated the proverb, “The lapwing\ncries tongue from heart,” or, “The lapwing cries most, farthest from her\nnest.”[260]\n\n    [260] Ray’s “Proverbs,” 1768, p. 199.\n\n_Lark._ Shakespeare has bequeathed to us many exquisite passages\nreferring to the lark, full of the most sublime pathos and lofty\nconceptions. Most readers are doubtless acquainted with that superb song\nin “Cymbeline” (ii. 3), where this sweet songster is represented as\nsinging “at heaven’s gate;” and again, as the bird of dawn, it is\ndescribed in “Venus and Adonis,” thus:\n\n    “Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,\n    From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,\n    And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast\n    The sun ariseth in his majesty.”[261]\n\n    [261] Cf. “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iv. 1). “the morning\n    lark;” “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 5), “the lark, the herald of\n    the morn.”\n\nIn “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2, song) we have a graphic touch of\npastoral life:\n\n    “When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,\n      And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks.”\n\nThe words of Portia, too, in “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1), to sing “as\nsweetly as the lark,” have long ago passed into a proverb.\n\nIt was formerly a current saying that the lark and toad changed eyes, to\nwhich Juliet refers in “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 5):\n\n    “Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;”\n\nWarburton says this popular fancy originated in the toad having very\nfine eyes, and the lark very ugly ones. This tradition was formerly\nexpressed in a rustic rhyme:\n\n                       “to heav’n I’d fly,\n    But that the toad beguil’d me of mine eye.”\n\nIn “Henry VIII.” (iii. 2) the Earl of Surrey, in denouncing Wolsey,\nalludes to a curious method of capturing larks, which was effected by\nsmall mirrors and red cloth. These, scaring the birds, made them crouch,\nwhile the fowler drew his nets over them:\n\n                 “let his grace go forward,\n    And dare us with his cap, like larks.”\n\nIn this case the cap was the scarlet hat of the cardinal, which it was\nintended to use as a piece of red cloth. The same idea occurs in\nSkelton’s “Why Come Ye not to Court?” a satire on Wolsey:\n\n    “The red hat with his lure\n    Bringeth all things under cure.”\n\nThe words “tirra-lirra” (“Winter’s Tale,” iv. 3) are a fanciful\ncombination of sounds,[262] meant to imitate the lark’s note; borrowed,\nsays Nares, from the French _tire-lire_. Browne, “British Pastorals”\n(bk. i. song 4), makes it “teery-leery.” In one of the Coventry pageants\nthere is the following old song sung by the shepherds at the birth of\nChrist, which contains the expression:\n\n    “As I out rode this endenes night,\n    Of three joli sheppards I sawe a syght,\n    And all aboute there fold a stare shone bright,\n    They sang terli terlow,\n    So mereli the sheppards their pipes can blow.”\n\n    [262] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 886; Douce’s\n    “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 217.\n\nIn Scotland[263] and the north of England the peasantry say that if one\nis desirous of knowing what the lark says, he must lie down on his back\nin the field and listen, and he will then hear it say:\n\n    “Up in the lift go we,\n    Tehee, tehee, tehee, tehee!\n    There’s not a shoemaker on the earth\n    Can make a shoe to me, to me!\n    Why so, why so, why so?\n    Because my heel is as long as my toe.”\n\n    [263] Chambers’s “Popular Rhymes of Scotland,” 1870, p. 192.\n\n_Magpie._ It was formerly known as magot-pie, probably from the French\n_magot_, a monkey, because the bird chatters and plays droll tricks like\na monkey. It has generally been regarded with superstitious awe as a\nmysterious bird,[264] and is thus alluded to in “Macbeth” (iii. 4):\n\n    “Augurs and understood relations, have\n    By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth\n    The secret’st man of blood.”\n\n    [264] See “English Folk-Lore,” p. 81.\n\nAnd again, in “3 Henry VI.” (v. 6), it is said:\n\n    “chattering pies in dismal discords sung.”\n\nThere are numerous rhymes[265] relating to the magpie, of which we\nsubjoin, as a specimen, one prevalent in the north of England:\n\n    “One is sorrow, two mirth,\n    Three a wedding, four a birth,\n    Five heaven, six hell,\n    Seven the de’il’s ain sell.”\n\n    [265] Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” p. 127.\n\nIn Devonshire, in order to avert the ill-luck from seeing a magpie, the\npeasant spits over his right shoulder three times, and in Yorkshire\nvarious charms are in use. One is to raise the hat as a salutation, and\nthen to sign the cross on the breast; and another consists in making the\nsame sign by crossing the thumbs. It is a common notion in Scotland that\nmagpies flying near the windows of a house portend a speedy death to one\nof its inmates. The superstitions associated with the magpie are not\nconfined to this country, for in Sweden[266] it is considered the\nwitch’s bird, belonging to the evil one and the other powers of night.\nIn Denmark, when a magpie perches on a house it is regarded as a sign\nthat strangers are coming.\n\n    [266] Thorpe’s “Northern Mythology,” vol. ii. p. 34; Brand’s\n    “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, pp. 215, 216; see also Harland and\n    Wilkinson’s “Lancashire Folk-Lore,” 1867, pp. 143, 145.\n\n_Martin._ The martin, or martlet, which is called in “Macbeth” (i. 6)\nthe “guest of summer,” as being a migratory bird, has been from the\nearliest times treated with superstitious respect—it being considered\nunlucky to molest or in any way injure its nest. Thus, in the “Merchant\nof Venice” (ii. 9), the Prince of Arragon says:\n\n                                   “the martlet\n    Builds in the weather, on the outward wall,\n    Even in the force and road of casualty.”\n\nForster[267] says that the circumstance of this bird’s nest being built\nso close to the habitations of man indicates that it has long enjoyed\nfreedom from molestation. There is a popular rhyme still current in the\nnorth of England:\n\n    “The martin and the swallow\n    Are God Almighty’s bow and arrow.”\n\n    [267] “Atmospherical Researches,” 1823, p. 262.\n\n_Nightingale._ The popular error that the nightingale sings with its\nbreast impaled upon a thorn is noticed by Shakespeare, who makes Lucrece\nsay:\n\n    “And whiles against a thorn thou bear’st thy part\n    To keep thy sharp woes waking.”\n\nIn the “Passionate Pilgrim” (xxi.) there is an allusion:\n\n    “Everything did banish moan,\n    Save the nightingale alone.\n    She, poor bird, as all forlorn,\n    Lean’d her breast up-till a thorn,\n    And there sung the dolefull’st ditty,\n    That to hear it was great pity.”\n\nBeaumont and Fletcher, in “The Faithful Shepherdess” (v. 3), speak of\n\n    “The nightingale among the thick-leaved spring,\n    That sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing\n    Whole nights away in mourning.”\n\nSir Thomas Browne[268] asks “Whether the nightingale’s sitting with her\nbreast against a thorn be any more than that she placeth some prickles\non the outside of her nest, or roosteth in thorny, prickly places, where\nserpents may least approach her?”[269] In the “Zoologist” for 1862 the\nRev. A. C. Smith mentions “the discovery, on two occasions, of a strong\nthorn projecting upwards in the centre of the nightingale’s nest.”\nAnother notion is that the nightingale never sings by day; and thus\nPortia, in “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1), says:\n\n                                  “I think,\n    The nightingale, if she should sing by day,\n    When every goose is cackling, would be thought\n    No better a musician than the wren.”\n\n    [268] Sir Thomas Browne’s Works, 1852, vol. i. p. 378.\n\n    [269] See “Book of Days,” vol. i. p. 515.\n\nSuch, however, is not the case, for this bird often sings as sweetly in\nthe day as at night-time. There is an old superstition[270] that the\nnightingale sings all night, to keep itself awake, lest the glow-worm\nshould devour her. The classical fable[271] of the unhappy Philomela\nturned into a nightingale, when her sister Progne was changed to a\nswallow, has doubtless given rise to this bird being spoken of as _she_;\nthus Juliet tells Romeo (iii. 5):\n\n    “It was the nightingale, and not the lark,\n    That pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;\n    Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree;\n    Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”\n\n    [270] Southey’s “Commonplace Book.” 5th series. 1851, p. 305.\n\n    [271] Ovid’s “Metamorphoses,” bk. vi. ll. 455-676; “Titus\n    Andronicus,” iv. 1.\n\nSometimes the nightingale is termed Philomel, as in “Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” (ii. 2, song):[272]\n\n    “Philomel, with melody,\n    Sing in our sweet lullaby.”\n\n    [272] Cf. “Lucrece,” ll. 1079, 1127.\n\n_Osprey._ This bird,[273] also called the sea-eagle, besides having a\ndestructive power of devouring fish, was supposed formerly to have a\nfascinating influence, both which qualities are alluded to in the\nfollowing passage in “Coriolanus” (iv. 7):\n\n                 “I think he’ll be to Rome,\n    As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it\n    By sovereignty of nature.”\n\n    [273] See Yarrell’s “History of British Birds,” 1856, vol. i.\n    p. 30; Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 620; also Pennant’s\n    “British Zoology;” see Peele’s Play of the “Battle of Alcazar”\n    (ii. 3), 1861, p. 28.\n\nDrayton, in his “Polyolbion” (song xxv.), mentions the same fascinating\npower of the osprey:\n\n    “The osprey, oft here seen, though seldom here it breeds,\n    Which over them the fish no sooner do espy,\n    But, betwixt him and them by an antipathy,\n    Turning their bellies up, as though their death they saw,\n    They at his pleasure lie, to stuff his gluttonous maw.”\n\n_Ostrich._ The extraordinary digestion of this bird[274] is said to be\nshown by its swallowing iron and other hard substances.[275] In “2 Henry\nVI.” (iv. 10), the rebel Cade says to Alexander Iden: “Ah, villain, thou\nwilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by carrying my\nhead to him; but I’ll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my\nsword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.” Cuvier,[276] speaking of\nthis bird, says, “It is yet so voracious, and its senses of taste and\nsmell are so obtuse, that it devours animal and mineral substances\nindiscriminately, until its enormous stomach is completely full. It\nswallows without any choice, and merely as it were to serve for ballast,\nwood, stones, grass, iron, copper, gold, lime, or, in fact, any other\nsubstance equally hard, indigestible, and deleterious.” Sir Thomas\nBrowne,[277] writing on this subject, says, “The ground of this conceit\nin its swallowing down fragments of iron, which men observing, by a\nforward illation, have therefore conceived it digesteth them, which is\nan inference not to be admitted, as being a fallacy of the consequent.”\nIn Loudon’s “Magazine of Natural History” (No. 6, p. 32) we are told of\nan ostrich having been killed by swallowing glass.\n\n    [274] Called _estridge_ in “1 Henry IV.” iv. 1.\n\n    [275] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 365.\n\n    [276] “Animal Kingdom,” 1829, vol. viii. p. 427.\n\n    [277] See Sir Thomas Browne’s Works, 1852, vol. i. pp. 334-337.\n\n_Owl._ The dread attached to this unfortunate bird is frequently spoken\nof by Shakespeare, who has alluded to several of the superstitions\nassociated with it. At the outset, many of the epithets ascribed to it\nshow the prejudice with which it was regarded—being in various places\nstigmatized as “the vile owl,” in “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. I); and\nthe “obscure bird,” in “Macbeth” (ii. 3), etc. From the earliest period\nit has been considered a bird of ill-omen, and Pliny tells us how, on\none occasion, even Rome itself underwent a lustration, because one of\nthem strayed into the Capitol. He represents it also as a funereal bird,\na monster of the night, the very abomination of human kind. Vergil[278]\ndescribes its death-howl from the top of the temple by night, a\ncircumstance introduced as a precursor of Dido’s death. Ovid,[279] too,\nconstantly speaks of this bird’s presence as an evil omen; and indeed\nthe same notions respecting it may be found among the writings of most\nof the ancient poets. This superstitious awe in which the owl is held\nmay be owing to its peculiar look, its occasional and uncertain\nappearance, its loud and dismal cry,[280] as well as to its being the\nbird of night.[281] It has generally been associated with calamities and\ndeeds of darkness.[282] Thus, its weird shriek pierces the ear of Lady\nMacbeth (ii. 2), while the murder is being committed:\n\n                              “Hark!—Peace!\n    It was the owl that shriek’d, the fatal bellman,\n    Which gives the stern’st good night.”\n\n    [278] “Æneid,” bk. iv. l. 462.\n\n    [279] “Metamorphoses,” bk. v. l. 550; bk. vi. l. 432; bk. x. l.\n    453; bk. xv. l. 791.\n\n    [280] “2 Henry VI.” iii. 2; iv. 1.\n\n    [281] “Titus Andronicus,” ii. 3.\n\n    [282] Cf. “Lucrece,” l. 165; see Yarrell’s “History of British\n    Birds,” vol. i. p. 122.\n\nAnd when the murderer rushes in, exclaiming,\n\n    “I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?”\n\nshe answers:\n\n    “I heard the owl scream.”\n\nIts appearance at a birth has been said to foretell ill-luck to the\ninfant, a superstition to which King Henry, in “3 Henry VI.” (v. 6),\naddressing Gloster, refers:\n\n    “The owl shriek’d at thy birth, an evil sign.”\n\nIts cries[283] have been supposed to presage death, and, to quote the\nwords of the _Spectator_, “a screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a\nfamily more than a band of robbers.” Thus, in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” (v. 1), we are told how\n\n      “the screech-owl, screeching loud,\n    Puts the wretch that lies in woe\n      In remembrance of a shroud;”\n\nand in “1 Henry VI.” (iv. 2), it is called the “ominous and fearful owl\nof death.” Again, in “Richard III.” (iv. 4), where Richard is\nexasperated by the bad news, he interrupts the third messenger by\nsaying:\n\n    “Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death?”\n\n    [283] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 209.\n\nThe owl by day is considered by some equally ominous, as in “3 Henry\nVI.” (v. 4):\n\n                       “the owl by day,\n    If he arise, is mock’d and wonder’d at.”\n\nAnd in “Julius Cæsar” (i. 3), Casca says:\n\n    “And yesterday the bird of night did sit,\n    Even at noon-day, upon the market-place,\n    Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies\n    Do so conjointly meet, let not men say,\n    ‘These are their reasons,—they are natural;’\n    For, I believe, they are portentous things\n    Unto the climate that they point upon.”\n\nConsidering, however, the abhorrence with which the owl is generally\nregarded, it is not surprising that the “owlet’s wing”[284] should form\nan ingredient of the caldron in which the witches in “Macbeth” (iv. 1)\nprepared their “charm of powerful trouble.” The owl is, too, in all\nprobability, represented by Shakespeare as a witch,[285] a companion of\nthe fairies in their moonlight gambols. In “Comedy of Errors” (ii. 2),\nDromio of Syracuse says:\n\n    “This is the fairy land: O, spite of spites!\n    We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites.\n    If we obey them not, this will ensue,\n    They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue!”\n\n    [284] The spelling of the folios is “howlets.” In Holland’s\n    translation of Pliny (chap. xvii. book x.), we read “of owlls\n    or howlets.” Cotgrave gives “Hulotte.”\n\n    [285] Halliwell-Phillipps’s, “Handbook Index,” 1866, p. 354.\n\nSinger, in his Notes on this passage (vol. ii. p. 28) says: “It has been\nasked, how should Shakespeare know that screech-owls were considered by\nthe Romans as witches?” Do these cavillers think that Shakespeare never\nlooked into a book? Take an extract from the Cambridge Latin Dictionary\n(1594, 8vo), probably the very book he used: “Strix, a _scritche owle_;\nan unluckie kind of bird (as they of olde time said) which sucked out\nthe blood of infants lying in their cradles; a witch, that changeth the\nfavour of children; an hagge or fairie.” So in the “London Prodigal,” a\ncomedy, 1605: “Soul, I think I am sure crossed or witch’d with an\nowl.”[286] In “The Tempest” (v. 1) Shakespeare introduces Ariel as\nsaying:\n\n    “Where the bee sucks, there suck I,\n    In a cowslip’s bell I lie,\n    There I couch when owls do cry.”\n\n    [286] See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 302.\n\nAriel,[287] who sucks honey for luxury in the cowslip’s bell, retreats\nthither for quiet when owls are abroad and screeching. According to an\nold legend, the owl was originally a baker’s daughter, to which allusion\nis made in “Hamlet” (iv. 5), where Ophelia exclaims: “They say the owl\nwas a baker’s daughter. Lord! we know what we are, but know not what we\nmay be.” Douce[288] says the following story was current among the\nGloucestershire peasantry: “Our Saviour went into a baker’s shop where\nthey were baking, and asked for some bread to eat; the mistress of the\nshop immediately put a piece of dough into the oven to bake for him; but\nwas reprimanded by her daughter, who, insisting that the piece of dough\nwas too large, reduced it to a very small size; the dough, however,\nimmediately began to swell, and presently became a most enormous size,\nwhereupon the baker’s daughter cried out, ‘Heugh, heugh, heugh!’ which\nowl-like noise probably induced our Saviour to transform her into that\nbird for her wickedness.” Another version of the same story, as formerly\nknown in Herefordshire, substitutes a fairy in the place of our Saviour.\nSimilar legends are found on the Continent.[289]\n\n    [287] See Singer’s “Notes to The Tempest,” 1875, vol. i. p. 82.\n\n    [288] See _Gentleman’s Magazine_, November, 1804, pp. 1083,\n    1084. Grimm’s “Deutsche Mythologie.”\n\n    [289] See Dasent’s “Tales of the Norse,” 1859, p. 230.\n\n_Parrot._ The “popinjay,” in “1 Henry IV.” (i. 3), is another name for\nthe parrot—from the Spanish _papagayo_—a term which occurs in Browne’s\n“Pastorals” (ii. 65):\n\n    “Or like the mixture nature dothe display\n    Upon the quaint wings of the popinjay.”\n\nIts supposed restlessness before rain is referred to in “As You Like It”\n(iv. 1): “More clamorous than a parrot against rain.” It was formerly\ncustomary to teach the parrot unlucky words, with which, when any one\nwas offended, it was the standing joke of the wise owner to say, “Take\nheed, sir, my parrot prophesies”—an allusion to which custom we find in\n“Comedy of Errors” (iv. 4), where Dromio of Ephesus says: “prophesy like\nthe parrot, _beware the rope’s end_.” To this Butler hints, where,\nspeaking of Ralpho’s skill in augury, he says:[290]\n\n    “Could tell what subtlest parrots mean,\n    That speak and think contrary clean;\n    What member ’tis of whom they talk,\n    When they cry _rope_, and _walk, knave, walk_.”\n\n    [290] “Hudibras,” pt. i. ch. i.\n\nThe rewards given to parrots to encourage them to speak are mentioned in\n“Troilus and Cressida” (v. 2):[291] “the parrot will not do more for an\nalmond.” Hence, a proverb for the greatest temptation that could be put\nbefore a man seems to have been “An almond for a parrot.” To “talk like\na parrot” is a common proverb, a sense in which it occurs in “Othello”\n(ii. 3).\n\n    [291] In “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1), Benedick likens\n    Beatrice to a “parrot-teacher,” from her talkative powers.\n\n_Peacock._ This bird was as proverbially used for a proud, vain fool as\nthe lapwing for a silly one. In this sense some would understand it in\nthe much-disputed passage in “Hamlet” (iii. 2):\n\n    “For thou dost know, O Damon dear,\n      This realm dismantled was\n    Of Jove himself; and now reigns here\n      A very, very—peacock.”[292]\n\n    [292] This is the reading adopted by Singer.\n\nThe third and fourth folios read _pajock_,[293] the other editions have\n“paiock,” “paiocke,” or “pajocke,” and in the later quartos the word was\nchanged to “paicock” and “pecock,” whence Pope printed peacock.\n\n    [293] “Notes to Hamlet,” Clark and Wright, 1876, pp. 179, 180.\n\nDyce says that in Scotland the peacock is called the peajock. Some have\nproposed to read _paddock_, and in the last scene Hamlet bestows this\nopprobrious name upon the king. It has been also suggested to read\n_puttock_, a kite.[294] The peacock has also been regarded as the emblem\nof pride and arrogance, as in “1 Henry VI.” (iii. 3):[295]\n\n    “Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while,\n    And, like a peacock, sweep along his tail;\n    We’ll pull his plumes, and take away his train.”\n\n    [294] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 645; Singer’s\n    “Notes,” vol. ix. p. 228.\n\n    [295] Cf. “Troilus and Cressida,” iii. 3.\n\n_Pelican._ There are several allusions by Shakespeare to the pelican’s\npiercing her own breast to feed her young. Thus, in “Hamlet” (iv. 5),\nLaertes says:\n\n    “To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms;\n    And like the kind life-rendering pelican,\n    Repast them with my blood.”\n\nAnd in “King Lear,” where the young pelicans are represented as piercing\ntheir mother’s breast to drink her blood, an illustration of filial\nimpiety (iii. 4), the king says:\n\n    “Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers\n    Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?\n    Judicious punishment! ’Twas this flesh begot\n    Those pelican daughters.”[296]\n\n    [296] Cf. “Richard II.” i. 1.\n\nIt is a common notion that the fable here alluded to is a classical one,\nbut this is an error. Shakespeare, says Mr. Harting, “was content to\naccept the story as he found it, and to apply it metaphorically as the\noccasion required.” Mr. Houghton, in an interesting letter to “Land and\nWater”[297] on this subject, remarks that the Egyptians believed in a\nbird feeding its young with its blood, and this bird is none other than\nthe vulture. He goes on to say that the fable of the pelican doubtless\noriginated in the Patristic annotations on the Scriptures. The\necclesiastical Fathers transferred the Egyptian story from the vulture\nto the pelican, but magnified the story a hundredfold, for the blood of\nthe parent was not only supposed to serve as food for the young, but was\nalso able to reanimate the dead offspring. Augustine, commenting on\nPsalm cii. 6—“I am like a pelican of the wilderness”—remarks: “These\nbirds [male pelicans] are said to kill their offspring by blows of their\nbeaks, and then to bewail their death for the space of three days. At\nlength, however, it is said that the mother inflicts a severe wound on\nherself, pouring the flowing blood over the dead young ones, which\ninstantly brings them to life.” To the same effect write Eustathius,\nIsidorus, Epiphanius, and a host of other writers.[298]\n\n    [297] Mr. Harting, in his “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” quotes\n    an interesting correspondence from “Land and Water” (1869), on\n    the subject.\n\n    [298] See Sir Thomas Browne’s Works, 1852, vol. ii. pp. 1-4.\n\nAccording to another idea[299] pelicans are hatched dead, but the cock\npelican then wounds his breast, and lets one drop of blood fall upon\neach, and this quickens them.\n\n    [299] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 366, 367.\n\n_Pheasant._ This bird is only once alluded to, in “Winter’s Tale” (iv.\n4), where the Clown jokingly says to the Shepherd, “Advocate’s the\ncourt-word for a pheasant; say, you have none.”\n\n_Phœnix._ Many allusions are made to this fabulous bird, which is said\nto rise again from its own ashes. Thus, in “Henry VIII.” (v. 4), Cranmer\ntells how\n\n                                   “when\n    The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phœnix,\n    Her ashes new create another heir,\n    As great in admiration as herself.”\n\nAgain, in “3 Henry VI.” (i. 4), the Duke of York exclaims:\n\n    “My ashes, as the phœnix, may bring forth\n    A bird that will revenge upon you all.”\n\nOnce more, in “1 Henry VI.” (iv. 7), Sir William Lucy, speaking of\nTalbot and those slain with him, predicts that\n\n                “from their ashes shall be rear’d\n    A phœnix that shall make all France afeard.”[300]\n\n    [300] Cf. “The Tempest,” iii. 3; “All’s Well that Ends Well,”\n    i. 1; “Antony and Cleopatra,” iii. 2; “Cymbeline,” i. 6.\n\nSir Thomas Browne[301] tells us that there is but one phœnix in the\nworld, “which after many hundred years burns herself, and from the ashes\nthereof ariseth up another.” From the very earliest times there have\nbeen countless traditions respecting this wonderful bird. Thus, its\nlongevity has been estimated from three hundred to fifteen hundred\nyears; and among the various localities assigned as its home are\nEthiopia, Arabia, Egypt, and India. In “The Phœnix and Turtle,” it is\nsaid,\n\n    “Let the bird of loudest lay\n    On the sole Arabian tree,\n    Herald sad and trumpet be.”\n\n    [301] Works, 1852, vol. i. pp. 277-284.\n\nPliny says of this bird, “Howbeit, I cannot tell what to make of him;\nand first of all, whether it be a tale or no, that there is never but\none of them in the whole world, and the same not commonly seen.”\nMalone[302] quotes from Lyly’s “Euphues and his England” (p. 312, ed.\nArber): “For as there is but one phœnix in the world, so is there but\none tree in Arabia wherein she buyldeth;” and Florio’s “New Worlde of\nWordes” (1598), “Rasin, a tree in Arabia, whereof there is but one\nfound, and upon it the phœnix sits.”\n\n    [302] See Aldis Wright’s “Notes to The Tempest,” 1875, p. 129.\n\n_Pigeon._ As carriers, these birds have been used from a very early\ndate, and the Castle of the Birds, at Bagdad, takes its name from the\npigeon-post which the old monks of the convent established. The building\nhas crumbled into ruins long ago by the lapse of time, but the bird\nmessengers of Bagdad became celebrated as far westward as Greece, and\nwere a regular commercial institution between the distant parts of Asia\nMinor, Arabia, and the East.[303] In ancient Egypt, also, the carrier\nbreed was brought to great perfection, and, between the cities of the\nNile and the Red Sea, the old traders used to send word of their\ncaravans to each other by letters written on silk, and tied under the\nwings of trained doves. In “Titus Andronicus” (iv. 3) Titus, on seeing a\nclown enter with two pigeons, says:\n\n    “News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.\n    Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?”\n\n    [303] _Daily Telegraph_, January 31, 1880; see Southey’s\n    “Commonplace Book,” 1849, 2d series, p. 447.\n\nFrom the same play we also learn that it was customary to give a pair of\npigeons as a present. The Clown says to Saturninus (iv. 4), “I have\nbrought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.”[304]\n\n    [304] See _Dove_, pp. 114, 115.\n\nIn “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 3) the dove is used synonymously for pigeon,\nwhere the nurse is represented as\n\n    “Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall.”\n\nMr. Darwin, in his “Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication”\n(vol. i. pp. 204, 205), has shown that from the very earliest times\npigeons have been kept in a domesticated state. He says: “The earliest\nrecord of pigeons in a domesticated condition occurs in the fifth\nEgyptian dynasty, about 3000 B.C.; but Mr. Birch, of the British Museum,\ninforms me that the pigeon appears in a bill of fare in the previous\ndynasty. Domestic pigeons are mentioned in Genesis, Leviticus, and\nIsaiah. Pliny informs us that the Romans gave immense prices for\npigeons; ‘nay, they are come to this pass that they can reckon up their\npedigree and race.’ In India, about the year 1600, pigeons were much\nvalued by Akbar Khan; 20,000 birds were carried about with the court.”\nIn most countries, too, the breeding and taming of pigeons has been a\nfavorite recreation. The constancy of the pigeon has been proverbial\nfrom time immemorial, allusions to which occur in “Winter’s Tale” (iv.\n3), and in “As You Like It” (iii. 3).\n\n_Quail._ The quail was thought to be an amorous bird, and hence was\nmetaphorically used to denote people of a loose character.[305] In this\nsense it is generally understood in “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 1):\n“Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails.”\nMr. Harting,[306] however, thinks that the passage just quoted refers to\nthe practice formerly prevalent of keeping quails, and making them fight\nlike game-cocks. The context of the passage would seem to sanction the\nformer meaning. Quail fighting[307] is spoken of in “Antony and\nCleopatra” (ii. 3), where Antony, speaking of the superiority of Cæsar’s\nfortunes to his own, says:\n\n                “if we draw lots, he speeds;\n    His cocks do win the battle still of mine,\n    When it is all to nought; and his quails ever\n    Beat mine, inhoop’d, at odds.”\n\n    [305] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 704;\n    Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” 1866, p.\n    398; Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 345; Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol.\n    vii. p. 264.\n\n    [306] “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 218.\n\n    [307] Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876, pp. 19, 97, 677;\n    Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. pp. 59, 60.\n\nIt appears that cocks as well as quails were sometimes made to fight\nwithin a broad hoop—hence the term _inhoop’d_—to keep them from quitting\neach other. Quail-fights were well known among the ancients, and\nespecially at Athens.[308] Julius Pollux relates that a circle was made,\nin which the birds were placed, and he whose quail was driven out of\nthis circle lost the stake, which was sometimes money, and occasionally\nthe quails themselves. Another practice was to produce one of these\nbirds, which being first smitten with the middle finger, a feather was\nthen plucked from its head. If the quail bore this operation without\nflinching, his master gained the stake, but lost it if he ran away. Some\ndoubt exists as to whether quail-fighting prevailed in the time of\nShakespeare. At the present day[309] the Sumatrans practise these quail\ncombats, and this pastime is common in some parts of Italy, and also in\nChina. Mr. Douce has given a curious print, from an elegant Chinese\nminiature painting, which represents some ladies engaged at this\namusement, where the quails are actually inhooped.\n\n    [308] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 367.\n\n    [309] Marsden’s “History of Sumatra,” 1811, p. 276.\n\n_Raven._ Perhaps no bird is so universally unpopular as the raven, its\nhoarse croak, in most countries, being regarded as ominous. Hence, as\nmight be expected, Shakespeare often refers to it, in order to make the\nscene he depicts all the more vivid and graphic. In “Titus Andronicus”\n(ii. 3), Tamora, describing “a barren detested vale,” says:\n\n    “The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,\n    O’ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe:\n    Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,\n    Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven.”\n\nAnd in “Julius Cæsar” (v. 1), Cassius tells us how ravens\n\n    “Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us,\n    As we were sickly prey.”[310]\n\n    [310] Cf. “2 Henry VI.” iii. 2; “Troilus and Cressida,” v. 2.\n\nIt seems that the superstitious dread[311] attaching to this bird has\nchiefly arisen from its supposed longevity,[312] and its frequent\nmention and agency in Holy Writ. By the Romans it was consecrated to\nApollo, and was believed to have a prophetic knowledge—a notion still\nvery prevalent. Thus, its supposed faculty[313] of “smelling death”\nstill renders its presence, or even its voice, ominous. Othello (iv. 1)\nexclaims,\n\n                 “O, it comes o’er my memory,\n    As doth the raven o’er the infected house,\n    Boding to all.”\n\n    [311] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 211, 212.\n\n    [312] “English Folk-lore,” 1878, p. 78.\n\n    [313] See Hunt’s “Popular Romances of West of England,” 1881, p. 380.\n\nThere is no doubt a reference here to the fanciful notion that it was a\nconstant attendant on a house infected with the plague. Most readers,\ntoo, are familiar with that famous passage in “Macbeth” (i. 5) where\nLady Macbeth, having heard of the king’s intention to stay at the\ncastle, exclaims,\n\n                     “the raven himself is hoarse\n    That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan\n    Under my battlements. Come, you spirits\n    That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,\n    And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full\n    Of direst cruelty!”\n\nWe may compare Spenser’s language in the “Fairy Queen” (bk. ii. c. vii.\nl. 23):\n\n    “After him owles and night ravens flew,\n    The hateful messengers of heavy things,\n    Of death and dolor telling sad tidings.”\n\nAnd once more the following passage from Drayton’s “Barons’ Wars” (bk.\nv. stanza 42) illustrates the same idea:\n\n    “The ominous raven often he doth hear,\n    Whose croaking him of following horror tells.”\n\nIn “Much Ado About Nothing” (ii. 3), the “night-raven” is mentioned.\nBenedick observes to himself: “I had as lief have heard the night-raven,\ncome what plague could have come after it.” This inauspicious bird,\naccording to Steevens, is the owl; but this conjecture is evidently\nwrong, “being at variance with sundry passages in our early writers, who\nmake a distinction between it and the night-raven.”[314]\n\n    [314] Dyce’s “Glossary,” 1876, p. 288.\n\nThus Johnson, in his “Seven Champions of Christendom” (part i.), speaks\nof “the dismal cry of night-ravens, ... and the fearefull sound of\nschriek owles.” Cotgrave regarded the “night-crow” and the “night-raven”\nas synonymous; and Mr. Yarrell considered them only different names for\nthe night-heron.[315] In “3 Henry VI.” (v. 6) King Henry says:\n\n    “The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time.”\n\n    [315] See Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” pp. 101, 102;\n    Yarrell’s “History of British Birds,” vol. ii. p. 581.\n\nGoldsmith, in his “Animated Nature,” calls the bittern the night-raven,\nand says: “I remember, in the place where I was a boy, with what terror\nthe bird’s note affected the whole village; they consider it as the\npresage of some sad event, and generally found or made one to succeed\nit. If any person in the neighborhood died, they supposed it could not\nbe otherwise, for the night-raven had foretold it; but if nobody\nhappened to die, the death of a cow or a sheep gave completion to the\nprophecy.”\n\nAccording to an old belief the raven deserts its own young, to which\nShakespeare alludes in “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 3):\n\n    “Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,\n    The whilst their own birds famish in their nests.”\n\n“It was supposed that when the raven,” says Mr. Harting,[316] “saw its\nyoung ones newly hatched and covered with down, it conceived such an\naversion that it forsook them, and did not return to the nest until a\ndarker plumage had shown itself.” To this belief the commentators\nconsider the Psalmist refers, when he says, “He giveth to the beast his\nfood, and to the young ravens which cry” (Psalm cxlvii. 9). We are told,\ntoo, in Job, “Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones\ncry unto God, they wander for lack of meat” (xxxviii. 41). Shakespeare,\nin “As You Like It” (ii. 3), probably had the words of the Psalmist in\nhis mind:\n\n              “He that doth the ravens feed,\n    Yea, providently caters for the sparrow.”\n\n    [316] “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 107.\n\nThe raven has from earliest times been symbolical of blackness, both in\nconnection with color and character. In “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 2),\nJuliet exclaims:\n\n    “O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!\n    Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?\n    Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!\n    Dove-feather’d raven!”[317]\n\n    [317] Cf. “Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” ii. 2; “Twelfth Night,” v. 1.\n\nOnce more, ravens’ feathers were formerly used by witches, from an old\nsuperstition that the wings of this bird carried with them contagion\nwherever they went. Hence, in “The Tempest” (i. 2), Caliban says:\n\n    “As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d\n    With raven’s feather from unwholesome fen\n    Drop on you both!”\n\n_Robin Redbreast._ According to a pretty notion,[318] this little bird\nis said to cover with leaves any dead body it may chance to find\nunburied; a belief which probably, in a great measure, originated in the\nwell-known ballad of the “Children in the Wood,” although it seems to\nhave been known previously. Thus Singer quotes as follows from\n“Cornucopia, or Divers Secrets,” etc. (by Thomas Johnson, 1596): “The\nrobin redbreast, if he finds a man or woman dead, will cover all his\nface with moss; and some think that if the body should remain unburied\nthat he would cover the whole body also.” In Dekker’s “Villaines\nDiscovered by Lanthorn and Candlelight” (1616), quoted by Douce, it is\nsaid, “They that cheere up a prisoner but with their sight, are robin\nredbreasts that bring strawes in their bills to cover a dead man in\nextremitie.” Shakespeare, in a beautiful passage in “Cymbeline” (iv. 2),\nthus touchingly alludes to it, making Arviragus, when addressing the\nsupposed dead body of Imogen, say:\n\n                              “With fairest flowers,\n    Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,\n    I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack\n    The flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose, nor\n    The azured harebell, like thy veins; no, nor\n    The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander\n    Out-sweeten’d not thy breath: the ruddock would,\n    With charitable bill,—O bill, sore-shaming\n    Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie\n    Without a monument!—bring thee all this;\n    Yea, and furr’d moss besides, when flowers are none\n    To winter-ground thy corse”—\n\nthe “ruddock”[319] being one of the old names for the redbreast, which\nis nowadays found in some localities. John Webster, also, refers to the\nsame idea in “The White Devil” (1857, ed. Dyce, p. 45):\n\n    “Call for the robin redbreast and the wren\n      Since o’er shady groves they hover,\n      And with leaves and flowers do cover\n    The friendless bodies of unburied men.”\n\n    [318] “English Folk-Lore,” pp. 62-64; Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,”\n    1849, vol. iii. p. 191; Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. x. p. 424;\n    Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 380.\n\n    [319] Cf. Spenser’s “Epithalamium,” v. 8:\n\n        “The thrush replies, the mavis descant plays,\n        The ouzell shrills, the ruddock warbles soft.”\n\nDrayton, too, in “The Owl,” has the following lines:\n\n    “Cov’ring with moss the dead’s unclosed eye,\n    The little redbreast teaching charitie.”\n\n_Rook._ As an ominous bird this is mentioned in “Macbeth” (iii. 4).\nFormerly the nobles of England prided themselves in having a\nrookery[320] in the neighborhood of their castles, because rooks were\nregarded as “fowls of good omen.” On this account no one was permitted\nto kill them, under severe penalties. When rooks desert a rookery[321]\nit is said to foretell the downfall of the family on whose property it\nis. A Northumbrian saying informs us that the rooks left the rookery of\nChipchase before the family of Reed left that place. There is also a\nnotion that when rooks haunt a town or village “mortality is supposed to\nawait its inhabitants, and if they feed in the street it shows that a\nstorm is at hand.”[322]\n\n    [320] _Standard_, January 26, 1877.\n\n    [321] “English Folk-Lore,” p. 76.\n\n    [322] Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” 1879, p. 122.\n\nThe expression “bully-rook,” in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 3), in\nShakespeare’s time, says Mr. Harting,[323] had the same meaning as\n“jolly dog” nowadays; but subsequently it became a term of reproach,\nmeaning a cheating sharper. It has been suggested that the term derives\nits origin from the _rook_ in the game of chess; but Douce[324]\nconsiders it very improbable that this noble game, “never the amusement\nof gamblers, should have been ransacked on this occasion.”\n\n    [323] “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” p. 121.\n\n    [324] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 36; the term\n    “bully-rook” occurs several times in Shadwell’s “Sullen\n    Lovers;” see Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 58.\n\n_Snipe._ This bird was in Shakespeare’s time proverbial for a foolish\nman.[325] In “Othello” (i. 3), Iago, speaking of Roderigo, says:\n\n    “For I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane,\n    If I would time expend with such a snipe,\n    But for my sport and profit.”\n\n    [325] In Northamptonshire the word denotes an icicle, from its\n    resemblance to the long bill of the bird so-called.—Baker’s\n    “Northamptonshire Glossary,” 1854, vol. ii. p. 260.\n\n_Sparrow._ A popular name for the common sparrow was, and still is,\nPhilip, perhaps from its note, “Phip, phip.” Hence the allusion to a\nperson named Philip, in “King John” (i. 1):\n\n    _Gurney._ Good leave, good Philip.\n\n    _Bastard._                          Philip?—sparrow!\n\nStaunton says perhaps Catullus alludes to this expression in the\nfollowing lines:\n\n    “Sed circumsiliens, modo huc, modo illuc,\n    Ad solam dominam usque pipilabat.”\n\nSkelton, in an elegy upon a sparrow, calls it “Phyllyp Sparowe;” and\nGascoigne also writes “The praise of Philip Sparrow.”\n\nIn “Measure for Measure” (iii. 2), Lucio, speaking of Angelo, the\ndeputy-duke of Vienna, says: “Sparrows must not build in his\nhouse-eaves, because they are lecherous.”[326]\n\n    [326] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 653; Dyce’s\n    “Glossary,” p. 320.\n\n_Sparrow-hawk._ A name formerly given to a young sparrow-hawk was\neyas-musket,[327] a term we find in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iii. 3):\n“How now, my eyas-musket! what news with you?” It was thus\nmetaphorically used as a jocular phrase for a small child. As the\ninvention, too, of fire-arms took place[328] at a time when hawking was\nin high fashion, some of the new weapons were named after those birds,\nprobably from the idea of their fetching their prey from on high.\n_Musket_ has thus become the established name for one sort of gun. Some,\nhowever, assert that the musket was invented in the fifteenth century,\nand owes its name to its inventors.\n\n    [327] Derived from the French _mouschet_, of the same meaning.\n\n    [328] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 593: Douce’s\n    “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 46. Turbervile tells\n    us “the first name and terme that they bestowe on a falcon is\n    an eyesse, and this name doth laste as long as she is an eyrie\n    and for that she is taken from the eyrie.”\n\n_Starling._ This was one of the birds that was in days gone by trained\nto speak. In “1 Henry IV.” (i. 3), Hotspur says:\n\n       “I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak\n    Nothing but ‘Mortimer,’ and give it him,\n    To keep his anger still in motion.”\n\nPliny tells us how starlings were taught to utter both Latin and Greek\nwords for the amusement of the young Cæsars; and there are numerous\ninstances on record of the clever sentences uttered by this amusing\nbird.\n\n_Swallow._ This bird has generally been honored as the harbinger of\nspring, and Athenæus relates that the Rhodians had a solemn song to\nwelcome it. Anacreon has a well-known ode. Shakespeare, in the “Winter’s\nTale” (iv. 3), alludes to the time of the swallow’s appearance in the\nfollowing passage:\n\n                           “daffodils,\n    That come before the swallow dares, and take\n    The winds of March with beauty.”\n\nAnd its departure is mentioned in “Timon of Athens” (iii. 6): “The\nswallow follows not summer more willing than we your lordship.”\n\nWe may compare Tennyson’s notice of the bird’s approach and migration in\n“The May Queen:”\n\n    “And the swallow ’ll come back again with summer o’er the wave.”\n\nIt has been long considered lucky for the swallow to build its nest on\nthe roof of a house, but just as unlucky for it to forsake a place which\nit has once tenanted. Shakespeare probably had this superstition in his\nmind when he represents Scarus as saying, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv.\n12):\n\n                          “Swallows have built\n    In Cleopatra’s sails their nests: the augurers\n    Say, they know not,—they cannot tell;—look grimly,\n    And dare not speak their knowledge.”\n\n_Swan._ According to a romantic notion, dating from antiquity, the swan\nis said to sing sweetly just before its death, many pretty allusions to\nwhich we find scattered here and there throughout Shakespeare’s plays.\nIn “Merchant of Venice” (iii. 2), Portia says:\n\n                   “he makes a swan-like end,\n    Fading in music.”\n\nEmilia, too, in “Othello” (v. 2), just before she dies, exclaims:\n\n                      “I will play the swan,\n    And die in music.”\n\nIn “King John” (v. 7), Prince Henry, at his father’s death-bed, thus\npathetically speaks:\n\n        “’Tis strange that death should sing.\n    I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,\n    Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,\n    And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings\n    His soul and body to their lasting rest.”\n\nAgain, in “Lucrece” (1611), we have these touching lines:\n\n    “And now this pale swan in her watery nest,\n    Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending.”\n\nAnd once more, in “The Phœnix and Turtle:”\n\n    “Let the priest in surplice white,\n    That defunctive music can,\n    Be the death-divining swan,\n    Lest the requiem lack his right.”\n\nThis superstition, says Douce,[329] “was credited by Plato, Chrysippus,\nAristotle, Euripides, Philostratus, Cicero, Seneca, and Martial. Pliny,\nÆlian, and Athenæus, among the ancients, and Sir Thomas More, among the\nmoderns, treat this opinion as a vulgar error. Luther believed in it.”\nThis notion probably originated in the swan being identified with\nOrpheus. Sir Thomas Browne[330] says, we read that, “after his death,\nOrpheus, the musician, became a swan. Thus was it the bird of Apollo,\nthe bird of music by the Greeks.” Alluding to this piece of folk-lore,\nCarl Engel[331] remarks: “Although our common swan does not produce\nsounds which might account for this tradition, it is a well-known fact\nthat the wild swan (_Cygnus ferus_), also called the ‘whistling swan,’\nwhen on the wing emits a shrill tone, which, however harsh it may sound\nif heard near, produces a pleasant effect when, emanating from a large\nflock high in the air, it is heard in a variety of pitches of sound,\nincreasing or diminishing in loudness according to the movement of the\nbirds and to the current of the air.” Colonel Hawker[332] says, “The\nonly note which I ever heard the wild swan make, in winter, is his\nwell-known ‘whoop.’”[333]\n\n    [329] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 161.\n\n    [330] Works, 1852, vol. i. p. 357.\n\n    [331] “Musical Myths and Facts,” 1876, vol. i. p. 89.\n\n    [332] “Instructions to Young Sportsmen,” 11th ed., p. 269.\n\n    [333] See Baring-Gould’s “Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,”\n    1877, p. 561; Thorpe’s “Northern Mythology,” 1852, vol. iii.\n    pp. 302-328.\n\n_Tassel-Gentle._[334] The male of the goshawk was so called on account\nof its tractable disposition, and the facility with which it was tamed.\nThe word occurs in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 2):\n\n                “O, for a falconer’s voice\n    To lure this tassel-gentle back again!”\n\n    [334] Properly “tiercel gentle,” French, _tiercelet_; cf.\n    “Troilus and Cressida,” iii. 2, “the falcon as the tercel.”\n\nSpenser, in his “Fairy Queen” (bk. iii. c. iv. l. 49), says:\n\n    “Having far off espied a tassel-gent\n    Which after her his nimble wings doth straine.”\n\nThis species of hawk was also commonly called a “falcon-gentle,” on\naccount of “her familiar, courteous disposition.”[335]\n\n    [335] “Gentleman’s Recreation,” p. 19, quoted in Nares’s\n    “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 867.\n\n_Turkey._ This bird, so popular with us at Christmas-tide, is mentioned\nin “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 1), where the First Carrier says: “God’s body! the\nturkeys in my pannier are quite starved.” This, however, is an\nanachronism on the part of Shakespeare, as the turkey was unknown in\nthis country until the reign of Henry VIII. According to a rhyme written\nin 1525, commemorating the introduction of this bird, we are told how:\n\n    “Turkies, carps, hoppes, piccarell, and beere,\n    Came into England all in one yeare.”\n\nThe turkey is again mentioned by Shakespeare in “Twelfth Night” (ii. 5),\nwhere Fabian says of Malvolio: “Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock\nof him: how he jets under his advanced plumes!”\n\n_Vulture._ In several passages Shakespeare has most forcibly introduced\nthis bird to deepen the beauty of some of his exquisite passages. Thus,\nin “King Lear” (ii. 4), when he is complaining of the unkindness of a\ndaughter, he bitterly exclaims:\n\n                        “O Regan, she hath tied\n    Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here.”\n\nWhat, too, can be more graphic than the expression of Tamora in “Titus\nAndronicus” (v. 2):\n\n    “I am Revenge, sent from the infernal kingdom,\n    To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind.”\n\nEqually forcible, too, are Pistol’s words in “The Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (i. 3): “Let vultures gripe thy guts.”\n\nJohnson considers that “the vulture of sedition” in “2 Henry VI.” (iv.\n3) is in allusion to the tale of Prometheus, but of this there is a\ndecided uncertainty.\n\n_Wagtail._ In “King Lear” (ii. 2), Kent says, “Spare my grey beard, you\nwagtail?” the word being used in an opprobrious sense, to signify an\nofficious person.\n\n_Woodcock._ In several passages this bird is used to denote a fool or\nsilly person; as in “Taming of the Shrew” (i. 2): “O this woodcock! what\nan ass it is!” And again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (v. 1), where\nClaudio, alluding to the plot against Benedick, says: “Shall I not find\na woodcock too?” In “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 3) Biron says:\n\n                        “O heavens, I have my wish!\n    Dumain transformed: four woodcocks in a dish.”\n\nThe woodcock has generally been proverbial as a foolish bird—perhaps\nbecause it is easily caught in springes or nets.[336] Thus the popular\nphrase “Springes to catch woodcocks” meant arts to entrap\nsimplicity,[337] as in “Hamlet” (i. 3):\n\n    “Aye, springes to catch woodcocks.”\n\n    [336] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 508.\n\n    [337] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 971.\n\nA similar expression occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Loyal Subject”\n(iv. 4):\n\n                “Go like a woodcock,\n    And thrust your neck i’ th’ noose.”\n\n“It seems,” says Nares, “that woodcocks are now grown wiser by time, for\nwe do not now hear of their being so easily caught. If they were\nsometimes said to be without brains, it was only founded on their\ncharacter, certainly not on any examination of the fact.”[338] Formerly,\none of the terms for twilight[339] was “cock-shut time,” because the net\nin which cocks, _i. e._, woodcocks, were shut in during the twilight,\nwas called a “cock-shut.” It appears that a large net was stretched\nacross a glade, and so suspended upon poles as to be easily drawn\ntogether. Thus, in “Richard III.” (v. 3), Ratcliff says:\n\n    “Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,\n    Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop,\n    Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.”\n\n    [338] See Willughby’s “Ornithology,” iii. section 1.\n\n    [339] Minsheu’s “Guide into Tongues,” ed. 1617.\n\nIn Ben Jonson’s “Masque of Gypsies” we read:\n\n    “Mistress, this is only spite;\n    For you would not yesternight\n    Kiss him in the cock-shut light.”\n\nSometimes it was erroneously written “cock-shoot.” “Come, come away\nthen, a fine cock-shoot evening.” In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (iv. 1) we\nfind the term “cock-light.”\n\n_Wren._ The diminutive character of this bird is noticed in “A\nMidsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1, song):\n\n    “The wren with little quill.”\n\nIn “Macbeth” (iv. 2), Lady Macbeth says:\n\n                        “the poor wren,\n    The most diminutive of birds, will fight,\n    Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.”\n\nConsidering, too, that as many as sixteen young ones have been found in\nthis little bird’s nest, we can say with Grahame, in his poem on the\nbirds of Scotland:\n\n    “But now behold the greatest of this train\n    Of miracles, stupendously minute;\n    The numerous progeny, claimant for food\n    Supplied by two small bills, and feeble wings\n    Of narrow range, supplied—ay, duly fed—\n    Fed in the dark, and yet not one forgot.”\n\nThe epithet “poor,” applied to the wren by Lady Macbeth, was certainly\nappropriate in days gone by, when we recollect how it was cruelly hunted\nin Ireland on St. Stephen’s day—a practice which prevailed also in the\nIsle of Man.[340]\n\n    [340] See Yarrell’s “History of British Birds,” vol. ii. p. 178.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nANIMALS.\n\n\nAs in the case of the birds considered in the previous chapter,\nShakespeare has also interwoven throughout his plays an immense deal of\ncurious folk-lore connected with animals. Not only does he allude with\nthe accuracy of a naturalist to the peculiarities and habits of certain\nanimals, but so true to nature is he in his graphic descriptions of them\nthat it is evident his knowledge was in a great measure acquired from\nhis own observation. It is interesting, also, to note how carefully he\nhas, here and there, worked into his narrative some old proverb or\nsuperstition, thereby adding a freshness to the picture which has, if\npossible, imbued it with an additional lustre. In speaking of the dog,\nhe has introduced many an old hunting custom, and his references to the\ntears of the deer are full of sweet pathos, as, for instance, where\nHamlet says (iii. 2), “Let the stricken deer go weep.” It is not\nnecessary, however, to add further illustrations, as these will be found\nin the following pages.\n\n_Ape._ In addition to Shakespeare’s mention of this animal as a common\nterm of contempt, there are several other allusions to it. There is the\nwell-known phrase, “to lead apes in hell,” applied to old maids,\nmentioned in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1)—the meaning of this term\nnot having been yet satisfactorily explained.[341] (It is further\ndiscussed in the chapter on Marriage.)\n\n    [341] See page 165.\n\nIn “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), the word is used as a term of endearment,\n“Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat’st.”\n\n_Ass._ Beyond the proverbial use of this much ill-treated animal to\ndenote a silly, foolish person, Shakespeare has said little about it.\nIn “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), Thersites uses the word _assinego_, a\nPortuguese expression for a young ass, “Thou hast no more brain than I\nhave in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee.” It is used by Beaumont\nand Fletcher in the “Scornful Lady” (v. 4): “All this would be forsworn,\nand I again an assinego, as your sister left me.”[342] Dyce[343] would\nspell the word “asinico,” because it is so spelled in the old editions\nof Shakespeare, and is more in accordance with the Spanish word.[344] In\n“King Lear” (i. 4), the Fool alludes to Æsop’s celebrated fable of the\nold man and his ass: “thou borest thine ass on thy back o’er the dirt.”\n\n    [342] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 38.\n\n    [343] “Glossary to Shakespeare,” 1876, p. 20.\n\n    [344] “Asinico, a little ass,” Connelly’s “Spanish and English\n    Dictionary,” Madrid, 4to.\n\n_Bat._ The bat, immortalized by Shakespeare (“The Tempest,” v. 1) as the\n“delicate Ariel’s” steed—\n\n    “On the bat’s back I do fly,”\n\n—has generally been an object of superstitious dread, and proved to the\npoet and painter a fertile source of images of gloom and terror.[345] In\nScotland[346] it is still connected with witchcraft, and if, while\nflying, it rise and then descend again earthwards, it is a sign that the\nwitches’ hour is come—the hour in which they are supposed to have power\nover every human being who is not specially shielded from their\ninfluence. Thus, in “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the “wool of bat” forms an\ningredient in the witches’ caldron. One of its popular names is\n“rere-mouse,” which occurs in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 2), where\nTitania says:\n\n    “Some, war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,\n    To make my small elves coats.”\n\n    [345] “English Folk-Lore,” p. 115; cf. “Macbeth,” iii. 2.\n\n    [346] Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” 1879, pp.\n    125, 126.\n\nThis term is equivalent to the Anglo-Saxon, _hrére-mús_, from _hreran_,\nto stir, agitate, and so the same as the old name “flitter-mouse.”[347]\nThe early copies spell the word _reremise_.[348] It occurs in the\nWicliffite version of Leviticus xi. 19, and the plural in the form\n“reremees” or “rere-myis” is found in Isaiah ii. 20. At Polperro,\nCornwall,[349] the village boys call it “airy-mouse,” and address it in\nthe following rhyme:\n\n    “Airy mouse, airy mouse! fly over my head,\n    And you shall have a crust of bread;\n    And when I brew, and when I bake,\n    You shall have a piece of my wedding-cake.”\n\n    [347] It has been speciously derived from the English word\n    _rear_, in the sense of being able to raise itself in the air,\n    but this is erroneous. Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 726.\n\n    [348] Aldis Wright’s “Notes to A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,”\n    1877, p. 101.\n\n    [349] “Folk-Lore Record,” 1879, p. 201.\n\nIn Scotland[350] it is known as the Backe or Bakie bird. An immense deal\nof folk-lore has clustered round this curious little animal.[351]\n\n    [350] Jamieson’s “Scottish Dictionary,” 1879, vol. i p. 106.\n\n    [351] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 189;\n    Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” 1871, pp. 13, 14.\n\n_Bear._ According to an old idea, the bear brings forth unformed lumps\nof animated flesh, and then licks them into shape—a vulgar error,\nreferred to in “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 2), where Gloster, bemoaning his\ndeformity, says of his mother:\n\n    “She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,\n\n\n    To disproportion me in every part,\n    Like to a chaos, or an unlick’d bear-whelp,\n    That carries no impression like the dam.”\n\nThis erroneous notion, however, was long ago confuted by Sir Thomas\nBrowne.[352] Alexander Ross, in his “Arcana Microcosmi,” nevertheless\naffirms that bears bring forth their young deformed and misshapen, by\nreason of the thick membrane in which they are wrapped, that is covered\nover with a mucous matter. This, he says, the dam contracts in the\nwinter-time, by lying in hollow caves without motion, so that to the\neye the cub appears like an unformed lump. The above mucilage is\nafterwards licked away by the dam, and the membrane broken, whereby that\nwhich before seemed to be unformed appears now in its right shape. This,\nhe contends, is all that the ancients meant.[353] Ovid (Metamorphoses,\nbk. xv. l. 379) thus describes this once popular fancy:\n\n    “Nec catulus, partu quem reddidit ursa recenti,\n    Sed male viva caro est: lambendo mater in artus\n    Fingit, et in formam, quantam capit ipsa, reducit.”\n\n    [352] “Vulgar Errors,” 1852, vol. i. p. 247.\n\n    [353] See Bartholomæus, “De Proprietate Rerum,” lib. xviii. c.\n    112; Aristotle, “History of Animals,” lib. vi. c. 31; Pliny’s\n    “Natural History,” lib. viii. c. 54.\n\nBears, in days gone by, are reported to have been surprised by means of\na mirror, which they would gaze on, affording their pursuers an\nopportunity of taking the surer aim. In “Julius Cæsar” (ii. I), this\npractice is mentioned by Decius:\n\n      “unicorns may be betray’d with trees,\n    And bears with glasses.”[354]\n\n    [354] Steevens on this passage.\n\nBatman, “On Bartholomæus” (1582), speaking of the bear, says, “And when\nhe is taken he is made blinde with a bright basin, and bound with\nchaynes, and compelled to playe.” This, however, says Mr. Aldis\nWright,[355] probably refers to the actual blinding of the bear.\n\n    [355] “Notes on Julius Cæsar,” 1878, p. 134.\n\nA favorite amusement with our ancestors was bear-baiting. As early as\nthe reign of Henry II. the baiting of bears by dogs was a popular game\nin London,[356] while at a later period “a royal bear-ward” was an\nofficer regularly attached to the royal household. In “2 Henry VI.” (v.\n1), this personage is alluded to by Clifford, who says:\n\n    “Are these thy bears? We’ll bait thy bears to death,\n    And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,\n    If thou dar’st bring them to the baiting place.”\n\n    [356] “Notices Illustrative of the Drama and other Popular\n    Amusements,” incidentally illustrating Shakespeare and his\n    contemporaries, extracted from the MSS. of Leicester, by W.\n    Kelly, 1865, p. 152.\n\nAnd again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (ii. 1), Beatrice says, “I will\neven take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward, and lead his apes into\nhell.” The synonymous term, “bear-herd,” occurs in “Taming of the Shrew”\n(Ind. scene 2), where Sly speaks of himself as “by transmutation a\nbear-herd;” and in “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2), Sir John Falstaff remarks how\n“true valor is turned bear-herd.” Among the Harleian MSS.[357] is\npreserved the original warrant of Richard III. appointing John Brown to\nthis office, and which recites “the diligent service he had done the\nking” as the ground for granting him the privilege of wandering about\nthe country with his bears and apes, and receiving the “loving\nbenevolence and favors of the people.”[358] In the time of Queen\nElizabeth bear-baiting was still a favorite pastime, being considered a\nfashionable entertainment for ladies of the highest rank.[359] James I.\nencouraged this sport. Nichols[360] informs us that on one occasion the\nking, accompanied by his court, took the queen, the Princess Elizabeth,\nand the two young princes to the Tower to witness a fight between a lion\nand a bear, and by the king’s command the bear (which had killed a child\nthat had been negligently left in the bear-house) was afterwards “baited\nto death upon a stage in the presence of many spectators.” Popular, says\nMr. Kelly, as bear-baiting was in the metropolis and at court, it was\nequally so among all classes of the people.[361] It is on record that at\nCongleton, in Cheshire, “the town-bear having died, the corporation in\n1601 gave orders to sell their Bible, in order to purchase another,\nwhich was done, and the town no longer without a bear.” This event is\nkept up in a popular rhyme:\n\n    “Congleton rare, Congleton rare,\n    Sold the Bible to pay for a bear.”\n\n    [357] No. 433. The document is given at length in Collier’s\n    “Annals of the Stage,” vol. i. p. 35, note.\n\n    [358] Kelly’s “Notices of Leicester,” p. 152.\n\n    [359] Wright’s “Domestic Manners,” p. 304.\n\n    [360] “Progresses and Processions,” vol. ii. p. 259.\n\n    [361] About 1760 it was customary to have a bear baited at the\n    election of the mayor. Corry, “History of Liverpool,” 1810, p.\n    93.\n\nThe same legend attaches to Clifton, a village near Rugby:\n\n    “Clifton-upon-Dunsmore, in Warwickshire,\n    Sold the Church Bible to buy a bear.”\n\nIn Pulleyn’s “Etymological Compendium,”[362] we are told that “this\ncruel amusement is of African origin, and was introduced into Europe by\nthe Romans.” It is further alluded to by Shakespeare in “Twelfth Night”\n(i. 3), “dancing and bear-baiting;” and further on in the same play (ii.\n5) Fabian says, “he brought me out o’ favor with my lady about a\nbear-baiting here;” and Macbeth (v. 7) relates:\n\n    “They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,\n    But, bear-like, I must fight the course.”[363]\n\n    [362] Edited by M. A. Thorns, 1853, p. 170.\n\n    [363] For further information on this subject consult Strutt’s\n    “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876; Kelly’s “Notices of Leicester,”\n    pp. 152-159.\n\nAnd in “Julius Cæsar” (iv. 1), Octavius says:\n\n                        “we are at the stake,\n    And bay’d about with many enemies.”\n\n_Boar._ It appears that in former times boar-hunting was a favorite\nrecreation; many allusions to which we find in old writers. Indeed, in\nthe Middle Ages, the destruction of a wild boar ranked among the deeds\nof chivalry,[364] and “won for a warrior almost as much renown as the\nslaying an enemy in the open field.” So dangerous, too, was boar-hunting\nconsidered, that Shakespeare represents Venus as dissuading Adonis from\nthe perilous practice:\n\n    “‘O be advised! thou know’st not what it is,\n    With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,\n      Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,\n      Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.\n\n\n    His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm’d,\n    Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;\n    His short thick neck cannot be easily harm’d;\n    Being ireful, on the lion he will venture.’”\n\n    [364] Chambers’s “Book of Days,” 1864, vol. ii. pp. 518, 519.\n\nSuch hunting expeditions were generally fatal to some of the dogs, and\noccasionally to one or more of the hunters. An old tradition of Grimsby,\nin Lincolnshire,[365] asserts that every burgess, at his admission to\nthe freedom of the borough, anciently presented to the mayor a boar’s\nhead, or an equivalent in money, when the animal could not be procured.\nThe old seal of the mayor of Grimsby represents a boar hunt. The lord,\ntoo, of the adjacent manor of Bradley, was obliged by his tenure to keep\na supply of these animals in his wood, for the entertainment of the\nmayor and burgesses.[366] A curious triennial custom called the “Rhyne\nToll,” is observed at Chetwode, a small village about five miles from\nBuckingham.[367] According to tradition, it originated in the\ndestruction of an enormous wild boar—the terror of the surrounding\ncounty—by one of the lords of Chetwode; who, after fighting with it for\nfour hours on a hot summer’s day, eventually killed it:\n\n    “Then Sir Ryalas he drawed his broad sword with might,\n      Wind well thy horn, good hunter;\n    And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite,\n      For he was a jovial hunter.”\n\n    [365] Hampson’s “Œvi Medii Kalendarium,” vol. i. p. 96.\n\n    [366] See _Gentleman’s Magazine_, vol. xcviii. pp. 401, 402.\n\n    [367] See “Book of Days,” vol. ii. pp. 517-519.\n\nAs a reward, it is said, the king “granted to him and to his heirs\nforever, among other immunities and privileges, the full right to levy\nevery year the Rhyne Toll.” This is still kept up, and consists of a\nyearly tax on all cattle found within the manor of Chetwode between the\n30th of October and the 7th of November, inclusive. In “Antony and\nCleopatra” (iv. 13) Cleopatra alludes to the famous boar killed by\nMeleager,\n\n             “the boar of Thessaly\n    Was never so emboss’d.”[368]\n\n    [368] “Embossed” is a hunting term, properly applied to a deer\n    when foaming at the mouth from fatigue, see p. 179; also Dyce’s\n    “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 142; see Nares’s “Glossary,” vol.\n    i. p. 275.\n\n_Bull._ Once upon a time there was scarcely a town or village of any\nmagnitude which had not its bull-ring.[369] Indeed, it was not until the\nyear 1835 that baiting was finally put down by an act of Parliament,\n“forbidding the keeping of any house, pit, or other place for baiting or\nfighting any bull, bear, dog, or other animal;” and, after an existence\nof at least seven centuries, this ceased to rank among the amusements of\nthe English people.[370] This sport is alluded to in “Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (v. 5), “Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa.” We\nmay, too, compare the expressions in “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 7),\n“Now, bull, now, dog!... The bull has the game.”[371]\n\n    [369] Wright’s “Domestic Manners,” p. 304; see Strutt’s “Sports\n    and Pastimes;” Smith’s “Festivals, Games, and Amusements,”\n    1831, pp. 192-229.\n\n    [370] “Book of Days,” vol. ii. p. 59.\n\n    [371] Cf. “2 Henry IV.” ii. 2, “the town-bull.”\n\n_Cat._ Few animals, in times past, have been more esteemed than the cat,\nor been honored with a wider folk-lore. Indeed, among the Egyptians this\nfavored animal was held sacred to Isis, or the moon, and worshipped with\ngreat ceremony. In the mythology of all the Indo-European nations the\ncat holds a prominent place; and its connection with witches is well\nknown. “The picture of a witch,” says Mr. Henderson,[372] “is incomplete\nwithout her cat, by rights a black one.” In “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the first\nwitch says:\n\n    “Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d”—\n\nit being a common superstition that the form most generally assumed by\nthe familiar spirits of witches was the cat. Thus, in another passage of\nthe same play (i. 1), the first witch says: “I come, Graymalkin”—the\nword otherwise spelled Grimalkin,[373] meaning a gray cat. Numerous\nstories are on record of witches having disguised themselves as cats,\nin order to carry out their fiendish designs. A woodman out working in\nthe forest has his dinner every day stolen by a cat. Exasperated at the\ncontinued repetition of the theft, he lies in wait for the aggressor,\nand succeeds in cutting off her paw, when lo! on his return home he\nfinds his wife minus a hand.[374] An honest Yorkshireman,[375] who bred\npigs, often lost the young ones. On applying to a certain wise man of\nStokesley, he was informed that they were bewitched by an old woman who\nlived near. The owner of the pigs, calling to mind that he had often\nseen a cat prowling about his yard, decided that this was the old woman\nin disguise. He watched for her, and, as soon as she made her\nappearance, flung at her a poker with all his might. The cat\ndisappeared, and, curiously enough, the poor old woman in question that\nnight fell and broke her leg. This was considered as conclusive that she\nwas the witch that had simulated the form of a cat. This notion is very\nprevalent on the Continent. It is said that witch-cats have a great\nhankering after beer.[376] Witches are adepts in the art of brewing, and\ntherefore fond of tasting what their neighbors brew. On these occasions\nthey always masquerade as cats, and what they steal they consume on the\nspot. There was a countryman whose beer was all drunk up by night\nwhenever he brewed, so that at last he resolved for once to sit up all\nnight and watch. As he was standing by his brewing pan, a number of cats\nmade their appearance, and calling to them, he said; “Come, puss, puss,\ncome, warm you a bit.” So in a ring they all sat round the fire as if to\nwarm themselves. After a time, he asked them “if the water was hot.”\n“Just on the boil,” said they; and as he spoke he dipped his\nlong-handled pail in the wort, and soused the whole company with it.\nThey all vanished at once, but on the following day his wife had a\nterribly scalded face, and then he knew who it was that had always drunk\nhis beer. This story is widely prevalent, and is current among the\nFlemish-speaking natives of Belgium. Again, a North German\ntradition[377] tells us of a peasant who had three beautiful large cats.\nA neighbor begged to have one of them, and obtained it. To accustom it\nto the place, he shut it up in the loft. At night, the cat, popping its\nhead through the window, said, “What shall I bring to-night?” “Thou\nshalt bring mice,” answered the man. The cat then set to work, and cast\nall it caught on the floor. Next morning the place was so full of dead\nmice that it was hardly possible to open the door, and the man was\nemployed the whole day in throwing them away by bushels. At night the\ncat again asked, “What shall I bring to-night?” “Thou shalt bring rye,”\nanswered the peasant. The cat was now busily employed in shooting down\nrye, so that in the morning the door could not be opened. The man then\ndiscovered that the cat was a witch, and carried it back to his\nneighbor. A similar tradition occurs in Scandinavian mythology.[378]\nSpranger[379] relates that a laborer, on one occasion, was attacked by\nthree young ladies in the form of cats, and that they were wounded by\nhim. On the following day they were found bleeding in their beds. In\nVernon,[380] about the year 1566, “the witches and warlocks gathered in\ngreat multitudes under the shape of cats. Four or five men were attacked\nin a lone place by a number of these beasts. The men stood their ground,\nand succeeded in slaying one cat and wounding many others. Next day a\nnumber of wounded women were found in the town, and they gave the judge\nan accurate account of all the circumstances connected with their\nwounding.” It is only natural, then, that Shakespeare, in his\ndescription of the witches in “Macbeth,” should have associated them\nwith the popular superstition which represents the cat as their agent—a\nnotion that no doubt originated in the classic story of Galanthis being\nturned into a cat, and becoming, through the compassion of Hecate, her\npriestess. From their supposed connection with witchcraft, cats were\nformerly often tormented by the ignorant vulgar. Thus it appears[381]\nthat, in days gone by, they (occasionally fictitious ones) were hung up\nin baskets and shot at with arrows. In some counties, too, they were\nenclosed, with a quantity of soot, in wooden bottles suspended on a\nline, and he who could beat out the bottom of the bottle as he ran under\nit, and yet escape its contents, was the hero of the sport.[382]\nShakespeare alludes to this practice in “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1),\nwhere Benedick says: “Hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me.”\n\n    [372] “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” p. 267; Brand’s “Pop.\n    Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 7.\n\n    [373] Malkin is a diminutive of “Mary;” “Maukin,” the same\n    word, is still used in Scotland for a hare. “Notes to Macbeth,”\n    by Clark and Wright, 1877, p. 75.\n\n    [374] Sternberg’s “Dialect and Folk-Lore of Northamptonshire,”\n    1851, p. 148.\n\n    [375] Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties” 1879, p. 206.\n\n    [376] Kelly’s “Indo-European Folk-Lore,” 1863, p. 238.\n\n    [377] Thorpe’s “Northern Mythology,” 1851, vol. iii. p. 32.\n\n    [378] Ibid., vol. ii. p. 32; vol. iii. pp. 26-236.\n\n    [379] See Baring-Gould’s “Book of Werewolves,” 1869, p. 65.\n\n    [380] Ibid., p. 66.\n\n    [381] Dyce’s “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 70.\n\n    [382] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 39; also\n    Wright’s “Essays on the Superstitions of the Middle Ages,”\n    1846.\n\nPercy, in his “Reliques of Ancient English Poetry” (1794, vol. i. p.\n155), says: “It is still a diversion in Scotland to hang up a cat in a\nsmall cask or firkin, half filled with soot; and then a parcel of clowns\non horseback try to beat out the ends of it, in order to show their\ndexterity in escaping before the contents fall upon them.”\n\nThis practice was once kept up at Kelso, in Scotland, according to\nEbenezer Lazarus, who, in his “Description of Kelso” (1789, p. 144), has\ngiven a graphic description of the whole ceremony. He says, “This is a\nsport which was common in the last century at Kelso on the Tweed. A\nlarge concourse of men, women, and children assembled in a field about\nhalf a mile from the town, and a cat having been put into a barrel\nstuffed full of soot, was suspended on a crossbeam between two high\npoles. A certain number of the whipmen, or husbandmen, who took part in\nthis savage and unmanly amusement, then kept striking, as they rode to\nand fro on horseback, the barrel in which the unfortunate animal was\nconfined, until at last, under the heavy blows of their clubs and\nmallets, it broke, and allowed the cat to drop. The victim was then\nseized and tortured to death.” He justly stigmatizes it, saying:\n\n    “The cat in the barrel exhibits such a farce,\n    That he who can relish it is worse than an ass.”\n\nCats, from their great powers of resistance, are said to have nine\nlives;[383] hence Mercutio, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 1), says: “Good\nking of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives.” Ben Jonson, in “Every\nMan in His Humour” (iii. 2), makes Edward Knowell say to Bobadil, “’Twas\npity you had not ten; a cat’s and your own.” And in Gay’s fable of the\n“Old Woman and her Cats,” one of these animals is introduced, upbraiding\nthe witch:\n\n    “’Tis infamy to serve a hag,\n    Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;\n    And boys against our lives combine,\n    Because ’tis said, your cats have nine.”\n\n    [383] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” vol. iii. p. 42.\n\nIn Marston’s “Dutch Courtezan” we read:\n\n    “Why then, thou hast nine lives like a cat.”\n\nAnd in Dekker’s “Strange Horse-Race” (1613): “When the grand Helcat had\ngotten these two furies with nine lives.” This notion, it may be noted,\nis quite the reverse of the well-known saying, “Care will kill a cat,”\nmentioned in “Much Ado About Nothing” (v. 1), where Claudio says: “What\nthough care killed a cat.”\n\nFor some undiscovered reason a cat was formerly called Tybert or\nTybalt;[384] hence some of the insulting remarks of Mercutio, in “Romeo\nand Juliet” (iii. 1), who calls Tybalt “rat-catcher” and “king of cats.”\nIn the old romance of “Hystorye of Reynard the Foxe” (chap. vi.), we are\ntold how “the king called for Sir Tibert, the cat, and said to him, Sir\nTibert, you shall go to Reynard, and summon him the second time.”[385] A\npopular term for a wild cat was “cat-o’-mountain,” an expression[386]\nborrowed from the Spaniards, who call the wild cat “gato-montes.” In the\n“Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 2), Falstaff says of Pistol, “Your\ncat-a-mountain looks.”\n\n    [384] Dyce’s “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 466.\n\n    [385] From Tibert, Tib was also a common name for a cat.\n\n    [386] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 41.\n\nThe word cat was used as a term of contempt, as in “The Tempest” (ii. 1)\nand “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 2), where Lysander says, “Hang\noff, thou cat.” Once more, too, in “Coriolanus” (iv. 2), we find it in\nthe same sense:\n\n              “’Twas you incensed the rabble;\n    Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth,\n    As I can of those mysteries which heaven\n    Will not have earth to know.”\n\nA gib, or a gib cat, is an old male cat[387]—gib being the contraction\nof Gilbert,[388] and is, says Nares, an expression exactly analogous to\nthat of jackass.[389] Tom-cat is now the usual term. The word was\ncertainly not bestowed upon a cat early in life, as is evident from the\nmelancholy character ascribed to it in Shakespeare’s allusion in “1\nHenry IV.” (i. 2): “I am as melancholy as a gib cat.” Ray gives “as\nmelancholy as a gib’d [a corruption of gib] cat.” The term occurs again\nin “Hamlet” (iii. 4). It is improperly applied to a female by Beaumont\nand Fletcher, in the “Scornful Lady” (v. 1): “Bring out the cat-hounds!\nI’ll make you take a tree, whore; then with my tiller bring down your\ngib-ship, and then have you cased and hung up in the warren.”\n\n    [387] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 183.\n\n    [388] A gibbe (an old male cat), Macou, Cotgrave’s “French and\n    English Dictionary.”\n\n    [389] “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 360.\n\n_Chameleon._ This animal was popularly believed to feed on air, a notion\nwhich Sir Thomas Browne[390] has carefully discussed. He has assigned,\namong other grounds for this vulgar opinion, its power of abstinence,\nand its faculty of self-inflation. It lives on insects, which it catches\nby its long, gluey tongue, and crushes between its jaws. It has been\nascertained by careful experiment that the chameleon can live without\neating for four months. It can inflate not only its lungs, but its whole\nbody, including even the feet and tail. In allusion to this supposed\ncharacteristic, Shakespeare makes Hamlet say (iii. 2), “Of the\nchameleon’s dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed; you cannot feed capons\nso;” and in the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (ii. 1) Speed says: “Though\nthe chameleon, Love, can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by\nmy victuals, and would fain have meat.” There is, too, a popular notion\nthat this animal undergoes frequent changes of color, according to that\nof the bodies near it. This, however, depends on the volition of the\nanimal, or the state of its feelings, on its good or bad health, and is\nsubordinate to climate, age, and sex.[391] In “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 2)\nGloster boasts:\n\n    “I can add colours to the chameleon,\n    Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages.”\n\n    [390] “Vulgar Errors,” bk. iii. p. 21, 1852; bk. i. p. 321,\n    _note_.\n\n    [391] Ovid (“Metamorphoses,” bk. xv. l. 411) speaks of its\n    changes of color.\n\n_Cockatrice._ This imaginary creature, also called a basilisk, has been\nthe subject of extraordinary prejudice. It was absurdly said to proceed\nfrom the eggs of old cocks. It has been represented as having eight\nfeet, a crown on the head, and a hooked and recurved beak.[392] Pliny\nasserts that the basilisk had a voice so terrible that it struck terror\ninto all other species. Sir Thomas Browne,[393] however, distinguishes\nthe cockatrice from the ancient basilisk. He says, “This of ours is\ngenerally described with legs, wings, a serpentine and winding tail, and\na crest or comb somewhat like a cock. But the basilisk of elder times\nwas a proper kind of serpent, not above three palms long, as some\naccount; and different from other serpents by advancing his head and\nsome white marks, or coronary spots upon the crown, as all authentic\nwriters have delivered.” No other animal, perhaps, has given rise to so\nmany fabulous notions. Thus, it was supposed to have so deadly an eye as\nto kill by its very look, to which Shakespeare often alludes. In “Romeo\nand Juliet” (iii. 2), Juliet says:\n\n                        “say thou but ‘I,’\n    And that bare vowel, ‘I,’ shall poison more\n    Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.”\n\n    [392] Cuvier’s “Animal Kingdom,” 1831, vol. ix. p. 226.\n\n    [393] “Vulgar Errors,” bk. iii. p. 7.\n\nIn “Richard III.” (iv. 1) the Duchess exclaims:\n\n    “O my accursed womb, the bed of death!\n    A cockatrice hast thou hatch’d to the world,\n    Whose unavoided eye is murderous!”\n\nIn “Lucrece” (l. 540) we read:\n\n    “Here with a cockatrice’ dead-killing eye\n    He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause.”\n\nOnce more,[394] in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 4), Sir Toby Belch affirms:\n“This will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the\nlook, like cockatrices.” It has also been affirmed that this animal\ncould not exercise this faculty unless it first perceived the object of\nits vengeance; if first seen, it died. Dryden has alluded to this\nsuperstition:\n\n    “Mischiefs are like the cockatrice’s eye,\n    If they see first they kill, if seen, they die.”\n\n    [394] See “Cymbeline,” ii. 4; “Winter’s Tale,” i. 2.\n\nCockatrice was a popular phrase for a loose woman, probably from the\nfascination of the eye.[395] It appears, too, that basilisk[396] was the\nname of a huge piece of ordnance carrying a ball of very great weight.\nIn the following passage in “Henry V.” (v. 2), there is no doubt a\ndouble allusion—to pieces of ordnance, and to the fabulous creature\nalready described:\n\n    “The fatal balls of murdering basilisks.”\n\n    [395] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p 173.\n\n    [396] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 29; see “1 Henry IV.,” ii. 3, “of\n    basilisks, of cannon, culverin.”\n\n_Colt._ From its wild tricks the colt was formerly used to designate,\naccording to Johnson, “a witless, heady, gay youngster.” Portia mentions\nit with a quibble in “The Merchant of Venice” (i. 2), referring to the\nNeapolitan prince. “Ay, that’s a colt, indeed.” The term “to colt”\nmeant to trick, or befool; as in the phrase in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 2):\n“What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?” Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps[397]\nexplains the expression in “Henry VIII.” (i. 3), “Your colt’s tooth is\nnot cast yet,” to denote a love of youthful pleasure. In “Cymbeline”\n(ii. 4) it is used in a coarser sense: “She hath been colted by him.”\n\n    [397] “Handbook Index to Shakespeare.”\n\n_Crocodile._ According to fabulous accounts the crocodile was the most\ndeceitful of animals; its tears being proverbially fallacious. Thus\nOthello (iv. 1) says:\n\n                               “O devil, devil!\n    If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,\n    Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.—\n    Out of my sight!”\n\nWe may also compare the words of the queen in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1):\n\n    “Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,\n    Too full of foolish pity; and Gloster’s show\n    Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile\n    With sorrow snares relenting passengers.”\n\nIt is said that this treacherous animal weeps over a man’s head when it\nhas devoured the body, and will then eat up the head too. In Bullokar’s\n“Expositor,” 1616, we read: “Crocodile lachrymæ, crocodiles teares, do\nsignify such teares as are feigned, and spent only with intent to\ndeceive or do harm.” In Quarles’s “Emblems” there is the following\nallusion:\n\n    “O what a crocodilian world is this,\n      Compos’d of treachries and ensnaring wiles!\n    She cloaths destruction in a formal kiss,\n      And lodges death in her deceitful smiles.”\n\nIn the above passage from “Othello,” Singer says there is, no doubt, a\nreference to the doctrine of equivocal generation, by which new animals\nwere supposed to be producible by new combinations of matter.[398]\n\n    [398] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. x. p. 118.\n\n_Deer._ In “King Lear” (iii. 4) Edgar uses deer for wild animals in\ngeneral:\n\n    “But mice, and rats, and such small deer,\n    Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.”\n\nShakespeare frequently refers to the popular sport of hunting the\ndeer;[399] and by his apt allusions shows how thoroughly familiar he was\nwith the various amusements of his day.[400] In “Winter’s Tale” (i. 2)\nLeontes speaks of “the mort o’ the deer:” certain notes played on the\nhorn at the death of the deer, and requiring a deep-drawn breath.[401]\nIt was anciently, too, one of the customs of the chase for all to stain\ntheir hands in the blood of the deer as a trophy. Thus, in “King John”\n(ii. 1), the English herald declares to the men of Angiers how\n\n       “like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come\n    Our lusty English, all with purpled hands,\n    Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes.”\n\n    [399] See Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876, pp. 66, 75, 79,\n    80, 113, 117.\n\n    [400] See “As You Like It,” iv. 2; “All’s Well That Ends Well,”\n    v. 2; “Macbeth,” iv. 3; “1 Henry IV.,” v. 4; “1 Henry VI.,” iv.\n    2; “2 Henry VI.,” v. 2; “Titus Andronicus,” iii. 1, etc.\n\n    [401] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. viii. p. 421\n\nThe practice is again alluded to in “Julius Cæsar” (iii. 1):\n\n                         “here thy hunters stand,\n    Sign’d in thy spoil, and crimson’d in thy lethe.”\n\nOld Turbervile gives us the details of this custom: “Our order is, that\nthe prince, or chief, if so please them, do alight, and take assay of\nthe deer, with a sharp knife, the which is done in this manner—the deer\nbeing laid upon his back, the prince, chief, or such as they do appoint,\ncomes to it, and the chief huntsman, kneeling if it be a prince, doth\nhold the deer by the forefoot, whilst the prince, or chief, do cut a\nslit drawn along the brisket of the deer.”\n\nIn “Antony and Cleopatra” (v. 2), where Cæsar, speaking of Cleopatra’s\ndeath, says:\n\n                         “bravest at the last,\n    She levell’d at our purposes, and, being royal,\n    Took her own way”—\n\nthere is possibly an allusion to the _hart royal_, which had the\nprivilege of roaming unmolested, and of taking its own way to its lair.\n\nShooting with the cross-bow at deer was an amusement of great ladies.\nBuildings with flat roofs, called stands, partly concealed by bushes,\nwere erected in the parks for the purpose. Hence the following dialogue\nin “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 1):\n\n    “_Princess._ Then forester, my friend, where is the bush\n    That we must stand and play the murderer in?\n\n    _Forester._ Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;\n    A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.”\n\nAmong the hunting terms to which Shakespeare refers may be mentioned the\nfollowing:\n\n“To draw” meant to trace the steps of the game, as in “Comedy of Errors”\n(iv. 2):\n\n    “A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well.”\n\nThe term “to run counter” was to mistake the course of the game, or to\nturn and pursue the backward trail.\n\nThe “recheat” denoted certain notes sounded on the horn, properly and\nmore usually employed to recall the dogs from a wrong scent. It is used\nin “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1): “I will have a recheat winded in my\nforehead.” We may compare Drayton’s “Polyolbion” (xiii.):\n\n    “Recheating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers.”\n\nThe phrase “to recover the wind of me,” used by Hamlet (iii. 2), is\nborrowed from hunting, and means to get the animal pursued to run with\nthe wind, that it may not scent the toil or its pursuers. Again, when\nFalstaff, in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), speaks of “fat rascals,” he alludes\nto the phrase of the forest—“rascall,” says Puttenham, “being properly\nthe hunting term given to a young deer leane and out of season.”\n\nThe phrase “a hunts-up” implied any song intended to arouse in the\nmorning—even a love song—the name having been derived from a tune or\nsong employed by early hunters.[402] The term occurs in “Romeo and\nJuliet” (iii. 5), where Juliet says to Romeo, speaking of the lark:\n\n    “Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,\n    Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.”\n\n    [402] Chappell’s “Popular Music of the Olden Time,” 2d ed. vol.\n    i. p. 61; see Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 432;\n    see, too, Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 440.\n\nIn Drayton’s “Polyolbion” (xiii.) it is used:\n\n    “No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave,\n    At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring,\n    But hunts-up to the morn the feather’d sylvans sing.”\n\nIn Shakespeare’s day it was customary to hunt as well after dinner as\nbefore, hence, in “Timon of Athens” (ii. 2), Timon says:\n\n    “So soon as dinner’s done, we’ll forth again.”\n\nThe word “embossed” was applied to a deer when foaming at the mouth from\nfatigue. In “Taming of the Shrew” (Ind. scene 1) we read: “the poor cur\nis embossed,” and in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 13):\n\n              “the boar of Thessaly\n    Was never so emboss’d.”\n\nIt was usual to call a pack of hounds “a cry,” from the French _meute de\nchiens_. The term is humorously applied to any troop or company of\nplayers, as by Hamlet (iii. 2), who speaks of “a fellowship in a cry of\nplayers.” In “Coriolanus” (iv. 6) Menenius says,\n\n            “You have made\n    Good work, you and your cry.”\n\nAntony, in “Julius Cæsar” (iii. 1), alludes to the technical phrase to\n“let slip a dog,” employed in hunting the hart. This consisted in\nreleasing the hounds from the leash or _slip_ of leather by which they\nwere held in hand until it was judged proper to let them pursue the\nanimal chased.[403] In “1 Henry IV.” (i. 3) Northumberland tells\nHotspur:\n\n    “Before the game’s afoot, thou still let’st slip.”\n\n    [403] See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 401.\n\nIn “Taming of the Shrew” (v. 2) Tranio says:\n\n    “O, sir, Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound,\n    Which runs himself, and catches for his master.”\n\nA sportsman’s saying, applied to hounds, occurs in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3):\n“a’ will not out; he is true bred,” serving to expound Gadshill’s\nexpression, “such as can hold in,” “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 1).\n\nThe severity of the game laws under our early monarchs was very\nstringent; and a clause in the “Forest Charter”[404] grants “to an\narchbishop, bishop, earl, or baron, when travelling through the royal\nforests, at the king’s command, the privilege to kill one deer or two in\nthe sight of the forester, if he was at hand; if not, they were\ncommanded to cause a horn to be sounded, that it might not appear as if\nthey had intended to steal the game.” In “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v.\n5), Falstaff, using the terms of the forest, alludes to the perquisites\nof the keeper. Thus he speaks of the “shoulders for the fellow of this\nwalk,” _i. e._, the keeper.\n\n    [404] See Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” 1876, p. 65.\n\nShakespeare has several pretty allusions to the tears of the deer, this\nanimal being said to possess a very large secretion of tears. Thus\nHamlet (iii. 2) says: “let the strucken deer go weep;” and in “As You\nLike It” (ii. 1) we read of the “sobbing deer,” and in the same scene\nthe first lord narrates how, at a certain spot,\n\n                   “a poor sequester’d stag\n    That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt\n    Did come to languish; ...\n    ... and the big round tears\n    Coursed one another down his innocent nose\n    In piteous chase.”\n\nBartholomæus[405] says, that “when the hart is arered, he fleethe to a\nryver or ponde, and roreth cryeth and wepeth when he is take.”[406] It\nappears that there were various superstitions connected with the tears\nof the deer. Batman[407] tells us that “when the hart is sick, and hath\neaten many serpents for his recoverie, he is brought unto so great a\nheate that he hasteth to the water, and there covereth his body unto the\nvery eares and eyes, at which time distilleth many tears from which the\n[Bezoar] stone is gendered.”[408] Douce[409] quotes the following\npassage from the “Noble Art of Venerie,” in which the hart thus\naddresses the hunter:\n\n    “O cruell, be content, to take in worth my tears,\n    Which growe to gumme, and fall from me: content thee with my heares,\n    Content thee with my hornes, which every year I new,\n    Since all these three make medicines, some sickness to eschew.\n    My tears congeal’d to gumme, by peeces from me fall,\n    And thee preserve from pestilence, in pomander or ball.\n    Such wholesome tears shedde I, when thou pursewest me so.”\n\n    [405] “De Proprietate Rerum,” lib. xviii. c. 30.\n\n    [406] Cf. Vergil’s description of the wounded stag in “Æneid,”\n    bk. vii.\n\n    [407] Commentary on Bartholomæus’s “De Proprietate Rerum.”\n\n    [408] The drops which fall from their eyes are not tears from\n    the lachrymal glands, but an oily secretion from the inner\n    angle of the eye close to the nose.—Brewer’s “Dictionary of\n    Phrase and Fable,” p. 217.\n\n    [409] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 183.\n\n_Dog._ As the favorite of our domestic animals, the dog not unnaturally\npossesses an extensive history, besides entering largely into those\nsuperstitions which, more or less, are associated with every stage of\nhuman life. It is not surprising, therefore, that Shakespeare frequently\nspeaks of the dog, making it the subject of many of his illustrations.\nThus he has not omitted to mention the fatal significance of its howl,\nwhich is supposed either to foretell death or misfortune. In “2 Henry\nVI.” (i. 4) he makes Bolingbroke say:\n\n    “The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl,[410]\n    And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves.”\n\n    [410] These dogs were kept for baiting bears, when that\n    amusement was in vogue, and “from their terrific howling they\n    are occasionally introduced to heighten the horror of the\n    picture.” Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 50.\n\nAnd, again, in “3 Henry VI.” (v. 6), King Henry, speaking of Gloster,\nsays:\n\n    “The owl shriek’d at thy birth,—an evil sign;\n    The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;\n    Dogs howl’d, and hideous tempests shook down trees.”\n\nThe same superstition prevails in France and Germany,[411] and various\ncharms are resorted to for averting the ill-consequences supposed to\nattach to this sign of ill-omen. Several of these, too, are practised in\nour own country. Thus, in Staffordshire, when a dog howls, the following\nadvice is given: “Take off your shoe from the left foot, and spit upon\nthe sole, place it on the ground bottom upwards, and your foot upon the\nplace you sat upon, which will not only preserve you from harm, but stop\nthe howling of the dog.”[412] A similar remedy is recommended in\nNorfolk:[413] “Pull off your left shoe, and turn it, and it will quiet\nhim. A dog won’t howl three times after.” We are indebted to antiquity\nfor this superstition, some of the earliest writers referring to it.\nThus, Pausanias relates how, previous to the destruction of the\nMessenians, the dogs pierced the air by raising a louder barking than\nusual; and it is on record how, before the sedition in Rome, about the\ndictatorship of Pompey, there was an extraordinary howling of dogs.\nVergil[414] (“Georgics,” lib. i. l. 470), speaking of the Roman\nmisfortunes, says:\n\n    “Obscenæque canes, importunæque volucres\n    Signa dabant.”\n\n    [411] See Kelly’s “Indo-European Folk-Lore,” p. 109.\n\n    [412] Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties,” p. 48.\n\n    [413] See “English Folk-Lore,” p. 101.\n\n    [414] See Hardwick’s “Traditions, Superstitions, and\n    Folk-Lore,” p. 171.\n\nCapitolinus narrates, too, how the dogs, by their howling, presaged the\ndeath of Maximinus. The idea which associates the dog’s howl with the\napproach of death is probably derived from a conception in Aryan\nmythology, which represents a dog as summoning the departing soul.\nIndeed, as Mr. Fiske[415] remarks, “Throughout all Aryan mythology, the\nsouls of the dead are supposed to ride on the night-wind, with their\nhowling dogs, gathering into their throng the souls of those just dying\nas they pass by their houses.”\n\n    [415] “Myths and Mythmakers,” 1873, p. 36.\n\nAnother popular superstition—in all probability derived from the\nEgyptians—refers to the setting and rising of Sirius, or the dog-star,\nas infusing madness into the canine race. Hence the name of the\n“dog-days” was given by the Romans to the period between the 3d of July\nand the 11th of August, to which Shakespeare alludes in “Henry VIII.”\n(v. 3): “the dog-days now reign.” We may, too, compare the words of\nBenvolio, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 1):\n\n    “For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.”\n\nIt is obvious, however, that this superstition is utterly groundless,\nfor not only does the star vary in its rising, but is later and later\nevery year. The term “dog-day” is still a common phrase, and it is\ndifficult to say whether it is from superstitious adherence to old\ncustom, or from a belief in the injurious effect of heat upon dogs, that\nthe magistrates, often unwisely, at this season of the year order them\nto be muzzled or tied up. It was the practice to put them to death; and\nBen Jonson, in his “Bartholomew Fair,” speaks of “the dog-killer” in\nthis month of August. Lord Bacon, too, in his “Sylva Sylvarum,” tells us\nthat “it is a common experience that dogs know the dog-killer, when, as\nin times of infection, some petty fellow is sent out to kill them.\nAlthough they have never seen him before, yet they will all come forth\nand bark and fly at him.”\n\nA “curtal dog,” to which allusion is made in “Merry Wives of Windsor”\n(ii. 1), by Pistol—\n\n    “Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs,”\n\ndenoted “originally the dog of an unqualified person, which, by the\nforest laws, must have its tail cut short, partly as a mark, and partly\nfrom a notion that the tail of a dog is necessary to him in running.” In\nlater usage, _curtail dog_ means either a common dog, not meant for\nsport, or a dog that missed the game, which latter sense it has in the\npassage above.[416]\n\n    [416] “Nares’s Glossary,” vol. i. p. 218.\n\n_Dragon._ As the type and embodiment of the spirit of evil, the dragon\nhas been made the subject of an extensive legendary lore. The well-known\nmyth of St. George and the Dragon, which may be regarded as a grand\nallegory representing the hideous and powerful monster against whom the\nChristian soldier is called to fight, has exercised a remarkable\ninfluence for good in times past, over half-instructed people. It has\nbeen truly remarked that “the dullest mind and hardest heart could not\nfail to learn from it something of the hatefulness of evil, the beauty\nof self-sacrifice, and the all-conquering might of truth.” This graceful\nconception is alluded to by Shakespeare, in his “King John” (ii. 1),\nwhere, according to a long-established custom, it is made a subject for\nsign-painting:[417]\n\n    “St. George, that swinged the dragon, and e’er since,\n    Sits on his horseback at mine hostess’ door,\n    Teach us some fence!”\n\n    [417] For the various versions of this myth consult\n    Baring-Gould’s “Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,” 1877, pp.\n    266-316.\n\nIn ancient mythology the task of drawing the chariot of night was\nassigned to dragons, on account of their supposed watchfulness. In\n“Cymbeline” (ii. 2) Iachimo, addressing them, says:\n\n    “Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning\n    May bare the raven’s eye!”[418]\n\n    [418] Cf. “Troilus and Cressida,” v. 8; “Midsummer-Night’s\n    Dream,” iii. 2.\n\nMilton, in his “Il Penseroso,” mentions the dragon yoke of night, and in\nhis “Comus” (l. 130):\n\n                     “the dragon womb\n    Of Stygian darkness.”\n\nIt may be noticed that the whole tribe of serpents sleep with their\neyes open, and so appear to exert a constant watchfulness.[419]\n\n    [419] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. x. p. 363.\n\nIn devising loathsome ingredients for the witches’ mess, Shakespeare\n(“Macbeth,” iv. 1) speaks of “the scale of dragon,” alluding to the\nhorror in which this mythical being was held. Referring, also, to the\nnumerous legends associated with its dread form, he mentions “the spleen\nof fiery dragons” (“Richard III.,” v. 3), “dragon’s wings” (“1 Henry\nVI.,” i. 1), and (“Pericles,” i. 1), “death-like dragons.” Mr.\nConway[420] has admirably summed up the general views respecting this\nimaginary source of terror: “Nearly all the dragon forms, whatever their\noriginal types and their region, are represented in the conventional\nmonster of the European stage, which meets the popular conception. The\ndragon is a masterpiece of the popular imagination, and it required many\ngenerations to give it artistic shape. Every Christmas he appears in\nsome London pantomime, with aspect similar to that which he has worn for\nmany ages. His body is partly green, with the memories of the sea and of\nslime, and partly brown or dark, with lingering shadow of storm clouds.\nThe lightning flames still in his red eyes, and flashes from his\nfire-breathing mouth. The thunder-bolt of Jove, the spear of Wodan, are\nin the barbed point of his tail. His huge wings—bat-like, spiked—sum up\nall the mythical life of extinct harpies and vampires. Spine of\ncrocodile is on his neck, tail of the serpent, and all the jagged ridges\nof rocks and sharp thorns of jungles bristle around him, while the ice\nof glaciers and brassy glitter of sunstrokes are in his scales. He is\nideal of all that is hard, obstructive, perilous, loathsome, horrible in\nnature; every detail of him has been seen through and vanquished by man,\nhere or there, but in selection and combination they rise again as\nprinciples, and conspire to form one great generalization of the forms\nof pain—the sum of every creature’s worst.”[421]\n\n    [420] “Demonology and Devil-Lore,” 1880, vol. i. p. 383.\n\n    [421] The dragon formerly constituted a part of the\n    morris-dance.\n\n_Elephant._ According to a vulgar error, current in bygone times, the\nelephant was supposed to have no joints—a notion which is said to have\nbeen first recorded from tradition by Ctesias the Cnidian.[422] Sir\nThomas Browne has entered largely into this superstition, arguing, from\nreason, anatomy, and general analogy with other animals, the absurdity\nof the error. In “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 3), Ulysses says: “The\nelephant hath joints, but none for courtesy: his legs are legs for\nnecessity, not for flexure.” Steevens quotes from “The Dialogues of\nCreatures Moralized”—a curious specimen of our early natural history—the\nfollowing: “the olefawnte that bowyth not the kneys.” In the play of\n“All Fools,” 1605, we read: “I hope you are no elephant—you have\njoints.” In a note to Sir Thomas Browne’s Works,[423] we are told, “it\nhas long been the custom for the exhibitors of itinerant collections of\nwild animals, when showing the elephant, to mention the story of its\nhaving no joints, and its consequent inability to kneel; and they never\nfail to think it necessary to demonstrate its untruth by causing the\nanimal to bend one of its fore-legs, and to kneel also.”\n\n    [422] Sir Thomas Browne’s Works, 1852, vol. i. pp. 220-232.\n\n    [423] Edited by Simon Wilkin, 1852, vol. i. p. 226.\n\nIn “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 1) the custom of seducing elephants into\npitfalls, lightly covered with hurdles and turf, on which a proper bait\nto tempt them was exposed, is alluded to.[424] Decius speaks of\nelephants being betrayed “with holes.”\n\n    [424] See Pliny’s “Natural History,” bk. viii.\n\n_Fox._ It appears that the term fox was a common expression for the old\nEnglish weapon, the broadsword of Jonson’s days, as distinguished from\nthe small (foreign) sword. The name was given from the circumstance that\nAndrea Ferrara adopted a fox as the blade-mark of his weapons—a\npractice, since his time, adopted by other foreign sword-cutlers. Swords\nwith a running fox rudely engraved on the blades are still occasionally\nto be met with in the old curiosity shops of London.[425] Thus, in\n“Henry V.” (iv. 4), Pistol says:\n\n    “O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,\n    Except, O signieur, thou do give to me\n    Egregious ransom.”\n\n    [425] Staunton’s “Shakespeare,” 1864, vol. ii. p. 367; Nares’s\n    “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 331.\n\nIn Ben Jonson’s “Bartholomew Fair” (ii. 6) the expression occurs: “What\nwould you have, sister, of a fellow that knows nothing but a\nbasket-hilt, and an old fox in it?”\n\nThe tricks and artifices of a hunted fox were supposed to be very\nextraordinary; hence Falstaff makes use of this expression in “1 Henry\nIV.” (iii. 3): “No more truth in thee than in a drawn fox.”\n\n_Goat._ It is curious that the harmless goat should have had an evil\nname, and been associated with devil-lore. Thus, there is a common\nsuperstition in England and Scotland that it is never seen for\ntwenty-four hours together; and that once in this space it pays a visit\nto the devil, in order to have its beard combed. It was, formerly, too,\na popular notion that the devil appeared frequently in the shape of a\ngoat, which accounted for his horns and tail. Sir Thomas Browne observes\nthat the goat was the emblem of the sin-offering, and is the emblem of\nsinful men at the day of judgment. This may, perhaps, account for\nShakespeare’s enumerating the “gall of goat” (“Macbeth,” iv. 1) among\nthe ingredients of the witches’ caldron. His object seems to have been\nto include the most distasteful and ill-omened things imaginable—a\npractice shared, indeed, by other poets contemporary with him.\n\n_Hare._ This was formerly esteemed a melancholy animal, and its flesh\nwas supposed to engender melancholy in those who ate it. This idea was\nnot confined to our own country, but is mentioned by La Fontaine in one\nof his “Fables” (liv. ii. fab. 14):\n\n    “Dans un profond ennui ce lievre se plongeoit,\n    Cet animal est triste, et la crainte le rounge;”\n\nand later on he says: “Le melancolique animal.” Hence, in “1 Henry IV.”\n(i. 2), Falstaff is told by Prince Henry that he is as melancholy as a\nhare. This notion was not quite forgotten in Swift’s time; for in his\n“Polite Conversation,” Lady Answerall, being asked to eat hare, replies:\n“No, madam; they say ’tis melancholy meat.” Mr. Staunton quotes the\nfollowing extract from Turbervile’s book on Hunting and Falconry: “The\nhare first taught us the use of the hearbe called wyld succory, which is\nvery excellent for those which are disposed to be melancholicke. She\nherself is one of the most melancholicke beasts that is, and to heale\nher own infirmitie, she goeth commonly to sit under that hearbe.”\n\nThe old Greek epigram relating to the hare—\n\n    “Strike ye my body, now that life is fled;\n    So hares insult the lion when he’s dead,”\n\n—is alluded to by the Bastard in “King John” (ii. 1):\n\n    “You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,\n    Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard.”\n\nA familiar expression among sportsmen for a hare is “Wat,” so called,\nperhaps, from its long ears or wattles. In “Venus and Adonis” the term\noccurs:\n\n    “By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,\n    Stands on his hinder legs, with listening ear.”\n\nIn Drayton’s “Polyolbion” (xxiii.) we read:\n\n    “The man whose vacant mind prepares him to the sport,\n    The finder sendeth out, to seek out nimble Wat,\n    Which crosseth in the field, each furlong, every flat,\n    Till he this pretty beast upon the form hath found.”\n\n_Hedgehog._ The urchin or hedgehog, like the toad, for its solitariness,\nthe ugliness of its appearance, and from a popular belief that it sucked\nor poisoned the udders of cows, was adopted into the demonologic system;\nand its shape was sometimes supposed to be assumed by mischievous\nelves.[426] Hence, in “The Tempest” (i. 2), Prospero says:\n\n                                          “Urchins\n    Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,\n    All exercise on thee;”\n\nand later on in the same play (ii. 2) Caliban speaks of being frighted\nwith “urchin shows.” In the witch scene in “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the\nhedge-pig is represented as one of the witches’ familiars; and in the\n“Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 2), in the incantation of the fairies,\n“thorny hedgehogs” are exorcised. For the use of urchins in similar\nassociations we may quote “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iv. 4), “like\nurchins, ouphes, and fairies;” and “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 3), “ten\nthousand swelling toads, as many urchins.”[427] In the phrase still\ncurrent, of “little urchin” for a child, the idea of the fairy also\nremains. In various legends we find this animal holding a prominent\nplace. Thus, for example, it was in the form of a hedgehog[428] that the\ndevil is said to have made his attempt to let the sea in through the\nBrighton Downs, which was prevented by a light being brought, though the\nseriousness of the scheme is still attested in the Devil’s Dyke. There\nis an ancient tradition that when the devil had smuggled himself into\nNoah’s Ark he tried to sink it by boring a hole; but this scheme was\ndefeated, and the human race saved, by the hedgehog stuffing himself\ninto the hole. In the Brighton story, as Mr. Conway points out, the\ndevil would appear to have remembered his former failure in drowning\npeople, and to have appropriated the form which defeated him. In\n“Richard III.” (i. 2), the hedgehog is used as a term of reproach by\nLady Anne, when addressing Gloster.\n\n    [426] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. ix. p. 75.\n\n    [427] See Wright’s Notes to “The Tempest,” 1875, p. 94.\n\n    [428] Conway’s “Demonology and Devil-Lore,” 1880, vol. i. p. 122.\n\n_Horse._ Although Shakespeare’s allusions to the horse are most\nextensive, yet he has said little of the many widespread superstitions,\nlegends, and traditional tales that have been associated from the\nearliest times with this brave and intellectual animal. Indeed, even\nnowadays, both in our own country and abroad, many a fairy tale is told\nand credited by the peasantry in which the horse occupies a prominent\nplace. It seems to have been a common notion that, at night-time,\nfairies in their nocturnal revels played various pranks with horses,\noften entangling in a thousand knots their hair—a superstition to which\nwe referred in our chapter on Fairies, where Mercutio, in “Romeo and\nJuliet” (i. 4), says:\n\n                          “This is that very Mab\n    That plats the manes of horses in the night,\n    And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,\n    Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.”\n\nIn “King Lear” (ii. 3), Edgar says: “I’ll ... elf all my hair in knots.”\n\nMr. Hunt, in his “Popular Romances of the West of England” (1871, p.\n87), tells us that, when a boy, he was on a visit at a farmhouse near\nFowey River, and well remembers the farmer, with much sorrow, telling\nthe party one morning at breakfast, how “the piskie people had been\nriding Tom again.” The mane was said to be knotted into fairy stirrups,\nand the farmer said he had no doubt that at least twenty small people\nhad sat upon the horse’s neck. Warburton[429] considers that this\nsuperstition may have originated from the disease called “Plica\nPolonica.” Witches, too, have generally been supposed to harass the\nhorse, using it in various ways for their fiendish purposes. Thus, there\nare numerous local traditions in which the horse at night-time has been\nridden by the witches, and found in the morning in an almost prostrate\ncondition, bathed in sweat.\n\n    [429] Warburton on “Romeo and Juliet,” i. 4.\n\nIt was a current notion that a horse-hair dropped into corrupted water\nwould soon become an animal. The fact, however, is that the hair moves\nlike a living thing because a number of animalculæ cling to it.[430]\nThis ancient vulgar error is mentioned in “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 2):\n\n                           “much is breeding,\n    Which, like the courser’s hair, hath yet but life,\n    And not a serpent’s poison.”\n\n    [430] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 104.\n\nSteevens quotes from Churchyard’s “Discourse of Rebellion,” 1570:\n\n    “Hit is of kinde much worse than horses heare,\n    That lyes in donge, where on vyle serpents brede.”\n\nDr. Lister, in the “Philosophical Transactions,” says that these\nanimated horse-hairs are real thread-worms. It was asserted that these\nworms moved like serpents, and were poisonous to swallow. Coleridge\ntells us it was a common experiment with boys in Cumberland and\nWestmoreland to lay a horse-hair in water, which, when removed after a\ntime, would twirl round the finger and sensibly compress it—having\nbecome the supporter of an immense number of small, slimy water-lice.\n\nA horse is said to have a “cloud in his face” when he has a dark-colored\nspot in his forehead between his eyes. This gives him a sour look, and,\nbeing supposed to indicate an ill-temper, is generally considered a\ngreat blemish. This notion is alluded to in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iii.\n2), where Agrippa, speaking of Cæsar, says:\n\n    “He has a cloud in’s face,”\n\nwhereupon Enobarbus adds:\n\n    “He were the worse for that, were he a horse;\n    So is he, being a man.”\n\nBurton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” uses the phrase for the look of\na woman: “Every lover admires his mistress, though she be very deformed\nof herselfe—thin, leane, chitty face, have clouds in her face,” etc.\n\n“To mose in the chine,” a phrase we find in “Taming of the Shrew” (iii.\n2)—“Possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine”—refers\nto a disorder in horses, also known as “mourning in the chine.”\n\nAlluding to the custom associated with horses, we may note that a\nstalking-horse, or stale, was either a real or artificial one, under\ncover of which the fowler approached towards and shot at his game. It is\nalluded to in “As You Like It” (v. 4) by the Duke, who says of\nTouchstone: “He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the\npresentation of that he shoots his wit.” In “Much Ado About Nothing”\n(ii. 3), Claudio says: “Stalk on, stalk on; the fowl sits.”[431] In\n“Comedy of Errors” (ii. 1), Adriana says: “I am but his stale,” upon\nwhich Malone remarks: “Adriana undoubtedly means to compare herself to a\nstalking-horse, behind whom Antipholus shoots at such game as he\nselects.” In “Taming of the Shrew,” Katharina says to her father (i. 1):\n\n                            “is it your will\n    To make a stale of me amongst these mates?”\n\nwhich, says Singer, means “make an object of mockery.” So in “3 Henry\nVI.” (iii. 3), Warwick says:\n\n    “Had he none else to make a stale but me?”\n\n    [431] See Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 106;\n    Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 830.\n\nThat it was also a hunting term might be shown, adds Dyce,[432] by\nquotations from various old writers. In the inventories of the wardrobe\nbelonging to King Henry VIII. we frequently find the allowance of\ncertain quantities of stuff for the purpose of making “stalking-coats\nand stalking-hose for the use of his majesty.”[433]\n\n    [432] “Glossary,” p. 412.\n\n    [433] See Strutt’s “Sports and Pastimes,” p. 48.\n\nAgain, the forehorse of a team was generally gayly ornamented with tufts\nand ribbons and bells. Hence, in “All’s Well That Ends Well” (ii. 1),\nBertram complains that, bedizened like one of these animals, he will\nhave to squire ladies at the court, instead of achieving honor in the\nwars—\n\n    “I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,\n    Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,\n    Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn\n    But one to dance with.”\n\nA familiar name for a common horse was “Cut”—either from its being\ndocked or gelded—a name occasionally applied to a man as a term of\ncontempt. In “Twelfth Night” (ii. 3), Sir Toby Belch says: “Send for\nmoney, knight; if thou hast her not i’ the end, call me cut.” In “1\nHenry IV.” (ii. 1), the first carrier says: “I prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s\nsaddle.” We may compare, too, what Falstaff says further on in the same\nplay (ii. 4): “I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my\nface, call me horse.” Hence, _call me cut_ is the same as _call me\nhorse_—both expressions having been used.\n\nIn Shakespeare’s day a _race_ of horses was the term for what is now\ncalled a stud. So in “Macbeth” (ii. 4), Rosse says:\n\n    “And Duncan’s horses—a thing most strange and certain—\n    Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,\n    Turn’d wild in nature.”\n\nThe words “minions of their race,” according to Steevens, mean the\nfavorite horses on the race-ground.\n\n_Lion._ The traditions and stories of the darker ages abounded with\nexamples of the lion’s generosity. “Upon the supposition that these acts\nof clemency were true, Troilus, in the passage below, reasons not\nimproperly (‘Troilus and Cressida,’ v. 3) that to spare against reason,\nby mere instinct and pity, became rather a generous beast than a wise\nman:”[434]\n\n    “Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,\n    Which better fits a lion than a man.”\n\n    [434] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. vii. p. 277.\n\nIt is recorded by Pliny[435] that “the lion alone of all wild animals is\ngentle to those that humble themselves before him, and will not touch\nany such upon their submission, but spareth what creature soever lieth\nprostrate before him.” Hence Spenser’s Una, attended by a lion; and\nPerceval’s lion, in “Morte d’Arthur” (bk. xiv. c. 6). Bartholomæus says\nthe lion’s “mercie is known by many and oft ensamples: for they spare\nthem that lie on the ground.” Shakespeare again alludes to this notion\nin “As You Like It” (iv. 3):\n\n                                  “for ’tis\n    The royal disposition of that beast\n    To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead.”\n\n    [435] “Natural History,” bk. viii. c. 19.\n\nIt was also supposed that the lion would not injure a royal prince.\nHence, in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) the Prince says: “You are lions too, you\nran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true prince; no, fie!”\nThe same notion is alluded to by Beaumont and Fletcher in “The Mad\nLover” (iv. 5):\n\n    “Fetch the Numidian lion I brought over;\n    If she be sprung from royal blood, the lion\n    He’ll do you reverence, else—\n\n\n    He’ll tear her all to pieces.”\n\nAccording to some commentators there is an allusion in “3 Henry VI.” (i.\n3) to the practice of confining lions and keeping them without food that\nthey may devour criminals exposed to them:\n\n    “So looks the pent-up lion o’er the wretch\n    That trembles under his devouring paws.”\n\n_Mole._ The eyes of the mole are so extremely minute, and so perfectly\nhid in its hair, that our ancestors considered it blind—a vulgar error,\nto which reference is made by Caliban in “The Tempest” (iv. 1):\n\n    “Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not\n    Hear a foot fall.”\n\nAnd again by Pericles (i. 1):\n\n                   “The blind mole casts\n    Copp’d hills towards heaven.”\n\nHence the expression “blind as a mole.” Alexander Ross[436] absurdly\nspeaks of the mole’s eyes as only the “forms of eyes,” given by nature\n“rather for ornament than for use; as wings are given to the ostrich,\nwhich never flies, and a long tail to the rat, which serves for no other\npurpose but to be catched sometimes by it.” Sir Thomas Browne, however,\nin his “Vulgar Errors” (bk. iii. c. xviii.),[437] has, with his usual\nminuteness, disproved this idea, remarking “that they have eyes in their\nhead is manifested unto any that wants them not in his own.” A popular\nterm for the mole was the “moldwarp” or “mouldiwarp,”[438] so called\nfrom the Anglo-Saxon, denoting turning the mould. Thus, in “1 Henry IV.”\n(iii. 1) Hotspur says:\n\n                     “sometime he angers me\n    With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant.”\n\n    [436] “Arcana Microcosmi,” p. 151.\n\n    [437] 1852, vol. i. pp. 312-315.\n\n    [438] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 577; Singer’s\n    “Shakespeare,” vol. v. p. 77.\n\n_Mouse._ This word was formerly used as a term of endearment, from\neither sex to the other. In this sense it is used by Rosaline in “Love’s\nLabour’s Lost” (v. 2):\n\n    “What’s your dark meaning, mouse, of this light word?”\n\nand again in “Hamlet” (iii. 4).\n\nSome doubt exists as to the exact meaning of “Mouse-hunt,” by Lady\nCapulet, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iv. 4):\n\n    “Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time,\n    But I will watch you from such watching now.”\n\nAccording to some, the expression implies “a hunter of gay women,” mouse\nhaving been used in this signification.[439] Others are of opinion that\nthe stoat[440] is meant, the smallest of the weasel tribe, and others\nagain the polecat. Mr. Staunton[441] tells us that the mouse-hunt is the\nmarten, an animal of the weasel tribe which prowls about for its prey at\nnight, and is applied to any one of rakish propensities.\n\n    [439] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,”\n    1866, p. 331.\n\n    [440] Forby’s “Vocabulary of East Anglia,” vol. ii. p. 222.\n\n    [441] See Staunton’s “Shakespeare,” vol. i. p. 278.\n\nHolinshed, in his “History of Scotland” (1577, p. 181), quotes from the\nlaws of Kenneth II., King of Scotland: “If a sowe eate her pigges, let\nhyr be stoned to death and buried, that no man eate of hyr fleshe.” This\noffence is probably alluded to by Shakespeare in “Macbeth” (iv. 1),\nwhere the witch says:\n\n    “Pour in sow’s blood, that hath eaten\n    Her nine farrow.”\n\n_Polecat_, or _Fitchew_. This animal is supposed to be very amorous; and\nhence its name, Mr. Steevens says, was often applied to ladies of easy\nor no virtue. In “Othello” (iv. 1) Cassio calls Bianca a “fitchew,” and\nin “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 1) Thersites alludes to it.[442]\n\n    [442] Cf. “King Lear,” iv. 6.\n\n_Porcupine._ Another name for this animal was the porpentine, which\nspelling occurs in “Hamlet” (i. 5):\n\n    “Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.”\n\nAnd again, in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1) York speaks of “a sharp-quill’d\nporpentine.” Ajax, too, in “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), applies the\nterm to Thersites: “do not, porpentine.” In the above passages, however,\nand elsewhere, the word has been altered by editors to porcupine.\nAccording to a popular error, the porcupine could dart his quills. They\nare easily detached, very sharp, and slightly barbed, and may easily\nstick to a person’s legs, when he is not aware that he is near enough to\ntouch them.[443]\n\n    [443] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 673.\n\n_Rabbit._ In “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 2) this animal is used as a term of\nreproach, a sense in which it was known in Shakespeare’s day. The phrase\n“cony-catch,” which occurs in “Taming of the Shrew” (v. 1)—“Take heed,\nSignior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business”—implied the\nact of deceiving or cheating a simple person—the cony or rabbit being\nconsidered a foolish animal.[444] It has been shown, from Dekker’s\n“English Villanies,” that the system of cheating was carried to a great\nlength in the early part of the seventeenth century, that a collective\nsociety of sharpers was called “a warren,” and their dupes\n“rabbit-suckers,” _i. e._, young rabbit or conies.[445] Shakespeare has\nonce used the term to express harmless roguery, in the “Taming of the\nShrew” (iv. 1). When Grumio will not answer his fellow-servants, except\nin a jesting way, Curtis says to him: “Come, you are so full of\ncony-catching.”\n\n    [444] Ibid., vol. ii. p. 189.\n\n    [445] See D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature,” vol. iii. p. 78.\n\n_Rat._ The fanciful idea that rats were commonly rhymed to death, in\nIreland, is said to have arisen from some metrical charm or incantation,\nused there for that purpose, to which there are constant allusions in\nold writers. In the “Merchant of Venice” (iv. 1) Shylock says:\n\n    “What if my house be troubled with a rat,\n    And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats\n    To have it baned?”\n\nAnd in “As You Like It” (iii. 2), Rosalind says: “I was never so\nbe-rhymed since Pythagoras’ time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can\nhardly remember.” We find it mentioned by Ben Jonson in the “Poetaster”\n(v. 1):\n\n    “Rhime them to death, as they do Irish rats,\n    In drumming tunes.”\n\n“The reference, however, is generally referred, in Ireland,” says Mr.\nMackay, “to the supposed potency of the verses pronounced by the\nprofessional rhymers of Ireland, which, according to popular\nsuperstition, could not only drive rats to destruction, but could\nabsolutely turn a man’s face to the back of his head.”[446]\n\n    [446] “The strange phrase and the superstition that arose out\n    of it seem to have been produced by a mistranslation, by the\n    English-speaking population of a considerable portion of\n    Ireland, of two Celtic or Gaelic words, _ran_, to _roar_, to\n    shriek, to bellow, to make a great noise on a wind instrument;\n    and _rann_, to versify, to rhyme. It is well known that rats\n    are scared by any great and persistent noise in the house which\n    they infest. The Saxon English, as well as Saxon Irish, of\n    Shakespeare’s time, confounding _rann_, a rhyme, with _ran_, a\n    _roar_, fell into the error which led to the English phrase as\n    used by Shakespeare.”—_Antiquarian Magazine and Bibliographer_,\n    1882, vol. ii. p. 9. “On Some Obscure Words and Celtic Phrases\n    in Shakespeare,” by Charles Mackay.\n\nSir W. Temple, in his “Essay on Poetry,” seems to derive the idea from\nthe Runic incantations, for, after speaking of them in various ways, he\nadds, “and the proverb of rhyming rats to death, came, I suppose, from\nthe same root.”\n\nAccording to a superstitious notion of considerable antiquity, rats\nleaving a ship are considered indicative of misfortune to a vessel,\nprobably from the same idea that crows will not build upon trees that\nare likely to fall. This idea is noticed by Shakespeare in “The Tempest”\n(i. 2), where Prospero, describing the vessel in which himself and\ndaughter had been placed, with the view to their certain destruction at\nsea, says:\n\n                “they hurried us aboard a bark,\n    Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared\n    A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg’d,\n    Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats\n    Instinctively have quit it.”\n\nThe _Shipping Gazette_ of April, 1869, contained a communication\nentitled, “A Sailor’s Notion about Rats,” in which the following passage\noccurs: “It is a well-authenticated fact that rats have often been known\nto leave ships in the harbor previous to their being lost at sea. Some\nof those wiseacres who want to convince us against the evidence of our\nsenses will call this superstition. As neither I have time, nor you\nspace, to cavil with such at present, I shall leave them alone in their\nglory.” The fact, however, as Mr. Hardwick has pointed out in his\n“Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-lore” (1872, p. 251), that rats do\nsometimes migrate from one ship to another, or from one barn or\ncorn-stack to another, from various causes, ought to be quite sufficient\nto explain such a superstition. Indeed, a story is told of a cunning\nWelsh captain who wanted to get rid of rats that infested his ship, then\nlying in the Mersey, at Liverpool. Having found out that there was a\nvessel laden with cheese in the basin, and getting alongside of her\nabout dusk, he left all his hatches open, and waited till all the rats\nwere in his neighbor’s ship, and then moved off.\n\n_Snail._ A common amusement among children consists in charming snails,\nin order to induce them to put out their horns—a couplet, such as the\nfollowing, being repeated on the occasion:\n\n    “Peer out, peer out, peer out of your hole,\n    Or else I’ll beat you as black as a coal.”\n\nIn Scotland, it is regarded as a token of fine weather if the snail obey\nthe command and put out its horn:[447]\n\n    “Snailie, snailie, shoot out your horn,\n    And tell us if it will be a bonnie day the morn.”\n\n    [447] See “English Folk-Lore,” 1878, p. 120.\n\nShakespeare alludes to snail-charming in the “Merry Wives of Windsor”\n(iv. 2), where Mrs. Page says of Mrs. Ford’s husband, he “so buffets\nhimself on the forehead, crying, _Peer out! peer out!_ that any madness\nI ever yet beheld seemed but tameness, civility, and patience, to this\nhis distemper he is in now.” In “Comedy of Errors” (ii. 2), the snail is\nused to denote a lazy person.\n\n_Tiger._ It was an ancient belief that this animal roared and raged most\nfuriously in stormy and high winds—a piece of folk-lore alluded to in\n“Troilus and Cressida” (i. 3), by Nestor, who says:\n\n    “The herd hath more annoyance by the breese\n    Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind\n    Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,\n    And flies fled under shade, why then, the thing of courage,\n    As roused with rage, with rage doth sympathize.”\n\n_Unicorn._ In “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 1) Decius tells how “unicorns may be\nbetray’d with trees,” alluding to their traditionary mode of capture.\nThey are reported to have been taken by one who, running behind a tree,\neluded the violent push the animal was making at him, so that his horn\nspent its force on the trunk, and stuck fast, detaining the animal till\nhe was despatched by the hunter.[448] In Topsell’s “History of Beasts”\n(1658, p. 557), we read of the unicorn: “He is an enemy to the lions,\nwherefore, as soon as ever a lion seeth a unicorn, he runneth to a tree\nfor succour, that so when the unicorn maketh force at him, he may not\nonly avoid his horn, but also destroy him; for the unicorn, in the\nswiftness of his course, runneth against the tree, wherein his sharp\nhorn sticketh fast, that when the lion seeth the unicorn fastened by the\nhorn, without all danger he falleth upon him and killeth him.” With this\npassage we may compare the following from Spenser’s “Fairy Queen” (bk.\nii. canto 5):\n\n    “Like as a lyon, whose imperiall power\n    A prowd rebellious unicorn defyes,\n    T’ avoide the rash assault and wrathful stowre\n    Of his fiers foe, him to a tree applyes,\n    And when him ronning in full course he spyes,\n    He slips aside: the whiles that furious beast\n    His precious horne, sought of his enimyes\n    Strikes in the stocke, ne thence can be releast,\n    But to the mighty victor yields a bounteous feast.”\n\n    [448] See Brewer’s “Dictionary of Phrase and Fable,” p. 922.\n\n_Weasel._ To meet a weasel was formerly considered a bad omen.[449] That\nmay be a tacit allusion to this superstition in “Lucrece” (l. 307):\n\n    “Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him there;\n    They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.”\n\n    [449] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 283.\n\nIt appears that weasels were kept in houses, instead of cats, for the\npurpose of killing vermin. Phædrus notices this their feline office in\nthe first and fourth fables of his fourth book. The supposed\nquarrelsomeness of this animal is spoken of by Pisanio in “Cymbeline”\n(iii. 4), who tells Imogen that she must be “as quarrelous as the\nweasel;” and in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 3), Lady Percy says to Hotspur:\n\n    “A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen\n    As you are toss’d with.”\n\nThis character of the weasel is not, however, generally mentioned by\nnaturalists.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nPLANTS.\n\n\nThat Shakespeare possessed an extensive knowledge of the history and\nsuperstitions associated with flowers is evident, from even only a\nslight perusal of his plays. Apart from the extensive use which he has\nmade of these lovely objects of nature for the purpose of embellishing,\nor adding pathos to, passages here and there, he has also, with a master\nhand, interwoven many a little legend or superstition, thereby infusing\nan additional force into his writings. Thus we know with what effect he\nhas made use of the willow in “Othello,” in that touching passage where\nDesdemona (iv. 3), anticipating her death, relates how her mother had a\nmaid called Barbara:\n\n    “She was in love; and he she lov’d prov’d mad,\n    And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,\n    An old thing ’twas, but it expressed her fortune,\n    And she died singing it: that song, to-night,\n    Will not go from my mind.”\n\nIn a similar manner Shakespeare has frequently introduced flowers with a\nwonderful aptness, as in the case of poor Ophelia. Those, however,\ndesirous of gaining a good insight into Shakespeare’s knowledge of\nflowers, as illustrated by his plays, would do well to consult Mr.\nEllacombe’s exhaustive work on the “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” a book\nto which we are much indebted in the following pages, as also to Mr.\nBeisly’s “Shakespeare’s Garden.”\n\n_Aconite._[450] This plant, from the deadly virulence of its juice,\nwhich, Mr. Turner says, “is of all poysones the most hastie poysone,”\nis compared by Shakespeare to gunpowder, as in “2 Henry IV.” (iv. 4):\n\n      “the united vessel of their blood,\n    Mingled with venom of suggestion,\n    As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,\n    Shall never leak, though it do work as strong\n    As aconitum, or rash gunpowder.”\n\n    [450] _Aconitum napellus_, Wolf’s-bane or Monk’s-hood.\n\nIt is, too, probably alluded to in the following passage in “Romeo and\nJuliet” (v. 1), where Romeo says:\n\n                                   “let me have\n    A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear\n    As will disperse itself through all the veins,\n    That the life-weary taker may fall dead;\n    And that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath\n    As violently, as hasty powder fir’d\n    Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.”\n\nAccording to Ovid, it derived its name from growing upon rock\n(Metamorphoses, bk. vii. l. 418):\n\n    “Quæ, quia nascuntur, dura vivacia caute,\n    Agrestes aconita vocant.”\n\nIt is probably derived from the Greek ἀκόνιτος, “without a struggle,” in\nallusion to the intensity of its poisonous qualities. Vergil[451] speaks\nof it, and tells us how the aconite deceives the wretched gatherers,\nbecause often mistaken for some harmless plant.[452] The ancients fabled\nit as the invention of Hecate,[453] who caused the plant to spring from\nthe foam of Cerberus, when Hercules dragged him from the gloomy regions\nof Pluto. Ovid pictures the stepdame as preparing a deadly potion of\naconite (Metamorphoses, bk. i. l. 147):\n\n    “Lurida terribiles miscent aconita novercæ.”\n\n    [451] “Miseros fallunt aconita legentis” (Georgics, bk. ii. l. 152).\n\n    [452] See Ellacombe’s “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” 1878, pp. 7, 8.\n\n    [453] Dr. Prior’s “Popular Names of British Plants,” 1870, pp.\n    1, 2.\n\nIn hunting, the ancients poisoned their arrows with this venomous plant,\nas “also when following their mortal brutal trade of slaughtering their\nfellow-creatures.”[454] Numerous instances are on record of fatal\nresults through persons eating this plant. In the “Philosophical\nTransactions” (1732, vol. xxxvii.) we read of a man who was poisoned in\nthat year, by eating some of it in a salad, instead of celery. Dr.\nTurner mentions the case of some Frenchmen at Antwerp, who, eating the\nshoots of this plant for masterwort, all died, with the exception of\ntwo, in forty-eight hours. The aconitum is equally pernicious to\nanimals.\n\n    [454] Phillips, “Flora Historica,” 1829, vol. ii. pp. 122, 128.\n\n_Anemone._ This favorite flower of early spring is probably alluded to\nin the following passage of “Venus and Adonis:”\n\n    “By this, the boy that by her side lay kill’d\n    Was melted like a vapour from her sight;\n    And in his blood, that on the ground lay spill’d,\n    A purple flower sprung up, chequer’d with white,\n      Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood\n      Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.”\n\nAccording to Bion, it is said to have sprung from the tears that Venus\nwept over the body of Adonis:\n\n    “Alas, the Paphian! fair Adonis slain!\n    Tears plenteous as his blood she pours amain,\n    But gentle flowers are born, and bloom around;\n    From every drop that falls upon the ground\n    Where streams his blood, there blushing springs the rose,\n    And where a tear has dropp’d a wind-flower blows.”\n\nOther classical writers make the anemone to be the flower of Adonis. Mr.\nEllacombe[455] says that although Shakespeare does not actually name the\nanemone, yet the evidence is in favor of this plant. The “purple color,”\nhe adds, is no objection, for purple in Shakespeare’s time had a very\nwide signification, meaning almost any bright color, just as “purpureus”\nhad in Latin.[456]\n\n    [455] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” pp. 10, 11.\n\n    [456] Phillips, “Flora Historica,” 1829, vol. i. p. 104.\n\n_Apple._ Although Shakespeare has so frequently introduced the apple\ninto his plays, yet he has abstained from alluding to the extensive\nfolk-lore associated with this favorite fruit. Indeed, beyond mentioning\nsome of the popular nicknames by which the apple was known in his day,\nlittle is said about it. The term apple was not originally confined to\nthe fruit now so called, but was a generic name applied to any fruit, as\nwe still speak of the love-apple, pine-apple, etc.[457] So when\nShakespeare (Sonnet xciii.) makes mention of Eve’s apple, he simply\nmeans that it was some fruit that grew in Eden:\n\n    “How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow,\n    If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.”\n\n    [457] Ellacombe’s “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 13.\n\n(_a_) The “apple-John,” called in France _deux-années_ or _deux-ans_,\nbecause it will keep two years, and considered to be in perfection when\nshrivelled and withered,[458] is evidently spoken of in “1 Henry IV.”\n(iii. 3), where Falstaff says: “My skin hangs about me like an old\nlady’s loose gown; I am withered like an old apple-John.” In “2 Henry\nIV.” (ii. 4) there is a further allusion:\n\n    “_1st Drawer._ What the devil hast thou brought there?\n    apple-Johns? thou know’st Sir John cannot endure an\n    apple-John.\n\n    _2d Drawer._ Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a\n    dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five\n    more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said, ‘I will now\n    take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered\n    knights.’”\n\n    [458] Dyce’s “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 15.\n\nThis apple, too, is well described by Phillips (“Cider,” bk. i.):\n\n    “Nor John Apple, whose wither’d rind, entrench’d\n    By many a furrow, aptly represents\n    Decrepit age.”\n\nIn Ben Jonson’s “Bartholomew Fair” (i. 1), where Littlewit encourages\nQuarlus to kiss his wife, he says: “she may call you an apple-John if\nyou use this.” Here apple-John[459] evidently means a procuring John,\nbesides the allusion to the fruit so called.[460]\n\n    [459] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 29; probably\n    synonymous with the term “apple-Squire,” which formerly\n    signified a pimp.\n\n    [460] Forby, in his “Vocabulary of East Anglia,” says of this\n    apple, “we retain the name, but whether we mean the same\n    variety of fruit which was so called in Shakespeare’s time, it\n    is not possible to ascertain.”\n\n(_b_) The “bitter-sweet, or sweeting,” to which Mercutio alludes in\n“Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 4): “Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a\nmost sharp sauce;” was apparently a favorite apple, which furnished many\nallusions to poets. Gower, in his “Confessio Amantis” (1554, fol. 174),\nspeaks of it:\n\n    “For all such time of love is lore\n    And like unto the _bitter swete_,\n    For though it thinke a man first sweete,\n    He shall well felen atte laste\n    That it is sower, and maie not laste.”\n\nThe name is “now given to an apple of no great value as a table fruit,\nbut good as a cider apple, and for use in silk dyeing.”[461]\n\n    [461] Ellacombe’s “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 16; Dyce’s\n    “Glossary,” p. 430; Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 81; Coles’s\n    “Latin and English Dictionary.” “A bitter-suete\n    [apple]—Amari-mellum.”\n\n(_c_) The “crab,” roasted before the fire and put into ale, was a very\nfavorite indulgence, especially at Christmas, in days gone by, and is\nreferred to in the song of winter in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2):\n\n    “When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl\n    Then nightly sings the staring owl.”\n\nThe beverage thus formed was called “Lambs-wool,” and generally\nconsisted of ale, nutmeg, sugar, toast, and roasted crabs, or apples. It\nformed the ingredient of the wassail-bowl;[462] and also of the gossip’s\nbowl[463] alluded to in “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1), where Puck\nsays:\n\n    “And sometime lurk I in a gossip’s bowl,\n    In very likeness of a roasted crab,\n    And when she drinks, against her lips I bob,\n    And on her wither’d dewlap pour the ale.”\n\n    [462] See chapter xi., Customs connected with the Calendar.\n\n    [463] See chapter on Customs connected with Birth and Baptism.\n\nIn Peele’s “Old Wives’ Tale,” it is said:\n\n    “Lay a crab in the fire to roast for lamb’s wool.”[464]\n\n    [464] Edited by Dyce, 1861, p. 446. Many fanciful derivations\n    for this word have been thought of, but it was no doubt named\n    from its smoothness and softness, resembling the wool of lambs.\n\nAnd in Herrick’s “Poems:”\n\n        “Now crowne the bowle\n         With gentle lamb’s wooll,\n    Add sugar, and nutmegs, and ginger.”\n\n(_d_) The “codling,” spoken of by Malvolio in “Twelfth Night” (i.\n5)—“Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a\nsquash is before ’tis a peascod, or a codling when ’tis almost an\napple”—is not the variety now so called, but was the popular term for an\nimmature apple, such as would require cooking to be eaten, being derived\nfrom “coddle,” to stew or boil lightly—hence it denoted a boiling apple,\nan apple for coddling or boiling.[465] Mr. Gifford[466] says that\ncodling was used by our old writers for that early state of vegetation\nwhen the fruit, after shaking off the blossom, began to assume a\nglobular and determinate form.\n\n    [465] Dr. Prior’s “Popular Names of British Plants,” 1870, p. 50.\n\n    [466] Note on Jonson’s Works, vol. iv. p. 24.\n\n(_e_) The “leather-coat” was the apple generally known as “the golden\nrusseting.”[467] Davy, in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3), says: “There is a dish\nof leather-coats for you.”\n\n    [467] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 242.\n\n(_f_) The “pippin” was formerly a common term for an apple, to which\nreference is made in “Hudibras Redivivus” (1705):\n\n    “A goldsmith telling o’er his cash,\n    A pipping-monger selling trash.”\n\nIn Taylor’s “Workes”[468] (1630) we read:\n\n    “Lord, who would take him for a pippin squire,\n    That’s so bedaub’d with lace and rich attire?”\n\n    [468] Quoted by Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 662.\n\nMr. Ellacombe[469] says the word “pippin” denoted an apple raised from\npips and not from grafts, and “is now, and probably was in Shakespeare’s\ntime, confined to the bright-colored long-keeping apples of which the\ngolden pippin is the type.” Justice Shallow, in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3),\nsays: “Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a\nlast year’s pippin of my own graffing.”\n\n    [469] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 16.\n\n(_g_) The “pomewater” was a species of apple evidently of a juicy\nnature, and hence of high esteem in Shakespeare’s time; for in “Love’s\nLabour’s Lost” (iv. 2) Holofernes says: “The deer was, as you know,\n_sanguis_—in blood; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel\nin the ear of _cœlo_—the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth\nlike a crab on the face of _terra_—the soil, the land, the earth.”\n\nParkinson[470] tells us the “pomewater” is an excellent, good, and great\nwhitish apple, full of sap or moisture, somewhat pleasant, sharp, but a\nlittle bitter withal; it will not last long, the winter’s frost soon\ncausing it to rot and perish.\n\n    [470] “Theatrum Botanicum,” 1640.\n\nIt appears that apples and caraways were formerly always eaten together;\nand it is said that they are still served up on particular days at\nTrinity College, Cambridge. This practice is probably alluded to by\nJustice Shallow, in the much-disputed passage in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3),\nwhen he speaks of eating “a last year’s pippin, ... with a dish of\ncarraways.” The phrase, too, seems further explained by the following\nquotations from Cogan’s “Haven of Health” (1599). After stating the\nvirtues of the seed, and some of its uses, he says: “For the same\npurpose _careway seeds_ are used to be made in comfits, and to be eaten\nwith apples, and surely very good for that purpose, for all such things\nas breed wind would be eaten with other things that break wind.” Again,\nin his chapter on Apples, he says: “Howbeit wee are wont to eat\ncarrawaies or biskets, or some other kind of comfits, or seeds together\nwith apples, thereby to breake winde ingendred by them, and surely this\nis a verie good way for students.” Mr. Ellacombe,[471] however,\nconsiders that in “the dish of carraways,” mentioned by Justice Shallow,\nneither caraway seeds, nor cakes made of caraways, are meant, but the\ncaraway or caraway-russet apple. Most of the commentators are in favor\nof one of the former explanations. Mr. Dyce[472] reads caraways in the\nsense of comfits or confections made with caraway-seeds, and quotes from\nShadwell’s “Woman-Captain” the following: “The fruit, crab-apples,\nsweetings, and horse-plumbs; and for confections, a few carraways in a\nsmall sawcer, as if his worship’s house had been a lousie inn.”\n\n    [471] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” pp. 17, 37.\n\n    [472] “Glossary,” pp. 65, 66.\n\n_Apricot._ This word, which is spelled by Shakespeare “apricock,” occurs\nin “Richard II.” (iii. 4), where the gardener says:\n\n    “Go, bind thou up yond dangling apricocks,\n    Which, like unruly children, make their sire\n    Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.”\n\nAnd in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1) Titania gives directions:\n\n    “Be kind and courteous to this gentleman,\n\n\n    Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries.”\n\nThe spelling “apricock”[473] is derived from the Latin _præcox_, or\n_præcoquus_; and it was called “the precocious tree,” because it\nflowered and fruited earlier than the peach. The term “apricock” is\nstill in use in Northamptonshire.\n\n    [473] See “Notes and Queries,” 2d series, bk. i. p. 420.\n\n_Aspen._ According to a mediæval legend, the perpetual motion of this\ntree dates from its having supplied the wood of the Cross, and that its\nleaves have trembled ever since at the recollection of their guilt. De\nQuincey, in his essay on “Modern Superstition,” says that this belief is\ncoextensive with Christendom. The following verses,[474] after telling\nhow other trees were passed by in the choice of wood for the Cross,\ndescribe the hewing down of the aspen, and the dragging of it from the\nforest to Calvary:\n\n    “On the morrow stood she, trembling\n      At the awful weight she bore,\n    When the sun in midnight blackness\n      Darkened on Judea’s shore.\n\n    “Still, when not a breeze is stirring,\n      When the mist sleeps on the hill,\n    And all other trees are moveless,\n      Stands the aspen, trembling still.”\n\n    [474] See Henderson’s “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” 1879,\n    pp. 151, 152.\n\nThe Germans, says Mr. Henderson, have a theory of their own, embodied in\na little poem, which may be thus translated:\n\n    “Once, as our Saviour walked with men below,\n      His path of mercy through a forest lay;\n    And mark how all the drooping branches show,\n      What homage best a silent tree may pay.\n\n    “Only the aspen stands erect and free,\n      Scorning to join that voiceless worship pure;\n    But see! He casts one look upon the tree,\n      Struck to the heart she trembles evermore!”\n\nAnother legend tells us[475] that the aspen was said to have been the\ntree on which Judas hanged himself after the betrayal of his Master, and\never since its leaves have trembled with shame. Shakespeare twice\nalludes to the trembling of the aspen. In “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 4)\nMarcus exclaims:\n\n    “O, had the monster seen those lily hands\n    Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute;”\n\nand in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) the hostess says: “Feel, masters, how I\nshake. Yea, in very truth, do I, an ’twere an aspen leaf.”\n\n    [475] Napier’s “Folk-Lore of West of Scotland,” 1879, p. 124.\n\n_Bachelor’s Buttons._ This was a name given to several flowers, and\nperhaps in Shakespeare’s time was more loosely applied to any flower in\nbud. It is now usually understood to be a _double variety_ of\nranunculus; according to others, the _Lychnis sylvestris_; and in some\ncounties it is applied to the _Scabiosa succisa_.[476] According to\nGerarde, this plant was so called from the similitude of its flowers “to\nthe jagged cloathe buttons, anciently worne in this kingdome.” It was\nformerly supposed, by country people, to have some magical effect upon\nthe fortunes of lovers. Hence it was customary for young people to carry\nits flowers in their pockets, judging of their good or bad success in\nproportion as these retained or lost their freshness. It is to this sort\nof divination that Shakespeare probably refers in “Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (iii. 2), where he makes the hostess say, “What say you to\nyoung Master Fenton? he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he\nwrites verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry\n’t, he will carry ’t; ’tis in his buttons; he will carry ’t.” Mr.\nWarter, in one of his notes in Southey’s “Commonplace Book” (1851, 4th\nseries, p. 244), says that this practice was common in his time, in\nShropshire and Staffordshire. The term “to wear bachelor’s buttons”\nseems to have grown into a phrase for being unmarried.[477]\n\n    [476] Dr. Prior’s “Popular Names of British Plants,” p. 13.\n\n    [477] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 45.\n\n_Balm._ From very early times the balm, or balsam, has been valued for\nits curative properties, and, as such, is alluded to in “Troilus and\nCressida” (i. 1):\n\n    “But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,\n    Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given me\n    The knife that made it.”\n\nIn “3 Henry VI.” (iv. 8) King Henry says:[478]\n\n    “My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds.”\n\n    [478] See “Richard III.,” i. 2; “Timon of Athens,” iii. 5.\n\nAlcibiades, in “Timon of Athens” (iii. 5), says:\n\n    “Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate\n    Pours into captains’ wounds? Banishment!”\n\nMacbeth, too, in the well-known passage ii. 2, introduces it:\n\n    “Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,\n    The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,\n    Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,\n    Chief nourisher in life’s feast.”\n\nAs the oil of consecration[479] it is spoken of by King Richard\n(“Richard II.,” iii. 2):\n\n    “Not all the water in the rough rude sea\n    Can wash the balm from an anointed king.”\n\n    [479] See “2 Henry IV.,” iv. 5.\n\nAnd again, in “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 1), King Henry, when in disguise,\nspeaks thus:\n\n    “Thy place is fill’d, thy sceptre wrung from thee,\n    Thy balm wash’d off wherewith thou wast anointed:\n    No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now.”\n\nThe origin of balsam, says Mr. Ellacombe,[480] “was for a long time a\nsecret, but it is now known to have been the produce of several\ngum-bearing trees, especially the _Pistacia lentiscus_ and the\n_Balsamodendron Gileadense_, and now, as then, the name is not strictly\nconfined to the produce of any one plant.”\n\n    [480] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 22.\n\n_Barley._ The barley broth, of which the Constable, in “Henry V.” (iii.\n5), spoke so contemptuously as the food of English soldiers, was\nprobably beer,[481] which long before the time of Henry was so\ncelebrated that it gave its name to the plant (barley being simply the\nbeer-plant):\n\n                              “Can sodden water,\n    A drench for sur-rein’d jades, their barley broth,\n    Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?”\n\n    [481] Ellacombe’s “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 23.\n\n_Bay-tree._ The withering and death of this tree were reckoned a\nprognostic of evil, both in ancient and modern times, a notion[482] to\nwhich Shakespeare refers in “Richard II.” (ii. 4):\n\n    “’Tis thought, the king is dead; we will not stay.\n    The bay-trees in our country are all wither’d”\n\n—having obtained it probably from Holinshed, who says: “In this yeare,\nin a manner throughout all the realme of Englande, old baie trees\nwithered.” Lupton, in his “Syxt Booke of Notable Things,” mentions this\nas a bad omen: “Neyther falling-sickness, neyther devyll, wyll infest or\nhurt one in that place whereas a bay-tree is. The Romaynes call it the\nplant of the good angel.”[483]\n\n    [482] See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 32.\n\n    [483] See also Evelyn’s “Sylva,” 1776, p. 396.\n\n_Camomile._ It was formerly imagined that this plant grew the more\nluxuriantly for being frequently trodden or pressed down; a notion\nalluded to in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) by Falstaff: “For though the\ncamomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the\nmore it is wasted, the sooner it wears.” Nares[484] considers that the\nabove was evidently written in ridicule of the following passage, in a\nbook very fashionable in Shakespeare’s day, Lyly’s “Euphues,” of which\nit is a parody: “Though the camomile, the more it is trodden and pressed\ndown, the more it spreadeth; yet the violet, the oftener it is handled\nand touched, the sooner it withereth and decayeth,” etc.\n\n    [484] “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 150; see Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 63.\n\n_Clover._ According to Johnson, the “honey-stalks” in the following\npassage (“Titus Andronicus,” iv. 4) are “clover-flowers, which contain a\nsweet juice.” It is not uncommon for cattle to overcharge themselves\nwith clover, and die, hence the allusion by Tamora:\n\n    “I will enchant the old Andronicus\n    With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,\n    Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep.”\n\n_Columbine._ This was anciently termed “a thankless flower,” and was\nalso emblematical of forsaken lovers. It is somewhat doubtful to what\nOphelia alludes in “Hamlet” (iv. 5), where she seems to address the\nking: “There’s fennel for you, and columbines.” Perhaps she regarded it\nas symbolical of ingratitude.\n\n_Crow-flowers._ This name, which in Shakespeare’s time was applied to\nthe “ragged robin,” is now used for the buttercup. It was one of the\nflowers that poor Ophelia wove into her garland (“Hamlet,” iv. 7):\n\n    “There with fantastic garlands did she come\n    Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples.”\n\n_Cuckoo-buds._ Commentators are uncertain to what flower Shakespeare\nrefers in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2):\n\n    “When daisies pied and violets blue,\n      And lady-smocks all silver-white,\n    And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue\n      Do paint the meadows with delight.”\n\nMr. Miller, in his “Gardener’s Dictionary,” says that the flower here\nalluded to is the _Ranunculus bulbosus_; but Mr. Beisly, in his\n“Shakespeare’s Garden,” considers it to be the _Ranunculus ficaria_\n(lesser celandine), or pile-wort, as this flower appears earlier in\nspring, and is in bloom at the same time as the other flowers named in\nthe song. Mr. Swinfen Jervis, however, in his “Dictionary of the\nLanguage of Shakespeare” (1868), decides in favor of cowslips:[485] and\nDr. Prior suggests the buds of the crowfoot. At the present day the\nnickname cuckoo-bud is assigned to the meadow cress (_Cardamine\npratensis_).\n\n    [485] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 212.\n\n_Cuckoo-flowers._ By this flower, Mr. Beisly[486] says, the ragged robin\nis meant, a well-known meadow and marsh plant, with rose-colored flowers\nand deeply-cut, narrow segments. It blossoms at the time the cuckoo\ncomes, hence one of its names. In “King Lear” (iv. 4) Cordelia narrates\nhow\n\n                         “he was met even now\n    As mad as the vex’d sea; singing aloud;\n    Crown’d with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,\n    With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,\n    Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow\n    In our sustaining corn.”\n\n    [486] “Shakespeare’s Garden,” p. 143.\n\n_Cypress._ From the earliest times the cypress has had a mournful\nhistory, being associated with funerals and churchyards, and as such is\nstyled by Spenser “cypress funereal.”\n\nIn Quarles’s “Argalus and Parthenia” (1726, bk. iii.) a knight is\nintroduced, whose\n\n                           “horse was black as jet,\n    His furniture was round about beset\n    With branches slipt from the sad cypress tree.”\n\nFormerly coffins were frequently made of cypress wood, a practice to\nwhich Shakespeare probably alludes in “Twelfth Night” (ii. 4), where the\nClown says: “In sad cypress let me be laid.” Some, however, prefer[487]\nunderstanding cypress to mean “a shroud of cyprus or cypress”—a fine,\ntransparent stuff, similar to crape, either white or black, but more\ncommonly the latter.[488] Douce[489] thinks that the expression “laid”\nseems more applicable to a coffin than to a shroud, and also adds that\nthe shroud is afterwards expressly mentioned by itself.\n\n    [487] See “Winter’s Tale,” iv. 4:\n\n        “Lawn as white as driven snow;\n        Cyprus black as e’er was crow.”\n\n    Its transparency is alluded to in “Twelfth Night,” iii. 1:\n\n                   “a cyprus, not a bosom,\n        Hides my heart.”\n\n    [488] See Dyce’s “Glossary,” 1872, p. 113.\n\n    [489] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 56. See\n    Mr. Gough’s “Introduction to Sepulchral Monuments,” p. lxvi.;\n    also Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 221.\n\n_Daffodil._ The daffodil of Shakespeare is the wild daffodil which grows\nso abundantly in many parts of England. Perdita, in “Winter’s Tale” (iv.\n4), mentions a little piece of weather-lore, and tells us how\n\n                                  “daffodils,\n    That come before the swallow dares, and take\n    The winds of March with beauty.”\n\nAnd Autolycus, in the same play (iv. 3), sings thus:\n\n    “When daffodils begin to peer,—\n      With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,\n    Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year.”\n\n_Darnel._ This plant, like the cockle, was used in Shakespeare’s day to\ndenote any hurtful weed. Newton,[490] in his “Herbal to the Bible,” says\nthat “under the name of cockle and darnel is comprehended all vicious,\nnoisome, and unprofitable graine, encombring and hindering good corne.”\nThus Cordelia, in “King Lear” (iv. 4), says:\n\n    “Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow\n    In our sustaining corn.”\n\n    [490] See Dr. Prior’s “Popular Names of British Plants,” 1870,\n    p. 63.\n\nAccording to Gerarde, “darnel hurteth the eyes, and maketh them dim, if\nit happen either in corne for breade or drinke.” Hence, it is said,\noriginated the old proverb, “lolio victitare”—applied to such as were\ndim-sighted. Steevens considers that Pucelle, in the following passage\nfrom “1 Henry VI.” (iii. 2), alludes to this property of the\ndarnel—meaning to intimate that the corn she carried with her had\nproduced the same effect on the guards of Rouen, otherwise they would\nhave seen through her disguise and defeated her stratagem:\n\n    “Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?\n    I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast,\n    Before he’ll buy again at such a rate:\n    ’Twas full of darnel: do you like the taste?”\n\n_Date._ This fruit of the palm-tree was once a common ingredient in all\nkinds of pastry, and some other dishes, and often supplied a pun for\ncomedy, as, for example, in “All’s Well That Ends Well” (i. 1), where\nParolles says: “Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than\nin your cheek.” And in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 2): “Ay, a minced man;\nand then to be baked with no date in the pie; for then the man’s date’s\nout.”\n\n_Ebony._ The wood of this tree was regarded as the typical emblem of\ndarkness; the tree itself, however, was unknown in this country in\nShakespeare’s time. It is mentioned in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 3):\n\n      “_King._ By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.\n\n      _Biron._ Is ebony like her? O wood divine!\n    A wife of such wood were felicity.”\n\nIn the same play we read of “the ebon-coloured ink” (i. 1), and in\n“Venus and Adonis” (948) of “Death’s ebon dart.”\n\n_Elder._ This plant, while surrounded by an extensive folk-lore, has\nfrom time immemorial possessed an evil reputation, and been regarded as\none of bad omen. According to a popular tradition “Judas was hanged on\nan elder,” a superstition mentioned by Biron in “Love’s Labour’s Lost”\n(v. 2); and also by Ben Jonson in “Every Man Out of His Humour” (iv. 4):\n“He shall be your Judas, and you shall be his elder-tree to hang on.” In\n“Piers Plowman’s Vision” (ll. 593-596) we are told how\n\n    “Judas, he japed\n    With jewen silver,\n    And sithen on an eller\n    Hanged hymselve.”\n\nSo firmly rooted was this belief in days gone by that Sir John\nMandeville tells us in his Travels, which he wrote in 1364, that he was\nactually shown the identical tree at Jerusalem, “And faste by is zit,\nthe tree of Elder that Judas henge himself upon, for despeyr that he\nhadde when he solde and betrayed oure Lord.” This tradition no doubt, in\na great measure, helped to give it its bad fame, causing it to be spoken\nof as “the stinking elder.” Shakespeare makes it an emblem of grief. In\n“Cymbeline” (iv. 2) Arviragus says:\n\n                            “Grow, patience!\n    And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine\n    His perishing root with the increasing vine!”\n\nThe dwarf elder[491] (_Sambucus ebulus_) is said only to grow where\nblood has been shed either in battle or in murder. The Welsh call it\n“Llysan gward gwyr,” or “plant of the blood of man.” Shakespeare,\nperhaps, had this piece of folk-lore in mind when he represents\nBassianus, in “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 4), as killed at a pit beneath an\nelder-tree:\n\n    “This is the pit and this the elder tree.”\n\n    [491] “Flower-Lore,” p. 35.\n\n_Eringoes._ These were formerly said to be strong provocatives, and as\nsuch are mentioned by Falstaff in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5): “Let\nthe sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves, hail\nkissing comfits, and snow eringoes.” Mr. Ellacombe[492] thinks that in\nthis passage the globe artichoke is meant, “which is a near ally of the\neryngium, and was a favorite dish in Shakespeare’s time.”\n\n    [492] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 66.\n\n_Fennel._ This was generally considered as an inflammatory herb; and to\neat “conger and fennel” was “to eat two high and hot things together,”\nwhich was an act of libertinism.[493] Thus in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4)\nFalstaff says of Poins, he “eats conger and fennel.” Mr. Beisly\nstates[494] that fennel was used as a sauce with fish hard of digestion,\nbeing aromatic, and as the old writers term it, “hot in the third\ndegree.” One of the herbs distributed by poor Ophelia, in her\ndistraction, is fennel, which she offers either as a cordial or as an\nemblem of flattery: “There’s fennel for you, and columbines.”\n\n    [493] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 302; Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 159.\n\n    [494] “Shakspere’s Garden,” p. 158.\n\nMr. Staunton, however, considers that fennel here signifies _lust_,\nwhile Mr. Beisly thinks its reputed property of clearing the sight is\nalluded to. It is more probable that it denotes flattery; especially as,\nin Shakespeare’s time, it was regarded as emblematical of flattery. In\nthis sense it is often quoted by old writers. In Greene’s “Quip for an\nUpstart Courtier,” we read, “Fennell I meane for flatterers.” In “Phyala\nLachrymarum”[495] we find:\n\n    “Nor fennel-finkle bring for flattery,\n    Begot of his, and fained courtesie.”\n\n    [495] Quoted in Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 303.\n\n_Fern._ According to a curious notion fern-seed was supposed to possess\nthe power of rendering persons invisible. Hence it was a most important\nobject of superstition, being gathered mystically, especially on\nMidsummer Eve. It was believed at one time to have neither flower nor\nseed; the seed, which lay on the back of the leaf, being so small as to\nescape the detection of the hasty observer. On this account, probably,\nproceeding on the fantastic doctrine of signatures, our ancestors\nderived the notion that those who could obtain and wear this invisible\nseed would be themselves invisible: a belief which is referred to in “1\nHenry IV.” (ii. 1):\n\n    “_Gadshill._ We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk\n    invisible.\n\n    _Chamberlain._ Nay, by my faith, I think you are more\n    beholding to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walking\n    invisible.”\n\nThis superstition is mentioned by many old writers; a proof of its\npopularity in times past. It is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher’s\n“Fair Maid of the Inn” (i. 1):\n\n    “Did you think that you had Gyges’ ring?\n    Or the herb that gives invisibility?”\n\nAgain, in Ben Jonson’s “New Inn” (i. 1):\n\n                          “I had\n    No medicine, sir, to go invisible,\n    No fern-seed in my pocket.”\n\nAs recently as Addison’s day, we are told in the _Tatler_ (No. 240) that\n“it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement\nthrust into your hand of a doctor who had arrived at the knowledge of\nthe green and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern-seed.”[496]\n\n    [496] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. i. pp. 314-316.\n\n_Fig._ Formerly the term fig served as a common expression of contempt,\nand was used to denote a thing of the least importance. Hence the\npopular phrase, “not to care a fig for one;” a sense in which it is\nsometimes used by Shakespeare, who makes Pistol say, in “Merry Wives of\nWindsor” (i. 3), “a fico for the phrase!” and in “Henry V.” (iii. 6)\nPistol exclaims, “figo for thy friendship!” In “Othello” (i. 3) Iago\nsays, “Virtue! a fig!”\n\nThe term “to give or make the fig,” as an expression of insult, has for\nmany ages been very prevalent among the nations of Europe, and,\naccording to Douce,[497] was known to the Romans. It consists in\nthrusting the thumb between two of the closed fingers, or into the\nmouth, a practice, as some say,[498] in allusion to a contemptuous\npunishment inflicted on the Milanese, by the Emperor Frederic\nBarbarossa, in 1162, when he took their city. This, however, is\naltogether improbable, the real origin, no doubt, being a coarse\nrepresentation of a disease, to which the name of _ficus_ or fig has\nalways been given.[499]\n\n    [497] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” pp. 302-308.\n\n    [498] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 305.\n\n    [499] See Gifford’s note on Jonson’s Works, vol. i. p. 52;\n    Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 161; Du Cange’s “Glossary;” Connelly’s\n    “Spanish and English Dictionary,” 4to.\n\nThe “fig of Spain,” spoken of in “Henry V.” (iii. 6), may either allude\nto the poisoned fig employed in Spain as a secret way of destroying an\nobnoxious person, as in Webster’s “White Devil:”[500]\n\n    “I do look now for a Spanish fig, or an Italian salad, daily;”\n\nand in Shirley’s “Brothers:”[501]\n\n          “I must poison him;\n    One fig sends him to Erebus;”\n\nor it may, as Mr. Dyce remarks,[502] simply denote contempt or insult in\nthe sense already mentioned.\n\n    [500] Edited by Dyce, 1857, p. 30.\n\n    [501] Edited by Gifford and Dyce, vol. i. p. 231.\n\n    [502] “Glossary,” p. 161.\n\n_Flower-de-luce._ The common purple iris which adorns our gardens is now\ngenerally agreed upon as the fleur-de-luce, a corruption of fleur de\nLouis—being spelled either fleur-de-lys or fleur-de-lis. It derives its\nname from Louis VII., King of France, who chose this flower as his\nheraldic emblem when setting forth on his crusade to the Holy Land. It\nhad already been used by the other French kings, and by the emperors of\nConstantinople; but it is still a matter of dispute among antiquarians\nas to what it was originally intended to represent. Some say a flower,\nsome a toad, some a halbert-head. It is uncertain what plant is referred\nto by Shakespeare when he alludes to the flower-de-luce in the following\npassage[503] in “2 Henry VI.” (v. 1), where the Duke of York says:\n\n    “A sceptre shall it have,—have I a soul,—\n    On which I’ll toss the flower-de-luce of France.”\n\n    [503] See “Winter’s Tale,” iv. 3; “Henry V.,” v. 2; “1 Henry\n    VI.,” i. 1.\n\nIn “1 Henry VI.” (i. 2) Pucelle declares:\n\n    “I am prepared; here is my keen-edged sword,\n    Deck’d with five flower-de-luces on each side.”\n\nSome think the lily is meant, others the iris. For the lily theory, says\nMr. Ellacombe,[504] “there are the facts that Shakespeare calls it one\nof the lilies, and that the other way of spelling is fleur-de-lys.”\n\n    [504] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 73.\n\nChaucer seems to connect it with the lily (“Canterbury Tales,” Prol.\n238):\n\n    “Her nekke was white as the flour-de-lis.”\n\nOn the other hand, Spenser separates the lilies from the flower-de-luces\nin his “Shepherd’s Calendar;” and Ben Jonson mentions “rich carnations,\nflower-de-luces, lilies.”\n\nThe fleur-de-lis was not always confined to royalty as a badge. Thus, in\nthe square of La Pucelle, in Rouen, there is a statue of Jeanne D’Arc\nwith fleurs-de-lis sculptured upon it, and an inscription as follows:\n\n    “The maiden’s sword protects the royal crown;\n    Beneath the maiden’s sword the lilies safely blow.”\n\nSt. Louis conferred upon the Chateaubriands the device of a\nfleur-de-lis, and the motto, “Mon sang teint les bannièrs de France.”\nWhen Edward III. claimed the crown of France, in the year 1340, he\nquartered the ancient shield of France with the lions of England. It\ndisappeared, however, from the English shield in the first year of the\npresent century.\n\n_Gillyflower._ This was the old name for the whole class of carnations,\npinks, and sweet-williams, from the French _girofle_, which is itself\ncorrupted from the Latin _caryophyllum_.[505] The streaked gillyflowers,\nsays Mr. Beisly,[506] noticed by Perdita in “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4)—\n\n             “the fairest flowers o’ the season\n    Are our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,\n    Which some call nature’s bastards”—\n\n“are produced by the flowers of one kind being impregnated by the pollen\nof another kind, and this art (or law) in nature Shakespeare alludes to\nin the delicate language used by Perdita, as well as to the practice of\nincreasing the plants by slips.” Tusser, in his “Five Hundred Points of\nGood Husbandry,” says:\n\n    “The gilloflower also the skilful doe know,\n    Doth look to be covered in frost and in snow.”\n\n    [505] “Nares’s Glossary,” vol. i. p. 363.\n\n    [506] “Shakespeare’s Garden,” p. 82; see Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 184.\n\n_Harebell._ This flower, mentioned in “Cymbeline” (iv. 2), is no doubt\nanother name for the wild hyacinth.\n\nArviragus says of Imogen:\n\n                              “thou shalt not lack\n    The flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose; nor\n    The azured harebell, like thy veins.”\n\n_Hemlock._ In consequence of its bad and poisonous character, this plant\nwas considered an appropriate ingredient for witches’ broth. In\n“Macbeth” (iv. 1) we read of\n\n    “Root of hemlock, digged i’ the dark.”\n\nIts scientific name, _conium_, is from the Greek word meaning cone or\ntop, whose whirling motion resembles the giddiness produced on the\nconstitution by its poisonous juice. It is by most persons supposed to\nbe the death-drink of the Greeks, and the one by which Socrates was put\nto death.\n\n_Herb of Grace_ or _Herb Grace_. A popular name in days gone by for rue.\nThe origin of the term is uncertain. Most probably it arose from the\nextreme bitterness of the plant, which, as it had always borne the name\n_rue_ (to be sorry for anything), was not unnaturally associated with\nrepentance. It was, therefore, the herb of repentance,[507] “and this\nwas soon changed into ‘herb of grace,’ repentance being the chief sign\nof grace.” The expression is several times used by Shakespeare. In\n“Richard II.” (iii. 4) the gardener narrates:\n\n    “Here did she fall a tear; here, in this place\n    I’ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:\n    Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,\n    In the remembrance of a weeping queen.”\n\n    [507] Ellacombe’s “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 204; Prior’s\n    “Popular Names of British Plants,” 1870, p. 111.\n\nIn “Hamlet” (iv. 5), Ophelia, when addressing the queen, says, “There’s\nrue for you; and here’s some for me: we may call it herb-grace o’\nSundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference.”[508]\n\n    [508] Cf. “All’s Well that Ends Well,” iv. 5; “Antony and\n    Cleopatra,” iv. 2; “Romeo and Juliet,” ii. 3, where Friar\n    Laurence says:\n\n        “In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will.”\n\nMalone observes that there is no ground for supposing that rue was\ncalled “herb of grace” from its being used in exorcisms in churches on\nSunday, a notion entertained by Jeremy Taylor, who says, referring to\nthe _Flagellum Dæmonum_, “First, they (the Romish exorcisers) are to try\nthe devil by holy water, incense, sulphur, rue, which from thence, as we\nsuppose, came to be called ‘herb of grace.’”[509] Rue was also a common\nsubject of puns, from being the same word which signified sorrow or pity\n(see “Richard II.,” iii. 4, cited above).\n\n    [509] “A Dissuasive from Popery,” pt. i. chap. ii. sec. 9; see\n    Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 371.\n\n_Holy Thistle._ The Carduus Benedictus, called also “blessed thistle,”\nwas so named, like other plants which bear the specific name of\n“blessed,” from its supposed power of counteracting the effect of\npoison.[510] Cogan, in his “Haven of Health,” 1595, says, “This herbe\nmay worthily be called _Benedictus_, or _Omnimorbia_, that is, a salve\nfor every sore, not known to physitians of old time, but lately revealed\nby the special providence of Almighty God.” It is alluded to in “Much\nAdo About Nothing” (iii. 4):\n\n    “_Margaret._ Get you some of this distilled Carduus\n    Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for\n    a qualm.\n\n    _Hero._ There thou prickest her with a thistle.\n\n    _Beatrice._ Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in\n    this Benedictus.\n\n    _Margaret._ Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning. I\n    meant, plain holy-thistle.”\n\n    [510] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 464.\n\n_Insane Root._ There is much doubt as to what plant is meant by Banquo\nin “Macbeth” (i. 3):\n\n           “have we eaten on the insane root\n    That takes the reason prisoner?”\n\nThe origin of this passage is probably to be found in North’s\n“Plutarch,” 1579 (“Life of Antony,” p. 990), where mention is made of a\nplant which “made them out of their wits.” Several plants have been\nsuggested—the hemlock, belladonna, mandrake, henbane, etc. Douce\nsupports the last, and cites the following passage:[511] “Henbane ... is\ncalled insana, mad, for the use thereof is perillous; for if it be eate\nor dronke, it breedeth madness, or slow lykenesse of sleepe.” Nares[512]\nquotes from Ben Jonson (“Sejanus,” iii. 2), in support of hemlock:\n\n                  “well, read my charms,\n    And may they lay that hold upon thy senses\n    As thou hadst snufft up hemlock.”\n\n    [511] Batman’s “Upon Bartholomæus de Proprietate Rerum,” lib.\n    xvii. chap. 87.\n\n    [512] “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 465.\n\n_Ivy._ It was formerly the general custom in England, as it is still in\nFrance and the Netherlands, to hang a bush of ivy at the door of a\nvintner.[513] Hence the allusion in “As You Like It” (v. 4, Epilogue),\nwhere Rosalind wittily remarks: “If it be true that good wine needs no\nbush, ’tis true that a good play needs no epilogue.” This custom is\noften referred to by our old writers, as, for instance, in Nash’s\n“Summer’s Last Will and Testament,” 1600:\n\n    “Green ivy bushes at the vintner’s doors.”\n\nAnd in the “Rival Friends,” 1632:\n\n    “’Tis like the ivy bush unto a tavern.”\n\n    [513] See Hotten’s “History of Sign Boards.”\n\nThis plant was no doubt chosen from its being sacred to Bacchus. The\npractice was observed at statute hirings, wakes, etc., by people who\nsold ale at no other time. The manner, says Mr. Singer,[514] in which\nthey were decorated appears from a passage in Florio’s “Italian\nDictionary,” in _voce tremola_, “Gold foile, or thin leaves of gold or\nsilver, namely, thinne plate, as our vintners adorn their bushes with.”\nWe may compare the old sign of “An owl in an ivy bush,” which perhaps\ndenoted the union of wisdom or prudence with conviviality, with the\nphrase “be merry and wise.”\n\n    [514] “Shakespeare,” vol. iii. p. 112.\n\n_Kecksies._ These are the dry, hollow stalks of hemlock. In “Henry V.”\n(v. 2) Burgundy makes use of the word:\n\n                          “and nothing teems,\n    But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,\n    Losing both beauty and utility.”\n\nIt has been suggested[515] that kecksies may be a mistaken form of the\nplural kex; and that kex may have been formed from keck, something so\ndry that the eater would keck at it, or be unable to swallow it. The\nword is probably derived from the Welsh “cecys,” which is applied to\nseveral plants of the umbelliferous kind. Dr. Prior,[516] however, says\nthat kecksies is from an old English word keek, or kike, retained in the\nnorthern counties in the sense of “peep” or “spy.”\n\n    [515] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 482.\n\n    [516] “Popular Names of British Plants,” 1879, p. 128.\n\n_Knotgrass._[517] The allusion to this plant in “A Midsummer-Night’s\nDream” (iii. 2)—\n\n                      “Get you gone, you dwarf!\n    You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;\n    You bead, you acorn!”—\n\nrefers to its supposed power of hindering the growth of any child or\nanimal, when taken in an infusion, a notion alluded to by Beaumont and\nFletcher (“Coxcombe,” ii. 2):\n\n    “We want a boy extremely for this function,\n    Kept under for a year with milk and knot-grass.”\n\n    [517] _Polygonum aviculare._\n\nIn “The Knight of the Burning Pestle” (ii. 2) we read: “The child’s a\nfatherless child, and say they should put him into a strait pair of\ngaskins, ’twere worse than knot-grass; he would never grow after it.”\n\n_Lady-smocks._ This plant is so called from the resemblance of its white\nflowers to little smocks hung out to dry (“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” v. 2),\nas they used to be at that season of the year especially\n\n    “When daisies pied, and violets blue,\n      And lady-smocks all silver white,\n    And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,\n      Do paint the meadows with delight.\n\n\n    When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,\n\n\n    And maidens bleach their summer smocks.”\n\nAccording to another explanation, the lady-smock is a corruption of “Our\nLady’s Smock,” so called from its first flowering about Lady-tide. This\nplant has also been called cuckoo-flower, because, as Gerarde says, “it\nflowers in April and May, when the cuckoo doth begin to sing her\npleasant notes without stammering.”\n\n_Laurel._ From the very earliest times this classical plant has been\nregarded as symbolical of victory, and used for crowns. In “Titus\nAndronicus” (i. 1) Titus says:\n\n    “Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs.”\n\nAnd in “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 3) the latter exclaims:\n\n                     “upon your sword\n    Sit laurelled victory.”[518]\n\n    [518] See “3 Henry VI.,” iv. 6; “Troilus and Cressida,” i. 3.\n\n_Leek._ The first of March is observed by the Welsh in honor of St.\nDavid, their patron saint, when, as a sign of their patriotism, they\nwear a leek. Much doubt exists as to the origin of this custom.\nAccording to the Welsh, it is because St. David ordered his Britons to\nplace leeks in their caps, that they might be distinguished in fight\nfrom their Saxon foes. Shakespeare, in “Henry V.” (iv. 7), alludes to\nthe custom when referring to the battle of Cressy. Fluellen says, “If\nyour majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a\ngarden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps, which\nyour majesty know to this hour is an honourable badge of the service;\nand I do believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint\nTavy’s day.”[519] Dr. Owen Pughe[520] supposes the custom arose from the\npractice of every farmer contributing his leek to the common repast when\nthey met at the Cymmortha, an association by which they reciprocated\nassistance in ploughing the land. Anyhow, the subject is one involved in\ncomplete uncertainty, and the various explanations given are purely\nconjectural (see p. 303).\n\n    [519] See “Henry V.,” iv. 1.\n\n    [520] “Cambrian Biography,” 1803, p. 86; see Brand’s “Pop.\n    Antiq.,” 1849, vol. i. pp. 102-108.\n\n_Lily._ Although so many pretty legends and romantic superstitions have\nclustered round this sweet and favorite flower, yet they have escaped\nthe notice of Shakespeare, who, while attaching to it the choicest\nepithets, has simply made it the type of elegance and beauty, and the\nsymbol of purity and whiteness.\n\n_Long Purples._ This plant, mentioned by Shakespeare in “Hamlet” (iv. 7)\nas forming part of the nosegay of poor Ophelia, is generally considered\nto be the early purple orchis (_Orchis mascula_), which blossoms in\nApril or May. It grows in meadows and pastures, and is about ten inches\nhigh. Tennyson (“A Dirge”) uses the name:\n\n    “Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,\n    Bramble roses, faint and pale,\n    And long purples of the dale.”\n\nAnother term applied by Shakespeare to this flower was “Dead Men’s\nFingers,” from the pale color and hand-like shape of the palmate tubers:\n\n    “Our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them.”\n\nIn “Flowers from Stratford-on-Avon,” it is said, “there can be no doubt\nthat the wild arum is the plant alluded to by Shakespeare,” but there\nseems no authority for this statement.\n\n_Love-in-Idleness_, or, with more accuracy, _Love-in-Idle_,[521] is one\nof the many nicknames of the pansy or heart’s-ease—a term said to be\nstill in use in Warwickshire. It occurs in “Midsummer-Night’s Dream”\n(ii. 1),[522] where Oberon says:\n\n    “Yet mark’d I where the bolt of Cupid fell:\n    It fell upon a little western flower,\n    Before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,\n    And maidens call it love-in-idleness.”\n\n    [521] See Dr. Prior’s “Popular Names of British Plants,” 1870,\n    p. 139.\n\n    [522] Cf. “Taming of the Shrew,” i. 1.\n\nThe phrase literally signifies love in vain, or to no purpose, as Taylor\nalludes to it in the following couplet:\n\n    “When passions are let loose without a bridle,\n    Then precious time is turned to _love and idle_.”\n\nThat flowers, and pansies especially, were used as love-philters,[523]\nor for the object of casting a spell over people, in Shakespeare’s day,\nis shown in the passage already quoted. where Puck and Oberon amuse\nthemselves at Titania’s expense. Again, a further reference occurs (iv.\n1), where the fairy king removes the spell:\n\n    “But first I will release the fairy queen.\n           Be as thou wast wont to be:\n           See as thou wast wont to see:\n           Dian’s bud[524] o’er Cupid’s flower[525]\n           Hath such force and blessed power.\n    Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.”\n\n    [523] Cf. what Egeus says (i. 1) when speaking of Lysander:\n\n        “This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child;\n        Thou, thou Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes\n        And interchanged love-tokens with my child.”\n\n    [524] Dian’s bud is the bud of the _Agnus castus_, or chaste\n    tree. “The virtue this herbe is, that he will kepe man and\n    woman chaste.” “Macer’s Herbal,” 1527.\n\n    [525] Cupid’s flower, another name for the pansy.\n\n“It has been suggested,” says Mr. Aldis Wright,[526] “that the device\nemployed by Oberon to enchant Titania by anointing her eyelids with the\njuice of a flower, may have been borrowed by Shakespeare from the\nSpanish romance of ‘Diana’ by George of Montemayor. But apart from the\ndifficulty which arises from the fact that no English translation of\nthis romance is known before that published by Young in 1598, there is\nno necessity to suppose that Shakespeare was indebted to any one for\nwhat must have been a familiar element in all incantations at a time\nwhen a belief in witchcraft was common.” Percy (“Reliques,” vol. iii.\nbk. 2) quotes a receipt by the celebrated astrologer, Dr. Dee, for “an\nungent to anoynt under the eyelids, and upon the eyelids eveninge and\nmorninge, but especially when you call,” that is, upon the fairies. It\nconsisted of a decoction of various flowers.\n\n    [526] Notes to “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” 1877. Preface, p. xx.\n\n_Mandragora_ or _Mandrake_. No plant, perhaps, has had, at different\ntimes, a greater share of folk-lore attributed to it than the mandrake;\npartly owing, probably, to the fancied resemblance of its root to the\nhuman figure, and the accidental circumstance of _man_ being the first\nsyllable of the word. An inferior degree of animal life was assigned to\nit; and it was commonly supposed that, when torn from the ground, it\nuttered groans of so pernicious a character, that the person who\ncommitted the violence either went mad or died. In “2 Henry VI.” (iii.\n2) Suffolk says:\n\n    “Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake’s groan,\n    I would invent,” etc.\n\nAnd Juliet (“Romeo and Juliet,” iv. 3) speaks of\n\n      “shrieks like mandrakes’ torn out of the earth,\n    That living mortals, hearing them, run mad.”\n\nTo escape this danger, it was recommended to tie one end of a string to\nthe plant and the other to a dog, upon whom the fatal groan would\ndischarge its whole malignity. The ancients, it appears, were equally\nsuperstitious with regard to this mysterious plant, and Columella, in\nhis directions for the site of gardens, says they may be formed where\n\n                        “the mandrake’s flowers\n    Produce, whose root shows half a man, whose juice\n    With madness strikes.”\n\nPliny[527] informs us that those who dug up this plant paid particular\nattention to stand so that the wind was at their back; and, before they\nbegan to dig, they made three circles round the plant with the point of\nthe sword, and then, proceeding to the west, commenced digging it up. It\nseems to have been well known as an opiate in the time of Shakespeare,\nwho makes Iago say in “Othello” (iii. 3):\n\n                “Not poppy, nor mandragora,\n    Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,\n    Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep\n    Which thou ow’dst yesterday.”\n\n    [527] “Natural History,” bk. xxv. chap. 94.\n\nIn “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 5), the queen pathetically says:\n\n            “Give me to drink mandragora.\n\n    _Char._                               Why, madam?\n\n    _Cleo._ That I might sleep out this great gap of time,\n            My Antony is away.”\n\nLyte, in his translation of “Dodoens” (1578), p. 438, tells us that\n“the leaves and fruit be also dangerous, for they cause deadly sleepe,\nand peevish drowsiness, like opium.” It was sometimes regarded as an\nemblem of incontinence, as in “2 Henry IV.” (iii. 2): “yet lecherous as\na monkey, and the whores called him—mandrake.” A very diminutive figure\nwas, too, often compared to a mandrake. In “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2),\nFalstaff says: “Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my\ncap, than to wait at my heels.” Tracing back the history of this plant\ninto far-distant times, it is generally believed that it is the same as\nthat which the ancient Hebrews called Dudain.[528] That these people\nheld it in the highest esteem in the days of Jacob is evident from its\nhaving been found by Reuben, who carried the plant to his mother; and\nthe inducement which tempted Leah to part with it proves the value then\nset upon this celebrated plant. According to a curious superstition,\nthis plant was thought to possess the properties of making childless\nwives become mothers, and hence, some suppose, Rachel became so desirous\nof possessing the mandrakes which Reuben had found. Among the many other\nitems of folk-lore associated with the mandrake, there is one which\ninforms us that “it is perpetually watched over by Satan, and if it be\npulled up at certain holy times, and with certain invocations, the evil\nspirit will appear to do the bidding of the practitioner.”[529] In\ncomparatively recent times, quacks and impostors counterfeited with the\nroot briony figures resembling parts of the human body, which were sold\nto the credulous as endued with specific virtues.[530] The Germans, too,\nequally superstitious, formed little idols of the roots of the mandrake,\nwhich were regularly dressed every day, and consulted as oracles—their\nrepute being such that they were manufactured in great numbers, and sold\nin cases. They were, also, imported into this country during the time of\nHenry VIII., it being pretended that they would, with the assistance of\nsome mystic words, increase whatever money was placed near them. In\norder, too, to enhance the value of these so-called miracle-workers, it\nwas said that the roots of this plant were produced from the flesh of\ncriminals which fell from the gibbet, and that it only grew in such a\nsituation.[531]\n\n    [528] Phillips’s “Flora Historica,” 1829, vol. i. pp. 324, 325;\n    see Smith’s “Dictionary of the Bible,” 1869, vol. ii. p. 1777.\n\n    [529] “Mystic Trees and Flowers,” by M. D. Conway; _Fraser’s\n    Magazine_, 1870, vol. ii. p. 705.\n\n    [530] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. v. p. 153.\n\n    [531] See Sir Thomas Browne’s “Vulgar Errors,” 1852, vol. ii. p. 6.\n\n_Marigold._ This flower was a great favorite with our old writers, from\na curious notion that it always opened or shut its flowers at the sun’s\nbidding; in allusion to which Perdita remarks, in “Winter’s Tale” (iv.\n3):\n\n    “The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ the sun,\n    And with him rises weeping.”\n\nIt was also said, but erroneously, to turn its flowers to the sun, a\nquality attributed to the sunflower (_Helianthus annuus_), and thus\ndescribed by Moore:\n\n    “The sunflower turns on her god when he sets\n       The same look which she turn’d when he rose.”\n\nA popular name for the marigold was “mary-bud,” mention of which we find\nin “Cymbeline” (ii. 3):\n\n      “winking Mary-buds begin\n    To ope their golden eyes.”\n\n_Medlar._ This fruit, which Shakespeare describes as only fit to be\neaten when rotten, is applied by Lucio to a woman of loose character, as\nin “Measure for Measure” (iv. 3): “they would else have married me to\nthe rotten medlar.”\n\nChaucer, in the “Reeve’s Prologue,” applies the same name to it:\n\n    “That ilke fruit is ever lenger the wers,\n    Till it be roten in mullok, or in stre.\n    We olde men, I drede, so faren we,\n    Till we be roten can we not be ripe.”\n\n_Mistletoe._ This plant, which, from the earliest times, has been an\nobject of interest to naturalists, on account of its curious growth,\nderiving its subsistence entirely from the branch to which it annexes\nitself, has been the subject of widespread superstition. In “Titus\nAndronicus” (ii. 3), Tamora describes it in the graphic passage below as\nthe “baleful mistletoe,” an epithet which, as Mr. Douce observes, is\nextremely appropriate, either conformably to an ancient, but erroneous,\nopinion, that the berries of the mistletoe were poisonous, or on account\nof the use made of this plant by the Druids during their detestable\nhuman sacrifices.[532]\n\n      “_Demetrius._ How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother,\n    Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?\n\n      _Tamora._ Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?\n    These two have ’tic’d me hither to this place:—\n    A barren detested vale, you see, it is;\n    The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,\n    O’ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe:\n    Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,\n    Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.”\n\n    [532] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 386.\n\n_Mushroom._ Besides his notice of the mushroom in the following\npassages, Shakespeare alludes to the fairy rings[533] which are formed\nby fungi, though, as Mr. Ellacombe[534] points out, he probably knew\nlittle of this. In “The Tempest” (v. 1), Prospero says of the fairies:\n\n                     “you demi-puppets, that\n    By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make,\n    Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime\n    Is to make midnight mushrooms;”\n\nthe allusion in this passage being to the superstition that sheep will\nnot eat the grass that grows on fairy rings.\n\n    [533] See page 15.\n\n    [534] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 131.\n\n_Mustard._ Tewksbury mustard, to which reference is made in “2 Henry\nIV.” (ii. 4), where Falstaff speaks of “wit as thick as Tewksbury\nmustard,” was formerly very famous. Shakespeare speaks only of its\nthickness, but others have celebrated its pungency. Coles, writing in\n1657, says: “In Gloucestershire, about Teuxbury, they grind mustard and\nmake it into balls, which are brought to London, and other remote\nplaces, as being the best that the world affords.”\n\n_Narcissus._ The old legend attached to this flower is mentioned by\nEmilia in “The Two Noble Kinsmen” (ii. 1):\n\n    “That was a fair boy certain, but a fool,\n    To love himself; were there not maids enough?”\n\n_Nutmeg._ A gilt nutmeg was formerly a common gift at Christmas and on\nother festive occasions, a notice of which occurs in “Love’s Labour’s\nLost” (v. 2), in the following dialogue:[535]\n\n    “_Armado._ ‘The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,\n    Gave Hector a gift,—’\n\n    _Dumain._ A gilt nutmeg.”\n\n    [535] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 612.\n\n_Oak._ A crown of oak was considered by the Romans worthy of the highest\nemulation of statesmen and warriors. To him who had saved the life of a\nRoman soldier was given a crown of oak-leaves; one, indeed, which was\naccounted more honorable than any other. In “Coriolanus” (ii. 1),\nVolumnia says: “he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.”\nAnd again (i. 3): “To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned,\nhis brows bound with oak.” Montesquieu, indeed, said that it was with\ntwo or three hundred crowns of oak that Rome conquered the world.\nAlthough so much historical and legendary lore have clustered round the\noak, yet scarcely any mention is made of this by Shakespeare. The legend\nof Herne the Hunter, which seems to have been current at Windsor, is\nseveral times alluded to, as, for instance, in “Merry Wives of Windsor”\n(iv. 4):\n\n      “_Mrs. Page._ There is an old tale goes, that Herne the hunter,\n    Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,\n    Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,\n    Walk round about an oak, with great ragg’d horns.\n\n\n      _Page._ ... there want not many, that do fear\n    In deep of night to walk by this Herne’s oak.”\n\nHerne’s Oak, so long an object of much curiosity and enthusiasm, is now\nno more. According to one theory, the old tree was blown down August 31,\n1863; and a young oak was planted by her Majesty, September 12, 1863, to\nmark the spot where Herne’s Oak stood.[536] Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps,\nhowever, tells us, “the general opinion is that it was accidentally\ndestroyed in the year 1796, through an order of George III. to the\nbailiff Robinson, that all the unsightly trees in the vicinity of the\ncastle should be removed; an opinion confirmed by a well-established\nfact, that a person named Grantham, who contracted with the bailiff for\nthe removal of the trees, fell into disgrace with the king for having\nincluded the oak in his gatherings.”[537]\n\n    [536] See “Windsor Guide,” p. 5.\n\n    [537] See “Notes and Queries,” 3d series, vol. xii. p. 160.\n\n_Olive._ This plant, ever famous from its association with the return of\nthe dove to the ark, has been considered typical of peace. It was as an\nemblem of peace that a garland of olive was given to Judith when she\nrestored peace to the Israelites by the death of Holofernes (Judith, xv.\n13). It was equally honored by Greeks and Romans. It is, too, in this\nsense that Shakespeare speaks of it when he makes Viola, in “Twelfth\nNight” (i. 5), say: “I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage;\nI hold the olive in my hand, my words are as full of peace as matter.”\nIn Sonnet CVII. occurs the well-known line:[538]\n\n    “And peace proclaims olives of endless age.”\n\n    [538] See also “3 Henry VI.,” iv. 6; “Timon of Athens,” v. 4;\n    “Antony and Cleopatra,” iv. 6; “2 Henry IV.,” iv. 4.\n\n_Palm._ As the symbol of victory, this was carried before the conqueror\nin triumphal processions. Its classical use is noticed by Shakespeare in\n“Coriolanus” (v. 3). Volumnia says:[539]\n\n    “And bear the palm, for having bravely shed\n    Thy wife and children’s blood.”\n\n    [539] See “As You Like It,” iii. 2; “Timon of Athens,” v. 1;\n    cf. “Henry VIII.,” iv. 2.\n\nIn “Julius Cæsar” (i. 2), Cassius exclaims:\n\n                “Ye gods, it doth amaze me,\n    A man of such a feeble temper should\n    So get the start of the majestic world,\n    And bear the palm alone.”\n\nPilgrims were formerly called “palmers,” from the staff or bough of palm\nthey were wont to carry. So, in “All’s Well That Ends Well” (iii. 5),\nHelena asks:\n\n    “Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?”\n\n_Pear._ In his few notices of the pear Shakespeare only mentions two by\nname, the warden and the poperin: the former was chiefly used for\nroasting or baking, and is mentioned by the clown in the “Winter’s Tale”\n(iv. 3):\n\n    “I must have saffron, to colour the warden pies.”\n\nHence Ben Jonson makes a pun upon Church-warden pies. According to some\nantiquarians, the name warden is from the Anglo-Saxon _wearden_, to\npreserve, as it keeps for a long time; but it is more probable that the\nword had its origin from the horticultural skill of the Cistercian monks\nof Wardon Abbey, in Bedfordshire, founded in the 12th century. Three\nwarden pears appeared on the armorial bearings of the abbey.[540] It is\nnoticeable that the warden pies of Shakespeare’s day, colored with\nsaffron, have been replaced by stewed pears colored with cochineal.\n\n    [540] See “Archæological Journal,” vol. v. p. 301.\n\nThe poperin pear was probably introduced from Flanders by the antiquary\nLeland, who was made rector of Popering by Henry VIII. It is alluded to\nby Mercutio in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 1), where he wishes that Romeo\nwere “a poperin pear.” In the old dramas there is much attempt at wit on\nthis pear.\n\n_Peas._ A practice called “peascod wooing” was formerly a common mode of\ndivination in love affairs. The cook, when shelling green peas, would,\nif she chanced to find a pod having nine, lay it on the lintel of the\nkitchen-door, and the first man who entered was supposed to be her\nfuture husband. Another way of divination by peascod consisted in the\nlover selecting one growing on the stem, snatching it away quickly, and\nif the good omen of the peas remaining in the husk were preserved, in\nthen presenting it to the lady of his choice. Touchstone, in “As You\nLike It” (ii. 4), alludes to this piece of popular suggestion: “I\nremember the wooing of a peascod[541] instead of her.” Gay, who has\ncarefully chronicled many a custom of his time, says, in his “Fourth\nPastoral:”\n\n    “As peascods once I pluck’d, I chanc’d to see,\n    One that was closely fill’d with three times three,\n    Which when I cropp’d I safely home convey’d,\n    And o’er my door the spell in secret laid.”\n\n    [541] The cod was what we now call the pod.\n\nWe may quote, as a further illustration, the following stanza from\nBrowne’s “Pastorals” (bk. ii. song 3):\n\n    “The peascod greene, oft with no little toyle,\n    He’d seek for in the fattest, fertil’st soile,\n    And rende it from the stalke to bring it to her,\n    And in her bosom for acceptance wooe her.”[542]\n\n    [542] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. p. 99.\n\n_Plantain._ The leaves of this plant were carefully valued by our\nforefathers for their supposed efficacy in healing wounds, etc. It was\nalso considered as a preventive of poison; and to this supposed virtue\nwe find an allusion in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 2):\n\n    “_Benvolio._ Take thou some new infection to thy eye,\n    And the rank poison of the old will die.\n\n    _Romeo._ Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.\n\n    _Benvolio._                       For what, I pray thee?\n\n    _Romeo._ For your broken shin.”[543]\n\n    [543] See “Love’s Labour’s Lost,” iii. 1.\n\nIn the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (i. 2) Palamon says:\n\n              “These poor slight sores\n    Need not a plantain.”\n\n_Poppy._ The plant referred to by Shakespeare in “Othello” (iii. 3) is\nthe opium poppy, well known in his day for its deadly qualities. It is\ndescribed by Spenser in the “Fairy Queen” (ii. 7, 52) as the\n“dead-sleeping poppy,” and Drayton (“Nymphidia,” v.) enumerates it among\nthe flowers that procure “deadly sleeping.”\n\n_Potato._ It is curious enough, says Nares,[544] to find that excellent\nroot, which now forms a regular portion of the daily nutriment of every\nindividual, and is the chief or entire support of multitudes in Ireland,\nspoken of continually as having some powerful effect upon the human\nframe, in exciting the desires and passions; yet this is the case in all\nthe writings contemporary with Shakespeare. Thus Falstaff, in “Merry\nWives of Windsor” (v. 5), says: “Let the sky rain potatoes; let it\nthunder to the tune of ‘Green Sleeves,’ hail kissing comfits,” etc. In\n“Troilus and Cressida” (v. 2), Thersites adds: “How the devil luxury,\nwith his fat rump and potato finger, tickles these together.”[545] It\nappears, too, that the medical writers of the times countenanced this\nfancy. Mr. Ellacombe[546] observes that the above passages are of\npeculiar interest, inasmuch as they contain almost the earliest notice\nof potatoes after their introduction into England.\n\n    [544] “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 677.\n\n    [545] See Beaumont and Fletcher, “Elder Brother,” iv. 4;\n    Massinger, “New Way to Pay Old Debts,” ii. 2; Ben Jonson,\n    “Cynthia’s Revels,” ii. 1, etc.\n\n    [546] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 173.\n\n_Primrose._ Although the early primrose has always been such a popular\nand favorite flower, yet it seems to have been associated with\nsadness,[547] or even worse than sadness; for, in the following\npassages, the “primrose paths” and “primrose way” are meant to be\nsuggestive of sinful pleasures. Thus, in “Hamlet” (i. 3), Ophelia says:\n\n          “like a puff’d and reckless libertine,\n    Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,\n    And recks not his own rede.”\n\n    [547] Ibid., p. 179.\n\nAnd in “Macbeth” (ii. 3), the Porter declares: “I had thought to have\nlet in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the\neverlasting bonfire.” Curious to say, too, Shakespeare’s only epithets\nfor this fair flower are, “pale,” “faint,” “that die unmarried.” Nearly\nall the poets of that time spoke of it in the same strain, with the\nexception of Ben Jonson and the two Fletchers.\n\n_Reed._ Among the uses to which the reed was formerly applied were the\nthatching of houses and the making of shepherds’ pipes. The former is\nalluded to in the “Tempest” (v. 1):\n\n    “His tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops\n    From eaves of reeds;”\n\nand the latter in “Merchant of Venice” (iii. 4), where Portia speaks of\n“a reed voice.” It has generally been regarded as the emblem of\nweakness, as in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 7): “a reed that will do me\nno service.”\n\n_Rose._ As might be expected, the rose is the flower most frequently\nmentioned by Shakespeare, a symbol, in many cases, of all that is fair\nand lovely. Thus, for instance, in “Hamlet” (iii. 4), Hamlet says:\n\n    “Such an act ... takes off the rose\n    From the fair forehead of an innocent love,\n    And sets a blister there.”\n\nAnd Ophelia (iii. 1) describes Hamlet as,\n\n    “The expectancy and rose of the fair state.”\n\nIn days gone by the rose entered largely into the customs and\nsuperstitions of most nations, and even nowadays there is an extensive\nfolk-lore associated with it.\n\nIt appears that, in Shakespeare’s time, one of the fashions of the day\nwas the wearing of enormous roses on the shoes, of which full-length\nportraits afford striking examples.[548] Hamlet (iii. 2) speaks of “two\nProvincial roses on my razed shoes;” meaning, no doubt, rosettes of\nribbon in the shape of roses of Provins or Provence. Douce favors the\nformer, Warton the latter locality. In either case, it was a large\nrose. The Provence, or damask rose, was probably the better known.\nGerarde, in his “Herbal,” says that the damask rose is called by some\n_Rosa Provincialis_.[549] Mr. Fairholt[550] quotes, from “Friar Bacon’s\nProphecy” (1604), the following, in allusion to this fashion:\n\n    “When roses in the gardens grew,\n    And not in ribbons on a shoe:\n    Now ribbon roses take such place\n    That garden roses want their grace.”\n\n    [548] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. ix. p. 227.\n\n    [549] “Notes to Hamlet,” Clark and Wright, 1876, p. 179.\n\n    [550] “Costume in England,” p. 238. At p. 579 the author gives\n    several instances of the extravagances to which this fashion led.\n\nAgain, in “King John” (i. 1), where the Bastard alludes to the\nthree-farthing silver pieces of Queen Elizabeth, which were extremely\nthin, and had the profile of the sovereign, with a rose on the back of\nher head, there doubtless is a fuller reference to the court fashion of\nsticking roses in the ear:[551]\n\n                                “my face so thin,\n    That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose,\n    Lest men should say, ‘Look, where three-farthings goes.’”\n\n    [551] Some gallants had their ears bored, and wore their\n    mistresses’ silken shoe-strings in them. See Singer’s “Notes,”\n    vol. iv. p. 257.\n\nShakespeare also mentions the use of the rose in rose-cakes and\nrose-water, the former in “Romeo and Juliet” (v. 1), where Romeo speaks\nof “old cakes of roses,” the latter in “Taming of the Shrew” (Induction,\n1):\n\n    “Let one attend him with a silver basin\n    Full of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers.”\n\nReferring to its historical lore, we may mention its famous connection\nwith the Wars of the Roses. In the fatal dispute in the Temple Gardens,\nSomerset, on the part of Lancaster, says (“1 Henry VI.” ii. 4):\n\n    “Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,\n    But dare maintain the party of the truth,\n    Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.”\n\nWarwick, on the part of York, replies:\n\n    “I love no colours, and, without all colour\n    Of base insinuating flattery,\n    I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.”\n\nThe trailing white dog-rose is commonly considered to have been the one\nchosen by the House of York. A writer, however, in the _Quarterly\nReview_ (vol. cxiv.) has shown that the white rose has a very ancient\ninterest for Englishmen, as, long before the brawl in the Temple\nGardens, the flower had been connected with one of the most ancient\nnames of our island. The elder Pliny, in discussing the etymology of the\nword Albion, suggests that the land may have been so named from the\nwhite roses which abounded in it. The York and Lancaster rose, with its\npale striped flowers, is a variety of the French rose known as _Rosa\nGallica_. It became famous when the two emblematical roses, in the\npersons of Henry VII. and Elizabeth of York, at last brought peace and\nhappiness to the country which had been so long divided by internal\nwarfare. The canker-rose referred to by Shakespeare is the wild\ndog-rose, a name occasionally applied to the common red poppy.\n\n_Rosemary._ This plant was formerly in very high esteem, and was devoted\nto various uses. It was supposed to strengthen the memory; hence it was\nregarded as a symbol of remembrance, and on this account was often given\nto friends. Thus, in “Hamlet” (iv. 5), where Ophelia seems to be\naddressing Laertes, she says: “There’s rosemary, that’s for\nremembrance.” In the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4) rosemary and rue are\nbeautifully put together:\n\n    “For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keep\n    Seeming and savour all the winter long:\n    Grace and remembrance be to you both,\n    And welcome to our shearing!”\n\nBesides being used at weddings, it was also in request at funerals,\nprobably for its odor, and as a token of remembrance of the deceased.\nThus the Friar, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iv. 5), says:\n\n    “Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary\n    On this fair corse.”\n\nThis practice is thus touchingly alluded to by Gay, in his “Pastorals:”\n\n    “To shew their love, the neighbours far and near\n    Followed, with wistful look, the damsel’s bier:\n    Sprigg’d rosemary the lads and lasses bore,\n    While dismally the parson walk’d before.”\n\nRosemary, too, was one of the evergreens with which dishes were\nanciently garnished during the season of Christmas, an allusion to which\noccurs in “Pericles” (iv. 6): “Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with\nrosemary and bays.”\n\n_Rush._ Before the introduction of carpets, the floors of churches and\nhouses were strewed with rushes, a custom to which Shakespeare makes\nseveral allusions. In “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 1), Grumio asks: “Is\nsupper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept?” and\nGlendower, in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1), says:\n\n    “She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down,\n    And rest your gentle head upon her lap.”\n\nAt the coronation of Henry V. (“2 Henry IV.,” v. 5), when the procession\nis coming, the grooms cry, “More rushes! more rushes!” which seems to\nhave been the usual cry for rushes to be scattered on a pavement or a\nplatform when a procession was approaching.[552] Again, in “Richard II.”\n(i. 3), the custom is further alluded to by John of Gaunt, who speaks of\n“the presence strew’d,” referring to the presence-chamber. So, too, in\n“Cymbeline” (ii. 2), Iachimo soliloquizes:\n\n                            “Tarquin thus\n    Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken’d\n    The chastity he wounded.”\n\n    [552] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 373.\n\nAnd in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 4), Romeo says:\n\n                “Let wantons, light of heart,\n    Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;”\n\nan expression which Middleton has borrowed in his “Blunt Master\nConstable,” 1602:\n\n    “Bid him, whose heart no sorrow feels,\n    Tickle the rushes with his wanton heels,\n    I have too much lead at mine.”\n\nIn the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (ii. 1) the Gaoler’s Daughter is represented\ncarrying “strewings” for the two prisoners’ chamber.\n\nRush-bearings were a sort of rural festival, when the parishioners\nbrought rushes to strew the church.[553]\n\n    [553] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. pp. 13, 14.\n\nThe “rush-ring” appears to have been a kind of token for plighting of\ntroth among rustic lovers. It was afterwards vilely used, however, for\nmock-marriages, as appears from one of the Constitutions of Salisbury.\nIn “All’s Well that Ends Well” (ii. 2) there seems a covert allusion to\nthe rush-ring: “As Tib’s rush for Tom’s fore-finger.” Spenser, in the\n“Shepherd’s Kalendar,” speaks of\n\n    “The knotted rush-rings and gilt Rosemarie.”\n\nDu Breul, in his “Antiquities of Paris,”[554] mentions the rush-ring as\n“a kind of espousal used in France by such persons as meant to live\ntogether in a state of concubinage; but in England it was scarcely ever\npractised except by designing men, for the purpose of corrupting those\nyoung women to whom they pretended love.”\n\n    [554] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, p. 194.\n\nThe “rush candle,” which, in times past, was found in nearly every\nhouse, and served as a night-light for the rich and candle for the poor,\nis mentioned in “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 5):\n\n      “be it moon, or sun, or what you please:\n    An if you please to call it a rush candle,\n    Henceforth, I vow, it shall be so for me.”\n\n_Saffron._ In the following passage (“All’s Well that Ends Well,” iv.\n5) there seems to be an allusion[555] by Lafeu to the fashionable and\nfantastic custom of wearing yellow, and to that of coloring paste with\nsaffron: “No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow\nthere, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and\ndoughy youth of a nation in his colour.”\n\n    [555] Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 381.\n\n_Spear-grass._ This plant—perhaps the common reed—is noticed in “1 Henry\nIV.” (ii. 4) as used for tickling the nose and making it bleed. In\nLupton’s “Notable Things” it is mentioned as part of a medical recipe:\n“Whoever is tormented with sciatica or the hip-gout, let them take an\nherb called spear-grass, and stamp it, and lay a little thereof upon the\ngrief.” Mr. Ellacombe[556] thinks that the plant alluded to is the\ncommon couch-grass (_Triticum repens_), which is still known in the\neastern counties as spear-grass.\n\n    [556] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 319.\n\n_Stover._ This word, which is often found in the writings of\nShakespeare’s day, denotes fodder and provision of all sorts for cattle.\nIn Cambridgeshire stover signifies hay made of coarse, rank grass, such\nas even cows will not eat while it is green. In “The Tempest” (iv. 1),\nIris says:\n\n    “Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,\n    And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep.”\n\nAccording to Steevens, stover was used as a thatch for cart-lodges and\nother buildings that required but cheap coverings.\n\n_Strawberry._ Shakespeare’s mention of the strawberry in connection with\nthe nettle, in “Henry V.” (i. 1),\n\n    “The strawberry grows underneath the nettle,\n    And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best\n    Neighbour’d by fruit of baser quality,”\n\ndeserves, says Mr. Ellacombe, a passing note. “It was the common opinion\nin his day that plants were affected by the neighborhood of other plants\nto such an extent that they imbibed each others virtues and faults. Thus\nsweet flowers were planted near fruit-trees with the idea of improving\nthe flavor of the fruit, and evil-smelling trees, like the elder, were\ncarefully cleared away from fruit-trees, lest they should be tainted.\nBut the strawberry was supposed to be an exception to the rule, and was\nsaid to thrive in the midst of ‘evil communications, without being\ncorrupted.’”\n\n_Thorns._ The popular tradition, which represents the marks on the\nmoon[557] to be that of a man carrying a thorn-bush on his head, is\nalluded to in “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 1), in the Prologue:\n\n    “This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,\n    Presenteth Moonshine.”\n\n    [557] See p. 68.\n\nLittle else is mentioned by Shakespeare with regard to thorns, save that\nthey are generally used by him as the emblems of desolation and trouble.\n\n_Violets._ An old superstition is alluded to by Shakespeare when he\nmakes Laertes wish that violets may spring from the grave of Ophelia\n(“Hamlet,” v. 1):\n\n                “Lay her i’ the earth:\n    And from her fair and unpolluted flesh\n    May violets spring!”\n\nan idea which occurs in Persius’s “Satires” (i. 39):\n\n                 “E tumulo fortunataque favilla\n    Nascentur violæ.”\n\nThe violet has generally been associated with early death. This, Mr.\nEllacombe considers,[558] “may have arisen from a sort of pity for\nflowers that were only allowed to see the opening year, and were cut off\nbefore the first beauty of summer had come, and so were looked upon as\napt emblems of those who enjoyed the bright springtide of life, and no\nmore.” Thus, the violet is one of the flowers which Marina carries to\nhang “as a carpet on the grave” in “Pericles” (iv. 1):\n\n                         “the yellows, blues,\n    The purple violets, and marigolds,\n    Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave,\n    While summer days do last.”\n\n    [558] “Plant-Lore of Shakespeare,” p. 248.\n\nAgain, in that exquisite passage in the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4), where\nPerdita enumerates the flowers of spring, she speaks of,\n\n                            “violets, dim,\n    But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes,\n    Or Cytherea’s breath;”\n\nupon which Mr. Singer[559] thus comments: “The eyes of Juno were as\nremarkable as those of Pallas, and\n\n    ‘Of a beauty never yet\n    Equalled in height of tincture.’”\n\n    [559] “Shakespeare,” vol. iv. p. 76.\n\nThe beauties of Greece and other Asiatic nations tinged their eyes of an\nobscure violet color, by means of some unguent, which was doubtless\nperfumed, like those for the hair, etc., mentioned by Athenæus.\n\n_Willow._ From time immemorial the willow has been regarded as the\nsymbol of sadness. Hence it was customary for those who were forsaken in\nlove to wear willow garlands, a practice to which Shakespeare makes\nseveral allusions. In “Othello” (iv. 3), Desdemona, anticipating her\ndeath, says:\n\n    “My mother had a maid call’d Barbara;\n    She was in love; and he she lov’d prov’d mad,\n    And did forsake her: she had a song of—Willow;\n    An old thing ’twas, but it express’d her fortune,\n    And she died singing it: that song, to-night,\n    Will not go from my mind.”\n\nThe following is the song:[560]\n\n    “The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,\n          Sing all a green willow:\n    Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,\n          Sing willow, willow, willow:\n    The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur’d her moans,\n          Sing willow, willow, willow:\n    Her salt tears fell from her, and soften’d the stones,\n          Sing willow, willow, willow:\n    Sing all a green willow must be my garland.”\n\n    [560] “The old ballad on which Shakespeare formed this song is\n    given in Percy’s ‘Reliques of Ancient Poetry’ (1794, vol. i. p.\n    208), from a copy in the Pepysian collection. A different\n    version of it may be seen in Chappell’s ‘Popular Music of the\n    Olden Time’ (2d edition, vol. i. p. 207). The original ditty is\n    the lamentation of a lover for the inconstancy of his\n    mistress.”—Dyce’s “Shakespeare,” vol. vii. p. 450.\n\nAnd further on Emilia says (v. 2):\n\n                           “I will play the swan,\n    And die in music.—[_Singing_] ‘Willow, willow, willow.’”\n\nAnd, again, Lorenzo, in “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1), narrates:\n\n                        “In such a night\n    Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand,\n    Upon the wild sea-banks.”\n\nIt was, too, in reference to this custom that Shakespeare, in “Hamlet”\n(iv. 7), represented poor Ophelia hanging her flowers on the “willow\naslant a brook.” “This tree,” says Douce,[561] “might have been chosen\nas the symbol of sadness from the cxxxvii. Psalm (verse 2): ‘We hanged\nour harps upon the willows;’ or else from a coincidence between the\n_weeping_-willow and falling tears.” Another reason has been assigned.\nThe _Agnus castus_ was supposed to promote chastity, and “the willow\nbeing of a much like nature,” says Swan, in his “Speculum Mundi” (1635),\n“it is yet a custom that he which is deprived of his love must wear a\nwillow garland.” Bona, the sister of the King of France, on receiving\nnews of Edward the Fourth’s marriage with Elizabeth Grey, exclaimed,\n\n           “in hope he’ll prove a widower shortly,\n    I’ll wear the willow garland for his sake.”\n\n    [561] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 105.\n\n_Wormwood._ The use of this plant in weaning infants is alluded to in\n“Romeo and Juliet” (i. 3), by Juliet’s nurse, in the following passage:\n\n    “For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,\n\n\n    When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple\n    Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool.”\n\n_Yew._ This tree, styled by Shakespeare “the dismal yew” (“Titus\nAndronicus,” ii. 3), apart from the many superstitions associated with\nit, has been very frequently planted in churchyards, besides being used\nat funerals. Paris, in “Romeo and Juliet” (v. 3), says:\n\n    “Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along,\n    Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;\n    So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,\n    Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,\n    But thou shalt hear it.”\n\nAlthough various reasons have been assigned for planting the yew-tree in\nchurchyards, it seems probable that the practice had a superstitious\norigin. As witches were supposed to exercise a powerful influence over\nthe winds, they were believed occasionally to exert their formidable\npower against religious edifices. Thus Macbeth says (iv. 1):\n\n    “Though you untie the winds, and let them fight\n    Against the churches.”\n\nTo counteract, therefore, this imaginary danger, our ancestors may have\nplanted the yew-tree in their churchyards, not only on account of its\nvitality as an evergreen, but as connected in some way, in heathen\ntimes, with the influence of evil powers.[562] In a statute made in the\nlatter part of Edward I.’s reign, to prevent rectors from cutting down\ntrees in churchyards, we find the following: “Verum arbores ipsæ,\npropter ventorum impetus ne ecclesiis noceant, sæpe plantantur.”[563]\n\n    [562] Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 244.\n\n    [563] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. ii. pp. 255-266.\n\nThe custom of sticking yew in the shroud is alluded to in the following\nsong in “Twelfth Night” (ii. 4):\n\n    “My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,\n                O, prepare it!\n    My part of death, no one so true\n                Did share it.”\n\nThrough being reckoned poisonous, it is introduced in “Macbeth” (iv. 1)\nin connection with the witches:\n\n    “Gall of goat, and slips of yew,\n    Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse.”\n\n“How much the splitting or tearing off of the slip had to do with magic\nwe learn from a piece of Slavonic folk-lore. It is unlucky to use for a\nbeam a branch or a tree broken by the wind. The devil, or storm-spirit,\nclaims it as his own, and, were it used, the evil spirit would haunt the\nhouse. It is a broken branch the witches choose; a sliver’d slip the\nwoodman will have none of.”[564]\n\n    [564] “Notes and Queries,” 5th series, vol. xii. p. 468.\n\nIts epithet, “double-fatal” (“Richard II.,” iii. 2), no doubt refers to\nthe poisonous quality of the leaves, and on account of its wood being\nemployed for instruments of death. Sir Stephen Scroop, when telling\nRichard of Bolingbroke’s revolt, declares that\n\n    “Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows\n    Of double-fatal yew against thy state.”\n\nIt has been suggested that the poison intended by the Ghost in “Hamlet”\n(i. 5), when he speaks of the “juice of cursed hebenon,” is that of the\nyew, and is the same as Marlowe’s “juice of hebon” (“Jew of Malta,” iii.\n4). The yew is called hebon by Spenser and by other writers of\nShakespeare’s age; and, in its various forms of eben, eiben, hiben,\netc., this tree is so named in no less than five different European\nlanguages. From medical authorities, both of ancient and modern times,\nit would seem that the juice of the yew is a rapidly fatal poison; next,\nthat the symptoms attendant upon yew-poisoning correspond, in a very\nremarkable manner, with those which follow the bites of poisonous\nsnakes; and, lastly, that no other poison but the yew produces the\n“lazar-like” ulcerations on the body upon which Shakespeare, in this\npassage, lays so much stress.[565]\n\n    [565] Extract of a paper read by Rev. W. A. Harrison, New\n    Shakespeare Society, 12th May. 1882.\n\nAmong the other explanations of this passage is the well-known one which\nidentifies “hebenon” with henbane. Mr. Beisly suggests that nightshade\nmay be meant, while Nares considers that ebony is meant.[566]\n\n    [566] See Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare;” Nares’s\n    “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 412; Beisly’s “Shakespeare’s Garden,” p. 4.\n\nFrom certain ancient statutes it appears that every Englishman, while\narchery was practised, was obliged to keep in his house either a bow of\nyew or some other wood.[567]\n\n    [567] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. iv. p. 427. See a paper in\n    the “Antiquary” (1882, vol. vi. p. 13), by Mr. George Black, on\n    the yew in Shakespearian folk-lore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nINSECTS AND REPTILES.\n\n\nAs Dr. Johnson has truly remarked, Shakespeare is “the poet of nature,”\nfor “his attention was not confined to the actions of men; he was an\nexact surveyor of the inanimate world; his descriptions have always some\npeculiarity, gathered by contemplating things as they really exist.\nWhether life or nature be his subject, Shakespeare shows plainly that he\nhas seen with his own eyes.” So, too, he was in the habit of taking\nminute observation of the popular notions relating to natural history,\nso many of which he has introduced into his plays, using them to no\nsmall advantage. In numerous cases, also, the peculiarities of certain\nnatural objects have furnished the poet with many excellent metaphors.\nThus, in “Richard II.” (ii. 3), Bolingbroke speaks of “the caterpillars\nof the commonwealth;” and in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1) the Duke of York’s\nreflection on the destruction of his hopes is,\n\n    “Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,\n    And caterpillars eat my leaves away,”\n\ntheir destructive powers being familiar.\n\n_Ant._ An ancient name for the ant is “pismire,” probably a Danish word,\nfrom _paid_ and _myre_, signifying such ants as live in hillocks. In “1\nHenry IV.” (i. 3) Hotspur says:\n\n    “Why, look you, I am whipp’d and scourg’d with rods,\n    Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear\n    Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.”\n\n_Blue-bottle._ This well-known insect has often been used as a term of\nreproach. Thus, in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 4), it furnishes an epithet applied\nby the abusive tongue of Doll Tearsheet to the beadle who had her in\ncustody. She reviles him as a “blue-bottle rogue,” a term, says Mr.\nPatterson,[568] “evidently suggested by the similarity of the colors of\nhis costume to that of the insect.”\n\n    [568] “Insects Mentioned by Shakespeare,” 1841, p. 181.\n\n_Bots._ Our ancestors imagined that poverty or improper food engendered\nthese worms, or that they were the offspring of putrefaction. In “1\nHenry IV.” (ii. 1), one of the carriers says: “Peas and beans are as\ndank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the\nbots.” And one of the misfortunes of the miserable nag of Petruchio\n(“Taming of the Shrew,” iii. 2), is that he is so “begnawn with the\nbots.”\n\n_Cricket._ The presence of crickets in a house has generally been\nregarded as a good omen, and said to prognosticate cheerfulness and\nplenty. Thus, Poins, in answer to the Prince’s question in “1 Henry IV.”\n(ii. 4), “Shall we be merry?” replies, “As merry as crickets.” By many\nof our poets the cricket has been connected with cheerfulness and mirth.\nThus, in Milton, “Il Penseroso” desires to be\n\n    “Far from all resort of mirth,\n    Save the cricket on the hearth.”\n\nIt has not always, however, been regarded in the same light, for Gay, in\nhis “Pastoral Dirge,” among the rural prognostications of death, gives\nthe following:\n\n    “And shrilling crickets in the chimney cry’d.”\n\nAnd in Dryden’s “Œdipus” occurs the subjoined:\n\n    “Owls, ravens, crickets, seem the watch of death.”\n\nLady Macbeth, also (“Macbeth,” ii. 2), in replying to the question of\nher husband after the murder of Duncan, says:\n\n    “I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry.”\n\nIn “Cymbeline” (ii. 2), also, when Iachimo, at midnight, commences his\nsurvey of the chamber where Imogen lies sleeping, his first words refer\nto the chirping of crickets, rendered all the more audible by the\nrepose which at that moment prevailed throughout the palace:\n\n    “The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense\n    Repairs itself by rest.”\n\nGilbert White, in his “History of Selborne” (1853, p. 174), remarks that\n“it is the housewife’s barometer, foretelling her when it will rain; and\nis prognostic, sometimes, she thinks, of ill or good luck, of the death\nof a near relation, or the approach of an absent lover. By being the\nconstant companion of her solitary home, it naturally becomes the object\nof her superstition.”[569]\n\n    [569] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 190, 191.\n\nIts supposed keen sense of hearing is referred to in the “Winter’s Tale”\n(ii. 1) by Mamillius, who, on being asked by Hermione to tell a tale,\nreplies:\n\n           “I will tell it softly;\n    Yond crickets shall not hear it.”\n\n_Frog._ In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (iii. 4), the Gaoler’s Daughter says:\n\n    “Would I could find a fine frog! he would tell me\n    News from all parts o’ the world; then would I make\n    A carack of a cockle-shell, and sail\n    By east and north-east to the King of Pigmies,\n    For he tells fortunes rarely.”\n\nIn days gone by frogs were extensively used for the purpose of\ndivination.\n\n_Gad-fly._ A common name for this fly is the “brize” or “breese,”[570]\nan allusion to which occurs in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 3), where\nNestor, speaking of the sufferings which cattle endure from this insect,\nsays:\n\n    “The herd hath more annoyance by the breese\n    Than by the tiger.”\n\n    [570] See Patterson’s “Insects Mentioned by Shakespeare,” 1841,\n    pp. 104, 105.\n\nAnd in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iii. 10) Shakespeare makes the excited\nScarus draw a comparison between the effect which this insect produces\non a herd of cattle and the abruptness and sudden frenzy of Cleopatra’s\nretreat from the naval conflict:\n\n                    “Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt,\n    Whom leprosy o’ertake! i’ the midst o’ the fight,\n    When vantage like a pair of twins appear’d,\n    Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,—\n    The breese upon her, like a cow in June,—\n    Hoists sails, and flies.”\n\nIt is said that the terror this insect causes in cattle proceeds solely\nfrom the alarm occasioned by “a peculiar sound it emits while hovering\nfor the purpose of oviposition.”[571]\n\n    [571] “Linnæan Transactions,” vol. xv. p. 407; cf. Virgil’s\n    “Georgics,” iii. l. 148.\n\n_Lady-bird._ This is used in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 3) as a term of\nendearment. Lady Capulet having inquired after her daughter Juliet, the\nNurse replies:\n\n    “I bade her come. What, lamb! What, lady-bird!\n    God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!”\n\nMr. Staunton regards this passage as an exquisite touch of nature. “The\nold nurse,” he says, “in her fond garrulity, uses ‘lady-bird’ as a term\nof endearment; but, recollecting its application to a female of loose\nmanners, checks herself—‘God forbid!’ her darling should prove such a\none.” Mr. Dyce,[572] however, considers this explanation incorrect, and\ngives the subjoined note: “The nurse says that she has already bid\nJuliet come; she then calls out, ‘What, lamb! What, lady-bird!’ and\nJuliet not yet making her appearance, she exclaims, ‘God forbid! Where’s\nthis girl?’ The words ‘God forbid’ being properly an ellipsis of ‘God\nforbid that any accident should keep her away,’ but used here merely as\nan expression of impatience.”\n\n    [572] “Glossary,” 1876, p. 238.\n\n_Lizard._ It was a common superstition in the time of Shakespeare that\nlizards were venomous, a notion which probably originated in their\nsingular form. Hence the lizard’s leg was thought a suitable ingredient\nfor the witches’ caldron in “Macbeth” (iv. 1). Suffolk, in “2 Henry VI.”\n(iii. 2), refers to this idea:\n\n    “Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!\n    Their softest touch as smart as lizards’ stings.”\n\nAgain, in “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 2), Queen Margaret speaks of\n\n    “venom toads, or lizards’ dreadful stings.”\n\nIn “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 1) it is classed with the toad and owl.\n\n_Moth._ This term, as Mr. Patterson remarks in his “Insects Mentioned by\nShakespeare” (1841, p. 164), does not awaken many pleasing associations.\nIn the minds of most people it stands for an insect either contemptible\nfrom its size and inertness, or positively obnoxious from its attacks on\nmany articles of clothing. Thus Shakespeare, he says, employs the\nexpression “moth” to denote something trifling or extremely minute. And\nin “King John” (iv. 1) we have the touching appeal of Prince Arthur to\nHubert, in which, for mote, he would substitute moth:\n\n    “_Arthur._ Is there no remedy?\n\n    _Hubert._                      None, but to lose your eyes.\n\n    _Arthur._ O heaven!—that there were but a mote in yours,\n    A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,\n    Any annoyance in that precious sense!\n    Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there,\n    Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.”\n\nSee also “Henry V.” (iv. 1). In these two passages, however, the correct\nreading is probably “mote.”[573]\n\n    [573] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 973.\n\n_Serpent._ A term used by our old writers to signify a serpent was “a\nworm,” which is still found in the north of England in the same sense.\nIt is used several times by Shakespeare; as, for instance, in “Measure\nfor Measure” (iii. 1), where the Duke, addressing Claudio, says:\n\n                 “Thou’rt by no means valiant;\n    For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork\n    Of a poor worm.”\n\nThis passage also illustrates an error very prevalent in days gone by,\nthat the forked tongue of the serpent tribe was their instrument of\noffence, without any thought of the teeth or fangs, which are its real\nweapons.[574] Again, the “blind-worm” or “slow-worm”—a little snake with\nvery small eyes, falsely supposed to be venomous—is spoken of in “A\nMidsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 2), in that charming passage where the\nfairies are represented as singing to their queen, Titania:\n\n    “You spotted snakes, with double tongue,\n      Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;\n    Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong,\n      Come not near our fairy queen.”\n\n    [574] Cf. “Macbeth” (iii. 4):\n\n        “There the grown serpent lies: the worm, that’s fled,\n        Hath nature that in time will venom breed.”\n\nIn “Macbeth” (iv. 1), among the ingredients of the witches’ caldron are\n\n    “Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting.”\n\nTo quote a further allusion, Shakespeare, in “Timon of Athens” (iv. 3),\nspeaks of\n\n    “The gilded newt and eyeless venom’d worm.”\n\nMassinger employs the same term in his “Parliament of Love” (iv. 2):\n\n                               “The sad father\n    That sees his son stung by a snake to death,\n    May, with more justice, stay his vengeful hand,\n    And let the worm escape, than you vouchsafe him\n    A minute to repent.”[575]\n\n    [575] Worm is used for serpent or viper, in the Geneva version\n    of the New Testament, in Acts xxvii. 4, 5.\n\nThere was an old notion that the serpent caused death without pain, a\npopular fancy which Shakespeare has introduced in his “Antony and\nCleopatra” (v. 2):\n\n    “Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there,\n    That kills and pains not?”\n\nThe term “worm” was also occasionally used to signify a “poor creature,”\nas also was the word “snake.” Thus, in the “Taming of the Shrew” (v. 2),\nKatharina says:\n\n    “Come, come, you froward and unable worms!\n    My mind hath been as big as one of yours,\n    My heart as great, my reason, haply, more.”\n\nSo, in “As You Like It” (iv. 3), Rosalind uses “snake” in the sense of\nreproach: “Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a\ntame snake.”\n\nThe serpent, as the emblem of ingratitude, is alluded to by King Lear\n(ii. 4), who, referring to his daughter, says how she\n\n                    “struck me with her tongue,\n    Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:—\n    All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall\n    On her ingrateful top!”\n\nAccording to a popular belief, still credited, a poisonous bite could be\ncured by the blood of the viper which darted the poison. Thus, in\n“Richard II.” (i. 1), Mowbray says:\n\n    “I am disgrac’d, impeach’d, and baffled here,\n    Pierc’d to the soul with slander’s venom’d spear,\n    The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood\n    Which breath’d this poison.”\n\nIn Cornwall it is still believed that the dead body of a serpent,\nbruised on the wound it has occasioned, is an infallible remedy for its\nbite.[576] Hence has originated the following rhyme:\n\n    “The beauteous adder hath a sting,\n      Yet bears a balsam too.”\n\n    [576] See Hunt’s “Popular Romances of the West of England,”\n    1871, p. 415; and Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 270.\n\nThe old notion that the snake, in casting off its slough, or skin,\nannually, is supposed to regain new vigor and fresh youth, is alluded to\nby King Henry (“Henry V.,” iv. 1), who speaks of “casted slough and\nfresh legerity”—legerity meaning lightness, nimbleness. In “Twelfth\nNight” (ii. 5), in the letter which Malvolio finds, there is this\npassage: “to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble\nslough and appear fresh.” One of the most useful miracles which St.\nPatrick is reported to have performed was his driving the venomous\nreptiles out of Ireland, and forbidding them to return. This tradition\nis probably alluded to by King Richard (“Richard II.,” ii. 1):\n\n                      “Now for our Irish wars:\n    We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,\n    Which live like venom, where no venom else,\n    But only they, hath privilege to live.”\n\nThe way, we are told, by which the saint performed this astounding feat\nof his supernatural power was by means of a drum. Even spiders, too,\nruns the legend, were included in this summary process of\nexcommunicating the serpent race. One of the customs, therefore,\nobserved on St. Patrick’s day, is visiting Croagh Patrick. This sacred\nhill is situated in the county of Mayo, and is said to have been the\nspot chosen by St. Patrick for banishing the serpents and other noxious\nanimals into the sea.\n\nIn “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 1), where Brutus says,\n\n    “It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;\n    And that craves wary walking.”\n\nwe may compare the popular adage,\n\n    “March wind\n    Wakes the ether (_i. e._, adder) and blooms the whin.”[577]\n\n    [577] Denham’s “Weather Proverbs,” 1842.\n\n_Spider._ This little creature, which, in daily life, is seldom noticed\nexcept for its cobweb, the presence of which in a house generally\nbetokens neglect, has, however, an interesting history, being the\nsubject of many a curious legend and quaint superstition. Thus, it has\nnot escaped the all-pervading eye of Shakespeare, who has given us many\ncurious scraps of folk-lore concerning it. In days gone by the web of\nthe common house-spider was much in request for stopping the effusion of\nblood; and hence Bottom, in addressing one of his fairy attendants in “A\nMidsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1), says: “I shall desire you of more\nacquaintance, good Master Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make bold\nwith you.”\n\nIts medicinal virtues, however, do not end here, for, in Sussex[578] it\nis used in cases of jaundice, many an old doctress prescribing “a live\nspider rolled up in butter.” It is stated, too, that the web is\nnarcotic, and has been administered internally in certain cases of\nfever, with success.[579] As a remedy for ague it has been considered\nmost efficacious. Some years ago a lady in the south of Ireland was\ncelebrated far and near for her cure of this disorder. Her remedy was a\nlarge house-spider taken alive, enveloped in treacle or preserve. Of\ncourse, the parties were carefully kept in ignorance of what the\nwonderful remedy was.[580]\n\n    [578] “Folk-Lore Record,” 1878, vol. i. p. 45.\n\n    [579] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” vol. iii. pp. 223, 287, 381.\n\n    [580] See article on “Spider-Lore,” in _Graphic_, November 13, 1880.\n\nAccording to a universal belief, spiders were formerly considered highly\nvenomous, in allusion to which notion King Richard II. (iii. 2), in\nsaluting the “dear earth” on which he stands, after “late tossing on the\nbreaking seas,” accosts it thus:\n\n    “Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,\n    Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;\n    But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,\n    And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,\n    Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,\n    Which with usurping steps do trample thee.”\n\nAgain, Leontes, in the “Winter’s Tale” (ii. 1), remarks:\n\n                  “There may be in the cup\n    A spider steep’d.”\n\nIn “Cymbeline” (iv. 2) and “Richard III.” (i. 2) Shakespeare classes it\nwith adders and toads; and in the latter play (i. 3), when Queen\nMargaret is hurling imprecations on her enemies, she is turned from her\nencounter with Gloster by a remark made by Queen Elizabeth; and while a\npitying spirit seems for a minute to supplant her rage, she addresses\nher successor in these words:\n\n    “Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!\n    Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled spider,\n    Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?”\n\nIn another part of the same play (iv. 4) the epithet “bottled” is again\napplied in a similar manner by Queen Elizabeth:\n\n    “That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back’d toad!”\n\nRitson, on these two passages, has the following remarks on the term,\nbottled spider: “A large, bloated, glossy spider, supposed to contain\nvenom proportionate to its size.”\n\nThe origin of the silvery threads of gossamer which are so frequently\nseen extending from bush to bush was formerly unknown. Spenser, for\ninstance, speaks of them as “scorched dew;” and Thomson, in his\n“Autumn,” mentions “the filmy threads of dew evaporate;” which probably,\nsays Mr. Patterson,[581] refers to the same object. The gossamer is now,\nhowever, known to be the production of a minute spider. It is twice\nmentioned by Shakespeare, but not in connection with the little being\nfrom which it originates. One of the passages is in “Romeo and Juliet”\n(ii. 6):\n\n    “A lover may bestride the gossamer\n    That idles in the wanton summer air,\n    And yet not fall; so light is vanity.”\n\n    [581] “Insects Mentioned by Shakespeare,” 1841, p. 220.\n\nThe other occurs in “King Lear” (iv. 6), where Edgar accosts his father,\nafter his supposed leap from that\n\n        “cliff, whose high and bending head\n    Looks fearfully in the confined deep.”\n\nHe says:\n\n    “Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,\n    So many fathom down precipitating,\n    Thou’dst shiver’d like an egg.”\n\nIn each case it is expressive of extreme lightness. Nares, in his\n“Glossary” (vol. i. p. 378), considers that the term “gossamer”\noriginally came from the French _gossampine_, the cotton-tree, and is\nequivalent to cotton-wool. He says that it also means any light, downy\nmatter, such as the flying seeds of thistles and other plants, and, in\npoetry, is not unfrequently used to denote the long, floating cobwebs\nseen in fine weather. In the above passage from “King Lear” he thinks it\nhas the original sense, and in the one from “Romeo and Juliet” probably\nthe last. Some are of opinion that the word is derived from _goss_, the\ngorse or furze.[582] In Germany the popular belief attributes the\nmanufacture of the gossamer to the dwarfs and elves. Of King Oberon, it\nmay be remembered, we are told,\n\n    “A rich mantle he did wear,\n    Made of tinsel gossamer,\n    Bestarred over with a few\n    Diamond drops of morning dew.”\n\n    [582] See Croker’s “Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South\n    of Ireland,” edited by T. Wright, 1862, p. 215.\n\nHogg, too, introduces it as a vehicle fit for the fairy bands, which he\ndescribes as\n\n                 “sailing ’mid the golden air\n    In skiffs of yielding gossamer.”\n\n_Toad._ Among the vulgar errors of Shakespeare’s day was the belief that\nthe head of the toad contained a stone possessing great medicinal\nvirtues. In “As You Like It,” (ii. 1), the Duke says:\n\n    “Sweet are the uses of adversity;\n    Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,\n    Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.”\n\nLupton, in his “One Thousand Notable Things,” says that “a toad-stone,\ncalled _Crepaudina_, touching any part envenomed by the bite of a rat,\nwasp, spider, or other venomous beast, ceases the pain and swelling\nthereof.” In the Londesborough Collection is a silver ring of the\nfifteenth century, in which one of these stones is set.[583]\n\n    [583] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” vol. ii. pp. 50-55; Douce’s\n    “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” pp. 181-183.\n\nIt was also generally believed that the toad was highly venomous—a\nnotion to which there are constant allusions in Shakespeare’s plays; as,\nfor example, in the above passage, where it is spoken of as “ugly and\nvenomous.” In “Richard III.” (i. 2), Lady Anne says to Gloster:\n\n    “Never hung poison on a fouler toad.”\n\nAnd, in another scene (i. 3), Queen Margaret speaks of “this pois’nous\nbunch-back’d toad.”\n\nOnce more, in “Titus Andronicus” (iv. 2), the Nurse describes Queen\nTamora’s babe as being “as loathsome as a toad.” There is doubtless some\ntruth in this belief, as the following quotation from Mr. Frank\nBuckland’s “Curiosities of Natural History” seems to show: “Toads are\ngenerally reported to be poisonous; and this is perfectly true to a\ncertain extent. Like the lizards, they have glands in their skin which\nsecrete a white, highly acid fluid, and just behind the head are seen\ntwo eminences like split beans; if these be pressed, this acid fluid\nwill come out—only let the operator mind that it does not get into his\neyes, for it generally comes out with a jet. There are also other glands\ndispersed through the skin. A dog will never take a toad in his mouth,\nand the reason is that this glandular secretion burns his tongue and\nlips. It is also poisonous to the human subject. Mr. Blick, surgeon, of\nIslip, Oxfordshire,[584] tells me that a man once made a wager, when\nhalf drunk, in a village public-house, that he would bite a toad’s head\noff; he did so, but in a few hours his lips, tongue, and throat began to\nswell in a most alarming way, and he was dangerously ill for some\ntime.”\n\n    [584] See “Notes and Queries,” 6th series, vol. v. pp. 32, 173:\n    also, Gilbert White’s “Natural History of Selborne,” letter xvii.\n\nOwing to the supposed highly venomous character of the toad,\n“superstition,” says Pennant,[585] “gave it preternatural powers, and\nmade it a principal ingredient in the incantations of nocturnal hags.”\nThus, in Macbeth (iv. 1), the witch says:\n\n    “Toad that under cold stone,\n    Days and nights has thirty-one\n    Swelter’d venom sleeping got,\n    Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.”\n\n    [585] “Zoology,” 1766, vol. iii. p. 15.\n\nPennant adds that this was intended “for a design of the first\nconsideration, that of raising and bringing before the eyes of Macbeth a\nhateful second-sight of the prosperity of Banquo’s line. This shows the\nmighty power attributed to this animal by the dealers in the magic art.”\n\nThe evil spirit, too, has been likened by one of our master bards to the\ntoad, as a semblance of all that is devilish and disgusting (“Paradise\nLost,” iv. 800):\n\n                    “Him they found,\n    Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve,\n    Assaying with all his devilish art to reach\n    The organs of her fancy.”\n\nIn “Macbeth” (i. 1), the paddock or toad is made the name of a familiar\nspirit:\n\n    “Paddock[586] calls.—Anon!”\n\n    [586] Cf. “Hamlet,” iii. 4; here paddock is used for a toad.\n\n_Wasp._ So easily, we are told,[587] is the wrathful temperament of this\ninsect aroused, that extreme irascibility can scarcely be better\nexpressed than by the term “waspish.” It is in this sense that\nShakespeare has applied the epithet, “her waspish-headed son,” in the\n“Tempest” (iv. 1), where we are told that Cupid is resolved to be a boy\noutright. Again, in “As You Like It” (iv. 3), Silvius says:\n\n    “I know not the contents; but, as I guess\n    By the stern brow and waspish action\n    Which she did use as she was writing of it,\n    It bears an angry tenor.”\n\n    [587] Patterson’s “Insects Mentioned by Shakespeare,” 1841, p. 137.\n\nAgain, in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1), Petruchio addresses his\nintended spouse in language not highly complimentary:\n\n    “_Pet._ Come, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.\n\n    _Kath._ If I be waspish, best beware my sting.\n\n    _Pet._ My remedy is, then, to pluck it out.”\n\nIn the celebrated scene in “Julius Cæsar” (iv. 3), in which the\nreconciliation between Brutus and Cassius is effected, the word is used\nin a similar sense:\n\n    “I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,\n    When you are waspish.”[588]\n\n    [588] Cf. “Titus Andronicus,” ii. 3; “Henry VIII.,” iii. 3.\n\n_Water-Fly._ This little insect, which, on a sunny day, may be seen\nalmost on every pool, dimpling the glassy surface of the water, is used\nas a term of reproach by Shakespeare. Thus, Hamlet (v. 2), speaking of\nOsric, asks Horatio, “Dost know this water-fly?” In “Troilus and\nCressida” (v. 1), Thersites exclaims: “Ah, how the poor world is\npestered with such water-flies, diminutives of nature.” Johnson says it\nis the proper emblem of a busy trifler, because it skips up and down\nupon the surface of the water without any apparent purpose.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nFOLK-MEDICINE.\n\n\nWithout discussing the extent of Shakespeare’s technical medical\nknowledge, the following pages will suffice to show that he was fully\nacquainted with many of the popular notions prevalent in his day\nrespecting certain diseases and their cures. These, no doubt, he\ncollected partly from the literature of the period, with which he was so\nfully conversant, besides gathering a good deal of information on the\nsubject from daily observation. Anyhow, he has bequeathed to us some\ninteresting particulars relating to the folk-medicine of bygone times,\nwhich is of value, in so far as it helps to illustrate the history of\nmedicine in past years. In Shakespeare’s day the condition of medical\nscience was very unlike that at the present day. As Mr. Goadby, in his\n“England of Shakespeare” (1881, p. 104), remarks, “the man of science\nwas always more or less of an alchemist, and the students of medicine\nwere usually extensive dealers in charms and philtres.” If a man wanted\nbleeding he went to a barber-surgeon, and when he required medicine he\nconsulted an apothecary; the shop of the latter being well described by\nRomeo (v. 1):\n\n    “And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,\n    An alligator stuff’d, and other skins\n    Of ill-shap’d fishes; and about his shelves\n    A beggarly account of empty boxes,\n    Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds,\n    Remnants of pack-thread and old cakes of roses,\n    Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.”\n\nSuch a man was as ready “to sell love-philtres to a maiden as narcotics\nto a friar.”\n\n_Bleeding._ Various remedies were in use in Shakespeare’s day to stop\nbleeding. Thus, a key, on account of the coldness of the metal of which\nit is composed, was often employed; hence the term “key-cold” became\nproverbial, and is referred ", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32183", "title": "Folk-lore of Shakespeare", "author": "", "publication_year": 1884, "metadata_title": "Folk-lore of Shakespeare", "metadata_author": "T. F. Thiselton-Dyer", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.114348", "source_chars": 1062784, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 133992}}
{"text": "Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Lesley Halamek and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Greek: Eikôn Basilikê]\n\n\n  THE\n\n=POURTRACTURE=\n\n  OF\n\n=HIS SACRED=\n\n=MAJESTIE=,\n\n  IN\n\n=HIS SOLITUDES=\n\n  AND\n\n=SUFFERINGS=.\n\n\nWith a perfect Copy of Prayers used by his Majesty in the time of his\nsufferings.\n\nDelivered to Dr. JUXON Bishop of _London_, immediately before his\nDeath.\n\n\nROM. 8.\n\n_More then Conquerour, &c._\n\n_Bona agere, & mala pati, Regium est._\n\n\nPrinted at _London_, 1649.\n\n\n\n\nThe Explanation of the Embleme.\n\n\n  =PONDERIBUS= _genuus omne mali, probriq; gravatus,\n  Vixq; ferenda ferens_, =Palma= _ut_ =depressa=, _resurgo.\n  Ac, velut undarum_ =Fuctûs Ventìque=, _furorem\n  Irati Populi_ =Rupes immotta= _repello_.\n  =Clarioré tenebris=, _c[oe]lestis stella, corusco.\n  Victor æternum f[oe]lici pace_ =triumpho=.\n  _Auro_ =fulgentem= _rutilo gemmisque micantem,\n  At curis_ =Gravidam= _spernendo_ =calco Coronam=.\n  =Spinosam=, _at_ =ferri facilem=, _quo_ =spes mea=, _Christi\n  Auxilio, Nobis non est_ =tractare= _molestum_.\n  =Æternam=, _fixis fidei, semperque_ =beatam=\n  _In C[oe]los occulis_ =specto=, _Mobìsque-paratam.\n  Quod_ =vanum= _est, sperno; quod Christi_ =Gratia= _præbet\n  Amplecti studium est: Virtutis_ =Gloria= _merces._\n\n  THOUGH clogg'd with _weights_ of miseries,\n  _Palm_-like _depress'd_, I higher rise.\n  And as th' _unmoved Rock_ out-braves\n  The boyst'rous _winds_, and raging _waves_;\n  So _triumph I_. And _shine more bright_\n  In sad Affliction's darksom night.\n  That _splendid_, but yet _toilsome Crown_,\n  Regardlesly _I trample_ down.\n  With joy I take this _Crown_ of _Thorn_,\n  Though _sharp_, yet _easie to be born_.\n  That _heav'nly Crown_, already mine,\n  I _view_ with _eyes_ of faith divine.\n  I slight _vain_ things; and do embrace\n  _Glory_, the just reward of _Grace_.\n\n[Greek: To Chi ouden êdikêse tên polin, oude to Kappa.]\n\n\n\n\n\n[Greek: Eikôn Basilikê.]\n\n\nTHE\n\nPOURTRACTURE\n\nOF HIS SACRED\n\nMAJESTIE,\n\nIN\n\nHIS SOLITUDES\n\nAND\n\nSUFFERINGS.\n\nWith a perfect Copy of Prayers used by his Majesty in the time of his\nsufferings.\n\nDelivered to Dr. JUXON Bishop of _London_, immediately before his\ndeath.\n\n\nROM. 8.\n\n_More then Conquerour, &c.\n\nBona agere, & mala pati, Regium est._\n\n\nPrinted at _London_, 1649.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONTENTS.\n\n\n    1 _Vpon His Majesties calling this last Parliament._\n\n    2 _Upon the Earl of_ Strafford's _death._\n\n    3 _Upon His Majesties going to the House of Commons._\n\n    4 _Upon the Insolency of the Tumults._\n\n    5 _Upon His Majesties passing the Bill for the Trienniall\n    Parliaments: and after setling this, during the pleasure of\n    the two Houses._\n\n    6 _Upon His Majesties retirement from_ Westminster.\n\n    7 _Upon the Queens departure, and absence out of_ England.\n\n    8 _Upon His Majesties repulse at_ Hull, _and the fates of the_\n    Hothams.\n\n    9 _Upon the listing and raising Armies against the King._\n\n    10 _Upon their seizing the Kings Magazines, Forts, Navie, and\n    Militia._\n\n    11 _Upon the 19 Propositions first sent to the King; and more\n    afterwards._\n\n    12 _Upon the Rebellion, and troubles in_ Ireland.\n\n    13 _Upon the Calling in of the_ Scots, _and their Coming._\n\n    14 _Upon the Covenant._\n\n    15 _Upon the many Jealousies raised, and Scandals cast upon\n    the King, to stirre up the people against Him._\n\n    16 _Upon the Ordinance against the Common prayer-Book._\n\n    17 _Of the differences between the King, and the two Houses,\n    in point of Church-government._\n\n    18 _Upon_ Uxbridge-_Treaty, and others Offers made by the\n    King._\n\n    19 _Upon the various events of the War; Victories, and\n    Defeats._\n\n    20 _Upon the Reformations of the Times._\n\n    21 _Upon His Majesties Letters taken and divulged._\n\n    22 _Upon His Majesties leaving_ Oxford, and going to the_\n    Scots._\n\n    23 _Upon the_ Scots _delivering the King to the_ English; _and\n    His Captivity at_ Holmbie.\n\n    24 _Upon their denying His Majestie the Attendance of His\n    Chaplains._\n\n    25 Penitentiall Meditations and Vowes in the King's solitude\n    at _Holmbie_.\n\n    26 _Upon the Armies surprisall of the King at_ Holmbie, _and\n    the ensuing distractions in the two Houses, the Army, and the\n    Citie._\n\n    27 _To the Prince of_ Wales.\n\n    28 _Meditations upon Death, after the Votes of Non-Addresses,\n    and His Majesties closer Imprisonment in_ Carisbrook-Castle.\n\n    29 _Divers prayers used by his Majesty in time of His\n    sufferings._\n\n    30 _His Speeches to the Lady_ Elisabeth _and Duke of_\n    Glocester: _And His_ Reasons _against the jurisdiction of the\n    high Court of Justice._\n\n\n[Greek: EIKÔN BASILIKÊ]\n\n\n\n\n1. _Upon His Majesties calling this last Parliament._\n\n\nThis last Parliament I called, not more by others advice, and\nnecessity of My affairs, then by my own choice and inclination; who\nhave always thought the right way of Parliaments most safe for\nMy Crown, and best pleasing to my People: And although I was not\nforgetfull of those sparks, which some mens distempers formerly\nstudied to kindle in Parliaments, (which by forbearing to convene for\nsome years, I hoped to have extinguished) yet resolving with My self\nto give all just satisfaction to modest and sober desires, and to\nredress all publick grievances in Church and State; I hoped (by My\nfreedom and their moderation) to prevent all mis-understandings and\nmiscarriages in this: In which as I feared, affairs would meet with\nsome passion and prejudice in other men, so I resolved they should\nfinde least of them in my self; not doubting, but by the weight of\nReason I should counterpoiz the over-ballancing of any Factions.\n\nI was, indeed, sorry to hear with what partiality and popular heat,\nElections were carried in many places; yet hoping that the gravity and\ndiscretion of other Gentlemen would allay and fix the Commons to a\ndue temperament (guiding some mens well-meaning zeal by such rules of\nmoderation as are best both to preserve and restore the health of all\nStates and Kingdoms:) No man was better pleased with the convening of\nthis Parliament then My self; who knowing best the largenesse of my\nown Heart toward my Peoples good and just contentment, pleased my\nself most in that good and firm understanding, which would hence grow\nbetween me and my people.\n\nAll jealousies being laid aside, my own and my Childrens Interests\ngave me many obligations to seek and preserve the love and welfare of\nmy Subjects; The only temporal blessing that is left to the ambition\nof just Monarchs, as their greatest honour and safety, next Gods\nprotection. I cared not to lessen my self in some things of my wonted\nPrerogative; since I knew I could be no loser, if I might gain but a\nrecompence in my Subjects affections.\n\nI intended not only to oblige my friends, but mine enemies also:\nexceeding even the desires of those that were factiously discontented,\nif they did but pretend to any modest and sober sense.\n\nThe _odium_ and offences which some mens rigor or remissnesse in\nChurch and State had contracted upon my Government, I resolved to have\nexpiated by such Laws and regulations for the future, as might\nnot only rectifie what was amiss in practice, but supply what was\ndefective in the constitution: No man having a greater zeal to see\nReligion setled, and preserved in Truth, Unitie, and Order then my\nself; whom it most concerns both in pietie and policie; as knowing,\nthat, No flames of civil dissentions are more dangerous then those\nwhich make Religious pretensions the grounds of Factions.\n\nI resolved to reform, what I should by free and full advice in\nParliament be convinced to be amiss; and to grant whatever my Reason\nand Conscience told me was fit to be desired; I wish I had kept my\nself within those bounds, and not suffered my own Judgement to have\nbeen over-born in some things, more by others Importunities, then\ntheir Arguments; my confidence had less betrayed my self, and my\nKingdoms, to those advantages, which some men sought for, who wanted\nnothing but power and occasion to do mischief.\n\nBut our sins being ripe, there was no preventing of Gods Justice, from\nreaping that glory in our Calamities, which we robbed him of in our\nprosperitie.\n\n\n_For thou (O Lord) hast made us see, That Resolutions of future\nReforming, doe not alwayes satisfie thy justice, nor prevent thy\nVengeance for former miscarriages._\n\n_Our sins have over-laid our hopes: Thou hast taught us to depend on\nthy mercies to forgive, not on our purpose to amend._\n\n_When thou hast vindicated thy glory by thy judgments, and hast shewed\nus how unsafe it is to offend thee, upon presumptions afterwards to\nplease thee, Then I trust thy mercy will restore those blessings to\nus, which we have so much abused, as to force thee to deprive us of\nthem._\n\n_For want of timely repentance of our sins, Thou givest us cause to\nRepent of those Remedies we too late apply._\n\n_Yet I doe not repent of my calling the last Parliament, because O\nLord, I did it with an upright intention to thy glory, and My Peoples\ngood._\n\n_The miseries which have ensued upon me and my Kingdoms, are the just\neffects of thy displeasure upon us; and may be yet, through thy mercy,\npreparatives of us to future blessings and better hearts to enjoy\nthem._\n\n_O Lord, though thou hast deprived us of many former comforts;\nyet grant me and my People the benefit of our afflictions, and thy\nchastisements; that thy Rod as well as thy Staff may comfort us:\nThen shall we dare to account them the strokes not of an enemy, but a\nFather: when thou givest us those humble affections, that measure of\npatience in repentance which becomes thy Children; I shall have no\ncause to repent the miseries this Parliament hath occasioned, when by\nthem thou hast brought me and my people unfeignedly to repent of the\nsins we have committed._\n\n_Thy grace is infinitely better with our sufferings, then our Peace\ncould be with our sins._\n\n_O thou soveraign goodness and wisdom, who over-rulest all our\nCounsels; over-rule also all our hearts; That the worse things we\nsuffer by thy Justice, the better we may be by thy mercie._\n\n_As our sins have turned our Antidotes into Poison, so let thy Grace\nturn our Poison into Antidotes._\n\n_As the sins of our Peace disposed us to this unhappy Warre, so let\nthis War prepare us for thy blessed Peace._\n\n_That although I have but troublesom Kingdoms here, yet I may attain\nto that Kingdom of Peace in my Heart, and in thy Heaven, which Christ\nhath purchased, & thou wilt give to thy servant (though a sinner) for\nmy Saviours sake._ Amen.\n\n\n\n\n\n2. _Upon the Earl of Straffords death_.\n\n\nI looked upon my Lord of _Strafford_, as a Gentleman, whose great\nabilities might make a Prince rather afraid, then ashamed to employ\nhim in the greatest affairs of State.\n\nFor those were prone to create in him great confidence of\nundertakings, and this was like enough to betray him to great errors,\nand many enemies; whereof he could not but contract good store, while\nmoving in so high a sphear, and with so vigorous a lustre, he must\nneeds (as the Sun) raise many envious exhalations, which condensed by\na popular _odium_, were capable to cast a cloud before the brightest\nmerit and integrity.\n\nThough I cannot in my judgement approve all he did, driven (it may be)\nby the necessities of times, and the Temper of that people, more then\nled by his own disposition to any height and rigour of actions: yet I\ncould never be convinced of any such criminousness in him as willingly\nto expose his life to the stroke of Justice, and malice of his\nenemies. I never met with a more unhappy conjuncture of affairs,\nthen in the businesse of that unfortunate Earl: when between my own\nunsatisfiedness in Conscience, and a necessity (as some told me) of\nsatisfying the importunities of some people, I was perswaded by those\nthat I think wished Me well, to chuse rather what was safe, then what\nseemed just; preferring the outward peace of My Kingdoms with men,\nbefore that inward exactness of Conscience before God.\n\nAnd indeed I am so far from excusing or denying that compliance on My\npart (for plenary consent it was not) to his destruction, whom in\nMy judgment I thought not, by any clear law, guilty of death: That\nI never bare any touch of Conscience with greater regret: which as a\nsign of my repentance, I have often with sorrow confessed both to God\nand men, as an act of so sinfull frailty, that it discovered more\na fear of man, then of God, whose name and place on earth no man is\nworthy to bear, who will avoid inconveniencies of State, by acts of so\nhigh injustice, as no publick convenience can expiate or compensate.\n\nI see it a bad exchange to wound a mans own Conscience, thereby to\nsalve State-sores; to calm the storms of popular discontents, by\nstirring up a tempest in a mans own bosome.\n\nNor hath Gods Justice failed in the event and sad consequences, to\nshew the world the fallacy of that Maxime, _Better one man perish,\n(though unjustly) then the people be displeased or destroyed._\n\nFor, In all likelihood I could never have suffered, with My people,\ngreater calamities, (yet with greater comfort) had I vindicated\n_Straffords_ innocency, at least by denying to Sign that destructive\n_Bill_, according to that Justice, which My conscience suggested\nto Me, then I have done since I gratified some mens unthankful\nimportunities with so cruel a favour. And I have observed, that those,\nwho counselled Me to sign that Bill, have been so far from receiving\nthe rewards of such ingratiatings with the People, that no men have\nbeen harassed & crushed more then they: He onely hath been least vexed\nby them, who counselled Me, not to consent against the vote of My own\nConscience: I hope God hath forgiven Me and them, the sinful rashness\nof that business.\n\nTo which being in My soul so fully conscious, those Judgements God\nhath pleased to send upon Me, are so much the more welcom, as a means\n(I hope) which his mercy hath sanctified so to Me, as to make Me\nrepent of that unjust Act, (for so it was to Me) and for the future\nto teach Me, That the best rule of policie is, to prefer the doing of\nJustice, before all enjoyments, and the peace of my Conscience before\nthe preservation of My Kingdoms.\n\nNor hath any thing more fortified My resolutions against all those\nviolent importunities, which since have sought to gain a like consent\nfrom Me, to Acts, wherein my Conscience is unsatisfied, then the sharp\ntouches I have had for what passed Me, in My Lord of _Straffords_\nbusiness.\n\nNot that I resolved to have imployed him in My affairs, against the\nadvise of my Parliament, but I would not have had any hand in his\nDeath, of whose Guiltlesness I was better assured, then any man living\ncould be.\n\nNor were the crimes objected against him so clear, as after a long and\nfair hearing to give convincing satisfaction to the Major part of both\nHouses; especially that of the Lords, of whom scarce a third part\nwere present, when the bill passed that House: And for the House\nof Commons, many Gentlemen, disposed enough to diminish My Lord of\n_Straffords_ greatness and power, yet unsatisfied of his guilt in Law,\ndurst not condemn him to die: who for their integrity in their Votes,\nwere by Posting their Names, exposed to the popular calumny, hatred\nand fury; which grew then so exorbitant in their clamours _for\nJustice_, (that is, to have both my self and the two Houses' Vote,\nand doe as they would have us) that many ('tis thought) were rather\nterrified to concur with the condemning party, then satisfied that of\nright they ought so to doe.\n\nAnd that after-Act vacating the Authority of the precedent, for future\nimitation sufficiently tels the world, that some remorse touched even\nhis most implacable enimies, as knowing he had very hard measure, and\nsuch as they would be very loath should be repeated to themselves.\n\nThis tendernesse and regret I find in my soul, for having any hand\n(and that very unwillingly God knows) in shedding one mans bloud\nunjustly, (though under the colour and formalities of Justice, and\npretences of avoiding publick mischiefs) which may (I hope) be some\nevidence before God and man, to all posterity, that I am far from\nbearing justly the vast load and guilt of all that blood which hath\nbeen shed in this unhappy War; which some men will needs charge on me,\nto ease their own souls, who am, and ever shall be, more affraid to\ntake away any mans life unjustly then to lose my own.\n\n\n_But then, O God, of thy infinit mercies forgive me that act of\nsinfull compliance, which hath greater aggravations upon me then any\nman, Since I had not the least temptation of envy, or malice against\nhim, and by my place should, at least so farre, have been a preserver\nof him, as to have denied my consent to his destruction._\n\n_O Lord, I acknowledge my transgression, and my sin is ever before\nme._\n\n_Deliver me from blood-guiltiness O God, thou God of my salvation, and\nmy tongue shall sing of thy righteousness._\n\n_Against thee have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight, for thou\nsawest the contradiction between my heart and my hand._\n\n_Yet cast me not away from thy presence, purge me with the blood of my\nRedeemer, and I shall be clear; wash me with that pretious effusion,\nand I shall be whiter then snow._\n\n_Teach me to learn Righteousnesse by thy Iudgements, and to see my\nfrailtie in thy Iustice: while I was perswaded by shedding one mans\nbloud to prevent after-troubles, thou hast for that, among other\nsins, brought upon mee, and upon my Kingdoms, great, long, and heavy\ntroubles._\n\n_Make me to prefer Iustice, which is thy Will, before all contrary\nclamours, which are but the discoveries of mans injurious will._\n\n_It is too much that they have once overcome me, to please them by\ndispleasing thee: O never suffer me for any reason of State, to go\nagainst my Reason of Conscience, Which is highly to sin against thee,\nthe God of Reason, and Iudge of our Consciences._\n\n_Whatever, O Lord, thou seest fit to deprive me of, yet restore unto\nme the joy of thy Salvation, and ever uphold me with thy free Spirit;\nwhich subjects my will to non: but the light of Reason, Justice, and\nReligion, which shines in my Soul; for thou desirest Truth in the\ninward parts, and Integritie in the outward expressions._\n\n_Lord, hear the voice of thy Sons, and my Saviours bloud, which speaks\nbetter things; O make me, and my People, to hear the voice of Joy and\nGladness, that the bones which thou hast broken, may rejoice in thy\nsalvation_.\n\n\n\n\n\n3. _Vpon His Majesties going to the House of Commons._\n\n\nMy going to the House of Commons to demand Justice upon the five\nMembers, was an act which my Enemies loaded with all the obloquies and\nexasperations they could.\n\nIt filled indifferent men with great jealousies and fears; yea, and\nmany of my Friends resented it, as a motion rising rather from Passion\nthen Reason, and not guided with such discretion as the touchiness of\nthose times required.\n\nBut these men knew not the just motives, and pregnant grounds, with\nwhich I thought myself so furnished, that there needed nothing to such\nevidence, as I could have produced against those I charged, save onely\na free and legall Trial, which was all I desired.\n\nNor had I any temptation of displeasure or revenge against those mens\npersons, further then I had discovered those (as I thought) unlawfull\ncorrespondencies they had used, and engagements they had made to\nembroyl my Kingdoms: of all which I missed but little to have produced\nWritings under some mens own hands, who were the chief contrivers of\nthe following Innovations.\n\nProvidence would not have it so; yet I wanted not such probabilities\nas were sufficient to raise jealousies in any Kings heart, who is not\nwholly stupid and neglective of the publick Peace; which to preserve,\nmy calling in question half a dozen men, in a fair and legall way\n(which God knows, was all my design) could have amounted to no worse\neffect, had it succeeded, then either to do Me and my Kingdom right,\nin case they had been found guilty; or else to have cleared their\ninnocency, and removed my suspicion: which, as they were not raised\nout of any malice, so neither were they in reason to be smothered.\n\nWhat flames of discontent this spark (though I sought by all speedy\nand possible means to quench it) soon kindled, all the world is\nwitnesse: The aspersion which some men cast upon that action, as if\nI had designed by force to assault the House of Commons, and invade\ntheir Priviledge, is so false, that, as God best knows, I had no such\nintent; so none that attended Me could justly gather from any thing I\nthen said or did, the least intimation of any such thoughts.\n\nThat I went attended with some Gentlemen, as it was no unwonted thing\nfor the Majesty and safety of a King so to be attended, especially\nin discontented times; so were my Followers at that time short of\nmy ordinary Guard, and no way proportionable to hazard a tumultuary\nconflict. Nor were they more scared at my coming, then I was unassured\nof not having some affronts cast upon me, if I had none to be with\nMe to preserve a reverence to Me: for many people had (at that time)\nlearned to think those hard thoughts, which they have since abundantly\nvented against Me, both by words and deeds.\n\n  The sum of that businesse was this,\n\nThose men and their adherents were then look'd upon by the affrighted\nvulgar, as greater Protectors of their Laws and Liberties then my\nSelf, and so worthier of their protection. I leave them to God and\ntheir own Consciences, who, if guilty of evill machinations, no\npresent impunity, or popular vindications of them will be subterfuge\nsufficient to rescue them from those exact Tribunals.\n\nTo which, in the obstructions of Justice among men, we must\nreligiously appeal, as being an argument to us Christians of that\nafter unavoidable Judgement, which shall re-judge what among men is\nbut corruptly decided, or not at all.\n\nI endeavoured to have prevented, if God had seen fit, those future\ncommotions which I foresaw, would in all likelyhood follow some mens\nactivity (if not restrained) and so now hath done to the undoing of\nmany thousands; the more is the pity.\n\nBut to over-awe the freedom of the Houses, or to weaken their just\nAuthority by any violent impressions upon them, was not at all my\ndesign: I thought I had so much Justice and Reason on my side, as\nshould not have needed so rough assistance: and I was resolved\nrather to bear the repulse with patience, then to use such hazardous\nextremities.\n\n\n_But thou, O Lord art my witnesse in heaven, and in my Heart: If I\nhave purposed any violence or oppression against the Innocent: or if\nthere were any such wickednes in my thoughts._\n\n_Then let the enemy persecute my soul, and tread my life to the\nground, and lay mine Honour in the dust._\n\n_Thou that seest not as man seeth, but lookest beyond all popular\nappearances, searching the heart, and trying the reins, and bringing\nto light the hidden things of darknesse, shew thy self._\n\n_Let not my afflictions be esteemed (as with wise and godly men they\ncannot be) any argument as my sin, in that matter: more then their\nImpunity among good men is any sure token of their Innocency._\n\n_But forgive them wherin they have done amiss, though they are not\npunished for it in this world._\n\n_Save thy servant from the privy conspiracies, and open violence of\nbloody and unreasonable men, according to the uprightness of my heart,\nand the innocency of my hands in this matter._\n\n_Plead my cause and maintain my right, O thou that sittest in the\nThrone, judging rightly, that thy servant may ever rejoyce in thy\nsalvation._\n\n\n\n\n\n4. _Upon the Insolency of the Tumults._\n\n\nI Never thought any thing (except our sins) more ominously presaging\nall these mischiefs, which have followed, then those Tumults\nin _London_ and _Westminster_, soon after the convening of this\nParliament; which were not like a storm at Sea, (which yet wants not\nits terrour) but like an Earth-quake, shaking the very foundations of\nall; then which nothing in the world hath more of horror.\n\nAs it is one of the most convincing Arguments that there is a God,\nwhile his power sets bounds to the raging of the Sea: so 'tis no\nless, that he restrains the madness of the People. Nor doth any thing\nportend more Gods displeasure against a Nation, then when he suffers\nthe confluence and clamours of the Vulgar to passe all boundaries of\nLaws and reverence to Authority.\n\nWhich those Tumults did to so high degrees of Insolence, that they\nspared not to invade the Honour and Freedom of the two Houses,\nmenacing, reproaching, shaking, yea, and assaulting some Members of\nboth Houses, as they fancied, or disliked them: Nor did they forbear\nmost rude and unseemly deportments, both in contemptuous words and\nactions, to my Self and my Court.\n\nNor was this a short fit or two of shaking, as an ague, but a\nquotidian fever, always encreasing to higher inflammations, impatient\nof any mitigation, restraint, or remission.\n\nFirst, They must be a guard against those fears which some men scared\nthemselves and others withall; when indeed nothing was more to be\nfeared, and lesse to be used by wise men, then those tumultuary\nconfluxes of mean and rude people, who are taught first to petition,\nthen to protect, then to dictate, at last to command and over-aw the\nParliament.\n\nAll obstructions in Parliament (that is, all freedom of differing in\nVotes, and debating matters with reason and candor) must be taken away\nwith these Tumults; By these must the Houses be purged, and all\nrotten Members (as they pleased to count them) cast out: By these the\nobstinacie of men resolved to discharge their Consciences, must be\nsubdued; by these all factious, seditious, and schismaticall Proposals\nagainst Government Ecclesiastical or Civil, must be backed and\nabetted, till they prevailed.\n\nGenerally, who-ever had most mind to bring forth confusion and ruine\nupon Church and State, used the midwifery of those Tumults: whose riot\nand impatience was such, that they would not stay the ripening and\nseason of Counsels, or fair production of Acts, in the order, gravity,\nand deliberatenesse befitting a Parliament; but ripped up with\nbarbarous cruelty, and forcibly cut out abortive Votes, such as their\nInviters and Encouragers most fancied.\n\nYea, so enormous and detestable were their outrages, that no sober man\ncould be without an infinite shame and sorrow to see them so tolerated\nand connived at by some; countenanced, encouraged, and applauded by\nothers.\n\nWhat good man had not rather want any thing he most desired, for the\npublick good, then obtain it by such unlawfull and irreligious means?\nBut mens passions and Gods directions seldom agree; violent designes\nand motions must have sutable engines: such as too much attend their\nown ends, seldom confine themselves to Gods means. Force must crowd in\nwhat Reason will not lead.\n\nWho were the chief Demagogues and Patrons of Tumults, to send for\nthem, to flatter and embolden them, to direct and tune their clamorous\nimportunities, some men yet living are too conscious to pretend\nignorance: God in his due time will let these see, That those were no\nfit means to be used for attaining his ends.\n\nBut as it is no strange thing for the Sea to rage, when strong winds\nblow upon it; so neither for Multitudes to become insolent, when they\nhave Men of some reputation for parts and piety to set them on.\n\nThat which made their rudenesse most formidable, was, that many\nComplaints being made, and Messages sent by my Self, and, some of both\nHouses; yet no Order for redress could be obtained with any vigour\nand efficacie, proportionable to the malignity of that now far-spread\ndisease, and predominant mischief.\n\nSuch was some mens stupidity, that they feared no inconvenience;\nOthers petulancie, that they joyed to see their betters shamefully\noutraged and abused, while they knew their onely security consisted\nin vulgar flattery: so insensible were they of Mine, or the two Houses\ncommon Safety and Honours.\n\nNor could ever any Order be obtained, impartially to examine, censure,\nand punish the known Boutefeus, and impudent Incendiaries, who boasted\nof the influence they had and used, to convoke those Tumults as their\nadvantages served.\n\nYea, some (who should have been wiser States-men) owned them as\nfriends, commending their Courage, Zeal, and Industry; which to sober\nmen could seem no better then that of the Divel, who _goes about\nseeking whom he may_ deceive and _devour._\n\nI confesse, when I found such a deafness, that no Declaration from the\nBishops, who were first fouly insolenced and assaulted; nor yet from\nother Lords and Gentlemen of Honor; nor yet from my self could take\nplace for the due repression of these Tumults; and securing not only\nOur freedom in Parliament, but Our very persons in the Streets; I\nthought My self not bound by my presence to provoke them to higher\nboldness and contempts; I hoped by my with-drawing to give time, both\nfor the ebbing of their tumultuous furie, and others regaining some\ndegrees of modesty and sober sense.\n\nSome may interpret it as an effect of Pusillanimitie in any man\nfor popular terrors to desert his publick station. But I think it a\nhardiness, beyond true valor, for a wise man to set himself against\nthe breaking in of a Sea; which to resist, at present, threatens\nimminent danger; but to withdraw, gives it space to spend its fury,\nand gains a fitter time to repair the breach. Certainly a gallant man\nhad rather fight to great disadvantages for number and place in the\nfield, in an orderly way, then skuffle with an undisciplined rabble.\n\nSome suspected and affirmed that I meditated a war (when I went from\n_Whitehal_ only to redeem my Person & Conscience from violence) God\nknows I did not think of a war. Nor will any prudent man conceive that\nI would by so many former and some after-acts, have so much weakned\nMy self, if I had purposed to engage in a war, which to decline by\nall means, I denyed my self in so many particulars: 'Tis evident I had\nthen no Army to fly unto, for protection or vindication.\n\nWho can blame me, or any other for a withdrawing our selves from the\ndaily baitings of the Tumults, not knowing whether their fury and\ndiscontent might not fly so high, as to worry and tear those in\npieces, whom as yet they but played with in their paws? God, who is my\nsole Judg, is my Witness in Heaven, that I never had any thoughts\nof going from My house at _Whitehall_, if I could have had but any\nreasonable fair Quarter; I was resolved to bear much, and did so, but\nI did not think my self bound to prostitute the Majesty of my place\nand Person, the safety of my Wife and children, to those who are prone\nto insult most, when they have objects and opportunity, most capable\nof their rudeness and petulancy.\n\nBut this business of the Tumults (whereof some have given already an\naccount to God, others yet living, know themselves desperatly guilty)\ntime and the guilt of many hath so smothered up and buried, that I\nthink it best to leave it as it is: Only I beleeve the just Avenger of\nall disorders, will in time make those men, and that City, see their\nsin in the glass of their Punishment. 'Tis more then an even lay, they\nmay one day see themselves punished by that way they offended.\n\nHad this Parliament, as it was in its first Election and Constitution,\nsate full and free, the Members of both Houses being left to their\nfreedom of Voting, as in all reason, honor, and Religion, they should\nhave been; I doubt not but things would have been so carried, as\nwould have given no less content to all good men, then they wished or\nexpected.\n\nFor, I was resolved to hear reason in all things, and to consent to\nit so far as I could comprehend it: but as Swine are to Gardens and\norderly Plantations, so are Tumults to Parliaments, and Plebeian\nconcourses to publick Councels, turning all into disorders and sordid\nconfusions.\n\nI am prone sometimes to think, That had I called this Parliament to\nany other place in _England_, (as I might opportunely enough have\ndone) the sad consequences, in all likelihood, with Gods blessing,\nmight have been prevented. A Parliament would have been welcom in\nany place; no place afforded such confluence of various and vitious\nhumors, as that where it was unhappily convened. But we must leave all\nto God, who orders our disorders, and magnifies his wisdom most, when\nour follies and miseries are most discovered.\n\n\n_But thou O Lord art My refuge and defence_: _to thee I may safely\nflie, who rulest the raging of the Sea, and the madnesse of the\nPeople._\n\n_The flouds, O Lord, the flouds are come in upon Me, and are ready to\noverwhelm Me._\n\n_I look upon My sinnes and the sinnes of My people, (which are the\ntumults of our Souls against thee O Lord) as the just cause of these\npopular inundations which thou permittest to overbear all the banks of\nLoyalty, Modesty, Laws, Justice, and Religion._\n\n_But thou that gatheredst the Waters into one place, and madest the\ndry land to appear, and after did'st asswage the floud which drowned\nthe world, by the word of thy power; Rebuke those beasts of the\npeople, and deliver Me from the rudenesse and strivings of the\nmultitude._\n\n_Restore, We beseech thee, unto Us, the freedoms of Our Councels and\nParliaments, make Us unpassionately to see the light of Reason, and\nReligion, and with all order and gravity to follow it, as becomes Men\nand Christians; so shall We praise thy Name, who art the God of order\nand counsel._\n\n_What man cannot, or will not represse, thy Omnipotent Justice can and\nwill._\n\n_O Lord, give them that are yet living, a timely sense and sorrow\nfor their great sinne, whom thou knowest guilty of raising or\nnot suppressing those disorders: Let shame here and not suffering\nhereafter be their punishment._\n\n_Set bounds to our passions by Reason, to our errors by Truth, to our\nseditions by Laws duely executed, to our schismes by Charitie, that we\nmay be, as thy_ Jerusalem, _a Citie at unity in it self._\n\n_This grant, O My God, in thy good time, for Jesus Christs sake._\nAmen.\n\n\n\n\n\n5. _Upon His Majesties passing the_ BILL _for the Trienniall\nParliaments: And after, setling this, during the pleasure of the two\nHouses_.\n\n\nThat the world might be fully confirmed in my purposes at first, to\ncontribute what in Justice, Reason, Honour and Conscience I could,\nto the happy success of this Parliament, (which had in Me no other\nDesigne, but the generall good of My Kingdoms) I willingly passed\nthe BILL for Trienniall Parliaments: which, as gentle and seasonable\nPhysick, might (if well applied) prevent any distempers from getting\nany head, or prevailing; especially, if the remedy proved not a remedy\nbeyond all remedy.\n\nI conceived, this Parliament would finde work with convenient Recesses\nfor the first three years: But I did not imagine, that some men would\nthereby have occasioned more work then they found to do, by undoing\nso much as they found well done to their hands. Such is some mens\nactivity, that they will needs make work rather then want it; and\nchuse to be doing amiss, rather then do nothing.\n\nWhen that first Act seemed too scanty to satisfie some mens fears, and\ncompass publick Affairs; I was perswaded to grant that BILL of sitting\nduring the pleasure of the Houses; which amounted, in some mens sense,\nto as much as the perpetuating of this Parliament. By this Act of\nhighest confidence, I hoped for ever to shut out, and lock the door\nupon all present jealousies, and future mistakes: I confess, I did\nnot thereby intend to shut my Self out of doors, as some men have now\nrequited me.\n\nTrue, it was an Act unparallell'd by any of my Predecessors; yet\ncannot in reason admit of any worse interpretation then this, of an\nextreme confidence I had, That my Subjects would not make ill use of\nan Act, by which I declared so much to trust them, as to deny my Self\nin so high a point of my Prerogative.\n\nFor good Subjects will never think it just or fit, that my Condition\nshould be worse, by my bettering theirs; Nor indeed would it have been\nso in the events, if some men had known as well with moderation to\nuse, as with earnestness to desire advantages of doing good or evill.\n\nA continuall Parliament (I thought) would but keep the Common-weale in\ntune, by preserving Laws in their due execution and vigour: wherein My\ninterest lies more then any mans, since by those Laws My Rights as\na KING, would be preserved no less then My Subjects; which is all I\ndesired. More then the Law gives Me I would not have, and less the\nmeanest Subject should not.\n\nSome (as _I_ have heard) gave it out, that I soon repented me of that\nsetling Act: and many would needs perswade Me, _I_ had cause so to do:\nBut I could not easily nor suddenly suspect such ingratitude in men\nof Honour, That the more I granted them, the less _I_ should have and\nenjoy with them. _I_ still counted my self undiminished by my largest\nConcessions, if by them _I_ might gain and confirm the love of My\npeople.\n\nOf which I do not yet despair, but that God will still bless Me with\nincrease of it, when men shall have more leisure and less prejudice;\nthat so with unpassionate representations they may reflect upon those\n(as I think) not more Princely then friendly contributions, which I\ngranted toward the perpetuating of their happiness: who are now only\nmiserable in this, That some mens ambition will not give them leave to\nenjoy what I intended for their good.\n\nNor do I doubt, but that in Gods due time, the Loyal and cleared\naffections of My people will strive to return such retributions of\nHonour and love to Me or My Posteritie, as may fully compensate both\nthe Acts of my confidence, and my Sufferings for them; which (God\nknows) have been neither few; nor small, nor short; occasioned chiefly\nby a perswasion I had, that I could not grant too much, or distrust\ntoo little, to men, that being professedly my Subjects, pretended\nsingular piety, and religious strictness.\n\nThe injurie of all Injuries is, That which some men will needs load Me\nwithall; as if I were a wilfull and resolved Occasioner of my Own,\nand my Subjects Miseries; while (as they confidently, but (God knows)\nfalsly divulge) I repining at the establishment of this Parliament,\nendeavoured by force and open hostility, to undoe what by my Royall\nAssent I had done. Sure, it had argued a very short sight of things,\nand extreme fatuity of minde in Me, so far to binde my Own hands at\ntheir request, if I had shortly meant to have used a sword against\nthem. God knows, though I had then a sense of Injuries; yet not such\nas to think them worth vindicating by a War: I was not then compelled,\nas since, to injure my Self by their not using favours with the same\ncandour wherewith they were conferred. The Tumults indeed threatned\nto abuse all Acts of Grace, and turne them into wantonnesse; but I\nthought at length their own fears, whose black arts first raised up\nthose turbulent spirits, would force them to conjure them down again.\n\nNor if I had justly resented any indignities put upon me, or others,\nwas I then in any capacitie to have taken just revenge in an hostile\nand warlike way, upon those, whom I knew so well fortified in the\nlove of the meaner sort of the people, that I could not have given\nmy Enemies greater and more desired advantages against Me, then by so\nunprincely inconstancie, to have assaulted them with Armies, thereby\nto scatter them, whom but lately I had solemnly setled by an Act of\nParliament.\n\nGod knows, I longed for nothing more, then that my Self, and my\nSubjects might quietly enjoy the fruits of my many Condescendings.\n\nIt had been a Course full of sin, as well as of Hazard and Dishonor;\nfor Me to go about the cutting up of that by the Sword, which I had\nso lately planted, so much (as I thought) to my Subjects content, and\nmine Own too, in all probability, if some men had not feared where no\nfear was, whose security consisted in fearing others.\n\nI thank God, I know so well the sincerity and uprightness of my own\nHeart in passing that great BILL, which exceeded the very thoughts of\nformer times; That although I may seem less a Polititian to men, yet\nI need no secret distinctions or evasions before God, nor had I any\nreservations in my own Soul when I passed it: nor repenting after,\ntill I saw that my letting some men go up to the pinnacle of the\nTemple, was a temptation to them to cast me down headlong.\n\nConcluding, That without a miracle, Monarchie it self, together with\nMe, could not but be dashed in pieces by such a precipitous fall as\nthey intended: whom God in mercy forgive, and make them see at length,\nThat as many Kingdoms as the Divell shewed our Saviour, and the Glory\nof them (if they could be at once enjoyed by them) are not worth the\ngaining, by ways of sinfull ingratitude and dishonour, which hazards a\nsoul, worth more Worlds then this hath Kingdoms.\n\nBut God hath hitherto preserved Me, and made Me to see, That it is no\nstrange thing for men, left to their own passions, either to do much\nevill themselves, or abuse the overmuch goodness of others, whereof an\nungratefull surfet is the most desperate and incurable disease.\n\nI cannot say properly that I repent of that Act, since _I_ have\nno reflections upon it as a sin of my Wil, though an errour of too\ncharitable a judgment: Only I am sorry other mens eys should be evill,\nbecause mine were good.\n\n\n_To Thee (O my God) do I still appeale, whose All-discerning Justice\nsees through all the disguises of mens pretensions, and deceitfull\ndarknesse of their hearts._\n\n_Thou gavest Me a heart to grant much to My Subjects; and now I need a\nHeart fitter to suffer much for some of them._\n\n_They will be done, though never so much to the crossing of ours, even\nwhen we hope to doe what might be most comfortable to thine and theirs\ntoo; who pretended they aymed at nothing else._\n\n_Let thy grace teach me wisely to enjoy as well the frustratings, as\nthe fulfilling of My best hopes, and most specious desires._\n\n_I see while I thought to allay others fears, I have raised My owne;\nand by setling them, have unsetled My self._\n\n_Thus have they requited Me evill for good, and hatred for My good\nwill towards them._\n\n_O Lord be thou My Pilot in this darke and dangerous storme, which\nnever admits My returne to the Port whence I set out, nor My making\nany other, with that safety and honour which I designed._\n\n_Tis easie for Thee to keep Me safe in the love and confidence of\nMy people; nor is it hard for Thee to preserve Me amidst the unjust\nhatred and jealousies of too many, which thou hast suffered so far\nto prevaile upon Me, as to be able to pervert and abuse my acts of\ngreatest Indulgence to them, and assurance of them._\n\n_But no favours from Me can make others more guiltie then My self may\nbe of misusing those many and great ones, which Thou, O Lord, hast\nconferred on Me._\n\n_I beseech thee, give Me and them such Repentance as thou wilt accept,\nand such Grace as we may not abuse._\n\n_Make me so far happy, as to make right use of others abuses; and by\ntheir failings of Me, to reflect with a reforming displeasure upon My\noffences against Thee._\n\n_So, although for My sins I am by other mens sins deprived of thy\ntemporall blessings, yet I may be happie to enjoy the comfort of\nthy Mercies, which often raise the greatest Sufferers to be the most\nglorious Saints._\n\n\n\n\n\n6. _Upon His Majesties retirement from_ Westminster.\n\n\nWith what unwillingness I withdrew from _Westminster_, let them judg,\nwho, unprovided of tackling and victual, are forced to Sea by a Storm;\nyet better do so, then venture splitting or sinking on a Lee-shore.\n\nI stayed at _Whitehall_, till I was driven away by shame, more then\nfear, to see the barbarous rudeness of those Tumults, who resolved\nthey would take the boldness to demand any thing, and not leave either\nmy Self, or the Members of Parliament the liberty of our Reason and\nConscience to deny them any thing.\n\nNor was this intolerable oppression my case alone, (though chiefly\nMine;) For the Lords and Commons might be content to be over-voted by\nthe _major_ part of their Houses, when they had used each their own\nfreedom.\n\nWhose agreeing Votes were not by any Law or reason conclusive to my\nJudgment; nor can they include, or carry with them my consent, whom\nthey represent not in any kinde; Nor am I further bound to agree with\nthe Votes of both Houses, then I see them agree with the will of God,\nwith my just Rights, as a King, and the generall good of my people.\nI see that, as many men, they are seldom of one minde; and I may oft\nsee, that the major part of them are not in the right.\n\nI had formerly declared to sober and moderate minds, how desirous I\nwas to give all just content, when I agreed to so many Bils, which\nhad been enough to secure and satisfie all; if some mens Hydropick\nunsatiableness had not learned to thirst the more, by how much more\nthey drank; whom no fountain of Royall bounty was able to overcome: so\nresolved they seemed, either utterly to exhaust it, or barbarously to\nobstruct it.\n\nSure, it ceases to be Counsell, when not Reason is used, as to men, to\nperswade; but force and terrour, as to beasts, to drive and compel men\nto assent to what-ever tumultuary Patrons shall project. He deserves\nto be a slave without pity or redemption, that is content to have the\nrationall soveraignty of his Soul, and liberty of his Will and words\nso captivated.\n\nNor do I think my Kingdoms so considerable, as to preserve them with\nthe forfeiture of that freedom which cannot be denied me as a King,\nbecause it belongs to me as a man, and a Christian, owning the\ndictates of none, but God to be above me, as obliging me to consent.\nBetter for Me to die enjoying this Empire of my Soul, which Subjects\nme only to God, so farr as by Reason or Religion he directs me, then\nlive with the Title of a King, if it should carry such a vassalage\nwith it, as not to suffer me to use my Reason and Conscience, in which\nI declare as a King, to like or dislike.\n\nSo farr am I from thinking the majesty of the Crown of _England_ to\nbe bound by any Coronation Oath in a blinde and brutish formalitie, to\nconsent to whatever its subjects in Parliament shall require; as some\nmen will needs inferr; while denying me any power of a Negative voice\nas King, they are not ashamed to seek to deprive me of the libertie of\nusing my Reason with a good Conscience, which themselves, and all the\nCommons of _England_ enjoy proportionable to their influence on the\npublique; who would take it very ill to be urged, not to deny, what\never my self, as King, or the House of Peers with me should, not so\nmuch desire as enjoyn them to pass. I think my Oath fully discharged\nin that point, by my Governing only by such Laws, as my People with\nthe House of Peers have Chosen, and my self have consented to. I\nshall never think my self conscientiously tied to go as oft against\nmy conscience, as I should consent to such new Proposals, which my\nReason, in Justice, Honor and Religion bids Me deny.\n\nYet so tender I see some men are of their being subject to Arbitrary\nGovernment, (that is, the Law of anothers will, to which themselves\ngive no consent) that they care not with how much dishonour and\nabsurdity they make their King the only man, that must be subject\nto the will of others, without having power left Him to use His own\nReason, either in Person, or by any other Representation.\n\nAnd if My dissentings at any time were (as som have suspected, and\nuncharitably avowed) out of error, opinion, activeness, weakness,\nor wilfulness, and what they call Obstinacy in Me (which not true\nJudgment of things, but some vehement prejudice or passion hath fixed\non My minde;) yet can no man think it other then the Badge and\nmethod of Slavery, by savage rudeness, and importunate obtrusions of\nviolence, to have the mist of his Errour and Passion dispelled, which\nis a shadow of Reason, and must serve those that are destitute of\nthe substance. Sure that man cannot be blameable to God or man, who\nseriously endeavours to see the best reason of things, and faithfully\nfollowes what he takes for Reason: The uprightnesse of his intentions\nwill excuse the possible failings of his understanding; If a Pilot at\nSea cannot see the Pole-star, it can be no fault in him to steer his\ncourse by such Stars as do best appear to him. It argues rather,\nthose men to be conscious of their defects of Reason, and convincing\nArguments, who call in the assistance of meer force to carry on the\nweakness of their Counsels and Proposals. I may, in the truth and\nuprightness of my heart, protest before God and men, That I never\nwilfully opposed, or denied any thing that was in a fair way, after\nfull and free debates propounded to me by the two Houses, further then\nI thought in good reason I might, and was bound to do.\n\nNor did any thing ever please me more, then when my Judgment so\nconcurred with theirs, that I might with a good Conscience consent to\nthem: Yea, in many things, where not absolute and morall necessity\nof Reason, but temporary convenience in point of Honour was to be\nconsidered, I chose rather to deny my Self, then Them; as preferring\nthat which they thought necessary for my peoples good, before what I\nsaw but convenient for my Self.\n\nFor I can be content to recede much from my Own Interests, and\nPersonall Rights, of which I conceive my Self to be master: but in\nwhat concerns Truth, Justice, the Right of the Church, and my Crown,\ntogether with the generall good of my Kingdoms: (all which I am bound\nto preserve as much as morally lies in me;) here I am, and ever shall\nbe fixt and resolute, nor shall any man gain my consent to that,\nwherein my heart gives my hand or tongue the Lie; nor will I be\nbrought to affirm that to men, which in my Conscience I denied before\nGod. I will rather chuse to wear a Crown of Thorns with my Saviour,\nthen to exchange that of Gold (which is due to Me) for one of Lead,\nwhose embased flexibleness shall be forced to bend, and comply to the\nvarious, and oft contrary dictates of any Factions: when in stead of\nReason, and Publick concernments, they obtrude nothing but what makes\nfor the interest of parties, and flows from the particularities of\nprivate wils and passions.\n\nI know no resolutions more worthy a Christian King, then to prefer His\nConscience before His Kingdoms.\n\n\n_O my God preserve thy servant in this Native, Rationall and Religious\nfreedome; For this I beleeve is thy will, that we should maintain:\nwho, though thou dost justly require us to submit our understandings\nand wils to thine; whose wisdom and goodnesse can neither erre, nor\nmisguide us, and so far to deny our carnall reason, in order to thy\nsacred Mysteries and Commands, that we should beleeve and obey,\nrather then dispute them; yet dost thou expect from us, only such a\nreasonable service of thee, as not to do any thing for thee, against\nour consciences: and as to the desires of men, enjoinest us to try all\nthings by the touch-ston of reason and Lawes, which are the rules of\nCivill Justice; and to declare our consents to that only which our\nJudgments approve._\n\n_Thou knowest, ô Lord, how unwilling I was to desert that place, in\nwhich thou hast set Me, and whereto the affairs of My Kingdoms at\npresent did call me._\n\n_My People can witness how far I have been content for their good, to\ndeny My self, in what thou hast subjected to My disposall._\n\n_O let not the unthankfull importunities, and tumultuary violence of\nsome mens Immoderat demands, ever betray Me to that degenerous and\nunmanly slavery, which should make Me strengthen them by My consent in\nthose things which I think in My conscience to be against thy glory,\nthe good of My subjects, and the discharge of My own duty to Reason\nand Justice._\n\n_Make me willing to suffer the greatest indignities and injuries\nthey press upon Me, rather then commit the least sin against My\nConscience._\n\n_Let the just Liberties of My people be (as well they may) preserved\nin fair and equall waies, without the slavery of My soul._\n\n_Thou that hast invested Me by thy favours, in the power of a\nChristian King, suffer Me not to subject My Reason to other mens\npassions, and designes, which to Me seem unreasonable, unjust and\nirreligious: So shall I serve thee in the truth and uprightness of My\nheart, though I cannot satisfie these men._\n\n_Though I be driven from among them, yet give Me grace to walk,\nalwaies uprightly before thee._\n\n_Lead Me in the way of Truth and Justice, for these, I know, will\nbring Me at last to peace and happiness with thee; though for these I\nhave much trouble among men._\n\n_This I beg of thee for my Saviours sake._\n\n\n\n\n\n7. _Upon the Queenes departure and absence out of_ England.\n\n\nAlthough I have much cause to be troubled at My Wifes departure from\nMe, and out of My Dominions; yet not Her absence, so much, as the\nscandall of that necessity which drives her away, doth afflict Me.\nThat She should be compelled by my own Subjects, and those pretending\nto be Protestants, to withdraw for Her safety: This being the first\nexample of any Protestant Subjects, that have taken up Arms against\ntheir King, a Protestant: For I look upon this now done in England, as\nanother Act of the same Tragedie which was lately begun in Scotland;\nthe brands of that fire being ill quenched, have kindled the like\nflames here. I fear such motions (so little to the adorning of the\nProtestant profession) may occasion a further alienation of mind, and\ndivorce of affections in Her from that Religion, which is the onely\nthing wherein we differ.\n\nWhich yet God can (and I pray he would) in time take away; and not\nsuffer these practices to be any obstruction to Her judgment, since it\nis the motion of those men (for the most part) who are yet to seek and\nsettle their Religion for Doctrine, Government and good manners, and\nso not to be imputed to the true English Protestants, who continue\nfirm to their former setled Principles and Laws.\n\nI am sorry my relation to so deserving a Ladie, should be any occasion\nof her danger and affliction; whose merits would have served her for\na protection among the savage Indians: while their rudeness and\nbarbaritie knows not so perfectly to hate all Vertues, as some mens\nsubtiltie doth: among whom I yet think few are so malicious as to hate\nHer for her Self: The fault it, that She is my Wife.\n\nAll Justice then, as well as Affection, commands me to studie her\nSecuritie, who is only in danger for my sake; I am content to be\ntossed, weather-beaten, and shipwrack'd, so as she may be in safe\nHarbour.\n\nThis comfort I shall injoy by her safety in the midst of my Personall\ndangers, that I can perish but half, if she be preserved: in whose\nmemory and hopefull Posterity, I may yet survive the malice of my\nEnemies, although they should be satiated with my bloud.\n\nI must leave her and them to the Love and Loyaltie of my good\nSubjects; and to his protection, who is able to punish the faults of\nPrinces, and no less able to revenge the injuries done to them, by\nthose who in all dutie and Allegiance ought to have made good that\nsafetie, which the Laws chiefly provide for Princes.\n\nBut common civilitie is in vain expected from those that dispute their\nLoyaltie: Nor can it be safe (for any relation) to a King, to tarry\namong them that are shaking hands with their Allegiance, under\npretence of laying faster hold on their Religion.\n\n'Tis pitie so noble and peaceful a Soul should see, much more suffer\nthe rudeness of those, who must make up their want of Justice, with\ninhumanity and impudence.\n\nHer sympathie with Me in my afflictions, will make her vertue shine\nwith greater lustre, as starrs in the darkest nights; and assure the\nenvious world, that she loves me, not my fortunes.\n\nNeither of us but can easily forgive, since We do not much blame the\nunkindness of the Generality and Vulgar: for we see God is pleased to\ntry both our patience, by the most self-punishing sin, the Ingratitude\nof those, who having eaten of Our bread, and being enriched with Our\nbounty, have Scornfully lift up themselves against Us; and those of\nOur own Houshold are become Our enemies. I pray God lay not their\nsinne to their charge: who think to satisfie all obligations to duty,\nby their Corban of Religion: and can less endure to see, then to sin\nagainst their benefactors as well as their Soveraign.\n\nBut even that policy of my enemies is so farr veniall, as it was\nnecessary to their designs, by scandalous articles, and all irreverent\ndemeanour, to seek to drive her out of my Kingdoms; left by the\ninfluence of her example, eminent for love as a Wife, and loyaltie as\na Subject, she should have converted to, or retained in their love and\nloyaltie, all those whom they had a purpose to pervert.\n\nThe less I may be blest with her company, the more I will retire to\nGod and my own Heart, whence no malice can banish Her. My enemies may\nenvie, but they can never deprive me of the enjoyment of her vertues,\nwhile I enjoy my self.\n\n\n_Thou, O Lord, whose Justice at present sees fit to scatter us, let\nthy mercie, in thy due time, reunite us on earth, if it be thy will;\nhowever bring us both at last to thy heavenly Kingdom._\n\n_Preserve us from the hands of our despitefull and deadly enemies; and\nprepare us by our sufferings for thy presence._\n\n_Though we differ in some things, as to Religion, (which is my\ngreatest temporall infelicitie) yet Lord give and accept the\nsinceritie of our affections, which desire to seek, to finde, to\nembrace every Truth of thine._\n\n_Let both our hearts agree in the love of thy self, and Christ\ncrucified for us._\n\n_Teach us both what thou wouldst have us to know, in order to thy\nglory, our publique relations, and our souls eternal good, and make us\ncarefull to do what good we know._\n\n_Let neither Ignorance of what is necessary to be known, nor unbelief,\nor disobedience to what we know, be our miserie, or our wilfull\ndefault._\n\n_Let not this great Scandall of those my Subjects, which profess the\nsame Religion with me, be any hindrance to her love of any Truth thou\nwouldst have her to learn, nor any hardning of her in any error thou\nwouldst have cleared to her._\n\n_Let Mine and other mens constancie be an Antidote against the poyson\nof their example._\n\n_Let the truth of that Religion I professe be represented to her\njudgment, with all the beauties of humilitie, loyaltie, charitie, and\npeaceablenesse; which are the proper fruits and ornaments of it: Not\nin the odious disguise of Levitie, Schism, Heresie, Noveltie, Crueltie\nand Disloyaltie, which some mens practices have put upon it._\n\n_Let her see thy sacred and saving Truths as Thine; that she may\nbelieve, love and obey them as Thine, cleared from all rust and drosse\nof humane mixtures._\n\n_That in the glasse of thy Truth Shee may see thee in those Mercies\nwhich thou hast offered to us in thy Son Jesus Christ, our onely\nSaviour, and serve thee in all those holy Duties, which most agree\nwith his holy Doctrine, and most imitable example._\n\n_The experience we have of the vanitie and uncertaintie of all humane\nGlorie and Greatnesse in our scatterings and eclypses, let it make\nus both so much the more ambitious to be invested in those durable\nHonours and perfections which are onely to be found in thy self, and\nobtained throuqh Jesus Christ._\n\n\n\n\n\n8. _Upon His Majesties repulse at_ Hull, _and the fates of the_\nHothams.\n\n\nMy repulse at _Hull_ seemed at the first view an act of so rude\ndisloyalty, that my greatest Enemies had scarce confidence enough\nto abett or own it: It was the first overt Essay to be made, how\npatiently I could bear the losse of my Kingdoms.\n\nGod knows, it affected me more with shame and sorrow for others, then\nwith anger for my Self; nor did the affront done to me, trouble me so\nmuch as their sin, which admitted no colour or excuse.\n\nI was resolved how to bear this, and much more with patience: But I\nforesaw they could hardly contain themselves within the compass\nof this one unworthy act, who had effrontery enough to commit or\ncountenance it. This was but the hand of that cloud, which was soon\nafter to overspread the whole Kingdom, and cast all into disorder and\ndarkness.\n\nFor 'tis among the wicked Maximes of bold and disloyall undertakers:\nThat bad actions must always be seconded with worse, and rather not\nbegun, then not carried on; for they think the retreat more dangerous\nthen the assault, and hate repentance more then perseverance in a\nfault.\n\nThis gave me to see clearly thorow all the pious disguises, and soft\npalliations of some men; whose words were sometime smoother then oil,\nbut now I saw they would prove very swords.\n\nAgainst which I having (as yet) no defence, but that of a good\nConscience, thought it My best policie (with patience) to bear what\nI could not remedie: And in this (I thank God) I had the better of\n_Hotham_, that no disdain, or emotion of passion transported Me, by\nthe indignitie of his carriage, to do or say any thing unbeseeming\nMy self, or unsuitable to that temper, which, in greatest injuries,\nI think, best becomes a Christian, as coming nearest to the great\nexample of Christ.\n\nAnd indeed, I desire alwaies more to remember I am a Christian, then\na King; for what the Majesty of one might justly abhor, the Charity\nof the other is willing to bear; what the height of a King tempteth to\nrevenge, the humilitie of a Christian teacheth to forgive, keeping in\ncompass all those impotent passions, whose excess injures a man more\nthen his greatest enemies can; for these give their malice a full\nimpression on our souls, which otherwise cannot reach very far, nor do\nus much hurt.\n\nI cannot but observe how God not long after so pleaded and avenged my\ncause, in the eye of the world, that the most wilfully blind cannot\navoid the displeasure to see it, and with some remorse and fears to\nown it as a notable stroke, and prediction of divine vengeance.\n\nFirst, Sir _John Hotham_ unreproched, unthreatned, uncursed by\nany language or secret imprecation of mine, onely blasted with the\nconscience of his own wickednesse, and falling from one inconstancy\nto another, not long after paies his own and his eldest Sons heads,\nas forfeiture of their disloyalty, to those men, from whom surely he\nmight have expected an other reward, then thus to divide their heads\nfrom their bodies, whose hearts with them were divided from their\nKING.\n\nNor is it strange that they who employed them at first in so high a\nservice, and so successfull to them, should not finde mercy enough to\nforgive Him, who had so much premerited of them: For, Apostacy unto\nLoyalty some men account the most unpardonable sin.\n\nNor did a solitary vengeance serve the turn, the cutting off one head\nin a Family is not enough to expiate the affront done to the head of\nthe Common-weal. The eldest Son must be involved in the punishment, as\nhe was infected with the sin of the Father, against the Father of his\nCountry: Root and branch God cuts off in one day.\n\nThese Observations are obvious to every fancie: God knows, I was so\nfar from rejoycing in the _Hothams_ ruine, (though it were such as\nwas able to give the greatest thirst for revenge a full draught, being\nexecuted by them who first employed him against Me) that I so far\npitied him, as I thought he at first acted more against the light of\nhis Conscience, then I hope many other men do in the same Cause.\n\nFor, he was never thought to be of that superstitious sowrenesse which\nsome men pretend to in matters of Religion, which so darkens their\njudgment, that they cannot see any thing of Sin and Rebellion in those\nmeans they use, with intents to reform to their Models, of what they\ncall Religion, who think all is gold of Piety, which doth but glister\nwith a shew of Zeal and Fervencie.\n\nSir _John Hotham_ was (I think) a man of another temper, and so most\nliable to those downright temptations of Ambition, which have no cloak\nor cheat of Religion to impose upon themselves or others.\n\nThat which makes me more pitie him, is, that after he began to have\nsome inclinations towards a repentance for his sin, and reparation of\nhis duty to Me, he should be so unhappie as to fall into the hands of\ntheir Justice, and not my mercie, who could as willingly have forgiven\nhim, as he could have asked that favor of Me.\n\nFor I think clemency a debt which we ought to pay to those that crave\nit, when we have cause to believe they would not after abuse it, since\nGod himself suffers us not to pray any thing for his mercie, but only\npraiers and praises.\n\nPoor Gentleman, he is now become a noteable monument of unprosperous\ndisloialtie, teaching the world by so bad and unfortunate a spectacle,\nthat the rude carriage of a Subject towards his Soveraign carries\nalwaies its own vengeance, & an unseparable shadow with it, and those\noft prove the most fatall, and implacable Executioners of it, who were\nthe first Imployers in the service.\n\nAfter-times will dispute it, whether _Hotham_ were more infamous at\n_Hull_, or at _Tower-hill_; though 'tis certain that no punishment\nso stains a mans Honour, as wilfull expectations of unworthy actions;\nwhich besides the conscience of the sin, brands with most indeliable\ncharacters of infamy, the name and memory to posterity, who not\nengaged in the Faction of the times, have the most impartiall\nreflections on their actions.\n\n\n_But thou, O Lord, who hast in so remarkable a way avenged thy\nServant, suffer me not to take any secret pleasure in it, for as his\ndeath hath satisfied the injury he did to me, so let me not by it\ngratifie any passion in me, lest I make thy vengeance to be mine, and\nconsider the affront against me, more than the sin against thee._\n\n_Thou indeed, without any desire or endevor of mine, hast made his\nmischief to return on his own head, and his violent dealing to come\ndown on his own pate._\n\n_Thou hast pleaded my cause, even before the sons of men, and taken\nthe matter into thine own hands; that men may know it was thy work and\nsee that thou, Lord, hast done it._\n\n_I do not, I dare not say, so let mine enemies perish._\n\n_O Lord! yea Lord, rather give them repentance pardon and impunity, if\nit be thy blessed will._\n\n_Let not thy justice prevent the objects and opportunities of my\nmercy; yea, let them live and amend who have most offended me in\nso high a nature; that I may have those to forgive; who bear most\nproportion in their offences to those trespasses against thy majesty,\nwhich I hope thy mercy hath forgiven me._\n\n_Lord lay not their sinns (who yet live) to their charge for\ncondemnation, but to their consciences for amendment: Let the\nLightning of this thunderbolt, which hath been so severe a punishment\nto one, be a terrour to all._\n\n_Discover to them their sinn, who know not they have done amiss, and\nscare them from their sin, that sin of malicious wickednss._\n\n_That preventing thy judgments by their true repentance, they may\nescape the stroaks of thine eternal vengeance._\n\n_And do Thou, O Lord, establish the Throne of thy Servant in\nmercie and truth meeting together; let my Crown ever flourish in\nrighteousness and peace kissing each other._\n\n_Hear my prayer, O Lord, who hast taught us to pray for, to doe good\nto, and to love our Enemies for thy sake; who hast prevented us with\noffertures of thy love, even when we were thine enemies, and hast sent\nthy Son Jesus Christ to die for us, when we were disposed to crucifie\nHim._\n\n\n\n\n\n9. _Upon the lifting, and raising Armies against the_ KING.\n\n\nI find that I am at the same point and posture I was, when they forced\nme to leave _White-hall_: what tumults could not do, an Army must;\nwhich is but Tumults lifted, and enrolled to a better order, but\nas bad an end: My recesse have given them confidence that I may be\nconquered.\n\nAnd so I easily may as to any outward strength, which, God knows,\nis little or none at all: But I have a Soul invinciable through Gods\nGrace enabling Me; here I am sure to be Conquerour, if God will give\nme such a measure of Constancy, as to fear him more then man: and\nto love the inward peace of my Conscience, before any outward\ntranquillity.\n\nAnd must I be opposed with force, because they have not reason whereby\nto convince me? O my Soule! be of good courage, they confesse their\nknown weaknesse, as to truth, and Justice, who chose rather to contend\nby Armies, then by Arguments.\n\nIs this the reward and thanks that I am to receive for those many acts\nof Grace I have lately passed, and for those many Indignities I have\nendured? Is there no way left to make Me a glorious KING, but by my\nsufferings?\n\nIt is a hard and disputable choice for a King that loves his People,\nand desires their love, either to kill his own Subjects, or to be\nkilled by them.\n\nAre the hazards and miseries of Civil War in the bowels of my most\nflourishing Kingdom, the fruits I must now reap after 17 yeers living\nand reigning among them with such a measure of Justice, Peace,\nPlenty, and Religion, as all Nations about either admired, or envied?\nnotwithstanding some miscarriages in Government, which might escape,\nrather through ill counsell of some men driving on their private ends,\nor the peevishness of others envying the Publick should be managed\nwithout them, or the hidden and insuperable necessities of State,\nthen any propensity, I hope, of my Self either to injuriousnesse or\noppression.\n\nWhose innocent bloud, during my Reign, have I shed, to satisfie\nmy lust, anger, or covetousness? what Widows or Orphans tears can\nwitnesse against me; the just cry of which must now be avenged with my\nOwn bloud? For the hazards of War are equall, nor doth the Canon know\nany respect of persons.\n\nIn vain is my Person excepted by a Parenthesis of words, when so many\nhands are armed against me with Swords.\n\nGod knowes how much I have studied to see what Ground of Justice is\nalledged for this Warr against Me; that so I might (by giving just\nsatisfaction) either prevent, or soon end so unnaturall a motion;\nwhich (to many men) seems rather the productions of a surfeit of peace\nand wantonness of mindes, or of private discontents, Ambition and\nFaction (which easily finde, or make causes of quarrell) then any\nreall obstructions of publique Justice, or Parliamentary Priviledg.\n\nBut this is pretended, and this I must be able to avoid and answer\nbefore God in My owne Conscience, however some men are not willing to\nbeleeve Me, lest they should condemn themselves.\n\nWhen I first with-drew from _White-hall_, to see if I could allay the\ninsolency of the Tumults (for the not suppressing of which, no account\nin Reason can be given, (where an orderly Guard was granted) but only\nto oppress both Mine and the Two Houses freedome of declaring and\nvoting according to every mans Conscience) what obstructions of\nJustice were there further then this, that what seemed just to one\nman, might not seem so to another?\n\nWhom did I by power protect against the Justice of Parliament?\n\nThat some men with-drew, who feared the partiality of their tryall,\n(warned by my Lord of _Straffords_ death) while the vulgar threatned\nto be their Oppressors, and Judgers of their Judges, was from that\ninstinct which is in all creatures to preserve themselves. If any\nothers refused to appear, where they evidently saw the current of\nJustice and Freedom so stopped and troubled by the Rabble, that their\nlawfull Judges either durst not come to the House, or not declare\ntheir sense with liberty and safety; it cannot seem strange to any\nreasonable man, when the sole exposing them to publick _odium_ was\nenough to ruine them before their Cause could be heard or tryed.\n\nHad not factious Tumults over-born the Freedom and Honour of the two\nHouses, had they asserted their Justice against them, and made the\nway open for all the Members quietly to come and declare their\nConsciences: I know no man so deer to Me, whom I had the least\ninclination to advise, either to withdraw himself, or deny appearing\nupon their Summons, to whose Sentence according to Law, I think every\nSubject bound to stand.\n\nDistempers (indeed) were risen to so great a height for want of timely\nsuppressing the vulgar insolencies, that the greatest guilt of those\nwhich were Voted and demanded as Delinquents, was this, That they\nwould not suffer themselves to be over-awed by the Tumults, and their\nPatrons; nor compelled to abet by their suffrages, or presence; the\ndesignes of those men who agitated innovations and ruine both in\nChurch and State.\n\nIn this point I could not but approve their generous constancie\nand cautiousness; further then this I did never allow any mans\nrefractoriness against the Priviledges and Orders of the Houses; to\nwhom I wished nothing more then Safetie, Fulness and Freedom.\n\nBut the truth is, some men and those not many, despairing in fair\nand Parliamentary waies by free Deliberations and Votes to gain the\nconcurrence of the major part of Lords and Commons, betook themselves\n(by the desperate activitie of factious Tumults) to sift and terrifie\naway all those Members whom they saw to be of contrary minds to their\npurposes.\n\nHow oft was the businesse of the Bishops enjoying their ancient\nplaces, and undoubted Priviledges in the House of Peers, carried for\nthem by far the Major part of Lords? Yet after five repulses, contrary\nto all Order and Custome, it was by Tumultuary instigations obtruded\nagain, and by a few carried, when most of the Peers were forced to\nabsent themselves.\n\nIn like manner as the Bill against Root and Branch, brought on by\ntumultuary Clamours, and schismaticall Terrours, which could never\npasse til both Houses were sufficiently thinned and over-awed.\n\nTo which partialitie, while in all Reason, Justice, and Religion, my\nConscience forbids me, by consenting, to make up their Votes to Acts\nof Parliament, I must now be urged with an Armie, and constrained\neither to hazard my Own, and my Kingdoms ruine, by my Defence, or\nprostrate my Conscience to the blinde obedience of those men, whose\nzealous superstition thinks, or pretends, they cannot do God and the\nChurch a greater service, then utterly to destroy that Primitive,\nApostolicall, and anciently Universall Government of the Church by\nBishops.\n\nWhich, if other mens judgments bind them to maintain, or forbids them\nto consent to the abolishing of it, mine much more; who, besides\nthe grounds I have in my judgement, have also a most strict and\nindispensable Oath upon my Conscience, to preserve that Order, and\nthe Rights of the Church; to which most Sacrilegious and abhorred\nPerjurie, most un-beseeming a Christian King, should I ever, by\ngiving my consent, be betrayed, I should account it infinitely greater\nmiserie, then any hath, or can befall me; in as much as the least sin\nhath more evill in it then the greatest affliction. Had I gratified\ntheir Anti-Episcopall Faction at first in this point with my Consent,\nand sacrificed the Ecclesiasticall Government and Revenues to the fury\nof their covetousness, ambition, and revenge, I beleeve they would\nthen have found no colourable necessity of raising an Army to fetch in\nand punish Delinquents.\n\nThat I consented to the Bil of putting the Bishops out of the House\nof Peers, was done with a firm perswasion of their contentedness to\nsuffer a present diminution in their Rights and Honour for my sake,\nand the Commonweals, which I was confident they would readily yeeld\nunto, rather then occasion (by the least obstruction on their part)\nany dangers to Me, or to my Kingdom. That I cannot add my consent for\nthe totall extirpation of that Government (which I have often offered\nto all fit regulations) hath so much further tie upon My Conscience,\nas what I think Religious and Apostolicall, and so very sacred and\nDivine, is not to be dispensed with, or destroyed, when what is onely\nof civill Favour, and priviledge of Honour granted to men of that\nOrder, may with their consent who are concerned in it, be annulled.\n\nThis is the true state of those obstructions pretended to be in point\nof Justice and Authority of Parliament; when I call God to witness,\nI know none of such consequence as was worth speaking of a War, being\nonely such as Justice, Reason and Religion had made in my own and\nother mens Consciences.\n\nAfterwards indeed a great shew of Delinquents was made, which were but\nconsequences necessarily following upon Mine, or others withdrawing\nfrom, or defence against violence: but those could not be the first\noccasion of raising an Army against Me. Wherein I was so far from\npreventing them, (as they have declared often, that they might seem to\nhave the advantage and Justice of the defensive part, and load Me with\nall the envie and injuries of first assaulting them) that (God knows)\nI had not so much as any hopes of an Army in My thoughts. Had the\nTumults been honourably and effectually repressed by exemplary\njustice, and the Liberty of the Houses so vindicated, that all Members\nof either House might with Honour and Freedom, becoming such a Senate,\nhave come and discharged their Consciences, I had obtained all that I\ndesigned by My withdrawing, and had much more willingly and speedily\nreturned, then I retired; this being My necessity driving, the other\nmy choice desiring.\n\nBut some men knew, I was like to bring the same Judgment and Constancy\nwhich I carryed with Me, which would never fit their designes; and\nso while they invited Me to come, and grievously complained of My\nabsence, yet they could not but be pleased with it: especially, when\nthey had found out that plausible and popular pretexts of raising an\nArmy to fetch in Delinquents: when all that while they never punished\nthe greatest and most intolerable delinquencie of the Tumults, and\ntheir Exciters, which drave my Self, and so many of both Houses from\ntheir places, by most barbarous indignities; which yet in all Reason\nand Honour, they were as loath to have deserted, as those others were\nwilling they should, that so they might have occasion to persecute\nthem with the injuries of an Army, for not suffering more tamely the\ninjuries of Tumults.\n\nThat this is the true state, and first drift and designe in raising an\nArmy against me, is by the sequel so evident, that all other pretences\nvanish. For when they declared by Propositions, or Treaties, what they\nwould have to appease them; there was nothing of consequence offered\nto Mee, or demanded of Mee, as any originall difference in any point\nof Law, or order of Justice. But among other lesser Innovations, this\nchiefly was urged, The Abolition of Episcopall, and the Establishment\nof Presbyterian Government.\n\nAll other things at any time propounded were either impertinent as to\nany ground of a War, or easily granted by me, and onely to make up a\nnumber; or else they were meerly consequentiall, and accessarie, after\nthe War was by them unjustly began.\n\nI cannot hinder other mens thoughts, whom the noise and shew of\npiety, and heat of Reformation and Religion, might easily so fill\nwith prejudice, that all equality and clearness of judgement might be\nobstructed. But this was, and is, as to my best observation, the true\nstate of affairs between Us, when they first raised an Armie, with\nthis designe, either to stop my mouth, or to force my consent: and\nin this truth, as to my conscience, (who was God knowes, as far from\nmeditating a War, as I was in the eye of the world, from having any\npreparation for one) I finde that comfort, that in the midst of all\nthe unfortunate Successes of this War, on my side, I do not think\nmy Innocency any whit prejudiced or darkned; Nor am I without that\nIntegrity and Peace before God, as with humble confidence to address\nmy Prayer to Him.\n\n\n_For thou, O Lord, seest cleerly thorow all the cloudings of humane\naffairs: Thou judgest without prejudice: Thy Omniscience eternally\nguides thy unerrable Judgment._\n\n_O my God, the proud are risen against Me, and the Assemblies of\nviolent men have sought after my Soul, and have not set Thee before\ntheir eyes._\n\n_Consider mine Enemies, O Lord, for they are many, and they hate me\nwith a deadly hatred, without a cause._\n\n_For thou knowest, I had no passion, design, or preparation to embroil\nMy Kingdoms in a Civil War; whereto I had least temptation; as knowing\nI must adventure more then any, and could gain least of any by it._\n\n_Thou, O Lord, art my witness, how oft I have deplored and studied\nto divert the necessity thereof, wherin I cannot well be thought so\nprodigally thirstie of my Subjects blood, as to venture my own life,\nwhich I have bin oft compelled to do in this unhappie War; and which\nwere better spent to save then to destroy my people._\n\n_O Lord, I need much of thy grace, with patience to bear the many\nafflictions thou hast suffered some men to bring upon me; but much\nmore to bear the unjust reproaches of those, who not content that\nI suffer most by the War, will needs perswade the world that I have\nraised first, or given just cause to raise it._\n\n_The confidence of some mens false tongues is such, that they would\nalmost make me suspect my own innocencie: Yea, I could be content (at\nleast by my silence) to take upon me so great a guilt before men, If\nby that I might allay the malice of mine enemies, and redeem my people\nfrom this miserable War; since thou, O Lord, knowest my innocencie in\nthis thing._\n\n_Thou wilt find out bloodie and deceitful men; many of whom have\nnot lived out half their daies, in which they promised themselvs the\nenjoyment of the fruits of their violent and wicked Counsels._\n\n_Save, O Lord, thy servant, as hitherto thou hast, and in thy due time\nscatter the people that delight in War._\n\n_Arise, O Lord, lift up thy Self, because of the rage of mine enemies,\nwhich increaseth more and more. Behold them that have conceived\nmischief, travelled with iniquitie, and brought forth falshood._\n\n_Thou knowest the chief designe of this War is, either to destroy my\nPerson, or force my Judgement, and to make me renege my Conscience,\nand thy Truth._\n\n_I am driven to crosse_ DAVIDS _choice, and desire rather to fall into\nthe hands of men by denying them (though their mercie be cruell) then\ninto thy hands by sinning against My Conscience, and in that against\nthee, who art a consuming fire: Better they destroy Me, then thou\nshouldest damn Me._\n\n_Be thou the defence of My soul, who wilt save the upright in heart._\n\n_If nothing but My blood will satisfie My Enemies, or quench the\nflames of My Kingdoms, or thy temporall Justice, I am content, if it\nbe thy will, that it be shed by mine own Subjects hands._\n\n_But O let the bloud of Me, though their King, yet a sinner, be washed\nwith the blood of my Innocent cent and peace-making Redeemer, for in\nthat thy Justice will finde not only a temporary expiation, but an\neternall plenary satisfaction, both for my sins, and the sins of my\nPeople; whom I beseech thee still own for thine, and when thy wrath is\nappeased by my Death, O Remember thy great mercies towards them, and\nforgive them! O my Father, for they know not what they doe._\n\n\n\n\n\n10. _Upon their seizing the Kings Magazines, Forts, Navy, and\nMilitia._\n\n\nHow untruly I am charged with the first raising of an Army, and\nbeginning this Civill Warre, the eyes that onely pitty Me, and the\nLoyall hearts that durst only pray for me, at first, might witnesse,\nwhich yet appear not so many on my side, as there were men in Armes\nlifted against me; my unpreparednesse for a War may well dis-hearten\nthose that would help Me; while it argues (truly) my willingnes to\nfight; yet it testifies for me, that I am set on the defensive part;\nhaving so little hopes or power to defend others, that I have none to\ndefend my self, or to preserve what is mine own from their proreption.\n\nNo man can doubt but they prevented me in their purposes, as well\nas their injuries, who are so much before-hand in their preparations\nagainst me, and surprisals of my Strength. Such as are not for Them,\nyet dare not be for Me; so over-aw'd is their Loyalty by the others\nnumbers and terrours. I believe my innocency and unpreparedness\nto assert my Rights and Honour, makes me the more guilty in their\nesteems; who would not so easily have declared a War against me, if I\nhad first assaulted them.\n\nThey knew, my chiefest Arms left me, were those only which the Ancient\nChristians were wont to use against their Persecutors, Prayers and\nTears. These may serve a good mans turn, if not to conquer as a\nSouldier, yet to suffer as a Martyr.\n\nTheir preventing of me, and surprising my Castles, Forts, Arms and\nNavy, with the Militia, is so far best for me, That it may drive me\nfrom putting any trust in the arm of flesh, and wholly to cast my self\ninto the protection of the living God, who can save by few or none, as\nwell as by many.\n\nHe that made the greedy Ravens to be Elias Caterers, and bring him\nfood, may also make their surprisall of outward force and defence,\nan opportunity to shew me the special support of his power and\nprotection.\n\nI thank God, I reckon not now the want of the _Militia_ so much in\nreference to my own protection, as my Peoples.\n\nTheir many and sore oppressions grieve me, I am above mine own: What I\nwant in the hands of Force and Power, I have in the wings of Faith and\nPrayer.\n\nBut this is the strange method these men will needs take to resolve\ntheir riddle of Making Me a glorious King, by taking away my Kingly\npower: Thus I shall become a Support to my Friends, and a Terrour to\nmy Enemies, by being unable to succour the one, or suppress the other.\n\nFor thus have they designed and proposed to me the new modeling of\nSoveraignty and Kingship, as without any reality of power, so without\nany necessity of subjection and obedience: That the Majesty of the\nKings of England might hereafter hang like Mahomet's Tomb, by a\nmagnetique Charm, between the Power and Priviledges of the two Houses,\nin an airy imagination of Regality.\n\nBut I beleeve the surfet of too much power, which some men have\ngreedily seized on, and now seek wholly to devour, will ere long make\nthe Common-wealth sick both of it and them, since they cannot well\ndigest it; Soveraign Power in Subjects seldom agreeing with the\nstomacks of fellow-subjects.\n\nYet I have even in this point of the constant Militia, sought, by\nsatisfying their fears and importunities, both to secure my Friends,\nand overcome mine Enemies, to gain the peace of all, by depriving\nmy self of a sole power to help, or hurt any: yeelding the Militia,\n(which is my undoubted Right no less then the Crown) to be disposed of\nas the two Houses shall think fit, during my time.\n\nSo willing am I to bury all jealousies in them of me, and to live\nabove all jealousies of them, as to my self; I desire not to be safer\nthen I wish them and my People: If I had the sole actuall disposing\nof the Militia, I could not protect my People, further then they\nprotected Me and Themselves: so that the use of the Militia is\nmutuall. I would but defend my self so far, as to be able to defend\nmy good Subjects from those mens violence and fraud, who conscious to\ntheir own evill merits and designes, will needs perswade the world,\nthat none but Wolves are fit to be trusted with the custody of the\nShepherd and his Flock. Miserable experience hath taught my Subjects,\nsince power hath been wrested from Me, and imployed against Me and\nThem, that neither can be safe, if both be not in such a way as the\nLaw hath intrusted the publike safety and welfare.\n\nYet even this Concession of mine, as to the exercise of the Militia,\nso vast and large, is not satisfactory to some men; which seem to\nbe Enemies not to me only, but to all Monarchy; and are resolved to\ntransmit to posterity such Jealousies of the Crown, as they should\nnever permit it to enjoy its just and necessary Rights in point of\npower; to which (at last) all Law is resolved, while thereby it is\nbest protected.\n\nBut here Honour and Justice due to my Successors, forbid me to yeeld\nto such total alienation of that power from them, which civility and\nduty, no less then Justice and Honour should have forbad them to have\nasked of me.\n\nFor, although I can be content to Eclypse my own beams, to satisfie\ntheir fears; who think they must needs be scorched or blinded, if I\nshould shine in the full lustre of Kingly power wherewith God and the\nLaws have invested me: Yet I will never consent to put out the Sun\nof Soveraignty to all posterity, and succeeding Kings; whose just\nrecovery of their Rights from unjust Usurpations and Extortions, shall\nnever be prejudiced or obstructed by any Act of mine; which indeed,\nwould not be more injurious to succeeding Kings, then to my Subjects;\nwhom I desire to leave in a condition not wholly desperate for the\nfuture; so as by a Law to be ever subjected to those many factious\ndistractions, which must needs follow the many-headed _Hydra_ of\nGovernment: which as it makes a shew to the people to have more eyes\nto foresee; so they will find it hath more mouths too, which must be\nsatisfied: and (at best) it hath rather a monstrosity, then any thing\nof perfection, beyond that of right Monarchy; where counsell may be\nin many as the senses, but the Supreme Power can be but in One as the\nHead.\n\nHappily where men have tried the horrours and malignant influence\nwhich will certainly follow my enforced darkness and Eclypse,\n(occasioned by the interposition and shadow of that body, which as the\nMoon receiveth its chiefest lights from me) which will at length more\nesteem and welcome the restored glory and blessing of the Suns light.\n\nAnd if at present I may seem by My receding so much from the use of my\nRight in the Power of the _Militia_, to come short of the discharge of\nthat trust to which I am sworn for my peoples protection; I conceive\nthose men are guilty of the inforced perjury; (if so it may seem) who\ncompell me to take this new and strange way of discharging my trust,\nby seeming to desert it; of protecting my Subjects, by exposing my\nself to danger or dishonour, for their safety and quiet.\n\nWhich in the conflicts of Civill War and advantages of power, cannot\nbe effected but by some side yeilding; to which the greatest love\nof the publique peace, and the firmest assurance of Gods protection\n(arising from a good Conscience) doth more invite me, then can be\nexpected from other mens fears; which arising from the injustice of\ntheir actions (though never so successfull) yet dare not adventure\ntheir Authours upon any other way of safety then that of the Sword and\nMilitia; which yet are but weak defences against the stroaks of divine\nVengeance, which will overtake; or of mens own Consciences, which\nalwayes attend injurious perpetrations.\n\nFor my self, I do not think that I can want any thing which\nprovidential necessity is pleased to take from me, in order to my\nPeoples tranquillity and Gods glory, whose protection is sufficient\nfor me; and he is able by his being with me, abundantly to compensate\nto me, as he did to Job, what-ever Honour, Power, or Liberty the\nChaldeans, the Sabeans, or the Divel himself can deprive me of.\n\nAlthough they take from me all defence of Arms and Militia, all refuge\nby Land of Forts and Castles, all flight by Sea in my Ships and Navie;\nyea, though they study to rob me of the Hearts of my Subjects, the\ngreatest Treasure and best Ammunition of a King; yet cannot they\ndeprive me of my own innocencie, or Gods mercie, nor obstruct my way\nto heaven.\n\n\n_Therefore, O my God, to thee I fly for help; if thou wilt be on my\nside, I shall have more with me then can be against me._\n\n_There is none in Heaven, or in Earth that I desire in comparison of\nthee: In the losse of all, be thou more then all to me: Make haste\nto succour me, thou that never failest them that put their trust in\nthee._\n\n_Thou seest I have no power to oppose them that come against me, who\nare encouraged to fight under pretence of fighting for me: But my eies\nare towards thee._\n\n_Thou needest no help, nor shall I, if I may have thine; if not to\nconquer, yet at least to suffer._\n\n_If thou delightest not in my safety, and prosperity, behold here I am\nwilling to be reduced to what thou wilt have me; whose Judgements oft\nbegin with thy own Children._\n\n_I am content to be nothing that thou maiest be all._\n\n_Thou hast taught me, that no King can be saved by the multitude of an\nhost; but yet Thou canst save me by the multitude of Thy mercies, who\nart the Lord of Hosts, and the Father of mercies._\n\n_Help me, O Lord, who am sore distressed on every side, yet be thou on\nmy side, and I shall not fear what man can do unto me._\n\n_I will give thy Justice the glorie of my distress._\n\n_I let thy mercie have the glorie of my deliverance from them that\npersecute my soul:_\n\n_By my sins have I fought against Thee, and robbed thee of thy glory,\nwho am thy subject; and justly maist thou by my own Subjects, strip me\nof my strength, and eclipse my glory._\n\n_But shew thy self, O my hope and only refuge! Let not mine enemies\nsay, There is no help for him in his God._\n\n_Hold up my goings in thy paths, that my footsteps slip not._\n\n_Keep me as the apple of thine eye, hide me under the shadow of thy\nwings._\n\n_Shew thy marvelous loving kindness, O thou that savest by thy right\nhand them that put their trust in thee, from those that rise up\nagainst them;_\n\n_From the wicked that oppress me, from my deadly enemies that compass\nme about._\n\n_Shew me the path of life. In thy presence is fulness of joy, at thy\nright hand there are pleasures for evermore._\n\n\n\n\n\n11. _Upon the 19 Propositions first sent to the_ KING; _and more\nafterwards._\n\n\nAlthough there be many things, they demand, yet if these be all, I\nam glad to see at what price they set my own safety, and my peoples\npeace; which I cannot think I buy at too dear a rate, save only the\nparting with my Conscience and Honor. If nothing else will satisfie, I\nmust chuse rather to be as miserable and inglorious, as My enemies can\nmake or wish me.\n\nSome things here propounded to me have been offered by me; others are\neasily granted; The rest (I think) ought not to be obtruded upon me,\nwith the point of the sword; nor urged with the injuries of a Warr;\nwhen I have already declared that I cannot yeeld to them, without\nviolating my Conscience: 'tis strange, there can be no method of\npeace, but by making war upon my soul.\n\nHere are many things required of me, but I see nothing offer'd to me,\nby the way of gratefull Exchange of Honour; or any requitall or those\nfavours, I have, or can yet grant them.\n\nThis Honour they do me, to put Me on the giving part, which is more\nprincely and divine. They cannot ask more then I can give, may I but\nreserve to my Self the incommunicable Jewell of my Conscience; and not\nbe forced to part with that, whose loss nothing can repair or requite.\n\nSome things (which they are pleased to propound) seem unreasonable to\nMe; and while I have any mastery of my Reason, how can they think I\ncan consent to them; who know they are such as are inconsistent with\nbeing either a King, or a good Christian? My yeilding so much (as I\nhave already) makes some men confident I will deny nothing.\n\nThe love I have of my peoples peace, hath (indeed) great influence\nupon Me; but the love of truth and inward peace hath more.\n\nShould I grant some things they require, I should not so much\nweaken my outward state of a King, as wound that inward quiet of my\nConscience; which ought to be, is, and ever shall be (by Gods Grace)\ndearer to Me then my Kingdoms.\n\nSome things which a King might approve, yet in Honour and Policy are\nat some time to be denied, to some men, lest he should seem not\nto dare to deny any thing; and give too much incouragement to\nunreasonable demands or importunities.\n\nBut to bind my Self to a generall and implicite consent to what-ever\nthey shall desire or propound, (for such is one of their Propositions)\nwere such a latitude of blind obedience, as never was expected from\nany Free-men, nor fit to be required of any man, much less of a King\nby his own Subjects; any of whom he may possibly exceed as much in\nwisdom, as he doth in place and power.\n\nThis were, as if _Samson_ should have consented, not only to bind his\nown hands, and cut off his hair, but to put out his own eys, that the\nPhilistins might with the more safety mock and abuse him; which they\nchose rather to do, then quite destroy him, when he was become so tame\nan object, and fit occasion for their sport and scorn.\n\nCertainly, to exclude all power of denyall, seems an arrogancy least\nof all becoming those who pretend to make their Addresses in an humble\nand loyall way of petitioning; who by that, sufficiently confess their\nown inferiority, which obligeth them to rest, if not satisfied, yet\nquieted, with such an Answer as the Will and Reason of their Superiour\nthinks fit to give; who is acknowledged to have a freedom and power of\nReason, to Consent or Dissent, else it were very foolish and absurd\nto ask, what another having not liberty to deny, neither hath power to\ngrant.\n\nBut if this be my Right belonging to Me, in Reason as a Man, and in\nHonour as a Soveraign King (as undoubtedly it doth) how can it be\nother then extreme injury to confine my Reason to a necessity of\ngranting all they have a mind to ask, whose minds may be as differing\nfrom mine, both in reason and honour, as their aims may be, and\ntheir qualities are? which last God and the Laws have sufficiently\ndistinguisht, making me their Soveraign, and them my Subjects: whose\nPropositions may soon prove violent oppositions, if once they gain to\nbe necessary impositions upon the Regall Authority; Since no man seeks\nto limit and confine his King in Reason, who hath not a secret aim to\nshare with him, or usurp upon him in Power and Dominion.\n\nBut they would have me trust to their moderation, and abandon mine\nown discretion; that so I might verifie what representations some have\nmade of me to the world, that I am fitter to be their Pupil then their\nPrince. Truly, I am not so confident of my own sufficiency, as\nnot willingly to admit the Counsel of others: But yet I am not so\ndiffident of my self, as brutishly to submit to any mans dictates,\nand at once to betray the Soveraignty of Reason in my soul, and the\nMajesty of my own Crown to any of my Subjects.\n\nLeast of all have I any ground of credulity, to induce me fully to\nsubmit to all the desires of those men, who will not admit, or do\nrefuse, and neglect to vindicate the freedom of their own and others\nSitting and Voting in Parliament.\n\nBesides, all men that knew them, knew this, how young States-men the\nmost part of these propounders are; so that till experience of one\nseven years have shewed me how well they can govern themselves, and so\nmuch power as is wrested from me, I should be very foolish indeed, and\nunfaithful in my Trust, to put the reins of both Reason and Government\nwholly out of my Own, into their hands, whose driving is already too\nmuch like _Jehues_; and whose forwardnesse to ascend the throne of\nSupremacie pretends more of _Phaeton_ then of _Phebus_; God divert the\nOmen of his will.\n\nThey may remember that at best they sit in Parliament, as my Subjects,\nnot my Superiours: called to be My Counsellours, not Dictatours: Their\nSummons extends to recommend their Advice, not to command my Dutie.\n\nWhen I first heard of Propositions to be sent me, I expected either\nsome good Laws which had been antiquated by the course of time,\nor overlaid by the corruption of manners, had been desired to a\nrestauration of their vigour and due execution; or some evil Customs\npreterlegall, and abuses personall had been to be removed: or some\ninjuries done by my Self, and others, to the Common-weal, were to be\nrepaired: or some equable offertures were to be tendred to Me, wherein\nthe advantages of my Crown being considered by them, might fairly\ninduce me to condescend to what tended to my Subjects good, without\nany great diminution of my Self, whom Nature, Law, Reason and\nReligion binde Me (in the first place) to preserve; without which 'tis\nimpossible to preserve my people according to my place.\n\nOr (at least) I looked for such moderate desires of due Reformation of\nwhat was (indeed) amisse in Church and State, as might still preserve\nthe foundation and essentials of Government in both; not shake and\nquite overthrow either of them, without any regard to the Laws in\nforce, the wisdom and piety of former Parliaments, the ancient, and\nuniversall practice of Christian Churches; the Rights and Priviledges\nof particular men: Nor yet any thing offered in lieu, or in the room\nof what must be destroyed, which might at once reach the good end of\nthe others Institution, and also supply its pretended defects,\nreform its abuses, and satisfie sober and wise men, not with soft and\nspecious words, pretending zeal, and special piety, but with pregnant\nand solid Reasons, both divine and humane, which might justifie the\nabruptnesse and necessity of such vast Alterations.\n\nBut in all their Propositions I can observe little of these kindes,\nor to these ends: Nothing of any Laws dis-jointed, which are to be\nrestored; of any right invaded; of any justice to be unobstructed;\nof any compensations to be made; of any impartiall Reformation to be\ngranted: to all or any of which Reason, Religion, true Policy, or any\nother humane motives might induce Me.\n\nBut as to the main matters propounded by them at any time, in which\nis either great novelty or difficulty, I perceive, that what were\nformerly look'd upon as Factions in the State, and Schisms in the\nChurch, and so punishable by the Laws, have now the confidence,\nby vulgar clamours, and assistance (chiefly) to demand not onely\nTolerations of themselves, in their vanity, novelty, and confusion;\nbut also Abolition of the Laws against them, and a totall extirpation\nof that Government, whose Rights they have a mind to invade.\n\nThis as to the main: Other Propositions are (for the most part) but\nas waste paper in which those are wrapped up, to present them somewhat\nmore handsomly.\n\nNor do I so much wonder at the variety, and horrible noveltie of some\nPropositions, (there being nothing so monstrous, which some fancies\nare not prone to long for).\n\nThis casts me into, not an admiration, but an extasie, how such things\nshould have the fortune to be propounded in the name of the two Houses\nof the Parliament of England, among whom, I am very confident, there\nwas not a fourth part of the Members of either House, whose Judgements\nfree, single and apart did approve or desire such destructive changes\nin the Government of the Church.\n\nI am perswaded there remains in far the Major part of both Houses\n(if free and full) so much Learning, Reason, Religion, and just\nModeration, as to know how to sever between the use and the abuse of\nthings, the institution and the corruption, the Government and\nthe mis-government, the Primitive Patterns and the aberrations or\nblottings of after-Copies.\n\nSure they could not at all, upon so little, or no Reason (as yet\nproduced to the contrary) so soon renounce all regard to the Laws in\nforce, to antiquity, to the piety of their Reforming progenitors, to\nthe prosperity of former times in this Church and State, under the\npresent Government of the Church.\n\nYet, by a strange fatality, these men suffer, either by their absence,\nor silence, or negligence, or supine credulity (beleeving that all\nis good, which is guilded with shewes of Zeal and Reformation) their\nprivate dissenting in Judgement to be drawn into the common sewer or\nstreame of the present vogue and humour; which hath its chief rise and\nabetment from those popular clamors and tumults: which served to give\nlife and strength to the infinite activity of those men, who studied\nwith all diligence, and policy, to improve to their innovating\ndesignes, the present distractions.\n\nSuch Armies of Propositions having so little, in my judgment, of\nReason, Justice, and Religion on their side, as they had Tumult and\nFaction for their rise, must not go alone, but ever be backt and\nseconded, with Armies of Souldiers; Though the second should prevaile\nagainst my Person, yet that first shall never overcome me further then\nI see cause; for, I look not at their number and power, so much as I\nweigh their Reason and Justice.\n\nHad the two Houses first sued out their Livery, and once effectually\nredeemed themselves from the Wardship of the Tumults, (which can be no\nother then the Hounds that attend the cry and hollow of those men, who\nhunt after factions and private Designes, to the ruine of Church and\nState.)\n\nDid my Judgement tell Me, that the propositions sent to Me were the\nResults of the major part of their Votes, who exercise their freedom,\nas well as they have a right to sit in Parliament: I should then\nsuspect my Own judgment, for not speedily and fully concurring with\nevery one of them.\n\nFor, I have charity enough to think there are wise men among them: and\nhumility to think, that, as in some things I may want, so 'tis fit I\nshould use their advice, which is the end for which I called them to\na Parliament. But yet I cannot allow their wisdom such a compleatness\nand inerrability as to exclude my Self; since none of them hath that\npart to act, that Trust to discharge, nor that Estate and Honour to\npreserve, as my Self; without whose Reason concurrent with theirs\n(as the Suns influence is necessary in all Natures, productions) they\ncannot beget, or bring forth any one compleat and authoritative Act of\npublick wisdom, which makes the Laws.\n\nBut the unreasonableness of some Propositions is not more evident to\nme then this is, That they are not the joynt and free desires of those\nin their Major number, who are of right to Sit and Vote in Parliament.\n\nFor, many of them favour very strong of that old leaven of\nInnovations, masked under the name of Reformation; (which in my Two\nlast famous Predecessours days heaved, at, and sometime threatned\nboth Prince and Parliaments:) But, I am sure, was never wont so far\nto infect the whole masse of the Nobility and Gentry of this Kingdom;\nhow-ever it dispersed among the Vulgar: Nor was it likely so\nsuddenly to taint the Major part of both Houses, as that they should\nunanimously desire, and effect so enormous and dangerous innovations\nin Church and State, contrary to their former education, practice, and\njudgment.\n\nNot that I am ignorant, how the choice of many Members was carried by\nmuch Faction in the Countries; some thirsting after nothing more\nthen a passionate revenge of what-ever displeasure they had conceived\nagainst Me, my Court, or the Clergy.\n\nBut all Reason bids me impute these sudden and vast desires of\nchange to those few, who armed themselves with the many-headed, and\nmany-handed Tumults.\n\nNo less doth Reason, Honour, and Safety both of Church and State\ncommand me to chew such morsels before I let them down; If the\nstraitness of my Conscience will not give me leave to swallow down\nsuch Camels, as others do, of Sacriledge, and injustice both to God\nand man, they have no more cause to quarrell with me, then for this,\nthat my throat is not so wide as theirs. Yet, by Gods help, I\nam resolved, That nothing of passion or peevishnesse, or list to\ncontradict, or vanity to shew my negative power, shall have any byas\nupon my judgment, to make me gratifie my will, by denying any thing\nwhich my Reason and Conscience commands me not.\n\nNor on the other side, will I consent to more then Reason, Justice,\nHonor and Religion perswade me to be, for Gods glory, the Churches\ngood, my Peoples welfare, and my own peace.\n\nI will study to satisfie my Parliament, and my People; but I will\nnever for fear, or flatterie gratifie any Faction, how potent soever;\nfor this were to nourish the disease, and oppresse the body.\n\nAlthough many mens loyalty and prudence are terrified from giving me,\nthat free and faithfull counsel, which they are able and willing to\nimpart, and I may want; yet none can hinder me from craving of the\ncouncell of that mighty Counsellor who can both suggest what is best,\nand incline my heart stedfastly to follow it.\n\n\n_O thou first and eternal Reason; whose wisdom is fortified with\nomnipotencie, furnish thy servant, first with clear discoveries of\nTruth, Reason and Justice in My understanding; then so confirm my\nwill and resolution to adhere to them, that no terrors, injuries or\noppressions of mine enemies may ever inforce me against those rules,\nwhich thou by them hast planted in My Conscience._\n\n_Thou never madest me a King, that I should be less then a Man; and\nnot dare to say, Yea, or Nay, as I see cause; which freedom is not\ndenied to the meanest creature that hath the use of Reason, and\nliberty of speech._\n\n_Shall that be blameable in me, which is commendable veracity and\nconstancy in others?_\n\n_Thou seest, O Lord, with what partiallity, and injustice, they deny\nthat freedom to me their_ KING, _which Thou hast given to all men; and\nwhich Themselves pertinaciously challenge to themselves, while they\nare so tender of the least breach of their priviledges._\n\n_To thee I make my supplication, who canst guide us by an unerring\nrule, through the perplexed Labyrinths of our own thoughts, and other\nmens Proposals; which I have some cause to suspect, are purposely\ncast as snares, that by My granting or denying them, I might be more\nentangled in those difficulties, wherewith they lie in wait to afflict\nme._\n\n_O Lord, make thy way plain before Me._\n\n_Let not my own sinful passions cloud, or divert thy sacred\nsuggestions._\n\n_Let thy Glory be my end, thy Word my rule, and then thy will be\ndone._\n\n_I cannot please all, I care not to please some men; if I may be\nhappie to please thee, I need not fear whom I displease._\n\n_Thou that makest the wisdome of the world foolishnesse, and takest\nin their own devices, such as are wise in their own conceits, make Me\nwise by thy Truth, for thy honor, my Kingdoms generall good, and my\nown souls salvation, and I shall not much regard the worlds opinion or\ndiminution of Me._\n\n_The lesse of wisdome they are willing to impute to Me, the more they\nshall be convinced of thy Wisdom directing Me, while I deny nothing\nfit to be granted, out of crosnesse or humour; nor grant any thing\nwhich is to be denied, out of any fear or flatterie of men._\n\n_Suffer me not to be guiltie or unhappie, by willing or inconsiderate\nadvancing any mens designes, which are injurious to the publique good,\nwhile I confirm them by My consent._\n\n_Nor let Me be any occasion to hinder or defraud the Publick of what\nis best, by any morose or perverse dissentings._\n\n_Make Me so humbly charitable, as to follow their advice, when it\nappears to be for the publick good; of whose affections to me, I have\nyet but few evidencies to assure Me._\n\n_Thou canst as well blesse honest errours, as blast fraudulent\ncounsels._\n\n_Since we must give an account of every evill and idle word in\nprivate, at thy Tribunall; Lord make me carefull of those solemne\nDeclarations of mine which are like to have the greatest influence\nupon the Publique, either for woe, or weale._\n\n_The lesse others consider what they aske, make me the more solicitous\nwhat I answer._\n\n_Though Mine own, and My Peoples pressures are grievous, and peace\nwould be very pleasing; yet Lord, never suffer Me to avoid the one, or\npurchase the other, with the least expense or wast of my Conscience;\nwhereof thou, O Lord, onely art deservedly more Master then my self._\n\n\n\n\n\n12. _Upon the Rebellion, and troubles in_ Ireland.\n\n\nThe Commotions in _Ireland_ were so sudden, and so violent, that it\nwas hard at first either to discern the rise, or apply a remedie to\nthat precipitant Rebellion.\n\nIndeed that Sea of blood, which hath there bin cruelly & barbarously\nshed, is enough to drown any man in eternall both infamy and misery,\nwhom God shall find the malicious Author or Instigator of its\neffusion.\n\nIt fell out, as a most unhappy advantage to some mens malice against\nme; that when they had impudence enough to lay any thing to my charge,\nthis bloody oppertunity should be offered them, with which I must be\naspersed. Although there was nothing which could be more abhorred\nto me, being so ful of sin against God, disloyalty to myself, and\ndestructive to my Subjects.\n\nSome men took it very ill not to be beleeved, when they affirmed, that\nwhat the Irish Rebels did, was done with my privitie (at least) if not\nby my Commission: But these knew too well, that it is no news for som\nof my Subjects to fight not only without my Commission, but against my\nCommand, and Person too, yet all the while to pretend, they fight by\nmy Authoritie, and for my safety.\n\nI would to God the _Irish_ had nothing to alledge for their imitation\nagainst those whose blame must needs be the greater, by how much\nProtestant Principles are more against all Rebellion against Princes,\nthen those of Papists. Nor wil the goodnes of mens intentions excuse\nthe scandall, and contagion of their examples.\n\nBut who ever fail of their Dutie toward me, I must bear the blame;\nthis honour my enemies have alwayes done me, to think moderate\ninjuries not proportionate to me, nor competent trials, either of my\npatience under them, or my pardon of them.\n\nTherefore with exquisite malice they have mixed the gall and vinegar\nof falsity and contempt, with the cup of my Affliction; charging Me\nnot only with untruths, but such, as wherin I have the greatest share\nof loss & dishonor by what is comitted; wherby, (in all policy, reason\nand Religion, having least cause to give the least consent, and most\ngrounds of utter detestation) I might be represented by them to the\nworld, the more inhumane and barbarous: Like some Cyclopick monster,\nwhom nothing will serve to eat and drink, but the flesh and bloud of\nmy own Subjects; in whose common welfare my interest lies, as much as\nsome mens doth in their perturbations: who think they cannot do wel\nbut in evil times; nor so cunningly, as in laying the _odium_ of\nthose sad events on others, wherewith themselves are most pleased, and\nwhereof they have been not the least occasion.\n\nAnd certainly, 'tis thought by many wise men, that the preposterous\nrigour and unreasonable severity, which some men carried before them\nin _England_, was not the least incentive, that kindled, and blew up\ninto those horrid flames, the sparks of discontent, which wanted not\npre-disposed fewel for Rebellion in _Ireland_; where dispair being\nadded to their former discontents, and the fear of utter extirpation\nto their wonted oppressions, it was easie to provoke to an open\nRebellion a people prone enough to break out into all exorbitant\nviolence, both by some principles of their Religion, and the naturall\ndesires of liberty; both to exempt themselves from their present\nrestraints, and to prevent those after rigours, wherewith they saw\nthemselves apparantly threatned by the covetous zeal and uncharitable\nfury of some men, who think it a great Argument of the truth of their\nReligion, to endure no other but their own.\n\nGod knows, as I can with truth wash my hands in innocency, as to any\nguilt in that Rebellion; so I might wash them in my tears, as to the\nsad apprehensions I had to see it spread so far, and make such waste:\nand this in a time when distractions and jealousies here in _England_\nmade most men rather intent to their own safety, or designes they were\ndriving, then to the relief of those who were every day inhumanely\nbutchered in Ireland: Whose tears and bloud might, if nothing else,\nhave quenched, or at least for a time, repressed and smothered those\nsparks of Civill Dissentions and Jealousies which in England some men\nmost industriously scattered.\n\nI would to God no man had been less affected with Irelands' sad estate\nthen my self; I offered to go my Self in person upon that Expedition:\nBut some men were either affraid I should have any one Kingdom\nquieted; or loth they were to shoot at any mark here less then\nmy Self; or that any should have the glory of my destruction but\nthemselves. Had my many offers been accepted, I am confident, neither\nthe ruin had been so great, nor the calamity so long, nor the remedy\nso desperate.\n\nSo that, next to the sin of those who began that Rebellion, theirs\nmust needs be, who either hindred the speedy suppressing of it by\nDomestick Dissentions, or diverted the Aids, or exasperated the Rebels\nto the most desperate resolutions and actions, by threatning all\nextremities, not onely to the known Heads and chiefe incendiaries, but\neven to the whole Community of that Nation; resolving to destroy Root\nand Branch, men, women, and children; without any regard to those\nusuall pleas for mercy which Conquerours, not wholly barbarous,\nare wont to bear from their own brests, in behalf of those, whose\noppressive faces, rather then their malice, engaged them; or whose\nimbecility for Sex and Age was such, as they could neither lift up a\nhand against them, nor distinguish between their right hand and their\nleft: Which preposterous (and I think) un-Evangelicall zeal is too\nlike that of the rebuked Disciples, who would go no lower in their\nrevenge, then to call for fire from Heaven upon whole Cities, for the\nrepulse and neglect of a few; or like that of _Jacob_'s sons,\nwhich the Father both blamed and cursed: chusing rather to use all\nextreamities, which might drive men to desperate obstinacy, then to\napply moderate remedies; such as might punish some with exemplary\nJustice, yet disarm others, with tenders of mercy upon their\nsubmission, & our protection of them, from the fury of those, who\nwould soon drown them, if they refused to swim down the popular stream\nwith them.\n\nBut som kind of Zeal counts all merciful moderation, luke-warmness;\nand had rather be cruel then counted cold, and is not seldom more\ngreedy to kill the Bear for his skin, then for any harm he hath done.\nThe confiscation of mens estates being more beneficiall, then the\ncharity of saving their lives, or reforming their Errors.\n\nWhen all proportionable succors of the poor Protestants in _Ireland_\n(who were daily massacred and over-born with numbers of now desperate\nEnemies) was diverted and obstructed here; I was earnestly entreated,\n& generally advised by the chief of the Protestant party there, to get\nthem some respite and breathing by a cessation, without which they saw\nno probability (unless by miracle) to preserve the remnant that had\nyet escaped: God knows with how much commiseration and solicitous\ncaution I carried on that business, by persons of Honor and Integrity,\nthat so I might neither incourage the Rebels Insolence, nor discourage\nthe Protestants Loyaltie and Patience.\n\nYet when this was effected in the best sort, that the necessity and\ndifficulty of affairs would then permit, I was then to suffer again in\nmy Reputation and Honor; because I suffered not the Rebels utterly to\ndevour the remaining handfuls of the Protestants there.\n\nI thought that in all reason, the gaining of that respite could not be\nso much to the Rebels advantages (which some have highly calumniated\nagainst me) as it might have been for the Protestants future, as well\nas present safety: If during the time of that Cessation, some men had\nthe grace to have laid _Ireland_'s sad condition more to heart; & laid\naside those violent motions, which were here carried on by those, that\nhad better skill to let blood then to stanch it.\n\nBut in all the misconstructions of my actions, (which are prone to\nfind more credulity in men to what is false, and evil, then love or\ncharity to what is true and good) as I have no Judge but God above\nme, so I can have comfort to appeal to his omniscience, who doth not\ntherefore deny my Innocence, because he is pleased so far to try my\npatience, as he did his servant _Job_'s.\n\nI have enough to do to look to my own Conscience, and the faithfull\ndischarge of my Trust as a King: I have scarce leisure to consider\nthose swarms of reproches, which issue out of some mens mouths &\nhearts, as easily as smoke, or sparks do out of a furnace: Much lesse\nto make such prolix Apologies, as might give those men satisfaction:\nwho conscious to their own depth of wickednesse are loth to beleeve\nany man not to be as bad as themselves.\n\n'Tis Kingly to do well, and hear ill: If I can but act the one, I\nshall not much regard to bear the other.\n\nI thank God, I can hear with patience as bad as my worst enemies can\nsafly say. And I hope I shall still do better then they desire, or\ndeserve I should.\n\nI beleeve it will at last appear, that they who first began to embroil\nmy other Kingdoms, are in great part guilty, if not of the first\nletting out, yet of the not timely stopping those horrid effusions of\nbloud in _Ireland_.\n\nWhich (whatever my Enemies please to say, or think) I look upon, as\nthat of my other kingdoms, exhausted out of my own veins: no man being\nso much weakened by it as my Self: And I hope, though mens unsatiable\ncruelties never wil, yet the Mercy of God will at length say to his\nJustice, _It is enough_; and command the sword of Civil Wars to sheath\nit self: his mercifull Justice intending, I trust, not our utter\nconfusion, but our cure: the abatement of our sins, not the desolation\nof these Nations.\n\n\n_O my God, let those infinite mercies prevent us once again, which I\nand my Kingdoms have formerly abused, and can never deserve, should be\nrestored._\n\n_Thou seest how much cruelty among Christians is acted under the\ncolour of Religion; as if we could not be Christians, unless we\ncrucifie one another._\n\n_Because we have no more loved thy truth, and practised in charitie,\nthou hast suffered a Spirit of Errour and bitterness, of mutuall and\nmortall hatred to rise among us._\n\n_O Lord, forgive wherein we have sinned, and sanctifie what we have\nsuffered._\n\n_Let our repentance be our recovery, as our great sins have been our\nruine._\n\n_Let not the miseries I and my Kingdoms have hitherto suffered seem\nsmall to thee: but make our sins appear to our consciences, as\nthey are represented in the glass of thy Judgements; for thou never\npunishest small failings, with so severe afflictions._\n\n_O therefore, according to the multitude of thy great mercies, pardon\nour sinnes, and remove thy judgments, which are very many, and very\nheavy._\n\n_Yet let our sins be ever more grievous to us, then thy judgments; and\nmake us more willing to repent, then to be relieved; first give us the\ngrace of penitent consciences, and then the tranquillitie of united\nKingdomes._\n\n_In the Sea of our Saviours Blood drown our sins, and through this red\nsea of our own Blood bring us at last to a state of Piety, Peace and\nPlenty._\n\n_As my publick relations to all, make me share in all my Subjects\nsuffering; so give me such a pious sense of them, as becoms a\nChristian King, and a loving father of my people._\n\n_Let the scandalous and unjust reproaches cast upon me, be as a\nbreath, more to kindle my compassion; Give me grace to heap charitable\ncoales of fire upon their heads to melt them, whose malice or cruel\nzeal hath kindled, or hindred the quenching of those flames, which\nhath so much wasted my three Kingdoms._\n\n_O rescue and assist those poor Protestants in IRELAND, whom thou hast\nhitherto preserved._\n\n_And lead those in the ways of thy saving Truths, whose Ignorance or\nErrors have filled them with rebellious and destructive Principles,\nwhich they act under an opinion, That they do thee good service._\n\n_Let the hand of thy justice be against those, who malitiously and\ndespightfully have raised or fomented these cruel and desperate Wars._\n\n_Thou that art far from destroying the innocent with the guilty, & the\nerroneous with the malicious; thou that hadst pitty on_ Niniveh _for\nthe many children that were therein, give not over the whole stock\nof that populous and seduced Nation, to the wrath of those, whose\ncovetousness makes them cruel; nor to their anger, which is too\nfierce, and therefore justly cursed._\n\n_Preserve, if it be thy will, in the midst of the furnace of thy\nsevere justice, a Posterity which may praise thee for thy mercie._\n\n_And deal with me, not according to mans unjust reproaches, but\naccording to the innocency of my Hands in thy sight._\n\n_If I have desired or delighted in the wofull day of my Kingdoms\ncalamities, If I have not earnestly studied, and faithfully\nendeavoured the preventing and composing of these bloody Distractions;\nthen let thy hand be against me and my Fathers House. O Lord thou\nseest I have enemies enough of men; as I need not, so should I not\ndare thus to imprecate thy curse on me and mine, if my Conscience did\nnot witnesse my integrity, which thou, O Lord, knowest right well. But\nI trust not to my own merit, but thy mercies; spare us, O Lord, and be\nnot angry with us for ever._\n\n\n\n\n\n_13. Upon the calling in of the_ SCOTS, _and their Comming._\n\n\nThe _Scots_ are a Nation, upon whom I have not onely common ties of\nNature, Soveraignty, and Bounty, with My Father of blessed memory; but\nalso speciall and late obligations of favours, having gratified the\nactive Spirits among them so far, that I seemed to many to prefer the\ndesires of that party, before My own interest and honor. But, I see,\nRoyall bountie emboldens some men to ask, and act beyond all bounds of\nmodesty and gratitude.\n\nMy charity, and Act of Pacification, forbids Me to reflect on former\npassages, wherin I shal ever be far from letting any mans ingratitude,\nor inconstancy, make me repent of what I granted them for the publique\ngood: I pray God it may so prove.\n\nThe coming again of that Party into _England_, with an Army only\nto conforme this Church to their late New model, cannot but seem as\nunreasonable, as they would have thought the same measure offered from\nhence to themselves.\n\nOther errand I could never understand, they had, (besides those common\nand vulgar flourishes for Religion and Liberty) save only to confirme\nthe Presbyterian Copy they had set, by making this Church to write\nafter them, though it were in bloudy Characters.\n\nWhich design and end, whether it will justifie the use of such violent\nmeans, before the divine Justice, I leave to their Consciences to\njudge, who have already felt the misery of the means, but not reaped\nthe benefit of the end, either in this Kingdom, or that.\n\nSuch knots and crosseness of grain being objected here, as will hardly\nsuffer that form which they cry up, as the only just reformation, and\nsettling of Government and Discipline in Churches to go on so smoothly\nhere, as it might do in _Scotland_; and was by them imagined would\nhave done in _England_, when so many of the _English_ Clergy, through\nlevity, or discontent, if no worse passion, suddenly quitted their\nformer engagements to Episcopacy, and faced about to their Presbytery.\n\nIt cannot but seem either passion, or some self-seeking, more then\ntrue Zeal, and pious discretion, for any forraign State or Church to\nprescribe such medicins only for others, which themselves have used,\nrather successefully then commendably; not considering that the same\nPhysick on different constitutions, will have different operations:\nThat may kill one, which doth but cure another.\n\nNor do I know any such tough and malignant humours in the constitution\nof the _English_ Church, which gentler applications then those of an\nArmy, might not easily have removed: Nor is it so proper to hew out\nReligious Reformations by the sword, as to polish them by fair & equal\ndisputations among those that are most concerned in the differences,\nwhom not force, but reason ought to convince.\n\nBut their design now seemed rather to cut off all disputation here,\nthen to procure a fair and equal one: For it was concluded there, That\nthe _English_ Clergy must conform to the _Scots_ pattern before ever\nthey could be heard, what they could say for themselves, or against\nthe others way.\n\nI could have wished fairer proceedings both for their credits, who\nurge things with such violence; and for other mens Consciences\ntoo; who can receive litle satisfaction in these points which are\nmaintained rather by Souldiers fighting in the Field, then Scholars\ndisputing in free and learned Synods.\n\nSure in matters of Religion those truths gain most on mens Judgments\nand Consciences, which are least urged with secular violence, which\nweakens truth with prejudices; and is unreasonable to be used, till\nsuch means of rational conviction hath been applied, as leaving no\nexcuse for ignorance, condemns mens obstinacy to deserved penalties.\n\nWhich no charity will easily suspect of so many learned and pious\nChurch-men in _England_; who being alwaies bred up, and conformable\nto the Government of Episcopacy, cannot so soon renounce both their\nformer opinion & practice, only because that Party of the _Scots_\nwill needs, by force assist a like Party here, either to drive all\nMinisters as sheep, into the common fold of Presbyterie, or destroy\nthem; at least fleece them, by depriving them of the benefit of their\nFlocks. If the _Scotch_ sole Presbyterie were approved to be the\nonly Institution of Jesus Christ, for all Churches Government; yet I\nbeleeve it would be hard to prove that Christ had given those _Scots_,\nor any other of my Subjects, Comission by the Sword, to set it up in\nany of my Kingdomes, without my consent.\n\nWhat respect and obedience Christ and his Apostles payd to the chief\ngovernors of States, where they lived, is very cleer in the Gospel:\nbut that he, or they ever commanded to set up such a parity of\nPresbyters, and in such a way as those _Scots_ endeavour, I think is\nnot very disputable.\n\nIf Presbyterie in such a Supremacy be an institution of Christ,\nsure it differs from all others: and is the first and only point\nof Christianity, that was to be planted and watered with so much\nChristian bloud; whose effusions run in a stream so contrary to that\nof the Primitive planters, both of Christianity and Episcopacy, which\nwas with patient shedding of their own bloud, not violently drawing\nother mens: sure there is too much of Man in it, to have much of\nChrist; none of whose institutions were carried on, or begun with\nthe temptations of Covetousness or Ambition, of both which this is\nvehemently suspected.\n\nYet was there never any thing upon the point which those _Scots_ had\nby an Army or Commissioners to move Me with, by their many Solemn\nobtestations, and pious threatnings, but only this, to represent to me\nthe wonderful necessity of setting up their Presbytery in _England_,\nto avoid the further miseries of a War, which some men chiefly on\nthis design at first had begun, & now further engaged themselves to\ncontinue.\n\nWhat hinders that any Sects, Schisms, or Heresies, if they can get but\nnumbers, strength and opportunity, may not, according to this opinion\nand pattern, set up their wayes by the like methods of violence?\nall which Presbitery seeks to suppresse, & render odious under those\nnames: when wise & learned men think, that nothing hath more marks\nof Schism, and Sectarism, then this Presbyterian way, both as to the\nAncient, and still most Universal way of the Church-government,\nand especially as to the particular Laws and Constitutions of this\n_English_ Church, which are not yet repealed, nor are like to be for\nme, till I see more Rational and Religious motives, then Souldiers use\nto carry in their Knapsacks.\n\nBut we must leave the successe of all to God, who hath many wayes\n(having first taken us off from the folly of our opinions, and fury\nof our passion) to teach us those rules of true Reason, and peaceable\nWisdom, which is from above, tending most to Gods glory, and his\nChurches good: which I think my self so much the more bound in\nConscience to attend, with the most judicious zeal and care, by how\nmuch I esteem the Church above the State, the glory of Christ above\nmine Own: and the Salvation of mens Souls above the preservation of\ntheir Bodies and Estates.\n\nNor may any men, I think, without sin and presumption, forcibly\nendeavour to cast the Churches under my care and tuition, into the\nmoulds they have fancied, & fashioned to their designs, till they have\nfirst gained my consent, and resolved, both mine own and other mens\nConsciences by the strength of their Reasons.\n\nOther violent motions, w^{ch} are neither Manly, Christian, nor Loyal,\nshall never either shake or settle my Religion, nor any mans else who\nknows what Religion means: And how far it is removed from all Faction,\nwhose proper engine is force, the arbitrator of beasts, not of\nreasonable men, much lesse of humble Christians, and loyal Subjects,\nin matters of Religion.\n\nBut men are prone to have such high conceits of themselves, that they\ncare not what cost they lay out upon their opinions: especially those\nthat have some temptation of gain, to recompence their losses and\nhazards.\n\nYet I was not more scandalized at the _Scots_ Armies coming in against\nmy will, and their forfeiture of so many obligations of duty, and\ngratitude to me: then I wondred how those here, could so much distrust\nGods assistance, who so much pretended Gods cause to the people, as\nif they had the certainty of some divine Revelation; considering\nthey were more then competently furnished with my Subjects Arms and\nAmmunition, my Navie by Sea, my Forts, Castles and Cities by Land.\n\nBut I finde that men jealous of the Justificableness of their doings,\nand designs before God, never thinke they have humane strength enough\nto carry their work on, seem it never so plausible to the people; what\ncannot be justified in Law and Religion, had need to be fortified with\npower.\n\nAnd yet such is the inconstancy that attends all minds engaged in\nviolent motion, that whom some of them one while earnestly invite to\ncome in to their assistance; others of them soon after are weary of,\nand with nauseating cast them out: what one party thought to rivet\nto a setlednes by the strength and influence of the _Scots_, that the\nother rejects and contemns; at once, despising the Kirk-government,\n& discipline of the _Scots_, and frustrating the successe of so\nchargeable, more then charitable assistance: For, sure the Church\nof _England_ might have purchased at a far cheaper rate, the Truth\n& happines of Reformed Government and Discipline (if it had been\nwanting) though it had entertained the best Divines of Christendom for\ntheir advice in a ful & free Synod; which, I was ever willing to,\nand desirous of, that matters being impartially setled, might be more\nsatisfactory to all, and more durable.\n\nBut much of Gods justice, & mans folly will at length be discovered,\nthrough all the filmes and pretentions of Religion, in which\nPolititians wrap up their designes: in vaine do men hope to build\ntheir Piety on the Ruines of loyalty. Nor can those considerations or\ndesignes be durable, when Subjects make bankrupt of their Allegiance,\nunder pretence of setting up a quicker trade for Religion.\n\nBut, as my best Subjects of _Scotland_ never deserted me, so I cannot\nthink that the most are gone so far from me, in a prodigality of\ntheir love and respects towards me, as to make me to despair of their\nreturn; when besides the bonds of Nature and Conscience which they\nhave to me, all Reason and true Policy will teach them, That their\nchiefest interest consists in their fidelity to the Crown, not in\ntheir serviceableness to any Party of the People, to a neglect and\nbetraying of my Safety and Honor for their own advantages: However the\nlesse cause I have to trust to men, the more I shall apply my Self to\nGod.\n\n\n_The Troubles of my Soul are enlarged, O Lord, bring thou me out of my\ndistresse._\n\n_Lord direct thy Servant in the ways of that pious simplicity, which\nis the best policie._\n\n_Deliver me from the combined strength of those, who have so much of\nthe Serpents subtilty, that they forget the Doves Innocency._\n\n_Though hand joyn in hand, yet let them not prevail against my Soul,\nto the betraying of my Conscience and Honour._\n\n_Thou, O Lord, canst turn the hearts of those Parties in both Nations,\nas thou didst the men of_ Judah _and ISRAEL, to restore_ David _with\nas much loyal zeal, as they did with inconstancy and eagernesse pursue\nhim._\n\n_Preserve the love of thy truth and uprightness in me, and I shall not\ndespair of My Subjects affections returning towards me._\n\n_Thou canst soon cause the overflowing Seas to ebbe, and retire back\nagain to the bounds which thou hast appointed for them._\n\n_O My God, I trust in thee; let me not be ashamed; let not my enemies\ntriumph over me._\n\n_Let them be ashamed who transgress without a cause; let them be\nturned back that persecute my soul._\n\n_Let integrity and uprightness preserve me, for I wait on thee O\nLord._\n\n_Redeem thy Church, O God, out of all its Troubles._\n\n\n\n\n\n_14. Upon the Covenant._\n\n\nThe _Presbyterian Scots_ are not to be hired at the ordinary rate of\nAuxiliaries; nothing will induce them to engage, till those that\ncall them in, have pawned their Souls to them, by a Solemn League and\nCovenant.\n\nWhere many engines of religious and fair pretensions are brought\nchiefly to batter or rase Episcopacy: This they make the grand evil\nSpirit, which with other Imps purposely added, to make it more odious,\n& terrible to the Vulgar, must by so solemn a charm & exorcism be cast\nout of this Church, after more then a thousand years possession here,\nfrom the first plantation of Christianity in this Island, and an\nuniversal prescription of time and practice in all other Churches\nsince the Apostles times till this last Century.\n\nBut no Antiquity must plead for it; Presbytery like a young Heir,\nthinks the Father hath lived long enough, & impatient not to be in the\nBishops chair and authority (though Lay-men go away with the Revenus)\nall art is used to sink Episcopacy, and lanch Presbytery in _England_;\nwhich was lately boyed up in _Scotland_ by the late artifice of a\nCovenant.\n\nAlthough I am unsatisfied with many passages in that Covenant some\nreferring to my self with very dubious and dangerous limitations (yet\nI chiefly wonder at the design and drift touching the Discipline and\nGovernment of the Church); and such a manner of carrying them on to new\nways, by Oaths and Covenants, where it is hard for men to be engaged\nby no less, then swearing for, or against those things, which are of\nno clear morall necessity, but very disputable, and controverted among\nlearned and godly men: whereto the application of Oaths can hardly be\nmade and enjoyned with that judgment and certainty in ones self, or\nthat charity or candour to others of different opinion, as I think\nreligion requires, which never refuses fair and equable deliberations;\nyea, and dissentings too, in matters only probable.\n\nThe enjoyning of Oaths upon People must needs in things doubtfull be\ndangerous, as in things unlawfull, damnable; and no lesse superfluous,\nwhere former Religious and Legal Engagements, bound men sufficiently,\nto all necessary duties. Nor can I see how they will reconcile such an\nInnovating Oath and Covenant, with their former Protestation which was\nso lately taken, to maintain the Religion established in the Church of\n_England_; since they count Discipline so great a part of Religion.\n\nBut ambitious minds never think they have laid snares and ginnes\nenough to catch and hold the vulgar credulity: for by such politicke\nand seemingly pious stratagems, they think to keep the popularity fast\nto their Parties under the terrour of perjury: Whereas certainly all\nhonest and wise men ever thought themselves sufficiently bound by\nformer ties of Religion, Allegiance, and lawes, to God and man.\n\nNor can such after-contracts, devised and imposed by a few men in\na declared Party, without my consent, and without any like power or\npresident from Gods or mans laws, be ever thought by judicious men\nsufficient either to obsolve or slacked those moral and eternall bonds\nof duty which lie upon all My Subjects consciences both to God and me.\n\nYet as things now stand, good men shall least offend God or Me, by\nkeeping their Covenant in honest and lawfull wayes; since I have the\ncharity to think, that the chief end of the Covenant in such mens\nintentions, was, to preserve Religion in purity, and the Kingdoms in\npeace: To other then such ends and meanes they cannot think themselves\nengaged; nor will those, that have any true touches of Conscience\nendeavour to carry on the best designes, (much lesse such as are, and\nwill be daily more apparently factious and ambitious) by any unlawfull\nmeans, under that title of the Covenant: unlesse they dare preferre\nambiguous, dangerous and un-authorized novelties, before their known\nand sworn duties, which are indespensable, both to God and my self.\n\nI am prone to beleeve and hope, That many who took the Covenant, are\nyet firme to this judgment, That such latter Vowes, Oaths, or Leagues,\ncan never blot out those former gravings, and characters, which by\njust and lawfull Oaths were made upon their Souls.\n\nThat which makes such Confederations by way of Solemn Leagues and\nCovenants more to be suspected, is, That they are the common road,\nused in all factious and powerfull perturbations of State or Church:\nwhen formalities of extraordinary zeal and piety are never more\nstudied and elaborate, then, when Polititians most agitate desperate\ndesignes against all that is setled, or sacred in Religion, and Laws,\nwhich by such scrues are cunningly, yet forcibly wrested by secret\nsteps, and lesse sencible degrees, from their known rule and wonted\npractise, and comply with the humours of those men, who ayme to\nsubdue all to their own will and power, under the disguises of Holy\nCombinations.\n\nWhich cords and wythes will hold mens Consciences no longer, then\nforce attends and twists them: for every man soon grows his own Pope,\nand easily absolves himself of those ties, which, not the commands of\nGods Word, or the Laws of the Land, but only the subtilty and terrour\nof a Party casts upon him; either superfluous and vain, when they\nwere sufficiently tied before; or fraudulent and injurious, if by such\nafterligaments they find the Imposers really ayming to dissolve, or\nsuspend their former just and necessary obligations.\n\nIndeed such illegall ways seldom or never intend the engaging men more\nto duties, but only to Parties; therefore it is not regarded how they\nkeep their Covenants in point of piety pretended, provided they adhere\nfirmly to the Party and Design intended.\n\nI see the Imposers of it are content to make their Covenant like Manna\n(not that it came from Heaven, as this did) agreeable to every mans\npalate and rellish, who will but swallow it: They admit any mens\nsenses of it, the divers or contrary; with any salvoes, cautions and\nreservations, so as they cross not their chief Design, which is laid\nagainst the Church and me.\n\nIt is enough if they get but the reputation of a seeming encrease to\ntheir Party; so little do men remember that God is not mocked.\n\nIn such latitudes of sense, _I_ beleive many that love Me, and the\nChurch well, may have taken the Covenant, who yet are not so fondly\nand superstitiously taken by it, as now to act cleerly against both\nall piety & loyalty: who first yeelded to it, more to prevent that\nimminent violence and ruine, which hung over their heads in case they\nwholly refused it, then for any value of it, or devotion to it.\n\nWherein, the latitude of some generall Clauses may (perhaps) serve\nsomewhat to relieve them, as of _Doing and endeavouring what lawfully\nthey may, in their Places and Callings_, and _according to the Word\nof God_: for these (indeed) carry no man beyond those bounds of good\nConscience, which are certain & fixed either in Gods Laws, as to the\nGenerall; or the Laws of the State and Kingdom, as to the particular\nregulation and exercise of mens duties.\n\nI would to God such as glory most in the name of _Covenanters_, would\nkeep themselves within those lawfull bounds, to which God hath called\nthem: surely it were the best way to expiate the rashnesse of taking\nit; which must needs then appear, when besides the want of a full and\nlawfull Authority at first to enjoyn it, it shall actually be carried\non beyond and against those ends which were in it specified and\npretended. I willingly forgive such mens taking the Covenant, who keep\nit within such bounds of Piety, Law, and Loyaltie, as can never hurt\neither the Church, My self, or the Publick Peace: Against which, no\nmans lawfull Calling can engage him.\n\nAs for that Reformation of the Church which the Covenant pretends, I\ncannot think it just or comely, that by the partiall advice of a\nfew Divines, (of so soft and servile tempers, as disposed them to so\nsudden acting and compliance, contrary to their former judgements,\nprofession, and practise) such foule scandalls and suspitions should\nbe cast upon the Doctrine and Government of the Church of _England_,\nas was never done (that I have heard) by any that deserved the name of\n_Reformed Churches_ abroad, nor by any men of learning and candour at\nhome: all whose judgments _I_ cannot but prefer before any mens now\nfactiously engaged.\n\nNo man can be more forward then My self to carry on all due\nReformations, which mature judgment, and a good Conscience, in what\nthings I shall (after impartiall advise) be, by Gods Word, and right\nreason, convinced to be amiss, I have offered more than ever the\nfullest, freest, and wisest Parliaments did desire.\n\nBut the sequele of some mens actions makes it evident, that the maine\ninformation intended, is the abasing of Episcopacy into Presbytery,\nand the robbing of the Church of its Lands and Revenues: For, no men\nhave been more injuriously used, as to their legall Rights then\nthe Bishops, and Church-men. These, as the fattest Dear, must be\ndestroyed; the other Rascal herd of Schismes, Heresies, &c. being\nleane, may enjoy the benefit of a Toleration: Thus _Naboth_'s\nVine-yard made him the onely Blasphemer of his City, and fit to die.\nStill I see: while the breath of Religion fills the Sailes, Profit\nis the compasse, by which Factious men steer their course in all\nseditious Commotions.\n\nI thank God, as no man lay more open to the sacrilegious temptation of\nusurping the Churches Lands, and Revenues, (which issuing chiefly from\nthe Crown, are held of it, and legally can revert onely to the Crowne\nwith my Consent) so I have alwayes had such a perfect abhorrence of\nit in my Soule, that I never found the least inclination to such\nsacrilegious Reformings: yet no man hath a greater desire to have\nBishops and all Church-men, so reformed, that they may best deserve\nand use, not onely what the pious munificence of My Predecessours\nhath given to God and the Church, but all other additions of Christian\nbounty.\n\nBut no necessity shall ever, I hope, drive me or Mine to invade\nor sell the Priests Lands, which both _Pharaoh's_ divinity, and\n_Joseph's_ true piety abhorred to do: So unjust I think it both in the\neye of Reason and Religion, to deprive the most sacred employment of\nall due incouragements; and like that other hard-hearted _Pharaoh_, to\nwithdraw the Straw, and encrease the Task; so pursuing the oppressed\nChurch as some have done, to the red Sea of a Civill War, where\nnothing but a miracle can save either it, or him, who esteems it\nhis greatest Title to be called, and his chiefest glory to be\n_The defender of the Church, both in its true faith, and its just\nfruitions; equally abhoring Sacriledge and Apostacy_.\n\nI had rather live as my Predecessour _Henry_ the 3. sometime did, on\nthe Churches alms, then violently to take the bread out of Bishops and\nMinisters mouths.\n\nThe next work will be _Jeroboam's_ reformation, consecrating the\nmeanest of the people to be Priests in _Israel_, to serve those Golden\n_Calves_ who have enrich'd themselves with the Churches Patrimony and\nDowry; which how it thrived both with Prince, Priests and people, is\nwell enough known: And so it will be here, when from the tuition of\nKings and Queens, which have been nursing fathers and mothers of this\nChurch, it will be at their allowance, who have already discovered,\nwhat hard fathers and step-mothers they will be.\n\nIf the poverty of _Scotland_ might, yet the plenty of _England_ cannot\nexcuse the envy and rapine of the Churches Rights and Revenues.\n\nI cannot so much as pray God to prevent those sad consequences, which\nwill inevitably follow the parity and poverty of Ministers, both\nin Church and State; since I think it no lesse then a mocking and\ntempting of God, to desire him to hinder those mischiefs whose\noccasions and remedies are in our own power; it being every mans sin\nnot to avoid the one, and not to use the other.\n\nThere are ways enough to repair the breaches of the State without the\nruins of the Church; as I would be a restorer of the one, so I would\nnot be an oppressor of the other under the pretence of publick Debts:\nThe occasions contracting them were bad enough, but such a discharging\nof them would be much worse; I pray God neither I, nor mine, may be\naccessary to either.\n\n\n_To thee, O Lord, do I addresse my Prayer, beseeching thee to pardon\nthe rashness of my Subjects Swearings, and to quicken their sense and\nobservation of those just, morall and indispensable bonds, which thy\nword and the Laws of this Kingdom have laid upon their Consciences;\nFrom which no pretensions of Piety & reformation are sufficient to\nabsolve them; or to engage them to any contrary practises._\n\n_Make them at length seriously to consider that nothing violent and\ninjurious can be religious._\n\n_Thou allowest no mans committing Sacriledge under the zeal of\nabhorring Idols._\n\n_Suffer not sacrilegious designs to have the countenance of religious\nties._\n\n_Thou hast taught us by the wisest of Kings, that it is a snare to\ntake things that are holy, and Vows to mak enquiry._\n\n_Ever keep thy Servant from consenting to perjurious and sacraligeous\nrapinei, that I may not have the brand and curse to all posterity of\nrobing Thee and thy Church, of what thy bounty hath given us, and thy\nclemencie hath accepted from us, wherewith to encourage Learning and\nReligion._\n\n_Though My Treasures are Exhausted, My Revenues Diminished, and My\nDebts Encreased, yet never suffer Me to be tempted to use such profane\nReparation; lest a coal from thine Altar set such a fire on My Throne\nand Conscience as will hardly be quenched._\n\n_Let not the Debts and Engagements of the Publique, which some mens\nfolly and prodigalitie hath contracted, be an occasion to impoverish\nthy Church._\n\n_The State may soon recover, by thy blessing of peace upon us; The\nChurch is never likely, in times, where the Charity of most men is\ngrown so cold, and their Religion so illiberall._\n\n_Continue to those that serve Thee and thy Church all those\nencouragements, which by the will of the pious Donours, and the\njustice of the Laws are due unto them; and give them grace to deserve\nand use them aright to thy glory, & the relief of the poor: That\nshy Priests may be cloathed with righteousnesse, and the poor may be\nsatisfed with bread._\n\n_Let not holy things be given to Swine; nor the Churches bread to\nDogs; rather let them go about the City, grin like a Dog, and grudge\nthat they are not satisfied._\n\n_Let those sacred morsels, which some men have already by violence\ndevoured, never digest with them, nor theirs; Let them be as_ Naboth's\n_Vineyard to_ Ahab, _gall in their mouths, rottennesse to their names,\na moth to their families, and a sting to their Consciences._\n\n_Break in sunder O Lord, all violent and sacrilegious Confederations\nto do wickedly and injuriously._\n\n_Divide their hearts and tongues who have bandyed together against the\nChurch and State, that the folly of such may be manifest to all men,\nand proceed no further._\n\n_But so savour My righteous dealing, O Lord, that in the mercies of\nthee, the most High, I may never miscarry._\n\n\n\n\n\n15. _Vpon the many Jealousies raised, and Scandals cast upon the_\nKING, _to stirre up the People against him._\n\n\nIf _I_ had not My own Innocency, and Gods protection, it were hard\nfor Me to stand out against those stratagems and conflicts of malice,\nwhich by falsities seek to oppresse the Truth; and by Jealousies to\nsupply the defect of reall causes, which might seem to justifie so\nunjust ingagements against Me.\n\nAnd indeed, the worst effects of open hostility come short of these\ndesignes: For, _I_ can more willingly lose My Crownes, then My credit;\nnor are My Kingdomes so dear to Me, as My Reputation and Honor.\n\nThose must have a period with my life; but these may survive to a\nglorious kind of Immortality, when I am dead and gone: A good name\nbeing the imbalming of Princes, and a sweet consecrating of them to an\nEternity of love and gratitude among Posterity.\n\nThose foul and false aspersions were secret engines at first employed\nagainst My peoples love to Me: that undermining their opinion and\nvalue of Me, My enemies, and theirs too might at one blow up their\naffections, and batter down their loyalty.\n\nWherein yet, I thank God, the detriment of My Honor is not so\nafflictive to Me, as the sin and danger of My peoples souls, whose\neyes once blinded with such mists of suspicions, they are soon misled\ninto the most desperate precipices of actions: wherein they do not\nonly, not consider their sin and danger, but glory in their zealous\nadventures; while I am rendred to them so fit to be destroyed, that\nmany are ambitious to merit the name of My Destroyers; Imagining they\nthen fear God most, when they least honor their King.\n\nI thank God, I never found but My pity was above My anger; nor have\nMy passions ever so prevailed against me, as to exclude My most\ncompassionate prayers for them, whom devout errours more then their\nown malice have betrayed to a most religious Rebellion.\n\nI had the Charity to interpret, that most part of My Subjects fought\nagainst My supposed Errours, not My person; and intended to mend Me,\nnot to end Me: And _I_ hope that God pardoning their Errours, hath\nso farre accepted and answered their good intentions, as he hath yet\npreserved Me, so he hath by these afflictions prepared me, both to do\nhim better service, and My people more good then hitherto I have done.\n\nI do not more willingly forgive their seductions, which occasioned\ntheir loyall injuries, then I am ambitious by all Princely merits to\nredeem them from their unjust suspicions, and reward them for their\ngood intentions.\n\nI am too conscious to My own affections toward the generality of my\npeople to suspect theirs to Me; nor shall the malice of My Enemies\never be able to deprive Me of the comfort which that confidence\ngives Me; I shall never gratifie the spightfulnesse of a few with\nany sinister thoughts of all their Allegiance, whom pious frauds have\nseduced.\n\nThe worst some mens ambition can do, shall never perswade Me, to make\nso bad interpretations of most of My Subjects actions; who possibly\nmay be erroneous, but not Hereticall in point of Loyalty.\n\nThe sence of the injuries done to My Subjects is as sharp, as those\ndone to My Self; our welfares being inseparable; in this only they\nsuffer more then My self, that they are animated by some seducers to\ninjure at once both themselves and Me.\n\nFor this it is not enough to the malice of My Enemies, that I\nbe afflicted; but it must be done by such instruments, that My\nafflictions grieve Me not more, then this doth, that I am afflicted\nby those, whose prosperity I earnestly desire, and whose seduction I\nheartily deplore.\n\nIf they had been my open and forraign Enemies, I could have born it;\nbut they must be My own Subjects, who are next to My Children dear to\nme: And for the restoring of some tranquillity, I could willingly\nbe the _Jonah_, if I did not evidently fore-see, that by the divided\ninterests of their and Mine Enemies, as by contrary winds, the storm\nof their miseries would be rather increased then allayed.\n\nI had rather prevent my peoples ruin then rule over them; nor am I\nso ambitious of that Dominion which is but My Right, as of their\nhappiness; If it could expiate or countervail such a way of obtaining\nit, by the highest injuries of subjects committed against their\nSoveraign.\n\nYet I had rather suffer all the miseries of life, and die many deaths,\nthen shamefully to desert, or dishonourable to betray My own just\nRights and Soveraignty; thereby to gratifie the ambition, or justifie\nthe malice of my enemies; between whose malice, and other mens\nmistakes, I put as great a difference, as between an ordinary Ague and\nthe Plague; or the Itch of Novelty, and the Leprosie of Disloyalty.\n\nAs Liars need have good memories, so malicious persons need good\ninventions; that their calumnies may fit every mans fancy; and what\ntheir reproaches want of truth, they may make up with numbers and\nshew.\n\nMy patience (I thank God) wil better serve Me to bear, and My charity\nto forgive, then My leisure to answer the many false Aspersions which\nsome men have cast upon Me.\n\nDid I not more consider My Subjects Satisfaction, then my owne\nVindication, I should never have given the malice of some men that\npleasure, as to see me take notice of, or remember what they say, or\nobject.\n\nI would leave the Authors to be punished by their own evill manners,\nand seared Consciences, which will, I believe, in a shorter time then\nthey be aware of, both confute and revenge all those black and false\nScandals which they have cast on me; And make the world see, there is\nas little truth in them, as there was little worth in the broaching of\nthem, or Civility, (I need not say Loyalty) in the not suppressing\nof them; whose credit and reputation, even with the people, shall ere\nlong be quite blasted by the breath of that same fornace of popular\nobloquy, and detraction, which they have studied to heat and inflame\nto the highest degree of infamy, and wherein they have sought to cast\nand consume My Name and Honor.\n\nFirst, nothing gave me more cause to suspect, and search mine own\ninnocencie, then when I observed so many forward to engage against\nme, who had made great professions of singular piety; For this gave\nto Vulgar minds so bad a reflection upon me and my Cause, as if it\nhad been impossible to adhere to me, and not withall part from God;\nto think or speak well of me, and not to blaspheme him; so many were\nperswaded that these two were utterly inconsistent, to be at once\nLoyall to Me, and truly Religious toward God.\n\nNot but that I had (I thank God) many with me, which were both\nlearned and Religious, (much above that ordinary size, and that Vulgar\nproportion wherein some men glory so much) who were so well satisfied\nin the cause of my sufferings, that they chose rather to suffer with\nme, then forsake me.\n\nNor is it strange, that so religious Pretensions as were used against\nme, should be to many well-minded men a great temptation to oppose me;\nespecially, being urged by such popular Preachers as think it no sin\nto lie for God, and what they please to call Gods Cause, cursing all\nthat will not curse with them; looking so much at, and crying up the\ngoodnesse of the end propounded, that they consider not the lawfulness\nof the means used nor the depth of the mischief, chiefly plotted and\nintended.\n\nThe weakness of these mens judgments must be made up by their clamours\nand activity.\n\nIt was a great part of some mens Religion to scandalize me and mine;\nthey thought theirs could not be true, if they cried not down Mine as\nfalse.\n\nI thank God, I have had more triall of his grace, as to the constancy\nof my Religion in the Protestant profession of the Church of\n_England_, both abroad, and at home, then ever they are like to have.\n\nNor do _I_ know any exception I am so liable to, in their opinion,\nas too great a fixedness in that Religion, whose judicious and\nsolid grounds, both from Scripture, and Antiquity, will not give my\nconscience leave to approve or consent to those many dangerous and\ndivided innovations, which the bold ignorance of some men would needs\nobtrude upon me, and my people.\n\nContrary to those well tried foundations both of Truth, and Order,\nwhich men of far greater Learning, and clearer Zeal, have settled in\nthe Confession and Constitution of this Church in _England_, which\nmany former Parliaments in the most calm, and unpassionate times,\nhave oft confirmed; In which I shall ever, by Gods help, persevere, as\nbeleeving it hath most of primitive Truth and Order.\n\nNor did my using the assistance of some Papists, which were my\nSubjects, any way fight against my Religion, some men would needs\ninterpret it: especially those who least of all men cared whom they\nimployed, or what they said and did, so they might prevail.\n\n'Tis strange that so wise men, as they would be esteemed, should not\nconceive, That differences of perswasion in matters of Religion may\neasily fall out, where there is the samenesse of duty, Allegeance\nand subjection: The first they owe as men and Christians to God; the\nsecond they owe to me in common, as their KING: different professions\nin point of Religion cannot (any more then in civill Trades) take away\nthe community of relations either to Parents, or to Princes. And where\nis there such an _Oglio_ or medly of various Religions in the world\nagain, as those men entertain in their service (who finde most fault\nwith me) without any scruple, as to the diversity of their Sects and\nOpinions!\n\nIt was, indeed, a foul and indeleable shame, for such as would be\ncounted Protestants, to inforce Me, a declared Protestant, their Lord\nand King, to a necessary use of Papists, or any other, who did but\ntheir duty to help Me to defend my self.\n\nNor did I more then is lawful for any King, in such exigents to use\nthe aid of any his Subjects.\n\nI am sorry the Papists should have a greater sense of their Allegeance\nthen many Protestant Professors; who seem to have learned, and to\npractise the worst Principles of the worst Papists.\n\nIndeed, it had been a very impertinent and unseasonable scruple in\nme, (and very pleading, no doubt to my Enemies) to have been then\ndisputing the points of different beliefs in my Subjects, when I\nwas disputed with by Swords points: and when I needed the help of my\nSubjects as men, no lesse then their prayers as Christians.\n\nThe noise of my evill Counsellours was another usefull device for\nthose, who were impatient any mens counsels but their own should be\nfollowed in Church or State; who were so eager in giving me better\ncounsel, that they would not give me leave to take it with freedom, as\na Man; or honour, as a King; making their Counsels more like a drench,\nthat must be powred down, then a draught, which might be fairly and\nleisurely drank, if I liked it.\n\nI will not justifie beyond humane errour and frailties my Self, or my\nCounsellours: They might be subject to some miscarriages, yet such\nas were far more reparable by second and better thoughts, then those\nenormous extravagances wherewith some men have now even wildred, and\nalmost quite lost both Church and State.\n\nThe event of things at last will make it evident to my Subjects, that\nhad I followed the worst Counsels that my worst Counsellours ever had\nthe boldnesse to offer to me, or my Self any inclination to use;\nI could not so soon have brought both Church and State in three\nflourishing Kingdoms, to such a _Chaos_ of confusion, and hell of\nmiseries as some have done; out of which they cannot, or will not,\nin the midst of their many great advantages, redeem either Me, or my\nSubjects.\n\nNo men were more willing to complain, then I was to redresse what I\nsaw in reason was either done or advised amisse: and this I thought I\nhad done, even beyond the expectation of moderate men: who were sorry\nto see me prone even to injure my Self, out of a zeal to relieve my\nSubjects.\n\nBut other mens insatiable desire of revenge upon Me, my Court, and my\nClergie, hath wholly beguiled both Church and State of the benefit of\nall my either Retractations or Concessions; and withall, hath deprived\nall those (now so zealous Persecutors) both of the comfort and reward\nof their former pretended Persecutions, wherein they so much gloryed\namong the Vulgar; and which, indeed a truly humbly Christian will so\nhighly prize, as rather not be relieved, then be revenged, so as to be\nbereaved of that Crown of Christian patience, which attends humble and\ninjured sufferers.\n\nAnother artifice used to withdraw my peoples affections from me to\ntheir designes, was, the noise and ostentation of Liberty, which men\nare not more prone to desire, then unapt to bear in the popular sense;\nwhich is to doe what every man liketh best.\n\nIf the divinest Liberty be to will what men should, and to do what\nthey so will, according to Reason, Laws and Religion; I envie not my\nSubjects that liberty, which is all I desire to enjoy my self; So far\nam I from the desire of oppressing theirs. Now were those Lords and\nGentlemen which assisted me, so prodigal of their Liberties, as with\ntheir Lives and Fortunes to help on the enslaving of themselves and\ntheir Posterities?\n\nAs to Civil Immunities, none but such as desire to drive on their\nambitious and covetous Designes over the ruines of Church and State,\nPrince, Peers, and People, will ever desire greater Freedoms than the\nLaws allow; whose bounds good men count their Ornament and Protection;\nothers their Manacles and Oppression.\n\nNor is it just any man should expect the reward and benefit of the\nLaw, who despiseth his rule and direction, losing justly his Safety,\nwhile he seeks an unreasonable Libertie.\n\nTime will best inform my Subjects, that those are the best\npreservers of their true Liberties, who allow themselves the least\nlicentiousnesse against or beyond the Laws.\n\nThey will feel it at last to their cost, that it is impossible those\nmen should be really tender of their fellow-subjects liberties, who\nhave the hardinesse to use their King with so severe restraints,\nagainst all Laws, both Divine and Humane; under which yet I wil rather\nperish, then complain to those, who want nothing to compleat their\nmirth and triumph, but such musick.\n\nIn point of true conscientious tendernesse (attended with humility and\nmeeknesse, not with proud and arrogant activity, which seeks to hatch\nevery egg of different opinion to a Faction or Schism) I have oft\ndeclared, how little I desire my Laws and Scepter should intrench on\nGods Soveraignty, which is the onely King of mens Consciences; and yet\nhe hath laid such restraints upon men, as commands them to be\nsubject for conscience sake, giving no men liberty to break the Law\nestablished, further then with meeknesse and patience they are content\nto suffer the penalty annexed, rather then perturb the publick Peace.\n\nThe truth is, some mens thirst after Novelties, others despair to\nrelieve the necessities of their Fortunes, or satisfie their Ambition\nin peaceable times, (distrusting Gods providence, as well as their own\nmerits) were the secret (but principal) impulsives to these popular\nCommotions, by which Subjects have been perswaded to expend much of\nthose plentifull Estates they got, and enjoyed under my Government\nin peaceable times; which yet must now be blasted with all the odious\nreproaches which impotent malice can invent; and my Self exposed to\nall those contempts, which may most diminish the Majesty of a King,\nand increase the ingratefull insolencies of my People.\n\nFor mine Honour, I am well assured, that as mine Innocency is clear\nbefore God, in point of any calumnies they object; so my Reputation\nshall like the Sun (after Owls and Bats have had their freedom in the\nnight and darker times) rise and recover it self to such a degree\nof splendour, as those ferall Birds shall be grieved to behold, and\nunable to bear. For never were any Princes more glorious, then those\nwhom God hath suffered to be tried in the fournace of afflictions, by\ntheir injurious Subjects.\n\nAnd who knows but the just and mercifull God will do me good, for some\nmens hard, false, and evill speeches against Me; wherein they speak\nrather what they wish, then what they beleeve, or know.\n\nNor can I suffer so much in point of Honour, by those rude and\nscandalous Pamphlets (which like fire in great conflagrations, fly\nup and down to set all places on like flames) as those men do, who\npretending to so much piety, are so forgetfull of their duty to God\nand Me: By no way ever vindicating the Majesty of their KING against\nany of those, who contrary to the precept of God, and precedent\nof Angels, _speak evil of dignities, and bring railing accusations\nagainst those_ who are honoured with the name of _Gods_.\n\nBut 'tis no wonder if men not fearing God, should not honour their\nKING.\n\nThey will easily contemn such shadows of God, who reverence not that\nSupreme and adorable Majestie, in comparison of whom all the glory of\nMen and Angels is but obscurity; yet hath he graven such Characters of\ndivine Authority, and sacred Power upon Kings, as none may without sin\nseek to blot them out. Nor shall their black veils be able to hide the\nshining of my face, while God gives me an heart frequently and humbly\nto converse with him, from whom alone are all the traditions of true\nglory and majestie.\n\n\n_Thou, O Lord, knowest my reproach, and my dishonour; my adversaries\nare all before thee._\n\n_My soul is among Lions, among them that are set on fire, even the\nsons of men; whose teeth are spears and arrows, their tongue a sharp\nsword._\n\n_Mine enemies reproach me all the day long, and those that are mad\nagainst me, are sworn together._\n\n_O my God, how long shall the sons of men turn my glory into shame?\nhow long shall they love vanity, and seek after lies?_\n\n_Thou hast heard the reproaches of wicked men on every side. Hold not\nthy peace, lest my Enemies prevail against me, and lay mine honour in\nthe dust._\n\n_Thou, O Lord, shalt destroy them that speak lies; the Lord will abhor\nboth the blood-thirsty and deceitfull men._\n\n_Make my righteousnesse to appear as the light, and mine innocencie to\nshine forth as the Sun at noon-day._\n\n_Suffer not my silence to betray mine innocence, nor my displeasure,\nmy patience; That after my Saviours example, being reviled, I may not\nrevile again; and being cursed by them, I may bless them._\n\n_Thou that wouldst not suffer_ Shimei's _tongue to go unpunished; when\nby thy judgements on_ David _he might seem to justifie his disdainfull\nreproaches, give me grace to intercede with thy mercy for these my\nenemies, that the reward of false and lying tongues, even hot burning\ncoales of eternall fire, may not be brought upon them._\n\n_Let my prayers, and patience, be as water to coole and quench their\ntongues, who are already set on fire with the fire of Hell, and\ntormented with those malitious flames._\n\n_Let me be happy to refute, and put to silence their evill speaking by\nwell-doing; and let them enjoy not the fruit of their lips, but of my\nprayer for their repentance, and thy pardon._\n\n_Teach me_ Davids _patience and_ Hezekiah's _devotion, that I may look\nto thy mercy through mans malice and see thy justice in their sin._\n\n_Let_ Sheba's _seditious speeches_, Rabshekah's _railing, and_\nShimei's _cursing, provoke, as my humble prayer to thee, so thy renued\nblessing towards me._\n\n_Though they curse, do thou bless, and I shall be blessed; and made a\nblessing to my people._\n\n_That the stone, which some builders refuse, may become the head-stone\nof the corner._\n\n_Look down from heaven, and save me, from the reproach of them that\nwould swallow me up._\n\n_Hide me in the secret of thy presence, from the pride of man, and\nkeep me from the strife of tongues._\n\n\n\n\n\n16. _Upon the Ordinance against the Common-Prayer Book._\n\n\nIt is no newes to have all Innovations ushered in with the name\nof Reformations in Church and State, by those, who seeking to gain\nreputation with the Vulgar for their extraordinary parts, and piety,\nmust needs undoe what ever was formerly setled never so well and\nwisely.\n\nSo hardly can the pride of those that study Novelties, allow former\ntimes any share or degree of wisedom or godliness.\n\nAnd because matter of prayer and devotion to God justly bears a great\npart in Religion, (being the soules more immediate converse with the\ndivine Majesty) nothing could be more plausible to the people then to\ntell them, they served God amiss in that point.\n\nHence our publike Liturgy, or Forms of constant Prayers must be (not\namended, in what upon free and publick advice might seem to sober men\ninconvenient for matter or manner, to which I should easily consent,\nbut) wholly cashiered, and abolished, and after many popular contempts\noffered to the Booke, and those that used it according to their\nconsciences, and the Lawes in force, it must be crucified by an\nOrdinance the better to please either those men, who gloried in their\nextemporary veine and fluency: or others, who conscious to their own\nformality in the use of it, thought they fully expiated their sin of\nnot using it aright, by laying all the blame upon it, and a totall\nrejection of it as a dead letter, thereby to excuse the deadness of\ntheir hearts.\n\nAs for the matter contained in the Book, sober and learned men have\nsufficiently vindicated it against the cavils and exceptions of those\nwho thought it a part of piety to make what profane objections they\ncould against it; especially for Popery and Superstition; whereas no\ndoubt the Liturgy was exactly conformed to the doctrine of the Church\nof _England_; & this by all Reformed Churches is confessed to be most\nsound and Orthodox.\n\nFor the manner of using set and prescribed Forms, there is no doubt\nbut that wholsome words being known and fitted to mens understandings,\nare soonest received into their hearts, and aptest to excite and carry\nalong with them judicious and fervent affections.\n\nNor doe I see any reason why Christians should be weary of a\nwell-composed Liturgie (as I hold this to be) more then of all other\nthings, wherein the constancy abates nothing of the excellency and\nusefulness.\n\nI could never see any Reason, why any Christian should abhor, or be\nforbidden to use the same Forms of prayer, since he prayes to the same\nGod, believes in the same Saviour, professeth the same Truths, reads\nthe same Scriptures, hath the same duties upon him, and feels the\nsame daily wants for the most part, both inward and outward, which are\ncommon to the whole Church.\n\nSure we may as well beforehand know what we pray, as to whom we pray;\nand in what word, as to what sense; when we desire the same things,\nwhat hinders we may not use the same words? our appetite and digestion\ntoo may be good, when we use, as we pray for, _our daily bread_.\n\nSome men, I hear, are so impatient not to use in all their devotions\ntheir own invention and gifts, that they not only disuse (as too many)\nbut wholly cast away and contemn the _Lords Prayer_: whose great guilt\nis, that it is the warrant and originall patern of all set Liturgies\nin the Christian Church.\n\nI ever thought that the proud ostentation of mens abilities for\ninvention, and the vain affectation of variety for expressions, in\npublike prayer, or any sacred administrations, merits a greater brand\nof sin, then that which they call coldness and Barrenness: Nor are men\nin those novelties less subject to formall and superficiall tempers,\n(as to their hearts) then in the use of constant Forms, where not the\nwords, but mens hearts are to blame.\n\nI make no doubt but a man may be very formall in the most extemporary\nvariety; & very fervently devout in the most wonted expressions: Nor\nis God more a God of variety, than of constancy: Nor are constant\nForms of prayers more likely to flat, and hinder the Spirit of Prayer\nand Devotion, than an unpremeditated and confused variety, to distract\nand lose it.\n\nThough I am not against a grave, modest, discreet, and humble use of\nMinisters gifts, even in publique, the better to fit, and excite their\nowne, and the peoples affections to the present occasions: yet I know\nno necessity why private and single abilities should quite justle out,\n& deprive the Church of the joynt abilities and concurrent gifts of\nmany learned and godly men; such as the Composers of the Service-Book\nwere; who may in all reason be thought to have more of gifts & graces\nenabling them to compose with serious deliberation & concurrent\nadvice, such Forms of prayers, as may best fit the Churches common\nwants, inform the Hearers understanding, and stir up that fiduciary\nand fervent application of their spirits (wherein consists the very\nlife and soul of prayer, and that so much pretended Spirit of prayer)\nthen any private man by his solitary abilities, can be presumed to\nhave; which, what they are many times (even there, where they make\na great noise and shew) the affectations, emptinesse, impertinency,\nrudenesse, confusions, flatnesse, levity, obscurity, vain and\nridiculous repetitions, the senslesse, and oft-times blasphemous\nexpressions; all these burthened with a most tedious and intolerable\nlength, do sufficiently convince all men, but those who glory in that\nPharisaick way.\n\nWherein men must be strangely impudent, and flatterers of themselves,\nnot to have an infinite shame of what they do and say, in things of so\nsacred a nature, before God and the Church, after so ridiculous, and\nindeed, profane a manner.\n\nNor can it be expected, but that in duties of frequent performance, as\nSacramentall administrations, and the like, which are still the same;\nMinisters must either come to use their own Forms constantly, which\nare not like to be so sound, or comprehensive of the nature of the\nduty, as forms of publike composure; or else they must every time\naffect new expressions when the subject is the same; which can hardly\nbe presumed in any mans greatest sufficiencies not to want (many\ntimes) much of that compleatnesse, order, and gravity, becoming those\nduties; which by this meanes are exposed at every celebration to every\nMinisters private infirmities, indispositions, errours, disorders, and\ndefects, both for judgement and expression.\n\nA serious sense of which inconvenience in the Church unavoidably\nfollowing every mans severall manner of officiating, no doubt, first\noccasioned the wisdome and piety of the Ancient Churches, to\nremedy those mischiefs, by the use of constant Liturgies of publike\ncomposure.\n\nThe want of which I believe this Church will sufficiently feel, when\nthe unhappy fruits of many mens ungoverned ignorance, and confident\ndefects, shall be discovered in more errours, schismes, disorders, and\nuncharitable distractions in Religion, which are already but too many,\nand the more is the pitie.\n\nHowever, if violence must needs bring in and abet those innovations,\n(that men may not seem to have nothing to do) which Law, Reason, and\nReligion forbids, at least to be so obtruded, as wholly to justle out\nthe publike Liturgy;\n\nYet nothing can excuse that most unjust and partiall severity of those\nmen, who either lately had subscribed to, used and maintained the\nService-book; or refused to use it, cried out of the rigour of Laws\nand Bishops, which suffered them not to use the Liberty of their\nConsciences in not using it.\n\nThat these men, (I say) should so suddenly change the Liturgy into a\nDirectory, as if the Spirit needed help for invention, though not\nfor expressions; or as if matter prescribed did not as much stint and\nobstruct the Spirit, as if it were cloathed in, and confined to fit\nwords (so slight & easie is that Legerdemain which will serve to\ndelude the vulgar.)\n\nThat further, they should use such severity as not to suffer without\npenalty, any to use the Common-Prayer-Book publikely, although their\nconsciences bind them to it, as a duty of Piety to God, and Obedience\nto the Laws.\n\nThus I see, no men are prone to be greater Tyrants, and more rigorous\nexactors upon others to conform to their illegall novelties, then\nsuch, whose pride was formerly least disposed to the obedience of\nlawfull Constitutions; and whose licentious humours most pretended\nconsciencious liberties, which freedome, with much regret, they now\nallow to Me, and My Chaplains, when they may have leave to serve Me,\nwhose abilities, even in their extemporary way comes not short of the\nothers, but their modesty and learning far exceeds the most of them.\n\nBut this matter is of so popular a nature, as some men knew it would\nnot bear learned and sober debates, lest being convinced by the\nevidence of Reason, as well as Laws, they should have been driven\neither to sin more against their knowledge, by taking away the\nLiturgie; or to displease some faction of the people, by continuing\nthe use of it.\n\nThough, I beleeve, they have offended more considerable men, not onely\nfor their numbers and estates, but for their weighty and judicious\npiety, then those are, whose weaknesse or giddinesse they sought to\ngratifie by taking it away.\n\nOne of the greatest faults some men found with the Common-Prayer-Book,\nI beleeve, was this, That it taught them to pray so oft for Me; to\nwhich Petitions they had not Loyaltie enough to say _Amen_, nor yet\nCharitie enough to forbear Reproaches, and even Cursings of Me in\ntheir own Forms, in stead of praying for Me.\n\nI wish their repentance may be their onely punishment; that seeing\nthe mischiefs, which the disuse of publick Liturgies hath already\nproduced, they may restore that credit, use and reverence to them,\nwhich by the ancient Churches were given to set Forms of sound and\nwholsom words.\n\n\n_And thou, O Lord, which art the same God, blessed for ever, whose\nMercies are full of varietie, and yet of constancie; Thou deniest us\nnot a new and fresh sense of our old and daily wants nor despisest\nrenewed affections joyned to constant expressions._\n\n_Let us not want the benefit of thy Churches united and well advised\nDevotions._\n\n_Let the matters of our praiers be agreeable to thy will which is\nalways the same, and the fervency of our spirits to the motions of thy\nholy Spirit in us._\n\n_And then we doubt not, but thy spirituall perfections are such as\nthou art neither to be pleased with affected Novelties for matter or\nmanner, nor offended with the pious constancy of our petitions in them\nboth._\n\n_Whose varietie or constancie thou hast no where either forbidden or\ncommanded but left them to the piety and prudence of thy Church, that\nboth may be used, neither despised._\n\n_Keep men in that pious moderation of their judgements in matters\nof Religion; that their ignorance may not offend others, nor their\nopinion of their own abilities tempt them to deprive others of what\nthey may lawfully and devoutly use, to help their infirmities._\n\n_And since the advantage of Error consists in novelty & variety, as\ntruths in unity and constancy: Suffer not thy Church to be pestered\nwith errours, and deformed with undecencies in thy service, under the\npretence of variety and noveltie. Nor to be deprived of truth,\nunitie, and order under this fallacy, That constancie is the cause of\nformality._\n\n_Lord, keepe us from formall Hypocrisie in our own Hearts, and then\nwe know that praying to thee, or praising of thee (with_ David, _and\nother Holy men) in the same formes cannot hurt us._\n\n_Give us wisdom to amend what is amiss within us, and there will be\nless to mend without us._\n\n_Evermore defend and deliver thy Church from the effects of blind\nzeale and over-bold devotion._\n\n\n\n\n\n17. _Of the differences between the_ KING _and the two Houses, in\nPoint of Church-Government._\n\n\nTouching the Government of the Church by Bishops, the common Jealousie\nhath been, that I am earnest and resolute to maintain it, not so much\nout of pietie, as policie, and reason of State.\n\nWherein so far indeed reason of State doth induce me to approve that\nGovernment above any other, as I find it impossible for a Prince to\npreserve the State in quiet, unlesse he hath such an influence upon\nChurch-men, and they such a dependance on Him, as may best restraine\nthe seditious exorbitancies of Ministers tongues; who with the Keyes\nof Heaven have so far the Keyes of the Peoples hearts, as they prevail\nmuch by their Oratory to let in, or shut out, both Peace and Loyalty.\n\nSo that I being (as King) intrusted by God, and the Lawes, with the\ngood both of Church and State; I see no Reason I should give up, or\nweaken by any change, that power and influence which in right and\nreason I ought to have over both.\n\nThe moving Bishops out of the House of Peers (of which I have elswhere\ngiven an account) was sufficient to take off any suspicion, that\nI inclined to them for any use to be made of their Votes in State\naffaires: Though indeed I never thought any Bishop worthy to sit in\nthat House, who would not Vote according to his Conscience.\n\nI must now in Charity be thought desirous to preserve that Government\nin its Right constitution, as a matter of Religion; wherein both my\njudgement is fully satisfied, that it hath of all other the fullest\nScripture grounds, and also the constant practise of all Christian\nChurches; till of late years, the tumultuarinesse of People, or the\nfactiousnesse and pride of Presbyters, or the covetousnesse of some\nStates and Princes, gave occasion to some mens wits to invent\nnew models, and propose them under suspicious titles of _Christs\ngovernment, Scepter, and Kingdom_; the better to serve their turns, to\nwhom the change was beneficiall.\n\nThey must give me leave, having none of their temptations to invite\nme to alter the Government of Bishops, (that I may have a title to\ntheir Estates) not to beleeve their pretended grounds to any new\nwaies: contrary to the full, and constant testimony of all Histories\nsufficiently convincing unbiased men; that as the Primitive Churches\nwere undoubtedly governed by the Apostles and their immediate\nSuccessours the first & best Bishops: so it cannot in reason or\ncharity be supposed, that all Churches in the world should either be\nignorant of the rule by them prescribed, or so soon deviate from their\ndivine & holy pattern: That since the first Age, for 1500 years not\none Example can be produced of any setled Church, wherein were many\nMinisters and Congregations, which had not some Bishop above them,\nunder whose jurisdiction and government they were.\n\nWhose constant and universall practise agreeing with so large and\nevident Scripture-directions, and examples, are set down in the\nEpistles to _Timothy_ and _Titus_, for the setling of that Government\nnot in the persons onely _Timothy_ and _Titus_, but in the succession;\n(the want of Government being that, which the Church can no more\ndispence with, in point of wel-being, then the want of the word and\nSacrament in point of being.)\n\nI wonder how men came to looke with so envious an eye upon Bishops\npower and authority, as to over-see both the Ecclesiasticall use\nof them, and Apostolicall constitution: which to me seems no lesse\nevidently set forth, as to the maine scope and designe of those\nEpistles, for the setling of a peculiar Office, Power, and Authority\nin them as President-Bishops above others, in point of Ordination,\nCensures, and other acts of Ecclesiasticall discipline; then those\nshorter characters of the qualities and duties of Presbyter-Bishops,\nand Deacons are described in some parts of the same Epistles; who\nin the latitude & community of the name were then, and may now not\nimproperly be called Bishops; as to the oversight and care of\nsingle Congregations, committed to them by the Apostles, or those\nApostolicall Bishops, who (as _Timothy_ and _Titus_) succeeded them,\nin that ordinary power, there assigned over larger divisions in which\nwere many presbyters.\n\nThe humility of those first Bishops avoiding the eminent title of\nApostles as a name in the Churches stile appropriated from its common\nnotion (_of a Messenger, or one sent_) to that speciall dignity, which\nhad extraordinary call, mission, gifts and power immediately from\nChrist: they contented themselves with the ordinary titles of Bishops\nand Presbyters, until Use (the great Arbitrator of words, and Master\nof language) finding reason to distinguish by a peculiar name those\npersons, whose Power and Office were indeed distinct from, and above\nall other in the Church, as succeeding the Apostles in the ordinary\nand constant power of governing the Churches, (the honour of whose\nname they moderately, yet commendably declined) all Christian Churches\n(submitting to that special Authority) appropriated also the name of\nBishop, without any suspicion or reproach of arrogancie, to those who\nwere by Apostolicall propagation rightly descended and invested into\nthat highest and largest power of governing even the most pure and\nPrimitive Churches: which, without all doubt, had many such holy\nBishops, after the pattern of _Timothy_ and _Titus_; whose special\npower is not more clearly set down in those Epistles (the chief\ngrounds and limits of all Episcopall claim, as from divine Right) then\nare the characters of these perilous times and those men that make\nthem such; who not enduring sound Doctrine, and clear testimonies\nof all Churches practice, are most perverse Disputers, and proud\nUsurpers, against true Episcopacy: who if they be not Traytours and\nBoasters, yet they seem to be very covetous, heady, high-minded;\ninordinate and fierce, lovers of themselves, having much of the form,\nlittle of the power of godlinesse.\n\nWho, by popular heaps of weak, light, and unlearned Teachers, seek\nto over-lay and smother the pregnancy & authority of that power of\nEpiscopall Government, which, beyond all equivocation and vulgar\nfallacy of names, is most convincingly set forth, both by Scripture,\nand all after Histories of the Church.\n\nThis I write rather like a Divine, then a Prince, that Posterity may\nsee (if ever these papers be publique) that I had faire grounds\nboth from Scripture-Canons, and Ecclesiasticall examples whereon my\njudgement was stated for Episcopall Government.\n\nNor was it any pollicy of State or obstinacy of will, or partiallity\nof affection, either to the men, or their Function which fixed me;\nwho cannot in point of worldly respects be so considerable to me as to\nrecompence the injuries and losses I and my dearest relations with\nmy Kingdomes have sustained, and hazarded, chiefly at first upon this\nquarrell.\n\nAnd not only in Religion, of which, Scripture is the best rule, and\nthe Churches Universall practise the best commentary, but also in\nright reason, and the true nature of Government, it cannot be thought,\nthat an orderly Subordination among Presbyters, or Ministers, should\nbe any more against Christianity, then it is in all secular and civill\nGovernments, where Parity breeds confusion and faction.\n\nI can no more beleeve, that such Order is inconsistent with true\nReligion, then good features are with beautie, or numbers with\nharmonie.\n\nNor is it likely that God, who appointed several Orders, and a\nPrelacy, in the Government of his Church among the Jewish Priests,\nshould abhor or forbid them amongst Christian Ministers; who have\nas much of the principles of Schism and division as other men; for\npreventing and suppressing of which, the Apostolical wisdom (which was\nDivine) after that Christians were multiplied to many Congregations,\nand Presbyters with them appointed this way of Government, which might\nbest preserve Order and Union with Authority.\n\nSo that, I conceive, it was not the favour of Princes, or ambition\nof Presbyters; but the wisdom and piety of the Apostles, that first\nsettled Bishops in the Church; which Authority they constantly used\nand enjoyned in those times, which were purest for Religion, though\nsharpest for Persecution.\n\nNot that I am against the managing of this Presidency and Authority in\none man, by the joynt Councell and consent of many Presbyters: I\nhave offered to restore that, as a fit meanes to avoid those Errours,\nCorruptions, and Partialities, which are incident to any one man: Also\nto avoid Tyranny, which becoms no Christians, least of all Church-men;\nbesides, it will be a means to take away that burden, and _odium_ of\naffairs, which may lie too heavy on one mans shoulders, as indeed I\nthink it formerly did on the Bishops here.\n\nNor can I see what can be more agreeable both to Reason and Religion,\nthen such a frame or Government which is paternall, not Magistericall;\nand wherein not onely the necessity of avoiding Faction and Confusion,\nEmulations and Contempts, which are prone to arise among equals in\npower and function; but also the differences of some Ministers gifts,\nand aptitudes for Government above others, doth invite to imploy them,\nin reference to those Abilities wherin they are Eminent.\n\nNor is this judgement of mine touching Episcopacy, any re-occupation\nof opinion, which will not admit any oppositions against it: It is\nwell known I have endeavoured to satisfie my self in what the chief\nPatrons for other wayes can say against this, or for theirs: And I\nfind they have, as far lesse of Scripture grounds, and of Reason; so\nfor examples, and practice of the Church, or testimonies of Histories,\nthey are wholly destitute; wherein the whole stream runs so for\nEpiscopacy, that there is not the least rivulet for any others.\n\nAs for those obtruded examples of some late reformed Churches (for\nmany retain Bishops still) whom necessity of Times and Affairs rather\nexcuseth, then commendeth for their inconformity to all Antiquity; I\ncould never see any reason why Churches orderly reformed, and governed\nby Bishops, should be forced to conform to those few, rather then\nto the catholick Example of all ancient Churches, which needed no\nReformation: And to those Churches at this day, who governed by\nBishops in all the Christian world, are many more then Presbyterians\nor Independents can pretend to be; All whom the Churches in my three\nKingdoms, lately Governed by Bishops, would equalize (I think) if not\nexceed.\n\nNor is it any point of wisdom or charitie, where Christians differ (as\nmany do in some points) there to widen the differences, and at once to\ngive all the Christian world (except an handfull of some Protestants)\nso great a scandall in point of Church-Government; whom, though you\nmay convince of their Errours in some points of Doctrine; yet you\nshall never perswade them, that to compleat their Reformation, they\nmust necessarily desert, and wholly cast off that Government, which\nthey, and all before them have ever owned as Catholick, Primitive,\nand Apostolical, so far, that never Schismaticks nor Hereticks (except\nthose Arrians) have strayed from the Unitie and Conformitie of the\nChurch in that point; ever having Bishops above Presbyters.\n\nBesides, the late generall approbation and submission to this\nGovernment of Bishops, by the Clergy, as well as the Laitie of\nthese Kingdomes, is a great confirmation of my Judgment; and their\ninconstancie is a great prejudice against their noveltie: I cannot\nin charity so far doubt of their Learning or Integrity, as if they\nunderstood not what heretofore they did; or that they did conform\ncontrary to their Consciences: So that their facility and levity is\nnever to be excused, who, before ever the point of Church-government\nhad any free & impartiall Debate, contrary to their former Oathes and\nPractice, against their obedience to the Lawes in force, and against\nmy Consent, have not onely quite cryed down the Government by Bishops;\nbut have approved and incouraged the violent and most illegall\nstripping all the Bishops, and many other Church-men, of all their due\nAuthority and Revenues, even to the selling away, and utter alienation\nof those Church-lands from any Ecclesiastical uses: So great a power\nhath the stream of times, and the prevalency of parties over some mens\njudgments; of whose so sudden and so total change, little reason can\nbe given, besides the _Scots_ Armie coming into _England_.\n\nBut the folly of these men will at last punish it self, and the\nDesertors of Episcopacy will appear the greatest Enemies to,\nand Betrayers of their own Interest: For Presbytery is never so\nconsiderable or effectuall, as when it is joyned to, and crowned with\nEpiscopacy. All Ministers wil find as great a difference in point of\nthriving, between the favour of the people, and of Princes, as plants\ndo between being watered by hand, or by the sweet and liberall dews of\nHeaven.\n\nThe tenuity and contempt of Clergy-men will soon let them see, what a\npoor carcasse they are, when parted from the influence of that Head,\nto whose Supremacy they have been sworn.\n\nA little moderation might have prevented great mischiefs. I am firm to\nprimitive Episcopacie, not to have it extirpated (if I can hinder it.)\nDiscretion without passion might easily reform what-ever the rust of\nTimes, or indulgence of Laws, or corruption of Manners have brought\nupon it. It being a grosse vulgar errour, to impute to, or revenge\nupon the Function, the faults of Times or Persons; which seditious and\npopular principle and practice all wise men abhor.\n\nFor these secular Additaments and Ornaments of Authority, Civil\nHonour and Estate, which my Predecessours and Christian Princes in all\nCountries have annexed to Bishops and Church-men; I look upon them but\nas just rewards of their learning and piety, who are fit to be in any\ndegree of Church-Government: also enablements to works of Charitie\nand Hospitality, meet strengthnings of their Authoritie in point of\nrespect and observance; which in peacefull Times is hardly paid to\nany Governours by the measure of their Vertues, so much, as by that of\ntheir Estates; Povertie and meanness exposing them and their Authority\nto the contempt of licentious mindes and manners, which persecuting\nTimes much restrained.\n\nI would have such men Bishops, as are most worthy of those\nencouragements, and best able to use them: if at any time my judgment\nof men failed, my good intention made my errour veniall: And some\nBishops, I am sure, I had, whose learning, gravitie, and pietie, no\nmen of any worth or forehead can deny: But, of all men, I would have\nChurch-men, especially the Governours, to be redeemed from that vulgar\nneglect; (which besides an innate principle of vitious opposition,\nwhich is in all men against those that seem to reprove, or restrain\nthem) will necessarily follow both the Presbyterian parity, which\nmakes all Ministers equall; and the Independent inferiority, which\nsets their Pastor below the People.\n\nThis for My judgment touching Episcopacy, wherein (Gods knows) I doe\nnot gratifie any design or passion with the least perverting of Truth.\n\nAnd now I appeal to God above, and all the Christian world, whether\nit be just for Subjects, or pious for Christians, by violence, and\ninfinite indignities, with servile restraints to seek to force Me\ntheir KING and Soveraign, as some men have endevoured to doe, against\nall these grounds of my Judgment, to consent to their weak and divided\nnovelties.\n\nThe greatest Pretender of them desires not more than I doe, That the\nChurch should be governed, as Christ hath appointed, in true Reason,\nand in Scripture; of which, I could never see any probable shew for\nany other waies: who either content themselves with the examples of\nsome Churches in their infancy and solitude; when one Presbyter might\nserve one Congregation, in a City or Countrey; or else they deny\nthese most evident Truths, That the Apostles were Bishops over Those\nPresbyters they ordained, as well as over the Churches they planted;\nand that Government being necessary for the Churches wel-being when\nmultiplied and sociated, must also necessarily descend from the\nApostles to others, after the example of that power and Superiority\nthey had above others: which could not end with their Persons, since\nthe use and ends of such Government still continue.\n\nIt is most sure, that the purest Primitive and best Churches\nflourished under Episcopacy; and may so still, if ignorance,\nsuperstition, avarice, revenge, and other disorderly and disloyal\npassions had not so blown up some mens minds against it, that what\nthey want of Reasons or primitive Patterns, they supply with violence\nand oppressions; wherein some mens zeal for Bishops Lands, Houses and\nRevenues hath set them on work to eat up Episcopacy: which (however\nother men esteem) to Me is no lesse sin then Sacriledge, or a robbery\nof God (the giver of all we have) of that portion which devout minds\nhave thankfully given again to him, in giving it to his Church and\nProphets; through whose hands he graciously accepts even a cup of cold\nwater, as a libation offered to himself.\n\nFurthermore, as to my particular Engagement above other men, by an\nOath agreeable to my judgement, I am solemnly obliged to preserve that\nGovernment, and the rights of the Church.\n\nWere I convinced of the unlawfullnesse of the Function, as\nAntichristian, (which some men boldly, but weakly calumniate) I could\nsoone, with Judgement, breake that Oath, which erroneously was taken\nby me.\n\nBut being daily by the best disquisition of truth, more confirmed in\nthe reason and Religion of that, to which I am sworn; How can any man\nthat wisheth not my damnation, perswade me at once to so notorious\nand combined sins, of Sacriledge & Perjury? besides the many personall\nInjustices I must doe to many worthy men, who are as legally invested\nin their Estates, as any, who seeke to deprive them; and they have\nby no Law, been convicted of those crimes, which might forfeit their\nEstates and Lively-hoods.\n\nI have often wondred how men pretending to tendernesse of Conscience\nand Reformation, can at once tell me, that my Coronation Oath binds\nme to Consent to whatsoever they shall propound to Me (which they\nurge with such violence) though contrary to all that Rationall and\nReligious freedom which every man ought to preserve, & of which they\nseem so tender in their own Votes: yet at the same time these men\nwill needs perswade Me. That I must, and ought to dispense with, and\nroundly break that part of my Oath, which binds Me (agreeable to the\nbest light of Reason and Religion I have) to maintain the Government,\nand legall Rights of the Church. 'Tis strange, my lot should be valid\nin that part, which both my Self, and all men in their own case,\nesteem injurious and unreasonable, as being against the very naturall\nand essentiall libertie of our Souls; yet it should be invalid, and\nto be broken in another clause, wherein I think my Self justly obliged\nboth to God and Man.\n\nYet upon this Rack chiefly have I been held so long, by some mens\nambitious Covetousnesse, and sacrilegious Cruelty; torturing (with Me)\nboth Church and State in Civill Dissentions, til I shall be forced\nto consent, and declare that I do approve, what (God knows) I utterly\ndislike, and in my Soul abhor, as many wayes highly against Reason,\nJustice, and Religion: and whereto, if I should shamefully and\ndishonorably give my consent; yet should I not by so doing, satisfie\nthe divided Interests and Opinions of those Parties, which contend\nwith each other, as well as both against Me and Episcopacy.\n\nNor can my late condescending to the _Scots_ in point of\nChurch-Government, be rightly objected against me, as an inducement\nfor me, to consent to the like in my other Kingdoms; For it should be\nconsidered, That Episcopacie was not so rooted and setled there, as\n'tis here; nor I (in that respect) so strictly bound to continue it in\nthat Kingdom, as in this; for what I think in my judgment best, I may\nnot think so absolutely necessary for all places, and at all times.\n\nIf any shall impute my yeelding to them as my failing and sin, I can\neasily acknowledge it; but that is no argument to do so again, or much\nworse; I being now more convinced in that point: nor indeed, hath my\nyeelding to them been so happy and successfull, as to encourage me to\ngrant the like to others.\n\nDid I see any thing more of Christ, as to Meeknesse, Justice, Order,\nCharity, and Loyaltie in those that pretended to other modes of\nGovernment, I might suspect my Judgment to be biassed, or fore-stalled\nwith some prejudice and wontednesse of opinion: but I have hitherto\nso much cause to suspect the contrary in the manners of many of those\nmen, that I cannot from them gain the least reputation for their new\nways of Government.\n\nNor can I find, that in any Reformed Churches (whose patterns are\nso cried up, and obtruded upon the Churches under my Dominion) that\neither Learning, or Religion, works of Piety or Charity, have\nso flourished beyond what they have done in my Kingdoms (by\nGods blessing) which might make me believe either Presbytery or\nIndependency have a more benigne influence upon the Church and mens\nhearts and lives, then Episcopacy in its right constitution.\n\nThe abuses of which, deserve to be extirpated, as much as the use\nretained; for I think it farre better to hold to primitive and\nuniforme Antiquity, then to comply with divided novelty.\n\nA right Episcopacy would at once satisfie all just desires and\ninterests of good Bishops, humble presbyters, and sober People; so as\nChurch affaires should be managed neither with tyrannie, paritie nor\npopularitie; neither Bishops ejected, nor presbyters dispised, nor\nPeople oppressed,\n\nAnd in this integrity both of my Judgement and Conscience, I hope God\nwill preserve me.\n\n\n_For thou, O Lord, knowest my uprightnesse, and tendernesse, as thou\nhast set me to be a Defender of the Faith, and a Protectour of thy\nChurch, so suffer me not by any violence, to be overborne against my\nConscience._\n\n_Arise O Lord, maintain thine own Cause, let not thy Church be\ndeformed, as to that Government, which derived from thy Apostles, hath\nbeen retained in purest and primitive times, till the Revenues of the\nChurch became the object of secular envie; Which seeks to rob it of\nall the incouragements of Learning and Religion._\n\n_Make me as the good Samaritan, compassionate and helpfull to thy\nafflicted Church; which some men have wounded and robb'd; others pass\nby without regard, either to pitie or relieve._\n\n_As my power was from thee, so give me grace to use it for thee._\n\n_And though I am not suffered to be Master of my other Rights as a_\nKING; _yet preserve me in that libertie of Reason, love of Religion,\nand thy Churches welfare which are fixed in my Conscience as a\nChristian._\n\n_Preserve from sacrilegious Invasions, those temporall blessings,\nwhich thy Providence hath bestowed on thy Church for thy glorie._\n\n_Forgive their sins and errours, who have deserved thy just\npermission, thus to let in the wilde Boar and subtil Foxes, to waste\nand deform thy Vineyard, which thy right hand hath planted, and the\ndew of heaven so long watered to a happy and flourishing estate._\n\n_O let me not bear the infamous brand to all Posteritie, of being the\nfirst Christian_ KING, _in this Kingdom, who should consent to the\noppression of thy Church, and the Fathers of it; whose errours I\nwould rather, with_ Constantine, _cover with silence, and reform with\nmeeknesse, then expose their persons, and sacred Functions to vulgar\ncontempt._\n\n_Thou, O Lord, seest how much I have suffered with, and for thy\nChurch; make no long tarrying O my God to deliver both me and it, from\nunreasonable men whose counsels have brought forth, and continue such\nviolent confusions, by a precipitant destroying the ancient boundaries\nof the Churches peace; thereby letting in all manner of errours,\nscismes and disorders._\n\n_O thou God of order, and of truth, in thy good time abate the malice,\nasswage the rage, and confound all the mischievous devises of thine,\nmine, and thy Churches enemies._\n\n_That I, and all that love thy Church, may sing prayses to thee, and\never magnifie thy salvation, even before the sons of men._\n\n\n\n\n\n18. _Upon_ Uxbridge _Treaty, and other Offers made by the_ KING.\n\n\nI looke upon the way of Treaties, as a retiring from fighting like\nbeasts, to arguing like men; whose strength should be more in their\nunderstandings, then in their limbs.\n\nAnd though I could seldom get opportunities to Treat, yet I never\nwanted either desire or disposition to it; having greater confidence\nof my Reason, then my Sword. I was so wholy resolved to yeild to the\nfirst, that I thought neither my self, not others, should need to use\nthe second, if once we rightly understood each other.\n\nNor did I ever think it a diminution of me, to prevent them with\nexpresses of my desires, and even importunities to Treat: It being an\noffice not only of humanity, rather to use Reason then Force; but also\nof Christianitie to _seek peace and ensue it_.\n\nAs I am very unwillingly compelled to defend my self with Armes, so I\nvery willingly embraced any thing tending to Peace.\n\nThe events of all War by the Sword being very dubious, and of a Civill\nwar uncomfortable; the end hardly recompencing, and late repairing the\nmischiefe of the means.\n\nNor did any successe I had ever enhaunce with me the price of Peace,\nas earnestly desired by me as any man; though I was like to pay dearer\nfor it then any man: All that I sought to reserve, was, mine Honour\nand my Conscience; the one I could not part with as a King, the other\nas a Christian.\n\nThe Treaty at _Uxbridg_ gave the fairest hopes of an happy composure;\nhad others applied themselves to it with the same moderation, as I\ndid, I am confident the war had then ended.\n\nI was willing to condescend, as far as Reason, Honour, and Conscience,\nwould give me leave: nor were the remaining differences so essentiall\nto my peoples happinesse, or of such consequence, as in the least kind\nto have hindred my Subjects either security or prosperity; for they\nbetter enjoyed both many yeers, before ever those demands were made;\nsome of which to deny, I think the greatest Justice to my Self, and\nfavour to my Subjects.\n\nI see Jealousies are not so easily allayed, as they are raised: Some\nmen are more afraid to retreat from violent Engagements, then to\nEngage: what is wanting in Equity, must be made up in Pertinacie. Such\nas had little to enjoy in Peace, or to lose in War, studied to render\nthe very name of _Peace_ odious and suspected.\n\nIn Church-affairs, where I had least libertie of prudence, having\nso many strict ties of Conscience upon me, yet I was willing to\ncondescend so farr to the setling of them, as might have given fair\nsatisfaction to all men, whom Faction, Covetousness, or Superstition\nhad not engaged, more then any true zeal, charity, or love of\nReformation.\n\nI was content to yeeld to all that might seem to advance true piety;\nI onely sought to continue what was necessary in point of Order,\nMaintenance, and Authority to the Churches Government; and what I am\nperswaded (as I have else-where set down my thoughts more fully) is\nmost agreeable to the true principles of all Government, raised to\nits full stature and perfection, as also to the primitive Apostolicall\npatterne, and the practice of the Universall Church conform therunto.\n\nFrom which wholly to recede, without any probable reason urged or\nanswered, only to satisfie some mens wills and fantasies (which yet\nagree not among themselves in any point, but that of extirpating\nEpiscopacy, and fighting against Me) must needs argue such a\nsoftnesse, and infirmity of mind in Me, as will rather part with Gods\nTruth, then mans Peace, and rather lose the Churches honour, then\ncrosse some mens factious humours.\n\nGod knows, and time will discover, who were most to blame for the\nun-successfulnesse of that Treaty, and who must bear the guilt of\nafter-calamities. I beleeve, I am very excusable both before God, and\nall unpassionate men, who have seriously weighed those transactions,\nwherein I endeavoured no lesse the restauration of peace to my people,\nthen the preservation of my own Crowns to my posterity.\n\nSome men have that height, as to interpret all faire condescendings as\narguments of feeblenesse, and glory most in an unflexible stifnesse,\nwhen they see others most supple and inclinable to them.\n\nA grand Maxime with them was alwayes to ask something, which in Reason\nand Honour must be denied, that they might have some colour to refuse\nall that was in other things granted; setting Peace at as high a rate,\nas the worst effects of Warr; endevouring first to make Me destroy My\nself by dishonourable Concessions, that so they might have the less to\ndo.\n\nThis was all which that Treaty, or any other produced, to let the\nworld see how little I would deny, or they grant, in order to the\npublick Peace.\n\nThat it gave occasion to some mens further restivenesse, is imputable\nto their own depraved tempers, not to any Concessions or negations\nof Mine: I have alwayes the content of what I offered, and they the\nregret and blame, for what they refused.\n\nThe highest tide of success set me not above a Treaty, nor the lowest\nebbe below a Fight: Though I never thought it any sign of true valour,\nto be prodigal of mens lives, rather then be drawne to produce our own\nReasons, or subscribe to other mens.\n\nThat which made me for the most part presage the unsuccesfulnesse of\nany Treaty, was, some mens unwillingnesse to Treat: which implied some\nthings were to be gained by the Sword, whose unseasonableness they\nwere loth to have fairly scanned, being more proper to be acted by\nSouldiers, then by Counsellours.\n\nI pray God forgive them that were guilty of that Treaties breaking:\nand give them grace to make their advantages gotten by the Sword a\nbetter opportunity to use such moderation as was then wanting; that so\nthough Peace were for our sins justly deferred, yet at last it might\nbe happily obtained; what we could not get by our Treaties, we may\ngaine by our prayers.\n\n\n_O thou, that art the God of Reason, and of Peace, who disdainest not\nto treat with Sinners, preventing them with offers of attonement,\nand beseeching them to be reconciled with thy selfe: who wantest not\nPower, or Iustice, to destroy them; yet aboundest in mercy to save:\nsoften our hearts by the bloud of our Redeemer, and perswade us to\naccept of Peace with thy self, and both to procure and preserve Peace\namong our selves, as Men and Christians. How oft have I entreated for\nPeace? but when I speak thereof, they make them ready to War._\n\n_Condemn us not to our passions, which are destructive both of our\nselves, and of others._\n\n_Cleer up our understandings to see thy Truth, both in reason, as Men;\nand in Religion, as Christians: and incline all our hearts to hold\nthe unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. Take from us that enmity\nwhich is now in our hearts against thee: and give us that charity\nwhich should be among our selves._\n\n_Remove the evils of war we have deserved, & bestow upon us that peace\nwhich only Christ our great Peace-maker can merit._\n\n\n\n\n\n19. _Upon the various events of the warre, victories, and defeats._\n\n\nThe various successes of this unhappy war, have at least, afforded me\nvariety of good meditations: sometimes God was pleased to try me with\nvictory, by worsting my enemies, that I might know how with moderation\nand thanks to own, and use his power, who is the onely true Lord of\nHosts, able when he pleases to represse the confidence of those who\nfought against mee with so great advantage for power and number.\n\nFrom small beginnings on my part, hee let me see, that I was not\nwholly for saken by my peoples love, or his protection.\n\nOther times God was pleased to exercise my patience, and teach me not\nto trust in the arm of Flesh, but in the living God.\n\nMy sins sometimes prevailed against the justice of my cause, and\nthose that were with me wanted not matter and occasion for his just\nchastisement both of them and Mee: Nor were My Enemies lesse punished\nby that prosperity which hardened them to continue that injustice by\nopen hostilitie, which was begun by most riotous and un-Parliamentary\nTumults.\n\nThere is no doubt but personall and private sins may oft-times\nover-balance the Justice of publick Engagements; nor doth God account\nevery gallant man (in the worlds esteem) a fit instrument to assert in\nthe way of War a righteous Cause: The more men are prone to arrogate\nto their own skill, valour, and strength, the lesse doth God\nordinarily work by them for his own glory.\n\nI am sure the event or successe can never state the Justice of any\nCause, nor the peace of mens Consciences, nor the eternall fate of\ntheir Souls.\n\nThose with Me had (I think) clearly and undoubtedly, for their\njustification, the Word of God, and the Lawes of the Land, together\nwith their own Oathes; all requiring obedience to my just Commands;\nbut to none other under Heaven without me, or against me in the point\nof raising Arms.\n\nThose on the other side are forced to flie to the shifts of some\npretended Fears, and wilde Fundamentals of State (as they call them)\nwhich actually overthrow the present fabrick both of Church and State;\nbeing such imaginary Reasons for self-defence as are most impertinent\nfor those men to alledge, who being my Subjects, were manifestly\nthe first assaulters of Me and the Laws: first, by unsuppressing the\nTumults, after by listed Forces: The same Allegations they use, will\nfit any Faction that hath but power and confidence enough to second\nwith the Sword all their Demands against the present Laws and\nGovernours; which can never be such as some side or other will not\nfind fault with, so as to urge what they call a Reformation of them to\na Rebellion against them: some parasitick Preachers have dared to call\nthose Martyrs, who died fighting against Me, the Laws, their Oaths,\nand the Religion established.\n\nBut sober Christians know, That glorious Title can with truth be\napplied onely to those, who sincerely preferred Gods Truth and their\nduty in all these particulars before their lives, and all that was\ndear to them in this world; who having no advantageous Designes by\nany Innovasion, were Religiously sensible of those ties to God, the\nChurch, and my Self, which lay upon their souls, both for obedience,\nand just assistance.\n\nGod could, and I doubt not but hee did through his mercy, crown many\nof them with eternall life, whose lives were lost in so just a Cause;\nthe destruction of their bodies being sanctified as a means to save\ntheir souls.\n\nTheir Wounds and temporal Ruine serving as a gracious opportunity for\ntheir eternall Health and Happinesse; while the evident approach of\ndeath, through Gods grace, effectually dispose their hearts to such\nHumilitie, Faith, and Repentance, which together with the Rectitude of\ntheir present Engagement, would fully prepare them for a better life\nthen that which their enemies brutish and disloyall fiercenesse could\ndeprive them of; or without repentance hope to enjoy.\n\nThey have often, indeed, had the better against my side in the\nField, but never, I beleeve at the Bar of Gods Tribunal, or their\nown Consciences; where they are more afraid to encounter those many\npregnant Reasons, both for Law, Allegiance, and all true Christian\ngrounds, which conflicts _with_, and accuse them _in_ their own\nthoughts, then they oft were in a desperate bravery to fight against\nthose Forces which sometimes God gave me.\n\nWhose condition conquered, and dying, I make no question, but is\ninfinitely more to be chosen by a sober man (that duly values his\nduty, his soul and eternity, beyond the enjoyment of this present\nlife) then the most triumphant glory, wherein their and mine Enemies\nsupervive; who can hardly avoid to be daily tormented by that horrid\nguilt, wherewith their suspicious, or now convicted Consciences do\npursue them, especially since they and all the world have seen, how\nfalse and unintended those pretensions were, which they first set\nforth, as the onely plausible (though not justifiable) grounds of\nraising a War, and continuing it thus long against Me, and the Laws\nestablished; in whose safety and preservation all honest men think the\nwelfare of their Country doth consist.\n\nFor, and with all which, it is far more honourable and comfortable to\nsuffer, then to prosper in their ruine and subversion.\n\nI have often prayed, that all on my side might join true pietie with\nthe sense of their Loyalty; and be as faithfull to God and their own\nsouls, as they were to Me; That the defects of the one might not blast\nthe endeavours of the other.\n\nYet I cannot think, that any shews of truth of piety on the other\nside were sufficient to dispence with, or expiate the defects of their\ndutie and Loyaltie to Me, which have so pregnant convictions on mens\nconsciences, that even profaner men are moved by the sense of them to\nventure their lives for Me.\n\nI never had any Victory which was without My sorrow, because it was\non Mine own Subjects, who, like _Absolom_, died many of them in their\nsin: And yet I never suffered any Defeat which made Me despair of Gods\nmercy and defence.\n\nI never desired such victories, as might serve to conquer, but only\nrestore the Laws and Liberties of My people; which I saw were extremly\noppressed, together with my rights, by those men, who were impatient\nof any just restraint.\n\nWhen Providence gave Me, or denied Me Victory, my desire was never to\nboast of my power nor to charge God foolishly; who I believed at last\nwould make all things to work together for my good.\n\nI wished no greater advantages by the War, then to bring my Enemies to\nmoderation, and my Friends to peace.\n\nI was afraid of the temptation of an absolute conquest, and never\nprayed more for Victory over others, then over my self. When the first\nwas denied, the second was granted me, which God saw best for me.\n\nThe different events were but the methods of divine justice, by\ncontrary winds to winow us: That, by punishing our sins, he might\npurge them from us; and by deferring peace, he might prepare us more\nto prize, and better to use so great a blessing.\n\nMy often Messages for Peace shewed, that I delighted not in Warre; as\nmy former Concessions sufficiently testified, how willingly I would\nhave prevented it; and My totall unpreparedness for it, how little _I_\nintended it.\n\nThe Conscience of my Innocence forbad Me to fear a Warr; but the love\nof my Kingdoms commanded me (if possible) to avoid it.\n\nI am guilty in this War of nothing but this, That I gave such\nadvantages to some men, by confirming their power, which they knew not\nto use with that modesty and gratitude, which became their loyalty and\nMy confidence.\n\nHad I yeelded lesse, I had been opposed lesse; had I denied more, I\nhad been more obeyed.\n\n'Tis now too late to review the occasions of the War; I wish only a\nhappy conclusion of so unhappy beginnings: The inevitable fate of our\nsins was (no doubt) such, as would no longer suffer the divine Justice\nto be quiet: we having conquered this patience, are condemned by\nmutuall conquerings, to destroy one another: for, the most prosperous\nsuccesses on either side, impair the welfare of the whole.\n\nThose Victories are still miserable, that leave our sins unsubdued;\nflushing our pride, and animating to continue injuries.\n\nPeace is not it self desirable, till repentance hath prepared us for\nit.\n\nWhen we fight more against our selves, and lesse against God, we shall\ncease fighting against one another; I pray God these may all meet\nin our hearts, and so dispose us to an happy conclusion of these\nCivil-Wars; that I may know better to obey God, and govern my people,\nand they may learn better to obey both God and me.\n\nNor do _I_ desire any man should be further subject to me, then all of\nus may be subject to God.\n\n\n_O my God, make me content to be overcome, when thou wilt have it so._\n\n_Teach me the noblest victory over my self and my enemies by patience,\nwhich was Christs conquest, and may well become a Christian King._\n\n_Between both thy hands, the right sometimes supporting, and the left\nafflicting, fashion us to that frame of Piety thou likest best._\n\n_Forgive the pride that attends our prosperous, and the repinings\nwhich follow our disastrous events; when going forth in our own\nstrength thou withdrawest thine, and goest not forth with our Armies._\n\n_Be thou all, when we are something, and when we are nothing; that\nthou mayest have the glory, when we are in a Victorious, or inglorious\ncondition._\n\n_Thou O Lord knowest, how hard it is for me to suffer so much evill\nfrom my Subjects, to whom I intend nothing but good; and I cannot\nbut suffer in those evils which they compel me to inflect upon them;\npunishing my self in their punishments._\n\n_Since therefore both in conquering, and being conquered, I am still\na Sufferer: I beseech thee to give me a double portion of thy Spirit,\nand that measure of grace, which only can be sufficient for me._\n\n_As I am most afflicted, so make me most reformed: that I may not be\nonly happy to see an end of those civill distractions, but a chief\nInstrument to restore and establish a firm, and blessed Peace to my\nKingdoms._\n\n_Scirre up all Parties pious ambitions to overcome each other with\nreason, moderation, and such self-deniall, as becomes those, who\nconsider that our mutuall divisions are our common distractions, and\nthe Union of all is every good mans chiefest interest._\n\n_If O Lord, as for the sins of our peace, thou hast brought upon us\nthe miseries of War: so for the sins of War thou shouldst see fit\nstill to deny us the blessing of peace, and so to keep us in a\ncirculation of miseries: yet give me thy Servant, and all Loyall,\nthough afflicted Subjects, to enjoy that peace which, the world can\nnether give to us, nor take from us._\n\n_Impute not to me the blood of my Subjects, which with infinite\nunwillingness and griefe, hath been shed by me, in my just & necessary\ndefence: but wash me with that precious blood, which hath been shed\nfor me, by my great Peacemaker, Jesus Christ; Who will, I trust,\nredeem me shortly out of all my troubles: for, I know the triumphing\nof the Wicked is but short, and the joy of Hypocrites is but for a\nmoment._\n\n\n\n\n\n20. _Upon the Reformation of the Times._\n\n\nNo Glory is more to be envied then that of due reforming either\nChurch or State, when deformities are such, that the perturbation and\nnoveltie are not like to exceed the benefit of Reforming.\n\nAlthough God should not honour me so far, as to make me an Instrument\nof so good a work, yet _I_ should be glad to see it done.\n\nAs I was well pleased with this Parliaments first intentions to reform\nwhat the indulgence of Times, and corruption of manners might have\ndepraved; so I am sorry to see after the freedom of Parliament was by\nfactious Tumults oppressed, how little regard was had to the good Laws\nestablished, and the Religion setled; which ought to be the first\nrule and standard of Reforming: with how much partiality and popular\ncompliance the passions and opinions of men have been gratified,\nto the detriment of the Publick, and the infinite scandall of the\nreformed Religion?\n\nWhat dissolutions of all Order and Government in the Church? what\nnovelties of Schism, and corrupt opinions? what undecencies and\nconfusions in sacred Administrations? what sacrilegious Invasions upon\nthe Rights and Revenues of the Church? what contempt and oppressions\nof the Clergie? what injurious diminutions and persecutings of Me\nhave followed (as showers do warm gleams) the talk of Reformation, all\nsober men are Witnesses, and with my self, sad Spectators hitherto.\n\nThe great miscarriage (I think) is, that popular clamours and fury\nhave been allowed the reputation of zeal, and the Publick sense; so\nthat the studies to please some Parties, hath indeed injured all.\n\nFreedom, Moderation and Impartiality are sure the best tempers of\nreforming Counsels and endeavours; what is acted by Factions, cannot\nbut offend more then it pleaseth.\n\nI have offered to put all differences in Church affairs and Religion\nto the free consultation of a Synod or Convocation rightly chosen; the\nresults of whose Councels, as they would have included the Votes of\nall, so its like they would have given most satisfaction to all.\n\nThe Assembly of Divines, whom the two Houses have applied (in an\nunwonted way) to advise of Church affairs, I dislike not farther, then\nthat they are not legally convened and chosen; nor act in the name of\nall the Clergy of _England_; nor with freedom and impartiality can\ndo any thing, being limited and confined, if not overawed, to do and\ndeclare what they do.\n\nFor I cannot think so many men cried up for learning and piety,\nwho formerly allowed the Liturgy and Government of the Church of\n_England_, as to the main, would have so suddenly agreed quite\nto abolish both of them, (the last of which, they know to be of\nApostolicall institution, at least; as of Primitive and Universall\npractice) if they had been left to the liberty of their own\nsuffrages, and if the influence of contrary factions had not by secret\nencroachments of hopes and fears, prevailed upon them, to comply with\nso great and dangerous Innovations in the Church; without any regard\nto their own former judgment and practice, or to the common interest\nand honour of all the Clergy, and in them of Order, learning, and\nReligion against examples of all Ancient Churches; the Lawes in force\nand my consent; which is never to be gained, against so pregnant\nlight, as in that point shines on my understanding.\n\nFor I conceive, that where the Scripture is not so clear and punctuall\nin precepts, there the constant and Universall practice of the Church,\nin things not contrary to Reason, Faith, good Manners, or any positive\nCommand, is the best rule that Christians can follow.\n\nI was willing to grant, or restore to Presbytery, what with Reason or\nDiscretion it can pretend to, in a conjuncture with Episcopacy; but\nfor that wholy to invade the Power, and by the Sword to arrogate, and\nquite abrogate the Authority of that Ancient Order, I thinke neither\njust, as to episcopacy, nor safe for Presbytery; nor yet any way\nconvenient for this Church or State.\n\nA due reformation had easily followed moderate Counsels: and such (I\nbeleeve) as would have given more content, even to the most of those\nDivines, who have been led on with much Gravity and formality, to\ncarry on other mens designes which no doubt many of them by this time\ndiscover, though they dare not but smother their frustrations and\ndiscontents.\n\nThe specious and popular Titles of Christs Government, Throne,\nScepter, and Kingdom, (which certainly is not divided, nor hath\ntwo faces, as their parties now have at least) also the noise of a\nthorow-Reformation, these may as easily be fined on new models, as\nfair colours may be put to ill-favoured Figures.\n\nThe breaking of Church-windows, which time had sufficiently defaced;\npulling down of Crosses, which were but Civill, not Religious marks;\ndefacing of Monuments, and Inscriptions of the dead, which served but\nto put Posterity in minde, to thank God for that clearer light wherein\nthey live: The leaving of Ministers to their liberties, and private\nabilities in the publick service of God, where no Christian can tell\nto what hee may say _Amen_; nor what adventure he may make of seeming,\nat least, to consent to the Errours, Blasphemies, and ridiculous\nUndecencies which bold and ignorant men list to vent in their\nPrayers, Preaching, and other Offices; Their setting forth also of old\nCatechisms, and Confessions of Faith new drest, importing as much, as\nif there had been no sound or cleer Doctrine of Faith in this Church,\nbefore some four or five yeers consultation had matured their thoughts\ntouching their first principles of Religion.\n\nAll these and the like are the effects of popular, specious, and\ndeceitfull Reformations, (that they might not seem to have nothing to\ndo) and may give some short flashes of content to the Vulgar, (who are\ntaken with novelties, as children with babies, very much, but not very\nlong) but all this amounts not to, nor can in justice merit the glory\nof the Churches thorow-Reformation; since they leave all things more\ndeformed, disorderly, and discontented then when they began, in point\nof Piety, Morality, Charity, and good Order.\n\nNor can they easily recompence or remedie the inconveniences and\nmischiefs which they have purchased so dearly, and which have, and\nwill ever necessarily ensue, till due remedies be applied.\n\nI wish they would at last make it their unanimous work to do Gods\nwork, and not their own: Had Religion been first considered (as it\nmerited) much trouble might have been prevented.\n\nBut some men thought, that the Government of this Church and State,\nfixed by so many Lawes, and long Customes, would not run into their\nnew moulds, till they had first melted it in the fire of a Civil Warr;\nby the advantages of which they resolved, if they prevailed, to make\nmy Self and all my Subjects fall down and worship the Images they\nshould form and set up. If there had been as much of Christs Spirit,\nfor meeknesse, wisdom and charitie in mens hearts, as there was of his\nname used in the pretensions to reform all to Christs Rule, it would\ncertainly have obtained more of Gods blessing, and produced more of\nChrists Glory, the Churches good, the honour of Religion, and the\nunity of Christians.\n\nPublick Reformers had need first act in private, and practice that on\ntheir own hearts, which they purpose to try on others; for Deformities\nwithin will soon betray the pretenders of publick Reformations to such\nprivate designs, as must needs hinder the publick good.\n\nI am sure, the right Methods of Reforming the Church, cannot subsist\nwith that of perturbing the Civil State; nor can Religion be justly\nadvanced by depressing Loyaltie, which is one of the chiefest\nIngredients, and Ornaments of true Religion: for next to _Fear God_,\nis, _Honour the King_.\n\nI doubt not but Christs Kingdom may be set up without pulling down\nmine; nor will any men in impartiall times appear good Christians,\nthat approve not them selves good Subjects.\n\nChrists Government will confirm Mine, not overthrow it, since as I\nown Mine from Him, so I desire to rule for his Glory, and his Churches\ngood.\n\nHad some men truly intended Christs Government, or knew what it meant\nin their hearts, they could never have been so ill governed in their\nwords and actions, both against Me, and one another.\n\nAs good ends cannot justifie evill means; so nor will evill beginnings\never bring forth good conclusions: unless God by a miracle of Mercie\ncreate Light out of Darknesse, Order out of our Confusions, and peace\nout of our passions.\n\n\n_Thou, O Lord, who onely canst give us beauty for ashes, and Truth for\nHypocrisie; suffer us not to be miserably deluded with Pharisaicall\nwashings, in stead of Christian reformings._\n\n_Our greatest diformities are within; make us the severest Censurers,\nand first Reformers of our own souls._\n\n_That we may in clearnesse of judgment, and uprightnesse of heart be\nmeans to reform what is indeed amisse in Church and State._\n\n_Create in us clean hearts, O Lord, and renew right spirits within\nus; that we may do all by thy directions, to thy glory, and with thy\nblessing. Pity the deformities, which some rash & cruel Reformers have\nbrought upon this Church and State: Quench the fires which factions\nhave kindled, under the pretence of Reforming._\n\n_As thou hast shewed the world by their divisions, and confusions,\nwhat is the pravity of some mens intentions, and weaknesse of their\njudgements; so bring us at last more refined out of these fires, by\nthe methods of Christian and charitable reformations; wherein nothing\nof ambition, revenge, coveteousnes, or sacriledge, may have any\ninfluence upon their counsels, whom thy providence in just and lawfull\nwayes shall entrust with so great, good, and now most necessary a\nwork: That I and my people may be so blest with inward piety, as may\nbest teach us how to use the blessings of outward peace._\n\n\n\n\n\n21. _Upon his Majesties Letters taken and divulged._\n\n\nThe taking of My Letters was an opportunity, which, as the malice of\nMine ENEMIES could hardly have expected; so they know not how with\nhonour and civility to use it: Nor do I thinke with sober and worthy\nminds any thing in them, could tend so much to my reproach, as the\nodious divulging of them did to the infamy of the Divulgers: The\ngreatest experiments of Vertue and Noblenesse being discovered in the\ngreatest advantages against an enemy, and the greatest obligations\nbeing those, which are put upon us by them, from whom we could least\nhave expected them.\n\nAnd such I should have esteemed the concealing of my Papers; the\nfreedom and secresie of which, commands a civility from all men, not\nwholly barbarous; nor is there any thing more inhumane then to expose\nthem to publick view.\n\nYet since Providence will have it so, I am content so much of My heart\n(which I study to approve to Gods omniscience) should be discovered\nto the world without any of those dresses or popular captations which\nsome men use in their Speeches and Expresses; I wish My Subjects had a\ncleerer sight into My most retired Thoughts.\n\nWhere they might discover, how they are divided between the love and\ncare I have, not more to preserve My own Rights, then to procure their\nPeace and Happinesse, and that extreme grief to see them both deceiv'd\nand destroyed.\n\nNor can any mens malice be gratified further by My Letters, than to\nsee my constancy to my Wife, the Laws, and Religion. Bees will gather\nhoney where the Spider sucks Poyson.\n\nThat I endeavour to avoid the pressures of my Enemies, by all fair\nand just correspondences; no man can blame, who loves Me, or\nthe Common-wealth, since my Subjects can hardly be happy if I be\nmiserable, or enjoy their Peace and Liberties while I am oppressed.\n\nThe world may see how soon mens designe, like _Absoloms_, is by\nenormous actions to widen differences, and exasperate all sides to\nsuch distances, as may make all Reconciliation desperate.\n\nYet I thank God, I can not only with patience bear this, as other\nindignities, but with charity forgive them.\n\nThe integrity of my intentions is not jealous of any injury my\nexpressions can do them, for although the confidence of privacy may\nadmit of greater freedome in writing such letters, which may be liable\nto envious exceptions; yet the innocency of my chief purposes cannot\nbe so obtained, or mis-interpreted by them, as not to let all men see,\nthat I wish nothing more then a happy composure of differences with\nJustice & Honor, nor more to My own, then My peoples content, who have\nany sparks of Love or Loyalty left in them: who, by those my Letters\nmay be convinced that I can both mind and act My own, and My Kingdomes\nAffaires, so as becomes a Prince; which Mine Enemies have alwayes been\nvery loth should be beleeved of me, as if I were wholly confined to\nthe Dictates and Directions of others; whom they please to brand with\nthe names of Evil Counsellours.\n\nIts probable some men will now look upon me as my own Counsellour,\nand having none else to quarrell with under that notion, they will\nhereafter confine their anger to my self: Although I know they are\nvery unwilling I should enjoy the liberty of my own thoughts, or\nfollow the light of my own Conscience, which they labour to bring into\nan absolute captivitie to themselves; not allowing me to think their\nCounsels to be other then good for me, which have so long maintained a\nWar against Me.\n\nThe Victory they obtained that day, when my Letters became their\nprize, had been enough to have satiated the most ambitious thirst\nof popular glory among the Vulgar; with whom prosperity gaines the\ngreatest esteem and applause as adversity exposeth to their greatest\nsleighting and dis-respect: As if good fortune were alwayes the shadow\nof Vertue and Justice, and did not oftner attend vitious and injurious\nactions, as to this world.\n\nBut I see no secular advantages seem sufficient to that cause, which\nbegan with Tumults, and depends chiefly upon the reputation with the\nvulgar.\n\nThey think no Victories so effectual to their designs, as those that\nmost rout and waste My Credit with My People; in whose hearts they\nseek by all means to smother and extinguish all sparks of Love,\nRespect and Loyaltie to Me, that they may never kindle again, so as to\nrecover Mine, the Laws & the Kingdoms Liberties, which some men\nseek to overthrow: The taking away of my Credit, is but a necessary\npreparation to the taking away of my Life and my Kingdoms; first\nI must seem neither fit to Live, nor worthy to Reign: By exquisite\nmethods of cunning & crueltie, I must be compelled, first to follow\nthe Funerals of my Honor, and then be destroyed: But I know Gods\nun-erring and impartial justice can & will over rule the most perverse\nwils and designs of men; he is able, and (I hope) will turn even the\nworst of mine Enemies thoughts and actions to my good.\n\nNor do I think, that by the surprize of my Letters, I have lost any\nmore then so many papers: how much they have lost of that reputation,\nfor Civility and Humanity (which ought to be paid to all men, and\nmost becomes such as pretend to Religion) besides that of Respect and\nHonor, which they owe to their KING, present, and after-times will\njudge. And I cannot think that their own consciences are so stupid,\nas not to inflict upon them some secret impressions of that shame &\ndishonor which attends all unworthy actions have they never so much of\npublick flattery and popular countenance.\n\nI am sure they can never expect the divine approbation of such\nindecent actions, if they do but remember how God blest the modest\nrespect & filial tenderness which _Noah's_ Sons bare to their Father;\nnor did his open infirmity justifie _Cham's_ impudency, or exempt him\nfrom that curse of being _Servant of Servants_; which curse must needs\nbe on them who seek by dishonorable actions to please the Vulgar, and\nconfirm by ignoble acts, their dependance upon the People.\n\nNor can their malitious intentions be ever either excusable or\nprosperous, who thought to expose me to the highest reproach &\ncontempt of my People, forgetting that duty of modest concealment\nwhich they owed to the Father of their Country, in case they had\ndiscovered any real uncomliness, which, I thank God they did not; who\ncan, and I believe hath made Me more respected in the hearts of many\n(as he did _David_) to whom they thought, by publishing my private\nLetters, to have rendred me as a vile Person, not fit to be trusted or\nconsidered, under any Notion of Majesty.\n\n\n_But thou, O Lord, whose wise and all disposing Providence ordereth\nthe greatest contingences of humane affairs, make me to see the\nconstancie of thy mercies to me, in the greatest advantages thou\nseemest to give the malice of my Enemies against me._\n\n_As thou didst blast the council of_ Achitophel _turning it to_ Davids\n_good and his own ruine: so canst thou defeat their Designe, who\nintended by publishing my private Letters, nothing else but to render\nme more odious and contemptible to my People._\n\n_I must first appeal to thy Omniscience, who canst witnesse my\nintegritie, how unjust and false those scandalous misconstructions\nare, which my Enemies endevour by those papers of mine to represent\nunto the world._\n\n_Make the evil they imagined, and displeasure they intended thereby\nagainst me, so to return on their own heads, that they may be ashamed,\nand covered with their own confusion as with a cloak._\n\n_Thou seest how mine Enemies use all means to cloud mine Honour, to\npervert my purposes, and to slander the footsteps of thine Annointed._\n\n_But give me an heart content to be dishonoured for thy sake, and thy\nChurches good._\n\n_Fix in me a purpose to honour thee, and then I know thou wilt honour\nme, either by restoring to me the enjoyment of that Power and Majesty,\nwhich thou hast suffered some men to seek to deprive me of; or by\nbestowing on me that Crown of Christian patience, which knows how to\nserve thee in honour or dishonour, in good report or evil._\n\n_Thou, O Lord, art the fountain of goodness and honour; thou art\ncloathed with excellent Majesty; make me to partake of thy excellency\nfor wisdom, justice and mercy, and I shall not want that degree of\nHonour and Majestie which becomes the Place in which thou hast set me;\nwho art the lifter up of my head, and my Salvation._\n\n_Lord, by thy Grace, lead me to thy Glory, which is both true and\neternall._\n\n\n\n\n\n22. _Upon His Majesties Leaving_ Oxford, _and going to the_ Scots.\n\n\nAlthough God hath given me three Kingdoms, yet in these He hath not\nnow left me any place where I may with safety & Honor rest my head:\nshewing me that himself is the safest Refuge, and the strongest Tower\nof defence, in which I may put my trust.\n\nIn these extremities, I look not to man so much as to God: He will\nhave it thus, that I may cast my self, and my now distressed Affairs\nupon his mercy, who hath both hearts and hands of all men in his\ndispose.\n\nWhat Providence denies to Force, it may grant to Prudence; Necessity\nis now my Counsellor, and commands Me to study My safety by a\ndisguised withdrawing from my chiefest strength, and adventuring upon\ntheir Loyalty, who first began my troubles. Happily, God may make them\na means honorable to compose them.\n\nThis my confidence of them, may dis-arm & overcom them; my rendring\nmy person to them, may engage their affection to me, who have oft\nprofessed, _They fought not against me, but for me_.\n\nI must now resolve the riddle of their Loyalty: and give them\nopportunity to let the world see, they mean not what they do, but what\nthey say.\n\nYet must God be my chiefest Guard; and my Conscience both my\nCounsellor and my Comforter: Though I put my body into their hands,\nyet I shall reserve my soul to God and my self; nor shall any\nnecessities compell me, to desert mine honour, or swerve from my\nJudgement.\n\nWhat they fought to take by force, shall now be given them in such a\nway of unusuall confidence of them, as may make them ashamed not to be\nreally such as they ought, and professed to be.\n\nGod sees it not enough to desert me of all Military power to defend my\nSelf, but to put me upon using their power, who seem to fight against\nme, yet ought in duty to defend me.\n\nSo various are all humane affairs, & so necessitous may the state\nof Princes be, that their greatest danger may be in their supposed\nsafety, and their safety in their supposed danger.\n\nI must now leave those that have Adhered to me, and apply to those\nthat have Opposed me; this method of Peace may be more prosperous\nthen that of War, both to stop the effusion of bloud, & to close those\nwounds already made: and in it I am no less solicitous for my Friends\nsafety, then mine own; chusing to venture my Self upon further\nhazards, rather then expose their resolute Loyaltie to all\nextremities.\n\nIt is some skil in play to know when a game is lost; better fairly to\ngive over, then to contest in vain.\n\nI must now study to re-inforce my Judgment, and fortifie my mind\nwith Reason and Religion, that I may not seem to offer up my Souls\nlibertie, or make my Conscience their Captive; who ought at first to\nhave used Arguments, not Arms, to have perswaded my consent to their\ndemands.\n\nI thank God, no success darkens or disguises Truth to me; and I shall\nno less conform my words to my inward dictates now, then if they had\nbeen as the words of a KING ought to be among loyal Subjects, _full of\npower_.\n\nReason is the divinest power. I shall never think my Self weakned,\nwhile I may make full and free use of that. No ecclipse of outward\nFortune shall rob me of that light: what God hath denied of outward\nstrength, his grace, I hope, will supply with inward resolutions; not\nmorositie to deny, what is fit to be granted; but not to grant any\nthing which Reason and Religion bids me denie.\n\nI shall never think my Self less then my Self, while I am able thus to\npreserve the integrity of my Conscience, the only Jewel now left me,\nwhich is worth keeping.\n\n\n_O thou Soveraign of our Souls, the onely Commander of our\nConsciences; though I know not what to do, yet mine eyes are toward\nthee: To the protection of thy mercy I still commend my self._\n\n_As thou hast preserved me in the day of Battell, so thou canst still\nshew me thy strength in my weaknesse._\n\n_Be thou unto me in my darkest night a pillar of fire, to enlighten\nand direct me; in the day of my hottest affliction, be also a pillar\nof cloud to over-shadow and protect me; be to me both a Sun and a\nShield._\n\n_Thou knowest, that it is not any perverseness of will, but just\nperswasions of Honour, Reason, and Religion, which have made me thus\nfar to hazard my Person, Peace, and Safetie, against those that by\nforce have sought to wrest them from me._\n\n_Suffer not my just resolutions to abate with my outward Forces; let a\ngood Conscience alwaies accompany me in my solitude and desertions._\n\n_Suffer me not to betray the powers of Reason, and that fortresse of\nmy Soul which I am entrusted to keep for thee._\n\n_Lead me in the paths of thy righteousnesse, and shew me thy\nsalvation._\n\n_Make my waies to please thee, and then thou wilt make mine enemies to\nbe at peace with me._\n\n\n\n\n\n23. _Upon the_ Scots _delivering the_ KING _to the_ English, _and His\nCaptivity at_ Holmeby.\n\n\nYet may I justifie those _Scots_ to all the world in this. That they\nhave not deceived me; for I never trusted to them further then to men:\nif I am sold by them, I am only sorry they should do it: and that My\nprice should be so much above My Saviors.\n\nThese are but further Essays which God will have Me make of mans\nuncertainty, the more to fix Me on himself, who never faileth them\nthat trust in him; though the Reeds of _Ægypt_ break under the hand\nof him that leans on them, yet the Rock of _Israel_ will be an\neverlasting stay and defence.\n\nGods Providence commands Me to retire from all to himself, that in him\nI may enjoy My Self, which I lose, while I let out My hopes to others.\n\nThe solitude & captivity to which I am now reduced, gives Me leisure\nenough to study the worlds vanity and inconstancie.\n\nGod sees 'tis fit to deprive Me of Wife, Children, Armie, Friends, and\nFreedom, that I may be wholly his, who alone is all.\n\nI care not much to be reckoned among the Unfortunate, if I be not in\nthe black List of irreligious and sacrilegious Princes.\n\nNo Restraint shall ensnare my Soul in sin; nor gain that of me which\nmay make my Enemies more insolent, my Friends ashamed, or my Name\naccursed.\n\nThey have no great cause to triumph, that they have got my Person into\ntheir power; since my Soul is still my own: nor shall they ever gain\nmy Consent against my Conscience.\n\nWhat they call obstinacie, I know God accounts honest constancie, from\nwhich Reason and Religion, as well as Honor, forbid Me to recede.\n\n'Tis evident now, that it was not Evil Counsellors with Me, but a good\nConscience in Me, which hath been fought against; nor did they ever\nintend to bring Me to my Parliament, till they had brought My mind to\ntheir obedience.\n\nShould I grant what some men desire, I should be such as they with Me,\nnot more a King, and far less both Man and Christian.\n\nWhat Tumults and Armies could not obtain, neither shall Restraint;\nwhich though it have a little of safety to a Prince, yet it hath not\nmore of danger.\n\nThe fear of men shall never be my snare; nor shal the love of any\nliberty entangle my soul: Better others betray me, then my self: and\nthat the price of my liberty should be my conscience; the greatest\ninjuries my Enemies seek to inflict upon me, cannot be without my own\nconsent.\n\nWhile I can deny with Reason, I shall defeat the greatest impressions\nof their malice, who neither know how to use worthily what I have\nalready granted; nor what to require more of me but this, That I would\nseem willing to help them to destroy my self and mine.\n\nAlthough they should destroy me, yet they shall have no cause to\ndespise me.\n\nNeither liberty nor life are so dear to me, as the peace of my\nConscience, the Honor of my Crowns, and the welfare of my People;\nwhich my word may injure more then any War can do; while I gratifie a\nfew to oppresse all.\n\nThe Laws wil by Gods blessing, revive, with the love and Loyaltie of\nmy Subjects; if I bury them not by my Consent, and cover them in that\ngrave of dishonor and injustice, which some mens violence hath digged\nfor them.\n\nIf my Captivity or Death must be the price of their redemption, I\ngrudge not to pay it.\n\nNo condition can make a King miserable, which carries not with it, his\nSouls, his Peoples, and Posterities thraldom.\n\nAfter-times may see, what the blindnesse of this Age will not; and\nGod may at length shew my Subjects, that I chuse rather to suffer for\nthem, then with them; happily I might redeem my self to some shew of\nliberty, if I would consent to enslave them: I had rather hazard the\nruine of one King, then to confirm many Tyrants over them, from whom\nI pray God deliver them, what ever becomes of me, whose solitude hath\nnot left me alone.\n\n\n_For thou, O God, infinitely Good, and Great, art with me, whose\npresence is better then life, and whose service is perfect freedom._\n\n_Own me for thy Servant, and I shall never have cause to complain for\nwant of that liberty which becomes a Man, a Christian, and a King._\n\n_Blesse me still with Reason, as a Man; with Religion, as a Christian;\nand with constancie in Justice, as a King._\n\n_Though thou sufferest me to be stript of all outward ornaments, yet\npreserve me ever in those enjoyments wherein I may enjoy thy self; and\nwhich cannot be taken from me against my will._\n\n_Let no fire of affliction boile over my passion to any impatience or\nsordid fears._\n\n_There be many that say of me, There is no help for me: do thou lift\nup the light of thy Countenance upon me, and I shall want neither\nSafetie, Libertie, nor Majestie._\n\n_Give me that measure of patience and constancie which my condition\nnow requires._\n\n_My strength is scattered, my expectation from Men defeated, my Person\nrestrained: O be not thou far from me, lest my enemies prevail too\nmuch against me._\n\n_I am become a wonder, and a scorn to many: O be thou my helper and\ndefender._\n\n_Shew some token upon me for good, that they that hate me may\nbe ashamed, because thou Lord, hast holpen and comforted me; for\nestablish me with thy free Spirit, that I may do and suffer thy will,\nas thou wouldst have me._\n\n_Be mercifull to me, O Lord, for my soul trusteth in thee: yea, and in\nthe shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, untill these calamities\nbe over-past._\n\n_Arise to deliver me, make no long tarrying, O my God. Though thou\nkillest me, yet will I trust in thy mercy, and my Saviours merit._\n\n_I know that my Redeemer liveth; though thou leadest me through the\nvail and shadow of death, yet shall I fear none ill._\n\n\n\n\n\n24. _Upon their denying His Majestie the Attendance of His Chaplains._\n\n\nWhen providence was pleased to deprive Me of all other civil comforts\nand secular attendants, I thought the absence of them all might best\nbe supplied by the attendance of some of my Chaplains, whom for their\nFunction I reverence, and for their Fidelitie I have cause to love.\nBy their Learning, Pietie, and Praiers, I hoped to be either better\nenabled to sustain the want of all other enjoyments, or better fitted\nfor the recovery and use of them in Gods good time; so reaping by\ntheir pious help a spiritual harvest of grace amidst the thorns, and\nafter the plowings of temporal crosses.\n\nThe truth is, I never needed or desired more the service and\nassistance of men judiciously pious, and soberly devout.\n\nThe solitude they have confined me unto, adds the wildernesse to my\ntemptations: For the company they obtrude upon me, is more sad then\nany solitude can be.\n\nIf I had asked my Revenues, my power of the _Militia_, or any one of\nmy Kingdoms, it had bin no wonder to have been denied in those things,\nwhere the evil policy of men forbids all just restitution, lest they\nshould confess an injurious usurpation: But to deny me the ghostly\ncomfort of my Chaplains seems a greater rigor & barbarity, then\nis ever used by christians to the meanest prisoners, & greatest\nmalefactors, whom though the justice of the law deprive of worldly\ncomforts, yet the mercy of religion allows them the benefit of their\nClergy, as not aiming at once to destroy their Bodies, and to damn\ntheir Souls.\n\nBut my agony must not be relieved with the presence of any one good\nAngel; for such I account a learned, godly, and discreet Divine: and\nsuch I would have all mine to be.\n\nThey that envie my being a King, are loth I should be a Christian:\nwhile they seek to deprive me of all things else, they are afraid I\nshould save my Soul.\n\nOther sense, Charity it self can hardly pick out of those many\nharsh repulses I received, as to that request so often made for the\nattendance of some of my Chaplains.\n\nI have sometime thought the Unchristiannes of those denials might\narise from a displeasure some men had to see me prefer my own Divines\nbefore their Ministers: whom, though I respect for that worth and\npiety w^{ch} may be in them, yet I cannot think them so proper for any\npresent comforters or Physitians, Who have (some of them at least) had\nso great an influence in occasioning these calamities, and inflicting\nthese wounds upon Me.\n\nNor are the soberest of them so apt for that devotional compliance,\nand juncture of hearts, which I desire to bear in those holy Offices\nto be performed with me, and for me; since their judgments standing\nat a distance from me, or in jealousie of me, or in opposition against\nme, their Spirits cannot so harmoniously accord with mine, or mine\nwith theirs, either in Prayer or other holy duties, as is meet, and\nmost comfortable; whose golden rule, and bond of Perfection consists\nin that of mutual Love and Charitie.\n\nSome remedies are worse then the disease, and some comforters more\nmiserable then misery it self; when like _Job's_ friends, they seek\nnot to fortifie ones minde with patience; but perswade a man by\nbetraying his own Innocency, to despair of Gods mercy; and by\njustifying their injuries, to strengthen the hands, and harden the\nheart of insolent Enemies.\n\nI am so much a friend to all Church-men, that have any thing in them\nbeseeming that sacred Function, that I have hazarded my own interests,\nchiefly upon Conscience and Constancie, to maintain their Rights; whom\nthe more I looked upon as Orphans, and under the sacrilegious eyes of\nmany cruell and rapacious Reformers; so I thought it my dutie the more\nto appear as a Father, and a Patron for them and the Church. Although\nI am very unhandsomly requited by some of them; who may live to repent\nno lesse for My sufferings, then their own ungrateful errours, and\nthat injurious contempt and meannesse, which they have brought upon\ntheir Calling and Persons.\n\nI pity al of them, I despise none: only I thought I might have leave\nto make choice of some for My special Attendance, who were best\napproved in My Judgment & most sutable to My affection: For, I held\nit better to seem undevout, and to hear no mans Praiers, then to be\nforced, or seem to comply with those Petitions to which the heart\ncannot consent, nor the tongue say _Amen_, without contradicting a\nmans own understanding, or belying his own Soul.\n\nIn Devotions, I love neither profane boldnesse, nor pious non-sence;\nbut such an humble and judicious gravitie as shews the Speaker to be\nat once considerate both of Gods Majestie, the Churches Honour, and\nhis own vilenesse; both knowing what things God allows him to ask, and\nin what manner it becomes a sinner to supplicate the divine mercie for\nhimself, and others.\n\nI am equally scandalised with all Praiers, that sound either\nimperiously, or rudely, and passionately; as either wanting humilitie\nto God, or charitie to men, or respect to the dutie.\n\nI confess I am better pleased as with studied and premeditated\nSermons, so with such publick Forms of Praier, as are fitted to the\nChurches and every Christians daily and common necessities; because I\nam by them better assured, what I may join my heart unto, then I can\nbe of any mans extemporary sufficiencie: which as I do not wholly\nexclude from publick occasions; so I allow its just libertie and use\nin private and devout retirements; where neither the solemnities\nof the dutie, nor the modest regards to others, do require so great\nexactness as to the outward manner of performance; Though the light\nof understanding, and the fervencie of affections I hold the main\nand most necessarie requisites both in constant, and occasionall,\nsolitairie, and sociall Devotions.\n\nSo that I must needs seem to all equal minds with as much reason to\nprefer the service of my own Chaplains before that of their Ministers,\nas I do the Liturgie before their Directorie.\n\nIn the one I have been alwaies educated and exercised; In the other, I\nam not yet Catechized, nor acquainted: And if I were, yet should I\nnot by that, as by any certain rule and Canon of Devotion, be able to\nfollow or find out the indirect extravagancies of most of those men,\nwho highly cry up that as a piece of rare composure and use, which\nis already as much despised and disused by many of them, as the\nCommon-Prayer sometimes was by those men; a great part of whose Pietie\nhung upon that popular pin of railing against, and contemning\nthe Government, and Liturgie of this Church. But, I had rather\nbe condemned to the wo of _Væ soli_, then to that of _Væ vobis\nHypocritæ_, by seeming to pray what I do not approve.\n\nIt may be, I am esteemed by my Denyers sufficient of my Self to\ndischarge my dutie to GOD as a Priest, though not to Men as a Prince.\n\nIndeed, I think both Offices, Regal & Sacerdotal, might well become\nthe same Person; as anciently they were under one name, and the united\nrights of primogeniture: nor could I follow better presidents, if I\nwere able, then those two eminent Kings, _David_ and _Solomon_; not\nmore famous for their Scepters and Crowns, then one was for devout\nPsalms and Praiers; the other for his divine Parables and Preaching:\nwhence the one merited and assumed the name of a Prophet, the other\nof a Preacher. Titles indeed of greater honour, where rightly placed,\nthen any of those the Roman Emperors affected from the Nations they\nsubdued: it being infinitely more glorious to convert Souls to Gods\nChurch by the Word, then to conquer men to a subjection by the Sword.\n\nYet since the order of Gods wisdom and providence hath, for the\nmost part, alwaies distinguished the gifts and offices of Kings, of\nPriests, of Princes and Preachers; both in the Jewish and Christian\nChurches: I am sorry to find My self reduced to the necessity of being\nboth, or enjoying neither.\n\nFor such as seek to deprive Me of Kingly Power and Soveraigntie;\nwould no lesse enforce Me to live many Moneths without all Praiers,\nSacraments, and Sermons, unlesse I become My own Chaplain.\n\nAs I owe the Clergy the protection of a Christian KING, so I desire to\nenjoy from them the benefit of their gifts and prayers; which I look\nupon as more prevalent then My own, or other mens; by how much they\nflow from minds more enlightned, and affections lesse distracted, then\nthose which are encombered with secular affairs: besides, I think a\ngreater blessing and acceptablenes attends those duties, which\nare rightly performed, as proper to, and within the limits of that\ncalling, to which God and the Church have specially designed and\nconsecrated some men: And however, as to that Spirituall government,\nby which the devout Soul is subject to Christ, and through his merits\ndaily offers it self and its services to God, every private believer\nis a King and a Priest, invested with the honour of a Royall Priest\nhood; yet as to Ecclesiastical order, and the outward policy of the\nChurch, I think confusion in Religion will as certainly follow every\nmans turning Priest or Preacher, as it will in the State, where every\none affects to rule as King.\n\nI was always bred to more modest, and I think to more pious\nPrinciples: the consciousness to my spirituall defects makes Me\nmore prize and desire those pious assistances, which holy and good\nMinisters, either Bishops or Presbyters, may afford Me; especially in\nthese extremities, to which God hath been pleased to suffer some of my\nSubjects to reduce me; so as to leave them nothing more, but my life\nto take from Me: and to leave me nothing to desire, which I thought\nmight less provoke their jealousie and offence to deny Me, then this\nof having some means afforded Me for my Souls comfort and support.\n\nTo which end I made choice of men, as no way (that I know) scandalous,\nso every way eminent for their learning and piety, no less then for\ntheir Loyalty: nor can I imagine any exceptions to be made against\nthem, but onely this, that they may seem too able, and too well\naffected toward Me and My Service.\n\nBut this is not the first service (as I count it the best) in which\nthey have forced Me to serve my self; though I must confess I bear\nwith more grief and impatience the want of My Chaplains, then of My\nother Servants; and next (if not beyond in some things) to the being\nsequestred from My Wife and Children; since from these indeed more of\nhumane and temporary affections, but from those more of heavenly and\neternall improvements may be expected.\n\nMy comfort is, that in the enforced (not neglected) want of ordinary\nmeans, God is wont to afford extraordinary supplies of his Gifts and\nGraces.\n\nIf his Spirit will teach me, and help my infirmities in prayer,\nreading and meditation (as I hope he will) I shall need no other,\neither Orator, or Instructer.\n\n\n_To thee therefore, O my God, do I direct my now solitary Prayers;\nwhat I want of others help, supply with the more immediate assistance\nof thy Spirit, which alone can both enlighten my darknesse, and\nquicken my dulnesse._\n\n_O thou Sun of righteousness, thou sacred Fountain of heavenly light\nand heat, at once cleer and warm my heart, both by instructing of\nme, and interceding for me; In thee is all fulness, From thee all\nsufficiency, By thee is all acceptance. Thou art companie enough, and\ncomfort enough; Thou art my King, be also my Prophet and my Priest.\nRule me, teach me, pray in me, for me; and be thou ever with me._\n\n_The single wrestlings of_ Jacob _prevailed with thee in that sacred\nDuel, when he had none to second him but thy selfe; who didst assist\nhim with power to overcome thee, and by a welcome violence to wrest a\nblessing from thee._\n\n_O look on me thy servant, in infinite mercy, whom thou didst once\nblesse with the joynt and sociated Devotion of others, whose servency\nmight inflame the coldnesse of my affections towards thee: when\nwee went to meet in thy House with the voice of joy and gladnesse,\nworshipping thee in the unity of spirits, and with the bond of peace._\n\n_O forgive the neglect, and not improving of those happy\nopportunities._\n\n_It is now thy pleasure that I should be as a Pelican in the\nwildernesse, as a Sparrow on the house top, and as a coale scattered\nfrom all those pious glowings and devout reflections, which might\nbest kindle, preserve, and increase the holy fire of thy Graces on\nthe Altar of my heart, whence the sacrifices of prayers and incense of\npraises might be duly offered up to thee._\n\n_Yet, O thou that breakest not the bruised reed nor quenchest the\nsmoaking flax, do not despise the weakness of my prayers, nor the\nsmotherings of my soul in this uncomfortable loannesse to which I am\nconstrained by some mens uncharitable denials of those helps, which I\nmuch want, and no lesse desire._\n\n_O let the hardness of their hearts occasion the softnings of mine\nto thee, and for them. Let their hatred kindle my love, let their\nunreasonable denials of my religious desires the more excite my\nprayers to thee: Let their inexorable deafnesse incline thine ear to\nme, who art a God easie to be intreated; thine ear is not heavie, that\nit cannot, nor thy heart hard, that it will not hear, nor thy hand\nshortned, that it cannot help me thy desolate Suppliant._\n\n_Thou permittest men to deprive me of those outward means which thou\nhast appointed in thy Church; but they cannot debarre me from the\ncommunion of that inward grace, which thou alone breathest into humble\nhearts._\n\n_O make me such, and thou wilt teach me, thou wilt hear me, thou wilt\nhelp me: The broken and contrite heart I know thou wilt not despise:\nThou, O Lord canst at once make me thy temple thy Priest, thy\nSacrifice, and thine Altar; while from an humble heart I (alone) daily\noffer up in Holy Meditations, fervent Prayers, and unfeigned Tears, my\nSelf to thee; who preparest me for thee, dwellest in me and acceptest\nof me._\n\n_Thou, O Lord, didst cause by secret supplies and miraculous\ninfusions, that the handful of meal in the vessel should not spend,\nnor the little oyl in the cruise fail the widow, during the time of\ndrought and dearth._\n\n_O look on my soul, which as a widow, is now desolate and forsaken:\nLet not those saving truths I have formerly learned now fail my\nmemory; nor the sweet effusions of thy Spirit, which I have sometime\nfelt, now be wanting to my heart in this famine of ordinary and\nwholsom food for the refreshing of my soul._\n\n_Which yet I had rather chuse then to feed from those hands who mingle\nmy bread with ashes, and my wine with gall, rather tormenting, then\nteaching me; whose mouths are proner to bitter reproaches of me, then\nto hearty prayers for me._\n\n_Thou knowest, O Lord of truth, how oft they wrest thy holy Scriptures\nto my destruction, (which are clear for their subjection, and my\npreservation) O let it not be to their damnation._\n\n_Thou knowest how some men (under colour of long prayers) have sought\nto devour the houses of their Brethren, their King, and their God. O\nlet not those mens balms break my head, nor their Cordials oppress my\nheart, I will evermore pray against their wickedness._\n\n_From the poyson under their tongues, from the snares of their lips,\nfrom the fire, and the swords of their words ever deliver me, O Lord,\nand all those loyal and religious hearts, who desire and delight in\nthe prosperity of my soul, and who seek by their prayers to relieve\nthis sadness and solitude of thy servant, O my King and my God._\n\n\n\n\n\n25. Penitential Meditations and Vows in the Kings solitude at\n_Holmby_.\n\n\n_Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider my Meditation, and hearken to\nthe voyce of my cry, my King and my God, for unto thee will I pray._\n\n_I said in my haste, I am cast out of the sight of thine eyes;\nnevertheless, thou hearest the voyce of my supplication, when I cry\nunto thee._\n\n_If thou, Lord, shouldst be extream to mark what is done amiss,\nwho can abide it? But there is mercy with thee, that thou mayest be\nfeared; therefore shall sinners flie unto thee._\n\n_I acknowledg my sins before thee, which have the aggravation of my\ncondition; the eminencie of my place, adding weight to my offences._\n\n_Forgive, I beseech thee, my personal, and my peoples sins; which are\nso far mine, as I have not improved the power thou gavest me, to thy\nglorie, and my Subjects good: Thou hast now brought me from the glorie\nand freedom of a King, to be a Prisoner to my own Subjects. Justlie,\nO Lord, as to thy over-ruling hand, because in many things I have\nrebelled against thee._\n\n_Though thou hast restrained my person, yet enlarg my heart to thee, &\nthy grace towards me._\n\n_I come far short of_ Davids __pietie; yet since I may equal Davids\n_afflictions, give me also the comforts, and the sure mercies of_\nDavid.\n\n_Let the penitent sense I have of my sins, be an evidence to me, that\nthou hast pardoned them._\n\n_Let not the evils, which I and my Kingdoms have suffered seem little\nunto thee, though thou hast not punished us according to our sins._\n\n_Turn thee (O Lord) unto me; have mercy upon me, for I am desolate and\nafflicted._\n\n_The sorrows of my heart are enlarged: O bring thou me out of my\ntroubles._\n\n_Hast thou forgotten to be gracious, and shut up thy loving kindness\nin displeasure?_\n\n_O remember thy compassions of old, and thy loving kindesses, which\nhave been for many generations._\n\n_I had utterly fainted, if I had not believed to see thy goodnesse in\nthe land of the living._\n\n_Let not the sins of our prosperitie deprive us of the benefit of thy\nafflictions._\n\n_Let this fiery triall consume the drosse which in long peace and\nplentie we had contracted._\n\n_Though thou continuest miseries, yet withdraw not thy grace; what is\nwanting of prosperitie, make up in patience and repentance._\n\n_And if thy anger be not to be yet turned away, but thy hand of\nJustice must be stretched out still: Let it, I beseech thee, be\nagainst me, and my Fathers house; as for these sheep, what have they\ndone?_\n\n_Let my sufferings satiate the malice of mine, and thy Churches\nenemies._\n\n_But let their crueltie never exceed the measure of my charitie._\n\n_Banish from me all thoughts of Revenge, that I may not lose the\nreward, nor thou the glorie of my patience._\n\n_As thou givest me an heart to forgive them, so I beseech thee, do\nthou forgive what they have done against thee and me._\n\n_And now, O Lord, as thou hast given me an heart to pray unto thee; so\nhear and accept this Vow which I make before thee._\n\n_If thou wilt in mercie remember Me, and my Kingdoms; In continuing\nthe light of thy Gospel, and settling thy true Religion among us:_\n\n_In restoring to us the benefits of the Laws, and the due execution of\nJustice:_\n\n_In suppressing the many schismes in Church, and Factions in State:_\n\n_If thou wilt restore me and mine to the Ancient rights and glory of\nmy Predecessors:_\n\n_If thou wilt turn the hearts of my people to thy self in Pietie, to\nme in Loyaltie, and to one another in Charitie:_\n\n_If thou wilt quench the flames, and withdraw the fewell of these\nCivill Wars:_\n\n_If thou wilt bless us with the freedom of Publike Counsels, and\ndeliver the Honour of Parliaments from the insolency of the vulgar:_\n\n_If thou wilt keep me from the great offence of enacting any thing\nagainst my Conscience: and especially for consenting to sacrilegious\nrapines, and spoilings of thy Church:_\n\n_If thou wilt restore me to a capacity to glorifie thee in doing good,\nboth to the Church and State:_\n\n_Then shall my soul praise thee, and Magnifie thy name before my\npeople._\n\n_Then shall thy glorie be dearer to me then my Crown; and the\nadvancement of true Religion both in puritie and power be my chiefest\ncare._\n\n_Then will I rule my People with justice, and my Kingdoms with\nequity:_\n\n_To thy more immediate hand shal I ever own as the rightfull\nsuccession, so the mercifull restauration of my Kingdoms, and the\nglorie of them._\n\n_If thou wilt bring me again with Peace safetie and honour, to my\nchiefest City and my Parliament:_\n\n_If thou wilt again put the Sword of Justice into my hand to punish\nand protect:_\n\n_Then will I make all the world to see, and my very Enemies to enjoy\nthe benefit of this Vow and resolution of Christian charitie, which I\nnow make unto thee O Lord._\n\n_As I do freely pardon for Christ's sake those that have offended me\nin any kind; so my hand shall never be against any man to revenge what\nis past, in regard of any particular injurie done to me._\n\n_We have been mutually punished in our unnaturall divisions, for thy\nsake O Lord, and for the love of my Redeemer have I purposed this\nin my heart, That I will use all means in the waies of amnesty, and\nindempnitie; which may most fullie remove all feares, and burie all\njealousies in forgetfulnesse._\n\n_Let thy mercies be towards me and mine, as my resolutions of Truth\nand Peace are towards my people._\n\n_Hear my praier O Lord, which goeth not out of feigned lips._\n\n_Blessed be God, who hath not turned away my prayer, or taken his\nmercy from me._\n\n_O my soul commit thy way to the Lord, trust in him and he shall bring\nit to pass_.\n\n_But if thou wilt not restore me and mine, what am I that I should\ncharge thee foolishly?_\n\n_Thou, ô Lord hast given, and thou hast taken, Blessed be thy name._\n\n_May my people and thy Church be happie if not by me, yet without me._\n\n\n\n\n\n26. _Upon the Armies surprisall of the King at_ Holmby, _and the\nensuing distractions in the two Houses, the Army, and the City._\n\n\nWhat part God will have me now to act or suffer in this new and\nstrange scene of affaires, I am not much solicitous; some little\npractise will serve that man, who only seeks to represent a part of\nhonesty and honour.\n\nThis surprize of me tels the world, that a KING cannot be so low, but\nhe is considerable, adding weight to that party where he appears.\n\nThis motion, like others of the Times, seems excentrique and\nirregular, yet not well to be resisted or quieted: Better swim down\nsuch a stream, then in vain to strive against it.\n\nThese are but the struglings of those twins, which lately one womb\nenclosed, the younger striving to prevail against the elder; what the\nPresbyterians have hunted after, the Independents now seek to catch\nfor themselves.\n\nSo impossible it is for lines to be drawn from the center, and not to\ndivide from each other, so much the wider, by how much they go farther\nfrom the point of union.\n\nThat the Builders of Babel should from division fall to confusion, is\nno wonder; but for those that pretend to build Jerusalem, to divide\ntheir tongues and hands, is but an ill Omen; and sounds too like the\nfury of those Zealots, whose intestine bitterness and divisions were\nthe greatest occasion of the last fatall destruction of that Citie.\n\nWell may I change my Keepers and Prison, but not my captive condition,\nonely with this hope of bettering, that those who are so much\nprofessed Patrons for the Peoples Liberties, cannot be utterly against\nthe Liberty of their KING; what they demand for their own Consciences,\nthey cannot in Reason deny to mine.\n\nIn this they seem more ingenuous, then the Presbyterian rigour, who\nsometimes complaining of exacting their conformity to laws, are\nbecome the greatest Exactours of other mens submission to their novel\ninjunctions, before they are stamped with the Authority of Laws, which\nthey cannot well have without my Consent.\n\n'Tis a great argument, that the Independents think themselves\nmanumitted from their Rivals service, in that they carry on a\nbusinesse of such consequence, as the assuming my Person into the\nArmies custody, without any commission, but that of their own will\nand power. Such as will thus adventure on a KING, must not be thought\nover-modest, or timerous to carry on any designe they have a mind to.\n\nTheir next motion menaces, and scares both the two Houses and\nthe City: which soon after acting over again that former part of\nTumultuary motions, (never questioned, punished or repented) must now\nsuffer for both; and see their former sin in the glasse of the present\nterrours and distractions.\n\nNo man is so blinde as not to see herein the hand of divine Justice;\nThey that by Tumults first occasioned the raising of Armies, must now\nbe chastned by their own Army for new Tumults.\n\nSo hardly can men be content with one sin, but add sin to sin, till\nthe later punish the former; such as were content to see Me and many\nMembers of both Houses driven away by the first unsuppressed Tumults,\nare now forced to flie to an Armie or defend themselves against them.\n\nBut who can unfold the riddle of some mens justice? The Members of\nboth Houses who at first withdrew (as my Self was forced to do) from\nthe rudeness of the Tumults, were counted Deserters, and outed of\ntheir places in Parliament.\n\nSuch as stayed then, and enjoyed the benefit of the Tumults, were\nasserted for the onely Parliament-men: now the Fliers from, and\nForsakers of their Places, carry the Parliamentary power along with\nthem; complain highly against the Tumults, and vindicate themselves by\nan Armie: such as remained and kept their stations, are looked upon as\nAbettors of Tumultuary Insolencies, and Betrayers of the Freedom and\nHonour of Parliament.\n\nThus is Power above all Rule, Order, and Law; where men look more to\npresent Advantages then their Consciences, and the unchangeable\nrules of Justice; while they are Judges of others, they are forced to\ncondemn themselves.\n\nNow the plea against Tumults holds good, the Authours and Abettors of\nthem are guiltie of prodigious insolencies; when as before they were\ncounted as Friends, and necessary Assistants.\n\nI see Vengeance pursues and overtakes (as the Mice and Rats are said\nto have done the Bishop in _Germanie_) them that thought to have\nescaped, and fortified themselves most impregnably against it, both by\ntheir multitude and compliance.\n\nWhom the Laws cannot, God will punish by their own crimes and hands.\n\nI cannot but observe this divine Justice, yet with sorrow and pity;\nfor, I always wished so well to Parliament and Citie, that I was\nsorry to see them do or suffer any thing unworthy such great and\nconsiderable Bodies in this Kingdom.\n\nI was glad to see them onely scared and humbled, not broken by that\nshaking: I never had so ill a thought of those Cities, as to despair\nof their Loyaltie to Me; which mistakes might eclipse, but I never\nbeleeved malice had quite put out.\n\nI pray God the storm be yet wholly passed over them, upon whom I look\nas Christ did sometime over _Jerusalem_, as objects of my prayers and\ntears, with compassionate grief, foreseeing those severer scatterings\nwhich will certainly befall such as wantonly refuse to be gathered\nto their duty: fatall blindnesse frequently attending and punishing\nwilfulnesse, so that men shall not be able at last to prevent their\nsorrows, who would not timely repent of their sins; nor shall they\nbe suffered to enjoy the comforts, who securely neglect the counsels\nbelonging to their peace. They will finde that brethren in iniquitie\nare not far from becoming insolent Enemies, there being nothing harder\nthen to keep ill men long in one minde.\n\nNor is it possible to gain a fair period for those notions which go\nrather in a round and circle of fansie, then in a right line of reason\ntending to the Law, the onely center of publike consistency; whither I\npray God at last bring all sides.\n\nWhich will easily be done, when we shall fully see how much more\nhappie we are, to be subject to the known Laws, then to the various\nwils of any men, seem they never so plausible at first.\n\nVulgar compliance with any illegal and extravagant wayes, like\nviolent motions in nature, soon grows weary of itself, and ends in a\nrefractory sullennesse: Peoples rebounds are oft in their faces, who\nfirst put them upon those violent strokes.\n\nFor the Army (which is so far excusable, as they act according to\nSouldiers principles, and interests, demanding pay and indemnity) I\nthink it necessary, in order to the publike peace, that they should be\nsatisfied, as far as is just; no man being more prone to consider them\nthen my Self: though they have fought against Me, yet I cannot but so\nfar esteem that valour and gallantry they have sometime shewed, as to\nwish I may never want such men to maintain my Self, my Laws, and my\nKingdoms, in such a peace, as wherein they may enjoy their share and\nproportion, as much as any men.\n\n\n_But thou, O Lord, who art perfect Unity in a sacred Trinity, in mercy\nbehold those whom thy Justice hath divided._\n\n_Deliver me from the strivings of my People, and make Me to see how\nmuch they need my prayers and pity, who agreed to fight against me,\nand yet are now ready to fight against one another, to the continuance\nof my Kingdoms distractions._\n\n_Discover to all sides the ways of peace from which they have swerved:\nwhich consists not in the divided wils of Parties, but in the point\nand due observation of the Laws._\n\n_Make me willing to go whither thou wilt lead me by thy providence;\nand be thou ever with me, that I may see thy constancy in the worlds\nvarieti and changes._\n\n_Make me even such as thou wouldst have Me, that I may at last enjoy\nthat safetie and tranquillity which thou alone canst give Me._\n\n_Divert, I pray thee, O Lord, thy heavie wrath justly hanging over\nthose populous Cities, whose plenty is prone to add fewel to their\nluxurie, their wealth to make them wanton, their multitudes tempting\nthem to securitie, and their securitie exposing them to unexpected\nmiseries._\n\n_Give them eys to see, hearts to consider, wils to embrace, and\ncourage to act those things which belong to thy glorie, and the\npublique Peace, lest their calamitie come upon them as an armed man._\n\n_Teach them that they cannot want Enemies who abound in sin; nor\nshall they be long un-disarmed and un-destroyed, who with an high hand\npersisting to fight against Thee, and the cleer convictions of their\nown Consciences, fight more against themselves, then ever they did\nagainst Me._\n\n_Their sins exposing them to thy Justice, their riches to others\ninjuries, their number to Tumults, and Tumults to confusion._\n\n_Though they have with much forwardnesse helped to destroy Me; yet let\nnot my fall be their ruine._\n\n_Let Me not so much consider, hither what they have done, or I have\nsuffered [chiefly at first, by them] as to forget to imitate my\ncrucified Redeemer, to plead their ignorance for their pardon; and in\nmy dying extremities to pray to Thee, O Father, to forgive them, for\nthey know not what they did._\n\n_The tears they have denied me in my saddest condition, give them\ngrace to bestow upon themselves; who the lesse they were for me, the\nmore cause they have to weep for themselves._\n\n_O let not my blood be upon them and their Children, whom the fraud\nand faction of some, not the malice of all, have excited to crucifie\nme._\n\n_But thou, O Lord, canst and wilt (as thou didst my Redeemer) both\nexalt and perfect me by my sufferings, which have more in them of thy\nMercie, then of mans Crueltie, or thy own Justice._\n\n\n\n\n\n27. _To the Prince of_ Wales.\n\n\nSon, If these Papers with some others, wherein I have set down the\nprivate reflections of my Conscience, and my most impartiall thoughts\ntouching the chief passages, which have been most remarkable or\ndisputed in my late troubles, come to your hands, to whom they are\nchiefly designed; they may be so far usefull to you, as to state your\njudgement aright in what hath passed; whereof a pious is the best use\ncan be made; and they may also give you some directions, how to remedy\nthe present distempers, and prevent (if God will) the like for time to\ncome.\n\nIt is some kind of deceiving and lessening the injury of my long\nrestraint, when I find my leisure and solitude have produced something\nworthy of my self, and usefull to you; That neither You nor any other\nmay hereafter measure my Cause by the Successe, nor my judgment of\nthings by my Misfortunes, which I count the greater by far, because\nthey have so far lighted upon you and some others whom I have most\ncause to love as well as my self, and of whose unmerited sufferings I\nhave a greater sense then of Mine own.\n\n[Illustration: Natus May 29 An^o 1630 Ætatis suæ]\n\nBut this advantage of wisdom You have above most Princes, that You\nhave begun, and now spent some years of discretion, in the experience\nof troubles, and exercise of patience, wherein Piety, and all Vertues,\nboth Morall and Politicall, are commonly better planted to a thriving\n(as trees set in winter) then in the warmth, and serenity of times,\nor amidst those delights, which usually attend Princes Courts in times\nof peace and plenty, which are prone, either to root up all plants of\ntrue Vertue and Honour, or to be contented only with some leaves, and\nwithering formalities of them, without any reall fruits, such as tend\nto the publique good, for which Princes should alwaies remember they\nare born, and by providence designed.\n\nThe evidence of which different education the holy Writ affords us in\nthe contemplation of _David_ and _Rehoboam_: The one prepared by\nmany afflictions for a flourishing Kingdom, the other softned by the\nunparaleld prosperity of Solomons Court, and so corrupted to the great\ndiminution, both for Peace, Honor, and Kingdom, by those flatteries,\nwhich are as unseparable from prosperous Princes, as Flies are from\nfruit in summer; whom adversitie, like cold weather, drives away.\n\nI had rather you should be _Charles le Bon_, then _le Grand_, good\nthen great. I hope God hath designed you to be both, having so early\nput you into that exercise of his Graces, and gifts bestowed upon you,\nwhich may best weed out all vitious inclinations, and dispose you to\nthose Princely endowments, and employments, which will most gain the\nlove, and intend the welfare of those, over whom God shall place you.\n\nWith God I would have you begin and end, who is King of Kings; the\nSoveraign disposer of the Kingdomes of the world, who pulleth down\none, and setteth up another.\n\nThe best Government, and highest Soveraignty you can attain to, is, to\nbe subject to him, that the Scepter of his Word and Spirit, may rule\nin your heart.\n\nThe true glory of Princes consists in advancing Gods Glory in the\nmaintenance of true Religion, and the Churches good; Also in the\ndispensation of civil Power, with Justice and Honour to the publique\npeace.\n\nPietie will make you prosperous; at least it will keep you from being\nmiserable; nor is he much a loser, that loseth all, yet saveth his own\nsoul at last.\n\nTo which Center of true happiness, God, I trust, hath and will\ngraciously direct all these black lines of affliction, which he hath\nbeen pleased to draw on me, and by which he hath [I hope] drawn me\nnearer to himself. You have already tasted of that Cup whereof I have\nliberally drank, which I look upon as Gods Physick, having that in\nhealthfulness which it wants in pleasure.\n\nAbove all, I would have you, as I hope you are already, wel-grounded\nand setled in your Religion: The best profession of which, I have\never esteemed that of the church of England, in which you have been\neducated; yet I would have your own Judgment and Reason now seal\nto that sacred bond which education hath written, that it may\nbe judiciously your owne Religion, and not other mens custome or\ntradition, which you profess.\n\nIn this I charge you to persevere, as comming nearest to Gods Word\nfor Doctrine, and to the primitive examples for Government, with some\nlittle amendment, which I have otherwhere expressed and often offered,\nthough in vain. Your fixation in matters of Religion will not be more\nnecessary for your soul's then your Kingdoms peace, when God shall\nbring you to them.\n\nFor I have observed, that the Devill of Rebellion, doth commonly turn\nhimself into an Angel of Reformation; and the old Serpent can pretend\nnew Lights; when some mens Consciences accuse them for Sedition and\nFaction, they stop its mouth with the name and noise of Religion; when\nPietie pleads for peace and patience, they cry out Zeal.\n\nSo that, unless in this point You be well setled, you shall never want\ntemptations to destroy you and yours, under pretensions of reforming\nmatters of Religion; for that seems even to worst men, as the best and\nmost auspicious beginning of their worst designs.\n\nWhere, besides the Noveltie which is taking enough with the Vulgar,\nevery one hath an affectation, by seeming forward to an outward\nReformation of Religion, to be thought zealous, hoping to cover those\nirreligious deformities, wherto they are conscious, by a severity of\ncensuring other mens opinions or actions.\n\nTake heed of abetting any Factions, or applying to any publick\nDiscriminations in matters of Religion, contrary to what is in your\nJudgement and the Church well setled: your partiall adhering, as head,\nto any one side gaines you not so great advantages in some mens hearts\n(who are prone to be of their kings Religion) as it loseth you in\nothers, who think themselves, and their profession first despised,\nthen persecuted by you. Take such a course as may either with calmness\n& charity quite remove the seeming differences and offences, by\nimpartiality, or so order affairs in point of power that you shal not\nneed to fear or flatter any faction; for if ever you stand in need of\nthem, or must stand to their curtesie, you are undon: The Serpent will\ndevour the Dove: you may never expect less of Loyaltie, Justice or\nhumanity, then from those who engage into religious Rebellion: Their\ninterest is always made Gods; under the colours of piety, ambitious\npolicies march, not onely with greatest security, but applause, as to\nthe Populacy; you may hear from them _Jacob's_ voice, but you shall\nfeel they have _Esau_'s hands.\n\nNothing seemed less considerable then the Presbyterian Faction in\n_England_, for many yeers; so complyant they were to publique order:\nnor indeed was their Party great, either in Church or State, as to\nmens judgements: But as soon as discontents drave men into Sidings (as\nill humors fall to the disaffected part, which causes inflammations)\nso did all, at first, who affected any novelties, adhere to that side,\nas the most remarkable and specious note of difference (then) in point\nof Religion.\n\nAll the lesser Factions at first were officious servants to Presbytery\ntheir great Master: till time and military success discovering to each\ntheir peculiar advantages, invited them to part stakes, and leaving\nthe joynt stock of uniform Religion, pretended each to drive for\ntheir Party, the trade of profits and preferments, to the breaking and\nundoing not onely of the Church and State, but even of Presbytery it\nself, which seemed and hoped at first to have engrossed all.\n\nLet nothing seem little or despicable to you, in matters which concern\nReligion, and the Churches peace, so as to neglect a speedy reforming\nand effectual suppressing Errors, and Schisms, which seem at first but\nas a hand-bredth, but by seditious Spirits as by strong winds are soon\nmade to cover and darken the whole Heaven.\n\nWhen you have done justice to God, your own soul and his Church, in\nthe profession and preservation both of truth and unitie in Religion.\nThe next main hinge on which your prosperitie will depend, and move,\nis, That of civil Justice, wherein the setled Laws of these Kingdoms,\nto which you are rightly heir, are the most excellent rules you\ncan govern by; which by an admirable temperament give very much to\nSubjects industry, libertie, and happiness; and yet reserve enough\nto the Majestie and Prerogative of any King, who owns his people\nas Subjects, not as slaves; whose subjection, as it preserves their\npropertie, peace, and safetie; so it will never diminish your Rights,\nnor their ingenuous Liberties; which consists in the enjoyment of\nthe fruits of their industry, and the benefit of those Laws to which\nthemselves have consented.\n\nNever charge your Head with such a Crown, as shall by its heaviness\noppress the whole body, the weakness of whose parts cannot return\nany thing of strength, honor, or safety, to the Head, but a necessary\ndebilitation and ruine.\n\nYour Prerogative is best shewed, and exercised in remitting, rather\nthen exacting the rigor of the Laws, there being nothing worse, then\nlegal tyrannie.\n\nIn these two points, the preservation of established Religion and\nLaws, I may (without vanity) turn the reproach of my sufferings, as to\nthe worlds censure, into the honor of a kinde of Martyrdom, as to the\ntestimony of my own Conscience. The troublers of my Kingdoms having\nnothing else to object against me but this, That I prefer Religion,\nand Laws established, before those alterations they propounded.\n\nAnd so indeed I do, and ever shall, till I am convinced by better\nArguments, then what hitherto have been chiefly used towards me,\nTumults, Armies, and Prisons.\n\nI cannot yet learn that lesson, nor I hope ever will you, That it is\nsafe for a King to gratifie any Faction with the perturbation of the\nLaws, in which is wrapt up the publike Interest, and the good of the\ncommunitie.\n\nHow God will deal with me, as to the removal of these pressures, and\nindignities, which his justice by the very unjust hands of some of my\nSubjects, hath been pleased to lay upon me, I cannot tell: nor am I\nmuch solicitous what wrong I suffer from men, while I retain in my\nsoul, what I believe is right before God.\n\nI have offered all for Reformation and Safety, that in Reason, Honor\nand Conscience, I can; reserving onely what I cannot consent unto,\nwithout an irreparable injury to my own soul, the Church, and\nmy people, and to you also; as the next and undoubted Heir of my\nKingdoms.\n\nTo which, if the divine Providence, to whom no difficulties are\ninsuperable, shall in his due time after my decease bring you, as I\nhope he will: My Counsel and Charge to you, is, That you seriously\nconsider the former real or objected miscarriages, which might\noccasion my troubles, that you may avoyd them.\n\nNever repose so much upon any mans single counsel, fidelity, and\ndiscretion, in managing affairs of the first magnitude, (that is,\nmatters of Religion and Justice) as to create in your self, or others,\na diffidence of your own judgment, which is likely to be always more\nconstant and impartial to the interest of your Crown and Kingdom then\nany mans.\n\nNext, beware of exasperating any Factions by the crossness, and\nasperity of some mens passions, humors, or private opinions, imployed\nby you, grounded onely upon the differences in lesser matters, which\nare but the skirts and suburbs of Religion.\n\nWherein a charitable connivence and Christian toleration often\ndissipates their strength, whom rougher opposition fortifies; and puts\nthe despised and oppressed party, into such Combinations, as may\nmost enable them to get a full revenge on those they count their\nPersecutors, who are commonly assisted by that vulgar commiseration,\nwhich attends all, that are said to suffer under the notion of\nReligion.\n\nProvided the differences amount not to an insolent opposition of Laws,\nand Government, or Religion established, as to the essentials of them,\nsuch motions and minings are intolerable.\n\nAlwaies keep up solid piety, and those fundamental Truths (which mend\nboth hearts and lives of men) with impartial Favour and Justice.\n\nTake heed that outward circumstances and formalities of Religion\ndevoure not all, or the best incouragements of learning, industry, and\npiety; but with an equal eye and impartial hand, distribute Favours\nand Rewards to all men, as you find them for their real goodnesse both\nin abilities and fidilitie worthy and capable of them.\n\nThis will be sure to gain you the hearts of the best and the most\ntoo: who though they be not good themselves, yet are glad to see the\nseverer ways of vertue at any time sweetned by temporall rewards.\n\nI have, You see, conflicted with different and opposite Factions\n(for so I must needs call and count all those that act not in any\nconformity to the Laws established in Church and State;) no sooner\nhave they by force subdued what they counted their common Enemy (that\nis, all those that adhered to the Laws, and to Me) and are secured\nfrom that fear, but they are divided to so high a rivalry, as sets\nthem more at defiance against each other, then against their first\nAntagonists.\n\nTime will dissipate all Factions, when once the rough horns of private\nmens covetous and ambitious designes shall discover themselves;\nwhich were at first wrapt up and hidden under the soft and smooth\npretensions of Religion, Reformation and Liberty. As the Wolf is not\nless cruell, so he wil be more justly hated, when he shall appear no\nbetter then a Wolf under Sheeps cloathing.\n\nBut as for the seduced Train of the Vulgar, who in their simplicity\nfollow those disguises; My Charge and Counsell to You, is, That as you\nneed no palliations for any Designes, (as other men) so that you study\nreally to exceed [in true and constant demonstrations of goodness,\npiety, and vertue towards the people] even all those men that make the\ngreatest noise and ostentations of Religion; so you shall neither fear\nany detection (as they do who have but the face and mask of goodness)\nnor shall you frustrate the just expectations of your people; who\ncannot in Reason promise themselves so much good from any Subjects\nnovelties, as from the vertuous constancy of their King.\n\nWhen these mountains of congealed Factions shall by the Sun-shine\nof Gods Mercy, and the splendor of your Vertues, be thawed and\ndissipated; and the abused Vulgar shall have learned, that none are\ngreater Oppressours of their Estates, Liberties, and Consciences, then\nthose men that intitle themselves The Patrons and Vindicators of them,\nonly to usurp power over them: Let then no passion betray You to any\nstudy of revenge upon those, whose own sin and folly will sufficiently\npunish them in due time.\n\nBut as soon as the forked arrow of factious emulations is drawn out,\nuse all Princely arts and clemency to heal the wounds; that the smart\nof the cure may not equall the anguish of the hurt.\n\nI have offered Acts of Indemnity and Oblivion to so great a latitude,\nas may include all, that can but suspect themselves to be any way\nobnoxious to the Laws; and which might serve to exclude al future\njealousies and insecurities.\n\nI would have You alwaies propense to the same way, when ever it shall\nbe desired and accepted, let it be granted, not only as an Act of\nState-policie and necessitie, but of Christian charitie and choice.\n\nIt is all I have now left Me, a power to forgive those that have\ndeprived Me of all; and I thank God, I have a heart to do it, and joy\nas much in this grace, which God hath given Me, as in all My former\nenjoyments; for this is a greater argument of Gods love to Me, then\nany prosperitie can be.\n\nBe confident (as I am) that the most of all sides, who have done\namiss, have done so, not out of malice, but mis-information, or\nmis-apprehension of things.\n\nNone will be more loyal and faithful to Me and You, then those\nSubjects, who sensible of their Errors, and our Injuries, will feel\nin their own Souls most vehement motives to repentance, and earnest\ndesires to make some reparations for their former defects.\n\nAs Your qualitie sets You beyond any Duel with any Subject, so\nthe Nobleness of Your mind must raise You above the meditating any\nrevenge, or executing Your anger upon the many.\n\nThe more conscious You shall be to Your Own Merits upon Your people,\nthe more prone You will be to expect all love and loyalty from them,\nand to inflict no punishment upon them for former miscarriages: You\nwill have more inward complacency in pardoning one, then in punishing\na thousand.\n\nThis I write to You, not despairing of Gods Mercy, and My Subjects\nAffections towards You, both which, I hope You will study to deserve,\nyet We cannot merit of God, but by his own mercy.\n\nIf God shall see fit to restore Me, and You after Me, to those\nenjoyments, which the Laws have assigned to Us, and no Subjects\nwithout an high degree of guilt and sin can devest Us of, then may I\nhave better opportunity, when I shall be so happy to see You in peace,\nto let You more fully understand the things that belong to Gods glory,\nYour own honor, and the Kingdoms peace.\n\nBut if You never see My face again, and God will have me buried in\nsuch a barbarous Imprisonment & obscurity, [which the perfecting some\nmens designs requires] wherin few hearts that love Me are permitted\nto exchange a word, or a look with Me; I do require and entreat You as\nYour Father, and Your KING that you never suffer your heart to\nreceive the least check against or disaffection from the true Religion\nestablished in the Church of _England_.\n\nI tell you I have tried it, and after much search, and many disputes,\nhave concluded it to be the best in the world, not only in the\nCommunity, as Christian, but also in the speciall notion, as Reformed,\nkeeping the middle way between the pomp of superstitious Tyranny, and\nthe meanness of fantastique Anarchy.\n\nNot but that (the draught being excellent as to the main, both for\nDoctrine and Government, in the Church of _England_) some lines, as\nin very good figures, may happily need some sweetning, or polishing,\nwhich might here have easily been done by a safe and gentle hand:\nif some mens precipitancy had not violently demanded such rude\nalterations, as would have quite destroyed all the beauty and\nproportions of the whole.\n\nThe scandall of the late Troubles, which some may object, and urge\nto you against the Protestant Religion established in _England_, is\neasily answered to them, or your own thoughts in this; That scarce\nany one who hath been a Beginner, or an active Prosecutor of this late\nWarr against the Church, the Laws, and me, either was, or is a true\nLover, Embracer or practiser of the Protestant Religion established\nin _England_ which neither gives such rules, nor ever before set such\nexamples.\n\n'Tis true, some heretofore had the boldness to present threatning\nPetitions to their Princes and Parliaments, which others of the same\nFaction (but of worse Spirits) have now put in execution: but let not\ncounterfeit and disorderly Zeal abate your value and esteem of true\npiety; both of them are to be known by their fruits; the sweetness\nof the Vine and Fig-tree is not be despised, though the brambles and\nthorns should pretend to bear figs and grapes, thereby to rule over\nthe trees.\n\nNor would I have you to entertain any aversation or dislike of\nParliaments, which in their right constitution with freedom and honour\nwill never injure or diminish your greatnesse; but will rather be as\ninterchangings of love, loyaltie and confidence betwen a Prince and\nhis People.\n\nNor would the events of this black Parliament have been other then\nsuch (however much biassed by Factions in the Elections) if it\nhad been preserved from the insolencies of popular dictates, and\ntumultuary impressions: The sad effects of which will no doubt make\nall Parliaments after this, more cautious to preserve that Freedom\nand Honour which belong to such Assemblies (when once they have\nfully shaken off this yoak of Vulgar encroachment) since the publick\ninterest consists in the mutual and common good both of Prince and\nPeople.\n\nNothing can be more happie for all, then in fair, grave, and\nhonourable waies to contribute their Councels in Common, enacting all\nthings by publick consent, without Tyrannie or Tumults. We must not\nstarve our selves, because some men have surfeited of wholesome food.\n\nAnd if neither I, nor you, be ever restored to our Rights, but God\nin his severest justice, will punish My Subjects with continuance in\ntheir sin, and suffer them to be deluded with the prosperity of their\nwickednesse; I hope God will give Me and You, that grace, which will\nteach and enable Us, to want, as well as to wear a Crown, which is\nnot worth taking up, or enjoying upon sordid, dishonourable, and\nirreligious terms.\n\nKeep you to true Principles of Piety, vertue, and honour, You shall\nnever want a Kingdom.\n\nA principal Point of Your honour will consist in Your referring all\nrespect, love, and protection to Your Mother, My Wife; who hath many\nwaies deserved well of Me, and chiefly in this, That having been\na means to bless me with so many hopeful Children; (all which, with\ntheir Mother, _I_ recommend to Your love and care) Shee hath been\ncontent with incomparable magnanimity and patience to suffer both for,\nand with Me, and You.\n\nMy Prayer to God almightie is, (whatever becomes of me, who am _I_\nthank God, wrapt up and fortified in my own innocency, and his Grace)\nthat he would be pleased to make You an Anchor, or Harbour rather, to\nthese tossed and weather-beaten Kingdoms; a Repairer by Your wisdom,\njustice, piety, and valour, of what the folly and wickednesse of some\nmen have so far ruined, as to leave nothing intire in Church or State,\nto the Crown, the Nobility, the Clergie, or the Commons, either as to\nLaws, Liberties, Estates, Order, Honour, Conscience or lives.\n\nWhen they have destroyed me, (for I know not how far God may\npermit the malice and crueltie of my Enemies to proceed, and such\napprehensions some mens words and actions have already given me) as\n_I_ doubt not but my bloud will cry aloud for vengeance to Heaven:\nso I beseech God not to pour out his wrath upon the generality of the\npeople, who have either deserted me, or engaged against me, through\nthe artifice and hypocrisie of their Leaders, whose inward horrour\nwill be their first Tormentor, nor will they escape exemplary\njudgements.\n\nFor those that loved me, I pray God, they may have no miss of me,\nwhen I am gone; so much I wish and hope, that all good Subjects may be\nsatisfied with the blessings of your presence and vertues.\n\nFor those that repent of any defects in their duty toward me, as I\nfreely forgive them in the word of a Christian KING, so I beleeve you\nwill find them truly Zealous, to repay with interest that loyalty and\nlove to you, which was due to me.\n\nIn summe, what good I intended, do you perform, when God shall give\nyou power; much good I have offered, more I purposed to Church and\nState, if times had been capable of it.\n\nThe deception will soon vanish, and the Vizards will fall off apace;\nThis mask of Religion on the face of Rebellion (for so it now plainly\nappears, since my Restraint and cruell usage, that they fought not\nfor me, as was pretended) wil not long serve to hide some mens\ndeformities.\n\nHappy times I hope, attend you, wherein your Subjects [by their\nmiseries] will have learned, That Religion to their God, and Loyalty\nto their King, cannot be parted without both their sin and their\ninfelicity. I pray God bless you and establish your Kingdoms in\nrighteousness, your Soul in true Religion, and your honour in the love\nof God and your people.\n\nAnd if God will have disloyalty perfected by my destruction; let my\nMemory ever, with my Name, live in you; as of your Father, that loves\nyou, and once a KING of three flourishing Kingdoms; whom God thought\nfit to honour, not only with the Scepter and Government of them, but\nalso with the suffering many indignities and an untimely death for\nthem; while I studied to preserve the Rights of the Church, the Power\nof the Laws, the Honour of my Crown, the Priviledge of Parliaments,\nthe Liberties of my People, and my own Conscience, which, I thank God,\nis dearer to me then a thousand Kingdoms.\n\nI know God can, I hope he yet will restore me to my Rights. I cannot\ndespair either of his mercy, or of my peoples love and pitie.\n\nAt worst, I trust I shall but go before you to a better Kingdom, which\nGod hath prepared for me, and me for it, through my Saviour Jesus\nChrist, to whose mercies I commend You and all mine.\n\nFarewell, till we meet, if not on Earth, yet in Heaven.\n\n\n\n\n\n28. _Meditations upon Death, after the Votes of Non-Addresses, and\nHis_ Majesties _closer Imprisonment in_ Carisbrook-Castle.\n\n\nAs I have leisure enough, so I have cause more then enough, to\nmeditate upon, and prepare for My Death: for I know, there are but,\nfew steps between the Prisons and Graves of Princes.\n\nIt is Gods indulgence which gives me the space, but Mans cruelty that\ngives Me the sad occasions for these thoughts.\n\nFor, besides the common burthen of mortalitie, which lies upon Me,\nas a Man; I now bear the heavy load of other mens ambitions, fears,\njealousies, and cruel passions, whose envie or enmity against Me,\nmakes their own lives seem deadly to them, while I enjoy any part of\nMine.\n\nI thank God, My prosperitie made Me not wholly a stranger to the\ncontemplations of mortalitie.\n\nThose are never unseasonable, since this is alwaies uncertain: Death\nbeing an eclipse, which oft happeneth as well in cleer as cloudy\ndayes.\n\nBut My now long and sharp adversity hath so reconciled in Me those\nnatural Antipathies between Life and Death, which are in all men, that\nI thank God, the common terrors of it are dispelled; and the special\nhorrour of it, as to My particular, much allayed: for although My\nDeath at present may justly be represented to Me with all those\nterrible aggravations, which the policy of cruel and implacable\nenemies can put upon it (affaires being drawn to the very dregs\nof malice) yet I bless God, I can look upon all those stings, as\nunpoysonous, though sharp; since My Redeemer hath either pulled them\nout, or given Me the Antidote of his Death against them, which as to\nthe immaturity, injustice, shame, scorn, and cruelty of it, exceeded\nwhat ever I can fear.\n\nIndeed, I never did find so much, the life of Religion, the feast of\na good Conscience, and the brazen wall of a judicious integrity and\nconstancy, as since I came to these closer conflicts with the thoughts\nof Death.\n\nI am not so old, as to be wearie of life; nor (I hope) so bad, as to\nbe either afraid to die, or ashamed to live: true, I am so afflicted,\nas might make Me sometime even desire to die, if I did not consider,\nThat it is the greatest glory of a Christians life to _die daily_,\nin conquering by a lively faith, and patient hopes of a better life,\nthose partiall and quotidian deaths, which kill us (as it were)\nby piece-meales, and make us overlive our own fates: while we are\ndeprived of health, honour, liberty, power, credit, safety, or estate;\nand those other comforts of dearest relations, which are as the life\nof our lives.\n\nThough, as a KING, I think My self to live in nothing temporall so\nmuch, as in the love and good-will of my People; for which, as I have\nsuffered many deaths, so I hope I am not in that point as yet wholly\ndead: notwithstanding; My Enemies have used all the poyson of falsity\nand violence of hostility to destroy, first the love and Loyalty,\nwhich is in my Subjects; and then all that content of life in me,\nwhich from these I chiefly enjoyed.\n\n\nIndeed, they have left me but little of life, and only the husk\nand shell (as it were) which their further malice and cruelty can take\nfrom me; having bereaved me of all those worldly comforts, for which\nlife it self seems desirable to men.\n\nBut, O my Soul! think not that life too long, or tedious, wherein God\ngives thee any opportunities, if not to do, yet to suffer with such\nChristian patience and magnanimity, in a good Cause, as are the\ngreatest honour of our lives, and the best improvement of our deaths.\n\n_I_ know that in point of true Christian valor, it argues\npusillanimity to desire to dye out of weariness of life, and a want\nof that heroick greatness of Spirit which becoms a Christian in the\npatient and generous sustaining those afflictions, which as shadows\nnecessarily attend us, while we are in this body: and which are\nlessned or enlarged as the Sun of our prosperity moves higher, or\nlower: whose totall absence is best recompensed with the Dew of\nHeaven.\n\nThe assaults of affliction may be terrible, like _Sampsons_ Lyon, but\nthey yeild much sweetness to those that dare to encounter and overcome\nthem; who know how to overlive the witherings of their Gourds without\ndiscontent or peevishness, while they may yet converse with God.\n\nThat _I_ must die as a man, is certain; that _I_ may die a King, by\nthe hands of my own Subjects, a violent, sodain, barbarous death; in\nthe strength of my years, in the midst of my Kingdoms; my Friends\nand loving Subjects being helpless Spectators; my Enemies insolent\nRevilers and Triumphers over me, living, dying, and dead, is so\nprobable in humane reason, that God hath taught me not to hope\notherwise as to mans crueltie; however, I despair not of Gods infinite\nmercy.\n\nI know my life is the Object of the devils & wicked mens malice, but\nyet under Gods sole custodie and disposal: whom I do not think to\nflatter for longer life by seeming prepared to die; but I humbly\ndesire to depend upon him, and to submit to his will both in life and\ndeath, in what order soever he is pleased to lay them out to me. I\nconfess it is not easie for me to contend with those many horrours\nof Death, wherewith God suffers me to be tempted; which are equally\nhorrid, either in the suddennesse of a barbarous Assasination or in\nthose greater formalities, whereby my Enemies [being more solemnly\ncruel] will, it may be, seek to adde [as those did who Crucified\nChrist] the mockery of Justice, to the cruelty of malice: That I may\nbe destroyed, as with greater pomp and artifice, so with less pity,\nwill be but a necessary policie to make my Death appear as an Act of\nJustice, done by subjects upon their Soveraign, who know that no Law\nof God or Man invests them with any power of Judicature without me,\nmuch lesse against me: and who, being sworn, and bound by all that is\nsacred before God and man, to endeavour my preservation, must pretend\nJustice to cover their perjury.\n\nIt is, indeed, a sad fate for any man to have his Enemies to be\nAccusers, Parties, and Judges; but most desperate, when this is acted\nby the insolence of Subjects against their Soveraign; wherein those,\nwho have had the cheifest hand, and are most guilty of contriving the\npublick Troubles, must by shedding my bloud, seem to wash their own\nhands of that innocent bloud whereof they are now most evidently\nguilty before God and Man; and I beleeve in their own Consciences too,\nwhile they carried on unreasonable Demands, First by Tumults, after\nby Armies. Nothing makes mean spirits more cowardly-cruel in managing\ntheir usurped power against their lawful Superiours then this, the\n_guilt of their unjust Usurpation_: notwithstanding those specious\n& popular pretentions of Justice against Delinquents applied only to\ndisguise at first the monstrousnesse of their designs, who despaired,\nindeed, of possessing the power and profits of the Vineyard, till the\nheir whose right it is, be cast out and slain.\n\nWith them My greatest fault must be, that I would not either destroy\nMy Self with the Church and State by My word, or not suffer them to do\nit un-resisted by the Sword; whose covetous ambition no Concessions of\nMine could ever yet either satisfie, or abate.\n\nNor is it likely they will ever think, that Kingdom of brambles which\nsome men seek to erect (at once weak, sharp, and fruitlesse, either\nto God or man) is like to thrive till watered with the Royal bloud of\nthose, whose right the Kingdom is.\n\nWell, Gods will be done, I doubt not but my Innocencie will finde him\nboth my Protector and my Advocate, who is my only Judg; whom I own as\nKing of Kings, not onely for the eminency of his Power and Majestie\nabove them; but also for that singular care and protection which he\nhath over them; who knows them to be exposed to as many dangers (being\nthe greatest patrons of Law, Justice, Order, and Religion on earth) as\nthere be either Men or Devils, which love confusion.\n\nNor will he suffer those men long to prosper in their _Babel_, who\nbuild it with the bones, and cement it with the bloud of their Kings.\n\nI am confident they will find Avengers of my death among themselves:\nthe injuries I have sustained from them shall be first punished by\nthem, who agreed in nothing so much as in opposing me.\n\nTheir impatience to bear the loud cry of my bloud, shall make them\nthink no way better to expiate it, then by shedding theirs, who with\nthem most thirsted after mine.\n\nThe sad confusions following my destruction, are already presaged and\nconfirmed to me by those I have lived to see since my troubles; in\nwhich God alone (who only could) hath many ways pleaded my cause; not\nsuffering them to go unpunished, whose confederacy in sin was their\nonly security; who have cause to fear that God will both further\ndivide and by mutuall vengeance, afterward destroy them.\n\nMy greatest conquest of death is from the power and love of Christ,\nwho hath swallow'd up death in the Victory of his Resurection, and the\nGlory of his Ascention.\n\nMy next comfort is, that he gives me not only the honour to imitate\nhis example in suffering for righteousness sake (though obscur'd by\nthe foulest charges of Tyranny and Injustice,) but also, that charity,\nwhich is the noblest revenge upon, and victory over my Destroyers: By\nwhich, I thank God, I can both forgive them and pray for them, that\nGod would not impute my blood to them, further then to convince them,\nwhat need they have of Christs bloud to wash their souls from the\nguilt of shedding mine.\n\nAt present, the will of mine Enemies seems to be their only rule,\ntheir power the measure, and their Successe the Exactor, of what they\nplease to call Justice, while they flatter themselves with the fancy\nof their own safety by my danger, and the security of their lives\ndesigns by My Death: forgetting, That as the greatest temptations to\nsin are wrapped up in seeming prosperities, so the severest vengeances\nof God are then most accomplished, when men are suffered to compleat\ntheir wicked purposes.\n\nI bless God, I Pray not so much, that this bitter Cup of violent Death\nmay pass from Me, as that of his wrath may pass from al those, whose\nhands by deserting Me, are sprinkled, or by Acting and Consenting to\nMy Death are embrued with My Bloud.\n\nThe will of God hath confined, and concluded Mine; I shall have the\npleasure of Dying, without any pleasure of desired vengeance.\n\nThis I think becomes a Christian toward his Enemies, and a King toward\nHis Subjects.\n\nThey cannot deprive Me of more then I am content to lose, when God\nsees fit by their hands to take it from Me; whose mercy I beleive,\nwill more then infinitely recompence what ever by mans injustice, he\nis pleased to deprive Me of.\n\nThe glory attending My Death, will far surpass all I could enjoy, or\nconceive in life.\n\nI shall not want the heavy and envyed Crowns of this world, when My\nGod hath mercifully Crowned and Consummated his graces with Glory,\nand exchanged the shadows of My earthly Kingdoms among men, for the\nsubstance of that Heavenlie Kingdom with himself.\n\nFor the censures of the world; I know the sharp and necessarie\ntyrannie of My Destroyers will sufficiently confute the calumnies of\ntyrannie against Me; I am perswaded I am happie in the judicious love\nof the ablest and best of My Subjects, who do not only Pitie and Pray\nfor Me, but would be content even to die with Me, or for Me.\n\nThese know how to excuse My failings, as a man, and yet to retain\nand pay their dutie to Me, as their King; there being no religious\nnecessitie binding any Subjects by pretending to punish, infinitely to\nexceed the faults and errors of their Princes, especially there, where\nmore then sufficient satisfaction hath been made to the Publick; the\nenjoyment of which, private ambitions have hitherto frustrated.\n\nOthers, I beleeve, of softer tempers, and less advantaged by My\nruine, do alreadie feel sharp convictions, and some remorse in their\nConsciences: where they cannot but see the proportions of their evil\ndealings against Me in the measure of Gods retaliations upon them,\nwho cannot hope long to enjoy their own thumbs and toes, having under\npretence of paring others nails bin so cruel as to cut off their\ncheifest strength.\n\nThe punishment of the more insolent and obstinate, may be like that\nof _Korah_ and his complices (at once mutining against both Prince and\nPriest) in such a method of divine justice, as is not ordinary,\nthe earth of the lowest and meanest people opening upon them, and\nswallowing them up in a just disdain of their ill-gotten, and worse\nused Authority: upon whose support and strength they chiefly depended\nfor their building and establishing their designes against Me, the\nChurch and State.\n\nMy chiefest comfort in death consists in my peace, which I trust,\nis made with GOD; before whose exact Tribunall I shall not fear to\nappear, as to the Cause so long disputed by the Sword, between me and\nmy causelese Enemies, where I doubt not but his righteous Judgment\nwill confute their fallacy, who from worldly success (rather like\nSophisters, then sound Christians) draw those popular conclusions for\nGods approbation of their actions; whose wise providence (we know) oft\npermits many events which his revealed word (the only clear, safe, and\nfixed rule of good actions and good consciences) in no sort approves.\n\nI am confident, the justice of my Cause, and clearness of my\nConscience before God, and toward my people, wil carry me as much\nabove them in Gods decision, as their Successes have lifted them above\nme in the Vulgar opinion: who consider not, that many times those\nundertakings of men are lifted up to heaven in the prosperity\nand applause of the world, whose rise is from hell, as to the\ninjuriousness and oppression of the design. The prosperous winds\nwhich oft fil the sails of Pirats, doth not justifie their piracy and\nrapine.\n\nI look upon it with infinite more content and quiet of Soul, to have\nbeen worsted in my enforced contestation for, and vindication of the\nLaws of the Land, the Freedom and Honour of Parliaments, the Rights\nof my Crown, the just Liberty of my Subjects, and the true Christian\nReligion in its Doctrine, Government, and due Encouragements, then if\nI had, with the greatest advantages of success over-born them all;\nas some men have now evidently done, whatever designes they at first\npretended.\n\nThe prayers and patience of my Friends and loving Subjects will\ncontribute much to the sweetning of this bitter cup, which I doubt not\nbut I shall more cheerfully take and drink, as from Gods hand (if it\nmust be so) then they can give it to me, whose hands are unjustly and\nbarbarously lifted up against Me.\n\nAnd as to the last event, I may seem to owe more to my Enemies then\nmy Friends; while those will put a period to the sins and sorrows\nattending this miserable life, wherewith these desire, I might still\ncontend.\n\nI shall be more then Conquerour through, Christ enabling me: for whom\n_I_ have hitherto suffered, as he is the Author of Truth, Order, and\nPeace; for all which _I_ have been forced to contend against Errour,\nFaction, and confusion.\n\nIf _I_ must suffer a violent death with my Saviour; it is but\nmortality crowned with martyrdom: where the debt of death, which I\nowe for sin to nature, shall be raised as a gift of faith and patience\noffered to God.\n\nWhich _I_ humbly beseech him mercifully to accept; and although death\nbe the wages of my own sinne, as from God, and the effect of others\nsinnes, as men, both against God and me; yet as _I_ hope my own sinnes\nare so remitted, that they shall be no ingredients to imbitter the\ncup of my death, so _I_ desire God to pardon their sins, who are most\nguilty of my destruction.\n\nThe Trophees of my charitie will be more glorious and durable over\nthem, then their ill managed victories over me.\n\nThough their sin be prosperous, yet they had need to be penitent, that\nthey may be pardoned: Both which, _I_ pray God they may obtain: that\nmy temporal Death unjustly inflicted by them, may not be revenged by\nGods just inflicting eternal death upon them: for _I_ look upon the\ntemporall destruction of the greatest King, as far lesse deprecable\nthen the eternall damnation of the meanest Subject.\n\nNor do I wish other then the safe bringing of the ship to shore, when\nthey have cast me overboard; though it be very strange, that Mariners\ncan finde no other means to appease the storms themselves have raised,\nbut by drowning their Pilot.\n\nI thank God, my Enemies cruelty cannot prevent my preparation;\nwhose malice in this I shall defeat, that they shall not have\nthe satisfaction to have destroyed my Soul with my Body; of whose\nsalvation, while some of them have themselves seemed, and taught\nothers to despair, they have onely discovered this, that they do not\nmuch desire it.\n\nWhose uncharitable and cruell Restraints, denying me even the\nassistance of any of my Chaplains, hath rather enlarged, then any way\nobstructed my accesse to the Throne of Heaven,\n\n\n_Where thou dwellest, O King of Kings, who fillest Heaven and Earth,\nwho art the fountain of eternal life, in whom is no shadow of death._\n\n_Thou, O God, art both the just Afflicter of death upon us, and the\nmercifull Saviour of us in it, and from it._\n\n_Yea, it is better for us to be dead to our selves, and live in thee;\nthen by living in our selves, to be deprived of thee._\n\n_O make the many bitter aggravations of my death as a Man, and a King,\nthe opportunities and advantages of thy speciall Graces and Comforts\nin my Soul as a Christian._\n\n_If thou Lord wilt be with me, I shall neither fear nor feel any\nevill, though I walk thorow the valley of the shadow of death._\n\n_To contend with death is the work of a weak and mortall man; to\novercome it, is the grace of thee alone, who art the Almighty and\nimmortall God._\n\n_O my Saviour, who knowest what it is to die with me as a Man; make me\nknow what it is to passe through death to life with thee my God._\n\n_Though I die, yet I know that thou my Redeemer livest for ever:\nthough thou slayest Me, yet thou hast encouraged me to trust in thee\nfor eternal life._\n\n_O withdraw not thy favour from me, which is better then life._\n\n_O be not far from me, for I know not now neer a violent and cruel\ndeath is to me._\n\n_As thy Omniscience, O God, discovers, so thy Omnipotence can defeat\nthe designes of those who have, or shall conspire my destruction._\n\n_O shew me the goodnesse of thy will, through the wickednesse of\ntheirs._\n\n_Thou givest me leave as a man to pray, that this cup may pass from\nme; but thou hast taught Me as a Christian by the example of Christ to\nadd not my will, but thine be done._\n\n_Yea Lord, let our wils be one, by wholly resolving mine into thine:\nlet not the desire of life in me be so great, as that of doing or\nsuffering thy wil in either life or death._\n\n_As I believe thou hast forgiven all the errours of my life, so I hope\nthou wilt save me from the terrors of my death._\n\n_Make me content to leave the worlds nothing, that I may come really\nto enjoy all in thee, who hast made Christ unto me in life, gain; and\nin death advantage._\n\n_Though my destroyers forget their dutie to thee and me, yet do not\nthou, O Lord, forget to be mercifull to them._\n\n_For, what profit is there in my bloud, or in their gaining my\nKingdoms, if they lose their own Souls?_\n\n_Such as have not onely resisted my just Power, but wholly usurped and\nturned it against my self, though they may deserve, yet let them not\nreceive to themselves damnation._\n\n_Thou madest thy Son a Saviour to many that crucified him, while at\nonce he suffered violently by them, and yet willingly for them._\n\n_O let the voice of his bloud be heard for my Murtherers, louder then\nthe cry of mine against them._\n\n_Prepare them for thy mercy by due convictions of their sin, and\nlet them not at once deceive and damne their own souls by fallacious\npretensions of Justice in destroying me, while the conscience of their\nunjust usurpation of power against me, chiefly tempts them to use all\nextremities against me._\n\n_O Lord, thou knowest I have found their mercies to me as very false,\nso very cruell, who pretending to preserve me, have meditated nothing\nbut my ruine._\n\n_O deal not with them as bloud thirsty and deceitfull men; but\novercome their cruelty with thy compassion and my charitie._\n\n_And when thou makest inquisition for my blood, O sprinkle their\npolluted, yet penitent Souls with the bloud of thy Son, that thy\ndestroying Angel may passe over them._\n\n_Though they think my Kingdoms on earth too little to entertain at\nonce both them and me; yet let the capacious Kingdom of thy infinite\nmercy at last receive both me and my enemies._\n\n_When being reconciled to thee in the bloud of the same Redeemer, wee\nshall live far above these ambitious desires, which beget such mortall\nenmities._\n\n_When their hands shall be heaviest and cruellest upon me, O let me\nfall into the arms of thy tender and eternall mercies._\n\n_That what is cut off of my life in this miserable moment, may be\nrepaied in thy ever blessed Eternity._\n\n_Lord, let thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy\nsalvation._\n\nVota dabunt, quæ Bella negârunt.\n\n\n\n\n_FINIS._\n\n\n\n\n\n  A\n  PERFECT COPY OF\n  PRAYERS,\n  Used by His\n  MAJESTIE\n  in the time of His\n  _SUFFERINGS_.\n\n\n  _Delivered to Dr._ Juxon _Bishop of_\n  London _immediately before his Death_.\n\n  And his Speeches to the Lady _Elizabeth_ and\n  the Duke of _Glocester_.\n\n  With\n\n  His _Reasons_ against the pretended Jurisdiction\n  of the High Court of Justice; intended to\n  be delivered, Munday 22 of _Janu_.\n  1648.\n\n  Also\n\n  A Copy of a LETTER from the\n  _PRINCE_.\n\n\n  Printed _Anno Domini_ 1649.\n\n\n\n\n\n_A PRAYER in time of Captivitie._\n\n\nO Powerfull and Eternall God! to whom nothing is so great, that it may\nresist; or so small, that it is contemned; look upon my miserie with\nthine eye of mercy, and let Thine infinite power vouchsafe to limit\nout some proportion of deliverance unto me, as to Thee shall seem\nmost convenient; let not Injurie, O Lord, triumph over me; and let my\nfaults by thy hand be corrected; and make not my unjust Enemies the\nministers of thy Justice: But yet my God, if in thy Wisdom this be\nthe aptest chastisement for my unexcusable transgressions; if this\ningratefull bondage be fittest for my over-high deserts; if the pride\nof my (not enough humble) heart be thus to be broken, O Lord, I yeeld\nunto thy will, and cheerfully embrace what sorrow thou wilt have me\nsuffer: Onely thus much let me crave of thee, (let my craving, O\nLord, be accepted of, since it even proceeds from thee) That by\nthy Goodnesse, which is thy Self, thou wilt suffer some beam of\nthy Majestie so to shine in my minde, that I, who in my greatest\nAfflictions acknowledge it my noblest Title to be thy Creature, may\nstill depend confidently on Thee. Let Calamity be the exercise, but\nnot the overthrow of my Vertue. O let not their prevailing power be to\nmy destruction. And if it be thy will that they more and more vex me\nwith punishment; yet O Lord, never let their wickednesse have such a\nhand, but that I may still carry a pure mind, and stedfast resolution\never to serve thee without fear or presumption; yet with that humble\nConfidence which may best please thee; so that at the last I may\ncome to thy eternall Kingdom through the merits of thy Son our alone\nSaviour, Jesus Christ. _Amen_.\n\n\n\n\n\n_Another PRAYER._\n\n\nAlmightie and most merciful Father, look down upon me thy unworthy\nservant, who here prostrate my self at the Foot-stool of thy Throne of\nGrace; but look upon me, O Father, through the Mediation, and in the\nMerits of Jesus Christ, in whom thou art only wel pleased: for of my\nSelf I am not worthy to stand before thee, or to speak with my\nunclean lips to thee, most holy and eternall God; for as in sin I was\nconceived and born, so likewise I have broken all thy Commandments by\nmy sinful motions, unclean thoughts, evill words, and wicked works;\nomitting many duties I ought to do, and committing many vices thou\nhast forbidden under pain of thy heavie Displeasure: as for my sins,\nO Lord, they are innumerable: wherefore I stand here liable to all the\nmiseries in this life, and everlasting Torments in that to come, if\nthou shouldst deal with me according to my deserts. I confesse,\nO Lord, that it is thy Mercie (which endureth for ever) and thy\ncompassion (which never fails) which is the cause that I have not\nbeen long ago consumed: but with thee there is Mercie and plenteous\nRedemption; in the multitude therefore of thy mercies, and by the\nMerits of Jesus Christ, I intreat thy Divine Majestie, that thou\nwouldst not enter into judgment with thy servant, nor be extreme to\nmark what is done amisse, but be thou mercifull unto Me, and wash away\nall my sins with that precious bloud that my Saviour shed for me. And\nI beseech thee, O Lord, not onely to wash away all my sins; but also\nto purge my heart by thy holy Spirit, from the dross of my natural\ncorruption: And as thou dost add days to my life, so good Lord, I\nbeseech thee to add repentance to my dayes, that when I have past this\nmortall life, I may be partaker of thy everlasting Kingdom, through\nthe Merits of Jesus Christ our Lord, _Amen_.\n\n\n\n\n\n_A_ PRAYER _and_ CONFESSION _made in and for the times of Affliction._\n\n\nAlmighty and most mercifull Father, as it is onely thy Goodnesse that\nadmits of our imperfect Prayers, and the knowledge that thy mercies\nare infinite, which can give Us any hope of thy accepting or granting\nthem: so it is our bounden and necessary duty to confesse our sins\nfreely unto thee; And of all men living, I have most need, most reason\nso to do; no man having been so much obliged by thee, no man more\ngrievously offending thee: that degree of knowledge which thou hast\ngiven me adding likewise to the guilt of my transgressions. For, was\nit through ignorance, that I suffered innocent bloud to be shed by a\nfalse pretended way of Justice? or that I permitted a wrong way of\nthy Worship to be set up in _Scotland?_ and injured the Bishops in\n_England?_ O no; but with shame and grief I confesse, that I therein\nfollowed the perswasions of worldly Wisdome, forsaking the Dictates\nof a right-informed Conscience: Wherefore, O Lord, I have no excuse to\nmake, no hope left, but in the multitude of thy mercies; for I know\nmy repentance weak, and my prayers faulty: Grant therefore, mercifull\nFather, so to strengthen my repentance, and amend my prayers, that\nthou maist clear the way for thine own mercies; to which, O let\nthy Justice at last give place, putting a speedy end to my deserved\nafflictions. In the mean time, give me patience to endure, Constancy\nagainst Temptations, and a discerning spirit, to chuse what is best\nfor thy Church, and People which thou hast committed to my charge.\nGrant this, O most mercifull Father, for thy Son Jesus Christs sake,\nour onely Saviour, _Amen._\n\n\n\n\n\n_A_ PRAYER _in time of imminent Danger._\n\n\nO Most merciful Father, though my sins are so many and grievous,\nthat I may rather expect the effects of thy anger, then so great a\ndeliverance, as to free me from my present great danger; yet, O Lord,\nsince thy mercies are over all thy works, and thou never failest to\nrelieve all those who with humble and unfeigned repentance come to\nthee for succour, it were to multiply, not diminish my transgressions,\nto despair of thy heavenly favour: Wherefore I humbly desire thy\ndivine Majestie, That thou wilt not onely pardon all my sins; but also\nfree me out of the hands, and protect me from the malice of my\ncruel Enemies. But if Thy wrath against my hainous Offences will not\notherwayes be satisfied, then by suffering Me to fall under my present\nafflictions, Thy will be done; yet with humble Importunity, I do and\nshall never leave to implore the assistance of thy heavenly Spirit,\nthat my cause, as I am thy Vicegerent may not suffer through My\nweakness, or want of courage, O Lord, so strengthen and enlighten all\nthe faculties of My mind, that with clearnesse I may shew forth Thy\nTruth, and manfully endure this bloody Tryal, that so my sufferings\nhere may not onely glorifie Thee, but likewise be a furtherance to my\nsalvation hereafter. Grant this, O mercifull Father, for his sake who\nsuffered for me, even Jesus Christ the Righteous. _Amen._\n\n[Illustration: Emblem]\n\n\n\n\n\nA Copie of a Letter which was sent from the PRINCE to the KING; Dated\nfrom the HAGUE _Jan_. 23. 1648.\n\n\nSIR, _Having no means to come to the knowledge of your Majesties\npresent condition, but such as I receive from the Prints, or (which is\nas uncertain) Report, I have sent this Bearer_ Seamour _to wait upon\nyour Majestie; and to bring me an account of it: that I may withall\nassure your Majestie, I doe not onely pray for your Majestie according\nto my Dutie, but shall alwayes be ready to doe all which shall be\nin my power, to deserve that blessing which I now humbly beg of your\nMajestie upon_\n\n  (SIR)\n\nHAGUE _Jan_. 23. 1648.\n\n  _Your_ MAJESTIES\n  _most humble and most\n  obedient Son & servant\n  CHARLS._\n\nThe Superscription was thus,\n\nFor the King.\n\n\n\n[Illustraton]\n\n\nMunday 29th January, 1648.\n\n\n_A true Relation of the_ KINGS _Speech to the Lady_ ELISABETH, _and the\nDuke of_ GLOCESTER, _the day before His Death._\n\n\nHis children being come to meet him, he first gave his blessing to the\nLady _Elisabeth_; and bad her remember to tell her Brother _James_,\nwhen ever she should see him, That it was his Fathers last desire,\nthat he should no more look upon _Charles_ as his eldest Brother only,\nbut be obedient unto him, as his Soveraign; and that they should love\none another, and forgive their Fathers Enemies. Then said the King\nto her, Sweet-heart you'l forget this: No (said she) _I_ shall never\nforget it while I live: And pouring forth abundance of Tears, promised\nhim to write down the Paticulars.\n\nThen the King taking the Duke of _Glocester_ upon his knee, said,\nSweet-heart, now they will cut off thy Fathers head; (upon which words\nthe child looked very stedfastly on him.) Mark child, what I say, they\nwill cut of my head, and perhaps make thee a King: But mark what I\nsay, you must not be a King so long as your Brother _Charles_ and\n_James_ do live; For they will cut off your Brothers heads, (when they\ncan catch them) and cut off thy head too at the last: and therefore,\n_I_ charge you, do not be made a King by them. At which the child,\nsighing, said, I will be torn in pieces first. Which falling so\nunexpectedly from one so young, it made the King rejoyce exceedingly.\n\n\n\n\n\n_Another Relation from the Lady_ ELISABETHS _own Hand._\n\n\nWhat the king said to me the nine and twentieth of _January_ 1648.\nbeing the last time I had the happiness to see him; he told me, he\nwas glad I was come, and although he had not time to say much, yet\nsomewhat he had to say to me, which he had not to another, or leave in\nwriting, because he feared their cruelty was such, as that they would\nnot have permitted him to write to me, he wished me not to grieve and\ntorment my self for him; for that would be a glorious death that he\nshould dye; it being for the Laws and Liberties of this Land, and\nfor maintaining the true Protestant Religion. He bad me read Bishop\n_Andrews_ Sermons, _Hookers Ecclesiasticall Politie_, and Bishop\n_Lauds_ Book against _Fisher_, which would ground me against Popery.\nHe told me, he had forgiven all his Enemies, and hoped God would\nforgive them also; and commanded us, and all the rest of my Brothers\nand Sisters to forgive them: he bid me tell my Mother, That his\nthoughts never had strayed from her, and that his love should be\nthe same to the last. Withall he commanded me and my Brother to\nbe obedient to her. And bid me send his blessing to the rest of my\nBrothers and Sisters, with Commendation to all His Friends: So after\nhe had given me his blessing, I took my leave.\n\nFurther, he commanded us all to forgive those people, but never to\ntrust them; for they had been most false to him, and to those that\ngave them power, and he feared also to their own souls; And desired me\nnot to grieve for him, for he should die a Martyr, and that he doubted\nnot but the Lord would settle his Throne upon his Son, and that we\nshould be all happier, then we could have expected to have been, if he\nhad lived: With many other things, which at present I cannot remember.\n\nELISABETH.\n\n\n\n\n\n_Another Relation from the Lady_ Elisabeth.\n\n\nThe King said to the Duke of _Glocester_, that he would say nothing to\nhim but what was for the good of his soul: he told him, that he heard\nthat the Army intended to make him King; but it was a thing not for\nhim to take upon him, if he regarded the welfare of his soul; for\nhe had two Brothers before him: and therefore commanded him upon His\nblessing, never to accept of it, unless it redowned lawfully upon him:\nAnd commanded him to fear the Lord, and he would provide for him.\n\n_Copia vera._\n\n\n\n\n\n_An_ Epitaph _upon King_ CHARLS.\n\n\n  So falls that stately Cedar: while it stood\n  That was the onely glory of the Wood:\n  Great _Charles_, thou earthly God, celestial _M_an,\n  Whose life, like others, though it were a span:\n  Yet in that span, was comprehended more\n  Then Earth hath waters or the Ocean shore;\n  Thy heavenly vertues, Angels shou'd rehearse,\n  It is a theam too high for humane Verse:\n  He that would know thee right, then let him look\n  Upon Thy rare incomparable Book,\n  And read it or'e and o're; which if he do,\n  Hee'l find thee _king_, _and Priest_, _and Prophet too_:\n  And sadly see our losse, and though in vain,\n  With fruitlesse wishes, call thee back again.\n  Nor shall oblivion sit upon thy Herse,\n  Though there were neither Monument, nor Verse.\n  Thy Suff'rings & thy Death let no man name;\n  It was thy Glorie, but the Kingdoms Shame.\n\n  _J. H._\n\n\n\n\n\n    _His Majesties Reasons against the pretended Jurisdiction of\n    the High Court of Justice, which he intended to deliver in\n    writing on Munday_ January 22, 1648.\n\n\nFaithfully transcribed out of the originall Copie under the Kings own\nhand.\n\n\nHaving already made my protestations not only against the illegality\nof this pretended Court, but also that no earthly power can justly\ncall me (who am your King) in question as a Delinquent, _I_ would not\nany more open my mouth upon this occasion, more then to refer my selfe\nto what I have spoken, were I alone in this case concerned. But\nthe duty I owe to God in the preservation of the true Liberty of my\nPeople, will not suffer me at this time to be silent: For, how can any\nfree-born Subject of England call life or any thing he possesseth\nhis own, if power without right daily make new, and abrogate the old\nfundamentall Law of the Land, which I now take to be the present\ncase. Wherefore when I came hither, I expected that you would have\nindeavoured to have satisfied me concerning these grounds, which\nhinder me to Answer to your pretended Impeachment, but since I see\nthat nothing I can say will move you to it (though Negatives are not\nso naturally proved as Affirmatives) yet I will shew you the Reason\nwhy I am confident you cannot judge me, nor indeed the meanest man in\nEngland; for I will not (like you) without shewing a reason, seek to\nimpose a belief upon My Subjects.\n\n[Sidenote: _Hereabout I was stopt, and not suffered to speake any more\nconcerning Reasons._]\n\nThere is no proceeding just against any man, but what is warranted\neither by Gods Laws, or the municipall Lawes of the Country where he\nlives. Now I am most confident, that this daies proceeding cannot be\nwarranted by Gods Law, for on the contrary the authority of obedience\nunto Kings is cleerly warranted and strictly commanded both in the Old\nand New Testament; which if denied, I am ready to prove: and for the\nquestion now in hand, there it is said, That _where the word of a\nKing is, there is Power, and who may say unto him, what doest thou_?\n_Eccles._ 8. 4. Then for the Lawes of this land, I am no lesse\nconfident, that no learned Lawyer will affirme that an impeachment\ncan lie against the King, they all going in his name; and one of their\nMaximes is, _that the King can do no wrong_. Besides, the law upon\nwhich you ground your proceedings, must either be old or new; if old\nshew it; if new, tell what authority warranted by the fundamentall\nLaws of the land hath made it, and when. But how the House of Commons\ncan erect a Court of Judicature, which was never one it self (as is\nwell known to all Lawyers) I leave to God and the World to judge; And\nit were full as strange that they should pretend to make Laws without\nKing or Lords-House, to any that have heard speak of the Lawes of\nEngland.\n\nAnd admitting, but not granting, that the people of Englands\nCommission could grant your pretended Power, I see nothing you can\nshew for that; for certainly you never asked the question of the tenth\nman of the Kingdom, and in this way you manifestly wrong even the\npoorest Plough-man, if you demand not his free consent; nor can you\npretend any colour for this your pretended Commission without the\nconsent at least of the major part of every man in England, of\nwhatsoever quality or condition, which I am sure, you never went about\nto seek; so far are you from having it. Thus you see that I speak\nnot for my own right alone, as I am your King, but also for the true\nLiberty of all my Subjects, which consists not in sharing the power\nof Government, but in living under such Laws, such a Government as\nmay give themselves the best assurance of their lives and propriety of\ntheir goods. Nor in this must or do I forget the priviledges of both\nHouses of Parliament, which this dayes proceedings doth not only\nviolate, but likewise occasion the greatest breach of their Publike\nFaith that (I beleeve) ever was heard of, with which I am far from\ncharging the two houses: for all the pretended crimes laid against me,\nbear date long before this late Treaty at Newport, in which I having\nconcluded as much as in me lay, and hopefully expecting the two Houses\nagreement thereunto, I was suddenly surprized, and hurried from thence\nas a Prisoner, upon which accompt I am against my will brought hither,\nwhere since I am come, I cannot but to my power defend the ancient\nLaws and Liberties of this Kingdom, together with my own just Right;\nthen for any thing I can see the higher house is totally excluded.\n\nAnd for the House of Commons, it is too well known that the major\npart of them are detained or deterr'd from sitting, so as if I had no\nother, this were sufficient for me to protest against the lawfulnesse\nof your pretended Court. Besides all this, the peace of the Kingdom is\nnot the least in my thoughts; and what hopes of settlement is there so\nlong as power raignes without rule of Law, changing the whole frame\nof that government under which this Kingdom hath flourished for\nmany hundred years, (nor will I say what will fall out in case this\nlawlesse unjust proceeding against me do go on) & beleeve it the\nCommons of England will not thanke you for this change, for they will\nremember how happy they have been of late years under the raign of Q.\n_Elizabeth_, the King my Father and my self, untill the beginning of\nthese unhappy troubles, and wil have cause to doubt that they shall\nnever be so happy under any new. And by this time it will be too\nsensibly evident, that the Armes I took up were only to defend the\nfundamentall Laws of this Kingdom, against those who have supposed my\npower hath totally changed the ancient Government.\n\nThus having shewed you briefly the Reasons, why I cannot submit to\nyour pretended authority without violating the trust which I have\nfrom God, for the welfare and liberty of my people; I expect from you\neither clear Reasons to convince my Judgment, shewing me that I am\nin an error (and then truly I will readily answer) or that you will\nwithdraw your proceedings.\n\n\n_This I intended to speake in Westminster-Hall on Monday 22. January,\nbut against reason was hindered to shew my Reasons._\n\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note.\n\nInconsistencies in spelling, grammar, capitalisation and punctuation\nhave generally been retained, unless the inconsistency is obviously an\nerror.\n\ne.g. Iustice and Justice (etc.) are both used; wickednss (page 53)\nmay be a printer's error, or the author's contraction. There are a few\ninstances of 'wickednesse', and only one of 'wickedness'; there are\na few instances of 'yeild', and 'yeeld', but none of 'yield'; 'then'\nis used throughout the book as modern writers would use 'than'; and\napostrophes are notable by their absence.\n\nThe prefix 'un' is used where a modern writer would use 'in'. Many\nother words have more than one spelling. Phonetic spellings have been\nretained.\n\n'proreption' (p. 66) means 'slow advance' (Google Books).\n\nThe long 's', prevalent at the time, has been updated to\nthe modern 's', which even in 1649 was used at the ends of words.\n\nThere are some instances of what seem to be genuine errata:--\n\nSundry missing, damaged or extraneous punctuation has been repaired.\n\nExplanation of the Emblem: 'deprrss'd' corrected to 'depress'd':\n\"_Palm_-like _depress'd_, I higher rise\"\n\np. 15: 'agaist' corrected to 'against': \"have purposed any violence\nor oppression against the Innocent\"\n\np. 24: 'assawge' corrected to 'asswage': \"and after did'st asswage the\nfloud which drowned the world,\"\n\np. 42: 'kinkled' corrected to 'kindled': \"the brands of that fire\nbeing ill quenched, have kindled the like flames here.\"\n\np. 51: 'noreable' corrected to 'noteable'*: \"he is now become a\nnoteable monument of unprosperous disloialtie,\"\n\np. 59: 'and' corrected to 'an': \"I must now be urged with an Armie,\"\n\np. 63: 'one' corrected to 'on': \"unfortunate Successes of this War, on\nmy side, I do not think my\"\n\np. 73: 'no' corrected to 'to': \"if not to conquer, yet at least to\nsuffer.\"\n\np. 74: 'eclisp' corrected to 'eclipse': \"strip me of my strength, and\neclipse my glory.\"\n\np. 77: 'Popositions' corrected to 'Propositions': \"propound, (for such\nis one of their Propositions)\"\n\np. 82: removed extraneous 'in': \"to the Laws in force,\"\n\np. 87: 'suppplication' corrected to 'supplication': \"To thee I make my\nsupplication,\"\n\np. 98: 'with' corrected to 'which': \"destroying the innocent with the\nguilty, & the erroneous with the malicious;\"\n\np. 106: 'ont' corrected to 'out': \"they lay out upon their opinions\"\n\np. 107: 'contemus' corrected to 'contemns': \"that the other rejects\nand contemns;\"\n\np. 120: 'clomencie' corrected to 'clemencie': \"and thy clemencie hath\naccepted from us,\"\n\np. 121: 'theia' corrected to 'their': \"the Charity of most men is\ngrown so cold, and their Religion so illiberall.\"\n\np. 121: 'net' corrected to 'not': \"Let not holy things be given to\nSwine\"\n\np. 137: 'migh' corrected to 'might': \"he might seem to justifie his\ndisdainfull reproaches,\"\n\np. 141: 'too' corrected to 'to': \"where not the words, but mens hearts\nare to blame.\"\n\np. 144: 'nse' corrected to 'use': \"That further, they should use such\nseverity as\"\n\np. 154: 'Goverment' corrected to 'Government': \"such a frame or\nGovernment which is paternall,\"\n\np. 158: 'Hospitaliy' corrected to 'Hospitality': \"also enablements to\nworks of Charitie and Hospitality,\"\n\np. 161: 'judement' corrected to 'judgement': \"to my judgement, I am\nsolemnly obliged to\"\n\np. 172: 'bnt' corrected to 'but': \"not to trust in the arm of Flesh,\nbut in the living God.\"\n\np. 179: 'afficting' corrected to 'afflicting': \"Between both thy\nhands, the right sometimes supporting, and the left afflicting,\nfashion us\"\n\np. 180: 'punishmenes' corrected to 'punishments': \"punishing my self\nin their punishments.\"\n\np. 184: 'abrogae' corrected to 'abrogate': \"by the Sword to arrogate,\nand quite abrogate the Authority of\"\n\np. 186: 'moudls' corrected to 'moulds': \"would not run into their new\nmoulds, till they had first melted\"\n\np. 187: 'Christans' corrected to 'Christians': \"appear good\nChristians, that approve not them selves good Subjects.\"\n\np. 192: 'thrist' corrected to 'thirst': \"the most ambitious thirst of\npopular glory among the Vulgar\"\n\np. 196: 'pnrpose' corrected to 'purpose': \"Fix in me a purpose to\nhonour thee, and then\"\n\np. 201: 'wordls' corrected to 'worlds': \"the worlds vanity and\ninconstancie.\"\n\np. 205: 'estabish' corrected to 'establish': \"because thou Lord, hast\nholpen and comforted me; establish me with thy free Spirit,\"\n\np. 207: 'christias' corrected to 'christians': \"then is ever used by\nchristians to the meanest prisoners,\"\n\np. 215: 'Honse' corrected to 'House': \"when wee went to meet in thy\nHouse with the voice of joy and gladnesse,\"\n\np. 221: 'Sate' corrected to 'State': \"In suppressing the many schismes\nin Church, and Factions in State.\"\n\np. 223: removed extraneous 'if': \"May my people and thy Church be\nhappie if not by me, yet without me.\"\n\np. 230: 'abonnd' corrected to 'abound': \"they cannot want Enemies who\nabound in sin; nor shall they be\"\n\np. 251: 'you' corrected to 'your': \"Soul in true Religion, and your\nhonour in the love of God and\"\n\np. 251: 'you' corrected to 'your': \"let my Memory ever, with my Name,\nlive in you; as of your Father,\"\n\np. 254: 'lttle' corrected to 'little': \"Indeed, they have left me but\nlittle of life,\"\n\np. 254: 'magnaminity' corrected to 'magnanimity': \"yet to suffer with\nsuch Christian patience and magnanimity, in\"\n\np. 255: 'afflicton' corrected to 'affliction': \"The assaults of\naffliction may be terrible,\"\n\np. 255: 'Freinds' corrected to 'Friends': \"my Friends and loving\nSubjects being helpless Spectators\"\n\np. 257: 'guitly' corrected to 'guilty': \"the cheifest hand, and are\nmost guilty of contriving\"\n\np. 265: 'acceesse' corrected to 'accesse': \"any way obstructed my\naccesse to the Throne of Heaven,\"\n\np. 273: 'acknowlede' corrected to 'acknowledge': \"who in my greatest\nAfflictions acknowledge it\"\n\n    * The spelling, 'noteable', is also used in the title of a book\n      published 1635:\n\n    \"A direction for the English traviller by which he shal be inabled\n    to coast about all England and Wales. And also to know how farre\n    any market or noteable towne in any shire lyeth one from an other\n     ... As also the distance betweene London and any other shire or\n    great towne.\"\n          ... J. van Langeren sculp.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Eikon Basilike, by King Charles I (Stuart)", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32188", "title": "Eikon Basilike\nThe Pourtracture of His Sacred Majestie, in His Solitudes and Sufferings", "author": "", "publication_year": 1649, "metadata_title": "Eikon Basilike", "metadata_author": "King of England Charles I and John Gauden", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.297972", "source_chars": 355965, "chars": 355965, "talkie_tokens": 85265}}
{"text": "Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/American\nLibraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Plate I. _The Battle of Blenheim._\n\n_Frontispiece._]\n\n\n\n\n  THE BATTLE OF\n  BLENHEIM\n\n\n  BY\n  HILAIRE BELLOC\n\n\n  LONDON\n  STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD.\n  10 JOHN STREET, ADELPHI\n  1911\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                   PAGE\n\nPART  I. THE POLITICAL OBJECTIVE                      9\n\n \"   II. THE EARLY WAR                               16\n\n \"  III. THE MARCH TO THE DANUBE                     28\n\n \"   IV. THE SEVEN WEEKS--THE THREE PHASES           68\n\n \"    V. THE ACTION                                 109\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n                                                   PAGE\n\nThe General Situation in 1703                        27\n\nMap showing the peril of Marlborough's March to\n  the Danube beyond the Hills which separate the\n  Rhine from the Danube                              45\n\nMap illustrating Marlborough's March to the Danube   59\n\nMap illustrating the March of Marlborough and\n  Baden across Marcin's front, from the\n  neighbourhood of Ulm to Donauwörth                 71\n\nMap showing how Donauwörth is the key of Bavaria\n  from the North-West                                76\n\nMap showing Eugene's March on the Danube from the\n  Black Forest                                       92\n\nMap showing the Situation when Eugene suddenly\n  appeared at Hochstadt, August 5-7, 1704            95\n\nThe Elements of the Action of Blenheim              118\n\n\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nTHE POLITICAL OBJECTIVE\n\n\nThe proper understanding of a battle and of its historical significance is\nonly possible in connection with the campaign of which it forms a part;\nand the campaign can only be understood when we know the political object\nwhich it was designed to serve.\n\nA battle is no more than an incident in a campaign. However decisive in\nits immediate result upon the field, its value to the general conducting\nit depends on its effect upon the whole of his operations, that is, upon\nthe campaign in which he is engaged.\n\nA campaign, again, is but the armed effort of one society to impose its\nwill in some particular upon another society. Every such effort must have\na definite political object. If this object is served the campaign is\nsuccessful. If it is not served the campaign is a failure. Many a campaign\nwhich began or even concluded with a decisive action in favour of one of\nthe two belligerents has failed because, in the result, the political\nobject which the victory was attempting was not reached. Conversely, many\na campaign, the individual actions of which were tactical defeats,\nterminated in favour of the defeated party, upon whom the armed effort was\nnot sufficient to impose the will of his adversary, or to compel him to\nthat political object which the adversary was seeking. In other words,\nmilitary success can be measured only in terms of civil policy.\n\nIt is therefore essential, before approaching the study of any action,\neven of one so decisive and momentous as the Battle of Blenheim, to start\nwith a general view of the political situation which brought about\nhostilities, and of the political object of those hostilities; only then,\nafter grasping the measure in which the decisive action in question\naffected the whole campaign, can we judge how the campaign, in its turn,\ncompassed the political end for which it was designed.\n\nThe war whose general name is that of the Spanish Succession was\nundertaken by certain combined powers against Louis XIV. of France (and\nsuch allies as that monarch could secure upon his side) in order to\nprevent the succession of his grandson to the crown of Spain.\n\nWith the various national objects which Holland, England, the Empire and\ncertain of the German princes, as also Savoy and Portugal, may have had in\nview when they joined issue with the French monarch, military history is\nnot concerned. It is enough to know that their objects, though combining\nthem against a common foe, were not identical, and the degrees of interest\nwith which they regarded the compulsion of Louis XIV. to forego the\nplacing of his grandson upon the Spanish throne were very different. It is\nthis which will largely explain the various conduct of the allies during\nthe progress of the struggle; but all together sought the humiliation of\nLouis, and joined on the common ground of the Spanish Succession.\n\nThe particular object, then, of the campaign of Blenheim (and of those\ncampaigns which immediately preceded and succeeded it) was the prevention\nof the unison of the crowns of France and Spain in the hands of two\nbranches of the same family. Tested by this particular issue alone, the\ncampaign of Blenheim, and the whole series of campaigns to which it\nbelongs, failed. Louis XIV. maintained his grandson upon the throne of\nSpain; and the issue of the long war could not impose upon him the\nimmediate political object of the allies.\n\nBut there was a much larger and more general object engaged, which was no\nless than the defence of Austria--more properly the Empire--and of certain\nminor States, against what had grown to be the overwhelming power of the\nFrench monarchy.\n\nFrom this standpoint the whole period of Louis XIV.'s reign--all the last\ngeneration of the seventeenth century and the first decade and more of the\neighteenth--may be regarded as a struggle between the soldiers of Louis\nXIV. (and their allies) upon the one hand, and Austria, with certain minor\npowers concerned in the defence of their independence or integrity, upon\nthe other.\n\nIn this struggle Great Britain was neutral or benevolent in its sympathies\nin so far as those sympathies were Stuart; but all that part of English\npublic life called _Whig_, all the group of English aristocrats who\ndesired the abasement of the Crown, perhaps the mass of the nation also,\nwas opposed, both in its interests and in its opinions, to the supremacy\nof Louis XIV. upon the Continent.\n\nWilliam of Orange, who had been called to the English throne by the\nRevolution of 1688, was the most determined opponent Louis had in Europe.\nApart from him, the general interests of the London merchants, and the\ncommercial interests of the nation as a whole, were in antagonism to the\nclaims of the Bourbon monarchy. We therefore find the forces of Great\nBritain, in men, ships, guns, and money, arrayed against Louis throughout\nthe end of his reign, and especially during this last great war.\n\nNow, from this general standpoint--by far the most important--the war of\nthe Spanish Succession is but part of the general struggle against Louis\nXIV.; and in that general struggle the campaign of 1704, and the battle of\nBlenheim which was its climax, are at once of the highest historical\nimportance, and a singular example of military success.\n\nFor if the general political object be considered, which was the stemming\nof the French tide of victory and the checking of the Bourbon power,\nrather than the particular matter of the succession of the Spanish\nthrone, then it was undoubtedly the campaign of 1704 which turned the\ntide; and Blenheim must always be remembered in history as the great\ndefeat from which dates the retreat of the military power of the French in\nthat epoch, and the gradual beating back of Louis XIV.'s forces to those\nfrontiers which may be regarded as the natural boundaries of France.\n\nNot all the French conquests were lost, nor by any means was the whole\ngreat effort of the reign destroyed. But the peril which the military\naptitude of the French under so great a man as Louis XIV. presented to the\nminor States of Europe and to the Austrian empire was definitely checked\nwhen the campaign of Blenheim was brought to its successful conclusion.\nThat battle was the first of the great defeats which exhausted the\nresources of Louis, put him, for the first time in his long reign, upon a\nclose defensive, and restored the European balance which his years of\nunquestioned international power had disturbed.\n\nBlenheim, then, may justly rank among the decisive actions of European\nhistory.\n\nIn connection with the campaign of which it formed a part, it gave to that\ncampaign all its meaning and all its complete success.\n\nIn connection with the general struggle against Louis, that campaign\nformed the turning point between the flow and the ebb in the stream of\nmilitary power which Louis XIV. commanded and had set in motion.\n\nFrom the day of Blenheim, August 13th, 1704, onwards, the whole French\neffort was for seven years a desperate losing game, which, if its end was\nsaved from disaster by the high statesmanship of the king and the devotion\nof his people, was none the less the ruin of that ambitious policy which\nhad coincided with the great days of Versailles.\n\n\nThe war was conducted, as I have said, by various allies. Its success\ndepended, therefore, upon various commanders regarded as coequal, acting\nas colleagues rather than as principals and subordinates. But the story of\nthe great march to the Danube and its harvest at Blenheim, which we are\nabout to review, sufficiently proves that the deciding genius in the whole\naffair was that of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. The plan was\nindeed Eugene's; and in the battle itself he shared the glory with his\nEnglish friend and colleague. Again, the British troops present were few\nindeed compared with the total of the allied forces. At Blenheim, in\nparticular, they amounted to less than a third of the numbers present. The\nexcellence of their material, however, their magnificent work at the\nSchellenberg and on Blenheim field itself, coupled with the fact that the\ngeneral to whom the final success is chiefly due was the great military\ngenius of this country, warrants the historian in classing this battle\namong British actions, and in treating its story as a national affair.\n\n\nI will approach the story of the campaign and of the battle by a\nconspectus of the field of war in which Marlborough was so unexpectedly to\nshow the military genius which remains his single title to respect and his\nchief claim to renown.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nTHE EARLY WAR\n\n\nIn order to grasp the strategic problem presented to Marlborough and the\nallies in the spring of 1704, it is first necessary to understand the\ndiplomatic position at the outbreak of the war, and the military\ndisposition of the two years 1702 and 1703, and thus the general position\nof the armies which preceded Marlborough's march to the Danube.\n\nLouis XIV. recognised his grandson as king of Spain late in 1700. The\ncoalition immediately formed against him was at first imperfect. Savoy,\nwith its command of the passes over the Alps into Austrian territory, was\nin Louis' favour. England, whose support of his enemies was (for reasons\nto be described) a capital factor in the issue, had not yet joined those\nenemies. But, from several causes, among the chief of which was Louis'\nrecognition of the Pretender as king of England after James the II.'s\ndeath, the opinion of the English aristocracy, and perhaps of the English\npeople, was fixed, and in the last months of 1701 the weight of England\nwas thrown into the balance against France.\n\nWhy have I called this--the decision of the English Parliament--a capital\nfactor in the issue of the war?\n\nExcepting for a moment the military genius of Marlborough--whose great\ncapacity had not yet been tested in so large a field--two prime characters\ngave to Great Britain a deciding voice in what was to follow. The first of\nthese was her wealth, the second that aristocratic constitution of her\npolity which was now definitely established, and which, for nearly a\ncentury and a half, was to make her strength unique in its quality among\nall the elements of European competition.\n\nAs to the first of these--the _Wealth_ of England--it is a matter of such\nimportance to the comprehension of all the eighteenth century and most of\nthe nineteenth that it should merit a far longer analysis and affirmation\nthan can be devoted to it in these few lines. It must be enough for our\npurpose to say that Great Britain, from about 1680 onwards, was not only\nwealthier (in proportion to her population) than the powers with whom she\nhad to deal as enemies or allies, but was also proceeding to increase that\nwealth at a rate far exceeding that of her rivals. Again, what was\nperhaps, for the purposes of war, the chief point of all, England held\nthat wealth in a mobile, fluid form, which could at once be translated\ninto munitions, the wages of mercenaries, or the hire of transports,\nwithin the shortest time, and at almost any point in Western and Northern\nEurope.\n\nEssentially commercial, already possessed of a solid line of enterprises\nbeyond the seas, having defeated and passed the Dutch in the race for\nmercantile supremacy, England could afford or withhold at her choice the\nmost valuable and rapid form of support--money.\n\nHow true this was, even those in Europe who had not appreciated the\nchanged conditions of Great Britain immediately perceived when the\ndetermination of Parliament, at the end of 1701, to support the alliance\nagainst Louis XIV., took the form of voting 40,000 men, all of whom would\nbe immediately supplied and paid with English money.\n\nTrue, of the 40,000 not half were British; but (save for the excellent\nquality of the British troops), the point was more or less indifferent.\nThe important thing was that England was able to provide and to maintain\nthis immense accretion to the coalition against France, and to use it\nwhere she would. We shall see later how this power turned the fate of the\nwar.\n\nIf I have insisted so strongly upon the financial factor, it is both\nbecause that factor is misappreciated in most purely military histories,\nand also because, in the changed circumstances of our own time, it is not\neasy for the reader to take for granted, as did his ancestors, the\noverwhelming superiority which England once enjoyed in mobilised wealth,\nusable after this kind. It can best be compared to the similar superiority\nenjoyed in the Middle Ages by the Republic of Venice, to whose fortunes,\nboth good and ill, the story of modern England affords so strange a\nparallel.\n\nThe second factor I have mentioned--the aristocratic constitution of the\ncountry--though almost equally important, is somewhat more elusive, and\nmight be more properly challenged by a critic.\n\nEngland had not, in the first years of the eighteenth century, reached\nthat calm and undisturbed solidity which is the mark of an aristocratic\nState at its zenith. Faction was bitter, the opposition between the old\nloyalty to the Crown and the new national régime was so determined as to\nmake civil war possible at any moment. This condition of affairs was to\nlast for a generation, and it was not until the middle of the eighteenth\ncentury was passed that it disappeared.\n\nNevertheless, compared with the Continental States, Great Britain already\npresented by 1701 that elasticity in substance and tenacity in policy\nwhich accompany aristocratic institutions. Corruption might be rife, but\nit was already growing difficult to purchase the services of a member of\nthe governing class against the national interests. That knowledge of\npublic affairs, diffused throughout a small and closely combined social\nclass, which is the mark of an aristocracy, was already apparent. The\npower of choosing, from a narrow and well-known field, the best talents\nfor any particular office (which is another mark of aristocracy), was\nalready a power apparent in the government of this country. The solidarity\nwhich, in the face of a common enemy, an aristocracy always displays, the\nlong-livedness, as of a corporate body, which an aristocracy enjoys, and\nwhich permits it to follow with such strict continuity whatever line of\nforeign policy it has undertaken, was clearly defining itself at the\nmoment of which I write.\n\nIn a word, the new settlement of English life upon the basis of class\ngovernment, the exclusion of the mass of the people from public affairs,\nthe decay (if you will) of a lively public opinion, the presence of that\nhopeless disinherited class which now forms the majority of our industrial\npopulation; the organisation of the universities, of justice, of the\nlegislature, of the executive, as parts of one social class; the close\ngrasp which that class now had upon the land and capital of the whole\ncountry, which it could utilise immediately for interior development or\nfor a war--all this marked the youth and vigour of an oligarchic England,\nwhich was for so long to be at once invulnerable and impregnable.\n\nAt what expense in morals, and therefore in ultimate strength and\nhappiness, such experiments are played, is no matter for discussion in a\nmilitary history. We must be content to remark what vigour her new\nconstitution gave to the efforts of England in the field, while yet that\nconstitution was young.\n\nEngland, then, having thrown this great weight into the scale of the\nEmpire, and against France, the campaign of 1702 was entered upon with the\nchances in favour of the former, and with the latter in an anxiety very\ndifferent from the pride which Louis XIV. had taken for granted in the\nearly part of his reign.\n\n\nIf the reader will consider the map of Western Europe, the effect of\nEngland's joining the allies will be apparent.\n\nThe frontier between the Spanish Netherlands and Holland--that is, between\nmodern Belgium and Holland--was the frontier between the forces of Louis\nXIV. and those of opponents upon the north. Thus Antwerp and Ostend were\nin the hands of the Bourbon, for the Spanish Netherlands had passed into\nthe hands of the French king's grandson, and the French and Spanish forces\nwere combined. Further east, towards the Upper Rhine, a French force lay\nin the district of Cleves, and all the fortresses on the Meuse, running in\na line south of that post, with the exception of Maestricht, were in\nFrench hands.\n\nFrench armies held or threatened the Middle Rhine. Upon the Upper Rhine\nand upon the Danube an element of the highest moment in favour of France\nhad appeared when the Elector of Bavaria had declared for Louis XIV., and\nagainst Austria.\n\nHad not England intervened with the great weight of gold and that\nconsiderable contingent of men (in all, eighteen of the new forty\nthousand), France would have easily held her northern position upon the\nfrontier of Holland and the Lower Rhine, while the Elector of Bavaria,\njoining forces with the French army upon the Upper Rhine, would have\nmarched upon Vienna.\n\nThe Emperor was harried by the rising of the Hungarians behind him; and as\nthe principal forces of the French king would not have been detained in\nthe north, the whole weight of France, combined with her new ally the\nElector of Bavaria, would have been thrown upon the Upper Danube.\n\nAs it was, this plan was, in its inception at least, partially successful,\nbut only in its inception, and only partially.\n\nFor, with the summer of 1702, Marlborough, though hampered by the fears of\nthe Dutch with whom he had to act in concert, cleared the French out of\nCleves, caused them to retire southward in the face of the great accession\nof strength which he brought with the new troops in English pay and the\nEnglish contingents. Following the French retirement, he swept the whole\nvalley of the Meuse,[1] and took its fastnesses from Liége downwards, all\nalong the course of the stream.\n\nBy the end of the year this northern front of the French armies was\nimperilled, and Marlborough and his allies in that part hoped to undertake\nwith the next season the reduction of the Spanish Netherlands.\n\nIt must be remembered, in connection with this plan, that France has\nalways been nervous with regard to her north-eastern frontier; that the\nloss of this frontier leaves a way open to Paris: an advance from Belgium\nwas to the French monarchy what an advance along the Danube was to\nAustria--the prime peril of all. As yet, France was nowhere near grave\nperil in this quarter, but pressure there marred her general plans upon\nthe Danube.\n\nNevertheless, the march upon Vienna by the Upper Danube had been prepared\nwith some success. While part of the northern frontier was thus being\npressed and part menaced, while the Meuse was being cleared of French\ngarrisons, and the French fortresses on it taken by Marlborough and his\nallies, the Elector of Bavaria had seized Ulm. The French upon the Upper\nRhine, under Villars, defeated the Prince of Baden at Friedlingen, and\nestablished a road through the New Forest by which Louis XIV.'s forces,\ncombined with those of the Elector of Bavaria, could advance eastward upon\nthe Emperor's capital. It was designed that in the next year, 1703, the\ntroops of Savoy, in alliance with those of France, should march from North\nItaly through the passes of the Alps and the Tyrol upon Vienna, while at\nthe same time the Franco-Bavarian forces should march down the Danube\ntowards the same objective.\n\nWhen the campaign of 1703 opened, however, two unexpected events\ndetermined what was to follow.\n\nThe first was the failure of Marlborough in the north to take Antwerp, and\nin general his inability to press France further at that point; the\nsecond, the defection of Savoy from the French alliance.\n\nAs to the first--Marlborough's failure against Antwerp. The Spanish\nNetherlands were now solidly held; the forces of the allies were indeed\nincreasing perpetually in this neighbourhood, but it appeared as though\nthe attempt to reduce Brabant, Hainault, and Flanders, which are here\nthe bulwark of France, would be tedious, and perhaps barren. A sort of\n\"consolation\" advance was indeed made upon the Rhine, and Bonn was\ncaptured; but no more was done in this quarter.\n\n\n[Illustration: The General Situation in 1703.]\n\n\nAs to the second point, the solid occupation of the Upper Danube by the\nFranco-Bavarians was indeed fully accomplished. The imperial forces were\ndefeated upon the bank of that river at Hochstadt, but the advance upon\nVienna failed, for the second half of the plan, the march from Northern\nItaly upon Austria, through the Tyrol, had come to nothing, through the\ndefection of Savoy. The turning of the scale against Louis by the action\nof England was beginning to have its effect; Portugal had already joined\nthe coalition, and now Savoy had refused to continue her help of the\nBourbons.\n\nThe year 1704 opened, therefore, with this double situation: to the south\nAustria had been saved for the moment, but was open to immediate attack in\nthe campaign to come; meanwhile, the French had proved so solidly seated\nin the Spanish Netherlands (or Belgium) that repeated attacks on them in\nthis quarter would in all probability prove barren.\n\nIt was under these circumstances that Eugene of Savoy came to the great\ndecision which marked the year of Blenheim. He determined that it was\nbest--if he could persuade his colleagues--to carry the war into that\nterritory which was particularly menaced. He conceived the plan of\nmarching a great force from the Netherlands right down to the field of the\nUpper Danube. There could be checked the proposed march upon the heart of\nthe coalition, which was Vienna. There, if fortune served the allies, they\nwould by victory make all further chance of marching a Franco-Bavarian\nforce down the Danube impossible; meanwhile, and at any rate, the new step\nwould alarm all French effort towards the Upper Rhine, weaken the French\norganisation upon its northern frontier, and so permit of a return of the\nallies to an attack there at a later time.\n\nEugene of Savoy was a member of the cadet branch of that royal house. His\ngrandfather, the younger son of Charles Emmanuel, had founded the family\ncalled Savoy Carignan. His father had been married to one of Mazarin's\nnieces. Eugene was her fifth son, and at this moment not quite forty years\nof age.\n\nHis character, motives, and genius must be clearly seized if we are to\nappreciate the campaign and the battle of Blenheim.\n\nIt was the Italian blood which formed that character most, but he was\nthoroughly French by birth and training. Born in Paris, and desiring a\ncareer in the French army, it was a slight offered to his mother by the\nFrench king that gave his whole life a personal hatred of Louis XIV. for\nits motive. From boyhood till his death, between sixty and seventy, this\ngreat captain directed his energies uniquely against the fortunes of the\nFrench king. When, later in life, there was an attempt to acquire his\ntalents for the French service, he replied that he hoped to re-enter\nFrance, but only as an invader. It has been complained that he lacked\nprecision in detail, and that as an organiser he was somewhat at fault;\nbut he had no equal for rapidity of vision, and for seizing the essential\npoint in a strategic problem. From that day in his twentieth year when he\nhad assisted at Sobiesky's destruction of the Turks before Vienna, through\nhis own great victory which crushed that same enemy somewhat later at\nZenta, in all his career this quality of immediate perception had been\nsupremely apparent.\n\nHe was at this moment--the end of the campaign of 1703--the head of the\nimperial council of war; and he it was who first grasped the strategic\nnecessity which 1703 had created. The determination to carry the defence\nof the empire into the valley of the Upper Danube was wholly his own. He\nwrote to Marlborough suggesting a withdrawal of forces as considerable as\npossible from the northern field to the southern.\n\nBy a happy accident, the judgment of the Englishman exactly coincided with\nhis own, and indeed there was so precise a sympathy between these two very\ndifferent men that when they met in the course of the ensuing campaign\nthere sprang up between them not only a lasting friendship, but a mutual\ncomprehension which made the combination of their talents invincible\nduring those half dozen years of the war which all but destroyed the\nFrench power.\n\n\nSuch was the origin of Marlborough's advance southward from the\nNetherlands in the early summer of 1704, an advance famous in history\nunder the title of \"the march to the Danube.\"\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nTHE MARCH TO THE DANUBE\n\n\nThe position of the enemy at the moment when Marlborough's march to the\nDanube from the Netherlands was conceived may be observed in the sketch\nmap on page 59.\n\nUnder Villeroy, who must be regarded as the chief of the French commanders\nof the moment, lay the principal army of Louis XIV., with the duty of\ndefending the northern front and of watching the Lower Rhine.\n\nIt was this main force which was expected to have to meet the attack of\nMarlborough and the Dutch in the same field of operations as had seen the\ntroops in English pay at work during the two preceding years. But Villeroy\nwas, of course, free to detach troops southwards somewhat towards the\nMiddle Rhine, or the valley of the Moselle, if, as later seemed likely,\nan attack should be made in that direction.\n\nOn the Upper Rhine, and in Alsace generally, lay Tallard with his corps.\nThis marshal had captured certain crossing-places over the Rhine, but had\nall his munitions and the mass of his strength permanently on the left\nbank.\n\nFinally, Marcin, with his French contingent, and Max-Emanuel, the Elector\nof Bavaria, with the Bavarian army, held the whole of the Upper Danube,\nfrom Ulm right down to and past the Austrian frontier.\n\nOver against these forces of the French and their Bavarian allies we must\nset, first, the Dutch forces in the north, including the garrisons of the\ntowns on the Meuse which Marlborough had conquered and occupied; and, in\nthe same field, the forces in the pay of England (including the English\ncontingents). These amounted in early 1704 to 50,000 men, which\nMarlborough was to command.\n\nNext, upon the Middle Rhine, and watching Tallard in Alsace, was Prince\nEugene, who had been summoned from Hungary by the Imperial government to\ndefend this bulwark of Germany, but his army was small compared to the\nforces in the north.\n\nFinally, the Margrave of Baden, Louis, with another separate army, was\nfree to act at will in Upper Germany, to occupy posts in the Black Forest,\nor to retire eastward into the heart of Germany or towards the Danube as\ncircumstances might dictate. This force was also small. It was\nsupplemented by local militia raised to defend particular passes in the\nBlack Forest, and these, again, were supported by the armed peasantry.\n\nIt is essential to a comprehension of the whole scheme to understand that\n_before_ the march to the Danube the whole weight of the alliance against\nthe French lay in the north, upon the frontier of Holland, the valley of\nthe Meuse, and the Lower Rhine. The successes of Bavaria in the previous\nyear had given the Bavarian army, with its French contingent, a firm grip\nupon the Upper Danube, and the possibility of marching upon Vienna itself\nwhen the campaign of 1704 should open.\n\nThe great march upon the Danube which Eugene had conceived, and which\nMarlborough was to execute so triumphantly, was a plan to withdraw the\nweight of the allied forces suddenly from the north to the south; to\ntransfer the main weapon acting against France from the Netherlands to\nBavaria itself; to do this so rapidly and with so little leakage of\ninformation to the enemy as would prevent his heading off the advance by a\nparallel and faster movement upon his part, or his strengthening his\nforces upon the Danube before Marlborough's should reach that river.\n\n\nSuch was the scheme of the march to the Danube which we are now about to\nfollow; but before undertaking a description of the great and successful\nenterprise, the reader must permit me a word of distinction between a\nstrategic move and that tactical accident which we call a battle. In the\nabsence of such a distinction, the campaign of Blenheim and the battle\nwhich gives it its name would be wholly misread.\n\nA great battle, especially if it be of a decisive character, not only\nchanges history, but has a dramatic quality about it which fixes the\nattention of mankind.\n\nThe general reader, therefore, tends to regard the general movements of a\ncampaign as mere preliminaries to, or explanations of, the decisive action\nwhich may conclude it.\n\nThis is particularly the case with the readers attached to the victorious\nside. The French layman, in the days before universal service in France,\nwrote and read his history of 1805 as though the march of the Grand Army\nwere deliberately intended to conclude with Austerlitz. The English reader\nand writer still tends to read and write of Marlborough's march to the\nDanube as though it were aimed at the field of Blenheim.\n\nThis error or illusion is part of that general deception so common to\nhistorical study which has been well called \"reading history backwards.\"\nWe know the event; to the actors in it the future was veiled. Our\nknowledge of what is to come colours and distorts our judgment of the\nmotive and design of a general.\n\nThe march to the Danube was, like all strategic movements, a general plan\nanimated by a general objective. It was not a particular thrust at a\nparticular point, destined to achieve a highly particular result at that\npoint.\n\nArmies are moved with the object of imposing political changes upon an\nopponent. If that opponent accepts these changes, not necessarily after a\npitched battle, but in any other fashion, the strategical object of the\nmarch is achieved.\n\nThough the march conclude in a defeat, it may be strategically sound;\nthough it conclude in a victory, it may be strategically unsound.\nNapoleon's march into Russia in 1812 was strategically sound. Had Russia\nrisked a great battle and lost it, the historical illusion of which I\nspeak would treat the campaign as a designed preface to the battle. Had\nRussia risked such a battle and been successful, the historical illusion\nof which I speak would call the strategy of the advance faulty.\n\nAs we know, the advance failed partly through the weather, partly through\nthe spirit of the Russian people, not through a general action. But in\nconception and in execution the strategy of Napoleon in that disastrous\nyear was just as excellent as though the great march had terminated not in\ndisaster but in success.\n\nSimilarly, the reputation justly earned by Marlborough when he brought his\ntroops from the Rhine to the Danube must be kept distinct from his\ntactical successes in the field at the conclusion of the effort. He was to\nrun a grave risk at Donauwörth, he was to blunder badly in attacking the\nvillage of Blenheim, he was to be in grave peril even in the last phase of\nthe battle, when Eugene just saved the centre with his cavalry.\n\nHad chance, which is the major element in equal combats, foiled him at\nDonauwörth or broken his attempt at Blenheim, the march to the Danube\nwould still remain a great thing in history. Had Tallard refused battle on\nthat day, as he certainly should have done, the march to the Danube would\nstill deserve its great place in the military records of Europe.\n\n\nWhen we have seized the fact that Marlborough's great march was but a\ngeneral strategic movement of which the action at Blenheim was the happy\nbut accidental close, we must next remark that the advance to the Danube\nwas the more meritorious, and gives the higher lustre to Marlborough's\nfame as a general, from the fact that it was an attempt involving a great\nmilitary hazard, and that yet that attempt had to be made in the face of\npolitical difficulties of peculiar severity.\n\nIn other words, Marlborough was handicapped in a fashion which lends his\nsuccess a character peculiar to itself, and worthy of an especial place in\nhistory.\n\nThis handicap may be stated by a consideration of three points which cover\nits whole character.\n\nThe first of these points concerns the physical conditions of the move;\nthe other two are peculiar to the political differences of the allies.\n\nIt was in the nature of the move that a high hazard was involved in it.\nThe general had calculated, as a general always must, the psychology of\nhis opponent. If he were wrong in his calculation, the advance on the\nDanube could but lead to disaster. It was for him to judge whether the\nFrench were so nervous about the centre of their position upon the Rhine\nas to make them cling to it to the last moment, and tend to believe that\nit was either along the Moselle or (when he had left that behind) in\nAlsace that he intended to attack. In other words, it was for him to make\nthe French a little too late in changing their dispositions, a little too\nlate in discovering what his real plan was, and therefore a little too\nlate in massing larger reinforcements upon the Upper Danube, where he\ndesigned to be before them.\n\nMarlborough guessed his opponent's psychology rightly; the French marshals\nhesitated just too long, their necessity of communicating with Louis at\nVersailles further delayed them, and the great hazard which he risked was\ntherefore risked with judgment. But a hazard it remained until almost the\nlast days of its fruition. The march must be rapid; it involved a thousand\ndetails, each requiring his supervision and his exact calculation, his\nknowledge of what could be expected of his troops, and his survey of daily\nsupply.\n\nThere was another element of hazard.\n\nArrived at his destination upon the plains of the Danube, Marlborough\nwould be very far from any good base of supply.\n\nThe country lying in the triangle between the Upper Danube and the Middle\nRhine, especially that part of it which is within striking distance of the\nDanube, is mountainous and ill provided with those large towns, that\nmobilisable wealth, and those stores of vehicles, munitions, food, and\nremounts which are the indispensable sustenance of an army.\n\nThe industry of modern Germany has largely transformed this area, but even\nto-day it is one in which good depots would be rare to find. Two hundred\nyears ago, the tangle of hills was far more deserted and far worse\nprovided.\n\nBy the time Marlborough should have effected his junction with his ally in\nthe upper valley of the Danube only two bases of supply would be within\nany useful distance of the new and distant place to which he was\ntransferring his great force.\n\nThe most important of these, his chief base, and his only principal store\nof munitions and every other requisite, was _Nuremberg_; and that town was\na good week from the plains upon the bank of the Danube where he proposed\nto act. As an advanced base nearer to the river, he could only count upon\nthe lesser town of _Nordlingen_.\n\nTherefore, even if he should successfully reach the field of action which\nhe proposed, cross the hills between the two river basins without loss or\ndelay, and be ready to act as he hoped upon the banks of the Danube before\nthe end of June, his stay could not be indefinitely prolonged there, and\nhis every movement would be undertaken under the anxiety which must ever\nhaunt a commander dependent on an insufficient or too distant base of\nsupply. This anxiety, be it noted, would rapidly increase with every march\nhe might have to take southward of the Danube, and with every day's\nadvance into Bavaria itself, if, as he hoped, the possibility of such an\nadvance should crown his efforts.\n\nWe have seen that the great hazard which Marlborough risked made it\nnecessary, as he advanced southward up the Rhine during the first half of\nhis march, to keep Villeroy and Tallard doubtful as to whether his\nobjective was the Moselle or, later, Alsace; and while they were still in\nsuspense, abruptly to leave the valley of the Rhine and make for the\ncrossing of the hills towards the Danube. So long as the French marshals\nremained uncertain of his intentions, they would not dare to detach any\nvery large body of troops from the Rhine valley to the Elector's aid:\nunder the conditions of the time, the clever handling of movement and\ninformation might create a gap of a week at least between his first\ndivergence from the Rhine and his enemy's full appreciation that he was\nheading for the south-east.\n\nHe so concealed his information and so ordered his baffling movements as\nto achieve that end.\n\nSo much for the general hazard which would have applied to any commander\nundertaking such an advance.\n\nBut, as I have said, there were two other points peculiar to Marlborough's\npolitical position.\n\nThe first was, that he was not wholly free to act, as, for instance, Cæsar\nin Gaul was free, or Napoleon after 1799. He must perpetually arrange\nmatters, in the first stages with the Dutch commissioner, later with the\nimperial general, Prince Louis of Baden, who was his equal in command. He\nmust persuade and even trick certain of his allies in all the first steps\nof the great business; he must accommodate himself to others throughout\nthe whole of it.\n\nSecondly, the direction in which he took himself separated him from the\npossibility of rapidly communicating his designs, his necessities, his\nchances, or his perils to what may be called his _moral_ base. This moral\nbase, the seat both of his own Government and of the Dutch (his principal\nconcern), lay, of course, near the North Sea, and under the immediate\nsupervision of England and the Hague. This is a point which the modern\nreader may be inclined to ridicule until he remembers under what\nconditions the shortest message, let alone detailed plans and the\nexecution of considerable orders, could alone be performed two hundred\nyears ago. By a few bad roads, across a veritable dissected map of little\nindependent or quasi-independent polities, each with its own frontier and\nprejudices and independent government, the messenger (often a single\nmessenger) must pass through a space of time equivalent to the passage of\na continent to-day, and through risks and difficulties such as would\nto-day be wholly eliminated by the telegraph. The messenger was further\nencumbered by every sort of change from town to town, in local opinion,\nand the opportunities for aid.\n\nMore than this, in marching to the Danube, Marlborough was putting between\nhimself and that upon which he morally, and most of all upon which he\nphysically, relied, a barrier of difficult mountain land.\n\nHaving mentioned this barrier, it is the place for me to describe the\nphysical conditions of that piece of strategy, and I will beg the reader\nto pay particular attention to the accompanying map, and to read what\nfollows closely in connection with it.\n\nIn all war, strategy considers routes, and routes are determined by\nobstacles.\n\nHad the world one flat and uniform surface, the main problems of strategy\nwould not exist.\n\nThe surface of the world is diversified by certain features--rivers,\nchains of hills, deserts, marshes, seas, etc.--the passage across which\npresents difficulties peculiar to an army, and it is essential to the\nreading of military history to appreciate these difficulties; for the\ndegrees of impediment which natural features present to thousands upon the\nmarch are utterly different from those which they present to individuals\nor to civilian parties in time of peace. Since it is to difficulties of\nthis latter sort that we are most accustomed by our experience, the\nstudent of a campaign will often ask himself (if he is new to his subject)\nwhy such and such an apparently insignificant stream or narrow river, such\nand such a range of hills over which he has walked on some holiday without\nthe least embarrassment, have been treated by the great captains as\nobstacles of the first moment.\n\n\n[Illustration: Map showing the peril of Marlborough's march to the Danube,\nbeyond the hills which separate the Rhine from the Danube.]\n\n\nThe reason that obstacles of any sort present the difficulty they do to an\narmy, and present it in the high degree which military history discovers,\nis twofold.\n\nFirst, an army consists in a great body of human beings, artificially\ngathered together under conditions which do not permit of men supplying\ntheir own wants by agriculture or other forms of labour. They are gathered\ntogether for the principal purpose of fighting. They must be fed; they\nmust be provided with ammunition, usually with shelter and with firing,\nand if possible with remounts for their cavalry; reinforcements for every\nbranch of their service must be able to reach them along known and\nfriendly (or well-defended) roads, called their _lines of communication_.\nThese must proceed from some _base_, that is from some secure place in\nwhich stores of men and material can be accumulated.\n\nNext, it is important to notice that variations in speed between two\nopposed forces will nearly always put the slow at a disadvantage in the\nface of the more prompt. For just as in boxing the quicker man can stop\none blow and get another in where the slower man would fail, or just as in\nfootball the faster runner can head off the man with the ball, so in war\nsuperior mobility is a fixed factor of advantage--but a factor far more\nserious than it is in any game. The force which moves most quickly can\n\"walk round\" its opponent, can choose its field for action, can strike in\nflank, can escape, can effect a junction where the slower force would\nfail.\n\nIt is these two causes, then--the artificial character of an army, with\nits vast numbers collected in one place and dependent for existence upon\nthe labour of others and the supreme importance of rapidity--which between\nthem render obstacles that seem indifferent to a civilian in time of peace\nso formidable to a General upon the march.\n\nThe heavy train, the artillery, the provisioning of the force, can in\ngeneral only proceed upon good ways or by navigable rivers. At any rate,\nif the army departs from these, a rival army in possession of such means\nof progress will have the supreme advantage of mobility.\n\nAgain, upon the flat an army may proceed by many parallel roads, and thus\nin a number of comparatively short columns, marching upon one front\ntowards a common rendezvous. But in hilly country it will be confined to\ncertain defiles, sometimes very few, often reduced to _one_ practicable\npass. There is no possibility of an advance by many routes in short\ncolumns, each in touch with its neighbours; the whole advance resolves\nitself into one interminable file.\n\nNow, in proportion to the length of a column, the units of which must each\nmarch one directly behind the other, do the mechanical difficulties of\nconducting such a column increase. Every accident or shock in the long\nline is aggravated in proportion to the length of the line. Finally, a\nforce thus drawn out on the march in one exiguous and lengthy trail is in\nthe worst possible disposition for meeting an attack delivered upon it\nfrom either side.\n\nAll this, which is true of the actual march of the army, is equally true\nof its power to maintain its supply over a line of hills (to take that\nexample of an obstacle); and therefore a line of hills, especially if\nthese hills be confused and steep, and especially if they be provided\nwith but bad roads across them, will dangerously isolate an army whose\ngeneral base lies upon the further side of them.\n\nWhat the reader has just read explains the peculiar character which the\nvalley of the Upper Danube has always had in the history of Western\nEuropean war.\n\nThe Rhine and its tributaries form one great system of communications,\ndiversified, indeed, by many local accidents of hill and marsh and forest,\nwith which, for the purposes of this study, we need not concern ourselves.\n\nIn a lesser degree, the upper valley of the Danube and its tributaries,\nthough these are largely in the nature of mountain torrents, forms another\nsystem of communications, nourishing considerable towns, drawing upon\nwhich communications, and relying upon which towns as centres of supply,\nan army may manoeuvre.\n\nBut between the system of the Rhine and that of the Danube there runs a\nlong sweep of very broken country, the Black Forest merging into the\nSwabian Jura, which in a military sense cuts off the one basin from the\nother.\n\nAt the opening of the eighteenth century, when that great stretch of\nhills had but a score of roads, none of them well kept up, when no town of\nany importance could be found in their valleys, and when no communication,\neven of a verbal message, could proceed faster than a mounted man, this\nsweep of hills was a very formidable obstacle indeed.\n\nIt was these hills, when Marlborough determined to strike across them, and\nto engage himself in the valley of the Upper Danube, which formed the\nchief physical factor of his hazard; for, once engaged in them, still more\nwhen he had crossed them, his appeals for aid, his reception of advice,\nperhaps eventually a reinforcement of men or supplies, must depend upon\nthe Rhine valley.\n\nTrue he had, the one within a week of the Danube, the other within two\ndays of it, the couple of depots mentioned above, the principal one at\nNuremberg, the advanced one at Nordlingen. Nevertheless, so long as he was\nupon the further or eastern side of the hills, his position would remain\none of great risk, unless, indeed, or until, he had had the good fortune\nto destroy the forces of the enemy.\n\nAll this being before the reader, the progress of the great march may now\nbe briefly described.\n\nIn the winter between 1703 and 1704 domestic irritation and home\nintrigues, with which we are not here concerned, almost persuaded\nMarlborough to give up his great rôle upon the Continent of Europe.\n\nLuckily for the alliance against Louis and for the history of British\narms, he returned upon this determination or phantasy, and with the very\nbeginning of the year began his plans for the coming campaign.\n\nHe crossed first to Holland in the middle of January 1704, persuaded the\nDutch Government to grant a subsidy to the German troops in the South,\npretended (since he knew how nervous the Dutch would be if they heard of\nthe plan for withdrawing a great army from their frontiers to the Danube)\nthat he intended operating upon the Moselle, returned to England, saw with\nthe utmost activity to the raising of recruits and to the domestic\norganisation of the expedition, and reached Holland again to undertake the\nmost famous action of his life in the latter part of April.\n\nIt was upon the 5th of May that he left the Hague. He was at Maestricht\ntill the 14th, superintending every detail and ordering the construction\nof bridges over the Meuse by which the advance was to begin. Upon the 16th\nhe left by the southward road for Bedburg, and immediately his army broke\nwinter quarters for the great march.\n\nIt was upon the 18th of May that the British regiments marched out of\nRuremonde by the bridges constructed over the Meuse, aiming for the\nrendezvous at Bedburg.\n\nThe very beginning of the march was disturbed by the fears of the Dutch\nand of others, though Marlborough had carefully kept secret the design of\nmarching to the Danube, and though all imagined that the valley of the\nMoselle was his objective.\n\nMarlborough quieted these fears, and was in a better position to insist\nfrom the fact that he claimed control over the very large force which was\ndirectly in the pay of England.\n\nHe struck for the Rhine, up the valley of which he would receive further\ncontingents, supplied by the minor members of the Grand Alliance, as he\nmarched.\n\nBy the 23rd he was at Bonn with the cavalry, his brother Churchill\nfollowing with the infantry. Thence the heavy baggage and the artillery\nproceeded by water up the river to Coblentz, and when Coblentz was reached\n(upon the 25th of May) it was apparent that the Moselle at least was not\nhis objective, for on the next day, the 26th, he crossed both that river\nand the Rhine with his army, and continued his march up the right bank of\nthe Rhine.\n\nBut this did not mean that he might not still intend to carry the war into\nAlsace. He was at Cassel, opposite Mayence, three days after leaving\nCoblentz; four days later the head of the column had reached the Neckar at\nLadenberg, where bridges had already been built by Marlborough's orders,\nand upon the 3rd of June the troops crossed over to the further bank.\n\nHere was the decisive junction where Marlborough must show his hand: the\nfirst few miles of his progress south-eastward across the bend of the\nNeckar would make it clear that his object was not Alsace, but the Danube.\n\nHe had announced to the Dutch and all Europe an attack upon the valley of\nthe Moselle; that this was a ruse all could see when he passed Coblentz\nwithout turning up the valley of that river. The whole week following, and\nuntil he reached the Neckar, it might still be imagined that he meditated\nan attack upon Alsace, for he was still following the course of the Rhine.\nOnce he diverged from the valley of this river and struck across the bend\nof the Neckar to the south and east, the alternative he had chosen of\nmaking the Upper Danube the seat of war was apparent.\n\nIt is therefore at this point in his advance that we must consider the art\nby which he had put the enemy in suspense, and confused their judgment of\nhis design.\n\nThe first point in the problem for a modern reader to appreciate is the\naverage rate at which news would travel at that time and in that place. A\nvery important dispatch could cover a hundred miles and more in the day\nwith special organisation for its delivery, and with the certitude that it\nhad gone from one particular place to another particular place. But\ngeneral daily information as to the movements of a moving enemy could not\nbe so organised.\n\nWe must take it that the French commanders upon the left bank of the Rhine\nat Landau, or upon the Meuse (where Villeroy was when Marlborough began\nhis march), would require full forty-eight hours to be informed of the\nobjective of each new move.\n\nFor instance, on the 25th of May Marlborough's forces were approaching\nCoblentz. To find out what they were going to do next, the French would\nhave to know whether they were beginning to turn up the valley of the\nMoselle, which begins at Coblentz, or to cross that river and be going on\nfurther south. A messenger might have been certain that the latter was\ntheir intention by midday of the 26th, but Tallard, right away on the\nUpper Rhine, would hardly have known this before the morning of the 29th,\nand by the morning of the 29th Marlborough was already opposite Mayence.\n\nIt is this gap of from one to three days in the passage of information\nwhich is so difficult for a modern man to seize, and which yet made\npossible all Marlborough's manoeuvres to confuse the French.\n\nVilleroy was bound to watch until, at least, the 29th of May for the\nchance of a campaign upon the Moselle.\n\nMeanwhile, Tallard was not only far off in the valley of the Upper Rhine,\nbut occupied in a remarkable operation which, had he not subsequently\nsuffered defeat at Blenheim, would have left him a high reputation as a\ngeneral.\n\nThis operation was the reinforcement of the army under the Elector of\nBavaria and Marcin by a dash right through the enemy's country in the\nBlack Forest.\n\nEarly in May the Elector of Bavaria had urgently demanded reinforcements\nof the French king.\n\nThe mountains between the Bavarian army and the French were held by the\nenemy, but the Elector hurried westward along the Danube, while Tallard,\nwith exact synchrony and despatch, hurried eastward; each held out a hand\nto the other, as it were, for a rapid touch; the business of Tallard was\nto hand over the new troops and provisions at one exact moment, the\nbusiness of the Elector was to catch the junction exactly. If it succeeded\nit was to be followed by a sharp retreat of either party, the one back\nupon the Danube eastward for his life, the other back westward upon the\nRhine.\n\nTallard had crossed the Rhine on the 13th of May with a huge convoy of\nprovisionment and over 7000 newly recruited troops. Within a week the\nthing was done. He had handed over in the nick of time the whole mass of\nmen and things to the Elector.[2] He had done this in the midst of the\nBlack Forest and in the heart of the enemy's country, and he immediately\nbegan his retirement upon the Rhine. Tallard was thus particularly delayed\nin receiving daily information of Marlborough's march.\n\nLet us take a typical date.\n\nOn the 29th of May Tallard, retiring from the dash to help Bavaria, was\nstill at Altenheim, on the German bank of the Rhine. It was only on that\nday that he learnt from Villeroy that Marlborough had no idea of marching\nup the Moselle, but had gone on up the Rhine towards Mayence. Marlborough\nhad crossed the Moselle and the Rhine on the 26th, but it took Tallard\nthree days to know it. Tallard, knowing this, would not know whether\nMarlborough might not still be thinking of attacking Alsace: to make that\nalternative loom large in the mind of the French commanders, Marlborough\nhad had bridges prepared in front of his advance at Philipsburg--though he\nhad, of course, no intention at all of going as far up as Philipsburg.\n\nIt was on June 3rd, as we have seen, that the foremost of Marlborough's\nforces were nearing the banks of the Neckar, and upon the 4th that anyone\nobserving his troops would have clearly seen for the first time that they\nwere striking for the Danube. But it was twenty-four hours before Tallard,\nwho had by this time come down the Rhine as far as Lauterberg to defend a\npossible attack upon Alsace, knew certainly that the Danube, and not the\nRhine, would be the field of war.\n\nAll this time it was guessed at Versailles, and thought possible by the\nFrench generals at the front, that the Danube was Marlborough's aim. But a\nguess was not good enough to risk Alsace upon.\n\nBy the time it was certain Marlborough was marching for the Danube--June\n4th and 5th--Tallard's force was much further from the Elector of Bavaria\nthan was Marlborough's, as a glance at the map will show. There was no\nchance then for heading Marlborough off, and the chief object of the\nEnglish commander's strategy was accomplished. He had kept the enemy in\ndoubt[3] as to his intentions up to the moment when his forces were safe\nfrom interference, and he could strike for the Danube quite unmolested.\n\n\n[Illustration: Map illustrating Marlborough's march to the Danube.]\n\n\nVilleroy at once came south in person, and joined Tallard at\nOberweidenthal. The two commanders met upon the 7th of June to confer upon\nthe next move, but at this point appeared that capital element of delay\nwhich hampered the French forces throughout the campaign, namely, the\nnecessity of consulting with the King at Versailles. The next day, the\n8th, Tallard and Villeroy, who had gone back to their respective commands\nafter their conference, sent separate reports to Versailles. It was not\nuntil the 12th that Louis answered, leaving the initiative with his\ngenerals at the front, but advising a strong offensive upon the Rhine in\norder to immobilise there a great portion of the enemy's forces.\n\nThe advice was not unwise. It did, as a fact, immobilise Eugene for the\nmoment, and kept him upon the Rhine for some weeks, but, as we shall see\nlater, that General was able to escape when the worst pressure was put\nupon him, to cross the Black Forest with excellent secrecy and speed, and\nto effect his junction with Marlborough in time for the battle of\nBlenheim.\n\nBut, meanwhile, Baden had chased the Elector of Bavaria out of the Black\nForest and down on to the Upper Danube. Marlborough might, at any moment,\njoin hands with Baden. The Elector sent urgent requests for yet more\nreinforcements from the French, and Tallard, in a letter to Versailles of\nthe 16th of June, advised the capture and possession of such points in the\nBlack Forest as would give him free access across the mountains, the\nproper provisioning of his line of supply when he should cross them, and\nthe accomplishment of full preparations for joining the Elector of Bavaria\nin a campaign upon the Upper Danube.\n\nLet the day when the French court received this letter be noted, for the\ncoincidence is curious. At the very moment when Tallard's letter reached\nVersailles, the 22nd of June, Marlborough was effecting his junction with\nBaden outside the gates of Ulm at Ursprung. The decision of Louis XIV.,\nthat Tallard should advance beyond the hills in force to the aid of the\nElector, exactly coincides with the appearance of the English General upon\nthe Danube, and it was on the 23rd of June, the morrow, that the King\nwrote to Villeroy the decisive letter recommending Tallard to cross over\nfrom Alsace towards Bavaria with forty battalions and fifty squadrons, say\n25,000 men.\n\nBut this advance of Tallard's across the Black Forest and his final\njunction with the Elector and Marcin before the battle of Blenheim did\nnot take place until after Marlborough had joined Baden and the march to\nthe Danube was accomplished. It must therefore be dealt with in the next\ndivision, which is its proper place. For the moment we must return to\nMarlborough's advance upon the Danube, which we left at the point where he\ncrossed the Neckar upon the 3rd and 4th of June. He had, as we have just\nseen, and by methods which we have reviewed, completely succeeded in\nsaving the rest of his advance from interference.\n\nSafe from pursuit, and with no further need for concealing his plan,\nMarlborough lingered in the neighbourhood of the Neckar, partly to effect\na full concentration of his forces, partly to rest his cavalry. It was a\nweek before he found himself at Mundelsheim, between Heilbron and\nStuttgart, and at the foot of the range which still divided him from the\nbasin of the Danube. Here Eugene, the author of the whole business, met\nMarlborough; between them the two men drew up the plans which were to lead\nto so momentous a result, and knitted in that same interview a friendship\nbased upon the mutual recognition of genius, which was to determine seven\nyears of war.\n\nUpon the 13th of June these great captains met and conferred also with the\nMargrave, Louis of Baden, who commanded all the troops in the hills, and\nwho was to be the third party to their plan. He was a man, cautious, but\nable, easily ruffled in his dignity, often foolishly jealous of another's\npower. He insisted that Marlborough and he should take command upon\nalternate days--he would not serve as second--and in all that followed,\nthe personal relations between himself and Marlborough grew less and less\ncordial up to the eve of the great battle. His prudence and arrangement,\nhowever, his exact synchrony of movement and good hold over his troops,\nmade Marlborough's decisions fruitful.\n\nUpon the 14th of June the passage of Marlborough's column over the hills\nbetween the Rhine and the Danube began. Baden went back to the command of\nhis army, which already lay in the plain of the Upper Danube, and awaited\nthe arrival of Marlborough's command, and the junction of it with his own\nforce before Ulm.\n\nA heavy rain, drenched and bad roads, marked Marlborough's crossing of the\nrange. It was not until the 20th that the cavalry reached the foot of the\nfinal ascent, but in two days the whole body had passed over. It was thus\nupon the 22nd of June that the junction between Marlborough and Baden was\neffected. From that day on their combined forces were prepared to operate\nas one army upon the plain of the Upper Danube. They stood joined at the\ngates of Ulm, and in their united force far superior to the\nFranco-Bavarians, who had but just escaped Baden's army, and who lay in\nthe neighbourhood watching this fatal junction of their rivals.\n\nI say, \"who had but just escaped Baden's army,\" for it was part of the\ngeneral plan (and a part most ably executed) that not only should the seat\nof war be brought into the valley of the Upper Danube by Marlborough's\nmarch to join Baden, but, as a preparation for this, that the army of the\nElector, with his French allies under Marcin, should be driven eastward\nout of the mountains and cut off from the main French forces upon the\nRhine.\n\nThis chasing of the Franco-Bavarians down on to the Danube and out of the\nBlack Forest was begun just after the spirited piece of generalship by\nwhich Tallard had, as we have seen, reinforced the Elector of Bavaria in\nthe middle of May. That rapid and brilliant piece of work had been\neffected only just in time. Hardly was it accomplished when Baden's force\nin the mountains marched, as part of Marlborough's general plan, against\nthe Elector, with the object of forcing him back into the Danube valley at\nfull speed.\n\nIt was on the 18th of May that the British regiments were crossing the\nMeuse, and the advance upon the Danube had begun.\n\nIt was on the 18th of May that Louis of Baden appeared at the head of his\narmy in the Black Forest and initiated that separation of the Bavarian\nforces from the French which was a necessary part of the general plan we\nhave spoken of. It was but a few hours since Tallard had stretched out his\nhand and passed the recruits and the provisions over to the\nFranco-Bavarian forces.\n\nThe Elector of Bavaria had with him certain French regiments, and Marshal\nMarcin was under his commands, while Marlborough's plan was still quite\nunknown. Therefore no large French force could apparently be spared from\nthe valley of the Rhine to help the Elector in that of the Danube; the\nDuke of Baden could have things his own way against the lesser force\nopposed to him.\n\nOn the 19th he was advancing on Ober and Neder Ersasch. The Duke of\nBavaria had evacuated these villages upon the 20th, and on the same night\nthe Duke of Baden reached Meidlingen. Pursuer and pursued were marching\nalmost parallel, separated only by the little river of Villingen. Now and\nthen they came so close that Baden's artillery could drop a shot into the\nhurrying ranks of the Elector.\n\nOn the 21st Baden was at Geisingen, threatening Tuttlingen. On the 23rd he\nhad reached Stockach, and was pressing so hard that his van had actually\ncome in contact with the rear of the Bavarians, a situation reminiscent of\nthe Esla Bridge in Moore's retreat on Coruña.\n\nThe valley of the Danube opened out before the two opponents. The Elector\nfound it possible to maintain his exhausted but rapid retreat, and, ten\ndays later, he had escaped. For by the 3rd of June the Franco-Bavarian\nforces lay at Elchingen, the Duke of Baden was no nearer than Echingen,\nand the former was saved after a fortnight of very anxious going; but,\nthough saved, they were now completely cut off for the moment from French\nreinforcement. Marlborough was approaching the hills; he would cross them\nin a few days. He would join Baden's army; and the moment Marlborough\nshould have joined Baden, the Elector would be in peril of overwhelming\nadversaries.\n\nWe have seen how the plan matured. Three weeks after the Bavarian army's\nescape from the Black Forest, upon the 22nd of June, Marlborough's force\nhad crossed the range and made one with Baden's before Ulm.\n\n\n\n\nPART IV\n\nTHE SEVEN WEEKS--THE THREE PHASES\n\n\nFrom the day when the Duke had appeared upon the southern side of the\nmountains, and was debouching into the plains of the Danube, to the day\nwhen he broke the French line at Blenheim, is just over seven weeks; to be\naccurate, it is seven weeks and three days. It was on the last Sunday but\none of the month of June that he passed the mountains; it was upon the\nsecond Wednesday of August that he won his great victory.\n\nThese seven weeks divide themselves into three clear phases.\n\nThe first is the march of Marlborough and Baden upon Donauwörth and the\ncapture of that city, which was the gate of Bavaria.\n\nThe second is the consequent invasion and ravaging of Bavaria, the\nweakening of the Elector, and his proposal to capitulate; the consequent\nprecipitate advance of Tallard to the aid of the Elector, and the\ncorresponding secret march of Eugene to help Marlborough.\n\nThe third occupies the last few days only: it is concerned with the\nmanoeuvres immediately preceding the battle, and especially with the\njunction of Marlborough and Eugene, which made the victory possible.\n\n\nTHE FIRST PHASE\n\n_From the junction of Marlborough and Baden to the fall of Donauwörth_\n\nWhen the Duke of Marlborough had joined hands with the forces of Baden\nupon the 22nd of June 1704 his general plan was clear: the last of his\ninfantry, under his brother Churchill, would at once effect their junction\nwith the rest at Ursprung, and he and Baden had but to go forward.\n\nHis great march had been completely successful. He had eluded and confused\nhis enemy. He was safe on the Danube watershed, and within a march of the\nriver itself. The only enemies before him on this side of the hills were\ngreatly inferior in number to his own and his ally's. His determination to\ncarry the war into Bavaria could at once be carried into effect.\n\nWith this junction the first chapter in that large piece of strategy which\nmay be called \"the campaign of Blenheim\" comes to an end.\n\nBetween the successful termination of his first effort, which was\naccomplished when he joined forces with Baden upon the Danube side of the\nwatershed in the village of Ursprung, and the great battle by which\nMarlborough is chiefly remembered, there elapsed, I say, seven summer\nweeks. These seven weeks are divided into the three parts just\ndistinguished.\n\nIn order to understand the strategy of each part of those seven weeks, we\nmust first clearly grasp the field.\n\nThe accompanying map shows the elements of the situation.\n\nEast of the Black Forest lay open that upper valley of the Danube and its\ntributaries which was so difficult of access from the valley of the Rhine.\nIn the hills to the north of the Danube, and one day's march from the town\nof Ulm, were now concentrated the forces of Marlborough and the Duke of\nBaden. They were advancing, ninety-six battalions strong, with two hundred\nand two squadrons and forty-eight guns: in all, say, somewhat less than\n70,000 men.\n\n\n[Illustration: Map illustrating the march of Marlborough and Baden across\nMarcin's front from the neighbourhood of Ulm to Donauwörth.]\n\n\nAt Ulm lay Marcin, and in touch with him, forming part of the same army,\nthe Elector of Bavaria was camped somewhat further down the river, near\nLauingen.\n\nThe combined forces of Marcin and the Elector of Bavaria numbered, all\ntold, some 45,000 men, and their inferiority to the hostile armies, which\nhad just effected their junction north of Ulm at Ursprung, was the\ndetermining factor in what immediately followed.\n\nMarcin crossed the Danube to avoid so formidable a menace, and took up his\nnext station behind the river at Leipheim, watching to see what\nMarlborough and the Duke of Baden would do. The Elector of Bavaria, in\ncommand of the bridge at Lauingen, stood fast, ready to retire behind the\nstream. The necessity of such a retreat was spared him. The object of his\nenemies was soon apparent by the direction their advance assumed.\n\nFor the immediate object of Marlborough and Baden was not an attack upon\nthe inferior forces of the Elector and Marcin, but, for reasons that will\npresently be seen, the capture of Donauwörth, and their direct march upon\nDonauwörth took them well north of the Danube. On the 26th, therefore,\nMarcin thought it prudent to recross the Danube. He and the Elector\njoined forces on the north side of the Danube, and lay from Lauingen to\nDillingen, commanding two bridges behind them for the crossing of the\nstream, and fairly entrenched upon their front. Meanwhile their enemies,\nthe allies, passed north of them at Gingen. This situation endured for\nthree days.[4]\n\nWhen it was apparent that the allied forces of the English general and the\nDuke of Baden intended to make themselves masters of Donauwörth (and the\nElector of Bavaria could have no doubt of their intentions after the 29th\nof July, when their march eastward from Gingen was resumed), a\nFranco-Bavarian force was at once detached by him to defend that town, and\nit is necessary henceforward to understand why Donauwörth was of such\nimportance to Marlborough's plan.\n\nIt was his intention to enter Bavaria so as to put a pressure upon the\nElector, whose immediate and personal interests were bound up with the\nvillages and towns of his possessions. The Elector could not afford to\nneglect the misfortunes of its civilian inhabitants, even for the ends of\nhis own general strategy; still less could he sacrifice those subjects of\nhis for the strategic advantage of the King of France and his marshal.\n\nThis Marlborough knew. To enter Bavaria, to occupy its towns (only one of\nwhich, Ingolstadt, was tolerably fortified), and if possible to take its\ncapital, Munich, had been from its inception the whole business and\nstrategic motive of his march to the Danube.\n\nBut if Marlborough desired to enter Bavaria, Donauwörth was the key to\nBavaria from the side upon which he was approaching.\n\nThis word \"key\" is so often used in military history, without any\nexplanation of it which may render it significant to the reader, that I\nwill pause a moment to show _why_ Donauwörth might properly be called in\nmetaphor the \"key\" of Bavaria to one advancing from the north and west.\n\nBavaria could only be reached by a general coming as Marlborough came, on\ncondition of his possessing and holding some crossing-place over the\nDanube, for Marlborough's supplies lay north of that river (principally at\nNördlingen), and the passing of the enormous supply of an army over one\nnarrow point, such as is a bridge over such an obstacle as a broad river,\ndemands full security.\n\nIt will further be seen from the map that yet another obstacle, defending\nSouthern Bavaria and its capital towards the west, as the Danube does\ntowards the north, is the river Lech; a passage over this was therefore\nalso of high importance to the Duke of Marlborough and his allies. Now, a\nman holding Donauwörth can cross both rivers at the same time unmolested,\nfor they meet in its neighbourhood.\n\nFurther, Donauwörth was a town amply provisioned, full of warehouse room,\nand in general affording a good advanced base of supply for any army\nmarching across the Danube. It afforded an opportunity for concentration\nof supplies, it contained waggons and horses and food. Supplies, it must\nbe remembered, were the great difficulty of each of the two opposed\nforces, in this moving of great numbers of men east of the Black Forest,\nin a comparatively poor country, largely heath and forest, and ill\npopulated.\n\n\n[Illustration: Map showing how Donauwörth is the key of Bavaria from the\nNorth-West.]\n\n\nNo serious permanent defences, such as could delay the capture of the\ntown, surrounded Donauwörth; but up above it lies a hill, called from its\nshape \"the Schellenberg\" or \"Bell Hill.\" This hill is not isolated, but\njoins on the higher ground to its north by a sort of flat isthmus, which\nis level with the summit or nearly so.[5]\n\nThe force which, on perceiving the Duke of Marlborough's intention of\ncapturing Donauwörth, the Elector of Bavaria very rapidly detached to\ndefend that town, was under the command of Count d'Arco; it consisted of\ntwo regiments of cavalry and about 10,000 infantry (of whom a quarter were\nFrench). D'Arco had orders to entrench the hill above the town as rapidly\nas might be and to defend it from attack; for whoever held the\nSchellenberg was master of Donauwörth below. But the Elector could only\nspare eight guns for this purpose from his inferior forces.\n\nUpon the 2nd of July, in the early morning, Marlborough, by one of those\nrapid movements which were a prime element in his continuous success,\nmarched before dawn with something between seven and eight thousand\ninfantry carefully chosen for the task and thirty-five squadrons of horse\nfor the attack on the Schellenberg. It was Marlborough's alternate day of\ncommand.\n\nWith all his despatch, he could not arrive on the height of the hill nor\nattack its imperfect but rapidly completing works until the late\nafternoon. It is characteristic of his generalship that he risked an\nassault with this advance body of his without waiting for the main part of\nthe army under the Duke of Baden to come up. With sixteen battalions only,\nof whom a third were British, he attempted to carry works behind which a\nforce equal to his own in strength was posted. The risk was high, for he\ncould hardly hope to carry the works with such a force, and all depended\nupon the main body coming up in time. There was but an hour or two of\ndaylight left.\n\nThe check which Marlborough necessarily received in such an attempt\nincidentally gave proof of the excellent material of his troops. More than\na third of these fell in the first furious and undecided hour. They failed\nto carry the works. They had already once begun to break and once again\nrallied, but had suffered no final dissolution under the ordeal--though it\nwas both the first to which the men were subjected during this campaign,\nand probably also the most severe of any they were to endure.\n\nWhether they, or indeed any other troops, could long have survived such\nconditions as an attempt to storm works against equal numbers is not open\nto proof; for, while the issue was still doubtful (but the advantage\nnaturally with the force behind the trenches), the mass of the army under\nthe Duke of Baden came up in good time upon the right (that is, from the\nside of the town), poured almost unopposed over the deserted earthworks of\nthat side, and, five to one, overwhelmed the 12,000 Franco-Bavarians upon\nthe hill.\n\nAfter one of those short stubborn and futile attempts at resistance which\nsuch situations discover in all wars, the inevitable dissolution of\nd'Arco's command came before the darkness. It was utterly routed; and we\nmay justly presume that not 4000--more probably but 3000--rejoined the\narmy of Marcin and of the Elector of Bavaria.\n\nThe loss of the Schellenberg had cost Marlborough's enemies, whose forces\nwere already gravely inferior to his own, eight guns and close upon\none-fifth of their effective numbers. The Franco-Bavarians hurried south\nto entrench themselves under Augsburg, while Donauwörth, and with it the\npassage of the two great rivers and the entry into Bavaria, lay in the\npossession of Marlborough and his ally.\n\nThe balance of military and historical opinion will decide that\nMarlborough played for too high stakes in beginning the assault so late in\nthe evening and with so small a force. But he was playing for speed, and\nhe won the hazard.\n\nIt was a further reward of his daring that he could point after this first\nengagement to the fine quality of his British contingent.[6]\n\nIt was upon the evening of July the 2nd, then, that this capital position\nwas stormed. It was upon the 5th that Marcin and the Elector lay hopeless\nand immobile before Augsburg, while their enemies entered a now\ndefenceless Bavaria by its north-western gate. And this complete\nachievement of Marlborough's plan was but the end of the first phase in\nthe campaign upon the Danube.\n\nMeanwhile, a large French reinforcement under Tallard was already far up\non its way from the Rhine, across the Black Forest, to join Marcin and the\nElector of Bavaria and set back the tide of war, and, when it should have\neffected its junction with those who awaited it at Augsburg, to oppose to\nMarlborough and the Duke of Baden a total force greater than their own.\n\nThe French marshal, Tallard, was in command of the army thus rapidly\napproaching in relief of the Franco-Bavarians. His arrival, if he came\nwithout loss, disease, or mishap, promised a complete superiority over the\nEnglish and their allies, unless, indeed, by some accident or stroke of\ngenius, reinforcement should reach _them_ also before the day of the\nbattle.\n\nThis reinforcement, in the event, Marlborough _did_ receive. He owed it,\nas we shall see, to the high talents of Prince Eugene; and it is upon the\nsuccessful march of this general, his junction with Marlborough, and the\nconsequent success of Blenheim, that the rest of the campaign turns.\n\nWe turn next, then, to follow the second phase of the seven weeks, which\nconsists in Tallard's advance to join the Elector, and in Eugene's rapid\nparallel march, which brought him, just in time, to Marlborough's aid.\n\n\nTHE SECOND PHASE\n\n_The Advance of Tallard_\n\nTo follow the second phase of the seven weeks, that is, the phase\nsubsequent to the capture of the Schellenberg and the retirement of Marcin\nand the Elector of Bavaria on to Augsburg, it is necessary to hark back a\nlittle, and to trace from its origin that advance of Tallard's\nreinforcements which was to find on the field of Blenheim so disastrous a\ntermination.\n\nWe shall see that in this second phase Tallard did indeed manage to effect\nhis junction with the Elector and Marcin with singular despatch; that this\njunction compelled Marlborough and Baden to cease the ravaging of Bavaria\nupon which they had been engaged, and to join in closely watching the\nmovement of the Franco-Bavarian forces, lest their own retreat or their\nline of supplies should be cut off by that now large army.\n\nThe Schellenberg was stormed, as we have seen, on the 2nd of July.\n\nTallard, as we have also seen, had orders from Versailles, when\nMarlborough's plan of reaching the Danube was clear, to put himself in\nmotion for an advance to the Elector's aid.\n\nHe moved at first with firmness and deliberation, determined to secure\nevery post of his advance throughout the difficult hills, and thoroughly\nto provision his route. He crossed the Rhine upon July 1st, and during the\nvery hours that, far to the east, the disaster of Donauwörth was in\nprogress, he was assembling his forces upon the right bank of the river\nbefore beginning to secure his passage through the Black Forest. Upon the\n4th he began his march over the hills.\n\nA week later he was in the heart of the broken country at Hornberg, and on\nthe 16th of July he had contained the garrison of Villingen, the principal\nstronghold which barred his route to the Danube, and which, did he leave\nit untaken, would jeopardise his provision and supply, the health and even\nthe maintenance of his horses and men by the mountain road.\n\nUpon the 18th he opened fire upon the town; but on the very day that the\nsiege thus began he received from Marcin the whole story of the disaster\nof the Schellenberg, which had taken place a fortnight before, and a most\nurgent request for immediate reinforcement.\n\nTallard's deliberation, his attempt to secure the enemy's one stronghold\nupon the line of his passage across the hills, and amply to provision his\nadvance, were fully justified. He knew nothing of the fall of Donauwörth.\nHe believed himself to have full time for a properly organised march to\njoin the Elector of Bavaria, and that meant the capture of Villingen. And\nthe siege of that fortress had the further advantage that it compelled\nEugene and his army to remain near the Rhine. Only at this late day, the\n18th of July, did Tallard learn that the forces of Marlborough and of\nBaden had captured the crossing of the Danube and the Lech, and were\npouring into Bavaria.\n\nHe should have known it earlier, but the despatch which bore him the\ninformation had miscarried.\n\nAlready, upon the 9th, Marcin had written from Augsburg a pressing letter\nto Tallard, bidding him neglect everything save an immediate march, and,\nill provisioned as he was, and insecure as he would leave his\ncommunications, to hasten to the aid of the Elector. Marlborough and\nBaden (he wrote) had crossed the Danube and the Lech on the 5th and 6th of\nJuly. They were before Rhain; and when Rhain fell (as fall it must), all\nBavaria would be at their mercy.\n\nThis letter Tallard never received.\n\nMarcin was right. Rhain could not possibly hold out: none of the Bavarian\nstrongholds except Ingolstadt were tolerably fortified. Rhain was destined\nto fall, and with its fall all Bavaria would be the prey of the allied\ngenerals.\n\nThe Elector, watching all this from just beyond the Lech, was in despair.\nHe proposed to sue for terms unless immediate news of help from the French\nupon the Rhine should reach him. And if the Elector sued for terms and\nretired from the contest, France would be left alone to bear the whole\nweight of the European alliance: its forces would at once be released to\nact upon the Rhine, in Flanders, or wherever else they would.\n\nWhen, upon the 14th, Marcin wrote that second letter to Tallard, telling\nhim to neglect everything, to march forward at all costs, and to hasten to\nBavaria's relief--the letter which Tallard did receive, and which came to\nhim on the 18th of July, just as he was beginning the siege of\nVillingen--Rhain still held out; but, even as Tallard read the letter,\nRhain had fallen, and the terrible business of the harrying of Bavaria had\nbegun. For Baden and Marlborough proceeded to ravage the country, a cruel\npiece of work, which Marlborough believed necessary, because it was his\nsupreme intention to bring such pressure to bear upon the Elector as might\ndissuade him from taking further part in the war.\n\nThe villages began to burn (one hundred and twenty were destroyed), the\ncrops to be razed. The country was laid waste to the very walls of Munich,\nand that capital itself would have fallen had the Englishman and his\nimperial ally possessed a sufficient train to besiege it.\n\nTallard was still hesitating to abandon the siege of Villingen when, upon\nthe 21st of July, came yet a _third_ message from Marcin, which there was\nno denying. Tallard learnt from it of the fall of Rhain, of the ravaging\nof Bavaria, of the march of Marlborough and Baden upon Munich, of the\ncrucial danger in which France lay of seeing the Elector of Bavaria\nabandon her cause.\n\nWholly insufficient as the provisioning of the route was, Marcin assured\nTallard it was just enough to feed his men and horses during the dash\neastwards; and, with all the regret and foreboding necessarily attached to\nleaving in his rear an unconquered fortress and marching in haste upon an\ninsufficiently provided route, Tallard, on the next day, the 22nd, raised\nthe siege of Villingen and risked his way across the mountains down to the\nvalley of the Danube.\n\nThe move was undoubtedly necessary if the Bavarian alliance was to be\nsaved, but it had to be accomplished in fatal haste.\n\nSickness broke out among Tallard's horses; his squadrons were reduced in a\nfashion that largely determined the ultimate issue at Blenheim.\n\nHis troops, ill fed and exhausted, marched upon wretched rations of bread\nand biscuit alone, and with that knowledge of insecurity behind them which\nthe private soldier, though he can know so little of the general plan of\nany campaign, instinctively feels when he is taking part in an advance of\ndoubtful omen.\n\nA week later, upon the 29th of July, the army was in sight of Ulm. It\nfound there but six thousand sacks of flour. It knew that it would find no\nsufficient provisionment in Augsburg at the end of its advance, yet\nadvance it must unless the forces of Bavaria were to be lost to the cause\nof Louis XIV.\n\nFive days later the junction was effected, and upon Monday the 4th of\nAugust the united armies of Tallard and the Elector of Bavaria faced, in\nthe neighbourhood of Augsburg, the opposing armies of Marlborough and\nBaden upon the further side of the Lech.\n\nIn spite of the deplorable sickness and loss among his horse, the absence\nof remounts, the exhaustion of his men, the poor provisioning, and the\ninsecurity of the line of supply behind him, Tallard could now present\nforces somewhat superior (counted by battalions and nominal\nsquadrons)--far superior in artillery--to the forces of the allies.\n\nHad this reluctant and tardy advance of Tallard's on the one hand, the\nravaging of Bavaria by Baden and Marlborough on the other, between them\nconstituted the whole of the second phase in the preliminaries of\nBlenheim, the result of the campaign might have been very different, in\nspite of the impoverished condition of the Franco-Bavarian army.\n\nBut a third element, of the utmost importance, must be added: the rapid,\nthe secret, and the successful march of Eugene during these same days\nacross the northern part of these same hills which the French had just\ntraversed by their southern passes, and the debouching of that formidable\ncaptain with his admirably disciplined force, especially strong in\ncavalry, upon the upper valley of the Danube to reinforce Marlborough and\nto decide the war.\n\nSo long as Tallard proceeded, with soldierly method, to the proper\naffirmation of his line of advance and to the reduction of Villingen,\nEugene had been pinned to the neighbourhood of the Rhine.\n\nWould Eugene, when the siege of Villingen was raised, and when Tallard had\nbeen persuaded to that precipitous eastern move, go back to hold the line\nof the Rhine against the French forces there situated, or would he decide\nfor the risk of detaching a large command, perhaps of leading it himself,\nand of joining Marlborough? That was the doubtful factor in Tallard's\nplans.\n\nAs in the case of Marlborough's own march to the Danube, either\nalternative was possible. The safer course for Eugene, and that one\ntherefore which seemed in the eyes of his enemies the more probable, was\nfor him to remain on the Rhine. But it was conceivable that he would run\nthe risk of leading a force to the Danube; and did he so decide, the\nwhole business of the French remaining on the Rhine was to discover his\nintention, the whole business of Eugene to hide it.\n\nAs in the case of Marlborough's march to the Danube, Eugene was led by a\njust instinct to gamble on the chance of the French army in Alsace not\nnoting his move, and of the few troops he left opposite them upon the\nRhine sufficing to screen his movements and to give the effect of much\nlarger numbers. In other words, though his task in the coalition was to\nwatch the central Rhine, he decided to take the risk of seeing the Rhine\nforced, and to march in aid of the English general whom he had himself\nsummoned to Bavaria, with whose genius his own had such sympathy, and at\nwhose side he was to accomplish the marvels of the next seven years.\n\nLike Marlborough, he was successful in concealing his determination, but,\nwith a smaller force than Marlborough's had been, he was able to be more\nsuccessful still.\n\nVilleroy, who commanded the French upon the Middle Rhine, was informed by\nnumerous deserters and spies that Eugene, after the fall of Villingen, was\nat Radstadt, and intended detaching but two or three battalions at most\nfrom his lines upon the right bank of the Rhine, and these not, of\ncourse, for work upon the Danube, but only to cover Wurtemburg by\ngarrisoning Rottweil.\n\nThis information, coming though it did from many sources, was calculatedly\nfalse, and Eugene's movements, after the siege of Villingen had been\nraised, were arranged with a masterly penetration of his enemy's mind. A\nleisurely two days after the siege of Villingen was raised he entered that\nfortress, ordered the breaches to be repaired, and, in his every order and\ndisposition, appeared determined to remain within the neighbourhood of the\nUpper Rhine. Nearly a week later he was careful to show himself at\nRottweil, hardly a day's march away, apparently doing no more than cover\nWurtemburg against a possible French attack from beyond the Rhine; and, so\nfar as such leisure and immobility could testify to his intentions, he\nproclaimed his determination to remain in that neighbourhood, and in no\nway to preoccupy himself with what might be going on in the valley of the\nUpper Danube.\n\nWith due deliberation, he left eight battalions in Rottweil to garrison\nthat place, posted seventeen upon his lines upon the Rhine, and himself\nopenly proceeded--and that at no great speed--to march for the valley of\nthe Neckar with 15,000 men.... Those 15,000 had been picked from his army\nwith a particular care; nearly one-third were cavalry in the highest\ntraining, and the command, which seemed but one of three detachments all\ndestined to operate upon the Rhine, was in fact a body specially chosen\nfor a very different task. Eugene continued to proceed in this open\nfashion and slow as far as Tübingen....\n\n\n[Illustration: Map showing Eugene's march on the Danube from the Black\nForest.]\n\n\nIt was many days since Tallard had begun his advance; many days since\nVilleroy, on the Rhine, had been watching the movements of Eugene; and\nduring all these days that great general had done no more than assure his\noriginal positions with ample leisure, and to begin, with what was\napparently a gross lack of concealment, a return by the Neckar round the\nnorth of the Black Forest to the Rhine valley.\n\nSuddenly, from the moment of his reaching Tübingen, all this slow and\npatient work ceases. Eugene and his 15,000 abruptly disappear.\n\nIn place of the open march which all might follow, friend and foe alike,\nthere is a void; in place of clear and reiterated information upon his\nunhurried movements, there is nothing but a fog, contradictory rumours,\nfantastic and ill-credited.\n\nNever was a design better kept or concealed to a moment so near its\naccomplishment. When that design was accomplished, it was to determine, as\nwe shall see in what follows, the whole issue of the campaign of Blenheim.\n\n\nTHE THIRD PHASE\n\n_The Appearance of Eugene_\n\nThe third phase in the operations which led up to the battle of Blenheim\nis one of no more than nine days.\n\nIt stands distinct from all that went before, and must be regarded in\nhistory as a sort of little definite and enclosed preface to the great\naction. The distinctive character of this, the third phase, resides in the\ncompletion of the Franco-Bavarian force, its manoeuvring in the presence\nof the enemy, and its finding itself unexpectedly confronted with the\nreinforcements of Eugene.\n\nTo seize the character of this third phase, the sketch map opposite must\nbe referred to.\n\nIt is the 5th of August. Tallard has fully effected his junction with\nMarcin and the Elector of Bavaria, and the united Franco-Bavarian force\nlies in and to the east of Augsburg. On the opposite bank of the river\nLech this force is watched by the army of Marlborough and Baden, which has\nbeen ravaging Bavaria. But Marlborough and Baden, though they have an\nadvanced depot at Donauwörth, have their forward munitions and supplies\nfar up northwards. Nördlingen is their advanced base, two days' marching\nbeyond the Danube. A week away to the north Nuremberg contains their only\nlarge and permanent collection of stores. Marlborough and Baden are in\nperpetual difficulty for food, for ammunition, and for forage--especially\nfor ammunition.\n\n\n[Illustration: Map showing the situation when Eugene suddenly appeared at\nHochstadt, August 5-7, 1704.]\n\n\nSince the whole object of Marlborough in marching to the Upper Danube was\nto embarrass in this new seat of war the alliance of the French and\nBavarian forces, it is, conversely, the business of the French commander\nto get him out of the valley of the Upper Danube and restore the liberty\nof action of the French monarch and of his ally the Elector of Bavaria.\n\nThe surest way of getting Marlborough out of the Upper Danube is to\nthreaten his line of supply. He will then be compelled to fall back\nnorthward upon his base. Further (though Tallard did not know it at the\nmoment), there is present the very real difficulty of friction between the\ntwo commanders of the army opposing him. Marlborough and Baden are not\ngetting on well together. If it were possible for Marlborough to persuade\nBaden to go off on some little expedition of his own, withdrawing but a\nfew soldiers, Marlborough would be well content, and Marlborough is by far\nthe more formidable of the two men. But though the opportunity for such a\nriddance of divided command is open, for Prince Louis of Baden is anxious\nto besiege Ingolstadt, Marlborough dares not weaken the combined forces,\neven by a few battalions, now that Tallard has effected his junction with\nthe Elector and with Marcin, and that a formidable force is opposed to\nhim.\n\nThese elements in the situation, once clearly seized, the sequel follows\nfrom them logically enough.\n\nThe above describes the situation on the 5th of August.\n\nOn the 6th, Wednesday, the united Franco-Bavarian force began its march\nnorthward towards the Danube, a march parallel with Marlborough's line of\nsupply, and threatening that line all the way, ready to cut it when once\nthe northern bank of the Danube was reached. Marlborough was compelled,\nin view of that march, to go back northward, step for step with his\nopponents. The artery that fed him was in danger, and everything else must\nbe neglected.\n\nIn the evening of that Wednesday, August the 6th, Tallard and the Elector\nwere at Biberach, Marlborough and Baden at Schobenhausen, which, as the\nmap shows, lies also a day's march to the north from the last position\nthese troops had held, and was on the way to the crossing of the Danube at\nNeuburg, as the Franco-Bavarians were on the way to the crossing of the\nsame great river at Dillingen.\n\nOn the 7th there was no movement, but on the 8th, the Friday, as the\nFranco-Bavarian host approached the crossing of the Danube at Dillingen,\ntheir leader (if Tallard may be regarded as their leader--he was nominally\nunder the orders of the Elector, but he was the marshal of Louis XIV.)\nheard suddenly that Eugene _had appeared at Hochstadt with thirty-nine\nsquadrons and twenty battalions_.\n\nThe trick was done. The rapid and secret march of Eugene had been\naccomplished with complete success, and his force was within speaking\ndistance of Marlborough's.\n\nWhen the news came to the French camp, it was even there evident what a\nsudden transformation had come over the campaign; but to one who could\nsee, as the historian sees, the moral condition of both forces, the event\nis more significant still.\n\nA great commander, whose name was henceforth to be linked most closely\nwith that of Marlborough's himself, was present upon the Upper Danube. He\nbrought with him troops not only equivalent in number to a third of his\ncolleague's existing forces, but trained under his high leadership,\ndisciplined in his excellent school, and containing, what will prove\nessential to the fortunes of the coming battle, a very large proportion of\ncavalry. Further, the appearance of Eugene at this critical moment\npermitted Marlborough to rid himself of Louis of Baden, to despatch him to\nthe siege of Ingolstadt in the heart of Bavaria, at once to be free of the\nclog which the slow decision and slow movements of that general burdened\nhim with, to threaten the heart of the enemy's country by that general's\ndeparture on such a mission, and to unite himself and his forces with a\nman whose methods were after his own heart.\n\nIt is true that a minor problem lay before Eugene and Marlborough which\nmust be solved before the great value of the junction they were about to\neffect could be taken advantage of. Their forces were still separated by\nthe Danube: Marlborough lay a day's march to the south of it, and were he\nto cross the Danube at Neuburg he would be two days' march from Eugene.\nBut each army was free to march towards the other, and all that their\ncommanders had to decide was upon which side of the river the junction\nshould be effected. Were the junction effected to the south--that is, were\nEugene to cross the Danube and join Marlborough in Bavaria--Tallard,\ncrossing the Danube at Dillingen, could strike at the great northern line\nof communications which conditioned all these movements. It was,\ntherefore, the obvious move for Eugene and Marlborough to join upon the\n_northern_ bank of the Danube, and to move upon and defend that\nall-important line of communications, point for point, as Tallard might\nthreaten it.\n\nIt was on the 8th, the Friday, as I have said, that Eugene's presence was\nknown both to Tallard and to Marlborough, for Eugene had ridden forward\nand met his colleague.\n\nUpon the 9th, the Saturday, the French marched towards the bridge of\nDillingen. Eugene, who was already on the way back to his army, returned\nto inform Marlborough of this, then rode westward again to his forces,\nand, while the French made their arrangements for crossing the river on\nthe morrow, he busied himself in conducting his 15,000 eastward down the\nnorth bank of the Danube. Three thousand of Marlborough's cavalry went\nforward to meet him, and to begin that junction between the two forces\nwhich was to determine the day at Blenheim.\n\nThe next day, Sunday the 10th, the Franco-Bavarian army passed the river\nand lay in the position with which their forces had in the past been so\nfamiliar, the position from Lauingen to Dillingen which Marcin and the\nElector had held when, six weeks before, Marlborough and Baden had passed\nacross the Franco-Bavarian front to the north in their march upon\nDonauwörth and the Schellenberg.\n\nOn the same Sunday, the 10th, Marlborough had brought up his main force to\nRhain, within an hour of the Danube, and Eugene was drawing up his force\nat a safe distance from the French position north of the village of\nMünster, and behind the brook of Kessel, where that watercourse joins the\nDanube.\n\nBut, though junction with Marlborough was virtually effected, it must be\neffected actually before Eugene could think himself safe from that\nFranco-Bavarian force a day's march behind him, which was three times his\nown and more. His urgent messages to Marlborough led that commander to\nmarch up his men through the night. Before the dawn of August the 11th\nbroke, Churchill, with twenty battalions, had crossed at Merxheim, and the\nwhole army, marching in two columns, was upon the move--the right-hand\ncolumn following Churchill to the bridge of Merxheim, the left-hand column\ncrossing the Lech by the bridge of Rhain, to pass the Danube at\nDonauwörth. In the afternoon of that Monday the whole of Marlborough's\ncommand was passing the Wornitz, and long after sunset, following upon a\nmarch which had kept the major part of the great host afoot for more than\ntwenty hours, Eugene and Marlborough were together at the head of 52,000\nmen, established in unison, and defending, with now no possibility of its\ninterruption, the line of communications from the north.\n\nEvery historian of this great business has justly remarked the\norganisation and the patient genius of the man who made such a\nconcentration possible under such conditions and in such a time, without\nappreciable loss, at hurried notice, and with a complete success.\n\nIt is a permanent example and masterpiece in that inglorious part of war,\nthe function of transport and of marching orders, upon which strategy\ndepends as surely as an army depends on food.\n\nFully accompanied by his artillery, Marlborough's force could not have\naccomplished the marvel that it did; yet even this arm was brought up, in\nthe rear of the army, by the morning of Tuesday the 12th, and from that\nmoment, given a sufficient repose, the whole great weapon under the two\ncaptains could act as one.\n\nOn that same morning, Tuesday the 12th, the Franco-Bavarian army under\nTallard and the Elector were choosing out with some deliberation a camp so\nsituated as to block any movement of their enemy up the valley of the\nDanube. The situation of the camp was designed to make this advance up the\nDanube so clearly impossible that nothing would be left but what the\nstrategy of the last few days had imposed upon Marlborough, namely, a\nretreat upon his base northward, away from the Danube, towards Nördlingen.\nIt was not imagined that the two commanders of the imperial forces would\nattack this Franco-Bavarian position, and so risk a general action; for by\na retreat upon Nördlingen their continued existence as an army was\nassured, while an indecisive result would do them far more harm than it\nwould do their opponents. Did Marlborough and Eugene force an action, it\nis doubtful whether Tallard had considered the alternative of refusing it.\n\nAt any rate, on this Tuesday, the 12th of August, Tallard and the Elector\nhad no intention but to take up a position and camp which would make a\nretreat up the Danube impossible to Marlborough and Eugene; and certainly\nneither imagined that any attempt to force the camp would be made, since\nan alternative of retreat and complete safety was offered the enemy\ntowards Nördlingen.\n\nWhile the French fourriers were ordering the lines of the encampment--the\ntents stretching, the streets staking out--the English duke and Eugene\noverlooked the business from the church tower of Tapfheim and saw what\nTallard designed. Between the main of their own forces and the camp which\nthe Franco-Bavarians were pitching was a distance of about five miles. The\nlocation of each body was therefore perfectly well known to the other, and\nrarely have two great hosts lain in mutual presence for full twenty-four\nhours in so much doubt of an issue, in such exact opposition, and each\nwith so complete an apprehension of his opponent's power.\n\nAt this point--let us say noon of Tuesday, August 12th--it is essential\nfor us to dwell upon the character of such battles as that upon which\nMarlborough was already determined; for by the time he had seen the French\ndisposition of their camp, the duke had determined upon forcing an action.\n\nIt is the characteristic of great captains that they live by and\nappreciate the heavy risk of war.\n\nWhen they suffer defeat, history--which soldiers and those who love\nsoldiers so rarely write--contemns the hardiness of their dispositions.\nWhen victory, that capricious gift, is granted them, history is but too\nprone to fall into an opposite error, and to see in their hardihood all of\nthe calculating genius and none of the determined gambler.\n\nJustice would rather demand that the great captain should be judged by the\nlight in the eyes of his men, by the endurance under him of immense\nfatigues, by the exact accomplishment of one hundred separate things a\nday, each clearly designed and remembered, by his grasp of great sweeps\nof landscape, by his digestion of maps and horizons, and finally and\nparticularly by this--that the great captain, whether he loses or he wins,\n_risks_ well: he smells the adventure of war, and is the opposite of those\nwho, whether in their fortunes or their bodies, chiefly seek security.\n\nJudged by all these tests, John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, was a\nsupreme commander; and it is not the least part in our recognition of\nthis, that the first and chief of the great actions upon which his fame\nreposes was an action essentially and typically hazardous, and one the\ndisastrous loss of which was as probable as, or more probable than, the\nsuccessful issue which it obtained.\n\nHe could not know the special factor of weakness in his opponent's\ncavalry; he was to misjudge the first element in the position when he\nbroke his best infantry in the futile attack upon the village. But he was\nto benefit by those small, hidden, momentary things which determine great\nbattles, and which make of soldiers, as of men who follow the sea,\ndetermined despisers of success, and as determined worshippers of the\nmerit which may or may not attain it.\n\nTo have led his army as he had led it for now three months, to have\ndesigned the general plan that he had designed, and to have accomplished\nit; to have effected the splendid concentration but a few hours since upon\nthe Kessel--these formed a work sufficient to deserve the reward of\nvictory, Marlborough had the fortune not only to deserve, but to achieve.\n\nThe night of that Tuesday fell with no alarm upon the one side or upon the\nother. In the camp of Marlborough and of Eugene was the knowledge that the\ntwin commanders had determined upon an action; in that of Tallard and the\nElector the belief that it was more probable their opponents would follow\nthe general rules of war, and fall back to recruit their supplies by the\none route that was widely open to them.\n\nMidnight passed. It was already the morning of Wednesday the 13th before\nthe one had moved, or the other had guessed the nature of his enemy's\nplan.\n\nIt was moonless and pitch-dark, save for the dense white mist which, in\nthe marshy lands of that river valley, accompanies the turn of the August\nnight. This mist had risen and covered the plain. The little villages were\nasleep after their disturbance by the advent of so many armed men. The\ncockcrows of midnight were now well past when there was stir in\nMarlborough's camp, and from this moment, somewhere about two of the\nmorning of Wednesday, August the 13th, the action of Blenheim begins.\n\n\n\n\nPART V\n\nTHE ACTION\n\n\nThe field of Blenheim has changed in its physical aspect less than any\nother of the great battlefields of Europe during the two hundred years and\nmore that have passed since Marlborough's victory.\n\nHe who visits to-day this quiet Bavarian corn-land, with its pious and\nhappy peasantry, its modest wealth, and its contempt for haste and greed,\nsees, if he come in the same late summer of the year, just what the\nmounted parties saw who rode out upon that Wednesday before the eight\ncolumns of Marlborough and Eugene under the early morning.\n\nThus, approaching the field of Blenheim from the east, the view consists\nin a low and strangely regular line of closely-wooded hills to the right\nand northwards; southwards, and to the left, a mass of undergrowth, the\nlow trees of the marshes, occasional gaps of rank herbage which make\nbright green patches interspersing the woodland, mark the wide and marshy\ncourse of the Danube, with its belt of alluvial soil and swamp on either\nside.\n\nBetween this stretch of damp river-ground to the south and the regular low\nwooded hills to the north lies a plain just lifted above the level of the\nriver by such few feet as are sufficient to drain it and no more. Crossing\nthis plain transversely, on their way to the Danube, ooze and trickle\nrather than run certain insignificant streams; each rises in the wooded\nhills to the north, falls southward, and in the length of a very few miles\nreaches the main river. These streams are found, as one goes up the great\nvalley, at every mile or so. With one, the Nebel, we shall be particularly\nconcerned, for during the action at Blenheim it formed the only slight\nobstacle separating the two armies. This plain, which in August is all\nstubble, is some three miles across, such a space separates the hills from\nthe river, and that distance, or a trifle more, is the full length of the\nlittle muddy brooks which thus occasionally intersect it.\n\nTo the eye which takes in that landscape at a first glance, bare of crops\nand under a late summer sun, the plain seems quite even and undisturbed by\nany hollows or rolls of land. It is, in fact, like most such apparently\nsimple terrains, slightly diversified: its diversity is enough to affect\nin some degree the disposition of soldiers, to afford in certain places\noccasional cover, and to permit of opportunities for defence.\n\nBut these variations from the flat are exceedingly slight. The hollow\nwhich the Nebel has made, for instance, is not noticed on foot or even in\nmechanical traction as one follows the main road which runs the whole\nlength of the plain, though if one goes across country on foot, one\nnotices the slight bank of a few feet separating the cultivated land from\na narrow belt of rough grass, which is boggy in wet weather, and which, in\nvarying breadth, accompanies the course of the stream.\n\nThe plain also, as might be expected, rises slightly from its low shelf\njust above the Danube swamps and meadows, to the base of the hills. Its\nascent in its whole three miles of breadth is but sixty feet.\n\nOver this level sweep of tilled land rise at intervals the spires of rare\nvillages, round which scattered houses and gardens of the Bavarian\nsort--broad-eaved, flat-roofed, gay with flowers--are gathered. But for\nthese few human groups there is no break in the general aspect of the\nquite open fields.\n\nAs might be expected, an interrupted chain of such villages marks the line\nof the great river from Donauwörth to Ulm, each standing just on the bank\nand edge of what for long was the flood-ground of the Danube, and is still\nin part unreclaimed marsh and water meadow. Each is distant a mile or two\nfrom its next fellow. Thus, nearest Donauwörth we have Münster, upon which\nthe left of the allied army reposed when it lay in camp before the battle.\nNext in order come Tapfheim and Schwenningen, through which that army\nmarched to the field. Further up-stream another group stretches beyond the\nNebel, the hamlet of Sonderheim, the little town of Hochstadt, the village\nof Steinheim, etc.; and, in the middle of this line, at the point where\nthe Nebel falls into the old bed of the Danube, is built that large\nvillage of _Blindheim_, which, under its English form of BLENHEIM, has\ngiven the action the name it bears in this country.\n\nI say \"the old bed of the Danube,\" for one feature, and one alone, in that\ncountryside has changed in the two hundred years, though the change is not\none which the eye can note as it surveys the plain, nor one which greatly\naffects the story of the action. This change is due to the straightening\nof the bed of the great river.\n\nAt the time when Blenheim was fought, the Danube wound in great loops,\nwith numerous islands and backwaters complicating its course, and swung\nback and forth among the level swamps of its valley. It runs to-day in an\nartificial channel, which takes the average, as it were, of these\nvariations, drains the flood-ground, and leaves the old bed in the form of\nstagnant, abandoned lengths of water or reeds, in which the traveller can\ntrace the former vagaries of the river. Thus Blindheim, which stood just\nabove the broad and hurrying water at the summit of one such loop, is now\n800 yards away from the artificial trench which modern engineering has dug\nfor the river. But the new channel has no effect upon the landscape to the\neye. The floor on which the Danube runs is still a mass of undergrowth and\nweeds and grass, which marks off the cultivated land on the south, as it\nhas been limited since men first ploughed.\n\nI have said that the little slow and muddy streamlet called the Nebel must\nparticularly meet with our attention, because it formed at the beginning\nof the action of Blenheim a central line dividing the two hosts, and round\nits course may be grouped the features of the terrain upon which the\nbattle was contested.\n\n_Blindheim_, or, as we always call it, _Blenheim_, lay, as we have seen,\njust above the bank of the Danube at the mouth of this stream. Following\nup the water (which is so insignificant that in most places a man can\ncross it unaided in summer), at the distance of about one mile, is the\nvillage of _Unterglauheim_, lying above the _left_ bank, as Blenheim does\nabove the right. Further on, another three-quarters of a mile up the\n_right_ bank, is the village of _Oberglauheim_; and where the water\ndribbles in various small streams from the hills, and at their base, where\nthe various tiny rivulets join to form the Nebel, at the edge of the\nwoods, is _Schwennenbach_.\n\nThe tiny hamlet of _Weilheim_ may be regarded as an appendix of this last\nor of Oberglauheim indifferently. It lies opposite the latter village, but\non the further side of the stream, and about half a mile away.\n\nRight behind Oberglauheim, at the base of the hills to the westward, and\nwell away from the Nebel, is the larger village of _Lutzingen_.\n\nThese names, and that of the Nebel, are sufficient for us to retain as we\nfollow the course of the battle, remembering as we do so that one good\nroad, the road by which the allies marched in the morning to the field\nfrom Münster, and the road by which the Franco-Bavarian forces retreated\nafter the defeat--the main road from Donauwörth to Ulm--traversed, and\nstill traverses, the terrain in its whole length.[7]\n\n\nIt was at two in the morning of Wednesday the 13th of August that the\nallies broke camp and began their march westward towards the field of\nBlenheim.\n\nThat they intended to reach that field was not at first apparent. They\nmight equally well have designed a retirement upon Nördlingen, and it was\nthis that the commanders of the Franco-Bavarian army believed them to\nintend. The dense mist which covered the marshes of the river and the\nplain above clung to the soil long after sunrise. It was not until seven\no'clock that the advancing columns of the enemy were observed from the\nFrench camp, distant about a mile away, and beginning to deploy in order\nto set themselves in line of battle. But, though they were then first\nseen, their arrival had been appreciated two hours before,[8] and the\nFrench line was already drawn up opposite them on the further bank of the\nNebel as they deployed.[9]\n\nThe French order of battle is no longer to be found in the archives,\nthough we can reconstruct it fairly enough, and in parts quite accurately,\nfrom the separate accounts of the action given by Tallard, by Marcin\nhimself, by Eugene, and from English sources. The line of battle of the\nallies we possess in detail; and the reader can approach with a fair\naccuracy the dispositions of the two armies at the moment when the action\nbegan, though it must be understood that the full deployment of\nMarlborough and Eugene was not accomplished until after midday on account\nof the difficulty the latter commander found in posting his extreme right\nat the foot of the hills and in the woods of Schwennenbach; while it must\nbe further noted that the first shots of the battle sounded long before\nits main action began, that is, long before noon--for the French guns upon\nthe front of their line opened at long range as early as nine o'clock, and\ncontinued a lively cannonade until, at half-past twelve, Eugene being at\nlast ready, the first serious blows were delivered by the infantry.\n\nAll this we shall see in what followed. Meanwhile we must take a view of\nthe two armies as they stood ranged for battle before linesman or\ncavalryman had moved.\n\nThe map on following page indicates in general terms the situation of the\nopposing forces.\n\nThe French stood upon the defensive upon the western bank of the Nebel.\nTheir camp lay behind their line of battle, a stretch of tents nearly two\nmiles long.\n\nIt is particularly to be noted that though, for the purpose of fighting\nthis battle, they formed but one army, the two separate commands, that of\nthe Elector (with Marcin) and that of Tallard, were separately treated and\nseparately organised. The point is of importance if we are to understand\nthe causes of their defeat, for it made reinforcement difficult, and put\ntwo loosely joined wings where a strong centre should have stood.\n\nTallard's command, thirty-six battalions and (nominally) forty-four\nsquadrons, extended from Blindheim to the neighbourhood of Oberglauheim.\nIts real strength may be taken at about 16,000 to 18,000 infantry, and at\nthe most 5200 cavalry; but of these last a great number could not be\nused as mounted men.\n\n\n[Illustration: The Elements of the Action of Blenheim.]\n\n\nThe village of Oberglauheim itself, and all that stretched to the left of\nit up the Nebel as far as the base of the hills, was occupied by the army\nof Marcin and the Elector of Bavaria. This force was forty-two battalions\nand eighty-three squadrons strong. The cavalry in this second army, the\nleft of the whole force, had been less severely tried by disease, rapid\nmarching, and ill provisionment than that of Tallard. We may reckon it,\ntherefore, at its full or nearly its full strength, and say that Marcin\nand the Elector commanded over 20,000 men and close upon 10,000 horse. In\na word, the total of the Franco-Bavarian forces, though we have no\ndocuments by which to estimate their exact numbers, may be regarded, from\nthe indications we have of the losses of the cavalry, etc., as certainly\nmore than fifty and certainly less than fifty-three thousand men, infantry\nand cavalry combined. To these we must add ninety guns, disposed along the\nwhole front after the fashion of the time, and these under the general and\nseparate command of Frézelière.[10]\n\nThis disposition of the guns in a chain along the whole front of the line\nthe reader is begged especially to note.\n\nThe particular dispositions of the Franco-Bavarian forces must now be\nseized, and to appreciate these let us first consider the importance of\nthe village of Blenheim.\n\nBlenheim, a large scattered village, with the characteristic Bavarian\ngardens round each house, lay so close to the course of the Danube as it\nthen ran that there was no possibility of an enemy's force passing between\nit and the river. It formed a position easy to be defended, lying as it\ndid on a slight crest above the brook Nebel, where that brook joined the\nmain river.\n\nBlenheim, therefore, if it were soundly held, blocked any attempt to turn\nthe French line upon that side; but if it were carried by the enemy, that\nenemy would then be able to enfilade the whole French line, to take it in\nflank and to roll it up. Tallard, therefore, with perfect judgment, posted\nin the village a very strong force of his infantry. This force consisted\nat first of nine battalions, shortly after, by reinforcement, of sixteen\nbattalions of foot, and further of four regiments of dragoons\n_dismounted_.[11]\n\nNot content with throwing into Blenheim between 8000 and 10,000 men,\nTallard placed behind the village and in its neighbourhood a further\nreserve of at least eleven battalions. Of his thirty-six battalions,\ntherefore, only nine remained to support his cavalry over the whole of the\nopen field between Blenheim and Oberglauheim, a distance of no less than\n3500 yards. Consequently, this great gap had to be held in the main by his\ninsufficient and depleted cavalry. Eight squadrons of these (of the\nred-coated sort called the Gendarmerie) formed the first section of this\nline, stretching from Blenheim to the neighbourhood of the main road and a\nlittle beyond it. Further along, towards Oberglauheim, another ten\nsquadrons of cavalry were lined up to fill the rest of the gap. In a\nsecond line were ten more squadrons of cavalry under Silly; and the nine\nbattalions of infantry remaining, when those in and near Blenheim had been\nsubtracted, lay also in the second line, in support of the cavalry of the\nfirst line.\n\nSuch was Tallard's disposition, of which it was complained both at the\ntime and afterwards that in putting nearly the whole of his infantry upon\nhis right in the village of Blenheim and behind it he far too greatly\nweakened the great open gap between Blenheim and Oberglauheim. His chief\nmisfortune was not, however, lack of judgment in this, but the character\nof the man who commanded the troops in Blenheim. This general officer,\nwhose name was Clérambault, was of the sort to be relied upon when orders\nare strict and plain in their accomplishment: useless in an emergency; but\nit is only an emergency that proves the uselessness of this kind of man.\nThe army of the Elector and Marcin, which continued the line, similarly\ndisposed their considerable force of cavalry in front, along the banks of\nthe stream; their infantry lay, in the main, in support of this line of\nhorse and behind it; they had also filled Oberglauheim with a mass of\ninfantry; but the disposition of this left half of the French line is of\nless interest to the general reader, for it held its own, and contributed\nto the defeat only in this, that it did not at the critical moment send\nreinforcements to Tallard upon the right.\n\nIn general, then, we must see the long French line set out in two main\nbodies. That on the right, under Tallard, had far the greater part of its\ninfantry within or in support of Blenheim,[12] while the cavalry, for the\nmost part, stretched out over the open centre of the field, with Silly's\nten squadrons and what was left of the infantry in reserve. That on the\nleft, under Marcin and the Elector, had its far more numerous cavalry\nsimilarly disposed upon its front along the brook, most of its infantry\nbehind, and a great number of these holding the village of Oberglauheim,\nwith cavalry in front of them also. Along the whole line the ninety guns\nwere disposed in a chain, as I have described.\n\nSuch being the disposition of the French troops, let us now turn to that\nof the Imperialists and their English and other allies under Eugene and\nMarlborough. These appeared within a mile of the French position by seven\nin the morning, and all that part of their left which lay between the\nriver and the highroad was drawn up within long range of the French\nartillery somewhat before nine o'clock. But, as a glance at the map will\nshow, their right had to march much further in order to come into line\nalong the course of the Nebel, the course of which leans away from the\nline of Marlborough's advance. The difficulty of swampy land under the\nhills and of woods made the final disposition of the extreme left\nparticularly tardy and tedious, nor was it fully drawn up until just after\nmidday. During all the interval of three hours a brisk cannonade at long\nrange had been proceeding from the guns in front of the French line--and,\nas nearly always the case with artillery before the modern quick-firer,\nwas doing less damage than the gunners imagined.\n\nWhen the allied line was finally formed its disposition was as follows:--\n\nOn the extreme left six columns of infantry, half of which consisted of\nBritish regiments.[13]\n\nThese stood immediately opposite the village of Blenheim, and were\ndesigned for that attack upon it which Marlborough, in his first\nintention, desired to make the decisive feature of the action.\n\nNext, towards the main road, came four lines, two of infantry before and\nbehind, and in the midst two parallel lines of cavalry, the foremost of\nwhich was British, and in which could be distinguished the mounting and\nhorsemanship of the Scots Greys.[14]\n\nNext again, to the north, and astraddle of the great road, lay the main\nforce; this it will be remarked was drawn up precisely in front of that\npart in the long French line which was the weakest, and which indeed\nconsisted of little more than the ten squadrons of horse which filled the\ngap between the Gendarmerie and Oberglauheim. This main force was also\ndrawn up in four great lines; the first of infantry, the two next of\ncavalry, the rear of infantry: it contained no British troops, and, with\nthe others already mentioned, formed Marlborough's command. All the rest,\nalong the north and the east, along the left bank of the Nebel, from\nWillheim up into the woods, and the gorge at the source of the brook, was\nEugene's command--not a third of the whole.\n\nAs to the total strength of the allied forces which we must attempt to\nestimate as we estimated that of the Franco-Bavarians, we know it\naccurately enough--it was some 52,000 men. The opposing hosts were\ntherefore little different in numbers. But it is of great importance to\nnote the disproportion of cavalry. In that of the Imperialists under\nMarlborough and Eugene, not only was the cavalry better mounted and free\nfrom the fatigue and disease that had ravaged Tallard's horses, but it was\nnearly double in number that of its opponents. On the other hand, the\nartillery of the allies was far inferior. Only sixty-six guns at the\nmost[15] were opposed to the French ninety.\n\nBlenheim, in the issue, turned out to be a cavalry battle--a battle won by\ncavalry, and its effect clinched by cavalry. The poor rôle played by the\nguns and the inability of the French to make use of their numerical\nsuperiority in this arm was a characteristic of the time, which had not\nyet learnt to use the cannon as a mobile weapon.\n\n\nA general action is best understood if the reader is first told the main\nevent, and later observes how the details of its progress fit in with that\nchief character of it.\n\nThe main event of the battle of Blenheim was simply this:--\n\nMarlborough first thought to carry Blenheim: he failed. Having failed\nbefore the village of Blenheim, he determined to break through Tallard's\nleft, which formed the centre of the French line, and was successful in\ndoing so. By thus breaking through the centre of the French line, he\nisolated all Tallard's army upon the right, except such small portion of\nit as broke and fled from the field. The remainder crowded into the\nvillage of Blenheim, was contained, surrounded, and compelled to\nsurrender. The undefeated left half of the French line was therefore\ncompelled to retire, and did so through Lutzingen upon the Danube,\ncrossing which river in hurried retreat, it fell back upon Ulm. In one\nconspectus, the position at the beginning of the action was this:--\n\n\n\n\nand at the end of it this:--\n\n\n\n\nNow let us follow the details of the fight which brought about such a\nresult.\n\nFirst, at half-past twelve, when all was ready, came Marlborough's attack\nupon Blenheim.\n\nWe have seen some pages back how well advised was Tallard to treat\nBlenheim as the key of his position, and how thoroughly that large\nvillage, once properly furnished with troops and fortified with palisades,\nwould guarantee his right. On that very account, Marlborough was\ndetermined to storm it; for if it fell, there would instantly follow upon\nits fall a complete victory. The whole French line would be turned.\n\nIt may be argued that Marlborough here attempted the impossible, but it\nmust be remembered, in the first place, that he was by temperament a man\nof the offensive and of great risks. His first outstanding action, that of\nthe Schellenberg, proved this, and proved it in his favour. Five years\nlater, in one of his last actions, that of Malplaquet, this characteristic\nof his was to appear in his disfavour. At any rate, risk was in the\ntemperament of the man, and it is a temperament which in warfare accounts\nfor the greatest things.\n\nFirst and last, some 10,000 men were employed against the one point of\nBlenheim; and the assault upon the village, though a failure, forms one of\nthe noblest chapters in the history of British arms.\n\nIt was one o'clock of the afternoon when the serious part of the action\nopened by the two first lines of Marlborough's extreme left advancing\nunder Lord Cutts to pass the Nebel, to cross the pasture beyond, and to\nforce the palisades of the village. The movement across the stream was\nundertaken under a fire of grape from four guns posted upon a slight rise\noutside the village. Cutts' body crossed the brook in face of this\nopposition, re-formed under the bank beyond, left their Hessian contingent\nin shelter there as a reserve, while the British, who were the remainder\nof the body, advanced against the palisades.\n\nThe distance is one of about 150 yards. The Guards and the four regiments\nwith them[16] came up through the long grass of the aftermath, Row at\ntheir head. Two-thirds of that short distance was passed in silence. The\nguns upon the slope beyond could not fire at a mark so close to their own\ntroops behind the palisades. The English had orders not to waste a shot\nuntil they had carried the line of those palisades with the bayonet. The\nFrench behind the palisades reserved their fire.\n\nIt was one of those moments which the eighteenth century, with its\namazingly disciplined professional armies, alone can furnish in all the\nhistory of war, an episode of which the Guards at Fontenoy were, a\ngeneration later, to afford the supreme example, and one depending on that\nperfection of restraint for which the English service was deservedly\nrenowned. When a distance but a yard or two longer than a cricket pitch\nseparated the advancing English from the palisades, the French volley\ncrashed out. One man in three of the advancing line fell agonised or dead.\n\nThe British regiments, still obedient to Row's instructions, reserved\ntheir fire until their leader touched the woodwork with his sword. Then\nthey volleyed, and having fired, wrestled with the palisades as though to\ndrag them down by sheer force. Perhaps some few parties here and there\npressed in through a gap, but as the English soldiers struggled thus,\ngripped and checked by the obstacle, the French fire poured in again was\ndeadly; the British assault was broken, and fled in disorder over the\nlittle field to the watercourse. As it fled, the Gendarmerie charged it in\nflank, captured the colours of the 21st, were repelled again by the\nHessians in reserve (who recaptured the flag), and the first fierce moment\nof the battle was over.\n\nOne-third of Cutts' command had been concerned in this first failure\nagainst Blenheim village. Two-thirds remained to turn that failure into a\nsuccess. But before this second two-thirds was launched, there took place\nan episode in the battle, not conspicuously noted at the time, and given a\nminor importance in all accounts save Tallard's own. It was significant in\nthe extreme.\n\nAs Cutts' broken first line was passing out of range and was effecting its\nretirement after the first disorder, and after the Hessians had repelled\nthe first and partial cavalry charge of the French, the Gendarmerie, eight\nsquadrons strong, prepared to charge again as a whole. They came upon the\nEnglish before these had regained safety. Cutts naturally begged for\ncavalry to meet this cavalry danger, and Lumley sent five British\nsquadrons to cross the stream and check the French charge. The English\nhorse came to the further bank after some little difficulty with the mud\nof the sluggish stream, which difficulty has been exaggerated, and in no\nway affected the significance of what followed.[17]\n\nFor what followed was the singular sight of eight French squadrons\ncharging down a slope against only five, those five cramped in the hollow\nnear a stream bed, and yet succeeding in receiving the shock of the\ncharge of numbers so greatly superior, and, so far from yielding, breaking\nthe offensive of their opponents into a confusion.\n\nI repeat, it was but an episode, one that took place early in the day, and\napparently of no weight. But, in a general historical view of the battle,\nit is of the first importance, for it showed what different stuff the\nopposed cavalries were made of, and that the allied army, which was\nalready numerically the superior in cavalry--nearly double its\nopponents--had also better mounts, better riders, and a better discipline\nin that arm. A universal observer, seeing this one early detail in the\nbattle of Blenheim, might have prophesied that the action would be a\ncavalry action as a whole, and that the cavalry of Marlborough would\ndecide it.\n\nI left Cutts prepared to launch the remaining two-thirds of his force at\nBlenheim village, in the hope of accomplishing what the first third had\nfailed to do.\n\nThe whole combined body which the French had estimated at 10,000 men, and\nwhich seems to have been at least of some 8000, surged up in the second\nattempt against the palisades of the village. Part of that line and many\nof the outer gardens were carried, but the attack could not be driven\nhome. It was, perhaps, at this moment that Tallard sent in those extra men\nwhich raised the French battalions in Blenheim from nine to sixteen, and\ngave the defenders, behind their walls, a force equal to the attackers. At\nany rate, the main attack was thrust back as the first had been, and the\ngreat corps of men, huddled, confused, rallied here and there as best they\ncould be, broke from before the village.\n\nThe loss was terrible, and Marlborough having failed, not only failed, but\nsaw that he had failed. It was his salvation. His subordinates would have\nreturned to the fruitless attack with troops already shaken and dreading\nthe ground. Marlborough ordered a false attack to be kept up from the\nfurther bank, upon the village, and, with that elasticity of command which\nis the prime factor of tactical success, and which commonly distinguishes\nyouth rather than middle age in a general, turned all his efforts upon the\ncentre.[18]\n\nHere the main road crosses the Nebel by a stone bridge. Four other bridges\nhad been thrown across at other points between this stone bridge and\nUnterglauheim. By these the infantry were crossing, which infantry, it\nwill be remembered (and my frontispiece shows it), stood as to their first\nline in front of the cavalry in the main central body. This almost\nundisputed passage of the Nebel would not have been possible had not the\ndistance between Blenheim and Oberglauheim been what it was. The gap was\ngreat, the French line defending it too thin, and the possibility of a\ncross fire defending the centre was eliminated by the width of that\ncentre.\n\nEven as it was, the passage of the Nebel led to one very difficult moment\nwhich might by accident or genius have turned the whole action in favour\nof the French; and in connection with this episode it must be remembered\nthat the French commanders asserted that the passage of the Nebel was no\nsuccess on the part of their enemy, but was deliberately permitted to that\nenemy in order that he might be overwhelmed upon the opposing slope, with\nthe marshy stream behind him, when the time for a counter-attack should\ncome.\n\nThe moment came when the greater part of Marlborough's cavalry had\ncrossed, but before they had fully formed upon the further bank. While\nthey were still in the disorder of forming, the French cavalry upon their\nleft--that is, between the main road and Blenheim--charged down the\nslight slope, and something like a dismemberment of the whole of\nMarlborough's mounted line began. It was checked for a moment by the fire\nof the British infantry, during which check Marlborough brought over\ncertain Danish and Hanoverian squadrons which had remained upon the\nfurther bank. But the French charged again, and though infantry of\nMarlborough's which was pouring over the stream up beyond the stone bridge\ncame up in time to prevent a complete break down, the moment was critical\nin the extreme. All Marlborough's centre was pressed and shaken; a further\nspurt against it and it would break.\n\nIt was such a moment as commanders of rapid decision and quick eye have\nalways seized; and if it be asked how Tallard should have seized it, the\nanswer is that there were French guns to mass, there was French infantry\nin Blenheim unused, and more in reserve behind Blenheim wholly useless.\nThere were the ten squadrons of Tallard's second line of cavalry under\nSilly, a couple of hundred yards away, to be summoned in a few moments.\n\nRapid decision and keen sight of this sort would have done the business;\nbut Tallard was slow of perception; an excellent strategist, but\nshort-sighted and a great gentleman; one, moreover, who had advanced by\nfavour rather than by intrigue. He lost the moment.\n\nMarlborough's cavalry managed to form, struggling beyond the brook, and\nthe last final phase of the action was at hand--for Marlborough's cavalry\nwould reiterate that general lesson which the whole battle teaches, to\nwit, that the horse of the allies was not only far stronger numerically,\nbut far better trained than the French cavalry before them, and, with\nequal chances, must destroy it. Tallard, by missing his moment, had\npermitted those equal chances to be restored. Even so, yet one other last\naccident favoured the French. The hour was about five, or rather later in\nthe mid-afternoon. In order to be able to form his cavalry beyond the\nNebel, Marlborough wanted to have a clear right flank, and with that\nobject he had launched from 6000 to 7000 Hanoverians against Oberglauheim.\nThe excellent infantry of Blainville, less in numbers, emerged from the\nvillage, threw the Hanoverians into gross disorder, and captured their\ncommander. At this point there was beginning to be a rout. This new French\nsuccess, properly followed up, would again have had a chance to break the\nallied centre at its weakest point, just at the link where Marlborough\njoined on to Eugene.\n\nMarcin, inferior as was his command, gripped the opportunity, sent cavalry\nat once to Oberglauheim, and that cavalry charged. But here the greatness\nof Marlborough as a personal commander suddenly appeared. He seized the\nwhole character of the moment in a way that Tallard on his first chance\nhad wholly failed to do. He put himself in person at the head of the\nDanish brigade that lay in reserve, brought it across the rivulet, and\ncame just in time to take the charge of the French cavalry. Even as that\ncharge was preparing, Marlborough sent to Eugene for cavalry at the\ngallop. He (Marlborough) must hold fast with his Danes against the French\nhorse--five minutes, ten, fifteen at the most--till help should come from\nthe right.\n\nHere, again, another factor in the success of the day appeared--that\nEugene and Marlborough understood each other.\n\nEugene had just suffered a sharp check upon the extreme right; he was\nre-forming for a new attack when he got Marlborough's message. Without the\nloss of a moment in weighing his own immediate necessities, he sent Fugger\nthundering off, and Fugger, with the imperial cuirassiers, came galloping\nfull speed upon Marlborough's right flank just as the French charge was at\nits hardest pressure upon the Danish line. He took that French charge in\nflank, broke its impetus, permitted the Danish infantry to hold their own,\nand so compelled the French horse to fall back; within a quarter of an\nhour from its inception the peril of a breach in Marlborough and Eugene's\ncentre was thus dissolved.\n\nHere, then, is yet another incident in the battle, which shows not only on\nwhich side rapidity of perception lay, but also on which side lay sympathy\nbetween commanders, and, most important of all, the discipline and\nmaterial eminence of the dominating arm.\n\nIt was now nearly six o'clock, and the August sun was red and low in the\nface of the English General. The French line still stood intact before\nhim.\n\nMarlborough's first great effort against Blenheim had disastrously failed\nall during the earlier afternoon; he had but just escaped a terrible\ndanger, and had but barely been saved, by Eugene's promptitude in\nreinforcement, from seeing his line cut in two. Nevertheless, he was the\nmaster of the little daylight that remained. His cavalry, and indeed\nnearly all his troops, were now formed beyond the Nebel; he had the mass\nof his forces now all gathered opposite the weakest part of the French\nline. It was his business to pierce that line and to conquer.\n\nAs he advanced upon it, the French infantry, then stationed over the long\nevening shadows of the slope, though there deplorably few in numbers, met\nhis advance by so accurate a fire that his own line for a moment yielded.\nEven then the day might have been retrieved if the French cavalry under\nTallard's command had been capable of a charge. To charge--if we may trust\nthe commander's record--they received a clear order. As a point of fact,\ncharge they did not. A failure to comprehend, a tardy delivery of the\ndispatch, fatigue, or error was to blame--we have no grounds on which to\nbase a decision. There was a discharge of musketry from the saddle, an\nabortive attempt to go forward, which in a few minutes was no more an\nattempt but a complete failure, and in a few more minutes not a failure\nbut a rout. The words of Tallard himself, who saw that almost incredible\nthing, and who writes as an eye-witness, are sufficiently poignant. They\nare these:--\n\n\"I saw one instant in which the battle was won if the cavalry had not\nturned and abandoned the Line.\"\n\nWhat happened was that the incipient, doubtful, and confused French charge\nhad broken before a vigorous and united counter-charge of Marlborough's\ncavalry: the French horse backed, turned, bunched, fell into a panic; and\nwhen the mass of their cavalry had fled in that panic, the French centre,\nthat is, the thin line of infantry still standing there, were ridden\nthrough and destroyed.\n\nThey lay in heaps of dead or wounded, cut down with the sword, for the\nmost part unbroken in formation, their feet eastward whence the charge had\ncome, and their faces to the sky. Over and beyond those corpses rode the\nfull weight of Marlborough's cavalry, right through Tallard's left, which\nwas the centre of the French line, while Tallard vainly called for troops\nto come out of Blenheim and check the fury, and as vainly sent for\nreinforcements to come from Marcin on the left, which should try and dam\nthe flood that was now pouring through the bulwark of his ranks. On the\nleft, Marcin heard too late. As to the messenger to Blenheim on the right\nhe was taken prisoner; Tallard himself, hastening to that village, was\ntaken prisoner in turn.\n\nWhat followed, at once something inevitable and picturesque, must not be\ntoo extended in description for the purpose of a purely military recital.\nThe centre being pierced, while the left under Marcin and the Elector\nstill held its own against Eugene, the right, that is, the huddled\nbattalions--now twenty-seven--within Blenheim village, and the four\nmounted regiments of dragoons therein, were the necessary victims of the\nvictory. The piercing of the centre had cut them off from all aid. They\nwere surrounded and summoned to surrender.\n\nClérambault, their commander, had already drowned himself in despair, or\nhad been drowned in a deplorable attempt at flight--at any rate, was dead.\n\nBlausac, an honest man, the second in command, refused to surrender.\nBritish cavalry rode round to prevent all egress from the village upon its\nwestern side. Churchill brought up the mass of Marlborough's infantry.\nUpon the side towards the Danube the churchyard was stormed and held.\nStill Blausac would not ask for terms.\n\nIt looked for a moment, under the setting sun of that fatal day, as though\nthe 11,000 thus isolated within the streets of Blenheim would be massacred\nfor mere glory, for Blausac was still obstinate. A subordinate officer,\nwho saw that all was lost, harangued the troops into surrender, and the\nlast business of the great battle was over.\n\n\n[Illustration: Plate II. _The Battle of Blenheim._\n\n_To face page 143._]\n\n\nAs darkness gathered, the undefeated left under Marcin and the\nElector--the half now alone surviving out of the whole host, the other\nhalf or limb being quite destroyed or surrendered--retreated with such few\nprisoners and such few colours as they had taken. They retreated hastily\nwith all their train and their artillery, abandoning their camp, of\ncourse, and all through the night poured towards the Danube and built\ntheir bridges across the stream.\n\nDarkness checked the pursuit. Some few remnants of Tallard's escaped to\njoin the retreat. The rest were prisoners or dead.\n\nOf the fifty odd thousand men and ninety guns that had marshalled twelve\nhours before along the bank of the Nebel, 12,000 men had fallen, 11,000\nhad surrendered, and one-third of the pieces were in the hands of the\nenemy.\n\nThe political consequences of this great day were more considerable by far\nthan was even its character of a military success. It was the first great\ndefeat which marked the turn of the tide against Louis XIV. It was the\nfirst great victory which stamped upon the conscience of Europe the genius\nof Marlborough. It wholly destroyed all those plans, of which the last\ntwo years had been full, for an advance upon Vienna by the French and\nBavarian forces. It utterly cleared the valley of the Danube; it began to\nthrow the Bourbons upon the defensive at last. It crushed the hopes of the\nHungarian insurrection. It opened that series of successes which we couple\nwith the names of Marlborough and Eugene, and which were not to be checked\nuntil, five years later, the French defence recovered its stubbornness at\nMalplaquet.\n\n\nFINIS\n\n\nPRINTED BY NEILL AND CO., LTD., EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\nBRITISH BATTLE BOOKS\n\n_Illustrated with Coloured Maps_\n\nBY HILAIRE BELLOC\n\n_F'cap 8vo, cloth, 1s. net; leather, 2s. 6d. net_\n\n_HISTORY IN WARFARE_\n\nThe British Battle Series will consist of a number of monographs upon\nactions in which British troops have taken part. Each battle will be the\nsubject of a separate booklet illustrated with coloured maps, illustrative\nof the movements described in the text, together with a large number of\nline maps showing the successive details of the action. In each case the\npolitical circumstances which led to the battle will be explained; next,\nthe stages leading up to it; lastly, the action in detail.\n\n     1. BLENHEIM\n     2. MALPLAQUET\n     3. TOURCOING\n     4. WATERLOO\n\nLater volumes will deal with Crecy, Poitiers, Corunna, Talaveras, Flodden,\nThe Siege of Valenciennes, Vittoria, Toulouse.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nGORDON AT KHARTOUM\n\nBY WILFRED SCAWEN BLUNT\n\n_15s. net_\n\n_PRIVATE AND INTIMATE_\n\nThis book follows the lines of the author's works on Egypt and India,\nconsisting mainly of a private diary of a very intimate kind, and will\nbring down his narrative of events to the end of 1885.\n\nThe present volume is designed especially as an answer to Lord Cromer's\n_Modern Egypt_, in so far as it concerned Gordon, and contains several\nimportant and hitherto unpublished documents throwing new light upon a\ncase of perennial interest.\n\nIt also includes an account of the author's relations with Lord Randolph\nChurchill, Sir Henry Drummond Wolff, Mr Gladstone, Mr Parnell, and other\npolitical personages of the day, as well as of the General Election of\n1885, in which the author stood as a Tory Home Ruler.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nTHE PASSING OF THE AMERICAN\n\nBY MONROE ROYCE\n\n_Crown 8vo. Cloth. 5s. net_\n\n_MODERN AMERICA UNVEILED_\n\nMr Monroe Royce is a fearless and discerning critic, and _The Passing of\nthe American_ is no ordinary book.\n\nWith refreshing candour the author reveals the prevailing conditions of\nhis own race to-day, not in the spirit of a carping cynic, but of one who\nwould arrest the downward trend of the national character.\n\nNot since \"Henry George\" wrote _Social Problems_ has a more powerful,\nbrilliant, and startling presentation of the industrial, social,\npolitical, and religious life of the American people been written--and\nmuch of it applies with equal force to all Western civilised nations.\n\nSparklingly written, acutely interesting and thought-provoking, the book\nis full of a truth which impresses itself upon the reader. It is probably\nthe keenest analysis of the modern American that has ever appeared.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nAN ENGLISHMAN IN NEW YORK\n\nBY JUVENAL\n\n_Crown 8vo. 5s. net_\n\n_VIVID ORIGINALITY_\n\nIn these notes and studies on life in New York, Juvenal, by his vivid\noriginality and his masterly deductions, has surpassed all other writers\nwho have written on the same subject.\n\nMr Eden Phillpotts writes of the Author: \"The things seen are brilliantly\nset down. He writes with great force and skill.\"\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nTHE HUMOUR OF THE UNDERMAN\n\nAnd Other Essays\n\nBY FRANCIS GRIERSON\n\n_F'cap 8vo. 3s. 6d. net_\n\n_CHARACTERISTICALLY INCISIVE_\n\nThis volume contains the latest work of the greatest Essayist of our time.\nMaurice Maeterlinck has said of the Author, \"He has, in his best moments,\nthat most rare gift of casting certain shafts of light, at once simple and\ndecisive, upon questions the most difficult, obscure, and unlooked for in\nArt, Morals, and Psychology ... essays among the most subtle and\nsubstantial that I know.\"\n\nThis opinion has been endorsed by every critic of note in the British\nIsles and in the United States of America. Indeed, in the latter country a\nveritable Grierson cult has sprung into existence.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nLA VIE ET LES HOMMES\n\nBY FRANCIS GRIERSON\n\n_F'cap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net_\n\n_PENSÉES PIQUANTES, INDÉPENDANTES_\n\nSULLY PRUDHOMME (de l'Académie Française):--\"J'ai trouvé ces méditations\npleines d'aperçus profonds et sagaces. J'ai été frappé de l'originalité\npuissante de la pensée de l'auteur.\"\n\nJULES CLARETIE (de l'Académie Française):--\"J'ai été charmé par les idées\noriginales et justes.\"\n\nL'Abbé JOSEPH ROUX:--\"Il y a là des vues originales, des appréciations\nneuves et frappantes.\"\n\nFRÉDÉRIC MISTRAL:--\"Ces pensées m'ont paru neuves et piquantes, et\nindépendantes de cette ambiance de préjugés à laquelle il est si difficile\nd'échapper.\"\n\nLe Père P. V. DELAPORTE, S.J. (Rédacteur des Etudes Religieuses):--\"J'ai\nadmiré dans ces pages délicates l'artiste, le penseur et l'écrivain, et\nj'ai été singulièrement touché de la façon dont vous appréciez le génie\nfrançais. Vous avez su le comprendre et vous avez dit votre pensée\nfranchement, je pouvais ajouter _françaisement_.\"\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nTHE MASTERY OF LIFE\n\nBY G. T. WRENCH, M.D. LOND.\n\n_Demy 8vo. 15s. net_\n\n_OLD VALUES RE-VALUED_\n\nThis book is a review of the history of civilisation with the object of\ndiscovering where and under what conditions man has shown the most\npositive attitude towards life. The review has been based not so much upon\nscholarship as upon the direct evidence of the products and monuments of\nthe different peoples of history, and the author has consequently\ntravelled widely in order to collect his material. The author shows how\nthe patriarchal system and values have always been the foundation of\npeoples, who have been distinguished for their joy in and power over life,\nand have expressed their mastery in works of art, which have been their\npeculiar glory and the object of admiration and wonder of other peoples.\nIn contrast to them has been the briefer history of civilisation in\nEurope, in which the paternal and filial values of interdependence have\nalways been rivalled by the ideal of independence from one's fellow-man.\nThe consequences of this ideal of personal liberty in the destruction of\nthe art of life are forcibly delineated in the last chapters.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nPRINCIPLES OF A NEW SYSTEM OF PSYCHOLOGY\n\nBY ARTHUR LYNCH,\n\n  M.A., C.E., L.R.C.P., M.R.C.S.E., M.P.\n  AUTHOR OF \"HUMAN DOCUMENTS,\" ETC., ETC.\n\n_Two Vols. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net each_\n\n_A BASIC WORK OF ANALYSIS_\n\nThis book is dynamic. It is new in the sense in which Schwann's Cell\nTheory was new to Physiology, or Dalton's Atomic Theory to Chemistry. The\nauthor has faced the problem in its widest extension: Can the entire realm\nof knowledge, and the whole possible scope of mental acts, be so resolved\nthat we may formulate the unanalysable elements, the Fundamental Processes\nof the mind? This problem is solved, and thence the manner of all\nsynthesis indicated. The argument is closely consecutive, but the severity\nis relieved by abundant illustrations drawn from many sciences. The\nprinciples established will afford criteria in regard to every position in\nPsychology. New light will be thrown, for instance, on Kant's Categories,\nSpencer's Hedonism, Fechner's Law, the foundation of Mathematics, Memory,\nAssociation, Externality, Will, the Feeling of Effort, Brain\nLocalisations, and finally on the veritable nature of Reason. A philosophy\nof Research is foreshadowed. The work offers a base on which all valid\nstudies may be co-ordinated, and developments are indicated. It\npresupposes no technical knowledge, and the exposition is couched in\nsimple language. It will give a new impetus to Psychology.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nCARICATURES\n\nBY MAX BEERBOHM\n\nFACSIMILE REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR\n\n_Crown Folio. Cloth. 21s. net_\n\n_HUMOUR, SATIRE, ART_\n\n     \"A beautiful quarto page where a neat rivulet of text shall meander\n     through a meadow of margin.\"\n\n            SHERIDAN, _School for Scandal_, Act 1, Sc. 1.\n\nThese drawings constitute a \"John Bull\" series, and, though their satire\nis directed against political situations and national characteristics\nrather than personal frailties, they yet retain that quality of mordant\ncriticism that is so prominent a feature of this well-known artist's work.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nPRINCE AZREEL\n\nA Poem with Prose Notes\n\nBY ARTHUR LYNCH\n\n_Crown 8vo. 5s. net_\n\n_DIRECT--INSPIRING--COMPELLING_\n\nThe cry for something new in literature, the indefinable, the unexpected,\nhas been answered. Prince Azreel comes to claim his place, not as one who\nhas sounded the depths and shoals of the current modes of the day, but as\none entirely careless of these things, discoursing freely of life, easily\nthroughout its whole purport and scope.\n\nThe Devil comes into the action, but he also is new--rather the Spirit of\nthe World, \"man's elder brother.\" His methods are those neither of _Faust_\nnor of _Paradise Regained_. His temptations are suasive, his lures less\nmaterial.\n\nIn the search for the Ideal of statesmanship Azreel and the Devil come to\nour own Parliament, Azreel filled with warm enthusiasm, high conceptions.\nThey see, they learn; they discover \"types,\" and discuss them. We find the\nDevil at length defending the Commons, supplying the corrective to\nAzreel's strange disillusions. This part will not be the least piquant.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nPOEMS\n\nBY CHARLES GRANVILLE\n\n_F'cap 4to. 5s. net._\n\n_REAL POETIC TALENT_\n\nThe present volume is composed of a selection from the previous poetical\nworks of the Author, who is also well known as a writer of prose. The\ndistinctive feature of the poems in this collection--the feature, indeed,\nthat marks off and differentiates the work of this poet from the mass of\nverse produced to-day--is their spiritual insight. Mr Granville is\nconcerned with the soul of man, with the eternal rather than the\ntransitory, and his perception, which is that of the seer, invests his\nlanguage with that quality of ecstasy that constitutes the indisputable\nclaim of poetry to rank in the forefront of literature.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROLL OF THE SEASONS\n\nNature Essays\n\nBY G. G. DESMOND\n\n_Crown 8vo. Cloth. 5s. net_\n\n_A NATURE BOOK FOR TOWN FOLK_\n\nThis book for all Nature-lovers appeals perhaps most strongly to those in\ncities pent, for whom a word in season can call up visions of the open\nmoor, the forest, the meadow stream, the flowered lane, or the wild\nsea-shore. The extreme penalty for reading one of these spring, summer,\nautumn, or winter chapters is to be driven from one's chair into the\nnearest field, there to forget town worries among the trees. The author\ndoes not spare us for fog, rain, frost, or snow. Sometimes he makes us get\nup by moonlight and watch the dawn come \"cold as cold sea-shells\" to the\nfluting of blackbirds, or he takes us through the woods by night and shows\nus invisible things by their sounds and scents. The spirit, even if the\nbody cannot go with it, comes back refreshed by these excursions to the\ncountry.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nIN A GERMAN PENSION\n\nBY KATHERINE MANSFIELD\n\n_Crown 8vo. Cloth. 6s._\n\n_DELIGHTFUL LITERARY NOVELTY_\n\nNever before have Germans, from a social standpoint, been written about\nwith so much insight, or their manners and habits described with such\nmalicious naiveté and minute skill. Miss Mansfield's power of detailed\nobservation is shown in numerous little touches of character painting\nwhich enable us to realise almost as visibly as the authoress herself, the\nheart, mind, and soul of the quaint Bavarian people. The occasional\ncynicism and satiric strokes serve to heighten but not to distort the\ngeneral effect. The one or two chapters which might be called Bavarian\nshort stories rather than sketches are written in a most uncommon--indeed\nthoroughly individual--vein, both in form and substance. Miss Mansfield's\nstyle is almost French in its clearness, and her descriptions will remind\nthe reader of Russian masters like Turguenieff.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nMOTLEY AND TINSEL\n\nA Story of the Stage\n\nBY J. K. PROTHERO\n\n_Crown 8vo. Cloth. 6s._\n\n_A BOOK WITH DISTINGUISHED NAMES_\n\nThis story in serial form was the subject of an action for libel founded\non the coincidence of the plaintiff's name with that of one of the\ncharacters. As a protest against the absurd state of the law, the author,\nin revising the novel for publication in book form, has used the names of\ndistinguished writers and journalists who have kindly given their consent.\nGeorge Bernard Shaw represents a stage door keeper. George R. Sims, in\nconsenting to drive a hansom, fears there may be cabbies of the same name.\nEdgar Jepson is disguised as an irascible old gentleman of seventy, while\nRobert Barr officiates as stage manager, with Pett Ridge as call-boy!\nHilaire Belloc is a benevolent entrepreneur, and Cecil Chesterton a fiery\ntempered lover. We meet Frank Lamburn, the editor of _Pearson's Weekly_,\nas a distinguished actor, while Barry Pain has kindly divided his name\nbetween an aged man of weak intellect and his dead son.\n\nThis by no means exhausts the list we find; we meet the names of\nwell-known journalists and men of letters on every page.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nLOVE IN MANITOBA\n\nBY E. A. WHARTON GILL\n\n_Crown 8vo. Cloth. 6s._\n\n_A FRESH FIELD IN FICTION_\n\nThe writer has opened a fresh field of fiction and has presented a\nstriking picture of life in the Swedish settlements of Western Canada--a\ndistrict hitherto largely neglected by novelists. The Author is intimately\nacquainted with the life of these colonists, and has studied his\ncharacters on the spot; while his local colour is in every way admirable.\nHe knows the West and its people. And the people in his story are typical\nof those to be met with in every settlement throughout the West.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nTORY DEMOCRACY\n\nBY J. M. KENNEDY\n\n_Crown 8vo. Cloth. 3s. 6d. net_\n\n_LORDS, GOVERNMENT, LIBERALISM_\n\nThere are unmistakable indications that the system of politics at present\npursued by the two chief political parties is not meeting with the\napproval of the electorate as a whole, though this electorate, as a result\nof the Caucus methods, finds it increasingly difficult to give expression\nto its views. In his book on Tory Democracy, Mr J. M. Kennedy, who is\nalready favourably known through his books on modern philosophical and\nsociological subjects, sets forth the principles underlying a system of\npolitics which was seriously studied by men so widely different as\nDisraeli, Bismarck, and Lord Randolph Churchill. Mr Kennedy not only shows\nthe close connection still existing between the aristocracy and the\nworking classes, but he also has the distinction of being the first writer\nto lay down a constructive Conservative policy which is independent of\nTariff Reform. Apart from this, the chapters of his work which deal with\nRepresentative Government, the House of Lords, and \"Liberalism at Work\"\nthrow entirely new light on many vexed questions of modern politics. The\nbook, it may be added, is written in a style that spares neither parties\nnor persons.\n\nLondon: STEPHEN SWIFT & CO., LTD., 10 John St., Adelphi\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] It was this success which to Marlborough's existing earldom added the\nhigh dignity of Duke, by letters patent of December 16, 1702.\n\n[2] As the French dispatch goes, 7500 men, every horse, and all the\nwaggons, save 120, which had got into difficulties on the way; Fortescue's\nnote suggesting that 1500 men only reached the Franco-Bavarians (vol. i.\np. 42) is based on Quincy.\n\n[3] It is, of course, an error to say, as is too often done in our school\nhistories and the official accounts of our universities, that the French\ncommanders had no idea of a march upon the Danube. A child could have seen\nthat the march upon the Danube was one of the possible plans open to\nMarlborough, and Villeroy expressly mentions the alternative in his letter\nof the 30th of May. The whole point of Marlborough's manoeuvres was to\nleave the enemy in doubt until the very last moment as to which of the\nthree, the Danube, the Moselle, or Alsace, he would strike at; and to be\nwell away upon the road to the former before the French had discovered his\nfinal decision.\n\n[4] It is worthy of remark that the opportunity for victory which the weak\nforces under Marcin and the Elector of Bavaria offered at this moment to\nthe superior forces of the allies would have led to an immediate attack of\nthe last upon the first when, two generations later, war had developed\ninto something more sudden and less formal, through the efforts of the\nRevolution.\n\nMarlborough and the Duke of Baden, with their superior forces, would have\nattacked Marcin and the Elector had they been their own grandsons.\nNapoleon, finding himself in such a situation as Marlborough's a hundred\nyears later, would certainly have fallen on the insufficient forces to his\nsouth, for it was known that reinforcements were coming over the Black\nForest to save the Franco-Bavarian forces. To break up those forces before\nreinforcement should come was something which a sudden change of plan\ncould have effected, but not even the genius of Marlborough was prepared,\nin his generation, for a movement necessitating so great a disturbance of\ncalculations previously made. Donauwörth was his objective, and upon\nDonauwörth he marched, leaving intact this inferior hostile force which\nwatched his advance from the south.\n\n[5] As a fact, the advance along this \"isthmus\" on to the Schellenberg is\nslightly downhill, and against artillery of modern range and power the\nSchellenberg could not be held.\n\n[6] Of seventeen officers of the Guards, twelve were hit; of the total\nBritish force at least a third fell; more than a third of these, again,\nwere killed.\n\n[7] The railway from Ulm to Donauwörth follows the line of this road\nexactly, and is almost the only modern feature upon the field.\n\n[8] Mr Fortescue (vol. i. p. 436) writes as though this were not the case.\nHe has overlooked Tallard's letter to the minister of war of the 4th of\nSeptember.\n\n[9] A small body was left at Unterglauheim, but withdrawn as the allies\nadvanced; and outposts lay, of course, upon the line of Marlborough's\nadvance, and fell back before it.\n\n[10] Mr Fortescue gives the total force of cavalry under Marcin and the\nElector at one hundred and eight squadrons and the infantry at forty-six\nbattalions. The French official record gives forty-two battalions (not\nforty-six) and eighty-three squadrons in the place of one hundred and\neight. Mr Fortescue gives no authority for his larger numbers; and, on the\ngeneral principle that, in a contested action, each force knows best about\nits own organisation, I have followed these official records of the French\nas the most trustworthy.\n\n[11] It is essential to note this point. Mr Fortescue talks of the\ndragoons \"trotting\" to \"seal up the space between the village and the\nDanube.\" If they trotted it was as men trot in their boots, for they were\non foot. The incident sufficiently proves the ravages which disease\naccompanying an insufficiently provided march had worked in Tallard's\ncavalry.\n\n[12] Nearly all the English authorities and many of the French authorities\nspeak of the whole twenty-seven battalions out of Tallard's thirty-six as\nbeing in Blenheim from the beginning of the action, and Mr Fortescue adds\nthe picturesque, but erroneous, touch that \"Marlborough\" (before the\naction) \"had probably counted every one of the twenty-seven battalions\ninto it\" (Blenheim).\n\nThis error is due to the fact that at the close of the battle there\nactually were twenty-seven battalions within the village, but they were\nnot there at the beginning of the action; and Marlborough cannot,\ntherefore, have \"counted\" them going in. The numbers, as I have said, were\nfirst nine battalions, with four regiments of dismounted dragoons; then, a\nlittle later, another seven, making sixteen; then, _much later_, and when\nthe French were hard pressed, yet another _eleven_, lying as a reserve\n_behind_ Blenheim, were called into the village by the incompetence of\nClérambault who commanded in Blenheim. He should have sent them to help\nthe centre--as will be seen in the sequel.\n\n[13] 1st battalion Royal Scots; 1st battalion First Guards; 8th, 20th,\n16th, 24th, and 10th Foot; 3rd battalion 23rd Royal Welsh, 21st Royal\nScots Fusiliers.\n\n[14] From one to three squadrons each of the 1st, 3rd, 5th, 6th, 17th\nDragoon Guards, 5th Royal Irish Dragoons, and a squadron of the Scots\nGreys.\n\n[15] This is the number given by Eugene. Fortescue (p. 436) and most\nEnglish authorities give fifty-two.\n\n[16] The 10th, 21st, 23rd, and 24th.\n\n[17] For some reason or other, the exaggeration of this feature--the\nmarshiness of the banks of the Nebel--mars many an English account of the\naction. The Nebel, of course, was something of an obstacle, slight as it\nwas, and in places the meadows on its bank widen out and are soft even in\nthe dry weather which had as a whole distinguished the three weeks before\nBlenheim. But the crossing of that obstacle by the cavalry was nothing in\nthe story of the battle. It was what the cavalry did _after they crossed_\nthat counted.\n\n[18] Marlborough was at this moment fifty-four years and two months old.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: Spelling variations are presented as in the original.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Battle of Blenheim, by Hilaire Belloc", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32195", "title": "The Battle of Blenheim", "author": "", "publication_year": 1911, "metadata_title": "The Battle of Blenheim", "metadata_author": "Hilaire Belloc", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.548877", "source_chars": 167159, "chars": 167159, "talkie_tokens": 37936}}
{"text": "CRÉCY\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  CRÉCY\n\n\n  BY\n  HILAIRE BELLOC\n\n\n  MCMXII\n  STEPHEN SWIFT AND CO., LTD.\n  16 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN\n  LONDON\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  INTRODUCTION\n\n    I. THE POLITICAL CIRCUMSTANCES\n\n   II. THE CAMPAIGN OF CRÉCY\n\n  III. THE PRELIMINARIES OF THE BATTLE\n\n   IV. THE TERRAIN OF CRÉCY\n\n    V. THE ACTION\n\n\n\n\nCRÉCY\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nBetween those last precise accounts of military engagements which\nantiquity has left us in small number, and what may be called the modern\nhistory of war, there lies a period of many centuries--quite 1400\nyears--during which the details of an action and even the main features of\na campaign are never given us by contemporary recorders.\n\nThrough all that vast stretch of time we are compelled, if we desire to\ndescribe with any accuracy, and at any length, the conduct of a battle, to\n\"reconstitute\" the same. In other words, we have to argue from known\nconditions to unknown. We have to establish by a comparison of texts and\nof traditions, and by other processes which will be dealt with in a\nmoment, a number of elements which, where a modern action is concerned,\nnumerous memoirs and official record often accompanied by elaborate maps\ncan put clearly before us.\n\nWe should note that the line of division between what we will call a\nmedieval battle and a modern one, though it cannot, of course, be\nprecisely established, corresponds roughly to the sixteenth century. The\nbattles of the seventeenth are for the most part open in detail to the\nhistorian, from copious evidence afforded by contemporary writers and by\nour considerable knowledge of the tactics and armament of the time. And\nthis, of course, is still truer of the eighteenth and of the nineteenth\ncenturies. Subsequent to the wide employment of printing, and throughout\nthe sixteenth century, the tendency shown by contemporaries to set down\ndetail steadily increases, but the whole of that century is transitional\nin this matter.\n\nThe battles of the fifteenth, of the fourteenth, and earlier centuries,\ndiffer entirely as to their evidence. We must gather it from manuscript\nauthorities, often rare, sometimes unique. Those authorities are, again,\nnot always contemporary. They never by any chance give us a map, and\nrarely a definite topographical indication. They are summary, their\nmotive is ecclesiastical or civil rather than military, they present at\nthe best the picturesque side of an engagement, and at the worst they\npreserve a bare mention of its date, or the mere fact that it took place.\n\nEven in the elementary point of numbers, without some knowledge of which\nit is so difficult to judge the nature of a field, we are commonly at a\nloss. Where a smaller force upon the defensive has discomfited a larger\nattacking force, the dramatic character of such a success (and Crécy was\none of them) has naturally led to an exaggeration of the disproportion.\nThe estimate of loss is very commonly magnified and untrustworthy, for\nthat is an element which, in the absence of exact record, both victors and\nvanquished inevitably tend to enlarge. We are not as a rule given the\nhours, sometimes, but not often, the state of the weather, and, especially\nin the earlier cases, the local or tactical result is of so much greater\nimportance to the chronicler than the strategical plan, that we are left\nwith little more knowledge at first hand than the fact that A won and B\nlost.\n\nSo true is this, that with regard to the majority of the great actions of\nthe Dark Ages no contemporary record even enables us to fix their site\nwithin a few miles. That is true, for instance, of the decisive defeat of\nAttila in 451, of the Mahommedans by Charles Martel in 732, and of the\nfinal victory of Alfred over the Danes in 878.\n\nScholarship has established, with infinite pains and within small limits\nof doubt, the second and the third. The first is still disputed. So it is\nwith the victory of Clovis over the Visigoths, and with any number of\nminor actions. Even when we come to the later centuries, and to a more\ncomplete knowledge, we are pursued by this difficulty, though it is\nreduced. Thus we know the square mile within which the Battle of Hastings\nwas fought, but the best authorities have disputed its most important\nmovements and characters. Similarly we can judge the general terrain of\nmost of the Crusading fights, but with no precision, and only at great\npains of comparison and collation.\n\nThe battle which forms the object of this little monograph, late as was\nits date, was long the subject of debate during the nineteenth century,\nupon the elementary point of the English position and its aspect. And,\nthough that and other matters may now be regarded as established, we owe\nour measure of certitude upon them not to any care upon the part of our\nearliest informers, but to lengthy and close argument conducted in our\ntime.\n\nThere is no space in such a short book as this to discuss all the causes\nwhich combined to produce this negligence of military detail in the\nmedieval historian: that he was usually not a soldier, that after the\nninth century armies cannot be regarded as professional, and that the\ninterest of the time lay for the mass of readers in the results rather\nthan in the action of a battle, are but a few of these.\n\nBut though we have no space for any full discussion, it is worth the\nreader's while to be informed of the general process by which scholarship\nattempts to reconstitute an engagement, upon which it has such\ninsufficient testimony; and as the Battle of Crécy is the first in this\nseries which challenges this sort of research, I will beg leave to sketch\nbriefly the process by which it proceeds.\n\nThe first thing to be done, then, in attempting to discover what exactly\nhappened during such a battle as that of Crécy, is to tabulate our\nsources. These are of three kinds--tradition, monuments, and documents.\n\nOf these three, tradition is by far the most valuable in most research\nupon affairs of the Dark or Middle Ages, and it is nothing but a silly\nintellectual prejudice, the fruit of a narrow religious scepticism, now\nfast upon the wane, which has offered to neglect it.\n\nUnfortunately, however, tradition is a particularly weak guide in this one\ndepartment of knowledge. In estimating the character of a great man it is\ninvaluable. It plays a great part in deciding us upon the nature of social\nmovements, in helping us to locate the sites of buildings that have\ndisappeared, and particularly of shrines; it gives us ample testimony (too\noften neglected) to the authenticity of sacred documents, and to the\norigin of laws. It is even of some assistance in establishing certain main\npoints upon a military action, if documents are in default. For instance,\na firm tradition of the site of a battle is evidence not only in the\nabsence of documents, but in negation of doubtful or vague ones, and so is\na firm tradition concerning the respective strength of the parties, if\nthat tradition can be stated in general terms. But for the particular\ninterest of military history it is worthless because it is silent. Even\nthe civilian to-day, and, for that matter, the soldier as well, who is\nnot accustomed to this science, would find it tedious to note, and often\nimpossible to recognise, those points which form the salient matters for\nmilitary history. There can be no tradition of the exact moments in which\nsuch and such a development in a battle occurred, of contours, of range,\netc., save where here and there some very striking event (as in the case\nof the projectile launched into the midst of Acre during the Third\nCrusade) startles the mind of the onlooker, and remains unforgotten.\n\nIn the particular case of Crécy, tradition fixes for us only two\npoints--though these have proved of considerable importance in modern\ndiscussion--the point where the King of Bohemia fell, and the point from\nwhich Edward III. watched the battle.\n\nOf monuments, again, we have a very insufficient supply, and in the case\nof Crécy, hardly any, unless the point already alluded to, where the blind\nking was struck down, and the cross marking it be counted, as also the\nfoundations of the mill, which was the view-point of the English\ncommander.\n\nIt is to documents, then, that we must look, and, unfortunately for this\naction, our principal document is not contemporary. It is from the pen of\nFroissart, who was but nine years old when the battle was fought, and who\nwrote many years after its occurrence. Even so, his earlier version does\nnot seem to be familiar to the public of this country, though it is\ncertainly the more accurate.\n\nFroissart used a contemporary document proceeding from the pen of one\n\"John the Fair,\" a canon of Liége. Of the lesser authorities some are\ncontemporary: notably Baker of Swynford, and Villani, who died shortly\nafter the battle.\n\nBut the whole bulk of material at our disposal is pitifully small, and the\ngreater part of what the reader will have set before him in what follows\nis the result of an expansion and criticism of the few details which\nwriters of the period have bequeathed to us.\n\nWhen the documentary evidence, contemporary, or as nearly contemporary as\npossible, has been tabulated, the historian of a medieval battle next\nproceeds to consider what may be called the \"limiting circumstances\"\nwithin which the action developed, and these have much more than a\nnegative value. As he proceeds to examine and to compare them, they\nilluminate many a doubtful point and expand many an obscure allusion.\n\nFor instance, in the case of Crécy, we carefully consider the contours,\nupon the modern map, of a terrain which no considerable building\noperations or mining has disfigured. We mark the ascertainable point at\nwhich the Somme was crossed, and calculate the minimum time in which a\nhost of the least size to which we can limit Edward's force could have\nmarched from that to the various points mentioned in the approach to the\nbattle-field. We ascertain the distance from the scene of action to the\nforest boundary. We argue from the original royal possession and\nsubsequent conservation of that forest its permanent limits. We can even\nestablish with some accuracy the direction of the wind, knowing how the\narmies marched, how the sun stood relative to the advancing force, and\ntheir impression of the storm that broke upon them. We calculate, within\ncertain limits of error, the distance necessary for deployment. We argue\nfrom the known character of the armour and weapons employed certain\ndetails of the attack and defence. We mark what were certainly the ancient\nroads, and we measure the permanent obstacles afforded by the physical\nnature of the field.\n\nI give these few points as examples only. They are multiplied\nindefinitely as one's study proceeds, and in the result a fairly accurate\ndescription of so famous, though so ill attested, an action as this of\nCrécy can be reconstituted.\n\nWith all this there remains a large margin which cannot be generally set\ndown as certain, and which even in matters essential must be written\ntentatively, with such phrases as \"it would seem,\" or \"probably\" to excuse\nit. But history is consoled by the reflection that all these gaps may be\nfilled by further research or further discovery, and that each new effort\nof scholarship bridges one and then another.\n\nAs to the critical power by which each individual writer will decide\nbetween conflicting statements, or apparently irreconcilable conditions,\nthis must be left to his own power of discrimination and to the reader's\nestimate of his ability to weigh evidence. He is in duty bound--as I have\nattempted to do very briefly in certain notes--to give the grounds of his\ndecision, and, having done so, he admits his reader to be a judge over\nhimself: with this warning, however, that historical judgment is based\nupon a vast accumulation of detail acquired in many fields besides those\nparticularly under consideration, and that a competent historian\ngenerally claims an authority in his decisions superior to that reposing\nupon no more than a mere view of limited contemporary materials.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE POLITICAL CIRCUMSTANCES\n\n\nThe Battle of Crécy was the first important decisive action of what is\ncalled \"The Hundred Years' War.\" This war figures in many history books as\na continued struggle between two organised nations, \"England\" and\n\"France.\" To present it in its true historical character it must be stated\nin far different terms.\n\nThe Hundred Years' War consisted in two groups of fighting widely distant\nin time and only connected by the fact that from first to last a\nPlantagenet king of England claimed the Crown of France against a Valois\ncousin. Of these two groups of fighting the first was conducted by Edward\nIII., and covers about twenty years of his reign. It was magnificently\nsuccessful in the field, and gave to the English story the names of\n_Crécy_ and of _Poitiers_. So far as the main ostensible purpose of that\nfirst fighting was concerned, it was unsuccessful, for it did not result\nin placing Edward III. upon the French throne.\n\nThe second group of actions came fifty years later, and is remembered by\nthe great name of _Agincourt_.\n\nThis latter part of the Hundred Years' War was conducted by Henry V., the\ngreat-grandson of Edward III. and the son of the Lancastrian usurper. And\nHenry was successful, not only in the tactical results of his battles, but\nin obtaining the Crown of France for his house. After his death his\nsuccess crumbled away; and a generation or so after Agincourt, rather more\nthan one hundred years after the beginning of this long series of fights,\nthe power of the kings of England upon the Continent had disappeared. As a\nvisible result of all their efforts, nothing remained but the important\nbastion of Calais, the capture of which was among the earliest results of\ntheir invasions.\n\nWhen we say that the ostensible object of all this conflict from first to\nlast was the establishment of the Plantagenet kings of England as kings of\nFrance in the place of their cousins the Valois, we must remember what was\nmeant by those terms in the fourteenth century, when Edward first engaged\nin the duel. There was no conception of the conquest of a _foreign_ power\nsuch as would lie in the mind of a statesman of to-day. Society was still\nfeudal. Allegiance lay from a man to his lord, not from a man to his\ncentral political government. Not only the religion, the thoughts, and the\ndaily conduct of either party to the war were the same, but in the\ngoverning society of both camps the language and the very blood were the\nsame. Edward was a Plantagenet. That is, his family tradition was that of\none of the great French feudal nobles. It was little more than one hundred\nyears before that his great-grandfather had been the actual and ruling\nLord of Normandy, and of France to the west and the south-west, for the\nfirst Plantagenet, had though holding of the Crown at Paris, been the\nactive monarch of Aquitaine, of Brittany, of Anjou, Normandy, and Maine.\n\nSo much for the general sentiment under which the war was engaged. As to\nits particular excuse, this was slight and hardly tenable, and we may\ndoubt whether Edward intended to press it seriously. He engaged in the war\nfrom that spirit of chivalric adventure (a little unreal, but informed by\nan indubitable taste for arms) which was the mark of the fourteenth\ncentury, and which was at the same time a decline from the sincere\nknightly spirit of the thirteenth.\n\nThe excuse given was this. The French monarchy had descended, from its\nfoundation in 987 right down to the death of Charles IV. in 1328, directly\nfrom father to son, but in that year, 1328, male issue failed the direct\nline. The obviously rightful claimant to the throne, according to the\nideas of those times--and particularly of Northern France--was Philip of\nValois, the first cousin of the king, Charles IV., who had just died.\n\nCharles IV. had been the son of King Philip IV., and Philip of Valois was\nthe son of Charles of Valois, Philip IV.'s brother. Philip of Valois was\ntherefore the eldest in unbroken male descent of the house.\n\nIt might be claimed (and it was claimed by Edward III.) that the daughters\nof elder brothers and their issue should count before the sons of younger\nbrothers. Now there were two female heiresses or their issue present as\nagainst Philip of Valois. Charles IV., the king just dead, had a sister\nIsabella, and Isabella was the mother of Edward III. of England.\n\nBut an elder brother to Charles IV., namely, Louis X., had himself left a\ndaughter, who was now the Queen of Navarre.\n\nIf this principle that the daughter or the issue of the daughter of an\nelder brother should count before the male issue of a younger brother had\nbeen granted in its entirety, Edward would have had no claim, because this\nelder brother of Charles IV., Louis X., had had issue--that daughter,\nJoan, the wife of the King of Navarre. So Edward qualified this first\ngeneral principle, that one could inherit through women, by another\nprinciple, to wit, that, though the _claim_ to the throne should proceed\nthrough the _daughters_ of _elder_ brothers rather than through the _sons_\nof _younger_ ones, yet the _throne_ could _itself_ only actually be held\nby a male!\n\nBy this tortuous combination Edward III. advanced his claim. His mother\nhad been the grand-daughter of Philip III. of France, and he was a male.\nHer father was the elder brother of Philip of Valois' father, so he\nclaimed before Philip of Valois.\n\nThe whole scheme is apparent from the following table:--\n\n                           Philip III. 1270-1285.\n             ----------------------------------------------\n            |                                              |\n  Philip IV. 1285-1314                               Charles of Valois\n            |                                              |\n       -------------------------------------               |\n      |          |          |               |              |\n  Louis X.   Philip V.  Charles IV. Isabella=Edward II.  Philip VI.\n  1314-1316  1316-1322  1322-1328           |            1328-1350\n      |                                     |            (_Crécy_)\n      |                                     |               |\n      |                                 Edward III.         |\n  Joan=King of Navarre                      |              John\n                                    Edward the Black     1350-1364\n                                         Prince.         (_Poitiers_).\n\nBut, I repeat, we must not take Edward's political claim too seriously.\nHis real object was not so much to establish himself upon the throne of\nFrance and to create a great French-speaking united monarchy of French and\nBritish under the single rule of the Plantagenets, as to try a great\nadventure and to see what would come of it.\n\nIt was this that gave to Edward's wars the character not of campaigns with\na fixed object, but GREAT RAIDS, the very successes of which were\nunexpected and only half fruitful. It was this, again, which made him so\nuncertain and vacillating as to how he should use those successes when\nthey came; which made him suggest now this, now that basis for peace after\neach victory, but never to insist very particularly, however surprising\nand thorough his work in the field, upon the French throne.\n\nIt was this, again, which gave to the actual results of his battles\nhaphazard consequences, as it were, the most notable and permanent of\nwhich was the English hold upon Calais. And it was this which always left\nso huge a disproportion between the object he in theory desired to obtain\nand the forces with which he set out to attain it. To sum up, we shall\nonly understand the victory of Crécy and the succeeding twin victory of\nPoitiers ten years later, if we conceive of the whole business as\nsomething of a tournament rather than a true political or even dynastic\nstruggle.\n\nFurther, we must always remember that the leaders upon both sides came of\none society, were of one speech and of one manner, often closely related\nin blood. We must remember that it was no desertion for a French lord to\nserve the King of England, and that even brothers would be found (as were\nthe two Harcourts) honourably attached, according to the ideas of the\ntime, to opposing forces.\n\nBeneath this social aspect of the wars there was, of course, the growing\nnational sentiment of the French and of the English. Most of the men who\nfought against Edward at Crécy, especially of the obscure men, thought of\nParis as the only possible seat of authority, and of the Valois as their\nonly possible king. All the Archers at Crécy, and many of the squires\nthere--and a good half even of the forces at Poitiers--were\nEnglish-speaking, and had no experience of life save that confined to this\nisland, up to the moment when they set out for the Great Raids upon the\nContinent.\n\nAs the Hundred Years' War proceeded, as it approached its second phase in\nwhich Henry V. was actually successful in obtaining the Crown of France,\nor rather the reversion of it, the national feeling was growing rapidly\nupon either side, and by the time of Joan of Arc's campaign and of the\nsubsequent loss of Normandy by the Plantagenets, everyone outside the\nsmall governing class of either country had come to think of the business\nas a national one upon either side. But with Crécy it was not so, and we\nmust approach the military problems of Crécy with the political provision\nin mind that the whole affair of that battle and of its immediate\nsuccessors was a feudal occupation--one had almost said pastime--engaged\nwithin the circle of that widespread French-speaking nobility, common to\nand intermarried between Gaul and Britain, which, for three hundred years,\nruled society from the Grampians to the Mediterranean.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE CAMPAIGN OF CRÉCY\n\n\nThe Campaign of Crécy took place within a district of France contained by\nan east and west base 200 miles in length and an eastern border north and\nsouth 160 miles in length, and sketched in the map opposite.\n\nThe rectangular parallelogram so formed is nearly equally divided between\nland and sea, the south-eastern half being a portion of Northern France,\nand the north-western half the English Channel. The land half is thus\nroughly triangular, having Paris at its extreme south-eastern corner,\nCalais at its extreme north-eastern, the neighbourhood of Avranches with\nSt Malo Bay at its south-western corner. It includes part of the provinces\nof Normandy, the Ile de France, Picardy and Artois, and part, or all, of\nthe modern departments of the Manche, Orne, Calvados, Eure, Seine-et-Oise,\nSeine, Seine-Inférieure, Oise, Somme, and Pas-de-Calais.\n\nIt will be seen that this territory is nearly evenly divided by the River\nSeine, and the campaign of Crécy is also divided by that river in the\nsense that the English advance took place wholly to the west of it, and\nthe English retreat wholly to the east of it.\n\nThe campaign, as a whole, resolves itself (up to and including the Battle\nof Crécy, which is the subject of this book, and excluding the\ncontinuation of the march after Crécy, and the capture of Calais) into an\nadvance from the Channel coast to Paris, and a retreat from Paris to the\nChannel again, the two portions being divided by the crossing of the Seine\nat Poissy. The advance leaves the coast at the summit of that projection\nof Normandy called the Cotentin, and proceeds a little south of east\ntowards Paris, the walls of which are reached by its outermost\nskirmishers, while the main army crosses the Seine at Poissy. The retreat\nis effected from Poissy northward to the victorious field of Crécy, and\nlater from Crécy, on the same line, to the siege and capture of Calais.\n\nThe time occupied from the day of landing to the day of the Battle of\nCrécy inclusive, is but forty-six days, of which not quite two-thirds are\ntaken up by advance, and rather more than a third by the retreat. The\nEnglish troops landed on Wednesday, July 12th, 1346. They crossed the\nSeine at Poissy upon August 14th. They fought at Crécy upon Saturday,\nAugust 26th.\n\nThe total distance traversed by the main body in these two limbs of the\ncampaign is instructive as showing the leisure of the first part, its\nadvance, and the precipitancy of the second part, its retreat.\n\nThe distance by road as the army marched from St Vaast, where it landed,\nacross the river at Poissy, and so to Crécy, was a total of 345 miles. Of\nthis the first part, or advance, was 215, the second part, or retreat,\n130. The first part occupied, counting the day of landing and the day of\ncrossing at Poissy, not less than 34 days, while the latter portion or\nretreat of 130 miles, including the day of battle itself, took up not more\nthan 12 days, or, excluding the battle, only 11. The average rate of the\nadvance was not more than 6-1/4 miles a day, the average rate of the\nretreat very nearly double.\n\nIt must not be imagined, of course, that the advance took place in prompt\nand regular fashion. It was, as we shall see, irresolute for many days,\nand irregular throughout, while the retreat was a hurried one upon all but\none day of which the troops were pressed to their uttermost. But the\ncontrast is sufficient to show the difference between the frames of mind\nin which Edward III. took up the somewhat hazy plan of an \"invasion,\"\nwhich was really no more than a raid, and that in which he attempted to\nextricate himself from the consequences of his original vagueness of\nintent. In the first, he was as slow as he was uncertain; in the second,\nhe was as precipitate as he was determined.\n\n\nIn the last days of June, 1346, Edward III. had gathered a force, small\nindeed for the purpose which he seems to have had in mind, but large under\nthe conditions of transport which he could command. It was probably just\nunder 20,000 actual fighting men. At this point, however, as it is of\nmaterial interest to the rest of the story, we must pause to consider what\nthese units meant. When we say a little less (or it may have been a little\nmore) than 20,000 fighting men, we mean that the \"men-at-arms\" (that is,\nfully equipped, mounted men, for the most part gentlemen), together with\nnot 4000 Welsh and Border Infantry, and approximately 10,000 Archers,\nbring us near to that total.\n\nBut an army of the fourteenth century was accompanied by a number of\nservants, at least equal to its mounted armed gentry: men who saw to the\nequipment and service of the knights. No man at arms was fit to pass\nthrough a campaign without at least one aide, if only for armouring; and\nfor all the doubtfulness of the records, we know that the Yeoman Archers\nwere also served by men who carried a portion of their equipment, and who\nsaw to their supply in action. It is impossible to make any computation at\nall accurate of the extra rations this organisation involved, nor of what\nproportion of these uncounted units could be used in the fighting. We are\nperhaps safe in saying that the total number who landed were not double\nthe fighting men actually counted, and that Edward's whole force certainly\nwas much more than 20,000 but almost as certainly not 40,000 men. We must\nimagine, all told, perhaps 5000 horses to have been assembled with the\nforce for transport over sea: others would be seized for transport on the\nmarch. It is remarkable that Edward carefully organised certain small\nauxiliary bodies, smiths, artificers, etc., and took with him five\ncannon.[1]\n\nIt was not until Tuesday, the 11th of July, that the very large fleet\nwhich the King had pressed for the service was able to sail from the\nSolent and Spithead. It crossed in the night with a northerly breeze, and\nappeared upon the following morning off St Vaast.\n\nSt Vaast lies in a little recess of the north-eastern coast of the\nCotentin, protected from all winds blowing from the outer Channel, and\nonly open to such seas as can be raised in the estuary of the Seine by a\nsouth-easterly breeze. It was therefore, seeing the direction of the wind\nunder which they had sailed, upon a calm shore that this considerable\nexpedition disembarked. We may presume, under such circumstances, that\nthough Edward had announced his decision of sailing for _southern_ France,\nthe point of disembarkation had been carefully settled, and that a course\nhad been laid for it.\n\nA small force composed of local levies had been raised to resist the\nlanding. It was able to effect nothing, and was easily dispersed by a body\nof the invaders under the Earl of Salisbury, to whom that duty had been\nassigned.[2]\n\nFor nearly a week the army rested where it had landed, sending out\ndetachments to pillage. Barfleur was sacked, Cherbourg was attacked, and\nthe countryside was ravaged.\n\nIt was upon Tuesday, July the 18th, that the main body set out upon its\nmarch to the south and east.\n\nNo considerable body could meet them for weeks, and all the French Feudal\nForce was engaged near Paris or to south of it, and would take weeks to\nconcentrate northward. Edward was free to raid.\n\nThe attempt to construct an accurate time-table of the march which Edward\nIII. took through Normandy during his advance up the Seine as far as\nPoissy, and thence northward in retreat towards Picardy and the sea, has\nonly recently been attempted.\n\nFroissart, that vivid and picturesque writer who, both from his volume and\nhis style, was long taken as the sole general authority for this war, is\nhopeless for the purpose of constructing a map or of setting down accurate\nmilitary details. He had but the vaguest idea of how the march of an army\nshould be organised, and he was profoundly indifferent to geography. He\nadded to or subtracted from numbers with childlike simplicity, and in the\nhonourable motive of pleasing his readers or patrons.\n\nWhen, quite in the last few years, an attempt at accuracy in the plotting\nout of this march was first made, it was based upon not Froissart's but\ncontemporary records, and of these by far the most important are Baker's\n_Chronicle_ and the Accounts of the Kitchen, which happen to have been\nsaved.\n\nBaker's _Chronicle_ was finally edited by Professor Maunde Thompson in\n1889. The work is a standard work and generally regarded as the best\nexample of its kind. In making his notes upon that document, Professor\nMaunde Thompson compared the halting-places given by Baker and other\nauthorities with those of the Accounts of the Kitchen, and established for\nthe first time something like an exact record. But many apparent\ndiscrepancies still remained and several puzzling anomalies. I have\nattempted in what follows to reconstruct the whole accurately, and I think\nI have done so up to and including the passage of the Somme from Boismont,\na point not hitherto established.\n\nFirst, I would point out that of all the few bases of evidence from which\nwe can work, that of the Clerk of the Kitchen's accounts is by far the\nmost valuable.\n\nIt should be a canon in all historical work that the unconscious witness\nis the most trustworthy.\n\nI mean by \"unconscious\" evidence the evidence afforded by one who is not\ninterested in the type of action which one is attempting to establish.\nSuppose, for instance, you wanted to know on exactly what day a Prime\nMinister of England left London for Paris upon some important mission. His\nbiographer who sets out to write an interesting political life and to\ninsist upon certain motives in him, will say it is the 20th of June,\nbecause Lady So-and-So mentions it in her diary, and because he finds a\nletter written by the Prime Minister in Paris on the 21st. Perhaps it is\nmore important to the picturesqueness of the detail that the journey\nshould be a hurried one, and without knowing it the biographer is biased\nin that direction. There may be twenty documents from the pens of people\nconcerned with affairs of State which would lead us to _infer_ that he\nleft London on the 20th, and perhaps only five that would lead us to infer\nthat he left on an earlier day, and, weighing the position and\nresponsibility of the witnesses, the biographer will decide for the\ntwenty.\n\nBut if we come across a postcard written from Calais by the Prime\nMinister's valet to a fellow servant at home asking for the Prime\nMinister's overcoat to be sent on, and if he mentions the weather which we\nfind to correspond to the date, the 19th, and if further we have the\npostmark of the 19th on the postcard, then we can be absolutely certain\nthat the majority of the fuller accounts were wrong, and that the Prime\nMinister crossed not on the 20th but on the 19th, for we have a converging\nset of independent witnesses none of whom have any reason to make the\njourney seem later than it was, all concerned with trivial duties, and\neach unconscious of the effect upon history of their evidence. It would be\nextraordinary if the servant had forged a date, and if we suppose him to\nhave made a mistake, we are corrected by the equally trivial points of the\npostmark and the French stamp and the mention of the weather.\n\nSo it is with this manuscript record of the King's Kitchen expenses and of\nthe several halting-places at which they were incurred. Wherever there is\nconflict, it must override all other evidence.\n\nThe Clerk of the Kitchen, to whom we owe this very valuable testimony, was\none William of Retford. His accounts were kept in a beautifully neat, but\nnot very legible, fourteenth-century hand, upon long sheets of parchment,\nand are now luckily preserved for our inspection at the Record Office.\n\nWith every day's halt the place where victuals were bought for the King,\nthat is, where the King's household lay, has its name marked upon these\naccounts; but unfortunately the abbreviations used in the MS., coupled\nwith the difficulty of distinguishing the short strokes [_e.g._ _m_ from\n_ni_, _n_ from _u_, etc.] upon parchment which time has faded, and on the\ntop of that the indifference of the scribe to the foreign names\nthemselves, do not render the task particularly easy. The MS. has not, I\nbelieve, ever been published. I have spent a good deal of time over it,\nand I will give my conclusions as best I can.\n\nThe main army stayed at St Vaast, as I have said, for six days, that is,\nuntil Tuesday, July 18th, 1346. This was presumably done to recruit the\nhorses and the men. Foraging parties went out in the interval, but the\nbulk of the force did not move.\n\nOn that Tuesday it struck inland for Valognes, a march of 10-1/2 miles. No\nproper coast-road existed even as late as the eighteenth century, let\nalone in the Middle Ages, and an army making for Paris or for the crossing\nof the Seine could not choose but to go thus slightly out of its way.\n\nFrom Valognes there is a two days' march to Carentan, which town was the\nlowest crossing-place of the River Douves. We may naturally expect the\nhalt between the two to have been about midway, and this would give us a\ntown called Ste Mère l'Eglise, but the Clerk of the Kitchen puts down St\nCome du Mont. We conclude, therefore, that the King's staff did not follow\nthe great road which had existed from Roman times, but went by bypaths to\nthe east of it where St Come du Mont lies. It was a long day's march of\nover fourteen miles, but the next day's march, that of Thursday the 20th,\nto Carentan was a short one of not more than eight or nine (allowing in\nboth cases for the windings of the side-road). On Friday the 21st the King\nlay at Pont Hébert. This is another example of something very like a long\nmarch followed by a short one upon the morrow. St Lô was the halting-place\nof the Saturday, and Pont Hébert is but four miles from St Lô. Of a total,\ntherefore, of nearly seventeen miles, over thirteen are covered upon one\nday, and but four upon the next.\n\nAt this point it is worth noticing the character of all the advance with\nwhich we are dealing. Edward had been blamed for sluggishness. He was not\nso much sluggish as apparently without plan. He did not know quite what\nhe was going to do next. His general intention seems to have been to make\nsooner or later for his allies in Flanders, and meanwhile to take rich\ntowns and loot them, and to bring pressure upon the King of France by\nravaging distant and populous territories which the French army could not\nrapidly reach. He therefore often makes a good and steady marching in this\nadvance, but he also lingers uselessly at towns, and intercalates very\nshort marches between the long ones. Thus he deliberately struck inland to\nSt Lô on his way to Caen, because St Lô was a fine fat booty, instead of\nmaking by the short road which runs from Carentan through Bayeux. The\nwhole character of the advance clearly betrays the point I have already\nmade, that this early part of the Hundred Years' War was essentially a\nseries of raids.\n\nAt this stage it is well to point out to the reader two difficulties which\nhave confused historians. The first is the fact that the Clerk of the\nKitchen often takes a shot at a French name which he has either heard\ninaccurately or which he attempts to spell phonetically, so that we have\nto interpret him not infrequently to make sense of his record.\n\nThe second is the fact that the chronicler will give some particular spot\nquite consonant with the marching powers of troops for one day, but\ndifferent from that given by the Clerk of the Kitchen.\n\nThis apparent discrepancy is due to the fact that an army marches if it\ncan upon parallel roads involving various halting-places for various\nsections of it on the same night. An army upon a raid such as this also\nthrows out foraging parties and detachments, which leave its main body for\nthe purposes of observation or of plunder.\n\nAgain, we must always regard the King's household (and therefore the\nKitchen Accounts) as moving with what may be called \"the staff.\" Often,\ntherefore, it will go much faster than the rest of the army, while at\nother times it will lie behind or to one side of it. Thus, at the very end\nof this campaign you have a transference of the King's quarters, twenty\nmiles to the north in one day, which would be a terribly long march for\nthe army as a whole, and which, as a fact, we can discover on other\nevidence the army as a whole did not take.\n\nWith so much said, we can proceed to build up an exact account of the\nadvance and the retreat.\n\nUpon Sunday the 23rd of August Edward advanced from St Lô to a place\nwhich the Clerk of the Kitchen calls \"Sevances.\" The spelling is\ninaccurate. The place intended is _Sept Vents_, twelve miles to the south\nand east of St Lô. But other portions of the army halted elsewhere in the\nneighbourhood, as we know from Baker. The next halt, that of the 24th, is\nat Torteval, only five miles away, but a portion of the army got south of\nFontenay le Pesnel, which the King did not reach till the 25th, and which\nthe Clerk calls \"Funtenay Paynel.\" Three days are thus taken between St Lô\nand Caen, and the whole army arrives before the latter large town, the\ncapital of West Normandy, upon Wednesday, July 26th.\n\nThe town of Caen was not properly defended. It had no regular walls, and\nwas a very rich prey indeed. The Constable of France and the Chamberlain\nwere in the town, and the castle was held by a handful (300) of Genoese\nmercenaries. There was an armed force of militia and of knights in the\nstreets of the town, of what exact size we do not know. The Prince of\nWales with the advance guard occupied the outskirts of the city which lie\nbeyond the branches of the Orne (the northern branch now runs mainly in\nsewers under the streets from the Hôtel de Ville to the Church of St\nPeter). There was sharp fighting at the bridge, at one moment of which the\nKing ordered a retreat, but the Earl of Warwick disobeyed the order. The\nKing followed him, and the bridge was taken. There was considerable\nslaughter in the streets of the city; the Constable and the Chamberlain\nwere taken prisoners, and about one hundred of the wounded knights. The\nEnglish loss, which was not heavy, fell mainly upon the Archers and\nSpearmen, and the total, including wounded, was but five hundred, and was\nmainly due to the resistance of the inhabitants of the houses. The town\nwas given over to pillage, and Edward thought of burning it, but was\nrestrained. It is characteristic of the march that a delay of four days\nfrom the morning of the 5th was occupied in the loot of Caen, from which\ntown (in communication with the sea by its river) Edward sent back his\nplunder on board the Fleet which he dismissed.\n\nThe army marched out of Caen on Monday, the 31st of July, and undertook\nits three days' march to Lisieux, the next rich town upon this random\nadvance, now deprived of support from the sea. Edward probably intended to\nforce some passage of the Seine, preferably, it may be surmised, at\nRouen, or a little higher up, with the vague object of making for the\nnorth-east and Calais. We are not certain of this. It is more than\npossible that the capture of Calais later on in the campaign gave rise to\nthe story that some such plan was intended. Anyhow, we get two halts and\nthree marches between Caen and Lisieux, a distance of only twenty-five\nmiles, which could easily have been accomplished in two days had there\nbeen a really definite plan in the commander's head. We may be pretty\ncertain that there was not.\n\nThe halts of the King himself on the 31st of July and the 1st of August\nwere made at two places which read in the MS. as \"Treward,\" and an\nabbreviated name which stands for \"Leopurtuis.\" The first of these is\nTroarn at the crossing of the Dives river. Other forces halted on that\nnight at Agences, four miles to the south. The second is Léaupartie, a\nmile or so from Rumenise, where one other column halted, while a second\ncolumn camped about five miles to the south. Lisieux was entered upon the\n2nd of August after a march of ten miles on the part of the King, and of\neleven and twelve on the part of the other two bodies.\n\nAt Lisieux two Cardinals who were despatched to offer terms met King\nEdward and proposed this arrangement to complete the war: that he should\nhave the Duchy of Aquitaine upon the same tenure as his ancestors had held\nit. He refused those terms, and, after wasting a day at Lisieux, continued\nhis march eastward.\n\nLeaving Lisieux on the morning of the 4th, he pitched his tent that\nevening at Duramelle, a march of nine miles, with at least one column a\nmile ahead at Le Teil. On Saturday the 5th he got something better out of\nhis troops, or at any rate out of the vanguard, and made something like\nseventeen miles to Neubourg.\n\nI confess here to a very considerable doubt. The entry in the Accounts of\nthe Kitchen is hopelessly misspelt, but the \"Lineubourg\" does not\ncorrespond to any other possible place, and Le Neubourg would be a very\nconvenient halting-place for the King himself, well provisioned and\nlodged. We cannot believe, of course, that the army covered the full\ndistance, but there is no reason why the King and his household should not\nhave pushed on ahead with mounted troops. What makes it more probable is\nthat the King spent the whole day of Sunday the 6th at Le Neubourg,\npresumably for the bulk of the army to come up and make two days' march of\nthe twenty odd miles which the most distant contingents had to cover.\n\nIt was on the next day, Monday the 7th, that he reached the Seine, and\napproached that river, as we may presume, with the object of crossing it.\nIt was a ten-mile march, and the whole force could be on the banks before\nevening at Elboeuf.[3] But the bridges were broken and it was\nimpossible. It was from this point of Elboeuf that the raid turned to\nfollow the valley of the Seine up towards Paris, always seeking some\ncrossing-place, and always finding the bridges broken. The nearer he got\nto Paris the more dangerous became Edward's position, and the larger grew\nthe forces of the French King in the neighbourhood of the capital which\nthreatened him.\n\nTuesday the 8th was spent in ravaging the country. Pont de L'Arche was\nburnt in revenge for the destruction of its bridge; a detachment went\nround by Louviers, which was looted, but the King himself went forward by\nthe river bank and lodged that night at Vaudreuil, ten miles on from\nElboeuf (which the Clerk of the Kitchen calls \"Pount-Vadreel\").[4] The\nbulk of the force halted at Léry, a mile or two behind.\n\nUpon Wednesday, August 9th, Edward lay at Angreville[5] (the \"Langville\"\nof the accounts), just south of Gaillon, and on Thursday the 10th, having\nburnt Vernon, where _again_ he found the bridge cut, at Jeufose, rather\nmore than eleven miles march up the river. (\"Frevose,\" as I read it in the\nMS.) His next hope for a bridge was at Mantes, and he was getting\nperilously near the heart of the country and the gathering French forces.\nThat bridge was nine or ten miles along the road. He found it cut like all\nthe others.\n\nHe was already across the borders of Normandy, and anxiety must have been\ngrowing upon him. He seized Mantes after some resistance. It was useless\nto his purpose, and he hurried on another six miles to Epone (\"Appone\" in\nthe Accounts), making that day a really long march in his natural haste\nand compelling his escort to the same--sixteen miles. But he both\nfatigued his main army in that attempt, and it also lost some time in\nstorming a fortified house on \"the White Rock,\"[6] because the next day he\nevidently had to wait for stragglers to come up, advancing but a couple of\nmiles to Aubergenville,[7] where we find him upon Saturday the 12th. Upon\nthe 13th, the Sunday, he got his opportunity. A march of only eight\nmiles[8] brought the host to Poissy, and there, though the bridge was cut,\nthe stone piles upon which its trestles had stood were uninjured. Edward\nat once began to take advantage of this and to put his artificers to work.\nAll that Sunday and all the Monday the task proceeded, and during this\ndelay parties were despatched to ravage. They burnt St Germain and St\nCloud. An advance party entered the Bois de Boulogne. But there could, of\ncourse, be no thought of an attack on Paris with so small a force and\nwithout base or provision.\n\nBy Tuesday the 15th of August these ravaging parties were recalled, and\nthe whole host was streaming across the repaired bridge at Poissy.\n\nThis day, Tuesday the 15th, is strategically the turning point of the\ncampaign. In an attempt to note in history no more than the great raid of\nEdward up to the very walls of the Capital, and his rapid and successful\nretreat, the crossing of Poissy would form the central term of our story.\nAs it happened, however, the great chance which occurred to Edward in that\nretreat upon the field of Crécy, and his magnificent use of it, has\neclipsed the earlier story, and for many the interest of the campaign as a\nwhole, and the importance of this rapid seizure and repair of Poissy, is\nmissed.\n\nWhile his army was crossing the river, Edward received the challenge of\nthe King of France. It was native indeed to the time: a sort of\ntournament-challenge, offering the English monarch battle upon any one of\nfive days, in that great plain between Paris and St Germains which the\nlast siege of the French capital has rendered famous in military history.\nThe French feudal levies for which Philip had been waiting were now fast\ngathering, especially those for which he had had to wait longest, the main\nforces which had been away down south in Guienne. Edward most wisely\nrefused the challenge, for it would have been against great odds, and to\naccept, though consonant to the spirit of the time, would have been a\nludicrously unmilitary proceeding. In place of such acceptation he sent\nback false news that he would meet Philip far to the south. He then\nproceeded to cross the river and make the best haste he could back\nnorthwards to the sea. The French King found out the trick; a day and a\nhalf late he started in pursuit with his large and increasing host. That\nhost was gathered at St Denis when on the Wednesday night, the 16th,\nEdward had got his men to Grisy, well north of Pontoise, and something\nlike seventeen miles by cross roads from his hastily repaired bridge\nacross the Seine. What followed was a fine feat of marching.\n\nOn the next day, the 17th, he had got his forces more than another\nseventeen miles north and had camped them by Auneuil. In two more days, by\nthe evening of Saturday the 19th, they were yet twenty-five miles further\nnorth as the crow flies (and more like thirty by the roads), at Sommereux.\nEdward halted at Troussures (of which the clerk makes \"Trusserux\") to see\nit file by, and on the morrow, Sunday, August the 20th, he was at Camps\nin the upland above Moliens Vidame, another push of fifteen miles for mass\nof the force, and of more than twenty for himself and his staff.\n\nAt this point came the crux of his danger. All during that tremendous feat\nof marching (and what it meant anyone who has covered close on fifty miles\nin three days under military conditions will know--there are few such) the\ngreat host of Philip was pounding at his heels.\n\nNow, if the reader will glance at the map at the beginning of this\nsection, he will see that just as Edward had been under a necessity to\ncross the Seine in the first part of his raid, he was now under a still\ngreater necessity of crossing the Somme. A force much larger than his own\nwas pressing him against that river into a sort of corner, and his only\nchance of safety lay in reaching the Straits of Dover through the county\nof Ponthieu, which lay beyond the stream. Every effort had been made to\npress the march. The force appears to have been divided for this purpose\nand to have marched in parallel columns, and the single case of marauding\n(the burning of the Abbey of St Lucien outside Beauvais) had been punished\nwith the death of twenty men.\n\nTo turn and meet his pursuers (who were evidently in contact with him\nthrough their scouts) would have meant, so long as he was on this side of\nthe Somme, no chance of retreat in case of defeat.\n\nEvery mile he went to the north the Somme valley, already a broad expanse\nof marsh upon his flank, grew broader and more difficult. The decision,\ntherefore, which Edward took at this critical moment, at once perilous and\nmasterly, showed that rapid grasp of a situation which, for all his lack\nof a general plan during this campaign, this great soldier could boast. In\nthe first place, he himself rides forward no less than twenty full miles\nto the village of Acheux. He has behind him the whole army strung out in\nseparate bodies parallel to the Somme. Himself, from the head of that long\nline of twenty miles, commands all that should be done along it. He next\norders separate bodies to approach the valley and seek a crossing, first,\nif possible, up river, then, as they fail, lower and lower down, and each\nto be ready as it is foiled at each bridge to fall back north in\nconcentration, and to group in gathering numbers further and further down\nthe stream, and near to his place at the head of the line, Acheux.\n\nThe whole thing is a fine piece of sudden decision, and is at once a\ncombination of the rapidity of the retreat and of the attempt to force the\nriver, in this the fourth week of August 1346, which so nearly brought\ndisaster to the English force.\n\nThree days, the 21st, 22nd, and 23rd, were taken up in this manoeuvre.\nThe English flung themselves successively against the bridges: Picquigny,\nLong Pré, Pont Rémy. The hardest and first push was at Picquigny at the\nbeginning or southernmost of the effort. The body detached for that effort\nwas beaten back.\n\nIt was the same with the next blow lower down at Long Pré: the same lower\ndown still at Pont Rémy. At no bridge were the English successful.\nEverywhere the valley was impassable to them, and as they attempted one\nplace after another down the stream with its broadening marshland and now\ntidal water, to find a traverse seemed impossible.\n\nAt last, then, upon Wednesday the 23rd of August the whole host was\ngathered, foiled, round its King at Acheux. He marched on a few miles to\nBOISMONT, going on his way through Mons, and there, as it chanced, picking\nup a prisoner who proved invaluable: for that prisoner betrayed the ford.\n\nAs the English army lay at Boismont that night of the 23rd, the broad\nestuary of the Somme stretched to the north of them with no more bridges\nacross it, cut or uncut, and apparently no fate but a choice between a\ndesperate action against superior numbers (nor any retreat open) and\nsurrender.\n\nEdward's only chance lay in the discovery across that mile of land\n(flooded at high tide, and at low tide a morass) of some kind of ford.\nSuch a ford existed. With difficulty, but in the nick of time, it was\ndiscovered and used; the French force defending it upon the further side\nwas overthrown, and the retreat and its dependent victory of Crécy were\nmade possible.\n\nEdward had had good faith that \"God and Our Lady, and St George would find\nhim a passage,\" and a passage he found.\n\nThe crossing of that ford and the advance to Crécy field must form the\nmatter of our next section, \"The Preliminaries of the Action.\"\n\n\n     The reader will note that in the latter part of the above I have\n     wholly abandoned the more usual account of the last three days of the\n     retreat from Poissy to the Somme, and that the reconstruction I have\n     attempted includes several matters hitherto not suggested in any\n     recent history, and is in contradiction with the view which has\n     hitherto been most generally accepted.\n\n     The evidence upon which I rely for this description of the retreat on\n     Acheux and subsequently on Boismont will I hope be found set out in\n     detail in the number of the _English Historical Review_ for October\n     1912. Meanwhile, I owe it to my readers, who may use this book for\n     purposes of school or university work, to state briefly the way in\n     which the matter has hitherto been set forth, and my reason for\n     adopting this new version.\n\n     Most Froissart MSS., which have misled history in this regard, say\n     that King Edward was at _Oisemont_ upon the evening of the 23rd.\n     Lingard, the father of all modern English historical writing, and a\n     man whom every historian begins by reading (though very few go on by\n     acknowledging him), expanded this mere reference into a whole phrase,\n     and wrote that Edward \"had the good fortune to capture the town of\n     Oisemont, and so find a night's lodging.\" A neglect of military\n     conditions, or of the map, or of both, has perpetuated the error.\n     Edward was never at Oisemont. The argument against it, and in favour\n     of _Boismont_, is dependent upon a number of converging proofs, which\n     I will very briefly recapitulate.\n\n     (1) The MSS. of Froissart are none of them original.\n\n     (2) They vary among themselves with regard to this particular word,\n     most of them giving \"Oisemont,\" but one giving \"Nysemont.\"\n\n     (3) Even where all the MSS. agree with regard to a place, and where\n     Froissart certainly mentioned it, he is wildly inaccurate, evidently\n     going by hearsay, and often by a doubtful memory: thus he has no\n     idea on which side of the Seine the town of Gisors stands, and he\n     calls the village of Fontaine a \"strong town,\" etc.\n\n     (4) Even were he an accurate, he is not a contemporary authority. He\n     had to depend entirely upon older accounts which we can prove that he\n     misread, or did not read at all, but only heard spoken of, and very\n     often botched horribly.\n\n     (5) In this particular campaign he is particularly haphazard. Thus,\n     upon the all-important point of the order in which the various\n     crossings of the Somme were attempted, he gets them at sixes and\n     sevens, describing the first last and the last first. He was a man\n     always attending to picturesqueness of incident, and one who thought\n     exactitude very negligible.\n\n     Those are the five points which weaken any positive evidence which\n     Froissart may give. But it is the evidence independent of Froissart,\n     and of his accuracy or inaccuracy, which is so overwhelming.\n\n     (1) Oisemont lies actually ten miles _back_ from Abbeville upon the\n     line of the retreat. To occupy Oisemont was to incur a deliberate\n     running into that danger which it was all Edward's effort to avoid.\n\n     (2) We know, as a matter of fact, that Philip, the King of France,\n     was before the night of the 23rd abreast of Abbeville; a retreat upon\n     Oisemont would therefore have been physically impossible to Edward.\n\n     (3) Oisemont would have involved keeping in touch with bodies ten,\n     twelve, fifteen, and twenty miles distant, even if Oisemont had been\n     occupied for two days, whereas the only mention we have of that\n     occupation represents it as taking place on the 23rd.\n\n     These three points render it, as to two of them morally impossible,\n     as to one of them physically, that Edward could have been at Oisemont\n     upon that night. But they are negative: we have positive points which\n     clinch the whole matter. These are:--\n\n     (1) Edward marched with his _whole_ army to the ford or it could not\n     all have crossed, therefore it was concentrated before he marched.\n     The march was a very short one. Even Froissart says that \"he started\n     at the break of day\" and reached the ford \"a little after sunrise.\"\n     It must also have been short because we know as a matter of positive\n     history that the soldiers who took that morning march waited some\n     time for the tide to ebb, _then_ fought a sharp and successful action\n     upon the northern bank of the river, and again on the same day\n     stormed certainly one and possibly two defended places: also that\n     their total march before the night, and beyond the river, was quite\n     ten miles, including the actions just mentioned.\n\n     (2) We also know that there was an assault on St Valery, which was\n     actually _twenty_ miles from Oisemont by the nearest roads!\n\n     (3) We know that the traitor was captured at Mons, which, if Edward\n     had been at Oisemont, would have meant that someone had not only\n     caught him at that great distance from Oisemont, but had brought him\n     back (a total ride of twenty-four miles) without previous knowledge\n     that he was capable of the valuable information he only gave later\n     and after offers.\n\n     (4) There is no contemporary mention of Oisemont, but we do\n     positively know from contemporary evidence that the King's household\n     was, and had been for three days, at Acheux.\n\n     Now all this combined is quite conclusive. Oisemont is impossible.\n     Boismont satisfies every part of the evidence. An hour's riding from\n     it permits the attack on St Valery. Mons, where the traitor comes\n     from, is only two miles off; the march from Boismont to the Ford is\n     just such an advance as would take the dawn and sunrise of a\n     day--whereas the advance from Oisemont, impossible for all those\n     other reasons, would involve fourteen to fifteen miles of marching,\n     and is utterly incompatible with the idea of two or possibly three\n     heavy fights, and the long march succeeding it.\n\n     One last piece of evidence would be conclusive even if we had not all\n     the rest. There is contemporary record of the Mayor of Abbeville\n     watching from the heights of Caubert Hill the English army streaming\n     northward to concentrate round the advanced position of the King.\n     From that height such an advance could be discerned crossing the\n     plateau which leads to Acheux, to Mons, and to Boismont. You could no\n     more see a concentration on Oisemont from it than you could see a\n     concentration on Greenwich from Camden Hill.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Sketch showing Estuary of the Somme at BLANCHETAQUE in\n1346]\n\n\n\nTHE PRELIMINARIES OF THE BATTLE\n\n\nThe manoeuvres of the French and English armies preliminary to the\nBattle of Crécy are so instructive upon many points, involved movements so\nhazardous and so complex, gave rise to so sharp a series of engagements,\nand form in general so large a part of our subject, that they merit a far\nlarger study than do the approaches to most battles.\n\nThey illustrate the comparative lack of thought-out plan which\ncharacterised medieval warfare; they afford a contrast between the compact\nand fairly well organised command of Edward III., and the chaotic host of\nthe King of France. They show the effect upon the military profession of a\ntime without maps and without any properly managed system of intelligence;\nand, above all, they show the overwhelming part which chance plays in all\narmed conflict between forces of the same civilisation and approximately\nthe same aptitudes.\n\nThe situation upon Wednesday the 23rd of August (at which point we\nconcluded the survey of Edward III.'s great raid through Normandy, and of\nhis retreat down the line of the Somme) is already known to the reader,\nand will be the clearer if he will look at the map upon page 28.\n\nEdward had made a very fine march indeed, not only averaging something\nlike twelve miles a day, or more, but arranging for expeditions to leave\nthe main host during the latter part of this rapid retreat, and attempt to\nforce, at various points, the passages of the River Somme. We have seen\nthat he was compelled, if possible, to force a passage because he would\notherwise find himself shut up between the Somme and the sea, with a much\nsuperior force cutting him off to the south. In case of defeat he would\nhave no line of retreat, and even in case of success, unless that success\nwere overwhelming, he would find himself strategically stalemated, still\ncaught in a trap, and still doomed to await the next onslaught of the\nenemy. We have further seen that with every mile that he proceeded towards\nthe sea his ability to cross the Somme decreased. The river runs through\na marshy valley which, even to-day, is a mass of ponds and water meadows,\nand which then was a belt of marsh. It is bounded on either side by fairly\nsteep banks, rising to heights of 60, 70, and 100 feet, and inland to 150,\nbetween which the flat swamped land grows broader and broader as one\napproaches the sea. At Picquigny this level belt of swamp through which\nthe Somme twines is quite 500 yards across. At Long Pré it is nearer 800,\nbelow Abbeville it is 1000, and at the point whence Edward overlooked it\nwhen he was halted at bay on the evening of that 23rd of August, it is\nwell over 2000 yards in width and nearer 2500.\n\nBoismont, a village climbing the southern bank of the estuary, was the\nspot on which the King had gathered the army upon the evening of that\nWednesday, and, not a day's march behind him, the most advanced mounted\nmen of his pursuers, with the King of France among them, were camping. The\nperil was extreme, and an issue from that peril as extremely doubtful.\n\nIt was hopeless for the army to attempt to retrace its steps to the upper\nriver. To have done so would have been to march with the flank of its\nmarch exposed to an immediate advance of French forces, and almost\ncertainly to be caught in column; and Edward had already suffered such\nrepulses before Long Pré, Pont Rémy, and Picquigny as left him no hope for\nsuccess should he attempt these bridges again. His only chance was to\nfind, if it were possible, some practicable ford across the broad estuary\nitself that lay before him.\n\nThe moon was within a few hours of the full that night, the highest of the\nspring-tides was making--in the open sea they were at their full height of\n25 feet, an hour before midnight,--and though where he would strike the\nestuary he might hope for a tide more tardy, Edward had before him as he\nwatched, his only avenue of escape, a great flood that appeared to deny\nhim all access to the further shore.\n\nEvery effort was made to discover from local knowledge whether any passage\nexisted. The highest rewards were offered, in vain, for in all that\ncountryside a feeling which if not national was at least strongly opposed\nto the invader, forbade treason, and the near presence of the French\nKing's great force was an active reminder of the punishment that would\nattend it. Late in this period of suspense a guide was found.\n\nA man of the name of Gobin Agache, who had been taken prisoner by the\narmy, was that guide. His was that \"invaluable\" capture which I mentioned\nin the last section. He was a peasant of those parts, and a native of\nMons-en-Vimieux, through which the army had marched from Acheux to\nBoismont. He yielded to temptation when all others had refused. He was\npromised a hundred pieces of gold (say £500 of our money), his own\nliberty, and that of twenty of his companions. For that price he sold\nhimself, and promised to discover to the King and to his army the only\npracticable ford across the estuary.\n\nJust at the end of the night the host set out and marched during the first\nhours of the moonlit Wednesday morning along the old road which still\nleads over the hills that separate Boismont from Saigneville and marked\nthe southern bank of the valley. The marshalling was long; the full\nordering of the force, now that it was all gathered together and marching\nalong one narrow way, inexpeditious; and the two miles that separated the\nhead of its column from the neighbouring village were not traversed by its\nlast units, nor was the whole body drawn up at the foot of the hills\nagainst the water until the sun of that late August day was beginning to\nrise, and to show more clearly the great sheet of flood-water and the\nsteep distant bank beyond it.\n\nThe place to which their guide had led them was the entry to the ford of\nBlanchetaque, a name famous in the military history of this country.\nHidden beneath the waters which, though now ebbing strongly, were still\nfar too deep for any attempt at a crossing, ran the causeway. By it, upon\nthe faith of the traitor, they could trust to gaining the opposite shore.\nAs the racing ebb lowered more and more, the landward approaches of that\ncauseway appeared in a lengthening white belt pointing right across\ntowards the further bank, and assured them that they had not been\nbetrayed. It was built of firm marl in the midst of that grassy slime\nwhich marks the edges of the Somme valley, and they had but to wait for\nlow water to be certain that they could make the passage. Beyond, upon the\nnorthern shore which showed in a high, black band (for it was steep)\nagainst the broadening day, they could distinguish a force that had been\ngathered to oppose them.\n\nIt was mid-morning before the ebb was at its lowest,[9] and they could\nbegin to march \"twelve abreast, and with the water no more than\nknee-high,\" across the dwindled stream now at its lowermost of slack\nwater, and running near the further bank with a breadth not a fifth of\nwhat it had been at the flood. But before proceeding further and\ndescribing the assault shore, I would lay before my readers the process by\nwhich I have established the exact locality of this famous ford. It has\nbeen a matter of considerable historical debate. It is and will always\nremain a matter of high historical interest, and this must be my excuse\nfor digressing upon the evidence which, I think it will be admitted,\nfinally establishes the exact trajectory of Blanchetaque.\n\nThe site of Blanchetaque is one which nature and art have combined to\nrender obscure: nature, because a ford when its purpose disappears and it\nis no longer kept up, that is, an artificial ford, tends to disappear more\nrapidly than any other monument; art, because the old estuary of the Somme\nhas of recent years been further and further reclaimed. It was, when I\nfirst began studying this district, already banked across below Boismont,\nand, if I am not mistaken, the great railway bridge right across the very\nmouth of the river has, in the last few months, been made the boundary of\nthe reclaimed land.\n\nNow, Blanchetaque was an artificial ford. We know this because there is no\nmarl formation near by, and could be none forming a narrow rib across the\ndeep alluvial mud of the estuary; the marl, then, can only have been\nbrought from some little distance. It is not only an artificial hardening\nwhich we have to deal with, but one in the midst of a tidal estuary where\na violent current swept the work for centuries. Finally, the cause for\nkeeping the ford in some sort of repair early disappeared in modern times\nbefore the process of reclaiming the land of the estuary began. Numerous\nmodern bridges, coupled with the great development of modern roads,\npermitted the crossing of the Somme at and below Abbeville: notably the\nBridge of Cambron. The railway, the growth of the tonnage of steamers, and\nother causes, led to the decline of the little riverside town of\nPort--formerly the secure head of marine navigation upon the river and\nlargely the cause that Blanchetaque was kept in repair.\n\nAgain, the reclamation of the land has been carried out with a French\nthoroughness only too successful in destroying the contours of the old\nriver bed. In the sketch map on p. 60 I have indicated to the best of my\nability the channel of the river at low tide as it appears to have been\nbefore reclamation began, but even this can barely be traced upon the\nlevelled, heightened, and now fruitful pastures.\n\nIt is all this which has made the exact emplacement of Blanchetaque so\ndifficult to ascertain, and has led to the controversies upon its site.\n\nNow, if we will proceed to gather all forms of evidence, we shall find\nthat they converge upon one particular line of trajectory which in the end\nwe can regard as completely established.\n\nWe have in the first place (and most valuable of all, of course)\ntradition. Local traditions luckily carefully gathered as late as\n1840,[10] but the indications of the peasants pointing out the traditional\nsite of the then ruined way were, unfortunately, not marked on a map. What\n_was_ done was to give an indication unfortunately not too precise, and to\nleave it on record that the northern end of the ford was \"from 1200 to\n1500 metres below Port.\" This gives us a margin of possible error, not of\n300 yards as might be supposed, but of more than double that distance, for\nPort itself is 500 yards in length from east to west. We can be certain,\nhowever, that so far as tradition goes we need not look more than a mile\nbelow Port for the ford, nor less than say half a mile from its last\nhouses.\n\nFortunately, we have other convergent indications which can guide us with\ngreater precision.\n\nWe must remember that, apart from the bringing of merchandise over to the\nneighbourhood of Port, the ford, which may, and most probably did, exist\nbefore Port became of any importance, led all the central traffic of the\nVimieux country (which is the district on the left bank of the Somme)\ntowards the Straits of Dover and their principal port at Boulogne.\n\nNow, the way from the right bank of the Somme to Boulogne is interrupted\nby several streams, much the most marshy and broad of which is the Authie.\nThe Romans bridged the Authie at _Ad Pontes_ in the course of their great\nTrunk Road to Britain, and any way which led from the lowest ford over the\nSomme to Boulogne would have to join that great Trunk Road before or at\nthe bridge if it were to take advantage, as commerce would have to do, of\nthat sole passage of the very difficult and marshy Authie valley which can\nnowhere be crossed save upon a causeway. I have in a former page remarked\nupon the importance of Ad Pontes (the modern Ponches), and pointed out\nthat it gives the whole county its name of Ponthieu. We must expect,\ntherefore, any direct commercial way northward from the ford to make\ndirectly for Ponches. To strike the great Trunk Road higher up would be to\ngo out of one's way; to strike it lower down would be to strike the Authie\nValley at an impassable point.\n\nWhen an ancient way has disappeared, certain indications of its track,\nespecially as that track may be presumed to be direct, survive, and among\nthese are wayside tombs, parish boundaries, and mills or other places\nwhich, for the conveyance of heavy merchandise, are placed near such a\nroad if possible. All these three kinds of indications are available in\nthis particular case. The medieval mill which was so important a monopoly\nof the medieval community was not built in the most natural place for it,\non the summit of the hill just above Port, but some thousand yards and\nmore away down the river bank, and over against it is a group of tombs.\nMoreover, between the two runs the long north-western boundary of the\nparish or commune of Port which is prolonged in the boundary of the parish\nof Sailly.[11] We have here, then, a convergence of proof which confirms\nthe vaguer traditional site, for the end of this line upon the river,\npassing between the tombs and the old mill, strikes the bank within the\nlimits of distance from Port which were set down in the local notes\nprinted in 1840.\n\nBut there is more. The forming of successive embankments one below the\nother for the gradual reclamation of land in the Somme estuary was not an\neasy matter. They had to be strong to withstand a strong tide, and there\nwas no good bottom to be found in the deep mud of the valley floor. It is\na significant evidence of this difficulty that the embankments stand so\nfar apart, and that the last has had to take advantage of the\nlong-established work of the railway viaduct. It is therefore a legitimate\nconjecture that the hard bottom afforded by the old Blanchetaque would be\nmade use of, and as a fact we find the principal embankment between Port\nand the sea coinciding exactly with the line established by the tombs, the\nparish boundaries, and the site of the mill.\n\nThere is even more than this. If we follow the present embankment across\nthe estuary towards the southern bank, we find ourselves checked before\nreaching that bank by the now canalised and artificial straight ditch of\nthe Somme. There is no bridge, but on the further side leading across the\nremaining 700 yards to the southern bank, a village road exactly continues\nthe direction, and this road, older than the reclamation of the valley, is\nthe last converging point clinching the argument.\n\nIt cannot be doubted that the road leading from Saigneville northward\nacross the flat to the canal, and continued beyond the canal by the\nembankment, is the line of the old Blanchetaque.[12]\n\nThough the French army had been pursuing Edward during his march upon the\nleft bank of the Somme, the possibility of his getting across the estuary\nhad not been neglected, and a force had been detached to watch the right\nbank at the point where the only passage across the stream, Blanchetaque,\ntouched that right bank.\n\nHere one of Philip's nobles, Godemard de Fay, was waiting with a\nconsiderable force to oppose the passage. The exact size of this force is\nnot easy to determine, for it is variously stated, even by contemporary\nauthorities, but we are fairly safe if we reckon it at more than 2000 and\nless than 4000 men, some hundreds of whom were mounted knights. In other\nwords, it counted in \"capital units\" from one-sixth to one-eighth of\nEdward's army, and, counting all fighting men against all fighting men,\nperhaps much the same proportion. There was sharp fighting, but it was\ndefeated, principally through the action of the Archers. In Godemard's\ncommand was a very considerable body of Genoese cross-bowmen. As we shall\nsee when we come to the Battle of Crécy itself, this arm was gravely\ninferior in rapidity of fire, and possibly in range, to the English\nlong-bow. The latter weapon could deliver three to the cross-bow's one,\nand to this, coupled with the discipline of the English column, the\nsuccess must be ascribed. Grave as was the balance of numbers against the\nFrench side, equal armament and equal discipline should have enabled it to\nprevail. The holding of a _tête de pont_ with a smaller number properly\ndeployed should always be possible against a larger column compelled to\ndebouch from a narrow line, especially a line of such difficulty as a ford\nacross a broad stream.\n\nThe action was a picturesque one, and the sight presented to a spectator\nwatching it from the heights behind Godemard's command must have been a\npicture vivid and well framed. One hundred mounted and armoured knights,\ncarefully chosen, led the way across the ford. They were met actually in\nthe water itself by mounted men advancing on to the causeway from\nGodemard's side, and the twin banners of Edward's two marshals and the\ncries of \"God and St George!\" with which the English vanguard met the\nenemy rose for a few moments from a confused mêlée of men and horses\nstruggling in the stream. But the issue was decided by the comparative\nstrength of missile weapons, and not by the sword. The Genoese\ncross-bowmen behind the French knights, and upon either side of their\nrear, shot into the English mounted ranks with some success, when the\nArchers of Edward, who were just behind the knights, and seem to have\ndeployed somewhat over the marshy land on either side of the ford,\nreturned their fire with that superiority of the long-bow which helped to\ndecide this campaign. It was the regular fire of the Archers, the weight\nand the rapidity of it, which finally threw the supporting infantry of the\nFrench command into confusion, and permitted the mounted head of the\nEnglish column to force its way over the landward end of the ford and\nthrough the now isolated body of French knights. Once the bank was gained,\nthe English head of the column in its turn held the _tête de pont_, and\nthe passage of the whole force was only a question of time.\n\nBut time was a factor of vast importance at this juncture: how important\nwhat immediately followed will show. A force of anything between\ntwenty-four and thirty-nine thousand men, combatant and non-combatant,\nwith its wagons and sumpter horses, the considerable booty of its raid,\nits tents, its reserve of armour and of weapons, we cannot reckon, even\nupon a front of twelve deep, at less than a couple of miles in length,\neven under the best and strictest conditions of marshalling. Indeed, that\nestimate is far too low and mechanical. It is more likely that by the time\nthe head of the column was pouring from the causeway on to the right bank\nof the estuary, and there deploying, a good third of the armed men were\nstill waiting upon the further shore to file over the narrow passage.\n\nAt any rate, before the great bulk of the train could have got upon the\nford, the first horse of the King of France's scouts and vanguard appeared\nupon the sky-line of the heights above Saigneville, and immediately a\nconsiderable force of the enemy were upon the English wagons with their\ninsufficient rearguard. The King of France himself, following upon\nEdward's track mile by mile, had reached Mons, had learnt that Edward had\ndoubled back from Boismont, and had detached a body to cut across country\nto the ford on the chance of preventing Edward from crossing. He had not\nbeen quick enough to achieve this, but the French appeared in time, as I\nhave said, to catch the wheeled vehicles behind the English army before\nthey had got into line upon the causeway. Edward, with that good military\nhead, which always seized immediate things upon a field, had stayed\nsomewhat to the rear of the main body to watch for such an accident. He\nwas not able to save the bulk of his train, but he saved his army. Much of\nthe booty and of the provision fell to the French.\n\nThis mishap, which shows how close a chance permitted the safety of\nEdward's fighting force, had no little effect upon the succeeding two\ndays, for it left the English army in part without food. I say \"in part,\"\nbecause for some of them the defect was remedied, as we shall see, by the\ncapture of Crotoy.\n\nSo the English army passed with the loss of some of its train, but with\nvery little loss of men. Pursuit was impossible; the tide now rising\nforbade even the thought of it, and somewhere about noon the entire host\nwas marshalled upon the northern bank of the river, and was safe. The\nwhole story forms one of the most striking details in the history of\nmedieval warfare.\n\nWhat followed the discomfiture of Godemard's command and Edward's passage\nwith his forces intact, is not easy to gather in the authorities\nthemselves, though it is easy enough to reconstruct with the aid of the\nKitchen Accounts, and by the help of the analogy of Edward's action\nthroughout the campaign. The King's tent, his domesticity, and what we\nmay by an anachronism call his staff, proceeded to the edge of the forest\nof Crécy, which lies upon the inland heights north-eastward of the ford, a\ndistance of five miles. But it did not proceed there directly. In company\nwith the whole army, it first turned north-westward down the bank of the\nestuary to the capture of the castle and town of Noyelles, rather more\nthan two miles away. This castle it took, and it is characteristic of\nthese wars that the mistress of it was English in sympathy, and, what is\nmore, had married her daughter to the nephew of one of Edward's principal\ngenerals. From Noyelles on the same day, Thursday, Edward and the staff\nturned back north-eastward towards the forest. There was a skirmish at\nSailly Bray with Godemard's command, which, though defeated, was not yet\nbroken, and which had hung upon the flanks of the English army. But the\nbelated struggle was of little importance, and Edward camped that night\nupon the edge of the forest in the neighbourhood of Forêt L'Abbye to the\nwest of the little railway line and station which mark those fields\nto-day.\n\nMeanwhile, during the remaining hours of that Thursday, the customary\nraiding and pillaging parties which had been characteristic of all this\ngreat raid were being sent out. The chief one under Hugh the Dispenser\ntook Crotoy and thus provisioned his own force and perhaps some of the\nneighbouring detachments, but the bulk of Edward's army \"went famished\nthat day,\" and, for that matter, were insufficiently provided during the\nensuing Friday as well.\n\nThe host camped upon that Thursday night somewhat widely spread around its\nKing, with foraging parties still distant and appointed to return upon the\nmorrow.\n\nUpon that morrow, the Friday, the advance north-eastward was continued. It\nwas organised in a fashion whose exactitude and forethought are worthy of\nnote, considering the haphazard conditions of most medieval fighting, and\nof Edward's own previous conduct of the earlier part of this campaign.\n\nThese were the conditions before him: he must get as best he might to the\nStraits of Dover, that is, up northward and north-eastward, and he may\nalready have had a design upon Calais.[13] The force which was pursuing\nhim had been checked by the tide of the Somme. It was too large to use\nBlanchetaque with any rapidity. He knew that it must double back to\nAbbeville in order to cross the river before it could turn northward again\nand come up with him. From where it lay, or rather where its commander and\nstaff had lain, between Mons and Saigneville, that morning and noon, back\nto Abbeville was a matter of seven or eight miles; a distance nearly as\ngreat separated him from Abbeville upon his side. He had gained a full day\neven if the French army had been collected, highly disciplined, and in\ncolumn. Instead of that it was scattered over twenty miles of country.\nMany of its contingents were still following up, and it was under very\nvarious and loose commands. Even should a large body of French appear upon\nthe next day, Friday, Edward had the forest at hand with which to cover\nhis troops long before contact could be established. But good scouting\ninformed Edward that there was no chance of such contact, at least before\nSaturday. The whole of the next day, Friday, would be at his disposal to\nbring his troops where he would, and he proposed to get them on the far\nside of the forest, that is, in the neighbourhood of Crécy town, during\nthe interval.\n\nWhether he had already decided on that Thursday to make a stand we cannot\ntell, but it is not probable, because he had as yet no knowledge of the\npositions beyond the forest, and of the chance the ground would afford him\nof meeting an attack. One thing he already knew, which was that his\nretreat was secure. The pace of the French pursuit might compel him to a\ndecision on Saturday at earliest, but, short of complete disaster, he had\na road open behind him across the Authie by the passage of Ponches and\nalong the great Roman way which led from Picardy to the Straits of Dover.\n\nWhat he did was this. He sent the bulk of the army round by the main road\nwhose terminals are Abbeville and Hesdin, and which skirts the forest. His\nown household he accompanied through the wood, presumably with the object\nof keeping in touch with the foraging parties who would during that Friday\nbe coming up along the southern edge of the woods to follow the main force\nalong the high road. A further advantage of so moving through the wood\nhimself was that he could thus lie upon the flank of his force and let it\nmarch round him until it got in front of him in the open country by Crécy.\nThen he could join it, coming up in its rear, that is, upon the side from\nwhich attack was expected, gather his information, study the positions,\nlearn the approach of the French advance, and in general organise the\ncoming action, if an action should prove necessary. Edward camped,\ntherefore, in the forest upon that Friday night, and upon the further side\nof it, just above Crécy town; while the whole of his main body was\nmarching up to the right or east of him by the high road that skirts the\nwoods. That main force, joined by the foraging parties which had gone\nfurther westward on the day before, easily covered the few miles, and\ncamped on the evening of the Friday upon the ridge which runs in a level\nline eastward and northward from just above the town of Crécy to the\nvillage of Wadicourt, for somewhat over a mile. Leaving his tents and\ndomestics upon the edge of the wood, he spent the last hours of that day\nestablishing his forces along the ridge for the night, for it was there\nthat he had now determined to await the French army and to bring it to\naction.\n\nThe advantage of that position which upon emerging from the forest Edward\nhad immediately seized, will be dealt with in the ensuing section;\nmeanwhile we must return to inquire what was happening to the French\npursuit.\n\nWe must not consider the French army as one united body. Had it been that,\nit would not have been defeated, and, what is more, the particular place\nof Crécy in military history, and its lesson of the contrast between the\nolder feudal and the newer regular levies, would never have been taken;\nfor Crécy, as we shall see, was largely a victory of things then new over\nthings then old. No records give us precisely the positions, number, or\nroutes of the King of France and his allies, but we know the following\npoints, from which we can construct a general picture.\n\nFirst: The commands were various and disunited. That personal system which\nhad arisen five hundred years before, and more, when the old Roman\ntradition of the Frankish monarchy gradually transformed itself into a\nseries of summonses to lords who should bring their vassals, was still the\nmethod by which a French host was tardily and irregularly summoned. For\ngeneral and lengthy expeditions it was sufficient. For the prosecution of\nthe innumerable local conflicts of the Middle Ages it was actually\nnecessary. Upon occasion at long distances from home, and after long\ncompanionship in the field, if there were also present a very leading\ncharacter among the feudal superiors, and especially if that character\nwere clothed with titular rank, it could achieve something like unity of\ncommand. But Philip's army, the last contingents of which were still in\nact of joining him, enjoyed no such advantages. At least five separate\ngreat bodies, four of which were largely subdivided, were loosely\naggregated over miles of country, gathering as they went chance\nreinforcements, and losing by chance defections.\n\nSecondly: A certain proportion of regular paid men, including the foreign\nmercenaries, accompanied the King of France. These were in part with the\nKing himself, in part detached to watch the passages of the river.\n\nThirdly: The King, with a considerable personal force, and with some of\nhis mercenaries as well, was up in the neighbourhood of Saigneville upon\nthe noon and early afternoon of the Thursday. He retraced his steps\ntowards Abbeville, and recrossed the river there himself either upon the\nThursday evening, or more probably upon the Friday.\n\nFourthly: Round about Abbeville the bulk of the incongruous force was\ngathered when the King reached it, and very considerable bodies lay in the\nsuburbs to the north of the town.\n\nFinally, we know that on the Saturday morning the King heard Mass and\ntook Communion at the Church of St Stephen (now demolished).\n\nFrom all this we can construct a fairly accurate view of the French\nadvance, especially when we consider where the French forces lay when they\nreached the field. From Abbeville to the field of Crécy is, as the crow\nflies, ten miles. A great main road (along the further part of which the\nEnglish had marched on the Friday) led to the neighbourhood of the field\nand past it: the main road which goes from Abbeville to Hesdin. By this\nroad, breaking up probably rather late upon the Saturday morning, the\nlargest of the loosely gathered French contingents marched. Far to the\nright of them over the countryside would be advancing the other feudal\nlevies under the King of Bohemia and John of Luxembourg, the exiled Count\nof Flanders, the ex-King of Majorca, and other friends, connections, and\nvassals whom Philip had summoned with their arrays. It is to be presumed\nthat certain bodies on the extreme right went up by the Roman road which\nmisses Abbeville coming from the south, and makes for Ponches, bounding\nthe battlefield of Crécy on its extreme eastern side.\n\nFollowing this chaotic advance of the dispersed host, gathered in a\njumble, the wholly untrained peasant levies which had been swept up from\nthe villages on the advance proceeded in disorder. And it was thus without\nregular formation, save among the Genoese mercenaries (some 15,000 in\nnumber at the outset of the campaign, though we do not know of what\nstrength on the field itself), that the first lines of mounted men caught\nsight from the heights of Noyelles[14] and Domvast of the English line on\nthe ridge of Crécy three miles away.\n\nIt was early in the afternoon before that sight was seen. The wind was\nfrom the sea, and gathering clouds promising a storm were coming up before\nit, and hiding the sun.\n\nBefore these advance lines of the French army, and between it and Edward's\ncommand, the ground fell gradually away in low, very gentle slopes of open\nfield towards the shallow depression above which a somewhat steeper and\nshorter bank defended the line, a mile and a half long, upon which Edward\nhad stretched his men.\n\nThere was an attempt at some sort of deployment, and the first of three\nmain commands or \"battles\" were more or less formed under Alençon, the\nFrench King's brother. Immediately before it were deployed the trained\nmercenaries, including the Italian cross-bowmen under their own leaders,\nDorio and Grimaldi. Behind was a confused mass of arriving horse and foot,\nthe King himself to the rear of it, and much of it German and Flemish\nseparate commands. We do not know their composition at all. Still further\nto the rear, and stretched out for miles to the south, straggling up from\nAbbeville, came, that late afternoon, the rest of the ill-ordered host at\nrandom. Before the action was begun, the whole sky was darkened by the\napproaching storm, and violent pelting rain fell upon either host. The\nclouds passed, the sky cleared again, but it was nearly five o'clock\nbefore the first attack was ordered.\n\nIn order to explain what followed we must next grasp the nature of the\nterrain, and the value of the defensive position upon which Edward had\ndetermined to stand.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE TERRAIN OF CRÉCY\n\n\nThe action decided upon the field of Crécy developed wholly within the\ncentral space shown in the frontispiece of this volume.\n\nThe general frame within which the battle took place must be regarded as a\nparallelogram corresponding to the exterior limits of that map, not quite\nfour miles in length from east to west, and some 2-1/2 miles in breadth\nfrom north to south, having the town of Crécy a little to the north of the\nmedial line, and a good deal on the left or western side of the area. But\nthe emplacement of the troops and the actual fighting, including the\npartial pursuit by the victors, is wholly contained within a smaller area,\nwhich lies aslant, with its major axis pointing north-west, its minor axis\npointing north-east, and surrounding the dip called \"the Val aux Clercs.\"\n\nThe aspect of this countryside is that of so many in the north-east of\nFrance. The passage of six and a half centuries has not greatly modified\nit. The limits of the Royal Forest of Crécy are what they have been\nperhaps from Roman, certainly from early medieval, times. The\ncharacteristic hedgeless, rolling, ploughed land, which is the normal\nlandscape of all French provinces and of many others, has been disturbed\nby no growth of modern industrialism, and its contours remain unmodified\nby any considerable excavations of the soil. The villages attaching to the\nbattlefield, Estrées, Wadicourt, Fontaine, are in extent, and even in\nappearance, much what they were when the armies of the fourteenth century\noccupied them, and the little market-town of Crécy has not appreciably\nextended its limits.\n\nEven minor features such as the small groups of woodland and the spinnies\nseem, judged by our remaining descriptions of the battle, to be much the\nsame to-day as they were then.\n\nThe terrain of Crécy offers, therefore, an excellent opportunity for the\nreconstruction of the medieval scene, and I will attempt to bring it\nbefore the eyes of my readers.\n\nPonthieu is a district of low, open, and slightly undulating fertile\nlands, whose highest ridges touch such contours as 300 feet above the sea,\nand the depressions in which, very broad and easy, do not commonly fall\nmore than a 100 feet or so below the higher rolls of land. In the\nparticular case of the field of Crécy we shall have to deal with figures\neven less marked. The crests from which the opposing armies viewed each\nother before the action average full 200 feet above the sea; the broad,\nshallow depression between its confronting ridges descends to little more\nthan sixty feet below them.\n\nAll this wide expanse of fertile land, affording from one lift of its\nundulations and another great even views for miles and miles, is cut by\nstreams which run parallel to each other in trenches five to seven miles\napart, and make their way by curiously straight courses north-westward to\nthe neighbouring sea. These are the Conche, the Authie (the crossing of\nwhose marshes by the great Roman road formed those _pontes_ which, as we\nhave seen, give the district its name of Ponthieu), and the Maye.\n\nThis last little river alone concerns us. We deal in the matter of the\nBattle of Crécy only with the first rising waters of the Maye. Its source\nsprings just below the village which derives from that river-head its name\nof Fontaine, and the Church of Crécy stands not two miles down the young\nstream. These two miles of its course, and a slight depression tributary\nto this its upper basin, mould the battlefield.\n\nFor this shallow depression, called the \"Val aux Clercs,\" among the least\nof the many long waves and troughs of land upon which Ponthieu is\nmodelled, was the centre of the engagement, and, though too short and\nshallow to develop the smaller stream, such water as it collects is\ntributary to the Maye. This depression runs up from the level exactly\nnorth-eastward, gradually rising until it fades, not quite two miles above\nthe river, into the upper levels of the plateau.\n\nOn either side of this Val aux Clercs lift the soft and inconspicuous\nslopes that bound it. The one that bounds it on the north and west, and\nfrom which a man faces the south-east and the direction of Amiens, was the\neminence occupied by the army of Edward III. At its southern end, where it\noverlooks the narrow rivulet of the Maye, it descends abruptly to the\nmeadow level of the stream. The fall at this terminal of the bank is one\nof 100 feet. Its slope varies from one in ten to one in twelve, and on\nthat slope and on the meadow level below it the little town of Crécy\nstands. There is the mouth of the Val aux Clercs, and the further one\nwalks along the road which marks the position of the English line, and the\nnearer one approaches Wadicourt, the shallower and less conspicuous and\nflatter does the Val aux Clercs appear upon one's right, as its depression\nrises towards the general level of the plateau. At last, in the\nneighbourhood of Wadicourt itself (the first houses of which stand 2000\nyards from the last houses of Crécy) the depression has almost\ndisappeared.\n\nThe bank or fall of land from this crest of the English position down to\nthe lowest point of the trough, steeper towards its southern, or Crécy,\neasier towards its northern, or Wadicourt, end is, upon the average, a\nslope of one in thirty; just steep enough to produce its effect upon a\ncharging crowd (especially over soil drenched by rain), and falling just\nsufficiently to give their maximum value to the arrow-shafts of the\nlong-bow, which was the chief arm of Edward's command.\n\nThe opposing slope, that which lies to the south and east of the vale, and\nfrom which the traveller faces the sea-breeze blowing from a shore not\nfifteen miles away, is much easier and more gentle even than its\ncounterpart. The ridge of it stands above the lowest point of the Val aux\nClercs no higher than the corresponding and opposite ridge which the\nEnglish King occupied with his army, but the fall covers double the\ndistance. It is not 400 yards, but more like a mile, and the average of\nthe decline is one in fifty at the most.\n\nMoreover, this opposing ridge is neither as cleanly marked as the\nCrécy-Wadicourt line nor parallel to it. It is impossible to fix upon it,\nwith any definition, a true crest. The slope undulates very gradually into\nthe general level of the plateau, and is so formed that the Val aux Clercs\nis funnel-shaped, much wider at the mouth on the Maye than towards its\nupper end.\n\nThe depression, therefore, which was the theatre of the action, is in the\nmain V-shaped, and its mouth is a full mile in breadth, while its last\nfaint upper portion is not half that width.\n\nSuch, in detail, is the field of Crécy.\n\nI have attempted in the cut opposite p. 91 to express graphically its main\nfeatures as they would appear upon a model carved in wood and plotted to\nshow the actual relief of the soil.\n\nI will conclude by pointing out to the English reader a curious parallel.\nThe field of Crécy has many analogies to the field of Waterloo. In both\ncases two opposing ridges roughly determine the general plan. In both a\ndepression, double and complex in the modern, single in the medieval,\ninstance, lies between the two lines. That of Crécy, as was suitable for a\nday in which no missiles of long range were available, is somewhat more\nmarked and affords somewhat more of an obstacle to the offensive than that\nof Waterloo. In both the French formed the attacking force and in both the\ndefensive position was chosen with singular mastery. Indeed, an eye for a\ndefensive position marks Edward's plan most strongly, and is, quite apart\nfrom the successful result of his action, his best title to repute in\nmilitary history.\n\n\n     At the close of this section the plainest duty of an historian, as\n     well as the satisfaction of common humour, compels me to allude to a\n     characteristic production of the University of Oxford. There has\n     proceeded from this university a school-book, perhaps the most\n     universally used in the public schools of this country, known as\n     _Bright's History of England_. I was myself brought up on it. It is\n     taken, I suppose (like much other Oxford matter), as something\n     hall-marked and official. This text-book has upon page 226 of its\n     first volume a full-page map of the Battle of Crécy. It is fair to\n     say that such a production could not have proceeded, I do not say\n     from any university upon the Continent of Europe, but from the\n     humblest schoolmaster in a French, Swiss, or German village. The\n     features marked upon it are wholly and unreservedly imaginary. There\n     is not even the pretence of a remote similarity between this\n     grotesque thing and the terrain of the famous battle: it is a pure\n     invention. It is almost impossible to express in words the difference\n     between this product of fancy, and even the most inaccurate map\n     sketched from memory, or the merest jottings set down by someone who\n     had no more to guide him than some vague recollection of an account\n     of the battle. There is nothing in it bearing the remotest\n     resemblance to any hill, river, road, wood, village, or point of the\n     compass concerned with the field of Crécy, and to this astonishing\n     abortion is modestly added in the left-hand bottom corner, \"From\n     Sprüner.\" I have not by me as I write Sprüner's collection of\n     historical maps which were given us at the University, but if that\n     eminent authority was the model for such a masterpiece, it is a\n     sufficient commentary upon the rest of his work. I _have_ before me\n     as I write the flabbergasting plan in _Bright's History_ which I have\n     treasured ever since my boyhood, and I trust that this note may be\n     read by many who still believe that the function of our universities\n     is to train the governing class of the nation, not so much in\n     learning as in \"character.\"\n\n     Contrast the excellent and accurate little map in the first-rate\n     manual which Mr Barnard published twelve years ago from the\n     Clarendon Press. The whole of this book is to be most highly\n     recommended. I believe that this map, the only doubtful features of\n     which are the angular formation of the English Archers and the\n     concentration of the French rear upon the Roman road, is from the\n     pencil of Mr Oman.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE ACTION\n\n\nKing Edward, upon that Saturday morning before he had yet caught sight of\nthe French, of whose advance his scouts informed him, rode on a little\nhorse slowly up and down the ranks encouraging his army, as it sat and lay\nat rest, with shield and helm and bow upon the grass before each man,\nalong the crest of the slight hill.\n\nIn his hand the King bore a white wand and no weapon, and this visitation\nof his lasted until nearly ten o'clock. His last orders were that all his\nmen should eat and drink heartily, and he himself conveyed that order to\nhis own division, which lay behind the main line. He had organised the\ndefence upon a very simple pattern.\n\nThat battalion which was called the First Battalion consisted of 1200\nmen-at-arms, that is, fully armoured knights upon horseback, with 4000\nArchers and 4000 Welshmen. They occupied that turn or shoulder of the\nslope which runs round from the town of Crécy itself into the beginning\nof the Val aux Clercs, and were under the nominal command of the lad the\nPrince of Wales. But at his side the real orderers of that force were\nWarwick and Oxford. Such was the English right.\n\nNext, in the centre, and back from the first battalion, was the line of\nEnglish Archers. It was very carefully organised, with the object of a\npurely defensive action. Small pits were dug before each man's station,\nand this infantry was arranged in \"harrow\" formation, much as trees are\nplanted in an orchard in _quincunx_, so that any five of them formed a\nfigure somewhat like the five in a pack of cards. It is evident that this\nformation, if the men were sufficiently dispersed, as they were, gave the\nfreest play to their missiles, all of which could be shot through the\nintervals; and when we remember the rate of fire, three to one of the\ncross-bow, we shall understand how formidable was this infantry, and how\nwell able it was to break any cavalry charge prepared by nothing more than\nthe shots of the Genoese. All the tradition and sentiment of medieval\nwarfare gave to the mounted knight the glory of battle, but, as I shall\nhave occasion to remark in the sequel, the great feature of Crécy was the\npresence of an ordered, highly trained infantry, expected to await, and\ncapable of awaiting, a rush of horse until that cavalry should receive at,\nsay, fifty to eighty yards the whole weight of a furious and sustained\ndischarge of missiles. Beyond the Archers, some 3000 in number at this\npoint, were 1200 mounted knights, who, together with the Archers at the\ncentre, were under the command of Northampton.\n\nThere may have been a certain number of Archers to the left again of these\nknights, but, at any rate, Northampton's command covered the rest of the\nridge and reposed upon Wadicourt. Here, lest it should be turned, the left\nflank of the English line was protected by a park of wagons drawn up close\ntogether, vehicles taken from such of the train as had been saved from the\nFrench attack upon the rearguard at the ford two days before.\n\nThe remainder of the wagons, provisions, and impedimenta were drawn up in\nthe rear near the wood, and in front of them and between them and the\ndefensive line upon the ridge was a strong reserve of over 10,000 men\nunder Edward himself. Taking no account of non-combatants, we must reckon\nArchers, armoured men and spear-men together at perhaps 25,000 men, and\ncertainly not more than 30,000; but we must remember, as I said upon a\nformer page, that every Archer was served by aides, that a man-at-arms\nneeded a squire, and that drivers and domestics of various kinds, and many\nrecruits from Normandy, swelled the host.\n\nThe large force against which this defensive was drawn up has been\nvariously estimated. Its dispersion over the countryside, the lack of any\ncohesive command, the absence of all precise figures, the considerable\nbodies of wholly untrained country folk who were straggling up behind the\narmy, make an estimate of the actual forces engaged on the French side\nextremely difficult. We do not know how many Germans, Luxemburgians, and\nothers had been brought up with the feudal levy. The rough guess of\ncontemporaries at the whole numbers present and arriving during this\nconfused marshalling of Philip's host, calls it 100,000. A recent and very\ncareful English authority has estimated the enemy actually in line at\n60,000. If we say that Edward met forces more than double his own, but not\nthree times his own, we are as near the truth as we can hope to get. But\nthe right way to estimate the disproportion between the offensive and the\ndefensive upon this famous day is to contrast the fully armoured mounted\nmen of either side, and, further, to contrast\n\n1. The trained infantry, armed with missile weapons.\n\n2. The infantry, trained or untrained, armed only with spear, dagger, or\nsword.\n\nUpon such an analysis we get some such result as follows:--\n\nSome 4000 fully armoured mounted men in Edward's command, of whom only\n3000 or less were out of the reserve and in the line. Some 7000 Archers\nactually in the defensive line, with a much smaller number (unknown) in\nthe reserve. Add 4000 Spearmen, for the most part Welsh. Against these on\nthe offensive you may set, at the very least, quite four times their\nnumber of fully mounted armoured men and probably six times their number,\nor even more. As against the English Archers, we must count for the\nmissile arm upon the French side somewhat less. The only contemporary\nauthority, Villani, who gives us any exact figures, names 6000 as their\nnumber.\n\nWhen we come to the few trained non-missile infantry of the English\nforces--some 4000 in the line, not counting the reserve,--and contrast\nthem with the rabble of untrained and scattered French countrymen, most\nof whom were still coming up in the rear and did not take part in the\naction (save to suffer slaughter in the darkness after it was over), we\ncan take any multiple we choose. They may have been five, six or eight\ntimes as numerous as the Welshmen with whom they did not come into contact\nat all.\n\nIt will be seen from the above that the real point of the battle, and that\nwhich decided it, was the power of the trained missile infantry of Edward\n(1) to await a charge of horse in no matter what numerical superiority it\nmight arrive, confident that they could always check it before it reached\ntheir line or broke it; and inspired by that confidence, because (2) the\nonly missile infantry that could be brought against them to prepare such a\ncavalry charge was armed with a weapon which delivered only one shot to\ntheir three. That was the deciding element of the Battle of Crécy: the\npower of the long-bow to stop horse upon any front equivalent to the front\nof the Archers, and the confidence of the bowman in that power.\n\n\nThe action opened regularly enough with the advance of the French missile\ninfantry, the Genoese mercenaries, at the hour, as I have said, of about\nfive o'clock. They proceeded down the slight slope into the Val aux\nClercs, followed at a foot's pace by a strong body of the first battalion\nof the French mounted knights under Alençon.\n\nAdvancing thus deployed, a body of 6000 men had difficulty in keeping its\nline, a thing essential to the simultaneous effect of short-range weapons.\nTwice they were halted to correct their alignment, and though perhaps at\nthe second halt they were at the lowest point of the valley and just in\nextreme range of the English arrows from the height above, those arrows\ndid not yet come. The English had been ordered to reserve their fire. They\nbegan to climb the opposing slope, shouting as was their custom, and after\na third halt had been called, and a third strict alignment made so near to\nthe English front as to be certainly in range for their cross-bows, the\norder to shoot was given. With the first flight of the Genoese bolts, the\nEnglish Archers took each man his step forward and began pouring in that\nterrible fire, sustained, accurate, and rapid, to which they were so\nadmirably trained, and of which hitherto, save in the fight at the ford,\nno example had been given in continental warfare.\n\nUnder that murderous and unceasing rain of missiles the Italian\nmercenaries, whose weapon compelled them to a complicated process of\nwinding and ratcheting and laying, very ill-suited to such a strain, fell\ninto disorder. A sufficient proportion of them broke, and their confusion\nat once angered and churned up the great body of mounted French knights,\nwhich awaited impatiently immediately behind their line. They were ridden\ndown in the eagerness of these armoured horsemen to retrieve this first\ncheck by a charge, and Alençon's men spurred hard (badly hampered by that\nobstacle of their own men fallen into confusion before them) upon the\nEnglish right and the Prince of Wales's battalion. Some of them got home,\nespecially those who found themselves opposite the most advanced section\nof the Prince of Wales's command, where it stood thrust forward in a\nsemicircle upon the shoulder and last slopes of the hill. The boy himself\nwas unhorsed, and for a moment the pressure was severe.[15] But the effect\nof the arrow fire upon all the rest of the charging line told heavily. It\nnever got home. Indeed, it must have been apparent to Edward at that\nmoment that for all the fixed tradition of chivalry and that overwhelming\natmosphere of military religion which in every age, according to its\ntraditions, confuses the soldier, had he kept all his men at arms in\nreserve and put Archers only in the front line, they would have sufficed\nto win his battle.\n\nThere stands upon the Crécy end of the ridge a great mound to this day. It\nis the foundation of an old stone windmill which stood there for\ncenturies, and which has been shamefully pulled down within living memory.\nFrom that mill it was that Edward watched the whole action proceeding upon\nthe slope beneath him. He saw the head of the French charge get home but\nits extended line wavering, checked, and broken up on the Val aux Clercs\nas a continuous rain of arrows poured in. He saw all the front ranks of\nhorses broken: the animals lashing out or fallen stampeding rearward,\nmounted or riderless: the heavily armoured knights fallen helpless and\ntrampled, the whole thing a vast confusion.\n\nIt was near six o'clock. The westering sun was within an hour of its\nsetting, and shone right up the vale, coming aslant upon the burnished\narmour of the charge. Had this kind of warfare already established a\ntradition, and had men learned by experience what unshaken infantry could\ndo against horse, it would already have been apparent that the action was\ndecided. But there was no such experience and no such knowledge. Over the\nlong slopes of open field which fronted the English ridge, line after line\nof knights were coming forward in successive waves, as though mere weight\nof horses and men could win home in spite of the increasing welter of\nflying, dead, and maddened mounts, and of fallen men and iron that now\nlined all the front with a belt of obstacle more formidable than earth or\nwall. And of those, such few as could struggle through to within range\nmight hope to escape the deadly and now converging fire which struck horse\nafter horse as the foot of the ridge was reached. By gaps in the deadly\nconfusion of the stampede and the corpses, round to their right further\nand further up the valley (upon their left the marshes of the Maye forbade\na turning movement), the French charges followed and spread. A dozen or\nmore were counted, and each as it came met the missile defence and was\nbroken, with no counter missile offensive to tame that fire.\n\nThe sun was setting, but one effort was made which should have been made\nfar earlier in the short crisis. It was an effort of the French right to\nturn the English left by Wadicourt.\n\nDue, we may imagine, to no regular order, an occasion seized upon by some\none commander who saw his chance, a charge of horse was led right up to\nthat end of the English line, the barricade of wagons prevented its\ngetting home, and, though the struggle was violent, the obstacle was never\npierced or overcome. Well after sunset, and as the light was fading, the\nKing of France himself led a great body to the centre, and seems to have\ncome into range of the arrows, but he, no more than any of his lieges,\ncould force horse against steady infantry and an unremitting fire. The\ndarkness came, the late moon rose, and still were desultory and sporadic\ncharges continued, haphazard and blindly. They had not even a hazard of\nsuccess. These last efforts of the failing battle were repelled with ease,\nbut even up to midnight the final pulses of the fight throbbed, with\nlesser and lesser pulsations; until after these seven hours of it--most of\nit by darkness, and all the while the line of Archers standing unbroken,\nand all the while supplied with their unexhausted ammunition, and finding\nstrength to draw and to discharge--the thing was over.\n\nThroughout that night great bodies of disordered peasantry, half-armed,\nthe militia of the Communes, fled or wandered aimlessly southward over the\nbare, rolling land. The mounted knights had ridden away from a field where\nall was utterly lost, and the English line broke up to move forward by the\nlight of lanterns over the face of the countryside, to despatch or to\ncapture the wounded, to loot, to search for the faces and the ensigns of\nthe greater dead. But in that darkness the magnitude of the result was not\nseen. The English army seems to have guessed the issue mainly by the dying\ndown of the noise, and the ceasing of the cries of men rallying to their\nlords' banners.\n\nThis was the end of the Battle of Crécy, in the night of Saturday the 26th\nof August, 1346.\n\nEarly upon the Sunday morning, Edward's forces stood to arms again, not\nknowing whether even yet a new attack might not be made. Mist covered all\nthe landscape, through which fog, dimly, bodies of men seemed to be\nadvancing upon them from the south. They were reinforcements of Philip's\ncome up in ignorance of what had passed the day before, or at any rate\nnot appreciating how decisive the day had been. Five hundred knights\nriding out easily dispersed them. Further bodies straggling up in similar\nfashion were dealt with in detail, and all that morning the English\nsoldiers going at large over the fields found and put to the sword lost\nfragments of militia, came, as they tracked the flight, upon dead and\nwounded lords, and cut off bewildered remnants, making they knew not\nwhither over the land.\n\nThe total French losses will never be known. The legend of disaster calls\nthem now ten, now twenty thousand. Of the mounted and armoured men of rank\nthe heralds made a precise account, and returned a list to King Edward of\n1542 fallen and dead upon the front of the battle and in the first fields\nof the retreat. To these due sepulchre was given. The mass of the fallen\nwere buried in common trenches, marks of which may be seen to this day;\nand it is said that fires were lit to rid the ground of the dead.\n\nThe English loss was wholly insignificant. Its exact amount, like that of\nits enemy, we cannot tell, because a list of but two knights, one squire,\nand forty of the rest, not counting a few Welsh, is all that we are\ngiven. But, even if this total (which hardly corresponds to the fierce\nmêlée at the beginning of the action on the right) be below the true\nnumber, we may be certain that that number was very small indeed. The line\nwas never pierced; the English fight was wholly defensive, and a defensive\nmaintained at range against troops which disposed, after the first rout of\nthe Genoese, of no missiles upon their side.\n\nUpon the Monday morning, the 28th of August, the host set forth upon its\nnorthern march, quite free now from any danger of pursuit. By the first\ndays of September it had sat down before Calais. All winter and all the\nsucceeding summer the blockade continued, and upon the 4th of August 1347,\nnearly a year after Crécy, the town was taken and the lasting fruit of\nthat engagement was garnered. Calais remained an English bastion upon the\nContinent for more than two hundred years.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] We have this upon the evidence of a contemporary, Villani. It has, of\ncourse, been denied by our modern academic authorities, but without\nevidence.\n\n[2] The theatrical character which attaches to warfare through the\nfourteenth century appears at this very outset of the campaign. Edward\nknighted the Black Prince and sundry other commanders on a hill\noverlooking the fleet and the harbour just before the main body\ndisembarked. The Black Prince had already been knighted, and the ceremony\nwas mere parade.\n\n[3] He did _not_ go to Rouen, or near it, as the map in Mr Fortescue's\nwork (vol. i. p. 37) presumes. Rouen was, he found, too strongly held.\nThere is no time for the big loop of twenty miles which Mr Fortescue\nintroduces, and no evidence for it.\n\n[4] This is not N. D. de Vaudreuil, as Professor Thompson suggests, but St\nCyr just beyond where the bridge is.\n\n[5] This point has also proved puzzling. Thus Professor Thompson calls it\n\"difficult to find.\" What the clerk heard and set down was the peasants'\nterm \"L'Angreville.\"\n\n[6] This, as Professor Thompson rightly says, is not on the modern maps.\nIt stood just above _Nezel_ near the modern Chateau between that village\nand Falaise or \"The Cliff.\"\n\n[7] So I read the meaningless rigmarole of the Clerk of the Kitchen. But I\nmay be wrong. Professor Thompson inclines to Ecquevilly, a mile or two\nfurther on.\n\n[8] Or _six_, if we read Ecquevilly. The main army halted at Flins.\n\n[9] The low tide after the full moon occurred on that 24th of August at\nabout half past-six o'clock in the open sea and nearer eight o'clock in\nthe estuary, or even later; for we must allow quite seven hours' ebb to\nfive hours' flow in that funnel in its old unreclaimed state.\n\n[10] _Antiq. de Pic._, vol. iii. pp. 131, etc.\n\n[11] The parish boundaries are not absolutely straight, as, after the\nfashion of modern French communal boundaries, they follow the corners of\nthe oblong strips of peasant cultivation, but the aggregate of straight\nlines, all in one continuous direction, marks a quite unmistakable\ntrajectory.\n\n[12] The traveller going by rail to-day from Paris to Calais or Boulogne,\nmay note at the second station after Abbeville a wood upon the heights to\nhis right, and upon his left the reclaimed valley of the Somme. The next\nstation he passes is that of Port, with the church of the village upon his\nright as he leaves it, and the embankment which he sees crossing the\nvalley floor upon his left, a mile further on, marks the passage by which\nEdward III. and his army forced the then broad estuary of the river.\n\n[13] See p. 45.\n\n[14] Not to be confounded with the other Noyelles upon the Somme, ten\nmiles away.\n\n[15] It was at this moment that news was brought to King Edward of his\nson's peril, and that he replied \"Let the child win his spurs\"--sending\nthe messenger back empty, but having care immediately afterwards to\ndespatch reinforcement.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32196", "title": "Crécy", "author": "", "publication_year": 1912, "metadata_title": "Crécy", "metadata_author": "Hilaire Belloc", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.567155", "source_chars": 121601, "chars": 121601, "talkie_tokens": 28008}}
{"text": "Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian\nLibraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPOITIERS\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  POITIERS\n\n\n  BY\n  HILAIRE BELLOC\n\n\n  LONDON\n  HUGH REES, LTD.\n  5 REGENT STREET, PALL MALL, S.W.\n  1913\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  PART                                               PAGE\n\n       INTRODUCTION                                     9\n\n    I. THE CAMPAIGN                                    18\n\n   II. THE PRELIMINARIES OF THE ACTION                 33\n\n  III. THE TERRAIN                                     47\n\n   IV. THE ACTION                                      68\n\n    V. THE ASPECT OF THESE BATTLES                    102\n\n   VI. THE RESULTS OF THE BATTLE                      115\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  Coloured Plan of the Battle              _frontispiece_\n\n  Plan No. 1                               _page_      12\n\n   \"   No. 2                                 \"         32\n\n   \"   No. 3                                 \"         49\n\n   \"   No. 4                                 \"         61\n\n\n\n\nPOITIERS\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe Battle of Poitiers was fought ten years and four weeks after that of\nCrécy.\n\nThe singular similarity between the two actions will be pointed out upon a\nlater page. For the moment it must suffice to point out that Poitiers and\nCrécy form unique historical parallels, distinguishing like double summits\nthe English successes of Edward III.'s army upon the Continent and of the\nfirst part of the Hundred Years' War.\n\nFor the political situation which had produced that conflict, and for the\nobjects which Edward III. had in provoking it, I must refer my reader to\nthe first section of my little book upon Crécy in this series; as also for\nthe armament and organisation of the forces that served the English crown.\nThere remain to be added, however, for the understanding of Poitiers and\nits campaign, two features which differentiate the fighting of 1356 from\nthat of ten years before. These two features are: first, the character of\nthe commander; and secondly, the nature of the regions from which he\nstarted and through which he proceeded, coupled with the political\ncharacter of the English rule in the South of France. I will take these\npoints in inverse order.\n\nWhen Calais had fallen and had become an English possession in the summer\nof 1347 no peace followed. A truce was patched up for some months,\nfollowed by further truces. Through the mediation of the Pope a final and\ndefinite treaty was sketched, which should terminate the war upon the\ncession of Aquitaine to Edward III. in full sovereignty. The French Valois\nking would perhaps have agreed to a settlement which would have preserved\nhis feudal headship, though it would have put the Plantagenets in virtual\npossession of half France (as France was then defined). But Edward III.\nwould not accept the terms. He had claimed the crown of France. He had won\nhis great victory at Crécy still claiming that crown. He would not be\ncontent with adding to his _feudal tenures_ under the French crown. He\nwould add to his _sovereignty_ at least, to his absolute _sovereignty_,\nor continue the war. In 1354 (the Black Death intervening) the war was\nrenewed. Edward would have been content, not with the whole of Aquitaine,\nbut with complete sovereignty over the triangle between the Garonne and\nthe Pyrenees in the south, coupled with complete sovereignty over the\nnorth-eastern seaboard of France from the Somme to Calais, and inland as\nfar as Arras, and its territory, the Artois. But the French monarchy,\nthough ready to admit _feudal_ encroachments, would not dismember the\nnominal unity of the kingdom: just as a stickler in our north will grant a\n999-year _lease_, but will not _sell_.\n\nThe result of this breach in the negotiations was that Edward, and his son\nthe Black Prince, entered upon the renewal of the war with a vague claim\nto Aquitaine as a whole, with an active claim upon Guienne--that is, the\nterritory just north of the Garonne--and a real hold upon Gascony; and\nstill preserving at the back of the whole scheme of operations that\nhalf-earnest, half-theatrical plan for an Anglo-French monarchy under the\nhouse of Plantagenet which had been formulated twenty-five years before.\n\n\n\n\nIt must be clearly grasped by the general reader how natural was both the\nreal and the fantastic side of that pursuit. It involved no question of\nnationality as we should now understand it. It was based upon still living\ntraditions of feudal connections which were personal and not racial; the\nchivalry of France and England was a French-speaking society based upon\ncommon ideals and fed with common memories. Gascony was in favour of the\nPlantagenets. Further, Guienne--the district north of Gascony beyond the\nGaronne--was Edward's feudal own. He was not king of it, but he was feudal\nlord of it, and had done homage for it in 1331 to the Valois. It was not a\nnew or distant tie. For the rest of the quarrel my first section in the\nessay on Crécy already alluded to must suffice, but for the link with\nGascony a more particular emphasis is needed. The trade of Bordeaux, its\ngreat town, was principally with British ports. Its export of wine was a\ntrade with Britain. It lay far from the centre of the French monarchy. It\nhad counted in its _Basque_ population an element indifferent for hundreds\nof years to the national unity of Gaul. The moneyed interests of its great\ncommercial centres, of the western ones, at least (which were by far the\nrichest), were closely bound up with England, with English trade. Add to\nthis his actual feudal tenure of Guienne, and we can see how the feeling\nthat all the south-west corner of France was his grew to be a very real\nfeeling in Edward's mind, and was shared by his son.\n\nWhen, therefore, upon the 20th September 1355, Edward, the Black Prince,\nlanded at Bordeaux, it was to find a province the nobles of which were\nhonestly attached to his cause and the greater townsmen as well; while in\nthe mass of the people there was no disaffection to the idea of this one\nout of the vague, many, French-speaking feudal lords whom they knew to be\ntheir masters, being the actual governor of the land. There was no\nconquest, nor any need for it, so far as Gascony was concerned; and in any\nexpedition the Prince might make he was as certain of a regular following\nfrom the towns and estates that lay between the mountains and the Garonne\nas the King of France was certain of his own feudal levies in the north.\nBut expeditions and fighting there would be because the Black Prince came\nwith a commission not only to govern Gascony, but to establish himself in\nthe more doubtful Guienne, and even to be--if he could conquer it--the\nlieutenant of his father, Edward, in all Aquitaine. He was to recover the\ndistricts immediately north of the Garonne, and even (in theory, at\nleast) right up to the neighbourhood of the Loire; and (in theory, again)\nhe was to regard those who might resist his administration of all these\n\"lost\" countries of the Central and Southern West of France as \"rebels.\"\n\nIt was thought certain at first, of course, that the whole claim could\nnever be pushed home; but the Black Prince might well hope so to harry the\ndistricts which were claimed--and the neighbouring county of Toulouse to\nthe east, which was admittedly feudatory to the King of Paris--as to\ncompel that sovereign to recognise at last his father's absolute\nsovereignty over Gascony certainly, and perhaps over Guienne, or even\nsomewhat more than Guienne.\n\nThe remainder of that year, 1355, therefore--the autumn and the\nwinter--were spent in striking at the sole portion of Gascony that was\ndisaffected (that of Armagnac), and pushing eastward to ravage Toulouse\nand Carcassonne; for though these towns were admittedly outside Edward's\nland, the wasting of their territory was a depletion of the King of\nFrance's revenue.\n\nThe Black Prince did more. In the early part of the next year, 1356, he\nset up his flag upon Perigueux, some days' march to the north of his\nfather's real boundary; and, as the year proceeded, he planned an advance\nfar to the northward of that, which advance was to be taken in\nco-operation with a descent of the Plantagenet forces upon the other\nextremity of the French kingdom.\n\nAs to the character of the Black Prince, which so largely determined what\nis to follow, and especially his character in command, nothing is more\nconspicuous in the history of the Middle Ages. He was, partly from the\ninfluence of models, partly from personal force, the mirror of what the\nfighting, French-speaking nobility of that century took for its ideal\nconception of a captain. Far the first thing for him was the trade and the\nprofession of arms, and the appetite for combat which this career\nsatisfied certainly in its baser, but still more certainly in its nobler,\neffects in the mind of a virile youth. He had gone through the great\nexperience of Crécy as a boy of sixteen. He was now, upon the eve of the\nCampaign of Poitiers, a man in his twenty-sixth year, thoroughly avid not\nonly of honour but of capture, thoroughly contemptuous of gain, generous\nwith a mad magnificence, always in debt, and always utterly careless of\nit. His courage was of the sort that takes a sharp delight in danger, and\nparticularly in danger accompanied by strong action; he was an intense and\na variable lover of women, an unwearied rider, of some (but no\nconspicuous) ability in the planning of an action or the grasp of a field,\nnot cruel as yet (but already violent to an excess which later years,\nalas! refined into cruelty), splendidly adventurous, and strung every way\nfor command. He could and did inspire a force, especially a small force,\nin the fashion which it was his chief desire to achieve. He was a great\nsoldier; but his sins doomed him to an unhappy failure and to the wasting\nof his life at last.\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nTHE CAMPAIGN\n\n\nAs the first of the great raids, that of Crécy, had been designed to draw\noff the pressure from Edward III.'s troops in the South of France, and to\nbring the French levies northward away from them, so the second great raid\nten years later, which may be called by courtesy the \"Campaign\" of\nPoitiers, was designed to call pressure off the English troops in the\nnorth and to bring the French levies down southward away from them. As\nEdward's march through Normandy had been a daring ride for booty, so was\nthe Black Prince's ride northward from Aquitaine; and as Edward from the\nneighbourhood of Paris turned and retreated at top speed from before the\nFrench host, so did the Black Prince turn from the neighbourhood of the\nLoire and retreat at speed from before the pursuit of the bodies which the\nKing of France had gathered. And as the one great raid ended in the\nsignal victory of Crécy, so did the other end in the signal victory of\nPoitiers.\n\nBut these parallel and typical actions, lying ten years apart, have, of\ncourse, one main point of resemblance more important than all the rest:\neach includes the complete overthrow of a large body of feudal cavalry by\nthe trained forces of the Plantagenets; Crécy wholly, Poitiers partly, by\nthe excellence of a missile weapon--the long-bow. Each shows also a\nstriking disproportion of numbers: the little force on the defensive\ncompletely defeating the much larger body of the attack.\n\nThose of my readers, therefore, who have made themselves acquainted with\nthe details of Crécy must expect a repetition of much the same sort of\nincidents in the details of Poitiers. The two battles are twin, and stand\nout conspicuously in their sharpness of result from the mass of\ncontemporary mediæval warfare.\n\nIn this opening section I will describe the great ride of Edward the Black\nPrince from the Dordogne to the Loire, and show by what a march the raid\nproceeded to its unexpected crisis in the final battle.\n\nI have said that the Black Prince's object (apart from booty, which was a\nmain business in all these rapid darts of the time) was to draw the\npressure from the English troops in the north.\n\nAs a fact, the effort was wasted for any such purpose. Lancaster, who\ncommanded in the north, was already in retreat before the Black Prince had\nstarted, but that commander in the south could not, under the conditions\nof the time, learn the fact until he had set off. Further, the Black\nPrince hoped, by this diversion of a raid up from the south through the\ncentre of France, to make it easier for King Edward, his father, to cross\nover and prosecute the war in Normandy. As a fact, the King of England\nnever started upon that expedition, but his son thought he was about to do\nso, and said as much in a letter to the Mayor of London.\n\nThe point of departure which the Black Prince chose for this dash to the\nnorth was Bergerac upon the Dordogne, and the date upon which he broke\ncamp was Thursday, the 4th August 1356.\n\nHis force was an extremely small and a very mobile one; 3500\nmen-at-arms--that is, fully armoured gentlemen--were the nucleus of it;\n2500 archers accompanied them, and it is remarkable that these archers he\n_mounted_. Besides these 6000 riding men, he took with him 1000 lightly\narmed foot-soldiers, and thus, with a little band of no more than 7000\ncombatants all told, he began the adventure. He had no intention of\nrisking action. It was his desire to take booty, to harry, to compel the\nFrench king to come south in his pursuit, and when that enemy should be\nclose upon him, at whatever stage this might be in his own northern\nprogress, to turn and ride back south as rapidly as he had ridden north.\nThus he would draw the French feudal levies after him, and render what he\nhad been told was the forthcoming English expedition to Normandy an easy\nmatter, free from opposition. As things turned out, he was able to ride\nnorth as far as the Loire before his enemy was upon him, and it gives one\nan idea of the scale on which this great raid was planned, that from the\npoint on the Dordogne whence he started, to the point on the Loire where\nhe turned southward, was in a straight line no less than a hundred and\nfifty miles. As a fact, his raid northward came to much more, for he went\nround to the east in a great bend before he came to the neighbourhood of\nthe French forces, and his total advance covered more than two hundred\nmiles of road.\n\nOf the 7000 who marched with him, perhaps the greater part, and certainly\nhalf, were Gascon gentlemen from the south who were in sympathy with the\nEnglish occupation of Aquitaine, or, having no sentiment one way or the\nother, joined in the expedition for the sake of wealth and of adventure.\nOf these were much the most of the men-at-arms. But the archers were for\nthe most part English.\n\nRaid though it was, the Black Prince's advance was not hurried. He\nproposed no more than to summon southward the French king by his efforts,\nand it was a matter of some indifference to him how far northward he might\nhave proceeded before he would be compelled by the neighbourhood of the\nenemy's forces to return. His high proportion of mounted men and the\nlightness of his few foot-soldiers were for local mobility rather than for\nperpetual speed; nor did the Black Prince intend to make a race of it\nuntil the pursuit should begin. Whenever that might be, he felt secure\n(though in the event his judgment proved to be wrong) in his power to\noutmarch any body the King of France might bring against him. He must\nfurther have thought that his chance of a rapid and successful retreat,\nand his power to outmarch any possible pursuers, would increase in\nproportion to the size of the force that might be sent after him.\n\nThe raid into the north began and was continued in a fashion not exactly\nleisurely, but methodically slow. It made at first through Périgueux to\nBrantôme. Thence up through the country of the watershed to Bellac. It\nturned off north-westward as far as Lussac, and thence broke back, but a\nlittle north of east, to Argenton.\n\nIt will be evident from the trace of such a route that it had no definite\nstrategic purpose. It was a mere raid: a harrying of the land with the\nobject of relieving the pressure upon the north. It vaguely held, perhaps,\na further object of impressing the towns of Aquitaine with the presence of\na Plantagenet force. But this last feature we must not exaggerate. The\nBlack Prince did not treat the towns he visited as territory ultimately to\nbe governed by himself or his father. He treated them as objects for\nplunder.\n\nThe pace and method with which all this early part of the business was\nconducted in the first three weeks of August may be judged by the fact\nthat, measured along the roads the Black Prince followed, he covered\nbetween Bergerac and Argenton just on a hundred and eighty miles, and he\ndid it in just under eighteen marching days. In other words, he kept to a\nfairly regular ten miles a day, and slowly rolled up an increasing loot\nwithout fatiguing his horses or his men.\n\nFrom Argenton, which he thus reached quite unweakened on the 21st of\nAugust, he made Châteauroux (rather more than eighteen miles off, but not\nnineteen by the great road) in two days, reaching it on the 23rd. Thence\nhe turned still more to the eastward, and passed by Issoudun towards\nBourges. This last excursion or \"elbow\" in the road was less strategically\nmotiveless than most of the march; for the Prince had had news that some\nFrench force under the son of the French king was lying at Bourges, and to\ndraw off such a force southward was part of the very vague plan which he\nwas following. Unlike that string of open towns which the mounted band had\nsacked upon their way, Bourges was impregnable to them, for it was walled\nand properly defended. They turned back from it, therefore, down the River\nYevre towards the Cher Valley again, and upon the 28th of August reached\nVierzon, having marched in the five days from Châteauroux the regulation\nten miles a day; for they covered fifty miles or a little more.\n\nThis point, Vierzon, is an important one to note in the march. The town\nlies just to the south of a curious district very little known to English\ntravellers, or, for that matter, to the French themselves. It is a\ndistrict called the \"Sologne,\" that is, the \"Solitarium\" or \"Desert.\" For\na space of something like forty miles by sixty a great isolated area of\nwild, almost uncultivatable, land intervenes between the valley of the\nCher and that of the Loire. Only one road of importance traverses it, that\ncoming from Paris and Orleans, and making across the waste for Vierzon to\nthe south. No town of any size is discoverable in this desolate region of\nstagnant pools, scrub, low forest, and hunters.\n\nIt was such a situation on the outer edge of the Sologne which made\nVierzon the outpost of Aquitaine, and having reached Vierzon, the Prince,\nin so far as he was concerned with emphasising the Plantagenet claim over\nAquitaine, had reached his northern term. But his raid had, as we know,\nanother object: that of drawing the French forces southward. And, with the\ncharacteristic indecision of feudal strategic aims, it occurred to the\nBlack Prince at this stage to immix with that object an alternative, and\nto see whether he could not get across the Loire to join Lancaster's\nforce, which was campaigning in the West of France on the other side of\nthat river.\n\nAt Vierzon Edward's men came across the first resistance. A handful of\nJohn's forces, irregulars hired by the French king under a leader most\ncharmingly named \"Grey Mutton,\" skirmished to their disadvantage against\nthe Anglo-Gascon force.\n\nThe Black Prince made back westward after \"Grey Mutton,\" thinking,\nperhaps, to cross the Loire at Blois, and two days out from Vierzon\n(rather over twenty miles) he made the only assault upon fortifications\nwhich he permitted his men in the whole campaign. This was an attack upon\nthe Castle of Romorantin, in which \"Grey Mutton\" had taken refuge.\n\nIt was not the moment for delay. Edward knew that the French army must now\nbe somewhere in the neighbourhood; he had already touched lance with one\nsmall French force; but he had his teeth into the business and would not\nlet go his hold. The outworks were taken early in the affair. The keep\nheld out for four days more, surrendering at last to fire upon the 3rd of\nSeptember.\n\nThe season was now full late if the Black Prince intended a return to the\nsouth. But, as we have seen, he no longer entirely intended such a\nretreat. He had already begun to consider the alternative of crossing the\nLoire and joining his brother's force beyond it. He had information,\nhowever, that the bridges directly in front of him were cut. It is not\neasy to reconcile this with the passage immediately afterwards of the\nFrench army. But the most vivid, and perhaps the most accurate, account we\nhave of this march not only tells us that the bridges were cut, but\nparticularly alludes to the high water in the Loire at that moment. It is\na significant piece of information, because no river in Europe north of\nthe Pyrenees differs so much in its volume from day to day as does the\nLoire, which is sometimes a trickle of water in the midst of sandbanks,\nand at other times a great flood a quarter of a mile across, and twenty\nfeet deep, like the Thames at London.\n\nAt any rate, from Romorantin, Prince Edward made for Tours, a distance of\nfifty miles as the crow flies, and a march of precisely five days. It will\nbe observed that his plotted rate of marching at ten miles a day was most\naccurately maintained.\n\nNow from his camp in front of Tours, Edward behaved in a fashion singular\neven for the unbusinesslike warfare of that somewhat theatrical\ngeneration. He sat down, apparently undecided which way to turn, and\nremained in that posture during the remainder of September the 8th, all\nthe next day, September 9th, and all the next day again, the 10th. There\ncould be no question of attacking Tours. It was a strong, large, and\nwell-defended town, and quite beyond the power of the Black Prince's\nforce, which was by this time encumbered with a very heavy train of\nwaggons carrying his booty. But while he was waiting there (and he could\nsee, says one account, the fires of his brother's army by night beyond the\nLoire), his enemy, with such forces as he had been able to collect, was\nmarching down upon him.\n\nThe King of France had begun to get men together at Chartres upon the same\nday that his rival had reached Vierzon, the 28th of August. Five days\nlater, just when Romorantin Castle was surrendering, he had broken up and\nwas marching to the Loire. And upon the same 8th of September which saw\nthe Black Prince pitch his tents under the walls of Tours, the first\nbodies of the French command were beginning to cross the Loire at the two\nupper points of Meung and Blois, while some of them were preparing to\ncross at Tours itself.\n\nYet so defective was Edward's information that it was not until Sunday,\nSeptember 11th, that news reached him of King John's movements. He heard\nupon that day that the French king himself had crossed at Blois, thirty\nmiles up river behind him. Edward at once broke camp and started on his\nretreat to the south. After him as he went followed the French host, which\nhad combined its forces after its separate passages of the river.\n\nIt is important, if we are to understand what follows, to appreciate both\nthe quality and the numbers of those whom the King of France had been able\nto gather. He had with him, by the still necessary and fatal military\nweakness of French society, only those loose feudal levies whose lack of\ncohesion had accounted ten years before for the disaster of Crécy. But\nJohn commanded no such host as Philip had nominally led in the Picardy\nCampaign against Edward III. At the most, and counting all his command, it\nwas little if at all superior in numbers to that of the Black Prince. He\nhoped, indeed, to increase it somewhat with further levies as his progress\nsouthward advanced, and we shall see that his ultimate entry into the town\nof Poitiers did considerably reinforce him. But at no time before the\nbattle which decided this campaign was John in any important numerical\nsuperiority over his enemy, and even in that battle the superiority had\nnothing of the dramatic disproportion which has rendered the field of\nCrécy famous.\n\nJohn marched down the Loire straight on Tours. He reached Amboise, twenty\nmiles off, in two days, coming under that town and castle upon Monday the\n12th of September, twenty-four hours after the Black Prince had broken up\nhis camp in front of Tours. As it was now useless to go on to Tours, John\nturned and marched due south, reaching Loches, another twenty miles away,\nnot in two days but in one. It was a fine forced march; and if the Black\nPrince had appreciated the mobility of the foe, he would not have\ncommitted the blunder which will be described in the next section. He\nhimself was marching well, but, encumbered as he was by his heavy baggage\ntrain, he covered on the 12th and 13th just less than thirty miles, and\nreached the town of La Haye des Cartes upon Tuesday the 13th, just as\nJohn, with his mixed force of Frenchmen, Germans, and Spaniards, was\nmarching into Loches, twenty miles away.\n\nOn the next day, Wednesday the 14th, John made yet another of those\nastonishing marches which merited a better fate than the disaster that\nwas to conclude them, covered the twenty miles between Loches and La Haye,\nand entered the latter town just as the Black Prince was bringing his men\ninto Châtellerault, only fifteen miles in front of him. Both the\ncommanders, pursuing and pursued, had been getting remarkable work out of\ntheir men; for even the Black Prince, though the slower of the two, had\ncovered forty-five miles in three days. But John in that determined\nadvance after him had covered forty miles in two days.\n\nWith John's entry into La Haye des Cartes and Edward's leaving that town\ntwenty-four hours ahead of him, we enter the curious bit of cross-marching\nand conflicting purposes which may properly be called \"The Preliminaries\"\nof the Battle of Poitiers, and it is under this title that I shall deal\nwith them in the next section.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF OPERATIONS PRECEDING THE BATTLE]\n\n\nPART II\n\nTHE PRELIMINARIES OF THE ACTION\n\n\nIt was, as we have seen, on the evening of Tuesday, September the 13th,\nthat the Black Prince with his 7000 men and his heavy train of booty had\nmarched into La Haye des Cartes, a small town upon the right bank of the\nCreuse, somewhat above the place where that river falls into the Vienne.\n\nHis confidence that his well-mounted and light-armed troops could outmarch\nhis pursuers was not yet shaken; he was even prepared to imagine that he\nhad already shaken them off; but anyone who could have taken a general\nsurvey of all that countryside would have discovered how ill-founded was\nhis belief. The great forces of the French king, coming down slantways\nfrom the north and east, had had nearly four miles to march to his three.\nYet they were gaining on him. Edward had given the French king a day's\nadvance by his hesitation before Tours, and the tardiness with which he\nhad received news of John's crossing the Loire was another point in favour\nof the French.\n\nIt was the Black Prince's business to get down on to the great road which\nhas been the trunk road of Western France for two thousand years, and\nwhich leads from Paris through Châtellerault and Poitiers to Angoulême,\nand so to Bordeaux. If (as he hoped) he could advance so quickly as to get\nrid of the pursuit, so much the better. If he were still pressed he must\ncontinue his rapid marching, but, at any rate, that was the road he must\ntake.\n\nTo the simple plan, however, of reaching Châtellerault and then merely\nfollowing the great road on through Poitiers, he must make a local\nexception, for Poitiers itself contained a large population, with plenty\nof trained men, munitions, and arms; and it was further, from its position\nas well as from its walls, altogether too strong a place for him to think\nof taking it.\n\nThe town had been from immemorial time a fortress: first tribal (and the\nrallying point of the Gaulish Picts under the name of Limon); later, Roman\nand Frankish. The traveller notes to-day its singular strength, standing\non the flat top and sides of its precipitous peninsula, isolated from its\nplateau on every side save where a narrow neck joins it to the higher\nland; it is impregnable to mere assault, half surrounded by the Clain to\nthe east, and on the west protected by a deep and formidable ravine.\n\nIt was absolutely necessary for the Prince not only to avoid Poitiers, but\nnot to pass so close to it as to give the alarm. What he proposed to do,\ntherefore, was to strike the great Bordeaux road at a point well south of\nthe city, called Les Roches, and to do this he must engage himself within\nthe broadening triangle which lies between the Clain and the Vienne: these\nrivers join their waters just above Châtellerault itself.\n\nThe main road from Châtellerault to Poitiers runs on the further side of\nthe Clain from this triangle, and the Black Prince, by engaging himself in\nthe wedge between the rivers, would thus have a stream between his column\nand the natural marching route of any force which might approach him from\nthe fortified city which he feared.\n\nFurther, he was well provided for part of this march through the triangle\nbetween the rivers by the existence of a straight way formed by the old\nRoman road which runs through it, and may still be followed. He could not\npursue this road all the way to Poitiers (which town it ultimately reaches\nby a bridge over the Clain), but somewhere half-way between Châtellerault\nand Poitiers he would diverge from it towards the east, and so avoid the\nlatter stronghold and make a straight line for Les Roches. This it would\nbe the easier for him to do because the soil in that countryside is light\nand firm and traversed by very numerous cross-lanes which serve its\nequally numerous farms. Only one considerable obstacle interrupts a\npassage southward through the triangle between the rivers. It is the\nforest of Moulière. But the Black Prince's march along the Roman road\nwould skirt this wood to the west, and by the time his approach to\nPoitiers compelled him to diverge from the Roman road eastward, the\nboundary of the forest also sloped eastward away from it.\n\nHis first day's march upon this last lap, as it were, of his escape was a\nlong one. By the road he took it was no less than fifteen miles, and at\nthe end of it he gathered his column into Châtellerault, a couple of miles\nfrom the place where the Clain and the Vienne meet, and where the triangle\nbetween the two streams through which he proposed to retreat begins. At\nthe same hour that the Black Prince was bringing his men into\nChâtellerault, John was leading the head of _his_ column into La Haye. He\nwas just one day's march behind the Plantagenet.\n\nThere followed an unsoldierly and uncharacteristic blunder on the part of\nthe Black Prince which determined all the strange cross-purposes of that\nweek.\n\nThe Black Prince having made Châtellerault, believed that he had shaken\noff the pursuit.\n\nIn explanation of this error, it must be remembered that the population so\nfar north as this was universally hostile to the southern cause and to the\nclaim of the Plantagenets. Whether news of the ravaging and burning to the\neastward had affected these peasants or no, we are certain that they would\ngive the Anglo-Gascon force nothing but misleading information. The\nscouting, a perpetual weakness in mediæval warfare, was imperfect; and\neven had it been better organised, to scout rearwards is not the same\nthing as scouting on an advance or on the flanks. At any rate, he took it\nfor granted that there was no further need for haste, that he had\noutmarched the French king, and that the remainder of the retreat might\nbe taken at his own pleasure. It must further be noted that there was a\nfrailty in the Black Prince's leading which was more than once discovered\nin his various campaigns, and which he only retrieved by his admirable\ntactical sense whenever he was compelled to a decision. This frailty\nconsisted, as might be guessed of so headstrong a rider, in trying to get\ntoo much out of his troops in a forced march, and paying for it upon the\nmorrow of such efforts by expensive delays which more than counterbalanced\nits value. He relied too much upon the very large proportion of mounted\nmen which formed the bulk of his small force. He forgot the limitations of\nhis few foot-soldiers and the strain that a too-rapid advance put upon his\nheavy and cumbersome train of waggons, laden with a heavier and heavier\nbooty as his raid proceeded.\n\nHe stayed in Châtellerault recruiting the strength of his mounts and men\nfor two whole days. He passed the Thursday and the Friday there without\nmoving, and it was not until the Saturday morning that he set out from the\ntown, crossed the Clain, and engaged himself within the triangle between\nthe two rivers.\n\nThe land through which he marched upon that Saturday morning had been the\nscene of a much more famous and more decisive feat of arms; for it was\nthere, just north of the forest of Moulière, that Charles Martel six\nhundred years before had overthrown the Mahommedans and saved Europe for\never.\n\nSo he went forward under the morning, making south in a retreat which he\nbelieved to be unthreatened.\n\nMeanwhile, John, at the head of the French army, was pursuing a\nbetter-thought-out strategical plan, whose complexity has only puzzled\nhistorians because they have not weighed all the factors of the military\nsituation.\n\nWe do not know what numbers the King of France disposed of during this,\nthe first part of the pursuit, but we must presume that he could not yet\nrisk an engagement. The town of Poitiers was everything to him. There he\nwould find provisions and munition, some considerable body of trained men,\nand the possibility of levying many thousands more. It was a secure\nrallying point upon which to block the Black Prince's march to the south,\nor from which to sally out and intercept his march. But when John found\nhimself in La Haye upon Wednesday the 14th, a day's march behind Edward's\ncommand, he could not take the direct line for Poitiers because that very\ncommand intercepted him. He knew that it had taken the road for\nChâtellerault. He determined, therefore, by an exceptionally rapid\nprogress, to march _round_ his enemy by the east, to get down to\nChauvigny, and from that point to turn westward and reach Poitiers. It was\na risk, but it was the only course open to him. Had the Black Prince\npursued his march instead of waiting at Châtellerault, John's plan would\nhave failed, prompt as its execution was; but the Black Prince's delay\ngave him his opportunity.\n\nFrom La Haye to Chauvigny by the crossroads that lead directly southward\nis a matter of thirty miles. John covered this in two days. Leaving La\nHaye upon the morning of Thursday the 15th, he brought his force into\nChauvigny upon the 16th, Friday. He left, no doubt, a certain proportion\ndelayed upon the road, but he himself, with the bulk of the army,\ncompleted the distance.\n\nWhile, therefore, the Black Prince was delaying all that Thursday and\nFriday in Châtellerault, John was passing right in front and beyond him\nsome eight miles to the eastward; and on the Saturday, the 17th, while the\nBlack Prince was leading his column through the triangle between the\nrivers, John was marching due west from Chauvigny to Poitiers by the great\nroad through St Julien, yet another fifteen miles and more, in the third\nday of his great effort. The head of the column, with the king himself, we\nmust presume to have ridden through the gate of Poitiers before or about\nnoon, but the last contingents were spread out along the road behind him\nwhen, in that same morning or early afternoon of Saturday, the outriders\nof the Anglo-Gascon force appeared upon the fields to the north.\n\nIt was an encounter as sudden as it was dramatic. The countryside at this\npoint consists in wide, open fields, the plough-lands of a plateau which\nrises about one hundred feet above the level of the rivers. To the east of\nthis open country a line of wood marks the outlying fragments of the\nforest of Moulière; to the west, five miles away, and out of sight of\nthese farms, stands upon its slope above the Clain the town of Poitiers.\nThe lane by which the Black Prince was advancing was that which passes\nthrough the hamlet of Le Breuil.[1] It is possible that he intended to\ncamp there; he had covered sixteen miles. But if that was his intention,\nthe accident which followed changed it altogether. A mile beyond the\nvillage there is a roll of rising land, itself a mile short of the great\nroad which joins Poitiers and Chauvigny. It was from this slight eminence\nthat scouts riding out in front of Edward's army saw, massed upon that\nroad and advancing westward across their view, a considerable body of\nvehicles escorted by armed men. It was the rearguard and the train of King\nJohn.\n\nA man following to-day that great road between Poitiers and Chauvigny\neastward, notes a spinney and a farm lying respectively to the right and\nto the left of his way, some four kilometres from the gate of Poitiers,\nand not quite three from the famous megalith of the \"Lifted Stone,\" which\nis a matter of immemorial reverence for the townsfolk. That farm is known\nas La Chaboterie, and it marks the spot upon the high road where John's\nrearguard first caught sight of Edward's scouts upon the sky-line to the\nnorth.\n\nThe mounted men of this force turned northward off the high road, and\npursued the scouts to the main body near Le Breuil; then a sharp skirmish\nensued, and the French were driven off. This mêlée was the first news the\nBlack Prince had that the French army, so far from having abandoned the\npursuit, had marched right round him, and that his column was actually in\nthe gravest peril. It warned him that though he had already covered those\nsixteen miles, he must press on further before he could dare to camp for\nthe night. His column was already weary, but there was no alternative.\n\nThe army reached the high road, and crossed it long after the French\nrearguard had disappeared to the west. Exhausted as it was, it pushed on\nanother mile or two southward by the lanes that lead across the fields to\nthe neighbourhood of Mignaloux, and there it camped. The men had covered\nthat day close on twenty miles! But before settling for the evening, the\nBlack Prince sent out the Captal de Buch north-westward over the rolling\nplateau in reconnaissance. When this commander and his body reached the\nheights which overlook the Clain, and faced the houses of Poitiers upon\nthe hill beyond, they saw in the valley beneath them, and on the slopes of\nthe river bank, the encampment of the French army; and reported, upon\ntheir return, \"that all the plain was covered with men-at-arms.\"\n\nUpon the next morning, that of Sunday the 18th of September, broken as the\nforce was with fatigue, it was marshalled again for the march--but no more\nthan a mile or two was asked of it.\n\nEdward had scouted forward upon the morning, and discovered, just in front\nof the little town of Nouaillé and to the northward of the wood that\ncovers that little town, a position which, if it were necessary to stand,\nwould give him the opportunity for a defensive action.\n\nThat he intended any such action we may doubt in the light of what\nfollowed. It was certainly not to his advantage to do so. The French by\noccupying Poitiers had left his way to the south free, but the extreme\nweariness of his force and the possibility that the French might strike\nsuddenly were both present in his mind. He wisely prepared for either\nalternative of action or retreat, and carefully prepared the position he\nhad chosen. For its exact nature, I must refer my reader to the next\nsection, but the general conditions of the place are proper to the\ninterest of our present matter.\n\nThe main business, it must be remembered, upon which the Prince's mind was\nconcentrated was still his escape to the south. He must expect the French\nadvance upon him to come down by the shortest road to any position he had\nprepared, even if he did not intend, or only half intended, to stand\nthere: and that position was therefore fixed astraddle of the road which\nleads from Poitiers to Nouaillé.\n\nNow, just behind--that is, to the south of--this position runs in a\ntortuous course through a fairly sharp[2] little valley a stream called\nthe Miosson. It formed a sufficient obstacle to check pursuit for some\nappreciable time. There was only one bridge across it, at Nouaillé itself,\nwhich he could destroy when his army had passed; and the line of it was\nstrengthened by woods upon either side of the stream.\n\nThe Black Prince, therefore, must be judged (if we collate all the\nevidence) to have looked forward to a general plan offering him two\nalternatives.\n\nEither the French would advance at once and press him. In which case he\nwould be compelled to take his chance of an action against what were by\nthis time far superior numbers; and in that case he had a good prepared\nposition, which will shortly be described, upon which to meet them.\n\nOr they would give him time to file away southward, in which case the\nneighbouring Miosson, with its ravine and its woods, would immediately, at\nthe very beginning of the march, put an obstacle between him and his\npursuer; especially as he had two crossings, a ford, and a bridge some way\nabove it, and he could cut the bridge the moment he had crossed it.\n\nFinally, if (as was possible) a combination of these two alternatives\nshould present itself, he had but to depend upon his prepared position for\nits rearguard to hold during just the time that would permit the main\nforce to make the passage of the Miosson, not two miles away.\n\nWith this plan clearly developed he advanced upon the Sunday morning no\nmore than a mile or two to the position in question, fortified it after\nthe fashion which I shall later describe, and camped immediately behind it\nto see what that Sunday might bring. He could not make off at once,\nbecause his horses and his marching men were worn out with the fatigue of\nthe previous day's great march.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nTHE TERRAIN\n\n\nThe defensive position taken up by Edward, the Black Prince, upon Sunday\nthe 18th of September 1356, and used by him in the decisive action of the\nfollowing day, is composed of very simple elements; which are essentially\na shallow dip (about thirty feet only in depth), bounded by two slight\nparallel slopes, the one of which the Anglo-Gascon force held against the\nadvance of the King of France's cosmopolitan troops from the other.\n\nWe can include all the business of that Monday's battle in a parallelogram\nlying true to the points of the compass, and measuring three miles and six\nfurlongs from north to south, by exactly two and a half miles from east to\nwest; while the actual fighting is confined to an inner parallelogram no\nmore than two thousand yards from east to west, by three thousand from\nnorth to south. The first of these areas is that given upon the coloured\nmap which forms the frontispiece of this little book. The second is marked\nby a black frame within that coloured map, the main features of which are\nreproduced in line upon a larger scale on the page opposite this.\n\nI have said that the essentials of the Black Prince's defensive plan were:\n\n(1) A prepared defensive position, which it might or might not be\nnecessary to hold, coupled with\n\n(2) an obstacle, the Miosson River, which (when he should retreat) he\ncould count upon to check pursuit; especially as its little valley was\n(_a_) fairly deeply cut, (_b_) encumbered by wood, and (_c_) passable for\ntroops only at the bridge of Nouaillé, which he was free to cut when it\nhad served him, and at a somewhat hidden ford which I will later describe.\n\nI must here interpose the comment that the bridge of Nouaillé, being of\nstone, would not have been destroyable during a very active and pressed\nretreat under the conditions of those times; that is, without the use of\nhigh explosives. But it must be remembered that such a narrow passage\nwould in any case check the pursuit, that half an hour's work would\nsuffice to make a breach in the roadway, and perhaps to get rid of the\nkeystones, that a few planks thrown over the gap so formed would be enough\nto permit archers defending the rear to cross over, that these planks\ncould then be immediately withdrawn, and that the crush of a hurried\npursuit, which would certainly be of heavily armed and mounted knights,\nwould be badly stopped by a gap of the kind. I therefore take it for\ngranted that the bridge of Nouaillé was a capital point in Edward's\nplan.[3]\n\n\n\n\nThe line along which the Black Prince threw up entrenchments was the head\nof the slight slope upon the Nouaillé or eastern side of the depression I\nhave mentioned. It ran from the farm Maupertuis (now called La Cardinerie)\nto the site of those out-buildings which surround the modern steadings of\nLes Bordes, and to-day bear the name of La Dolerie. The length of that\nline was, almost to a foot, one thousand English yards, and it will easily\nbe perceived that even with his small force only a portion of his men were\nnecessary to hold it. Its strength and weakness I shall discuss in a\nmoment. This line faces not quite due west, indeed nearly twenty degrees\nnorth of west.[4] Its distance as the crow flies from the Watergate of\nPoitiers is just under seven kilometres, or, as nearly as possible, four\nmiles and six hundred and fifty English yards.[5] While its bearings from\nthe town of Poitiers, or the central part thereof, is a trifle south of\ndue south-east.[6]\n\nThe line thus taken up, and the depression in front of it, are both\nsingularly straight, and the slope before the entrenchments, like its\ncounterpart opposite, is regular, increasing in depth as the depression\nproceeds down towards the Miosson, which, at this point, makes a bend\nupward to meet, as it were, the little valley. A trifle to the south of\nthe centre of the line there is a break in the uniformity of the ridge,\nwhich comes in the shape of a little dip now occupied by some tile-works;\nand on the further, or French, side a corresponding and rather larger\ncleft faces it; so that the whole depression has the shape of a long cross\nwith short arms rather nearer its base than its summit. Just at the end\nof the depression, before the ground sinks abruptly down to the river, the\nsoil is marshy.\n\nLeading towards this position from Poitiers there was and is but one road,\na winding country lane, now in good repair, but until modern times of a\npoor surface, and never forming one of the great high roads. The\nimportance of this unique road will be seen in a moment.\n\nThere had once existed, five hundred yards from the right of the Black\nPrince's entrenched line, a Roman road, the traces of which can still be\ndiscovered at various parts of its course, but which, even by the time of\nPoitiers, had disappeared as a passable way. The only approach remaining,\nas I have said, was that irregular lane which formed the connection\nbetween Poitiers and Nouaillé.\n\nNow in most terrains where feudal cavalry was concerned, the existence or\nnon-existence of a road, and its character, would be of little moment in\nthe immediate neighbourhood of the action: for though a feudal army\ndepended (as all armies always must) upon roads for its _strategics_, it\nwas almost independent of them in its _tactics_ upon those open fields\nwhich were characteristic of mediæval agriculture. The mounted and\narmoured men deployed and charged across the stubble. Those who have read\nthe essay upon the Terrain of Crécy, which preceded this in the present\nseries, will appreciate that the absence of a road uniting the English and\nFrench positions in that battle was of no significance to the result.\n\nBut in the particular case of Poitiers this road, and a certain cart-track\nleading off it, must be carefully noted, because between them they\ndetermine all that happened; and the reason of this is that the front of\nthe English position was covered with _vines_.\n\nThe French method of cultivating the vine, and the condition of that\ncultivation in the middle of September (in all but a quite exceptionally\nearly year so far north as Poitou), makes of a vineyard the most complete\nnatural obstacle conceivable against the use of cavalry, and at the same\ntime a most formidable entanglement to the advance of infantry, and a\ntolerable cover for missile weapons at short range.\n\nThe vine is cultivated in France upon short stakes of varying height with\nvarying districts, but usually in this neighbourhood somewhat over four\nfeet above the ground; that is, covering most of a man's figure, even as\nhe would stand to arms with a long-bow, yet affording space above for the\ndischarge of the weapon. These stakes are set at such distances apart as\nallow ordered and careful movement between them, but close enough together\nto break and interfere with a pressed advance: their distances being\ndetermined by the fulness of the plant before the grapes are gathered, a\nharvest which falls in that region somewhat later than the date of the\naction.\n\nWherever a belt of vineyard is found, cultivated after this fashion, the\npublic ways through it are the only opportunities for advance; for land is\nso valuable under the grape that various allotments or properties are\ncultivated to their outermost limit. The vineyards (which have now\ndisappeared, but which then stood upon the battlefield) could only be\npierced by the roads I have mentioned.[7]\n\nThis line, then, already well protected by the vineyards, was further\nstrengthened by the presence of a hedge which bounded them and ran along\ntheir eastern edge upon the flat land above the depression.\n\nI have mentioned a cart-track, which branched off on the main lane, and\nwhich is marked upon my map with the letters \"A-A.\" It formed, alongside\nwith the lane, a second approach through the English line, and it must be\nnoticed that, like the main lane, a portion of it, where it breasted the\nslope, was sunk in those times below the level of the land on either side.\n\nThe first thought that will strike the modern student of such a position\nis that a larger force, such as the one commanded by the King of France,\nshould have been able easily to turn the defensive upon its right.\n\nNow, first, a feudal army rarely manoeuvred. For that matter, the\nsituation was such that if John had avoided a fight altogether, and had\nmerely marched down the great south-western road to block Prince Edward's\nretreat, the move would have had a more complete effect than winning a\npitched battle. The reader has also heard how the Black Prince's sense of\nhis peril was such that he had been prepared to treat upon any but the\nmost shameful terms. It is evident, therefore, that if the French fought\nat all it was because they wanted to fight, and that they approached the\nconflict in the spirit (which was that of all their time) disdainful of\nmanoeuvring and bound in honour to a frontal attack. A modern force as\nsuperior in numbers as was John's to the Black Prince's would have \"held\"\nthe front of the defensive with one portion of its effectives, while\nanother portion marched round that defensive's right flank. But it is\nimpossible to establish a comparison between developed tactics and the\nabsolutely simple plan of feudal warfare. It is equally impossible to\ncompare a modern force with a feudal force of that date. It had not the\nunity of command and the elasticity of organisation which are necessary to\ndivided and synchronous action. It had no method of attack but to push\nforward successive bodies of men in the hope that the weight of the column\nwould tell.\n\nSecondly, Edward defended that right flank from attack by establishing\nthere his park of waggons.\n\nNone the less, the Black Prince could not fail to see the obvious danger\nof the open right upon the plateau beyond the Roman road; even in the\nabsence of any manoeuvring, the mere superior length of the French line\nmight suffice to envelop him there. It was presumably upon this account\nthat he stationed a small body of horse upon that slightly higher piece\nof land, five hundred yards behind Maupertuis and a little to the right of\nit, which is now the site of the railway station; and this mounted force\nwhich he kept in reserve was to prove an excellent point of observation\nduring the battle. It was the view over towards the French position\nobtained from it which led, as will be seen in the next section, to the\nflank charge of the Captal de Buch.\n\nThere remains to be considered such environments of the position as would\naffect the results of the battle. I have already spoken of the obstacle of\nthe Miosson, of Nouaillé, of the passages of the river, and of the woods\nwhich would further check a pursuit if the pressure following upon a\npartial defeat, or upon a determination to retire without accepting\naction, should prove serious. I must now speak of these in a little more\ndetail.\n\nThe depression, which was the main feature of the battlefield, is carved\nlike its fellows out of a general and very level plateau of a height some\nfour hundred to four hundred and fifty feet above the sea. This formation\nis so even that all the higher rolls of the land are within ten or twenty\nfeet of the same height. They are, further, about one hundred feet, or a\nlittle more, higher than the water level of the local streams. This\ntableland, and particularly the ravine of the Miosson, nourishes a number\nof woods. One such wood, not more than a mile long by perhaps a quarter\nbroad, covers Nouaillé, and intervenes between that town and the\nbattlefield. On the other side of the Miosson there is a continuous belt\nof wood five miles long, with only one gap through it, which gap is used\nby the road leading from Nouaillé to Roches and to the great south-western\nroad to Bordeaux.\n\nIn other words, the Black Prince had prepared his position just in front\nof a screen of further defensible woodland.\n\nI have mentioned one last element in the tactical situation of which I\nhave spoken, and which needs careful consideration.\n\nOver and above the passage of the Miosson by a regular bridge and a proper\nroad at Nouaillé, the water is fordable in ordinary weather at a spot\ncorresponding to the gap between the woods, and called \"Man's Ford\" or \"Le\nGué d'Homme.\" Now, of the several accounts of the action, one, the Latin\nchronicler Baker, mentions the ford, while another, the rhymed French\nstory of the _Chandos Herald_, speaks of Edward's having begun to retire,\nand of part of his forces having already crossed the river before contact\ntook place. I will deal later with this version; but in connection with\nthe ford and whether Edward either did or intended to cross by it, it is\nworthy of remark that the only suggestion of his actually having crossed\nit, and of his intention to do so in any case, is to be found in the\nrhymed chronicle of the _Chandos Herald_; and the question arises--what\nreliance should be placed on that document?\n\nIt is evident on the face of it that the detail of the retreat was not\ninvented. Everyone is agreed that the rhymed chronicle of the _Chandos\nHerald_ does not carry the same authority as prose contemporary work. It\nis not meant to. It is a literary effort rather than a record. But there\nwould be no reason for inventing such a point as the beginning of a\nretreat before an action--not a very glorious or dramatic proceeding--and\nthe mere mention of such a local feature as the ford in Baker is clear\nproof that what we can put together from the two accounts is based upon an\nhistorical event and the memory of witnesses.\n\nOn the other hand, the road proper ran through Nouaillé, and when you are\ncumbered with a number of heavy-wheeled vehicles, to avoid a road and a\nregular bridge and to take a bye-track across fields down a steep bank\nand through water would seem a very singular proceeding. Further, this\ntrack would lose all the advantages which the wood of Nouaillé gave\nagainst pursuit, and, finally, would mean the use of a passage that could\nnot be cut, rather than one that could.\n\nAgain, we know that the Black Prince when he was preparing the position on\nSunday morning, covered its left flank, exactly as his father had done at\nCrécy ten years before, with what the Tudors called a \"leaguer,\" or park\nof waggons.\n\nFurther, we have a discrepancy between the story of this retreat by the\nford and the known order of battle arranged the day before. In that order\nof battle he put in the first line, just behind his archers, who lined the\nhedge bounding the vineyards, a group of men-at-arms under Warwick and\nOxford. He himself commanded the body just behind these, and the third or\nrearmost line was under the command of Salisbury and Suffolk.\n\nHow are these contemporary and yet contradictory accounts to be\nreconciled? What was the real meaning of movement on the ford?\n\nI beg the reader to pay a very particular attention to the mechanical\ndetail which I am here examining, because it is by criticism such as this\nthat the truth is established in military history between vague and\napparently inconsistent accounts.\n\nIf you are in command of a force such as that indicated upon the following\nplan, in which A and B together form your front line, C your second, and D\nyour third, all three facing in the direction of the arrow, and expecting\nan attack from that direction; and if, after having drawn up your men so,\nyou decide there is to be no attack, and determine to retreat in the\ndirection of X, your most natural plan will be to file off down the line\ntowards X, first with your column D, to be followed by your column C, with\nA and B bringing up the rear. And this would be all the more consonant\nwith your position, from the fact that the very men A and B, whom you had\npicked out as best suited to take the first shock of an action, had an\naction occurred, would also in the retreat form your rearguard, and be\nready to fight pursuers should a pursuit develop and press you. That is\nquite clear.\n\n\n\n\nNow, if, for reasons of internal organisation or what not, you desired to\nkeep your vanguard still your vanguard in retreat, as it was on the field,\nyour middle body still your middle body on the march, and what was your\nrearguard on the field still your rearguard in the long column whereby you\nwould leave that field, the manoeuvre by which you would maintain this\norder would be filing off by the left; that is, ordering A to form fours\nand turn from a line into a column, facing towards the point E, and,\nhaving done so, to march off in the direction of X. You would order B to\nact in the same fashion next. When A and B had got clear of you and had\nreached, say, F, you would make C form fours and follow after; and when C\nhad marched away so far as to leave things clear for D, the last remaining\nline, you would make D in its turn form fours and close up the column.\n\nNow, suppose the Black Prince had been certain on that Monday morning that\nthere would be no attack, nor even any pursuit. Suppose that he were so\nabsolutely certain as to let him dispense with a rearguard--then he might\nhave drawn off in the second of the two fashions I have mentioned. Warwick\nand Oxford (A and B) would have gone first, C (the Black Prince, in the\ncentre) would have gone next, and Salisbury, D, would have closed the line\nof the retreat. This would have been the slowest method he could have\nchosen for getting off the field, it would have had no local tactical\nadvantage whatsoever, and to adopt such a method in a hurried departure at\ndawn from the neighbourhood of a larger force with whom one had been\ntreating for capitulation the day before, would be a singular waste of\ntime in any case. But, at any rate, it would be physically possible.\n\nWhat is quite impossible is that such a conversion and retirement should\nhave been attempted; for we know that a strong rearguard was left, and\nheld the entrenchments continuously.\n\nTo leave the field in the second fashion I have described is\nmathematically equivalent to breaking up your rearguard and ceasing to\nmaintain it for the covering of your retreat. It is possible only if you\ndo not intend to have a rearguard at all to cover your retirement, because\nyou think you do not need it. As a fact, we know that all during the\nmovement, whatever it was, a great body of troops remained on the field\nnot moving, and watching the direction from which the French might attack.\nSo even if there was a beginning of retirement, a strong rearguard was\nmaintained to cover that movement. We further know that the Black Prince\nand the man who may be called chief of his staff, Chandos, planned to keep\nthat very strong force in position in any case, until the retirement (if\nretirement it were) was completed; and we further know that the fight\nbegan with a very stout and completely successful resistance by what must\nhave been a large body posted along the ridge, and what even the one\naccount which speaks of the retirement describes as the bulk of the army.\n\nTo believe, then, that Warwick filed off by the left, followed by the\nvehicles, and then by the main command under the Prince, and that all this\nlarger part of the army, including its wheeled vehicles, had got across\nthe ford before contact took place and an action developed, is impossible.\nIt is not only opposed to any sound judgment, it is mathematically\nimpossible. It also conflicts with the use of a park of vehicles to defend\nthe left of the entrenched line, and with the natural use of the line of\nretreat by Nouaillé. I can only conclude that what really happened was\nsomething of this sort:\n\nEdward intended to retreat if he were left unmolested. He intended to\nretreat through Nouaillé and by its bridge, but for safety and to\ndisencumber the road he sent the more valuable of the loot-waggons by the\nshort cut over the ford.\n\nThe Prince had got the bulk of his force standing on the entrenched\nposition upon that Monday morning, and bidden it wait and see whether the\nenemy would attempt to force them or no. As there was no sign of the\nenemy's approach from the northwest, and as he was not even watched by any\nscout of the enemy's, he next put Salisbury in command of the main force\nalong the hedge, put Warwick and Oxford at the head of a strong escort for\nleading off the more valuable of the booty--which would presumably be in\nfew waggons--and began to get these waggons away down the hill towards\nthe ford. They would thus be taking a short cut to join the road between\nNouaillé and Roches later on, and they would relieve the congestion upon\nthe main road of retreat through Nouaillé. It is possible that the Black\nPrince oversaw this operation himself upon the dawn of that day,\ninvolving, as it did, the negotiation of a steep bank with cumbersome\nvehicles, and those vehicles carrying the more precious and portable loot\nof his raid. This would give rise to the memory of his having crossed the\nstream. But, meanwhile, the mass of army was still standing where it was\nposted, prepared for retreat on the bridge of Nouaillé if it were not\nmolested, or for action if it were. Just as this minor detachment of the\nmore valuable vehicles, with its escort, had got across the water,\nmessengers told Edward that there were signs of a French advance. He at\nonce came back, countermanded all provisional orders for the retirement,\nand recalled the escort, save perhaps some small party to watch the\nwaggons which had got beyond the river. Thus, returning immediately,\nEdward was ready to instruct and fight the action in the fashion described\nin all the other accounts.\n\nThis, I think, is the rational reconciliation of several stories which are\nonly in apparent contradiction, and which are rather confusing than\nantagonistic.\n\n\n\n\nPART IV\n\nTHE ACTION\n\n\nThough the accounts of the Battle of Poitiers, both contemporary with and\nsubsequent to it, show, like most mediæval chronicling, considerable\ndiscrepancies, it is possible by comparing the various accounts and\ncarefully studying the ground to present a collected picture of that\nvictory.\n\nThe reader, then, must first seize the position, character, and numbers of\nEdward's force as it lay upon the early morning of Monday the 19th of\nSeptember.\n\nThree considerable bodies of men arranged in dense formation, faced west\nby a little north upon the level which intervenes between the modern farm\nof Cardinerie and the wood of Nouaillé. These three bodies of men stood\narmed, one rank behind the other, and all three parallel. The first was\ncommanded by Salisbury. It was drawn up along the hedge that bounded the\nvineyards, and it stretched upon either side of the lane which led and\nleads from Poitiers to Nouaillé. With Salisbury was Suffolk; and this\nfirst line, thus facing the hedge, the depression, and the fields beyond,\nfrom whence a French attack might develop, was certainly the largest of\nthe three lines. The reader must conceive of the road astraddle of which\nthis command of Salisbury's and Suffolk's stood as lying flush with the\nfields around, until the edge of the depression was reached, and there\nforming for some yards a sunken road between the vines that stood on\neither side of it. The reader should also remember that further to the\nleft, and covered by the last extension of this line of men, was the\nsecond diverging lane, crossing through vineyards precisely as did the\nother, and sunk as the other was sunk for some yards at the crest of the\nlittle depression. It is this lane which now passes by the tile-works and\nleads later to the ford over the river in the valley beyond. The line thus\nholding the hedge, and commanded by Suffolk and Salisbury, contained the\ngreater number of the archers, and also a large proportion of men-at-arms,\ndismounted, and ready to repel any French attack, should such an attack\ndevelop in the course of the morning to interfere with the retirement\nwhich Edward had planned; but as yet, in the neighbourhood of six o'clock,\nthere was no sign of the enemy in the empty fields upon the west beyond\nthe depression. The King of France's camp was more than two miles away,\nand it looked as though Edward would be able to get his whole force beyond\nthe river without molestation.\n\nSo much for what we will call the first line, for the position of which,\nas for that of its fellows, I must beg the reader to refer to the coloured\nmap forming the frontispiece of this book.\n\nImmediately behind the first line so drawn up came a second line, under\nthe command of Warwick and Oxford, but it was a much smaller body, because\nit had a very different task to perform. Its business was to act as an\nescort for certain of the waggon-loads which Edward, both on account of\ntheir value and of the difficulty of getting them up and down the banks of\nthe steep ravine of the river behind them, had determined to send forward\nat the head of his retirement. This escort, then, we may call the second\nline. Before the retiring movement began it stood parallel to and\nimmediately in the rear of the first line.\n\nThe third line was a somewhat larger command, principally of Gascon\nmen-at-arms under the direct leadership of the Black Prince himself.\n\nTo this picture of the three lines standing one behind the other and\nfacing away from the sunrise of that Monday morning, we must add a great\nbody of waggons, parked together, upon the right of the first line and\ndefending it from any turning movement that might be attempted upon that\nflank, should a French advance develop after all. We must suppose some few\nof the more valuable waggon-loads, carrying the best booty of the raid, to\nhave been put last in this park, so that their drivers should have the\nopportunity of filing off first when the middle or second line, which was\nto be their escort, began the retirement. Further, we must remark teams\nharnessed and drivers mounted in front of those special waggons, while the\nmass of the wheeled vehicles still lay closely packed together for the\npurposes of defence against a possible attack, their teams standing to the\nrear, ready to harness up only when the retirement was in full swing, and\nto come last in the retreating column, saving perhaps for a small\nrearguard that might be left to watch the extremity of the line after\neveryone else had got safely off the field. We must see the Black\nPrince's command, such of it as was mounted, all on horseback already, and\nthe men-at-arms of the second line or escort under Warwick similarly in\nthe saddle; but the first line, which formed the bulk of the whole force,\nwe must picture to ourselves all on foot, the mounted men as well as the\nsmall proportion of foot-sergeants: for if there should be occasion to\nrepel some attack developing during the retirement, it was in the essence\nof the Plantagenet tactics to dismount the men-at-arms during the\ndefensive, and to hold a position entirely on foot.\n\nI have said that no sign of the enemy appeared upon the empty fields to\nthe west beyond the depression while these dispositions were being made;\nand, when all was ready, perhaps between seven and eight o'clock, the\norder for the first movement of the retirement was given. Warwick and the\nescort he commanded turned from line to column and began to file off by\nthe left, down towards the ford. The special waggons, whose safety was\nthus being first anxiously provided for, followed, and the whole of the\nsecond line thus got clear of the space between the first and the third.\nIt marched south towards the river, with its little body of wheeled\nvehicles following up its mounted men.\n\nWhen the second line had thus got clear of the original formation, Edward,\npreceded by his banner and accompanied by a certain number of men from the\nthird line (how many we cannot tell, but presumably no great force), rode\noff over the fields to the left of Warwick's string of cavalry and\nwaggons, to superintend the difficult passage of the Miosson. He left\nbehind him, standing to arms at the hedge, the whole of the strong first\nline under Salisbury and Suffolk, and the bulk of his own third line\nmarshalled in parallel behind this first line.\n\nAt this moment, then, somewhere between seven and eight o'clock, the\nsituation is thus: the Prince and the band with him are riding off towards\nthe edge where the land falls somewhat steeply towards the Miosson. He and\nhis men have their backs turned to the bulk of the army, which, in two\nbodies, the larger one lining the hedge and a smaller one behind it, are\nholding the chosen defensive position in case there should be any sign of\na French pursuit. We must presume that if no such pursuit appeared to be\ndeveloping it was Edward's intention, when he had got the special waggons\nand their escort safely across the ford, to withdraw the bulk of his force\nthus left behind by the road through Nouaillé and across its bridge. The\nsmaller body would go first; then, section by section, the first line\nwould fall into column and retire by the Nouaillé road, leaving at last no\nmore than a small rearguard at the hedge, which, when all the waggons of\nthe park had been harnessed up and were filing down the Nouaillé road,\nwould itself fall into column and bring up the extreme end of the retreat.\n\nBy this plan the valuable waggon-loads with their escort, which had\ncrossed at the ford under Warwick, would be joined in, say, an hour or an\nhour and a half by the bulk of the army, which would have rejoined by the\nNouaillé road, and the junction would be effected at the spot where, at\nthe bottom of the frontispiece-map, the dotted line passing the ford\nreaches the main road. Well before noon the whole command, with its heavy\nand cumbersome train of wheeled vehicles, would be on the heights there\ncalled Le Bouilleau and would be approaching in safety, with the obstacle\nof the Miosson _behind_ them, the great south-western road to Bordeaux,\nalong which the rest of the retreat would take place.\n\nThis plan would have every advantage, always supposing that there was no\nFrench pursuit, or that that pursuit should develop too late to interfere\nwith the Black Prince's scheme. The more valuable of the booty would have\nbeen got clean away by a side track which was also a short cut, and which\nwould put it, when the whole retirement was effected, ahead of the column,\nthat is upon the safe side of the force, furthest from an enemy's attack.\nIt would have got away early without suggesting to the enemy the line of\nits escape or the opportunity of using the ford. The retirement of the\nmass of the army by the Nouaillé road would lead the pursuit, if any,\nalong that road and towards the bridge, the cutting of which after the\nAnglo-Gascon force had passed would leave that force with the obstacle of\nthe river between it and its enemy.\n\nAs it happened, a French pursuit did develop, and, luckily for the Black\nPrince, it developed within a very few minutes of his setting off to\nsuperintend Warwick's passage of the ford. Had it come an hour later, when\nthe mass of the force was in column of route and making for Nouaillé, he\nmight have had to record not a triumph but a disaster.\n\nThe French camp was, as I have said, rather more than two miles away from\nthe defensive position of Maupertuis. It lay on all that open land which\nnow forms the fields of La Miletrie farm and lies to the south-west of\nthat steading, between the great Lussac road and that country road to\nNouaillé along which the march of the French army had proceeded, and\nacross which, further along, the Black Prince's command lay astraddle.\n\nKing John had no accurate knowledge of his enemy's dispositions. In spite\nof the coming and going of the day before, he still knew no more than the\nfact that somewhere two or three miles ahead down the road, and between\nhim and Nouaillé, the Black Prince's force was gathered. He appears to\nhave made no effort to grasp things in greater detail upon that Monday\nmorning, and when he marshalled his host and set out, it was with the\nintention (which he pursued) of merely going forward until he found the\nenemy, and then attacking. The host was arranged in four bodies; three\nmain \"battles\" or lines, comparable to the English three lines--it was the\nuniversal formation of a mediæval army--were brought up in column for the\nadvance, to deploy when the field should be reached. The first was\ncommanded by the heir to the throne, the Dauphin, Charles, Duke of\nNormandy; the second by the Duke of Orleans, the king's brother; the\nthird was commanded by the king himself, and was the largest of the three.\n\nThe attempt to estimate the numbers which John could bring against his\nenemy as he set out on that Monday morning is beset with difficulties, but\nmust nevertheless be made.\n\nFroissart, with his quite unreliable and (let us be thankful) romantic\npen, speaks of over 40,000. That is nonsense. But it is not without some\nvalue, because, like so many of Froissart's statements, it mirrors the\ntradition of the conflict which future years developed. If we had no other\nfigures than Froissart's we should not accept them, but we should accept,\nand rightly, an impression of great superiority in numbers on the part of\nthe attack.\n\nOn the other hand, we have the evidence of a man who wrote from the field\nitself, and who wrote from the English side--Burghersh. If anything, he\nwould exaggerate, of course; but he was a soldier (and Froissart was at\nthe other psychological pole!). He actually wrote from the spot, and he\nthought that everything mounted in front of him came to about 8000, to\nwhich he added 3000 men upon foot. Now, Burghersh may have been, and\nprobably was, concerned to mention no more than what he regarded as\nfighting units worth mentioning: infantry more or less trained and\nproperly accoutred men-at-arms. For these latter, and their number of\n8000, we have plenty of independent testimony, and especially Baker's.\nBaker gives the same number. As regards the trained infantry, we know that\nJohn had 2000 men armed with the arbalest (a mechanical cross-bow worked\nwith a ratchet), and we know that he also had, besides these cross-bowmen,\na number of trained mercenaries armed with javelins.\n\nWe may set inferior and exterior limits to the numbers somewhat as\nfollows: the French host included 8000 fully-armed mounted men; that is,\nnot quite double the Gascon and English units of the same rank and\nequipment. It had somewhat less than the English contingent of\nmissile-armed soldiers, and these armed with a weapon inferior to their\nopponents. Count these two factors at 10,000 against the Anglo-Gascon 7000\nor 8000. There you have an inferior limit which was certainly exceeded,\nfor John's command included a number of other rougher mounted levies and\nother less trained or untrained infantry. Above that minimum we may add\nanything we like up to 10,000 for the untrained, and we get a superior\nlimit for the total of 20,000 men all told. Averaging the probabilities\nfrom the various accounts, we are fairly safe in setting this addition at\n5000, and perhaps a little over. So that the whole force which John could\nhave brought into the field, and which, had it been properly led and\norganised, he might have used to full effect in that field, was about\ndouble the numbers which the Black Prince could oppose to him. The\nAnglo-Gascons, standing on the defensive, had from 7000 to 8000 men, and\nthe force marching against them on the offensive was presumably in the\nneighbourhood of 15,000 to 16,000; while an analysis of the armament gives\nyou, in the capital factors of it, an inferior number of French missile\nweapons to the missile weapons of the English prince, but double the\nnumber of fully-armed knights.\n\nAs a fact, the organisation of the two sides offered a more striking\ncontrast than the contrast in their numbers. The Plantagenet force worked\ntogether and was one well-handled command. The Valois force was in\nseparate commands, so little cohesive that one of them, as we shall see,\nabandoned the struggle without orders. For the other causes of the defeat\nI must ask the reader to wait until we come to the actual engagement.\n\nTo the three \"battles\" thus marshalled and advancing along the road, John\nadded a special vanguard, the constitution of which must be carefully\nnoted. It was sent forward under the two marshals, Audrehen and Clermont.\nThey commanded: _first_, 300 fully-armoured and mounted men-at-arms, who\nrode at the head; _next_, and following immediately behind these, certain\nGerman auxiliaries, also mounted, in what precise numbers we do not know,\nbut few; _thirdly_, 2000 spearmen on foot, and with them the whole 2000\ncross-bowmen using the only missile weapons at John's disposal.\n\nIt will be seen that something like a third of John's whole force, and\nnearly half the trained part, was thus detached to form the vanguard in\nfront of the three marching columns. Its function and mishap we shall\ngather when we come to the contact between them and Edward's force.\nMeanwhile, we must conceive of the French army as breaking camp some time\nbetween six and seven o'clock of the Monday, forming in three columns upon\nthe Nouaillé road, with the king commanding the largest rear column, his\nbrother, the Duke of Orleans, the column immediately in front, and the\nKing's son and heir, the Duke of Normandy, in front of Orleans; while\nahead of all these three columns marched the 4000 or 5000 men of the\nvanguard under the marshals, with their 300 picked knights leading the\nwhole.\n\nIt must have been at about eight o'clock that the men thus riding with the\nmarshals in front of the French advance came up the slight slope near La\nMoudurerie, topped the hill, and saw, six or seven hundred yards in front\nof them, beyond the little depression, the vineyards and the hedge behind\nthe vineyards, and behind that hedge again the massed first line of the\nBlack Prince's force. Off in the rear to the right they could see the\nBlack Prince's banner, making away down towards the river, and soon\ndropping out of sight behind the shoulder of the hill. The special waggons\nof booty, with Warwick and their escort, must already have disappeared\nwhen the French thus had their first glimpse of the enemy.\n\nThe sight of the Black Prince's banner disappearing down into the valley\non the right rear, rightly decided the French vanguard that their enemy\nhad determined upon a retreat, and had actually begun it. The force in\nfront of them, behind the hedge, large as it was, they rightly conceived\nto be the rearguard left to protect that retreat. They determined to\nattack at once; and the nature of the attack, which had carefully been\nplanned beforehand under the advice of Douglas, the Scotchman who was\nfighting on King John's side, and who had experience of the new\nPlantagenet tactics, must next be grasped.\n\nThe experience and the memory of Crécy ten years before had left with the\nValois a clear though very general idea that the novel and overwhelming\nsuperiority of the English long-bow could not be met by the old-fashioned\ndense feudal cavalry charge. Any attempt to attack the front of a line\nsufficiently defended by long-bowmen in this fashion meant disaster, many\nhorses would be shot long before their riders could come within lance\nthrust, the dense packed line of feudal knights, thousands in number,\nwould be thrown into confusion by the maddened and fallen animals, the\nweight of the remainder as they pressed forward would only add to that\nconfusion, and the first \"battle,\" delivering the regular traditional\nfirst-charge with which every old feudal battle had opened, would in a few\nminutes degenerate into a wild obstacle of welter and carnage stretched\nin front of the defensive line, and preventing anything behind them from\ncoming up.\n\nIt was to avoid misfortune of this kind that the vanguard of which I have\nspoken was formed. Its orders were these:--The picked three hundred\nknights of that vanguard were to ride straight at the English archers, and\nalmost certainly to sacrifice themselves in so doing. But as their numbers\nwere few, their fall would not obstruct what was to follow. It was their\nbusiness in this immolation of their bodies to make it possible for the\nmass of infantry, especially those armed with missile weapons, to come\nclose in behind and tackle the English line. That infantry, aided by the\nmounted German mercenaries and meeting missile with missile by getting\nhand to hand with the English bowmen at last, would prevent those English\nbowmen from effective action against the next phase of the offensive. This\nnext phase was to be the advance of the first \"battle,\" that of the\nDauphin, the Duke of Normandy. His men-at-arms were to go forward\ndismounted, and to close with the whole English line while its most\ndangerous portion, the bowmen, were still hampered by the close pressure\nof the vanguard.\n\nThe plan thus ordered by the French king at the advice of his Scotch\nlieutenant was not so incompetent as the results have led some historians\nto judge. It suffered from four misconceptions; but of these one was not\nthe fault of the French commander, while the other three could only have\nbeen avoided by a thorough knowledge of the new Plantagenet tactics, which\nhad not yet been grasped in the entirety of their consequences even by\nthose who had invented them.\n\nThe four misconceptions were:--\n\n(1) The idea that the attack would only have to meet the force immediately\nin front of it, behind the hedge. This was a capital error, for, as we\nshall see, Warwick with his men escorting the waggons came back in time to\ntake a decisive part in the first phase of the action. But it was not an\nerror which anyone on the French side could have foreseen; Warwick's men\nhaving disappeared down the slope of the hill towards the ford before the\nFrench vanguard caught its first sight of the enemy.\n\n(2) The underrating of the obstacle afforded by the vineyard in front of\nthe English line, and the consequent \"bunching\" of the attack on to the\nlane which traversed that vineyard. Probably the archers themselves did\nnot know what an extraordinarily lucky accidental defence the vineyard\nprovided for their special weapon. It was exactly suited to giving them\nthe maximum effect of arrow-fire compatible with the maximum hindrance to\nan advancing enemy.\n\n(3) The French king and his advisers had not yet grasped--nor did anyone\nin Europe for some time to come--the remarkable superiority of the\nlong-bow over the cross-bow. Just so modern Europe, and particularly\nmodern Prussia, with all its minute observation and record, failed for ten\ngood years to understand that rate of delivery and not range is what turns\nthe scale with modern artillery. The cross-bow shot an uglier missile,\ninflicted a nastier wound, was more feared by the man in danger of that\nwound than the long-bow was. In range the two weapons might be regarded as\nnearly equal, save for this deciding difference, that the trained\nlong-bowman could always count upon his maximum range, whereas the\ncross-bow varied, as a machine always will, with conditions independent of\nthe human will behind it. You could not extend its pull to suit a damp\nstring, for instance, and if your ratchet caught, or your trigger jammed,\nthe complicated thing held you up; but delivery from the long-bow was,\nfrom the hands of the strong and trained man, the simplest and most\ncalculable of shots, variable to every condition of the moment. Its\nelasticity of aim was far superior, and, most important of all, its rate\nof fire was something like three to one of the arbalest.\n\n(4) Douglas and the French king rightly decided that horses were so\nvulnerable to the long-bow as to prevent a mounted charge from having a\nchance of success, if it were undertaken in a great mass. They decided,\nupon that account, to dismount their men-at-arms, and to attack on foot.\nBut what they did not allow for was the effect of the new armour upon foot\ntactics of that kind. It was one thing for a line holding the defensive,\nand not compelled to any forward movement, to dismount its armoured\nknights and bid them await an attack. It was quite another thing for such\narmoured knights to have to make a forward movement of half a mile or more\non foot, and to engage with the sword or the shortened lance at the end of\nit. Armour was at that moment in transition. To the old suit of chain\nmail, itself quite ponderous enough to burden a man on foot, there had\nbeen added in that generation plate in various forms. Everyone had plate\narmour at least upon the elbows, knees, and shoulders, many had it upon\nall the front of the legs and all the front of the arms, some had adopted\nit as a complete covering; and to go on foot thus loaded over open fields\nfor the matter of eight hundred yards was to be exhausted before contact\ncame. But of this men could not judge so early in the development of the\nnew tactics. They saw that if they were to attack the bowmen successfully\nthey must do so on foot, and they had not appreciated how ill-suited the\narmoured man of the time was for an unmounted offensive, however well he\nmight serve in a defensive \"wall.\"\n\nThese four misconceptions between them determined all that was to follow.\n\n\nIt was a little before nine when the vanguard of the Valois advanced\nacross the depression and began to approach the slight slope up towards\nthe vineyards and the hedge beyond. In that vineyard, upon either side of\nthe hollow road, stood, in the same \"harrow\" formation as at Crécy, the\nEnglish long-bowmen.\n\nThe picked three hundred knights under the two French marshals spurred and\ncharged. Small as their number was, it was crowded for the road into\nwhich the stakes of the vineyard inevitably shepherded them as they\ngalloped forward, and, struggling to press on in that sunken way, either\nside of their little column was exposed to the first violent discharge of\narrows from the vines. They were nearly all shot down, but that little\nforce, whose task it had been, after all, to sacrifice their lives in\nmaking a way for their fellows, had permitted the rest of the vanguard to\ncome to close quarters. The entanglement of the vineyard, the unexpected\nand overwhelming superiority of the long-bow over the cross-bow, the\nsuperior numbers of the English archers over their enemies' arbalests,\nmade the attack a slow one, but it was pressed home. The trained infantry\nof the vanguard, the German mounted mercenaries, swarmed up the little\nslope. The front of them was already at the hedge, and was engaged in a\nfurious hand to hand with the line defending it, the mass of the remainder\nwere advancing up the rise, when a new turn was given to the affair by the\nunexpected arrival of Warwick.\n\nThe waggons which that commander had been escorting had been got safely\nacross the Miosson; the Black Prince had overlooked their safe crossing,\nwhen there came news from the plateau above that the French had appeared,\nand that the main force which the Black Prince had left behind him was\nengaged. Edward rode back at once, and joined his own particular line,\nwhich we saw just before the battle to be drawn up immediately behind the\nfirst line which guarded the hedge and the vineyard. Warwick, with\nexcellent promptitude, did not make for Salisbury and Suffolk to reinforce\ntheir struggling thousands with his men, but took the shorter and more\nuseful course of moving by his own left to the southern extremity of his\ncomrade's fiercely pressed line (see frontispiece near the word \"Hedge\";\nthe curved red arrow lines indicate the return of Warwick).\n\nHe came out over the edge of the hill, just before the mass of the French\nvanguard had got home, and when only the front of it had reached the hedge\nand was beginning the hand-to-hand struggle. He put such archers as he had\nhad with his escort somewhat in front of the line of the hedge, and with\ntheir fire unexpectedly and immediately enfiladed all that mass of the\nFrench infantry, which expected no danger from such a quarter, and was\npressing forward through the vineyards to the summit of the little rise.\nThis sharp and unlooked for flank fire turned the scale. The whole French\nvanguard was thrown into confusion, and broke down the side of the\ndepression and up its opposing slope. As it so broke it interfered with\nand in part confused the first of the great French \"battles,\" that under\nthe Dauphin, whose ordered task it was to follow up the vanguard and\nreinforce its pressure upon the English line. Though the vanguard had been\nbroken, the Dauphin's big, unwieldy body of dismounted armoured men\nmanaged to go forward through the shaken and flying infantry, and in their\nturn to attack the hedge and the vineyard before it. Against them, the\nflank fire from Warwick could do less than it had done against the\nunarmoured cross-bowmen and sergeants of the vanguard which it had just\nrouted. The Dauphin's cumbered and mailed knights did manage to reach the\nmain English position of the hedge, but they were not numerous enough for\nthe effort then demanded of them. The half mile of advance under such a\nweight of iron had terribly exhausted them, and meanwhile Edward had come\nback, the full weight of his command--every man of it except a reserve of\nfour hundred--was massed to meet the Dauphin's attack. Warwick's men\nhurried up from the left to help in the sword play, and by the time the\nmêlée was engaged that line of hedge saw the unusual struggle of a\ndefensive superior in numbers against an inferior offensive which should,\nby all military rule, have refused to attempt the assault.\n\nNevertheless, that assault was pressed with astonishing vigour, and it was\nthat passage in the action, before and after the hour of ten o'clock,\nwhich was the hottest of all. Regarded as an isolated episode in the\nfight, the Dauphin's unequal struggle was one of the finest feats of arms\nin all the Hundred Years' War. Nothing but a miracle could have made it\nsucceed, nor did it succeed; after a slaughter in which the English\ndefending line had itself suffered heavily and the Dauphin's attack had\nbeen virtually cut to pieces, there followed a third phase in the battle\nwhich quite cancelled not only the advantage (for that was slight) but\nalso the glory gained by the Dauphin's great effort.\n\nNext behind the Dauphin's line, the second \"battle,\" that of the Duke of\nOrleans, should have proceeded to press on in reinforcement and to have\nlaunched yet another wave of men against the hedge which had been with\nsuch difficulty held. Had it done so, the battle would have been decided\nagainst Edward. The Dauphin's force, though it was now broken and the\nremnants of it were scattering back across the depression, had hit the\nAnglo-Gascon corps very hard indeed. Edward had lost heavily, his missile\nweapon was hampered and for the moment useless, many of his men were\noccupied in an attempt to save the wounded, or in seeking fresh arms from\nthe train to replace those which had been broken or lost in the struggle.\nWhat seems to have struck most those who were present at the action upon\nthe English side was the exhaustion from which their men were suffering\njust after the Dauphin's unsuccessful attempt to pierce the line. If\nOrleans had come up then, he could have determined the day. But Orleans\nfailed to come into action at all, and the whole of his \"battle,\" the\nsecond, was thrown away.\n\nWhat exactly happened it is exceedingly difficult to infer from the short\nand confused accounts that have reached us. It is certain that the whole\nof Orleans' command left the field without actually coming into contact\nwith the enemy. The incident left a profound impression upon the legend\nand traditions of the French masses, and was a basis of that angry\ncontempt which so violently swelled the coming revolt of the populace\nagainst the declining claims of the feudal nobility. It may almost be said\nthat the French monarchy would not have conquered that nobility with the\naid of the French peasantry and townsmen had not the knights of the second\n\"battle\" fled from the field of Poitiers.\n\nWhat seems to have happened was this. The remnant of the Dauphin's force,\nfalling back in confusion down the slight slope, mixed into and disarrayed\nthe advancing \"battle\" of Orleans. These, again, were apparently not all\nof them, nor most of them, dismounted as they should have been, and, in\nany case, their horses were near at hand. The ebb tide of the Dauphin's\nretirement may have destroyed the loose organisation and discipline of\nthat feudal force, must have stampeded some horses, probably left\ndismounted knights in peril of losing their chargers, and filled them with\nthe first instinct of the feudal soldier, which was to mount. We may well\nbelieve that to all this scrimmage of men backing from a broken attack,\nmen mounting in defiance of the unfamiliar and unpopular orders which had\nput them on foot, here riderless horses breaking through the ranks, there\nknots of men stampeded, the whole body was borne back, first in confusion,\nafterwards in flight. So slight are the inequalities of the ground, that\nanyone watching from the midst of that crest could have made nothing of\nthe battle to the eastward, save that it was a surging mass of the French\nking's men defeated, and followed (it might erroneously have been thought)\nby the Black Prince and his victorious men.\n\nAt any rate, the whole of the second \"battle,\" mixed with the debris of\nthe first, broke from the field and rode off, scattered to the north. It\nis upon Orleans himself that the chief blame must fall. Whatever error,\nconfusion, stampede, or even panic had destroyed the ordering of his line,\nit was his business to rally his men and bring them back. Whether from\npersonal cowardice, from inaptitude for command, or from political\ncalculation, Orleans failed in his duty, and his failure determined the\naction.\n\nThe pause which necessarily followed the withdrawal of the central French\nforce, or second \"battle,\" under Orleans gave Edward's army the breathing\nspace they needed. It further meant, counting the destruction of the\nvanguard and the cutting to pieces of the Dauphin's \"battle,\" the\npermanent inferiority through the rest of the day of anything that the\nFrench king could bring against the Plantagenets. The battle was lost from\nthat moment, between ten and eleven o'clock, when Orleans' confused\ncolumn, pouring, jostled off the field, left the great gap open between\nKing John and the lead of his third battle and the English force.\n\nHad strict military rule commanded the feudal spirit (which it never did),\nJohn would have accepted defeat. To have ridden off with what was still\nintact of his force, to wit, his own command, the third \"battle,\" would\nhave been personally shameful to him as a knight, but politically far less\ndisastrous than the consequences of the chivalrous resolve he now made. He\nhad left, to make one supreme effort, perhaps five, perhaps six thousand\nmen. Archers wherewith to meet the enemy's archers he had none. What\nnumber of fully-armoured men-at-arms he had with him we cannot tell, but,\nat any rate, enough in his judgment to make the attempt upon which he had\ndecided. The rest of the large force that was with him was of less\nconsiderable military value; but, on the other hand, he could calculate\nnot unjustly upon the fact that all his men were fresh, and that he was\nleading them against a body that had struggled for two hours against two\nfierce assaults, and one that has but just emerged--unbroken, it is\ntrue--from a particularly severe hand-to-hand fight.\n\nJohn, then, determined to advance and, if possible, with this last reserve\nto carry the position. It was dismounted, as he had ordered and wished all\nhis men-at-arms to be, and the King of France led this last body of\nknights eastward across the little dip of land. As that large, fresh body\nof mailed men approached the edge of the depression on its further side,\nthere were those in the Black Prince's force who began to doubt the issue.\nA picturesque story remains to us of Edward's overhearing a despairing\nphrase, and casting at its author the retort that he had lied damnably if\nhe so blasphemed as to say the Black Prince could be conquered alive.\n\nI have mentioned some pages back that reserve of four hundred\nfully-equipped men-at-arms which Edward had detached from his own body and\nhad set about four hundred yards off, surrounding his standard. The exact\nspot where this reserve took up its position is marked to-day by the\nrailway station. It overlooks (if anything can be said to \"overlook\" in\nthat flat stretch) the field. It is some twelve or fifteen feet higher\nthan the hedge at which, a couple of furlongs away, the long defence had\nheld its own throughout that morning. The Black Prince recalled them to\nthe main body. Having done so, he formed into one closely ordered force\nall the now mixed men of the three lines who were still able to go\nforward. John was coming on with his armoured knights on foot, their\nhorses almost a mile away (he was bringing those men, embarrassed and\nweighted by their metal under the growing heat of the day, nearly double\nthe distance which his son's men had found too much for them). Edward bade\nhis men-at-arms mount, and his archers mounted too. It will be remembered\nthat six men out of seven were mounted originally for the raid through\nAquitaine. The fighting on foot had spared the horses. They were all\navailable. And the teams and sumpter animals were available as well in so\nfar as he had need of them. John's men, just coming up on foot to the\nopposite edge of the little dip, saw the low foot line of the\nAnglo-Gascons turning at a word of command into a high mounted line. But\nbefore that mounted line moved forward, Edward had a last command to\ngive. He called for the Captal of Buch, a Gascon captain not to be\ndespised.\n\nThis man had done many things in the six weeks' course of the raid. He was\na cavalry leader, great not only with his own talent, but with the\npolitical cause which he served, for of those lords under the Pyrenees he\nwas the most resolute for the Plantagenets and against the Valois. The\norder Edward gave him was this: to take a little force all mounted, to\nmake a long circuit, skirting round to the north and hiding its progress\nbehind the spinneys and scrub-wood until he should get to the rear of the\nlast French reserve that was coming forward, and when he had completed the\ncircuit, to display his banner and come down upon them unexpectedly from\nbehind. It was an exceedingly small detachment which was picked out for\nthis service, not two hundred men all told. Rather more than half of them\narchers, the rest of them fully-equipped men-at-arms. Small as was this\ntiny contingent which the Black Prince could barely spare, it proved in\nthe event sufficient.\n\nThat order given, the Black Prince summoned his standard-bearer--an\nEnglishman whose name should be remembered, Woodland--set him, with the\ngreat banner which the French had seen three hours before disappearing\ninto the river valley when Edward had been off watching the passage of the\nford, at the head of the massed mounted force, and ordered the charge. The\nsix thousand horse galloped against the dismounted armoured men of John\ndown the little slope. The shock between these riders and those foot-men\ncame in the hollow of the depression. The foot-men stood the charge. In\nthe first few minutes gaps were torn into and through the French body by a\ndischarge of the last arrows, and then came the furious encounter with\ndagger and sword which ended the Battle of Poitiers. It was the mounted\nmen that had the better of the whole. The struggle was very fierce and\nvery bewildered, a mass of hand-to-hand fighting in individual groups that\nswayed, as yet undetermined, backwards and forwards in the hollow. But\nthose who struck from horseback had still the better of the blows, until,\nwhen this violence had continued, not yet determined, for perhaps half an\nhour, the less ordered and less armoured men who were the confused\nrearmost of John's corps heard a shout behind them, and looking back saw,\nbearing down upon them, the banner of St George, which was borne before\nthe Captal, and his archers and his men-at-arms charging with the lance.\nSmall as was the force of that charge, it came unexpectedly from the rear,\nand produced that impression of outflanking and surrounding which most\ndemoralises fighting men. The rear ranks who pressed just behind the place\nwhere the heaviest of the struggle was proceeding, and where John's\nknights on foot were attempting to hold their own against the mounted\nGascons and English, broke away. The Captal's charge drove home, and the\nremnant of the French force, with the king himself in the midst of it,\nfound themselves fighting against a ring which pressed them from all\nsides.\n\nKing John had with him his little son Philip, a boy of fourteen, later\nmost properly to be called \"The Bold.\" And this lad fought side by side\nwith his father, calling to the king: \"Father, guard to the right! Father,\nguard to the left!\" as the lance-thrusts and the sword-strokes pressed\nthem. The lessening and lessening group of French lords that could still\nhold their own in the contracting circle was doomed, and the battle was\naccomplished.\n\nScattering across those fields to the west and northward bodies of the\nPlantagenet's men galloped, riding down the fugitives, killing, or\ncapturing for ransom, the wounded. And Edward, his work now done, rode\nback to the old position, rested, sent messengers out to recall the\npursuers (some of whom had pressed stragglers for four miles), and watched\nhis men gathering and returning.\n\nHe saw advancing towards him a clamorous crowd, all in a hubbub around\nsome centre of great interest for them, and slowly making eastward to\nwhere the banner of the Black Prince was now fixed. He sent to ask what\nthis might be, and was told that it was the King of France who had been\ntaken prisoner at last, and for whom various captors were disputing. John,\npressed by so many rivals, had given up his sword to one of Edward's\nknights. That knight was a man from the Artois, who had said to the\nValois, his lawful king, \"Sir, I am serving against you, for I have lost\nmy land, and, owing no allegiance, therefore, I became the man of the King\nof England.\"\n\nEdward received his great captive, and that was the end of the Battle of\nPoitiers.\n\nIt was noon when the fight was decided. It was mid-afternoon when the last\nof the pursuers had been called back into the English camp.\n\n\n\n\nPART V\n\nTHE ASPECT OF THESE BATTLES\n\n\nIn closing the coupled and twin stories of Crécy and Poitiers it is not\nwithout advantage to describe the aspect which they would have presented\nto an onlooker of their time; and in doing this I must not only describe\nthe general armament of Western European men in the middle of the\nfourteenth century, but that contrast between weapons and methods which\ngave the Plantagenets for more than a generation so permanent an advantage\nover their opponents.\n\nYou would have seen a force such as that of the Black Prince or of King\nJohn camped before a battle, a white town of tents crossing the fields,\nwith here and there a vivid patch of colour where some great leader's\npavilion was of blue or red and gold. The billeting of men upon\nhouseholders was a necessary feature of a long march, or of the\noccupation of a town. But when there was question of occupying a position,\nor when an army was too large to lodge under roof, it depended upon\ncanvas. But it must be remembered that not the whole of a force by any\nmeans enjoyed that advantage; a large portion, especially in a\nconsiderable body, was often compelled to bivouac.\n\nFurther, the reader must represent to himself a heavier impediment of\nvehicles than a corresponding force would burden itself with to-day: a far\nheavier impediment than a quite modern army would think tolerable. There\nwere no aids whatsoever to progress, save those which the armed body\ncarried with it. No commandeering of horses upon any considerable scale;\nno mechanical traffic, of course; and, save under special circumstances\nwhere water carriage could relieve the congestion, no chances of carrying\none's booty (then a principal concern), one's munitions, and one's\nsupplies, save in waggons.\n\nOn the other hand, the enormous supply of ammunition which modern missile\nwarfare demands, and has demanded more or less for three hundred years,\nwas absent. There was no reserve of food; an army lived not entirely off\nthe country, for it always began with a reserve of provisions, but without\nany calculated reserve for a whole campaign, and necessarily in such times\nwithout any power of keeping essential nourishment for more than a few\ndays.\n\nSay that your fourteenth-century corps was more burdened upon the march by\nfar, but by far less dependent upon its base than a modern force, and you\nhave the truth.\n\nYou must therefore conceive of the marching body, be it 7000 or be it\n30,000 or more, as a long column of which quite one-half the length will\nusually consist of waggons.\n\nThe first thing that would strike the modern observer of such a column\nwould be the large proportion of mounted men.\n\nEven the Plantagenets, who first, by an accident about to be described,\ndiscovered, and who by their genius for command developed, a revolution in\nmissile weapons, marched at the head of columns which were, not only for\ntheir spirit and their tradition and command, but for all their important\nfighting units, mounted.\n\nTradition and the memory of a society are all-important in these things.\nFrom the beginning of the Dark Ages until well on into the Middle Ages,\nsay, from the end of the fifth century to the beginning of the\nfourteenth, a battle was essentially a mounted charge; and the noble class\nwhich for generation after generation had learnt and gloried in the trade\nof those charges was the class which organised and enjoyed the peril of\nwarfare.\n\nThe armoured man was always an expensive unit. His full equipment was the\nyear's rent of a farm, and what we should to-day call a large country\nestate never produced half a dozen of him, and sometimes no more than one.\nHe needed at least one servant. That was a mere physical necessity of his\nequipment. Often he had not one, but two or three or even four. He and his\nassistants formed the normal cell, so to speak, of a fourteenth-century\nforce. And on the march you would have seen the thousands of these\n\"men-at-arms\" (the term is a translation of the French \"gensdarmes,\" which\nmeans armed people) surrounded or followed by a cloud of their followers.\n\nNow their followers were more numerous than they, and yet far more\nvulnerable, and they form a very difficult problem in the estimation of a\nfourteenth-century force.\n\nWhen I say, as I have said with regard both to Crécy and to\nPoitiers--though it is truer of Crécy than of Poitiers--that the number\nof combatants whom contemporaries recognised as such was far less than the\ntotal numbers of a force, I was pointing out that, by our method of\nreckoning numbers, it would be foolish to count Edward III.'s army in 1346\nas only 24,000, or the Black Prince's ten years later as only 7000. The\nactual number of males upon the march who had to be fed and could be seen\nstanding upon the field was far larger. But, on the other hand, the value\nfor fighting purposes of what I may call the domestics was very varied.\nSome of those who served the wealthiest of the men-at-arms were themselves\ngentry. They were youths who would later be fully armed themselves. They\nrode. They had a sword; they could not be denied combat. Even their\ninferiors were of value in a defensive position, however useless for\noffensive purposes. When we hear of A making a stand against B though B\nwas \"three times as strong\" as A, we must remember that this means only\nthat the counting combating units on B's side were three times A's. If A\nwas holding a defensive position against B, B would only attack with his\nactual fighting units, whereas A could present a dense mass of humanity\nmuch more than a third of B, certainly two-thirds of B, and sometimes the\nequal of B, to resist him, though only one-third should be properly\narmed. While, on the other hand, if B should fail in the attack and break,\nthe number of those cut down and captured in the pursuit by the victorious\nA would be very much greater than the fighting units which B had brought\nagainst A at the beginning of the combat. All the followers and domestics\nof A's army would be involved in the catastrophe, and that is what\naccounts for the enormous numbers of casualties which one gets after any\ndecisive overthrow of one party by the other, especially of a large force\nagainst a small one. It is this feature which accounts for the almost\nlegendary figures following Crécy and Poitiers.\n\nThe gentry, who were the nucleus of the fighting, were armed in the middle\nof the fourteenth century after a fashion transitional between the rings\nof mail which had been customary for a century and the plate armour which\nwas usual for the last century before the general use of firearms,\nornamental during the century in which firearms established themselves,\nand is still the popular though false conception of mediæval accoutrement.\nFrom immemorial time until the First Crusade and the generation of the\nBattle of Hastings and the capture of Jerusalem, fighters had covered\ntheir upper bodies with leather coats, and their heads with an iron\ncasque. From at least the Roman centuries throughout the Dark Ages, a\nuniversal use of metal rings linked together over the leather protected\nthe armed man, and our word _mail_ is French for links, and nothing else.\nIn time, the network of links came to be used separate from the leather,\nand so it was put on like a shirt of flexible iron all through the great\nbusiness which saved Europe during the ninth century against the Northmen\nin Gaul and Britain, against the Moor in Spain. It was the armour of the\nknights in Palestine, of the native armies which drove the Germans from\nItaly, and of the Norman Conquest.\n\nBut with the end of the thirteenth century, which for simplicity and\nvirile strength was the flower of our civilisation, armour, with many\nanother feature of life, took on complexity and declined. Men risked less\n(the lance also came in to frighten them more). The bascinet, which had\nprotected the head but not the face (with later a hinged face-piece\nattached), was covered or replaced by a helmet protecting head and face\nand all. At the knees, shoulders, elbows, jointed plates of iron\nappeared. Scales of iron defended the shin and the thigh, sometimes the\nlower arm as well. The wealthier lords covered the front of every limb\nwith plates of this sort, and there was jointed iron upon their hands. The\nplain spur had rowels attached to it; the sword shortened, so did the\nshield; a dagger was added to the sword-belt upon the right-hand side.\n\nWe must further see in the picture of a fourteenth-century battle great\nblazonry.\n\nThe divorce of the gentry from the common people (one of the fatal eddies\nof the time) developed in the wealthy this love of colour, and in their\ndependants the appetite for watching it. Of heraldry I say nothing, for it\nhas nothing to do with the art or history of soldiers. But banners were a\nreal part of tactics and of instructions. By banners men had begun to\nalign themselves, and by the display of banners to recognise the advent of\nreinforcement or the action at some distant point (distant as fields were\nthen reckoned) of enemies or of friends. Colour was so lively a feature of\nthose fields that shields, even the horses' armour, cloths hung from\ntrumpets, coats, all shone with it.\n\nNow to the feudal cavalry with their domestics, to the gentry so armed\nwhose tradition was the soul and whose numbers the nucleus of a\nfourteenth-century army, one must add, quite separate from their domestics\nand squires, the foot-soldiers; and these were trained and untrained.\n\nAt this point a capital distinction must be made. Armies defending a whole\ncountryside, notably the French armies defending French territory during\nthe Hundred Years' War, levied, swept up, or got as volunteers masses of\nuntrained men. Expeditions abroad had none such: they had no use for them.\nEdward had none at Crécy and his son had none at Poitiers; and what was\ntrue of these two Plantagenet raids was true of every organised expedition\nmade with small numbers from one centre to a distant spot, throughout the\nMiddle Ages. It is important to remember this, for it accounts for much of\nthe great discrepancies in numbers always observable between an\nexpeditionary force and its opponents, as it does for the superior\nexcellence of the raiding tens against the raided hundreds.\n\nBut if we consider only the trained force of foot-men in an army of the\nfourteenth century, we discover that contrast between the Plantagenet and\nthe Valois equipment with which I desire to conclude. England had\ndeveloped the long-bow. It is a point which has been vastly\noveremphasised, but which it would be unscholarly and uncritical to pass\nover in silence. A missile weapon had been produced and perfected by the\nWelsh, the art of it had spread over the west country; and it was to prove\nitself of value superior to any other missile weapon in the field\nthroughout the fourteenth and even into the early fifteenth centuries.\nOutside these islands it was imperfectly understood as a weapon, and its\nlesson but imperfectly learnt. When it was replaced by firearms, the\nBritish Islands and their population dropped out of the running in land\narmament for two hundred years. The long-bow was not sufficiently superior\nto other weapons to impress itself dramatically and at once upon the\nconsciousness of Europe. It remained special, local, national, but, if men\ncould only have known it, a decisive element of superiority up to the\nbreakdown of the Plantagenet tradition of government and of Plantagenet\nsociety.\n\nI have described in the writing of Crécy how superior was its rate of\ndelivery always, and often its range, to other missile weapons of the\ntime. We must also remember that capital factor in warfare, lost with the\nRomans, recovered with the Middle Ages, which may be called the\ninstruction of infantry.\n\nThe strength of an armed body consists in its cohesion. When the whole\nbody is in peril, each individual member of it wants to get away. To\nprevent him from getting away is the whole object of discipline and\nmilitary training. Each standing firm (or falling where he stands)\npreserves the unity, and therefore the efficacy, of the whole. A few\nyielding at the critical point (and the critical point is usually also the\npoint where men most desire to yield) destroy the efficacy of nine times\ntheir number. Now, one of the things that frighten an individual man on\nfoot most is another man galloping at him upon a horse. If many men gallop\nupon him so bunched on many horses, the effect is, to say the least of it,\nstriking. If any one doubts this, let him try. If the men upon the horses\nare armed with a weapon that can get at the men on foot some feet ahead\n(such as is the lance), the threat is more efficacious still, and no\nsingle man (save here and there a fellow full of some religion) will meet\nit.\n\nBut against this truth there is another truth to be set, which the\nindividual man would never guess, and which is none the less\nexperimentally certain--which is this: that if a certain number of men on\nfoot stand firm when horses are galloping at them, the horses will swerve\nor balk before contact; in general, the mounted line will not be\nefficacious against the dismounted. There is here a contrast between the\nnerves of horses and the intelligence of men, as also between the rider's\ndesire that his horse should go forward and the horse's training, which\nteaches him that not only his rider, but men in general, are his masters.\nWhat is true here of horses is not true of dogs, who think all men not\ntheir masters, but their enemies, and desire to kill them, and what is\nmore, can do so, which a horse cannot. A charge of large mounted dogs\nagainst unshaken infantry would succeed. A charge of mounted horses\nagainst unshaken infantry, if that infantry be sufficiently dense, will\nfail.\n\nTo teach infantry that they can thus withstand cavalry, instruction is the\ninstrument. You must drill them, and form them constantly, and hammer it\ninto them by repeated statement that if they stand firm all will be well.\nThis has been done in the case of men on foot armed only with staves. It\nis easier, of course, to inculcate the lesson when they are possessed of\nmissile weapons; for a continued discharge of these is impossible from\ncharging riders, and an infantry force armed with missile weapons, and\nunshaken, can be easily persuaded by training, and still more by\nexperience, that it can resist cavalry. Under modern conditions, where\nmissile weapons are of long range and accurate, this goes without saying;\nbut even with a range of from fifty to eighty yards of a missile that will\nbring down a horse or stop him, infantry can easily be made sufficiently\nconfident if it is unshaken. Now, to shake it, there is nothing available\n(or was nothing before the art of flying was developed) save other men,\nequally stationary, armed with other missiles. The long-bowman of the\nPlantagenets knew that he had a missile weapon superior to anything that\nhis enemy could bring against him. He therefore stood upon the defensive\nagainst a feudal cavalry charge unshaken, and he was trained by his\nexperience and instruction to know that if he kept his line unbroken, the\ncavalry charge would never get home. That is the supreme tactical factor\nof the Plantagenet successes of the Hundred Years' War.\n\n\n\n\nPART VI\n\nTHE RESULTS OF THE BATTLE\n\n\nThe immediate results of the victory of Poitiers consisted, first, in the\nimmensely increased prestige which it gave to the House of Plantagenet\nthroughout Europe.\n\nNext, we must reckon the local, though ephemeral, effect upon the opinion\nof Aquitaine, through which the Black Prince was now free to retreat at\nhis ease towards Bordeaux and the secure territories of Gascony.\n\nBut though these results were the most immediate, and though the victory\nof one monarch over the other was the most salient aspect of the victory\nfor contemporaries, as it is for us, there was another element which we\nmust particularly consider because it illustrates the difference between\nthe political conditions of the fourteenth century and of our own time.\n\nThe real point of the success was the capture of the king's person. The\nimportance of the action lay, of course, to some extent, in the prestige\nit gave to the Black Prince personally; though that point was lost a very\nfew years afterwards in the subsequent decline of the Plantagenet power in\nthe south. In so far as an action in those days could carry a _national_\neffect--that is, could be regarded by distant civilian populations as\nproof of strength or weakness in contrasting races and societies--Poitiers\nhad not even the claim of Crécy; for it was not principally an archers'\nbut a knights' battle, and the knights were mainly the gentry of the South\nof France, while those who had been broken by the only cavalry movement of\nthe engagement were not even French knights, but levies of German,\nSpanish, and other origin. But the capture of the King of France at that\nparticular moment of chivalry, that last fermentation of a feudal society\nwhich was reaching its term, had a vast positive effect, as well as an\nalmost incalculable moral effect.\n\nThere is nothing in modern times to which such an accident can be\naccurately paralleled. Perhaps the capture of the capital city would be\nthe nearest thing; but there is this grave difference between them, that\nthe capture of the modern capital must mean prolonged and decisive\nsuccess in war, whereas the capture of John was an accident of the field.\nThe victory would have been less by far if the whole of the king's command\nhad fled, with the king himself at the head of the rout.\n\nA modern parallel more nearly exact would be the transference in the midst\nof a conflict of some great financial power from one side to the other; or\nagain, in a naval war, the blowing up of so many capital ships by contact\nmines as would put one of the two opposing fleets into a hopeless\ninferiority to the other. To capture a king was to capture not so much a\nnecessary part of the mechanism of government as the most important and\nthe richest member of a feudal organisation. It meant the power to claim\nan enormous feudal ransom for his person. It meant, more doubtfully, the\npower to engage him, while he was yet a prisoner, to terms that would bind\nhis lieges: \"more doubtfully,\" because the whole feudal system jealously\nregarded the rights both of individual owners and of custom from the\npeasant to the crown. Finally, to capture the king was to get hold of the\nchief financial support of an enemy. A feudal king had vast revenues in\nthe shape of rents, not competitive, but fixed, which came to him as they\ndid to any other lord, but in much greater amount than to any other lord.\nThe king was the chief economic factor in that autonomous economic\nfederation which we call the feudal organisation of Gaul.\n\nThe fact that his capture was an accident in no way lessened the result;\nit was regarded in the military mind of those days much as we regard the\ncrippling of a modern financial power by some chance of speculation. It\nwas only a bit of good fortune on the one side, and of bad fortune on the\nother, but one to be duly taken advantage of by those whom it would\nprofit.\n\nThe immediate result of that capture was twofold: an admission on the part\nof John of the Plantagenet claim, and a corresponding spontaneous movement\nin France which led to the defeat of that claim; the signing (ultimately)\nof a treaty tearing the French monarchy in two; and, finally, the\nrejection and nullifying of that treaty by the mere instinct of the\nnation. But these lengthy political consequences--followed by the further\nsuccess of the Black Prince's nephew at Agincourt, and again by his\nsuccessor's loss of all save Calais--do not concern this book.\n\n\nPRINTED BY NEILL AND CO., LTD., EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\nBRITISH BATTLE BOOKS\n\nBY HILAIRE BELLOC\n\n_F'cap 8vo, cloth, 1s. net_\n\n_HISTORY IN WARFARE_\n\nOther Volumes in the Series Now Ready:\n\n     1. BLENHEIM\n     2. MALPLAQUET\n     3. TOURCOING\n     4. 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With full index.\nPrice 8s. 6d. net.\n\n     \"Well and carefully thought out, sound in its maxims and its\n     criticisms, this book is, without exception, the best introduction to\n     the study of the Peninsular War, and almost the best introduction to\n     military history that we have ever come across in the English\n     tongue.\"--_Broad Arrow._\n\nPRECIS OF GREAT CAMPAIGNS, 1789-1815. By J. H. Anderson. Crown 4to. 142\npages, with 26 Maps and Plans. Price 6s. net.\n\n_This is based mainly on French accounts, and the whole of the Napoleonic\nCampaigns are dealt with._\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] Le Breuil Mingot, not Le Breuil l'Abbesse, which lies south upon the\nChauvigny road.\n\n[2] The tops of the steep banks are nearly a hundred feet above the water.\n\n[3] There are to-day three bridges, but in the fourteenth century only one\nexisted, the central one.\n\n[4] \"Facing north-east,\" Fortescue, _History of the British Army_, vol. i.\np. 39. I mention this considerable error for the purposes of correction:\nMr Fortescue's history being rightly regarded as the standard text-book of\nEnglish military history.\n\n[5] \"Some fifteen miles,\" Fortescue, _ibid._ \"Seven miles,\" Oman, _History\nof Art of War, etc._ Always use a map when you write about battles.\n\n[6] \"South-west,\" Fortescue, _ibid._, p. 38.\n\n[7] It may be presumed upon the analogy of surrounding vineyards--though\nit is not certain--that the cultivation of the vine would cease on the\nlower slope (since that inclined away from the sun), and was thickest upon\nthe summit of the ridge.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32197", "title": "Poitiers", "author": "", "publication_year": 1913, "metadata_title": "Poitiers", "metadata_author": "Hilaire Belloc", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.581498", "source_chars": 127015, "chars": 127015, "talkie_tokens": 29143}}
{"text": "Transcribed 1898 William Heinemann edition by David Price, email\nccx074@pflaf.org\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 St. Ives\n\n\n                                  Being\n\n                   The Adventures of a French Prisoner\n                                in England\n\n                                    By\n\n                          Robert Louis Stevenson\n\n\n                             _SECOND EDITION_\n\n\n                                  London\n                            William Heinemann\n                                   1898\n\n\n         _First Edition_, _May_ 5, 1897; _Reprinted May_ 6, 1897\n\n\n                          _All rights reserved_\n\n\n_The following tale was taken down from Mr. Stevenson's dictation by his\nstepdaughter and amanuensis_, _Mrs. Strong_, _at intervals between\nJanuary_ 1893 _and October_ 1894 (_see_ Vailima Letters, _pp._ 242-246,\n299, 324 _and_ 350).  _About six weeks before his death he laid the story\naside to take up_ Weir of Hermiston.  _The thirty chapters of_ St. Ives\n_which he had written_ (_the last few of them apparently unrevised_)\n_brought the tale within sight of its conclusion_, _and the intended\ncourse of the remainder was known in outline to Mrs. Strong_.  _For the\nbenefit of those readers who do not like a story to be left unfinished_,\n_the delicate task of supplying the missing chapters has been entrusted\nto Mr. Quiller-Couch_, _whose work begins at Chap. XXXI._ {0}\n\n                                                                 [_S. C._]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I--A TALE OF A LION RAMPANT\n\n\nIt was in the month of May 1813 that I was so unlucky as to fall at last\ninto the hands of the enemy.  My knowledge of the English language had\nmarked me out for a certain employment.  Though I cannot conceive a\nsoldier refusing to incur the risk, yet to be hanged for a spy is a\ndisgusting business; and I was relieved to be held a prisoner of war.\nInto the Castle of Edinburgh, standing in the midst of that city on the\nsummit of an extraordinary rock, I was cast with several hundred\nfellow-sufferers, all privates like myself, and the more part of them, by\nan accident, very ignorant, plain fellows.  My English, which had brought\nme into that scrape, now helped me very materially to bear it.  I had a\nthousand advantages.  I was often called to play the part of an\ninterpreter, whether of orders or complaints, and thus brought in\nrelations, sometimes of mirth, sometimes almost of friendship, with the\nofficers in charge.  A young lieutenant singled me out to be his\nadversary at chess, a game in which I was extremely proficient, and would\nreward me for my gambits with excellent cigars.  The major of the\nbattalion took lessons of French from me while at breakfast, and was\nsometimes so obliging as to have me join him at the meal.  Chevenix was\nhis name.  He was stiff as a drum-major and selfish as an Englishman, but\na fairly conscientious pupil and a fairly upright man.  Little did I\nsuppose that his ramrod body and frozen face would, in the end, step in\nbetween me and all my dearest wishes; that upon this precise, regular,\nicy soldier-man my fortunes should so nearly shipwreck!  I never liked,\nbut yet I trusted him; and though it may seem but a trifle, I found his\nsnuff-box with the bean in it come very welcome.\n\nFor it is strange how grown men and seasoned soldiers can go back in\nlife; so that after but a little while in prison, which is after all the\nnext thing to being in the nursery, they grow absorbed in the most\npitiful, childish interests, and a sugar biscuit or a pinch of snuff\nbecome things to follow after and scheme for!\n\nWe made but a poor show of prisoners.  The officers had been all offered\ntheir parole, and had taken it.  They lived mostly in suburbs of the\ncity, lodging with modest families, and enjoyed their freedom and\nsupported the almost continual evil tidings of the Emperor as best they\nmight.  It chanced I was the only gentleman among the privates who\nremained.  A great part were ignorant Italians, of a regiment that had\nsuffered heavily in Catalonia.  The rest were mere diggers of the soil,\ntreaders of grapes or hewers of wood, who had been suddenly and violently\npreferred to the glorious state of soldiers.  We had but the one interest\nin common: each of us who had any skill with his fingers passed the hours\nof his captivity in the making of little toys and _articles of Paris_;\nand the prison was daily visited at certain hours by a concourse of\npeople of the country, come to exult over our distress, or--it is more\ntolerant to suppose--their own vicarious triumph.  Some moved among us\nwith a decency of shame or sympathy.  Others were the most offensive\npersonages in the world, gaped at us as if we had been baboons, sought to\nevangelise us to their rustic, northern religion, as though we had been\nsavages, or tortured us with intelligence of disasters to the arms of\nFrance.  Good, bad, and indifferent, there was one alleviation to the\nannoyance of these visitors; for it was the practice of almost all to\npurchase some specimen of our rude handiwork.  This led, amongst the\nprisoners, to a strong spirit of competition.  Some were neat of hand,\nand (the genius of the French being always distinguished) could place\nupon sale little miracles of dexterity and taste.  Some had a more\nengaging appearance; fine features were found to do as well as fine\nmerchandise, and an air of youth in particular (as it appealed to the\nsentiment of pity in our visitors) to be a source of profit.  Others\nagain enjoyed some acquaintance with the language, and were able to\nrecommend the more agreeably to purchasers such trifles as they had to\nsell.  To the first of these advantages I could lay no claim, for my\nfingers were all thumbs.  Some at least of the others I possessed; and\nfinding much entertainment in our commerce, I did not suffer my\nadvantages to rust.  I have never despised the social arts, in which it\nis a national boast that every Frenchman should excel.  For the approach\nof particular sorts of visitors, I had a particular manner of address,\nand even of appearance, which I could readily assume and change on the\noccasion rising.  I never lost an opportunity to flatter either the\nperson of my visitor, if it should be a lady, or, if it should be a man,\nthe greatness of his country in war.  And in case my compliments should\nmiss their aim, I was always ready to cover my retreat with some\nagreeable pleasantry, which would often earn me the name of an 'oddity'\nor a 'droll fellow.'  In this way, although I was so left-handed a\ntoy-maker, I made out to be rather a successful merchant; and found means\nto procure many little delicacies and alleviations, such as children or\nprisoners desire.\n\nI am scarcely drawing the portrait of a very melancholy man.  It is not\nindeed my character; and I had, in a comparison with my comrades, many\nreasons for content.  In the first place, I had no family: I was an\norphan and a bachelor; neither wife nor child awaited me in France.  In\nthe second, I had never wholly forgot the emotions with which I first\nfound myself a prisoner; and although a military prison be not altogether\na garden of delights, it is still preferable to a gallows.  In the third,\nI am almost ashamed to say it, but I found a certain pleasure in our\nplace of residence: being an obsolete and really mediaeval fortress, high\nplaced and commanding extraordinary prospects, not only over sea,\nmountain, and champaign but actually over the thoroughfares of a capital\ncity, which we could see blackened by day with the moving crowd of the\ninhabitants, and at night shining with lamps.  And lastly, although I was\nnot insensible to the restraints of prison or the scantiness of our\nrations, I remembered I had sometimes eaten quite as ill in Spain, and\nhad to mount guard and march perhaps a dozen leagues into the bargain.\nThe first of my troubles, indeed, was the costume we were obliged to\nwear.  There is a horrible practice in England to trick out in ridiculous\nuniforms, and as it were to brand in mass, not only convicts but military\nprisoners, and even the children in charity schools.  I think some\nmalignant genius had found his masterpiece of irony in the dress which we\nwere condemned to wear: jacket, waistcoat, and trousers of a sulphur or\nmustard yellow, and a shirt or blue-and-white striped cotton.  It was\nconspicuous, it was cheap, it pointed us out to laughter--we, who were\nold soldiers, used to arms, and some of us showing noble scars,--like a\nset of lugubrious zanies at a fair.  The old name of that rock on which\nour prison stood was (I have heard since then) the _Painted Hill_.  Well,\nnow it was all painted a bright yellow with our costumes; and the dress\nof the soldiers who guarded us being of course the essential British red\nrag, we made up together the elements of a lively picture of hell.  I\nhave again and again looked round upon my fellow-prisoners, and felt my\nanger rise, and choked upon tears, to behold them thus parodied.  The\nmore part, as I have said, were peasants, somewhat bettered perhaps by\nthe drill-sergeant, but for all that ungainly, loutish fellows, with no\nmore than a mere barrack-room smartness of address: indeed, you could\nhave seen our army nowhere more discreditably represented than in this\nCastle of Edinburgh.  And I used to see myself in fancy, and blush.  It\nseemed that my more elegant carriage would but point the insult of the\ntravesty.  And I remembered the days when I wore the coarse but\nhonourable coat of a soldier; and remembered further back how many of the\nnoble, the fair, and the gracious had taken a delight to tend my\nchildhood. . . .  But I must not recall these tender and sorrowful\nmemories twice; their place is further on, and I am now upon another\nbusiness.  The perfidy of the Britannic Government stood nowhere more\nopenly confessed than in one particular of our discipline: that we were\nshaved twice in the week.  To a man who has loved all his life to be\nfresh shaven, can a more irritating indignity be devised?  Monday and\nThursday were the days.  Take the Thursday, and conceive the picture I\nmust present by Sunday evening!  And Saturday, which was almost as bad,\nwas the great day for visitors.\n\nThose who came to our market were of all qualities, men and women, the\nlean and the stout, the plain and the fairly pretty.  Sure, if people at\nall understood the power of beauty, there would be no prayers addressed\nexcept to Venus; and the mere privilege of beholding a comely woman is\nworth paying for.  Our visitors, upon the whole, were not much to boast\nof; and yet, sitting in a corner and very much ashamed of myself and my\nabsurd appearance, I have again and again tasted the finest, the rarest,\nand the most ethereal pleasures in a glance of an eye that I should never\nsee again--and never wanted to.  The flower of the hedgerow and the star\nin heaven satisfy and delight us: how much more the look of that\nexquisite being who was created to bear and rear, to madden and rejoice,\nmankind!\n\nThere was one young lady in particular, about eighteen or nineteen, tall,\nof a gallant carriage, and with a profusion of hair in which the sun\nfound threads of gold.  As soon as she came in the courtyard (and she was\na rather frequent visitor) it seemed I was aware of it.  She had an air\nof angelic candour, yet of a high spirit; she stepped like a Diana, every\nmovement was noble and free.  One day there was a strong east wind; the\nbanner was straining at the flagstaff; below us the smoke of the city\nchimneys blew hither and thither in a thousand crazy variations; and away\nout on the Forth we could see the ships lying down to it and scudding.  I\nwas thinking what a vile day it was, when she appeared.  Her hair blew in\nthe wind with changes of colour; her garments moulded her with the\naccuracy of sculpture; the ends of her shawl fluttered about her ear and\nwere caught in again with an inimitable deftness.  You have seen a pool\non a gusty day, how it suddenly sparkles and flashes like a thing alive?\nSo this lady's face had become animated and coloured; and as I saw her\nstanding, somewhat inclined, her lips parted, a divine trouble in her\neyes, I could have clapped my hands in applause, and was ready to acclaim\nher a genuine daughter of the winds.  What put it in my head, I know not:\nperhaps because it was a Thursday and I was new from the razor; but I\ndetermined to engage her attention no later than that day.  She was\napproaching that part of the court in which I sat with my merchandise,\nwhen I observed her handkerchief to escape from her hands and fall to the\nground; the next moment the wind had taken it up and carried it within my\nreach.  I was on foot at once: I had forgot my mustard-coloured clothes,\nI had forgot the private soldier and his salute.  Bowing deeply, I\noffered her the slip of cambric.\n\n'Madam,' said I, 'your handkerchief.  The wind brought it me.'\n\nI met her eyes fully.\n\n'I thank you, sir,' said she.\n\n'The wind brought it me,' I repeated.  'May I not take it for an omen?\nYou have an English proverb, \"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good.\"'\n\n'Well,' she said, with a smile, '\"One good turn deserves another.\"  I\nwill see what you have.'\n\nShe followed me to where my wares were spread out under lee of a piece of\ncannon.\n\n'Alas, mademoiselle!' said I, 'I am no very perfect craftsman.  This is\nsupposed to be a house, and you see the chimneys are awry.  You may call\nthis a box if you are very indulgent; but see where my tool slipped!\nYes, I am afraid you may go from one to another, and find a flaw in\neverything.  _Failures for Sale_ should be on my signboard.  I do not\nkeep a shop; I keep a Humorous Museum.'  I cast a smiling glance about my\ndisplay, and then at her, and instantly became grave.  'Strange, is it\nnot,' I added, 'that a grown man and a soldier should be engaged upon\nsuch trash, and a sad heart produce anything so funny to look at?'\n\nAn unpleasant voice summoned her at this moment by the name of Flora, and\nshe made a hasty purchase and rejoined her party.\n\nA few days after she came again.  But I must first tell you how she came\nto be so frequent.  Her aunt was one of those terrible British old maids,\nof which the world has heard much; and having nothing whatever to do, and\na word or two of French, she had taken what she called an _interest in\nthe French prisoners_.  A big, bustling, bold old lady, she flounced\nabout our market-place with insufferable airs of patronage and\ncondescension.  She bought, indeed, with liberality, but her manner of\nstudying us through a quizzing-glass, and playing cicerone to her\nfollowers, acquitted us of any gratitude.  She had a tail behind her of\nheavy, obsequious old gentlemen, or dull, giggling misses, to whom she\nappeared to be an oracle.  'This one can really carve prettily: is he not\na quiz with his big whiskers?' she would say.  'And this one,' indicating\nmyself with her gold eye-glass, 'is, I assure you, quite an oddity.'  The\noddity, you may be certain, ground his teeth.  She had a way of standing\nin our midst, nodding around, and addressing us in what she imagined to\nbe French: '_Bienne_, _hommes_! _ca va bienne_?'  I took the freedom to\nreply in the same lingo: _Bienne_, _femme_! _ca va couci-couci tout\nd'meme_, _la bourgeoise_!'  And at that, when we had all laughed with a\nlittle more heartiness than was entirely civil, 'I told you he was quite\nan oddity!' says she in triumph.  Needless to say, these passages were\nbefore I had remarked the niece.\n\nThe aunt came on the day in question with a following rather more than\nusually large, which she manoeuvred to and fro about the market and\nlectured to at rather more than usual length, and with rather less than\nher accustomed tact.  I kept my eyes down, but they were ever fixed in\nthe same direction, quite in vain.  The aunt came and went, and pulled us\nout, and showed us off, like caged monkeys; but the niece kept herself on\nthe outskirts of the crowd and on the opposite side of the courtyard, and\ndeparted at last as she had come, without a sign.  Closely as I had\nwatched her, I could not say her eyes had ever rested on me for an\ninstant; and my heart was overwhelmed with bitterness and blackness.  I\ntore out her detested image; I felt I was done with her for ever; I\nlaughed at myself savagely, because I had thought to please; when I lay\ndown at night sleep forsook me, and I lay, and rolled, and gloated on her\ncharms, and cursed her insensibility, for half the night.  How trivial I\nthought her! and how trivial her sex!  A man might be an angel or an\nApollo, and a mustard-coloured coat would wholly blind them to his\nmerits.  I was a prisoner, a slave, a contemned and despicable being, the\nbutt of her sniggering countrymen.  I would take the lesson: no proud\ndaughter of my foes should have the chance to mock at me again; none in\nthe future should have the chance to think I had looked at her with\nadmiration.  You cannot imagine any one of a more resolute and\nindependent spirit, or whose bosom was more wholly mailed with patriotic\narrogance, than I.  Before I dropped asleep, I had remembered all the\ninfamies of Britain, and debited them in an overwhelming column to Flora.\n\nThe next day, as I sat in my place, I became conscious there was some one\nstanding near; and behold, it was herself!  I kept my seat, at first in\nthe confusion of my mind, later on from policy; and she stood, and leaned\na little over me, as in pity.  She was very still and timid; her voice\nwas low.  Did I suffer in my captivity? she asked me.  Had I to complain\nof any hardship?\n\n'Mademoiselle, I have not learned to complain,' said I.  'I am a soldier\nof Napoleon.'\n\nShe sighed.  'At least you must regret _La France_,' said she, and\ncoloured a little as she pronounced the words, which she did with a\npretty strangeness of accent.\n\n'What am I to say?' I replied.  'If you were carried from this country,\nfor which you seem so wholly suited, where the very rains and winds seem\nto become you like ornaments, would you regret, do you think?  We must\nsurely all regret! the son to his mother, the man to his country; these\nare native feelings.'\n\n'You have a mother?' she asked.\n\n'In heaven, mademoiselle,' I answered.  'She, and my father also, went by\nthe same road to heaven as so many others of the fair and brave: they\nfollowed their queen upon the scaffold.  So, you see, I am not so much to\nbe pitied in my prison,' I continued: 'there are none to wait for me; I\nam alone in the world.  'Tis a different case, for instance, with yon\npoor fellow in the cloth cap.  His bed is next to mine, and in the night\nI hear him sobbing to himself.  He has a tender character, full of tender\nand pretty sentiments; and in the dark at night, and sometimes by day\nwhen he can get me apart with him, he laments a mother and a sweetheart.\nDo you know what made him take me for a confidant?'\n\nShe parted her lips with a look, but did not speak.  The look burned all\nthrough me with a sudden vital heat.\n\n'Because I had once seen, in marching by, the belfry of his village!' I\ncontinued.  'The circumstance is quaint enough.  It seems to bind up into\none the whole bundle of those human instincts that make life beautiful,\nand people and places dear--and from which it would seem I am cut off!'\n\nI rested my chin on my knee and looked before me on the ground.  I had\nbeen talking until then to hold her; but I was now not sorry she should\ngo: an impression is a thing so delicate to produce and so easy to\noverthrow!  Presently she seemed to make an effort.\n\n'I will take this toy,' she said, laid a five-and-sixpenny piece in my\nhand, and was gone ere I could thank her.\n\nI retired to a place apart near the ramparts and behind a gun.  The\nbeauty, the expression of her eyes, the tear that had trembled there, the\ncompassion in her voice, and a kind of wild elegance that consecrated the\nfreedom of her movements, all combined to enslave my imagination and\ninflame my heart.  What had she said?  Nothing to signify; but her eyes\nhad met mine, and the fire they had kindled burned inextinguishably in my\nveins.  I loved her; and I did not fear to hope.  Twice I had spoken with\nher; and in both interviews I had been well inspired, I had engaged her\nsympathies, I had found words that she must remember, that would ring in\nher ears at night upon her bed.  What mattered if I were half shaved and\nmy clothes a caricature?  I was still a man, and I had drawn my image on\nher memory.  I was still a man, and, as I trembled to realise, she was\nstill a woman.  Many waters cannot quench love; and love, which is the\nlaw of the world, was on my side.  I closed my eyes, and she sprang up on\nthe background of the darkness, more beautiful than in life.  'Ah!'\nthought I, 'and you too, my dear, you too must carry away with you a\npicture, that you are still to behold again and still to embellish.  In\nthe darkness of night, in the streets by day, still you are to have my\nvoice and face, whispering, making love for me, encroaching on your shy\nheart.  Shy as your heart is, _it_ is lodged there--_I_ am lodged there;\nlet the hours do their office--let time continue to draw me ever in more\nlively, ever in more insidious colours.'  And then I had a vision of\nmyself, and burst out laughing.\n\nA likely thing, indeed, that a beggar-man, a private soldier, a prisoner\nin a yellow travesty, was to awake the interest of this fair girl!  I\nwould not despair; but I saw the game must be played fine and close.  It\nmust be my policy to hold myself before her, always in a pathetic or\npleasing attitude; never to alarm or startle her; to keep my own secret\nlocked in my bosom like a story of disgrace, and let hers (if she could\nbe induced to have one) grow at its own rate; to move just so fast, and\nnot by a hair's-breadth any faster, than the inclination of her heart.  I\nwas the man, and yet I was passive, tied by the foot in prison.  I could\nnot go to her; I must cast a spell upon her at each visit, so that she\nshould return to me; and this was a matter of nice management.  I had\ndone it the last time--it seemed impossible she should not come again\nafter our interview; and for the next I had speedily ripened a fresh\nplan.  A prisoner, if he has one great disability for a lover, has yet\none considerable advantage: there is nothing to distract him, and he can\nspend all his hours ripening his love and preparing its manifestations.\nI had been then some days upon a piece of carving,--no less than the\nemblem of Scotland, the Lion Rampant.  This I proceeded to finish with\nwhat skill I was possessed of; and when at last I could do no more to it\n(and, you may be sure, was already regretting I had done so much), added\non the base the following dedication.--\n\n                               A LA BELLE FLORA\n                         LE PRISONNIER RECONNAISSANT\n                             A. D. ST.  Y. D. K.\n\nI put my heart into the carving of these letters.  What was done with so\nmuch ardour, it seemed scarce possible that any should behold with\nindifference; and the initials would at least suggest to her my noble\nbirth.  I thought it better to suggest: I felt that mystery was my\nstock-in-trade; the contrast between my rank and manners, between my\nspeech and my clothing, and the fact that she could only think of me by a\ncombination of letters, must all tend to increase her interest and engage\nher heart.\n\nThis done, there was nothing left for me but to wait and to hope.  And\nthere is nothing further from my character: in love and in war, I am all\nfor the forward movement; and these days of waiting made my purgatory.\nIt is a fact that I loved her a great deal better at the end of them, for\nlove comes, like bread, from a perpetual rehandling.  And besides, I was\nfallen into a panic of fear.  How, if she came no more, how was I to\ncontinue to endure my empty days? how was I to fall back and find my\ninterest in the major's lessons, the lieutenant's chess, in a twopenny\nsale in the market, or a halfpenny addition to the prison fare?\n\nDays went by, and weeks; I had not the courage to calculate, and to-day I\nhave not the courage to remember; but at last she was there.  At last I\nsaw her approach me in the company of a boy about her own age, and whom I\ndivined at once to be her brother.\n\nI rose and bowed in silence.\n\n'This is my brother, Mr. Ronald Gilchrist,' said she.  'I have told him\nof your sufferings.  He is so sorry for you!'\n\n'It is more than I have the right to ask,' I replied; 'but among\ngentlefolk these generous sentiments are natural.  If your brother and I\nwere to meet in the field, we should meet like tigers; but when he sees\nme here disarmed and helpless, he forgets his animosity.'  (At which, as\nI had ventured to expect, this beardless champion coloured to the ears\nfor pleasure.)  'Ah, my dear young lady,' I continued, 'there are many of\nyour countrymen languishing in my country, even as I do here.  I can but\nhope there is found some French lady to convey to each of them the\npriceless consolation of her sympathy.  You have given me alms; and more\nthan alms--hope; and while you were absent I was not forgetful.  Suffer\nme to be able to tell myself that I have at least tried to make a return;\nand for the prisoner's sake deign to accept this trifle.'\n\nSo saying, I offered her my lion, which she took, looked at in some\nembarrassment, and then, catching sight of the dedication, broke out with\na cry.\n\n'Why, how did you know my name?' she exclaimed.\n\n'When names are so appropriate, they should be easily guessed,' said I,\nbowing.  'But indeed, there was no magic in the matter.  A lady called\nyou by name on the day I found your handkerchief, and I was quick to\nremark and cherish it.'\n\n'It is very, very beautiful,' said she, 'and I shall be always proud of\nthe inscription.--Come, Ronald, we must be going.'  She bowed to me as a\nlady bows to her equal, and passed on (I could have sworn) with a\nheightened colour.\n\nI was overjoyed: my innocent ruse had succeeded; she had taken my gift\nwithout a hint of payment, and she would scarce sleep in peace till she\nhad made it up to me.  No greenhorn in matters of the heart, I was\nbesides aware that I had now a resident ambassador at the court of my\nlady.  The lion might be ill chiselled; it was mine.  My hands had made\nand held it; my knife--or, to speak more by the mark, my rusty nail--had\ntraced those letters; and simple as the words were, they would keep\nrepeating to her that I was grateful and that I found her fair.  The boy\nhad looked like a gawky, and blushed at a compliment; I could see besides\nthat he regarded me with considerable suspicion; yet he made so manly a\nfigure of a lad, that I could not withhold from him my sympathy.  And as\nfor the impulse that had made her bring and introduce him, I could not\nsufficiently admire it.  It seemed to me finer than wit, and more tender\nthan a caress.  It said (plain as language), 'I do not and I cannot know\nyou.  Here is my brother--you can know him; this is the way to me--follow\nit.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II--A TALE OF A PAIR OF SCISSORS\n\n\nI was still plunged in these thoughts when the bell was rung that\ndischarged our visitors into the street.  Our little market was no sooner\nclosed than we were summoned to the distribution, and received our\nrations, which we were then allowed to eat according to fancy in any part\nof our quarters.\n\nI have said the conduct of some of our visitors was unbearably offensive;\nit was possibly more so than they dreamed--as the sight-seers at a\nmenagerie may offend in a thousand ways, and quite without meaning it,\nthe noble and unfortunate animals behind the bars; and there is no doubt\nbut some of my compatriots were susceptible beyond reason.  Some of these\nold whiskerandos, originally peasants, trained since boyhood in\nvictorious armies, and accustomed to move among subject and trembling\npopulations, could ill brook their change of circumstance.  There was one\nman of the name of Goguelat, a brute of the first water, who had enjoyed\nno touch of civilisation beyond the military discipline, and had risen by\nan extreme heroism of bravery to a grade for which he was otherwise\nunfitted--that of _marechal des logis_ in the 22nd of the line.  In so\nfar as a brute can be a good soldier, he was a good soldier; the Cross\nwas on his breast, and gallantly earned; but in all things outside his\nline of duty the man was no other than a brawling, bruising ignorant\npillar of low pothouses.  As a gentleman by birth, and a scholar by taste\nand education, I was the type of all that he least understood and most\ndetested; and the mere view of our visitors would leave him daily in a\ntransport of annoyance, which he would make haste to wreak on the nearest\nvictim, and too often on myself.\n\nIt was so now.  Our rations were scarce served out, and I had just\nwithdrawn into a corner of the yard, when I perceived him drawing near.\nHe wore an air of hateful mirth; a set of young fools, among whom he\npassed for a wit, followed him with looks of expectation; and I saw I was\nabout to be the object of some of his insufferable pleasantries.  He took\na place beside me, spread out his rations, drank to me derisively from\nhis measure of prison beer, and began.  What he said it would be\nimpossible to print; but his admirers, who believed their wit to have\nsurpassed himself, actually rolled among the gravel.  For my part, I\nthought at first I should have died.  I had not dreamed the wretch was so\nobservant; but hate sharpens the ears, and he had counted our interviews\nand actually knew Flora by her name.  Gradually my coolness returned to\nme, accompanied by a volume of living anger that surprised myself.\n\n'Are you nearly done?' I asked.  'Because if you are, I am about to say a\nword or two myself.'\n\n'Oh, fair play!' said he.  'Turn about!  The Marquis of Carabas to the\ntribune.'\n\n'Very well,' said I.  'I have to inform you that I am a gentleman.  You\ndo not know what that means, hey?  Well, I will tell you.  It is a\ncomical sort of animal; springs from another strange set of creatures\nthey call ancestors; and, in common with toads and other vermin, has a\nthing that he calls feelings.  The lion is a gentleman; he will not touch\ncarrion.  I am a gentleman, and I cannot bear to soil my fingers with\nsuch a lump of dirt.  Sit still, Philippe Goguelat! sit still and do not\nsay a word, or I shall know you are a coward; the eyes of our guards are\nupon us.  Here is your health!' said I, and pledged him in the prison\nbeer.  'You have chosen to speak in a certain way of a young child,' I\ncontinued, 'who might be your daughter, and who was giving alms to me and\nsome others of us mendicants.  If the Emperor'--saluting--'if my Emperor\ncould hear you, he would pluck off the Cross from your gross body.  I\ncannot do that; I cannot take away what His Majesty has given; but one\nthing I promise you--I promise you, Goguelat, you shall be dead\nto-night.'\n\nI had borne so much from him in the past, I believe he thought there was\nno end to my forbearance, and he was at first amazed.  But I have the\npleasure to think that some of my expressions had pierced through his\nthick hide; and besides, the brute was truly a hero of valour, and loved\nfighting for itself.  Whatever the cause, at least, he had soon pulled\nhimself together, and took the thing (to do him justice) handsomely.\n\n'And I promise you, by the devil's horns, that you shall have the\nchance!' said he, and pledged me again; and again I did him scrupulous\nhonour.\n\nThe news of this defiance spread from prisoner to prisoner with the speed\nof wings; every face was seen to be illuminated like those of the\nspectators at a horse-race; and indeed you must first have tasted the\nactive life of a soldier, and then mouldered for a while in the tedium of\na jail, in order to understand, perhaps even to excuse, the delight of\nour companions.  Goguelat and I slept in the same squad, which greatly\nsimplified the business; and a committee of honour was accordingly formed\nof our shed-mates.  They chose for president a sergeant-major in the 4th\nDragoons, a greybeard of the army, an excellent military subject, and a\ngood man.  He took the most serious view of his functions, visited us\nboth, and reported our replies to the committee.  Mine was of a decent\nfirmness.  I told him the young lady of whom Goguelat had spoken had on\nseveral occasions given me alms.  I reminded him that, if we were now\nreduced to hold out our hands and sell pill-boxes for charity, it was\nsomething very new for soldiers of the Empire.  We had all seen bandits\nstanding at a corner of a wood truckling for copper halfpence, and after\ntheir benefactors were gone spitting out injuries and curses.  'But,'\nsaid I, 'I trust that none of us will fall so low.  As a Frenchman and a\nsoldier, I owe that young child gratitude, and am bound to protect her\ncharacter, and to support that of the army.  You are my elder and my\nsuperior: tell me if I am not right.'\n\nHe was a quiet-mannered old fellow, and patted me with three fingers on\nthe back.  '_C'est bien_, _mon enfant_,' says he, and returned to his\ncommittee.\n\nGoguelat was no more accommodating than myself.  'I do not like apologies\nnor those that make them,' was his only answer.  And there remained\nnothing but to arrange the details of the meeting.  So far as regards\nplace and time we had no choice; we must settle the dispute at night, in\nthe dark, after a round had passed by, and in the open middle of the shed\nunder which we slept.  The question of arms was more obscure.  We had a\ngood many tools, indeed, which we employed in the manufacture of our\ntoys; but they were none of them suited for a single combat between\ncivilised men, and, being nondescript, it was found extremely hard to\nequalise the chances of the combatants.  At length a pair of scissors was\nunscrewed; and a couple of tough wands being found in a corner of the\ncourtyard, one blade of the scissors was lashed solidly to each with\nresined twine--the twine coming I know not whence, but the resin from the\ngreen pillars of the shed, which still sweated from the axe.  It was a\nstrange thing to feel in one's hand this weapon, which was no heavier\nthan a riding-rod, and which it was difficult to suppose would prove more\ndangerous.  A general oath was administered and taken, that no one should\ninterfere in the duel nor (suppose it to result seriously) betray the\nname of the survivor.  And with that, all being then ready, we composed\nourselves to await the moment.\n\nThe evening fell cloudy; not a star was to be seen when the first round\nof the night passed through our shed and wound off along the ramparts;\nand as we took our places, we could still hear, over the murmurs of the\nsurrounding city, the sentries challenging its further passage.  Leclos,\nthe sergeant-major, set us in our stations, engaged our wands, and left\nus.  To avoid blood-stained clothing, my adversary and I had stripped to\nthe shoes; and the chill of the night enveloped our bodies like a wet\nsheet.  The man was better at fencing than myself; he was vastly taller\nthan I, being of a stature almost gigantic, and proportionately strong.\nIn the inky blackness of the shed, it was impossible to see his eyes; and\nfrom the suppleness of the wands, I did not like to trust to a parade.  I\nmade up my mind accordingly to profit, if I might, by my defect; and as\nsoon as the signal should be given, to throw myself down and lunge at the\nsame moment.  It was to play my life upon one card: should I not mortally\nwound him, no defence would be left me; what was yet more appalling, I\nthus ran the risk of bringing my own face against his scissor with the\ndouble force of our assaults, and my face and eyes are not that part of\nme that I would the most readily expose.\n\n'_Allez_!' said the sergeant-major.\n\nBoth lunged in the same moment with an equal fury, and but for my\nmanoeuvre both had certainly been spitted.  As it was, he did no more\nthan strike my shoulder, while my scissor plunged below the girdle into a\nmortal part; and that great bulk of a man, falling from his whole height,\nknocked me immediately senseless.\n\nWhen I came to myself I was laid in my own sleeping-place, and could make\nout in the darkness the outline of perhaps a dozen heads crowded around\nme.  I sat up.  'What is it?' I exclaimed.\n\n'Hush!' said the sergeant-major.  'Blessed be God, all is well.'  I felt\nhim clasp my hand, and there were tears in his voice.  ''Tis but a\nscratch, my child; here is papa, who is taking good care of you.  Your\nshoulder is bound up; we have dressed you in your clothes again, and it\nwill all be well.'\n\nAt this I began to remember.  'And Goguelat?' I gasped.\n\n'He cannot bear to be moved; he has his bellyful; 'tis a bad business,'\nsaid the sergeant-major.\n\nThe idea of having killed a man with such an instrument as half a pair of\nscissors seemed to turn my stomach.  I am sure I might have killed a\ndozen with a firelock, a sabre, a bayonet, or any accepted weapon, and\nbeen visited by no such sickness of remorse.  And to this feeling every\nunusual circumstance of our rencounter, the darkness in which we had\nfought, our nakedness, even the resin on the twine, appeared to\ncontribute.  I ran to my fallen adversary, kneeled by him, and could only\nsob his name.\n\nHe bade me compose myself.  'You have given me the key of the fields,\ncomrade,' said he.  '_Sans rancune_!'\n\nAt this my horror redoubled.  Here had we two expatriated Frenchmen\nengaged in an ill-regulated combat like the battles of beasts.  Here was\nhe, who had been all his life so great a ruffian, dying in a foreign land\nof this ignoble injury, and meeting death with something of the spirit of\na Bayard.  I insisted that the guards should be summoned and a doctor\nbrought.  'It may still be possible to save him,' I cried.\n\nThe sergeant-major reminded me of our engagement.  'If you had been\nwounded,' said he, 'you must have lain there till the patrol came by and\nfound you.  It happens to be Goguelat--and so must he!  Come, child, time\nto go to by-by.'  And as I still resisted, 'Champdivers!' he said, 'this\nis weakness.  You pain me.'\n\n'Ay, off to your beds with you!' said Goguelat, and named us in a company\nwith one of his jovial gross epithets.\n\nAccordingly the squad lay down in the dark and simulated, what they\ncertainly were far from experiencing, sleep.  It was not yet late.  The\ncity, from far below, and all around us, sent up a sound of wheels and\nfeet and lively voices.  Yet awhile, and the curtain of the cloud was\nrent across, and in the space of sky between the eaves of the shed and\nthe irregular outline of the ramparts a multitude of stars appeared.\nMeantime, in the midst of us lay Goguelat, and could not always withhold\nhimself from groaning.\n\nWe heard the round far off; heard it draw slowly nearer.  Last of all, it\nturned the corner and moved into our field of vision: two file of men and\na corporal with a lantern, which he swung to and fro, so as to cast its\nlight in the recesses of the yards and sheds.\n\n'Hullo!' cried the corporal, pausing as he came by Goguelat.\n\nHe stooped with his lantern.  All our hearts were flying.\n\n'What devil's work is this?' he cried, and with a startling voice\nsummoned the guard.\n\nWe were all afoot upon the instant; more lanterns and soldiers crowded in\nfront of the shed; an officer elbowed his way in.  In the midst was the\nbig naked body, soiled with blood.  Some one had covered him with his\nblanket; but as he lay there in agony, he had partly thrown it off.\n\n'This is murder!' cried the officer.  'You wild beasts, you will hear of\nthis to-morrow.'\n\nAs Goguelat was raised and laid upon a stretcher, he cried to us a\ncheerful and blasphemous farewell.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III--MAJOR CHEVENIX COMES INTO THE STORY, AND GOGUELAT GOES OUT\n\n\nThere was never any talk of a recovery, and no time was lost in getting\nthe man's deposition.  He gave but the one account of it: that he had\ncommitted suicide because he was sick of seeing so many Englishmen.  The\ndoctor vowed it was impossible, the nature and direction of the wound\nforbidding it.  Goguelat replied that he was more ingenious than the\nother thought for, and had propped up the weapon in the ground and fallen\non the point--'just like Nebuchadnezzar,' he added, winking to the\nassistants.  The doctor, who was a little, spruce, ruddy man of an\nimpatient temper, pished and pshawed and swore over his patient.\n'Nothing to be made of him!' he cried.  'A perfect heathen.  If we could\nonly find the weapon!'  But the weapon had ceased to exist.  A little\nresined twine was perhaps blowing about in the castle gutters; some bits\nof broken stick may have trailed in corners; and behold, in the pleasant\nair of the morning, a dandy prisoner trimming his nails with a pair of\nscissors!\n\nFinding the wounded man so firm, you may be sure the authorities did not\nleave the rest of us in peace.  No stone was left unturned.  We were had\nin again and again to be examined, now singly, now in twos and threes.\nWe were threatened with all sorts of impossible severities and tempted\nwith all manner of improbable rewards.  I suppose I was five times\ninterrogated, and came off from each with flying colours.  I am like old\nSouvaroff, I cannot understand a soldier being taken aback by any\nquestion; he should answer, as he marches on the fire, with an instant\nbriskness and gaiety.  I may have been short of bread, gold or grace; I\nwas never yet found wanting in an answer.  My comrades, if they were not\nall so ready, were none of them less staunch; and I may say here at once\nthat the inquiry came to nothing at the time, and the death of Goguelat\nremained a mystery of the prison.  Such were the veterans of France!  And\nyet I should be disingenuous if I did not own this was a case apart; in\nordinary circumstances, some one might have stumbled or been intimidated\ninto an admission; and what bound us together with a closeness beyond\nthat of mere comrades was a secret to which we were all committed and a\ndesign in which all were equally engaged.  No need to inquire as to its\nnature: there is only one desire, and only one kind of design, that\nblooms in prisons.  And the fact that our tunnel was near done supported\nand inspired us.\n\nI came off in public, as I have said, with flying colours; the sittings\nof the court of inquiry died away like a tune that no one listens to; and\nyet I was unmasked--I, whom my very adversary defended, as good as\nconfessed, as good as told the nature of the quarrel, and by so doing\nprepared for myself in the future a most anxious, disagreeable adventure.\nIt was the third morning after the duel, and Goguelat was still in life,\nwhen the time came round for me to give Major Chevenix a lesson.  I was\nfond of this occupation; not that he paid me much--no more, indeed, than\neighteenpence a month, the customary figure, being a miser in the grain;\nbut because I liked his breakfasts and (to some extent) himself.  At\nleast, he was a man of education; and of the others with whom I had any\nopportunity of speech, those that would not have held a book upsidedown\nwould have torn the pages out for pipe-lights.  For I must repeat again\nthat our body of prisoners was exceptional: there was in Edinburgh Castle\nnone of that educational busyness that distinguished some of the other\nprisons, so that men entered them unable to read, and left them fit for\nhigh employments.  Chevenix was handsome, and surprisingly young to be a\nmajor: six feet in his stockings, well set up, with regular features and\nvery clear grey eyes.  It was impossible to pick a fault in him, and yet\nthe sum-total was displeasing.  Perhaps he was too clean; he seemed to\nbear about with him the smell of soap.  Cleanliness is good, but I cannot\nbear a man's nails to seem japanned.  And certainly he was too\nself-possessed and cold.  There was none of the fire of youth, none of\nthe swiftness of the soldier, in this young officer.  His kindness was\ncold, and cruel cold; his deliberation exasperating.  And perhaps it was\nfrom this character, which is very much the opposite of my own, that even\nin these days, when he was of service to me, I approached him with\nsuspicion and reserve.\n\nI looked over his exercise in the usual form, and marked six faults.\n\n'H'm.  Six,' says he, looking at the paper.  'Very annoying!  I can never\nget it right.'\n\n'Oh, but you make excellent progress!' I said.  I would not discourage\nhim, you understand, but he was congenitally unable to learn French.\nSome fire, I think, is needful, and he had quenched his fire in soapsuds.\n\nHe put the exercise down, leaned his chin upon his hand, and looked at me\nwith clear, severe eyes.\n\n'I think we must have a little talk,' said he.\n\n'I am entirely at your disposition,' I replied; but I quaked, for I knew\nwhat subject to expect.\n\n'You have been some time giving me these lessons,' he went on, 'and I am\ntempted to think rather well of you.  I believe you are a gentleman.'\n\n'I have that honour, sir,' said I.\n\n'You have seen me for the same period.  I do not know how I strike you;\nbut perhaps you will be prepared to believe that I also am a man of\nhonour,' said he.\n\n'I require no assurances; the thing is manifest,' and I bowed.\n\n'Very well, then,' said he.  'What about this Goguelat?'\n\n'You heard me yesterday before the court,' I began.  'I was awakened\nonly--'\n\n'Oh yes; I \"heard you yesterday before the court,\" no doubt,' he\ninterrupted, 'and I remember perfectly that you were \"awakened only.\"  I\ncould repeat the most of it by rote, indeed.  But do you suppose that I\nbelieved you for a moment?'\n\n'Neither would you believe me if I were to repeat it here,' said I.\n\n'I may be wrong--we shall soon see,' says he; 'but my impression is that\nyou will not \"repeat it here.\"  My impression is that you have come into\nthis room, and that you will tell me something before you go out.'\n\nI shrugged my shoulders.\n\n'Let me explain,' he continued.  'Your evidence, of course, is nonsense.\nI put it by, and the court put it by.'\n\n'My compliments and thanks!' said I.\n\n'You _must_ know--that's the short and the long,' he proceeded.  'All of\nyou in shed B are bound to know.  And I want to ask you where is the\ncommon-sense of keeping up this farce, and maintaining this cock-and-bull\nstory between friends.  Come, come, my good fellow, own yourself beaten,\nand laugh at it yourself.'\n\n'Well, I hear you, go ahead,' said I.  'You put your heart in it.'\n\nHe crossed his legs slowly.  'I can very well understand,' he began,\n'that precautions have had to be taken.  I dare say an oath was\nadministered.  I can comprehend that perfectly.'  (He was watching me all\nthe time with his cold, bright eyes.)  'And I can comprehend that, about\nan affair of honour, you would be very particular to keep it.'\n\n'About an affair of honour?' I repeated, like a man quite puzzled.\n\n'It was not an affair of honour, then?' he asked.\n\n'What was not?  I do not follow,' said I.\n\nHe gave no sign of impatience; simply sat awhile silent, and began again\nin the same placid and good-natured voice: 'The court and I were at one\nin setting aside your evidence.  It could not deceive a child.  But there\nwas a difference between myself and the other officers, because _I knew\nmy man_ and they did not.  They saw in you a common soldier, and I knew\nyou for a gentleman.  To them your evidence was a leash of lies, which\nthey yawned to hear you telling.  Now, I was asking myself, how far will\na gentleman go?  Not surely so far as to help hush a murder up?  So\nthat--when I heard you tell how you knew nothing of the matter, and were\nonly awakened by the corporal, and all the rest of it--I translated your\nstatements into something else.  Now, Champdivers,' he cried, springing\nup lively and coming towards me with animation, 'I am going to tell you\nwhat that was, and you are going to help me to see justice done: how, I\ndon't know, for of course you are under oath--but somehow.  Mark what I'm\ngoing to say.'\n\nAt that moment he laid a heavy, hard grip upon my shoulder; and whether\nhe said anything more or came to a full stop at once, I am sure I could\nnot tell you to this day.  For, as the devil would have it, the shoulder\nhe laid hold of was the one Goguelat had pinked.  The wound was but a\nscratch; it was healing with the first intention; but in the clutch of\nMajor Chevenix it gave me agony.  My head swam; the sweat poured off my\nface; I must have grown deadly pale.\n\nHe removed his hand as suddenly as he had laid it there.  'What is wrong\nwith you?' said he.\n\n'It is nothing,' said I.  'A qualm.  It has gone by.'\n\n'Are you sure?' said he.  'You are as white as a sheet.'\n\n'Oh no, I assure you!  Nothing whatever.  I am my own man again,' I said,\nthough I could scarce command my tongue.\n\n'Well, shall I go on again?' says he.  'Can you follow me?'\n\n'Oh, by all means!' said I, and mopped my streaming face upon my sleeve,\nfor you may be sure in those days I had no handkerchief.\n\n'If you are sure you can follow me.  That was a very sudden and sharp\nseizure,' he said doubtfully.  'But if you are sure, all right, and here\ngoes.  An affair of honour among you fellows would, naturally, be a\nlittle difficult to carry out, perhaps it would be impossible to have it\nwholly regular.  And yet a duel might be very irregular in form, and,\nunder the peculiar circumstances of the case, loyal enough in effect.  Do\nyou take me?  Now, as a gentleman and a soldier.'\n\nHis hand rose again at the words and hovered over me.  I could bear no\nmore, and winced away from him.  'No,' I cried,  'not that.  Do not put\nyour hand upon my shoulder.  I cannot bear it.  It is rheumatism,' I made\nhaste to add.  'My shoulder is inflamed and very painful.'\n\nHe returned to his chair and deliberately lighted a cigar.\n\n'I am sorry about your shoulder,' he said at last.  'Let me send for the\ndoctor.'\n\n'Not in the least,' said I.  'It is a trifle.  I am quite used to it.  It\ndoes not trouble me in the smallest.  At any rate, I don't believe in\ndoctors.'\n\n'All right,' said he, and sat and smoked a good while in a silence which\nI would have given anything to break.  'Well,' he began presently, 'I\nbelieve there is nothing left for me to learn.  I presume I may say that\nI know all.'\n\n'About what?' said I boldly.\n\n'About Goguelat,' said he.\n\n'I beg your pardon.  I cannot conceive,' said I.\n\n'Oh,' says the major, 'the man fell in a duel, and by your hand!  I am\nnot an infant.'\n\n'By no means,' said I.  'But you seem to me to be a good deal of a\ntheorist.'\n\n'Shall we test it?' he asked.  'The doctor is close by.  If there is not\nan open wound on your shoulder, I am wrong.  If there is--'  He waved his\nhand.  'But I advise you to think twice.  There is a deuce of a nasty\ndrawback to the experiment--that what might have remained private between\nus two becomes public property.'\n\n'Oh, well!' said I, with a laugh, 'anything rather than a doctor!  I\ncannot bear the breed.'\n\nHis last words had a good deal relieved me, but I was still far from\ncomfortable.\n\nMajor Chevenix smoked awhile, looking now at his cigar ash, now at me.\n'I'm a soldier myself,' he says presently, 'and I've been out in my time\nand hit my man.  I don't want to run any one into a corner for an affair\nthat was at all necessary or correct.  At the same time, I want to know\nthat much, and I'll take your word of honour for it.  Otherwise, I shall\nbe very sorry, but the doctor must be called in.'\n\n'I neither admit anything nor deny anything,' I returned.  'But if this\nform of words will suffice you, here is what I say: I give you my parole,\nas a gentleman and a soldier, there has nothing taken place amongst us\nprisoners that was not honourable as the day.'\n\n'All right,' says he.  'That was all I wanted.  You can go now,\nChampdivers.'\n\nAnd as I was going out he added, with a laugh: 'By the bye, I ought to\napologise: I had no idea I was applying the torture!'\n\nThe same afternoon the doctor came into the courtyard with a piece of\npaper in his hand.  He seemed hot and angry, and had certainly no mind to\nbe polite.\n\n'Here!' he cried.  'Which of you fellows knows any English?  Oh!'--spying\nme--'there you are, what's your name!  _You'll_ do.  Tell these fellows\nthat the other fellow's dying.  He's booked; no use talking; I expect\nhe'll go by evening.  And tell them I don't envy the feelings of the\nfellow who spiked him.  Tell them that first.'\n\nI did so.\n\n'Then you can tell 'em,' he resumed, 'that the fellow, Goggle--what's his\nname?--wants to see some of them before he gets his marching orders.  If\nI got it right, he wants to kiss or embrace you, or some sickening stuff.\nGot that?  Then here's a list he's had written, and you'd better read it\nout to them--I can't make head or tail of your beastly names--and they\ncan answer _present_, and fall in against that wall.'\n\nIt was with a singular movement of incongruous feelings that I read the\nfirst name on the list.  I had no wish to look again on my own handiwork;\nmy flesh recoiled from the idea; and how could I be sure what reception\nhe designed to give me?  The cure was in my own hand; I could pass that\nfirst name over--the doctor would not know--and I might stay away.  But\nto the subsequent great gladness of my heart, I did not dwell for an\ninstant on the thought, walked over to the designated wall, faced about,\nread out the name 'Champdivers,' and answered myself with the word\n'Present.'\n\nThere were some half dozen on the list, all told; and as soon as we were\nmustered, the doctor led the way to the hospital, and we followed after,\nlike a fatigue party, in single file.  At the door he paused, told us\n'the fellow' would see each of us alone, and, as soon as I had explained\nthat, sent me by myself into the ward.  It was a small room, whitewashed;\na south window stood open on a vast depth of air and a spacious and\ndistant prospect; and from deep below, in the Grassmarket the voices of\nhawkers came up clear and far away.  Hard by, on a little bed, lay\nGoguelat.  The sunburn had not yet faded from his face, and the stamp of\ndeath was already there.  There was something wild and unmannish in his\nsmile, that took me by the throat; only death and love know or have ever\nseen it.  And when he spoke, it seemed to shame his coarse talk.\n\nHe held out his arms as if to embrace me.  I drew near with incredible\nshrinkings, and surrendered myself to his arms with overwhelming disgust.\nBut he only drew my ear down to his lips.\n\n'Trust me,' he whispered.  '_Je suis bon bougre_, _moi_.  I'll take it to\nhell with me, and tell the devil.'\n\nWhy should I go on to reproduce his grossness and trivialities?  All that\nhe thought, at that hour, was even noble, though he could not clothe it\notherwise than in the language of a brutal farce.  Presently he bade me\ncall the doctor; and when that officer had come in, raised a little up in\nhis bed, pointed first to himself and then to me, who stood weeping by\nhis side, and several times repeated the expression, 'Frinds--frinds--dam\nfrinds.'\n\nTo my great surprise, the doctor appeared very much affected.  He nodded\nhis little bob-wigged head at us, and said repeatedly, 'All right,\nJohnny--me comprong.'\n\nThen Goguelat shook hands with me, embraced me again, and I went out of\nthe room sobbing like an infant.\n\nHow often have I not seen it, that the most unpardonable fellows make the\nhappiest exits!  It is a fate we may well envy them.  Goguelat was\ndetested in life; in the last three days, by his admirable staunchness\nand consideration, he won every heart; and when word went about the\nprison the same evening that he was no more, the voice of conversation\nbecame hushed as in a house of mourning.\n\nFor myself I was like a man distracted; I cannot think what ailed me:\nwhen I awoke the following day, nothing remained of it; but that night I\nwas filled with a gloomy fury of the nerves.  I had killed him; he had\ndone his utmost to protect me; I had seen him with that awful smile.  And\nso illogical and useless is this sentiment of remorse, that I was ready,\nat a word or a look, to quarrel with somebody else.  I presume the\ndisposition of my mind was imprinted on my face; and when, a little\nafter, I overtook, saluted and addressed the doctor, he looked on me with\ncommiseration and surprise.\n\nI had asked him if it was true.\n\n'Yes,' he said, 'the fellow's gone.'\n\n'Did he suffer much?' I asked.\n\n'Devil a bit; passed away like a lamb,' said he.  He looked on me a\nlittle, and I saw his hand go to his fob.  'Here, take that! no sense in\nfretting,' he said, and, putting a silver two-penny-bit in my hand, he\nleft me.\n\nI should have had that twopenny framed to hang upon the wall, for it was\nthe man's one act of charity in all my knowledge of him.  Instead of\nthat, I stood looking at it in my hand and laughed out bitterly, as I\nrealised his mistake; then went to the ramparts, and flung it far into\nthe air like blood money.  The night was falling; through an embrasure\nand across the gardened valley I saw the lamplighters hasting along\nPrinces Street with ladder and lamp, and looked on moodily.  As I was so\nstanding a hand was laid upon my shoulder, and I turned about.  It was\nMajor Chevenix, dressed for the evening, and his neckcloth really\nadmirably folded.  I never denied the man could dress.\n\n'Ah!' said he, 'I thought it was you, Champdivers.  So he's gone?'\n\nI nodded.\n\n'Come, come,' said he, 'you must cheer up.  Of course it's very\ndistressing, very painful and all that.  But do you know, it ain't such a\nbad thing either for you or me?  What with his death and your visit to\nhim I am entirely reassured.'\n\nSo I was to owe my life to Goguelat at every point.\n\n'I had rather not discuss it,' said I.\n\n'Well,' said he, 'one word more, and I'll agree to bury the subject.\nWhat did you fight about?'\n\n'Oh, what do men ever fight about?' I cried.\n\n'A lady?' said he.\n\nI shrugged my shoulders.\n\n'Deuce you did!' said he.  'I should scarce have thought it of him.'\n\nAnd at this my ill-humour broke fairly out in words.  'He!' I cried.  'He\nnever dared to address her--only to look at her and vomit his vile\ninsults!  She may have given him sixpence: if she did, it may take him to\nheaven yet!'\n\nAt this I became aware of his eyes set upon me with a considering look,\nand brought up sharply.\n\n'Well, well,' said he.  'Good night to you, Champdivers.  Come to me at\nbreakfast-time to-morrow, and we'll talk of other subjects.'\n\nI fully admit the man's conduct was not bad: in writing it down so long\nafter the events I can even see that it was good.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV--ST. IVES GETS A BUNDLE OF BANK NOTES\n\n\nI was surprised one morning, shortly after, to find myself the object of\nmarked consideration by a civilian and a stranger.  This was a man of the\nmiddle age; he had a face of a mulberry colour, round black eyes, comical\ntufted eyebrows, and a protuberant forehead; and was dressed in clothes\nof a Quakerish cut.  In spite of his plainness, he had that inscrutable\nair of a man well-to-do in his affairs.  I conceived he had been some\nwhile observing me from a distance, for a sparrow sat betwixt us quite\nunalarmed on the breech of a piece of cannon.  So soon as our eyes met,\nhe drew near and addressed me in the French language, which he spoke with\na good fluency but an abominable accent.\n\n'I have the pleasure of addressing Monsieur le Vicomte Anne de Keroual de\nSaint-Yves?' said he.\n\n'Well,' said I, 'I do not call myself all that; but I have a right to, if\nI chose.  In the meanwhile I call myself plain Champdivers, at your\ndisposal.  It was my mother's name, and good to go soldiering with.'\n\n'I think not quite,' said he; 'for if I remember rightly, your mother\nalso had the particle.  Her name was Florimonde de Champdivers.'\n\n'Right again!' said I, 'and I am extremely pleased to meet a gentleman so\nwell informed in my quarterings.  Is monsieur Born himself?'  This I said\nwith a great air of assumption, partly to conceal the degree of curiosity\nwith which my visitor had inspired me, and in part because it struck me\nas highly incongruous and comical in my prison garb and on the lips of a\nprivate soldier.\n\nHe seemed to think so too, for he laughed.\n\n'No, sir,' he returned, speaking this time in English; 'I am not\n\"_born_,\" as you call it, and must content myself with _dying_, of which\nI am equally susceptible with the best of you.  My name is Mr.\nRomaine--Daniel Romaine--a solicitor of London City, at your service;\nand, what will perhaps interest you more, I am here at the request of\nyour great-uncle, the Count.'\n\n'What!' I cried, 'does M. de Keroual de St.-Yves remember the existence\nof such a person as myself, and will he deign to count kinship with a\nsoldier of Napoleon?'\n\n'You speak English well,' observed my visitor.\n\n'It has been a second language to me from a child,' said I.  'I had an\nEnglish nurse; my father spoke English with me; and I was finished by a\ncountryman of yours and a dear friend of mine, a Mr. Vicary.'\n\nA strong expression of interest came into the lawyer's face.\n\n'What!' he cried, 'you knew poor Vicary?'\n\n'For more than a year,' said I; 'and shared his hiding-place for many\nmonths.'\n\n'And I was his clerk, and have succeeded him in business,' said he.\n'Excellent man!  It was on the affairs of M. de Keroual that he went to\nthat accursed country, from which he was never destined to return.  Do\nyou chance to know his end, sir?'\n\n'I am sorry,' said I, 'I do.  He perished miserably at the hands of a\ngang of banditti, such as we call _chauffeurs_.  In a word, he was\ntortured, and died of it.  See,' I added, kicking off one shoe, for I had\nno stockings; 'I was no more than a child, and see how they had begun to\ntreat myself.'\n\nHe looked at the mark of my old burn with a certain shrinking.  'Beastly\npeople!' I heard him mutter to himself.\n\n'The English may say so with a good grace,' I observed politely.\n\nSuch speeches were the coin in which I paid my way among this credulous\nrace.  Ninety per cent. of our visitors would have accepted the remark as\nnatural in itself and creditable to my powers of judgment, but it\nappeared my lawyer was more acute.\n\n'You are not entirely a fool, I perceive,' said he.\n\n'No,' said I; 'not wholly.'\n\n'And yet it is well to beware of the ironical mood,' he continued.  'It\nis a dangerous instrument.  Your great-uncle has, I believe, practised it\nvery much, until it is now become a problem what he means.'\n\n'And that brings me back to what you will admit is a most natural\ninquiry,' said I.  'To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? how did\nyou recognise me? and how did you know I was here?'\n\nCarefull separating his coat skirts, the lawyer took a seat beside me on\nthe edge of the flags.\n\n'It is rather an odd story,' says he, 'and, with your leave, I'll answer\nthe second question first.  It was from a certain resemblance you bear to\nyour cousin, M. le Vicomte.'\n\n'I trust, sir, that I resemble him advantageously?' said I.\n\n'I hasten to reassure you,' was the reply: 'you do.  To my eyes, M. Alain\nde St.-Yves has scarce a pleasing exterior.  And yet, when I knew you\nwere here, and was actually looking for you--why, the likeness helped.\nAs for how I came to know your whereabouts, by an odd enough chance, it\nis again M. Alain we have to thank.  I should tell you, he has for some\ntime made it his business to keep M. de Keroual informed of your career;\nwith what purpose I leave you to judge.  When he first brought the news\nof your--that you were serving Buonaparte, it seemed it might be the\ndeath of the old gentleman, so hot was his resentment.  But from one\nthing to another, matters have a little changed.  Or I should rather say,\nnot a little.  We learned you were under orders for the Peninsula, to\nfight the English; then that you had been commissioned for a piece of\nbravery, and were again reduced to the ranks.  And from one thing to\nanother (as I say), M. de Keroual became used to the idea that you were\nhis kinsman and yet served with Buonaparte, and filled instead with\nwonder that he should have another kinsman who was so remarkably well\ninformed of events in France.  And it now became a very disagreeable\nquestion, whether the young gentleman was not a spy?  In short, sir, in\nseeking to disserve you, he had accumulated against himself a load of\nsuspicions.'\n\nMy visitor now paused, took snuff, and looked at me with an air of\nbenevolence.\n\n'Good God, sir!' says I, 'this is a curious story.'\n\n'You will say so before I have done,' said he.  'For there have two\nevents followed.  The first of these was an encounter of M. de Keroual\nand M. de Mauseant.'\n\n'I know the man to my cost,' said I: 'it was through him I lost my\ncommission.'\n\n'Do you tell me so?' he cried.  'Why, here is news!'\n\n'Oh, I cannot complain!' said I.  'I was in the wrong.  I did it with my\neyes open.  If a man gets a prisoner to guard and lets him go, the least\nhe can expect is to be degraded.'\n\n'You will be paid for it,' said he.  'You did well for yourself and\nbetter for your king.'\n\n'If I had thought I was injuring my emperor,' said I, 'I would have let\nM. de Mauseant burn in hell ere I had helped him, and be sure of that!  I\nsaw in him only a private person in a difficulty: I let him go in private\ncharity; not even to profit myself will I suffer it to be misunderstood.'\n\n'Well, well,' said the lawyer, 'no matter now.  This is a foolish\nwarmth--a very misplaced enthusiasm, believe me!  The point of the story\nis that M. de Mauseant spoke of you with gratitude, and drew your\ncharacter in such a manner as greatly to affect your uncle's views.  Hard\nupon the back of which, in came your humble servant, and laid before him\nthe direct proof of what we had been so long suspecting.  There was no\ndubiety permitted.  M. Alain's expensive way of life, his clothes and\nmistresses, his dicing and racehorses, were all explained: he was in the\npay of Buonaparte, a hired spy, and a man that held the strings of what I\ncan only call a convolution of extremely fishy enterprises.  To do M. de\nKeroual justice, he took it in the best way imaginable, destroyed the\nevidences of the one great-nephew's disgrace--and transferred his\ninterest wholly to the other.'\n\n'What am I to understand by that?' said I.\n\n'I will tell you,' says he.  'There is a remarkable inconsistency in\nhuman nature which gentlemen of my cloth have a great deal of occasion to\nobserve.  Selfish persons can live without chick or child, they can live\nwithout all mankind except perhaps the barber and the apothecary; but\nwhen it comes to dying, they seem physically unable to die without an\nheir.  You can apply this principle for yourself.  Viscount Alain, though\nhe scarce guesses it, is no longer in the field.  Remains, Viscount\nAnne.'\n\n'I see,' said I, 'you give a very unfavourable impression of my uncle,\nthe Count.'\n\n'I had not meant it,' said he.  'He has led a loose life--sadly\nloose--but he is a man it is impossible to know and not to admire; his\ncourtesy is exquisite.'\n\n'And so you think there is actually a chance for me?' I asked.\n\n'Understand,' said he: 'in saying as much as I have done, I travel quite\nbeyond my brief.  I have been clothed with no capacity to talk of wills,\nor heritages, or your cousin.  I was sent here to make but the one\ncommunication: that M. de Keroual desires to meet his great-nephew.'\n\n'Well,' said I, looking about me on the battlements by which we sat\nsurrounded, 'this is a case in which Mahomet must certainly come to the\nmountain.'\n\n'Pardon me,' said Mr. Romaine; 'you know already your uncle is an aged\nman; but I have not yet told you that he is quite broken up, and his\ndeath shortly looked for.  No, no, there is no doubt about it--it is the\nmountain that must come to Mahomet.'\n\n'From an Englishman, the remark is certainly significant,' said I; 'but\nyou are of course, and by trade, a keeper of men's secrets, and I see you\nkeep that of Cousin Alain, which is not the mark of a truculent\npatriotism, to say the least.'\n\n'I am first of all the lawyer of your family!' says he.\n\n'That being so,' said I, 'I can perhaps stretch a point myself.  This\nrock is very high, and it is very steep; a man might come by a devil of a\nfall from almost any part of it, and yet I believe I have a pair of wings\nthat might carry me just so far as to the bottom.  Once at the bottom I\nam helpless.'\n\n'And perhaps it is just then that I could step in,' returned the lawyer.\n'Suppose by some contingency, at which I make no guess, and on which I\noffer no opinion--'\n\nBut here I interrupted him.  'One word ere you go further.  I am under no\nparole,' said I.\n\n'I understood so much,' he replied, 'although some of you French gentry\nfind their word sit lightly on them.'\n\n'Sir, I am not one of those,' said I.\n\n'To do you plain justice, I do not think you one,' said he.  'Suppose\nyourself, then, set free and at the bottom of the rock,' he continued,\n'although I may not be able to do much, I believe I can do something to\nhelp you on your road.  In the first place I would carry this, whether in\nan inside pocket or my shoe.'  And he passed me a bundle of bank notes.\n\n'No harm in that,' said I, at once concealing them.\n\n'In the second place,' he resumed, 'it is a great way from here to where\nyour uncle lives--Amersham Place, not far from Dunstable; you have a\ngreat part of Britain to get through; and for the first stages, I must\nleave you to your own luck and ingenuity.  I have no acquaintance here in\nScotland, or at least' (with a grimace) 'no dishonest ones.  But further\nto the south, about Wakefield, I am told there is a gentleman called\nBurchell Fenn, who is not so particular as some others, and might be\nwilling to give you a cast forward.  In fact, sir, I believe it's the\nman's trade: a piece of knowledge that burns my mouth.  But that is what\nyou get by meddling with rogues; and perhaps the biggest rogue now\nextant, M. de Saint-Yves, is your cousin, M. Alain.'\n\n'If this be a man of my cousin's,' I observed, 'I am perhaps better to\nkeep clear of him?'\n\n'It was through some paper of your cousin's that we came across his\ntrail,' replied the lawyer.  'But I am inclined to think, so far as\nanything is safe in such a nasty business, you might apply to the man\nFenn.  You might even, I think, use the Viscount's name; and the little\ntrick of family resemblance might come in.  How, for instance, if you\nwere to call yourself his brother?'\n\n'It might be done,' said I.  'But look here a moment?  You propose to me\na very difficult game: I have apparently a devil of an opponent in my\ncousin; and, being a prisoner of war, I can scarcely be said to hold good\ncards.  For what stakes, then, am I playing?'\n\n'They are very large,' said he.  'Your great-uncle is immensely\nrich--immensely rich.  He was wise in time; he smelt the revolution long\nbefore; sold all that he could, and had all that was movable transported\nto England through my firm.  There are considerable estates in England;\nAmersham Place itself is very fine; and he has much money, wisely\ninvested.  He lives, indeed, like a prince.  And of what use is it to\nhim?  He has lost all that was worth living for--his family, his country;\nhe has seen his king and queen murdered; he has seen all these miseries\nand infamies,' pursued the lawyer, with a rising inflection and a\nheightening colour; and then broke suddenly off,--'In short, sir, he has\nseen all the advantages of that government for which his nephew carries\narms, and he has the misfortune not to like them.'\n\n'You speak with a bitterness that I suppose I must excuse,' said I; 'yet\nwhich of us has the more reason to be bitter?  This man, my uncle, M. de\nKeroual, fled.  My parents, who were less wise perhaps, remained.  In the\nbeginning, they were even republicans; to the end they could not be\npersuaded to despair of the people.  It was a glorious folly, for which,\nas a son, I reverence them.  First one and then the other perished.  If I\nhave any mark of a gentleman, all who taught me died upon the scaffold,\nand my last school of manners was the prison of the Abbaye.  Do you think\nyou can teach bitterness to a man with a history like mine?'\n\n'I have no wish to try,' said he.  'And yet there is one point I cannot\nunderstand: I cannot understand that one of your blood and experience\nshould serve the Corsican.  I cannot understand it: it seems as though\neverything generous in you must rise against that--domination.'\n\n'And perhaps,' I retorted, 'had your childhood passed among wolves, you\nwould have been overjoyed yourself to see the Corsican Shepherd.'\n\n'Well, well,' replied Mr. Romaine, 'it may be.  There are things that do\nnot bear discussion.'\n\nAnd with a wave of his hand he disappeared abruptly down a flight of\nsteps and under the shadow of a ponderous arch.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V--ST. IVES IS SHOWN A HOUSE\n\n\nThe lawyer was scarce gone before I remembered many omissions; and chief\namong these, that I had neglected to get Mr. Burchell Fenn's address.\nHere was an essential point neglected; and I ran to the head of the\nstairs to find myself already too late.  The lawyer was beyond my view;\nin the archway that led downward to the castle gate, only the red coat\nand the bright arms of a sentry glittered in the shadow; and I could but\nreturn to my place upon the ramparts.\n\nI am not very sure that I was properly entitled to this corner.  But I\nwas a high favourite; not an officer, and scarce a private, in the castle\nwould have turned me back, except upon a thing of moment; and whenever I\ndesired to be solitary, I was suffered to sit here behind my piece of\ncannon unmolested.  The cliff went down before me almost sheer, but\nmantled with a thicket of climbing trees; from farther down, an outwork\nraised its turret; and across the valley I had a view of that long\nterrace of Princes Street which serves as a promenade to the fashionable\ninhabitants of Edinburgh.  A singularity in a military prison, that it\nshould command a view on the chief thoroughfare!\n\nIt is not necessary that I should trouble you with the train of my\nreflections, which turned upon the interview I had just concluded and the\nhopes that were now opening before me.  What is more essential, my eye\n(even while I thought) kept following the movement of the passengers on\nPrinces Street, as they passed briskly to and fro--met, greeted, and\nbowed to each other--or entered and left the shops, which are in that\nquarter, and, for a town of the Britannic provinces, particularly fine.\nMy mind being busy upon other things, the course of my eye was the more\nrandom; and it chanced that I followed, for some time, the advance of a\nyoung gentleman with a red head and a white great-coat, for whom I cared\nnothing at the moment, and of whom it is probable I shall be gathered to\nmy fathers without learning more.  He seemed to have a large\nacquaintance: his hat was for ever in his hand; and I daresay I had\nalready observed him exchanging compliments with half a dozen, when he\ndrew up at last before a young man and a young lady whose tall persons\nand gallant carriage I thought I recognised.\n\nIt was impossible at such a distance that I could be sure, but the\nthought was sufficient, and I craned out of the embrasure to follow them\nas long as possible.  To think that such emotions, that such a concussion\nof the blood, may have been inspired by a chance resemblance, and that I\nmay have stood and thrilled there for a total stranger!  This distant\nview, at least, whether of Flora or of some one else, changed in a moment\nthe course of my reflections.  It was all very well, and it was highly\nneedful, I should see my uncle; but an uncle, a great-uncle at that, and\none whom I had never seen, leaves the imagination cold; and if I were to\nleave the castle, I might never again have the opportunity of finding\nFlora.  The little impression I had made, even supposing I had made any,\nhow soon it would die out! how soon I should sink to be a phantom memory,\nwith which (in after days) she might amuse a husband and children!  No,\nthe impression must be clenched, the wax impressed with the seal, ere I\nleft Edinburgh.  And at this the two interests that were now contending\nin my bosom came together and became one.  I wished to see Flora again;\nand I wanted some one to further me in my flight and to get me new\nclothes.  The conclusion was apparent.  Except for persons in the\ngarrison itself, with whom it was a point of honour and military duty to\nretain me captive, I knew, in the whole country of Scotland, these two\nalone.  If it were to be done at all, they must be my helpers.  To tell\nthem of my designed escape while I was still in bonds, would be to lay\nbefore them a most difficult choice.  What they might do in such a case,\nI could not in the least be sure of, for (the same case arising) I was\nfar from sure what I should do myself.  It was plain I must escape first.\nWhen the harm was done, when I was no more than a poor wayside fugitive,\nI might apply to them with less offence and more security.  To this end\nit became necessary that I should find out where they lived and how to\nreach it; and feeling a strong confidence that they would soon return to\nvisit me, I prepared a series of baits with which to angle for my\ninformation.  It will be seen the first was good enough.\n\nPerhaps two days after, Master Ronald put in an appearance by himself.  I\nhad no hold upon the boy, and pretermitted my design till I should have\nlaid court to him and engaged his interest.  He was prodigiously\nembarrassed, not having previously addressed me otherwise than by a bow\nand blushes; and he advanced to me with an air of one stubbornly\nperforming a duty, like a raw soldier under fire.  I laid down my\ncarving; greeted him with a good deal of formality, such as I thought he\nwould enjoy; and finding him to remain silent, branched off into\nnarratives of my campaigns such as Goguelat himself might have scrupled\nto endorse.  He visibly thawed and brightened; drew more near to where I\nsat; forgot his timidity so far as to put many questions; and at last,\nwith another blush, informed me he was himself expecting a commission.\n\n'Well,' said I, 'they are fine troops, your British troops in the\nPeninsula.  A young gentleman of spirit may well be proud to be engaged\nat the head of such soldiers.'\n\n'I know that,' he said; 'I think of nothing else.  I think shame to be\ndangling here at home and going through with this foolery of education,\nwhile others, no older than myself, are in the field.'\n\n'I cannot blame you,' said I.  'I have felt the same myself.'\n\n'There are--there are no troops, are there, quite so good as ours?' he\nasked.\n\n'Well,' said I, 'there is a point about them: they have a defect,--they\nare not to be trusted in a retreat.  I have seen them behave very ill in\na retreat.'\n\n'I believe that is our national character,' he said--God forgive\nhim!--with an air of pride.\n\n'I have seen your national character running away at least, and had the\nhonour to run after it!' rose to my lips, but I was not so ill advised as\nto give it utterance.  Every one should be flattered, but boys and women\nwithout stint; and I put in the rest of the afternoon narrating to him\ntales of British heroism, for which I should not like to engage that they\nwere all true.\n\n'I am quite surprised,' he said at last.  'People tell you the French are\ninsincere.  Now, I think your sincerity is beautiful.  I think you have a\nnoble character.  I admire you very much.  I am very grateful for your\nkindness to--to one so young,' and he offered me his hand.\n\n'I shall see you again soon?' said I.\n\n'Oh, now!  Yes, very soon,' said he.  'I--I wish to tell you.  I would\nnot let Flora--Miss Gilchrist, I mean--come to-day.  I wished to see more\nof you myself.  I trust you are not offended: you know, one should be\ncareful about strangers.'\n\nI approved his caution, and he took himself away: leaving me in a mixture\nof contrarious feelings, part ashamed to have played on one so gullible,\npart raging that I should have burned so much incense before the vanity\nof England; yet, in the bottom of my soul, delighted to think I had made\na friend--or, at least, begun to make a friend--of Flora's brother.\n\nAs I had half expected, both made their appearance the next day.  I\nstruck so fine a shade betwixt the pride that is allowed to soldiers and\nthe sorrowful humility that befits a captive, that I declare, as I went\nto meet them, I might have afforded a subject for a painter.  So much was\nhigh comedy, I must confess; but so soon as my eyes lighted full on her\ndark face and eloquent eyes, the blood leaped into my cheeks--and that\nwas nature!  I thanked them, but not the least with exultation; it was my\ncue to be mournful, and to take the pair of them as one.\n\n'I have been thinking,' I said, 'you have been so good to me, both of\nyou, stranger and prisoner as I am, that I have been thinking how I could\ntestify to my gratitude.  It may seem a strange subject for a confidence,\nbut there is actually no one here, even of my comrades, that knows me by\nmy name and title.  By these I am called plain Champdivers, a name to\nwhich I have a right, but not the name which I should bear, and which\n(but a little while ago) I must hide like a crime.  Miss Flora, suffer me\nto present to you the Vicomte Anne de Keroual de Saint-Yves, a private\nsoldier.'\n\n'I knew it!' cried the boy; 'I knew he was a noble!'\n\nAnd I thought the eyes of Miss Flora said the same, but more\npersuasively.  All through this interview she kept them on the ground, or\nonly gave them to me for a moment at a time, and with a serious\nsweetness.\n\n'You may conceive, my friends, that this is rather a painful confession,'\nI continued.  'To stand here before you, vanquished, a prisoner in a\nfortress, and take my own name upon my lips, is painful to the proud.\nAnd yet I wished that you should know me.  Long after this, we may yet\nhear of one another--perhaps Mr. Gilchrist and myself in the field and\nfrom opposing camps--and it would be a pity if we heard and did not\nrecognise.'\n\nThey were both moved; and began at once to press upon me offers of\nservice, such as to lend me books, get me tobacco if I used it, and the\nlike.  This would have been all mighty welcome, before the tunnel was\nready.  Now it signified no more to me than to offer the transition I\nrequired.\n\n'My dear friends,' I said--'for you must allow me to call you that, who\nhave no others within so many hundred leagues--perhaps you will think me\nfanciful and sentimental; and perhaps indeed I am; but there is one\nservice that I would beg of you before all others.  You see me set here\non the top of this rock in the midst of your city.  Even with what\nliberty I have, I have the opportunity to see a myriad roofs, and I dare\nto say, thirty leagues of sea and land.  All this hostile!  Under all\nthese roofs my enemies dwell; wherever I see the smoke of a house rising,\nI must tell myself that some one sits before the chimney and reads with\njoy of our reverses.  Pardon me, dear friends, I know that you must do\nthe same, and I do not grudge at it!  With you, it is all different.\nShow me your house then, were it only the chimney, or, if that be not\nvisible, the quarter of the town in which it lies!  So, when I look all\nabout me, I shall be able to say: \"_There is one house in which I am not\nquite unkindly thought of_.\"'\n\nFlora stood a moment.\n\n'It is a pretty thought,' said she, 'and, as far as regards Ronald and\nmyself, a true one.  Come, I believe I can show you the very smoke out of\nour chimney.'\n\nSo saying, she carried me round the battlements towards the opposite or\nsouthern side of the fortress, and indeed to a bastion almost immediately\noverlooking the place of our projected flight.  Thence we had a view of\nsome foreshortened suburbs at our feet, and beyond of a green, open, and\nirregular country rising towards the Pentland Hills.  The face of one of\nthese summits (say two leagues from where we stood) is marked with a\nprocession of white scars.  And to this she directed my attention.\n\n'You see these marks?' she said.  'We call them the Seven Sisters.\nFollow a little lower with your eye, and you will see a fold of the hill,\nthe tops of some trees, and a tail of smoke out of the midst of them.\nThat is Swanston Cottage, where my brother and I are living with my aunt.\nIf it gives you pleasure to see it, I am glad.  We, too, can see the\ncastle from a corner in the garden, and we go there in the morning\noften--do we not, Ronald?--and we think of you, M. de Saint-Yves; but I\nam afraid it does not altogether make us glad.'\n\n'Mademoiselle!' said I, and indeed my voice was scarce under command, 'if\nyou knew how your generous words--how even the sight of you--relieved the\nhorrors of this place, I believe, I hope, I know, you would be glad.  I\nwill come here daily and look at that dear chimney and these green hills,\nand bless you from the heart, and dedicate to you the prayers of this\npoor sinner.  Ah!  I do not say they can avail!'\n\n'Who can say that, M. de Saint-Yves?' she said softly.  'But I think it\nis time we should be going.'\n\n'High time,' said Ronald, whom (to say the truth) I had a little\nforgotten.\n\nOn the way back, as I was laying myself out to recover lost ground with\nthe youth, and to obliterate, if possible, the memory of my last and\nsomewhat too fervent speech, who should come past us but the major?  I\nhad to stand aside and salute as he went by, but his eyes appeared\nentirely occupied with Flora.\n\n'Who is that man?' she asked.\n\n'He is a friend of mine,' said I.  'I give him lessons in French, and he\nhas been very kind to me.'\n\n'He stared,' she said,--'I do not say, rudely; but why should he stare?'\n\n'If you do not wish to be stared at, mademoiselle, suffer me to recommend\na veil,' said I.\n\nShe looked at me with what seemed anger.  'I tell you the man stared,'\nshe said.\n\nAnd Ronald added.  'Oh, I don't think he meant any harm.  I suppose he\nwas just surprised to see us walking about with a pr--- with M.\nSaint-Yves.'\n\nBut the next morning, when I went to Chevenix's rooms, and after I had\ndutifully corrected his exercise--'I compliment you on your taste,' said\nhe to me.\n\n'I beg your pardon?' said I.\n\n'Oh no, I beg yours,' said he.  'You understand me perfectly, just as I\ndo you.'\n\nI murmured something about enigmas.\n\n'Well, shall I give you the key to the enigma?' said he, leaning back.\n'That was the young lady whom Goguelat insulted and whom you avenged.  I\ndo not blame you.  She is a heavenly creature.'\n\n'With all my heart, to the last of it!' said I.  'And to the first also,\nif it amuses you!  You are become so very acute of late that I suppose\nyou must have your own way.'\n\n'What is her name?' he asked.\n\n'Now, really!' said I.  'Do you think it likely she has told me?'\n\n'I think it certain,' said he.\n\nI could not restrain my laughter.  'Well, then, do you think it likely I\nwould tell you?' I cried.\n\n'Not a bit.' said he.  'But come, to our lesson!'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI--THE ESCAPE\n\n\nThe time for our escape drew near, and the nearer it came the less we\nseemed to enjoy the prospect.  There is but one side on which this castle\ncan be left either with dignity or safety; but as there is the main gate\nand guard, and the chief street of the upper city, it is not to be\nthought of by escaping prisoners.  In all other directions an abominable\nprecipice surrounds it, down the face of which (if anywhere at all) we\nmust regain our liberty.  By our concurrent labours in many a dark night,\nworking with the most anxious precautions against noise, we had made out\nto pierce below the curtain about the south-west corner, in a place they\ncall the _Devil's Elbow_.  I have never met that celebrity; nor (if the\nrest of him at all comes up to what they called his elbow) have I the\nleast desire of his acquaintance.  From the heel of the masonry, the\nrascally, breakneck precipice descended sheer among waste lands,\nscattered suburbs of the city, and houses in the building.  I had never\nthe heart to look for any length of time--the thought that I must make\nthe descent in person some dark night robbing me of breath; and, indeed,\non anybody not a seaman or a steeple-jack, the mere sight of the _Devil's\nElbow_ wrought like an emetic.\n\nI don't know where the rope was got, and doubt if I much cared.  It was\nnot that which gravelled me, but whether, now that we had it, it would\nserve our turn.  Its length, indeed, we made a shift to fathom out; but\nwho was to tell us how that length compared with the way we had to go?\nDay after day, there would be always some of us stolen out to the\n_Devil's Elbow_ and making estimates of the descent, whether by a bare\nguess or the dropping of stones.  A private of pioneers remembered the\nformula for that--or else remembered part of it and obligingly invented\nthe remainder.  I had never any real confidence in that formula; and even\nhad we got it from a book, there were difficulties in the way of the\napplication that might have daunted Archimedes.  We durst not drop any\nconsiderable pebble lest the sentinels should hear, and those that we\ndropped we could not hear ourselves.  We had never a watch--or none that\nhad a second-hand; and though every one of us could guess a second to a\nnicety, all somehow guessed it differently.  In short, if any two set\nforth upon this enterprise, they invariably returned with two opinions,\nand often with a black eye in the bargain.  I looked on upon these\nproceedings, although not without laughter, yet with impatience and\ndisgust.  I am one that cannot bear to see things botched or gone upon\nwith ignorance; and the thought that some poor devil was to hazard his\nbones upon such premises, revolted me.  Had I guessed the name of that\nunhappy first adventurer, my sentiments might have been livelier still.\n\nThe designation of this personage was indeed all that remained for us to\ndo; and even in that we had advanced so far that the lot had fallen on\nShed B.  It had been determined to mingle the bitter and the sweet; and\nwhoever went down first, the whole of his shed-mates were to follow next\nin order.  This caused a good deal of joy in Shed B, and would have\ncaused more if it had not still remained to choose our pioneer.  In view\nof the ambiguity in which we lay as to the length of the rope and the\nheight of the precipice--and that this gentleman was to climb down from\nfifty to seventy fathoms on a pitchy night, on a rope entirely free, and\nwith not so much as an infant child to steady it at the bottom, a little\nbackwardness was perhaps excusable.  But it was, in our case, more than a\nlittle.  The truth is, we were all womanish fellows about a height; and I\nhave myself been put, more than once, _hors de combat_ by a less affair\nthan the rock of Edinburgh Castle.\n\nWe discussed it in the dark and between the passage of the rounds; and it\nwas impossible for any body of men to show a less adventurous spirit.  I\nam sure some of us, and myself first among the number, regretted\nGoguelat.  Some were persuaded it was safe, and could prove the same by\nargument; but if they had good reasons why some one else should make the\ntrial, they had better still why it should not be themselves.  Others,\nagain, condemned the whole idea as insane; among these, as ill-luck would\nhave it, a seaman of the fleet; who was the most dispiriting of all.  The\nheight, he reminded us, was greater than the tallest ship's mast, the\nrope entirely free; and he as good as defied the boldest and strongest to\nsucceed.  We were relieved from this dead-lock by our sergeant-major of\ndragoons.\n\n'Comrades,' said he, 'I believe I rank you all; and for that reason, if\nyou really wish it, I will be the first myself.  At the same time, you\nare to consider what the chances are that I may prove to be the last, as\nwell.  I am no longer young--I was sixty near a month ago.  Since I have\nbeen a prisoner, I have made for myself a little _bedaine_.  My arms are\nall gone to fat.  And you must promise not to blame me, if I fall and\nplay the devil with the whole thing.'\n\n'We cannot hear of such a thing!' said I.  'M. Laclas is the oldest man\nhere; and, as such, he should be the very last to offer.  It is plain, we\nmust draw lots.'\n\n'No,' said M. Laclas; 'you put something else in my head!  There is one\nhere who owes a pretty candle to the others, for they have kept his\nsecret.  Besides, the rest of us are only rabble; and he is another\naffair altogether.  Let Champdivers--let the noble go the first.'\n\nI confess there was a notable pause before the noble in question got his\nvoice.  But there was no room for choice.  I had been so ill-advised,\nwhen I first joined the regiment, as to take ground on my nobility.  I\nhad been often rallied on the matter in the ranks, and had passed under\nthe by-names of _Monseigneur_ and _the Marquis_.  It was now needful I\nshould justify myself and take a fair revenge.\n\nAny little hesitation I may have felt passed entirely unnoticed, from the\nlucky incident of a round happening at that moment to go by.  And during\nthe interval of silence there occurred something that sent my blood to\nthe boil.  There was a private in our shed called Clausel, a man of a\nvery ugly disposition.  He had made one of the followers of Goguelat;\nbut, whereas Goguelat had always a kind of monstrous gaiety about him,\nClausel was no less morose than he was evil-minded.  He was sometimes\ncalled _the General_, and sometimes by a name too ill-mannered for\nrepetition.  As we all sat listening, this man's hand was laid on my\nshoulder, and his voice whispered in my ear: 'If you don't go, I'll have\nyou hanged, Marquis!'\n\nAs soon as the round was past--'Certainly, gentlemen!' said I.  'I will\ngive you a lead, with all the pleasure in the world.  But, first of all,\nthere is a hound here to be punished.  M. Clausel has just insulted me,\nand dishonoured the French army; and I demand that he run the gauntlet of\nthis shed.'\n\nThere was but one voice asking what he had done, and, as soon as I had\ntold them, but one voice agreeing to the punishment.  The General was, in\nconsequence, extremely roughly handled, and the next day was\ncongratulated by all who saw him on his _new decorations_.  It was lucky\nfor us that he was one of the prime movers and believers in our project\nof escape, or he had certainly revenged himself by a denunciation.  As\nfor his feelings towards myself, they appeared, by his looks, to surpass\nhumanity; and I made up my mind to give him a wide berth in the future.\n\nHad I been to go down that instant, I believe I could have carried it\nwell.  But it was already too late--the day was at hand.  The rest had\nstill to be summoned.  Nor was this the extent of my misfortune; for the\nnext night, and the night after, were adorned with a perfect galaxy of\nstars, and showed every cat that stirred in a quarter of a mile.  During\nthis interval, I have to direct your sympathies on the Vicomte de\nSaint-Yves!  All addressed me softly, like folk round a sickbed.  Our\nItalian corporal, who had got a dozen of oysters from a fishwife, laid\nthem at my feet, as though I were a Pagan idol; and I have never since\nbeen wholly at my ease in the society of shellfish.  He who was the best\nof our carvers brought me a snuff-box, which he had just completed, and\nwhich, while it was yet in hand, he had often declared he would not part\nwith under fifteen dollars.  I believe the piece was worth the money too!\nAnd yet the voice stuck in my throat with which I must thank him.  I\nfound myself, in a word, to be fed up like a prisoner in a camp of\nanthropophagi, and honoured like the sacrificial bull.  And what with\nthese annoyances, and the risky venture immediately ahead, I found my\npart a trying one to play.\n\nIt was a good deal of a relief when the third evening closed about the\ncastle with volumes of sea-fog.  The lights of Princes Street sometimes\ndisappeared, sometimes blinked across at us no brighter than the eyes of\ncats; and five steps from one of the lanterns on the ramparts it was\nalready groping dark.  We made haste to lie down.  Had our jailers been\nupon the watch, they must have observed our conversation to die out\nunusually soon.  Yet I doubt if any of us slept.  Each lay in his place,\ntortured at once with the hope of liberty and the fear of a hateful\ndeath.  The guard call sounded; the hum of the town declined by little\nand little.  On all sides of us, in their different quarters, we could\nhear the watchman cry the hours along the street.  Often enough, during\nmy stay in England, have I listened to these gruff or broken voices; or\nperhaps gone to my window when I lay sleepless, and watched the old\ngentleman hobble by upon the causeway with his cape and his cap, his\nhanger and his rattle.  It was ever a thought with me how differently\nthat cry would re-echo in the chamber of lovers, beside the bed of death,\nor in the condemned cell.  I might be said to hear it that night myself\nin the condemned cell!  At length a fellow with a voice like a bull's\nbegan to roar out in the opposite thoroughfare:\n\n'Past yin o'cloak, and a dark, haary moarnin'.'\n\nAt which we were all silently afoot.\n\nAs I stole about the battlements towards the--gallows, I was about to\nwrite--the sergeant-major, perhaps doubtful of my resolution, kept close\nby me, and occasionally proffered the most indigestible reassurances in\nmy ear.  At last I could bear them no longer.\n\n'Be so obliging as to let me be!' said I.  'I am neither a coward nor a\nfool.  What do _you_ know of whether the rope be long enough?  But I\nshall know it in ten minutes!'\n\nThe good old fellow laughed in his moustache, and patted me.\n\nIt was all very well to show the disposition of my temper before a friend\nalone; before my assembled comrades the thing had to go handsomely.  It\nwas then my time to come on the stage; and I hope I took it handsomely.\n\n'Now, gentlemen,' said I, 'if the rope is ready, here is the criminal!'\n\nThe tunnel was cleared, the stake driven, the rope extended.  As I moved\nforward to the place, many of my comrades caught me by the hand and wrung\nit, an attention I could well have done without.\n\n'Keep an eye on Clausel!' I whispered to Laclas; and with that, got down\non my elbows and knees took the rope in both hands, and worked myself,\nfeet foremost, through the tunnel.  When the earth failed under my feet,\nI thought my heart would have stopped; and a moment after I was demeaning\nmyself in mid-air like a drunken jumping-jack.  I have never been a model\nof piety, but at this juncture prayers and a cold sweat burst from me\nsimultaneously.\n\nThe line was knotted at intervals of eighteen inches; and to the inexpert\nit may seem as if it should have been even easy to descend.  The trouble\nwas, this devil of a piece of rope appeared to be inspired, not with life\nalone, but with a personal malignity against myself.  It turned to the\none side, paused for a moment, and then spun me like a toasting-jack to\nthe other; slipped like an eel from the clasp of my feet; kept me all the\ntime in the most outrageous fury of exertion; and dashed me at intervals\nagainst the face of the rock.  I had no eyes to see with; and I doubt if\nthere was anything to see but darkness.  I must occasionally have caught\na gasp of breath, but it was quite unconscious.  And the whole forces of\nmy mind were so consumed with losing hold and getting it again, that I\ncould scarce have told whether I was going up or coming down.\n\nOf a sudden I knocked against the cliff with such a thump as almost\nbereft me of my sense; and, as reason twinkled back, I was amazed to find\nthat I was in a state of rest, that the face of the precipice here\ninclined outwards at an angle which relieved me almost wholly of the\nburthen of my own weight, and that one of my feet was safely planted on a\nledge.  I drew one of the sweetest breaths in my experience, hugged\nmyself against the rope, and closed my eyes in a kind of ecstasy of\nrelief.  It occurred to me next to see how far I was advanced on my\nunlucky journey, a point on which I had not a shadow of a guess.  I\nlooked up: there was nothing above me but the blackness of the night and\nthe fog.  I craned timidly forward and looked down.  There, upon a floor\nof darkness, I beheld a certain pattern of hazy lights, some of them\naligned as in thoroughfares, others standing apart as in solitary houses;\nand before I could well realise it, or had in the least estimated my\ndistance, a wave of nausea and vertigo warned me to lie back and close my\neyes.  In this situation I had really but the one wish, and that was:\nsomething else to think of!  Strange to say, I got it: a veil was torn\nfrom my mind, and I saw what a fool I was--what fools we had all\nbeen--and that I had no business to be thus dangling between earth and\nheaven by my arms.  The only thing to have done was to have attached me\nto a rope and lowered me, and I had never the wit to see it till that\nmoment!\n\nI filled my lungs, got a good hold on my rope, and once more launched\nmyself on the descent.  As it chanced, the worst of the danger was at an\nend, and I was so fortunate as to be never again exposed to any violent\nconcussion.  Soon after I must have passed within a little distance of a\nbush of wallflower, for the scent of it came over me with that impression\nof reality which characterises scents in darkness.  This made me a second\nlandmark, the ledge being my first.  I began accordingly to compute\nintervals of time: so much to the ledge, so much again to the wallflower,\nso much more below.  If I were not at the bottom of the rock, I\ncalculated I must be near indeed to the end of the rope, and there was no\ndoubt that I was not far from the end of my own resources.  I began to be\nlight-headed and to be tempted to let go,--now arguing that I was\ncertainly arrived within a few feet of the level and could safely risk a\nfall, anon persuaded I was still close at the top and it was idle to\ncontinue longer on the rock.  In the midst of which I came to a bearing\non plain ground, and had nearly wept aloud.  My hands were as good as\nflayed, my courage entirely exhausted, and, what with the long strain and\nthe sudden relief, my limbs shook under me with more than the violence of\nague, and I was glad to cling to the rope.\n\nBut this was no time to give way.  I had (by God's single mercy) got\nmyself alive out of that fortress; and now I had to try to get the\nothers, my comrades.  There was about a fathom of rope to spare; I got it\nby the end, and searched the whole ground thoroughly for anything to make\nit fast to.  In vain: the ground was broken and stony, but there grew not\nthere so much as a bush of furze.\n\n'Now then,' thought I to myself, 'here begins a new lesson, and I believe\nit will prove richer than the first.  I am not strong enough to keep this\nrope extended.  If I do not keep it extended the next man will be dashed\nagainst the precipice.  There is no reason why he should have my\nextravagant good luck.  I see no reason why he should not fall--nor any\nplace for him to fall on but my head.'\n\nFrom where I was now standing there was occasionally visible, as the fog\nlightened, a lamp in one of the barrack windows, which gave me a measure\nof the height he had to fall and the horrid force that he must strike me\nwith.  What was yet worse, we had agreed to do without signals: every so\nmany minutes by Laclas' watch another man was to be started from the\nbattlements.  Now, I had seemed to myself to be about half an hour in my\ndescent, and it seemed near as long again that I waited, straining on the\nrope for my next comrade to begin.  I began to be afraid that our\nconspiracy was out, that my friends were all secured, and that I should\npass the remainder of the night, and be discovered in the morning, vainly\nclinging to the rope's end like a hooked fish upon an angle.  I could not\nrefrain, at this ridiculous image, from a chuckle of laughter.  And the\nnext moment I knew, by the jerking of the rope, that my friend had\ncrawled out of the tunnel and was fairly launched on his descent.  It\nappears it was the sailor who had insisted on succeeding me: as soon as\nmy continued silence had assured him the rope was long enough, Gautier,\nfor that was his name, had forgot his former arguments, and shown himself\nso extremely forward, that Laclas had given way.  It was like the fellow,\nwho had no harm in him beyond an instinctive selfishness.  But he was\nlike to have paid pretty dearly for the privilege.  Do as I would, I\ncould not keep the rope as I could have wished it; and he ended at last\nby falling on me from a height of several yards, so that we both rolled\ntogether on the ground.  As soon as he could breathe he cursed me beyond\nbelief, wept over his finger, which he had broken, and cursed me again.\nI bade him be still and think shame of himself to be so great a cry-baby.\nDid he not hear the round going by above? I asked; and who could tell but\nwhat the noise of his fall was already remarked, and the sentinels at the\nvery moment leaning upon the battlements to listen?\n\nThe round, however, went by, and nothing was discovered; the third man\ncame to the ground quite easily; the fourth was, of course, child's play;\nand before there were ten of us collected, it seemed to me that, without\nthe least injustice to my comrades, I might proceed to take care of\nmyself.\n\nI knew their plan: they had a map and an almanack, and designed for\nGrangemouth, where they were to steal a ship.  Suppose them to do so, I\nhad no idea they were qualified to manage it after it was stolen.  Their\nwhole escape, indeed, was the most haphazard thing imaginable; only the\nimpatience of captives and the ignorance of private soldiers would have\nentertained so misbegotten a device; and though I played the good comrade\nand worked with them upon the tunnel, but for the lawyer's message I\nshould have let them go without me.  Well, now they were beyond my help,\nas they had always been beyond my counselling; and, without word said or\nleave taken, I stole out of the little crowd.  It is true I would rather\nhave waited to shake hands with Laclas, but in the last man who had\ndescended I thought I recognised Clausel, and since the scene in the shed\nmy distrust of Clausel was perfect.  I believed the man to be capable of\nany infamy, and events have since shown that I was right.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII--SWANSTON COTTAGE\n\n\nI had two views.  The first was, naturally, to get clear of Edinburgh\nCastle and the town, to say nothing of my fellow-prisoners; the second to\nwork to the southward so long as it was night, and be near Swanston\nCottage by morning.  What I should do there and then, I had no guess, and\ndid not greatly care, being a devotee of a couple of divinities called\nChance and Circumstance.  Prepare, if possible; where it is impossible,\nwork straight forward, and keep your eyes open and your tongue oiled.\nWit and a good exterior--there is all life in a nutshell.\n\nI had at first a rather chequered journey: got involved in gardens,\nbutted into houses, and had even once the misfortune to awake a sleeping\nfamily, the father of which, as I suppose, menaced me from the window\nwith a blunderbuss.  Altogether, though I had been some time gone from my\ncompanions, I was still at no great distance, when a miserable accident\nput a period to the escape.  Of a sudden the night was divided by a\nscream.  This was followed by the sound of something falling, and that\nagain by the report of a musket from the Castle battlements.  It was\nstrange to hear the alarm spread through the city.  In the fortress drums\nwere beat and a bell rung backward.  On all hands the watchmen sprang\ntheir rattles.  Even in that limbo or no-man's-land where I was\nwandering, lights were made in the houses; sashes were flung up; I could\nhear neighbouring families converse from window to window, and at length\nI was challenged myself.\n\n'Wha's that?' cried a big voice.\n\nI could see it proceeded from a big man in a big nightcap, leaning from a\none-pair window; and as I was not yet abreast of his house, I judged it\nwas more wise to answer.  This was not the first time I had had to stake\nmy fortunes on the goodness of my accent in a foreign tongue; and I have\nalways found the moment inspiriting, as a gambler should.  Pulling around\nme a sort of great-coat I had made of my blanket, to cover my\nsulphur-coloured livery,--'A friend!' said I.\n\n'What like's all this collieshangie?' said he.\n\nI had never heard of a collieshangie in my days, but with the racket all\nabout us in the city, I could have no doubt as to the man's meaning.\n\n'I do not know, sir, really,' said I; 'but I suppose some of the\nprisoners will have escaped.'\n\n'Bedamned!' says he.\n\n'Oh, sir, they will be soon taken,' I replied: 'it has been found in\ntime.  Good morning, sir!'\n\n'Ye walk late, sir?' he added.\n\n'Oh, surely not,' said I, with a laugh.  'Earlyish, if you like!' which\nbrought me finally beyond him, highly pleased with my success.\n\nI was now come forth on a good thoroughfare, which led (as well as I\ncould judge) in my direction.  It brought me almost immediately through a\npiece of street, whence I could hear close by the springing of a\nwatchman's rattle, and where I suppose a sixth part of the windows would\nbe open, and the people, in all sorts of night gear, talking with a kind\nof tragic gusto from one to another.  Here, again, I must run the\ngauntlet of a half-dozen questions, the rattle all the while sounding\nnearer; but as I was not walking inordinately quick, as I spoke like a\ngentleman, and the lamps were too dim to show my dress, I carried it off\nonce more.  One person, indeed, inquired where I was off to at that hour.\n\nI replied vaguely and cheerfully, and as I escaped at one end of this\ndangerous pass I could see the watchman's lantern entering by the other.\nI was now safe on a dark country highway, out of sight of lights and out\nof the fear of watchmen.  And yet I had not gone above a hundred yards\nbefore a fellow made an ugly rush at me from the roadside.  I avoided him\nwith a leap, and stood on guard, cursing my empty hands, wondering\nwhether I had to do with an officer or a mere footpad, and scarce knowing\nwhich to wish.  My assailant stood a little; in the thick darkness I\ncould see him bob and sidle as though he were feinting at me for an\nadvantageous onfall.  Then he spoke.\n\n'My goo' frien',' says he, and at the first word I pricked my ears, 'my\ngoo' frien', will you oblishe me with lil neshary infamation?  Whish roa'\nt' Cramond?'\n\nI laughed out clear and loud, stepped up to the convivialist, took him by\nthe shoulders and faced him about.  'My good friend,' said I, 'I believe\nI know what is best for you much better than yourself, and may God\nforgive you the fright you have given me!  There, get you gone to\nEdinburgh!'  And I gave a shove, which he obeyed with the passive agility\nof a ball, and disappeared incontinently in the darkness down the road by\nwhich I had myself come.\n\nOnce clear of this foolish fellow, I went on again up a gradual hill,\ndescended on the other side through the houses of a country village, and\ncame at last to the bottom of the main ascent leading to the Pentlands\nand my destination.  I was some way up when the fog began to lighten; a\nlittle farther, and I stepped by degrees into a clear starry night, and\nsaw in front of me, and quite distinct, the summits of the Pentlands, and\nbehind, the valley of the Forth and the city of my late captivity buried\nunder a lake of vapour.  I had but one encounter--that of a farm-cart,\nwhich I heard, from a great way ahead of me, creaking nearer in the\nnight, and which passed me about the point of dawn like a thing seen in a\ndream, with two silent figures in the inside nodding to the horse's\nsteps.  I presume they were asleep; by the shawl about her head and\nshoulders, one of them should be a woman.  Soon, by concurrent steps, the\nday began to break and the fog to subside and roll away.  The east grew\nluminous and was barred with chilly colours, and the Castle on its rock,\nand the spires and chimneys of the upper town, took gradual shape, and\narose, like islands, out of the receding cloud.  All about me was still\nand sylvan; the road mounting and winding, with nowhere a sign of any\npassenger, the birds chirping, I suppose for warmth, the boughs of the\ntrees knocking together, and the red leaves falling in the wind.\n\nIt was broad day, but still bitter cold and the sun not up, when I came\nin view of my destination.  A single gable and chimney of the cottage\npeeped over the shoulder of the hill; not far off, and a trifle higher on\nthe mountain, a tall old white-washed farmhouse stood among the trees,\nbeside a falling brook; beyond were rough hills of pasture.  I bethought\nme that shepherd folk were early risers, and if I were once seen skulking\nin that neighbourhood it might prove the ruin of my prospects; took\nadvantage of a line of hedge, and worked myself up in its shadow till I\nwas come under the garden wall of my friends' house.  The cottage was a\nlittle quaint place of many rough-cast gables and grey roofs.  It had\nsomething the air of a rambling infinitesimal cathedral, the body of it\nrising in the midst two storeys high, with a steep-pitched roof, and\nsending out upon all hands (as it were chapter-houses, chapels, and\ntransepts) one-storeyed and dwarfish projections.  To add to this\nappearance, it was grotesquely decorated with crockets and gargoyles,\nravished from some medieval church.  The place seemed hidden away, being\nnot only concealed in the trees of the garden, but, on the side on which\nI approached it, buried as high as the eaves by the rising of the ground.\nAbout the walls of the garden there went a line of well-grown elms and\nbeeches, the first entirely bare, the last still pretty well covered with\nred leaves, and the centre was occupied with a thicket of laurel and\nholly, in which I could see arches cut and paths winding.\n\nI was now within hail of my friends, and not much the better.  The house\nappeared asleep; yet if I attempted to wake any one, I had no guarantee\nit might not prove either the aunt with the gold eyeglasses (whom I could\nonly remember with trembling), or some ass of a servant-maid who should\nburst out screaming at sight of me.  Higher up I could hear and see a\nshepherd shouting to his dogs and striding on the rough sides of the\nmountain, and it was clear I must get to cover without loss of time.  No\ndoubt the holly thickets would have proved a very suitable retreat, but\nthere was mounted on the wall a sort of signboard not uncommon in the\ncountry of Great Britain, and very damping to the adventurous: SPRING\nGUNS AND MAN-TRAPS was the legend that it bore.  I have learned since\nthat these advertisements, three times out of four, were in the nature of\nQuaker guns on a disarmed battery, but I had not learned it then, and\neven so, the odds would not have been good enough.  For a choice, I would\na hundred times sooner be returned to Edinburgh Castle and my corner in\nthe bastion, than to leave my foot in a steel trap or have to digest the\ncontents of an automatic blunderbuss.  There was but one chance\nleft--that Ronald or Flora might be the first to come abroad; and in\norder to profit by this chance if it occurred, I got me on the cope of\nthe wall in a place where it was screened by the thick branches of a\nbeech, and sat there waiting.\n\nAs the day wore on, the sun came very pleasantly out.  I had been awake\nall night, I had undergone the most violent agitations of mind and body,\nand it is not so much to be wondered at, as it was exceedingly unwise and\nfoolhardy, that I should have dropped into a doze.  From this I awakened\nto the characteristic sound of digging, looked down, and saw immediately\nbelow me the back view of a gardener in a stable waistcoat.  Now he would\nappear steadily immersed in his business; anon, to my more immediate\nterror, he would straighten his back, stretch his arms, gaze about the\notherwise deserted garden, and relish a deep pinch of snuff.  It was my\nfirst thought to drop from the wall upon the other side.  A glance\nsufficed to show me that even the way by which I had come was now cut\noff, and the field behind me already occupied by a couple of shepherds'\nassistants and a score or two of sheep.  I have named the talismans on\nwhich I habitually depend, but here was a conjuncture in which both were\nwholly useless.  The copestone of a wall arrayed with broken bottles is\nno favourable rostrum; and I might be as eloquent as Pitt, and as\nfascinating as Richelieu, and neither the gardener nor the shepherd lads\nwould care a halfpenny.  In short, there was no escape possible from my\nabsurd position: there I must continue to sit until one or other of my\nneighbours should raise his eyes and give the signal for my capture.\n\nThe part of the wall on which (for my sins) I was posted could be scarce\nless than twelve feet high on the inside; the leaves of the beech which\nmade a fashion of sheltering me were already partly fallen; and I was\nthus not only perilously exposed myself, but enabled to command some part\nof the garden walks and (under an evergreen arch) the front lawn and\nwindows of the cottage.  For long nothing stirred except my friend with\nthe spade; then I heard the opening of a sash; and presently after saw\nMiss Flora appear in a morning wrapper and come strolling hitherward\nbetween the borders, pausing and visiting her flowers--herself as fair.\n_There_ was a friend; _here_, immediately beneath me, an unknown\nquantity--the gardener: how to communicate with the one and not attract\nthe notice of the other?  To make a noise was out of the question; I\ndared scarce to breathe.  I held myself ready to make a gesture as soon\nas she should look, and she looked in every possible direction but the\none.  She was interested in the vilest tuft of chickweed, she gazed at\nthe summit of the mountain, she came even immediately below me and\nconversed on the most fastidious topics with the gardener; but to the top\nof that wall she would not dedicate a glance!  At last she began to\nretrace her steps in the direction of the cottage; whereupon, becoming\nquite desperate, I broke off a piece of plaster, took a happy aim, and\nhit her with it in the nape of the neck.  She clapped her hand to the\nplace, turned about, looked on all sides for an explanation, and spying\nme (as indeed I was parting the branches to make it the more easy), half\nuttered and half swallowed down again a cry of surprise.\n\nThe infernal gardener was erect upon the instant.  'What's your wull,\nmiss?' said he.\n\nHer readiness amazed me.  She had already turned and was gazing in the\nopposite direction.  'There's a child among the artichokes,' she said.\n\n'The Plagues of Egyp'!  _I'll_ see to them!' cried the gardener\ntruculently, and with a hurried waddle disappeared among the evergreens.\n\nThat moment she turned, she came running towards me, her arms stretched\nout, her face incarnadined for the one moment with heavenly blushes, the\nnext pale as death.  'Monsieur de. Saint-Yves!' she said.\n\n'My dear young lady,' I said, 'this is the damnedest liberty--I know it!\nBut what else was I to do?'\n\n'You have escaped?' said she.\n\n'If you call this escape,' I replied.\n\n'But you cannot possibly stop there!' she cried.\n\n'I know it,' said I.  'And where am I to go?'\n\nShe struck her hands together.  'I have it!' she exclaimed.  'Come down\nby the beech trunk--you must leave no footprint in the border--quickly,\nbefore Robie can get back!  I am the hen-wife here: I keep the key; you\nmust go into the hen-house--for the moment.'\n\nI was by her side at once.  Both cast a hasty glance at the blank windows\nof the cottage and so much as was visible of the garden alleys; it seemed\nthere was none to observe us.  She caught me by the sleeve and ran.  It\nwas no time for compliments; hurry breathed upon our necks; and I ran\nalong with her to the next corner of the garden, where a wired court and\na board hovel standing in a grove of trees advertised my place of refuge.\nShe thrust me in without a word; the bulk of the fowls were at the same\ntime emitted; and I found myself the next moment locked in alone with\nhalf a dozen sitting hens.  In the twilight of the place all fixed their\neyes on me severely, and seemed to upbraid me with some crying\nimpropriety.  Doubtless the hen has always a puritanic appearance,\nalthough (in its own behaviour) I could never observe it to be more\nparticular than its neighbours.  But conceive a British hen!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII--THE HEN-HOUSE\n\n\nI was half an hour at least in the society of these distressing bipeds,\nand alone with my own reflections and necessities.  I was in great pain\nof my flayed hands, and had nothing to treat them with; I was hungry and\nthirsty, and had nothing to eat or to drink; I was thoroughly tired, and\nthere was no place for me to sit.  To be sure there was the floor, but\nnothing could be imagined less inviting.\n\nAt the sound of approaching footsteps, my good-humour was restored.  The\nkey rattled in the lock, and Master Ronald entered, closed the door\nbehind him, and leaned his back to it.\n\n'I say, you know!' he said, and shook a sullen young head.\n\n'I know it's a liberty,' said I.\n\n'It's infernally awkward: my position is infernally embarrassing,' said\nhe.\n\n'Well,' said I, 'and what do you think of mine?'\n\nThis seemed to pose him entirely, and he remained gazing upon me with a\nconvincing air of youth and innocence.  I could have laughed, but I was\nnot so inhumane.\n\n'I am in your hands,' said I, with a little gesture.  'You must do with\nme what you think right.'\n\n'Ah, yes!' he cried: 'if I knew!'\n\n'You see,' said I, 'it would be different if you had received your\ncommission.  Properly speaking, you are not yet a combatant; I have\nceased to be one; and I think it arguable that we are just in the\nposition of one ordinary gentleman to another, where friendship usually\ncomes before the law.  Observe, I only say _arguable_.  For God's sake,\ndon't think I wish to dictate an opinion.  These are the sort of nasty\nlittle businesses, inseparable from war, which every gentleman must\ndecide for himself.  If I were in your place--'\n\n'Ay, what would you do, then?' says he.\n\n'Upon my word, I do not know,' said I.  'Hesitate, as you are doing, I\nbelieve.'\n\n'I will tell you,' he said.  'I have a kinsman, and it is what _he_ would\nthink, that I am thinking.  It is General Graham of Lynedoch--Sir Thomas\nGraham.  I scarcely know him, but I believe I admire him more than I do\nGod.'\n\n'I admire him a good deal myself,' said I, 'and have good reason to.  I\nhave fought with him, been beaten, and run away.  _Veni_, _victus sum_,\n_evasi_.'\n\n'What!' he cried.  'You were at Barossa?'\n\n'There and back, which many could not say,' said I.  'It was a pretty\naffair and a hot one, and the Spaniards behaved abominably, as they\nusually did in a pitched field; the Marshal Duke of Belluno made a fool\nof himself, and not for the first time; and your friend Sir Thomas had\nthe best of it, so far as there was any best.  He is a brave and ready\nofficer.'\n\n'Now, then, you will understand!' said the boy.  'I wish to please Sir\nThomas: what would he do?'\n\n'Well, I can tell you a story,' said I, 'a true one too, and about this\nvery combat of Chiclana, or Barossa as you call it.  I was in the Eighth\nof the Line; we lost the eagle of the First Battalion, more betoken, but\nit cost you dear.  Well, we had repulsed more charges than I care to\ncount, when your 87th Regiment came on at a foot's pace, very slow but\nvery steady; in front of them a mounted officer, his hat in his hand,\nwhite-haired, and talking very quietly to the battalions.  Our Major,\nVigo-Roussillon, set spurs to his horse and galloped out to sabre him,\nbut seeing him an old man, very handsome, and as composed as if he were\nin a coffee-house, lost heart and galloped back again.  Only, you see,\nthey had been very close together for the moment, and looked each other\nin the eyes.  Soon after the Major was wounded, taken prisoner, and\ncarried into Cadiz.  One fine day they announced to him the visit of the\nGeneral, Sir Thomas Graham.  \"Well, sir,\" said the General, taking him by\nthe hand, \"I think we were face to face upon the field.\"  It was the\nwhite-haired officer!'\n\n'Ah!' cried the boy,--his eyes were burning.\n\n'Well, and here is the point,' I continued.  'Sir Thomas fed the Major\nfrom his own table from that day, and served him with six covers.'\n\n'Yes, it is a beautiful--a beautiful story,' said Ronald.  'And yet\nsomehow it is not the same--is it?'\n\n'I admit it freely,' said I.\n\nThe boy stood awhile brooding.  'Well, I take my risk of it,' he cried.\n'I believe it's treason to my sovereign--I believe there is an infamous\npunishment for such a crime--and yet I'm hanged if I can give you up.'\n\nI was as much moved as he.  'I could almost beg you to do otherwise,' I\nsaid.  'I was a brute to come to you, a brute and a coward.  You are a\nnoble enemy; you will make a noble soldier.'  And with rather a happy\nidea of a compliment for this warlike youth, I stood up straight and gave\nhim the salute.\n\nHe was for a moment confused; his face flushed.  'Well, well, I must be\ngetting you something to eat, but it will not be for six,' he added, with\na smile: 'only what we can get smuggled out.  There is my aunt in the\nroad, you see,' and he locked me in again with the indignant hens.\n\nI always smile when I recall that young fellow; and yet, if the reader\nwere to smile also, I should feel ashamed.  If my son shall be only like\nhim when he comes to that age, it will be a brave day for me and not a\nbad one for his country.\n\nAt the same time I cannot pretend that I was sorry when his sister\nsucceeded in his place.  She brought me a few crusts of bread and a jug\nof milk, which she had handsomely laced with whisky after the Scottish\nmanner.\n\n'I am so sorry,' she said: 'I dared not bring on anything more.  We are\nso small a family, and my aunt keeps such an eye upon the servants.  I\nhave put some whisky in the milk--it is more wholesome so--and with eggs\nyou will be able to make something of a meal.  How many eggs will you be\nwanting to that milk? for I must be taking the others to my aunt--that is\nmy excuse for being here.  I should think three or four.  Do you know how\nto beat them? or shall I do it?'\n\nWilling to detain her a while longer in the hen-house, I displayed my\nbleeding palms; at which she cried aloud.\n\n'My dear Miss Flora, you cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs,'\nsaid I; 'and it is no bagatelle to escape from Edinburgh Castle.  One of\nus, I think, was even killed.'\n\n'And you are as white as a rag, too,' she exclaimed, 'and can hardly\nstand!  Here is my shawl, sit down upon it here in the corner, and I will\nbeat your eggs.  See, I have brought a fork too; I should have been a\ngood person to take care of Jacobites or Covenanters in old days!  You\nshall have more to eat this evening; Ronald is to bring it you from town.\nWe have money enough, although no food that we can call our own.  Ah, if\nRonald and I kept house, you should not be lying in this shed!  He\nadmires you so much.'\n\n'My dear friend,' said I, 'for God's sake do not embarrass me with more\nalms.  I loved to receive them from that hand, so long as they were\nneeded; but they are so no more, and whatever else I may lack--and I lack\neverything--it is not money.'  I pulled out my sheaf of notes and\ndetached the top one: it was written for ten pounds, and signed by that\nvery famous individual, Abraham Newlands.  'Oblige me, as you would like\nme to oblige your brother if the parts were reversed, and take this note\nfor the expenses.  I shall need not only food, but clothes.'\n\n'Lay it on the ground,' said she.  'I must not stop my beating.'\n\n'You are not offended?' I exclaimed.\n\nShe answered me by a look that was a reward in itself, and seemed to\nimply the most heavenly offers for the future.  There was in it a shadow\nof reproach, and such warmth of communicative cordiality as left me\nspeechless.  I watched her instead till her hens' milk was ready.\n\n'Now,' said she, 'taste that.'\n\nI did so, and swore it was nectar.  She collected her eggs and crouched\nin front of me to watch me eat.  There was about this tall young lady at\nthe moment an air of motherliness delicious to behold.  I am like the\nEnglish general, and to this day I still wonder at my moderation.\n\n'What sort of clothes will you be wanting?' said she.\n\n'The clothes of a gentleman,' said I.  'Right or wrong, I think it is the\npart I am best qualified to play.  Mr. St. Ives (for that's to be my name\nupon the journey) I conceive as rather a theatrical figure, and his\nmake-up should be to match.'\n\n'And yet there is a difficulty,' said she.  'If you got coarse clothes\nthe fit would hardly matter.  But the clothes of a fine gentleman--O, it\nis absolutely necessary that these should fit!  And above all, with\nyour'--she paused a moment--'to our ideas somewhat noticeable manners.'\n\n'Alas for my poor manners!' said I.  'But my dear friend Flora, these\nlittle noticeabilities are just what mankind has to suffer under.\nYourself, you see, you're very noticeable even when you come in a crowd\nto visit poor prisoners in the Castle.'\n\nI was afraid I should frighten my good angel visitant away, and without\nthe smallest breath of pause went on to add a few directions as to stuffs\nand colours.\n\nShe opened big eyes upon me.  'O, Mr. St. Ives!' she cried--'if that is\nto be your name--I do not say they would not be becoming; but for a\njourney, do you think they would be wise?  I am afraid'--she gave a\npretty break of laughter--'I am afraid they would be daft-like!'\n\n'Well, and am I not daft?' I asked her.\n\n'I do begin to think you are,' said she.\n\n'There it is, then!' said I.  'I have been long enough a figure of fun.\nCan you not feel with me that perhaps the bitterest thing in this\ncaptivity has been the clothes?  Make me a captive--bind me with chains\nif you like--but let me be still myself.  You do not know what it is to\nbe a walking travesty--among foes,' I added bitterly.\n\n'O, but you are too unjust!' she cried.  'You speak as though any one\never dreamed of laughing at you.  But no one did.  We were all pained to\nthe heart.  Even my aunt--though sometimes I do think she was not quite\nin good taste--you should have seen her and heard her at home!  She took\nso much interest.  Every patch in your clothes made us sorry; it should\nhave been a sister's work.'\n\n'That is what I never had--a sister,' said I.  'But since you say that I\ndid not make you laugh--'\n\n'O, Mr. St. Ives! never!' she exclaimed.  'Not for one moment.  It was\nall too sad.  To see a gentleman--'\n\n'In the clothes of a harlequin, and begging?' I suggested.\n\n'To see a gentleman in distress, and nobly supporting it,' she said.\n\n'And do you not understand, my fair foe,' said I, 'that even if all were\nas you say--even if you had thought my travesty were becoming--I should\nbe only the more anxious, for my sake, for my country's sake, and for the\nsake of your kindness, that you should see him whom you have helped as\nGod meant him to be seen? that you should have something to remember him\nby at least more characteristic than a misfitting sulphur-yellow suit,\nand half a week's beard?'\n\n'You think a great deal too much of clothes,' she said.  'I am not that\nkind of girl.'\n\n'And I am afraid I am that kind of man,' said I.  'But do not think of me\ntoo harshly for that.  I talked just now of something to remember by.  I\nhave many of them myself, of these beautiful reminders, of these\nkeepsakes, that I cannot be parted from until I lose memory and life.\nMany of them are great things, many of them are high virtues--charity,\nmercy, faith.  But some of them are trivial enough.  Miss Flora, do you\nremember the day that I first saw you, the day of the strong east wind?\nMiss Flora, shall I tell you what you wore?'\n\nWe had both risen to our feet, and she had her hand already on the door\nto go.  Perhaps this attitude emboldened me to profit by the last seconds\nof our interview; and it certainly rendered her escape the more easy.\n\n'O, you are too romantic!' she said, laughing; and with that my sun was\nblown out, my enchantress had fled away, and I was again left alone in\nthe twilight with the lady hens.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX--THREE IS COMPANY, AND FOUR NONE\n\n\nThe rest of the day I slept in the corner of the hen-house upon Flora's\nshawl.  Nor did I awake until a light shone suddenly in my eyes, and\nstarting up with a gasp (for, indeed, at the moment I dreamed I was still\nswinging from the Castle battlements) I found Ronald bending over me with\na lantern.  It appeared it was past midnight, that I had slept about\nsixteen hours, and that Flora had returned her poultry to the shed and I\nhad heard her not.  I could not but wonder if she had stooped to look at\nme as I slept.  The puritan hens now slept irremediably; and being\ncheered with the promise of supper I wished them an ironical good-night,\nand was lighted across the garden and noiselessly admitted to a bedroom\non the ground floor of the cottage.  There I found soap, water,\nrazors--offered me diffidently by my beardless host--and an outfit of new\nclothes.  To be shaved again without depending on the barber of the gaol\nwas a source of a delicious, if a childish joy.  My hair was sadly too\nlong, but I was none so unwise as to make an attempt on it myself.  And,\nindeed, I thought it did not wholly misbecome me as it was, being by\nnature curly.  The clothes were about as good as I expected.  The\nwaistcoat was of toilenet, a pretty piece, the trousers of fine\nkerseymere, and the coat sat extraordinarily well.  Altogether, when I\nbeheld this changeling in the glass, I kissed my hand to him.\n\n'My dear fellow,' said I, 'have you no scent?'\n\n'Good God, no!' cried Ronald.  'What do you want with scent?'\n\n'Capital thing on a campaign,' said I.  'But I can do without.'\n\nI was now led, with the same precautions against noise, into the little\nbow-windowed dining-room of the cottage.  The shutters were up, the lamp\nguiltily turned low; the beautiful Flora greeted me in a whisper; and\nwhen I was set down to table, the pair proceeded to help me with\nprecautions that might have seemed excessive in the Ear of Dionysius.\n\n'She sleeps up there,' observed the boy, pointing to the ceiling; and the\nknowledge that I was so imminently near to the resting-place of that gold\neyeglass touched even myself with some uneasiness.\n\nOur excellent youth had imported from the city a meat pie, and I was glad\nto find it flanked with a decanter of really admirable wine of Oporto.\nWhile I ate, Ronald entertained me with the news of the city, which had\nnaturally rung all day with our escape: troops and mounted messengers had\nfollowed each other forth at all hours and in all directions; but\naccording to the last intelligence no recapture had been made.  Opinion\nin town was very favourable to us: our courage was applauded, and many\nprofessed regret that our ultimate chance of escape should be so small.\nThe man who had fallen was one Sombref, a peasant; he was one who slept\nin a different part of the Castle; and I was thus assured that the whole\nof my former companions had attained their liberty, and Shed A was\nuntenanted.\n\nFrom this we wandered insensibly into other topics.  It is impossible to\nexaggerate the pleasure I took to be thus sitting at the same table with\nFlora, in the clothes of a gentleman, at liberty and in the full\npossession of my spirits and resources; of all of which I had need,\nbecause it was necessary that I should support at the same time two\nopposite characters, and at once play the cavalier and lively soldier for\nthe eyes of Ronald, and to the ears of Flora maintain the same profound\nand sentimental note that I had already sounded.  Certainly there are\ndays when all goes well with a man; when his wit, his digestion, his\nmistress are in a conspiracy to spoil him, and even the weather smiles\nupon his wishes.  I will only say of myself upon that evening that I\nsurpassed my expectations, and was privileged to delight my hosts.\nLittle by little they forgot their terrors and I my caution; until at\nlast we were brought back to earth by a catastrophe that might very\neasily have been foreseen, but was not the less astonishing to us when it\noccurred.\n\nI had filled all the glasses.  'I have a toast to propose,' I whispered,\n'or rather three, but all so inextricably interwoven that they will not\nbear dividing.  I wish first to drink to the health of a brave and\ntherefore a generous enemy.  He found me disarmed, a fugitive and\nhelpless.  Like the lion, he disdained so poor a triumph; and when he\nmight have vindicated an easy valour, he preferred to make a friend.  I\nwish that we should next drink to a fairer and a more tender foe.  She\nfound me in prison; she cheered me with a priceless sympathy; what she\nhas done since, I know she has done in mercy, and I only pray--I dare\nscarce hope--her mercy may prove to have been merciful.  And I wish to\nconjoin with these, for the first, and perhaps the last time, the\nhealth--and I fear I may already say the memory--of one who has fought,\nnot always without success, against the soldiers of your nation; but who\ncame here, vanquished already, only to be vanquished again by the loyal\nhand of the one, by the unforgettable eyes of the other.'\n\nIt is to be feared I may have lent at times a certain resonancy to my\nvoice; it is to be feared that Ronald, who was none the better for his\nown hospitality, may have set down his glass with something of a clang.\nWhatever may have been the cause, at least, I had scarce finished my\ncompliment before we were aware of a thump upon the ceiling overhead.  It\nwas to be thought some very solid body had descended to the floor from\nthe level (possibly) of a bed.  I have never seen consternation painted\nin more lively colours than on the faces of my hosts.  It was proposed to\nsmuggle me forth into the garden, or to conceal my form under a horsehair\nsofa which stood against the wall.  For the first expedient, as was now\nplain by the approaching footsteps, there was no longer time; from the\nsecond I recoiled with indignation.\n\n'My dear creatures,' said I, 'let us die, but do not let us be\nridiculous.'\n\nThe words were still upon my lips when the door opened and my friend of\nthe gold eyeglass appeared, a memorable figure, on the threshold.  In one\nhand she bore a bedroom candlestick; in the other, with the steadiness of\na dragoon, a horse-pistol.  She was wound about in shawls which did not\nwholly conceal the candid fabric of her nightdress, and surmounted by a\nnightcap of portentous architecture.  Thus accoutred, she made her\nentrance; laid down the candle and pistol, as no longer called for;\nlooked about the room with a silence more eloquent than oaths; and then,\nin a thrilling voice--'To whom have I the pleasure?' she said, addressing\nme with a ghost of a bow.\n\n'Madam, I am charmed, I am sure,' said I.  'The story is a little long;\nand our meeting, however welcome, was for the moment entirely unexpected\nby myself.  I am sure--' but here I found I was quite sure of nothing,\nand tried again.  'I have the honour,' I began, and found I had the\nhonour to be only exceedingly confused.  With that, I threw myself\noutright upon her mercy.  'Madam, I must be more frank with you,' I\nresumed.  'You have already proved your charity and compassion for the\nFrench prisoners, I am one of these; and if my appearance be not too much\nchanged, you may even yet recognise in me that _Oddity_ who had the good\nfortune more than once to make you smile.'\n\nStill gazing upon me through her glass, she uttered an uncompromising\ngrunt; and then, turning to her niece--'Flora,' said she, 'how comes he\nhere?'\n\nThe culprits poured out for a while an antiphony of explanations, which\ndied out at last in a miserable silence.\n\n'I think at least you might have told your aunt,' she snorted.\n\n'Madam,' I interposed, 'they were about to do so.  It is my fault if it\nbe not done already.  But I made it my prayer that your slumbers might be\nrespected, and this necessary formula of my presentation should be\ndelayed until to-morrow in the morning.'\n\nThe old lady regarded me with undissembled incredulity, to which I was\nable to find no better repartee than a profound and I trust graceful\nreverence.\n\n'French prisoners are very well in their place,' she said, 'but I cannot\nsee that their place is in my private dining-room.'\n\n'Madam,' said I, 'I hope it may be said without offence, but (except the\nCastle of Edinburgh) I cannot think upon the spot from which I would so\nreadily be absent.'\n\nAt this, to my relief, I thought I could perceive a vestige of a smile to\nsteal upon that iron countenance and to be bitten immediately in.\n\n'And if it is a fair question, what do they call ye?' she asked.\n\n'At your service, the Vicomte Anne de St.-Yves,' said I.\n\n'Mosha the Viscount,' said she, 'I am afraid you do us plain people a\ngreat deal too much honour.'\n\n'My dear lady,' said I, 'let us be serious for a moment.  What was I to\ndo?  Where was I to go?  And how can you be angry with these benevolent\nchildren who took pity on one so unfortunate as myself?  Your humble\nservant is no such terrific adventurer that you should come out against\nhim with horse-pistol and'--smiling--'bedroom candlesticks.  It is but a\nyoung gentleman in extreme distress, hunted upon every side, and asking\nno more than to escape from his pursuers.  I know your character, I read\nit in your face'--the heart trembled in my body as I said these daring\nwords.  'There are unhappy English prisoners in France at this day,\nperhaps at this hour.  Perhaps at this hour they kneel as I do; they take\nthe hand of her who might conceal and assist them; they press it to their\nlips as I do--'\n\n'Here, here!' cried the old lady, breaking from my solicitations.\n'Behave yourself before folk!  Saw ever anyone the match of that?  And on\nearth, my dears, what are we to do with him?'\n\n'Pack him off, my dear lady,' said I: 'pack off the impudent fellow\ndouble-quick!  And if it may be, and if your good heart allows it, help\nhim a little on the way he has to go.'\n\n'What's this pie?' she cried stridently.  'Where is this pie from,\nFlora?'\n\nNo answer was vouchsafed by my unfortunate and (I may say) extinct\naccomplices.\n\n'Is that my port?' she pursued.  'Hough!  Will somebody give me a glass\nof my port wine?'\n\nI made haste to serve her.\n\nShe looked at me over the rim with an extraordinary expression.  'I hope\nye liked it?' said she.\n\n'It is even a magnificent wine,' said I.\n\n'Aweel, it was my father laid it down,' said she.  'There were few knew\nmore about port wine than my father, God rest him!'  She settled herself\nin a chair with an alarming air of resolution.  'And so there is some\nparticular direction that you wish to go in?' said she.\n\n'O,' said I, following her example, 'I am by no means such a vagrant as\nyou suppose.  I have good friends, if I could get to them, for which all\nI want is to be once clear of Scotland; and I have money for the road.'\nAnd I produced my bundle.\n\n'English bank-notes?' she said.  'That's not very handy for Scotland.\nIt's been some fool of an Englishman that's given you these, I'm\nthinking.  How much is it?'\n\n'I declare to heaven I never thought to count!' I exclaimed.  'But that\nis soon remedied.'\n\nAnd I counted out ten notes of ten pound each, all in the name of Abraham\nNewlands, and five bills of country bankers for as many guineas.\n\n'One hundred and twenty six pound five,' cried the old lady.  'And you\ncarry such a sum about you, and have not so much as counted it!  If you\nare not a thief, you must allow you are very thief-like.'\n\n'And yet, madam, the money is legitimately mine,' said I.\n\nShe took one of the bills and held it up.  'Is there any probability,\nnow, that this could be traced?' she asked.\n\n'None, I should suppose; and if it were, it would be no matter,' said I.\n'With your usual penetration, you guessed right.  An Englishman brought\nit me.  It reached me, through the hands of his English solicitor, from\nmy great-uncle, the Comte de Keroual de Saint-Yves, I believe the richest\n_emigre_ in London.'\n\n'I can do no more than take your word for it,' said she.\n\n'And I trust, madam, not less,' said I.\n\n'Well,' said she, 'at this rate the matter may be feasible.  I will cash\none of these five-guinea bills, less the exchange, and give you silver\nand Scots notes to bear you as far as the border.  Beyond that, Mosha the\nViscount, you will have to depend upon yourself.'\n\nI could not but express a civil hesitation as to whether the amount would\nsuffice, in my case, for so long a journey.\n\n'Ay,' said she, 'but you havenae heard me out.  For if you are not too\nfine a gentleman to travel with a pair of drovers, I believe I have found\nthe very thing, and the Lord forgive me for a treasonable old wife!\nThere are a couple stopping up by with the shepherd-man at the farm;\nto-morrow they will take the road for England, probably by skriegh of\nday--and in my opinion you had best be travelling with the stots,' said\nshe.\n\n'For Heaven's sake do not suppose me to be so effeminate a character!' I\ncried.  'An old soldier of Napoleon is certainly beyond suspicion.  But,\ndear lady, to what end? and how is the society of these excellent\ngentlemen supposed to help me?'\n\n'My dear sir,' said she, 'you do not at all understand your own\npredicament, and must just leave your matters in the hands of those who\ndo.  I dare say you have never even heard tell of the drove-roads or the\ndrovers; and I am certainly not going to sit up all night to explain it\nto you.  Suffice it, that it is me who is arranging this affair--the more\nshame to me!--and that is the way ye have to go.  Ronald,' she continued,\n'away up-by to the shepherds; rowst them out of their beds, and make it\nperfectly distinct that Sim is not to leave till he has seen me.'\n\nRonald was nothing loath to escape from his aunt's neighbourhood, and\nleft the room and the cottage with a silent expedition that was more like\nflight than mere obedience.  Meanwhile the old lady turned to her niece.\n\n'And I would like to know what we are to do with him the night!' she\ncried.\n\n'Ronald and I meant to put him in the hen-house,' said the encrimsoned\nFlora.\n\n'And I can tell you he is to go to no such a place,' replied the aunt.\n'Hen-house, indeed!  If a guest he is to be, he shall sleep in no mortal\nhen-house.  Your room is the most fit, I think, if he will consent to\noccupy it on so great a suddenty.  And as for you, Flora, you shall sleep\nwith me.'\n\nI could not help admiring the prudence and tact of this old dowager, and\nof course it was not for me to make objections.  Ere I well knew how, I\nwas alone with a flat candlestick, which is not the most sympathetic of\ncompanions, and stood studying the snuff in a frame of mind between\ntriumph and chagrin.  All had gone well with my flight: the masterful\nlady who had arrogated to herself the arrangement of the details gave me\nevery confidence; and I saw myself already arriving at my uncle's door.\nBut, alas! it was another story with my love affair.  I had seen and\nspoken with her alone; I had ventured boldly; I had been not ill\nreceived; I had seen her change colour, had enjoyed the undissembled\nkindness of her eyes; and now, in a moment, down comes upon the scene\nthat apocalyptic figure with the nightcap and the horse-pistol, and with\nthe very wind of her coming behold me separated from my love!  Gratitude\nand admiration contended in my breast with the extreme of natural\nrancour.  My appearance in her house at past midnight had an air (I could\nnot disguise it from myself) that was insolent and underhand, and could\nnot but minister to the worst suspicions.  And the old lady had taken it\nwell.  Her generosity was no more to be called in question than her\ncourage, and I was afraid that her intelligence would be found to match.\nCertainly, Miss Flora had to support some shrewd looks, and certainly she\nhad been troubled.  I could see but the one way before me: to profit by\nan excellent bed, to try to sleep soon, to be stirring early, and to hope\nfor some renewed occasion in the morning.  To have said so much and yet\nto say no more, to go out into the world upon so half-hearted a parting,\nwas more than I could accept.\n\nIt is my belief that the benevolent fiend sat up all night to baulk me.\nShe was at my bedside with a candle long ere day, roused me, laid out for\nme a damnable misfit of clothes, and bade me pack my own (which were\nwholly unsuited to the journey) in a bundle.  Sore grudging, I arrayed\nmyself in a suit of some country fabric, as delicate as sackcloth and\nabout as becoming as a shroud; and, on coming forth, found the dragon had\nprepared for me a hearty breakfast.  She took the head of the table,\npoured out the tea, and entertained me as I ate with a great deal of good\nsense and a conspicuous lack of charm.  How often did I not regret the\nchange!--how often compare her, and condemn her in the comparison, with\nher charming niece!  But if my entertainer was not beautiful, she had\ncertainly been busy in my interest.  Already she was in communication\nwith my destined fellow-travellers; and the device on which she had\nstruck appeared entirely suitable.  I was a young Englishman who had\noutrun the constable; warrants were out against me in Scotland, and it\nhad become needful I should pass the border without loss of time, and\nprivately.\n\n'I have given a very good account of you,' said she, 'which I hope you\nmay justify.  I told them there was nothing against you beyond the fact\nthat you were put to the haw (if that is the right word) for debt.'\n\n'I pray God you have the expression incorrectly, ma'am,' said I.  'I do\nnot give myself out for a person easily alarmed; but you must admit there\nis something barbarous and mediaeval in the sound well qualified to\nstartle a poor foreigner.'\n\n'It is the name of a process in Scots Law, and need alarm no honest man,'\nsaid she.  'But you are a very idle-minded young gentleman; you must\nstill have your joke, I see: I only hope you will have no cause to regret\nit.'\n\n'I pray you not to suppose, because I speak lightly, that I do not feel\ndeeply,' said I.  'Your kindness has quite conquered me; I lay myself at\nyour disposition, I beg you to believe, with real tenderness; I pray you\nto consider me from henceforth as the most devoted of your friends.'\n\n'Well, well,' she said, 'here comes your devoted friend the drover.  I'm\nthinking he will be eager for the road; and I will not be easy myself\ntill I see you well off the premises, and the dishes washed, before my\nservant-woman wakes.  Praise God, we have gotten one that is a treasure\nat the sleeping!'\n\nThe morning was already beginning to be blue in the trees of the garden,\nand to put to shame the candle by which I had breakfasted.  The lady rose\nfrom table, and I had no choice but to follow her example.  All the time\nI was beating my brains for any means by which I should be able to get a\nword apart with Flora, or find the time to write her a billet.  The\nwindows had been open while I breakfasted, I suppose to ventilate the\nroom from any traces of my passage there; and, Master Ronald appearing on\nthe front lawn, my ogre leaned forth to address him.\n\n'Ronald,' she said, 'wasn't that Sim that went by the wall?'\n\nI snatched my advantage.  Right at her back there was pen, ink, and paper\nlaid out.  I wrote: 'I love you'; and before I had time to write more, or\nso much as to blot what I had written, I was again under the guns of the\ngold eyeglasses.\n\n'It's time,' she began; and then, as she observed my occupation, 'Umph!'\nshe broke off.  'Ye have something to write?' she demanded.\n\n'Some notes, madam,' said I, bowing with alacrity.\n\n'Notes,' she said; 'or a note?'\n\n'There is doubtless some _finesse_ of the English language that I do not\ncomprehend,' said I.\n\n'I'll contrive, however, to make my meaning very plain to ye, Mosha le\nViscount,' she continued.  'I suppose you desire to be considered a\ngentleman?'\n\n'Can you doubt it, madam?' said I.\n\n'I doubt very much, at least, whether you go to the right way about it,'\nshe said.  'You have come here to me, I cannot very well say how; I think\nyou will admit you owe me some thanks, if it was only for the breakfast I\nmade ye.  But what are you to me?  A waif young man, not so far to seek\nfor looks and manners, with some English notes in your pocket and a price\nupon your head.  I am a lady; I have been your hostess, with however\nlittle will; and I desire that this random acquaintance of yours with my\nfamily will cease and determine.'\n\nI believe I must have coloured.  'Madam,' said I, 'the notes are of no\nimportance; and your least pleasure ought certainly to be my law.  You\nhave felt, and you have been pleased to express, a doubt of me.  I tear\nthem up.'  Which you may be sure I did thoroughly.\n\n'There's a good lad!' said the dragon, and immediately led the way to the\nfront lawn.\n\nThe brother and sister were both waiting us here, and, as well as I could\nmake out in the imperfect light, bore every appearance of having passed\nthrough a rather cruel experience.  Ronald seemed ashamed to so much as\ncatch my eye in the presence of his aunt, and was the picture of\nembarrassment.  As for Flora, she had scarce the time to cast me one look\nbefore the dragon took her by the arm, and began to march across the\ngarden in the extreme first glimmer of the dawn without exchanging\nspeech.  Ronald and I followed in equal silence.\n\nThere was a door in that same high wall on the top of which I had sat\nperched no longer gone than yesterday morning.  This the old lady set\nopen with a key; and on the other side we were aware of a rough-looking,\nthick-set man, leaning with his arms (through which was passed a\nformidable staff) on a dry-stone dyke.  Him the old lady immediately\naddressed.\n\n'Sim,' said she, 'this is the young gentleman.'\n\nSim replied with an inarticulate grumble of sound, and a movement of one\narm and his head, which did duty for a salutation.\n\n'Now, Mr. St. Ives,' said the old lady, 'it's high time for you to be\ntaking the road.  But first of all let me give the change of your\nfive-guinea bill.  Here are four pounds of it in British Linen notes, and\nthe balance in small silver, less sixpence.  Some charge a shilling, I\nbelieve, but I have given you the benefit of the doubt.  See and guide it\nwith all the sense that you possess.'\n\n'And here, Mr. St. Ives,' said Flora, speaking for the first time, 'is a\nplaid which you will find quite necessary on so rough a journey.  I hope\nyou will take it from the hands of a Scotch friend,' she added, and her\nvoice trembled.\n\n'Genuine holly: I cut it myself,' said Ronald, and gave me as good a\ncudgel as a man could wish for in a row.\n\nThe formality of these gifts, and the waiting figure of the driver, told\nme loudly that I must be gone.  I dropped on one knee and bade farewell\nto the aunt, kissing her hand.  I did the like--but with how different a\npassion!--to her niece; as for the boy, I took him to my arms and\nembraced him with a cordiality that seemed to strike him speechless.\n'Farewell!' and 'Farewell!' I said.  'I shall never forget my friends.\nKeep me sometimes in memory.  Farewell!' With that I turned my back and\nbegan to walk away; and had scarce done so, when I heard the door in the\nhigh wall close behind me.  Of course this was the aunt's doing; and of\ncourse, if I know anything of human character, she would not let me go\nwithout some tart expressions.  I declare, even if I had heard them, I\nshould not have minded in the least, for I was quite persuaded that,\nwhatever admirers I might be leaving behind me in Swanston Cottage, the\naunt was not the least sincere.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X--THE DROVERS\n\n\nIt took me a little effort to come abreast of my new companion; for\nthough he walked with an ugly roll and no great appearance of speed, he\ncould cover the around at a good rate when he wanted to.  Each looked at\nthe other: I with natural curiosity, he with a great appearance of\ndistaste.  I have heard since that his heart was entirely set against me;\nhe had seen me kneel to the ladies, and diagnosed me for a 'gesterin'\neediot.'\n\n'So, ye're for England, are ye?' said he.\n\nI told him yes.\n\n'Weel, there's waur places, I believe,' was his reply; and he relapsed\ninto a silence which was not broken during a quarter of an hour of steady\nwalking.\n\nThis interval brought us to the foot of a bare green valley, which wound\nupwards and backwards among the hills.  A little stream came down the\nmidst and made a succession of clear pools; near by the lowest of which I\nwas aware of a drove of shaggy cattle, and a man who seemed the very\ncounterpart of Mr. Sim making a breakfast upon bread and cheese.  This\nsecond drover (whose name proved to be Candlish) rose on our approach.\n\n'Here's a mannie that's to gang through with us,' said Sim.  'It was the\nauld wife, Gilchrist, wanted it.'\n\n'Aweel, aweel,' said the other; and presently, remembering his manners,\nand looking on me with a solemn grin, 'A fine day!' says he.\n\nI agreed with him, and asked him how he did.\n\n'Brawly,' was the reply; and without further civilities, the pair\nproceeded to get the cattle under way.  This, as well as almost all the\nherding, was the work of a pair of comely and intelligent dogs, directed\nby Sim or Candlish in little more than monosyllables.  Presently we were\nascending the side of the mountain by a rude green track, whose presence\nI had not hitherto observed.  A continual sound of munching and the\ncrying of a great quantity of moor birds accompanied our progress, which\nthe deliberate pace and perennial appetite of the cattle rendered\nwearisomely slow.  In the midst my two conductors marched in a contented\nsilence that I could not but admire.  The more I looked at them, the more\nI was impressed by their absurd resemblance to each other.  They were\ndressed in the same coarse homespun, carried similar sticks, were equally\nbegrimed about the nose with snuff, and each wound in an identical plaid\nof what is called the shepherd's tartan.  In a back view they might be\ndescribed as indistinguishable; and even from the front they were much\nalike.  An incredible coincidence of humours augmented the impression.\nThrice and four times I attempted to pave the way for some exchange of\nthought, sentiment, or--at the least of it--human words.  An _Ay_ or an\n_Nhm_ was the sole return, and the topic died on the hill-side without\necho.  I can never deny that I was chagrined; and when, after a little\nmore walking, Sim turned towards me and offered me a ram's horn of snuff,\nwith the question 'Do ye use it?' I answered, with some animation,\n'Faith, sir, I would use pepper to introduce a little cordiality.'  But\neven this sally failed to reach, or at least failed to soften, my\ncompanions.\n\nAt this rate we came to the summit of a ridge, and saw the track descend\nin front of us abruptly into a desert vale, about a league in length, and\nclosed at the farther end by no less barren hilltops.  Upon this point of\nvantage Sim came to a halt, took off his hat, and mopped his brow.\n\n'Weel,' he said, 'here we're at the top o' Howden.'\n\n'The top o' Howden, sure eneuch,' said Candlish.\n\n'Mr. St. Ivey, are ye dry?' said the first.\n\n'Now, really,' said I, 'is not this Satan reproving sin?'\n\n'What ails ye, man?' said he.  'I'm offerin' ye a dram.'\n\n'Oh, if it be anything to drink,' said I, 'I am as dry as my neighbours.'\n\nWhereupon Sim produced from the corner of his plaid a black bottle, and\nwe all drank and pledged each other.  I found these gentlemen followed\nupon such occasions an invariable etiquette, which you may be certain I\nmade haste to imitate.  Each wiped his mouth with the back of his left\nhand, held up the bottle in his right, remarked with emphasis, 'Here's to\nye!' and swallowed as much of the spirit as his fancy prompted.  This\nlittle ceremony, which was the nearest thing to manners I could perceive\nin either of my companions, was repeated at becoming intervals, generally\nafter an ascent.  Occasionally we shared a mouthful of ewe-milk cheese\nand an inglorious form of bread, which I understood (but am far from\nengaging my honour on the point) to be called 'shearer's bannock.'  And\nthat may be said to have concluded our whole active intercourse for the\nfirst day.\n\nI had the more occasion to remark the extraordinarily desolate nature of\nthat country, through which the drove road continued, hour after hour and\neven day after day, to wind.  A continual succession of insignificant\nshaggy hills, divided by the course of ten thousand brooks, through which\nwe had to wade, or by the side of which we encamped at night; infinite\nperspectives of heather, infinite quantities of moorfowl; here and there,\nby a stream side, small and pretty clumps of willows or the silver birch;\nhere and there, the ruins of ancient and inconsiderable fortresses--made\nthe unchanging characters of the scene.  Occasionally, but only in the\ndistance, we could perceive the smoke of a small town or of an isolated\nfarmhouse or cottage on the moors; more often, a flock of sheep and its\nattendant shepherd, or a rude field of agriculture perhaps not yet\nharvested.  With these alleviations, we might almost be said to pass\nthrough an unbroken desert--sure, one of the most impoverished in Europe;\nand when I recalled to mind that we were yet but a few leagues from the\nchief city (where the law courts sat every day with a press of business,\nsoldiers garrisoned the castle, and men of admitted parts were carrying\non the practice of letters and the investigations of science), it gave me\na singular view of that poor, barren, and yet illustrious country through\nwhich I travelled.  Still more, perhaps, did it commend the wisdom of\nMiss Gilchrist in sending me with these uncouth companions and by this\nunfrequented path.\n\nMy itinerary is by no means clear to me; the names and distances I never\nclearly knew, and have now wholly forgotten; and this is the more to be\nregretted as there is no doubt that, in the course of those days, I must\nhave passed and camped among sites which have been rendered illustrious\nby the pen of Walter Scott.  Nay, more, I am of opinion that I was still\nmore favoured by fortune, and have actually met and spoken with that\ninimitable author.  Our encounter was of a tall, stoutish, elderly\ngentleman, a little grizzled, and of a rugged but cheerful and engaging\ncountenance.  He sat on a hill pony, wrapped in a plaid over his green\ncoat, and was accompanied by a horse-woman, his daughter, a young lady of\nthe most charming appearance.  They overtook us on a stretch of heath,\nreined up as they came alongside, and accompanied us for perhaps a\nquarter of an hour before they galloped off again across the hillsides to\nour left.  Great was my amazement to find the unconquerable Mr. Sim thaw\nimmediately on the accost of this strange gentleman, who hailed him with\na ready familiarity, proceeded at once to discuss with him the trade of\ndroving and the prices of cattle, and did not disdain to take a pinch\nfrom the inevitable ram's horn.  Presently I was aware that the\nstranger's eye was directed on myself; and there ensued a conversation,\nsome of which I could not help overhearing at the time, and the rest have\npieced together more or less plausibly from the report of Sim.\n\n'Surely that must be an _amateur drover_ ye have gotten there?' the\ngentleman seems to have asked.\n\nSim replied, I was a young gentleman that had a reason of his own to\ntravel privately.\n\n'Well, well, ye must tell me nothing of that.  I am in the law, you know,\nand _tace_ is the Latin for a candle,' answered the gentleman.  'But I\nhope it's nothing bad.'\n\nSim told him it was no more than debt.\n\n'Oh, Lord, if that be all!' cried the gentleman; and turning to myself,\n'Well, sir,' he added, 'I understand you are taking a tramp through our\nforest here for the pleasure of the thing?'\n\n'Why, yes, sir,' said I; 'and I must say I am very well entertained.'\n\n'I envy you,' said he.  'I have jogged many miles of it myself when I was\nyounger.  My youth lies buried about here under every heather-bush, like\nthe soul of the licentiate Lucius.  But you should have a guide.  The\npleasure of this country is much in the legends, which grow as plentiful\nas blackberries.'  And directing my attention to a little fragment of a\nbroken wall no greater than a tombstone, he told me for an example a\nstory of its earlier inhabitants.  Years after it chanced that I was one\nday diverting myself with a Waverley Novel, when what should I come upon\nbut the identical narrative of my green-coated gentleman upon the moors!\nIn a moment the scene, the tones of his voice, his northern accent, and\nthe very aspect of the earth and sky and temperature of the weather,\nflashed back into my mind with the reality of dreams.  The unknown in the\ngreen-coat had been the Great Unknown!  I had met Scott; I had heard a\nstory from his lips; I should have been able to write, to claim\nacquaintance, to tell him that his legend still tingled in my ears.  But\nthe discovery came too late, and the great man had already succumbed\nunder the load of his honours and misfortunes.\n\nPresently, after giving us a cigar apiece, Scott bade us farewell and\ndisappeared with his daughter over the hills.  And when I applied to Sim\nfor information, his answer of 'The Shirra, man!  A'body kens the\nShirra!' told me, unfortunately, nothing.\n\nA more considerable adventure falls to be related.  We were now near the\nborder.  We had travelled for long upon the track beaten and browsed by a\nmillion herds, our predecessors, and had seen no vestige of that traffic\nwhich had created it.  It was early in the morning when we at last\nperceived, drawing near to the drove road, but still at a distance of\nabout half a league, a second caravan, similar to but larger than our\nown.  The liveliest excitement was at once exhibited by both my comrades.\nThey climbed hillocks, they studied the approaching drove from under\ntheir hand, they consulted each other with an appearance of alarm that\nseemed to me extraordinary.  I had learned by this time that their\nstand-off manners implied, at least, no active enmity; and I made bold to\nask them what was wrong.\n\n'Bad yins,' was Sim's emphatic answer.\n\nAll day the dogs were kept unsparingly on the alert, and the drove pushed\nforward at a very unusual and seemingly unwelcome speed.  All day Sim and\nCandlish, with a more than ordinary expenditure both of snuff and of\nwords, continued to debate the position.  It seems that they had\nrecognised two of our neighbours on the road--one Faa, and another by the\nname of Gillies.  Whether there was an old feud between them still\nunsettled I could never learn; but Sim and Candlish were prepared for\nevery degree of fraud or violence at their hands.  Candlish repeatedly\ncongratulated himself on having left 'the watch at home with the\nmistress'; and Sim perpetually brandished his cudgel, and cursed his\nill-fortune that it should be sprung.\n\n'I willna care a damn to gie the daashed scoon'rel a fair clout wi' it,'\nhe said.  'The daashed thing micht come sindry in ma hand.'\n\n'Well, gentlemen,' said I, 'suppose they do come on, I think we can give\na very good account of them.'  And I made my piece of holly, Ronald's\ngift, the value of which I now appreciated, sing about my head.\n\n'Ay, man?  Are ye stench?' inquired Sim, with a gleam of approval in his\nwooden countenance.\n\nThe same evening, somewhat wearied with our day-long expedition, we\nencamped on a little verdant mound, from the midst of which there welled\na spring of clear water scarce great enough to wash the hands in.  We had\nmade our meal and lain down, but were not yet asleep, when a growl from\none of the collies set us on the alert.  All three sat up, and on a\nsecond impulse all lay down again, but now with our cudgels ready.  A man\nmust be an alien and an outlaw, an old soldier and a young man in the\nbargain, to take adventure easily.  With no idea as to the rights of the\nquarrel or the probable consequences of the encounter, I was as ready to\ntake part with my two drovers, as ever to fall in line on the morning of\na battle.  Presently there leaped three men out of the heather; we had\nscarce time to get to our feet before we were assailed; and in a moment\neach one of us was engaged with an adversary whom the deepening twilight\nscarce permitted him to see.  How the battle sped in other quarters I am\nin no position to describe.  The rogue that fell to my share was\nexceedingly agile and expert with his weapon; had and held me at a\ndisadvantage from the first assault; forced me to give ground\ncontinually, and at last, in mere self-defence, to let him have the\npoint.  It struck him in the throat, and he went down like a ninepin and\nmoved no more.\n\nIt seemed this was the signal for the engagement to be discontinued.  The\nother combatants separated at once; our foes were suffered, without\nmolestation, to lift up and bear away their fallen comrade; so that I\nperceived this sort of war to be not wholly without laws of chivalry, and\nperhaps rather to partake of the character of a tournament than of a\nbattle _a outrance_.  There was no doubt, at least, that I was supposed\nto have pushed the affair too seriously.  Our friends the enemy removed\ntheir wounded companion with undisguised consternation; and they were no\nsooner over the top of the brae, than Sim and Candlish roused up their\nwearied drove and set forth on a night march.\n\n'I'm thinking Faa's unco bad,' said the one.\n\n'Ay,' said the other, 'he lookit dooms gash.'\n\n'He did that,' said the first.\n\nAnd their weary silence fell upon them again.\n\nPresently Sim turned to me.  'Ye're unco ready with the stick,' said he.\n\n'Too ready, I'm afraid,' said I.  'I am afraid Mr. Faa (if that be his\nname) has got his gruel.'\n\n'Weel, I wouldnae wonder,' replied Sim.\n\n'And what is likely to happen?' I inquired.\n\n'Aweel,' said Sim, snuffing profoundly, 'if I were to offer an opeenion,\nit would not be conscientious.  For the plain fac' is, Mr. St. Ivy, that\nI div not ken.  We have had crackit heids--and rowth of them--ere now;\nand we have had a broken leg or maybe twa; and the like of that we drover\nbodies make a kind of a practice like to keep among oursel's.  But a corp\nwe have none of us ever had to deal with, and I could set nae leemit to\nwhat Gillies micht consider proper in the affair.  Forbye that, he would\nbe in raither a hobble himsel', if he was to gang hame wantin' Faa.  Folk\nare awfu' throng with their questions, and parteecularly when they're no\nwantit.'\n\n'That's a fac',' said Candlish.\n\nI considered this prospect ruefully; and then making the best of it,\n'Upon all which accounts,' said I, 'the best will be to get across the\nborder and there separate.  If you are troubled, you can very truly put\nthe blame upon your late companion; and if I am pursued, I must just try\nto keep out of the way.'\n\n'Mr. St. Ivy,' said Sim, with something resembling enthusiasm, 'no' a\nword mair!  I have met in wi' mony kinds o' gentry ere now; I hae seen o'\nthem that was the tae thing, and I hae seen o' them that was the tither;\nbut the wale of a gentleman like you I have no sae very frequently seen\nthe bate of.'\n\nOur night march was accordingly pursued with unremitting diligence.  The\nstars paled, the east whitened, and we were still, both dogs and men,\ntoiling after the wearied cattle.  Again and again Sim and Candlish\nlamented the necessity: it was 'fair ruin on the bestial,' they declared;\nbut the thought of a judge and a scaffold hunted them ever forward.  I\nmyself was not so much to be pitied.  All that night, and during the\nwhole of the little that remained before us of our conjunct journey, I\nenjoyed a new pleasure, the reward of my prowess, in the now loosened\ntongue of Mr. Sim.  Candlish was still obdurately taciturn: it was the\nman's nature; but Sim, having finally appraised and approved me,\ndisplayed without reticence a rather garrulous habit of mind and a pretty\ntalent for narration.  The pair were old and close companions,\nco-existing in these endless moors in a brotherhood of silence such as I\nhave heard attributed to the trappers of the west.  It seems absurd to\nmention love in connection with so ugly and snuffy a couple; at least,\ntheir trust was absolute; and they entertained a surprising admiration\nfor each other's qualities; Candlish exclaiming that Sim was 'grand\ncompany!' and Sim frequently assuring me in an aside that for 'a rale,\nauld, stench bitch, there was nae the bate of Candlish in braid\nScotland.'  The two dogs appeared to be entirely included in this family\ncompact, and I remarked that their exploits and traits of character were\nconstantly and minutely observed by the two masters.  Dog stories\nparticularly abounded with them; and not only the dogs of the present but\nthose of the past contributed their quota.  'But that was naething,' Sim\nwould begin: 'there was a herd in Manar, they ca'd him Tweedie--ye'll\nmind Tweedie, Can'lish?'  'Fine, that!' said Candlish.  'Aweel, Tweedie\nhad a dog--'  The story I have forgotten; I dare say it was dull, and I\nsuspect it was not true; but indeed, my travels with the drove rendered\nme indulgent, and perhaps even credulous, in the matter of dog stories.\nBeautiful, indefatigable beings! as I saw them at the end of a long day's\njourney frisking, barking, bounding, striking attitudes, slanting a bushy\ntail, manifestly playing to the spectator's eye, manifestly rejoicing in\ntheir grace and beauty--and turned to observe Sim and Candlish\nunornamentally plodding in the rear with the plaids about their bowed\nshoulders and the drop at their snuffy nose--I thought I would rather\nclaim kinship with the dogs than with the men!  My sympathy was\nunreturned; in their eyes I was a creature light as air; and they would\nscarce spare me the time for a perfunctory caress or perhaps a hasty lap\nof the wet tongue, ere they were back again in sedulous attendance on\nthose dingy deities, their masters--and their masters, as like as not,\ndamning their stupidity.\n\nAltogether the last hours of our tramp were infinitely the most agreeable\nto me, and I believe to all of us; and by the time we came to separate,\nthere had grown up a certain familiarity and mutual esteem that made the\nparting harder.  It took place about four of the afternoon on a bare\nhillside from which I could see the ribbon of the great north road,\nhenceforth to be my conductor.  I asked what was to pay.\n\n'Naething,' replied Sim.\n\n'What in the name of folly is this?' I exclaimed.  'You have led me, you\nhave fed me, you have filled me full of whisky, and now you will take\nnothing!'\n\n'Ye see we indentit for that,' replied Sim.\n\n 'Indented?' I repeated; 'what does the man mean?'\n\n'Mr. St. Ivy,' said Sim, 'this is a maitter entirely between Candlish and\nme and the auld wife, Gilchrist.  You had naething to say to it; weel, ye\ncan have naething to do with it, then.'\n\n'My good man,' said I, 'I can allow myself to be placed in no such\nridiculous position.  Mrs. Gilchrist is nothing to me, and I refuse to be\nher debtor.'\n\n'I dinna exac'ly see what way ye're gaun to help it,' observed my drover.\n\n'By paying you here and now,' said I.\n\n'There's aye twa to a bargain, Mr. St. Ives,' said he.\n\n'You mean that you will not take it?' said I.\n\n'There or thereabout,' said he.  'Forbye, that it would set ye a heap\nbetter to keep your siller for them you awe it to.  Ye're young, Mr. St.\nIvy, and thoughtless; but it's my belief that, wi' care and\ncircumspection, ye may yet do credit to yoursel'.  But just you bear this\nin mind: that him that _awes_ siller should never _gie_ siller.'\n\nWell, what was there to say?  I accepted his rebuke, and bidding the pair\nfarewell, set off alone upon my southward way.\n\n'Mr. St. Ivy,' was the last word of Sim, 'I was never muckle ta'en up in\nEnglishry; but I think that I really ought to say that ye seem to me to\nhave the makings of quite a decent lad.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI--THE GREAT NORTH ROAD\n\n\nIt chanced that as I went down the hill these last words of my friend the\ndrover echoed not unfruitfully in my head.  I had never told these men\nthe least particulars as to my race or fortune, as it was a part, and the\nbest part, of their civility to ask no questions: yet they had dubbed me\nwithout hesitation English.  Some strangeness in the accent they had\ndoubtless thus explained.  And it occurred to me, that if I could pass in\nScotland for an Englishman, I might be able to reverse the process and\npass in England for a Scot.  I thought, if I was pushed to it, I could\nmake a struggle to imitate the brogue; after my experience with Candlish\nand Sim, I had a rich provision of outlandish words at my command; and I\nfelt I could tell the tale of Tweedie's dog so as to deceive a native.\nAt the same time, I was afraid my name of St. Ives was scarcely suitable;\ntill I remembered there was a town so called in the province of Cornwall,\nthought I might yet be glad to claim it for my place of origin, and\ndecided for a Cornish family and a Scots education.  For a trade, as I\nwas equally ignorant of all, and as the most innocent might at any moment\nbe the means of my exposure, it was best to pretend to none.  And I\ndubbed myself a young gentleman of a sufficient fortune and an idle,\ncurious habit of mind, rambling the country at my own charges, in quest\nof health, information, and merry adventures.\n\nAt Newcastle, which was the first town I reached, I completed my\npreparations for the part, before going to the inn, by the purchase of a\nknapsack and a pair of leathern gaiters.  My plaid I continued to wear\nfrom sentiment.  It was warm, useful to sleep in if I were again\nbenighted, and I had discovered it to be not unbecoming for a man of\ngallant carriage.  Thus equipped, I supported my character of the\nlight-hearted pedestrian not amiss.  Surprise was indeed expressed that I\nshould have selected such a season of the year; but I pleaded some delays\nof business, and smilingly claimed to be an eccentric.  The devil was in\nit, I would say, if any season of the year was not good enough for me; I\nwas not made of sugar, I was no mollycoddle to be afraid of an ill-aired\nbed or a sprinkle of snow; and I would knock upon the table with my fist\nand call for t'other bottle, like the noisy and free-hearted young\ngentleman I was.  It was my policy (if I may so express myself) to talk\nmuch and say little.  At the inn tables, the country, the state of the\nroads, the business interest of those who sat down with me, and the\ncourse of public events, afforded me a considerable field in which I\nmight discourse at large and still communicate no information about\nmyself.  There was no one with less air of reticence; I plunged into my\ncompany up to the neck; and I had a long cock-and-bull story of an aunt\nof mine which must have convinced the most suspicious of my innocence.\n'What!' they would have said, 'that young ass to be concealing anything!\nWhy, he has deafened me with an aunt of his until my head aches.  He only\nwants you should give him a line, and he would tell you his whole descent\nfrom Adam downward, and his whole private fortune to the last shilling.'\nA responsible solid fellow was even so much moved by pity for my\ninexperience as to give me a word or two of good advice: that I was but a\nyoung man after all--I had at this time a deceptive air of youth that\nmade me easily pass for one-and-twenty, and was, in the circumstances,\nworth a fortune--that the company at inns was very mingled, that I should\ndo well to be more careful, and the like; to all which I made answer that\nI meant no harm myself and expected none from others, or the devil was in\nit.  'You are one of those d---d prudent fellows that I could never abide\nwith,' said I.  'You are the kind of man that has a long head.  That's\nall the world, my dear sir: the long-heads and the short-horns!  Now, I\nam a short-horn.'  'I doubt,' says he, 'that you will not go very far\nwithout getting sheared.'  I offered to bet with him on that, and he made\noff, shaking his head.\n\nBut my particular delight was to enlarge on politics and the war.  None\ndamned the French like me; none was more bitter against the Americans.\nAnd when the north-bound mail arrived, crowned with holly, and the\ncoachman and guard hoarse with shouting victory, I went even so far as to\nentertain the company to a bowl of punch, which I compounded myself with\nno illiberal hand, and doled out to such sentiments as the following:--\n\n'Our glorious victory on the Nivelle'!  'Lord Wellington, God bless him!\nand may victory ever attend upon his arms!' and, 'Soult, poor devil! and\nmay he catch it again to the same tune!'\n\nNever was oratory more applauded to the echo--never any one was more of\nthe popular man than I.  I promise you, we made a night of it.  Some of\nthe company supported each other, with the assistance of boots, to their\nrespective bedchambers, while the rest slept on the field of glory where\nwe had left them; and at the breakfast table the next morning there was\nan extraordinary assemblage of red eyes and shaking fists.  I observed\npatriotism to burn much lower by daylight.  Let no one blame me for\ninsensibility to the reverses of France!  God knows how my heart raged.\nHow I longed to fall on that herd of swine and knock their heads together\nin the moment of their revelry!  But you are to consider my own situation\nand its necessities; also a certain lightheartedness, eminently Gallic,\nwhich forms a leading trait in my character, and leads me to throw myself\ninto new circumstances with the spirit of a schoolboy.  It is possible\nthat I sometimes allowed this impish humour to carry me further than good\ntaste approves: and I was certainly punished for it once.\n\nThis was in the episcopal city of Durham.  We sat down, a considerable\ncompany, to dinner, most of us fine old vatted English tories of that\nclass which is often so enthusiastic as to be inarticulate.  I took and\nheld the lead from the beginning; and, the talk having turned on the\nFrench in the Peninsula, I gave them authentic details (on the authority\nof a cousin of mine, an ensign) of certain cannibal orgies in Galicia, in\nwhich no less a person than General Caffarelli had taken a part.  I\nalways disliked that commander, who once ordered me under arrest for\ninsubordination; and it is possible that a spice of vengeance added to\nthe rigour of my picture.  I have forgotten the details; no doubt they\nwere high-coloured.  No doubt I rejoiced to fool these jolter-heads; and\nno doubt the sense of security that I drank from their dull, gasping\nfaces encouraged me to proceed extremely far.  And for my sins, there was\none silent little man at table who took my story at the true value.  It\nwas from no sense of humour, to which he was quite dead.  It was from no\nparticular intelligence, for he had not any.  The bond of sympathy, of\nall things in the world, had rendered him clairvoyant.\n\nDinner was no sooner done than I strolled forth into the streets with\nsome design of viewing the cathedral; and the little man was silently at\nmy heels.  A few doors from the inn, in a dark place of the street, I was\naware of a touch on my arm, turned suddenly, and found him looking up at\nme with eyes pathetically bright.\n\n'I beg your pardon, sir; but that story of yours was particularly rich.\nHe--he!  Particularly racy,' said he.  'I tell you, sir, I took you\nwholly!  I _smoked_ you!  I believe you and I, sir, if we had a chance to\ntalk, would find we had a good many opinions in common.  Here is the\n\"Blue Bell,\" a very comfortable place.  They draw good ale, sir.  Would\nyou be so condescending as to share a pot with me?'\n\nThere was something so ambiguous and secret in the little man's perpetual\nsignalling, that I confess my curiosity was much aroused.  Blaming\nmyself, even as I did so, for the indiscretion, I embraced his proposal,\nand we were soon face to face over a tankard of mulled ale.  He lowered\nhis voice to the least attenuation of a whisper.\n\n'Here, sir,' said he, 'is to the Great Man.  I think you take me?  No?'\nHe leaned forward till our noses touched.  'Here is to the Emperor!' said\nhe.\n\nI was extremely embarrassed, and, in spite of the creature's innocent\nappearance, more than half alarmed.  I thought him too ingenious, and,\nindeed, too daring for a spy.  Yet if he were honest he must be a man of\nextraordinary indiscretion, and therefore very unfit to be encouraged by\nan escaped prisoner.  I took a half course, accordingly--accepted his\ntoast in silence, and drank it without enthusiasm.\n\nHe proceeded to abound in the praises of Napoleon, such as I had never\nheard in France, or at least only on the lips of officials paid to offer\nthem.\n\n'And this Caffarelli, now,' he pursued: 'he is a splendid fellow, too, is\nhe not?  I have not heard vastly much of him myself.  No details, sir--no\ndetails!  We labour under huge difficulties here as to unbiassed\ninformation.'\n\n'I believe I have heard the same complaint in other countries,' I could\nnot help remarking.  'But as to Caffarelli, he is neither lame nor blind,\nhe has two legs and a nose in the middle of his face.  And I care as much\nabout him as you care for the dead body of Mr. Perceval!'\n\nHe studied me with glowing eyes.\n\n'You cannot deceive me!' he cried.  'You have served under him.  You are\na Frenchman!  I hold by the hand, at last, one of that noble race, the\npioneers of the glorious principles of liberty and brotherhood.  Hush!\nNo, it is all right.  I thought there had been somebody at the door.  In\nthis wretched, enslaved country we dare not even call our souls our own.\nThe spy and the hangman, sir--the spy and the hangman!  And yet there is\na candle burning, too.  The good leaven is working, sir--working\nunderneath.  Even in this town there are a few brave spirits, who meet\nevery Wednesday.  You must stay over a day or so, and join us.  We do not\nuse this house.  Another, and a quieter.  They draw fine ale,\nhowever--fair, mild ale.  You will find yourself among friends, among\nbrothers.  You will hear some very daring sentiments expressed!' he\ncried, expanding his small chest.  'Monarchy, Christianity--all the\ntrappings of a bloated past--the Free Confraternity of Durham and\nTyneside deride.'\n\nHere was a devil of a prospect for a gentleman whose whole design was to\navoid observation!  The Free Confraternity had no charms for me; daring\nsentiments were no part of my baggage; and I tried, instead, a little\ncold water.\n\n'You seem to forget, sir, that my Emperor has re-established\nChristianity,' I observed.\n\n'Ah, sir, but that was policy!' he exclaimed.  'You do not understand\nNapoleon.  I have followed his whole career.  I can explain his policy\nfrom first to last.  Now for instance in the Peninsula, on which you were\nso very amusing, if you will come to a friend's house who has a map of\nSpain, I can make the whole course of the war quite clear to you, I\nventure to say, in half an hour.'\n\nThis was intolerable.  Of the two extremes, I found I preferred the\nBritish tory; and, making an appointment for the morrow, I pleaded sudden\nheadache, escaped to the inn, packed my knapsack, and fled, about nine at\nnight, from this accursed neighbourhood.  It was cold, starry, and clear,\nand the road dry, with a touch of frost.  For all that, I had not the\nsmallest intention to make a long stage of it; and about ten o'clock,\nspying on the right-hand side of the way the lighted windows of an\nalehouse, I determined to bait there for the night.\n\nIt was against my principle, which was to frequent only the dearest inns;\nand the misadventure that befell me was sufficient to make me more\nparticular in the future.  A large company was assembled in the parlour,\nwhich was heavy with clouds of tobacco smoke, and brightly lighted up by\na roaring fire of coal.  Hard by the chimney stood a vacant chair in what\nI thought an enviable situation, whether for warmth or the pleasure of\nsociety; and I was about to take it, when the nearest of the company\nstopped me with his hand.\n\n'Beg thy pardon, sir,' said he; 'but that there chair belongs to a\nBritish soldier.'\n\nA chorus of voices enforced and explained.  It was one of Lord\nWellington's heroes.  He had been wounded under Rowland Hill.  He was\nColbourne's right-hand man.  In short, this favoured individual appeared\nto have served with every separate corps, and under every individual\ngeneral in the Peninsula.  Of course I apologised.  I had not known.  The\ndevil was in it if a soldier had not a right to the best in England.  And\nwith that sentiment, which was loudly applauded, I found a corner of a\nbench, and awaited, with some hopes of entertainment, the return of the\nhero.  He proved, of course, to be a private soldier.  I say of course,\nbecause no officer could possibly enjoy such heights of popularity.  He\nhad been wounded before San Sebastian, and still wore his arm in a sling.\nWhat was a great deal worse for him, every member of the company had been\nplying him with drink.  His honest yokel's countenance blazed as if with\nfever, his eyes were glazed and looked the two ways, and his feet\nstumbled as, amidst a murmur of applause, he returned to the midst of his\nadmirers.\n\nTwo minutes afterwards I was again posting in the dark along the highway;\nto explain which sudden movement of retreat I must trouble the reader\nwith a reminiscence of my services.\n\nI lay one night with the out-pickets in Castile.  We were in close touch\nwith the enemy; the usual orders had been issued against smoking, fires,\nand talk, and both armies lay as quiet as mice, when I saw the English\nsentinel opposite making a signal by holding up his musket.  I repeated\nit, and we both crept together in the dry bed of a stream, which made the\ndemarcation of the armies.  It was wine he wanted, of which we had a good\nprovision, and the English had quite run out.  He gave me the money, and\nI, as was the custom, left him my firelock in pledge, and set off for the\ncanteen.  When I returned with a skin of wine, behold, it had pleased\nsome uneasy devil of an English officer to withdraw the outposts!  Here\nwas a situation with a vengeance, and I looked for nothing but ridicule\nin the present and punishment in the future.  Doubtless our officers\nwinked pretty hard at this interchange of courtesies, but doubtless it\nwould be impossible to wink at so gross a fault, or rather so pitiable a\nmisadventure as mine; and you are to conceive me wandering in the plains\nof Castile, benighted, charged with a wine-skin for which I had no use,\nand with no knowledge whatever of the whereabouts of my musket, beyond\nthat it was somewhere in my Lord Wellington's army.  But my Englishman\nwas either a very honest fellow, or else extremely thirsty, and at last\ncontrived to advertise me of his new position.  Now, the English sentry\nin Castile, and the wounded hero in the Durham public-house, were one and\nthe same person; and if he had been a little less drunk, or myself less\nlively in getting away, the travels of M. St. Ives might have come to an\nuntimely end.\n\nI suppose this woke me up; it stirred in me besides a spirit of\nopposition, and in spite of cold, darkness, the highwaymen and the\nfootpads, I determined to walk right on till breakfast-time: a happy\nresolution, which enabled me to observe one of those traits of manners\nwhich at once depict a country and condemn it.  It was near midnight when\nI saw, a great way ahead of me, the light of many torches; presently\nafter, the sound of wheels reached me, and the slow tread of feet, and\nsoon I had joined myself to the rear of a sordid, silent, and lugubrious\nprocession, such as we see in dreams.  Close on a hundred persons marched\nby torchlight in unbroken silence; in their midst a cart, and in the\ncart, on an inclined platform, the dead body of a man--the centre-piece\nof this solemnity, the hero whose obsequies we were come forth at this\nunusual hour to celebrate.  It was but a plain, dingy old fellow of fifty\nor sixty, his throat cut, his shirt turned over as though to show the\nwound.  Blue trousers and brown socks completed his attire, if we can\ntalk so of the dead.  He had a horrid look of a waxwork.  In the tossing\nof the lights he seemed to make faces and mouths at us, to frown, and to\nbe at times upon the point of speech.  The cart, with this shabby and\ntragic freight, and surrounded by its silent escort and bright torches,\ncontinued for some distance to creak along the high-road, and I to follow\nit in amazement, which was soon exchanged for horror.  At the corner of a\nlane the procession stopped, and, as the torches ranged themselves along\nthe hedgerow-side, I became aware of a grave dug in the midst of the\nthoroughfare, and a provision of quicklime piled in the ditch.  The cart\nwas backed to the margin, the body slung off the platform and dumped into\nthe grave with an irreverent roughness.  A sharpened stake had hitherto\nserved it for a pillow.  It was now withdrawn, held in its place by\nseveral volunteers, and a fellow with a heavy mallet (the sound of which\nstill haunts me at night) drove it home through the bosom of the corpse.\nThe hole was filled with quicklime, and the bystanders, as if relieved of\nsome oppression, broke at once into a sound of whispered speech.\n\nMy shirt stuck to me, my heart had almost ceased beating, and I found my\ntongue with difficulty.\n\n'I beg your pardon,' I gasped to a neighbour, 'what is this? what has he\ndone? is it allowed?'\n\n'Why, where do you come from?' replied the man.\n\n'I am a traveller, sir,' said I, 'and a total stranger in this part of\nthe country.  I had lost my way when I saw your torches, and came by\nchance on this--this incredible scene.  Who was the man?'\n\n'A suicide,' said he.  'Ay, he was a bad one, was Johnnie Green.'\n\nIt appeared this was a wretch who had committed many barbarous murders,\nand being at last upon the point of discovery fell of his own hand.  And\nthe nightmare at the crossroads was the regular punishment, according to\nthe laws of England, for an act which the Romans honoured as a virtue!\nWhenever an Englishman begins to prate of civilisation (as, indeed, it's\na defect they are rather prone to), I hear the measured blows of a\nmallet, see the bystanders crowd with torches about the grave, smile a\nlittle to myself in conscious superiority--and take a thimbleful of\nbrandy for the stomach's sake.\n\nI believe it must have been at my next stage, for I remember going to bed\nextremely early, that I came to the model of a good old-fashioned English\ninn, and was attended on by the picture of a pretty chambermaid.  We had\na good many pleasant passages as she waited table or warmed my bed for me\nwith a devil of a brass warming pan, fully larger than herself; and as\nshe was no less pert than she was pretty, she may be said to have given\nrather better than she took.  I cannot tell why (unless it were for the\nsake of her saucy eyes), but I made her my confidante, told her I was\nattached to a young lady in Scotland, and received the encouragement of\nher sympathy, mingled and connected with a fair amount of rustic wit.\nWhile I slept the down-mail stopped for supper; it chanced that one of\nthe passengers left behind a copy of the _Edinburgh Courant_, and the\nnext morning my pretty chambermaid set the paper before me at breakfast,\nwith the remark that there was some news from my lady-love.  I took it\neagerly, hoping to find some further word of our escape, in which I was\ndisappointed; and I was about to lay it down, when my eye fell on a\nparagraph immediately concerning me.  Faa was in hospital, grievously\nsick, and warrants were out for the arrest of Sim and Candlish.  These\ntwo men had shown themselves very loyal to me.  This trouble emerging,\nthe least I could do was to be guided by a similar loyalty to them.\nSuppose my visit to my uncle crowned with some success, and my finances\nre-established, I determined I should immediately return to Edinburgh,\nput their case in the hands of a good lawyer, and await events.  So my\nmind was very lightly made up to what proved a mighty serious matter.\nCandlish and Sim were all very well in their way, and I do sincerely\ntrust I should have been at some pains to help them, had there been\nnothing else.  But in truth my heart and my eyes were set on quite\nanother matter, and I received the news of their tribulation almost with\njoy.  That is never a bad wind that blows where we want to go, and you\nmay be sure there was nothing unwelcome in a circumstance that carried me\nback to Edinburgh and Flora.  From that hour I began to indulge myself\nwith the making of imaginary scenes and interviews, in which I confounded\nthe aunt, flattered Ronald, and now in the witty, now in the sentimental\nmanner, declared my love and received the assurance of its return.  By\nmeans of this exercise my resolution daily grew stronger, until at last I\nhad piled together such a mass of obstinacy as it would have taken a\ncataclysm of nature to subvert.\n\n'Yes,' said I to the chambermaid, 'here is news of my lady-love indeed,\nand very good news too.'\n\nAll that day, in the teeth of a keen winter wind, I hugged myself in my\nplaid, and it was as though her arms were flung around me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII--I FOLLOW A COVERED CART NEARLY TO MY DESTINATION\n\n\nAt last I began to draw near, by reasonable stages, to the neighbourhood\nof Wakefield; and the name of Mr. Burchell Fenn came to the top in my\nmemory.  This was the gentleman (the reader may remember) who made a\ntrade of forwarding the escape of French prisoners.  How he did so:\nwhether he had a sign-board, _Escapes forwarded_, _apply within_; what he\ncharged for his services, or whether they were gratuitous and charitable,\nwere all matters of which I was at once ignorant and extremely curious.\nThanks to my proficiency in English, and Mr. Romaine's bank-notes, I was\ngetting on swimmingly without him; but the trouble was that I could not\nbe easy till I had come to the bottom of these mysteries, and it was my\ndifficulty that I knew nothing of him beyond the name.  I knew not his\ntrade beyond that of Forwarder of Escapes--whether he lived in town or\ncountry, whether he were rich or poor, nor by what kind of address I was\nto gain his confidence.  It would have a very bad appearance to go along\nthe highwayside asking after a man of whom I could give so scanty an\naccount; and I should look like a fool, indeed, if I were to present\nmyself at his door and find the police in occupation!  The interest of\nthe conundrum, however, tempted me, and I turned aside from my direct\nroad to pass by Wakefield; kept my ears pricked, as I went, for any\nmention of his name, and relied for the rest on my good fortune.  If Luck\n(who must certainly be feminine) favoured me as far as to throw me in the\nman's way, I should owe the lady a candle; if not, I could very readily\nconsole myself.  In this experimental humour, and with so little to help\nme, it was a miracle that I should have brought my enterprise to a good\nend; and there are several saints in the calendar who might be happy to\nexchange with St. Ives!\n\nI had slept that night in a good inn at Wakefield, made my breakfast by\ncandle-light with the passengers of an up-coach, and set off in a very\nill temper with myself and my surroundings.  It was still early; the air\nraw and cold; the sun low, and soon to disappear under a vast canopy of\nrain-clouds that had begun to assemble in the north-west, and from that\nquarter invaded the whole width of the heaven.  Already the rain fell in\ncrystal rods; already the whole face of the country sounded with the\ndischarge of drains and ditches; and I looked forward to a day of\ndownpour and the hell of wet clothes, in which particular I am as dainty\nas a cat.  At a corner of the road, and by the last glint of the drowning\nsun, I spied a covered cart, of a kind that I thought I had never seen\nbefore, preceding me at the foot's pace of jaded horses.  Anything is\ninteresting to a pedestrian that can help him to forget the miseries of a\nday of rain; and I bettered my pace and gradually overtook the vehicle.\n\nThe nearer I came, the more it puzzled me.  It was much such a cart as I\nam told the calico printers use, mounted on two wheels, and furnished\nwith a seat in front for the driver.  The interior closed with a door,\nand was of a bigness to contain a good load of calico, or (at a pinch and\nif it were necessary) four or five persons.  But, indeed, if human beings\nwere meant to travel there, they had my pity!  They must travel in the\ndark, for there was no sign of a window; and they would be shaken all the\nway like a phial of doctor's stuff, for the cart was not only ungainly to\nlook at--it was besides very imperfectly balanced on the one pair of\nwheels, and pitched unconscionably.  Altogether, if I had any glancing\nidea that the cart was really a carriage, I had soon dismissed it; but I\nwas still inquisitive as to what it should contain, and where it had come\nfrom.  Wheels and horses were splashed with many different colours of\nmud, as though they had come far and across a considerable diversity of\ncountry.  The driver continually and vainly plied his whip.  It seemed to\nfollow they had made a long, perhaps an all-night, stage; and that the\ndriver, at that early hour of a little after eight in the morning,\nalready felt himself belated.  I looked for the name of the proprietor on\nthe shaft, and started outright.  Fortune had favoured the careless: it\nwas Burchell Fenn!\n\n'A wet morning, my man,' said I.\n\nThe driver, a loutish fellow, shock-headed and turnip-faced, returned not\na word to my salutation, but savagely flogged his horses.  The tired\nanimals, who could scarce put the one foot before the other, paid no\nattention to his cruelty; and I continued without effort to maintain my\nposition alongside, smiling to myself at the futility of his attempts,\nand at the same time pricked with curiosity as to why he made them.  I\nmade no such formidable a figure as that a man should flee when I\naccosted him; and my conscience not being entirely clear, I was more\naccustomed to be uneasy myself than to see others timid.  Presently he\ndesisted, and put back his whip in the holster with the air of a man\nvanquished.\n\n'So you would run away from me?' said I.  'Come, come, that's not\nEnglish.'\n\n'Beg pardon, master: no offence meant,' he said, touching his hat.\n\n'And none taken!' cried I.  'All I desire is a little gaiety by the way.'\n\nI understood him to say he didn't 'take with gaiety.'\n\n'Then I will try you with something else,' said I.  'Oh, I can be all\nthings to all men, like the apostle!  I dare to say I have travelled with\nheavier fellows than you in my time, and done famously well with them.\nAre you going home?'\n\n'Yes, I'm a goin' home, I am,' he said.\n\n'A very fortunate circumstance for me!' said I.  'At this rate we shall\nsee a good deal of each other, going the same way; and, now I come to\nthink of it, why should you not give me a cast?  There is room beside you\non the bench.'\n\nWith a sudden snatch, he carried the cart two yards into the roadway.\nThe horses plunged and came to a stop.  'No, you don't!' he said,\nmenacing me with the whip.  'None o' that with me.'\n\n'None of what?' said I.  'I asked you for a lift, but I have no idea of\ntaking one by force.'\n\n'Well, I've got to take care of the cart and 'orses, I have,' says he.\n'I don't take up with no runagate vagabones, you see, else.'\n\n'I ought to thank you for your touching confidence,' said I, approaching\ncarelessly nearer as I spoke.  'But I admit the road is solitary\nhereabouts, and no doubt an accident soon happens.  Little fear of\nanything of the kind with you!  I like you for it, like your prudence,\nlike that pastoral shyness of disposition.  But why not put it out of my\npower to hurt?  Why not open the door and bestow me here in the box, or\nwhatever you please to call it?' And I laid my hand demonstratively on\nthe body of the cart.\n\nHe had been timorous before; but at this, he seemed to lose the power of\nspeech a moment, and stared at me in a perfect enthusiasm of fear.\n\n'Why not?' I continued.  'The idea is good.  I should be safe in there if\nI were the monster Williams himself.  The great thing is to have me under\nlock and key.  For it does lock; it is locked now,' said I, trying the\ndoor.  '_A propos_, what have you for a cargo?  It must be precious.'\n\nHe found not a word to answer.\n\nRat-tat-tat, I went upon the door like a well-drilled footman.\n\n'Any one at home?' I said, and stooped to listen.\n\nThere came out of the interior a stifled sneeze, the first of an\nuncontrollable paroxysm; another followed immediately on the heels of it;\nand then the driver turned with an oath, laid the lash upon the horses\nwith so much energy that they found their heels again, and the whole\nequipage fled down the road at a gallop.\n\nAt the first sound of the sneeze, I had started back like a man shot.\nThe next moment, a great light broke on my mind, and I understood.  Here\nwas the secret of Fenn's trade: this was how he forwarded the escape of\nprisoners, hawking them by night about the country in his covered cart.\nThere had been Frenchmen close to me; he who had just sneezed was my\ncountryman, my comrade, perhaps already my friend!  I took to my heels in\npursuit.  'Hold hard!' I shouted.  'Stop!  It's all right!  Stop!'  But\nthe driver only turned a white face on me for a moment, and redoubled his\nefforts, bending forward, plying his whip and crying to his horses; these\nlay themselves down to the gallop and beat the highway with flying hoofs;\nand the cart bounded after them among the ruts and fled in a halo of rain\nand spattering mud.  But a minute since, and it had been trundling along\nlike a lame cow; and now it was off as though drawn by Apollo's coursers.\nThere is no telling what a man can do, until you frighten him!\n\nIt was as much as I could do myself, though I ran valiantly, to maintain\nmy distance; and that (since I knew my countrymen so near) was become a\nchief point with me.  A hundred yards farther on the cart whipped out of\nthe high-road into a lane embowered with leafless trees, and became lost\nto view.  When I saw it next, the driver had increased his advantage\nconsiderably, but all danger was at an end, and the horses had again\ndeclined into a hobbling walk.  Persuaded that they could not escape me,\nI took my time, and recovered my breath as I followed them.\n\nPresently the lane twisted at right angles, and showed me a gate and the\nbeginning of a gravel sweep; and a little after, as I continued to\nadvance, a red brick house about seventy years old, in a fine style of\narchitecture, and presenting a front of many windows to a lawn and\ngarden.  Behind, I could see outhouses and the peaked roofs of stacks;\nand I judged that a manor-house had in some way declined to be the\nresidence of a tenant-farmer, careless alike of appearances and\nsubstantial comfort.  The marks of neglect were visible on every side, in\nflower-bushes straggling beyond the borders, in the ill-kept turf, and in\nthe broken windows that were incongruously patched with paper or stuffed\nwith rags.  A thicket of trees, mostly evergreen, fenced the place round\nand secluded it from the eyes of prying neighbours.  As I came in view of\nit, on that melancholy winter's morning, in the deluge of the falling\nrain, and with the wind that now rose in occasional gusts and hooted over\nthe old chimneys, the cart had already drawn up at the front-door steps,\nand the driver was already in earnest discourse with Mr. Burchell Fenn.\nHe was standing with his hands behind his back--a man of a gross,\nmisbegotten face and body, dewlapped like a bull and red as a harvest\nmoon; and in his jockey cap, blue coat and top boots, he had much the air\nof a good, solid tenant-farmer.\n\nThe pair continued to speak as I came up the approach, but received me at\nlast in a sort of goggling silence.  I had my hat in my hand.\n\n'I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Burchell Fenn?' said I.\n\n'The same, sir,' replied Mr. Fenn, taking off his jockey cap in answer to\nmy civility, but with the distant look and the tardy movements of one who\ncontinues to think of something else.  'And who may you be?' he asked.\n\n'I shall tell you afterwards,' said I.  'Suffice it, in the meantime,\nthat I come on business.'\n\nHe seemed to digest my answer laboriously, his mouth gaping, his little\neyes never straying from my face.\n\n'Suffer me to point out to you, sir,' I resumed, 'that this is a devil of\na wet morning; and that the chimney corner, and possibly a glass of\nsomething hot, are clearly indicated.'\n\nIndeed, the rain was now grown to be a deluge; the gutters of the house\nroared; the air was filled with the continuous, strident crash.  The\nstolidity of his face, on which the rain streamed, was far from\nreassuring me.  On the contrary, I was aware of a distinct qualm of\napprehension, which was not at all lessened by a view of the driver,\ncraning from his perch to observe us with the expression of a fascinated\nbird.  So we stood silent, when the prisoner again began to sneeze from\nthe body of the cart; and at the sound, prompt as a transformation, the\ndriver had whipped up his horses and was shambling off round the corner\nof the house, and Mr. Fenn, recovering his wits with a gulp, had turned\nto the door behind him.\n\n'Come in, come in, sir,' he said.  'I beg your pardon, sir; the lock goes\na trifle hard.'\n\nIndeed, it took him a surprising time to open the door, which was not\nonly locked on the outside, but the lock seemed rebellious from disuse;\nand when at last he stood back and motioned me to enter before him, I was\ngreeted on the threshold by that peculiar and convincing sound of the\nrain echoing over empty chambers.  The entrance-hall, in which I now\nfound myself, was of a good size and good proportions; potted plants\noccupied the corners; the paved floor was soiled with muddy footprints\nand encumbered with straw; on a mahogany hall-table, which was the only\nfurniture, a candle had been stuck and suffered to burn down--plainly a\nlong while ago, for the gutterings were green with mould.  My mind, under\nthese new impressions, worked with unusual vivacity.  I was here shut off\nwith Fenn and his hireling in a deserted house, a neglected garden, and a\nwood of evergreens: the most eligible theatre for a deed of darkness.\nThere came to me a vision of two flagstones raised in the hall-floor, and\nthe driver putting in the rainy afternoon over my grave, and the prospect\ndispleased me extremely.  I felt I had carried my pleasantry as far as\nwas safe; I must lose no time in declaring my true character, and I was\neven choosing the words in which I was to begin, when the hall-door was\nslammed-to behind me with a bang, and I turned, dropping my stick as I\ndid so, in time--and not any more than time--to save my life.\n\nThe surprise of the onslaught and the huge weight of my assailant gave\nhim the advantage.  He had a pistol in his right hand of a portentous\nsize, which it took me all my strength to keep deflected.  With his left\narm he strained me to his bosom, so that I thought I must be crushed or\nstifled.  His mouth was open, his face crimson, and he panted aloud with\nhard animal sounds.  The affair was as brief as it was hot and sudden.\nThe potations which had swelled and bloated his carcase had already\nweakened the springs of energy.  One more huge effort, that came near to\noverpower me, and in which the pistol happily exploded, and I felt his\ngrasp slacken and weakness come on his joints; his legs succumbed under\nhis weight, and he grovelled on his knees on the stone floor.  'Spare\nme!' he gasped.\n\nI had not only been abominably frightened; I was shocked besides: my\ndelicacy was in arms, like a lady to whom violence should have been\noffered by a similar monster.  I plucked myself from his horrid contact,\nI snatched the pistol--even discharged, it was a formidable weapon--and\nmenaced him with the butt.  'Spare you!' I cried, 'you beast!'\n\nHis voice died in his fat inwards, but his lips still vehemently framed\nthe same words of supplication.  My anger began to pass off, but not all\nmy repugnance; the picture he made revolted me, and I was impatient to be\nspared the further view of it.\n\n'Here,' said I, 'stop this performance: it sickens me.  I am not going to\nkill you, do you hear?  I have need of you.'\n\nA look of relief, that I could almost have called beautiful, dawned on\nhis countenance.  'Anything--anything you wish,' said he.\n\nAnything is a big word, and his use of it brought me for a moment to a\nstand.  'Why, what do you mean?' I asked.  'Do you mean that you will\nblow the gaff on the whole business?'\n\nHe answered me Yes with eager asseverations.\n\n'I know Monsieur de Saint-Yves is in it; it was through his papers we\ntraced you,' I said.  'Do you consent to make a clean breast of the\nothers?'\n\n'I do--I will!' he cried.  'The 'ole crew of 'em; there's good names\namong 'em.  I'll be king's evidence.'\n\n'So that all shall hang except yourself?  You damned villain!' I broke\nout.  'Understand at once that I am no spy or thief-taker.  I am a\nkinsman of Monsieur de St. Yves--here in his interest.  Upon my word, you\nhave put your foot in it prettily, Mr. Burchell Fenn!  Come, stand up;\ndon't grovel there.  Stand up, you lump of iniquity!'\n\nHe scrambled to his feet.  He was utterly unmanned, or it might have gone\nhard with me yet; and I considered him hesitating, as, indeed, there was\ncause.  The man was a double-dyed traitor: he had tried to murder me, and\nI had first baffled his endeavours and then exposed and insulted him.\nWas it wise to place myself any longer at his mercy?  With his help I\nshould doubtless travel more quickly; doubtless also far less agreeably;\nand there was everything to show that it would be at a greater risk.  In\nshort, I should have washed my hands of him on the spot, but for the\ntemptation of the French officers, whom I knew to be so near, and for\nwhose society I felt so great and natural an impatience.  If I was to see\nanything of my countrymen, it was clear I had first of all to make my\npeace with Mr. Fenn; and that was no easy matter.  To make friends with\nany one implies concessions on both sides; and what could I concede?\nWhat could I say of him, but that he had proved himself a villain and a\nfool, and the worse man?\n\n'Well,' said I, 'here has been rather a poor piece of business, which I\ndare say you can have no pleasure in calling to mind; and, to say truth,\nI would as readily forget it myself.  Suppose we try.  Take back your\npistol, which smells very ill; put it in your pocket or wherever you had\nit concealed.  There!  Now let us meet for the first time.--Give you good\nmorning, Mr. Fenn!  I hope you do very well.  I come on the\nrecommendation of my kinsman, the Vicomte de St. Yves.'\n\n'Do you mean it?' he cried.  'Do you mean you will pass over our little\nscrimmage?'\n\n'Why, certainly!' said I.  'It shows you are a bold fellow, who may be\ntrusted to forget the business when it comes to the point.  There is\nnothing against you in the little scrimmage, unless that your courage is\ngreater than your strength.  You are not so young as you once were, that\nis all.'\n\n'And I beg of you, sir, don't betray me to the Vis-count,' he pleaded.\n'I'll not deny but what my 'eart failed me a trifle; but it was only a\nword, sir, what anybody might have said in the 'eat of the moment, and\nover with it.'\n\n'Certainly,' said I.  'That is quite my own opinion.'\n\n'The way I came to be anxious about the Vis-count,' he continued, 'is\nthat I believe he might be induced to form an 'asty judgment.  And the\nbusiness, in a pecuniary point of view, is all that I could ask; only\ntrying, sir--very trying.  It's making an old man of me before my time.\nYou might have observed yourself, sir, that I 'aven't got the knees I\nonce 'ad.  The knees and the breathing, there's where it takes me.  But\nI'm very sure, sir, I address a gentleman as would be the last to make\ntrouble between friends.'\n\n'I am sure you do me no more than justice,' said I; 'and I shall think it\nquite unnecessary to dwell on any of these passing circumstances in my\nreport to the Vicomte.'\n\n'Which you do favour him (if you'll excuse me being so bold as to mention\nit) exac'ly!' said he.  'I should have known you anywheres.  May I offer\nyou a pot of 'ome-brewed ale, sir?  By your leave!  This way, if you\nplease.  I am 'eartily grateful--'eartily pleased to be of any service to\na gentleman like you, sir, which is related to the Vis-count, and really\na fambly of which you might well be proud!  Take care of the step, sir.\nYou have good news of 'is 'ealth, I trust? as well as that of Monseer the\nCount?'\n\nGod forgive me! the horrible fellow was still puffing and panting with\nthe fury of his assault, and already he had fallen into an obsequious,\nwheedling familiarity like that of an old servant,--already he was\nflattering me on my family connections!\n\nI followed him through the house into the stable-yard, where I observed\nthe driver washing the cart in a shed.  He must have heard the explosion\nof the pistol.  He could not choose but hear it: the thing was shaped\nlike a little blunderbuss, charged to the mouth, and made a report like a\npiece of field artillery.  He had heard, he had paid no attention; and\nnow, as we came forth by the back-door, he raised for a moment a pale and\ntell-tale face that was as direct as a confession.  The rascal had\nexpected to see Fenn come forth alone; he was waiting to be called on for\nthat part of sexton, which I had already allotted to him in fancy.\n\nI need not detain the reader very long with any description of my visit\nto the back-kitchen; of how we mulled our ale there, and mulled it very\nwell; nor of how we sat talking, Fenn like an old, faithful, affectionate\ndependant, and I--well!  I myself fallen into a mere admiration of so\nmuch impudence, that transcended words, and had very soon conquered\nanimosity.  I took a fancy to the man, he was so vast a humbug.  I began\nto see a kind of beauty in him, his _aplomb_ was so majestic.  I never\nknew a rogue to cut so fat; his villainy was ample, like his belly, and I\ncould scarce find it in my heart to hold him responsible for either.  He\nwas good enough to drop into the autobiographical; telling me how the\nfarm, in spite of the war and the high prices, had proved a\ndisappointment; how there was 'a sight of cold, wet land as you come\nalong the 'igh-road'; how the winds and rains and the seasons had been\nmisdirected, it seemed 'o' purpose'; how Mrs. Fenn had died--'I lost her\ncoming two year agone; a remarkable fine woman, my old girl, sir! if\nyou'll excuse me,' he added, with a burst of humility.  In short, he gave\nme an opportunity of studying John Bull, as I may say, stuffed naked--his\ngreed, his usuriousness, his hypocrisy, his perfidy of the back-stairs,\nall swelled to the superlative--such as was well worth the little\ndisarray and fluster of our passage in the hall.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII--I MEET TWO OF MY COUNTRYMEN\n\n\nAs soon as I judged it safe, and that was not before Burchell Fenn had\ntalked himself back into his breath and a complete good humour, I\nproposed he should introduce me to the French officers, henceforth to\nbecome my fellow-passengers.  There were two of them, it appeared, and my\nheart beat as I approached the door.  The specimen of Perfidious Albion\nwhom I had just been studying gave me the stronger zest for my\nfellow-countrymen.  I could have embraced them; I could have wept on\ntheir necks.  And all the time I was going to a disappointment.\n\nIt was in a spacious and low room, with an outlook on the court, that I\nfound them bestowed.  In the good days of that house the apartment had\nprobably served as a library, for there were traces of shelves along the\nwainscot.  Four or five mattresses lay on the floor in a corner, with a\nfrowsy heap of bedding; near by was a basin and a cube of soap; a rude\nkitchen-table and some deal chairs stood together at the far end; and the\nroom was illuminated by no less than four windows, and warmed by a\nlittle, crazy, sidelong grate, propped up with bricks in the vent of a\nhospitable chimney, in which a pile of coals smoked prodigiously and gave\nout a few starveling flames.  An old, frail, white-haired officer sat in\none of the chairs, which he had drawn close to this apology for a fire.\nHe was wrapped in a camlet cloak, of which the collar was turned up, his\nknees touched the bars, his hands were spread in the very smoke, and yet\nhe shivered for cold.  The second--a big, florid, fine animal of a man,\nwhose every gesture labelled him the cock of the walk and the admiration\nof the ladies--had apparently despaired of the fire, and now strode up\nand down, sneezing hard, bitterly blowing his nose, and proffering a\ncontinual stream of bluster, complaint, and barrack-room oaths.\n\nFenn showed me in with the brief form of introduction: 'Gentlemen all,\nthis here's another fare!' and was gone again at once.  The old man gave\nme but the one glance out of lack-lustre eyes; and even as he looked a\nshiver took him as sharp as a hiccough.  But the other, who represented\nto admiration the picture of a Beau in a Catarrh, stared at me\narrogantly.\n\n'And who are you, sir?' he asked.\n\nI made the military salute to my superiors.\n\n'Champdivers, private, Eighth of the Line,' said I.\n\n'Pretty business!' said he.  'And you are going on with us?  Three in a\ncart, and a great trolloping private at that!  And who is to pay for you,\nmy fine fellow?' he inquired.\n\n'If monsieur comes to that,' I answered civilly, 'who paid for him?'\n\n'Oh, if you choose to play the wit!' said he,--and began to rail at large\nupon his destiny, the weather, the cold, the danger and the expense of\nthe escape, and, above all, the cooking of the accursed English.  It\nseemed to annoy him particularly that I should have joined their party.\n'If you knew what you were doing, thirty thousand millions of pigs! you\nwould keep yourself to yourself!  The horses can't drag the cart; the\nroads are all ruts and swamps.  No longer ago than last night the Colonel\nand I had to march half the way--thunder of God!--half the way to the\nknees in mud--and I with this infernal cold--and the danger of detection!\nHappily we met no one: a desert--a real desert--like the whole abominable\ncountry!  Nothing to eat--no, sir, there is nothing to eat but raw cow\nand greens boiled in water--nor to drink but Worcestershire sauce!  Now\nI, with my catarrh, I have no appetite; is it not so?  Well, if I were in\nFrance, I should have a good soup with a crust in it, an omelette, a fowl\nin rice, a partridge in cabbages--things to tempt me, thunder of God!\nBut here--day of God!--what a country!  And cold, too!  They talk about\nRussia--this is all the cold I want!  And the people--look at them!  What\na race!  Never any handsome men; never any fine officers!'--and he looked\ndown complacently for a moment at his waist--'And the women--what\nfaggots!  No, that is one point clear, I cannot stomach the English!'\n\nThere was something in this man so antipathetic to me, as sent the\nmustard into my nose.  I can never bear your bucks and dandies, even when\nthey are decent-looking and well dressed; and the Major--for that was his\nrank--was the image of a flunkey in good luck.  Even to be in agreement\nwith him, or to seem to be so, was more than I could make out to endure.\n\n'You could scarce be expected to stomach them,' said I civilly, 'after\nhaving just digested your parole.'\n\nHe whipped round on his heel and turned on me a countenance which I dare\nsay he imagined to be awful; but another fit of sneezing cut him off ere\nhe could come the length of speech.\n\n'I have not tried the dish myself,' I took the opportunity to add.  'It\nis said to be unpalatable.  Did monsieur find it so?'\n\nWith surprising vivacity the Colonel woke from his lethargy.  He was\nbetween us ere another word could pass.\n\n'Shame, gentlemen!' he said.  'Is this a time for Frenchmen and\nfellow-soldiers to fall out?  We are in the midst of our enemies; a\nquarrel, a loud word, may suffice to plunge us back into irretrievable\ndistress.  _Monsieur le Commandant_, you have been gravely offended.  I\nmake it my request, I make it my prayer--if need be, I give you my\norders--that the matter shall stand by until we come safe to France.\nThen, if you please, I will serve you in any capacity.  And for you,\nyoung man, you have shown all the cruelty and carelessness of youth.\nThis gentleman is your superior; he is no longer young'--at which word\nyou are to conceive the Major's face.  'It is admitted he has broken his\nparole.  I know not his reason, and no more do you.  It might be\npatriotism in this hour of our country's adversity, it might be humanity,\nnecessity; you know not what in the least, and you permit yourself to\nreflect on his honour.  To break parole may be a subject for pity and not\nderision.  I have broken mine--I, a colonel of the Empire.  And why?  I\nhave been years negotiating my exchange, and it cannot be managed; those\nwho have influence at the Ministry of War continually rush in before me,\nand I have to wait, and my daughter at home is in a decline.  I am going\nto see my daughter at last, and it is my only concern lest I should have\ndelayed too long.  She is ill, and very ill,--at death's door.  Nothing\nis left me but my daughter, my Emperor, and my honour; and I give my\nhonour, blame me for it who dare!'\n\nAt this my heart smote me.\n\n'For God's sake,' I cried, 'think no more of what I have said!  A parole?\nwhat is a parole against life and death and love?  I ask your pardon;\nthis gentleman's also.  As long as I shall be with you, you shall not\nhave cause to complain of me again.  I pray God you will find your\ndaughter alive and restored.'\n\n'That is past praying for,' said the Colonel; and immediately the brief\nfire died out of him, and, returning to the hearth, he relapsed into his\nformer abstraction.\n\nBut I was not so easy to compose.  The knowledge of the poor gentleman's\ntrouble, and the sight of his face, had filled me with the bitterness of\nremorse; and I insisted upon shaking hands with the Major (which he did\nwith a very ill grace), and abounded in palinodes and apologies.\n\n'After all,' said I, 'who am I to talk?  I am in the luck to be a private\nsoldier; I have no parole to give or to keep; once I am over the rampart,\nI am as free as air.  I beg you to believe that I regret from my soul the\nuse of these ungenerous expressions.  Allow me . . . Is there no way in\nthis damned house to attract attention?  Where is this fellow, Fenn?'\n\nI ran to one of the windows and threw it open.  Fenn, who was at the\nmoment passing below in the court, cast up his arms like one in despair,\ncalled to me to keep back, plunged into the house, and appeared next\nmoment in the doorway of the chamber.\n\n'Oh, sir!' says he, 'keep away from those there windows.  A body might\nsee you from the back lane.'\n\n'It is registered,' said I.  'Henceforward I will be a mouse for\nprecaution and a ghost for invisibility.  But in the meantime, for God's\nsake, fetch us a bottle of brandy!  Your room is as damp as the bottom of\na well, and these gentlemen are perishing of cold.'\n\nSo soon as I had paid him (for everything, I found, must be paid in\nadvance), I turned my attention to the fire, and whether because I threw\ngreater energy into the business, or because the coals were now warmed\nand the time ripe, I soon started a blaze that made the chimney roar\nagain.  The shine of it, in that dark, rainy day, seemed to reanimate the\nColonel like a blink of sun.  With the outburst of the flames, besides, a\ndraught was established, which immediately delivered us from the plague\nof smoke; and by the time Fenn returned, carrying a bottle under his arm\nand a single tumbler in his hand, there was already an air of gaiety in\nthe room that did the heart good.\n\nI poured out some of the brandy.\n\n'Colonel,' said I, 'I am a young man and a private soldier.  I have not\nbeen long in this room, and already I have shown the petulance that\nbelongs to the one character and the ill manners that you may look for in\nthe other.  Have the humanity to pass these slips over, and honour me so\nfar as to accept this glass.'\n\n'My lad,' says he, waking up and blinking at me with an air of suspicion,\n'are you sure you can afford it?'\n\nI assured him I could.\n\n'I thank you, then: I am very cold.'  He took the glass out, and a little\ncolour came in his face.  'I thank you again,' said he.  'It goes to the\nheart.'\n\nThe Major, when I motioned him to help himself, did so with a good deal\nof liberality; continued to do so for the rest of the morning, now with\nsome sort of apology, now with none at all; and the bottle began to look\nfoolish before dinner was served.  It was such a meal as he had himself\npredicted: beef, greens, potatoes, mustard in a teacup, and beer in a\nbrown jug that was all over hounds, horses, and hunters, with a fox at\nthe fat end and a gigantic John Bull--for all the world like\nFenn--sitting in the midst in a bob-wig and smoking tobacco.  The beer\nwas a good brew, but not good enough for the Major; he laced it with\nbrandy--for his cold, he said; and in this curative design the remainder\nof the bottle ebbed away.  He called my attention repeatedly to the\ncircumstance; helped me pointedly to the dregs, threw the bottle in the\nair and played tricks with it; and at last, having exhausted his\ningenuity, and seeing me remain quite blind to every hint, he ordered and\npaid for another himself.\n\nAs for the Colonel, he ate nothing, sat sunk in a muse, and only awoke\noccasionally to a sense of where he was, and what he was supposed to be\ndoing.  On each of these occasions he showed a gratitude and kind\ncourtesy that endeared him to me beyond expression.  'Champdivers, my\nlad, your health!' he would say.  'The Major and I had a very arduous\nmarch last night, and I positively thought I should have eaten nothing,\nbut your fortunate idea of the brandy has made quite a new man of\nme--quite a new man.'  And he would fall to with a great air of\nheartiness, cut himself a mouthful, and, before he had swallowed it,\nwould have forgotten his dinner, his company, the place where he then\nwas, and the escape he was engaged on, and become absorbed in the vision\nof a sick-room and a dying girl in France.  The pathos of this continual\npreoccupation, in a man so old, sick, and over-weary, and whom I looked\nupon as a mere bundle of dying bones and death-pains, put me wholly from\nmy victuals: it seemed there was an element of sin, a kind of rude\nbravado of youth, in the mere relishing of food at the same table with\nthis tragic father; and though I was well enough used to the coarse,\nplain diet of the English, I ate scarce more than himself.  Dinner was\nhardly over before he succumbed to a lethargic sleep; lying on one of the\nmattresses with his limbs relaxed, and his breath seemingly\nsuspended--the very image of dissolution.\n\nThis left the Major and myself alone at the table.  You must not suppose\nour _tete-a-tete_ was long, but it was a lively period while it lasted.\nHe drank like a fish or an Englishman; shouted, beat the table, roared\nout songs, quarrelled, made it up again, and at last tried to throw the\ndinner-plates through the window, a feat of which he was at that time\nquite incapable.  For a party of fugitives, condemned to the most\nrigorous discretion, there was never seen so noisy a carnival; and\nthrough it all the Colonel continued to sleep like a child.  Seeing the\nMajor so well advanced, and no retreat possible, I made a fair wind of a\nfoul one, keeping his glass full, pushing him with toasts; and sooner\nthan I could have dared to hope, he became drowsy and incoherent.  With\nthe wrong-headedness of all such sots, he would not be persuaded to lie\ndown upon one of the mattresses until I had stretched myself upon\nanother.  But the comedy was soon over; soon he slept the sleep of the\njust, and snored like a military music; and I might get up again and face\n(as best I could) the excessive tedium of the afternoon.\n\nI had passed the night before in a good bed; I was denied the resource of\nslumber; and there was nothing open for me but to pace the apartment,\nmaintain the fire, and brood on my position.  I compared yesterday and\nto-day--the safety, comfort, jollity, open-air exercise and pleasant\nroadside inns of the one, with the tedium, anxiety, and discomfort of the\nother.  I remembered that I was in the hands of Fenn, who could not be\nmore false--though he might be more vindictive--than I fancied him.  I\nlooked forward to nights of pitching in the covered cart, and days of\nmonotony in I knew not what hiding-places; and my heart failed me, and I\nwas in two minds whether to slink off ere it was too late, and return to\nmy former solitary way of travel.  But the Colonel stood in the path.  I\nhad not seen much of him; but already I judged him a man of a childlike\nnature--with that sort of innocence and courtesy that, I think, is only\nto be found in old soldiers or old priests--and broken with years and\nsorrow.  I could not turn my back on his distress; could not leave him\nalone with the selfish trooper who snored on the next mattress.\n'Champdivers, my lad, your health!' said a voice in my ear, and stopped\nme--and there are few things I am more glad of in the retrospect than\nthat it did.\n\nIt must have been about four in the afternoon--at least the rain had\ntaken off, and the sun was setting with some wintry pomp--when the\ncurrent of my reflections was effectually changed by the arrival of two\nvisitors in a gig.  They were farmers of the neighbourhood, I\nsuppose--big, burly fellows in great-coats and top-boots, mightily\nflushed with liquor when they arrived, and, before they left, inimitably\ndrunk.  They stayed long in the kitchen with Burchell, drinking,\nshouting, singing, and keeping it up; and the sound of their merry\nminstrelsy kept me a kind of company.  The night fell, and the shine of\nthe fire brightened and blinked on the panelled wall.  Our illuminated\nwindows must have been visible not only from the back lane of which Fenn\nhad spoken, but from the court where the farmers' gig awaited them.  In\nthe far end of the firelit room lay my companions, the one silent, the\nother clamorously noisy, the images of death and drunkenness.  Little\nwonder if I were tempted to join in the choruses below, and sometimes\ncould hardly refrain from laughter, and sometimes, I believe, from\ntears--so unmitigated was the tedium, so cruel the suspense, of this\nperiod.\n\nAt last, about six at night, I should fancy, the noisy minstrels appeared\nin the court, headed by Fenn with a lantern, and knocking together as\nthey came.  The visitors clambered noisily into the gig, one of them\nshook the reins, and they were snatched out of sight and hearing with a\nsuddenness that partook of the nature of prodigy.  I am well aware there\nis a Providence for drunken men, that holds the reins for them and\npresides over their troubles; doubtless he had his work cut out for him\nwith this particular gigful!  Fenn rescued his toes with an ejaculation\nfrom under the departing wheels, and turned at once with uncertain steps\nand devious lantern to the far end of the court.  There, through the open\ndoors of a coach-house, the shock-headed lad was already to be seen\ndrawing forth the covered cart.  If I wished any private talk with our\nhost, it must be now or never.\n\nAccordingly I groped my way downstairs, and came to him as he looked on\nat and lighted the harnessing of the horses.\n\n'The hour approaches when we have to part,' said I; 'and I shall be\nobliged if you will tell your servant to drop me at the nearest point for\nDunstable.  I am determined to go so far with our friends, Colonel X and\nMajor Y, but my business is peremptory, and it takes me to the\nneighbourhood of Dunstable.'\n\nOrders were given to my satisfaction, with an obsequiousness that seemed\nonly inflamed by his potations.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV--TRAVELS OF THE COVERED CART\n\n\nMy companions were aroused with difficulty: the Colonel, poor old\ngentleman, to a sort of permanent dream, in which you could say of him\nonly that he was very deaf and anxiously polite; the Major still maudlin\ndrunk.  We had a dish of tea by the fireside, and then issued like\ncriminals into the scathing cold of the night.  For the weather had in\nthe meantime changed.  Upon the cessation of the rain, a strict frost had\nsucceeded.  The moon, being young, was already near the zenith when we\nstarted, glittered everywhere on sheets of ice, and sparkled in ten\nthousand icicles.  A more unpromising night for a journey it was hard to\nconceive.  But in the course of the afternoon the horses had been well\nroughed; and King (for such was the name of the shock-headed lad) was\nvery positive that he could drive us without misadventure.  He was as\ngood as his word; indeed, despite a gawky air, he was simply invaluable\nin his present employment, showing marked sagacity in all that concerned\nthe care of horses, and guiding us by one short cut after another for\ndays, and without a fault.\n\nThe interior of that engine of torture, the covered cart, was fitted with\na bench, on which we took our places; the door was shut; in a moment, the\nnight closed upon us solid and stifling; and we felt that we were being\ndriven carefully out of the courtyard.  Careful was the word all night,\nand it was an alleviation of our miseries that we did not often enjoy.\nIn general, as we were driven the better part of the night and day, often\nat a pretty quick pace and always through a labyrinth of the most\ninfamous country lanes and by-roads, we were so bruised upon the bench,\nso dashed against the top and sides of the cart, that we reached the end\nof a stage in truly pitiable case, sometimes flung ourselves down without\nthe formality of eating, made but one sleep of it until the hour of\ndeparture returned, and were only properly awakened by the first jolt of\nthe renewed journey.  There were interruptions, at times, that we hailed\nas alleviations.  At times the cart was bogged, once it was upset, and we\nmust alight and lend the driver the assistance of our arms; at times, too\n(as on the occasion when I had first encountered it), the horses gave\nout, and we had to trail alongside in mud or frost until the first peep\nof daylight, or the approach to a hamlet or a high road, bade us\ndisappear like ghosts into our prison.\n\nThe main roads of England are incomparable for excellence, of a beautiful\nsmoothness, very ingeniously laid down, and so well kept that in most\nweathers you could take your dinner off any part of them without\ndistaste.  On them, to the note of the bugle, the mail did its sixty\nmiles a day; innumerable chaises whisked after the bobbing postboys; or\nsome young blood would flit by in a curricle and tandem, to the vast\ndelight and danger of the lieges.  On them, the slow-pacing waggons made\na music of bells, and all day long the travellers on horse-back and the\ntravellers on foot (like happy Mr. St. Ives so little a while before!)\nkept coming and going, and baiting and gaping at each other, as though a\nfair were due, and they were gathering to it from all England.  No,\nnowhere in the world is travel so great a pleasure as in that country.\nBut unhappily our one need was to be secret; and all this rapid and\nanimated picture of the road swept quite apart from us, as we lumbered up\nhill and down dale, under hedge and over stone, among circuitous byways.\nOnly twice did I receive, as it were, a whiff of the highway.  The first\nreached my ears alone.  I might have been anywhere.  I only knew I was\nwalking in the dark night and among ruts, when I heard very far off, over\nthe silent country that surrounded us, the guard's horn wailing its\nsignal to the next post-house for a change of horses.  It was like the\nvoice of the day heard in darkness, a voice of the world heard in prison,\nthe note of a cock crowing in the mid-seas--in short, I cannot tell you\nwhat it was like, you will have to fancy for yourself--but I could have\nwept to hear it.  Once we were belated: the cattle could hardly crawl,\nthe day was at hand, it was a nipping, rigorous morning, King was lashing\nhis horses, I was giving an arm to the old Colonel, and the Major was\ncoughing in our rear.  I must suppose that King was a thought careless,\nbeing nearly in desperation about his team, and, in spite of the cold\nmorning, breathing hot with his exertions.  We came, at last, a little\nbefore sunrise to the summit of a hill, and saw the high-road passing at\nright angles through an open country of meadows and hedgerow pollards;\nand not only the York mail, speeding smoothly at the gallop of the four\nhorses, but a post-chaise besides, with the post-boy titupping briskly,\nand the traveller himself putting his head out of the window, but whether\nto breathe the dawn, or the better to observe the passage of the mail, I\ndo not know.  So that we enjoyed for an instant a picture of free life on\nthe road, in its most luxurious forms of despatch and comfort.  And\nthereafter, with a poignant feeling of contrast in our hearts, we must\nmount again into our wheeled dungeon.\n\nWe came to our stages at all sorts of odd hours, and they were in all\nkinds of odd places.  I may say at once that my first experience was my\nbest.  Nowhere again were we so well entertained as at Burchell Fenn's.\nAnd this, I suppose, was natural, and indeed inevitable, in so long and\nsecret a journey.  The first stop, we lay six hours in a barn standing by\nitself in a poor, marshy orchard, and packed with hay; to make it more\nattractive, we were told it had been the scene of an abominable murder,\nand was now haunted.  But the day was beginning to break, and our fatigue\nwas too extreme for visionary terrors.  The second or third, we alighted\non a barren heath about midnight, built a fire to warm us under the\nshelter of some thorns, supped like beggars on bread and a piece of cold\nbacon, and slept like gipsies with our feet to the fire.  In the\nmeanwhile, King was gone with the cart, I know not where, to get a change\nof horses, and it was late in the dark morning when he returned and we\nwere able to resume our journey.  In the middle of another night, we came\nto a stop by an ancient, whitewashed cottage of two stories; a privet\nhedge surrounded it; the frosty moon shone blankly on the upper windows;\nbut through those of the kitchen the firelight was seen glinting on the\nroof and reflected from the dishes on the wall.  Here, after much\nhammering on the door, King managed to arouse an old crone from the\nchimney-corner chair, where she had been dozing in the watch; and we were\nhad in, and entertained with a dish of hot tea.  This old lady was an\naunt of Burchell Fenn's--and an unwilling partner in his dangerous trade.\nThough the house stood solitary, and the hour was an unlikely one for any\npassenger upon the road, King and she conversed in whispers only.  There\nwas something dismal, something of the sick-room, in this perpetual,\nguarded sibilation.  The apprehensions of our hostess insensibly\ncommunicated themselves to every one present.  We ate like mice in a\ncat's ear; if one of us jingled a teaspoon, all would start; and when the\nhour came to take the road again, we drew a long breath of relief, and\nclimbed to our places in the covered cart with a positive sense of\nescape.  The most of our meals, however, were taken boldly at hedgerow\nalehouses, usually at untimely hours of the day, when the clients were in\nthe field or the farmyard at labour.  I shall have to tell presently of\nour last experience of the sort, and how unfortunately it miscarried; but\nas that was the signal for my separation from my fellow-travellers, I\nmust first finish with them.\n\nI had never any occasion to waver in my first judgment of the Colonel.\nThe old gentleman seemed to me, and still seems in the retrospect, the\nsalt of the earth.  I had occasion to see him in the extremes of\nhardship, hunger and cold; he was dying, and he looked it; and yet I\ncannot remember any hasty, harsh, or impatient word to have fallen from\nhis lips.  On the contrary, he ever showed himself careful to please; and\neven if he rambled in his talk, rambled always gently--like a humane,\nhalf-witted old hero, true to his colours to the last.  I would not dare\nto say how often he awoke suddenly from a lethargy, and told us again, as\nthough we had never heard it, the story of how he had earned the cross,\nhow it had been given him by the hand of the Emperor, and of the\ninnocent--and, indeed, foolish--sayings of his daughter when he returned\nwith it on his bosom.  He had another anecdote which he was very apt to\ngive, by way of a rebuke, when the Major wearied us beyond endurance with\ndispraises of the English.  This was an account of the _braves gens_ with\nwhom he had been boarding.  True enough, he was a man so simple and\ngrateful by nature, that the most common civilities were able to touch\nhim to the heart, and would remain written in his memory; but from a\nthousand inconsiderable but conclusive indications, I gathered that this\nfamily had really loved him, and loaded him with kindness.  They made a\nfire in his bedroom, which the sons and daughters tended with their own\nhands; letters from France were looked for with scarce more eagerness by\nhimself than by these alien sympathisers; when they came, he would read\nthem aloud in the parlour to the assembled family, translating as he\nwent.  The Colonel's English was elementary; his daughter not in the\nleast likely to be an amusing correspondent; and, as I conceived these\nscenes in the parlour, I felt sure the interest centred in the Colonel\nhimself, and I thought I could feel in my own heart that mixture of the\nridiculous and the pathetic, the contest of tears and laughter, which\nmust have shaken the bosoms of the family.  Their kindness had continued\ntill the end.  It appears they were privy to his flight, the camlet cloak\nhad been lined expressly for him, and he was the bearer of a letter from\nthe daughter of the house to his own daughter in Paris.  The last\nevening, when the time came to say good-night, it was tacitly known to\nall that they were to look upon his face no more.  He rose, pleading\nfatigue, and turned to the daughter, who had been his chief ally: 'You\nwill permit me, my dear--to an old and very unhappy soldier--and may God\nbless you for your goodness!'  The girl threw her arms about his neck and\nsobbed upon his bosom; the lady of the house burst into tears; '_et je\nvous le jure_, _le pere se mouchait_!' quoth the Colonel, twisting his\nmoustaches with a cavalry air, and at the same time blinking the water\nfrom his eyes at the mere recollection.\n\nIt was a good thought to me that he had found these friends in captivity;\nthat he had started on this fatal journey from so cordial a farewell.  He\nhad broken his parole for his daughter: that he should ever live to reach\nher sick-bed, that he could continue to endure to an end the hardships,\nthe crushing fatigue, the savage cold, of our pilgrimage, I had early\nceased to hope.  I did for him what I was able,--nursed him, kept him\ncovered, watched over his slumbers, sometimes held him in my arms at the\nrough places of the road.  'Champdivers,' he once said, 'you are like a\nson to me--like a son.'  It is good to remember, though at the time it\nput me on the rack.  All was to no purpose.  Fast as we were travelling\ntowards France, he was travelling faster still to another destination.\nDaily he grew weaker and more indifferent.  An old rustic accent of Lower\nNormandy reappeared in his speech, from which it had long been banished,\nand grew stronger; old words of the _patois_, too: _Ouistreham_,\n_matrasse_, and others, the sense of which we were sometimes unable to\nguess.  On the very last day he began again his eternal story of the\ncross and the Emperor.  The Major, who was particularly ill, or at least\nparticularly cross, uttered some angry words of protest.\n'_Pardonnez-moi_, _monsieur le commandant_, _mais c'est pour monsieur_,'\nsaid the Colonel: 'Monsieur has not yet heard the circumstance, and is\ngood enough to feel an interest.'  Presently after, however, he began to\nlose the thread of his narrative; and at last: '_Que que j'ai_?  _Je\nm'embrouille_!' says he, '_Suffit_: _s'm'a la donne_, _et Berthe en etait\nbien contente_.'  It struck me as the falling of the curtain or the\nclosing of the sepulchre doors.\n\nSure enough, in but a little while after, he fell into a sleep as gentle\nas an infant's, which insensibly changed into the sleep of death.  I had\nmy arm about his body at the time and remarked nothing, unless it were\nthat he once stretched himself a little, so kindly the end came to that\ndisastrous life.  It was only at our evening halt that the Major and I\ndiscovered we were travelling alone with the poor clay.  That night we\nstole a spade from a field--I think near Market Bosworth--and a little\nfarther on, in a wood of young oak trees and by the light of King's\nlantern, we buried the old soldier of the Empire with both prayers and\ntears.\n\nWe had needs invent Heaven if it had not been revealed to us; there are\nsome things that fall so bitterly ill on this side Time!  As for the\nMajor, I have long since forgiven him.  He broke the news to the poor\nColonel's daughter; I am told he did it kindly; and sure, nobody could\nhave done it without tears!  His share of purgatory will be brief; and in\nthis world, as I could not very well praise him, I have suppressed his\nname.  The Colonel's also, for the sake of his parole.  _Requiescat_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV--THE ADVENTURE OF THE ATTORNEY'S CLERK\n\n\nI have mentioned our usual course, which was to eat in inconsiderable\nwayside hostelries, known to King.  It was a dangerous business; we went\ndaily under fire to satisfy our appetite, and put our head in the loin's\nmouth for a piece of bread.  Sometimes, to minimise the risk, we would\nall dismount before we came in view of the house, straggle in severally,\nand give what orders we pleased, like disconnected strangers.  In like\nmanner we departed, to find the cart at an appointed place, some half a\nmile beyond.  The Colonel and the Major had each a word or two of\nEnglish--God help their pronunciation!  But they did well enough to order\na rasher and a pot or call a reckoning; and, to say truth, these country\nfolks did not give themselves the pains, and had scarce the knowledge, to\nbe critical.\n\nAbout nine or ten at night the pains of hunger and cold drove us to an\nalehouse in the flats of Bedfordshire, not far from Bedford itself.  In\nthe inn kitchen was a long, lean, characteristic-looking fellow of\nperhaps forty, dressed in black.  He sat on a settle by the fireside,\nsmoking a long pipe, such as they call a yard of clay.  His hat and wig\nwere hanged upon the knob behind him, his head as bald as a bladder of\nlard, and his expression very shrewd, cantankerous, and inquisitive.  He\nseemed to value himself above his company, to give himself the airs of a\nman of the world among that rustic herd; which was often no more than his\ndue; being, as I afterwards discovered, an attorney's clerk.  I took upon\nmyself the more ungrateful part of arriving last; and by the time I\nentered on the scene the Major was already served at a side table.  Some\ngeneral conversation must have passed, and I smelled danger in the air.\nThe Major looked flustered, the attorney's clerk triumphant, and three or\nfour peasants in smock-frocks (who sat about the fire to play chorus) had\nlet their pipes go out.\n\n'Give you good evening, sir!' said the attorney's clerk to me.\n\n'The same to you, sir,' said I.\n\n'I think this one will do,' quoth the clerk to the yokels with a wink;\nand then, as soon as I had given my order, 'Pray, sir, whither are you\nbound?' he added.\n\n'Sir,' said I, 'I am not one of those who speak either of their business\nor their destination in houses of public entertainment.'\n\n'A good answer,' said he, 'and an excellent principle.  Sir, do you speak\nFrench?'\n\n'Why, no, sir,' said I.  'A little Spanish at your service.'\n\n'But you know the French accent, perhaps?' said the clerk.\n\n'Well do I do that!' said I.  'The French accent?  Why, I believe I can\ntell a Frenchman in ten words.'\n\n'Here is a puzzle for you, then!' he said.  'I have no material doubt\nmyself, but some of these gentlemen are more backward.  The lack of\neducation, you know.  I make bold to say that a man cannot walk, cannot\nhear, and cannot see, without the blessings of education.'\n\nHe turned to the Major, whose food plainly stuck in his throat.\n\n'Now, sir,' pursued the clerk, 'let me have the pleasure to hear your\nvoice again.  Where are you going, did you say?'\n\n'Sare, I am go-ing to Lon-don,' said the Major.\n\nI could have flung my plate at him to be such an ass, and to have so\nlittle a gift of languages where that was the essential.\n\n'What think ye of that?' said the clerk.  'Is that French enough?'\n\n'Good God!' cried I, leaping up like one who should suddenly perceive an\nacquaintance, 'is this you, Mr. Dubois?  Why, who would have dreamed of\nencountering you so far from home?'  As I spoke, I shook hands with the\nMajor heartily; and turning to our tormentor, 'Oh, sir, you may be\nperfectly reassured!  This is a very honest fellow, a late neighbour of\nmine in the city of Carlisle.'\n\nI thought the attorney looked put out; I little knew the man!\n\n'But he is French,' said he, 'for all that?'\n\n'Ay, to be sure!' said I.  'A Frenchman of the emigration!  None of your\nBuonaparte lot.  I will warrant his views of politics to be as sound as\nyour own.'\n\n'What is a little strange,' said the clerk quietly, 'is that Mr. Dubois\nshould deny it.'\n\nI got it fair in the face, and took it smiling; but the shock was rude,\nand in the course of the next words I contrived to do what I have rarely\ndone, and make a slip in my English.  I kept my liberty and life by my\nproficiency all these months, and for once that I failed, it is not to be\nsupposed that I would make a public exhibition of the details.  Enough,\nthat it was a very little error, and one that might have passed\nninety-nine times in a hundred.  But my limb of the law was as swift to\npick it up as though he had been by trade a master of languages.\n\n'Aha!' cries he; 'and you are French, too!  Your tongue bewrays you.  Two\nFrenchmen coming into an alehouse, severally and accidentally, not\nknowing each other, at ten of the clock at night, in the middle of\nBedfordshire?  No, sir, that shall not pass!  You are all prisoners\nescaping, if you are nothing worse.  Consider yourselves under arrest.  I\nhave to trouble you for your papers.'\n\n'Where is your warrant, if you come to that?' said I.  'My papers!  A\nlikely thing that I would show my papers on the _ipse dixit_ of an\nunknown fellow in a hedge alehouse!'\n\n'Would you resist the law?' says he.\n\n'Not the law, sir!' said I.  'I hope I am too good a subject for that.\nBut for a nameless fellow with a bald head and a pair of gingham\nsmall-clothes, why certainly!  'Tis my birthright as an Englishman.\nWhere's _Magna Charta_, else?'\n\n'We will see about that,' says he; and then, addressing the assistants,\n'where does the constable live?'\n\n'Lord love you, sir!' cried the landlord, 'what are you thinking of?  The\nconstable at past ten at night!  Why, he's abed and asleep, and good and\ndrunk two hours agone!'\n\n'Ah that a' be!' came in chorus from the yokels.\n\nThe attorney's clerk was put to a stand.  He could not think of force;\nthere was little sign of martial ardour about the landlord, and the\npeasants were indifferent--they only listened, and gaped, and now\nscratched a head, and now would get a light to their pipes from the\nembers on the hearth.  On the other hand, the Major and I put a bold\nfront on the business and defied him, not without some ground of law.  In\nthis state of matters he proposed I should go along with him to one\nSquire Merton, a great man of the neighbourhood, who was in the\ncommission of the peace, the end of his avenue but three lanes away.  I\ntold him I would not stir a foot for him if it were to save his soul.\nNext he proposed I should stay all night where I was, and the constable\ncould see to my affair in the morning, when he was sober.  I replied I\nshould go when and where I pleased; that we were lawful travellers in the\nfear of God and the king, and I for one would suffer myself to be stayed\nby nobody.  At the same time, I was thinking the matter had lasted\naltogether too long, and I determined to bring it to an end at once.\n\n'See here,' said I, getting up, for till now I had remained carelessly\nseated, 'there's only one way to decide a thing like this--only one way\nthat's right _English_--and that's man to man.  Take off your coat, sir,\nand these gentlemen shall see fair play.'  At this there came a look in\nhis eye that I could not mistake.  His education had been neglected in\none essential and eminently British particular: he could not box.  No\nmore could I, you may say; but then I had the more impudence--and I had\nmade the proposal.\n\n'He says I'm no Englishman, but the proof of the pudding is the eating of\nit,' I continued.  And here I stripped my coat and fell into the proper\nattitude, which was just about all I knew of this barbarian art.  'Why,\nsir, you seem to me to hang back a little,' said I.  'Come, I'll meet\nyou; I'll give you an appetiser--though hang me if I can understand the\nman that wants any enticement to hold up his hands.'  I drew a bank-note\nout of my fob and tossed it to the landlord.  'There are the stakes,'\nsaid I.  'I'll fight you for first blood, since you seem to make so much\nwork about it.  If you tap my claret first, there are five guineas for\nyou, and I'll go with you to any squire you choose to mention.  If I tap\nyours, you'll perhaps let on that I'm the better man, and allow me to go\nabout my lawful business at my own time and convenience, by God; is that\nfair, my lads?' says I, appealing to the company.\n\n'Ay, ay,' said the chorus of chawbacons; 'he can't say no fairer nor\nthat, he can't.  Take off thy coat master!'\n\nThe limb of the law was now on the wrong side of public opinion, and,\nwhat heartened me to go on, the position was rapidly changing in our\nfavour.  Already the Major was paying his shot to the very indifferent\nlandlord, and I could see the white face of King at the back-door, making\nsignals of haste.\n\n'Oho!' quoth my enemy, 'you are as full of doubles as a fox, are you not?\nBut I see through you; I see through and through you.  You would change\nthe venue, would you?'\n\n'I may be transparent, sir,' says I, 'but if you'll do me the favour to\nstand up, you'll find I can hit dam hard.'\n\n'Which is a point, if you will observe, that I had never called in\nquestion,' said he.  'Why, you ignorant clowns,' he proceeded, addressing\nthe company, 'can't you see the fellow's gulling you before your eyes?\nCan't you see that he has changed the point upon me?  I say he's a French\nprisoner, and he answers that he can box!  What has that to do with it?\nI would not wonder but what he can dance, too--they're all dancing\nmasters over there.  I say, and I stick to it, that he's a Frenchy.  He\nsays he isn't.  Well then, let him out with his papers, if he has them!\nIf he had, would he not show them?  If he had, would he not jump at the\nidea of going to Squire Merton, a man you all know?  Now, you are all\nplain, straightforward Bedfordshire men, and I wouldn't ask a better lot\nto appeal to.  You're not the kind to be talked over with any French\ngammon, and he's plenty of that.  But let me tell him, he can take his\npigs to another market; they'll never do here; they'll never go down in\nBedfordshire.  Why! look at the man!  Look at his feet!  Has anybody got\na foot in the room like that?  See how he stands! do any of you fellows\nstand like that?  Does the landlord, there?  Why, he has Frenchman wrote\nall over him, as big as a sign-post!'\n\nThis was all very well; and in a different scene I might even have been\ngratified by his remarks; but I saw clearly, if I were to allow him to\ntalk, he might turn the tables on me altogether.  He might not be much of\na hand at boxing; but I was much mistaken, or he had studied forensic\neloquence in a good school.  In this predicament I could think of nothing\nmore ingenious than to burst out of the house, under the pretext of an\nungovernable rage.  It was certainly not very ingenious--it was\nelementary, but I had no choice.\n\n'You white-livered dog!' I broke out.  'Do you dare to tell me you're an\nEnglishman, and won't fight?  But I'll stand no more of this!  I leave\nthis place, where I've been insulted!  Here! what's to pay?  Pay\nyourself!' I went on, offering the landlord a handful of silver, 'and\ngive me back my bank-note!'\n\nThe landlord, following his usual policy of obliging everybody, offered\nno opposition to my design.  The position of my adversary was now\nthoroughly bad.  He had lost my two companions.  He was on the point of\nlosing me also.  There was plainly no hope of arousing the company to\nhelp; and watching him with a corner of my eye, I saw him hesitate for a\nmoment.  The next, he had taken down his hat and his wig, which was of\nblack horsehair; and I saw him draw from behind the settle a vast hooded\ngreat-coat and a small valise.  'The devil!' thought I: 'is the rascal\ngoing to follow me?'\n\nI was scarce clear of the inn before the limb of the law was at my heels.\nI saw his face plain in the moonlight; and the most resolute purpose\nshowed in it, along with an unmoved composure.  A chill went over me.\n'This is no common adventure,' thinks I to myself.  'You have got hold of\na man of character, St. Ives!  A bite-hard, a bull-dog, a weasel is on\nyour trail; and how are you to throw him off?'  Who was he?  By some of\nhis expressions I judged he was a hanger-on of courts.  But in what\ncharacter had he followed the assizes?  As a simple spectator, as a\nlawyer's clerk, as a criminal himself, or--last and worst supposition--as\na Bow-street 'runner'?\n\nThe cart would wait for me, perhaps, half a mile down our onward road,\nwhich I was already following.  And I told myself that in a few minutes'\nwalking, Bow-street runner or not, I should have him at my mercy.  And\nthen reflection came to me in time.  Of all things, one was out of the\nquestion.  Upon no account must this obtrusive fellow see the cart.\nUntil I had killed or shook him off, I was quite divorced from my\ncompanions--alone, in the midst of England, on a frosty by-way leading\nwhither I knew not, with a sleuth-hound at my heels, and never a friend\nbut the holly-stick!\n\nWe came at the same time to a crossing of lanes.  The branch to the left\nwas overhung with trees, deeply sunken and dark.  Not a ray of moonlight\npenetrated its recesses; and I took it at a venture.  The wretch followed\nmy example in silence; and for some time we crunched together over frozen\npools without a word.  Then he found his voice, with a chuckle.\n\n'This is not the way to Mr. Merton's,' said he.\n\n'No?' said I. 'It is mine, however.'\n\n'And therefore mine,' said he.\n\nAgain we fell silent; and we may thus have covered half a mile before the\nlane, taking a sudden turn, brought us forth again into the moonshine.\nWith his hooded great-coat on his back, his valise in his hand, his black\nwig adjusted, and footing it on the ice with a sort of sober doggedness\nof manner, my enemy was changed almost beyond recognition: changed in\neverything but a certain dry, polemical, pedantic air, that spoke of a\nsedentary occupation and high stools.  I observed, too, that his valise\nwas heavy; and, putting this and that together, hit upon a plan.\n\n'A seasonable night, sir,' said I.  'What do you say to a bit of running?\nThe frost has me by the toes.'\n\n'With all the pleasure in life,' says he.\n\nHis voice seemed well assured, which pleased me little.  However, there\nwas nothing else to try, except violence, for which it would always be\ntoo soon.  I took to my heels accordingly, he after me; and for some time\nthe slapping of our feet on the hard road might have been heard a mile\naway.  He had started a pace behind me, and he finished in the same\nposition.  For all his extra years and the weight of his valise, he had\nnot lost a hair's breadth.  The devil might race him for me--I had enough\nof it!\n\nAnd, besides, to run so fast was contrary to my interests.  We could not\nrun long without arriving somewhere.  At any moment we might turn a\ncorner and find ourselves at the lodge-gate of some Squire Merton, in the\nmidst of a village whose constable was sober, or in the hands of a\npatrol.  There was no help for it--I must finish with him on the spot, as\nlong as it was possible.  I looked about me, and the place seemed\nsuitable; never a light, never a house--nothing but stubble-fields,\nfallows, and a few stunted trees.  I stopped and eyed him in the\nmoonlight with an angry stare.\n\n'Enough of this foolery!' said I.\n\nHe had tamed, and now faced me full, very pale, but with no sign of\nshrinking.\n\n'I am quite of your opinion,' said he.  'You have tried me at the\nrunning; you can try me next at the high jump.  It will be all the same.\nIt must end the one way.'\n\nI made my holly whistle about my head.\n\n'I believe you know what way!' said I.  'We are alone, it is night, and I\nam wholly resolved.  Are you not frightened?'\n\n'No,' he said, 'not in the smallest.  I do not box, sir; but I am not a\ncoward, as you may have supposed.  Perhaps it will simplify our relations\nif I tell you at the outset that I walk armed.'\n\nQuick as lightning I made a feint at his head; as quickly he gave ground,\nand at the same time I saw a pistol glitter in his hand.\n\n'No more of that, Mr. French-Prisoner!' he said.  'It will do me no good\nto have your death at my door.'\n\n'Faith, nor me either!' said I; and I lowered my stick and considered the\nman, not without a twinkle of admiration.  'You see,' I said, 'there is\none consideration that you appear to overlook: there are a great many\nchances that your pistol may miss fire.'\n\n'I have a pair,' he returned.  'Never travel without a brace of barkers.'\n\n'I make you my compliment,' said I.  'You are able to take care of\nyourself, and that is a good trait.  But, my good man! let us look at\nthis matter dispassionately.  You are not a coward, and no more am I; we\nare both men of excellent sense; I have good reason, whatever it may be,\nto keep my concerns to myself and to walk alone.  Now I put it to you\npointedly, am I likely to stand it?  Am I likely to put up with your\ncontinued and--excuse me--highly impudent _ingerence_ into my private\naffairs?'\n\n'Another French word,' says he composedly.\n\n'Oh! damn your French words!' cried I.  'You seem to be a Frenchman\nyourself!'\n\n'I have had many opportunities by which I have profited,' he explained.\n'Few men are better acquainted with the similarities and differences,\nwhether of idiom or accent, of the two languages.'\n\n'You are a pompous fellow, too!' said I.\n\n'Oh, I can make distinctions, sir,' says he.  'I can talk with\nBedfordshire peasants; and I can express myself becomingly, I hope, in\nthe company of a gentleman of education like yourself.'\n\n'If you set up to be a gentleman--' I began.\n\n'Pardon me,' he interrupted: 'I make no such claim.  I only see the\nnobility and gentry in the way of business.  I am quite a plain person.'\n\n'For the Lord's sake,' I exclaimed, 'set my mind at rest upon one point.\nIn the name of mystery, who and what are you?'\n\n'I have no cause to be ashamed of my name, sir,' said he, 'nor yet my\ntrade.  I am Thomas Dudgeon, at your service, clerk to Mr. Daniel\nRomaine, solicitor of London; High Holborn is our address, sir.'\n\nIt was only by the ecstasy of the relief that I knew how horribly I had\nbeen frightened.  I flung my stick on the road.\n\n'Romaine?' I cried.  'Daniel Romaine?  An old hunks with a red face and a\nbig head, and got up like a Quaker?  My dear friend, to my arms!'\n\n'Keep back, I say!' said Dudgeon weakly.\n\nI would not listen to him.  With the end of my own alarm, I felt as if I\nmust infallibly be at the end of all dangers likewise; as if the pistol\nthat he held in one hand were no more to be feared than the valise that\nhe carried with the other, and now put up like a barrier against my\nadvance.\n\n'Keep back, or I declare I will fire,' he was crying.  'Have a care, for\nGod's sake!  My pistol--'\n\nHe might scream as be pleased.  Willy nilly, I folded him to my breast, I\npressed him there, I kissed his ugly mug as it had never been kissed\nbefore and would never be kissed again; and in the doing so knocked his\nwig awry and his hat off.  He bleated in my embrace; so bleats the sheep\nin the arms of the butcher.  The whole thing, on looking back, appears\nincomparably reckless and absurd; I no better than a madman for offering\nto advance on Dudgeon, and he no better than a fool for not shooting me\nwhile I was about it.  But all's well that ends well; or, as the people\nin these days kept singing and whistling on the streets:--\n\n    'There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft\n    And looks out for the life of poor Jack.'\n\n'There!' said I, releasing him a little, but still keeping my hands on\nhis shoulders, '_je vous ai bel et bien embrasse_--and, as you would say,\nthere is another French word.'  With his wig over one eye, he looked\nincredibly rueful and put out.  'Cheer up, Dudgeon; the ordeal is over,\nyou shall be embraced no more.  But do, first of all, for God's-sake, put\naway your pistol; you handle it as if you were a cockatrice; some time or\nother, depend upon it, it will certainly go off.  Here is your hat.  No,\nlet me put it on square, and the wig before it.  Never suffer any stress\nof circumstances to come between you and the duty you owe to yourself.\nIf you have nobody else to dress for, dress for God!\n\n    'Put your wig straight\n    On your bald pate,\n    Keep your chin scraped,\n    And your figure draped.\n\nCan you match me that?  The whole duty of man in a quatrain!  And remark,\nI do not set up to be a professional bard; these are the outpourings of a\n_dilettante_.'\n\n'But, my dear sir!' he exclaimed.\n\n'But, my dear sir!' I echoed, 'I will allow no man to interrupt the flow\nof my ideas.  Give me your opinion on my quatrain, or I vow we shall have\na quarrel of it.'\n\n'Certainly you are quite an original,' he said.\n\n'Quite,' said I; 'and I believe I have my counterpart before me.'\n\n'Well, for a choice,' says he, smiling, 'and whether for sense or poetry,\ngive me\n\n    '\"Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow:\n    The rest is all but leather and prunello.\"'\n\n'Oh, but that's not fair--that's Pope!  It's not original, Dudgeon.\nUnderstand me,' said I, wringing his breast-button, 'the first duty of\nall poetry is to be mine, sir--mine.  Inspiration now swells in my bosom,\nbecause--to tell you the plain truth, and descend a little in style--I am\ndevilish relieved at the turn things have taken.  So, I dare say, are you\nyourself, Dudgeon, if you would only allow it.  And _a propos_, let me\nask you a home question.  Between friends, have you ever fired that\npistol?'\n\n'Why, yes, sir,' he replied.  'Twice--at hedgesparrows.'\n\n'And you would have fired at me, you bloody-minded man?' I cried.\n\n'If you go to that, you seemed mighty reckless with your stick,' said\nDudgeon.\n\n'Did I indeed?  Well, well, 'tis all past history; ancient as King\nPharamond--which is another French word, if you cared to accumulate more\nevidence,' says I.  'But happily we are now the best of friends, and have\nall our interests in common.'\n\n'You go a little too fast, if you'll excuse me, Mr. ---: I do not know\nyour name, that I am aware,' said Dudgeon.\n\n'No, to be sure!' said I.  'Never heard of it!'\n\n'A word of explanation--' he began.\n\n'No, Dudgeon!' I interrupted.  'Be practical; I know what you want, and\nthe name of it is supper.  _Rien ne creuse comme l'emotion_.  I am hungry\nmyself, and yet I am more accustomed to warlike palpitations than you,\nwho are but a hunter of hedgesparrows.  Let me look at your face\ncritically: your bill of fare is three slices of cold rare roast beef, a\nWelsh rabbit, a pot of stout, and a glass or two of sound tawny port, old\nin bottle--the right milk of Englishmen.'  Methought there seemed a\nbrightening in his eye and a melting about his mouth at this enumeration.\n\n'The night is young,' I continued; 'not much past eleven, for a wager.\nWhere can we find a good inn?  And remark that I say _good_, for the port\nmust be up to the occasion--not a headache in a pipe of it.'\n\n'Really, sir,' he said, smiling a little, 'you have a way of carrying\nthings--'\n\n'Will nothing make you stick to the subject?' I cried; 'you have the most\nirrelevant mind!  How do you expect to rise in your profession?  The\ninn?'\n\n'Well, I will say you are a facetious gentleman!' said he.  'You must\nhave your way, I see.  We are not three miles from Bedford by this very\nroad.'\n\n'Done!' cried I.  'Bedford be it!'\n\nI tucked his arm under mine, possessed myself of the valise, and walked\nhim off unresisting.  Presently we came to an open piece of country lying\na thought downhill.  The road was smooth and free of ice, the moonshine\nthin and bright over the meadows and the leafless trees.  I was now\nhonestly done with the purgatory of the covered cart; I was close to my\ngreat-uncle's; I had no more fear of Mr. Dudgeon; which were all grounds\nenough for jollity.  And I was aware, besides, of us two as of a pair of\ntiny and solitary dolls under the vast frosty cupola of the midnight; the\nrooms decked, the moon burnished, the least of the stars lighted, the\nfloor swept and waxed, and nothing wanting but for the band to strike up\nand the dancing to begin.  In the exhilaration of my heart I took the\nmusic on myself--\n\n    'Merrily danced the Quaker's wife,\n    And merrily danced the Quaker.'\n\nI broke into that animated and appropriate air, clapped my arm about\nDudgeon's waist, and away down the hill at a dancing step!  He hung back\na little at the start, but the impulse of the tune, the night, and my\nexample, were not to be resisted.  A man made of putty must have danced,\nand even Dudgeon showed himself to be a human being.  Higher and higher\nwere the capers that we cut; the moon repeated in shadow our antic\nfootsteps and gestures; and it came over my mind of a sudden--really like\nbalm--what appearance of man I was dancing with, what a long bilious\ncountenance he had shown under his shaven pate, and what a world of\ntrouble the rascal had given me in the immediate past.\n\nPresently we began to see the lights of Bedford.  My Puritanic companion\nstopped and disengaged himself.\n\n'This is a trifle _infra dig._, sir, is it not?' said he.  'A party might\nsuppose we had been drinking.'\n\n'And so you shall be, Dudgeon,' said I.  'You shall not only be drinking,\nyou old hypocrite, but you shall be drunk--dead drunk, sir--and the boots\nshall put you to bed!  We'll warn him when we go in.  Never neglect a\nprecaution; never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day!'\n\nBut he had no more frivolity to complain of.  We finished our stage and\ncame to the inn-door with decorum, to find the house still alight and in\na bustle with many late arrivals; to give our orders with a prompt\nseverity which ensured obedience, and to be served soon after at a\nside-table, close to the fire and in a blaze of candle-light, with such a\nmeal as I had been dreaming of for days past.  For days, you are to\nremember, I had been skulking in the covered cart, a prey to cold,\nhunger, and an accumulation of discomforts that might have daunted the\nmost brave; and the white table napery, the bright crystal, the\nreverberation of the fire, the red curtains, the Turkey carpet, the\nportraits on the coffee-room wall, the placid faces of the two or three\nlate guests who were silently prolonging the pleasures of digestion, and\n(last, but not by any means least) a glass of an excellent light dry\nport, put me in a humour only to be described as heavenly.  The thought\nof the Colonel, of how he would have enjoyed this snug room and roaring\nfire, and of his cold grave in the wood by Market Bosworth, lingered on\nmy palate, _amari aliquid_, like an after-taste, but was not able--I say\nit with shame--entirely to dispel my self-complacency.  After all, in\nthis world every dog hangs by its own tail.  I was a free adventurer, who\nhad just brought to a successful end--or, at least, within view of it--an\nadventure very difficult and alarming; and I looked across at Mr.\nDudgeon, as the port rose to his cheeks, and a smile, that was\nsemi-confidential and a trifle foolish, began to play upon his leathery\nfeatures, not only with composure, but with a suspicion of kindness.  The\nrascal had been brave, a quality for which I would value the devil; and\nif he had been pertinacious in the beginning, he had more than made up\nfor it before the end.\n\n'And now, Dudgeon, to explain,' I began.  'I know your master, he knows\nme, and he knows and approves of my errand.  So much I may tell you, that\nI am on my way to Amersham Place.'\n\n'Oho!' quoth Dudgeon, 'I begin to see.'\n\n'I am heartily glad of it,' said I, passing the bottle, 'because that is\nabout all I can tell you.  You must take my word for the remainder.\nEither believe me or don't.  If you don't, let's take a chaise; you can\ncarry me to-morrow to High Holborn, and confront me with Mr. Romaine; the\nresult of which will be to set your mind at rest--and to make the holiest\ndisorder in your master's plans.  If I judge you aright (for I find you a\nshrewd fellow), this will not be at all to your mind.  You know what a\nsubordinate gets by officiousness; if I can trust my memory, old Romaine\nhas not at all the face that I should care to see in anger; and I venture\nto predict surprising results upon your weekly salary--if you are paid by\nthe week, that is.  In short, let me go free, and 'tis an end of the\nmatter; take me to London, and 'tis only a beginning--and, by my opinion,\na beginning of troubles.  You can take your choice.'\n\n'And that is soon taken,' said he.  'Go to Amersham tomorrow, or go to\nthe devil if you prefer--I wash my hands of you and the whole\ntransaction.  No, you don't find me putting my head in between Romaine\nand a client!  A good man of business, sir, but hard as millstone grit.\nI might get the sack, and I shouldn't wonder!  But, it's a pity, too,' he\nadded, and sighed, shook his head, and took his glass off sadly.\n\n'That reminds me,' said I.  'I have a great curiosity, and you can\nsatisfy it.  Why were you so forward to meddle with poor Mr. Dubois?  Why\ndid you transfer your attentions to me?  And generally, what induced you\nto make yourself such a nuisance?'\n\nHe blushed deeply.\n\n'Why, sir,' says he, 'there is such a thing as patriotism, I hope.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI--THE HOME-COMING OF MR. ROWLEY'S VISCOUNT\n\n\nBy eight the next morning Dudgeon and I had made our parting.  By that\ntime we had grown to be extremely familiar; and I would very willingly\nhave kept him by me, and even carried him to Amersham Place.  But it\nappeared he was due at the public-house where we had met, on some affairs\nof my great-uncle the Count, who had an outlying estate in that part of\nthe shire.  If Dudgeon had had his way the night before, I should have\nbeen arrested on my uncle's land and by my uncle's agent, a culmination\nof ill-luck.\n\nA little after noon I started, in a hired chaise, by way of Dunstable.\nThe mere mention of the name Amersham Place made every one supple and\nsmiling.  It was plainly a great house, and my uncle lived there in\nstyle.  The fame of it rose as we approached, like a chain of mountains;\nat Bedford they touched their caps, but in Dunstable they crawled upon\ntheir bellies.  I thought the landlady would have kissed me; such a\nflutter of cordiality, such smiles, such affectionate attentions were\ncalled forth, and the good lady bustled on my service in such a pother of\nringlets and with such a jingling of keys.  'You're probably expected,\nsir, at the Place?  I do trust you may 'ave better accounts of his\nlordship's 'elth, sir.  We understood that his lordship, Mosha de\nCarwell, was main bad.  Ha, sir, we shall all feel his loss, poor, dear,\nnoble gentleman; and I'm sure nobody more polite!  They do say, sir, his\nwealth is enormous, and before the Revolution, quite a prince in his own\ncountry!  But I beg your pardon, sir; 'ow I do run on, to be sure; and\ndoubtless all beknown to you already!  For you do resemble the family,\nsir.  I should have known you anywheres by the likeness to the dear\nviscount.  Ha, poor gentleman, he must 'ave a 'eavy 'eart these days.'\n\nIn the same place I saw out of the inn-windows a man-servant passing in\nthe livery of my house, which you are to think I had never before seen\nworn, or not that I could remember.  I had often enough, indeed, pictured\nmyself advanced to be a Marshal, a Duke of the Empire, a Grand Cross of\nthe Legion of Honour, and some other kickshaws of the kind, with a\nperfect rout of flunkeys correctly dressed in my own colours.  But it is\none thing to imagine, and another to see; it would be one thing to have\nthese liveries in a house of my own in Paris--it was quite another to\nfind them flaunting in the heart of hostile England; and I fear I should\nhave made a fool of myself, if the man had not been on the other side of\nthe street, and I at a one-pane window.  There was something illusory in\nthis transplantation of the wealth and honours of a family, a thing by\nits nature so deeply rooted in the soil; something ghostly in this sense\nof home-coming so far from home.\n\nFrom Dunstable I rolled away into a crescendo of similar impressions.\nThere are certainly few things to be compared with these castles, or\nrather country seats, of the English nobility and gentry; nor anything at\nall to equal the servility of the population that dwells in their\nneighbourhood.  Though I was but driving in a hired chaise, word of my\ndestination seemed to have gone abroad, and the women curtseyed and the\nmen louted to me by the wayside.  As I came near, I began to appreciate\nthe roots of this widespread respect.  The look of my uncle's park wall,\neven from the outside, had something of a princely character; and when I\ncame in view of the house itself, a sort of madness of vicarious\nvain-glory struck me dumb and kept me staring.  It was about the size of\nthe Tuileries.  It faced due north; and the last rays of the sun, that\nwas setting like a red-hot shot amidst a tumultuous gathering of snow\nclouds, were reflected on the endless rows of windows.  A portico of\nDoric columns adorned the front, and would have done honour to a temple.\nThe servant who received me at the door was civil to a fault--I had\nalmost said, to offence; and the hall to which he admitted me through a\npair of glass doors was warmed and already partly lighted by a liberal\nchimney heaped with the roots of beeches.\n\n'Vicomte Anne de St. Yves,' said I, in answer to the man's question;\nwhereupon he bowed before me lower still, and stepping upon one side\nintroduced me to the truly awful presence of the major-domo.  I have seen\nmany dignitaries in my time, but none who quite equalled this eminent\nbeing; who was good enough to answer to the unassuming name of Dawson.\nFrom him I learned that my uncle was extremely low, a doctor in close\nattendance, Mr. Romaine expected at any moment, and that my cousin, the\nVicomte de St. Yves, had been sent for the same morning.\n\n'It was a sudden seizure, then?' I asked.\n\nWell, he would scarcely go as far as that.  It was a decline, a fading\naway, sir; but he was certainly took bad the day before, had sent for Mr.\nRomaine, and the major-domo had taken it on himself a little later to\nsend word to the Viscount.  'It seemed to me, my lord,' said he, 'as if\nthis was a time when all the fambly should be called together.'\n\nI approved him with my lips, but not in my heart.  Dawson was plainly in\nthe interests of my cousin.\n\n'And when can I expect to see my great-uncle, the Count?' said I.\n\nIn the evening, I was told; in the meantime he would show me to my room,\nwhich had been long prepared for me, and I should be expected to dine in\nabout an hour with the doctor, if my lordship had no objections.\n\nMy lordship had not the faintest.\n\n'At the same time,' I said, 'I have had an accident: I have unhappily\nlost my baggage, and am here in what I stand in.  I don't know if the\ndoctor be a formalist, but it is quite impossible I should appear at\ntable as I ought.'\n\nHe begged me to be under no anxiety.  'We have been long expecting you,'\nsaid he.  'All is ready.'\n\nSuch I found to be the truth.  A great room had been prepared for me;\nthrough the mullioned windows the last flicker of the winter sunset\ninterchanged with the reverberation of a royal fire; the bed was open, a\nsuit of evening clothes was airing before the blaze, and from the far\ncorner a boy came forward with deprecatory smiles.  The dream in which I\nhad been moving seemed to have reached its pitch.  I might have quitted\nthis house and room only the night before; it was my own place that I had\ncome to; and for the first time in my life I understood the force of the\nwords home and welcome.\n\n'This will be all as you would want, sir?' said Mr. Dawson.  'This 'ere\nboy, Rowley, we place entirely at your disposition.  'E's not exactly a\ntrained vallet, but Mossho Powl, the Viscount's gentleman, 'ave give him\nthe benefick of a few lessons, and it is 'oped that he may give\nsitisfection.  Hanythink that you may require, if you will be so good as\nto mention the same to Rowley, I will make it my business myself, sir, to\nsee you sitisfied.'\n\nSo saying, the eminent and already detested Mr. Dawson took his\ndeparture, and I was left alone with Rowley.  A man who may be said to\nhave wakened to consciousness in the prison of the Abbaye, among those\never graceful and ever tragic figures of the brave and fair, awaiting the\nhour of the guillotine and denuded of every comfort, I had never known\nthe luxuries or the amenities of my rank in life.  To be attended on by\nservants I had only been accustomed to in inns.  My toilet had long been\nmilitary, to a moment, at the note of a bugle, too often at a ditch-side.\nAnd it need not be wondered at if I looked on my new valet with a certain\ndiffidence.  But I remembered that if he was my first experience of a\nvalet, I was his first trial as a master.  Cheered by which\nconsideration, I demanded my bath in a style of good assurance.  There\nwas a bathroom contiguous; in an incredibly short space of time the hot\nwater was ready; and soon after, arrayed in a shawl dressing-gown, and in\na luxury of contentment and comfort, I was reclined in an easy-chair\nbefore the mirror, while Rowley, with a mixture of pride and anxiety\nwhich I could well understand, laid out his razors.\n\n'Hey, Rowley?' I asked, not quite resigned to go under fire with such an\ninexperienced commander.  'It's all right, is it?  You feel pretty sure\nof your weapons?'\n\n'Yes, my lord,' he replied.  'It's all right, I assure your lordship.'\n\n'I beg your pardon, Mr. Rowley, 'but for the sake of shortness, would you\nmind not belording me in private?' said I.  'It will do very well if you\ncall me Mr. Anne.  It is the way of my country, as I dare say you know.'\n\nMr. Rowley looked blank.\n\n'But you're just as much a Viscount as Mr. Powl's, are you not?' he said.\n\n'As Mr. Powl's Viscount?' said I, laughing.  'Oh, keep your mind easy,\nMr. Rowley's is every bit as good.  Only, you see, as I am of the younger\nline, I bear my Christian name along with the title.  Alain is the\n_Viscount_; I am the _Viscount Anne_.  And in giving me the name of Mr.\nAnne, I assure you you will be quite regular.'\n\n'Yes, Mr. Anne,' said the docile youth.  'But about the shaving, sir, you\nneed be under no alarm.  Mr. Powl says I 'ave excellent dispositions.'\n\n'Mr. Powl?' said I.  'That doesn't seem to me very like a French name.'\n\n'No, sir, indeed, my lord,' said he, with a burst of confidence.  'No,\nindeed, Mr. Anne, and it do not surely.  I should say now, it was more\nlike Mr. Pole.'\n\n'And Mr. Powl is the Viscount's man?'\n\n'Yes, Mr. Anne,' said he.  'He 'ave a hard billet, he do.  The Viscount\nis a very particular gentleman.  I don't think as you'll be, Mr. Anne?'\nhe added, with a confidential smile in the mirror.\n\nHe was about sixteen, well set up, with a pleasant, merry, freckled face,\nand a pair of dancing eyes.  There was an air at once deprecatory and\ninsinuating about the rascal that I thought I recognised.  There came to\nme from my own boyhood memories of certain passionate admirations long\npassed away, and the objects of them long ago discredited or dead.  I\nremembered how anxious I had been to serve those fleeting heroes, how\nreadily I told myself I would have died for _them_, how much greater and\nhandsomer than life they had appeared.  And looking in the mirror, it\nseemed to me that I read the face of Rowley, like an echo or a ghost, by\nthe light of my own youth.  I have always contended (somewhat against the\nopinion of my friends) that I am first of all an economist; and the last\nthing that I would care to throw away is that very valuable piece of\nproperty--a boy's hero-worship.\n\n'Why,' said I, 'you shave like an angel, Mr. Rowley!'\n\n'Thank you, my lord,' says he.  'Mr. Powl had no fear of me. You may be\nsure, sir, I should never 'ave had this berth if I 'adn't 'ave been up to\nDick.  We been expecting of you this month back.  My eye!  I never see\nsuch preparations.  Every day the fires has been kep' up, the bed made,\nand all!  As soon as it was known you were coming, sir, I got the\nappointment; and I've been up and down since then like a Jack-in-the-box.\nA wheel couldn't sound in the avenue but what I was at the window!  I've\nhad a many disappointments; but to-night, as soon as you stepped out of\nthe shay, I knew it was my--it was you.  Oh, you had been expected!  Why,\nwhen I go down to supper, I'll be the 'ero of the servants' 'all: the\n'ole of the staff is that curious!'\n\n'Well,' said I, 'I hope you may be able to give a fair account of\nme--sober, steady, industrious, good-tempered, and with a first-rate\ncharacter from my last place?'\n\nHe laughed an embarrassed laugh.  'Your hair curls beautiful,' he said,\nby way of changing the subject.  'The Viscount's the boy for curls,\nthough; and the richness of it is, Mr. Powl tells me his don't curl no\nmore than that much twine--by nature.  Gettin' old, the Viscount is.  He\n'_ave_ gone the pace, 'aven't 'e, sir?'\n\n'The fact is,' said I, 'that I know very little about him.  Our family\nhas been much divided, and I have been a soldier from a child.'\n\n'A soldier, Mr. Anne, sir?' cried Rowley, with a sudden feverish\nanimation.  'Was you ever wounded?'\n\nIt is contrary to my principles to discourage admiration for myself; and,\nslipping back the shoulder of the dressing-gown, I silently exhibited the\nscar which I had received in Edinburgh Castle.  He looked at it with awe.\n\n'Ah, well!' he continued, 'there's where the difference comes in!  It's\nin the training.  The other Viscount have been horse-racing, and dicing,\nand carrying on all his life.  All right enough, no doubt; but what I do\nsay is, that it don't lead to nothink.  Whereas--'\n\n'Whereas Mr. Rowley's?' I put in.\n\n'My Viscount?' said he.  'Well, sir, I _did_ say it; and now that I've\nseen you, I say it again!'\n\nI could not refrain from smiling at this outburst, and the rascal caught\nme in the mirror and smiled to me again.\n\n'I'd say it again, Mr. Hanne,' he said.  'I know which side my bread's\nbuttered.  I know when a gen'leman's a gen'leman.  Mr. Powl can go to\nPutney with his one!  Beg your pardon, Mr. Anne, for being so familiar,'\nsaid he, blushing suddenly scarlet.  'I was especially warned against it\nby Mr. Powl.'\n\n'Discipline before all,' said I.  'Follow your front-rank man.\n\nWith that, we began to turn our attention to the clothes.  I was amazed\nto find them fit so well: not _a la diable_, in the haphazard manner of a\nsoldier's uniform or a ready-made suit; but with nicety, as a trained\nartist might rejoice to make them for a favourite subject.\n\n''Tis extraordinary,' cried I: 'these things fit me perfectly.'\n\n'Indeed, Mr. Anne, you two be very much of a shape,' said Rowley.\n\n'Who?  What two?' said I.\n\n'The Viscount,' he said.\n\n'Damnation!  Have I the man's clothes on me, too?' cried I.\n\nBut Rowley hastened to reassure me.  On the first word of my coming, the\nCount had put the matter of my wardrobe in the hands of his own and my\ncousin's tailors; and on the rumour of our resemblance, my clothes had\nbeen made to Alain's measure.\n\n'But they were all made for you express, Mr. Anne.  You may be certain\nthe Count would never do nothing by 'alf: fires kep' burning; the finest\nof clothes ordered, I'm sure, and a body-servant being trained\na-purpose.'\n\n'Well,' said I, 'it's a good fire, and a good set-out of clothes; and\nwhat a valet, Mr. Rowley!  And there's one thing to be said for my\ncousin--I mean for Mr. Powl's Viscount--he has a very fair figure.'\n\n'Oh, don't you be took in, Mr. Anne,' quoth the faithless Rowley: 'he has\nto be hyked into a pair of stays to get them things on!'\n\n'Come, come, Mr. Rowley,' said I, 'this is telling tales out of school!\nDo not you be deceived.  The greatest men of antiquity, including Caesar\nand Hannibal and Pope Joan, may have been very glad, at my time of life\nor Alain's, to follow his example.  'Tis a misfortune common to all; and\nreally,' said I, bowing to myself before the mirror like one who should\ndance the minuet, 'when the result is so successful as this, who would do\nanything but applaud?'\n\nMy toilet concluded, I marched on to fresh surprises.  My chamber, my new\nvalet and my new clothes had been beyond hope: the dinner, the soup, the\nwhole bill of fare was a revelation of the powers there are in man.  I\nhad not supposed it lay in the genius of any cook to create, out of\ncommon beef and mutton, things so different and dainty.  The wine was of\na piece, the doctor a most agreeable companion; nor could I help\nreflecting on the prospect that all this wealth, comfort and handsome\nprofusion might still very possibly become mine.  Here were a change\nindeed, from the common soldier and the camp kettle, the prisoner and his\nprison rations, the fugitive and the horrors of the covered cart!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII--THE DESPATCH-BOX\n\n\nThe doctor had scarce finished his meal before he hastened with an\napology to attend upon his patient; and almost immediately after I was\nmyself summoned and ushered up the great staircase and along interminable\ncorridors to the bedside of my great-uncle the Count.  You are to think\nthat up to the present moment I had not set eyes on this formidable\npersonage, only on the evidences of his wealth and kindness.  You are to\nthink besides that I had heard him miscalled and abused from my earliest\nchildhood up.  The first of the _emigres_ could never expect a good word\nin the society in which my father moved.  Even yet the reports I received\nwere of a doubtful nature; even Romaine had drawn of him no very amiable\nportrait; and as I was ushered into the room, it was a critical eye that\nI cast on my great-uncle.  He lay propped on pillows in a little cot no\ngreater than a camp-bed, not visibly breathing.  He was about eighty\nyears of age, and looked it; not that his face was much lined, but all\nthe blood and colour seemed to have faded from his body, and even his\neyes, which last he kept usually closed as though the light distressed\nhim.  There was an unspeakable degree of slyness in his expression, which\nkept me ill at ease; he seemed to lie there with his arms folded, like a\nspider waiting for prey.  His speech was very deliberate and courteous,\nbut scarce louder than a sigh.\n\n'I bid you welcome, _Monsieur le Vicomte Anne_,' said he, looking at me\nhard with his pale eyes, but not moving on his pillows.  'I have sent for\nyou, and I thank you for the obliging expedition you have shown.  It is\nmy misfortune that I cannot rise to receive you.  I trust you have been\nreasonably well entertained?'\n\n'_Monsieur mon oncle_,' I said, bowing very low, 'I am come at the\nsummons of the head of my family.'\n\n'It is well,' he said.  'Be seated.  I should be glad to hear some\nnews--if that can be called news that is already twenty years old--of how\nI have the pleasure to see you here.'\n\nBy the coldness of his address, not more than by the nature of the times\nthat he bade me recall, I was plunged in melancholy.  I felt myself\nsurrounded as with deserts of friendlessness, and the delight of my\nwelcome was turned to ashes in my mouth.\n\n'That is soon told, _monseigneur_,' said I.  'I understand that I need\ntell you nothing of the end of my unhappy parents?  It is only the story\nof the lost dog.'\n\n'You are right.  I am sufficiently informed of that deplorable affair; it\nis painful to me.  My nephew, your father, was a man who would not be\nadvised,' said he.  'Tell me, if you please, simply of yourself.'\n\n'I am afraid I must run the risk of harrowing your sensibility in the\nbeginning,' said I, with a bitter smile, 'because my story begins at the\nfoot of the guillotine.  When the list came out that night, and her name\nwas there, I was already old enough, not in years but in sad experience,\nto understand the extent of my misfortune.  She--'  I paused.  'Enough\nthat she arranged with a friend, Madame de Chasserades, that she should\ntake charge of me, and by the favour of our jailers I was suffered to\nremain in the shelter of the _Abbaye_.  That was my only refuge; there\nwas no corner of France that I could rest the sole of my foot upon except\nthe prison.  Monsieur le Comte, you are as well aware as I can be what\nkind of a life that was, and how swiftly death smote in that society.  I\ndid not wait long before the name of Madame de Chasserades succeeded to\nthat of my mother on the list.  She passed me on to Madame de Noytot;\nshe, in her turn, to Mademoiselle de Braye; and there were others.  I was\nthe one thing permanent; they were all transient as clouds; a day or two\nof their care, and then came the last farewell and--somewhere far off in\nthat roaring Paris that surrounded us--the bloody scene.  I was the\ncherished one, the last comfort, of these dying women.  I have been in\npitched fights, my lord, and I never knew such courage.  It was all done\nsmiling, in the tone of good society; _belle maman_ was the name I was\ntaught to give to each; and for a day or two the new \"pretty mamma\" would\nmake much of me, show me off, teach me the minuet, and to say my prayers;\nand then, with a tender embrace, would go the way of her predecessors,\nsmiling.  There were some that wept too.  There was a childhood!  All the\ntime Monsieur de Culemberg kept his eye on me, and would have had me out\nof the _Abbaye_ and in his own protection, but my \"pretty mammas\" one\nafter another resisted the idea.  Where could I be safer? they argued;\nand what was to become of them without the darling of the prison?  Well,\nit was soon shown how safe I was!  The dreadful day of the massacre came;\nthe prison was overrun; none paid attention to me, not even the last of\nmy \"pretty mammas,\" for she had met another fate.  I was wandering\ndistracted, when I was found by some one in the interests of Monsieur de\nCulemberg.  I understand he was sent on purpose; I believe, in order to\nreach the interior of the prison, he had set his hand to nameless\nbarbarities: such was the price paid for my worthless, whimpering little\nlife!  He gave me his hand; it was wet, and mine was reddened; he led me\nunresisting.  I remember but the one circumstance of my flight--it was my\nlast view of my last pretty mamma.  Shall I describe it to you?' I asked\nthe Count, with a sudden fierceness.\n\n'Avoid unpleasant details,' observed my great-uncle gently.\n\nAt these words a sudden peace fell upon me.  I had been angry with the\nman before; I had not sought to spare him; and now, in a moment, I saw\nthat there was nothing to spare.  Whether from natural heartlessness or\nextreme old age, the soul was not at home; and my benefactor, who had\nkept the fire lit in my room for a month past--my only relative except\nAlain, whom I knew already to be a hired spy--had trodden out the last\nsparks of hope and interest.\n\n'Certainly,' said I; 'and, indeed, the day for them is nearly over.  I\nwas taken to Monsieur de Culemberg's,--I presume, sir, that you know the\nAbbe de Culemberg?'\n\nHe indicated assent without opening his eyes.\n\n'He was a very brave and a very learned man--'\n\n'And a very holy one,' said my uncle civilly.\n\n'And a very holy one, as you observe,' I continued.  'He did an infinity\nof good, and through all the Terror kept himself from the guillotine.  He\nbrought me up, and gave me such education as I have.  It was in his house\nin the country at Dammarie, near Melun, that I made the acquaintance of\nyour agent, Mr. Vicary, who lay there in hiding, only to fall a victim at\nthe last to a gang of _chauffeurs_.'\n\n'That poor Mr. Vicary!' observed my uncle.  'He had been many times in my\ninterests to France, and this was his first failure.  _Quel charmant\nhomme_, _n'est-ce pas_?'\n\n'Infinitely so,' said I.  'But I would not willingly detain you any\nfurther with a story, the details of which it must naturally be more or\nless unpleasant for you to hear.  Suffice it that, by M. de Culemberg's\nown advice, I said farewell at eighteen to that kind preceptor and his\nbooks, and entered the service of France; and have since then carried\narms in such a manner as not to disgrace my family.'\n\n'You narrate well; _vous aves la voix chaude_,' said my uncle, turning on\nhis pillows as if to study me.  'I have a very good account of you by\nMonsieur de Mauseant, whom you helped in Spain.  And you had some\neducation from the Abbe de Culemberg, a man of a good house?  Yes, you\nwill do very well.  You have a good manner and a handsome person, which\nhurts nothing.  We are all handsome in the family; even I myself, I have\nhad my successes, the memories of which still charm me.  It is my\nintention, my nephew, to make of you my heir.  I am not very well content\nwith my other nephew, Monsieur le Vicomte: he has not been respectful,\nwhich is the flattery due to age.  And there are other matters.'\n\nI was half tempted to throw back in his face that inheritance so coldly\noffered.  At the same time I had to consider that he was an old man, and,\nafter all, my relation; and that I was a poor one, in considerable\nstraits, with a hope at heart which that inheritance might yet enable me\nto realise.  Nor could I forget that, however icy his manners, he had\nbehaved to me from the first with the extreme of liberality and--I was\nabout to write, kindness, but the word, in that connection, would not\ncome.  I really owed the man some measure of gratitude, which it would be\nan ill manner to repay if I were to insult him on his deathbed.\n\n'Your will, monsieur, must ever be my rule,' said I, bowing.\n\n'You have wit, _monsieur mon neveu_,' said he, 'the best wit--the wit of\nsilence.  Many might have deafened me with their gratitude.  Gratitude!'\nhe repeated, with a peculiar intonation, and lay and smiled to himself.\n'But to approach what is more important.  As a prisoner of war, will it\nbe possible for you to be served heir to English estates?  I have no\nidea: long as I have dwelt in England, I have never studied what they\ncall their laws.  On the other hand, how if Romaine should come too late?\nI have two pieces of business to be transacted--to die, and to make my\nwill; and, however desirous I may be to serve you, I cannot postpone the\nfirst in favour of the second beyond a very few hours.'\n\n'Well, sir, I must then contrive to be doing as I did before,' said I.\n\n'Not so,' said the Count.  'I have an alternative.  I have just drawn my\nbalance at my banker's, a considerable sum, and I am now to place it in\nyour hands.  It will be so much for you and so much less--' he paused,\nand smiled with an air of malignity that surprised me.  'But it is\nnecessary it should be done before witnesses.  _Monsieur le Vicomte_ is\nof a particular disposition, and an unwitnessed donation may very easily\nbe twisted into a theft.'\n\nHe touched a bell, which was answered by a man having the appearance of a\nconfidential valet.  To him he gave a key.\n\n'Bring me the despatch-box that came yesterday, La Ferriere,' said he.\n'You will at the same time present my compliments to Dr. Hunter and M.\nl'Abbe, and request them to step for a few moments to my room.'\n\nThe despatch-box proved to be rather a bulky piece of baggage, covered\nwith Russia leather.  Before the doctor and an excellent old smiling\npriest it was passed over into my hands with a very clear statement of\nthe disposer's wishes; immediately after which, though the witnesses\nremained behind to draw up and sign a joint note of the transaction,\nMonsieur de Keroual dismissed me to my own room, La Ferriere following\nwith the invaluable box.\n\nAt my chamber door I took it from him with thanks, and entered alone.\nEverything had been already disposed for the night, the curtains drawn\nand the fire trimmed; and Rowley was still busy with my bedclothes.  He\nturned round as I entered with a look of welcome that did my heart good.\nIndeed, I had never a much greater need of human sympathy, however\ntrivial, than at that moment when I held a fortune in my arms.  In my\nuncle's room I had breathed the very atmosphere of disenchantment.  He\nhad gorged my pockets; he had starved every dignified or affectionate\nsentiment of a man.  I had received so chilling an impression of age and\nexperience that the mere look of youth drew me to confide in Rowley: he\nwas only a boy, his heart must beat yet, he must still retain some\ninnocence and natural feelings, he could blurt out follies with his\nmouth, he was not a machine to utter perfect speech!  At the same time, I\nwas beginning to outgrow the painful impressions of my interview; my\nspirits were beginning to revive; and at the jolly, empty looks of Mr.\nRowley, as he ran forward to relieve me of the box, St. Ives became\nhimself again.\n\n'Now, Rowley, don't be in a hurry,' said I.  'This is a momentous\njuncture.  Man and boy, you have been in my service about three hours.\nYou must already have observed that I am a gentleman of a somewhat morose\ndisposition, and there is nothing that I more dislike than the smallest\nappearance of familiarity.  Mr. Pole or Mr. Powl, probably in the spirit\nof prophecy, warned you against this danger.'\n\n'Yes, Mr. Anne,' said Rowley blankly.\n\n'Now there has just arisen one of those rare cases, in which I am willing\nto depart from my principles.  My uncle has given me a box--what you\nwould call a Christmas box.  I don't know what's in it, and no more do\nyou: perhaps I am an April fool, or perhaps I am already enormously\nwealthy; there might be five hundred pounds in this apparently harmless\nreceptacle!'\n\n'Lord, Mr. Anne!' cried Rowley.\n\n'Now, Rowley, hold up your right hand and repeat the words of the oath\nafter me,' said I, laying the despatch-box on the table.  'Strike me blue\nif I ever disclose to Mr. Powl, or Mr. Powl's Viscount, or anything that\nis Mr. Powl's, not to mention Mr. Dawson and the doctor, the treasures of\nthe following despatch-box; and strike me sky-blue scarlet if I do not\ncontinually maintain, uphold, love, honour and obey, serve, and follow to\nthe four corners of the earth and the waters that are under the earth,\nthe hereinafter before-mentioned (only that I find I have neglected to\nmention him) Viscount Anne de Keroual de St.-Yves, commonly known as Mr.\nRowley's Viscount.  So be it.  Amen.'\n\nHe took the oath with the same exaggerated seriousness as I gave it to\nhim.\n\n'Now,' said I.  'Here is the key for you; I will hold the lid with both\nhands in the meanwhile.'  He turned the key.  'Bring up all the candles\nin the room, and range them along-side.  What is it to be?  A live\ngorgon, a Jack-in-the-box, or a spring that fires a pistol?  On your\nknees, sir, before the prodigy!'\n\nSo saying, I turned the despatch-box upside down upon the table.  At\nsight of the heap of bank paper and gold that lay in front of us, between\nthe candles, or rolled upon the floor alongside, I stood astonished.\n\n'O Lord!' cried Mr. Rowley; 'oh Lordy, Lordy, Lord!' and he scrambled\nafter the fallen guineas.  'O my, Mr. Anne! what a sight o' money!  Why,\nit's like a blessed story-book.  It's like the Forty Thieves.'\n\n'Now Rowley, let's be cool, let's be businesslike,' said I.  'Riches are\ndeceitful, particularly when you haven't counted them; and the first\nthing we have to do is to arrive at the amount of my--let me say, modest\ncompetency.  If I'm not mistaken, I have enough here to keep you in gold\nbuttons all the rest of your life.  You collect the gold, and I'll take\nthe paper.'\n\nAccordingly, down we sat together on the hearthrug, and for some time\nthere was no sound but the creasing of bills and the jingling of guineas,\nbroken occasionally by the exulting exclamations of Rowley.  The\narithmetical operation on which we were embarked took long, and it might\nhave been tedious to others; not to me nor to my helper.\n\n'Ten thousand pounds!' I announced at last.\n\n'Ten thousand!' echoed Mr. Rowley.\n\nAnd we gazed upon each other.\n\nThe greatness of this fortune took my breath away.  With that sum in my\nhands, I need fear no enemies.  People are arrested, in nine cases out of\nten, not because the police are astute, but because they themselves run\nshort of money; and I had here before me in the despatch-box a succession\nof devices and disguises that insured my liberty.  Not only so; but, as I\nfelt with a sudden and overpowering thrill, with ten thousand pounds in\nmy hands I was become an eligible suitor.  What advances I had made in\nthe past, as a private soldier in a military prison, or a fugitive by the\nwayside, could only be qualified or, indeed, excused as acts of\ndesperation.  And now, I might come in by the front door; I might\napproach the dragon with a lawyer at my elbow, and rich settlements to\noffer.  The poor French prisoner, Champdivers, might be in a perpetual\ndanger of arrest; but the rich travelling Englishman, St.-Ives, in his\npost-chaise, with his despatch-box by his side, could smile at fate and\nlaugh at locksmiths.  I repeated the proverb, exulting, _Love laughs at\nlocksmiths_!  In a moment, by the mere coming of this money, my love had\nbecome possible--it had come near, it was under my hand--and it may be by\none of the curiosities of human nature, but it burned that instant\nbrighter.\n\n'Rowley,' said I, 'your Viscount is a made man.'\n\n'Why, we both are, sir,' said Rowley.\n\n'Yes, both,' said I; 'and you shall dance at the wedding;' and I flung at\nhis head a bundle of bank notes, and had just followed it up with a\nhandful of guineas, when the door opened, and Mr. Romaine appeared upon\nthe threshold.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII--MR. ROMAINE CALLS ME NAMES\n\n\nFeeling very much of a fool to be thus taken by surprise, I scrambled to\nmy feet and hastened to make my visitor welcome.  He did not refuse me\nhis hand; but he gave it with a coldness and distance for which I was\nquite unprepared, and his countenance, as he looked on me, was marked in\na strong degree with concern and severity.\n\n'So, sir, I find you here?' said he, in tones of little encouragement.\n'Is that you, George?  You can run away; I have business with your\nmaster.'\n\nHe showed Rowley out, and locked the door behind him.  Then he sat down\nin an armchair on one side of the fire, and looked at me with\nuncompromising sternness.\n\n'I am hesitating how to begin,' said he.  'In this singular labyrinth of\nblunders and difficulties that you have prepared for us, I am positively\nhesitating where to begin.  It will perhaps be best that you should read,\nfirst of all, this paragraph.'  And he handed over to me a newspaper.\n\nThe paragraph in question was brief.  It announced the recapture of one\nof the prisoners recently escaped from Edinburgh Castle; gave his name,\nClausel, and added that he had entered into the particulars of the recent\nrevolting murder in the Castle, and denounced the murderer:--\n\n    'It is a common soldier called Champdivers, who had himself escaped,\n    and is in all probability involved in the common fate of his\n    comrades.  In spite of the activity along all the Forth and the East\n    Coast, nothing has yet been seen of the sloop which these desperadoes\n    seized at Grangemouth, and it is now almost certain that they have\n    found a watery grave.'\n\nAt the reading of this paragraph, my heart turned over.  In a moment I\nsaw my castle in the air ruined; myself changed from a mere military\nfugitive into a hunted murderer, fleeing from the gallows; my love, which\nhad a moment since appeared so near to me, blotted from the field of\npossibility.  Despair, which was my first sentiment, did not, however,\nendure for more than a moment.  I saw that my companions had indeed\nsucceeded in their unlikely design; and that I was supposed to have\naccompanied and perished along with them by shipwreck--a most probable\nending to their enterprise.  If they thought me at the bottom of the\nNorth Sea, I need not fear much vigilance on the streets of Edinburgh.\nChampdivers was wanted: what was to connect him with St. Ives?  Major\nChevenix would recognise me if he met me; that was beyond bargaining: he\nhad seen me so often, his interest had been kindled to so high a point,\nthat I could hope to deceive him by no stratagem of disguise.  Well, even\nso; he would have a competition of testimony before him: he knew Clausel,\nhe knew me, and I was sure he would decide for honour.  At the same time\nthe image of Flora shot up in my mind's eye with such a radiancy as\nfairly overwhelmed all other considerations; the blood sprang to every\ncorner of my body, and I vowed I would see and win her, if it cost my\nneck.\n\n'Very annoying, no doubt,' said I, as I returned the paper to Mr.\nRomaine.\n\n'Is annoying your word for it?' said he.\n\n'Exasperating, if you like,' I admitted.\n\n'And true?' he inquired.\n\n'Well, true in a sense,' said I.  'But perhaps I had better answer that\nquestion by putting you in possession of the facts?'\n\n'I think so, indeed,' said he.\n\nI narrated to him as much as seemed necessary of the quarrel, the duel,\nthe death of Goguelat, and the character of Clausel.  He heard me through\nin a forbidding silence, nor did he at all betray the nature of his\nsentiments, except that, at the episode of the scissors, I could observe\nhis mulberry face to turn three shades paler.\n\n'I suppose I may believe you?' said he, when I had done.\n\n'Or else conclude this interview,' said I.\n\n'Can you not understand that we are here discussing matters of the\ngravest import?  Can you not understand that I feel myself weighed with a\nload of responsibility on your account--that you should take this\noccasion to air your fire-eating manners against your own attorney?\nThere are serious hours in life, Mr. Anne,' he said severely.  'A capital\ncharge, and that of a very brutal character and with singularly\nunpleasant details; the presence of the man Clausel, who (according to\nyour account of it) is actuated by sentiments of real malignity, and\nprepared to swear black white; all the other witnesses scattered and\nperhaps drowned at sea; the natural prejudice against a Frenchman and a\nrunaway prisoner: this makes a serious total for your lawyer to consider,\nand is by no means lessened by the incurable folly and levity of your own\ndisposition.'\n\n'I beg your pardon!' said I.\n\n'Oh, my expressions have been selected with scrupulous accuracy,' he\nreplied.  'How did I find you, sir, when I came to announce this\ncatastrophe?  You were sitting on the hearthrug playing, like a silly\nbaby, with a servant, were you not, and the floor all scattered with gold\nand bank paper?  There was a tableau for you!  It was I who came, and you\nwere lucky in that.  It might have been any one--your cousin as well as\nanother.'\n\n'You have me there, sir,' I admitted.  'I had neglected all precautions,\nand you do right to be angry.  _Apropos_, Mr. Romaine, how did you come\nyourself, and how long have you been in the house?' I added, surprised,\non the retrospect, not to have heard him arrive.\n\n'I drove up in a chaise and pair,' he returned.  'Any one might have\nheard me.  But you were not listening, I suppose? being so extremely at\nyour ease in the very house of your enemy, and under a capital charge!\nAnd I have been long enough here to do your business for you.  Ah, yes, I\ndid it, God forgive me!--did it before I so much as asked you the\nexplanation of the paragraph.  For some time back the will has been\nprepared; now it is signed; and your uncle has heard nothing of your\nrecent piece of activity.  Why?  Well, I had no fancy to bother him on\nhis death-bed: you might be innocent; and at bottom I preferred the\nmurderer to the spy.'\n\nNo doubt of it but the man played a friendly part; no doubt also that, in\nhis ill-temper and anxiety, he expressed himself unpalatably.\n\n'You will perhaps find me over delicate,' said I.  'There is a word you\nemployed--'\n\n'I employ the words of my brief, sir,' he cried, striking with his hand\non the newspaper.  'It is there in six letters.  And do not be so\ncertain--you have not stood your trial yet.  It is an ugly affair, a\nfishy business.  It is highly disagreeable.  I would give my hand off--I\nmean I would give a hundred pound down, to have nothing to do with it.\nAnd, situated as we are, we must at once take action.  There is here no\nchoice.  You must at once quit this country, and get to France, or\nHolland, or, indeed, to Madagascar.'\n\n'There may be two words to that,' said I.\n\n'Not so much as one syllable!' he retorted.  'Here is no room for\nargument.  The case is nakedly plain.  In the disgusting position in\nwhich you have found means to place yourself, all that is to be hoped for\nis delay.  A time may come when we shall be able to do better.  It cannot\nbe now: now it would be the gibbet.'\n\n'You labour under a false impression, Mr. Romaine,' said I.  'I have no\nimpatience to figure in the dock.  I am even as anxious as yourself to\npostpone my first appearance there.  On the other hand, I have not the\nslightest intention of leaving this country, where I please myself\nextremely.  I have a good address, a ready tongue, an English accent that\npasses, and, thanks to the generosity of my uncle, as much money as I\nwant.  It would be hard indeed if, with all these advantages, Mr. St.\nIves should not be able to live quietly in a private lodging, while the\nauthorities amuse themselves by looking for Champdivers.  You forget,\nthere is no connection between these two personages.'\n\n'And you forget your cousin,' retorted Romaine.  'There is the link.\nThere is the tongue of the buckle.  He knows you are Champdivers.'  He\nput up his hand as if to listen.  'And, for a wager, here he is himself!'\nhe exclaimed.\n\nAs when a tailor takes a piece of goods upon his counter, and rends it\nacross, there came to our ears from the avenue the long tearing sound of\na chaise and four approaching at the top speed of the horses.  And,\nlooking out between the curtains, we beheld the lamps skimming on the\nsmooth ascent.\n\n'Ay,' said Romaine, wiping the window-pane that he might see more\nclearly.  'Ay, that is he by the driving!  So he squanders money along\nthe king's highway, the triple idiot! gorging every man he meets with\ngold for the pleasure of arriving--where?  Ah, yes, where but a debtor's\njail, if not a criminal prison!'\n\n'Is he that kind of a man?' I said, staring on these lamps as though I\ncould decipher in them the secret of my cousin's character.\n\n'You will find him a dangerous kind,' answered the lawyer.  'For you,\nthese are the lights on a lee shore!  I find I fall in a muse when I\nconsider of him; what a formidable being he once was, and what a\npersonable! and how near he draws to the moment that must break him\nutterly! we none of us like him here; we hate him, rather; and yet I have\na sense--I don't think at my time of life it can be pity--but a\nreluctance rather, to break anything so big and figurative, as though he\nwere a big porcelain pot or a big picture of high price.  Ay, there is\nwhat I was waiting for!' he cried, as the lights of a second chaise swam\nin sight.  'It is he beyond a doubt.  The first was the signature and the\nnext the flourish.  Two chaises, the second following with the baggage,\nwhich is always copious and ponderous, and one of his valets: he cannot\ngo a step without a valet.'\n\n'I hear you repeat the word big,' said I.  'But it cannot be that he is\nanything out of the way in stature.'\n\n'No,' said the attorney.  'About your height, as I guessed for the\ntailors, and I see nothing wrong with the result.  But, somehow, he\ncommands an atmosphere; he has a spacious manner; and he has kept up, all\nthrough life, such a volume of racket about his personality, with his\nchaises and his racers and his dicings, and I know not what--that somehow\nhe imposes!  It seems, when the farce is done, and he locked in Fleet\nprison--and nobody left but Buonaparte and Lord Wellington and the Hetman\nPlatoff to make a work about--the world will be in a comparison quite\ntranquil.  But this is beside the mark,' he added, with an effort,\nturning again from the window.  'We are now under fire, Mr. Anne, as you\nsoldiers would say, and it is high time we should prepare to go into\naction.  He must not see you; that would be fatal.  All that he knows at\npresent is that you resemble him, and that is much more than enough.  If\nit were possible, it would be well he should not know you were in the\nhouse.'\n\n'Quite impossible, depend upon it,' said I.  'Some of the servants are\ndirectly in his interests, perhaps in his pay: Dawson, for an example.'\n\n'My own idea!' cried Romaine.  'And at least,' he added, as the first of\nthe chaises drew up with a dash in front of the portico, 'it is now too\nlate.  Here he is.'\n\nWe stood listening, with a strange anxiety, to the various noises that\nawoke in the silent house: the sound of doors opening and closing, the\nsound of feet near at hand and farther off.  It was plain the arrival of\nmy cousin was a matter of moment, almost of parade, to the household.\nAnd suddenly, out of this confused and distant bustle, a rapid and light\ntread became distinguishable.  We heard it come upstairs, draw near along\nthe corridor, pause at the door, and a stealthy and hasty rapping\nsucceeded.\n\n'Mr. Anne--Mr. Anne, sir!  Let me in!' said the voice of Rowley.\n\nWe admitted the lad, and locked the door again behind him.\n\n'It's _him_, sir,' he panted.  'He've come.'\n\n'You mean the Viscount?' said I.  'So we supposed.  But come, Rowley--out\nwith the rest of it!  You have more to tell us, or your face belies you!'\n\n'Mr. Anne, I do,' he said.  'Mr. Romaine, sir, you're a friend of his,\nain't you?'\n\n'Yes, George, I am a friend of his,' said Romaine, and, to my great\nsurprise, laid his hand upon my shoulder.\n\n'Well, it's this way,' said Rowley--'Mr. Powl have been at me!  It's to\nplay the spy!  I thought he was at it from the first!  From the first I\nsee what he was after--coming round and round, and hinting things!  But\nto-night he outs with it plump!  I'm to let him hear all what you're to\ndo beforehand, he says; and he gave me this for an arnest'--holding up\nhalf a guinea; 'and I took it, so I did!  Strike me sky-blue scarlet?'\nsays he, adducing the words of the mock oath; and he looked askance at me\nas he did so.\n\nI saw that he had forgotten himself, and that he knew it.  The expression\nof his eye changed almost in the passing of the glance from the\nsignificant to the appealing--from the look of an accomplice to that of a\nculprit; and from that moment he became the model of a well-drilled\nvalet.\n\n'Sky-blue scarlet?' repeated the lawyer.  'Is the fool delirious?'\n\n'No,' said I; 'he is only reminding me of something.'\n\n'Well--and I believe the fellow will be faithful,' said Romaine.  'So you\nare a friend of Mr. Anne's' too?' he added to Rowley.\n\n'If you please, sir,' said Rowley.\n\n''Tis something sudden,' observed Romaine; 'but it may be genuine enough.\nI believe him to be honest.  He comes of honest people.  Well, George\nRowley, you might embrace some early opportunity to earn that\nhalf-guinea, by telling Mr. Powl that your master will not leave here\ntill noon to-morrow, if he go even then.  Tell him there are a hundred\nthings to be done here, and a hundred more that can only be done properly\nat my office in Holborn.  Come to think of it--we had better see to that\nfirst of all,' he went on, unlocking the door.  'Get hold of Powl, and\nsee.  And be quick back, and clear me up this mess.'\n\nMr. Rowley was no sooner gone than the lawyer took a pinch of snuff, and\nregarded me with somewhat of a more genial expression.\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'it is very fortunate for you that your face is so strong\na letter of recommendation.  Here am I, a tough old practitioner, mixing\nmyself up with your very distressing business; and here is this farmer's\nlad, who has the wit to take a bribe and the loyalty to come and tell you\nof it--all, I take it, on the strength of your appearance.  I wish I\ncould imagine how it would impress a jury!' says he.\n\n'And how it would affect the hangman, sir?' I asked\n\n'_Absit omen_!' said Mr. Romaine devoutly.\n\nWe were just so far in our talk, when I heard a sound that brought my\nheart into my mouth: the sound of some one slyly trying the handle of the\ndoor.  It had been preceded by no audible footstep.  Since the departure\nof Rowley our wing of the house had been entirely silent.  And we had\nevery right to suppose ourselves alone, and to conclude that the\nnew-comer, whoever he might be, was come on a clandestine, if not a\nhostile, errand.\n\n'Who is there?' asked Romaine.\n\n'It's only me, sir,' said the soft voice of Dawson.  'It's the Viscount,\nsir.  He is very desirous to speak with you on business.'\n\n'Tell him I shall come shortly, Dawson,' said the lawyer.  'I am at\npresent engaged.'\n\n'Thank you, sir!' said Dawson.\n\nAnd we heard his feet draw off slowly along the corridor.\n\n'Yes,' said Mr. Romaine, speaking low, and maintaining the attitude of\none intently listening, 'there is another foot.  I cannot be deceived!'\n\n'I think there was indeed!' said I.  'And what troubles me--I am not sure\nthat the other has gone entirely away.  By the time it got the length of\nthe head of the stair the tread was plainly single.'\n\n'Ahem--blockaded?' asked the lawyer.\n\n'A siege _en regle_!' I exclaimed.\n\n'Let us come farther from the door,' said Romaine, 'and reconsider this\ndamnable position.  Without doubt, Alain was this moment at the door.  He\nhoped to enter and get a view of you, as if by accident.  Baffled in\nthis, has he stayed himself, or has he planted Dawson here by way of\nsentinel?'\n\n'Himself, beyond a doubt,' said I.  'And yet to what end?  He cannot\nthink to pass the night there!'\n\n'If it were only possible to pay no heed!' said Mr. Romaine.  'But this\nis the accursed drawback of your position.  We can do nothing openly.  I\nmust smuggle you out of this room and out of this house like seizable\ngoods; and how am I to set about it with a sentinel planted at your very\ndoor?'\n\n'There is no good in being agitated,' said I.\n\n'None at all,' he acquiesced.  'And, come to think of it, it is droll\nenough that I should have been that very moment commenting on your\npersonal appearance, when your cousin came upon this mission.  I was\nsaying, if you remember, that your face was as good or better than a\nletter of recommendation.  I wonder if M. Alain would be like the rest of\nus--I wonder what he would think of it?'\n\nMr. Romaine was sitting in a chair by the fire with his back to the\nwindows, and I was myself kneeling on the hearthrug and beginning\nmechanically to pick up the scattered bills, when a honeyed voice joined\nsuddenly in our conversation.\n\n'He thinks well of it, Mr. Romaine.  He begs to join himself to that\ncircle of admirers which you indicate to exist already.'\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX--THE DEVIL AND ALL AT AMERSHAM PLACE\n\n\nNever did two human creatures get to their feet with more alacrity than\nthe lawyer and myself.  We had locked and barred the main gates of the\ncitadel; but unhappily we had left open the bath-room sally-port; and\nhere we found the voice of the hostile trumpets sounding from within, and\nall our defences taken in reverse.  I took but the time to whisper Mr.\nRomaine in the ear: 'Here is another tableau for you!' at which he looked\nat me a moment with a kind of pathos, as who should say, 'Don't hit a man\nwhen he's down.'  Then I transferred my eyes to my enemy.\n\nHe had his hat on, a little on one side: it was a very tall hat, raked\nextremely, and had a narrow curling brim.  His hair was all curled out in\nmasses like an Italian mountebank--a most unpardonable fashion.  He\nsported a huge tippeted overcoat of frieze, such as watchmen wear, only\nthe inside was lined with costly furs, and he kept it half open to\ndisplay the exquisite linen, the many-coloured waistcoat, and the profuse\njewellery of watch-chains and brooches underneath.  The leg and the ankle\nwere turned to a miracle.  It is out of the question that I should deny\nthe resemblance altogether, since it has been remarked by so many\ndifferent persons whom I cannot reasonably accuse of a conspiracy.  As a\nmatter of fact, I saw little of it and confessed to nothing.  Certainly\nhe was what some might call handsome, of a pictorial, exuberant style of\nbeauty, all attitude, profile, and impudence: a man whom I could see in\nfancy parade on the grand stand at a race-meeting or swagger in\nPiccadilly, staring down the women, and stared at himself with admiration\nby the coal-porters.  Of his frame of mind at that moment his face\noffered a lively if an unconscious picture.  He was lividly pale, and his\nlip was caught up in a smile that could almost be called a snarl, of a\nsheer, arid malignity that appalled me and yet put me on my mettle for\nthe encounter.  He looked me up and down, then bowed and took off his hat\nto me.\n\n'My cousin, I presume?' he said.\n\n'I understand I have that honour,' I replied.\n\n'The honour is mine,' said he, and his voice shook as he said it.\n\n'I should make you welcome, I believe,' said I.\n\n'Why?' he inquired.  'This poor house has been my home for longer than I\ncare to claim.  That you should already take upon yourself the duties of\nhost here is to be at unnecessary pains.  Believe me, that part would be\nmore becomingly mine.  And, by the way, I must not fail to offer you my\nlittle compliment.  It is a gratifying surprise to meet you in the dress\nof a gentleman, and to see'--with a circular look upon the scattered\nbills--'that your necessities have already been so liberally relieved.'\n\nI bowed with a smile that was perhaps no less hateful than his own.\n\n'There are so many necessities in this world,' said I.  'Charity has to\nchoose.  One gets relieved, and some other, no less indigent, perhaps\nindebted, must go wanting.'\n\n'Malice is an engaging trait,' said he.\n\n'And envy, I think?' was my reply.\n\nHe must have felt that he was not getting wholly the better of this\npassage at arms; perhaps even feared that he should lose command of his\ntemper, which he reined in throughout the interview as with a red-hot\ncurb, for he flung away from me at the word, and addressed the lawyer\nwith insulting arrogance.\n\n'Mr. Romaine,' he said, 'since when have you presumed to give orders in\nthis house?'\n\n'I am not prepared to admit that I have given any,' replied Romaine;\n'certainly none that did not fall in the sphere of my responsibilities.'\n\n'By whose orders, then, am I denied entrance to my uncle's room?' said my\ncousin.\n\n'By the doctor's, sir,' replied Romaine; 'and I think even you will admit\nhis faculty to give them.'\n\n'Have a care, sir,' cried Alain.  'Do not be puffed up with your\nposition.  It is none so secure, Master Attorney.  I should not wonder in\nthe least if you were struck off the rolls for this night's work, and the\nnext I should see of you were when I flung you alms at a pothouse door to\nmend your ragged elbows.  The doctor's orders?  But I believe I am not\nmistaken!  You have to-night transacted business with the Count; and this\nneedy young gentleman has enjoyed the privilege of still another\ninterview, in which (as I am pleased to see) his dignity has not\nprevented his doing very well for himself.  I wonder that you should care\nto prevaricate with me so idly.'\n\n'I will confess so much,' said Mr. Romaine, 'if you call it\nprevarication.  The order in question emanated from the Count himself.\nHe does not wish to see you.'\n\n'For which I must take the word of Mr. Daniel Romaine?' asked Alain.\n\n'In default of any better,' said Romaine.\n\nThere was an instantaneous convulsion in my cousin's face, and I\ndistinctly heard him gnash his teeth at this reply; but, to my surprise,\nhe resumed in tones of almost good humour:\n\n'Come, Mr. Romaine, do not let us be petty!'  He drew in a chair and sat\ndown.  'Understand you have stolen a march upon me.  You have introduced\nyour soldier of Napoleon, and (how, I cannot conceive) he has been\napparently accepted with favour.  I ask no better proof than the funds\nwith which I find him literally surrounded--I presume in consequence of\nsome extravagance of joy at the first sight of so much money.  The odds\nare so far in your favour, but the match is not yet won.  Questions will\narise of undue influence, of sequestration, and the like: I have my\nwitnesses ready.  I tell it you cynically, for you cannot profit by the\nknowledge; and, if the worst come to the worst, I have good hopes of\nrecovering my own and of ruining you.'\n\n'You do what you please,' answered Romaine; 'but I give it you for a\npiece of good advice, you had best do nothing in the matter.  You will\nonly make yourself ridiculous; you will only squander money, of which you\nhave none too much, and reap public mortification.'\n\n'Ah, but there you make the common mistake, Mr. Romaine!' returned Alain.\n'You despise your adversary.  Consider, if you please, how very\ndisagreeable I could make myself, if I chose.  Consider the position of\nyour _protege_--an escaped prisoner!  But I play a great game.  I condemn\nsuch petty opportunities.'\n\nAt this Romaine and I exchanged a glance of triumph.  It seemed manifest\nthat Alain had as yet received no word of Clausel's recapture and\ndenunciation.  At the same moment the lawyer, thus relieved of the\ninstancy of his fear, changed his tactics.  With a great air of\nunconcern, he secured the newspaper, which still lay open before him on\nthe table.\n\n'I think, Monsieur Alain, that you labour under some illusion,' said he.\n'Believe me, this is all beside the mark.  You seem to be pointing to\nsome compromise.  Nothing is further from my views.  You suspect me of an\ninclination to trifle with you, to conceal how things are going.  I\ncannot, on the other hand, be too early or too explicit in giving you\ninformation which concerns you (I must say) capitally.  Your great-uncle\nhas to-night cancelled his will, and made a new one in favour of your\ncousin Anne.  Nay, and you shall hear it from his own lips, if you\nchoose!  I will take so much upon me,' said the lawyer, rising.  'Follow\nme, if you please, gentlemen.'\n\nMr. Romaine led the way out of the room so briskly, and was so briskly\nfollowed by Alain, that I had hard ado to get the remainder of the money\nreplaced and the despatch-box locked, and to overtake them, even by\nrunning ere they should be lost in that maze of corridors, my uncle's\nhouse.  As it was, I went with a heart divided; and the thought of my\ntreasure thus left unprotected, save by a paltry lid and lock that any\none might break or pick open, put me in a perspiration whenever I had the\ntime to remember it.  The lawyer brought us to a room, begged us to be\nseated while he should hold a consultation with the doctor, and, slipping\nout of another door, left Alain and myself closeted together.\n\nTruly he had done nothing to ingratiate himself; his every word had been\nsteeped in unfriendliness, envy, and that contempt which (as it is born\nof anger) it is possible to support without humiliation.  On my part, I\nhad been little more conciliating; and yet I began to be sorry for this\nman, hired spy as I knew him to be.  It seemed to me less than decent\nthat he should have been brought up in the expectation of this great\ninheritance, and now, at the eleventh hour, be tumbled forth out of the\nhouse door and left to himself, his poverty and his debts--those debts of\nwhich I had so ungallantly reminded him so short a time before.  And we\nwere scarce left alone ere I made haste to hang out a flag of truce.\n\n'My cousin,' said I, 'trust me, you will not find me inclined to be your\nenemy.'\n\nHe paused in front of me--for he had not accepted the lawyer's invitation\nto be seated, but walked to and fro in the apartment--took a pinch of\nsnuff, and looked at me while he was taking it with an air of much\ncuriosity.\n\n'Is it even so?' said he.  'Am I so far favoured by fortune as to have\nyour pity?  Infinitely obliged, my cousin Anne!  But these sentiments are\nnot always reciprocal, and I warn you that the day when I set my foot on\nyour neck, the spine shall break.  Are you acquainted with the properties\nof the spine?' he asked with an insolence beyond qualification.\n\nIt was too much.  'I am acquainted also with the properties of a pair of\npistols,' said I, toising him.\n\n'No, no, no!' says he, holding up his finger.  'I will take my revenge\nhow and when I please.  We are enough of the same family to understand\neach other, perhaps; and the reason why I have not had you arrested on\nyour arrival, why I had not a picket of soldiers in the first clump of\nevergreens, to await and prevent your coming--I, who knew all, before\nwhom that pettifogger, Romaine, has been conspiring in broad daylight to\nsupplant me--is simply this: that I had not made up my mind how I was to\ntake my revenge.'\n\nAt that moment he was interrupted by the tolling of a bell.  As we stood\nsurprised and listening, it was succeeded by the sound of many feet\ntrooping up the stairs and shuffling by the door of our room.  Both, I\nbelieve, had a great curiosity to set it open, which each, owing to the\npresence of the other, resisted; and we waited instead in silence, and\nwithout moving, until Romaine returned and bade us to my uncle's\npresence.\n\nHe led the way by a little crooked passage, which brought us out in the\nsick-room, and behind the bed.  I believe I have forgotten to remark that\nthe Count's chamber was of considerable dimensions.  We beheld it now\ncrowded with the servants and dependants of the house, from the doctor\nand the priest to Mr. Dawson and the housekeeper, from Dawson down to\nRowley and the last footman in white calves, the last plump chambermaid\nin her clean gown and cap, and the last ostler in a stable waiscoat.\nThis large congregation of persons (and I was surprised to see how large\nit was) had the appearance, for the most part, of being ill at ease and\nheartily bewildered, standing on one foot, gaping like zanies, and those\nwho were in the corners nudging each other and grinning aside.  My uncle,\non the other hand, who was raised higher than I had yet seen him on his\npillows, wore an air of really imposing gravity.  No sooner had we\nappeared behind him, than he lifted his voice to a good loudness, and\naddressed the assemblage.\n\n'I take you all to witness--can you hear me?--I take you all to witness\nthat I recognise as my heir and representative this gentleman, whom most\nof you see for the first time, the Viscount Anne de St.-Yves, my nephew\nof the younger line.  And I take you to witness at the same time that,\nfor very good reasons known to myself, I have discarded and disinherited\nthis other gentleman whom you all know, the Viscount de St.-Yves.  I have\nalso to explain the unusual trouble to which I have put you all--and,\nsince your supper was not over, I fear I may even say annoyance.  It has\npleased M. Alain to make some threats of disputing my will, and to\npretend that there are among your number certain estimable persons who\nmay be trusted to swear as he shall direct them.  It pleases me thus to\nput it out of his power and to stop the mouths of his false witnesses.  I\nam infinitely obliged by your politeness, and I have the honour to wish\nyou all a very good evening.'\n\nAs the servants, still greatly mystified, crowded out of the sickroom\ndoor, curtseying, pulling the forelock, scraping with the foot, and so\non, according to their degree, I turned and stole a look at my cousin.\nHe had borne this crushing public rebuke without change of countenance.\nHe stood, now, very upright, with folded arms, and looking inscrutably at\nthe roof of the apartment.  I could not refuse him at that moment the\ntribute of my admiration.  Still more so when, the last of the domestics\nhaving filed through the doorway and left us alone with my great-uncle\nand the lawyer, he took one step forward towards the bed, made a\ndignified reverence, and addressed the man who had just condemned him to\nruin.\n\n'My lord,' said he, 'you are pleased to treat me in a manner which my\ngratitude, and your state, equally forbid me to call in question.  It\nwill be only necessary for me to call your attention to the length of\ntime in which I have been taught to regard myself as your heir.  In that\nposition, I judged it only loyal to permit myself a certain scale of\nexpenditure.  If I am now to be cut off with a shilling as the reward of\ntwenty years of service, I shall be left not only a beggar, but a\nbankrupt.'\n\nWhether from the fatigue of his recent exertion, or by a well-inspired\ningenuity of hate, my uncle had once more closed his eyes; nor did he\nopen them now.  'Not with a shilling,' he contented himself with\nreplying; and there stole, as he said it, a sort of smile over his face,\nthat flickered there conspicuously for the least moment of time, and then\nfaded and left behind the old impenetrable mask of years, cunning, and\nfatigue.  There could be no mistake: my uncle enjoyed the situation as he\nhad enjoyed few things in the last quarter of a century.  The fires of\nlife scarce survived in that frail body; but hatred, like some immortal\nquality, was still erect and unabated.\n\nNevertheless my cousin persevered.\n\n'I speak at a disadvantage,' he resumed.  'My supplanter, with perhaps\nmore wisdom than delicacy, remains in the room,' and he cast a glance at\nme that might have withered an oak tree.\n\nI was only too willing to withdraw, and Romaine showed as much alacrity\nto make way for my departure.  But my uncle was not to be moved.  In the\nsame breath of a voice, and still without opening his eyes, he bade me\nremain.\n\n'It is well,' said Alain.  'I cannot then go on to remind you of the\ntwenty years that have passed over our heads in England, and the services\nI may have rendered you in that time.  It would be a position too odious.\nYour lordship knows me too well to suppose I could stoop to such\nignominy.  I must leave out all my defence--your lordship wills it so!  I\ndo not know what are my faults; I know only my punishment, and it is\ngreater than I have the courage to face.  My uncle, I implore your pity:\npardon me so far; do not send me for life into a debtors' jail--a pauper\ndebtor.'\n\n'_Chat et vieux_, _pardonnez_?' said my uncle, quoting from La Fontaine;\nand then, opening a pale-blue eye full on Alain, he delivered with some\nemphasis:\n\n    'La jeunesse se flatte et croit tout obtenir;\n    La vieillesse est impitoyable.'\n\nThe blood leaped darkly into Alain's face.  He turned to Romaine and me,\nand his eyes flashed.\n\n'It is your turn now,' he said.  'At least it shall be prison for prison\nwith the two viscounts.'\n\n'Not so, Mr. Alain, by your leave,' said Romaine.  'There are a few\nformalities to be considered first.'\n\nBut Alain was already striding towards the door.\n\n'Stop a moment, stop a moment!' cried Romaine.  'Remember your own\ncounsel not to despise an adversary.'\n\nAlain turned.\n\n'If I do not despise I hate you!' he cried, giving a loose to his\npassion.  'Be warned of that, both of you.'\n\n'I understand you to threaten Monsieur le Vicomte Anne,' said the lawyer.\n'Do you know, I would not do that.  I am afraid, I am very much afraid,\nif you were to do as you propose, you might drive me into extremes.'\n\n'You have made me a beggar and a bankrupt,' said Alain.  What extreme is\nleft?'\n\n'I scarce like to put a name upon it in this company,' replied Romaine.\n'But there are worse things than even bankruptcy, and worse places than a\ndebtors' jail.'\n\nThe words were so significantly said that there went a visible thrill\nthrough Alain; sudden as a sword-stroke, he fell pale again.\n\n'I do not understand you,' said he.\n\n'O yes, you do,' returned Romaine.  'I believe you understand me very\nwell.  You must not suppose that all this time, while you were so very\nbusy, others were entirely idle.  You must not fancy, because I am an\nEnglishman, that I have not the intelligence to pursue an inquiry.  Great\nas is my regard for the honour of your house, M. Alain de St.-Yves, if I\nhear of you moving directly or indirectly in this matter, I shall do my\nduty, let it cost what it will: that is, I shall communicate the real\nname of the Buonapartist spy who signs his letters _Rue Gregoire de\nTours_.'\n\nI confess my heart was already almost altogether on the side of my\ninsulted and unhappy cousin; and if it had not been before, it must have\nbeen so now, so horrid was the shock with which he heard his infamy\nexposed.  Speech was denied him; he carried his hand to his neckcloth; he\nstaggered; I thought he must have fallen.  I ran to help him, and at that\nhe revived, recoiled before me, and stood there with arms stretched forth\nas if to preserve himself from the outrage of my touch.\n\n'Hands off!' he somehow managed to articulate.\n\n'You will now, I hope,' pursued the lawyer, without any change of voice,\n'understand the position in which you are placed, and how delicately it\nbehoves you to conduct yourself.  Your arrest hangs, if I may so express\nmyself, by a hair; and as you will be under the perpetual vigilance of\nmyself and my agents, you must look to it narrowly that you walk\nstraight.  Upon the least dubiety, I will take action.'  He snuffed,\nlooking critically at the tortured man.  'And now let me remind you that\nyour chaise is at the door.  This interview is agitating to his\nlordship--it cannot be agreeable for you--and I suggest that it need not\nbe further drawn out.  It does not enter into the views of your uncle,\nthe Count, that you should again sleep under this roof.'\n\nAs Alain turned and passed without a word or a sign from the apartment, I\ninstantly followed.  I suppose I must be at bottom possessed of some\nhumanity; at least, this accumulated torture, this slow butchery of a man\nas by quarters of rock, had wholly changed my sympathies.  At that moment\nI loathed both my uncle and the lawyer for their coldblooded cruelty.\n\nLeaning over the banisters, I was but in time to hear his hasty footsteps\nin that hall that had been crowded with servants to honour his coming,\nand was now left empty against his friendless departure.  A moment later,\nand the echoes rang, and the air whistled in my ears, as he slammed the\ndoor on his departing footsteps.  The fury of the concussion gave me (had\none been still wanted) a measure of the turmoil of his passions.  In a\nsense, I felt with him; I felt how he would have gloried to slam that\ndoor on my uncle, the lawyer, myself, and the whole crowd of those who\nhad been witnesses to his humiliation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX--AFTER THE STORM\n\n\nNo sooner was the house clear of my cousin than I began to reckon up,\nruefully enough, the probable results of what had passed.  Here were a\nnumber of pots broken, and it looked to me as if I should have to pay for\nall!  Here had been this proud, mad beast goaded and baited both publicly\nand privately, till he could neither hear nor see nor reason; whereupon\nthe gate had been set open, and he had been left free to go and contrive\nwhatever vengeance he might find possible.  I could not help thinking it\nwas a pity that, whenever I myself was inclined to be upon my good\nbehaviour, some friends of mine should always determine to play a piece\nof heroics and cast me for the hero--or the victim--which is very much\nthe same.  The first duty of heroics is to be of your own choosing.  When\nthey are not that, they are nothing.  And I assure you, as I walked back\nto my own room, I was in no very complaisant humour: thought my uncle and\nMr. Romaine to have played knuckle-bones with my life and prospects;\ncursed them for it roundly; had no wish more urgent than to avoid the\npair of them; and was quite knocked out of time, as they say in the ring,\nto find myself confronted with the lawyer.\n\nHe stood on my hearthrug, leaning on the chimney-piece, with a gloomy,\nthoughtful brow, as I was pleased to see, and not in the least as though\nhe were vain of the late proceedings.\n\n'Well?' said I.  'You have done it now!'\n\n'Is he gone?' he asked.\n\n'He is gone,' said I.  'We shall have the devil to pay with him when he\ncomes back.'\n\n'You are right,' said the lawyer, 'and very little to pay him with but\nflams and fabrications, like to-night's.'\n\n'To-night's?' I repeated.\n\n'Ay, to-night's!' said he.\n\n'To-night's _what_?' I cried.\n\n'To-night's flams and fabrications.'\n\n'God be good to me, sir,' said I, 'have I something more to admire in\nyour conduct than ever _I_ had suspected?  You cannot think how you\ninterest me!  That it was severe, I knew; I had already chuckled over\nthat.  But that it should be false also!  In what sense, dear sir?'\n\nI believe I was extremely offensive as I put the question, but the lawyer\npaid no heed.\n\n'False in all senses of the word,' he replied seriously.  'False in the\nsense that they were not true, and false in the sense that they were not\nreal; false in the sense that I boasted, and in the sense that I lied.\nHow can I arrest him?  Your uncle burned the papers!  I told you so--but\ndoubtless you have forgotten--the day I first saw you in Edinburgh\nCastle.  It was an act of generosity; I have seen many of these acts, and\nalways regretted--always regretted!  \"That shall be his inheritance,\" he\nsaid, as the papers burned; he did not mean that it should have proved so\nrich a one.  How rich, time will tell.'\n\n'I beg your pardon a hundred thousand times, my dear sir, but it strikes\nme you have the impudence--in the circumstances, I may call it the\nindecency--to appear cast down?'\n\n'It is true,' said he: 'I am.  I am cast down.  I am literally cast down.\nI feel myself quite helpless against your cousin.'\n\n'Now, really!' I asked.  'Is this serious?  And is it perhaps the reason\nwhy you have gorged the poor devil with every species of insult? and why\nyou took such surprising pains to supply me with what I had so little\nneed of--another enemy?  That you were helpless against them?  \"Here is\nmy last missile,\" say you; \"my ammunition is quite exhausted: just wait\ntill I get the last in--it will irritate, it cannot hurt him.  There--you\nsee!--he is furious now, and I am quite helpless.  One more prod, another\nkick: now he is a mere lunatic!  Stand behind me; I am quite helpless!\"\nMr. Romaine, I am asking myself as to the background or motive of this\nsingular jest, and whether the name of it should not be called\ntreachery?'\n\n'I can scarce wonder,' said he.  'In truth it has been a singular\nbusiness, and we are very fortunate to be out of it so well.  Yet it was\nnot treachery: no, no, Mr. Anne, it was not treachery; and if you will do\nme the favour to listen to me for the inside of a minute, I shall\ndemonstrate the same to you beyond cavil.'  He seemed to wake up to his\nordinary briskness.  'You see the point?' he began.  'He had not yet read\nthe newspaper, but who could tell when he might?  He might have had that\ndamned journal in his pocket, and how should we know?  We were--I may\nsay, we are--at the mercy of the merest twopenny accident.'\n\n'Why, true,' said I: 'I had not thought of that.'\n\n'I warrant you,' cried Romaine, 'you had supposed it was nothing to be\nthe hero of an interesting notice in the journals!  You had supposed, as\nlike as not, it was a form of secrecy!  But not so in the least.  A part\nof England is already buzzing with the name of Champdivers; a day or two\nmore and the mail will have carried it everywhere: so wonderful a machine\nis this of ours for disseminating intelligence!  Think of it!  When my\nfather was born--but that is another story.  To return: we had here the\nelements of such a combustion as I dread to think of--your cousin and the\njournal.  Let him but glance an eye upon that column of print, and where\nwere we?  It is easy to ask; not so easy to answer, my young friend.  And\nlet me tell you, this sheet is the Viscount's usual reading.  It is my\nconviction he had it in his pocket.'\n\n'I beg your pardon, sir,' said I.  'I have been unjust.  I did not\nappreciate my danger.'\n\n'I think you never do,' said he.\n\n'But yet surely that public scene--' I began.\n\n'It was madness.  I quite agree with you,' Mr. Romaine interrupted.  'But\nit was your uncle's orders, Mr. Anne, and what could I do?  Tell him you\nwere the murderer of Goguelat?  I think not.'\n\n'No, sure!' said I.  'That would but have been to make the trouble\nthicker.  We were certainly in a very ill posture.'\n\n'You do not yet appreciate how grave it was,' he replied.  'It was\nnecessary for you that your cousin should go, and go at once.  You\nyourself had to leave to-night under cover of darkness, and how could you\nhave done that with the Viscount in the next room?  He must go, then; he\nmust leave without delay.  And that was the difficulty.'\n\n'Pardon me, Mr. Romaine, but could not my uncle have bidden him go?' I\nasked.\n\n'Why, I see I must tell you that this is not so simple as it sounds,' he\nreplied.  'You say this is your uncle's house, and so it is.  But to all\neffects and purposes it is your cousin's also.  He has rooms here; has\nhad them coming on for thirty years now, and they are filled with a\nprodigious accumulation of trash--stays, I dare say, and powder-puffs,\nand such effeminate idiocy--to which none could dispute his title, even\nsuppose any one wanted to.  We had a perfect right to bid him go, and he\nhad a perfect right to reply, \"Yes, I will go, but not without my stays\nand cravats.  I must first get together the nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine\nchestsfull of insufferable rubbish, that I have spent the last thirty\nyears collecting--and may very well spend the next thirty hours a-packing\nof.\"  And what should we have said to that?'\n\n'By way of repartee?' I asked.  'Two tall footmen and a pair of crabtree\ncudgels, I suggest.'\n\n'The Lord deliver me from the wisdom of laymen!' cried Romaine.  'Put\nmyself in the wrong at the beginning of a lawsuit?  No, indeed!  There\nwas but one thing to do, and I did it, and burned my last cartridge in\nthe doing of it.  I stunned him.  And it gave us three hours, by which we\nshould make haste to profit; for if there is one thing sure, it is that\nhe will be up to time again to-morrow in the morning.'\n\n'Well,' said I, 'I own myself an idiot.  Well do they say, _an old\nsoldier_, _an old innocent_!  For I guessed nothing of all this.'\n\n'And, guessing it, have you the same objections to leave England?' he\ninquired.\n\n'The same,' said I.\n\n'It is indispensable,' he objected.\n\n'And it cannot be,' I replied.  'Reason has nothing to say in the matter;\nand I must not let you squander any of yours.  It will be enough to tell\nyou this is an affair of the heart.'\n\n'Is it even so?' quoth Romaine, nodding his head.  'And I might have been\nsure of it.  Place them in a hospital, put them in a jail in yellow\noveralls, do what you will, young Jessamy finds young Jenny.  O, have it\nyour own way; I am too old a hand to argue with young gentlemen who\nchoose to fancy themselves in love; I have too much experience, thank\nyou.  Only, be sure that you appreciate what you risk: the prison, the\ndock, the gallows, and the halter--terribly vulgar circumstances, my\nyoung friend; grim, sordid, earnest; no poetry in that!'\n\n'And there I am warned,' I returned gaily.  'No man could be warned more\nfinely or with a greater eloquence.  And I am of the same opinion still.\nUntil I have again seen that lady, nothing shall induce me to quit Great\nBritain.  I have besides--'\n\nAnd here I came to a full stop.  It was upon my tongue to have told him\nthe story of the drovers, but at the first word of it my voice died in my\nthroat.  There might be a limit to the lawyer's toleration, I reflected.\nI had not been so long in Britain altogether; for the most part of that\ntime I had been by the heels in limbo in Edinburgh Castle; and already I\nhad confessed to killing one man with a pair of scissors; and now I was\nto go on and plead guilty to having settled another with a holly stick!\nA wave of discretion went over me as cold and as deep as the sea.\n\n'In short, sir, this is a matter of feeling,' I concluded, 'and nothing\nwill prevent my going to Edinburgh.'\n\nIf I had fired a pistol in his ear he could not have been more startled.\n\n'To Edinburgh?' he repeated.  'Edinburgh? where the very paving-stones\nknow you!'\n\n'Then is the murder out!' said I.  'But, Mr. Romaine, is there not\nsometimes safety in boldness?  Is it not a common-place of strategy to\nget where the enemy least expects you?  And where would he expect me\nless?'\n\n'Faith, there is something in that, too!' cried the lawyer.  'Ay,\ncertainly, a great deal in that.  All the witnesses drowned but one, and\nhe safe in prison; you yourself changed beyond recognition--let us\nhope--and walking the streets of the very town you have illustrated by\nyour--well, your eccentricity!  It is not badly combined, indeed!'\n\n'You approve it, then?' said I.\n\n'O, approve!' said he; 'there is no question of approval.  There is only\none course which I could approve, and that were to escape to France\ninstanter.'\n\n'You do not wholly disapprove, at least?' I substituted.\n\n'Not wholly; and it would not matter if I did,' he replied.  'Go your own\nway; you are beyond argument.  And I am not sure that you will run more\ndanger by that course than by any other.  Give the servants time to get\nto bed and fall asleep, then take a country cross-road and walk, as the\nrhyme has it, like blazes all night.  In the morning take a chaise or\ntake the mail at pleasure, and continue your journey with all the decorum\nand reserve of which you shall be found capable.'\n\n'I am taking the picture in,' I said.  'Give me time.  'Tis the _tout\nensemble_ I must see: the whole as opposed to the details.'\n\n'Mountebank!' he murmured.\n\n'Yes, I have it now; and I see myself with a servant, and that servant is\nRowley,' said I.\n\n'So as to have one more link with your uncle?' suggested the lawyer.\n'Very judicious!'\n\n'And, pardon me, but that is what it is,' I exclaimed.  'Judicious is the\nword.  I am not making a deception fit to last for thirty years; I do not\nfound a palace in the living granite for the night.  This is a shelter\ntent--a flying picture--seen, admired, and gone again in the wink of an\neye.  What is wanted, in short, is a _trompe-l'oeil_ that shall be good\nenough for twelve hours at an inn: is it not so?'\n\n'It is, and the objection holds.  Rowley is but another danger,' said\nRomaine.\n\n'Rowley,' said I, 'will pass as a servant from a distance--as a creature\nseen poised on the dicky of a bowling chaise.  He will pass at hand as a\nsmart, civil fellow one meets in the inn corridor, and looks back at, and\nasks, and is told, \"Gentleman's servant in Number 4.\"  He will pass, in\nfact, all round, except with his personal friends!  My dear sir, pray\nwhat do you expect?  Of course if we meet my cousin, or if we meet\nanybody who took part in the judicious exhibition of this evening, we are\nlost; and who's denying it?  To every disguise, however good and safe,\nthere is always the weak point; you must always take (let us say--and to\ntake a simile from your own waistcoat pocket) a snuff box-full of risk.\nYou'll get it just as small with Rowley as with anybody else.  And the\nlong and short of it is, the lad's honest, he likes me, I trust him; he\nis my servant, or nobody.'\n\n'He might not accept,' said Romaine.\n\n'I bet you a thousand pounds he does!' cried I.  'But no matter; all you\nhave to do is to send him out to-night on this cross-country business,\nand leave the thing to me.  I tell you, he will be my servant, and I tell\nyou, he will do well.'\n\nI had crossed the room, and was already overhauling my wardrobe as I\nspoke.\n\n'Well,' concluded the lawyer, with a shrug, 'one risk with another: _a la\nguerre comme a la guerre_, as you would say.  Let the brat come and be\nuseful, at least.'  And he was about to ring the bell, when his eye was\ncaught by my researches in the wardrobe.  'Do not fall in love with these\ncoats, waistcoats, cravats, and other panoply and accoutrements by which\nyou are now surrounded.  You must not run the post as a dandy.  It is not\nthe fashion, even.'\n\n'You are pleased to be facetious, sir,' said I; 'and not according to\nknowledge.  These clothes are my life, they are my disguise; and since I\ncan take but few of them, I were a fool indeed if I selected hastily!\nWill you understand, once and for all, what I am seeking?  To be\ninvisible, is the first point; the second, to be invisible in a\npost-chaise and with a servant.  Can you not perceive the delicacy of the\nquest?  Nothing must be too coarse, nothing too fine; _rien de voyant_,\n_rien qui detonne_; so that I may leave everywhere the inconspicuous\nimage of a handsome young man of a good fortune travelling in proper\nstyle, whom the landlord will forget in twelve hours--and the chambermaid\nperhaps remember, God bless her! with a sigh.  This is the very fine art\nof dress.'\n\n'I have practised it with success for fifty years,' said Romaine, with a\nchuckle.  'A black suit and a clean shirt is my infallible recipe.'\n\n'You surprise me; I did not think you would be shallow!' said I,\nlingering between two coats.  'Pray, Mr. Romaine, have I your head? or\ndid you travel post and with a smartish servant?'\n\n'Neither, I admit,' said he.\n\n'Which change the whole problem,' I continued.  'I have to dress for a\nsmartish servant and a Russia leather despatch-box.'  That brought me to\na stand.  I came over and looked at the box with a moment's hesitation.\n'Yes,' I resumed.  'Yes, and for the despatch-box!  It looks moneyed and\nlanded; it means I have a lawyer.  It is an invaluable property.  But I\ncould have wished it to hold less money.  The responsibility is crushing.\nShould I not do more wisely to take five hundred pounds, and intrust the\nremainder with you, Mr. Romaine?'\n\n'If you are sure you will not want it,' answered Romaine.\n\n'I am far from sure of that,' cried I.  'In the first place, as a\nphilosopher.  This is the first time I have been at the head of a large\nsum, and it is conceivable--who knows himself?--that I may make it fly.\nIn the second place, as a fugitive.  Who knows what I may need?  The\nwhole of it may be inadequate.  But I can always write for more.'\n\n'You do not understand,' he replied.  'I break off all communication with\nyou here and now.  You must give me a power of attorney ere you start\nto-night, and then be done with me trenchantly until better days.'\n\nI believe I offered some objection.\n\n'Think a little for once of me!' said Romaine.  'I must not have seen you\nbefore to-night.  To-night we are to have had our only interview, and you\nare to have given me the power; and to-night I am to have lost sight of\nyou again--I know not whither, you were upon business, it was none of my\naffairs to question you!  And this, you are to remark, in the interests\nof your own safety much more than mine.'\n\n'I am not even to write to you?' I said, a little bewildered.\n\n'I believe I am cutting the last strand that connects you with common\nsense,' he replied.  'But that is the plain English of it.  You are not\neven to write; and if you did, I would not answer.'\n\n'A letter, however--' I began.\n\n'Listen to me,' interrupted Romaine.  'So soon as your cousin reads the\nparagraph, what will he do?  Put the police upon looking into my\ncorrespondence!  So soon as you write to me, in short, you write to Bow\nStreet; and if you will take my advice, you will date that letter from\nFrance.'\n\n'The devil!' said I, for I began suddenly to see that this might put me\nout of the way of my business.\n\n'What is it now?' says he.\n\n'There will be more to be done, then, before we can part,' I answered.\n\n'I give you the whole night,' said he.  'So long as you are off ere\ndaybreak, I am content.'\n\n'In short, Mr. Romaine,' said I, 'I have had so much benefit of your\nadvice and services that I am loth to sever the connection, and would\neven ask a substitute.  I would be obliged for a letter of introduction\nto one of your own cloth in Edinburgh--an old man for choice, very\nexperienced, very respectable, and very secret.  Could you favour me with\nsuch a letter?'\n\n'Why, no,' said he.  'Certainly not.  I will do no such thing, indeed.'\n\n'It would be a great favour, sir,' I pleaded.\n\n'It would be an unpardonable blunder,' he replied.  'What?  Give you a\nletter of introduction? and when the police come, I suppose, I must\nforget the circumstance?  No, indeed.  Talk of it no more.'\n\n'You seem to be always in the right,' said I.  'The letter would be out\nof the question, I quite see that.  But the lawyer's name might very well\nhave dropped from you in the way of conversation; having heard him\nmentioned, I might profit by the circumstance to introduce myself; and in\nthis way my business would be the better done, and you not in the least\ncompromised.'\n\n'What is this business?' said Romaine.\n\n'I have not said that I had any,' I replied.  'It might arise.  This is\nonly a possibility that I must keep in view.'\n\n'Well,' said he, with a gesture of the hands, 'I mention Mr. Robbie; and\nlet that be an end of it!--Or wait!' he added, 'I have it.  Here is\nsomething that will serve you for an introduction, and cannot compromise\nme.'  And he wrote his name and the Edinburgh lawyer's address on a piece\nof card and tossed it to me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI--I BECOME THE OWNER OF A CLARET-COLOURED CHAISE\n\n\nWhat with packing, signing papers, and partaking of an excellent cold\nsupper in the lawyer's room, it was past two in the morning before we\nwere ready for the road.  Romaine himself let us out of a window in a\npart of the house known to Rowley: it appears it served as a kind of\npostern to the servants' hall, by which (when they were in the mind for a\nclandestine evening) they would come regularly in and out; and I remember\nvery well the vinegar aspect of the lawyer on the receipt of this piece\nof information--how he pursed his lips, jutted his eyebrows, and kept\nrepeating, 'This must be seen to, indeed! this shall be barred to-morrow\nin the morning!'  In this preoccupation, I believe he took leave of me\nwithout observing it; our things were handed out; we heard the window\nshut behind us; and became instantly lost in a horrid intricacy of\nblackness and the shadow of woods.\n\nA little wet snow kept sleepily falling, pausing, and falling again; it\nseemed perpetually beginning to snow and perpetually leaving off; and the\ndarkness was intense.  Time and again we walked into trees; time and\nagain found ourselves adrift among garden borders or stuck like a ram in\nthe thicket.  Rowley had possessed himself of the matches, and he was\nneither to be terrified nor softened.  'No, I will not, Mr. Anne, sir,'\nhe would reply.  'You know he tell me to wait till we were over the 'ill.\nIt's only a little way now.  Why, and I thought you was a soldier, too!'\nI was at least a very glad soldier when my valet consented at last to\nkindle a thieves' match.  From this, we easily lit the lantern; and\nthenceforward, through a labyrinth of woodland paths, were conducted by\nits uneasy glimmer.  Both booted and great-coated, with tall hats much of\na shape, and laden with booty in the form of a despatch-box, a case of\npistols, and two plump valises, I thought we had very much the look of a\npair of brothers returning from the sack of Amersham Place.\n\nWe issued at last upon a country by-road where we might walk abreast and\nwithout precaution.  It was nine miles to Aylesbury, our immediate\ndestination; by a watch, which formed part of my new outfit, it should be\nabout half-past three in the morning; and as we did not choose to arrive\nbefore daylight, time could not be said to press.  I gave the order to\nmarch at ease.\n\n'Now, Rowley,' said I, 'so far so good.  You have come, in the most\nobliging manner in the world, to carry these valises.  The question is,\nwhat next?  What are we to do at Aylesbury? or, more particularly, what\nare you?  Thence, I go on a journey.  Are you to accompany me?'\n\nHe gave a little chuckle.  'That's all settled already, Mr. Anne, sir,'\nhe replied.  'Why, I've got my things here in the valise--a half a dozen\nshirts and what not; I'm all ready, sir: just you lead on: _you'll_ see.'\n\n'The devil you have!' said I.  'You made pretty sure of your welcome.'\n\n'If you please, sir,' said Rowley.\n\nHe looked up at me, in the light of the lantern, with a boyish shyness\nand triumph that awoke my conscience.  I could never let this innocent\ninvolve himself in the perils and difficulties that beset my course,\nwithout some hint of warning, which it was a matter of extreme delicacy\nto make plain enough and not too plain.\n\n'No, no,' said I; 'you may think you have made a choice, but it was\nblindfold, and you must make it over again.  The Count's service is a\ngood one; what are you leaving it for?  Are you not throwing away the\nsubstance for the shadow?  No, do not answer me yet.  You imagine that I\nam a prosperous nobleman, just declared my uncle's heir, on the threshold\nof the best of good fortune, and, from the point of view of a judicious\nservant, a jewel of a master to serve and stick to?  Well, my boy, I am\nnothing of the kind, nothing of the kind.'\n\nAs I said the words, I came to a full stop and held up the lantern to his\nface.  He stood before me, brilliantly illuminated on the background of\nimpenetrable night and falling snow, stricken to stone between his double\nburden like an ass between two panniers, and gaping at me like a\nblunderbuss.  I had never seen a face so predestined to be astonished, or\nso susceptible of rendering the emotion of surprise; and it tempted me as\nan open piano tempts the musician.\n\n'Nothing of the sort, Rowley,' I continued, in a churchyard voice.\n'These are appearances, petty appearances.  I am in peril, homeless,\nhunted.  I count scarce any one in England who is not my enemy.  From\nthis hour I drop my name, my title; I become nameless; my name is\nproscribed.  My liberty, my life, hang by a hair.  The destiny which you\nwill accept, if you go forth with me, is to be tracked by spies, to hide\nyourself under a false name, to follow the desperate pretences and\nperhaps share the fate of a murderer with a price upon his head.'\n\nHis face had been hitherto beyond expectation, passing from one depth to\nanother of tragic astonishment, and really worth paying to see; but at\nthis it suddenly cleared.  'Oh, I ain't afraid!' he said; and then,\nchoking into laughter, 'why, I see it from the first!'\n\nI could have beaten him.  But I had so grossly overshot the mark that I\nsuppose it took me two good miles of road and half an hour of elocution\nto persuade him I had been in earnest.  In the course of which I became\nso interested in demonstrating my present danger that I forgot all about\nmy future safety, and not only told him the story of Goguelat, but threw\nin the business of the drovers as well, and ended by blurting out that I\nwas a soldier of Napoleon's and a prisoner of war.\n\nThis was far from my views when I began; and it is a common complaint of\nme that I have a long tongue.  I believe it is a fault beloved by\nfortune.  Which of you considerate fellows would have done a thing at\nonce so foolhardy and so wise as to make a confidant of a boy in his\nteens, and positively smelling of the nursery?  And when had I cause to\nrepent it?  There is none so apt as a boy to be the adviser of any man in\ndifficulties such as mine.  To the beginnings of virile common sense he\nadds the last lights of the child's imagination; and he can fling himself\ninto business with that superior earnestness that properly belongs to\nplay.  And Rowley was a boy made to my hand.  He had a high sense of\nromance, and a secret cultus for all soldiers and criminals.  His\ntravelling library consisted of a chap-book life of Wallace and some\nsixpenny parts of the 'Old Bailey Sessions Papers' by Gurney the\nshorthand writer; and the choice depicts his character to a hair.  You\ncan imagine how his new prospects brightened on a boy of this\ndisposition.  To be the servant and companion of a fugitive, a soldier,\nand a murderer, rolled in one--to live by stratagems, disguises, and\nfalse names, in an atmosphere of midnight and mystery so thick that you\ncould cut it with a knife--was really, I believe, more dear to him than\nhis meals, though he was a great trencherman, and something of a glutton\nbesides.  For myself, as the peg by which all this romantic business\nhung, I was simply idolised from that moment; and he would rather have\nsacrificed his hand than surrendered the privilege of serving me.\n\nWe arranged the terms of our campaign, trudging amicably in the snow,\nwhich now, with the approach of morning, began to fall to purpose.  I\nchose the name of Ramornie, I imagine from its likeness to Romaine;\nRowley, from an irresistible conversion of ideas, I dubbed Gammon.  His\ndistress was laughable to witness: his own choice of an unassuming\nnickname had been Claude Duval!  We settled our procedure at the various\ninns where we should alight, rehearsed our little manners like a piece of\ndrill until it seemed impossible we should ever be taken unprepared; and\nin all these dispositions, you maybe sure the despatch-box was not\nforgotten.  Who was to pick it up, who was to set it down, who was to\nremain beside it, who was to sleep with it--there was no contingency\nomitted, all was gone into with the thoroughness of a drill-sergeant on\nthe one hand and a child with a new plaything on the other.\n\n'I say, wouldn't it look queer if you and me was to come to the\npost-house with all this luggage?' said Rowley.\n\n'I dare say,' I replied.  'But what else is to be done?'\n\n'Well, now, sir--you hear me,' says Rowley.  'I think it would look more\nnatural-like if you was to come to the post-house alone, and with nothing\nin your 'ands--more like a gentleman, you know.  And you might say that\nyour servant and baggage was a-waiting for you up the road.  I think I\ncould manage, somehow, to make a shift with all them dratted\nthings--leastways if you was to give me a 'and up with them at the\nstart.'\n\n'And I would see you far enough before I allowed you to try, Mr. Rowley!'\nI cried.  'Why, you would be quite defenceless!  A footpad that was an\ninfant child could rob you.  And I should probably come driving by to\nfind you in a ditch with your throat cut.  But there is something in your\nidea, for all that; and I propose we put it in execution no farther\nforward than the next corner of a lane.'\n\nAccordingly, instead of continuing to aim for Aylesbury, we headed by\ncross-roads for some point to the northward of it, whither I might assist\nRowley with the baggage, and where I might leave him to await my return\nin the post-chaise.\n\nIt was snowing to purpose, the country all white, and ourselves walking\nsnowdrifts, when the first glimmer of the morning showed us an inn upon\nthe highwayside.  Some distance off, under the shelter of a corner of the\nroad and a clump of trees, I loaded Rowley with the whole of our\npossessions, and watched him till he staggered in safety into the doors\nof the _Green Dragon_, which was the sign of the house.  Thence I walked\nbriskly into Aylesbury, rejoicing in my freedom and the causeless good\nspirits that belong to a snowy morning; though, to be sure, long before I\nhad arrived the snow had again ceased to fall, and the eaves of Aylesbury\nwere smoking in the level sun.  There was an accumulation of gigs and\nchaises in the yard, and a great bustle going forward in the coffee-room\nand about the doors of the inn.  At these evidences of so much travel on\nthe road I was seized with a misgiving lest it should be impossible to\nget horses, and I should be detained in the precarious neighbourhood of\nmy cousin.  Hungry as I was, I made my way first of all to the\npostmaster, where he stood--a big, athletic, horsey-looking man, blowing\ninto a key in the corner of the yard.\n\nOn my making my modest request, he awoke from his indifference into what\nseemed passion.\n\n'A po'-shay and 'osses!' he cried.  'Do I look as if I 'ad a po'-shay and\n'osses?  Damn me, if I 'ave such a thing on the premises.  I don't _make_\n'osses and chaises--I '_ire_ 'em.  You might be God Almighty!' said he;\nand instantly, as if he had observed me for the first time, he broke off,\nand lowered his voice into the confidential.  'Why, now that I see you\nare a gentleman,' said he, 'I'll tell you what!  If you like to _buy_, I\nhave the article to fit you.  Second-'and shay by Lycett, of London.\nLatest style; good as new.  Superior fittin's, net on the roof, baggage\nplatform, pistol 'olsters--the most com-plete and the most gen-teel\nturn-out I ever see!  The 'ole for seventy-five pound!  It's as good as\ngivin' her away!'\n\n'Do you propose I should trundle it myself, like a hawker's barrow?' said\nI.  'Why, my good man, if I had to stop here, anyway, I should prefer to\nbuy a house and garden!'\n\n'Come and look at her!' he cried; and, with the word, links his arm in\nmine and carries me to the outhouse where the chaise was on view.\n\nIt was just the sort of chaise that I had dreamed of for my purpose:\neminently rich, inconspicuous, and genteel; for, though I thought the\npostmaster no great authority, I was bound to agree with him so far.  The\nbody was painted a dark claret, and the wheels an invisible green.  The\nlamp and glasses were bright as silver; and the whole equipage had an air\nof privacy and reserve that seemed to repel inquiry and disarm suspicion.\nWith a servant like Rowley, and a chaise like this, I felt that I could\ngo from the Land's End to John o' Groat's House amid a population of\nbowing ostlers.  And I suppose I betrayed in my manner the degree in\nwhich the bargain tempted me.\n\n'Come,' cried the postmaster--'I'll make it seventy, to oblige a friend!'\n\n'The point is: the horses,' said I.\n\n'Well,' said he, consulting his watch, 'it's now gone the 'alf after\neight.  What time do you want her at the door?'\n\n'Horses and all?' said I.\n\n''Osses and all!' says he.  'One good turn deserves another.  You give me\nseventy pound for the shay, and I'll 'oss it for you.  I told you I\ndidn't _make_ 'osses; but I _can_ make 'em, to oblige a friend.'\n\nWhat would you have?  It was not the wisest thing in the world to buy a\nchaise within a dozen miles of my uncle's house; but in this way I got my\nhorses for the next stage.  And by any other it appeared that I should\nhave to wait.  Accordingly I paid the money down--perhaps twenty pounds\ntoo much, though it was certainly a well-made and well-appointed\nvehicle--ordered it round in half an hour, and proceeded to refresh\nmyself with breakfast.\n\nThe table to which I sat down occupied the recess of a bay-window, and\ncommanded a view of the front of the inn, where I continued to be amused\nby the successive departures of travellers--the fussy and the offhand,\nthe niggardly and the lavish--all exhibiting their different characters\nin that diagnostic moment of the farewell: some escorted to the stirrup\nor the chaise door by the chamberlain, the chambermaids and the waiters\nalmost in a body, others moving off under a cloud, without human\ncountenance.  In the course of this I became interested in one for whom\nthis ovation began to assume the proportions of a triumph; not only the\nunder-servants, but the barmaid, the landlady, and my friend the\npostmaster himself, crowding about the steps to speed his departure.  I\nwas aware, at the same time, of a good deal of merriment, as though the\ntraveller were a man of a ready wit, and not too dignified to air it in\nthat society.  I leaned forward with a lively curiosity; and the next\nmoment I had blotted myself behind the teapot.  The popular traveller had\nturned to wave a farewell; and behold! he was no other than my cousin\nAlain.  It was a change of the sharpest from the angry, pallid man I had\nseen at Amersham Place.  Ruddy to a fault, illuminated with vintages,\ncrowned with his curls like Bacchus, he now stood before me for an\ninstant, the perfect master of himself, smiling with airs of conscious\npopularity and insufferable condescension.  He reminded me at once of a\nroyal duke, or an actor turned a little elderly, and of a blatant bagman\nwho should have been the illegitimate son of a gentleman.  A moment after\nhe was gliding noiselessly on the road to London.\n\nI breathed again.  I recognised, with heartfelt gratitude, how lucky I\nhad been to go in by the stable-yard instead of the hostelry door, and\nwhat a fine occasion of meeting my cousin I had lost by the purchase of\nthe claret-coloured chaise!  The next moment I remembered that there was\na waiter present.  No doubt but he must have observed me when I crouched\nbehind the breakfast equipage; no doubt but he must have commented on\nthis unusual and undignified behaviour; and it was essential that I\nshould do something to remove the impression.\n\n'Waiter!' said I, 'that was the nephew of Count Carwell that just drove\noff, wasn't it?'\n\n'Yes, sir: Viscount Carwell we calls him,' he replied.\n\n'Ah, I thought as much,' said I.  'Well, well, damn all these Frenchmen,\nsay I!'\n\n'You may say so indeed, sir,' said the waiter.  'They ain't not to say in\nthe same field with our 'ome-raised gentry.'\n\n'Nasty tempers?' I suggested.\n\n'Beas'ly temper, sir, the Viscount 'ave,' said the waiter with feeling.\n'Why, no longer agone than this morning, he was sitting breakfasting and\nreading in his paper.  I suppose, sir, he come on some pilitical\ninformation, or it might be about 'orses, but he raps his 'and upon the\ntable sudden and calls for curacoa.  It gave me quite a turn, it did; he\ndid it that sudden and 'ard.  Now, sir, that may be manners in France,\nbut hall I can say is, that I'm not used to it.'\n\n'Reading the paper, was he?' said I.  'What paper, eh?'\n\n'Here it is, sir,' exclaimed the waiter.  'Seems like as if he'd dropped\nit.'\n\nAnd picking it off the floor he presented it to me.\n\nI may say that I was quite prepared, that I already knew what to expect;\nbut at sight of the cold print my heart stopped beating.  There it was:\nthe fulfilment of Romaine's apprehension was before me; the paper was\nlaid open at the capture of Clausel.  I felt as if I could take a little\ncuracoa myself, but on second thoughts called for brandy.  It was badly\nwanted; and suddenly I observed the waiter's eye to sparkle, as it were,\nwith some recognition; made certain he had remarked the resemblance\nbetween me and Alain; and became aware--as by a revelation--of the fool's\npart I had been playing.  For I had now managed to put my identification\nbeyond a doubt, if Alain should choose to make his inquiries at\nAylesbury; and, as if that were not enough, I had added, at an expense of\nseventy pounds, a clue by which he might follow me through the length and\nbreadth of England, in the shape of the claret-coloured chaise!  That\nelegant equipage (which I began to regard as little better than a\nclaret-coloured ante-room to the hangman's cart) coming presently to the\ndoor, I left my breakfast in the middle and departed; posting to the\nnorth as diligently as my cousin Alain was posting to the south, and\nputting my trust (such as it was) in an opposite direction and equal\nspeed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII--CHARACTER AND ACQUIREMENTS OF MR.  ROWLEY\n\n\nI am not certain that I had ever really appreciated before that hour the\nextreme peril of the adventure on which I was embarked.  The sight of my\ncousin, the look of his face--so handsome, so jovial at the first sight,\nand branded with so much malignity as you saw it on the second--with his\nhyperbolical curls in order, with his neckcloth tied as if for the\nconquests of love, setting forth (as I had no doubt in the world he was\ndoing) to clap the Bow Street runners on my trail, and cover England with\nhandbills, each dangerous as a loaded musket, convinced me for the first\ntime that the affair was no less serious than death.  I believe it came\nto a near touch whether I should not turn the horses' heads at the next\nstage and make directly for the coast.  But I was now in the position of\na man who should have thrown his gage into the den of lions; or, better\nstill, like one who should have quarrelled overnight under the influence\nof wine, and now, at daylight, in a cold winter's morning, and humbly\nsober, must make good his words.  It is not that I thought any the less,\nor any the less warmly, of Flora.  But, as I smoked a grim segar that\nmorning in a corner of the chaise, no doubt I considered, in the first\nplace, that the letter-post had been invented, and admitted privately to\nmyself, in the second, that it would have been highly possible to write\nher on a piece of paper, seal it, and send it skimming by the mail,\ninstead of going personally into these egregious dangers, and through a\ncountry that I beheld crowded with gibbets and Bow Street officers.  As\nfor Sim and Candlish, I doubt if they crossed my mind.\n\nAt the Green Dragon Rowley was waiting on the doorsteps with the luggage,\nand really was bursting with unpalatable conversation.\n\n'Who do you think we've 'ad 'ere, sir?' he began breathlessly, as the\nchaise drove off.  'Red Breasts'; and he nodded his head portentously.\n\n'Red Breasts?' I repeated, for I stupidly did not understand at the\nmoment an expression I had often heard.\n\n'Ah!' said he.  'Red weskits.  Runners.  Bow Street runners.  Two on' em,\nand one was Lavender himself!  I hear the other say quite plain, \"Now,\nMr. Lavender, _if_ you're ready.\"  They was breakfasting as nigh me as I\nam to that postboy.  They're all right; they ain't after us.  It's a\nforger; and I didn't send them off on a false scent--O no!  I thought\nthere was no use in having them over our way; so I give them \"very\nvaluable information,\" Mr. Lavender said, and tipped me a tizzy for\nmyself; and they're off to Luton.  They showed me the 'andcuffs, too--the\nother one did--and he clicked the dratted things on my wrist; and I tell\nyou, I believe I nearly went off in a swound!  There's something so\nbeastly in the feel of them!  Begging your pardon, Mr. Anne,' he added,\nwith one of his delicious changes from the character of the confidential\nschoolboy into that of the trained, respectful servant.\n\nWell, I must not be proud!  I cannot say I found the subject of handcuffs\nto my fancy; and it was with more asperity than was needful that I\nreproved him for the slip about the name.\n\n'Yes, Mr. Ramornie,' says he, touching his hat.  'Begging your pardon,\nMr. Ramornie.  But I've been very piticular, sir, up to now; and you may\ntrust me to be very piticular in the future.  It were only a slip, sir.'\n\n'My good boy,' said I, with the most imposing severity, 'there must be no\nslips.  Be so good as to remember that my life is at stake.'\n\nI did not embrace the occasion of telling him how many I had made myself.\nIt is my principle that an officer must never be wrong.  I have seen two\ndivisions beating their brains out for a fortnight against a worthless\nand quite impregnable castle in a pass: I knew we were only doing it for\ndiscipline, because the General had said so at first, and had not yet\nfound any way out of his own words; and I highly admired his force of\ncharacter, and throughout these operations thought my life exposed in a\nvery good cause.  With fools and children, which included Rowley, the\nnecessity was even greater.  I proposed to myself to be infallible; and\neven when he expressed some wonder at the purchase of the claret-coloured\nchaise, I put him promptly in his place.  In our situation, I told him,\neverything had to be sacrificed to appearances; doubtless, in a hired\nchaise, we should have had more freedom, but look at the dignity!  I was\nso positive, that I had sometimes almost convinced myself.  Not for long,\nyou may be certain!  This detestable conveyance always appeared to me to\nbe laden with Bow Street officers, and to have a placard upon the back of\nit publishing my name and crimes.  If I had paid seventy pounds to get\nthe thing, I should not have stuck at seven hundred to be safely rid of\nit.\n\nAnd if the chaise was a danger, what an anxiety was the despatch-box and\nits golden cargo!  I had never had a care but to draw my pay and spend\nit; I had lived happily in the regiment, as in my father's house, fed by\nthe great Emperor's commissariat as by ubiquitous doves of Elijah--or, my\nfaith! if anything went wrong with the commissariat, helping myself with\nthe best grace in the world from the next peasant!  And now I began to\nfeel at the same time the burthen of riches and the fear of destitution.\nThere were ten thousand pounds in the despatch-box, but I reckoned in\nFrench money, and had two hundred and fifty thousand agonies; I kept it\nunder my hand all day, I dreamed of it at night.  In the inns, I was\nafraid to go to dinner and afraid to go to sleep.  When I walked up a\nhill I durst not leave the doors of the claret-coloured chaise.\nSometimes I would change the disposition of the funds: there were days\nwhen I carried as much as five or six thousand pounds on my own person,\nand only the residue continued to voyage in the treasure-chest--days when\nI bulked all over like my cousin, crackled to a touch with bank paper,\nand had my pockets weighed to bursting-point with sovereigns.  And there\nwere other days when I wearied of the thing--or grew ashamed of it--and\nput all the money back where it had come from: there let it take its\nchance, like better people!  In short, I set Rowley a poor example of\nconsistency, and in philosophy, none at all.\n\nLittle he cared!  All was one to him so long as he was amused, and I\nnever knew any one amused more easily.  He was thrillingly interested in\nlife, travel, and his own melodramatic position.  All day he would be\nlooking from the chaise windows with ebullitions of gratified curiosity,\nthat were sometimes justified and sometimes not, and that (taken\naltogether) it occasionally wearied me to be obliged to share.  I can\nlook at horses, and I can look at trees too, although not fond of it.\nBut why should I look at a lame horse, or a tree that was like the letter\nY?  What exhilaration could I feel in viewing a cottage that was the same\ncolour as 'the second from the miller's' in some place where I had never\nbeen, and of which I had not previously heard?  I am ashamed to complain,\nbut there were moments when my juvenile and confidential friend weighed\nheavy on my hands.  His cackle was indeed almost continuous, but it was\nnever unamiable.  He showed an amiable curiosity when he was asking\nquestions; an amiable guilelessness when he was conferring information.\nAnd both he did largely.  I am in a position to write the biographies of\nMr. Rowley, Mr. Rowley's father and mother, his Aunt Eliza, and the\nmiller's dog; and nothing but pity for the reader, and some misgivings as\nto the law of copyright, prevail on me to withhold them.\n\nA general design to mould himself upon my example became early apparent,\nand I had not the heart to check it.  He began to mimic my carriage; he\nacquired, with servile accuracy, a little manner I had of shrugging the\nshoulders; and I may say it was by observing it in him that I first\ndiscovered it in myself.  One day it came out by chance that I was of the\nCatholic religion.  He became plunged in thought, at which I was gently\nglad.  Then suddenly--\n\n'Odd-rabbit it!  I'll be Catholic too!' he broke out.  'You must teach me\nit, Mr. Anne--I mean, Ramornie.'\n\nI dissuaded him: alleging that he would find me very imperfectly informed\nas to the grounds and doctrines of the Church, and that, after all, in\nthe matter of religions, it was a very poor idea to change.  'Of course,\nmy Church is the best,' said I; 'but that is not the reason why I belong\nto it: I belong to it because it was the faith of my house.  I wish to\ntake my chances with my own people, and so should you.  If it is a\nquestion of going to hell, go to hell like a gentleman with your\nancestors.'\n\n'Well, it wasn't that,' he admitted.  'I don't know that I was exactly\nthinking of hell.  Then there's the inquisition, too.  That's rather a\ncawker, you know.'\n\n'And I don't believe you were thinking of anything in the world,' said\nI--which put a period to his respectable conversion.\n\nHe consoled himself by playing for awhile on a cheap flageolet, which was\none of his diversions, and to which I owed many intervals of peace.  When\nhe first produced it, in the joints, from his pocket, he had the\nduplicity to ask me if I played upon it.  I answered, no; and he put the\ninstrument away with a sigh and the remark that he had thought I might.\nFor some while he resisted the unspeakable temptation, his fingers\nvisibly itching and twittering about his pocket, even his interest in the\nlandscape and in sporadic anecdote entirely lost.  Presently the pipe was\nin his hands again; he fitted, unfitted, refitted, and played upon it in\ndumb show for some time.\n\n'I play it myself a little,' says he.\n\n'Do you?' said I, and yawned.\n\nAnd then he broke down.\n\n'Mr. Ramornie, if you please, would it disturb you, sir, if I was to play\na chune?' he pleaded.  And from that hour, the tootling of the flageolet\ncheered our way.\n\nHe was particularly keen on the details of battles, single combats,\nincidents of scouting parties, and the like.  These he would make haste\nto cap with some of the exploits of Wallace, the only hero with whom he\nhad the least acquaintance.  His enthusiasm was genuine and pretty.  When\nhe learned we were going to Scotland, 'Well, then,' he broke out, 'I'll\nsee where Wallace lived!'  And presently after, he fell to moralising.\n'It's a strange thing, sir,' he began, 'that I seem somehow to have\nalways the wrong sow by the ear.  I'm English after all, and I glory in\nit.  My eye! don't I, though!  Let some of your Frenchies come over here\nto invade, and you'll see whether or not!  Oh, yes, I'm English to the\nbackbone, I am.  And yet look at me!  I got hold of this 'ere William\nWallace and took to him right off; I never heard of such a man before!\nAnd then you came along, and I took to you.  And both the two of you were\nmy born enemies!  I--I beg your pardon, Mr. Ramornie, but would you mind\nit very much if you didn't go for to do anything against England'--he\nbrought the word out suddenly, like something hot--'when I was along of\nyou?'\n\nI was more affected than I can tell.\n\n'Rowley,' I said, 'you need have no fear.  By how much I love my own\nhonour, by so much I will take care to protect yours.  We are but\nfraternising at the outposts, as soldiers do.  When the bugle calls, my\nboy, we must face each other, one for England, one for France, and may\nGod defend the right!'\n\nSo I spoke at the moment; but for all my brave airs, the boy had wounded\nme in a vital quarter.  His words continued to ring in my hearing.  There\nwas no remission all day of my remorseful thoughts; and that night (which\nwe lay at Lichfield, I believe) there was no sleep for me in my bed.  I\nput out the candle and lay down with a good resolution; and in a moment\nall was light about me like a theatre, and I saw myself upon the stage of\nit playing ignoble parts.  I remembered France and my Emperor, now\ndepending on the arbitrament of war, bent down, fighting on their knees\nand with their teeth against so many and such various assailants.  And I\nburned with shame to be here in England, cherishing an English fortune,\npursuing an English mistress, and not there, to handle a musket in my\nnative fields, and to manure them with my body if I fell.  I remembered\nthat I belonged to France.  All my fathers had fought for her, and some\nhad died; the voice in my throat, the sight of my eyes, the tears that\nnow sprang there, the whole man of me, was fashioned of French earth and\nborn of a French mother; I had been tended and caressed by a succession\nof the daughters of France, the fairest, the most ill-starred; and I had\nfought and conquered shoulder to shoulder with her sons.  A soldier, a\nnoble, of the proudest and bravest race in Europe, it had been left to\nthe prattle of a hobbledehoy lackey in an English chaise to recall me to\nthe consciousness of duty.\n\nWhen I saw how it was I did not lose time in indecision.  The old\nclassical conflict of love and honour being once fairly before me, it did\nnot cost me a thought.  I was a Saint-Yves de Keroual; and I decided to\nstrike off on the morrow for Wakefield and Burchell Fenn, and embark, as\nsoon as it should be morally possible, for the succour of my downtrodden\nfatherland and my beleaguered Emperor.  Pursuant on this resolve, I\nleaped from bed, made a light, and as the watchman was crying half-past\ntwo in the dark streets of Lichfield, sat down to pen a letter of\nfarewell to Flora.  And then--whether it was the sudden chill of the\nnight, whether it came by association of ideas from the remembrance of\nSwanston Cottage I know not, but there appeared before me--to the barking\nof sheep-dogs--a couple of snuffy and shambling figures, each wrapped in\na plaid, each armed with a rude staff; and I was immediately bowed down\nto have forgotten them so long, and of late to have thought of them so\ncavalierly.\n\nSure enough there was my errand!  As a private person I was neither\nFrench nor English; I was something else first: a loyal gentleman, an\nhonest man.  Sim and Candlish must not be left to pay the penalty of my\nunfortunate blow.  They held my honour tacitly pledged to succour them;\nand it is a sort of stoical refinement entirely foreign to my nature to\nset the political obligation above the personal and private.  If France\nfell in the interval for the lack of Anne de St.-Yves, fall she must!\nBut I was both surprised and humiliated to have had so plain a duty bound\nupon me for so long--and for so long to have neglected and forgotten it.\nI think any brave man will understand me when I say that I went to bed\nand to sleep with a conscience very much relieved, and woke again in the\nmorning with a light heart.  The very danger of the enterprise reassured\nme: to save Sim and Candlish (suppose the worst to come to the worst) it\nwould be necessary for me to declare myself in a court of justice, with\nconsequences which I did not dare to dwell upon; it could never be said\nthat I had chosen the cheap and the easy--only that in a very perplexing\ncompetition of duties I had risked my life for the most immediate.\n\nWe resumed the journey with more diligence: thenceforward posted day and\nnight; did not halt beyond what was necessary for meals; and the\npostillions were excited by gratuities, after the habit of my cousin\nAlain.  For twopence I could have gone farther and taken four horses; so\nextreme was my haste, running as I was before the terrors of an awakened\nconscience.  But I feared to be conspicuous.  Even as it was, we\nattracted only too much attention, with our pair and that white elephant,\nthe seventy-pounds-worth of claret-coloured chaise.\n\nMeanwhile I was ashamed to look Rowley in the face.  The young shaver had\ncontrived to put me wholly in the wrong; he had cost me a night's rest\nand a severe and healthful humiliation; and I was grateful and\nembarrassed in his society.  This would never do; it was contrary to all\nmy ideas of discipline; if the officer has to blush before the private,\nor the master before the servant, nothing is left to hope for but\ndischarge or death.  I hit upon the idea of teaching him French; and\naccordingly, from Lichfield, I became the distracted master, and he the\nscholar--how shall I say? indefatigable, but uninspired.  His interest\nnever flagged.  He would hear the same word twenty times with profound\nrefreshment, mispronounce it in several different ways, and forget it\nagain with magical celerity.  Say it happened to be _stirrup_.  'No, I\ndon't seem to remember that word, Mr. Anne,' he would say: 'it don't seem\nto stick to me, that word don't.'  And then, when I had told it him\nagain, '_Etrier_!' he would cry.  'To be sure!  I had it on the tip of my\ntongue.  _Eterier_!' (going wrong already, as if by a fatal instinct).\n'What will I remember it by, now?  Why, _interior_, to be sure!  I'll\nremember it by its being something that ain't in the interior of a\nhorse.'  And when next I had occasion to ask him the French for stirrup,\nit was a toss-up whether he had forgotten all about it, or gave me\n_exterior_ for an answer.  He was never a hair discouraged.  He seemed to\nconsider that he was covering the ground at a normal rate.  He came up\nsmiling day after day.  'Now, sir, shall we do our French?' he would say;\nand I would put questions, and elicit copious commentary and explanation,\nbut never the shadow of an answer.  My hands fell to my sides; I could\nhave wept to hear him.  When I reflected that he had as yet learned\nnothing, and what a vast deal more there was for him to learn, the period\nof these lessons seemed to unroll before me vast as eternity, and I saw\nmyself a teacher of a hundred, and Rowley a pupil of ninety, still\nhammering on the rudiments!  The wretched boy, I should say, was quite\nunspoiled by the inevitable familiarities of the journey.  He turned out\nat each stage the pink of serving-lads, deft, civil, prompt, attentive,\ntouching his hat like an automaton, raising the status of Mr. Ramornie in\nthe eyes of all the inn by his smiling service, and seeming capable of\nanything in the world but the one thing I had chosen--learning French!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII--THE ADVENTURE OF THE RUNAWAY COUPLE\n\n\nThe country had for some time back been changing in character.  By a\nthousand indications I could judge that I was again drawing near to\nScotland.  I saw it written in the face of the hills, in the growth of\nthe trees, and in the glint of the waterbrooks that kept the high-road\ncompany.  It might have occurred to me, also, that I was, at the same\ntime, approaching a place of some fame in Britain--Gretna Green.  Over\nthese same leagues of road--which Rowley and I now traversed in the\nclaret-coloured chaise, to the note of the flageolet and the French\nlesson--how many pairs of lovers had gone bowling northwards to the music\nof sixteen scampering horseshoes; and how many irate persons, parents,\nuncles, guardians, evicted rivals, had come tearing after, clapping the\nfrequent red face to the chaise-window, lavishly shedding their gold\nabout the post-houses, sedulously loading and re-loading, as they went,\ntheir avenging pistols!  But I doubt if I had thought of it at all,\nbefore a wayside hazard swept me into the thick of an adventure of this\nnature; and I found myself playing providence with other people's lives,\nto my own admiration at the moment--and subsequently to my own brief but\npassionate regret.\n\nAt rather an ugly corner of an uphill reach I came on the wreck of a\nchaise lying on one side in the ditch, a man and a woman in animated\ndiscourse in the middle of the road, and the two postillions, each with\nhis pair of horses, looking on and laughing from the saddle.\n\n'Morning breezes! here's a smash!' cried Rowley, pocketing his flageolet\nin the middle of the _Tight Little Island_.\n\nI was perhaps more conscious of the moral smash than the physical--more\nalive to broken hearts than to broken chaises; for, as plain as the sun\nat morning, there was a screw loose in this runaway match.  It is always\na bad sign when the lower classes laugh: their taste in humour is both\npoor and sinister; and for a man, running the posts with four horses,\npresumably with open pockets, and in the company of the most entrancing\nlittle creature conceivable, to have come down so far as to be laughed at\nby his own postillions, was only to be explained on the double\nhypothesis, that he was a fool and no gentleman.\n\nI have said they were man and woman.  I should have said man and child.\nShe was certainly not more than seventeen, pretty as an angel, just plump\nenough to damn a saint, and dressed in various shades of blue, from her\nstockings to her saucy cap, in a kind of taking gamut, the top note of\nwhich she flung me in a beam from her too appreciative eye.  There was no\ndoubt about the case: I saw it all.  From a boarding-school, a\nblack-board, a piano, and Clementi's _Sonatinas_, the child had made a\nrash adventure upon life in the company of a half-bred hawbuck; and she\nwas already not only regretting it, but expressing her regret with point\nand pungency.\n\nAs I alighted they both paused with that unmistakable air of being\ninterrupted in a scene.  I uncovered to the lady and placed my services\nat their disposal.\n\nIt was the man who answered.  'There's no use in shamming, sir,' said he.\n'This lady and I have run away, and her father's after us: road to\nGretna, sir.  And here have these nincompoops spilt us in the ditch and\nsmashed the chaise!'\n\n'Very provoking,' said I.\n\n'I don't know when I've been so provoked!' cried he, with a glance down\nthe road, of mortal terror.\n\n'The father is no doubt very much incensed?' I pursued civilly.\n\n'O God!' cried the hawbuck.  'In short, you see, we must get out of this.\nAnd I'll tell you what--it may seem cool, but necessity has no law--if\nyou would lend us your chaise to the next post-house, it would be the\nvery thing, sir.'\n\n'I confess it seems cool,' I replied.\n\n'What's that you say, sir?' he snapped.\n\n'I was agreeing with you,' said I.  'Yes, it does seem cool; and what is\nmore to the point, it seems unnecessary.  This thing can be arranged in a\nmore satisfactory manner otherwise, I think.  You can doubtless ride?'\n\nThis opened a door on the matter of their previous dispute, and the\nfellow appeared life-sized in his true colours.  'That's what I've been\ntelling her: that, damn her! she must ride!' he broke out.  'And if the\ngentleman's of the same mind, why, damme, you shall!'\n\nAs he said so, he made a snatch at her wrist, which she evaded with\nhorror.\n\nI stepped between them.\n\n'No, sir,' said I; 'the lady shall not.'\n\nHe turned on me raging.  'And who are you to interfere?' he roared.\n\n'There is here no question of who I am,' I replied.  'I may be the devil\nor the Archbishop of Canterbury for what you know, or need know.  The\npoint is that I can help you--it appears that nobody else can; and I will\ntell you how I propose to do it.  I will give the lady a seat in my\nchaise, if you will return the compliment by allowing my servant to ride\none of your horses.'\n\nI thought he would have sprung at my throat.\n\n'You have always the alternative before you: to wait here for the arrival\nof papa,' I added.\n\nAnd that settled him.  He cast another haggard look down the road, and\ncapitulated.\n\n'I am sure, sir, the lady is very much obliged to you,' he said, with an\nill grace.\n\nI gave her my hand; she mounted like a bird into the chaise; Rowley,\ngrinning from ear to ear, closed the door behind us; the two impudent\nrascals of post-boys cheered and laughed aloud as we drove off; and my\nown postillion urged his horses at once into a rattling trot.  It was\nplain I was supposed by all to have done a very dashing act, and ravished\nthe bride from the ravisher.\n\nIn the meantime I stole a look at the little lady.  She was in a state of\npitiable discomposure, and her arms shook on her lap in her black lace\nmittens.\n\n'Madam--' I began.\n\nAnd she, in the same moment, finding her voice: 'O, what you must think\nof me!'\n\n'Madam,' said I, 'what must any gentleman think when he sees youth,\nbeauty and innocence in distress?  I wish I could tell you that I was old\nenough to be your father; I think we must give that up,' I continued,\nwith a smile.  'But I will tell you something about myself which ought to\ndo as well, and to set that little heart at rest in my society.  I am a\nlover.  May I say it of myself--for I am not quite used to all the\nniceties of English--that I am a true lover?  There is one whom I admire,\nadore, obey; she is no less good than she is beautiful; if she were here,\nshe would take you to her arms: conceive that she has sent me--that she\nhas said to me, \"Go, be her knight!\"'\n\n'O, I know she must be sweet, I know she must be worthy of you!' cried\nthe little lady.  'She would never forget female decorum--nor make the\nterrible _erratum_ I've done!'\n\nAnd at this she lifted up her voice and wept.\n\nThis did not forward matters: it was in vain that I begged her to be more\ncomposed and to tell me a plain, consecutive tale of her misadventures;\nbut she continued instead to pour forth the most extraordinary mixture of\nthe correct school miss and the poor untutored little piece of womanhood\nin a false position--of engrafted pedantry and incoherent nature.\n\n'I am certain it must have been judicial blindness,' she sobbed.  'I\ncan't think how I didn't see it, but I didn't; and he isn't, is he?  And\nthen a curtain rose . . . O, what a moment was that!  But I knew at once\nthat _you were_; you had but to appear from your carriage, and I knew it,\nO, she must be a fortunate young lady!  And I have no fear with you,\nnone--a perfect confidence.'\n\n'Madam,' said I, 'a gentleman.'\n\n'That's what I mean--a gentleman,' she exclaimed.  'And he--and\nthat--_he_ isn't.  O, how shall I dare meet father!'  And disclosing to\nme her tear-stained face, and opening her arms with a tragic gesture:\n'And I am quite disgraced before all the young ladies, my\nschool-companions!' she added.\n\n'O, not so bad as that!' I cried.  'Come, come, you exaggerate, my dear\nMiss--?  Excuse me if I am too familiar: I have not yet heard your name.'\n\n'My name is Dorothy Greensleeves, sir: why should I conceal it?  I fear\nit will only serve to point an adage to future generations, and I had\nmeant so differently!  There was no young female in the county more\nemulous to be thought well of than I.  And what a fall was there!  O,\ndear me, what a wicked, piggish donkey of a girl I have made of myself,\nto be sure!  And there is no hope! O, Mr.--'\n\nAnd at that she paused and asked my name.\n\nI am not writing my eulogium for the Academy; I will admit it was\nunpardonably imbecile, but I told it her.  If you had been there--and\nseen her, ravishingly pretty and little, a baby in years and mind--and\nheard her talking like a book, with so much of schoolroom propriety in\nher manner, with such an innocent despair in the matter--you would\nprobably have told her yours.  She repeated it after me.\n\n'I shall pray for you all my life,' she said.  'Every night, when I\nretire to rest, the last thing I shall do is to remember you by name.'\n\nPresently I succeeded in winning from her her tale, which was much what I\nhad anticipated: a tale of a schoolhouse, a walled garden, a fruit-tree\nthat concealed a bench, an impudent raff posturing in church, an exchange\nof flowers and vows over the garden wall, a silly schoolmate for a\nconfidante, a chaise and four, and the most immediate and perfect\ndisenchantment on the part of the little lady.  'And there is nothing to\nbe done!' she wailed in conclusion.  'My error is irretrievable, I am\nquite forced to that conclusion.  O, Monsieur de Saint-Yves! who would\nhave thought that I could have been such a blind, wicked donkey!'\n\nI should have said before--only that I really do not know when it came\nin--that we had been overtaken by the two post-boys, Rowley and Mr.\nBellamy, which was the hawbuck's name, bestriding the four post-horses;\nand that these formed a sort of cavalry escort, riding now before, now\nbehind the chaise, and Bellamy occasionally posturing at the window and\nobliging us with some of his conversation.  He was so ill-received that I\ndeclare I was tempted to pity him, remembering from what a height he had\nfallen, and how few hours ago it was since the lady had herself fled to\nhis arms, all blushes and ardour.  Well, these great strokes of fortune\nusually befall the unworthy, and Bellamy was now the legitimate object of\nmy commiseration and the ridicule of his own post-boys!\n\n'Miss Dorothy,' said I, 'you wish to be delivered from this man?'\n\n'O, if it were possible!' she cried.  'But not by violence.'\n\n'Not in the least, ma'am,' I replied.  'The simplest thing in life.  We\nare in a civilised country; the man's a malefactor--'\n\n'O, never!' she cried.  'Do not even dream it!  With all his faults, I\nknow he is not _that_.'\n\n'Anyway, he's in the wrong in this affair--on the wrong side of the law,\ncall it what you please,' said I; and with that, our four horsemen having\nfor the moment headed us by a considerable interval, I hailed my post-boy\nand inquired who was the nearest magistrate and where he lived.\nArchdeacon Clitheroe, he told me, a prodigious dignitary, and one who\nlived but a lane or two back, and at the distance of only a mile or two\nout of the direct road.  I showed him the king's medallion.\n\n'Take the lady there, and at full gallop,' I cried.\n\n'Right, sir!  Mind yourself,' says the postillion.\n\nAnd before I could have thought it possible, he had turned the carriage\nto the rightabout and we were galloping south.\n\nOur outriders were quick to remark and imitate the manoeuvre, and came\nflying after us with a vast deal of indiscriminate shouting; so that the\nfine, sober picture of a carriage and escort, that we had presented but a\nmoment back, was transformed in the twinkling of an eye into the image of\na noisy fox-chase.  The two postillions and my own saucy rogue were, of\ncourse, disinterested actors in the comedy; they rode for the mere sport,\nkeeping in a body, their mouths full of laughter, waving their hats as\nthey came on, and crying (as the fancy struck them) Tally-ho!'  'Stop,\nthief!'  'A highwayman!  A highwayman!'  It was otherguess work with\nBellamy.  That gentleman no sooner observed our change of direction than\nhe turned his horse with so much violence that the poor animal was almost\ncast upon its side, and launched her in immediate and desperate pursuit.\nAs he approached I saw that his face was deadly white and that he carried\na drawn pistol in his hand.  I turned at once to the poor little bride\nthat was to have been, and now was not to be; she, upon her side,\ndeserting the other window, turned as if to meet me.\n\n'O, O, don't let him kill me!' she screamed.\n\n'Never fear,' I replied.\n\nHer face was distorted with terror.  Her hands took hold upon me with the\ninstinctive clutch of an infant.  The chaise gave a flying lurch, which\ntook the feet from under me and tumbled us anyhow upon the seat.  And\nalmost in the same moment the head of Bellamy appeared in the window\nwhich Missy had left free for him.\n\nConceive the situation!  The little lady and I were falling--or had just\nfallen--backward on the seat, and offered to the eye a somewhat ambiguous\npicture.  The chaise was speeding at a furious pace, and with the most\nviolent leaps and lurches, along the highway.  Into this bounding\nreceptacle Bellamy interjected his head, his pistol arm, and his pistol;\nand since his own horse was travelling still faster than the chaise, he\nmust withdraw all of them again in the inside of the fraction of a\nminute.  He did so, but he left the charge of the pistol behind\nhim--whether by design or accident I shall never know, and I dare say he\nhas forgotten!  Probably he had only meant to threaten, in hopes of\ncausing us to arrest our flight.  In the same moment came the explosion\nand a pitiful cry from Missy; and my gentleman, making certain he had\nstruck her, went down the road pursued by the furies, turned at the first\ncorner, took a flying leap over the thorn hedge, and disappeared across\ncountry in the least possible time.\n\nRowley was ready and eager to pursue; but I withheld him, thinking we\nwere excellently quit of Mr. Bellamy, at no more cost than a scratch on\nthe forearm and a bullet-hole in the left-hand claret-coloured panel.\nAnd accordingly, but now at a more decent pace, we proceeded on our way\nto Archdeacon Clitheroe's, Missy's gratitude and admiration were aroused\nto a high pitch by this dramatic scene, and what she was pleased to call\nmy wound.  She must dress it for me with her handkerchief, a service\nwhich she rendered me even with tears.  I could well have spared them,\nnot loving on the whole to be made ridiculous, and the injury being in\nthe nature of a cat's scratch.  Indeed, I would have suggested for her\nkind care rather the cure of my coat-sleeve, which had suffered worse in\nthe encounter; but I was too wise to risk the anti-climax.  That she had\nbeen rescued by a hero, that the hero should have been wounded in the\naffray, and his wound bandaged with her handkerchief (which it could not\neven bloody), ministered incredibly to the recovery of her self-respect;\nand I could hear her relate the incident to 'the young ladies, my\nschool-companions,' in the most approved manner of Mrs. Radcliffe!  To\nhave insisted on the torn coat-sleeve would have been unmannerly, if not\ninhuman.\n\nPresently the residence of the archdeacon began to heave in sight.  A\nchaise and four smoking horses stood by the steps, and made way for us on\nour approach; and even as we alighted there appeared from the interior of\nthe house a tall ecclesiastic, and beside him a little, headstrong, ruddy\nman, in a towering passion, and brandishing over his head a roll of\npaper.  At sight of him Miss Dorothy flung herself on her knees with the\nmost moving adjurations, calling him father, assuring him she was wholly\ncured and entirely repentant of her disobedience, and entreating\nforgiveness; and I soon saw that she need fear no great severity from Mr.\nGreensleeves, who showed himself extraordinarily fond, loud, greedy of\ncaresses and prodigal of tears.\n\nTo give myself a countenance, as well as to have all ready for the road\nwhen I should find occasion, I turned to quit scores with Bellamy's two\npostillions.  They had not the least claim on me, but one of which they\nwere quite ignorant--that I was a fugitive.  It is the worst feature of\nthat false position that every gratuity becomes a case of conscience.\nYou must not leave behind you any one discontented nor any one grateful.\nBut the whole business had been such a 'hurrah-boys' from the beginning,\nand had gone off in the fifth act so like a melodrama, in explosions,\nreconciliations, and the rape of a post-horse, that it was plainly\nimpossible to keep it covered.  It was plain it would have to be talked\nover in all the inn-kitchens for thirty miles about, and likely for six\nmonths to come.  It only remained for me, therefore, to settle on that\ngratuity which should be least conspicuous--so large that nobody could\ngrumble, so small that nobody would be tempted to boast.  My decision was\nhastily and nor wisely taken.  The one fellow spat on his tip (so he\ncalled it) for luck; the other developing a sudden streak of piety,\nprayed God bless me with fervour.  It seemed a demonstration was brewing,\nand I determined to be off at once.  Bidding my own post-boy and Rowley\nbe in readiness for an immediate start, I reascended the terrace and\npresented myself, hat in hand, before Mr. Greensleeves and the\narchdeacon.\n\n'You will excuse me, I trust,' said I.  'I think shame to interrupt this\nagreeable scene of family effusion, which I have been privileged in some\nsmall degree to bring about.'\n\nAnd at these words the storm broke.\n\n'Small degree! small degree, sir!' cries the father; 'that shall not\npass, Mr. St. Eaves!  If I've got my darling back, and none the worse for\nthat vagabone rascal, I know whom I have to thank.  Shake hands with\nme--up to the elbows, sir!  A Frenchman you may be, but you're one of the\nright breed, by God!  And, by God, sir, you may have anything you care to\nask of me, down to Dolly's hand, by God!'\n\nAll this he roared out in a voice surprisingly powerful from so small a\nperson.  Every word was thus audible to the servants, who had followed\nthem out of the house and now congregated about us on the terrace, as\nwell as to Rowley and the five postillions on the gravel sweep below.\nThe sentiments expressed were popular; some ass, whom the devil moved to\nbe my enemy, proposed three cheers, and they were given with a will.  To\nhear my own name resounding amid acclamations in the hills of Westmorland\nwas flattering, perhaps; but it was inconvenient at a moment when (as I\nwas morally persuaded) police handbills were already speeding after me at\nthe rate of a hundred miles a day.\n\nNor was that the end of it.  The archdeacon must present his compliments,\nand pressed upon me some of his West India sherry, and I was carried into\na vastly fine library, where I was presented to his lady wife.  While we\nwere at sherry in the library, ale was handed round upon the terrace.\nSpeeches were made, hands were shaken, Missy (at her father's request)\nkissed me farewell, and the whole party reaccompanied me to the terrace,\nwhere they stood waving hats and handkerchiefs, and crying farewells to\nall the echoes of the mountains until the chaise had disappeared.\n\nThe echoes of the mountains were engaged in saying to me privately: 'You\nfool, you have done it now!'\n\n'They do seem to have got 'old of your name, Mr. Anne,' said Rowley.  'It\nweren't my fault this time.'\n\n'It was one of those accidents that can never be foreseen,' said I,\naffecting a dignity that I was far from feeling.  'Some one recognised\nme.'\n\n'Which on 'em, Mr. Anne?' said the rascal.\n\n'That is a senseless question; it can make no difference who it was,' I\nreturned.\n\n'No, nor that it can't!' cried Rowley.  'I say, Mr. Anne, sir, it's what\nyou would call a jolly mess, ain't it? looks like \"clean bowled-out in\nthe middle stump,\" don't it?'\n\n'I fail to understand you, Rowley.'\n\n'Well, what I mean is, what are we to do about this one?' pointing to the\npostillion in front of us, as he alternately hid and revealed his patched\nbreeches to the trot of his horse.  'He see you get in this morning under\n_Mr. Ramornie_--I was very piticular to _Mr. Ramornie_ you, if you\nremember, sir--and he see you get in again under Mr. Saint Eaves, and\nwhatever's he going to see you get out under? that's what worries me,\nsir.  It don't seem to me like as if the position was what you call\n_stratetegic_!'\n\n'_Parrrbleu_! will you let me be!' I cried.  'I have to think; you cannot\nimagine how your constant idiotic prattle annoys me.'\n\n'Beg pardon, Mr. Anne,' said he; and the next moment, 'You wouldn't like\nfor us to do our French now, would you, Mr. Anne?'\n\n'Certainly not,' said I.  'Play upon your flageolet.'\n\nThe which he did with what seemed to me to be irony.\n\nConscience doth make cowards of us all!  I was so downcast by my pitiful\nmismanagement of the morning's business that I shrank from the eye of my\nown hired infant, and read offensive meanings into his idle tootling.\n\nI took off my coat, and set to mending it, soldier-fashion, with a needle\nand thread.  There is nothing more conducive to thought, above all in\narduous circumstances; and as I sewed, I gradually gained a clearness\nupon my affairs.  I must be done with the claret-coloured chaise at once.\nIt should be sold at the next stage for what it would bring.  Rowley and\nI must take back to the road on our four feet, and after a decent\ninterval of trudging, get places on some coach for Edinburgh again under\nnew names!  So much trouble and toil, so much extra risk and expense and\nloss of time, and all for a slip of the tongue to a little lady in blue!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV--THE INN-KEEPER OF KIRKBY-LONSDALE\n\n\nI had hitherto conceived and partly carried out an ideal that was dear to\nmy heart.  Rowley and I descended from our claret-coloured chaise, a\ncouple of correctly dressed, brisk, bright-eyed young fellows, like a\npair of aristocratic mice; attending singly to our own affairs,\ncommunicating solely with each other, and that with the niceties and\ncivilities of drill.  We would pass through the little crowd before the\ndoor with high-bred preoccupation, inoffensively haughty, after the best\nEnglish pattern; and disappear within, followed by the envy and\nadmiration of the bystanders, a model master and servant, point-device in\nevery part.  It was a heavy thought to me, as we drew up before the inn\nat Kirkby-Lonsdale, that this scene was now to be enacted for the last\ntime.  Alas! and had I known it, it was to go of with so inferior a\ngrace!\n\nI had been injudiciously liberal to the post-boys of the chaise and four.\nMy own post-boy, he of the patched breeches, now stood before me, his\neyes glittering with greed, his hand advanced.  It was plain he\nanticipated something extraordinary by way of a _pourboire_; and\nconsidering the marches and counter-marches by which I had extended the\nstage, the military character of our affairs with Mr. Bellamy, and the\nbad example I had set before him at the archdeacon's, something\nexceptional was certainly to be done.  But these are always nice\nquestions, to a foreigner above all: a shade too little will suggest\nniggardliness, a shilling too much smells of hush-money.  Fresh from the\nscene at the archdeacon's, and flushed by the idea that I was now nearly\ndone with the responsibilities of the claret-coloured chaise, I put into\nhis hands five guineas; and the amount served only to waken his cupidity.\n\n'O, come, sir, you ain't going to fob me of with this?  Why, I seen fire\nat your side!' he cried.\n\nIt would never do to give him more; I felt I should become the fable of\nKirkby-Lonsdale if I did; and I looked him in the face, sternly but still\nsmiling, and addressed him with a voice of uncompromising firmness.\n\n'If you do not like it, give it back,' said I.\n\nHe pocketed the guineas with the quickness of a conjurer, and, like a\nbase-born cockney as he was, fell instantly to casting dirt.\n\n''Ave your own way of it, Mr. Ramornie--leastways Mr. St. Eaves, or\nwhatever your blessed name may be.  Look 'ere'--turning for sympathy to\nthe stable-boys--'this is a blessed business.  Blessed 'ard, I calls it.\n'Ere I takes up a blessed son of a pop-gun what calls hisself anything\nyou care to mention, and turns out to be a blessed _mounseer_ at the end\nof it!  'Ere 'ave I been drivin' of him up and down all day, a-carrying\noff of gals, a-shootin' of pistyils, and a-drinkin' of sherry and hale;\nand wot does he up and give me but a blank, blank, blanketing blank!'\n\nThe fellow's language had become too powerful for reproduction, and I\npassed it by.\n\nMeanwhile I observed Rowley fretting visibly at the bit; another moment,\nand he would have added a last touch of the ridiculous to our arrival by\ncoming to his hands with the postillion.\n\n'Rowley!' cried I reprovingly.\n\nStrictly it should have been Gammon; but in the hurry of the moment, my\nfault (I can only hope) passed unperceived.  At the same time I caught\nthe eye of the postmaster.  He was long and lean, and brown and bilious;\nhe had the drooping nose of the humourist, and the quick attention of a\nman of parts.  He read my embarrassment in a glance, stepped instantly\nforward, sent the post-boy to the rightabout with half a word, and was\nback next moment at my side.\n\n'Dinner in a private room, sir?  Very well.  John, No. 4!  What wine\nwould you care to mention?  Very well, sir.  Will you please to order\nfresh horses?  Not, sir?  Very well.'\n\nEach of these expressions was accompanied by something in the nature of a\nbow, and all were prefaced by something in the nature of a smile, which I\ncould very well have done without.  The man's politeness was from the\nteeth outwards; behind and within, I was conscious of a perpetual\nscrutiny: the scene at his doorstep, the random confidences of the\npost-boy, had not been thrown away on this observer; and it was under a\nstrong fear of coming trouble that I was shown at last into my private\nroom.  I was in half a mind to have put off the whole business.  But the\ntruth is, now my name had got abroad, my fear of the mail that was\ncoming, and the handbills it should contain, had waxed inordinately, and\nI felt I could never eat a meal in peace till I had severed my connection\nwith the claret-coloured chaise.\n\nAccordingly, as soon as I had done with dinner, I sent my compliments to\nthe landlord and requested he should take a glass of wine with me.  He\ncame; we exchanged the necessary civilities, and presently I approached\nmy business.\n\n'By the bye,' said I, 'we had a brush down the road to-day.  I dare say\nyou may have heard of it?'\n\nHe nodded.\n\n'And I was so unlucky as to get a pistol ball in the panel of my chaise,'\nI continued, 'which makes it simply useless to me.  Do you know any one\nlikely to buy?'\n\n'I can well understand that,' said the landlord, 'I was looking at it\njust now; it's as good as ruined, is that chaise.  General rule, people\ndon't like chaises with bullet-holes.'\n\n'Too much _Romance of the Forest_?' I suggested, recalling my little\nfriend of the morning, and what I was sure had been her favourite\nreading--Mrs. Radcliffe's novels.\n\n'Just so,' said he.  'They may be right, they may be wrong; I'm not the\njudge.  But I suppose it's natural, after all, for respectable people to\nlike things respectable about them; not bullet-holes, nor puddles of\nblood, nor men with aliases.'\n\nI took a glass of wine and held it up to the light to show that my hand\nwas steady.\n\n'Yes,' said I, 'I suppose so.'\n\n'You have papers, of course, showing you are the proper owner?' he\ninquired.\n\n'There is the bill, stamped and receipted,' said I, tossing it across to\nhim.\n\nHe looked at it.\n\n'This all you have?' he asked.\n\n'It is enough, at least,' said I.  'It shows you where I bought and what\nI paid for it.'\n\n'Well, I don't know,' he said.  'You want some paper of identification.'\n\n'To identify the chaise?' I inquired.\n\n'Not at all: to identify _you_,' said he.\n\n'My good sir, remember yourself!' said I.  'The title-deeds of my estate\nare in that despatch-box; but you do not seriously suppose that I should\nallow you to examine them?'\n\n'Well, you see, this paper proves that some Mr. Ramornie paid seventy\nguineas for a chaise,' said the fellow.  'That's all well and good; but\nwho's to prove to me that you are Mr. Ramornie?'\n\n'Fellow!' cried I.\n\n'O, fellow as much as you please!' said he.  'Fellow, with all my heart!\nThat changes nothing.  I am fellow, of course--obtrusive fellow, impudent\nfellow, if you like--but who are you?  I hear of you with two names; I\nhear of you running away with young ladies, and getting cheered for a\nFrenchman, which seems odd; and one thing I will go bail for, that you\nwere in a blue fright when the post-boy began to tell tales at my door.\nIn short, sir, you may be a very good gentleman; but I don't know enough\nabout you, and I'll trouble you for your papers, or to go before a\nmagistrate.  Take your choice; if I'm not fine enough, I hope the\nmagistrates are.'\n\n'My good man,' I stammered, for though I had found my voice, I could\nscarce be said to have recovered my wits, 'this is most unusual, most\nrude.  Is it the custom in Westmorland that gentlemen should be\ninsulted?'\n\n'That depends,' said he.  'When it's suspected that gentlemen are spies\nit _is_ the custom; and a good custom, too.  No no,' he broke out,\nperceiving me to make a movement.  'Both hands upon the table, my\ngentleman!  I want no pistol balls in my chaise panels.'\n\n'Surely, sir, you do me strange injustice!' said I, now the master of\nmyself.  'You see me sitting here, a monument of tranquillity: pray may I\nhelp myself to wine without umbraging you?'\n\nI took this attitude in sheer despair.  I had no plan, no hope.  The best\nI could imagine was to spin the business out some minutes longer, then\ncapitulate.  At least, I would not capituatle one moment too soon.\n\n'Am I to take that for _no_?' he asked.\n\n'Referring to your former obliging proposal?' said I.  'My good sir, you\nare to take it, as you say, for \"No.\"  Certainly I will not show you my\ndeeds; certainly I will not rise from table and trundle out to see your\nmagistrates.  I have too much respect for my digestion, and too little\ncuriosity in justices of the peace.'\n\nHe leaned forward, looked me nearly in the face, and reached out one hand\nto the bell-rope.  'See here, my fine fellow!' said he.  'Do you see that\nbell-rope?  Let me tell you, there's a boy waiting below: one jingle, and\nhe goes to fetch the constable.'\n\n'Do you tell me so?' said I.  'Well, there's no accounting for tastes!  I\nhave a prejudice against the society of constables, but if it is your\nfancy to have one in for the dessert--'  I shrugged my shoulders lightly.\n'Really, you know,' I added, 'this is vastly entertaining.  I assure you,\nI am looking on, with all the interest of a man of the world, at the\ndevelopment of your highly original character.'\n\nHe continued to study my face without speech, his hand still on the\nbutton of the bell-rope, his eyes in mine; this was the decisive heat.\nMy face seemed to myself to dislimn under his gaze, my expression to\nchange, the smile (with which I had began) to degenerate into the grin of\nthe man upon the rack.  I was besides harassed with doubts.  An innocent\nman, I argued, would have resented the fellow's impudence an hour ago;\nand by my continued endurance of the ordeal, I was simply signing and\nsealing my confession; in short, I had reached the end of my powers.\n\n'Have you any objection to my putting my hands in my breeches pockets?' I\ninquired.  'Excuse me mentioning it, but you showed yourself so extremely\nnervous a moment back.'  My voice was not all I could have wished, but it\nsufficed.  I could hear it tremble, but the landlord apparently could\nnot.  He turned away and drew a long breath, and you may be sure I was\nquick to follow his example.\n\n'You're a cool hand at least, and that's the sort I like,' said he.  'Be\nyou what you please, I'll deal square.  I'll take the chaise for a\nhundred pound down, and throw the dinner in.'\n\n'I beg your pardon,' I cried, wholly mystified by this form of words.\n\n'You pay me a hundred down,' he repeated, 'and I'll take the chaise.\nIt's very little more than it cost,' he added, with a grin, 'and you know\nyou must get it off your hands somehow.'\n\nI do not know when I have been better entertained than by this impudent\nproposal.  It was broadly funny, and I suppose the least tempting offer\nin the world.  For all that, it came very welcome, for it gave me the\noccasion to laugh.  This I did with the most complete abandonment, till\nthe tears ran down my cheeks; and ever and again, as the fit abated, I\nwould get another view of the landlord's face, and go off into another\nparoxysm.\n\n'You droll creature, you will be the death of me yet!' I cried, drying my\neyes.\n\nMy friend was now wholly disconcerted; he knew not where to look, nor yet\nwhat to say; and began for the first time to conceive it possible he was\nmistaken.\n\n'You seem rather to enjoy a laugh, sir,' said he.\n\n'O, yes!  I am quite an original,' I replied, and laughed again.\n\nPresently, in a changed voice, he offered me twenty pounds for the\nchaise; I ran him up to twenty-five, and closed with the offer: indeed, I\nwas glad to get anything; and if I haggled, it was not in the desire of\ngain, but with the view at any price of securing a safe retreat.  For\nalthough hostilities were suspended, he was yet far from satisfied; and I\ncould read his continued suspicions in the cloudy eye that still hovered\nabout my face.  At last they took shape in words.\n\n'This is all very well,' says he: 'you carry it off well; but for all\nthat, I must do my duty.'\n\nI had my strong effect in reserve; it was to burn my ships with a\nvengeance!  I rose.  'Leave the room,' said I.  'This is insuperable.  Is\nthe man mad?'  And then, as if already half-ashamed of my passion: 'I can\ntake a joke as well as any one,' I added; 'but this passes measure.  Send\nmy servant and the bill.'\n\nWhen he had left me alone, I considered my own valour with amazement.  I\nhad insulted him; I had sent him away alone; now, if ever, he would take\nwhat was the only sensible resource, and fetch the constable.  But there\nwas something instinctively treacherous about the man which shrank from\nplain courses.  And, with all his cleverness, he missed the occasion of\nfame.  Rowley and I were suffered to walk out of his door, with all our\nbaggage, on foot, with no destination named, except in the vague\nstatement that we were come 'to view the lakes'; and my friend only\nwatched our departure with his chin in his hand, still moodily\nirresolute.\n\nI think this one of my great successes.  I was exposed, unmasked,\nsummoned to do a perfectly natural act, which must prove my doom and\nwhich I had not the slightest pretext for refusing.  I kept my head,\nstuck to my guns, and, against all likelihood, here I was once more at\nliberty and in the king's highway.  This was a strong lesson never to\ndespair; and, at the same time, how many hints to be cautious! and what a\nperplexed and dubious business the whole question of my escape now\nappeared!  That I should have risked perishing upon a trumpery question\nof a _pourboire_, depicted in lively colours the perils that perpetually\nsurrounded us.  Though, to be sure, the initial mistake had been\ncommitted before that; and if I had not suffered myself to be drawn a\nlittle deep in confidences to the innocent Dolly, there need have been no\ntumble at the inn of Kirkby-Lonsdale.  I took the lesson to heart, and\npromised myself in the future to be more reserved.  It was none of my\nbusiness to attend to broken chaises or shipwrecked travellers.  I had my\nhands full of my own affairs; and my best defence would be a little more\nnatural selfishness and a trifle less imbecile good-nature.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV--I MEET A CHEERFUL EXTRAVAGANT\n\n\nI pass over the next fifty or sixty leagues of our journey without\ncomment.  The reader must be growing weary of scenes of travel; and for\nmy own part I have no cause to recall these particular miles with any\npleasure.  We were mainly occupied with attempts to obliterate our trail,\nwhich (as the result showed) were far from successful; for, on my cousin\nfollowing, he was able to run me home with the least possible loss of\ntime, following the claret-coloured chaise to Kirkby-Lonsdale, where I\nthink the landlord must have wept to learn what he had missed, and\ntracing us thereafter to the doors of the coach-office in Edinburgh\nwithout a single check.  Fortune did not favour me, and why should I\nrecapitulate the details of futile precautions which deceived nobody, and\nwearisome arts which proved to be artless?\n\nThe day was drawing to an end when Mr. Rowley and I bowled into Edinburgh\nto the stirring sound of the guard's bugle and the clattering team.  I\nwas here upon my field of battle; on the scene of my former captivity,\nescape and exploits; and in the same city with my love.  My heart\nexpanded; I have rarely felt more of a hero.  All down the Bridges I sat\nby the driver with my arms folded and my face set, unflinchingly meeting\nevery eye, and prepared every moment for a cry of recognition.  Hundreds\nof the population were in the habit of visiting the Castle, where it was\nmy practice (before the days of Flora) to make myself conspicuous among\nthe prisoners; and I think it an extraordinary thing that I should have\nencountered so few to recognise me.  But doubtless a clean chin is a\ndisguise in itself; and the change is great from a suit of sulphur-yellow\nto fine linen, a well-fitting mouse-coloured great-coat furred in black,\na pair of tight trousers of fashionable cut, and a hat of inimitable\ncurl.  After all, it was more likely that I should have recognised our\nvisitors, than that they should have identified the modish gentleman with\nthe miserable prisoner in the Castle.\n\nI was glad to set foot on the flagstones, and to escape from the crowd\nthat had assembled to receive the mail.  Here we were, with but little\ndaylight before us, and that on Saturday afternoon, the eve of the famous\nScottish Sabbath, adrift in the New Town of Edinburgh, and overladen with\nbaggage.  We carried it ourselves.  I would not take a cab, nor so much\nas hire a porter, who might afterwards serve as a link between my\nlodgings and the mail, and connect me again with the claret-coloured\nchaise and Aylesbury.  For I was resolved to break the chain of evidence\nfor good, and to begin life afresh (so far as regards caution) with a new\ncharacter.  The first step was to find lodgings, and to find them\nquickly.  This was the more needful as Mr. Rowley and I, in our smart\nclothes and with our cumbrous burthen, made a noticeable appearance in\nthe streets at that time of the day and in that quarter of the town,\nwhich was largely given up to fine folk, bucks and dandies and young\nladies, or respectable professional men on their way home to dinner.\n\nOn the north side of St. James' Square I was so happy as to spy a bill in\na third-floor window.  I was equally indifferent to cost and convenience\nin my choice of a lodging--'any port in a storm' was the principle on\nwhich I was prepared to act; and Rowley and I made at once for the common\nentrance and sealed the stair.\n\nWe were admitted by a very sour-looking female in bombazine.  I gathered\nshe had all her life been depressed by a series of bereavements, the last\nof which might very well have befallen her the day before; and I\ninstinctively lowered my voice when I addressed her.  She admitted she\nhad rooms to let--even showed them to us--a sitting-room and bedroom in a\n_suite_, commanding a fine prospect to the Firth and Fifeshire, and in\nthemselves well proportioned and comfortably furnished, with pictures on\nthe wall, shells on the mantelpiece, and several books upon the table\nwhich I found afterwards to be all of a devotional character, and all\npresentation copies, 'to my Christian friend,' or 'to my devout\nacquaintance in the Lord, Bethiah McRankine.'  Beyond this my 'Christian\nfriend' could not be made to advance: no, not even to do that which\nseemed the most natural and pleasing thing in the world--I mean to name\nher price--but stood before us shaking her head, and at times mourning\nlike the dove, the picture of depression and defence.  She had a voice\nthe most querulous I have ever heard, and with this she produced a whole\nregiment of difficulties and criticisms.\n\nShe could not promise an attendance.\n\n'Well, madam,' said I, 'and what is my servant for?'\n\n'Him?' she asked.  'Be gude to us!  Is _he_ your servant?'\n\n'I am sorry, ma'am, he meets with your disapproval.'\n\n'Na, I never said that.  But he's young.  He'll be a great breaker, I'm\nthinkin'.  Ay! he'll be a great responsibeelity to ye, like.  Does he\nattend to his releegion?'\n\n'Yes, m'm,' returned Rowley, with admirable promptitude, and, immediately\nclosing his eyes, as if from habit, repeated the following distich with\nmore celerity than fervour:--\n\n    'Matthew, Mark, Luke and John\n    Bless the bed that I lie on!'\n\n'Nhm!' said the lady, and maintained an awful silence.\n\n'Well, ma'am,' said I, 'it seems we are never to hear the beginning of\nyour terms, let alone the end of them.  Come--a good movement! and let us\nbe either off or on.'\n\nShe opened her lips slowly.  'Ony raferences?' she inquired, in a voice\nlike a bell.\n\nI opened my pocket-book and showed her a handful of bank bills.  'I\nthink, madam, that these are unexceptionable,' said I.\n\n'Ye'll be wantin' breakfast late?' was her reply.\n\n'Madam, we want breakfast at whatever hour it suits you to give it, from\nfour in the morning till four in the afternoon!' I cried.  'Only tell us\nyour figure, if your mouth be large enough to let it out!'\n\n'I couldnae give ye supper the nicht,' came the echo.\n\n'We shall go out to supper, you incorrigible female!' I vowed, between\nlaughter and tears.  'Here--this is going to end!  I want you for a\nlandlady--let me tell you that!--and I am going to have my way.  You\nwon't tell me what you charge?  Very well; I will do without!  I can\ntrust you!  You don't seem to know when you have a good lodger; but I\nknow perfectly when I have an honest landlady!  Rowley, unstrap the\nvalises!'\n\nWill it be credited?  The monomaniac fell to rating me for my\nindiscretion!  But the battle was over; these were her last guns, and\nmore in the nature of a salute than of renewed hostilities.  And\npresently she condescended on very moderate terms, and Rowley and I were\nable to escape in quest of supper.  Much time had, however, been lost;\nthe sun was long down, the lamps glimmered along the streets, and the\nvoice of a watchman already resounded in the neighbouring Leith Road.  On\nour first arrival I had observed a place of entertainment not far off, in\na street behind the Register House.  Thither we found our way, and sat\ndown to a late dinner alone.  But we had scarce given our orders before\nthe door opened, and a tall young fellow entered with something of a\nlurch, looked about him, and approached the same table.\n\n'Give you good evening, most grave and reverend seniors!' said he.  'Will\nyou permit a wanderer, a pilgrim--the pilgrim of love, in short--to come\nto temporary anchor under your lee?  I care not who knows it, but I have\na passionate aversion from the bestial practice of solitary feeding!'\n\n'You are welcome, sir,' said I, 'if I may take upon me so far to play the\nhost in a public place.'\n\nHe looked startled, and fixed a hazy eye on me, as he sat down.\n\n'Sir,' said he, 'you are a man not without some tincture of letters, I\nperceive!  What shall we drink, sir?'\n\nI mentioned I had already called for a pot of porter.\n\n'A modest pot--the seasonable quencher?' said he.  'Well, I do not know\nbut what I could look at a modest pot myself!  I am, for the moment, in\nprecarious health.  Much study hath heated my brain, much walking wearied\nmy--well, it seems to be more my eyes!'\n\n'You have walked far, I dare say?' I suggested.\n\n'Not so much far as often,' he replied.  'There is in this city--to\nwhich, I think, you are a stranger?  Sir, to your very good health and\nour better acquaintance!--there is, in this city of Dunedin, a certain\nimplication of streets which reflects the utmost credit on the designer\nand the publicans--at every hundred yards is seated the Judicious Tavern,\nso that persons of contemplative mind are secure, at moderate distances,\nof refreshment.  I have been doing a trot in that favoured quarter,\nfavoured by art and nature.  A few chosen comrades--enemies of publicity\nand friends to wit and wine--obliged me with their society.  \"Along the\ncool, sequestered vale of Register Street we kept the uneven tenor of our\nway,\" sir.'\n\n'It struck me, as you came in--' I began.\n\n'O, don't make any bones about it!' he interrupted.  'Of course it struck\nyou! and let me tell you I was devilish lucky not to strike myself.  When\nI entered this apartment I shone \"with all the pomp and prodigality of\nbrandy and water,\" as the poet Gray has in another place expressed it.\nPowerful bard, Gray! but a niminy-piminy creature, afraid of a petticoat\nand a bottle--not a man, sir, not a man!  Excuse me for being so\ntroublesome, but what the devil have I done with my fork?  Thank you, I\nam sure.  _Temulentia_, _quoad me ipsum_, _brevis colligo est_.  I sit\nand eat, sir, in a London fog.  I should bring a link-boy to table with\nme; and I would too, if the little brutes were only washed!  I intend to\nfound a Philanthropical Society for Washing the Deserving Poor and\nShaving Soldiers.  I am pleased to observe that, although not of an\nunmilitary bearing, you are apparently shaved.  In my calendar of the\nvirtues shaving comes next to drinking.  A gentleman may be a low-minded\nruffian without sixpence, but he will always be close shaved.  See me,\nwith the eye of fancy, in the chill hours of the morning, say about a\nquarter to twelve, noon--see me awake!  First thing of all, without one\nthought of the plausible but unsatisfactory small beer, or the healthful\nthough insipid soda-water, I take the deadly razor in my vacillating\ngrasp; I proceed to skate upon the margin of eternity.  Stimulating\nthought!  I bleed, perhaps, but with medicable wounds.  The stubble\nreaped, I pass out of my chamber, calm but triumphant.  To employ a\nhackneyed phrase, I would not call Lord Wellington my uncle!  I, too,\nhave dared, perhaps bled, before the imminent deadly shaving-table.'\n\nIn this manner the bombastic fellow continued to entertain me all through\ndinner, and by a common error of drunkards, because he had been extremely\ntalkative himself, leaped to the conclusion that he had chanced on very\ngenial company.  He told me his name, his address; he begged we should\nmeet again; finally he proposed that I should dine with him in the\ncountry at an early date.\n\n'The dinner is official,' he explained.  'The office-bearers and Senatus\nof the University of Cramond--an educational institution in which I have\nthe honour to be Professor of Nonsense--meet to do honour to our friend\nIcarus, at the old-established _howff_, Cramond Bridge.  One place is\nvacant, fascinating stranger,--I offer it to you!'\n\n'And who is your friend Icarus?' I asked,\n\n'The aspiring son of Daedalus!' said he.  'Is it possible that you have\nnever heard the name of Byfield?'\n\n'Possible and true,' said I.\n\n'And is fame so small a thing?' cried he.  'Byfield, sir, is an aeronaut.\nHe apes the fame of a Lunardi, and is on the point of offering to the\ninhabitants--I beg your pardon, to the nobility and gentry of our\nneighbourhood--the spectacle of an ascension.  As one of the gentry\nconcerned I may be permitted to remark that I am unmoved.  I care not a\nTinker's Damn for his ascension.  No more--I breathe it in your ear--does\nanybody else.  The business is stale, sir, stale.  Lunardi did it, and\noverdid it.  A whimsical, fiddling, vain fellow, by all accounts--for I\nwas at that time rocking in my cradle.  But once was enough.  If Lunardi\nwent up and came down, there was the matter settled.  We prefer to grant\nthe point.  We do not want to see the experiment repeated _ad nauseam_ by\nByfield, and Brown, and Butler, and Brodie, and Bottomley.  Ah! if they\nwould go up and _not_ come down again!  But this is by the question.  The\nUniversity of Cramond delights to honour merit in the man, sir, rather\nthan utility in the profession; and Byfield, though an ignorant dog, is a\nsound reliable drinker, and really not amiss over his cups.  Under the\nradiance of the kindly jar partiality might even credit him with wit.'\n\nIt will be seen afterwards that this was more my business than I thought\nit at the time.  Indeed, I was impatient to be gone.  Even as my friend\nmaundered ahead a squall burst, the jaws of the rain were opened against\nthe coffee-house windows, and at that inclement signal I remembered I was\ndue elsewhere.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI--THE COTTAGE AT NIGHT\n\n\nAt the door I was nearly blown back by the unbridled violence of the\nsquall, and Rowley and I must shout our parting words.  All the way along\nPrinces Street (whither my way led) the wind hunted me behind and\nscreamed in my ears.  The city was flushed with bucketfuls of rain that\ntasted salt from the neighbouring ocean.  It seemed to darken and lighten\nagain in the vicissitudes of the gusts.  Now you would say the lamps had\nbeen blown out from end to end of the long thoroughfare; now, in a lull,\nthey would revive, re-multiply, shine again on the wet pavements, and\nmake darkness sparingly visible.\n\nBy the time I had got to the corner of the Lothian Road there was a\ndistinct improvement.  For one thing, I had now my shoulder to the wind;\nfor a second, I came in the lee of my old prison-house, the Castle; and,\nat any rate, the excessive fury of the blast was itself moderating.  The\nthought of what errand I was on re-awoke within me, and I seemed to\nbreast the rough weather with increasing ease.  With such a destination,\nwhat mattered a little buffeting of wind or a sprinkle of cold water?  I\nrecalled Flora's image, I took her in fancy to my arms, and my heart\nthrobbed.  And the next moment I had recognised the inanity of that\nfool's paradise.  If I could spy her taper as she went to bed, I might\ncount myself lucky.\n\nI had about two leagues before me of a road mostly uphill, and now deep\nin mire.  So soon as I was clear of the last street lamp, darkness\nreceived me--a darkness only pointed by the lights of occasional rustic\nfarms, where the dogs howled with uplifted heads as I went by.  The wind\ncontinued to decline: it had been but a squall, not a tempest.  The rain,\non the other hand, settled into a steady deluge, which had soon drenched\nme thoroughly.  I continued to tramp forward in the night, contending\nwith gloomy thoughts and accompanied by the dismal ululation of the dogs.\nWhat ailed them that they should have been thus wakeful, and perceived\nthe small sound of my steps amid the general reverberation of the rain,\nwas more than I could fancy.  I remembered tales with which I had been\nentertained in childhood.  I told myself some murderer was going by, and\nthe brutes perceived upon him the faint smell of blood; and the next\nmoment, with a physical shock, I had applied the words to my own case!\n\nHere was a dismal disposition for a lover.  'Was ever lady in this humour\nwooed?' I asked myself, and came near turning back.  It is never wise to\nrisk a critical interview when your spirits are depressed, your clothes\nmuddy, and your hands wet!  But the boisterous night was in itself\nfavourable to my enterprise: now, or perhaps never, I might find some way\nto have an interview with Flora; and if I had one interview (wet clothes,\nlow spirits and all), I told myself there would certainly be another.\n\nArrived in the cottage-garden I found the circumstances mighty inclement.\nFrom the round holes in the shutters of the parlour, shafts of\ncandle-light streamed forth; elsewhere the darkness was complete.  The\ntrees, the thickets, were saturated; the lower parts of the garden turned\ninto a morass.  At intervals, when the wind broke forth again, there\npassed overhead a wild coil of clashing branches; and between whiles the\nwhole enclosure continuously and stridently resounded with the rain.  I\nadvanced close to the window and contrived to read the face of my watch.\nIt was half-past seven; they would not retire before ten, they might not\nbefore midnight, and the prospect was unpleasant.  In a lull of the wind\nI could hear from the inside the voice of Flora reading aloud; the words\nof course inaudible--only a flow of undecipherable speech, quiet,\ncordial, colourless, more intimate and winning, more eloquent of her\npersonality, but not less beautiful than song.  And the next moment the\nclamour of a fresh squall broke out about the cottage; the voice was\ndrowned in its bellowing, and I was glad to retreat from my dangerous\npost.\n\nFor three egregious hours I must now suffer the elements to do their\nworst upon me, and continue to hold my ground in patience.  I recalled\nthe least fortunate of my services in the field: being out-sentry of the\npickets in weather no less vile, sometimes unsuppered and with nothing to\nlook forward to by way of breakfast but musket-balls; and they seemed\nlight in comparison.  So strangely are we built: so much more strong is\nthe love of woman than the mere love of life.\n\nAt last my patience was rewarded.  The light disappeared from the parlour\nand reappeared a moment after in the room above.  I was pretty well\ninformed for the enterprise that lay before me.  I knew the lair of the\ndragon--that which was just illuminated.  I knew the bower of my\nRosamond, and how excellently it was placed on the ground-level, round\nthe flank of the cottage and out of earshot of her formidable aunt.\nNothing was left but to apply my knowledge.  I was then at the bottom of\nthe garden, whether I had gone (Heaven save the mark!) for warmth, that I\nmight walk to and fro unheard and keep myself from perishing.  The night\nhad fallen still, the wind ceased; the noise of the rain had much\nlightened, if it had not stopped, and was succeeded by the dripping of\nthe garden trees.  In the midst of this lull, and as I was already\ndrawing near to the cottage, I was startled by the sound of a window-sash\nscreaming in its channels; and a step or two beyond I became aware of a\ngush of light upon the darkness.  It fell from Flora's window, which she\nhad flung open on the night, and where she now sat, roseate and pensive,\nin the shine of two candles falling from behind, her tresses deeply\nembowering and shading her; the suspended comb still in one hand, the\nother idly clinging to the iron stanchions with which the window was\nbarred.\n\nKeeping to the turf, and favoured by the darkness of the night and the\npatter of the rain which was now returning, though without wind, I\napproached until I could almost have touched her.  It seemed a grossness\nof which I was incapable to break up her reverie by speech.  I stood and\ndrank her in with my eyes; how the light made a glory in her hair, and\n(what I have always thought the most ravishing thing in nature) how the\nplanes ran into each other, and were distinguished, and how the hues\nblended and varied, and were shaded off, between the cheek and neck.  At\nfirst I was abashed: she wore her beauty like an immediate halo of\nrefinement; she discouraged me like an angel, or what I suspect to be the\nnext most discouraging, a modern lady.  But as I continued to gaze, hope\nand life returned to me; I forgot my timidity, I forgot the sickening\npack of wet clothes with which I stood burdened, I tingled with new\nblood.\n\nStill unconscious of my presence, still gazing before her upon the\nilluminated image of the window, the straight shadows of the bars, the\nglinting of pebbles on the path, and the impenetrable night on the garden\nand the hills beyond it, she heaved a deep breath that struck upon my\nheart like an appeal.\n\n'Why does Miss Gilchrist sigh?' I whispered.  'Does she recall absent\nfriends?'\n\nShe turned her head swiftly in my direction; it was the only sign of\nsurprise she deigned to make.  At the same time I stepped into the light\nand bowed profoundly.\n\n'You!' she said.  'Here?'\n\n'Yes, I am here,' I replied.  'I have come very far, it may be a hundred\nand fifty leagues, to see you.  I have waited all this night in your\ngarden.  Will Miss Gilchrist not offer her hand--to a friend in trouble?'\n\nShe extended it between the bars, and I dropped upon one knee on the wet\npath and kissed it twice.  At the second it was withdrawn suddenly,\nmethought with more of a start than she had hitherto displayed.  I\nregained my former attitude, and we were both silent awhile.  My timidity\nreturned on me tenfold.  I looked in her face for any signals of anger,\nand seeing her eyes to waver and fall aside from mine, augured that all\nwas well.\n\n'You must have been mad to come here!' she broke out.  'Of all places\nunder heaven this is no place for you to come.  And I was just thinking\nyou were safe in France!'\n\n'You were thinking of me!' I cried.\n\n'Mr. St. Ives, you cannot understand your danger,' she replied.  'I am\nsure of it, and yet I cannot find it in my heart to tell you.  O, be\npersuaded, and go!'\n\n'I believe I know the worst.  But I was never one to set an undue value\non life, the life that we share with beasts.  My university has been in\nthe wars, not a famous place of education, but one where a man learns to\ncarry his life in his hand as lightly as a glove, and for his lady or his\nhonour to lay it as lightly down.  You appeal to my fears, and you do\nwrong.  I have come to Scotland with my eyes quite open to see you and to\nspeak with you--it may be for the last time.  With my eyes quite open, I\nsay; and if I did not hesitate at the beginning do you think that I would\ndraw back now?'\n\n'You do not know!' she cried, with rising agitation.  'This country, even\nthis garden, is death to you.  They all believe it; I am the only one\nthat does not.  If they hear you now, if they heard a whisper--I dread to\nthink of it.  O, go, go this instant.  It is my prayer.'\n\n'Dear lady, do not refuse me what I have come so far to seek; and\nremember that out of all the millions in England there is no other but\nyourself in whom I can dare confide.  I have all the world against me;\nyou are my only ally; and as I have to speak, you have to listen.  All is\ntrue that they say of me, and all of it false at the same time.  I did\nkill this man Goguelat--it was that you meant?'\n\nShe mutely signed to me that it was; she had become deadly pale.\n\n'But I killed him in fair fight.  Till then, I had never taken a life\nunless in battle, which is my trade.  But I was grateful, I was on fire\nwith gratitude, to one who had been good to me, who had been better to me\nthan I could have dreamed of an angel, who had come into the darkness of\nmy prison like sunrise.  The man Goguelat insulted her.  O, he had\ninsulted me often, it was his favourite pastime, and he might insult me\nas he pleased--for who was I?  But with that lady it was different.  I\ncould never forgive myself if I had let it pass.  And we fought, and he\nfell, and I have no remorse.'\n\nI waited anxiously for some reply.  The worst was now out, and I knew\nthat she had heard of it before; but it was impossible for me to go on\nwith my narrative without some shadow of encouragement.\n\n'You blame me?'\n\n'No, not at all.  It is a point I cannot speak on--I am only a girl.  I\nam sure you were in the right: I have always said so--to Ronald.  Not, of\ncourse, to my aunt.  I am afraid I let her speak as she will.  You must\nnot think me a disloyal friend; and even with the Major--I did not tell\nyou he had become quite a friend of ours--Major Chevenix, I mean--he has\ntaken such a fancy to Ronald!  It was he that brought the news to us of\nthat hateful Clausel being captured, and all that he was saying.  I was\nindignant with him.  I said--I dare say I said too much--and I must say\nhe was very good-natured.  He said, \"You and I, who are his friends,\n_know_ that Champdivers is innocent.  But what is the use of saying it?\"\nAll this was in the corner of the room in what they call an aside.  And\nthen he said, \"Give me a chance to speak to you in private, I have much\nto tell you.\"  And he did.  And told me just what you did--that it was an\naffair of honour, and no blame attached to you.  O, I must say I like\nthat Major Chevenix!'\n\nAt this I was seized with a great pang of jealousy.  I remembered the\nfirst time that he had seen her, the interest that he seemed immediately\nto conceive; and I could not but admire the dog for the use he had been\ningenious enough to make of our acquaintance in order to supplant me.\nAll is fair in love and war.  For all that, I was now no less anxious to\ndo the speaking myself than I had been before to hear Flora.  At least, I\ncould keep clear of the hateful image of Major Chevenix.  Accordingly I\nburst at once on the narrative of my adventures.  It was the same as you\nhave read, but briefer, and told with a very different purpose.  Now\nevery incident had a particular bearing, every by-way branched off to\nRome--and that was Flora.\n\nWhen I had begun to speak I had kneeled upon the gravel withoutside the\nlow window, rested my arms upon the sill, and lowered my voice to the\nmost confidential whisper.  Flora herself must kneel upon the other side,\nand this brought our heads upon a level with only the bars between us.\nSo placed, so separated, it seemed that our proximity, and the continuous\nand low sounds of my pleading voice, worked progressively and powerfully\non her heart, and perhaps not less so on my own.  For these spells are\ndouble-edged.  The silly birds may be charmed with the pipe of the\nfowler, which is but a tube of reeds.  Not so with a bird of our own\nfeather!  As I went on, and my resolve strengthened, and my voice found\nnew modulations, and our faces were drawn closer to the bars and to each\nother, not only she, but I, succumbed to the fascination, and were\nkindled by the charm.  We make love, and thereby ourselves fall the\ndeeper in it.  It is with the heart only that one captures a heart.\n\n'And now,' I continued, 'I will tell you what you can still do for me.  I\nrun a little risk just now, and you see for yourself how unavoidable it\nis for any man of honour.  But if--but in case of the worst I do not\nchoose to enrich either my enemies or the Prince Regent.  I have here the\nbulk of what my uncle gave me.  Eight thousand odd pounds.  Will you take\ncare of it for me?  Do not think of it merely as money; take and keep it\nas a relic of your friend or some precious piece of him.  I may have\nbitter need of it ere long.  Do you know the old country story of the\ngiant who gave his heart to his wife to keep for him, thinking it safer\nto repose on her loyalty than his own strength?  Flora, I am the giant--a\nvery little one: will you be the keeper of my life?  It is my heart I\noffer you in this symbol.  In the sight of God, if you will have it, I\ngive you my name, I endow you with my money.  If the worst come, if I may\nnever hope to call you wife, let me at least think that you will use my\nuncle's legacy as my widow.'\n\n'No, not that,' she said.  'Never that.'\n\n'What then?' I said.  'What else, my angel?  What are words to me?  There\nis but one name that I care to know you by.  Flora, my love!'\n\n'Anne!' she said.\n\nWhat sound is so full of music as one's own name uttered for the first\ntime in the voice of her we love!\n\n'My darling!' said I.\n\nThe jealous bars, set at the top and bottom in stone and lime, obstructed\nthe rapture of the moment; but I took her to myself as wholly as they\nallowed.  She did not shun my lips.  My arms were wound round her body,\nwhich yielded itself generously to my embrace.  As we so remained,\nentwined and yet severed, bruising our faces unconsciously on the cold\nbars, the irony of the universe--or as I prefer to say, envy of some of\nthe gods--again stirred up the elements of that stormy night.  The wind\nblew again in the tree-tops; a volley of cold sea-rain deluged the\ngarden, and, as the deuce would have it, a gutter which had been hitherto\nchoked up began suddenly to play upon my head and shoulders with the\nvivacity of a fountain.  We parted with a shock; I sprang to my feet, and\nshe to hers, as though we had been discovered.  A moment after, but now\nboth standing, we had again approached the window on either side.\n\n'Flora,' I said, 'this is but a poor offer I can make you.'\n\nShe took my hand in hers and clasped it to her bosom.\n\n'Rich enough for a queen!' she said, with a lift in her breathing that\nwas more eloquent than words.  'Anne, my brave Anne!  I would be glad to\nbe your maidservant; I could envy that boy Rowley.  But, no!' she broke\noff, 'I envy no one--I need not--I am yours.'\n\n'Mine,' said I, 'for ever!  By this and this, mine!'\n\n'All of me,' she repeated.  'Altogether and forever!'\n\nAnd if the god were envious, he must have seen with mortification how\nlittle he could do to mar the happiness of mortals.  I stood in a mere\nwaterspout; she herself was wet, not from my embrace only, but from the\nsplashing of the storm.  The candles had guttered out; we were in\ndarkness.  I could scarce see anything but the shining of her eyes in the\ndark room.  To her I must have appeared as a silhouette, haloed by rain\nand the spouting of the ancient Gothic gutter above my head.\n\nPresently we became more calm and confidential; and when that squall,\nwhich proved to be the last of the storm, had blown by, fell into a talk\nof ways and means.  It seemed she knew Mr. Robbie, to whom I had been so\nslenderly accredited by Romaine--was even invited to his house for the\nevening of Monday, and gave me a sketch of the old gentleman's character\nwhich implied a great deal of penetration in herself, and proved of great\nuse to me in the immediate sequel.  It seemed he was an enthusiastic\nantiquary, and in particular a fanatic of heraldry.  I heard it with\ndelight, for I was myself, thanks to M. de Culemberg, fairly grounded in\nthat science, and acquainted with the blazons of most families of note in\nEurope.  And I had made up my mind--even as she spoke, it was my fixed\ndetermination, though I was a hundred miles from saying it--to meet Flora\non Monday night as a fellow-guest in Mr. Robbie's house.\n\nI gave her my money--it was, of course, only paper I had brought.  I gave\nit her, to be her marriage-portion, I declared.\n\n'Not so bad a marriage-portion for a private soldier,' I told her,\nlaughing, as I passed it through the bars.\n\n'O, Anne, and where am I to keep it?' she cried.  'If my aunt should find\nit!  What would I say!'\n\n'Next your heart,' I suggested.\n\n'Then you will always be near your treasure,' she cried, 'for you are\nalways there!'\n\nWe were interrupted by a sudden clearness that fell upon the night.  The\nclouds dispersed; the stars shone in every part of the heavens; and,\nconsulting my watch, I was startled to find it already hard on five in\nthe morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII--THE SABBATH DAY\n\n\nIt was indeed high time I should be gone from Swanston; but what I was to\ndo in the meanwhile was another question.  Rowley had received his orders\nlast night: he was to say that I had met a friend, and Mrs. McRankine was\nnot to expect me before morning.  A good enough tale in itself; but the\ndreadful pickle I was in made it out of the question.  I could not go\nhome till I had found harbourage, a fire to dry my clothes at, and a bed\nwhere I might lie till they were ready.\n\nFortune favoured me again.  I had scarce got to the top of the first hill\nwhen I spied a light on my left, about a furlong away.  It might be a\ncase of sickness; what else it was likely to be--in so rustic a\nneighbourhood, and at such an ungodly time of the morning--was beyond my\nfancy.  A faint sound of singing became audible, and gradually swelled as\nI drew near, until at last I could make out the words, which were\nsingularly appropriate both to the hour and to the condition of the\nsingers.  'The cock may craw, the day may daw,' they sang; and sang it\nwith such laxity both in time and tune, and such sentimental complaisance\nin the expression, as assured me they had got far into the third bottle\nat least.\n\nI found a plain rustic cottage by the wayside, of the sort called double,\nwith a signboard over the door; and, the lights within streaming forth\nand somewhat mitigating the darkness of the morning, I was enabled to\ndecipher the inscription: 'The Hunters' Tryst, by Alexander Hendry.\nPorter Ales, and British Spirits.  Beds.'\n\nMy first knock put a period to the music, and a voice challenged tipsily\nfrom within.\n\n'Who goes there?' it said; and I replied, 'A lawful traveller.'\n\nImmediately after, the door was unbarred by a company of the tallest lads\nmy eyes had ever rested on, all astonishingly drunk and very decently\ndressed, and one (who was perhaps the drunkest of the lot) carrying a\ntallow candle, from which he impartially bedewed the clothes of the whole\ncompany.  As soon as I saw them I could not help smiling to myself to\nremember the anxiety with which I had approached.  They received me and\nmy hastily-concocted story, that I had been walking from Peebles and had\nlost my way, with incoherent benignity; jostled me among them into the\nroom where they had been sitting, a plain hedgerow alehouse parlour, with\na roaring fire in the chimney and a prodigious number of empty bottles on\nthe floor; and informed me that I was made, by this reception, a\ntemporary member of the _Six-Feet-High Club_, an athletic society of\nyoung men in a good station, who made of the Hunters' Tryst a frequent\nresort.  They told me I had intruded on an 'all-night sitting,' following\nupon an 'all-day Saturday tramp' of forty miles; and that the members\nwould all be up and 'as right as ninepence' for the noonday service at\nsome neighbouring church--Collingwood, if memory serves me right.  At\nthis I could have laughed, but the moment seemed ill-chosen.  For, though\nsix feet was their standard, they all exceeded that measurement\nconsiderably; and I tasted again some of the sensations of childhood, as\nI looked up to all these lads from a lower plane, and wondered what they\nwould do next.  But the Six-Footers, if they were very drunk, proved no\nless kind.  The landlord and servants of the Hunters' Tryst were in bed\nand asleep long ago.  Whether by natural gift or acquired habit they\ncould suffer pandemonium to reign all over the house, and yet lie ranked\nin the kitchen like Egyptian mummies, only that the sound of their\nsnoring rose and fell ceaselessly like the drone of a bagpipe.  Here the\nSix-Footers invaded them--in their citadel, so to speak; counted the\nbunks and the sleepers; proposed to put me in bed to one of the lasses,\nproposed to have one of the lasses out to make room for me, fell over\nchairs, and made noise enough to waken the dead: the whole illuminated by\nthe same young torch-bearer, but now with two candles, and rapidly\nbeginning to look like a man in a snowstorm.  At last a bed was found for\nme, my clothes were hung out to dry before the parlour fire, and I was\nmercifully left to my repose.\n\nI awoke about nine with the sun shining in my eyes.  The landlord came at\nmy summons, brought me my clothes dried and decently brushed, and gave me\nthe good news that the Six-Feet-High Club were all abed and sleeping off\ntheir excesses.  Where they were bestowed was a puzzle to me until (as I\nwas strolling about the garden patch waiting for breakfast) I came on a\nbarn door, and, looking in, saw all the red face mixed in the straw like\nplums in a cake.  Quoth the stalwart maid who brought me my porridge and\nbade me 'eat them while they were hot,' 'Ay, they were a' on the ran-dan\nlast nicht!  Hout! they're fine lads, and they'll be nane the waur of it.\nForby Farbes's coat.  I dinna see wha's to get the creish off that!' she\nadded, with a sigh; in which, identifying Forbes as the torch-bearer, I\nmentally joined.\n\nIt was a brave morning when I took the road; the sun shone, spring seemed\nin the air, it smelt like April or May, and some over-venturous birds\nsang in the coppices as I went by.  I had plenty to think of, plenty to\nbe grateful for, that gallant morning; and yet I had a twitter at my\nheart.  To enter the city by daylight might be compared to marching on a\nbattery; every face that I confronted would threaten me like the muzzle\nof a gun; and it came into my head suddenly with how much better a\ncountenance I should be able to do it if I could but improvise a\ncompanion.  Hard by Merchiston I was so fortunate as to observe a bulky\ngentleman in broadcloth and gaiters, stooping with his head almost\nbetween his knees, before a stone wall.  Seizing occasion by the\nforelock, I drew up as I came alongside and inquired what he had found to\ninterest him.\n\nHe turned upon me a countenance not much less broad than his back.\n\n'Why, sir,' he replied, 'I was even marvelling at my own indefeasible\nstupeedity: that I should walk this way every week of my life, weather\npermitting, and should never before have _notticed_ that stone,' touching\nit at the same time with a goodly oak staff.\n\nI followed the indication.  The stone, which had been built sideways into\nthe wall, offered traces of heraldic sculpture.  At once there came a\nwild idea into my mind: his appearance tallied with Flora's description\nof Mr. Robbie; a knowledge of heraldry would go far to clinch the proof;\nand what could be more desirable than to scrape an informal acquaintance\nwith the man whom I must approach next day with my tale of the drovers,\nand whom I yet wished to please?  I stooped in turn.\n\n'A chevron,' I said; 'on a chief three mullets?  Looks like Douglas, does\nit not?'\n\n'Yes, sir, it does; you are right,' said he: 'it _does_ look like\nDouglas; though, without the tinctures, and the whole thing being so\nbattered and broken up, who shall venture an opinion?  But allow me to be\nmore personal, sir.  In these degenerate days I am astonished you should\ndisplay so much proficiency.'\n\n'O, I was well grounded in my youth by an old gentleman, a friend of my\nfamily, and I may say my guardian,' said I; 'but I have forgotten it\nsince.  God forbid I should delude you into thinking me a herald, sir!  I\nam only an ungrammatical amateur.'\n\n'And a little modesty does no harm even in a herald,' says my new\nacquaintance graciously.\n\nIn short, we fell together on our onward way, and maintained very\namicable discourse along what remained of the country road, past the\nsuburbs, and on into the streets of the New Town, which was as deserted\nand silent as a city of the dead.  The shops were closed, no vehicle ran,\ncats sported in the midst of the sunny causeway; and our steps and voices\nre-echoed from the quiet houses.  It was the high-water, full and\nstrange, of that weekly trance to which the city of Edinburgh is\nsubjected: the apotheosis of the _Sawbath_; and I confess the spectacle\nwanted not grandeur, however much it may have lacked cheerfulness.  There\nare few religious ceremonies more imposing.  As we thus walked and talked\nin a public seclusion the bells broke out ringing through all the bounds\nof the city, and the streets began immediately to be thronged with decent\nchurch-goers.\n\n'Ah!' said my companion, 'there are the bells!  Now, sir, as you are a\nstranger I must offer you the hospitality of my pew.  I do not know\nwhether you are at all used with our Scottish form; but in case you are\nnot I will find your places for you; and Dr. Henry Gray, of St. Mary's\n(under whom I sit), is as good a preacher as we have to show you.'\n\nThis put me in a quandary.  It was a degree of risk I was scarce prepared\nfor.  Dozens of people, who might pass me by in the street with no more\nthan a second look, would go on from the second to the third, and from\nthat to a final recognition, if I were set before them, immobilised in a\npew, during the whole time of service.  An unlucky turn of the head would\nsuffice to arrest their attention.  'Who is that?' they would think:\n'surely I should know him!' and, a church being the place in all the\nworld where one has least to think of, it was ten to one they would end\nby remembering me before the benediction.  However, my mind was made up:\nI thanked my obliging friend, and placed myself at his disposal.\n\nOur way now led us into the north-east quarter of the town, among\npleasant new faubourgs, to a decent new church of a good size, where I\nwas soon seated by the side of my good Samaritan, and looked upon by a\nwhole congregation of menacing faces.  At first the possibility of danger\nkept me awake; but by the time I had assured myself there was none to be\napprehended, and the service was not in the least likely to be enlivened\nby the arrest of a French spy, I had to resign myself to the task of\nlistening to Dr. Henry Gray.\n\nAs we moved out, after this ordeal was over, my friend was at once\nsurrounded and claimed by his acquaintances of the congregation; and I\nwas rejoiced to hear him addressed by the expected name of Robbie.\n\nSo soon as we were clear of the crowd--'Mr. Robbie?' said I, bowing.\n\n'The very same, sir,' said he.\n\n'If I mistake not, a lawyer?'\n\n'A writer to His Majesty's Signet, at your service.'\n\n'It seems we were predestined to be acquaintances!' I exclaimed.  'I have\nhere a card in my pocket intended for you.  It is from my family lawyer.\nIt was his last word, as I was leaving, to ask to be remembered kindly,\nand to trust you would pass over so informal an introduction.'\n\nAnd I offered him the card.\n\n'Ay, ay, my old friend Daniel!' says he, looking on the card.  'And how\ndoes my old friend Daniel?'\n\nI gave a favourable view of Mr. Romaine's health.\n\n'Well, this is certainly a whimsical incident,' he continued.  'And since\nwe are thus met already--and so much to my advantage!--the simplest thing\nwill be to prosecute the acquaintance instantly.  Let me propose a snack\nbetween sermons, a bottle of my particular green seal--and when nobody is\nlooking we can talk blazons, Mr. Ducie!'--which was the name I then used\nand had already incidentally mentioned, in the vain hope of provoking a\nreturn in kind.\n\n'I beg your pardon, sir: do I understand you to invite me to your house?'\nsaid I.\n\n'That was the idea I was trying to convey,' said he.  'We have the name\nof hospitable people up here, and I would like you to try mine.'\n\n'Mr. Robbie, I shall hope to try it some day, but not yet,' I replied.\n'I hope you will not misunderstand me.  My business, which brings me to\nyour city, is of a peculiar kind.  Till you shall have heard it, and,\nindeed, till its issue is known, I should feel as if I had stolen your\ninvitation.'\n\n'Well, well,' said he, a little sobered, 'it must be as you wish, though\nyou would hardly speak otherwise if you had committed homicide!  Mine is\nthe loss.  I must eat alone; a very pernicious thing for a person of my\nhabit of body, content myself with a pint of skinking claret, and\nmeditate the discourse.  But about this business of yours: if it is so\nparticular as all that, it will doubtless admit of no delay.'\n\n'I must confess, sir, it presses,' I acknowledged.\n\n'Then, let us say to-morrow at half-past eight in the morning,' said he;\n'and I hope, when your mind is at rest (and it does you much honour to\ntake it as you do), that you will sit down with me to the postponed meal,\nnot forgetting the bottle.  You have my address?' he added, and gave it\nme--which was the only thing I wanted.\n\nAt last, at the level of York Place, we parted with mutual civilities,\nand I was free to pursue my way, through the mobs of people returning\nfrom church, to my lodgings in St. James' Square.\n\nAlmost at the house door whom should I overtake but my landlady in a\ndress of gorgeous severity, and dragging a prize in her wake: no less\nthan Rowley, with the cockade in his hat, and a smart pair of tops to his\nboots!  When I said he was in the lady's wake I spoke but in metaphor.\nAs a matter of fact he was squiring her, with the utmost dignity, on his\narm; and I followed them up the stairs, smiling to myself.\n\nBoth were quick to salute me as soon as I was perceived, and Mrs.\nMcRankine inquired where I had been.  I told her boastfully, giving her\nthe name of the church and the divine, and ignorantly supposing I should\nhave gained caste.  But she soon opened my eyes.  In the roots of the\nScottish character there are knots and contortions that not only no\nstranger can understand, but no stranger can follow; he walks among\nexplosives; and his best course is to throw himself upon their\nmercy--'Just as I am, without one plea,' a citation from one of the\nlady's favourite hymns.\n\nThe sound she made was unmistakable in meaning, though it was impossible\nto be written down; and I at once executed the manoeuvre I have\nrecommended.\n\n'You must remember I am a perfect stranger in your city,' said I.  'If I\nhave done wrong, it was in mere ignorance, my dear lady; and this\nafternoon, if you will be so good as to take me, I shall accompany\n_you_.'\n\nBut she was not to be pacified at the moment, and departed to her own\nquarters murmuring.\n\n'Well, Rowley,' said I; 'and have you been to church?'\n\n'If you please, sir,' he said.\n\n'Well, you have not been any less unlucky than I have,' I returned.  'And\nhow did you get on with the Scottish form?'\n\n'Well, sir, it was pretty 'ard, the form was, and reether narrow,' he\nreplied.  'I don't know w'y it is, but it seems to me like as if things\nwere a good bit changed since William Wallace!  That was a main queer\nchurch she took me to, Mr. Anne!  I don't know as I could have sat it\nout, if she 'adn't 'a' give me peppermints.  She ain't a bad one at\nbottom, the old girl; she do pounce a bit, and she do worry, but, law\nbless you, Mr. Anne, it ain't nothink really--she don't _mean_ it.  W'y,\nshe was down on me like a 'undredweight of bricks this morning.  You see,\nlast night she 'ad me in to supper, and, I beg your pardon, sir, but I\ntook the freedom of playing her a chune or two.  She didn't mind a bit;\nso this morning I began to play to myself, and she flounced in, and flew\nup, and carried on no end about Sunday!'\n\n'You see, Rowley,' said I, 'they're all mad up here, and you have to\nhumour them.  See and don't quarrel with Mrs. McRankine; and, above all,\ndon't argue with her, or you'll get the worst of it.  Whatever she says,\ntouch your forelock and say, \"If you please!\" or \"I beg pardon, ma'am.\"\nAnd let me tell you one thing: I am sorry, but you have to go to church\nwith her again this afternoon.  That's duty, my boy!'\n\nAs I had foreseen, the bells had scarce begun before Mrs. McRankine\npresented herself to be our escort, upon which I sprang up with readiness\nand offered her my arm.  Rowley followed behind.  I was beginning to grow\naccustomed to the risks of my stay in Edinburgh, and it even amused me to\nconfront a new churchful.  I confess the amusement did not last until the\nend; for if Dr. Gray were long, Mr. McCraw was not only longer, but more\nincoherent, and the matter of his sermon (which was a direct attack,\napparently, on all the Churches of the world, my own among the number),\nwhere it had not the tonic quality of personal insult, rather inclined me\nto slumber.  But I braced myself for my life, kept up Rowley with the end\nof a pin, and came through it awake, but no more.\n\nBethiah was quite conquered by this 'mark of grace,' though, I am afraid,\nshe was also moved by more worldly considerations.  The first is, the\nlady had not the least objection to go to church on the arm of an\nelegantly dressed young gentleman, and be followed by a spruce servant\nwith a cockade in his hat.  I could see it by the way she took possession\nof us, found us the places in the Bible, whispered to me the name of the\nminister, passed us lozenges, which I (for my part) handed on to Rowley,\nand at each fresh attention stole a little glance about the church to\nmake sure she was observed.  Rowley was a pretty boy; you will pardon me\nif I also remembered that I was a favourable-looking young man.  When we\ngrow elderly, how the room brightens, and begins to look as it ought to\nlook, on the entrance of youth, grace, health, and comeliness!  You do\nnot want them for yourself, perhaps not even for your son, but you look\non smiling; and when you recall their images--again, it is with a smile.\nI defy you to see or think of them and not smile with an infinite and\nintimate, but quite impersonal, pleasure.  Well, either I know nothing of\nwomen, or that was the case with Bethiah McRankine.  She had been to\nchurch with a cockade behind her, on the one hand; on the other, her\nhouse was brightened by the presence of a pair of good-looking young\nfellows of the other sex, who were always pleased and deferential in her\nsociety and accepted her views as final.\n\nThese were sentiments to be encouraged; and, on the way home from\nchurch--if church it could be called--I adopted a most insidious device\nto magnify her interest.  I took her into the confidence, that is, of my\nlove affair, and I had no sooner mentioned a young lady with whom my\naffections were engaged than she turned upon me a face of awful gravity.\n\n'Is she bonny?' she inquired.\n\nI gave her full assurances upon that.\n\n'To what denoamination does she beloang?' came next, and was so\nunexpected as almost to deprive me of breath.\n\n'Upon my word, ma'am, I have never inquired,' cried I; 'I only know that\nshe is a heartfelt Christian, and that is enough.'\n\n'Ay!' she sighed, 'if she has the root of the maitter!  There's a remnant\npractically in most of the denoaminations.  There's some in the\nMcGlashanites, and some in the Glassites, and mony in the McMillanites,\nand there's a leeven even in the Estayblishment.'\n\n'I have known some very good Papists even, if you go to that,' said I.\n\n'Mr. Ducie, think shame to yoursel'!' she cried.\n\n'Why, my dear madam!  I only--' I began.\n\n'You shouldnae jest in sairious maitters,' she interrupted.\n\nOn the whole, she entered into what I chose to tell her of our idyll with\navidity, like a cat licking her whiskers over a dish of cream; and,\nstrange to say--and so expansive a passion is that of love!--that I\nderived a perhaps equal satisfaction from confiding in that breast of\niron.  It made an immediate bond: from that hour we seemed to be welded\ninto a family-party; and I had little difficulty in persuading her to\njoin us and to preside over our tea-table.  Surely there was never so\nill-matched a trio as Rowley, Mrs. McRankine, and the Viscount Anne!  But\nI am of the Apostle's way, with a difference: all things to all women!\nWhen I cannot please a woman, hang me in my cravat!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII--EVENTS OF MONDAY: THE LAWYER'S PARTY\n\n\nBy half-past eight o'clock on the next morning, I was ringing the bell of\nthe lawyer's office in Castle Street, where I found him ensconced at a\nbusiness table, in a room surrounded by several tiers of green tin cases.\nHe greeted me like an old friend.\n\n'Come away, sir, come away!' said he.  'Here is the dentist ready for\nyou, and I think I can promise you that the operation will be practically\npainless.'\n\n'I am not so sure of that, Mr. Robbie,' I replied, as I shook hands with\nhim.  'But at least there shall be no time lost with me.'\n\nI had to confess to having gone a-roving with a pair of drovers and their\ncattle, to having used a false name, to having murdered or half-murdered\na fellow-creature in a scuffle on the moors, and to having suffered a\ncouple of quite innocent men to lie some time in prison on a charge from\nwhich I could have immediately freed them.  All this I gave him first of\nall, to be done with the worst of it; and all this he took with gravity,\nbut without the least appearance of surprise.\n\n'Now, sir,' I continued, 'I expect to have to pay for my unhappy frolic,\nbut I would like very well if it could be managed without my personal\nappearance or even the mention of my real name.  I had so much wisdom as\nto sail under false colours in this foolish jaunt of mine; my family\nwould be extremely concerned if they had wind of it; but at the same\ntime, if the case of this Faa has terminated fatally, and there are\nproceedings against Todd and Candlish, I am not going to stand by and see\nthem vexed, far less punished; and I authorise you to give me up for\ntrial if you think that best--or, if you think it unnecessary, in the\nmeanwhile to make preparations for their defence.  I hope, sir, that I am\nas little anxious to be Quixotic, as I am determined to be just.'\n\n'Very fairly spoken,' said Mr. Robbie.  'It is not much in my line, as\ndoubtless your friend, Mr. Romaine, will have told you.  I rarely mix\nmyself up with anything on the criminal side, or approaching it.\nHowever, for a young gentleman like you, I may stretch a point, and I\ndare say I may be able to accomplish more than perhaps another.  I will\ngo at once to the Procurator Fiscal's office and inquire.'\n\n'Wait a moment, Mr. Robbie,' said I.  'You forget the chapter of\nexpenses.  I had thought, for a beginning, of placing a thousand pounds\nin your hands.'\n\n'My dear sir, you will kindly wait until I render you my bill,' said Mr.\nRobbie severely.'\n\n'It seemed to me,' I protested, 'that coming to you almost as a stranger,\nand placing in your hands a piece of business so contrary to your habits,\nsome substantial guarantee of my good faith--'\n\n'Not the way that we do business in Scotland, sir,' he interrupted, with\nan air of closing the dispute.\n\n'And yet, Mr. Robbie,' I continued, 'I must ask you to allow me to\nproceed.  I do not merely refer to the expenses of the case.  I have my\neye besides on Todd and Candlish.  They are thoroughly deserving fellows;\nthey have been subjected through me to a considerable term of\nimprisonment; and I suggest, sir, that you should not spare money for\ntheir indemnification.  This will explain,' I added smiling, 'my offer of\nthe thousand pounds.  It was in the nature of a measure by which you\nshould judge the scale on which I can afford to have this business\ncarried through.'\n\n'I take you perfectly, Mr. Ducie,' said he.  'But the sooner I am off,\nthe better this affair is like to be guided.  My clerk will show you into\nthe waiting-room and give you the day's _Caledonian Mercury_ and the last\n_Register_ to amuse yourself with in the interval.'\n\nI believe Mr. Robbie was at least three hours gone.  I saw him descend\nfrom a cab at the door, and almost immediately after I was shown again\ninto his study, where the solemnity of his manner led me to augur the\nworst.  For some time he had the inhumanity to read me a lecture as to\nthe incredible silliness, 'not to say immorality,' of my behaviour.  'I\nhave the satisfaction in telling you my opinion, because it appears that\nyou are going to get off scot free,' he continued, where, indeed, I\nthought he might have begun.\n\n'The man, Faa, has been discharged cured; and the two men, Todd and\nCandlish, would have been leeberated lone ago if it had not been for\ntheir extraordinary loyalty to yourself, Mr. Ducie--or Mr. St. Ivey, as I\nbelieve I should now call you.  Never a word would either of the two old\nfools volunteer that in any manner pointed at the existence of such a\nperson; and when they were confronted with Faa's version of the affair,\nthey gave accounts so entirely discrepant with their own former\ndeclarations, as well as with each other, that the Fiscal was quite\nnonplussed, and imaigined there was something behind it.  You may believe\nI soon laughed him out of that!  And I had the satisfaction of seeing\nyour two friends set free, and very glad to be on the causeway again.'\n\n'Oh, sir,' I cried, 'you should have brought them here.'\n\n'No instructions, Mr. Ducie!' said he.  'How did I know you wished to\nrenew an acquaintance which you had just terminated so fortunately?  And,\nindeed, to be frank with you, I should have set my face against it, if\nyou had!  Let them go!  They are paid and contented, and have the highest\npossible opinion of Mr. St. Ivey!  When I gave them fifty pounds\napiece--which was rather more than enough, Mr. Ducie, whatever you may\nthink--the man Todd, who has the only tongue of the party, struck his\nstaff on the ground.  \"Weel,\" says he, \"I aye said he was a gentleman!\"\n\"Man, Todd,\" said I, \"that was just what Mr St. Ivey said of yourself!\"'\n\n'So it was a case of \"Compliments fly when gentlefolk meet.\"'\n\n'No, no, Mr. Ducie, man Todd and man Candlish are gone out of your life,\nand a good riddance!  They are fine fellows in their way, but no proper\nassociates for the like of yourself; and do you finally agree to be done\nwith all eccentricity--take up with no more drovers, or tinkers, but\nenjoy the naitural pleesures for which your age, your wealth, your\nintelligence, and (if I may be allowed to say it) your appearance so\ncompletely fit you.  And the first of these,' quoth he, looking at his\nwatch, 'will be to step through to my dining-room and share a bachelor's\nluncheon.'\n\nOver the meal, which was good, Mr. Robbie continued to develop the same\ntheme.  'You're, no doubt, what they call a dancing-man?' said he.\n'Well, on Thursday night there is the Assembly Ball.  You must certainly\ngo there, and you must permit me besides to do the honours of the ceety\nand send you a ticket.  I am a thorough believer in a young man being a\nyoung man--but no more drovers or rovers, if you love me!  Talking of\nwhich puts me in mind that you may be short of partners at the\nAssembly--oh, I have been young myself!--and if ye care to come to\nanything so portentiously tedious as a tea-party at the house of a\nbachelor lawyer, consisting mainly of his nieces and nephews, and his\ngrand-nieces and grand-nephews, and his wards, and generally the whole\nclan of the descendants of his clients, you might drop in to-night\ntowards seven o'clock.  I think I can show you one or two that are worth\nlooking at, and you can dance with them later on at the Assembly.'\n\nHe proceeded to give me a sketch of one or two eligible young ladies'\nwhom I might expect to meet.  'And then there's my parteecular friend,\nMiss Flora,' said he.  'But I'll make no attempt of a description.  You\nshall see her for yourself.'\n\nIt will be readily supposed that I accepted his invitation; and returned\nhome to make a toilette worthy of her I was to meet and the good news of\nwhich I was the bearer.  The toilette, I have reason to believe, was a\nsuccess.  Mr. Rowley dismissed me with a farewell: 'Crikey!  Mr. Anne,\nbut you do look prime!'  Even the stony Bethiah was--how shall I\nsay?--dazzled, but scandalised, by my appearance; and while, of course,\nshe deplored the vanity that led to it, she could not wholly prevent\nherself from admiring the result.\n\n'Ay, Mr. Ducie, this is a poor employment for a wayfaring Christian man!'\nshe said.  'Wi' Christ despised and rejectit in all pairts of the world\nand the flag of the Covenant flung doon, you will be muckle better on\nyour knees!  However, I'll have to confess that it sets you weel.  And if\nit's the lassie ye're gaun to see the nicht, I suppose I'll just have to\nexcuse ye!  Bairns maun be bairns!' she said, with a sigh.  'I mind when\nMr. McRankine came courtin', and that's lang by-gane--I mind I had a\ngreen gown, passementit, that was thocht to become me to admiration.  I\nwas nae just exactly what ye would ca' bonny; but I was pale,\npenetratin', and interestin'.'  And she leaned over the stair-rail with a\ncandle to watch my descent as long as it should be possible.\n\nIt was but a little party at Mr. Robbie's--by which, I do not so much\nmean that there were few people, for the rooms were crowded, as that\nthere was very little attempted to entertain them.  In one apartment\nthere were tables set out, where the elders were solemnly engaged upon\nwhist; in the other and larger one, a great number of youth of both sexes\nentertained themselves languidly, the ladies sitting upon chairs to be\ncourted, the gentlemen standing about in various attitudes of insinuation\nor indifference.  Conversation appeared the sole resource, except in so\nfar as it was modified by a number of keepsakes and annuals which lay\ndispersed upon the tables, and of which the young beaux displayed the\nillustrations to the ladies.  Mr. Robbie himself was customarily in the\ncard-room; only now and again, when he cut out, he made an incursion\namong the young folks, and rolled about jovially from one to another, the\nvery picture of the general uncle.\n\nIt chanced that Flora had met Mr. Robbie in the course of the afternoon.\n'Now, Miss Flora,' he had said, 'come early, for I have a Phoenix to show\nyou--one Mr. Ducie, a new client of mine that, I vow, I have fallen in\nlove with'; and he was so good as to add a word or two on my appearance,\nfrom which Flora conceived a suspicion of the truth.  She had come to the\nparty, in consequence, on the knife-edge of anticipation and alarm; had\nchosen a place by the door, where I found her, on my arrival, surrounded\nby a posse of vapid youths; and, when I drew near, sprang up to meet me\nin the most natural manner in the world, and, obviously, with a prepared\nform of words.\n\n'How do you do, Mr. Ducie?' she said.  'It ", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "322", "title": "St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England", "author": "", "publication_year": 1897, "metadata_title": "St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England", "metadata_author": "Stevenson", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.707588", "source_chars": 559769, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 126469}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by David Edwards and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images\ngenerously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file\n      which includes the original illustrations and illuminations.\n      See 32202-h.htm or 32202-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32202/32202-h/32202-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32202/32202-h.zip)\n\n\n      http://www.archive.org/details/irishfairybook00gravrich\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE IRISH FAIRY BOOK\n\n\nby\n\nALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES\n\nIllustrated by George Denham\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon·T·FisherUnwin·\n\nAll rights reserved.\n\n\n\n\nA Faery Song\n\n     Sung by the people of faery over Diarmuid and Grania, who lay in\n     their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.\n\n  We who are old, old and gay,\n      O so old!\n  Thousands of years, thousands of years,\n      If all were told:\n\n  Give to these children, new from the world,\n      Silence and love;\n  And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,\n      And the stars above:\n\n  Give to these children, new from the world,\n      Rest far from men.\n  Is anything better, anything better?\n      Tell us it then:\n\n  Us who are old, old and gay,\n      O so old!\n  Thousands of years, thousands of years,\n      If all were told.\n\n                    W. B. YEATS.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n  THE COMING OF FINN                 _Standish James O'Grady_      1\n\n  THE THREE CROWNS                   _Patrick Kennedy_            12\n\n  THE GRATEFUL BEASTS                _Patrick Kennedy_            25\n\n  THE LEPRACAUN                      _William Allingham_          31\n\n  DANIEL O'ROURKE                    _T. Crofton Croker_          35\n\n  CUCHULAIN OF MUIRTHEMNE            _Lady Gregory_               45\n\n  THE BOYHOOD OF CUCHULAIN           _Standish James O'Grady_     52\n\n  THE LEGEND OF KNOCKGRAFTON         _T. Crofton Croker_          60\n\n  THE STOLEN CHILD                   _W. B. Yeats_                67\n\n  THE LAND OF YOUTH                  _Bryan O'Looney_             71\n        Edited by John O'Daly\n\n  THE ADVENTURES OF GILLA NA CHRECK  _Patrick Kennedy_            85\n\n  THE HILL-MAN AND THE HOUSE-WIFE    _Mrs. Ewing_                 96\n\n  THE GIANT WALKER                   _Sir Samuel Ferguson_        99\n\n  THE PURSUIT OF THE GILLA DACKER    _Patrick W. Joyce_          102\n\n  JAMIE FREEL AND THE YOUNG LADY     _Letitia McClintock_        123\n\n  A LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY              _William Carleton_          133\n\n  THE NINEPENNY FIDIL                _Joseph Campbell_           149\n\n  FESTIVITIES AT THE HOUSE OF CONAN  _Nicholas O'Kearney_        151\n\n  THE WHITE TROUT                    _Samuel Lover_              160\n\n  THE WONDERFUL CAKE                 _Patrick Kennedy_           164\n\n  THE LEGEND OF THE LITTLE WEAVER    _Samuel Lover_              167\n\n  MOR OF CLOYNE                      _Alfred Perceval Graves_    180\n\n  LAWN DYARRIG                       _Jeremiah Curtin_[1]        181\n\n  THE HORNED WOMEN                   _Lady Wilde_                198\n\n  THE QUARE GANDER                   _Joseph Sheridan Le Fann_   202\n\n  THE FAIRIES' PASSAGE               _James Clarence Mangan_     214\n\n  THE KING OF THE BLACK DESERT       _Douglas Hyde_              218\n\n  THE PIPER AND THE PUCA             _Douglas Hyde_              236\n\n  THE FAIRY CHANGELING               _Dora Sigerson_             241\n\n  THE TALKING HEAD OF DONN-BO        _Eleanor Hull_              243\n\n  THE BRACKET BULL                   _Douglas Hyde_              246\n\n  THE DEMON CAT                      _Lady Wilde_                262\n\n  THE ABBOT OF INISFALEN             _William Allingham_         265\n\n  MORRAHA                            _W. Larminie_               269\n\n  THE KILDARE POOKA                  _Patrick Kennedy_           286\n\n  THE KING'S SON                     _Thomas Boyd_               290\n\n  MURTOUGH AND THE WITCH-WOMAN       _Eleanor Hull_              293\n\n  THE RED PONY                       _W. Larminie_               307\n\n  KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN         _Samuel Lover_              314\n\n  LAMENT OF THE LAST LEPRECHAUN      _Nora Hopper_               322\n\n  THE CORPSE WATCHERS                _Patrick Kennedy_           324\n\n  THE MAD PUDDING                    _William Carleton_          329\n\n  THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE             _Alfred Tennyson_           346\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\n\nIrish Fairy Lore has well been called by Mr. Alfred Nutt, one of the\nleading authorities on the subject, \"As fair and bounteous a harvest of\nmyth and romance as ever flourished among any race,\" and Dr. Joyce, the\nwell-known Irish scholar and historian, states: \"that it is very\nprobable that the belief in the existence of fairies came in with the\nearliest colonists that entered Ireland, and that this belief is\nrecorded in the oldest of native Irish writings in a way that proves it\nto have been, at the time treated of, long established and universally\nreceived.\"\n\nColgan himself supplies us with the name and derivation of the Irish\nword for fairy, Sidh (shee), still used throughout the country.\n\"Fantastical spirits,\" he writes, \"are by the Irish called men of the\nSidh, because they are seen, as it were, to come out of the beautiful\nhills to infest men, and hence the vulgar belief that they reside in\ncertain subterranean habitations; and sometimes the hills themselves are\ncalled by the Irish Sidhe or Siodha.\"\n\nIn Colgan's time, then, the fairy superstition had passed from the upper\nclasses, gradually disenthralled of it by the influence of Christianity\nto the common people, among whom it is still rife. But it is clear that\nin the time of St. Patrick a belief in a world of fairies existed even\nin the King's household, for it is recorded that \"when the two daughters\nof King Leary of Ireland, Ethnea the fair and Fedelma the ruddy, came\nearly one morning to the well of Clebach to wash, they found there a\nsynod of holy bishops with Patrick. And they knew not whence they came,\nor in what form, or from what people, or from what country; but they\nsupposed them to be Duine Sidh, or gods of the earth, or a phantasm.\"\n\nAs suggested, the belief of the Princesses obtains to this very day\namongst the peasantry of remote districts in Ireland, who still maintain\nthat the fairies inhabit the Sidhe, or hills, and record instances of\nrelations and friends being transported into their underground palaces.\n\nThe truth is that the Gaelic peasant, Scotch and Irish, is a mystic, and\nbelieves not only in this world, and the world to come, but in that\nother world which is the world of Faery, and which exercises an\nextraordinary influence upon many actions of his life.\n\nWe see in the well-known dialogue between Oisin (Ossian) and St.\nPatrick, and in other early Irish writers, how potent an influence\nDruidism, with its powers of concealing and changing, of paralysing and\ncursing, had been held to be in the days when the Irish worshipped no\nhideous idols, but adored Beal and Dagdae, the Great or the Good God,\nand afterwards Aine, the Moon, Goddess of the Water and of Wisdom, and\nwhen their minor Deities were Mananan Mac Lir, the Irish Neptune, whose\nname is still to be found in the Isle of _Man_; Crom, who corresponded\nto Ceres; Iphinn, the benevolent, whose relations to the Irish Oirfidh\nresembled those of Apollo towards Orpheus. The ancient Irish owed\nallegiance also to the Elements, to the Wind, and to the Stars.\n\nBesides these Pagan Divinities, however, and quite apart from them, the\nearly Irish believed in a hierarchy of fairy beings, closely analagous\nto us \"humans,\" supposed to people hill and valley, old road and old\nearth-mound, lakes and rivers, and there to exercise a constant, if\noccult, influence upon mankind.\n\nVarious theories have been advanced to account for their origin. Some\ncall these fairies angels outcast from heaven for their unworthiness,\nyet not evil enough for hell, and who, therefore, occupy intermediate\nspace.\n\nOthers suggest that they are the spirits of that mysterious early Irish\nrace, the Tuatha da Danann, who were driven by their conquerors, the\nMilesians, to become \"men of the hills,\" if not \"cave\" and \"lake\ndwellers,\" in order to avoid the extermination that ultimately awaited\nthem. Their artistic skill and superior knowledge evidenced to this day\nby remarkable sepulchral mounds, stone-inscribed spiral ornamentation,\nand beautiful bronze spear-heads, led them to be accounted magicians,\nand Mr. Yeats and others of his school favour the idea that the minor\ndeities of the early Irish above referred to were the earliest members\nof the Tuatha da Danann dynasty, and that we here have a form of that\nancestor worship now met with amongst the Chinese and Japanese.\n\nDr. Joyce does not hold, however, that the subjugation of the Tuatha da\nDananns, with the subsequent belief regarding them, was the origin of\nIrish fairy mythology.\n\n\"The superstition, no doubt, existed long previously; and this\nmysterious race, having undergone a gradual deification, became\nconfounded and identified with the original local gods, and ultimately\nsuperseded them altogether.\"\n\nBut whatever their origin, supernatural powers evil and beneficent were\nsupposed to attach to them such as the power of spiriting away young\nmarried women to act as fairy nurses, and their infants to replace fairy\nweaklings, or again the power of conferring wealth, health, and\nprosperity where a certain ritual due to them had been performed by\ntheir human allies.\n\nThe injurious powers of malevolently disposed fairies can only be met,\naccording to popular belief, by wizards and wise women, who still\nexercise their arts in remote districts of Gaelic-speaking Ireland and\nScotland.\n\nThese fairies are supposed to be life-sized, but there was another class\nof diminutive preternatural beings who came into close touch with man.\n\nAmongst these were the Luchryman (Leith-phrogan) or _brogue_ (shoe)\nmaker, otherwise known as Lepracaun. He is always found mending or\nmaking a shoe, and if grasped firmly and kept constantly in view will\ndisclose hid treasure to you or render up his _sporan na sgillinge_ or\npurse of the (inexhaustible) shilling. He could only be bound by a\nplough chain or woollen thread. He is the type of industry which, if\nsteadily faced, leads to fortune, but, if lost sight of, is followed by\nits forfeiture.\n\nLove in idleness is personified by another pigmy, the _Gean-canach_\n(love-talker). He does not appear like the Luchryman, with a purse in\none of his pockets but with his hands in both of them and a DUDEEN\n(ancient Irish pipe) in his mouth as he lazily strolls through lonely\nvalleys making love to the foolish country lasses and \"gostering\" with\nthe idle \"boys.\"\n\nTo meet him meant bad luck, and whoever was ruined by ill-judged love\nwas said to have been with the Gean-canach.\n\nAnother evil sprite was the _Clobher-ceann_, \"a jolly, red-faced drunken\nlittle fellow,\" always \"found astride on a wine-butt\" and drinking and\nsinging from a full tankard in a hard drinker's cellar, and bound by his\nappearance to bring its owner to speedy ruin.\n\nThen there were the Leannan-sighe, or native Muses, to be found in every\nplace of note to inspire the local bard, and the _Beansighes_ (Banshees,\nfairy women) attached to each of the old Irish families and giving\nwarning of the death of one of its members with piteous lamentations.\n\nBlack Joanna of the Boyne (_Siubhan Dubh na Boinne_) appeared on\nHallowe'en in the shape of a great black fowl, bringing luck to the\nhouse whose _Vanithee_ (woman of the house) kept it constantly clean and\nneat.\n\nThe Pooka, who appeared in the shape of a horse, and whom Shakespeare\nhas adapted as \"Puck,\" was a goblin who combined \"horse-play\" with\nviciousness.\n\nThe _dullaghan_ was a churchyard demon whose head was of a movable\nkind, and Dr. Joyce writes: \"You generally meet him with his head in his\npocket, under his arm, or absent altogether; or if you have the fortune\nto light upon a number of _dullaghans_, you may see them amusing\nthemselves by flinging their heads at one another or kicking them for\nfootballs.\"\n\nAn even more terrible churchyard demon is the beautiful phantom that\nwaylays the widower at his wife's very tomb and poisons him by her kiss\nwhen he has yielded to her blandishments.\n\nOf monsters the Irish had, and still believe in, the _Piast_ (Latin\n_bestia_), a huge dragon or serpent confined to lakes by St. Patrick\ntill the day of judgment, but still occasionally seen in their waters.\n\nIn Fenian times the days of Finn and his companion knights, the Piast,\nhowever, roamed the country, devouring men and women and cattle in large\nnumbers, and some of the early heroes are recorded to have been\nswallowed alive by them and then to have hewed their way out of their\nentrails.\n\nThe Merrow, or Mermaid, is also still believed in, and many Folk Tales\nexist describing their intermarriage with mortals.\n\nAccording to Nicholas O'Kearney--\"It is the general opinion of many old\npersons versed in native traditional lore, that, before the introduction\nof Christianity, all animals possessed the faculties of human reason and\nspeech; and old story-tellers will gravely inform you that every beast\ncould speak before the arrival of St. Patrick, but that the Saint having\nexpelled the demons from the land by the sound of his bell, all the\nanimals that, before that time, had possessed the power of foretelling\nfuture events, such as the Black Steed of Binn-each-labhra, the Royal\nCat of Clough-magh-righ-cat (Clough), and others, became mute; and many\nof them fled to Egypt and other foreign countries.\"\n\nCats are said to have been appointed to guard hidden treasures; and\nthere are few who have not heard old Irish peasants tell about a strange\nmeeting of cats and a violent battle fought by them in his\nneighbourhood. \"It was believed,\" adds O'Kearney, \"that an evil spirit\nin the shape of a cat assumed command over these animals in various\ndistricts, and that when those wicked beings pleased they could compel\nall the cats belonging to their division to attack those of some other\ndistrict. The same was said of rats; and rat-expellers, when commanding\na colony of those troublesome and destructive animals to emigrate to\nsome other place, used to address their 'billet' to the infernal rat\nsupposed to hold command over the rest. In a curious pamphlet on the\npower of bardic compositions to charm and expel rats, lately published,\nMr. Eugene Curry states that a degraded priest, who was descended from\nan ancient family of hereditary bards, was enabled to expel a colony of\nrats by the force of satire!\"\n\nHence, of course, Shakespeare's reference to rhyming Irish rats to\ndeath.\n\nA few words upon the writers in this collection. Of Folk Tale collectors\nthe palm must be given to Dr. Douglas Hyde, whose great knowledge of\nIrish, combined with a fine literary faculty, has enabled him to present\nthe stories he has generously granted me the use of, in a manner which\ncombines complete fidelity to his original, with true artistic feeling.\n\nDr. Joyce has not only granted the use of his fine Heroic Tale of the\nPursuit of the Gilla Dacker, but had the honour of supplying Alfred,\nLord Tennyson, the late Poet Laureate, with the subject of his \"Voyage\nof Maeldune\" in a story of that name, adapted into English in his \"Old\nCeltic Romances.\" The Laureate acted on my suggestion that he should\nfound a poem upon one of the romances in that book; and to that\ncircumstance I owe the kind permission by his son and Messrs. Macmillan\nto republish it at length in this volume.\n\nBesides Dr. Hyde and Dr. Joyce I have been enabled, through the friendly\nleave of Messrs. Macmillan and Elliot and Stock, to use Mr. Jeremiah\nCurtin's and Mr. Larminie's excellently told Irish Fairy Tales. These\ntwo latter Folk Tale collectors have worked upon Dr. Hyde's plan of\ntaking down their tales from the lips of the peasants, and reproducing\nthem, whether from their Irish or Hiberno-Irish, as clearly as they were\nable to do so. The recent death of both of these writers is a serious\nloss to Irish Folk Lore.\n\nObligations are due to Miss Hull for two hitherto unpublished and fine\nFolk Tales, to Lady Gregory for the use of her \"Birth of Cuchulain,\" to\nStandish James O'Grady for his \"Boyish Exploits of Cuchulain and The\nComing of Finn,\" to the late Mrs. Ewing for \"The Hill-man and the\nHouse-wife,\" to Mrs. William Allingham for the use of two of her\nhusband's poems, to Mr. D. J. Donoghue for a poem by Mr. Thomas Boyd,\nand Mr. Chesson for one of his wife's (Nora Hopper), to Mrs. Shorter\n(Dora Sigerson) for a poem, and to Mr. Joseph Campbell for another, and\nfinally to Mr. W. B. Yeats for his two charming Fairy Poems, \"The Stolen\nChild\" and \"Faery Song.\"\n\n                                                 ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.\n\n  _Erinfa, Harlech, N. Wales,\n        July 12, 1909._\n\n\n\n\nThe Coming of Finn\n\n\nIt was the Eve of Samhain, which we Christians call All Hallows' Eve.\n\nThe King of Ireland, Conn, the Hundred-Fighter, sat at supper in his\npalace at Tara. All his chiefs and mighty men were with him. On his\nright hand was his only son, Art the Solitary, so called because he had\nno brothers. The sons of Morna, who kept the boy Finn out of his rights\nand were at the time trying to kill him if they could, were here too.\nChief amongst them was Gaul mac Morna, a huge and strong warrior, and\nCaptain of all the Fians ever since that battle in which Finn's father\nhad been killed.\n\nAnd Gaul's men were with him. The great long table was spread for\nsupper. A thousand wax candles shed their light through the chamber, and\ncaused the vessels of gold, silver, and bronze to shine. Yet, though it\nwas a great feast, none of these warriors seemed to care about eating or\ndrinking; every face was sad, and there was little conversation, and no\nmusic. It seemed as if they were expecting some calamity. Conn's\nsceptre, which was a plain staff of silver, lay beside him on the table,\nand there was a canopy of bright bronze over his head. Gaul mac Morna,\nCaptain of the Fians, sat at the other end of the long table. Every\nwarrior wore a bright banqueting mantle of silk or satin, scarlet or\ncrimson, blue, green, or purple, fastened on the breast either with a\ngreat brooch or with a pin of gold or silver. Yet, though their raiment\nwas bright and gay, and though all the usual instruments of festivity\nwere there, and a thousand tall candles shed their light over the scene,\nno one looked happy.\n\nThen was heard a low sound like thunder, and the earth seemed to\ntremble, and after that they distinctly heard a footfall like the slow,\ndeliberate tread of a giant. These footfalls sent a chill into every\nheart, and every face, gloomy before, was now pale.\n\nThe King leaned past his son Art the Solitary, and said to a certain\nDruid who sat beside Art, \"Is this the son of Midna come before his\ntime?\" \"It is not,\" said the Druid, \"but it is the man who is to conquer\nMidna. One is coming to Tara this night before whose glory all other\nglory shall wax dim.\"\n\nShortly after that they heard the voices of the doorkeepers raised in\ncontention, as if they would repel from the hall someone who wished to\nenter, then a slight scuffle, and after that a strange figure entered\nthe chamber. He was dressed in the skins of wild beasts, and wore over\nhis shoulders a huge thick cloak of wild boars' skins, fastened on the\nbreast with a white tusk of the same animal. He wore a shield and two\nspears. Though of huge stature his face was that of a boy, smooth on the\ncheeks and lips. It was white and ruddy, and very handsome. His hair was\nlike refined gold. A light seemed to go out from him, before which the\ncandles burned dim. It was Finn.\n\nHe stood in the doorway, and cried out in a strong and sonorous, but\nmusical, voice:\n\n\"O Conn the Hundred-Fighter, son of Felimy, the righteous son of Tuthal\nthe legitimate, O King of the Kings of Erin, a wronged and disinherited\nyouth, possessing nowhere one rood of his patrimony, a wanderer and an\noutlaw, a hunter of the wildernesses and mountains, claims hospitality\nof thee, illustrious prince, on the eve of the great festival of\nSamhain.\"\n\n\"Thou art welcome whoever thou art,\" answered the King, \"and doubly\nwelcome because thou art unfortunate. I think, such is thy face and\nform, that thou art the son of some mighty king on whom disaster has\nfallen undeserved. The high gods of Erin grant thee speedy restoration\nand strong vengeance of thy many wrongs. Sit here, O noble youth,\nbetween me and my only son, Art, heir to my kingdom.\"\n\nAn attendant took his weapons from the youth and hung them on the wall\nwith the rest, and Finn sat down between the King of Ireland and his\nonly son. Choice food was set before him, which he ate, and old ale,\nwhich he drank. From the moment he entered no one thought of anything\nbut of him. When Finn had made an end of eating and drinking, he said to\nthe King:\n\n\"O illustrious prince, though it is not right for a guest to even seem\nto observe aught that may be awry, or not as it should be, in the hall\nof his entertainer, yet the sorrow of a kindly host is a sorrow, too, to\nhis guest, and sometimes unawares the man of the house finds succour and\nhelp in the stranger. There is sorrow in this chamber of festivity. If\nanyone who is dear to thee and thy people happens to be dead, I can do\nnothing. But I say it, and it is not a vain boast, that even if a person\nis at the point of death, I can restore him to life and health, for\nthere are marvellous powers of life-giving in my two hands.\"\n\nConn the Hundred-Fighter answered, \"Our grief is not such as you\nsuppose; and why should I not tell a cause of shame, which is known far\nand wide? This, then, is the reason of our being together, and the gloom\nwhich is over us. There is a mighty enchanter whose dwelling is in the\nhaunted mountains of Slieve Gullion in the north. His name is Allen, son\nof Midna, and his enmity to me is as great as his power. Once every\nyear, at this season, it is his pleasure to burn Tara. Descending out of\nhis wizard haunts, he standeth over against the city and shoots balls of\nfire out of his mouth against it, till it is consumed. Then he goes away\nmocking and triumphant. This annual building of Tara, only to be\nannually consumed, is a shame to me, and till this enchanter declared\nwar against me, I have lived without reproach.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Finn, \"how is it that thy young warriors, valiant and swift,\ndo not repel him, or kill him?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Conn, \"all our valour is in vain against this man. Our\nhosts encompass Tara on all sides, keeping watch and ward when the fatal\nnight comes. Then the son of Midna plays on his Druidic instrument of\nmusic, on his magic pipe and his magic lyre, and as the fairy music\nfalls on our ears, our eyelids grow heavy, and soon all subside upon the\ngrass in deep slumber. So comes this man against the city and shoots his\nfire-balls against it, and utterly consumes it. Nine years he has burnt\nTara in that manner, and this is the tenth. At midnight to-night he will\ncome and do the same. Last year (though it was a shame to me that I, who\nam the high King over all Ireland, should not be able myself to defend\nTara) I summoned Gaul mac Morna and all the Fians to my assistance. They\ncame, but the pipe and lyre of the son of Midna prevailed over them too,\nso that Tara was burned as at other times. Nor have we any reason to\nbelieve that the son of Midna will not burn the city again to-night, as\nhe did last year. All the women and children have been sent out of Tara\nthis day. We are only men of war here, waiting for the time. That, O\nnoble youth, is why we are sad. The 'Pillars of Tara' are broken, and\nthe might of the Fians is as nought before the power of this man.\"\n\n\"What shall be my reward if I kill this man and save Tara?\" asked Finn.\n\n\"Thy inheritance,\" answered the King, \"be it great or small, and whether\nit lies in Ireland or beyond Ireland; and for securities I give you my\nson Art and Gaul mac Morna and the Chief of the Fians.\"\n\nGaul and the captains of the Fianna consented to that arrangement,\nthough reluctantly, for their minds misgave them as to who the great\nyouth might be.\n\nAfter that all arose and armed themselves and ringed Tara round with\nhorse and foot, and thrice Conn the Hundred-Fighter raised his awful\nregal voice, enjoining vigilance upon his people, and thrice Gaul mac\nMorna did the same, addressing the Fians, and after that they filled\ntheir ears with wax and wool, and kept a stern and fierce watch, and\nmany of them thrust the points of their swords into their flesh.\n\nNow Finn was alone in the banqueting chamber after the rest had gone\nout, and he washed his face and his hands in pure water, and he took\nfrom the bag that was at his girdle the instruments of divination and\nmagic, which had been his father's, and what use he made of them is not\nknown; but ere long a man stood before him, holding a spear in one hand\nand a blue mantle in the other. There were twenty nails of gold of\nArabia in the spear. The nails glittered like stars, and twinkled with\nlive light as stars do in a frosty night, and the blade of it quivered\nlike a tongue of white fire. From haft to blade-point that spear was\nalive. There were voices in it too, and the war-tunes of the enchanted\nraces of Erin, whom they called the Tuatha De Danan, sounded from it.\nThe mantle, too, was a wonder, for innumerable stars twinkled in the\nblue, and the likeness of clouds passed through it. The man gave these\nthings to Finn, and when he had instructed him in their use, he was not\nseen.\n\nThen Finn arose and armed himself, and took the magic spear and mantle\nand went out. There was a ring of flame round Tara that night, for the\nFians and the warriors of Conn had torches in their hands, and all the\nroyal buildings of Tara showed clear in the light, and also the dark\nserpentine course of the Boyne, which flowed past Tara on the north; and\nthere, standing silent and alert, were the innumerable warriors of all\nErin, with spear and shield, keeping watch and ward against the son of\nMidna, also the Four Pillars of Tara in four dense divisions around the\nhigh King, even Conn the Hundred-Fighter.\n\nFinn stood with his back to the palace, which was called the\nHouse-of-the-going-round-of-Mead, between the palace and Conn, and he\ngrasped the magic spear strongly with one hand and the mantle with the\nother.\n\nAs midnight drew nigh, he heard far away in the north, out of the\nmountains of Slieve Gullion, a fairy tune played, soft, low, and slow,\nas if on a silver flute; and at the same time the roar of Conn the\nHundred-Fighter, and the voice of Gaul like thunder, and the responsive\nshouts of the captains, and the clamour of the host, for the host\nshouted all together, and clashed their swords against their shields in\nfierce defiance, when in spite of all obstructions the fairy music of\nthe enchanter began to steal into their souls. That shout was heard all\nover Ireland, echoing from sea to sea, and the hollow buildings of Tara\nreverberated to the uproar. Yet through it all could be heard the low,\nslow, delicious music that came from Slieve Gullion. Finn put the point\nof the spear to his forehead. It burned him like fire, yet his stout\nheart did not fail. Then the roar of the host slowly faded away as in a\ndream, though the captains were still shouting, and two-thirds of the\ntorches fell to the ground. And now, succeeding the flute music,\nsounded the music of a stringed instrument exceedingly sweet. Finn\npressed the cruel spear-head closer to his forehead, and saw every torch\nfall, save one which wavered as if held by a drunken man, and beneath it\na giant figure that reeled and tottered and strove in vain to keep its\nfeet. It was Conn the Hundred-Fighter. As he fell there was a roar as of\nmany waters; it was the ocean mourning for the high King's fall. Finn\npassed through the fallen men and stood alone on the dark hill-side. He\nheard the feet of the enchanter splashing through the Boyne, and saw his\nhuge form ascending the slopes of Tara. When the enchanter saw that all\nwas silent and dark there he laughed and from his mouth blew a red\nfire-ball at the Teck-Midcuarta, which he was accustomed first to set in\nflames. Finn caught the fire-ball in the magic mantle. The enchanter\nblew a second and a third, and Finn caught them both. The man saw that\nhis power over Tara was at an end, and that his magic arts had been\ndefeated. On the third occasion he saw Finn's face, and recognised his\nconqueror. He turned to flee, and though slow was his coming, swifter\nthan the wind was his going, that he might recover the protection of his\nenchanted palace before the \"fair-faced youth clad in skins\" should\novertake him. Finn let fall the mantle as he had been instructed, and\npursued him, but in vain. Soon he perceived that he could not possibly\novertake the swift enchanter. Then he was aware that the magic spear\nstruggled in his hand like a hound in a leash. \"Go, then, if thou wilt,\"\nhe said, and, poising, cast the spear from him. It shot through the dark\nnight hissing and screaming. There was a track of fire behind it. Finn\nfollowed, and on the threshold of the enchanted palace he found the body\nof Midna. He was quite dead, with the blood pouring through a wound in\nthe middle of his back; but the spear was gone. Finn drew his sword and\ncut off the enchanter's head, and returned with it to Tara. When he came\nto the spot where he had dropped the mantle it was not seen, but smoke\nand flame issued there from a hole in the ground. That hole was twenty\nfeet deep in the earth, and at the bottom of it there was a fire always\nfrom that night, and it was never extinguished. It was called the fire\nof the son of Midna. It was in a depression on the north side of the\nhill of Tara, called the Glen of the Mantle, Glen-a-Brat.\n\nFinn, bearing the head, passed through the sleepers into the palace and\nspiked the head on his own spear, and drove the spear-end into the\nground at Conn's end of the great hall. Then the sickness and faintness\nof death came upon Finn, also a great horror and despair overshadowed\nhim, so that he was about to give himself up for utterly lost. Yet he\nrecalled one of his marvellous attributes, and approaching a silver\nvessel, into which pure water ever flowed and which was always full, he\nmade a cup with his two hands and, lifting it to his mouth, drank, and\nthe blood began to circulate in his veins, and strength returned to his\nlimbs, and the cheerful hue of rosy health to his cheeks.\n\nHaving rested himself sufficiently he went forth and shouted to the\nsleeping host, and called the captains by their names, beginning with\nConn. They awoke and rose up, though dazed and stupid, for it was\ndifficult for any man, no matter how he had stopped his ears, to avoid\nhearing Finn when he sent forth his voice of power. They were\nastonished to find that Tara was still standing, for though the night\nwas dark, the palaces and temples, all of hewn timber, were brilliantly\ncoloured and of many hues, for in those days men delighted in splendid\ncolours.\n\nWhen the captains came together Finn said, \"I have slain Midna.\" \"Where\nis his head?\" they asked, not because they disbelieved him, but because\nthe heads of men slain in battle were always brought away for trophies.\n\"Come and see,\" answered Finn. Conn and his only son and Gaul mac Morna\nfollowed the young hero into the Teck-Midcuarta, where the spear-long\nwaxen candles were still burning, and when they saw the head of Midna\nimpaled there at the end of the hall, the head of the man whom they\nbelieved to be immortal and not to be wounded or conquered, they were\nfilled with great joy, and praised their deliverer and paid him many\ncompliments.\n\n\"Who art thou, O brave youth?\" said Conn. \"Surely thou art the son of\nsome great king or champion, for heroic feats like thine are not\nperformed by the sons of inconsiderable and unknown men.\"\n\nThen Finn flung back his cloak of wild boars' skins, and holding his\nfather's treasure-bag in his hand before them all, cried in a loud\nvoice:\n\n\"I am Finn, the son of Cool, the son of Trenmor, the son of Basna; I am\nhe whom the sons of Morna have been seeking to destroy from the time\nthat I was born; and here to-night, O King of the Kings of Erin, I claim\nthe fulfilment of thy promise, and the restoration of my inheritance,\nwhich is the Fian leadership of Fail.\" Thereupon Gaul mac Morna put his\nright hand into Finn's, and became his man. Then his brothers and his\nsons, and the sons of his brothers, did so in succession, and after that\nall the chief men of the Fians did the same, and that night Finn was\nsolemnly and surely installed in the Fian leadership of Erin, and put in\npossession of all the woods and forests and waste places, and all the\nhills and mountains and promontories, and all the streams and rivers of\nErin, and the harbours and estuaries and the harbour-dues of the\nmerchants, and all ships and boats and galleys with their mariners, and\nall that pertained of old time to the Fian leadership of Fail.\n\nSTANDISH JAMES O'GRADY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Three Crowns\n\n(_Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect._)\n\n\nThere was once a king, some place or other, and he had three daughters.\nThe two eldest were very proud and uncharitable, but the youngest was as\ngood as they were bad. Well, three princes came to court them, and two\nof them were the _moral_ of the two eldest ladies, and one was just as\nlovable as the youngest. They were all walking down to a lake one day\nthat lay at the bottom of the lawn, just like the one at Castleboro',\nand they met a poor beggar. The King wouldn't give him anything, and the\neldest princes wouldn't give him anything, nor their sweethearts; but\nthe youngest daughter and her true love did give him something, and kind\nwords along with it, and that was better _nor_ all.\n\nWhen they got to the edge of the lake, what did they find but the\nbeautifulest boat you ever saw in your life; and says the eldest, \"I'll\ntake a sail in this fine boat;\" and says the second eldest, \"I'll take a\nsail in this fine boat;\" and says the youngest, \"I won't take a sail in\nthat fine boat, for I'm afraid it's an enchanted one.\" But the others\noverpersuaded her to go in, and her father was just going in after her,\nwhen up sprung on the deck a little man only seven inches high, and he\nordered him to stand back. Well, all the men put their hands to their\n_soords_; and if the same soords were only thraneens they weren't able\nto draw them, for all _sthrenth_ was left their arms. _Seven Inches_\nloosened the silver chain that fastened the boat and pushed away; and\nafter grinning at the four men, says he to them: \"Bid your daughters and\nyour brides farewell for awhile. That wouldn't have happened you three,\nonly for your want of charity. You,\" says he to the youngest, \"needn't\nfear; you'll recover your princess all in good time, and you and she\nwill be as happy as the day is long. Bad people, if they were rolling\nstark naked in gold, would not be rich. _Banacht lath!_\" Away they\nsailed, and the ladies stretched out their hands, but weren't able to\nsay a word.\n\nWell, they were crossin' the lake while a cat'd be lickin' her ear, and\nthe poor men couldn't stir hand nor foot to follow them. They saw _Seven\nInches_ handing the three princesses out of the boat, and letting them\ndown by a nice basket and _winglas_ into a draw-well that was\nconvenient, but king nor princes never saw an opening before in the same\nplace. When the last lady was out of sight the men found the strength in\ntheir arms and legs again. Round the lake they ran, and never drew rein\ntill they came to the well and windlass, and there was the silk rope\nrolled on the axle, and the nice white basket hanging to it. \"Let me\ndown,\" says the youngest prince; \"I'll die or recover them again.\"\n\"No,\" says the second daughter's sweetheart, \"I'm entitled to my turn\nbefore you.\" \"And,\" says the other, \"I must get first turn, in right of\nmy bride.\" So they gave way to him, and in he got into the basket, and\ndown they let him. First they lost sight of him, and then, after winding\noff a hundred perches of the silk rope, it slackened, and they stopped\nturning. They waited two hours, and then they went to dinner, because\nthere was no chuck made at the rope.\n\nGuards were set till morning, and then down went the second prince, and,\nsure enough, the youngest of all got himself let down on the third day.\nHe went down perches and perches, while it was as dark about him as if\nhe was in a big pot with the cover on. At last he saw a glimmer far\ndown, and in a short time he felt the ground. Out he came from the big\nlime-kiln, and lo and behold you, there was a wood and green fields, and\na castle in a lawn, and a bright sky over all. \"It's in Tir-na-n Oge I\nam,\" says he. \"Let's see what sort of people are in the castle.\" On he\nwalked across fields and lawn, and no one was there to keep him out or\nlet him into the castle; but the big hall door was wide open. He went\nfrom one fine room to another that was finer, and at last he reached the\nhandsomest of all, with a table in the middle; and such a dinner as was\nlaid upon it! The prince was hungry enough, but he was too mannerly to\ngo eat without being invited. So he sat by the fire, and he did not wait\nlong till he heard steps, and in came _Seven Inches_ and the youngest\nsister by the hand. Well, prince and princess flew into one another's\narms, and says the little man, says he, \"Why aren't you eating?\" \"I\nthink, sir,\" says he, \"it was only good manners to wait to be asked.\"\n\"The other princes didn't think so,\" says he. \"Each of them fell to\nwithout leave nor license, and only gave me the rough side o' his tongue\nwhen I told them they were making more free than welcome. Well, I don't\nthink they feel much hunger now. There they are, good _marvel_ instead\nof flesh and blood,\" says he, pointing to two statues, one in one corner\nand the other in the other corner of the room. The prince was\nfrightened, but he was afraid to say anything, and _Seven Inches_ made\nhim sit down to dinner between himself and his bride, and he'd be as\nhappy as the day is long, only for the sight of the stone men in the\ncorner. Well, that day went by, and when the next came, says _Seven\nInches_ to him, \"Now, you'll have to set out that way,\" pointing to the\nsun, \"and you'll find the second princess in a giant's castle this\nevening, when you'll be tired and hungry, and the eldest princess\nto-morrow evening; and you may as well bring them here with you. You\nneed not ask leave of their masters; they're only housekeepers with the\nbig fellows. I suppose, if they ever get home, they'll look on poor\npeople as if they were flesh and blood like themselves.\"\n\nAway went the prince, and bedad it's tired and hungry he was when he\nreached the first castle at sunset. Oh, wasn't the second princess glad\nto see him! And if she didn't give him a good supper it's a wonder. But\nshe heard the giant at the gate, and she hid the prince in a closet.\nWell, when he came in, he snuffed, and he snuffed, an' says he, \"_Be_\n(by) the life, I smell fresh mate.\" \"Oh,\" says the princess, \"it's only\nthe calf I got killed to-day.\" \"Ay, ay,\" says he, \"is supper ready?\"\n\"It is,\" says she; and before he ruz from the table he hid\nthree-quarters of the calf and a kag of wine. \"I think,\" says he, when\nall was done, \"I smell fresh mate still.\" \"It's sleepy you are,\" says\nshe; \"go to bed.\" \"When will you marry me?\" says the giant; \"you're\nputtin' me off too long.\" \"St. Tibb's Eve,\" says she. \"I wish I knew how\nfar off that is,\" says he; and he fell asleep with his head in the dish.\n\nNext day he went out after breakfast, and she sent the prince to the\ncastle where the eldest sister was. The same thing happened there; but\nwhen the giant was snoring, the princess wakened up the prince, and they\nsaddled two steeds in the stables, and _magh go bragh_ (the field for\never) with them. But the horses' heels struck the stones outside the\ngate, and up got the giant, and after them he made. He roared, and he\nshouted, and the more he shouted the faster ran the horses; and just as\nthe day was breaking he was only twenty perches behind. But the prince\ndidn't leave the Castle of _Seven Inches_ without being provided with\nsomething good. He reined in his steed, and flung a short, sharp knife\nover his shoulder, and up sprung a thick wood between the giant and\nthemselves. They caught the wind that blew before them, and the wind\nthat blew behind them did not catch them. At last they were near the\ncastle where the other sister lived; and there she was, waiting for them\nunder a high hedge, and a fine steed under her.\n\nBut the giant was now in sight, roaring like a hundred lions, and the\nother giant was out in a moment, and the chase kept on. For every two\nsprings the horses gave the giants gave three, and at last they were\nonly seventy perches off. Then the prince stopped again and flung the\nsecond skian behind him. Down went all the flat field, till there was a\nquarry between them a quarter of a mile deep, and the bottom filled with\nblack water; and before the giants could get round it the prince and\nprincesses were inside the domain of the great magician, where the high\nthorny hedge opened of itself to everyone that he chose to let in.\n\nWell, to be sure, there was joy enough between the three sisters till\nthe two eldest saw their lovers turned into stone. But while they were\nshedding tears for them _Seven Inches_ came in and touched them with his\nrod. So they were flesh and blood and life once more, and there was\ngreat hugging and kissing, and all sat down to a nice breakfast, and\n_Seven Inches_ sat at the head of the table.\n\nWhen breakfast was over he took them into another room, where there was\nnothing but heaps of gold and silver and diamonds, and silks and satins;\nand on a table there was lying three sets of crowns: a gold crown was in\na silver crown, and that was lying in a copper crown. He took up one set\nof crowns and gave it to the eldest princess; and another set, and gave\nit to the second princess; and another set, and gave it to the youngest\nprincess of all; and says he, \"Now you may all go to the bottom of the\npit, and you have nothing to do but stir the basket, and the people that\nare watching above will draw you up, princesses first, princes after.\nBut remember, ladies, you are to keep your crowns safe, and be married\nin them all the same day. If you be married separately, or if you be\nmarried without your crowns, a curse will follow--mind what I say.\"\n\nSo they took leave of him with great respect, and walked arm-in-arm to\nthe bottom of the draw-well. There was a sky and a sun over them and a\ngreat high wall, and the bottom of the draw-well was inside the arch.\nThe youngest pair went last, and says the princess to the prince, \"I'm\nsure the two princes don't mean any good to you. Keep these crowns under\nyour cloak, and if you are obliged to stay last, don't get into the\nbasket, but put a big stone, or any heavy thing, inside, and see what\nwill happen.\"\n\nSo when they were inside the dark cave they put in the eldest princess\nfirst, and she stirred the basket and up she went, but first she gave a\nlittle scream. Then the basket was let down again, and up went the\nsecond princess, and then up went the youngest; but first she put her\narms round her prince's neck and kissed him, and cried a little. At last\nit came to the turn of the youngest prince, and well became him--instead\nof going into the basket he put in a big stone. He drew on one side and\nlistened, and after the basket was drawn up about twenty perch down came\nitself and the stone like thunder, and the stone was made _brishe_ of on\nthe flags.\n\nWell, my poor prince had nothing for it but to walk back to the castle;\nand through it and round it he walked, and the finest of eating and\ndrinking he got, and a bed of bog-down to sleep on, and fine walks he\ntook through gardens and lawns, but not a sight could he get, high or\nlow, of _Seven Inches_. Well, I don't think any of _us_ would be tired\nof this way of living for ever! Maybe we would. Anyhow, the prince got\ntired of it before a week, he was so lonesome for his true love; and at\nthe end of a month he didn't know what to do with himself.\n\nOne morning he went into the treasure room and took notice of a\nbeautiful snuff-box on the table that he didn't remember seeing there\nbefore. He took it in his hands and opened it, and out _Seven Inches_\nwalked on the table. \"I think, prince,\" says he, \"you're getting a\nlittle tired of my castle?\" \"Ah!\" says the other, \"if I had my princess\nhere, and could see you now and then, I'd never see a dismal day.\"\n\"Well, you're long enough here now, and you're wanting there above. Keep\nyour bride's crowns safe, and whenever you want my help open this\nsnuff-box. Now take a walk down the garden, and come back when you're\ntired.\"\n\nWell, the prince was going down a gravel walk with a quick-set hedge on\neach side and his eyes on the ground, and he thinking on one thing and\nanother. At last he lifted his eyes, and there he was outside of a\nsmith's bawn gate that he had often passed before, about a mile away\nfrom the palace of his betrothed princess. The clothes he had on him\nwere as ragged as you please, but he had his crowns safe under his old\ncloak.\n\nSo the smith came out, and says he, \"It's a shame for a strong big\nfellow like you to be on the _sthra_, and so much work to be done. Are\nyou any good with hammer and tongs? Come in and bear a hand, and I'll\ngive you diet and lodging and a few thirteens when you earn them.\" \"Never\nsay't twice,\" says the prince; \"I want nothing but to be employed.\" So\nhe took the sledge and pounded away at the red-hot bar that the smith\nwas turning on the anvil to make into a set of horse-shoes.\n\nWell, they weren't long powdhering away, when a _stronshuch_ (idler) of\na tailor came in; and when the smith asked him what news he had, he got\nthe handle of the bellows and began to blow to let out all he had heard\nfor the last two days. There were so many questions and answers at first\nthat, if I told them all, it would be bed-time before I'd be done. So\nhere is the substance of the discourse; and before he got far into it\nthe forge was half filled with women knitting stockings and men smoking.\n\nYous all heard how the two princesses were unwilling to be married till\nthe youngest would be ready with her crowns and her sweetheart. But\nafter the windlass loosened _accidentally_ when they were pulling up her\nbridegroom that was to be, there was no more sign of a well or a rope or\na windlass than there is on the palm of your hand. So the buckeens that\nwere coortin' the eldest ladies wouldn't give peace nor ease to their\nlovers nor the King till they got consent to the marriage, and it was to\ntake place this morning. Myself went down out of curiosity; and to be\nsure I was delighted with the grand dresses of the two brides and the\nthree crowns on their heads--gold, silver, and copper--one inside the\nother. The youngest was standing by, mournful enough, in white, and all\nwas ready. The two bridegrooms came walking in as proud and grand as you\nplease, and up they were walking to the altar rails when, my dear, the\nboards opened two yards wide under their feet, and down they went among\nthe dead men and the coffins in the vaults. Oh, such screeching as the\nladies gave! and such running and racing and peeping down as there was;\nbut the clerk soon opened the door of the vault, and up came the two\nheroes, and their fine clothes covered an inch thick with cobwebs and\nmould.\n\nSo the King said they should put off the marriage, \"For,\" says he, \"I\nsee there is no use in thinking of it till my youngest gets her three\ncrowns and is married along with the others. I'll give my youngest\ndaughter for a wife to whoever brings three crowns to me like the\nothers; and if he doesn't care to be married, some other one will, and\nI'll make his fortune.\" \"I wish,\" says the smith, \"I could do it; but I\nwas looking at the crowns after the princesses got home, and I don't\nthink there's a black or a white smith on the face of the earth could\nimitate them.\" \"Faint heart never won fair lady,\" says the prince. \"Go\nto the palace, and ask for a quarter of a pound of gold, a quarter of a\npound of silver, and a quarter of a pound of copper. Get one crown for a\npattern, and my head for a pledge, and I'll give you out the very things\nthat are wanted in the morning.\" \"Ubbabow,\" says the smith, \"are you in\nearnest?\" \"Faith, I am so,\" says he. \"Go! Worse than lose you can't.\"\n\nTo make a long story short, the smith got the quarter of a pound of\ngold, and the quarter of a pound of silver, and the quarter of a pound\nof copper, and gave them and the pattern crown to the prince. He shut\nthe forge door at nightfall, and the neighbours all gathered in the\nbawn, and they heard him hammering, hammering, hammering, from that to\ndaybreak, and every now and then he'd pitch out through the window bits\nof gold, silver, or copper; and the idlers scrambled for them, and\ncursed one another, and prayed for the good luck of the workman.\n\nWell, just as the sun was thinking to rise he opened the door and\nbrought the three crowns he got from his true love, and such shouting\nand huzzaing as there was! The smith asked him to go along with him to\nthe palace, but he refused; so off set the smith, and the whole townland\nwith him; and wasn't the King rejoiced when he saw the crowns! \"Well,\"\nsays he to the smith, \"you're a married man, and what's to be done?\"\n\"Faith, your majesty, I didn't make them crowns at all; it was a big\nshuler (vagrant) of a fellow that took employment with me yesterday.\"\n\"Well, daughter, will you marry the fellow that made these crowns?\" \"Let\nme see them first, father.\" So when she examined them she knew them\nright well, and guessed it was her true love that had sent them. \"I will\nmarry the man that these crowns came from,\" says she.\n\n\"Well,\" said the King to the eldest of the two princes, \"go up to the\nsmith's forge, take my best coach, and bring home the bridegroom.\" He\nwas very unwilling to do this, he was so proud, but he did not wish to\nrefuse. When he came to the forge he saw the prince standing at the\ndoor, and beckoned him over to the coach. \"Are you the fellow,\" says he,\n\"that made them crowns?\" \"Yes,\" says the other. \"Then,\" says he, \"maybe\nyou'd give yourself a brushing, and get into that coach; the King wants\nto see you. I pity the princess.\" The young prince got into the\ncarriage, and while they were on the way he opened the snuff-box, and\nout walked _Seven Inches_, and stood on his thigh. \"Well,\" says he,\n\"what trouble is on you now?\" \"Master,\" says the other, \"please to let\nme back in my forge, and let this carriage be filled with\npaving-stones.\" No sooner said than done. The prince was sitting in his\nforge, and the horses wondered what was after happening to the carriage.\n\nWhen they came to the palace yard the King himself opened the carriage\ndoor to pay respect to the new son-in-law. As soon as he turned the\nhandle a shower of stones fell on his powdered wig and his silk coat,\nand down he fell under them. There was great fright, and some tittering,\nand the King, after he wiped the blood from his forehead, looked very\ncross at the eldest prince. \"My liege,\" says he, \"I'm very sorry for\nthis _accidence_, but I'm not to blame. I saw the young smith get into\nthe carriage, and we never stopped a minute since.\" \"It's uncivil you\nwere to him. Go,\" says he to the other prince, \"and bring the young\nprince here, and be polite.\" \"Never fear,\" says he.\n\nBut there's some people that couldn't be good-natured if they were to be\nmade heirs of Damer's estate. Not a bit civiller was the new messenger\nthan the old, and when the King opened the carriage door a second time\nit's a shower of mud that came down on him; and if he didn't fume and\nsplutter and shake himself it's no matter. \"There's no use,\" says he,\n\"going on this way. The fox never got a better messenger than himself.\"\n\nSo he changed his clothes and washed himself, and out he set to the\nsmith's forge. Maybe he wasn't polite to the young prince, and asked him\nto sit along with himself. The prince begged to be allowed to sit in the\nother carriage, and when they were half-way he opened his snuff-box.\n\"Master,\" says he, \"I'd wished to be dressed now according to my rank.\"\n\"You shall be that,\" says _Seven Inches_. \"And now I'll bid you\nfarewell. Continue as good and kind as you always were; love your wife,\nand that's all the advice I'll give you.\" So _Seven Inches_ vanished;\nand when the carriage door was opened in the yard, out walks the prince,\nas fine as hands and pins could make him, and the first thing he did was\nto run over to his bride and embrace her very heartily.\n\nEveryone had great joy but the two other princes. There was not much\ndelay about the marriages that were all celebrated on the same day, and\nthe youngest prince and princess were the happiest married couple you\never heard of in a story.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Grateful Beasts\n\n\nThere was once a young man on his way to a fair with five shillings in\nhis pocket. As he went he saw some little boys beating a poor mouse they\nhad just caught.\n\n\"Come, boys,\" says he, \"do not be so cruel. Sell me your mouse for\nsixpence, and go off and buy some sweets.\"\n\nThey gave him the mouse, and he let the poor little beast go. He had not\ngone far when he met a fresh set of boys teasing the life out of a poor\nweasel.\n\nWell, he bought him off for a shilling and let him go. The third\ncreature he saved, from a crowd of cruel young men, was an ass, but he\nhad to give a whole half-crown to get him off. \"Now,\" says poor Neddy,\n\"you may as well take me with you. I'll be of some use, I think, for\nwhen you are tired you can get up on my back.\" \"With all my heart,\" said\nJack, for that was the young man's name.\n\nThe day was very hot, and the boy sat under a tree to enjoy the shade.\nAs soon as he did he fell asleep, but he was soon awakened by a\nwicked-looking giant and his two servants. \"How dare you let your ass\ntrespass in my field,\" cried he, \"and do such mischief.\" \"I had no\nnotion that he had done anything of the kind.\" \"No notion? I'll notion\nyou, then. Bring out that chest,\" said he to one of his servants, and\nbefore you could wink they had tied the poor boy, hand and foot, with a\nstout rope, thrown him into the chest, and tossed the chest into the\nriver. Then they all went away but poor Neddy, till who should come up\nbut the weasel and the mouse, and they asked him what was the matter. So\nthe ass told them his story.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the weasel, \"he must be the same boy that saved the mouse and\nmyself. Had he a brown patch in the arm of his coat?\" \"The very same.\"\n\"Come, then,\" said the weasel, \"and let us try and get him out of the\nriver.\" \"By all means,\" said the others. So the weasel got on the ass's\nback and the mouse got into his ear, and away they went. They had not\ngone far when they saw the chest, which had been stopped among the\nrushes at the end of a little island.\n\nIn they went, and the weasel and the mouse gnawed the rope till they had\nset their master free.\n\nWell, they were all very glad, and were having a great talk about the\ngiant and his men, when what should the weasel spy but an egg, with the\nmost lovely colours on the shell, lying down in the shallow water. It\nwas not long before he had fished it out, and Jack kept turning it round\nand round and praising it.\n\n\"Oh, my dear friends,\" said he to the ass, the mouse, and the weasel,\n\"how I wish it was in my power to thank you as I should like. How I wish\nI had a fine house and grounds to take you to where you could live in\npeace and plenty.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth when he and the beasts found\nthemselves standing on the steps of a grand castle, with the finest lawn\nbefore it that you ever saw. There was no one inside or outside it to\nkeep it from them, so in they went, and there they lived as happy as\nkings.\n\nJack was standing at his gate one day as three merchants were passing by\nwith their goods packed on the backs of horses and mules.\n\n\"Bless our eyes,\" cried they, \"what does this mean? There was no castle\nor lawn here when we went by last time.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" cried Jack, \"but you shall not be the worse for it. Take\nyour beasts into the yard at the back of the house and give them a good\nfeed, and if you can spare the time stay and take a bit of dinner with\nme.\"\n\nThey were only too glad to do so; but after dinner Jack was so foolish\nas to show them his painted egg, and to tell them that you had only to\nwish for a thing when you had it in your hand and your wish was granted.\nHe proved it to be so. Then one of his guests put a powder into Jack's\nnext glass of wine, and when he awoke he found himself in the island\nagain, with his patched coat on him, and his three friends in front of\nhim, all looking very downhearted. \"Ah, Master,\" said the weasel, \"you\nwill never be wise enough for the tricky people that are in the world.\"\n\n\"Where did these thieves say they lived, and what names did they say\nthey were called by?\" Jack scratched his head, and after a while was\nable to tell them.\n\n\"Come, Neddy,\" says the weasel, \"let us be jogging. It would not be safe\nfor the master to go with us; but if we have luck we will bring him the\negg back after all.\"\n\nSo the weasel got on the ass's back and the mouse got into his ear, and\naway they went till they reached the house of the head rogue. The mouse\nwent in, and the ass and the weasel hid themselves in a copse outside.\n\nThe mouse soon came back to them.\n\n\"Well, what news?\" said they.\n\n\"Dull news enough; he has the egg in a low chest in his bedroom, and the\ndoor is strongly locked and bolted, and a pair of cats with fiery eyes\nare chained to the chest watching it night and day.\"\n\n\"Let us go back,\" said the ass; \"we can do nothing.\" \"Wait!\" said the\nweasel.\n\nWhen bedtime came, said the weasel to the mouse: \"Go in at the keyhole\nand get behind the rogue's head, and stay there two or three hours\nsucking his hair.\"\n\n\"What good would there be in that?\" asked the ass. \"Wait, and you'll\nknow!\" said the weasel.\n\nNext morning the merchant was quite mad to find the state his hair was\nin.\n\n\"But I'll be a match for you to-night, my fine mouse,\" said he. So he\nunchained the cats next night and made them sit by his bedside and\nwatch.\n\nJust as he was dropping asleep the weasel and the mouse were outside the\ndoor, and gnawing away till they had scooped out a hole in the bottom of\nit. In went the mouse, and it was not long before he had the egg quite\nsafe.\n\nThey were soon on the road again; the mouse in the ass's ear, the weasel\non his back, and the egg in the weasel's mouth.\n\nWhen they came to the river, and were swimming across, the ass began to\nbray. \"Hee-haw, hee-haw,\" cried he. \"Is there anyone like me in all the\nworld? I am carrying the mouse and the weasel and the great enchanted\negg that can do anything. Why do you not praise me?\"\n\nBut the mouse was asleep, and the weasel dared not open his mouth for\nfear of dropping the egg. \"I'll shake you all off, you thankless pack,\nif you won't praise me,\" cried the ass, and the poor weasel forgot the\negg, and cried out: \"Oh, don't, don't!\" when down went the egg into the\ndeepest pool in the river. \"Now you have done it,\" said the weasel, and\nyou may be sure the ass looked very foolish.\n\n\"Oh, what are we to do?\" groaned he. \"Keep a good heart,\" said the\nweasel. Then looking down into the deep water, he cried: \"Hear! all you\nfrogs and fish. There is a great army of storks and cranes coming to\ntake you all out and eat you up red-raw. Make haste! Make haste!\" \"Oh,\nand what can we do?\" cried they, coming up to the top. \"Gather up the\nstones from below and hand them to us, and we'll build a big wall on the\nbank to defend you.\" So the fish and frogs fell to work like mad, and\nwere at it hard and fast, reaching up all the stones and pebbles they\nfound at the bottom of the pool.\n\nAt last a big frog came up with the egg in his mouth, and when the\nweasel had hold of it he climbed into a tree and cried out, \"That will\ndo; the army has got a great fright at our walls, and they are all\nrunning away.\" So the poor things were greatly relieved.\n\nYou may be sure that Jack jumped for joy to see his friends and the egg\nagain. They were soon back in their castle, and when Jack began to feel\nlonely he did not find it hard to find a pretty lady to marry him, and\nthen they two and the three grateful beasts were as happy as the days\nwere long.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Lepracaun or Fairy Shoemaker\n\n\nI.\n\n  Little Cowboy, what have you heard,\n    Up on the lonely rath's green mound?\n  Only the plaintive yellow bird\n    Sighing in sultry fields around,\n  Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!--\n  Only the grasshopper and the bee?--\n      \"Tip-tap, rip-rap,\n      Tick-a-tack-too!\n    Scarlet leather, sewn together,\n      This will make a shoe.\n    Left, right, pull it tight;\n      Summer days are warm;\n    Underground in winter,\n      Laughing at the storm!\"\n  Lay your ear close to the hill.\n  Do you not catch the tiny clamour,\n  Busy click of an elfin hammer,\n  Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill\n    As he merrily plies his trade?\n      He's a span\n      And a quarter in height.\n  Get him in sight, hold him tight,\n      And you're a made\n        Man!\n\n\nII.\n\n  You watch your cattle the summer day,\n  Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay;\n    How would you like to roll in your carriage,\n    Look for a Duchess's daughter in marriage?\n  Seize the Shoemaker--then you may!\n      \"Big boots a-hunting,\n      Sandals in the hall,\n    White for a wedding-feast,\n      Pink for a ball.\n    This way, that way,\n      So we make a shoe;\n    Getting rich every stitch,\n      Tick-tack-too!\"\n  Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks\n  This keen miser-fairy hath,\n  Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks,\n  Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath,\n    And where the cormorants build;\n      From times of old\n      Guarded by him;\n      Each of them fill'd\n      Full to the brim\n        With gold!\n\n\nIII.\n\n  I caught him at work one day, myself,\n    In the castle-ditch, where foxglove grows--\n  A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf,\n    Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose,\n    Silver buckles to his hose,\n    Leather apron--shoe in his lap--\n      \"Rip-rap, tip-tap,\n      Tick-tack-too!\n    (A grasshopper on my cap!\n      Away the moth flew!)\n    Buskins for a fairy prince,\n      Brogues for his son--\n    Pay me well, pay me well,\n      When the job is done!\"\n  The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt.\n  I stared at him; he stared at me;\n  \"Servant, Sir!\" \"Humph!\" says he,\n    And pulled a snuff-box out.\n  He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased,\n    The queer little Lepracaun;\n  Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace--\n  Pouf! he flung the dust in my face,\n      And, while I sneezed,\n        Was gone!\n\nWILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\n\n\nDaniel O'Rourke\n\n\nPeople may have heard of the renowned adventures of Daniel O'Rourke, but\nhow few are there who know that the cause of all his perils, above and\nbelow, was neither more nor less than his having slept under the walls\nof the Pooka's Tower. I knew the man well. He lived at the bottom of\nHungry Hill, just at the right-hand side of the road as you go towards\nBantry. An old man was he at the time he told me the story, with grey\nhair and a red nose; and it was on the 25th of June, 1813, that I heard\nit from his own lips, as he sat smoking his pipe under the old poplar\ntree, on as fine an evening as ever shone from the sky. I was going to\nvisit the caves in Dursey Island, having spent the morning at\nGlengariff.\n\n\"I am often axed to tell it, sir,\" said he, \"so that this is not the\nfirst time. The master's son, you see, had come from beyond foreign\nparts in France and Spain, as young gentlemen used to go before\nBuonaparte or any such was heard of; and, sure enough, there was a\ndinner given to all the people on the ground, gentle and simple, high\nand low, rich and poor. The _ould_ gentlemen were the gentlemen, after\nall, saving your honour's presence. They'd swear at a body a little, to\nbe sure, and, maybe, give one a cut of a whip now and then, but we were\nno losers by it in the end; and they were so easy and civil, and kept\nsuch rattling houses, and thousands of welcomes; and there was no\ngrinding for rent, and there was hardly a tenant on the estate that did\nnot taste of his landlord's bounty often and often in a year; but now\nit's another thing. No matter for that, sir, for I'd better be telling\nyou my story.\n\n\"Well, we had everything of the best, and plenty of it; and we ate, and\nwe drank, and we danced, and the young master, by the same token, danced\nwith Peggy Barry, from the Bohereen--a lovely young couple they were,\nthough they are both low enough now. To make a long story short, I got,\nas a body may say, the same thing as tipsy almost, for I can't remember,\never at all, no ways, how it was I left the place; only I did leave it,\nthat's certain. Well, I thought, for all that, in myself, I'd just step\nto Molly Cronohan's, the fairy woman, to speak a word about the bracket\nheifer that was bewitched; and so, as I was crossing the stepping-stones\nof the ford of Ballyashenogh, and was looking up at the stars, and\nblessing myself--for why? it was Lady-day--I missed my foot, and souse I\nfell into the water. 'Death alive!' thought I, 'I'll be drowned now!'\nHowever, I began swimming, swimming, swimming away for dear life, till\nat last I got ashore, somehow or other, but never the one of me can tell\nhow, upon a _dissolute_ island.\n\n\"I wandered and wandered about there, without knowing where I wandered,\nuntil at last I got into a big bog. The moon was shining as bright as\nday, or your fair lady's eyes, sir (with your pardon for mentioning\nher), and I looked east and west, north and south, and every way, and\nnothing did I see but bog, bog, bog. I could never find out how I got\ninto it; and my heart grew cold with fear, for sure and certain I was\nthat it would be my _berrin'_ place. So I sat upon a stone, which, as\ngood luck would have it, was close by me, and I began to scratch my\nhead, and sing the ULLAGONE--when all of a sudden the moon grew black,\nand I looked up and saw something for all the world as if it was moving\ndown between me and it, and I could not tell what it was. Down it came\nwith a pounce, and looked at me full in the face; and what was it but an\neagle?--as fine a one as ever flew from the kingdom of Kerry! So he\nlooked at me in the face, and says he to me, 'Daniel O'Rourke,' says he,\n'how do you do?' 'Very well, I thank you, sir,' says I; 'I hope you're\nwell'; wondering out of my senses all the time how an eagle came to\nspeak like a Christian. 'What brings you here, Dan?' says he. 'Nothing\nat all, sir,' says I, 'only I wish I was safe home again.' 'Is it out of\nthe island you want to go, Dan?' says he. ''Tis, sir,' says I; so I up\nand told him how I had taken a drop too much, and fell into the water;\nhow I swam to the island; and how I got into the bog and did not know my\nway out of it. 'Dan,' says he, after a minute's thought, 'though it is\nvery improper of you to get drunk on a Lady-day, yet, as you are a\ndecent sober man, who 'tends mass well, and never fling stones at me or\nmine, nor cries out after one in the field, my life for yours,' says he;\n'so get up on my back, and grip me well for fear you'd fall off, and\nI'll fly you out of the bog.' 'I am afraid,' says I, 'your honour's\nmaking game of me; for whoever heard of riding a-horseback on an eagle\nbefore?' ''Pon the honour of a gentleman,' says he, putting his right\nfoot on his breast, 'I am quite in earnest; and so now either take my\noffer or starve in the bog--besides I see that your weight is sinking\nthe stone.'\n\n\"It was true enough, as he said, for I found the stone every minute\ngoing from under me. I had no choice; so, thinks I to myself, faint\nheart never won fair lady, and this is fair persuadance. 'I thank your\nhonour,' says I, 'for the loan of your civility; and I'll take your kind\noffer.' I therefore mounted on the back of the eagle, and held him tight\nenough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark. Little I\nknew the trick he was going to serve me. Up, up, up--God knows how far\nhe flew. 'Why, then,' said I to him--thinking he did not know the right\nroad home--very civilly, because why? I was in his power entirely;\n'sir,' says I, 'please your honour's glory, and with humble submission\nto your better judgment, if you'd fly down a bit, you're now just over\nmy cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to your\nworship.'\n\n\"'_Arrah_, Dan,' says he, 'do you think me a fool? Look down in the next\nfield, and don't you see two men and a gun? By my word, it would be no\njoke to shoot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard that I picked up\noff a _could_ stone in a bog.' 'Bother you,' says I to myself, but I\ndid not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept flying,\nflying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use.\n'Where in the world are you going, sir?' says I to him. 'Hold your\ntongue, Dan,' says he, 'and mind your own business, and don't be\ninterfering with the business of other people.' 'Faith, this is my\nbusiness, I think,' says I. 'Be quiet, Dan!' says he: so I said no more.\n\n\"At last, where should we come to but to the moon itself. Now, you can't\nsee it from this, but there is, or there was in my time, a reaping-hook\nsticking out of the side of the moon, this way (drawing the figure thus\non the ground with the end of his stick).\n\n\"'Dan,' says the eagle, 'I'm tired with this long fly; I had no notion\n'twas so far.' 'And my lord, sir,' says I, 'who in the world _axed_ you\nto fly so far--was it I? Did not I beg and pray and beseech you to stop\nhalf an hour ago?' 'There's no use talking, Dan,' said he; 'I'm tired\nbad enough, so you must get off, and sit down on the moon until I rest\nmyself.' 'Is it sit down on the moon?' said I; 'is it upon that little\nround thing, then? Why, then, sure, I'd fall off in a minute, and be\n_kilt_ and spilt, and smashed all to bits; you are a vile deceiver--so\nyou are.' 'Not at all, Dan,' says he; 'you can catch fast hold of the\nreaping-hook that's sticking out of the side of the moon, and 'twill\nkeep you up.' 'I won't, then,' said I. 'Maybe not,' said he, quite\nquiet. 'If you don't, my man, I shall just give you a shake, and one\nslap of my wing, and send you down to the ground, where every bone in\nyour body will be smashed as small as a drop of dew on a cabbage-leaf\nin the morning.' 'Why, then, I'm in a fine way,' said I to myself, 'ever\nto have come along with the likes of you'; and so, giving him a hearty\ncurse in Irish, for fear he'd know what I said, I got off his back with\na heavy heart, took hold of the reaping-hook and sat down upon the moon,\nand a mighty cold seat it was, I can tell you that.\n\n\"When he had me there fairly landed, he turned about on me, and said,\n'Good morning to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' said he; 'I think I've nicked\nyou fairly now. You robbed my nest last year' ('twas true enough for\nhim, but how he found it out is hard enough to say), 'and in return you\nare freely welcome to cool your heels dangling upon the moon like a\ncockthrow.'\n\n\"'Is that all, and is this how you leave me, you brute, you,' says I.\n'You ugly unnatural _baste_, and is this the way you serve me at last?\nBad luck to yourself, with your hook'd nose, and to all your breed, you\nblackguard.' 'Twas all to no manner of use; he spread out his great big\nwings, burst out a laughing, and flew away like lightning. I bawled\nafter him to stop; but I might have called and bawled for ever, without\nhis minding me. Away he went, and I never saw him from that day to\nthis--sorrow fly away with him! You may be sure I was in a disconsolate\ncondition, and kept roaring out for the bare grief, when all at once a\ndoor opened right in the middle of the moon, creaking on its hinges as\nif it had not been opened for a month before--I suppose they never\nthought of greasing them--and out there walks--who do you think but the\nman in the moon himself? I knew him by his bush.\n\n\"'Good morrow to you, Daniel O'Rourke,' says he, 'how do you do?' 'Very\nwell, thank your honour,' says I. 'I hope your honour's well.' 'What\nbrought you here, Dan?' said he. So I told him how I was a little\novertaken in liquor at the master's, and how I was cast on a _dissolute_\nisland, and how I lost my way in the bog, and the thief of an eagle\npromised to fly me out of it, and how, instead of that, he had fled me\nup to the moon.\n\n\"'Dan,' said the man in the moon, taking a pinch of snuff, when I was\ndone, 'you must not stay here.' 'Indeed, sir,' says I, ''tis much\nagainst my will that I'm here at all; but how am I to go back?' 'That's\nyour business,' said he; 'Dan, mine is to tell you that you must not\nstay, so be off in less than no time.' 'I'm doing no harm,' said I,\n'only holding on hard by the reaping-hook lest I fall off.' 'That's what\nyou must not do, Dan,' says he. 'Pray, sir,' says I, 'may I ask how many\nyou are in family that you would not give a poor traveller lodging? I'm\nsure 'tis not often you're troubled with strangers coming to see you,\nfor 'tis a long way.' 'I'm by myself, Dan,' says he, 'but you'd better\nlet go the reaping-hook.' 'Faith, and with your leave,' says I, 'I'll\nnot let go the grip, and the more you bids me the more I won't let\ngo--so I will.' 'You had better, Dan,' says he again. 'Why, then, my\nlittle fellow,' says I, taking the whole weight of him with my eye from\nhead to foot, 'there are two words to that bargain; and I'll not\nbudge--you may, if you like.' 'We'll see how that is to be,' says he;\nand back he went, giving the door such a great bang after him (for it\nwas plain he was huffed), that I thought the moon and all would fall\ndown with it.\n\n\"Well, I was preparing myself to try strength with him, when back he\ncomes, with the kitchen cleaver in his hand, and without saying a word\nhe gives two bangs to the handle of the reaping-hook that was holding me\nup, and _whap_ it came in two. 'Good morning to you, Dan,' says the\nspiteful little blackguard, when he saw me cleanly falling down with a\nbit of the handle in my hand; 'I thank you for your visit, and fair\nweather after you, Daniel.' I had no time to make any answer to him, for\nI was tumbling over and over, and rolling and rolling, at the rate of a\nfox-hunt. 'God help me!' says I, 'but this is a pretty pickle for a\ndecent man to be seen in at this time of the night. I am now sold\nfairly.' The word was not out of my mouth, when, whiz! what should fly\nby close to my ear but a flock of wild geese, all the way from my own\nbog of Ballyasheenagh, else how should they know _me_? The _ould_\ngander, who was their general, turning about his head, cried out to me,\n'Is that you, Dan?' 'The same,' said I, not a bit daunted now at what he\nsaid, for I was by this time used to all kinds of _bedivilment_, and,\nbesides, I knew him of _ould_. 'Good morrow to you,' says he, 'Daniel\nO'Rourke; how are you in health this morning?' 'Very well, sir,' says I,\n'thank you kindly,' drawing my breath, for I was mightily in want of\nsome, 'I hope your honour's the same.' 'I think 'tis falling you are,\nDaniel,' says he. 'You may say that, sir,' says I. 'And where are you\ngoing all the way so fast?' said the gander. So I told him how I had\ntaken the drop, and how I came on the island, and how I lost my way in\nthe bog, and how the thief of an eagle flew me up to the moon, and how\nthe man in the moon turned me out. 'Dan,' said he, 'I'll save you; put\nout your hand and catch me by the leg, and I'll fly you home.' 'Sweet is\nyour hand in a pitcher of honey, my jewel,' says I, though all the time\nI thought within myself that I don't much trust you; but there was no\nhelp, so I caught the gander by the leg, and away I and the other geese\nflew after him as fast as hops.\n\n\"We flew, and we flew, and we flew, until we came right over the wide\nocean. I knew it well, for I saw Cape Clear to my right hand, sticking\nup out of the water. 'Ah, my lord,' said I to the goose, for I thought\nit best to keep a civil tongue in my head anyway, 'fly to land, if you\nplease.' 'It is impossible, you see, Dan,' said he, 'for a while,\nbecause, you see, we are going to Arabia.' 'To Arabia!' said I, 'that's\nsurely some place in foreign parts, far away. Oh! Mr. Goose, why, then,\nto be sure, I'm a man to be pitied among you.'\n\n\"'Whist, whist, you fool,' said he, 'hold your tongue; I tell you Arabia\nis a very decent sort of place, as like West Carbery as one egg is like\nanother, only there is a little more sand there.'\n\n\"Just as we were talking a ship hove in sight, sailing so beautiful\nbefore the wind. 'Ah, then, sir,' said I, 'will you drop me on the ship,\nif you please?' 'We are not fair over it,' said he; 'if I dropped you\nnow you would go splash into the sea.' 'I would not,' says I, 'I know\nbetter than that, for it is just clean under us, so let me drop now at\nonce.'\n\n\"'If you must, you must,' said he; 'there, take your own way'; and he\nopened his claw, and, faith, he was right--sure enough, I came down\nplump into the very bottom of the salt sea! Down to the very bottom I\nwent, and I gave myself up, then, for ever, when a whale walked up to\nme, scratching himself after his night's sleep, and looked me full in\nthe face, and never the word did he say, but, lifting up his tail, he\nsplashed me all over again with the cold salt water till there wasn't a\ndry stitch upon my whole carcass! And I heard somebody saying--'twas a\nvoice I knew too--'Get up, you drunken brute, off o' that'; and with\nthat I woke up, and there was Judy with a tub full of water, which she\nwas splashing all over me--for, rest her soul, though she was a good\nwife, she could never bear to see me in drink, and had a bitter hand of\nher own.\n\n\"'Get up,' said she again; 'and of all places in the parish, would no\nplace _sarve_ your turn to lie down upon but under the _ould_ walls of\nCarrigapooka? An uneasy resting I am sure you had of it.' And, sure\nenough, I had, for I was fairly bothered out of my senses with eagles,\nand men of the moons, and flying ganders, and whales, driving me through\nbogs and up to the moon, and down to the bottom of the green ocean. If I\nwas in drink ten times over, long would it be before I'd lie down in the\nsame spot again, I know that!\"\n\nT. CROFTON CROKER.\n\n\n\n\nCuchulain of Muirthemne\n\n(The Birth of Cuchulain.)\n\n\nIn the long time ago, Conchubar, son of Ness, was King of Ulster, and he\nheld his court in the palace of Emain Macha. And this is the way he came\nto be King. He was but a young lad, and his father was not living, and\nFergus, son of Rogh, who was at that time King of Ulster, asked his\nmother Ness in marriage.\n\nNow Ness, that was at one time the quietest and kindest of the women of\nIreland, had got to be unkind and treacherous because of an unkindness\nthat had been done to her, and she planned to get the kingdom away from\nFergus for her own son. So she said to Fergus, \"Let Conchubar hold the\nkingdom for a year, so that his children after him may be called the\nchildren of a king; and that is the marriage portion I will ask of you.\"\n\n\"You may do that,\" the men of Ulster said to him; \"for even though\nConchubar gets the name of being king, it is yourself that will be our\nKing all the time.\" So Fergus agreed to it, and he took Ness as his\nwife, and her son Conchubar was made King in his place.\n\nBut all through the year Ness was working to keep the kingdom for him,\nand she gave great presents to the chief men of Ulster to get them on\nher side. And though Conchubar was but a young lad at the time, he was\nwise in his judgments and brave in battle, and good in shape and in\nform, and they liked him well. And at the end of the year, when Fergus\nasked to have the kingship back again, they consulted together; and it\nis what they agreed, that Conchubar was to keep it. And they said, \"It\nis little Fergus thinks about us, when he was so ready to give up his\nrule over us for a year; and let Conchubar keep the kingship,\" they\nsaid, \"and let Fergus keep the wife he has got.\"\n\nNow, it happened one day that Conchubar was making a feast at Emain\nMacha for the marriage of his sister Dechtire with Sualtim, son of Roig.\nAnd at the feast Dechtire was thirsty, and they gave her a cup of wine,\nand as she was drinking it a mayfly flew into the cup, and she drank it\ndown with the wine. And presently she went into her sunny parlour, and\nher fifty maidens along with her, and she fell into a deep sleep. And in\nher sleep Lugh of the Long Hand appeared to her, and he said, \"It is I\nmyself was the mayfly that came to you in the cup, and it is with me you\nmust come away now, and your fifty maidens along with you.\" And he put\non them the appearance of a flock of birds, and they went with him\nsouthward till they came to Brugh na Boinne, the dwelling-place of the\nSidhe. And no one at Emain Macha could get tale or tidings of them, or\nknow where they had gone, or what had happened them.\n\nIt was about a year after that time there was another feast in Emain,\nand Conchubar and his chief men were sitting at the feast. And suddenly\nthey saw from the window a great flock of birds, that lit on the ground\nand began to eat up everything before them, so that not so much as a\nblade of grass was left.\n\nThe men of Ulster were vexed when they saw the birds destroying all\nbefore them, and they yoked nine of their chariots to follow after them.\nConchubar was in his own chariot, and there were following with him\nFergus, son of Rogh, and Laegaire Buadach the Battle-Winner, and\nCelthair, son of Uithecar, and many others, and Bricriu of the bitter\ntongue was along with them.\n\nThey followed after the birds across the whole country southward, across\nSlieve Fuad, by Ath Lethan, by Ath Garach and Magh Gossa, between Fir\nRois and Fir Ardae; and the birds before them always. They were the most\nbeautiful that had ever been seen; nine flocks of them there were,\nlinked together two-and-two with a chain of silver, and at the head of\nevery flock there were two birds of different colours, linked together\nwith a chain of gold; and there were three birds that flew by\nthemselves, and they all went before the chariots to the far end of the\ncountry, until the fall of night, and then there was no more seen of\nthem.\n\nAnd when the dark night was coming on, Conchubar said to his people, \"It\nis best for us to unyoke the chariots now, and to look for some place\nwhere we can spend the night.\"\n\nThen Fergus went forward to look for some place, and what he came to was\na very small poor-looking house. A man and a woman were in it, and when\nthey saw him they said, \"Bring your companions here along with you, and\nthey will be welcome.\" Fergus went back to his companions and told them\nwhat he had seen. But Bricriu said: \"Where is the use of going into a\nhouse like that, with neither room nor provisions nor coverings in it;\nit is not worth our while to be going there.\"\n\nThen Bricriu went on himself to the place where the house was. But when\nhe came to it, what he saw was a grand, new, well-lighted house; and at\nthe door there was a young man wearing armour, very tall and handsome\nand shining. And he said, \"Come into the house, Bricriu; why are you\nlooking about you?\" And there was a young woman beside him, fine and\nnoble, and with curled hair, and she said, \"Surely there is a welcome\nbefore you from me.\" \"Why does she welcome me?\" said Bricriu. \"It is on\naccount of her that I myself welcome you,\" said the young man. \"And is\nthere no one missing from you at Emain?\" he said. \"There is, surely,\"\nsaid Bricriu. \"We are missing fifty young girls for the length of a\nyear.\" \"Would you know them again if you saw them?\" said the young man.\n\"If I would not know them,\" said Bricriu, \"it is because a year might\nmake a change in them, so that I would not be sure.\" \"Try and know them\nagain,\" said the man, \"for the fifty young girls are in this house, and\nthis woman beside me is their mistress, Dechtire. It was they\nthemselves, changed into birds, that went to Emain Macha to bring you\nhere.\" Then Dechtire gave Bricriu a purple cloak with gold fringes; and\nhe went back to find his companions. But while he was going he thought\nto himself, \"Conchubar would give great treasure to find these fifty\nyoung girls again, and his sister along with them. I will not tell him I\nhave found them. I will only say I have found a house with beautiful\nwomen in it, and no more than that.\"\n\nWhen Conchubar saw Bricriu he asked news of him.\n\n\"What news do you bring back with you, Bricriu?\" he said. \"I came to a\nfine well-lighted house,\" said Bricriu; \"I saw a queen, noble, kind,\nwith royal looks, with curled hair; I saw a troop of women, beautiful,\nwell dressed; I saw the man of the house, tall and open-handed and\nshining.\" \"Let us go there for the night,\" said Conchubar. So they\nbrought their chariots and their horses and their arms; and they were\nhardly in the house when every sort of food and of drink, some they knew\nand some they did not know, was put before them, so that they never\nspent a better night. And when they had eaten and drunk and began to be\nsatisfied, Conchubar said to the young man, \"Where is the mistress of\nthe house that she does not come to bid us welcome?\" \"You cannot see her\nto-night,\" said he, \"for she is in the pains of childbirth.\"\n\nSo they rested there that night, and in the morning Conchubar was the\nfirst to rise up; but he saw no more of the man of the house, and what\nhe heard was the cry of a child. And he went to the room it came from,\nand there he saw Dechtire, and her maidens about her, and a young child\nbeside her. And she bade Conchubar welcome, and she told him all that\nhad happened her, and that she had called him there to bring herself and\nthe child back to Emain Macha. And Conchubar said, \"It is well you have\ndone by me, Dechtire; you gave shelter to me and to my chariots; you\nkept the cold from my horses; you gave food to me and my people, and now\nyou have given us this good gift. And let our sister, Finchoem, bring up\nthe child,\" he said. \"No, it is not for her to bring him up, it is for\nme,\" said Sencha, son of Ailell, chief judge and chief poet of Ulster.\n\"For I am skilled; I am good in disputes; I am not forgetful; I speak\nbefore anyone at all in the presence of the King; I watch over what he\nsays; I give judgment in the quarrels of kings; I am judge of the men of\nUlster; no one has a right to dispute my claim, but only Conchubar.\"\n\n\"If the child is given to me to bring up,\" said Blai, the distributor,\n\"he will not suffer from want of care or from forgetfulness. It is my\nmessages that do the will of Conchubar; I call up the fighting men from\nall Ireland; I am well able to provide for them for a week, or even for\nten days; I settle their business and their disputes; I support their\nhonour; I get satisfaction for their insults.\"\n\n\"You think too much of yourself,\" said Fergus. \"It is I that will bring\nup the child; I am strong; I have knowledge; I am the King's messenger;\nno one can stand up against me in honour or riches; I am hardened to war\nand battles; I am a good craftsman; I am worthy to bring up the child. I\nam the protector of all the unhappy; the strong are afraid of me; I am\nthe helper of the weak.\"\n\n\"If you will listen to me at last, now you are quiet,\" said Amergin, \"I\nam able to bring up a child like a king. The people praise my honour, my\nbravery, my courage, my wisdom; they praise my good luck, my age, my\nspeaking, my name, my courage, and my race. Though I am a fighter, I am\na poet; I am worthy of the King's favour; I overcome all the men who\nfight from their chariots; I owe thanks to no one except Conchubar; I\nobey no one but the King.\"\n\nThen Sencha said, \"Let Finchoem keep the child until we come to Emain,\nand Morann, the judge, will settle the question when we are there.\"\n\nSo the men of Ulster set out for Emain, Finchoem having the child with\nher. And when they came there Morann gave his judgment. \"It is for\nConchubar,\" he said, \"to help the child to a good name, for he is next\nof kin to him; let Sencha teach him words and speaking; let Fergus hold\nhim on his knees; let Amergin be his tutor.\" And he said, \"This child\nwill be praised by all, by chariot drivers and fighters, by kings and by\nwise men; he shall be loved by many men; he will avenge all your wrongs;\nhe will defend your fords; he will fight all your battles.\"\n\nAnd so it was settled. And the child was left until he should come to\nsensible years with his mother Dechtire and with her husband Sualtim.\nAnd they brought him up upon the plain of Muirthemne, and the name he\nwas known by was Setanta, son of Sualtim.\n\n\n\n\nThe Boyhood of Cuchulain\n\n\nDectera, one of the sisters of Conchubar Mac Nessa, married a prince\nwhose patrimony lay along the shores of the Muirnict, and whose capital\nwas Dun Dalgan. They had one child, a boy, whom they named Setanta.\n\nAs soon as Setanta was able to understand the stories and conversation\nof those around him, he evinced a passion for arms and the martial life,\nwhich was so premature and violent as to surprise all who knew him. His\nthoughts for ever ran on the wars and achievements of the Red Branch. He\nknew all the knights by name, the appearance and bearing of each, and\nwhat deeds of valour they had severally performed. Emain Macha, the\ncapital of the Clanna Rury, was never out of his mind. He saw for ever\nbefore his mind its moats and ramparts, its gates and bridges, its\nstreets filled with martial men, its high-raised Duns and Raths, its\nbranching roads, over which came the tributes of wide Ulla to the High\nKing. He had seen his father's tribute driven thither, and had even\nlonged to be one of the four-footed beasts that he beheld wending their\nway to the wondrous city. But, above all, he delighted to be told of the\ngreat school where the young nobles of Ulster were taught martial\nexercises and the military art, under the superintendence of chosen\nknights and of the High King himself. Of the several knights he had his\nown opinion, and had already resolved to accept no one as his instructor\nsave Fergus Mac Roy, tanist of Ulster.\n\nOf his father he saw little. His mind had become impaired, and he was\nconfined in a secluded part of the Dun. But whenever he spoke to Dectera\nof what was nearest his heart, and his desire to enter the military\nschool at Emain Macha, she laughed, and said that he was not yet old\nenough to endure that rough life. But secretly she was alarmed, and\nformed plans to detain him at home altogether. Then Setanta concealed\nhis desire, but enquired narrowly concerning the partings of the roads\non the way to Emania.\n\nAt last, when he was ten years old, selecting a favourable night,\nSetanta stole away from his father's Dun, and before morning had crossed\nthe frontier. He then lay down to rest and sleep in a wood. After this\nhe set out again, travelling quickly, lest he should be met by any of\nhis father's people. On his back was strapped his little wooden shield,\nand by his side hung a sword of lath. He had brought his ball and hurle\nof red-bronze with him, and ran swiftly along the road, driving the ball\nbefore him, or throwing up his javelin into the air, and running to meet\nit ere it fell.\n\nIn the afternoon of that day Fergus Mac Roy and the King sat together in\nthe part that surrounded the King's palace. A chessboard was between\nthem, and their attention was fixed on the game.\n\nAt a distance the young nobles were at their sports, and the shouts of\nthe boys and the clash of the metal hurles resounded in the evening air.\n\nSuddenly, the noise ceased, and Fergus and the King looked up. They saw\na strange boy rushing backwards and forwards through the crowd of young\nnobles, urging the ball in any direction that he pleased, as if in\nmockery, till none but the very best players attempted to stop him,\nwhile the rest stood about the ground in groups. Fergus and the King\nlooked at each other for a moment in silence.\n\nAfter this the boys came together into a group and held a council. Then\ncommenced what seemed to be an attempt to force him out of the ground,\nfollowed by a furious fight. The strange boy seemed to be a very demon\nof war; with his little hurle grasped, like a war-mace, in both hands,\nhe laid about him on every side, and the boys were tumbling fast. He\nsprang at tall youths, like a hound at a stag's throat. He rushed\nthrough crowds of his enemies like a hawk through a flock of birds. The\nboys, seized with a panic, cried out that it was one of the Tuatha from\nthe fairy hills of the Boyne, and fled right and left to gain the\nshelter of the trees. Some of them, pursued by the stranger, ran round\nConchubar Mac Nessa and his knight. The boy, however, running straight,\nsprang over the chess table; but Conchubar seized him deftly by the\nwrist and brought him to a stand, but with dilated eyes and panting.\n\n\"Why are you so enraged, my boy?\" said the King, \"and why do you so\nmaltreat my nobles?\"\n\n\"Because they have not treated me with the respect due to a stranger,\"\nreplied the boy.\n\n\"Who are you yourself?\" said Conchubar.\n\n\"I am Setanta, the son of Sualtim, and Dectera, your own sister, is my\nmother; and it is not before my uncle's palace that I should be insulted\nand dishonoured.\"\n\nThis was the début and first martial exploit of the great Cuculain, type\nof Irish chivalry and courage, in the bardic firmament a bright and\nparticular star of strength, daring, and glory, that will not set nor\nsuffer aught but transient obscuration till the extinction of the Irish\nrace; Cuculain, bravest of the brave, whose glory affected even the\ntemperate-minded Tierna, so that his sober pen has inscribed, in the\nannals of ancient Erin, this testimony: \"_Cuculain, filius Sualtam\nfortissimus heros Scotorum_.\"\n\nAfter this Setanta was regularly received into the military school,\nwhere, ere long, he became a favourite both with old and young. He\nplaced himself under the tuition of Fergus Mac Roy, who, each day, grew\nmore and more proud of his pupil, for while still a boy his fame was\nextending over Ulla.\n\nIt was not long after this that Setanta received the name by which he is\nmore generally known. Culain was chief of the black country of Ulla, and\nof a people altogether given up to the making of weapons and armour,\nwhere the sound of the hammer and husky bellows were for ever heard. One\nday Conchubar and some of his knights, passing through the park to\npartake of an entertainment at the house of the armourer, paused awhile,\nlooking at the boys at play. Then, as all were praising his little\nnephew, Conchubar called to him, and the boy came up, flushed and shy,\nfor there were with the King the chief warriors of the Red Branch. But\nConchubar bade him come with them to the feast, and the knights around\nhim laughed, and enumerated the good things which Culain had prepared\nfor them. But when Setanta's brow fell, Conchubar bade him finish his\ngame, and after that proceed to Culain's house, which was to the west of\nEmain Macha, and more than a mile distant from the city. Then the King\nand his knights went on to the feast, and Setanta returned joyfully to\nhis game.\n\nNow, when they were seen afar upon the plain the smith left his workshop\nand put by his implements, and having washed from him the sweat and\nsmoke, made himself ready to receive his guests; but the evening fell as\nthey were coming into the liss, and all his people came in also, and sat\nat the lower table, and the bridge was drawn up and the door was shut\nfor the night, and the candles were lit in the high chamber.\n\nThen said Culain, \"Have all thy retinue come in, O Conchubar?\" And when\nthe King said that they were all there, Culain bade one of his\napprentices go out and let loose the great mastiff that guarded the\nhouse. Now, this mastiff was as large as a calf and exceedingly fierce,\nand he guarded all the smith's property outside the house, and if anyone\napproached the house without beating on the gong, which was outside the\nfoss and in front of the drawbridge, he was accustomed to rend him. Then\nthe mastiff, having been let loose, careered three times round the liss,\nbaying dreadfully, and after that remained quiet outside his kennel,\nguarding his master's property. But, inside, they devoted themselves to\nfeasting and merriment, and there were many jests made concerning\nCulain, for he was wont to cause laughter to Conchubar Mac Nessa and his\nknights, yet he was good to his own people and faithful to the Crave\nRue, and very ardent and skilful in the practice of his art. But as they\nwere amusing themselves in this manner, eating and drinking, a deep\ngrowl came from without, as it were a note of warning, and after that\none yet more savage; but where he sat in the champion's seat, Fergus Mac\nRoy struck the table with his hand and rose straightway, crying out, \"It\nis Setanta.\" But ere the door could be opened they heard the boy's voice\nraised in anger and the fierce yelling of the dog, and a scuffling in\nthe bawn of the liss. Then they rushed to the door in great fear, for\nthey said that the boy was torn in pieces; but when the bolts were drawn\nback and they sprang forth, eager to save the boy's life, they found the\ndog dead, and Setanta standing over him with his hurle, for he had\nsprung over the foss, not fearing the dog. Forthwith, then, his tutor,\nFergus Mac Roy, snatched him up on his shoulder, and returned with great\njoy into the banquet hall, where all were well pleased at the\npreservation of the boy, except Culain himself, who began to lament over\nthe death of his dog and to enumerate all the services which he rendered\nto him.\n\n\"Do not grieve for thy dog, O Culain,\" said Setanta, from the shoulder\nof Fergus, \"for I will perform those services for you myself until a dog\nequally good is procured to take the place of him I slew.\"\n\nThen one jesting, said, \"Cu-culain!\" (Hound of Culain) and thenceforward\nhe went by this name.\n\nSTANDISH O'GRADY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Legend of Knockgrafton\n\n\nThere was once a poor man who lived in the fertile glen of Aherlow, at\nthe foot of the gloomy Galtee mountains, and he had a great hump on his\nback; he looked just as if his body had been rolled up and placed upon\nhis shoulders; and his head was pressed down with the weight so much\nthat his chin, when he was sitting, used to rest upon his knees for\nsupport. The country people were rather shy of meeting him in any\nlonesome place, for though, poor creature, he was as harmless and as\ninoffensive as a new-born infant, yet his deformity was so great that he\nscarcely appeared to be a human creature, and some ill-minded persons\nhad set strange stories about him afloat. He was said to have a great\nknowledge of herbs and charms; but certain it was that he had a mighty\nskilful hand in plaiting straws and rushes into hats and baskets, which\nwas the way he made his livelihood.\n\nLusmore, for that was the nickname put upon him, by reason of his\nalways wearing a sprig of the fairy cap, or lusmore (the foxglove), in\nhis little straw hat, would ever get a higher penny for his plaited work\nthan anyone else, and perhaps that was the reason why someone, out of\nenvy, had circulated the strange stories about him. Be that as it may,\nit happened that he was returning one evening from the pretty town of\nCahir towards Cappagh, and as little Lusmore walked very slowly, on\naccount of the great hump upon his back, it was quite dark when he came\nto the old moat of Knockgrafton, which stood on the right-hand side of\nthe road. Tired and weary was he, and no ways comfortable in his own\nmind at thinking how much farther he had to travel, and that he should\nbe walking all the night; so he sat down under the moat to rest himself,\nand began looking mournfully enough upon the moon, which--\n\n  Rising in clouded majesty at length\n  Apparent Queen, unveil'd her peerless light,\n  And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.\n\nPresently there arose a wild strain of unearthly melody upon the ear of\nlittle Lusmore. He listened, and he thought that he had never heard such\nravishing music before. It was like the sound of many voices, each\nmingling and blending with the others so strangely that they seemed to\nbe one, though all singing different strains, and the words of the songs\nwere these:\n\n  Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort,\n                                   Da Luan, Da Mort;\n\nwhen there would be a moment's pause, and then the round of melody went\non again.\n\nLusmore listened attentively, scarcely drawing his breath, lest he\nmight lose the slightest note. He now plainly perceived that the singing\nwas within the moat; and though at first it had charmed him much, he\nbegan to get tired of hearing the same round sung over and over so often\nwithout any change; so, availing himself of the pause when Da Luan, Da\nMort, had been sung three times, he took up the tune, and raised it with\nthe words augus Da Dardeen, and then went on singing with the voices\ninside of the moat, Da Luan, Da Mort, finishing the melody, when the\npause came again, with augus Da Dardeen.\n\nThe fairies within Knockgrafton, for the song was a fairy melody, when\nthey heard this addition to the tune, were so much delighted that with\ninstant resolve it was determined to bring the mortal among them whose\nmusical skill so far exceeded theirs, and little Lusmore was conveyed\ninto their company with the eddying speed of a whirlwind.\n\nGlorious to behold was the sight that burst upon him as he came down\nthrough the moat, twirling round and round, with the lightness of a\nstraw, to the sweetest music, that kept time to his motion. The greatest\nhonour was then paid him, for he was put above all the musicians, and he\nhad servants tending upon him and everything to his heart's content, and\na hearty welcome to all; and, in short, he was made as much of as if he\nhad been the first man in the land.\n\nPresently Lusmore saw a great consultation going on among the fairies,\nand, notwithstanding all their civility, he felt very much frightened,\nuntil one, stepping out from the rest, came up to him and said:\n\n  Lusmore! Lusmore!\n  Doubt not, nor deplore,\n  For the hump which you bore\n  On your back is no more;\n  Look down on the floor,\n  And view it, Lusmore!\n\nWhen these words were said, poor little Lusmore felt himself so light\nand so happy that he thought he could have bounded at one jump over the\nmoon, like the cow in the history of the cat and the fiddle; and he saw,\nwith inexpressible pleasure, his hump tumble down upon the ground from\nhis shoulders. He then tried to lift up his head, and did so with\nbecoming caution, fearing that he might knock it against the ceiling of\nthe great hall where he was. He looked round and round again with the\ngreatest wonder and delight upon everything, which appeared more and\nmore beautiful; and, overpowered at beholding such a resplendent scene,\nhis head grew dizzy and his eyesight grew dim. At last he fell into a\nsound sleep, and when he awoke he found that it was broad daylight, the\nsun shining brightly, and the birds singing sweetly, and that he was\nlying just at the foot of Knockgrafton, with the cows and sheep grazing\npeaceably about him. The first thing Lusmore did, after saying his\nprayers, was to put his hand behind to feel for his hump, but no sign of\none was there on his back, and he looked at himself with great pride,\nfor he had now become a well-shaped, dapper little fellow, and, more\nthan that, found himself in a full suit of new clothes, which he\nconcluded the fairies had made for him.\n\nTowards Cappagh he went, stepping out as lightly and springing up at\nevery step as if he had been all his life a dancing-master. Not a\ncreature who met Lusmore knew him without his hump, and he had a great\nwork to persuade everyone that he was the same man--in truth he was not\nas far as the outward appearance went.\n\nOf course it was not long before the story of Lusmore's hump got about,\nand a great wonder was made of it. Through the country for miles round\nit was the talk of everyone, high and low.\n\nOne morning, as Lusmore was sitting, contented enough, at his cabin\ndoor, up came an old woman to him, and asked him if he could direct her\nto Cappagh.\n\n\"I need give you no directions, my good woman,\" said Lusmore, \"for this\nis Cappagh. And whom may you want here?\"\n\n\"I have come,\" said the woman, \"out of Decies country, in the county of\nWaterford, looking after one Lusmore, who, I have heard tell, had his\nhump taken off by the fairies; for there is a son of a gossip of mine\nwho has got a hump on him that will be his death; and, maybe, if he\ncould use the same charm as Lusmore the hump may be taken off him. And\nnow I have told you the reason of my coming so far; 'tis to find out\nabout this charm if I can.\"\n\nLusmore, who was ever a good-natured little fellow, told the woman all\nthe particulars, how he had raised the tune for the fairies at\nKnockgrafton, how his hump had been removed from his shoulders, and how\nhe had got a new suit of clothes into the bargain.\n\nThe woman thanked him very much and then went away, quite happy and\neasy in her own mind. When she came back to her gossip's house, in the\ncounty of Waterford, she told her everything that Lusmore had said, and\nthey put the little hump-backed man, who was a peevish and cunning\ncreature from his birth, upon a car, and took him all the way across the\ncountry. It was a long journey, but they did not care for that, so the\nhump was taken from off him; so they brought him just at nightfall, and\nleft him under the old moat of Knockgrafton.\n\nJack Madden, for that was the humpy man's name, had not been sitting\nthere long when he heard the tune going on within the moat much sweeter\nthan before; for the fairies were singing it the way Lusmore had settled\ntheir music for them, and the song was going on, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da\nLuan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, augus Da Dardeen, without ever\nstopping. Jack Madden, who was in a great hurry to get quit of his hump,\nnever thought of waiting till the fairies had done, or watching for a\nfit opportunity to raise the tune higher than Lusmore had; so, having\nheard them sing it over seven times without stopping, out he bawls,\nnever minding the time or the humour of the tune, or how he could bring\nhis words in properly, augus Da Dardeen, augus Da Hena, thinking that if\none day was good two were better, and that, if Lusmore had one suit of\nclothes given him, he should have two.\n\nNo sooner had the words passed his lips than he was taken up and whisked\ninto the moat with prodigious force, and the fairies came crowding round\nabout him with great anger, screeching and screaming, and roaring out,\n\"Who spoiled our tune? Who spoiled our tune?\" And one stepped up to him\nabove all the rest and said:\n\n  Jack Madden! Jack Madden!\n  Your words came so bad in\n  The tune we felt glad in;--\n  This castle you're had in,\n  That your life we may sadden;\n  Here's two humps for Jack Madden!\n\nAnd twenty of the strongest fairies brought Lusmore's hump and put it\ndown upon poor Jack's back, over his own, where it became fixed as\nfirmly as if it was nailed on with twelvepenny nails by the best\ncarpenter that ever drove one. Out of their castle they then kicked him;\nand in the morning, when Jack Madden's mother and her gossip came to\nlook after their little man, they found him half dead, lying at the foot\nof the moat, with the other hump upon his back. Well, to be sure, how\nthey did look at each other, but they were afraid to say anything lest a\nhump might be put upon their shoulders. Home they brought the unlucky\nJack Madden with them, as downcast in their hearts and their looks as\never two gossips were; and what through the weight of his other hump and\nthe long journey he died soon after, leaving, they say, his heavy curse\nto anyone who would go to listen to fairy tunes again.\n\nT. CROFTON CROKER.\n\n\n\n\nThe Stolen Child\n\n\n  There dips the rocky highland\n  Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,\n  There lies a leafy island,\n  Where flapping herons wake\n  The drowsy water rats;\n  There we've hid our faery vats,\n  Full of berries,\n  And of reddest stolen cherries.\n  Come away, O human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  For the world's more full of weeping than\n      you can understand.\n\n  Where the wave of moonlight glosses\n  The dim gray sands with light,\n  Far off by furthest Rosses\n  We foot it all the night,\n  Weaving olden dances,\n  Mingling hands and mingling glances,\n  Till the moon has taken flight;\n  To and fro we leap\n  And chase the frothy bubbles,\n  While the world is full of troubles\n  And is anxious in its sleep.\n  Come away, O human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  For the world's more full of weeping than\n      you can understand.\n\n  Where the wandering water gushes\n  From the hills above Glen-Car,\n  In pools among the rushes\n  That scarce could bathe a star,\n  We seek for slumbering trout,\n  And whispering in their ears\n  Give them unquiet dreams;\n  Leaning softly out\n  From ferns that drop their tears\n  Over the young streams.\n  Come away, O human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  For the world's more full of weeping than\n      you can understand.\n\n  Away with us he's going,\n  The solemn-eyed:\n  He'll hear no more the lowing\n  Of the calves on the warm hillside;\n  Or the kettle on the hob\n  Sing peace into his breast,\n  Or see the brown mice bob\n  Round and round the oatmeal-chest.\n  For he comes, the human child!\n  To the waters and the wild\n  With a faery, hand in hand,\n  From a world more full of weeping than\n      he can understand.\n\nW. B. YEATS.\n\n\n\n\nLay of Oisin on the Land of Youth\n\n\nOne day we, the Fianna, were all assembled, generous Fionn and all of us\nthat lived were there; we were hunting on a misty morning nigh the\nbordering shores of Loch Lein, where through fragrant trees of sweetest\nblossoms, and the mellow music of birds at all times, we aroused the\nhornless deer of the best bounding, course, and agility; our hounds and\nall our dogs were close after in full chase.\n\n'Twas not long till we saw, westwards, a fleet rider advancing towards\nus, a young maiden of most beautiful appearance, on a slender white\nsteed of swiftest power. We all ceased from the chase on seeing the form\nof the royal maid; 'twas a surprise to Fionn and the Fianns, they never\nbeheld a woman equal in beauty. A royal crown was on her head, and a\nbrown mantle of precious silk, spangled with stars of red gold, covering\nher shoes down to the grass. A gold ring was hanging down from each\nyellow curl of her golden hair; her eyes were blue, clear, and\ncloudless, like a dewdrop on the top of the grass. Redder were her\ncheeks than the rose, fairer was her visage than the swan upon the wave,\nand more sweet was the taste of her balsam lips than honey mingled\nthrough red wine. A garment, wide, long, and smooth, covered the white\nsteed; there was a comely saddle of red gold, and her right hand held a\nbridle with a golden bit. Four shoes, well shaped, were under him, of\nthe yellow gold of the purest quality; a silver wreath was on the back\nof his head, and there was not in the world a steed better.\n\nShe came to the presence of Fionn, and spoke with a voice sweet and\ngentle, and she said, \"O King of the Fianna, long and distant is my\njourney now.\"\n\n\"Who art thou thyself, O youthful princess! of fairest form, beauty, and\ncountenance? Relate to us the cause of thy story, thine own name and thy\ncountry.\"\n\n\"Golden-headed Niamh is my name, O sage Fionn of the great hosts. Beyond\nthe women of the world I have won esteem; I am the fair daughter of the\nKing of Youth.\"\n\n\"Relate to us, O amiable princess, what caused thee to come afar across\nthe sea--is it thy consort has forsaken thee, or what is the affliction\nthat is on thyself?\"\n\n\"'Tis not my husband that went from me; and as yet I have not been\nspoken of with any man, O King of the Fianna of highest repute; but\naffection and love I have given to thy son.\"\n\n\"Which of my children is he, O blooming daughter, to whom thou hast\ngiven love, or yet affection? Do not conceal from us now the cause, and\nrelate to us thy case, O woman.\"\n\n\"I will tell thee that, O Fionn! Thy noble son of the well-tempered\narms, high-spirited Oisin of the powerful hands, is the champion that I\nam now speaking of.\"\n\n\"What is the reason that thou gavest love, O beautiful daughter of the\nglossy hair, to my own son beyond all, and multitudes of high lords\nunder the sun?\"\n\n\"'Tis not without cause, O King of the Fianna! I came afar for him--but\nreports I heard of his prowess, the goodness of his person and his mien.\n\n\"Many a son of a king and a high chief gave me affection and perpetual\nlove; I never consented to any man till I gave love to noble Oisin.\"\n\n\"By that hand on thee, O Patrick, though it is not shameful to me as a\nstory, there was not a limb of me but was in love with the beautiful\ndaughter of the glossy hair.\"\n\nI, Oisin, took her hand in mine, and said in speech of sweetest tone, \"A\ntrue, gentle welcome before thee, O young princess, to this country!\n'Tis thou art the brightest and the fairest of form, 'tis thee I prefer\nas wife, thou art my choice beyond the women of the world, O mild star\nof loveliest countenance!\"\n\n\"Obligations unresisted by true heroes, O generous Oisin, I put upon\nthee to come with myself now upon my steed till we arrive at the 'Land\nof Youth.' It is the most delightful country to be found, of greatest\nrepute under the sun, trees drooping with fruit, and blossom and foliage\ngrowing on the tops of boughs. Abundant, there, are honey and wine and\neverything that eye has beheld; there will not come decline on thee with\nlapse of time; death or decay thou wilt not see. Thou wilt get feasts,\nplaying, and drink; thou wilt get melodious music on the harp strings;\nthou wilt get silver and gold; thou wilt get also many jewels. Thou wilt\nget the royal diadem of the 'King of Youth,' which he never yet gave to\nany person under the sun; 'twill protect thee both night and day, in\nbattle, in tumult, and in rough conflict. Thou wilt get a fitting coat\nof protecting mail, and a gold-headed sword apt for strokes, from which\nno person ever escaped alive who once saw the sharp weapon. Thou wilt\nget everything I promised thee, and delights, also, which I may not\nmention; thou wilt get beauty, strength, and power, and I myself will be\nthy wife.\"\n\n\"No refusal will I give from me,\" said I, \"O charming queen of the\ngolden curls! Thou art my choice above the women of the world, and I\nwill go with willingness to the 'Land of Youth.'\"\n\nOn the back of the steed we went together. Before me sat the virgin; she\nsaid, \"Oisin, let us remain quiet till we reach the mouth of the great\nsea.\"\n\nThen arose the steed swiftly; when we arrived on the borders of the\nstrand he shook himself then to pace forward, and neighed three times\naloud.\n\nWhen Fionn and the Fianna saw the steed travelling swiftly, facing the\ngreat tide, they raised three shouts of mourning and grief.\n\n\"O Oisin!\" said Fionn slowly and sorrowfully, \"woe it is to me that thou\nart going from me; I have not a hope that thou wilt ever again come back\nto me victorious.\"\n\nHis form and beauty changed, and showers of tears flowed down, till they\nwet his breast and his bright visage, and he said, \"My woe art thou, O\nOisin, in going from me!\"\n\nO Patrick, 'twas a melancholy story our parting from each other in that\nplace, the parting of the father from his own son--'tis mournful, weak,\nand faint to be relating it! I kissed my father sweetly and gently, and\nthe same affection I got from him. I bade adieu to all the Fianna, and\nthe tears flowed down my cheeks. We turned our backs to the land and our\nfaces directly due west; the smooth sea ebbed before us and filled in\nbillows after us. We saw wonders in our travels, cities, courts, and\ncastles, lime-white mansions and fortresses, brilliant summer-houses and\npalaces. We also saw, by our sides, a hornless fawn leaping nimbly, and\na red-eared white dog, urging it boldly in the chase. We beheld also,\nwithout fiction, a young maid on a brown steed, a golden apple in her\nright hand, and she going on the top of the waves. We saw after her a\nyoung rider on a white steed, under a purple, crimson mantle of satin,\nand a gold-headed sword in his right hand.\n\n\"Who are yon two whom I see, O gentle princess? Tell me the meaning, of\nthat woman of most beautiful countenance and the comely rider of the\nwhite steed.\"\n\n\"Heed not what thou wilt see, O gentle Oisin, nor what thou hast yet\nseen; there is in them but nothing, till we reach the land of the 'King\nof Youth.'\"\n\nWe saw from us afar a sunny palace of beautiful front; its form and\nappearance were the most beauteous that were to be found in the world.\n\n\"What exceeding fine royal mansion, and also the best that eye hath\nseen, is this that we are travelling near to, or who is high chief of\nthat place?\"\n\n\"The daughter of the King of the 'Land of Life' is Queen, yet in that\nfortress she was taken by Fomhor Builleach, of Dromloghach, with violent\nstrength of arms and activity. Obligation she put upon the brave never\nto make her a wife till she got a champion or true hero to stand battle\nwith him hand to hand.\"\n\n\"Take success and blessings, O golden-headed Niamh. I have never heard\nbetter music than the gentle voice of thy sweet mouth; great grief to us\nis a woman of her condition. I will go now to visit her to the fortress,\nand it may be for us it is fated that that great hero should fall by me,\nin feats of activity as is wont to me.\"\n\nWe went then into the fortress. To us came the youthful Queen. Equal in\nsplendour was she to the sun, and she bade us a hundred welcomes.\n\nThere was apparel of yellow silk on the Queen of excellent beauty. Her\nchalk-white skin was like the swan on the wave, and her cheeks were of\nthe colour of the rose. Her hair was of a golden hue, her blue eyes\nclear and cloudless; her honey lips of the colour of the berries, and\nher slender brows of loveliest form.\n\nThen we there sat down, each of us on a chair of gold. There was laid\nout for us abundance of food and drinking-horns filled with beer. When\nwe had taken a sufficiency of food and much sweet drinking wines, then\nspoke the mild young princess, and thus said she, \"Hearken to me\nawhile.\" She told us the knowledge and cause of her tale, and the tears\nflowed down her cheeks. She said, \"My return is not to my own country\nwhilst the great giant shall be alive.\"\n\n\"Be silent, O young princess! Give o'er thy grief and do not mourn, and\nI give to thee my hand that the giant of slaughter shall fall by me!\"\n\n\"There's not a champion now to be found of greatest repute under the sun\nto give battle hand to hand to the bold giant of the hard blows.\"\n\n\"I tell to thee, O gentle queen, I am not daunted at his coming to meet\nme. Unless he fall by me, by the strength of my arms, I will fall myself\nin thy defence.\"\n\n'Twas not long till we saw approaching the powerful giant that was most\nrepulsive. A load was on him of the skins of deer, and an iron bar in\nhis hand. He did not salute or bow to us, but looked into the\ncountenance of the young maiden, proclaimed battle and great conflict,\nand I myself went to meet him. During three nights and three days we\nwere in the great contest; though powerful was he, the valiant giant, I\nbeheaded him without delay.\n\nWhen the two young maidens saw the great giant lying motionless, weak\nand low, they uttered three joyful cries, with great boasting and\nmerriment.\n\nWe then went to the fortress, and I was bruised, weak, and feeble,\nshedding blood in great abundance coming closely out of my wounds. The\ndaughter of the \"King of the Living\" came in truth to relieve myself.\nShe put balm and balsam in my wounds, and I was whole after her.\n\nWe consumed our feast with pleasure, and then we were merry after. In\nthe fortress were prepared for us warm beds of the down of birds. We\nburied the great man in a deep sod-grave, wide and clear. I raised his\nflag and monument, and I wrote his name in Ogham Craobh.\n\nOn the morrow, at the appearance of day, we awoke out of our slumbers.\n\"It is time for us,\" said the daughter of the King, \"to go without delay\nto our own land.\"\n\nWe prepared ourselves without a stay, and we took our leave of the\nvirgin. We were sorrowful and sad after her, and not less after us was\nthe refulgent maid.\n\nWe turned our backs on the fortress, and our horse under us in full\nspeed, and swifter was the white steed than March wind on the mountain\nsummit. Ere long the sky darkened and the wind arose in every point, the\ngreat sea lit up strongly, and sight of the sun was not to be found. We\ngazed awhile on the clouds and on the stars that were under gloom. The\ntempest abated and the wind, and Phoebus brightened o'er our heads.\n\nWe beheld by our side a most delightful country, under full bloom, and\nplains, beautiful, smooth, and fine, and a royal fortress of surpassing\nbeauty. Not a colour that eye has beheld of rich blue, green, and white,\nor purple, crimson, and of yellow, but was in this royal mansion that I\nam describing. There were at the other side of the fortress radiant\nsummer-houses and palaces made, all of precious stones, by the hands of\nskilful men and great artists.\n\nEre long we saw approaching from the fortress to meet us three fifties\nof champions of best agility, appearance, fame, and of highest repute.\n\n\"What beauteous country is that, O gentle daughter of the golden locks?\nOf best aspect that the eye has seen; or is it the 'Land of Youth'?\"\n\n\"It is, truly, O generous Oisin! I have not told you a lie concerning\nit; there is nothing I promised thyself but is manifest to thee for\never.\"\n\nTo us came after that a hundred maids of exquisite beauty,\nunder-garments of silk filled with gold, welcoming me to their own\ncountry. We saw again approaching a multitude of glittering bright\nhosts, and a noble, great, and powerful King of matchless grace, form,\nand countenance. There was a yellow shirt of silken satin and a bright\ngolden garment over it; there was a sparkling crown of gold, radiant and\nshining, upon his head. We saw coming after him the young Queen of\nhighest repute, and fifty virgins sweet and mild, of most beautiful\nform, in her company. When all arrived in one spot, then courteously\nspoke the \"King of Youth,\" and said, \"This is Oisin, the son of Fionn,\nthe gentle consort of 'Golden-headed Niamh'!\"\n\nHe took me then by the hand and said aloud to the hearing of the host,\n\"O brave Oisin! O son of the King! A hundred thousand welcomes to you!\nThis country into which thou comest, I'll not conceal its tidings from\nyou, in truth, long and durable is your life, and thou thyself shalt be\never young. There's not a delight on which the heart hath mused but is\nin this land awaiting thee. O Oisin! believe me in truth, for I am King\nof the 'Land of Youth'! This is the gentle Queen and my own daughter,\nthe Golden-headed Niamh, who went over the smooth seas for thee to be\nher consort for ever.\"\n\nI gave thanks to the King and I bowed down to the gentle Queen; nor\nstayed we there, but proceeded soon, till we reached the royal mansion\nof the \"King of Youth.\" There came the nobles of the fine fortress, both\nmen and women, to meet us; there was a feast and banquet continuously\nthere for ten nights and ten days.\n\nI espoused \"Golden-headed Niamh,\" O Patrick from Rome of white croziers!\nThat is how I went to the \"Land of Youth,\" tho' woeful and grievous to\nme to relate. I had, by Golden-headed Niamh, of children of surpassing\nbeauty and bloom, of best form, shape, and countenance, two young sons\nand a gentle daughter. I spent a time protracted in length, three\nhundred years and more, until I thought 'twould be my desire to see\nFionn and the Fianna alive. I asked leave of the King and of my kind\nspouse, Golden-headed Niamh, to go to Erin back again to see Fionn and\nhis great host.\n\n\"Thou wilt get leave from me,\" said the gentle daughter, \"though 'tis a\nsorrowful tale to me to hear you mention it, lest thou mayest not come\nagain in your life to my own land, O victorious Oisin!\"\n\n\"What do we dread, O blooming Queen? Whilst the white steed is at my\nservice he will teach me the way with ease, and will return safe back to\nthyself.\"\n\n\"Remember, O Oisin! what I am saying. If thou layest foot on level\nground thou shalt not come again for ever to this fine land in which I\nam myself. I say to thee again without guile, if thou alightest once off\nthe white steed thou wilt never more come to the 'Land of Youth,' O\ngolden Oisin of the warlike arms! I say to thee for the third time, if\nthou alightest off the steed thyself thou wilt be an old man, withered\nand blind, without activity, without pleasure, without run, without\nleap. 'Tis a woe to me, O loving Oisin, that thou ever goest to green\nErin; 'tis not now as it has been; and thou never shalt see Fionn of the\nhosts. There is not now in all Erin but a father of orders and hosts of\nsaints. O loving Oisin, here is my kiss; thou wilt never return to the\n'Land of Youth'!\"\n\nI looked up into her countenance with compassion, and streams of tears\nran from my eyes. O Patrick! thou wouldst have pitied her tearing the\nhair off the golden head. She put me under strict injunctions to go and\ncome without touching the lea, and said to me, by virtue of their power,\nif I broke them that I'd never return safe. I promised her each thing,\nwithout a lie, that I would fulfil what she said to me. I went on the\nback of the white steed and bade farewell to the people of the fortress.\nI kissed my gentle consort, and sorrowful was I in parting from her; my\ntwo sons and my young daughter were under grief, shedding tears. I\nprepared myself for travelling, and I turned my back on the \"Land of\nYouth.\" The steed ran swiftly under me, as he had done with me and\n\"Golden-headed Niamh.\"\n\nOn my coming, then, into the country, I looked closely in every\ndirection. I thought then, in truth, that the tidings of Fionn were not\nto be found. 'Twas not long for me, nor tedious, till I saw from the\nwest approaching me a great troop of mounted men and women, and they\ncame into my presence. They saluted me kindly and courteously, and\nsurprise seized every one of them on seeing the bulk of my own person,\nmy form, my appearance, and my countenance. I myself asked then of them,\ndid they hear if Fionn was alive, or did anyone else of the Fianna live,\nor what disaster had swept them away?\n\n\"We have heard tell of Fionn, for strength, for activity, and for\nprowess, that there never was an equal for him in person, in character,\nand in mien. There is many a book written down by the melodious sweet\nsages of the Gaels which we, in truth, are unable to relate to thee, of\nthe deeds of Fionn and of the Fianna. We heard that Fionn had a son of\nbrightest beauty and form; that there came a young maiden for him, and\nthat he went with her to the 'Land of Youth.'\"\n\nWhen I myself heard that announcement that Fionn did not live, or any of\nthe Fianna, I was seized with weariness and great sorrow, and I was full\nof melancholy after them! I did not stop on my course, quick and smart\nwithout any delay, till I set my face straightforward to Almhuin of\ngreat exploits in broad Leinster. Great was my surprise there that I did\nnot see the court of Fionn of the hosts; there was not in its place, in\ntruth, but weeds, chick-weeds, and nettles. Alas, O Patrick! and alas,\nmy grief! A miserable journey it was to me, without the tidings of Fionn\nor the Fianna; it left me through life under pain. After I left Almhuin\nof Leinster, there was not a residence where the Fianna had been, but I\nsearched accurately without any delay. On my passing through the Glen of\nthe Thrushes I saw a great assembly there, three hundred men and more\nwere before me in the glen. One of the assembly spoke, and he said with\na loud voice, \"Come to our relief, O kingly champion, and deliver us\nfrom difficulty!\"\n\nI then came forward, and the host had a large flag of marble; the weight\nof the flag was down on them, and to uphold it they were unable! Those\nthat were under the flag below were being oppressed, weakly; by the\nweight of the great load many of them lost their senses. One of the\nstewards spoke and said, \"O princely young hero, forthwith relieve my\nhost, or not one of them will be alive!\" 'Tis a shameful deed that it\nshould now be said, and the number of men that is there, that the\nstrength of the host is unable to lift the flag with great power. If\nOscur, the son of Oisin, lived, he would take this flag in his right\nhand; he would fling it in a throw over the host. It is not my custom to\nspeak falsehood.\n\nI lay upon my right breast and I took the flag in my hand; with the\nstrength and activity of my limbs I sent it seven perches from its\nplace! With the force of the very large flag the golden girth broke on\nthe white steed; I came down full suddenly on the soles of my two feet\non the lea. No sooner did I come down than the white steed took fright.\nHe went then on his way, and I stood in sorrow, both weak and feeble. I\nlost the sight of my eyes, my form, my countenance, and my vigour; I was\nan old man, poor and blind, without strength, understanding, or esteem.\nPatrick! there is to thee my story, as it occurred to myself, without a\nlie, my going and my adventures in certain, and my returning from the\n\"Land of Youth.\"\n\n  _From \"Ossianic Poems.\"_\n  _Edited by_ JOHN O'DALY.\n\n\n\n\nAdventures of Gilla na Chreck an Gour\n\n_(Told in the Wexford Peasant Dialect.)_\n\n\nLong ago a poor widow woman lived down by the iron forge near\nEnniscorthy, and she was so poor, she had no clothes to put on her son;\nso she used to fix him in the ash-hole, near the fire, and pile the warm\nashes about him; and, accordingly, as he grew up, she sunk the pit\ndeeper. At last, by hook or by crook, she got a goat-skin, and fastened\nit round his waist, and he felt quite grand, and took a walk down the\nstreet. So says she to him next morning, \"Tom, you thief, you never done\nany good yet, and six-foot high, and past nineteen: take that rope and\nbring me a _bresna_ from the wood.\" \"Never say't twice, mother,\" says\nTom; \"here goes.\"\n\nWhen he had it gathered and tied, what should come up but a big\n_joiant_, nine-foot high, and made a lick of a club at him. Well become\nTom, he jumped a-one side and picked up a ram-pike; and the first crack\nhe gave the big fellow he made him kiss the clod. \"If you have e'er a\nprayer,\" says Tom, \"now's the time to say it, before I make _brishe_ of\nyou.\" \"I have no prayers,\" says the giant, \"but if you spare my life\nI'll give you that club; and as long as you keep from sin you'll win\nevery battle you ever fight with it.\"\n\nTom made no bones about letting him off; and as soon as he got the club\nin his hands he sat down on the bresna and gave it a tap with the\nkippeen, and says, \"Bresna, I had a great trouble gathering you, and run\nthe risk of my life for you; the least you can do is to carry me home.\"\nAnd, sure enough, the wind of the word was all it wanted. It went off\nthrough the wood, groaning and cracking till it came to the widow's\ndoor.\n\nWell, when the sticks were all burned Tom was sent off again to pick\nmore; and this time he had to fight with a giant with two heads on him.\nTom had a little more trouble with him--that's all; and the prayers _he_\nsaid was to give Tom a fife that nobody could help dancing when he was\nplaying it. _Begonies_, he made the big faggot dance home, with himself\nsitting on it. Well, if you were to count all the steps from this to\nDublin, dickens a bit you'd ever arrive there. The next giant was a\nbeautiful boy with three heads on him. He had neither prayers nor\ncatechism no more _nor_ the others; and so he gave Tom a bottle of green\nointment that wouldn't let you be burned, nor scalded, nor wounded. \"And\nnow,\" says he, \"there's no more of us. You may come and gather sticks\nhere till little _Lunacy Day_ in harvest without giant or fairy man to\ndisturb you.\"\n\nWell, now, Tom was prouder nor ten paycocks, and used to take a walk\ndown street in the heel of the evening; but some of the little boys had\nno more manners nor if they were Dublin jackeens, and put out their\ntongues at Tom's club and Tom's goat-skin. He didn't like that at all,\nand it would be mean to give one of them a clout. At last, what should\ncome through the town but a kind of bellman, only it's a big bugle he\nhad, and a huntsman's cap on his head, and a kind of painted shirt. So\nthis--he wasn't a bellman, and I don't know what to call him--bugleman,\nmaybe--proclaimed that the King of Dublin's daughter was so melancholy\nthat she didn't give a laugh for seven years, and that her father would\ngrant her in marriage to whoever would make her laugh three times.\n\"That's the very thing for me to try,\" says Tom; and so, without burning\nany more daylight, he kissed his mother, curled his club at the little\nboys, and he set off along the yalla highroad to the town of Dublin.\n\nAt last Tom came to one of the city gates, and the guards laughed and\ncursed at him instead of letting him through. Tom stood it all for a\nlittle time, but at last one of them--out of fun, as he said--drove his\n_bagnet_ half an inch or so into his side. Tom did nothing but take the\nfellow by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his corduroys and\nfling him into the canal. Some ran to pull the fellow out, and others to\nlet manners into the vulgarian with their swords and daggers; but a tap\nfrom his club sent them headlong into the moat or down on the stones,\nand they were soon begging him to stay his hands.\n\nSo at last one of them was glad enough to show Tom the way to the palace\nyard; and there was the King and the Queen, and the princess in a\ngallery, looking at all sorts of wrestling and sword-playing, and\n_rinka-fadhas_ (long dances) and mumming, all to please the princess;\nbut not a smile came over her handsome face.\n\nWell, they all stopped when they seen the young giant, with his boy's\nface and long black hair, and his short curly beard--for his poor mother\ncouldn't afford to buy _razhurs_--and his great strong arms and bare\nlegs, and no covering but the goat-skin that reached from his waist to\nhis knees. But an envious wizened _basthard_ of a fellow, with a red\nhead, that wished to be married to the princess, and didn't like how she\nopened her eyes at Tom, came forward, and asked his business very\nsnappishly. \"My business,\" says Tom, says he, \"is to make the beautiful\nprincess, God bless her, laugh three times.\" \"Do you see all them merry\nfellows and skilful swordsmen,\" says the other, \"that could eat you up\nwith a grain of salt, and not a mother's soul of 'em ever got a laugh\nfrom her these seven years?\" So the fellows gathered round Tom, and the\nbad man aggravated him till he told them he didn't care a pinch of snuff\nfor the whole bilin' of 'em; let 'em come on, six at a time, and try\nwhat they could do. The King, that was too far off to hear what they\nwere saying, asked what did the stranger want. \"He wants,\" says the\nred-headed fellow, \"to make hares of your best men.\" \"Oh!\" says the\nKing, \"if that's the way, let one of 'em turn out and try his mettle.\"\nSo one stood forward, with _soord_ and pot-lid, and made a cut at Tom.\nHe struck the fellow's elbow with the club, and up over their heads flew\nthe sword, and down went the owner of it on the gravel from a thump he\ngot on the helmet. Another took his place, and another, and another, and\nthen half a dozen at once, and Tom sent swords, helmets, shields, and\nbodies rolling over and over, and themselves bawling out that they were\nkilt, and disabled, and damaged, and rubbing their poor elbows and hips,\nand limping away. Tom contrived not to kill anyone; and the princess was\nso amused that she let a great sweet laugh out of her that was heard all\nover the yard. \"King of Dublin,\" says Tom, \"I've quarter of your\ndaughter.\" And the King didn't know whether he was glad or sorry, and\nall the blood in the princess's heart run into her cheeks.\n\nSo there was no more fighting that day, and Tom was invited to dine with\nthe royal family. Next day Redhead told Tom of a wolf, the size of a\nyearling heifer, that used to be _serenading_ (sauntering) about the\nwalls, and eating people and cattle; and said what a pleasure it would\ngive the King to have it killed. \"With all my heart,\" says Tom. \"Send a\njackeen to show me where he lives, and we'll see how he behaves to a\nstranger.\" The princess was not well pleased, for Tom looked a different\nperson with fine clothes and a nice green _birredh_ over his long, curly\nhair; and besides, he'd got one laugh out of her. However, the King gave\nhis consent; and in an hour and a half the horrible wolf was walking in\nthe palace yard, and Tom a step or two behind, with his club on his\nshoulder, just as a shepherd would be walking after a pet lamb. The King\nand Queen and princess were safe up in their gallery, but the officers\nand people of the court that were _padrowling_ about the great bawn,\nwhen they saw the big baste coming in gave themselves up, and began to\nmake for doors and gates; and the wolf licked his chops, as if he was\nsaying, \"Wouldn't I enjoy a breakfast off a couple of yez!\" The King\nshouted out, \"O Gilla na Chreck an Gour, take away that terrible wolf,\nand you must have all my daughter.\" But Tom didn't mind him a bit. He\npulled out his flute and began to play like vengeance; and dickens a man\nor boy in the yard but began shovelling away heel and toe, and the wolf\nhimself was obliged to get on his hind legs and dance _Tatther Jack\nWalsh_ along with the rest. A good deal of the people got inside and\nshut the doors, the way the hairy fellow wouldn't pin them; but Tom kept\nplaying, and the outsiders kept shouting and dancing, and the wolf kept\ndancing and roaring with the pain his legs were giving him: and all the\ntime he had his eyes on Redhead, who was shut out along with the rest.\nWherever Redhead went the wolf followed, and kept one eye on him and the\nother on Tom, to see if he would give him leave to eat him. But Tom\nshook his head, and never stopped the tune, and Redhead never stopped\ndancing and bawling and the wolf dancing and roaring, one leg up and the\nother down, and he ready to drop out of his standing from fair\ntiresomeness.\n\nWhen the princess seen that there was no fear of anyone being kilt she\nwas so divarted by the stew that Redhead was in that she gave another\ngreat laugh; and well become Tom, out he cried, \"King of Dublin, I have\ntwo quarters of your daughter.\" \"Oh, quarters or alls,\" says the King,\n\"put away that divel of a wolf and we'll see about it.\" So Gilla put his\nflute in his pocket, and says he to the baste that was sittin' on his\ncurrabingo ready to faint, \"Walk off to your mountains, my fine\nfellow, and live like a respectable baste; and if ever I find you come\nwithin seven miles of any town----\" He said no more, but spit in his\nfist, and gave a flourish of his club. It was all the poor divel wanted:\nhe put his tail between his legs and took to his pumps without looking\nat man nor mortial, and neither sun, moon, nor stars ever saw him in\nsight of Dublin again.\n\nAt dinner everyone laughed but the foxy fellow; and, sure enough, he was\nlaying out how he'd settle poor Tom next day. \"Well, to be sure!\" says\nhe, \"King of Dublin, you are in luck. There's the Danes moidhering us to\nno end. D---- run to Lusk wid 'em! and if anyone can save us from 'em it\nis this gentleman with the goat-skin. There is a flail hangin' on the\ncollar-beam in Hell, and neither Dane nor Devil can stand before it.\"\n\"So,\" says Tom to the King, \"will you let me have the other half of the\nprincess if I bring you the flail?\" \"No, no,\" says the princess, \"I'd\nrather never be your wife than see you in that danger.\"\n\nBut Redhead whispered and nudged Tom about how shabby it would look to\nreneague the adventure. So he asked him which way he was to go, and\nRedhead directed him through a street where a great many bad women\nlived, and a great many shibbeen houses were open, and away he set.\n\nWell, he travelled and travelled till he came in sight of the walls of\nHell; and, bedad, before he knocked at the gates, he rubbed himself over\nwith the greenish ointment. When he knocked a hundred little imps popped\ntheir heads out through the bars, and axed him what he wanted. \"I want\nto speak to the big divel of all,\" says Tom: \"open the gate.\"\n\nIt wasn't long till the gate was _thrune_ open, and the Ould Boy\nreceived Tom with bows and scrapes, and axed his business. \"My business\nisn't much,\" says Tom. \"I only came for the loan of that flail that I\nsee hanging on the collar-beam for the King of Dublin to give a\nthrashing to the Danes.\" \"Well,\" says the other, \"the Danes is much\nbetter customers to me; but, since you walked so far, I won't refuse.\nHand that flail,\" says he to a young imp; and he winked the far-off eye\nat the same time. So while some were barring the gates, the young devil\nclimbed up and took down the iron flail that had the handstaff and\nbooltheen both made out of red-hot iron. The little vagabond was\ngrinning to think how it would burn the hands off of Tom, but the\ndickens a burn it made on him, no more nor if it was a good oak sapling.\n\"Thankee,\" says Tom; \"now would you open the gate for a body and I'll\ngive you no more trouble.\" \"Oh, tramp!\" says Ould Nick, \"is that the way?\nIt is easier getting inside them gates than getting out again. Take that\ntool from him, and give him a dose of the oil of stirrup.\" So one fellow\nput out his claws to seize on the flail, but Tom gave him such a welt of\nit on the side of his head that he broke off one of his horns, and made\nhim roar like a divel as he was. Well, they rushed at Tom, but he gave\nthem, little and big, such a thrashing as they didn't forget for a\nwhile. At last says the ould thief of all, rubbing his elbows, \"Let the\nfool out; and woe to whoever lets him in again, great or small.\"\n\nSo out marched Tom and away with him, without minding the shouting and\ncursing they kept up at him from the tops of the walls. And when he got\nhome to the big bawn of the palace, there never was such running and\nracing as to see himself and the flail. When he had his story told he\nlaid down the flail on the stone steps, and bid no one for their lives\nto touch it. If the King and Queen and princess made much of him before\nthey made ten times as much of him now; but Redhead, the mean\nscruff-hound, stole over, and thought to catch hold of the flail to make\nan end of him. His fingers hardly touched it, when he let a roar out of\nhim as if heaven and earth were coming together, and kept flinging his\narms about and dancing that it was pitiful to look at him. Tom run at\nhim as soon as he could rise, caught his hands in his own two, and\nrubbed them this way and that, and the burning pain left them before you\ncould reckon one. Well, the poor fellow, between the pain that was only\njust gone, and the comfort he was in, had the comicalest face that ever\nyou see; it was such a mixerum-gatherum of laughing and crying. Everyone\nburst out a laughing--the princess could not stop no more than the\nrest--and then says Gilla, or Tom, \"Now, ma'am, if there were fifty\nhalves of you I hope you'll give me them all.\" Well, the princess had no\nmock modesty about her. She looked at her father, and, by my word, she\ncame over to Gilla and put her two delicate hands into his two rough\nones, and I wish it was myself was in his shoes that day!\n\nTom would not bring the flail into the palace. You may be sure no other\nbody went near it; and when the early risers were passing next morning\nthey found two long clefts in the stone where it was, after burning\nitself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far. But a messenger\ncame in at noon and said that the Danes were so frightened when they\nheard of the flail coming into Dublin that they got into their ships and\nsailed away.\n\nWell, I suppose before they were married Gilla got some man like Pat\nMara of Tomenine to larn him the \"principles of politeness,\" fluxions,\ngunnery, and fortifications, decimal fractions, practice, and the\nrule-of-three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a conversation\nwith the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time larning them\nsciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that his mother never\nmore saw any want till the end of her days.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Hill-man and the House-wife\n\n\nIt is well known that the good people cannot stand mean ways. Now, there\nonce lived a house-wife who had a sharp eye to her own good in this\nworld, and gave alms of what she had no use, for the good of her soul.\n\nOne day a hill-man knocked at her door. \"Can you lend us a saucepan,\ngood mother?\" said he. \"There's a wedding in the hill, and all the pots\nare in use.\" \"Is he to have one?\" asked the servant girl who opened the\ndoor. \"Ay, to be sure,\" said the house-wife.\n\nBut when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, she pinched her\narm and whispered sharply, \"Not that, you stupid; get the old one out of\nthe cupboard. It leaks, and the hill-men are so neat and such nimble\nworkers that they are sure to mend it before they send it home. So one\ndoes a good turn to the good people and saves sixpence from the tinker.\"\n\nThe maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid by till the tinker's\nnext visit, and gave it to the dwarf, who thanked her and went away.\n\nThe saucepan was soon returned neatly mended and ready for use. At\nsupper time the maid filled the pan with milk and set it on the fire for\nthe children's supper, but in a few minutes the milk was so burnt and\nsmoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs would not drink the\nwash into which it was thrown.\n\n\"Ah, you good-for-nothing slut!\" cried the house-wife, as she this time\nfilled the pan herself. \"You would ruin the richest, with your careless\nways; there's a whole quart of good milk spoilt at once.\" \"And that's\ntwopence,\" cried a voice from the chimney, a queer whining voice like\nsome old body who was always grumbling over something.\n\nThe house-wife had not left the saucepan for two minutes when the milk\nboiled over, and it was all burnt and smoked as before. \"The pan must be\ndirty,\" cried the house-wife in a rage; \"and there are two full quarts\nof milk as good as thrown to the dogs.\" \"_And that's fourpence_,\" said\nthe voice in the chimney.\n\nAfter a long scrubbing the saucepan was once more filled and set on the\nfire, but it was not the least use, the milk was burnt and smoked again,\nand the house-wife burst into tears at the waste, crying out, \"Never\nbefore did such a thing happen to me since I kept house! Three quarts of\nmilk burnt for one meal!\" \"_And that's sixpence,_\" cried the voice from\nthe chimney. \"You didn't save the tinker after all,\" with which the\nhill-man himself came tumbling down the chimney, and went off laughing\nthrough the door. But from that time the saucepan was as good as any\nother.\n\nJULIANA HORATIA EWING.\n\n\n\n\nThe Giant Walker\n\n\n  Now, all the night around their echoing camp\n  Was heard continuous from the hills a sound as of the tramp\n  Of giant footsteps; but, so thick the white mist lay around,\n  None saw the Walker, save the King. He, starting at the sound,\n  Called to his foot his fierce red hound; athwart his shoulders cast\n  A shaggy mantle, grasped his spear, and through the moonlight passed\n  Alone up dark Ben-Boli's heights, towards which, above the woods,\n  With sound as when at close of eve the noise of falling floods\n  Is borne to shepherd's ear remote on stilly upland lawn,\n  The steps along the mountain-side with hollow fall came on.\n  Fast beat the hero's heart; and close down-crouching by his knee\n  Trembled the hound, while, through the haze, huge as through mists at\n      sea,\n  The week-long sleepless mariner descries some mountain cape,\n  Wreck-infamous, rise on his lee, appeared a monstrous Shape,\n  Striding impatient, like a man much grieved, who walks alone,\n  Considering of a cruel wrong; down from his shoulders thrown\n  A mantle, skirted stiff with soil splashed from the miry ground,\n  At every stride against his calves struck with as loud rebound\n  As makes the main-sail of a ship brought up along the blast,\n  When with the coil of all its ropes it beats the sounding mast.\n  So, striding vast, the giant passed; the King held fast his breath--\n  Motionless, save his throbbing heart; and chill and still as death\n  Stood listening while, a second time, the giant took the round\n  Of all the camp; but, when at length, for the third time, the sound\n  Came up, and through the parting haze a third time huge and dim\n  Rose out the Shape, the valiant hound sprang forth and challenged him.\n  And forth, disdaining that a dog should put him so to shame,\n  Sprang Congal, and essayed to speak: \"Dread Shadow, stand! Proclaim\n  What wouldst thou that thou thus all night around my camp shouldst keep\n  Thy troublous vigil banishing the wholesome gift of sleep\n  From all our eyes, who, though inured to dreadful sounds and sights\n  By land and sea, have never yet, in all our perilous nights,\n  Lain in the ward of such a guard.\"\n                                The Shape made answer none,\n  But with stern wafture of its hand went angrier striding on,\n  Shaking the earth with heavier steps. Then Congal on his track\n  Sprang fearless.\n    \"Answer me, thou churl!\" he cried, \"I bid thee back!\"\n  But while he spoke, the giant's cloak around his shoulders grew\n  Like to a black-bulged thunder-cloud, and sudden, out there flew\n  From all its angry swelling folds, with uproar unconfined,\n  Direct against the King's pursuit, a mighty blast of wind.\n  Loud flapped the mantle, tempest-lined, while, fluttering down the gale,\n  As leaves in autumn, man and hound were swept into the vale;\n  And, heard o'er all the huge uproar, through startled Dalaray\n  The giant went, with stamp and clash, departing south away.\n\nSIR SAMUEL FERGUSON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Pursuit of the Gilla Dacker\n\n\nNow, it chanced at one time during the chase, while they were hunting\nover the plain of Cliach, that Finn went to rest on the hill of\nCollkilla, which is now called Knockainy; and he had his hunting-tents\npitched on a level spot near the summit, and some of his chief heroes\ntarried with him.\n\nWhen the King and his companions had taken their places on the hill, the\nFeni unleashed their gracefully shaped, sweet-voiced hounds through the\nwoods and sloping glens. And it was sweet music to Finn's ear, the cry\nof the long-snouted dogs, as they routed the deer from their covers and\nthe badgers from their dens; the pleasant, emulating shouts of the\nyouths; the whistling and signalling of the huntsmen; and the\nencouraging cheers of the mighty heroes, as they spread themselves\nthrough the glens and woods, and over the broad green plain of Cliach.\n\nThen did Finn ask who of all his companions would go to the highest\npoint of the hill directly over them to keep watch and ward and to\nreport how the chase went on. For, he said, the Dedannans were ever on\nthe watch to work the Feni mischief by their druidical spells, and more\nso during the chase than at other times.\n\nFinn Ban Mac Bresal stood forward and offered to go; and, grasping his\nbroad spears, he went to the top, and sat viewing the plain to the four\npoints of the sky. And the King and his companions brought forth the\nchess-board and chess-men and sat them down to a game.\n\nFinn Ban Mac Bresal had been watching only a little time when he saw on\na plain to the east a Fomor of vast size coming towards the hill,\nleading a horse. As he came nearer Finn Ban observed that he was the\nugliest-looking giant his eyes ever lighted on. He had a large, thick\nbody, bloated and swollen out to a great size; clumsy, crooked legs; and\nbroad, flat feet turned inwards. His hands and arms and shoulders were\nbony and thick and very strong-looking; his neck was long and thin; and\nwhile his head was poked forward, his face was turned up, as he stared\nstraight at Finn Mac Bresal. He had thick lips, and long, crooked teeth;\nand his face was covered all over with bushy hair.\n\nHe was fully armed; but all his weapons were rusty and soiled and\nslovenly looking. A broad shield of a dirty, sooty colour, rough and\nbattered, hung over his back; he had a long, heavy, straight sword at\nhis left hip; and he held in his left hand two thick-handled,\nbroad-headed spears, old and rusty, and seeming as if they had not been\nhandled for years. In his right hand he held an iron club, which he\ndragged after him with its end on the ground; and, as it trailed along,\nit tore up a track as deep as the furrow a farmer ploughs with a team of\noxen.\n\nThe horse he led was even larger in proportion than the giant himself,\nand quite as ugly. His great carcass was covered all over with tangled\nscraggy hair, of a sooty black; you could count his ribs and all the\npoints of his big bones through his hide; his legs were crooked and\nknotty; his neck was twisted; and as for his jaws, they were so long and\nheavy that they made his head look twice too large for his body.\n\nThe giant held him by a thick halter, and seemed to be dragging him\nforward by main force, the animal was so lazy and so hard to move. Every\nnow and then, when the beast tried to stand still, the giant would give\nhim a blow on the ribs with his big iron club, which sounded as loud as\nthe thundering of a great billow against the rough-headed rocks of the\ncoast. When he gave him a pull forward by the halter, the wonder was\nthat he did not drag the animal's head away from his body; and, on the\nother hand, the horse often gave the halter such a tremendous tug\nbackwards that it was equally wonderful how the arm of the giant was not\ntorn away from his shoulder.\n\nWhen at last he had come up he bowed his head and bended his knee, and\nsaluted the King with great respect.\n\nFinn addressed him; and after having given him leave to speak he asked\nhim who he was, and what was his name, and whether he belonged to one of\nthe noble or ignoble races; also what was his profession or craft, and\nwhy he had no servant to attend to his horse.\n\nThe big man made answer and said, \"King of the Feni, whether I come of a\nnoble or of an ignoble race, that, indeed, I cannot tell, for I know not\nwho my father and mother were. As to where I came from, I am a Fomor of\nLochlann in the north; but I have no particular dwelling-place, for I am\ncontinually travelling about from one country to another, serving the\ngreat lords and nobles of the world, and receiving wages for my service.\n\n\"In the course of my wanderings I have often heard of you, O King, and\nof your greatness and splendour and royal bounty; and I have come now to\nask you to take me into your service for one year; and at the end of\nthat time I shall fix my own wages, according to my custom.\n\n\"You ask me also why I have no servant for this great horse of mine. The\nreason of that is this: at every meal I eat my master must give me as\nmuch food and drink as would be enough for a hundred men; and whosoever\nthe lord or chief may be that takes me into his service, it is quite\nenough for him to have to provide for me, without having also to feed my\nservant.\n\n\"Moreover, I am so very heavy and lazy that I should never be able to\nkeep up with a company on march if I had to walk; and this is my reason\nfor keeping a horse at all.\n\n\"My name is the Gilla Dacker, and it is not without good reason that I\nam so called. For there never was a lazier or worse servant than I am,\nor one that grumbles more at doing a day's work for his master. And I am\nthe hardest person in the world to deal with; for, no matter how good or\nnoble I may think my master, or how kindly he may treat me, it is hard\nwords and foul reproaches I am likely to give him for thanks in the end.\n\n\"This, O Finn, is the account I have to give of myself, and these are my\nanswers to your questions.\"\n\n\"Well,\" answered Finn, \"according to your own account you are not a very\npleasant fellow to have anything to do with; and of a truth there is not\nmuch to praise in your appearance. But things may not be so bad as you\nsay; and, anyhow, as I have never yet refused any man service and wages,\nI will not now refuse you.\"\n\nWhereupon Finn and the Gilla Dacker made covenants, and the Gilla Dacker\nwas taken into service for a year.\n\n\"And now,\" said the Gilla Dacker, \"as to this same horse of mine, I find\nI must attend to him myself, as I see no one here worthy of putting a\nhand near him. So I will lead him to the nearest stud, as I am wont to\ndo, and let him graze among your horses. I value him greatly, however,\nand it would grieve me very much if any harm were to befall him; so,\"\ncontinued he, turning to the King, \"I put him under your protection, O\nKing, and under the protection of all the Feni that are here present.\"\n\nAt this speech the Feni all burst out laughing to see the Gilla Dacker\nshowing such concern for his miserable, worthless old skeleton of a\nhorse.\n\nHowbeit, the big man, giving not the least heed to their merriment, took\nthe halter off the horse's head and turned him loose among the horses of\nthe Feni.\n\nBut now, this same wretched-looking old animal, instead of beginning to\ngraze, as everyone thought he would, ran in among the horses of the\nFeni, and began straightway to work all sorts of mischief. He cocked his\nlong, hard, switchy tail straight out like a rod, and, throwing up his\nhind legs, he kicked about on this side and on that, maiming and\ndisabling several of the horses. Sometimes he went tearing through the\nthickest of the herd, butting at them with his hard, bony forehead; and\nhe opened out his lips with a vicious grin and tore all he could lay\nhold on with his sharp, crooked teeth, so that none were safe that came\nin his way either before or behind.\n\nAt last he left them, and was making straight across to a small field\nwhere Conan Mail's horses were grazing by themselves, intending to play\nthe same tricks among them. But Conan, seeing this, shouted in great\nalarm to the Gilla Dacker to bring away his horse, and not let him work\nany more mischief; and threatening, if he did not do so at once, to go\nhimself and knock the brains out of the vicious old brute on the spot.\n\nBut the Gilla Dacker told Conan that he saw no way of preventing his\nhorse from joining the others, except someone put the halter on him.\n\"And,\" said he to Conan, \"there is the halter; and if you are in any\nfear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from\nthe field.\"\n\nConan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big\nhorse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and,\nrunning forward with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head\nand thought to lead him back. But in a moment the horse stood stock\nstill, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of\nwood; and though Conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not\nable to stir him an inch from his place.\n\nAt last Fergus Finnvel, the poet, spoke to Conan and said, \"I never\nwould have believed, Conan Mail, that you could be brought to do\nhorse-service for any knight or noble in the whole world; but now,\nindeed, I see that you have made yourself a horse-boy to an ugly foreign\ngiant, so hateful-looking and low-born that not a man of the Feni would\nhave anything to say to him. As you have, however, to mind this old\nhorse in order to save your own, would it not be better for you to mount\nhim and revenge yourself for all the trouble he is giving you, by riding\nhim across the country, over the hill-tops, and down into the deep glens\nand valleys, and through stones and bogs and all sorts of rough places,\ntill you have broken the heart in his big ugly body?\"\n\nConan, stung by the cutting words of the poet and by the jeers of his\ncompanions, jumped upon the horse's back, and began to beat him mightily\nwith his heels and with his two big heavy fists to make him go; but the\nhorse seemed not to take the least notice, and never stirred.\n\n\"I know the reason he does not go,\" said Fergus Finnvel; \"he has been\naccustomed to carry a horseman far heavier than you--that is to say, the\nGilla Dacker; and he will not move till he has the same weight on his\nback.\"\n\nAt this Conan Mail called out to his companions, and asked which of them\nwould mount with him and help to avenge the damage done to their horses.\n\n\"I will go,\" said Coil Croda the Battle Victor, son of Criffan; and up\nhe went. But the horse never moved.\n\nDara Donn Mac Morna next offered to go, and mounted behind the others;\nand after him Angus Mac Art Mac Morna. And the end of it was that\nfourteen men of the Clann Baskin and Clann Morna got up along with\nConan; and all began to thrash the horse together with might and main.\nBut they were none the better for it, for he remained standing stiff and\nimmovable as before. They found, moreover, that their seat was not at\nall an easy one--the animal's back was so sharp and bony.\n\nWhen the Gilla Dacker saw the Feni beating his horse at such a rate he\nseemed very angry, and addressed the King in these words:\n\n\"King of the Feni, I now see plainly that all the fine accounts I heard\nabout you and the Feni are false, and I will not stay in your\nservice--no, not another hour. You can see for yourself the ill usage\nthese men are giving my horse without cause; and I leave you to judge\nwhether anyone could put up with it--anyone who had the least regard for\nhis horse. The time is, indeed, short since I entered your service, but\nI now think it a great deal too long; so pay me my wages and let me go\nmy ways.\"\n\nBut Finn said, \"I do not wish you to go; stay on till the end of your\nyear, and then I will pay you all I promised you.\"\n\n\"I swear,\" answered the Gilla Dacker, \"that if this were the very last\nday of my year, I would not wait till morning for my wages after this\ninsult. So, wages or no wages, I will now seek another master; but from\nthis time forth I shall know what to think of Finn Mac Cumal and his\nFeni!\"\n\nWith that the Gilla Dacker stood up as straight as a pillar, and,\nturning his face towards the south-west, he walked slowly away.\n\nWhen the horse saw his master leaving the hill he stirred himself at\nonce and walked quietly after him, bringing the fifteen men away on his\nback. And when the Feni saw this they raised a loud shout of laughter,\nmocking them.\n\nThe Gilla Dacker, after he had walked some little way, looked back, and,\nseeing that his horse was following, he stood for a moment to tuck up\nhis skirts. Then, all at once changing his pace, he set out with long,\nactive strides; and if you know what the speed of a swallow is flying\nacross a mountain-side, or the dry fairy wind of a March day sweeping\nover the plains, then you can understand the swiftness of the Gilla\nDacker as he ran down the hill-side towards the south-west.\n\nNeither was the horse behindhand in the race; for though he carried a\nheavy load, he galloped like the wind after his master, plunging and\nbounding forward with as much freedom as if he had nothing at all on his\nback.\n\nThe men now tried to throw themselves off; but this, indeed, they were\nnot able to do, for the good reason that they found themselves fastened\nfirmly, hands and feet and all, to the horse's back.\n\nAnd now Conan, looking round, raised his big voice and shouted to Finn\nand the Feni, asking them were they content to let their friends be\ncarried off in that manner by such a horrible, foul-looking old spectre\nof a horse.\n\nFinn and the others, hearing this, seized their arms and started off in\npursuit. Now, the way the Gilla Dacker and his horse took was first\nthrough Fermore, which is at the present day called Hy Conall Gavra;\nnext over the wide, heathy summit of Slieve Lougher; from that to Corca\nDivna; and they ran along by Slieve Mish till they reached Cloghan\nKincat, near the deep green sea.\n\nAnd so the great horse continued his course without stop or stay,\nbringing the sixteen Feni with him through the sea. Now, this is how\nthey fared in the sea while the horse was rushing farther and farther to\nthe west: they had always a dry, firm strand under them, for the waters\nretired before the horse; while behind them was a wild, raging sea,\nwhich followed close after and seemed ready every moment to topple over\ntheir heads. But, though the billows were tumbling and roaring all\nround, neither horse nor riders were wetted by as much as a drop of\nbrine or a dash of spray.\n\nThen Finn spoke and asked the chiefs what they thought best to be done;\nand they told him they would follow whatsoever counsel he and Fergus\nFinnvel, the poet, gave them. Then Finn told Fergus to speak his mind;\nand Fergus said:\n\n\"My counsel is that we go straightway to Ben Edar, where we shall find a\nship ready to sail. For our forefathers, when they wrested the land from\nthe gifted, bright-complexioned Dedannans, bound them by covenant to\nmaintain this ship for ever, fitted with all things needful for a\nvoyage, even to the smallest article, as one of the privileges of Ben\nEdar; so that if at any time one of the noble sons of Gael Glas wished\nto sail to distant lands from Erin, he should have a ship lying at hand\nin the harbour ready to begin his voyage.\"\n\nThey agreed to this counsel, and turned their steps without delay\nnorthwards towards Ben Edar. They had not gone far when they met two\nnoble-looking youths, fully armed, and wearing over their armour\nbeautiful mantles of scarlet silk, fastened by brooches of gold. The\nstrangers saluted the King with much respect; and the King saluted them\nin return. Then, having given them leave to converse, he asked them who\nthey were, whither they had come, and who the prince or chief was that\nthey served. And the elder answered:\n\n\"My name is Feradach, and my brother's name is Foltlebar; and we are the\ntwo sons of the King of Innia. Each of us professes an art; and it has\nlong been a point of dispute between us which art is the better, my\nbrother's or mine. Hearing that there is not in the world a wiser or\nmore far-seeing man than thou art, O King, we have come to ask thee to\ntake us into thy service among thy household troops for a year, and at\nthe end of that time to give judgment between us in this matter.\"\n\nFinn asked them what were the two arts they professed.\n\n\"My art,\" answered Feradach, \"is this. If at any time a company of\nwarriors need a ship, give me only my joiner's axe and my crann-tavall,\nand I am able to provide a ship for them without delay. The only think I\nask them to do is this--to cover their heads close, and keep them\ncovered, while I give the crann-tavall three blows of my axe. Then I\ntell them to uncover their heads; and lo, there lies the ship in harbour\nready to sail!\"\n\nThen Foltlebar spoke and said, \"This, O King, is the art I profess. On\nland I can track the wild duck over nine ridges and nine glens, and\nfollow her without being once thrown out till I drop upon her in her\nnest. And I can follow up a track on sea quite as well as on land if I\nhave a good ship and crew.\"\n\nFinn replied, \"You are the very men I want; and I now take you both into\nmy service. At this moment I need a good ship and a skilful pilot more\nthan any two things in the whole world.\"\n\nWhereupon Finn told them the whole story of the Gilla Dacker's doings\nfrom beginning to end. \"And we are now,\" said he, \"on our way to Ben\nEdar to seek a ship that we may follow this giant and his horse and\nrescue our companions.\"\n\nThen Feradach said, \"I will get you a ship--a ship that will sail as\nswiftly as a swallow can fly!\"\n\nAnd Foltlebar said, \"I will guide your ship in the track of the Gilla\nDacker till ye lay hands on him, in whatsoever quarter of the world he\nmay have hidden himself!\"\n\nAnd so they turned back to Cloghan Kincat. And when they had come to the\nbeach Feradach told them to cover their heads, and they did so. Then he\nstruck three blows of his axe on the crann-tavall; after which he made\nthem look. And lo, they saw a ship fully fitted out with oars and sails\nand with all things needed for a long voyage riding before them in the\nharbour!\n\nThen they went on board and launched their ship on the cold, bright sea;\nand Foltlebar was their pilot and steersman. And they set their sail and\nplied their slender oars, and the ship moved swiftly westward till they\nlost sight of the shores of Erin; and they saw nothing all round them\nbut a wide girdle of sea. After some days' sailing a great storm came\nfrom the west, and the black waves rose up against them so that they had\nmuch ado to keep their vessel from sinking. But through all the roaring\nof the tempest, through the rain and blinding spray, Foltlebar never\nstirred from the helm or changed his course, but still kept close on the\ntrack of the Gilla Dacker.\n\nAt length the storm abated and the sea grew calm. And when the darkness\nhad cleared away they saw to the west, a little way off, a vast rocky\ncliff towering over their heads to such a height that its head seemed\nhidden among the clouds. It rose up sheer from the very water, and\nlooked at that distance as smooth as glass, so that at first sight\nthere seemed no way to reach the top.\n\nFoltlebar, after examining to the four points of the sky, found the\ntrack of the Gilla Dacker as far as the cliff, but no farther. And he\naccordingly told the heroes that he thought it was on the top of that\nrock the giant lived; and that, anyhow, the horse must have made his way\nup the face of the cliff with their companions.\n\nWhen the heroes heard this they were greatly cast down and puzzled what\nto do; for they saw no way of reaching the top of the rock; and they\nfeared they should have to give up the quest and return without their\ncompanions. And they sat down and looked up at the cliff with sorrow and\nvexation in their hearts.\n\nFergus Finnvel, the poet, then challenged the hero Dermat O'Dyna to\nclimb the rock in pursuit of the Gilla Dacker, and he did so, and on\nreaching the summit found himself in a beautiful fairy plain. He fared\nacross it and came to a great tree laden with fruit beside a well as\nclear as crystal. Hard by, on the brink of the well, stood a tall pillar\nstone, and on its top lay a golden-chased drinking horn. He filled the\nhorn from the well and drank, but had scarcely taken it from his lips\nwhen he saw a fully armed wizard champion advancing to meet him with\nlooks and gestures of angry menace. The wizard upbraided him for\nentering his territory without leave and for drinking out of his well\nfrom his drinking horn, and thereupon challenged him to fight. For four\ndays long they fought, the wizard escaping from Dermat every even-fall\nby leaping into the well and disappearing down through it. But on the\nfourth evening Dermat closed with the wizard when about to spring into\nthe water, and fell with him into the well.\n\nOn reaching the bottom the wizard wrested himself away and started\nrunning, and Dermat found himself in a strangely beautiful country with\na royal palace hard by, in front of which armed knights were engaged in\nwarlike exercises. Through them the wizard ran, but, when Dermat\nattempted to follow, his way was barred by their threatening weapons.\nNothing daunted, he fell upon them in all his battle fury, and routed\nthem so entirely that they fled and shut themselves up in the castle or\ntook refuge in distant woods.\n\nOvercome with his battle toil (and smarting all over with wounds) Dermat\nfell into a dead sleep, from which he was wakened by a friendly blow\nfrom the flat of a sword held by a young, golden-haired hero, who proved\nto be the brother of the Knight of Valour, King of that country of\nTir-fa-tonn, whom in the guise of the Knight of the Fountain, Dermat had\nfought and chased away.\n\nA part of the kingdom belonging to him had been seized by his wizard\nbrother, and he now seeks and obtains Dermat's aid to win it back for\nhim.\n\nWhen Dermat at last meets Finn and the other Feni who had gone in\npursuit of him into the Kingdom of Sorca, at the summit of the great\nrock, he is able to relate how he headed the men of the Knight of Valour\nagainst the Wizard King, and slew him and defeated his army.\n\n\"And now,\" continued he, bringing forth the Knight of Valour from among\nthe strange host, \"this is he who was formerly called the Knight of\nValour, but who is now the King of Tir-fa-tonn. Moreover, this King has\ntold me, having himself found it out by his druidical art, that it was\nAvarta the Dedannan (the son of Illahan of the Many-coloured Raiment)\nwho took the form of the Gilla Dacker, and who brought the sixteen Feni\naway to the Land of Promise, where he now holds them in bondage.\"\n\nThen Foltlebar at once found the tracks of the Gilla Dacker and his\nhorse. He traced them from the very edge of the rock across the plain to\nthe sea at the other side; and they brought round their ship and began\ntheir voyage. But this time Foltlebar found it very hard to keep on the\ntrack; for the Gilla Dacker, knowing that there were not in the world\nmen more skilled in following up a quest than the Feni, took great pains\nto hide all traces of the flight of himself and his horse; so that\nFoltlebar was often thrown out; but he always recovered the track after\na little time.\n\nAnd so they sailed from island to island and from bay to bay, over many\nseas and by many shores, ever following the track, till at length they\narrived at the Land of Promise. And when they had made the land, and\nknew for a certainty that this was indeed the Land of Promise, they\nrejoiced greatly; for in this land Dermat O'Dyna had been nurtured by\nMannanan Mac Lir of the Yellow Hair.\n\nThen they held council as to what was best to be done; and Finn's advice\nwas that they should burn and spoil the country in revenge of the\noutrage that had been done to his people. Dermat, however, would not\nhear of this. And he said:\n\n\"Not so, O King. The people of this land are of all men the most skilled\nin druidic art; and it is not well that they should be at feud with us.\nLet us rather send to Avarta a trusty herald to demand that he should\nset our companions at liberty. If he does so, then we shall be at peace;\nif he refuse, then shall we proclaim war against him and his people, and\nwaste this land with fire and sword till he be forced, even by his own\npeople, to give us back our friends.\"\n\nThis advice was approved by all. And then Finn said:\n\n\"But how shall heralds reach the dwelling of this enchanter; for the\nways are not open and straight, as in other lands, but crooked and made\nfor concealment, and the valleys and plains are dim and shadowy and hard\nto be traversed?\"\n\nBut Foltlebar, nothing daunted by the dangers and the obscurity of the\nway, offered to go with a single trusty companion; and they took up the\ntrack and followed it without being once thrown out, till they reached\nthe mansion of Avarta. There they found their friends amusing themselves\non the green outside the palace walls; for, though kept captive in the\nisland, yet were they in no wise restrained, but were treated by Avarta\nwith much kindness. When they saw the heralds coming towards them their\njoy knew no bounds; they crowded round to embrace them, and asked them\nmany questions regarding their home and their friends.\n\nAt last Avarta himself came forth and asked who these strangers were;\nand Foltlebar replied:\n\n\"We are of the people of Finn Mac Cumal, who has sent us as heralds to\nthee. He and his heroes have landed on this island guided hither by me;\nand he bade us tell thee that he has come to wage war and to waste this\nland with fire and sword as a punishment for that thou hast brought away\nhis people by foul spells, and even now keepest them in bondage.\"\n\nWhen Avarta heard this he made no reply, but called a council of his\nchief men to consider whether they should send back to Finn an answer of\nwar or of peace. And they, having much fear of the Feni, were minded to\nrestore Finn's people and to give him his own award in satisfaction for\nthe injury done to him; and to invite Finn himself and those who had\ncome with him to a feast of joy and friendship in the house of Avarta.\n\nAvarta himself went with Foltlebar to give this message. And after he\nand Finn had exchanged friendly greetings, he told them what the council\nhad resolved; and Finn and Dermat and the others were glad at heart. And\nFinn and Avarta put hand in hand and made a league of friendship.\n\nSo they went with Avarta to his house, where they found their lost\nfriends; and, being full of gladness, they saluted and embraced each\nother. Then a feast was prepared; and they were feasted for three days,\nand they ate and drank and made merry.\n\nOn the fourth day a meeting was called on the green to hear the award.\nNow, it was resolved to make amends on the one hand to Finn, as King of\nthe Feni, and on the other to those who had been brought away by the\nGilla Dacker. And when all were gathered together Finn was first asked\nto name his award; and this is what he said:\n\n\"I shall not name an award, O Avarta; neither shall I accept an eric\nfrom thee. But the wages I promised thee when we made our covenant at\nKnockainy, that I will give thee. For I am thankful for the welcome thou\nhast given us here; and I wish that there should be peace and friendship\nbetween us for ever.\"\n\nBut Conan, on his part, was not so easily satisfied; and he said to\nFinn:\n\n\"Little hast thou endured, O Finn, in this matter; and thou mayst well\nwaive thy award. But hadst thou, like us, suffered from the sharp bones\nand the rough carcass of the Gilla Dacker's monstrous horse in a long\njourney from Erin to the Land of Promise, across wide seas, through\ntangled woods, and over rough-headed rocks, thou wouldst then, methinks,\nname an award.\"\n\nAt this, Avarta and the others who had seen Conan and his companions\ncarried off on the back of the big horse could scarce keep from\nlaughing; and Avarta said to Conan:\n\n\"Name thy award, and I will fulfil it every jot; for I have heard of\nthee, Conan, and I dread to bring the gibes and taunts of thy foul\ntongue on myself and my people.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Conan, \"my award is this: that you choose fifteen of\nthe best and noblest men in the Land of Promise, among whom are to be\nyour own best beloved friends; and that you cause them to mount on the\nback of the big horse, and that you yourself take hold of his tail. In\nthis manner you shall fare to Erin, back again by the self-same track\nthe horse took when he brought us hither--through the same surging seas,\nthrough the same thick thorny woods, and over the same islands and\nrough rocks and dark glens. And this, Avarta, is my award,\" said Conan.\n\nNow, Finn and his people were rejoiced exceedingly when they heard\nConan's award--that he asked from Avarta nothing more than like for\nlike. For they feared much that he might claim treasure of gold and\nsilver, and thus bring reproach on the Feni.\n\nAvarta promised that everything required by Conan should be done,\nbinding himself in solemn pledges. Then the heroes took their leave; and\nhaving launched their ship on the broad, green sea, they sailed back by\nthe same course to Erin. And they marched to their camping-place at\nKnockainy, where they rested in their tents.\n\nAvarta then chose his men. And he placed them on the horse's back, and\nhe himself caught hold of the tail; and it is not told how they fared\ntill they made harbour and landing-place at Cloghan Kincat. They delayed\nnot, but straightway journeyed over the self-same track as before till\nthey reached Knockainy.\n\nFinn and his people saw them afar off coming towards the hill with great\nspeed; the Gilla Dacker, quite as large and as ugly as ever, running\nbefore the horse; for he had let go the tail at Cloghan Kincat. And the\nFeni could not help laughing heartily when they saw the plight of the\nfifteen chiefs on the great horse's back; and they said with one voice\nthat Conan had made a good award that time.\n\nWhen the horse reached the spot from which he had at first set out the\nmen began to dismount. Then the Gilla Dacker, suddenly stepping forward,\nheld up his arm and pointed earnestly over the heads of the Feni\ntowards the field where the horses were standing; so that the heroes\nwere startled, and turned round every man to look. But nothing was to be\nseen except the horses grazing quietly inside the fence.\n\nFinn and the others now turned round again with intent to speak to the\nGilla Dacker and bring him and his people into the tents; but much did\nthey marvel to find them all gone. The Gilla Dacker and his great horse\nand fifteen nobles of the Land of Promise had disappeared in an instant;\nand neither Finn himself nor any of his chiefs ever saw them afterwards.\n\nPATRICK WESTON JOYCE.\n\n\n\n\nJamie Freel and the Young Lady\n\n(_Ulster Irish._)\n\n\nDown in Fannet, in times gone by, lived Jamie Freel and his mother.\nJamie was the widow's sole support; his strong arm worked for her\nuntiringly, and as each Saturday night came round he poured his wages\ninto her lap, thanking her dutifully for the halfpence which she\nreturned him for tobacco.\n\nHe was extolled by his neighbours as the best son ever known or heard\nof. But he had neighbours of whose opinions he was ignorant--neighbours\nwho lived pretty close to him, whom he had never seen, who are, indeed,\nrarely seen by mortals, except on May Eves or Halloweens.\n\nAn old ruined castle, about a quarter of a mile from his cabin, was said\nto be the abode of the \"wee folk.\" Every Halloween were the ancient\nwindows lighted up, and passersby saw little figures flitting to and\nfro inside the building, while they heard the music of flutes and pipes.\n\nIt was well known that fairy revels took place; but nobody had the\ncourage to intrude on them.\n\nJamie had often watched the little figures from a distance, and listened\nto the charming music, wondering what the inside of the castle was like;\nbut one Halloween he got up, and took his cap, saying to his mother,\n\"I'm awa to the castle to seek my fortune.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried she. \"Would you venture there--you that's the widow's only\nson? Dinna be sae venturesome and foolitch, Jamie! They'll kill you, an'\nthen what'll come o' me?\"\n\n\"Never fear, mother; nae harm'll happen me, but I maun gae.\"\n\nHe set out, and, as he crossed the potato field, came in sight of the\ncastle, whose windows were ablaze with light that seemed to turn the\nrusset leaves, still clinging to the crab-tree branches, into gold.\n\nHalting in the grove at one side of the ruin, he listened to the elfin\nrevelry, and the laughter and singing made him all the more determined\nto proceed.\n\nNumbers of little people, the largest about the size of a child of five\nyears old, were dancing to the music of flutes and fiddles, while others\ndrank and feasted.\n\n\"Welcome, Jamie Freel! Welcome, welcome, Jamie!\" cried the company,\nperceiving their visitor. The word \"Welcome\" was caught up and repeated\nby every voice in the castle.\n\nTime flew, and Jamie was enjoying himself very much, when his hosts\nsaid, \"We're going to ride to Dublin to-night to steal a young lady.\nWill you come, too, Jamie Freel?\"\n\n\"Ay, that I will,\" cried the rash youth, thirsting for adventure.\n\nA troop of horses stood at the door. Jamie mounted, and his steed rose\nwith him into the air. He was presently flying over his mother's\ncottage, surrounded by the elfin troop, and on and on they went, over\nbold mountains, over little hills, over the deep Lough Swilley, over\ntowns and cottages, where people were burning nuts and eating apples and\nkeeping merry Halloween. It seemed to Jamie that they flew all round\nIreland before they got to Dublin.\n\n\"This is Derry,\" said the fairies, flying over the cathedral spire; and\nwhat was said by one voice was repeated by all the rest, till fifty\nlittle voices were crying out, \"Derry! Derry! Derry!\"\n\nIn like manner was Jamie informed as they passed over each town on the\nroute, and at length he heard the silvery voices cry, \"Dublin! Dublin!\"\n\nIt was no mean dwelling that was to be honoured by the fairy visit, but\none of the finest houses in Stephen's Green.\n\nThe troop dismounted near a window, and Jamie saw a beautiful face on a\npillow in a splendid bed. He saw the young lady lifted and carried away,\nwhile the stick which was dropped in her place on the bed took her exact\nform.\n\nThe lady was placed before one rider and carried a short way, then given\nanother, and the names of the towns were cried as before.\n\nThey were approaching home. Jamie heard \"Rathmullan,\" \"Milford,\"\n\"Tamney,\" and then he knew they were near his own house.\n\n\"You've all had your turn at carrying the young lady,\" said he. \"Why\nwouldn't I get her for a wee piece?\"\n\n\"Ay, Jamie,\" replied they pleasantly, \"you may take your turn at\ncarrying her, to be sure.\"\n\nHolding his prize very tightly he dropped down near his mother's door.\n\n\"Jamie Freel! Jamie Freel! is that the way you treat us?\" cried they,\nand they, too, dropped down near the door.\n\nJamie held fast, though he knew not what he was holding, for the little\nfolk turned the lady into all sorts of strange shapes. At one moment she\nwas a black dog, barking and trying to bite; at another a glowing bar of\niron, which yet had no heat; then again a sack of wool.\n\nBut still Jamie held her, and the baffled elves were turning away when a\ntiny woman, the smallest of the party, exclaimed, \"Jamie Freel has her\nawa frae us, but he sall nae hae gude of her, for I'll mak' her deaf and\ndumb,\" and she threw something over the young girl.\n\nWhile they rode off, disappointed, Jamie Freel lifted the latch and went\nin.\n\n\"Jamie man!\" cried his mother, \"you've been awa all night. What have\nthey done on you?\"\n\n\"Naething bad, mother; I hae the very best o' gude luck. Here's a\nbeautiful young lady I hae brought you for company.\"\n\n\"Bless us and save us!\" exclaimed his mother; and for some minutes she\nwas so astonished she could not think of anything else to say.\n\nJamie told the story of the night's adventure, ending by saying, \"Surely\nyou wouldna have allowed me to let her gang with them to be lost for\never?\"\n\n\"But a _lady_, Jamie! How can a lady eat we'er (our) poor diet and live\nin we'er poor way? I ax you that, you foolitch fellow!\"\n\n\"Well, mother, sure it's better for her to be over here nor yonder,\" and\nhe pointed in the direction of the castle.\n\nMeanwhile the deaf and dumb girl shivered in her light clothing,\nstepping close to the humble turf fire.\n\n\"Poor crathur, she's quare and handsome! Nae wonder they set their\nhearts on her,\" said the old woman, gazing at their guest with pity and\nadmiration. \"We maun dress her first; but what in the name o' fortune\nhae I fit for the likes of her to wear?\"\n\nShe went to her press in \"the room\" and took out her Sunday gown of\nbrown drugget. She then opened a drawer and drew forth a pair of white\nstockings, a long snowy garment of fine linen, and a cap, her \"dead\ndress,\" as she called it.\n\nThese articles of attire had long been ready for a certain triste\nceremony, in which she would some day fill the chief part, and only saw\nthe light occasionally when they were hung out to air; but she was\nwilling to give even these to the fair trembling visitor, who was\nturning in dumb sorrow and wonder from her to Jamie, and from Jamie back\nto her.\n\nThe poor girl suffered herself to be dressed, and then sat down on a\n\"creepie\" in the chimney corner and buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"What'll we do to keep up a lady like thou?\" cried the old woman.\n\n\"I'll work for you both, mother,\" replied the son.\n\n\"An' how could a lady live on we'er poor diet?\" she repeated.\n\n\"I'll work for her,\" was all Jamie's answer.\n\nHe kept his word. The young lady was very sad for a long time, and tears\nstole down her cheeks many an evening, while the old woman span by the\nfire and Jamie made salmon nets, an accomplishment acquired by him in\nhopes of adding to the comfort of their guest.\n\nBut she was always gentle, and tried to smile when she perceived them\nlooking at her; and by degrees she adapted herself to their ways and\nmode of life. It was not very long before she began to feed the pig,\nmash potatoes and meal for the fowls, and knit blue worsted socks.\n\nSo a year passed and Halloween came round again. \"Mother,\" said Jamie,\ntaking down his cap, \"I'm off to the ould castle to seek my fortune.\"\n\n\"Are you mad, Jamie?\" cried his mother in terror; \"sure they'll kill you\nthis time for what you done on them last year.\"\n\nJamie made light of her fears and went his way.\n\nAs he reached the crab-tree grove he saw bright lights in the castle\nwindows as before, and heard loud talking. Creeping under the window he\nheard the wee folk say, \"That was a poor trick Jamie Freel played us\nthis night last year, when he stole the young lady from us.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said the tiny woman, \"an' I punished him for it, for there she\nsits a dumb image by the hearth, but he does na' know that three drops\nout o' this glass that I hold in my hand wad gie her her hearing and\nspeech back again.\"\n\nJamie's heart beat fast as he entered the hall. Again he was greeted by\na chorus of welcomes from the company--\"Here comes Jamie Freel! Welcome,\nwelcome, Jamie!\"\n\nAs soon as the tumult subsided the little woman said, \"You be to drink\nour health, Jamie, out o' this glass in my hand.\"\n\nJamie snatched the glass from her and darted to the door. He never knew\nhow he reached his cabin, but he arrived there breathless and sank on a\nstove by the fire.\n\n\"You're kilt, surely, this time, my poor boy,\" said his mother.\n\n\"No, indeed, better luck than ever this time!\" and he gave the lady\nthree drops of the liquid that still remained at the bottom of the\nglass, notwithstanding his mad race over the potato field.\n\nThe lady began to speak, and her first words were words of thanks to\nJamie.\n\nThe three inmates of the cabin had so much to say to one another that,\nlong after cock-crow, when the fairy music had quite ceased, they were\ntalking round the fire.\n\n\"Jamie,\" said the lady, \"be pleased to get me paper and pen and ink\nthat I may write to my father and tell him what has become of me.\"\n\nShe wrote, but weeks passed and she received no answer. Again and again\nshe wrote, and still no answer.\n\nAt length she said, \"You must come with me to Dublin, Jamie, to find my\nfather.\"\n\n\"I hae no money to hire a car for you,\" he answered; \"an' how can you\ntravel to Dublin on your foot?\"\n\nBut she implored him so much that he consented to set out with her and\nwalk all the way from Fannet to Dublin. It was not as easy as the fairy\njourney; but at last they rang the bell at the door of the house in\nStephen's Green.\n\n\"Tell my father that his daughter is here,\" said she to the servant who\nopened the door.\n\n\"The gentleman that lives here has no daughter, my girl. He had one, but\nshe died better nor a year ago.\"\n\n\"Do you not know me, Sullivan?\"\n\n\"No, poor girl, I do not.\"\n\n\"Let me see the gentleman. I only ask to see him.\"\n\n\"Well, that's not much to ax. We'll see what can be done.\"\n\nIn a few moments the lady's father came to the door.\n\n\"How dare you call me your father?\" cried the old gentleman angrily.\n\"You are an impostor. I have no daughter.\"\n\n\"Look in my face, father, and surely you'll remember me.\"\n\n\"My daughter is dead and buried. She died a long, long time ago.\" The\nold gentleman's voice changed from anger to sorrow. \"You can go,\" he\nconcluded.\n\n\"Stop, dear father, till you look at this ring on my finger. Look at\nyour name and mine engraved on it.\"\n\n\"It certainly is my daughter's ring, but I do not know how you came by\nit. I fear in no honest way.\"\n\n\"Call my mother--_she_ will be sure to know me,\" said the poor girl, who\nby this time was weeping bitterly.\n\n\"My poor wife is beginning to forget her sorrow. She seldom speaks of\nher daughter now. Why should I renew her grief by reminding her of her\nloss?\"\n\nBut the young lady persevered till at last the mother was sent for.\n\n\"Mother,\" she began, when the old lady came to the door, \"don't _you_\nknow your daughter?\"\n\n\"I have no daughter. My daughter died, and was buried a long, long time\nago.\"\n\n\"Only look in my face and surely you'll know me.\"\n\nThe old lady shook her head.\n\n\"You have all forgotten me; but look at this mole on my neck. Surely,\nmother, you know me now?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said her mother, \"my Gracie had a mole on her neck like\nthat; but then I saw her in the coffin, and saw the lid shut down upon\nher.\"\n\nIt became Jamie's turn to speak, and he gave the history of the fairy\njourney, of the theft of the young lady, of the figure he had seen laid\nin its place, of her life with his mother in Fannet, of last Halloween,\nand of the three drops that had released her from her enchantments.\n\nShe took up the story when he paused and told how kind the mother and\nson had been to her.\n\nThe parents could not make enough of Jamie. They treated him with every\ndistinction, and when he expressed his wish to return to Fannet, said\nthey did not know what to do to express their gratitude.\n\nBut an awkward complication arose. The daughter would not let him go\nwithout her. \"If Jamie goes, I'll go, too,\" she said. \"He saved me from\nthe fairies, and has worked for me ever since. If it had not been for\nhim, dear father and mother, you would never have seen me again. If he\ngoes, I'll go, too.\"\n\nThis being her resolution, the old gentleman said that Jamie should\nbecome his son-in-law. The mother was brought from Fannet in a\ncoach-and-four, and there was a splendid wedding.\n\nThey all lived together in the grand Dublin house, and Jamie was heir to\nuntold wealth at his father-in-law's death.\n\nLETITIA MACLINTOCK.\n\n\n\n\nA Legend of Knockmany\n\n\nIt so happened that Finn and his gigantic relatives were all working at\nthe Giant's Causeway in order to make a bridge, or, what was still\nbetter, a good stout pad-road across to Scotland, when Finn, who was\nvery fond of his wife, Oonagh, took it into his head that he would go\nhome and see how the poor woman got on in his absence. So accordingly he\npulled up a fir-tree, and after lopping off the roots and branches, made\na walking-stick of it and set out on his way to Oonagh.\n\nFinn lived at this time on Knockmany Hill, which faces Cullamore, that\nrises up, half hill, half mountain, on the opposite side.\n\nThe truth is that honest Finn's affection for his wife was by no manner\nof means the whole cause of his journey home. There was at that time\nanother giant, named Far Rua--some say he was Irish and some say he was\nScotch--but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a\n_targer_. No other giant of the day could stand before him; and such\nwas his strength that, when well vexed, he could give a stamp that shook\nthe country about him. The fame and name of him went far and near, and\nnothing in the shape of a man, it was said, had any chance with him in a\nfight. Whether the story is true or not I cannot say, but the report\nwent that by one blow of his fist he flattened a thunderbolt, and kept\nit in his pocket in the shape of a pancake to show to all his enemies\nwhen they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly he had given every giant\nin Ireland a considerable beating, barring Finn M'Coul himself; and he\nswore that he would never rest night or day, winter or summer, till he\ncould serve Finn with the same sauce, if he could catch him. Finn,\nhowever, had a strong disinclination to meet a giant who could make a\nyoung earthquake or flatten a thunderbolt when he was angry, so\naccordingly he kept dodging about from place to place--not much to his\ncredit as a Trojan, to be sure--whenever he happened to get the hard\nword that Far Rua was on the scent of him. And the long and the short of\nit was that he heard Far Rua was coming to the Causeway to have a trial\nof strength with him; and he was, naturally enough, seized in\nconsequence with a very warm and sudden fit of affection for his wife,\nwho was delicate in her health, poor woman, and leading, besides, a very\nlonely, uncomfortable life of it in his absence.\n\n\"God save all here,\" said Finn good-humouredly, putting his honest face\ninto his own door.\n\n\"Musha, Finn, avick, an' you're welcome to your own Oonagh, you darlin'\nbully.\" Here followed a smack that it is said to have made the waters of\nthe lake curl, as it were, with kindness and sympathy.\n\n\"Faith,\" said Finn, \"beautiful; and how are you, Oonagh--and how did\nyou sport your figure during my absence, my bilberry?\"\n\n\"Never a merrier--as bouncing a grass widow as ever there was in sweet\n'Tyrone among the bushes.'\"\n\nFinn gave a short, good-humoured cough, and laughed most heartily to\nshow her how much he was delighted that she made herself happy in his\nabsence.\n\n\"An' what brought you home so soon, Finn?\" said she.\n\n\"Why, avourneen,\" said Finn, putting in his answer in the proper way,\n\"never the thing but the purest of love and affection for yourself.\nSure, you know that's truth, anyhow, Oonagh.\"\n\nFinn spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very\ncomfortable considering the dread he had of Far Rua. This, however, grew\nupon him so much that his wife could not but perceive something lay on\nhis mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone in the\nmeantime for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her good man when\nshe wishes. Finn was a proof of this.\n\n\"It's this Far Rua,\" said he, \"that's troublin' me. When the fellow gets\nangry and begins to stamp he'll shake you a whole townland, and it's\nwell known that he can stop a thunderbolt, for he always carries one\nabout with him in the shape of a pancake to show to anyone that might\nmisdoubt it.\"\n\nAs he spoke he clapped his thumb in his mouth, as he always did when he\nwanted to prophesy or to know anything.\n\n\"He's coming,\" said Finn; \"I see him below at Dungannon.\"\n\n\"An' who is it, avick?\"\n\n\"Far Rua,\" replied Finn, \"and how to manage I don't know. If I run away\nI am disgraced, and I know that sooner or later I must meet him, for my\nthumb tells me so.\"\n\n\"When will he be here?\" says she.\n\n\"To-morrow, about two o'clock,\" replied Finn with a groan.\n\n\"Don't be cast down,\" said Oonagh; \"depend on me, and, maybe, I'll bring\nyou out of this scrape better than ever you could bring yourself.\"\n\nThis quieted Finn's heart very much, for he knew that Oonagh was\nhand-and-glove with the fairies; and, indeed, to tell the truth, she was\nsupposed to be a fairy herself. If she was, however, she must have been\na kind-hearted one, for by all accounts she never did anything but good\nin the neighbourhood.\n\nNow, it so happened that Oonagh had a sister named Granua living\nopposite to them, on the very top of Cullamore, which I have mentioned\nalready, and this Granua was quite as powerful as herself. The beautiful\nvalley that lies between the Granlisses is not more than three or four\nmiles broad, so that of a summer evening Granua and Oonagh were able to\nhold many an agreeable conversation across it, from one hill-top to the\nother. Upon this occasion Oonagh resolved to consult her sister as to\nwhat was best to be done in the difficulty that surrounded them.\n\n\"Granua,\" said she, \"are you at home?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other, \"I'm picking bilberries at Althadhawan\" (the\nDevil's Glen).\n\n\"Well,\" said Oonagh, \"go up to the top of Cullamore, look about you, and\nthen tell us what you see.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" replied Granua, after a few minutes; \"I am there now.\"\n\n\"What do you see?\" asked the other.\n\n\"Goodness be about us!\" exclaimed Granua, \"I see the biggest giant that\never was known coming up from Dungannon.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Oonagh, \"there's our difficulty. That's Far Rua, and he's\ncomin' up now to leather Finn. What's to be done?\"\n\n\"I'll call to him,\" she replied, \"to come up to Cullamore and refresh\nhimself, and maybe that will give you and Finn time to think of some\nplan to get yourselves out of the scrape. But,\" she proceeded, \"I'm\nshort of butter, having in the house only half a dozen firkins, and as\nI'm to have a few giants and giantesses to spend the evenin' with me I'd\nfeel thankful, Oonagh, if you'd throw me up fifteen or sixteen tubs, or\nthe largest miscaun you've got, and you'll oblige me very much.\"\n\n\"I'll do that with a heart and a half,\" replied Oonagh; \"and, indeed,\nGranua, I feel myself under great obligations to you for your kindness\nin keeping him off us till we see what can be done; for what would\nbecome of us all if anything happened to Finn, poor man!\"\n\nShe accordingly got the largest miscaun of butter she had--which might\nbe about the weight of a couple of dozen millstones, so that you can\neasily judge of its size--and calling up her sister, \"Granua,\" says she,\n\"are you ready? I'm going to throw you up a miscaun, so be prepared to\ncatch it.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said the other. \"A good throw, now, and take care it does not\nfall short.\"\n\nOonagh threw it, but in consequence of her anxiety about Finn and Far\nRua she forgot to say the charm that was to send it up, so that instead\nof reaching Cullamore, as she expected, it fell about half-way between\nthe two hills at the edge of the Broad Bog, near Augher.\n\n\"My curse upon you!\" she exclaimed, \"you've disgraced me. I now change\nyou into a grey stone. Lie there as a testimony of what has happened,\nand may evil betide the first living man that will ever attempt to move\nor injure you!\"\n\nAnd, sure enough, there it lies to this day, with the mark of the four\nfingers and thumb imprinted on it, exactly as it came out of her hand.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Granua, \"I must only do the best I can with Far Rua.\nIf all fail, I'll give him a cast of heather broth, or a panada of oak\nbark. But, above all things, think of some plan to get Finn out of the\nscrape he's in, or he's a lost man. You know you used to be sharp and\nready-witted; and my own opinion is, Oonagh, that it will go hard with\nyou, or you'll outdo Far Rua yet.\"\n\nShe then made a high smoke on the top of the hill, after which she put\nher finger in her mouth and gave three whistles, and by that Far Rua\nknew that he was invited to the top of Cullamore--for this was the way\nthat the Irish long ago gave a sign to all strangers and travellers to\nlet them know they are welcome to come and take share of whatever was\ngoing.\n\nIn the meantime Finn was very melancholy, and did not know what to do,\nor how to act at all. Far Rua was an ugly customer, no doubt, to meet\nwith; and, moreover, the idea of the confounded \"cake\" aforesaid\nflattened the very heart within him. What chance could he have, strong\nand brave as he was, with a man who could, when put in a passion, walk\nthe country into earthquakes and knock thunderbolts into pancakes? The\nthing was impossible, and Finn knew not on what hand to turn him. Right\nor left, backward or forward, where to go he could form no guess\nwhatever.\n\n\"Oonagh,\" said he, \"can you do anything for me? Where's all your\ninvention? Am I to be skivered like a rabbit before your eyes and to\nhave my name disgraced for ever in the sight of all my tribe, and me the\nbest man among them? How am I to fight this man-mountain--this huge\ncross between an earthquake and a thunderbolt--with a pancake in his\npocket that was once----?\"\n\n\"Be aisy, Finn,\" replied Oonagh. \"Troth, I'm ashamed of you. Keep your\ntoe in your pump, will you? Talking of pancakes, maybe we'll give him as\ngood as any he brings with him--thunderbolts or otherwise. If I don't\ntreat him to as smart feeding as he's got this many a day, don't trust\nOonagh again. Leave him to me, and do just as I bid you.\"\n\nThis relieved Finn very much, for, after all, he had great confidence in\nhis wife, knowing, as he did, that she had got him out of many a\nquandary before. The present, however, was the greatest of all; but,\nstill, he began to get courage and to eat his victuals as usual. Oonagh\nthen drew the nine woollen threads of different colours, which she\nalways did to find out the best way of succeeding in anything of\nimportance she went about. She then plaited them into three plaits, with\nthree colours in each, putting one on her right arm, one round her\nheart, and the third round her right ankle, for then she knew that\nnothing could fail her that she undertook.\n\nHaving everything now prepared, she sent round to the neighbours and\nborrowed one-and-twenty iron griddles, which she took and kneaded into\nthe hearts of one-and-twenty cakes of bread, and these she baked on the\nfire in the usual way, setting them aside in the cupboard according as\nthey were done. She then put down a large pot of new milk, which she\nmade into curds and whey, and gave Finn due instructions how to use the\ncurds when Far Rua should come. Having done all this, she sat down quite\ncontented waiting for his arrival on the next day about two o'clock,\nthat being the hour at which he was expected--for Finn knew as much by\nthe sucking of his thumb. Now, this was a curious property that Finn's\nthumb had; but notwithstanding all the wisdom and logic he used to suck\nout of it, it could never have stood to him here were it not for the wit\nof his wife. In this very thing, moreover, he was very much resembled by\nhis great foe, Far Rua; for it was well known that the huge strength\nthat he possessed all lay in the middle finger of his right hand, and\nthat if he happened by any chance to lose it, he was no more,\nnotwithstanding his bulk, than a common man.\n\nAt length the next day he was seen coming across the valley, and Oonagh\nknew that it was time to commence operations. She immediately made the\ncradle, and desired Finn to lie down in it and cover himself up with the\nclothes.\n\n\"You must pass for your own child,\" said she, \"so just lie there snug\nand say nothing, but be guided by me.\" This, to be sure, was wormwood to\nFinn--I mean going into the cradle in such a cowardly manner--but he\nknew Oonagh very well; and finding that he had nothing else for it, with\na very rueful face he gathered himself into it and lay snug, as she had\ndesired him.\n\nAbout two o'clock, as he had been expected, Far Rua came in. \"God save\nall here!\" said he. \"Is this where the great Finn M'Coul lives?\"\n\n\"Indeed it is, honest man,\" replied Oonagh. \"God save you kindly--won't\nyou be sitting?\"\n\n\"Thank you, ma'am,\" says he, sitting down. \"You're Mrs. M'Coul, I\nsuppose?\"\n\n\"I am,\" says she, \"and I have no reason, I hope, to be ashamed of my\nhusband.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other; \"he has the name of being the strongest and\nbravest man in Ireland. But, for all that, there's a man not far from\nyou that's very anxious of taking a shake with him. Is he at home?\"\n\n\"Why, no, then,\" she replied; \"and if ever a man left in a fury he did.\nIt appears that someone told him of a big bosthoon of a giant called Far\nRua being down at the Causeway to look for him, and so he set out there\nto try if he could catch him. Troth, I hope, for the poor giant's sake,\nhe won't meet with him, for if he does Finn will make paste of him at\nonce.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the other, \"I am Far Rua, and I have been seeking him these\ntwelve minths, but he always kept clear of me; and I will never rest day\nor night till I lay my hands on him.\"\n\nAt this Oonagh set up a loud laugh of great contempt, by the way, and\nlooked at him as if he were only a mere handful of a man.\n\n\"Did you ever see Finn?\" said she, changing her manner all at once.\n\n\"How could I?\" said he. \"He always took care to keep his distance.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" she replied. \"I judged as much; and if you take my\nadvice, you poor-looking creature, you'll pray night and day that you\nmay never see him, for I tell you it will be a black day for you when\nyou do. But, in the meantime, you perceive that the wind's on the door,\nand as Finn himself is far from home, maybe you'd be civil enough to\nturn the house, for it's always what Finn does when he's here.\"\n\nThis was a startler, even to Far Rua; but he got up, however, and after\npulling the middle finger of his right hand until it cracked three\ntimes, he went outside, and getting his arms about the house, completely\nturned it as she had wished. When Finn saw this he felt a certain\ndescription of moisture, which shall be nameless, oozing out through\nevery pore of his skin; but Oonagh, depending upon her woman's wit, felt\nnot a whit daunted.\n\n\"Arrah, then,\" said she, \"as you're so civil, maybe you'd do another\nobliging turn for us, as Finn's not here to do it himself. You see,\nafter this long stretch of dry weather that we've had, we feel very\nbadly off for want of water. Now, Finn says there's a fine spring well\nsomewhere under the rocks behind the hill there below, and it was his\nintention to pull them asunder; but having heard of you he left the\nplace in such a fury that he never thought of it. Now, if you try to\nfind it, troth, I'd feel it a kindness.\"\n\nShe then brought Far Rua down to see the place, which was then all one\nsolid rock; and after looking at it for some time, he cracked his right\nmiddle finger nine times, and, stooping down, tore a cleft about four\nhundred feet deep and a quarter of a mile in length, which has since\nbeen christened by the name of Lumford's Glen. This feat nearly threw\nOonagh herself off her guard; but what won't a woman's sagacity and\npresence of mind accomplish?\n\n\"You'll now come in,\" said she, \"and eat a bit of such humble fare as we\ncan give. Finn, even though you and he were enemies, would scorn not to\ntreat you kindly in his own house; and, indeed, if I didn't do it even\nin his absence, he would not be pleased with me.\"\n\nShe accordingly brought him in, and placing half a dozen of the cakes we\nspoke of before him, together with a can or two of butter, a side of\nboiled bacon, and a stack of cabbage, she desired him to help\nhimself--for this, be it known, was long before the invention of\npotatoes. Far Rua, who, by the way, was a glutton as well as a hero, put\none of the cakes in his mouth to take a huge whack out of it, when both\nFinn and Oonagh were stunned with a noise that resembled something\nbetween a growl and a yell. \"Blood and fury!\" he shouted out. \"How is\nthis? Here are two of my teeth out! What kind of bread is this you gave\nme?\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" said Oonagh coolly.\n\n\"Matter!\" shouted the other. \"Why, here are two of the best teeth in my\nhead gone.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said she, \"that's Finn's bread--the only bread he ever eats when\nat home; but, indeed, I forgot to tell you that nobody can eat it but\nhimself and that child in the cradle there. I thought, however, that as\nyou were reported to be rather a stout little fellow of your size you\nmight be able to manage it, and I did not wish to affront a man that\nthinks himself able to fight Finn. Here's another cake--maybe it's not\nso hard as that.\"\n\nFar Rua, at the moment, was not only hungry, but ravenous, so he\naccordingly made a fresh set at the second cake, and immediately another\nyell was heard twice as loud as the first. \"Thunder and giblets!\" he\nroared, \"take your bread out of this, or I will not have a tooth in my\nhead; there's another pair of them gone.\"\n\n\"Well, honest man,\" replied Oonagh, \"if you're not able to eat the bread\nsay so quietly, and don't be awakening the child in the cradle there.\nThere, now, he's awake upon me!\"\n\nFinn now gave a skirl that frightened the giant, as coming from such a\nyoungster as he was represented to be. \"Mother,\" said he, \"I'm\nhungry--get me something to eat.\" Oonagh went over, and putting into\nhis hand a cake _that had no griddle in it_--Finn, whose appetite in the\nmeantime was sharpened by what he saw going forward, soon made it\ndisappear. Far Rua was thunderstruck, and secretly thanked his stars\nthat he had the good fortune to miss meeting Finn, for, as he said to\nhimself, I'd have no chance with a man who could eat such bread as that,\nwhich even his son that's in the cradle can munch before my eyes.\n\n\"I'd like to take a glimpse at the lad in the cradle,\" said he to\nOonagh, \"for I can tell you that the infant who can manage that\nnutriment is no joke to look at or to feed of a scarce summer.\"\n\n\"With all the veins of my heart,\" replied Oonagh. \"Get up, acushla, and\nshow this decent little man something that won't be unworthy of your\nfather, Finn M'Coul.\"\n\nFinn, who was dressed for the occasion as much like a boy as possible,\ngot up, and bringing Far Rua out, \"Are you strong?\" said he.\n\n\"Thunder and ounze!\" exclaimed the other, \"what a voice in so small a\nchap!\"\n\n\"Are you strong?\" said Finn again. \"Are you able to squeeze water out of\nthat white stone?\" he asked, putting one into Far Rua's hand. The latter\nsqueezed and squeezed the stone, but to no purpose; he might pull the\nrocks of Lumford's Glen asunder, and flatten a thunderbolt, but to\nsqueeze water out of a white stone was beyond his strength. Finn eyed\nhim with great contempt as he kept straining and squeezing and squeezing\nand straining till he got black in the face with the efforts.\n\n\"Ah, you're a poor creature,\" said Finn. \"You a giant! Give me the stone\nhere, and when I'll show what Finn's little son can do you may then\njudge of what my daddy himself is.\"\n\nFinn then took the stone, and then, slyly exchanging it for the curds,\nhe squeezed the latter until the whey, as clear as water, oozed out in a\nlittle shower from his hand.\n\n\"I'll now go in,\" said he, \"to my cradle; for I scorn to lose my time\nwith anyone that's not able to eat my daddy's bread, or squeeze water\nout of a stone. Bedad, you had better be off out of this before he comes\nback, for if he catches you, it's in flummery he'd have you in two\nminutes.\"\n\nFar Rua, seeing what he had seen, was of the same opinion himself; his\nknees knocked together with the terror of Finn's return, and he\naccordingly hastened in to bid Oonagh farewell, and to assure her that,\nfrom that day out, he never wished to hear of, much less to see, her\nhusband. \"I admit fairly that I'm not a match for him,\" said he, \"strong\nas I am. Tell him I will avoid him as I would the plague, and that I\nwill make myself scarce in this part of the country while I live.\"\n\nFinn, in the meantime, had gone into the cradle, where he lay very\nquietly, his heart in his mouth with delight that Far Rua was about to\ntake his departure without discovering the tricks that been played off\non him.\n\n\"It's well for you,\" said Oonagh, \"that he doesn't happen to be here,\nfor it's nothing but hawk's meat he'd make of you.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" said Far Rua, \"divel a thing else he'd make of me; but,\nbefore I go, will you let me feel what kind of teeth they are that can\neat griddle-cakes like _that_?\" and he pointed to it as he spoke.\n\n\"With all the pleasure in life,\" says she; \"only as they're far back in\nhis head you must put your finger a good way in.\"\n\nFar Rua was surprised to find so powerful a set of grinders in one so\nyoung; but he was still much more so on finding, when he took his hand\nfrom Finn's mouth, that he had left the very finger upon which his whole\nstrength depended behind him. He gave one loud groan and fell down at\nonce with terror and weakness. This was all Finn wanted, who now knew\nthat his most powerful and bitterest enemy was completely at his mercy.\nHe instantly started out of the cradle, and in a few minutes the great\nFar Rua, that was for such a length of time the terror of him and all\nhis followers, was no more.\n\nWILLIAM CARLETON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Ninepenny Fidil\n\n\n  My father and mother were Irish\n    And I am Irish too;\n  I bought a wee fidil for ninepence\n    And that is Irish too;\n  I'm up in the morning early\n    To meet the break of day,\n  And to the lintwhite's piping\n    The many's the tunes I play!\n\n  One pleasant eve in June-time\n    I met a lochrie man,\n  His face and hands were weazen,\n    His height was not a span.\n  He boor'd me for my fidil--\n    \"You know,\" says he, \"like you,\n  \"My father and mother were Irish,\n    \"And I am Irish too!\"\n\n  He took my wee red fidil,\n    And such a tune he turned,\n  The Glaisé in it whispered\n    The Lionan in it m'urned;\n  Says he, \"My lad, you're lucky,\n    \"I wisht I was like you,\n  \"You're lucky in your birth-star,\n    \"And in your fidil too!\"\n\n  He gave me back my fidil,\n    My fidil-stick also,\n  And stepping like a May-boy,\n    He jumped the Lear-gaidh-knowe.\n  I never saw him after,\n    Nor met his gentle kind,\n  But whiles I think I hear him,\n    A-wheening in the wind!\n\nJOSEPH CAMPBELL.\n\n\n\n\nThe Festivities at the House of Conan of Ceann Sleibhe\n\n\n\"Win victory and blessings, O Fionn,\" said Conan, \"and tell me who was\nthe man that, having only one leg, one arm, and one eye, escaped from\nyou in consequence of his swiftness, and outstripped the Fenians of\nEire, and why is this proverb used, 'As Roc came to the house of\nFionn'?\"\n\n\"I will tell you that,\" said Fionn. \"One day the chief of the Fenians\nand I went to Teamhair Luachra, and we took nothing in the chase that\nsame day but one fawn. When it had been cooked it was fetched to me for\nthe purpose of dividing it. I gave a portion of it to each of the Fenian\nchiefs, and there remained none for my own share but a haunch bone.\nGobha Gaoithe, son of Ronan, presented himself, and requested me to\ngive him the haunch. I accordingly gave it to him. He then declared that\nI gave him that portion on account of his swiftness of foot: and he went\nout on the plain, but he had only gone a short distance when Caoilte,\nson of Ronan, his own brother, overtook him, and brought the haunch back\nagain to me, and we had no further dispute about the matter. We had not\nbeen long so when we saw a huge, obnoxious, massy-boned, black,\ndetestable giant, having only one eye, one arm, and one leg, hop forward\ntowards us. He saluted us. I returned the salutation, and asked him\nwhence he came. 'I am come by the powers of the agility of my arm and\nleg,' responded he, 'having heard there is not one man in the world more\nliberal in bestowing gifts than you, O Fionn; therefore, I am come to\nsolicit wealth and valuable gifts from you.' I replied that were all the\nwealth of the world mine I would give him neither little nor much. He\nthen declared 'they were all liars who asserted that I never gave a\nrefusal to any person.' I replied that if he were a man I would not give\nhim a refusal. 'Well, then,' said the giant, 'let me have that haunch\nyou have in your hand, and I will say good-bye to the Fenians, provided\nthat you allow me the length of the haunch as a distance, and that I am\nnot seized upon until I make my first hop.' Upon hearing this I gave the\nhaunch into the giant's hand, and he hopped over the lofty stockades of\nthe town; he then made use of the utmost swiftness of his one leg to\noutstrip all the rest of the Fenians. When the Fenian chiefs saw that,\nthey started in pursuit of the giant, while I and the band of minstrels\nof the town went to the top of the dun to watch their proceedings. When\nI saw that the giant had outstripped them a considerable distance, I put\non my running habiliments, and, taking no weapon but Mac an Loin in my\nhand, I started after the others. I overtook the hindmost division on\nSliabh an Righ, the middle (next) division at Limerick, and the chiefs\nof the Fenians at Ath Bo, which is called Ath-Luain (Athlone), and those\nfirst in the pursuit at Rinn-an-Ruaigh, to the right-hand side of\nCruachan of Connacht, where he (the giant) was distant less than a\njavelin's cast from me. The giant passed on before me and crossed Eas\nRoe (now Ballyshannon), of the son of Modhuirn, without wetting his\nfoot. I leaped over it after him. He then directed his course towards\nthe estuary of Binn-Edair, keeping the circuit of Eire to his right\nhand. The giant leaped over the estuary, and it was a leap similar to\nflight over the sea. I sprang after him, and having caught him by the\nsmall of the back, laid him prostrate on the earth. 'You have dealt\nunjustly by me, O Fionn,' cried the giant; 'for it was not with you I\narranged the combat, but with the Fenians.' I replied that the Fenians\nwere not perfect, except I myself were with them. We had not remained\nlong thus when Liagan Luaimneach, from Luachar Deaghaidh, came to us. He\nwas followed by Caoilte Mac Ronan, together with the swiftest of the\nFenians. Each of them couched his javelin, intending to drive it through\nthe giant and kill him in my arms, but I protected him from their\nattacks. Soon after this the main body of the Fenians arrived; they\nenquired what was the cause of the delay that the giant had not been\nslain. 'That is bad counsel,' said the giant, 'for a better man than I\nam would be slain in my eric.' We bound the giant strongly on that\noccasion; and soon after Bran Beag O'Buadhchan came to invite me to a\nfeast, and all the Fenians of Eire, who had been present, accompanied\nhim to his house. The banqueting hall had been prepared for our\nreception at that time, and the giant was dragged into the middle of the\nhouse, and was there placed in the sight of all present. They asked him\nwho he was. 'Roc, son of Diocan, is my name,' replied he, 'that is, I am\nson to the Legislator of Aengus of the Brugh in the south. My betrothed\npoured a current of surprising affection and a torrent of deep love upon\nSgiath Breac, son of Dathcaoin yonder, who is your foster son, O Fionn;\nit hurt my feelings severely to hear her boast of the swiftness and\nbravery of her lover in particular, and of the Fenians in general, and I\ndeclared that I would challenge him and all the Fenians of Eire to run a\nrace with me; but she sneered at me. I then went to my beloved friend,\nAengus of the Brugh, to bemoan my fate; and he metamorphosed me thus,\nand bestowed on me the swiftness of a druidical wind, as you have seen.\nThis is my history for you; and you ought to be well satisfied with all\nthe hurt and injury you have inflicted upon me already.'\n\n\"Then I repented me of the indignity put upon the giant, and I released\nhim from his bonds and I bade Liagan Luaimneach companion him to the\npresence of his betrothed one and testify to her on my behalf of his\nprowess in the race, wherein he had outstripped all the Fenians of Eire,\nsave only myself. So the two went forth together in friendly amity, and\nRoc, for the champion feat reported of him by Liagan Luaimneach,\nrecovered the affection of his betrothed, and straightway took her to\nwife. From that adventure, indeed, arose the proverb, 'As Roc came to\nthe House of Fionn,' and so that is the answer to your question, O\nConan,\" said Fionn.\n\n\"Win victory and blessings, O Fenian King,\" said Conan; \"it is with\nclear memory and sweet words you relate these things. Tell me now the\nmeaning of the byword, 'The hospitality of Fionn in the house of\nCuanna.'\"\n\n\"I will tell you the truth concerning that, O Conan,\" said Fionn.\n\"Oisin, Caoilte, Mac Lughaidh, Diarmuid O'Duibhne, and myself happened\none day, above all other days, to be on the summit of Cairn Feargall. We\nwere accompanied by our five hounds, namely, Bran, Sceoluing, Sear Dubh,\nLuath Luachar, and Anuaill. We had not long been there when we perceived\na rough, tall, huge giant approaching us. He carried an iron fork upon\nhis back, and a grunting hog was placed between the prongs of the fork;\na young girl of mature age followed and forced the giant on his way\nbefore her. 'Let someone go forward and accost those people,' said I.\nDiarmuid O'Duibhne followed, but did not overtake them. The other three\nand I started up, and followed Diarmuid and the giant. We overtook\nDiarmuid, but did not come up with the giant or the girl; for a dark,\ngloomy, druidical mist showered down between us and them, so that we\ncould not discern what road they took. When the mist cleared away we\nlooked around us, and discovered a light-roofed, comfortable-looking\nhouse at the edge of the ford near at hand. We proceeded to the house,\nbefore which spread a lawn upon which were two fountains. At the brink\nof one fountain lay a rude iron vessel, and a vessel of bronze at the\nbrink of the other. Those we met in the house were an aged, hoary-headed\nman standing by the door jamb to the right hand, and a beautiful maid\nsitting before him; a rough, rude, huge giant before the fire busily\ncooking a hog; and an old man at the other side of the fire, having an\niron-grey head of hair and twelve eyes in his head, while the twelve\nsons (germs) of discord beamed in each eye. There was also in the house\na ram with a white belly, a jet-black head, dark-green horns, and green\nfeet; and there was in the end of the house a hag covered with a dark\nash-coloured garment. There were no persons in the house except these.\nThe man at the door-post welcomed us; and we five, having our five\nhounds with us, sat on the floor of the bruighean. 'Let submissive\nhomage be done to Fionn Mac Cumhaill and his people,' said the man at\nthe door-post. 'My case is that of a man begging a request, but\nobtaining neither the smaller nor the greater part of it,' said the\ngiant. Nevertheless, he rose up and did respectful homage to us. After a\nwhile I became suddenly thirsty, and no person present perceived it but\nCaoilte, who began to complain bitterly on that account. 'You have no\ncause to complain, Caoilte,' said the man of the door-post, 'but only to\nstep outside and fetch a drink for Fionn from whichever of the fountains\nyou please.' Caoilte did so, and fetched the bronze vessel brimful to me\nand gave me to drink. I took a drink from it, and the water tasted like\nhoney while I was drinking, but bitter as gall when I put the vessel\nfrom my lips; so that darting pains and symptoms of death seized me and\nagonising pangs from the poisonous draught. I could be but with\ndifficulty recognised; and the lamentation of Caoilte on account of my\nbeing in that condition was greater than that he had before given vent\nto on account of my thirst. The man at the door-post desired Caoilte to\ngo out and bring me a drink from the other fountain. Caoilte obeyed,\nand brought me the iron vessel brimful. I never underwent so much\nhardship in battle or conflict as I then suffered while drinking, in\nconsequence of the bitterness of the draught; but as soon as I put the\nvessel from my lips I recovered my own colour and appearance, and that\ngave joy and happiness to my people.\n\n\"The man then asked if the hog which was in the boiler was yet cooked.\n'It is cooked,' replied the giant, 'and allow me to divide it.' 'How\nwill you divide it?' said the man of the house. 'I will give one\nhindquarter to Fionn and his hounds; the other hindquarter to Fionn's\nfour men; the forepart to myself; the chine and rump to the old man who\nsits at the opposite side of the fire and to the hag in yonder corner;\nand the giblets to you and the young woman who is opposite to you.' 'I\npledge my word,' said the man of the house, 'you have divided it very\nfairly.' 'I pledge my word,' exclaimed the ram, 'that the division is\nvery unfair so far as I am concerned, for I have been altogether\nforgotten.' And so saying, he immediately snatched the quarter that lay\nbefore my four men, and carried it away into a corner, where he began to\ndevour it. The four men instantly attacked the ram all at once with\ntheir swords, but though they laid on violently, it did not affect him\nin the least, and the blows fell away as from a stone or rock, so that\nthey were forced to resume their seats. 'Upon my veracity, he is doomed\nfor evil who owns as companions such four fellows as you are, who tamely\nsuffer one single sheep to carry away your food and devour it before\nyour faces,' exclaimed the man with the twelve eyes; and at the same\ntime going up to the ram, he caught him by the feet and gave him a\nviolent pitch out of the door, so that he fell on his back on the\nground; and from that time we saw him no more. Soon after this the hag\nstarted up, and having thrown her ashy-grey coverlet over my four men,\nmetamorphosed them into four withered, drooping-headed old men. When I\nsaw that I was seized with great fear and alarm; and when the man at the\ndoor-post perceived this, he desired me to come over to him, place my\nhead on his bosom, and sleep. I did so; and the hag got up and took her\ncoverlet off my four men; and when I awoke I found them restored to\ntheir own shape, and that was a great happiness to me. 'O Fionn,' asked\nthe man of the door-post, 'do you feel surprised at the appearance and\narrangements of this house?' I assured him that I never saw anything\nwhich surprised me more. 'Well, then, I will explain the meaning of all\nthese things to you,' said the man. 'The giant carrying the grunting hog\nbetween the prongs of the iron fork, whom you first saw, is he who is\nyonder, and his name is SLOTH. She who is close to me is the young woman\nwho had been forcing him along, that is ENERGY; and ENERGY compels SLOTH\nforward with her; for ENERGY moves, in the twinkling of the eye, a\ngreater distance than the foot can travel in a year. The old man of the\nbright eyes yonder signifies the WORLD; and he is more powerful than\nanyone, which has been proved by his rendering the ram powerless. That\nram which you saw signifies the CRIMES of the man. That hag there beyond\nis withering OLD AGE, and her clothing has withered your four men. The\ntwo wells from which you drank the two draughts mean FALSEHOOD and\nTRUTH; for while telling a lie one finds it sweet, but it becomes bitter\nat the last. Cuanna from Innistuil is my own name. I do not reside here,\nbut having conceived a wonderful love for you, O Fionn, on account of\nyour superiority in wisdom and general celebrity, I therefore put those\nthings into the way before you in order that I might see you. And this\nstory shall be called, to the end of the world, the Hospitality of\nCuanna's House to Fionn. Let you and your men come together, and do ye\nfive sleep until morning.' Accordingly we did so, and when we awoke in\nthe morning we found ourselves on the summit of Cairn Feargaill, with\nour hounds and arms by us. So there is the meaning of the byword, 'The\nhospitality of Fionn in the house of Cuanna,' O Conan,\" said Fionn.\n\n(_Translated from the Irish by Nicholas O'Kearney._)\n\n\n\n\nThe White Trout\n\n(_A Legend of Cong._)\n\n\n\"There was wanst upon a time, long ago, a beautiful young lady that\nlived in a castle up by the lake beyant, and they say she was promised\nto a king's son, and they wor to be married, when, all of a suddent, he\nwas murthered, the crathur (Lord help us!) and threwn in the lake abou,\nand so, of coorse, he couldn't keep his promise to the fair lady--and\nmore's the pity.\n\n\"Well, the story goes that she went out iv her mind, bekase of loosin'\nthe king's son--for she was tindher-hearted, God help her! like the rest\niv us--and pined away after him, until at last no one about seen her,\ngood or bad; and the story wint that the fairies took her away.\n\n\"Well, sir, in coorse o' time the white throut, God bless it! was seen\nin the sthrame beyant; and sure the people didn't know what to think of\nthe crathur, seein' as how a _white_ brown throut was never heerd av\nafore nor sence; and years upon years the throut was there, just where\nyou seen it this blessed minit, longer nor I can tell--aye, throth, and\nbeyant the memory o' th' ouldest in the village.\n\n\"At last the people began to think it must be a fairy; for what else\ncould it be?--and no hurt nor harm was iver put an the throut, until\nsome wicked sinners of sojers kem to these parts, and laughed at all the\npeople, and gibed and jeered them for thinkin' o' the likes; and one o'\nthem in partic'lar (bad luck to him--God forgi' me for sayin' it!) swore\nhe'd catch the throut and ate it for his dinner--the blackguard!\n\n\"Well, what would you think o' the villiany of the sojer?--sure enough\nhe cotch the throut, and away wid him home, and puts an the fryin' pan,\nand into it he pitches the purty little thing. The throut squeeled all\nas one as a Christian crathur, and, my dear, you'd think the sojer id\nsplit his sides laughin'--for he was a harden'd villian; and when he\nthought one side was done, he turns it over to fry the other; and what\nwould you think? but the divil a taste of a burn was an it at all at\nall; and sure the sojer thought it was a _quare_ throut that couldn't be\nbriled; 'but,' says he, 'I'll give it another turn by and by'--little\nthinkin' what was in store for him, the haythen!\n\n\"Well, when he thought that side was done he turns it again--and lo and\nbehould you, the divil a taste more done that side was nor the other.\n'Bad luck to me,' says the sojer, 'but that bates the world,' says he;\n'but I'll thry you agin, my darlint,' says he, 'as cunnin' as you think\nyourself'--and so with that he turns it over and over, but not a sign av\nthe fire was an the purty throut. 'Well,' says the desperate\nvillian--(for sure, sir, only he was a desperate villian _entirely_; he\nmight know he was doin' a wrong thing, seein' that all his endayvours\nwas no good)--'well,' says he, 'my jolly little throut, maybe you're\nfried enough, though you don't seem over well dress'd; but you may be\nbetter than you look, like a singed cat, and a tit-bit, afther all,'\nsays he; and with that he ups with his knife and fork to taste a piece\no' the throut--but, my jew'l, the minit he puts his knife into the fish\nthere was a murtherin' screech, that you'd think the life id lave you if\nyou heerd it, and away jumps the throut out av the fryin' pan into the\nmiddle o' the flure; and an the spot where it fell up riz a lovely\nlady--the beautifullest young crathur that eyes ever seen, dressed in\nwhite, and a band o' goold in her hair, and a sthrame o' blood runnin'\ndown her arm.\n\n\"'Look where you cut me, you villian,' says she, and she held out her\narm to him--and, my dear, he thought the sight id lave his eyes.\n\n\"'Couldn't you lave me cool and comfortable in the river where you\nsnared me, and not disturb me in my duty?' says she.\n\n\"Well, he thrimbled like a dog in a wet sack, and at last he stammered\nout somethin', and begged for his life, and ax'd her ladyship's pardin,\nand said he didn't know she was an duty, or he was too good a sojer not\nto know betther nor to meddle with her.\n\n\"'I _was_ on duty then,' says the lady; 'I was watchin' for my thrue\nlove that is comin' by wather to me,' says she; 'an' if he comes while I\nam away, an' that I miss iv him, I'll turn you into a pinkeen, and I'll\nhunt you up and down for evermore, while grass grows or wather runs.'\n\n\"Well, the sojer thought the life id lave him at the thoughts iv his\nbein' turned into a pinkeen, and begged for marcy; and, with that, says\nthe lady:\n\n\"'Renounce your evil coorses,' says she, 'you villian, or you'll repint\nit too late. Be a good man for the futhur, and go to your duty reg'lar.\nAnd now,' says she, 'take me back and put me into the river agin, where\nyou found me.'\n\n\"'Oh, my lady,' says the sojer, 'how could I have the heart to drownd a\nbeautiful lady like you?'\n\n\"But before he could say another word the lady was vanished, and there\nhe saw the little throut an the ground. Well, he put it in a clane\nplate, and away he run for the bare life, for fear her lover would come\nwhile she was away; and he run, and he run, ever till he came to the\ncave agin, and threw the throut into the river. The minit he did, the\nwather was as red as blood until the sthrame washed the stain away; and\nto this day there's a little red mark an the throut's side where it was\ncut.\n\n\"Well, sir, from that day out the sojer was an althered man, and\nreformed his ways, and wint to his duty reg'lar, and fasted three times\na week--though it was never fish he tuk an fastin' days; for afther the\nfright he got fish id never rest an his stomach--savin' your presence.\nBut, anyhow, he was an althered man, as I said before; and in coorse o'\ntime he left the army, and turned hermit at last; and they say he _used\nto pray evermore for the sowl of the White Throut_.\"\n\nSAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wonderful Cake\n\n\nA mouse, a rat, and a little red hen once lived together in the same\ncottage, and one day the little red hen said, \"Let us bake a cake and\nhave a feast.\" \"Let us,\" says the mouse, and \"let us,\" says the rat.\n\"Who'll go and get the wheat ground?\" says the hen. \"I won't,\" says the\nmouse; \"I won't,\" says the rat. \"I will myself,\" says the little red\nhen.\n\n\"Who'll make the cake?\" \"I won't,\" says the mouse; \"I will,\" says the\nrat. \"Indeed, you shall not,\" says the little red hen.\n\nWell, while the hen was stretching her hand out for it--\"Hey Presto!\"\nout rolled the cake from the cottage, and after it ran the mouse, the\nrat, and the little red hen.\n\nWhen it was running away it went by a barn full of threshers, and they\nasked it where it was running. \"Oh,\" says it, \"I'm running away from the\nmouse, the rat, and the little red hen, and from you, too, if I can.\" So\nthey rushed away after it with their flails, and it ran, and it ran till\nit came to a ditch full of ditchers, and they asked it where it was\nrunning.\n\n\"Oh, I am running away from the mouse, the rat, and the little red hen,\nand from a barn full of threshers, and from you, too, if I can.\"\n\nWell, they all ran after it along with the rest, till it came to a well\nfull of washers, and they asked the same question, and it returned the\nsame answer, and after it they went.\n\nAt last it came to a ford where it met with a fox, and he asked where it\nwas running. \"Oh, I'm running away from the mouse, the rat, and the\nlittle red hen, from a barn full of threshers, a ditch full of ditchers,\na well full of washers, and from you, too, if I can.\"\n\n\"But you can't cross the ford,\" says the fox. \"And can't you carry me\nover?\" says the cake. \"What'll you give me?\" says the fox. \"A kiss at\nChristmas and an egg at Easter,\" says the cake.\n\n\"Very well,\" says the fox--\"up with you.\" So he sat on his haunches with\nhis nose in the air, and the cake got up by his tail till it sat on his\ncrupper.\n\n\"Now, over with you,\" says the cake. \"You're not high enough,\" says the\nfox. Then it scrambled up on his shoulder. \"Up higher still,\" says he;\n\"you wouldn't be safe there.\" \"Am I right now?\" says he. \"You'll be\nsafer on the ridge pole of my nose.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says the cake, \"I think I can go no further.\" \"Oh, yes,\" says\nhe, and he shot it up in the air, caught it in his mouth, and sent it\ndown the Red Lane. And that was the end of the cake.\n\n\n\n\nThe Legend of the Little Weaver of Duleek Gate\n\n(_A Tale of Chivalry._)\n\n\nYou see, there was a waiver lived wanst upon a time in Duleek here, hard\nby the gate, and a very honest, industherous man he was by all accounts.\nWell, it was one mornin' that his housekeeper called to him, and he\nsitting very busy throwin' the shuttle; and says she, \"Your brekquest is\nready!\" \"Lave me alone,\" says he; \"I'm busy with a patthern here that is\nbrakin' my heart, and until I complate and masther it intirely I won't\nquit.\"\n\n\"Oh, think o' the iligant stirabout that'll be spylte intirely.\"\n\n\"To the divil with the stirabout!\" says he.\n\n\"God forgive you,\" says she, \"for cursin' your good brekquest.\"\n\nWell, he left the loom at last and wint over to the stirabout, and what\nwould you think, but whin he looked at it, it was as black as a crow;\nfor, you see, it was in the hoighth o' summer, and the flies lit upon it\nto that degree that the stirabout was fairly covered with them.\n\n\"Why, thin, bad luck to your impidence,\" says the waiver; \"would no\nplace sarve you but that? And is it spyling my brekquest yiz are, you\ndirty bastes?\" And with that, bein' altogether cruked tempered at the\ntime, he lifted his hand, and he made one great slam at the dish o'\nstirabout and killed no less than three score and tin flies at the one\nblow. It was three score and tin exactly, for he counted the carcasses\none by one, and laid them out on a clane plate for to view them.\n\nWell, he felt a powerful sperit risin' in him when he seen the slaughter\nhe done at one blow, and with that he got as consaited as the very\ndickens, and not a sthroke more work he'd do that day, but out he wint,\nand was fractious and impident to everyone he met, and was squarein' up\ninto their faces and sayin', \"Look at that fist! That's the fist that\nkilled three score and tin at one blow. Whoo! It is throwin' away my\ntime I have been all my life,\" says he, \"stuck to my loom, nothin' but a\npoor waiver, when it is Saint George or the Dhraggin I ought to be,\nwhich is two of the sivin champions o' Christendom. I'm detarmined on\nit, and I'll set off immediately and be a knight arriant.\" Well, sure\nenough, he wint about among his neighbours the next day, and he got an\nowld kittle from one and a saucepan from another, and he took them to\nthe tailor, and he sewed him up a shuit o' tin clothes like any knight\narriant, and he borrowed a pot lid, and _that_ he was very partic'lar\nabout, bekase it was his shield, and he wint to a friend o' his, a\npainther and glaizier, and made him paint an his shield in big letthers:\n\n  \"I'M THE MAN OF ALL MIN,\n  THAT KILL'D THREE SCORE AND TIN\n  AT A BLOW.\"\n\n\"When the people sees that,\" says the waiver to himself, \"the sorra one\nwill dar for to come near me.\"\n\nAnd with that he towld the housekeeper to scour out the small iron pot\nfor him, \"for,\" says he, \"it will make an iligant helmet.\" And when it\nwas done he put it an his head, and says she, \"Is it puttin' a great\nheavy iron pot an your head you are by way iv a hat?\"\n\n\"Sartinly,\" says he, \"for a knight arriant should always have a woight\nan his brain.\"\n\n\"But,\" says she, \"there's a hole in it, and it can't keep out the\nweather.\"\n\n\"It will be the cooler,\" says he, puttin' it an him; \"besides, if I\ndon't like it, it is aisy to stop it with a wisp o' sthraw, or the like\no' that.\"\n\n\"The three legs of it looks mighty quare stickin' up,\" says she.\n\n\"Every helmet has a spike stickin' out o' the top of it,\" says the\nwaiver, \"and if mine has three, it's only the grandher it is.\"\n\n\"Well,\" says the housekeeper, getting bitther at last, \"all I can say\nis, it isn't the first sheep's head was dhress'd in it.\"\n\n\"Your sarvint, ma'am,\" says he; and off he set.\n\nWell, he was in want of a horse, and so he wint to a field hard by where\nthe miller's horse was grazin' that used to carry the ground corn round\nthe counthry.\n\n\"This is the idintical horse for me,\" says the waiver. \"He is used to\ncarryin' flour and male; and what am I but the flower o' shovelry in a\ncoat o' mail; so that the horse won't be put out iv his way in the\nlaste.\"\n\nBut as he was ridin' him out o' the field, who should see him but the\nmiller. \"Is it stalin' my horse you are, honest man?\" says the miller.\n\n\"No,\" says the waiver; \"I'm only goin' to axercise him,\" says he, \"in\nthe cool o' the evenin'; it will be good for his health.\"\n\n\"Thank you kindly,\" says the miller, \"but lave him where he is, and\nyou'll obleege me.\"\n\n\"I can't afford it,\" says the waiver, runnin' the horse at the ditch.\n\n\"Bad luck to your impidence,\" says the miller; \"you've as much tin about\nyou as a thravellin' tinker, but you've more brass. Come back here, you\nvagabone,\" says he.\n\nBut he was too late--away galloped the waiver, and took the road to\nDublin, for he thought the best thing he could do was to go to the King\no' Dublin (for Dublin was a grate place thin, and had a king iv its\nown), and he thought maybe the King o' Dublin would give him work. Well,\nhe was four days goin' to Dublin, for the baste was not the best, and\nthe roads worse, not all as one as now; but there was no turnpikes then,\nglory be to God! Whin he got to Dublin he wint sthrait to the palace,\nand whin he got into the coortyard he let his horse go and graze about\nthe place, for the grass was growin' out betune the stones; everything\nwas flourishin' thin in Dublin, you see. Well, the King was lookin' out\nof his dhrawin'-room windy for divarshin, whin the waiver kem in; but\nthe waiver pretended not to see him, and he wint over to a stone sate\nundher the windy--for, you see, there was stone sates all around about\nthe place for the accommodation o' the people--for the King was a\ndacent, obleegin' man. Well, as I said, the waiver wint over and lay\ndown an one o' the sates, just undher the King's windy, and purtended to\ngo asleep; but he took care to turn out the front of his shield that had\nthe letthers an it. Well, my dear, with that the King calls out to one\nof the lords of his coort that was standin' behind him howldin' up the\nskirt of his coat, according to rayson, and says he, \"Look here,\" says\nhe, \"what do you think of a vagabone like that comin' undher my very\nnose to go sleep? It is thrue I'm a good King,\" says he, \"and I\n'commodate the people by havin' sates for them to sit down and enjoy the\nraycreation and contimplation of seein' me here lookin' out o' my\ndhrawin'-room windy for divarshin; but that is no rayson they are to\nmake a hotel o' the place and come and sleep here. Who is it at all?\"\nsays the King.\n\n\"Not a one o' me knows, plaze your majesty.\"\n\n\"I think he must be a furriner,\" says the King, \"bekase his dhress is\noutlandish.\"\n\n\"And doesn't know manners, more betoken,\" says the lord.\n\n\"I'll go down and circumspect him myself,\" says the King. \"Folly me,\"\nsays he to the lord, wavin' his hand at the same time in the most\ndignacious manner.\n\nDown he wint accordingly, followed by the lord; and whin he wint over to\nwhere the waiver was lying, sure, the first thing he seen was his shield\nwith the big letthers an it, and with that, says he to the lord, \"By\ndad,\" says he, \"this is the very man I want.\"\n\n\"For what, plaze your majesty?\" says the lord.\n\n\"To kill that vagabone dhraggin, to be sure,\" says the King.\n\n\"Sure, do you think he could kill him,\" says the lord, \"whin all the\nstoutest knights in the land wasn't aiquil to it, but never kem back,\nand was ate up alive by the cruel desaiver.\"\n\n\"Sure, don't you see there,\" says the King, pointin' at the shield,\n\"that he killed three score and tin at one blow; and the man that done\nthat, I think, is a match for anything.\"\n\nSo, with that, he wint over to the waiver and shuck him by the shouldher\nfor to wake him, and the waiver rubbed his eyes as if just wakened, and\nthe King says to him, \"God save you!\" said he.\n\n\"God save you kindly!\" says the waiver, purtendin' he was quite onknowst\nwho he was spakin' to.\n\n\"Do you know who I am,\" says the King, \"that you make so free, good\nman?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" says the waiver; \"you have the advantage o' me.\"\n\n\"To be sure I have,\" says the King, moighty high; \"sure, ain't I the\nKing o' Dublin?\" says he.\n\nThe waiver dhropped down on his two knees forninst the King, and says\nhe, \"I beg God's pardon and yours for the liberty I tuk; plaze your\nholiness, I hope you'll excuse it.\"\n\n\"No offince,\" says the King; \"get up, good man. And what brings you\nhere?\" says he.\n\n\"I'm in want o' work, plaze your riverence,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Well, suppose I give you work?\" says the King.\n\n\"I'll be proud to sarve you, my lord,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Very well,\" says the King. \"You killed three score and tin at one blow,\nI understan',\" says the King.\n\n\"Yis,\" says the waiver; \"that was the last thrifle o' work I done, and\nI'm afeared my hand 'ill go out o' practice if I don't get some job to\ndo at wanst.\"\n\n\"You shall have a job immediantly,\" says the King. \"It is not three\nscore and tin, or any fine thing like that; it is only a blaguard\ndhraggin that is disturbin' the counthry and ruinatin' my tinanthry wid\naitin' their powlthry, and I'm lost for want of eggs,\" says the King.\n\n\"Throth, thin, plaze your worship,\" says the waiver, \"you look as yellow\nas if you swallowed twelve yolks this minit.\"\n\n\"Well, I want this dhraggin to be killed,\" says the King. \"It will be no\nthrouble in life to you; and I'm only sorry that it isn't betther worth\nyour while, for he isn't worth fearin' at all; only I must tell you that\nhe lives in the county Galway, in the middle of a bog, and he has an\nadvantage in that.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't value it in the laste,\" says the waiver; \"for the last\nthree score and tin I killed was in a soft place.\"\n\n\"When will you undhertake the job then?\" says the King.\n\n\"Let me at him at wanst,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"That's what I like,\" says the King; \"you're the very man for my money,\"\nsays he.\n\n\"Talkin' of money,\" says the waiver, \"by the same token, I'll want a\nthrifle o' change from you for my thravellin' charges.\"\n\n\"As much as you plaze,\" says the King; and with the word he brought him\ninto his closet, where there was an owld stockin' in an oak chest\nburstin' wid goolden guineas.\n\n\"Take as many as you plaze,\" says the King; and sure enough, my dear,\nthe little waiver stuffed his tin clothes as full as they could howld\nwith them.\n\n\"Now, I'm ready for the road,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Very well,\" says the King; \"but you must have a fresh horse,\" says he.\n\n\"With all my heart,\" says the waiver, who thought he might as well\nexchange the miller's owld garron for a betther.\n\nAnd, maybe, it's wondherin' you are that the waiver would think of goin'\nto fight the dhraggin afther what he heerd about him when he was\npurtendin' to be asleep. But he had no sitch notion: all he intended\nwas--to fob the goold and ride back again to Duleek with his gains and a\ngood horse. But, you see, cute as the waiver was, the King was cuter\nstill; for these high quolity, you see, is great desaivers; and so the\nhorse the waiver was put an was learned an purpose; and, sure, the\nminit he was mounted away powdhered the horse, and the divil a toe he'd\ngo but right down to Galway. Well, for four days he was goin' evermore,\nuntil at last the waiver seen a crowd o' people runnin' as if Owld Nick\nwas at their heels, and they shoutin' a thousand murdhers and cryin',\n\"The dhraggin, the dhraggin!\" and he couldn't stop the horse nor make\nhim turn back, but away he pelted right forinst the terrible baste that\nwas comin' up to him, and there was the most nefarious smell o' sulphur,\nsavin' your presence, enough to knock you down; and, faith, the waiver\nseen he had no time to lose, and so he threwn himself off the horse and\nmade to a three that was growin' nigh hand, and away he clambered up\ninto it as nimble as a cat; and not a minit had he to spare, for the\ndhraggin kem up in a powerful rage, and he devoured the horse, body and\nbones, in less than no time; and then he began to sniffle and scent\nabout for the waiver, and at last he clapt his eye an him where he was\nup in the three, and says he, \"In throth, you might as well come down\nout o' that,\" says he, \"for I'll have you as sure as eggs is mate.\"\n\n\"Divil a fut I'll go down,\" says the waiver.\n\n\"Sorra care I care,\" says the dhraggin, \"for you're as good as ready\nmoney in my pocket this minit, for I'll lie undher this three,\" says he,\n\"and sooner or later you must fall to my share\"; and, sure enough, he\nsot down and began to pick his teeth with his tail afther the heavy\nbrekquest he made that mornin' (for he ate a whole village, let alone\nthe horse), and he got dhrowsy at last and fell asleep; but before he\nwint to sleep he wound himself all round the three, all as one as a lady\nwindin' ribbon round her finger, so that the waiver could not escape.\n\nWell, as soon as the waiver knew he was dead asleep by the snorin' of\nhim--and every snore he let out of him was like a clap o' thunder----\n\nThe minit, the waiver began to creep down the three as cautious as a\nfox; and he was very nigh hand the bottom when, bad cess to it, a\nthievin' branch he was dipindin' an bruk, and down he fell right atop o'\nthe dhraggin. But if he did, good luck was an his side, for where should\nhe fall but with his two legs right acrass the dhraggin's neck, and, my\njew'l, he laid howlt o' the baste's ears, and there he kept his grip,\nfor the dhraggin wakened and endayvoured for to bite him; but, you see,\nby rayson the waiver was behind his ears he could not come at him, and,\nwith that, he endayvoured for to shake him off; but the divil of a stir\ncould he stir the waiver; and though he shuk all the scales an his body\nhe could not turn the scale again the waiver.\n\n\"By the hokey, this is too bad intirely,\" says the dhraggin; \"but if you\nwon't let go,\" says he, \"by the powers o' wildfire, I'll give you a ride\nthat 'ill astonish your siven small sinses, my boy\"; and with that away\nhe flew like mad; and where do you think he did fly? By dad, he flew\nsthraight for Dublin--divil a less. But the waiver bein' an his neck was\na great disthress to him, and he would rather have made him an inside\n_passenger_; but, anyway, he flew and he flew till he kem slap up agin\nthe palace o' the King; for, bein' blind with the rage, he never seen\nit, and he knocked his brains out--that is, the small thrifle he had,\nand down he fell spacheless. An', you see, good luck would have it that\nthe King o' Dublin was lookin' out iv his dhrawin'-room windy for\ndivarshin that day also, and whin he seen the waiver ridin' and the\nfiery dhraggin (for he was blazin' like a tar barrel), he called out to\nhis coortyers to come and see the show. \"By the powdhers o' war, here\ncomes the knight arriant,\" says the King, \"ridin' the dhraggin that's\nall afire, and if he gets into the palace, yiz must be ready wid the\nfire ingines,\" says he, \"for to put him out.\" But when they seen the\ndhraggin fall outside they all run downstairs and scampered into the\npalace yard for to circumspect the curiosity; and by the time they got\ndown the waiver had got off o' the dhraggin's neck, and runnin' up to\nthe King, says he, \"Plaze your holiness,\" says he, \"I did not think\nmyself worthy of killin' this facetious baste, so I brought him to\nyourself for to do him the honour of decripitation by your own royal\nfive fingers. But I tamed him first before I allowed him the liberty for\nto dar' to appear in your royal prisince, and you'll oblige me if you\njust make your mark with your own hand upon the onruly baste's neck.\"\nAnd with that the King, sure enough, dhrew out his swoord and took the\nhead aff the dirty brute as clane as a new pin. Well, there was great\nrejoicin' in the coort that the dhraggin was killed; and says the King\nto the little waiver, says he, \"You are a knight arriant as it is, and\nso it would be no use for to knight you over agin; but I will make you a\nlord,\" says he.\n\n\"Oh, Lord!\" says the waiver, thunderstruck like at his own good luck.\n\n\"I will,\" says the King; \"and as you are the first man I ever heerd tell\nof that rode a dhraggin, you shall be called Lord Mount Dhraggin,\" says\nhe.\n\n\"But that is not all I'll do for you,\" says the King; \"I'll give you my\ndaughter, too, in marriage,\" says he. Now, you see, that was nothing\nmore than what he promised the waiver in his first promise; for by all\naccounts the King's daughter was the greatest dhraggin ever was seen,\nand had the divil's own tongue, and a beard a yard long, which she\npurtended was put an her, by way of a penance, by Father Mulcahy, her\nconfissor; but it was well known it was in the family for ages, and no\nwondher it was so long by rayson of that same.\n\nSAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\n\n\nMor of Cloyne\n\n_Mor of Cloyne, a Munster Princess, is singing at the door of a Fairy\nRath to her sister, a captive within it, the magic tune by which she\nonce escaped from a like captivity._\n\n\n  Little Sister, whom the Fay\n    Hides away within his doon,\n  Deep below yon seeding fern,\n    Oh, list and learn my magic tune.\n\n  Long ago, when snared like thee\n    By the Shee, my harp and I\n  O'er them wove the slumber spell,\n    Warbling well its lullaby.\n\n  Till with dreamy smiles they sank,\n    Rank on rank, before the strain;\n  And I rose from out the rath,\n    And found my path to earth again.\n\n  Little Sister, to my woe\n    Hid below among the Shee,\n  List and learn the magic tune,\n    That it full soon may succour thee.\n\nALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.\n\n\n\n\nLawn Dyarrig and the Knight of Terrible Valley\n\n(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)\n\n\nThere was a King in his own time in Erin, and he went hunting one day.\nThe King met a man whose head was out through his cap, whose elbows and\nknees were out through his clothing, and whose toes were out through his\nshoes.\n\nThe man went up to the King, gave him a blow on the face, and drove\nthree teeth from his mouth. The same blow put the King's head in the\ndirt. When he rose from the earth, the King went back to his castle, and\nlay down sick and sorrowful.\n\nThe King had three sons, and their names were Ur, Arthur, and Lawn\nDyarrig. The three were at school that day, and came home in the\nevening. The father sighed when the sons were coming in.\n\n\"What is wrong with our father?\" asked the eldest.\n\n\"Your father is sick on his bed,\" said the mother.\n\nThe three sons went to their father and asked what was on him.\n\n\"A strong man that I met to-day gave me a blow in the face, put my head\nin the dirt, and knocked three teeth from my mouth. What would you do to\nhim if you met him?\" asked the father of the eldest son.\n\n\"If I met that man,\" replied Ur, \"I would make four parts of him between\nfour horses.\"\n\n\"You are my son,\" said the King. \"What would you do if you met him?\"\nasked he then as he turned to the second son.\n\n\"If I had a grip on that man I would burn him between four fires.\"\n\n\"You, too, are my son. What would you do?\" asked the King of Lawn\nDyarrig.\n\n\"If I met that man, I would do my best against him, and he might not\nstand long before me.\"\n\n\"You are not my son. I would not lose lands or property on you,\" said\nthe father. \"You must go from me, and leave this to-morrow.\"\n\nOn the following morning the three brothers rose with the dawn; the\norder was given Lawn Dyarrig to leave the castle and make his own way\nfor himself. The other two brothers were going to travel the world to\nknow could they find the man who had injured their father. Lawn Dyarrig\nlingered outside till he saw the two, and they going off by themselves.\n\n\"It is a strange thing,\" said he, \"for two men of high degree to go\ntravelling without a servant.\"\n\n\"We need no one,\" said Ur.\n\n\"Company wouldn't harm us,\" said Arthur.\n\nThe two let Lawn Dyarrig go with them as a serving-boy, and set out to\nfind the man who had struck down their father. They spent all that day\nwalking, and came late to a house where one woman was living. She shook\nhands with Ur and Arthur, and greeted them. Lawn Dyarrig she kissed and\nwelcomed; called him son of the King of Erin.\n\n\"It is a strange thing to shake hands with the elder, and kiss the\nyounger,\" said Ur.\n\n\"This is a story to tell,\" said the woman, \"the same as if your death\nwere in it.\"\n\nThey made three parts of that night. The first part they spent in\nconversation, the second in telling tales, the third in eating and\ndrinking, with sound sleep and sweet slumber. As early as the day dawned\nnext morning the old woman was up, and had food for the young men. When\nthe three had eaten, she spoke to Ur, and this is what she asked of him:\n\"What was it that drove you from home, and what brought you to this\nplace?\"\n\n\"A champion met my father, and took three teeth from him and put his\nhead in the dirt. I am looking for that man, to find him alive or dead.\"\n\n\"That was the Green Knight from Terrible Valley. He is the man who took\nthe three teeth from your father. I am three hundred years living in\nthis place, and there is not a year of the three hundred in which three\nhundred heroes, fresh, young, and noble, have not passed on the way to\nTerrible Valley, and never have I seen one coming back, and each of them\nhad the look of a man better than you. And now where are you going,\nArthur?\"\n\n\"I am on the same journey with my brother.\"\n\n\"Where are you going, Lawn Dyarrig?\"\n\n\"I am going with these as a servant,\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"God's help to you, it's bad clothing that's on your body,\" said the\nwoman. \"And now I will speak to Ur. A day and a year since a champion\npassed this way. He wore a suit as good as was ever above ground. I had\na daughter sewing there in the open window. He came outside, put a\nfinger under her girdle, and took her with him. Her father followed\nstraightway to save her, but I have never seen daughter nor father from\nthat day to this. That man was the Green Knight of Terrible Valley. He\nis better than all the men that could stand on a field a mile in length\nand a mile in breadth. If you take my advice you'll turn back and go\nhome to your father.\"\n\n'Tis how she vexed Ur with this talk, and he made a vow to himself to go\non. When Ur did not agree to turn home, the woman said to Lawn Dyarrig,\n\"Go back to my chamber; you'll find in it the apparel of a hero.\"\n\nHe went back, and there was not a bit of the apparel he did not go into\nwith a spring.\n\n\"You may be able to do something now,\" said the woman, when Lawn Dyarrig\ncame to the front. \"Go back to my chamber and search through all the old\nswords. You will find one at the bottom. Take that.\"\n\nHe found the old sword, and at the first shake that he gave he knocked\nseven barrels of rust out of it; after the second shake it was as bright\nas when made.\n\n\"You may be able to do well with that,\" said the woman. \"Go out, now, to\nthat stable abroad, and take the slim white steed that is in it. That\none will never stop nor halt in any place till he brings you to the\nEastern World. If you like, take these two men behind you; if not, let\nthem walk. But I think it is useless for you to have them at all with\nyou.\"\n\nLawn Dyarrig went out to the stable, took the slim white steed, mounted,\nrode to the front, and catching the two brothers, planted them on the\nhorse behind him.\n\n\"Now, Lawn Dyarrig,\" said the woman, \"this horse will never stop till he\nstands on the little white meadow in the Eastern World. When he stops,\nyou'll come down, and cut the turf under his beautiful right front\nfoot.\"\n\nThe horse started from the door, and at every leap he crossed seven\nhills and valleys, seven castles with villages, acres, roods, and odd\nperches. He could overtake the whirlwind before him seven hundred times\nbefore the whirlwind behind him could overtake him once. Early in the\nafternoon of the next day he was in the Eastern World. When he\ndismounted, Lawn Dyarrig cut the sod from under the foot of the slim\nwhite steed, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and\nTerrible Valley was down under him there. What he did next was to\ntighten the reins on the neck of the steed and let him go home.\n\n\"Now,\" said Lawn Dyarrig to his brothers, \"which would you rather be\ndoing--making a basket or twisting gads (withes)?\"\n\n\"We would rather be making a basket; our help is among ourselves,\"\nanswered they.\n\nUr and Arthur went at the basket and Lawn Dyarrig at twisting the gads.\nWhen Lawn Dyarrig came to the opening with the gads all twisted and made\ninto one, they hadn't the ribs of the basket in the ground yet.\n\n\"Oh, then, haven't ye anything done but that?\"\n\n\"Stop your mouth,\" said Ur, \"or we'll make a mortar of your head on the\nnext stone.\"\n\n\"To be kind to one another is the best for us,\" said Lawn Dyarrig. \"I'll\nmake the basket.\"\n\nWhile they'd be putting one rod in the basket he had the basket\nfinished.\n\n\"Oh, brother,\" said they, \"you are a quick workman.\"\n\nThey had not called him brother since they left home till that moment.\n\n\"Who will go in the basket now?\" said Lawn Dyarrig when it was finished\nand the gad tied to it.\n\n\"Who but me?\" said Ur. \"I am sure, brothers, if I see anything to\nfrighten me you'll draw me up.\"\n\n\"We will,\" said the other two.\n\nHe went in, but had not gone far when he cried to pull him up again.\n\n\"By my father, and the tooth of my father, and by all that is in Erin,\ndead or alive, I would not give one other sight on Terrible Valley!\" he\ncried, when he stepped out of the basket.\n\n\"Who will go now?\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"Who will go but me?\" answered Arthur.\n\nWhatever length Ur went, Arthur didn't go the half of it.\n\n\"By my father, and the tooth of my father, I wouldn't give another look\nat Terrible Valley for all that's in Erin, dead or alive!\"\n\n\"I will go now,\" said Lawn Dyarrig, \"and as I put no foul play on you, I\nhope ye'll not put foul play on me.\"\n\n\"We will not, indeed,\" said they.\n\nWhatever length the other two went, Lawn Dyarrig didn't go the half of\nit, till he stepped out of the basket and went down on his own feet. It\nwas not far he had travelled in Terrible Valley when he met seven\nhundred heroes guarding the country.\n\n\"In what place here has the Green King his castle?\" asked he of the\nseven hundred.\n\n\"What sort of a sprisawn goat or sheep from Erin are you?\" asked they.\n\n\"If we had a hold of you, the two arms of me, that's a question you\nwould not put a second time; but if we haven't you, we'll not be so\nlong.\"\n\nThey faced Lawn Dyarrig then and attacked him; but he went through them\nlike a hawk or a raven through small birds. He made a heap of their\nfeet, a heap of their heads, and a castle of their arms.\n\nAfter that he went his way walking, and had not gone far when he came to\na spring. \"I'll have a drink before I go further,\" thought he. With that\nhe stooped down and took a drink of the water. When he had drunk he lay\non the ground and fell asleep.\n\nNow, there wasn't a morning that the lady in the Green Knight's castle\ndidn't wash in the water of that spring, and she sent a maid for the\nwater each time. Whatever part of the day it was when Lawn Dyarrig fell\nasleep, he was sleeping in the morning when the girl came. She thought\nit was dead the man was, and she was so in dread of him that she would\nnot come near the spring for a long time. At last she saw he was asleep,\nand then she took the water. Her mistress was complaining of her for\nbeing so long.\n\n\"Do not blame me,\" said the maid. \"I am sure that if it was yourself\nthat was in my place you'd not come back so soon.\"\n\n\"How so?\" asked the lady.\n\n\"The finest hero that ever a woman laid eyes on is sleeping at the\nspring.\"\n\n\"That's a thing that cannot be till Lawn Dyarrig comes to the age of a\nhero. When that time comes he'll be sleeping at the spring.\"\n\n\"He is in it now,\" said the girl.\n\nThe lady did not stop to get any drop of the water on herself, but ran\nquickly from the castle. When she came to the spring she roused Lawn\nDyarrig. If she found him lying, she left him standing. She smothered\nhim with kisses, drowned him with tears, dried him with garments of fine\nsilk and with her own hair. Herself and himself locked arms and walked\ninto the castle of the Green Knight. After that they were inviting each\nother with the best food and entertainment till the middle of the\nfollowing day. Then the lady said:\n\n\"When the Green Knight bore me away from my father and mother he brought\nme straight to this castle, but I put him under bonds not to marry me\nfor seven years and a day, and he cannot; still, I must serve him. When\nhe goes fowling he spends three days away and the next three days at\nhome. This is the day for him to come back, and for me to prepare his\ndinner. There is no stir that you or I have made here to-day but that\nbrass head beyond there will tell of it.\"\n\n\"It is equal to you what it tells,\" said Lawn Dyarrig, \"only make ready\na clean long chamber for me.\"\n\nShe did so, and he went back into it. Herself rose up then to prepare\ndinner for the Green Knight. When he came, she welcomed him as every\nday. She left down his food before him, and he sat to take his dinner.\nHe was sitting with knife and fork in hand when the brass head spoke.\n\"I thought when I saw you taking food and drink with your wife that you\nhad the blood of a man in you. If you could see that sprisawn of a goat\nor sheep out of Erin taking meat and drink with her all day, what would\nyou do?\"\n\n\"Oh, my suffering and sorrow!\" cried the knight. \"I'll never take\nanother bite or sup till I eat some of his liver and heart. Let three\nhundred heroes, fresh and young, go back and bring his heart to me, with\nthe liver and lights, till I eat them.\"\n\nThe three hundred heroes went, and hardly were they behind in the\nchamber when Lawn Dyarrig had them all dead in one heap.\n\n\"He must have some exercise to delay my men, they are so long away,\"\nsaid the knight. \"Let three hundred more heroes go for his heart, with\nthe liver and lights, and bring them here to me.\"\n\nThe second three hundred went, and as they were entering the chamber\nLawn Dyarrig was making a heap of them, till the last one was inside,\nwhere there were two heaps.\n\n\"He has some way of coaxing my men to delay,\" said the knight. \"Do you\ngo now, three hundred of my savage hirelings, and bring him.\" The three\nhundred savage hirelings went, and Lawn Dyarrig let every man of them\nenter before he raised a hand, then he caught the bulkiest of them all\nby the two ankles, and began to wallop the others with him, and he\nwalloped them till he drove the life out of the two hundred and\nninety-nine. The bulkiest one was worn to the shin-bones that Lawn\nDyarrig held in his two hands. The Green Knight, who thought Lawn\nDyarrig was coaxing the men, called out then, \"Come down, my men, and\ntake dinner.\"\n\n\"I'll be with you,\" said Lawn Dyarrig, \"and have the best food in the\nhouse, and I'll have the best bed in the house. God not be good to you\nfor it, either.\"\n\nHe went down to the Green Knight, and took the food from before him and\nput it before himself. Then he took the lady, set her on his own knee,\nand he and she went on eating. After dinner he put his finger under her\ngirdle, took her to the best chamber in the castle, and stood on guard\nupon it till morning. Before dawn the lady said to Lawn Dyarrig:\n\n\"If the Green Knight strikes the pole of combat first, he'll win the\nday; if you strike first, you'll win if you do what I tell you. The\nGreen Knight has so much enchantment that if he sees it is going against\nhim the battle is, he'll rise like a fog in the air, come down in the\nsame form, strike you, and make a green stone of you. When yourself and\nhimself are going out to fight in the morning, cut a sod a perch long,\nin the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; you'll leave the sod on\nthe next little hillock you meet. When the Green Knight is coming down\nand is ready to strike, give him a blow with the sod. You'll make a\ngreen stone of him.\"\n\nAs early as the dawn Lawn Dyarrig rose and struck the pole of combat.\nThe blow that he gave did not leave calf, foal, lamb, kid, or child\nwaiting for birth, without turning them five times to the left and five\ntimes to the right.\n\n\"What do you want?\" asked the knight.\n\n\"All that's in your kingdom to be against me the first quarter of the\nday, and yourself the second quarter.\n\n\"You have not left in the kingdom now but myself, and it is early enough\nfor you that I'll be at you.\"\n\nThe knight faced him, and they went at each other, and fought till late\nin the day. The battle was strong against Lawn Dyarrig, when the lady\nstood in the door of the castle.\n\n\"Increase on your blows and increase on your courage,\" cried she. \"There\nis no woman here but myself to wail over you, or to stretch you before\nburial.\"\n\nWhen the knight heard the voice he rose in the air like a lump of fog.\nAs he was coming down Lawn Dyarrig struck him with the sod on the right\nside of his breast, and made a green stone of him.\n\nThe lady rushed out then, and whatever welcome she had for Lawn Dyarrig\nthe first time, she had twice as much now. Herself and himself went into\nthe castle, and spent that night very comfortably. In the morning they\nrose early, and collected all the gold, utensils, and treasures. Lawn\nDyarrig found the three teeth of his father in a pocket of the Green\nKnight, and took them. He and the lady brought all the riches to where\nthe basket was. \"If I send up this beautiful lady,\" thought Lawn\nDyarrig, \"she may be taken from me by my brothers; if I remain below\nwith her, she may be taken from me by people here.\" He put her in the\nbasket, and she gave him a ring so that they might know each other if\nthey met. He shook the gad, and she rose in the basket.\n\nWhen Ur saw the basket, he thought, \"What's above let it be above, and\nwhat's below let it stay where it is.\"\n\n\"I'll have you as wife for ever for myself,\" said he to the lady.\n\n\"I put you under bonds,\" says she, \"not to lay a hand on me for a day\nand three years.\"\n\n\"That itself would not be long even if twice the time,\" said Ur.\n\nThe two brothers started home with the lady; on the way Ur found the\nhead of an old horse with teeth in it, and took them, saying, \"These\nwill be my father's three teeth.\"\n\nThey travelled on, and reached home at last. Ur would not have left a\ntooth in his father's mouth, trying to put in the three that he had\nbrought; but the father stopped him.\n\nLawn Dyarrig, left in Terrible Valley, began to walk around for himself.\nHe had been walking but one day when whom should he meet but the lad\nShort-clothes, and he saluted him. \"By what way can I leave Terrible\nValley?\" asked Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"If I had a grip on you that's what you wouldn't ask me a second time,\"\nsaid Short-clothes.\n\n\"If you haven't touched me, you will before you are much older.\"\n\n\"If you do, you will not treat me as you did all my people and my\nmaster.\"\n\n\"I'll do worse to you than I did to them,\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\nThey caught each other then, one grip under the arm and one on the\nshoulder. 'Tis not long they were wrestling when Lawn Dyarrig had\nShort-clothes on the earth, and he gave him the five thin tyings dear\nand tight.\n\n\"You are the best hero I have ever met,\" said Short-clothes; \"give me\nquarter for my soul--spare me. When I did not tell you of my own will, I\nmust tell in spite of myself.\"\n\n\"It is as easy for me to loosen you as to tie you,\" said Lawn Dyarrig,\nand he freed him.\n\n\"Since you are not dead now,\" said Short-clothes, \"there is no death\nallotted to you. I'll find a way for you to leave Terrible Valley. Go\nand take that old bridle hanging there beyond and shake it; whatever\nbeast comes and puts its head into the bridle will carry you.\"\n\nLawn Dyarrig shook the bridle, and a dirty, shaggy little foal came and\nput its head in the bridle. Lawn Dyarrig mounted, dropped the reins on\nthe foal's neck, and let him take his own choice of roads. The foal\nbrought Lawn Dyarrig out by another way to the upper world, and took him\nto Erin. Lawn Dyarrig stopped some distance from his father's castle,\nand knocked at the house of an old weaver.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked the old man.\n\n\"I am a weaver,\" said Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"What can you do?\"\n\n\"I can spin for twelve and twist for twelve.\"\n\n\"This is a very good man,\" said the old weaver to his sons, \"let us try\nhim.\"\n\nThe work they had been doing for a year he had done in one hour. When\ndinner was over the old man began to wash and shave, and his two sons\nbegan to do the same.\n\n\"Why is this?\" asked Lawn Dyarrig.\n\n\"Haven't you heard that Ur, son of the King, is to marry to-night the\nwoman that he took from the Green Knight of Terrible Valley?\"\n\n\"I have not,\" said Lawn Dyarrig; \"as all are going to the wedding, I\nsuppose I may go without offence?\"\n\n\"Oh, you may,\" said the weaver; \"there will be a hundred thousand\nwelcomes before you.\"\n\n\"Are there any linen sheets within?\"\n\n\"There are,\" said the weaver.\n\n\"It is well to have bags ready for yourself and two sons.\"\n\nThe weaver made bags for the three very quickly. They went to the\nwedding. Lawn Dyarrig put what dinner was on the first table into the\nweaver's bag, and sent the old man home with it. The food of the second\ntable he put in the eldest son's bag, filled the second son's bag from\nthe third table, and sent the two home.\n\nThe complaint went to Ur that an impudent stranger was taking all the\nfood.\n\n\"It is not right to turn any man away,\" said the bridegroom, \"but if\nthat stranger does not mind he will be thrown out of the castle.\"\n\n\"Let me look at the face of the disturber,\" said the bride.\n\n\"Go and bring the fellow who is troubling the guests,\" said Ur to the\nservants.\n\nLawn Dyarrig was brought right away, and stood before the bride, who\nfilled a glass with wine and gave it to him. Lawn Dyarrig drank half the\nwine, and dropped in the ring which the lady had given him in Terrible\nValley.\n\nWhen the bride took the glass again the ring went of itself with one\nleap on to her finger. She knew then who was standing before her.\n\n\"This is the man who conquered the Green Knight and saved me from\nTerrible Valley,\" said she to the King of Erin; \"this is Lawn Dyarrig,\nyour son.\"\n\nLawn Dyarrig took out the three teeth and put them in his father's\nmouth. They fitted there perfectly, and grew into their old place. The\nKing was satisfied, and as the lady would marry no man but Lawn Dyarrig,\nhe was the bridegroom.\n\n\"I must give you a present,\" said the bride to the Queen. \"Here is a\nbeautiful scarf which you are to wear as a girdle this evening.\"\n\nThe Queen put the scarf round her waist.\n\n\"Tell me now,\" said the bride to the Queen, \"who was Ur's father.\"\n\n\"What father could he have but his own father, the King of Erin?\"\n\n\"Tighten, scarf,\" said the bride.\n\nThat moment the Queen thought that her head was in the sky and the lower\nhalf of her body down deep in the earth.\n\n\"Oh, my grief and my woe!\" cried the Queen.\n\n\"Answer my question in truth, and the scarf will stop squeezing you. Who\nwas Ur's father?\"\n\n\"The gardener,\" said the Queen.\n\n\"Whose son is Arthur?\"\n\n\"The King's son.\"\n\n\"Tighten, scarf,\" said the bride.\n\nIf the Queen suffered before, she suffered twice as much this time, and\nscreamed for help.\n\n\"Answer me truly, and you'll be without pain; if not, death will be on\nyou this minute. Whose son is Arthur?\"\n\n\"The swineherd's.\"\n\n\"Who is the King's son?\"\n\n\"The King has no son but Lawn Dyarrig.\"\n\n\"Tighten, scarf.\"\n\nThe scarf did not tighten, and if the Queen had been commanding it a day\nand a year it would not have tightened, for the Queen told the truth\nthat time. When the wedding was over, the King gave Lawn Dyarrig half\nhis kingdom, and made Ur and Arthur his servants.\n\nJEREMIAH CURTIN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Horned Women\n\n\nA rich woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool while all\nthe family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at the\ndoor, and a voice called out, \"Open! Open!\"\n\n\"Who is there?\" said the woman of the house.\n\n\"I am the Witch of the One Horn,\" was answered.\n\nThe mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and\nrequired assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in her\nhand a pair of wool carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead, as if\ngrowing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to card\nthe wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused, and said aloud, \"Where\nare the women; they delay too long?\"\n\nThen a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before,\n\"Open! Open!\"\n\nThe mistress felt herself constrained to rise and open to the call, and\nimmediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead,\nand in her hand a wheel for spinning wool.\n\n\"Give me place,\" she said; \"I am the Witch of the Two Horns\"; and she\nbegan to spin as quick as lightning.\n\nAnd so the knocks went on, and the call was heard and the witches\nentered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire--the first with\none horn, the last with twelve horns.\n\nAnd they carded the thread and turned their spinning-wheels, and wound\nand wove.\n\nAll singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did they speak to the\nmistress of the house. Strange to hear and frightful to look upon were\nthese twelve women, with their horns and their wheels; and the mistress\nfelt near to death, and she tried to rise that she might call for help,\nbut she could not move, nor could she utter a word or a cry, for the\nspell of the witches was upon her.\n\nThen one of them called to her in Irish, and said, \"Rise, woman, and\nmake us a cake.\" Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water\nfrom the well that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she\ncould find none.\n\nAnd they said to her, \"Take a sieve, and bring water in it.\" And she\ntook the sieve, and went to the well; but the water poured from it, and\nshe could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by the well and\nwept.\n\nThen came a voice by her, and said, \"Take yellow clay and moss and bind\nthem together, and plaster the sieve so that it will hold.\"\n\nThis she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake; and the voice\nsaid again:\n\n\"Return, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house cry aloud\nthree times, and say, 'The mountain of the Fenian women and the sky over\nit is all on fire.'\"\n\nAnd she did so.\n\nWhen the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke\nfrom their lips, and they rushed forth with wild lamentations and\nshrieks, and fled away to Slievenamon, where was their chief abode. But\nthe Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and\nprepare her home against the enchantments of the witches, if they\nreturned again.\n\nAnd first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she\nhad washed her child's feet (the feet-water) outside the door on the\nthreshold; secondly, she took the cake which the witches had made in her\nabsence, of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family,\nand she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth of each\nsleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they had woven,\nand placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock; and,\nlastly, she secured the door with a great crossbeam fastened in the\njambs, so that they could not enter, and having done these things she\nwaited.\n\nNot long were the witches in coming, and they raged and called for\nvengeance.\n\n\"Open! Open!\" they screamed. \"Open, feet-water!\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the feet-water; \"I am scattered on the ground, and my\npath is down to the Lough.\"\n\n\"Open, open, wood and trees and beam!\" they cried to the door.\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the door, \"for the beam is fixed in the jambs, and I\nhave no power to move.\"\n\n\"Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood!\" they cried\nagain.\n\n\"I cannot,\" said the cake, \"for I am broken and bruised, and my blood is\non the lips of the sleeping children.\"\n\nThen the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back\nto Slievenamon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well, who\nhad wished their ruin. But the woman and the house were left in peace,\nand a mantle dropped by one of the witches was kept hung up by the\nmistress as a sign of the night's awful contest; and this mantle was in\npossession of the same family from generation to generation for five\nhundred years after.\n\nLADY WILDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Quare Gander\n\n\n\"Terence Mooney was an honest boy and well to do; an' he rinted the\nbiggest farm on this side iv the Galties; an' bein' mighty cute an' a\nsevare worker, it was small wonder he turned a good penny every harvest.\nBut, unluckily, he was blessed with an ilegant large family iv\ndaughters, an' iv coorse, his heart was allamost bruck, striving to make\nup fortunes for the whole of them. An' there wasn't a conthrivance iv\nany soart or description for makin' money out iv the farm but he was up\nto.\n\n\"Well, among the other ways he had iv gettin' up in the world he always\nkep a power iv turkeys, and all soarts iv poultrey; an' he was out iv\nall rason partial to geese--an' small blame to him for that same--for\ntwice't a year you can pluck them as bare as my hand--an' get a fine\nprice for the feathers, an' plenty of rale sizable eggs--an' when they\nare too ould to lay any more, you can kill them, an' sell them to the\ngintlemen for goslings, d'ye see, let alone that a goose is the most\nmanly bird that is out.\n\n\"Well, it happened in the coorse iv time that one ould gandher tuck a\nwondherful likin' to Terence, an' divil a place he could go serenadin'\nabout the farm, or lookin' afther the men, but the gandher id be at his\nheels, an' rubbin' himself agin his legs, an' lookin' up in his face\njist like any other Christian id do; an', begorra, the likes iv it was\nnever seen--Terence Mooney an' the gandher wor so great.\n\n\"An' at last the bird was so engagin' that Terence would not allow it to\nbe plucked any more, an' kep it from that time out for love an'\naffection--just all as one like one iv his childer.\n\n\"But happiness in perfection never lasts long, an' the neighbours\nbegin'd to suspect the nathur an' intentions iv the gandher, an' some iv\nthem said it was the divil, an' more iv them that it was a fairy.\n\n\"Well, Terence could not but hear something of what was sayin', an' you\nmay be sure he was not altogether asy in his mind about it, an' from one\nday to another he was gettin' more ancomfortable in himself, until he\ndetarmined to sind for Jer Garvan, the fairy docthor, in Garryowen, an'\nit's he was the illigant hand at the business, an' divil a sperit id say\na crass word to him, no more nor a priest. An', moreover, he was very\ngreat wid ould Terence Mooney--this man's father that was.\n\n\"So without more about it he was sint for, an', sure enough, the divil a\nlong he was about it, for he kem back that very evenin' along wid the\nboy that was sint for him, an' as soon as he was there, an' tuck his\nsupper, an' was done talkin' for a while, he begin'd, of coorse, to look\ninto the gandher.\n\n\"Well, he turned it this away an' that away, to the right an' to the\nleft, an' straight-ways an' upside-down, an' when he was tired handlin'\nit, says he to Terence Mooney:\n\n\"'Terence,' says he, 'you must remove the bird into the next room,' says\nhe, 'an' put a petticoat,' says he, 'or anny other convaynience round\nhis head,' says he.\n\n\"'An' why so?' says Terence.\n\n\"'Becase,' says Jer, says he.\n\n\"'Becase what?' says Terence.\n\n\"'Becase,' says Jer, 'if it isn't done you'll never be asy agin,' says\nhe, 'or pusillanimous in your mind,' says he; 'so ax no more questions,\nbut do my biddin',' says he.\n\n\"'Well,' says Terence, 'have your own way,' says he.\n\n\"An' wid that he tuck the ould gandher an' giv' it to one iv the\ngossoons.\n\n\"'An' take care,' says he, 'don't smother the crathur,' says he.\n\n\"Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan, says he:\n\n\"'Do you know what that old gandher _is_, Terence Mooney?'\n\n\"'Divil a taste,' says Terence.\n\n\"'Well, then,' says Jer, 'the gandher is your own father,' says he.\n\n\"'It's jokin' you are,' says Terence, turnin' mighty pale; 'how can an\nould gandher be my father?' says he.\n\n\"'I'm not funnin' you at all,' says Jer; 'it's thrue what I tell you,\nit's your father's wandhrin' sowl,' says he, 'that's naturally tuck\npissession iv the ould gandher's body,' says he. 'I know him many ways,\nand I wondher,' says he, 'you do not know the cock iv his eye yourself,'\nsays he.\n\n\"'Oh, blur an' ages!' says Terence, 'what the divil will I ever do at\nall at all,' says he; 'it's all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve\ntimes at the laste,' says he.\n\n\"'That can't be helped now,' says Jer; 'it was a sevare act, surely,'\nsays he, 'but it's too late to lamint for it now,' says he; 'the only\nway to prevint what's past,' says he, 'is to put a stop to it before it\nhappens,' says he.\n\n\"'Thrue for you,' says Terence, 'but how the divil did you come to the\nknowledge iv my father's sowl,' says he, 'bein' in the ould gandher,'\nsays he.\n\n\"'If I tould you,' says Jer, 'you would not undherstand me,' says he,\n'without book-larnin' an' gasthronomy,' says he; 'so ax me no\nquestions,' says he, 'an' I'll tell you no lies. But b'lieve me in this\nmuch,' says he, 'it's your father that's in it,' says he; 'an' if I\ndon't make him spake to-morrow mornin',' says he, 'I'll give you lave to\ncall me a fool,' says he.\n\n\"'Say no more,' says Terence; 'that settles the business,' says he; 'an'\noh, blur and ages! is it not a quare thing,' says he, 'for a dacent,\nrespictable man,' says he, 'to be walkin' about the counthry in the\nshape iv an ould gandher,' says he; 'and oh, murdher, murdher! is not\nit often I plucked him,' says he, 'an' tundher and ouns! might not I\nhave ate him?' says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration,\nsavin' your prisince, an' on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare notions\niv it.\n\n\"Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry to him, quite an'\nasy:\n\n\"'Terence,' says he, 'don't be aggravatin' yourself,' says he; 'for I\nhave a plan composed that 'ill make him spake out,' says he, 'an' tell\nwhat it is in the world he's wantin',' says he; 'an' mind an' don't be\ncomin' in wid your gosther, an' to say agin anything I tell you,' says\nhe, 'but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought back,' says he,\n'how that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to market,' says he.\n'An' if he don't spake to-night,' says he, 'or gother himself out iv the\nplace,' says he, 'put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the\ncart,' says he, 'straight to Tipperary, to be sould for ating,' says he,\n'along wid the two gossoons,' says he, 'an' my name isn't Jer Garvan,'\nsays he, 'if he doesn't spake out before he's half-way,' says he. 'An'\nmind,' says he, 'as soon as iver he says the first word,' says he, 'that\nvery minute bring him aff to Father Crotty,' says he; 'an' if his\nraverince doesn't make him ratire,' says he, 'like the rest iv his\nparishioners, glory be to God,' says he, 'into the siclusion iv the\nflames iv purgathory,' says he, 'there's no vartue in my charums,' says\nhe.\n\n\"Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they\nall begin'd to talk iv sindin' him the nixt mornin' to be sould for\nroastin' in Tipperary, jist as if it was a thing andoubtingly settled.\nBut divil a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking iv\nthe Lord-Liftinant; an' Terence desired the boys to get ready the kish\nfor the poulthry, an' to 'settle it out wid hay soft an' shnug,' says\nhe, 'for it's the last jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this\nworld,' says he.\n\n\"Well, as the night was gettin' late, Terence was growin' mighty\nsorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what\nwas goin' to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs wor fairly\nin bed, he brought out some illigint potteen, an' himself an' Jer Garvan\nsot down to it; an', begorra, the more anasy Terence got, the more he\ndhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart betune them. It\nwasn't an imparial, though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't\nanvinted antil short since; but divil a much matther it signifies any\nlonger if a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst\nFather Mathew--the Lord purloin his raverince--begin'd to give the\npledge, an' wid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland.\n\n\"An', begorra, I have the medle myself; an' it's proud I am iv that\nsame, for abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.\n\n\"Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well stop;\n'for enough is as good as a faste,' says he; 'an' I pity the vagabond,'\nsays he, 'that is not able to conthroul his licquor,' says he, 'an' to\nkeep constantly inside iv a pint measure,' says he; an' wid that he\nwished Jer Garvan a good night an' walked out iv the room.\n\n\"But he wint out the wrong door, bein' a thrifle hearty in himself an'\nnot rightly knowin' whether he was standin' on his head or his heels,\nor both iv them at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed,\nwhere did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper that the boys\nhad settled out ready for the gandher in the mornin'. An', sure enough,\nhe sunk down soft an' complate through the hay to the bottom; an' wid\nthe turnin' and roulin' about in the night, the divil a bit iv him but\nwas covered up as shnug as a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin'.\n\n\"So wid the first light, up gets the two boys that wor to take the\nsperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary; an' they cotched the ould\ngandher an' put him in the hamper, an' clapped a good wisp iv hay an the\ntop iv him, an' tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, an' med the\nsign iv the crass over him, in dhread iv any harum, an' put the hamper\nup an the car, wontherin' all the while what in the world was makin' the\nould bird so surprisin' heavy.\n\n\"Well, they wint along quite anasy towards Tipperary, wishin' every\nminute that some iv the neighbours bound the same way id happen to fall\nin with them, for they didn't half like the notions iv havin' no company\nbut the bewitched gandher, an' small blame to them for that same.\n\n\"But although they wor shaking in their skhins in dhread iv the ould\nbird beginnin' to convarse them every minute, they did not let an to one\nanother, but kep singin' an' whistlin' like mad to keep the dread out iv\ntheir hearts.\n\n\"Well, afther they wor on the road betther nor half an hour, they kem to\nthe bad bit close by Father Crotty's, an' there was one divil of a rut\nthree feet deep at the laste; an' the car got sich a wondherful chuck\ngoin' through it that it wakened Terence widin in the basket.\n\n\"'Bad luck to ye,' says he, 'my bones is bruck wid yer thricks; what the\ndivil are ye doin' wid me?'\n\n\"'Did ye hear anything quare, Thady?' says the boy that was next to the\ncar, turnin' as white as the top iv a mushroom; 'did ye hear anything\nquare soundin' out iv the hamper?' says he.\n\n\"'No, nor you,' says Thady, turnin' as pale as himself. 'It's the ould\ngandher that's gruntin' wid the shakin' he's gettin',' says he.\n\n\"'Where the divil have ye put me into?' says Terence inside. 'Bad luck\nto your sowls,' says he; 'let me out, or I'll be smothered this minute,'\nsays he.\n\n\"'There's no use in purtending,' says the boy; 'the gandher's spakin',\nglory be to God,' says he.\n\n\"'Let me out, you murdherers,' says Terence.\n\n\"'In the name iv the blessed Vargin,' says Thady, 'an' iv all the holy\nsaints, hould yer tongue, you unnatheral gandher,' says he.\n\n\"'Who's that, that dar to call me nicknames?' says Terence inside,\nroaring wid the fair passion. 'Let me out, you blasphamious infiddles,'\nsays he, 'or by this crass I'll stretch ye,' says he.\n\n\"'In the name iv all the blessed saints in heaven,' says Thady, 'who the\ndivil are ye?'\n\n\"'Who the divil would I be, but Terence Mooney,' says he. 'It's myself\nthat's in it, you unmerciful bliggards,' says he. 'Let me out, or, by\nthe holy, I'll get out in spite iv yes,' says he, 'an', by jaburs, I'll\nwallop yes in arnest,' says he.\n\n\"'It's ould Terence, sure enough,' says Thady. 'Isn't it cute the fairy\ndocthor found him out?' says he.\n\n\"'I'm an the pint of snuffication,' says Terence. 'Let me out, I tell\nyou, an' wait till I get at ye,' says he, 'for, begorra, the divil a\nbone in your body but I'll powdher,' says he.\n\n\"An' wid that he beginned kickin' and flingin' inside in the hamper, and\ndhrivin' his legs agin the sides iv it, that it was a wonder he did not\nknock it to pieces.\n\n\"Well, as soon as the boys seen that they skelped the ould horse into a\ngallop as hard as he could peg towards the priest's house, through the\nruts, an' over the stones; an' you'd see the hamper fairly flyin' three\nfeet up in the air with the joultin'; glory be to God.\n\n\"So it was small wondher, by the time they got to his raverince's door,\nthe breath was fairly knocked out of poor Terence, so that he was lyin'\nspeechless in the bottom iv the hamper.\n\n\"Well, whin his raverince kem down, they up an' they tould him all that\nhappened, an' how they put the gandher in the hamper, an' how he\nbeginned to spake, an' how he confissed that he was ould Terence Mooney;\nan' they axed his honour to advise them how to get rid iv the sperit for\ngood an' all.\n\n\"So says his raverince, says he:\n\n\"'I'll take my booke,' says he, 'an' I'll read some rale sthrong holy\nbits out iv it,' says he, 'an' do you get a rope and put it round the\nhamper,' says he, 'an' let it swing over the runnin' wather at the\nbridge,' says he, 'an' it's no matther if I don't make the sperit come\nout iv it,' says he.\n\n\"Well, wid that the priest got his horse, and tuck his booke in undher\nhis arm, an' the boys follied his raverince, ladin' the horse down to\nthe bridge, an' divil a word out iv Terence all the way, for he seen it\nwas no use spakin', an' he was afeard if he med any noise they might\nthrait him to another gallop an' finish him intirely.\n\n\"Well, as soon as they wor all come to the bridge, the boys tuck the\nrope they had wid them an' med it fast to the top iv the hamper, an'\nswung it fairly over the bridge, lettin' it hang in the air about twelve\nfeet out iv the wather.\n\n\"And his raverince rode down to the bank of the river close by, an'\nbeginned to read mighty loud and bould intirely.\n\n\"An' whin he was goin' on about five minutes, all at onst the bottom iv\nthe hamper kem out, an' down wint Terence, falling splash into the\nwather, an' the ould gandher a-top iv him. Down they both wint to the\nbottom, wid a souse you'd hear half a mile off.\n\n\"An' before they had time to rise agin, his raverince, wid the fair\nastonishment, giv his horse one dig iv the spurs, an' before he knew\nwhere he was, in he wint, horse an' all, a-top iv them, an' down to the\nbottom.\n\n\"Up they all kem agin together, gaspin' and puffin', an' off down wid\nthe current wid them, like shot in under the arch iv the bridge till\nthey kem to the shallow wather.\n\n\"The ould gandher was the first out, and the priest and Terence kem\nnext, pantin' an' blowin' an' more than half dhrounded, an' his\nraverince was so freckened wid the dhroundin' he got and wid the sight\niv the sperit, as he consaved, that he wasn't the better of it for a\nmonth.\n\n\"An' as soon as Terence could spake he swore he'd have the life of the\ntwo gossoons; but Father Crotty would not give him his will. An' as soon\nas he was got quiter they all endivoured to explain it; but Terence\nconsaved he went raly to bed the night before, an' his wife said the\nsame to shilter him from the suspision for havin' th' dhrop taken. An'\nhis raverince said it was a mysthery, an' swore if he cotched anyone\nlaughin' at the accident he'd lay the horsewhip across their shoulders.\n\n\"An' Terence grew fonder an' fonder iv the gandher every day, until at\nlast he died in a wondherful old age, lavin' the gandher afther him an'\na large family iv childher.\n\n\"An' to this day the farm is rinted by one iv Terence Mooney's lenial\nand legitimate postariors.\"\n\nJOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANN.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fairies' Passage\n\n\n  Tap, tap, rap, rap! \"Get up, gaffer Ferryman.\"\n  \"Eh! Who is there?\" The clock strikes three.\n  \"Get up, do, gaffer! You are the very man\n  We have been long, long, longing to see.\"\n  The ferryman rises, growling and grumbling,\n  And goes fum-fumbling, and stumbling, and tumbling\n  Over the wares on his way to the door.\n  But he sees no more\n  Than he saw before,\n  Till a voice is heard: \"O Ferryman, dear!\n  Here we are waiting, all of us, here.\n  We are a wee, wee colony, we;\n  Some two hundred in all, or three.\n  Ferry us over the River Lee\n  Ere dawn of day,\n  And we will pay\n  The most we may\n  In our own wee way!\"\n\n  \"Who are you? Whence came you?\n  What place are you going to?\"\n  \"Oh, we have dwelt over-long in this land:\n  The people get cross, and are growing so knowing, too!\n  Nothing at all but they now understand.\n  We are daily vanishing under the thunder\n  Of some huge engine or iron wonder;\n  That iron--ah! it has entered our souls.\"\n  \"Your souls? O gholes!\n  You queer little drolls,\n  Do you mean ----?\" \"Good gaffer, do aid us with speed,\n  For our time, like our stature, is short indeed!\n  And a very long way we have to go:\n  Eight or ten thousand miles or so,\n  Hither and thither, and to and fro,\n  With our pots and pans\n  And little gold cans;\n  But our light caravans\n  Run swifter than man's.\"\n\n  \"Well, well, you may come,\" said the ferryman affably;\n  \"Patrick, turn out, and get ready the barge.\"\n  Then again to the little folk: \"Tho' you seem laughably\n  Small, I don't mind, if your coppers be large.\"\n  Oh, dear! what a rushing, what pushing, what crushing\n  (The watermen making vain efforts at hushing\n  The hubbub the while), there followed these words!\n  What clapping of boards,\n  What strapping of cords,\n  What stowing away of children and wives,\n  And platters, and mugs, and spoons, and knives!\n  Till all had safely got into the boat,\n  And the ferryman, clad in his tip-top coat,\n  And his wee little fairies were safely afloat;\n  Then ding, ding, ding,\n  And kling, kling, kling,\n  How the coppers did ring\n  In the tin pitcherling!\n\n  Off, then, went the boat, at first very pleasantly,\n  Smoothly, and so forth; but after a while\n  It swayed and it swagged this and that way, and presently\n  Chest after chest, and pile after pile\n  Of the little folk's goods began tossing and rolling,\n  And pitching like fun, beyond fairy controlling.\n  O Mab! if the hubbub were great before,\n  It was now some two or three million times more.\n  Crash! went the wee crocks and the clocks; and the locks\n  Of each little wee box were stove in by hard knocks;\n  And then there were oaths, and prayers, and cries:\n  \"Take care!\"--\"See there!\"--\"Oh, dear, my eyes!\"--\n  \"I am killed!\"--\"I am drowned!\"--with groans and sighs,\n  Till to land they drew.\n  \"Yeo-ho! Pull to!\n  Tiller-rope, thro' and thro'!\"\n  And all's right anew.\n  \"Now jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities.\n  (Eh, what is this?... Where are they, at all?\n  Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?\n  Well, as I live!\"....) He looks blank as a wall,\n  Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes,\n  But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes\n  Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone,\n  And he stands alone,\n  Like a statue of stone,\n  In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,\n  And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear,\n  With other odd sounds: \"Ha, ha, ha, ha!\n  Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee, quee! bah, bah!\n  Fizzigigiggidy! pshee! sha, sha!\"\n  \"O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!\"\n  The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,\n  And there, alas, to his horror perceives\n  That the little folk's mode of making him richer\n  Has been to pay him with withered leaves!\n\nJAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.\n\n\n\n\nThe King of the Black Desert\n\nThis story was told by one Laurence O'Flynn from near Swinford, in the\nCounty Mayo, to my friend, the late F. O'Conor, of Athlone, from whom I\ngot it in Irish. It is the eleventh story in the \"Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach,\"\nand is here for the first time literally translated into English.\n\nAN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.\n\n\nWhen O'Conor was King over Ireland he was living in Rathcroghan, of\nConnacht. He had one son, but he, when he grew up, was wild, and the\nKing could not control him, because he would have his own will in\neverything.\n\nOne morning he went out--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  And his hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him--\n\nand he went forward, singing a verse of a song to himself, until he came\nas far as a big bush that was growing on the brink of a glen. There was\na grey old man sitting at the foot of the bush, and he said, \"King's\nson, if you are able to play as well as you are able to sing songs, I\nwould like to play a game with you.\" The King's son thought that it was\na silly old man that was in it, and he alighted, threw bridle over\nbranch, and sat down by the side of the grey old man.\n\nThe old man drew out a pack of cards and asked, \"Can you play these?\"\n\n\"I can,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"What shall we play for?\" said the grey old man.\n\n\"Anything you wish,\" says the King's son.\n\n\"All right; if I win you must do for me anything I shall ask of you, and\nif you win I must do for you anything you ask of me,\" says the grey old\nman.\n\n\"I'm satisfied,\" says the King's son.\n\nThey played the game, and the King's son beat the grey old man. Then he\nsaid, \"What would you like me to do for you, King's son?\"\n\n\"I won't ask you to do anything for me,\" says the King's son. \"I think\nthat you are not able to do much.\"\n\n\"Don't mind that,\" said the old man. \"You must ask me to do something. I\nnever lost a bet yet that I wasn't able to pay it.\"\n\nAs I said, the King's son thought that it was a silly old man that was\nin it, and to satisfy him he said to him, \"Take the head off my\nstepmother and put a goat's head on her for a week.\"\n\n\"I'll do that for you,\" said the grey old man. The King's son went\na-riding on his horse--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand he faced for another place, and never thought more about the grey\nold man until he came home.\n\nHe found a cry and great grief in the castle. The servants told him that\nan enchanter had come into the room where the Queen was, and had put a\ngoat's head on her in place of her own head.\n\n\"By my hand, but that's a wonderful thing,\" says the King's son. \"If I\nhad been at home I'd have whipt the head off him with my sword.\"\n\nThere was great grief on the King, and he sent for a wise councillor,\nand asked him did he know how the thing happened to the Queen.\n\n\"Indeed, I cannot tell you that,\" said he; \"it's a work of enchantment.\"\n\nThe King's son did not let on that he had any knowledge of the matter,\nbut on the morrow morning he went out--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him--\n\nand he never drew rein until he came as far as the big bush on the brink\nof the glen. The grey old man was sitting there under the bush, and\nsaid, \"King's son, will you have a game to-day?\" The King's son got down\nand said, \"I will.\" With that he threw bridle over branch and sat down\nby the side of the old man. He drew out the cards and asked the King's\nson did he get the thing he had won yesterday.\n\n\"That's all right,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"We'll play for the same bet to-day,\" says the grey old man.\n\n\"I'm satisfied,\" said the King's son.\n\nThey played--the King's son won. \"What would you like me to do for you\nthis time?\" says the grey old man. The King's son thought and said to\nhimself, \"I'll give him a hard job this time.\" Then he said, \"There's a\nfield of seven acres at the back of my father's castle; let it be filled\nto-morrow morning with cows, and no two of them to be of one colour, or\none height, or one age.\"\n\n\"That shall be done,\" says the grey old man.\n\nThe King's son went riding on his horse--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand faced for home. The King was sorrowful about the Queen; there were\ndoctors out of every place in Ireland, but they could not do her any\ngood.\n\nOn the morning of the next day the King's herd went out early, and he\nsaw the field at the back of the castle filled with cows, and no two of\nthem of the same colour, the same age, or the same height. He went in\nand told the King the wonderful news. \"Go and drive them out,\" says the\nKing. The herd got men, and went with them driving out the cows, but no\nsooner would he put them out on one side than they would come in on the\nother. The herd went to the King again, and told him that all the men\nthat were in Ireland would not be able to put out these cows that were\nin the field. \"They're enchanted cows,\" said the King.\n\nWhen the King's son saw the cows, he said to himself, \"I'll have\nanother game with the grey old man to-day!\" That morning he went out--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him--\n\nand he never drew rein till he came as far as the big bush on the brink\nof the glen. The grey old man was there before him, and asked him would\nhe have a game of cards.\n\n\"I will,\" says the King's son; \"but you know well that I can beat you\nplaying cards.\"\n\n\"We'll have another game, then,\" says the grey old man. \"Did you ever\nplay ball?\"\n\n\"I did, indeed,\" said the King's son; \"but I think that you are too old\nto play ball, and, besides that, we have no place here to play it.\"\n\n\"If you're contented to play, I'll find a place,\" says the grey old man.\n\n\"I'm contented,\" says the King's son.\n\n\"Follow me,\" says the grey old man.\n\nThe King's son followed him through the glen until he came to a fine\ngreen hill. There he drew out a little enchanted rod, spoke some words\nwhich the King's son did not understand, and after a moment the hill\nopened and the two went in, and they passed through a number of splendid\nhalls until they came out into a garden. There was everything finer than\nanother in that garden, and at the bottom of the garden there was a\nplace for playing ball. They threw up a piece of silver to see who would\nhave hand-in, and the grey old man got it.\n\nThey began then, and the grey old man never stopped until he won out the\ngame. The King's son did not know what he would do. At last he asked the\nold man what would he desire him to do for him.\n\n\"I am King over the Black Desert, and you must find out myself and my\ndwelling-place within a year and a day, or I shall find you out and you\nshall lose your head.\"\n\nThen he brought the King's son out the same way by which he went in. The\ngreen hill closed behind them, and the grey old man disappeared out of\nsight.\n\nThe King's son went home, riding on his horse--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand he sorrowful enough.\n\nThat evening the King observed that there was grief and great trouble on\nhis young son, and when he went to sleep the King and every person that\nwas in the castle heard heavy sighings and ravings from him. The King\nwas in grief--a goat's head to be on the Queen--but he was seven times\nworse when they told him the (whole) story how it happened from\nbeginning to end.\n\nHe sent for a wise councillor, and asked him did he know where the King\nof the Black Desert was living.\n\n\"I do not, indeed,\" said he; \"but as sure as there's a tail on the cat,\nunless the young heir finds out that enchanter he will lose his head.\"\n\nThere was great grief that day in the castle of the King. There was a\ngoat's head on the Queen, and the King's son was going searching for an\nenchanter, without knowing whether he would ever come back.\n\nAfter a week the goat's head was taken off the Queen, and her own head\nwas put upon her. When she heard of how the goat's head was put upon\nher, a great hate came upon her against the King's son, and she said\n\"that he may never come back, alive or dead.\"\n\nOf a Monday morning he left his blessing with his father and his\nkindred; his travelling bag was bound upon his shoulder, and he went--\n\n  His hound at his foot,\n  His hawk on his hand,\n  And his fine black horse to bear him.\n\nHe walked that day until the sun was gone beneath the shadow of the\nhills and till the darkness of the night was coming, without knowing\nwhere he could get lodgings. He noticed a large wood on his left-hand\nside, and he drew towards it as quickly as he could, hoping to spend the\nnight under the shelter of the trees. He sat down at the foot of a large\noak tree, and opened his travelling bag to take some food and drink,\nwhen he saw a great eagle coming towards him.\n\n\"Do not be afraid of me, King's son; I know you--you are the son of\nO'Conor, King of Ireland. I am a friend, and if you give me your horse\nto give to eat to four hungry birds that I have, I shall bear you\nfarther than your horse would bear you, and, perhaps, I would put you on\nthe track of him you are looking for.\"\n\n\"You can have the horse, and welcome,\" says the King's son, \"although\nI'm sorrowful at parting from him.\"\n\n\"All right, I shall be here to-morrow at sunrise.\" With that she opened\nher great gob, caught hold of the horse, struck in his two sides against\none another, took wing, and disappeared out of sight.\n\nThe King's son ate and drank his enough, put his travelling bag under\nhis head, and it was not long till he was asleep, and he never awoke\ntill the eagle came and said, \"It is time for us to be going; there is a\nlong journey before us. Take hold of your bag and leap up upon my back.\"\n\n\"But to my grief,\" says he, \"I must part from my hound and my hawk.\"\n\n\"Do not be grieved,\" says she; \"they will be here before you when you\ncome back.\"\n\nThen he leaped up on her back. She took wing, and off and away with her\nthrough the air. She brought him across hills and hollows, over a great\nsea, and over woods, till he thought that he was at the end of the\nworld. When the sun was going under the shadow of the hills, she came to\nearth in the midst of a great desert, and said to him, \"Follow the path\non your right-hand side, and it will bring you to the house of a friend.\nI must return again to provide for my birds.\"\n\nHe followed the path, and it was not long till he came to the house, and\nhe went in. There was a grey old man sitting in the corner. He rose and\nsaid, \"A hundred thousand welcomes to you, King's son, from Rathcroghan\nof Connacht.\"\n\n\"I have no knowledge of you,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"I was acquainted with your grandfather,\" said the grey old man. \"Sit\ndown; no doubt there is hunger and thirst on you.\"\n\n\"I'm not free from them,\" said the King's son.\n\nThe old man then smote his two palms against one another, and two\nservants came and laid a board with beef, mutton, pork, and plenty of\nbread before the King's son, and the old man said to him:\n\n\"Eat and drink your enough. Perhaps it may be a long time before you get\nthe like again.\"\n\nHe ate and drank as much as he desired, and thanked him for it.\n\nThen the old man said, \"You are going seeking for the King of the Black\nDesert. Go to sleep now, and I will go through my books to see if I can\nfind out the dwelling-place of that King.\" Then he smote his palms\ntogether, and a servant came, and he told him, \"Take the King's son to\nhis chamber.\" He took him to a fine chamber, and it was not long till he\nfell asleep.\n\nOn the morning of the next day the old man came and said:\n\n\"Rise up, there is a long journey before you. You must do five hundred\nmiles before midday.\"\n\n\"I could not do it,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"If you are a good rider I will give you a horse that will bring you\nover the journey.\"\n\n\"I will do as you say,\" said the King's son.\n\nThe old man gave him plenty to eat and to drink, and, when he was\nsatisfied, he gave him a little white garron, and said, \"Give the garron\nhis head, and when he stops look up into the air, and you will see three\nswans as white as snow. Those are the three daughters of the King of the\nBlack Desert. There will be a green napkin in the mouth of one of them:\nthat is the youngest daughter, and there is not anyone alive except her\nwho could bring you to the house of the King of the Black Desert. When\nthe garron stops you will be near a lake. The three swans will come to\nland on the brink of that lake, and they will make three young women of\nthemselves, and they will go into the lake swimming and dancing. Keep\nyour eye on the green napkin, and when you get the young women in the\nlake, go and get the napkin, and do not part with it. Go into hiding\nunder a tree, and when the young women will come out, two of them will\nmake swans of themselves, and will go away in the air. Then the youngest\ndaughter will say, \"I will do anything for him who will give me my\nnapkin.\" Come forward then and give her the napkin, and say there is\nnothing you want but to bring you to her father's house, and tell her\nyou are a king's son from a powerful country.\"\n\nThe King's son did everything as the old man desired him, and when he\ngave the napkin to the daughter of the King of the Black Desert, he\nsaid, \"I am the son of O'Conor, King of Connaught. Bring me to your\nfather. Long am I seeking him.\"\n\n\"Would not it be better for me to do something else for you?\" said she.\n\n\"I do not want anything else,\" said he.\n\n\"If I show you the house will you not be satisfied?\" said she.\n\n\"I will be satisfied,\" said he.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"upon your life do not tell my father that it was I who\nbrought you to his house, and I shall be a good friend to you; but let\non,\" said she, \"that you have great powers of enchantment.\"\n\n\"I will do as you say,\" says he.\n\nThen she made a swan of herself, and said, \"Leap up on my back and put\nyour hands under my neck, and keep a hard hold.\"\n\nHe did so, and she shook her wings, and off and away with her over hills\nand over glens, over sea and over mountains, until she came to earth as\nthe sun was going under. Then she said to him, \"Do you see that great\nhouse yonder? That is my father's house. Farewell. Any time that you are\nin danger I shall be at your side.\" Then she went from him.\n\nThe King's son went to the house and went in, and who should he see\nsitting in a golden chair but the grey old man who had played the cards\nand the ball with him.\n\n\"King's son,\" said he, \"I see that you have found me out before the day\nand the year. How long since you left home?\"\n\n\"This morning, when I was rising out of my bed, I saw a rainbow. I gave\na leap, spread my two legs on it, and slid as far as this.\"\n\n\"By my hand, it was a great feat you performed,\" said the old King.\n\n\"I could do a more wonderful thing than that if I chose,\" said the\nKing's son.\n\n\"I have three things for you to do,\" says the old King, \"and if you are\nable to do them, you shall have the choice of my three daughters for\nwife, and unless you are able to do them, you shall lose your head, as a\ngood many other young men have lost it before you.\"\n\n\"Then,\" he said, \"there be's neither eating nor drinking in my house\nexcept once in the week, and we had it this morning.\"\n\n\"It's all one to me,\" said the King's son. \"I could fast for a month if\nI were on a pinch.\"\n\n\"No doubt you can go without sleep also,\" says the old King.\n\n\"I can, without doubt,\" said the King's son.\n\n\"You shall have a hard bed to-night, then,\" says the old King. \"Come\nwith me till I show it to you.\" He brought him out then and showed him a\ngreat tree with a fork in it, and said, \"Get up there and sleep in the\nfork, and be ready with the rise of the sun.\"\n\nHe went up into the fork, but as soon as the old King was asleep the\nyoung daughter came and brought him into a fine room, and kept him there\nuntil the old King was about to rise. Then she put him out again into\nthe fork of the tree.\n\nWith the rise of the sun the old King came to him, and said, \"Come down\nnow and come with me until I show you the thing that you have to do\nto-day.\"\n\nHe brought the King's son to the brink of a lake and showed him an old\ncastle, and said to him, \"Throw every stone in that castle out into the\nloch, and let you have it done before the sun goes down in the evening.\"\nHe went away from him then.\n\nThe King's son began working, but the stones were stuck to one another\nso fast that he was not able to raise one of them, and if he were to be\nworking until this day, there would not be one stone out of the castle.\nHe sat down then, thinking what he ought to do, and it was not long\nuntil the daughter of the old King came to him and said, \"What is the\ncause of your grief?\" He told her the work which he had to do. \"Let that\nput no grief on you; I will do it,\" said she. Then she gave him bread,\nmeat, and wine, pulled out a little enchanted rod, struck a blow on the\nold castle, and in a moment every stone of it was at the bottom of the\nlake. \"Now,\" said she, \"do not tell my father that it was I who did the\nwork for you.\"\n\nWhen the sun was going down in the evening, the old King came and said,\n\"I see that you have your day's work done.\"\n\n\"I have,\" said the King's son; \"I can do any work at all.\"\n\nThe old King thought now that the King's son had great powers of\nenchantment, and he said to him, \"Your day's work for to-morrow is to\nlift the stones out of the loch, and to set up the castle again as it\nwas before.\"\n\nHe brought the King's son home, and said to him, \"Go to sleep in the\nplace where you were last night.\"\n\nWhen the old King went to sleep the young daughter came and brought him\ninto the fine chamber, and kept him there till the old King was about to\nrise in the morning. Then she put him out again in the fork of the tree.\n\nAt sunrise the old King came and said, \"It's time for you to get to\nwork.\"\n\n\"There's no hurry on me at all,\" says the King's son, \"because I know I\ncan readily do my day's work.\"\n\nHe then went to the brink of the lake, but he was not able to see a\nstone, the water was that black. He sat down on a rock, and it was not\nlong until Finnuala--that was the name of the old King's daughter--came\nto him and said, \"What have you to do to-day?\" He told her, and she\nsaid, \"Let there be no grief on you. I can do that work for you.\" Then\nshe gave him bread, beef, mutton, and wine. After that she drew out the\nlittle enchanted rod, smote the water of the lake with it, and in a\nmoment the old castle was set up as it had been the day before. Then she\nsaid to him, \"On your life, don't tell my father that I did this work\nfor you, or that you have any knowledge of me at all.\"\n\nOn the evening of that day the old King came and said, \"I see that you\nhave the day's work done.\"\n\n\"I have,\" said the King's son; \"that was an easy-done job.\"\n\nThen the old King thought that the King's son had more power of\nenchantment than he had himself, and he said, \"You have only one other\nthing to do.\" He brought him home then, and put him to sleep in the fork\nof the tree, but Finnuala came and put him into the fine chamber, and in\nthe morning she sent him out again into the tree. At sunrise the old\nKing came to him, and said, \"Come with me till I show you your day's\nwork.\"\n\nHe brought the King's son to a great glen, and showed him a well, and\nsaid, \"My grandmother lost a ring in that well, and do you get it for me\nbefore the sun goes under this morning.\"\n\nNow, this well was one hundred feet deep and twenty feet round about,\nand it was filled with water, and there was an army out of hell watching\nthe ring.\n\nWhen the old King went away Finnuala came and asked, \"What have you to\ndo to-day?\" He told her, and she said, \"That is a difficult task, but I\nshall do my best to save your life.\" Then she gave him beef, bread, and\nwine. Then she made a diver of herself, and went down into the well. It\nwas not long till he saw smoke and lightning coming up out of the well,\nand he heard a sound like thunder, and anyone who would be listening to\nthat noise, he would think that the army of hell was fighting.\n\nAt the end of a while the smoke went away, the lightning and thunder\nceased, and Finnuala came up with the ring. She handed the ring to the\nKing's son, and said, \"I won the battle, and your life is saved. But,\nlook, the little finger of my right hand is broken. But perhaps it's a\nlucky thing that it was broken. When my father comes do not give him\nthe ring, but threaten him stoutly. He will bring you, then, to choose\nyour wife, and this is how you shall make your choice. I and my sisters\nwill be in a room; there will be a hole in the door, and we shall all\nput our hands out in a cluster. You will put your hand through the hole,\nand the hand that you will keep hold of when my father will open the\ndoor, that is the hand of her you shall have for wife. You can know me\nby my broken little finger.\"\n\n\"I can; and the love of my heart you are, Finnuala,\" says the King's\nson.\n\nOn the evening of that day the old King came and asked, \"Did you get my\ngrandmother's ring?\"\n\n\"I did, indeed,\" says the King's son. \"There was an army out of hell\nguarding it, but I beat them; and I would beat seven times as many.\nDon't you know I'm a Connachtman?\"\n\n\"Give me the ring,\" says the old King.\n\n\"Indeed, I won't give it,\" says he. \"I fought hard for it. But do you\ngive me my wife; I want to be going.\"\n\nThe old King brought him in, and said, \"My three daughters are in that\nroom before you. The hand of each of them is stretched out, and she on\nwhom you will keep your hold until I open the door, that one is your\nwife.\"\n\nThe King's son thrust his hand through the hole that was in the door,\nand caught hold of the hand with the broken little finger, and kept a\ntight hold of it until the old King opened the door of the room.\n\n\"This is my wife,\" said the King's son. \"Give me now your daughter's\nfortune.\"\n\n\"She has no fortune to get, but the brown slender steed to bring you\nhome, and that ye may never come back, alive or dead!\"\n\nThe King's son and Finnuala went riding on the brown slender steed, and\nit was not long till they came to the wood where the King's son left his\nhound and his hawk. They were there before him, together with his fine\nblack horse. He sent the brown slender steed back then. He set Finnuala\nriding on his horse, and leaped up himself--\n\n  His hound at his heel,\n  His hawk on his hand--\n\nand he never stopped till he came to Rathcroghan.\n\nThere was great welcome before him there, and it was not long till\nhimself and Finnuala were married. They spent a long, prosperous life.\nBut it is scarcely that even the track of this old castle is to be found\nto-day in Rathcroghan of Connacht.\n\nDOUGLAS HYDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Piper and the Púca\n\n\nIn the old times there was a half fool living in Dunmore, in the county\nGalway, and though he was excessively fond of music, he was unable to\nlearn more than one tune, and that was the \"Black Rogue.\" He used to get\na good deal of money from the gentlemen, for they used to get sport out\nof him. One night the Piper was coming home from a house where there had\nbeen a dance, and he half drunk. When he came up to a little bridge that\nwas by his mother's house, he squeezed the pipes on, and began playing\nthe \"Black Rogue.\" The Púca came behind him, and flung him on his own\nback. There were long horns on the Púca, and the Piper got a good grip\nof them, and then he said:\n\n\"Destruction on you, you nasty beast; let me home. I have a\ntenpenny-piece in my pocket for my mother, and she wants snuff.\"\n\n\"Never mind your mother,\" said the Púca, \"but keep your hold. If you\nfall, you will break your neck and your pipes.\" Then the Púca said to\nhim, \"Play up for me the 'Shan Van Vocht.'\"\n\n\"I don't know it,\" said the Piper.\n\n\"Never mind whether you do or you don't,\" said the Púca. \"Play up, and\nI'll make you know.\"\n\nThe Piper put wind in his bag, and he played such music as made himself\nwonder.\n\n\"Upon my word, you're a fine music-master,\" says the Piper, then; \"but\ntell me where you're for bringing me.\"\n\n\"There's a great feast in the house of the Banshee, on the top of Croagh\nPatric, to-night,\" says the Púca, \"and I'm for bringing you there to\nplay music, and, take my word, you'll get the price of your trouble.\"\n\n\"By my word, you'll save me a journey, then,\" says the Piper, \"for\nFather William put a journey to Croagh Patric on me because I stole the\nwhite gander from him last Martinmas.\"\n\nThe Púca rushed him across hills and bogs and rough places, till he\nbrought him to the top of Croagh Patric.\n\nThen the Púca struck three blows with his foot, and a great door opened\nand they passed in together into a fine room.\n\nThe Piper saw a golden table in the middle of the room, and hundreds of\nold women sitting round about it.\n\nThe old women rose up, and said, \"A hundred thousand welcomes to you,\nyou Púca of November. Who is this you have with you?\"\n\n\"The best Piper in Ireland,\" says the Púca.\n\nOne of the old women struck a blow on the ground, and a door opened in\nthe side of the wall, and what should the Piper see coming out but the\nwhite gander which he had stolen from Father William.\n\n\"By my conscience, then,\" says the Piper, \"myself and my mother ate\nevery taste of that gander, only one wing, and I gave that to Red Mary,\nand it's she told the priest I stole his gander.\"\n\nThe gander cleaned the table, and carried it away, and the Púca said,\n\"Play up music for these ladies.\"\n\nThe Piper played up, and the old women began dancing, and they were\ndancing till they were tired. Then the Púca said to pay the Piper, and\nevery old woman drew out a gold piece and gave it to him.\n\n\"By the tooth of Patric,\" says he, \"I'm as rich as the son of a lord.\"\n\n\"Come with me,\" says the Púca, \"and I'll bring you home.\"\n\nThey went out then, and just as he was going to ride on the Púca, the\ngander came up to him and gave him a new set of pipes.\n\nThe Púca was not long until he brought him to Dunmore, and he threw the\nPiper off at the little bridge, and then he told him to go home, and\nsays to him, \"You have two things now that you never had before--you\nhave sense and music.\" The Piper went home, and he knocked at his\nmother's door, saying, \"Let me in, I'm as rich as a lord, and I'm the\nbest Piper in Ireland.\"\n\n\"You're drunk,\" says the mother.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" says the Piper, \"I haven't drunk a drop.\"\n\nThe mother let him in, and he gave her the gold pieces, and, \"Wait now,\"\nsays he, \"till you hear the music I'll play.\"\n\nHe buckled on the pipes, but instead of music there came a sound as if\nall the geese and ganders in Ireland were screeching together. He\nwakened the neighbours, and they were all mocking him, until he put on\nthe old pipes, and then he played melodious music for them; and after\nthat he told them all he had gone through that night.\n\nThe next morning, when his mother went to look at the gold pieces, there\nwas nothing there but the leaves of a plant.\n\nThe piper went to the priest and told him his story, but the priest\nwould not believe a word from him, until he put the pipes on him, and\nthen the screeching of the ganders and the geese began.\n\n\"Leave my sight, you thief,\" says the priest.\n\nBut nothing would do the Piper till he put the old pipes on him to show\nthe priest that his story was true.\n\nHe buckled on the old pipes, and he played melodious music, and from\nthat day till the day of his death there was never a Piper in the county\nGalway was as good as he was.\n\nDOUGLAS HYDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fairy Changeling\n\n\n  Dermod O'Byrne of Omah town\n  In his garden strode up and down;\n  He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;\n  And this is his trouble and woe confessed:\n\n  \"The good-folk came in the night, and they\n  Have stolen my bonny wean away;\n  Have put in his place a changeling,\n  A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!\n\n  \"From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,\n  And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,\n  I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;\n  But never a word the stranger spoke.\n\n  \"A bar of metal I heated red\n  To frighten the fairy from its bed,\n  To put in the place of this fretting wean\n  My own bright beautiful boy again.\n\n  \"But my wife had hidden it in her arms,\n  And cried, 'For shame!' on my fairy charms;\n  She sobs, with the strange child on her breast,\n  'I love the weak, wee babe the best!'\"\n\n  To Dermod O'Byrne's, the tale to hear,\n  The neighbours came from far and near;\n  Outside his gate, in the long boreen,\n  They crossed themselves, and said between\n\n  Their muttered prayers, \"He has no luck!\n  For sure the woman is fairy-struck,\n  To leave her child a fairy guest,\n  And love the weak, wee wean the best!\"\n\n\nDORA SIGERSON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Talking Head of Donn-bo\n\n\nThere is an old tale told in Erin of a lovable and bright and handsome\nyouth named Donn-bo, who was the best singer of \"Songs of Idleness\" and\nthe best teller of \"King Stories\" in the world. He could tell a tale of\neach king who reigned in Erin, from the \"Tale of the Destruction of Dind\nRigh,\" when Cova Coelbre was killed, down to the kings who reigned in\nhis own time.\n\nOn a night before a battle, the warriors said, \"Make minstrelsy to-night\nfor us, Donn-bo.\" But Donn-bo answered, \"No word at all will come on my\nlips to-night; therefore, for this night let the King-buffoon of Ireland\namuse you. But to-morrow, at this hour, in whatsoever place they and I\nshall be, I will make minstrelsy for the fighting men.\" For the warriors\nhad said that unless Donn-bo would go with them on that hosting, not one\nof them would go.\n\nThe battle was past, and on the evening of the morrow at that same hour\nDonn-bo lay dead, his fair young body stretched across the body of the\nKing of Ireland, for he had died in defending his chief. But his head\nhad rolled away among a wisp of growing rushes by the waterside.\n\nAt the feasting of the army on that night a warrior said, \"Where is\nDonn-bo, that he may make minstrelsy for us, as he promised us at this\nhour yesternight, and that he may tell us the 'King Stories of Erin'?\"\n\nA valiant champion of the men of Munster answered, \"I will go over the\nbattle-field and seek for him.\" He enquired among the living for\nDonn-bo, but he found him not, and then he searched hither and thither\namong the dead.\n\nAt last he came where the body of the King of Erin lay, and a young,\nfair corpse beside it. In all the air about there was the sound of\nminstrelsy, low and very sweet; dead bards and poets reciting in faint\nwhispers old tales and poems to dead chiefs.\n\nThe wild, clear note of the battle-march, the _dord fiansa_, played by\nthe drooping hands of slain warriors upon the points of broken spears,\nlow like the echo of an echo, sounded in the clump of rushes hard by;\nand, above them all, a voice, faint and very still, that sang a song\nthat was sweeter than the tunes of the whole world beside.\n\nThe voice that sang was the voice of the head of Donn-bo. The warrior\nstooped to pick up the head.\n\n\"Do not touch me,\" said the head, \"for we are commanded by the King of\nthe Plains of Heaven to make music to-night for our lord, the King of\nErin, the shining one who lies dead beside us; and though all of us are\nlying dead likewise, no faintness or feebleness shall prevent us from\nobeying that command. Disturb me not.\"\n\n\"The hosts of Leinster are asking thee to make minstrelsy for them, as\nthou didst promise yesternight,\" said the messenger.\n\n\"When my minstrelsy here is done, I will go with thee,\" saith the head;\n\"but only if Christ, the Son of God, in whose presence I now am, go with\nme, and if thou takest me to my body again.\" \"That shall be done,\nindeed,\" saith the messenger, and when it had ceased chanting for the\nKing of Erin he carried away the head.\n\nWhen the messenger came again amongst the warriors they stopped their\nfeasting and gathered round him. \"Hast thou brought anything from the\nbattle-field?\" they cried.\n\n\"I have brought the head of Donn-bo,\" said the man.\n\n\"Set it upon a pillar that we may see and hear it,\" cried they all; and\nthey said, \"It is no luck for thee to be like that, Donn-bo, and thou\nthe most beautiful minstrel and the best in Erin. Make music, for the\nlove of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Amuse the Leinster men to-night as\nthou didst amuse thy lord a while ago.\"\n\nThen Donn-bo turned his face to the wall, that the darkness might be\naround him, and he raised his melody in the quiet night; and the sound\nof that minstrelsy was so piteous and sad that the hosts sat weeping at\nthe sound of it. Then was the head taken to his body, and the neck\njoined itself to the shoulders again, and Donn-bo was at rest.\n\nThis is the story of the \"Talking Head of Donn-bo.\"\n\nELEANOR HULL.\n\n\n\n\nThe Bracket Bull\n\nI wrote this story carefully down, word for word, from the telling of\ntwo men--the first, Shawn Cunningham, of Ballinphuil, and the second,\nMartin Brennan of Ballinlocha, in the barony of Frenchpark. They each\ntold the same story, but Martin Brennan repeated the end of it at\ngreater length than the other. The first half is written down word for\nword from the mouth of Cunningham, the second half from that of Brennan.\n\nAN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.\n\n\nThere was a man in it long ago, and long ago it was, and if he was in it\nthen he would not be in it now. He was married, and his wife was lost\n(i.e., died), and he had only one son by the first wife. Then he married\nthe second wife. This second wife had not much regard for the son, and\nhe was obliged to go out on the mountain, far from the house, to take\ncare of the cattle.\n\nThere was a bracket (speckled) bull amongst the cows out on the\nmountain, and of a day that there was great hunger on the lad, the\nbracket bull heard him complaining and wringing his two hands, and he\nmoved over to him and said to him, \"You are hungry, but take the horn\noff me and lay it on the ground; put your hand into the place where the\nhorn was and you will find food.\"\n\nWhen he heard that he went over to the bull, took hold of the horn,\ntwisted it, and it came away with him in his hand. He laid it on the\nground, put in his hand, and drew out food and drink and a table-cloth.\nHe spread the table-cloth on the ground, set the food and drink on it,\nand then he ate and drank his enough. When he had his enough eaten and\ndrunk, he put the table-cloth back again, and left the horn back in the\nplace where it was before.\n\nWhen he came home that evening he did not eat a bit of his supper, and\nhis stepmother said to herself that he (must have) got something to eat\nout on the mountain since he was not eating any of his supper.\n\nWhen he went out with his cattle the next day his stepmother sent her\nown daughter out after him, and told her to be watching him till she\nshould see where he was getting the food. The daughter went and put\nherself in hiding, and she was watching him until the heat of the day\ncame: but when the middle of the day was come she heard every music more\nexcellent than another, and she was put to sleep by that truly melodious\nmusic. The bull came then, and the lad twisted the horn off him and drew\nout the table-cloth, the food, and the drink, and ate and drunk his\nenough. He put back the horn again then. The music was stopped and the\ndaughter woke up, and was watching him until the evening came, and he\ndrove the cows home then. The mother asked her did she see anything in\nthe field, and she said that she did not. The lad did not eat two bites\nof his supper, and there was wonder on the stepmother.\n\nThe next day when he drove out the cows the stepmother told the second\ndaughter to follow him, and to be watching him till she would see where\nhe was getting things to eat. The daughter followed him and put herself\nin hiding, but when the heat of the day came the music began and she\nfell asleep. The lad took the horn off the bull, drew out the\ntable-cloth, the food, and drink, ate and drank his enough, and put back\nthe horn again. The girl woke then, and was watching him until the\nevening. When the evening came he drove the cows home, and he was not\nable to eat his supper any more than the two evenings before. The\nstepmother asked the daughter did she see anything, and she said she did\nnot. There was wonder on the stepmother.\n\nThe next day, when the lad went out herding the cows, the stepmother\nsent the third daughter out after him, and threatened her not to fall\nasleep, but to have a good watch. The daughter followed the lad, and\nwent into hiding. This daughter had three eyes, for she had an eye in\nthe back of her head. When the bracket bull began playing every music\nmore excellent than another, he put the other eyes to sleep, but he was\nnot able to put the third eye to sleep. When the heat of the day came\nshe saw the bracket bull coming to the boy, and the boy taking the horn\noff him and eating.\n\nShe ran home then, and said to her mother that there wasn't such a\ndinner in the world as was being set before the boy out of the horn of\nthe bracket bull.\n\nThen the mother let on that she was sick, and she killed a cock, and she\nlet down its blood into her bed, and she put up a sup of the blood into\nher mouth, and she sent for her husband, saying that she was finding\ndeath (dying). Her husband came in, and he saw the blood, and he said,\n\"Anything that is in the world that would save her that she must get\nit.\" She said that there wasn't a thing in the world that would save her\nbut a piece of the bracket bull that was on the mountain.\n\n\"You must get that,\" said he.\n\nThe bracket bull used to be the first one of the cattle that used to\ncome in every night, and the stepmother sent for two butchers, and she\nset them on each side of the gate to kill the bracket bull when he would\ncome.\n\nThe bracket bull said to the boy, \"I'll be swept (done for) to-night,\nunless another cow goes before me.\" He put another cow out before him,\nand the two butchers were standing on each side of the gate to kill the\nfirst one that would come in. The bull sent the cow out before him,\ngoing through the gate, and they killed her: and then the stepmother got\na piece of her to eat, and she thought that it was the bracket bull that\nshe was eating, and she got better then.\n\nThe next night, when the lad came home with the cattle, he ate no more\nof his supper than any other night, and there was wonder on the\nstepmother. She heard after this that the bracket bull was in it (i.e.,\nalive) all through, and that he was not killed at that time.\n\nWhen she heard that she killed a cock, and she let down some of its\nblood into her bed, and she put a sup of the blood into her mouth, and\nshe played the same trick over again, and said that there was nothing\nat all to cure her but a piece of the bracket bull.\n\nThe butchers were sent for, and they were ready to kill the bracket bull\nas soon as he came in. The bracket bull sent another one of the cattle\nin before himself, and the butchers killed it. The woman got part of its\nflesh, and she thought it was part of the bracket bull she was eating,\nand she got better.\n\nShe found out afterwards that it was not the bracket bull that was dead,\nand she said, \"Never mind; I'll kill the bracket bull yet!\"\n\nThe next day, when the lad was herding the cows on the mountain, the\nbracket bull came and said to him, \"Take the horn off me and eat your\nenough now. That's the last time for you. They are waiting to kill me\nto-night, but don't you be afraid. It is not they who shall kill me, but\nanother bull shall kill me. Get up on my back now.\"\n\nThe lad got up on his back then and they went home. The two butchers\nwere on each side of the gate waiting for him. The bracket bull struck a\nhorn on each side of him, and he killed the two butchers. Out with him\nthen, and the lad on his back.\n\nHe went into a wild wood, and he himself and the lad spent the night in\nthat wood. He was to fight with the other bull on the next day.\n\nWhen the day came, the bracket bull said, \"Take the horn off me and eat\nyour enough--that's the last luck you have. I am to fight with the other\nbull immediately, and I shall escape from him to-day, but he will have\nme dead to-morrow by twelve o'clock.\"\n\nHimself and the other bull fought that day, and the bracket bull came\nback in the evening, and he himself and the lad passed that night in the\nwood.\n\nWhen the next day came, the bracket bull said to him, \"Twist the horn\noff me and eat your enough--that's the last luck you'll have. Listen now\nto the thing that I'm telling you. When you'll see me dead, go and cut a\nstrip of skin of the back and a strip of the stomach off me, and make a\nbelt of it, and at any time at all there will be any hard pinch on you,\nyou shall have my power.\"\n\nThe bracket bull went then to fight with the other bull, and the other\nbull killed him. The other bull went away then. The lad came to the\nbracket bull where he was lying on the ground, and he was not dead,\nout-and-out. When he saw the boy coming he said, \"Oh,\" said he, \"make\nhaste as well as you can in the world, and take out your knife and cut\nthat strip off me, or you will be killed as well as myself.\"\n\nThere was a trembling in the poor creature's hand, and he was not able\nto cut a piece at all off the bull, after his feeding him for so long,\nand after the kindness he had got from him.\n\nThe bracket bull spoke again, and told him to cut the strip off him on\nthe instant, and that it would assist him as long as he would be alive.\nHe cut a strip off the back then, and another strip off the belly, and\nhe went away.\n\nThere was plenty of trouble and of grief on him, going of him, and he\nought to have that on him too, and he departing without any knowledge of\nwhere he was making for, or where he would go.\n\nA gentleman met him on the road, and asked him where he was going. The\nlad said that he did not himself know where he was going, but that he\nwas going looking for work.\n\n\"What are you able to do?\" says the gentleman.\n\n\"I'm as good a herd as ever you saw, but I'll not tell you a lie--I can\ndo nothing but herding; but, indeed, I'll do that as well as any man\nthat ever you saw.\"\n\n\"It's you I want,\" says the gentleman. \"There are three giants up by my\nland, on the one mearing with me, and anything that will go in on their\nland they will keep it, and I cannot take it off them again. That's all\nthey're asking--my cattle to go in across the mearing to them.\"\n\n\"Never mind them. I'll go bail that I'll take good heed of them, and\nthat I'll not let anything in to them.\"\n\nThe gentleman brought him home then, and he went herding for him. When\nthe grass was getting scarce, he was driving the cows further out. There\nwas a big stone wall between the land of the giants and his master's\nland. There was fine grass on the other side of the wall. When he saw\nthat, he threw down a gap in the wall and let in the pigs and the cows.\nHe went up into a tree then, and was throwing down apples and all sorts\n(of fruit) to the pigs.\n\nA giant came out, and when he saw the lad up on the tree throwing down\nthe apples to the pigs, the head rose on him (i.e., he got furious). He\ncame to the tree. \"Get down out of that,\" says he. \"I think you big for\none bite and small for two bites; come down till I draw you under my\nlong cold teeth.\"\n\n\"Arrah, take yourself easy,\" says the boy; \"perhaps it's too quick I'd\ncome down to you.\"\n\n\"I won't be talking to you any longer,\" says the giant. He got a\nleverage on the tree and drew it up out of the roots.\n\n\"Go down, black thong, and squeeze that fellow,\" says the lad, for he\nremembered the advice of the bracket bull. On the instant the black\nthong leaped out of his hand, and squeezed the giant so hard that the\ntwo eyes were going out on his head, for stronger was the power of the\nbull than the power of the giant. The giant was not able to put a stir\nout of himself, and he promised anything at all--only to save his life\nfor him. \"Anything at all you want,\" says he to the lad, \"you must get\nit from me.\"\n\n\"I'm not asking anything at all except the loan of the sword that's\nunder your bed,\" says he.\n\n\"I give it to you, and welcome,\" says the giant. He went in, and brought\nout the sword with him.\n\n\"Try it on the three biggest trees that are in the wood, and you won't\nfeel it in your hand going through them,\" says the giant.\n\n\"I don't see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself,\" says\nhe, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it\nseven furrows and seven ridges with that stroke.\n\n\"If I were to get on the body again,\" said the head, and it talking,\n\"and the men of the world wouldn't get me off the trunk again.\"\n\n\"I'll take good care myself of that,\" says the lad.\n\nWhen he drove the cows home in the evening, they had that much milk that\nthey had not half enough of vessels, and two coopers were obliged to\nmake new vessels to hold the quantity of milk they had.\n\n\"You're the best lad that ever I met,\" says the gentleman, and he was\nthankful to him.\n\nThe giants used to put--each man of them--a shout of him every evening.\nThe people only heard two shouts that evening. \"There's some change in\nthe caher[2] to-night,\" said the gentleman, when he heard the two\nshouts.\n\n\"Oh,\" says the lad, \"I saw one of them going away by himself to-day, and\nhe did not come home yet.\"\n\nOn the next day the lad drove out his cattle until he came to the big\nstone wall, and he threw a gap in it, and let the cattle into the same\nplace. He went up into a tree and began throwing down the apples. The\nsecond giant came running, and said, \"What's the meaning of throwing my\nwall and letting in your cattle on my estate? Get down out of that at\nonce. You killed my brother yesterday.\"\n\n\"Go down, black thong, and bind that one,\" says the lad. The thong\nsqueezed him so that he was not able to put a stir out of himself, and\nhe promised the lad anything at all--only to spare his life.\n\n\"I am asking nothing of you but the loan of the old sword that is under\nyour bed.\"\n\n\"I'll give you that, and welcome.\" He went in, and brought out the sword\nwith him. Each man of them had a sword, and every sword better than\nanother.\n\n\"Try that sword on the six biggest trees that are in the wood, and it\nwill go through them without turning the edge.\"\n\n\"I don't see any tree in the wood bigger or uglier than yourself,\" says\nhe, drawing the sword and whipping the head off him, so that he sent it\nseven furrows and seven ridges from the body.\n\n\"Oh,\" said the head, \"if I were to get going on the body again, and the\nmen of the world wouldn't get me off it again.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'll take care of that myself,\" says the boy.\n\nWhen he drove the cows home that night there was wonder on the people\nwhen they saw the quantity of milk they had. The gentleman said that\nthere was another change in the caher that day again, as he did not hear\nbut only one shout, but the lad said that he saw another one going away\nthat day, and that it was likely that he did not come back yet.\n\nOn the next day he went out, and drove the pigs and the cows up to the\nhall door, and was throwing down the apples to them. The third giant\ncame out--the eldest man of them--and he was full mad after his two\nbrothers being dead, and the teeth that were in his head were making a\nhand-stick for him. He told the boy to come down; that he did not know\nwhat he would do to him after his having killed his two brothers. \"Come\ndown,\" says he, \"till I draw you under my long, cold teeth\"; and it was\non him the long, cold teeth were, and no lie.\n\n\"Go down, black thong, and bind that one till the eyes will be going out\non his head with the power of the squeezing that you'll give him.\"\n\nThe black thong leaped from him, and it bound the giant until the two\neyes were going out on his head with the squeezing and with the\ntightening it gave him, and the giant promised to give him anything at\nall; \"but spare my life,\" says he.\n\n\"I'm only asking the loan of the old sword that's under your bed,\" said\nthe lad.\n\n\"Have it, and welcome,\" says the giant. He went in, and brought out the\nsword with him. \"Now,\" says the giant, \"strike the two ugliest stumps in\nthe wood, and the sword will cut them without getting a bent edge.\"\n\n\"Musha, then, by Mary,\" says the boy, \"I don't see any stump in the wood\nuglier than yourself,\" and he struck him so that he sent his head seven\nfurrows and seven ridges from the body.\n\n\"Ochone for ever!\" says the head. \"If I were to get going on the body\nagain, the men of the world--they wouldn't get me off the body again.\"\n\n\"I'll take care of that myself,\" says the boy.\n\nWhen he came home that night the coopers were not able to make enough of\nvessels for them to hold the quantity of milk that the cows had, and the\npigs were not able to eat with the quantity of apples that they had\neaten before that.\n\nHe was a while in that way herding the cows and everything that was in\nthe castle, he had it. There was no one at all going near the castle,\nfor there was fear on them.\n\nThere was a fiery dragon in that country, and he used to come every\nseven years, and unless there would be a young woman ready bound before\nhim he would drive the sea through the land, and he would destroy the\npeople. The day came when the dragon was to come, and the lad asked his\nmaster to let him go to the place where the dragon was coming. \"What's\nthe business you have there?\" says the master. \"There will be horsemen\nand coaches and great people there, and the crowds will be gathered\ntogether in it out of every place. The horses would rise up on top of\nyou, and you would be crushed under their feet; and it's better for you\nto stop at home.\"\n\n\"I'll stop,\" said the lad. But when he got them all gone he went to the\ncastle of the three giants, and he put a saddle on the best steed they\nhad, and a fine suit on himself, and he took the first giant's sword in\nhis hand, and he went to where the dragon was.\n\nIt was like a fair there, with the number of riders and coaches and\nhorses and people that were gathered in it. There was a young lady bound\nto a post on the brink of the sea, and she waiting for the dragon to\ncome to swallow her. It was the King's daughter that was in it, for the\ndragon would not take any other woman. When the dragon came out of the\nsea the lad went against him, and they fought with one another, and were\nfighting till the evening, until the dragon was frothing at the mouth,\nand till the sea was red with its blood. He turned the dragon out into\nthe sea at last. He went away then, and said that he would return the\nnext day. He left the steed again in the place where he found it, and he\ntook the fine suit off him, and when the other people returned he was\nbefore them. When the people came home that night they were all talking\nand saying that some champion came to fight with the dragon and turned\nhim out into the sea again. That was the story that every person had,\nbut they did not know who was the champion who did it.\n\nThe next day, when his master and the other people were gone, he went to\nthe castle of the three giants again, and he took out another steed and\nanother suit of valour (i.e., armour), and he brought with him the\nsecond giant's sword, and he went to the place where the dragon was to\ncome.\n\nThe King's daughter was bound to a post on the shore, waiting for him,\nand the eyes going out on her head looking would she see the champion\ncoming who fought the dragon the day before. There were twice as many\npeople in it as there were on the first day, and they were all waiting\ntill they would see the champion coming. When the dragon came the lad\nwent in face of him, and the dragon was half confused and sickened after\nthe fight that he had made the day before. They were beating one another\ntill the evening, and then he drove away the dragon. The people tried to\nkeep him, but they were not able. He went from them.\n\nWhen his master came home that evening the lad was in the house before\nhim. The master told him that another champion came that day, and that\nhe had turned the dragon into the sea. But no doubt the lad knew the\nstory better himself than he did.\n\nOn the next day, when the gentleman was gone, he went to the caher of\nthe giants, and he took with him another steed and another suit and the\nsword of the third giant, and when he came to fight with the dragon the\npeople thought it was another champion who was in it.\n\nHe himself and the dragon were beating each other, then, and the sorra\nsuch a fight you ever saw. There were wings on the dragon, and when he\nwas getting it tight he rose up in the air, and he was thrusting and\nbeating the boy in his skull till he was nearly destroyed. He remembered\nthe black thong then, and said, \"Black thong, bind that one so hard that\nthey'll be listening to his screeching in the two divisions of the world\nwith the squeezing that you'll give him.\" The black thong leapt away,\nand she bound him, and then the lad took the head off him, and the sea\nwas red with his blood, and the waves of blood were going on the top of\nthe water.\n\nThe lad came to the land, then, and they tried to keep him; but he went\nfrom them, and as he was riding by the lady snatched the shoe off him.\n\nHe went away, then, and he left the horse and the sword and the suit of\narmour in the place where he found them, and when the gentleman and the\nother people came home he was sitting before them at the fire. He asked\nthem how the fight went, and they told him that the champion killed the\nfiery dragon, but that he was gone away, and that no one at all knew who\nhe was.\n\nWhen the King's daughter came home she said that she would never marry a\nman but the man whom that shoe would fit.\n\nThere were sons of kings, and great people among them, and they saying\nthat it was themselves who killed the dragon; but she said it was not\nthey, unless the shoe would fit them. Some of them were cutting the toes\noff their feet, and some of them taking off a piece of the heel, and\nmore of them cutting the big toe off themselves, trying would the shoe\nfit them. There was no good for them in it. The King's daughter said\nthat she would not marry one man of them.\n\nShe sent out soldiers, then, and the shoe with them, to try would it fit\nanyone at all. Every person, poor and rich, no matter where he was from,\nmust try the shoe on him.\n\nThe lad was stretched out lying on the grass when the soldiers came, and\nwhen they saw him they said to him, \"Show your foot.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't be humbugging me,\" says he.\n\n\"We have orders,\" said they, \"and we cannot return without trying the\nshoe on everyone, poor and rich, so stretch out your foot.\" He did that,\nand the shoe went in on his foot on the moment.\n\nThey said to him that he must come with them.\n\n\"Oh, listen to me\" (i.e., give me time), said he, \"till I dress myself.\"\n\nHe went to the caher of the giants, and he got a fine new suit on him,\nand he went with them then.\n\nThat's where the welcome was for him, and he as dressed up as e'er a\nman of them. They had a wedding for three days and three nights.\n\nThey got the pond and I the lakelet. They were drowned, and I came\nthrough. And as I have it (i.e., the story) to-night, that ye may not\nhave it to-morrow night, or if ye have it itself, that ye may only lose\nthe back teeth by it!\n\nDOUGLAS HYDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Demon Cat\n\n\nThere was a woman in Connemara, the wife of a fisherman; as he had\nalways good luck, she had plenty of fish at all times stored away in the\nhouse ready for market. But, to her great annoyance, she found that a\ngreat cat used to come in at night and devour all the best and finest\nfish. So she kept a big stick by her, and determined to watch.\n\nOne day, as she and a woman were spinning together, the house suddenly\nbecame quite dark; and the door was burst open as if by the blast of the\ntempest, when in walked a huge black cat, who went straight up to the\nfire, then turned round and growled at them.\n\n\"Why, surely this is the devil,\" said a young girl who was by, sorting\nfish.\n\n\"I'll teach you to call me names,\" said the cat; and, jumping at her, he\nscratched her arm till the blood came. \"There, now,\" he said, \"you will\nbe more civil another time when a gentleman comes to see you.\" And, with\nthat, he walked over to the door, and shut it close to prevent any of\nthem going out, for the poor young girl, while crying loudly from fright\nand pain, had made a desperate rush to get away.\n\nJust then a man was going by, and, hearing the cries, he pushed open the\ndoor, and tried to get in; but the cat stood on the threshold and would\nlet no one pass. On this the man attacked him with a stick, and gave him\na sound blow; the cat, however, was more than a match in the fight, for\nit flew at him, and tore his face and hands so badly that the man at\nlast took to his heels, and ran away as fast as he could.\n\n\"Now, it's time for my dinner,\" said the cat, going up to examine the\nfish that was laid out on the tables. \"I hope the fish is good to-day.\nNow, don't disturb me, or make a fuss; I can help myself.\" With that, he\njumped up, and began to devour all the best fish, while he growled at\nthe woman.\n\n\"Away out of this, you wicked beast!\" she cried, giving it a blow with\nthe tongs that would have broken its back, only it was a devil; \"out of\nthis; no fish shall you have to-day!\"\n\nBut the cat only grinned at her, and went on tearing and despoiling and\ndevouring the fish, evidently not a bit the worse for the blows. On\nthis both the women attacked it with sticks, and struck hard blows\nenough to kill it, on which the cat glared at them and spit fire; then,\nmaking a leap, it tore their heads and arms till the blood came, and the\nfrightened women rushed shrieking from the house.\n\nBut presently the mistress of the house returned, carrying with her a\nbottle of holy water; and, looking in, she saw the cat still devouring\nthe fish, and not minding. So she crept over quietly, and threw holy\nwater on it without a word. No sooner was this done than a dense, black\nsmoke filled the place, through which nothing was seen but the two red\neyes of the cat burning like coals of fire. Then the smoke gradually\ncleared away, and she saw the body of the creature burning slowly, till\nit became shrivelled and black like a cinder, and finally disappeared.\nAnd from that time the fish remained untouched and safe from harm, for\nthe power of the Evil One was broken, and the Demon Cat was seen no\nmore.\n\nLADY WILDE.\n\n\n\n\nThe Abbot of Inisfalen\n\n(_A Legend of Killarney._)\n\n\nI.\n\n  The Abbot of Inisfalen awoke ere dawn of day;\n  Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray,\n  The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep,\n  And wrapt in a misty stillness the mountains were all asleep.\n  Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac when the dawn was dim and gray;\n  The prayers of his holy office he faithfully 'gan to say.\n  Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac while the dawn was waxing red;\n  And for his sins' forgiveness a solemn prayer he said;\n  Low kneel'd that holy Abbot while the dawn was waxing clear;\n  And he pray'd with loving-kindness for his convent-brethren dear.\n  Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot while the dawn was waxing bright;\n  He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, he pray'd with all his might.\n  Low kneel'd that good old Father while the sun began to dart;\n  He pray'd a prayer for all men, he pray'd it from his heart.\n  His blissful soul was in Heaven, tho' a breathing man was he;\n  He was out of Time's dominion, so far as the living may be.\n\n\nII.\n\n  The Abbot of Inisfalen arose upon his feet;\n  He heard a small bird singing, and O but it sung sweet!\n  It sung upon a holly-bush, this little snow-white bird;\n  A song so full of gladness he never before had heard.\n  It sung upon a hazel, it sung upon a thorn;\n  He had never heard such music since the hour that he was born.\n  It sung upon a sycamore, it sung upon a briar;\n  To follow the song and hearken this Abbot could never tire.\n  Till at last he well bethought him; he might no longer stay;\n  So he blessed the little white singing-bird, and gladly went his way.\n\n\nIII.\n\n  But, when he came to his Abbey, he found a wondrous change;\n  He saw no friendly faces there, for every face was strange.\n  The strange men spoke unto him; and he heard from all and each\n  The foreign tongue of the Sassenach, not wholesome Irish speech.\n  Then the oldest monk came forward, in Irish tongue spake he:\n  \"Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, and who hath given it to thee?\"\n  \"I wear the holy Augustine's dress, and Cormac is my name,\n  The Abbot of this good Abbey by grace of God I am.\n  I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; and when my prayers were said,\n  I hearken'd awhile to a little bird that sung above my head.\"\n  The monks to him made answer, \"Two hundred years have gone o'er,\n  Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, and never was heard of\n    more.\n  Matthias now is our Abbot, and twenty have pass'd away.\n  The stranger is lord of Ireland; we live in an evil day.\"\n  \"Days will come and go,\" he said, \"and the world will pass away,\n  In Heaven a day is a thousand years, a thousand years are a day.\"\n\n\nIV.\n\n  \"Now, give me absolution; for my time is come,\" said he.\n  And they gave him absolution as speedily as might be.\n  Then, close outside the window, the sweetest song they heard\n  That ever yet since the world began was utter'd by any bird.\n  The monks look'd out and saw the bird, its feathers all white and clean;\n  And there in a moment, beside it, another white bird was seen.\n  Those two they sang together, waved their white wings, and fled;\n  Flew aloft, and vanished; but the good old man was dead.\n  They buried his blessed body where lake and greensward meet;\n  A carven cross above his head, a holly-bush at his feet;\n  Where spreads the beautiful water to gay or cloudy skies,\n  And the purple peaks of Killarney from ancient woods arise.\n\nWILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n\n\n\nMorraha\n\n(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)\n\n\nMorraha rose in the morning, and washed his hands and face, and said his\nprayers, and ate his food; and he asked God to prosper the day for him;\nand he went down to the brink of the sea, and he saw a currach, short\nand green, coming towards him; and in it there was but one youthful\nchampion, and he playing hurly from prow to stern of the currach. He had\na hurl of gold and a ball of silver; and he stopped not until the\ncurrach was in on the shore; and he drew her up on the green grass, and\nput fastening on her for a day and a year, whether he should be there\nall that time, or should only be on land for an hour by the clock. And\nMorraha saluted the young man in words intelligent, intelligible, such\nas were spoken at that time; and the other saluted him in the same\nfashion, and asked him would he play a game of cards with him; and\nMorraha said he had not the wherewithal; and the other answered that he\nwas never without a candle or the making of it; and he put his hand in\nhis pocket and drew out a table and two chairs and a pack of cards, and\nthey sat down on the chairs and went to the card-playing. The first game\nMorraha won, and the slender red champion bade him make his claim; and\nhe said that the land above him should be filled with stock of sheep in\nthe morning. It was well, and he played no second game, but home he\nwent.\n\nThe next day Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and the young man\ncame in the currach and asked him would he play cards; and they played,\nand Morraha won. And the young man bade him make his claim; and he said\nthat the land above should be filled with cattle in the morning. It was\nwell, and he played no other game, but went home.\n\nAnd on the third morning Morraha went to the brink of the sea, and he\nsaw the young man coming. And he drew up his boat on the shore, and\nasked him would he play cards. And they played, and Morraha won the\ngame; and the young man bade him give his claim. And he said he should\nhave a castle, and of women the finest and fairest; and they were his.\nIt was well, and the young man went away.\n\nOn the fourth day the woman asked him how he had found himself, and he\ntold her. \"And I am going out,\" said he, \"to play again to-day.\"\n\n\"I cross (forbid) you go again to him. If you have won so much, you\nwill lose more; and have no more to do with him.\"\n\nBut he went against her will, and he saw the currach coming, and the\nyoung man was driving his balls from end to end of the currach. He had\nballs of silver and a hurl of gold, and he stopped not till he drew his\nboat on the shore, and made her fast for a year and a day. And Morraha\nand he saluted each other; and he asked Morraha if he would play a game\nof cards, and they played and he won. And Morraha said to him, \"Give\nyour claim, now.\"\n\nSaid he, \"You will hear it too soon. I lay on you the bonds of the art\nof the Druid not to sleep two nights in one house, nor finish a second\nmeal at the one table, till you bring me the sword of light and news of\nthe death of Anshgayliacht.\"\n\nHe went down to his wife, and sat down in a chair, and gave a groan, and\nthe chair broke in pieces.\n\n\"It is the son of a king under spells you are,\" said his wife; \"and you\nhad better have taken my counsel than that the spells should be on you.\"\nHe said to her to bring news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword\nof light to the slender red champion.\n\n\"Go out,\" said she, \"in the morning of the morrow, and take the bridle\nin the window and shake it; and whatever beast, handsome or ugly, puts\nthe head in it, take that one with you. Do not speak a word to her till\nshe speaks to you; and take with you three pint bottles of ale and three\nsixpenny loaves, and do the thing she tells you; and when she runs to my\nfather's land, on a height above the court, she will shake herself, and\nthe bells will ring, and my father will say Brown Allree is in the land.\nAnd if the son of a king or queen is there, bring him to me on your\nshoulders; but if it is the son of a poor man, let him come no further.\"\n\nHe rose in the morning, and took the bridle that was in the window and\nwent out and shook it, and Brown Allree came and put her head in it. And\nhe took the three loaves and three bottles of ale, and went riding; and\nwhen he was riding, she bent her head down to take hold of her feet with\nher mouth, in hopes he would speak in ignorance; but he spoke not a word\nduring the time, and the mare at last spoke to him, and said to him to\ndismount and give her her dinner. He gave her the sixpenny loaf toasted\nand a bottle of ale to drink. \"Sit up, now, riding and take good heed of\nyourself: there are three miles of fire I have to clear at a leap.\"\n\nShe cleared the three miles of fire at a leap, and asked if he were\nriding, and he said he was. They went on then, and she told him to\ndismount and give her a meal; and he did so, and gave her a sixpenny\nloaf and a bottle; and she consumed them, and said to him there were\nbefore them three miles of hill covered with steel thistles, and that\nshe must clear it. And she cleared the hill with a leap, and she asked\nhim if he were still riding, and he said he was. They went on, and she\nwent not far before she told him to give her a meal, and he gave her the\nbread and the bottleful. And she went over three miles of sea with a\nleap, and she came then to the land of the King of France; and she went\nup on a height above the castle, and she shook herself and neighed, and\nthe bells rang; and the King said that it was Brown Allree was in the\nland. \"Go out,\" said he, \"and if it is the son of a king or queen, carry\nhim in on your shoulders; if it is not, leave him there.\"\n\nThey went out, and the stars of the son of a king were on his breast;\nand they lifted him high on their shoulders and bore him in to the King.\nAnd they passed the night cheerfully with playing and with drinking,\nwith sport and with diversion, till the whiteness of the day came upon\nthe morrow morning.\n\nThen the young King told the cause of his journey, and he asked of the\nQueen her counsel and consent, and to give him counsel and good luck,\nand the woman told him everything she advised him to do. \"Go now,\" said\nshe, \"and take with you the best mare in the stable, and go to the door\nof Rough Niall of the speckled rock, and knock, and call on him to give\nyou news of the death of Anshgayliacht and the sword of light; and let\nthe horse's back be to the door, and apply the spurs, and away with\nyou!\"\n\nAnd in the morning he did so, and he took the best horse from the stable\nand rode to the door of Niall, and turned the horse's back to the door,\nand demanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht, and the sword of light;\nand he applied the spurs, and away with him. And Niall followed him, and\nas he was passing the gate cut the horse in two. And the mother was\nthere with a dish of puddings and flesh, and she threw it in his eyes\nand blinded him, and said, \"Fool, whatever kind of man it is that's\nmocking you, isn't that a fine condition you have got into on your\nfather's horse?\"\n\nOn the morning of the next day Morraha rose and took another horse from\nthe stable, and went again to the door of Niall, and knocked and\ndemanded news of the death of Anshgayliacht, and the sword of light, and\napplied the spurs to the horse, and away with him. And Niall followed,\nand as he was passing the gate cut the horse in two, and took half the\nsaddle with him, and his mother met him, and threw the flesh in his eyes\nand blinded him.\n\nAnd on the third day Morraha went also to the door of Niall; and Niall\nfollowed him, and as he was passing the gate cut away the saddle from\nunder him and the clothes from his back. Then his mother said to Niall:\n\n\"Whatever fool it is that's mocking you, he is out yonder in the little\ncurrach, going home; and take good heed to yourself, and don't sleep one\nwink for three days.\"\n\nAnd for three days the little currach was there before him, and then his\nmother came to him and said:\n\n\"Sleep as much as you want now. He is gone.\"\n\nAnd he went to sleep, and there was heavy sleep on him, and Morraha went\nin and took hold of the sword that was on the bed at his head. And the\nsword thought to draw itself out of the hand of Morraha, but it failed.\nAnd then it gave a cry, and it wakened Niall, and Niall said it was a\nrude and rough thing to come into his house like that; and Morraha said\nto him:\n\n\"Leave your much talking, or I will cut the head off you. Tell me the\nnews of the death of Anshgayliacht.\"\n\n\"Oh, you can have my head.\"\n\n\"But your head is no good to me. Tell me the story.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Niall's wife, \"you must get the story.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Morraha, \"is the woman your wife?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said the man, \"is it not you that have the story?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said she, \"you will tell it to us.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the man, \"let us sit down together till I tell the story. I\nthought no one would ever get it, but now it will be heard by all.\"\n\nWhen I was growing up my mother taught me the language of the birds, and\nwhen I got married I used to be listening to their conversation; and I\nwould be laughing; and my wife would be asking me what was the reason of\nmy laughing, but I did not like to tell her, as women are always asking\nquestions. We went out walking one fine morning, and the birds were\narguing with one another. One of them said to another:\n\n\"Why should you be making comparison with me, when there is not a king\nnor knight that does not come to look at my tree?\"\n\n\"Oh, what advantage has your tree over mine, on which there are three\nrods of magic and mastery growing?\"\n\nWhen I heard them arguing, and knew that the rods were there, I began to\nlaugh.\n\n\"Oh,\" said my wife, \"why are you always laughing? I believe it is at\nmyself you are jesting, and I'll walk with you no more.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is not about you I am laughing. It is because I understand the\nlanguage of the birds.\"\n\nThen I had to tell her what the birds were saying to one another; and\nshe was greatly delighted, and she asked me to go home, and she gave\norders to the cook to have breakfast ready at six o'clock in the\nmorning. I did not know why she was going out early, and breakfast was\nready in the morning at the hour she appointed. She asked me to go out\nwalking. I went with her. She went to the tree, and asked me to cut a\nrod for her.\n\n\"Oh, I will not cut it. Are we not better without it?\"\n\n\"I will not leave this till I get the rod, to see if there is any good\nin it.\"\n\nI cut the rod, and gave it to her. She turned from me, and struck a blow\non a stone and changed it; and she struck a second blow on me, and made\nof me a black raven, and she went home, and left me after her. I thought\nshe would come back; she did not come, and I had to go into a tree till\nmorning. In the morning, at six o'clock, there was a bellman out,\nproclaiming that everyone who killed a raven would get a fourpenny bit.\nAt last you would not find man or boy without a gun, nor, if you were to\nwalk three miles, a raven that was not killed. I had to make a nest in\nthe top of the parlour chimney, and hide myself all day till night came,\nand go out to pick up a bit to support me, till I spent a month. Here\nshe is herself (to say) if it is a lie I am telling.\n\n\"It is not,\" said she.\n\nThen I saw her out walking. I went up to her, and I thought she would\nturn me back to my own shape, and she struck me with the rod and made of\nme an old white horse, and she ordered me to be put to a cart with a man\nto draw stones from morning till night. I was worse off then. She\nspread abroad a report that I had died suddenly in my bed, and prepared\na coffin, and waked me, and buried me. Then she had no trouble. But when\nI got tired, I began to kill everyone who came near me, and I used to go\ninto the haggard every night and destroy the stacks of corn; and when a\nman came near me in the morning, I would follow him till I broke his\nbones. Everyone got afraid of me. When she saw I was doing mischief, she\ncame to meet me, and I thought she would change me. And she did change\nme, and made a fox of me. When I saw she was doing me every sort of\ndamage, I went away from her. I knew there was a badger's hole in the\ngarden, and I went there till night came, and I made great slaughter\namong the ducks and geese. There she is herself to say if I am telling a\nlie.\n\n\"Oh, you are telling nothing but the truth, only less than the truth.\"\n\nWhen she had enough of my killing the fowl, she came out into the\ngarden, for she knew I was in the badger's hole. She came to me, and\nmade me a wolf. I had to be off, and go to an island, where no one at\nall would see me, and now and then I used to be killing sheep, for there\nwere not many of them, and I was afraid of being seen and hunted; and so\nI passed a year, till a shepherd saw me among the sheep, and a pursuit\nwas made after me. And when the dogs came near me, there was no place\nfor me to escape to from them; but I recognised the sign of the King\namong the men, and I made for him, and the King cried out to stop the\nhounds. I took a leap upon the front of the King's saddle, and the woman\nbehind cried out, \"My King and my lord, kill him, or he will kill you.\"\n\n\"Oh, he will not kill me. He knew me; and must be pardoned.\"\n\nAnd the King took me home with him, and gave orders that I should be\nwell cared for. I was so wise when I got food I would not eat one morsel\nuntil I got a knife and fork. The man told the King, and the King came\nto see if it was true, and I got a knife and fork, and I took the knife\nin one paw and the fork in the other, and I bowed to the King. The King\ngave orders to bring him drink, and it came; and the King filled a glass\nof wine, and gave it to me.\n\nI took hold of it in my paw, and drank it, and thanked the King.\n\n\"Oh, on my honour, it is some king that has lost him when he came on the\nisland; and I will keep him, as he is trained; and perhaps he will\nserve us yet.\"\n\nAnd this is the sort of King he was--a King who had not a child living.\nEight sons were born to him and three daughters, and they were stolen\nthe same night they were born. No matter what guard was placed over\nthem, the child would be gone in the morning. The Queen was now carrying\nthe twelfth child, and when she was lying-in, the King took me with him\nto watch the baby. The women were not satisfied with me. \"Oh,\" said the\nKing, \"what was all your watching ever? One that was born to me I have\nnot; and I will leave this one in the dog's care, and he will not let it\ngo.\"\n\nA coupling was put between me and the cradle, and when everyone went to\nsleep I was watching till the person woke who attended in the daytime;\nbut I was there only two nights when, it was near the day, I saw the\nhand coming down through the chimney, and the hand was so big that it\ntook round the child altogether, and thought to take him away. I caught\nhold of the hand above the wrist, and, as I was fastened to the cradle,\nI did not let go my hold till I cut the hand from the wrist, and there\nwas a howl from the person without. I laid the hand in the cradle with\nthe child, and, as I was tired, I fell asleep; and when I awoke I had\nneither child nor hand; and I began to howl, and the King heard me, and\nhe cried out that something was wrong with me, and he sent servants to\nsee what was the matter with me, and when the messenger came he saw me\ncovered with blood, and he could not see the child; and he went to the\nKing, and told him the child was not to be got. The King came, and saw\nthe cradle coloured with the blood, and he cried out, \"Where was the\nchild gone?\" and everyone said it was the dog had eaten it.\n\nThe King said, \"It is not: loose him, and he will get the pursuit\nhimself.\"\n\nWhen I was loosed, I found the scent of the blood till I came to a door\nof the room in which the child was. I went to the King, and took hold of\nhim, and went back again, and began to tear at the door. The King\nfollowed me, and asked for the key. The servant said it was in the room\nof the stranger woman. The King caused search to be made for her, and\nshe was not to be found. \"I will break the door,\" said the King, \"as I\ncan't get the key.\" The King broke the door, and I went in, and went to\nthe trunk, and the King asked for a key to unlock it. He got no key, and\nhe broke the lock. When he opened the trunk the child and the hand were\nstretched side by side, and the child was asleep. The King took the\nhand, and ordered a woman to come for the child, and he showed the hand\nto everyone in the house. But the stranger woman was gone, and she did\nnot see the King; and here she is herself to say if I am telling lies of\nher.\n\n\"Oh, it's nothing but the truth you have.\"\n\nThe King did not allow me to be tied any more. He said there was nothing\nso much to wonder at as that I cut the hand off, and I tied.\n\nThe child was growing till he was a year old, and he was beginning to\nwalk, and there was no one caring for him more than I was. He was\ngrowing till he was three, and he was running out every minute; so the\nKing ordered a silver chain to be put between me and the child, so that\nhe might not go away from me. I was out with him in the garden every\nday, and the King was as proud as the world of the child. He would be\nwatching him every place we went, till the child grew so wise that he\nwould loose the chain and get off. But one day that he loosed it I\nfailed to find him; and I ran into the house and searched the house, but\nthere was no getting him for me. The King cried to go out and find the\nchild, that he had got loose from the dog. They went searching for him,\nbut they could not find him. When they failed altogether to find him,\nthere remained no more favour with the King towards me, and everyone\ndisliked me, and I grew weak, for I did not get a morsel to eat half the\ntime. When summer came I said I would try and go home to my own country.\nI went away one fine morning, and I went swimming, and God helped me\ntill I came home. I went into the garden, for I knew there was a place\nin the garden where I could hide myself, for fear she should see me. In\nthe morning I saw my wife out walking, and my child with her, held by\nthe hand. I pushed out to see the child, and, as he was looking about\nhim everywhere, he saw me, and called out, \"I see my shaggy papa. Oh,\"\nsaid he; \"oh, my heart's love, my shaggy papa, come here till I see\nyou.\"\n\nI was afraid the woman would see me, as she was asking the child where\nhe saw me, and he said I was up in a tree; and the more the child called\nme, the more I hid myself. The woman took the child home with her, but I\nknew he would be up early in the morning.\n\nI went to the parlour window, and the child was within, and he playing.\nWhen he saw me, he cried out, \"Oh, my heart's love, come here till I see\nyou, shaggy papa.\" I broke the window, and went in, and he began to kiss\nme. I saw the rod in front of the chimney, and I jumped up at the rod\nand knocked it down. \"Oh, my heart's love, no one would give me the\npretty rod.\" I thought he would strike me with the rod, but he did not.\nWhen I saw the time was short, I raised my paw, and I gave him a scratch\nbelow the knee. \"Oh, you naughty, dirty, shaggy papa; you have hurt me\nso much--I'll give yourself a blow of the rod.\" He struck me a light\nblow, and as there was no sin on him, I came back to my own shape again.\nWhen he saw a man standing before him he gave a cry, and I took him up\nin my arms. The servants heard the child. A maid came in to see what was\nthe matter with him. When she saw me she gave a cry out of her, and she\nsaid, \"Oh, my soul to God, if the master isn't come to life again.\"\n\nAnother came in, and said it was he, really. And when the mistress heard\nof it, she came to see with her own eyes, for she would not believe I\nwas there; and when she saw me she said she'd drown herself. And I said\nto her, \"If you yourself will keep the secret, no living man will ever\nget the story from me until I lose my head.\"\n\nMany's the man has come asking for the story, and I never let one\nreturn; but now everyone will know it, but she is as much to blame as I.\nI gave you my head on the spot, and a thousand welcomes, and she cannot\nsay I have been telling anything but the truth.\n\n\"Oh, surely, nor are you now.\"\n\nWhen I saw I was in a man's shape I said I would take the child back to\nhis father and mother, as I knew the grief they were in after him. I\ngot a ship, and took the child with me; and when I was journeying I came\nto land on an island, and I saw not a living soul on it, only a court,\ndark and gloomy. I went in to see was there anyone in it. There was no\none but an old hag, tall and frightful, and she asked me, \"What sort of\nperson are you?\" I heard someone groaning in another room, and I said I\nwas a doctor, and I asked her what ailed the person who was groaning.\n\n\"Oh,\" said she, \"it is my son, whose hand has been bitten from his wrist\nby a dog.\"\n\nI knew then it was the boy who was taking the child from me, and I said\nI would cure him if I got a good reward.\n\n\"I have nothing, but there are eight young lads and three young women,\nas handsome as anyone laid eyes on, and if you cure him I will give you\nthem.\"\n\n\"But tell me in what place his hand was cut from.\"\n\n\"Oh, it was out in another country twelve years ago.\"\n\n\"Show me the way, that I may see him.\"\n\nShe brought me into a room, so that I saw him, and his arm was swelled\nup to the shoulder. He asked if I would cure him; and I said I could\ncure him if he would give me the reward his mother promised.\n\n\"Oh, I will give it, but cure me.\"\n\n\"Well, bring them out to me.\"\n\nThe hag brought them out of the room. I said I would burn the flesh that\nwas on his arm. When I looked on him he was howling with pain. I said\nthat I would not leave him in pain long. The thief had only one eye in\nhis forehead. I took a bar of iron, and put it in the fire till it was\nred, and I said to the hag, \"He will be howling at first, but will fall\nasleep presently, and do not wake him until he has slept as much as he\nwants. I will close the door when I am going out.\" I took the bar with\nme, and I stood over him, and I turned it across through his eye as far\nas I could. He began to bellow, and tried to catch me, but I was out and\naway, having closed the door. The hag asked me, \"Why is he bellowing?\"\n\n\"Oh, he will be quiet presently, and will sleep for a good while, and\nI'll come again to have a look at him; but bring me out the young men\nand the young women.\"\n\nI took them with me, and I said to her, \"Tell me where you got them.\"\n\n\"Oh, my son brought them with him, and they are the offspring of the one\nKing.\"\n\nI was well satisfied, and I had no liking for delay to get myself free\nfrom the hag, and I took them on board the ship, and the child I had\nmyself. I thought the King might leave me the child I nursed myself; but\nwhen I came to land, and all those young people with me, the King and\nQueen were out walking. The King was very aged, and the Queen aged\nlikewise. When I came to converse with them, and the twelve with me, the\nKing and Queen began to cry. I asked, \"Why are you crying?\"\n\n\"Oh, it is for good cause I am crying. As many children as these I\nshould have, and now I am withered, grey, at the end of my life, and I\nhave not one at all.\"\n\n\"Oh, belike, you will yet have plenty.\"\n\nI told him all I went through, and I gave him the child in his hand,\nand: \"These are your other children who were stolen from you, whom I am\ngiving to you safe. They are gently reared.\"\n\nWhen the King heard who they were, he smothered them with kisses and\ndrowned them with tears, and dried them with fine cloths, silken, and\nthe hairs of his own head, and so also did their mother, and great was\nhis welcome for me, as it was I who found them all. And the King said to\nme, \"I will give you your own child, as it is you who have earned him\nbest; but you must come to my court every year, and the child with you,\nand I will share with you my possessions.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have enough of my own, and after my death I will leave it to the\nchild.\"\n\nI spent a time till my visit was over, and I told the King all the\ntroubles I went through, only I said nothing about my wife. And now you\nhave the story of the death of Anshgayliacht, the hag's son.\n\nAnd Morraha thanked Rough Niall for the story, and he struck the ground\nwith the Sword of Light, and Brown Allree was beside of him and she said\nto him, \"Sit up, now, riding, and take good heed of yourself,\" and at\none leap she cleared the sea and at the next the three miles of hill\ncovered with steel thistles and at the third the three miles of fire,\nand then he was home and he told the tale of the death of Anshgayliacht\nto the Slender Red Champion and gave him the Sword of Light, and he was\nwell pleased to get them, and he took the spells of Morraha, and he had\nhis wife and his castle back again, and by-and-by the five children; but\nhe never put his hand to card-playing with strangers again.\n\nW. LARMINIE.\n\n(_From \"West Irish Folk Tales.\"_)\n\n\n\n\nThe Kildare Pooka\n\n\nMr. H---- R----, when he was alive, used to live a good deal in Dublin,\nand he was once a great while out of the country on account of the\n\"ninety-eight\" business. But the servants kept on in the big house at\nRath---- all the same as if the family was at home. Well, they used to be\nfrightened out of their lives, after going to their beds, with the\nbanging of the kitchen door and the clattering of fire-irons and the\npots and plates and dishes. One evening they sat up ever so long keeping\none another in heart with stories about ghosts and that, when--what\nwould you have of it?--the little scullery boy that used to be sleeping\nover the horses, and could not get room at the fire, crept into the hot\nhearth, and when he got tired listening to the stories, sorra fear him,\nbut he fell dead asleep.\n\nWell and good. After they were all gone, and the kitchen raked up, he\nwas woke with the noise of the kitchen door opening, and the trampling\nof an ass on the kitchen floor. He peeped out, and what should he see\nbut a big ass, sure enough, sitting on his curabingo and yawning before\nthe fire. After a little he looked about him, and began scratching his\nears as if he was quite tired, and says he, \"I may as well begin first\nas last.\" The poor boy's teeth began to chatter in his head, for, says\nhe, \"Now he's going to ate me\"; but the fellow with the long ears and\ntail on him had something else to do. He stirred the fire, and then he\nbrought in a pail of water from the pump, and filled a big pot that he\nput on the fire before he went out. He then put in his hand--foot, I\nmean--into the hot hearth, and pulled out the little boy. He let a roar\nout of him with the fright; but the pooka only looked at him, and thrust\nout his lower lip to show how little he valued him, and then he pitched\nhim into his pew again.\n\nWell, he then lay down before the fire till he heard the boil coming on\nthe water, and maybe there wasn't a plate, or a dish, or a spoon on the\ndresser that he didn't fetch and put in the pot, and wash and dry the\nwhole bilin' of 'em as well as e'er a kitchen maid from that to Dublin\ntown. He then put all of them up on their places on the shelves; and if\nhe didn't give a good sweepin' to the kitchen, leave it till again. Then\nhe comes and sits fornent the boy, let down one of his ears, and cocked\nup the other, and gave a grin. The poor fellow strove to roar out, but\nnot a dheeg 'ud come out of his throat. The last thing the pooka done\nwas to rake up the fire and walk out, giving such a slap o' the door\nthat the boy thought the house couldn't help tumbling down.\n\nWell, to be sure, if there wasn't a hullabuloo next morning when the\npoor fellow told his story! They could talk of nothing else the whole\nday. One said one thing, another said another, but a fat, lazy scullery\ngirl said the wittiest thing of all. \"Musha!\" says she, \"if the pooka\ndoes be cleaning up everything that way when we are asleep, what should\nwe be slaving ourselves for doing his work?\" \"_Sha gu dheine_,\" says\nanother, \"them's the wisest words you ever said, Kauth; it's meeself\nwon't contradict you.\"\n\nSo said, so done. Not a bit of a plate or dish saw a drop of water that\nevening, and not a besom was laid on the floor, and everyone went to bed\nsoon after sundown. Next morning everything was as fine as fine in the\nkitchen, and the lord mayor might eat his dinner off the flags. It was\ngreat ease to the lazy servants, you may depend, and everything went on\nwell till a foolhardy gag of a boy said he would stay up one night and\nhave a chat with the pooka. He was a little daunted when the door was\nthrown open and the ass marched up to the fire.\n\n\"And then, sir,\" says he at last, picking up courage, \"if it isn't\ntaking a liberty, might I ax who you are, and why you are so kind as to\ndo half of the day's work for the girls every night?\" \"No liberty at\nall,\" says the pooka, says he: \"I'll tell you, and welcome. I was a\nservant in the time of Squire R----'s father, and was the laziest rogue\nthat ever was clothed and fed, and done nothing for it. When my time\ncame for the other world, this is the punishment was laid on me to come\nhere and do all this labour every night, and then go out in the cold. It\nisn't so bad in the fine weather; but if you only knew what it is to\nstand with your head between your legs, facing the storm from midnight\nto sunrise, on a bleak winter night.\" \"And could we do anything for\nyour comfort, my poor fellow?\" says the boy. \"Musha, I don't know,\" says\nthe pooka; \"but I think a good quilted frieze coat would help me to keep\nthe life in me them long nights.\" \"Why, then, in troth, we'd be the\nungratefullest of people if we didn't feel for you.\"\n\nTo make a long story short, the next night the boy was there again; and\nif he didn't delight the poor pooka, holding a fine warm coat before\nhim, it's no mather! Betune the pooka and the man, his legs was got into\nthe four arms of it, and it was buttoned down the breast and the belly,\nand he was so pleased he walked up to the glass to see how it looked.\n\"Well,\" says he, \"it's a long lane that has no turning. I am much\nobliged to you and your fellow-servants. You have made me happy at last.\nGood night to you.\"\n\nSo he was walking out, but the other cried, \"Och! sure you're going too\nsoon. What about the washing and sweeping?\" \"Ah, you may tell the girls\nthat they must now get their turn. My punishment was to last till I was\nthought worthy of a reward for the way I done my duty. You'll see me no\nmore.\" And no more they did, and right sorry they were for having been\nin such a hurry to reward the ungrateful pooka.\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe King's Son\n\n\n  Who rideth through the driving rain\n    At such a headlong speed?\n  Naked and pale he rides amain\n    Upon a naked steed.\n\n  Nor hollow nor height his going bars,\n    His wet steed shines like silk,\n  His head is golden to the stars\n    And his limbs are white as milk.\n\n  But, lo, he dwindles as the light\n    That lifts from a black mere,\n  And, as the fair youth wanes from sight,\n    The steed grows mightier.\n\n  What wizard by yon holy tree\n    Mutters unto the sky\n  Where Macha's flame-tongued horses flee\n    On hoofs of thunder by?\n\n  Ah, 'tis not holy so to ban\n    The youth of kingly seed:\n  Ah! woe, the wasting of a man\n    Who changes to a steed.\n\n  Nightly upon the Plain of Kings,\n    When Macha's day is nigh,\n  He gallops; and the dark wind brings\n    His lonely human cry.\n\n\nTHOMAS BOYD.\n\n\n\n\nMurtough and the Witch Woman\n\n\nIn the days when Murtough Mac Erca was in the High Kingship of Ireland,\nthe country was divided between the old beliefs of paganism and the new\ndoctrines of the Christian teaching. Part held with the old creed and\npart with the new, and the thought of the people was troubled between\nthem, for they knew not which way to follow and which to forsake. The\nfaith of their forefathers clung close around them, holding them by many\nfine and tender threads of memory and custom and tradition; yet still\nthe new faith was making its way, and every day it spread wider and\nwider through the land.\n\nThe family of Murtough had joined itself to the Christian faith, and his\nthree brothers were bishops and abbots of the Church, but Murtough\nhimself remained a pagan, for he was a wild and lawless prince, and the\npeaceful teachings of the Christian doctrine, with its forgiveness of\nenemies, pleased him not at all. Fierce and cruel was his life, filled\nwith dark deeds and bloody wars, and savage and tragic was his death, as\nwe shall hear.\n\nNow Murtough was in the sunny summer palace of Cletty, which Cormac, son\nof Art, had built for a pleasure house on the brink of the slow-flowing\nBoyne, near the Fairy Brugh of Angus the Ever Young, the God of Youth\nand Beauty. A day of summer was that day, and the King came forth to\nhunt on the borders of the Brugh, with all his boon companions around\nhim. But when the high-noon came the sun grew hot, and the King sat down\nto rest upon the fairy mound, and the hunt passed on beyond him, and he\nwas left alone.\n\nThere was a witch woman in that country whose name was \"Sigh, Sough,\nStorm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail, and Groan.\" Star-bright and\nbeautiful was she in face and form, but inwardly she was cruel as her\nnames. And she hated Murtough because he had scattered and destroyed the\nAncient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin, her country and her\nfatherland, and because in the battle which he fought at Cerb on the\nBoyne her father and her mother and her sister had been slain. For in\nthose days women went to battle side by side with men.\n\nShe knew, too, that with the coming of the new faith trouble would come\nupon the fairy folk, and their power and their great majesty would\ndepart from them, and men would call them demons, and would drive them\nout with psalm-singing and with the saying of prayers, and with the\nsound of little tinkling bells. So trouble and anger wrought in the\nwitch woman, and she waited the day to be revenged on Murtough, for he\nbeing yet a pagan, was still within her power to harm.\n\nSo when Sheen (for Sheen or \"Storm\" was the name men gave to her) saw\nthe King seated on the fairy mound and all his comrades parted from him,\nshe arose softly, and combed her hair with her comb of silver adorned\nwith little ribs of gold, and she washed her hands in a silver basin\nwherein were four golden birds sitting on the rim of the bowl, and\nlittle bright gems of carbuncle set round about the rim. And she donned\nher fairy mantle of flowing green, and her cloak, wide and hooded, with\nsilvery fringes, and a brooch of fairest gold. On her head were tresses\nyellow like to gold, plaited in four locks, with a golden drop at the\nend of each long tress. The hue of her hair was like the flower of the\niris in summer or like red gold after the burnishing thereof. And she\nwore on her breasts and at her shoulders marvellous clasps of gold,\nfinely worked with the tracery of the skilled craftsman, and a golden\ntwisted torque around her throat. And when she was decked she went\nsoftly and sat down beside Murtough on the turfy hunting mound. And\nafter a space Murtough perceived her sitting there, and the sun shining\nupon her, so that the glittering of the gold and of her golden hair and\nthe bright shining of the green silk of her garments, was like the\nyellow iris-beds upon the lake on a sunny summer's day. Wonder and\nterror seized on Murtough at her beauty, and he knew not if he loved\nher or if he hated her the most; for at one moment all his nature was\nfilled with longing and with love of her, so that it seemed to him that\nhe would give the whole of Ireland for the loan of one hour's space of\ndalliance with her; but after that he felt a dread of her, because he\nknew his fate was in her hands, and that she had come to work him ill.\nBut he welcomed her as if she were known to him and he asked her\nwherefore she was come. \"I am come,\" she said, \"because I am beloved of\nMurtough, son of Erc, King of Erin, and I come to seek him here.\" Then\nMurtough was glad, and he said, \"Dost thou not know me, maiden?\" \"I do,\"\nshe answered, \"for all secret and mysterious things are known to me and\nthou and all the men of Erin are well known.\"\n\nAfter he had conversed with her awhile, she appeared to him so fair that\nthe King was ready to promise her anything in life she wished, so long\nas she would go with him to Cletty of the Boyne. \"My wish,\" she said,\n\"is that you take me to your house, and that you put out from it your\nwife and your children because they are of the new faith, and all the\nclerics that are in your house, and that neither your wife nor any\ncleric be permitted to enter the house while I am there.\"\n\n\"I will give you,\" said the King, \"a hundred head of every herd of\ncattle that is within my kingdom, and a hundred drinking horns, and a\nhundred cups, and a hundred rings of gold, and a feast every other night\nin the summer palace of Cletty. But I pledge thee my word, oh, maiden,\nit were easier for me to give thee half of Ireland than to do this\nthing that thou hast asked.\" For Murtough feared that when those that\nwere of the Christian faith were put out of his house, she would work\nher spells upon him, and no power would be left with him to resist those\nspells.\n\n\"I will not take thy gifts,\" said the damsel, \"but only those things\nthat I have asked; moreover, it is thus, that my name must never be\nuttered by thee, nor must any man or woman learn it.\"\n\n\"What is thy name,\" said Murtough, \"that it may not come upon my lips to\nutter it?\"\n\nAnd she said, \"Sigh, Sough, Storm, Rough Wind, Winter Night, Cry, Wail,\nGroan, this is my name, but men call me Sheen, for 'Storm' or Sheen is\nmy chief name, and storms are with me where I come.\"\n\nNevertheless, Murtough was so fascinated by her that he brought her to\nhis home, and drove out the clerics that were there, with his wife and\nchildren along with them, and drove out also the nobles of his own clan,\nthe children of Niall, two great and gallant battalions. And Duivsech,\nhis wife, went crying along the road with her children around her to\nseek Bishop Cairnech, the half-brother of her husband, and her own\nsoul-friend, that she might obtain help and shelter from him.\n\nBut Sheen went gladly and light-heartedly into the House of Cletty, and\nwhen she saw the lovely lightsome house and the goodly nobles of the\nclan of Niall, and the feasting and banqueting and the playing of the\nminstrels and all the joyous noise of that kingly dwelling, her heart\nwas lifted within her, and \"Fair as a fairy palace is this house of\nCletty,\" said she.\n\n\"Fair, indeed, it is,\" replied the King; \"for neither the Kings of\nLeinster nor the Kings of mighty Ulster, nor the lords of the clans of\nOwen or of Niall, have such a house as this; nay, in Tara of the Kings\nitself, no house to equal this house of mine is found.\" And that night\nthe King robed himself in all the splendour of his royal dignity, and on\nhis right hand he seated Sheen, and a great banquet was made before\nthem, and men said that never on earth was to be seen a woman more\ngoodly of appearance than she. And the King was astonished at her, and\nhe began to ask her questions, for it seemed to him that the power of a\ngreat goddess of the ancient time was in her; and he asked her whence\nshe came, and what manner was the power that he saw in her. He asked\nher, too, did she believe in the God of the clerics, or was she herself\nsome goddess of the older world? For he feared her, feeling that his\nfate was in her hands.\n\nShe laughed a careless and a cruel laugh, for she knew that the King was\nin their power, now that she was there alone with him, and the clerics\nand the Christian teachers gone. \"Fear me not, O Murtough,\" she cried;\n\"I am, like thee, a daughter of the race of men of the ancient family of\nAdam and of Eve; fit and meet my comradeship with thee; therefore, fear\nnot nor regret. And as to that true God of thine, worker of miracles and\nhelper of His people, no miracle in all the world is there that I, by\nmine own unaided power, cannot work the like. I can create a sun and\nmoon; the heavens I can sprinkle with radiant stars of night. I can call\nup to life men fiercely fighting in conflict, slaughtering one another.\nWine I could make of the cold water of the Boyne, and sheep of lifeless\nstones, and swine of ferns. In the presence of the hosts I can make\ngold and silver, plenty and to spare; and hosts of famous fighting men I\ncan produce from naught. Now, tell me, can thy God work the like?\"\n\n\"Work for us,\" says the King, \"some of these great wonders.\" Then Sheen\nwent forth out of the house, and she set herself to work spells on\nMurtough, so that he knew not whether he was in his right mind or no.\nShe took of the water of the Boyne and made a magic wine thereout, and\nshe took ferns and spiked thistles and light puff-balls of the woods,\nand out of them she fashioned magic swine and sheep and goats, and with\nthese she fed Murtough and the hosts. And when they had eaten, all their\nstrength went from them, and the magic wine sent them into an uneasy\nsleep and restless slumbers. And out of stones and sods of earth she\nfashioned three battalions, and one of the battalions she placed at one\nside of the house, and the other at the further side beyond it, and one\nencircling the rest southward along the hollow windings of the glen. And\nthus were these battalions, one of them all made of men stark-naked and\ntheir colour blue, and the second with heads of goats with shaggy beards\nand horned; but the third, more terrible than they, for these were\nheadless men, fighting like human beings, yet finished at the neck; and\nthe sound of heavy shouting as of hosts and multitudes came from the\nfirst and the second battalion, but from the third no sound save only\nthat they waved their arms and struck their weapons together, and smote\nthe ground with their feet impatiently. And though terrible was the\nshout of the blue men and the bleating of the goats with human limbs,\nmore horrible yet was the stamping and the rage of those headless men,\nfinished at the neck.\n\nAnd Murtough, in his sleep and in his dreams, heard the battle-shout,\nand he rose impetuously from off his bed, but the wine overcame him, and\nhis strength departed from him, and he fell helplessly upon the floor.\nThen he heard the challenge a second time, and the stamping of the feet\nwithout, and he rose again, and madly, fiercely, he set on them,\ncharging the hosts and scattering them before him, as he thought, as far\nas the fairy palace of the Brugh. But all his strength was lost in\nfighting phantoms, for they were but stones and sods and withered leaves\nof the forest that he took for fighting men.\n\nNow Duivsech, Murtough's wife, knew what was going on. She called upon\nCairnech to arise and to gather together the clans of the children of\nhis people, the men of Owen and of Niall, and together they went to the\nfort; but Sheen guarded it well, so that they could by no means find an\nentrance. Then Cairnech was angry, and he cursed the place, and he dug a\ngrave before the door, and he stood up upon the mound of the grave, and\nrang his bells and cursed the King and his house, and prophesied his\ndownfall. But he blessed the clans of Owen and of Niall, and they\nreturned to their own country.\n\nThen Cairnech sent messengers to seek Murtough and to draw him away from\nthe witch woman who sought his destruction, but because she was so\nlovely the King would believe no evil of her; and whenever he made any\nsign to go to Cairnech, she threw her spell upon the King, so that he\ncould not break away. When he was so weak and faint that he had no power\nleft, she cast a sleep upon him, and she went round the house, putting\neverything in readiness. She called upon her magic host of warriors, and\nset them round the fortress, with their spears and javelins pointed\ninwards towards the house, so that the King would not dare to go out\namongst them. And that night was a night of Samhain-tide, the eve of\nWednesday after All Souls' Day.\n\nThen she went everywhere throughout the house, and took lighted brands\nand burning torches, and scattered them in every part of the dwelling.\nAnd she returned into the room wherein Murtough slept, and lay down by\nhis side. And she caused a great wind to spring up, and it came soughing\nthrough the house from the north-west; and the King said, \"This is the\nsigh of the winter night.\" And Sheen smiled, because, unwittingly, the\nKing had spoken her name, for she knew by that that the hour of her\nrevenge had come. \"'Tis I myself that am Sigh and Winter Night,\" she\nsaid, \"and I am Rough Wind and Storm, a daughter of fair nobles; and I\nam Cry and Wail, the maid of elfin birth, who brings ill-luck to men.\"\n\nAfter that she caused a great snowstorm to come round the house; and\nlike the noise of troops and the rage of battle was the storm, beating\nand pouring in on every side, so that drifts of deep snow were piled\nagainst the walls, blocking the doors and chilling the folk that were\nfeasting within the house. But the King was lying in a heavy, unresting\nsleep, and Sheen was at his side. Suddenly he screamed out of his sleep\nand stirred himself, for he heard the crash of falling timbers and the\nnoise of the magic hosts, and he smelled the strong smell of fire in the\npalace.\n\nHe sprang up. \"It seems to me,\" he cried, \"that hosts of demons are\naround the house, and that they are slaughtering my people, and that the\nhouse of Cletty is on fire.\" \"It was but a dream,\" the witch maiden\nsaid. Then he slept again, and he saw a vision, to wit, that he was\ntossing in a ship at sea, and the ship floundered, and above his head a\ngriffin, with sharp beak and talons, sailed, her wings outspread and\ncovering all the sun, so that it was dark as middle-night; and lo! as\nshe rose on high, her plumes quivered for a moment in the air; then down\nshe swooped and picked him from the waves, carrying him to her eyrie on\nthe dismal cliff outhanging o'er the ocean; and the griffin began to\npierce him and to prod him with her talons, and to pick out pieces of\nhis flesh with her beak; and this went on awhile, and then a flame, that\ncame he knew not whence, rose from the nest, and he and the griffin were\nenveloped in the flame. Then in her beak the griffin picked him up, and\ntogether they fell downward over the cliff's edge into the seething\nocean; so that, half by fire and half by water, he died a miserable\ndeath.\n\nWhen the King saw that vision, he rose screaming from his sleep, and\ndonned his arms; and he made one plunge forward seeking for the magic\nhosts, but he found no man to answer him. The damsel went forth from the\nhouse, and Murtough made to follow her, but as he turned the flames\nleaped out, and all between him and the door was one vast sheet of\nflame. He saw no way of escape, save the vat of wine that stood in the\nbanqueting hall, and into that he got; but the burning timbers of the\nroof fell upon his head and the hails of fiery sparks rained on him, so\nthat half of him was burned and half was drowned, as he had seen in his\ndream.\n\nThe next day, amid the embers, the clerics found his corpse, and they\ntook it up and washed it in the Boyne, and carried it to Tuilen to bury\nit. And they said, \"Alas! that Mac Erca, High King of Erin, of the noble\nrace of Conn and of the descendants of Ugaine the Great, should die\nfighting with sods and stones! Alas! that the Cross of Christ was not\nsigned upon his face that he might have known the witchdoms of the\nmaiden what they were.\"\n\nAs they went thus, bewailing the death of Murtough and bearing him to\nhis grave, Duivsech, wife of Murtough, met them, and when she found her\nhusband dead, she struck her hands together and she made a great and\nmournful lamentation; and because weakness came upon her she leaned her\nback against the ancient tree that is in Aenech Reil; and a burst of\nblood broke from her heart, and there she died, grieving for her\nhusband. And the grave of Murtough was made wide and deep, and there\nthey laid the Queen beside him, two in the one grave, near the north\nside of the little church that is in Tuilen.\n\nNow, when the burial was finished, and the clerics were reciting over\nhis grave the deeds of the King, and were making prayers for Murtough's\nsoul that it might be brought out of hell, for Cairnech showed great\ncare for this, they saw coming towards them across the sward a lonely\nwoman, star-bright and beautiful, and a kirtle of priceless silk upon\nher, and a green mantle with its fringes of silver thread flowing to the\nground. She reached the place where the clerics were, and saluted them,\nand they saluted her. And they marvelled at her beauty, but they\nperceived on her an appearance of sadness and of heavy grief. They asked\nof her, \"Who art thou, maiden, and wherefore art thou come to the house\nof mourning? For a king lies buried here.\" \"A king lies buried here,\nindeed,\" said she, \"and I it was who slew him, Murtough of the many\ndeeds, of the race of Conn and Niall, High King of Ireland and of the\nWest. And though it was I who wrought his death, I myself will die for\ngrief of him.\"\n\nAnd they said, \"Tell us, maiden, why you brought him to his death, if so\nbe that he was dear to thee?\" And she said, \"Murtough was dear to me,\nindeed, dearest of the men of the whole world; for I am Sheen, the\ndaughter of Sige, the son of Dian, from whom Ath Sigi or the 'Ford of\nSige' is called to-day. But Murtough slew my father, and my mother and\nsister were slain along with him, in the battle of Cerb upon the Boyne,\nand there was none of my house to avenge their death, save myself alone.\nMoreover, in his time the Ancient Peoples of the Fairy Tribes of Erin\nwere scattered and destroyed, the folk of the underworld and of my\nfatherland; and to avenge the wrong and loss he wrought on them I slew\nthe man I loved. I made poison for him; alas! I made for him magic drink\nand food which took his strength away, and out of the sods of earth and\npuff-balls that float down the wind, I wrought men and armies of\nheadless, hideous folk, till all his senses were distraught. And, now,\ntake me to thee, O Cairnech, in fervent and true repentance, and sign\nthe Cross of Christ upon my brow, for the time of my death is come.\"\nThen she made penitence for the sin that she had sinned, and she died\nthere upon the grave of grief and of sorrow after the King. And they\ndigged a grave lengthways across the foot of the wide grave of Murtough\nand his spouse, and there they laid the maiden who had wrought them woe.\nAnd the clerics wondered at those things, and they wrote them and\nrevised them in a book.\n\nELEANOR HULL.\n\n\n\n\nThe Red Pony\n\n(_As told by an Irish Peasant._)\n\n\nThere was a poor man there. He had a great family of sons. He had no\nmeans to put them forward. He had them at school. One day, when they\nwere coming from school, he thought that whichever of them was last at\nthe door he would keep him out. It was the youngest of the family that\nwas last at the door. The father shut the door. He would not let him in.\nThe boy went weeping. He would not let him in till night came. The\nfather said he would never let him in--that he had boys enough.\n\nThe lad went away. He was walking till night. He came to a house on the\nrugged side of a hill on a height, one feather giving it shelter and\nsupport. He went in. He got a place till morning. When he made his\nbreakfast in the morning he was going. The man of the house made him a\npresent of a red pony, a saddle, and bridle. He went riding on the pony.\nHe went away with himself.\n\n\"Now,\" said the pony, \"whatever thing you may see before you, don't\ntouch it.\"\n\nThey went on with themselves. He saw a light before him on the high\nroad. When he came as far as the light, there was an open box on the\nroad, and a light coming out of it. He took up the box. There was a lock\nof hair in it.\n\n\"Are you going to take up the box?\" said the pony.\n\n\"I am. I cannot go past it.\"\n\n\"It's better for you to leave it,\" said the pony.\n\nHe took up the box. He put it in his pocket. He was going with himself.\nA gentleman met him.\n\n\"Pretty is your little beast. Where are you going?\"\n\n\"I am looking for service.\"\n\n\"I am in want of one like you among the stable-boys.\"\n\nHe hired the lad. The lad said he must get room for the little beast in\nthe stable. The gentleman said he would get it. They went home then. He\nhad eleven boys. When they were going out into the stable at ten o'clock\neach of them took a light with him but he. He took no candle at all with\nhim.\n\nEach of them went into his own stable. When he went into his stable, he\nopened the box. He left it in a hole in the wall. The light was great.\nIt was twice as much as in the other stables. There was wonder on the\nboys--what was the reason of the light being so great, and he without a\ncandle with him at all. They told the master they did not know what was\nthe cause of the light with the last boy. They had given him no candle,\nand he had twice as much light as they had.\n\n\"Watch to-morrow night what kind of light he has,\" said the master.\n\nThey watched the night of the morrow. They saw the box in the hole that\nwas in the wall, and the light coming out of the box. They told the\nmaster. When the boys came to the house, the King asked him what was the\nreason why he did not take a candle with him to the stable, as well as\nthe other boys. The lad said he had a candle. The King said he had not.\nHe asked him how he got the box from which the light came. He said he\nhad no box. The King said he had, and that he must give it to him; that\nhe would not keep him, unless he gave him the box. The boy gave it to\nhim. The King opened it. He drew out the lock of hair, in which was the\nlight.\n\n\"You must go,\" said the King, \"and bring me the woman to whom the hair\nbelongs.\"\n\nThe lad was troubled. He went out. He told the red pony.\n\n\"I told you not to take up the box. You will get more than that on\naccount of the box. When you have made your breakfast to-morrow, put the\nsaddle and bridle on me.\"\n\nWhen he made his breakfast on the morning of the morrow, he put saddle\nand bridle on the pony. He went till they came to three miles of sea.\n\n\"Keep a good hold now. I am going to give a jump over the sea. When I\narrive yonder, there is a fair on the strand. Everyone will be coming up\nto you to ask for a ride, because I am such a pretty little beast. Give\nno one a ride. You will see a beautiful woman drawing near you, her in\nwhose hair was the wonderful light. She will come up to you. She will\nask you to let her ride for a while. Say you will, and welcome. When she\ncomes riding, I will be off.\"\n\nWhen she came to the sea, she cleared the three miles at a jump. She\ncame upon the land opposite, and everyone was asking for a ride upon the\nbeast, she was that pretty. He was giving a ride to no one. He saw that\nwoman in the midst of the people. She was drawing near. She asked him\nwould he give her a little riding. He said he would give it, and a\nthousand welcomes. She went riding. She went quietly, till she got out\nof the crowd. When the pony came to the sea, she made the three-mile\njump again, the beautiful woman along with her. She took her home to the\nKing. There was great joy on the King to see her. He took her into the\nparlour. She said to him she would not marry anyone until he would get\nthe bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world. The King said\nto the lad he must go and bring the bottle of healing water that was in\nthe eastern world to the lady. The lad was troubled. He went to the\npony. He told the pony he must go to the eastern world for the bottle of\nhealing water that was in it, and bring it to the lady.\n\n\"My advice was good,\" said the pony, \"on the day you took the box up.\nPut saddle and bridle on me.\"\n\nHe went riding on her. They were going till they came to the sea. She\nstood then.\n\n\"You must kill me,\" said the pony. \"That, or I must kill you!\"\n\n\"It is hard to me to kill you,\" said the boy. \"If I kill you, there will\nbe no way to myself.\"\n\nHe cut her down. He opened her up. She was not long opened when there\ncame two black ravens and one small one. The two ravens went into the\nbody. They drank their fill of the blood. When they came out, the little\nraven went in. He closed up the pony. He would not let the little bird\ncome out till he got the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern\nworld. The ravens were very troubled. They were begging him to let the\nlittle bird out. He said he would not let it out till they brought him\nthe bottle. They went to seek the bottle. They came back, and there was\nno bottle with them. They were entreating him to let the bird out to\nthem. He would not let out the bird till he got the bottle. They went\naway again for the bottle. They came again at evening. They were tossed\nand scorched, and they had the bottle. They came to the place where the\npony was. They gave the bottle to the boy. He rubbed the healing water\nto every place where they were burned. Then he let out the little bird.\nThere was great joy on them to see him. He rubbed some of the healing\nwater to the place where he cut the pony. He spilt a drop into her ear.\nShe arose as well as she ever was. He had a little bottle in his pocket.\nHe put some of the healing water into it. They went home.\n\nWhen the King perceived the pony coming, he rose out. He took hold of\nher with his two hands. He took her in. He smothered her with kisses,\nand drowned her with tears; he dried her with finest cloths of silk and\nsatin.\n\nThis is what the lady was doing while they were away. She boiled pitch,\nand filled a barrel, and that boiling. Now she went beside it. She\nrubbed the healing water to herself. She came out; she went to the\nbarrel. She gave a jump in and out of the barrel. Three times she went\nin and out. She said she would never marry anyone who could not do the\nsame. The young King came. He went to the barrel. He fell half in, half\nout.\n\nHe was all boiled and burned. Another gentleman came. He gave a jump\ninto the barrel. He was burned. He came not out till he died. After that\nthere was no one going in or out. The barrel was there, and no one at\nall was going near it. The lad went up to it. He rubbed the healing\nwater on himself. He came to the barrel. He jumped in and out three\ntimes. He was watching her. She came out. She said she would never marry\nanyone but him.\n\nCame the priest of the pattens, and the clerk of the bells. The pair\nwere married. The wedding lasted three days and three nights. When it\nwas over, the lad went to look at the place where the pony was. He never\nremembered to go and see the pony during the wedding. He found nothing\nbut a heap of bones. There were two champions and two girls playing\ncards. The lad went crying when he saw the bones of the pony. One of the\ngirls asked what was the matter with him. He said it was all one to\nher--that she cared nothing for his troubles.\n\n\"I would like to get knowledge of the cause why you are crying.\"\n\n\"It was my pony who was here. I never remembered to see her during the\nwedding. I have nothing now but her bones. I don't know what I shall do\nafter her. It was she who did all that I accomplished.\"\n\nThe girl went laughing.\n\n\"Would you know your pony if you saw her?\"\n\n\"I would know,\" said he.\n\nShe laid aside the cards. She stood up.\n\n\"Isn't that your pony?\" said she.\n\n\"It is,\" said he.\n\n\"I was the pony,\" said the girl, \"and the two ravens who went in to\ndrink my blood my two brothers. When the ravens came out, a little bird\nwent in. You closed the pony. You would not let the little bird out till\nthey brought the bottle of healing water that was in the eastern world.\nThey brought the bottle to you. The little bird was my sister. It was my\nbrothers were the ravens. We were all under enchantments. It is my\nsister who is married to you. The enchantments are gone from us since\nshe was married.\"\n\nW. LARMINIE.\n\n(_From \"West Irish Folk Tales.\"_)\n\n\n\n\nKing O'Toole and St Kevin\n\n(_A Legend of Glendalough._)\n\n\nThere was wanst a king, called King O'Toole, who was a fine ould king in\nthe ould ancient times, long ago; and it was him that owned the Churches\nin the airly days.\n\n\"Surely,\" said I, \"the Churches were not in King O'Toole's time?\"\n\n\"Oh, by no manes, your honor--throth, it's yourself that's right enough\nthere; but you know the place is called 'The Churches' bekase they wor\nbuilt _afther_ by St. Kavin, and wint by the name o' the Churches iver\nmore; and, therefore, av coorse, the place bein' so called, I say that\nthe King owned the Churches--and why not, sir, seein' 'twas his\nbirthright, time out o' mind, beyant the flood? Well, the King (you see)\nwas the right sort--he was the _rale_ boy, and loved sport as he loved\nhis life, and huntin' in partic'lar; and from the risin' o' the sun up\nhe got, and away he wint over the mountains beyant afther the deer: and\nthe fine times them wor; for the deer was as plinty thin, aye throth,\nfar plintyer than the sheep is now; and that's the way it was with the\nKing, from the crow o' the cock to the song o' the redbreast. Well, it\nwas all mighty good as long as the King had his health; but, you see, in\ncoorse o' time, the King grewn ould, by raison he was stiff in his\nlimbs, and when he got sthricken in years, his heart failed him, and he\nwas lost intirely for want o' divarshin, bekase he couldn't go a huntin'\nno longer; and, by dad, the poor King was obleeged at last for to get a\ngoose to divart him. You see, the goose used for to swim acrass the\nlake, and go down divin' for throut (and not finer throut in all Ireland\nthan the same throut) and cotch fish on a Friday for the King, and flew\nevery other day round about the lake divartin' the poor King that you'd\nthink he'd break his sides laughin' at the frolicksome tricks av his\ngoose; so, in coorse o' time, the goose was the greatest pet in the\ncounthry, and the biggest rogue, and divarted the King to no end, and\nthe poor King was as happy as the day was long. So that's the way it\nwas; and all wint on mighty well antil, by dad, the goose got sthricken\nin years, as well as the King, and grew stiff in the limbs, like her\nmasther, and couldn't divart him no longer; and then it was that the\npoor King was lost complate, and didn't know what in the wide world to\ndo, seein' he was gone out of all divarshin by raison that the goose was\nno more in the flower of her blume.\n\n\"Well, the King was nigh broken-hearted and melancholy intirely, and was\nwalkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake, lamentin' his cruel fate,\nan' thinkin' o' drownin' himself, that could get no divarshin in life,\nwhen all of a suddint, turnin' round the corner beyant, who should he\nmeet but a mighty dacent young man comin' up to him.\n\n\"'God save you,' says the King (for the King was a civil-spoken\ngintleman, by all accounts), 'God save you,' says he to the young man.\n\n\"'God save you kindly,' says the young man to him back again; 'God save\nyou, King O'Toole.'\n\n\"'Thrue for you,' says the King, 'I am King O'Toole,' says he, 'prince\nand plennypennytinchery o' these parts,' says he; 'but how kem ye to\nknow that?' says he.\n\n\"'Oh, never mind,' says Saint Kavin (for 'twas he that was in it). 'And\nnow, may I make bowld to ax, how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he.\n\n\"'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know about my goose?' says the King.\n\n\"'Oh, no matther; I was given to understand it,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the King, 'bekase myself and my\ngoose is private friends,' says he, 'and no one could tell you,' says\nhe, 'barrin' the fairies.'\n\n\"'Oh, thin, it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint Kavin; 'for I'd have you\nknow,' says he, 'that I don't keep the likes o' sich company.'\n\n\"'You might do worse, then, my gay fellow,' says the King; 'for it's\n_they_ could show you a crock o' money as aisy as kiss hand; and that's\nnot to be sneezed at,' says the King, 'by a poor man,' says he.\n\n\"'Maybe I've a betther way of making money myself,' says the saint.\n\n\"'By gor,' says the King, 'barrin' you're a coiner,' says he, 'that's\nimpossible!'\n\n\"'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord!' says Saint Kavin, mighty high,\n'I'd scorn to be the like,' says he.\n\n\"'Then, what are you?' says the King, 'that makes money so aisy, by your\nown account.'\n\n\"'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Well, honest man,' says the King, 'and how is it you make your money\nso aisy?'\n\n\"'By makin' ould things as good as new,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Is it a tinker you are?' says the King.\n\n\"'No,' says the saint; 'I'm no tinker by thrade, King O'Toole; I've a\nbetther thrade than a tinker,' says he. 'What would you say,' says he,\n'if I made your ould goose as good as new?'\n\n\"My dear, at the word o' making his goose as good as new, you'd think\nthe poor ould King's eyes was ready to jump out iv his head, 'and,' says\nhe--'throth, thin, I'd give you more money nor you could count,' says\nhe, 'if you did the like, and I'd be behoulden to you in the bargain.'\n\n\"'I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Faith, thin, I'm thinkin' a thrifle o' change would do you no harm,'\nsays the King, lookin' up sly at the ould _caubeen_ that Saint Kavin had\non him.\n\n\"'I have a vow agin it,' says the saint; 'and I am book sworn,' says he,\n'never to have goold, silver, or brass in my company.'\n\n\"'Barrin' the thrifle you can't help,' says the King, mighty cute, and\nlooking him straight in the face.\n\n\"'You just hot it,' says Saint Kavin; 'but though I can't take money,'\nsays he, 'I could take a few acres o' land, if you'd give them to me.'\n\n\"'With all the veins o' my heart,' says the King, 'if you can do what\nyou say.'\n\n\"'Thry me!' says Saint Kavin. 'Call down your goose here,' says he, 'and\nI'll see what I can do for her.'\n\n\"With that the King whistled, and down kem the poor goose, all as one as\na hound, waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, her masther, and as like\nhim as two pays. The minute the saint clapt his eyes on the goose, 'I'll\ndo the job for you,' says he, 'King O'Toole!'\n\n\"'By _Jaminee_,' says King O'Toole, 'if you do, but I'll say you're the\ncleverest fellow in the sivin parishes.'\n\n\"'Oh, by dad,' says Saint Kavin, 'you must say more nor that--my horn's\nnot so soft all out,' says he, 'as to repair your ould goose for\nnothin'; what'll you gi' me if I do the job for you?--that's the chat,'\nsays Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'I'll give you whatever you ax,' says the King; 'isn't that fair?'\n\n\"'Divil a fairer,' says the saint; 'that's the way to do business. Now,'\nsays he, 'this is the bargain I'll make with you, King O'Toole: will you\ngi' me all the ground the goose flies over, the first offer, afther I\nmake her as good as new?'\n\n\"'I will,' says the King.\n\n\"'You won't go back o' your word?' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Honor bright!' says King O'Toole, howldin' out his fist.\n\n\"'Honor bright,' says Saint Kavin back again, 'it's a bargain,' says he.\n'Come here!' says he to the poor ould goose--'come here, you\nunfort'nate ould cripple,' says he, 'and it's I that'll make you the\nsportin' bird.'\n\n\"With that, my dear, he tuk up the goose by the two wings--'criss o' my\ncrass an you,' says he, markin' her to grace with the blessed sign at\nthe same minute--and throwin' her up in the air, 'whew!' says he, jist\ngivin' her a blast to help her; and with that, my jewel, she tuk to her\nheels, flyin' like one o' the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as many\ncapers as a swallow before a shower of rain. Away she wint down there,\nright forninst you, along the side o' the clift, and flew over Saint\nKavin's bed (that is, where Saint Kavin's bed is _now_, but was not\n_thin_, by raison it wasn't made, but was conthrived afther by Saint\nKavin himself, that the women might lave him alone), and on with her\nundher Lugduff, and round the ind av the lake there, far beyant where\nyou see the watherfall--and on with her thin right over the lead mines\no' Luganure (that is, where the lead mines is _now_, but was not _thin_,\nby raison they worn't discovered, _but was all goold in Saint Kavin's\ntime_). Well, over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and studdy, and\nround the other ind av the _little_ lake, by the Churches (that is, _av\ncoorse_, where the Churches is _now_, but was not _thin_, by raison they\nwor not built, but aftherwards by Saint Kavin), and over the big hill\nhere over your head, where you see the big clift--(and that clift in the\nmountain was made by _Finn Ma Cool_, where he cut it acrass with a big\nswoord that he got made a purpose by a blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, a\ncousin av his own, for to fight a joyant (giant) that darr'd him an' the\nCurragh o' Kildare; and he thried the swoord first an the mountain, and\ncut it down into a gap, as is plain to this day; and faith, sure enough,\nit's the same sauce he sarv'd the joyant, soon and suddint, and chopped\nhim in two like a pratie, for the glory of his sowl and ould\nIreland)--well, down she flew over the clift, and fluttherin' over the\nwood there at Poulanass. Well--as I said--afther fluttherin' over the\nwood a little bit, to _plaze_ herself, the goose flew down, and bit at\nthe fut o' the King, as fresh as a daisy, afther flyin' roun' his\ndominions, jist as if she hadn't flew three perch.\n\n\"Well, my dear, it was a beautiful sight to see the King standin' with\nhis mouth open, lookin' at his poor ould goose flyin' as light as a\nlark, and betther nor ever she was; and when she lit at his fut he\npatted her an the head, and '_ma vourneen_,' says he, 'but you are the\n_darlint_ o' the world.'\n\n\"'And what do you say to me,' says Saint Kavin, 'for makin' her the\nlike?'\n\n\"'By gor,' says the King, 'I say nothin' bates the art o' men, 'barrin'\nthe bees.'\n\n\"'And do you say no more nor that?' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'And that I'm behoulden to you,' says the King.\n\n\"'But will you gi' me all the ground the goose flewn over?' says Saint\nKavin.\n\n\"'I will,' says King O'Toole, 'and you're welkim to it,' says he,\n'though it's the last acre I have to give.'\n\n\"'But you'll keep your word thrue?' says the saint.\n\n\"'As thrue as the sun,' says the King.\n\n\"'It's well for you,' says Saint Kavin, mighty sharp--'it's well for\nyou, King O'Toole, that you said that word,' says he; 'for if you didn't\nsay that word, _the divil receave the bit o' your goose id iver fly\nagin_,' says Saint Kavin.\n\n\"'Oh, you needn't laugh,' said old Joe, 'for it's thruth I'm telling\nyou.'\n\n\"Well, whin the King was as good as his word, Saint Kavin was _plazed_\nwith him, and thin it was that he made himself known to the King.\n\n\"Well, my dear, that's the way that the place kem, all at wanst, into\nthe hands of Saint Kavin; for the goose flew round every individyial\nacre o' King O'Toole's property, you see, _bein' let into the saycret_\nby Saint Kavin, who was mighty _cute_; and so, when he _done_ the ould\nKing out iv his property for the glory of God, he was _plazed_ with him,\nand he and the King was the best o' friends iver more afther (for the\npoor ould King was _doatin'_, you see), and the King had his goose as\ngood as new to divart him as long as he lived; and the saint supported\nhim afther he kem into his property, as I tould you, until the day iv\nhis death--and that was soon afther; for the poor goose thought he was\nketchin' a throut one Friday; but, my jewel, it was a mistake he\nmade--and instead of a throut, it was a thievin' horse-eel! and, by gor,\ninstead iv the goose killin' a throut for the King's supper--by dad, the\neel killed the King's goose--and small blame to him; but he didn't ate\nher, bekase he darn't ate what Saint Kavin laid his blessed hands on.\"\n\nSAMUEL LOVER.\n\n\n\n\nLament of the Last Leprechaun\n\n\n  For the red shoon of the Shee,\n  For the falling o' the leaf,\n  For the wind among the reeds,\n      My grief.\n\n  For the sorrow of the sea,\n  For the song's unquickened seeds,\n  For the sleeping of the Shee,\n      My grief.\n\n  For dishonoured whitethorn-tree,\n  For the runes that no man reads\n  Where the grey stones face the sea,\n      My grief.\n\n  Lissakeole, that used to be\n  Filled with music night and noon,\n  For their ancient revelry,\n      My grief.\n\n  For the empty fairy shoon,\n  Hollow rath and yellow leaf,\n  Hands unkissed to sun or moon,\n      My grief--my grief!\n\n\nNORA HOPPER.\n\n\n\n\nThe Corpse Watchers\n\n\nThere was once a poor woman that had three daughters, and one day the\neldest said, \"Mother, bake my cake and kill my cock till I go seek my\nfortune.\" So she did, and when all was ready, says her mother to her,\n\"Which will you have--half of these with my blessing, or the whole with\nmy curse?\" \"Curse or no curse,\" says she, \"the whole is little enough.\"\nSo away she set, and if the mother didn't give her her curse, she didn't\ngive her her blessing.\n\nShe walked, and she walked, till she was tired and hungry, and then she\nsat down to take her dinner. While she was eating it a poor woman came\nup, and asked for a bit. \"The dickens a bit you'll get from me,\" says\nshe; \"it's all too little for myself.\" And the poor woman walked away\nvery sorrowful. At nightfall she got lodging at a farmer's, and the\nwoman of the house told her that she'd give her a spadeful of gold and a\nshovelful of silver if she'd only sit up and watch her son's corpse that\nwas waking in the next room. She said she'd do that, and so, when the\nfamily were in their bed, she sat by the fire, and cast an eye from time\nto time on the corpse that was lying under the table.\n\nAll at once the dead man got up in his shroud, and stood before her, and\nsaid, \"All alone, fair maid?\" She gave him no answer; when he had said\nit the third time he struck her with a switch, and she became a grey\nflag.\n\nAbout a week after, the second daughter went to seek her fortune, and\nshe didn't care for her mother's blessing no more _nor_ her sister, and\nthe very same thing happened to her. She was left a grey flag by the\nside of the other.\n\nAt last the youngest went off in search of the other two, and she took\ncare to carry her mother's blessing with her. She shared her dinner with\nthe poor woman on the road, and _she_ told her that she would watch over\nher.\n\nWell, she got lodging in the same place as the others, and agreed to\nmind the corpse. She sat up by the fire, with the dog and cat, and\namused herself with some apples and nuts the mistress had given her. She\nthought it a pity that the man under the table was a corpse, he was so\nhandsome.\n\nBut at last he got up, and, says he, \"All alone, fair maid?\" and she\nwasn't long about an answer:\n\n  All alone I am not,\n  I've little dog Douse, and Pussy, my cat;\n  I've apples to roast and nuts to crack,\n  And all alone I am not.\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" says he, \"you're a girl of courage, though you wouldn't have\nenough to follow me. I am now going to cross the quaking bog, and go\nthrough the burning forest. I must then enter the cave of terror and\nclimb the hill of glass, and drop from the top of it into the Dead Sea.\"\n\"I'll follow you,\" says she, \"for I engaged to mind you.\" He thought to\nprevent her, but she was stiff as he was stout.\n\nOut he sprang through the window, and she followed him, till they came\nto the \"Green Hills,\" and then says he:\n\n  \"Open, open, Green Hills and let the light of the Green Hills through.\"\n  \"Aye,\" says the girl, \"and let the fair maid too.\"\n\nThey opened, and the man and woman passed through, and there they were\non the edge of a bog.\n\nHe trod lightly over the shaky bits of moss and sod; and while she was\nthinking of how she'd get across, the old beggar appeared to her, but\nmuch nicer dressed, touched her shoes with a stick, and the soles spread\na foot on each side. So she easily got over the shaky marsh. The burning\nwood was at the edge of the bog, and there the good fairy flung a damp,\nthick cloak over her, and through the flames she went, and a hair of her\nhead was not singed. Then they passed through the dark cavern of\nhorrors, when she'd have heard the most horrible yells, only that the\nfairy stopped her ears with wax. She saw frightful things, with blue\nvapours round them, and felt the sharp rocks and the slimy backs of\nfrogs and snakes.\n\nWhen they got out of the cavern, they were at the mountain of glass; and\nthen the fairy made her slippers so sticky with a tap of her rod that\nshe followed the young corpse quite easily to the top. There was the\ndeep sea a quarter of a mile under them, and so the corpse said to her,\n\"Go home to my mother, and tell her how far you came to do her bidding.\nFarewell!\" He sprung head-foremost down into the sea, and after him she\nplunged, without stopping a moment to think about it.\n\nShe was stupefied at first, but when they reached the waters she\nrecovered her thoughts. After piercing down a great depth, they saw a\ngreen light towards the bottom. At last they were below the sea, that\nseemed a green sky above them; and, sitting in a beautiful meadow, she\nhalf-asleep, and her head resting against his side. She couldn't keep\nher eyes open, and she couldn't tell how long she slept; but when she\nwoke, she was in bed at his house, and he and his mother sitting by her\nbedside, and watching her.\n\nIt was a witch that had a spite to the young man because he wouldn't\nmarry her, and so she got power to keep him in a state between life and\ndeath till a young woman would rescue him by doing what she had done.\nSo, at her request, her sisters got their own shapes again, and were\nsent back to their mother, with their spades of gold and shovels of\nsilver. Maybe they were better after that, but I doubt it much. The\nyoungest got the young gentleman for her husband. I'm sure she lived\nhappy, and, if they didn't live happy--_that we may_!\n\nPATRICK KENNEDY.\n\n\n\n\nThe Mad Pudding of Ballyboulteen\n\n\n\"Moll Roe Rafferty, the daughter of ould Jack Rafferty, was a fine young\nbouncin' girl, large an' lavish, wid a purty head of hair on her like\nscarlet, that bein' one of the raisons why she was called _Roe_ or red;\nher arms and cheeks were much the colour of the hair, an' her saddle\nnose was the purtiest thing of its kind that ever was on a face.\n\n\"Well, anyhow, it was Moll Rafferty that was the _dilsy_. It happened\nthat there was a nate vagabone in the neighbourhood, just as much\noverburdened wid beauty as herself, and he was named Gusty Gillespie.\nGusty was what they call a black-mouth Prosbytarian, and wouldn't keep\nChristmas day, except what they call 'ould style.' Gusty was rather\ngood-lookin', when seen in the dark, as well as Moll herself; anyhow,\nthey got attached to each other, and in the end everything was arranged\nfor their marriage.\n\n\"Now this was the first marriage that had happened for a long time in\nthe neighbourhood between a Prodestant and a Catholic, and faix, there\nwas one of the bride's uncles, ould Harry Connolly, a fairyman, who\ncould cure all complaints wid a secret he had, and as he didn't wish to\nsee his niece married on sich a fellow, he fought bittherly against the\nmatch. All Moll's friends, however, stood up for the marriage, barrin'\nhim, and, of coorse, the Sunday was appointed, as I said, that they were\nto be dove-tailed together.\n\n\"Well, the day arrived, and Moll, as became her, went to mass, and Gusty\nto meeting, afther which they were to join one another in Jack\nRafferty's, where the priest, Father Mc. Sorley, was to slip up afther\nmass to take his dinner wid them, and to keep Misther Mc. Shuttle, who\nwas to marry them, company. Nobody remained at home but ould Jack\nRafferty an' his wife, who stopped to dress the dinner, for, to tell the\ntruth, it was to be a great let-out entirely. Maybe, if all was known,\ntoo, Father Mc. Sorley was to give them a cast of his office over and\nabove the ministher, in regard that Moll's friends were not altogether\nsatisfied at the kind of marriage which Mc. Shuttle could give them. The\nsorrow may care about that--splice here, splice there--all I can say is\nthat when Mrs. Rafferty was goin' to tie up a big bag pudden, in walks\nHarry Connolly, the fairyman, in a rage, and shouts out, 'Blood and\nblunderbushes, what are yez here for?'\n\n\"'Arrah, why, Harry? Why, avick?'\n\n\"'Why, the sun's in the suds, and the moon in the high Horricks; there's\na clip-stick comin' on, and there you're both as unconsarned as if it\nwas about to rain mether. Go out, an' cross yourselves three times in\nthe name o' the four Mandromarvins, for as prophecy says:--\"Fill the\npot, Eddy, supernaculum--a blazing star's a rare spectaculum.\" Go out,\nboth of you, an' look at the sun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition\nhe's in--off!'\n\n\"Begad, sure enough, Jack gave a bounce to the door, and his wife leaped\nlike a two-year-ould, till they were both got on a stile beside the\nhouse to see what was wrong in the sky.\n\n\"'Arrah, what is it, Jack?' says she, 'can you see anything?'\n\n\"'No,' says he, 'sorra the full of my eye of anything I can spy, barrin'\nthe sun himself, that's not visible, in regard of the clouds. God guard\nus! I doubt there's something to happen.'\n\n\"'If there wasn't Jack, what'd put Harry, that knows so much, in the\nstate he's in?'\n\n\"'I doubt it's this marriage,' says Jack. 'Betune ourselves, it's not\nover an' above religious of Moll to marry a black-mouth, an' only for--;\nbut, it can't be helped now, though you see it's not a taste o' the sun\nis willin' to show his face upon it.'\n\n\"'As to that,' says his wife, winkin' with both her eyes, 'if Gusty's\nsatisfied wid Moll, it's enough. I know who'll carry the whip hand,\nanyhow; but in the manetime let us ax Harry within what ails the sun?'\n\n\"Well, they accordianly went in, and put this question to him, 'Harry,\nwhat's wrong, ahagur? What is it now, for if anybody alive knows 'tis\nyourself?'\n\n\"'Ah,' said Harry, screwin' his mouth wid a kind of a dry smile, 'the\nsun has a hard twist o' the colic; but never mind that, I tell you,\nyou'll have a merrier weddin' than you think, that's all'; and havin'\nsaid this, he put on his hat and left the house.\n\n\"Now, Harry's answer relieved them very much, and so, afther callin' to\nhim to be back for dinner, Jack sat down to take a shough o' the pipe,\nand the wife lost no time in tying up the pudden, and puttin' it in the\npot to be boiled.\n\n\"In this way things went on well enough for a while, Jack smokin' away,\nan' the wife cookin' an' dhressin' at the rate of a hunt. At last, Jack,\nwhile sittin', as I said, contentedly at the fire, thought he could\npersave an odd dancin' kind of motion in the pot that puzzled him a good\ndeal.\n\n\"'Katty,' says he, 'what the dickens is in this pot on the fire?'\n\n\"'Nerra thing but the big pudden. Why do you ax?' says she.\n\n\"'Why,' says he, 'if ever a pot tuck it into its head to dance a jig,\nand this did. Thundher and sparbles, look at it!'\n\n\"Begad, and it was thrue enough; there was the pot bobbin' up an' down,\nand from side to side, jiggin' it away as merry as a grig; an' it was\nquite aisy to see that it wasn't the pot itself, but what was inside of\nit, that brought about the hornpipe.\n\n\"'Be the hole o' my coat,' shouted Jack, 'there's somethin' alive in it,\nor it would niver cut sich capers!'\n\n\"'Begorra, there is, Jack; somethin' sthrange entirely has got into it.\nWirra, man alive, what's to be done?'\n\n\"Jist as she spoke the pot seemed to cut the buckle in prime style, and\nafther a spring that'd shame a dancin' masther, off flew the lid, and\nout bounced the pudden itself, hoppin' as nimble as a pea on a drum-head\nabout the floor. Jack blessed himself, and Katty crossed herself. Jack\nshouted, and Katty screamed. 'In the name of goodness, keep your\ndistance; no one here injured you!'\n\n\"The pudden, however, made a set at him, and Jack lepped first on a\nchair, and then on the kitchen table, to avoid it. It then danced\ntowards Katty, who was repatin' her prayers at the top of her voice,\nwhile the cunnin' thief of a pudden was hoppin' an' jiggin' it around\nher as if it was amused at her distress.\n\n\"'If I could get the pitchfork,' says Jack, 'I'd dale wid it--by goxty,\nI'd thry its mettle.'\n\n\"'No, no,' shouted Katty, thinking there was a fairy in it; 'let us\nspake it fair. Who knows what harm it might do? Aisy, now,' says she to\nthe pudden, 'aisy, dear; don't harm honest people that never meant to\noffend you. It wasn't us--no, in troth, it was ould Harry Connolly that\nbewitched you; pursue _him_, if you wish, but spare a woman like me!'\n\n\"The pudden, bedad, seemed to take her at her word, and danced away from\nher towards Jack, who, like the wife, believin' there was a fairy in\nit, an' that spakin' it fair was the best plan, thought he would give it\na soft word as well as her.\n\n\"'Plase your honour,' said Jack, 'she only spaiks the truth, an' upon my\nvoracity, we both feels much oblaiged to you for your quietness. Faith,\nit's quite clear that if you weren't a gentlemanly pudden, all out,\nyou'd act otherwise. Ould Harry, the rogue, is your mark; he's jist gone\ndown the road there, and if you go fast you'll overtake him. Be my song,\nyour dancin'-masther did his duty, anyway. Thank your honour! God speed\nyou, and may you niver meet wid a parson or alderman in your thravels.'\n\n\"Jist as Jack spoke, the pudden appeared to take the hint, for it\nquietly hopped out, and as the house was directly on the roadside,\nturned down towards the bridge, the very way that ould Harry went. It\nwas very natural, of coorse, that Jack and Katty should go out to see\nhow it intended to thravel, and as the day was Sunday, it was but\nnatural, too, that a greater number of people than usual were passin'\nthe road. This was a fact; and when Jack and his wife were seen\nfollowin' the pudden, the whole neighbourhood was soon up and afther it.\n\n\"'Jack Rafferty, what is it? Katty, ahagur, will you tell us what it\nmanes?'\n\n\"'Why,' replied Katty, 'it's my big pudden that's bewitched, an' it's\nout hot foot pursuin''--here she stopped, not wishin' to mention her\nbrother's name--'_someone_ or other that surely put _pishrogues_[3] an\nit.'\n\n\"This was enough; Jack, now seein' that he had assistance, found his\ncourage comin' back to him; so says he to Katty, 'Go home,' says he,\n'an' lose no time in makin' another pudden as good, an' here's Paddy\nScanlan's wife, Bridget, says she'll let you boil it on her fire, as\nyou'll want our own to dress the rest of the dinner; and Paddy himself\nwill lend me a pitchfork for purshuin' to the morsel of that same pudden\nwill escape, till I let the wind out of it, now that I've the neighbours\nto back an' support me,' says Jack.\n\n\"This was agreed to, an' Katty went back to prepare a fresh pudden,\nwhile Jack an' half the townland pursued the other wid spades, graips,\npitchforks, scythes, flails, and all possible description of\ninstruments. On the pudden went, however, at the rate of about six Irish\nmiles an hour, an' sich a chase was never seen. Catholics, Prodestants,\nand Prosbytarians were all afther it, armed, as I said, an' bad end to\nthe thing, but its own activity could save it. Here it made a hop, there\na prod was made at it; but off it went, and someone, as eager to get a\nslice at it on the other side, got the prod instead of the pudden. Big\nFrank Farrell, the miller, of Ballyboulteen, got a prod backwards that\nbrought a hullabulloo out of him that you might hear at the other end of\nthe parish. One got a slice of a scythe, another a whack of a flail, a\nthird a rap of a spade, that made him look nine ways at wanst.\n\n\"'Where is it goin'?' asked one. 'My life for you, it's on its way to\nMeeting. Three cheers for it, if it turns to Carntaul!' 'Prod the sowl\nout of it if it's a Prodestan'' shouted the others; 'if it turns to the\nleft, slice it into pancakes. We'll have no Prodestan' puddens here.'\n\n\"Begad, by this time the people were on the point of beginnin' to have a\nregular fight about it, when, very fortunately, it took a short turn\ndown a little by-lane that led towards the Methodist praychin'-house,\nan' in an instant all parties were in an uproar against it as a\nMethodist pudden. 'It's a Wesleyan,' shouted several voices; 'an' by\nthis an' by that, into a Methodist chapel it won't put a foot to-day, or\nwe'll lose a fall. Let the wind out of it. Come, boys, where's your\npitchforks?'\n\n\"The divle purshuin' to the one of them, however, ever could touch the\npudden, and jist when they thought they had it up against the gavel of\nthe Methodist chapel, begad, it gave them the slip, and hops over to the\nleft, clane into the river, and sails away before their eyes as light as\nan egg-shell.\n\n\"Now, it so happened that a little below this place the desmesne wall of\nColonel Bragshaw was built up to the very edge of the river on each side\nof its banks; and so, findin' there was a stop put to their pursuit of\nit, they went home again, every man, woman, and child of them, puzzled\nto think what the pudden was at all, what it meant, or where it was\ngoin'! Had Jack Rafferty an' his wife been willin' to let out the\nopinion they held about Henry Connolly bewitchin' it, there is no doubt\nof it but poor Harry might be badly trated by the crowd, when their\nblood was up. They had sense enough, howaniver, to keep that to\nthemselves, for Harry bein' an ould bachelor, was a kind friend to the\nRaffertys. So, of coorse, there was all kinds of talk about it--some\nguessin' this, an' some guessin' that--one party sayin' the pudden was\nof their side, and another denyin' it, an' insisting it belonged to\nthem, an' so on.\n\n\"In the meantime, Katty Rafferty, for 'fraid the dinner might come\nshort, went home and made another pudden much about the same size as the\none that had escaped, an' bringin' it over to their next neighbour,\nPaddy Scanlan's, it was put into a pot, and placed on the fire to boil,\nhopin' that it might be done in time, espishilly as they were to have\nthe ministher, who loved a warm slice of a good pudden as well as e'er a\ngentleman in Europe.\n\n\"Anyhow, the day passed; Moll and Gusty were made man an' wife, an' no\ntwo could be more lovin'. Their friends that had been asked to the\nweddin' were saunterin' about in pleasant little groups till\ndinner-time, chattin' an' laughin'; but above all things, sthrivin' to\naccount for the figaries of the pudden; for, to tell the truth, its\nadventures had now gone through the whole parish.\n\n\"Well, at any rate, dinner-time was drawin' near, and Paddy Scanlan was\nsittin' comfortably wid his wife at the fire, the pudden boilin' before\ntheir eyes, when in walks Harry Connolly in a flutter, shoutin', 'Blood\nand blunderbushes, what are yez here for?'\n\n\"'Arrah, why, Harry--why, avick?' said Mrs. Scanlan.\n\n\"'Why,' said Harry, 'the sun's in the suds, an' the moon in the high\nHorricks! Here's a clipstick comin' on, an' there you sit as unconsarned\nas if it was about to rain mether! Go out, both of you, an' look at the\nsun, I say, an' ye'll see the condition he's in--off!'\n\n\"'Ay, but, Harry, what's that rowled up in the tail of your cothamore\n(big coat)?'\n\n\"'Out wid yez,' says Harry, 'an' pray aginst the clipstick--the sky's\nfallin'!'\n\n\"Begad, it was hard to say whether Paddy or the wife got out first, they\nwere so much alarmed by Harry's wild, thin face and piercin' eyes; so\nout they went to see what was wonderful in the sky, an' kep lookin' an'\nlookin' in every direction, but not a thing was to be seen, barrin' the\nsun shinin' down wid great good-humour, an' not a single cloud in the\nsky.\n\n\"Paddy an' the wife now came in laughin' to scould Harry, who no doubt\nwas a great wag in his way when he wished. 'Musha, bad scran to you,\nHarry----' and they had time to say no more, howandiver, for, as they\nwere goin' into the door, they met him comin' out of it, wid a reek of\nsmoke out of his tail like a lime-kiln.\n\n\"'Harry,' shouted Bridget, 'my sowl to glory, but the tail of your\ncothamore's afire--you'll be burned. Don't you see the smoke that's out\nof it?'\n\n\"'Cross yourselves three times,' said Harry, widout stoppin' or even\nlookin' behind him, 'for, as the prophecy says, Fill the pot, Eddy----'\nThey could hear no more, for Harry appeared to feel like a man that\ncarried something a great deal hotter than he wished, as anyone might\nsee by the liveliness of his motions, and the quare faces he was forced\nto make as he went along.\n\n\"'What the dickens is he carryin' in the skirts of his big coat?' asked\nPaddy.\n\n\"'My sowl to happiness, but maybe he has stolen the pudden,' said\nBridget, 'for it's known that many a sthrange thing he does.'\n\n\"They immediately examined the pot, but found that the pudden was there,\nas safe as tuppence, an' this puzzled them the more to think what it was\nhe could be carryin' about with him in the manner he did. But little\nthey knew what he had done while they were sky-gazin'!\n\n\"Well, anyhow, the day passed, and the dinner was ready, an' no doubt\nbut a fine gatherin' there was to partake of it. The Prosbytarian\nministher met the Methodist praycher--a divilish stretcher of an\nappetite he had, in throth--on their way to Jack Rafferty's, an' as he\nknew he could take the liberty, why, he insisted on his dinin' wid him;\nfor, afther all, in thim days, the clargy of all descriptions lived upon\nthe best footin' among one another, not all at one as now--but no\nmatther. Well, they had nearly finished their dinner, when Jack Rafferty\nhimself axed Katty for the pudden; but, jist as he spoke, in it came, as\nbig as a mess-pot.\n\n\"'Gintlemen,' said he, 'I hope none of you will refuse tastin' a bit of\nKatty's pudden; I don't mane the dancin' one that took to its thravels\nto-day, but a good solid fellow that she med since.'\n\n\"'To be sure we won't,' replied the priest. 'So, Jack, put a thrifle on\nthem three plates at your right hand, and send them over here to the\nclargy, an' maybe,' he said, laughin'--for he was a droll, good-humoured\nman--'maybe, Jack, we won't set you a proper example.'\n\n\"'Wid a heart an' a half, your riverence an' gintlemen; in throth, it's\nnot a bad example ever any of you set us at the likes, or ever will set\nus, I'll go bail. An' sure, I only wish it was betther fare I had for\nyou; but we're humble people, gintlemen, an' so you can't expect to meet\nhere what you would in higher places.'\n\n\"'Betther a male of herbs,' said the Methodist praycher, 'where pace\nis----' He had time to get no further, however; for much to his\namazement, the priest an' the ministher started up from the table, jist\nas he was goin' to swallow the first mouthful of the pudden, and, before\nyou could say Jack Robinson, started away at a lively jig down the\nfloor.\n\n\"At this moment a neighbour's son came runnin' in, and tould them that\nthe parson was comin' to see the new-married couple, an' wish them all\nhappiness; an' the words were scarcely out of his mouth when he made his\nappearance. What to think, he knew not, when he saw the ministher\nfootin' it away at the rate of a weddin'. He had very little time,\nhowever, to think; for, before he could sit down, up starts the\nMethodist praycher, an', clappin' his fists in his sides, chimes in in\ngreat style along wid him.\n\n\"'Jack Rafferty,' says he, and, by the way, Jack was his tenant, 'what\nthe dickens does all this mane?' says he; 'I'm amazed!'\n\n\"'The not a particle o' me can tell you,' says Jack; 'but will your\nreverence jist taste a morsel o' pudden, merely that the young couple\nmay boast that you ait at their weddin'; for, sure, if _you_ wouldn't,\nwho _would_?'\n\n\"'Well,' says he, 'to gratify them, I will; so, just a morsel. But,\nJack, this bates Bannagher,' says he again, puttin' the spoonful of\npudden into his mouth; 'has there been drink here?'\n\n\"'Oh, the divle a spudh,' says Jack, 'for although there's plenty in the\nhouse, faith, it appears the gintlemen wouldn't wait for it. Unless they\ntuck it elsewhere, I can make nothin' o' this.'\n\n\"He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was an active man, cut a\ncaper a yard high, an' before you could bless yourself, the three clargy\nwere hard at work dancin', as if for a wager. Begad, it would be\nunpossible for me to tell you the state the whole meetin' was in when\nthey see this. Some were hoarse wid laughin'; some turned up their eyes\nwid wondher; many thought them mad; and others thought they had turned\nup their little fingers a thrifle too often.\n\n\"'Be goxty, it's a burnin' shame,' said one, 'to see three black-mouth\nclargy in sich a state at this early hour!' 'Thundher an' ounze, what's\nover them at all?' says others; 'why, one would think they were\nbewitched. Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts! An' as for\nthe Recthor, who would think he could handle his feet at sich a rate! Be\nthis, an' be that, he cuts the buckle, an' does the threblin' step\naiquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin'-masther himself! An' see! Bad cess\nto the morsel of the parson that's not too hard at _Peace upon a\ntrancher_, and it upon a Sunday, too! Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun's in\nyez, afther all--whish! more power to yez!'\n\n\"The sorra's own fun they had, an' no wondher; but judge of what they\nfelt when all at once they saw ould Jack Rafferty himself bouncin' in\namong them, an' footin' it away like the best of them. Bedad, no play\ncould come up to it, an' nothin' could be heard but laughin', shouts of\nencouragement, an' clappin' of hands like mad. Now, the minute Jack\nRafferty left the chair, where he had been carvin' the pudden, ould\nHarry Connolly come over and claps himself down in his place, in ordher\nto sent it round, of coorse; an' he was scarcely sated when who should\nmake his appearance but Barney Hartigan, the piper. Barney, by the way,\nhad been sent for early in the day, but bein' from home when the message\nfor him went, he couldn't come any sooner.\n\n\"'Begorra,' says Barney, 'you're airly at the work gintlemen! But what\ndoes this mane? But divle may care, yez shan't want the music, while\nthere's a blast in the pipes, anyhow!' So sayin' he gave them _Jig\nPolthogue_, and afther that, _Kiss My Lady_, in his best style.\n\n\"In the manetime the fun went on thick and threefold, for it must be\nremembered that Harry, the ould knave, was at the pudden; an' maybe, he\ndidn't sarve it about in double-quick time, too! The first he helped was\nthe bride, and before you could say chopstick she was at it hard and\nfast, before the Methodist praycher, who gave a jolly spring before her\nthat threw them into convulsions. Harry liked this, and made up his mind\nsoon to find partners for the rest; so he accordianly sent the pudden\nabout like lightnin'; an', to make a long story short, barrin' the piper\nan' himself, there wasn't a pair of heels in the house but was as busy\nat the dancin' as if their lives depended on it.\n\n\"'Barney,' says Harry, 'jist taste a morsel o' this pudden; divle the\nsich a bully of a pudden ever you ett. Here, your sowl! thry a snig of\nit--it's beautiful!'\n\n\"'To be sure I will,' says Barney. 'I'm not the boy to refuse a good\nthing. But, Harry, be quick, for you know my hands is engaged, an' it\nwould be a thousand pities not to keep them in music, an' they so well\ninclined. Thank you, Harry. Begad, that is a fine pudden. But, blood\nan' turnips! what's this for?'\n\n\"The word was scarcely out of his mouth when he bounced up, pipes an'\nall, and dashed into the middle of the party. 'Hurroo! your sowls, let\nus make a night of it! The Ballyboulteen boys for ever! Go it, your\nreverence!--turn your partner--heel an' toe, ministher. Good! Well done,\nagain! Whish! Hurroo! Here's for Ballyboulteen, an' the sky over it!'\n\n\"Bad luck to sich a set ever was seen together in this world, or will\nagain, I suppose. The worst, however, wasn't come yet, for jist as they\nwere in the very heat an' fury of the dance, what do you think comes\nhoppin' in among them but another pudden, as nimble an' merry as the\nfirst! That was enough; they had all heard of it--the ministhers among\nthe rest--an' most of them had seen the other pudden, an' knew that\nthere must be a fairy in it, sure enough. Well, as I said, in it comes\nto the thick o' them; but the very appearance of it was enough. Off the\nthree clargy danced, and off the whole weddiners danced afther them,\neveryone makin' the best of their way home; but not a sowl of them able\nto break out of the step, if they were to be hanged for it. Throth, it\nwouldn't lave a laff in you to see the parson dancin' down the road on\nhis way home, and the ministher and Methodist praycher cuttin' the\nbuckle as they went along in the opposite direction. To make short work\nof it, they all danced home at last wid scarce a puff of wind in them;\nthe bride an' bridegroom danced away to bed; an' now, boys, come an' let\nus dance the _Horo Lheig_ in the barn widout. But, you see, boys, before\nwe go, and in order to make everything plain, I had as good tell you\nthat Harry, in crossin' the bridge of Ballyboulteen, a couple o' miles\nbetween Squire Bragshaw's demesne wall, saw the pudden floatin' down the\nriver--the truth is, he was waitin' for it; but, be this as it may, he\ntook it out, for the wather had made it as clane as a new pin, an'\ntuckin' it up in the tail of his big coat, contrived to bewitch it in\nthe same manner by gettin' a fairy to get into it, for, indeed, it was\npurty well known that the same Harry was hand an' glove wid the _good\npeople_. Others will tell you that it was half a pound of quicksilver he\nput into it, but that doesn't stand to raison. At any rate, boys, I have\ntould you the adventures of the Mad Pudden of Ballyboulteen; but I don't\nwish to tell you many other things about it that happened--_for 'fraid\nI'd tell a lie_!\"\n\nWILLIAM CARLETON.\n\n\n\n\nThe Voyage of Maeldune\n\n\n  I was the chief of the race--he had stricken my father dead--\n  But I gathered my fellows together; I swore I would strike off his head.\n  Each of them looked like a king, and was noble in birth as in worth,\n  And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race upon earth.\n  Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song,\n  And each of them liefer had died than have done one another a wrong.\n  _He_ lived on an isle in the ocean--we sail'd on a Friday morn--\n  He that had slain my father the day before I was born.\n\n  And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the shore was he.\n  But a sudden blast blew us out and away through a boundless sea.\n\n  And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touched before,\n  Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore,\n  And the brooks glittered on in the light without sound, and the long\n    waterfalls\n  Poured in a thunderless plunge to the base of the mountain walls,\n  And the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourished up beyond sight\n  And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable height,\n  And high in the heaven above it there flickered a songless lark,\n  And the cock couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, and the dog\n    couldn't bark.\n  And round it we went, and thro' it, but never a murmur, a breath,\n  It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as death,\n  And we hated the beautiful Isle, for whenever we strove to speak\n  Our voices were thinner and fainter than any flittermouse shriek;\n  And the men that were mighty of tongue, and could raise such a battle-cry\n  That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand lances and die--\n  Oh, they to be dumb'd by the charm!--so fluster'd with anger were they\n  They almost fell on each other; but, after, we sailed away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Shouting, we landed, a score of wild birds\n  Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and words;\n  Once in an hour they cried, and whenever their voices peal'd\n  The steer fell down at the plough and the harvest died from the field,\n  And the men dropt dead in the valleys and half of the cattle went lame,\n  And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling broke into flame;\n  And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts of my crew,\n  Till they shouted along with the shouting, and seized one another and\n    slew;\n  But I drew them the one from the other; I saw that we could not stay,\n  And we left the dead to the birds and we sail'd with our wounded away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Flowers, their breath met us out on the seas,\n  For the Spring and the middle Summer sat each on the lap of the breeze;\n  And the red passion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark-blue clematis\n    clung\n  And starr'd with a myriad blossom, the long convolvulus hung;\n  And the topmost spire of the mountain was lilies in lieu of snow,\n  And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out below\n  Thro' the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of gorse, and the blush\n  Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or thorn from the bush;\n  And the whole isle-side flashing down from the peak without ever a tree\n  Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea;\n  And we roll'd upon capes of crocus and vaunted our kith and kin,\n  And we wallowed in beds of lilies, and chanted the triumph of Finn,\n  Till each like a golden image was pollen'd from head to feet\n  And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the middle-day heat.\n  Blossom, and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never a fruit!\n  And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we hated the isle that was mute,\n  And we tore up the flowers by the million and flung them in bight and\n    bay.\n  And we left but a naked rock, and in anger we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Fruits: all round from the cliffs and the\n    capes,\n  Purple or amber dangled a hundred fathom of grapes,\n  And the warm melon lay, like a little sun, on the tawny sand,\n  And the fig ran up from the beach, and rioted over the land,\n  And the mountain arose, like a jewelled throne thro' the fragrant air,\n  Glowing with all-coloured plums, and with golden masses of pear,\n  And the crimson and scarlet of berries that flamed upon bine and vine,\n  But in every berry and fruit was the poisonous pleasure of wine:\n  And the peak of the mountain was apples, the hugest that ever were seen,\n  And they prest, as they grew, on each other, with hardly a leaflet\n    between.\n  And all of them redder than rosiest health, or than utterest shame,\n  And setting, when Even descended, the very sunset aflame.\n  And we stay'd three days, and we gorged and we madden'd till everyone\n    drew\n  His sword on his fellow to slay him, and ever they struck and they slew;\n  And myself I had eaten but sparsely, and fought till I sunder'd the fray,\n  Then I bade them remember my father's death, and we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of Fire: we were lured by the light from afar,\n  For the peak sent up one league of fire to the Northern Star;\n  Lured by the glare and the blare, but scarcely could stand upright,\n  For the whole isle shudder'd and shook, like a man in a mortal affright;\n  We were giddy, besides, with the fruits we had gorged, and so crazed that\n    at last,\n  There were some leap'd into the fire; and away we sail'd, and we past\n  Over that undersea isle, where the water is clearer than air:\n  Down we look'd: what a garden! Oh, bliss, what a Paradise there!\n  Towers of a happier time, low down in a rainbow deep\n  Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep!\n  And three of the gentlest and best of my people, whate'er I could say,\n  Plunged head down in the sea, and the Paradise trembled away.\n\n  And we came to the Bounteous Isle, where the heavens lean low on the\n    land,\n  And ever at dawn from the cloud glitter'd o'er us a sun-bright hand,\n  Then it opened, and dropped at the side of each man, as he rose from his\n    rest,\n  Bread enough for his need till the labourless day dipt under the West;\n  And we wandered about it, and thro' it. Oh, never was time so good!\n  And we sang of the triumphs of Finn, and the boast of our ancient blood,\n  And we gazed at the wandering wave, as we sat by the gurgle of springs,\n  And we chanted the songs of the Bards and the glories of fairy kings;\n  But at length we began to be weary, to sigh, and to stretch and yawn,\n  Till we hated the Bounteous Isle, and the sun-bright hand of the dawn,\n  For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green isle was our own,\n  And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing the stone,\n  And we took to playing at battle, but that was a perilous play,\n  For the passion of battle was in us, we slew and we sail'd away.\n\n  And we passed to the Isle of Witches, and heard their musical cry--\n  \"Come to us, Oh, come, come,\" in the stormy red of a sky\n  Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beautiful shapes,\n  For a wild witch, naked as heaven, stood on each of the loftiest capes,\n  And a hundred ranged on the rocks, like white sea-birds in a row,\n  And a hundred gambled and pranced on the wrecks in the sand below,\n  And a hundred splashed from the ledges, and bosomed the burst of the\n    spray.\n  But I knew we should fall on each other, and hastily sail'd away.\n\n  And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double Towers,\n  One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with flowers,\n  But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under the dells,\n  And they shock'd on each other and butted each other with clashing of\n    bells,\n  And the daws flew out of the Towers, and jangled and wrangled in vain,\n  And the clash and boom of the bells rang into the heart and brain,\n  Till the passion of battle was on us, and all took sides with the Towers,\n  There were some for the clean-cut stone, there were more for the carven\n    flowers,\n  And the wrathful thunder of God peal'd over us all the day,\n  For the one half slew the other, and, after, we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle of a Saint, who had sail'd with St. Brendan of\n    yore,\n  He had lived ever since on the isle, and his winters were fifteen score,\n  And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet,\n  And his white hair sank to his heels, and his white beard fell to his\n    feet,\n  And he spake to me, \"Oh, Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine!\n  Remember the words of the Lord, when He told us 'Vengeance is Mine!'\n  His fathers have slain thy fathers, in war or in single strife,\n  Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life,\n  Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last?\n  Go back to the Isle of Finn and suffer the Past to be Past.\"\n  And we kiss'd the fringe of his beard, and we pray'd as we heard him\n    pray,\n  And the Holy Man he assoil'd us, and sadly we sail'd away.\n\n  And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on the shore was\n    he,\n  The man that had slain my father. I saw him, and let him be.\n  Oh, weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife, and the sin,\n  When I landed again with a tithe of my men on the Island of Finn.\n\n\nALFRED TENNYSON.\n\n\n\n\n  LEICESTER:\n  WALTER WATTS & CO., LTD.,\n  PRINTERS.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] From \"Hero Tales of Ireland.\"\n\n[2] Stone fort or rampart or castle.\n\n[3] Put it under Fairy influence.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nThe following printing errors have been corrected:\n  \"Sentata\" corrected to \"Setanta\" (page 52)\n  \"srtength\" corrected to \"strength\" (page 74)\n  \"he\" corrected to \"she\" (page 77)\n  missing \"to\" added (page 137)\n      \"for what would become of us all if anything happened Finn\"\n  \"dragghin\" corrected to \"dhraggin\" (page 176)\n  \"Finnula\" corrected to \"Finnuala\" (page 233)\n  \"did did\" corrected to \"did\" (page 247)\n  \"bentedge\" corrected to \"bent edge\" (page 256)\n  \"I ish\" corrected to \"Irish\" (page 267)\n  ' corrected to ) (page 320)\n\nThe numerous decorative illustrations in the original text are not\nrepresented in this text document.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32202", "title": "The Irish Fairy Book", "author": "", "publication_year": 1909, "metadata_title": "The Irish Fairy Book", "metadata_author": "Alfred Perceval Graves and George Denham", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.828258", "source_chars": 474701, "chars": 474701, "talkie_tokens": 122564}}
{"text": "Produced by Ben Beasley, Jana Srna and the Online\nby Biodiversity Heritage Library.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WOODLANDS ORCHIDS\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: ZYGO-COLAX × WOODLANDSENSE.]\n\n\n\n\n  THE WOODLANDS ORCHIDS\n\n  DESCRIBED AND ILLUSTRATED\n\n  _WITH STORIES OF ORCHID-COLLECTING_\n\n\n  BY\n  FREDERICK BOYLE\n\n  Author of 'Camp Notes,' 'Legends of My Bungalow,'\n  'About Orchids, A Chat,' etc, etc, etc.\n\n\n  _COLOURED PLATES BY J. L. MACFARLANE, F.R.H.S._\n\n\n  London\n  MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED\n  NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n  1901\n\n  _All rights reserved_\n\n\n\n\nThis work is not of the class which needs a Preface. But to the Editors of\nthe _Pall Mall Gazette_, _Sunday Times_, _Black and White_, _Chambers's\nJournal_, _Wide Wide World_, and _Badminton Magazine_ I am indebted for\nlicense to republish my stories of Orchid-seeking, and it is pleasant to\nacknowledge their courtesy. If those tales amuse the general reader, I\ntrust that other portions of the work will be found not uninteresting, nor\neven unprofitable, by orchid-growers. Plain descriptions of scarce species\nand varieties are not readily accessible. A mere list of the hybrids in\nthe Woodlands collection would be found useful, pending the issue of that\ninternational catalogue which must be undertaken shortly; but beyond this\nI have noted the peculiarities of colour and form in such of the progeny\nas seemed most curious. No doubt many experts will wish that I had\ndescribed some which are passed over and omitted some described--without\nagreeing among themselves in either case perhaps. But I have done my best.\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                       PAGE\n\n  HOW THE COLLECTION WAS FORMED           1\n\n  THE CATTLEYA HOUSE                      7\n\n  A LEGEND OF ROEZL                      17\n\n  THE CATTLEYA HOUSE--_Continued_        25\n\n  A STORY OF CATTLEYA BOWRINGIANA        37\n\n  A STORY OF CATTLEYA MOSSIAE            45\n\n  CYPRIPEDIUM INSIGNE                    53\n\n  STORY OF CATTLEYA SKINNERI ALBA        59\n\n  THE PHALAENOPSIS HOUSE                 67\n\n  STORY OF VANDA SANDERIANA              71\n\n  STORY OF PHALAENOPSIS SANDERIANA       79\n\n  HYBRID CATTLEYAS AND LAELIAS           87\n\n  A LEGEND OF MADAGASCAR                 99\n\n  LAELIA PURPURATA                      107\n\n  STORY OF DENDROBIUM SCHRÖDERIANUM     113\n\n  STORY OF DENDROBIUM LOWII             121\n\n  CALANTHE HOUSE                        129\n\n  STORY OF COELOGYNE SPECIOSA           135\n\n  CATTLEYA LABIATA HOUSE                143\n\n  A STORY OF BRASSAVOLA DIGBYANA        151\n\n  LYCASTES, SOBRALIAS, AND ANGULOAS     159\n\n  STORY OF SOBRALIA KIENASTIANA         163\n\n  THE CYPRIPEDIUM HOUSE                 171\n\n  STORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM CURTISII         183\n\n  CYPRIPEDIUMS--_Continued_             191\n\n  STORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM PLATYTAENIUM     205\n\n  STORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM SPICERIANUM      213\n\n  THE COOL HOUSE                        221\n\n  STORY OF ODONTOGLOSSUM HARRYANUM      229\n\n  MASDEVALLIAS                          237\n\n  ONCIDIUMS                             239\n\n  STORY OF ONCIDIUM SPLENDIDUM          241\n\n  LAELIA JONGHEANA                      249\n\n  STORY OF BULBOPHYLLUM BARBIGERUM      253\n\n  INDEX                                 261\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  Zygo-Colax, Woodlands variety          _Frontispiece_\n\n  Laelia elegans cyanthus                _To face page_ 16\n\n    \"       \"    Macfarlanei                     \"      24\n\n  Cattleya Trianae Measuresiae                   \"      35\n\n     \"     Schroderae Miss Mary Measures         \"      52\n\n  Cypripedium insigne Sanderae                   \"      57\n\n  Laelia grandis tenebrosa, Walton Grange var.   \"      86\n\n  Cattleya labiata Measuresiana                  \"     142\n\n  Lycaste Skinneri R. H. Measures                \"     160\n\n  Cypripedium William Lloyd                      \"     182\n\n      \"       Rothwellianum                      \"     190\n\n      \"       reticulatum, var. Bungerothi       \"     204\n\n      \"       Dr. Ryan                           \"     219\n\n  Odontoglossum Rossii, Woodlands variety        \"     228\n\n       \"        × Harryano-crispum               \"     240\n\n       \"        coronarium                       \"     256\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE COLLECTION WAS FORMED\n\n\nThis question may be answered shortly; it was formed--at least the\nbeginning of it--under compulsion. After fifteen years of very hard work,\nMr. Measures broke down. The doctor prescribed a long rest, and insisted\non it; but the patient was equally determined not to risk the career just\nopening, with an assurance of success, by taking a twelve-months' holiday.\nReluctantly the doctor sought an alternative. Yachting he\nproposed--hunting--shooting; at length, in despair, horse-racing!\nZealously and conscientiously undertaken, that pursuit yields a good deal\nof employment for the mind. And one who follows it up and down the country\nmust needs spend several hours a day in the open air. Such was the\nargument; we may suspect that the good man had a sporting turn and hoped\nto get valuable tips from a grateful client.\n\nBut nothing would suit. After days of cogitation, at his wits' end, the\ndoctor conceived an idea which might have occurred to some at the outset.\n'Take a house in the suburbs,' he advised, 'with a large garden. Cultivate\nsome special variety of plant and make a study of it.' This commended\nitself. As a boy Mr. Measures loved gardening. In the Lincolnshire hamlet\nwhere he was born, the vicar took pride in his roses and things, as is the\nwont of vicars who belong to the honest old school. It was an hereditary\ntaste with the Measures' kin. Forthwith a house, with seven acres of land\nabout it, was purchased at Streatham--'The Woodlands,' destined to win\nrenown in the annals of Orchidology.\n\nBut the special variety of plant had still to be selected. It was to be\nsomething with a flower, as Mr. Measures understood; hardy, and so\ninteresting in some way, no matter what, that a busy man could find\ndistraction in studying it. Such conditions are not difficult for one\nwilling to spend hours over the microscope; but in that case, if the mind\nwere relieved, the body would suffer. At the present day orchids would\nsuggest themselves at once; but twenty or twenty-five years ago they were\nnot so familiar to the public at large. One friend proposed roses, another\ncarnations, a third chrysanthemums, and a fourth, fifth, and sixth\nproposed chrysanthemums, carnations, and roses. Though the house and the\nlarge garden had been provided, Mr. Measures did not see his way.\n\nI am tempted to quote some remarks of my own, published in October 1892.\n'I sometimes think that orchids were designed at their inception to\ncomfort the elect of human beings in this anxious age--the elect, I say,\namong whom the rich may or may not be included. Consider! To generate them\nmust needs have been the latest \"act of creation,\" as the ancient formula\ngoes--in the realm of plants and flowers at least. The world was old\nalready when orchids took place therein; for they could not have lived in\nthose ages which preceded the modern order. Doubtless this family sprang\nfrom some earlier and simpler organisation, like all else. But the Duke of\nArgyll's famous argument against the \"Origin of Man\" applies here: that\norganisation could not have been an orchid. Its anatomy forbids\nfertilisation by wind, or even, one may say, by accident. Insects are\nnecessary; in many cases insects of peculiar structure. Great was the\ndiversion of the foolish--eminent savants may be very foolish\nindeed--when Darwin pronounced that if a certain moth, which he had never\nseen nor heard of, were to die out in Madagascar, the noblest of the\nAngraecums must cease to exist. To the present day no one has seen or\nheard of that moth, but the humour of the assertion is worn out. Only\nadmiring wonder remains, for we know now that the induction is\nunassailable. Upon such chances does the life of an orchid depend. It\nfollows that insects must have been well established before those plants\ncame into being; and insects in their turn could not live until the earth\nhad long \"borne fruit after its kind.\"\n\n'But from the beginning of things until this century, until this\ngeneration, one might almost say--civilised man could not enjoy the\nboon.... We may fancy the delight of the Greeks and the rivalry of\nmillionaires at Rome had these flowers been known. \"The Ancients\" were by\nno means unskilful in horticulture--witness that astonishing report of the\ndisplay at the coronation of Ptolemy Philadelphus, given by Athenaeus. But\nof course they could not have known how to begin growing orchids, even\nthough they obtained them--I speak of epiphytes and foreign species,\nnaturally. From the date of the Creation--which we need not fix--till the\nend of the Eighteenth Century, ships were not fast enough to convey them\nalive; a fact not deplorable since they would have been killed forthwith\non landing.\n\n'... So I return to the argument. It has been seen that orchids are the\nlatest and most finished work of the Creator; that the blessing was\nwithheld from civilised man until, step by step, he gained the conditions\nnecessary to receive it. Order and commerce in the first place; mechanical\ninvention next, such as swift ships and easy communications; glass-houses,\nand a means of heating them which could be regulated with precision and\nmaintained with no excessive care; knowledge both scientific and\npractical; the enthusiasm of wealthy men; the thoughtful and patient\nlabour of skilled servants--all these were needed to secure for us the\ndelights of orchid culture. What boon granted to mankind stands in like\ncase? I think of none. Is it unreasonable then to believe, as was said,\nthat orchids were designed at their inception to comfort the elect in this\nanxious age?'[1]\n\nMr. Measures, however, was quite unconscious of his opportunities. It was\nmere chance which put him on the right track. Tempted by the prospect of\nobtaining something, forgotten now, in the way of roses or carnations or\nchrysanthemums, he attended a local sale. Presently some pots of\nCypripedium barbatum were put up, in bud and flower. They seemed curious\nand pretty--he bought them. It was a relief to find that his gardener did\nnot show any surprise or embarrassment at the sight--appeared to be\nfamiliar with the abnormal objects indeed. But it would have been\nsubversive of discipline to ask how they were called. So Mr. Measures\nworked round and round the secret, putting questions--what heat did the\nthings require, what soil, would the green-house already built suit them,\nand so forth? Finally, in talking, the gardener pronounced the\nname--Cypripedium. Planting this long word deep and firm in his memory Mr.\nMeasures hurried to the house, looked it out in the multitudinous books on\ngardening already stored there, and discovered that Cypripedium is an\norchid. Pursuing the investigation further, he learned that orchids are\nthe choicest of flowers, that several thousand species of them, all\nbeautiful and different, may be cultivated, that some are easy and some\ndifficult. It dawned upon him then that this might well be the special\nvariety of plant which would answer his purpose.\n\nBut he was not the man to choose a hobby without grave deliberation and\nexperiment. The very next essay, only three days afterwards, suggested a\ndoubt. He saw a plant of Dendrobium thyrsiflorum in flower, and carried it\nhome in a whirl of astonishment and delight; but next morning every bloom\nhad faded, and the gardener assured him that no more could be expected for\ntwelve months. This was a damper. Evidently a prudent person should think\ntwice before accumulating plants which flower but once a year, and then\nlast only four days. But just at that time, by good fortune, he made\nacquaintance with Mr. Godseff who, in short, explained things--not too\nhastily, but in a long course of instruction. And so, making sure of every\nstep as he advanced, Mr. Measures gradually formed the Woodlands\ncollection.\n\n\nPerhaps it would be logical to describe the arrangement of our treasures.\nBut an account which might be useful would demand much space, and it could\ninterest very few readers. It may suffice, therefore, to note that there\nare thirty-one 'houses,' distributed in nine groups, or detached\nbuildings. All through, the health and happiness of the plants are\nconsulted in the first place, the convenience of visitors in the second,\nand show not at all; which is to say that the roofs are low, and the paths\nallow two persons to walk abreast in comfort but no more.\n\nThe charge of these thirty-one houses is committed to Mr. J. Coles, with\nthirteen subordinates regularly employed. Mr. Coles was bred if not born\namong orchids, when his father had charge of the late Mr. Smee's admirable\ngarden, at Wallington. After rising to the post of Foreman there, he\nentered the service of Captain Terry, Peterborough House, Fulham, as\nForeman of the orchid houses; but two years afterwards this fine\ncollection was dispersed, at Captain Terry's death. Then Mr. Coles went\nto enlarge his experience in Messrs. Sander's vast establishment at St.\nAlbans. In due time the office of Orchid and Principal Foreman in the Duke\nof Marlborough's houses was offered to him, and at Blenheim he remained\neight years. Thence he proceeded to the Woodlands.\n\n\n[Illustration: MR. J. COLES.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATTLEYA HOUSE\n\n\nOur Cattleya House is 187 feet long, 24 feet wide; glass screens divide it\ninto seven compartments. The roof, of a single span, is 11 feet high in\nthe centre, 4 feet at the sides.\n\nThe compartment we enter first is devoted to Laelia elegans mostly. On the\nbig block of tufa in front, blooms of Cattleya and Laelia are displayed\nnearly all the year in small tubes among the ferns and moss; for we do not\nexhaust our plants by leaving the flowers on them when fully open. Scarlet\nAnthuriums crown the block, and among these, on the bare stone, is a\nLaelia purpurata, growing strongly, worth observation. For this plant was\ndeadly sick last year, beyond hope of recovery; as an experiment Mr. Coles\nset it on the tufa, wired down, and forthwith it began to pick up\nstrength. But in fact the species loves to fix itself on limestone when at\nhome in Santa Catarina, as does L. elegans.\n\nIt may be desirable to point out that the difference between Cattleyas and\nLaelias as genera is purely 'botanical'--serious enough in that point of\nview, but imperceptible to the eye.\n\nA special glory of Woodlands is the collection of L. elegans. In this\nhouse, where only the large plants are stored, we count five hundred;\nseven hundred more are scattered up and down. Nowhere in the world can be\nseen so many examples of this exquisite variety--certainly not in its\nbirthplace, for there it is very nearly exterminated. In such a multitude,\nrare developments of form and colour must needs abound, for no orchid is\nso variable. In fact, elegans is merely a title of convenience, with no\nscientific value. It dwells--soon we must say it dwelt--in the closest\nassociation with Laelia purpurata, Cattleya intermedia, and Cattleya\nguttata Leopoldii; by the intermingling of these three it was assuredly\ncreated. Mr. Rolfe has satisfied himself that the strain of Laelia\npurpurata is always present. By alliance with Catt. Leopoldii the dark\nforms were produced; by alliance with Catt. intermedia the white. Since\nthat misty era, of course, cross-fertilisation has continued without\nceasing, and the combinations are endless.\n\nEvidently this suggestion is reasonable, but if an unscientific person may\nventure to say so, it does not appear to be sufficient. Among six flowers\nof L. elegans five will have sepals and petals more or less rosy, perhaps\nonly a shade, perhaps a tint so deep that it approaches crimson, like\nBlenheimensis or Turneri. Could one of the three parents named supply this\ncolour? Two of them, indeed, are often rosy; in some rare instances the\nhue of L. purpurata may be classed as deep rose. But these are such\nnotable exceptions that they would rather suggest a fourth parent, a red\nCattleya or Laelia, which has affected not elegans alone but purpurata and\nintermedia also. Nothing of the sort exists now, I believe, in the island\nof Santa Catarina. But we are contemplating aeons of time, and changes\ninnumerable may have occurred. The mainland is but a few miles away; once\nSanta Catarina was attached to it. And there, a short distance to the\nnorth, lives Laelia pumila, which might supply the rosy tinge.\n\nSeveral artificial hybrids of Catt. guttata Leopoldii have been raised. By\nalliance with Catt. Dowiana it produces Catt. Chamberlainiana; with Catt.\nsuperba, Feuillata; with Catt. Hardyana, Fowlerii; with Catt. Loddigesii,\nGandii; with Catt. Mendelii, Harrisii; with Laelio-Cattleya Marion, C. H.\nHarrington; with Catt. quadricolor, Mitchelii; with Catt. Warcewiczii,\nAtalanta. Catt. Victoria Regina also is assumed to be a natural hybrid of\nLeopoldii with Catt. labiata. There may be other crosses probably, since\nno official record of Hybridisation exists as yet. Curiously enough,\nhowever, no one seems to have mated Cattleya Leopoldii with Lælia\npurpurata so far as I can learn. Thus it is not yet proved that L. elegans\nsprang from that alliance.\n\nBut the hybridisers have an opening here not less profitable than\ninteresting. For the natural supply is exhausted--if any stickler for\naccuracy object that some still arrive every year, they may overhaul their\nBoswell and make a note. Sir, said his hero, if I declare that there is no\nfruit in an orchard, I am not to be charged with speaking falsely because\na man, examining every tree, finds two apples and three pears--I have not\nthe book at hand to quote the very words. When L. elegans was discovered,\nin 1847, it must have been plentiful in its native home beyond all other\nspecies on record. The first collectors so described it. But that home was\na very small island, where it clung to the rocks. Every plant within reach\nhas long since been cleared away; those remaining dwell in perilous places\non the cliffs. To gather them a man must be let down from above, or he\nmust risk his life in climbing from below. But under these conditions the\nprocess of extermination still proceeds, and in a time to be counted by\nmonths it will be complete.\n\nIn describing a few of the most precious varieties at Woodlands, I may\ngroup them in a manner to display by contrast the striking diversities\nwhich an orchid may assume while retaining the essential points that\ndistinguish it from others. One form, however, I must mention here, for it\nis too common to be classed among peculiarities, yet to my mind its\ncolouring is the softest and most dainty of all. Petal and sepal are\n'stone-colour,' warmed, one cannot say even tinged, with crimson. Nature\nhas no hue more delicate or sweeter.\n\n_Adonis._--Bright rosy petals--sepals paler--lip and edges of lobes\ncarmine.\n\n_F. Sander._--The latest pseudo-bulb measures 2 feet 3 inches--topping the\nbest growth of its native forest by six inches; from base to top of the\nspike, 4 feet less 1 inch, and as thick as a walking-cane. This grand\nplant has been in cultivation for three years. The sepals and petals are\nthose of L. e. Turneri; the lip resembles a fine L. purpurata.\n\nThe plant next to this, unnamed, has pseudo-bulbs almost as long, but\nscarcely thicker than straws.\n\n_Empress._--A very dark form of Turneri.\n\n_Medusa._--Tall, slender pseudo-bulbs--very dark.\n\n_Neptune_, on the contrary, has pseudo-bulbs short and fat, whilst the\ncolouring is pale.\n\n_H. E. Moojen._--Doubtless a natural hybrid with L. purpurata, which takes\nequally after both parents.\n\n_Godseffiana._--Nearly white; the broad lip carmine--lobes of the same\nhue, widely expanded.\n\n_Mrs. F. Sander._--A round flower, very dark rose; sepals and petals\ndotted all over, as in Cattleya Leopoldii.\n\n_Red King._--Yellowish throat. Lip good colour and round, but narrow,\nwithout the prolongation of some or the lateral extension of others.\nCuriously like the shape of L. Perrinii.\n\n_Stella._--Dusky rose and similarly spotted, but different in\nshape--sepals and petals much thinner.\n\n_Boadicea._--Sepals and petals deep rose. Long shovel lip crimson-lake.\n\n_H. G. Gifkins._--The sepals are palest green, with a rosy tinge; petals\npale mauve. The lip, maroon-crimson, spreads out broadly from a neck\nalmost half an inch long, and its deep colour stretches right up the\nthroat.\n\n_Mrs. R. H. Measures._--Pure white, even the lip, except a touch of\npurple-crimson in the centre and slender crimson veins.\n\n_L.-C. Harold Measures._--A fine hybrid of L.e. Blenheimensis and Catt.\nsuperba splendens, which takes mostly after the former in colouring, the\nlatter in shape. It is a round flower, with a crimson lip immensely broad;\ntwo small yellow spots are half concealed beneath the tube. Sepals\ngreenish tawny, petals dull pink with crimson lines.\n\n_Sade Lloyd._--A very pretty form. Sepals and petals rosy, tinted with\nfawn colour. The crimson lip is edged with a delicate white line, as are\nthe lobes, which fold completely over the tube.\n\n_Doctor Ryan_ is distinguished by a very long protruding lip.\n\n_Ophelia._--As big and as round as Catt. Mossiae. Tube very thick and\nwide.\n\n_Macfarlanei._--We have two so named. In this grand example the\npseudo-bulbs are more than 2 feet high, proportionately thick. Eight or\nnine flowers on the spike. Sepals and petals glaucous green. Long lip of\nbrightest crimson.\n\n_Leucotata._--Sepals and petals white with rosy tips--lip white, saving\nrosy lines and a rosy stain.\n\n_Nyleptha._--Sepals and petals fawn colour, edged with rose. Very wide lip\nof deepest crimson.\n\n_Haematochila._--Sepals stone-colour flushed with pink, petals dusky pink.\nLip carmine-purple, rather narrow, shaped like a highly ornamental spade.\n\n_Paraleuka._--All snowy white save the carmine lip, the form of which is\ncuriously neat and trim.\n\n_Tenebrosa._--In this specially dark variety the tube is long, closely\nfolded, rose-white, with lines of crimson proceeding from the back. As\nthey meet at the lower edge they form a border as deep in hue as the lip.\nBut our darkest elegans, eighteen years in the collection, has not bloomed\nfor six seasons past.\n\n_Schilleriana splendens._--Sepals and petals white, with a faintest rosy\ntinge and a yellow stain on the midrib. Lip long, straight, forked at the\ntip, liveliest crimson-purple.\n\n_Stelzneriana._--Rosy-white. The crimson of the lip does not spread all\nover but lies in a triangular blotch.\n\n_Measuresiana._--Sepals greenish-yellow, the leaf-like petals similar,\npink towards the edges, lined with rose. Both spotted at the tip with\ncrimson. The lip is that of Catt. bicolor, short comparatively, straight,\nand darkest crimson.\n\n_Ladymead._--The white sepals and petals have a palest tinge of rose. On\nthe lip are two broad yellow eyes after the fashion of Catt. gigas.\n\n_Venus._--Almost white. Petals veined, sepals dotted, with crimson--the\nunderside of both heavily stained. Lip almost fawn-colour at the edges,\nwith veins widening and deepening into crimson at the throat.\n\n_Luculenta._--A very pretty hybrid of Messrs. Sander's raising, palest\nmauve. Lip rather narrow but grand in colour. Shovel-shaped.\n\n_Frederico._--A very odd variety--small. The stone-coloured sepals are\noutlined with rose, the petals with purplish pink. Both are speckled with\nbrown. Lip brightest maroon-crimson, prettily scalloped.\n\n_Platychila._--Pale purple. Remarkable for its immense crimson lip.\n\n_Luciana._--Green petals, curling strongly towards the tip; petals\nwidening from the stalk like a leaf, pink with a green midrib. The lobes\nwhite, narrow, square, and deepest crimson, the lip that of Catt. bicolor.\n\n_Monica._--Snow-white. Petals broad, sepals strongly depressed. In the\nmiddle of the spreading crimson lip is a patch almost white.\n\n_Tautziana._--Sepals mauve, petals violet, somewhat darker, lip almost\nmaroon. It is singular in shape also, forked like a bird's tail.\n\n_Blenheimensis._--Sepals and petals rose with a violet tinge; very broad\nlabellum with a distinct neck, emerging from a short tawny tube--carmine\nin the throat, purplish at the edges.\n\n_Macroloba._--The lobes here are white and enormous. Enormous also is the\nlip, and singularly beautiful, deepest crimson at the throat, with a broad\npurple margin netted over with crimson lines.\n\n_Juno._--This also has a very large white tube. Sepals and petals rosy,\nrather slender, fine crimson lip.\n\n_Matuta._--Large, broad and shapely. Sepals greenish, with a pink tinge,\npetals rosy-tawny. Tube very short, lip brightest crimson, standing out\nclear as a flag.\n\n_Minerva._--One of the most spreading, but thin. Colour rose, the petals\ndarker. Narrow sepals. Tube white. Lip carmine.\n\n_Princess Stephanie._--Sepals bright green, petals slightly green, edged\nwith pale purple, and crimson lines. Bright lip after the model of Catt.\nbicolor.\n\n_Amphion._--A dark variety. The long lip has two eyes like Catt. gigas.\n\n_Beatrice._--A hybrid of L.e. Schilleriana and L. purpurata, remarkable\nfor its lip, long and shovel-shaped, nearly the same breadth throughout.\n\n_Morreniana._--Sepals dullish red purple--the lower strongly bowed, as are\nthe wide petals of similar hue. The lip spreads on either side of the\nwhite tube like the wings of a purple-crimson butterfly.\n\n_Mrs. Mahler._--A hybrid--Catt. Leop. × Catt. bicolor. Very small but\nvery pretty. Sepals palest green, petals almost white, tinged with pink at\nthe edges. The shovel-shaped lip pinkish crimson.\n\n_Euracheilas._--Sepals dusky stone-colour, edged with pink, petals all\ndusky pink. Very large but narrow. The maroon-crimson lip extends at right\nangles from the tube, without any neck.\n\n_Schilleriana._--The variety most clearly allied to L. purpurata. White or\npalest rose of sepal and petal, the latter marked with purplish lines at\nthe base. Lip a grand purple-crimson, fading sharply towards the edges.\n\n_Weathersiana._--Sepals palest tawny suffused with rose, petals mauve. The\nbroad lip of fine colour is so strongly indented that it resembles the\nbipennis of the Amazons.\n\n_Euspatha._--Reichenbach suggested that this is a hybrid of L. Boothiana\nor L. purpurata with some Cattleya--probably intermedia. It is white, with\nbroad, sepals and petals. The tube is open nearly all its length, and the\nwide lip of crimson, fading to purplish edges, shows scarcely an\nindentation.\n\n_Hallii._--Crimson-purple sepals--petals darker; the lip approaches\nmaroon.\n\n_Oweniae._--In this case the sepals and petals--which are\nleaf-shaped--stand out boldly, straight on end--rosy with mauve shading,\nmore pronounced in the latter; lip round, of a charming carmine.\n\n_Incantans._--A very large and stately bloom. Sepals of the tender warm\nstone so often mentioned, petals broad and waved, of the same colour down\nthe middle, flushing to rosy purple on each side. A fine crimson-velvet\nlip.\n\n_Melanochites_ is a very symmetrical flower, though not 'compact,' as the\nphrase goes. All lively rose-lake, the petals a darker tone. The grand\nbroad lip of purple crimson has a pretty yellow blotch on either side\nbeneath the tube. It is sharply forked.\n\n_Pyramus._--Sepals of the flushed stone-colour which I, at least, admire\nso much; but the flush is more conspicuous than usual. Petals clear rose.\nLip vivid crimson, with the same yellow blotches under the white tube.\n\n_Bella._--The purplish crimson sepals and petals are tipped with buff. Lip\nshovel-shaped, dark crimson.\n\n_Sappho._--Here the pale purple sepals only are tipped with buff, while\nthe petals, which curl over, are rose. The carmine of the lip is very\npretty.\n\n_Macfarlanei II._--Sepals of the same colour, but greenish, strongly\nmarked with the distinctive spots of Catt. Leopoldii, edged with rose;\npetals rose, lined with crimson on either side of the white midrib. The\nlong tube opening shows a strongly yellow throat. The labellum is short,\nbut superb in colour.\n\n_Myersiana._--A large form. Sepals dusky, tinged with crimson at the\nedges. Petals softly crimson. Very long tube. The crimson lip has a pale\nmargin, and a pale blotch in the front.\n\n_Cleopatra._--One of the very best. Like that above in petal and sepal,\nbut paler. The broad tube, however, is snow-white, saving a touch of\nmagenta-crimson, bright as a ruby, at the tip of the lobes. And the lip,\nfinely frilled, is all magenta-crimson, with not a mark upon it from\nthroat to edge.\n\n_Wolstenholmae._--White, the sepals tinted with purple. Petals broad, with\na purple outline. Lip narrow and long, of a colour unique, which may be\ndescribed as crimson-purple. In the throat are two curious white bars;\nbetween them run arching purple lines close set, which, on the outer side\nof the bars, extend to the edge of the lip. A very remarkable flower.\n\n_Eximia._--Also very remarkable--not to say uncanny. The narrow sepals and\npetals, almost white, have a mottling of rosy mauve along the edges,\nwhich looks unwholesome, as if caused by disease. But the long\npaddle-shaped lip, crimson, changing to purple as it expands, is very\nfine. It has two pale yellow 'eyes' elongated in an extraordinary manner.\n\n_Lord Roberts._--Very handsome and peculiar. The colour of the sepals,\nstrongly folded back, is warm grey, tinged and faintly lined with crimson;\nthis tinge is much more pronounced in the petals. The large tubular lip,\nfinely opened, is uniform crimson-magenta, not so dark as usual.\n\n\n[Illustration: LÆLIO-CATTLEYA × ELEGANS VAR. CYANTHUS.]\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF ROEZL\n\n\nSo soon as I began to take interest in orchids I was struck with the\nnumber of odd facts and incidents in that field of botany. One gains but a\nglimpse of them, as a rule, in some record of travel or some scientific\ntreatise; and at an early date it occurred to me that if the stories to\nwhich these fragments belong could be recovered, they would prove to be\nnot only curious and interesting but amusing--sometimes terrible. I began\nto collect, therefore, and in the pages following I offer some of the\nresults.\n\nIt is right to begin with a legend of Roezl, if only because his name will\noften recur; but also he was incomparably the greatest of those able and\nenergetic men who have roamed the savage world in search of new plants for\nour study and enjoyment. Almost any other mortal who had gone through\nadventures and experiences such as his in our time would have made a book\nand a sensation; but the great collector never published anything, I\nbelieve, beyond a statement of scientific facts from time to time. This is\nnot the place to deal with his career; I am only telling stories. But it\nis not to be dismissed without a word.\n\nRoezl will be gratefully remembered so long as science and horticulture\nsurvive the triumph of democracy. I have heard it alleged that he\ndiscovered eight hundred new species of plant or tree. It is credible. In\nthe memoir published by the _Gardeners' Chronicle_, which was brief of\nnecessity, fourscore were enumerated, with the addition, here, of 'many\nothers,' there, of 'etc.' Roezl was no specialist. A wise regard for his\nown interest confined him almost to orchids in the later years. But in his\ncatalogue of achievements I find new lilies, new conifers, fuchsias,\nagaves, cacti, begonias, saxifrage, dahlias, convolvuli, tropaeolums,\ntacsonias--a multitude, in fact, beyond reckoning. In one expedition he\nsent eight tons of orchids to Europe; in another ten tons of cacti,\nagaves, dion, and orchids! The record of his travels is startling; and it\nmust be observed that Roezl's first aim always was to escape from the\nbeaten track. His journeyings were explorations. Many an Indian tribe\nnever saw a white man before, and some, perhaps, have never seen one\nsince. Mexico was his first hunting-ground, and thither he returned more\nthan once; Cuba the second. Thence he was drawn to the Rocky Mountains,\nCalifornia, and Sierra Nevada. Then in succession he visited Panama, New\nGranada, Sierra Nevada again, California again, Washington Territory,\nPanama again, Bonaventura, the Cauca valley, Antioquia, Northern Peru,\ncrossed the Andes, returned to Bonaventura, and thence to Europe. Starting\nagain he searched Colorado Territory, New Mexico, California, the Sierra\nMadre; worked his way to Caracas, thence through Venezuela, crossed to\nCuba, to Vera Cruz, explored the state of Oajaca in Mexico, sailed to\nLima, crossed the Andes again to Tarma and Changamaga, back into Southern\nPeru, wandered as far as the Lake of Titicaca, searched Bolivia, traversed\nthe Snowy Mountains to Yungas, back to Lima and Arica, crossed the Andes a\nthird time, visited Ecuador, and made his way back to the valley of the\nCauca. How many thousand miles of journeying this chronicle represents is\na problem for laborious youth. And the botanist uses roads, railways, and\nhorses only to get him from one scene of operations to another. He works\nafoot.\n\nIt is good to know that Roezl had his reward. Eighteen years ago he died,\nfull of years and honours, in his native Bohemia. And the Kaiser himself\nwas represented by a high dignitary at the unveiling of his statue in\nPrague.\n\nThe experiences I am about to tell were made in the course of that long\nmarch through the woods from La Guayra in Venezuela to Ocaña in New\nGranada. Among the special trophies of it was Cattleya Roezlii, a variety\nof Cattleya speciosissima; but I am not aware that the secluded tribe\nwhose habits interested Roezl so much had any immediate connection with\nthis plant. Perhaps before going further it may be well to note that any\nassertion of the great Collector might be admitted not only as an honest\nreport, but also as a fact which he had verified, so far as was possible.\nDr. Johnson was not more careful to speak the whole truth and nothing but\nthe truth.\n\nIt was somewhere round the sources of the Amazons that Roezl sojourned for\na while in a village of those strange people whom the Spaniards call\nPintados--'painted' Indians. Their colour, in fact, is piebald--light\nbrown, dark brown, and a livid tint commonly described as red, in\nblotches. They are seen occasionally in Guiana, more rarely in Venezuela\nand Brazil. The colouring is ascribed to disease, rather because it is so\nhideous and abnormal, perhaps, than for a solid reason. Roezl thought it\n'natural.'\n\nHe was making his way through those endless forests by compass, with two\nmestizos from Columbia who had served him on a former journey, and a negro\nboy. For guides and carriers he depended on the Indians, who passed him\nfrom settlement to settlement. It is fitting to observe here that Roezl\nnever carried firearms of any sort at any time--so he used to say. Of\ngreat stature and prodigious muscle, utterly fearless, never unprepared,\nhappen what might, he passed forty years in such wandering as I have\noutlined, and never had occasion to strike a blow. Several times he found\nhimself between contending factions, the armed mobs of Spanish America,\nand lost everything; many times was he robbed, but never, I believe,\nassaulted. Nerve and humour protected him. As for the wild Indians, I\nfancy that they were overawed by his imposing appearance; and especially\nby an iron hook which occupied the place of his left hand, smashed by an\naccident.\n\nThis system of travelling at leisure from settlement to settlement enabled\nhim to pick up a few necessary words of each language, and to give warning\nof his approach to the next tribe. The Pintados welcomed him in a quiet\nfashion--that is, the chiefs did not object when he repaired an empty hut\nand took possession. It was at the end of a long 'street,' parallel to the\nriver. The rude dwellings were not scattered. Each stood opposite to its\nfellow across the way, and Roezl noticed a large flat stone in the middle\nbetween every pair. Towards nightfall the Indians trooped back from their\nfields; but all the women and grown girls entered at one end of the\nvillage, the men at the other. This was curious. As they marched up, the\nformer dispersed in huts to the right hand, the latter to the left, each\nsex keeping to its own side of the stones. After depositing their tools\nthe men came out and gathered silently around the strangers'\nquarters--only very young children ran to and fro. After a time the women\nreappeared with steaming calabashes, which they bore half across the road,\nand set, each of them, on the stone before her dwelling. Then they\nreturned. Forthwith the males strolled back, carried the supper to their\nrespective huts, and in due time replaced the empty calabash upon the\nstone, whence the women removed it.\n\nIt will be understood that these strange ceremonies interested Roezl.\nEvidently the husbands lived on one side of the street, the wives and\nyoung children on the other. The moon was full and he watched for hours.\nAfter supper the males returned to squat and smoke around his hut,\nscarcely speaking; but one after another they withdrew presently, each to\nhis own abode. So long as the moonlight enabled Roezl to observe, not one\ncrossed the way. And afterwards he discovered that this is an eternal\nrule--a husband never enters his wife's dwelling. The separation of the\nsexes is complete.\n\nLong before satisfying himself on this point Roezl saw enough to convince\nhim that the usages of this secluded people must be well worth study. He\nremained among them as long as he could, and even made memoranda--the\nfirst and only time, I believe, that he kept records other than botanical\nor scientific. It may be hoped that they survive and will come to light,\nsince his papers are now stored in the museum at Prague. I am dependent on\nthe memory of those whom he amused with curt stories of adventure over\npipe and glass on his visits to England. They are many, and they preserve\nthe liveliest remembrance of one to whom Johnson's remarks on the greatest\nof modern orators are peculiarly applicable. 'If a man were to go by\nchance at the same time with Burke under a shed to escape a shower, he\nwould say, \"This is an extraordinary man.\"' Unfortunately, it is the most\nstriking observations alone which they recall, with but a vague impression\nof others.\n\nEvery hearer asked, of course, how the race could avoid extinction under\nsuch circumstances? But it appears that the separation is only public--an\nexaggerated prudery, one might describe it, though we may be sure that the\nsentiment lies infinitely deeper. The sexes work apart, as has been said;\nafter the men have cleared a piece of ground they leave it to the women,\nand clear another for themselves. But when a youth has a mind to marry, in\nthe first place he builds a hut in the forest. Then he awaits the train of\nwomen returning, steps gently among them, and takes the maiden of his\nfancy by the hand. She throws him off at once if disinclined, and there is\nan end of it; otherwise she suffers him to lead her a step before freeing\nherself. Day after day in that case the invitation is repeated, and the\nmaiden takes two steps, then three, until at length she quits the\nprocession entirely and surrenders. There is no ceremony of marriage, but,\nso far as Roezl could gather, the bond is absolutely sacred; in fact, if\nwe think of it, those conditions of life forbid intrigue. It should be\nadded that the other women and girls studiously ignore these proceedings,\nand that till the last moment a damsel may change her mind, repulsing the\nlover favoured hitherto.\n\nA bride remains in the woodland hut for several weeks, not a soul visiting\nher except the husband. Meantime he builds a 'town house' for himself, and\nthe mother or female relatives build one opposite for his wife. In fixing\nthe stone between them there is a ceremony, as Roezl gathered, but the\nnature of it he was unable to understand. Though the pair never meet again\nin public as long as they live, they spend as much time as they please\ntogether in the forest. And really, after due consideration, I cannot but\nthink that the system shows remarkable sagacity. Truth compels me to add,\nhowever, that Roezl suspected infanticide. We may hope he was mistaken.\nWhy should a people living as do these restrict the number of their\nchildren? The battle for existence is not desperate with them apparently,\nsince they till the soil, and their territory, in effect, is boundless. No\nIndian race of South America feels the pride of caste; if these do, they\nare a notable exception in that as in other respects. Girls receive no\ndower; the expense of marriage, as has been seen, is _nil_. Why should\nthey limit the family? We know that obvious reason does not always guide\nthe savage in his habits. But when a painful fact is not assured we may\nallow ourselves the comfort of doubting it.\n\nThis is all I have been able to collect about a most extraordinary people.\nMy informants do not recollect, if they heard, whether the separation of\nthe sexes was peculiar to this clan or general among the Pintado Indians.\nIn fact, I have nothing more to say about them.\n\nIt was here, however, that Roezl met with an adventure which he often\ntold. His hut, as has been mentioned, was the last of the row--a ruin\npatched up to keep the baggage dry. He always carried a folding tressle\nand a light board to fix upon it, which made a sort of desk, with a\ncamp-stool to match. One evening he set himself as usual to write labels\nand memoranda for his herbarium. The description of a curious plant\nsecured that day proved difficult, and darkness had long set in. So\nabsorbed was the enthusiast in dissecting its anatomy that he gave no\nattention to a loud purr, though conscious of the sound for some moments.\nAt length he raised his eyes. By the open doorway stood a creature whose\ndusky fur glistened like silk in the lamplight, and great yellow eyes\nstared into his. It was a black jaguar, rarest and most savage of all\nfelines.\n\nSo they remained, staring. Roezl felt his hour had come. He could not have\nmoved a limb; his hair rose and the sweat poured down. The jaguar also\nkept still, purring louder and louder. Its velvet lips were slightly\nraised, showing a gleam of the huge fangs. Presently it drew nearer, still\npurring--came up to the tressle--arched his back like a cat, and pressed\nagainst it. Crash fell desk, lamp, specimen box, camp-stool and\nenthusiast--a clattering overthrow! The servants rushed in. No jaguar was\nthere.\n\nRoezl used to attribute his escape to the practice of never carrying arms.\nWhen the brute was approaching, he must have fired had a weapon been\nhandy--no man could resist the impulse. And then, whatever the issue of\nthe shot, he would certainly have died.\n\n\n[Illustration: LÆLIO-CATTLEYA, × ELEGANS VAR. MACFARLANEI.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATTLEYA HOUSE\n\n\nWith L. elegans are lodged fine examples of Cattleyas gigas and aurea,\nwith some of their varieties; generated, as we may assume, by natural\nhybridisation. These rank among the supreme treasures of the orchidist,\nunequalled for size and rarity--perhaps for beauty. To those who have not\nseen the offspring it might seem impossible that the stately loveliness of\nthe parents could be excelled. But by a very simple process Nature\nachieves the feat--she combines their charms.\n\nOf Cattleya gigas we have some two hundred specimens. It is the largest of\nthe genus, saving its own hybrids, a native of New Granada, discovered by\nWarcewicz in 1848. He sent no plants home, and though a few were\ndespatched afterwards, Roezl practically introduced the species in 1870.\nConscious of supreme merit, it is far from eager to bloom; but at\nWoodlands we do not personally feel this drawback.\n\nOf course there are many varieties of Cattleya gigas, for it is truly said\nthat two blooms of orchid exactly alike cannot be found. But I shall\nmention only two.\n\n_Imschootiana_ is huge even above its fellows, for a flower may be nine\ninches across; the colour of sepal and petal mauve, with a crimson-purple\nlip of splendour beyond conception. The golden throat under a\ncrimson-purple tube is lined with bright crimson; the characteristic\n'eyes' gamboge, fading to white.\n\n_Sanderae._--Some may well think this the loveliest of all its lovely kin.\nProbably it is a foreign strain, though remote, which gives such supreme\nsoftness to the magenta of the lip. On that ground the golden 'eyes' shine\nforth with an abruptness positively startling. The broad sepals and petals\nare sweetest rosy-mauve. Even the tube is deep crimson.\n\nHere also is Cattleya bicolor Measuresiana, an exquisite example of a\nspecies always charming to my taste. In this instance the sepals and\npetals are purest and smoothest olive green; the very long shovel-shaped\nlabellum magenta-crimson, outlined and tipped with white.\n\nOf Cattleya aurea again the varieties are many. It was brought from\nAntioquia, New Granada, by Wallis, in 1868. If crimson and yellow,\ntastefully disposed, make the most gorgeous combination possible, as all\nhuman beings agree, this and its sister Dowiana are the most gorgeous of\nflowers. The ordinary form of Cattleya aurea is nankin yellow, but in the\nvariety _R. H. Measures_, sepal and petal are gamboge. The glorious lip,\nopening wide from the very base, has long brownish blurs descending from\nthe throat, on a golden ground which fades to yellow towards the edge.\nThere are two clear crimson patches in the front, and the margin is clear\ncrimson, whilst the whole expanse is covered with fine stripes of crimson\nand gold alternately.\n\nWe come to the hybrids of these two which, dwelling side by side, have\nbeen intermarrying for ages; and their offspring again have intermarried,\nforming endless combinations. Cattleya Sanderiana was first discovered\nunder circumstances rather odd. One of Messrs. Sander's collectors, Mr.\nMau, was hunting for Odontoglossum crispum by Bogota. He came upon a\nnumber of Cattleyas--none of them in bloom--and gathered any that came in\nhis way, taking no trouble, nor even mentioning the incident in his\nletters. In due course he brought them to St. Albans along with his\nOdontoglossums. Mr. Mau said nothing even while the cases were being\nunpacked. Apparently he had forgotten them.\n\n'What are these Cattleyas?' asked Mr. Sander, in surprise.\n\n'Oh, I don't know! I found them in the woods.'\n\nOld spikes still remained upon the plants, and bunches of withered rags at\nthe end. Mr. Sander perceived, first, that the flower must be gigantic\nbeyond belief; next, that it was red.\n\n'Go back by next mail!' he cried. 'Search the woods--gather every one!'\nAnd Mr. Mau did actually return by next mail.\n\nThis was Cattleya Sanderiana--sometimes as much as eleven inches across;\nin colour, a tender rosy-mauve. The vast lip is almost square, with a\nthroat of gold, lined and netted over with bright crimson. It has the\ncharming 'eyes' of gigas in perfection, and the enormous disc, superbly\nfrilled, is of the liveliest magenta crimson.\n\n_Chrysotoxa_, another of these wondrous hybrids, 'favours' its aurea\nparent; with buff-yellow petals and sepals, the lower of which hang in a\ngraceful bunch surrounding the huge lip of dark orange ground, with an\nedging of maroon-crimson, narrow above, widening to a stately breadth\nbelow; the whole closely covered with branching lines of crimson.\n\n_Mrs. Fred Hardy_ is a third--divinely beautiful. White of sepal and\npetal, with the vast magenta-crimson lip of Hardyana. The glorious effect\nmay be in part imagined.\n\nWe have yet a fourth of this amazing group--Trismegistris--most nearly\nallied to Sanderiana. I have not seen this variety in bloom; it was\nintroduced only three years ago. But the name signifies that it is the\nquintessence of all. Individual taste may not always allow that claim,\nbut no one disputes that it is at least equal to the finest.\n\nBut the thoughtful cannot contemplate these wondrous things with\nsatisfaction unalloyed. Unless some wealthy and intelligent persons in\nSouth America undertake to cultivate them in a regular way, it is too\nprobable that in a generation or two they will be utterly lost; for we\ncannot hope that the specimens in Europe will endure so long, however\nvigorous they may be at present. Here is the letter which accompanied the\nlast consignment--sad reading, as I think:--\n\n     MEDELLIN, _January 27, 1896_.\n\n     Messrs. F. SANDER and Co.,\n\n     St. Albans.\n\n     GENTLEMEN--I arrived here yesterday from Alba Gumara and received\n     your much honoured letter of November 11, 1895. I shall despatch\n     to-morrow thirty boxes, twelve of which contain the finest of all the\n     aureas, the Monte Coromee form, and eighteen cases contain the grand\n     Sanderiana type, all collected from the spot where these grow mixed,\n     and I shall clear them all out. They are now nearly extinguished in\n     this spot, and this will surely be the last season. I have finished\n     all along the Rio Dagua, where there are no plants left; the last\n     days I remained in that spot the people brought in two or three\n     plants a day and some came back without a single plant. I left my boy\n     with the Señor Altados to explore while I despatched the boxes and\n     get funds, when I shall return for the var. papilio which Altados\n     promised to secure for me, and go on up to the spot called the Parama\n     San Sausa. In the boxes containing the aureas you will find about 300\n     seedlings which have not flowered; these are from a grove of trees\n     where no plants have previously been gathered from, and where the\n     finest Sanderianas and aureas grow intermingled in one family. These\n     Cattleyas only flower once in a year--that is, from March to the end\n     of July, and both kinds together. Some of the flowers measure upwards\n     of 10 inches--and on a spike you can have nine flowers. I cannot wait\n     in that fearful region longer than the flowering time; the awfully\n     wild aspect of everything and scarcity of wholesome food and help\n     for the work is simply maddening. If I shall find the other orchids\n     you want I do not know. My boy is gone with Altados for the Oncidium.\n     You may believe me that many more of these fine Cattleyas do not\n     exist, and I can, after all, perhaps not find so good as may be in\n     those you will now receive.\n\n     In the last years I have seen these plants in bloom, when I was so\n     ill with fever, and in no other place can you get such a fine type.\n\n     The plants that I planted when I was taken ill no one found; no one\n     has been here, and the plants had grown well and some of them very\n     much rooted.\n\n     Trusting that all will arrive in good order, I remain, gentlemen,\n     your very obedient servant,\n\n     CARL JOHANNSEN.\n\n\nCATTLEYA MENDELII\n\nThe next division is styled the Mendelii house; more than three hundred\nlarge examples of this species--to be accurate and pedantic, it should be\ncalled a variety--occupy the centre, a hundred and eighty the stand to\nright.\n\nCattleya Mendelii lives in the neighbourhood of Ocaña, New Granada, at an\naltitude of 3500 feet. It was introduced by Messrs. Backhouse in 1870, and\nnamed in honour of Mr. Sam Mendel, a great personage at Manchester in his\nday. Distinctions of colour are very frequent. Some pronounce it the\nloveliest of Cattleyas.\n\nAmong the noble specimens here, many of them chosen for individual\npeculiarities, not half a dozen are named; the rest bear only letters\nshowing their class, and certain marks understood by the initiated. It\nwill be a relief when this system, or something like it, becomes general.\nAnd the time is not distant; at least, the privilege of granting new names\nat will must be restricted among those who obey the authorities.\n\nThe few plants here which enjoy a special designation are:--\n\n_Monica Measures._--Petals rose, with a broad streak of purple down the\ncentre from base to point. Sepals also rose, tipped with purple. Lip of\ndarkest crimson, fringed.\n\n_Lily Measures._--A very large flower, white of sepal and petal. On the\nlip, somewhat pale, as if to show it off, is a splash of purple-crimson,\nsharply defined.\n\n_R. H. Measures._--Sepals and petals tinted with rose. Enormous lip, very\ndark crimson, fringed.\n\n_William Lloyd._--For this I can only repeat the last description, yet the\neye perceives a difference not inconsiderable.\n\n_Mrs. R. H. Measures._--All white saving the yellow throat and two small\ntouches of purple in the front.\n\n_Duke of Marlborough._--This variety moved the great Reichenbach, as he\nsaid, to 'religious admiration.' No doubt it is the grandest of all\nMendeliis--which is much to say; very large, perfectly graceful in form,\nexquisitely frilled. The colour of sepal and petal pink, the throat\nyellow, the spreading disc magenta-crimson.\n\nThe left side of the house is filled with large plants--some two\nhundred--of Cattleya Schroderae, which the learned recognise as a variety\nof Cattleya Trianae. It has the great advantage, however, of flowering in\nApril, and thus, when discovered in 1884 by Arnold, collecting for Messrs.\nSander, it filled a gap in the succession of Cattleyas. Henceforward the\ncareful amateur might have one variety at least in bloom the year round.\nNamed of course after Baroness Schröder. All Cattleyas are scented more or\nless at certain times of the day, but none so strongly as this, nor so\npersistently.\n\nIt does not vary so much as most of its kin, but it shows perhaps a\ngreater tendency to albinism than any--as seems natural when its colours\nare so much paler. Among these grand plants we have three white, notably--\n\n_Miss Mary Measures_, of which the picture is given.\n\nOverhead hang smaller plants of Cattleya Mossiae, Trianae, Mendelii, and\nLaelia Lucasiana; among them no less than five Cattleya speciosissima\nalba.\n\nSpeciosissima Dawsonii is here also, finest of the coloured\nvarieties--purplish rose of sepal and petal, lip large, yellow in the\nupper part, rosy crimson below, with margin finely fringed; and\n\nLaelia pumila marginata.--In its ordinary form L. pumila is one of the\nloveliest flowers that blow, and admiration is enhanced by surprise when\nwe observe how small and slender is the plant that bears such a handsome\nbloom. But this rare variety is lovelier still--its broad, rosy-crimson\nsepals and petals and its superb crimson lip all outlined with white.\n\n\nCATTLEYA BOWRINGIANA\n\nThe third division of the Cattleya house contains, in the centre, some\nhundreds of Mendeliis; Cattleya Bowringiana on the right hand, Cattleyas\nMossiae and Wageneri on the left; all 'specimen' plants, for health and\nvigour as for size.\n\nCattleya Bowringiana was imported fifteen years ago from British Honduras,\nbut it has since been found in other parts of Central America. In\ncolour--rosy purple, with deep purple lip, white in the throat--it does\nnot vary much, nor in shape; at least I have not heard of any named\nvarieties. But Cattleya Bowringiana in good health is always a cheering\nspectacle; its young growths push with such a demonstration of\nsturdiness--having to rise much beyond the ordinary stature--and its bunch\nof eight or ten flowers stands so high above the foliage. Nowhere may that\npleasant spectacle be enjoyed with more satisfaction than at Woodlands.\n\n\nCATTLEYA MOSSIAE\n\nSince Cattleya Mossiae was introduced more than two generations ago, and\nremains perhaps the commonest of the species, I need not describe it. Mrs.\nMoss of Ottersfoot, by Liverpool, conferred the name in 1856. Love of\norchids is a heritage in that family--so is the love of rowing. The lady's\ngrandson, Sir J. Edwardes Moss, now living, was Stroke of the O.U.B.C. and\nat Eton, as were his father and his uncle. And the ancestral collection of\norchids is still maintained.\n\nWhite Mossiaes are not uncommon, though their exquisite beauty makes them\nprecious in all meanings of the term.\n\n_Mrs. R. H. Measures_ is best of all--a famous variety--white of sepal and\npetal. Deep and graceful frilling on the lip is always characteristic of\nthis species; it reaches absolute perfection here. The yellow of the\nthroat is much subdued, but purple lines issuing from it spread over all\nthe white lip, with a very curious effect. Purple also is the frilling.\n\n_Grandiflora._--Deep rose. Petals very broad, lip immense, finely mottled\nand veined with purple.\n\n_Excelsior._--Blush-rose. Lip rosy purple, with a white margin.\n\n_Gilbert Measures._--A superb variety. White with a faint flush. Sepals\nand petals unusually solid. Lip very widespread, with purple lines and\nsplashes of magenta-purple.\n\n_Gigantea._--Biggest of all. Rosy pink. The orange of the enormous lip and\nthe frilling specially fine.\n\nCatt. Wageneri, though granted a specific title, is a variety of Cattleya\nMossiae, from Caracas, discovered by Wagener in 1851; white, excepting a\nyellow blotch on the lip.\n\nFrom the roof, among a hundred smaller plants of Cattleya, hangs a\nspecimen of Laelia praestans alba, as rare as lovely--all purest white,\nexcept the lip of brilliant purple with yellow throat. Like many other\norchids from the high lands of Brazil, this will grow equally well in the\ncool house. It is, in truth, a variety of L. pumila; its normal colour\nrosy purple.\n\n\nCATTLEYA GASKELLIANA\n\nThe fourth compartment is given up to Cattleya Gaskelliana, a species from\nVenezuela, not showy, as a rule--though striking exceptions can be found,\nas here--but always useful. Like Cattleya Schroderae it filled a gap when\ndiscovered in 1883, for there was no species at the time which flowered in\nJuly. Its normal colour is mauve; the lip has a big yellow blotch and a\nmottling of purple in the front.\n\nAbout four hundred plants are accommodated in this house, among them four\nalbinos--one with eight pseudo-bulbs and two flowering growths. But the\nfinest flower is\n\n_Miss Clara Measures._--snowy white, of course, but with a lip like\nCattleya Mossiae. Among others notable are:--\n\n_Dellensis._--A noble variety. Mauve-pink--the petals immensely broad. The\ngreat spreading lip has a gamboge throat fading to chrome-yellow,\nintersected with lines of bright crimson. The crimson of the front is\ndefined as sharply as if by the stroke of a paint-brush.\n\n_Godseffiana._--Pale rosy mauve. Petals immense. Lip a curious dusky\ncrimson, with a narrow dusky-yellowish outline.\n\n_Duke of Marlborough._--Gigantic. Sepals and petals bright rose; the broad\nlip has the same dusky outline.\n\n_Measuresiana._--Very pale. The crimson of the lip, which is long but\ncomparatively narrow, runs far up the throat, but leaving two clear yellow\n'eyes' as distinct as in Cattleya gigas.\n\n_Sanderiana._--Pale. The lip, of excellent colour, spreads so suddenly as\nto form a perfect circle.\n\n_Herbertiana._--Mauve. A very compact flower. The bright yellow of the\nthroat extends downwards and to either side of the lip in a very\nremarkable manner. The dusky margin surrounds a purple-crimson stain,\nscored with lines of deeper hue.\n\n_Woodlandsensis._--Here the same oddity--due to natural hybridisation\ndoubtless--is carried much further. The whole disc of the lip is buff,\nwith only the merest touch of purple on either side the central line, and\nanother, scarcely perceptible, at the tip.\n\nAlong the roof hang small plants of Cattleya gigas and others.\n\n\nFIFTH DIVISION\n\nThe fifth division is a resting-place, where one may sit beneath a grand\nspecimen of Kentia Forsteri, surrounded by palms as in a nook of the\njungle, to compare notes and talk of orchids. After such refreshment we\nenter the last compartment.\n\n\nCATTLEYA TRIANAE\n\nTo left here are more Mendeliis, to right more Bowringianas, labiatas, and\nTrianaes mixed; rows of labiata overhead. Specimen Trianaes occupy the\ncentre--some two hundred.\n\nThis again is a species so old and so familiar that I need not describe\nit. But there is none more variable, and we have some of the most striking\ndiversities here.\n\n_Macfarlanei._--An immense flower, white, with the faintest possible\nflush. The great lip, vivid orange beneath the tube, changes to white\nabove the disc. To this succeeds a blaze of purple-crimson, outlined in\ntwo semicircles as clear as brush could draw.\n\n\n[Illustration: CATTLEYA TRIANÆ, VAR. MEASURESIÆ.]\n\n\n_Robert Measures._--Lively mauve. The broad petals have three purple lines\nat the base and a mottling of purple on either side. Lip not large but of\nthe grandest crimson, darker towards the throat.\n\n_Measuresiana._--Petals clear mauve, sepals a paler hue, lip very compact.\nIts carmine rises far up the throat, surrounding the yellow and white\n'eyes' with the happiest effect.\n\n_Woodlandsensis._--Sepals and petals lilac flushed. The great lip\nbeautifully striped with rosy magenta.\n\n_Tyrianthina_ takes its name from the Tyrian purple or wine-coloured tips\nof the petals--a singular development. The labellum shows the same tint,\neven darker.\n\nHere also I note Catt. Harrisoniae _R. H. Measures_. It cannot be said\nthat this differs from the normal type in any respect; but one may venture\nto assert that it is the finest example thereof--at least, a finer could\nnot be. Upon the mauve sepals and petals, much larger than usual and more\nlively in colour, the great labellum, primrose and gamboge, with mauve\ntip, stands out superbly. There is no more striking Cattleya than\nHarrisoniae in this form.\n\n\n\n\nA STORY OF CATTELEYA BOWRINGIANA\n\n\nNo tale hangs upon the discovery of Cattleya Bowringiana, so far as I have\nheard. A planter named Turkheim sent it from British Honduras to Mr.\nBowring of Forest Farm, Windsor, in 1884. The species has a wide range.\nMr. Oversluys came upon it in Guatemala very shortly afterwards, and\ncurious incidents followed.\n\nThis admirable collector was hunting for Oncidium splendidum, a stately\nflower not very uncommon once, but long extinct in Europe. No man knew its\nhome, but Mr. Sander, after close inquiry and profound deliberation,\nresolved that it must be a native of Costa Rica. Thither he despatched Mr.\nOversluys, who roamed the wilderness up and down five years, seeking a\nprize within his grasp all the time, so conspicuous that it escaped\nnotice--as sharp boys select the biggest names upon a map instead of the\nsmallest, to puzzle a comrade. But that is another story.\n\nIrritated and despairing as time went by, but not permitted to abandon the\nsearch, the collector found diversion now and again in a gallop through\nthe neighbouring States. And once he pushed as far as Guatemala. All these\nforays were profitable, of course; such a shrewd and experienced hunter\nfinds game in every forest. But Mr. Oversluys was not equipped for the\nwholesale business, as one may put it, on these expeditions. They were\nreconnaissances. In Guatemala, at the moment which interests us, he had\nonly two servants and three mules.\n\nI do not know exactly where he came across Cattleya Bowringiana; it might\nbe anywhere almost, apparently, in the Central American Republics. The\nspecies was rare and very precious at the time--to be secured, though in\nthe smallest quantity. When Oversluys came upon it, he threw away the\nmiscellaneous rarities he had collected, hired two more mules--all he\ncould obtain--loaded as many as they could carry of the very finest\nplants, specimens such as we dare not dream of now, and started for the\nnearest port, meaning to return for more so soon as he was 'shut of your\nconfounded Oncidium splendidum.' In such disrespectful terms he wrote to\nSt. Albans.\n\nAt the house where Oversluys slept one night was a boisterous young\nGuatemalan, one of the tippling, guitar-strumming, all-round-love-making\nsort so common in Spanish America. But this youth was an Indian or\nalmost--betrayed by his lank hair and narrow shining eyes. Such a\ncharacter would seem impossible for one of that blood beyond the confines\nof Guatemala. But the supremacy of the Indians under Rafael Carrera's\ndespotism has worked a change there. It lasted long enough to train a\nportentous generation. When a pig-driver of their race conquered and ruled\nthe descendants of the Conquerors as absolutely as a Turkish bashaw of\nold, Indians might well abandon the timid subservience of their\nforefathers.\n\nThis young fellow insisted upon playing cards with Oversluys, who\ndeclined. Then he began to quarrel. But a good-looking daughter of the\nlandlord intervened, and he promptly struck the light guitar. After supper\nhe felt the warmest friendship for Oversluys, and dropped off to sleep\nwhile babbling a serenade to the landlord's daughter.\n\nThe friendship had not evaporated next morning. Don Hilario--he allowed\nhimself the title and a most aristocratic surname--was returning to his\nnative village, through which Oversluys must pass; there to remain, as he\nadmitted cheerfully, until his friends at the capital had suppressed\ncertain proceedings at law. These friends, it appeared, were dames of high\nposition, and the proceedings related to a serious deficiency in his\naccounts as clerk in the Financial Department. But it was all great fun.\nDon Hilario could not think of his appearance in the dock without peals of\nlaughter. No apprehension marred his enjoyment. Those great personages\nnamed, of the female sex, would take very good care he was not\nprosecuted--or they had best look out. In short, we recognise the type of\na cynical half-caste Don Juan.\n\nAs they journeyed on together, Don Hilario noticed the orchids, which were\nsimply slung across the mules. He knew, of course, that such weeds are\nvalued in Europe; every child in those realms is familiar with collectors\nnowadays. 'Ah!' said he, 'those are poor things compared with the great\nbushes on the roof of our church.'\n\nOversluys was roused at once. Since Roezl made the discovery, fifteen\nyears before, every one had come to know that rarities may be expected on\nan Indian church. The pious aborigines collect any orchid of exceptional\nbeauty which they notice in the woods and carefully replant it on the\nsacred building. It was the custom of their heathen forefathers.\n\n'Are there any white ones among them?' Oversluys asked. An albino form of\nCattleya Bowringiana had never been heard of, but he thought it might\nexist. And if so the roof of an Indian church would be the place to look\nfor such a treasure.\n\n'As many white as red! I say, what will you give for a dozen?'\n\nThis was a difficult question under any circumstances, since the plants\ncould hardly be flowering then; and there is no difference in growth\nbetwixt the white varieties and the red. Besides, Oversluys had not the\nvery slightest confidence in this youth.\n\n'How will you get them?' he asked.\n\n'Never mind that. Pay me half the money down and I'll bring the plants\nto-morrow. You know, our Indians are suspicious of collectors. You mustn't\nbe seen in the village.'\n\nThat was reasonable enough in one point of view, but preposterous in the\nother. 'Oh,' said Oversluys, 'I must see the orchids at any risk--that's\nflat! and I must hear how you mean to work.'\n\n'Why?'\n\n'Because if you take them without the Padre's consent you know as well as\nI that the Indians will be after me at daylight, and--h'm! There would be\nwork for the doctor! What sort of man is your Padre?'\n\n'A sort of pig, of course,' laughed Don Hilario. 'A fat old boar, ready\nfor the knife. And my knife is ready, too! Patience, friend, patience!'\nHis eyes still laughed, but he made the significant gesture so common in\nthose lands--a sudden stealthy grip of the machete at his waist.\n\nThis was not an unimportant revelation. 'You are on bad terms with the\nCura?' Oversluys asked.\n\n'Not now. He thinks I have forgotten. It's years ago. I was a boy. But the\nCastilian never forgets! I will tell you.'\n\nThe story was not edifying. It related to a young woman in whom the Cura\nfelt interest. He surprised her in company with Don Hilario and beat the\nlad.\n\n'Well,' said Oversluys, 'I'm sorry you and the Padre are not friends,\nbecause I will have nothing to do with removing orchids from the church\nunless he bears part in it.'\n\n'But the pig will want all the money.'\n\n'You need not tell him how much I am to give you.'\n\nDon Hilario argued, however, until, finding Oversluys immovable, he grew\nsulky. The fact is that to strip their church against the Indians' wish\nwould be not a little perilous even though the Cura were implicated; to\nignore him would be madness. Collectors have risked it, they say, before\nand since, but never assuredly unless quite certain that the prize was\nworth a deadly hazard. In this instance there was no security at all.\n\nAs they approached the village Don Hilario brightened up. 'Well,' he said,\n'what will you give me?'\n\nOversluys had no money, but he offered a sum--the amount of which I have\nnot heard--payable in Guatemala city; to be doubled if the orchids should\nprove white. Don Hilario declined this proposal with oaths; he dared not\ngo to Guatemala city, and he could not trust a friend. The negotiations\ncame to an end. Grumbling and swearing he rode for a while by himself;\nthen fell into silence, and presently rejoined Oversluys quite cheerful.\nThe houses were close by.\n\n'It's a bargain, friend,' he said. 'Your hand! It's a bargain!'\n\n'Good! Now I won't take my mules with the orchids into the village. Can\nyou lead us round to the other side? There is a hut there, I daresay,\nwhere I can leave my men and return with you.'\n\nDon Hilario declared that such precautions were unnecessary, but when\nOversluys insisted he led the way through by-paths. They did not meet a\nsoul. Upon the edge of a broad savannah beyond was a corral, or enclosure,\nand a shed, used by the _vaqueros_ for slaughtering, branding, and so\nforth in the season, empty now. Hundreds of cattle browsed slowly towards\nthe corral, for evening approached and the woods were full of jaguars\ndoubtless. Though unwatched at this time of year, they took refuge nightly\nin the enclosure. It was just such a spot as Oversluys sought. His men had\nfood, and he told them to remain with the animals. Then he returned with\nDon Hilario.\n\nIt is usual to ask the Cura for lodgings in a strange place; he himself\nputs up a traveller who can pay. This was a rotund and masterful priest.\nThey found him alighting from his mule, with soutane rolled up to the\nwaist, showing a prodigious breadth of pea-green trousers. He wore a\ntriple string of blue beads round his neck, and flourished a whip of\ncowhide.\n\nOversluys looked like a traveller who could pay, and he received a\ngreeting as warm as foreigner can expect; a foreigner in those lands is\npresumed to be no 'Christian.' They entered the parsonage. Don Hilario was\nto broach the business, but first Oversluys would satisfy himself that the\norchids were worth negotiation. He slipped away.\n\nA glance settled that. The church was a low building of mud, as usual. On\neither side the doorway, looking down the street, stood an ancient idol,\nburied to the waist, but still five feet high. The features were battered,\nbut the round eyes, with pupils cut deep in a half circle, glared in\nhideous threat, and the mouth gaped for blood; no need of an interpreter\nthere--one saw and felt the purpose. But Oversluys was not interested in\nthese familiar objects. He looked up. His comrade had not exaggerated the\nsize of the orchids, at least. They were noble specimens. But as for their\ncolour he could see no trace to guide him.\n\nDon Hilario had gone to greet his parents; it was comparatively late when\nhe returned, but then he got to business forthwith. The Cura was startled.\nHe showed no indignation, but after pondering declined. Before going\nfurther, Oversluys asked whether the orchids were white? Impatiently the\nCura replied that he never looked at them--very likely they were. People\ndecked the church with white flowers, and perhaps they got them from the\nroof. He had other things to think about.\n\nOversluys guessed that the man was eager to sell but afraid, and fretful\naccordingly. He raised his price, whilst Don Hilario taunted the Cura with\nfearing his parishioners. That decided him. Loudly he declared that the\nchurch was his own, and consented.\n\nThe deed must be done that night. But who would climb the church roof in\nthe dark? Don Hilario was prepared for that difficulty. He knew half a\ndozen fellows of his own age and stamp who would enjoy the mischief. And\nhe went to collect them.\n\nIt was long past midnight when the band appeared--a set of lively young\nruffians. So vivacious were they, in fact, though not noisy, and so\ndisrespectful to their pastor as they drank a glass for luck, standing\nround the board, that Oversluys thought it well to prepare for a 'row.' He\nslipped out, saddled his mule and tied it by the door.\n\nThen the young Indians filed off in high spirits, chuckling low and\nnudging one another. The Cura followed to the door, commended them to\nheaven and stopped. Don Hilario would not have that--he must take his\nshare of the enterprise. The others returned and remonstrated warmly. In\nshort, there was such hubbub, though all in low tones, that Oversluys grew\nmore and more alarmed. The Cura gave way savagely, however, and they\nstarted again; but Oversluys kept well behind, leading his mule. It was a\ndark night, though not dark as in a northern climate. He could follow the\nlittle group with his eyes, a blurred mass stealing over the plaza. The\nchurch itself was faintly visible a hundred yards away. All remained still\nand silent. He advanced.\n\nA low wall encircled the church. The Indians did not think it prudent to\nuse the entrance--of which those idols were the gate-posts, as it may be\nsaid. Oversluys, reassured, had drawn close enough now to see them creep\nup to the wall. Suddenly there was a roar! A multitude of figures leapt up\nthe other side of the wall, yelling!\n\nThat was 'Boot and Saddle' for Oversluys. Off he set full gallop, for the\nrisk of a broken neck is not worth counting when vengeful Indians are on\none's trail. But though all the village must have heard him thudding past,\nno one pursued. Very extraordinary, but the whole incident was mysterious.\nAfter fifteen years' experience the collector--a shrewd man at the\nbeginning--knew Indians well, but he could never explain this adventure.\nSometimes he thought it might have been a trick from beginning to end,\ndevised by Don Hilario to get the Cura into a scrape. I have no suggestion\nto offer, but the little story seems worth note as an illustration of\nmanners.\n\nOversluys had good reason to remember it. Uncomfortably enough he waited\nfor dawn in the dank wood, holding his mule by the bridle, not daring to\nadvance. As soon as the path could be faintly traced he started, and\nhappily found the corral where his mules and servants had been left. The\ncattle were streaming out already, bulls in advance. They blocked the\ngateway, and with the utmost promptitude Oversluys withdrew into the bush.\nMaking his way to the fence he shouted for his mozos--in vain; climbed\nover with no small difficulty and entered the shed. His mules were safe\nenough but both mozos had vanished, having found or made friends in the\nneighbourhood. And all his precious Cattleyas, left defenceless, had been\nmunched or trampled flat by the cattle! He never ceased to mourn that\nloss.\n\n\n\n\nA STORY OF CATTLEYA MOSSIAE\n\n\nSince orchids never die, unless by accident, and never cease to grow,\nthere is no limit to the bulk they may attain. Mishap alone cuts their\nlives short--commonly the fall or the burning of the tree to which they\ncling. Mr. Burbidge secured one, a Grammatophyllum, 'as big as a\nPickford's van,' which a corvée of Dyaks could not lift. Some old\ncollections even in Europe show prodigious monsters; in especial, I am\ntold, that of the Duke of Northumberland at Alnwick. Mr. Astor has two\nPeristeria elata at Cliveden of which the bulbs are as large as an ostrich\negg, and the flower stems rise to a height of nine feet! The most striking\ninstance of the sort I myself have observed, if not quite the biggest, was\na Cattleya Mossiae sent home by Mr. Arnold. It enclosed two great branches\nof a tree, rising from the fork below which it was sawn off--a bristling\nmass four feet thick and five feet high; two feet more must be added if we\nreckon the leaves. As for the number of flower-scapes it bore last season,\nto count them would have been the work of hours; roughly I estimated a\nthousand, bearing not less than three blooms, each six inches across.\nFancy cannot rise to the conception of that gorgeous display. I doubt not\nthat the forest would be scented for a hundred yards round.\n\nSuch giant Cattleyas are very rare in the 'wild state.' An orchid, though\nimmortal, is subject to so many accidents that only species of very quick\ngrowth attain great age; these are less exposed to the perils of youth,\nnaturally. From time to time, however, an Indian removes some plant which\nstrikes him for its beauty or its size, and starts it afresh on a tree not\ntoo tall--and therefore young--in view of his hut. Thus it takes a new\nlease of life and grows indefinitely. I have not heard that 'white' peons\nare so aesthetic.\n\nThis Cattleya Mossiae had been rescued by an Indian. Mr. Arnold first saw\nit on his memorable search for Masdevallia Tovarensis. I must tell that\nepisode to begin with.\n\nMore than thirty years ago a German resident at Tovar sent a white\nMasdevallia to a friend in England. There were very few species of the\ngenus, few plants indeed, under cultivation at that time, and all scarlet.\nThe novelty made a vast sensation. For a good many years the owner kept\ndividing his single specimen, and putting fragments on the market, where\nthey fetched a very long price. Under such circumstances a man is not\ninclined to tell where his treasure comes from. At an earlier date this\ngentleman had published the secret so far as the name 'Tovar' went. But\nthere are several places so called in Spanish America, and importers\nhesitated. At length Mr. Sander made up his mind. He sent Mr. Arnold to\nTovar in New Grenada.\n\nMasdevallias are reckoned among the most difficult of orchids to import.\nFrom their home in cool uplands they must be transported through some of\nthe hottest regions on the globe, and they have no pseudo-bulbs to sustain\nthem; a leaf and a root, one may say, compose each tiny plant.\n\nMr. Arnold, therefore, was provided with some sacks of Sphagnum moss in\nwhich to stow his finds. These sacks he registered among his personal\nbaggage. At Waterloo, however, the station-master demurred. Moss, said he,\nmust travel by goods train. Arnold had not allowed himself time to spare.\nThe Royal mail steamer would leave within an hour of his arrival at\nSouthampton; to go without his moss was useless; and a pig-headed official\nrefused to pass it! Mr. Arnold does not profess to be meek. He\nremonstrated with so much energy that the station-master fled the scene.\nThere was just time enough to load up the article in dispute and jump into\na carriage, helped by a friendly stranger.\n\nThe stranger had showed his friendliness before that. Standing at the open\ndoor, he supported Arnold's cause with singular warmth and vociferation.\nThe latter was grateful, of course, and when he learned that his ally was\na fellow-passenger to Caracas he expressed the hope that they might share\na cabin. There was no difficulty about that. In short, they chummed.\n\nThis young man announced himself as Mr. Thompson, a traveller in the\nhardware line, but he showed an intelligent curiosity about things in\ngeneral--about orchids, for instance, when he learned that such was\nArnold's business. Would it be possible for an ignoramus to make a few\npounds that way?--how should he set about it?--which is the class of\narticle most in demand just now, and where is it found? Before the voyage\nended, that traveller in the hardware line knew as much about Masdevallia\nTovarensis as Arnold could tell him. He bade goodbye aboard ship, for\npressing business obliged him to start up country forthwith.\n\nLate in the afternoon Arnold, who was to stay some days at Caracas, met\nhis agent on the Plaza. 'By the bye,' said that gentleman, 'are you aware\nthat Mr. Blank started this morning in the direction of Tovar?'\n\nNow Mr. Blank was a man of substance who began orchid-growing as an\namateur, but of late had turned professional.\n\n'Bless me!' cried Arnold, 'is he here?'\n\nThe agent stared. 'Why, as I understood, he travelled in the same ship\nwith you.'\n\nArnold seized him by the wrist, while in his mind's eye he reviewed all\nthe passengers; they were not many. The only one who could possibly be Mr.\nBlank was--Mr. Thompson!\n\n'Get me a horse, sir!' he sputtered. 'Which way has the villain gone? And\na guide--with another horse! I'll pay anything! I'll go with you to hire\nthem! Come along!' Ten minutes afterwards he was on the track, full\ngallop, stopping only at the hotel to get his pistol.\n\nAt a roadside posada, fifteen miles beyond, Mr. Blank was supping in\npeace. The door opened. Arnold stalked in. He was in that mood of\nintensest passion when a man's actions are stiff though he trembles--all\nhis muscles rigid with the effort of self-restraint.\n\nQuietly he barred the door and quietly he sat down opposite to Mr. Blank,\nputting his revolver on the board.\n\n'Get your pistol, sir,' said he, scarcely above a whisper, 'we're going to\nsettle this business.' But Mr. Blank, after a frenzied stare, had\nwithdrawn beneath the table. Arnold hauled him out by the legs, demanding\ninstant combat.\n\nBut this was not the man to fight. He preferred to sign a confession and a\npromise, guaranteed by most impressive oaths, not to revisit those parts\nfor six months. Then Arnold started him back, supperless, in the dark.\n\nIt may be added that the gentleman whom I have named Mr. Blank lost his\nlife in 1892, when seeking the habitat of Dendrobium Schröderianum, under\ncircumstances not wholly dissimilar. As in this case he sought to reap\nwhere he had not sown. But peace be with him!\n\nWithout more adventures Arnold found Masdevallia Tovarensis. Of the first\nconsignment he despatched, forty thousand arrived in good health. This\nquest completed in shorter time than had been allowed, he looked for\nanother 'job.' One is only embarrassed by the choice in that region. Upon\nthe whole it seemed most judicious to collect Cattleya Mossiae. And Arnold\nset off for the hunting-grounds.\n\nOn this journey he saw the monster I have described. It grew beside the\ndwelling of an Indian--not properly to be termed a 'hut,' nor a 'house.'\nThe man was a coffee-planter in a very small way. Nothing that Arnold\ncould offer tempted him in the least. His grandfather 'planted' the\nCattleya, and from that day it had been a privilege of the family to\ndecorate one portion of the neighbouring church with its flowers when a\ncertain great feast came round. Arnold tried to interest the daughter--a\nvery pretty girl: the Indian type there is distinctly handsome. Then he\ntried her lover, who seemed willing to exert his influence for the\nconsideration of a real English gun. Arnold could not spare his own; he\nhad no other, and the young Indian would not accept promises. So the\nmatter fell through.\n\nThree years afterwards Arnold was commissioned to seek Cattleya Mossiae\nagain. Not forgetting the giant, he thought it worth while to take a 'real\nEnglish gun' with him, though doubtless the maiden was a wife long since,\nand her husband might ask for a more useful present. In due course he\nreached the spot--a small Indian village in the mountains, some fifteen\nmiles from Caracas. The Cattleya was still there, perched aloft, as big as\na hogshead. Arnold's first glance was given to it; then he looked at the\nowner's hospitable dwelling. It also was still there, but changed. Tidy it\nhad never been, but now it was ruinous. None of the village huts could be\nseen, standing as they did each in its 'compound'--a bower of palm and\nplantains, fruit-trees, above all, flowers. Afterwards he perceived that\nthey had all been lately rebuilt.\n\nThe old Indian survived, but it was not from him that Arnold learned the\nstory. The Cura told it. There had been a pronunciamiento somewhere in the\ncountry, and the Government sent small bodies of troops--pressgangs, in\nfact--to enlist 'volunteers.' One of these came to the village. The\nofficer in command, a good-looking young man, took up his abode in the\nIndian's house and presently made it his headquarters, whence to direct\nthe man-hunts. Upon that pretext he stayed several weeks, to the delight\nof the villagers, who were spared.\n\nBut one evening there was an outbreak. The lover rushed along the street,\ndripping with blood--the officer, his sword drawn, pursuing. He ran into\nhis hut and snatched a gun from the wall. But it was too late; the other\ncut him down. The day's field work was over--all the Indians had returned.\nThey seized their machetes, yelling vengeance, and attacked the officer.\nBut his soldiers also were close by. They ran up, firing as they ran. Some\nvillagers were killed, more wounded; the place was sacked. Next morning\nearly the detachment moved off. When the fugitives returning counted their\nloss, the pretty daughter of old José was missing. The dead lay where they\nfell, and she was not among them.\n\nThe Cura, an amiable veteran, did not doubt that she had been carried off\nby force; was not this girl the most devout and dutiful in the parish? He\nsaddled his mule forthwith and rode into Caracas. The officer had\ndelivered his report, which may be easily imagined. Governments in Spanish\nAmerica at this day resent any kind of interference from the clergy. Had a\nlayman complained, doubtless there would have been an inquiry; in\nVenezuela, as elsewhere, maidens are not to be carried off by young\naristocrats and no word said. But the authorities simply called on the\naccused for an explanation, accepted his statement that the girl followed\nhim of her free-will, and recommended him to marry her. This he did, as\nArnold ascertained. As for the rest--_quien sabe_?\n\nThese sad events account for the old Indian's behaviour. Arnold found him\nat home, and with him a young man not to be recognised at first, who\nproved to be the lover. The muscles of his neck had been severed, causing\nhim to hold his head awry, and a slash had partially disabled his right\narm. Arnold was told abruptly that he could not lodge there, and he\nwithdrew. But on a sudden the lover whispered eagerly. They called him\nback.\n\n'Will you buy the Cattleya?' asked old José.\n\n'How much?'\n\n'Fifty dollars and a good gun.'\n\n'It's a bargain.'\n\nHe paid there and then, nor quitted the spot, though very hungry, until\nhis followers had sawn through the branch and lowered its burden to the\nground. Carrying his spoil in triumph, suspended on a pole, Arnold sought\nthe Cura's house. There he heard the tale I have unfolded.\n\nNot until evening did the Padre chance to see the giant Cattleya. He was\nvexed, naturally, since his church lost its accustomed due. But when\nArnold told what he had paid for it, the good man was deeply moved. 'Holy\nVirgin and all saints!' he cried, 'there will be murder!' And he set off\nrunning to the Indian's house. It was empty. José and the lover had been\nseen on the road to Caracas hours before--with the gun.\n\nI am sorry that I cannot finish the story; too often we miss the dénoûment\nin romances of actual life. But the Cura felt no doubt. It may be\nto-night, or next year, or ten years hence, he said, but the captain is\ndoomed. Our Indians never forget nor forgive, nor fail when at length\nthey strike.\n\nThe murder was not announced whilst Arnold remained in the country. But\nall whom he questioned gave the same forecast. Unless the Indians were\nseized or died they would surely have vengeance.\n\n\n[Illustration: CATTLEYA SCHRODERÆ VAR. MISS MARY MEASURES.]\n\n\n\n\nCYPRIPEDIUM INSIGNE\n\n\nHere is a house full of Cypripedium insigne; nothing else therein save a\nrow of big Cymbidiums in vases down the middle, Odontoglossum citrosmum\nand Cattleya citrina hanging on wires overhead. Every one knows this\ncommonest of Cypripeds, though many may be unacquainted with the name.\nOnce I looked into a show of window-gardening in the precincts of\nWestminster Abbey, and among the poor plants there, treasures of the\npoorest, I found a Cypripedium insigne--very healthy and well-grown too.\nBut when I called the judges' attention, they politely refused to believe\nme, though none of them could say what the mysterious vegetable was--not\nthe least curious detail of the incident. The flower cannot be called\nbeautiful, but undeniably it is quaint, and the honest unsophisticated\npublic loves it. Moreover the bloom appears in November, lasting till\nChristmas, if kept quite cool. The species was introduced from Sylhet so\nlong ago as 1820, but it flourishes in many districts on the southern\nslope of the Himalayas. New habitats are constantly discovered.\n\nThere are 505 plants in this house, and if individual flowers be not\nstriking commonly--that is, flowers of the normal type--the spectacle is\nas pretty as curious when hundreds are open at once, apple-green, speckled\nwith brown and tipped with white. But to my taste, as a 'grower,' the\nsight is pleasant at all seasons, for the green and glossy leaves\nencircle each pot so closely that they form a bank of foliage without a\ngap all round. But besides this house we have one much larger elsewhere,\ncontaining no less than 2500 examples of the same species. If no two\nflowers of an orchid on the same plant be absolutely similar, as experts\ndeclare--and I have often proved the rule--one may fancy the sum of\nvariation among three thousand. Individually, however, it is so minute in\nthe bulk of Cypripedium insigne that a careless observer sees no\ndifference among a hundred blooms. I note some of the prominent\nexceptions.\n\n_Clarissimum._--Large, all white, except a greenish tinge at base of the\ndorsal, and the broad yellow shield of the column.\n\n_Laura Kimball_, on the other hand, is all ochreous yellow, save the\nhandsome white crown of the dorsal and a narrow white margin descending\nfrom it.\n\n_Statterianum_ is much like this, but spotted in the usual way.\n\n_Bohnhoffianum_ has a dorsal of curious shape. The crest rises sharply\nbetween square shoulders which fold over, displaying the reverse. It has\nno spots, but at the base is a chestnut blotch, changing to vivid green,\nwhich again vanishes abruptly, leaving a broad white margin. Vivid green\nalso are the petals, with brown lines; the slipper paler. This example is\nunique.\n\n_Macfarlanei_ is all yellowish green, with a white crest.\n\n_Amesiae._--The dorsal has a broad white outline and a drooping crest. To\nwhite succeeds a brilliant green, and to that, in the middle, bright\nchestnut. Chestnut lines also, and dots, mount upward. The green petals\nare similarly lined, and the slipper is greenish, tinged with chestnut.\n\n_Longisepalum_ is flesh-colour, with a greenish tinge and pink spots on\nthe very long dorsal. The pink spots change to lines upon the petals.\nSlipper ruddy green.\n\n_Dimmockianum._--The broad and handsome dorsal is green, with white\nmargin. A red stain at the base is continued in lines of spots upwards.\nThe petals are scored with the same colour.\n\n_Measuresiae._--Big, with a grand dorsal, pale grass-green below, broadly\nwhitening as it swells. Petals the same green, with a dark midrib and\nfainter lines. Slipper yellow.\n\n_Rona_ is an example of the common type in its utmost perfection--large,\nsymmetrical, its green tinge the liveliest possible, its white both snowy\nand broad, and its spots so vigorously imprinted that they rise above the\nsurface like splashes of solid chocolate.\n\n_Majesticum_ is another of the same class, but distinguished by the\nenormous size of its dorsal.\n\n_Dorothy._--Dorsal greenish yellow, with faint spots of chestnut and a\nbroad white margin. Petals and slipper the same greenish-yellow tone.\n\n_R. H. Measures._--For size as for colour this variety is astonishing. Its\ngigantic dorsal is white, prettily stained at base with pale green, in\nwhich are enormous red spots, irregularly set. Petals tawny greenish, with\nlines and dots of red. The slipper matches.\n\n_Harefield Hall_ variety resembles this, but smaller. The great spots of\nthe dorsal are more crimson, the petals and slipper a darker hue.\n\n_Frederico._--Within a broad white outline the dorsal is all yellow,\nheavily spotted and splashed with chestnut. The reddish tawny petals are\nlined and spotted with chestnut, and the tawny slipper shows a chestnut\nnetwork.\n\n_Corrugatum._--The name refers to a peculiarity unique and inexplicable.\nThe slipper, so smooth in every other case, has a strong breastbone, so to\nsay, and five projecting ribs on either side, arching round diagonally\nfrom the back--pale brown on a darker ground. The dorsal is all yellow,\nspotted with brown, but the crest overhangs, showing its white underside.\n\n_Drewett's variety._--Dorsal white, with a green base and huge blotches of\nred-brown; greenish petals lined with the same; ruddy greenish slipper.\n\n_Eximium._--A natural hybrid doubtless, though we cannot guess what its\nother parent may be; it came among a lot of the ordinary form. Very small.\nThe funny little dorsal is yellow, spotted throughout with red. The small\npetals have a crimson tinge, much darker in the upper length. Slipper dull\ncrimson; the yellow shield of the column is very conspicuous on that\nground.\n\n_Hector._--The dorsal is pale grass-green, with a white crest and margin\nand large chestnut spots; petals and slipper reddish ochre.\n\n_Punctatum_ is a title very commonly bestowed when the usual spots run\ntogether, making small blotches, arranged in lines; often the petals have\na white margin, more or less broad, which shows them off.\n\nHere also I should mention the famous Cyp. ins. Sanderae, though, as a\nmatter of fact, it is lodged elsewhere. The story of this wonderful orchid\nhas often been told, but not every one has heard it. I may be allowed to\nquote my own version, published in _About Orchids--a Chat_ (Chapman and\nHall, 1893). 'Among a great number of Cypripedium insigne received at St.\nAlbans, and \"established\" there, Mr. Sander noted one presently of which\nthe flower-stalk was yellow instead of brown, as is usual. Sharp eyes are\na valuable item of the orchid-growers' stock-in-trade, for the smallest\npeculiarity among such \"sportive\" objects should not be neglected.\nCarefully he put the yellow-stalk aside. In due course the flower opened\nand proved to be all golden. Mr. Sander cut his plant in two, sold half\nfor seventy-five guineas at Protheroe's auction rooms, and the other half\nto Mr. R. H. Measures. One of the purchasers divided his plant and sold\ntwo bits at a hundred guineas each. Another piece was bought back by Mr.\nSander, who wanted it for hybridising, at two hundred and fifty guineas.'\nNot less than forty exist perhaps at the present time, for as soon as a\nmorsel proves big enough to be divided, divided it is. Here we have two\nfine plants and a healthy young fragment.\n\n\n[Illustration: CYPRIPEDIUM INSIGNE, VAR. SANDERÆ.]\n\n\nTo describe the flower is an ungrateful task. Tints so exquisitely soft\nare not to be defined in words; it is pleasanter to sum them up in the\nphrase 'all golden,' as I did formerly, when there was no need for\nprecision. But here I must be specific, and in truth Cypripedium insigne\nSanderae is not to be so described. The dorsal, beautifully waved, has a\nbroad white margin and a cloud of the tenderest grass-green in the midst,\ncovered with a soft green network. There are a few tiniest specks of brown\non either side the midrib. The petals might be termed palest primrose, but\nwhen compared with the pure yellow slipper a pretty tinge of green\ndeclares itself. A marvel of daintiness and purity.\n\nIn this house hang Catt. citrina, Odont. citrosmum, and Laelia\nJongheana--five rows. Of the first, so charming but so common, it is\nenough to say that the owner of this collection has contrived to secure\nthe very biggest examples, in their native growth, that a sane imagination\ncould conceive--so big that I should not have credited a report of their\ndimensions. The ordinary form of citrosmum also demands no comment, and I\ndeal with the interesting Laelia Jongheana elsewhere. But we have a number\nof citrosmum roseum, which has white sepals and petals and a pink lip; of\ncitrosmum album, all purest white, save the yellow crest; and of the\ncream-coloured variety, which to my mind is loveliest of all. Sir Trevor\nLawrence collects these at every opportunity, and I remember the charming\ndisplay he made once at the Temple Show, when their long pendulous\ngarlands formed the backing to his stand.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF CATTLEYA SKINNERI ALBA\n\n\nThe annals of botany are full of incident and adventure, especially that\nbranch which deals with orchids. All manner of odd references and\nassociations one finds there. I myself, having studied the subject, was\nnot much surprised to meet with a tale of orchids and cock-fighting\nlately; but others may like to hear how such an odd connection arose.\n\nThe name of the orchid was Cattleya Skinneri alba, one of the rarest and\nmost beautiful we have; the name of the hero, Benedict Roezl, greatest of\nall collectors. This experience gives some notion of his ready wit, cool\ndaring, and resource. But I could tell some even more characteristic.\n\nIt is necessary to say that Cattleya Skinneri _tout court_--a charming\nrosy flower--was discovered by Mr. Skinner long before this date--in 1836;\nbut no white Cattleya had yet been heard of.\n\nIt was in 1870. Roezl had made a very successful foray in the\nneighbourhood of Tetonicapan, Guatemala, and with a long train of mules he\nwas descending towards the coast. His head mozo could be trusted; the\nperils of the road--streams, mud, precipices, and brigands--had been left\nbehind; Roezl, rejoicing in the consciousness of good work well done,\npushed on by himself towards the village where they were to spend the\nnight.\n\nHe had not been there before, but the road--rather, the trail--was plain\nenough. Unfortunately it led him, after a while, into a jicara-grove.\nThis tree, which supplies the calabash used throughout Central America,\nhas some very odd peculiarities. Its leaves grow by fours, making a cross,\nand on that account, doubtless, the Indians esteem it sacred; their pagan\nforefathers reverenced the cross. The trunks spring at equal distances, as\nif planted by rule, but such is their natural habit; I have the strongest\nimpression that Mr. Belt found a cause for this eccentricity, but the\npassage I cannot discover. Thirdly, jicara-trees always stand in a\nlow-lying savannah, across which they are marshalled in lines and 'spaced'\nlike soldiers on parade in open order--at least, I never saw them in\nanother situation. Such spots are damp, and the herbage grows strong; thus\nthe half-wild cattle are drawn thither, and before the wet season comes to\nan end they have trampled the whole surface, obliterating all signs of a\npath, if one there be, and confounding the confusion by making tracks\ninnumerable through the jungle round.\n\nUpon such a waste Roezl entered, and he paused forthwith to deliberate.\nThe compass would not help him much, for if it told the direction of the\nvillage, the Indian trail which led thither might open to right or left\nanywhere on the far side of the grove. Travellers in those wilds must\nfollow the beaten course.\n\nAt length he took bearings, so as to go straight at least, and rode on.\nPresently an Indian lad came out from the forest behind him, but stopped\nat sight of the tall stranger. Roezl shouted--he spoke every patois of\nSpanish America with equal fluency. The boy advanced at length. He could\nonly talk his native Quiché, but Roezl made out that he was going to the\nvillage--sent him ahead, and followed rejoicing. So he crossed the\njicara-ground.\n\nBut in the forest beyond, it was not easy to keep up with an Indian boy\ntrotting his fastest. In a few minutes the guide had vanished and Roezl\nhurried along after him. Suddenly a ragged rascal sprang out from the\nbushes ahead with levelled gun. Roezl glanced back. Two others barred his\nretreat.\n\nNot unfamiliar with such incidents, he laughed and offered his\npurse--never well filled. Good humour and wit had carried him through\nseveral adventures of the kind without grave annoyance; once in Mexico,\nwhen he had not one silver coin to ransom himself, a party of bandits kept\nhim twenty-four hours simply to enjoy his drolleries, and dismissed him\nwith ten dollars--which was a godsend, said Roezl. But these fellows only\nspoke Quiché, and they were sullen dogs.\n\nThe purse did not satisfy them by any means. They made their prisoner\ndismount and enter the forest, marching behind him. The camp was close by,\nand here Roezl found his guide, hitched to a tree by the neck. The brigand\nofficer and some of the men talked Spanish, and they appreciated Roezl's\n'chaff,' treating him with boisterous familiarity; but they would not hear\nof letting him go until the Captain's arrival. He sat upon the ground,\nexchanging jokes with the ruffians, drinking their aguardiente and smoking\ntheir best cigars, like a jovial comrade.\n\nMeantime the Indian members of the band were out of the fun, and they\nattended to business. What they wanted of the lad Roezl did not\nunderstand, but when he persisted in refusing they beat him savagely. At\nlength it went so far that Roezl could not bear to hear the poor fellow's\ncries. Putting the matter humorously, he begged the lieutenant to\ninterfere, and that worthy commanded the Indians to desist.\n\nAfter an hour or so the Captain appeared, and Roezl's case was put before\nhim; at the same moment, however, the scouts brought in a priest. He had\nresisted probably, for they had bound and beaten him. Such treatment was\nnovel, doubtless. It had taken all spirit out of the holy man, who walked\nas humbly as could be till he set eyes on the Captain. Then his courage\nreturned. They were old acquaintances, evidently, and the Padre claimed\nsatisfaction. He did not get it; but the Captain set him free, with\napologies. The boy proved to be his servant, and he also was released.\nRoezl asserted a claim to equal consideration as defender of that youth,\nand at length it was ungraciously allowed. Remembering, however, that his\nprecious orchids would soon arrive and fall into the brigands' hands, to\nbe smashed in spite probably, he ransomed them by a bill drawn on himself\nat the capital. Then he rode on to overtake the priest, who was Cura of\nthe village which he sought.\n\nNot prepossessing at all was that ecclesiastic. None of the bandits had a\nmore stupid expression or one less amiable. But Roezl found presently that\nhe had some reason for ill-humour. Six cocks had he taken to a grand match\nat Tetonicapan the day before--three his own, three belonging to\nparishioners; and every one was killed! The boy had been sent in advance\nto break the news.\n\nCock-fighting is the single amusement of that population, besides drink,\nof course, and the single interest of its ministers--most of them, at\nleast. This padre could talk of nothing else. It was not a subject that\namused Roezl, but he knew something of that as of all else that pertains\nto life in those countries. The dullest of mortals could not help\ngathering information about cocks and their ways in a lifetime of travel\nup and down Spanish America; the most observant, such as this, must needs\ncollect a vast deal of experience. But Roezl was not interested in his\ncompanion.\n\nNot, that is, until he reached the village. The Cura had invited him to\nhis house--so to call an adobe building of two rooms, without upper floor.\nIt stood beside the church, hardly less primitive. Roezl glanced at the\nroof of this structure in passing. It has been mentioned that the Indians\nhave a pleasant custom of removing any orchid they find, notable for size\nor beauty, to set on the church roof or on trees around it. In the course\nof his long wanderings Roezl had bought or begged several fine plants from\na padre, but only when the man was specially reckless or specially\ninfluential with his parishioners. The practice dates from heathen times,\nand the Indians object to any desecration of their offerings.\n\nIt was with curiosity rather than hope, therefore, that Roezl scrutinised\nthe airy garden. There were handsome specimens of Cattleya--Skinneri most\nfrequent, of course--Lycaste, Oncidium, and Masdevallia. They had done\nblooming mostly, but a belated flower showed here and there. In one big\nclump he saw something white--looked more closely--paused. The plant was\nCattleya Skinneri certainly. How should a white flower be there?\n\nAll other collectors, perhaps, at that time, would have passed on, taking\nit for granted that some weed had rooted itself amid the clump. But for\nmany years Roezl had been preaching that all Cattleyas of red or violent\ntint, so to class them roughly, must make albino 'sports.' I believe he\nhad not one instance to cite in proof of his theory, which is a\ncommonplace now. A wondrous instinct guided him--the same which predicted\nthat an Odontoglossum of extraordinary character would be found in a\nprovince he had never entered, where, years afterwards, the striking\nOdont. Harryanum was discovered. Men talked of Roezl's odd fancy with\nrespect, but very few heeded it.\n\nHe tried various points of view, but nowhere could the flower be seen\ndistinctly. After grumbling and fuming a while the Cura left him, and\npresently he followed. That reverend person was an object of interest now.\nAt the first opportunity Roezl mentioned that he was seeking a white Flor\nde San Sebastian, as they name Cattleya Skinneri, for which he would pay\na good sum, and asked if there were any in the neighbourhood.\n\nThe Cura replied at once, 'You won't get one here. Many years ago my\npeople found one in the forest, but they never saw another before or\nsince.'\n\n'What did they do with it?' Roezl asked breathlessly.\n\n'Fixed it on the church, of course.'\n\nThe man was stupid, but in those parts an idiot can see any opening for\ntrade. To suppose that a cock-fighting Guatemalan priest could have\nscruples about stripping his church would be grotesque. If he did not\nsnatch at the chance to make money, when told that the stranger would pay\nfor his whim, it must be because the removal of that plant would be so\nhazardous that he did not even think of it. Roezl dropped the subject.\n\nThey ate--more especially, they drank. The leading men of the village came\nin to hear the sad story of the cock-fight. Not one word on any other\ntopic was spoken until they withdrew to bed. But Roezl was not bored after\na while. So soon as he grasped the situation, his quick wits began\nspeculating and contriving means to tempt the Padre. And as he listened to\nthe artless if not innocent discourse of these rustics, gradually a notion\nformed itself.\n\nThe issue of the great match had been a disaster all round. In the first\nplace, there was an antique feud with the victors. Secondly, their cocks\nhad been defeated so often that for two years past they had lain low,\nsaving their money to buy champion birds at the capital. And this was the\nresult! In the assurance of triumph they had staked all they could raise\nupon the issue. That money was lost, and the cocks besides. Utter rout and\nbankruptcy! No wonder the priest sent his boy ahead to break the awful\nnews.\n\nDespairingly they speculated on the causes of their bad luck from year to\nyear, and it was in listening to this discussion that Roezl perceived a\ngleam of hope. The mules arrived with his orchids, and started again in\nthe morning; but he stayed behind. The Cura was more than willing to\nexplain the local system of feeding, keeping, training, and in general of\nmanaging cocks. Roezl went into it thoroughly without comment; but when\nthe leading parishioners assembled at night, as usual, he lifted up his\nvoice.\n\n'My friends,' said he, 'you are always beaten because you do not\nunderstand the tricks of these wily townsmen. What you should import from\nGuatemala is not champion cocks, but a good cock-master, up to date. I'm\nafraid he would sell you indeed, but there is no other way.'\n\nThey looked at one another astounded, but the Cura broke out, 'Rubbish!\nWhat do we do wrong?'\n\n'Only a fool gives away valuable secrets. If you want my information you\nmust pay for it. But I will tell you one thing. You keep your cocks tied\nup in a cupboard'--I am giving the sense of his observations--'by\nthemselves, where they get spiritless and bored. You have been to\nTetonicapan. Is that how they do there? In every house you see the cocks\ntied in a corner of the living room, where people come and go, often\nbringing their own birds with them. Hens enter too sometimes. So they are\nalways lively and eager. This you have seen! Is it not so?'\n\n'It is,' they muttered with thoughtful brows.\n\n'Well, I make you a present of that hint. If you want any more valuable,\nyou must pay.' And he withdrew.\n\nWeighty was the consultation doubtless. Presently they went in search of\nhim, the whole body, and asked his terms.\n\n'You shall not buy on speculation,' said Roezl. 'Is there a village in the\nneighbourhood where they treat their cocks as you do, and could you make a\nmatch for next Sunday? Yes? Well, then, you shall tie up your birds in a\npublic room, follow my directions in feeding, and so forth. If you\nconquer, you shall pay me; if not, not.'\n\n'What shall we pay?' asked the Cura.\n\n'Your reverence and all these caballeros shall swear on the altar to give\nme the white Flor de San Sebastian which grows on the church roof.'\n\nThe end is foreseen. Roezl carried off his White Cattleya and sold it to\nMr. George Hardy of Manchester for 280 guineas.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PHALAENOPSIS HOUSE\n\n\nPhalaenopsis are noted for whimsicality. They flourish in holes and\ncorners where no experienced gardener would put them, and they flatly\nrefuse to live under all the conditions most approved by science. Most\npersons who grow them have such adventures to tell, their own or reported.\nSir Trevor Lawrence mentioned at the Orchid Conference that he once built\na Phalaenopsis house at the cost of £600; after a few months' trial he\nrestored his plants to their old unsatisfactory quarters and turned this\nbeautiful building to another purpose. The authorities at Kew tell the\nsame story with rueful merriment. In both cases, the situation, the plan,\nevery detail, had been carefully and maturely weighed, with intimate\nknowledge of the eccentricities to be dealt with and profound respect for\nthem. Upon the other hand, I could name a 'grower' of the highest standing\nwho used to keep his Phalaenopsis in a ramshackle old greenhouse belonging\nto a rough market-gardener of the neighbourhood--perhaps does still. How\nhe came to learn that they would thrive there as if under a blessed spell\nI have forgotten. But once I paid the market-gardener a visit and there,\nwith my own eyes, beheld them flourishing under conditions such that I do\nnot expect a plain statement of the facts to be believed. In the midst of\nthe rusty old ruin was a stand with walls of brick; above this wires had\nbeen fixed along the roof. The big plants hung lowest. Upon the edges of\ntheir baskets smaller plants were poised, and so they stood, one above\nanother, like a child's house of cards--I am afraid to say how high. A\nlabouring man stood first at one end, then at the other, and cheerfully\nplied the syringe. They were not taken down nor touched from month to\nmonth.\n\nSeeing and hearing all this, I cried--but the reader can imagine what I\ncried.\n\n'Well,' replied the market-gardener, 'I don't understand your orchids. But\nI shouldn't ha' thought they was looking poorly.'\n\nPoorly! Under these remarkable circumstances some scores of Phalaenopsis\nwere thriving as I never saw them elsewhere.\n\nIn this house they do very well, growing and flowering freely, giving no\ntrouble by mysterious ailments. We have most of the large\nspecies--amabilis, Stuartiana, Schilleriana, Sanderiana, etc. No\ndescription of these is required. Hybrids of Phalaenopsis are few as yet.\nHere is Hebe, the product of rosea × Sanderiana, rosy white of sepal and\npetal, bright pink of lip, yellow at the base.\n\nOn the left is a 'rockery' of tufa, planted with the hybrid Anthuriums\nwhich Messrs. Sander have been producing so industriously of late years.\nTo my mind, an infant could make flowers as good as Anthuriums, if\nequipped with a sufficient quantity of sealing-wax, red and pink and\nwhite. Their form is clumsy, and grace they have none. But when they\nrecognise a fashion, the wise cease to protest. Anthuriums are the\nfashion.\n\nSince that is so, and many worthy persons will be interested, I name the\nhybrids here.\n\nOf the Andreeanum type, raised by crossing its various\nforms:--_Lawrenciae_, pure white; _Goliath_, blood-red; _Salmoniae_,\nflesh-colour; _Lady Godiva_, white faintly tinged with flesh-colour;\n_Albanense_, deep red, spadix vermilion--this was one of the twelve 'new\nplants' which won the First Prize at the International Exhibition 1892.\n\nOf the Rothschildianum type:--_Saumon_, salmon-colour; _niveum_, very\nlarge, whitish, with orange-red markings; _aurantiacum_, coloured like the\nyolk of egg; _The Queen_, evenly marked in red, orange, and white.\n\nOverhead hang small plants of Phalaenopsis and Dendrobium; on a shelf\nabove the Anthuriums, against the glass, two large specimens of the noble\nCyp. bellatulum album--which with a despairing effort I have tried to\nsketch elsewhere--and no less than 380 plants of Cyp. Godefroyae, and its\nvariety, Cyp. leucochilum, both white, heavily spotted with brownish\npurple.\n\n\nTHE VANDA HOUSE\n\nlies beyond. Only the tall species are here, for such gems as V.\nKimballiana and Amesiana would be lost among these giants. But there is\nlittle to say about our Vandas beyond a general commendation of their fine\nstature and glossy leaves. It is not a genus which we study, and the\nplants belong to ordinary species--the best of their class, however. For\nthe benefit of experts I may mention, among specimens of Vanda suavis, the\nDalkeith variety, Rollison's, Veitch's, Wingate, and Manchester; among\nVanda tricolor, planilabris--grandest of all--Dalkeith, aurea, Pattison's,\ninsignis, Rohaniana.\n\nBut _Miss Joaquim_ must be mentioned (V. teres × V. Hookeriana), sepals\nand petals of a pretty rose colour, lip orange; a flower charming in\nitself, but still more notable as the product of a young lady's\nenthusiasm. Miss Agnes Joaquim is the daughter of a Consul at Singapore,\nresiding at Mount Narcis in the vicinity.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF VANDA SANDERIANA\n\n\nThere are those who pronounce Vanda Sanderiana the stateliest of all\norchids. To compare such numberless and varied forms of beauty is rather\nchildish. But it will be allowed that a first view of those enormous\nflowers, ten or more upon a stalk--lilac above, pale cinnamon below,\ncovered with a network of crimson lines--is a memorable sensation for the\nelect.\n\nWe may fancy the emotions of Mr. Roebelin on seeing it--the earliest of\narticulate mortals so favoured. His amazement and delight were not alloyed\nby anticipation, for no rumour of the marvel had gone forth. Roebelin was\ntravelling 'on spec' for once. In 1879 Mr. Sander learned that the\nPhilippine Government was about to establish a mail service from Manila to\nMindanao. Often had he surveyed that great island longingly, from his\narm-chair at St. Albans, assured that treasures must await the botanist\nthere. But although the Spaniards had long held settlements upon the\ncoast, and, of course, claimed sovereignty over the whole, there had\nhitherto been no regular means of communication with a port whence\nsteamers sailed for Europe. A collector would be at the mercy of chance\nfor transmitting his spoil, after spending assuredly a thousand pounds. It\nwas out of the question. But the establishment of a line of steamers to\nManila transformed the situation. Forthwith Roebelin was despatched, to\nfind what he could.\n\nHe landed, of course, at the capital, Mindanao; and the Spaniards--civil,\nmilitary, even ecclesiastic--received him cordially. Any visitor was no\nless than a phenomenon to them. It is a gay and pleasant little town, for\nthese people, having neither means nor opportunity, as a rule, to revisit\nEurope, make their home in the East. And Roebelin found plenty of good\nthings round the glorious bay of Illana. But he learned with surprise that\nthe Spaniards did not even profess to have authority beyond a narrow strip\nhere and there upon the coast. The interior is occupied by savages,\nnumerous and warlike, Papuan by race, or crossed with the Philippine\nMalay. Though they are not systematically hostile to white men, Roebelin\nsaw no chance of exploring the country.\n\nThen he heard of a 'red Phalaenopsis,' on the north coast, a legendary\nwonder, which must have its own chronicle by and by. Seduced especially by\nthis report, Roebelin sailed in a native craft to Surigao, a small but\nvery thriving settlement, which ranks next to the capital. People there\nwere well acquainted with Phalaenopsis, but they knew nothing of a red\none; some of them, however, talked in vague ecstasy of an orchid with\nflowers as big as a dinner-plate to be found on the banks of Lake\nMagindanao, a vast sheet of water in the middle of the island. They did\nnot agree about the shape, or colour, or anything else relating to it; but\nsuch a plant must be well worth collecting anyhow. It was not dangerous to\nascend the river, under due precautions, nor to land at certain points of\nthe lake. Such points are inhabited by the Subano tribe, who live in\nhourly peril from their neighbours the Bagabos, against whom they beg\nSpanish protection. Accordingly white men are received with enthusiasm.\n\nThe expedition, therefore, would be comparatively safe, if a guide and\ninterpreter could be found. And here Roebelin was lucky. A small trader\nwho had debts to collect among the Subanos offered his sampan, with its\ncrew, on reasonable terms, and proposed to go himself. He was the son of a\nChinaman from Singapore, by a native wife, and spoke intelligible English.\nThe crew also had mostly some Chinese blood, and Roebelin gathered that\nthey were partners of Sam Choon, his dragoman, in a very small way. The\nnumber of Celestials and half-breeds of that stock in Mindanao had already\nstruck him, in comparison with Manila. Presently he learned the reason.\nThe energetic and tenacious Chinaman is hated by all classes of\nSpaniards--by the clergy because he will not be converted, by the\nmerchants because he intercepts their trade, by the military because he\nwill not endure unlimited oppression, and by the public at large because\nhe is hard-working, thrifty, and successful. He is dangerous, too, when\nroused by ill-treatment beyond the common, and his secret societies\nprovide machinery for insurrection at a day's notice. But in Mindanao the\nChinaman is indispensable. White traders could not live without his\nassistance. They do not love him the better, but they protect him so far\nas they may from the priests and the military.\n\nI have no adventures to tell on the journey upwards. It lasted a good many\ndays. Roebelin secured few plants, for this part is inhabited by Bagabos,\nor some race of their kidney, and Sam Choon would not land in the forest.\n\nAt length they reached Lake Magindanao; the day was fine, and they pushed\nacross. But presently small round clouds began to mount over the blue\nhills. Thicker and thicker they rose. A pleasant wind swelled the surface\nof the lake, but those clouds far above moved continually faster. Roebelin\ncalled attention to them. But the Chinaman is the least weatherwise of\nmortals. Always intent on his own business or pleasure--the constitution\nof mind which gives him such immense advantage above all other men in the\nstruggle for existence--he does not notice his surroundings much. Briefly,\na tremendous squall caught them in sight of port--one of those sudden\noutbursts which make fresh-water sailing so perilous in the Tropics. The\nwind swooped down like a hurricane from every quarter at once, as it\nseemed. For a moment the lake lay still, hissing, beaten down by the blow;\nthen it rose in solid bulk like waves of the ocean. In a very few minutes\nthe squall passed on; but it had swamped the sampan. They were so near the\nland, however, that the Subanos, hastening to the rescue, met them half\nway in the surf, escorted them to shore, laughing and hallooing, and\nreturned to dive for the cargo. It was mostly recovered in time.\n\nThese people do not build houses in the water, like so many of their kin.\nThey prefer the safety of high trees; it is not by any means so effectual,\nbut such, they would say, was the custom of their ancestors. At this\nvillage the houses were perched not less than fifty feet in air, standing\non a solid platform. But if the inhabitants are thus secured against\nattack, on the other hand--each family living by itself up aloft--an enemy\non the ground would be free to conduct his operations at leisure. So the\nunmarried men and a proportion of the warriors occupy a stout building\nraised only so far above the soil as to keep out reptiles. Here also the\nchief sits by day, and public business is done. The visitors were taken\nthither.\n\nWhen Roebelin had dried his clothes the afternoon was too far advanced for\nexploration. The crew of the prau chattered and disputed at the top of\ntheir shrill voices as case after case was brought in, dripping, and\nexamined. But Sam Choon found time in the midst of his anxieties to warn\nRoebelin against quitting the cleared area. 'Bagabos come just now, they\nsay,' he shouted. But the noise and the fuss and the smell were past\nbearing. Roebelin took his arms and strolled out till supper was ready.\n\nI do not know what he discovered. On returning he found a serious palaver,\nthe savages arguing coolly, the Chinamen raving. Sam Choon rushed up,\nbegging him to act as umpire; and whilst eating his supper Roebelin\nlearned the question in dispute. Sam Choon, as we know, had debts to\ncollect in this village, for cloth and European goods, to be paid in\njungle produce--honey, wax, gums, and so forth. The Subanos did not deny\ntheir liability--the natural man is absolutely truthful and honest. Nor\ndid they assert that they could not pay. Their contention was simply that\nthe merchandise had been charged at a figure beyond the market rate.\nAnother Chinaman had paid them a visit, and sold the same wares at a lower\nprice. They proposed to return Sam Choon's goods unused, and to pay for\nanything they could not restore on this reduced scale. It was perfectly\njust in the abstract, and the natural man does not conceive any other sort\nof justice. Sam Choon could not dispute that his rival's cloth was equally\ngood; it bore the same trademark, and those keen eyes were as well able to\njudge of quality as his own. But the trader everywhere has his own code of\nmorals. Those articles for which the Subanos were indebted had been\nexamined, and the price had been discussed, at leisure; an honest man\ncannot break his word. Such diverse views were not to be reconciled.\nRoebelin took a practical course. He asked whether it could possibly be\nworth while to quarrel with these customers for the sake of a very few\ndollars? At the lower rate there would be a profit of many hundreds per\ncent. But the Chinaman, threatened with a loss in business, is not to be\nmoved, for a while at least, by demonstrations of prudence.\n\nMeantime the dispute still raged at the Council fire, for the crew also\nwere interested. Suddenly there was a roar. Several of them rushed across\nto Sam Choon and shouted great news. Roebelin understood afterwards. The\ncaitiff who had undersold them was in the village at that moment! Whilst\nthey jabbered in high excitement another roar burst out. One of the men,\nhandling the rival's cloth, found a private mark--the mark of his 'Hoey.'\nAnd it was that to which they all belonged.\n\nThe Hoey may be described as a trade guild; but it is much more. Each of\nthese countless associations is attached to one of the great secret\nsocieties, generally the T'ien T'i Hung, compared with which, for numbers\nand power, Freemasonry is but a small concern. By an oath which expressly\nnames father, son, and brother, the initiated swear to kill any of their\nfellows who shall wrong a member of the Hoey. This unspeakable villain who\nsold cheap had wronged them all! He must die!\n\nThey pressed upon the chief in a body, demanding the traitor. All had arms\nand brandished them. Probably the savages would not have surrendered a\nguest on any terms; but this demonstration provoked them. In howling\ntumult they dispersed, seized their ready weapons, and formed line. The\nwar-cry was not yet raised, but spears were levelled by furious hands. The\nissue depended on any chance movement. Suddenly from a distance came the\nblast of a cow-horn--a muffled bellow, but full of threat. The savages\npaused, turned, and rushed out, shouting. Roebelin caught a word, familiar\nby this time--'Bagabos.' He followed; but Sam Choon seized his arm. 'They\nput _ranjows_,' he said breathlessly. 'You cut foot, you die!' And in the\nmoonlight Roebelin saw boys running hither and thither with an armful of\nbamboo spikes sharp as knives at each end, which they drove into the\nearth.\n\nMen unacquainted with the plan of this defence can only stand aside when\nranjows are laid down. Roebelin waited with the Chinamen, tame and quiet\nenough now. The Subanos had all vanished in the forest, which rose, misty\nand still, across the clearing. Hours they watched, expecting each moment\nto hear the yell of savage fight. But no sound reached them. At length a\nlong line of dusky figures emerged, with arms and ornaments sparkling in\nthe moonlight. It was half the warriors returning.\n\nThey still showed sullenness towards the Chinamen; but the chief took\nRoebelin by the hand, led him to the foot of a tree upon which stood the\nlargest house, and smilingly showed him the way up. It was not a pleasant\nclimb. The ladder, a notched trunk, dripped with dew; it was old and\nrotten besides. Roebelin went up gingerly; the chief returned with a torch\nto light his steps before he had got half way. But the interior was\ncomfortable enough--far above the mosquito realm anyhow. Roebelin felt\nthat an indefinite number of eyes were watching from the darkness as he\nmade his simple preparations for turning in; but he saw none of them, and\nheard only a rustling. 'What a day I've had!' he thought, and fell asleep.\n\nIt was a roar and a rush like the crack of doom which woke him; shrieking\nand shouting, clang of things that fell, boom of great waves, and thunder\nsuch as mortal never heard dominating all. A multitude of naked bodies\nstumbled over him and fell, a struggling, screaming heap. In an instant\nthey were gone. He started up, but pitched headlong. The floor rolled\nelastic as a spring-board. It was black night. Dimly he saw clearer\npatches where a flying wretch, tossed against the wall of sticks, had\nbroken it down. But the dust veiled them like a curtain. Gasping, on hands\nand knees, Roebelin sought the doorway. Again and again, even thus, he\nfell upon his side. And all the while that thundering din resounded. He\nunderstood now. It was a great earthquake! At length the doorway was\nfound; holding on cautiously, Roebelin felt for the ladder. It was\ngone--broken in the rush.\n\nOf the time that followed I do not speak. There were no more shocks.\nSlowly the sky whitened. He turned over the wreck--not a creature was\nthere, dead or living. Great gaps showed in the floor and in the roof.\nThrough one of these, against the rosy clouds, he saw a wreath of giant\nflowers, lilac and cinnamon, clinging to the tree above. It was Vanda\nSanderiana!\n\n\nBut that plant and the others collected at the same time never reached\nEurope. Upon returning to Surigao with his treasures, Roebelin found\nlittle beyond heaps of rubbish on the site. Earthquakes have a home in\nMindanao. But that of 1880 was the most awful on record as yet. Two years\nlater he returned and brought home the prize.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF PHALAENOPSIS SANDERIANA\n\n\nThe discovery of Phalaenopsis Sanderiana was an interesting event; nor for\nbotanists alone. Some thoughtful persons always incline to credit a legend\nor an assertion current among savages, so long as it deals with facts\nwithin the limits of their knowledge. Human beings are truthful by\ninstinct; and if we can assure ourselves that no motive tempts them to\nfalsehood, it is more likely than not that even an improbable story will\nprove correct. The rule applies in all matters of natural history.\nNumberless are the reports concerning beasts and birds and reptiles\naccepted now which were a mock for generations; numberless, also, one must\nadd, are the reports too grotesque for discussion. For imagination asserts\nitself in the case of animals, and gives a motive, though unconscious, for\nthe wildest inventions. But it is rarely excited by plants. When a savage\ndescribes some flower he has seen, the statement may be trusted, 'barring\nerrors'; and they will probably be slight, for his power of observation,\nand his memory in matters of this sort, are alike wonderful. A collector\nof plants who knows his business encourages the natives to talk; often\nenough they give him valuable information. The first hint of Calla\nPentlandii, the yellow Egyptian lily or 'arum,' was furnished by a Zulu\nwho came from a great distance to visit a relative in the service of\nCaptain Allison. I may venture to tell secrets which will be common\nproperty soon. A blue Calla and a scarlet have been found--both of them\non report of Kaffirs.\n\nThe story of Phalaenopsis Sanderiana is a striking instance. Its allied\nspecies, grandiflora and amabilis, reached Europe in 1836 and 1847\nrespectively. Their snowy whiteness and graceful habit prepared the world\nfor a burst of enthusiasm when Phalaenopsis Schilleriana, the earliest of\nthe coloured species, was brought from the Philippines in 1860. The Duke\nof Devonshire paid Messrs. Rollison a hundred guineas for the first plant\nthat flowered. Such a price was startling then. Reported at Manila, it set\nthe Spaniards talking and inquiring. Messrs. Rollison had sent an agent to\ncollect Phalaenopsis there, who presently reported a scarlet species! No\none he could find had seen it, but the natives spoke confidently, and he\nhoped to forward a consignment without delay. But years and years passed.\nThe great firm of Rollison flourished, decayed, and vanished, but that\nblessed consignment was never shipped.\n\nOther collectors visited the Philippines. They also reported the wonder,\non hearsay, and every mail brought them reiterated instructions to find\nand send it at any cost. Now here, now there, the pursuers hunted it to a\ncorner; but when they closed, it was elsewhere. Meantime the settled\nislands had been explored gradually. Many fine things escaped attention,\nas we know at this day; but a flower so conspicuous, so eagerly demanded\nand described, could not have been missed. As years went by, the red\nPhalaenopsis became a joke. Interest degenerated into mockery.\n\nAs a matter of fact, it is very improbable that the plant had ever been in\nManila, or that a white man had beheld it. For it is found only in an\nislet to the west of Mindanao, the most southerly of the Philippine group.\nMindanao itself is not yet explored, much less occupied, though the\nSpaniards pushed farther and farther inland year by year. Seafaring\nTagalas may have visited that islet, and seen the red Phalaenopsis. When\nthey heard, at Manila, how an English duke had paid some fabulous amount\nfor a flower of the same genus, they would naturally mention it. And so\nthe legend grew.\n\nIn 1881, a score of years afterwards, the conquest of Mindanao was so far\nadvanced that the Spanish mail steamers called there. When Mr. Sander of\nSt. Albans heard this intelligence he thrilled with hope, as has been\ntold. Mr. Roebelin had instructions, of course, to inquire for the red\nPhalaenopsis; Mr. Sander's experience teaches him that local rumours\nshould never be disregarded. But the search had been very close and very\nlong. Perhaps there was not another man in Europe who thought it possible\nthat the marvel could exist.\n\nMr. Roebelin is still living, I believe, and he could tell of some lively\nadventures on that first visit to Mindanao. Constantly he heard of the red\nPhalaenopsis; it was _en l'air_, he wrote, using the expression in two\nsenses. At the northern settlements they directed him south, at the\neastern, west, and so round the compass. But he had other matters in hand,\nand contented himself with inquiries.\n\nI do not learn whether it was accident or information which led him to the\nlittle island Davao on his second visit, in 1883. He may have sailed\nthither on chance, for a traveller is absolutely certain of finding new\nplants on an untrodden shore in those seas. Anyhow Roebelin knew the quest\nwas over, the riddle solved triumphantly, before landing.\n\nThe half-breed Chinaman, Sam Choon, was personally conducting him on this\noccasion also; he found the vessel (a native prau, of course), boatmen,\nprovisions, and the rest. Everything was at the collector's disposal; but\nSam Choon took a cargo of 'notions' on his own account, to trade when\nopportunity arose.\n\nDavao lies, I understand, some sixty miles from Mindanao. Its inhabitants\nare Papuan thorough-bred, of the brown variety. Roebelin was deeply struck\nwith the appearance of the warriors who swarmed to the beach when his\nintention of landing was understood. A body of men so tall and stalwart\ncan scarcely be found elsewhere, and for graceful carriage or activity\nthey could not be surpassed. A red clout was their only wear, besides\nornaments and weapons. They had the kinkled hair of the race (not wool),\nbleached with lime, and dyed yellow. Very strange and pleasing is the\neffect of these golden mops, lustrous if not clean, decked with plumes and\nfresh flowers. But admiration came afterwards. When Roebelin saw the big\nfellows mustering in haste, armed with spears and bows, stoneheaded maces\nwhich the European soldier could scarcely wield, great swords set with\nsharks' teeth, and outlandish tools of every sort for smashing and\ntearing, he regarded the spectacle from another point of view. They ran\nand leapt, brandishing their weapons, halloed and roared and sang, with\nPapuan vivacity. The vessel approaching was too small to alarm them.\nLaughter predominated in the uproar. But this was no comfort. Men are\ncheerful with a feast in view.\n\nSam Choon, however, kept up his spirits. 'Them chaps make rumpus all\ntime,' he said. 'We see.' He held up a green bough shipped for the\npurpose. It was all laughter now and gesticulation. Every Papuan tore a\nbranch from the shrubs around and waved it boisterously. 'Them no hurt,'\nsaid Sam Choon. 'Good trade.' The Chinaman was as careful of his person as\none need be, and experienced in the ways of such people. Roebelin took\ncourage. As they neared the surf, the whole body of islanders rushed\ntowards them, splashed through the shallows whooping, dived beneath the\nwave, and came up at the vessel's side. Ropes were tossed to them, and\nthey swam back again. But the first yellow head popped up just where\nRoebelin was seated. Among the feathers twisted in it, draggled now, he\nsaw a spray--surely an Aerides! but bluish-red, unlike any species known.\nThe savage grinned and shouted, whirling the hair like an aureole around\nhis glistening face, threw one brawny arm into the air, and at a stroke\nreached the bows. Another shot up; another. The sea was peopled in an\ninstant, all grinning and shouting breathlessly, all whirling their golden\nlocks. Among the flowers with which every head was decked, Roebelin saw\nmany Phalaenopsis. And most of them were ruddy!\n\nSam Choon lay to whilst the islanders swam ashore and formed a chain;\nthen, at a word, they ran up the beach full speed--making a noise, says\nRoebelin, which reminded him of the earthquake he had lately felt.\nSimultaneously the crew paddled their hardest, also yelling in the shrill\nChinese way. The prau sped like a flash, but half full of water. Beyond\nthe surf a mob seized and carried it ashore.\n\nPapuans have no acquaintance with ceremony. Paying little attention to\ntheir chiefs, they are not apt to discriminate among strangers. All alike\nseized one of these new friends--who brought trade!---slapped him about\nthe body, and hugged him. Roebelin had been subjected to merciless\nshampooing occasionally in Indian hammams; but he never felt the like of\nthat welcome. It was _massage_ by machinery.\n\nThe women had come on the scene now. Though they took no part, they\nmingled with the warriors, and showed quite as much assurance as is\nbecoming. But they are not by any means such fine creatures as the men,\nand they do not allow themselves--or they are not allowed--the curious\nattraction of yellow hair. Roebelin noticed a few, however, worthy to be\nhelpmates of those superb animals; one girl in especial, nearly six feet\nhigh, whose figure was a model, face pleasing and expressive, full of\ncharacter.\n\nThese people live in trees like the Subanos of Mindanao. As soon as his\nbaggage had been taken to the public hall, Roebelin got out beads, wire,\nand Brummagem jewellery. The glimpse of that Aerides and the assurance of\na red Phalaenopsis made him impatient. But even Sam Choon found difficulty\nin identifying the chiefs, to whom of course presents must be made before\nbusiness can open. However, the point interesting to Roebelin was settled\nin an instant. The Phalaenopsis, they said, abounded within a few hundred\nyards, and the Aerides was common enough. The white man wanted them for\nmedicine? He might have as many as he liked--on due payment. To-morrow the\nchief would show him, and then a price must be fixed.\n\nHe slept in the hall, and at dawn he was more than ready. But early rising\nis not a virtue of savages. To explore without permission would be\ndangerous. Gradually the village woke to life. Men descended from their\nquarters high in air, bathed, made their toilettes, and lounged about,\nwaiting for breakfast. Girls came down for water and returned, whilst\ntheir mothers tidied the house. Smoke arose. In due time the men mounted,\nate, climbed down, and gathered in the public hall, where Sam Choon was\nsetting out a sample of his wares. Hours passed. But the chief's door\nremained shut. No one passed out or in.\n\nRoebelin saw people glance upwards with a grave air; but they showed no\nsurprise. He consulted Sam Choon, who had been too busy to notice.\n\nAll he said was, ''Spect chief get bad bird! Dam! All up this day!' And he\nstopped his preparations.\n\nSo it proved to be--a fowl of black plumage had flown across just as the\ndoor was opening. None of the chief's household came down that day. But\nafter negotiation some of the men led Roebelin to see the Phalaenopsis.\nThey grew in thousands over a brook close by, clinging to small trees. He\ncounted twenty-two plants, bearing more than a hundred flowers open, upon\na single trunk. Very curious is one point noticed. The Phalaenopsis always\ngrows on the northern side of its support, and always turns its flower\nspike towards the southern side. It is a very bad species to travel. Of\nthe multitude which Roebelin gathered, not more than a hundred reached\nEurope alive, and every collector since, I believe, has failed utterly.\nVery few possessed his knowledge and experience.\n\nThat was Phalaenopsis Sanderiana; rather purple than red, but certainly\nthe flower so long sought. With the superb Aerides--now called A.\nRoebelini--he was even less successful; it is only to be seen in a very\nfew collections of the highest class.\n\nSo the legend ends. But there is a funny little sequel. Sam Choon did well\nwith his 'notions.' After Mr. Roebelin's departure, he returned to Davao\nand opened a promising branch of trade. To secure a permanent footing, he\nthought it would be judicious to marry a daughter of the chief, and he\nproposed for the giant beauty whom Roebelin had noticed on landing. The\nfather was astonished and amused, but finally indignant. A Chinaman,\nhowever, though thrifty by habit and taste, does not count expense when\npleasure or business urge him, and both combined here. The chief wavered,\nand took counsel of his elders. They also were astonished and indignant;\nbut Sam Choon found means to persuade them. So the young woman received\nnotice that she was to marry the Chinaman next day. Her remarks are not\nchronicled. But there was much excitement among the bachelors and maidens\nthat evening, and presently a band of stalwart youths entered the hall\nwhere Sam Choon sat with the chief--his father-in-law on the morrow. They\ntold the latter gravely that they disapproved of the match. Sam Choon\ninterposed with a statement of the advantages to follow, with equal\ngravity. Then they threatened to smash every bone in his carcass. So the\nmarriage was broken off, but without ill-feeling on either side.\n\n\n[Illustration: LÆLIA, GRANDIS, TENEBROSA. _WALTON GRANGE VARIETY._]\n\n\n\n\nHYBRID CATTLEYAS AND LAELIAS\n\n\nTo right, in the Vanda House, are many hybrids of Cattleya and Laelia; but\nwe have many more, and it will be convenient to notice them all together\nin this place. Some have not flowered yet, and therefore have received no\nname; but even of these it is worth while to give the parentage, seeing\nthat there is no official record of hybridisation as yet. Mr. Rolfe at Kew\ntries hard to keep pace with the enterprise of enthusiastic amateurs and\nenergetic professionals throughout the world. But comparatively few report\nto him, and not every one files the _Orchid Review_. Thus it happens that\nexperiments carried to an issue long ago are continually repeated, in the\nexpectation of producing a novelty. The experimenter indeed loses nothing\nsave the credit he hoped to win. But in the scientific point of view time\nis wasted and the confusion of names is increased. To contribute in my\nsmall way towards an improvement in this state of things I give a list of\nthe Cattleya and Laelia hybrids at Woodlands, long though it be, and\nuninteresting to the public at large; assured that it will be welcome to\nthose who study this most fascinating subject.\n\nI may take the hybrids as they stand, with no methodical arrangement.\nL.-C. means the product of a Laelia and a Cattleya, or, somewhat loosely,\nof a Cattleya and a Laelia. C. × means the product of two Cattleyas; L. ×\nof two Laelias.\n\n_L.-C. Ancona_ (Catt. Harrisoniae × L. purpurata) represents each parent\nalmost equally, taking after Catt. Harrisoniae in colour and size of sepal\nand petal; in general shape and in the hues of the labellum after L.\npurpurata.\n\n_L.-C. Nysa_ (L. crispa × Catt. Warcewiczii).--Pale mauve--the petals have\na sharp touch of crimson at the tips. Labellum all evenly crimson with a\nnarrow outline of white, gracefully frilled.\n\n_L. × Measuresiana._--A natural hybrid, very rare, assumed to be the\nproduct of L. elegans × L. purpurata. Rosy mauve. From the tube, very\nlong, the labellum opens squarely, purple, with a clouded throat and dusky\nyellow 'eyes.'\n\n_L.-C. Arnoldiana_ (L. purpurata × Catt. labiata). Large, clear mauve.\nPetals much attenuated at the ends, which gives them a sort of 'fly-away'\nappearance. The fine expanded lip, of carmine crimson, is clouded with a\ndeeper tint round the orange throat.\n\n_L. × Claptonensis_ (L. elegans × L. Dormaniana).--Small, white with a\nrosy flush. The long shovel lip is brilliantly crimson, fading to a white\nedge.\n\n_L.-C. amanda._--A natural hybrid of which Catt. intermedia is one parent,\nL. Boothiana perhaps the other. Pale pink. The yellow throat and the\nbright rosy lip show lines of deep crimson, strongly 'feathered' on either\nside.\n\n_L. × Gravesiae_ (L. crispa superba × L. praestans).--Small, rosy white.\nThe spade-like lip is magenta-crimson, wonderfully smooth and brilliant,\nwith two little yellow 'eyes' in the throat.\n\n_L.-C. Tiresias_ (Catt. Bowringiana × L. elegans).--The petals are exactly\noval, saving pretty twirls and twists at the edges--soft bright mauve, the\nnarrow sepals paler. The funnel lip does not open wide, but in colour it\nis like the richest and silkiest crimson velvet, almost maroon at the\nthroat; charmingly frilled and gauffered.\n\n_C. × Portia._--Parents doubtful, but evidently Catt. Bowringiana is one\nof them, Catt. labiata perhaps the other. Sepals and petals lively mauve,\nthe latter darker. The funnel of the lip brightest rose, disc of the\nsoftest tenderest crimson imaginable, deepening against the pale yellowish\nthroat.\n\n_L.-C. Tresederiana_ (Catt. Loddigesii × L. crispa superba).--Rather\ncurious than beautiful. The narrow petals and narrower sepals are pallid\nviolet; the labellum has a faintly yellow throat, and the dull purple disc\nof Catt. crispa; not evenly coloured but in strong lines.\n\n_C. × Mantinii nobilior_ (Catt. Bowringiana × Catt. aurea).--Raised by M.\nMantin. Delicious is a proper word for it--neat and graceful in shape,\nrosy-crimson in colour. The lip opens widely, exquisitely veined with gold\nwithin. It has a golden tinge on either side the throat, and a margin of\ndeeper crimson. The whole colouring is indescribably soft and tender.\n\n_C. × Mantinii inversa_ represents the same parentage transposed (Catt.\naurea × Catt. Bowringiana).--Small like its mother, of brightest deepest\nrose. The lip, loosely open above, swells to a fine expanse below, of\ndarker tint. Throat golden, charmingly scored with crimson-brown, like\naurea. The disc shows an arch of dark crimson on a rosy ground. It will be\nseen that the influence of Bowringiana strongly predominates.\n\n_C. × Chloris_ (Catt. Bowringiana × Catt. maxima) much resembles the\nabove. It is less brilliant, however; the lip does not open so freely, and\nthe arch mentioned, though even darker, is not so effective on a less\nlively ground.\n\n_L.-C. Fire Queen._--Parentage not recorded. I have not seen this flower,\nnor even an account of it, but it received an Award of Merit, June 6,\n1897.\n\n_L.-C. Lady Wigan_ (L. purpurata Russelliana × Catt. Mossiae\naurea).--Dainty pink of sepal and petal. From the pale yellow throat issue\na number of crimson rays which darken to violet purple in the disc.\n\n_C.-L. Parysatis_ (Catt. Bowringiana × L. pumila).--Rosy pink. The\nfunnel-shaped lip opens handsomely, showing a disc of soft crimson with a\nwhite speck at the tip.\n\n_L.-C. Robin Measures_ is assumed to be a natural hybrid of Laelia\nxanthina × Catt. Regnieri, a variety of Catt. Schilleriana. Sepals and\npetals smooth dainty green, the latter just touched with a suspicion of\npurple at the tips. It has the shovel lip of Schilleriana, a yellow tube\nand golden throat, from which descends a line of darkest crimson. The\nground-colour of the disc is white, but clouded with crimson-lake and\nclosely barred with dark crimson up to the white edge.\n\n_L.-C. Bellairensis_ (Catt. Bowringiana × L. Goldiana).--So curiously like\nL. autumnalis that a close observer even would take it for that species.\nIn shape, however, it is more graceful than the pink form, and in colour\nmuch more pale than atro-rubens.\n\n_L.-C. Tiresias superba_ (Catt. Bowringiana × L. elegans Turneri).--I\nheard some one exclaim 'What a study in colour!' It is indeed, and in form\ntoo--not large, but smoothly regular as pencil could draw. The sepals make\nan exact triangle, delicate rosy purple, netted over with soft lines.\nPetals broad and short, darker. Lip rather long, white in the throat with\na faintest stain of yellow, the disc and edges of the lobes glorious\ncrimson-purple, with a dark cloud above which stretches all up the throat.\nA gem of beauty indescribable.\n\n_C. × Browniae._--Bought as a hybrid of Catt. Bowringiana × Catt.\nLoddigesii, but it shows no trace of either parent. Very pretty and odd,\nhowever. The tiny little sepals are hardly seen, lost behind the huge\npink petals. The lip also has pink lobes above a gamboge throat, and a\nbright crimson-purple disc.\n\n_L.-C. Albanensis._--A natural hybrid, doubtless the product of L. grandis\n× Catt. Warneri. Pale rosy-mauve, lip crimson, deepening as it expands,\nbut fading again towards the margin. A large and grand flower.\n\n_L.-C. Aphrodite_ (Catt. Mendelii × L. purpurata).--Sepals and petals pure\nwhite. Labellum deepest crimson with rosy tip.\n\n_L. × Sanderae_ (L. xanthina × L. Dormaniana).--Sepals and petals crimson,\nlip purplish rose.\n\n_C. × Mariottiana_ (Catt. Eldorado × Catt. gigas).--Very pretty, dark\nrose, lip bright crimson with yellow throat.\n\n_L. × splendens_ (L. crispa × L. purpurata).--Pink. Lip crimson-purple,\nedged with white, heavily fringed.\n\n_C. × Atalanta_ (Catt. Leopoldii × Catt. Warcewiczii).--Large and waxy.\nSepals and petals rose veined with crimson, lip bright magenta.\n\n_L.-C. excellens_ (Catt. gigas ocullata × L. purpurata Brysiana).--A\nsuperb flower, very large, rosy mauve, lip crimson.\n\n_L.-C. Amazon_ (Catt. maxima × L. purpurata).--Sepals and petals softly\nflushed, lip much darker in tone, veined with crimson.\n\n_C. × Prince of Wales_ (Catt. fimbriata × Catt. Wageneri).--White. The lip\namethyst, veined with rose and frilled; throat golden.\n\n_C. × Kienastiana_ (Catt. Luddemanniana × Catt. aurea).--Sepals flushed\nwhite, petals warm lilac, the veins paler; magenta lip with shadings of\norange and lilac towards the edge and a white margin.\n\n_L.-C. Hon. Mrs. Astor_ (Catt. Gaskelliana × L. xanthina).--Sepals clear\nyellow, petals white with a sulphur tinge; throat golden yellow veined\nwith purple, disc rose, veined with crimson and edged with lilac.\n\n_L.-C. Broomfieldensis_ (Catt. aurea-chrysotoxa × L. pumila\nDayana).--Mauve. The lip deep crimson, gracefully frilled; the throat has\ncrimson and gold markings on a purple ground.\n\n_C. × Fowleri_ (Catt. Leopoldii × Catt. Hardyana).--Rosy lilac, lip\ncrimson. The side lobes are white tipped with crimson.\n\n_C. × Miss Measures_ (Catt. speciosissima × Catt. velutina).--Pretty\nmauve-pink with darker lines. Golden throat, lip crimson veined with\npurple.\n\n_C. × William Murray_ (Catt. Mendelii × Catt. Lawrenceana).--Rosy with a\npurple tinge. Throat veined with orange and purple, lip purple-crimson.\n\n_L.-C. C.-G. Roebling_ (L. purpurata alba × Catt. Gaskelliana).--Sepals\nand petals flushed, lip deepest violet, suffused with crimson and edged\nwith white.\n\n_L.-C. D. S. Brown_ (Catt. Trianae × L. elegans).--Soft pink, throat\nyellow with a brownish tinge, lip carmine-crimson.\n\n_L.-C. Mardellii fascinator_ (L. elegans Turneri × Catt.\nspeciosissima).--Mauve. Throat yellow, darkening to orange in front, lip\npurple-crimson.\n\n_L.-C. callistoglossa_ (L. purpurata × Catt. gigas).--Sepals pale rosy\nmauve, petals darker. Throat yellow streaked with purple; lip purple.\n\n_L.-C. callistoglossa ignescens_ (Catt. gigas × L. purpurata).--Sepals\nrosy lilac, petals a deeper shade, lip glowing purple.\n\n_L. × Latona_ (L. purpurata × L. cinnabarina).--Pale orange. Lip whitish\nat the base, the disc crimson bordered with orange.\n\n_L.-C. Decia_ (L. Perrinii × Catt. aurea).--Pale violet, deepening\ntowards the tips. Lip crimson, streaked with white on the side lobes, with\nwhite and rosy purple on the disc.\n\n_L.-C. Eudora_ (Catt. Mendelii × L. purpurata).--Rosy purple. Lip deepest\ncrimson shaded with maroon.\n\n_L.-C. Eudora alba_ (L. purpurata alba × Catt. Mendelii).--Ivory white.\nLip crimson with purple shadings.\n\n_L.-C. Hippolyta_ (Catt. Mossiae × L. cinnabarina).--Bright orange with a\nrosy purplish tinge. The lip red-purple, much frilled.\n\n_L.-C. Zephyra_ (Catt. Mendelii × L. xanthina).--All Nankin yellow except\nthe crimson disc, which has a pale margin.\n\n_L.-C. Amesiana_ (L. crispa × Catt. maxima).--White washed with amethyst.\nLip purple-crimson fading towards the margin.\n\n_L.-C. Exoniensis_ (Catt. Mossiae × L. crispa).--White flushed with rosy\nmauve. Lip purple-crimson.\n\n_L. × Yula_ (L. cinnabarina × L. purpurata).--Scarcely larger than\ncinnabarina, bright orange, the petals veined and flushed with crimson.\nThe lip of size proportionate--that is, small--shows more of the purpurata\ninfluence in its bright crimson disc.\n\n_L. × Yula inversa_ (L. purpurata × L. cinnabarina).--The same parentage\nbut transposed. More than twice as large as the other and spreading, but\nthin. Sepals of the liveliest orange, petals agreeably tinged with purple.\nOn the long narrow lip this pink shade deepens almost to red. Upon the\nwhole, neither of them is to be commended for its own sake, but the\nbrilliant orange of cinnabarina is retained so perfectly that both will\nprove valuable for hybridising.\n\n_C. × Our Queen_ (Catt. Mendelii × unknown).--Sepals and petals white,\nfaintly flushed. In the throat, of brightest yellow, are several brown\nlines. The upper part of the lip is crimson, the disc purple.\n\n_L.-C. Empress of India_ (L. purpurata Brysiana × Catt. Dowiana).--Sepals\nand petals rose, tinged with violet at the ends, lip large, spreading, of\nthe richest crimson-purple.\n\n_L.-C. Leucoglossa_ (Catt. Loddigesii × L.-C. fausta).--Rose-pink. Lip\nwhite, touched with yellow in the throat.\n\n_L.-C. Henry Greenwood_ (L.-C. Schilleriana × Catt. Hardyana).--Sepals and\npetals cream-coloured, tinged with pink, the latter veined with rosy\npurple. Lip purple with yellow throat.\n\n_L.-C. Canhamiana_ (Catt. Mossiae × L. purpurata).--White tinged with\nmauve. Lip crimson-purple, with a narrow white margin, crisped.\n\n_L.-C. Pallas superba_ (L. crispa × Catt. aurea).--Dark rose. Lip purple\nin the throat, golden in the disc, finely striped with crimson.\n\n_C. × Wendlandiana_ (Catt. Bowringiana × Catt. gigas).--Bright soft rose,\nlip purple-crimson with two yellow 'eyes' beneath the tube.\n\n_C. × Cecilia_ (Catt. Lawrenceana × Catt. Trianae).--Sepals and petals\ndeep violet, throat buff changing to violet, disc purple.\n\n_C. × Louis Chaton_ (Catt. Trianae × Catt. Lawrenceana--the same parentage\nas Cecilia but reversed).--A most successful combination. Fine in shape,\npetals soft rosy mauve, sepals paler, and superb crimson lip, with the\nyellow of Trianae strongly expressed in the throat.\n\n_C. O'Brieniana._--A natural hybrid of Catt. Loddigesii and Catt.\nWalkeriana apparently; pale mauve; lip yellow.\n\n_L.-C. Miss Lily Measures_ (L.-C. Arnoldiana × Gottoiana).--Very large.\nSepals and petals dark rose; lip rosy purple.\n\n_L.-C. velutino-elegans_ (Catt. velutina × L. elegans).--Sepals and petals\nwhite with a yellow tinge, veined with rose. At the throat an orange\nblotch. Lip darkest crimson with white veins.\n\nI append a list of hybrid seedlings which have not yet flowered and\ntherefore have received no name as yet. It will be useful only to those\nwho practise the fascinating art of Hybridisation. But such are a\nmultitude already, and each year their numbers swell.\n\n  Cattleya labiata × Catt. Bowringiana.\n     \"  Mendelii × L. xanthina.\n     \"  Warnerii × L. Euterpe.\n     \"  Bowringiana × Catt. Hardyana.\n     \"     \"  × Sophronitis grandiflora.\n     \"  labiata × Catt. Brymeriana.\n     \"  Gaskelliana × Catt. Harrisoniae violacea.\n     \"  labiata × L. Perrinii.\n     \"  Bowringiana × L. Perrinii.\n     \"  granulosa × Catt. gigas Sanderae.\n     \"  amethystoglossa × Catt. Trianae Osmanii.\n     \"  labiata × L. Gravesiae.\n     \"  Bowringiana × Catt. Leopoldii.\n     \"  Schofieldiana × Catt. Schroderae.\n     \"  Schroderae × L. elegans.\n     \"  Harrisoniae × Catt. Hardyana.\n     \"  Bowringiana × L.-C. Clive.\n     \"  labiata × Catt. Brymeriana.\n     \"  Gaskelliana × Catt. Hardyana.\n     \"  Schroderae × L. grandis.\n     \"  granulosa × Catt. gigas.\n     \"  Gaskelliana × L. crispa.\n     \"  Mossiae × L. purpurata Schroderae.\n     \"  Leopoldii × L. crispa superba.\n     \"  Leopoldii × Catt. Harrisoniae violacea.\n  Laelia tenebrosa × Catt. gigas Sanderae.\n    \"  harpophylla × L. elegans Blenheimensis.\n    \"  cinnabarina × Catt. Skinnerii.\n    \"  tenebrosa × L.-C. Phoebe.\n    \"      \"  × Catt. Mossiae aurea.\n    \"  praestans × Catt. Lord Rothschild.\n    \"  Dayanum × Catt. labiata.\n    \"  cinnabarina × Catt. Trianae var. Mary Ames.\n    \"  purpurata × L. grandis.\n    \"     \"       × Catt. Schroderae.\n    \"  amanda × Catt. aurea.\n    \"  purpurata Schroderae × Catt. Mossiae aurea.\n    \"  Lucasiana × L. elegans Schilleriana.\n    \"  elegans × Catt. Mossiae.\n    \"  crispa × Catt. aurea.\n    \"  purpurata × Catt. Hardyana.\n    \"     \"       × Catt. Mossiae.\n    \"  tenebrosa × Catt. Warnerii.\n    \"      \"       × Catt. Mendelii.\n    \"  elegans × Catt. gigas.\n\nBeyond the hybrids are twenty plants of white Cattleya intermedia. The\nowner of our collection was first among mortals, in Europe at least, to\nbehold that marvel of chaste loveliness. Mr. Sander received a plant of\nintermedia from Brazil, which the collector labelled 'white.' Albino\nCattleyas were few then, and Roezl alone perhaps ventured to imagine that\nevery red species had a white sister. So they took little notice of the\nlabel at St. Albans. When Mr. Measures paid a visit, it was even shown to\nhim as an example of the reckless statements forwarded by collectors. He,\nhowever, in a sporting mood, offered ten guineas, and Mr. Sander gladly\naccepted, but under a written proviso that he guaranteed nothing at all.\nAnd in due time Cattleya intermedia Parthenia appeared, to astonish and\ndelight the universe. Several other albino forms have turned up since, all\nof which are represented here, but Parthenia remains the finest--snowy\nwhite, with a very long lip, which scarcely expands beyond the tube. That\nis to say, 'the books' describe it as snowy white. A careful observer will\nremark the faintest possible tinge of purple in the throat.\n\nWe have also a natural hybrid, Catt. Louryana, which the learned dubiously\nassign to intermedia alba × bicolor; all white saving the lip, which is\nmauve-pink with darker lines.\n\nAmong other albino rarities here is the charming L. praestans alba, pure\nas snow but for a plum-coloured edging round the upper portion of the lip.\n\n_L. Perrinii alba_--stainless throughout. This exquisite variety also\nappeared for the first time in our collection.\n\n_L. Perrinii nivea_--not less beautiful assuredly, though it has the\nimperfection, as an albino, of a pale pink labellum and a yellow throat.\n\nBeyond these rise twenty-five stately plants of Angraecum sesquipedale,\nwhich we are learning to call Aeranthus sesquipedalis. There are those who\ndo not value the marvel, though none but the blind surely can fail to\nadmire it. In truth, like other giants, it does not readily lend itself to\nany useful purpose. I think I could design a wreath of Angraecum\nsesquipedale which would put jewelled coronets to shame; but for a bouquet\nor for the dress or for table decoration, it is equally unsuited.\nWherefore the ladies give a glance of wonder at its ten-inch 'tail' and\npass by, calling it, as I have heard with my own ears, a vegetable\nstarfish. At Woodlands happily there are other flowers enough for a\n'regiment of women,' as John Knox rudely put it, and they do not grudge\nthe room which these noble plants occupy.\n\n\n\n\nA LEGEND OF MADAGASCAR\n\n\nI must not name the leading personage in this sad story. Though\ntwenty-five years have gone by since he met his fate, there are still\nthose who mourn for him. Could it be supposed that my report would come to\nthe knowledge of two among them, old people dwelling modestly in a small\nFrench town, I should not publish it. For they have never heard the truth.\nThose kindly and thoughtful comrades of Alcide Leboeuf--so to name\nhim--who transmitted the news of his death, described it as an accident.\nBut the French Consul at Tamatave sent a brief statement privately to the\nlate Mr. Cutter, of Great Russell Street, in whose employ Leboeuf was\ntravelling, that he might warn any future collectors.\n\nM. Leon Humblot has told how he and his brother once entertained six\nguests at Tamatave; within twelve months he alone survived. So deadly is\nthat climate. Alcide Leboeuf was one of the six, but he perished by the\nhand of man. The poor fellow was half English by blood, and wholly English\nby education. His father, I believe, stuffed birds and sold 'curiosities'\nat a small shop in the East End. At an early age the boy took to\n'collecting' as a business. He travelled for Mr. Cutter in various lands,\nseeking rare birds and insects, and he did his work well, though subject\nto fits of hard drinking from time to time.\n\nAt the shop in Great Russell Street, after a while, he made acquaintance\nwith that admirable collector Crossley, whose stories of Madagascar fired\nhis imagination. Mr. Cutter was loath to send out a man of such unsteady\ncharacter. The perils of that awful climate were not so well understood,\nperhaps, twenty-five years ago, but enough was known to make an employer\nhesitate. Crossley had been shipwrecked on the coast, had lived years with\nthe natives, learned their language, and learned also to adopt their\nhabits while journeying among them. But Leboeuf would not be daunted. A\ngiant in stature--over seven feet, they say--of strength proportionate,\nnot inexperienced in wild travel but never conscious of ache or pain, he\nmocked at danger. When Crossley refused to take an untried man into the\nswamps of Madagascar, he vowed he would go alone. That is, indeed, the\nmost fascinating of all lands to an enthusiast even now, when we are\nassured that the Epyornis, the mammoth of birds, is extinct. At that time\nthere was no good reason to doubt the unanimous assertion of the natives\nthat it still lived. Crossley was so confident that he neglected to buy\neggs badly shattered, waiting for perfect specimens. His scruples were\n'bad business' for Mr. Cutter, as that gentleman lived to see, but they\nappeared judicious at the time. Fragments of Epyornis egg, slung on cords,\nwere the vessels generally used in some parts for carrying water--are\nstill perhaps. Besides this, endless marvels were reported, some of which\nhave been secured in these days. Briefly, the young man was determined to\ngo, and Mr. Cutter gave him a commission.\n\nThus Leboeuf made one of M. Humblot's guests at Tamatave. Another was\nMr. Wilson, the only orchid collector there; for M. Humblot did not feel\nmuch interest in those plants, I believe, at the time. I have not been\nable to learn anything about Wilson's antecedents. His diary, upon which\nthis narrative is framed, was lying about at Tamatave for years; we may\nconclude, perhaps, that the French Consul did not know to whom it should\nbe forwarded--there was no English Consul. Probably Wilson travelled on\nhis own account; certainly none of the great orchid merchants employed\nhim. He was young and inexperienced; glad to attach himself, no doubt, to\na big and self-confident old hand like Leboeuf.\n\nSome weeks or months afterwards we find the pair at a large village called\nMalela, which lies at the foot of Ambohimiangavo, apparently a well-known\nmountain. Ellis mentions it, I observe, but only by name, as the richest\niron district of the Central Provinces. They had had some trouble on the\nway. Among the hints and instructions which Crossley furnished, one in\nespecial counselled Leboeuf to abstain from shooting in the\nneighbourhood of houses. Each tribe, he wrote, holds some living creature\nsacred--it may be a beast or a bird, a reptile, or even an insect. 'These\nmust not be hurt within the territory of such tribe; the natives will\nreadily inform you which they are. But, in addition, each village commonly\nhas its sacred creature, and it will be highly dangerous to shoot until\nyou have identified the object. As you do not speak the language you had\nvery much better make it a rule not to shoot anything on cultivated\nground.'\n\nThis was not a man to heed fantastic warnings, but he learned prudence\nbefore they had gone too far into the wilds. At a short distance from\nTamatave, in a field of sugar-cane, Leboeuf saw a beautiful bird, new to\nhim, which had a tuft of feathers on each side the beak--so Wilson\ndescribed it. He followed and secured the prize. The semi-civilised\nnatives with them paid no attention. But when, an hour later, surrounded\nby the people of the village, he took out his bird to skin, there was a\nsudden tumult. The women and children ran away screaming, the men rushed\nfor their weapons. But collectors were not unfamiliar beings, if\nincomprehensible, so near the port. After some anxious moments, the\nheadmen or priests consented to take a heavy fine, and drove them from the\nspot.\n\nTheir arrival at Malela had been announced, of course, and they found an\nuproarious welcome. All the people of the neighbourhood were assembling\nfor a great feast. While their men built a hut of branches outside the\nfortifications--for no house was unoccupied--they sat beneath the trees in\nthe central space. Such was the excitement that even white visitors\nscarcely commanded notice. Chief after chief arrived, sitting crosswise in\nan ornamented hammock--not lying--his folded arms resting on the bamboo by\nwhich it was suspended. A train of spearmen pressed behind him. They\nmarched round the square, displaying their magnificence to the admiration\nof the crowd, and dismounted at the Prince's door--if that was his\ntitle--leaving their retainers outside. The mob of spearmen there numbered\nhundreds, the common folk thousands, arrayed in their glossiest and\nshowiest lambas of silk or cotton. No small proportion of them were\nbeating tom-toms; others played on the native flutes and fiddles; all\nshouted. The row was deafening. But doubtless it was a brilliant\nspectacle.\n\nOne part of the vast square, however, remained empty. Beneath a fine tree\nstood three posts firmly planted. They were nine or ten feet high, squared\nand polished, each branching at the top into four limbs; tree trunks, in\nfact, chosen for the regularity of their growth. In front was a very large\nstone, unworked, standing several feet above the ground. The travellers\nwere familiar with these objects now. They recognised the curious idols of\nthe country and their altar. On each side of the overshadowing tree\nbarrels were ranged, one on tap, and another waiting its turn. This also\nthey recognised. However savage the inland population, however ignorant\nof the white man's arts, all contrived even then to transport puncheons of\nrum through swamp and jungle for occasions like this. Now and again\npersons distinguished from the throng by costlier dress and ornaments were\nescorted to the spot and they drank with ceremonies. Wilson did not like\nthe prospect. His companion had broken loose once before under a similar\ntemptation. But there was no help.\n\nPresently the Chamberlain, so to call him, approached with a number of\nofficers, and invited them to attend the Prince. They found that potentate\nsitting at the end of a long file of chiefs. The floor of the hall was\ncovered with snowy mats, which set off the beauty of their many-coloured\nrobes. Beside the Prince squatted a pleasant-looking man in pink vest and\nwhite lamba. He wore a broad-brimmed hat of silky felt, black, with a band\nof gold lace, contrasting at every point with the showily-dressed chiefs\naround. This, they knew, must be the high priest, the Sikidy. The Prince\nreceived them courteously, but since their interpreter knew but little\nFrench, and less, as it seems, of the language of this tribe,\ncommunication was limited to the forms of politeness. Then slaves brought\nin the feast, setting great iron dishes on the mats all along the row.\nSimultaneously the band struck up, and women began singing at the top of\ntheir voices.\n\nThe heat, the smell, the noise, the excitement of the scene were\nintoxicating without alcohol. But rum flowed literally in buckets, and\npalm wine several days old, which is even stronger. Wilson ventured to\nurge caution after a while, and at length Leboeuf tore himself away. Men\ncame and went all the time, so their departure was unnoticed.\n\nThey reached the hut of boughs, now finished. Leboeuf threw himself down\nand slept; relieved of anxiety, Wilson set off to gather orchids. Malela\nappears to be a fine hunting-ground for collectors, but he only mentions\nthe fact to explain his imprudence in leaving Leboeuf for some hours.\nThe latter woke, found himself quite alone--for all the servants were\nmerry-making, of course--and he also started off collecting. Unfortunately\nhe traversed the village. And some of the chiefs took him in a friendly\nspirit to the barrel under the tree.\n\nWilson was returning--happy with a load of new orchids maybe--when he\nheard a shot, followed by a clamour of young voices. Next instant a swarm\nof children burst from the forest, and ran screaming across the open\nground. Wilson had heard that cry before. His blood chilled. If the men of\nthe other village were furious, how would it be with these drunken\nsavages! He hurried to the spot whence the children had emerged.\n\nAs their voices died away he became conscious of shouting--an exultant\ntone. It was Leboeuf. They met in the outskirts of the wood. At sight of\nWilson he bawled--\n\n'Hi, young un! got any weeds to sell? Give you tuppence for the lot.\nPretty flowers--all a-blowing and a-growing! Take 'em to the missus! The\nladies loves you chaps. I say, what'll old Cutter look like when he sees\n_that_?' Leboeuf threw down an animal which he carried on his shoulder,\nand danced round it, shouting and laughing.\n\nIt was a small creature, brownish grey, with enormous ears very human in\nshape, long skeleton hands, and a bushy tail thicker than a lady's boa. By\nthat and the ears Wilson recognised the Madagascar sloth, rarest of all\nanimals then in museums, and very rare still. He had no particular reason\nto suspect that the natives reverenced it, but a beast so eerie in\nappearance and habits might well be thought sacred.\n\nHe implored Leboeuf to leave it and come away; Leboeuf did not even\nlisten. After dancing and roaring till he was tired he picked up the\naye-aye and marched on, talking loud.\n\nThus they did not hear the noise of a multitude approaching. But from the\nedge of the forest they saw it. Chiefs led the van, stumbling and\nstaggering; among the foremost was that personage in snowy lamba and broad\nblack hat--not pleasant-looking now. A mob of spearmen pressed behind. The\nclearing was a compact mass of natives, running, wailing,\ngesticulating--and they still streamed in thousands through the narrow\ngate. It was like the rush of ants when their nest is disturbed.\n\nThe sight paralysed even Leboeuf; Wilson, after an awful glance, ran\nback and hid. He could hear his comrade's shouts above the uproar for a\nmoment--then there was a pause, and the interpreter's voice reached him\nfaintly. Wilson still crept away. He heard only a confused clamour for\nsome minutes, but then a burst of vengeful triumph made the forest ring.\nIt needed no explanation. Leboeuf was overpowered. The noise grew\nfainter--they were dragging him away--and ceased.\n\nFor hours Wilson lay in an agony of fear. That Leboeuf was killed he did\nnot doubt; but how could he himself escape, alone in the forest, ignorant\nof the roads, many weeks journey from the coast? A more cruel fate would\nprobably be his. It might be hoped that Leboeuf's tortures had been\nshort.\n\nHe did not dare push deeper into the wood; his single chance lay in\ncreeping round the village after dark, and possibly rejoining his\nservants, if they still lived. If not, he might recover the road at least.\nBut man could not be in more desperate straits.\n\nRemaining thus in the vicinity, towards dusk he heard a whistle far off.\nThe frenzy of his relief is not to be described--it was the rallying\nsignal of the party. But suppose the enemy used this device to ensnare\nhim? It might be! And yet--there was the hope. At worst they would give\nhim a speedy death. He answered. Gradually the searchers drew near. They\nwere his own men, led by the interpreter.\n\nWilson could not speak French, but he grasped that the natives would not\nharm him. Leboeuf?--It was almost a comfort that he could not understand\nprecisely. The interpreter's pantomime suggested an awful fate. Leboeuf\nstood at bay with his gun, and the chiefs held him in parley while men\ncrept through the brushwood. They threw a lasso from behind, and dragged\nhim down. He was borne to the square, and after dread ceremonies which\nWilson shuddered to comprehend, laid upon the altar.\n\nIn a maze of horror and anxiety he entered the village. It was not yet\ndark. But of all the multitude swarming there some hours before not a soul\nwas visible. They had not left; every house resounded with the hum of many\nvoices--low, and, as it seemed to Wilson, praying. The square also was\ndeserted; upon the high stone altar he saw a shapeless mass from which\nsmall wreaths of smoke still curled.\n\nThat was the fate of poor Leboeuf. The same night Wilson was seized by\nfever. He struggled on, but died within a few hours' march of Tamatave.\n\n\n\n\nLAELIA PURPURATA\n\n\nThe next house is given up to L. purpurata with some L. grandis tenebrosa\nintermixed. Not much can be said of the latter species. Its extraordinary\ncolour is best described as madder-brown, but here we have a variety of\nwhich the ends of the sepal and petal are yellowish. The broad lip, dull\npurple, has a madder-brown cloud at its throat, whence lines of the same\nhue proceed to the edges all round. The value of L. tenebrosa for\nhybridising needs no demonstration--it introduces a colour unique, of\nwhich not a trace can be found elsewhere. But as for the flower itself, I\nprotest that it is downright ugly. This is _à propos_ of nothing at all.\n_Liberavi animam meam._\n\nIt is always difficult to realise that an orchid of the grand class is a\nweed. All our conventional notions of a flower revolt against the\nproposition. I have remarked that it seems specially absurd to an\ningenuous friend, if one recall the fact while he contemplates Laelia\npurpurata. That majestic thing, so perfect in colour and shape, so\ndelicately finished--a weed! So it is, nevertheless, as lightly regarded\nby Nature or by man in its native home as groundsel is by us. The Indians\nof Central America love their forest flowers passionately. So do those in\nthe north of the Southern Continent. But I never heard that the Indians of\nBrazil showed a sign of such intelligence. The most glorious Cattleyas to\nthem are what a primrose was to Peter Bell.\n\nThe obvious, unquestionable truth that Laelia purpurata is nothing but a\nweed has suggested some unorthodox thoughts, as I considered it,\n'pottering about' my houses. This is not the place to set them down at\nlength. But we have reached a less important part of the collection; I may\nchatter for a moment.\n\nAll things are grandest in the hot zone, from mountains to plagues.\nExcepting the Mississippi and the Yang-tse-Kiang, all the mightiest rivers\neven are there. We have no elephants, nor lions, nor anacondas; no tapong\ntrees three hundred feet high, nor ceibas almost as tall; no butterflies\nten inches across, no storms that lay a province waste and kill fifty\nthousand mortals. Further, all things that are most beautiful dwell within\nthe Tropics--tigers, giraffes, palm-trees, fish, snakes, insects, flowers.\nFurther still, the most intelligent of beasts are there--apes and monkeys.\n\nIt may well be doubted whether man, the animal, is an exception. In this\nvery country of Brazil, Wallace found among the Indians 'a development of\nthe chest such as never exists, I believe, in the best-formed European.'\nNo race of the Temperate Zone approaches the Kroomen in muscular force,\nand negroes generally are superior. The strength of the Borneo Dyaks I\nmyself have noted with amazement. Black Papuans are giants, and the brown\nvariety excel any white race in vigour. The exception is that most\ninteresting Negrito strain, represented by a few thousands here and there\nfrom Ceylon to the Philippines. But even they, so small and wretched, have\nmarvellous strength.\n\nThus all natural things rise to their highest level in the hot zones--I\nhave to put the case very roughly, for this is a monstrous digression.\nDoes it not seem to follow that man should rise to his highest level\nthere? The aborigines are savages mostly and ever have been; no people of\nwhom we have record has become civilised unless by an impulse from\nwithout, and none could reach the bulk of these. But India shows that the\nbrain, as the form, of man may develop to perfection under the hottest\nsky. Therefore, to end this brief excursus, I conclude that as the\ntropical weed Laelia purpurata is more majestic and more beautiful than\nour weeds, so will tropic man some day rise to a height of majesty\nunattainable in our zone.\n\nBut the reader has had enough of it--and so have I; for to crowd a volume\nof facts and arguments into a paragraph is irritating labour. Let us get\nback to business. Here are some of our finest varieties of L. purpurata.\n\n_Marginata._--White of sepal and petal. It takes its name from the white\nmargin surrounding the crimson purple lip. Very striking also is a large\nwhite triangle upon the disc, charmingly netted over with crimson.\n\n_Archduchess_ is faintly rosy. The lobes, closely folded, are deepest\npurple-crimson, over an orange throat. On either side the dark central\nline of the labellum is a pale blur.\n\n_Macfarlanei._--Sepals and petals very narrow, of a clear rose tint, with\ndarker lines. A patch almost white in the front of the dark crimson lip.\n\n_Lowiana._--Petals rose, sepals paler. The tube is not large, but it, and\nalso the labellum, could not be darker if still to be classed as crimson.\nEven the yellow of the throat is obscured, but there is a lighter blotch\nat the tip.\n\n_Tenebrosa._--The name is due apparently to branching lines of deep maroon\nwhich intersect the crimson lip. Petals and sepals are white, and there is\na white patch on the labellum.\n\n\nTHE DENDROBIUM HOUSE\n\nis the last in this series, where we see the usual varieties in\nperfection; there are pseudo-bulbs of Wardianum more than 4 feet long. At\nthe present day, however, orchidists will not look at 'usual varieties' of\nDendrobium with patience--nobile, cupreum, fimbriatum, thyrsiflorum, etc.\netc. etc. They are exquisitely lovely, of course. Examine them as often as\nyou will, new marvels of beauty appear. The fact is that most experts\nnever do examine these common things; they look about for varieties. Such\nblasé souls can be accommodated, if needful. Here are specimens of _nobile\nalbum_, all white save the deep crimson blotch and a faint yellowish tinge\nupon the lip; _nobile virginale_, which has lost even this trace of\ncolour; _nobile murrhinianum_, very rare, understood to be a hybrid with\nWardianum, snow white, the tips of sepal, petal and lip purple, and a\ngreat purple blotch in the throat; _nobile Cooksoni_, no hybrid, but a\nsport, in which the ordinary colouring of the lip is repeated in the\npetals; _nobile Ruckerianum_, very large, the deep blotch on the lip\nbordered with white; _nobile splendens grandiflorum_, an enlarged and\nintensified form of the type.\n\nOf hybrids I may name _Leechianum_ (nobile × aureum), white, sepals,\npetals, and lip tipped with rosy purple, the great blotch on the disc\ncrimson with a golden tinge. _Ainsworthii_, of the same parentage and very\nsimilar, but the blotch is wine-colour. _Schneiderianum_ (Findleyanum ×\naureum), bearing white sepals, petals and lip tipped with rosy purple,\nthroat orange, similarly striped.\n\nHere are several 'specimens' of Epidendrum radicans, a tangle of fresh\ngreen roots and young shoots of green still more fresh and tender,\npleasant to look upon even though not flowering; but verdant pillars set\nwith tongues of flame at the right season. And an interesting hybrid of\nit, _Epidendrum × radico-vitellinum_ (radicans × vitellinum),--brightest\norange, the lip almost scarlet, with three yellow keels upon the disc;\nvery pretty and effective.\n\nBesides, we have here a Spathoglottis hybrid, _aureo-Veillardii_, _Wigan's\nvar._ (Kimballiana × Veillardii),--most charming of all the charming\nfamily. Golden--the sepals tinged, and the petals thickly dotted with\ncrimson; lip crimson and yellow.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF DENDROBIUM SCHRÖDERIANUM\n\n\nMany who care nothing for our pleasant science recall the chatter and\nbustle which greeted the reappearance of Dendrobium Schröderianum in 1891.\nFor they spread far beyond the 'horticultural circles.' Every newspaper in\nthe realm gave some sort of a report, and a multitude of my confrères were\nsummoned to spin out a column, from such stores of ingenuity as they could\nfind, upon a plant which grew on human skulls and travelled under charge\nof tutelary idols. The scene at 'Protheroe's' was a renewal of the good\nold time when every season brought its noble plant, and every plant\nbrought out its noble price--in short, a sensation.\n\nThe variety of Dendrobium phalaenopsis hereafter to bear Baron Schröder's\nname was sent to Kew by Forbes about 1857. This single plant remained a\nspecial trophy of the Royal Gardens for many years. It throve and\nmultiplied. In course of time Sir Joseph Hooker was able to give a small\npiece, in exchange for other varieties, to Mr. Day, of Tottenham, to Baron\nSchröder, and to Messrs. Veitch. The latter sold their specimen to Baron\nSchröder; Mr. Day's collection was dispersed, and the same greatest of\namateurs bought his fragment. Thus all three plants known to exist in\nprivate hands came into Baron Schröder's possession, and the variety took\nhis name.\n\nThis state of things lasted ten years. Mr. Sander then resolved to wait no\nlonger upon chance. He studied the route of Forbes's travels, consulted\nthe authorities at Kew, and, with their aid, came to a conclusion. In 1890\nmy friend Mr. Micholitz went out to seek Dendrobium Schröderianum in its\nnative wilds.\n\nThe man of sense who finds a treasure does not proclaim the spot till he\nhas filled his pockets, nor even, if it may be, till he has cleared out\nthe hoard. It is universally understood that Micholitz discovered the\nobject of his quest in New Guinea. If that error encouraged the\nexploration of a most interesting island, as I hear, it has done a public\nservice. And the explorers have not wasted their time. They did not fall\nin with Dendrobium Schröderianum, because it was not there; but they\nsecured other valuable things. Very shortly now the true habitat will be\ndeclared. Meantime I must only say that it is one of the wildest of those\nmany 'Summer Isles of Eden' which stud the Australasian Sea.\n\nMicholitz arrived in a trading-vessel, the captain of which was trusted by\nthe natives. Under that protection the chiefs allowed him to explore,\nagreeing to furnish men and canoes--for a consideration, naturally. Their\npower did not stretch beyond a few miles of coast; the neighbours on each\nside were unfriendly, or at least distrusted; and bitterly hostile tribes\nlay beyond--hostile, that is, to the people among whom Micholitz landed.\nAll alike are head-hunters, and all charge one another with\ncannibalism--but falsely in every case, I understand.\n\nThe field was narrow, therefore, and uncommonly perilous, for the\nbest-intentioned of these islanders cannot always resist the impulse to\ncrown their trophies with a white man's head--as the Captain assured\nMicholitz day by day with an earnestness which became oppressive after a\nwhile. But he was very lucky--or rather the probabilities had been studied\nso thoughtfully before any step was taken that he sailed to the very\nisland. I do not mean that it is wonderful to find an orchid on the first\nday's search when once its habitat is known. Dendrobiums cover a great\ntract of land. It is the nicety of calculation ten thousand miles away\nwhich should be admired.\n\nThere were no plants, however, just around the little port. After some\ndays spent in making arrangements, Micholitz received an intimation that\nthe chiefs were going to a feast and he might accompany them; there is no\nlack of interpreters on that coast, whence so many poor wretches are\nenticed to English or French colonies--some of whom return nowadays. The\nCaptain could not go. In refusing he looked at Micholitz with a quizzical,\nhesitating air, as though inclined to make a revelation.\n\n'Is there any danger?' Micholitz asked.\n\n'Oh no! not a bit!--not a bit of danger! I answer for that. You'll be\namused, I daresay. They're rum chaps.'\n\nThe chance of making a trip beyond the narrow friendly area in safety was\nwelcome, and at daylight he started with the chiefs. It was but a few\nhours' paddling--to the next bay. The feast was given, as is usual, to\ncelebrate the launch of a war-prau. In martial panoply the guests\nembarked, paint and feathers, spears and clubs. They were met by their\nhosts in the same guise upon the beach. After ceremonies probably--but I\nhave no description--all squatted down in a circle, and a personage,\nassumed to be the priest, howled for a while. Then the warriors began to\ndance, two by two. It was very wearisome, and besides, very hot. Micholitz\nasked at length whether he might leave. The interpreter said there was no\nobjection. He walked towards the forest, which stood some distance back,\neven as a wall, skirting the snowy beach. The grey huts of the village\nglimmered among palms and fruit-trees on one hand.\n\nA sunken way had been dug from the edge of the surf to a long low building\na hundred yards back; within it lay the prau doubtless, ready to be\nlaunched. Micholitz skirted this channel. He noticed a curious group of\npersons sitting apart--an old man, two women, a boy, and a girl. The\nelders were squatting motionless upon the sand, so bowed that the long\nwool drooping hid their faces; the children lay with their heads in the\nwomen's laps. None looked up; in passing he observed that these latter\nwere bound.\n\nThe boat-house--so to call it--spanning the channel, was a hundred feet\nlong, built of palm thatch, with substantial posts at due distance. As he\nwalked along it, Micholitz became aware of an unpleasant smell. It was not\nstrong. But in turning the further corner he marked a great purple stain\nupon the sand. Flies clustered thick there. It was blood. And then, upon\nthe wall of thatch above, and the corner post, he traced the stain\nstreaming broadly down. He looked to the other angle. The horrid mark was\nthere also. They could not see him from the beach. Easily he parted the\ncrackling palm leaves, and thrust in his head. At a few feet distance rose\nthe lofty stern-post, carved and painted, with two broad shells glistening\nlike eyes in the twilight. No more could he see, dazzled by the glare\noutside. That passed. He turned to the right hand-and drew back with a\ncry. A naked corpse, with head hanging on its chest, was bound to the\ncorner post--the same to left.\n\nPoor Micholitz felt sick. He ran from the cursed spot. So glowing was the\nsunlight round, so sweet and soft the shadow of the near forest--and those\nawful things in the midst! The old hymn rang in his ears--\n\n     Where every prospect pleases\n     And only man is vile.\n\nHe hurried towards the trees.\n\nAn outburst of yells and laughter made him turn. The circle had broken\nup. A swarm of warriors danced towards the boat-house--tore down the\nwalls; in an instant the posts stood naked--with their burdens. Chiefs\nclimbed aboard the prau and mustered, with tossing feathers, brandishing\ntheir arms, shouting and singing, on its deck. Ropes were manned. Scores\nof brawny savages started at a run, whilst the boys howled with delight\nand tumbled over one another. The great vessel moved, quickened. Then a\nparty rushed upon that little group, trampling it under foot, snatched up\nthe boy and girl, and sped with them towards the sea. The old man and\nwomen lay where they were tossed: there was no help for them in earth or\nheaven. The prau glided quicker and quicker amidst a roaring tumult. As it\nneared the sea, those small victims, tossed aloft from either side, fell\nacross its course. Micholitz looked no more.\n\n'Let me attend to my business, for God's sake!' he kept repeating.\n\nBut when he reached the trees his business was done. Those horrors had so\ndisconcerted him that for an instant he saw long green stems of orchid\nperched upon the boughs without regarding them. But here was one from the\ntop of which depended a cluster of rosy garlands, four or five, bearing a\ndozen, or twenty, or thirty great flowers, all open; and there a cluster\nsnow-white--a crimson one beyond, darkening almost to purple. Dendrobium\nSchröderianum was rediscovered!\n\nOf Mitcholitz's emotion it is enough to tell that it drove all else from\nhis mind, or almost. When the interpreter summoned him he sat down and\nhobnobbed with those murderers and ate their dubious viands. The triumph\nwas startling, so speedy and complete; but so much the heavier were his\nresponsibilities. When, with a chilling shock, he recalled distinctly the\ndread spectacle, he said again:\n\n'Let me attend to my business! _I_ can't help it!'\n\nAll went well. So soon as the chiefs understood that this eccentric white\nman fancied their weeds, they joyously offered them--at a price. The time\nof year was excellent--early in the dry season. Next day Micholitz\nreturned aboard and the Captain brought his ship round to the bay. But he\nwould not listen to the story. 'I told you they was rum chaps, didn't I?\nWell, you see I told you true.' In three days, so plentiful was the\nsupply, Micholitz had gathered as many as he thought judicious, and heaped\nthem on deck. They could be dried while the vessel was waiting for cargo\nelsewhere, and he longed to get away from that ill-omened spot.\n\nStill luck attended him. The Captain 'filled up' quickly, and sailed, as\nby agreement, for a Dutch port, where the orchids would be shipped for\nEngland. He arrived in the evening, the ship lay alongside the wharf; next\nday his precious cases would be transferred to the steamer. In great\ncontent Micholitz went to sleep; so did everybody else, the watch\nincluded. Towards morning the harbour police raised a cry of 'Fire!' It\nmust have been smouldering for hours. Not a plant could poor Micholitz\nsave!\n\nOn arrival, he had telegraphed his success, and joy reigned at St. Albans\nall day. Foresight and enterprise were justly rewarded for once. What a\ncoup--what a sensation! Let us not speculate upon the language used when a\nsecond dispatch came in the morning.\n\n'Ship burnt! What do?--Micholitz.'\n\nThe reply was emphatic: 'Go back--Sander.'\n\n'Too late--rainy season.'\n\n'Go back!'\n\nAnd Micholitz went. His protest, had he insisted upon it, was\nunanswerable. Hard enough it would be to return among those anti-human\nwretches when the delights of home had been so near. But there was no\nchance of regaining the bay--a vessel might not sail thither for months or\nyears. The work must be begun again--the search renewed. And in the rainy\nseason, too!\n\nBut the good fellow did not even hesitate. Forthwith he inquired for a\nship trading with the island. There was none, and he had no time to wait,\nfor the rain grew heavier daily. A mail steamer was leaving for the\nnearest settlement. Trusting to the 'courtesy of nations,' Micholitz\nclaimed a passage as a shipwrecked man. It was flatly refused, but at\nlength the Dutch officials yielded to his indignant appeal so far as to\nmake a deduction of 30 per cent. 'Well,' he wrote to St. Albans, 'there is\nno doubt these are the meanest people on earth.' The Captain of the _Costa\nRica_ whaling ship agrees with him.\n\nI have no space for the adventures of this second journey now. The\nDendrobe was found once more, which is not at all surprising when its\nhabitat had been discovered. At this spot, however, it was growing, not on\ntrees, but on rocks of limestone--most epiphytal orchids love to cling on\nthat rough and porous surface. Especially was it abundant in the graveyard\nof the clan, a stony waste where for generations they had left their\ndead--not unmourned, perhaps--beneath the sky. The plants grew and\nflowered among bones innumerable. To suggest the removal of them under\nsuch circumstances was a nervous duty. But in the graveyard they were not\nonly most plentiful, but by far most vigorous. It had to be done, and with\nall precautions, after displaying a sample of his 'trade,' looking-glasses\nand knives and beads, and so forth, Micholitz did it.\n\nA clamour of indignation broke out. It was swelling into passion when he\nproduced a roll of brass wire; at that spectacle it suddenly calmed down.\nAfter debate among themselves the warriors stipulated that two of their\nmost sacred idols should travel with the plants, and be treated with all\nhonour on the way. They would not assist in collecting, but after the\ndistribution of brass wire they helped to pack the cases.\n\nThus it happened that one of the Dendrobes sold at 'Protheroe's' on\nOctober 16, 1891, was attached to a human skull. As for the idols, they\nwere bought by the Hon. Walter Rothschild, and we are free to hope that\nthey are treated with reverence, as per agreement.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF DENDROBIUM LOWII\n\n\nThe authorities assert that Dendrobium Lowii was introduced to Europe by\nSir Hugh Low in 1861. My friend has so many titles to honour, in this and\nother forms of public service, that he will not feel the loss of one. The\nstatement is not absolutely correct. An unnamed species, which must have\nbeen Dendrobium Lowii, flowered in the collection of Mr. H. Vicars, at\nHeath House, near Chelmsford, in 1845. I do not propose to describe the\nplant whereby hangs my tale; suffice it that this is a pale yellow\nDendrobe, peculiarly charming, very delicate, and still rare. We do not\nhear of Mr. Vicars' specimen again. He obtained it, with others, from\nFraser, Cumming, and Co., of Singapore, probably in 1842. It was brought\nto them from Borneo by Captain Baker, commanding the ship _Orient\nPioneer_.\n\nWhen lying at Singapore Captain Baker heard of the coal seams just\ndiscovered at Kiangi, on the Brunei river, which made such a stir in the\nCity a few months afterwards. It seemed to him that his owners would like\na report upon them. And he sailed thither.\n\nI picture the man as big and rough--fat he was certainly; one of those\nsailors, careful enough aboard ship, who think it necessary to take a\n'drop' at every halt when making holiday.\n\nPirates were no tradition in that era. They swarmed among the islands, and\nthe younger chiefs were not proof against temptation when they fell in\nwith an European ship that seemed to be in difficulties. Doubtless Captain\nBaker kept all his wits about him on a perilous voyage beyond the track of\ncommerce then. But he reached the Bay of Brunei safely, ascended the river\nin a well-armed boat, and visited the coalfields at Kiangi. A few Chinamen\nwere working there. Baker had shrewdness enough to see that immense\ncapital would be required, that the Sultan would give endless trouble, and\nthat the coal, when won, might prove to be dubious in quality. We may\nhope, therefore, that his owners kept out of the 'rush' which followed,\nand were duly grateful.\n\nHis business was finished. Messrs. Fraser and Cumming, indeed, had asked\nhim to collect a few of the 'air-plants' which began to make such a stir\nin England, but that would not detain him. They grew so thick on every\ntree that a boatload could be gathered in dropping down the river. He had\ninstructions to choose those upon the highest branches, where, as was\nthought, the best species are found; but it made no difference, for a\nsailor could walk up those trees hung with creepers as easily as up the\nshrouds! So Captain Baker looked out for a place to land among the\nmangroves, expecting to fulfil his commission in an hour at most. A place\nwas found presently, the boat turned to shore, and he directed a couple of\nsailors to climb. They were more than willing, under a promise of grog. I\nmay venture to drop the abstract form of narrative here, and put the\nbreath of life into it.\n\nBaker had engaged a Malay as interpreter for the voyage; by good luck he\nwas a native of Brunei. This man stared and laughed a little to himself on\nhearing the order. As the sailors began to mount, he said:\n\n'Tuan Cap'n! Say 'm fellows looky sharp on snakes.'\n\nThe men paused suddenly, looking down, but Baker swore very loud and very\noften to the effect that he'd eat every snake within miles, and that\nTuzzadeen was the son of a sea-cook. So the climbers went up, but\ngingerly. Tuzzadeen sat grinning. They had not mounted high, luckily, for\non a sudden one gave a screech, and both crashed down, the second dropping\nin sheer fright. But he who uttered that yell had good cause for it,\nevidently. He danced and twisted, threw himself down and bounded to his\nfeet, roaring with pain. His eyes showed the white in a circle all round,\nand his brows, strained upward, almost touched the hair. All leapt out,\nsplashing through the shallow water, pale with alarm--seized their\nwrithing comrade, and stripped him. Tuzzadeen examined his body; presently\nthe convulsions grew fainter, and he struggled in a more intelligent sort\nof way, though still roaring.\n\n'Him bit by fire-ant, I say, Tuan Cap'n,' observed Tuzzadeen.\n\n'Well! Here's a blasphemous fuss about an unmentionable little ant! D'you\ncall yourself a gore-stained British seaman, Forster? Just let's hear you\ndo it, you unfit-for-repetition lubber, so as we may have a right-down\nblank laugh.'\n\nForster collected his wits and answered earnestly, 'It was an ant maybe.\nBut I tell you, Cap'n Baker, there ain't no difference betwixt that ant\nand a red-hot iron devil. Oh law! I'll be good from this day. I know how\nthe bad uns fare now.'\n\n'That's a blessed resolution anyhow,' said Baker. 'But it didn't last\nabove a minute, you see. Come, show yourself a man, and shin up them\nshrouds again.'\n\n'No, Cap'n Baker,' he answered slowly and impressively, 'not if you was to\nput the Queen's crown on top of the tree and fix a keg of rum half-way\nup.'\n\nThen they found that the other man had hurt himself badly in falling.\nBaker was stubborn. But promises and taunts failed to move one of them,\nand he was too fat to climb himself.\n\n'Confound it, Tuz,' said he discontentedly, as they pulled into the\nstream. 'Other men have got these things. How did they do it?'\n\n'Them get Dyaks--naked chaps what see ants and snakes.'\n\n'Oh! And can I get Dyaks?'\n\n'You pay, Tuan Cap'n, I find plenty naked chaps.'\n\nIn the evening all was settled. Tuzzadeen knew the chief of a Sibuyou Dyak\nvillage on a hill just above the bay; they would scarcely lose sight of\nthe ship. No preparations were necessary. He himself would go ahead when\nthey approached a village, and the Dyaks would be pleased to see them.\n\nAt dawn next day Baker started, with Tuzzadeen and four armed sailors.\nThey crossed the broad white beach, studded with big rocks, moss-grown,\nweather-stained, clothed with creepers and plumed with fern; through a\ngrove of cocoanut palms, scaring a band of children--Malay, but clad only\nin a heart-shaped badge of silver dangling at their waists--and entered\nthe forest. There was a well-worn path. In a hilly district like this\nDyaks are content to walk upon the ground; elsewhere they lay tree-trunks,\nend to end, on crossed posts, and trot along, raised above the level of\nthe bush.\n\nIt is likely that this was the first time Captain Baker had entered a\ntropic forest. A very few steps from the busy go-downs of Singapore would\nhave taken him into one peculiarly charming; but tigers lay in wait all\nround the town--so at least it was believed, not without probability. A\nfew daring souls already dwelt at Tanglin; but they left business early,\nlooked to their arms before setting out, and never dreamed of quitting\nthe bungalow when safe home once more.\n\nAnyhow, the good man was struck with the beauty of that jungle. Scarcely a\nflower did he see, or a butterfly, or any living thing save ants and\nwasps. Vast trees arching above the path shut out every sun-ray in that\nearly hour. But all beneath them was a garden such as he had never\nconceived. The dews had not yet dried up. They outlined every thread in\nthe great webs stretching from bush to bush, edged the feathers of bamboo\nwith white, hung on the tip of every leaf. And the leaves were endless in\nvariety. Like a green wall they stood on either hand--so closely were they\npressed together along the track, which gave them some faint breath of air\nand glimmer of sunshine at noonday. Living things were heard, too, though\nunseen. The wah-wahs called 'jug-jug' in a long gurgling cadence, like\nwater pouring from a bottle. Boughs clashed in sudden tumult, and dimly\none caught a glimpse of monkeys flying through the air in alarm. A crow\nupon the top of some dead tree uttered its clanging call, slow and\nsonorous like strokes upon a bell. In short, Baker was much pleased and\ninterested. Often he came to a halt, and at every halt he served out rum.\n\nIt was a walk of some miles, very steep at the last. Near the village they\ncrossed a ravine, dry at this season; so deep it was that the bridge which\nspanned it hung far above the tops of lofty trees growing on an island in\nthe midst.\n\nThe bridge was actually the greatest wonder seen as yet on this delightful\nexcursion. Huge bamboos, lashed end to end, were suspended over the abyss\nby rattans beyond counting, fixed in the trees at either side. Not only\nwonderful but most elegant it was, for the rattans had been disposed\nsymmetrically. But Baker, though a seaman from his youth up, surveyed it\nwith dismay. Boards a foot wide at the utmost had been laid across the\nbamboo. There was a hand-rail on each side, but so slight that he\nperceived it could not be meant for a support. Moreover, Tuzzadeen warned\nhim earnestly, before leading the way, that he must not grasp the\nhand-rail--it must be touched only, to assist the balance.\n\nThen the Malay went across. At a yard out the bridge began to shiver, and\nwhen he reached the middle, which dipped many feet, it was swinging to and\nfro like a pendulum. If Baker had not drunk just enough to make him\nreckless he would have turned back. A couple of the men refused. That was\nanother prick of the spur. He followed Tuzzadeen, with his heart in his\nmouth, and arrived safely. Guess how deep was the refresher after that.\n\nTuzzadeen pushed on, and returned presently with an invitation from the\nchief--the Orang kaya, as his title goes. I can fancy Baker's astonishment\nwhen he came in sight of the village. It was one house, perhaps three\nhundred feet long, raised thirty feet in the air on posts. They climbed a\nnotched log to the entrance, where the chief was waiting with his\ncouncillors. He had sent for young men, readily spared at this season, and\nmeantime he asked the Tuan to rest.\n\nBaker perceived that the house was open from end to end in front and on\nhis left hand as he entered; on the right, however, stretched a wooden\nparty wall, with many doors. He rightly concluded that the open space was\ncommon and each family occupied one chamber. Hundreds of people crowded\nround, especially children.\n\nThen he lunched, the chief looking on, and in due time a score of stalwart\nyoung Dyaks arrived. After resting he started again with them.\n\nWhat with drink and interest Baker was now jovially excited. In passing\nthrough the house he noticed a door festooned with greenery. A noise of\nhowling came through it. He asked Tuzzadeen what this meant. Tuzzadeen,\nMalay and Moslem, was much amused.\n\n'Baby born!' he laughed. 'Father go to bed; mother feed him with rice and\nsalt.'\n\n'Feed the father?' Baker cried.\n\n'Yes. Them naked chaps say father's child, not mother's. Women cry over\nhim. You hear?'\n\n'Lord 'a mercy, I must see this!' And before Tuzzadeen could interfere he\nopened the door.\n\nWild uproar broke out on the instant, men shouted, women screamed and\nwailed--in a solid mass they rushed from the spot. Tuzzadeen caught Baker\nand ran him back up the passage, the sailors following. They fled for\ntheir lives, slid down the notched log and along the path, pursued by\nterrific clamour--but not by human beings apparently. Perceiving this,\nTuzzadeen stopped.\n\n'I go back,' he said breathlessly. 'Them kill us in jungle when them like.\nI make trade. You pay?'\n\n'Anything--anything!' cried Baker. 'We haven't even our guns!'\n\nSo the Malay went back to negotiate, but they ran on--came to the awful\nbridge, Baker foremost. He reached the middle. One of the sailors behind\nwould wait no longer--advanced and both fell headlong down. The sailor was\nkilled instantly; Baker, in the middle of the bridge, dropped among the\nbranches of a tree.\n\nThere he lay, bruised, half conscious, until Tuzzadeen's shouts roused\nhim, and he answered faintly.\n\n'Hold on!' cried the Malay. 'We come good time, Tuan Cap'n! Before dark!'\nSix hours to wait at least!\n\nBaker began to stir--found he had no limbs broken, and thought of\ndescending. His movements were quickened by the onslaught of innumerable\nants, not a venomous species happily. But in climbing down he remarked\nthat the tree-top was loaded with orchids, which he tore off and dropped;\nlong before nightfall he met the search-party, toiling up the ravine from\nits opening on the shore.\n\nNext day Tuzzadeen returned to bury the dead man and bring away the\norchids; among them was Mr. Vicars' Dendrobium Lowii.\n\nThe Dyak practice referred to--of putting the father to bed when a child\nis born--prevails, or has prevailed, from China to Peru. It lingers even\nin Corsica and the Basque Provinces of Europe. Those who would know more\nmay consult an Encyclopaedia, under the heading 'Couvade.' The house is\n'taboo'--called 'pamali' in Borneo--for eight days. Hence the commotion.\n\n\n\n\nCALANTHE HOUSE\n\n\nFor my own part I rank Calanthes among the most charming of flowers, and\nin the abstract most people agree with me perhaps. Yet they are\ncontemned--the natural species--by all professed orchidists; and even\nhybrids mostly will be found in holes and corners, where no one is invited\nto pause and look at them. There are grand exceptions certainly. In Baron\nSchröder's wondrous collection, the hybrid Calanthes hold a most\nhonourable place. I have seen them in bloom there filling a big house,\nmore like flowering shrubs than orchids--a blaze and a mass of colour\nalmost startling. But these are unique, raised with the utmost care from\nthe largest and rarest and most brilliant varieties which money unlimited\ncould discover. The species used for hybridising were, as I understand,\nCal. vestita oculata gigantea with Cal. Regnieri, Sanderiana, and\nigneo-oculata--but picked examples, as has been said.\n\nHere we have, among others, _Sandhurstiana_, offspring of Limatodes rosea\n× Cal. vest. rubro-oculata. The individual flowers are large, and a spike\nmay bear as many as forty; brightest crimson, with a large yellow 'eye'\nupon the lip. No mortal contemns this.\n\n_Bella_ (Veitchii × Turneri).--Sepals white, petals daintily flushed; lip\nsomewhat more deeply flushed, with a white patch upon the disc, and in\nthis a broad spot of the deepest but liveliest crimson.\n\n_Veitchii_ of course; but also the pure white form of Veitchii, which is\nby no means a matter of course.\n\n_William Murray_ (vest. rubro-oculata × Williamsii).--A hybrid notably\nrobust, which is always a recommendation. White sepals and petals, a\ncrimson patch on the lip, darkest at the throat.\n\n_Florence_ (bella × Veitchii).--Flowers large, of a deep rose, with\npurplish rose markings.\n\n_Clive._--The parentage of this hybrid is lost. Petals lively carmine,\nsepals paler. Throat yellow, lip white at base with carmine disc.\n\n_Victoria Regina_ (Veitchii × rosea).--The large flowers are all tender\nrose, saving a touch of sulphurous yellow at base of the lip.\n\nPhaio-calanthe _Arnoldiae_ is a bi-generic hybrid (C. Regnieri × Phajus\ngrandifolius).--Sepals and petals yellow; lip rose-pink.\n\nHere also I may mention some interesting Phajus hybrids:--\n\n_Phoebe_ (Sanderianus × Humblotii).--Sepals and petals light fawn-colour\nwith a pinkish tone; lip crimson, veined with yellow.\n\n_Owenianus_ (bicolor Oweniae × Humblotti).--Sepals and petals milk-white,\ntinged with purplish brown. Lip like crimson velvet, orange at the base.\n\n_Ashworthianus_ (Mannii × maculatus).--Sepals and petals deep yellow,\ntouched with ochre, lip similarly coloured, marked with heavy radiating\nlines of chocolate.\n\n_Cooksoni_ (Wallichii × tuberculosus).--The sepals and petals are those of\nWallichii--buff tinged with reddish purple, china-white at back; the lip\nis that of tuberculosus--side-lobes yellow, spotted with crimson; disc\nwhite, with purple spots.\n\n_Marthae_ (Blumei × tuberculosus).--Sepals and petals pale buff. The\nlarge lip white, touched with pale rose, and thickly covered with\ngolden-brown spots.\n\nVery notable is the Zygo-colax hybrid, _Leopardinus_ (Zygopetalum\nmaxillare × Colax jugosus), of which we give an illustration.\n\nHere is also the Zygopetalum hybrid, _Perrenoudii_ (intermedium ×\nGuatieri).--Sepals and petals green, heavily blurred with brown. Lip\nviolet, deepening to purple.\n\nAgainst the back wall of this house stands a little grove of Thunias\nBensoniae and Marshalliana; the former magenta and purple, and the latter\nwhite with yellow throat, profusely striped with orange red. The wondrous\nintricacy of design so notable in the colouring of orchids is nowhere more\nconspicuous than in Thunia Marshalliana.\n\n\nTHE CYMBIDIUM HOUSE\n\nOur 'specimen' Cymbidiums, that is, the large plants, are scattered up and\ndown in other houses; for singly they are ornaments, and together their\ngreat bulk and long leaves would occupy too much space. Here are only\nsmall examples, or small species, planted out upon a bed of tufa amidst\nferns and moss and begonias, Cyrtodeira Chontalensis, and the pretty\n'African violet,' St. Paulii ionantha.\n\nCymbidiums are not showy, as the term applies to Cattleyas and Dendrobes.\nTheir colour, if not white, is brown or yellow, with red-brown markings.\nWe hear indeed of wonders to be introduced some day--of a gigantic\nspecies, all golden, which dwells in secluded valleys of the Himalayas,\nand another, bright scarlet, in Madagascar. In fact, this was collected\nagain and again by M. Humblot and shipped to Europe; but every piece died\nbefore arrival. At length M. Humblot carried some home himself, and a few\nsurvived. Sir Trevor Lawrence bought two, I believe, but they died before\nflowering. So did all the rest.\n\nBut if the Cymbidiums of our experience make no display of brilliant\ncolour, assuredly they have other virtues. When eburneum thrusts up its\nrigid spikes, in winter or earliest spring, crowned with great ivory\nblooms, the air is loaded with their perfume. I have seen a plant of\nLowianum with more than twenty garlands arching out from its thicket of\nleaves, each bearing fifteen to twenty-five three-inch flowers, yellow or\ngreenish, with a heavy bar of copper-red across the lip. And they grow\nfast. It is said that at Alnwick the Duke of Northumberland has specimens\nof unknown age filling boxes four feet square; each must be a garden in\nitself when the flowers open. And they last three months when\ncircumstances are favourable. Sometimes also--but too rarely--the greenish\nyellow of Lowianum is changed to bright soft green. Nobody then could say\nthat the colouring is not attractive.\n\nWe have here most of the recognised species--Cymbidiums are not much given\nto 'sporting': Devonianum, buff, freckled with dull crimson--lip purplish,\nwith a dark spot on either side; Sinensis, small, brown and yellow,\nscented; Hookeri, greenish, dotted and blotched with purple; Traceyanum,\ngreenish, striped with red-brown, lip white, similarly dotted, and the\nfamous Baron Schröder variety thereof, which arrived in the very first\nconsignment, but never since; pendulum, dusky olive, lip whitish, reddish\nat the sides and tip; and so on.\n\nThe only hybrids of Cymbidium known to me are eburneo-Lowianum and its\nconverse, Lowiano-eburneum. The former is creamy yellow, with the V-shaped\nblotch of its father on the lip; the latter pure white, with the same\nblotch more sharply defined--which is to say, that Lowiano-eburneum is\nmuch the better of the two. Both are represented here.\n\nAgainst the glass, right and left all round, are Coelogynes of sorts.\n\nWe have another house devoted mainly to Cymbidium, in which they have been\nplanted out for some years, with results worth noting. I am convinced that\nin a future day amateurs who put the well-being of their orchids above all\nelse--above money in especial!--will discard pots entirely. Every species\nperhaps--every one that I have observed, at least--grows more strongly\nwhen placed in a niche, of size appropriate, on a block of tufa. There are\nobjections, of course--quite fatal for those who have not abundance of\nlabour at command; for the compost very quickly turns sour under such\nconditions if not watered with great care and judgment. Moreover, what\nsuits the plant suits also the insects which feed upon it. And if there be\nrats in the neighbourhood they soon discover that there is snug lying\nagainst the pipes, behind the wall of stone. Anxious mothers find it the\nideal spot for a nursery. I cannot learn, however, that they do any wanton\ndamage, beyond nipping off a few old leaves to make their beds, which is\nno serious injury. I have rats in my own cool house. Many years ago, on\ntheir first arrival probably, an Odontoglossum bulb was eaten up.\nDoubtless that was an experiment which did not prove satisfactory, for it\nhas never been repeated. However, rats and insects can be kept down, if\nnot exterminated.\n\nThe Cymbidiums here were rough pieces, odds and ends, consigned to this\nhouse to live or die. Now they are grand plants, in the way to become\n'specimens,' set among ferns and creepers on a lofty wall of tufa, the\nbase of which is clothed with Tradescantia and Ficus repens. In front and\non one side are banks of tufa planted with Masdevallias, Lycastes, Laelia\nharpophylla, and so forth.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF COELOGYNE SPECIOSA\n\n\nOrchid stories lack one essential quality of romance. They have little of\nthe 'female interest,' and nothing of love. The defect is beyond remedy, I\nfear--collectors are men of business. It is rumoured, indeed, that\npersonages of vast weight in the City could tell romantic adventures of\ntheir own, if they would. So, perhaps, could my heroes. But neither do\ntell willingly. I have asked in vain. However, among my miscellaneous\nnotes on Orchidology, it is recorded that 'W. C. Williams found Coelogyne\nspeciosa up the Baram River. Books confine its habitat to Java and\nSumatra.' The Baram is in Borneo. When travelling in that island thirty\nyears ago I heard a story of Williams' doings, and I think I can recall\nthe outline. But imagination furnishes the details, of course, aided by\nlocal knowledge.\n\nIt may be worth while to tell briefly how this gentleman came to be\nwandering in Borneo--in the Sultan's territory also--at a date when Rajah\nBrooke had but just begun to establish order in his own little province.\nWilliams' position or business I never heard. Some Dutch firm sold or\nentrusted to him a stock of earthenware jars made in Holland, facsimiles\nof those precious objects cherished by the Dyaks. The speculation was much\nfavoured in that day--it seemed such in easy cut to fortune. But they say\nthat not a solitary Dyak was ever taken in. The failure was attributed, of\ncourse, to some minute divergence from the pattern. Manufacturers tried\nagain, still more carefully. They sent jars to be copied in China, whence\nthe originals came, evidently, at an unknown period. But it was no use;\nthe Dyaks only looked somewhat more respectfully at these forgeries before\nrejecting them. For many years the attempt was made occasionally. Rich\nChinamen tried their skill. But at length everybody got to understand,\nthough no one is able to explain, that those savages possess some means of\ndistinguishing a jar of their own from a copy absolutely identical in our\neyes.\n\nMr. Williams had tried elsewhere without success, I fancy, before visiting\nBrunei, the capital. But he had good reason to feel confidence there. The\nMalay nobles would buy his jars without question, and compel their Dyak\nsubjects to accept them at their own price; such was the established means\nof collecting subsidies. In fact, the nobles were overjoyed. But the\nSultan heard what was afoot. He possesses several of these mystic objects,\nand he makes no inconsiderable portion of his revenue by selling water\ndrawn from them to sprinkle over the crops, to take as medicine, and so\nforth. For his are the finest and holiest of all--beyond price. One speaks\nupon occasion, giving him warning when grave troubles impend. Sir Spencer\nSt. John says he asked the Sultan a few years afterwards 'whether he would\ntake £2000 for it; he answered he did not think any offer in the world\nwould tempt him.'\n\nThe Brunei monarch was shrewd enough to see that passing off false jars\ncould not be to his interest. The Pangarans argued in vain. There's no\ntelling where it would end, he said, if the idolaters once began to feel\nsuspicious. 'Let your Englishman take his wares among the Kayan dogs. He\nmay swindle them to his heart's content.' The Kayans were not only\nindependent but ruthless and conquering foes of Brunei.\n\nThere was no other hope of selling the confounded jars. After assuring\nhimself that the enterprise was not too hazardous, Williams sought a\nmerchant familiar with the Kayan trade. He chose Nakodah Rahim, a\nsanctimonious and unprepossessing individual, but one whose riches made a\nguarantee of good faith. This man contracted to transport him and his\ngoods to Langusan, the nearest town of the Kayans on the Baram, and to\nbring him back.\n\nWilliams was the first European perhaps to reach that secluded but\ncharming settlement. The Nakodah prudently anchored in mid-stream and\nlanded by himself to call on the head chief. When the news spread that a\nwhite man was aboard the craft, swarms of delighted Kayans tumbled\npell-mell into their canoes and raced towards it, yelling, laughing,\nsplashing one another in joyous excitement. But the great chief Tamawan\nput a stop to this unseemly demonstration. Rushing from the Council Hall,\nwhere he and his peers were giving audience to the Nakodah, he commanded\nthe people to return, each to his own dwelling. Stentor had not a grander\nvoice. It overpowered even that prodigious din. The mob obeyed. They\nswarmed back, and, landing, shinned up the forty-foot poles which are\ntheir stairs, like ants; reappearing a moment afterwards on the verandah,\namong the tree-tops. These vast 'houses,' containing perhaps a thousand\ninmates, lined each bank of the river, and every soul pressed to the\nfront, mostly shouting--a wild but pleasant tumult.\n\nThe chiefs sent an assurance of hearty welcome. Williams paid his\nrespects; they returned his call on board, and Tamawan invited him to a\nfeast. Next day another potentate entertained him and then another. Drink\nof all sorts, including 'best French brandy,' flowed without\nintermission. Williams began to be ill. But there was no talk of\nbusiness. His goods had been landed at the Council Hall, as is usual, but\nnot unpacked. The Nakodah assured him all was right. He himself had a\nquantity of merchandise waiting under the same conditions.\n\nSo a week passed; etiquette was satisfied, and Tamawan invited him to open\nhis bales. The chiefs squatted in a semi-circle, all the population\nbehind, in delicious expectancy. The jars were brought forth--first a\nGusi, the costliest species, worth £300 to £1000 in 'produce,' among the\nDyaks, had it only been genuine. This Williams presented, with an air, to\nTamawan. The chief glanced at it, observed with Kayan frankness that for\nhis own part he liked brighter colours, and, so to speak, called for the\nnext article. Williams grasped the fatal truth when he saw how carelessly\nhis precious Gusi was regarded, not by Tamawan alone but by all. Hoping\nagainst hope, however, he brought forth a Naga--a Rusa. The chiefs became\nimpatient. 'Show your good trade, Tuan,' they said. Perhaps it was lucky\nthat he had some miscellaneous 'notions'; but there was only enough to\nmake the needful presents.\n\nUtter collapse! The foolish fellow had not thought of asking whether\nKayans valued these unlovely jars. Perhaps the Brunei nobles could not\nhave told him, but Nakodah Rahim must have been perfectly well aware. By\nkeeping silence he had transported a cargo of his own goods to Langusan at\nWilliams' expense--without freight or charges! The victim could not quite\nrestrain his anger, but it would have been madness to quarrel. He had\nindeed several Malays, perhaps trusty. But the crew outnumbered them, and\nthe Kayans doubtless would back the Nakodah. There was nothing to be done\nbut wait, with as much good temper as he could summon, until that worthy\nhad sold out. During this time Williams hunted, explored the woods, and\ncollected a variety of plants, some of which we do not recognise from the\ndescription. But among those he brought to Singapore was Coelogyne\nspeciosa.\n\nMeantime sickness attacked the crew, whilst Williams' servants escaped it.\nThe Nakodah hurried his sales, but when he was ready to start, it became\nnecessary to engage some of the latter, with their master's consent, for\nnavigating the vessel; but for this mischance there would have been no\nneed to ask the white man's co-operation in a little stroke of business.\n\nAt each of the festivities Williams had remarked a very pretty girl always\nin attendance on the chief Kum Palan. Charming faces are common among\nthose people, and graceful figures a matter of course. Kayan maidens do\nnot pull out their eyebrows, nor blacken their teeth, nor shave the top of\nthe head, nor, in fact, practise any of the disfigurements which spoil\nDyak beauty; for their tattooing, though elaborate, is all below the\nwaist. Most of them even do not chew betel before marriage, and you hardly\nfind one of these whose teeth are not a faultless row of pearls. Cool\nscrutiny reveals that their noses are too flat and their mouths\nunsymmetrical. But the girl would have a mane of lustrous hair decked with\nflowers, restrained by a snowy fillet over the brow, streaming loose down\nher back. Her skin would be pale golden bronze and her eyes worthy of the\ntenderest epithets. Even a chief's daughter wears little clothing beyond\narmlets and waist-belt of gold, white shell, and antique beads, as\nmysterious and as costly in proportion as the Dyak jars. Only a silken\nkerchief, clasping one thigh in studied folds, gathered and tucked in over\nthe other, would represent what we call dress; but the tattooing from\nwaist to knee is so close that feminine limbs seem to be enveloped in\nblack tights.\n\nWilliams learned that this beauty was daughter to Kum Palan. Parent and\nchild must be warmly attached, he thought, for she was always near him.\nOther chiefs had pretty daughters, but they received no such attention.\nThe girl looked sad, but that is frequent with Kayan and Dyak maidens,\nwhen, in truth, their souls are dancing with fun and devilment--a mere\nexpression of the features.\n\nNakodah Rahim's secret concerned this damsel--Kilian by name. She was in\nlove with a youth, Nikput, popular and distinguished--he had taken heads\nalready--but not yet in the position which Kum Palan's son-in-law ought to\noccupy. Other suitors did not come forward, however, for the eldest son of\nTamawan, the Great Chief, entertained for the youth one of those romantic\nfriendships common among warriors in Borneo. Tamawan could not interfere,\nbut there was a general impression that he would not feel kindly towards\nthe man who robbed Nikput of his bride. Kum Palan resented this state of\nthings. He feared an elopement, and with good reason, for that was the\nlittle stroke of business which the Nakodah proposed. Nikput offered fair\nterms. All was arranged. On the morrow early the prau was to start,\ndropping down stream. It would anchor for the night, as usual, at a\ncertain spot, and there the lovers would come on board, having taken such\nsteps as should lead the pursuing parent in another direction. Nikput had\na friend among the Milanaus lower down. When the disaster was beyond\nremedy, Tamawan would compel his subordinate to be reconciled. Would the\nTuan object to this little speculation?\n\nThat the villain intended from the first to murder Nikput and kidnap his\nbride is certain. He declared at his trial that Williams had been his\naccomplice, and on this account Sir Spencer St. John held an inquiry.\nThere was no shadow of evidence; the charge is grotesque. But it may\npossibly be that Williams exacted a share of the gold which Nikput agreed\nto pay.\n\nAll went well. At the time and place appointed, in pitch darkness, a canoe\ngrated softly against the vessel's side--a few whispers passed--and Kilian\nclimbed aboard. But, as it turned out, she was not wearing only a few\nornaments and a kerchief. All the family jewels, so to speak, hung about\nher pretty figure. She was swathed in silk, garment over garment. And\nNikput handed up several baskets that must have been a very heavy load\neven for his stalwart frame. They had looted the paternal treasure at the\nNakodah's suggestion.\n\nNext day passed without alarm; there are only farmhouses and villages,\nwhere a trader need not stop, between Langusan and the Brunei frontier.\nThe fugitives remained below in the tiny cabin, amidst such heat and such\nsurroundings that those who know may shudder to think of their situation.\nAfter dark, however, they came up, and, until he fell asleep, doubtless,\nWilliams heard their murmuring and low happy laughter. On the morrow they\nwould be safe.\n\nA terrible cry awoke him--screams and trampling on the palm-leaf deck;\nthen a great splash. Dawn was breaking, but the mists are so dense at that\nhour that the Malays call it white darkness. The sounds of struggle and\nthe girl's wild shrieks directed him; but at the first movement he was\nborne backwards and overthrown by a press of men stumbling through the\nfog, with Kilian writhing and screaming in their midst. They tossed her\ndown into the hold and threw themselves upon him, his own servants\nforemost. Perhaps these saved him from the fate of poor Nikput. What could\nhe do?--he had no arms. They swore him to silence. But in that bloody\nrealm of Brunei to whom should a wise man complain?\n\nAll that day and the next Kilian's shrieks never ceased. 'She will go\nmad,' Williams cried passionately; the Nakodah smiled. When her raving\nclamour was interrupted--died down to silence--they brought her on deck, a\npiteous spectacle. I have not to pain myself and my readers by imagining\nthe contrast with the bright and lovely girl we saw a week ago.\n\nThey reached the capital, and Williams fled; of his after life I know only\nthat he sold some orchids in Singapore. Happily the tale does not end\nhere.\n\nThe crime would have passed unknown or unnoticed, like others innumerable\nof its sort in Brunei, had not Kilian avenged her own wrongs. She was\nraving mad for a while, but such a prize was worth nursing. Gradually she\nrecovered her beauty and so much of her wits that the Nakodah sold her for\na great sum to one of the richest nobles. A few days after, perhaps the\nsame day, she stabbed this man and threw him from a window into the\nriver--possibly with some distracted recollection of her lover's fate. The\nNakodah was seized and others. All the horrid story came out. They were\nexecuted, and the Sultan restored their victim--quite mad now--to her\nfather. But on the way she leapt overboard.\n\n\n[Illustration: CATTLEYA LABIATA. VAR. MEASURESIANA.]\n\n\n\n\nCATTLEYA LABIATA HOUSE\n\n\nThis is the oldest of Cattleyas, for the plant now recognised as Catt.\nLoddigesii, which was introduced to Europe a few years earlier, passed\nunder the name of Epidendrum. One might call labiata the 'eponymous hero'\nof its tribe, for Lindley christened it in honour of his friend Mr.\nCattley, an enthusiastic amateur of Barnet. This was in 1818; from that\nyear until 1889 Cattleya labiata was lost. It seemed easy enough to follow\nthe journeyings of Swainson, who discovered it, and so reach the country\nwhere it dwelt; collectors innumerable made the attempt, but never\nsucceeded. Mr. Sander, for instance, sent three at different times,\nexpressly to trace Swainson's footsteps so far as they are\nrecorded--Oversluys, Smith, and Bestwood; beside four others who\nskirmished along the track. He assured himself that they had explored\nevery district which Swainson could possibly have visited; but of Cattleya\nlabiata they found no sign. Meanwhile the plants of the first importation\ndied off gradually, and the richest of mortals competed for the few\nsurviving. Ten years ago, when the long search came to an end, very few\nwere the persons in England who owned a specimen. I think I can name most\nof them--Baron Schröder, Sir Trevor Lawrence, Lord Rothschild, Duke of\nMarlborough, Lord Home, Lord Howe, Messrs. J. Chamberlain, Statter, R. H.\nMeasures, R. I. Measures, Blandy, Hardy, Coleman, and Smith of the Isle of\nWight. One of the examples possessed by Mr. R. H. Measures belonged to the\nvariety Pescatorei, named after General Pescatore, the same leading\namateur of early days whose memory is kept green by the sweetest of\nOdontoglossums, saving crispum. Cattleya labiata Pescatorei was a precious\ntreasure then; 'none so poor as do it reverence' in this generation. The\nplant is still here, pretty enough so far as it goes, slightly\ndistinguished by a silver edging to the petals.\n\nThe puzzle of that first consignment has not been explained--we have only\neluded it, like Alexander at Gordium. Certainly Swainson did not find his\nplants in the neighbourhood where they exist at this time. It is\nconjectured that there were woods close to Rio, now cultivated ground,\nwhere it flourished at the beginning of the century. However, in 1889,\nCattleya labiata reappeared; oddly enough a collector of insects found it\noriginally, and a collector of insects rediscovered it. The\n'professionals' were beaten to the last.\n\nAnd now it has become almost the commonest of orchids; but for the same\nreason we may be sure that it will grow scarce again in no long time. Not\nto England only but to France, Belgium, Germany, the United States, such\nvast quantities have been consigned that to one who knows something of the\nfacts it seems amazing that the limited area could furnish so many. And\nfor one that reaches the market three, perhaps six, die.\n\nI have alluded to the extermination of orchids already. It is a sadly\nfascinating subject for those who think, and 'out of the fulness of the\nheart the mouth speaketh.' The time is very close when Odontoglossum\ncrispum, most heavenly of created things, will arrive by tens and units\ninstead of myriads--and then will arrive not at all. Already a gentleman\nwho boasts that he has leased the whole district where the 'Pacho' form\nstill survives, reckons the number of plants remaining at 60,000 only.\nSome months ago he issued quaint proposals for a Company (limited) to\nsecure the utmost profit on the collection of these. Business men 'smiled\nand put the question by,' however enthusiastic they might be as\norchidists; but I believe that the statement of facts was not altogether\ninaccurate. It is no longer worth while to send out collectors of\nOdontoglossum crispum; natives of the country gather such as they find and\nstore them until the opportunity occurs to sell a dozen or so.\n\nI could give other instances; some have been already mentioned. But what\nis the use? Unless governments interfere, there is no remedy. Some indeed\nhave taken steps. Several years ago the Rajah of Sarawak decreed that no\none should collect orchids in his territory, for sale, without a license.\nThe exportation of Dendrobium Macarthiae from Ceylon is forbidden, and the\nauthorities of Capetown have made stringent rules about gathering Disa\ngrandiflora. But I have heard of no other restrictions, and these,\ncommendable as they are, scarcely touch the mischief. But that is enough\nupon a melancholy subject, with which I have no need to meddle here.\n\nIn this house and elsewhere we have some eleven hundred labiatas. No\nCattleya is more variable. From white to deep crimson every shade of\ncolour may be found, with endless diversities of combination. Here are a\nfew of the most important.\n\n_Imperatrix._--Rosy mauve. Distinguished by a broad fringe of the same\ncolour round the lip, which, inside, shows a fine crimson. Next to it is\none, unnamed, which makes a good contrast. Very big and broad; pale. The\ntube, opening wide, is superbly striped with crimson over a gold ground.\nThe great lip all crimson.\n\n_Nobilis._--Big and evenly rosy. The gold in the throat is faint, and the\nlip, grandly frilled, has no lines.\n\n_Measuresiana._--Somewhat pale; at base of the petals the midrib is white.\nThe gamboge stain does not spread beyond the throat, and it fades to white\nas the crimson lip spreads. Another has a deep golden throat, but the\ncrimson of the lip is only a triangle, dispersing in broad lines upon the\nmargin of mauve.\n\nBut here is one, on the contrary, in which the lip is all deepest crimson\nexcept a very narrow edging of white. Scarcely a trace of gold is seen;\nthe crimson stretches back all up the throat in heavy lines.\n\nAnd here again is one of palest rose, in which the lip carries only a\nsingle slender touch of crimson.\n\n_Sanderae._--A supreme beauty. Sepals almost white, petals somewhat more\ndeeply tinged with mauve. Lip snow-white, saving the ochreous-orange\nthroat and a lovely stain of crimson lake in the midst; with a purple\nblotch above and mottled lines of the same hue descending from it.\n\n_Mrs. R. H. Measures._--Purest white. The broad lower sepals curl\ndownwards, almost encircling the lip, which has a faintly-yellow throat\nand a tender cloud of purplish crimson on the front, scored with three\nstrong lines of purple.\n\n_Macfarlanei._--Crimson purple sepals and petals of the brightest tint;\nlip crimson-maroon and orange throat striped with brilliant crimson--a\nsuperb flower.\n\n_Baroness Schröder._--A famous variety. The petals are remarkably wide and\ngraceful in shape, pale mauve of colour. The lip, somewhat paler, tinged\nwith rose, shows in front a bundle of purple lines, as it were, the ends\nof which diverge from a purplish cloud over the rosy margin.\n\n_Princesse de Croix._--All pink except the white edges of the lip\nunrolling from the tube, and a small purple blur, scored with short heavy\nlines, which runs far up the throat, leaving a broad pink disc below.\n\n_Alba._--Perfectly beautiful. All ivory white, as it seems at a glance,\nsave a faint stain of yellow in the throat; but close scrutiny detects a\npurple tinge also on the lip.\n\n_Archduchess._--The shape is even more graceful than usual. Sepals and\nvery broad leaf-like petals rosy mauve, the yellow of the throat subdued,\na fine patch of crimson lake on the labellum, with darker lines, leaving a\nwide margin of rosy mauve.\n\n_Robin Measures._--Rosy. The lip spreads so broad that its disc forms a\nperfect circle. The yellow of the throat is only a slight stain, and the\nfine crimson patch on the lip leaves a handsome margin of rose.\n\n_Bella._--Distinguished especially by the fine purple frilling of the lip\nwhich, like the sepals and petals, is nearly white of ground. A triangle\nof brightest crimson, sharply defined, issues from the handsome orange\nthroat.\n\n_Adelina_ resembles this, but the crimson of the triangle has a deeper\ntone and the margin is distinctly mauve.\n\n_Princess of Wales._--An enormous flower, of remarkable colouring. Sepals\nand petals purplish. The usual crimson of the lip deepens almost to\nplum-colour. The margin, paler, is finely frilled.\n\n_Juno._--Somewhat pale. Notable for the breadth of crimson in the lip,\nwhich mounts far up the throat, running across it from side to side in a\nline perfectly straight.\n\n_Princess May._--A grand variety; the petals spread like birds' wings, and\nthe lip opens very wide. On its folds are broad whitish discolorations,\nagainst which the deep crimson of the disc seems even richer than usual.\n\n_Her Majesty._--A pink giant, as notable for shape as for size. On the\nbroad lip a crimson cloud stands out against a pale margin, finely\nfrilled.\n\nThe edging of the central stand in this house should be noticed. It is\nformed by a single plant of Pothos aurea, which, starting from the end\nwall, has already encircled the structure twice. Now it is hurrying to\nmake a third turn. Pothos is the neatest of climbers, pushing no\nside-shoots, growing very fast, and thrusting forth its large leaves at\nequal intervals. The variety aurea is touched with gold here and there,\nand to my mind it makes the ideal edging of a stand.\n\nTo right in this house is Cattleya Lawrenceana, of which we have probably\n150 plants. This again is a species threatened with extinction--indeed the\nthreat is very near fulfilment. It was never common in its native woods. I\nmay quote a few lines from the report of Mr. Seyler who went to collect\nthis, and two other orchids which dwell on the Roraima Mountain, for Mr.\nSander; the date is January 19, 1893:--\n\n'... I collected everything at Roraima except Catt. Lawrenceana, which was\nutterly rooted out already by other collectors.... We hunted all about for\nCatt. Lawrenceana and got only 1500 or so, it growing only here and\nthere.... What I want to point out to you is that Catt. Lawrenceana is\nvery rare in the interior now.... If you want to get any Lawrenceana you\nwill have to send yourself, and, as I said to you, the results will be\nvery doubtful.'\n\nThe variety _Macfarlanei_ has rosy pink sepals; petals of club shape,\nbowed, crimson, deepening towards the tips. Labellum long, narrow, all\ncrimson of the darkest shade.\n\nNoteworthy is a plant which we may suppose a natural hybrid of L.\npurpurata with L. elegans, resembling the latter in size, comparatively\nsmall, as in its narrow sepals and petals flushed with rose. The lip is\nvery bright and pretty, with large clear yellow throat, ringed with white;\nthe disc, of lively crimson, has a purple margin finely frilled, and a\nwhitish purple patch in front.\n\nAmong miscellaneous examples here is a handsome specimen of Cymbidium\nDevonianum, and a very remarkable hybrid of Catt. Gaskelliana × Catt.\nHarrisoniae--_Mary Measures_; rather ghostly but pleasant to look upon.\nIts colour of sepal and petal is palest mauve, the tube prettily lined and\nmottled with pale yellow; labellum, gamboge-yellow in the throat, fading\ntowards the edge, and a pale crimson tip.\n\n\n\n\nA STORY OF BRASSAVOLA DIGBYANA\n\n\nBrassavola Digbyana is a flower for all tastes--large, stately, beautiful,\nand supremely curious; I use the familiar name, though it should be Laelia\nDigbyana. Charming are the great sepals and petals, greenish white, around\nthe snowy lip; but why, the thoughtful ask in vain, does that lip ravel\nout into a massive fringe, branched and interlacing, near an inch wide?\nThe effect is lovely, but the purpose inscrutable. In Dendrobium\nBrymerianum we find a puzzle exactly similar. But it does not help us to\nunderstand. Countless are the species of Dendrobium, many those of Laelia;\nbut in each case no other shows this peculiarity.\n\nBrassavola Digbyana was first sent to Europe in 1845 by the Governor of\nBritish Honduras, who named it in honour of his kinsman, Lord Digby. Once\nonly had the plant been received since that time, so far as I can learn,\nuntil last year. But the second cargo, in 1879, 'went a very long way.'\nMessrs. Stevens have rarely been so embarrassed with treasures. The\nhistory of that prodigious consignment is worth recording.\n\nIt was despatched by Messrs. Brown, Ponder, and Co., of Belize, who dealt\nin mahogany and logwood--do still, I hope. That trade appears to be rather\ninteresting. The merchant keeps a gang of Caribs, who have been in the\nemployment of the firm all their lives perhaps. They go out at the proper\nseason to find and mark the trees; fell them presently and return whilst\nthe timber is drying; or amuse themselves in the bush, hunting and\ngathering miscellaneous produce. Then they float the raft down to Belize.\n\nThese Caribs are more or less descended from the Indians of Jamaica. Early\nin the last century the British Government collected the survivors of that\nhapless race, and planted them out of harm's way in the Island of St.\nVincent, uninhabited at the time. They did not thrive, however, and in\n1796 the Government transported them once more to the Island of Roatan, in\nthe Bay of Honduras.\n\nBut an extraordinary change had come over the poor creatures. We are to\nsuppose that when landed at St. Vincent their type was mostly if not\nwholly Indian; when taken away it was to all appearance negro. Probably a\nslave ship had been wrecked there, and the blacks, escaping, killed all\nthe male Indians, taking the women to wife; such is the theory, but there\nis no record. A transformation so sudden and complete in such brief time\nis striking evidence of the African vigour, for in hair, features,\ncomplexion, and build the Carib is a negro.\n\nBut not in character. He has virtues to which neither red man nor black\nlay claim--industry, honesty, truthfulness, staunch fidelity to his\nengagements and readiness to combine. The mahogany cutters have a Guild,\nwhich holds itself responsible for the failure of any member to execute\nwork for which he has been paid; it cannot be called a Trade Union,\nbecause, so far as I learn, it has no other purpose--except jollification.\nIn brief, the Carib of Honduras is one of the best fellows on earth in his\nway. He looks down on all about him, negro and Indian and 'poor white.' If\na stranger suspect him of trickery, he thinks it defence enough to\nexclaim--'Um Carib man, sah!' And so it is, as a rule.\n\nMessrs. Brown Ponder had lately taken on a new hand--let us call him Sam.\nThis young fellow had been wandering up and down the coast some years,\ndoing any honest work that turned up. Thus he had served in the boat's\ncrew of M. Sécard, when that gentleman was collecting orchids in Guiana.\nThe experience had taught him that flowers have value, and he returned\nfrom his first visit to the bush, after entering the firm's service, with\nthe announcement of a marvel. We may fancy the report which negro\nimagination would draw of Brassavola Digbyana. The mysterious fringe did\nnot puzzle Sam at all. It was long enough to serve the purpose of _chevaux\nde frise_, to keep off monkeys and birds! M. Sécard used to give him a\ndollar apiece for things not to be compared with it! In short, here was a\nfortune for the gathering--and what terms would Mr. Brown offer him?\n\nMr. Brown offered nothing at all. Residents in Honduras are curiously\napathetic about orchids even now. I think it may be said that no collector\nhas visited their country, which is the explanation perhaps. Moreover, Mr.\nBrown well knew the liveliness of the Carib imagination. Sam had met with\nonly one or two belated flowers, which he displayed. But the shapeless\nlittle cluster of withered petals was no evidence of beauty--quite the\nreverse. Everybody cut his jokes upon it.\n\nIt might be supposed that a man would carry his wares to another market\nunder such circumstances. But that is not the Carib way; it would be a\nbreach of loyalty. Good-naturedly Sam told Mr. Brown that he was a fool,\nwith an adjective for emphasis. They were all adjective fools, he assured\nthem daily. But to treat with a rival could not enter his mind.\n\nThe gang had returned to the bush when young Mr. Ponder came back from\nBluefields. His partner mentioned Sam's idea as a jest in conversation\nwhen several friends were present. One of them recalled how Governor Digby\nhad sent some orchids to Europe ages ago, which sold for a mint of money.\nOthers had heard something of the legend. Ponder, young and enterprising,\ninclined to think the matter worth notice. He inquired among the oldest\ninhabitants, Carib and negro. Many recollected the Governor's speculation,\nand the orchid also, when pressed. It was as big as a bunch of bananas,\nblue--no, red--no, yellow; shaped just like a boat, or a bird, or a star,\nor a monkey climbing a tree, and so forth. But all agreed about the\nfringe, 'now you come to mention it.' Ponder saw they knew nothing beyond\nthe mere fact. But he made up his mind to get some specimens next rainy\nseason, and judge for himself whether a consignment would be likely to\npay.\n\nIn due time the cutters appeared with their rafts of timber. It was not\nthe moment to broach an unfamiliar subject. Calculations awfully intricate\nfor those honest fellows had to be made intelligible to them once more,\nand then to be discussed, approved, explained again, and finally accepted\nor compromised. The Caribs passed all day in argument and in measuring the\nlogs over and over; all night in working sums of arithmetic on fingers and\ntoes. At length the amount due was computed amicably, as usual, and paid.\nBut then, not without embarrassment, the whole gang, 'gave notice.'\n\nWhen such an event occurs, under such circumstances, an employer knows the\nreason. His Caribs have found gold. There is nothing to be said beyond\nwishing them luck. But Mr. Ponder asked Sam to get him a few of his\norchids next rains. Sam declined, somewhat roughly. Mr. Ponder laid the\ndispute before the Guild, so to call it, which pronounced that Sam must\ncarry out his proposal before leaving the firm's service.\n\nThe dry season was well advanced by this time, and all flowers had\nwithered. Nevertheless Sam jumped into a canoe, swearing, and started up\nthe river with a couple of Indians. In three or four days he returned with\na boat-load of orchids, sent them to the warehouse, and vanished. They\nproved to be a miscellaneous collection, all sorts and sizes; evidently\nthe men had just gathered anything they came across.\n\nMr. Ponder grew angry. It was an impudent trick, a defiance of himself and\nthe Guild, such as no true Carib would be guilty of. Foreign travel had\ndemoralised Sam. Those honest fellows, his partners, would be not less\nindignant, if the shameful proceeding could be laid before them. But all\nhad gone up the river--to their gold-field, of course--and no one knew\nwhere that might be. Mr. Ponder got more and more warm as he revolved the\ninsult. Business was slack. He decided to follow, and sent out forthwith\nto engage a crew of Indians; gold-diggers do not mind the intrusion of\nIndians so much, for when these savages have obtained a very little dust,\nthey withdraw to turn it into drink. And they never chatter. Moreover he\nhad to find the Caribs' camp, and they are sleuth-hounds.\n\nThe search was not so hopeless as it might seem. Carefully reviewing the\ncircumstances, Mr. Ponder felt sure that his Caribs had discovered their\nplacer whilst collecting the felled trees--not before; that is, in the\nrainy season. Men would not wander far into the bush at that time.\nProbably, therefore, the scene lay pretty close to one or other of the\nspots where they had found mahogany. Of those spots he had a minute\ndescription.\n\nThe reasoning proved to be quite correct, but luck interposed before it\nhad been severely tested. On arrival at one of the stations to be\nexplored--after a week or ten days' voyaging, as I imagine--he saw a canoe\njust pushing out from beneath the wooded bank with two of the missing\nCaribs therein, going to Belize on some errand. Their astonishment was\nloud, but not angry; they had no quarrel with Mr. Ponder. After a very\nlittle hesitation they consented to lead him to the camp, the Indians\nremaining in their boat.\n\nIt was not a long walk, nor uncomfortable. A broad path had been cut to\nthe top of the ridge, for hauling down the trunks, and the rollers had\nsmoothed it like a highway; but not so broad that the great trees on\neither hand failed to overshadow it. Mr. Ponder questioned his guides\nlaughingly. Was it a real good placer, with nuggets in it?--how much had\nthey pouched, and was the game likely to last? They grinned and patted\ntheir waist-scarves, which, as he now remarked, were round and plump as\nmonster sausages.\n\n'Oh, I know that trick,' laughed Mr. Ponder. 'You've filled them with\nmaize-flour for your journey.'\n\nThey whooped and roared with triumph. 'Say, Mis'r George, you tell\nnobody--honour bright?-not nobody?' One of them turned down the edge of\nhis scarf, with no small effort--for it was twisted very tightly and\nsecured. Presently the contents glimmered into sight--little golden\nfigures, mostly flat, carved or moulded, one to three inches long. 'Our\nplacer all nuggets, Mis'r George!'\n\nAny child in those seas would have understood. The Caribs had discovered\nnot a washing nor a mine, but a burial-ground of the old Indians, called\nin those parts a 'huaco.' There are men who make it their sole business to\nlook for such treasure-heaps. Since they bear, in general, no outward\nindication whatsoever at the present time, one would think that the hunt\nmust be desperate; but these men, like other gamblers, have their\n'system.' Possibly they have noted some rules which guided the antique\npeople in their choice of a cemetery. And if they find one in a\nlifetime--provided they can keep the secret--that suffices.\n\nMostly, perhaps, huacos are discovered by accident. So it was in the\nmemorable instance on Chiriqui lagoon, where many thousand people dug for\nmonths and many brought away a fortune--for them. And so it was here. The\nCaribs told their story gleefully. From the crest of the ridge the land\nsloped gently down towards a stream. When they reached this place to\nsecure the timber, now dry, the rains were very heavy. But Sam and\nanother, heaven-directed, roamed down the slope. A big tree had fallen,\nand among its roots Sam's lynx eyes marked a number of the little figures,\nwashed clean, sparkling in the sun-rays. These good fellows have no\nsecrets of the sort among themselves. They dug around, assured themselves\nthat it was indubitably a huaco; then returned, like honest Caribs, to\nfloat the trunks down to Belize, and fulfil their contract, before\nattending to personal interests.\n\nThey had cleared a space and built a hut of boughs, a 'ramada.' There Mr.\nPonder found them assembled, smoking and sleeping after the mid-day meal.\nWarned by the guide's cheery shout they welcomed Mis'r George\nheartily--all but Sam; unanimously they asked, however, what on earth he\nwanted there, so far from home? Mr. Ponder told his complaint.\n\nThe gang resolved itself into a sort of court-martial forthwith, the\neldest seating himself upon a stump and the others grouping round. There\nwas a moment's silence for thought; then the president, gravely:\n\n'You, Carib Sam, what you say?'\n\n'Say d---- sorry, sah! Mis'r Brown an' all the Mis'rs make fool of me!\nThen Mis'r George come--I never see Mis'r George before! He says go to\nbush an' pick orchid--a month contract!--a month! But I found gold here,\nan' I want pick it up--have no more say! d---- sorry!'\n\nMr. Ponder relented. 'Why didn't you explain at the time, Sam?--I'm quite\nsatisfied, Caribs! Sam and I will shake hands and there's an end of it!'\n\nBut the others were not quite satisfied. The president sat shaking his\nhead. 'When rains come,' said Sam to him anxiously, 'I get Mis'r George\ntwo canoe-loads, six canoe-loads of orchid, an' no mistake!'\n\n'There, men! That's final! Let's shake hands round, and wash away all\nunpleasantness--here's the wash!--drink it up! Now will you show me your\nhuaco?'\n\nFirst they showed him the plunder--hundreds of those little images, mostly\nhuman, in the rudest style of art, but pure gold; a large proportion\nalligators, some probably meant for birds, not a few mere lumps. Mr.\nPonder calculated rapidly that the whole might represent three thousand\npounds for division among ten men. But the Caribs began to fear that their\nhuaco would prove to be a very small one. The yield had been failing in\nall directions lately. They had prospected round, but hitherto without\nsuccess. No bones, nor weapons, nor anything but a few jars of pottery had\nbeen found. Such is the rule--without exception, I believe--in\nburial-grounds of this class, without cairn or statues; in fact, it is a\nmere assumption to declare them burial-grounds at all. Men who dug at\nChiriqui told me that nothing whatever besides gold was found in that\ngreat area. The statement is not quite exact, but it shows how little\nturned up.\n\nThe forebodings of the Caribs were sadly verified. Mr. Ponder started back\nin the afternoon and they followed within a week--'made men' if they had\nwit enough to keep their booty, but not so rich as they had hoped.\n\nNext rains Sam loyally performed his promise. And thus it happened that\nMessrs. Stevens were overwhelmed with Brassavola Digbyana once upon a\ntime.\n\n\n\n\nLYCASTES, SOBRALIAS, AND ANGOULOAS\n\n\noccupy different compartments in one house. The first will not detain us.\nAll the species which orchidists, in a lordly way, term common are\nrepresented here--of course, by their best varieties. I can fancy the\nwonder and delight of a stranger entering when the Lycastes Skinneri alba\nand virginalis are in bloom, remembering my own emotion at the spectacle\nelsewhere. Not many of the genus appeal to the aesthetic, and Skinneri in\nespecial lacks grace. But unsymmetrical form and abrupt rigidity of growth\nare forgotten when those great flowers, so pure, so divinely white, burst\nupon the eye. Charming also are the pale varieties of Skinneri, such as\n_Lady Roberts_, a dainty rose, the petals only just dark enough to show up\nthe labellum almost white; and _Phyllis_ of somewhat deeper rose. Its\nvelvety lip has a crimson margin well displayed by a small white patch\nupon the disc.\n\nLeucantha, dainty green with white petals, is charming; a pan of aromatica\nwith fifty or sixty delicate golden blooms makes a pretty show. But these\nthings do not call for special notice.\n\nThere are varieties, however, of course, as the famous Lycaste plana\n_Measuresiana_, coppery, shining, with pure white petals, crimson spotted,\nand small white lip; plana _lassioglossa_, olive green of sepal and petal,\nwith a bright rusty stain at the base; lip white, with conspicuous white\nspots.\n\n_Fulvescens._--Large and spreading. Sepals and petals reddish orange, lip\nclear brightest orange, so lightly poised that it quivers at a breath. It\nhas as many as forty flowers from one bulb sometimes.\n\n_Denningiana._--Very large. Sepals and petals whitish green, lip brown.\n\n_Mooreana._--An extraordinary variety of L. Locusta, which itself is\nextraordinary enough. Reichenbach described Locusta in his lively way:\n'Green sepals, green petals, green lip, green callus, green ovary, green\nbract, green sheath, green peduncle, green bulbs, green leaves--just as\ngreen as a green grasshopper or the dress of some Viennese ladies.'\nMooreana is larger, and the heavy fringe of the lip has a faint yellow\nshade.\n\n\nSOBRALIAS\n\nIt may be granted that all classes of orchid are not equally beautiful,\nbut to compare one with another in this point of view is futile. Each has\nits own charm which individual taste may prefer, and to set Cattleyas, for\ninstance, above Odontoglots is only to demonstrate that for some persons\nsize and brilliancy of hue are more attractive than grace and purity. But\nin any competition of the sort Sobralias must rank high. They are all\nlarge, they have every fascination which colour can give, and the delicate\ncrumpling of the lip, characteristic of this genus alone, is one of\nNature's subtlest devices. Gardeners also approve them, for they need less\nattention perhaps than any others, and they grow fast. The sagacious\nreader will begin to ask by this time what are the disadvantages to set\nagainst all these merits? There is only one, but for too many amateurs it\nis fatal--the glorious flowers last scarcely two days. Certainly a spike\nwill carry four or five, or even six, which open one after another. But\nthen all is over till next year. And the plants are big, occupying much\nroom. Therefore Sobralias are not favoured by the wise, when space is\nlimited.\n\n\n[Illustration: LYCASTE SKINNERI VAR. R. H. MEASURES.]\n\n\nAll are American, growing among the rocks and in the scanty soil of\nmountain districts. One reads of species so tall that a man on horseback\nmust raise his arm to pick the flowers. This may be an exaggeration, but\nwe have Sobralia macrantha gigas here six feet high, and Hookerae even\ntopping it. Upon the other hand, that marvel, Kienastiana, has a very\nmodest stature. Nearly all the species known are here--it is not a large\ngenus: Lindeni, Hookerae, Lowii, macrantha and macrantha alba,\nxantholeuca, and Kienastiana, which has its story.\n\n_Measuresiana_ is uncommon; white, an immense flower. The vast lip,\ncircular, daintily crumpled, is palest pink, with a deep yellow throat,\nround which the pink darkens to pale crimson. _Sanderae_ also is white,\nfaintly tinged with yellow.\n\nIn these days, however, it is the hybrids which interest us, and there are\ntwo of surpassing merit.\n\n_Amesiana_ (xantholeuca × Wilsonii).--Palest rosy lilac, somewhat more\nrosy in the centre--the crumpled pink lip is as round and as big as a\ncrown piece. The cavity of the throat, orange, changes to gamboge as it\nwidens; encircling this is a stain of tawny crimson. Lip rose, shaded with\nreddish brown.\n\n_Veitchii_ (macrantha × xantholeuca).--White, with a pretty orange throat.\nRound the edges of the lip, deliciously frilled and crumpled, is a broad\nband of purplish pink.\n\nHere and there in this house, as room can be made, stand many fine plants\nof Laelia elegans. Beyond is a second compartment devoted to Lycastes and\nSelenepeds, the name granted, for distinction's sake, to Transatlantic\nforms of Cypripedium; in the gardener's point of view, however, there is\nno difference between them, and such of these plants as call for notice,\nin my very narrow space, are described among the Cypripeds.\n\nOne rarity, however, I must not overlook--Miltonia Binottii, assumed to be\na natural hybrid of M. candida and M. Regnellii; sepals and petals creamy\nyellow, tinged with lilac at the base and barred with cinnamon brown; lip\npale rosy purple.\n\n\nANGULOAS\n\nNature has thought fit to produce many clumsy plants, and the\nwell-balanced mind raises no objection so long as they remain in their\nproper place. A pumpkin is not a thing of grace, but then nobody calls on\nus to admire it. There is little to choose between an Anguloa and a\npumpkin in the way of beauty; yet a multitude of people, not less sane to\nall appearance than their neighbours, invite one to mark and linger over\nits charms. This always seems very strange to me. I remember a painting of\nAdam in Paradise, exhibited by an Academician famous in his day--less\nperhaps for talent than for the popular belief that he wrote certain\nwailing letters signed 'A British Matron,' which the _Times_ published\noccasionally. Adam was sitting on a flowery bank. The good Academician had\nall the Asiatic realm of botany before him, wherein to choose blooms\nappropriate for Paradise; he spurned them all, crossed the Atlantic,\nsurveyed the treasures of the New World, and from the lovely host\nselected--Anguloa Clowesii! Upon a bed of these Adam sat--of these alone;\nnothing else was worthy of a place beside them. Evidently Anguloas have a\nfascination. But my soul is blind to it. We have all the species here.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF SOBRALIA KIENASTIANA\n\n\nThere are startling flowers of divers sort. Some astonish by mere size, as\nRafflesia Arnoldii, which is a yard across and weighs fifteen to twenty\npounds, or Amorphophallus Titanum, eight feet high and fifteen inches\nthick. The stench of these is not less impressive than their bulk; an\nartist who insisted upon sketching the latter at Kew fainted over her\nwork. But many of the giants are beautiful, as the Aristolochias, like a\nbag of silk cretonne with mouth of velvet, wherein a lady might stow her\nequipment for an informal dance--shoes, gloves, fan, handkerchief, scarf,\nand, if need be, a bouquet; Bomarias, the Peruvian wonder, trailing a\nscarlet tassel three feet long and thick in proportion. Others are\nsurprising without qualification, like Nepenthes, which dangle a water jug\nat the tip of every leaf. But among orchids alone you see flowers of\nfamiliar shape and ordinary class, which startle you by the mere\nperfection of their beauty. One of these is Sobralia Kienastiana. My first\nsight of it at the Temple Show is not to be forgotten. I had been\nthrilling and raving over a specimen of Cattleya intermedia Parthenia,\n'chaste as ice and pure as snow,' when, turning to Baron Schröder's\nexhibit, I beheld this glory of Nature. It has all the advantage of\n'setting' denied to so many among the loveliest of its fellows. That\ndivine Parthenia must be regarded alone. It has no charm of environment.\nBut the Sobralia is a thicket, green and strong and pleasant to the eye,\ncrowned with the flowers of Paradise, snow-white, several inches broad,\nbut tender and dainty as the lily of the valley. Though open to the\nwidest, and exquisitely frilled, their petals are crumpled; you might\nthink fairies had been gauffering them and left the work incomplete,\nsurprised by dawn. Baron Schröder and Mr. Wilson of Westbrook, Sheffield,\nhad the only plants in England then; M. Kienast-Zolly, Consul at Zurich,\nthe only plant known elsewhere--a piece cut off when he sold the bulk.\nThat such a marvel had a legend I did not doubt. It is, in fact, an albino\nof the common Sobralia macrantha; in speaking of it, by the way, to\nscientific persons, or in referring to books, the word 'macrantha' must be\nintroduced. The family is Central American, and examples reach this\ncountry especially from Mexico. A variety so rare and so charming would be\nfound in some hardly known spot. But orchids do not live in the desert. It\nwould be strange if Indians had not noticed such a wonder, and if they\nnoticed, assuredly they would prize it. They would not allow the plant to\nbe removed under ordinary conditions; if a price were accepted it would be\nvery high, but more probably no sum would tempt them. Therefore did I\nconclude at sight that Sobralia Kienastiana had its legend. And I traced\nwithout difficulty the outline which I have filled up.\n\nM. Kienast-Zolly dwelt many years at Orizaba in Mexico, where he collected\norchids with enthusiasm for his own delight. An Indian servant gave\nzealous help, partly, doubtless, for love of the flowers, but partly also\nfor love of the master whose 'bread he had eaten' from childhood--and\nstill eats, I believe. This man, Pablo, ceaselessly inquired for rarities\namong his own people, made journeys, bargained, bought, and by times, they\nsay--but stole is not the proper word to use when an object has no owner\nnor intrinsic value. Pablo had a younger brother, a priest, in the\nneighbourhood of Tehuacan. They had not met since his ordination, until,\nonce on a time, M. Kienast-Zolly visited those parts, and Pablo took the\nopportunity to spend a day and night at the Indian village, Nidiri, where\nhis brother was priest. This ecclesiastic was an earnest man. He found no\nsatisfaction in compounding the heathen practices of his flock for money,\nas do his fellows. His legitimate dues sufficed him--I daresay they\nreached ten pounds a year. He found a melancholy diversion in writing\nplaintive memorials to the Bishop. Week by week the good man raised his\nmoan. He could not see very deep. It did not occur to him that the\nChristian faith itself, as the Indians understand it, is but a form of\nheathendom. The doings of which he complained were acts of positive\nworship towards the old idols. He demanded an investigation, special\nmagistrates; in brief, the re-establishment of the Inquisition. The Bishop\nhad long ceased to acknowledge these dolorous reports; doubtless they\ncontained nothing new to him.\n\nOut of the fulness of his heart a man speaketh, and after discussing\nfamily affairs, the Cura broached his spiritual sorrows. Pablo had not\nbeen trained at a seminary, and religious questions did not interest him.\nAs a townsman, also, he had picked up some liberal ideas, and when the\nbrother talked of converting his flock from their evil ways by force, he\nobserved that opinions are free in Mexico nowadays. Then the Cura grew\nwarm. Opinions? Rising hurriedly, he produced horrid little figures of\nclay or wood, actual idols, found and confiscated, not without opposition.\nWhen Pablo did not seem much impressed by these things--not unfamiliar,\nprobably--he hinted suspicions more awful. There was a spot somewhere in\nthe hills, frequented at certain seasons by these wretches, where they\nperformed sacrifice. Blood was shed, and the Cura had reason to think--he\ndropped his voice, and bent across the little table to whisper awfully in\nhis brother's ear.\n\n'Why,' said Pablo, 'if you can prove that, the Government will interfere\nfast enough. It's murder!'\n\n'I am not quite certain. But give me authority to arrest the Cacique--the\nhead-man of the village--and some others! They held one of their impious\nfestivals only last week. I met them returning just after dawn, crowned\nwith flowers, all the men intoxicated. Oh no, it wasn't a mere drinking\nbout. The Cacique and that vile Manuele--whom I believe to be the\npriest--carried nosegays of the accursed flower the demons give them. I\nknow it! They used formerly--the sons of perdition!--to bring it to my\nchurch and offer it upon the holy altar. And I--Heaven pardon\nme!--rejoiced in its beauty. With prayers and thanksgivings I laid the\nDevil's Flower before the Blessed Mother. I did not know! It will not be\ncounted against me for a sin, brother?' So he went on, bemoaning his\nunconscious offence.\n\nPablo woke up instantly. What did the Cacique do with his nosegay since he\nwas not allowed to deposit it on the altar? What sort of flower was it?\nAll this seemed trivial to the agitated Cura. With difficulty he was\nbrought to the statement that it resembled the Flor de San Lorenzo, but\nsnow-white. Then Pablo showed much concern. These shocking practices must\nbe made to cease; but first they must have evidence. That mysterious spot\non the hills? Did his brother know where it was? No, he had only pieced\ntogether hints and fragmentary observations. They suggested a certain\nneighbourhood. It had never occurred to him to look for it. If his\nconjectures were sound, the place was desert. Indians always choose a\nbarren unpeopled site for their ancestral worship, as Pablo knew.\n\nHe considered. There was a certain risk, for the priests might dwell by\ntheir idols. But most even of these look upon their Christian rival with\nreverence. He asked his brother how he was regarded? Indignantly the\nlatter confessed that all these wicked folk treated him with the utmost\ndeference. He had denounced them again and again from the altar,\nthreatened to excommunicate the whole community--but the Bishop promptly\ncrushed that idea. They listened in respectful silence, and went their own\nway. Pablo came to a resolve. He proposed that they should start before\ndaylight and search for the accursed place. The Cura was startled, but he\nassented with passionate zeal; of his stuff, unenterprising,\nunimaginative, with room for one idea only, martyrs are made. Martyrdom he\nhalf expected, and he was ready. Whilst Pablo snored in his hammock, the\ngood man prayed all through the night.\n\nIt was still dark when they set forth, and before even Indians were\nstirring they had passed beyond the village confines; but the sun was high\nwhen they reached the hills. These are, in fact, a range of low volcanoes,\nall extinct now; the most ancient overgrown with trees and brushwood, the\nmost recent still bare. Towards this part the Cura led the way. They\npassed through blinding gorges where no green thing found sustenance.\nCacti and yuccas and agaves, white with dust, clung to the naked tufa. So\nthey went on, mounting always, encouraged from time to time by some faint\ntrace of human passage, which their keen Indian eyes discerned. But from\nthe crest nothing could be seen save gorges such as they had traversed,\nand long slopes of dazzling rock.\n\nThe quest began to look hopeless, but they persevered. And presently Pablo\nnoted something on the ground, at a distance, beside a clump of Opuntia.\nIt was a bunch of withered flowers. Approaching they saw a cleft in the\nridge of tufa masked by that straggling cactus. They passed through--and\nthe idols stood before them! The Cura fell on his knees.\n\nIt was a small plateau, as white and as naked as the rest. In the midst\nstood three cairns, each bearing large stone figures, painted red and blue\nand yellow. Before each cairn was an altar, built of unhewn stones topped\nby a slab.\n\nThe scene was impressive. Pablo recalled his prayers in looking on it. The\nwhite and glittering dust lay even as a floor around those heaps of stone.\nAll was still, but the painted statues seemed to tremble and flicker in\nthat awful heat. Tiny whirls of sand arose, and danced, and scattered,\nthough never a breath of wind moved the burning air. The shadow of a\nvulture sailing passed slowly from side to side.\n\nThe Cura ended his prayer, leapt up and rushed--his old black gown\nstreaming like wings. He grasped the foremost idol and pushed and pulled\nwith all his might--he might as well have tried to overthrow the rock\nitself. Another and another he attempted; all in vain. He paused at\nlength, mopping his drenched face, disheartened but still resolved. Then\nhe took stones and battered the features.\n\nPablo was scarcely disappointed. So soon as they entered that barren\ntract, he knew that the Flor de San Lorenzo could not live there.\nApproaching he scrutinised the altars. Heaps of ashes and charred wood lay\nupon them, beneath leaves and fruits and flowers, unburnt but shrivelled\nand crackling in the sunshine. Carefully Pablo turned these over. On the\nlargest slab were found bones and dry pools of blood.\n\nI have not room to follow the story in detail. Next day they started for\nOrizaba, the priest carrying a passionate recital of these discoveries to\nthe Bishop. What came of it I do not know. Pablo returned forthwith, in\npressing haste, accompanied by two soldiers. With these he called on the\nCacique and charged him with human sacrifice. For a while the Indian could\nnot speak; then he vehemently denied the accusation. The conference was\nlong; in the end, Pablo admitted his innocence of the graver charge, but\nthe acts of paganry could not be disputed. He agreed to say no more about\nthem, however, on condition that the accursed flower should be surrendered\nand destroyed in his presence. By evening it was brought. But he changed\nhis mind about destroying it just then. As has been said, this was the\npride of M. Kienast-Zolly's collection for many years; then it passed, the\nhalf of it, to Baron Schröder, and a quarter to Mr. Wilson. Shortly\nafterwards Mr. Measures secured the latter fragment.\n\nThe description of the sacred place certainly does not apply to an Indian\ntemple. The cairns were graves of ancient heroes doubtless, and the\nfigures portrait-statues, such as I myself have seen in abundance to the\nsouthward. The Indians made this desert spot a temple perhaps, and treated\nthe statues as idols, when their places of worship were destroyed.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CYPRIPEDIUM HOUSE\n\n\nPerhaps our collection is most famed for its Cypripeds. During twenty\nyears and more the owner has been securing remarkable hybrids and\nvarieties--labouring on his own account also to produce them. But the\npretty house which lodges these accumulated treasures is not more than 48\nfeet long and 17 wide. No room here for vulgar beauties; only the best and\nrarest can find admission. There are, to be precise, 980 plants upon the\nstages, 169 hanging from the roof. They are close packed certainly, but a\nglance at the vivid foliage satisfies even the uninitiated that they have\nspace enough. Orchids generally are the most accommodating of plants--the\nbest tempered and the strongest in constitution; and among orchids none\nequal the Cypripeds in both respects. It is pleasant to fancy that they\nfeel gratitude for our protection. Darwin convinced himself that the whole\nfamily is doomed. In construction and anatomy it preserves 'the record of\na former and more simple state of the great orchidaceous family,' now\noutgrown. Such survivals are profoundly interesting to us, but Nature does\nnot regard them kindly. They betray her secrets. All the surrounding\nconditions have changed while the Cypriped clings to its antique model--at\nleast, it has not changed in proportion. Few insects remain, apparently,\nadapted to fertilise it and it cannot fertilise itself. In the struggle\nfor existence, therefore, it is terribly handicapped. Man comes to the\nrescue, and no class of orchid accepts his intervention so readily.\n\nIt is a pretty house, as I have said. Experienced gardeners have a deep\ndistrust of pretty houses. Picturesque effect and good culture can seldom\nbe reconciled; the conditions needed for the one are generally fatal to\nthe other. But here we have a pleasing exception. All is green and\nfresh--no brickwork, nor shelves, nor pipes, nor 'tombstone' labels\nobtrude upon the view. The back wall is draped with ferns and creepers,\norchids peeping through here and there. A broad stand down the middle,\naccommodating five rows of Cypripediums on either side, has all its\nsubstructures masked with tufa, which bears a mantle of green. The side\nstands, each accommodating seven rows of pots, are equally clothed in\nverdure, moss and fern. At the end, through a glass partition open in the\ncentre, is a fountain, with similar stands all round it. And--an essential\npoint, whereby we understand the glorious health of all these\nplants--there is not one which the gardener cannot see perfectly as he\ngoes by, and reach without an effort, saving those overhead in the middle.\nNo chance of thrips flourishing unsuspected in this house, nor of slugs\nfollowing their horrid appetite from pot to pot unnoticed.\n\nSince it is especially the number of rare 'garden mules' which have won us\nrenown, I ought perhaps to say a word in passing upon the matter of\nhybridisation. But what can be said in a few lines? It is a theme for\narticles and books, even in the hands of a smattering amateur like myself.\nThe public has no suspicion how far this novel manufacture has been\ncarried already. There is a hint in the tiny volume compiled by Mr. R. H.\nMeasures 'for private circulation,' showing the number of hybrids in the\ngenus Cypripedium of which he could hear. It contains more than eleven\nhundred items. Of these we have upwards of eight hundred in our\ncollection. But it must be remembered, in the first place, that there is\nno authoritative list as yet; each inquirer must get information as he\ncan. In the second place, that the number increases daily. Such a list\ncould be framed only by an international committee of botanists, for in\nFrance and Belgium orchid-growers are as enthusiastic as our own; whilst\nin Germany, Italy, Austria and the United States, if the workers be\ncomparatively few they are very busy.\n\nIt has often been suggested that an Orchid Farm would pay handsomely, if\nestablished in some well-chosen district of the Tropics and intelligently\nconducted. A gentleman resident in Oviedo, Florida, Mr. Theodore S. Mead,\nhas carried the notion into practice on a small scale with startling\nresults. I quote from the _Orchid Review_, June 1896:--\n\n'I have built a small platform in the top of a live oak, about 45 feet\nfrom the ground ... where I propose to try seeds of some thirty or forty\ndifferent orchid crosses, including pods from Vanda coerulea and Cattleya\ncitrina, which are thought difficult to manage under glass...'\n\nIn September 1897 we hear further:--\n\n'The season has been a very trying one, and though my orchid-eyrie in the\nlive oak-top promised great success in June, it was very difficult to keep\nthe compost in good condition during the hot, muggy days of July. Still,\nout of thirty-two crosses planted on a space of peat, 16 inches long by 12\nbroad, I obtained plants having first leaf of twenty-two of them--mostly\nCattleyas and Laelias;--though a good many died when it was necessary to\ntransplant them, on account of mould and algae threatening to swamp the\ntiny plants. A single plant of Vanda coerulea × V. Amesiana appeared, and\nis now showing its third leaf. This year I have repeated the cross Bletia\nverecunda × Schomburgkia tibicinis and have several plants in their first\nleaf; and also one of Bletia verecunda crossed with our native Calopogon\npulchellus...'\n\nIn March 1899:--'... My seed-planting was very successful after June in\npolypodium fibre (fresh fern mats) in my tree-top eyrie, and from July\ntill October I averaged 500 little hybrids transplanted to pots every\nmonth; about one-fourth still survive.... I had an ancient moss-grown\nmagnolia chopped down and cut into slabs, some thirty of which I planted\nwith orchid-seed and kept sprayed. The slabs coming from near the ground\nscarcely germinated a seed, but those from 20 to 30 feet up yielded from 2\nto 3 up to about 150. I also tried oak bark, but while the seeds started\npromptly they were more subject to disease;... when transplanted to pots\nnearly all died.\n\n'_Note._--These magnolia slabs were placed in a green-house, not in the\n\"eyrie.\"'\n\nIt is hardly worth while to quote the list of seedlings obtained by Mr.\nMead through crossing plants of the same genus. But here are some\nsuccesses which, very few years ago, would have been declared flatly\nimpossible--as impossible as a fertile union betwixt cat and dog.\n\nCattleya amethystoglossa × Epidendrum O'Brienianum; a few plants alive.\n\nCattleya amethystoglossa × Epid. radicans; two plants alive.\n\nSchomburgkia undulata × Epid. radicans; several plants.\n\nCattleya Bowringiana × Epid. cochleatum; several plants.\n\nEpidendrum nocturnum × Epid. osmanthum and Epid. cucullatum, pollen mixed;\nseveral plants.\n\nCattleya Bowringiana × Epid. osmanthum (Godseffianum); three plants.\n\nBletia verecunda × Schomburgkia tibicinis; several plants.\n\nBletia verecunda × Calopogon pulchellus; one or two plants.\n\nSchomburgkia tibicinis × Laelia purpurata; one plant.\n\nThe discovery that fertile unions may be concerted between species, and\neven genera, differing in all visible respects, gives profound interest to\nthe study of hybridisation in the scientific point of view. We have gone\nso far already that classifications which appeared to be unquestionable\nhave been rudely upset. That Laelias and Cattleyas should combine is not\nsurprising, even though one come from North Mexico and the other from\nSouth Brazil. But what shall we say when Epidendrums combine with\nboth?--with Sophronitis, Zygopetalum!--nay, with Oncidium!!--with\nDendrobium!!! Sobralia proves fertile with Cattleya; so does Sophronitis.\nSpathoglottis has been crossed with Bletia and with Phajus. Zygopetalum\nwith Colax, with Oncidium, with Epidendrum, with Odontoglossum.\nSchomburgkia with Laelia and Bletia. Combinations even more astonishing\nare reported, but for those named there is responsible authority.\n\nI cannot go into detail; these remarks are designed only to call attention\nto the subject. Not all the bigeneric hybrids mentioned have flowered; and\nat the present time we have learned enough to be aware that possibly one\nparent will be ignored by the offspring--that a seedling of Epidendrum\ncrossed with Dendrobium, for example, will bloom a pure Epidendrum or a\npure Dendrobium of the species used; which in itself is sufficiently\nstrange. But seedlings have actually been produced in every case which I\nhave named. It is one of the fixed rules in biology that the offspring of\ndifferent species must be barren--otherwise the parents are not truly\nspecies--and that different genera will not breed at all. But in most\ninstances which have been brought to the test as yet, hybrid orchids of\ndifferent species prove fertile, and some bigeneric crosses yield a\nprogeny at least. What follows? Evidently that the genera or the species\nare not really distinct--in the cases given. Must we admit, then, that a\nDendrobium of the Himalayas (crystallinum) does not differ generically\nfrom an Epidendrum of Mexico (radicans)?\n\nThis is not the place to argue it out; nor, in truth, would there be much\nprofit in arguing the question while the number of facts to be adduced is\nstill so small that error is not improbable. I hope I have made it clear\nthat the hybridisation of orchids is the most fascinating of botanic\nstudies at this time; which is all I have in view.\n\nBut professional 'growers' are not likely to help the cause of science\nmuch--no blame to them either. They cannot afford to make experiments\nwhich demand a great deal of time, and increasing attention, for years,\nfrom the most highly-paid of their staff--too probably remaining a dead\nloss after no small portion of a lifetime has been spent in bringing the\nproduce to flower. A man of business must make such crosses as are most\nlikely to pay in the shortest time--easy species, big, highly coloured.\nUnder the best conditions he must wait three to six years, perhaps ten, or\neven more. Evidently the most valuable hybridisations in a scientific\npoint of view would be those least likely to succeed; all would be\ndoubtful, all would require a long term of years, and most would not\n'sell' in the end probably. Such work is for amateurs.\n\nI can mention only a few of the Cypripediums here which seem most notable,\nand it will always remain dubious whether I have chosen the best examples.\n\n_Bellatulum eximium._--The dorsal is small, low and spreading, white, with\ncarmine specks along the edges, large red-chocolate spots inside. Petals\nclosely depressed, mottled with carmine here and there at the edges, and\nspotted like the dorsal. Lip insignificant--white with a few small dots.\n\n_Olivia_ (tonsum × concolor).--Dorsal white above, changing to pink; base\ngreenish, slenderly feathered with carmine. Petals bowed, flushed with\npink, pink lined, dotted with carmine. Slipper pink, deepening to carmine\nalong the front, fading at the toe.\n\n_M. Finet_ (callosum superbum × Godefroyae).--White with a faint rosy\nblush. At the base of the dorsal is a greenish tinge, which reappears\nsomewhat stronger on the petals. There are a few specks of crimson on the\nlatter, and a few crimson markings at the top of the slipper.\n\n_Gertrude Hollington_ (ciliolare × bellatulum).--A flower of remarkable\nsize. The dorsal is low but exceedingly broad; white, very strongly scored\nwith crimson. Upon the scores stand spots of maroon, and a crimson splash\nfollows the midrib. The great broad petals are white of ground, but\nobscured at the base by a cloud of crimson-maroon, save the edges. Crimson\nlines, carrying spots and specks of maroon, overrun the whole. Slipper\npurplish crimson.\n\n_Macropterum_ (Lowii × superbiens).--Dorsal green, darker below. Petals\nlong, curving downwards, greenish at base, heavily spotted; the ends\nclouded with purple. Slipper large, tawny purple.\n\n_Bellatulum album._--The pure white variety of this striking species, so\ndensely spotted in its normal form. It was discovered by Mr. R. Moore when\nAssistant-Commissioner of the Shan States in 1893. The dorsal is very low,\nspreading and depressed; the high-shouldered petals clasp the slipper\nclose all round, in such manner that their ends hang below its tip.\nGrandly beautiful.\n\n_Baconis_ (chlorops × Schlimii).--Very small, rosy. Sepals scored with a\nbrighter hue. They reverse half their length, showing the back of\nbrilliant rose. Slipper carmine.\n\n_H. Ballantine_ (purpuratum × Fairieanum).--Dorsal rosy white, ribbed with\ndark crimson branching lines. Petals greenish, lined, dotted, and edged\nwith coppery crimson. Slipper purple above, green below, handsomely lined\nwith crimson.\n\n_Barbato-bellatulum._--Takes after the latter parent in shape, but all\npurple; the white-edged dorsal lined and the petals finely spotted with a\ndarker tint.\n\n_Mrs. E. Cohen_ (callosum × niveum).--All pinkish white, suffused with\ncrimson, lined with crimson and speckled with purple. Slipper\ncarmine-purple.\n\n_Cardinale_ (Sedenii × Schlimii-albiflorum).--Takes its name from the\ncarmine slipper. White in general colour; the petals have a rosy base and\nrosy tips.\n\n_Chrysocomes_ (caudatum Warcewiczii × conchiferum).--Dorsal\ngreenish-yellow, edged with white. Its tip or crest is most extraordinary,\nhanging forward like a tongue between high jaws curved and serrated. The\nochreous-greenish petals have an edging of crimson and an outer edging of\nwhite, prettily frilled and gauffered. They twine and twist through a\nlength of ten or twelve inches, showing the crimson reverse.\n\n_Claudii_ (Spicerianum × vernixium).--The dorsal is white above, with a\nstrong purple midrib, and a purple flush towards the edge; the base is\nolive green. Petals olive green, shaded in a darker hue, and tipped with\npurple. The slipper purple above, green below.\n\n_Beeckmanii_ (Boxalli sup. × bellatulum).--The yellow-green dorsal is\nbroadly margined in its upper part with white, and marked profusely with\nlarge crimson-brown spots. The petals are depressed, spreading like wings,\nof madder-purple hue, lined and spotted, the lower margin greenish.\nSlipper dark purple, with a greenish toe.\n\n_Bellatulum egregium._--Doubtless a natural hybrid. The depressed dorsal\nis pale green, spotted with pink in lines. Petals and slipper white above,\npale greenish below, with large pink spots all over. A most remarkable\nvariety.\n\n_Brownii_ (leucorrhodum × longifl. magnificum).--The dorsal takes a very\nsingular form. Narrow and almost rectangular, it is sharply constricted\ntowards the top, then widens out again like the ace of spades. The colour\nis white, touched with green and rose. Petals long, narrow, with an edging\nof carmine, and outer edging of white; as they reverse towards the tip the\ncolour is all rose. Big broad slipper, rosy, prettily spotted with carmine\non the white lining.\n\n_Antigone_ (Lawrenceanum × niveum).--The big dorsal sepal is pink with a\nwhite border. Strong branching ribs of crimson spring from a base of vivid\ngreen and form a network. The drooping petals show a deeper pink, with\nsimilar lines and maroon specks; as does the slipper.\n\n_H. Hannington_ (villosum × fascinator).--The great dorsal bears a purple\nmauve cloud within its broad white margin, changing to dusky green at the\nbase and scored with branching lines of somewhat darker mauve. Petals and\nlip greenish ochre, frilled and shining, lined with brown in dots.\n\n_Hector_ (Leeanum var. × Sallierii var.)--Dorsal white with a\ngreenish-blue centre, traversed by dull brown lines. Petals yellow at the\nbase, set with a quantity of short, stiff black hairs; changing to\nochreous dun, the upper half bearing a dusky brownish network. Lip of the\nsame dusky hue.\n\n_Myra_ (Chamberlainianum × Haynaldianum).--Tall, graceful in form as in\ncolouring. The long narrow dorsal is pale green, edged with white. At the\nbase is a patch of dusky chocolate and spots of the same tone run upward\nin lines. The pale-green petals, narrow and rectangular, bear a few large\ndun blotches outlined with chocolate; their tips reverse, showing a faint\nmauve tint.\n\n_Aphrodite superbum_ (niveum × Lawrenceanum).--The same parentage\nreversed; as usual the produce is quite dissimilar. Its colour is white,\npurple-tinged except the margin, overlaid with a crimson network of dots.\nAnother example from the same seed-pod has a palest pink network instead\nof crimson, and tiny dots of maroon. It looks like the ghost of its\nsister.\n\n_Arnoldiae_ (bellatulum × superciliare).--Whitish, with bold spots of\ncrimson-brown arranged in lines upon the dorsal. Slipper purple-lake\nabove, greenish below.\n\n_Arnoldianum_ (superbiens × concolor).--Dusky shining yellow, tinged at\nthe edges with crimson, spotted and lined with the same. A hybrid\nremarkable for its shyness to flower.\n\n_Cyanides_ (Swanianum × bellatulum).--A dusky flower, of green and purple\ntones. The greenish dorsal is clouded at base, lined and spotted, with\npurple. Petals the same, but the spotting is darker and more distinct.\nSlipper clear purple.\n\n_Callosum Sanderae._--A sport or natural hybrid of most singular beauty. I\nremember the delighted amazement which possessed me when Mr. Sander\nunlocked a door and showed this exquisite flower just opening--a treasure\nhidden from all but the trustiest friends until it could be displayed at\nthe Temple Show in 1894. The great dorsal sepal is white above, tender\ngreen in two shades below, with strong green lines ascending from the\nbase. The petals, much depressed, are bright green, lined with a darker\nhue and tipped with white. The slipper yellowish-green.\n\nIt may be mentioned that the owner of this collection declined to accept\n1000 guineas for his stock of callosum Sanderae three years after buying\nthe original plant.\n\n_Aylingii_ (niveum × ciliolare).--Small, white ground. The dorsal and\npetals alike are boldly striped with carmine-crimson. Slipper all white.\n\n_Conco-Curtisii._--The triangular dorsal is bright green in the centre,\nwith a dark crimson cloud at the base and crimson lines. The broad\ndepressed petals are dark crimson, fading towards the tips, similarly\nlined. Slipper green at the toe, crimson above.\n\n_Conco-callosum._--The dorsal, almost a diamond in shape, is crimson, with\ndarker lines extending from a greenish base; petals greenish, margined,\nlined and spotted with crimson. Slipper crimson-purple above, green below.\n\n_Alfred_ (laevigatum × venustum).--Strong ribs of crimson-brown circle up\nfrom a green base over the white dorsal, which is pointed sharply. The\ndrooping twisted petals are brightest green above, with a white margin,\nchanging to tawny crimson as they reverse. The whole heavily spotted with\ncrimson-brown. Slipper green, broadly netted over with a darker tint.\n\n_Calloso-niveum._--Where the parentage is shown in the name it need not be\nexpressed at full length. A pale flower, dorsal and sepals greenish at\nbase, faintly tinged and lined with pink, dotted carmine.\n\n_Amphion_ (Harrisianum × Lawrenceanum).--The grand dorsal\nsepal--greenish-yellow, dotted and ribbed with coppery brown--has a broad\nwhite margin. Petals narrow and bowed, greenish at base, changing to\ncopper; a few heavy dots. The slipper coppery.\n\n_Cowleyanum_ (Curtisii × niveum).--Dorsal low and spreading, purplish and\nlined with purple; the edges white. Petals purple, very much darker at\nbase and tips, with a white outline above, and tiny speckles of purple.\nPurple slipper.\n\n_Conco-Lawre_ (concolor × Lawrenceanum).--Dorsal large, suffused and lined\nwith purple, edged white. Petals green at base, margined and lined with\ncrimson, with a few dots of chocolate. Slipper purplish above, greenish\nbelow.\n\n_Curtisii_ (Woodlands variety) does not depart from the ordinary form in\nits scheme of colouring, but all the hues are intensified, and the\nenormous slipper, tinged with green at the edge, is deepest\ncrimson-maroon.\n\nI may interrupt the dry enumeration with a story.\n\n\n[Illustration: CYPRIPEDIUM. WILLIAM LLOYD.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM CURTISII\n\n\nMy tales do not commonly bear a moral. If one they have it is apt to be\nsuch as grandmamma teaches--foresight, perseverance, the habit of\nobservation. Those virtues need no finger-post. They are illustrated by\nthe story of Cypripedium Curtisii, and rewarded there, as they should be\nalways, by a notable instance of luck. I have not heard of any special\ncircumstances attending the first discovery of this plant. It was found in\nSumatra by Mr. Curtis, travelling for Messrs. Veitch, in 1882--a large\ngreen flower, margined and touched here and there with white, the pouch\nvinous purple. This brief and vague description may suffice for readers\nwho take more interest in romance than in orchidology. Mr. Curtis did not\ntell the world at large where he found the treasure. It was his intention,\ndoubtless, to work the mine himself. But after sending home the first\nfruits, he was offered the Directorship of the Botanic Gardens at Penang,\nand left Messrs. Veitch's service. He may well have hoped to revisit\nSumatra one day, but the opportunity never came. Messrs. Veitch knew the\nsecret, doubtless, and kept it faithfully; but they took no steps. And so,\nthe first consignment being scanty, no more arriving, and the plant\ngrowing in favour, Cypripedium Curtisii rose to famine price.\n\nThe St. Albans firm took note of this. The home of the new Cypriped was\nadmitted. Sumatra yields a profitable harvest always, even of familiar\nspecies, and besides, there is an excellent chance--vastly stronger\nfifteen years ago--of finding novelties. An intelligent man upon the spot\nshould be able to trace the route of an earlier traveller. One of the St.\nAlbans staff was disengaged. In short, Mr. Ericsson, a Swedish collector\nof great experience, was commissioned to seek Cypripedium Curtisii. He\nsailed in 1884. Nearly five years did Ericsson wander up and down the\nisland--that is, in the Dutch territory. Working at leisure from Bencoolin\nnorthwards, he searched the range of mountains which bounds it on the\neast, and often descended the further slope--visiting peoples scarcely\nknown, whom the Dutch had not yet invaded. They proved to be amiable\nenough. Many fine orchids did he send home, and the issue of the search\nwas patiently awaited at St. Albans.\n\nIt did not seem more hopeful as years went by. Mr. Curtis's footsteps were\ntraced easily enough here and there; but the Dutch frontier officials\nrarely speak any language but their own and the Malay, nor does their\ndiscourse generally turn upon orchids when they have a visitor. It was\njust as likely as not that Ericsson had already traversed the district he\nsought, without identifying it. Cypripeds, as a rule, occupy a very narrow\narea, especially the fine species. They are a doomed race, belonging to\nthe elder world, and slowly following its inhabitants to extinction. That\nfascinating theme I must not touch; readers interested may refer to\nDarwin. The point is that a collector may skirt a field of Cypripeds very\nclosely without suspecting his good fortune.\n\nBut travel in Sumatra at that time was more limited than it had been--more\nthan it is now. The Achinese still held out--for that matter, while I am\nwriting, comes news of a skirmish wherein three officers and nineteen\nsoldiers lost their lives. Ten years ago that stubborn and fearless\npeople not only defended their own soil but also made forays into the\nDutch territory. Desperate patriots allied themselves with the Battas, a\ncannibal race dwelling between their country and the province of Tapanuli;\nand hatred to the white man--or rather to the Dutch--carried the Achinese\nso far, though strict Moslems, that they tempted these savages to move by\na promise of surrendering all captives--to be devoured. Thus the northern\nparts of Dutch Sumatra were very unsafe. When Ericsson desired to explore\nthere he was refused permission. At Padang, the capital, however, in 1887,\nhe made acquaintance with the Controleur--Magistrate, as we should say--of\nLubu Sikeping, a district which lies along the Batta country. This\ngentleman spoke Swedish--an accomplishment grateful beyond expression to\nEricsson, who had not heard his native tongue for years. Promptly they\nmade friends.\n\nThe Controleur had been summoned to report upon the state of things in his\nResidency. He presented a long list of outrages and murders. Scores, if\nnot hundreds, of peaceful subjects had been not only plundered and killed,\nbut eaten, on Dutch soil, in the last few months. He represented that\nactive measures must be taken forthwith. The Battas, inhabiting a high\ntableland beyond the mountains, crept through the defile, ravaged, burnt,\nmassacred, and trooped back, carrying their prisoners away for leisurely\nconsumption. Before news of the inroad reached the nearest outpost they\nwere half-way home. Smaller parties lay in wait along the roads, stopping\nall communication. They had not yet ventured to assail a post, or even a\nlarge village, but the Achin desperadoes urged them to bolder feats, and\nthey grew continually more aggressive. An expedition must be sent. It need\nnot be large, for the cannibals are not fighting men. The Governor was\npersuaded. He ordered a small force to be equipped, and meantime the\nControleur returned to his station.\n\nIt was a rare opportunity for Ericsson. He begged permission to accompany\nhis new friend, who good-naturedly presented him to the Governor. An\nhistorian may be allowed to say that the hero of this narrative is fat,\nand there is no offence in supposing that the most exalted functionary has\na sense of humour. His Excellency appears to have been tickled. The\ncannibals would rage with disappointment in beholding this succulent\nmortal--beyond their reach. He laughed and consented. I have no details of\nthe expedition striking enough to be set down in a brief chronicle like\nthis. It was a slow and toilsome march through jungle and mountain passes,\nthe Barizan range, where a score of determined men might have stopped an\narmy. The Achinese proved that; they held the force at bay for hours in a\ngorge, though less than a score. But the Battas would not fight even when\ntheir capital was reached, on Lake Toba. The Rajahs submitted, paid an\nindemnity, gave hostages, yielded up the surviving victims, and undertook\nto have no more dealings with the Achinese. So the matter ended. Ericsson\nfound some new plants in their country, and many old well worth\ncollecting. Doubtless the results would have been far more important could\nhe have wandered freely. But those demons of Achin hung upon the line of\nmarch, joyously sacrificing their own lives to kill a Dutchman. If his\npersonal adventures were not so curious, however--perhaps I should rather\nsay so dramatic--that I could single out one of them, Ericsson gained much\ninformation about an extraordinary people. I can only set down a few\nfacts.\n\nHe says that the Battas themselves do not regard their cannibalism as an\nimmemorial practice. They have a story, not worth repeating, to account\nfor it. But I may observe that if Marco Polo's 'kingdom of Mangi, called\nConcha,' lay in those parts, as geographers believe, some race of the\nneighbourhood was cannibal in the thirteenth century. 'They commonly eat\nmen's flesh, if the person die not of sickness, as better tasted than\nothers.' That is the motive still--the only one adduced--mere liking.\nElsewhere the practice may be due to superstition in one form or another;\namong the Battas it is simply _gourmandise_. The head Rajah questioned\ngave a matter-of-fact answer. 'You Dutch eat pig,' said he, 'because you\nlike it; we eat man because that is our fancy.' To be devoured alive is\nthe punishment of four offences among themselves--adultery, robbery after\nnightfall, unprovoked assault, and marrying within the clan; the last an\ninteresting item of which Sir John Lubbock should certainly take note for\nhis next edition of _The Origin of Civilisation_. The instinct of\n'exogamy' has no such striking illustration elsewhere. As for foreigners\nand strangers there is no rule; they are devoured at sight. And it may\nwell be believed that people so fond of eating one another do not demand\nunquestionable evidence when a man of low station is charged with one of\nthe four crimes which may give them a meal. I must not repeat the horrors\nwhich Ericsson learned. Suffice it that the victim is tied up, and those\npresent exercise their choice of morsels. At a former time, they say, not\nlong ago, the flesh was cooked--a statement which confirms the theory, so\nfar as it goes, of a recent introduction. At this present they dip the\nslice in salt and pepper and eat it on the spot.\n\nA good many missionaries, English, Dutch, French, and American, have not\nonly settled on the confines of the Batta territory, but have travelled in\nthe interior. The earliest of these, Messrs. Ward and Burton, found the\npeople kindly, which again must be noted as suggesting that they were not\nso ferocious in 1820. The second party, Messrs. Lyman and Munson, of\nMassachusetts, were eaten. Mdme. Pfeiffer nearly crossed the tableland\nunmolested, though the savages were not friendly; but, as she says, they\nregarded her as a witch. Encouraged by this example, three French priests\nmade an attempt two years later; they were promptly devoured. Two Dutchmen\nshared their fate not long afterwards, and the Government forbade more\nexperiments.\n\nI have no room for detail, but one very curious point must be indicated.\nThese cannibals unredeemed possess an alphabet of their own, bearing no\nresemblance to the Malay, which latter is a corrupt amalgamation of\nArabian, Persian, and Tamil. The Batta characters are original. They write\ncommonly on strips of bamboo, scratching the letters.\n\nOn the return of the expedition, a party of invalids was despatched to the\nlocal sanitarium on Selimbang Hill, and Ericsson obtained leave to\naccompany it. There was no danger now. A few huts had been built there for\ntroops, and a bungalow for officers--who made him welcome, of course. They\narrived at dusk. The officers went out early next morning to their duties,\nand Ericsson lay waiting for his coffee. The rough timbers of the bungalow\nwere concealed by boards, smooth and neat. Invalids quartered there had\namused themselves by scribbling their names. Some, more ambitious, added\nverses, epigrams, and caricatures; others, drawings and even paintings.\nFrom his bed-place Ericsson scrutinised these artless memorials in the\nearly light. Presently he observed a flower--a Cypripedium; the shape\ncould not be mistaken. It was coloured, but dimly--the tints had soaked\ninto the wood. With professional interest his eye lingered on this sketch.\nAnd then the first sun-ray streamed across the verandah and fell upon the\nvery spot. Its faded colours shone brightly for a moment, green, white\nmargin, vinous purple--Ericsson sprang out of bed.\n\nNo room for doubt! To make assurance doubly sure there was an\ninscription--'C. C.'s contribution to the adornment of this room.'\n\nHurriedly he sought a pencil and wrote--'Contribution accepted.\nCypripedium collected, C. E.'\n\nIt was not such a smart _réplique_ as the occasion seems to demand. But\nEricsson is perfectly well satisfied with it to this day.\n\nWe can imagine how blithely he set to work that morning. Cypripedium\nCurtisii was selling in London at the moment for many guineas--a small\nplant too. And he had found the goose with golden eggs innumerable,\nwaiting to be picked up. These orchids 'travel' well. There was no great\ndistance to carry them before embarkation. The good fellow's fortune was\nmade, and he had the pleasure of knowing it well earned.\n\nWith such cheerful thoughts, Ericsson sallied out day after day for a\nwhile, searching the mountain. He had a following of miscellaneous\n'natives' by this time, experienced in their work. The neighbourhood was\nrich. Every evening they brought in a load of orchids more or less\nvaluable, but never Cypripedium Curtisii. He engaged men of the district\nand showed them the picture. Some recognised it, and undertook to bring\nspecimens; but they were always mistaken. The invalids withdrew, one after\nanother. Ericsson found himself alone. His accumulated spoil of plants,\nwell worth shipping, began to be as much as he could transport. As time\nwent by, despair possessed him. After all, it did not follow that Mr.\nCurtis had found the prize just here because he painted it on the wall. To\ndiscover a new and fine orchid is a great achievement, and the lucky man\nmight very well commemorate it anywhere when choosing a device.\n\nFinally, 'time was up.' To wait longer would be sacrificing the great heap\nof treasures secured. After shipping them he might return. It was a sad\ndisappointment after such reasonable hopes, but things might have been\nworse. So Ericsson gave orders to pack and start as soon as possible. When\nall was ready, on the very evening before departure, one of the local\nassistants brought him a flower. This time it was right. In three days\nseveral thousand plants had been collected, and Ericsson went his way\nrejoicing.\n\nNo reader, I hope, will fancy that these coincidences are invented. The\nstory would be childish as fiction. It is literal fact, and therefore only\nis it worth telling.\n\n\n[Illustration: CYPRIPEDIUM × ROTHWELLIANUM.]\n\n\n\n\nCYPRIPEDIUMS--_Continued_\n\n\n_William Lloyd_ (bellatulum × Swanianum).--The white crest of the dorsal\nrises from a dull crimson blur with greenish centre, overrun with crimson\nlines. The petals have a dull crimson ground, paler below, densely\nspeckled with maroon, the ends just tipped with white. Slipper, shining\nmaroon.\n\n_A de Lairesse_ (Curtisii × Rothschildianum).--The fine dorsal is white,\nwith a greenish centre and faint purple edges, the lines clear purple.\nPetals long and drooping, pale green, edged with white; all covered with\npurple spots. Slipper, ochreous brown.\n\n_Juno_ (Fairieanum × callosum).--The broad white dorsal, green at base,\ntinged with purple, and strongly scored with purple lines, is actually the\nwidest part of the flower, as in Fairieanum. The narrow petals curl down\nclose upon the slipper, green in paler and darker shades, with bunches of\npurple hair, like those on a caterpillar, at the edges, and pale purple\ntips. Slipper, dusky greenish with brown lines.\n\n_Saide Lloyd_ (venustum × Godefroyae).--Dorsal small, bright green with\ndarker lines. Petals purplish above, greenish below, speckled with small\ndots of crimson and strong spots of maroon. Slipper, ochreous yellow,\ndotted with crimson at top and netted with green.\n\n_Cymatodes_ (Curtisii × Veitchii).--The fine dorsal is green, fading to\nwhite, with a pretty narrow edging of pink, and boldly ribbed. The\npetals, dark at base, change to green, and towards the tips have an edging\nof profuse crimson specks. The slipper, very wide at the mouth, is\ngreenish.\n\n_Dauthierii albino._--A wonderful sport. Up the grass-green dorsal, edged\nwith white above, run strong lines of darker tone. The petals, very narrow\nat base, are yellowish green, suffused and lined with copper above, paler\nbelow. The slipper shows similar colouring.\n\nOn the same plant, open at the same time, but from another stem, was a\nflower of the common Dauthierii type. Still more remarkable, one year this\nsecond stem bore a flower of which half the dorsal was pale yellow, the\nother half coppery green, as is usual, thus betraying a futile inclination\nto rival its albino sister. The petals were scarcely affected, however.\n\n_Dauthierii marmoratum._--Another abnormal form. The point of the dorsal,\nand the high shoulders, are white, the rest crimson-maroon. From the point\ndescend three or four broad lines, or long splashes, of green, with\nstriking effect. The petals are marbled longitudinally with purple on a\ndusky ground. The lip is dull, dusky crimson.\n\n_Lord Derby_ (Rothschildianum × superbiens).--An immense flower--the grand\ndorsal rosy white, tinged with pale green in the middle, pale purple on\neither hand, dark lines circling upward over all. The petals, outlined\nwith purple at the base, change to pale green, almost to white, below and\nat the tips. Great spots of darkest crimson stud the whole. Slipper\nmaroon, greenish at the toe.\n\n_Evenor_ (Argus × bellatulum).--Ground-colour throughout ochreous yellow.\nThe dorsal has a purplish base and maroon lines of dots. Broad round\npetals, closely spotted with maroon. Slipper purplish above, ochre below.\n\n_Excelsior_ (Rothschildianum × Harrisianum).--Dorsal long,\nhigh-shouldered, greenish, with darkest crimson edging lines of the same\ntint, and white margin. Petals depressed, of a like green, crimson along\nthe upper edge, covered with the heavy spots and hairs of Rothschildianum.\nSlipper very long, dull crimson.\n\n_Engelhardtiae_ (insigne Maulei × Spicerianum).--The dorsal has very broad\nshoulders, narrowing to a wasp-waist, where the upper white changes\nabruptly to bright green, spotted with pink. A strong crimson line runs\nfrom base to tip. Petals so evenly curved downwards that they seem to make\na half-circle, coppery yellow in hue, handsomely gauffered on the upper\nedge, and lined with copper colour. Immensely wide lip, coppery ochre with\na bright green lining.\n\n_Edwardii_ (superbiens × Fairieanum).--Dorsal long, white-edged, stained\nat the margin with purplish crimson and lined with the same. Short narrow\npetals, very strongly bowed, greenish, edged throughout with purplish\ncrimson. Slipper green at toe, coppery above.\n\n_Fairieanum._--No orchid is so interesting as this in the point of view\nwhich may be called historic. In the autumn of 1857, Mr. Reid of Burnham\nand Mr. Parker, nursery-man, of Holloway, sent flowers of it to Sir W.\nHooker at Kew, asking what they might be. Shortly afterwards Mr. Fairie of\nLiverpool showed a plant in flower at the R.H.S. meeting, and Dr. Lindley\nnamed it after him. It is believed that all these plants were bought at\nStevens' Sale-rooms among a number of orchids forwarded from Assam. But\nnone have turned up since, and attempts to find the habitat have been\ntotally unsuccessful.\n\nThose who expect to see a flower big in proportion to its fame will be\ndisappointed; but if small, indeed very small, Cyp. Fairieanum is striking\nboth in form and colour. The upstanding dorsal has a crest, from which the\nsides curl back. Its ground-colour is white with a greenish tinge. Broad\nlines of maroon fall downwards from the crest, lessening as they go, but\nmultiplying towards the edges, where they form a close network. The petals\ncurl as sharply as a cow's horn, inverted at the tips to show a maroon\nlining; they are greenish above, with three sharp little maroon bars at\nthe base, and slender lines of maroon; maroon also is the narrow edging.\nThe shield of the column, small as it is, cannot be overlooked, for it\nshines like a jewel--exquisitely mottled with the brightest green,\naccentuated by a tiny arch of maroon on either side. Slipper greenish,\nwith blurred lines of maroon.\n\n_Gertrude_ (Chamberlainianum × insigne Chantinii).--Dorsal white above,\nbright green below, heavily dotted in lines with crimson-brown. Petals\nfinely gauffered, dusky crimson, spotted. The slipper, crimson-purple,\nlooks very bright by contrast.\n\n_Tesselatum porphyreum_ (concolor × barbatum).--The pale ochreous tone of\none parent and the purple of the other have produced a very remarkable\nresult in combination. The general effect distinctly red. The round dorsal\nis reddish above, of a deeper shade at base, with dotted lines of red; the\npetals curve down, dark red at the base, fading towards the ends, which\nare clothed in a pretty network of pale red. The green slipper is clouded\nand netted over with crimson.\n\n_Telemachus_ (niveum × Lawrenceanum).--The dorsal, very broad, is tinged\nwith purple in the centre. Crimson lines ascend from a green base and the\nmargin all round is white. The petals are green, changing to purple, with\ndarker lines and spots. Slipper crimson.\n\n_Tautzianum lepidum_ (niveum × barbatum Warneri).--A rosy flower, covered\nthroughout with lines and network of crimson. The lip darker.\n\n_Georges Truffaut_ (ciliolare × Stonei).--Very large. The tall dorsal has\ncrimson edges and lines, greenish centre. The twisted petals--greenish,\nwith crimson lines, very large maroon spots and crimson-purple tips--hang\nloosely. An enormous slipper, all crimson-brown.\n\n_Mrs. E. G. Uihlein_ (villosum aureum × Leeanum giganteum).--The dorsal\nrises to a point between shoulders perfectly square, white, with a heavy\nslash of copper from base to crest; the centre greenish-coppery, with\nlines and mottling of pale crimson. Petals green in the upper half,\nclouded and lined with copper; paler below. Slipper similar.\n\n_Venustum_ (Measures variety).--A remarkable sport. Small. The white\ndorsal is striped with clear green lines, rising from a green cloud at the\nbase. The ochreous copper petals have a green base. Slipper the same,\ncovered with a pretty green network.\n\n_Watsonianum_ (Harrisianum nigrum × concolor).--The white crested dorsal\nshows a crimson line in the centre, green on either side, crimson towards\nthe edges. The petals, dark green at base, fade to a paler tint, and the\nends are crimson; all softly lined with crimson. Slipper maroon.\n\n_Woodlandsense_ (Dayanum × Javanicum virens).--Among the rare Cypripeds in\nthis collection, I have noted several of which the dorsal sepal bore a\ncap, elaborate as eccentric in shape. But this is most singular of all.\nBetween the point of the dorsal and the shoulder is a process which I can\nonly describe in architectural language as a volute reversed; an addition\nso abnormal and inexplicable that I really find nothing to say about it.\nIn other respects the dorsal is striking--handsomely rounded, white with a\nrosy margin, the vivid green at the base not fading softly but abrupt\nalmost as a splash; petals the same vivid green, with maroon spots and a\nstain of copper at the ends. The rosy stamenode shows well upon this\nground. Slipper pale green, with a pleasing network of copper.\n\n_Zeus_ (tonsum × Boxallii).--The white globular dorsal rises from a very\nslender green waist, with a broad dark-crimson line up the centre. Petals\ndark coppery in the upper half, pale below. Slipper dusky.\n\n_Annie Measures_ (bellatulum × Dayanum).--Dorsal yellowish, outlined\nwhite, covered with slender purple lines and dots. Large smooth petals,\nnetted over with small crimson dots in a pattern. Slipper narrow, dull\ncrimson above, white toe.\n\n_Frau Ida Brandt_ (Io grande × Youngianum).--The large dorsal, white at\nthe edges, is suffused with green and purple; the long petals, green and\npurple, are depressed. Heavy spots of crimson-brown, furnished with stiff\nhairs, cover them. Handsomely reversed at the tip. Slipper\ngreenish-coppery.\n\n_Adrastus_ (Leeanum × Boxallii).--Here the large white dorsal with green\nbase is heavily blotched with red-brown in the centre, lightly at the\nsides. The closely drooping petals, yellowish green, have the upper half\nsplashed and mottled with a lively brown almost obscuring the\nground-colour, which reappears in the lower half. Lip green at toe,\ncoppery above.\n\n_Athos_ (parentage unknown) has an odd colouring--ochreous-green sepals,\noutlined with white and profusely dotted with brown; petals bright ochre,\nthe upper length scored with lines of raw sienna. The lip similar.\n\n_Arthurianum pulchellum_ (Fairieanum × insigne Chantinii).--The green\ndorsal is thickly dotted all over with brown; the tip falls over, showing\nits white underside. Petals depressed, greenish, charmingly frilled,\nclouded and lined with copper-brown above, spotted with copper below.\nSlipper greenish, handsomely veined and marbled in a soft coppery tone.\n\n_Astraea_ (laevigatum × Spicerianum).--Dorsal white, with a pale green\nbase, whence a heavy radius, maroon in colour, mounts to the tip; petals\nnarrow, loosely hanging, greenish at base, crimson-purple through most of\ntheir length, marked with red lines. Slipper greenish, stained with\npurple.\n\n_Aurantiacum_ (venustum × insigne aureum).--Ochreous-green dorsal, its\nsquare top broadly crowned with white, spotted below with brownish-red;\npetals darker, similarly spotted. The slipper harmonises.\n\n_Cleopatra_ (Hookerae × aenanthum superbum).--A striking flower--deep\nglossy crimson, ribbed with a darker hue. On the upper length of the\npetals are heavy warts; the lower has a greenish tawny stain at base, like\nthe slipper.\n\n_Lily Measures_ (Dayanum × niveum).--The dorsal is white, daintily\nflushed, with green base. Lines of red dots ascend from it, growing\nsmaller and fainter as they rise. Such lines form a pleasing network on\nthe petals, which have a yellowish smear at the base. The slipper\ncorresponds.\n\n_Lawrebel_ (Lawrenceanum × bellatulum).--A grand and gorgeous hybrid. The\ngreen patch at the base of the dorsal is promptly swallowed up by a\ncrimson cloud, which again fades into a delicious mottling of crimson on a\nwhite ground. The petals are vivid green above, paler below, both changing\nto crimson at the tips. Slipper yellowish at the edge and the toe, crimson\nbetween.\n\n_Lawrebel_ (Woodlands variety) shows the difference of colour so often\nfound among seedlings of the same parentage and the same 'batch.' Here the\ncrimson is by no means so bright, in fact purplish, but it covers nearly\nthe whole surface of the dorsal, and what remains is not white but green.\nOn the petals also, which are broader, green occupies nearly all the\nspace, though less vivid, and the crimson of the tips almost disappears.\nThey are heavily spotted with maroon. Slipper dusky purple, netted over\nwith maroon.\n\n_La France_ (nitens × niveum).--White and very graceful. The only trace\nof colour appears in broad pink spots at the base of the dorsal, and\nsmaller spots, more profuse, at the base of the petals. On the slipper\nthey are smaller still, set along the edge.\n\n_Lawrenceanum-Hyeanum_ has a broad white dorsal, clouded with green at the\nbase, and marked with handsome green lines. The narrow petals stand out\nfirmly, vivid green, with lines of a deeper shade. The slipper also is\ngreen but pale. Another example is very much larger.\n\n_Lawrenceanum Sir Trevor._--This is no hybrid, but a wonderful variety of\nthe species. The dorsal strangely broad and depressed--squat in fact.\nWhite in colour, with superb green lines mounting from the green cloud\nbelow, it sits tight over the rectangular petals of dark but vivid green,\nmarked with deeper lines. The slipper is yellowish-green.\n\n_Leucochilum giganteum_ (assumed to be a hybrid of Godefroyae ×\nbellatulum).--A compact flower, of which the three parts seem equal in\nsize. White, with a faint ochreous tinge; covered throughout, saving the\nmargin, with crimson spots, which form almost a blotch in the midst of the\ndorsal. Slipper small and white.\n\n_Leysenianum_ (barbatum Crossii × bellatulum).--The dorsal is very\nhandsome and striking, bright crimson at top, fading to a dusky base,\nlined with crimson. The clinging petals, tawny green in the upper length,\nare washed with crimson in the lower; all profusely spotted with maroon.\nSlipper dull crimson.\n\n_Mrs. Fred Hardy_ (superbiens × bellatulum).--A very dainty hybrid. The\ndorsal, white with a greenish centre, is covered with interlacing crimson\nlines dotted with maroon, saving the clear margin. The petals almost form\na semi-circle, greenish with a white edge, netted over with pale crimson\nand dotted with maroon in lines. The slipper greenish, with a pretty pink\nnetwork round the upper part.\n\n_Holidayanum_ (concolor × almum).--Excepting a narrow white margin the\ndorsal is bright crimson, darkening towards the greenish base; petals\ngreenish, with edges and dotted lines of crimson. Slipper dull crimson,\nwith yellowish toe.\n\n_Hirsuto-Sallierii._--The upper half of the dorsal is white, the lower\nclear yellow-green, the whole covered with antlered lines of grass-green;\npetals yellow-green, finely frilled, tipped with palest purple. Pale\npurple and greenish also is the slipper.\n\n_Mrs. Herbert Measures_ (Lathamianum × Leeanum giganteum).--The great\ndorsal, yellow tinged with purple, has the shape of a flattened peg-top. A\nbroad splash of maroon bisects it. The cinnamon-coloured petals are\nflushed with red, and lined with the same tint; the midrib is maroon.\nSlipper abnormally wide, purplish.\n\n_Javanicum._--A species, named from its habitat. Small and solidly green\nsave the white crest of the dorsal, and the pale purple tips of the narrow\npetals. Such strong and decided colouring makes it useful to the\nhybridiser.\n\n_Measuresianum_ (villosum × venustum).--The small triangular dorsal,\nwhite, is evenly striped with green; petals yellow-green, with a\ngrass-green base and emerald lines from end to end. The slipper shows a\ncharming network of vivid green on a tawny yellow ground.\n\n_Marchioness of Salisbury_ (bellatulum × barbatum superbum, Sander's\nvariety).--Dorsal hollow, broadly crimson all round the margin, dusky\nwhite inside, striped with crimson and speckled with maroon. Petals\nclosely depressed, white, with a shade of green above, of crimson below,\ndotted with maroon. Slipper tawny crimson, with clouding of the same.\n\n_Marshallianum_ (venustum-pardinum × concolor).--Unique in effect. Dorsal\nand petals ochreous white, with a faint crimson flush; all densely\ncovered with minute crimson dots. Slipper of a yellow almost bright.\n\n_Brysa_ (Boissierianum × Sedeni candidulum).--A handsome plant, with long\npale leaves. Dorsal greenish, corkscrew petals similar, tinged with pink.\nSlipper pale pink, all the inside prettily dotted with brown.\n\n_Muriel Hollington_ (niveum × insigne).--A broad flower but compact. The\nglobular white dorsal has a pink cloud at the base and dots of crimson.\nThe petals, similar, have crimson lines. Slipper prettily mottled with\npink.\n\n_Lavinia_ (concolor × barbatum).--White of ground-colour all through, with\na faintest flush of rose-pink. The whole of the dorsal marked with maroon\ndots upon regular lines of crimson. The broad drooping petals are spotted\nirregularly with the same tint. The narrow white slipper has a close array\nof crimson dots round the edge.\n\n_Cydonia_ (concolor × Curtisii).--Dorsal flesh-colour at the edges; in the\nmiddle a broad green stain which fades towards the apex. Midrib\nbrown-crimson, with a paler network of the same over all. Petals crimson\nabove, then greenish, pink or light crimson below, with faint lines and\nsharp little dots of crimson-brown. Slipper brownish and green.\n\n_Symonsianum_ (volonteanum × Rothschildianum).--Impressive for size and\nwidth, but not brilliant nor attractive in colour. Dorsal greenish, with\npink-flushed edges, marked by strong lines of crimson-brown. Petals\ngreenish, tipped with pale crimson, strongly dotted along the edges with\nthe bristling tufts of Rothschildianum. Slipper nondescript--greenish and\npurplish.\n\n_J. Coles_ (Godefrovae-leucochilum majesticum × Dayanum superbum).--A\ncharming flower. The dorsal is purplish crimson, with a pretty tinge of\ngreen in the midst and narrow white edges; the whole lined and netted\nover with crimson-purple. Petals the same, very dark at base, paling to a\ngreenish centre; all closely spotted with the dark crimson tone. Slipper\nmaroon, highly polished.\n\n_Princess May_ (callosum × Sanderianum).--A stately bloom, of impressive\ncolouring. The tall bulbous dorsal is white at the crest, crimson-lake\nbelow, pale green at base; the whole striped with maroon and with crimson\ndots. Petals long, drooping far below the greenish slipper, green in the\nmidst, with crimson edges and profuse dottings of crimson.\n\n_Pylaeus_ (Cardinale × Sedeni).--Pink and pretty. The pointed dorsal is\npale pink above, greenish in the midst. The sharp pink petals have edges\nof carmine, and carmine tips. The pouch-like slipper is crimson; its\nlining ivory, marbled with pink.\n\n_Phoebe_ (laevigatum × bellatulum).--Rosy-white throughout. The dorsal\nbears a cloud of crimson-lake, sharply defined, darkening to maroon at the\nbase, whence proceed heavy branching lines of crimson and maroon. The\npetals, crimson-stained above, heavily dotted all over with maroon, have\nwhite margins. Slipper bright crimson at the top, whitish below.\n\n_Paris_ (bellatulum × Stonei).--A grand beauty. The broad globular dorsal\nhas a greenish patch in the midst, surrounded by purple, netted all over\nwith maroon lines. The edges are pure white, as distinct as if drawn with\nthe brush. Petals depressed, curiously blunted at the tips,\nverdigris-green at base, fading and changing to dusky crimson, with heavy\nspots of deepest maroon. Slipper purple, netted over with carmine;\nyellowish at the toe.\n\n_Rowena_ (Chamberlainianum × bellatulum).--Dorsal greenish-yellow above,\ndarkest maroon below; branching maroon lines circle upwards. Petals\ngreenish towards the tips, clouded at base, edged, scored, and dotted all\nover with maroon-crimson. The shield of the column intensely dark maroon\nand shining. Slipper striped with a pleasant pale crimson, and closely\nspeckled over with tiny points of a darker shade.\n\n_Mrs. W. A. Roebling_ (caudatum × leucorrhodum).--The colouring is very\ndelicate. Dorsal long, with a twisted crest; all stainless grass-green.\nPetals, which make one complete revolution or twist, softly greenish in\nthe middle, edged with tender pale crimson, which also appears on the\nreverse; the lower base shows a brilliant decoration of tiny crimson bars\nround the column. The pouched slipper, bright pink, has a yellow lining,\nfreckled with greenish dots.\n\n_Reticulatum._--A species, known also as Boissierianum, as curious as\ncharming. The dorsal, of extraordinary length and the same narrow width\nthroughout, curls over at the crest--bright pea-green, with slender lines\na shade darker. The petals have the same slender green lines; they are\nvery thin, closely and evenly twisted in six complete spirals. The shield\nof the column intensely dark green. Slipper green, its lining snow-white,\nwith purple dots.\n\n_Charles Richmond_ (bellatulum × barbatum superbum).--The broad purplish\ndorsal has a whitish outline and a greenish tinge in the centre; its\nmidrib is very strong purple, as are the lines which intersect it. Petals\npurple, darker at the base, dotted all over with maroon. Slipper dark\npurplish-crimson. In colour, shape, and size alike this hybrid is most\nimpressive.\n\n_Schofieldianum_ (bellatulum × hirsutissimum).--Very distinct. On a\nyellowish-white ground the dorsal has a pale greenish centre, surrounded\nby purple, deepening at the base; all scored with branching lines of\npurple in dots. The petals are broad and strong, yellowish-white, tinged\nwith purple, closely covered with maroon-purple dots. Slipper\npurplish-crimson, greenish at the toe.\n\n_Southgatense_ (callosum × bellatulum).--The dorsal has a rosy-white\nground, very heavily clouded with dark crimson below, and almost hidden by\nstrong lines of crimson and maroon. The petals have a touch of bright\ngreen at the base, edges of a lively dark crimson, and strong dots of\nmaroon. Slipper crimson, dusky yellow at the toe.\n\n_Southgatense superbum._--This is another example of the difference which\nseedlings from the same pod may display; cases even more striking could be\nadduced with ease. Incomparably finer than the last. The rosy-white dorsal\nis stained with crimson up to the edges, and scored with darker lines. The\npetals, slightly greenish at the base, have a dotting of crimson on their\nrosy-white ground. The slipper, whitish, is prettily speckled with crimson\nround the top.\n\n_Massaianum_ (superciliare × Rothschildianum).--A large bold flower.\nDorsal white, greenish in the middle. Clear thin lines of purple, almost\nblack, alternate with lines equally thin of pale green. The fine long\npetals are greenish above, palest purple below, with the massive spots of\nRothschildianum. Strong hairs line the edges. The broad shield is dusky\nochre. Slipper maroon, netted over with a deeper shade.\n\n_Miss Clara Measures_ (bellatulum eximium × barbatum\ngrandiflorum).--Lively dark crimson. The crest of the dorsal is handsomely\ndefined by semicircular scallops on each side. Petals depressed, clinging\nto the slipper, greenish at base, fading and changing to the same bright\ndark crimson as the dorsal; all speckled finely in a deeper shade. Slipper\ncrimson. A grand flower.\n\n_Measuresiae_ (bellatulum × superbiens).--Dorsal rosy, with green tip and\na faintly green centre, dotted over with maroon in lines. Petals rosy\nwhite, tinged with purple above, strongly speckled with maroon. Slipper\ncrimson, fading towards the toe, covered with crimson dots.\n\n_Winifred Hollington_ (niveum × callosum).--Dorsal pale dusky crimson,\npurple at base; lines of the same colour, accentuated by dots. The\nhandsome petals are pale purple, with darker branching lines and specks\nover all. Slipper purplish, with pale crimson lines.\n\n_Nitidum_ (selligerum majus × nitens).--Very large. The broad white edges\nof the dorsal fold sharply back. It is green in the midst, with green\nlines and longitudinal rows of strong dark brown spots. Petals clear brown\nabove, with a tinge of maroon, paler below, with spots of the same.\nSlipper brownish. The whole polished and shiny to a degree which gives it\nthe name nitidum.\n\nBut there was one astonishing peculiarity in the flower which I saw--the\nfirst produced. Everyone knows that in the genus Cypripedium the two lower\nsepals are fused together, making a single limb, small commonly,\ninsignificant, and nearly hidden by the slipper. But in this case there\nwas no attempt at fusion. The lower sepals stood out as clearly as in a\nCattleya, one on each side the slipper--whitish, with green lines and\ncrimson spots at the base. It will be interesting to observe whether this\ndeformity--which is in truth a return to the more graceful pristine\nform--will prove to be permanent.\n\n_Sir Redvers Buller._--A new hybrid of which the parents are understood to\nbe Lucie × insigne; the former itself a hybrid--Lawrenceanum × ciliolare.\nI have not seen the flower, which is thus described in the _Gardeners'\nChronicle_, Jan. 20, 1900: 'The fine dorsal is of a pale-green tint in the\nlower half with dark chocolate-purple dotted lines; the upper portion pure\nwhite, with the basal dark lines continued into it, but of a deep\nrose-purple. The petals are yellowish, tinged with rose on the outer\nhalves and blotched with dark purplish chocolate. Lip greenish with the\nface tinged reddish-brown.'\n\n\n[Illustration: CYPRIPEDIUM BOISSIERIANUM VAR. BUNGEROTHI.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM PLATYTAENIUM\n\n\nThis is the rarest and costliest of all orchids--of all flowers that blow,\nindeed, and all green things, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop upon\nthe housetop. I think it no exaggeration to say that a strong specimen\nwould be worth its weight in diamonds if a little one--for the most\nenthusiastic of millionaires seem to lose courage when biddings go beyond\na certain sum. But it is long since any plants came into the market.\n\nI suppress part of the name, as usual, fearing to daunt casual readers. Be\nit understood that this treasure is a variety of Cypripedium Stoneii; the\nspecific title should be introduced in speaking of it. Doubtless\nplatytaenium is a very handsome member of the family, impressive in size\nand shape, elegantly coloured. But one who regards the flower with eyes\nundazzled by fashion may pronounce that its value lies mostly in its\nrenown.\n\nBut one plant has ever been discovered; and that came to Europe\nunannounced. Messrs. Low sold a quantity of a new Cypripedium from Borneo.\nSome pieces were bought by Mr. Day, of Tottenham, at an average of eight\nshillings each. They flowered successively, and Mr. Day named the species\nStoneii, after his excellent gardener. In 1863, however, one appeared\ndifferent to the rest--different, as it has proved, to all the myriads\nwhich have been discovered since. This was named platytaenium. But besides\nthe merit of rarity, it is distinguished by a peculiar slowness of\ngrowth. Mr. Day multiplied the specimen as fast as he could, but between\n1863 and 1881 he only succeeded in making four small plants from it. One\nof these was sold to Mrs. Morgan, of New York; it perished, doubtless, for\nwhen, at her death, a Cypriped was put up under that hallowed name, and\nbought at a long price, it proved to be the common Stoneii. Mr. Dorman, of\nSydenham, was the victim. I may mention that two of the largest\norchid-dealers in Europe sent an agent expressly to buy this 'lot' in New\nYork. Mr. Day then had three left. One of them he divided, and gave a\nfragment to his sister, Mrs. Wolstenholme. The Tottenham collection was\ndispersed in 1881; Mr. Day kept one small plant, Baron Schröder bought one\nfor £106; Mr. Lee, of Leatherhead, and Sir Trevor Lawrence, in\npartnership, one for £147. Three or four years afterwards this was\ndivided, each partner taking his share. Baron Schröder afterwards bought\nMr. Lee's. Also he bought the one Mr. Day kept back, for £159:12s., at the\ndeath of that gentleman. Then Mrs. Wolstenholme's executors put up her\nexample--which had never flowered--and Baron Schröder secured it for £100.\nThese prices do not seem to bear out my statement that platytaenium is the\nmost valuable of all orchids. Infinitely greater sums have been paid. But\nit must be remembered that these were all tiny bits, weakened by division\nwhenever they grew big enough to cut. At present Baron Schröder and Sir\nTrevor Lawrence have all the stock existing, to human knowledge. How much\neither would obtain at Protheroe's for his little hoard makes a favourite\ntheme for speculation in a gathering of orchidists. They have one\nsignificant hint to go upon. Two years ago Mr. Ames, of Boston, U.S.A.,\ncommissioned Mr. Sander to offer Sir Trevor Lawrence a cheque of 800\nguineas for one plant. And Sir Trevor declined it.\n\nNow for the legend. That consignment of Cyp. Stoneii in which platytaenium\nappeared was forwarded by Sir Hugh Low from Sarawak. He recalls the\ncircumstances with peculiar distinctness, as is natural. The plants were\ncollected on the very top of a limestone hill at Bidi, near Bau, famous\nafterwards in the annals of Sarawak as the spot whence the Chinese\ninsurgents started to overthrow the government of Rajah Brooke. But the\ngold washings had not been discovered then. Such Chinamen as dwelt in the\nneighbourhood were mostly gardeners and small traders. A few sought\nnuggets in holes and fissures of the limestone, and found them, too,\noccasionally. Sir Hugh Low could never frame a satisfactory explanation of\nthe presence of gold under such conditions, but it is frequent in Borneo.\nThat auriferous strata should decompose, and that nuggets should be\ntransferred to another formation during the process, is easily\nintelligible. But in many instances, as at Bau, the gold is found at a\nconsiderable height, and no trace remains of those loftier hills from\nwhich it must have fallen. Deposits of tin occur under just the same\ncircumstances in the Malay Peninsula.\n\nThe top of this little hill was a basin, much like a shallow crater,\nencircled by jagged peaks as by a wall. Each of these was clothed in the\nglossy leaves of Cyp. Stoneii from top to bottom, as it would be with ivy\nin our latitude. So easy was orchid-collecting in those days. Sir Hugh had\nbut to choose the finest, and pull off as many as his servants could\ncarry. In the hollow of the basin other Cypripeds were growing--plants\nwith spotted foliage--and he has not ceased to regret leaving these\nuntouched, since wider knowledge inclines him to fancy that they belonged\nto species not yet introduced. At one spot, however, beneath the shadow of\nthe little peaks, gold-seekers made a practice of camping. Ashes lay thick\nthere, and bits of charcoal and dry bones. Here sprang a single tuft of\nCyp. Stoneii, and in passing Sir Hugh was tempted to dig it up. He\ncherishes a suspicion--which he does not attempt to justify, of\ncourse--that this solitary plant, growing under conditions so different to\nthe rest, was platytaenium.\n\nSome years afterwards, a young clerk in the service of a German firm at\nSingapore, visited Sarawak on his holiday. Orchids made a standing topic\nfor conversation in that early time. He heard much about Mr. Day's\npriceless Cypriped at the capital, and he resolved to try his luck. I may\ncall him Smidt for convenience; my informants are not sure of the name,\nafter a lapse of forty years.\n\nThere is no trouble in reaching Bau. The village stands on the river\nSarawak, and at any moment of the day a sampan can be hired to take one\nthither. Smidt did not travel in luxury. If he kept a 'boy' at Singapore,\nlike a thrifty young Teuton he left him behind. Servants are as easily\nfound in those countries as sampans, if one be not too particular. Smidt\nengaged a Chinaman who had good recommendations, though not of recent\ndate, nor from persons living in Sarawak; he had come thither from Penang\nto 'better himself,' as he said, and had been working at the gold-fields.\nFor convenience again we may give him a name--Ahtan.\n\nThe project of visiting Bau was not agreeable to this Chinaman. 'I makee\nbad pigeon there one time,' he said frankly. But the objection was not\nserious.\n\nBau had changed since Sir Hugh Low's day. In the meantime the Dutch\nauthorities at Sambas had irritated the gold-diggers of that region to the\npoint that they massacred a body of troops--I do not mean to hint that the\nDutch policy was unjustifiable. In consequence a great number of Chinamen\nfled across the frontier, found profitable washings at Bau, and invited\ntheir comrades. So many came, and they showed such a lawless spirit from\nthe outset, that the Rajah's government took alarm. But as yet all was\nquiet enough.\n\nSmidt had obtained a note from one of the Chinese merchants at Sarawak,\nwith whom his employers did business, to the head of the Kunsi--the\nGold-diggers' Union, as we should say. That personage invited him to use\nhis house. Unwillingly did Ahtan accompany his master. He bowed before the\nKunsi chief, and made a long discourse with downcast eyes and folded\nhands. The chief answered shortly and motioned him to go about his\nbusiness.\n\nIf Smidt made inquiries about that wonderful organisation, the Kunsi of\nthe gold-diggers at Bau, so soon to be crushed in a mad revolt, assuredly\nhe found matter to interest him. The parent society in Sambas has annals\ndating back two hundred years, and its system was imported, they say, from\nChina without alteration. There is no reason to doubt the statement.\nAnyhow, we find among these immigrants, two centuries ago, a perfected\nsystem of trade union, benefit clubs, life assurance, co-operative stores,\nand provision for old age, such as British working-men may contemplate\nwith puzzled and envious despair at the present day. Every detail is so\nwell adjusted--by the experience of ages--that disputes scarcely ever\narise; when they do the Council gives judgment, and no one questions its\ndecision. The earnings of the whole body are stored in the Treasury. There\nis a general meeting once a fortnight, when the accounts are audited in\npublic, and each member receives his share as per scale, subject to the\ndeduction for veterans' past work, widows and orphans, and also for the\ngoods he has bought at the co-operative store. But I must not linger on\nthis fascinating theme.\n\nNext day Smidt started to explore the famous hill with Ahtan, who carried\nthe tambok--the luncheon basket. He found Cypripeds beyond counting and\nnoted certain spots to be re-visited. Then he chose a shady nook for\nlunch, and Ahtan lit a fire.\n\nIt was beneath a wall of limestone, a tangle of foliage above, where the\nsunlight struck it, but clothed only in moss and ferns and bare roots in\nthe shade below. There was wind upon the hill as usual, and Ahtan made his\nfire in a cleft.\n\nSmith sat on a log opposite, smoking, after the meal. He remembered\nafterwards that Ahtan was eager to start, packing his utensils hastily,\nand predicting 'muchee rain by'm bye minute.' But no signs of change were\nvisible. Presently the Chinaman put a quantity of green leaves upon the\nfire. Such a volume of smoke arose as called Smidt's attention.\n\nIt was in a cleft, and he sat opposite, as has been said. The blaze had\nscorched that drapery of ferns. The moss just above had peeled off in\nflakes, taken fire mostly and dropped. So in places the rock stood bare.\nLooking in that direction now, Smidt observed a yellow gleam, hidden by\nsmoke for a moment, then reappearing more distinctly. It was worth\ninvestigation. He rose leisurely and crossed the little space. Ahtan was\nstanding on one side. As he scattered the fire with his foot, looking for\nthat yellow gleam the while, a tremendous blow felled him. He was dimly\nconscious of another before his senses fled.\n\nNot till sunset did Smidt feel strong enough to descend the hill; before\nstarting he looked for the 'yellow gleam'--it had vanished, and in place\nof it was a hole. Bloodstained and tottering he regained the public path.\nDiggers returning from their work laughed heartily at the spectacle, but\nperhaps they meant no harm. Chinamen must not be judged by the laws that\napply to other mortals. At least they warned the chief, who sent two\nstalwart members of the Kunsi to assist his guest. They also found the\nsituation vastly amusing, but they were kind enough.\n\nThe chief had a bottle of skimpin ready. He set a slave to wash Smidt's\nhead, and clothed him in a snowy bajo. No questions did he ask. Smidt told\nhis short story, and begged him to pursue the malefactor.\n\n'No good, sir,' said the chief. 'I policeman here--I know. Where you think\nAhtan?'\n\n'In the jungle, I suppose, making for Kuching with the great nugget he\npicked out of the rock. Send to warn the Tuan magistrate, at least.'\n\n'I say, sir, I Tuan magistrate here, and I know.' He unlocked a coffer,\niron-bound, using three separate keys; brought out a parcel wrapped in\ncloth and slowly unfolded it, looking at Smidt the while, his narrow eyes\ntwinkling.\n\n'You say nugget, hey?'\n\nSmidt gasped. It was a lump of gold as big as his two fists.\n\n'Is this--is this mine?'\n\nThe chief sat down to laugh and rolled about, spluttering Chinese\ninterjections.\n\n'Is this mine? He-he-he-he! Mine? This gold, sir! Kunsi take gold--all\ngold here! You says, mine, sir? Ha! ha! ha!'\n\nSmidt did not feel assured of his legal rights.\n\n'You took it from Ahtan?' he asked. 'Did you arrest him?'\n\nThe chief had another fit. Recovering, he answered, 'Ahtan down this way,'\nand stamped upon the ground.\n\n'In the cellar? Oh, that's a comfort! I'll carry him to Kuching\nto-morrow.'\n\nThis caused another outburst of merriment. 'I tell, sir, I Tuan magistrate\nat Bau. Ahtan he under order for kingdom come to-night.'\n\nThis was rather shocking. 'Oh, I don't ask that. He must be tried.'\n\n'What your matter, sir?' the chief snapped out. 'I try him, and I say die!\nAhtan is Kunsi man. He play trick before--I let him go. We catch him on\nriver with gold. He die this time.'\n\nDoubtless he did--not for attempted murder, but for breaking his oath to\nthe Kunsi. Smidt ought to have denounced this monstrous illegality to the\nRajah. But his firm did a great business with Chinamen, and their secret\nsocieties have a very long arm. I imagine that he held his tongue.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM SPICERIANUM\n\n\nThe annals of Cypripedium Spicerianum open in 1878, when Mrs. Spicer, a\nlady residing at Wimbledon, asked Messrs. Veitch to come and see a curious\nflower, very lovely, as she thought, which had made its appearance in her\ngreen-house. Messrs. Veitch came; with no extravagant hopes perhaps, for\nexperience might well make them distrustful of feminine enthusiasm. But in\nthis instance it was more than justified, and, in short, they carried off\nthe marvel, leaving a cheque for seventy guineas behind. I may remark that\nCypripeds are easy to cultivate. They are also quick to increase. Messrs.\nVeitch hurried their specimen along, and divided it as fast as was safe.\nTo say that the morsels fetched their weight in gold would be the reverse\nof exaggeration--mere bathos.\n\nImporters sat up. They were not without a hint to direct their search in\nthis case. The treasure had arrived amongst a quantity of Cyp. insigne.\nTherefore it must be a native of the Himalayan region--Assam, Darjeeling,\nor Sikkim, no doubt. There are plenty of persons along that frontier able\nand willing to hunt up a new plant. A good many of them probably received\ncommissions to find Cypripedium Spicerianum.\n\nAt St. Albans they were more deliberate. It is not exactly usual for\nladies residing at Wimbledon to receive consignments of orchids. When such\nan event happens, one may conclude that they have relatives or intimate\nfriends in the district where those orchids grow; it will hardly be waste\nof time anyhow to inquire. A discreet investigation proved that this\nlady's son was a tea-planter, with large estates on the confines of\nBhutan. With the address in his pocket Mr. Forstermann, a collector of\nrenown, started by next mail.\n\nOrchids must be classed with _ferae naturae_ in which a landowner has no\nproperty. But it is not to be supposed that a man of business will tell\nthe casual inquirer where to pick up, on his own estate, weeds worth\nseventy guineas each. Forstermann did not expect it. Leaving his baggage\nat the dak bungalow, he strolled afoot to the large and handsome mansion\nindicated. Mr. Spicer was sitting in the verandah, and in the pleasant,\neasy way usual with men who very rarely see a white stranger of\nrespectable appearance, he shouted:\n\n'Are you looking for me, sir? Come up!'\n\nForstermann went up, took an arm-chair and a cheroot, accepted a\ncomforting glass, and sketched his experiences of the road before\ndeclaring even his name. Then he announced himself as an aspirant\ntea-planter, desirous to gain some practical knowledge of the business\nbefore risking his very small capital. In short, could Mr. Spicer give him\na 'job'?\n\n'I'm afraid not,' said Mr. Spicer. 'We have quite as many men in your\nposition as we can find work for. But anyhow you can look round and talk\nto our people and see whether the life is likely to suit you. Meantime,\nyou're very welcome to stay here as my guest. If you've brought a gun, my\nmanager will show you some sport; but he's away just now. Oh, you needn't\nthank me. In my opinion it's the duty of men who have succeeded to help\nbeginners along, and I'm sorry I can't do more for you.'\n\nForstermann remembers a twinge of conscience here. It may be indubitable\nthat orchids are _ferae naturae_. But they have a distinct money value for\nall that, and to remove them from the estate of a man who gives you a\nreception like this! Anyhow, he felt uncomfortable. But to find the thing\nwas his first duty. Possibly some arrangement might be made, though he\ncould not imagine how.\n\nThe invitation was accepted, of course, and a week passed very pleasantly.\nBut Forstermann could not bring his host to the point desired. Several\ntimes they observed Cypripedium insigne whilst riding or driving about the\nneighbourhood. Mr. Spicer even remarked, when his attention was called to\nit, that he had sent a number of plants home; but nothing followed. Then\nthe manager returned, and the same night an appointment was made to go\nafter duck on the morrow.\n\nForstermann turned out at dawn, but his companion was not ready. He gave\nthe explanation as they rode along.\n\n'We had another _chelan_ last night--you have learnt the meaning of that\nword, I daresay!--a faction fight among our people. The coolies on this\nestate come mostly from Chota Nagpore, and thereabouts. They're good\nworkers, and not so troublesome as regular Hindus when once they've\nsettled down. But there's generally a bother when a new gang arrives. We\ntell our agents to be very careful in recruiting none but friendly clans.\nYoung Mice and Fig Leaves we find best among the Oraons, Stars and Wild\nGeese among the Sonthals.' Forstermann was puzzled, but he did not\ninterrupt. 'It's no use, however. They take any fellow that comes\nalong--and between ourselves, you know, considering how many of those\nscamps bolt with the contract-money and never enlist a soul, we haven't so\nvery much to complain of. It's a bad system, sir!\n\n'Well, when they get here, a mixed lot, they find half a dozen mixed lots\nestablished. We have, to my knowledge,' reckoning on his fingers,\n'Tortoises, Tigers, Crows, Eels, Grass-spiders, Fishing-nets--ay, and a\nlot more, besides Stars and Wild-geese. Of course, they quarrel at sight,\nand we don't interfere unless the _chelan_ gets serious. What's the good?\nBut, besides that, there is a standing provocation, as you may say. Some\nof our coolies have been with us many years. They don't care to go\nhome--for reasons good, no doubt, but it's not our business. Well, two of\nthese fellows have married--one, a Potato, has married the Stomach of a\npig----'\n\n'Eh?' Forstermann could not contain himself.\n\n'Those are their families, you know.' The manager, quite grave hitherto,\nlaughed out suddenly. 'Of course, it seems mighty droll to you, but we're\naccustomed to it. Each clan claims to be descended from the thing after\nwhich it is named. You mustn't ask me how the Stomach of a pig can have\nchildren. That's beyond our understanding. The point is that certain of\nthese stocks may not intermarry under pain of death--that's their law. So\nyou may fancy the rumpus when strange Potatoes arriving here find one of\ntheir breed----' he laughed again. 'It does sound funny, when you think of\nit! Last night, however, when the usual disturbance broke out--a new gang\narrived yesterday, you know--Minjar, the Eel, who is the other fellow that\nhas married some girl he ought not to, declared he had made\nblood-brotherhood with the chief of the Bhutias across the river, who\nwould come to avenge him if he were hurt. And I fancy that's not quite\nsuch nonsense as you would think. I saw Minjar there that time I got the\norchid----'\n\nForstermann heard no more of the tale. The orchid! They reached the pool,\nand he shot ducks conscientiously, but his thoughts were busy in devising\nmeans to lead the conversation back to that point.\n\nThere was no need of finesse, however. At a word the manager told\neverything. He it was who found the Cypripedium which had caused such a\nfuss, when shooting on the other side of the river--that is, beyond\nBritish territory. Struck with its beauty, he gathered a plant or two and\ngave them to Mr. Spicer. It took him several days' journey to reach the\nspot, but he was shooting by the way. Tigers abounded there--so did fever.\nThe mountaineers were as unfriendly as they dared to be. For these reasons\nMr. Spicer begged him not to return. The same motive, doubtless, caused\nthe planter to be reticent towards others.\n\nWith a clear conscience and heartiest thanks Forstermann bade his host\nfarewell next day. He had a long and painful search before him still, for\nhis informant could give no more than general directions. The plant grew\nupon rocks along the bed of a stream to the north-west of Mr. Spicer's\nplantation, not less than two days' journey from the river--that was about\nall. The inhabitants of the country, besides tigers, were savages.\n\nMany a stream did Forstermann explore under the most uncomfortable\ncircumstances, wading thigh-deep, hour after hour, day after day. I am\nsorry that I have not room even to summarise the long letter in which he\ndetailed those adventures.\n\nTo search the upland waters would have been comparatively easy; he might\nhave walked along the bank. But the Cypripedium grew in a valley; and\nnowhere is tropical vegetation more dense than in those steaming clefts\nwhich fall from the mountains of Bhutan. To cut a path was out of the\nquestion; the work would have lasted for months, putting expense aside. It\nwas necessary to march up the bed of the stream.\n\nForstermann ascended each tributary with patient hopefulness, knowing that\nsuccess was certain if he could hold out. And it came at length to one so\ndeserving; but the manager had wandered to a much greater distance than he\nthought. After wading all the forenoon up a torrent which had not yet lost\nits highland chill, Forstermann reached a glade, encircled by rocks steep\nas a wall--so steep that he had to fashion rakes of bamboo wherewith to\ndrag down the masses of orchid which clung to them. It was Cypripedium\nSpicerianum!\n\nThen arose the difficulty of getting his plunder away. After much\njourneying to and fro, Forstermann engaged thirty-two Bhutias, half of\nthem to carry rice for the others along those mountain tracks, where 25\nlbs. is a heavy load. So they travelled until, one day, after halting at a\nvillage, the men refused to advance. The road ahead was occupied by a\ntiger--I should mention that such alarms had been incessant; in no country\nare tigers so common or so dangerous as in Bhutan. Forstermann drove them\nalong; at the next bit of jungle eight threw down their loads and\nvanished. He found himself obliged to return, but eight more were missing\nwhen he reached the village. There was no other road. Gradually the poor\nfellow perceived that he must abandon his enterprise or clear the path. At\nsunset, they told him, the brute would be watching--probably in a tree,\ndescribed with precision. Forstermann spent the time in writing farewell\nletters--making his will, perhaps. Towards sunset, he took a rifle and a\ngun and sallied forth.\n\nThe Bhutias assured him that there was no danger--from this enemy, at\nleast--until he reached the neighbourhood of the tree; but we may imagine\nthe terrors of that lonely walk, which must be repeated in darkness, if he\nlived, or if the tiger did not show. But luck did not desert a man so\nworthy of favour. He recognised the tree, an old dead stump overhanging\nthe path, clothed in ferns and creepers. Surveying it as steadily as the\ntumult of his spirits would allow, in the fading light he traced a\nyellow glimmer among the leaves. Through his field-glass, at twenty yards'\ndistance, he scrutinised this faint shadow. The tiger grew\nimpatient--softly it raised its head--so softly behind that screen of\nferns that a casual wayfarer would not have noticed it. But it was the\nhint Forstermann needed. With a prayer he took aim, fired--threw down his\nrifle and snatched the gun. But crash--stone-dead fell the tiger, and its\nskin is a hearthrug on which I stood to hear this tale.\n\nSo on March 9, 1884, 40,000 plants of Cypripedium Spicerianum were offered\nat Stevens' Auction Rooms.\n\n\n[Illustration: CYPRIPEDIUM × DR RYAN.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE COOL HOUSE\n\n\ncontains about three thousand plants, mostly Odontoglossums. It is a\n'lean-to,' of course. Not all the most successful growers use this form of\nbuilding. Baron Schröder's world-famous Odontoglots dwell in an oblong\nstructure which receives an equal quantity of light from every side. Even\nthe hardiest of epiphytal orchids are conscious of influences which we\ncannot grasp, and those who understand them are unwilling to lay down\nfixed rules. But experience shows that under ordinary conditions cool\nspecies thrive in a 'lean-to' better than in a house of full span. It may\nbe because the back wall retains moisture and gives it out all day\nsteadily, whilst the air is saturated and dried by turns if fully exposed\nto a hot sun. Or it may be because the full light of a span-roof is too\nstrong in most situations. A collector once told me that he often found\nOdontoglossum Pescatorei so buried in Lycopodium as to be invisible until\nthe flower-spike appeared. Evidently such a plant does not need strong\nlight. Both causes operate, perhaps. At least the broad fact is so well\nestablished that one might almost fancy Baron Schröder's Odontoglots would\ndo better, if that were possible, in a 'lean-to.'\n\nThere are three glass partitions, but from either door the full length of\nthe house is seen; a pleasing vista even when there are no flowers--all\nsmoothly green on one hand, rocky bank upon the other, studded with ferns\nand creepers and an orchid here and there. Why these plants dislike to\nstand in a long house open from end to end is a question none the less\npuzzling because every gardener is ready to explain it. Loving fresh air\nso well they cannot object to the brisker circulation. But their whims\nmust be respected, and after building a house ninety feet long we must\ndivide it into compartments.\n\nI name a few among the rarities here. Of Odontoglots:--\n\n_Wilckeanum._--Upon internal evidence Reichenbach pronounced this a\nnatural hybrid of Od. crispum × Od. luteo-purpureum. It was one among\ninnumerable instances of his sagacity. A few years ago M. Leroy, gardener\nof Baron Edmond de Rothschild at Armainvilliers, crossed those two species\nand the flower appeared in 1890. It was Od. Wilckeanum; but for the sake\nof convenience this garden hybrid is called Leroyanum.\n\n_Wilckeanum pallens._--A form still rarer of this rare variety;\nyellow-ivory in colour, heavily splashed with brown; lip white, with a\nbrown bar across the centre.\n\n_Wilckeanum albens._--Very large, white instead of yellowish; spotted and\nblotched with brown.\n\n_Ruckerianum._--Sepals and petals white in the centre, edged with violet,\nyellow lip; all spotted with reddish-brown.\n\n_Ruckerianum splendens._--Larger and more finely coloured in all respects\nthan the normal form. The violet margin is broader.\n\n_Vuylstekeanum._--Those who saw the original plant of this noble species\nat the Temple Show some years since have not forgotten the spectacle\nassuredly. Petals and dorsal sepal pale yellow; lip and side sepals\nbrightest deepest orange.\n\n_Mulus._--A natural hybrid of Od. luteo-purpureum with Od. gloriosum no\ndoubt. It bears a strong spike, branched, with many large flowers, bright\nyellow blotched with pale brown. But the colouring varies greatly.\n\n_Josephinae._--Named after Miss Josephine Measures. White, with a rosy\nflush; sepals and petals spotted with chocolate at the base.\n\n_Hunnewellianum._--Small, but very pretty. Sepals and petals pale yellow,\nprofusely dotted with brown; lip white, with a single brown spot.\n\n_Elegans._--Assumed to be a natural hybrid of Od. cirrhosum and Od.\nHallii. The ground colour, faintly yellow, is almost concealed by\nchocolate spots and patches; lip white, with a large blotch in the centre.\n\n_Crispum virginale._--Very large and pure white, saving the yellow crest.\n\n_Crispum Measuresiae._--Sepals and petals broad, white, spotted and\nblotted with reddish brown. Lip unusually large, with a single great brown\nblotch.\n\n_Edithae._--Rosy white of sepal and petal, bordered with yellow and barred\nwith chestnut; lip pale yellow, much deeper at the base, with chestnut\nspots in the centre.\n\n_Crispum Our Empress._--A remarkable variety. Very large, rose colour,\nheavily blotched with reddish purple; lip paler, covered with brown spots.\n\n_Crispum Woodlandsense._--A superb example of the 'round-flowering' type.\nSepals and petals very broad, densely spotted with cinnamon-brown; lip\nshort, broad, similarly spotted.\n\n_Crispum magnificum._--Sepals pale rose; petals and lip very faintly\nflushed; the whole covered with brown spots.\n\n_Bictoniense album._--The ordinary Bictoniense is pretty enough when the\nlower blooms on the densely clothed spike can be persuaded to last until\nthose above them open. This uncommon sport is much more effective, with\nsepals and petals of a lively brown, and broad lip of purest white.\n\n_Facetum._--A good example of this catches the eye at once. Ground colour\npale yellow, almost hidden by great brown bars upon the sepals. The petals\nare sharply freckled with brown, and up the middle runs a series of dark\nred dots. Lip similarly freckled above, with a large splash of brown in\nfront; the lip handsomely fringed.\n\n_Cristatellum._--Rather small and not impressive, but valuable for its\nscarcity. The yellow ground colour shows itself only in a few narrow\nstreaks upon sepal and petal, and in the base of the lip. Elsewhere it is\nhidden beneath layers of chestnut.\n\n_Hallii magnificum._--A variety finer in all respects than the common\ntype. Sepals brown, save the yellow tips, and a few yellow lines; petals\nyellow, with two large brown blots. The fringed lip also is yellow, with\ntwo brown blots.\n\n_Madrense._--Named after its place of birth, the Sierra Madre, in Mexico.\nThe plant is not uncommon, but it does not flower willingly, as a rule.\nSepals and petals are white, with a double purple blotch at the base; lip\nsmall, bright orange.\n\n_Polyxanthum magnificum._--The grandest variety of a species always\ntreasured. In colour deepest 'old gold,' with four or five great blots of\nchestnut on the sepals, and as many spots at the base of the petals. The\nlip has a shallow fringe and a broad splash in the centre.\n\n_Wallisii._--Small. Sepals and petals dusky yellow, with a long straight\nbar of chocolate down the middle. Lip white at the base, with small rosy\nstreaks; the disc rosy, edged with white.\n\n_Hallii leucoglossum._--One of the largest Odontoglots. Buff or greenish\nyellow, lip white, fringed; all heavily blotched and spotted with dark\nbrown.\n\n_Mirandum._--Among so many charming species this must be reckoned curious\nrather than pretty. Narrow and rather small, dull greenish yellow, with a\nlongitudinal bar and spots of red-brown.\n\n_Wilckeanum Rothschildianum._---Perhaps the handsomest form of this rare\nvariety. Large, very broad of sepal and petal, pale yellow, blotched and\nspotted with brown.\n\n_Pescatorei Germinyanum._--Named after the Comte de Germiny, an\nenthusiastic lover of orchids, as indeed of all other flowers. This ranks\namong the prettiest forms of Pescatorei. Petals white, sepals flushed;\nboth marked with a spot of dark rose. Lip white, with similar dots.\n\n_Sceptrum._--A superb variety of the common luteo-purpureum. Sepals deep\nreddish brown, with yellow edges; petals yellow, blotched with\nreddish-brown. Lip yellow, with a single blotch in front.\n\n_Coronarium._--One of the Odontoglots which may be termed climbing _par\nexcellence_, for the pseudo-bulbs thrust out a long shaft before taking\nform. It makes a very large plant, and probably the example here is the\nlargest existing--at least there are few as big. By successive\nenlargements, the basket in which it stands has reached the dimensions of\nthree feet by two. Coronarium is reckoned among the species slow to\nflower, but here we find no difficulty at all. Last season our plant made\nnine growths and threw up eight spikes--a record! Noble spikes they are\ntoo, bearing twenty to thirty blooms; petals of the brightest red-copper,\nmarbled with yellow at the base; petals somewhat browner, both edged with\ngold. Lip small, narrow, light red, broadening towards the tip, which is\npale primrose. I should describe coronarium as the most majestic of\nOdontoglots.\n\n_Crispum Arthurianum._--A notable variety--very large, blush-white, with\none enormous chocolate blot and two or three small spots on sepal and\npetal. Spotted lip.\n\n_Crispo-Harryanum._--This is one of the very few hybrid Odontoglots. It\nwas commonly assumed until a few years ago that the genus would not bear\nfruitful seed in Europe. This notion proves to be ill-founded happily, but\nto obtain good seed is still very difficult, and to rear the young plants\nmore difficult still. Crispo-Harryanum was raised by M. Chas. Vuylsteke\nnear Ghent. The flowers show the influence of either parent in colour and\nshape; the petals, which in Harryanum refuse to expand, are almost as flat\nas in crispum.\n\n_Humeanum._--We may confidently assume that this is a natural hybrid of\nOd. Rossii and Od. cordatum. The former parent is so handsome that he has\nbegotten a very pretty progeny, though the mother is so plain--sepals\nprimrose, closely spotted with brown, petals and lip white, the former\nsimilarly spotted at the base.\n\n_Tripudians oculatum._--A rare and beautiful variety of an interesting\nspecies. Very much larger than the common form; sepals of a lively brown,\nwith yellow tips, petals yellow, mottled with brown; lip white, with\nviolet spots above, a large blot below.\n\n_Platycheilum._--One of the oddest and rarest Odontoglots. Sepals and\npetals white, with a few brown dots at the base; lip large and widespread,\npink, spotted with crimson.\n\n_Baphicanthum._--A valuable hybrid of Od. crispum and Od. odoratum or Od.\ngloriosum, as internal evidence suggests. All primrose of ground colour,\nbut the sepals and petals are thickly dotted with red-brown.\n\n_Schillerianum._--Exceedingly rare. Pale yellow; sepals and petals spotted\nwith chestnut. The lip has one large chestnut splash in the centre.\n\n_Murrellianum._--Probably a natural hybrid of Od. Pescatorei and Od.\nnaevium. White tinged with violet, sepals and petals spotted with purple.\n\n_Lindeni._--A superb species, but uncommonly reluctant to display its\ncharms, as a rule. In my own poor little house it has been growing bigger\nfor years and years. The pseudo-bulbs are five inches high now, and more\nthan two thick, but I look for flowers in vain. When they condescend to\nappear they are all sulphur-yellow, crumpled, or, as the phrase goes,\nundulated, in a fashion quite unlike any other Odontoglot.\n\n_Grande magnificum._--The common form of grande ranks among the showiest\nof flowers, much too big, indeed, and too strong in colour, to be approved\nby a dainty taste. But this is even bigger, its yellow more brilliant, its\nred-brown markings more distinctly red. There is record of sixteen flowers\non one spike, each seven inches across!--I scarcely expect to be believed,\nbut 'chapter and verse' are forthcoming on demand.\n\n_Crispum aureum._--Almost as yellow as polyxanthum, 'the very golden'--a\nmost remarkable variety. The spots are few and small.\n\n_Crispum Cooksoni_, on the other hand, is white, superbly spotted, or\nrather blotched, with crimson brown. Perhaps the best of its class.\n\n_Crispum Reginae._--Immense. White. The handsome spots, of purplish brown,\nare more regularly disposed than usual.\n\n_Crispum Chestertoni._--Peculiar for a yellow lip, while sepals and petals\nare white; the former of these heavily splashed, and the latter sprinkled,\nwith red-brown. The lip has a brown blot on the disc.\n\n_Rossii aspersum_ is a natural hybrid of Od. Rossii and Od. maculatum, as\nis supposed. Sepals and petals faintly yellow, spotted with brown at the\nbase; lip creamy white.\n\n_Pescatorei album._--Large. All pure white.\n\n_Pescatorei superbum._--A round flower, of great 'substance'--which\nmeans, in effect, that it will last an unusual time. Notable for the deep\ntone of its purplish markings.\n\n_Pescatorei grandiflorum._--Immense. The lip has a yellow dash at base.\n\n_Pescatorei splendens._--Sepals and petals white; lip handsomely spotted\nwith purple.\n\n_Pescatorei violaceum._--The whole flower is tinted with violet.\n\n_Crispum purpureum_ shows a similar peculiarity, but the tint is purple.\n\n_Crispum Dayanum._--The sepals have a large irregular patch of darkest\nmauve in the centre, the petals a spot or two of the same colour and a\nstreak at the base. The lip is white.\n\nOld-fashioned people have not yet learned to call Odontoglossum\nvexillarium a Miltonia. To avoid confusion I will give it no generic name\nat all. It should be observed, however, that in our collection these\nplants are 'grown cool' all the year round. Among the most important\nare:--\n\n_Vexillaria Cobbiana._--Pale rose with white lip.\n\n_Vexillaria Measuresiana._--All white save the golden 'beard.' Perhaps the\nhandsomest of its rare class.\n\n_Vexillaria rubella._--Deep rose. Valuable for its habit of flowering in\nautumn.\n\n\n[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM, ROSSII MAJUS _WOODLANDS VARIETY._]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF ODONTOGLOSSUM HARRYANUM\n\n\nMen supremely great in science have a quality beyond reason, such as we\nterm instinct, enabling them to leap over the slow processes of\ndemonstration, and announce a law or a result unsuspected, which they\ncannot yet prove. The great Collector Benedict Roezl had this gift.\nReturning from the memorable expedition in which he discovered the\nMiltonia commonly called Odontoglossum vexillarium, he assured Mr. Sander\nthat in those parts would be found a true Odontoglossum of unusual\ncolouring. When asked the grounds for his opinion he could only say he\n'smelt it.' Mr. Sander was not unused to this expression, and he knew by\nexperience that Roezl's scientific nose might be trusted. It was something\nin the air, in the 'lie' of the country, in the type of vegetation, which\nguided him, no doubt. Other collectors born and bred have a like sense.\nRoezl showed his supremacy by the confident prediction that this new\nspecies would be darker than any known, and striking in the combination of\nits tints.\n\nThis was in 1875. Ten years later Professor Reichenbach wrote to Mr.\nSander of an astounding Odontoglossum he had seen--it may be necessary to\ntell the unlearned that Professor Reichenbach was the very genius of\norchidology. Nothing in the least resembling it had been even rumoured\nhitherto. And then Reichenbach described Odontoglossum Harryanum. The\nraptures of that enthusiast were wont to divert admiring friends,\nexpressed with quaint vehemence, but always suggesting that he mocked\nhimself the while. Never had he such a theme as this. Speaking with due\nthought and sufficient knowledge, I declare that Odontoglossum Harryanum\nis the most finished result of Nature's efforts to produce a flower which\nshould startle and impress by its colours alone, without eccentricity of\nshape or giant size, or peculiarities of structure. Remembering that not\nall the world has seen this flower, I should give just a hint of the means\nemployed. Fancy, then, eight or ten great blooms, dark chestnut in tone,\nbarred with yellow, striped with mauve; the lip white, broadly edged with\na network of bluish purple and intersected by a deep stain of that tint,\nbeyond which is spread a sheet of snow; touch with gold here and there,\nand you have the 'scheme of colour.' Those who knew the great savant can\nimagine how he raved after giving, with luminous precision, his scientific\nreport of the new orchid.\n\nReichenbach persuaded himself, by study of the flower, that it must be a\nnative of Mexico. He was wrong for once, but people were so used to regard\nhim as infallible that Mr. Sander did not think of doubting the assertion.\nPresently, however, it became known that Messrs. Veitch had bought the\nplants, a dozen or so, from Messrs. Horsman. And then Mr. Sander learned\nby accident that the latter firm received a small case of orchids from\nBarranquilla, twelve months before. While pondering this news, Roezl's\nunforgotten prophecy flashed into his mind. Barranquilla, in the United\nStates of Columbia, is the port of that district where Odontoglossum\nvexillarium is found! He had a collector not far away. Within an hour this\ngentleman, Mr. Kerbach, received a telegram short and imperative: 'Go\nAmalfi.' Not waiting an explanation Kerbach replied 'Gone!'--reached\nAmalfi in due course, and found another telegram containing a hint that\nsufficed, 'New Odontoglossum.'\n\nKerbach began to inquire the same day. It was hardly credible that an\norchid of importance could have been overlooked in the neighbourhood of\nAmalfi, where collectors--French, Belgian, and English--had been busy for\nyears. A hunt there would be very unpromising. Kerbach wandered about,\nasking questions. Thus at Medellin he made acquaintance with a Bank clerk.\nIt may be noted, by the way, that the inhabitants of that busy and\nthriving town, the bulk of them, are descendants of Maranos--that is, Jews\nconverted by the processes of the Inquisition. Doubtless there are records\nwhich explain why and how many thousands of those people assembled in a\nremote district of New Granada, but they themselves appear to have lost\nthe tradition; they have lost their ancestral faith also, for there are no\nmore devout Catholics. The religious instincts of the race assert\nthemselves, however, for New Granadans in general are not more fervent\nthan other creoles of South America, while the town of Medellin is an\noasis of piety.\n\nThe Bank clerk was questioned as usual, though not a likely person to take\nnote of plants. 'Why,' said he, 'there was a customer of ours at the Bank\nyesterday, swearing like a wild Indian at orchids and everybody connected\nwith them. I should advise you to keep out of his way.'\n\n'What have the orchids done to him?' asked Kerbach.\n\n'I wasn't listening, but I'll inquire.' And presently he brought the\nexplanation. A young French collector had been in those parts some years\nbefore. He stayed a while at the planter's house, and there discovered an\norchid which stirred him to enthusiasm. After gathering a quantity he made\narrangements with his host for a shipment to follow next season, promising\na sum which astonished the native. But this young man was drowned in the\nCouca. After a while Don Filipe resolved to despatch a few of the weeds\non his own account to Europe, and he consigned them to a friend at\nBarranquilla. But the friend never returned him a farthing. He had handed\nthe case to some one else for shipment, and this some one, he said, could\nnot get his money from England. It is pleasant to hear, however, that Don\nFilipe had implicit trust in British honesty. He proclaimed his friend a\nswindler, and doubtless he was right.\n\nAll the cash that this good man was out of pocket could not well have\nexceeded ten dollars, and his time did not count. Perhaps he would have\nbeen less furious had the loss been greater. Anyhow he nursed his wrath\nwith Indian stubbornness--for Don Filipe was an Indian, though\ndistinguishable from a white only in character, as are myriads at this\nday.\n\nKerbach did not doubt that he had found his Odontoglossum, and gaily\nstarted for the hacienda. Some little diplomacy might be needed, and\nrather more cash than usual; but of course a sane man would come to terms\nat last. Don Filipe was absent when he arrived--a fortunate chance,\nperhaps. Meantime Kerbach entertained the ladies, played with the\nchildren, and made himself agreeable. The haciendero found him seated at\nthe piano, and applauded with the rest.\n\nBut his face changed when they got to business. Kerbach opened with\nflattering remarks upon the wealth of the country and its prospects. Don\nFilipe purred with satisfaction. Gradually he worked round to orchids. Don\nFilipe ceased to purr, and he hastily begged leave to visit the cacao\nplantation. As they rode through the sheltering woods Kerbach looked about\nhim sharply. It was too late for flowers, but the growth of Odontoglossum\nHarryanum is very distinct. He espied one plant and recognised it as a new\nspecies.\n\nThe trouble must be faced, and after dinner Kerbach explained his object,\nas gently as he could. The planter flamed out at once, dropped his\nCastilian manners, and vowed he would shoot any man found gathering\norchids on his estate. Kerbach withdrew. Next day he visited two other\nhacienderos of the district. But Don Filipe had preceded him. Less rudely\nbut with equal firmness the landowners forbade him to collect on their\nproperty.\n\nA brief explanation is needed. In those parts of South America, where the\nvalue of orchids is known to every child, a regular system has been\nintroduced long since. As a rule almost invariable, the woods belong to\nsome one, however far from a settlement. With this personage the collector\nmust negotiate a lease, as it is called, a formal document, stamped and\nregistered, which gives him authority to cut down trees--for the peons\nwill not climb. At the beginning, doubtless, they shrewdly perceived that\nto fell a stout trunk would pay them infinitely better--since they receive\na daily wage--than to strip it, besides the annoyance from insects and the\nrisk from snakes which they elude. At the present time this usage has\nbecome fixed.[2]\n\nWithout the assistance of peons, Kerbach could not possibly get plants\nsufficient to ship. To cut down trees without authority would be a penal\noffence, certainly detected. He explored the country at a distance and\nfound nothing. It was necessary to come to terms with Don Filipe at any\ncost or abandon the enterprise. Meantime letters reached Amalfi describing\nthe new Odontoglossum, with a picture showing the foliage. It was that he\nhad found. The treasure hung within reach, and a pig-headed Indian forbade\nhim to grasp it.\n\nIn such a difficulty one applies to the Cura. Kerbach paid this gentleman\na visit. A tall, stout, good-natured ecclesiastic was he, willing to help\na stranger, perhaps, even though unprovided with the dollars which Kerbach\noffered 'for the poor,' if his mediation proved successful. The Cura made\nthe attempt and failed signally. It was useless to try again. The good man\nbegged ten dollars, or five, or one, upon the ground that he had done his\nbest. But Kerbach in despair was not inclined for charity. The Cura\nsighed, hesitated, tossed off a glass of aguardiente and proposed another\nway.\n\n'This is a wicked country, sir,' he said. 'Ah! very wicked. And the\nwickedest people in it have a proverb which I shudder to repeat. But your\ncase is hard. Well, sir, they say (heaven forgive them and me!), \"If the\nsaints won't hear you, take your prayer to the devil.\" Horrible, isn't\nit?'\n\n'Horrible!' said Kerbach. 'But I don't know where to find the devil.'\n\n'Yours is a pious country I have heard, though not Christian. In this\nwicked land even children could tell you where to seek him. Now, you will\ngive me a trifle for my poor?' And he held out his hand.\n\n'But I'm not acquainted with any children. Your reverence must really be\nmore explicit.'\n\n'Bother!' exclaimed his reverence, or some Spanish equivalent. 'Well, you\nwill pay me the fifty dollars promised?'\n\n'Twenty! When Don Filipe signs the lease.'\n\n'And all incidental expenses? Then my sacristan will call on you\nto-morrow. Never talk to me again of your impious projects, sir.'\n\nThe sacristan was very business-like. He demanded a dollar to begin with\nfor the Indian who would work the charm, and another dollar for himself\nto pay for the masses which would expiate his sin. Kerbach asked details,\nwhich were given quite frankly. The wizard was a respectable\nperson--attended church, and so forth. The sacristan had talked matters\nover with him and neither doubted of success. Kerbach must write a letter\nto Don Filipe's wife begging her to intercede. The wizard having charmed\nthat document before presenting it, she would be compelled to grant its\nrequest. If the planter should still refuse, a curse would be launched\nagainst him. And he could not dare resist that.\n\nThe man was so serious, he explained himself in such a matter-of-fact\ntone, that Kerbach, laughing, risked two dollars on the chance. With the\nletter in his pocket the sacristan departed. Two days later he returned.\nDon Filipe was willing to negotiate the lease. Kerbach was so delighted\nthat he never thought of asking whether the lady's gentle influence or the\nterrors of the curse had persuaded him. Thus Odontoglossum Harryanum was\nfound, to the eternal glory of Roezl.\n\n\n\n\nMASDEVALLIAS\n\n\nAmong Masdevallias we have scarce varieties of Harryana, as _Bull's\nBlood_, Mr. Bull's punning name for the darkest of all crimsons, and\n_Denisoniana_, which keen eyes distinguish from it by a shade of magenta;\n_splendens_, pure magenta; _versicolor_, which has patches of deep crimson\non a magenta ground, and a bright yellow 'eye'; _Armeniaca_, large,\napricot in colour, also with a yellow 'eye'; _Sander's Scarlet_, which\nspeaks for itself.\n\n_Bonplandii._--Greenish yellow, with a few purple marks. Tails short and\nstiff.\n\n_Caudata._--Upper sepal light yellow dotted with red; lower purplish rose,\nmarbled with white. A dwarf species, but the yellow tails are two to three\ninches long.\n\n_Abbreviata._--Small, white speckled with purple.\n\n_Ignea splendens._--Much larger than the normal form. Fiery red.\n\n_Amabilis._--Small, carmine, conspicuous by reason of its 'tail,' an inch\nand a half long.\n\n_Chelsoni._--A hybrid of the last-named with Veitchii, orange-yellow, with\nmauve spots and two 'tails.'\n\n_Veitchii grandiflora_, a variety even larger than the common type, seven\ninches across sometimes; orange-red, suffused with purple.\n\n_Polysticta._--One of the lovely little 'curiosities' which abound in\nthis genus--palest lilac freckled with purple, and tailed.\n\n_Coccinea._--Rosy pink above, glowing scarlet below.\n\n_Macrura._--One of the few Masdevallias which do not please my eye, but\nvery rare. Immense, as much as twelve inches long, counting the yellow\ntails, rough of surface, vaguely brown in colour, with darker spots.\n\n_Peristeria._--Greenish yellow, freely speckled with purple;\nyellow-tailed.\n\n_Melanopus._--Small, white, dotted with purple and yellow-tailed.\n\n_Wallisii stupenda._---Pale lemon colour splashed with chocolate. There is\na curious white excrescence on each side the column, dotted with scarlet.\n\n\n\n\nONCIDIUMS\n\n\nOf Oncidiums in this house I note:--\n\n_Lamelligerum._--A very grand and noble flower, too rarely seen. It\nbelongs to the stately section of which Oncidium macranthum is the common\ntype. The great dorsal sepal swells out roundly from a stalk half an inch\nlong; the two lower resemble in shape those long-bladed paddles, with\nscalloped edge, which are used by chiefs in the South Seas; in colour rich\nbrown, with a clear golden margin. The yellow petals also have a stalk,\nbut to give a notion of the large, beautiful, and complex development\nwhich they carry at the ends is a hopeless endeavour. I have seen ladies'\nwork-baskets which faintly resemble it when wide open; made of the softest\nstraw, without end-pieces, only to be closed by tying a ribbon in the\ncentre. But really the case is desperate. I pass on.\n\n_Tetracopis._--Another of the same group, even more rare, but not so\nstriking. Large, as they all are. Sepals a lively brown, gold edged;\npetals bright yellow splashed with brown; lip yellow.\n\n_Undulatum._--A third member of this handsome family. Sepals brown, petals\nwhite, marbled with yellow and mauve at the base, spotted with purple\nabove, and streaked with yellow. Lip very small, as in all the other\ncases, but conspicuous by reason of its bright purple tint.\n\n_Ornithorhynchum album._--This is one of our oldest and commonest\nspecies, discovered by Bonpland, who accompanied Humboldt to Mexico;\nbrought to Europe no long time afterwards. But the pure white variety\nturned up to astonish the world very few years ago, and the names of those\nhappy mortals who possess a sample would make only a brief if\ndistinguished list.\n\n_Loxense_ seems to have been not uncommon in our fathers' time, but no\nplants have arrived from Peru--Loxa is the district--for many years. It\nmakes a long spike with branches, bearing a great number of large flowers;\nsepals greenish ochre, crossed with blurs of chocolate; petals deep brown,\nedged and tipped with yellow. Lip large and flowing, as it were,\norange-yellow, speckled with red in the throat.\n\n_Weltoni._---Classed of late among Miltonias. A singular and fascinating\nspecies, difficult to grow and still more difficult to flower. The sepals\nand petals are very narrow, with edges like a saw, greenish brown,\nwidening out suddenly at the tip, which is yellow. The lip is\nextraordinary in all respects. It shows a fine broad disc of dusky purple,\nwith a darker bar across the middle; and below this, sharply divided as if\nby a stroke of the brush, two smaller discs pure white. Upon the whole to\nbe wondered at rather than admired, but more interesting on that account.\n\n\n[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM × HARRYANO-CRISPUM.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF ONCIDIUM SPLENDIDUM\n\n\nWe all know that to make a thing conspicuous above measure is the most\neffective way of baffling those who seek it. Wendell Holmes has expounded\nthe natural law of this phenomenon, and Edgar Poe exemplified it in a\nfamous story. I am about to give an instance from the life, as striking as\nhis fiction.\n\nOncidium splendidum is one of the stateliest orchids we have, and one of\nthe showiest. Its leaves are very large, fleshy and rigid, and the tall\nflower spike bears a number of pale yellow blooms striped with brown, each\nthree inches across. There is no exaggeration in saving that they would\ncatch the most careless eye as far off as one could see them.\n\nAt an uncertain date in the fifties a merchant captain--whose name and\nthat of his ship have never been recovered--brought half a dozen specimens\nto St. Lazare and gave them to his owner, M. Herman. This gentleman sold\nthe lot to MM. Thibaud and Ketteler, orchid-dealers of Sceaux. They were\ntempted to divide plants so striking and so new; thus a number of small\nand weakly pieces were distributed about Europe at a prodigious price. We\nhave the record of the sale of one at Stevens' Auction Rooms in 1870; it\ncould show but a single leaf, yet somebody paid thirty guineas for the\nmorsel. So ruthlessly were the plants cut up. Even orchids, tenacious of\nlife as they are, will not stand this treatment. In very few years more\nOncidium splendidum had vanished.\n\nNo one knew where it came from--with a strange carelessness MM. Thibaud\nand Ketteler had not inquired. M. Herman was dead, and he left no record\nof the circumstances. The captain could not be traced. Had the name of his\nship been preserved, it might have furnished a hint, since the port of\nsailing would be registered in the Custom House. More than one\nenterprising dealer made inquiries, but it was too late to recover the\ntrail. Oncidium splendidum took its place for a while among the lost\norchids.\n\nBut Mr. Sander of St. Albans would not admit defeat. When, after great\npains, he had satisfied himself that nothing could be discovered at St.\nLazare or at Sceaux, he examined the internal evidence. In the first\nplace, an Oncidium must needs be American, since the genus is not found in\nthe Old World. This species also must dwell in a hot climate; leaves so\nrigid and fleshy are designed to bear a scorching sun. But the\npossibilities seemed almost boundless, even thus limited. Patiently and\nthoughtfully Mr. Sander worked out a process of exhaustion. Mexico might\nbe neglected, for a time at least; those hunting-grounds had been so often\nexplored that some one must surely have come across a flower so\nconspicuous. So it was with New Grenada. Brazilian Cattleyas have thick,\nhard leaves, though not to compare with this Oncidium; but they form a\nsingle genus which shows the peculiarity among hundreds which do not.\nBrazil, therefore, might be excluded for the present. The astonishing\nwealth of Peru in varieties of orchid was not suspected then. After such\ncareful thought as a man of business allows himself when tempted by a\nspeculation which may cost thousands of pounds, Mr. Sander determined\nthat, upon the whole, Central America was the most likely spot; and again,\nafter more balancing of the chances, that Costa Rica was the most likely\npart of Central America.\n\nAfter coming to a decision he acted promptly. In 1878 Mr. Oversluys, one\nof our trustiest and most experienced collectors, was despatched to Costa\nRica. More than three years he travelled up and down, and treasures new or\nold he sent in abundance--Epidendron ciliare, Cattleya Bowringiana,\nOncidium cheirophorum, are names that occur at the moment. But as for\nOncidium splendidum he had not so much as heard of it. Not a peon could be\nfound in the woods to recognise the sketch which Mr. Sander had given him.\nOversluys had never seen the plant himself, I think.\n\nHe was driven at length to conclude that if the thing did really exist in\nthose parts--poor Oversluys applied a variety of epithets to 'the thing'\nnow, none expressive of tenderness--it must be on the Atlantic slope or\nthe steaming lowlands beyond. He had felt himself justified in neglecting\nthose districts hitherto because there is no port where a large vessel can\nlie, and absolutely no trade, save a trifling export of bananas. What\ncould tempt a French captain to the Atlantic shore of Costa Rica? And the\nexpedition was as uninviting as well could be. There were no towns nor\neven villages--but it must be borne in mind that I speak of twenty years\nago. At that time all the white and coloured population was settled on the\ntableland, excepting a few individuals or families who yearly wandered\ndownwards to squat along the slope. Upon the other hand there were Indian\ntribes--Talamancas to the southward, who admitted some vague allegiance to\nthe Republic on condition that white men did not enter their territory;\nand Guatusos or Pranzos to the northward, utter savages. It was their\ncountry, however, to which the wandering folks mentioned betook\nthemselves, and thither Oversluys must go; for the track they had cut\nthrough the forest was the only one connecting the tableland with the\nAtlantic coast.\n\nI have travelled that 'road' myself in the days when peril and discomfort\nwere welcome for the promise of adventure; but had we known what lay\nbefore us when bidding a joyous adieu to the capital, we should have\nmeekly returned to the Pacific harbour by coach. Oversluys was a man of\nbusiness, and to men of business adventure commonly means embarrassment\nand loss of time, if no worse. Varied experiences, all unpleasant, told\nhim that to seek orchids in a country like that must be a thankless\nenterprise, attended by annoyance, privation, and even danger. But he had\nundertaken the work. It must be done.\n\nAs cheerfully then as such untoward circumstances permitted, Oversluys set\nforth from San José, and in due time reached the Disengagno. This is a\nblockhouse raised by some charitable person on the edge of the tableland;\na very few yards beyond, the path dips suddenly on its course to the\nSerebpiqui river, 6000 feet below. The spot is bitterly cold at night, as\nI can testify, or seems so, and for this reason the hut was built, as a\nshelter for travellers. But they, too lazy to seek wood in the forest at\narm's length, promptly demolished the walls and burned them. Only the roof\nremained in a few months, with the posts that upheld it.\n\nA group of ill-looking peons occupied this shed when Oversluys arrived.\nThey began to pick a quarrel forthwith; in short, he heartily wished\nhimself elsewhere. It was not yet dusk. Drawing the guide apart Oversluys\nquestioned him, and learned that there was one single habitation within\nreach. The report of it was not promising, but he did not hesitate. As the\nlittle party filed off, one of the peons shouted, 'A good night, _macho_!\nWe'll wait for you at La Vergen!'--the first halting-place on the descent.\nA pleasant beginning!\n\nThe shelter they sought lay some miles back. There is plenty of game on\nthese unpeopled uplands, if a man knows how to find it, and a hunter had\nbuilt himself this cabin in the woods. They reached it as darkness was\nsetting in--a hut as rough as could be, standing on the edge of a small\nsavannah. At the same moment the owner returned, with a deer tied on the\nback of a small but very pretty ox. He might well be surprised, but\nhospitality is a thing of course in those parts. Kindness to animals is\nnot, however--much the contrary--and Oversluys observed with pleasure how\ncarefully the little ox was treated. Children came running from the hut,\nand, after staring in dumb amaze for a while at the strangers, took the\nanimal and actually groomed it in a rough way.\n\nAfter supper--of venison steaks--Oversluys alluded to this extraordinary\nproceeding. The guide said, 'Our friend Pablo may well take care of his\nox. There's not such another for hunting on the countryside.' And Pablo\ngrunted acquiescence.\n\n'For hunting?' asked Oversluys.\n\n'Yes. You should see him when he catches sight of deer. Tell the\ngentleman, Pablo.'\n\nUpon this theme the hunter was talkative, and he reported such instances\nof sagacity that Oversluys--remembering those ruffians who awaited him at\nLa Vergen--asked whether there was any chance to see the ox at work? Pablo\nmeant to have another stalk at dawn, with the hope of carrying two deer to\nmarket, and willingly he agreed to take his guest. So they started before\ndaylight.\n\nIt was no long journey to the hunting-ground. These high lands are mostly\nsavannah, with belts of dense forest between. Oversluys had heard deer\nbelling incessantly all night. After carefully studying the wind Pablo\nchose the direction of the hunt. He had cut tracks to each point of the\ncompass, and he took that which would bring him to the edge of the first\nclearing with the wind in his face.\n\nIt was just light enough when they arrived to see half a dozen dark forms\nabove the misty grass. Forthwith Pablo crept out from the trees, walking\nbackwards, his left arm round the ox's neck, and his stooped body behind\nits shoulder. Thus he could see nothing. It was unnecessary. The ox\nmarched on, its broadside towards the deer, very softly, but always\nzigzagging closer. As the light strengthened, Oversluys watched with\ngrowing pleasure. Very soon the deer noticed this intrusion and ceased\nfeeding; then the ox dropped its head and grazed. Again and again this\noccurred. So long as one deer remained upon the watch it kept its head\ndown, but when the last recovered confidence, instantly it advanced.\nPablo's old gun could not be trusted beyond fifty yards or so. The deer\nbecame more restless. They drew together--Oversluys saw they would bound\noff in a moment. Just then the ox wheeled actively--they flew. But one\nrolled over, shot through the chest.\n\nOversluys was so pleasantly excited that he ran to pat the clever\ncreature. Then he assisted Pablo to load up the game. It was broad\ndaylight now. In lifting the body he noticed some large yellow flowers\nwhich it had crushed in falling. They were pretty and curious in shape. He\nglanced at the leaves--they were large, polished, and very stiff. A wild\nfancy struck him. He compared the drawing. There was no doubt! Scores of\nOncidium splendidum starred the tall grass all around!\n\nI do not try to paint his raptures. A few weeks later many thousand plants\nwere on their way to Europe. But the point of the story is that Mr.\nOversluys had seen and even admired this flower many a time on the upland\nsavannahs in riding past. He was looking for orchids, however, and who\ncould have expected to find an Oncidium buried among herbage in the open\nground?\n\nThe ox demands a word. Such trained animals are not uncommon in Central\nAmerica. The process of education is very cruel. By constant tapping,\ntheir horns are loosened when young, so that the tortured beast obeys the\nslightest pressure. Its movements in walking are thus directed, and when\nthe horns grow firm again it continues to recognise a touch. But the\ndegrees of intelligence in brutes are strikingly displayed here. Some\nforget the lesson in a twelvemonth. Most are uncertain. A very few, like\nPablo's, understand so well what is required of them that direction is\nneedless. In that case the hunter can walk backwards, keeping his body\nquite concealed. He is almost sure to kill, unless the fault be his own.\n\n\n\n\n\nLAELIA JONGHEANA\n\n\nThe back wall carries a broad sloping ledge of tufa, where little chips of\nOdontoglossum and the rest are planted out to grow until they become large\nenough to be potted--no long time, for they gather strength fast in niches\nof the porous stone. Along the top, however, are ranged flowering plants\nof Odontoglossum grande which make a blaze in their season--three to six\nblooms upon a spike, the smallest of them four inches across. Overhead is\na long row of Laelia Jongheana--some three hundred of them here and\nelsewhere. It is a species with a history, and I venture to transcribe the\naccount which I published in the _Pall Mall Gazette_, July 18, 1899.\n\n'A SENSATION FOR THE ELECT.--The general public will hear without emotion\nthat Laelia Jongheana has been rediscovered. The name is vaguely\nsuggestive of orchids--things delightful in a show, or indeed elsewhere,\nwhen in bloom, but not exhilarating to read about. Therefore I call the\nnews a sensation for the elect. At the present moment, I believe, only one\nplant of L. Jongheana is established in this country, among Baron\nSchröder's wonders. Though its history is lost this must be a lonely\nsurvivor of those which reached Europe in 1855--a generation and a half\nago. It is not to be alleged that no civilised mortal has beheld the\nprecious weed in its native forests since that date; but no one has\nmentioned the spectacle, and assuredly no one has troubled to gather\nplants. Registered long since among the \"Lost Orchids,\" which should bring\na little fortune to the discoverer, native botanists and dealers in all\nparts of South America have been looking out. And the collectors! For\nforty years past not one of the multitude has left the shores of Europe or\nthe United States, bound for the Cattleya realm, without special\ninstructions to watch and pray for L. Jongheana. More and more pressing\ngrew the exhortations as years went by and prices mounted higher, until of\nlate they subsided in despair. Yet the flower is almost conspicuous enough\nto be a landmark, and it does not hide in the tree-tops either, like so\nmany.\n\n'Every one who takes interest in orchids will be prepared already to hear\nthat Messrs. Sander are the men of fate. How many of such spells have they\nbroken! Without book I recall Oncidium splendidum, of which not a plant\nremained in Europe, nor a hint of the country where it grew; the \"scarlet\nPhalaenopsis\" of native legend, never beheld of white man, which, in fact,\nproved to be brick-red; Cattleya labiata, the Lost Orchid _par\nexcellence_, vainly sought from 1818 to 1889. The recovery of Dendrobium\nSchröderium was chronicled by every daily paper in London, or almost, with\na leader, when a skull was shown in Protheroe's Rooms with a specimen\nclinging to it, and a select group of idols accompanying the shipment.\nLess important, but not less interesting, was the reappearance of\nCypripedium Marstersianum at a later date. Verily, we orchidists owe a\ndebt to the St. Albans firm.\n\n'In these cases success was merited by hard thought, patient inquiry, and\nlong effort. Working out the problem in his study, Mr. Sander fixed upon a\ncertain country where the prize would be found, and sent his collector to\nthe spot. Oversluys searched for Oncidium splendidum during three years,\nuntil he wrote home that it might be in ---- or ----, but it certainly\nwas not in Costa Rica; yet he found it at last. In this present case,\nhowever, the discovery is due to pure luck; but one may say that a slice\nof luck also was well deserved after those laborious triumphs. One of the\nSt. Albans collectors, M. Forget, was roaming about Brazil lately. The\nGovernment invited him to join a scientific mission setting out to study\nthe products and resources of Minas Gaeras. It is comparatively little\nknown. M. Forget was unable to accept the invitation, but he heard enough\nabout this secluded province to rouse his interest, especially when the\nsavants reported that no collector had been there. Accordingly, he made an\nexpedition as soon as possible, and at the very outset discovered an\norchid--not in flower--resembling Laelia pumila in every detail but size.\nIt was at least twice as big as that small, familiar species, but the\npoints of similarity were so striking that M. Forget pronounced it a grand\nlocal form of L. pumila. And when the consignment reached St. Albans, even\nthe wary and thoughtful authorities there endorsed his view! Not without\nhesitation. I believe that the name of L. Jongheana was whispered. But\ndespair had grown to the pitch that no one ventured to speak out. Yet by\ndrawings and descriptions, anxiously studied for years, all knew perfectly\nwell that in growth the lost species must be like L. pumila, enlarged. It\nis, indeed, strong evidence of the absorbing interest of the search that\nwhen at length it ended, neither M. Forget nor his employers dared to\nbelieve their own eyes.\n\n'So in November last year some hundreds or thousands of a remarkable\norchid were offered at Protheroe's under the title \"L. pumila (?).\" Nearly\nall the leading amateurs and growers bought, I think, but at a very cheap\nrate. Half a crown apiece would be a liberal average for plants over which\nmillionaires would have battled had they known. But, after all, the luck\nof the purchasers was not unqualified. Many who read this will feel a\ndreary satisfaction in learning that if their plants have perished or\ndwindled, plenty of others are in like case. Further experience shows that\nthey were gathered at the wrong time; of course they reached Europe at the\nwrong time. And nearly every one put them into heat, which was a final\nerror. L. Jongheana is quite a cool species. Through these accumulated\nmisfortunes only two out of the multitude have flowered up to this, so far\nas I can hear. The dullest of mortals can feel something of the delicious\nanxiety of those gentlemen who watched the great bloom swelling from day\nto day when it began to show its tints, and they proved to be quite unlike\nthose of L. pumila. At length it opened, and L. Jongheana was recovered.\n\n'What sort of a thing is it, after all? For an unlearned description, I\nshould say that the flowers--two, three, or even five in number--are from\nfour to five inches across--sepals, petals, and curl of lip bright\namethyst, yellow throat, white centre; the crisped and frilled margin all\nround suffused with purple. It was discovered in 1855 by Libon, who died\nsoon after, carrying his secret with him. He was sent out by M. de Jonghe,\nof Brussels--hence the name.'\n\nUp to the present time only one of the plants here has flowered--and it\nopened pure white, saving a yellow stain on the lip. This was not\naltogether a surprise, for a close examination of the faded blooms\nconvinced M. Forget that some of them must have been white, whatever the\nspecies might be. And he marked them accordingly. That a collector of such\nexperience should prove to be right was not astonishing, as I say, but\nremarkably pleasant.\n\nAt the end of the house is a pretty verdant nook where Cypripedium insigne\nis planted out upon banks of tufa among Adiantums and overshadowing\npalms.\n\n\n\n\nSTORY OF BULBOPHYLLUM BARBIGERUM\n\n\nThis species is so rare in Europe that I must give a word of description.\nThe genus contains the largest and perhaps the smallest of orchids--B.\nBeccarii, whose stem is six inches in diameter, carrying leaves two feet\nlong, and B. pygmaeum of New Zealand. They are all fly-catchers, I think,\nequipped with apparatus to trap their prey, as droll commonly in the\nworking as ingenious in the design. Barbigerum has pseudo-bulbs less than\nan inch high, and its flowers are proportionate. But charm and size are no\nway akin. Fascination dwells in the lip, which, hanging upon the\nslenderest possible connection, lengthens out to the semblance of a brush.\nThus exquisitely poised it rocks without ceasing, and its long, silky,\npurple-brown hairs wave softly but steadily all day long, as if on the\nback of a moving insect. Pretty though it be, all declare it uncanny.\n\nThe species was introduced from Sierra Leone by Messrs. Loddiges, so long\nago as 1835. I have not come upon any reference to a public sensation.\nAssuredly, however, the orchidists of the day were struck, and it is\nprobable that Messrs. Loddiges sold the wonder at a high price if in\nbloom. Some people in Sierra Leone forwarded consignments. But an orchid\nso small and delicate needs careful handling. None of them reached Europe\nalive, I dare say.\n\nIt appears, however, that Bulbophyllum barbigerum is common throughout\nthose regions. The example at Kew, which diverts so many good folks year\nby year, came from Lagos, near a thousand miles east and south of Sierra\nLeone. And the story I have to tell places it at Whydah, between the two.\n\nA young man named Boville went thither as clerk in the English factory,\nsoon after 1835. We have not to ask what was his line of commerce. I have\nno information, but it must be feared, though perhaps we do him wrong,\nthat one branch of it at least was the slave trade. Boville had heard of\nMessrs. Loddiges' success. Residents at Whydah do not commonly explore the\nbush, but he was young and enterprising. On his first stroll he discovered\nthe Bulbophyllum, and to his innocence it seemed the promise of a fortune.\nReal good things must be kept quiet. The treasure was plentiful enough to\ncause 'a glut' forthwith if many speculators engaged. Luckily he had a\nKroo boy in attendance, not a native. To him Boville assumed an air of\nmystery, said he was going to make fetich, and 'something happen' to any\none who spoke of his proceedings--'make fetich' and 'something happen' are\namong the first local expressions which a man learns in West Africa. The\nKroo boy grinned, because that is his way of acknowledging any\ncommunication whatsoever, and snapped his fingers in sign of willing\nobedience. So Boville gathered a dozen plants, and hoped to have a stock\nbefore 'the ship' arrived. There were no steamers then, and at Whydah, a\nvery unimportant station for lawful trade, English vessels only called\nonce in three months. Slavers did not ship orchids.\n\nIt was Boville's employment henceforth to collect the Bulbophyllum\nwhenever he had a few hours to spare. He hung his spoils on the lattice\nwork which surrounds a bedroom in those parts, between roof and wall,\ndesigned for ventilation--hiding them with clothes and things. It is\nproper to add that the 'English Fort' was already deserted, and the\n'Factory' a mere name. The agent, his superior officer, was not at all\nlikely to visit a clerk's quarters. This good man belonged to a class very\nfrequent then upon 'the coast.' He had not returned to England, nor wished\nto do so, since coming out. At a glance he recognised that this was his\nreal native land, and without difficulty he made himself a\nfellow-countryman of the negroes, living like a caboceer, amidst an\nundeterminate number of wives, slaves, and children. Very shocking; but it\nmay be pointed out that such men as this established our colonies or seats\nof trade in Africa. They had virtues, perhaps, but their vices were more\nuseful. The moral system of the present day would not have answered then.\nAn agent secured his position by marrying a daughter of every chief who\nmight be troublesome. He had no Maxim guns.\n\nMr. Blank knew every feeling and superstition of the negroes,--that is the\npoint of my reference to his character. And one evening he entered the\nroom just as Boville was hanging up his latest acquisitions, some of which\nwere in flower. Whatever Mr. Blank's business, it fled from his mind on\nbeholding the orchids.\n\n'Good God!' he cried. 'What--what--you are no better than a dead man! I\nwon't protect you--I can't! Good God! What possessed you?'\n\n'I don't understand,' said Boville.\n\n'No, you don't understand! They send me out the most infernal idiots'--and\nthen Mr. Blank fell to swearing.\n\nBoville saw the case was grave somehow. 'Are they poisonous?' he asked.\n\n'Poisonous be--etc. etc. That's the Endua--the holiest of plants! You'll\nwish they were poisonous before long! What a lot! You didn't get 'em all\nto-day?'\n\n'I can destroy them. Only Georgius Rex the Krooman has been into the bush\nwith me.'\n\n'You fool! D'you think you can hide this from the fetich? Put--put 'em in\na sack, and tumble 'em into the river after dark! Oh Lord, here's an awful\nbusiness!'\n\nMoving about the room restlessly as he talked, whilst Boville thrust the\norchids into a bag, the agent opened a door which gave upon a platform\ncalled the verandah--in fact, the roof of the store. It overlooked the\nstreet. In an instant he ran back.\n\n'It's all up' he cried. 'Oh Lord! Here's the Vokhimen!'\n\nBoville had heard this name, which belongs to an official of the Vo-dun,\nthe fetich priesthood, whose duty it is to summon offenders. He went to\nsee. The street was in an uproar. Two men clothed in black and white, with\nfaces chalked, were beating Vo-drums furiously--but such din is too usual\nfor notice. They stood at the door of a house--habitations in Whydah are\nnot properly described as huts. All the neighbours surged round\nvociferous. Presently emerged a grotesque figure, rather clothed than\nadorned with strings of human teeth and bones, and little wooden idols\npainted red. His black and white cap had lappets with red snakes sewn\nthereon; the breast of his tunic bore a large red cross, the sacred symbol\nof Dahomey. He came forth with a leap, and danced along with ridiculous\ngestures to the next house, flourishing the iron bar which marks his\noffice. The bones and images rattled like castanets. The drummers\nfollowed. Through the next doorway the Vokhimen sprang, and disappeared.\n\n'He isn't after me, thank God!' cried Boville.\n\n'He is, you fool! It's their way to hunt about like that when they well\nknow where to find the victim. No, it's too late to hide the cursed things\nnow. God help you, Boville! I can do nothing.' And Mr. Blank hurried out.\n\n\n[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM, CORONARIUM.]\n\n\n'Go to the Hun-to at least, sir--and to Mr. Martinez! Don't leave me\nhelpless to these devils!'\n\n'I'll do all I can for you, but it's worse than useless my stopping here.'\n\nPerhaps it is necessary to observe that the Europeans in Whydah had long\nbeen subject to the King of Dahomey, ruled by a Viceroy. Each nationality\nhad its official chief, called Hun-to by the English, and the Portuguese\nrepresentative enjoyed particular consideration. Nevertheless, the Viceroy\nwas their absolute master, and he obeyed the fetich men.\n\nIt is so easy to conceive poor Boville's bewilderment and despair that I\nshall not dwell upon the situation. With feverish haste he concealed his\norchids. Mr. Blank reappeared, with a rope fringed with strips of palm\nleaf, dry and crackling. This he threw round Boville's neck.\n\n'They daren't hurt you with that on!' he cried. 'Only the head priest can\nremove it! Go down! I've set drink on the table! Good-bye!'\n\nThe poor fellow obeyed, taking a pistol. All the servants were clustered\nat the door, wide-eyed, humming with terror and excitement. Presently the\ndrums sounded nearer and nearer--the throng opened--the Vokhimen danced\nthrough, jibbering, curveting, posturing. He started at sight of the\npalm-leaf cord, but passed by, unheeding a glass of rum which Boville\noffered, and pranced upstairs. The agent was right. This devil knew where\nto look! He thumped about a while overhead, then capered down, with a\nbundle of orchids dangling on the iron stick. The glass was not refused\nthis time. After drinking, the summoner touched Boville with his wand of\noffice, saying, 'Come! The snake calls you!'\n\nBoville did not understand the formula, but he guessed its meaning. There\nwas no help. He set forth. The Vokhimen pocketed the rum bottle and\nfollowed, moving gravely enough now.\n\nThe mob shouted with astonishment at the appearance of a white criminal,\nbut when the cause of his arrest was seen--that bundle of the holy\nEndua--astonishment changed to rage. Boville owed his life to the Azan,\nthe fetich cord, at that instant. But the drummers beat furiously, and, as\nif in response, a dozen fetich men suddenly appeared, pushing through the\ncrowd. One side of their heads was shaven bare. They wore garments of\nhideous fantasy, charms and horrid objects innumerable, and each a pair of\nsilver horns upon the forehead. Under this escort Boville marched to the\nfetich place.\n\nThis was a bare piece of ground, encircled by the low dark dwellings of\nthe priests, with the sacred wood behind it, and in the midst the Snake\nTemple. Often had Boville glanced into the small building, which has no\ndoor, and seen the reptiles swarming inside. He did not feel the loathing\nfor snakes which is so common--happily, as it proved. But no man could\nwatch that multitude of restless, twining creatures without horror.\n\nLed to the dreadful doorway, Boville turned, thinking to resist; but they\nfell upon him, doubled him up--for the entrance was very low--and thrust\nhim in bodily. The poor fellow screamed in tumbling full length upon a\nplatform which occupied the middle. He had seen it alive with snakes,\nwrithing one over the other.\n\nBut none were there. He scrambled to his feet and looked round. The temple\nhad no windows, but the solid walls of adobe did not meet the roof, and\nthe level sun-rays of evening poured through the gap. There was nothing to\ninterrupt the view, save a besom and a basket. But no snake could he see.\nA movement above caught his eye. He looked up.\n\nThere are men who would have lost their wits in terror at that sight. The\nsnakes were there, hundreds of them, perched upon the thickness of the\nwall--the ridge of their bodies gleaming in the red light of sunset, their\nlong necks hanging down, waving and twining. Every head was turned towards\nhim, the glass-bright eyes fixed on his, and the tongues slithering with\neagerness. Nightmare was never so horrible.\n\nFor an instant Boville stood frozen, with dropped jaw and starting eyes,\nthe icy sweat streaming from every pore; then, howling in no human voice,\nhe burst through the doorway, through the guard, and fell in the midst of\na party advancing.\n\nAll the Europeans in Whydah were there, with the Viceroy himself, and the\nhead fetich man. The horrid absurdity of their equipment I have no room to\ndescribe. The white men had been pleading, even threatening, and the\nViceroy supported them. When Boville dropped at their feet the last word\nhad been spoken. His punishment should be that decreed against the man who\nkills a snake by evil chance--no worse.\n\n'What is that?' Boville panted, when the agent who held him in his arms\nhad explained.\n\n'Never mind--we'll do our best! And it is to be at once, thank God! Night\nwill soon be here!'\n\n'Don't go--not all of you! Don't leave me with these devils!'\n\n'We must, poor boy--to arrange. But we shall return.'\n\nBoville remained among a group of fetich men, who sang and capered round,\nmaking gruesome pantomime of tortures. Meanwhile, others were busy at a\nshed with spades and bundles of reed. Dusk was settling down when they had\nfinished. The head priests returning took their stations, surrounded by\nmen with torches still unlit. All the population was gathered round the\nholy area.\n\nMr. Blank came back with others. 'Listen,' he said. 'They are going to put\nyou--unbound--in a hole, cover you with reeds, and set them alight. You\nmust spring up and run to the nearest water, all these brutes after you.\nBut I have arranged with many of them, and they will intercept the others.\nNow mark, for your life may depend on it! The law is that one who kills a\nsnake shall be cut and hacked till he reaches water! They expect you to\nmake for the river, but there is a pond on the very edge of the fetich\nwood yonder! See? You make for that! You can't miss it if you go straight\nbetween the torches and the temple. You understand? Now summon your\ncourage, man, and run for your life.'\n\nHe wrung Boville's hand. The executioners seized their victim and hurried\nhim to the shed, amidst a furious tumult--roaring, singing, beating of\ndrums, and blaring of cow-horns--thrust him into the hole, and heaped\ncombustibles over him. The instant he was free Boville sprang up, but the\nreeds flared as quick as gunpowder. All ablaze he ran--the savage crew\npursuing. But they mostly expected him on the river side. With but little\nhurt, save burns, he reached the pool and leapt in.\n\nIt is satisfactory to add that Boville did not suffer in health or fortune\nby this dread experience. He became the richest trader in Whydah, a\nspecial favourite with the natives. But he collected no more orchids.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Angraecum sesquipedale, 97\n\n  Anguloa, 162\n\n  Anthurium × Albanense, 68\n      \"     × aurantiacum, 69\n      \"     × Goliath, 68\n      \"     × Lady Godiva, 68\n      \"     × Lawrenceae, 68\n      \"     × niveum, 69\n      \"     × Salmoniae, 68\n      \"     × Saumon, 69\n      \"     × The Queen, 69\n\n\n  Brassavola Digbyana--Story, 151\n\n  Bulbophyllum barbigerum--Story, 253\n\n\n  Calanthe × bella, 129\n     \"     × Clive, 130\n     \"     × Florence, 130\n     \"     × Sandhurstiana, 129\n     \"     × Veitchii alba, 130\n     \"     × Victoria Regina, 130\n     \"     × William Murray, 130\n\n  Cattleya × Atalanta, 91\n     \"       aurea, 26\n     \"         \"    R. H. Measures, 26\n     \"       bicolor Measuresiana, 26\n     \"       Bowringiana, 31\n     \"            \"       --Story, 37\n     \"     × Browniae, 90\n     \"     × Cecilia, 94\n     \"     × Chloris, 89\n     \"       chrysotoxa, 27\n     \"       Extermination of, 28, 144-148\n     \"     × Fowleri, 92\n     \"       Gaskelliana, 33\n     \"            \"       Dellensis, 33\n     \"            \"       Duke of Marlborough, 33\n     \"            \"       Godseffiana, 33\n     \"            \"       Herbertiana, 34\n     \"            \"       Measuresiana, 33\n     \"            \"       Miss Clara Measures, 33\n     \"            \"       Sanderiana, 34\n     \"            \"       Woodlandsensis, 34\n     \"       gigas, 25\n     \"         \"    Imschootiana, 25\n     \"         \"    Sanderae, 26\n     \"       guttata Leopoldii--Hybrids, 8\n     \"       Harrisoniae R. H. Measures, 35\n     \"       intermedia Louryana, 97\n     \"           \"      Parthenia, 96\n     \"     × Kienastiana, 91\n     \"       labiata Adelina, 147\n     \"          \"    alba, 146\n     \"          \"    Archduchess, 147\n     \"          \"    Baroness Schröder, 146\n     \"          \"    bella, 147\n     \"          \"    Her Majesty, 147\n     \"          \"    imperatrix, 145\n     \"          \"    Juno, 147\n     \"          \"    Macfarlanei, 146\n     \"          \"    Measuresiana, 146\n     \"          \"    Mrs. R. H. Measures, 146\n     \"          \"    nobilis, 145\n     \"          \"    Princesse de Croix, 146\n     \"          \"    Princess May, 147\n     \"          \"    Princess of Wales, 147\n     \"          \"    Robin Measures, 147\n     \"          \"    Sanderae, 146\n     \"       Lawrenceana, 148\n     \"          \"         Extermination of, 148\n     \"     × Louis Chaton, 94\n     \"     × Mantinii inversa, 89\n     \"     ×    \"     nobilior, 89\n     \"     × Mariottiana, 91\n     \"     × Mary Measures, 149\n     \"       Mendelii, 29\n     \"          \"      Duke of Marlborough, 30\n     \"          \"      Lily Measures, 30\n     \"          \"      Monica Measures, 30\n     \"          \"      Mrs. R. H. Measures, 30\n     \"          \"      R. H. Measures, 30\n     \"          \"      William Lloyd, 30\n     \"     × Miss Measures, 92\n     \"       Mossiae, 32\n     \"          \"     excelsior, 32\n     \"          \"     gigantea, 32\n     \"          \"     Gilbert Measures, 32\n     \"          \"     grandiflora, 32\n     \"          \"     Mrs. R. H. Measures, 32\n     \"          \"     --Story, 45\n     \"          \"     Wageneri, 32\n     \"       Mrs. Fred Hardy, 27\n     \"     × Mrs. Mahler, 13\n     \"       O'Brieniana, 94\n     \"     × Our Queen, 93\n     \"     × Portia, 89\n     \"     × Prince of Wales, 91\n     \"       Sanderiana, 26\n     \"          \"        A Collector's report upon, 28\n     \"       Schroderae, 30\n     \"          \"        Miss Mary Measures, 30\n     \"       Skinneri alba--Story, 59\n     \"       speciosissima alba, 31\n     \"          \"          Dawsonii, 31\n     \"       Trianae, 34\n     \"          \"     Macfarlanei, 34\n     \"          \"     Measuresiana, 35\n     \"          \"     Robert Measures, 35\n     \"          \"     Tyrianthina, 35\n     \"          \"     Woodlandsensis, 35\n     \"       Trismegistris, 27\n     \"     × Wendlandiana, 94\n     \"     × William Murray, 92\n\n  Coelogyne speciosa--Story, 135\n\n  Cymbidium × Lowiano-eburneum, 132\n      \"     × eburneo-Lowianum, 132\n\n  Cypripediums, 170\n      \"        × A de Lairesse, 191\n      \"        × Adrastus, 196\n      \"        × Alfred, 181\n      \"        × Amphion, 181\n      \"        × Annie Measures, 196\n      \"        × Antigone, 179\n      \"        × Aphrodite superbum, 179\n      \"        × Arnoldiae, 180\n      \"        × Arnoldianum, 180\n      \"        × Arthurianum pulchellum, 196\n      \"        × Astraea, 196\n      \"        × Athos, 196\n      \"        × aurantiacum, 197\n      \"        × Aylingii, 180\n      \"        × Baconis, 177\n      \"        × barbato-bellatulum, 178\n      \"        × Beeckmanii, 178\n      \"          bellatulum album, 177\n      \"        ×      \"     egregium, 178\n      \"               \"     eximium, 176\n      \"          Boissierianum--_vide_ reticulatum.\n      \"        × Brownii, 179\n      \"        × Brysa, 200\n      \"        × calloso-niveum, 181\n      \"        × callosum Sanderae, 180\n      \"        × Cardinale, 178\n      \"        × Charles Richmond, 202\n      \"        × chrysocomes, 178\n      \"        × Claudii, 178\n      \"        × Cleopatra, 197\n      \"        × conco-callosum, 181\n      \"        ×    \"  Curtisii, 181\n      \"        ×    \"  Lawre, 181\n      \"          Cowleyanum, 181\n      \"          Curtisii--Story, 183\n      \"             \"     (Woodlands variety), 182\n      \"          Cyanides, 180\n      \"        × Cydonia, 200\n      \"        × cymatodes, 191\n      \"          Dauthierii albino, 192\n      \"              \"      marmoratum, 192\n      \"        × Edwardii, 193\n      \"        × Engelhardtiae, 193\n      \"        × Evenor, 192\n      \"        × excelsior, 192\n      \"          Fairieanum, 193\n      \"        × Frau Ida Brandt, 196\n      \"        × Georges Truffaut, 194\n      \"        × Gertrude, 194\n      \"        × Gertrude Hollington, 177\n      \"          Godefroyae, 69\n      \"        × H. Ballantine, 177\n      \"        × H. Hannington, 179\n      \"        × Hector, 179\n      \"        × hirsuto-Sallierii, 199\n      \"        × Holidayanum, 199\n      \"          insigne, 53\n      \"             \"     Amesiae, 54\n      \"             \"     Bohnhoffianum, 54\n      \"             \"     clarissimum, 54\n      \"             \"     corrugatum, 55\n      \"             \"     Dimmockianum, 54\n      \"             \"     Dorothy, 55\n      \"             \"     Drewett's variety, 56\n      \"             \"     eximium, 56\n      \"             \"     Frederico, 55\n      \"             \"     Harefield Hall, 55\n      \"             \"     Hector, 56\n      \"             \"     Laura Kimball, 54\n      \"             \"     longisepalum, 54\n      \"             \"     Macfarlanei, 54\n      \"             \"     majesticum, 55\n      \"             \"     Measuresiae, 55\n      \"             \"     punctatum, 56\n      \"             \"     R. H. Measures, 55\n      \"             \"     Rona, 55\n      \"             \"     Sanderae, 56\n      \"             \"     Statterianum, 54\n      \"        × J. Coles, 200\n      \"          Javanicum, 199\n      \"        × Juno, 191\n      \"        × La France, 197\n      \"        × Lavinia, 200\n      \"        × Lawrebel, 197\n      \"        ×    \"      (Woodlands variety), 197\n      \"        × Lawrenceanum-Hyeanum, 198\n      \"               \"       Sir Trevor, 198\n      \"          leucochilum, 69\n      \"        ×      \"       giganteum, 199\n      \"        × Leysenianum, 199\n      \"        × Lily Measures, 197\n      \"        × Lord Derby, 192\n      \"        × M. Finet, 177\n      \"        × macropterum, 177\n      \"        × Marchioness of Salisbury, 199\n      \"        × Marshallianum, 199\n      \"        × Massaianum, 203\n      \"        × Measuresiae, 203\n      \"        × Measuresianum, 199\n      \"        × Miss Clara Measures, 203\n      \"        × Mrs. E. Cohen, 178\n      \"        × Mrs. E. G. Uihlein, 195\n      \"        × Mrs. Fred Hardy, 199\n      \"        × Mrs. Herbert Measures, 199\n      \"        × Mrs. W. A. Roebling, 202\n      \"        × Muriel Hollington, 200\n      \"        × Myra, 179\n      \"        × nitidum, 204\n      \"        × Olivia, 176\n      \"        × Paris, 201\n      \"        × Phoebe, 201\n      \"          platytaenium--Story, 205\n      \"        × Princess May, 201\n      \"        × Pylaeus, 201\n      \"          reticulatum, 202\n      \"        × Rowena, 201\n      \"        × Sade Lloyd, 191\n      \"        × Schofieldianum, 202\n      \"        × Sir Redvers Buller, 204\n      \"        × Southgatense, 203\n      \"        ×      \"        superbum, 203\n      \"          Spicerianum--Story, 213\n      \"        × Symonsianum, 200\n      \"        × Tautzianum lepidum, 194\n      \"        × Telemachus, 194\n      \"        × tesselatum porphyreum, 194\n      \"          venustum (Measures variety), 195\n      \"        × Watsonianum, 195\n      \"        × William Lloyd, 191\n      \"        × Winifred Hollington, 204\n      \"        × Woodlandsense, 195\n      \"        × Zeus, 196\n\n\n  Dendrobium × Ainsworthii, 110\n       \"     × Leechianum, 110\n       \"       Lowii--Story, 121\n       \"       nobile album, 110\n       \"         \"    Cooksoni, 110\n       \"         \"    murrhinianum, 110\n       \"         \"    Ruckerianum, 110\n       \"         \"    splendens grandiflorum, 110\n       \"         \"    virginale, 110\n       \"       phalaenopsis Schröderianum--Story, 113\n       \"     × Schneiderianum, 110\n\n\n  Epidendrum radicans, 110\n      \"      × radico-vitellinum, 111\n\n\n  Hybridisation--Remarks, 172\n       \"         Mr. Mead's experiments, 173\n\n\n  Laelia × Beatrice, 13\n    \"    × Claptonensis, 88\n    \"      elegans, 7\n    \"         \"     Adonis, 10\n    \"         \"     Amphion, 13\n    \"         \"     bella, 15\n    \"         \"     Blenheimensis, 13\n    \"         \"     Boadicea, 10\n    \"         \"     Cleopatra, 15\n    \"         \"     Doctor Ryan, 11\n    \"         \"     Empress, 10\n    \"         \"     euracheilos, 14\n    \"         \"     eximia, 15\n    \"         \"     F. Sander, 10\n    \"         \"     Frederico, 12\n    \"         \"     Godseffiana, 10\n    \"         \"     H. E. Moojen, 10\n    \"         \"     H. G. Gifkins, 10\n    \"         \"     haematochila, 11\n    \"         \"     Hallii, 14\n    \"         \"     incantans, 14\n    \"         \"     Juno, 13\n    \"         \"     Ladymead, 12\n    \"         \"     leucotata, 11\n    \"         \"     Lord Roberts, 16\n    \"         \"     Luciana, 12\n    \"         \"     luculenta, 12\n    \"         \"     Macfarlanei, 11\n    \"         \"          \"       II., 15\n    \"         \"     macroloba, 13\n    \"         \"     matuta, 13\n    \"         \"     Measuresiana, 12\n    \"         \"     Medusa, 10\n    \"         \"     melanochites, 14\n    \"         \"     Minerva, 13\n    \"         \"     Monica, 12\n    \"         \"     Morreniana, 13\n    \"         \"     Mrs. F. Sander, 10\n    \"         \"     Mrs. R. H. Measures, 11\n    \"         \"     Myersiana, 15\n    \"         \"     Neptune, 10\n    \"         \"     nyleptha, 11\n    \"         \"     Ophelia, 11\n    \"         \"     Oweniae, 14\n    \"         \"     paraleuka, 11\n    \"         \"     platychila, 12\n    \"         \"     Princess Stephanie, 13\n    \"         \"     Pyramus, 15\n    \"         \"     Red King, 10\n    \"         \"     Sade Lloyd, 11\n    \"         \"     Sappho, 15\n    \"         \"     Schilleriana, 14\n    \"         \"          \"        splendens, 12\n    \"         \"     Stella, 10\n    \"         \"     Stelzneriana, 12\n    \"         \"     Tautziana, 13\n    \"         \"     tenebrosa, 11\n    \"         \"     Venus, 12\n    \"         \"     Weathersiana, 14\n    \"         \"     Wolstenholmae, 15\n    \"    × Gravesiae, 88\n    \"      Jongheana, 249\n    \"    × Latona, 92\n    \"    × Measuresiana, 88\n    \"      Perrinii alba, 97\n    \"         \"     nivea, 97\n    \"      praestans alba, 32\n    \"      pumila marginata, 31\n    \"      purpurata, 107\n    \"          \"      Archduchess, 109\n    \"          \"      Lowiana, 109\n    \"          \"      Macfarlanei, 109\n    \"          \"      marginata, 109\n    \"          \"      tenebrosa, 109\n    \"    × Sanderae, 91\n    \"    × splendens, 91\n    \"    × Yula, 93\n    \"    ×   \"   inversa, 93\n\n  Laelio-Cattleya Albanensis, 91\n    \"       \"     amanda, 88\n    \"       \"     Amazon, 91\n    \"       \"     Amesiana, 93\n    \"       \"     Ancona, 88\n    \"       \"     Aphrodite, 91\n    \"       \"     Arnoldiana, 88\n    \"       \"     Bellairensis, 90\n    \"       \"     Broomfieldensis, 92\n    \"       \"     C.-G. Roebling, 92\n    \"       \"     callistoglossa, 92\n    \"       \"            \"        ignescens, 92\n    \"       \"     Canhamiana, 94\n    \"       \"     D. S. Brown, 92\n    \"       \"     Decia, 92\n    \"       \"     Empress of India, 94\n    \"       \"     Eudora, 93\n    \"       \"       \"     alba, 93\n    \"       \"     euspatha, 14\n    \"       \"     excellens, 91\n    \"       \"     Exoniensis, 93\n    \"       \"     Fire Queen, 89\n    \"       \"     Harold Measures, 11\n    \"       \"     Henry Greenwood, 94\n    \"       \"     Hippolyta, 93\n    \"       \"     Hon. Mrs. Astor, 91\n    \"       \"     Lady Wigan, 89\n    \"       \"     leucoglossa, 94\n    \"       \"     Mardellii fascinator, 92\n    \"       \"     Measuresiana, 88\n    \"       \"     Miss Lily Measures, 94\n    \"       \"     Nysa, 88\n    \"       \"     Pallas superba, 94\n    \"       \"     Robin Measures, 90\n    \"       \"     Tiresias, 88\n    \"       \"        \"      superba, 90\n    \"       \"     Tresederiana, 89\n    \"       \"     velutino-elegans, 94\n    \"       \"     Zephyra, 93\n\n  Laelio-Cattleyas unflowered and unnamed--List of, 95\n\n  Lycaste aromatica, 159\n     \"    Denningiana, 160\n     \"    fulvescens, 160\n     \"    leucantha, 159\n     \"    Locusta, 160\n     \"    Mooreana, 160\n     \"    plana lassioglossa, 159\n     \"      \"   Measuresiana, 160\n     \"    Skinneri alba, 159\n     \"       \"     Lady Roberts, 159\n     \"       \"     Phyllis, 159\n\n\n  Madagascar--Legend of, 99\n\n  Masdevallia abbreviata, 237\n      \"       amabilis, 237\n      \"       Bonplandii, 237\n      \"       caudata, 237\n      \"       Chelsoni, 237\n      \"       coccinea, 238\n      \"       Harryana Armeniaca, 237\n      \"          \"     Bull's Blood, 237\n      \"          \"     Denisoniana, 237\n      \"          \"     Sander's Scarlet, 237\n      \"          \"     splendens, 237\n      \"          \"     versicolor, 237\n      \"       ignea splendens, 237\n      \"       macrura, 238\n      \"       melanopus, 238\n      \"       peristeria, 238\n      \"       polysticta, 237\n      \"       Veitchii grandiflora, 237\n      \"       Wallisii stupenda, 238\n\n  Miltonia Binottii, 162\n      \"    vexillaria Cobbiana, 228\n      \"        \"      Measuresiana, 228\n      \"        \"      rubella, 228\n\n\n  Odontoglossum baphicanthum, 226\n        \"       Bictoniense album, 223\n        \"       coronarium, 225\n        \"       crispo-Harryanum, 225\n        \"       crispum Arthurianum, 225\n        \"          \"    aureum, 227\n        \"          \"    Chestertoni, 227\n        \"          \"    Cooksoni, 227\n        \"          \"    Dayanum, 228\n        \"          \"    magnificum, 223\n        \"          \"    Measuresiae, 223\n        \"          \"    Our Empress, 223\n        \"          \"    purpureum, 228\n        \"          \"    Reginae, 227\n        \"          \"    virginale, 223\n        \"          \"    Woodlandsense, 223\n        \"       cristatellum, 224\n        \"       Edithae, 223\n        \"       elegans, 223\n        \"       facetum, 224\n        \"       grande magnificum, 227\n        \"       Hallii leucoglossum, 224\n        \"         \"    magnificum, 224\n        \"       Harryanum--Story, 229\n        \"       Humeanum, 226\n        \"       Hunnewellianum, 223\n        \"       Josephinae, 223\n        \"       Lindeni, 226\n        \"       Madrense, 224\n        \"       mirandum, 224\n        \"       mulus, 222\n        \"       Murrellianum, 226\n        \"       Pescatorei album, 227\n        \"           \"      Germinyanum, 225\n        \"           \"      grandiflorum, 228\n        \"           \"      splendens, 228\n        \"           \"      violaceum, 228\n        \"       platycheilum, 226\n        \"       polyxanthum magnificum, 224\n        \"       Rossii aspersum, 227\n        \"       Ruckerianum, 222\n        \"           \"        splendens, 222\n        \"       sceptrum, 225\n        \"       Schillerianum, 226\n        \"       tripudians oculatum, 226\n        \"       vexillarium--_vide_ Miltonia\n        \"       Vuylstekeanum, 222\n        \"       Wallisii, 224\n        \"       Wilckeanum, 222\n        \"           \"       albens, 222\n        \"           \"       pallens, 222\n        \"           \"       Rothschildianum, 225\n\n  Oncidium lamelligerum, 239\n     \"     Loxense, 240\n     \"     ornithorhynchum album, 239\n     \"     splendidum--Story, 241\n     \"     tetracopis, 239\n     \"     undulatum, 239\n     \"     Weltoni, 240\n\n\n  Phaio-calanthe Arnoldiae, 130\n\n  Phajus × Ashworthianus, 130\n    \"    × Cooksoni, 130\n    \"    × Marthae, 130\n    \"    × Owenianus, 130\n    \"    × Phoebe, 130\n\n  Phalaenopsis, 67\n      \"         × Hebe, 68\n      \"         Sanderiana--Story, 79\n\n  Pothos aurea, 147\n\n\n  Roezl--Legend of, 17\n\n\n  Sobralia × Amesiana, 161\n     \"       Kienastiana--Story, 163\n     \"       Measuresiana, 161\n     \"       Sanderae, 161\n     \"     × Veitchii, 161\n\n  Spathoglottis × aureo-Veillardii, 111\n\n\n  Thunia Bensoniae, 131\n    \"    Marshalliana, 131\n\n\n  Vanda, 69\n    \"  × Miss Joaquim, 69\n    \"    Sanderiana--Story, 71\n\n\n  Zygo-colax leopardinus, 131\n\n  Zygopetalum × Perrenoudii, 131\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] It seems not unlikely that scholars may read this and misunderstand. I\nam not ignorant that 'the Ancients' had frames, probably warmed\ngreen-houses--since they flowered roses at mid-winter--and certainly\nconservatories. But these facts do not bear upon the argument.\n\n[2] Two or three years ago, however, the Government of New Granada made a\nlaw forbidding such destruction of trees--a measure which has happily\nreduced the output of orchids, since the natives are unwilling to climb\nfor them.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nPassages in italics are indicated by _underscore_.\n\nThe misprint \"ear\" has been corrected to \"are\" (page 224).\n\nPrinter's inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation usage have been\nretained from the original.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Woodlands Orchids, by Frederick Boyle", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32205", "title": "The Woodlands Orchids, Described and Illustrated\r\nWith Stories of Orchid-Collecting", "author": "", "publication_year": 1901, "metadata_title": "The Woodlands orchids, described and illustrated : with stories of orchid-…", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:25.972955", "source_chars": 432908, "chars": 432908, "talkie_tokens": 106622}}
{"text": "Produced by Graeme Mackreth and The Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE UTAH BATTERIES:\n\nA HISTORY.\n\n\n\n\nTHE UTAH BATTERIES:\n\nA HISTORY.\n\nA COMPLETE ACCOUNT OF THE MUSTER-IN, SEA VOYAGE,\nBATTLES, SKIRMISHES AND BARRACK LIFE\nOF THE UTAH BATTERIES, TOGETHER\nWITH BIOGRAPHIES OF OFFICERS\nAND MUSTER-OUT ROLLS.\n\nby\n\nCHARLES R. MABEY,\n\nLATE A SERGEANT OF LIGHT BATTERY A, UTAH VOLUNTEER ARTILLERY.\n\nILLUSTRATED.\n\nSALT LAKE CITY,\n1900.\n\n\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR.\n\n\nDAILY REPORTER CO., PRINTERS, 158-160 S. WEST TEMPLE ST.\n\nSALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE UTAH BATTERYMEN\n\nWHO BRAVELY FOUGHT FOR THEIR COUNTRY'S FLAG ON A FOREIGN\n\nSOIL, THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED\n\nBY\n\nTHE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nSometime after the Utah Battalion left San Francisco for the Philippines\nthe author conceived the idea of writing a history of that organization\nafter its return from the war. With this purpose in view he kept a diary\nduring the entire campaign and also collected what other material that\ncould be utilized for such a work. Immediately upon the arrival in Salt\nLake City of the discharged volunteers he, with others, set to work to\nbring about a completion of this plan. This little volume represents the\nresult of the labor expended at intervals between that date and the\npresent time. The author claims no more for it than its title assumes--a\nbrief history of the Utah batteries. It is no more. There may be some\nworks in the future which will command, to a greater extent, the\nattention of the reading public. This is not written with the idea that\nit will become a standard work, but that while those events which\nhappened are yet green in the memories of the Utah artillerymen, they\nmay be recorded and not be consigned to oblivion. The author trusts he\nmay not be asserting too much when he affirms that the book is written\nwith a strict adherence to facts, as he has had access both to public\nand private data in the compiling of the work, and he has been\nscrupulously careful in guarding against errors of every description. At\nthis opportunity he takes pleasure in thanking those officers and men\nwho have helped him in bringing about an accomplishment of his plans,\nand furthermore, he wishes to extend his thanks to Angus K. Nicholson\nfor his contributions and a like communication to those friends who have\ngiven him timely advice and aid in disposing of difficulties which have\narisen from time to time.\n\nBOUNTIFUL, January 25, 1900.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nPAGE                                                          7\n\nPREFACE\n\nINTRODUCTION                                                 13\n\nCHAPTER I.--The Mustering                                    16\n\nCHAPTER II.--Barrack Life                                    24\n\nCHAPTER III.--The Insurrection                               36\n\nCHAPTER IV.--The Gunboats                                    77\n\nCHAPTER V.--The Home Coming                                  90\n\nMAJOR RICHARD W. YOUNG                                      102\n\nMAJOR FRANK A. GRANT                                        103\n\nCAPTAIN E.A. WEDGEWOOD                                      105\n\nCAPTAIN JOHN F. CRITCHLOW                                   106\n\nLIEUTENANT GEORGE W. GIBBS                                  108\n\nLIEUTENANT RAYMOND C. NAYLOR                                109\n\nLIEUTENANT ORRIN R. GROW                                    110\n\nLIEUTENANT WILLIAM C. WEBB                                  112\n\nLIEUTENANT GEORGE A. SEAMAN                                 113\n\nLIEUTENANT FRANK T. HINES                                   114\n\nLIEUTENANT JOHN A. ANDERSON                                 115\n\nSERGEANT HARRY A. YOUNG                                     116\n\nSERGEANT FORD FISHER                                        118\n\nROSTER--Battery A                                           120\n\nBattery B                                                   125\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n                                                            PAGE\n\nA FAMILIAR SCENE                                             27\n\nOLD GUARD FATIGUE AT THE CUARTEL                             33\n\nLIEUTENANT GIBBS' SECTION AT FT. MACARTHUR                   47\n\nGUN AT PUMPING STATION FIRING ON MARIQUINA                   50\n\nUTAH GUNS ON MANILA & DAGUPAN RY. EN ROUTE TO THE FRONT      53\n\nFIRST PLATOON, BATTERY A, READY TO MOVE TO MALOLOS           59\n\nUTAH GUNS IN PARK AT CONGRESSIONAL HALL, MALOLOS             65\n\nPREPARING FOR AN ENGAGEMENT                                  74\n\nMAJOR RICHARD W. YOUNG                                      102\n\nMAJOR FRANK A. GRANT                                        104\n\nCAPTAIN E.A. WEDGEWOOD                                      106\n\nCAPTAIN JOHN F. CRITCHLOW                                   107\n\nLIEUTENANT GEORGE W. GIBBS                                  108\n\nLIEUTENANT RAYMOND C. NAYLOR                                110\n\nLIEUTENANT ORRIN R. GROW                                    111\n\nLIEUTENANT WILLIAM C. WEBB                                  112\n\nLIEUTENANT GEORGE A. SEAMAN                                 114\n\nLIEUTENANT FRANK T. HINES                                   115\n\nLIEUTENANT JOHN A. ANDERSON                                 116\n\nSERGEANT HARRY A. YOUNG                                     117\n\nSERGEANT FORD FISHER                                        119\n\n\n\n\nTHE UTAH BATTERIES.\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nThe history of the Utah Batteries should be a plain tale, for deeds of\nvalor cannot be garnished by the flower of rhetoric or the pomp of\noratory. This is a simple story of brave deeds. The stern browed\nHeracles standing unarmed in the midst of his countrymen was a frank,\ncommon figure, but when he dashed like Ares upon the Lerneaen hydra he\nbecame majestic, and no mere pen picture could augment his greatness. So\nwe shall paint a picture of the achievements of the cannoneers and\ngunners of Utah while withstanding the onslaughts of the dusky warriors\nof Aguinaldo, and no greater compliment can be paid them than a clear\ntrue narrative of their exploits.\n\nUtah was early distinguished in the furious fights of Luzon. Even before\nthe soldiers of \"Uncle Sam\" had felt their way into the defenses of\nManila, her guns had awaked the long-sleeping sentries of the Dons and\ntorn holes into the bulwarks of Spanish oppression and tyranny. Her\nlater accomplishments against the fierce Tagalan braves have only served\nto increase the homage and admiration of the world, yet, in the dark\ndays of the conflict, as veterans know, are performed many daring acts\nand feats of human strength, which are never recorded in the chronicles\nof fame, or proclaimed by the bugle's blare. There were those who knew\nwhat it was to feel the pangs of hunger and the ravages of disease,\nthose who experienced the racking pains occasioned by fatiguing marches,\nand long, weary tramps through the unbroken wilderness of the tropics;\nand there were belated ones who hid in the swamps anxiously watching\nfor the first beams of dawn to reveal the lurking foe.\n\nAn account of the actions of the men of Utah is not a recital of the\nperformances of one man; neither is it a description of the doings of a\nparticular section of men. It is the story of brave men fighting under\ncompetent chiefs. Their history is exceptional. In every engagement\nagainst the insurrectionists, on land and river, the unceasing fire of\nthe guns of Utah was heard. While Major Young, Major Grant, Captain\nCritchlow and Lieutenant Seaman battered down the enemy's breastworks at\nCaloocan and San Lazerus cemetery, the cannon under Captain Wedgewood\nhurled fiery wrath into the terrified foe at Sampaloe, and Lieutenant\nWebb's death-dealing monsters flung destruction into the ranks of the\nFilipino hordes at Santa Mesa. While the land batteries, with the\ninfantry, worked their way through the tropical forests in that campaign\nwhich drove the natives out of Calumpit and San Fernando and sent\nAguinaldo flying into the mountains beyond, Major Grant, Lieutenant\nNaylor and Lieutenant Webb, with their fire-spitting dragons, the river\ngunboats, bore down upon the insurgents at Morong and Santa Cruz and\ndisturbed the silence of the primitive woods at San Luiz and Candaba.\n\nThe country was not slow in recognizing Utah. Almost as soon as\nhostilities commenced Major Young was elevated to a position on General\nMacArthur's staff, and when the river gunboats were put into commission\nin anticipation of a Tagalan outbreak Lieutenant R.C. Naylor was placed\nsecond in command. Later when the river fleet was enlarged Major Grant\ntook command and Lieutenant William C. Webb assumed control of the\n\"Covadonga,\" positions which both held till Utah's fighting days were\nover.\n\nThe Utah cannoneers were not only exceptional as fighters, but they did\nthings before unheard of in artillery annals. They pushed along in line\nwith the infantry in many a hard-fought encounter in the vanguard;\nduring the early days of the conflict, when the rival force first turned\nits weapons upon the walls of Manila, they hauled their pieces after\nthem in grim pursuit of the fleeing foe. They stood comparison with the\nwell-drilled regulars, and in many instances surpassed them; the bark of\ntheir iron-tongued guns never failed to strike terror into the hearts of\nthe dusky braves of Luzon, while it ever sounded as a note of cheer to\nthe infantrymen on the straggling skirmish line.\n\nThere is Santa Mesa, Malabon, Quingua, Bag Bag, San Fernando--words\nhollow sounding to the ordinary ear; but when named to the stalwart\nveteran they touch a chord which quickens the pulse and sets every nerve\nfiber vibrating with emotion. To him each tells a tale of noble\nachievements wrought beneath the broiling sun of the tropics; to him\neach whispers an assurance that his duty was bravely done in the\nblasting fires of the East.\n\nThe warriors of Utah have listened to their last reveille and their last\nretreat. When they withdrew from the Orient they left the scenes of\ncarnage behind and returned to loved ones and to peace. May that peace\nbe lasting and happy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE MUSTERING.\n\n\nWhen the war trumpet's shrill notes disturbed the serenity of this\ntranquil land early in '98 their echoes were not lost on the hills of\nUtah, but reverberating from cliff to cliff and peak to peak they\nswelled into a martial hymn whose chorus was sung in every home in the\ncommonwealth. The dark stormy days preceding the declaration of war in\nApril had aroused the dormant energies of men, hitherto engaged in the\npeaceful pursuits of life, and filled them with an eager desire to\nperform the more exciting duties of the camp, so that when the call was\nissued by Governor Wells on April 25th a host of young men from every\ncorner of the State applied for enlistment in the volunteer army.\n\nOut of the 500 men, Utah's original quota, 343 were designated for the\nLight Artillery service. There are reasons for this not altogether\nunderstood by those outside military circles. At the breaking out of\nhostilities with Spain the National Guard of the various States were\ndeficient in this branch of the service. The guns consisted mostly of\nobsolete and useless muzzle-loading cannon, divided among the States at\nthe close of the Civil War. Some were smooth bores, others rifled. There\nwere Napoleons and Parrots, brass cannon and twenty-four pounders. Very\nfew of the States had modern guns, but Utah was especially favored in\nthis line. During the early organization of the guard she had been\nprovided with eight 3.2-inch B. & L. rifles, together with limbers,\ncaisson, harnesses, etc. Thus it was apparent to all who knew anything\nof the manner of procedure that the youngest State in the Union would be\ncalled upon to furnish artillery, and so it proved, for, after having\nbeen informed by Senator Frank J. Cannon that this State could man the\nguns, the War Department made arrangements for Utah to put two batteries\nin the field.\n\nThe day following the Governor's call recruiting officers were appointed\nto enlist men for the service, the names of those designated to enroll\nbatterymen being Richard W. Young, Frank A. Grant, George W. Gibbs, Ray\nC. Naylor and Orrin R. Grow. These were assigned to different portions\nof the State and the work began on the day following. Ethan Allen,\nafterwards First Sergeant of Battery A, was the first man to enroll.\nOrders were received from Washington naming Fort Douglas as the\nrendezvous for the recruits, the message reaching here the day\nenlistment began. Briant H. Wells, a Lieutenant in the Second United\nStates Infantry, who had been stationed here on duty with the National\nGuard, was assigned as mustering officer. The recruiting continued with\nvaried success until May 1st, when the quota was filled. Applications\nfor enrollment were so plentiful after the news of the call became\ngenerally known that recruiting officers were frequently compelled to\nhave the men draw lots in order to determine the lucky ones, for that is\nthe term then used.\n\nMay 3rd, camps were pitched on the lower parade ground at Fort Douglas.\nIt was named Camp Kent in honor of Colonel (now Major-General, retired)\nJ. Ford Kent, who had commanded the Twenty-fourth United States Infantry\nstationed at the fort when hostilities were declared, and which had\nmarched away but a short time before. As soon as the camp was\nestablished the men began coming in. It was a strange gathering of men\nwhich appeared at the surgeon's door for examination the following\nmorning. Farmers fresh from the plow, cowboys from the plain, miners\nfrom the mountains, blacksmiths from the forge, students, teachers,\ndoctors, bookkeepers had assembled to be defenders in common of the\nNation's honor.\n\nOn May 4th the officers were selected. The appointments of the Governor\nwere as follows:\n\nBattery A--Captain, R.W. Young; First Lieutenant, George W. Gibbs;\nSecond Lieutenants, Ray C. Naylor and Thomas B. Braby. Lieutenant Braby\ndeclined the honor and William C. Webb was selected in his stead.\n\nBattery B--Captain, Frank A. Grant; First Lieutenant, Edgar A.\nWedgewood; Second Lieutenants, John F. Critchlow and Orrin R. Grow.\n\nThese selections were regarded as very happy ones. Captain Young is a\ngraduate of West Point and was at one time a Lieutenant in the Second\nUnited States Artillery; Lieutenant Gibbs was the Major commanding the\nbattalion of light artillery in the National Guard of Utah; Lieutenant\nNaylor was one of the founders of the National Guard and had worked his\nway up to a Lieutenant-Colonelcy, while Lieutenant Webb had been for\nsome time the Captain of Company A, First Infantry N.G.U.\n\nAll the officers of Battery B had been identified with the National\nGuard. Captain Grant was Colonel of the First Regiment; Lieutenant\nWedgewood was formerly Captain of a company stationed at Provo;\nLieutenant Critchlow was a member of the medical staff, while Lieutenant\nGrow was Major of the first battalion of the First Infantry.\n\nNo time was lost after the officers had been chosen, as the work of\ndisciplining the raw force immediately began. Camp Kent was the scene of\nbustle and hurry. It was drill, drill, drill, from morning until night,\nand \"Action Front,\" \"Action Right,\" \"Action Left,\" \"Change Posts,\"\n\"Section left front into line\" kept the men moving from reveille until\nretreat. All seemed anxious to become proficient in the use of the guns,\nand even guard duty--that task ever despised by the soldier--was\nperformed with a surprising willingness.\n\nOn May 9th Lieutenant Wells administered the oath which transformed the\nbody of citizens into a battalion of soldiers. The work of preparing the\nroll was cheerfully done and was accelerated somewhat by the arrival of\na message from the War Department announcing that the Utah Batteries\nwould be sent to the Philippines. The declaration was received with\nsatisfaction by some, but others were less enthusiastic as an opinion\nprevailed that there would be no fighting in the East, but that Cuba\nwould furnish the battles of the war. Later developments proved this to\nbe a mistake, for long after the Spanish had felt the force of American\nwar machinery at San Juan and El Caney their lost subjects in the\nAntipodes were fleeing in terror before the mighty thunder of the Utah\nguns at Santa Mesa and Bag Bag.\n\nThe batteries left for San Francisco on May 20th. It was an imposing\nsight to see the newly recruited soldiers, commanded by Captain Young,\nas they marched down the streets to the depot followed by thousands of\ncitizens who gathered to bid them farewell. Some partings between\nrelations were exceedingly touching and sad. Perhaps mothers and\nsisters, fathers and brothers read in the dim misty vista of the future\nthe fate to which some of the men were doomed in the furious skirmishes\nof Luzon. Cheer after cheer rang out as the train pulled away and the\nvolunteers responded with vigor, although there were some whose voices\nsounded husky as the final greetings were given.\n\nOn their arrival at San Francisco the batteries received a royal\nwelcome, the Red Cross society taking especial pains to make their visit\na pleasant one. Several weeks were consumed in perfecting the\norganization and preparing it for foreign service. Lieutenant Wedgewood\nand Sergeants Brown and Fehr returned to Utah and recruited 104 men to\ncomplete the organizations to their full strength, leaving Salt Lake\nCity with them on June 29th. On June 15th the batteries sailed away to\nthe land across the seas where work of a far more serious nature awaited\nthem.\n\nThe voyage across was not altogether unlike a voyage on any ordinary\nvessel, save for the fact that the men were crowded a little closer than\non a first-class passenger boat, and the food was not so elaborate in\ncharacter as one would expect to find in a first grade hotel or a\nrailway dining car. The men kicked in the good natured American way and\ncontinued to eat what was given them and slept as best they could.\n\nA stop was made at Honolulu, where occurred a reception to the Utah men\nwhich marked a bright day in the life of the soldier. The transports\narrived on the night of the 23rd, and at 11 o'clock. The next morning\nthey went ashore amid the cheers of the Hawaiians, who gave them a\ngreeting hearty and cordial. Flowers were in profusion and pretty girls\nthrew bouquets at the tired pilgrims until they felt that they had\nindeed found the \"Paradise of the Pacific.\" Judge Kinney, a former\nresident of Salt Lake City, headed the reception committee, and there\nwere elaborate preparations to make the stay one of gladness. The great\nsugar works and plantations at Oahu were visited and the points of\ninterest carefully shown. Then under the shading palms, amid the\nfragrance of flowers, with hundreds of pretty girls to wait on them the\nmen sat down to the banquet. In an atmosphere which breathes poetry and\npleasure; where the soft tropical zephyr kisses the cheek as a mother\ndoes a sleeping infant the choicest fruits were served and substantial\nedibles tempted the appetite. Soldiers made love to maidens with dusky\ncheeks; American blue eyes told short stories of love to Kanaka brown,\nand the Caucasian ladies were not forgotten, for it was a feast of love.\nEverywhere was \"Aloha, Aloha.\"\n\nBut all things end. The next day saw the ships sail away. With the sweet\nfragrance of blossoms still lingering in their nostrils and the\nlong-to-be-remembered clasp of friendship yet plainly felt they passed\naway from the dreamy isle into the oblivion of the Pacific to resume the\ndiet of beef a la can and coal a la \"Colon.\" Once more was ship soup\nstaple and tropical sea monotony plentiful.\n\nA few days later the fleet arrived at Wake Island, which General Greene\ntook possession of in the name of the United States. Five days after\nthis the Ladrone Islands were sighted and passed.\n\nAbout the middle of the month the Philippines were sighted and on the\n17th the fleet of transports entered the harbor of Manila escorted by\nthe cruiser \"Boston.\"\n\nThe landing was an exceedingly difficult undertaking. The facilities for\ntaking the guns from the transports were not perfect. The guns were put\nashore in about five feet of water and had to be hauled out by hand, but\nthe work was accomplished in the usual good natured American fashion,\nand when this task was finished men dried their clothes as though\nnothing had happened. In landing several amusing incidents occurred.\nMany Filipinos, anxious to earn a few \"centavos,\" flocked around the\nships, and not a few of the men hired a native as a sort of a pack horse\nto carry them ashore. One two-hundred-pound soldier was unfortunate in\nthe selection of his human pack horse, for he sat astride the shoulders\nof a ninety-pound native until the little fellow broke down and buried\nhimself and rider in the sad sobbing sea waves to the great amusement of\nhis comrades and his own disgust. Other occurrences were equally as\nludicrous.\n\nThe several days following the landing of the batteries were spent in\ngiving the men the rest they had earned and needed. No work worthy of\nmention was done until the morning of the 29th, when came the first\nscent of trouble--of war. From the actions of the officers at early\nmorning it was plain to be seen that something was going to happen. Two\nguns of Battery A were taken over to the trenches which had been built\nby the insurgents near the Capuchin Monastery. During the day the\nsharpshooters of the Twenty-third United States Infantry and the Spanish\nhad been doing some desultory firing with little result on either side,\nsave that the men kept their heads closer to the breastworks, while a\nbattalion of the Colorado Infantry, under Colonel McCoy, advanced beyond\nthe old trenches to a point near the monastery, where they threw up a\nnew line of earthworks. The two guns of Battery A moved to this point\nthe following morning and took possession of the emplacements already\nconstructed. On the following morning two guns under Lieutenant Grow of\nBattery B were brought over from Camp Dewey and placed in position on\nthe left. Men from both lines were engaged in erecting gun pits all\nalong the front. The guns were located about 1000 yards from Fort San\nAntonio de Abad, which formed the extreme right of the Spanish line. The\nenemy's left and center was protected by a line of intrenchments.\nOutpost duty was being performed by a company of the Eighteenth United\nStates Infantry. The firing, which had been kept up with more or less\nvigor, came from the right of the Utah position, which was entirely\nunprotected owing to a failure on the part of the insurgents to maintain\ntheir lines between Calle Real and the Pasig road.\n\nDuring the night of July 30th-31st the excitement began. Heavy small arm\nfiring was indulged in by the enemy and from his lines came shells at\nirregular intervals, none of which did any damage. At this time\nLieutenant Naylor was in the trenches with the two guns of Battery A. At\n8 o'clock next morning Lieutenant Gibbs relieved him of the command with\ntwo-gun detachments of fresh men. All day everything was quiet. The\nenemy was planning a night attack, as he had no desire to mix with the\nAmerican forces in a fair open fight in the broad light of day, but\nrather trusted to darkness to accomplish his designs. Everything was\nquiet until 11:30 that evening, when the Mausers began singing\nvenomously from the Spanish lines. Then came the boom of his artillery\nand the men in the trenches knew that the time for action had come. The\nTenth Pennsylvania troops replied with their Springfields and the whiz\nof the \"45's\" mingled with the keen \"twang\" of the Mausers, while the\nThird Artillerymen, equipped as regular infantry, took a part in the\naltercation. The instructions of the Utah men were not to fire until it\nwas evident the enemy was making an advance. The cannoneers stood by\ntheir guns awaiting the orders which should make them a part of the\nfight. Finally it came. Major Cuthberton of the First California, the\nsenior officer present, gave the word and then Utah's voice was heard\nfor the first time during the war. The gunners worked like Trojans and\nwith shrapnel punched at zero they sent shell after shell into the\nCastilian lines. Corporal Charles Varian, with no clothing on save a\npair of trousers, sweating like a man who was working for his life, yet\ncool withal, managed his piece like a veteran. Sergeant J.O. Nystrom\ngave orders in a collected way that instilled fresh courage into the\nhearts of his men. W.W. Riter wore a seraphic smile as he sighted his\ngun at the spits of flame on the other side, while Billy Kneass worked\nhis cannon with the sang froid of a man in a blind waiting for ducks. It\nwas a warm time and when morning dawned it was ascertained that several\nCastilian voices had been added to Choral Society in that land beyond\nthe river. Utah's men were standing their baptism of fire and proved\nthemselves soldiers. All the terrible passion of war had supplanted the\nfirst feelings of timidity, and they manipulated their guns with as much\ncomposure as they would have handled the pigskins on the gridiron. But\nthe ammunition was running short. Fifty-seven shrapnel had been\ndischarged and the battle was still on. The Pennsylvania men had fired\naway nearly all their ammunition, and affairs began to look serious,\nwhen a body of men from Camp Dewey hauling a limber chest after them\ndashed from out the gloom. Once more across the intervening space the\nshells shrieked and broke the Spanish lines, causing havoc and terror.\nThe attempt of the \"Dons\" had proved futile, and after having fought for\ntwo and a half hours they withdrew.\n\nAlthough other commands had lost men the Utah boys were fortunate in\nthis that not one of their number was killed and only one slightly\nwounded in this engagement.\n\nFor several days but little was done by the Utah troops. The men\nconstructed emplacements for the guns, cut down timber which might have\ninterfered with good work and awaited orders. In the meantime the\nLieutenants of the batteries were relieving each other from day to day.\nThe fire from the Spanish lines was kept up in a desultory manner and\nwas replied to by the infantry in the American lines.\n\nThe final engagement on the 13th was short, but the guns of the Utah men\ndid wonderful execution. In conjunction with Dewey's fleet they tore\nholes in the Spanish fort at Malate and helped in forcing the enemy out\nof his position on the extreme left.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nBARRACK LIFE.\n\n\nLike all the other organizations which had taken part in the capturing\nof Manila, the Utah batteries were without a home when they first\nentered the city. Battery A found temporary quarters in a spacious nipa\nhut in the Malate district, while Battery B went into barracks in the\nOdministracion de Hacienda. Several days later Major Young secured the\nCuartel de Meisic, formerly occupied by a Spanish engineer regiment, and\nBattery A was stationed there August 18th. Some days following Battery B\nmoved into the same building. The Third Artillery occupied the south\nhalf of the Cuartel, and the batteries were domiciled in the east and\nwest wings of the north half. The Cuartel was a large and stalwart\nstructure located in the most picturesque part of Manila. South of it\nlay the business portion of Manila, with its Escolta, its Plaza de\nCervantes, and its Hotel de Oriente; to the west was the Marcadero\nteeming with rustic Filipino maids and redolent with its Oriental odors;\nstretching away to the north were the broad rice fields and forests of\nbamboo, with the mountains in the distance forming a background. It was\na pleasant home and one which the men appreciated.\n\nDuring the first few weeks of barrack life the men settled down serene\nin the thought that they would soon be speeding homeward. Their duty had\nbeen done and they felt that they were now entitled to the happier\npleasures of Utah. But days passed, and were lengthened into weeks,\nweeks passed and were lengthened into months, and still they remained in\nthe tropics with less hope of returning home than they had at first\nentertained. The novelty of their surroundings began to wear off and\neverything which the Philippines could afford became decidedly\ncommonplace. Unable, therefore, to find other entertainments when off\nduty, as a pastime the men exchanged reminiscent fairy tales about\ntheir late combat. Wearying of these occupations they often sauntered\nout of the Cuartel in bodies in quest of what little mirth they could\nget out of the passive and inexplicable natives.\n\nOf course, there were drills and everybody liked them, as they produced\nsuch an excellent opportunity for one to give vent to his feelings after\nthe drills were over with. Those were happy hours which the men spent in\nsweltering under the genial warmth of the southern sun, and learning\nwith a bitter vengeance the tactics of \"dismounted drill.\" And \"double\ntime,\" too, was always a pleasant innovation as it generated a bodily\nheat to correspond with mental feelings and external influences. Then\nthere was always an appreciative audience of gaping nut-brown maids and\nmatrons who took delight in watching the \"soldado\" go through his\never-changing evolutions. Yes, those were days which the veteran will\nalways look back upon with rapture.\n\nAt first some trouble was occasioned over the inadequate food supply;\nbut that difficulty was soon obliterated. The then acting commissary\nsergeant was removed and A.L. Williams, familiarly known among his\nadmirers in the battalion by the euphonious prefixes of \"Dad\" and\n\"Judge,\" was elevated to this position. Under the judicious management\nof the Judge a revolution was made in the department and the men waxed\nfat from the overflowing cornucopia of the commissary.\n\nIn those murky days of Manila were other things which served to offset\nthe oppressive blazonry of the tropic sun. In order to make the attire\nof the soldiers harmonize as much as possible with the requirements of\nthe climate, light shirts and trousers were provided by the\nquartermaster's department. Every week occurred a general inspection, to\nwhich the men were expected to appear housed in this startling white\nwith polished shoes and flaming brass buckles. A very imposing\nappearance they made when lined up on these occasions.\n\nThe advent of the soldier vastly accelerated the trade of the native\nfruit venders in the vicinity of the Cuartel, and as time wore on this\npeculiar product of the Orient increased his sales by the addition of\nthe deadly \"vino,\" sometimes with rather disastrous results to the\nimbiber. That wondrous monument of human ingenuity commonly known as\n\"army hardtack\" formed the standard medium of exchange between the\nindustrious fruit dealer and his overworked customer. The barred windows\nof the Cuartel became the market ground for all the products of Luzon,\nand through them many a luscious mango was exchanged for an adamantine\nbiscuit upon which the soldier had vainly expended all his dental\nenergy. The natives had full access to the barracks at this time, and\nthe native washerwoman made the blanco trousers shine iridescently for\ninspection by beating them against the sunny side of a boulder and\nafterwards pressing them with a fearfully and wonderfully made flatiron.\n\nHard by the Cuartel were a number of \"tiendas,\" widely known among the\nsoldiers as \"vino stands.\" The presiding spirit over one of these\nestablishments was generally a pretty \"mestiza,\" who, in addition to her\nnatural charms, was blessed with a high-sounding Castilian name. There\nwere four shops run on the plan, which held pre-eminence both for the\ncharacter of the \"vino\" which they supplied and the bewitching charms of\ntheir owners. The returned volunteer will remember with keen enjoyment\n\"Juanita,\" \"Juaquina,\" \"Victoriana,\" and above all \"Isabella,\" the\nsaintly and virtuous, who was equally as skillful in obtaining the\nnimble sixpence as in raising a brood of mestiza children. There was\nalso \"Madre,\" withered and antiquated, but a born dictator, and through\nher superior management she came to be known as the top-sergeant.\nFinally there was Ysabel, with a gentle smile upon her pleasant brunette\nface, and Estepania, brown-eyed and plump, most beautiful among all the\nmestiza belles. Isabella's casa was the place to which the eyes of the\nweary soldier turned after a long and fatiguing drill; afterwards it was\nthe point to which his footsteps inevitably led when he was able to rush\nin for a few days from the firing line. The house was large and\nspacious, with polished ebony floors and wide windows through which the\nbalmy zephyrs blew and kissed the heated brow of the tired fighter.\nBeautiful creepers twisted their way up the wall and stole in at the\nextensive balcony to catch a taste of the pleasures within; the\nbroadleafed banana palm surrounded the casa and broke the power of the\nblazing tropic sun. It was, indeed, the one spot in all the East which\nmade the home-loving Utahns feel at home. When away all his secret\nlongings were centered upon that place and its attractions, and his\nmouth yearned for a renewed acquaintance with the delicate omelets\nfashioned by the dainty fingers of Pania and the crab brought from the\nbay by the ubiquitous Peek-a-boo. His mind reverted with gratitude to\nthe anxious solicitations of \"Madre\" when she learned that he was\nsuffering from a headache and he acutely remembered the healing balm\nwhich she applied to his fevered brow. He knew, too, that should he be\nstruck down in death by the bullet of the enemy, what tears of sympathy\nwould be shed at the news of his misfortune.\n\n[Illustration: A FAMILIAR SCENE.]\n\nThe one source of worriment about the Isabella mansion was the fact that\nthe thirsty soldiers were frequently given an over supply of the deadly\nvino. Such an occurrence was attended with dire results; but as the\nmotherly \"Madre\" was blessed with an abundant store of remedies, under\nher care the victim was soon restored to his mental equilibrium. All\nsoldiers seem gifted with special powers to spend money and as a\nconsequence few of them could command the attention of a penny bootblack\ntwenty-four hours after being paid, but this weakness had no weight with\nthe kindly old dame who carried a large credit roll and could refuse\nnothing to a Utah soldado. So Isabella's mansion forms a part of the war\nhistory of the Utah batteries; and it must be remembered with other and\nmore stirring scenes; for when the thoughts of the Utah soldier stray to\nthe domicile of the Isabella family they are mingled with happy\nreminiscences and strange memories and tragic sights.\n\n\nOne hundred and four weary and footsore recruits arrived in the Cuartel\non the 28th of August and deposited their blankets and all other\nportable property on the greensward. They had been waiting out in the\nbay four days and had finally reached the Cuartel after having made a\ncomplete circuit of the city. Sergeant Arthur W. Brown piloted the new\nbatch of volunteers to their home, and ever since the redoubtable\nSergeant has borne a reputation, as a file leader, which would make a\nMexican burro grow green-eyed with envy.\n\nHere it might be stated that after watching the fleet of transports,\nwhich conveyed the Utah batteries, sail out of the rugged Golden Gate\ninto the broad Pacific, Lieutenant E.A. Wedgewood and Sergeants Arthur\nW. Brown and L.N. Fehr turned toward Utah bent on the mission of\nsecuring 104 recruits, which would give each battery its full quota of\n173. Volunteers were numerous but the work of enlisting covered a period\nof nine days. Recruits were obtained from all points in the State but\nthe majority came from Salt Lake City. On the 28th of June the full\nnumber had been enrolled and the following day the small body of men\nleft for San Francisco, after being accorded a warm demonstration at the\ndepot. At Oakland they remained all night of the 30th and the following\nmorning they marched to Camp Merritt, from which place they were removed\nto the Presidio two days later.\n\nLate in June Lieutenant Wedgewood was taken ill with typhoid fever but\nremained with the men until July 6th, when he was taken to the Lane\nhospital and Lieutenant Diss of the California Heavy Artillery was\nplaced temporarily in charge of the recruits. Orders were for the Utah\ncontingent to sail on the transport \"Rio de Janeiro,\" and as the South\nDakota Infantry was the only organization on the vessel Lieutenant\nFoster of that regiment was given command of the men.\n\nThe voyage was uneventful save that the soldiers were ill-treated by\nLieutenant Foster, who succeeded in gaining for himself the eternal\nhatred of the men under his charge. As the recruits were then\nunacquainted with military practices, many expressions of disgust being\nmade in an unguarded way, reached the ears of the worthy Lieutenant, who\nheaped still greater indignities upon the men by way of retaliation.\n\nAt Honolulu W.A. Kinney, the large plantation owner, entertained the\nUtahns during their brief stay in that city.\n\nThe \"Rio de Janeiro\" arrived in Manila Bay on the 24th of August, but it\nwas four days later before the recruits set foot on the soil of Luzon\nand made their phenomenal march up the streets of Manila to Plaza de\nFelipe II, where they greeted their comrades.\n\nLieutenant Wedgewood, having recovered from his fever, arrived October\n4th on the \"Scandia,\" which left San Francisco on August 27th.\n\nDuring the long dreary days following the arrival of the recruits their\nlife was not entirely joyous. From sunrise to sunset they were forced to\nlisten to the blood-curdling tales which their companions told of the\nlate conflict with the \"Dons.\" At first they hearkened to them with\nrespectful attention. They never doubted the truth of these glowing\nfairy stories. They revered these self-lauding heroes as a species of\nimmortal beings. In return for this tributary deference they were\ntreated with contempt. The veteran called them \"rookies,\" and whenever\none of them attempted to soar he was promptly and sternly reminded of\nhis inferiority and kindly invited to get off the pedestal upon which he\nhad so unwittingly placed himself while one of his superiors proceeded\nto relate a harrowing tale of blood and thunder and rain down in the\ntrenches. Every bit of rainy weather or glorious sunset reminded the\nMalate hero of something he had seen in the trenches and at once he\nbegan to dilate upon it with great attention to details and a lofty air\nof his own importance.\n\nSo it went on. The recruits vainly sought for relief. He tried to stem\nthe tide of persecution by relating stories of his own. But as soon as\nhe made such an attempt he was immediately \"bawled out\" and his\ntormentors proceeded with a fresh tirade. Finally one of the groaning\nvictims hit upon a happy plan, and after it was carried out it\neffectually stopped the torture. When in the future the mendacious\nveteran essayed to array himself in a cloud of glory by narrating\nlegends of personal prowess, he was unceremoniously suppressed by the\nrookies, who sang:\n\n   It may be so; I do not know,\n   But it sounds to me like a lie.\n\nInstantly upon the starting of this little hymn it was taken up by every\nsoldier in the barracks and the unlucky veteran, crestfallen and beaten,\nwas only too glad to retire into seclusion.\n\n\nDuring those five months in which the soldier was learning the\npeculiarities of Oriental life and sweltering under the rays of the\nSouthern sun, he adopted any means of causing the speedy destruction of\ntime. After the singularities of his new surroundings had ceased to be\nuncommon he began to look about himself in search of other amusement.\nNaturally a person who adapts himself easily to his environments, he\ntook up with the games of the Filipinos, and, as a consequence, soon\nafter the appearance of the American as a prominent figure on the\nstreets of Manila, it was no unusual occurrence to behold the huge,\ngood-natured Yankee engaged in friendly sport with the diminutive and\nfiery Tagalan.\n\nAs cock-fighting is the national game of the native the soldier seized\nupon this diversion with an enthusiasm that was truly remarkable. The\nslender and wiry game cock was in great demand. The feathered pugilist\nbecame the hero of the hour. The price of \"pollos\" jumped above par two\nor three times over. On the shady side of every street could be seen\nlittle knots of men eagerly awaiting the outcome of a battle in which\nthese kings among all the fowl tribe were engaged. And the victory was\nnot decided without great loss, for frequently the champion proclaimed\nhimself conqueror by mounting the gory body of his late enemy and\ncrowing with great vigor. Men bet on their favorites with as much fervor\nas an ardent proselyte of Mohammed utters praises to his Maker from the\nhousetop at sunrise.\n\nBut even this pastime was too tame for the restless nature which\nconstantly pined for the more exciting fun of America. So the chicken\nstock suddenly declined in value, and that of the swine took a\ncorresponding rise, when there was talk of organizing a football\nassociation. This plan, however, lost its popularity after several\npractices on the \"Gridiron\"--the climate of Luzon had its drawbacks when\nit came to punting the pigskin. The requirements for a good football\ngame are a temperature of 6 degrees below zero, and a field covered with\na four-inch layer of snow and a corresponding thickness of soft mud\nunderneath. As the Philippines are sadly deficient in the first two\narticles, it was decided to drop \"Rugby\" in favor of baseball.\n\nThroughout the Eighth Army Corps this proposition was received with\ngreat warmth. Every organization had its team. Some influential men of\nManila offered inducements to the winning nine; the American Commercial\nCompany agreed to present a silver cup to the team which could score the\nmost points. Arrangements were made for matches, and rival teams soon\nmet on the diamond at the Lunetta. Utah was not to be outdone even in\nbaseball; any man who had ever played ball or looked at a diamond was\ninvited to join the team, and after this liberal request, it took no\ngreat time for the battalion to put a pretty good organization into the\nfield. Soon the husky farmers from Utah were pitted against the powerful\n\"pumpkin rollers\" from Nebraska, and the sturdy Pennsylvanians fought\nfor honors with the Wyoming cowboys.\n\nThose were pleasant hours when the sons of America met under the tropic\nsky on a foreign soil and exchanged friendly greeting in their national\ngame. Not a follower of the \"Stars and Stripes\" was there but felt\nhappier and prouder after such a day. Home seemed nearer by half than it\never had before. And the natives, too, came in for a share of the\nrejoicing; they liked to see the \"Grande Americano\" perform his antics\nwith the ball; they, too, gathered in knots and talked and gesticulated\nand laughed and cheered. The irrepressible small boy was everywhere\npresent, with his sarsaparilla, his peanuts and his slabs of cocoanut\ncandy. There were those who made his trade profitable and those who\npreferred something of a more fiery nature. That also could be obtained\nfor the asking.\n\nSo the games went on by the side of the great swelling sea, and the roll\nof the surf mingled with the merry tones of the players. Battles were\nfought and fields were won on the diamond and Utah carried the trophy\naway to America.\n\n\nWhile there were some things which excited the curiosity, others which\naroused the attention, and still others which seemed to rivet men's\nminds for a short time on certain subjects, yet they all paled into\ninsignificance before the magic of that one word \"Mail!\"\n\nOn a quiet sultry day, when all nature except the sun seemed to be\ntaking a rest and when nothing but the bugle call for dinner could prove\nthat a spark of life remained in the barracks, the announcement that\nmail had arrived would transform that peaceful quiet building into an\nEastern bazar, with all of its accessions. At the mention of that word\nthe stolid sentry, pacing his beat with languid steps, instantly\nquickened into life; the motionless somnolent forms lying on the canvas\ncots sprang from their recumbent positions, strangely wide awake; the\ngroups of men engaged in a social game of cards, instantly scattered\nfor that new field of interest. The First Sergeant's office became a\nscene of the greatest activity. An eager, excited crowd gathered around;\ncheeks and noses were pressed against the iron grating, while the ear\nlistened intently for familiar names. Happy was he who received a goodly\nsupply.\n\n[Illustration: \"OLD GUARD FATIGUE\" AT THE CUARTEL.]\n\nThere were those who turned away crestfallen and disappointed, there\nwere others who remained behind and hungrily eyed their more fortunate\ncomrades, as they knew they had no loved ones to write to them. When the\nmail had been distributed the barracks again relapsed into silence, but\nit was a wide awake silence, not a sultry, oppressive one. Then was\nreading of letters which told of love and friendship and hope; then were\nfamiliar scenes brought before the imagination to renew acquaintances\nwhich had begun to grow dim; then were sighs heard for dear home and\nmother. Newspapers and magazines were not unpopular. The letters read,\nthen the papers were devoured. Long articles, short articles,\nadvertisements and pictures were consumed with equal eagerness, and when\nevery visible portion had been absorbed they were held up to the light\nto see if they contained anything on the inside. Such was mail day in\nManila, and the story proceeds.\n\nIn the early days of barrack life, men talked of returning home to\ncelebrate Thanksgiving, but after October had begun to decline it became\nevident that these fond hopes were not to be realized.\n\nThen the inventive Yankee proceeded to devise means to give thanks in\nthe good old fashioned way in spite of climate and strange country. The\nLuzon turkey in all respects does not compare favorably with his\nAmerican cousin, yet he is \"turkey,\" and that goes a great way when it\ncomes to celebrating Thanksgiving.\n\nIt was upon this peculiar species of the feathered race that the\nbatterymen fastened their attentions. Turkeys were secured, and they\nserved as a nucleus about which all preparations centered. Several weeks\nprior to the gala day most elaborate arrangements were made. The\nsoldiers gathered in knots and discussed the coming event. It had a\nparticular interest with them as they anticipated something more\npalatable than the ordinary \"hardtack and slum-gullion.\" Nor were their\nexpectations disappointed, for, when the day came in all its glory, the\ncommissary had proved itself equal to the occasion. All the powers of\nthe culinary art had been brought to bear upon the leathery tendons of\nthis turkey of the East. It had been fried and flayed until the very air\nof the barracks became aromatic with its savor. Even the hungry natives\nscented the perfumed air and gathered at the entrances to inspect the\ndelicacies more closely.\n\nAt length the tables were prepared and the ravenous warriors seated\nthemselves. Then were the victuals attacked with vigor; the enemy\nbrought forth all his fighting force; he assaulted the front with deadly\neffect; simultaneously he attacked the flank and the rear; he cut, he\nhacked, he slashed, he dissected and tore, until there was nothing left\nof his victim but the skeleton, and even this he eyed ravenously. Of\ncourse there were pies and cakes and cranberries and fruits and greens\nand vegetables, and they, too, suffered. Of the squash family there were\nnot a few, the favorite pumpkin was wanting, but then the lack of it had\nbeen long since supplied by the desiccated potato, and the consumer felt\nno secret pangs at its absence. Thus Thanksgiving passed on and\nChristmas came with its bevy of holiday boxes, and its \"Peace on earth\ngood will to men;\" but while the American was still thinking of the\nlight of peace, there came the low rumbling of impending gloom; his ears\nwere startled by the distant thunder of the voice of war; he knew it to\nbe the opening peal of the awakening insurrection and his attention\nturned to the more serious matter of the imminent conflict. A more\npowerful enemy than his late foe menaced him from all sides.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE INSURRECTION.\n\n\nThe report of a rifle rang down the quiet Santa Mesa hill on the night\nof February 4th. As the flash of the gun died away in the gloom a dusky\nwarrior fell in death and the spark of an insurrection kindled into\nflame. Almost instantly the belligerent Tagalans rushed down upon the\nAmerican outposts; the United States forces from Caloocan to Malate\nswung into line, and the sturdy Anglo-Saxon and the fiery Malay were\nmatched in combat.\n\nThe violent clash caused no look of surprise to flutter across the faces\nof the American soldiers; all knew that the outbreak was coming, all had\nwaited with expectant excitement for the impending conflict. To the\nintoxicated native victory against the Spanish seemed too certain to be\nwrested from him by the conquering American; he had long smarted under\nthe goading reflection that \"the wreath of the conquerer\" had been\nsnatched away at the moment when it seemed almost within his grasp. This\nbitter knowledge irritated and maddened him, until he only awaited an\nopportunity to spring at the throat of his imaginary foe and wrench from\nhim what he considered his own. He remembered the long years of\nwretchedness under Spanish tyranny and oppression. He suspected that his\nnew masters would prove even more overbearing than his late persecutors.\nHe had not forgotten the daring rush for liberty which his ancestors had\nmade. Their blood coursed through his veins and he determined that he\nwould not relinquish the struggle without one last bold dash for the\ncoveted goal.\n\nIt was not alone a love for liberty which spurred onward the dark horde\nwhich followed the red banner of Aguinaldo. Since 1896 they had striven\nwith their ancient enemy, with the hope that they might tear from him\nall his wealth. Their leader had with subtle diplomacy urged on his wary\nbraves with the thought that when they battered down the walls of Manila\nall that it contained would be theirs to loot and ravage. They loved\nliberty, but they loved the gold which it would bring still more. So\nthey looked with hungry eyes when they saw the Americano enter the city\nof their dreams and close the gate against the black hosts who sought\nentrance to plunder and steal.\n\nDuring the few months preceding the outbreak the Filipinos had become\nless friendly to their late allies. \"La Independencia,\" the official\norgan of the insurgents, frequently came out with loud denunciations\nagainst the Americans and called the sullen natives to action against\nthe hated usurpers. It was not an uncommon occurrence to see the walls\nof public buildings patched over with \"proclamos,\" signed by Aguinaldo,\nalmost openly declaring war against the Americans and asserting the\nrights of the Tagalans to their independence.\n\nThe fourteen blockhouses which had been the Spanish line of defense had\nbeen allowed to fall into the hands of the Filipinos, who converted them\ninto a strong offensive and defensive work. When by chance an American\nstrayed beyond these fortifications, the attitude of the native sentries\nwas often violent and abusive. Eventually no soldiers were permitted to\ngo outside of the territory bounded by our outposts, and the Malay line\nof muskets tightened around the city like the arm of a colossal dragon.\nRepeatedly there were war alarms, and for several days the men not on\nduty were kept in barracks. At times the Tagalans at the pumping station\nshut off the water supply merely as an insolent challenge and an\nindication of what they were able to do. On certain parts of the line\nthe Filipinos were seen building new intrenchments and reinforcing the\nold ones.\n\nFor several weeks natives had been concentrating around the Santa Mesa,\nand Lieutenant Webb was sent out to the Nebraska camp with the left\nplatoon of Battery A to strengthen the Nebraska position. The Santa Mesa\nroad was looked upon by the multitude of Aguinaldo as the natural\ngateway to Manila. It was at the San Juan Del Monte bridge that they\nhad sought in vain to pound their way into the Spanish lines on many a\ndesperate battle night. One of the Utah guns occupied the very gun pit\nwhich had been used by the Castilians as a defense from which their\ncannon barked back defiance to the onrushing fanatical hordes.\n\nOften there were wrangles between Colonel Stotsenberg and the Tagalan\nofficers regarding the line of outposts which the native forces should\noccupy. Several times the Colonel averted hostilities by a judicious\nyielding to minor points. Ultimately at the San Juan bridge a stalwart\nAmerican sentry and a diminutive Tagalan paced in parallel lines. The\nFilipinos seemed anxious to aggravate the Americans into an act of\nhostility, and rigorous orders were issued to prevent such an\noccurrence. Night after night the native warriors clustered about one\nend of the bridge and uttered curses at the silent Nebraskan outpost.\nBefore the outbreak actually took place several times our sentries were\nforced back by a howling mob of drunken Malays.\n\nOne native officer was particularly violent. Not a night passed but that\nhe gathered a crowd of inebriated Tagalans and tramped down to the\nbridge for the purpose of scoffing and hurling vile epithets at the\ntaciturn American posted there. They were encouraged by the lenient and\napparently submissive attitude of the Americans whom they had begun to\nlook upon as arrant cowards, who could be wheedled and whipped about as\nthey chose.\n\nOn the night when the signal shot sang out in the darkness and the\nbattle came, the same haughty officer was coming down towards the\nAmerican line to repeat his abusive conduct, when the sharp voice of the\nsentry rang out as a warning to halt. He persistently advanced and at\nthe same time launched some vehement Tagalan curses at the outpost. The\nnext instant he lay dead with a bullet through his heart; the report\nstartled the still night air and an insurrection was born.\n\nAll that night the thunders of the united American forces in action were\nwafted to the Cuartel. The natives were so close that some of the\nbullets pattered against the walls of the building and some even struck\nthe Hotel De Oriente, nearer town. When the commissary wagons probed\ntheir way out to the belligerent front they were fired upon from the\nhouses lining the streets. Every nipa hut in which a private family\nlived became an arsenal.\n\nThe trouble had been anticipated and every officer knew what portion he\nwas expected to defend. Ten minutes after the news arrived in the\nCuartel, the heavy guns of Utah rumbled over the streets to different\nparts of the field.\n\nThose under Major Grant rushed out into the night and were instantly\nunder a vigorous fire near the woods of Caloocan. Captain Wedgewood\ndisappeared in the blackness and took up the appointed position on the\nBalic Balic road near Sampaloe cemetery. The guns under Lieutenant\nSeaman dashed out of the barracks and a few moments later their deep\nbass was added to the Satanic roar. On McLeod's hill surrounded by the\nNebraskans two guns under Lieutenant Webb menaced the plain below.\n\nAt Santa Mesa the fight began. Three minutes after the opening flash the\nNebraskan camp was deserted. As the outposts slowly returned the\nregiment swept onward to the fray, and soon the angry rattle of the\n\"Long Toms\" answered back the viperous \"ping\" of the Mauser.\n\nThe sound of the first shot had hardly ceased echoing upon the hill when\nthe Tagalans, jubilant, confident, flew for the bridge; their onrush was\nmet with a volley from the Nebraskans. Then from Caloocan and Sampaloe\nthe din of multitudinous musketry fired in unison, waved over the hill;\nthen the awful thunder of the guns of the fleet pulverized the enemy's\nbulwarks at Malate swelled over the plain. Occasionally a lull came in\nthe fight and then as if gathering strength by inaction the tumult broke\nforth with increased fury. In the darkness it was impossible for the\nUtah guns to accomplish anything, as the location of the infantry could\nnot be exactly distinguished. So all night the men tugged and toiled to\nget the pieces in position, that they might take part in the encounter\nat dawn. The fifth section gun held a commanding position on the right\nand the sixth section was stationed directly in front of McLeod's house,\nfrom which point it could sweep the enemy's line from Blockhouse No. 7\non the north to the Catholic convent on the south.\n\nJust as the first streaks of dawn dappled the east, the two big guns\nbelched over the plain and the fight began. During the night the\nrelative positions of the opposing forces had not been changed. The\nmaddened Filipinos made a renewed attempt to cross the bridge and\npenetrate the Nebraska line, that they might gain their coveted\ngoal--the city of their dreams. The aim of the two guns was concentrated\nupon this point. Twice the Tagalans with frenzied courage charged up the\nbridge, only to be torn to pieces by the shrieking shells and the deadly\nbullets. With desperate energy they hauled an artillery piece into\nposition on the bridge, but this was demolished by a single shell from\none of our guns.\n\nThe position of the artillery became perilous; the insurgents centered a\ngalling fire upon the big guns, with the hope of ridding themselves of\nthis new terror. The leaden missiles rained from three points,\nBlockhouse No. 7, the bridge and the convent. Every time one of the\ncannon roared over the hill, she raised a vicious hail of bullets from\nthe enemy. Three minutes after the conflict began Corporal John G. Young\nreceived a fatal wound in the lungs. Almost immediately after Private\nWilhelm I. Goodman fell dead with a bullet through his brain.\n\nInstantly men rushed in to fill their places, but the position of the\ngun had become so dangerous that Lieutenant Webb ordered it removed to a\nmore sheltered point, at the north of the house. In the face of a heavy\nfire the men lifted the piece out of the pit and rolled it to the\nstation designated. This ended the casualty list of the artillery for\nthat day. Both guns now shelled the enemy at Blockhouse No. 7 and the\nSan Juan Del Monte Church, until the two guns under Lieutenant Gibbs\ncame up. The skilled aim of the two gunners and the superb courage of\nLieutenant Webb and Sergeants Fisher and Robinson were greatly\ncommended.\n\nShortly before 11 o'clock two Nordenfelt guns under Lieutenant Gibbs\narrived at the hill and under the orders of Colonel Smith of the\nTennesseeans advanced up the Santa Mesa road. The Tagalans were still in\nstrong force in the woods to the right of the road, and, as the two guns\nmoved forward, they received a pelting fire from this locality.\n\nThe guns dashed up the road and swung into action on the bridge. The\nforces then began an advance up the road, running twenty and thirty\nyards at a time, supported by the infantry from Tennessee. After a half\nhour of sharp fighting the Tagalans fled before the cannister and\nshrapnel of the big guns and the bullets of the Tennesseeans, and thus\nthe hills as far as the Deposito were won. Meanwhile, a battalion of\nTennesseeans had deployed out to the left and taken the Deposito, and\nthe two guns were moved to this point.\n\nThe Tennesseans left the Nebraskans in charge of the Deposito and\ndisappeared off to the right. Late that night Lieutenant Webb and the\nfatigued warriors of Santa Mesa joined Lieutenant Gibbs at the Deposito,\nwhere they bivouacked with the prospect on the morrow of an advance upon\nthe pumping station, four miles beyond.\n\nThe movement upon the pumping station was not easily accomplished; there\nwere several sharp skirmishes on the way. Though the power of the\ninsurgents seemed to have been broken on the previous day, there were\nsome in whom the spirit of resistance was not entirely extinguished and\nthey contested the march of the Americans with vigor. When the move was\nmade on the morning of the 6th the artillery was under the personal\ncommand of Major Young. A straggling line of infantry deployed on either\nside of the road and with the artillery in the rear the forward movement\nbegan. Scarcely half a mile from the Deposito the moving column\nencountered a small body of Tagalans, who opened fire. Once more the\nangry guns pealed forth in menacing thunder and the terror-stricken\nnatives retreated for the kind shelter of the bamboo thickets beyond.\nTwo similar skirmishes happened farther up the road. About a mile and a\nhalf from the Deposito the mutilated body of Dr. Harry A. Young was\nfound lying by the side of a ventilator. Some distance back the body of\nhis horse had been discovered. Major Young was the first to locate this\ngory evidence, which mutely told the tragic story of the end of Dr.\nYoung. All the clothing had been rent from the body, a bullet hole was\nin his forehead, and a bolo wound from the elbow of the left arm to the\nwaist told the tragic story of how he died. The supposition is that the\nDoctor was surprised on his way to the Deposito, where he had an\nappointment with Major Young, and took the wrong road, which led him to\na grim death in the Tagalan territory. A few minutes later, while the\nbody was being conveyed to Manila, the Major calmly commanded his men in\na rush with the enemy, in which eighty of them were killed. This\nexhibition of splendid courage was ever after an inspiration to the\nUtahn when he felt like being disheartened.\n\nGradually the uncoiled infantry line pushed back the recalcitrant\nnatives, and late in the morning the heights above the beautiful\nMariquina valley were reached. Here the artillery was placed in\nposition, and, with the Mariquina Church steeple as a target, the town\nwas bombarded. Now and then a shuddering shrapnel was sent shrieking\nafter fugitive bands of Tagalans, who made all haste for the protecting\nshelter of the mountain on the opposite side of the valley.\n\nFrom that place they were content to look with dismay upon the\ndeath-dealing monsters which frowned from the hill above the bulwarks.\n\nWhen the first platoon of Battery A, under Captain Wedgewood, sped out\ninto the gloom on the night of the 4th it took up a position in the\nBalic Balic road near the Cemetario de Sampaloe. All night long the two\nguns were under a straggling fire from the Filipinos, who at this place\nheld Blockhouse No. 5, about 300 yards to our front, and a diminutive\nstone church which was located off to the right of our position. The\nsection two gun was placed inside the Cemetario, but that of section\none remained outside, where it was exposed to the enemy's fire.\n\nAt 3 a.m. from two points the Malays centered a vicious fusilade upon\nthe artillery, which remained inactive owing to the obscurity of the\nTagalan line of defense. No. 1 gun was moved back about 100 yards to a\nmore sheltered station by the cemetery. Just as the first streaks of\ndawn appeared in the east the two guns blazed toward the blockhouse and\nthe small church, in which were a large number of natives.\nSimultaneously the Colorado infantry swung into position and with a\nwithering fire slowly advanced upon the enemy. Several well-directed\nshells sent the Filipinos flying from the blockhouse and a few more\naccurately trained shots annihilated the little church. As the Tagalans\nmoved from their cover they fell many deep before the blasting volleys\nof the invincible Coloradoans.\n\nAs the natives fled from the church, the artillery turned its attention\nto Blockhouse No. 4, 1700 yards distant, and while the South Dakotans\nmade a wonderful charge they demolished this wooden bulwark. Next the\nbig guns were ordered to shatter Blockhouse No. 6, but before they could\nbe brought into play against this point the insurgents had disappeared\ninto the woods with the swift-moving Colorado infantrymen hard on their\ntrack. On the 6th the platoon was moved to a position left of Blockhouse\nNo. 7. On this part of the line it remained until March 23rd, when it\nwas ordered to Caloocan to take part in the fierce engagement at that\npoint when the whole line charged the enemy's works on March 25th.\n\nThe damage inflicted on the natives of Sampaloe was very considerable.\nOver a hundred bodies were buried there and in many a battered form\ncould be seen that ripping course of a shrapnel. General Hale personally\npraised the work of Sergeants Emil Johnson and W.E. Kneass, who were in\nimmediate charge of the two rifles.\n\nThe guns of Battery B took a position on the left of the line to the\nsouth of Caloocan on the night of the war alarm. Second Lieutenant\nSeaman went out on the Caloocan road with one 3.2 gun. Major Grant left\nthe Cuartel with three 3.2-inch guns, and after leaving one at Bilibid\nPrison took the remaining two up the rugged Bulum Bugan road as far as\nLazaro Hospital. Emplacements were made under a spattering fire from the\nenemy at this point, facing the Chinese Hospital and the Binondo\nCemetery, in both of which places the Tagalans were strongly lodged.\nOnly an occasional shot blazed towards the enemy during the night, but\nfrom a commanding position the artillery fire began at dawn with\ndestructive and terrifying results. Besides driving the\nsturdily-intrenched Tagalans back, the Utah attack entirely covered the\nsimultaneous advance of the Tenth Pennsylvania and South Dakota\ninfantry.\n\nThe advance of the slowly-moving regiment was irresistable and the\nnatives fell back from their position after a stubborn fight. All that\nday the Malay resisted the American advance with fanatical frenzy. The\nartillery moved forward at the same moment, but many times was delayed\nby burning huts. After an advance of about 400 yards they again joined\nthe infantry line, but they had arrived at a conspicuous and dangerous\nposition on the road, where for thirty minutes they fought desperately\nin the open under a heavy fire from the Filipino intrenchments. It was\nhere that Major Bell of General McArthur's staff rode up and requested\nMajor Grant to move up beyond the Chinese Hospital, where the Tagalans\nin a fierce engagement were inflicting heavy damage on the infantry.\nAlmost at the same moment Colonel Wallace sent word that a company of\nthe Tenth Pennsylvanians had been cut off to the left, and Lieutenant\nCritchlow was sent with one gun up the Leco road to its assistance. The\nremaining guns tore the woods in front of the advancing infantry and\ncleared the way for the Pennsylvanians and South Dakotans, so that the\nright wing advanced at this point almost without a casualty. Still\ntowards Caloocan the artillery advanced with the musketeers, and beyond\nthe Cemetery Church the big guns shelled the woods to the left of La\nLoma in front of the advancing Third United States Artillery (infantry)\nand Twentieth Kansas. Just when the Tagalans were fleeing, bleak with\nterror, from the artillery shells; when Colonel Funston, like a young\nJove, was pounding his way irresistibly up from the left, and when\neverything looked auspicious for an easy dash into Caloocan, word came\nfrom General MacArthur that the firing should cease. The spires of\nCaloocan were then almost in view, and there is an opinion that had\nGeneral MacArthur not feared that the line would grow too thin by a\nfurther advance Funston would have taken Caloocan that night, with many\nrailway cars and many supplies, and with the saving of many lives which\nwent out on the next advance when the Filipinos had had time to bulwark\nthemselves behind their wonderful intrenchments.\n\nOn the same day the guns were moved to a position close to La Loma\nChurch. Later two Nordenfelt guns arrived, one of Battery A, and were\nstationed first at Blockhouse No. 3 and afterwards east of La Loma\nChurch and in front of the left battalion of the South Dakota infantry.\nThese were commanded by Lieutenant Critchlow.\n\nMeanwhile Lieutenant Seaman withstood a destructive fire on the Caloocan\nroad. Early in the fight he was reinforced at the suggestion of the\ndivision commander by the addition of another gun. Major Young took\npersonal command of the Nordenfelt which arrived there late that night.\nFrequently in the encounter the natives rushed up to within 150 yards of\nour position, from which they went reeling back before the awful thunder\nof the big guns. At times the powder-begrimed Utahns were in advance of\nthe main line, carrying death into the very teeth of the foe. So fierce\nwas the conflict that Major Young had the gun manipulated in short\nreliefs, and this shortened the casualty list of our organization.\nCorporal Wardlaw and Private Peter Anderson sustained wounds while\nserving their pieces in this manner. The natives trained two big guns on\nour position and fired fifteen ineffective shots from them. Next day the\ntwo guns supported the Kansas troops in their advance upon the Filipino\nintrenchments and Blockhouse No. 1. As the swift-moving column charged\nthe enemy's line the two rifles tore great gaps into this wooden\nstructure and plowed furrows into the wonderfully-constructed\nearthworks. When the insurgents had fled before the deadly volleys of\nthe Kansans one gun was stationed at the blockhouse and the other at the\nBinondo Cemetery. Here they remained until February 10th, when they took\npart in the demonstration against Caloocan.\n\nThe next three days Major Grant's three guns did nothing except to fire\noccasionally at some enthusiastic Filipino sharpshooters. On the 11th a\ngeneral advance was made by the Montana and the Kansas infantry and the\nThird United States Artillery. The artillery force consisted of two guns\nunder Lieutenant Seaman on the hill to the left, two guns under\nLieutenant Fleming of the Sixth United States Artillery on the railroad,\nLieutenant Critchlow with two Nordenfelts at Blockhouse No. 2, and Grant\nwith three 3.2-inch B. and L. rifles at La Loma Church. The prearranged\nsignal for the attack was to be a bombardment by the navy accompanied by\na similar action by Major Young's artillery force. The big guns pounded\nshell against the native defenses, and sent shrapnel singing into the\nwoods surrounding the town, and under the somewhat ineffectual, but\nloudly-thundering labors of the fleet the infantry column hurried\nforward, and the Tagalans gradually swayed back. As the enemy retreated\nthe aim of the guns was directed higher and several of these iron\nmessengers went crashing into the town. Some remarkably good work was\nperformed by our gunners on this day. It is said that a small body of\nFilipinos could be seen reinforcing the intrenchments at the gate of the\nCaloocan Cemetery. A Utah gunner saw this, and turned his piece on the\ngate and shortly after a shell shuddered through the air on its\n2600-yard journey. When the smoke cleared away, gate, Filipinos and war\nweapons strewed the ground for many yards.\n\nMajor Bell with a flanking column of Montanas deployed through a ravine\non the right. Suddenly a long, rope-like column of natives whipped out\nof the fringe of the woods and quickly coiled around the company. Major\nYoung saw the predicament in which the Americans were placed, and soon\nthe murderous shells fell in the midst of the column, which broke into\nfragments and disappeared the way it had come. The next day Major Bell\nwas lavish in his praise of the batteries, and several British officers\nwho were watching the progress of the fight complimented the gunners on\ntheir expert and effective gunnery.\n\nDuring the attack on Caloocan Lieutenant Seaman followed with the\ninfantry as far as the flames from the burning houses would permit and\npulled the gun through Caloocan to a position on the Kansas line. On the\n11th guns were moved to a position on a hillside near the residence of\nMr. Higgins near Caloocan at a place where he commanded the causeway\nbetween Caloocan and Malabon. At this point the two guns were joined by\na platoon of the Sixth Artillery and a 3.6 mortar under Corporal Boshard\nof Battery B.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUT. GIBBS' SECTION AT FT. MACARTHUR.]\n\nAt this time Utah soldiers on different parts of the line manned\nthirty-two pieces of artillery, including 3.2-inch B.L. rifles,\nHotchkiss revolving cannon, Hotchkiss mountain guns, Maxim Nordenfelts\ncaptured from the Spanish, Mortars, Colt's rapid-fire (Browning's) gun,\na navy field piece, navy six-pounder and Gatling guns of various\ncalibers.\n\nAfter Caloocan was taken possession of by the troops scarcely any\nfighting was indulged in until March 25th, when an advance was made.\nExcept for occasional incursions into the enemy's territory for the\npurpose of driving back harassing sharpshooters there was a practical\ncessation of hostilities at the waterworks. At this time the line over\nwhich our guns were stationed extended from Malabon to Mariquina. At\nCaloocan a severe engagement occurred on the 23rd of February. A large\nforce of insurgents came rushing down from the hill towards our outposts\nand finally established themselves within 150 yards of the American\nlines. It was during this period that some of them were able to\npenetrate the American position and steal their way into Manila to take\npart in the burning of the Tondo district. This band was under the\nleadership of a bold and gallant chief named Zandico. While Tondo was\ndisappearing in flames and sharp hand-to-hand skirmishes were taking\nplace between these Filipino desperadoes and the American police a\nfurious altercation was going on between the darkly-outlined bulwarks of\nthe two armies. During this attack sixty men of the Kansas and Montana\nregiments alone were killed and wounded.\n\nThe work of the sharpshooters showed the watchful alertness of the\nenemy. Whenever one of these riflemen espied a piece of American anatomy\nthere was a report and a still messenger of death went skimming through\nthe air. Frequently one of the large guns had to be employed to repress\nthe zeal of one of these ubiquitous Malays. While repairing a breach in\nthe gun pit Lieutenant Seaman received a wound in the leg, Corporal\nSouthers was shot in the hip and Private Hill sustained a serious wound\nin the back.\n\nAbout this time existed as remarkable a truce as was ever patched up\nbetween belligerent forces. Some Filipino statesmen came down from\nMalabon to see Aguinaldo, and as they carried a flag of truce firing\nfrom our side ceased. The natives signified their desire to talk and\nColonel Funston and Major Young went half way to meet them. The\nTagalans then made known their proposition, which was that there should\nbe no firing between the two forces at that point for a period of ten\ndays. Colonel Funston assented. This was directly in front of the Kansas\nline. The insurgents rigidly adhered to their promise, and while the\nSpringfields and Mausers were angrily barking in the vicinity of the\nrailroad track no messenger of war sped across the space in front of the\nKansans.\n\n\nThe four guns under Lieutenant Gibbs and Webb lifted to a commanding\nposition on the hill above the waterworks, menaced the valley below.\nFrequently they boomed from the mountains as a warning to the curious\nnatives down on the wide plain of the San Mateo. The encounters which\ntook place between the Americans and the Tagals at this place are\nillustrative of the peculiar mode of warfare carried on by the natives.\nNot a few times our forces made invasions in the enemy's country at\nMariquina under the protection of the guns and drove his army into the\nfoothills on the opposite side of the valley, only to find him back in\nhis old position before nightfall with his camp fires piercing the gloom\nof the valley as darkness settled in.\n\nThese successive defeats seemed to have no power in dampening the ardor\nof the ducky warriors of the plains. They continued to make invasions on\nthe American territory, and frequently waylaid belated American troops.\nUp to March 25th the infantry force was not sufficiently large to hold\nthe country which had been taken. Four times the town of Mariquina was\ncaptured in this style. Finally, by some peculiar decision of fate, a\nbattalion of Coloradoans descended into the valley and after dislodging\nthe enemy set fire to the hideous nipa huts. Thereafter fewer skirmishes\noccurred in this locality. The white and shining church steeple arose\nabove the blackened ruins as a ghostly monument of the work of war.\n\nAbout four days after the occupancy of the waterworks by the American\ntroops Colonel Stotsenberg with a small body of the infantry scoured the\nMariquina plain, but though he met with some heated skirmishes and\ndrove the enemy back, there was no visible results from his excursion.\nThe artillery was first used in an advance on February 17th, when the\ntwo Nordenfelt guns were taken down the Mariquina road by Lieutenant\nGibbs. None of the Utah men were hurt on this occasion, although the\nnatives fought stubbornly at short range and several men and officers of\nthe Nebraska regiment were wounded. Meanwhile General Montenegro, known\nas one of the fiercest Filipino chiefs, had congregated his forces in\nthe woods southwest of the pumping station towards Pasig Lake and\nCainta. A plan was formed for surrounding the insurgents and the\nNebraska and Washington infantry and the two Maxim Nordenfelts took part\nin the engagement. The artillery worked with the Nebraskans and shelled\nthe woods. Then there was a simultaneous advance from two sides by the\nregiments. The Washingtons did their work well and the shells from the\nguns were effective, but for once the Nebraskans failed in their usual\ndash and came up too late to cut off the retreat of the enemy and\nprevent his escape.\n\n[Illustration: GUN AT PUMPING STATION FIRING ON MARIQUINA.]\n\nAgain on the 24th the two Nordenfelts under Lieutenant Webb moved down\nthe Mariquina road, and did excellent work in aiding the Nebraskans to\ndrive the natives back towards San Mateo. The B. and L. rifles from the\nhill fired into bodies of natives to the left of Mariquina Church on\nthis occasion, and the death roster of the insurgents for that day was\nvery great. A revolving Hotchkiss under Corporal Hesburg, located close\nto the Deposito, also inflicted severe damage on the natives. Still the\nenemy at this point was alert and aggressive. The next day Major Mulford\nwent scouting with a small force to the right of Mariquina. Soon after\nhe reached the valley he was completely surrounded by the insurgents.\nThen the big guns on the hill sent bursting shells fast into the\nFilipino ranks and soon they retired stubbornly into the woods. Several\nof Major Mulford's men were killed or wounded, and he stated afterwards\nthat the Utah guns had saved himself and party. This skirmish proved\nthat the natives were gathering there in a larger and more formidable\nforce, and this circumstances led to the burning of Mariquina. All night\nthe flames from the bamboo huts and old Spanish mansions illumined the\nvalley, and when the troops descended the next morning they found that\nall the south and the greater part of the north end of the city were\nentirely destroyed.\n\nThere was comparative quietude after that until March 6th, when the\nnatives began to resume the annoying fire on the infantry, and an\nartillery demonstration became imperative. As the insurgent attack came\nabout daylight, the guns under Lieutenant Gibbs bombarded the valley\nfrom the hill, driving the enemy northward. Another large force of the\nTagalans swept down upon the Nebraskan outposts on the left and a deadly\naffray commenced. Reinforcements were rushed to the aid of the stricken\nsentries, who were gradually forced back by the superior numbers of the\nassaulting party. Sergeant Ford Fisher with the fifth section gun dashed\nout of the camp to the front. For three-quarters of a mile the\ndiminutive Filipinos horses with which the guns had lately been equipped\nsped down the ridges under a galling fire. On the brow of the hill the\ngun whirled into action long enough to drive the enemy back a few\nhundred yards. Again the piece limbered up and rattled over the hard\nlava road for a new position. The Tagalans soon centered a murderous\nfire from three points upon the big gun as a desperate measure to\nannihilate this new terror. A horse ridden by Private Engler was shot\ndown, but was able to recover himself sufficiently to gain the shelter\nof a small gulch a few yards farther on. From its shelter the big gun\npounded over the road to another gulch which had been deserted just a\nfew minutes previously by a company of Nebraskans. The heavy limber\nchest was left at the foot of the hill and on their hands and knees the\nmen pushed the piece forward until the bore of the gun gleamed down the\nslope. A heavy volley answered from the plain below. Ford Fisher said\nafterwards that he saw a Filipino sharpshooter behind a rock fire six\ntimes point blank at the gunner as he was sighting the piece. Suddenly\nthe roar of a cannon tore down the hill. The Tagalans answered it with a\nfiendish yell and came steadily onward. The men on the gun worked like\nTrojans, but they could not force the Malays back. Just as it seemed as\nif the gun would have to retire the tall white figure of Colonel\nStotsenberg could be seen with galloping steed coming up the hill.\nInstantly the wavering infantry line tightened. The Colonel's pistol\nflashed in the sunlight, and the whole column swung up the eminence to\nvictory. The voice of the big gun bellowed back its notes of defiance\nand the haughty foe fled in terror.\n\nDuring the encounter Corporal McDonald with a revolving Hotchkiss cannon\nperformed some excellent service on the right in aiding the Oregon\ninfantry. Most of the fighting had been done at from 100 to 150 yards\nrange. The casualty list of the Nebraskans was heavy, and an immense\nnumber of Filipinos was killed. The infantry followed the retreating\nnatives for three miles.\n\nOn the 7th, in conjunction with the river fleet, the guns aided the\nNebraska, Wyoming and Washington infantry in forcing the enemy through\nthe woods towards Guadaloupe and Pasig Lake. The guns under Captain\nWedgewood shelled the insurgents to the south of San Juan del Monte and\naided the infantry very materially in its advance. The gunboats\nhammered the natives on the left bank of the river and sent them\nscurrying into the woods beyond Guadaloupe.\n\nIt was decided to take the town of Mariquina on the 16th of March, and\nMajor Young with the left platoon of Battery A shelled the woods to the\nnorth and west of the town so effectively that when the infantry forces\nentered the place they found it deserted.\n\nThis ended the fighting in that vicinity until the general advance of\nMarch 25th.\n\n[Illustration: UTAH GUNS ON MANILA & DAGUPAN RAILWAY EN ROUTE FOR THE\nFRONT.]\n\nOn March 25th began that remarkable advance which never ended until the\nnative forces were driven beyond Calumpit and San Fernando into the\nhills north of San Isidro and Tarlac. The American forces had long been\ninactive gathering strength for the difficulties before them, and now\nthat this strength had been mustered they were eager for the fray. The\nplan was for the commands of Generals H.G. Otis and Hale to swing around\nto the right and cut off the retreat of the enemy from that quarter,\nwhile General Wheaton's brigade was to strike the foe in front and not\nmove forward until the other forces had had sufficient time to\nstraighten out the line. A large body of the insurgents had assembled\nat Malabon. The entire preparation had been made for the capture of this\nforce.\n\nOtis's brigade on the left consisted in the order given of the Kansas,\nthe Third Artillery (infantry), and the Montana regiment; in the center\nwas the divisional artillery under Major Young and then troops of the\nFourth United States Cavalry, and on the right was Hale's command,\ncontaining the Tenth Pennsylvania, South Dakota and Nebraska regiments.\nThe Nebraskans were on the extreme right, while the Kansans formed the\npivotal regiment.\n\nThe artillery designated to take part in the forward movement were two\nB. and L. rifles, under command of Lieutenant Critchlow; two B.L. rifles\nof the Sixth United States Artillery, under Lieutenant Fleming, and an\nautomatic gun under command of Ensign Davis of the navy. On the evening\nof the 24th Lieutenant Fleming's guns were removed from the old\nintrenchment in front of Fort MacArthur, and were replaced by two B. and\nL. rifles under Lieutenant Gibbs of Battery A, who had formerly been\nstationed in front of the Colorado line at Sampaloe. Major Grant at this\nperiod was no longer in immediate command of Battery B, as he had been\ndetailed as commander of the river gunboats on February 17th. During the\nperiod of waiting the Government mules had arrived and the rifles under\nLieutenants Critchlow and Fleming were now equipped for the journey into\nthe jungle.\n\nFew artillery exploits can compare in dash and daring with that\nperformed by Lieutenant Naylor out on the right of the line early in the\nmorning of the 25th. Many brave and reckless deeds with guns at close\nrange were done by artillery forces on other occasions in the Filipino\ncampaign, but it is hardly probable that any field pieces have been\nrushed so far beyond infantry support as they were on this day before\nthe enemy at San Francisco del Monte.\n\nLieutenant Naylor's position lay in a sunken road at a point where the\nlines of the Tenth Pennsylvania and South Dakota regiments joined. For a\ndistance of about 800 yards the road, which had been constructed by the\nSpanish, extended toward the Tagalan earthworks. At the point the road\nabruptly ends, and there is a plat of hard ground. Fifty yards farther\non a rude barricade had been erected as a shelter for the native\noutposts, and a hundred yards in advance of this the enemy's strong line\nof earthworks widened out across the top of a gently rising eminence.\nThis position had been accurately located several days previously by a\nreconnoitering party.\n\nEarly in the morning the guns moved to the end of the sunken road and\nbegan the perilous journey up this narrow defile. With Lieutenant Naylor\nwere Captain Crainbuhl and Lieutenant Perry of General Hale's staff and\na detachment of eight men of the Tenth Pennsylvania Regiment under\ncharge of a sergeant. Every one knew the danger that accompanied an\nexpedition of this character, and there was silence as perfect as that\nof a tomb, save when one of the wheels of the heavy guns rumbled in a\nrut. A few hundred yards from the camp they crossed a small stream and,\nas the road broadened at this place, there was ample room to unlimber\nthe pieces. This was done so that there would be no delay when the time\nfor action should come. The pieces were placed in front and the two\nlimbers followed. At the end of the road the squad of infantry deployed\nas skirmishers to drive back the Filipino sentries. Then the guns were\nrushed up on the flat; two shells shrieked through the air towards the\ninsurgent intrenchments, which loomed up darkly on the hill, and the\nbombardment began. At the first bark of the big guns the native outposts\nfled precipitately for the protection of the heavier works on the summit\nof the knoll. The roaring monsters now hurled a perfect stream of iron\ninto the place, and after responding feebly for a few minutes the foe\nretired in haste across the San Juan river towards San Francisco del\nMonte. The artillery advanced to the stream and sent shells flying after\nthem until it became too hazardous to continue the bombardment, owing to\nthe approach of our troops. Down the causeway over which the Tagalans\nfled in their mad desire to escape whole squads of Filipinos lay. As the\nguns had made the advance almost entirely unaided by the infantry it\nwas purely an artillery charge, and to the artillery belonged the\nvictory. General Hale rode up a few minutes later and personally\ncomplimented Lieutenant Naylor upon the ability with which he had\nhandled his men in this successful maneuver.\n\nAs the guns were unprovided with mules they were unable to proceed and\nretired to their former position.\n\nThe engagement opened up by Lieutenant Naylor's men on the right found\nan echoing response from the guns of Lieutenants Critchlow and Fleming.\nAs they were to continue the advance their general course lay along the\nrailroad track, which stretches entirely across Luzon Island from Manila\nto Dagupan. Just after dawn on the 25th the infantry moved forward about\n700 yards ahead of the artillery, which followed the Novaliches road. A\nstrong force of the enemy was encountered heavily intrenched in a\nposition commanding the Novaliches and Malinta roads. The infantry swung\ninto line and attempted to force back the Tagalans, who stubbornly\nresisted the attack of our column. Two large guns were soon brought into\nplay and the natives gradually retired. An examination later showed that\nthe defenses of the insurgents were remarkably constructed; in some\ncases the main breastworks were twenty feet thick. The first day's\nfighting had taught them a lesson by which they had profited.\n\nGeneral MacArthur gave orders for the artillery to remain with him\nduring the advance, as it was impossible to move over the ridges. A\ntroop of the Fourth Cavalry, under Major Rucker, also remained with the\nGeneral. In the afternoon the artillery had turned down a small valley\ntoward the bed of the Pulilan river. The infantry had entirely\ndisappeared from the division commander's view, owing to a mountain\nwhich lay between our forces and the artillery position. The general\nwhereabouts of our troops could be ascertained by the battle-sound, but\noccasionally this died away as the moving column advanced. The General\nsent forward one of his aids with a view of re-establishing our lines;\nbut he was fired upon and compelled to retire. The troops of cavalry\nthen dismounted and deploying as skirmishers soon dislodged the enemy.\nSoon heavy firing was heard and an orderly rushed back asking for\nreinforcements. The General sent word back that he had no reinforcements\nto give. Just then Major Bell rode up and said he wished one of the Utah\nguns and the General authorized Major Young to take one of the big\nrifles and a Browning gun under Ensign Davis.\n\nMajors Bell and Young went forward to locate a position for the pieces.\nThey discovered that where the road crosses the river the banks of the\nPulilan rise to an almost perpendicular height of nearly fifteen feet. A\nroad a little distance above, so small that it could only be utilized\nfor carometas, crosses the river a short distance beyond the dismantled\nbridge. On the right abutment of the bridge the Filipinos had\nconstructed a very formidable breastwork of earth and stone, and the\nheavy steel beam of the bridge was arranged above this so as to leave a\nlong slot for the rifles the whole length of the work. This menaced the\nsurrounding approaches. A short distance below this was a boiler and\nengine-house and on the other side of the river and lower down was a\nremarkable field work. It extended along the river a distance of two\nhundred feet, and was constructed with the same wonderful skill as the\nsmaller one at the bridge abutment. It had the same long slot flaring\noutward about eighteen inches and the upper part of the work was\nsubstantially held by bamboo flooring.\n\nThe two Majors left the artillery piece and went forward to discover a\ngood site for the big gun. Major Young selected a place just under the\nbrow of the hill. The enemy was only 100 yards beyond, but our exact\nlocation was screened from his view by a thick undergrowth of bamboo. A\nheavy stone wall was used as a shelter for the men. Meanwhile the\ncavalry stood a terrific fire. Out of less than forty men who took part\nin the encounter nine were killed and wounded, a casualty list of almost\none-fourth of their number. The guns rushed into action. Major Young\ndirected that the Colt's automatic be turned on the slots to protect the\nbig gun. At the first boom of the rifle all the attention of the\ninsurgents was turned upon the crews working the piece, but the bamboo\nscreen kept them from taking accurate aim. Of the three shells fired by\nCorporal Don Johnson, two struck immediately in the slot holes and burst\nin the interior, doing considerable damage to the bamboo shed and above\nall terrifying the dusky warriors, who turned and fled. The spitting\nColts and breaking shrapnel followed them with deadly effect. The\nartillery then lumbered up and dashed to a position on the hill, from\nwhich the boiler-house could be bombarded with annihilating effect. The\ncavalry had stood a heavy fire during all this time at a range of\nseventy-five yards, and when the beam had been examined after the enemy\nhad been driven out it showed the marks of eighty-nine cavalry bullets.\n\nThat night the weary troops rested on the banks of the river. The next\nmorning, March 26th, an early advance was made upon the insurgents'\nposition at Malinta and Polo. It was here the moving column met the\nadvancing lines of General Wheaton, and then it was learned that he had\nmarched forward simultaneously with Hale's flying command, and that the\nwily native had had ample time to flee out of Malabon and his old\nposition at Caloocan. So the projected coup had failed. Lieutenant Gibbs\nwith the right platoon of Battery A and one gun of Battery B and a\nmortar bombarded Malabon and the surrounding country. When the shelling\nceased the Oregon regiment charged over the open and assaulted the\nenemy's works, which were taken after a stubborn fight. The routed\nTagalans fled along the railroad track towards Malinta.\n\nOne gun under Lieutenant Seaman accompanied Wheaton on this march as far\nas the foot of the hill leading to Malinta, and was unloaded from the\ncar under a shower of Mauser bullets. Private Parker J. Hall of Battery\nB was wounded at this point while standing on the track. A few shells\nwere fired into distant intrenched position on the hill, but when\nWheaton resumed his advance early in the morning the B. and L. rifle was\nreturned to its position at Fort MacArthur. It was during the advance up\nthe hill a few moments later that the gallant, white-haired General\nEgbert, veteran of many battles, was fatally shot through the stomach.\n\nIn the meantime the artillery with General MacArthur's division\ncontinued the march up the road close by the railway line. While the\nartillery was sending shell fast into the Filipino position at Malinta\nand Meycayauan, and occupying their attention, General Hale executed a\nrather brilliant flank movement and forced the enemy to retreat with\nconsiderable loss. When the march was resumed on the 27th, the artillery\nwas moved up to a position just behind the first battalion of the Kansas\nregiment, while all the rest of Otis's brigade remained in the rear.\n\n[Illustration: FIRST PLATOON. BATTERY A, READY TO MOVE TO MALOLOS.]\n\nWhen General MacArthur's division moved forward on March 25th, General\nHall, with the Colorado and Minnesota regiments, moved down the\nMariquina valley towards the San Francisco del Monte, where the bullets\nof the South Dakotas and Lieutenant Naylor's shells were battering\nagainst the walls. General Hall's advance was so warmly contested that\nit became necessary for the guns on the hill to bombard the city and\nsurrounding woods to the north and west. The infantry was then able to\npress forward and drive the natives back from the valley toward San\nMateo.\n\nOn the 31st of March General Hall essayed a more extended advance, and\non this occasion his forces consisted of the Fourth and Twenty-third\nregular infantry, the Minnesota and Colorado regiments and two Utah B.\nand L. rifles, commanded by Captain Wedgewood. The movement began at\ndawn. The regulars came from the South and the Minnesotas and\nColoradoans around the north of Mariquina. The town was entered before\nthe enemy had begun to fire. The attack was sudden and effective, and as\nthe natives began to retreat a gun under Sergeant Nystrom and another\nclose by the Mariquina Church commanded by Captain Wedgewood played\nvigorously on their ranks. The infantry followed the natives six miles,\nand from the hills overlooking the city San Mateo was bombarded by the\ntwo guns.\n\nThe natives were again in retreat when a telegram arrived from Otis,\nwhich showed that he feared the natives might be preparing to make\nanother entrance into Manila. It read: \"Wheaton has engaged enemy at\nMalolos and taken that place. A very small force of the enemy was there.\nWithdraw all your forces which are moving towards San Mateo and bring\nthem back to La Loma Church.\" It was a wearisome march to La Loma after\nthe fatigue of the day's campaign, and when the men arrived there with\nthe guns they were forced to sleep among the graves of the churchyard\nwithout blankets and in a pelting rain. The next day the guns were\nordered back to their old position above Mariquina, where they remained\nuntil relieved by the Sixth United States Infantry, when they joined the\nrest of the command at San Fernando.\n\nOn April 27th our forces met the Filipinos on the banks of the Marilao\nriver, on which occasion the noses of the big guns were pushed to within\nfifty yards of the native earthworks. The guns employed were two under\nLieutenant Critchlow, a platoon of Dyer's light battery and Colt's\nautomatic under Ensign Davis. The Kansans under Major Metcalf had\ndeployed on the left and approached the river, but they were forced back\nby the heavy fire of the insurgents, who had cut away the intervening\ntrees to give a clear sweep for their rifles. The whole north side of\nthe river had been cleverly and completely intrenched so that it formed\nan almost impregnable fortification when attacked from the front. The\ncauseway up which the artillery had to advance was commanded by the\ninsurgent infantry. Across the river where the infantry first engaged\nthe enemy, the natives were about 800 yards distant. Major Young went\nforward with Ensign Davis to locate a good position for the guns. While\nthere General Funston came up and stated he had seen quite a number of\ncascos further down the river, and that if Major Young would protect his\nmen with an artillery fire he would be able to cross the river and flank\nthe enemy. This was agreed to, and a company of Kansans accompanied the\nguns as a support. Lieutenant Critchlow's guns were quickly turned upon\nthe earthworks. As the big rifles roared across the stream the small\narms and the Colt's automatic centered a withering fire on the\nintrenchments to keep the enemy's fire inaccurate. This vigorous\ndemonstration terrified the Tagalans and soon several white flags\nappeared fluttering above the trenches. The firing ceased and the\nFilipinos were ordered to stand up. Some few of them reluctantly showed\nthemselves, but the greater number ran through the get-away ditch and\nvanished in the dark fringe of the bamboo forest. Lieutenant Coulter of\nthe Tenth Pennsylvania regiment with an enlisted man stripped and swam\nthe river and walked directly into the enemy's trenches. The two naked\nmen took as many rifles as they could hold from the defeated Malays. By\nthis time Colonel Funston, who had crossed the river, came up and took\nsome thirty natives prisoners.\n\nAs the bridge crossing a branch of the Marilao river at this point had\nbeen destroyed by the insurgents, the artillery moved to a new position\nby the railroad track until a new bridge could be constructed by the\nengineers. Just as night came on the natives were seen to emerge in a\nlarge force from the woods and move towards our lines. Soon the entire\nAmerican host was sturdily engaged in repelling the attack. In the dark\nit was impossible to exactly locate our infantry, but Major Young, at a\nventure, directed several shots over our column at a range of from 2000\nto 2500 yards. The Filipinos soon retreated. It was afterwards learned\nthat these shells had fallen in the midst of the attacking force.\n\nThis spirited encounter was the subject of a special report of the chief\nof artillery to the division commander in which Lieutenant Critchlow and\nthe cannoneers received special mention for their gallantry.\n\nThat night a pontoon bridge was built across the river and on the\nmorning of the 28th the artillery moved across and encamped during the\nsucceeding day and night in the suburbs of Malolos. An advance of only a\nshort distance had been made the next morning when a body of the enemy\nwas encountered at Bocaue. Here it was necessary to cross the Santa Mone\nriver. This was attempted with some difficulty, as only the guns could\nbe taken over on the bridge and the mules had to be swum across. The\npieces and accoutrements across, the artillery immediately went into\naction against the long lines of Filipinos. A railroad train in the\nhands of the insurgents could be seen in the distance and some natives\nwere busily engaged in applying torches to the engine-house. A few\nshells were sent screaming in that direction and the engineer needed no\nfurther orders to speed with all dispatch toward the north country.\nAgain the guns were limbered up and the force advanced to the Bagoa\nriver, where it was again necessary to drag the guns across the shaky\nbridge and force the reluctant mules to swim.\n\nBy this time the infantry had pushed some distance ahead, and suddenly\nthere was heavy firing near another dismantled bridge close to the\nGuiguinta. Both the town and the bridge had been burned by the\ninsurgents, and as soon as the infantry force crossed the railway track\nit was greeted with such a heavy fire that there were thirty casualties\nwithin a few minutes. The artillery came forward, as it had done before\nin many desperate fights, at the critical moment. The mules were\nunhitched and the cannoneers dashed with two of the guns across the\nshattered bridge and began firing from the top of the track. The\ninsurgent fire came directly down the railroad grade. Private Pender was\nshot through the hip while working at the gun. In a few moments the\nshrapnel had torn the Filipino earthworks and in the semi-darkness the\ndusky figures of the Filipinos could be seen in retreat. The river which\nbarred the way was crossed the next day.\n\nWhen evening fell on the 30th, the towers of Malolos, the insurgent\ncapital, where a few months before Don Emilio Aguinaldo had been crowned\npresident of the Filipino republic, were almost within view. A long line\nof Filipino intrenchments defended the approaches to the city. All eyes\nhad been turned from the beginning of the insurrection toward Malolos,\nand here it was expected that on the morrow Aguinaldo, with a host of\nhis black warriors around him, would make a desperate effort to resist\nthe aggression of the American troops. The four big rifles and the\nColt's automatic were moved into a position at dusk close to a deserted\nline of intrenchments south of Malolos. Majors Bell and Young, later in\nthe evening, went forward to locate a position for constructing\nemplacements for the guns. Suddenly there was a long flash from a low\nline of Filipino intrenchments 1000 yards to the front. They saw the\nflash in time to guard themselves by the shelter of a rice stack from\nthe pattering bullets. Their mission by this time was accomplished, for\nthey had discovered a strong position for the rifles just within a\ncircle of bamboo trees from which there was an easy view of the enemy's\nworks.\n\nLate that night, in the tropic darkness of the overhanging trees, a line\nof men, carrying picks and spades, trudged out slowly from the\nencampment. They were guided by First Sergeant John Anderson of Battery\nB. Soon the rice stack where the emplacements were to be made could be\nseen through the gloom. The work was begun quietly, for the Filipinos in\nthe distance were known to be on the alert. An axe struck sharply\nagainst a bamboo and a pick dinned resoundingly in the hard earth. Every\none looked searchingly into the distance, where a response was looked\nfor from a hundred guns. Major Young stated that he had posted a lookout\nnear by so that when he called \"flash\" the men could take care of\nthemselves as they saw fit before the winged bullets arrived. So the\nwork went on. When the earth had been reared about one foot, the lookout\nsuddenly called \"flash\" and twenty men dropped to the ground. But there\nwas no report and no bullets came. The lookout had seen some restless\nFilipino lighting a cigarette. The intrenchments were ready shortly\nafter midnight, and before dawn on the morning of the 31st the guns were\nmoved into position. The insurgents formed a belligerent half-circle\naround the city, and were prepared to advance from three sides when the\nroar of one of the big guns gave the signal to move. When the light came\nit brought into bright relief the heavy earthworks of the enemy, and a\nbody of soldiers was observed standing idly on the railroad track about\nten hundred yards away. Suddenly the yawning big guns roared over the\nplain and a shell burst over the Filipino intrenchments. There was a\nbrief response. The vigorous click-click of the automatic joined in with\nthe roar of the big guns. Within an hour the infantrymen were advancing\nupon the outer works of the city from three sides, and the Filipinos\ncould be seen fleeing down the railroad grade. They were followed by\nbullets from rapid-fire guns and several shells were sent into the\ninsurgents city at a range of four kilometers. Afterwards it was learned\nthat the natives had been driven from their two lines of intrenchments,\nwhich were 1000 yards apart, a fact which clearly indicated the accuracy\nof the firing. As soon as the enemy was dispersed the pieces were\nlimbered and while one section took the winding course of the Malolos\nroad into the city the other went by way of the railroad. For several\nthousands yards in front of Malolos the track had been torn up by the\ninsurgents and the gun which went up the track had great difficulty in\npassing. At one place where the bridge had been destroyed it was\nnecessary to replace a large number of ties which had been hurriedly\nthrown into a body of water near by.\n\nAll morning a long curling line of smoke could be seen from the distance\narising from the heart of the city. When the artillery swept into the\ncity side by side with the rigid column of infantry they found half the\nplace in ruins; the great church which had been used as a congressional\nhall was fading in the flame. The American had found the city a burning\nMoscow and the people, like the patriotic Russians, had applied the\ntorch to the capital upon which they had centered their fondest dreams.\nThe soldiers trooped into city, mud-bespattered and weary, and commented\nin loud tones of surprise on their peaceful entry into a city where they\nhad looked for the bloodiest strife of the insurrection. The artillery\nmade a striking appearance as the big mules galloped over the evacuated\ntown. The guns were parked in the plaza before the Hall of Congress of\nthe insurgent capital, and Major MacArthur accorded to Major Young the\nhonor of raising the first American flag over the walls of the rebel\ncapital. It may be added here that several weeks later the Utah band\nplayed patriotic airs in the hall where but a short time ago Aguinaldo\nwas declared president of the Philippines.\n\n[Illustration: UTAH GUNS IN PARK, AT CONGRESSIONAL HALL, MALOLOS.]\n\nThe troops remained for several days inactive at Malolos to recuperate\nafter the rigors of the long march. During this time the two guns\ncommanded by Lieutenant Gibbs at Caloocan were brought to Malolos by\nrail, and Captain Wedgewood took charge of them, while Lieutenant Gibbs\nreturned to the two platoons stationed at the waterworks.\n\nOn April 7th a reconnoitering expedition went out to investigate the\nenemy's position to the east of Quingua in the vicinity of Bag Bag.\nMajor Bell commanded the party, which consisted of a troop of the Fourth\nCavalry, a Hotchkiss revolving cannon and one Hotchkiss mountain gun, in\ncharge of John A. Anderson. They found a place where the river could be\nforded and discovered that the insurgents were strongly intrenched on\nthe banks of the Bag Bag river. The country at this time was heavily\ntimbered and the party was able to return unnoticed by the enemy.\n\nA severe battle occurred on April 23rd as the forces closed in on\nQuingua. A reconnoitering party of cavalry encountered a large body of\ninsurgents and the fire was so withering that Major Bell was forced to\nretire. Reinforcements of infantry were promptly called for and soon the\nNebraskans moved forward to the fray. The fight lasted several hours,\nand the infantry and cavalry were forced to endure a heavy fire out in\nthe open from a long line of Filipinos intrenchments hidden in a line of\nunderbrush and trees. It was during this engagement that the gallant\nStotsenberg was killed while rallying his men for the charge over the\nopen. The artillery did not arrive until 11 o'clock, when two rifles,\none from each battery under Captain Wedgewood and Lieutenant Critchlow\ncame to the front and as usual soon ended the argument. Private D.J.\nDavis of Battery A was shot through the fleshy part of the leg, and\nwhile standing twenty yards behind the piece Captain Wedgewood was\nwounded in the hand and stomach by a flying piece of copper from the\ndefective gun breech. The artillery occupied a position at one hundred\nyards range during this stubbornly fought engagement. The guns were\npartially sheltered by the foliage of a clump of trees to the left of\nthe Pulilan road and the Nebraska infantry. Firing from the artillery\nwas plainly effective, and after forty-five minutes of continual\nbombardment the insurgents retired over the Pulilan road toward Bag\nBag.\n\nDuring this engagement Lieutenant Fleming of the Sixth United States\nArtillery arrived from Malolos with one of his own and a Battery B gun,\nmanned by a Utah detachment, and did valuable service at a\none-thousand-yard range. As the natives retreated in columns they\nafforded a conspicuous target and bursting shrapnel tore large holes in\nthe retiring lines. Private Abplanalp of Battery B, one of the drivers,\nwas shot through the hand and arm while in the rear of the firing line.\n\nThis was considered to be as fierce a fight as that in which the rough\nriders won their way to glory at Las Guasimas. At that point three\nregiments were engaged and there were seventy casualties. At Quingua\nthere were only five hundred Americans against a large body of\ninsurgents and sixty of these were killed or wounded. General Gregoria\ndel Pilar, the dashing young Filipino leader, who had previously visited\nGeneral Otis for the purpose of arranging terms of peace, commanded the\ndusky warriors at this place. Though he was forced to retreat he took\nupon himself the credit of killing Colonel Stotsenberg, and afterwards\nboasted that he had slain one thousand Americans in the engagement.\n\nThe next morning Lieutenant Fleming with two big rifles and a Hotchkiss\nrevolving cannon, in charge of Gunner Corporal M.C. Jensen, forded the\nQuingua river, a tributary of the Rio Chico, which in turn draws its\nwaters from the Rio Grande de Pampanga, at Calumpit. The remainder of\nthe artillery, consisting of a platoon of Battery A, under Lieutenant\nNaylor, and one gun under Lieutenant Critchlow, went on down the Pulilan\nroad toward Bag Bag. There was a sharp encounter on this road, during\nwhich a body of the enemy about a thousand yards to the right attempted\na flank movement, but a few shots from the big guns and the Hotchkiss\nforced them to change their course. The guns directly under Major Young\non the other side of the river became involved about three hundred yards\nsouth of the enemy's long low line of earthworks at Bag Rag. Their\nintrenchments occupied the strip of land at the junction of the Rio\nChico and the Bag Bag rivers. When a reconnoitering party visited this\nplace on April 7th the plain surrounding the Bag Bag was covered with\nbamboo and underbrush, but now all the plain was as clean and level as\nif it had been swept by a cyclone. Thus the intrenched Malays had\ncleared a spot which commanded the plains for miles around.\n\nInfantry and artillery advanced from both sides of the Quingua--Hale\nwith Fleming on the other side and Wheaton with Utah to the south. Soon\nthe artillery was engaged on the Pulilan road, 225 yards from the enemy.\nAt this time the infantry force was fifty yards in the rear, where it\nwas masked from the enemy but could render no important assistance. The\nfire from the Tagalan intrenchments was murderous. While the artillery\nfire was as rapid as possible at least two responsive volleys came from\nthe intrenchments after each shot. Private Max Madison fell, killed\ninstantly, early in the action; Private Frederick Bumiller received a\nfatal wound through the hips. Two other cannoneers were hit in their\nattire by glance balls and all three of the big guns were cut with\nMausers. In Lieutenant Critchlow's single detachment of eight men five\nwere struck--two killed and one seriously wounded. Wheaton's line\nmeanwhile bore in from the left and the artillery swung forward with the\nline until they were almost on the opposite bank from the enemy. The\narmored train, equipped with Gatlings revolving cannon, pulled up at\nthis point and turned loose its armament upon the enemy at a 200-yard\nrange. The insurgents stubbornly fell back under the terrific fire.\n\nOn the opposite bank Corporal Jensen and his crew, sixty yards from the\nenemy's position, were ripping the low intrenchments with the revolving\ncannon. His position was perilous and his gallant fight soon ended. He\nwas pierced through the stomach with a bullet and on the next day died\nfrom the wound. Lieutenant Fleming, in his report to the chief of\nartillery, says of him: \"I desire especially to mention Corporal M.C.\nJensen for gallantry in this action. His fearlessness undoubtedly cost\nhim his life.\" He also recommends in this report that Corporal Jensen be\nawarded a certificate of merit.\n\nCalumpit is a city which the insurgents looked upon as invulnerable. Its\nhuts and stone bridges are on both sides of the Rio Grande de\nPampanga--the broadest and longest river in Luzon. It was here a few\nmonths before that the insurgents captured many thousand Spanish\nprisoners with all their arms, and they were prepared to vigorously\ncontest the advance of the American troops.\n\nThe guns of Utah and the two big rifles of Lieutenant Fleming were on\nthe south side of the Bag Bag, and it is only a mile from here to the\nFilipino stronghold. The advance began early on the morning of the 27th.\nA platoon under Lieutenant Naylor, who had been in charge of Battery A\npieces since the wounding of Captain Wedgewood, one gun under Lieutenant\nCritchlow, Fleming's two guns and a Hotchkiss in charge of Corporal\nBjarnson were pushed by hand over a bridge hastily constructed over the\nwaters of the Bag Bag. The clattering din of the infantry could soon be\nheard in altercation with the insurgents at the front. The insurgents,\nbehind intrenchments, were sending volleys fast into the Americans from\nthe north bank of the Pampanga. It was observed that the long bridge had\nbeen partially destroyed and the rails torn from the track for several\nhundred yards. The heavy iron beams of the bridge were placed above the\ntwo lines of intrenchments. Iron rails supported the ponderous beams,\nand between them was formed a long slot for Filipino rifles.\n\nThe three big Utah guns were rushed to a position on the right of the\nstation, about 100 yards from the enemy, and where there was partial\nprotection from a nipa hut. Earthworks were quickly thrown up and to\ndivert the enemy's attention while this was going on, a squad of Montana\nmen kept up a constant fire from a position immediately in front of the\nartillery. Bullets came in sheets from the Filipino position. A Montana\nsharpshooter, shot through the head, fell dead at the foot of the\nhalf-made emplacement. Fleming's guns pointed through an aperture broken\nthrough the solid brick walls of the station facing the half-demolished\nbridge. Further off to the left Corporal Bjarnson with the revolving\nHotchkiss was with the line of Kansas infantry under Colonel Funston.\nOut on the left Colonel Funston was performing the famed and intrepid\nfeat by which he was able to cross the river. Protected by the swift\nfire of the revolving Hotchkiss, a Kansas man with a rope swam the swift\nmoving waters of the Pampanga and fastened one end to the base of a\nbamboo tree. Then Funston with about forty of his men crossed the river\non hastily constructed rafts, guided by the long ropes. Suddenly this\nsmall body of warriors charged and attacked the insurgents on the left\nflank. The insurgents who had valiantly and stubbornly held their\nposition, were terrorized by the unexpected onslaught, and the whole\nline in the east side of the bridge sprang from the intrenchment and\nfled northward along the railroad embankment. Natives were strewn thick\nupon the banks of the river as they ran. A mounted Filipino officer was\nshot through the heart as he stood with flashing sword vainly trying to\nrally his confused and fleeing troops. The Tagalans to the right were\ntouched with consternation and fled from their bulwarks. And so during\nthis one hour Colonel Funston performed the most dashing deed of the war\nand the Malay hosts were driven from their strongest defense. Fifteen\nhundred American soldiers in this battle contested with 12,000\nintrenched warriors of Luzon, and won by their prowess and the strategy\nof a gallant leader.\n\nThe two brigades were allowed to rest for several days on the sunny\nbanks of the Pampanga. On May 14th the troops began the march toward San\nFernando, which lies green and low at the base of Mt. Arayat, which can\nbe seen for many miles around. The artillery, with the mules, crossed\nthe river on rafts. Wheaton advanced up the railroad track while Hale's\nbrigade strung out over the Apalit road.\n\nA revolving Hotchkiss cannon and one Gatling gun, manned by Battery B\ndetachments, were mounted on trucks. This moving battery was commanded\nby Lieutenant Naylor. As the troops approached Santo Tomas the\ninsurgents were discovered, intrenched on both sides of the railroad. As\nthe infantry engaged them on the right, Lieutenant Naylor's machine\nguns played on the thin line of smoke curling above the Filipino\nintrenchment. As the infantry pressed them on the right they retreated\nover the railroad towards a long line of intrenchments, and the bullets\nfrom the Gatling fell among them here faster than autumn leaves. Colonel\nFunston, at the head of his troops, took the fire line of intrenchments\non the left of the track and moved down on the Tagalans, who had\nconstructed a long line of intrenchments parallel with the railway. They\nwere beaten back by the Kansas men, but in this charge Colonel Funston\nfell, having sustained a slight wound in the arm. During this engagement\nGeneral Luna, most renowned of the Filipino chiefs, was wounded in the\narm, and as there was only a light infantry fire, the opinion prevailed\nthat this was inflicted by Lieutenant Naylor's fast-clicking Gatling\ngun. General Wheaton personally praised Lieutenant Naylor for his work\nin the Santo Tomas battle, and afterwards in his report recommended him\nfor meritorious service.\n\nOver on the right up the Apalit road Captain Wedgewood and Lieutenant\nCritchlow were encountering difficulties. The insurgents had constructed\npitfalls in the road. They were thinly covered with a layer of leaves\nand earth and the wayward feet of mule and soldier were menaced beneath\nwith sharp pointed wedges of bamboo. These were discovered early in the\nmarch and no accidents resulted from them. There was some brisk fighting\non this end of the line and the big guns shelled the insurgents on the\nopposite side of the river. The whole of the next day was consumed in\ntransporting the artillery and equipage across the river on a raft\nconstructed by the engineers, and on May 6th they entered San Fernando.\n\nThis fair city was half destroyed by flames, and when the troops entered\nno lingering black warriors could be found. They had all retreated\nfarther north, following in the general direction of the railway.\nMajor-General MacArthur's headquarters were established near the center\nof that part of the city which was untouched by the flames, and close by\nthe Utah guns were parked. Later one of the big guns was utilized for\noutpost duty, a rather remarkable use for artillery. Every night after\nthe Filipinos had begun to gather again near the city one of the pieces\nwith a gun crew would go down a sunken road and watch all night with the\nfarthest outposts of the infantry.\n\nDuring this period Major-General Otis had issued an order offering\nthirty pesos to every Filipino warrior who would return his rifle to the\nAmerican authorities. On May 23rd Major Bell went on an expedition up\nthe railway track for the purpose of posting up the order, and took with\nhim two troops of the Fourth Cavalry and a revolving Hotchkiss gun,\nmanned by Sergeant Emil Johnson and Corporal Hesburg of Battery A and\nPrivate Martin of Battery B. All the men were mounted and the cannon\nequipped with a small Filipino horse, so that if necessary a hasty\nretreat could be made. They proceeded up the railway track, and notices\nwere duly and conspicuously left at Bacalor and Quiuag. Just as the\nforces reached the outskirts of Santa Rita they were fired on by a large\nbody of insurgents, who were heavily intrenched around the city. The\nrevolving cannon was used effectively and Major Bell and his men went\ninto action five times, but the insurgent attack was too fierce for the\nsmall force and it was obliged to retreat. With a whoop of joy the\nFilipinos rose from their trenches in pursuit, cheering loudly as they\ncame. They followed for five miles through Bacalor, and as far back as\ntheir old intrenchments surrounding San Fernando. The rather meagre\nencouragement of having been able to chase a small troop of cavalry\nseemed to give the Tagalans at this time an idea that they had the whole\nAmerican force in retreat.\n\nDuring the night word was brought to General MacArthur that the\nFilipinos were preparing to make an attack early the next morning. At\ndawn the Montana and Kansas regiments and a platoon under Lieutenant\nNaylor went out to meet them. The Filipinos were in force in their old\nposition to the northwest. The Kansas went through some cornfields on\nthe left and the Montanas through a sunken road to the right. The\nartillery remained in a concealed position in the center and waited\nuntil the two regiments had moved up on the startled natives from both\nflanks. As the insurgents retreated in confusion the big guns played on\nthe scattered ranks. A large number of the natives were killed during\nthis clever maneuver and thirty of their rifles were captured.\n\nThe Tagalans when on the warpath are persistent. The next day they\noccupied intrenchments farther to the north. They were again driven back\nand this time they took up a position towards Mexico and in front of the\nIowa troops.\n\nDuring the next few days the Malay hordes came toward San Fernando from\nall sides. Eventually their forces completely surrounded the city.\nGeneral MacArthur watched their plans, saw them tearing up the earth for\nintrenchments and waited. It was apparent that they were preparing to\nmarch with crushing force upon the American troops.\n\nThe cloud burst on June 16th. Just at that time, when the Americans were\nnot looking for them, the Tagalans descended on the town. Captain Fred\nWheeler was out on a plain drilling a troop of the Fourth United States\nCavalry. It was in the morning and there was a heavy mist. One of\nCaptain Wheeler's men informed him that he could see the \"niggers\"\ncoming. The Captain could see nothing and sent for his glasses, but\nbefore they arrived the long skirmish line of the Tagalans could be seen\nemerging like spectres from the mist. Then there was a remarkable\nspectacle--the Fourth Cavalry and the Tagalan warriors racing for the\nsame intrenchments. The cavalrymen arrived first and there the battle\nbegan.\n\nThe natives came in from four sides. The outposts waited in the old\nFilipino intrenchments and on some parts of the line the attacked\nTagalans were allowed to approach within 200 yards. Most of the guns,\nwhen the fight began were located close to MacArthur's headquarters, but\nthey were soon on all parts of the line. When the attack by the\nFilipinos began the gun under command of Lieutenant Naylor was on its\nway to the outposts. It had been the custom to take the gun there just\nbefore dawn and bring it back immediately after darkness came. The\nadvancing Filipinos began firing before the gun was in position.\nCorporal Hanson was in charge at the time, and the rifle was at once\nrushed to the emplacement. Word came at the same hour to Lieutenant\nNaylor, who was officer of the outpost, and he went through a heavy fire\ndown the road leading to the intrenchment. When he arrived there the\nFilipinos were within three hundred and fifty yards and were advancing\nover the rice ridges at a rapid gait. The Lieutenant had a shell sent\ninto the approaching insurgents, who seemed astounded to find that the\nartillery occupied such an advanced position. When nine shells had been\nsent into their line, the Filipinos gradually drew back and were not\nseen any more on this part of the line during the fight.\n\n[Illustration: PREPARING FOR AN ENGAGEMENT.]\n\nThe Seventeenth and Twenty-second Infantry were the support on this end\nof the line, which faced to the north.\n\nOn the west, east and part of the north line were the Kansas and Montana\ninfantry. It was to this point that the two guns of Lieutenant Gibbs\nwere moved when the firing began, and here the guns inflicted severe\ndamage on the islanders. Another gun of Battery B was also placed near\nthis part of the line under Lieutenant Hines, but it was unnecessary\nfrom this position to use the artillery.\n\nThis fight was the first time the American soldiers during the whole\ncampaign had repulsed an attack from behind intrenchments, and they laid\nback and smiled as the black men approached and then passed out some\nvolleys that made the whole advancing line reel. When the Tagalans began\nto retreat under the awakened storm, the Americans followed, and as the\nFilipinos recoiled from one regiment they were broken against another. A\ncompany of the Twentieth Infantry located near Santo Tomas was almost\ncut off by the advancing column of the enemy, and a company of the\nMontana men was sent to its assistance. The fight lasted nearly two\nhours and the Filipino loss amounted to several hundred. The only\ncasualty on the American side was a slight wound received by a Montana\nman, which shows clearly what the Americans could do in a contest with a\nblack man under conditions more or less equal. Colonel Funston stated\nafterwards that a shell from one of Lieutenant Gibbs's guns had killed\nfifteen Filipinos.\n\nThe burying of dead Filipinos the next day was a tragic sight.\nSixty-four were engulfed in one trench. They were brought up in caribou\ncarts, and the American pulled them off with ropes and deposited them in\nthe common grave.\n\nThere was another fight on the 22nd, but the Filipinos seemed to have\nlost their dash and courage of a few days before, and on this occasion\nthe artillery was not called out.\n\nA few days later word came that the Utah battalion was ordered home, and\non the 24th day of June the Utah men boarded the train for Manila and\nwere carried away from the smoke of war and the darkly fought\nbattlefields of the East.\n\n\nSergeant John A. Anderson with one gun of Battery B and a rifle of the\nSixth Artillery was in the flying column of General Lawton, who left a\npath of ashes around the Pampanga province and finally drove the\ninsurgents from San Isidro with his detachment on the 21st of March and\narrived on the same day at Bocaue. The order to march came on the 23rd\nand the Sergeant was given a position on the left of the Thirteenth\nMinnesotas. From the brow of the hill above Norzagaray the guns began\nshelling at 1500 yards. The front line was silenced but at this point\nthe natives made an effort to turn the right flank, and it was necessary\nto throw many shrapnel into the advancing insurgents column before it\nturned. The next day Norzagaray was entered after the place had been\nshelled, and during this slight advance the artillery was in action five\ntimes. Colonel Sommers personally commended the detachment on the\naccuracy of its gunnery and its promptness. On the 25th Ongaut was\nburned and on the 26th there was an engagement which lasted for some\ntime below Baliuag. San Maguel was taken on the 4th, and on the 13th a\nfew shells were thrown into San Isidro, but the insurgents, after\nrepeated defeats, showed small resistance here and soon retreated.\n\nOn the 24th the artillery arrived with the infantry at Candaba, and the\ndetachment remained quartered here until the order arrived for the Utah\nmen to return to Manila. The plan of Lawton's campaign was for his\ntroops to drive the insurgents towards Candaba, where they could be met\nby the advancing forces under Major Kobbe and the river gunboats. But\nwhen General Lawton came down to Candaba there were none but American\nsoldiers there as the insurgents forces had disappeared in the interior.\n\nShortly after the arrival in Malolos the Utah men were joined by\nCorporal Dusenbury and two other men of Battery B. They with a revolving\nHotchkiss cannon were picked up by General Wheaton early in his advance\nfrom Caloocan, and were highly praised by the General for the skill and\nefficiency they had shown in many dangerous places. General Wheaton\nshowed his appreciation of the work of the guns by attaching several\nregular and Oregon infantrymen to the pieces, in order that they could\nbe carried over rough places with the greatest possible dispatch.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE GUNBOATS.\n\n\nNo history of the Utah batteries will be complete without a narrative of\nthe exploits of the gunboats. While the land forces performed their\nduties with great honor and are to be commended in every way possible,\nit must be remembered that a portion of the men were fighting on the\nwater and did work of such a character that they won especial mention\nfrom those in charge when the big guns were hurling death and the\nGatlings were barking fire at the opposing army.\n\nAt first the proposition of building gunboats was not at all popular\nwith the authorities. Some opposed the scheme on the grounds that it\ncould not be successfully accomplished with the limited means at hand\nand the rivers of Luzon to contend with. However, later developments\nattested that those who were the originators of the plan showed greater\nwisdom than their opponents.\n\nSometime prior to the breaking out of hostilities between the American\nforces and the natives General Otis conceived the idea of employing\ngunboats on the rivers and lakes for the purpose of opening up lines of\ncommunication between difficult portions of our own lines. The fact that\nthe rivers were shallow was the one serious objection to the project,\nbut this difficulty was eliminated by the adoption of light draught\nboats. The nature of the country in the vicinity of Manila and the other\ntowns where the heaviest fighting took place is such that it was\napparent to those who were aware of these conditions that this craft\nmight be engaged in protecting the advance of the infantry and\nartillery; could hold the hostile bands in check until favorable\npositions could be taken, and be of wonderful service in the campaign.\n\nThe first vessel to engage in this kind of work was the \"Laguna de Bay,\"\nwhich has made a reputation never to be forgotten so long as the history\nof the war in the Philippines remains familiar to the American mind.\nThis vessel is doubtless as well known as the \"Olympia,\" the flagship of\ngallant Admiral Dewey, and while there are those who fail to recall the\nfact that the \"Boston\" or the \"Raleigh\" took part in the attack on the\nSpanish in the bay of Manila, it is safe to assert that the operation of\nthe \"Laguna de Bay\" and her sister craft will ever be fresh in the minds\nof those who have made even a casual study of the events which took\nplace during the campaign carried on by the brave men from the youngest\nState in the Republic.\n\nThe \"Laguna de Bay,\" the first converted gunboat, was placed in\ncommission on January, 1899. She was formerly used by the Spanish as an\nexcursion boat on the body of water from which she derived her name and\nprior to the fall of Manila had been captured by the Filipinos and\nturned over to the United States. She was by no means a small craft\nconsidering her environments--shallow rivers and muddy bayous. She was\n140 feet in length, 40-foot beam with a draught of four feet. When she\nwas fitted out it was decided to give her some protection for the men,\nso her main deck, the upper deck, the pilot house and the Gatling\nbattery, were protected by a double sheeting of steel. The many bullet\nmarks on this light armor demonstrated afterwards the wisdom of this\npolicy. At this point it may not be out of order to interpolate the fact\nthat her companion gunboats were similarly protected, which accounts for\nthe small list of casualties.\n\nThe armament of the gunboat consisted of two three-inch marine guns, two\n1.65 Hotchkiss revolving cannon and four Gatlings. At first Lieutenant\nR.C. Naylor was in charge of the guns, while Captain Randolph of the\nThird United States Artillery commanded the vessel. In addition to the\nmen from the Utah batteries, several were detailed from the various\nregiments to act as sailors, riflemen and cannoneers.\n\nThe boats which were added to the fleet were the \"Oeste,\" the \"Napindan\"\nand the \"Cavadonga.\" The last went into commission on May 6th and was\ncommanded by Lieutenant William C. Webb. The crews of the vessel were\nmade up of members of the Utah batteries and men from the Twenty-third\nUnited States Infantry, the First South Dakota Infantry and the Third\nUnited States Battery.\n\nOn the morning of February 5th the \"Laguna de Bay\" steamed up the Pasig\nto the town of Santa Ana while the Nebraska, California and Washington\ntroops assaulted the enemy from the land. Twenty minutes after the boat\nturned her guns upon the town the principal buildings were in flames and\nthe stricken garrison made all haste toward San Pedro Macati and\nGuadaloupe. Next she turned her attention to those portions of the enemy\nstationed in Bacoor and Mandaloya. Her forward guns tore great gaps in\nthe enemy's earthworks and her Gatlings raked the trenches with so\ngalling a fire that the foe was sent flying towards the woods in the\nregion of Pasig with the Nebraska Infantry in speedy pursuit. The\nfollowing morning the boat passed Santa Ana, where two three-inch Krupp\nguns had been captured by the Idaho troops, and reconnoitered the native\nposition in the woods beyond. Late that afternoon she returned to Manila\nand replenished her coal bunkers, when she resumed her old position at\nthe Nebraska landing.\n\nMarch 7th the gunboat again passed Santa Ana and went up as far as\nGuadaloupe, where the First California was quartered. General Anderson\ncame up the river in a launch and a consultation was held as to future\noperations. Nothing of moment happened that day, but on the morrow\nGeneral King arrived on his way to Pasig for the purpose of demanding\nthe surrender of the town. He desired the \"Laguna de Bay\" to await his\nreturn. A vigilant patrol was kept up that evening and during the night\nthree shots were fired by sentries from the boat. The day following was\nuneventful, but on the 10th the \"Oeste,\" which was towing a casco, came\nalongside and stated that Colonel Stotsenberg had sent word that the\ninsurgents were massing west of the camp of the Nebraska regiment.\n\nIt was on the 14th that word was received from Colonel DuBois of the\nIdaho regiment to hurry up stream at all speed. This was done and an\neffort made to anchor off the mouth of the Pateros, where the infantry\nfire was very brisk. Here it was that Lieutenant Harting met his death.\nHarting with four men got aboard and the line was dropped when the boat\nsank, being swept almost immediately under the gunwale of the \"Laguna de\nBay.\" The three men forward grasped the gunwale and were saved, but the\nofficer and the fourth man went down stream. Though the Lieutenant was a\ngood swimmer, no sign of him could be seen. He was heavily laden with\nrevolver, belt and ammunition. Lieutenant Larson jumped overboard to\nrescue him, but was unable to get even a glimpse of him. His body was\nfound two days later near General Otis's headquarters. The fourth man\nescaped by swimming ashore.\n\nBy order of the Commanding General February 16th, Major Grant took\ncommand of the river force and Captain Randolph rejoined his regiment.\nThe next day an assiduous fire was directed against San Pedro Macati\nwith telling effect.\n\nThe commanders now decided that in case the forces stationed at\nGuadaloupe should be too strongly pressed by the enemy they should fall\nback to San Pedro Macati, setting fire to the convent and other\nprincipal buildings as they returned. In this instance the gunboat was\nto steam up above Guadaloupe. On Sunday, February 19th, this very thing\nwas done though the insurgents as yet had made no advance. The soldiers\nleft the convent after firing it. As the gunboat moved up the stream she\nmet with a determined resistance. The opposing force repeatedly assailed\nher, but her Gatlings finally compelled them to withdraw. An\nunsuccessful effort was made to explode a quantity of nitro-glycerine in\nthe convent by the use of percussion shell. The boat then advanced\nnearer the town where it engaged the insurgents on both sides of the\nriver. Every gun now played upon the enemy's lines. In the course of\ntwenty minutes twenty-five three-inch shells, 4200 Gatling, 1500\nKrag-Jorgenson and 800 Springfields were expended. This spirited defense\ncaused the prudent native to withdraw to a country less subject to\nleaden bullets, and the boat dropped down stream. In the afternoon\nAdmiral Dewey visited the \"Laguna de Bay\" in quest of information, and\nwhile he was securing what he came after a Filipino sharpshooter began\ntaking pot shots at the Admiral, who, being unprotected, decided he was\nfar enough inside the enemy's lines and turned back.\n\nAt San Felipe Lieutenant Naylor was sent ashore on the following day to\ncut down some trees and burn some huts so the view of the boats' gunners\nwould not be obstructed, which duty was performed under a straggling\nfire.\n\nAdmiral Dewey visited the gunboats on the 21st, stating he would send\ntwo rapid-fire guns for the \"Laguna de Bay.\" That was the object of his\nvisit, which was short. The same day General King and his staff came\naboard and were taken up the stream. Word was soon afterward received\nthat the Wyoming battalion was going to advance on the enemy near\nGuadaloupe on the left of the river early the following morning but as\nthe gunboat was not in a position to aid in the expedition she remained\ninactive when the firing began the next morning.\n\nOn the day following Lieutenant Naylor again landed with a small force\nof men at San Felipe, where he set fire to the buildings and cut down\ntrees which would have obstructed the view. Nothing occurred until the\nnight of the 25th, when desultory firing was heard at San Felipe, and\nfollowing this matters were unusually quiet until the night of March\n1st. That day the insurgents were encountered at San Pedro Macati and\nthe Gatlings, the three-inch and the 1.65-inch guns were brought into\naction. During the firing Sergeant Shea received a slight wound in the\nhand. A three-inch gun was disabled in this engagement. Two days later\nanother conflict took place at the same point resulting in the complete\ndefeat of the enemy, who was forced from his position after a severe\nbombardment.\n\nThe morning of March 4th opened cloudy with \"Laguna de Bay\" at San\nPedro. A sharp skirmish soon began. The natives held their position for\nsome time but were finally compelled to give way before the superior\nstrength of the Americans. Under orders from General Wheaton the gunboat\nfollowed them and directed a deadly fire into the woods on both sides\nof the river. During the fight, which lasted several hours, the boat was\nfrequently struck by the bullets of the enemy. It was during this\nencounter that Private John Toiza of the Third Artillery laid down his\nlife. He was shot in the left breast, the bullet passing downward\nthrough his heart, killing him instantly. A shell also lodged in the\n1.65-inch gun, disabling it for the time.\n\nOn March 5th Admiral Dewey again came alongside and stated that General\nOtis had declared he believed he would keep the gunboats down the stream\nif they did not cease fighting so much. Then the Admiral added with\nemphasis, \"We ought to have three such boats.\"\n\nTwo days later when Hale's brigade made an advance upon the insurgents\non the left, and the natives were hurried with great speed toward\nMariquina and the San Mateo river, the \"Laguna de Bay\" again performed\nexcellent service in flanking them and turning their left wing against\nour right.\n\nVery early on the morning of March 13th the battle of Guadaloupe and\nPasig opened, the attention of the guns on the boat being centered on\nGuadaloupe. Meanwhile Wheaton advanced his troops on the right to\nPatteros and along the Pasig. The advance to Guadaloupe began along the\nriver with the gunboat in the vanguard. Two insurgents partially\nconcealed in the bushes on the banks were taken prisoners and turned\nover to the Twenty-third Infantry. Sunken cascos, loaded with rock, were\nfrequently encountered, but the boat avoided them with only a little\ndelay. Generals Anderson and Wheaton moved up from the right and the\ngunboat started up the stream. Near the Mariquina river they met with a\nfierce fire from both sides of the stream but no one on the boat was\ninjured. Two Filipino launches were noticed but they got away. A casco\nwas found in which were the clothing of some Filipino officer and men.\nThe wearers had escaped.\n\nOn the day following there was a brisk engagement at Pasig in which the\ntown was bombarded with good effect, some thirty of the enemy being\nkilled, while the remainder were sent flying in all directions.\n\nNothing of interest occurred until Wednesday, March 15th, when a casco\nmanned by natives was chased down the river. She was overhauled but not\nuntil her crew had jumped overboard and swam ashore. The \"Laguna de Bay\"\nraised a white flag for the purpose of investigating, but the insurgents\ninstead of recognizing it pivoted a sharp small rim fire upon the boat\nwhich answered with a heavy rain of shell and shrapnel.\n\nTwo days later an expedition, led by the gunboats, headed for Morong on\nthe opposite side of the lake. Lieutenant Webb with a Gatling and\ntwenty-four men went ashore to make a reconnoissance. This small\ndetachment was followed by three infantrymen under Captain Pratt. Upon\nthe advance of the Americans the enemy retreated quickly across the\nplain and disappeared in the shades of the mountains beyond. One\nthousand bushels of rice and three cascos were captured at this place\nand a letter from General Pilar directing a general advance on Pasig was\nalso found. But few inhabitants remained in the town and upon\nquestioning them it was learned that the Filipinos had several large\nlaunches on the Pagsanyan river.\n\nMajor Grant had long been working to interest General Lawton in favor of\nan expedition against Santa Cruz. Santa Cruz is situated on the eastern\nshores of the lake just behind the point of a mountain which juts out\ninto the water. She is the agricultural center of all the rich land on\nthe eastern side of the island of Luzon. All the smaller towns of the\nsurrounding country look up to her. She is the emporium to which all the\nfarmers and travelers and merchants resort and from which they reap a\nbounteous harvest.\n\nThe insurgents had long since seized upon this important place as it\nfurnished an inexhaustible supply of food for their armies. Besides\nbeing far out of the way and difficult of approach, she became the\nmilitary station to which the famished and fatigued insurgents looked\nfor support and rest. Major Grant early noticed the importance of the\ntown and thereafter he labored incessantly to bring about its capture by\nthe Americans. Finally, on the 18th, he succeeded in getting a fleet of\ngunboats, launches and cascos headed that way. Captain Pratt and\nLieutenant Franklin attempted to make a landing on the shore in front of\nthe town, but they failed as the water was too shallow. Five miles\nfarther up the beach they made a profitable landing at the mouth of the\nPagsanyan river. However, as this was blocked with obstructions of\nbamboo and rock, no effort was made to sail up the stream until three\ndays had elapsed. Then the impediment was removed.\n\nDuring the time which intervened between the 21st and the 28th little\nwas done with the exception of attending to some needed repairs on the\nboat. On the 28th the gunboat advanced to the south of the Balucan\nriver, where another delay was caused by the obstructions placed there\nby the natives. The country skirting this place was thickly covered with\nbrush and low trees, very much like bayou. When about a mile and a half\nup the stream the enemy opened fire at a range of about 500 yards, which\nwas returned by the guns on the boat. The fire was heavy and the\ninsurgents evidently concluded that they were too close for comfort, for\ntheir fire slackened materially in a very short time. The \"Laguna de\nBay\" and the \"Napindan\" then came down the stream. As the latter started\nto follow the larger boat the pilot was hit in the hand by a bullet and\nbefore he could recover himself the little craft had run aground. When\nthe \"Laguna de Bay\" went to her assistance she also struck a bar and was\nheld fast. The boats were compelled to remain here under fire until the\ntide came in and floated them off.\n\nThe work of the gunboats was without extraordinary interest until April\n8th. On that day the fleet steamed up Pasig with twenty cascos and seven\nlaunches in tow. One thousand five hundred men, with two days' rations,\ntwo light artillery guns and necessary horses, composed the expedition,\nwhich was commanded by General Lawton. Among the troops were detachments\nfrom the Fourth United States Cavalry, the Fourteenth United States\nInfantry, the North Dakota, Idaho and Washington volunteers, the Sixth\nArtillery and the Signal Corps. This force reached Jalajala on the 9th\nand then awaited the arrival of the entire fleet. The place of\nadvancement and attack--Santa Cruz--was mapped out and then the fleet\nsteamed ahead. About five miles from Santa Cruz the \"Napindan\" ran into\na point close to the shore and opened fire. Here the works were\nsilenced, after which the troops landed. Under cover of the guns of the\n\"Oeste\" other men also disembarked. With Lawton aboard, the \"Laguna de\nBay\" advanced toward the town approaching to within 300 yards of the\nshore. Some troops in cascos were put ashore. After a survey of the\nsituation the boats went out into deep water and advanced from the\nright, while the troops encamped to the west of the town.\n\nThe next day a general advance began at daylight. The American forces\ncame up to the enemy's position and opened fire. This was a signal for\naction on the part of the boats and after moving in closer they opened a\nheavy fire on the insurgent works. The troops placed south and west\nunder General Lawton drove the natives northward while those posted\nalong the shore of the river, aided by the guns on the boats, did\nconsiderable damage. Large bodies of the natives broke for a place of\nsafety and while attempting to escape through a marshy open field many\nof them were killed. Shells actually mowed them down in heaps. By this\ntime the lines of the infantry had been completely formed for an advance\nand the gunboats ceased their work. Shortly afterward our forces took\npossession of the town, and a message was received from Lawton saying he\nhad established his headquarters in the church.\n\nOn the 11th the boats steamed up the lake and ran close to the shore\nnear the mouth of the Pagsanyan river, where they opened fire on the\ntown of Lumbaog, toward which the land forces were advancing. This fire\nwas kept up until the infantry reached the place and took it. A message\nwas received from General Lawton to the effect that he had captured the\ntown of Pagsanyan; also that six launches had been captured there and\nwere at the town. The \"Cavadonga\" at this time sailed up and relieved\nthe \"Oeste.\" The guns were on the hills north of Orani and after a time\nthe infantry took possession, for a flag from the church tower called\nfor a boat to be sent to that place. The \"Laguna de Bay\" responded, went\nup the river and shelled Paite and Sinilaon until darkness ended her\nusefulness for that day. The troops had in the meantime checked the\nnative advance and camped at Paite.\n\nFrom this time until May 7th little was done by the boats. A greater\npart of the time was spent in making necessary repairs. On the last\nmentioned date a Macabebe named Soteros Gatdula reported for duty as\npilot, and under his direction the fleet steamed across the bay to the\nmouth of the Rio Grande. Passing up this stream the boats shelled the\ntowns of Guagua and Sexmoan. At the former place a fire had been started\nand a launch in the river was observed to be in flames. A party was sent\nout to try to save this craft, but she proved to be of little value and\nthe attempt was abandoned. Two Spaniards claiming to have been held as\nprisoners by the natives, and a Filipino suspect were taken aboard.\n\nIt was decided early in May to make an effort to pierce the waters of\nthe Rio Grande de Pampanga, which leads to Calumpit and beyond far into\nthe heart of the enemy's country. The first efforts to search out the\nchannel were made by the \"Cavadonga\" on May 9th. Soteros Gatdula, a\nMacabebe pilot, was directed by General Otis to undertake the task and\nthe \"Cavadonga\" started on the cruise into the unknown waters early in\nthe morning. Near the mouth of the river the boat suddenly went aground,\nand when the tide rose, and early in the day the boat was joined by the\n\"Laguna de Bay.\" The channel was then located by the Macabebe and there\nwas no further difficulty in forcing a passage up the wide waters of the\nriver, the largest on Luzon Island. For a long distance up the river the\nterritory is occupied by the Macabebes, the ancient and traditional\nenemies of the Tagalan race. A large crowd of these friendly natives was\non the shores of the river as the boats passed up and they filled the\nair with cheers and cries of \"Viva los Americanos,\" which the soldiers\nreplied to in variegated and wonderfully woven Filipino phrases. One\nobstruction was met in the river consisting of cocoanut poles, but the\nMacabebes assisted in removing these from the path of the boats. Without\nhaving fired a shot, early in the afternoon the boats arrived at\nCalumpit, where troops of the infantry were stationed.\n\nOn May 14th the \"Cavadonga\" was sent out on a reconnoitering expedition\nup the river. On the way up Sexmoan and Apilit were passed, and it was\nobserved that all the natives fled from the river as soon as the gunboat\napproached. The country is heavily timbered on both sides of the river,\nand there was no evidence of a hostile attitude on the part of the\nnatives until the boat swung round the curve leading to San Luiz. Almost\nthrough the entire distance the shores were lined with Filipino\nintrenchments, but it was discovered that these were unoccupied.\nLieutenant Webb was out on the bow capstan, entirely unsheltered by the\nmeagre 3-16-inch armor with which the craft was encased. Just as a curve\nwas rounded in front of San Luiz a long line of straw hats and the bores\nof fifty rifles were seen facing the boat from the port side, no more\nthan fifty yards away. Lieutenant Webb was scanning the opposite shore\nwith his glasses, when the lookout discovered the enemy on the port\nside. Sergeant Ford Fisher called out a sudden warning to the Lieutenant\nand reached out towards him. Just then the volley came. Fisher reeled\nbackward with a bullet piercing his brain. Instantly the bow one-pounder\nand the Gatling gun on the port side tore the Filipino intrenchments.\nBullets pelted fast against the slight armor of the cruiser. Fred\nMitchell, one of the men at the Gatling gun, was wounded in the hand.\nThe \"Cavadonga\" turned round almost where it stood and slowly moved\nback, and during a wonderful skirmish in which the native and American\nfrequently fired in each other's faces at a range of twenty yards, raked\nthe Filipino works with the fast-firing machine guns. The fighting only\nlasted thirty minutes.\n\nWhen it was over Ford Fisher, who was still breathing, was placed on\nboard the \"Oceania,\" which had remained about two hundred yards in the\nrear during the fighting, and almost at the moment he was laid on the\ncraft he expired. The \"Oceania\" sped quickly down the river with the\ndead body of the Sergeant, but frequently the \"Cavadonga\" stopped to\nsuppress the desultory fire from the natives who had fled during the\nearly part of the action. It was learned afterwards from the \"padre\" at\nSan Luiz that fifty insurgents had been killed during the engagement,\nand when the Utah men arrived there a few days later a long line of new\ngraves in the walled cemetery told a tragic story of the ending of the\nfight.\n\nOn the evening of this day the Seventeenth Regular Infantry and a\nbattalion of the Ninth Infantry advanced up the Rio Grande from Calumpit\nover the old Apilit road under the leadership of Major Kobbe of the\nThird United States Artillery. Early the next morning the \"Laguna de\nBay\" and \"Cavadonga\" started up the river and most of the way kept\nwithin view of the troops on the shore. Occasionally the gunboats moved\nahead and daring scouts could be seen calmly looking into vacated\nFilipino intrenchments. The enemy was encountered several times along\nthe shore as far as San Luiz and all intrenchments were bombarded by the\n\"Laguna de Bay\" some distance to prevent a repetition of the disastrous\nsurprise of the day before. When San Luiz was neared white flags could\nbe seen floating everywhere, and on arriving there it was discovered\nthat the whole body of insurgents had disappeared into the interior. The\nboats remained at this position during the night, and early the next\nmorning resumed the advance ahead of the infantry up the waters of the\nPampanga. During this journey large numbers of Filipinos were met in\ncascos with their families and all their earthly possessions, making\ntheir way down the stream. About noon the boats reached Candaba without\na hostile shot having been fired during the whole day. Here Major Grant\nwas met by the Mayor of the city, who stated that he had forced the\nsoldiers to evacuate in order to prevent the bombardment of the town and\nthe subsequent loss of life among the people of whom he was guardian. An\nevidence of the hasty departure of the natives was found upon entering\nthe town, for a guard list giving the names of the officers and\nenlisted men of the guard was found posted on the walls of the town\nhall.\n\nThis ended the fighting record of the gunboats under a Utah commander.\nFrom this period until June 24th the boats were utilized in carrying\nsupplies and towing soldiers, laden cascos and wounded men up and down\nthe Pampanga. On May 24th the rebel commissioners, General Gregoria del\nPilar and Colonel Actia, who had gone to Manila to negotiate peace with\nGeneral Otis after the crushing defeat of the insurgents at Calumpit,\nwere taken on the gunboats and conveyed as far as Candaba. They had\nexpressed a wish to go by way of the gunboats, as they had no desire to\ncross the insurgents' lines at San Fernando because General Luna was in\ncommand at that place and there was strife between the two Generals.\nPilar showed great interest in the armament of the \"Laguna\" and said he\nwould give all his wealth for one of the three-inch guns. The \"Oceania\"\nwas sent ahead with instructions to all the commanding officers to make\nas large a display as possible. At San Luiz the instructions were not\ncomplied with and as the \"Laguna\" passed one officer and four men were\nfalling in for guard. General Gregoria smiled. Farther up the river the\ncase was different. Where they were in the habit of posting but one\nguard there was an officer and twenty men. This was repeated at all the\nother stations until Candaba was reached. General Gregoria's smile had\nfaded, and he remarked that the Americans kept the country better\npatrolled than he had imagined. The General and Colonel were landed at\nCandaba and under an escort of Americans disappeared in the distant\ngreen line of woods.\n\nOn May 24th it was known among all the Utah men that their days of\nfighting were over, and on this date Major Grant was relieved of his\ncommand of the river boat fleet. And so ended, for Utah, the career of\nthese wonderful ironclad river machines.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE HOME COMING.\n\n\nWhile the fighting Utah batterymen were still living in the nipa huts at\nSan Fernando and Baliaug and repelling the attacks of the dusky Tagalan\nbraves at Candaba and Morong from General Otis an order came to the\nCuartel. It had an unpretentious look--that slip of paper; but it\ncarried a message of great importance to the belligerent Utahn than any\nhe had received since the thunders of war shook the earth on the night\nof February 4th. It told the artilleryman to gather all his portable\nutensils and board the United States transport \"Hancock,\" which lay idly\nin the bay waiting orders to weigh anchor and steam for America.\n\nAlmost a week passed before the scattered batteries were assembled\nwithin the familiar walls of the Cuartel. The main body at San Fernando\nturned over its guns to the famous Third Artillery and arrived safely at\nthe quarters over the Manila and Dagupan railroad; Lieutenant Seaman's\ndetachment at Baliaug dropped its war machinery and made all possible\nspeed to Manila; Lieutenant Webb's detail on the \"Cavadonga\" for the\nfirst time turned its back on the enemy and fled for the protecting\nwalls of the barracks. When these battle-begrimed veterans reached the\nquarters there was such a demonstration as the old walls had never seen\nbefore. The old scenes of order disappeared, the rigors of discipline\nwere relaxed, and chaos reigned. Everything was made subservient to the\none all-absorbing topic, \"Home.\" The sturdy soldier doffed his war\nattire and donned his peaceful garb. The renowned Utah band paraded the\nstreets in holiday dress and, with the blare of brass, proclaimed the\nhappy news to the nut-brown maid. The stalwart warriors danced and sang\nto the music of that soul-lifting song, \"A Hot Time in the Old Town\nTonight.\" The jubilant battle hero collected his ordnance and other war\ntrappings and handed them over to the ordnance officer while he\nexchanged looks of mutual doubt and suspicion with that important\npersonage. The weary and worn Utahn bade adieu to the dreamy-eyed damsel\nof the East with many expressions of fond attachment and love; then\nmustered his heterogeneous troop of relics and curiosities and joined\nthe Nebraska regiment on the \"Hancock.\" Two days later the officers\nsteamed over from the gay apartments of the \"Baltimore\" in a brightly\ndecorated launch and walked aboard the big boat. Finally a goodly supply\nof canned beef and antiquated swine were hoisted on the vessel and the\nCaptain gave orders for the sailing flag to be put to the breeze. This\nwas on July 1st.\n\nWhen the official contingent was safely housed in spacious staterooms it\nwas learned that quite a change had taken place in the roster of that\nworthy body. The shoulders of Captain Grant were adorned with the gold\nleaf of a Major; Lieutenant Critchlow had been elevated to a Captaincy;\nLieutenant Naylor wore the single bar of a First Lieutenant, and First\nSergeant John A. Anderson of Battery B shone in the glowing uniform of a\nSecond Lieutenant. Major Young sent a letter bidding farewell to the\nUtahns and expressing his disappointment at not being able to accompany\nthe batteries home.\n\nThe batteryman entertained no high opinion of the Government transport.\nHe had become acquainted with the luxuries which Uncle Sam provides the\ndefenders of his broad acres. He had already learned how elaborately the\nAmerican Government furnishes apartments for its soldiers and food for\nits larder. So, after he had landed safely on the main deck and\ndeposited his knapsack and monkeys, he was not surprised when the order\ncame for him to take his goods and chattels and repair to the forward\nhold. He entered the gangway and descended four flights of stairs\nwithout any misgiving or hesitation. He threaded his way through the\nlabyrinthian passage of his subaqueous home with a skill equal to that\ndisplayed by the blind fish of the Mammoth Cave. He beheld the\nwonderfully constructed bunks which glowed specter-like in the\nsemi-darkness without evincing the least disappointment. Later when one\nof these had been assigned as his sole property during the voyage he\naccepted it and its diminutive proportions without a murmur and\nphilosophically concluded that the Government either thought he had\ndiminished in stature while on the islands or intended to reduce his\ndimensions on the way home. Thus the Utah warrior was quartered. The\ncelerity with which he adapted himself to his environments clearly\nexhibited his excellent training. He quickly disposed of the problem of\nhow to shorten his linear measurements to four feet eight inches by\nplacing himself diagonally across his bed. The posture thus assumed was\nnot unlike that of a \"Skeleton in Armor.\" When his joints became cramped\nhe straightened himself out by throwing his soles against the head of\nhis neighbor, who instantly developed a remarkable vocabulary of\nexplosives anent Hades, Paradise, Satan, etc.\n\nMess time on the \"Hancock\" was not an occasion of the greatest felicity\nto the returning volunteers. Their epicurean tastes could not totally\nharmonize with bogus coffee and cows that had a flavor strangely akin to\nthat of horse flesh. When the bugle shrilly proclaimed the dinner hour\nthe men formed in a long serpentine line and displayed their skill in\nkeeping their equilibrium and at the same time holding their place in\nthe procession. The rattle of Government tinware, upon which the soldier\nhad inscribed many strange hieroglyphics descriptive of his adventures,\nserved as a musical entertainment in lieu of the melody furnished at all\nother times by the combined efforts of the Utah and Nebraska bands. They\nfacetiously derided the commissary sergeant who had long since become\ncalloused to all sneering remarks made by the ordinary defender of the\nflag; for in case of any exceedingly hostile demonstration he was armed\nwith a long cleaver and several carefully concealed bolos. They made\ncomments, too, not at all flattering to the bill of fare, about \"gold\nfish\" and \"slum-gullion\" and ancient swine, but they \"wasted their venom\non a file.\" The cooks, also, came in for a share of the complimentary\ncriticisms, for they were not blessed with a superabundance of skill in\nthe culinary art. Occasionally the voice of a volunteer was raised in\nloud-mouthed protest over the meagerness of his own supply of food and\nthe apparent excessiveness which adorned the plate of his associate.\nThis always ended in a peculiar panegyric on the merits of a person who\nhad a \"stand in\" or a \"pull\" with the officers. When the ravenous Utahn\nwas handed his cheer the bestower very kindly warned him not to taste or\nsmell the victuals, as such an act would be attendant with serious\ninjury to his appetite; so he merely devoured the contents of his plate\nwith his eyes and passed them on to his gastronomical organs with no\nfurther ceremony.\n\nA small portion of the forward deck was allotted to the batteries to be\nused as a messhall, lounging apartment, etc. It was here the\nbattle-scarred veterans collected at meal times and dispatched their\nslender store. As the Pacific is not always so peaceful as its name,\nthis pleasing task was not at all times accomplished with ease. When on\na boat tipped to an angle of 60 degrees, a Japanese juggler would find\nsome difficulty in conjuring his body to remain in an upright position\nand simultaneously inducing a seething plate of soup to abide in a\nplacid state; yet the uninitiated volunteers contrived to perform this\ndaring feat three times a day. The many strange figures which they\ndescribed in their endeavors to execute these occult tricks would have\ndone justice to the most skillful acrobat. Frequently, as the vessel\ngave an extra lurch, the insecure warrior proceeded with all possible\nspeed to the side of the boat and deposited his food and eating utensils\non the surface of the sad sea waves amid the execrations of those whom\nhe had the good fortune to come in contact with on his hasty trip and\nthe jibes of his appreciative audience. At this same place the\nmendacious batterymen gathered in the warm afternoons to tell sea\nserpent legends and fairy stories about some great event which had never\nhappened in the trenches. When this supply had been exhausted they began\nforthwith to dilate upon the virtues of the most famous officers until\nthose worthies would have been unable to recognize their own characters\nhad they been confronted with them in their garnished garb. Once in a\nvery great while an officer strolled down from the aristocratic\natmosphere of the saloon dining hall and watched the feeding of the\nenlisted drove with a superior grace. To convince the famished soldiers\nthat they were getting a redundant quantity of food, he sometimes called\nfor a [text missing in original.] There was always a good heap of hash\nleft to show the astonished men that they were merely chronic kickers.\nThen the well-fed comedian adjourned to his spacious saloon and offered\nan apology to his offended stomach by supplying it with an abundance of\nall that the steamer carried.\n\nThe one great comfort to the fagging spirits of the Utahn was the\nbattery fund. Through the darkest days of war his dying hopes were\nrevived by visions of what the future held in store for him by the aid\nof this phantom. It was to the despairing volunteer what mirage is to\nthe thirsty traveler of the desert. The fund represented the combined\ncontributions of the soldiers, benevolent persons and charitable\ninstitutions. Besides this a fabulous sum was added by the artillery\ncanteen which exchanged beer for the Utes' money and, in addition to\nwhat it contributed towards the battery fund, provided turkeys and\nsuccotash for the Thanksgiving and Christmas banquets. When it was\nannounced that this enormous sum was to be expended for dainties on the\nway home the joy of the batteryman knew no limits. Spectre dinners of\nmutton, cakes and pies arose in his mind with a suddenness that would\nhave startled the most ardent disbeliever in ghosts. Without the aid of\nPluto he called up all the spirits of meals long dead and fed on them\ntill the marvelous distribution should take place. And it was not long\nin coming. One morning, accompanied by the stentorian voice of the bugle\nJudge Williams, heavily laden with a huge cargo of jam, hove in sight.\nThen were many whispered comments made about the quantity which each man\nwas to receive. The Judge soon stopped this and shortly after there was\na hum of satisfaction all along the deck as the men made way with this\ndelicacy. Now the gastronomy of the warrior lived and flourished under\nthe rigors of army hardtack and navy beans, but it collapsed at once\nwhen introduced to Jamesson's jam. There was a sudden epidemic of cramps\nthroughout the entire organization, but the ever victorious commissary\nsergeant soon stamped this out by the judicious application of some\nFrench mustard, which had been purchased by the battery fund. And thus\nthe men of Utah were fed.\n\nMeanwhile the swift \"Hancock\" steamed out of Manila bay and speeded\ntoward Japan. Two days out she passed the beautiful Island of Formosa,\nand in three days more the vessel came in sight of Nagasaki, the leading\ncoaling station of the Flowery Kingdom. Just at dusk the pilot boarded\nthe vessel and directed her safely through the narrow channel into the\nland-locked harbor. Next morning all the soldiers were given shore leave\nfor the day and San-pans--the native craft--were provided to take the\nmen ashore. Here the Utahn explored the country in the jin-rickisha--a\ntwo-wheeled vehicle which is drawn by the cabby himself, who as soon as\nhe has settled to his satisfaction the price to be paid, ambles off at a\ngentle speed. If the Island of Kiusiu appeared beautiful as the boat\napproached it in the waning twilight it seemed doubly so in the glory of\nthe morning sun. It is a land where poetry breathes as freely as the\ngentle zephyrs blow from the summit of Mount Olympus; it is a land where\nwomen are as fair as the daughters of Niobe. The pretty terraced hills\nadorned with Pagan temples are rich in the odor of the spice and pine;\nthe pellucid lakes and bays gather a silver purity from the very crest\nof the mountain; and as one gazes upon this beauty and simple grandeur\nhe imagines that it was just such influences as these that stirred the\nsoul of Hellas when she pictured Aphrodite springing out of the sea or\nNeptune riding in his chariot of shells with a gay company of Tritons\nand Nymphs. Three days, owing to a raging typhoon, the vessel was\ndelayed in coaling, but after the storm had spent its force the coaling\nwas resumed and the transport put to sea. On the 11th the ships arrived\nat Muji, the key to the southern end of the inland sea. Here Japan's\nmilitary power is fully shown. Huge guns bristle from every hill, dark\nwarships stud the clear waters of the ocean and soldiers deck the peaks.\nThe sharp green cliffs in the inland sea chop off into the water and\nfrom every one of these of any importance a cannon menacingly points.\nBoth entrances to the place are controlled by powerful fortresses which\ncommand the open sea for a distance of twelve miles. In such a way has\nthe Mikado prepared for any war emergency. Two days after sighting Muji\nthe \"Hancock\" dropped anchor in the harbor of Yokahama. The visit here\nlasted three days, during which the Utahns took a trip to Tokio and saw\nof what the outside wall of the Emperor's palace is composed. At\nYokahama the batterymen spent the time in visiting the European portion\nof the town and learning all they could about the flavor of the Japanese\nfoods. On the 16th the vessel lifted her ponderous anchor and pointed\nher prow eastward.\n\nThe only exciting incident during the entire voyage happened at\nNagasaki, when the first officer attempted to use corporal punishment on\nthe ship's quartermaster who had been ashore and in addition to getting\ndrunk had succeeded in breaking his kneepan. While he was getting his\nwound attended to in the ship's hospital the big burly mate descended\nthe gangway and struck him a violent blow in the face. Not content with\nthis brutal treatment the monster had the poor wretch placed in irons\nand dragged up the ship's ladder. Just as this procession landed on the\nupper deck the soldiers rose unto a man and stopped the performance amid\ncries of \"throw him overboard.\" Surprised and astounded at this\ninterference the worthy officer demanded of the mob if they knew they\nwere mutinying. To which several of the leaders answered they knew not\nunder what legal nomenclature such a demonstration could be classed but\nthat they would carry out their threat to the letter if the castigation\nshould proceed. At this the cowed dignitary retreated in haste to the\nsecurity of his cabin.\n\nThe \"Hancock\" was generally regarded as a fast boat. This may have been\ntrue twenty years before the Nebraskans and Utahns boarded her, but\nthere were those who doubted the truth of such an assertion. During her\ninfancy on the Atlantic the boat had struck an iceberg and succeeded in\nbreaking forty feet off her bow. Since then she has been subject to\nperiodical disturbances in her interior, consequently her owners\npatiently awaited the advent of war, knowing that the United States\nGovernment would purchase her for the transport service at an early\nopportunity. It is needless to say she eventually found her way into the\nPacific. On leaving Manila it was the intention of the \"Hancock\" to\nbreak her own record of eighteen days between San Francisco and that\nport. Her new record of thirty days had not yet been announced in the\nnewspapers. As a matter of fact she did happen to break her machinery\nand delay the expedition six hours, causing a break in the fond hopes\nwhich the soldiers had built up.\n\nThere was one death during the trip over, Richard Ralph of Battery B,\nwho died at Nagasaki of typhoid fever on the 15th of July. Corporal\nGeorge Williams of the same organization was also left at the same point\nowing to a severe attack of the dysentery. Both men were Englishmen and\nhad enlisted at Eureka. Otherwise the health of the batteries was good.\n\nThe big prow of the \"Hancock\" loomed up darkly on the night of the 29th\nin San Francisco harbor and rested at anchor. The long sea journey was\nover. Until very late that night, long after taps had sounded sharply\nover the waters of the harbor, the soldiers clustered around the deck of\nthe ship, heard the megaphone dialogues between the newspaper tugs and\nthe transport, and looked with longing eyes and hearts that beat with\njoy at the gleaming lights of San Francisco.\n\nMany friends from Utah arrived on tugs during the next day, when the\ntransport was still in quarantine, and there was a generous greeting\nwhen the transport moved up to the dock on the morning of the 30th. The\nwhole of this day was spent by the soldiers in exchanging greeting with\nfriends and in preparing their property for transportation to the\nPresidio.\n\nIt was on the morning of the 31st that the soldiers were permitted for\nthe first time to descend from the transport and walk again, after\nsixteen months of absence in the Orient, upon the shores of the United\nStates.\n\nThe battalions marched up the streets of San Francisco behind the\nveterans of the Nebraska regiment, the center of a tremendous\ndemonstration. At the Presidio they were given quarters on the slopes to\nthe left of the Presidio road. The patriotic sentiments and generous\nfeelings of the citizens had been further shown, as the slopes of the\nhills were lined with large Sibley tents, each equipped with a stove as\nprotection from the chilly mists that creep up by night from the bay.\nThere were also frame buildings for use as offices and a large kitchen\nand mess room, commodiously and thoroughly equipped for comfort and\nconvenience.\n\nThe citizens of Utah in the meantime had been active in preparations for\nreceiving the native warriors. On August 8th, Adjutant-General Charles\nS. Burton and Colonel Bruback, members of the Governor's staff, and\nrepresenting the citizens' committee, arrived at the Presidio and used\nevery effort in providing for the further comfort of the men and\narranging for their early departure to their homes in Utah. It was\nlearned that a special train had been chartered by the citizens to\nconvey the volunteers to Utah, and to the fund necessary for this\npurpose Collis P. Huntington of the Southern Pacific had contributed\n$2500.\n\nThe date for the muster out of the Utah troops was fixed by the\nheadquarters of the Department of California as August 16th, and\nnotwithstanding the efforts of General Burton and Major Grant to have\nthis time extended, General Shafter was unable to give an extension of\ntime. This left but a short period for the immense labor of closing the\naffairs of the battery and the intricate details of the muster out. The\nCaptains of the batteries and a large clerical force were kept working\nalmost continuously from the day of the arrival at the Presidio, and\nlate on the night of the 15th they had the gratification, after toilsome\ndays and sleepless nights, of putting the final touch to the muster out\nrolls. The next morning the rolls went to the paymaster. The labors of\nthe Utah volunteers in the army of the Republic were over.\n\nSome time before this, on August 5th, the men passed the final physical\nexamination, and the general condition of the command was found to be\nextraordinarily good. Then the men were ready for the last function of\nmuster out.\n\nThe next day the paymaster's wagon rattled up the Presidio slope. Then\nthe soldiers performed the last act of their soldier career. One by one\nthey marched into the small official frame building where the paymaster\nfingered his gold. As the veterans came out, each hand laden with gold,\nthere was upon each face an iridescent smile, not only because of the\naugmented wealth, but for the reason that each one knew that for him the\nlast bugle call had sounded, that his breast would no longer swell under\nthe blue of the United States uniform. In two hours the soldiers had all\nleft the Presidio, officers were shaking hands with the men over the\nbridged chasm of official dignity, and up on the slope of the Presidio\nthe Sibley tents were ransacked and deserted.\n\nThat night the men of Utah slept in the hotels of San Francisco and\ndreamed of the morrow.\n\nOn the night of the 16th the transport \"Warren\" arrived, bearing among\nits passengers Major Richard W. Young, late chieftain of the batteries,\nwho had come, much to the satisfaction of the men, in time to join his\nold war comrades in the homegoing.\n\nThe ferry which was to carry the soldiers to Oakland was ready before\nnoon on the 17th, and early in the afternoon the engine of the special\ntrain gave a few premonitory puffs and the train full of returning\nwarriors was moving towards Utah. The cars consisted of tourist sleepers\nfor the men and a buffet Pullman for the officers and their friends.\nAcross the center car a streamer stretched, bearing the words, \"The Utah\nBatteries.\"\n\nCrowds gather at all the stations on the route and cheer the warriors.\nThere was some delay, but nothing of special import occurred during the\ntrip.\n\nEarly on the 19th the soldiers were able to see for the first time the\ntowering blue mountains of Utah and the splendor of her sunshine. It was\nnearly noon when the train drew up at the Ogden station, and the\nsoldiers looked out over the heads of a cheering multitude and listened\nto shrill whistles signalling a joyous welcome. The reception here only\nlasted an hour, but was cordial in the extreme, and out on the Ogden\npark a tempting lunch was served by fair women of Ogden. Lieutenant\nGeorge A. Seaman, formerly of Ogden, was given an ovation as he stepped\ndown from the platform of the car. A special car conveying the Governor\nand a large party met the volunteers.\n\nTwo hours later the jubilation was complete. The volunteers saw at first\na crowd and then a throng. They saw flaming streamers, flags fluttering\nand hats waving; they heard the diaphanous shriek of the steam whistles,\nthe blaring of bands and the din of thousands cheering--all mingled in\none chorus of praise and rejoicing. There were hurried handshakes and\ngreetings and policemen's voices raised in fierce altercation with the\ncrowd.\n\nSoon with the cavalrymen and the engineers and the national guardsmen\nthe batterymen had struggled into line. Horses were in waiting at the\nstation for the officers and all were mounted in the parade. When the\norder to march could be heard through the tumult, the procession moved\nthrough a gayly decked arch at the station, and Majors Young and Grant\nrode side by side at the head of the battalion.\n\nThe crowd became more dense as the march continued towards Main street,\nand as far as Liberty Park thousands thronged the avenues. Excited\nrelatives made a military formation impossible by rushing into the ranks\nto grasp the hand of a veteran.\n\nAt the Park the day's ceremonies were held. There were speeches by the\nGovernor and the two Majors, and here the silver medals which the\nLegislature decided should be presented to the fighting sons of the\nState were awarded. With the conclusion of the formal exercises, the\nvolunteers were led to an elaborately prepared lunch on beflowered\ntables beneath the shadows of the locust trees, and while refreshments\nwere being taken fair maidens who ministered at the feast pinned badges\non the breasts of the modest volunteers.\n\nThat night the celebration reached its full blazonry. The city glowed\nand sparkled; gayly-bedecked, her flaunting colors were aurioled in the\nlustres of the night; like an imperial palace, awaiting the return of\nvictorious princes, the lights gleamed and burned into the darkness; and\nin the center a luminous monument, glowing like the smile of an\narchangel, stood in vivid brightness the arch of triumph.\n\nWhen the men of Utah batteries passed out into the darkness that night\nfrom the dazzle of color they knew that the glamor of the victorious\nhome-coming, the shouts and the jubilation were over. Yet there was\npeace in their hearts and on their breast was a badge of honor from a\ngrateful people. And when they slept that night there were in their\ndreams no spectral visions of distant battlefields. All that was\nclosed.\n\n\n\n\nOFFICERS OF THE BATTERIES.\n\n\nMAJOR RICHARD W. YOUNG.\n\n[Illustration: MAJOR RICHARD W. YOUNG.]\n\nMajor Richard W. Young, who left Utah as the ranking officer of the two\nbatteries, being at that time Captain of Battery A, and who was\nafterward appointed Major commanding the battalion and still later\nselected as Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of Manila, is a\nnative of this State, having been born April 19, 1858, his parents being\nJoseph A. Young (deceased), a son of the late Brigham Young, President\nof the Mormon Church, and Margaret Whitehead Young, who still survives\nher husband.\n\nMajor Young is a trained military man, having been educated at the\nmilitary academy at West Point. For a time after his graduation he was a\nmember of the staff of Major-General Hancock, at that time commanding\nthe Department of the East. Later he acted as Judge-Advocate in the army\nand conducted the Swaim court-martial, which was a case celebrated at\nthat time. He was then transferred to the Third Artillery and stationed\nhere with his battery at Fort Douglas. He resigned the service to take\nup the practice of law, which he engaged in until he was selected as\nmanager of the Herald, a place which he filled acceptably for some time,\nwhen he again resigned to practice law.\n\nAt the outbreak of the war with Spain he tendered his services to the\nGovernment and was later selected by the Governor of Utah to command\nBattery A. At Camp Kent he was the ranking officer and had entire charge\nof its affairs.\n\nHis services in the Philippines were of such a distinguished character\nthat he was breveted Major by the President and later promoted to the\ncomplete rank.\n\nWhen the batteries' term of service was nearly completed, he was\ndesignated by Major-General Otis as Associate Justice of the Supreme\nCourt of Manila and came home with the volunteers to enjoy a vacation.\n\nMajor Young is the author of a standard work on military law written\nwhile he was a Lieutenant in the regular army. He is an able young man\nand one well liked and respected. He is exceedingly popular here in this\ncity and State and outside of it.\n\nHis married life has been very happy. Eight children have been born to\nhim and Mrs. Young, seven of whom are living.\n\n\nMAJOR FRANK A. GRANT.\n\n[Illustration: MAJOR FRANK A. GRANT.]\n\nFrank A. Grant, who went away from Salt Lake City with the bars of a\nCaptain, came home with the gold leaves of a Major in his shoulder\nstrap. He is not a native of this State, but was born in Kingston,\nOntario, forty-four years ago. He received his education at the\nmilitary college of his native city and graduated therefrom. After\nleaving school he came to the United States, where he became a citizen,\nand settling at Detroit was engaged by one of the large steamship\ncompanies in the capacity of pilot. He was a well trained man in his\nbusiness and followed the occupation for a period of ten years. He has\nlived in Utah for ten years. During that time he was engaged in real\nestate and insurance business, in both of which he made great successes.\n\nAt the time of the breaking out of hostilities he was a member of the\nNational Guard of Utah, being Colonel of the First Infantry. Previous to\nthis time he had held a position as staff officer on the brigade\ncommander's staff, and was always a valuable man in military matters. It\nwas due principally to his efforts that Troop C was organized in this\ncity and made a success.\n\nGovernor Wells commissioned him as Captain of Battery B, and with that\nrank he went into the field. Like Major Young he was breveted by the\nPresident for distinguished service and later was promoted to the full\nrank of Major, coming home in command of the battalion.\n\nAs commander of the river fleet Major Grant performed excellent service,\nhis expedition up the Rio Grande de Pampanga being especially well\ncarried out. Since his return he has gone into his old business--that of\ninsurance--and expresses himself as having had enough of military life.\nHe is married and has six children.\n\n\nCAPTAIN E.A. WEDGEWOOD.\n\n[Illustration: CAPTAIN E.A. WEDGEWOOD.]\n\nCaptain E.A. Wedgewood, who was promoted to the command of Battery A\nafter the promotion of Major Young, left the State as First Lieutenant\nof Battery B. He is a native of Massachusetts, about forty years of age\nand an attorney-at-law, being the junior partner of the firm of Rawlins,\nThurman, Hurd & Wedgewood. Immediately prior to his coming to Utah he\nhad served as Sheriff for several terms in the State of Nebraska. He\nselected Provo for his home on coming to Utah and after entering the law\noffice of George Sutherland in that city and being admitted to the bar,\nassociated himself with Hon. S.R. Thurman. Later on the present firm was\nformed.\n\nCaptain Wedgewood was the officer sent back from San Francisco to Utah\nto recruit 104 men in order to bring the batteries to their full\nstrength. Upon returning to San Francisco the party embarked and joined\nthe commands in Manila.\n\nCaptain Wedgewood was a member of the National Guard prior to the time\nof his enlistment, being Captain of the Provo company at the State\nencampment the year previous. He is said to be a most versatile\ncharacter and can do anything from playing the violin to patching a sail\nor pleading a case in court. It was expected he would rejoin the\nNational Guard, but it is learned he has had enough of military honors\nand will engage in the practice of his profession with a view to reaping\nshekels for use in his old age.\n\n\nCAPTAIN JOHN F. CRITCHLOW.\n\n[Illustration: CAPTAIN JOHN F. CRITCHLOW.]\n\nCaptain John F. Critchlow left the State with the batteries a Second\nLieutenant. He came back here leading Battery B. His promotion was due\nto distinguished service performed while abroad. He was specially\nrecommended for gallantry by Major Young and for coolness on the field\nunder circumstances of the most trying character.\n\nCaptain Critchlow was born in Tonawanda, N.Y., in 1867, and is only 32\nyears of age. He attended the Rochester University and after graduating\nfrom that institution went to the University of Pennsylvania, where he\nstudied medicine for several years, graduating in 1894 with the degree\nof M.D. For the next year and a half he was in the German hospital at\nPhiladelphia, where he was enabled to obtain a practical insight into\nthe mysteries of materia medica, and upon leaving there he came to this\ncity, where his brother, E.B. Critchlow, a prominent attorney, was\nalready established in business.\n\nDr. Critchlow became a member of the National Guard some time after his\narrival, being attached to the medical staff with the rank of First\nLieutenant. He proved to be a valuable and efficient member, always on\nthe alert and endeared himself to all his associates.\n\nWhen the call was made for troops he enlisted in Battery B and was made\na Second Lieutenant in that organization.\n\nHis services in the Philippines were valuable. On the night attack of\nthe Spanish it was Lieutenant Critchlow who brought the ammunition to\nthe firing line at the time when it was most needed. In every place to\nwhich he was assigned he was always at the fore and his conspicuous\nbravery was the subject of special commendation, as has been related.\nUpon the promotion of Captain Grant to the rank of Major, he was\nadvanced to that of Captain, coming home in command of the organization\nwith which he went out as a Second Lieutenant.\n\n\nLIEUTENANT GEORGE W. GIBBS.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT GEORGE W. GIBBS.]\n\nFirst Lieutenant George W. Gibbs of Battery A is a well-known character\nin this State, in Montana and in Massachusetts, his old home, where he\nwas born. His father was a veteran of the War of the Rebellion and\nGeorge was a member of the order in Montana, having been department\ncommander with the rank of colonel. He has always been interested in\nmatters appertaining to the National Guard; was a member of an infantry\nregiment in Massachusetts, a Captain of a troop of cavalry in Montana\nand Captain of Battery A, N.G.U., and Major of the battalion at the\noutbreak of hostilities with Spain.\n\nHe was at one time chief of the fire department in Helena and was a\nmember of the Salt Lake City department at the time W.A. Stanton was its\nchief, being captain of the chemical. He afterwards served as Deputy\nSheriff when Harvey Hardy was at the head of that department.\n\nGibbs is forty-one years of age and married. Two children, a boy and a\ngirl, are the result of a union with a most estimable lady.\n\nPrior to coming to this city and before he went to Montana he was in\nColorado, where he was employed as a sheriff's officer, serving with\ndistinction. He spent some time in San Francisco, where he was in the\nemploy of one of the leading traction companies.\n\n\nLIEUTENANT RAYMOND C. NAYLOR.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT RAYMOND C. NAYLOR.]\n\nLieutenant Raymond C. Naylor was born in Salt Lake City in 1873. His\nearly education was received in the public schools of Utah. Later he\nattended the University of Utah, from which he graduated with honor. As\na student he took a prominent part in athletics and military training,\nbeing a member of the baseball team as well as captain of one of the\ncompanies of students then taking military drill under Lieutenant\nWright. He afterward taught school for several years and was engaged in\nthat labor in Centerville when the war broke out. Those who knew him\nwell were not surprised when he stepped to the front and offered his\nservice to his country along with others who were willing to brave any\nperil in defense of their country's honor. Lieutenant Naylor had long\nassociated himself with the National Guard, in which he was Captain for\ntwo years. He afterwards was promoted Major and at the breaking out of\nhostilities he was filling the office of Assistant Inspector General\nwith the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.\n\nWhen the batteries were organized Governor Wells appointed him a Second\nLieutenant of Battery A, which position he filled with such distinction\nthat he was promoted First Lieutenant.\n\nAs an officer Lieutenant Naylor won the respect and admiration of both\nofficers and men. His interest in behalf of the privates gained for him\na popularity which was not surpassed by any of the officers in the\nbatteries.\n\n\nLIEUTENANT ORRIN R. GROW.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT ORRIN R. GROW.]\n\nSecond Lieutenant Orrin R. Grow, the youngest commissioned officer of\nthe Utah batteries at the time of their departure for the Philippines,\nwas born in Salt Lake City October 20, 1873. As a boy he received his\neducation in the public schools of Salt Lake City and afterwards he\nattended the University of Utah several years, but he did not remain\nlong enough to graduate. While at the University he took military\ntraining under Lieutenant Wright and after leaving that institution he\njoined the Denhalter Rifles as bugler. He soon was promoted Sergeant and\nsubsequently Lieutenant.\n\nWhen the Denhalters joined the National Guard in 1892 Mr. Grow went with\nthem and was unanimously chosen captain of Company A, First Infantry,\nN.G.U. Later he was chosen Major, a position which he held with credit\nuntil the breaking out of hostilities. His ability was recognized by\nGovernor Wells, who appointed him a Second Lieutenant of Battery B when\nthat organization was mustered in. Lieutenant Grow went with his battery\nto the Philippines, and during the fighting at Malate distinguished\nhimself. During January, 1899, he returned home owing to serious\nillness. His early departure from the island prevented him from winning\ngreater honors in the insurrection, as his ability was displayed in the\nSpanish-American war.\n\n\nLIEUTENANT WILLIAM C. WEBB.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT WILLIAM C. WEBB.]\n\nAlong with the many native sons of Utah who joined the ranks in defense\nof their country there were some who were born on foreign soil. Such a\nman was Lieutenant William C. Webb, who was born in England March 13,\n1873. In his early youth Webb attended the schools of his native country\nand while he was yet a youth he accompanied his parents when they\nemigrated to Utah.\n\nLieutenant Webb early associated himself with military affairs, as he\nwas a member of the Denhalter Rifles, and when that organization lost\nits identity in the National Guard he became one of the most active\nworkers in the new service. When Captain Grow of Company A became Major\nof the First Battalion, First Infantry, N.G.U., Webb was unanimously\nchosen Captain of that company. He held this position until he was\nappointed a Second Lieutenant of Battery A by Governor Wells.\n\nWhen the Utah volunteers left for Manila Lieutenant Webb accompanied\nthem. He took part in the Malate campaign, where he showed promise of\nthat brilliant work which he later accomplished in the Filipino\noutbreak. At the breaking out of the insurrection he had charge of the\nleft platoon of Battery A at Santa Mesa hill. His fearlessness and\ndaring at that place won for him the universal admiration of his men.\nLater he was placed in command of the river gunboat \"Cavadonga,\" and\nduring all the fierce fighting of that little boat he manipulated her\nwith remarkable skill.\n\nLieutenant Webb, on account of his exceptional work, was recommended for\na Lieutenancy in the regular army, a position which he will undoubtedly\naccept.\n\n\nLIEUTENANT GEORGE A. SEAMAN.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT GEORGE A. SEAMAN.]\n\nLieutenant George A. Seaman, who went away as a Corporal of Battery A,\nand came back with the \"straps\" of a Second Lieutenant, was born in the\nlittle town of Morgan, twenty-nine years ago. While he was yet a boy his\nparents moved to Ogden, where he secured the foundation of the education\nwhich was later enlarged upon at the State University. He remained at\nthat institution four years, graduating with honor in 1892. While\nobtaining his mental training he was a member of the University\nBattalion, in which organization he acquitted himself so well that his\nname was placed upon the honorary roll at Washington. It was also during\nhis college career that he became acquainted with Miss Lottie Fox,\ndaughter of Jesse W. Fox. Between them sprang up a mutual attachment,\nwhich was later consummated at the altar. Shortly afterwards Lieutenant\nSeaman moved with his wife to Bountiful, where he took up school\nteaching as a profession. He showed an efficiency in his work which won\nthe esteem of all his patrons and pupils. When the call for soldiers was\nmade his blood was of that order which impelled him to drop the master's\nrod and take up the sword in defense of his country.\n\nHaving enlisted he set to work to familiarizing himself with all the\ntactics pertaining to artillery warfare, and soon made himself\nacquainted with military science. His studious habits and his morality\nsoon commended him to his superior officers who recommended him for the\nfirst vacancy which occurred. He was appointed Second Lieutenant of\nBattery B, which position he held with honor until the mustering out of\nthe battalion.\n\n\nLIEUTENANT FRANK T. HINES.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT FRANK T. HINES.]\n\nLieutenant Frank T. Hines, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Frank L. Hines, was\nborn twenty-one years ago in Salt Lake City. He attended the city\nschools from which he graduated in 1896. For several years thereafter he\nwas employed at Mercur and later entered the Agricultural College. It\nwas while at the college that Mr. Hines learned to like the military\nlife which he subsequently led for a short period.\n\nWhen the country called for volunteers he enlisted in Captain Grant's\nbattery as a private, but he was soon appointed duty sergeant. The\nlatter position he filled very creditably and when a vacancy occurred by\nreason of the resignation of Lieutenant Grow, he was elevated to the\nSecond Lieutenancy, which office he held until the batteries were\ndischarged.\n\n\nLIEUTENANT JOHN A. ANDERSON.\n\n[Illustration: LIEUTENANT JOHN A. ANDERSON.]\n\nLieutenant John A. Anderson, one of the few who worked his way up by\nsheer force of ability, was born in Smithfield, Cache county, Utah,\ntwenty-five years ago. He received his education in the district school\nof his native town, and later went to work as a millman, the occupation\nwhich he followed at the breaking out of the war.\n\nWhen the batteries went away he was a duty sergeant of Battery B, in\nwhich capacity he earned the position which he afterwards secured. It\nwas Sergeant Anderson who had charge of that section of the Utah\nBattalion which accompanied General Lawton in his expedition in the\ninterior as far as San Isidro. Following his return he was appointed\nFirst Sergeant of Battery B, and just before the organization left the\nisland he received his commission as second lieutenant. Lieutenant\nAnderson was a brave, efficient man, and one who won the respect of all\nwho knew him.\n\n\nSERGEANT HARRY A. YOUNG.\n\n[Illustration: SERGEANT HARRY A. YOUNG.]\n\nSergeant Harry A. Young, son of the late Lorenzo D. Young, was born in\nSalt Lake City February 24, 1865. During his boyhood he attended the\npublic school of his native town, and afterwards he spent several years\nin the Utah University, where he evinced a great liking to medicine.\nDuring 1884-85 he filled a mission to the Northern States. Soon after\nhis return he went East and entered the medical department of Columbia\nCollege. He graduated from this institution with distinguished honors\nand great future promise to his profession. He established himself in\nSalt Lake City, where he succeeded in building up quite an extensive\npractice in a short time. The blood of a patriot flowed through the\nveins of Dr. Young and when his country needed his service he cheerfully\njoined the ranks and was appointed Quartermaster-Sergeant of Battery A,\na position which he filled with great credit. When the Utah volunteers\nembarked for Manila Sergeant Young went with them and took part in the\nfighting against the Spaniards. Although his service as a doctor was not\nrequired, Dr. Young was continually in the front administering to the\nwants of the wounded men. Subsequently he participated in the fighting\nof the Tagalan outbreak, and it was while he was bravely at the front in\nsearch of opportunities to perform deeds of mercy that he met with his\ndeath at the hand of the enemy on February 6, 1899.\n\nThose who were intimately acquainted with Dr. Young knew his sterling\nworth and admired his manhood. He ever walked in the path of right,\nunmindful of the opinions of the world. What he considered to be his\nduty he did with unswerving honesty. He was diligent and studious and\napplied himself with untiring energy to his books. As a soldier the\nbatterymen will remember his unceasing efforts to better their\ncondition. During the five tedious months of barrack life when others\nwere idly waiting, he devoted himself to his chosen profession. Had\nSergeant Harry A. Young lived two days longer he would have received his\ncommission as a surgeon in the United States army.\n\n\nSERGEANT FORD FISHER.\n\n[Illustration: SERGEANT FORD FISHER.]\n\nSergeant Ford Fisher, who bravely gave up his life in his country's\ndefense, was born at Seaford, Delaware, twenty-three years ago. He was\nthe son of I.M. Fisher of Salt Lake City. At an early age Ford, as he\nwas better known among his associates, came to Salt Lake City with his\nparents. Here he attended the city High School, from which he graduated\nwith high honors. While at the High School he was noted for his\nefficiency in mathematics and here he developed a liking for civil\nengineering, which he later studied at the Washington State University.\nFor some time prior to the breaking out of hostilities with Spain he had\nassociated himself with the National Guard, and when the President's\ncall came too much patriotic blood flowed through his veins to admit of\nany second appeal, and he enlisted with the batteries.\n\nMajor Young soon became acquainted with the young man's military ability\nand he was appointed drill sergeant at Camp Kent. When the batteries\ndeparted for the Philippines he went with them and distinguished himself\nfor his gallantry in the Malate campaign. Later during the insurrection\nhe took part with the other Utah men in many a fierce conflict with the\ninsurgents until he was stricken down by the enemy's bullet while\nheroically defending his position at San Luiz on May 14, 1899.\n\nThe Utah artillerymen remember the stalwart figure of Sergeant Fisher as\nit loomed up in the forefront at Santa Mesa, Mariquina and Sexmoan. He\nwas an inspiration to the wavering spirits of the Utahn in twenty hard\nencounters. His voice ever sounded as a note of cheer and his ringing\ncommand never failed to infuse with new life. Always attending to his\nduties he expected the same of others; his soul was too great to stoop\nto the level of anything base; his heart was honest and open and free.\nHe was a pleasant companion and a true friend. He was blessed with an\nabundance of original humor which made him doubly loved by the soldiers\nduring the lonely hours of barrack life.\n\nAt the time of his death Sergeant Fisher was first in line of promotion,\nas he had been recommended for the next commission by Major Young.\n\n\n\n\nROSTER\n\nBATTALION UTAH LIGHT ARTILLERY, U.S.V.\n\nMAJOR FRANK A. GRANT, Commanding.[1]\n\nBATTERY A.\n\nOFFICERS.\n\nCaptain, E.A. WEDGEWOOD                               Salt Lake City\n  Wounded April 23, 1899.\nFirst Lieutenant, GEORGE W. GIBBS                     Salt Lake City\nSecond Lieutenant, WILLIAM C. WEBB                    Salt Lake City\nSecond Lieutenant, JOHN A. ANDERSON                            Logan\n\nSERGEANTS.\n\nFirst, JOSEPH O. NYSTROM                              Salt Lake City\nQuartermaster, ADNEBYTH L. WILLIAMS                   Salt Lake City\nVeterinary, JOHN H. MEREDITH                               Kaysville\nEMIL LEHMAN                                           Salt Lake City\nEMIL V. JOHNSON                                       Salt Lake City\nARTHUR W. BROWN                                       Salt Lake City\nWILLIAM E. KNEAS                                      Salt Lake City\nCHARLES R. MABEY                                           Bountiful\nMARK E. BEZZANT                                       Pleasant Grove\n\nCORPORALS.\n\nGEO. S. BACKMAN                                       Salt Lake City\nNOBLE A. McDONNEL                                     Salt Lake City\nWM. JACOBSON                                          Salt Lake City\nNELSON E. MARGETTS                                    Salt Lake City\nTHOMAS COLLINS                                        Salt Lake City\nWM. NELSON, JR                                        Salt Lake City\nJOHN R. WOOLSEY                                            Kaysville\nPETER JENSEN                                                  Newton\nSAMUEL HESBURG                                        Salt Lake City\nLINDSEY HUDSON                                        Salt Lake City\nEDWARD G. WOOD                                                 Logan\nLEONARD DUFFIN                                        Salt Lake City\nFRANK T. HARMER                                          Springville\nTHOMAS HOLLBERG                                       Salt Lake City\nEDGAR W. STOUT                                              Halliday\nWM. T. DENN                                                    Nephi\n\nFARRIERS.\n\nJULIUS W. SORENSEN                                    Salt Lake City\nWM. G. McCOMIE                                        Salt Lake City\n\nARTIFICERS.\n\nBURIAH WILKINS                                             Coalville\nHIELE M. MADSON                                             Gunnison\n\nSADDLER.\n\nVICTOR E. MARTHINI                                         Park City\n\nWAGONER.\n\nJAS W. ALLRED                                                Ephraim\n\nMUSICIANS.\n\nELMER G. THOMAS                                       Salt Lake City\nCHARLES W. KROGH                                      Salt Lake City\n\nPRIVATES.\n\nALDRACH, WILL F.                                          Clear Lake\nANDERSON, JOSEPH F.                                          Ephraim\nANDERSON, LOUIS P.                                           Ephraim\nARCHER, DAVID G.                                      Salt Lake City\nBAGGE, JOHN R.                                        Salt Lake City\nBEAN, HARRY J.                                        Salt Lake City\nBEEMUS, JOHN W.                                             Gunnison\nBENSON, PETER J.                                               Provo\nBERLIN, JOHN H.                                        American Fork\nBOSTWICK, ROBERT L.                                   Salt Lake City\nBRADFORD, ARCHIBALD.                                          Murray\nBYWATER, CALEB J.                                     Salt Lake City\nCAMPBELL, JOHN W.                                     Salt Lake City\nCAULKINS, HAROLD L.                                   Salt Lake City\nCHRISTENSEN, PARLEY B.                                       Ephraim\nCHRISTENSEN, THEODOR                                  Salt Lake City\nCURTIS, CLARENCE S.                                   Salt Lake City\nDAVIS, DAVID J.                                       Salt Lake City\n  Wounded April 23, 1899.\nDOTY, GEORGE E.                                             Richmond\nDUFFIN, GEORGE                                        Salt Lake City\nEARL, WILLIAM                                            Centerville\nEDWARDS, WILLIAM                                      Salt Lake City\nEKSTRAND, ALFRED                                      Salt Lake City\nELLIS, WILLIAM G.                                     Salt Lake City\nEMERY, FRANK W.                                            Park City\nENGLER, GEORGE W.                                              Ogden\nFERRIS, EVERETT B.                                    Salt Lake City\nFISHER, GEORGE R.                                     Salt Lake City\nFRANKENFIELD, GEORGE                                  Salt Lake City\nFUNK, EZRA S.                                               Sterling\nGILROY, JACK                                          Salt Lake City\nGLEDHILL, LEO N.                                            Gunnison\nGRIFFITHS, WALTER F.                                  Salt Lake City\nGUNN, THOMAS S.                                       Salt Lake City\nHARRIS, GEORGE                                        Salt Lake City\nHENNEFER, WILLIAM H.                                  Salt Lake City\nHOPE, CHESTER J.T.                                    Salt Lake City\nHOWELLS, EPHRAIM B.                                        Park City\nHUBER, JACOB                                                   Provo\nHUGHES, THOMAS J.                                          Park City\nHUMPHREY, ANER O.                                        Springville\nINGOLDSBY, JOHN E.                                    Salt Lake City\nIVINS, JOSEPH C.                                      Salt Lake City\nJENICKE, CHARLES G.                                   Salt Lake City\nJONES, HENRY O.                                               Newton\nKAHN, LOUIS E.                                        Salt Lake City\nKEARSLEY, RICHARD.                                    Salt Lake City\nKENNER, RAY                                                 Sterling\n  Wounded accidentally April 21, 1899.\nKIDDER, RALPH                                         Salt Lake City\nKING, MURRAY E.                                             Kingston\nLARSON, WARREN                                               Ephraim\nLEAVER, WILLIAM H.                                    Salt Lake City\n  Wounded July 31, 1898.\nLEE, JAMES A.                                         Salt Lake City\nLOUDER, ARTHUR L.                                              Nephi\nLOWRY, ERNEST E.                                            Sterling\nLYNGBERG, AUGUST E.                                   Salt Lake City\nMEYERS, JOSEPH J.                                     Salt Lake City\nMORGAN, JOSEPH H.                                          Park City\nMORTENSEN, DAVID                                      Salt Lake City\nMcKAY, DANIEL                                         Salt Lake City\nMcLAUGHLIN, WILLIAM F.                                     Park City\nNICHOLSON, ANGUS                                      Salt Lake City\nNIELSON, JAS. P.                                              Eureka\nNIELSON, NIELS                                        Pleasant Grove\nNOBLE, GEORGE W.                                      Salt Lake City\nOHMER, ARTHUR F.                                    Rawlins, Wyoming\nPERRET, WILLIAM E.                                    Salt Lake City\nPETERSON, CHARLES                                     Salt Lake City\nPETERSON, FRANK C.                                             Ogden\nPETERSON LOUIS C.                                     Salt Lake City\nPHILLIPS, MANNIE C.                                   Salt Lake City\nQUINN, JAMES                                               Park City\nRADEMACHER, AUGUST                                             Ogden\nRASMUSSEN, SEVEREN                                         Park City\nRAUSCHER, EDWARD W.                                            Nephi\nRICHMOND, WILLIAM                                              Provo\nROBINSON, WILLIAM J.                                       Park City\nROBISON, JOHN L.                                      Pleasant Grove\nRYAN, MICHAEL F.                                      Salt Lake City\nRYVER, WILLIAM A.                                     Salt Lake City\nSELMER, EMIL F.                                       Salt Lake City\n  Wounded April 26, 1899.\nSLEATER, HAROLD E.                                    Salt Lake City\nSMITH, THOMAS R.                                               Logan\nSORENSON, HANS                                        Salt Lake City\nSORENSON, JOSEPH F.                                   Salt Lake City\nSORENSON, KNUD                                                Eureka\nSTATEN, STANLEY                                          Springville\nSTOUT, CHARLES S.                                     Salt Lake City\nTIPTON, WILLIAM                                          Springville\nTOMPKINS, ODELL D.                                     Mystic, Conn.\nTRIPP, FRANCIS B.                                     Salt Lake City\nVINCENT, FRANK A.                                     Salt Lake City\nWALQUIST, CHARLES A.                                  Salt Lake City\nWEBER, GEORGE E.                                           Park City\nWILLIAMS, ALBERT R.                                   Salt Lake City\nWONNACOTT, JAMES E.                                   Salt Lake City\nWYCHERLEY, SAMUEL A.                                  Salt Lake City\nZAHLER, JOHN F.                                            Bountiful\n\n[Footnote 1: Major Richard W. Young, who originally commanded the\nbattalion, resigned to become Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of\nthe Philippines and Major Frank A. Grant superceded him as commander of\nthe batteries.]\n\nHONORABLY DISCHARGED.\n\nFirst Sergeant, D.H. WELLS                            Salt Lake City\n  October 31, 1898.\nSergeant, A.L. ROBINSON                                 Mt. Pleasant\n  April 3, 1899.\nCorporal, WILLARD CALL                                     Bountiful\n  December 14, 1898.\nCorporal, LEWIS P. HANSON                             Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nCorporal, WM. D. RITER                                Salt Lake City\n  October 31, 1898.\nCorporal, JOHN B. ROGERS                              Salt Lake City\n  June 29, 1899.\nCorporal, GEO. A. SEAMAN                                   Bountiful\n  November 24, 1898.\nCorporal, FRANK B. SHELLY                             Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nFarrier, W.M. CLAWSON                                      Kaysville\n  May 18, 1899.\nFarrier, H.P. HANSEN                                  Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nArtificer, V.A. SMITH                                 Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, ETHAN E. ALLEN                               Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, WM. W. BURNETT                               San Jose, Cal.\n  February 24, 1899.\nPrivate, A.C. CAFFALL                                 Salt Lake City\n  July 7, 1899.\nPrivate, THEO. CLEGHORN                               Salt Lake City\n  May 11, 1899.\nPrivate, JAS. W. CONNELL                              Salt Lake City\n  April 10, 1899.\nPrivate, A.H. FICHTNER                                Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, P.B. FREDERICKSON                                    Eureka\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, GEORGE GRANTHAM                               American Fork\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, JOSEPH J. HOLBROOK                                Bountiful\n  December 14, 1898.\nPrivate, ELMER JOHNSON                                Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899\nPrivate, J.B. LICKLEDERER                             Salt Lake City\n  July 7, 1899.\nPrivate, HERBERT L. MEYERS                       San Francisco, Cal.\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, ISAAC E. LITTRELL                            Berkeley, Cal.\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, THEODORE NEWMAN                              Salt Lake City\n  April 10, 1899.\nPrivate, FRANK E. PETERS                              Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, W.I. ROWLAND                                 Salt Lake City\n  February 1, 1899.\nPrivate, ISAAC RUSSELL                                Salt Lake City\n  January 18, 1899.\nPrivate, BISMARCK SNYDER                                   Park City\n  December 14, 1898.\nPrivate, A.L. THOMAS, JR.                             Salt Lake City\n  June 12, 1898.\nPrivate, JOHN A. TILSON                               Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, FRANCIS TUTTLE                                    Bountiful\n  September 21, 1898.\nPrivate, CHAS. E. VARIAN                              Salt Lake City\n  December 14, 1898.\nPrivate, E.P. WALKER                                  Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\n\n\n\n\nROLL OF HONOR.\n\nKILLED IN ACTION.\n\nQuartermaster-Sergeant, HARRY A. YOUNG                Salt Lake City\n  February 6, 1899.\nSergeant, FORD FISHER                                 Salt Lake City\n  May 14, 1899.\nCorporal, JOHN G. YOUNG                               Salt Lake City\n  February 5, 1899.\nPrivate, WILHELM G. GOODMAN                           Salt Lake City\n  February 5, 1899.\n\nDIED OF DISEASE.\n\nCorporal, GEORGE O. LARSON                                     Dover\n  December 10, 1898.\nCorporal, JOHN T. KENNEDY                                  Park City\n  March 15, 1899.\nPrivate, OSCAR A. FENINGER                                 Park City\n  June 5, 1899.\nPrivate, CHARLES PARSONS                              Salt Lake City\n  April 20, 1899.\n\nBATTERY B.\n\nOFFICERS.\n\nCaptain, JOHN F. CRITCHLOW                            Salt Lake City\nFirst Lieutenant, RAYMOND C. NAYLOR                   Salt Lake City\nSecond Lieutenant, GEORGE A. SEAMAN                        Bountiful\n  Wounded April 11, 1899.\nSecond Lieutenant, FRANK T. HINES (Batt. Adjt.)       Salt Lake City\n\nSERGEANTS.\n\nFirst, JOHN U. BUCHI                                           Provo\nQuartermaster, JAMES K. BURCH                                  Ogden\nVeterinary, FELIX BACHMAN                                      Provo\nLOUIS N. FEHR                                         Salt Lake City\nROBERT STEWART                                            Plain City\nJOHN A. BOSHARD                                                Provo\nGEORGE B. WARDLAW                                              Ogden\n  Wounded February 4, 1899.\nANDREW PETERSON, JR.                                           Manti\n  Wounded March 11, 1899.\nHARVEY DUSENBERRY                                              Provo\n\nCORPORALS.\n\nJAMES J. RYAN                                                 Mercur\nCHARLES C. CLAPPER                                            Mercur\nTHEODORE L. GENTER                                    Salt Lake City\nNEPHI OTTESON                                                  Manti\nHENRY L. SOUTHER                                              Mercur\n  Wounded March 24, 1899.\nDON C. JOHNSON                                           Springville\nFRANK H. COULTER                                               Ogden\nJAS. W. MERANDA                                               Eureka\nJAMES M. DUNN                                                 Tooele\nJNO. FLANNIGAN                                               Mammoth\nRICHARD L. BUSH                                                Logan\nGEORGE WILLIAMS                                       Salt Lake City\nFRANK J. UTZ                                                  Mercur\nSTEPHEN BJARNSON                                        Spanish Fork\nPHILLIP SCHOEBER                                              Salina\nWILLARD H. FARNES                                     Salt Lake City\nFRANK WICKERSHAM                                      Salt Lake City\n\nARTIFICERS.\n\nFRANK DILLINGHAM                                              Eureka\nLEE A. CURTIS                                                  Ogden\n\nWAGONER.\n\nANTONE LITJEROTH                                               Provo\n\nMUSICIANS.\n\nJOSEPH WESSLER\n\nMORTON T. GOODWIN                                         Heber City\n\nPRIVATES.\n\nABPLANALP, JOHN D.                                             Heber\n  Wounded April 24, 1899.\nACKARET, MAHLON H.                                             Ogden\nALEXANDER, ROBERT                                     Salt Lake City\nANDERSON, DAVID M.                                          Peterson\nANDERSON, PETER                                            Richfield\nAUSTIN, BERT W.                                              Bingham\nBAKER, JOHN                                                   Eureka\nBEESLEY, JOHN W.                                               Provo\nBENZON, GLENN                                         Salt Lake City\nBILLINGS, CLAUD G.                                            Eureka\nBJARNSON, EINER                                         Spanish Fork\nBORKMAN, ARTHUR                                               Mercur\nBRAMAN, JOHN                                                 Bingham\n  Wounded April 26, 1899.\nBRIDGMAN, JOHN D.                                     Salt Lake City\nBURTON, RAY S.                                        Salt Lake City\nCARR, JOSEPH W.                                                Ogden\nCARLSON, GUST                                         Salt Lake City\nCHAMBERLIN, VIRGIL L.                                          Ogden\nCHATLIN, EUGENE                                          Castle Gate\nCHAFFIN, MILLARD                                      Salt Lake City\nCHRISTENSEN, THEODORE                                 Salt Lake City\nCOLLETT, RALPH                                        Salt Lake City\nCOLLINS, WM. J.                                       Salt Lake City\nCONOVER, ROBT. F.                                              Provo\nCORAY, DON R.                                                  Provo\nCRAGER, FRED H.                                       Salt Lake City\nDALGETY, JOHN                                                 Eureka\nDALIMORE, PHILLIP                                               Lehi\nDUNCAN, ELMER                                                  Heber\nDECKER, LEO                                           Salt Lake City\nDOYLE, JOSEPH                                                Mammoth\nDUNNING, DANIEL A.                                             Provo\nEDDY, LOUIS B.                                                Eureka\nELLIS, ALFRED                                            Silver City\nEVANS, WILLARD                                        Salt Lake City\nFOWLER, GEORGE                                        Salt Lake City\nFORCELAND, CHARLES G.                                 Salt Lake City\nGRAVES, NED C.                                        Salt Lake City\nGREEN, LOREN C.                                        American Fork\nHALL, PARKER J.                                                Ogden\n  Wounded March 25, 1899.\nHALL, WALTER S.                                         West Portage\nHARDIE, FRANCIS R.                                    Salt Lake City\nHEATHERLY, CHARLES                                    Salt Lake City\nHERBERTZ, PETER                                          Castle Gate\nHOGAN, JOHN                                                    Ogden\nHAGGAN, THOMAS A., JR.                                         Manti\nHOLDAWAY, PARLEY P.                                            Provo\nHOBKINS, EVERITT E.                                            Provo\nHUBERT, WELMER E.                                     Salt Lake City\nHUGHES, JOHN W.                                               Eureka\nJENSEN, HANS                                               Hyde Park\nKELL, JOHN V.                                                 Eureka\nKLENKE, HENDRECH                                      Salt Lake City\nKING, SAMUEL                                                  Eureka\nKNAUSS, WM. G.                                        Salt Lake City\nLARSEN, G.R.                                                   Manti\nLAWSON, D.V.                                                  Joseph\nLEONARD, THOMAS                                               Eureka\nLEWIS, SAMUEL C.                                      Salt Lake City\nMARTIN, FRED S.                                       Salt Lake City\nMcCABE, JAMES                                                 Eureka\nMcCARTY, LEONARD                                               Manti\nMcCUBBIN, WILLIAM                                     Salt Lake City\nMOIR, GEORGE                                          Salt Lake City\nMORTON, JOHN W.                                                Provo\nMORTON, MILTON                                                 Provo\nNEILSON, ANDREW P.                                      Spanish Fork\nNORRIS, JOHN D.                                     Denver, Colorado\nOLSEN, PETER                                                   Logan\nOLSEN, REINHART                                               Milton\nPENNINGTON, LOUIS P.                                         Brigham\nPRATT, ERNEST M.                                      Salt Lake City\nQUICK, MARSHALL                                                Provo\nRAE, ALEX                                                      Provo\nRAE, WILLIAM                                                   Provo\nREEDALL, THOMAS                                       Salt Lake City\nREES, GEORGE                                             Silver City\nREID, ROBERT                                          Salt Lake City\nROBERTS, EDWARD J.                                    Salt Lake City\nROWLAND, GEORGE E.                                            Eureka\nSAVAGE, WM. H.                                                Eureka\nSCHAUPP, FREW W.                                              Eureka\nSCOTT, HYRUM C.                                                Provo\nSHEARER, WM. H.                                       Salt Lake City\nSMITH, JEROME                                                 Tooele\nSMITH, SIDNEY J.                                      Salt Lake City\nSMITH, HARRY                                          Salt Lake City\nSNOW, JUNIUS C.                                                Provo\nSNYDER, HARRY S.                                               Provo\nTATE, JNO. P.                                                 Tooele\nTAYLOR, GEORGE                                                Eureka\nTURNER, MORONI                                                 Heber\nTYREE, SAMUEL P.                                               Ogden\nVANCE, JOHN R.                                                Eureka\nVAN SYCKLE, BENJ.                                              Ogden\nWALTERS, ALBERT N.                                             Ogden\nWALTERS, JOSEPH W.                                             Ogden\nWINKLER, JOSEPH G.                                    Salt Lake City\nWRIGHT, WILLIAM A.                                    Salt Lake City\nYATES, JAMES K.                                              Diamond\nWHEELER, GEORGE                                                Ogden\nZOLLINGER, JOHN D.                                        Providence\n\nHONORABLY DISCHARGED.\n\nSecond Lieutenant, ORRIN R. GROW                      Salt Lake City\nFirst Sergeant, J.A. ANDERSON                                  Logan\n  Discharged June 29, to accept commission as Second Lieutenant.\nQuartermaster-Sergeant, CHAS. ASPLUND                       Fairview\n  June 23, 1899.\nSergeant, ALBERT ST. MORRIS                           Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nSergeant, HORACE E. COOLIDGE                                   Manti\n  March 22, 1899.\nCorporal, WM. Q. ANDERSON                                      Logan\n  Wounded August 24, 1898.\n  December 15, 1898.\nCorporal, JOHN T. DONNELLAN                           Salt Lake City\n  March 17, 1899.\nCorporal, JACOB A. HEISS                              Salt Lake City\n  December 1, 1898.\nCorporal, E.V. DE MONTALVO                                    Mercur\n  January 21, 1899.\nMusician, JOS. F. GRANT                               Salt Lake City\n  January 11, 1899.\nSaddler, LOUIS MILLER                                          Ogden\n  November 15, 1898.\nFarrier, FRED D. SWEET                                         Ogden\n  April 11, 1899.\nPrivate, GODFREY J. BLUTH                                      Ogden\n  February 12, 1899.\nPrivate, F.D. CHATTERTON                              Salt Lake City\n  January 21, 1899.\nPrivate, JASPER D. CURTIS                                     Eureka\n  June 23, 1899.\nPrivate, ROSEY P. FLORANCE                                     Ogden\n  December 30, 1898.\nPrivate, CHARLES S. HILL                                  Wellington\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, BARR W. MUSSER                               Salt Lake City\n  January 17, 1899.\nPrivate, JOHN A. PENDER                                        Ogden\n  Wounded March 30, 1899.\n  May 5, 1899.\nPrivate, THOMAS SHULL                                        Mammoth\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, THOS. W. THORNBURG                                    Ogden\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, FREDERICK BLAKE                              Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, AUGUSTUS BRANSCOM                                     Ogden\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, WILLIAM CROOKS                                       Eureka\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, JOHN FERGUSON                                     Park City\n  January 15, 1899.\nPrivate, CHAS. I. FOX                                 Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\nPrivate, GEORGE LACEY                                          Manti\n  January 10, 1899.\nPrivate, DON C. MUSSER                                Salt Lake City\n  January 17, 1899.\nPrivate, NEPHI REESE                                     Silver City\n  November 11, 1898.\nPrivate, GEO. SIMMONS                                 Salt Lake City\n  June 23, 1899.\nPrivate, CHRIS WAGNER                                 Salt Lake City\n  March 13, 1899.\nPrivate, CARLOS YOUNG                                 Salt Lake City\n  June 28, 1899.\n\n\nROLL OF HONOR.\n\nKILLED IN ACTION.\n\nCorporal, MORITZ C. JENSEN                               Castle Gate\n  April 26, 1899.\nPrivate, FREDERICK BUMILLER                           Salt Lake City\n  April 26, 1899.\nPrivate, MAX MADISON                                          Mercur\n  April 25, 1899.\nPrivate, GEO. H. HUDSON                                       Mercur\n  August 25, 1898.\n\nDIED OF DISEASE.\n\nPrivate, RICHARD H. RALPH                                     Eureka\n  July 21, 1899.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Utah Batteries: A History, by Charles R. Mabey", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32206", "title": "The Utah Batteries: A History\r\nA complete account of the muster-in, sea voyage, battles, skirmishes and barrack life of the Utah batteries, together with biographies of officers and muster-out rolls.", "author": "", "publication_year": 1900, "metadata_title": "The Utah Batteries: A History", "metadata_author": "Charles Rendell Mabey", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:26.008042", "source_chars": 229536, "chars": 229536, "talkie_tokens": 51218}}
{"text": "Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Cover]\n\n\n\n\n\n          TAKE NOTICE:\n\n          _This book belongs to_\n          ___________________________\n\n          ___________________________\n\n\n          _Presented\n          by_    ___________________________\n          __________________________________\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES: THEIR BOOK\n\nBY PALMER COX\n\n\n          APPLETON-CENTURY-CROFTS, INC.\n          NEW YORK\n\n\n\n\n          Copyright 1887, by UThe Century Co.\\E\n\n          Copyright renewed, 1915, by UThe Century Co.\\E\n\n          All rights reserved. This book, or parts\n          thereof, must not be reproduced in any\n          form without permission of the publisher.\n\n          Printed in U. S. A.\n\n[Illustration: _BROWNIES, like fairies and goblins, are imaginary little\nsprites, who are supposed to delight in harmless pranks and helpful\ndeeds. They work and sport while weary households sleep, and never allow\nthemselves to be seen by mortal eyes._]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                      Page\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES AT SCHOOL                  1\n\n  THE BROWNIES' RIDE [Illustration]                      8\n\n  THE BROWNIES ON SKATES [Illustration]                 14\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES ON BICYCLES               19\n\n  THE BROWNIES AT LAWN-TENNIS      [Illustration]       25\n\n  THE [Illustration] BROWNIES' GOOD WORK                30\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES AT THE GYMNASIUM          36\n\n  THE BROWNIES' FEAST [Illustration]                    42\n\n  THE BROWNIES TOBOGGANING      [Illustration]          48\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES' BALLOON                  55\n\n  THE BROWNIES [Illustration] CANOEING                  62\n\n  THE BROWNIES IN THE MENAGERIE [Illustration]          68\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES' CIRCUS                   73\n\n  THE BROWNIES [Illustration] AT BASE-BALL              78\n\n  THE BROWNIES AND THE BEES      [Illustration]         83\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES ON ROLLER SKATES          89\n\n  THE BROWNIES AT THE SEASIDE   [Illustration]          94\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES AND THE SPINNING-WHEEL   101\n\n  THE BROWNIES' VOYAGE [Illustration]                  108\n\n  THE [Illustration] BROWNIES' RETURN                  114\n\n  THE BROWNIES' SINGING-SCHOOL [Illustration]          120\n\n  THE BROWNIES' [Illustration] FRIENDLY TURN           126\n\n  [Illustration] THE BROWNIES' FOURTH OF JULY          132\n\n  THE BROWNIES IN THE TOY-SHOP          [Illustration] 138\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES AT SCHOOL.\n\n\n          AS Brownies rambled 'round one night,\n          A country schoolhouse came in sight;\n          And there they paused awhile to speak\n          About the place, where through the week\n          The scholars came, with smile or whine,\n\n\n          Each morning at the stroke of nine.\n          \"This is,\" said one, \"the place, indeed,\n          Where children come to write and read.\n          'T is here, through rules and rods to suit,\n          The young idea learns to shoot;\n          And here the idler with a grin\n          In nearest neighbor pokes the pin,\n\n\n          Or sighs to break his scribbled slate\n          And spring at once to man's estate.\n          How oft from shades of yonder grove\n          I've viewed at eve the shouting drove\n          As from the door they crowding broke,\n          Like oxen from beneath the yoke.\"\n\n          Another said: \"The teacher's chair,\n          The ruler, pen, and birch are there,\n          The blackboard hangs against the wall;\n          The slate's at hand, the books and all.\n          We might go in to read and write\n          And master sums like scholars bright.\"\n\n\n\n          The more they talked, the stronger grew\n          The wish to prove how much they knew.\n          From page to page through books to pass\n          And spell the words that tried the class;\n          So through their skill they soon obtained\n          Access to all the room contained.\n\n\n          \"I'll play,\" cried one, \"the teacher's part;\n          I know some lessons quite by heart,\n          And every section of the land\n          To me is plain as open hand.\"\n          \"With all respect, my friend, to you,\"\n          Another said, \"that would not do.\n          You're hardly fitted, sir, to rule;\n\n\n          Your place should be the dunce's stool.\n          You're not with great endowments blessed;\n          Besides, your temper's not the best,\n          And those who train the budding mind\n          Should own a disposition kind.\n          The rod looks better on the tree\n          Than resting by the master's knee;\n          _I'll_ be the teacher, if you please;\n          I know the rivers, lakes, and seas,\n          And, like a banker's clerk, can throw\n          The figures nimbly in a row.\n          I have the patience, love, and grace,\n          So requisite in such a case.\"\n\n\n\n          Now some bent o'er a slate or book,\n          And some at blackboards station took.\n          They clustered 'round the globe with zeal,\n          And kept it turning like a wheel.\n          Said one, \"I've often heard it said,\n          The world is rounder than your head,\n          And here, indeed, we find it true.\n          With both the poles at once in view,\n          With latitudes and each degree\n          All measured out on land and sea.\"\n          Another said, \"I thought I knew\n          The world from Maine to Timbuctoo,\n          Or could, without a guide, have found\n          My way from Cork to Puget Sound;\n          But here so many things I find\n          That never dawned upon my mind,\n          On sundry points, I blush to say,\n          I've been a thousand miles astray.\"\n          \"'T is like an egg,\" another cried,\n          \"A little longer than it's wide,\n          With islands scattered through the seas\n          Where savages may live at ease;\n\n\n\n          And buried up in Polar snows\n          You find the hardy Eskimos;\n          While here and there some scorching spots\n          Are set apart for Hottentots.\n          And see the rivers small and great,\n          That drain a province or a state;\n          The name and shape of every nation;\n          Their faith, extent, and population:\n          And whether governed by a King,\n          A President, or council ring.\"\n\n\n          While some with such expressions bold\n          Surveyed the globe as 'round it rolled,\n          Still others turned to ink and pen,\n          And, spreading like a brooding hen,\n          They scrawled a page to show the band\n          Their special \"style,\" or \"business hand.\"\n\n\n          The teacher had enough to do,\n          To act his part to nature true:\n          He lectured well the infant squad,\n          He rapped the desk and shook the rod,\n          And stood the dunce upon the stool,\n          A laughing-stock to all the school--\n          But frequent changes please the crowd,\n          So lengthy reign was not allowed;\n          And when one master had his hour,\n          Another took the rod of power;\n          And thus they changed to suit the case,\n          Till many filled the honored place.\n\n\n          So taken up was every mind\n          With fun and study well combined,\n\n\n          They noticed not the hours depart,\n          Until the sun commenced to dart\n          A sheaf of lances, long and bright,\n          Above the distant mountain height;\n          Then from the schoolroom, in a heap,\n          They jumped and tumbled, twenty deep,\n          In eager haste to disappear\n          In deepest shades of forests near.\n\n          When next the children gathered there,\n          With wondering faces fresh and fair,\n          It took an hour of morning prime,\n          According to the teacher's time,\n          To get the books in place once more,\n          And order to the room restore.\n          So great had been the haste to hide,\n          The windows were left open wide;\n          And scholars knew, without a doubt,\n          That Brownies had been thereabout.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' RIDE.\n\n\n          ONE night a cunning Brownie band\n          Was roaming through a farmer's land,\n          And while the rogues went prying 'round,\n          The farmer's mare at rest they found;\n          And peeping through the stable-door,\n          They saw the harness that she wore.\n          The sight was tempting to the eye,\n          For there the cart was standing nigh.\n\n\n          \"That mare,\" said one, \"deserves her feed--\n          Believe me, she's no common breed;\n          Her grit is good: I've seen her dash\n          Up yonder slope without the lash,\n          Until her load--a ton of hay--\n          Went bouncing in beside the bay.\n          In this same cart, old Farmer Gill\n          Takes all his corn and wheat to mill;\n          It must be strong, though rude and rough;\n          It runs on wheels, and that's enough.\"\n\n\n          Now, Brownies seldom idle stand\n          When there's a chance for fun at hand.\n\n\n          So plans were laid without delay;\n          The mare was dragged from oats and hay,\n          The harness from the peg they drew,\n          And every one to action flew.\n          It was a sight one should behold\n          To see them working, young and old;\n          Two wrinkled elves, like leather browned,\n          Whose beards descended near the ground,\n          Along with youngsters did their best\n          With all the ardor of the rest.\n\n\n          While some prepared a rein or trace,\n          Another slid the bit in place;\n          More buckled bands with all their might,\n          Or drew the harness close and tight.\n\n\n          When every strap a buckle found,\n          And every part was safe and sound,\n          Then 'round the cart the Brownies flew,--\n          The hardest task was yet to do.\n          It often puzzles bearded men,\n          Though o'er and o'er performed again.\n\n          Some held the shafts to steer them straight,\n          More did their best to balance weight,\n          While others showed both strength and art\n          In backing Mag into the cart.\n          At length the heavy job was done,\n          And horse and cart moved off as one.\n\n\n          Now down the road the gentle steed\n          Was forced to trot at greatest speed.\n\n\n          A merrier crowd than journeyed there\n          Was never seen at Dublin Fair.\n          Some found a seat, while others stood,\n          Or hung behind as best they could;\n          While many, strung along, astride,\n          Upon the mare enjoyed the ride.\n\n\n          The night was dark, the lucky elves\n          Had all the turnpike to themselves.\n          No surly keeper barred the way,\n          For use of road demanding pay,\n          Nor were they startled by the cry\n          Of robbers shouting, \"Stand or die!\"\n          Across the bridge and up the hill\n          And through the woods to Warren's mill,--\n          A lengthy ride, ten miles at least,--\n          Without a rest they drove the beast,\n          And then were loath enough to rein\n          Old Mag around for home again.\n\n\n          Nor was the speed, returning, slow;\n          The mare was more inclined to go,\n          Because the feed of oats and hay\n          Unfinished in her manger lay.\n          So through the yard she wheeled her load\n          As briskly as she took the road.\n          No time remained to then undo\n          The many straps which tight they drew.\n          For in the east the reddening sky\n          Gave warning that the sun was nigh.\n\n\n\n          The halter rope was quickly wound\n          About the nearest post they found;\n          Then off they scampered, left and right,\n          And disappeared at once from sight.\n\n\n          When Farmer Gill that morning fair\n          Came out and viewed his jaded mare,\n          I may not here in verse repeat\n          His exclamations all complete.\n          He gnashed his teeth, and glared around,\n          And struck his fists, and stamped the ground,\n          And chased the dog across the farm,\n          Because it failed to give alarm.\n          \"I'd give a stack of hay,\" he cried,\n          \"To catch the rogue who stole the ride!\"\n          But still awry suspicion flew,--\n          Who stole the ride he never knew.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES ON SKATES.\n\n\n          ONE night, when the cold moon hung low\n          And winter wrapped the world in snow\n          And bridged the streams in wood and field\n          With ice as smooth as shining shield,\n          Some skaters swept in graceful style\n          The glistening surface, file on file.\n          For hours the Brownies viewed the show,\n          Commenting on the groups below;\n\n\n\n          Said one: \"That pleasure might be ours--\n          We have the feet and motive powers;\n          No mortal need us Brownies teach,\n          If skates were but within our reach.\"\n          Another answered: \"Then, my friend,\n          To hear my plan let all attend.\n          I have a building in my mind\n          That we within an hour can find.\n          Three golden balls hang by the door,\n          Like oranges from Cuba's shore;\n          Behind the dusty counter stands\n          A native of queer, far-off lands;\n          The place is filled with various things,\n\n\n          From baby-carts to banjo-strings;\n\n\n          Here hangs a gun without a lock\n          Some Pilgrim bore to Plymouth rock;\n\n\n          And there a pair of goggles lie,\n          That saw the red-coats marching by;\n\n\n          While piles of club and rocker skates\n          Of every shape the buyer waits!\n          Though second-hand, I'm sure they'll do,\n          And serve our wants as well as new.\n          That place we'll enter as we may,\n          To-morrow night, and bear away\n          A pair, the best that come to hand,\n          For every member of the band.\"\n          At once, the enterprise so bold\n          Received support from young and old.\n          A place to muster near the town,\n          And meeting hour they noted down;\n          And then retiring for the night,\n          They soon were lost to sound and sight.\n\n          When evening next her visit paid\n          To fold the earth in robes of shade,\n          From out the woods across the mead,\n          The Brownies gathered as agreed,\n          To venture boldly and procure.\n\n\n          The skates that would their fun insure.\n          As mice can get to cake and cheese\n          Without a key whene'er they please,\n          So, cunning Brownies can proceed\n          And help themselves to what they need.\n\n\n          For bolts and bars they little care\n          If but a nail is wanting there!\n          Or, failing this, with ease descend\n          Like Santa Claus and gain their end\n          As children to the windows fly\n          At news of Jumbo passing by,\n          So rushed the eager band away\n          To fields of ice without delay.\n\n          Though far too large at heel and toe,\n          The skates were somehow made to go.\n          But out behind and out before,\n          Like spurs, they stuck a span or more,\n          Alike afflicting foe and friend\n          In bringing journeys to an end.\n          They had their slips and sudden spreads,\n          Where heels flew higher than their heads,\n          As people do, however nice,\n          When venturing first upon the ice.\n          But soon they learned to curve and wheel\n          And cut fine scrolls with scoring steel,\n          To race in clusters to and fro,\n          To jump and turn and backward go,\n          Until a rest on bed so cool,\n          Was more the wonder than the rule.\n\n\n          But from the lake they all withdrew\n          Some hours before the night was through,\n          And hastened back with lively feet\n          Through narrow lane and silent street,\n          Until they reached the broker's door\n          With every skate that left the store.\n\n          And, ere the first faint gleam of day,\n          The skates were safely stowed away;\n          Of their brief absence not a trace\n          Was left within the dusty place.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES ON BICYCLES.\n\n\n\n          ONE evening Brownies, peeping down\n          From bluffs that overlooked the town,\n          Saw wheelmen passing to and fro\n          Upon the boulevard below.\n          \"It seems,\" said one, \"an easy trick,\n          The wheel goes 'round so smooth and quick;\n          You simply sit and work your feet\n          And glide with grace along the street.\n          The pleasure would be fine indeed\n          If _we_ could thus in line proceed.\"\n\n\n          \"Last night,\" another answer made,\n          \"As by the river's bank I strayed,\n          Where here and there a building stands,\n          And town and country-side join hands,\n          Before me stood a massive wall\n          With engine-rooms and chimneys tall.\n\n\n          \"To scale the place a way I found,\n          And, creeping in, looked all around;\n          There bicycles of every grade\n          Are manufactured for the trade;\n          Some made for baby hands to guide,\n          And some for older folk to ride.\n\n          \"Though built to keep intruders out,\n          With shutters thick and casings stout,\n          I noticed twenty ways or more,\n          By roof, by window, wall and door,\n          Where we, by exercising skill,\n          May travel in and out at will.\"\n\n          Another spoke, in nowise slow\n          To catch at pleasures as they go,\n                  And said, \"Why let another day\n                  Come creeping in to drag away?\n                          Let's active measures now employ\n                          To seize at once the promised joy.\n                      On bicycles quick let us ride,\n                      While yet our wants may be supplied.\"\n\n          So when the town grew hushed and still,\n          The Brownies ventured down the hill.\n              And soon the band was drawing nigh\n              The building with the chimneys high.\n\n\n          When people lock their doors at night,\n          And double-bolt them left and right,\n          And think through patents, new and old,\n          To leave the burglars in the cold,\n          The cunning Brownies smile to see\n          The springing bolt and turning key;\n          For well they know if fancy leads\n          Their band to venture daring deeds,\n          The miser's gold, the merchant's ware\n          To them is open as the air.\n\n\n          Not long could door or windows stand\n          Fast locked before the Brownie band;\n          And soon the bicycles they sought\n          From every room and bench were brought.\n          The rogues ere long began to show\n          As many colors as the bow;\n          For paint and varnish lately spread\n          Besmeared them all from foot to head.\n          Some turned to jay-birds in a minute,\n          And some as quick might shame the linnet;\n          While more with crimson-tinted breast\n          Seemed fitted for the robin's nest.\n\n          But whether red or green or blue,\n          The work on hand was hurried through;\n          They took the wheels from blacksmith fires,\n          Though wanting bolts and even tires,\n          And rigged the parts with skill and speed\n          To answer well their pressing need.\n          And soon, enough were made complete\n          To give the greater part a seat,\n          And let the rest through cunning find\n          Some way of hanging on behind.\n          And then no spurt along the road,\n          Or 'round the yard their courage showed,\n          But twenty times a measured mile\n          They whirled away in single file,\n          Or bunched together in a crowd\n          If width of road or skill allowed.\n          At times, while rolling down the grade,\n          Collisions some confusion made,\n          For every member of the band,\n          At steering wished to try his hand;\n          Though some, perhaps, were not designed\n          For labor of that special kind.\n\n          But Brownies are the folk to bear\n          Misfortunes with unruffled air;\n          So on through rough and smooth they spun\n          Until the turning-point was won.\n          Then back they wheeled with every spoke,\n          An hour before the thrush awoke.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES AT LAWN-TENNIS.\n\n\n          ONE evening as the woods grew dark,\n          The Brownies wandered through a park.\n          And soon a building, quaint and small,\n          Appeared to draw the gaze of all.\n          Said one: \"This place contains, no doubt,\n          The tools of workmen hereabout.\"\n          Another said: \"You're quite astray,\n          The workmen's tools are miles away;\n          Within this building may be found\n          The fixtures for the tennis ground.\n          A meadow near, both long and wide,\n          For half the year is set aside,\n          And marked with many a square and court,\n          For those who love the royal sport.\n          On afternoons assembled there,\n          The active men and maidens fair\n          Keep up the game until the day\n          Has faded into evening gray.\"\n          \"In other lands than those we tread,\n          I played the game,\" another said,\n          \"And proved my skill and muscle stout,\n          As 'server' and as 'striker-out.'\n          The lock that hangs before us there\n          Bears witness to the keeper's care,\n          And tramps or burglars might go by,\n          If such a sign should meet the eye.\n          But we, who laugh at locks or law\n          Designed to keep mankind in awe,\n          May praise the keeper's cautious mind,\n          But all the same an entrance find.\"\n\n\n\n          Ere long, the path that lay between\n          The building and the meadow green,\n          Was crowded with the bustling throng,\n          All bearing implements along;\n          Some lugging stakes or racket sets,\n          And others buried up in nets.\n          To set the posts and mark the ground\n          The proper size and shape around,\n          With service-line and line of base,\n          And courts, both left and right, in place,\n          Was work that caused but slight delay;\n          And soon the sport was under way.\n          And then a strange and stirring scene\n          Was pictured out upon the green.\n\n\n          Some watched the game and noted well\n          Where this or that one would excel.\n\n\n\n          And shouts and calls that filled the air\n          Proved even-handed playing there.\n          With anxious looks some kept the score,\n          And shouted \"'vantage!\" \"game all!\" or\n          To some, \"love, forty!\"--\"deuce!\" to more.\n          But when \"deuce set!\" the scorer cried,\n          Applause would ring on every side.\n          At times so hot the contest grew,\n          Established laws aside they threw,\n          And in the game where four should stand,\n          At least a dozen took a hand.\n          Some tangled in the netting lay\n          And some from base-lines strayed away.\n          Some hit the ball when out of place\n          Or scrambled through unlawful space.\n          But still no game was forced to halt\n          Because of this or greater fault.\n\n\n          And there they sported on the lawn\n          Until the ruddy streaks of dawn\n          Gave warning that the day was near,\n          And Brownies all must disappear.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' GOOD WORK.\n\n\n\n          ONE time, while Brownies passed around\n          An honest farmer's piece of ground,\n          They paused to view the garden fair\n          And fields of grain that needed care.\n          \"My friends,\" said one who often spoke\n          About the ways of human folk,\n\n\n          \"Now here's a case in point, I claim,\n          Where neighbors scarce deserve the name:\n          This farmer on his back is laid\n          With broken ribs and shoulder-blade,\n          Received, I hear, some weeks ago;\n          While at the village here below,\n          He checked a running team, to save\n          Some children from an early grave.\n          Now overripe his harvest stands\n          In waiting for the reaper's hands;\n          The piece of wheat we lately passed\n          Is shelling out at every blast.\n\n\n\n          Those pumpkins in that corner plot\n          Begin to show the signs of rot;\n          The mold has fastened on their skin,\n          The ripest ones are caving in,\n          And soon the pig in yonder sty\n          With scornful grunt would pass them by.\n          His Early Rose potatoes there\n          Are much in need of light and air;\n          The turnip withers where it lies,\n          The beet and carrot want to rise.\n          'Oh, pull us up!' they seem to cry\n          To every one that passes by;\n          'The frost will finish our repose,\n          The grubs are working at our toes;\n\n\n          Unless you come and save us soon,\n          We'll not be worth a picayune!'\n          The corn is breaking from the stalk,\n          The hens around the hill can walk,\n          And with their ever ready bill\n          May pick the kernels at their will.\n          His neighbors are a sordid crowd,\n          Who've such a shameful waste allowed\n          So wrapped in self some men can be,\n          Beyond their purse they seldom see;\n          'T is left for us to play the friend\n          And here a helping hand extend.\n          But as the wakeful chanticleer\n          Is crowing in the stable near,\n          Too little of the present night\n          Is left to set the matter right.\n\n          \"To-morrow eve, at that dark hour\n          When birds grow still in leafy bower\n          And bats forsake the ruined pile\n          To exercise their wings awhile,\n          In yonder shady grove we'll meet,\n          With all our active force complete,\n          Prepared to give this farmer aid\n          With basket, barrel, hook, and spade.\n\n\n          But, ere we part, one caution more:\n          Let some invade a druggist's store,\n          And bring along a coated pill;\n\n\n          We'll dose the dog to keep him still.\n          For barking dogs, however kind,\n          Can oft disturb a Brownie's mind.\"\n          --When next the bat of evening flew,\n          And drowsy things of day withdrew,\n          When beetles droned across the lea,\n          And turkeys sought the safest tree\n          To form aloft a social row\n          And criticise the fox below,--\n          Then cunning Brownies might be seen\n          Advancing from the forest green;\n          Now jumping fences, as they ran,\n          Now crawling through (a safer plan);\n          Now keeping to the roads awhile,\n          Now \"cutting corners,\" country style;\n          Some bearing hoes, and baskets more,\n          Some pushing barrows on before,\n          While others, swinging sickles bright,\n          Seemed eager for the grain in sight.\n          But in advance of all the throng\n          Three daring Brownies moved along,\n          Whose duty was to venture close\n          And give the barking dog his dose.\n\n\n          Now soon the work was under way,\n          Each chose the part he was to play:\n          While some who handled hoes the best\n          Brought \"Early Roses\" from their nest,\n          To turnip-tops some laid their hands,\n          More plied the hook, or twisted bands.\n          And soon the sheaves lay piled around,\n          Like heroes on disputed ground.\n          Now let the eye turn where it might,\n          A pleasing prospect was in sight;\n          For garden ground or larger field\n          Alike a busy crowd revealed:\n          Some pulling carrots from their bed,\n          Some bearing burdens on their head,\n          Or working at a fever heat\n          While prying out a monster beet.\n          Now here two heavy loads have met,\n          And there a barrow has upset,\n\n\n          While workers every effort strain\n          The rolling pumpkins to regain;\n\n\n          And long before the stars withdrew,\n          The crop was safe, the work was through.\n          In shocks the corn, secure and good,\n          Now like a Sioux encampment stood;\n          The wheat was safely stowed away;\n          In bins the \"Early Roses\" lay,\n\n\n          While carrots, turnips, beets, and all\n          Received attention, great and small.\n          When morning dawned, no sight or sound\n          Of friendly Brownies could be found;\n          And when at last old Towser broke\n          The spell, and from his slumber woke,\n          He rushed around, believing still\n          Some mischief lay behind the pill.\n          But though the field looked bare and strange,\n          His mind could hardly grasp the change.\n          And when the farmer learned at morn\n          That safe from harm were wheat and corn,\n          That all his barley, oats, and rye\n          Were in the barn, secure and dry,\n          That carrots, beets, and turnips round\n          Were safely taken from the ground,\n          The honest farmer thought, of course,\n          His neighbors had turned out in force\n          While helpless on the bed he lay,\n          And kindly stowed his crop away.\n\n\n\n          But when he thanked them for their aid,\n          And hoped they yet might be repaid\n          For acting such a friendly part,\n          His words appeared to pierce each heart.\n          For well they knew that other hands\n          Than theirs had laid his grain in bands,\n          That other backs had bent in toil\n          To save the products of the soil.\n          And then they felt as such folk will\n          Who fail to nobly act, until\n          More earnest helpers, stepping in,\n          Do all the praise and honor win.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES AT THE GYMNASIUM.\n\n\n\n          THE Brownies once, while roaming 'round,\n          By chance approached a college ground;\n          And, as they skirmished every side,\n          A large gymnasium they espied.\n          Their eyes grew bright as they surveyed\n          The means for exercise displayed.\n          The club, the weight, the hanging ring,\n          The horizontal bar, and swing,\n\n\n          The boxing-gloves that please the heart\n          Of him who loves the manly art,\n          All brought expressions of delight,\n          As one by one they came in sight.\n          The time was short, and words were few\n          That named the work for each to do.\n          Their mystic art, as may be found\n          On pages now in volumes bound,\n          Was quite enough to bear them in\n          Through walls of wood and roofs of tin.\n          No hasp can hold, no bolt can stand\n          Before the Brownie's tiny hand;\n          The sash will rise, the panel yield,\n          And leave him master of the field.--\n          When safe they stood within the hall,\n          A pleasant time was promised all.\n\n\n          Said one: \"The clubs let me obtain\n          That Indians use upon the plain,\n          And here I'll stand to test my power,\n          And swing them 'round my head an hour;\n          Though not the largest in the band,\n          I claim to own no infant hand;\n          And muscle in this arm you'll meet\n          That well might grace a trained athlete.\n\n\n\n          Two goats once blocked a mountain pass\n          Contending o'er a tuft of grass.\n          Important messages of state\n          Forbade me there to stand and wait;\n          Without a pause, the pair I neared\n          And seized the larger by the beard;\n          I dragged him from his panting foe\n          And hurled him to the plain below.\"\n\n\n          \"For clubs,\" a second answered there,\n          \"Or heavy weights I little care;\n          Let those by generous nature planned\n          At heavy lifting try their hand;\n          But give me bar or give me ring,\n          Where I can turn, contort, and swing,\n          And I'll outdo, with movements fine,\n          The monkey on his tropic vine.\"\n\n\n          Thus skill and strength and wind they tried\n          By means they found on every side.\n          Some claimed at once the high trapeze,\n          And there performed with grace and ease;\n          They turned and tumbled left and right,\n          As though they held existence light.\n          At times a finger-tip was all\n          Between them and a fearful fall.\n          On strength of toes they now depend,\n          Or now on coat-tails of a friend--\n          And had that cloth been less than best\n          That looms could furnish, east or west,\n          Some members of the Brownie race\n          Might now be missing from their place\n\n\n          But fear, we know, scarce ever finds\n          A home within their active minds.\n          And little danger they could see\n          In what would trouble you or me.\n          Some stood to prove their muscle strong,\n          And swung the clubs both large and long\n          That men who met to practice there\n          Had often found no light affair.\n\n\n          A rope they found as 'round they ran,\n          And then a \"tug-of-war\" began;\n          First over benches, stools, and chairs,\n          Then up and down the winding stairs,\n          They pulled and hauled and tugged around,\n          Now giving up, now gaining ground,\n          Some lost their footing at the go,\n          And on their backs slid to and fro\n          Without a chance their state to mend\n          Until the contest found an end.\n\n\n          Their coats from tail to collar rent\n          Showed some through trying treatment went,\n          And more, with usage much the same,\n          All twisted out of shape, and lame,\n          Had scarce a button to their name.\n          The judge selected for the case\n          Ran here and there about the place\n          With warning cries and gesture wide\n          And seemed unable to decide.\n\n\n          And there they might be tugging still,\n          With equal strength and equal will--\n          But while they struggled, stars withdrew\n          And hints of morning broader grew,\n          Till arrows from the rising sun\n          Soon made them drop the rope and run.\n\n[Illustration: Brownie.]\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' FEAST.\n\n\n\n          IN best of spirits, blithe and free,--\n          As Brownies always seem to be,--\n          A jovial band, with hop and leap,\n          Were passing through a forest deep,\n          When in an open space they spied\n          A heavy caldron, large and wide,\n          Where woodmen, working at their trade,\n          A rustic boiling-place had made.\n          \"My friends,\" said one, \"a chance like this\n          No cunning Brownie band should miss,\n          All unobserved, we may prepare\n          And boil a pudding nicely there;\n\n\n\n          Some dying embers smolder still\n          Which we may soon revive at will;\n          And by the roots of yonder tree\n          A brook goes babbling to the sea.\n          At Parker's mill, some miles below,\n          They're grinding flour as white as snow\n          An easy task for us to bear\n          Enough to serve our need from there:\n          I noticed, as I passed to-night,\n          A window with a broken light,\n          And through the opening we'll pour\n          Though bolts and bars be on the door.\"\n          \"And I,\" another Brownie cried,\n          \"Will find the plums and currants dried;\n          I'll have some here in half an hour\n          To sprinkle thickly through the flour;\n          So stir yourselves, and bear in mind\n          That some must spice and sugar find.\"\n\n\n          \"I know,\" cried one, \"where hens have made\n          Their nest beneath the burdock shade--\n          I saw them stealing out with care\n          To lay their eggs in secret there.\n          The farmer's wife, through sun and rain,\n          Has sought to find that nest in vain:\n          They cackle by the wall of stones,\n          The hollow stump and pile of bones,\n          And by the ditch that lies below,\n          Where yellow weeds and nettles grow;\n          And draw her after everywhere\n          Until she quits them in despair.\n\n\n          The task be mine to thither lead\n          A band of comrades now with speed,\n          To help me bear a tender load\n          Along the rough and rugged road.\"\n          Away, away, on every side,\n          At once the lively Brownies glide;\n          Some after plums, more 'round the hill--\n          The shortest way to reach the mill--\n          While some on wings and some on legs\n          Go darting off to find the eggs.\n          A few remained upon the spot\n          To build a fire beneath the pot;\n          Some gathered bark from trunks of trees,\n          While others, on their hands and knees,\n          Around the embers puffed and blew\n          Until the sparks to blazes grew;\n          And scarcely was the kindling burned\n          Before the absent ones returned.\n          All loaded down they came, in groups,\n          In couples, singly, and in troops.\n\n\n          Upon their shoulders, heads, and backs\n          They bore along the floury sacks;\n          With plums and currants others came,\n          Each bag and basket filled the same;\n\n\n          While those who gave the hens a call\n          Had taken nest-egg, nest, and all;\n          And more, a pressing want to meet,\n          From some one's line had hauled a sheet,\n          The monstrous pudding to infold\n          While in the boiling pot it rolled.\n          The rogues were flour from head to feet\n          Before the mixture was complete.\n          Like snow-birds in a drift of snow\n          They worked and elbowed in the dough,\n          Till every particle they brought\n          Was in the mass before them wrought.\n          And soon the sheet around the pile\n          Was wrapped in most artistic style.\n          Then every plan and scheme was tried\n          To hoist it o'er the caldron's side.\n          At times, it seemed about to fall,\n          And overwhelm or bury all;\n          Yet none forsook their post through fear,\n          But harder worked with danger near.\n          They pulled and hauled and orders gave,\n          And pushed and pried with stick and stave,\n\n\n\n          Until, in spite of height and heat,\n          They had performed the trying feat.\n          To take the pudding from the pot\n          They might have found as hard and hot.\n          But water on the fire they threw,\n          And then to work again they flew.\n          And soon the steaming treasure sat\n          Upon a stone both broad and flat,\n          Which answered for a table grand,\n          When nothing better was at hand.\n\n\n          Some think that Brownies never eat,\n          But live on odors soft and sweet.\n          That through the verdant woods proceed\n          Or steal across the dewy mead;\n          But those who could have gained a sight\n          Of them, around their pudding white,\n          Would have perceived that elves of air\n          Can relish more substantial fare.\n\n\n\n          They clustered close, and delved and ate\n          Without a knife, a spoon, or plate;\n          Some picking out the plums with care,\n          And leaving all the pastry there.\n          While some let plums and currants go,\n          But paid attention to the dough.\n          The purpose of each Brownie's mind\n          Was not to leave a crumb behind,\n          That, when the morning sun should shine\n          Through leafy tree and clinging vine,\n          No traces of their sumptuous feast\n\n\n          It might reveal to man or beast;\n          And well they gauged what all could bear,\n          When they their pudding did prepare;\n          For when the rich repast was done,\n          The rogues could neither fly nor run.\n          --The miller never missed his flour,\n          For Brownies wield a mystic power;\n          Whate'er they take they can restore\n          In greater plenty than before.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES TOBOGGANING\n\n\n\n          ONE evening, when the snow lay white\n          On level plain and mountain height,\n          The Brownies mustered, one and all,\n          In answer to a special call.\n\n\n\n          All clustered in a ring they stood\n          Within the shelter of the wood,\n          While earnest faces brighter grew\n          At thought of enterprises new.\n          Said one, \"It seems that all the rage,\n          With human kind of every age,\n          Is on toboggans swift to slide\n          Down steepest hill or mountain side.\n          Our plans at once we must prepare,\n          And try, ourselves, that pleasure rare.\n          We might enough toboggans find\n          In town, perhaps, of every kind,\n          If some one chanced to know where they\n          Awaiting sale are stowed away.\"\n\n          Another spoke: \"Within us lies\n          The power to make our own supplies;\n          We'll not depend on other hands\n          To satisfy these new demands;\n          The merchants' wares we'll let alone\n          And make toboggans of our own;\n          A lumber-yard some miles from here\n          Holds seasoned lumber all the year.\n          There pine and cedar may be found,\n          And oak and ash are piled around.\n          Some boards are thick and some are thin,\n          But all will bend like sheets of tin.\n          At once we'll hasten to the spot,\n          And, though a fence surrounds the lot,\n          We'll skirmish 'round and persevere,\n          And gain an entrance,--never fear.\"\n\n\n\n          This brought a smile to every face,\n          For Brownies love to climb and race,\n          And undertake such work as will\n          Bring into play their wondrous skill.\n          The pointers on the dial plate\n          Could hardly mark a later date,\n          Before they scampered o'er the miles\n          That brought them to the lumber piles,\n          And then they clambered, crept, and squeezed,\n          And gained admittance where they pleased;\n          For other ways than builders show\n          To scale a wall the Brownies know.\n\n          Some sought for birch, and some for pine,\n          And some for cedar, soft and fine.\n          With free selection well content\n          Soon under heavy loads they bent.\n          It chanced to be a windy night,\n          Which made their labor far from light,\n          But, though a heavy tax was laid\n          On strength and patience, undismayed\n          They worked their way by hook or crook,\n          And reached at last a sheltered nook;\n\n\n\n          Then lively work the crowd began\n          To make toboggans true to plan.\n          The force was large, the rogues had skill,\n          And hands were willing--better still;\n          So here a twist, and there a bend,\n          Soon brought their labors to an end.\n\n\n          Without the aid of steam or glue,\n          They curved them like a war canoe;\n          No little forethought some displayed,\n          But wisely \"double-enders\" made,\n          That should they turn, as turn they might,\n          They'd keep the downward course aright;\n          They fashioned some for three or four,\n          And some to carry eight or more,\n\n\n          While some were made to take a crowd\n          And room for half the band allowed.\n          Before the middle watch of night,\n          The Brownies sought the mountain height,\n          And down the steepest grade it showed\n          The band in wild procession rode;\n          Some lay at length, some found a seat;\n          Some bravely stood on bracing feet.\n          But trouble, as you understand,\n          Oft moves with pleasure, hand in hand,\n          And even Brownies were not free\n          From evil snag or stubborn tree\n          That split toboggans like a quill,\n          And scattered riders down the hill.\n\n\n          With pitch and toss and plunge they flew,--\n          Some skimmed the drifts, some tunneled through;\n          Then out across the frozen plain\n          At dizzy speed they shot amain,\n\n\n          Through splintered rails and flying gates\n          Of half a dozen large estates;\n          Until it seemed that ocean wide\n          Alone could check the fearful ride.\n          Some, growing dizzy with the speed,\n          At times a friendly hand would need\n          To help them keep their proper grip\n          Through all the dangers of the trip.\n\n          And thus until the stars had waned,\n          The sport of coasting was maintained.\n          Then, while they sought with lively race\n          In deeper woods a hiding-place,\n          \"How strange,\" said one, \"we never tried\n          Till now the wild toboggan ride!\n\n\n\n          But since we've proved the pleasure fine\n          That's found upon the steep incline,\n          We'll often muster on the height,\n          And make the most of every night,\n          Until the rains of spring descend\n          And bring such pleasures to an end.\"\n          Another answered frank and free:\n          \"In all such musters count on me;\n          For though my back is badly strained,\n          My elbow-joint and ankle sprained,\n          I'll be the first upon the ground\n          As long as patch of snow is found,\n          And bravely do my part to steer\n          Toboggans on their wild career.\"\n\n          So every evening, foul or fair,\n          The jovial Brownies gathered there,\n          Till with the days of\n          Spring, at last,\n          Came drenching shower and melting blast,\n          Which sent the mountain's ice and snow\n          To fill the rivers miles below.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' BALLOON.\n\n\n\n          WHILE rambling through the forest shade,\n          A sudden halt some Brownies made;\n          For spread about on bush and ground\n          An old balloon at rest they found,\n          That while upon some flying trip\n          Had given aeronauts the slip.\n          And, falling here in foliage green,\n          Through all the summer lay unseen.\n          The Brownies gathered fast to stare\n          Upon the monster lying there,\n\n\n          And when they learned the use and plan\n          Of valves and ropes, the rogues began\n          To lay their schemes and name a night\n          When all could take an airy flight.\n          \"We want,\" said one, \"no tame affair,\n          Like some that rise with heated air,\n          And hardly clear the chimney-top\n          Before they lose their life and drop.\n          The bag with gas must be supplied,\n          That will insure a lengthy ride;\n          When we set sail 't is not to fly\n          Above a spire and call it high.\n          The boat, or basket, must be strong,\n          Designed to take the crowd along;\n          For that which leaves a part behind\n          Would hardly suit the Brownie mind.\n\n\n          The works that serve the town of Bray\n          With gas are scarce two miles away.\n          To-morrow night we'll come and bear,\n          As best we can, this burden there;\n          And when inflated, fit to rise,\n          We'll take a sail around the skies.\"\n\n\n          Next evening, as the scheme was planned,\n          The Brownies promptly were on hand;\n          For when some pleasure lies in view,\n          The absentees are always few.\n          But 't was no easy task to haul\n          The old balloon, car, ropes and all,\n          Across the rocks and fallen trees\n          And through the marshes to their knees.\n          But Brownies, persevering still,\n          Will keep their course through every ill,\n          And in the main, as history shows,\n          Succeed in aught they do propose.\n\n\n          So, though it cost them rather dear,\n          In scratches there and tumbles here,\n          They worked until the wondrous feat\n          Of transportation was complete.\n          Then while some busy fingers played\n          Around the rents that branches made,\n          An extra coil of rope was tied\n          In long festoons around the side,\n          That all the party, young and old,\n          Might find a trusty seat or hold.\n          And while they worked, they chatted free\n          About the wonders they would see.\n          Said one: \"As smoothly as a kite,\n          We'll rise above the clouds to-night,\n          And may the question settle soon,\n          About the surface of the moon.\"\n          Now all was ready for the gas,\n          And soon the lank and tangled mass\n          Began to flop about and rise,\n          As though impatient for the skies;\n          Then was there work for every hand\n          That could be mustered in the band,\n          To keep the growing monster low\n          Until they stood prepared to go;\n          To this and that they made it fast,\n          Round stones and stakes the rope was cast;\n\n\n\n          But strong it grew and stronger still,\n          As every wrinkle seemed to fill;\n          And when at last it bounded clear,\n          And started on its wild career,\n          A rooted stump and garden gate,\n          It carried off as special freight.\n          Though all the Brownies went, a part\n          Were not in proper shape to start;\n          Arrangements hardly were complete,\n          Some wanted room and more a seat,\n          While some in acrobatic style\n          Must put their trust in toes awhile.\n          But Brownies are not hard to please,\n          And soon they rested at their ease;\n          Some found support, both safe and strong,\n          Upon the gate that went along,\n          By some the stump was utilized,\n          And furnished seats they highly prized.\n\n          Now, as they rose they ran afoul\n          Of screaming hawk and hooting owl,\n          And flitting bats that hooked their wings\n          At once around the ropes and strings,\n\n\n          As though content to there abide\n          And take the chances of the ride.\n          On passing through a heavy cloud,\n          One thus addressed the moistened crowd:\n          \"Although the earth, from which we rise,\n          Now many miles below us lies,\n          To sharpest eye, strain as it may,\n          The moon looks just as far away.\"\n          \"The earth is good enough for me!\"\n\n\n          Another said, \"with grassy lea,\n          And shady groves, of songsters full.--\n          Will some one give the valve a pull?\"\n          And soon they all were well content,\n          To start upon a mild descent.\n\n          But once the gas commenced to go,\n          They lost the power to check the flow;\n          The more they tried control to gain,\n          The more it seemed to rush amain.\n          Then some began to wring their hands,\n          And more to volunteer commands;\n          While some were craning out to view\n          What part of earth their wreck would strew,\n          A marshy plain, a rocky shore,\n          Or ocean with its sullen roar.\n\n\n          It happened as they neared the ground,\n          A rushing gale was sweeping round,\n          That caught and carried them with speed\n          Across the forest and the mead.\n          Then lively catching might be seen\n          At cedar tops and branches green;\n          While still the stump behind them swung,\n          On this it caught, to that it hung,\n          And, as an anchor, played a part\n          They little thought of at the start.\n          At length, in spite of sweeping blast,\n          Some friendly branches held them fast:\n          And then, descending, safe and sound,\n          The daring Brownies reached the ground\n          But in the tree-top on the hill\n          The old balloon is hanging still,\n          And saves the farmers on the plain\n          From placing scare-crows in their grain.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES CANOEING.\n\n\n\n          AS day in shades of evening sank,\n          The Brownies reached a river bank;\n          And there awhile stood gazing down\n          At students from a neighboring town,\n          Whose light canoes charmed every eye,\n          As one by one they floated by.\n          Said one, \"We'll follow, as they go,\n          Until they gain the point below.\n\n\n\n          There stands a house, but lately made,\n          Wherein the club's effects are laid;\n          We'll take possession after dark,\n          And in these strange affairs embark.\"\n\n\n          They all declared, at any cost,\n          A chance like this should ne'er be lost;\n          And keeping well the men in sight\n          They followed closely as they might.\n\n\n          The moon was climbing o'er the hill,\n          The owl was hooting by the mill,\n          When from the building on the sands\n          The boats were shoved with willing hands.\n          A \"Shadow\" model some explored,\n          And then well-pleased they rushed on board;\n          The open \"Peterboro',\" too,\n          Found its supporters--and a crew.\n          The Indian \"Birch-bark\" seemed too frail\n          And lacked the adjunct of a sail,\n          Yet of a load it did not fail,--\n          For all the boats were in demand;\n          As well those which with skill were planned\n\n\n          By men of keenest judgment ripe,\n          As those of humbler, home-made type.\n          And soon away sailed all the fleet\n          With every Brownie in his seat.\n\n\n          The start was promising and fine;\n          With little skill and less design\n          They steered along as suited best,\n          And let the current do the rest.\n\n          All nature seemed to be aware\n          That something strange was stirring there.\n          The owl to-whooed, the raven croaked;\n          The mink and rat with caution poked\n          Their heads above the wave, aghast;\n          While frogs a look of wonder cast\n          And held their breath till all had passed.\n          As every stream will show a bend,\n          If one explores from end to end,\n\n\n\n          So every river, great and small,\n          Must have its rapids and its fall;\n          And those who on its surface glide\n          O'er rough as well as smooth must ride.\n          The stream whereon had started out\n          The Brownie band in gleeful rout\n\n\n          Was wild enough to please a trout.\n          At times it tumbled on its way\n          O'er shelving rocks and bowlders gray\n          At times it formed from side to side\n          A brood of whirlpools deep and wide\n          That with each other seemed to vie\n          As fated objects drifted nigh.\n          Ere long each watchful Brownie there,\n          Of all these facts grew well aware;\n          Some losing faith, as people will,\n          In their companions' care or skill,\n          Would seize the paddle for a time,\n\n\n          Until a disapproving chime\n          Of voices made them rest their hand,\n          And let still others take command.\n          But, spite of current, whirl or go,\n          In spite of hungry tribes below,--\n\n\n          The eel, the craw-fish, leech, and pout,\n          That watched them from the starting out,\n          And thought each moment flitting by\n          Might spill them out a year's supply,--\n          The Brownies drifted onward still;\n          And though confusion baffled skill,\n          Canoes throughout the trying race\n          Kept right side up in every case.\n          But sport that traveled hand in hand\n          With horrors hardly pleased the band,\n          As pallid cheek and popping eye\n          On every side could testify;\n          And all agreed that wisdom lay\n          In steering home without delay.\n\n          So landing quick, the boats they tied\n          To roots or trees as chance supplied,\n          And plunging in the woods profound,\n          They soon were lost to sight and sound.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES IN THE MENAGERIE.\n\n\n\n          THE Brownies heard the news with glee,\n          That in a city near the sea\n          A spacious building was designed\n          For holding beasts of every kind.\n          From polar snows, from desert sand,\n          From mountain peak, and timbered land,\n          The beasts with claw and beasts with hoof,\n          All met beneath one slated roof.\n\n\n          That night, like bees before the wind,\n          With home in sight, and storm behind,\n          The band of Brownies might be seen,\n          All scudding from the forest green.\n          Less time it took the walls to scale\n          Than is required to tell the tale.\n          The art that makes the lock seem weak,\n          The bolt to slide, the hinge to creak,\n          Was theirs to use as heretofore,\n          With good effect, on sash and door;\n          And soon the band stood face to face\n          With all the wonders of the place.\n          To Brownies, as to children dear,\n          The monkey seemed a creature queer;\n          They watched its skill to climb and cling,\n          By either toe or tail to swing;\n          Perhaps they got some hints that might\n          Come well in hand some future night,\n          When climbing up a wall or tree,\n          Or chimney, as the case might be.\n\n          Then off to other parts they'd range\n          To gather 'round some creature strange;\n          To watch the movements of the bear,\n          Or at the spotted serpents stare.\n          Around the sleeping lion long\n          They stood an interested throng,\n          Debating o'er its strength of limb,\n          Its heavy mane or visage grim.\n\n\n\n          The mammoth turtle from its pen\n          Was driven 'round and 'round again,\n          And though the coach proved rather slow\n          They kept it hours upon the go.\n          Said one, \"Before your face and eyes\n          I'll take that snake from where it lies,\n          And like a Hindoo of the East,\n          Benumb and charm the crawling beast,\n          Then twist him 'round me on the spot\n          And tie him in a sailor's knot.\"\n          Another then was quick to shout,\n          \"We'll leave that snake performance out!\n          I grant you all the power you claim\n          To charm, to tie, to twist and tame;\n          But let me still suggest you try\n          Your art when no one else is nigh.\n          Of all the beasts that creep or crawl\n          From Rupert's Land to China's wall,\n          In torrid, mild, or frigid zone,\n          The snake is best to let alone.\"\n\n          Against this counsel, seeming good,\n          At least a score of others stood.\n          Said one, \"My friend, suppress alarm;\n          There's nothing here to threaten harm.\n          Be sure the power that mortals hold\n          Is not denied the Brownies bold.\"\n\n\n          So, harmlessly as silken bands\n          The snakes were twisted in their hands.\n          Some hauled them freely 'round the place;\n          Some braided others in a trace;\n          And every knot to sailors known,\n          Was quickly tied, and quickly shown.\n\n          Thus, 'round from cage to cage they went,\n          For some to smile, and some comment\n          On Nature's way of dealing out\n          To this a tail, to that a snout\n\n\n          Of extra length, and then deny\n          To something else a fair supply.\n          --But when the bear and tiger growled,\n          And wolf and lynx in chorus howled,\n          And starting from its broken sleep,\n          The lion rose with sudden leap,\n          And, bounding 'round the rocking cage,\n          With lifted mane, roared loud with rage,\n          And thrust its paws between the bars,\n          Until it seemed to shake the stars,--\n\n\n          A panic seized the Brownies all,\n          And out they scampered from the hall,\n          As if they feared incautious men\n          Had built too frail a prison pen.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' CIRCUS.\n\n\n          ONE night the circus was in town\n          With tumbling men and painted clown,\n          And Brownies came from forest deep\n          Around the tent to climb and creep,\n          And through the canvas, as they might\n          Of inner movements gain a sight.\n\n\n\n          Said one, \"A chance we'll hardly find\n          That better suits the Brownie mind;\n          To-night when all this great array\n          Of people take their homeward way,\n          We'll promptly make a swift descent\n          And take possession of the tent,\n          And here, till morning light is shown,\n          We'll have a circus of our own.\"\n          \"I best,\" cried one, \"of all the band\n          The elephant can take in hand;\n          I noticed how they led him round\n          And marked the place he may be found;\n          On me you may depend to keep\n          The monster harmless as a sheep.\"\n\n          The laughing crowd that filled the place,\n          Had hardly homeward turned its face,\n          Before the eager waiting band\n          Took full possession as they planned,\n          And 'round they scampered left and right\n\n\n          To see what offered most delight.\n          Cried one, \"If I can only find\n          The whip, I'll have a happy mind;\n\n\n          For I'll be master of the ring\n          And keep the horses on the spring,\n          Announce the names of those who ride,\n          And snap the whip on every side.\"\n          Another said, \"I'll be a clown;\n          I saw the way they tumble down,\n          And how the cunning rogues contrive\n          To always keep the fun alive.\"\n\n\n          With such remarks away they went\n          At this or that around the tent;\n          The wire that not an hour before\n          The Japanese had traveled o'er\n          From end to end with careful stride,\n          Was hunted up and quickly tried.\n          Not one alone upon it stepped,\n          But up by twos and threes they crept,\n          Until the strand appeared to bear\n          No less than half the Brownies there.\n          Some showed an easy, graceful pose,\n          But some put little faith in toes,\n          And thought that fingers, after all,\n          Are best if one begins to fall.\n\n          When weary of a sport they grew,\n          Away to other tricks they flew.\n          They rode upon the rolling ball\n          Without regard to slip or fall;\n          Both up and down the steep incline\n          They kept their place, with balance fine,\n          Until it bounded from the road,\n          And whirled away without its load.\n          They galloped 'round the dusty ring\n          Without a saddle, strap or string,\n          And jumped through hoops both large and small,\n          And over banners, poles and all.\n\n          In time the elephant was found\n          And held as though in fetters bound;\n          Their mystic power controlled the beast,--\n          He seemed afraid to move the least,\n          But filled with wonder, limp and lax,\n          He stood and trembled in his tracks,\n          While all the band from first to last\n          Across his back in order passed.\n\n\n\n          So thus they saw the moments fly\n          Till dawn began to paint the sky;\n          And then by every flap and tear\n          They made their way to open air,\n          And off through lanes and alleys passed\n          To reach their hiding-place at last.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES AT BASE-BALL.\n\n\n\n          ONE evening, from a shaded spot,\n          The Brownies viewed a level lot\n          Where clubs from different cities came\n          To play the nation's favorite game.\n\n          Then spoke a member of the band:\n\n\n\n          \"This game extends throughout the land;\n          No city, town, or village 'round,\n          But has its club, and diamond ground,\n          With bases marked, and paths between,\n          And seats for crowds to view the scene.\n          At other games we've not been slow\n          Our mystic art and skill to show;\n          Let's take our turn at ball and bat,\n          And prove ourselves expert at that.\"\n\n          Another answered: \"I have planned\n          A method to equip our band.\n          There is a firm in yonder town,\n          Whose goods have won them wide renown;\n          Their special branch of business lies\n          In sending forth these club supplies.\n          The balls are wound as hard as stones,\n          The bats are turned as smooth as bones,\n          And masks are made to guard the nose\n          Of him who fears the batter's blows,\n\n\n\n          Or stops the pitcher's curves and throws.\n          To know the place such goods to find,\n          Is quite enough for Browny-kind!\"\n\n\n\n          When hungry bats came forth to wheel\n          'Round eaves and find their evening meal,\n          The cunning Brownies sought the store,\n          To work their way through sash and door.\n          And soon their beaming faces told\n          Success had crowned their efforts bold.\n          A goodly number of the throng\n          Took extra implements along,\n\n\n          In case of mishap on the way,\n          Or loss, or breakage during play.\n          The night was clear, the road was good,\n          And soon within the field they stood.\n\n          Then games were played without a pause,\n          According to the printed laws.\n          There, turn about, each took his place\n          At first or third or second base,\n\n\n          At left or right or center field.\n          To pitch, to catch, or bat to wield,\n          Or else as \"short-stop\" standing by\n          To catch a \"grounder\" or a \"fly.\"\n\n\n          Soon every corner of the ground\n          Its separate set of players found.\n          A dozen games upon the green,\n          With ins and outs might there be seen;\n          The umpires noting all with care\n          To tell if hits were foul or fair,\n\n\n          The \"strikes\" and \"balls\" to plainly shout,\n          And say if men were \"safe\" or \"out,\"\n          And give decision just and wise\n          When knotty questions would arise.\n\n\n          But many Brownies thought it best\n          To leave the sport and watch the rest;\n          And from the seats or fences high\n          They viewed the scene with anxious eye\n          And never failed, the contest through,\n          To render praise when praise was due.\n\n\n          While others, freed from games on hand,\n          In merry groups aside would stand,\n          And pitch and catch with rarest skill\n          To keep themselves in practice still.\n\n\n          Now \"double plays\" and balls well curved\n          And \"base hits\" often were observed,\n          While \"errors\" were but seldom seen\n          Through all the games upon that green.\n          Before the flush of morn arose\n          To bring their contests to a close,\n          The balls and bats in every case\n          Were carried back and put in place;\n          And when the Brownies left the store,\n          All was in order as before.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES AND THE BEES.\n\n\n\n                          WHILE Brownies once were rambling through\n                          A forest where tall timber grew,\n                          The hum of bees above their head\n                          To much remark and wonder led.\n                  They gazed at branches in the air\n                  And listened at the roots with care,\n                  And soon a pine of giant size\n                  Was found to hold the hidden prize.\n          Said one: \"Some wild bees here have made\n          Their home within the forest shade,\n          Where neither fox nor prying bear\n          Can steal the treasure gathered there.\"\n                  Another spoke: \"You're quick and bright,\n                  And as a rule judge matters right;\n                  But here, my friend, you're all astray,\n                  And like the blind mole grope your way.\n                  I chance well to remember still,\n                  How months ago, when up the hill,\n          A farmer near, with bell and horn,\n          Pursued a swarm one sunny morn.\n          The fearful din the town awoke,\n          The clapper from his bell he broke;\n          But still their queen's directing cry\n\n\n          The bees heard o'er the clamor high;\n          And held their bearing for this pine\n          As straight as runs the county line.\n          With taxes here, and failures there,\n          The man can ill such losses bear.\n          In view of this, our duty's clear:\n          To-morrow night we'll muster here,\n          And when we give this tree a fall,\n          In proper shape we'll hive them all,\n          And take the queen and working throng\n          And lazy drones where they belong.\"\n\n          Next evening, at the time they'd set,\n          Around the pine the Brownies met\n          With tools collected, as they sped\n          From mill and shop and farmer's shed;\n          While some, to all their wants alive,\n          With ready hands procured a hive.\n\n          Ere work began, said one: \"I fear\n          But little sport awaits us here.\n          Be sure a trying task we'll find;\n          The bee is fuss and fire combined.\n          Let's take him in his drowsy hour,\n          Or when palavering to the flower.\n          For bees, however wild or tame,\n          In all lands are about the same;\n          And those will rue it who neglect\n          To treat the buzzer with respect.\"\n\n\n          Ere long, by steady grasp and blow,\n          The towering tree was leveled low;\n          And then the hive was made to rest\n          In proper style above the nest,\n          Until the queen and all her train\n          Did full and fair possession gain.\n\n\n\n          Then 'round the hive a sheet was tied,\n          That some were thoughtful to provide,\n          And off on poles, as best they could,\n          They bore the burden from the wood.\n\n\n          But trouble, as one may divine,\n          Occurred at points along the line.\n\n          'Twas bad enough on level ground,\n          Where, now and then, _one_ exit found;\n\n\n          But when the Brownies lacked a road,\n          Or climbed the fences with their load,--\n          Then numbers of the prisoners there\n          Came trooping out to take the air,\n          And managed straight enough to fly\n          To keep excitement running high.\n\n\n          With branches broken off to suit,\n          And grass uplifted by the root,\n          In vain some daring Brownies tried\n          To brush the buzzing plagues aside.\n          Said one, whose features proved to all\n          That bees had paid his face a call:\n          \"I'd rather dare the raging main\n          Than meddle with such things again.\"\n          \"The noble voice,\" another cried,\n          \"Of duty still must rule and guide,--\n          Or in the ditch the sun would see\n          The tumbled hive for all of me.\"\n\n          And when at last the fence they found\n          That girt the farmer's orchard 'round,\n          And laid the hive upon the stand,\n          There hardly was, in all the band,\n          A single Brownie who was free\n          From some reminders of the bee.\n\n          But thoughts of what a great surprise\n          Ere long would light the farmer's eyes\n          Soon drove away from every brain\n          The slightest thought of toil or pain.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES ON ROLLER SKATES.\n\n\n\n          THE Brownies planned at close of day\n          To reach a town some miles away,\n          Where roller skating, so 'twas said,\n          Of all amusements kept ahead.\n          Said one: \"When deeper shadows fall,\n          We'll cross the river, find the hall,\n\n\n          And learn the nature of the sport\n          Of which we hear such good report.\"\n\n          To reach the bridge that led to town,\n          With eager steps they hastened down;\n          But recent rains had caused a rise--\n          The stream was now a fearful size;\n          The bridge was nearly swept away,\n          Submerged in parts, and wet with spray.\n\n          But when the cunning Brownies get\n          Their mind on some maneuver set,\n          Nor wind nor flood, nor frost nor fire\n          Can ever make the rogues retire.\n\n          Some walked the dripping logs with ease,\n          While others crept on hands and knees\n          With movements rather safe than fast,\n          And inch by inch the danger passed.\n\n\n          Now, guided by the rumbling sound\n          That told where skaters circled 'round,\n          Through dimly lighted streets they flew,\n          And close about the building drew.\n\n          Without delay the active band,\n          By spouts and other means at hand,\n          Of skill and daring furnished proof\n          And gained possession of the roof;\n          Then through the skylight viewed the show\n          Presented by the crowds below.\n\n\n          Said one: \"While I survey that floor\n          I'm filled with longing more and more,\n\n\n          And discontent with me will bide\n          Till 'round the rink I smoothly glide.\n          At night I've ridden through the air,\n          Where bats abide, and owls repair;\n          I've rolled in surf of ocean wide,\n          And coasted down the mountain-side;\n          And now to sweep around a hall\n          On roller skates would crown it all.\"\n\n          \"My plans,\" the leader answer made,\n          \"Are in my mind already laid.\n          Within an hour the folk below\n          Will quit their sport and homeward go;\n\n\n          Then will the time be ripe, indeed,\n          For us to leave this roof with speed,\n          And prove how well our toes and heels\n          We may command when set on wheels.\"\n\n          When came the closing hour at last,\n          And people from the rink had passed,\n          The Brownies hurried down to find\n          The roller skates they'd left behind.\n\n          Then such a scene was there as few\n          May ever have a chance to view.\n          Some hardly circled 'round the place,\n          Before they moved with ease and grace,\n          And skated freely to and fro,\n          Upon a single heel or toe.\n          Some coats were torn beyond repair,\n          By catches here and clutches there,\n          When those who felt their faith give way,\n          Groped right and left without delay;\n\n\n          While some who strove their friends to aid,\n          Upon the floor themselves were laid,\n          To spread confusion there awhile,\n          As large and larger grew the pile.\n\n\n          Some rose with fingers out of joint,\n          Or black and blue at every point;\n\n\n          And few but felt some portion sore,\n          From introductions to the floor.\n          But such mishaps were lost to sight,\n          Amid the common wild delight,--\n          For little plaint do Brownies make\n          O'er bump or bruise or even break.\n\n          But stars at length began to wane,\n          And dawn came creeping through the pane;\n          And much against the will of all,\n          The rogues were forced to leave the hall.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES AT THE SEASIDE.\n\n\n\n          WITHIN a forest dark and wide,\n          Some distance from the ocean side,\n          A band of Brownies played around\n          On mossy stone or grassy mound,\n          Or, climbing through the branching tree,\n          Performed their antics wild and free.\n\n\n          When one, arising in his place\n          With sparkling eyes and beaming face\n          Soon won attention from the rest,\n          And thus the listening throng addressed:\n          \"For years and years, through heat and cold,\n          Our home has been this forest old;\n          The saplings which we used to bend\n          Now like a schooner's masts ascend.\n\n\n          Yet here we live, content to ride\n          A springing bough with childish pride,\n          Content to bathe in brook or bog\n          Along with lizard, leech, and frog;\n          We're far behind the age you'll find\n          If once you note the human kind.\n\n\n          The modern youths no longer lave\n          Their limbs beneath the muddy wave\n          Of meadow pool or village pond,\n          But seek the ocean far beyond.\n          If pleasure in the sea is found\n          Not offered by the streams around,\n          The Brownie band at once should haste\n\n\n          These unfamiliar joys to taste;\n          No torch nor lantern's ray we'll need\n          To show our path o'er dewy mead,\n          The ponds and pitfalls in the swale,\n          The open ditch, the slivered rail,\n          The poison vine and thistle high\n          Show clear before the Brownie's eye.\"\n          --Next evening, as their plan they'd laid,\n          The band soon gathered in the shade.\n          All clustered like a swarm of bees\n          They darted from the sheltering trees;\n          And straight across the country wide\n          Began their journey to the tide.\n          And when they neared the beach at last,--\n          The stout, the lean, the slow, the fast,--\n          'T was hard to say, of all the lot,\n          Who foremost reached the famous spot.\n          \"And now,\" said one with active mind.\n          \"What proper garments can we find?\n          In bathing costume, as you know,\n          The people in the ocean go.\"\n\n          Another spoke, \"For such demands,\n          The building large that yonder stands,\n\n\n          As one can see on passing by,\n          Is full of garments clean and dry.\n          There every fashion, loose or tight,\n          We may secure with labor light.\"\n\n          Though Brownies never carry keys,\n          They find an entrance where they please;\n          And never do they chuckle more\n          Than when some miser bars his door;\n          For well they know that, spite of locks,\n          Of rings and staples, bolts and blocks,\n          Were they inclined to play such prank\n          He'd find at morn an empty bank.\n          So now the crafty Brownie crew\n          Soon brought the bathing-suits to view;\n          Some, working on the inner side,\n          The waiting throng without supplied.--\n\n\n          'Twas busy work, as may be guessed,\n          Before the band was fully dressed;\n          Some still had cloth enough to lend,\n          Though shortened up at either end;\n          Sortie ran about to find a pin,\n          While others rolled, and puckered in,\n\n\n          And made the best of what they found,\n          However strange it hung around.\n\n          Then, when a boat was manned with care\n          To watch for daring swimmers there,--\n\n\n          Lest some should venture, over-bold,\n          And fall a prey to cramp and cold,--\n          A few began from piers to leap\n          And plunge at once in water deep,\n          But more to shiver, shrink, and shout\n          As step by step they ventured out;\n          While others were content to stay\n          In shallow surf, to duck and play\n          Along the lines that people laid\n          To give the weak and timid aid.\n\n          It was a sight one should behold,\n          When o'er the crowd the breakers rolled;--\n          One took a header through the wave,\n          One floated like a chip or stave,\n          While others there, at every plunge,\n          Were taking water like a sponge.\n\n\n\n          But while the surf they tumbled through,\n          They reckoned moments as they flew,\n          And kept in mind their homeward race\n          Before the sun should show his face.\n\n\n          For sad and painful is the fate\n          Of those who roam abroad too late;\n          And well may Brownies bear in mind\n          The hills and vales they leave behind,\n          When far from native haunts they run,\n          As oft they do, in quest of fun.\n          But, ere they turned to leave the strand,\n          They made a vow with lifted hand\n          That every year, when summer's glow\n          Had warmed the ocean spread below,\n          They'd journey far from grove and glen\n          To sport in rolling surf again.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES AND THE SPINNING-WHEEL.\n\n\n\n          ONE evening, with the falling dew,\n          Some Brownies 'round a cottage drew.\n          Said one: \"I've learned the reason why\n          We miss the 'Biddy, Biddy!' cry,\n          That every morning brought a score\n          Of fowls around this cottage door;\n          'T is rheumatism most severe\n          That keeps the widow prisoned here.\n          Her sheep go bleating through the field,\n          In quest of salt no herb can yield,\n          To early roost the fowls withdraw\n          While each bewails an empty craw.\n          And sore neglect you may discern\n          On every side, where'er you turn.\n          If aid come to the widow's need,\n          From Brownies' hands it must proceed.\"\n          Another said: \"The wool, I know,\n          Went through the mill a month ago.\n          I saw them when they bore the sack\n          Tip yonder hill, a wondrous pack\n          That caught the branches overhead,\n          And round their heels the gravel spread.\n          Her spinning-wheel is lying there\n          In fragments quite beyond repair.\n          A passing goat, with manners bold,\n          Mistook it for a rival old,\n\n\n\n          And knocked it 'round for half an hour\n          With all his noted butting power.\n          They say it was a striking scene,\n          That twilight conflict on the green;\n          The wheel was resting on the shed,\n          The frame around the garden spread,\n          Before the goat had gained his sight,\n          And judged the article aright.\"\n\n\n          A third remarked: \"I call to mind\n          Another wheel that we may find.\n          Though somewhat worn by use and time,\n          It seems to be in order prime;\n          Now, night is but a babe as yet,\n          The dew has scarce the clover wet;\n          By running fast and working hard\n          We soon can bring it to the yard;\n          Then stationed here in open air\n          The widow's wool shall be our care.\"\n\n          This suited all, and soon with zeal\n          They started off to find the wheel;\n          Their course across the country lay\n          Where great obstructions barred the way;\n          But Brownies seldom go around\n          However rough or wild the ground.\n\n          O'er rocky slope and marshy bed,\n          With one accord they pushed ahead,Across\n          the tail-race of a mill,\n          And through a churchyard on the hill.\n\n          They found the wheel, with head and feet,\n          And band and fixtures, all complete;\n\n\n          And soon beneath the trying load\n          Were struggling on the homeward road.\n\n          They had some trouble, toil, and care,\n          Some hoisting here, and hauling there;\n\n\n          At times, the wheel upon a fence\n          Defied them all to drag it thence,\n          As though determined to remain\n          And serve the farmer, guarding grain.\n          But patient head and willing hand\n          Can wonders work in every land;\n          And cunning Brownies never yield,\n          But aye as victors leave the field.\n\n          Some ran for sticks, and some for pries,\n          And more for blocks on which to rise,\n          That every hand or shoulder there,\n          In such a pinch might do its share.\n\n          Before the door they set the wheel,\n          And near at hand the winding reel,\n          That some might wind while others spun,\n          And thus the task be quickly done.\n\n          No time was wasted, now, to find\n          What best would suit each hand or mind.\n          Some through the cottage crept about\n          To find the wool and pass it out;\n          With some to turn, and some to pull,\n          And some to shout, \"The spindle's full!\"\n          The wheel gave out a droning song,--\n          The work in hand was pushed along.\n\n\n          Their mode of action and their skill\n          With wonder might a spinster fill;\n          For out across the yard entire\n          They spun the yarn like endless wire,--\n          Beyond the well with steady haul,\n          Across the patch of beans and all,\n          Until the walls, or ditches wide,\n          A greater stretch of wool denied.\n\n          The widow's yarn was quickly wound\n          In tidy balls, quite large and round.\n\n\n\n          And ere the night began to fade,\n          The borrowed wheel at home was laid;\n          And none the worse for rack or wear,\n          Except a blemish here and there,\n          A spindle bent, a broken band,--\n          'T was ready for the owner's hand.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' VOYAGE.\n\n\n\n          ONE night, a restless Brownie band\n          Resolved to leave their native strand,\n          And visit islands fair and green,\n          That in the distance might be seen.\n\n          In answer to a summons wide,\n          The Brownies came from every side--\n          A novel spectacle they made,\n          All mustered in the forest shade.\n          With working implements they came,\n          Of every fashion, use, and name.\n\n          Said one, \"How many times have we\n          Surveyed those islands in the sea,\n          And longed for means to thither sail\n          And ramble over hill and vale!\n\n\n          That pleasure rare we may command,\n          Without the aid of human hand.\n          And ere the faintest streak of gray\n          Has advertised the coming day,\n          A sturdy craft, both tough and tall,\n          With masts and halyards, shrouds and all,\n          With sails to spread, and helm to guide,\n          Completed from the ways shall glide.\n          So exercise your mystic power\n          And make the most of every hour!\"\n\n          With axes, hammers, saws, and rules,\n          Dividers, squares, and boring tools,\n          The active Brownies scattered 'round,\n          And every one his labor found.\n          Some fell to chopping down the trees,\n          And some to hewing ribs and knees;\n          While more the ponderous keelson made,\n          And fast the shapely hull was laid.\n          Then over all they clambered soon,\n          Like bees around their hive in June.\n          'T was hammer, hammer, here and there,\n          And rip and racket everywhere,\n\n\n\n          While some were spiking planks and beams,\n          The calkers stuffed the yawning seams,\n          And poured the resin left and right,\n          To make her stanch and water-tight.\n          Some busily were bringing nails,\n          And bolts of canvas for the sails,\n          And coils of rope of every size\n          To make the ratlines, shrouds, and guys.\n          It mattered little whence it came,\n          Or who a loss of stock might claim;\n          Supply kept even with demand,\n          Convenient to the rigger's hand.\n\n          'T was marvelous to see how fast\n          The vessel was together cast;\n          Until, with all its rigs and stays,\n          It sat prepared to leave the ways.\n          It but remained to name it now,\n          And break a bottle on the bow,\n          To knock the wedges from the side,\n          And from the keel, and let it slide.\n\n\n          And when it rode upon the sea,\n          The Brownies thronged the deck with glee,\n          And veering 'round in proper style,\n          They bore away for nearest isle.\n\n\n          But those who will the ocean brave\n          Should be prepared for wind and wave\n          For storms will rise, as many know,\n          When least we look for squall or blow\n          And soon the sky was overcast,\n          And waves were running high and fast;\n\n\n          Then some were sick and some were filled\n          With fears that all their ardor chilled;\n          But, as when dangers do assail\n          The humankind, though some may quail,\n          There will be found a few to face\n          The danger, and redeem the race,--\n\n\n          So, some brave Brownies nobly stood\n          And manned the ship as best they could.\n          Some staid on deck to sound for bars;\n          Some went aloft to watch for stars;\n          And some around the rudder hung,\n          And here and there the vessel swung,\n          While, others, strung on yard and mast,\n          Kept shifting sails to suit the blast.\n\n          At times, the bow was high in air,\n          And next the stern was lifted there.\n\n\n          So thus it tumbled, tossed, and rolled,\n          And shipped enough to fill the hold,\n          Till more than once it seemed as though\n          To feed the fish they all must go.\n\n\n          But still they bravely tacked and veered,\n          And hauled, and reefed, and onward steered;\n          While screaming birds around them wheeled,\n          As if to say: \"Your doom is sealed\";\n          And hungry gar and hopeful shark\n          In shoals pursued the creaking bark,\n          Still wondering how it braved a gale\n          That might have made Columbus pale.\n\n          The rugged island, near them now,\n          Was looming on their starboard bow;\n          But knowing not the proper way\n          Of entering its sheltered bay,\n          They simply kept their canvas spread,\n          And steered the vessel straight ahead.\n          The birds were distanced in the race;\n          The gar and shark gave up the chase,\n          And turning back, forsook the keel,\n          And lost their chances of a meal.\n\n          For now the ship to ruin flew,\n          As though it felt its work was through,\n          And soon it stranded, \"pitch and toss,\"\n          Upon the rocks, a total loss.\n          The masts and spars went by the board--\n          The hull was shivered like a gourd!\n          But yet, on broken plank and rail,\n          On splintered spars and bits of sail\n          That strewed for miles the rugged strand,\n          The Brownies safely reached the land.\n\n\n          Now, Brownies lack the power, 'tis said,\n          Of making twice what once they've made;\n          So all their efforts were in vain\n          To build and launch the ship again;--\n          And on that island, roaming 'round,\n          That Brownie band for years was found.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' RETURN.\n\n\n          ONCE while the Brownies lay at ease\n          About the roots of rugged trees,\n          And listened to the dreary moan\n          Of tides around their island lone\n          Said one: \"My friends, unhappy here,\n          We spend our days from year to year\n          We're cornered in, and hardly boast\n          A run of twenty leagues at most\n          You all remember well, I ween,\n          The night we reached this island green,\n          When flocks of fowl around us wailed,\n          And followed till their pinions failed.\n          And still our ship at every wave\n          To sharks a creaking promise gave,\n          Then spilled us out in breakers white,\n          To gain the land as best we might.\n          Since then how oft we've tried in vain\n          To reach our native haunts again,\n          Where roaming freely, unconfined,\n          Would better suit our roving mind.\n\n          \"To-night, while wandering by the sea\n          A novel scheme occurred to me,\n          As I beheld in groups and rows\n          The weary fowl in deep repose.\n          They sat as motionless as though\n          The life had left them years ago.\n          The albatross and crane are there,\n          The loon, the gull, and gannet rare.\n          An easy task for us to creep\n          Around the fowl, while fast asleep.\n          And at a given signal spring\n          Aboard, before they spread a wing,\n          And trust to them to bear us o'er.\n          In safety to our native shore.\"\n\n          Another spoke: \"I never yet\n          Have shunned a risk that others met,\n          But here uncommon dangers lie,\n          Suppose the fowl should seaward fly,\n          And never landing, course about,\n          And drop us, when their wings gave out?\"\n\n          To shallow schemes that will not bring\n          A modest risk, let cowards cling!\n          The first replied. \"A Brownie shows\n          The best where dangers thickest close.\n          But, hear me out: by sea and land,\n          Their habits well I understand.\n          When rising first they circle wide,\n          As though the strength of wings they tried,\n          Then steering straight across the bay,\n          To yonder coast a visit pay.\n          But granting they for once should be\n          Inclined to strike for open sea,\n          The breeze that now is rising fast,\n          Will freshen to a whistling blast,\n          And landward sweeping, stronger still,\n          Will drive the fowl against their will.\"\n\n\n          Now at his heels, with willing feet,\n          They followed to the fowls' retreat.\n          'Twas hard to scale the rugged breast\n          Of crags, where birds took nightly rest.\n          But some on hands, and some on knees,\n          And more by vines or roots of trees,\n          From shelf to shelf untiring strained,\n          And soon the windy summit gained.\n          With bated breath, they gathered round;\n          They crawled with care along the ground.\n          By this, one paused; or that, one eyed;\n          Each chose the bird he wished to ride.\n\n\n          When all had done the best they could,\n          And waiting for the signal stood,\n          It hardly took a moment's space\n          For each to scramble to his place.\n\n\n          Some seized a neck and some a head,\n          And some a wing, and some a shred\n          Of tail, or aught that nearest lay,\n          To help them mount without delay.\n          Then rose wild flaps and piercing screams,\n          As sudden starting from their dreams\n          The wondering fowl in sore dismay\n          Brought wings and muscles into play.\n          Some felt the need of longer sleep,\n          And hardly had the strength to \"cheep;\"\n          While others seemed to find a store\n          Of screams they'd never found before\n          --But off like leaves or flakes of snow\n          Before the gale the Brownies go,\n          Away, away, through spray or cloud\n          As fancy led, or load allowed.\n          Some birds to poor advantage showed,\n          As, with an oddly balanced load,\n          Now right or left at random cast,\n\n\n          They flew, the sport of every blast;\n          While fish below had aching eyes\n          With gazing upward at the prize.\n          They followed still from mile to mile,\n          Believing fortune yet would smile;\n          While plainer to the Brownies grew\n          The hills and vales that well they knew.\n          \"I see,\" said one, who, from his post\n          Between the wings, could view the coast,\n          \"The lofty peaks we used to climb\n\n\n          To gaze upon the scene sublime.\"\n          A second cried: \"And there's the bay\n          From which our vessel bore away!\"\n          \"And I,\" another cried, \"can see\n          The shady grove, the very tree\n          We met beneath the night we planned\n          To build a ship and leave the land!\"\n\n          All in confusion now at last,\n          The birds upon the shore were cast.\n          Some, tumbling through thick branches, fell\n          And spilled the load that clung so well.\n          Some, \"topsy-turvy\" to the ground,\n          Dispersed their riders all around;\n          And others still could barely get\n          To shores where land and water met.\n\n          Congratulations then began,\n          As here and there the Brownies ran,\n\n\n          To learn if all had held their grip\n          And kept aboard throughout the trip.\n          \"And now,\" said one, \"that all are o'er\n          In safety to our native shore,\n          You see, so wasted is the night,\n          Orion's belt is out of sight;\n          And ere the lamp of Venus fades\n          We all must reach the forest shades.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' SINGING-SCHOOL.\n\n\n\n          AS mists of evening deeper grew,\n          The Brownies 'round a comrade drew,\n          An interesting tale to hear\n          About a village lying near.\n                  \"Last night,\" said he, \"I heard arise\n                  From many throats discordant cries.\n                  At once I followed up the sound,\n                  And soon, to my amazement, found\n                  It issued from a building small\n                  That answered for the county hall.\n\n          \"I listened there around the door,\n          By village time, an hour or more;\n          Until I learned beyond a doubt\n          A singing-school caused all the rout.\n          Some, like the hound, would keep ahead,\n          And others seemed to lag instead.\n          Some singers, struggling with the tune,\n          Outscreamed the frightened northern loon.\n          Some mocked the pinched or wheezing cry\n          Of locusts when the wheat is nigh,\n          While grumbling bassos shamed the strain\n          Of bull-frogs calling down the rain.\"\n\n          The Brownies labor heart and hand\n          All mysteries to understand;\n          And if you think those Brownies bold\n          Received the news so plainly told,\n          And thought no more about the place,\n          You're not familiar with the race.\n\n\n          When scholars next their voices tried,\n          The Brownies came from every side;\n          With ears to knot-holes in the wall,\n          To door-jambs, thresholds, blinds, and all,\n          They listened to the jarring din\n          Proceeding from the room within.\n\n\n          Said one at length, \"It seems to me\n          The master here will earn his fee,\n          If he from such a crowd can bring\n          A single person trained to sing.\"\n          Another said, \"We'll let them try\n          Their voices till their throats are dry,\n          And when for home they all depart,\n          We'll not be slow to test our art.\"\n\n          That night the Brownies cheered to find\n          The music had been left behind;\n          And when they stood within the hall,\n          And books were handed 'round to all,\n          They pitched their voices, weak or strong,\n          At solemn verse and lighter song.\n\n[Illustration: John-ny Mor-gan play'd the organ, The father beat the\ndrum, The sis-ter play'd the tam-bou-rine.]\n\n          Some sought a good old hymn to try;\n          Some grappled with a lullaby;\n          A few a painful effort made\n          To struggle through a serenade;\n          While more preferred the lively air\n          That, hinting less of love or care,\n          Possessed a chorus kind and bright\n          In which they all could well unite.\n          At times some member tried to rule,\n          And took control of all the school;\n          But soon, despairing, was content\n          To let them follow out their bent.\n\n          They sung both high and low, the same,\n          As fancy led or courage came.\n\n\n          Some droned the tune through teeth or nose,\n          Some piped like quail, or cawed like crows\n          That, hungry, wait the noonday horn\n          To call the farmer from his corn.\n          By turns at windows some would stay\n          To note the signs of coming day.\n          At length the morning, rising, spread\n          Along the coast her streaks of red,\n          And drove the Brownies from the place\n          To undertake the homeward race.\n\n          But many members of the band\n          Still kept their singing-books in hand,\n          Determined not with those to part\n          Till they were perfect in the art.\n          And oft in leafy forest shade,\n          In after times, a ring they made,\n          To pitch the tune, and raise the voice,\n          To sing the verses of their choice,\n          And scare from branches overhead\n          The speckled thrush and robin red,\n          And make them feel the time had come\n          When singing birds might well be dumb.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' FRIENDLY TURN.\n\n\n          ONE night while snow was lying deep\n          On level plain and mountain steep,\n          A sheltered nook the Brownies found,\n          Where conversation might go 'round.\n          Said one: \"The people hereabout\n          Their wood supply have taken out;\n          But while they stripped the timber lot,\n          The village parson they forgot.\n\n\n          Now that good man, the story goes,\n          As best he can, must warm his toes.\"\n          Another spoke: \"The way is clear\n          To show both skill and courage here.\n          You're not the sort, I know, to shirk:\n          And coward-like to flee from work.\n          You act at once whene'er you find\n          A chance to render service kind,\n          Nor wait to see what others do\n          In matters that appeal to you.\n\n          \"This task in waiting must be done\n          Before another day has run.\n          The signs of change are in the air;\n          A storm is near though skies are fair;\n          As oft when smiles the broadest lie,\n          The tears are nearest to the eye.\n          To work let every Brownie bend,\n          And prove to-night the parson's friend.\n          We'll not take oxen from the stall,\n          That through the day must pull and haul,\n          Nor horses from the manger lead;\n          But let them take the rest they need.\n          Since mystic power is at our call,\n          By our own selves we'll do it all.\n          Our willing arms shall take the place\n          Of clanking chain and leathern trace,\n          And 'round the door the wood we'll strew\n          Until we hide the house from view.\"\n\n          At once the Brownies sought the ground\n          Where fuel could with ease be found,--\n          A place where forest-fires had spread,\n          And left the timber scorched and dead.\n          And there throughout the chilly night\n          They tugged and tore with all their might;\n          Some bearing branches as their load;\n          With lengthy poles still others strode,\n\n\n          Or struggled till they scarce could see,\n          With logs that bent them like a V;\n          While more from under drifts of snow\n          Removed old trees, and made them go\n          Like plows along the icy street,\n          With half their limbs and roots complete.\n          Some found it hard to train their log\n          To keep its place through jolt and jog,\n          While some, mistaking ditch for road,\n          Were almost buried with their load,\n          And but for friends and promptest care,\n          The morning light had found them there.\n\n\n          The wind that night was cold and keen,\n          And frosted Brownies oft were seen.\n          They clapped their hands and stamped their toes,\n          They rubbed with snow each numbing nose,\n          And drew the frost from every face\n          Before it proved a painful case.\n\n\n\n          And thus, in spite of every ill,\n          The task was carried forward still.\n          Some were by nature well designed\n          For work of this laborious kind,\n          And never felt so truly great,\n          As when half crushed beneath a weight.\n          While wondering comrades stood aghast,\n          And thought each step must be the last.\n\n          But some were slight and ill could bear\n          The heavy loads that proved their share,\n\n\n          Though at some sport or cunning plan\n          They far beyond their comrades ran.\n\n          Around the house some staid to pile\n          The gathered wood in proper style;\n          Which ever harder work they found\n          As high and higher rose the mound.\n\n          Above the window-sill it grew,\n          And next, the cornice hid from view;\n          And, ere the dawn had forced a stop,\n          The pile o'erlooked the chimney-top.\n\n          Some hands were sore, some backs were blue,\n          And legs were scraped with slipping through\n          Where ice and snow had left their mark\n          On rounded log and smoothest bark.\n\n          That morning, when the parson rose,\n          Against the pane he pressed his nose,\n          And tried the outer world to scan\n          To learn how signs of weather ran.\n\n          But, 'round the house, behind, before,\n          In front of window, shed, and door,\n          The wood was piled to such a height\n          But little sky was left in sight!\n\n\n          When next he climbed his pulpit stair,\n          He touched upon the strange affair,\n          And asked a blessing rich to fall\n          Upon the heads and homes of all\n          Who through the night had worked so hard\n          To heap the fuel 'round the yard.\n          His hearers knew they had no claim\n          To such a blessing if it came,\n          But whispered: \"We don't understand--\n          It must have been the Brownie Band.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES' FOURTH OF JULY.\n\n\n          WHEN Independence Day was nigh,\n          And children laid their pennies by,\n          Arranging plans how every cent\n          Should celebrate the grand event,\n          The Brownies in their earnest way\n          Expressed themselves about the day.\n          Said one: \"The time is drawing near--\n          To every freeman's heart so dear--\n          When citizens throughout the land,\n          From Western slope to Eastern strand,\n\n\n          Will celebrate with booming gun\n          Their liberties so dearly won!\"\n\n          \"A fitting time,\" another cried,\n          \"For us, who many sports have tried,\n\n\n          To introduce our mystic art\n          And in some manner play a part.\"\n          A third replied, with beaming face:\n          \"Trust me to lead you to a place\n          Where fireworks of every kind\n          Are made to suit the loyal mind.\n\n          \"There, Roman candles are in store,\n          And bombs that like a cannon roar;\n          While 'round the room one may behold\n          Designs of every size and mold,--\n          The wheels that turn, when all ablaze,\n          And scatter sparks a thousand ways;\n          The eagle bird, with pinions spread;\n          The busts of statesmen ages dead;\n          And him who led his tattered band\n          Against invaders of the land\n          Until he shook the country free\n          From grasp of kings beyond the sea.\n\n          \"We may, from this supply, with ease\n          Secure a share whene'er we please;\n          And on these hills behind the town\n          That to the plain go sloping down,\n\n\n          We'll take position, come what may,\n          And celebrate the Nation's Day.\"\n\n          That eve, when stars began to shine,\n          The eager band was formed in line,\n          And, acting on the plans well laid,\n          A journey to the town was made.\n\n          The Brownies never go astray,\n          However puzzling is the way;\n          With guides before and guards behind,\n          They cut through every turn and wind,\n          Until a halt was made at last\n          Before a building bolted fast.\n          But those who think they'd turn around\n          And leave because no keys are found\n          Should entertain the thought no more,\n          But study up the Brownie lore.\n\n          They rummaged boxes piled around\n          And helped themselves to what they found,\n          Some eager to secure the wheel\n          That would so many sparks reveal.\n          Some active members of the band\n          To bombs and crackers turned their hand,\n          While more those emblems sought to find\n          That call the Nation's birth to mind,\n          And bring from every side the shout\n          When all their meaning blazes out.\n\n\n          Ere long, upon the homeward road\n          They hastened with their novel load:\n          And when the bell in chapel tower\n          Gave notice of the midnight hour,\n          The ruddy flame, the turning wheel,\n          The showering sparks and deafening peal\n          Showed Brownies in the proper way\n          Gave welcome to the glorious day.\n\n\n          The lighted eagles, through the night,\n          Looked down like constellations bright;\n          The rockets, whizzing to and fro,\n          Lit up the slumbering town below;\n          While, towering there with eyes of fire,\n          As when he made his foes retire,\n          Above all emblems duly raised,\n          The Father of his Country blazed.\n\n          But ere the Brownies' large supply\n          Had gone to light the summer sky,\n          Some plasters would have served the band\n          Much better than the goods on hand;\n          For there were cases all about\n          Where Brownies thought the fuse was out,\n          Till with a sudden fizz and flare\n          It caught the jokers unaware.\n\n          At times, in spite of warning cries,\n          Some proved too slow at closing eyes;\n          Some ears were stunned, some noses got\n          Too close to something quick and hot,\n          And fingers bore for days and weeks\n          The trace of hasty powder's freaks.\n\n          Some dodging 'round would get a share\n          Of splendor meant for upper air,\n          And with a black or speckled face\n          They ran about from place to place,\n          To find new dangers blaze and burn\n          On every side where'er they'd turn.\n\n          But few were there who felt afraid\n          Of bursting bomb or fusillade,\n          And to the prize they'd stick and hang\n          Until it vanished with a \"bang,\"\n          Or darting upward seemed to fly\n          On special business to the sky.\n\n\n\n          But there, while darkness wrapped the hill,\n          The Brownies celebrated still;\n          For, pleasures such as this they found\n          But seldom in their roaming 'round;\n          And with reluctant feet they fled\n          When morning tinged the sky with red.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BROWNIES IN THE TOY-SHOP.\n\n\n          AS shades of evening settled down,\n          The Brownies rambled through the town,\n          To pry at this, to pause at that;\n          By something else to hold a chat,\n          And in their free and easy vein\n          Express themselves in language plain.\n          At length before a store, their eyes\n          Were fixed with wonder and surprise\n          On toys of wood, and wax, and tin,\n          And toys of rubber piled within.\n\n\n          Said one, \"In all our wandering 'round,\n          A sight like this we never found.\n          When such a passing glimpse we gain,\n          What marvels must the shelves contain!\"\n\n          Another said, \"It must be here\n          Old Santa Claus comes every year\n          To gather up his large supply,\n          When Christmas Eve is drawing nigh,\n          That children through the land may find\n          They still are treasured in his mind.\"\n\n          A third remarked, \"Ere long he may\n          Again his yearly visit pay;\n          Before he comes to strip the place,\n          We'll rummage shelf, and box, and case,\n          Until the building we explore\n          From attic roof to basement floor,\n          And prove what pleasure may be found\n          In all the wonders stowed around.\"\n\n          Not long were they content to view\n          Through dusty panes those wonders new:\n          And, in a manner quite their own,\n          They made their way through wood and stone.\n\n          And then surprises met the band\n          In odd conceits from every land.\n          Well might the Brownies stand and stare\n          At all the objects crowded there!\n          Here, things of gentle nature lay\n          In safety, midst the beasts of prey;\n          The goose and fox, a friendly pair,\n          Reposed beside the lamb and bear;\n          There horses stood for boys to ride;\n          Here boats were waiting for the tide,\n\n\n          While ships of war, with every sail\n          Unfurled, were anchored to a nail;\n          There soldiers stood in warlike bands;\n          And naked dolls held out their hands,\n          As though to urge the passers-by\n          To take them from the public eye.\n          This way and that, the Brownies ran;\n          To try the toys they soon began.\n\n\n          The Jack-in-box, so quick and strong,\n          With staring eyes and whiskers long,\n          Now o'er and o'er was set and sprung\n          Until the scalp was from it flung\n          And then they crammed him in his case,\n          With wig and night-cap in their place,\n          To give some customer a start\n          When next the jumper flew apart.\n          The trumpets, drums, and weapons bright\n          Soon filled them all with great delight.\n          Like troops preparing for their foes,\n          In single ranks and double rows,\n\n\n          They learned the arts of war, as told\n          By printed books and veterans old;\n          With swords of tin and guns of wood,\n          They wheeled about, and marched or stood,\n\n\n          And went through skirmish drill and all,\n          From room to room by bugle-call;\n          There Marathon and Waterloo\n          And Bunker Hill were fought anew;\n          And most of those in war array\n          At last went limping from the fray.\n          The music-box poured forth an air\n          That charmed the dullest spirits there,\n          Till, yielding to the pleasing sound,\n          They danced with dolls a lively round.\n\n          There fish were working tail and fin\n          In seas confined by wood and tin;\n          The canvas shark and rubber whale\n          Seemed ill content in dish or pail,\n          And leaping all obstructions o'er\n          Performed their antics on the floor.\n\n          Some found at marbles greatest fun,\n          And still they played, and still they won,\n          Until they claimed as winners, all\n          The shop could furnish, large and small.\n\n\n          More gave the singing tops no rest--\n          But kept them spinning at their best\n          Until some wonder strange and new\n          To other points attention drew.\n\n          The rocking-horse that wildly rose,\n          Now on its heels, now on its nose,\n\n\n          Was forced to bear so great a load\n          It seemed to founder on the road,\n          Then tumble feebly to the floor,\n          Never to lift a rocker more.\n\n          No building in the country wide\n          With more attractions was supplied.\n          No shop or store throughout the land\n          Could better suit the Brownie band.\n          For when some flimsy toy gave way\n          And 'round the room in pieces lay\n\n\n          'Twas hardly missed in such a store,\n          With wonders fairly running o'er:\n          To something else about the place\n          The happy Brownie turned his face,\n          And only feared the sun would call\n          Before he'd had his sport with all.\n\n          Thus, through the shop in greatest glee,\n          They rattled 'round, the sights to see,\n          Till stars began to dwindle down,\n          And morning crept into the town.\n          And then, with all the speed they knew,\n          Away to forest shades they flew.\n\n[Illustration: THE END]", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32210", "title": "The Brownies: Their Book", "author": "", "publication_year": 1879, "metadata_title": "The Brownies: Their Book", "metadata_author": "Palmer Cox", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:26.056295", "source_chars": 115431, "chars": 115428, "talkie_tokens": 25992}}
{"text": "Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                      THE ADVENTURES OF THE U-202\n\n                          AN ACTUAL NARRATIVE\n\n                                  BY\n                             BARON SPIEGEL\n                        VON UND ZU PECKELSHEIM\n             (CAPTAIN-LIEUTENANT, COMMANDER OF THE U-202)\n\n\n                               NEW YORK\n                            THE CENTURY CO.\n                                 1917\n\n\n                          Copyright, 1917, by\n                            THE CENTURY CO.\n\n                          Copyright, 1917, by\n                         JOHN N. WHEELER, INC.\n\n                      _Published, February, 1917\n                  by arrangement with New York World_\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nI was sitting on the conning tower smoking a cigarette. Then the splash\nof a wave soaked it. I tried to draw another puff. It tasted loathsome\nand frizzled. Then I became angry and threw it away.\n\nI can see my reader’s surprised expression. You had expected to read a\nserious U-boat story and now such a ridiculous beginning! But I know\nwhat I am doing. If I had once thrown myself into the complicated U-boat\nsystem and used a bunch of technical terms, this story would be shorter\nand more quickly read through, but you would not have understood half of\nit.\n\nSeriousness will come, bitter and pitiable seriousness. In fact,\neverything is serious which is connected with the life on board a\nsubmarine and none of it is funny; although in fact it is the hundred\nsmall inconveniences and peculiar conditions on a U-boat which make life\non it remarkably characteristic. And in order to bring to the public a\ncloser knowledge concerning the peculiar life on board a U-boat I am\nwriting this story. Good—therefore my log-book! Yes, why should I not\nmake use of it? To this I also wish to add that I not only used my own\nlog-book but also at many places had use of other U-boats’ logs in order\nto present one or another episode which is worth the while relating.\nThus, for example, the story of the many fishing-smacks, which are\nspoken of in the chapter called “Rich Spoils,” is borrowed, but the\nhappenings in the witch kettle, the adventure with the English bulldog,\nand also most of the other chapters are my own feathers with which I\nhave adorned this little story. This is the only liberal right of an\nauthor which I permit myself. The style of the story from a log-book is\nsimple and convenient, and one buys so willingly such stories. See there\ntwo valid reasons for making use of it.\n\n                                                            THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n   CHAPTER                                PAGE\n\n     I OUR FIRST SUCCESS                    3\n\n    II AN EVENTFUL NIGHT                   21\n\n   III THE SINKING OF THE TRANSPORT        46\n\n    IV RICH SPOILS                         68\n\n     V THE WITCH-KETTLE                    91\n\n    VI A DAY OF TERROR                    115\n\n   VII A LIVELY CHASE                     140\n\n  VIII THE BRITISH BULL-DOG               163\n\n    IX HOMEWARD BOUND!                    189\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF THE U-202\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF THE U-202\n\n\nOUR FIRST SUCCESS\n\n     _At the hunting grounds North Sea, April 12, 19—. Course:\n     northwest. Wind: southwest, strength 3-4. Sea: strength 3.\n     View: good. Both machines in high speed._\n\n\nWe were very comfortable in the conning tower because the weather was\nfine and the sun burned with its heat our field-gray skin jackets.\n\n“Soon we will have summer,” I said to the officer on guard, Lieutenant\nPetersen, who was sitting with me on the conning tower’s platform. I\nfelt entirely too hot in my thick underwear.\n\nPetersen, who, like me, was sitting with his legs dangling in the open\nhatch on whose edge we had placed ourselves, put his hand on the deck\nand loosened the thick, camel’s wool scarf, twice wrapped around his\nneck, as if suddenly he realized it was too hot for him, too.\n\n“I think I’ll soon discharge this one from service,” said Petersen, and\npulled at the faithful winter friend as if he wished to strip it off.\n\n“Don’t be too hasty, my dear lieutenant,” I replied laughing. “Just wait\nuntil to-night, and then I am sure that you will repent and take your\nfaithful friend back into the service.”\n\n“Are we going to keep above the water to-night, Herr Captain-Lieutenant,\nor are we to submerge?” he asked me.\n\n“It depends on what comes up,” I answered. “It rests as usual with the\nweather.”\n\nThus we were talking and smoking on the conning tower while our eyes\nscanned the horizon and kept a sharp lookout all around us.\n\nOn the little platform, which in a sharp angle triangle unites itself\nfrom behind with the tower, the subordinate officer corporal was on\nguard, and with a skin cloth was cleaning the lenses on his double\nspy-glass, which were wet.\n\n“Did you also get a dousing, Krappohl?” I asked. “Then you didn’t look\nout, either. That rascal soaked my cigarette just as he did the lenses\non your spy-glass. That’s the dickens of a trick.”\n\nWith the word “rascal” I meant the splashing wave, which, while the sea\nwas in a perfect calm, without any reason climbed up to us on the\ntower. If there had been a storm it would have been nothing to mention.\nThen we often did not have a dry thread on our bodies. But such a\nshameless scoundrel, which in the midst of the most beautiful weather\nsuddenly throws himself over a person, is something to make one angry.\n\nWe made good speed. The water, which was thrown aside by the bow, passed\nby us in two wide white formed streaks. The motor rattled and rumbled,\nand the ventilation machine in the so-called “Centrale” right under our\nfeet made a monotonous buzzing. Through the only opening where the air\ncould pass out, the open tower hatch, all kinds of odors flowed one\nafter another from the lower regions right by our noses. First we\nsmelled smear-oil. Then the fragrance of oranges (we had with us a\nlarge shipment, which we had received as a gift of love), and now—ah!\nNow it was coffee, a strong aromatic coffee odor.\n\nLieutenant Petersen moved back and forth unrestingly on the “swimwest,”\nwith which he had tried to make it a little more comfortable for himself\non the hard sitting place, bent deeper and deeper down into the hatch\ninhaling with greed the odor from below, and said, as he in pleasant\nanticipation began to rub his hands together:\n\n“Now we’ll have coffee, Herr Captain-Lieutenant!”\n\nI had just with a great deal of trouble pulled out a cigarette-case from\nthe inside pocket of my skin jacket and was groping in my other pockets\nfor matches, when a hand (the gloves number 9½) with outstretched\nforefinger reached towards me from behind and the subordinate officer’s\nexcited voice announced:\n\n“A cloud of smoke four points port.”\n\nAs quickly as lightning the spy-glass was placed to the eye. “Where? Oh,\nyes, there. I can see it!”\n\n“As yet, only smoke can be seen. Isn’t it so?”\n\nIn what a suspense we were now. Leaning forward, and with the glasses\npressed to the eye, we gazed on the little, distant, cloud of smoke. It\ncurled, then bent with the wind and slowly dissolved in a long, thin\nveil-like streak. Nothing but smoke could be seen, a sign that the air\nwas clear, and one could see all the way to the extreme horizon.\n\nWhat kind of a ship could it be, which the curved form of the earth\nstill concealed from our view? Was it a harmless freighter, a proud\npassenger steamer, an auxiliary cruiser, or maybe an armored cruiser\njammed with cannon?\n\nIt was with a feeling, wavering between hope and fear, that these\nthoughts occupied my mind—fear, not for the enemy, because we were\nanxious to meet him—but fear that a disappointment would fall on us, if\nthe ship proved to be a neutral steamer when it came closer. Seven times\nwe had during three days experienced such disappointment, seven times we\nhad met neutral ships without contraband on board, and had been\ncompelled to let them continue on their way.\n\nThe distance between us and the steamer had not diminished, so that its\nmasts and a funnel arose above the horizon, two narrow, somewhat\nslanting lines, between which there was a thicker dark spot. A common\nfreighter, therefore. This we saw at the first glance. I changed our\ncourse northwardly in order to head off the course of the steamer which\nwas going in an easterly direction. With the highest speed the machine\ncould make we raced to meet them and the bridge and part of the hull\ncould already be seen.\n\n“To the diving stations! Artillery alarm. Cannon service on deck! First\ntorpedo tube ready for fire!”\n\nWith loud voice I called down these commands into the boat.\n\nThere was a stir in the passages below like when a stone is thrown into\nthe midst of a swarm of bees. From below it arose, and the men who were\nto serve at the cannons crowded on the narrow precipitous ladder, swung\nthemselves through the tower hatch and leaped on the deck. Now, first,\njust once, a deep breath, so that the lungs can draw the refreshing sea\nair, and then with their sleeves turned up and flashing eyes to the\nguns.\n\n“Can you see any neutral signs, Petersen?”\n\n“No, Herr Captain-Lieutenant. The entire hull is black. It’s an\nEnglishman.”\n\n“The flag of war to the mast! The usual signals ready!” I called down\ninto the tower.\n\nImmediately our flag of war floated from the top of the mast behind the\ntower. It told the men over there: “Here am I, a German submarine\nU-boat. Now for it, you proud Britisher! Now it will be seen who rules\nthe sea.”\n\nWe had gradually drawn closer to a distance of about six thousand\nmeters. At last an enemy! After so many neutral steamers. At last an\nenemy! An intense joy thrilled us, a joy which only can be compared with\nthe hunter’s when he sees at last the longed-for prey coming within\nrange, after long and fruitless efforts. We had traveled many hundred\nsea miles. We had endured storm, cold, and at times had been drenched to\nthe skin, and there, only two points port, our first success was waving\ntowards us!\n\nBy this time we must have been discovered by the steamer. Now our flag\nof war must have been recognized. A ghastly horror must have seized the\ncaptain on the bridge: The U-boat terror! the U-boat pest!\n\nBut the captain on the steamer did not give in so easily. He tried to\nsave himself by flight. Suddenly we saw how the steamer belched forth\nthicker and darker clouds of smoke and in a sharp curve turned port. Its\npropeller water, which hitherto could hardly be seen, was whipped to a\nwhite foam, and let us know the machines had been put into the highest\npossible speed. But it was of no use. No matter how much the captain was\nshouting and how much the machinist drove his sweating and naked fire\ncrew to even more than human endeavors, so that the coal flew about and\nthe boilers were red, everything was useless. We closed in on him with a\nhorrible certainty nearer and nearer.\n\nFor some time I had been standing high up on the tower with a spy-glass\nbefore my eyes and did not lose one of the steamer’s motions. Now it\nseemed to me the right moment had come to energetically command the\nsteamer to stop.\n\n“A shot above the steamer! Fire!”\n\nThe granate landed two hundred meters in front of the steamer. We waited\na few minutes, but when the shot did not cause any change I gave the\nright distance to the gunners and shouted the command to aim at the\nsteamer. The second shot hit and a thick, black and yellow cloud from\nthe explosion shot into the air. The third shot tore a piece off the\nfunnel, the fourth hit the bridge, and before the fifth had left the\nmouth of the gun the signal flew up, “I have stopped.”\n\nAh! old friend, you had come to it, anyhow!\n\nAn old sea-rule says: “Carefulness is the best seamanship.” Regarding\nall the tricks and subterfuges which the hostile merchant-marine has\nused against us, I did not consider it advisable to advance nearer the\nsteamer at once. I therefore also stopped our machines and signaled:\n“Leave the ship immediately!”\n\nThe signal was unnecessary. The English captain had himself given the\ncommand to the crew to take to the boats after he, frothing with anger,\nhad comprehended the impossibility to flee. Snorting with wrath, he\nshortly afterwards came alongside our boat, and handed me at my request\nthe ship’s papers and asked me to tow the three boats to the\nneighborhood of the coast. I promised this and said some simple words\nto him in regard to his bad luck and concerning the grim necessity of\nthe war—which he dismissed with an angry shrug of his shoulders. I\ncertainly could understand the man’s bad spirit.\n\nI then went forward and torpedoed the steamer, which sank, stern\nforemost, with a gurgling sound into the deep.\n\nAt the same time four thousand tons of rice were lost to the English\nmarket.\n\nWe had met with success and this put us into the highest spirits. Come\nwhatever wants to come, our voyage had not been entirely useless.\n\nWhen I stepped down into the boat for a moment and passed through the\nnarrow crew-room to my own little cabin, I saw to right and left joyful\nfaces, and all eyes were smiling towards me as if they wished to say:\n“Congratulations!” The steamer’s sinking was the subject of discussion.\nThose who had witnessed the incident had to describe all the\ncircumstances in smallest detail; where the torpedo had struck, how high\nthe water-pillar had risen, and what afterwards happened to the steamer,\nhow the people on the boat looked, and the like. Everything had to be\nexplained.\n\nWhen I went back some one said: “To-morrow it will be in the papers.”\nThese words whirled around in my head for some time. Yes, to-morrow\nthere would be in all the German newspapers under the column: “Ships\nsunk” or “Sacrifices to the U-boat war,” that once more we had\nretaliated on our most hated enemy, that his inhuman attempt to starve\nour people had been parried by a horrid and strong blow. And over there\nupon his isle our relentless enemy would receive the same kind of a\nnewspaper notice. The only difference was that there it would cause fury\ninstead of joy, and the dried-up old English editor would stare\nterrified on the telegram which he would hold in his hand, pull off his\nfew white threads of hair, and swear as only an Englishman can swear.\n\nEven up to the dusk of the night, we towed the sunken freighter’s three\nboats towards the coast. We then cut loose in order to get ready to\nmanœuver. When darkness set in, one had to be ready for surprises.\nBesides, we were not very far from land and the weather was fair, so\nthat the boats could be in no danger. As a refreshment, I had three\nbottles of wine brought over to the captain of the ill-fated ship, and\nleft him with best greetings to Mr. Churchill and his colleagues.\n\nThe last streak of day became paler and paler in the west. The\nspook-like red cloud-riders stretched themselves more and more, became\nindistinct, pulled themselves asunder, and at once were swept away. In\ntheir place appeared the dark demon of the night, spread itself over\nheaven, hid all the stars, and settled heavily over the sea.\n\nThis was just a night suitable for us. One could not see one’s hand\nbefore the eye. The steel covers on the tower windows were tightly shut,\nso that the least ray of light could not escape. Entirely invisible we\nwere gliding forward in the dark. Dumb and immovable, each one was\nsitting at his post—the lieutenant, the subordinate officer, and the\ncommander—trying with our eyes to pierce through the darkness and\nturning our heads continually from right to left and back again. The aim\nof our voyage was still far off and the fine weather had to be used.\n\nWeakly, as if from a far distance, the phonograph’s song reached us\nlonely watchmen:\n\n    “Reach me thy hand, thy dear hand;\n      Live well, my treasure, live well!\n    ’Cause we travel now to Eng-eland,\n      Live well, my treasure, live well,\n    ’Cause we travel now to Eng-eland.”\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nAN EVENTFUL NIGHT\n\n\nWhat peculiar sensations filled me. We were at war—the most insane war\never fought! And now I am a commander on a U-boat!\n\nI said to myself:\n\n“You submarine, you undersea boat, you faithful U-202, which has\nobediently and faithfully carried me thousands of miles and will still\ncarry me many thousand miles! I am a commander of a submarine which\nscatters death and destruction in the ranks of the enemy, which carries\ndeath and hell fire in its bosom, and which rushes through the water\nlike a thoroughbred. What am I searching for in the cold, dark night?\nDo I think about honor and success? Why does my eye stare so steadily\ninto the dark? Am I thinking about death and the innumerable mines which\nare floating away off there in the dark, am I thinking about enemy\nscouts which are seeking me?\n\n“No! It is nerves and foolish sentiments born of foolish spirits. I am\nnot thinking about that. Leave me alone and don’t bother me. I am the\nmaster. It is the duty of my nerves to obey. Can you hear the melodious\nsong from below, you weakling nerves? Are you so dull and faint hearted\nthat it does not echo within you? Do you not know the stimulating power\nwhich the thin metal voice below can inspire within you?\n\n“This song brings greetings to you from a distance of twelve hundred\nmiles and through twelve hundred miles it comes to you. Ahead we must\nlook; we must force our eyes to pierce the darkness on all sides.”\n\nThe spy-glass flew to the eye. There is a flash in the west. A light!\n\n“Hey, there! Hey! There is something over there——”\n\n“That is no ordinary light. What about it?”\n\nLieutenant Petersen was looking through his night glasses at the light.\n\n“I believe he is signaling,” he said excitedly. “The light flashes\ncontinually to and fro. I hope it is not a scout ship trying to speak\nwith some one.”\n\nHardly had the lieutenant uttered these words when we all three jumped\nas if electrified, because certainly in our immediate neighborhood\nflashed before us several quick lights giving signals, which\nundoubtedly came from the ship second in line, which was signaling to\nour first friend.\n\n“Great God! An enemy ship! Not more than three hundred meters ahead!” I\nexclaimed to myself.\n\n“Hard a starboard! Both engines at highest speed ahead! To the diving\nstations!”\n\nIn a subdued voice, I called my commands down the tower.\n\nThe phonograph in the crew-room stopped abruptly. A hasty, eager running\nwas discernible through the entire boat as each one hurried to his post.\n\nThe boat immediately obeyed the rudder and was flying to starboard.\nBetween the two hostile ships there was a continuous exchange of\nsignals.\n\n“God be praised it is so dark!” I exclaimed with a deep breath as soon\nas the first danger had passed.\n\n“And to think that the fellow had to betray his presence by his\nchattering signals just as we were about to run right into his arms,”\nwas the answer. “This time we can truly say that the good God, Himself,\nhad charge of the rudder.”\n\nThe engineer appeared on the stairway which leads from the “Centrale” up\nto the conning tower.\n\n“May I go to the engine-room, Herr Captain-Lieutenant?”\n\nIt was not permissible for him to leave his diving station, the\n“Centrale,” which is situated in the center of the boat, without special\npermission.\n\n“Yes, Herr Engineer, go ahead down and fire up hard!” I replied.\n\nThe thumping of the heavy oil-motors became stronger, swelled higher\nand higher, and, at last, became a long drawn out roar, and entirely\ndrowned the sound of the occasional jolts which always were distinctly\ndiscernible when going at slower speed. One truly felt how the boat\nexerted its strength to the utmost and did everything within its power.\n\nWe had put ourselves on another course which put the anxiously signaling\nBritishers obliquely aport of our stern, and rushed with the highest\nspeed for about ten minutes until their lights became smaller and\nweaker. We then turned point by point into our former course, and thus\nslipped by in a large half circle around the hostile ships.\n\n“Just as a cat around a bowl of hot oatmeal,” said Lieutenant Petersen.\n\n“No, my dear friend,” I said laughingly, “it does not entirely\ncoincide. The cat always comes back, but the oatmeal is too hot for us\nin this case. Or do you think that I intend to circle around those two\nrascals for hours?”\n\n“Preferably not, Herr Captain-Lieutenant. It could end badly!”\n\n“Both engines in highest speed forward, let the crew leave the diving\nstations, place the guards!” I ordered.\n\nThe danger had passed. Normal conditions at night could again be\nresumed. But before the morning set in, we again experienced all kinds\nof adventures. The night was as if bewitched. There was no sleep worth\nmentioning. I had hardly, towards ten o’clock, reached my comfortable\nlittle nest where the sailor Schultes, our own considerate “cup-bearer,”\nhad spread on my miniature writing-desk the most tempting delicacies of\npreserves and fruit together with a bottle of claret, when a whistle\nsounded in the speaking-tube on the wall right close to my head:\n\n“Whee-e!” it shrieked, high, penetrating and alarming.\n\nI jumped up, pulled out the stopper and put in the mouth-piece.\n\n“Hello!”\n\n“Two points from starboard a white light!”\n\nI grabbed my cap and gloves and rushed sternward through the deck\nofficer’s room, petty officer’s room, and crew-room, each one narrower\nthan the other.\n\n“Look out, the commander!” they shouted to one another, and pulled in\ntheir legs so that I could get by.\n\n“Ouch!” I bumped my head hard against the stand of an electric lamp. I\nrubbed the sore spot as I hurried ahead, while I took an oath to myself\nthat the lamp should be moved at the first possible opportunity. I\nhurried through the “Centrale,” up the narrow stairway. Then I reached\nmy place.\n\n“Where?”\n\n“There!” Lieutenant Gröning, who was on guard, pointed out. “About three\npoints starboard!”\n\n“It is a steamer. One can already see the red side lantern. It is\ncrossing our course.”\n\nI put my binoculars to the eye and looked for many seconds for the\nlight. The officer on guard was right. Besides the white lantern, one\ncould see a deep, red light. The ship therefore was traveling towards\nthe left and would cross our course.\n\nA narrow strip of the moon had appeared from out of the sea and was\nwrestling with the darkness of the night. The result was not much—the\nstrip of the moon was too small for that—still it was not so dark as\nbefore.\n\n“Don’t let it come too close to us!” I ordered. “And get clear in right\ntime. We must not under any circumstances be seen by it, because then\nthey would soon know in England from which direction to expect us. Now\nnearly every steamer has a wireless.”\n\nGröning changed the course to port until he had the steamer completely\nto the left.\n\n“Too bad, we can’t take it with us,” he said.\n\n“No, you know, for a night attack this is not the right place. Here so\nmany neutral steamers travel, and an error can easily be made.”\n\nIt was shortly after ten o’clock. At eleven-twenty, twelve forty,\none-ten, three-fifteen, and five o’clock I again heard the whistling\n“Whee-e!” in the speaking-tube by my bunk. Each time I had to jump out\nof some dream, realize within a fraction of a second that my presence\nwas desired up-stairs, grab my cap and gloves, and rush through the\nboat’s long body up to the tower, not without several times bumping into\nthe aforementioned and often damned electric lamp.\n\nAfter five o’clock in the morning I remained on deck, because dawn would\nsoon break with its treacherous light. The commander’s post is in the\ntower at such a time because, just as easily as one perceives in the\npale gray light a ship, one is also visible from the steamer, which\ncould cause many unpleasant surprises if the two ships are not very\ncordial towards each other—especially disagreeable to us because a\nsubmarine is, as our name indicates, below the water, and the smallest\nfragment of a shell can badly damage our heel of Achilles, the diving\nmachinery, so that we would be unable again to get into a position of\nsafety beneath the surface.\n\nShortly before six o’clock I had the entire crew at the diving stations.\nEach took his place, ready at a given command to open or shut the valve,\ncrank, or bolt of which he had charge. Only the cook had no special duty\nbesides his own. He remained with the electric cooking apparatus\nprovided in the galley and had no other job besides taking care of our\nbodily comfort. Now he was, in conformity with his duty, busy making\ncoffee as was proper at that time of day.\n\nA fine, strong smell of coffee percolated through the whole ship, which\nproved to be a great stimulant to our taut nerves and our empty\nstomachs.\n\nI have to deviate a little from the subject for the purpose of asking if\nmy readers understand me. Is it above all plain, explicit, and clear why\nI give so much space to a discussion of the nerves when I speak about\nus, U-boat men, and so often refer to them? The nerves are in time of\npeace the Alpha and Omega for a U-boat officer. How much more so when we\nare at war! The nerves to us mean power to act, decision, strength,\nwill, and perseverance. The nerves are valuable and to keep them in good\ncondition is of the greatest importance and an obligation and duty\nduring a voyage.\n\nThere we sit hour after hour in the conning tower. Beneath is the most\ncomplicated mechanism the genius of man has ever created. And all around\nthere are the most craftily constructed instruments for the purpose of\ndestroying that which cost so much labor to create. Mines, nets,\nexplosives, shells, and sharp keels are our enemies, which, at any\nmoment, may send us high in the air or hundreds of meters into the\nocean. Everywhere perils lurk. The whole sea is a powder barrel.\n\nFor all this there is only one remedy—nerves!\n\nTo make the right decision at the right moment is the first and last of\nU-boat science. One glance must be enough to determine the position. In\nthe same second a decision must be made, and the commands carried out. A\nmoment’s hesitation may be fatal.\n\nI can give an example of this on the very morning I speak of.\n\nIt was three minutes after six o’clock, and within about half an hour\nthe sun would rise, but the sea and the sky still floated together in\nthe colorless drab of early dawn and permitted one only to imagine, not\nsee, that partition wall, the horizon.\n\nUnceasingly our binoculars pierced the gray dusk of daybreak. Suddenly a\nshiver went through my body when—only a second immovable and in intense\nsuspense—a dark shadow within range of the spy-glass made me jump. The\nshadow grew and became larger, like a giant on the horizon—one mast;\none, two, three, four funnels—a destroyer.\n\nA quick command—I leap down into the tower. The water rushes into the\ndiving tanks. The conning tower covers slam tight behind me—and the\nagony which follows tries our patience, while we count seconds with\nwatches in hand until the tanks are filled, and the boat slips below the\nsea.\n\nNever in my life did a second seem so long to me. The destroyer, which\nis not more than two thousand meters distant from us, has, of course,\nseen us, and is speeding for us as fast as her forty thousand horse\npower can drive her. From the guns mounted on her bow flash one shot\nafter another aimed to destroy us.\n\nGood God! If he only does not hit! Just one little hit, and we are lost!\nAlready the water splashes on the outside of the conning tower up to the\nglass windows through which I see the dark ghost, streaking straight\nfor us. It is terrifying to hear the shells bursting all around us in\nthe water. It sounds like a triphammer against a steel plate, and closer\nand closer come the metallic crashes. The rascal is getting our range.\n\nThere—the fifth shot—the entire boat trembles—then the deceitful\ndaylight disappears from the conning tower window. The boat obeys the\ndiving rudder and submerges into the sea.\n\nA reddish-yellow light shines all around us; the indicator of the\nmanometer, which measures our depth, points to eight meters, nine\nmeters, ten meters, twelve meters. Saved!\n\nWhat a happy, unexplainable sensation to know that you are hiding deep\nin the infinite ocean! The heart, which had stopped beating during\nthese long seconds because it had no time to beat, again begins its\npounding.\n\nOur boat sinks deeper and deeper. It obeys, as does a faithful horse the\nslightest pressure of a rider’s knees, which, in this case, are the\ndiving rudders placed in the bow and the stern. The manometer now shows\ntwenty-four meters, twenty-six meters. I had given orders we should go\ndown to thirty meters.\n\nAbove us we still hear the roaring and crackling in the water, as if it\nwere in an impotent rage. I turn and smile at the mate who is standing\nwith me in the conning tower—a happy, care-free smile. I point upwards\nwith my thumb.\n\n“Do you hear it? Do you hear it?”\n\nIt is an unnecessary question, of course, because he hears it as plainly\nas I do, and all the others aboard hear it, too. But the question can\nstill be explained because of the tremendous strain on our nerves which\nhas to express itself even in such a simple question.\n\nDear, true, splendid little boat, how one learns to love you during such\ntrying moments and would like to pet you like a living human being for\nyour understanding and obedience! We, here on board, all depend upon\nyou, just as we all depend upon one another. We are chained together. We\nwill face the dangers together and gain success.\n\nYou blond heroes who are standing down there in the bowels of the boat\nwithout knowing what is happening up in the light, but still knowing\nthat the crucial moment has arrived—that life or death to every one\ndepends on one man’s will and one man’s decision; you who, with a calm\nand strong feeling of duty, stick at your posts with all the strength of\nyour bodies and souls strained to the breaking point and still keep full\nfaith in him who is your leader, chief, and commander; you show the\nhighest degree of bravery and self-control, you who never have a chance\nto see the enemy but still, with sustained calm, do your duty.\n\nNot a word was uttered, not a sound disturbed that deadly stillness on\nboard. One almost forgot that the men were standing with strained nerves\nat their posts in order to keep the wonderful mechanism running right.\nOne could hear the soft whirr of the dynamos and, more and more distant,\nthe crackling of the exploding shells. Suddenly even this stopped. The\nBritisher must have noticed that the fish had slipped out of his hand.\nShortly thereafter we heard his propellers churning the water above us.\nSoon this noise died away as it had come, growing fainter and fainter in\na kind of grinding whirr.\n\n“Did you hear how he circled around over us?” I asked through the\nspeaking tube which led down into the “Centrale.”\n\n“Certainly. That could clearly be distinguished,” was the short answer.\n\nI was pondering over what to do next. At first we had no choice but to\ndive at the first sight of the destroyer suddenly appearing with the\nbreak of day.\n\nIn our capacity as an undersea boat, we were now in a position to fight\non equal terms, and I decided to risk a bout with him as soon as it\nbecame light enough for me to see through the periscope. The\nintervening time I made use of by having passed up to me in the tower\nthe long desired cup of morning coffee, in order to stop the tantalizing\nagony which the smell of the coffee had caused my empty stomach.\nThereupon we slowly climbed upwards from our safe breakfast depth of\nthirty meters. The higher we came—one can read on the manometer how we\nare ascending meter by meter—the greater became the excitement and\ntension. Without breathing we listened.\n\nSlowly the boat rose. The top of the periscope would soon be thrust\nabove the surface. My hands clasped the handle with which the\nwell-oiled, and therefore easily movable, periscope can be turned around\nas quickly as lightning, in order to take a sweep around the horizon. My\neye was pressed to the sight, and soon I perceived that the water was\ngetting clearer and clearer by degrees and more transparent. I could now\nfollow the ascent of the boat without consulting the manometer.\n\nMy heart was pounding with the huntsman’s fervor, in expectation of what\nI was to see at my first quick glance around the horizon, because the\ndestroyer, which we sighted only a quarter of an hour before, could be\nonly a scouting ship. It might belong to a detachment of naval scouts to\nprotect a larger ship. In my thoughts I saw the whole eastern horizon\nfull of proud ships under England’s flag surrounded by smoke.\n\nI did not see anything, no matter how carefully I scanned the horizon.\nAll I could see was the reddening morning blush spread over half of the\neastern sky, the last stars now paling and the rising sun showing its\nfirst beams.\n\n“For heaven’s sake, nobody is here,” I grumbled to myself.\n\n“Oh, he’ll surely come back, Captain,” said my mate with true optimism.\n“The prey was too hot for him to tackle and now he has started to fetch\na couple more to help him.”\n\n“It would certainly be less desirable,” put in Lieutenant Gröning, who,\nfull of expectations, was standing halfway up the stairway leading from\nthe tower to the “Centrale” and had overheard our talk. “No, it would be\nless desirable,” he repeated, “because then comes the entire swarm of\nhostile U-boats with their nets cunningly lined with mines. No good will\never come of that.”\n\n“There you are right, Gröning,” I agreed. “With that sort of a\nnuisance, equipped as they are with so many machines for our\ndestruction, it would be very disagreeable to make their acquaintance.\nIf they come, it is best to disappear. It is not worth the risk. We have\nmany more important duties ahead of us. It would be too bad to spoil a\ngood torpedo on such trash.”\n\nAt the same time, I decided to rise so as to get a better observation\nthrough the periscope and once more look around the horizon. I suddenly\nobserved in the northeast a peculiar, dark cloud of smoke. I, therefore,\ndid not give any orders to arise, but told “Centrale” by a few short\ncommands through the speaking tube the new turn of affairs and, with\nadded speed, went to meet the smoke cloud.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SINKING OF THE TRANSPORT\n\n\nSoon the outlines of a ship told us that ahead of us was a large\nsteamer, steaming westward at high speed. The disappointment which we\nexperienced at first was soon reversed when it was clearly shown that\nthe fortunes of war had again sent a ship across our course which\nbelonged to a hostile power.\n\nNo flag could be seen—nor was it run up. Otherwise we would have seen\nit.\n\n“This is a suspicious circumstance,” I reasoned with myself.\n\nI called down to the “Centrale” all my observations through the\nperiscope at regular intervals, snapping them out in the same sharp,\nbrief style that the newsboys use in calling out the headlines to the\nlistening public. My words were passed in whispers from mouth to mouth\nuntil all hands on board knew what was going on above the surface. Each\nnew announcement from the conning tower caused great excitement among\nthe crew, listening and holding their breath and, I believe, if you\ncould measure the tension on human nerves with a barometer, it would\nhave registered to the end of the tube, when, like hammer beats, these\nwords went down to the “Centrale”:\n\n“The steamer’s armed! Take a look, mate.”\n\nI stepped away from the sights of the periscope. “Can you see the gun\nmounted forward of the bridge?”\n\n“Yes, certainly,” he replied excitedly. “I can see it, and quite a large\npiece it is, too.”\n\n“Now take a look at her stern—right by the second mast—what do you\nnotice there?”\n\n“Thousand devils! Another cannon—at least a ten-centimeter gun. It’s a\ntransport, sure.”\n\n“Drop the periscope! Port ten!” I commanded.\n\n“Torpedo tube ready!” reported the torpedo master through the tube from\nthe forward torpedo compartment.\n\nBy this time I had the periscope submerged so that we were completely\nbelow the surface and out of sight, and it would be impossible to\ndiscover us from the steamer, even after the most careful searching of\nthe horizon.\n\n“Advance on the enemy!” was our determination.\n\nOh, what a glorious sensation is a U-boat attack! What a great\nunderstanding and coöperation between a U-boat and its crew—between dead\nmatter and living beings! What a merging into a single being, of the\nnerves and spirits of an entire crew!\n\n“Just as if the whole boat is as one being,” was the thought that passed\nthrough my mind when I, with periscope down, went at my antagonist, just\nlike a great crouching cat with her back bowed and her hair on end,\nready to spring. The eye is the periscope, the brain the conning tower,\nthe heart the “Centrale,” the legs the engines, and the teeth and claws\nthe torpedoes.\n\nNoiselessly we slipped closer and closer in our exciting chase. The main\nthing was that our periscope should not be observed, or the steamer\nmight change her course at the last moment and escape us. Very\ncautiously, I stuck just the tip of the periscope above the surface at\nintervals of a few minutes, took the position of the steamer in a second\nand, like a flash, pulled it down again. That second was sufficient for\nme to see what I wanted to see. The steamer was to starboard and was\nheading at a good speed across our bows. To judge from the foaming waves\nwhich were cut off from the bow, I calculated that her speed must be\nabout sixteen knots.\n\nThe hunter knows how important it is to have a knowledge of the speed at\nwhich his prey is moving. He can calculate the speed a little closer\nwhen it is a wounded hare than when it is one which in flight rushes\npast at high speed.\n\nIt was only necessary for me, therefore, to calculate the speed of the\nship for which a sailor has an experienced eye. I then plotted the exact\nangle we needed. I measured this by a scale which had been placed above\nthe sights of the periscope. Now I only had to let the steamer come\nalong until it had reached the zero point on the periscope and fire the\ntorpedo, which then must strike its mark.\n\nYou see, it is very plain; I estimate the speed of the boat, aim with\nthe periscope and fire at the right moment.\n\nHe who wishes to know about this or anything else in this connection\nshould join the navy, or if he is not able to do so, send us his son or\nbrother or nephew.\n\nOn the occasion in question everything went as calculated. The steamer\ncould not see our cautious and hardly-shown periscope and continued\nunconcerned on its course. The diving rudder in the “Centrale” worked\nwell and greatly facilitated my unobserved approach. I could clearly\ndistinguish the various objects on board, and saw the giant steamer at a\nvery short distance—how the captain was walking back and forth on the\nbridge with a short pipe in his mouth, how the crew was scrubbing the\nforward deck. I saw with amazement—a shiver went through me—a long line\nof compartments of wood spread over the entire deck, out of which were\nsticking black and brown horse heads and necks.\n\nOh, great Scott! Horses! What a pity! Splendid animals!\n\n“What has that to do with it?” I continually thought. War is war. And\nevery horse less on the western front is to lessen England’s defense. I\nhave to admit, however, that the thought which had to come was\ndisgusting, and I wish to make the story about it short.\n\nOnly a few degrees were lacking for the desired angle, and soon the\nsteamer would get into the correct focus. It was passing us at the right\ndistance, a few hundred meters.\n\n“Torpedo ready!” I called down into the “Centrale.”\n\nIt was the longed-for command. Every one on board held his breath. Now\nthe steamer’s bow cut the line in the periscope—now the deck, the\nbridge, the foremast—the funnel.\n\n“Let go!”\n\nA light trembling shook the boat—the torpedo was on its way. Woe, when\nit was let loose!\n\nThere it was speeding, the murderous projectile, with an insane speed\nstraight at its prey. I could accurately follow its path by the light\nwake it left in the water.\n\n“Twenty seconds,” counted the mate whose duty it was, with watch in\nhand, to calculate the exact time elapsed after the torpedo was fired\nuntil it exploded.\n\n“Twenty-two seconds!”\n\nNow it must happen—the terrible thing!\n\nI saw the ship’s people on the bridge had discovered the wake which the\ntorpedo was leaving, a slender stripe. How they pointed with their\nfingers out across the sea in terror; how the captain, covering his\nface with his hands, resigned himself to what must come. And next there\nwas a terrific shaking so that all aboard the steamer were tossed about\nand then, like a volcano, arose, majestic but fearful in its beauty, a\ntwo-hundred meter high and fifty-meter wide pillar of water toward the\nsky.\n\n“A full hit behind the second funnel!” I called down into the\n“Centrale.” Then they cut loose down there for joy. They were carried\naway by ecstasy which welled out of their hearts, a joyous storm that\nran through our entire boat and up to me.\n\nAnd over there?\n\nLandlubber, steel thy heart!\n\nA terrible drama was being enacted on the hard-hit sinking ship. It\nlisted and sank towards us.\n\nFrom the tower I could observe all the decks. From all the hatches human\nbeings forced their way out, fighting despairingly. Russian firemen,\nofficers, sailors, soldiers, hostlers, the kitchen crew, all were\nrunning and calling for the boats. Panic stricken, they thronged about\none another down the stairways, fighting for the lifeboats, and among\nall were the rearing, snorting and kicking horses. The boats on the\nstarboard deck could not be put into service, as they could not be swung\nclear because of the list of the careening steamer. All, therefore,\nthronged to the boats on the port side, which, in the haste and anguish,\nwere lowered, some half empty; others overcrowded. Those who were left\naboard were wringing their hands in despair. They ran from bow to stern\nand back again from stern to bow in their terror, and then finally\nthrew themselves into the sea in order to attempt to swim to the boats.\n\nThen another explosion resounded, after which a hissing white wave of\nsteam streamed out of all the ports. The hot steam set the horses crazy,\nand they were beside themselves with terror—I could see a splendid,\ndapple-gray horse with a long tail make a great leap over the ship’s\nside and land in a lifeboat, already overcrowded—but after that I could\nnot endure the terrible spectacle any longer. Pulling down the\nperiscope, we submerged into the deep.\n\nWhen, after some time, I came again to the surface there was nothing\nmore to be seen of the great, proud steamer. Among the wreckage and\ncorpses of the horses three boats were floating and occasionally fished\nout a man still swimming in the sea. Now I came up on the surface in\norder to assist the victims of the wrecked ship. When our boat’s mighty,\nwhale-like hull suddenly arose out of the water, right in their midst, a\npanic seized them again and quickly they grasped their oars in order to\ntry to flee. Not until I waved from the tower to them with my\nhandkerchief and cap did they rest on their oars and come over to us.\nThe state in which some of them were was exceedingly pitiful. Several\nwore only white cotton trousers and had handkerchiefs wrapped around\ntheir necks. The fixed provisions which each boat was required to carry\nwere not sufficient when the boat’s crew was doubled and trebled.\n\nWhile I was conferring with our mess officer as to what we could\npossibly dispense with of our own provisions we noticed to the north\nand west some clouds of smoke which, to judge from the signs, were\ncoming towards us quickly. Immediately a thought flashed through my\nhead:\n\n“Now they are looking for you. Now comes the whole swarm.”\n\nAlready the typical masts of the British destroyers and trawlers arose\nabove the horizon. We, therefore, did not have a minute to lose in order\nto escape these hostile and most dangerous enemies. I made my decision\nquickly and called to the captain of the sunken steamer that he could\nlet one of the oncoming ships pick them up as I could not spare the\ntime, but had to go “northeast.” Then I submerged—right in front of the\nboats full of survivors. They saw me head north and I steered in that\ndirection for a time. Then I pulled down the periscope and, without\nbeing noticed, changed my course to the south.\n\nWhen I, after a considerable time, again cautiously looked around, I\nperceived to my amazement that an entire scout fleet in a wide circle\nwas heading towards us from the south also. From three sides the enemy\nspurred his bloodhounds on us, and I thought to myself it would not take\nlong before, by extending their wings, they would encircle us\ncompletely, and the great chase would begin. The thought was not\ncheerful, particularly as the depths in this part of the ocean were not\nsufficient so that we could, by submerging deeply, guard ourselves\nagainst the dangers of grappling hooks, nets and mines.\n\n“The wildcat has become a hare,” I thought to myself and, at the same\ntime, I decided what to do.\n\nWe had to do as the old hare. First, with eyes open, we would cautiously\njump forth, use all possible covers, and search for the spot where the\ngunners were fewest, and then with eyes shut and at the highest possible\nspeed break through the widest gap.\n\nConsequently, we began to travel toward the east where the “atmosphere\nwas still clear.” Occasionally I stuck up my periscope and perceived how\nthe surrounding circle was knit tighter and tighter. Now, after I had\nmade up my mind, I became completely calm and carefully considered all\nthe conditions for and against us. The swarm of destroyers moved toward\nthe center, as in a regular chase, as soon as the circle was complete.\nBetween every couple of hunters—I mean trawlers—there were nets\nstretched across to catch a little submarine, and behind these were\ndragged mines.\n\nBy extending one of the wings in the north, it made a gap toward the\neast, and besides I saw that one of the torpedo boats between two groups\nof the searching parties had left for the shipwrecked survivors. At this\npoint, consequently, was our best chance to escape. I laid my course\nbetween the two searching parties, of course, with the periscope, during\nthe whole time, nearly invisible.\n\nSlowly the ranks of the hunting hounds approached, smoking copiously and\nsnorting. Now the right moment had arrived to follow the other part of\nthe hare’s program. We shut our eyes—that is, I pulled the periscope\ndown completely—and proceeded with increased speed, submerging in the\nsea as deeply as possible.\n\nI can well imagine how the old hare felt when he ran blindly for his\nlife. Undoubtedly our feelings were somewhat the same. How easily could\nnot that little gap toward which we were making be closed by some small\nauxiliary of the searchers.\n\nAnd, if the grappling hooks from one of these got hold of us, there\nwould be little hope of escape, or of saving ourselves. Then they would\ntear at us from all directions and give us the stab that would send us\ndeep down into the sea for good. No one on board suspected what danger\nwe went to meet. I had kept all my observations concerning the enemy’s\nsurrounding us to myself and had not mentioned it, so as not to excite\neverybody’s mind. No one below could at any rate do anything to change\nthe conditions.\n\nThen from the bow compartment came the report:\n\n“The beating of propellers is discernible to port!”\n\nShortly thereafter I could hear them, even from the conning tower—a\nsoft, slow, swelling, and grinding sound. This was not the sound of the\npropellers of a destroyer. Such would beat faster, clearer, and more\npowerfully. This was the heavily-dragging trawlers’ slow beating\npropellers.\n\nStrainingly I listened to starboard—nothing could be heard. That was a\ngood sign, because I could hope that in reality I had reached the gap\nand that the sounds of the propellers which we heard to port emanated\nfrom the trawler on the left side of the gap. I was just about, from my\ninnermost heart, to let out a joyous “hurrah,” when, from the bow of the\nboat, I heard a new sound which approached with a clear, sharp banging.\nIt was the torpedo-boat, the beast! Was the rascal going to come back at\nthe crucial moment?\n\nIt required only a few seconds for the torpedo-boat to pass over us, but\nthose seemed as hours. At every blinking of the eye I imagined I heard\nsomething explode, turn against or drag alongside my boat. But fortune\nwas ours. The sharp, grinding sound of the swift torpedo-boat propellers\nbecame fainter and fainter and, at last, ceased entirely. Unconsciously\nI straightened up a little in the tower, whistled a few notes from\n“Dockan,” and tapped, as if nothing had happened, with the knuckle of my\nforefinger on the glass of the manometer. What did the manometer\nregister? Nothing whatsoever had happened. Everything was in the best\ncondition. The depth coincided. The diving rudder was lying normal.\nBefore me stood Tuczynski, my faithful helmsman and orderly, at former\ntimes skipper on the _Weichsel_ and _Nogat_; behind me, the mate leaned\nagainst the wall of the conning tower contentedly and yawned.\n\nI suddenly felt an unresistible craving for a cigarette. The nerves\nneeded some stimulation. For about ten minutes I controlled myself. Then\nI arose to a periscope distance from the surface and took a look around\nto see how things were going. What I saw filled my heart with joy. The\nwhole swarm of British destroyers and trawlers had moved toward the\nsouthwest and were eagerly searching in a long line. As we were\nproceeding in an opposite direction we quickly left them. After about\nfive more minutes I would dare to come to the surface. To the north the\nway was clear.\n\nSoon I was sitting, in the best of spirits, up in the conning tower,\ngreedily inhaling with both lungs the fine, refreshing sea air and,\nmixed with it, the long puffs of the cigarette.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nRICH SPOILS\n\n\nLate in the afternoon of the same day we broke into a peacefully working\nfishing flotilla just like a wolf into a flock of sheep. In order to be\nsure no shepherd with his dog was guarding them we, keeping ourselves\nsubmerged, carefully examined each ship. I could not see a gun or\nanything suspicious anywhere.\n\nAll were peacefully occupied at their casting nets, fishing. There were\nseven fishing steamers and nine sailing ships, which were scattered over\na distance of about three miles. The weather was glorious, even better\nthan the day before. The sun smiled from a steel blue sky and danced in\ngolden stripes on the bright, calm surface of the sea. A gentle\nnortherly swell rocked the fishing boats back and forth, so that the\ngaffs and the frames on which the extra nets had been stretched to dry\nwere swinging and banging.\n\nCountless numbers of sea gulls were flying about close to the flotilla.\nWith shrill cries and in thick flocks, they swooped down on the sterns\nof some isolated boats, and hurled themselves, gliding on their wings,\ninto the refuse of the last catch which the fishermen were throwing\noverboard.\n\nThe horizon stood out visibly from the sea all around and seemed to be a\ngreat shining, glittering ring. Not a speck of cloud spotted its bright\nedges. Nothing was visible except our fishermen.\n\nHurrah, this was just the weather for us! A rare and favorable\nopportunity had presented itself here to play a trick on the English\nfish market.\n\nAs a ghost, I suddenly arose behind one of the fishing steamers, pushed\nthe conning tower hatch up, and jumped up on the tower, holding the flag\nof war in one hand and the megaphone in the other.\n\n“Halloo-o-o!”\n\nThe fishermen stared at us open mouthed, rooted to the spot as if\nparalyzed by fear of us.\n\n“Halloo-o-o-o, Captain!” I shouted for the second time. “I want to talk\nto you.”\n\nAfter some time a figure emerged from the crowd, stepped up the\nstairway, and shouted some words that were not very clear but which\nsounded like:\n\n“Here I am!”\n\nI summoned my best English and told the red-nosed chap that I would have\nto sink before sundown the whole fleet of fishing boats, and furthermore\nI told him that I had selected him to take the crews of all the others\naboard his steamer. I added he must immediately cut his nets and follow\nme at a distance of five hundred meters, and that I would promptly blow\nhim to pieces if he, of his own accord, attempted to diminish this\ndistance as I would then surely believe he intended to ram me.\n\nThe captain declared he was willing to obey my commands, cut the nets,\nand followed me. I ordered full speed ahead and hoisted to the mast the\nfollowing signal:\n\n“Leave the boat immediately!”\n\nThen I rushed in among the excited swarm. With flashing eyes, the\nsailors were standing by our guns and waiting, lovingly fondling the\nshells, ready to begin firing.\n\nFirst we went right through the crowd of fishing-boats and then along\nthe edges of the fleet, in order to prevent the escape of the steamers\nfurthest away. Nowhere did we take the time to stop to sink a ship, but\nonly drove the crews away from their boats. Then the prey could not get\naway from us.\n\nHow promptly the fishermen alighted because of the fear of our shells!\nThey scrambled aboard the one steamer selected to save them in such a\nrush it looked like a panicky flight. Soon cutters and rowboats were\nswarming all around us and speedily the steamer selected to save the\ncrews was crowded.\n\nBut even during such an exciting occupation we did not neglect to keep a\nsharp lookout, for under no circumstances were we to be taken by\nsurprise when at this work. But it was easy to look out over a great\ndistance. The horizon was free and clear.\n\nAs soon as the fishermen were safe aboard the steamer, we began the\nsinking of the ships and went from ship to ship, stopped at a distance\nof a hundred meters, and sent solid, well-aimed shots at their water\nlines until they had had enough and began to sink. Many went down with\nthe first shot. Others were tougher and required four. For the gun crew\nthis was great sport. They took turns and each jealously counted the\nnumber of shots required for his “fisherman.”\n\nWhen the steamers were “fixed,” we went to the sailing boats, which, in\naccordance with their inveterate custom, were lying huddled together.\nThe sailors generally needed only one shot—then they capsized and sank\ninto the sea with a death gurgle. It was a touching scene which, in\nspite of our inner joy, was hard on our nerves, as every true sailor\nregards the sailing-ship as a remnant of romance, dying out faster and\nfaster in these days.\n\nThis was truly the reason why now and at other times our hearts ached\nfor each sailing ship which we had to sink. The surface was covered with\nhundreds of thousands of dead fish which were scattered over the sea. To\ncountless sea gulls it was a highly welcome call to dinner, which they\neagerly accepted, gorging themselves and filling themselves so that\ntheir feathers stood straight out from their bodies.\n\nWe had already sent thirteen ships to the bottom, only two sailing-ships\nremaining besides the rescue steamer. As the opportunity was a rare one,\nI permitted the firemen and men from the engine room to come up on deck\nso that they could see with their own eyes a ship go down. I enjoyed\nhearing their funny remarks and to watch how, in their childish joy,\nthey enthusiastically greeted each new shot. I was glad to see the\nbright color the fresh air and excitement brought to their pale faces.\nGröning stepped up to me and said thoughtfully:\n\n“What will happen if the steamer goes to England and tells our\nposition? Following the events of yesterday afternoon, this morning and\nnow, the English can easily figure out our course.”\n\n“By Jove, you are right there! I had not happened to think of that. It\nis indeed true that one gets duller as the years go by. That must be\nprevented under all circumstances, especially on account of to-morrow.\nYou know what then—don’t you?”\n\nGröning nodded.\n\n“Yes, to-morrow we’ll have a trying day,” I continued, “and, if we are\ngoing to succeed, we can’t make conditions any harder for ourselves.”\n\nI was pondering the question of how we were going to avoid the danger of\nbeing betrayed by the fishermen without endangering their lives, which I\ndid not want to do. I thought this over for a moment. Suddenly I struck\nmy forehead with my hand and laughed.\n\n“So stupidly foolish! One is never able to think of the simplest way!” I\nsaid. “We’ll simply shift the entire crowd to one of the sailing-ships.\nWith this light breeze, it will take them at least three days to reach\nthe coast and, after that, it does not matter. It will be a little\ncrowded for so many people, but that can’t be helped.”\n\n“And the provisions?” Gröning asked. “What are they going to live on?”\n\n“That’s simple,” I answered. “First of all they can take off all the\nprovisions from the steamer and, besides that, they have all the fish in\nthe sailing-ship.”\n\nI sank the smaller of the two sailboats and then approached the steamer\nwhich had taken aboard the crews from the other boats.\n\nThe captain of the steamer was bitterly disappointed, of course, when I\nbrought him word that all hands would have to go to the sailboat. He had\nbeen so delighted to be the one chosen to keep his steamer. On the other\nhand, to the captain of the sailing-ship, the message that he could go\nback to his old, faithful smack came as a gift from heaven.\n\nYes, indeed, joy and sorrow lie close together and go hand in hand.\n\nAfter a short half hour the shift was made, and the steamer also went\ndown into the deep—the fifteenth ship within two hours. First the\nskipper carefully hauled up his nets and then with flapping sails slowly\nswung around and laid his course toward the west.\n\nDuring the night we dropped down to the bottom of the ocean at X——. We\nwanted to get some rest for one night and gather strength for the next\nday. It is comfortable to lie in the soft sands of the North Sea. It is\nas if the whole boat went to bed. One thing necessary for this comfort\nwas a calm surface, because a heavy sea is felt at a great depth and\nthrows and bangs the boat back and forth on the bottom.\n\nSlowly the boat slipped deeper and deeper. We had taken soundings before\nsubmerging. The nearer we came to the bottom the slower the dynamo\nmotors worked, and I at last stopped them entirely when we were a few\nmeters from the bottom. As soon as we had stopped sinking, which could\nbe told by the fact the diving rudder was no longer working, a few\nliters of water were pumped into a ballast tank made for just this\npurpose. The boat became heavier and slowly sunk further.\n\n“Now, we’ll soon strike,” I called down to the “Centrale” and looked at\nthe manometer.\n\nHardly had the words left my lips when we felt a very gentle shock—much\nweaker than when a train stops—and knew we were at the bottom. Some more\nwater was pumped into the ballast tanks in order to make the boat\nsteadier and then each one at his post carefully examined scuttles and\nhatchways so that not a drop of water could leak through to us. From bow\nto stern it was reported:\n\n“All is tight!”\n\nThereafter orders were given for the necessary guards, and then I let\nthe crew leave their posts:\n\n“All hands to be free to-night!”\n\nUntil to-morrow on the bottom of the ocean! No other restfulness can be\ncompared with it. Rest after so much excitement which has stirred the\nemotions of us all; after such a day’s work, is it possible that any one\ncan appreciate how we enjoyed ourselves?\n\nWe did not care that we were not in port and that a mountain of ocean\nwas over our heads. We felt as secure as if we had been at the safest\nspot in the world. From their posts the crew went past us, with pale,\noily, and dirty faces, but with their eyes looking at me as they went\nby, proud, happy, radiant, so that my heart rejoiced.\n\nThere was some excitement among the crew. Every one washed, talked and\nlaughed so that it was evident how happy and care-free they felt.\n\n“Well, with what will you treat us to-day?” I asked the cook who, with\ngreat self-confidence—because he was an expert in his line—was standing\nbefore his little galley and stirring a steaming pot. “That smells\nwonderfully appetizing.”\n\n“Ox goulash and salt potatoes,” answered the cook and with more\neagerness stirred his pot. “It soon will be ready. It’ll not take more\nthan five minutes.”\n\n“Then I must hurry up,” I replied, and went to my small cabin, where I\nhad not put foot since five o’clock in the morning.\n\nI put my cap, long scarf and oil-skin jacket on a hook, stretched myself\nin weary delight and washed myself energetically. This is a rare\npleasure on a trip like ours. From the nearby room the happy talk of the\nofficers reached my ears. I then heard a rattle of plates and forks, a\ncork popped from a bottle, and Gröning opened the little door that\nseparates my cabin from the room of the other officers.\n\n“Herr Captain, dinner is ready,” he said.\n\nSoon we were sitting, four men in all, at a little, nicely decorated\ntable, cutting into the steaming platter and drinking out of small\nseidels a magnificent sparkling wine. The past day’s events had to be\nmoistened a little with the best we had. This was our custom when the\nfortunes of war smiled graciously on us.\n\nThe electrical heating apparatus furnishes all the heat needed, but it\nstill has the disadvantage that in the still, unchanged air, the heat\narises so that the temperature at the floor is several degrees colder\nthan at the ceiling. Even in our heavy sea-boots, we felt it a little,\nalthough, as a whole, we were warm and contented. The phonograph played\ncontinuously. The petty officers had taken charge of it and played one\nnative song after another. What a thrill ran through me! At once there\nwas silence. All talk stopped. German songs of the Fatherland were sung\ndeep down at the bottom of the ocean right on England’s coast. Inspired\nby the music, our hearts were filled with enthusiasm and a silent\npromise was made to give everything for the Fatherland—to become a\nscourge to the enemy and damage him with all our might.\n\nThereafter, the dance music, operettas, vaudeville songs, and ragtime\nwere played. These stirred up a buoyant spirit. Especially there was\nmuch joy among the firemen and sailors in the crew’s quarters. Funny\nsongs could be heard from that direction. Dirty playing cards were dug\nout and soon there was a real German skat game in full swing.\n\nDuring this time we, in the officers’ mess, raised our glasses and drank\ntoasts to one another and to the beautiful U-boat: “Rich spoils! A happy\njourney home! Long live the U-boat!” That is the U-boat toast.\n\nThe boat was lying very still. It didn’t seem to stir.\n\n“What an original idea for an artist!” said our engineer, who was\npoetically inclined, as he leaned back in his chair staring thoughtfully\nat the ceiling. “One can imagine a cross section of the boat showing our\nroom at the North Sea’s yellowish sand bottom, to which all kinds of\ncrawling and swimming animals give life. In here four feasting, happy\nofficers around a little table on which a warm electric light is shining\nwith the wine bottle in the center and with the glasses raised to a\nsolemn toast. Above—water, water, water—water to the height of a church\nsteeple and, over it all, the glittering heavens full of stars and a\nsmall silver-white piece of the moon. If I were a painter I should\nimmediately start with this motive for a picture.”\n\n“And give me the picture, I hope,” I laughed. “And, after all, not such\na bad idea about that picture—one should in reality propose such a\nmotive to an artist.”\n\n“Maybe it would be possible to put in a couple of mermaids who look in\nthrough the conning tower window inquisitively and knock with their\nfingers on the glass,” said Petersen, our youngest lieutenant, with a\nsmile. “That would undoubtedly make the picture still more attractive.”\n\nGröning, who during the entire time had listened with a quiet smile to\nthe conversation, took out his empty cigar holder, on which he always\nchewed when we were under water because, as a heavy smoker, he missed\ntobacco, as none of us was allowed to smoke inside the boat. Slowly he\nsaid with a touch of irony, in a deep, sympathetic voice:\n\n“Here, my dear Petersen, you are an unreasonable rascal. If there are no\nwomen in the game, then there is no pleasure for you. Doesn’t the fellow\nactually talk about mermaids when he tells us every fourth week he is\ngoing to become engaged. ‘This time it’s absolutely certain! This time\nI surely will do it, as I will never find such a girl again.’ This and\nmore I hear every month. What was the last one’s name that you intended\nto make happy—your March girl? Wait, I have it—the February girl—ha, ha,\nha—has the captain heard the story of the February girl?”\n\nHe turned to me laughing.\n\n“Will you shut up, Gröning!” Petersen burst forth and blushed up to his\nears. “I’ll tell you that if you tell tales out of school—and besides——”\n\n“Well, Petersen,” I encouraged, “what ‘besides’?”\n\n“Besides, all that is not true,” he continued and blushed still more\nwhen he noticed that he had betrayed himself. “_You_ should certainly\nkeep quiet,” he went on suddenly, beaming with an idea, and began to\nattack in order to lead the conversation away from himself. “He who\nlives in glass houses should be more careful.”\n\n“I—I—I—how so—that’s the limit!” Gröning angrily rejoined, as he\nconsidered it an honor to be known among his friends as a woman hater.\n“I—in a glass house? It’s a mean accusation, or have you been drinking\ntoo much wine, my dear boy?”\n\n“Bah! only a glass,” answered the younger officer, defending himself.\n“It is ridiculous to claim anything like that.”\n\n“Well, well, be friends now, sirs,” I said soothingly. “Don’t let’s\nquarrel down here at the bottom of the sea. I hereby decide that our\nyounger officer is absolutely sober, but that, even so, he will not be\nallowed to let his April girl with her fishtail come in here, as a\npunishment, because he has jilted his February girl.”\n\nWith this decision both these fighting roosters (really the best friends\nin the world) had to be pleased, and the eternal discussion of Eve and\nher daughters, which had nearly made the ocean bottom shake under our\nfeet, was ended.\n\nShortly after this we went to bed in our narrow bunks—for the first time\nundressed on the voyage—and soon enjoyed a sleep free from dreams.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE WITCH-KETTLE\n\n\nIn the morning no rooster crowed to wake me. But, instead, there stood\nmy faithful orderly, the Pole, Tuczynski, before my bed, and loudly\nannounced:\n\n“Herr Captain Lieutenant, it’s five-thirty!”\n\nI woke up in bewilderment. My head was still dull after a sound sleep.\n\n“What’s up?”\n\n“It’s five-thirty,” repeated the orderly. “The water for washing and the\nclothes are ready.”\n\nAh! Like a flash the reality was before me. We were lying on the bottom\nof the sea—were going to arise within an hour—and then we were going\nto——\n\nI leaped out of bed. The thought of “then we were going to” fully awoke\nme. “Yes, we are going to go at it; everything depends upon to-day,” I\nthought, and put my feet into my slippers.\n\nHardly had I scrambled to my feet when I had to grasp the closet to\nsupport myself.\n\n“What’s up now?” I asked, turning to my good Pole, who was spitting on\nmy left boot in order to preserve the shine. “We are rolling. What’s\nhappened?”\n\n“Must be a little sea above,” he replied with a grin.\n\n“I can understand that myself, you smarty, but when did it start? Run\nalong quickly and find out when the rolling was first noticed!”\n\nTuczynski hurried to the “Centrale” and returned immediately with his\nanswer:\n\n“About two o’clock, says Lieutenant Petersen.”\n\n“Well, then we must have a considerable storm above, if the wind has\nbeen blowing for four hours. Get out my oil-skin coat quickly! It will\nbe needed to-day,” I ordered, and hurriedly dressed myself as\nwater-tight as possible.\n\nThe change of weather did not suit my purpose, for, although to judge\nfrom the motion of the boat the storm was not as yet so bad, the\nstrength of the wind was probably six, and it was gradually becoming\nworse. At this time of the year storms could be terrible.\n\n“Devil take the luck—and this very day, too!” I swore through my six-day\nold beard-stub.\n\nAfter breakfast I called the entire crew together. “Boys,” I said, “you\nknow that we have many things unaccomplished. As yet we are only at the\nbeginning of our task. Yesterday and the day before we were very\nsuccessful, and now we have had a restful night. Being well rested, we\nare now cheerfully and confidently ready for another day’s work. To-day\nwe are going to go through the so-called ‘Witch-Kettle.’ You all know\nwhat I mean, and you know also that this is not child’s play. The enemy\nthere is keeping sharp lookout, but we will keep a better lookout.\nOthers have gotten through before us. Consequently, we will also get\nthrough, if each one of you sticks to his post and does his duty as well\nas you all have done hitherto. This I expect from every man. And now—to\nthe diving stations!”\n\nI went up to the tower. Shortly after the engineer reported from the\n“Centrale”:\n\n“All hands are at the diving station!”\n\nConsequently we were ready for our task. The day began—the most\nremarkable day of my life.\n\n“Arise!”\n\nThe pump began to buzz. We now had to empty the ballast-tanks of the\nwater which had been taken in to make the boat heavier, in order that,\ninstead of being held down, we should begin to pull ourselves loose, and\ndrift slowly upwards. Usually that manœuver was accomplished with the\nbest of success, but not so to-day. The boat wabbled and “stuck,” as we\nused to say. It called to my mind the question which is often asked by\nlaymen: “Are you never in fear of not being able to get up to the\nsurface again?” We, of course, had no fear, but I knocked impatiently on\nthe manometer to see if the register would not at last begin to move.\n\n“Nine hundred liters above the normal,” Krüger reported from the\n“Centrale.”\n\nIt meant that we had pumped out of the boat nine hundred liters more\nthan the normal quantity necessary to make the boat rise.\n\n“It seems as if we were fastened in a vise,” I joked, “but in accordance\nwith the map there ought to be a sand bottom here.”\n\n“Now it loosens!” the engineer called out.\n\nYes, the boat pulled loose all right—the hand on the manometer was\nrising—but it shot upwards on one side only. The stern arose but the\nnose remained fastened in the mud.\n\n“How confoundedly nasty,” I heard Gröning, who took care of the diving\nrudder, growl.\n\nNow the entire ballast shifted. We had to make the boat heavier in the\nstern, had to shift the ballast of the heretofore well-balanced boat and\npump ballast water out of the bow to pour water into the stern tanks, in\norder to make the bow lighter and the stern heavier. After a few liters\nof water had exchanged places the boat changed her mind and again placed\nherself in a horizontal position. Then she arose quickly and\nsatisfactorily, but showed a tendency to list toward the stern, until\nwe, by a new shift of the ballast, had re-established the old conditions\nof equilibrium.\n\nAfter the boat had pulled loose with apparent reluctance from her bed on\nthe bottom, she could not get up fast enough to stick her nose into the\nfresh air. Having the ballast diminished by nine hundred liters, she\nleaped upwards rapidly, but this did not suit my purpose, as I preferred\nfirst to put up the periscope and find out whether the atmosphere was\nfree from British germs. As I felt I was entirely responsible for my\nboat’s health, I entertained one fear, based on experience, that germs\nin the form of destroyers and trawlers, appearing suddenly, might\nendanger it. I made the boat obey my will, let the nine hundred liters\nbe pumped into her again, and thus checked her quick ascent.\n\nAt the same time I had the dynamo motors started, so that we would have\nsteerageway for the diving rudder, and commanded that the U-boat should\nstop at the depth of twenty meters. Thereafter, I soon came to the\nperiscope depth and took a look around to see if I could discover any\nships. There was nothing in sight, but woe—a heavy storm!\n\n“Well, it can’t be helped,” I said softly to myself.\n\nI made another careful search of the horizon and then arose entirely to\nthe surface. What a delightful sensation to be standing on the tower\nwith my hands to my sides and greedily sucking my lungs full of the\nfresh sea air! The air at the bottom had not been so bad. On the\ncontrary, the engineers had kept it in first-class condition during the\nnight, but more delightful was the wonderful ocean air.\n\nNow the ventilator burst open and refreshed those inside with fresh air\nthroughout the ship.\n\n“Now, Mate,” I ordered, “let me take a look at the map once more. That’s\nright. Put it right up here on the tower—no harm done if it gets wet.\nNow let’s have a compass and a lead pencil—thanks. Watch carefully and\nfollow my calculations to see I make no mistake. From here to the first\nmine field it is twenty-two miles; from there to the second mine field\nabout fourteen miles—which makes thirty-six miles altogether. We must\nreach the first field just before the ebb tide, as the mines are only\nvisible just before or right after the ebb tide. We get the ebb about\nten o’clock, and it is now half past six. We can, therefore, go along\neasily at half speed and will have enough time to recharge the\nbatteries. Is that right?”\n\n“Yes, that’s right,” replied the mate, and quickly folded up the map,\nwhich he had shown anxiety in guarding, time and time again, against the\nwaves washing over the ship, “if we only don’t have to dive again.”\n\n“I don’t believe we will,” I said with confidence. “Here near the mine\nfields I think there are few ships sailing. So far as that goes, we are\nreally safer here. The scouting will be on the other side of the\nfields.”\n\nExactly one hour before the ebb tide we reached those sections where\nthe enemy, according to the reports from other U-boats, believed that\nthey had effectively blocked the passage with a mine field that\nstretched for several miles. I say “believed,” because the mines, as\nbefore stated, were showing above the surface during the ebb tide and\none could easily steer through the lanes between them. The blocking of\nthis important passage was therefore for the enemy an assuring but\nsomewhat expensive illusion. It was not quite so easy as I had expected\nfrom the stories and reports of my fellow submarine commanders to slip\nbetween the mines.\n\n“Well, sirs, here it goes!” I said to both officers, who, like me, had\ncrawled into their thick oil-skins and had exchanged their caps,\nembroidered with gold oak leaves, for the practical southwester. “Now,\nwe’ll see who spots the first mine.”\n\nIn a drizzle of foam and spray we were standing side by side and gazed\nat the sea several hundred meters ahead of us. The ocean had within the\nlast few hours become still heavier and stormier, and the wind came from\nthe southwest and consequently straight toward us so that there was\ndanger of discovering the mines too late, as they would be concealed\nfrom our sight with every roll of the sea.\n\nSuddenly we all three looked at one another and then quickly at the sea\nagain. There they were! Heavens, what a bunch! In all directions as far\nas the eye could see were the devilish dark globes, washed with the\nbreakers’ snow-white foam. We were so overwhelmed by the sight of all\nthese mines that we started to swear and kept it up for some time\nwithout any interruption.\n\n“It’s outrageous! It’s unheard of! It’s terrible! Such a mass! And such\na people call themselves Christian seafarers—a bunch of murderers,\nthat’s what they are, who can put out such dirty traps!”\n\nWith reduced speed we went toward the “caviar sandwich,” as Petersen\ncalled the dark spotted surface before us. Now it was “up to” us\nskilfully to steer the boat between the irregularly spread mines and see\ncarefully to it that we did not get into a blind alley. If only our boat\ndid not hit one of those devilish things! It would be the end of us! But\nsurely if we kept calm, we should get through all right. Certainly we\nwould. We had a warhelmsman who was a wonder in his line, boatswain’s\nmate Lohmann. He could thank his skill as a helmsman for his long career\nin the navy. If he was up to some deviltry—which, it is said, rather\noften happened in former days—it was always mentioned as an extenuating\ncircumstance—“but he’s such an able helmsman.”\n\nLohmann, when he put his mind to it, could certainly steer. He could hit\na floating cork with the prow. He was standing with feet apart in the\ntower and grinning so that his mouth reached from ear to ear. He always\ngrinned when he stood at the wheel. But now that he had become the most\nimportant person on board, he was radiating joy and pride to such an\nextent that his little square figure took on a superior pose of careless\ndaring. With his right hand he spun the wheel playfully, just as if he\nwere experimenting. He had shoved the other deep down into the large\npocket of his seaman’s trousers clear up to his elbow.\n\nThen we were pounding into the mine field. Lohmann squinted together his\nsmall gray eyes to a couple of narrow slits, spat first in his right\nhand, and then in a long semi-circle towards the first mine which we\nwere just passing on the port side. He, thereupon, hitched his slipping\ntrousers, lit his nose-warmer—a pipe broken off close to the bowl—spat\nonce more into his right hand, and began a series of artistic curvings\nand twistings to weave his way through the narrow lanes. And he was as\ncalm and confident as if he had done nothing all his life except steer\nU-boats through mine fields. I could leave him in charge of it.\n\nAfter ten minutes we had passed the mine field. We estimated we had\nsifted through about eight hundred mines.\n\nAt high speed we then steered toward the second batch of mines.\n\nThen came a series of reverses which made this the most eventful day so\nfar experienced by any U-boat crew in the war.\n\nIt was ten forty-two by the clock.\n\nBeyond the second mine field an English destroyer was patrolling. We had\nto dive quickly and go through the mines under the water, a detested and\nvery dangerous proceeding!\n\nThe destroyer had not seen us. The sea became more violent; the\nbarometer fell rapidly; the heaven was filled with black rain clouds.\nThe clearness of the atmosphere disappeared, and the ocean was restless\nand covered with white foam. The sea washed over the periscope again\nand again with white-combed, rushing mountains of water, so that for\nseveral long seconds I could see nothing. Suddenly we were in the midst\nof the mines. I could make out those that were close by, because the\nwater had risen so that only the tops of the black balls, which here and\nthere bobbed up for a second, could be seen.\n\nTo turn away from the mines at the right moment was almost impossible.\nWe were running straight for a mine—the next second it was on top of us\nand passed only a few meters from the periscope. At the same time, on\nthe other side, three mines clustered together in a group were floating\npast us. It was a hellish journey, and the destroyer was all the time\nwaiting for us on the other side of the mine field, and compelled us to\ncontinue below the surface. He had no consideration for our\ndifficulties.\n\nOh, how he would enjoy it if we suddenly went up in the air, surrounded\nby a cloud of smoke and fire! Good God! Now we are about to give him\nthis joy. I had already shut my eyes and thought we were doomed—because\none of the mines had just struck hard with a metallic clang against the\nperiscope, a sound which I will never forget until I am in a better\nworld! But the mine, which I saw just before the wave washed over the\nperiscope, had been carried away behind us and had better sense than to\nblow us up; it only twisted on its axis and didn’t do us any harm. Maybe\nit was old and damaged.\n\nI could not stand it any longer. I felt like a man trying to commit\nsuicide when he misses his aim.\n\n“Quickly dive to twenty-five meters!” I called down to the “Centrale.”\n\nRather dash blindly through this hell than always see your last minute\nright before your eyes, and still be unable to do anything. But if,\nwhile submerged, a cable should fasten itself around the U-boat? The\nchance of getting through was better down there, I figured.\n\n“Start the phonograph,” I commanded, “and put on something cheerful, if\nyou please!”\n\nIn spite of the new, beautiful “Field Gray Uniforms,” the song which\nsoon resounded through the boat, I heard twice a hellish grinding and\nscraping above the conning tower—mine cables which we had fouled. At\nlast, after many long minutes, we were through the mine field. We arose\nand I put up the periscope and looked around. God be praised! The\natmosphere, or rather the water, was clearer. The destroyer was several\nhundred meters behind us, and we had come through the horrible place\nwithout a scratch.\n\nAha! There was the first buoy—the first placed on the narrow sand bar.\nNow it was careful steering for the ship. We took soundings and\nproceeded cautiously. If only the current had not been so strong! It\nconstantly swung us out of our course. I had to steer against the\ncurrent continually.\n\n“Mate, how far are we now from land?”\n\nThe sailor quickly brought up the chart and measured the distance with a\nscale.\n\n“Two and a half sea miles.”\n\n“Oh, the devil! And, as yet, we cannot see anything of it. The air has\nbeen thickening. That’s all we need to make things worse for us!”\n\nThe cruiser on guard now came rushing past us on the port side. It was\nnot far from us when I pulled down the periscope for a time.\n\nWho can describe my fright when I put up the periscope again in a few\nminutes and could not see anything because of the fog that had settled\ndown on the sea! A dark rainwall also moved along the surface. And this\nwas just where it was absolutely necessary for me to see. I must see\nwhere the channel began to be very narrow! Only one narrow passage about\ntwo hundred meters wide, there was, within which we absolutely must\nproceed. Every turn away from this—either to the right or left—would\nimmediately run us into the sandbank. And now there was no sign of the\nbuoy which marked the channel. In addition to this we faced a current we\nhad not counted on.\n\nI searched and searched for the buoy. The sweat stood out on my\nforehead, and the excitement made me so warm that the sights on the\nperiscope time and time again clouded up on account of the heat from my\nbody. The mate must continually wipe the wet glass with a piece of\nchamois.\n\n“Now we should be off the buoy, Mate, but I don’t see it! Good God, what\nare we going to do! It will be fatal—it is impossible to navigate\nwithout picking it up. And besides, the destroyer which is lurking\nbehind that confounded rainwall and which at any minute can come up\nalongside us!”\n\nThe buoy did not appear.\n\nThen the weather began to clear up. The rain thinned and the fog lifted\na little.\n\nFirst we saw land. Thereafter we saw the destroyer at quite a distance\non the port side, laying a course towards us, and then—then——\n\nAll good spirits have mercy on us!\n\nThe buoy—our buoy—was to the wrong side.\n\nAnd we? Great God in Heaven—we were going on the wrong course! We were\nrunning right for the sandbank. We must already be right on top of them.\nDisastrously for us, it has cleared too late.\n\n“Hard a-starboard! Reverse both engines full speed!” There was nothing\nmore to do. Then came the disaster! A jar and a whirring—U-boat 202 had\ngone aground.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nA DAY OF TERROR\n\n\nWhat we went through was horrible. The breakers dashed high over the\nsandbar. They hurled themselves on us to destroy our boat, played ball\nwith us, lifted us high into the air and dropped us again on the bar\nwith such fury that the whole boat shivered and trembled.\n\nWe had lost control of the boat completely. The roaring breakers made so\nmuch noise we could hear them through the thick metal wall. Every new,\nonrushing wave tossed us higher and higher on the reef. Exposure was our\ngreatest danger. Already the top of the conning tower and the prow\nprojected above the surface—but a moment more and the entire boat would\nbe plainly visible. Then we would surely be lost. As a helpless wreck,\nwe would become a target for the destroyer.\n\nPale and calm, every man stuck to his post and clung to the nearest\nsupport, so as not to fall at the rolling and jolting of the boat. With\nawe, I looked alternately at the manometer and the feverish sea which I\ncould see all around me through the conning tower windows. Oh, if it had\nbeen only the sea we must fear! But through the scum and froth, more\nmerciless than the wild, onrushing breakers, the black destroyer,\nsmoking copiously, steamed straight toward us, like a bull with lowered\nhorns.\n\n“We had better keep below the water at any price, even if we are smashed\nto pieces against the sandbank and the boat breaks up, rather than to\nbe blown to pieces by the shells of the English,” was the thought that\nflashed through my brain.\n\n“Fill the ballast tanks,” I called down to the “Centrale.” “Fill all the\ntanks full, Herr Engineer. Do you hear? We must not under any\ncircumstances rise any higher!”\n\n“All ballast tanks filling!” it was reported from below.\n\nOh, how quiet it was below! Not a word was uttered. No anxious\nconjectures, no surmises, and no questions.\n\nA deep, irresistible grief clutched my heart. My poor little boat! My\npoor crew! There every man unflinchingly and unhesitatingly did his\nduty, and devotedly put his faith in me. They were all heroes, so young\nand still so brave and able. And I, the commander, had brought them\ninto the very mouth of death, and to me, the only one who could see our\ndesperate situation, it seemed as if the scale of death slowly weighed\nagainst us, because the destroyer, with horrible certainty, was\napproaching. His sharp prow pointed directly towards us. Soon he would\ndiscover the projecting parts of our tower and prow, which the breakers\ntreacherously washed over, and then we would be lost. Soon a hail of\nshells would sweep over us, and the greedy, foaming sea would roaringly\nhurl itself through the open holes in our sides.\n\nThe filling of the ballast tanks had the desired effect. The boat lay\ndown heavily on the reef and spurred the wild waves to greater efforts,\nand, though we did not rise any farther, the jolting increased in\nviolence because of its added weight. It was a wonder that the boat did\nnot go to pieces like an egg shell, and we all looked at one another in\nsurprise when, after a terrific jolt, nothing more occurred than the\nbursting of a few electric bulbs. “First-class material,” I thought to\nmyself.\n\nThe mate who, over my shoulder, was keeping watch on the destroyer\nthrough the window on the port side, suddenly said, in his hearty, Saxon\ndialect:\n\n“Well, well! Where does he intend to look for us now, I wonder? At any\nrate, he doesn’t think that we are stuck here among the breakers.”\n\n“Mate, you old optimist. Those words I’ll never forget. Great God! If\nyou are right! Then certainly——”\n\n“He is already turning,” the little chap cut me short, and jammed his\nnose against the window-glass, so as to be able to see better.\n\nI grabbed him by the neck and pulled him away, as my blood rushed to my\nhead.\n\n“What? What is it you are saying? Is he turning—good God in heaven—yes,\nit’s true—he really _is_ turning, all the time turning—now his broadside\nswings round towards us, now his stern—he has turned—he is departing. He\nhas not seen us, he has not seen us!”\n\nI remember that once, when I was a little boy, I got a roe-deer as a\npresent.\n\nI loved it a great deal and we were inseparable. It had to sleep on a\nrug by my bed. One beautiful summer’s day we were playing in the sun on\na large lawn before the house when suddenly a large, unknown hound came\nrushing towards my little pet and blood-thirstily chased it around the\nlawn. The nasty dog was about to run it down when my pet, with a shrill\nshriek, appealed for help. I was standing paralyzed in terror and could\nnot get a word through my lips, when unexpectedly the owner called the\ndog back with a whistle. Then I threw myself, with great exultation,\ndown alongside my pet, pressed it to my heart, kissed its black snoot,\nand cried and laughed with joy.\n\nThose were my feelings now, when, with my own eyes, I saw the\nimpossible—that the destroyer, without suspecting our presence, had\nsteered away from us. Was it possible that he did not see us, when,\naccording to my estimation, he was only about eight hundred meters away?\nCould the mate be right, and the foolish destroyer have only searched\nthe passage in accordance with his schedule? “But,” I thought, with a\nshiver, “how easily would not perchance a glance in our direction have\nbetrayed us?”\n\nRadiant with joy, I told the crew in the “Centrale” what a happy turn\nthe affairs had taken at the last moment. A burden must have fallen from\nthe hearts of my splendid, brave boys.\n\nI then revealed my plans to the engineer:\n\n“We are going to lie here until the destroyer reaches the other end of\nhis patrol, which is about three to four sea miles from here. Then, at\nonce, quickly empty all the tanks so that the boat cuts loose from the\nreef. At top speed, we will make for deep water and then dive again to a\nsafe position below the surface.”\n\nAgain a light rain-cloud floated slowly towards us and favored our\nplans. Soon the destroyer could be seen only as a fading figure in the\nmist. Now we could risk to arise and get away from our other danger—the\nfiercely rolling breakers.\n\nThe valves were quickly opened. At once the boat came up. The terrific\njolting ceased. The hand of the manometer moved upwards, and, after a\nfew seconds, the boat’s broad, dripping back broke through the surface.\n\nThere is the buoy! Now full speed ahead! We’ll be soon there—now but a\nfew hundred meters more and then the game is ours—a game on which life\nand death depended; a game which would have turned our hair white if we\nhad not been so young, and if we had not, through horrible dangers,\nbeen united by true and faithful bonds.\n\nAs soon as we had placed ourselves on the right side of the longed-for\nbuoy we again hurled ourselves deep down into the cool sea as happily as\na fish which for a long time had been on dry land, and suddenly gets\ninto its own element again.\n\nThe first and most dangerous part of our journey through the\n“Witch-Kettle” was over, although not without its horrible experiences.\nThe narrow inlet was passed and also the several sea miles, wide and\nfree from reefs and other navigation difficulties. Thus we merrily\nglided about in the deep and, in good spirits, hammered and listened and\nfelt our splendid, hard-tried, heavily-tested boat all over back and\nforth, to see if it had pulled through without a leak from the pit of\nthe rolling breakers; and we soon all forgot. As long as the nerves were\nat a continuous tension we had no time to think about past events. And\nthough we had happily passed through and over mines and reefs, still the\nday was far from ended, and our main task was still before us.\n\nThis day continually brought us new and unexpected surprises, so that,\nat last, we had a gruesome feeling that everything had united itself for\nour destruction. First there were the trawlers; then the motor boats,\nwhich in pairs, with a steel net between them, searched through the\nchannel where they suspected that U-boats were lurking. Every time we\nstuck up our periscope cautiously in order to look around a bit, it\nnever failed that we had one of those searching parties right in front\nof us, so that we must submerge in a hurry to a greater depth in order\nnot to be caught by the dangerous nets. And if for a short time there\nwas an opportunity to scan the horizon undisturbed, then the atmosphere\nwas thick, and we were unable to locate the shores, which we knew were\nclose at hand, so that at last we hardly knew where we were, as the\ncurrents in these parts could not be estimated. Since the famous buoy we\nhad not seen any mark which would in any degree assist us to locate\nourselves.\n\nWe kept to our course up the center of the channel and trusted that our\nlucky star would lead us straight. Every half hour we came up from the\nsafety of the deep and tried to take our bearings and then submerged\nagain, disappointed. The crew, of course, must remain at the diving\nstations uninterruptedly.\n\nAbout two o’clock the cook came around with pea-soup and pork in small\ntin cups. He also stretched up his arms to us in the conning tower with\na steaming plate in his hands. I put the plate on my knees and dipped\nout its contents, thinking “The wild beasts are fed.” The moisture,\nwhich forms in large drops on the ceiling during long trips under the\nwater, fell down on my head and into my plate and left small splotches\nof oil in the pea-soup as a sign they were real drops of U-boat sweat.\n\nWe again arose to the periscope level at four o’clock. At a distance of\nfive hundred meters, a scouting fleet was moving about. At the same time\non our starboard bow a French torpedo boat with four funnels was\ncruising around.\n\nI had a desire to fire a shot at this enemy, but the fact that such a\nshot would send the whole lurking fleet at us restrained me.\n\nI have to admit that it was hard to hold back from taking the chance,\nand it was with a heavy heart that I gave orders to dive again. But\nthis, however, saved us. If we had traveled at the periscope level for\nonly a few minutes more, I would not be sitting here to-day, smoking my\ncigar and writing down the story of our adventures.\n\nWe were submerging, and the manometer showed seventeen meters. Then,\nsuddenly, it was as if some one had hit each one of us at the same\nminute with a hammer. We all were unconscious for a second and found\nourselves on the floor or thrown prone in some corner with our heads,\nshoulders, and other parts of our bodies in great pain. The whole boat\nshook and trembled. Were we still alive or what had happened? Why was it\nso dark all around us? The electric lights had gone out.\n\n“Look to the fuse!”\n\n“It’s gone!”\n\n“Put in the reserve fuse!”\n\nSuddenly we had our lights again. All this happened within a few seconds\nand more quickly than I can tell it.\n\nWhat had happened? Was it true we were lost? Would the water rush into\nthe ship and pull us to the bottom? It must be a mine—a violent mine\ndetonation had shaken us close by the boat. And the U-202? What were the\nconsequences of this to the U-boat?\n\nThe reports came from all quarters:\n\n“The bow compartment is tight!”\n\n“The stern compartments tight!”\n\n“The engine room all safe!”\n\nThen the boat unexpectedly began to list. The bow sunk, and the stern\narose. The ship careened violently, although the diving rudder was set\nhard against this.\n\n“Herr Captain,” Gröning, who was in charge of the diving rudder,\nshouted, “something has happened. The boat does not obey the rudder. We\nmust have gotten hooked into some trap—a line or maybe a net. It’s hell.\nThat’s all that’s needed. We are jammed into some net, and all around us\nthe mines are lining it. It’s enough to set you crazy.”\n\n“Listen,” I called down. “We must go through it. Put the diving rudder\ndown hard! Both engines full speed ahead! On no condition must we rise!\nWe must stay down at all costs. All around above us are mines!”\n\nThe engines were going at top speed. The boat shot upwards and then bent\ndown, ripped into the net, jerked, pulled and tore and tore until the\nsteel net gave way from the force of the attack.\n\n“Hurrah! We are through it! The boat obeys her diving rudder!” Gröning\ncalled out from below. “The U-202 goes on her way!”\n\n“Down, keep her down all the time. Dive to a depth of fifty meters,” I\ncommanded. “This is a horrible place—a real hell!”\n\nI bent forward and put my head into my hands. It was rocking as if being\nhit by a trip hammer. My forehead ached as if pricked with needles and\nmy ears buzzed so that I had to press my fingers into them.\n\n“It’s a horrible place,” I repeated to myself. “And what luck we had,\nwhat a peculiar chance and wonderful escape that we got out at all!”\n\nIt took some time for my aching head to remember chronologically what\nhad happened. Yes, it certainly was lucky that we, at the right moment,\nhad submerged deep. We had been at a depth of about seventeen meters\nwhen our prow collided with the net, and the detonation followed. The\nmore I thought of it, the plainer everything became to me.\n\nAs we had run against the net, it had stretched and that had set off the\nmine. The mines are set in the nets at the height at which the U-boats\ngenerally travel, which is the periscope level. If we had tried to\nattack the torpedo boat or, for any other reason, had remained for a few\nminutes more at the periscope level, we would have run into the net at a\npoint where our enemies had hoped we would—namely, so that the mine\nwould have exploded right under us. Now the mine, on the contrary,\nexploded above us, and its entire strength went in the direction where\nthe natural resistance was smallest—which was upwards. Without causing\nus any greater damage than a fright and a few possible scars on the thin\nmetal parts, which might have scratched the paint, we had escaped.\n\nUndoubtedly the Frenchman was filled with exultation over our\ndestruction when, waiting at his post by the net, he heard and saw the\nexplosion, and probably reported by wireless to the entire world:\n\n“Enemy U-boat caught and destroyed in a net by a mine explosion.”\n\nAnd little I begrudge him that joy if he, as a return favor in the\nfuture, will leave us alone, because we had gotten pretty nearly all we\nwanted, as it was.\n\nThe day’s experiences were far from ended. First Engineer Krüger\nappeared on the stairway to the conning tower with a troubled look.\n\n“Herr Captain,” he reported, “we must have gotten something in the\npropeller. Our electric power is being consumed twice as fast as it\nshould. I suppose that pieces of the metal net have entangled themselves\nin the blades. The laboring of the engines is terrific and the charge\nin the batteries is being rapidly reduced, and they are becoming\nexhausted.”\n\nWere we now going to have this difficulty, too! We had already consumed\na large quantity of the current, because we had been compelled to dive\nat our highest speed and this uses up the batteries fast.\n\n“How far can we go on it now, Herr Krüger?”\n\nThe engineer calculated in his notebook, shrugged his shoulders\nthoughtfully, and said:\n\n“If we do not consume it any faster, it should last us for a couple of\nhours yet. It would be better, however, to decrease our speed a little.”\n\nI pondered this situation for a time. In about an hour the tide would\nturn and the current would be against us. We would not be able to make\nmuch speed then, but, on the other hand, it would be dark, and we would\nprobably dare to rise to the surface. The enemy undoubtedly believed we\nhad perished and would have decreased his vigilance.\n\n“All right,” replied the engineer. “We’ll stop one motor. There is no\ndanger we will run aground. It is too deep here for that.”\n\nConsequently, we stopped one motor, and continued ahead at a reduced\nspeed. At exactly five o’clock we came up again to look around. Hard by\nin our wake was the French torpedo boat steaming at a distance of about\ntwo hundred meters.\n\n“Well, what is it now?” I said to the mate, and bit nervously on my\nlower lip. “It looks as if that rascal was after us.”\n\n“It must be a coincidence,” answered the unperturbed optimist.\n\nWe submerged once more, but came up again after another half hour.\n\nThe torpedo boat still came after us, steaming along in our wake at a\ndistance of two hundred meters.\n\n“If this is a coincidence, Mate, then it is a very, very peculiar one,”\nI said to him.\n\nWhen it was six o’clock we again took a look around. The Frenchman was\nstill after us at the same distance.\n\n“The devil! This is no coincidence! I’ll be hanged if this is a\ncoincidence. This is intentional. We are certainly pursued!”\n\nThere must be something the matter with us. The enemy must be able to\nfollow us—there must be some sign that enables him to follow us even\nwhen submerged to a great depth. What could it be?\n\nI was pondering this impossible problem. The only thing I could think of\nwas that when the mine exploded, it had caused a leakage in one of our\noil tanks and that the escaping oil left a plain trail that betrayed our\npresence. It was impossible at any rate on account of our slow speed\nunder the water, against the current, that by a coincidence and without\nknowing about it, the Frenchman kept coming after us at the same precise\ndistance. I had to find out about it. We submerged once more, changed\nour course, and proceeded at full speed. If the Frenchman had really\nbeen able to see anything of us, then he would also follow us now when\nwe changed our course and were going four times as fast.\n\nAt half past six I looked astern through the periscope and again saw,\njust as at five, half past five, and six, the Frenchman who, at the same\nspeed on a changed course, continued to follow us.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nA LIVELY CHASE\n\n\nThe fact that the French destroyer continually followed us at the same\ndistance made me certain. There was no doubt about it. We had been\ndiscovered and were pursued. Soon the Frenchman would call for aid and\nwould have all the bloodhounds of the sea on our scent and following us.\nBy this time our storage batteries had begun to be exhausted, and the\nwater was a hundred meters deep so that it was impossible for us to lie\non the bottom.\n\n“Nice prospects,” I thought to myself. To the mate and crew in the\n“Centrale,” I called loudly so that all could hear me:\n\n“Well, now we have gotten rid of him at last. Didn’t I say it was only a\ncoincidence?”\n\nI wanted to relieve the tension on the nerves of the men, because I knew\nhow they had gone on for days at a high pitch of excitement.\n\nIn my plans, I had counted on the darkness, which must come soon. We\nwould be very economical of the power, so that it would take us to the\npoint which I had selected after carefully studying the chart. We kept\nto the same course for half an hour. Then, when the darkness must have\nsettled down, I turned off at an angle of ninety degrees, and headed\nstraight for the coast, where I knew the depth would permit us to rest\non the bottom, to wait until the enemy had given up his manhunt. This\nwould be towards morning, I thought, especially if the storm coming up\nfrom the southwest should increase in violence so that the searching of\nthe water with nets would become very difficult.\n\nThe point that I had selected for our resting place was far from\ncomfortable. And it was marked on the chart, not with the reassuring\n“Sd.” which indicated a sand bottom, but with the dreaded “St.” which\nmeant the bottom was stony. But we had no choice. And when the devil is\nin a pinch, he will eat flies, although he is accustomed to better food.\nWe did not rise again, since we knew it was dark over the sea, but\ncontinued at a considerable depth without incident and slowly approached\nour goal.\n\nAbout midnight, according to my calculations, we would be able to touch\nthe bottom. And the storage batteries had to last up to that time.\nKrüger figured and figured and came to the conclusion that they would\nhardly last long enough.\n\nUntil ten o’clock we had heard our friend’s propellers over us several\ntimes. Thereafter all became quiet on the surface, and, relieved, I drew\na deep breath. They had lost the scent. It became bearable again in the\nU-boat. I sat on the stairway leading to the “Centrale” and was eating\nsandwiches and drinking hot tea with the other officers and the rest of\nthe crew. It was almost twelve o’clock and still we had not touched\nbottom. What would happen if the computation of our location was wrong?\nThis could easily have occurred, because of the strong current and our\nslow speed.\n\nHalf-past twelve! Still no bottom! Engineer Krüger was nervously\nstamping his feet and turned out one electric light after another in\norder to save power. For the same reason, the electric heating apparatus\nhad been cut off for a long time, and we were very cold.\n\nAt five minutes to one we felt a slight scraping. The motors were\nstopped and then we reversed them in order to decrease our speed. A\nslight jolt! We filled the ballast tanks and were lying on the bottom\nwhere we could wait for morning at our ease. Who thought that? He who\nimagined that we would have any rest was disappointed. We were lying on\na rock, and the tide turned about two o’clock, and the southwest wind\nswept the sea fiercely.\n\nAt the beginning, it seemed as if we would be all right, down there on\nthe “St.” bottom, but we soon discovered differently—when the rolling\nbegan. There was no chance of gentle resting, as on the soft sand of the\nNorth Sea, but, instead, we banged and racked from one rock to another,\nso it was a wonder the boat could stand it at all.\n\nSometimes it sounded as if large stones were rolling on deck and, again,\nour boat would fall three or four meters deeper with a jolt, so that the\nmanometer was never at rest, and we had to stand this continued rising\nand falling between twenty-two and thirty-eight meters.\n\nAt last, towards four o’clock, we gave it up. At some of the joints in\nthe ship, there were small leakages, and none of us had any thought of\nsleeping. We, therefore, went up to the surface.\n\nI opened the conning tower hatch and let the fresh air rush against me.\nI had a queer sensation. It seemed to me as if we had been buried in the\ndeep for an eternity and had had a long, bad dream.\n\nBut we had no time to dream. The storm had not calmed, but continued in\nits fury, and it was not long before we in the tower were soaking wet.\nHowever, to our satisfaction, the water was much warmer than in the\nNorth Sea. We noticed that the last hours had brought us much closer to\nour object.\n\nIt was the Gulf Stream that was flowing by us and which, in this\nsection, is really warm, running between two shores close together.\n\nThe night was coal black. At a great distance astern, two light-houses\nflashed, one white and the other red. It was easy for us to know our\nposition. No enemy was in sight, so he must have abandoned his search as\nuseless. Can any one understand with what relief we realized this fact?\nConfidently we began to look ahead to success now that, at last, the\ndangers of the mine fields, which had been greater than we had expected,\nwere behind us.\n\nThe exhausted batteries were quickly re-charged, in order to be ready\nfor other emergencies, and then, with our Diesel engines running, we\nwent out into the open ocean, away from the unfriendly shores, to get\nsome fresh air and to rest our nerves.\n\nWhen the day began to break, we were twenty sea miles out and had\nalready re-charged the batteries with so much power that, if necessary,\nwe could proceed for several hours under water. In the dusk of the dawn,\nwe had a new surprise.\n\nGröning, who, by chance, had looked toward the bow where the outlines of\nour boat were becoming visible, suddenly against all rules, grabbed my\narm. With mouth open, eyes staring, and an arm outstretched, he pointed\ntoward the bow.\n\n“What is that?”\n\nI ran up, bent forward, and followed with my eyes in the direction in\nwhich he was pointing.\n\n“What is that?” I asked him.\n\nI hurried toward the bow, so as to be able to see better. The boat’s\nwhole deck, from the conning tower to the prow, looked as if it had been\ndivided into regular squares, between which dark, indistinguishable\nobjects were moving in snakelike lines. Near me there was such a square.\nI stooped down and picked up a steel cord about as thick as my finger. A\nnet, I thought, certainly a net.\n\n“We have the remnants of the net all over us,” I shouted through the\nnoise of the storm to Gröning. “Get the nippers, hammer, and chisel\nready. As soon as it is light enough, we must go to work to cut it\nfree.”\n\nAnd the thick, dark snake—what was that? It came up to starboard,\nslipped across the deck, and disappeared to port into the darkness. It\ndid not take us long to find out what kind of a snake it was, and I\ncomprehended everything fully. That persistent, mysterious pursuit by\nthe Frenchman was at once plain. Now I understood clearly what had\nhappened on the surface after the explosion of the mine. My heart froze\nwhen I thought how readily the enemy had been able to follow our course.\n\nWe could easily trace the snake with all its curves, as it became\nlighter, because it was a long cork hawser, made for the purpose of\nsustaining the net. This was of light cork of about the thickness of a\nforearm and was light brown in color.\n\nAbout two hundred meters of this easily perceptible hawser were floating\non the water, and gave us a tail with many curves in it. This tail,\nwhich we had been dragging after us, gave us the solution of the\npuzzling pursuit.\n\nWhen we had torn the net, with our engines at their highest speed, a\nlarge piece of it to which the hawser was fastened had clung to our\nU-boat and, after we had submerged, the hawser was still floating on the\nsurface and continued to drag along behind us, still floating when we\nhad submerged to a great depth. The Frenchman, who had discovered us on\naccount of the explosion, had observed this, and, in spite of all our\ntwistings and turnings, could follow us easily.\n\nIt was a master work of our able sea crew to cut clear that heavy steel\nnet. The sea became still higher and washed furiously over the deck,\nangered by the resistance of our little nutshell. The men were standing\nup to their stomachs in the white, foaming waves, and had to use all\ntheir strength to stand against their force. Full of anxiety, I sat in\nthe conning tower with a life-saving buoy ready and followed closely\nwith worried eyes every move of my men during their dangerous work.\n\nAll went well, and, after a half hour’s hard work, we were rid of the\ntroublesome net. The nippers, hammer, and chisel and six drenched\nsailors disappeared down the conning tower. Each of the six held in his\nnumbed, wet fist a rusty piece of the net as a souvenir of the\nfourteenth day of April.\n\nThe sun arose as if nothing had happened. From the eastern horizon it\nshone over the French coast as if to say:\n\n“I am neutral! I am neutral!”\n\nWhen it got up higher in the heavens and sent its greeting to England,\nit shivered and hid behind a thick cloud.\n\nWhat was the matter with it? What was it that destroyed the joy of the\ngreeting of the young morning? What was it yonder that wounded its\nneutral heart?\n\nA steamer approached. Thick, black clouds of smoke poured out along her\nwake and hung heavily over the sea. She had two high, thin mastheads,\ntwo funnels, slanting slightly toward the stern, and a light-colored\nhull with a high bridge. “A funny ship,” we decided and submerged.\n\nWhen we saw her clearly through the periscope after a while, we found\nout the discouraging fact that she was a hospital ship. The snow-white\ncolor, the wide green bands from the bow to the stern, and the large Red\nCross on the hull and the mast tops easily identified her as such.\n\nI was just about to turn away, as an attack upon a sacred Red Cross ship\ncould not be thought of, when my eyes as if by magic became glued to\nsomething I could not make my brain believe, something unheard of. I\ncalled Gröning to the periscope, so that he could be sure I made no\nmistake. No, I was right, and, to my amazement, I saw an insolence which\nwas new to this world. No wonder that the sun had hidden its face in\norder not to see this scorn and mockery of humanity. No neutral sun\ncould shine on anything like that. Only the moon could stand such\nlights, although they must disgust even the moon, used to dark deeds.\n\nThe ship, which was safe under the holy flag of humanity and mercy, was\nloaded from bow to stern with artillery supplies, and amongst the guns\nand ammunition there was crowded an army of soldiers and horses. Under\nthe protection of the colors of the flags, which they were so\natrociously misusing, they were proceeding in the daylight on the way to\nthe front.\n\n“Such a crowd!” exclaimed Gröning, and stepped back from the periscope.\n\n“And such a shame that we can’t touch it,” said I, furious, and stamped\non the iron floor so that it resounded. “I would like to have gotten\nhold of it. Such nasty people, such hypocrites! But it can’t be helped.\nThe boat is too fast and too far away for us to head it off.”\n\nOf course, we tried and went after it at top speed for some time. But\nthe distance became greater instead of lessening, and, with our\nbatteries exhausted, we had to abandon the chase. Then we turned,\nfurious and swearing, and came to the surface again after a little\ntime.\n\nIt was a very unpleasant feeling, after a short chase, to have to lie\nwith exhausted batteries, and limp ahead like a lame horse. Consequently\nwe did not attempt any new enterprise, but remained on the open water\nfor several hours charging our storage batteries. Just as we were about\nthrough with this work, there came along an insolent trawler which\nstarted to chase us. None of us had any desire to submerge again,\nbecause the sun was shining so beautifully, and it became warmer with\neach minute we headed south.\n\nAs the propeller, now free from the nets with which we were fouled,\ncould give us our best speed, we immediately began the race and hastened\nlaughingly and in good spirits ahead. Our boat cut through the waves\nwith such speed as it showed when it first came from its wharf. The\nfoam made a silver-white mane for us. What did we care if we got wet? We\nwent at top speed, and, smiling, looked at the smoking and puffing\nsteamer behind us.\n\n“He’ll never catch us,” I said to Krüger, who had come up to the conning\ntower to ask if we were going fast enough, or if he should try to get\nmore speed out of our engines. “Just keep her turning at the same rate,\nHerr Engineer. That’s sufficient. It looks now as if we were gaining,” I\ntold him.\n\nOur pursuer seemed to realize he could not overtake us and tried to\nanger us in other ways. Suddenly a gun flashed and a cloud of brown\nsmoke surrounded the small steamer for a second. Shortly after that a\nsmall shell splashed into the water about a thousand meters from us and\na water spout not higher than a small tree arose from the sea.\n\nWe laughed aloud.\n\n“Such a rotten marksman! He wants to irritate us with a shotgun. That’s\nridiculous.”\n\n“That’s an insolence without an equal,” argued Lieutenant Petersen\nangrily, who felt that he had been insulted in his capacity of the\nartillery officer aboard. “We should not submit to this outrage. May I\nanswer him, Herr Captain?” he asked me with eyes flashing.\n\n“Yes, you may try as far as I am concerned, Petersen, but only three\nshots. You can’t hit him at this distance, anyway, and our shells are\nvaluable.”\n\nGrinning with joy, Petersen hurried to the guns, leveled, aimed and\nfired, himself, while the water washed around him up to his waist.\n\n“Too short to the right!” I shouted to him, after I observed the high\nwater spout through my double marine glasses.\n\nThe next shot fell close to the steamer. It became too hot for our\npursuer. He turned quickly and went back in the same direction from\nwhich he had come. But the hunting fever had gotten into our blood. We\nalso turned and pursued the fleeing pursuer. Show us what you can do\nnow, engines!\n\nShot after shot flashed, roaring from our cannon. The distance was\nalmost too great for our range. We had to set the gun at the highest\npossible angle in order to have any chance of hitting him. The first\nshots all fell short, or to the side, but at the eighth we made a hit.\nA roaring hurrah greeted the dark-brown explosion which marked the\narrival of the shell on the trawler.\n\nIn vain, the trawler sent one shot after another at us. They never came\nnear us. On our side, however, one hit followed another, and we could\nsee that the hostile ship was listing heavily to port, and we hoped to\nbe able to give him his death blow, when the outlines of three of his\ncolleagues were sighted behind and to the right and left of him,\napproaching at great speed. Our only chance was to turn again in order\nto avoid being surrounded, since too many dogs can kill the hare.\n\nEarly in the evening we submerged to keep ourselves at a safe depth. We\nwere very tired, because we had had thirty-eight hours of work and\nrealized, now that all the excitement was over, how the nerves began to\nrelax. To begin with, the nerve strain showed itself by the fact we\ncould hardly go to sleep, tired as we were. And when we did doze off at\nlast, we had many disturbing dreams. I, myself, lay awake for hours and\nheard through the open doors, in the deadly quiet of the U-boat, how the\nmen tossed about in their bunks during their sleep, talking and\nmuttering. It was as if we were in a parrot’s cage instead of a\nsubmarine. Also I lived over again during the night most of the events\nof the past hours. The only difference was, peculiarly enough, that I\nwas never the fish, but always the fisherman above the surface who\nconstantly tried to catch my own U-boat with a destroyer.\n\nWhen I woke I could hardly untangle the real situation, because I saw\nthe French Captain-Lieutenant’s black-bearded face before me, when, with\ngreat joy in his small dark eyes, he said:\n\n“Diable, il faut attraper la canaille!”\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nTHE BRITISH BULL-DOG\n\n\nIn the morning a clear, blue sky and a calm sea greeted us. The wind had\nabated during the night and had changed so that it came from the\ndirection of land, and, therefore, could not disturb the sea to any\ngreat extent. In the best of spirits, well satisfied and refreshed by\nour breakfast, we were sitting on the conning tower, and enjoying the\nmild air of spring and puffing one cigarette after another. During the\nnight we had reached the position where, for the present, we intended to\nmake our attacks on the merchant transportation which was very\nflourishing in that region. We crossed the steamship lanes in all\ndirections with guns loaded and with a sharp lookout so as not to lose\nany opportunity to damage the enemy’s commerce.\n\nShortly before dinner the first merchant ship arose on the south\nhorizon. It was a sailer, a large, full-rigged schooner, which, hard by\nthe wind, headed towards the French coast. With majestic calm, lightly\nleaning to the wind, the splendid ship approached. The snow-white sails\nglittered in the sun in the far distance. The light, slender hull plowed\nsharply through the sea.\n\nWith a delighted “Hello,” we hurled ourselves on our prey. Above our\nheads fluttered pennants and signal-flags which signified:\n\n“Leave the ship immediately!”\n\nSharply and distinctly in the bright sun the command traveled from our\nboat to the large, heavily-loaded ship, and the colors of the German\nflag-of-war, which floated from the mast behind the tower, left no doubt\nof the grim sincerity of the command.\n\nDid they not have a signal-book over there, or did they not want to\nunderstand us? Ah! A flag went up on the main-mast. The wind unfolded it\nand, proudly and distinctly, France’s tricolor could be seen. The flag\nstopped at half-mast—a distress-signal! The flag on half-mast was the\npursued sailer’s call for help. They understood our command and were now\nlooking for assistance before obeying us. Wait, my little friend, we’ll\nsoon get that out of you.\n\n“Hoist the signals: ‘Stop immediately or I’ll shoot!’”\n\nThe signal flew up. Now, look here, Frenchy, this is no joke; soon the\nlittle, gray animal, which is circling around you, will bite.\n\n“We will give, them three minutes to consider the matter, then we’ll\nshoot down the masts,” I said to Lieutenant Petersen, who was standing\nby the guns, and, in his excitement, was stepping from one foot to\nanother.\n\nWith watch in hand, I counted three full minutes. The sailer did not\ntake any notice of us, just as if our existence had nothing to do with\nhim.\n\n“Such impudence,” I murmured, as I put down my watch. Soon thereafter\nresounded through the entire boat:\n\n“Fire!”\n\n“Rrrrrms!” the guns thundered with a deafening roar, and the shell\nwhistled through the schooner’s high rigging, in which it tore a large\nhole, struck the mainyard of the forward mast, exploded, and snapped off\nthe heavy mast, so that, with its sails, it fell like a broken wing on\nthe deck of the ship.\n\nThe results were immediately apparent. The red and white pennant, which\nin the international language means: “I understand!” flew to the\nmasthead. The sailors, who had gathered in groups, looked at us in\nalarm. They were scattered by the commands of the captain and hurried in\nall directions to their posts. Giving orders in the singing accents of\nthe French language, the sails were soon lowered and the ship slowed up.\nThe boats were swung out and made ready, and men, with life-saving\nbuoys, were running all over in great excitement.\n\nWe closed in on the ship to windward, and I called to the captain to\nmake haste—that I would give him just ten minutes more to get away\nbefore torpedoing his ship.\n\nIn the bow compartment, where the torpedo tubes are built into the\nU-boat and the torpedoes themselves are stored, there was feverish\nactivity from the minute we saw the hostile ship and the alarm was\nsounded. It is cramped in the forward part of a U-boat, very cramped,\nand it is necessary to have a special crew of very skilled men to be\nable to accomplish their purpose in this network of tubes, valves, and\npumps. The officers’ mess, which is just back of the torpedo\ncompartment, is quite roomy and comfortable. It was now changed in a\nmoment to an uninhabitable place. Ready hands pulled down the\noil-stained curtains in front of the bunks and folded up the narrow\ntable and the four chairs without backs. These were all placed in a\ncorner hurriedly, and the luxuries were all gone, making room to handle\nthe torpedoes.\n\nSchweckerle, in command of the torpedo tubes, was like a father in the\nway he watched over his torpedoes. He loved them as if they were\nchildren and continually oiled and greased them and examined them\ncarefully. They said of him that he mourned when he had to separate\nhimself from one of them. And I, myself, saw that when a torpedo, for\nsome reason or other slightly turned, did not strike its target, he went\naround broken-hearted for many days and could not eat.\n\nThis faithful fellow was now busily occupied taking care of his children\nand had selected “Flink” and “Reissteufel” (these were his names for the\ntwo torpedoes now ready for the tubes) when the command was given:\n\n“First torpedo tube ready!”\n\nThis meant “Reissteufel” was to go.\n\nSchweckerle was in his element and, when he gave his commands, the\nsailors ran as if the devil was at their heels.\n\n“You here! You there! You take that! You take the other! Forward! Hurry!\nTake hold! Get the oil can! That’s good! That’s enough! Now put it\nin—push it forward! Now hold back! Slowly—slowly—stop!”\n\nOne last word of encouragement to the torpedo disappearing into the\ntube! At last the parting glance, and Schweckerle slammed the tube\nshut, and “Reissteufel” was ready to go on his way.\n\nAt once this was reported to me in the conning tower, but only a few of\nthe allotted ten minutes had passed and we had plenty of time. We took a\ncloser look at the sailing ship before we sent her to the bottom for\ngood. She was a large modern ship, constructed entirely of steel, and\nhad the latest equipment over all, even in the rigging. She could carry\na cargo of from three to four thousand tons and, without doubt, had come\nfrom a long distance, because sailing ships of this size do not travel\nalong the coast. What kind of a cargo did she carry?\n\nThe French crew stepped into her boats and left their ship. The last\nboat was capsized, when it was launched, and all in it fell into the\nsea. Another one of the boats came quickly to the rescue and picked up\nthe swimming and struggling sailors. When all had been saved, I turned\nour prow toward the sailing ship, which was now lying absolutely still,\nand fired our first torpedo.\n\nPoor Schweckerle! There it goes, but it heads straight, Schweckerle,\ntrue as an arrow. Bravo, Schweckerle! The French in the lifeboats, who\nhad approached us where they believed themselves safest, yelled in\nterror when the detonation followed and the water spout was thrown high\nabove the mastheads.\n\n“Oh, mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Notre pauvre vaisseau!”\n\n“Poor devils,” I thought. “I understand how you feel over your\nbeautiful, fine ship, but why didn’t you stay at home? Why do you go to\nsea when you know what threatens? Why do you or your governments force\nus to destroy your ships wherever we can find them? Do you think we are\ngoing to wait until our own women and children starve and let you keep\nyour bread baskets full before we defend ourselves? You have started it.\nYou are responsible for the consequences. If you would discontinue your\ninhuman way of carrying on the war, then we would let your sailing ships\nand steamers pass unmolested, when they do not carry contraband. You\nhave wanted war to the knife. Good, we have accepted your challenge.”\n\nThe sailing ship sank rapidly by the stern, turning over on her side\nuntil the yard arms touched the water and the red bottom could be seen.\nAnd, at last, when the pressure burst the forward cargo hatch, there was\na shower of corn, and the proud ship, with a dying gurgle, disappeared\ninto the deep.\n\nThe captain came aboard us. He never lost for a minute his personality\nas a polite Frenchman with elegant manners. He swung himself into the\nconning tower, smiled with the pleasantry of a boulevardier, and, with a\ngracious bow, handed his ship’s papers to “mon capitaine.” In the most\npolite and courteous German, I offered him a cigarette, for which he\nthanked me with a smile, as if we had been the best of friends for\nyears. We questioned him. From where was he coming and where bound? He\nanswered frankly and showed us without requesting it what a valuable\ncatch we had made. It impressed him greatly how we were traveling about\nin our little shell, and there was no doubt he had an inclination to go\nalong with us on our sea-robbing voyage, if he could have done it.\n\nWhen I asked him why he had not obeyed our signals to stop, he acted as\ninnocent as a new-born baby, and assured us that he never saw our\nsignals. Indeed, he went so far as to say he had not even observed our\nU-boat until we fired our gun. When I pointed out to him that he had\nhoisted the signal of distress long before that and that this made his\nstory hardly believable, he dropped the subject with great skill and\ngave the conversation a new turn. It was impossible to catch this smooth\nFrenchman, and when I had him cornered so that another man would not\nhave known what to say, he slipped through the conversation like an eel\nwith his great politeness.\n\nI was struck with surprise to see his men so well dressed, washed, and\nshaved. I, a “barbarian,” did not want to be behind the Frenchman in\npoint of manners, so I complimented him on his crew’s splendid\nappearance. Then he began to lament.\n\n“Oh, my poor boys,” he complained. “They have not looked so well\nthroughout our voyage, but only to-day they have been scrubbing\nthemselves, because they hoped to be able to get ashore to-night. See\nthis, mon capitaine,” he continued and opened his log—“on January 23rd\nwe cleared from Saigon and have sailed nearly around the world, and now,\nonly a few hours before reaching our port, we are met with such a\ndisaster. What a tragedy! What a tragedy!”\n\nI consoled him the best I could and promised to assist them so that\nthey could land at the same time they had hoped. Then I, as he was\nabout to leave the U-boat, offered him another cigarette, shook his hand\namicably, and sent him off the ship.\n\nWe had agreed that I would tow his boats toward the coast until some new\nspoils hove into sight. Then they would have to do the best they could\nfor themselves.\n\nSoon after two o’clock, this occurred when the mastheads with the tips\nof white sails arose over the horizon.\n\nWe cast off from the boats, wished the Frenchman a safe journey, and\nturned toward our new prey, while Schweckerle made “Flink” ready.\n\nAs we came nearer, we discovered something that made us jump. We had\nbeen certain that the ship which was approaching was a large\nthree-master, rigged somewhat like the one that we had just sunk, but\nwhat now astonished us and aroused our suspicion was that we distinctly\nsaw, at times, dark clouds of smoke that seemed to be closely associated\nwith the sailing ship which floated between and behind her sails.\n\n“Anything that you cannot explain is always suspicious.”\n\nIn accordance with this well tested rule for U-boats, we cautiously kept\noff a little, so as to let the mysterious ship pass us at some distance.\nWe had heard too much of U-boat sinking to rush at anything blindly.\nWhat would happen if, behind the mask of the big sailing ship, a ready\nand fast torpedo boat was sneaking which, quick as lightning, would\nswoop down on us? First we must find out with what we had to deal.\n\nWe could soon make out what it was. At a distance of about two hundred\nmeters in front of the sailer, there was a strong tug pulling the\nfull-rigged ship with a thick hawser, so that it could make better time.\nThere was nothing suspicious in this in these parts of the sea. It often\nhappened that sailing ships were towed in over the final fifty miles of\ntheir voyage to reach port before evening, and thus gain an entire day.\nThe large tugboats went far out to sea and tendered their high-priced\nservices.\n\n“Ah,” we thought, “there is no danger here! But on the contrary, it\nlooks like a grand chance to sink a ship, and, at the same time, send\nits crew ashore safely”—the thought we always had in mind when it did\nnot interfere with our duty.\n\nI rubbed my hands in satisfaction. We would give the crew of the\nsailing ship a chance to get aboard the tugboat and so send them home.\nMaybe they might also meet the shipwrecked crew of the French sailing\nship and take them aboard.\n\nAt top speed we headed for the tugboat. First we circled round our prey\nto be sure that we would not be surprised by a masked gun and especially\nexamined the tugboat, because he traveled back and forth daily through\nthe danger zone, and would be more apt to be armed than would the\nsailing ship coming from a long voyage.\n\nThere was nothing suspicious to be seen—therefore we advanced. We\napproached the stern of the tugboat, slowed down, and, within calling\ndistance, kept pace with him. Gröning, Petersen, Lohmann, and a sailor\nwere with me in the conning tower. The tugboat flew the British flag. I\nshouted with the full power of my lungs:\n\n“Take aboard the crew! Take aboard the crew!”\n\nI waved with my left hand toward the sailing ship, in order to make my\nmeaning clear. The commander of the “little bulldog,” as Petersen called\nthe tugboat, took his short clay pipe out of his mouth, spat far out\nfrom the bridge where he was standing in a careless attitude, but\notherwise took no notice of us except that he may have thrown a shrewd,\ncunning glance our way. I thought he was hard of hearing and drew a\nlittle closer and yelled again:\n\n“Take the crew off!”\n\nThe wind had increased during the last few hours and the sea began to\nrun higher and was washing over our deck. It was impossible for us to\nuse our guns—the crew would have been swept away without any chance of\nbeing saved—and we were, for that reason, unable to emphasize our\ncommands in a desirable manner, but we knew what to do when the\ncommander on the “bulldog” did not display any inclination to comply\nwith our ten-times repeated order. I had a revolver handed to me from\nbelow and let a bullet whistle close to the head of the stubborn rascal.\nThe Englishman seemed to understand this language better. He abandoned\nhis careless slouch, blew the tug’s siren, and yelled loud, sharp\ncommands to the crew. Then he turned for the first time towards me, put\nhis hand to his cap with a short salute, and next lifted his right hand\nvertically in the air, which, according to the international language of\nsailors, meant:\n\n“I understand and will obey.”\n\nThe crew on the “bulldog,” which in reality bore the name _Ormea_, had,\nhowever, cast off the hawser and were now standing idly all around the\ndeck with their hands in their pockets and looked at us curiously. The\ncaptain went to the engine telegraph and signaled “Half speed ahead.”\n\n“Ha,” we thought, “now he’ll turn and lay himself alongside the sailing\nship.”\n\nWhat happened next took only a minute.\n\nWhen the _Ormea_ had gathered speed, it certainly turned—but not to\nport, which would have been the nearest way, but towards us. At the same\ntime the skipper signaled to his engine room:\n\n“Full speed ahead!”\n\nThe sturdily built, speedy tug rushed at us, pushing aside the waves\nwith her prow.\n\nWe had, of course, been keenly observing every move made on the tugboat,\nbut suspected nothing until that moment when he headed straight for us.\n\n“The man is crazy!” I yelled. “He intends to ram us. Full speed with\nboth engines. Hard a-starboard!”\n\nBut it looked as if we had grasped the situation too late. The tug had\ngotten a start on us in speed and came at us, smoking copiously, like a\nmad bulldog. The distance between us, which to begin with had been two\nhundred meters, decreased with great rapidity. Now the prow was hardly\nfifty meters from us. Our hair stood on end.\n\n“Bring up pistols and guns,” I called down.\n\nThese weapons, which were hanging always loaded, were quickly handed up\nto us, and we opened a quick fire on our onrushing enemy. Already I saw\nthe captain’s sly, water-blue eyes scornfully glittering and read the\nspiteful joy in his grinning face. He had good reason to feel happy. He\nwould reach us, he must reach us, because he had greater speed than we\nhad, and his position was more advantageous. Nearer and nearer came the\nmoment when would stick his blunt, steel prow into our side, and the\nnearer he approached, the harder our hearts beat.\n\nTwenty meters—fifteen meters! Was there no escape—no hope of rescue?\n\nYes! Gröning, the calm and thoughtful Gröning, became our savior. He was\non one knee by me on the conning tower platform and sent one shot after\nanother at the oncoming target. Suddenly he caught the idea which saved\nus.\n\n“The helmsman!” he yelled. “All men aim at the helmsman!”\n\nIn the pilot house with glass windows, stood the mate of the _Ormea_ by\nhis wheel with a sinister grin searching for the point where the blow\nwould be most deadly. We saw him distinctly as he stood there.\n\nAction followed immediately on Gröning’s saving thought. We stopped the\nwild shooting against the dangerous prow, and all of us aimed at the\nhelmsman and fired. Hardly had the first volley been discharged when we\nheard a shriek, and the Englishman threw his arms high and fell forward\nover his wheel. As he fell, he gripped the spoke of the wheel and spun\nit around. This saved us from our greatest danger. The prow which was\nto have crushed us was only about three meters distant when the tug was\nthrown hard aport, so that it hit only the air.\n\nTo show how close the tug was to us, as it swung, its stern struck our\ndiving tank and left a scar as a remembrance. As the beast of prey after\nmissing does not attempt another leap, so the tugboat put on full speed\nin an effort to escape. The whistling of our bullets and the loss of his\nmate had apparently made a coward out of a little tugboat captain, but\nwe gave him credit for having been resourceful, after we had recovered\nfrom the excitement of the moment and recalled all the circumstances.\n\nI quietly pressed Gröning’s hand and smilingly touched the spot on his\nbreast, there just below his brave, fearless heart, a spot which, in\naccordance with the command of his Majesty, the Kaiser, should be\nreserved for the reward due such a hero. To-day that place is decorated\nwith the black, silver framed Iron Cross.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nHOMEWARD BOUND!\n\n\nWhy should I continue relating events which were coupled with less\ndanger and were less remarkable than those we had already experienced\nand which I have already carefully described? The climax of the journey\nwas reached at the encounter with the _Ormea_, and, after the climax is\nreached, one should be brief. For those interested, I can assure them\nthat we did not let the schooner escape which had tried to save herself\nby flight, but hurried quickly after her, and, as soon as the crew had\ndisembarked, torpedoed her. However, we regretted that the captain of\nthe tug that tried to ram us escaped through her superior speed.\n\nWe were fortunate enough to make another catch on this same day, just as\ndarkness was setting in, a steamer loaded with meat, inward bound from\nSydney. We continued for several days through this fruitful field of\noperation in every direction and had both good and bad luck. Schweckerle\nhad to bite into a bitter apple several times, as one after another of\nhis children faithlessly abandoned him. But he had the joy of knowing\nthat none of them went contrary to his good bringing-up and the care it\nhad received.\n\nMany successes we put down in our log and sometimes exciting episodes\nand narrow escapes, when our enemy’s destroyers and patrol ships came\nacross our path of daily toil, so that we should not be too\npresumptuous and careless.\n\nThen at last came the day when we decided to start our homeward journey.\nThe torpedoes and shells were exhausted. Of oil, fresh water, and\nprovisions we had such a scanty supply left that it was necessary for us\nto return. It was impossible to tell what kind of weather we would have\non our return trip, and, if it did not storm, there might be strong head\nwinds to hold us back.\n\nI decided to take a new route for our journey home. The Witch-Kettle\nwith its horrors was still fresh in our minds and we preferred to take a\nroundabout way, rather than to run risks which could be easily avoided\nafter a successfully completed task. In this period of thirteen days our\nnerves had been affected and there was little power of resistance left\nin them. It would not be advisable to put them to another severe test.\n\nSo it came to pass on the fifteenth day after the start of the voyage,\nthat a great storm hit us and for several days kept us hard at work. We\nfound ourselves far up in the North Atlantic where the warm spring for a\nlong time still wears its winter’s furs, and the sun never rises high.\nThe icy, north wind, which blows three-quarters of the year, would in\nany event devour all his warmth.\n\nRepentantly, we had again picked up our thick camel’s wool garments\nwhich we had laid off in the southern waters. The further we went north,\nthe heavier the clothes that we donned.\n\nIn addition to the cold there came a storm, the like of which I had\nnever seen during my entire service on the sea, and to describing which\nI will devote a few lines, because a storm on a U-boat is altogether\ndifferent from a storm at sea in any other vessel.\n\nThe barometer had been uncertain for two days. Its hasty rising and\nfalling in accordance with the changes of the atmosphere made us suspect\nwe would soon get rough weather. It was the night between April\ntwenty-fourth and twenty-fifth. We traveled submerged to a considerable\ndepth, and I was lying in my bunk asleep, partly undressed. At about two\no’clock I was awakened and received the report:\n\n“Lieutenant Petersen asks that the Captain-Lieutenant kindly come to the\n‘Centrale,’ as it is impossible for him to steer the boat any longer\nalone.”\n\nI threw on my jacket and hurried for the stern. On my way, on account\nof the heavy rolling of the boat, I realized what was the trouble. There\nmust be a terrific storm above accompanied by a sea which only the\nAtlantic could stir up.\n\nLieutenant Petersen confirmed my opinion of the conditions which had\ndeveloped during the night and added that he had never had so much\ntrouble with the diving rudder before in his life. This meant a great\ndeal, for Petersen was with me when our U-boat had been equipped for\nservice for the first time, and had already gone through all kinds of\nweather. In spite of all the watchfulness that he and the well-trained\ncrew used, the diving rudder’s pressure was not powerful enough to\nresist the enormous strength of the waves. The boat was tossed up and\ndown as if she had no rudder whatever. Only after we had submerged\ntwice as deep as we had been were we able to steady the boat to any\ndegree. We could still feel the force of the sea and knew the storm must\nbe terrific.\n\nWhen, at daybreak, we arose to the surface there was no chance to open\nthe hatches. The opal green mountains of waves came rolling and foaming\nat us. They smothered the boat with the great masses of water, washed\ncompletely over the deck and even up over the tower. If any one had\ndared to open the hatch and go out on the conning tower, he would\ncertainly have been lost. I was standing at the periscope and observed\nthe wrath of the elements. It seemed as if we were in a land of\nmountains which the U-boat had to climb, only to be suddenly hurled down\nagain. I could see only so far as the next ridge, which always seemed\nto be even higher than the last, and if there had been any chance of\nseeing more, it would have been impossible in the flying foam and spray.\nThe rain whipped the water violently and darkened the sky so that it was\nlike dusk. The boat worked itself laboriously through the heavy sea. The\njoints cracked and trembled when the boat slid down from the peak of a\nwave to be buried in the deep trough.\n\nWe had to cling to some oil-soaked object in order not to be tossed\nabout. Through the strain put on the body by the terrible rolling of the\nboat, by the damp, vaporous air, and by lack of sleep and food, we\nfinally became exhausted, but at this time we had no desire to eat. The\nstorm continued for three days and nights without abating. Then the sky\ncleared, the wind dropped, and the sea became calmer. At noon of the\nthird day the sun broke through the clouds for the first time. Shortly\nbefore this, we had dared open the conning tower hatch and greeted the\nrays of the sun, although we had to pay for this pleasure with a cold\nbath.\n\nWe had been drifting about for three days without knowing our location.\nNo wonder we greeted our guide with great joy, and quickly produced the\nsextant to find out where we were. Our calculations showed that, during\nthe entire time, we had been circling around in one spot and had not\ngotten one mile nearer our port. But what did that matter? The storm was\nabating, the sea was calming down, and our splendid, faithful boat had\nstood the test once more, and, in spite of all storms, had survived.\n\nWe reached the North Sea the next afternoon and could change our course\nto the south with happy hearts. Every meter, every mile, every hour\nbrought us nearer home. No one who has not, himself, experienced this\nhome-coming can understand the joy that fills a U-boat sailor’s heart\nwhen, after a successful voyage, he sees the coast of his fatherland; or\nwhen he turns the leaves of his log and, astonished, reads the scrawled\nlines which tell fairy tales of the dangers and joys and asks himself:\n\n“Have you really gone through all that?”\n\nWho can understand the joy of a commander’s heart when, sitting by his\nnarrow writing table, he is carefully working out his report to his\nsuperiors? “Have sunk X steamers—X sailing ships.”\n\nAll around me were the happy faces of the crew. All were satisfied,\nevery danger past and forgotten, thanks to the strength of youth and\ntheir stout hearts.\n\n\n_April 30—Nine-thirty A. M._\n\nThe lead was thrown. Now the water became shallow, for we are going into\nthe bay—the German bay.\n\n“It’s twenty-four meters deep,” reported Lohmann, who in his feverish\ndesire to get ashore had been up on the conning tower since four\no’clock, although he should really have been off watch at eight. He\nwanted to be the first one to sight land, because he is proud of his\nfine eyesight and was as happy as a child when he discovered something\nbefore his commander did.\n\n“The lead shows twenty-four!”\n\n“See if it agrees with the chart,” I called to the mate who sat in the\nconning tower with the chart on his knee.\n\n“It agrees exactly,” the mate called back, after he had compared the\nmeasurement by the lead with the depth that was marked on the chart\nwhere we estimated we were.\n\n“How far is it to land?”\n\n“Eight and a half miles.”\n\nIn five more minutes, the German islands of the North Sea arose before\nour eyes. Now we were unable to restrain ourselves further. We tore off\nour caps and waved them exultantly, greeting our home soil with a\nroaring hurrah. Our cheer penetrated into the boat, from stern to prow,\nand even set Schweckerle’s heart on fire, where he was sitting alone\nand idle amongst the torpedo cradles.\n\nShortly thereafter we glided into the mouth of the river with the\npennant bearing our name proudly fluttering from the masthead. This told\nall the ships that met us:\n\n“Here comes U-boat 202!”\n\nAll knew by our announcement that we were returning from a long voyage\nand we were greeted with an enthusiastic and noisy reception. Officers\nand men thronged the decks, and in our inmost hearts we appreciated the\ngreat cheer:\n\n“Three cheers for his Majesty’s U-202! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”\n\nThus the proud German high seas fleet received our little roughly-used\nboat.\n\nAt three o’clock on the afternoon of April 30 U-202 dropped her anchor\nin the U-boat harbor.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of the U-202, by E. Spiegel", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32216", "title": "The Adventures of the U-202: An Actual Narrative", "author": "", "publication_year": 1917, "metadata_title": "The Adventures of the U-202: An Actual Narrative", "metadata_author": "Freiherr von E. Spiegel", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:27.690912", "source_chars": 145768, "chars": 145768, "talkie_tokens": 34134}}
{"text": "Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\nSource: http://www.archive.org/details/marvelloushistor00chamrich\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                 _THE_\n                           MARVELLOUS HISTORY\n                                  _OF_\n                             THE SHADOWLESS\n                                  MAN.\n\n                         _by_ A. von CHAMISSO\n\n                                 _and_\n\n                             THE COLD HEART\n\n                          _by_ WILHELM HAUFF\n\n                       _With an Introduction by_\n                          DR. A. S. RAPPOPORT\n\n                            _Illustrated by_\n                             FORSTER ROBSON\n\n\n                                 LONDON\n                          HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM\n\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n                           THE SHADOWLESS MAN\n\n                                                        PAGE\nINTRODUCTION\nAUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION\nCHAPTER 1\n   \"    2\n   \"    3\n   \"    4\n   \"    5\n\n                             THE COLD HEART\n\nINTRODUCTION\nPART 1\n  \"  2\n\n\n\n\n                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n                           THE SHADOWLESS MAN\n\n\"THE WHOLE SWARM PROCEEDED IMMEDIATELY TO RECONNOITRE\n      ME AND TO PELT ME WITH MUD\"                   _Frontispiece_\n                                                    _To face page_\n\n\"AN EXTRAORDINARY LOOKING OLD MAN LEFT ME THESE\n      PAPERS SAYING HE CAME FROM BERLIN\"                         2\n\nFANNY                                                            6\n\n\"I DREW THE ILL-FATED PURSE FROM MY BOSOM; AND IN A\n      SORT OF FRENZY THAT RAGED LIKE A SELF-FED FIRE\n      WITHIN ME, I TOOK OUT GOLD--GOLD--GOLD\"                   16\n\n\"AND TREMBLING LIKE A CRIMINAL STOLE OUT OF THE HOUSE\"          18\n\n\"I SUFFERED HER TO FALL FROM MY ARM IN A FAINTING FIT\"          28\n\n\"SHE ADVANCED FROM THE MIDST OF HER COMPANIONS, AND\n      BLUSHINGLY KNELT BEFORE ME PRESENTING A WREATH\"           30\n\n\"NEXT EVENING I WENT AGAIN TO THE FORESTER'S GARDEN\"            42\n\n\"SO SAYING HE DREW MY SHADOW OUT OF HIS POCKET AND\n      STRETCHED IT OUT AT HIS FEET IN THE SUN\"                  50\n\n\"ALONE ON THE WILD HEATH I DISBURDENED MY HEART\"                52\n\nTHE FOREST OF ANCIENT FIRS                                      62\n\n\"WITH SOME HESITATION HE PUT HIS HAND INTO HIS POCKET\n      AND DREW OUT THE ALTERED AND PALLID FORM OF MR.\n      JOHN\"                                                     76\n\nTHE DREAM                                                       78\n\n\"AND SO WAS OBLIGED TO CONTENT MYSELF WITH A\n      SECONDHAND PAIR\"                                          80\n\nTHE FROZEN SEA                                                  82\n\n\"AT LAST I SAT DOWN AT THE EXTREME POINT OF LOMBOCK\n      LAMENTING\"                                                 86\n\nPETER AT HOME                                                   92\n\n\n                             THE COLD HEART\n\n                                                    _To face page_\n\nDUTCH MICHAEL FELLING THE TREES                                 14\n\nPETER'S DREAM                                                   22\n\n\"HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH, THEY ASKED HIM\"                           24\n\n\"PETER MUNK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE PINE GROVE\"              26\n\n\"THEN IN A FLASH A MONSTROUS WOODCOCK SWEPT DOWN\n      FROM ABOVE AND SEIZED THE SNAKE IN ITS BEAK\"              28\n\n\"YOU HAVEN'T QUITE HIT IT, CHARCOAL PETER\"                      30\n\nPETER GAMBLING AT THE INN                                       36\n\n\"SO HERE WE ARE AT THE END OF IT ALL\"                           40\n\n\"THEN THE MONSTER STRETCHED FORTH AN ARM AS LONG AS A\n      WEAVER'S BEAM AND A HAND AS BROAD AS A LARGE\n      TABLE\"                                                    46\n\n\"AH, HAVE MERCY, GOOD LADY AND GIVE ME A DRINK OF\n      WATER\"                                                    58\n\n\"BUT SCARCELY HAD HE UTTERED THESE WORDS THAN THE\n      GLASS MANIKIN SUDDENLY BEGAN TO INCREASE IN SIZE\n      AND STATURE\"                                              62\n\n\"AND AS HE PRAYED MICHAEL DECREASED MORE AND MORE IN\n      SIZE, FALLING TO THE GROUND\"                              68\n\n\"LOOK ONCE MORE AROUND, PETER MUNK!\"                            72\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              INTRODUCTION\n\n\n                      LOUIS ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO\n\nIn 1813 Europe was busy watching the career of the Corsican\nGiant--which was nearing its end. Having reached the summit of power,\nand put his foot on the neck of Europe, Napoleon was suddenly hurled\ndown from his dizzy height. And yet in the midst of stirring events and\nthe din of arms, people found time to pay attention to important\nliterary productions. A curious book, \"The Strange Narrative of Peter\nSchlemihl,\" by Louis Adelbert von Chamisso, which made its first\nappearance in Germany in 1813, aroused an ever increasing interest, in\nspite of the distraction of the public mind, until the name of the\nauthor became world-famous.\n\nChamisso was by birth a Frenchman, having been born at the castle of\nBon-Court in Champagne, on January 27, 1781.[1] On the outbreak of the\nFrench Revolution our author left France with his parents; and in 1795\nwe find them in Bayreuth, which then belonged to the King of Prussia,\nthe Margrave of Anspach having sold the town to his Prussian Majesty in\n1791. Chamisso's parents at last came to Berlin, and young Adelbert was\nappointed page to Queen Louise. This famous queen, wife of Frederic\nWilliam II. and mother of Frederic William III., took a lively interest\nin the young page and decided to complete his somewhat neglected\neducation. A commission in the army was secured for him, he was made\nensign and soon afterwards lieutenant. Napoleon having in the meantime\nbecome First Consul, he recalled the French emigrants, and Chamisso's\nparents availed themselves of the permission and returned to their\nhome, but they nevertheless advised their son to remain in Prussian\nservice. Adelbert obeyed them, although he felt far from happy in\nBerlin. The service of page did not please him, and his correspondence\nis full of passages revealing the melancholy state of his mind. The\ncourt atmosphere was stifling him, and his poverty caused him a great\ndeal of humiliation. We see him, at that time, as a young man of a\nserious and independent disposition, a dreamer and a sceptic, timid and\nnaive, dissatisfied with his position as page and as soldier, unhappy\nin his exile, his misery and his solitude!\n\nBut at last Chamisso found consolation in work. With great ardour he\napplied himself to the study of the German language and literature, and\nparticularly to poetry and philosophy. He learned Greek, and the Iliad\nbecame his constant companion. Klopstock and Schiller attracted him\ngreatly; but he also read J. J. Rousseau, Voltaire and Diderot. He\npublished several poems in the language of his adopted country,\ncompositions distinguished by an originality of style and a peculiar\nvigour. Chamisso's first work is supposed to have been \"The Count de\nComminges,\" written in 1801 or 1802. It is not an original work, but\nrather an imitation or translation of a drama from the pen of Baculard\nd'Arnaud, produced in 1790. Later on he read Wieland and Goethe, and in\n1803 appeared his Faust, in which the influence of the philosophy of\nFichte made itself felt. It was also in this year that love, by the\nside of poetry and metaphysics, occupied the mind and heart of the\nyoung lieutenant. Chamisso fell in love with Madame Cérès Duvernay, a\nyoung French coquette widow, of whom--unlike Sam Weller--he did not\nlearn to beware. He had made her acquaintance in the salon of the\nbanker Ephraim, and asked her to marry him. Madame Duvernay, however,\nwas a practical Frenchwoman and refused the legitimate love of the poor\nlieutenant! This love affair and its sad ending increased Chamisso's\nmelancholy and his inclination for solitude. The war with France then\nbroke out, and Chamisso tasted the bitterness which is so often the lot\nof that unhappy product of modern civilization and political\ncircumstances: _the naturalized alien_! He found himself in an\nanomalous position which caused him great distress, for it isolated him\namong many millions. Although a naturalized German, nay, at heart\nattached to Germany and animated--like so many of his _confrères_--by\nthe spirit of liberty--he was nevertheless of French parentage. It was\nnot only a question whether he should take up arms on behalf of\nGermany, but also, whether he should fight against France and the\npeople with whom he was connected by ties of blood and family\nrelationship. Hence arose a struggle in his breast. \"I, and I alone,\"\nhe exclaimed in his despair, \"am forbidden at this juncture to wield a\nsword!\" Very few people understand the tragedy of those exiles who are\ncompelled to seek a new home and adopt a new country which they love as\nmuch, if not more, than the people among whom they have come to dwell.\nInstead of meeting with sympathy on account of his peculiar situation,\nChamisso was frequently doomed to hear, in the Capital of Prussia, the\nheadquarters of the confederation against France and Napoleon,\nexpressions of hatred and scorn directed against his countrymen. He was\nhimself too fair-minded to mistake the cause of such expressions, which\nwere, after all, only natural in the circumstances, but they\nnevertheless deeply hurt the sensitive poet when they reached his ears.\n\nAfter the treaty of Tilsit had been signed by Napoleon and the King of\nPrussia, Chamisso visited France, where his family regained possession\nof part of their estates, and our author secured, for a short time, the\npost of professor at the school at Napoléonville in the Vendée. It was\nduring his stay in France that Chamisso was drawn into the circle of\nMadame de Stael, and he followed her to Coppet, where she had been\nexiled by Napoleon in 1811. In the house of this \"magnificent and\nwonderful woman,\" as he calls her in his letters, he passed\nincomparable days in the company of August Wilhelm von Schlegel, Madame\nRécamier and other celebrities. It was also then that he began to study\nbotany on the advice of an English friend. Soon, however, Chamisso\nreturned to Berlin, which was to him what Delphi once was to the\nancient Athenians. He continued his botanical studies and at the age of\n31 entered the University as a student of medicine. Again the war broke\nout, and the uprising of the Germans against Napoleon involved Chamisso\nonce more in the popular hatred against the French. Anyone who lays\nclaim to some historical knowledge and a dash of culture is acquainted\nwith the events of 1813. A wave of patriotic enthusiasm swept over\nGermany, and Germans rose like one man, in answer to the appeal of\nFrederic William, King of Prussia. Houses, streets and universities\nresounded with the clash of arms and the shouts of war-like patriots.\nIn the midst of this effervescence Chamisso suffered greatly. He loved\nGermany and liberty, but he also cherished France, his native land;\nmoreover, he could not help admiring Napoleon, in spite of the latter's\ntyranny. While the German poets Koerner and Eichendorff took up arms,\nwhile Arndt, Rückert and Uhland fired the courage of their compatriots\nby their warlike songs, Chamisso not only stood alone, but was even\nexposed to danger. His friends therefore decided to remove him from\nBerlin. Lichtenstein, his professor at the University, found him a\nposition as teacher in the family of Count Itzenplitz, where he taught\nFrench and botany. He was sufficiently near to the capital to be kept\nacquainted with the gradual development of the all-important crisis,\nand yet remained free from any unpleasant personal contact with it!\nHere, at Kunnersdorf, the family seat of Count Itzenplitz, scarcely a\nday's journey from Berlin, while occupied with the study of botany and\nother sciences, Chamisso conceived the idea of \"The Shadowless Man,\"\nand with rapid pen completed the story.\n\nOne day, to divert himself and to amuse the wife and children of his\nfriend Hitzig, whom Heine calls _Der Dekan der Schlemihle_, he wrote\nPeter Schlemihl.\n\nIn 1814, this wonderful narrative was brought to the notice of Baron de\nla Motte Fouqué, the celebrated author of _Undine_, under whose\nauspices the book was published with the following letter from de la\nMotte Fouqué to Julius Edward Hitzig, by way of introduction:--\n\n\n           FROM THE BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE TO JULIUS EDWARD\n                                 HITZIG.\n\nWe should take care, my dear Edward, not to expose the history of poor\nSchlemihl to eyes unfit to look upon it. That would be a bad\nexperiment. Of such eyes there are plenty; and who is able to predict\nwhat may befall a _manuscript_, which is almost more difficult to guard\nthan spoken language? Like a person seized with vertigo, therefore,\nwho, in the paroxysm of his feelings, leaps into the abyss, I commit\nthe story to the press.\n\nAnd yet there are better and more serious reasons for the step I have\ntaken. If I am not wholly deceived, there are in our dear Germany many\nhearts both capable and worthy of comprehending poor Schlemihl,\nalthough a smile will arise on the countenance of many among our honest\ncountrymen at the bitter sport which was death to him and to the\ninnocent being whom he drew along with him. And you, Edward, when you\nhave seen the estimable work and reflected on the number of unknown and\nsympathising bosoms who, with ourselves, will learn to love it,--you\nwill then, perhaps, feel that some drops of consolation have been\ninstilled into those wounds inflicted on you, and on all who love you,\nby death.\n\nTo conclude: I have become convinced, by repeated experience, that a\nguardian angel watches over books, places them in proper hands, and if\nnot always, yet often, prevents them from falling into improper. In any\ncase, he exercises an invisible guardianship over every work of true\ngenius and genuine feeling, and with unfailing tact and skill opens or\nshuts its pages as he sees fit.\n\nTo this guardian angel I commit our Schlemihl. And so, adieu!\n\nNeunhausen, May 1814.                                       FOUQUÉ.\n\nSome of the incidents of the wonderful story of \"The Shadowless Man\"\nwere suggested by actual experiences of its author; and it is\nremarkable that in the latter part of the narrative Chamisso should\nhave anticipated his own voyage round the world.\n\nChamisso was often pestered with questions respecting what he really\nmeant by the story of Schlemihl. These questions amused as well as\nannoyed him. The truth is, that his intention in writing it was perhaps\nscarcely of so precise a nature as to admit of his giving a formal\naccount of it. The story sprang into being of itself, like every work\nof genius, prompted by a self-creating power. In a letter which he\nwrote to Trinius, Councillor at St. Petersburg in 1829, Chamisso says:\n\"When I write I rarely have anything in view; I am, if you like, a\nnightingale, a singing bird, and not a reasoning man.\" And when he had\njust commenced the book he wrote to Hitzig as follows: \"A book was the\nlast thing you would have expected from me! Place it before your wife\nthis evening, if you have time; should she be desirous to know\nSchlemihl's further adventures, and particularly who the man in the\ngrey cloak is--send me back the MS. immediately, that I may continue\nthe story; but if you do not return it, I shall know the meaning of the\nsignal perfectly.\" \"One day,\" Chamisso further relates, \"I had lost my\nhat, portmanteau, gloves and all my luggage, and Fouqué asked me\njestingly whether I had also lost my shadow. We then amused ourselves\nimagining such a calamity. I conceived the idea of Peter Schlemihl, and\nas I had leisure in the country I wrote the story.\"\n\nIn the preface to a French translation (which appeared in 1838) of this\nstory, Chamisso amuses himself over the prying curiosity of those who\nwant to know what was his real object in writing this tale:--\"The\npresent story,\" he says, \"has fallen into the hands of thoughtful\npeople, who, being accustomed to read only for instruction's sake, have\nbeen at a loss to know what the shadow signifies. On this point several\nhave formed curious hypotheses; others, who do me the honour to believe\nthat I am more learned than I really am, have addressed themselves to\nme for the solution of their doubts. The questions with which they have\nbesieged me have made me blush on account of my ignorance. I have\ntherefore been induced to devote myself to the investigation of a\nmatter not hitherto the subject of my studies; and I now beg to submit\nto the world the result of my learned researches:\n\n\"'_Concerning Shadows._--A dark body can only be partially illuminated\nby a bright one. The dark space which lies in the direction of the\nun-illuminated part is what we call a _shadow_. Properly speaking,\nshadow signifies a bodily space, the form of which depends upon the\nform of the illuminating body, and upon their opposite position with\nregard to each other. The shadow thrown on a surface situated before\nthe shadow-projecting body is therefore nothing else than the\nintersection of this surface by the bodily space [in French, _le\nsolide_, on which word _solid_ the whole force of the humour turns],\nwhich we before designated by the word shadow.'\n\n\"The question in this wonderful history of Peter Schlemihl relates\nentirely to the last-mentioned quality, _solidity_. The science of\nfinance instructs us sufficiently as to the value of money: the value\nof a shadow is less generally acknowledged. My thoughtless friend was\ncovetous of money, of which he knew the value, and forgot to think of\nsolid substance. It was his wish that the lesson which he had paid for\nso dearly should be turned to our profit; and his bitter experience\ncalls to us with a loud voice. Think of the solid--the substantial!\"\n\nIn Peter Schlemihl, it is practically admitted by all literary critics,\nChamisso drew his own portrait, not only with regard to external\nappearance but also in a moral sense. He is supposed to have described\nhis own sufferings, the sufferings of a man who has lost his fatherland\nand nationality, and is an exile. Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man,\nat last finds consolation and reconciliation in wandering over the face\nof earth. Here again the author mirrors his own yearning in a moment\nwhen--in the tumult of war--he, a German Frenchman or a French German,\nfinds no proper place in countries limited by political boundaries. He\nstrove therefore to rise above the quarrels of the human race and to\nwander forth into the vast space of nature, or plunge into the depths\nof science! His dream soon became realised, when he found himself on\nboard the Rurik. It was in the early part of 1815 when Chamisso\ngladly accepted the invitation of Count Roumyanzov to accompany the\nlatter on a voyage round the world. The ships left Kronstadt in 1815,\nand returned in 1818, and although the discovery of a north-west\npassage--the object of the expedition--was not accomplished, yet\nextensive acquisitions were made in every department of scientific\nresearch.\n\nChamisso's share in the voyage is recorded in the third volume of the\naccount of it published at Weimar in 1821, and does honour to his spirit\nof careful observation and his accuracy. Like Darwin after him,\nChamisso has related his experiences interspersed with scientific\nobservations. He now again fixed his residence at Berlin, from which\nUniversity he received the degree of Doctor in Philosophy. An\nappointment at the Botanic Gardens allowed him full liberty to follow\nup his favourite pursuit of Natural History, and bound him by still\nstronger ties to his second fatherland. He soon married Antonie Piaste,\na relation of Hitzig. Chamisso then wrote an account of the principal\nplants of the north of Germany, with views respecting the vegetable\nkingdom, and science of Botany; this work appeared at Berlin in 1827.\nPoetry, however, had still some share of his attention; and he\ncontinued, during the latter years of his life, to maintain his claims\nto an honourable place among the poets of Germany. In 1829 he published\nhis famous work \"Salas y Gomez.\" Several of his ballads and romances\nrank with the most distinguished of modern times in this branch of\ncomposition. With regard to the story before us, the narrative of Peter\nSchlemihl, it is in any case very original. At once comic and tragic,\ngrotesque and terrible, it is full of gaiety and emotion, and the\nsupernatural, phantastic and absurd are skillfully mixed with natural\nand real elements. From the world which we inhabit the author leads us\ninto the realm of mystery--and yet, while we experience sensations of\nthe marvellous, we do not seem to leave the world of reality. And\nherein lies the difference between Peter Schlemihl and other tales of\nthe period. In Tieck and Arnim the fairy and real worlds are opposed\nand hostile to each other, in Fouqué's _Undine_ these elements are\nreconciled, but the events are laid in the middle-ages, when people\nbelieved in fairies. Chamisso, however, wields into one the\nsupernatural and the real and writes a fable in accordance with modern\ncivilization! Of course, Chamisso cannot be compared with Ariosto and\nThe Thousand and One Nights,--where we find logic even in the domain of\nthe impossible. Chamisso, it must further be pointed out, while\npossessing all the qualities of the Romanticists, is free from their\nobscurities. His nationally dual nature and his peculiar poetic gifts\nenabled him to give expression in poetry to the variegated\nmanifestations of science and of art. He contributed greatly to the\nunification of the national German and foreign elements, and was one of\nthe most useful and productive workers in the lovely garden of fairy\ntales. Surrounded by a circle of admiring friends, Chamisso continued\nhis literary work until his death in 1839.\n\n                                                   A. S. RAPPOPORT.\n\nBerck-Plage,\n      September, 1913.\n\nFOOTNOTE TO THE INTRODUCTION:\n\n[Footnote 1: From certain passages in Chamisso's works it appears,\nhowever, that he was born on January 31st.--Cf. Brun X., A. de\nChamisso's de Boncourt, Lyon, 1895, p. 4.]\n\n\n\n\n                       THE MARVELLOUS HISTORY OF\n                           THE SHADOWLESS MAN\n\n\n[Illustration: \"An extraordinary looking old man left me these papers,\nsaying he came from Berlin.\"]\n\n\n\n\n                         AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION\n\n\n            A LETTER FROM CHAMISSO TO JULIUS EDWARD HITZIG.\n\nYou, who forget nobody, must surely remember one Peter Schlemihl, whom\nyou used to meet occasionally at my house,--a long-legged youth, who\nwas considered stupid and lazy, on account of his awkward and careless\nair. I was sincerely attached to him. You cannot have forgotten him,\nEdward. He was, on one occasion, the hero of our rhymes, in the hey-day\nof our youthful spirits; and I recollect taking him one evening to a\npoetical tea-party, where he fell asleep while I was writing, without\neven waiting to hear my effusion: and this reminds me of a witticism of\nyours respecting him. You had already seen him, I know not where or\nwhen, in an old black frock-coat, which indeed, he constantly wore; and\nyou said, \"He would be a lucky fellow if his soul were half as immortal\nas his coat,\"--so little opinion had you of him. _I_ loved him,\nhowever: and to this very Schlemihl, of whom for many years I had\nwholly lost sight, I am indebted for the little volume which I\ncommunicate to you, Edward, my most intimate friend, my second self,\nfrom whom I have no secrets;--to you, and of course our Fouqué, I\ncommit them, who, like you, is intimately entwined about my dearest\naffections,--to him I communicate them only as a friend, but not as a\npoet; for you can easily imagine how unpleasant it would be if a secret\nconfided to me by an honest man, relying implicitly on my friendship\nand honour, were to be exposed to the public in a poem.\n\nOne word more as to the manner in which I obtained these sheets;\nyesterday morning early, as soon as I was up, they were brought to me.\nAn extraordinary-looking man, with a long grey beard, and wearing an\nold black frock-coat, with a botanical case hanging at his side and\nslippers over his boots, in the damp, rainy weather, had just been\ninquiring for me, and left me these papers, saying he came from Berlin.\n\n                                             ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.\n\n\n\n\n\n           The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I\n\n\nAfter a prosperous, but to me very wearisome, voyage, we came at last\ninto port. Immediately on landing, I got together my few effects; and,\nsqueezing myself through the crowd, went into the nearest and humblest\ninn which first met my gaze. On asking for a room, the waiter looked at\nme from head to foot, and conducted me to one. I asked for some cold\nwater, and for the correct address of Mr. Thomas John, which was\ndescribed as being \"by the north gate, the first country-house to the\nright, a large new house of red and white marble, with many pillars.\"\nThis was enough. As the day was not far advanced, I untied my bundle,\ntook out my newly-turned black coat, dressed myself in my best clothes,\nand, with my letter of recommendation, set out for the man who was to\nassist me in the attainment of my moderate wishes.\n\nAfter proceeding up North Street, I reached the gate, and saw the\nmarble columns glittering through the trees. Having wiped the dust from\nmy shoes with my pocket-handkerchief, and re-adjusted my cravat, I rang\nthe bell--offering up, at the same time, a silent prayer. The door flew\nopen; and the porter sent in my name. I had soon the honour to be\ninvited into the park, where Mr. John was walking with a few friends. I\nrecognised him at once by his corpulency and self-complacent air. He\nreceived me very well; just as a rich man receives a poor devil; and,\nturning to me, took my letter.\n\n\"Oh, from my brother! It is a long time since I heard from him, is he\nwell?--Yonder,\" he went on, turning to the company, and pointing to a\ndistant hill--\"Yonder is the site of the new building.\" He broke the\nseal without discontinuing the conversation, which turned upon riches.\n\"The man,\" he said, \"who does not possess at least a million is a poor\nwretch.\"\n\n\"O how true!\" I exclaimed, in the fulness of my heart.\n\nHe seemed pleased at this, and replied with a smile, \"Stop here, my\ndear friend; afterwards I shall, perhaps, have time to tell you what I\nthink of this,\" pointing to the letter, which he then put into his\npocket, and turned round to the company, offering his arm to a young\nlady. His example was followed by the other gentlemen, each politely\nescorting a lady; and the whole party proceeded towards a little hill\nthickly planted with blooming roses.\n\nI followed without troubling any one, for none took the least further\nnotice of me. The party were in high spirits--lounging about and\njesting--speaking sometimes of trifling matters very seriously, and of\nserious matters as triflingly--and exercising their wit in particular\nto great advantage on their absent friends and their affairs. I was too\nignorant of what they were talking about to understand much of it, and\ntoo anxious and absorbed in my own reflections to occupy myself with\nthe solution of such enigmas as their conversation presented.\n\nBy this time we had reached the thicket of roses. A beautiful girl, who\nseemed to be the queen of the day, was obstinately bent on plucking a\nrose-branch for herself, and, in the attempt, pricked her finger with a\nthorn. The crimson stream, as if flowing from the dark-tinted rose,\ntinged her fair hand with the purple current. This circumstance set the\nwhole company in commotion; and court-plaster was called for. A quiet,\nelderly man, tall, and meagre-looking, who was one of the company, but\nwhom I had not before observed, immediately put his hand into the tight\nbreast-pocket of his old-fashioned coat of grey sarsnet, pulled out a\nsmall letter-case, opened it, and, with a most respectful bow,\npresented the lady with the wished-for article. She received it without\nnoticing the giver, or thanking him. The wound was bound up; and the\nparty proceeded along the hill towards the back part, from which they\nenjoyed an extensive view across the green labyrinth of the park to the\nwide-spreading ocean.\n\nThe view was truly a magnificent one. A slight speck was observed on\nthe horizon, between the dark flood and the azure sky.\n\n\"A telescope!\" called out Mr. John. But before any of the servants\ncould answer the summons, the grey man, with a modest bow, drew his\nhand from his pocket, and presented a beautiful Dollond's telescope to\nMr. John, who, on looking through it, informed the company that the\nspeck in the distance was the ship which had sailed yesterday, and\nwhich was detained within sight of the haven by contrary winds.\n\nThe telescope passed from hand to hand, but was not returned to the\nowner, whom I gazed at with astonishment, for I could not conceive how\nso large an instrument could have proceeded from so small a pocket.\nThis, however, seemed to excite surprise in no one; and the grey man\nappeared to create as little interest as myself.\n\nRefreshments were now brought forward, consisting of the rarest fruits\nfrom all parts of the world, served up in the most costly dishes. Mr.\nJohn did the honours with unaffected grace, and addressed me for the\nsecond time, saying, \"You had better eat; you did not get such things\nat sea.\" I acknowledged his politeness with a bow, which, however, he\ndid not perceive, having turned round to speak with some one else.\n\nThe party would willingly have stopped some time here on the declivity\nof the hill, to enjoy the extensive prospect before them, had they not\nbeen apprehensive of the dampness of the grass.\n\n\"How delightful it would be,\" exclaimed some one, \"if we had a Turkey\ncarpet to lay down here!\"\n\nThe wish was scarcely expressed, when the man in the grey coat put his\nhand in his pocket, and, with a modest and even humble air, pulled out\na rich Turkey carpet, embroidered in gold. The servant received it as a\nmatter of course, and spread it out on the desired spot; and, without\nany ceremony, the company seated themselves on it. Confounded by what I\nsaw, I gazed again at the man, his pocket, and the carpet, which was\nmore than twenty feet in length and ten in breadth; and rubbed my eyes,\nnot knowing what to think, particularly as no one saw anything\nextraordinary in the matter.\n\nI would gladly have made some inquiries respecting the man, and asked\nwho he was, but knew not to whom I should address myself, for I felt\nalmost more afraid of the servants than of their master. At length I\ntook courage, and stepping up to a young man who seemed of less\nconsequence than the others, and who was more frequently standing by\nhimself, I begged of him, in a low tone, to tell me who was the\nobliging gentleman in the grey cloak.\n\n\"That man who looks like a piece of thread just escaped from a tailor's\nneedle?\"\n\n\"Yes; he who is standing alone yonder.\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" was the reply; and to avoid, as it seemed, any further\nconversation with me, he turned away, and spoke of some common-place\nmatters with a neighbour.\n\nThe sun's rays now becoming stronger, the ladies complained of feeling\noppressed by the heat; and the lovely Fanny, she who had pricked her\nfinger with the thorn, turning carelessly to the grey man, to whom I\nhad not yet observed that any one had addressed the most trifling\nquestion, asked him if, perhaps, he had not a tent about him. He\nreplied with a low bow, as if some unmerited honour had been conferred\nupon him; and, putting his hand in his pocket, drew from it canvass,\npoles, cord, irons--in short, every thing belonging to the most\nsplendid tent for a party of pleasure. The young gentlemen assisted in\npitching it; and it covered the whole carpet: but no one seemed to\nthink that there was anything extraordinary in it.\n\nI had long secretly felt uneasy--indeed, almost horrified; but how was\nthis feeling increased when, at the next wish expressed, I saw him take\nfrom his pocket three horses! Yes, three large beautiful steeds, with\nsaddles and bridles, out of the very pocket whence had already issued a\nletter-case, a telescope, a carpet twenty feet broad and ten in length,\nand a pavilion of the same extent, with all its appurtenances!\n\nThis man, although he appeared so humble and embarrassed in his air and\nmanners, and passed so unheeded, had inspired me with such a feeling of\nhorror by the unearthly paleness of his countenance, from which I could\nnot avert my eyes, that I was unable longer to endure it.\n\nI determined, therefore, to steal away from the company, which appeared\nno difficult matter, from the undistinguished part I acted in it. I\nresolved to return to the town, and pay another visit to Mr. John the\nfollowing morning, and, at the same time, make some inquiries of him\nrelative to the extraordinary man in grey, provided I could command\nsufficient courage. Would to Heaven that such good fortune had awaited\nme!\n\nI had stolen safely down the hill, through the thicket of roses, and\nnow found myself on an open plain; but fearing lest I should be met out\nof the proper path, crossing the grass, I cast an inquisitive glance\naround, and started as I beheld the man in the grey cloak advancing\ntowards me. He took off his hat, and made me a lower bow than mortal\nhad ever yet favoured me with. It was evident that he wished to address\nme; and I could not avoid encountering him without seeming rude. I\nreturned his salutation, therefore, and stood bareheaded in the\nsunshine, as if rooted to the ground. I gazed at him with the utmost\nhorror, and felt like a bird fascinated by a serpent.\n\nHe affected himself to have an air of embarrassment. With his eyes on\nthe ground, he bowed several times, drew nearer, and at last, without\nlooking up, addressed me in a low and hesitating voice, almost in the\ntone of a suppliant: \"Will you, sir, excuse my importunity in venturing\nto intrude upon you in so unusual a manner? I have a request to\nmake,--would you most graciously be pleased to allow me--?\"\n\n\"Hold! for Heaven's sake!\" I exclaimed; \"what can I do for a man\nwho\"--I stopped in some confusion, which he seemed to share.\n\nAfter a moment's pause, he resumed: \"During the short time I have\nhad the pleasure to be in your company, I have--permit me, sir, to\nsay--beheld with unspeakable admiration your most beautiful shadow, and\nremarked the air of noble indifference with which you, at the same\ntime, turn from the glorious picture at your feet, as if disdaining to\nvouchsafe a glance at it. Excuse the boldness of my proposal; but\nperhaps you would have no objection to sell me your shadow?\"\n\nHe stopped; while my head turned round like a millwheel. What was I to\nthink of so extraordinary a proposal? To sell my shadow!\n\n\"He must be mad,\" thought I; and assuming a tone more in character with\nthe submissiveness of his own, I replied, \"My good friend, are you not\ncontent with your own shadow? This would be a bargain of a strange\nnature indeed!\"\n\n\"I have in my pocket,\" he said, \"many things which may possess some\nvalue in your eyes: for that inestimable shadow, I should deem the\nhighest price too little.\"\n\nA cold shuddering came over me as I recollected the pocket; and I could\nnot conceive what had induced me to style him \"_good friend_,\" which I\ntook care not to repeat, endeavouring to make up for it by a studied\npoliteness.\n\nI now resumed the conversation:--\"But, sir--excuse your humble\nservant--I am at a loss to comprehend your meaning,--my shadow!--how\ncan I?\"\n\n\"Permit me,\" he exclaimed, interrupting me, \"to gather up the noble\nimage as it lies on the ground, and to take it into my possession. As\nto the manner of accomplishing it, leave that to me. In return, and as\nan evidence of my gratitude, I shall leave you to choose among all the\ntreasures I have in my pocket, among which are a variety of enchanting\narticles, not exactly adapted for you, who, I am sure, would like\nbetter to have the wishing-cap of Fortunatus, all made new and sound\nagain, and a lucky purse, which also belonged to him.\"\n\n\"Fortunatus's purse!\" cried I; and, great as was my mental anguish,\nwith that one word he had penetrated the deepest recesses of my soul. A\nfeeling of giddiness came over me, and double ducats glittered before\nmy eyes.\n\n\"Be pleased, gracious sir, to examine this purse, and make a trial of\nits contents.\"\n\nHe put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth a large strongly stitched\nbag of stout Cordovan leather, with a couple of strings to match, and\npresented it to me. I seized it--took out ten gold pieces, then ten\nmore, and this I repeated again and again. Instantly I held out my hand\nto him.\n\n\"Done,\" said I; \"the bargain is made: my shadow for the purse.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" he answered; and, immediately kneeling down, I beheld him,\nwith extraordinary dexterity, gently loosen my shadow from the grass,\nlift it up, fold it together, and, at last, put it in his pocket. He\nthen rose, bowed once more to me, and directed his steps towards the\nrose-bushes. I fancied I heard him quietly laughing to himself.\nHowever, I held the purse fast by the two strings. The earth was\nbasking beneath the brightness of the sun; but I presently lost all\nconsciousness.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nOn recovering my senses, I hastened to quit a place where I hoped there\nwas nothing further to detain me. I first filled my pockets with gold,\nthen fastened the strings of the purse round my neck, and concealed it\nin my bosom. I passed unnoticed out of the park, gained the high road,\nand took the way to the town.\n\nAs I was thoughtfully approaching the gate, I heard some one behind me\nexclaiming, \"Young man! young man! you have lost your shadow!\" I\nturned, and perceived an old woman calling after me. \"Thank you,\nmy good woman,\" said I; and throwing her a piece of gold for her\nwell-intended information, I stepped under the trees.\n\nAt the gate, again, it was my fate to hear the sentry inquiring where\nthe gentleman had left his shadow; and immediately I heard a couple of\nwomen exclaiming, \"Jesu Maria! the poor man has no shadow!\" All this\nbegan to depress me, and I carefully avoided walking in the sun; but\nthis could not everywhere be the case: for in the next broad street I\nhad to cross, and, unfortunately for me, at the very hour in which the\nboys were coming out of school, a humpbacked lout of a fellow,--I see\nhim yet,--soon made the discovery that I was without a shadow, and\ncommunicated the news, with loud outcries, to a knot of young urchins.\nThe whole swarm proceeded immediately to reconnoitre me, and to pelt me\nwith mud. \"People,\" cried they, \"are generally accustomed to take their\nshadows with them when they walk in the sunshine.\"\n\nIn order to drive them away, I threw gold by handfuls among them, and\nsprang into a hackney-coach which happened to be passing.\n\nAs soon as I found myself alone in the rolling vehicle, I began to weep\nbitterly. I had by this time a misgiving that, in the same degree in\nwhich gold in this world prevails over merit and virtue, by so much\none's shadow excels gold; and now that I had sacrificed my conscience\nfor riches, and given my shadow in exchange for mere gold, what on\nearth would become of me?\n\nAs the coach stopped at the door of my late inn, I felt much perplexed,\nand not at all disposed to enter so wretched an abode. I called for my\nthings, and received them with an air of contempt, threw down a few\ngold pieces, and desired to be conducted to a first-rate hotel. This\nhouse had a  northern aspect, so that I had nothing to fear from the\nsun. I dismissed the coachman with gold; asked to be conducted to the\nbest apartment, and locked myself up in it as soon as possible.\n\nImagine, my friend, what I then set about? O my dear Chamisso! even to\nthee I blush to mention what follows.\n\n[Illustration: I drew the ill-fated purse from my bosom and took\ngold--gold--gold, more and more.]\n\nI drew the ill-fated purse from my bosom; and, in a sort of frenzy that\nraged like a self-fed fire within me, I took out gold--gold--gold--more\nand more, till I strewed it on the floor, trampled upon it, and\nfeasting on its very sound and brilliancy, added coins to coins,\nrolling and revelling on the gorgeous bed, until I sank exhausted.\n\nThus passed away that day and evening; and as my door remained locked,\nnight found me still lying on the gold, where, at last, sleep\noverpowered me.\n\nThen I dreamed of thee, and fancied I stood behind the glass door of\nthy little room, and saw thee seated at thy table between a skeleton\nand a bunch of dried plants; before thee lay open the works of Haller,\nHumboldt, and Linnæus; on thy sofa a volume of Goethe, and the\nEnchanted Ring. I stood a long time contemplating thee, and every thing\nin thy apartment; and again turning my gaze upon thee, I perceived that\nthou wast motionless--thou didst not breathe--thou wast dead.\n\nI awoke--it seemed yet early--my watch had stopped. I felt thirsty,\nfaint, and worn out; for since the preceding morning I had not tasted\nfood. I now cast from me, with loathing and disgust, the very gold with\nwhich but a short time before I had satiated my foolish heart. Now I\nknew not where to put it--I dared not leave it lying there. I examined\nmy purse to see if it would hold it,--impossible! Neither of my windows\nopened on the sea. I had no other resource but, with toil and great\nfatigue, to drag it to a huge chest which stood in a closet in my room;\nwhere I placed it all, with the exception of a handful or two. Then I\nthrew myself, exhausted, into an arm-chair, till the people of the\nhouse should be up and stirring. As soon as possible, I sent for some\nrefreshment, and desired to see the landlord.\n\nI entered into some conversation with this man respecting the\narrangement of my future establishment. He recommended for my personal\nattendant one Bendel, whose honest and intelligent countenance\nimmediately prepossessed me in his favour. It is this individual whose\npersevering attachment has consoled me in all the miseries of my life,\nand enabled me to bear up under my wretched lot. I was occupied the\nwhole day in my room with servants in want of a situation, and\ntradesmen of every description. I decided on my future plans, and\npurchased various articles of vertue and splendid jewels, in order to\nget rid of some of my gold; but nothing seemed to diminish the\ninexhaustible heap.\n\n[Illustration: And trembling like a criminal, stole out of the house.]\n\nI now reflected on my situation with the utmost uneasiness. I dared not\ntake a single step beyond my own door; and in the evening I had forty\nwax-tapers lighted before I ventured to leave the shade. I reflected\nwith horror on the frightful encounter with the school-boys; yet I\nresolved, if I could command sufficient courage, to put the public\nopinion to a second trial. The nights were now moonlight. Late in the\nevening I wrapped myself in a large cloak, pulled my hat over my eyes,\nand, trembling like a criminal, stole out of the house.\n\nI did not venture to leave the friendly shadow of the houses until I\nhad reached a distant part of the town: and then I emerged into the\nbroad moonlight, fully prepared to hear my fate from the lips of the\npassers-by.\n\nSpare me, my beloved friend, the painful recital of all that I was\ndoomed to endure. The women often expressed the deepest sympathy for\nme--a sympathy not less piercing to my soul than the scoffs of the\nyoung people, and the proud contempt of the men, particularly of the\nmore corpulent, who threw an ample shadow before them. A fair and\nbeauteous maiden, apparently accompanied by her parents, who gravely\nkept looking straight before them, chanced to cast a beaming glance at\nme; but was evidently startled at perceiving that I was without a\nshadow, and hiding her lovely face in her veil, and holding down her\nhead, passed silently on.\n\nThis was past all endurance. Tears streamed from my eyes; and with a\nheart pierced through and through, I once more took refuge in the\nshade. I leant on the houses for support, and reached home at a late\nhour, worn out with fatigue.\n\nI passed a sleepless night. My first care the following morning was, to\ndevise some means of discovering the man in the grey cloak. Perhaps I\nmay succeed in finding him; and how fortunate it were if he should be\nas ill satisfied with his bargain as I am with mine!\n\nI desired Bendel to be sent for, who seemed to possess some tact and\nability. I minutely described to him the individual who possessed a\ntreasure without which life itself was rendered a burden to me. I\nmentioned the time and place at which I had seen him, named all\nthe persons who were present, and concluded with the following\ndirections:--he was to inquire for a Dollond's telescope, a Turkey\ncarpet interwoven with gold, a marquee, and, finally, for some black\nsteeds,--the history, without entering into particulars, of all these\nbeing singularly connected with the mysterious character who seemed to\npass unnoticed by every one, but whose appearance had destroyed the\npeace and happiness of my life.\n\nAs I spoke, I produced as much gold as I could hold in my two hands,\nand added jewels and precious stones of still greater value. \"Bendel,\"\nsaid I, \"this smooths many a path, and renders that easy which seems\nalmost impossible. Be not sparing of it, for I am not so; but go, and\nrejoice thy master with intelligence on which depends all his hopes.\"\n\nHe departed, and returned late and melancholy. None of Mr. John's\nservants, none of his guests (and Bendel had spoken to them all) had\nthe slightest recollection of the man in the grey cloak. The new\ntelescope was still there, but no one knew how it had come; and the\ntent and Turkey carpet were still stretched out on the hill. The\nservants boasted of their master's wealth; but no one seemed to know by\nwhat means he had become possessed of these newly acquired luxuries. He\nwas gratified; and it gave him no concern to be ignorant how they had\ncome to him. The black coursers which had been mounted on that day were\nin the stables of the young gentlemen of the party, who admired them as\nthe munificent present of Mr. John.\n\nSuch was the information I gained from Bendel's detailed account; but,\nin spite of this unsatisfactory result, his zeal and prudence deserved\nand received my commendation. In a gloomy mood, I made him a sign to\nwithdraw.\n\n\"I have, sir,\" he continued, \"laid before you all the information in my\npower relative to the subject of the most importance to you. I have now\na message to deliver which I received early this morning from a person\nat the gate, as I was proceeding to execute the commission in which I\nhave so unfortunately failed. The man's words were precisely these:\n'Tell your master, Peter Schlemihl, he will not see me here again. I am\ngoing to cross the sea; a favourable wind now calls all the passengers\non board; but, in a year and a day, I shall have the honour of paying\nhim a visit; when, in all probability, I shall have a proposal to make\nto him of a very agreeable nature. Commend me to him most respectfully,\nwith many thanks.' I inquired his name; but he said you would remember\nhim.\"\n\n\"What sort of person was he?\" cried I, in great emotion; and Bendel\ndescribed the man in the grey coat, feature by feature, word for word;\nin short, the very individual in search of whom he had been sent.\n\n\"How unfortunate!\" cried I, bitterly; \"it was himself.\"\n\nScales, as it were, fell from Bendel's eyes.\n\n\"Yes, it was he,\" cried he, \"undoubtedly it was he; and fool, madman,\nthat I was, I did not recognise him--I did not, and have betrayed my\nmaster!\"\n\nHe then broke out into a torrent of self-reproach; and his distress\nreally excited my compassion. I endeavoured to console him, repeatedly\nassuring him that I entertained no doubt of his fidelity; and\ndespatched him immediately to the wharf, to discover, if possible, some\ntrace of the extraordinary being. But on that very morning many\nvessels, which had been detained in port by contrary winds, had set\nsail, all bound to different parts of the globe; and the grey man had\ndisappeared with my shadow.\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER II\n\n\nOf what use were wings to a man fast bound in chains of iron? They\nwould but increase the horror of his despair. Like the dragon guarding\nhis treasure, I remained cut off from all human intercourse, and\nstarving amidst my very gold, for it gave me no pleasure: I\nanathematised it as the source of all my wretchedness.\n\nSole depository of my fearful secret, I trembled before the meanest of\nmy attendants, whom, at the same time, I envied; for he possessed a\nshadow, and could venture to go out in the daytime; while I shut myself\nup in my room day and night, and indulged in all the bitterness of\ngrief.\n\nOne individual, however, was daily pining away before my eyes--my\nfaithful Bendel, who was the victim of silent self-reproach, tormenting\nhimself with the idea that he had betrayed the confidence reposed in\nhim by a good master, in failing to recognise the individual in quest\nof whom he had been sent, and with whom he had been led to believe that\nmy melancholy fate was closely connected. Still, I had nothing to\naccuse him with, as I recognised in the occurrence the mysterious\ncharacter of the unknown.\n\nIn order to leave no means untried, I one day despatched Bendel with a\ncostly ring to the most celebrated artist in the town, desiring him to\nwait upon me. He came; and dismissing the attendants, I secured the\ndoor, placing myself opposite to him, and, after extolling his art,\nwith a heavy heart came to the point, first enjoining the strictest\nsecrecy.\n\n\"For a person,\" said I, \"who most unfortunately has lost his shadow,\ncould you paint a false one?\"\n\n\"Do you speak of the natural shadow?\"\n\n\"Precisely so.\"\n\n\"But,\" he asked, \"by what awkward negligence can a man have lost his\nshadow?\"\n\n\"How it occurred,\" I answered, \"is of no consequence; but it was in\nthis manner\"--(and here I uttered an unblushing falsehood)--\"he was\ntravelling in Russia last winter, and one bitterly cold day it froze so\nintensely, that his shadow remained so fixed to the ground, that it was\nfound impossible to remove it.\"\n\n\"The false shadow that I might paint,\" said the artist, \"would be\nliable to be lost on the slightest movement, particularly in a person\nwho, from your account, cares so little about his shadow. A person\nwithout a shadow should keep out of the sun, that is the only safe and\nrational plan.\"\n\nHe rose and took his leave, casting so penetrating a look at me, that I\nshrank from it. I sank back in my chair, and hid my face in my hands.\n\nIn this attitude Bendel found me, and was about to withdraw silently\nand respectfully on seeing me in such a state of grief: looking up,\noverwhelmed with my sorrows, I felt that I must communicate them to\nhim.\n\n\"Bendel,\" I exclaimed, \"Bendel, thou the only being who seest and\nrespectest my grief too much to inquire into its cause--thou who\nseemest silently and sincerely to sympathise with me--come and share my\nconfidence. The extent of my wealth I have not withheld from thee,\nneither will I conceal from thee the extent of my grief. Bendel!\nforsake me not. Bendel, you see me rich, free, beneficent; you fancy\nall the world in my power; yet you must have observed that I shun it,\nand avoid all human intercourse. You think Bendel, that the world and I\nare at variance; and you yourself, perhaps, will abandon me, when I\nacquaint you with this fearful secret. Bendel, I am rich, free,\ngenerous; but, O God, I have _no shadow_!\"\n\n\"No shadow!\" exclaimed the faithful young man, tears starting from his\neyes. \"Alas! that I am born to serve a master without a shadow!\" He was\nsilent, and again I hid my face in my hands.\n\n\"Bendel,\" at last I tremblingly resumed, \"you have now my confidence;\nyou may betray me--go--bear witness against me.\"\n\nHe seemed to be agitated with conflicting feelings; at last he threw\nhimself at my feet and seized my hand, which he bathed with his tears.\n\"No,\" he exclaimed; \"whatever the world may say, I neither can nor will\nforsake my excellent master because he has lost his shadow. I will\nrather do what is right than what may seem prudent. I will remain with\nyou--I will shade you with my own shadow--I will assist you when I\ncan--and when I cannot, I will weep with you.\"\n\nI fell upon his neck, astonished at sentiments so unusual; for it was\nvery evident that he was not prompted by the love of money.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nMy mode of life and my fate now became somewhat different. It is\nincredible with what provident foresight Bendel contrived to conceal my\ndeficiency. Everywhere he was before me, and with me, providing against\nevery contingency, and in cases of unlooked-for danger, flying to\nshield me with his own shadow, for he was taller and stouter than\nmyself. Thus I once more ventured among mankind, and began to take a\npart in worldly affairs. I was compelled, indeed, to affect certain\npeculiarities and whims; but in a rich man they seem only appropriate;\nand so long as the truth was kept concealed, I enjoyed all the honour\nand respect which gold could procure.\n\nI now looked forward with more composure to the promised visit of the\nmysterious unknown at the expiration of the year and a day.\n\nI was very sensible that I could not venture to remain long in a place\nwhere I had once been seen without a shadow, and where I might easily\nbe betrayed; and perhaps, too, I recollected my first introduction to\nMr. John, and this was by no means a pleasing reminiscence. However, I\nwished just to make a trial here, that I might with greater ease and\nsecurity visit some other place. But my vanity for some time withheld\nme, for it is in this quality of our race that the anchor takes the\nfirmest hold.\n\nEven the lovely Fanny, whom I again met in several places, without her\nseeming to recollect that she had ever seen me before, bestowed some\nnotice on me; for wit and understanding were mine in abundance now.\nWhen I spoke, I was listened to; and I was at a loss to know how I had\nso easily acquired the art of commanding attention, and giving the tone\nto the conversation.\n\nThe impression which I perceived I had made upon this fair one\ncompletely turned my brain; and this was just what she wished. After\nthat, I pursued her with infinite pains through every obstacle. My\nvanity was only intent on exciting hers to make a conquest of me; but\nalthough the intoxication disturbed my head, it failed to make the\nleast impression on my heart.\n\nBut why detail to you the oft-repeated story which I have so often\nheard from yourself?\n\nHowever, in the old and well-known drama in which I played so worn-out\na part, a catastrophe occurred of quite a peculiar nature, in a manner\nequally unexpected to her, to me, and to everybody.\n\n[Illustration: \"I suffered her to fall from my arm in a fainting fit.\"]\n\nOne beautiful evening I had, according to my usual custom, assembled a\nparty in a garden, and was walking arm in arm with Fanny at a little\ndistance from the rest of the company, and pouring into her ear the\nusual well-turned phrases, while she was demurely gazing on vacancy,\nand now and then gently returning the pressure of my hand. The moon\nsuddenly emerged from behind a cloud at our back. Fanny perceived only\nher own shadow before us. She started, looked at me with terror, and\nthen again on the ground, in search of my shadow. All that was passing\nin her mind was so strangely depicted in her countenance, that I should\nhave burst into a loud fit of laughter, had I not suddenly felt my\nblood run cold within me. I suffered her to fall from my arm in a\nfainting-fit; shot with the rapidity of an arrow through the astonished\nguests, reached the gate, threw myself into the first conveyance I met\nwith, and returned to the town, where this time, unfortunately, I had\nleft the wary Bendel.\n\nHe was alarmed on seeing me: one word explained all. Post-horses were\nimmediately procured. I took with me none of my servants, one cunning\nknave only excepted, called Rascal, who had by his adroitness become\nvery serviceable to me, and who at present knew nothing of what had\noccurred. I travelled thirty leagues that night; having left Bendel\nbehind to discharge my servants, pay my debts, and bring me all that\nwas necessary.\n\nWhen he came up with me next day, I threw myself into his arms, vowing\nto avoid such follies and to be more careful for the future.\n\nWe pursued our journey uninterruptedly over the frontiers and\nmountains; and it was not until I had placed this lofty barrier\nbetween myself and the before-mentioned unlucky town, that I was\npersuaded to recruit myself, after my fatigues, in a neighbouring and\nlittle-frequented watering-place.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nI must now pass rapidly over one period of my history, on which how\ngladly would I dwell, could I conjure up your lively powers of\ndelineation! But the vivid hues which are at your command, and which\nalone can give life and animation to the picture, have left no trace\nwithin me; and were I now to endeavour to recall the joys, the griefs,\nthe pure and enchanting emotions, which once held such powerful\ndominion in my breast, it would be like striking a rock which yields no\nlonger the living spring, and whose spirit is fled for ever. With what\nan altered aspect do those bygone days now present themselves to my\ngaze!\n\nIn this watering-place I acted an heroic character, badly studied; and\nbeing a novice on such a stage, I forgot my part before a pair of\nlovely blue eyes.\n\nAll possible means were used by the infatuated parents to conclude the\nbargain; and deception put an end to these usual artifices. And that is\nall--all.\n\nThe powerful emotions which once swelled my bosom seem now in the\nretrospect to be poor and insipid, nay, even terrible to me.\n\nAlas, Minna! as I wept for thee the day I lost thee, so do I now weep\nthat I can no longer retrace thine image in my soul.\n\nAm I, then, so far advanced into the vale of years? O fatal effects of\nmaturity! would that I could feel one throb, one emotion of former days\nof enchantment--alas, not one! a solitary being, tossed on the wild\nocean of life--it is long since I drained thine enchanted cup to the\ndregs!\n\nBut to return to my narrative. I had sent Bendel to the little town\nwith plenty of money to procure me a suitable habitation. He spent my\ngold profusely; and as he expressed himself rather reservedly\nconcerning his distinguished master (for I did not wish to be named),\nthe good people began to form rather extraordinary conjectures.\n\nAs soon as my house was ready for my reception, Bendel returned to\nconduct me to it. We set out on our journey. About a league from the\ntown, on a sunny plain, we were stopped by a crowd of people, arrayed\nin holiday attire for some festival. The carriage stopped. Music,\nbells, cannons, were heard; and loud acclamations rang through the air.\n\n[Illustration: She blushingly knelt before me, presenting on a silken\ncushion, a wreath.]\n\nBefore the carriage now appeared in white dresses a chorus of maidens,\nall of extraordinary beauty; but one of them shone in resplendent\nloveliness, and eclipsed the rest as the sun eclipses the stars of\nnight. She advanced from the midst of her companions, and with a lofty\nyet winning air, blushingly knelt before me, presenting on a silken\ncushion a wreath, composed of laurel-branches, the olive, and the rose,\nsaying something respecting majesty, love, honour, &c., which I could\nnot comprehend; but the sweet and silvery magic of her tones\nintoxicated my senses and my whole soul: it seemed as if some heavenly\napparition were hovering over me. The chorus now began to sing the\npraises of a good sovereign, and the happiness of his subjects. All\nthis, dear Chamisso, took place in the sun: she was kneeling two steps\nfrom me, and I, without a shadow, could not dart through the air, nor\nfall on my knees before the angelic being. O, what would I not now have\ngiven for a shadow! To conceal my shame, agony, and despair, I buried\nmyself in the recesses of the carriage. Bendel at last thought of an\nexpedient; he jumped out of the carriage. I called him back, and gave\nhim out of the casket I had by me a rich diamond coronet which had been\nintended for the lovely Fanny.\n\nHe stepped forward, and spoke in the name of his master, who, he said,\nwas overwhelmed by so many demonstrations of respect, which he really\ncould not accept as an honour--there must be some error; nevertheless\nhe begged to express his thanks for the good-will of the worthy\ntownspeople. In the meantime Bendel had taken the wreath from the\ncushion, and laid the brilliant crown in its place. He then\nrespectfully raised the lovely girl from the ground; and at one sign,\nthe clergy, magistrates, and all the deputations withdrew. The crowd\nseparated, to allow the horses to pass; and we pursued our way to the\ntown at full gallop, through arches ornamented with flowers and\nbranches of laurel. Salvos of artillery again were heard. The carriage\nstopped at my gate; I hastened through the crowd which curiosity had\nattracted to witness my arrival. Enthusiastic shouts resounded under my\nwindows, from whence I showered gold amidst the people; and in the\nevening the whole town was illuminated. Still all remained a mystery to\nme, and I could not imagine for whom I had been taken. I sent Rascal\nout to make inquiry; and he soon obtained intelligence that the good\nKing of Prussia was travelling through the country under the name of\nsome count; that my _aide-de-camp_ had been recognised, and that he had\ndivulged the secret; that on acquiring the certainty that I would enter\ntheir town, their joy had known no bounds: however, as they perceived I\nwas determined on preserving the strictest incognito, they felt how\nwrong they had been in too importunately seeking to withdraw the veil.\nBut I had received them so condescendingly and so graciously, that they\nwere sure I would forgive them. The whole affair was such capital\namusement to the unprincipled Rascal, that he did his best to confirm\nthe good people in their belief, while affecting to reprove them. He\ngave me a very comical account of the matter; and seeing that I was\namused by it, actually endeavoured to make a merit of his impudence.\n\nShall I own the truth? My vanity was flattered by having been mistaken\nfor our revered sovereign. I ordered a banquet to be got ready for the\nfollowing evening, under the trees before my house, and invited the\nwhole town. The mysterious power of my purse, Bendel's exertions, and\nRascal's ready invention, made the shortness of the time seem as\nnothing.\n\nIt was really astonishing how magnificently and beautifully everything\nwas arranged in these few hours. Splendour and abundance vied with each\nother, and the lights were so carefully arranged that I felt quite\nsafe: the zeal of my servants met every exigency, and merited all\npraise.\n\nEvening drew on, the guests arrived, and were presented to me. The word\n_majesty_ was now dropped; but, with the deepest respect and humility,\nI was addressed as the _count_. What could I do? I accepted the title;\nand from that moment I was known as Count Peter. In the midst of all\nthis festivity my soul pined for one individual. She came late--she who\nwas the empress of the scene, and wore the emblem of sovereignty on her\nbrow.\n\nShe modestly accompanied her parents, and seemed unconscious of her\ntranscendent beauty.\n\nThe Ranger of the Forests, his wife, and daughter, were presented to\nme. I was at no loss to make myself agreeable to the parents; but\nbefore the daughter I stood like a well-scolded school-boy, incapable\nof speaking a single word.\n\nAt length I hesitatingly entreated her to honour my banquet by\npresiding at it--an office for which her rare endowments pointed her\nout as admirably fitted. With a blush and an expressive glance she\nentreated to be excused; but in still greater confusion than herself, I\nrespectfully begged her to accept the homage of the first and most\ndevoted of her subjects; and one glance of the count was the same as a\ncommand to the guests, who all vied with each other in acting up to the\nspirit of the noble host.\n\nIn her person, majesty, innocence, and grace, in union with beauty,\npresided over this joyous banquet. Minna's happy parents were elated by\nthe honours conferred upon their child. As for me, I abandoned myself\nto all the intoxication of delight: I sent for all the jewels, pearls,\nand precious stones still left to me--the produce of my fatal wealth;\nand filling two vases, I placed them on the table in the name of the\nQueen of the banquet, to be divided among her companions and the\nremainder of the ladies.\n\nI ordered gold in the meantime to be showered down without ceasing\namong the happy multitude.\n\nNext morning Bendel told me in confidence that the suspicions he had\nlong entertained of Rascal's honesty were now reduced to a certainty:\nhe had yesterday embezzled many bags of gold.\n\n\"Never mind,\" said I; \"let him enjoy his paltry booty. _I_ like to\nspend it--why should not he? Yesterday he, and all the newly-engaged\nservants whom you had hired, served me honourably, and cheerfully\nassisted me to enjoy the banquet.\"\n\nNo more was said on the subject. Rascal remained at the head of my\ndomestics. Bendel was my friend and confidant; he had by this time\nbecome accustomed to look upon my wealth as inexhaustible, without\nseeking to inquire into its source. He entered into all my schemes, and\neffectually assisted me in devising methods of spending my money.\n\nOf the pale, sneaking scoundrel--the unknown--Bendel only knew thus\nmuch, that he alone had power to release me from the curse which\nweighed so heavily on me, and yet that I stood in awe of him on whom\nall my hopes rested. Besides, I felt convinced that he had the means of\ndiscovering me under any circumstances, while he himself remained\nconcealed; I therefore abandoned my fruitless inquiries, and patiently\nawaited the appointed day.\n\nThe magnificence of my banquet, and my deportment on the occasion, had\nbut strengthened the credulous towns-people in their previous belief.\n\nIt appeared, soon after, from accounts in the newspapers, that the\nwhole history of the King of Prussia's fictitious journey originated in\nmere idle report. But a king I was, and a king I must remain, by all\nmeans; and one of the richest and most royal, although people were at a\nloss to know where my territories lay.\n\nThe world has never had reason to lament the scarcity of monarchs,\nparticularly in these days; and the good people, who had never yet seen\na king, now fancied me to be first one, and then another, with equal\nsuccess; and in the meanwhile I remained as before. Count Peter.\n\nAmong the visitors at this watering-place, a merchant made his\nappearance, one who had become a bankrupt in order to enrich himself.\nHe enjoyed the general good opinion; for he projected a shadow of\nrespectable size, though of somewhat faint hue.\n\nThis man wished to shew off in this place by means of his wealth, and\nsought to rival me. My purse soon enabled me to leave the poor devil\nfar behind. To save his credit, he became bankrupt again, and fled\nbeyond the mountains; and thus I was rid of him. Many a one in this\nplace was reduced to beggary and ruin through my means.\n\nIn the midst of the really princely magnificence and profusion which\ncarried all before me, my own style of living was very simple and\nretired. I had made it a point to observe the strictest precaution;\nand, with the exception of Bendel, no one was permitted, on any\npretence whatever, to enter my private apartment. As long as the sun\nshone, I remained shut up with him; and the Count was then said to be\ndeeply occupied in his closet. The numerous couriers, whom I kept in\nconstant attendance about matters of no importance, were supposed to be\nthe bearers of my despatches. I only received company in the evening\nunder the trees of my garden, or in my saloons, after Bendel's\nassurance of their being carefully and brilliantly lit up.\n\nMy walks, in which the Argus-eyed Bendel was constantly on the watch\nfor me, extended only to the garden of the forest-ranger, to enjoy the\nsociety of one who was dear to me as my own existence.\n\nOh, my Chamisso! I trust thou hast not forgotten what love is! I must\nhere leave much to thine imagination. Minna was in truth an amiable and\nexcellent maiden: her whole soul was wrapped up in me, and in her lowly\nthoughts of herself, she could not imagine how she had deserved a\nsingle thought from me. She returned love for love with all the full\nand youthful fervour of an innocent heart; her love was a true woman's\nlove, with all the devotion and total absence of selfishness which is\nfound only in woman;--she lived but in me, her whole soul being bound\nup in mine, regardless what her own fate might be.\n\nYet I, alas, during those hours of wretchedness--hours I would even\nnow gladly recall--how often have I wept on Bendel's bosom, when after\nthe first mad whirlwind of passion I reflected, with the keenest\nself-upbraidings, that I, a shadowless man, had, with cruel\nselfishness, practised a wicked deception, and stolen away the pure and\nangelic heart of the innocent Minna!\n\nAt one moment I resolved to confess all to her; then that I would fly\nfor ever; then I broke out into a flood of bitter tears, and consulted\nBendel as to the means of meeting her again in the forester's garden.\n\nAt times I flattered myself with great hopes from the near approaching\nvisit of the unknown; then wept again, because I saw clearly on\nreflection that they would end in disappointment. I had made a\ncalculation of the day fixed on by the fearful being for our interview;\nfor he had said in a year and a day, and I depended on his word.\n\nThe parents were worthy old people, devoted to their only child; and\nour mutual affection was a circumstance so overwhelming, that they knew\nnot how to act. They had never dreamed for a moment that the _Count_\ncould bestow a thought on their daughter; but such was the case--he\nloved and was beloved. The pride of the mother might not have led her\nto consider such an alliance quite impossible, but so extravagant an\nidea had never entered the contemplation of the sounder judgment of the\nold man. Both were satisfied of the sincerity of my love, and could but\nput up prayers to Heaven for the happiness of their child.\n\nA letter which I received from Minna about that time has just fallen\ninto my hands. Yes, these are the characters traced by her own hand. I\nwill transcribe the letter:--\n\n\"I am indeed a weak, foolish girl to fancy that the friend I so\ntenderly love could give an instant's pain to his poor Minna! Oh no!\nthou art so good, so inexpressibly good! But do not misunderstand me. I\nwill accept no sacrifice at thy hands--none whatever. Oh heavens! I\nshould hate myself! No; thou hast made me happy--thou hast taught me to\nlove thee.\n\n\"Go, then--let me not forget my destiny--Count Peter belongs not to me,\nbut to the whole world; and oh! what pride for thy Minna to hear thy\ndeeds proclaimed, and blessings invoked on thy idolised head! Ah, when\nI think of this, I could chide thee that thou shouldst for one instant\nforget thy high destiny for the sake of a simple maiden! Go, then;\notherwise the reflection will pierce me. How blest I have been rendered\nby thy love! Perhaps, also, I have planted some flowers in the path of\nthy life, as I twined them in the wreath which I presented to thee!\n\n\"Go, then--fear not to leave me--you are too deeply seated in my\nheart--I shall die inexpressibly happy in thy love.\"\n\nConceive how these words pierced my soul, Chamisso!\n\nI declared to her that I was not what I seemed--that although a rich, I\nwas an unspeakably miserable man--that a curse was on me, which must\nremain a secret, although the only one between us--yet that I was not\nwithout a hope of its being removed--that this poisoned every hour of\nmy life--that I should plunge her with me into the abyss--she, the\nlight and joy, the very soul of my existence. Then she wept, because I\nwas unhappy. Oh! Minna was all love and tenderness. To save me one tear\nshe would gladly have sacrificed her life. Yet she was far from\ncomprehending the full meaning of my words. She still looked upon me as\nsome proscribed prince or illustrious exile; and her vivid imagination\nhad invested her lover with every lofty attribute.\n\nOne day I said to her, \"Minna, the last day in next month will decide\nmy fate, and perhaps change it for the better; if not, I would sooner\ndie than render you miserable.\"\n\nShe laid her head on my shoulder, to conceal her tears. \"Should thy\nfate be changed,\" she said, \"I only wish to know that thou art happy;\nif thy condition is an unhappy one, I will share it with thee, and\nassist thee to support it.\"\n\n\"Minna, Minna!\" I exclaimed, \"recall those rash words--those mad\nwords which have escaped thy lips! Didst thou know the misery and\ncurse--didst thou know who--what--thy lover----Seest thou not, my\nMinna, this convulsive shuddering, which thrills my whole frame, and\nthat there is a secret in my breast which you cannot penetrate?\" She\nsank sobbing at my feet, and renewed her vows and entreaties.\n\nHer father now entered, and I declared to him my intention to solicit\nthe hand of his daughter on the first day of the month after the\nensuing one. I fixed that time, I told him, because circumstances might\nprobably occur in the interval materially to influence my future\ndestiny; but my love for his daughter was unchangeable.\n\nThe good old man started at hearing such words from the mouth of Count\nPeter. He fell upon my neck, and rose again in the utmost confusion for\nhaving forgotten himself. Then he began to doubt, to ponder, and to\nscrutinise; and spoke of dowry, security, and future provision for his\nbeloved child. I thanked him for having reminded me of all this, and\ntold him it was my wish to remain in a country where I seemed to be\nbeloved, and to lead a life free from anxiety. I then commissioned him\nto purchase the finest estate in the neighbourhood in the name of his\ndaughter,--for a father was the best person to act for his daughter in\nsuch a case,--and to refer for payment to me. This occasioned him a\ngood deal of trouble, as a stranger had everywhere anticipated him; but\nat last he made a purchase for about 150,000_l_.\n\nI confess this was but an innocent artifice to get rid of him, as I had\nfrequently done before; for it must be confessed that he was somewhat\ntedious. The good mother was rather deaf, and not jealous, like her\nhusband, of the honour of conversing with the count.\n\nThe happy party pressed me to remain with them longer this evening. I\ndared not--I had not a moment to lose. I saw the rising moon streaking\nthe horizon--my hour was come.\n\n\n[Illustration: Next Evening, I went to the foresters ... She raised her\nhead and looked at me and started involuntarily.]\n\nNext evening I went again to the forester's garden. I had wrapped\nmyself closely up in my cloak, slouched my hat over my eyes, and\nadvanced towards Minna. As she raised her head and looked at me, she\nstarted involuntarily. The apparition of that dreadful night in\nwhich I had been seen without a shadow was now standing distinctly\nbefore me--it was she herself. Had she recognised me? She was silent\nand thoughtful. I felt an oppressive load at my heart. I rose from my\nseat. She laid her head on my shoulder, still silent, and in tears. I\nwent away.\n\nI now found her frequently weeping. I became more and more melancholy.\nHer parents were beyond expression happy. The eventful day approached,\nthreatening and heavy, like a thunder-cloud. The evening preceding\narrived. I could scarcely breathe. I had carefully filled a large chest\nwith gold, and sat down to await the appointed time--the twelfth\nhour--it struck.\n\nNow I remained with my eyes fixed on the hand of the clock, counting\nthe seconds--the minutes--which struck me to the heart like daggers. I\nstarted at every sound--at last daylight appeared. The leaden hours\npassed on--morning--evening--night came. Hope was fast fading away\nas the hand advanced. It struck eleven--no one appeared--the last\nminutes--the first and last stroke of the twelfth hour died away. I\nsank back in my bed in an agony of weeping. In the morning I should,\nshadowless as I was, claim the hand of my beloved Minna. A heavy sleep\ntowards daylight closed my eyes.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIt was yet early, when I was suddenly awoke by voices in hot dispute in\nmy ante-chamber. I listened. Bendel was forbidding Rascal to enter my\nroom, who swore he would receive no orders from his equals, and\ninsisted on forcing his way. The faithful Bendel reminded him that if\nsuch words reached his master's ears, he would turn him out of an\nexcellent place. Rascal threatened to strike him, if he persisted in\nrefusing his entrance.\n\nBy this time, having half dressed myself, I angrily threw open the\ndoor; and addressing myself to Rascal, inquired what he meant by such\ndisgraceful conduct. He drew back a couple of steps, and coolly\nanswered, \"Count Peter, may I beg most respectfully that you will\nfavour me with a sight of your shadow? The sun is now shining brightly\nin the court below.\"\n\nI stood as if struck by a thunderbolt, and for some time was unable to\nspeak. At last, I asked him how a servant could dare to behave so\ntowards his master. He interrupted me by saying, quite coolly, \"A\nservant may be a very honourable man, and unwilling to serve a\nshadowless master--I request my dismissal.\"\n\nI felt that I must adopt a softer tone, and replied, \"But, Rascal, my\ngood fellow, who can have put such strange ideas into your head? How\ncan you imagine--\"\n\nHe again interrupted me in the same tone--\"People say you have no\nshadow. In short, let me see your shadow, or give me my dismissal.\"\n\nBendel, pale and trembling, but more collected than myself, made a sign\nto me. I had recourse to the all-powerful influence of gold. But even\ngold had lost its power--Rascal threw it at my feet: \"From a shadowless\nman,\" he said, \"I will take nothing.\"\n\nTurning his back upon me, and putting on his hat, he then slowly left\nthe room, whistling a tune. I stood, with Bendel, as if petrified,\ngazing after him.\n\nWith a deep sigh and a heavy heart, I now prepared to keep my\nengagement, and to appear in the forester's garden, like a criminal\nbefore his judge. I entered by the shady arbour, which had received the\nname of Count Peter's arbour, where we had appointed to meet. The\nmother advanced with a cheerful air; Minna sat fair and beautiful as\nthe early snow of autumn reposing on the departing flowers, soon to be\ndissolved and lost in the cold stream.\n\nThe ranger, with a written paper in his hand, was walking up and down\nin an agitated manner, and struggling to suppress his feelings--his\nusually unmoved countenance being one moment flushed, and the next\nperfectly pale. He came forward as I entered, and, in a faltering\nvoice, requested a private conversation with me. The path by which he\nrequested me to follow him led to an open spot in the garden, where the\nsun was shining. I sat down. A long silence ensued, which even the good\nwoman herself did not venture to break. The ranger, in an agitated\nmanner, paced up and down with unequal steps. At last he stood still;\nand glancing over the paper he held in his hand, he said, addressing me\nwith a penetrating look, \"Count Peter, do you know one Peter\nSchlemihl?\" I was silent.\n\n\"A man,\" he continued, \"of excellent character and extraordinary\nendowments.\"\n\nHe paused for an answer. \"And supposing I myself were that very man?\"\n\n\"You!\" he exclaimed, passionately; \"he has lost his shadow!\"\n\n\"Oh, my suspicion is true!\" cried Minna; \"I have long known it--he has\nno shadow!\" And she threw herself into her mother's arms, who,\nconvulsively clasping her to her bosom, reproached her for having so\nlong, to her hurt, kept such a secret. But, like the fabled Arethusa,\nher tears, as from a fountain, flowed more abundantly, and her sobs\nincreased at my reproach.\n\n\"And so,\" said the ranger fiercely, \"you have not scrupled, with\nunparalleled shamelessness, to deceive both her and me; and you\npretended to love her, forsooth!--her whom you have reduced to the\nstate in which you now see her. See how she weeps!--Oh, shocking,\nshocking!\"\n\nBy this time I had lost all presence of mind; and I answered,\nconfusedly, \"After all, it is but a shadow, a mere shadow, which a man\ncan do very well without; and really it is not worth the while to make\nall this noise about such a trifle.\" Feeling the groundlessness of what\nI was saying, I ceased; and no one condescended to reply. At last I\nadded, \"What is lost to-day may be found to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Be pleased, sir,\" continued the ranger, in great wrath--\"be pleased to\nexplain how you have lost your shadow.\"\n\nHere again an excuse was ready: \"A boor of a fellow,\" said I, \"one day\ntrod so rudely on my shadow that he tore a large hole in it. I sent it\nto be repaired--for gold can do wonders--and yesterday I expected it\nhome again.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" answered the ranger. \"You are a suitor for my daughter's\nhand, and so are others. As a father, I am bound to provide for her. I\nwill give you three days to seek your shadow. Return to me in the\ncourse of that time with a well-fitted shadow, and you shall receive a\nhearty welcome; otherwise, on the fourth day--remember, on the fourth\nday--my daughter becomes the wife of another.\"\n\nI now attempted to say one word to Minna; but, sobbing more violently,\nshe clung still closer to her mother, who made a sign for me to\nwithdraw. I obeyed; and now the world seemed shut out from me for ever.\n\nHaving escaped from the affectionate care of Bendel, I now wandered\nwildly through the neighbouring woods and meadows. Drops of anguish\nfell from my brow, deep groans burst from my bosom--frenzied despair\nraged within me.\n\nI knew not how long this had lasted, when I felt myself seized by\nthe sleeve on a sunny heath. I stopped, and looking up, beheld the\ngrey-coated man, who appeared to have run himself out of breath in\npursuing me.\n\n\"I had,\" he began, immediately, \"appointed this day; but your\nimpatience anticipated it. All, however, may yet be right. Take my\nadvice,--redeem your shadow, which is at your command, and return\nimmediately to the ranger's garden, where you will be well received,\nand all the past will seem a mere joke. As for Rascal--who has betrayed\nyou in order to pay his addresses to Minna--leave him to me; he is just\na fit subject for me.\"\n\nI stood like one in a dream. \"This day?\" I considered again. He was\nright--I had made a mistake of a day. I felt in my bosom for the purse.\nHe perceived my intention, and drew back.\n\n\"No, Count Peter; the purse is in good hands--pray keep it.\"\n\nI gazed at him with looks of astonishment and inquiry.\n\n\"I only beg a trifle as a token of remembrance. Be so good as to sign\nthis memorandum.\" On the parchment, which he held out to me, were these\nwords:--\"By virtue of this present, to which I have appended my\nsignature, I hereby bequeath my soul to the holder, after its natural\nseparation from my body.\"\n\nI gazed in mute astonishment alternately at the paper and the grey\nunknown. In the meantime he had dipped a new pen in a drop of blood\nwhich was issuing from a scratch in my hand just made by a thorn. He\npresented it to me.\n\n\"Who are you?\" at last I exclaimed.\n\n\"What can it signify?\" he answered; \"do you not perceive who I am? A\npoor devil--a sort of scholar and philosopher, who obtains but poor\nthanks from his friends for his admirable arts, and whose only\namusement on earth consists of his small experiments. But just sign\nthis; to the right, exactly underneath--Peter Schlemihl.\"\n\nI shook my head, and replied, \"Excuse me, sir; I cannot sign that.\"\n\n\"Cannot!\" he exclaimed; \"and why not?\"\n\n\"Because it appears to me a hazardous thing to exchange my soul for my\nshadow.\"\n\n\"Hazardous!\" he exclaimed, bursting into a loud laugh. \"And, pray, may\nI be allowed to inquire what sort of a thing your soul is?--have you\never seen it?--and what do you mean to do with it after your death? You\nought to think yourself fortunate in meeting with a customer who during\nyour life, in exchange for this infinitely-minute quantity, this\ngalvanic principle, this polarised agency, or whatever other foolish\nname you may give it, is willing to bestow on you something\nsubstantial--in a word, your own identical shadow, by virtue of which\nyou will obtain your beloved Minna, and arrive at the accomplishment of\nall your wishes; or do you prefer giving up the poor young girl to the\npower of that contemptible scoundrel Rascal? Nay, you shall behold her\nwith your own eyes. Come here; I will lend you an invisible cap (he\ndrew something out of his pocket), and we will enter the ranger's\ngarden unseen.\"\n\nI must confess that I felt excessively ashamed to be thus laughed at by\nthe grey stranger. I detested him from the very bottom of my soul; and\nI really believe this personal antipathy, more than principle or\npreviously formed opinion, restrained me from purchasing my shadow,\nmuch as I stood in need of it, at such an expense. Besides, the thought\nwas insupportable, of making this proposed visit in his society. To\nbehold this hateful sneak, this mocking fiend, place himself between me\nand my beloved, between our torn and bleeding hearts, was too revolting\nan idea to be entertained for a moment.\n\nI considered the past as irrevocable, my own misery as inevitable; and\nturning to the grey man, I said, \"I have exchanged my shadow for this\nvery extraordinary purse, and I have sufficiently repented it. For\nHeaven's sake, let the transaction be declared null and void!\"\n\nHe shook his head; and his countenance assumed an expression of the\nmost sinister cast.\n\nI continued, \"I will make no exchange whatever, even for the sake of my\nshadow, nor will I sign the paper. It follows, also, that the incognito\nvisit you propose to me would afford you far more entertainment than it\ncould possibly give me. Accept my excuses, therefore; and, since it\nmust be so, let us part.\"\n\n\"I am sorry, Mr. Schlemihl, that you thus obstinately persist in\nrejecting my friendly offer. Perhaps, another time, I may be more\nfortunate. Farewell! May we shortly meet again! But, allow me to shew\nyou that I do not undervalue my purchase, but preserve it carefully.\"\n\nSo saying, he drew my shadow out of his pocket; and shaking it cleverly\nout of its folds, he stretched it out at his feet in the sun--so that\nhe stood between two obedient shadows, his own and mine, which was\ncompelled to follow and comply with his every movement.\n\nOn again beholding my poor shadow after so long a separation, and\nseeing it degraded to so vile a bondage at the very time that I was so\nunspeakably in want of it, my heart was ready to burst; and I wept\nbitterly. The detested wretch stood exulting over his prey, and\nunblushingly renewed his proposal.\n\n\"One stroke of the pen, and the unhappy Minna is rescued from the\nclutches of the villain Rascal, and transferred to the arms of the\nhigh-born Count Peter--merely a stroke of your pen!\"\n\nMy tears broke out with renewed violence; but I turned away from him,\nand made a sign for him to be gone.\n\nBendel, whose deep solicitude had induced him to come in search of me,\narrived at this very moment. The good and faithful creature, on seeing\nme weeping, and that a shadow (evidently mine) was in the power of the\nmysterious unknown, determined to rescue it by force, should that be\nnecessary; and disdaining to use any finesse, he desired him directly,\nand without any disputing, to restore my property. Instead of a reply,\nthe grey man turned his back on the worthy fellow, and was making off.\nBut Bendel raised his buckthorn stick; and following close upon him,\nafter repeated commands, but in vain, to restore the shadow, he made\nhim feel the whole force of his powerful arm. The grey man, as if\naccustomed to such treatment, held down his head, slouched his\nshoulders, and, with soft and noiseless steps, pursued his way over the\nheath, carrying with him my shadow, and also my faithful servant. For a\nlong time I heard hollow sounds ringing through the waste, until at\nlast they died away in the distance, and I was again left to solitude\nand misery.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\n[Illustration: \"Alone on the wild Heath I disburdened my heart of an\ninsupportable load, by giving free vent to my tears.\"]\n\nAlone on the wild heath, I disburdened my heart of an insupportable\nload, by giving free vent to my tears. But I saw no bounds, no relief,\nto my surpassing wretchedness; and I drank in the fresh poison which\nthe mysterious stranger had poured into my wounds with a furious\navidity. As I retraced in my mind the loved image of my Minna, and\ndepicted her sweet countenance all pale and in tears, such as I had\nbeheld her in my late disgrace, the bold and sarcastic visage of Rascal\nwould ever and anon thrust itself between us. I hid my face, and fled\nrapidly over the plains; but the horrible vision unrelentingly pursued\nme, till at last I sank breathless on the ground, and bedewed it with a\nfresh torrent of tears--and all this for a shadow!--a shadow which one\nstroke of the pen would repurchase. I pondered on the singular\nproposal, and on my hesitation to comply with it. My mind was\nconfused--I had lost the power of judging or comprehending. The day was\nwaning apace. I satisfied the cravings of hunger with a few wild\nfruits, and quenched my thirst at a neighbouring stream. Night came on;\nI threw myself down under a tree, and was awoke by the damp morning air\nfrom an uneasy sleep, in which I had fancied myself struggling in the\nagonies of death. Bendel had certainly lost all trace of me, and I was\nglad of it. I did not wish to return among my fellow-creatures--I\nshunned them as the hunted deer flies before its pursuers.\n\nThus I passed three melancholy days.\n\nI found myself on the morning of the fourth on a sandy plain, basking\nin the rays of the sun, and sitting on a fragment of rock; for it was\nsweet to enjoy the genial warmth, of which I had so long been deprived.\nDespair still preyed on my heart. Suddenly a slight sound startled me;\nI looked round, prepared to fly, but saw no one. On the sunlit sand\nbefore me flitted the shadow of a man not unlike my own; and wandering\nabout alone, it seemed to have lost its master. This sight powerfully\nexcited me.\n\n\"Shadow!\" thought I, \"art thou in search of thy master? in me thou\nshalt find him.\" And I sprang forward to seize it, fancying that could\nI succeed in treading so exactly in its traces as to step in its\nfootmarks, it would attach itself to me, and in time become accustomed\nto me, and follow all my movements.\n\nThe shadow, as I moved, took to flight, and I commenced a hot chase\nafter the airy fugitive, solely excited by the hope of being delivered\nfrom my present dreadful situation; the bare idea inspired me with\nfresh strength and vigour.\n\nThe shadow now fled towards a distant wood, among whose shades I must\nnecessarily have lost it. Seeing this, my heart beat wild with fright,\nmy ardour increased, and lent wings to my speed. I was evidently\ngaining on the shadow--I came nearer and nearer--I was within reach of\nit, when it suddenly stopped and turned towards me. Like a lion darting\non its prey, I made a powerful spring and fell unexpectedly upon a hard\nsubstance. Then followed, from an invisible hand, the most terrible\nblows in the ribs that any one ever received. The effect of my terror\nmade me endeavour convulsively to strike and grasp at the unseen object\nbefore me. The rapidity of my motions brought me to the ground, where I\nlay stretched out, with a man under me, whom I held tight, and who now\nbecame visible.\n\nThe whole affair was now explained. The man had undoubtedly possessed\nthe bird's nest which communicates its charm of invisibility to its\npossessor, though not equally so to his shadow; and this nest he had\nnow thrown away. I looked all round, and soon discovered the shadow of\nthis invisible nest. I sprang towards it, and was fortunate enough to\nseize the precious booty, and immediately became invisible and\nshadowless.\n\nThe moment the man regained his feet he looked all round, over the wide\nsunny plain, to discover his fortunate vanquisher, but could see\nneither him nor his shadow, the latter seeming particularly to be the\nobject of his search: for previous to our encounter he had not had\nleisure to observe that I was shadowless, and he could not be aware of\nit. Becoming convinced that all traces of me were lost, he began to\ntear his hair, and give himself up to all the frenzy of despair. In the\nmeantime, this newly acquired treasure communicated to me both the\nability and the desire to mix again among mankind.\n\nI was at no loss for a pretext to vindicate this unjust robbery--or,\nrather, so deadened had I become, I felt no need of a pretext; and in\norder to dissipate every idea of the kind, I hastened on, regardless of\nthe unhappy man, whose fearful lamentations long resounded in my ears.\nSuch, at the time, were my impressions of all the circumstances of this\naffair.\n\nI now ardently desired to return to the ranger's garden, in order to\nascertain in person the truth of the information communicated by the\nodious unknown; but I knew not where I was, until, ascending an\neminence to take a survey of the surrounding country, I perceived, from\nits summit, the little town and the gardens almost at my feet. My heart\nbeat violently, and tears of a nature very different from those I had\nlately shed filled my eyes. I should, then, once more behold her!\n\nAnxiety now hastened my steps. Unseen I met some peasants coming from\nthe town; they were talking of me, of Rascal, and of the ranger. I\nwould not stay to listen to their conversation, but proceeded on. My\nbosom thrilled with expectation as I entered the garden. At this moment\nI heard something like a hollow laugh, which caused me involuntarily to\nshudder. I cast a rapid glance around, but could see no one. I passed\non; presently I fancied I heard the sound of footsteps close to me, but\nno one was within sight. My ears must have deceived me.\n\nIt was early; no one was in Count Peter's bower--the gardens were\ndeserted. I traversed all the well-known paths, and penetrated even to\nthe dwelling-house itself. The same rustling sound became now more and\nmore audible. With anguished feelings I sat down on a seat placed in\nthe sunny space before the door, and actually felt some invisible fiend\ntake a place by me, and heard him utter a sarcastic laugh. The key was\nturned in the door, which was opened. The forest-master appeared with a\npaper in his hand.\n\nSuddenly my head was, as it were, enveloped in a mist. I looked up,\nand, oh horror! the grey-coated man was at my side, peering in my face\nwith a satanic grin. He had extended the mist-cap[1] he wore over my\nhead. His shadow and my own were lying together at his feet, in perfect\namity. He kept twirling in his hand the well-known parchment, with an\nair of indifference; and while the ranger, absorbed in thought, and\nintent upon his paper, paced up and down the arbour, my tormentor\nconfidentially leaned towards me, and whispered, \"So, Mr. Schlemihl,\nyou have at length accepted my invitation; and here we sit, two heads\nunder one hood, as the saying is. Well, well, all in good time. But now\nyou can return me my bird's nest--you have no further occasion for it;\nand I am sure you are too honourable a man to withhold it from me. No\nneed of thanks, I assure you; I had infinite pleasure in lending it to\nyou.\"\n\nHe took it out of my unresisting hand, put it into his pocket, and then\nbroke into so loud a laugh at my expense, that the forest-master turned\nround, startled at the sound. I was petrified.\n\n\"You must acknowledge,\" he continued, \"that in our position a hood is\nmuch more convenient. It serves to conceal not only a man, but his\nshadow, or as many shadows as he chooses to carry. I, for instance,\nto-day bring two, you perceive.\" He laughed again. \"Take notice,\nSchlemihl, that what a man refuses to do with a good grace in the first\ninstance, he is always in the end compelled to do. I am still of\nopinion that you ought to redeem your shadow and claim your bride (for\nit is yet time); and as to Rascal, he shall dangle at a rope's end--no\ndifficult matter, so long as we can find a bit. As a mark of\nfriendship, I will give you my cap into the bargain.\"\n\nThe mother now came out, and the following conversation took place:\n\"What is Minna doing?\"\n\n\"She is weeping.\"\n\n\"Silly child! what good can that do?\"\n\n\"None, certainly; but it is so soon to bestow her hand on another. O\nhusband, you are too harsh to your poor child.\"\n\n\"No, wife; you view things in a wrong light. When she finds herself the\nwife of a wealthy and honourable man, her tears will soon cease; she\nwill waken out of a dream, as it were, happy, and grateful to Heaven\nand to her parents, as you will see.\"\n\n\"Heaven grant it may be so!\" replied the wife.\n\n\"She has, indeed, now considerable property; but after the noise\noccasioned by her unlucky affair with that adventurer, do you imagine\nthat she is likely soon to meet with so advantageous a match as Mr.\nRascal? Do you know the extent of Mr. Rascal's influence and wealth?\nWhy, he has purchased with ready money, in this country, six millions\nof landed property, free from all emcumbrances. I have had all the\ndocuments in my hands. It was he who outbid me everywhere when I was\nabout to make a desirable purchase; and, besides, he has bills on Mr.\nThomas John's house to the amount of three millions and a half.\"\n\n\"He must have been a prodigious thief!\"\n\n\"How foolishly you talk! he wisely saved where others squandered their\nproperty.\"\n\n\"A mere livery-servant!\"\n\n\"Nonsense! he has at all events an unexceptionable shadow.\"\n\n\"True, but----\"\n\nWhile this conversation was passing, the grey-coated man looked at me\nwith a satirical smile.\n\nThe door opened, and Minna entered, leaning on the arm of her female\nattendant, silent tears flowing down her fair but pallid face. She\nseated herself in the chair which had been placed for her under the\nlime-trees, and her father took a stool by her side. He gently raised\nher hand; and as her tears flowed afresh, he addressed her in the most\naffectionate manner.\n\n\"My own dear, good child--my Minna--will act reasonably, and not\nafflict her poor old father, who only wishes to make her happy. My\ndearest child, this blow has shaken you--dreadfully, I know it; but you\nhave been saved, as by a miracle, from a miserable fate, my Minna. You\nloved the unworthy villain most tenderly, before his treachery was\ndiscovered: I feel all this, Minna; and far be it from me to reproach\nyou for it--in fact, I myself loved him so long as I considered him to\nbe a person of rank: you now see yourself how differently it has turned\nout. Every dog has a shadow; and the idea of my child having been on\nthe eve of uniting herself to a man who----but I am sure you will think\nno more of him. A suitor has just appeared for you in the person of a\nman who does not fear the sun--an honourable man--no prince indeed, but\na man worth ten millions of golden ducats sterling--a sum nearly ten\ntimes larger than your fortune consists of--a man, too, who will make\nmy dear child happy--nay, do not oppose me--be my own good, dutiful\nchild--allow your loving father to provide for you, and to dry up these\ntears. Promise to bestow your hand on Mr. Rascal. Speak my child: will\nyou not?\"\n\nMinna could scarcely summon strength to reply that she had now no\nlonger any hopes or desires on earth, and that she was entirely at her\nfather's disposal. Rascal was therefore immediately sent for, and\nentered the room with his usual forwardness; but Minna in the meantime\nhad swooned away.\n\nMy detested companion looked at me indignantly, and whispered, \"Can you\nendure this? Have you no blood in your veins?\" He instantly pricked my\nfinger, which bled. \"Yes, positively,\" he exclaimed, \"you have some\nblood left!--come, sign.\" The parchment and pen were in my hand!----\n\n\nFOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER III:\n\n[Footnote 1: The Nebelkappe, or Tarnkappe (Germ.), which imparts\ninvisibility to its owner.]\n\n\n[Illustration: The forest of ancient firs.]\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER IV\n\n\nI submit myself to thy judgment, my dear Chamisso; I do not seek to bias\nit. I have long been a rigid censor of myself, and nourished at my\nheart the worm of remorse. This critical moment of my life is ever\npresent to my soul, and I dare only cast a hesitating glance at it,\nwith a deep sense of humiliation and grief. Ah, my dear friend, he who\nonce permits himself thoughtlessly to deviate but one step from the\nright road, will imperceptibly find himself involved in various\nintricate paths, all leading him farther and farther astray. In vain he\nbeholds the guiding-stars of Heaven shining before him. No choice is\nleft him--he must descend the precipice, and offer himself up a\nsacrifice to his fate. After the false step which I had rashly made,\nand which entailed a curse upon me, I had, in the wantonness of\npassion, entangled one in my fate who had staked all her happiness upon\nme. What was left for me to do in a case where I had brought another\ninto misery, but to make a desperate leap in the dark to save her?--the\nlast, the only means of rescue presented itself. Think not so meanly of\nme, Chamisso, as to imagine that I would have shrunk from any sacrifice\non my part. In such a case it would have been but a poor ransom. No,\nChamisso; but my whole soul was filled with unconquerable hatred to the\ncringing knave and his crooked ways. I might be doing him injustice;\nbut I shuddered at the bare idea of entering into any fresh compact\nwith him. But here a circumstance took place which entirely changed the\nface of things----\n\nI know not whether to ascribe it to excitement of mind, exhaustion of\nphysical strength (for during the last few days I had scarcely tasted\nanything), or the antipathy I felt to the society of my fiendish\ncompanion; but just as I was about to sign the fatal paper, I fell into\na deep swoon, and remained for a long time as if dead. The first sounds\nwhich greeted my ear on recovering my consciousness were those of\ncursing and imprecation; I opened my eyes--it was dusk; my hateful\ncompanion was overwhelming me with reproaches. \"Is not this behaving\nlike an old woman? Come, rise up, and finish quickly what you were\ngoing to do; or perhaps you have changed your determination, and prefer\nto lie groaning there?\"\n\nI raised myself with difficulty from the ground, and gazed around me,\nwithout speaking a word. It was late in the evening, and I heard\nstrains of festive music proceeding from the ranger's brilliantly\nilluminated house; groups of company were lounging about the gardens;\ntwo persons approached, and seating themselves on the bench I had\nlately occupied, began to converse on the subject of the marriage which\nhad taken place that morning between the wealthy Mr. Rascal and Minna.\nAll was then over.\n\nI tore off the cap which rendered me invisible; and my companion having\ndisappeared, I plunged in silence into the thickest gloom of the grove,\nrapidly passed Count Peter's bower towards the entrance-gate; but my\ntormentor still haunted me, and loaded me with reproaches. \"And is this\nall the gratitude I am to expect from you, Mr. Schlemihl--you, whom I\nhave been watching all the weary day, until you should recover from\nyour nervous attack? What a fool's part I have been enacting! It is of\nno use flying from me, Mr. Perverse--we are inseparable--you have my\ngold, I have your shadow; this exchange deprives us both of peace. Did\nyou ever hear of a man's shadow leaving him?--yours follows me until\nyou receive it again into favour, and thus free me from it. Disgust and\nweariness sooner or later will compel you to do what you should have\ndone gladly at first. In vain you strive with fate!\"\n\nHe continued unceasingly in the same tone, uttering constant sarcasms\nabout the gold and the shadow, till I was completely bewildered. To fly\nfrom him was impossible. I had pursued my way through the empty streets\ntowards my own house, which I could scarcely recognise--the windows\nwere broken to pieces, no light was visible, the doors were shut, and\nthe bustle of domestics had ceased. My companion burst into a loud\nlaugh. \"Yes, yes,\" said he, \"you see the state of things: however, you\nwill find your friend Bendel at home; he was sent back the other day so\nfatigued, that I assure you he has never left the house since. He will\nhave a fine story to tell! So I wish you a very good night--may we\nshortly meet again!\"\n\nI had repeatedly rung the bell: at last a light appeared and Bendel\ninquired from within who was there. The poor fellow could scarcely\ncontain himself at the sound of my voice. The door flew open, and we\nwere locked in each other's arms. I found him sadly changed; he was\nlooking ill and feeble. I, too, was altered; my hair had become quite\ngrey. He conducted me through the desolate apartments to an inner room,\nwhich had escaped the general wreck. After partaking of some\nrefreshment, we seated ourselves; and, with fresh lamentations, he\nbegan to tell me that the grey withered old man whom he had met with my\nshadow had insensibly led him such a zig-zag race, that he lost all\ntraces of me, and at last sank down exhausted with fatigue; that,\nunable to find me, he had returned home, when, shortly after, the mob,\nat Rascal's instigation, assembled violently before the house, broke\nthe windows, and by all sorts of excesses completely satiated their\nfury.\n\nThus had they treated their benefactor. My servants had fled in all\ndirections. The police had banished me from the town as a suspicious\ncharacter, and granted me an interval of twenty-four hours to leave the\nterritory. Bendel added many particulars as to the information I had\nalready obtained respecting Rascal's wealth and marriage. This villain,\nit seems--who was the author of all the measures taken against\nme--became possessed of my secret nearly from the beginning, and,\ntempted by the love of money, had supplied himself with a key to my\nchest, and from that time had been laying the foundation of his present\nwealth. Bendel related all this with many tears, and wept for joy that\nI was once more safely restored to him, after all his fears and\nanxieties for me. In me, however, such a state of things only awoke\ndespair.\n\nMy dreadful fate now stared me in the face in all its gigantic and\nunchangeable horror. The source of tears was exhausted within me; no\ngroans escaped my breast; but with cool indifference I bared my\nunprotected head to the blast.\n\n\"Bendel,\" said I, \"you know my fate; this heavy visitation is a\npunishment for my early sins: but as for thee, my innocent friend, I\ncan no longer permit thee to share my destiny. I will depart this very\nnight--saddle me a horse--I will set out alone. Remain here, Bendel--I\ninsist upon it: there must be some chests of gold still left in the\nhouse--take them, they are thine. I shall be a restless and solitary\nwanderer on the face of the earth; but should better days arise, and\nfortune once more smile propitiously on me, then I will not forget thy\nsteady fidelity; for, in hours of deep distress, thy faithful bosom has\nbeen the depository of my sorrows.\"\n\nWith a bursting heart, the worthy Bendel prepared to obey this last\ncommand of his master; for I was deaf to all his arguments and blind to\nhis tears. My horse was brought--I pressed my weeping friend to my\nbosom--threw myself into the saddle, and, under the friendly shades of\nnight, quitted this sepulchre of my existence, indifferent which road\nmy horse should take; for now on this side the grave I had neither\nwishes, hopes, or fears.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nAfter a short time I was joined by a traveller on foot, who, after\nwalking for a while by the side of my horse, observed, that as we both\nseemed to be travelling the same road, he should beg my permission to\nlay his cloak on the horse's back behind me, to which I silently\nassented. He thanked me with easy politeness for this trifling favour,\npraised my horse, and then took occasion to extol the happiness and the\npower of the rich, and fell, I scarcely know how, into a sort of\nconversation with himself, in which I merely acted the part of\nlistener. He unfolded his views of human life and of the world, and\ntouching on metaphysics, demanded an answer from that cloudy science to\nthe question of questions--the answer that should solve all mysteries.\nHe deduced one problem from another in a very lucid manner, and then\nproceeded to their solution.\n\nYou may remember, my dear friend, that after having run through the\nschool-philosophy, I became sensible of my unfitness for metaphysical\nspeculations, and therefore totally abstained from engaging in them.\nSince, then, I have acquiesced in some things, and abandoned all hope\nof comprehending others; trusting, as you advised me, to my own plain\nsense and the voice of conscience to direct and, if possible, maintain\nme in the right path.\n\nNow this skilful rhetorician seemed to me to expend great skill in\nrearing a firmly-constructed edifice, towering aloft on its own\nself-supported basis, but resting on, and upheld by, some internal\nprinciple of necessity. I regretted in it the total absence of what I\ndesired to find; and thus it seemed a mere work of art, serving only by\nits elegance and exquisite finish to captivate the eye. Nevertheless I\nlistened with pleasure to this eloquently gifted man, who diverted my\nattention from my own sorrows to the speaker; and he would have secured\nmy entire acquiescence, if he had appealed to my heart as well as to my\njudgment.\n\nIn the meantime the hours had passed away, and morning had already\ndawned imperceptibly in the horizon; looking up, I shuddered as I\nbeheld in the east all those splendid hues that announce the rising\nsun. At this hour, when all natural shadows are seen in their full\nproportions, not a fence or a shelter of any kind could I descry in\nthis open country, and I was not alone! I cast a glance at my\ncompanion, and shuddered again--it was the man in the grey coat\nhimself! He laughed at my surprise, and said, without giving me time to\nspeak: \"You see, according to the fashion of this world, mutual\nconvenience binds us together for a time: there is plenty of time to\nthink of parting. The road here along the mountain, which perhaps has\nescaped your notice, is the only one that you can prudently take; into\nthe valley you dare not descend--the path over the mountain would but\nre-conduct you to the town which you have left--my road, too, lies this\nway. I perceive you change colour at the rising sun--I have no\nobjections to let you have the loan of your shadow during our journey;\nand in return you may not be indisposed to tolerate my society. You\nhave now no Bendel; but I will act for him. I regret that you are not\nover-fond of me; but that need not prevent you from accepting my poor\nservices. The devil is not so black as he is painted. Yesterday you\nprovoked me, I own; but now that is all forgotten, and you must confess\nI have this day succeeded in beguiling the wearisomeness of your\njourney. Come, take your shadow, and make trial of it.\"\n\nThe sun had risen, and we were meeting with passengers; so I\nreluctantly consented. With a smile, he immediately let my shadow glide\ndown to the ground; and I beheld it take its place by that of my horse,\nand gaily trot along with me. My feelings were anything but pleasant. I\nrode through groups of country-people, who respectfully made way for\nthe well-mounted stranger.\n\nThus I proceeded, occasionally stealing a sidelong glance, with a\nbeating heart, from my horse, at the shadow once my own, but now, alas,\naccepted as a loan from a stranger, or rather a fiend.\n\nHe moved on carelessly at my side, whistling a song. He being on foot,\nand I on horseback, the temptation to hazard a silly project occurred\nto me; so, suddenly turning my bridle, I set spurs to my horse, and at\nfull gallop struck into a by-path; but my shadow, on the sudden\nmovement of my horse, glided away, and stood on the road, quietly\nawaiting the approach of its legal owner. I was obliged to return\nabashed towards the grey man; but he very coolly finished his song, and\nwith a laugh set my shadow to rights again, reminding me that it was at\nmy option to have it irrevocably fixed to me, by purchasing it on just\nand equitable terms: \"I hold you,\" said he, \"by the shadow; and you\nseek in vain to get rid of me. A rich man, like you, requires a shadow,\nunquestionably; and you are to blame for not having seen this sooner.\"\n\nI now continued my journey on the same road; every convenience and even\nluxury of life was mine; I moved about in peace and freedom, for I\npossessed a shadow, though a borrowed one; and all the respect due to\nwealth was paid to me. But a deadly disease preyed on my heart. My\nextraordinary companion, who gave himself out to be the humble\nattendant of the richest individual in the world, was remarkable for\nhis dexterity; in short, his singular address and promptitude admirably\nfitted him to be the very _beau ideal_ of a rich man's lacquey. But he\nnever stirred from my side, and tormented me with constant assurances\nthat a day would most certainly come, when, if it were only to get rid\nof him, I should gladly comply with his terms, and redeem my shadow.\nThus he became as irksome as he was hateful to me. I really stood in\nawe of him--I had placed myself in his power. Since he had effected my\nreturn to the pleasures of the world, which I had resolved to shun, he\nhad the perfect mastery of me. His eloquence was irresistible, and at\ntimes I almost thought he was in the right. A shadow is indeed\nnecessary to a man of fortune; and if I chose to maintain the position\nin which he had placed me, there was only one means of doing so. But on\none point I was immovable: since I had sacrificed my love for Minna,\nand thereby blighted the happiness of my whole life, I would not now,\nfor all the shadows in the universe, be induced to sign away my soul to\nthis being--I knew not how it might end.\n\nOne day we were sitting by the entrance of a cavern, much visited by\nstrangers, who ascended the mountain: the rushing noise of a\nsubterranean torrent resounded from the fathomless abyss, the depths of\nwhich exceeded all calculation. He was, according to his favourite\ncustom, employing all the powers of his lavish fancy, and all the charm\nof the most brilliant colouring, to depict to me what I might effect in\nthe world by virtue of my purse, when once I had recovered my shadow.\nWith my elbows resting on my knees, I kept my face concealed in my\nhands, and listened to the false fiend, my heart torn between the\ntemptation and my determined opposition to it. Such indecision I could\nno longer endure, and resolved on one decisive effort.\n\n\"You seem to forget,\" said I, \"that I tolerate your presence only on\ncertain conditions, and that I am to retain perfect freedom of action.\"\n\n\"You have but to command, I depart,\" was all his reply.\n\nThe threat was familiar to me; I was silent. He then began to fold up\nmy shadow. I turned pale, but allowed him to continue. A long silence\nensued, which he was the first to break.\n\n\"You cannot endure me, Mr. Schlemihl--you hate me--I am aware of\nit--but why?--is it, perhaps, because you attacked me on the open\nplain, in order to rob me of my invisible bird's nest? or is it because\nyou thievishly endeavoured to seduce away the shadow with which I had\nentrusted you--my own property--confiding implicitly in your honour? I,\nfor my part, have no dislike to you. It is perfectly natural that you\nshould avail yourself of every means, presented either by cunning, or\nforce, to promote your own interests. That your principles also should\nbe of the strictest sort, and your intentions of the most honourable\ndescription,--these are fancies with which I have nothing to do; I do\nnot pretend to such strictness myself. Each of us is free, I to act,\nand you to think, as seems best. Did I ever seize you by the throat, to\ntear out of your body that valuable soul I so ardently wish to possess?\nDid I ever set my servant to attack you, to get back my purse, or\nattempt to run off with it from you?\"\n\nI had not a word to reply.\n\n\"Well, well,\" he exclaimed, \"you detest me, and I know it; but I bear\nyou no malice on that account. We must part--that is clear; also I must\nsay that you begin to be very tiresome to me. Once more let me advise\nyou to free yourself entirely from my troublesome presence, by the\npurchase of your shadow.\"\n\nI held out the purse to him.\n\n\"No, Mr. Schlemihl; not at that price.\"\n\nWith a deep sigh, I said, \"Be it so, then; let us part, I entreat;\ncross my path no more. There is surely room enough in the world for us\nboth.\"\n\nLaughing, he replied, \"I go; but just allow me to inform you how you\nmay at any time recall me whenever you have a mind to see your most\nhumble servant: you have only to shake your purse, the sound of the\ngold will bring me to you in an instant. In this world every one\nconsults his own advantage; but you see I have thought of yours, and\nclearly confer upon you a new power. Oh this purse! it would still\nprove a powerful bond between us, had the moth begun to devour your\nshadow.--But enough: you hold me by my gold, and may command your\nservant at any distance. You know that I can be very serviceable to my\nfriends; and that the rich are my peculiar care--this you have\nobserved. As to your shadow, allow me to say, you can only redeem it on\none condition.\"\n\nRecollections of former days came over me; and I hastily asked him if\nhe had obtained Mr. Thomas John's signature.\n\nHe smiled, and said, \"It was by no means necessary from so excellent a\nfriend.\"\n\n\"Where is he? for God's sake tell me: I insist upon knowing.\"\n\nWith some hesitation, he put his hand into his pocket, and drew out the\naltered and pallid form of Mr. John by the hair of his head, whose\nlivid lips uttered the awful words, \"_Justo judicio Dei judicatus sum;\njusto judicio Dei condemnatus sum_\"--\"I am judged and condemned by the\njust judgment of God.\"\n\nI was horrorstruck; and instantly throwing the jingling purse into the\nabyss, I exclaimed, \"Wretch! in the name of Heaven, I conjure you to be\ngone!--away from my sight!--never appear before me again!\" With a dark\nexpression on his countenance, he arose, and immediately vanished\nbehind the huge rocks which surrounded the place.\n\n[Illustration: He put his hand in his pocket and drew out the altered\nand pallid form of Mr. John.]\n\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V\n\n\nI was now left equally without gold and without shadow; but a heavy\nload was taken from my breast, and I felt cheerful. Had not my Minna\nbeen irrecoverably lost to me, or even had I been perfectly free from\nself-reproach on her account, I felt that happiness might yet have been\nmine. At present I was lost in doubt as to my future course. I examined\nmy pockets, and found I had a few gold pieces still left, which I\ncounted with feelings of great satisfaction. I had left my horse at the\ninn, and was ashamed to return, or at all events I must wait till the\nsun had set, which at present was high in the heavens. I laid myself\ndown under a shady tree, and fell into a peaceful sleep.\n\nLovely forms floated in airy measures before me, and filled up my\ndelightful dreams. Minna, with a garland of flowers entwined in her\nhair, was bending over me with a smile of good-will; also the worthy\nBendel was crowned with flowers, and hastened to meet me with friendly\ngreetings. Many other forms seemed to rise up confusedly in the\ndistance: thyself among the number, Chamisso. Perfect radiance beamed\naround them, but none had a shadow; and what was more surprising, there\nwas no appearance of unhappiness on this account. Nothing was to be\nseen or heard but flowers and music; and love and joy, and groves of\nnever-fading palms, seemed the natives of that happy clime.\n\n[Illustration: The Dream.]\n\nIn vain I tried to detain and comprehend the lovely but fleeting forms.\nI was conscious, also, of being in a dream, and was anxious that\nnothing should rouse me from it; and when I did awake, I kept my eyes\nclosed, in order if possible to continue the illusion. At last I opened\nmy eyes. The sun was now visible in the east; I must have slept the\nwhole night: I looked upon this as a warning not to return to the inn.\nWhat I had left there I was content to lose, without much regret; and\nresigning myself to Providence, I decided on taking a by-road that led\nthrough the wooded declivity of the mountain. I never once cast a\nglance behind me; nor did it ever occur to me to return, as I might\nhave done, to Bendel, whom I had left in affluence. I reflected on the\nnew character I was now going to assume in the world. My present garb\nwas very humble,--consisting of an old black coat I formerly had worn\nat Berlin, and which by some chance was the first I put my hand on\nbefore setting out on this journey, a travelling-cap, and an old pair\nof boots. I cut down a knotted stick in memory of the spot, and\ncommenced my pilgrimage.\n\nIn the forest I met an aged peasant, who gave me a friendly greeting,\nand with whom I entered into conversation, requesting, as a traveller\ndesirous of information, some particulars relative to the road, the\ncountry, and its inhabitants, the productions of the mountains, &c. He\nreplied to my various inquiries with readiness and intelligence. At\nlast we reached the bed of a mountain-torrent, which had laid waste a\nconsiderable tract of the forest; I inwardly shuddered at the idea of\nthe open sunshine. I suffered the peasant to go before me. In the\nmiddle of the very place which I dreaded so much, he suddenly stopped,\nand turned back to give me an account of this inundation; but instantly\nperceiving that I had no shadow, he broke off abruptly, and exclaimed,\n\"How is this?--you have no shadow!\"\n\n\"Alas, alas!\" said I, \"in a long and serious illness I had the\nmisfortune to lose my hair, my nails, and my shadow. Look, good father;\nalthough my hair has grown again, it is quite white; and at my age, my\nnails are still very short; and my poor shadow seems to have left me,\nnever to return.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the old man, shaking his head; \"no shadow! that was indeed\na terrible illness, sir.\"\n\nBut he did not resume his narrative; and at the very first cross-road\nwe came to, left me without uttering a syllable.\n\nFresh tears flowed from my eyes, and my cheerfulness had fled. With a\nheavy heart I travelled on, avoiding all society. I plunged into the\ndeepest shades of the forest; and often, to avoid a sunny tract of\ncountry, I waited for hours till every human being had left it, and I\ncould pass it unobserved. In the evenings I took shelter in the\nvillages. I bent my steps to a mine in the mountains, where I hoped to\nmeet with work underground; for besides that my present situation\ncompelled me to provide for my own support, I felt that incessant and\nlaborious occupation alone could divert my mind from dwelling on\npainful subjects. A few rainy days assisted me materially on my\njourney; but it was to the no small detriment of my boots, the\nsoles of which were better suited to Count Peter than to the poor\nfoot-traveller. I was soon barefoot, and a new purchase must be made.\n\n[Illustration: \"So was obliged to content myself with a second-hand\npair.\"]\n\nThe following morning I commenced an earnest search in a market-place,\nwhere a fair was being held; and I saw in one of the booths new and\nsecond-hand boots set out for sale. I was a long time selecting and\nbargaining; I wished much to have a new pair, but was frightened at\nthe extravagant price; and so was obliged to content myself with a\nsecond-hand pair, still pretty good and strong, which the beautiful\nfair-haired youth who kept the booth handed over to me with a cheerful\nsmile, wishing me a prosperous journey. I went on, and left the place\nimmediately by the northern gate.\n\nI was so lost in my own thoughts, that I walked along scarcely knowing\nhow or where. I was calculating the chances of my reaching the mine by\nthe evening, and considering how I should introduce myself. I had not\ngone two hundred steps, when I perceived I was not in the right road. I\nlooked round, and found myself in a wild-looking forest of ancient\nfirs, where apparently the stroke of the axe had never been heard. A\nfew steps more brought me amid huge rocks covered with moss and\nsaxifragous plants, between which whole fields of snow and ice were\nextended. The air was intensely cold. I looked round, and the forest\nhad disappeared behind me; a few steps more, and there was the\nstillness of death itself. The icy plain on which I stood stretched to\nan immeasurable distance, and a thick cloud rested upon it; the sun was\nof a red blood-colour at the verge of the horizon; the cold was\ninsupportable. I could not imagine what had happened to me. The\nbenumbing frost made me quicken my pace. I heard a distant sound of\nwaters; and, at one step more, I stood on the icy shore of some ocean.\nInnumerable droves of sea-dogs rushed past me and plunged into the\nwaves. I continued my way along this coast, and again met with rocks,\nplains, birch and fir forests, and yet only a few minutes had elapsed.\n\nIt was now intensely hot. I looked around, and suddenly found myself\nbetween some fertile rice-fields and mulberry-trees; I sat down under\ntheir shade, and found by my watch that it was just one quarter of an\nhour since I had left the village-market. I fancied it was a dream; but\nno, I was indeed awake, as I felt by the experiment I made of biting my\ntongue. I closed my eyes, in order to collect my scattered thoughts.\nPresently I heard unintelligible words uttered in a nasal tone; and I\nbeheld two Chinese, whose Asiatic physiognomies were not to be\nmistaken, even had their costume not betrayed their origin. They were\naddressing me in the language and with the salutations of their\ncountry.\n\n[Illustration: On the shores of the Frozen Sea.]\n\nI rose, and drew back a couple of steps. They had disappeared; the\nlandscape was entirely changed; the rice-fields had given place to\ntrees and woods. I examined some of the trees and plants around me, and\nascertained such of them as I was acquainted with to be productions of\nthe southern part of Asia. I made one step towards a particular tree,\nand again all was changed. I now moved on like a recruit at drill,\ntaking slow and measured steps, gazing with astonished eyes at the\nwonderful variety of regions, plains, meadows, mountains, steppes, and\nsandy deserts, which passed in succession before me. I had now no doubt\nthat I had seven-leagued boots on my feet.\n\nI fell on my knees in silent gratitude, shedding tears of thankfulness;\nfor I now saw clearly what was to be my future condition. Shut out by\nearly sins from all human society, I was offered amends for the\nprivation by Nature herself, which I had ever loved. The earth was\ngranted me as a rich garden; and the knowledge of her operations was to\nbe the study and object of my life. This was not a mere resolution. I\nhave since endeavoured, with anxious and unabated industry, faithfully\nto imitate the finished and brilliant model then presented to me; and\nmy vanity has received a check when led to compare the picture with the\noriginal. I rose immediately, and took a hasty survey of this new\nfield, where I hoped afterwards to reap a rich harvest.\n\nI stood on the heights of Thibet; and the sun I had lately beheld in\nthe east was now sinking in the west. I traversed Asia from east to\nwest, and thence passed into Africa, which I curiously examined at\nrepeated visits in all directions. As I gazed on the ancient pyramids\nand temples of Egypt, I descried, in the sandy deserts near Thebes of\nthe hundred gates, the caves where Christian hermits dwelt of old.\n\nMy determination was instantly taken, that here should be my future\ndwelling. I chose one of the most secluded, but roomy, comfortable, and\ninaccessible to the jackals.\n\nI stepped over from the pillars of Hercules to Europe; and having taken\na survey of its northern and southern countries, I passed by the north\nof Asia, on the polar glaciers, to Greenland, and America, visiting\nboth parts of this continent; and the winter, which was already at its\nheight in the south, drove me quickly back from Cape Horn to the north.\nI waited till daylight had risen in the east of Asia, and then, after a\nshort rest, continued my pilgrimage. I followed in both the Americas\nthe vast chain of the Andes, once considered the loftiest on our globe.\nI stepped carefully and slowly from one summit to another, sometimes\nover snowy heights, sometimes over flaming volcanoes, often breathless\nfrom fatigue. At last I reached Elias's mountain, and sprang over\nBehring's straits into Asia; I followed the western coast in its\nvarious windings, carefully observing which of the neighbouring isles\nwas accessible to me. From the peninsula of Malacca, my boots carried\nme to Sumatra, Java, Bali, and Lombock. I made many attempts--often\nwith danger, and always unsuccessfully--to force my way over the\nnumerous little islands and rocks with which this sea is studded,\nwishing to find a north-west passage to Borneo and other islands of the\nArchipelago.\n\nAt last I sat down at the extreme point of Lombock, my eyes turned\ntowards the south-east, lamenting that I had so soon reached the limits\nallotted to me, and bewailing my fate as a captive in his grated cell.\nThus was I shut out from that remarkable country, New Holland, and the\nislands of the southern ocean, so essentially necessary to a knowledge\nof the earth, and which would have best assisted me in the study of the\nanimal and vegetable kingdoms. And thus, at the very outset, I beheld\nall my labours condemned to be limited to mere fragments.\n\nAh! Chamisso, what is the activity of man?\n\nFrequently in the most rigorous winters of the southern hemisphere I\nhave rashly thrown myself on a fragment of drifting ice between Cape\nHorn and Van Dieman's Land, in the hope of effecting a passage to New\nHolland, reckless of the cold and the vast ocean, reckless of my fate,\neven should this savage land prove my grave.\n\nBut all in vain--I never reached New Holland. Each time, when defeated\nin my attempt, I returned to Lombock; and seated at its extreme point,\nmy eyes directed to the south-east, I gave way afresh to lamentations\nthat my range of investigation was so limited. At last I tore myself\nfrom the spot, and, heartily grieved at my disappointment, returned to\nthe interior of Asia. Setting out at morning dawn, I traversed it from\neast to west, and at night reached the cave in Thebes which I had\npreviously selected for my dwelling-place, and had visited yesterday\nafternoon.\n\n[Illustration: At last I sat down at the extreme point of Lombock,\nlamenting.]\n\nAfter a short repose, as soon as daylight had visited Europe, it was my\nfirst care to provide myself with the articles of which I stood most in\nneed. First of all a drag, to act on my boots; for I had experienced\nthe inconvenience of these whenever I wished to shorten my steps and\nexamine surrounding objects more fully. A pair of slippers to go over\nthe boots served the purpose effectually; and from that time I carried\ntwo pairs about me, because I frequently cast them off from my feet in\nmy botanical investigations, without having time to pick them up, when\nthreatened by the approach of lions, men, or hyenas. My excellent\nwatch, owing to the short duration of my movements, was also on these\noccasions an admirable chronometer. I wanted, besides, a sextant, a few\nphilosophical instruments, and some books. To purchase these things, I\nmade several unwilling journeys to London and Paris, choosing a time\nwhen I could be hid by the favouring clouds. As all my ill-gotten gold\nwas exhausted, I carried over from Africa some ivory, which is there so\nplentiful, in payment of my purchases--taking care, however, to pick\nout the smallest teeth, in order not to overburden myself. I had thus\nsoon provided myself with all that I wanted, and now entered on a new\nmode of life as a student--wandering over the globe--measuring the\nheight of the mountains, and the temperature of the air and of the\nsprings--observing the manners and habits of animals--investigating\nplants and flowers. From the equator to the pole, and from the new\nworld to the old, I was constantly engaged in repeating and comparing\nmy experiments.\n\nMy usual food consisted of the eggs of the African ostrich or northern\nsea-birds, with a few fruit, especially those of the palm and the\nbanana of the tropics. The tobacco-plant consoled me when I was\ndepressed; and the affection of my spaniel was a compensation for the\nloss of human Sympathy and society. When I returned from my excursions,\nloaded with fresh treasures, to my cave in Thebes, which he guarded\nduring my absence, he ever sprang joyfully forward to greet me, and\nmade me feel that I was indeed not alone on the earth. An adventure\nsoon occurred which brought me once more among my fellow-creatures.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nOne day, as I was gathering lichens and algae on the northern coast,\nwith the drag on my boots, a bear suddenly made his appearance, and was\nstealing towards me round the corner of a rock. After throwing away my\nslippers, I attempted to step across to an island, by means of a rock,\nprojecting from the waves in the intermediate space, that served as a\nstepping-stone. I reached the rock safely with one foot, but instantly\nfell into the sea with the other, one of my slippers having\ninadvertently remained on. The cold was intense; and I escaped this\nimminent peril at the risk of my life. On coming ashore, I hastened to\nthe Libyan sands, to dry myself in the sun; but the heat affected my\nhead so much, that, in a fit of illness, I staggered back to the north.\nIn vain I sought relief by change of place--hurrying from east to west,\nand from west to east--now in climes of the south, now in those of the\nnorth; sometimes I rushed into daylight, sometimes into the shades of\nnight. I know not how long this lasted. A burning fever raged in my\nveins; with extreme anguish I felt my senses leaving me. Suddenly, by\nan unlucky accident, I trod upon someone's foot, whom I had hurt, and\nreceived a blow in return, which laid me senseless.\n\nOn recovering, I found myself lying comfortably in a good bed, which,\nwith many other beds, stood in a spacious and handsome apartment.\nSomeone was watching by me; people seemed to be walking from one bed to\nanother; they came beside me, and spoke of me as _Number Twelve_. On\nthe wall, at the foot of my bed,--it was no dream, for I distinctly\nread it,--on a black-marble tablet was inscribed my name, in large\nletters of gold:\n\n                            PETER SCHLEMIHL.\n\nUnderneath were two rows of letters in smaller characters, which I was\ntoo feeble to connect together, and closed my eyes again.\n\nI now heard something read aloud, in which I distinctly noted the words\n\"Peter Schlemihl,\" but could not collect the full meaning. I saw a man\nof benevolent aspect, and a very beautiful female dressed in black,\nstanding near my bed; their countenances were not unknown to me, but in\nmy weak state I could not remember who they were. Some time elapsed,\nand I began to regain my strength. I was called Number Twelve, and,\nfrom my long beard, was supposed to be a Jew, but was not the less\ncarefully nursed on that account. No one seemed to perceive that I was\ndestitute of a shadow. My boots, I was assured, together with every\nthing found on me when I was brought here, were in safe keeping, and\nwould be given up to me on my restoration to health. This place was\ncalled the SCHLEMIHLIUM: the daily recitation I had heard, was an\nexhortation to pray for Peter Schlemihl as the founder and benefactor\nof this institution. The benevolent-looking man whom I had seen by my\nbedside was Bendel; the beautiful lady in black was Minna.\n\nI had been enjoying the advantages of the Schlemihlium without being\nrecognised; and I learned, further, that I was in Bendel's native town,\nwhere he had employed a part of my once unhallowed gold in founding a\nhospital in my name, under his superintendence, and that its\nunfortunate inmates daily pronounced blessings on me. Minna had become\na widow: an unhappy law-suit had deprived Rascal of his life, and Minna\nof the greater part of her property. Her parents were no more; and here\nshe dwelt in widowed piety, wholly devoting herself to works of mercy.\n\nOne day, as she stood by the side of Number Twelve's bed with Bendel,\nhe said to her, \"Noble lady, why expose yourself so frequently to this\nunhealthy atmosphere? Has fate dealt so harshly with you as to render\nyou desirous of death?\"\n\n\"By no means, Mr. Bendel,\" she replied; \"since I have awoke from my\nlong dream, all has gone well with me. I now neither wish for death nor\nfear it, and think on the future and on the past with equal serenity.\nDo you not also feel an inward satisfaction in thus paying a pious\ntribute of gratitude and love to your old master and friend?\"\n\n\"Thanks be to God, I do, noble lady,\" said he. \"Ah, how wonderfully has\neverything fallen out! How thoughtlessly have we sipped joys and\nsorrows from the full cup now drained to the last drop; and we might\nfancy the past a mere prelude to the real scene for which we now wait\narmed by experience. How different has been the reality! Yet let us not\nregret the past, but rather rejoice that we have not lived in vain. As\nrespects our old friend also, I have a firm hope that it is now better\nwith him than formerly.\"\n\n\"I trust so too,\" answered Minna; and so saying, she passed by me, and\nthey departed.\n\nThis conversation made a deep impression on me; and I hesitated whether\nI should reveal myself, or depart unknown. At last I decided; and,\nasking for pen and paper, wrote as follows:--\n\n\"Matters are indeed better with your old friend than formerly. He has\nrepented; and his repentance has led to forgiveness.\"\n\nI now attempted to rise, for I felt myself stronger. The keys of a\nlittle chest near my bed were given me; and in it I found all my\neffects. I put on my clothes--fastened my botanical case round me,\nwherein, with delight, I found my northern lichens all safe--put on my\nboots--and leaving my note on the table, left the gates, and was\nspeedily far advanced on the road to Thebes.\n\nPassing along the Syrian coast, which was the same road I had taken on\nlast leaving home, I beheld poor Figaro, my spaniel, running to meet\nme. The faithful animal, after vainly waiting at home for his master's\nreturn, had probably followed his traces. I stood still, and called\nhim. He sprang towards me with leaps and barks, and a thousand\ndemonstrations of unaffected delight. I took him in my arms--for he was\nunable to follow me--and carried him home.\n\nThere I found everything exactly in the order in which I had left it;\nand returned by degrees, as my increasing strength allowed me, to my\nold occupations and usual mode of life, from which I was kept back a\nwhole year by my fall into the Polar ocean. And this, dear Chamisso, is\nthe life I am still leading. My boots are not yet worn out, as I had\nbeen led to fear would be the case, from that very learned work of\nTieckius--_De rebus gestis Pollicilli_. Their energies remain\nunimpaired; and although mine are gradually failing me, I enjoy the\nconsolation of having spent them in pursuing incessantly one object,\nand that not fruitlessly.\n\n[Illustration: Peter at Home.]\n\nSo far as my boots would carry me, I have observed and studied our\nglobe and its conformation, its mountains and temperature, the\natmosphere in its various changes, the influences of the magnetic\npower,--in fact, I have studied all living creation--and more\nespecially the kingdom of plants--more profoundly than any one of our\nrace. I have arranged all the facts in proper order, to the best of my\nability, in different works. The consequences deducible from these\nfacts, and my views respecting them, I have hastily recorded in some\nessays and dissertations. I have settled the geography of the interior\nof Africa and the Arctic regions, of the interior of Asia and of its\neastern coast. My _Historia stirpium plantarum utriusque orbis_ is an\nextensive fragment of a _Flora universalis terræ_ and a part of my\n_Systema naturæ_. Besides increasing the number of our known species by\nmore than a third, I have also contributed somewhat to the natural\nsystem of plants, and to a knowledge of their geography. I am now\ndeeply engaged on my _Fauna_, and shall take care to have my\nmanuscripts sent to the University of Berlin before my decease.\n\nI have selected thee, my dear Chamisso, to be the guardian of my\nwonderful history, thinking that, when I have left this world, it may\nafford valuable instruction to the living. As for thee, Chamisso, if\nthou wouldst live amongst thy fellow-creatures, learn to value thy\nshadow more than gold; if thou wouldst only live to thyself and thy\nnobler part--in this thou needest no counsel.\n\n\n\n\n\n                             THE COLD HEART\n\n\n\n\n                              INTRODUCTION\n\n                             WILHELM HAUFF\n\nWilhelm Hauff was born on the 29th November, 1802, at Stuttgart, and\ndied in the same town on the 18th November, 1827, within a few days of\ncompleting his twenty-fifth year.\n\nLosing his father when but six years of age, he was placed in the care\nof his grandfather in Tübingen, and was later sent to a convent school\nat Blaubeuren. Returning to Tübingen, he devoted four years, 1820-24,\nto the study of theology, and was appointed tutor to the family of\nBaron von Hügel in Stuttgart.\n\nIt was at this time that Hauff began his remarkable literary career\nwith the publication in November, 1825, of his \"Fairy Tale Annual for\n1826.\" The years 1826 and 1827 saw the appearance of two succeeding\nannuals of fairy stories, which were everywhere received with the most\nenthusiastic admiration.\n\nHauff's productivity was truly amazing; in four years he wrote, besides\nthe fairy-tales, poems, short stories, fantasies satirical and\nhumourous, and the classic novel \"Lichtenstein,\" all of which have\ngained an enduring place in German literature.\n\nReturning from a journey through France, Holland and North Germany,\nHauff was appointed to the literary editorship of the \"Morgenblatt,\" a\nposition which enabled him to marry, the wedding taking place in\nNördlingen, on the 13th February, 1827.\n\nHauff's journalistic duties did not interfere with his activity in\nother spheres of literary work. In this last year of his short life he\ncontinued to produce short stories and fantasies, his experiences while\non his travels furnishing him with plenty of material. Indeed, it was\nwhile on a journey that he wrote the second \"Fairy-tale Annual.\"\n\nShortly after his marriage he set himself to the composition of his\nthird a final \"Annual\"--the connecting story of which is entitled \"The\nInn in Spessart,\" and in which occurs the story of \"The Cold Heart,\" a\nnew translation of which is published in the present volume.\n\nHauff's brilliant career was now drawing to a close. The last work to\nproceed from his pen was the playful fantasy, \"Phantasien im Bremer\nRatskeller.\" Early in November, 1827, a daughter was born to him; but\nhe was already suffering from an attack of typhoid fever, to which he\nsuccumbed on the 18th day of the same month.\n\nNotwithstanding the genius displayed in his other works, the\n\"Fairytales\" will always be regarded as the most precious legacy which\nthe great author has bequeathed to posterity; and of these \"The Cold\nHeart\" holds undoubtedly the first place in popular esteem. Unlike the\nmajority of his fairy-tales, it owes something of its origin to\nfolk-lore, as it is based on an old Black Forest Legend. But the human\nfigures in the story are Hauff's very own; those conversant with the\nmaster's works will recognise in Charcoal Peter and Fat Ezekiel\ncharacters which only Hauff could have created.\n\nAs in all his fairy-tales the human element is supreme, even Dutch\nMichael and the Glassmanikin evince more human characteristics than\nsupernatural, and though they came from a mythological source they\nnever appear to us pale and colourless as the supernatural beings in\nthe fairy-tales of the brothers Grimm. Having chosen the groundwork of\nhis story, Hauff developed it with all the force of his vivid\nimagination, fantastic humour and rare talent for narration.\n\n                                        H. ROBERTSON MURRAY.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                             THE COLD HEART\n\n\n\n                                 PART I.\n\n\nHe who travels through Suabia should not pass without seeing something\nof the Black Forest; not because of the trees, although such countless\nmasses of stately pines are not to be met with everywhere; but because\nof the people, who differ remarkably from their neighbours on every\nside. They are broad-shouldered and strong-limbed and taller than the\ngenerality of human beings; it is as if the invigorating air, which\nblows every morning through the pines, has endowed them with a freer\nrespiration, a clearer eye and a firmer though, perhaps, rougher\ncourage than is possessed by the dwellers in valley and on plain.\nAnd not only in bearing and stature, but also in customs and dress\nthey form a marked contrast to those who live beyond the confines\nof the forest. The costume of the Baden Black Forester is the\nmore picturesque: with full-grown beards, as in accordance with\nNature's intention, the men, in their black jerkins, their enormous\nnarrow-pleated breeches, their red stockings and their peaked,\nbroad-brimmed hats, have an air somewhat strange, but, at the same\ntime, serious and dignified. These people are mostly occupied in\nglassblowing; but they are also noted for the manufacture of clocks,\nwhich are exported to all parts of the world.\n\nOn the other side of the forest dwell people of the same stock; but\ntheir employment has imparted to them habits, manners and customs\ndiffering from those of the glass-blowers. They are occupied with their\nforest, felling and splitting up the pine trees, which they float down\nthe Nagold to the Necker, and thence to the Rhine and to far-away\nHolland. The Black Foresters and their rafts are familiar objects even\nto the inhabitants of the remote coast regions. The raftsmen touch at\nevery town along the river, proudly awaiting offers for their baulks\nand beams; but the strongest and the longest of the former they sell\nfor gold to the Mynheers, who build ships of them. These men are\naccustomed, therefore, to a rough, wandering existence. Their delight\nis to float down stream on their rafts, while the return homeward along\nthe river-banks is but weary work.\n\nTheir holiday costume is also very different from that of the\nglass-blowers on the other side of the Black Forest. They wear dark\nlinen jerkins with wide, green braces across their broad chests, and\nblack leathern breeches, from the pocket of which peeps, as a badge of\nhonour, the end of a brass foot-rule. But they take most joy and pride\nin their boots, the biggest, perhaps, which have ever been in fashion\nin any part of the world, for these are drawn quite two handspans above\nthe knee, so that the raftsmen can wade knee deep in the water without\ngetting wet.\n\nUntil quite recently the inhabitants of this forest believed it\ninhabited by supernatural beings, and it is only latterly that they\nhave begun to abandon the superstition, and it is remarkable that even\nthe forest spirits, which according to legend haunt the Black Forest,\nare also distinguished by their different costume and habits. Thus we\nare assured, the Glass-manikin, a benevolent elf, of about four feet in\nheight, is never seen in anything but a little peaked broad trimmed\nhat, with jerkin, knee-breeches and red stockings.\n\nDutch Michael again, who dwells on the other side of the forest, is\nsaid to be a gigantic, broad shouldered fellow, dressed in like fashion\nto the raftsmen; and many people, who have seen him, are wont to\ndeclare that they would not like to bear the cost of the calves, the\nskins of which have gone to the making of the boots. \"So big are they\nthat an ordinary man could stand up to his neck in them,\" say the\nlatter, protesting that the description is no exaggerated one.\n\nNow, there is a story of the very strange adventure which a young Black\nForester once had with these forest spirits, and which story I will now\nrelate.\n\nIn the Black Forest there lived a widow, one Mistress Barbara Munk; her\nhusband had been a charcoal burner, and after his death she brought up\nher son, a lad of sixteen, to the same calling. Peter Munk, a slenderly\nbuilt young fellow, took to the business as a matter of course, because\nhe had never seen his father do aught else but sit by his smoking\ncharcoal-kiln, or, blackened and begrimed, travel to the towns to sell\nhis charcoal.\n\nNow, a charcoal-burner has a great deal of time for meditation on\nthings as they are, and on himself; and as Peter Munk sat before his\nkiln, the dark trees around him and the heavy silence of the forest\nstirred his heart to sorrow and to vague longings. He felt grieved and\nvexed at something; but what that something was he could not tell. At\nlast, the cause of his discontent was revealed to him: it was--his\nposition in the world.\n\n\"A grimy, lonely charcoal-burner!\" he exclaimed to himself. \"What a\nwretched existence! Look at the glassblowers, the watchmakers, even the\nmusicians who play on Sunday evenings--how they are respected! And I,\nPeter Munk, though cleaned up and dressed in my father's best jerkin\nwith the silver buttons, and with my brand-new red stockings on, if\nsomeone follows me and asks himself 'Who can that slim young fellow\nbe?'--admiring my stockings and easy gait, no sooner does he pass me\nand chance to look round, than he exclaims, 'Pooh, it's only that\ncharcoal-burning Peter Munk after all.'\"\n\nThe raftsmen on the other side of the forest were also objects of his\nenvy. When these giants came over to his side of the forest, in all\ntheir glory of apparel, their buttons, chains and buckles representing\ngreat weight and wealth of silver; when they stood with outstretched\nlegs looking on at the dancing, swearing Dutch oaths, and smoking\nyard-long Rhenish pipes like the grandest Mynheers, each of these\nhandsome raftsmen appeared to him to be a perfect representation of a\nreally happy man. And when one of these lucky fellows chanced to dive\nhis hands into his pockets, bringing forth whole handsful of silver\nthalers, and throwing them down on the dice table, five gulden here,\nten there, Peter became well-nigh distracted, and slunk dolefully back\nto his hut; for on many a festival he had seen one or other of these\nwoodsmen play away more money than his poor father had been able to\nearn in a year.\n\nThere were three of these men in particular of whom he could not say\nwhich he admired the most. One was a big, fat, red-faced man, generally\nconceded to be the richest person in those parts. He was called Fat\nEzekiel. Twice a year he travelled to Amsterdam with building timber,\nand always had the good fortune to dispose of it at so much better\nprofit than his comrades could, that he was able to travel homewards in\nluxurious style, while they were compelled to return on foot.\n\nThe second was the tallest and lankiest fellow in the whole forest. He\nwas called Lanky Schlurker, and Munk envied him because of his\nextraordinary boldness. He would flatly contradict the most worthy\npeople, and always took up more room in the overcrowded tavern than was\nrequired by four others of the bulkiest, leaning with both elbows on\nthe table, or stretching his legs along the bench; yet nobody dared to\ncomplain, for he was fabulously rich.\n\nThe third was a handsome young man, the best dancer for miles round,\nwho had earned the nickname of the Dance King. He had formerly been a\npoor man in the service of a wealthy timber merchant; but all at once\nhe had become immensely rich. Some said that he had found a jar, full\nof money, at the root of an old pine tree; others maintained that not\nfar from Bingen on the Rhine he had brought up with his pole, such as\nthe raftsmen use to spear fish, a bundle filled with gold, and that\nthis bundle had formed part of the great Nibelung's hoard which lies\nburied there. But no matter--the fact was that he had suddenly become\nrich, and was consequently respected by young and old as if he had been\na prince.\n\nThe charcoal-burner, Peter Munk, thought long and oft of these men as\nhe sat alone among the pine-trees. All three of them had one great\nfailing which made them hated by all; and this common failing was\ntheir inhuman avarice, their callousness towards debtors and the poor,\nfor the Black-foresters were a kindly and good-hearted people.\nNevertheless, as is often found in such cases, though they were hated\nbecause of their covetousness, they were held in awe because of their\nmoney; for who but they could fling thalers broadcast as though by\nsimply shaking the pine-trees the money fell into their hands.\n\n\"I cannot endure this any longer!\" said Peter to himself, sorely\ndepressed, one day when there had been a fête, and the people had\nforegathered in the tavern to enjoy themselves. \"If I do not soon have\na stroke of luck, I shall be doing myself some harm. Oh, if I were only\nas rich and feared as Fat Ezekiel, or as bold and strong as the Lanky\nSchlurker, or as famous as the Dance King, throwing thalers instead of\nkreuzers to the musicians, as he does! Where the fellow gets his money\nfrom is a mystery to me!\" He turned over in his mind all possible means\nof earning money, but none attracted him; at last, he fell to\nreflecting on the stories which he had heard of people who in bygone\ntimes had become rich through the aid of Dutch Michael or the\nGlassmanikin. While his father was alive, other poor folk would often\npay him visits, and the conversation would turn on rich people and how\nthey had gained their wealth. In these stories the Glassmanikin often\nplayed a part. Indeed, after some striving, Peter was able to recall a\nportion of the little rhymed incantation which had to be pronounced in\nthe depths of the forest before the Glassmanikin would appear. It began\nthus:\n\n     \"Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold,\n      Art many hundred ages old.\n      Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow.\"\n\nBut tax his memory as he might, he could not recollect any more of the\nrhyme. He often felt inclined to question this or that old man how the\nlittle incantation ran, but a certain shyness always prevented him from\nbetraying the drift of his thoughts. He came also to the conclusion\nthat not many could be acquainted with the story of the Glassmanikin,\nand but few could know the incantation, as there were hardly any rich\npeople in the forest, and--but why had not his father and other poor\nfolk tried their luck? At last, he coaxed his mother to talk of the\nGlassmanikin; but she could only tell him what he already knew, being\nable to quote only the first line of the rhymed incantation, although\nshe informed him, at length, that the goblin showed himself only to\nthose born on a Sunday between the hours of eleven and two. He himself,\nhaving been born at noon on a Sunday, was, therefore, one of the elect,\nif he but knew the incantation.\n\nWhen Charcoal-Peter Munk heard this he could scarcely contain himself\nwith joy and eagerness to make the adventure. Because he knew a part of\nthe incantation and was born on Sunday, he conjectured that the\nGlassmanikin would surely show himself. One day, therefore, having sold\nall his charcoal he kindled no fresh fires in his kilns, but dressed\nhimself in his father's state-jerkin and new red stockings, donned his\nSunday hat, took his five-foot blackthorn stick in hand, and bade\nfarewell to his mother. \"I must go to the mayoralty in town,\" he said,\n\"for we have to draw lots as to who shall serve as soldier, and I will\nimpress it on the mayor, for once and for all, that you are a widow and\nthat I am your only son.\"\n\nHis mother having commended his resolution, he made his way to the\nPine-grove. The Pine-grove lies on the highest point of the Black\nForest, for miles around which there lay at that time no village, not\neven a hut, for the superstitious people believed that the spot was\nhaunted. Further, no one cared to fell wood in that quarter, though the\npines there grew tall and stately, for it often happened that when\nwoodcutters were at work there, their axeheads flew from the hafts and\nwounded them in the foot, or the trees fell over without warning,\ninjuring and even killing the men round about; besides which, even the\nfinest trees growing there were only used as firewood, for the raftsmen\nnever took any timber from the Pine-grove, because the saying went that\nman and wood would surely come to grief if a tree from the Pine-grove\nfound itself in a raft. This is the reason why the trees grew so thick\nand tall in the Pine-grove, so that even in the brightest sunshine all\nwas as dark as night. Well might Peter Munk shudder with fear, for he\ncould hear no sound of of human voice, no ring of axe, and no footfall\nsave his own; even the very birds appeared to shun this awesome grove.\n\nHaving reached the highest point in the Pine-grove, Charcoal-Peter Munk\nstood before a pine of huge circumference, one for which any Dutch\nship-builder would have given many hundred guilders on the spot.\n\n\"This must be the place,\" thought Peter, \"where the Treasure-guardian\nlives.\" Saying which, he doffed his big Sunday hat, made a deep bow\nbefore the tree, cleared his throat and spoke in a trembling voice: \"I\nwish you a very good evening, Master Glassmanikin!\"\n\nNo answer--all was as silent as before.\n\n\"Perhaps I had better recite the little verse,\" thought Peter, and\nstraightway began to mutter:\n\n     \"Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold,\n      Art many hundred ages old;\n      Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow.\"\n\nAs he uttered these words he saw to his amazement a tiny, weird figure\npeeping forth from behind the great pine tree. He fancied he could see\nthe little Glassmanikin just as the latter had been described to him,\nwith his little black jerkin, little red stockings, little hat;\neverything, indeed, even the pale, but wise and refined little face of\nwhich he had heard so much. But, alas! the Glassmanikin vanished as\nquickly as he had appeared.\n\n\"Master Glassmanikin!\" said Peter Munk, after a moment's hesitation,\n\"please don't take me for a fool!--Master Glassmanikin, if you think\nthat I did not catch sight of you, you are greatly mistaken: I saw you\nquite clearly peeping from behind the tree.\"\n\nStill no answer, though, at times, he fancied he could hear a faint,\nhoarse chuckle from behind the tree. Finally, his impatience overcame\nhis fear, which until now had restrained him.\n\n\"Just you wait a moment, you little beggar,\" he cried out, \"I'll soon\nhave you!\" and at one bound he was behind the pine-tree, but there was\nno \"guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold,\" nothing but a pretty\nlittle squirrel clambering away up the tree.\n\nPeter Munk shook his head; he perceived that he had succeeded in\nworking the spell to a certain degree; and if he could only think of\nthe last line to the rhyme he would be able to induce the Glassmanikin\nto show himself. He pondered, and pondered, and pondered, but all to no\npurpose. He could see the little squirrel perched on the lowest branch\nof the pine, and he could not be sure whether it was trying to inspire\nhim with courage or only making fun of him. It cleaned itself, whisked\nits beautiful tail to and fro, gazing at him all the while with\nintelligent eyes, until he began to be almost afraid of being alone\nwith the creature; for, at one moment, the little squirrel appeared to\nhave a human head covered with a three cornered hat; then it looked\njust like any other squirrel, except that on its hind legs it had red\nstockings and black shoes. In short it was a comical creature; but,\nnevertheless, it made Charcoal Peter feel quite uncomfortable, for it\nseemed to him to be so uncanny.\n\nPeter returned at a quicker pace than he had gone thither. The gloom of\nthe pine-forest seemed to be intensified, the trees grew in denser\nclumps, and at last he was so fearful that he broke into a run, and did\nnot regain courage until he heard dogs barking in the distance, and\nsaw, shortly afterwards the smoke from a cottage rising between the\ntrees. On drawing nearer, he was able to distinguish the costume of the\npeople in the cottage, and he realised to his consternation that he had\nfled in exactly the opposite direction to the one he had intended, and\nhad arrived among the raftsmen instead of among the glass-blowers.\nThe cottagers were wood-fellers, and the family consisted of an old\nman, his son, who was the owner of the cottage, and some grown-up\ngrandchildren. They bade Charcoal-Peter a kindly welcome when he asked\nfor a night's lodging, without questioning him as to his name or whence\nhe came, offered him cider to drink, and set on the table for supper a\nlarge woodcock, which is the choicest dish of the Black Forest.\n\n[Illustration: Dutch Michael felling the trees.]\n\nAfter supper the housewife and her daughters betook themselves to\ntheir spinning, sitting round the large burning wood-splinter, which\nserved as light and which the young people kept fed with the finest\npine-resin, while the grandfather, the house-owner and their guest\nsmoked and watched the women, and the boys busied themselves cutting\nspoons and forks out of wood. Without, in the forest the storm howled\nand rushed through the pines, heavy thuds being heard every now and\nthen, as if whole trees were being torn up by the roots and flung to\nearth. The fearless youngsters wanted to run out into the forest to\nwitness the scene in all its awful grandeur, but their grandfather\nforbade them with stern words and looks. \"I advise no one to set foot\noutside the door this night,\" he cried to them; \"he who does so will\nnever return; for Dutch Michael is abroad to-night hewing down timber\nfor a new raft.\"\n\nThe young ones stared at him; although they must have heard many a time\nof Dutch Michael, yet they begged their grandfather to relate them once\nmore some good story of that forest-spirit. Peter Munk, also, who had\nonly heard vague rumours of Dutch Michael on his side of the forest,\nchimed in with the others and begged the old man to say who and what he\nmight be.\n\n\"He is the lord of this forest,\" answered the old man, \"and for one of\nyour age not to have heard of him tells me that your home lies on the\nother side of the Pine-grove, or even farther off. But I will relate to\nyou what I know of Dutch Michael, and what people say of him. About a\nhundred years ago, at least, so my grandfather told me, there were no\nmore honourable people than the Black-Foresters in the whole world. But\nnow that money is so plentiful, dishonesty and evil are everywhere. Our\nyoung lads dance and riot on the Sabbath, and swear terribly. But\nformerly it was quite otherwise, and, though he himself were to look\nthrough the window at this moment, I say, as I have said time and\nagain, that Dutch Michael is to blame for all the mischief. Well--one\nhundred or more years ago, there lived a rich timber merchant who had a\nvery large business; he traded far away down the Rhine, and his affairs\nprospered, for he was a good Christian. One evening there came to his\ndoor a man, the like of whom he had never cast eyes upon. He was\ndressed as one of our young Black-Foresters, but was a good head taller\nthan any of them; indeed, one could hardly have believed that there was\nsuch a giant in existence. The fellow asked the merchant for work, and\nthe latter, seeing how strong and capable of doing heavy work he\nlooked, was ready to engage him at a fair wage. So the matter was\nagreed upon. Michael turned out to be a workman such as that merchant\nhad never yet employed. He was equal to three men at felling trees, and\nwhere it took six men to carry one end of a trunk, he could manage the\nother end all by himself. But after six months at tree-felling, he went\none day to his master, and demanded of him: 'I have been hewing wood\nlong enough in this place, and I would like to know where the felled\ntrunks go; how would it be if you were to let me go for a time on one\nof your rafts?'\"\n\nThe timber merchant replied: \"I won't stand in your way, Michael, if\nyou want to see a bit of the world. It's true that I am in sore need of\nstrong fellows like yourself for the tree-felling, while on the rafts\nit is more a question of skill. For this once, however, you may go!\"\n\nAnd thus it was; the raft upon which he was to go was in eight parts,\nthe last part being composed of enormous roof-beams. But what happened?\nThe night before starting, this huge fellow brought down to the water\nyet another eight beams, bigger and longer than any that had ever been\nseen, so much so that everybody was amazed. And no one knows to this\nday where he had felled them. The merchant chuckled to himself when he\ncalculated the price these beams would fetch. But Michael said: \"These\nare for me to travel upon, for I could not make any headway on those\nlittle splinters.\"\n\nHis grateful master then wished to present him with a pair of\nraftsmen's boots, but Michael put them aside, and brought forth another\npair, such as had never before been made. My grandfather used to\ndeclare that they must have weighed a hundred pounds, and were five\nfeet in length.\n\nThe raft went on its way, and as Michael had hitherto astonished the\nwood-cutters, he now caused the raftsmen to marvel; for the raft,\ninstead of going more slowly down the stream, as one would have\nthought, taking the monstrous baulks into consideration, it simply flew\nforward like an arrow as soon as it reached the Neckar. And when it\ncame to a bend in the river where otherwise the raftsmen would have had\ntrouble to keep the raft in mid-stream or to prevent it from stranding,\nMichael would spring into the water, and with one push would force the\nraft to left or right, so that it escaped danger; and if they came to a\nshallow, he ran to the forepart of the raft, made them all lay aside\ntheir poles, laid a huge round beam on the sandbank, and with one push\nthe raft sped over, so fast that land, trees and villages seemed to fly\npast. Thus they came to Cologne in about half the time it usually\ntakes. Here it was that the wood was always sold at that time; but\nMichael addressed the raftsmen: \"I can see that you are all good\nbusiness men, and know how to manage your affairs to the best\nadvantage! Do you suppose that here in Cologne they want all the timber\nwhich comes from the Black Forest for their own use? Not at all: they\nbuy it from you at half its value, and then sell it at a higher price\nin Holland. Let us sell our smaller beams here, and then go on to\nHolland with the big ones; and what we receive above the usual price\nwill be for our own profit.\"\n\nThus spoke the cunning Michael, and the others agreed; some because\nthey wished to go to Holland, others for the sake of the money. There\nwas only one honest man among them, and he tried to dissuade them from\nrisking their master's goods, and from cheating him out of any higher\nprice they might get. But they would not listen to him, and soon forgot\nthe words he had said; though Dutch Michael did not forget them.\n\nThe raft continued its journey down the Rhine with Michael in command,\nso that it soon arrived at Rotterdam. There they received about four\ntimes the price usually obtained, while Michael's huge baulks fetched\nan enormous sum of money. When the Black Foresters saw so much gold\nthey could scarcely contain themselves for joy. Michael divided the\nmoney into four parts, setting aside one for the master, and dividing\nthe remainder among the men. With this they mixed with sailors and evil\ncharacters, spending their money in dissipation and debauchery in the\ntaverns. As to the honest man, who had warned them, Dutch Michael is\nsaid to have sold him to a slave-dealer, for nothing more was ever\nheard of him.\n\nFrom that day forth Holland has been the paradise of our Black Forest\nlads; the timber merchants knew nothing of this trade, and all the\nwhile money, swearing, evil habits, drink and gambling were being\nintroduced by the raftsmen from Holland.\n\nDutch Michael, so the story goes, disappeared and was nowhere to be\nfound; but it is certain that he did not die. For one hundred years his\nspirit has haunted the forest, and it is said that he has helped many\nto become rich, at the cost of their poor souls, of which I would\nrather not say any more. This much is certain, that on such stormy\nnights as this he is up in the Pine-grove, where no one fells trees,\nselecting the biggest pines. And my father has seen him take hold of\none, four to five feet in thickness, and snap it as one would a reed.\nThis is his gift to those who turn from the straight path to go to him;\nat midnight they carry their timber to the water, and fare away on it\ninto Holland. Oh, if I were only king and lord of Holland, I would send\nhim to the bottom with grape-shot; for every ship, the hull of which\ncontains one single beam of Dutch Michael's felling, must come to\ngrief. And that is the reason why one hears of so many shipwrecks; how\notherwise could a fine, strong ship, as big as a church, sink in the\nopen sea? Every time Dutch Michael fells a pine on a stormy night in\nthe Black Forest, one of his old ones is sprung from the bottom of some\nship, the water rushes in, and that ship with all on board is lost.\n\nSuch is the story of Dutch Michael, and it is but the truth when people\ndeclare that he is the author of all the evil which is committed in the\nBlack Forest!\n\n\"Ah! he can make you rich enough!\" continued the old man,\nconfidentially. \"But I would receive nothing at his hands, not for all\nthe gold in the world would I stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the\nLanky Schlurker. And it is also thought that the Dance-King is one of\nhis familiars.\"\n\nThe storm had abated during the recital of the old man's story; the\ngirls lit the lamps, and stole away; the men gave Peter Munk a sack\nfull of leaves to serve as a pillow, and left him to sleep on the\nhearth, wishing him good-night as they went.\n\nNever in his life had Charcoal-Peter dreamed so heavily as during that\nnight. First there appeared to him the dark gigantic form of Dutch\nMichael, who wrenched open the window and stretched an enormously long\narm into the room, in the hand of which was a purse full of gold\npieces, which he shook so that the money jingled temptingly. Then he\nsaw the little, friendly Glassmanikin riding round the room on a huge\ngreen bottle, and he seemed again to hear that hoarse chuckle he had\nheard in the Pine-grove. Then it was as if someone was murmuring in his\nleft ear:\n\n     \"From Holland comes Gold!\n      Canst have it, if bold.\n      For payment soon told!\n      Gold! Gold!\"\n\nThen again in his right ear he heard the little rhyme beginning:\n\n     \"Guardian of gold in the pine tree wold!\"\n\nand a soft voice whispered: \"Stupid Charcoal-Peter! silly Peter Munk!\ncannot you find a rhyme to 'grow,' and yet you were born at noon on a\nSunday! Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme!\"\n\n[Illustration: Peter's dream in the woodman's cottage.]\n\nHe sighed and groaned in his sleep, he tried hard to find a rhyme; but\nas he had never been able to make one when awake, to do so in a dream\nwas equally beyond him. But when he awoke with the first flush of dawn,\nhis dream seemed to have been very wonderful; he sat with folded arms\nat the table, and thought of the whispered exhortation which still\nresounded in his ear: \"Rhyme, stupid Charcoal-Peter, rhyme!\" he\nrepeated to himself, pressing his finger to his forehead; but no rhyme\nwas forthcoming. But while he sat there, staring despondently in front\nof him and trying to think of a rhyme to \"grow,\" three lads passed the\nhouse on their way through the forest, and one of them was singing as\nhe trudged along:\n\n     \"To the mountains there above,\n      To the heights where pine-trees grow,\n      I go to meet my love;\n      She's true to me, I know.\"\n\nThe words thrilled Peter's senses like a flash of lightning. He leapt\nto his feet and rushed out of the house, for he was not sure whether he\nhad caught the words correctly. He ran after the three lads, and seized\nthe singer by the arm.\n\n\"Stop, my friend!\" he cried, \"what was it you made to rhyme with\n'grow'? For the love of Heaven tell me what you were singing?\"\n\n\"What ever is the matter with you?\" demanded the Black Forester. \"I can\nsing what I like--and if you don't leave go of my arm, I'll----\"\n\n\"Not till you tell me what you were singing,\" screamed Peter, nearly\nbeside himself, and gripping the other more tightly by the arm.\n\nSeeing which, the two friends of the singer lost all patience, and\nstarted punching the wretched Peter with all their might until the pain\nhe suffered forced him to loose his hold and to sink to his knees.\n\n\"Have you had enough?\" they asked him, while laughing at him. \"Take\ncare, you foolish fellow, that in future you do not molest people on\nthe public highway.\"\n\n\"Ah, I will be careful enough as to that,\" replied Charcoal-Peter,\ndismally. \"But now that you have beaten me, be so good as to repeat\nslowly and distinctly what that friend of yours was singing.\"\n\nAt which all three once more burst out laughing, making game of him;\nbut the singer repeated the words of his song for him, and, laughing\nand singing, they went their way.\n\n\"Then _know_ is the word,\" said Peter Munk, getting once more on to his\nlegs. \"_Know_ rhymes with _grow_--and now Master Glassmanikin we will\nhave another little chat together.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"Have you had enough?\" they asked him.]\n\nHe returned to the cottage, took his hat and long stick, bade farewell\nto the cottagers, and strode away in the direction of the pine-grove.\nBecoming engrossed in thought, he slackened his speed, for it had\noccurred to him that, now he had found a rhyme, he must complete the\nverse. At length, approaching the Pine-grove, and reaching the part\nwhere the trees grow taller and denser, he completed the missing line,\nand his delight caused him to bound into the air. At the same moment\nthere stepped from behind a pine a gigantic man, dressed as a raftsman,\nand with a pole as big as a ship's mast in his hand. Peter Munk sank in\nterror to his knees, as he saw the stranger striding slowly towards\nhim. He felt that this could be none other than Dutch Michael. No sound\ncame from the terrible apparition, while Peter stole fearful glances at\nhim every now and then. He towered a full head above the tallest man\nwhom Peter had ever seen; his features were not youthful in appearance,\nneither did he look old, though his face was a mass of wrinkles and\nfurrows. He wore a linen jerkin, and his huge boots, which were drawn\nup well over his leather knee-breeches, were exactly as they had been\ndescribed to Peter.\n\n\"Peter Munk! what are you doing in the Pine-grove?\" asked the lord of\nthe forest, at last, in deep, threatening tones.\n\n\"Good morning, countryman,\" answered Peter, trying to conceal his\nterror, but trembling violently all the same. \"I am going home through\nthe Pine-grove.\"\n\n\"Peter Munk,\" rejoined the other, surveying him with a terrible\npenetrating look. \"Your way lies not through this glade.\"\n\n\"You are quite right,\" said Peter, \"but it is so hot to-day, and I\nthought it would be cooler here.\"\n\n\"Utter no falsehoods, Charcoal-Peter!\" thundered Dutch Michael; \"or I\nwill strike you to earth with my staff! Do you think that I have not\nseen you begging of that pigmy yonder?\" And he continued in more gentle\ntones: \"Go to! Go to! that was a silly thing to do, and well it was for\nyou that you did not know the incantation. He is a niggard, that little\nfellow, and gives but little; and those to whom he gives have not\nenough wherewith to enjoy themselves. Peter, you are a poor simpleton,\nand my heart grieves for you; such a brave and handsome fellow as\nyou are, one who should make his mark in the world, and yet but a\ncharcoal-burner! While others can throw away whole armsful of thalers\nand ducats, you have but a few farthings to spend;--'tis a wretched\nexistence.\"\n\n\"True! true! You are right! 'Tis a miserable life!\"\n\n\"Well, it is no fault of mine,\" pursued the terrible Michael; \"I have\nalready rescued many a brave fellow from misery, and you would not be\nthe first. Tell me: how many hundred thalers do you want to begin\nwith?\"\n\nAs he spoke Michael rattled the money in his huge pocket, and the sound\nof it was as in the dream overnight. But his words caused Peter's heart\nto quake fearfully and painfully in his breast, he went hot and cold,\nfor he did not look as one who offers gold out of compassion without\nexpecting something in exchange.\n\n[Illustration: Peter Munk, what are you doing in the pine grove?]\n\nThere flashed into his mind the mysterious words of the old man when\nspeaking of those who had become rich, whereupon, seized with\nindefinable horror and dread, he exclaimed: \"Many thanks, good sir! but\nI would rather have nothing to do with you; I have heard enough of you\nalready!\" Saying which, he turned and ran away as fast as he could.\n\nBut the Forest demon, taking enormous strides, kept at his side,\nmuttering in a dull and threatening voice: \"You will repent this,\nPeter--so stands it written on your brow; I can read it in your eyes!\n_You cannot escape me!_--Run not so fast: hearken to a word of reason;\nyonder is the boundary of my domain.\"\n\nHearing this and seeing not far ahead a little ditch, Peter redoubled\nhis speed in order to cross it and escape, and Michael was compelled to\nhurry in order to keep up with him, cursing and muttering threats the\nwhile. On coming to the ditch, the lad made a desperate leap, for he\nperceived that the demon had raised his staff to crush him with it.\nLuckily he managed to jump the ditch, and as he did so the staff flew\ninto splinters as though it had struck against an invisible wall, while\na large piece of it fell at Peter's feet.\n\nHe seized it, turning triumphantly to hurl it at the brutal Dutch\nMichael; but, in the same moment, he felt the wood moving in his hand,\nand discovered to his horror that he had hold of a huge snake, which\nwas rearing its head at him with venomous tongue and glittering eyes.\nHe loosened his grasp of it; but it had already entwined itself about\nhis arm, bringing its swaying head nearer and nearer to his face. Then,\nin a flash, a monstrous woodcock swept down from above, seized the\nsnake in its beak, and bore it aloft in the air. Dutch Michael, who had\nbeen watching the scene from the further side of the ditch, howled and\nshouted and raved as he saw the snake overpowered by this powerful\nantagonist.\n\n[Illustration: \"Then, in a flash, a monstrous woodcock swept down from\nabove and seized the snake in its beak.\"]\n\nExhausted and trembling, Peter pursued his way; the path grew steeper,\nthe scene ever wilder, until he found his way blocked by a huge\npine-tree.\n\nBowing low towards the invisible Glassmanikin, just as he had done the\nday before, he began:\n\n     \"Guardian of all in the pine-tree wold,\n      Art many hundred ages old,\n      Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow,\n      Thee only Sunday's children know.\"\n\n\"You haven't quite hit it, Charcoal-Peter; but as it is yourself, we\nwill let it pass,\" said a soft clear voice close by him. He turned\nround in amazement; and there, under a splendid pine-tree, he saw a\nlittle, old manikin, clad in black jerkin and red stockings, and with a\nlarge hat on his head. He had a delicate friendly little face and\nbeard, the latter as fine as a spider's web. And what was the more\nwonderful, he was smoking a pipe of blue glass; and Peter, on going\nnearer was astounded to see that the little man's clothes, shoes and\nhat were also made of coloured glass; yet it was as pliant as if still\nmolten, for it folded and creased like cloth with every movement of the\nlittle body.\n\n\"So you have just met that vagabond, Dutch Michael,\" said the manikin,\nwith an odd wheeze between each word. \"He tried to give you a good\nfright; but I have relieved him of that magic cudgel of his--it will\nnever serve him again as a weapon.\"\n\n\"Yes, Master Guardian,\" replied Peter, with a deep bow \"I was quite\nterrified. You must indeed have been that Master Woodcock which bit the\nsnake to death; for which I thank you with all my heart. But I have\ncome to you for advice; things are very bad and irksome with me; a\ncharcoal-burner cannot do much for himself; and as I am still young, I\nthought that, perhaps, I could become something better. And I cannot\nhelp thinking of others, and how well they have done for themselves in\na very short time--take, for example, that fellow, Ezekiel, and the\nDance-King, why, money is to them as leaves in autumn.\"\n\n\"Peter,\" said the little man gravely, emitting a long puff of smoke\nfrom his mouth: \"Peter, don't mention such people to me. What profit\nhave those who are able to appear to be happy for a year or two, only\nat the cost of misery hereafter? You must not despise your trade; it\nwas your father's and your grandfather's before you, and they were\nworthy men, Peter Munk! I should not like to think that it is love of\nidleness that has led you to me!\"\n\nThe seriousness with which the manikin spoke disconcerted Peter. \"No,\nno,\" he replied, blushing. \"Idleness, I know well, Master Guardian, is\nthe root of all evil; but you cannot blame me for preferring other\ntrades to my own. Charcoal-burning is held by the world to be such a\nmean calling, while glassblowers, and raftsmen, and watchmakers and\nsuch like are highly respected.\"\n\n\"Pride often comes before a fall,\" replied the diminutive lord of the\nPine-forest, in somewhat friendlier tones. \"You are a peculiar race,\nyou human beings! It is seldom indeed that one is found who is\ncontented with the lot to which he was born and bred. And to little\npurpose would it be if you did become a glass-blower, you would then\nyearn to be a timber-merchant; and were you timber-merchant, you would\nat once be coveting the post of forester or magistrate! Yet, so be it,\nPeter! if you promise me to be diligent, I will help you to something\nbetter. To every Sunday's child who knows how to find me, I am bound to\naccord three wishes. The first two I freely grant; but the third I can\nrefuse, if it be a foolish one. Wherefore, Peter, wish yourself\nsomething: but take care that it is something good and useful!\"\n\n[Illustration: You hav'nt quite hit, Charcoal Peter.]\n\n\"Hurrah! what a splendid Glass-manikin you are; you rightly deserve to\nbe called Guardian, for you can dispense treasures indeed! Well--and so\nI may wish for whatever my heart desires! Now, for my first, I wish I\ncould dance even better than the Dance-King, and could always have as\nmuch money in my pocket as Fat Ezekiel.\"\n\n\"You idiot!\" cried the dwarf, angrily. \"What a miserable wish--to be a\ngood dancer, and to have money wherewith to gamble! Are you not ashamed\nof yourself, you stupid Peter, to cheat yourself of so good a chance of\nhappiness? What good will your dancing be to your mother or to\nyourself? How will your money help you, which, according to your wish,\nis only for the tavern, and will only stay there like that of the\nwretched Dance-King? For the rest of the week you will have nothing,\nand be no better off than before. One more wish I am to grant you; but\ntake care you ask for something more sensible.\" Peter scratched his\nhead, and after a little hesitation, said: \"Well, I will wish myself\nthe finest and richest glass-factory in the whole Black Forest with\neverything complete and money to carry it on.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\" asked the little man, anxiously. \"Nothing else, Peter?\"\n\n\"Well--you might add a horse, and a little trap--\"\n\n\"Oh, you stupid Charcoal-Peter!\" exclaimed the dwarf, throwing his\nglass-pipe angrily against a big pine, where it shattered to atoms.\n\"Horses! Traps! _Sense_, I say to you, _good sense, sound common-sense\nand insight_ you should have wished for--not horses and traps. Ah well,\ndon't be so downcast; we will see whether we cannot keep you from\ncoming to harm, for the second wish was not so foolish on the whole. A\ngood glass-factory will support both master and man; if you had only\ninsight and understanding into the bargain, carriages and horses would\nhave come of themselves.\"\n\n\"But, Master Guardian,\" remarked Peter, \"I have still one wish left. I\ncould wish for sense with that, if it is so supremely necessary as you\nsay.\"\n\n\"No, no, Peter. You will find yourself in many an awkward fix yet, when\nyou will be glad that you have still another wish left you. For the\npresent, take yourself homewards. Here are two thousand guilders,\"\ncontinued the little forest gnome, drawing a little purse from his\npocket. \"Be satisfied with them; for if you come here again asking for\nmoney, I shall have to hang you to the tallest of yonder pine-trees.\nSuch has been my custom ever since I came to live in this forest. Old\nWinkfritz, who owned that large glass-factory in the lower part of the\nforest, died three days ago. Go thither early to-morrow morning, and\nmake a bid for the property. Behave yourself, be industrious, and I\nwill visit you from time to time, to be at hand with advice and help,\nseeing that you did not wish for common-sense. But--and I am now\nspeaking in all seriousness--your first wish was a bad one. Have a care\nof becoming too fond of the tavern, Peter! it is a place which brings\ngood to nobody in the long run!\"\n\nWhile speaking, the little man had pulled out another pipe of the\nfinest flint-glass, and after filling it with dried pine-needles, had\nthrust it into his little, toothless mouth. He then produced a huge\nburning-glass, stepped into the sunlight and lit his pipe. This\nbusiness over, he turned to Peter, and shook hands with him in the most\nfriendly manner, gave him a few more words of advice, puffed away at\nhis pipe even more vigorously until he disappeared in a cloud of smoke\nwhich gave forth an aroma of the finest Dutch tobacco as it curled\nslowly upwards among the pine branches overhead.\n\nOn arriving home, Peter found his mother in great trouble about him,\nfor the good lady had come to the conclusion that her son must have\nenlisted as a soldier. But with great glee he bade her be of good\ncheer, telling her how he had fallen in with a good friend in the\nforest, who had advanced him money so that he could set himself up in a\nbusiness other than charcoal-burning. Although his mother had been\nliving for a good thirty years in the charcoal-burner's hut, and had\ngrown as accustomed to the sight of grimy faces as a miller's wife to\nthe flour-covered features of her husband, yet she was vain enough to\ndespise her former station from the very moment in which Peter showed\nher the means to a more ostentatious way of life.\n\n\"Ah!\" she said, \"as the mother of the owner of a glass factory, my\nposition is very different from that of my neighbours, Greta and Beta;\nin future I shall occupy a more prominent place in church, in a pew\nwhere the better class people sit.\"\n\nHer son soon came to an agreement with the owners of the glass-factory.\nHe kept on the old staff of workmen, and busied himself night and day\nin the manufacture of glass. At first, he was very interested in the\nwork. It was his pleasure to go down to the glass-works, walking about\nwith a pompous air and with his hands in both pockets, up and down, in\nand out, peeping in here, and peering in there, talking to this man,\nand then to that one, often causing his work-people to laugh heartily\nat his comments; while his chief delight was to watch the glass being\nblown, frequently taking a hand himself in the work, forming from the\nmolten mass the most extraordinary patterns.\n\nBut too soon he began to weary of the business; at first, he was at the\nfactory for only one hour per day, then only every other day, and,\nfinally, only once a week, so that his workmen did just as they\npleased. And it was all the result of his visits to the tavern. On the\nSunday after his return from the Pine-grove, he went into the tavern,\nand who should be footing it on the dancing floor but the Dance-King;\nwhile Fat Ezekiel was already sitting behind a stoup of ale, throwing\ndice for crown-thalers. At sight of the latter Peter thrust his hands\nin his pockets to find out if the Glassmanikin had kept his word--and\nbehold! his pockets were stuffed full of gold and silver pieces.\nMeanwhile, his legs were twitching and jerking as if they were itching\nto be dancing; so when the first dance was over, he took up a position\nwith his partner exactly opposite the Dance-King. Whenever the latter\nsprang three feet into the air, Peter leapt four; and if his rival\nperformed any particularly wonderful or graceful steps, Peter twirled\nand twisted his feet so that all beholders were well nigh beside\nthemselves with delight and admiration. And when those at the dance\nheard that Peter had bought a glass-factory, and when they saw how he\nflung a small coin to the musicians every time he danced past them,\nthere was no limit to their astonishment. Some were of opinion that he\nhad discovered a treasure in the forest; others held that he must have\ninherited a fortune; while all paid him honour, and thought him to be a\nman of position, simply because he had money. He might gamble away\ntwenty guilders in an evening, yet his pockets rattled and jingled just\nthe same, as though they still contained hundreds of thalers. When\nPeter saw how much he was respected, he did not know how to contain\nhimself, so great was his joy and pride. He threw money about by\nhandsful, and was particularly liberal to the poor, because he himself\nknew what it was to feel the pinch of poverty. The supernatural ability\nof the new dancer soon cast all the feats of the Dance-King into the\nshade, and Peter was now hailed as \"Dance-Emperor.\" The most\nventuresome gamblers did not stake so recklessly as he did, and\ntherefore did not lose so heavily. But the more he lost, the more he\ngained--which was quite in accordance with the promise he had obtained\nfrom the Glassmanikin. He had wished always to have as much money in\nhis pockets as there was in Fat Ezekiel's, and it was to him he lost\nmost of his money. No matter whether he lost twenty or thirty guilders\non a single throw, there they were again in his pocket as soon as\nEzekiel had gathered them from the table.\n\n[Illustration: Peter gambling at the Inn.]\n\nBut gradually he brought his debauchery and gambling to a degree worse\nthan that of the vilest character in the Black Forest; and he was\nmore often dubbed Gambling-Peter than Dance-Emperor, for he was at\nthe gambling table nearly the whole week through. Meanwhile his\nglass-business was going rapidly to rack and ruin, and it was all due\nto Peter's folly. He manufactured glass as fast as it could be made;\nbut with the glass-factory he had not bought the secret how to manage\nit. In the end he had so much glass on hand that he did not know what\nto do with it; and he was forced to sell it at half its value to\npedlars in order to find the money wherewith to pay his workpeople. One\nevening while returning home from the tavern, despite all the wine he\nhad drunk to keep up his spirits, he could not help contemplating with\nterror and grief the ruin of his fortunes. All at once he noticed that\nsomebody was walking at his side; he looked round, and behold--it was\nthe Glassmanikin. He flew at once into a furious passion, bewailing his\nbad luck and cursing the little man as the cause of all his misfortune.\n\"What am I to do now with my horses and carts?\" he said. \"Of what use\nto me is my factory and all my glass? Even when I was a miserable\ncharcoal-burner, I was happier, and did not have all these worries.\nNow, I am expecting any day to see the bailiffs in my factory to sell\nme up in order to pay my debts.\"\n\n\"So-ho?\" rejoined the Glassmanikin. \"So-ho? Then I am to be blamed for\nyour misfortunes? Is this your gratitude for all my kindness to you?\nDid I not warn you not to make such foolish wishes. You wished to\nbecome a glass-blower, without having the slightest idea how to sell\nyour glass. Did I not tell you not to wish too hastily? Common-sense,\nPeter, Wisdom, that was what you lacked.\"\n\n\"Bother your Common-sense and Wisdom!\" cried the other. \"I am as clever\na fellow as anyone else--and what is more I will prove it to you,\nGlassmanikin.\" Saying which he seized the little man by the collar, and\nshouted: \"Ha! I have you now. Guardian of the pine-tree wold! And now I\nwill make my third wish, which you will have to grant me. I demand,\nwithout delay, on this very spot, two hundred thousand thalers, and a\nhouse, and--oh-oh-ah!\" he shrieked, wringing his hands, for the\nGlassmanikin had turned into a mass of white-hot glass, burning Peter's\nhand as if he had thrust it into fire; and in the same moment the\nmanikin vanished.\n\nFor several days afterwards Peter's scorched and swollen hand reminded\nhim of his ingratitude, and folly. But he soon turned a deaf ear to the\nvoice of conscience, consoling himself with the reflection: \"What if\nthey do sell up my glass-factory and everything else. Fat Ezekiel is\nstill left to me! So long as he has money on Sundays, I shall not go\nwithout.\"\n\nVery good Peter! But supposing he should happen to have none at all,\nfor once?\n\nAnd this is what actually came to pass. One Sunday, Peter drove to the\ntavern, people observing him through their windows as he passed.\n\n\"There goes Gambling-Peter!\" cried some; while others exclaimed:\n\"Hullo, there's the Dance-Emperor, the rich Glass-manufacturer.\" But a\nfew shook their heads, saying: \"Don't be so sure about his wealth; why,\neverybody is talking about his debts, and it is rumoured among the\ntownspeople that the bailiffs will soon be selling him up.\"\n\nMeanwhile Peter bowed proudly and gravely to those he knew, and on\narriving at the tavern, alighted from his carriage, crying out: \"Good\nevening, landlord; has Fat Ezekiel yet arrived?\" To which a deep voice\nreplied: \"Just come in, Peter? Your place has been kept for you, and we\nhave got the cards out already.\"\n\nPeter entered and got ready to play, well aware that Ezekiel must be\nwell supplied with funds, for his own pockets were stuffed full with\nmoney.\n\nHaving taken his seat opposite the others he began playing, now\nwinning, and now losing; and they kept on until such a late hour that\nall respectable people went off home. The lamps were lighted, and still\nthey played on, until two of the players said: \"There, that's enough!\nwe must be getting home to wife and child.\"\n\nBut Gambling-Peter urged Fat Ezekiel to stay on. The latter was for a\ntime unwilling, but said at last: \"Well, I will just count my money,\nand then we will play at dice--and let the stake be five guilders, for\nto throw for less is child's play.\"\n\nHe pulled out his purse and counted his money, of which he found he had\nnearly a hundred guilders; whereby, Peter knew at once how much he\nhimself had in his pockets without being under the necessity of\nreckoning.\n\nBut Ezekiel's luck had gone; exactly as he had been winning, hitherto,\nhe now lost steadily at every throw, cursing heartily the while. If he\nthrew a pair, Gambling-Peter followed with one, two pips higher. At\nlength he laid his last five guilders on the table, saying: \"One more\nthrow, and if I lose, you can lend me some of your winnings, Peter, so\nthat we can continue, for every good sportsman ought to help another.\"\n\n\"As much as you like, even to a hundred guilders,\" said the\nDance-Emperor, rejoicing in his luck; whereupon Fat Ezekiel shook the\ndice-box and threw \"fifteen.\"\n\n\"Good,\" he cried, \"now we shall see.\" Peter threw eighteen, and as he\nlooked he heard a harsh voice, not unknown to him, mutter in his ear:\n\"So, here we are at the end of it all!\" He swung round. There, standing\ndirectly behind him, towered the gigantic form of Dutch Michael.\nStricken with surprise and horror he let the money, which he had just\npicked up from the table, slip through his fingers.\n\nFat Ezekiel apparently, had not noticed the demon, for he requested\nGambling-Peter to lend him ten guilders so that he could go on playing.\nAs one in a dream, Peter put his hand in his pocket--it was empty! He\ntried another pocket--there was nothing in that, either. He took off\nhis coat and turned it upside down, shaking it--but not a single coin\nshowed itself. And now, for the first time he remembered his first\nwish--to have always as much money in his pockets as Fat Ezekiel had in\nhis. But all had vanished like smoke.\n\n[Illustration: \"So! here we are at the end of it all.\"]\n\nMeanwhile the landlord and Ezekiel sat staring at him in bewilderment,\nas he searched himself all over in vain to find some money somewhere.\nThey refused to believe that he had none; and, at last, after they\nthemselves had felt in his pockets, they grew angry, vowing that\nGambling-Peter must be a magician who had transported all the money he\nhad won together with his own to his house. Peter defended himself as\nbest he could, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel vowed he would\nspread the shameful story all over the Black Forest; and the landlord\ndeclared he would go to town the first thing on the morrow, and\ndenounce Peter as a sorcerer, and he would see to it, he added, that he\nwas burnt at the stake as such. Whereupon they both fell on him in a\nfury, tore his clothes from his back, and flung him out into the road.\n\nIt was pitch-dark, not a star appearing in the sky, as Peter slunk\nhomewards; but the misery which he suffered did not prevent him from\nrecognising a dark form which strode along at his side, and which broke\nsilence, at length, with the following words: \"It is all up with you,\nPeter Munk; all your glory has come to an end; as I would have told you\nat first, if you had but listened to me instead of running off to that\nstupid Glassmanikin. Now you can see for yourself what is to be gained\nby despising my advice. Just try your luck with me for once, for I am\nvery sorry for you in your present miserable condition. Nobody who\ncomes to me ever repents having done so; and if you are not too afraid\nto come, I shall be awaiting you all day in the Pine-grove and you have\nonly to call me, and I will come to you.\"\n\nPeter knew well who it was thus addressing him. Seized with a sudden\ndread, he made no reply, but sped onwards to his home.\n\n\n                             END OF PART I.\n\n\n\n\n                             THE COLD HEART\n\n                                PART II\n\n\nOn the Monday morning when Peter arrived at his Glassworks, he found\nnot only his workpeople there, but also some very unwelcome visitors;\nthese were the Bailiff and three of his myrmidons. The Bailiff greeted\nPeter with a \"Good-morning,\" asked how he had slept, and then produced\na lengthy document on which appeared the names of Peter's creditors.\n\n\"Can you settle or not?\" demanded the official, with a keen glance at\nPeter. \"And make haste, please, for I have very little time to spare,\nas the tower-clock struck three some time ago.\"\n\nThen Peter, in despair, had to confess that he had no more money in the\nworld, and made over to the Bailiff for appraisement all his property,\nincluding factory, stock, stables, horses, wagons, etc.; and as the\nofficial and his men went round making an inventory of everything, he\nthought to himself: \"The Pine-grove is not so far away; and as the\n_Little One_ has not come to my aid, I'll try my luck with the _Big\nOne_.\" And straightway he set off running for the Pine-grove as fast as\nif the officers of justice were at his heels.\n\nAs he passed the spot where he had first spoken to the Glassmanikin, he\nfelt as though an invisible hand had caught hold of him; but he\nwrenched himself free, and ran on towards the ditch which, as he had\nhad occasion to remember marked the boundary of Dutch Michael's domain,\nand no sooner did he spy it than he cried out with what breath he had\nleft in his lungs: \"Dutch Michael! Master Dutch Michael!\" and\nimmediately there stood before him the gigantic form of the raftsman,\npole in hand.\n\n\"So, you've come!\" cried Michael, with a laugh. \"Did they want to strip\nthe skin from your back in order to sell it for the benefit of your\ncreditors? Well, don't worry about it; as I have already told you, for\nyour troubles you have to thank that sanctimonious little hypocrite,\nthe Glassmanikin. When one gives at all, it should be with a lavish\nhand, and not stingily as is that niggard's wont. But come,\" he\ncontinued, turning towards the forest, \"follow me to my house, and we\nwill see if we cannot strike a bargain.\"\n\n\"Strike a bargain?\" thought Peter. \"What can he get out of me? What\nhave I to offer him? Must I serve him in some way; or what else will he\nrequire of me?\"\n\nAt first, they climbed a steep incline which ended abruptly on the edge\nof a dark, deep, precipitous ravine. Dutch Michael sprang down from\nrock to rock as easily as down a broad staircase; and Peter nearly\nfainted with terror when he perceived how the form of the demon, as\nsoon as the latter's foot had touched bottom, shot up to the height of\na church steeple. Then the monster stretched forth an arm as long as a\nweaver's beam, and a hand as broad as a large table, crying out in a\ndeep voice that sounded like a death-knell: \"Stand on my hand and take\nhold of my fingers, so that you do not fall.\" Trembling all over, Peter\ndid as he was bid, sitting down on the palm and steadying himself by\ngrasping the gigantic thumb.\n\nDeep down into the bowels of the earth he descended, but to Peter's\nsurprise it grew no darker; on the contrary, the daylight seemed to\nbecome more and more intense in the ravine, until his eyes could\nscarcely bear the glare of it.\n\nAs Peter descended, Dutch Michael gradually decreased in size until\nwhen Peter had reached the ground the former had regained his normal\nstature, and there they stood before a house similar in all respects to\nthose owned by well-to-do peasants in the Black Forest. The room, into\nwhich Peter was conducted, differed in no particular from the rooms of\nother Black Forest cottages, except that its appearance imparted a\nfeeling of loneliness. The wooden clock hanging on the wall, the huge\nDutch stove, the broad benches, the crockery arranged along the cornice\nwere just as one might see anywhere.\n\nMichael bade Peter take a seat at the great table, and then left the\nroom, returning immediately with a jug of wine and glasses. He poured\nout some for Peter and himself, after which they sat and talked, Dutch\nMichael speaking of the joys of life, of foreign countries, of\nbeautiful cities and rivers, until Peter became possessed of a longing\nto visit the same, and expressed his desire to the Dutchman.\n\n[Illustration: And stretched forth an arm as long as a weaver's beam,\nand a hand as broad as a large table.]\n\n\"But even if your whole frame were pulsating with the courage and\nenergy to undertake something of the sort, would not a few beats of\nthat foolish heart of yours set you all of a tremble at the prospect?\nAnd why should a sensible fellow such as you be troubled with such\nthings as misfortune or wounded pride? The other day when they called\nyou a cheat and a villain, was it in your head that you felt the\ndisgrace? Did you get a pain in your stomach when the bailiff appeared\njust now and turned you out of doors? Come, tell me, where did you feel\nmost anguish?\"\n\n\"In my heart,\" Peter replied, pressing his hand on his throbbing\nbreast; for he felt that his heart was turning over and over in his\nbosom.\n\n\"Now, don't be angry at what I am going to say--you have thrown away\nmany a hundred guilders to beggars and other worthless people; and what\nprofit has it brought you? They have showered blessings on your head,\nand wished you good health; but did you ever feel any better for that?\nWhy, you could have kept a physician on half the money you thus wasted.\nA blessing, indeed--a fine blessing, now that they have seized your\ngoods and turned you out! What was it that drove you to dive your hands\ninto your pockets every time a beggarman stretched out his tattered hat\nto you?--Your heart it was, and always your heart; never your eyes, nor\nyour tongue, your arms, nor your legs,--but your heart; you have always\ntaken it too much to heart, as the saying is.\"\n\n\"But how can one manage to avoid it? I am trying all I can to suppress\nit, but my heart keeps on thumping and causing me anguish.\"\n\n\"By yourself, poor wretch that you are, you can do nothing,\" cried the\nother with a laugh; \"but just let me take charge of the fluttering\nthing, and you will see how much more pleasant it will be.\"\n\n\"Give you my heart?\" shrieked the horrified Peter. \"Why I should fall\ndown dead on the spot! Not if I can help it!\"\n\n\"Of course, if one of your master surgeons were to remove your heart,\nthen you would die to a certainty; but with me it is quite another\nmatter. But just come in here and satisfy yourself.\"\n\nSaying which, he opened a door leading into another room, and bade\nPeter follow him. As the latter crossed the threshold his heart\ncontracted convulsively, but he did not notice it, for the sight which\nnow presented itself to him was too weird and amazing. On a number of\nwooden shelves stood glass-vessels filled with some transparent fluid,\nand in each of these was a human heart. Moreover, to every vessel was\naffixed a label upon which a name had been inscribed, several of which\nPeter's curiosity drove him to read. Here was the heart of the mayor of\na neighbouring town; there, that of Fat Ezekiel; in the next vessel lay\nthe heart of the Dance-King; further on, was the head-forester's heart.\nHere were also six hearts of well-known corn-brokers, eight belonging\nto conscription overseers, three to money lenders; in short, it was a\ncollection of hearts of the most respected people in the district for\ntwenty miles round.\n\n\"Look,\" said Dutch Michael, \"all these people have shaken themselves\nfree from the cares and troubles of life! These hearts beat anxiously\nand painfully no longer, and their original owners rejoice that they\nhave been able to rid themselves of such restless companions.\"\n\n\"But what do they carry in their breasts in place of these?\" asked\nPeter, who was quite faint with all that he had seen.\n\n\"This!\" answered the other, as he took from a drawer _a heart of\nstone_.\n\n\"What?\" cried Peter, unable to repress a shudder which affected his\nentire frame. \"_A heart of marble?_ But, if it is as you say, Master\nDutch Michael, such a thing must feel very cold inside one's bosom.\"\n\n\"Not exactly cold, but quite pleasantly cool. Why should one's heart be\nwarm? It doesn't keep you warm in winter--a good glass of spirits is\nfar better for that purpose than a warm heart; while in summer, when it\nis so hot and close, you cannot think how cooling is the effect of such\na heart as this. Besides which, as I have already told you, such a\nheart as this never throbs with anguish or terror, with foolish\ncompassion or with any other emotion.\"\n\n\"And is that all that you have to give me?\" asked Peter disappointedly.\n\"I hoped for money, and you offer me a stone!\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps a hundred thousand guilders may satisfy you for a start.\nIf you went the right way to work, you would soon be a millionaire.\"\n\n\"A hundred thousand?\" cried the poor charcoal-burner in an ecstasy.\n\"There, don't beat so violently in my breast, we shall soon have done\nwith one another. Good, Michael! give me the stone and the money, and\nyou may relieve this habitation of its restless inmate.\"\n\n\"Ah, I was sure that you were a sensible fellow!\" answered the\nDutchman, smiling amiably. \"Come, we will have just one more glass, and\nthen I will count out the money for you!\"\n\nWhereupon they returned to the other room, and sat down to their wine,\ndrinking glass after glass, until Peter fell into a deep sleep.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nCharcoal-Peter was awakened by the joyous fanfare of a posthorn, and\nbehold he was sitting in a coach, which was bowling along a handsome\nbroad highway, and when he leaned out of the window he could see the\nBlack-Forest lying far behind him in the distance. At first he could\nnot believe that it was he himself who could be thus sitting in this\ncoach. His clothes were not the same that he had been wearing the day\nbefore; yet he remembered everything that had happened so clearly, that\nat last he doubted no longer, but cried out: \"I am Charcoal-Peter,\nthat's certain--Charcoal-Peter Munk and no other!\"\n\nHe fell to wondering why it was that he could feel no regret,\nconsidering that, for the first time in his life, he had left the\npeaceful homestead and the forest where he had lived so long. Even when\nthe thought of his mother occurred to him, helpless and wretched as she\nmust be now, no tear came to his eyes, not a sigh escaped him--he felt\nso absolutely indifferent to everything. \"Truly,\" he muttered, \"tears\nand sighs, homesickness and melancholy, all come from the heart; thanks\nto Dutch Michael, mine is cold and made of stone.\"\n\nHe laid his hand on his breast; all was still within; there was no\nmovement whatever. \"If he has kept his word as to the hundred thousand\nguilders as he has with regard to my heart, I shall be quite content,\"\nhe cried, beginning to examine everything in the coach. He found\nwearing apparel in such quantity and of such variety as he could\npossibly desire, but no money. At last he came upon a pocket in which\nhe found many thousands of thalers in gold, besides bills drawn on\nbusiness houses in all the great cities. \"Now I have got what I want,\"\nhe thought, and he settled himself comfortably in a corner of the\ncoach, as it drove onward into the wide world.\n\nFor two years Peter drove about everywhere, gazing to left and right\nfrom his coach at the houses as he passed them, and at the signboards\nof the inns at which he stopped, afterwards wandering about the towns,\nwhere everything that was worthy of note was shown to him. But he\nfound pleasure in nought;--no picture, no building, no music, no\ndance,--nothing could move his heart of stone; his eyes and ears could\nno longer convey to him any sense of the beautiful. Nothing remained\nfor him but to take what joy he could in eating, drinking, and\nsleeping; and thus he lived; travelling aimlessly about the world,\neating, drinking for his sole entertainment, and sleeping his only\nescape from ennui. Now and then he would recollect how he had been\nhappier when he was poor and had to work for his living. Then every\nbeautiful vista over hill and vale had enchanted him, music and song\nhad always delighted him, and he had found lasting enjoyment in the\nsimple fare brought him by his mother as he sat by the charcoal pile.\nAnd as he pondered on the fact, he thought it very strange that now he\ncould laugh at nothing, whereas, formerly, he had been wont to roar\nover the smallest joke. Now, when others laughed, he, for politeness'\nsake, distended his mouth, but there was no laughter in his heart. He\nperceived then that this outward tranquility of his brought no\ncontentment. In the end it was not homesickness or melancholy which\ndrove him homeward, but a depressing sense of solitude and joylessness.\n\nAs he drove over from Strasburg and came within view of the dark forest\nwhich was his home; when he saw for the first time since his departure\nthe powerful frames, the friendly, trusty faces of the Black Foresters;\nas his ears caught the old familiar homely sounds, he put his hand to\nhis heart, for his pulse beat more quickly, and he was sure that in\nanother moment he must either rejoice or weep--but, how was it possible\nfor him to be so foolish; had he not a heart of stone?\n\nHis first visit was to Dutch Michael, who welcomed him with all his old\nfriendliness.\n\n\"Michael,\" he said to the latter, \"I've been on my travels, and have\nseen everything; but it is all trash and humbug, and has only succeeded\nin boring me. Certainly, this stony thing of yours, which I bear in my\nbosom, saves me from much. I am never angry, and never sorrowful; but\nthen I am never glad, and I feel as if I were only half alive. Cannot\nyou put a little life into this stone heart? or, better still, give me\nback my old heart? It was my companion for five and twenty years, and\nif at times it did play me a bad turn, yet on the whole it was a merry\nand brave heart.\"\n\nThe forest spirit laughed grimly and bitterly.\n\n\"When you are dead, Peter Munk,\" he replied, \"it will not fail you;\nthen, indeed, will that soft, emotional heart be yours once more, and\nyou will be able to feel whatever happens to you, joy or sorrow. But\nhere on this earth it can never return to you! Yes, Peter, you have\ncertainly been on your travels, but the way in which you lived was too\naimless to be of any use to you. Settle down somewhere in the forest,\nbuild yourself a house, marry; set up in business--it is occupation of\nwhich you are in need; you were bored because you were idle, and yet\nyou blamed it all upon this unoffending heart!\"\n\nPeter perceived that Michael was right in so far as his idleness was\nconcerned, and determined to amass riches for himself. Michael gave him\nanother hundred thousand guilders, and they parted good friends.\n\nThe story was soon spread throughout the Black-Forest that\nCharcoal-Peter Munk, or Gambling-Peter, had returned, this time richer\nthan before. And it was the same as it is always: when he was reduced\nto beggary, they had thrust him from the door in broad daylight; but\nnow, when he once more visited the inn one fine Sunday afternoon, they\nheld out their hands to him, praised his horse, asked him about his\ntravels, and when he sat down to play with Fat Ezekiel with thalers for\npoints, he stood as high in their esteem as ever. He no longer engaged\nin glass-making, but in timber dealing, though this was merely a blind.\nHis real business was corn-selling and money-lending. By degrees nearly\nhalf the Black Forest was in his debt; he lent money only at a\nruinously high rate of interest, and sold corn only to the poor, to\nthose who could not pay him cash down for it, at three times its value.\nHe and the bailiff were now on the friendliest terms, and when anybody\nfailed to pay Master Peter Munk to the very day, the bailiff and his\nmyrmidons rode over, made an inventory of all the debtor's belongings\nand sold him up, driving father, mother and child out into the forest.\nAt first, these proceedings caused the wealthy Peter some trouble; for\nthe poor outcasts besieged his door, the men begging for time to pay,\nwhile their wives sought to move his stony heart by drawing his\nattention to their children, who were crying for bread. But after he\nhad provided himself with one or two big and savage dogs, there was\nsoon an end to these \"cat's concerts,\" as he termed them. He had but to\nwhistle and call his dogs, and the beggars fled, crying and screaming,\nin all directions.\n\nHis chief annoyance was the \"old woman\"--who was none other than Dame\nMunk, his own mother. She had lived in misery and want from the day\nwhen they had sold up her house and home; and now her son, though he\nhad come back rich, no longer took any notice of her. Yet she, old,\nfeeble and broken down, would come from time to time and stand, leaning\non her stick, in front of his house. She did not now dare to enter, for\nhe had once driven her out. But her greatest grief was that she was\ncompelled to accept the charity of others in order to live, though her\nown son could have made her old age happy and free from care. But the\ncold heart was never touched at the sight of those pale well-known\nfeatures, by their pleading expression, by the withered outstretched\nhand, by the frail and tottering form. When she knocked at the door on\nSaturdays he would draw sixpence from his pocket, grumbling the while,\nwrap it up in a piece of paper, and send a servant out to her with it.\nHe caught the sound of her quavering voice as she spoke her thanks and\nwished him well on this earth; he heard her pant as she shuffled away\nfrom his door; then he thought no more of her except to regret that\nanother sixpence had been so profitlessly expended.\n\nAt length Peter determined to marry. He knew well that any father in\nthe Black Forest would be glad to let him wed his daughter; but he took\npains over his choice, for he wanted everybody to praise his good luck\nand sense even in this matter. Wherefore he rode about on a round of\ninspection, visiting several houses in all parts of the forest; but\nnone of the pretty Black Forest maidens seemed to be beautiful enough\nfor him. At last, after having vainly attended all the dance-meetings\nin his search for a beautiful damsel, he heard one day that the\nloveliest and most virtuous of all the girls in the forest was the\ndaughter of a poor woodcutter.\n\nShe lived quietly and alone, keeping house for her father, was clever\nand diligent, and never attended a dance, not even at Whitsuntide nor\non Dedication Day. When Peter learnt of this jewel of the Black Forest,\nhe resolved to marry her, and rode to the cottage which had been\npointed out to him. The father of the lovely girl, whose name was\nElspeth, received his distinguished visitor with surprise, but was even\nmore astonished when he discovered that this was the wealthy Peter, and\nthat he was anxious to become his son-in-law. He was not long making up\nhis mind, for he considered that now there would be an end to all his\ntroubles and poverty; therefore, without consulting Elspeth, he gave\nhis consent; and the good child was so obedient that she became Dame\nPeter Munk without a murmur of dissent.\n\nBut it did not turn out so well for the poor girl as she had expected.\nShe thought she knew how to keep house, but in nothing could she please\nMaster Peter. She was sorry for poor people, and as her husband was a\nrich man, she considered it no crime to give a penny to a beggar-woman,\nor to offer an old man a \"schnaps.\" But one day Master Peter, who had\nbeen watching her, spoke to her roughly and angrily: \"Why are you\nwasting my fortune on rascals and vagabonds? Did you bring anything\nwith you into the house that you might give away? In your father's\nhouse there was not enough broth to go round, and yet you are now\nthrowing money about as if you were a princess! Let me catch you once\nmore, and you shall feel the weight of my hand.\"\n\nThe lovely Elspeth wept in her room over her husband's ill-nature, and\nshe often wished she were back again in her father's mean cottage\ninstead of having to live in the house of the rich, avaricious and\nhard-hearted Peter. Even had she known that he had a heart of marble,\nand could never love anybody, not even herself, she would not have been\nso greatly surprised. Whenever she sat in the porch and a beggar passed\nby, taking off his hat and asking for alms, she shut her eyes in order\nnot to see his wretchedness; she clenched her fist as if to keep her\nhand from straying against her will into her pocket in order to bestow\na farthing or so. And so it came about that people throughout the\nforest began to speak despitefully of the beautiful Elspeth, saying\nthat she was even more miserly than Peter Munk.\n\nBut one day Elspeth was sitting in front of the house, spinning and\nhumming a little song, for she was in good spirits, the day was fine,\nand her husband, Peter, had ridden away across the country. And as she\nsat there, there came along the road a little old man, who was carrying\na great heavy sack, and she could hear him panting from a long way off.\nDame Elspeth regarded him sympathetically, thinking the while that such\na little old man should not have to carry so heavy a burden.\n\nMeanwhile the little man, panting and staggering, drew near, and as he\npassed Elspeth, he nearly broke down under the weight of the sack. \"Ah,\nhave mercy, good lady, and give me a drink of water!\" said the little\nman; \"I can go no further, and feel ready to perish.\"\n\n\"But at your age you ought not to carry such a heavy load,\" said\nElspeth.\n\n[Illustration: Oh, have mercy, good lady and give a drink of water.]\n\n\"But I must run errands; I am so poor, and I have to earn my living\nsomehow,\" he replied. \"Surely so rich a lady as yourself can never know\nhow hard it is to be poor, and how welcome would be a fresh drink on\nsuch a hot day.\"\n\nHearing this, she hurried indoors, took down a jug and filled it with\nwater; but as she was returning, and was only a few paces away from\nhim, she noticed how wretched and miserable the little man looked, and\nhow he had sunk in exhaustion on his sack. This filled her with pity\nfor him, and, the thought occurring to her that her husband was not at\nhome, she put down the jug of water, took a goblet and filled it with\nwine, and carried it, with a loaf of good rye-bread, out to the old\nman. \"There!\" she said, \"as you are so very old a draught of wine will\ndo you much more good than water. But don't drink it so quickly, and\neat a little of the bread with it.\"\n\nThe little man looked at her in astonishment, then great tears gathered\nin his eyes, and he spoke: \"I am very old, but I have seen few people\nwho were so compassionate and who have known so well how to dispense\ncharity as you, Dame Elspeth. And therefore it will go well with you on\nthis earth, such a heart as yours shall not lack its reward.\"\n\n\"Nay, and her reward she shall have on this very spot,\" cried a\nterrible voice. Both turned, and there stood Peter, his face crimson\nwith rage.\n\n\"Not only do you offer my best wine to beggars, but you bring it out in\nmy own goblet so that it may be contaminated by the lips of vagabonds!\nThere--take your reward!\" Elspeth fell at his feet, imploring pardon;\nbut the stony heart knew no mercy; he swung the whip which he held in\nhis hand, and with the ebony handle of it struck the beautiful forehead\nuplifted to him. Elspeth sank lifeless into the old man's arms.\n\nWhen he saw her fall, Peter bent over her to see if she still lived. It\nwas as if he repented the deed for a moment. And as he looked, the\nlittle man spoke to him in a well-known voice: \"Don't trouble yourself,\nCharcoal-Peter; this was the most beautiful and most lovable flower in\nthe forest; you have struck it down, and it will never bloom again.\"\n\nAll the blood left Peter's face as he replied: \"So, it is you, Master\nGuardian? Well, what has been done cannot be undone, and it was bound\nto happen thus. But I hope you won't accuse me before the justices as a\nmurderer.\"\n\n\"Wretch!\" answered the Glassmanikin. \"What profit could it be to me to\nbring your mortal body to the gallows? It is no earthly judge that you\nhave to fear, but another and sterner Judge; for you have sold your\nsoul to the Evil One.\"\n\n\"And if I have sold my heart,\" shrieked Peter, \"then nobody is to blame\nbut yourself and your illusory gifts. Malicious spirit that you are,\nyou led me on to my destruction; it was you who drove me to seek help\nof that other, and you will have to answer for it.\"\n\nBut scarcely had he uttered these words than the Glassmanikin suddenly\nbegan to increase in size and stature, his eyes became as big as\nsoup-plates, and his mouth was as a glowing furnace, flames darting\nfrom between his lips. Peter sank to his knees, and even his\nstone-heart did not prevent his limbs from trembling like an aspen.\nWith vulture-like claws the forest spirit seized Peter by the neck,\nswung him round like dried leaves in a whirlwind, and flung him to\nearth with such force that all his ribs cracked.\n\n\"Earth-worm!\" cried the spirit in a voice that rolled like thunder; \"I\ncould smash you to atoms if I would, for you have blasphemed against\nthe lord of the forest. But for this dead woman's sake, who gave me\nfood and drink, I give you eight days' grace. If you do not repent I\nwill come and crush your bones to powder, and send you hence in your\nsins.\"\n\nIt was not until nightfall that some men, who happened to be passing\nthat way, spied the wealthy Peter Munk lying stretched on the ground.\nThey turned him over, seeking to discover if he yet lived; and for a\nlong time he gave no sign. At last, one of them went to a house and\nfetched some water. After they had dashed some in his face, Peter drew\na deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes. He gazed about him, and\nthen asked for his wife, Elspeth; but no one had seen her. He thanked\nthe men for their assistance, rose and crept into his house, where he\nhunted high and low for Elspeth, but without finding her; and he now\nknew that what he had hoped had been only a terrible dream was a grim\nreality. In his loneliness strange thoughts occurred to him. He feared\nnothing, for his heart was insensible to that emotion; but whenever he\nthought of his wife's death, he could not help but contemplate his own\nprobable destiny; when his hour arrived to quit the world, how heavily\nladen he would be with the tears and curses of the poor who could not\nsoften his heart, with the wails of those wretched beings at whom\nhe had set his dogs, and, yet more, how he would have to bear the\nweight of his mother's silent despair, and the blood of his good and\nbeautiful wife. And what sort of answer would he give the old man,\nhis father-in-law, if he should come and demand: \"Where is my\ndaughter, your wife?\" And how should he answer Another, to Whom all\nbelongs--woods, seas, hills and the lives of human beings?\n\n[Illustration: \"His eyes became as big as soup plates and his mouth as\na glowing furnace.\"]\n\nThe thought of it haunted his dreams; and every now and then he was\nawakened by the sound of a sweet voice calling to him: \"Peter, get\nyourself a warmer heart!\" And when thus awakened, he would quickly\nclose his eyes again, for the voice was that of Elspeth, warning him.\nIn order to distract his thoughts he sought the tavern, and there he\nmet Fat Ezekiel. He took a seat opposite him, and they started talking\non various topics: the fine weather, the war, the taxes, and at last\nabout death and what happened afterwards. Ezekiel replied that the body\nis buried while the soul ascends to Heaven or descends to Hell.\n\n\"Then they bury one's heart with one?\" asked Peter with intense\ninterest.\n\n\"Certainly, that's buried with us.\"\n\n\"But if a man has no heart?\" Peter went on. Ezekiel stared at him in\nterror. \"What do you mean by that? Are you trying to make a fool of me?\nDo you suggest that I have no heart?\"\n\n\"Oh, you have a heart right enough--as hard as stone,\" replied Peter.\n\nEzekiel looked at him in amazement, then glanced around to make sure\nnobody was within earshot, and spoke: \"How do you know that? Perhaps,\nyour own heart beats no longer?\"\n\n\"It beats no more;--at least, not here in my breast,\" answered Peter.\n\"But tell me, now you know what I mean, what will happen to our\nhearts?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, why worry about it?\" Ezekiel laughingly remonstrated.\n\"You have plenty to go through this life with, and that is all one\nwants. That is just the comfort of having a cold heart; we can never\nfeel any fear at such thoughts.\"\n\n\"That's true enough; but one cannot help thinking of such things, even\nthough one feels no dread of them; and I can well remember how terribly\nafraid of Hell I used to be when I was a little innocent boy.\"\n\n\"Well--it is certain that it will not go well with us hereafter,\" said\nEzekiel. \"I once asked a schoolmaster about it, and he told me that,\nafter death, our hearts are weighed to find out how much they are\nburdened with sins committed. The light ones mount upwards; the heavy\nones sink downwards; and our stone hearts will weigh a good bit, I'm\nthinking.\"\n\n\"That's very probable,\" replied Peter; \"and I often feel very uneasy\nthat my heart is so indifferent and unfeeling whenever such thoughts\noccur to me.\"\n\nThe night following this conversation Peter heard the well-known voice\nwhisper five or six times in his ear: \"Peter! get yourself a warmer\nheart!\"\n\nAlthough he felt no remorse that he had killed her, yet when he told\nhis servants that his wife had gone on a journey, he could not help\nthinking: \"Ah, but whither has she gone?\"\n\nSix days passed in this manner; every night he heard the voice, while\nthe little forest-spirit's terrible threat rang continually in his\nears. On the seventh morning he sprang out of bed, crying: \"Come, I\nwill see if I can get a warmer heart, for this insensible stone in my\nbreast makes life too wearisome and dull for anything!\"\n\nHe put on his best clothes, mounted his horse and rode off to the\nPine-grove.\n\nHaving arrived at the spot where the pines grew thickest, he\ndismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and then strode swiftly to the\nsummit of the hill, and taking his stand before the great pine, he\nrepeated the old rhyme:\n\n     \"Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold.\n      Art many hundred ages old;\n      Lord of all lands where pine trees grow,\n      Thee only Sunday's children know.\"\n\nAnd then the Glassmanikin appeared, but not friendly and cordial as\nbefore, but sad and mournful. He was clad in a little coat of black\nglass, and a long mourning band trailed from his hat; and Peter knew\nwell enough for whom he mourned.\n\n\"What do you want with me, Peter Munk?\" he asked in a hollow voice.\n\n\"I have still one wish left, Master Guardian,\" replied Peter, casting\ndown his eyes.\n\n\"Can stone-hearts wish for anything?\" said the other. \"You have\neverything that your evil mind desired; and I shall be very reluctant\nto grant you anything.\"\n\n\"But you promised me three wishes; and one of them still remains to\nme.\"\n\n\"But I can reject it, if it is foolish,\" the forest spirit replied.\n\"Yet, speak out, I will listen to what you have to say.\"\n\n\"Then take this dead stone away, and give me my living heart,\" said\nPeter.\n\n\"Did I make the bargain with you?\" the Glassmanikin demanded. \"Am I\nDutch Michael, who gives away riches and cold hearts? To him you must\ngo if you want your own heart again.\"\n\n\"Alas, he will never give it back to me,\" answered Peter, dejectedly.\n\n\"I am sorry for you, bad as you are,\" said the little man, after a\nmoment's reflection. \"And as your wish is not a foolish one, I can at\nleast, not refuse to help you. Listen, therefore. By force you can\nnever regain possession of your heart, but you can do so by cunning;\nand by such means you may achieve your purpose without much difficulty;\nfor Michael is still the stupid Michael, although he deems himself so\nclever. Go straight to him, therefore, and do exactly as I tell you!\"\nSaying which, he gave him full instructions how to proceed, and handed\nhim a little cross of transparent glass. \"He cannot take your life, and\nif you hold this up in front of him, saying your prayers meanwhile, he\nwill have to let you go unharmed. And if you succeed in obtaining that\nwhich you go for, return to me here immediately.\"\n\nPeter Munk took the little cross, and trying to remember all that he\nhad been told to do, he proceeded to Dutch Michael's abode. Having\ncalled him thrice by name, the giant stood before him.\n\n\"And so you have slain your wife?\" asked the Dutchman, laughing\nhorribly. \"I should have done the same, for she was squandering all\nyour fortune on beggars. But you must leave the country for a time, for\nthere will be trouble when they find she is missing; and you want\nmoney, of course, and have come to me for some?\"\n\n\"You have guessed aright!\" replied Peter; \"and a substantial sum this\ntime, for it is a long way to America.\"\n\nMichael led the way to his cottage, where he opened a desk in which lay\na store of money, and took therefrom a roll of gold coins. As he was\ncounting them out on the table, Peter said to him: \"You are a miserable\ncheat, Michael, to have deceived me as you did, trying to make me\nbelieve that I had a stone in my breast and that you had my heart.\"\n\nMichael stared at him perplexedly. \"And is it not so?\" he asked. \"Can\nyou feel your heart? Is it not as cold as ice? Do you know what it is\nto be afraid, or sorry, or remorseful?\"\n\n\"You have only made my heart stop still; but it is still here in my\nbreast; and Ezekiel, also, agrees with me that you have imposed on\nboth of us. You are not the sort of man who could tear anybody's heart\nout of their breast without their knowledge, or without danger to\nthem--that would be witchcraft indeed!\"\n\n\"But I assure you,\" cried Michael angrily, \"you and Ezekiel and all\nthose who came to me and are now rich have cold hearts in their bosoms\njust as you have, and their own hearts I have here in my keeping.\"\n\n\"Ah; how glibly the lies slip off your tongue,\" laughed Peter. \"You may\ntell that story to other people. Do you think I did not come across\ndozens of such conjuring tricks when on my travels? The hearts here in\nthis room are made of wax. You are a wealthy fellow--I will concede so\nmuch, but you are a fool at magic.\"\n\nThe giant flew into a rage, and, flinging open the door to the inner\nroom, he cried: \"Come in here and read all the labels, especially that\none there; look, that is Peter Munk's heart. See how it beats! Do you\nthink it is possible to make such a thing as that out of wax?\"\n\n\"And yet it is wax,\" answered Peter. \"A real heart would not beat thus;\nand mine is here in my breast. No, no, you are no good at magic.\"\n\n\"But I will prove it to you!\" cried Michael, angrily. \"You shall feel\nfor yourself that it is your own heart.\" He took up the heart, tore\nPeter's jerkin open, and drew from his breast a stone which he held\nbefore him; then he breathed on the heart carefully and put it back in\nits original place; and as Peter felt the old familiar beat of it, he\nrejoiced, that it was possible to him once more.\n\n\"How do you feel now?\" asked Michael, smiling.\n\n\n\"Well, I must confess you were right after all,\" answered Peter,\nfeeling carefully in his pocket for the little cross. \"I could not have\nbelieved that anybody could do such things.\"\n\n\"Well, it's possible, anyway! And I can work magic, as you see. But\ncome, I will now replace the stone.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"And, as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in\nsize, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a\nworm.\"]\n\n\"Gently, Master Michael!\" cried Peter, retreating a step and holding up\nthe cross in front of him. \"I laid the trap for _you_ this time, and you\nhave fallen into it!\" And straightway he began to pray, saying whatever\ncame to his mind. And as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in\nsize, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a\nworm, groaning and moaning; and all the hearts on the surrounding\nshelves began to beat and throb until the place sounded as it might\nhave been a clockmaker's workshop. Then Peter's courage left him; he\nrushed from the room and out of the house, and, goaded on by terror,\nbegan to clamber up the rocky precipice; and as he climbed he heard\nMichael stamping and clattering and roaring out the most terrible\ncurses, as he rose from the ground to follow him. Having succeeded in\nsurmounting the cliff, Peter set out to run to the Pine-grove; and at\nthe same time a most frightful storm broke out; lightning flashes fell\nto right and left of him, creating havoc among the trees. But Peter\nreached the Glassmanikin's domain in safety.\n\nHis heart beat joyfully in his breast; but only because it _did_ beat.\nThen all his past life flashed before him, as horrible as the storm\nwhich was laying waste the forest on all sides behind him. He thought\nof Elspeth, his lovely, gentle wife, whom in his avaricious rage he had\nmurdered; he saw himself as an outcast from society, and he burst into\ntears as he stood before the mount on which the Glassmanikin had sat.\n\nAnd there was the Guardian of the Pine-forest, sitting under a pine and\nsmoking a little pipe; but he looked more cheerful now. \"Why are you\nweeping, Charcoal-Peter?\" he asked. \"Have you your own heart again, or\nis the cold stone still in your breast?\"\n\n\"Ah, Master Guardian!\" sobbed Peter; \"when I had that cold stone heart\nI could not weep, my eyes were as dry as the country in July; and now\nthis real heart of mine is like to break with grief at my misdeeds! I\ndrove my debtors to ruin; I set my dogs at the poor and sick, and, you\nyourself saw how with my whip I struck the fair forehead of Elspeth!\"\n\n\"Peter! you were a great sinner!\" said the manikin. \"Money and idleness\nwere your undoing, until your heart was turned to stone, knowing\nneither joy, nor sorrow, nor remorse, nor compassion. But repentance\natones for much; and if I were only sure that you truly repent for your\npast life, I could do something for you even now.\"\n\n\"I want nothing now,\" answered Peter, sadly, while his head drooped on\nhis bosom. \"I have nothing left to live for; I could never be happy\nagain; besides what is there for me to do now that I am left alone in\nthe world? My mother will never forgive my conduct towards her; and,\nperhaps, monster that I am, I have already sent her to her grave. And\nElspeth, my wife! Slay me also, Master Guardian, and then there will be\nan end at least of my wretched life.\"\n\n\"Good!\" replied the Glassmanikin, \"If that is your only wish, I can not\nrefuse to grant it; and my axe is here to my hand.\"\n\nCalmly he withdrew his little pipe from his mouth, knocked out the\nashes and pocketed it. Then, slowly, he arose and went behind the\npine-trees. Peter threw himself down weeping, on the grass; he had\nnothing more to do with this life but to await patiently the death-blow\nthat should end it. After a while he heard light footsteps approaching,\nand thought: \"Now he is coming.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"Look once more around, Peter Munk.\"]\n\n\"Look once more around, Peter Munk!\" said the voice of the Manikin. He\nbrushed the tears from his eyes, and looked up,--and there before him\nstood his mother and Elspeth, his wife, smiling kindly at him.\n\nHe sprang joyfully to his feet: \"You are not dead, Elspeth! And you,\nmother!--Ah, how can you ever pardon me?\"\n\n\"They will pardon you,\" said the Glassmanikin, \"because you have truly\nrepented, and they will forget everything. Return to your father's\ncottage, a charcoal-burner as before. If you are good and honest, you\nwill do honour to your trade, and your neighbours will love and respect\nyou more than if you were the possessor of ten tons of gold.\"\n\nThus spoke the Glassmanikin, and bade them farewell.\n\nThe three praised and blessed him, and set out for home together.\n\nThe grand house which had belonged to Peter in his days of splendour\nwas no longer there; it had been struck by lightning and had been burnt\nto the ground with all its treasures; but the cottage which had been\nhis father's home was not far distant; thither they went their way,\nquite unmoved by their heavy loss.\n\nBut what a surprise was in store for them when they reached the\ncottage. It had been changed into a fine farmhouse, and everything\nwithin, though simple, was good and clean.\n\n\"The good Glassmanikin has done all this!\" cried Peter.\n\n\"How lovely!\" exclaimed Elspeth. \"I shall feel much more at home here\nthan in that big house with all those servants.\"\n\nThenceforth Peter Munk became a hard-working and noble man. He was\ncontent with his lot, and worked at his trade without murmuring; and\nthus it came that by his own efforts he made money, and earned the love\nand respect of all in the forest. He never spoke another harsh word to\nhis wife Elspeth, he honoured his mother, and relieved all the poor who\nknocked at his door.\n\nOne year after, when his wife bore him a beautiful boy, Peter set out\nfor the Pine-grove and repeated the old rhyme. But no Glassmanikin\nshowed himself.\n\n\"Master Guardian!\" he shouted. \"Do listen to me! I don't want anything,\nbut have come to ask you to be godfather to my little son.\"\n\nBut there was no answer; nothing but a light breath of wind which\nrustled through the pines, causing a few pinecones to fall at his feet.\n\n\"Well, I will take these with me in remembrance, as you will not show\nyourself,\" cried Peter, putting the cones in his pocket, and turning\nhomewards. But when he took off his jerkin, and his mother turned the\npockets inside out before putting the jerkin away, there fell on the\nfloor four bulky packets of money, which, when opened, were seen to\ncontain nothing but bright new Baden thalers, with not a single bad one\namong them. And this was the manikin's present, as sponsor, to his\nlittle godchild, Peterkin.\n\nThus they lived on in peace and contentment, and Peter would often say\nthen, and in after years when a grey-haired old man: \"It is better to be\ncontent with a little, than to be possessed of wealth and _a cold\nheart_!\"\n\n\n\n\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n    Printed by Ebenezer Baylis & Son, Trinity Works, Worcester.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32219", "title": "The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man, and The Cold Heart", "author": "", "publication_year": 1814, "metadata_title": "The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man, and The Cold Heart", "metadata_author": "Chamisso et al.", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:27.756957", "source_chars": 241257, "chars": 241257, "talkie_tokens": 57350}}
{"text": "Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's notes:\n1. Page scan source:\n   http://www.archive.org/details/specimensofgerma02soanuoft\n\n2. Footnote is at the end of the book.\n\n3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Master Flea]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               SPECIMENS\n\n                                   OF\n\n                            GERMAN ROMANCE.\n\n\n\n                      SELECTED AND TRANSLATED FROM\n                            VARIOUS AUTHORS.\n\n\n\n                           IN THREE VOLUMES.\n\n                                VOL. II.\n\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n                     PRINTED FOR GEO. B. WHITTAKER,\n                            AVE-MARIA-LANE.\n\n                               MDCCCXXVI.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n                PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              MASTER FLEA.\n\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\n\n                            First Adventure.\n\nINTRODUCTION--Wherein the gentle reader learns as much of the life of\nMr. Peregrine Tyss as is requisite for him to know.\n\nPresentation of Christmas-boxes at the bookbinder's, Lemmerhirt, in the\nKelbecker-street, and beginning of the First Adventure.--The two\nAlinas.\n\nOnce upon a time--But what author will venture to begin his tale so\nnow-a-days?--Obsolete! tedious!--Such is the cry of the gentle, or\nrather ungentle reader, who wishes to be plunged at once, _medias in\nres_, according to the wise advice of the old Roman poet. He feels as\nif some long-winded talker of a guest, who had just entered, was\nspreading himself out, and clearing his voice to begin an endless\ndiscourse, and he angrily closes the book which he had but just opened.\nThe present editor, indeed, of the wonderful tale of Master Flea,\nthinks this beginning a very good beginning, not to say the best for\nevery history, on which account the most excellent story-tellers that\nare, namely, nurses, old women, &c. have at all times made use of it;\nbut as every author writes chiefly to be read, he,--that is, the\naforesaid editor,--will not at any rate deprive the kind reader of the\npleasure of actually being his reader. He tells him therefore at once,\nwithout more circumlocution, that this same Peregrine Tyss, of whose\nstrange adventures this history is to treat, had never, on any\nChristmas evening, felt his heart so throb with anxious joyful\nexpectation, as precisely on that with which begins the narration of\nhis adventures.\n\nPeregrine was in a dark chamber, next the show-room in which he was\nwont to receive his Christmas-box. There he crept gently up and down,\nlistened a little at the door, and then seated himself quietly in a\ncorner, and with shut eyes inhaled the mystic odours of the marchpane\nand gingerbread which streamed from the sanctuary. Then, again, there\nwould shoot through him a sweet mysterious thrill when, on suddenly\nre-opening them, he was dazzled by the vivid beams of light which fell\nthrough the crevices of the door, and danced hither and thither upon\nthe wall.\n\nAt length sounded the little silver bell,--the chamber door was flung\nopen, and in rushed Peregrine, amidst a whole fire-flood of variegated\nChristmas lights. Quite petrified, he remained standing at the table,\non which the finest gifts were arranged in the most handsome order, and\nonly a loud \"oh!\" forced itself from his breast. Never before had the\nChristmas tree borne such splendid fruits, for every sweetmeat that can\nbe named, and amongst them many a golden nut, many a golden apple from\nthe garden of the Hesperides hung upon the boughs, which bent beneath\ntheir burthen. The provision of choicest playthings, fine leaden\nsoldiers, hunting trains of the same, picture-books, &c. is not to be\ntold. But as yet he did not venture to touch any part of the wealth\npresented to him; he could only occupy himself in mastering his wonder,\nand comprehending the idea of his good fortune in all this being really\nhis.\n\n\"O my dear parents! O my good Alina!\"--so he exclaimed, with feelings\nof the highest transport.\n\n\"Well, my little Peregrine,\" replied Alina, \"have I done it well? Are\nyou in truth rejoiced from your heart, my child? Won't you look nearer\nat these handsome things? Won't you try the new rocking-horse and the\nbeautiful fox?\"\n\n\"A noble steed,\" said Peregrine, examining the bridled rocking-horse\nwith tears of joy--\"a noble beast, of pure Arabian race;\" and he\nimmediately mounted his proud courser; but though Peregrine might else\nbe a capital rider, yet this time he must have made some mistake, for\nthe wild Pontifer (so was the horse called) reared, and threw him off,\nmaking him kick up his legs most piteously. Before, however, Alina, who\nwas frightened to death, could run to his assistance, he had got up\nagain and seized the bridle of the horse, who threw out behind, and\nendeavoured to run away. Again he mounted, and using with strength and\nskill all the arts of horsemanship, he brought the wild animal so to\nhis reason, that it trembled and panted, and recognized his master in\nPeregrine. Upon his dismounting, Alina led the conquered horse into his\nstable.\n\nThis somewhat violent riding, which had caused an outrageous noise in\nthe room, and indeed through the whole house, was now over, and\nPeregrine seated himself at the table, that he might quietly take a\nnearer view of the other splendid presents. With great delight he\ndevoured some of the marchpane, while he set in motion the limbs of the\ndifferent puppets, peeped into the various picture-books, mustered his\narmy, which he with reason deemed invincible, since not a single\nsoldier had a stomach in his body, and at last proceeded to the\nbusiness of the chase. To his great vexation, he discovered that there\nwas only a hare and fox hunt, and that the stag and wild boar chase\nwere altogether wanting. These, too, ought to have been there, as none\nbetter knew than Peregrine, he himself having purchased the whole with\nunspeakable care and trouble.\n\nBut, hold!--It seems highly requisite to guard the kind reader against\nthe awkward mistakes into which he might fall, if the author were to go\non gossiping at random, without reflecting that though he may know the\nmeaning of these Christmas Eve arrangements, it is not so with his\nreader, who would wish to learn what he does not comprehend.\n\nMuch mistaken would he be who should imagine that Peregrine Tyss\nwas a child, to whom a kind mother, or some other well-affectioned\nfemale, called in romantic fashion Alina, had been giving\nChristmas-boxes----Nothing less than that!\n\nMr. Peregrine Tyss had got to his six-and-thirtieth year, and herein\nhad passed almost the best of life. Six years before, he was said to be\na handsome man; now he was with reason called a man of gentlemanly\nappearance: but at all times,--then, as well as now,--it was the cry of\nall, that he lived too much to himself; that he did not know life, and\nwas manifestly suffering under a diseased melancholy. Fathers, whose\ndaughters were just marriageable, thought that to get rid of this\nmelancholy, the good Tyss could do nothing better than marry; he had a\nfree choice, and had little reason to fear a negative. The opinion of\nthe fathers was at least correct in regard to the latter point,\ninsomuch as Mr. Tyss, besides being, as before said, a man of\ngentlemanly appearance, possessed a considerable property, left to him\nby his father, Mr. Balthasar Tyss, a very respectable merchant. Maidens\nwho have got beyond the heyday of love,--that is, who are at least\nthree or four-and-twenty years old--when such highly gifted men put the\ninnocent question of \"Will you bless me with your hand, dearest?\"\nseldom do otherwise than answer, with blushing cheeks and downcast\neyes, \"Speak to my parents, sir; I shall obey them--I have no will:\"--\nwhile the parents fold their hands and say, \"If it is the will of\nHeaven, we have nothing against it, son.\"\n\nBut Mr. Peregrine Tyss seemed inclined to nothing less than marriage;\nfor besides that he was in general averse to society, he showed more\nparticularly a strange idiosyncrasy towards the female race. The mere\nproximity of any woman would bring the perspiration on his forehead;\nand if actually accosted by a tolerably handsome girl, he would fall\ninto an agony that fettered his tongue, and caused a cramp-like\ntrembling through all his limbs. Hence, perhaps, it was that his old\nservant was so ugly, that, in the neighbourhood where Mr. Peregrine\nTyss lived, she passed for a wonder in natural history. The black,\nrugged, half-grey hair accorded well with the red blear eyes, and just\nas well agreed the thick copper nose with the pale blue lips, in\nforming the image of an aspirant to the Blocksberg[1]; so that two\ncenturies earlier, she would hardly have escaped the stake, instead of\nbeing, as now, esteemed by Mr. Peregrine, and others too, for a good\nsort of person. This, in fact, she was, and might therefore well be\nforgiven, if she comforted her body with many a little dram in the\ncourse of the day, or, perhaps, too often took out from her stomacher a\nhuge black japanned snuffbox, and fed her respectable nose very richly\nwith pure Oppenbacher. The kind reader has already observed that this\nremarkable person is the very same Alina who managed the business of\nthe Christmas-boxes. Heaven knows how she came by the celebrated name\nof the Queen of Golconda!\n\nBut if the fathers desired that the rich agreeable Mr. Peregrine should\nlay aside his horror of women and marry without more ado, the old\nbachelors, on the other hand, said that he did quite right to remain\nsingle, as his turn of mind was not suited to matrimony. It was\nunlucky, however, that at the phrase \"turn of mind,\" not a few made a\nvery mysterious face; and upon close inquiry, gave it to be pretty\nplainly understood, that Mr. Peregrine Tyss was at times a little\ncracked. The numerous retailers of this opinion belonged chiefly to\nthose who are firmly convinced that on the great high way of life,\nwhich is to be kept according to reason and prudence, the nose is the\nbest guide; and who would rather put on blinkers than be led aside by\nany odorous shrub or blooming meadow that grows by the way. It was,\nhowever, true that Peregrine had many things about him which people\ncould not comprehend.\n\nIt has been already said that his father was a rich and respectable\nmerchant; when to this is added that he owned a handsome house in the\nHorse-market, and that in this house, in the very same chamber where\nthe little Peregrine had always received his Christmas-boxes, the\ngrown-up Peregrine was now receiving them, there is no room to doubt\nthat the place of the strange adventures to be narrated in this history\nis the celebrated city of Frankfort on the Maine. Of his parents little\nmore is to be told than that they were quiet honest folks, of whom no\none could speak any thing but good. The unbounded esteem which Mr. Tyss\nenjoyed upon 'Change he owed to two circumstances; he always speculated\nwell and safely, gaining one sum after the other; while at the same\ntime he never presumed, but remained modest as before, and made no\nboast of his wealth, which he showed merely by his haggling about\nnothing, and being indulgence itself towards insolvent debtors who had\nfallen into misfortune, even though it were deservedly.\n\nFor a long time the marriage of Mr. Tyss was unfruitful, till at\nlength, after almost twenty years, Mrs. Tyss rejoiced her husband with\na fine lusty boy, who was our identical Master Peregrine Tyss. The\nboundless joy of the elders may be imagined, and the people of\nFrankfort yet talk of the splendid christening given by the old Tyss,\nat which the noblest hock was filled out as if at a coronation\nfestival. But what added still more to the posthumous fame of Mr. Tyss\nwas, that he invited to this christening a couple of people who, in\ntheir enmity, had often injured him; and not only them, but others too\nwhom he thought he had injured; so that the feast was really one of\npeace and reconciliation.\n\nAlas! the good man did not suspect that this same child, whose birth so\nmuch rejoiced him, would soon be a cause of sorrow. At the very first,\nthe boy Peregrine showed a singular disposition. After he had cried\nnight and day uninterruptedly for some weeks, without their being able\nto find out any bodily ailment, he became on the sudden quite quiet and\nas it were stupified into a motionless insensibility: he seemed\nincapable of the least impression. The little brow, which appeared to\nbelong to a lifeless puppet, was wrinkled neither by tears nor\nlaughter. His mother maintained that it was owing, on her part, to the\nsight of the old book-keeper, who had for twenty years sat in the\ncounting-house before the great cash-book, with the same lifeless\ncountenance; and she wept bitter tears over the little automaton.\n\nAt last an old gossip hit upon the lucky thought of bringing Peregrine\na very motley, and, in fact, a very ugly harlequin. The child's eyes\nquickened in a strange fashion, the mouth contracted to a gentle smile,\nhe caught at the puppet, and, the moment it was given to him, hugged it\ntenderly. Then again he gazed upon the manikin with such intelligent\nand speaking eyes, that it seemed as if reason and sensation had\nsuddenly awakened in him, and with much greater vigour than is usual\nwith children of his age.\n\n\"He is too wise,\" said the godmother; \"you'll not keep him. Only look\nat his eyes; he already thinks more than he ought to do.\"\n\nThis declaration greatly comforted the old merchant, who had in some\nmeasure reconciled himself to the idea of having begot an idiot, after\nso many years of fruitless expectation. Soon, however, he fell into a\nfresh trouble; and this was, that the time had long since gone by in\nwhich children usually begin to speak, and yet Peregrine had not\nuttered a syllable. The boy would have been thought dumb, but that he\noften gazed on the person who spoke to him with such attention, nay\neven showed such sympathy by sad as well as by joyful looks, that there\ncould be no doubt not only of his hearing, but of his understanding,\nevery thing.\n\nIn the meantime his mother was mightily astonished at finding what the\nnurse had told her confirmed. At night, when the boy lay in bed and\nfancied himself unnoticed, he talked to himself single words, and even\nwhole sentences, and so little broken that a long practice might be\ninferred from this perfection. Heaven has lent to women a certain tact\nof reading human nature as its growth variously developes itself, on\nwhich account, for the first years at least of childhood, they are the\nbest educators. According to this tact, Mrs. Tyss was far from letting\nthe boy see he was observed, or from wishing to force him to speak; she\nrather contrived to bring it about by other dexterous means, that he\nshould of himself no longer keep concealed the beautiful talent of\nspeech, but should slowly, yet plainly, manifest it to the world, and\nto the wonder of all. Still, however, he evinced a constant aversion to\ntalking, and was most pleased when they left him in quiet by himself.\n\nThus was Mr. Tyss freed from all anxiety on account of his want of\ntongue, but it was only to fall into a much greater care afterwards.\nWhen Peregrine had grown a boy and ought to have learnt stoutly, it\nseemed as if nothing was to be driven into him without the greatest\ntrouble. It was with his writing and reading as it had been with his\ntalking; at first the matter could not be compassed at all, and then on\na sudden he did it admirably, and beyond all expectation. In the\nmeantime one master after another left the house, not from dislike to\nthe boy, but because they could not enter into his disposition.\nPeregrine was still, mannerly, and industrious, and yet it was no use\nthinking of any systematic learning with him; he had understanding for\nthat only which happened to chime in exactly with his genius; all the\nrest passed over him without leaving any impression: and that which\nsuited his genius was the _wonderful_,--all that excited his\nimagination; in that he lived and moved. So, for example, he once\nreceived a present of a sketch of Pekin, with all its streets, houses,\n&c. which occupied the entire wall of his chamber. At the sight of this\ncity of fables, of the singular people that seemed to crowd through its\nstreets, Peregrine felt as if transported by some magic sleight into\nanother world, in which he was to become at home. With eagerness he now\nfell upon every thing that he could get hold of respecting China, the\nChinese, and Pekin; and having somewhere found the Chinese sounds\ndescribed, he laboured to pronounce them according to the description,\nwith a fine chanting voice; nay, he even endeavoured, by means of the\npaper-scissors, to give his handsome calimanco bed-gowns the Chinese\ncut as much as possible, that he might have the pleasure of walking the\nstreets of Pekin in the fashion. Nothing else could excite his\nattention--to the great annoyance of his tutor, who just then wished to\ninstil into him the history of the Hanseatic League, according to the\nexpress wish of Mr. Tyss; but the old gentleman found to his sorrow,\nthat Peregrine was not to be brought out of Pekin, wherefore he brought\nPekin out of the boy's chamber.\n\nThe elder Mr. Tyss had always considered it a bad omen that Peregrine,\nas a little child, should prefer counters to ducats, and next should\nmanifest a decided abhorrence of moneybags, ledgers, and waste books.\nBut what seemed most singular was, that he never could hear the word\n\"bill of exchange\" pronounced without having his teeth set on edge, and\nhe assured them that he felt at the sound as if some one was scratching\nup and down a pane of glass with the point of a knife. Mr. Tyss,\ntherefore, could not help seeing that his son was spoilt for a\nmerchant, and however he might wish to have him treading in his\nfootsteps, yet he readily gave up this desire, under the idea that\nPeregrine would apply himself to some decided occupation. It was a\nmaxim of his, that the richest man ought to have an employment, and\nthereby a settled station in life; people with no occupation were an\nabomination to him, and it was precisely to this _no-occupation_ that\nhis son was entirely devoted, with all the knowledge which he had\npicked up in his own way, and which lay chaotically confounded in his\nbrain. This was now the greatest and most pressing anxiety of Mr. Tyss.\nPeregrine wished to know nothing of the actual world, the old man lived\nin that only; from which contradiction it could not but be that, the\nolder Peregrine grew, the worse became the discord between father and\nson, to the no little sorrow of the mother: she cordially conceded to\nPeregrine, who was otherwise the best of sons, his mode of life, in\nmere dreams and fancies, though to her indeed unintelligible, and she\ncould not conceive why her husband would positively impose upon him a\ndecided occupation.\n\nBy the advice of tried friends, Tyss sent his son to the university of\nJena, but when, after three years, he returned, the old man exclaimed,\nfull of wrath and vexation, \"Did I not think so? Hans the dreamer he\nwent away, Hans the dreamer he comes back again.\" And so far he was\nquite right, for the student was substantially unaltered. Still he did\nnot give up all hope of bringing the degenerate Peregrine to reason,\nthinking that if he were once forced into some employment, he might,\nperhaps, change his mind in the end, and take a pleasure in it. With\nthis view he sent him to Hamburgh, with commissions that did not\nrequire any particular knowledge of business, and moreover commended\nhim to a friend there, who was to assist him faithfully in all things.\n\nPeregrine arrived at Hamburgh, where he gave into the hands of his\nfather's friend not only his letter of recommendation, but all the\npapers too that related to his commissions, and immediately\ndisappeared, no one knew whither. Hereupon the friend wrote to Mr.\nTyss:\n\n\"I have punctually received your honoured letter of the----by the hands\nof your son. The same, however, has not shown himself since, but set\noff from Hamburgh immediately, without leaving any commission. In\npeppers we are doing little; cotton goes off heavily; in coffee, the\nmiddle sort only is inquired after: but on the other hand molasses\nmaintain their price pleasantly; and in indigo there is not much\nfluctuation. I have the honour,\" &c.\n\nThis letter would have plunged Mr. Tyss and his spouse into no little\nalarm, if by the very same post another had not arrived from the lost\nson, wherein he excused himself, with the most melancholy expressions,\nsaying that it had been utterly impossible for him to execute the\nreceived commissions, according to his father's wishes, and that he\nfound himself irresistibly attracted to foreign countries, from which\nhe hoped to return home in a year's time with a happier and more\ncheerful disposition.\n\n\"It is well,\" said the old man, \"that the younker should look about him\nin the world; he may get shaken out of his day dreams.\"--And when\nPeregrine's mother expressed an anxiety lest he should want money for\nhis long journey, and that, therefore, his carelessness was much to be\nblamed in not having written to tell them where he was going, the old\ngentleman replied laughing, \"If the lad be in want of money, he will\nthe sooner get acquainted with the real world; and if he have not said\nwhich way he is going, still he knows where his letters will find us.\"\n\nIt has always remained unknown which way his journey really was\ndirected; some maintain that he had been to the distant Indies; others\ndeclare that he had only fancied it; thus much, however, is certain, he\nmust have travelled a great way, for it was not in a year's time, as he\nhad promised his parents, but after the lapse of full three years, that\nPeregrine returned to Frankfort on foot, and in a tolerably poor\ncondition.\n\nHe found his father's mansion fast shut up and no one stirred within,\nlet him ring and knock as much as he would. At last there came by a\nneighbour from 'Change, of whom he immediately inquired whether Mr.\nTyss had gone abroad? At this question the neighbour started back,\nterrified, and cried, \"Mr. Peregrine Tyss! Is it you? Are you come at\nlast? Don't you then know it?\"\n\nEnough,--Peregrine learnt that, during his absence, both parents had\ndied, one after the other; that the authorities had taken possession of\nthe inheritance, and had publicly summoned him, whose abode was\naltogether unknown, to return to Frankfort and receive the property of\nhis father.\n\nPeregrine continued to stand before his neighbour without the power of\nutterance. For the first time the pain of life crossed his heart, and\nhe saw in ruins the beautiful bright world wherein, till now, he had\ndwelt with so much delight. The neighbour soon perceived that he was\nutterly incapable of setting about the least thing that the occasion\ncalled for; he therefore took him to his own house, and himself\narranged every thing with all possible expedition, so that, on the very\nsame evening, Peregrine found himself in his paternal mansion.\n\nExhausted, overwhelmed by a feeling of disconsolation such as he had\nnot yet known, he sank into his father's great arm-chair, which was\nstill standing in its usual place, when a voice said, \"It is well that\nyou have returned, dear Mr. Peregrine; ah, if you had but come sooner!\"\n\nPeregrine looked up and saw close before him the old woman, whom his\nfather had taken into his service chiefly because she could get no\nother place, on account of her outrageous ugliness: she had been\nPeregrine's nurse in his early childhood, and had not left the house\nsince. For a long time he stared at the woman, and at last began with a\nstrange smile, \"Is it you, Alina? The old people live still, do they\nnot?\" And with this he got up, went through every room, considered\nevery chair, every table, and every picture, and then calmly added,\n\"Yes, it is all just as I left it, and just so shall it remain.\"\n\nFrom this moment Peregrine adopted the strange life which was mentioned\nat the very beginning of our story. Retired from all society, he lived\nwith his aged attendant in the large roomy house in the deepest\nsolitude: subsequently he let out a couple of rooms to an old man, who\nhad been his father's friend, and seemed as misanthropical as himself--\nreason enough why the two should agree remarkably well, for they never\nsaw each other.\n\nThere were four family festivals which Peregrine celebrated with\ninfinite solemnity; and these were the birth-days of his father and\nmother, Easter, and his own day of christening. At these times Alina\nhad to set out a table for as many persons as his father had been wont\nto invite, with the same wine and dishes which had been usually served\nup on those occasions. Of course the same silver, the same plates, the\nsame glasses, such as had then been used, and such as they still\nremained, were now brought forward, in the fashion which had prevailed\nfor so many years. Peregrine kept to this strictly. Was the table\nready? He sat down to it alone, ate and drank but little, listened to\nthe conversation of his parents, and the imaginary guests, and replied\nmodestly to this or that question as it was directed to him by any one\nof the company. Did his mother put back her seat? he too rose with the\nrest, and took his leave of each with great courtesy. Then he retired\nto a distant chamber, and consigned to Alina the division of the wine\nand the many untasted dishes amongst the poor; which command of her\nmaster, the faithful soul was wont to execute most conscientiously. The\ncelebration of the two birth-days he began early in the morning, that,\naccording to the custom of his boyhood, he might carry a handsome\nnosegay into the room where his parents used to breakfast, and repeat\nverses which he had got by heart for the occasion. On his own day of\nchristening, he naturally could not sit at table, as he had not then\nbeen long born; Alina, therefore, had to attend to every thing, that\nis, to invite people to drink, and, in the general phrase, to do the\nhonours of the table: with this exception, every thing was the same as\nat the other festivals. But in addition to these, Peregrine had yet\nanother holiday in the year, or rather holy evening, and that was\nChristmas Eve, with its gifts, which had excited his youthful fancy\nmore than any other pleasure.\n\nHe himself carefully purchased the motley Christmas lights, the\nplaythings, the sweetmeats, just as his parents had presented them to\nhim in his childish years; and then the presentation took place, as the\nkind reader has already seen.\n\n\"It is very vexatious,\" said Peregrine, after having played with them\nsome time--\"it is very vexatious that the stag and wild boar hunt\nshould be missing. Where can they be? Ah, look there!\"--At this moment\nhe perceived a little box which still remained unopened, and hastily\nsnatched at it, expecting to recover the missing treasure. But on\nopening it he found it empty, and started back as if a sudden fright\nhad seized him.--\"Strange!\" he murmured to himself; \"strange! What is\nthe matter with this box? It seems as if some fearful thing sprang out\nupon me, that my eye was too dull to grapple with.\"\n\nAlina, on being questioned, assured him that she had found the box\namong the playthings, and had in vain used every exertion to open it;\nhence she had imagined that it contained something particular, and that\nthe lid would yield only to the experienced hand of her master.\n\n\"Strange!\" repeated Peregrine, \"very strange!--and it was with this\nchase that I had particularly pleased myself; I hope it may not bode\nany evil!--But who, on a Christmas Eve, would dwell upon such fancies,\nwhich have properly no foundation? Alina, fetch me the basket.\"\n\nAlina accordingly brought a large white basket; in which, with much\ncare, he packed up the playthings, the sweetmeats, and the tapers, took\nthe basket under his arm, the great Christmas-tree on his shoulder, and\nset out on his way.\n\nIt was the kind and laudable practice of Mr. Tyss to surprise some\nneedy family, where he knew there were children, with his whole cargo\nof Christmas-boxes, just as he had purchased it, and dream himself for\na few hours into the happy times of boyhood. Then, when the children\nwere in the height of their joy, he would softly steal away and wander\nabout the streets half the night, hardly knowing what to do with\nhimself, from the deep emotions which straitened his breast, and\nfeeling his own house like a vault, in which he was buried with all his\npleasures. This time his Christmas-boxes were intended for the children\nof a poor bookbinder, of the name of Lemmerhirt, who was a skilful,\nindustrious man, had long worked for him, and whose three children he\nwas well acquainted with.\n\nThe bookbinder, Lemmerhirt, lived in the top floor of a narrow house in\nthe Kalbecher-street; and as the winter storm howled and raged, and the\nrain and snow fell with mingled violence, it may be easily imagined\nthat Peregrine did not get to his object without great difficulty. From\nthe window twinkled down a couple of miserable tapers; with no little\ntoil he clambered up the steep stairs, knocked at the door, and called\nout, \"Open! Open! Christmas sends his presents to all good children.\"\n\nThe bookbinder opened the door in alarm, and it was not till after some\nconsideration that he recognised Peregrine, who was quite covered with\nsnow.\n\n\"Worshipful Mr. Tyss!\" he exclaimed, full of wonder--\"How in the name\nof Heaven do I come to such an honour on Christmas Eve?\"\n\nWorshipful Mr. Tyss, however, would not let him finish, but calling\nout, \"Children! Children! Alert! Christmas sends his presents\"--he\ntook possession of the flap-table in the middle of the room, and\nimmediately began to pull out his presents from the basket; the great\nChristmas-tree, indeed, which was dripping wet, he had been forced to\nleave outside the door. Still the bookbinder could not comprehend what\nit all meant; the wife, however, knew better, for she smiled at\nPeregrine, with silent tears, while the children stood at a distance,\ndevouring with their eyes each gift as it came out of the cover, and\noften unable to refrain from a loud cry of joy and wonder. At last he\nhad dexterously divided, and ordered the presents according to each\nchild's age, lighted all the tapers, and cried, \"Come, come, children!\nthis is what Christmas sends you.\" They, who could yet hardly believe\nthat all belonged to them, now shouted aloud, and leaped, and rejoiced;\nwhile their parents prepared to thank their benefactor. But it was\nprecisely this thanksgiving that Peregrine always sought to avoid, and\nhe therefore wished, as usual, to take himself off quietly. With this\nview he had got to the door, when it suddenly opened, and in the bright\nshine of the Christmas lights stood before him a young female,\nsplendidly attired.\n\nIt seldom turns out well, when an author undertakes to describe\nnarrowly to the reader the appearance of this or that beautiful\npersonage of his tale,--showing the shape, the growth, the carriage,\nthe hair, the colour of the eyes; it seems much better to give the\nwhole person at once, without these details. Here, too, it would be\nquite enough to state that the lady, who ran against the startled\nPeregrine, was uncommonly handsome and graceful, if it were not\nabsolutely requisite to speak of certain peculiarities which the little\ncreature had about her.\n\nShe was small, and, indeed, somewhat too small, but, at the same time,\nneatly and elegantly proportioned. Her forehead, in other respects\nhandsomely formed and full of expression, acquired a something strange\nand singular from the unusual size of the eyeballs, and from the dark\npencilly brows being higher placed than ordinary. The little thing was\ndressed, or rather decorated, as if she had just come from a ball. A\nsplendid diadem glittered amongst her raven locks, rich point lace only\nhalf veiled her bosom, a black and yellow striped dress of heavy silk\nsate close upon her slender body, and fell down in folds just so low as\nto let the neatest little feet be seen, in white shoes, while the\nsleeves were just long enough, and the gloves just short enough, to\nshow the fairest part of a dazzling arm. A rich necklace, and brilliant\near-rings, completed her attire.\n\nIt could not but be that the bookbinder was as much surprised as\nPeregrine,--that the children abandoned their playthings, and stared\nwith open mouths at the stranger: as, however, women in general are\nwont to be the least astonished at any thing unusual, and are the\nquickest to collect themselves, so, on this occasion also, the\nbookbinder's wife was the first that recovered speech, and asked, \"In\nwhat she could serve the lady?\"\n\nUpon this the stranger came fairly into the room, and the frightened\nPeregrine would have seized the opportunity to take himself quickly\noff, but she caught him by both hands, lisping out, in a little soft\nvoice, \"Fortune, then, has favoured me! I have found you, then! O\nPeregrine, my dear Peregrine, what a delightful meeting!\" Herewith she\nraised her right hand, so that it touched Peregrine's lips, and he was\ncompelled to kiss it, though, in so doing, the cold drops of\nperspiration stood on his forehead. She now, indeed, let go his hands,\nand he might have fled, but he felt himself spellbound, he could not\nmove from the place--like some poor little animal that has been\nfascinated by the eye of the rattle-snake.\n\n\"Allow me,\" she said, \"dear Peregrine, to share in this charming treat\nthat you have so nobly, and with such real goodness, prepared for the\nchildren. Permit me, also, to contribute something to it!\"\n\nFrom a little basket which hung upon her arm, and which had not been\nremarked till now, she took out all sorts of playthings, arranged them\non the table with graceful bustle, brought forward the children,\npointed out to each the present intended for him, and sported so\nprettily withal, that nothing could be more delightful. The bookbinder\nthought he was in a dream, but the wife laughed roguishly, fancying\nthat there must be some particular acquaintance between Peregrine and\nthe stranger.\n\nWhile now the parents were wondering, and the children were rejoicing,\nthe lady took her seat upon an old frail sofa, and drew down Mr.\nPeregrine, who, in fact, scarcely knew any longer whether he actually\nwas this same person. She then gently lisped into his ear, \"My dear,\ndear Peregrine, how happy, how delighted I feel by your side!\"--\"But,\nlady,\" stammered Peregrine, \"honoured lady----\" On a sudden, Heaven\nknows how, the lips of the stranger came so close to his, that, before\nhe could think about kissing them, he had really done it. That by this\nhe lost all power of speech is easily to be imagined.\n\n\"My sweet friend,\" continued the lady, creeping up to Peregrine so\nclosely, that she almost sate in his lap--\"My sweet friend, I know what\ntroubles you; I know what has so much afflicted your simple heart this\nevening. But, take comfort. That which you lost, that which you hardly\nhoped to find again,--see, I bring it to you.\"\n\nWith this she took out a little wooden box from her basket, and gave it\ninto the hands of Peregrine. In it was the hunting-set that he had\nmissed on the Christmas-eve table. It would be hard to describe the\nstrange feelings which were now thronging and jostling in his bosom.\n\nThe whole appearance of the stranger, in spite of all her grace and\nloveliness, had yet something supernatural about it, which those, who\nhad not Peregrine's awe of woman, would yet have received with a cold\nshudder through every vein; of course, therefore, a deep horror seized\nthe poor Peregrine, already in sufficient alarm, when he found the lady\nmost narrowly informed of all that he had been doing in the profoundest\nsolitude. Still, when he looked up, and met the glance of two bright\nblack eyes flashing from under the silken lids--when he felt the sweet\nbreath of the lovely being, and the electric warmth of her limbs--\nstill, with all his terror, there awoke in him the sadness of\nunutterable desires, such as he had not yet known. For the first time\nhis whole mode of life, his trifling with the Christmas presents,\nappeared to him absurd and childish, and he felt ashamed that the\nstranger should know of it; but then again it seemed as if her gift was\nthe living proof that she understood him, as none else on earth had\nunderstood him, and, in seeking to gratify him after this manner, had\nbeen prompted by the most perfect delicacy of feeling. He resolved to\ntreasure up the dear gift for ever, never to let it go out of his own\nhands; and, carried away by a feeling which totally overpowered him, he\npressed the casket to his breast with vehemence.\n\n\"Delightful!\" murmured the maiden, \"my gift pleases you! Oh, my dearest\nPeregrine, then my dreams, my presentiments, have not deceived me!\"\n\nMr. Tyss came somewhat to himself, so that he was able to say, with\ngreat plainness and distinctness, \"But, most respected lady, if I only\nknew to whom in all the world I had the honour----\"\n\n\"Cunning man,\" said the stranger, gently tapping his cheeks,--\"to\npretend as if you did not know your faithful Alina! But it is time that\nwe should leave the good folks here to their own pleasures. Accompany\nme, Mr. Tyss.\"\n\nOn hearing the name Alina, Peregrine naturally reverted to his old\nattendant, and he felt exactly as if a wind-mill were going round in\nhis head.\n\nThe strange Alina now took the kindest and most gracious leave of the\nfamily, while the bookbinder, from pure wonder and respect, could only\nstammer out a something unintelligible; but the children made as if\nthey had been long acquainted with her, and the wife said, \"Such a\nkind, handsome man as you are, Mr. Tyss, well deserves to have so kind\nand handsome a bride, who, even at this hour, assists him in doing acts\nof benevolence. I congratulate you with all my heart.\"--The strange\nlady thanked her with emotion, protesting that the day of her wedding\nshould also be a day of festival to them; and then, strictly refusing\nall attendance, took a taper from the Christmas table to light herself\ndown the stairs.\n\nIt is easy to imagine the feelings of Peregrine at all this, on whose\narm she leant.--\"Accompany me, Mr. Tyss,\"--that is,--he thought within\nhimself,--down the stairs to the carriage which stands at the door, and\nwhere the servant, or perhaps a whole set of servants, is in waiting,\nfor in the end it must be some mad princess, who----Heaven deliver me\nwith speed from this strange torture, and keep me in my right senses,\nsuch as they are!\n\nMr. Tyss did not suspect that all, which had yet happened, was only the\nprologue to a most wonderful adventure, and had therefore, without\nknowing it, done exceedingly well in praying to Heaven for the\npreservation of his senses.\n\nNo sooner had the couple reached the bottom of the stairs, than the\ndoor was opened by invisible hands, and, when they had got out, was\nshut again in the same manner. Peregrine, however, paid no attention to\nthis, in his astonishment at finding not the slightest appearance of\nany carriage before the house, or of any servant in waiting.--\"In the\nname of Heaven,\" he cried, \"where is your coach, lady?\"\n\n\"Coach!\" replied the stranger--\"Coach! what coach? Did you think, dear\nPeregrine, that my impatience, my anxiety, to find you, would allow me\nto come riding here quite quietly? No; hurried on by hope and desire, I\nran about through the storm till I found you. Thank Heaven that I have\nsucceeded! And now lead me home; my house is not far off.\"\n\nPeregrine resolutely avoided all reflection on the impossibility of the\nstranger going a few steps only, tricked out as she was, and in white\nsilk shoes, without spoiling her whole dress in the storm, instead of\nbeing, as now, in a state that showed not the slightest trace of\ndiscomposure; he reconciled himself to the idea of accompanying her\nstill farther, and was only glad that the weather was changed. The\nstorm, indeed, had past, not a cloud was in the heaven, the full moon\nshone down pleasantly, and only the keen air made the midnight to be\nfelt.\n\nScarcely had they gone a few steps, when the maiden began to complain\nsoftly, and soon burst out into loud lamentations, that she was\nfreezing with the cold. Peregrine, whose blood glowed through his\nveins, who had therefore been insensible to the weather, and never\nthought of her being so lightly clad, without even a shawl or a tucker,\nnow on a sudden saw his folly, and would have wrapt her in his cloak.\nThis, however, she rejected, exclaiming piteously, \"No, my dear\nPeregrine, that avails me nothing: my feet!--Ah, my feet! I shall die\nwith the dreadful agony.\"\n\nAnd she was about to drop, half senseless, as she cried out with a\nfaint voice, \"Carry me, carry me, my sweet friend!\"\n\nWithout more ado, Peregrine took up the light little creature in his\narms like a child, and wrapt her in his cloak. But he had not gone far\nwith his burthen, before the wild intoxication of desire took more and\nmore possession of him, and, as he hurried half way through the\nstreets, he covered the neck and bosom of the lovely creature, who\nhad nestled closely to him with burning kisses. At last he felt as\nif waking with a sudden jerk out of a dream: he found himself at\na house-door, and, looking up, recognised his own house, in the\nHorse-market, when, for the first time, it occurred to him that he had\nnot asked the maiden where she lived; he collected himself therefore\nwith effort, and said, \"Lady--sweet, angelic creature where is your\nabode?\"\n\n\"Here, my dear Peregrine,\" she replied, lifting up her head; \"here, in\nthis house: I am your Alina; I live with you; but get the door open\nquickly.\"\n\n\"No----never!\" cried Peregrine, in horror, and let her sink down.\n\n\"How!\" exclaimed the stranger--\"how! Peregrine, you would reject me?\nand yet know my dreadful fate,--and yet know that, child of misfortune\nas I am, I have no refuge, and must perish here miserably if you will\nnot take me in as usual! But perhaps you wish that I should perish? Be\nit so then! Only carry me to the fountain, that my corse may not be\nfound before your door. Ha!--the stone dolphins may, perchance, have\nmore pity than you have. Woe is me!--woe is me!--The bitter cold!\"\n\nShe sank down in a swoon; Peregrine was seized with despair, and\nexclaiming wildly, \"Let it be as it will, I cannot do otherwise--\" he\nlifted up the lifeless little thing, took her in his arms, and rang\nviolently at the bell. No sooner was the door opened than he rushed by\nthe servant, and instead of waiting, according to his usual custom,\ntill he got to the top of the stairs, and then tapping gently, he\nshouted out, \"Alina! Alina! light!\" and, indeed, so loudly, that the\nwhole floor re-echoed it.\n\n\"How!--what!--what's this?--what does this mean?\" exclaimed the old\nwoman, opening her eyes widely as Peregrine unfolded the maiden from\nhis cloak, and laid her with great care upon the sofa.\n\n\"Quick, Alina, quick! Fire in the grate!--salts!--punch!--beds here!\"\n\nAlina, however, did not stir from the place, but remained, staring at\nthe stranger, with her \"How!--what!--what's this?--what does this\nmean?\"\n\nHereupon Peregrine began to tell of a countess, perhaps a princess,\nwhom he had met at the bookbinder's, who had fainted in the streets,\nwhom he had been forced to carry home; and, as Alina still remained\nimmoveable, he cried out, stamping with his feet, \"Fire, I tell you, in\nthe devil's name!--tea!--salts!\"\n\nAt this, the old woman's eyes glared like a cat's, and her nose was lit\nup with a brighter phosphorus. She pulled out her huge black snuff-box,\nopened it with a tap that sounded again, and took a mighty pinch. Then,\nplanting an arm in either side, she said with a scoffing tone, \"Oh yes,\nto be sure, a countess!--a princess! who is found at a poor\nbookseller's, who faints in the street! Ho! ho! I know well where such\ntricked-out madams are fetched from in the night-time. Here are fine\ntricks! here's pretty behaviour! to bring a loose girl into an honest\nhouse; and, that the measure of sin may be quite full, to invoke the\ndevil on a Christmas night!--and I, too, in my old days am to be\nabetting! No, Mr. Tyss--you are mistaken in your person; I am not of\nthat sort: to-morrow I leave your service.\"\n\nWith this she left the room, and banged the door after her with a\nviolence that made all clatter again. Peregrine wrung his hands in\ndespair. No sign of life showed itself in the stranger; but at the\nmoment when, in his dreadful distress, he had found a bottle of Cologne\nwater, and was about to rub her temples with it, she jumped up from the\nsofa quite fresh and sound, exclaiming, \"At last we are alone! At last\nI may explain why I followed you to the bookbinder's--why I could not\nleave you to-night! Peregrine! give up to me the prisoner whom you have\nconfined in this room. I know that you are not at all bound to do so; I\nknow that it only depends upon your goodness; but I know, too, your\nkind affectionate heart; therefore, my good, dear Peregrine, give him\nup--give up the prisoner!\"\n\n\"What prisoner?\" asked Peregrine, in the greatest surprise. \"Who do you\nsuppose is a prisoner with me?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" continued the stranger, seizing Peregrine's hand, and pressing\nit tenderly to her breast--\"yes, I must confess that only a noble mind\ncan abandon the advantages which a lucky chance puts into his hands,\nand it is true that you resign many things which it would be easy for\nyou to obtain if you did not give up the prisoner; but--think, that\nAlina's destiny, her life, depends upon the possession of this\nprisoner, that----\"\n\n\"Angelic creature!\" interrupted Peregrine, \"if you don't wish that I\nshould take it all for a delirious dream, or perhaps become delirious\non the spot myself, tell me at once of whom you are speaking,--who is\nthis prisoner?\"\n\n\"How!\" replied the maiden--\"I do not understand you; would you deny\nthat he is in your custody? Was I not present when you bought the\nhunting-set?\"\n\n\"Who,\" cried Peregrine, quite beside himself, \"who is this HE? For the\nfirst time in my life I see _you_, lady, and who are YOU? who is this\nHE?\"\n\nDissolving in grief, the stranger threw herself at Peregrine's feet,\nwhile the tears poured down in abundant streams from her eyes: \"Be\nhumane, be merciful--give him back to me!\"--and at the same time her\nexclamations were mingled with those of Peregrine, \"I shall lose my\nsenses! I shall go mad! I shall be frantic!\"\n\nOn a sudden the maiden started up. She seemed much larger than before;\nher eyes flashed fire, her lips quivered, and she exclaimed, with\nfurious gestures, \"Ha, barbarian! no human heart dwells in you! You are\ninexorable! You wish my death, my destruction! You won't give him up!\nNo--never, never! Wretched me!--Lost! lost!\"\n\nAnd with this she rushed out of the room. Peregrine heard her\nclattering down the stairs, while her lamentations filled the whole\nhouse, till at last a door below was flung to with violence.\n\n\n\n\n                           Second Adventure.\n\nThe Flea-tamer.--Melancholy fate of the Princess Gamaheh, in\nFamagusta.--Awkwardness of the Genius, Thetel, and remarkable\nmicroscopic experiments and recreations.--The beautiful Hollandress,\nand singular adventure of the young Mr. George Pepusch, a student of\nJena.\n\nAt this time there was a man in Frankfort, who practised the strangest\nart possible. He was called the flea-tamer, from having succeeded--and\ncertainly not without much trouble and exertion--in educating these\nlittle creatures, and teaching them to execute all sorts of pretty\ntricks. You saw with the greatest astonishment a troop of fleas upon a\nslab of highly-polished marble, who drew along little cannons,\nammunition-waggons, and baggage-carts, while others leaped along by\nthem with muskets in their arms, cartouch-boxes on their backs, and\nsabres at their sides. At the word of command from the artist, they\nperformed the most difficult evolutions, and all seemed fuller of life\nand mirth than if they had been real soldiers; for the marching\nconsisted in the neatest entrechats and capers, and the faces about,\nright and left, in the most graceful pirouettes. The whole troop had a\nwonderful a-plomb, and the general seemed to be at the same time a most\nadmirable ballet-master. But even more handsome and more wonderful were\nthe little gold coaches, which were drawn by four, six, or eight fleas.\nCoachmen and servants were little gold flies, of the smallest kind and\nalmost invisible; while that, which sate within, could not be well\ndistinguished. One was involuntarily reminded of the equipage of Queen\nMab, so admirably described by Shakspeare's Mercutio, that it is easy\nto perceive she must often have travelled athwart his own nose.\n\nBut it was not till you overlooked the table with a good magnifying\nglass that the art of the flea-tamer developed itself in its full\nextent; for then first appeared the splendour and grace of the vessels,\nthe fine workmanship of the arms, the glitter and neatness of the\nuniforms, all of which excited the profoundest admiration. It was quite\nimpossible to imagine what instruments the flea-tamer could have used\nin making neatly and proportionately certain little collaterals, such\nas spurs and buttons, compared to which that matter seemed to be a very\ntrifling task, which else had passed for a master-piece of the tailor,\nnamely, the fitting a flea with a pair of breeches; though, indeed, in\nthis the most difficult part must have been the measuring.\n\nThe flea-tamer had abundance of visitors. Throughout the whole day the\nhall was never free from the curious, who were not deterred by the\nhigh price of admission. In the evening, too, the company was numerous,\nnay almost more numerous, as then even those people, who cared little\nabout such trickeries, came to admire a work which gave the flea-tamer\nquite another character, and acquired for him the real esteem of\nthe philosopher. This work was a night-microscope, that, as the\nsun-microscope by day, like a magic lantern, flung the object, brightly\nlit up, upon a white ground, with a sharpness and distinctness which left\nnothing more to be wished. Moreover, the flea-tamer carried on a\ntraffic with the finest microscopes that could be, and which were\nreadily bought at a great price.\n\nIt chanced that a young man, called George Pepusch,--the kind reader\nwill soon be better acquainted with him,--took a fancy to visit the\nflea-tamer late in the evening. Already, upon the stairs, he heard the\nclamour of a dispute, that grew louder and louder with every moment,\nand at last became a perfect tempest. Just as he was about to enter,\nthe door of the hall was violently flung open, and the multitude rushed\nout in a heap upon him, their faces pale with terror.\n\n\"The cursed wizard!--the Satan's-brood! I'll denounce him to the\nsupreme court!--He shall out of the city, the false juggler!\"\n\nSuch were the confused cries of the multitude, as, urged by fear and\nterror, they sought to get out of the house as quickly as possible.\n\nA glance into the hall at once betrayed to the young Pepusch the cause\nof this horror, which had driven away the people. All within was alive,\nand a loathsome medley of the most hideous creatures filled the whole\nroom. The race of beetles, spiders, leeches, gnats, magnified to\nexcess, stretched out their probosces, crawled upon their long hairy\nlegs, or fluttered their long wings. A more hideous spectacle Pepusch\nhad never seen. He was even beginning to be sensible himself of horror,\nwhen something rough suddenly flew in his face, and he saw himself\nenveloped in a thick cloud of meal dust. His terror immediately left\nhim, for he at once perceived that the rough thing could be nothing\nelse than the round powdered wig of the flea-tamer--which, in fact, it\nwas.\n\nBy the time Pepusch had rubbed the powder from his eyes, the disgusting\npopulation of insects had vanished. The flea-tamer sate in his arm-chair\nquite exhausted.\n\n\"Leuwenhock!\"--exclaimed Pepusch to him--\"Leuwenhock, do you see now\nwhat comes of your trickeries? You have again been forced to have\nrecourse to your vassals to keep the people's hands off you--Is it not\nso?\"\n\n\"Is it you?\" said the naturalist, in a faint voice--\"Is it you, good\nPepusch?--Ah! it is all over with me--clean over with me--I am a lost\nman! Pepusch, I begin to believe that you really meant it well with me,\nand that I have not done wisely in making light of your warnings.\"\n\nUpon Pepusch's quietly asking what had happened, the flea-tamer turned\nhimself round with his arm-chair to the wall, held both his hands\nbefore his face, and cried out piteously to Pepusch to take up a glass\nand examine the marble slab. Already, with the naked eye, Pepusch\nobserved that the little soldiers, &c. lay there as if dead,--that\nnothing stirred any longer. The dexterous fleas appeared also to have\ntaken another shape. But now, by means of the glass, Pepusch soon\ndiscovered that not a single flea was there, but what he had taken for\nthem were nothing more than black pepper-corns and fruit-seeds that\nstood in their uniforms.\n\n\"I know not,\" began the flea-tamer, quite melancholy and overwhelmed,--\n\"I know not what evil spirit struck me with blindness, that I did not\nperceive the desertion of my army till the people were at the table and\nprepared for the spectacle. You may imagine, Pepusch, how, on seeing\nthemselves deceived, the visitors first murmured, and then blazed out\ninto fury. They accused me of the vilest deceit, and, as they grew\nhotter and hotter, and would no longer listen to any excuses, they were\nfalling upon me to take their own revenge. What could I do better, to\nshun a load of blows, than immediately set the great microscope into\nmotion, and envelope the people in a cloud of insects, at which they\nwere terrified, as is natural to them?\"\n\n\"But,\" said Pepusch, \"tell me how it could possibly happen that your\nwell-disciplined troop, which had shown so much fidelity to you, could\nso suddenly take themselves off, without your perceiving it at once?\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the flea-tamer, \"O, Pepusch! HE has deserted me!--HE by\nwhom alone I was master--HE it is to whose treachery I ascribe all my\nblindness, all my misery!\"\n\n\"Have I not,\" said Pepusch, \"have I not long ago warned you not to\nplace your reliance upon tricks which you cannot execute without the\npossession of the MASTER? and on how ticklish a point rests that\npossession, notwithstanding all your care, you have just now\nexperienced.\"\n\nPepusch farther gave the flea-tamer to understand, that he could not at\nall comprehend how his being forced to give up these tricks could so\nmuch disturb his life, as the invention of the microscope, and his\ngeneral dexterity in the preparation of microscopic glasses, had long\nago established him. But the flea-tamer, on the other hand, maintained,\nthat very different things lay hid in these subtleties, and that he\ncould not give them up without giving up his whole existence. Pepusch\ninterrupted him by asking, \"Where is Dörtje Elverdink?\"\n\n\"Where is she?\" screamed Leuwenhock, wringing his hands--\"where is\nDörtje Elverdink?--Gone!--gone into the wide world!--vanished!--But\nstrike me dead at once, Pepusch, for I see your wrath growing: make\nshort work of it with me!\"\n\n\"There you see now,\" said Pepusch, with a gloomy look--\"you see now\nwhat comes of your folly, of your absurd proceedings. Who gave you a\nright to confine the poor Dörtje like a slave, and then again, merely\nfor the sake of alluring people, to make a show of her like some wonder\nof natural history? Why did you put a force upon her inclinations, and\nnot allow her to give me her hand, when you must have seen how dearly\nwe loved each other?--Fled, is she? Well then, she is no longer in your\npower; and although I do not at this moment know where to seek for her,\nyet am I convinced that I shall find her. There, Leuwenhock, put on\nyour wig again, and submit to your destiny; that is the best thing you\ncan do.\"\n\nThe flea-tamer arranged his wig on his bald head with his left hand,\nwhile with his right he caught Pepusch by the arm, exclaiming--\n\n\"Pepusch, you are my real friend, for you are the only man in the whole\ncity of Frankfort, who know that I lie buried in the old church at\nDelft, since the year seventeen hundred and twenty-five, and yet have\nnot betrayed it to any one,--even when you were angry with me on\naccount of Dörtje Elverdink. If at times I cannot exactly get it into\nmy head that I am actually that Anton van Leuwenhock, who lies buried\nat Delft, yet again I must believe it, when I consider my works, and\nreflect upon my life; and on that account it is very agreeable to me\nthat it is not at all spoken of. I now see, my dear Pepusch, that, in\nregard to Dörtje Elverdink, I have not acted rightly, although in a\nvery different way from what you may well imagine--that is, I was right\nin pronouncing your suit to be an idle struggle,--wrong, in not being\nopen with you, in not telling you the real circumstances of Dörtje\nElverdink; you would then have seen how praiseworthy it was to talk you\nout of wishes, the accomplishment of which could not be other than\ndestructive. Pepusch, sit down by me, and hear a wonderful history.\"\n\n\"That I am likely to do,\" replied Pepusch with a malicious glance,\nsitting down in an armchair, opposite the flea-tamer, who thus began:\n\n\"As you are well versed, my dear friend, in history, you know, beyond\ndoubt, that King Sekakis lived for many years in intimate intercourse\nwith the Flower-Queen, and that the beautiful Princess Gamaheh was the\nfruit of this passion. But it is not so well known, nor can I tell you,\nin what way the Princess Gamaheh came to Famagusta. Many maintain, and\nnot without reason, that the princess wished to conceal herself there\nfrom the odious Leech-Prince, the sworn enemy of the Flower-Queen. Be\nthis as it may,--it happened once in Famagusta, that the princess was\nwalking in the cool freshness of the evening, and chanced upon a\npleasant cypress-grove. Allured by the delightful sighings of the\nevening breeze, the murmurs of a brook, and the soft music of the\nbirds, she stretched herself upon the moss, and quickly fell into a\nsound slumber. At this moment, the very enemy whom she had been so\nanxious to escape lifted his head out of the marshes, beheld the\nprincess, and became so violently enamoured of the fair sleeper, that\nhe could not resist an inclination to kiss her; and, creeping forward,\nhe kissed her under the left ear. Now you know, friend Pepusch, that,\nwhen the Leech-Prince sets about kissing a fair one, she is lost, for\nhe is the vilest bloodsucker in the world. So it happened on this\noccasion: the Leech-Prince kissed the poor Gamaheh so long, that all\nlife left her, when he fell back gorged and intoxicated upon the moss,\nand was forced to be carried home by his servants, who hastily rolled\nout of their marshes. In vain the root mandragora toiled out of the\nearth, and laid itself upon the wound inflicted by the treacherous\nkisses of the Leech-Prince; in vain all the other flowers arose and\njoined in his lamentations: she was dead. Just then it happened that\nthe genius, Thetel, was passing, and he too was deeply moved by\nGamaheh's beauty and her unlucky end. He took her in his arms, pressed\nher to his breast, and endeavoured to breathe new life into her; but\nstill she awoke not from the sleep of death. Now, too, the genius\nperceived the odious prince,--who was so drunk and unwieldly that his\nservants had not been able to get him into his palace,--fell into a\nviolent rage, and threw a whole handful of rock-salt upon him, at which\nhe poured forth again all the purple blood which he had drawn from the\nprincess, and then gave up his spirit in a wretched manner, amidst the\nmost violent convulsions. All the flowers that stood around dipped\ntheir vestments in this ichor, and stained them, in perpetual\nremembrance of the murdered princess, with so bright a purple, that no\npainter on earth can imitate it. You know, Pepusch, that the most\nbeautiful pinks and hyacinths grow in that cypress-grove where the\nLeech-Prince kissed to death the fair Gamaheh.\n\n\"The genius, Thetel, now thought of departing, as he had much to do at\nSamarcand before night, and cast a farewell look at the princess, when\nhe seemed as if fixed by magic to the spot, and gazed on the fair one\nwith deep emotion. Suddenly a thought struck him. Instead of going on\nfarther, he took the princess in his arms, and rose with her high into\nthe air; at which time two philosophers,--one of whom it should be said\nwas myself,--were observing the course of the stars from the gallery of\na lofty tower. They perceived high above them the genius, Thetel, with\nthe fair Gamaheh, and at the same moment there fell upon one,--but that\nis nothing to the present matter. Both magicians had recognised the\ngenius, but not the princess, and exhausted themselves in all manner of\nconjectures as to the meaning of this appearance, without being able to\nget at any thing certain, or even probable. Soon after this the unhappy\nfate of the princess became generally known in Famagusta, and now the\nmagicians knew how to interpret the vision of the genius with the\nmaiden in his arms. Both imagined that the genius must certainly have\nfound some means of recalling the princess into life, and resolved to\nmake inquiries in Samarcand, where, according to their observations, he\nhad manifestly directed his flight. But in Samarcand all were silent\nabout the princess; no one knew a word.\n\n\"Many years had passed; the two magicians had quarrelled, as it will\nhappen with learned men,--and the more learned the oftener,--and they\nonly imparted to each other their most important discoveries from the\niron force of custom--You have not forgotten, Pepusch, that I myself am\none of these magicians--Well, I was not a little surprised at a\ncommunication from my colleague, which contained the most wonderful,\nand at the same time the happiest, intelligence of the princess that\ncould be imagined. The matter was thus:--by means of a scientific\nfriend in Samarcand, my colleague had obtained the loveliest and rarest\ntulips, and as perfectly fresh as if they had been just cut from the\nstalk. His chief object was the microscopic examination of the interior\nportions, and, in fact, of the petal. It was with this view that he was\ndissecting a beautiful tulip, and discovered in the cup a strange\nlittle kernel that struck him prodigiously; but how great was his\nastonishment when, on applying his glass, he perceived that the little\nkernel was nothing else than the Princess Gamaheh, who, pillowed in the\npetal of the tulip, seemed to slumber softly and calmly.\n\n\"However great the distance that separated me from my colleague, yet I\nset off immediately, and hastened to him. He had in the meantime put\noff all operations, to allow me the pleasure of a sight first; and\nperhaps, too, from the fear of spoiling something if he acted entirely\nfrom himself. I soon convinced myself of the perfect correctness of my\ncolleague's observations; and, like him, firmly believed that it was\npossible to snatch the princess from her sleep, and give her again her\noriginal form. The sublime spirit, dwelling within us, soon let us find\nthe proper method; but as you, friend Pepusch, know very little,--in\nfact nothing at all,--of our art, it would be quite superfluous to\ndescribe to you the different operations which we went through to\nattain our object. It is sufficient if I tell you that by the dexterous\nuse of various glasses--for the most part prepared by myself--we\nsucceeded not only in drawing the princess uninjured from the flower,\nbut in forwarding her growth, so that she soon attained her natural\ndimensions. Now, indeed, life was wanting; and this depended on the\nlast and most difficult operations. We reflected her image by means of\none of the best solar microscopes, and loosened it dexterously from the\nwhite wall, without the least injury. As soon as the shadow floated\nfreely, it shot like lightning into the glass, which broke into a\nthousand shivers. The princess stood before us full of life and\nfreshness. We shouted for joy; but so much the greater was our horror,\non perceiving that the circulation of the blood stopped precisely there\nwhere the Leech-Prince had fastened himself. She was just on the point\nof swooning, when we perceived on the very spot behind the left ear a\nlittle black dot, that quickly appeared and as quickly disappeared.\nImmediately the stagnation of the blood ceased, the princess revived,\nand our work had succeeded.\n\n\"Each of us,--that is, I and my colleague,--knew full well how\ninvaluable was the possession of the princess, and each struggled for\nit, imagining that he had more right to it than the other. My colleague\naffirmed that the tulip, in which he had found the princess, was his\nproperty; and that he had made the first discovery, which he had\nimparted to me; and that I could only be deemed an assistant, who had\nno right to demand, as a reward of his labour, the work itself at which\nhe had assisted. I, on the other hand, brought forward my invention of\nthe last and most difficult process, which had restored the princess to\nlife, and in the execution of which my colleague had only helped;\nso that, if he had any claims of propriety upon the embryo in the\nflower-petal, yet the living person belonged to me. On this ground we\nquarrelled for many hours, till, having screamed ourselves hoarse, we\nat last came to a compromise. My colleague consigned the princess to\nme, in return for which I gave him an important glass, and this very\nglass is the cause of our present determined hostility. He affirms that\nI have treacherously purloined it--an impudent falsehood--and although\nI really know that the glass was lost in the transferring, yet I can\ndeclare, upon my honour and conscience, that I am not the cause of it,\nnor have I any idea how it could have happened. In fact, the glass is\nso small, that a grain of sand is about ten times larger. See, friend\nPepusch; now I have told you all in confidence, and now you know that\nDörtje Elverdink is no other than the revivified Princess Gamaheh, and\nmust perceive that to such a high mysterious alliance a plain young man\nlike you can have no----.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" interrupted George Pepusch, with a smile that was something\nsatanic:--\"stop! one confidence is worth another, and, therefore,\nI, on my side, will confide to you that I knew all that you have been\ntelling me much earlier and much better than you did. I cannot laugh\nenough at your bigotry and your foolish pretensions. Know,--what you\nmight have known long ago if your knowledge had not been confined to\nglass-grinding,--that I myself am the thistle, Zeherit, who stood where\nthe princess had laid her head, and of whom you have thought fit to be\nsilent through your whole history.\"\n\n\"Pepusch!\" cried the flea-tamer, \"are you in your senses? The thistle,\nZeherit, blooms in the distant Indies, in the beautiful valley, closed\nin by lofty rocks, where at times the wisest magi of the earth are wont\nto assemble: Lindhorst, the keeper of the records, can best inform you\nabout it. And you, whom I have seen running about half starved with\nstudy and hunger, you pretend to be the thistle, Zeherit?\"\n\n\"What a wise man you are, Leuwenhock!\" said Pepusch, laughing: \"Well,\nthink of my person what you will, but do not be absurd enough to deny\nthat, in the moment of the thistle Zeherit's feeling the sweet breath\nof Gamaheh, he bloomed in glowing love and passion; and that, when he\ntouched the temples of the sleeping princess, she too dreamt sweetly of\nlove. Too late the Thistle perceived the Leech-Prince, whom he else had\nkilled with his thorns in a moment; but yet, with the help of the root,\nMandragora, he would have succeeded in recalling the princess to life,\nif the stupid genius, Thetel, had not interfered with his awkward\nremedies. It is true that, in his passion, the genius put his hand into\nthe saltbox, which he is used to carry at his girdle when he travels,\nlike Pantagruel, and flung a good handful at the Leech-Prince; but it\nis quite false that he killed him in so doing. All the salt fell into\nthe marsh; not a single grain hit the prince, whom the thistle,\nZeherit, slew with his thorns; and, having thus avenged the murder of\nGamaheh, devoted himself to death. It is the genius only,--who\ninterfered in matters not concerning him,--that is the cause of the\nprincess lying so long in the sleep of flowers; the Thistle awoke much\nearlier; for the death of both was but the same sleep, from which they\nrevived, although in other forms. You will have completed the measure\nof your gross blunders, if you suppose that the Princess Gamaheh was\nformed exactly as Dörtje Elverdink now is, and that it is you who\nrestored her to life. It happened to you, my good Leuwenhock, as it did\nto the awkward servant in the remarkable story of the Three\nPomegranates; he freed two maidens from the fruit, without having first\nassured himself of the means of keeping them in life, and in\nconsequence saw them perish miserably before his eyes. Not you, but\n_he_, who has escaped from you, whose loss you so deeply feel and\nlament;--he it was who completed the work, which you began so\nawkwardly.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried the flea-tamer, quite beside himself--\"ha! 'twas so I\nsuspected!--But you, Pepusch, you, to whom I have shown so much\nkindness, you are my worst enemy: I see it well now. Instead of\nadvising me, instead of assisting me in my misfortunes, you amuse me\nwith all manner of nonsensical stories.\"\n\n\"Nonsense yourself!\" cried Pepusch, quite indignant: \"you'll rue\nyour folly too late, you dreaming charlatan! I go to seek Dörtje\nElverdink--but that you may no longer mislead honest people----\"\n\nHe grasped at the screw which set all the microscopic machinery in\nmotion----\n\n\"Take my life at the same time!\" roared the flea-tamer; but at the\ninstant all crashed together, and he fell senseless to the ground.--\n\n\"How is it,\" said George Pepusch to himself, when he had got into the\nstreet,--\"how is it that one, who has the command of a nice warm\nchamber and a well-stuffed bed, wanders through the streets at night in\nthe rain and storm?--Because he has forgotten the house key, and he is\ndriven moreover by love.\"\n\nHe could answer himself no otherwise, and indeed his whole conduct\nseemed silly in his own estimation. He remembered the moment when\nhe saw Dörtje Elverdink for the first time. Some years before the\nFlea-tamer had exhibited his arts in Berlin, and had found no slight\naudiences as long as the thing was new. Soon, however, people had seen\nenough of the educated and well-disciplined fleas; and even the\nparaphernalia of the diminutive race began not to be thought so very\nwonderful, although at first attributed almost to magic, and Leuwenhock\nseemed to have fallen into total oblivion. On a sudden a report was\nspread that a niece of the artist, who had not appeared before, now\nattended the exhibitions--a beautiful, lovely little maiden, and withal\nso strangely attired as to baffle description. The world of\nfashionables, who, like leaders in a concert, are accustomed to give\nthe time and tune to society, now poured in; and, as in this world\nevery thing is in extremes, the niece excited unparalleled\nastonishment. It soon became the mode to frequent the flea-tamer; he,\nwho had not seen his niece, could not join in the common talk; and thus\nthe artist was saved in his distress. As to the rest, no one could\ncomprehend the name \"_Dörtje_;\" and as at this time a celebrated\nactress was displaying, in the part of the Queen of Golconda, all those\nhigh yet soft attractions which are peculiar to the sex, they called\nthe fair Hollander by the royal name, Alina.\n\nWhen George Pepusch came to Berlin, Leuwenhock's fair niece was the\ntalk of the day; and hence at the table of the hotel, where he lodged,\nscarcely any thing else was spoken of but the little wonder that\ndelighted all the men, young and old, and even the women themselves.\nEvery one pressed the new-comer to place himself on the pinnacle of the\nexisting mode at Berlin, and see the Hollandress. Pepusch had an\nirritable, melancholy temperament; in every enjoyment he found too much\nof the bitter after-taste, which, indeed, comes from the Stygian brook\nthat runs through our whole life, and this made him gloomy and often\nunjust to all about him. It may be easily supposed, that in this mood\nhe was little inclined to run about after pretty girls; but he went\nnevertheless to the flea-tamer's, less on account of the dangerous\nwonder, than to confirm his preconceived opinion that here too, as so\noften in life, a strange madness was predominating. He found the\nHollandress fair, indeed, and agreeable; but in considering her, he\ncould not help smiling with self-satisfaction at his own sagacity, by\nthe help of which he had already guessed that the heads, which the\nlittle-one had so perfectly turned, must have been tolerably crazy\nbefore they left home.\n\nThe maiden had that light easy manner which evinces the best education;\na mistress of that delightful coquetry, which, when it offers the\nfinger-tips to any one, at the same time takes from him the power of\nreceiving them, the lovely little creature knew how to attract her\nnumerous visitors, as well as to restrain them within the bounds of the\nstrictest decorum.\n\nNone troubled themselves about the stranger, who had leisure enough to\nobserve all the actions of the fair one. But while he continued staring\nmore and more at the beautiful face, there awoke in the deepest\nrecesses of his mind a dark recollection, as if he had somewhere before\nseen the Hollandress, although in other relations and in other attire,\nand that he himself had at one time worn a very different form. In vain\nhe tormented himself to bring this recollection to any clearness, yet\nstill the idea of his having really seen the little creature before\nbecame more and more determinate. The blood mounted into his face, when\nat last some one gently jogged him, and whispered in his ear,--\"The\nlightning has struck you too, Mr. Philosopher, has it not?\" It was his\nneighbour of the ordinary, to whom he had asserted that the ecstasy\ninto which all had fallen was no better than madness, which would pass\naway as quickly as it had arisen.\n\nPepusch observed, that while he had been gazing so fixedly on the\nlittle-one, the hall had grown deserted. Now for the first time she\nseemed to be aware of his presence, and greeted him with graceful\nfamiliarity. From this time he could not get rid of her idea; he\ntormented himself through a sleepless night, only to come upon the\ntrace of a recollection,--but in vain. The sight of the fair one, he\nrightly thought, could alone bring him to it; and the next day, and all\nthe following days, he never omitted visiting the flea-tamer, and\nstaring two or three hours together at the beautiful Dörtje Elverdink.\n\nWhen a man cannot get rid of the idea of a beautiful woman, who has\nriveted his attention, he has already made the first step towards love;\nand thus it happened that, at the very time Pepusch fancied he was only\nporing upon that faint recollection, he was already in love with the\nfair Hollandress.\n\nWho would now trouble himself about the fleas, over whom Alina had\ngained so splendid a victory, attracting all within her own circle? The\nmaster himself felt that he was playing a somewhat silly part with his\ninsects; he, therefore, locked up the whole troop for other times, and\nwith much dexterity gave to his play another form, in which his niece\nplayed the principal character. He had hit upon the happy thought of\ngiving evening entertainments, at a tolerably high rate of\nsubscription, in which, after he had exhibited a few optical illusions,\nthe farther amusement of the company rested with his niece. Here the\nsocial talents of the fair one shone in full measure, and she took\nadvantage of the least pause in the entertainment to give a new impulse\nto the party by songs, which she herself accompanied on the guitar. Her\nvoice was not powerful; her manner was not imposing, often even against\nrule; but the sweetness and clearness of tone completely answered to\nher appearance; and when from her dark eyelashes she darted the soft\nglances, like gentle moonbeams, amongst the spectators, every breast\nheaved, and the censure of the most confirmed pedant was silenced.\n\nPepusch diligently prosecuted his studies in these evening\nentertainments, that is, he stared for two hours together at the\nHollandress, and then left the hall with the rest of the company. Once\nhe stood nearer to her than usual, and distinctly heard her saying to a\nyoung man,--\"Tell me, who is that lifeless spectre, that every evening\nstares at me for hours, and then disappears without a syllable?\"\n\nPepusch was deeply hurt, and made such a clamour in his chamber, and\nacted so wildly, that no friend could have recognized him in his mad\nfreaks. He swore, high and low, never again to see the malicious\nHollandress; but, for all that, did not fail appearing at Leuwenhock's\non the very next evening, at the usual hour, to stare at the lovely\nDörtje more fixedly, if that were possible, than ever. It is true,\nindeed, that even upon the steps he was mightily alarmed at finding\nhimself there, and in all haste adopted the wise resolution of keeping\nquite at a distance from the fascinating creature. He even carried this\nplan into effect by creeping into a corner of the hall; but the attempt\nto cast down his eyes failed entirely, and, as before said, he gazed on\nthe Hollandress more determinedly than ever. Yet he did not know how it\nhappened that on a sudden Dörtje Elverdink was standing in his corner\nclose beside him. With a voice that was melody itself, the fair one\nsaid, \"I do not remember, sir, having seen you anywhere before our\nmeeting here at Berlin; and yet I find in your features, in all your\nmanner, so much that seems familiar. Nay, it is as if in times long\npast we had been very intimate, but in a distant country and in other\nrelations. I entreat you, free me from this uncertainty; and, if I am\nnot deceived by some resemblance, let us renew the friendship, which\nfloats in dim recollection like some delightful dream.\"\n\nGeorge Pepusch felt strangely at this address; his breast heaved, his\nforehead glowed, and a shudder ran through all his limbs as if he had\nlain in a violent fever. Though this might mean nothing else than that\nhe was over head and ears in love, yet there was another cause for this\nperturbation, which robbed him of all speech, and almost of his senses.\nWhen Dörtje Elverdink spoke of her belief that she had known him long\nbefore, it seemed to him as if another image was presented to his\ninward mind as in a magic lantern, and he perceived a long removed\nSELF, which lay far back in time. The idea, that by much meditation had\nassumed a clear and firm shape, flashed up in this moment, and this was\nnothing less than that Dörtje Elverdink was the Princess Gamaheh,\ndaughter of King Sekakis, whom he had loved in a remote period, when he\nflourished as the thistle, Zeherit. It was well that he did not\ncommunicate this fancy to other folks, as he would most probably have\nbeen reckoned mad, and confined as such; although the fixed idea of a\npartial maniac may often, perhaps, be nothing more than the illusions\nof a preceding existence.\n\n\"Good God! you seem dumb, sir!\" said the little-one, touching George's\nbreast with the prettiest finger imaginable; and from the tip of it\nshot an electric spark into his heart, and he awoke from his\nstupefaction. He seized her hand in a perfect ecstasy, covered it with\nburning kisses, and exclaimed, \"Heavenly, angelic creature!\" &c. &c.\n&c. The kind reader will easily imagine all that George Pepusch would\nexclaim in a such a moment. It is sufficient to say, that she received\nhis love-protests as kindly as could be wished; and that the fateful\nmoment, in the corner of Leuwenhock's hall, brought forth a love affair\nthat first raised the good George Pepusch up to heaven, and then again\nplunged him into hell. As he happened to be of a melancholy\ntemperament, and withal pettish and suspicious, Dörtje's conduct could\nnot fail of giving rise to many little jealousies. Now it was precisely\nthese jealousies that tickled Dörtje's malicious humour; and it was her\ndelight to torment the poor George Pepusch in a variety of ways: but as\nevery thing can be carried only to a certain point, so at last the\nlong-smothered resentment of the lover blazed forth. He was speaking of\nthat wondrous time when he, as the thistle, Zeherit, had so dearly\nloved the fair Hollandress, who was then the daughter of King Sekakis,\nand was reminding her, with all the fire of love, that the circumstance\nof his battle with the Leech-Prince had given him the most\nincontestable right to her hand. On her part, she declared that she\nwell remembered it, and had already felt the foreboding of it, when\nPepusch gazed on her with the thistle-glance; she spoke, too, so\nsweetly of these wonderful matters, seemed so inspired with love to the\nthistle, Zeherit, who had been destined to study at Jena, and then\nagain find the Princess Gamaheh in Berlin, that George Pepusch fancied\nhimself in the Eldorado of all delight. The lovers stood at the window,\nand the little-one suffered her enamoured friend to wind his arm about\nher. In this familiar position they caressed each other, for to that at\nlast came the dreamy talk about the wonders in Famagusta, when it\nchanced that a handsome officer of the guards passed by in a brand-new\nuniform, and familiarly greeted the little-one, whom he knew from the\nevening entertainments; Dörtje had half closed her eyes and turned away\nher head from the street, so that one would have thought it was\nimpossible for her to see the officer; but great is the magic of a fine\nnew uniform! The little-one,--roused, perhaps, by the clatter of the\nsabre on the pavement,--opened her eyes broad and bright, twisted\nherself from George's arm, flung open the window, threw a kiss to the\nofficer, and watched him till he had disappeared round the corner.\n\n\"Gamaheh!\" shouted George Pepusch, quite beside himself--\"Gamaheh! what\nis this? Do you mock me? Is this the faith you have promised to your\nThistle?\"\n\nThe little-one turned round upon her heel, burst into a loud laughter,\nand exclaimed,--\n\n\"Go, go, George; if I am the daughter of the worthy old King Sekakis,\nif you are the thistle, Zeherit, that dear officer is the genius,\nThetel, who, in fact, pleases me much better than the sad thorny\nthistle.\"\n\nWith this she darted away through the door, while George Pepusch, as\nmight be expected, fell immediately into a fit of desperation, and\nrushed down the steps as if he had been driven by a thousand devils.\nFate would have it, that he met a friend, in a post-chaise, who was\nleaving Berlin; upon which he called out, \"Halt! I go with you;\"--flew\nhome, donned a great coat, put money in his purse, gave the key of his\nroom to the hostess, seated himself in the chaise, and posted off with\nhis friend.\n\nNotwithstanding this hostile separation, his love to the fair\nHollandress was by no means extinguished; and just as little could he\nresolve to give up the fair claims, which, as the thistle, Zeherit, he\nthought he had to the hand and heart of Gamaheh. He renewed, therefore,\nhis pretensions, when some years afterwards he met with Leuwenhock\nagain at the Hague; and how zealously he followed her in Frankfort the\nreader has learnt already.\n\nGeorge Pepusch was wandering through the streets at night, quite\ninconsolable, when his attention was attracted by an unusually bright\nlight, that fell upon the street from a crevice in the window-shutter\nin the lower room of a large house. He thought that there must be fire\nin the chamber, and swung himself up by means of the iron-work to look\nin. Boundless was his surprise at what he saw. A large fire blazed in\nthe chimney, which was opposite to the window, before which sate, or\nrather lay, the little Hollandress in a broad old-fashioned armchair,\ndressed out like an angel. She seemed to sleep, while a withered old\nman knelt before the fire, and, with spectacles on his nose, peeped\ninto a kettle, in which he was probably brewing some potion. Pepusch\nwas trying to raise himself higher to get a better view of the group,\nwhen he felt himself seized by the legs, and violently pulled down. A\nharsh voice exclaimed--\"Now only see the rascal! To the watch-house, my\nmaster!\" It was the watchman who had observed George climbing up the\nwindow, and could not suppose otherwise than that he wanted to break\ninto the house. In spite of all protestations, George Pepusch was\ndragged off by the watchman, to whose help the patrol had hastened; and\nthus his nightly wandering ended merrily in the watch-house.\n\n\n\n\n                            Third Adventure.\n\nAppearance of a little monster.--Farther explanations respecting the\nfate of the Princess Gamaheh.--Remarkable bond of friendship entered\ninto by Mr. Peregrine Tyss, and discovery of who the old gentleman is\nthat lodges in his house.--Very wonderful effects of a tolerably small\nmicroscopic glass.--Unexpected arrest of the hero of the history.\n\n\nHe, who has experienced such things in one evening as Mr. Peregrine\nTyss, and who is consequently in such a state of mind, cannot possibly\nsleep well. He rolled about restless on his bed, and, when he fell into\nthat sort of delirium which usually precedes sleep, he again held the\nlittle creature in his arms, and felt warm glowing kisses on his lips.\nThen he would start up and fancy, even when awake, that he heard the\nsweet voice of Alina. He would burn with desire that she might not have\nfled, and yet, again, would fear that she might return and snare him in\na net, from which he could not extricate himself. This war of contrary\nfeelings straightened his breast, and filled it at the same time with a\nsweet pain, such as he had never felt before.\n\n\"Sleep not, Peregrine; sleep not, generous man: I must speak with you\ndirectly,\"--was lisped close by Peregrine, and still the voice went on\nwith \"sleep not, sleep not,\" till at last he opened his eyes, which he\nhad closed only to see Alina more distinctly. By the light of the lamp\nhe perceived a little monster, scarce a span long, that sate upon the\nwhite counterpane, and which at first terrified him, but in the next\nmoment he grasped boldly at it with his hand, to convince himself\nwhether he was or was not deceived by his fancy; but the little monster\nhad immediately disappeared without leaving a trace behind.\n\nThough it was not requisite to give a minute description of the fair\nAlina, Dörtje Elverdink, or Princess Gamaheh,--for the reader has long\nago known that these were one and the same person apparently split into\nthree,--it is, on the contrary, quite requisite to narrowly portray the\nlittle monster that sate upon the counterpane, and caused so much\nterror to Mr. Peregrine Tyss.\n\nAs already mentioned, the creature was scarcely a span long. In his\nbird-shaped head gleamed a pair of round sparkling eyes, and from his\nsparrow-beak protruded a long sharp thing like a rapier, while two\nhorns came out from the forehead close below the beak. The neck began\nclose under the head also, in the manner of a bird, but grew thicker\nand thicker, so that without any interruption the former grew to a\nshapeless body, almost like a hazelnut, and seemed covered with\ndark-brown scales like the armadillo. But the strangest part was the\nformation of the arms and legs; the two former had joints, and were\nrooted in the creature's cheeks, close by the beak; immediately under\nthese arms was a pair of legs, and still farther on another pair, both\ndouble-jointed like the arms. These last feet appeared to be those on\nwhich the creature really relied; for besides that they were longer and\nstronger than the others, he wore upon them very handsome golden boots\nwith diamond spurs.\n\nThe little monster having so completely vanished upon Peregrine's\nattempt to seize it, he would have taken the whole for an illusion of\nhis excited fancy, if directly afterwards a thin voice had not been\naudible, exclaiming,--\n\n\"Good heavens! Mr. Peregine Tyss! have I really been mistaken in you?\nYesterday you acted so nobly towards me, and, now that I want to show\nmy gratitude, you grasp at me with a murderous hand! But perhaps my\nform displeased you, and I did wrong in showing myself to you\nmicroscopically, that you might be sure to see me, which, as you may\nwell suppose, is no such easy matter; in fact, I am still sitting upon\nyour white counterpane, and yet you cannot perceive me. Don't take it\namiss, Peregrine; but, in truth, your optical nerves are a little too\ngross for my thin form. Only promise me, however, that I shall be safe\nwith you, and that you will not make any hostile attempts upon me, and\nI will come close to you and tell you many things, which it would be as\nwell that you knew now.\"\n\n\"In the first place,\" replied Mr. Tyss to the voice, \"tell me, my good\nunknown friend, who you are; the rest will easily follow of itself. In\nthe meantime I can assure you beforehand, that any thing hostile is not\nat all in my disposition, and that I will continue to act nobly towards\nyou, though at present I cannot comprehend in what way I have evinced\nmy nobleness. Keep, however, your incognito, for your appearance is not\nthe most agreeable.\"\n\nThe voice, after a little hemming and coughing, continued,--\"You are, I\nrepeat it with pleasure, a noble man, Mr. Peregrine; but not\nparticularly deep in science, and, above all, a little inexperienced,\nor you would have recognised me at the first glance. I might boast a\nlittle and say, that I am one of the mightiest of kings, and rule over\nmany, many millions; but from a natural modesty, and because, after\nall, the expression, king, is not exactly correct, I will pass it\nover. Amongst the people, at whose head I have the honour to be, a\nrepublican constitution prevails. A senate, which at most can consist\nof forty-five thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine members, for the\ngreater facility of voting, holds the place of regent; and he, who\npresides over this senate, has the name of master, because, in all the\naffairs of life, he must really be a master. Without farther\ncircumlocution, I will now confess to you that I, who now speak to you\nwithout your seeing me, am no other than this Master Flea. That you\nknow my people I do not make the least doubt; for, most assuredly,\nworthy sir, you have already nourished many of them with your own\nblood. Hence you must needs be aware that they are animated by an\nuntameable love of freedom, and indeed are a set of springalds, who are\ninclined to keep off any thing like solidity of form by a continual\nleaping and skipping. You will easily perceive what talents must be\nrequisite to govern such a people, and will, therefore, feel for me a\nbecoming respect. Assure me of that, Mr. Peregrine, before I proceed\nany farther.\"\n\nFor some moments it seemed to Mr. Tyss as if a great mill-wheel were\nturning round in his head; but he soon became more composed, and began\nto think that the appearance of the strange lady at the bookbinder's\nwas just as wonderful as the present one, which was, perhaps, after\nall, nothing more than a natural continuation of the singular history\nin which he had become involved. He therefore declared to Master Flea,\nthat he respected him prodigiously for his uncommon talents; and was\nthe more anxious to know him better, as his voice sounded very sweetly,\nand there was a certain delicacy in his speech which betrayed a\ndelicate form of body, whereat Master Flea continued:\n\n\"I thank you much, my best Mr. Tyss, for your favourable opinion, and\nhope soon to convince you that you are not mistaken in me. In the\nmeantime, that you may learn what service you have rendered me, it is\nrequisite that I should impart to you my whole history. Know, then,\nthat my father was the renowned----yet stay; it just occurs to me, that\nthe beautiful gift of patience has become remarkably rare of late\namongst readers and auditors, and that copious memoirs, once so much\nadmired, are now detestable: I will therefore touch lightly and\nepisodically that part only which is more immediately connected with my\nabode with you. In knowing that I am really Master Flea, you must know\nme for a man of the most extensive learning, of the most profound\nexperience in all branches of knowledge. But hold! You cannot measure\nthe degree of my information by your scale, since you are ignorant of\nthe wonderful world in which I and my people live. How would you feel\nastonished if your mind could be opened to that world! it would seem to\nyou a realm of the strangest and most incomprehensible wonders, and\nhence you must not feel surprised, if all which originates from that\nworld should seem to you like a confused fairy-tale, invented by an\nidle brain. Do not, therefore, allow yourself to be confounded, but\ntrust my words.--See; in many things my people are far superior to you\nmen; for example--in all that regards the penetrating into the\nmysteries of nature, in strength, dexterity,--spiritual and corporeal\ndexterity. But we, too, have our passions; and with us, as with you,\nthese are often the sources of great disquietudes, sometimes even of\ntotal destruction. Loved, nay adored, as I was, by my people, my\nmastery might have placed me upon the pinnacle of happiness, had I not\nbeen blinded by an unfortunate passion for a person who completely\ngoverned me, though she never could be my wife. But our race is in\ngeneral reproached with a passion for the fair sex, that oversteps the\nbounds of decorum. Supposing, however, this reproach to be true, yet,\non the other hand, every one knows----but hold--without more\ncircumlocution--I saw the daughter of King Sekakis, the beautiful\nGamaheh, and on the instant became so desperately enamoured of her,\nthat I forgot my people, myself, and lived only in the delight of\nskipping about the fairest neck, the fairest bosom, and tickling the\nbeauty with kisses. She often caught at me with her rosy fingers,\nwithout ever being able to seize me, and this I took for the toying of\naffection. But how silly is any one in love, even when that one is\nMaster Flea. Suffice it to say, that the odious Leech-Prince fell upon\nthe poor Gamaheh, whom he kissed to death; but still I should have\nsucceeded in saving my beloved, if a silly boaster and an awkward ideot\nhad not interfered without being asked, and spoilt all. The boaster was\nthe Thistle, Zeherit, and the ideot was the Genius, Thetel. When,\nhowever, the Genius rose in the air with the sleeping princess, I clung\nfast to the lace about her bosom, and thus was Gamaheh's faithful\nfellow-traveller, without being perceived by him. It happened that we\nflew over two magi, who were observing the stars from a lofty tower.\nOne of them directed his glass so sharply at me, that I was almost\nblinded by the shine of the magic instrument. A violent giddiness\nseized me; in vain I sought to hold fast; I tumbled down helplessly\nfrom the monstrous height, fell plump upon the nose of one of the magi,\nand only my lightness, my extraordinary activity, could have saved me.\n\n\"I was still too much stunned to skip off his nose and place myself\nin perfect safety, when the treacherous Leuwenhock,--he was the\nmagician,--caught me dexterously with his fingers, and placed me in his\nmicroscope. Notwithstanding it was night, and he was obliged to use a\nlamp, he was by far too practiced an observer, and too great an adept,\nnot immediately to recognise in me the Master Flea. Delighted that a\nlucky chance had delivered into his hands such an important prisoner,\nand resolved to draw every possible advantage from it, he flung poor me\ninto chains, and thus began a painful imprisonment, from which I was\nyesterday freed by you. The possession of me gave the abominable\nLeuwenhock full power over my vassals, whom he soon collected in swarms\nabout him, and with barbarian cruelty introduced amongst us that which\nis called education, and which soon robbed us of all freedom, of all\nenjoyment of life. In regard to scholastic studies, and the arts and\nsciences in general, Leuwenhock soon discovered, to his surprise and\nvexation, that we knew more than himself; the higher cultivation which\nhe forced upon us consisted chiefly in this:--that we were to be\nsomething, or at least represent something. But it was precisely this\nbeing something, this representing something, that brought with it a\nmultitude of wants which we had never known before, and which were now\nto be satisfied with the sweat of our brow. The barbarous Leuwenhock\nconverted us into statesmen, soldiers, professors, and I know not what\nbesides. All were obliged to wear the dress of their respective ranks,\nand thus arose amongst us tailors, shoemakers, hairdressers,\nblacksmiths, cutlers, and a multitude of other trades, only to satisfy\nan useless and destructive luxury. The worst of it was, that Leuwenhock\nhad nothing else in view than his own advantage in showing us\ncultivated people to men, and receiving money for it. Moreover our\ncultivation was set down entirely to his account, and he got the praise\nwhich belonged to us alone. Leuwenhock well knew that in losing me he\nwould also lose the dominion over my people; the more closely therefore\nhe drew the spell which bound me to him, and so much the harder was my\nimprisonment. I thought with ardent desire on the beautiful Gamaheh,\nand pondered on the means of getting tidings of her fate; but what the\nacutest reason could not effect, the chance of the moment itself\nbrought about. The friend and associate of my magician, the old\nSwammerdamm, had found the princess in the petal of a tulip, and this\ndiscovery he imparted to his friend. By means, which, my good\nPeregrine, I forbear detailing to you, as you do not understand much\nabout these matters, he succeeded in restoring Gamaheh to her natural\nshape, and bringing her back to life. In the end, however, these very\nwise persons proved as awkward ideots as the Genius, Thetel, and the\nThistle, Zeherit. In their eagerness they had forgotten the most\nmaterial point, and thus it happened that in the very same moment the\nprincess awoke to life, she was sinking back again into death. I\nalone knew the cause; love to the fair one, which now flamed in my\nbreast stronger than ever, gave me a giant's strength; I burst my\nchains--sprang with one mighty bound upon her shoulder--a single bite\nsufficed to set the freezing blood in motion--she lived. But I must\ntell you, Mr. Peregrine Tyss, that this bite must be repeated if the\nprincess is to continue blooming in youth and beauty; otherwise she\nwill dwindle away in a few months to a shrivelled little old woman. On\nthis account, as you must see, I am quite indispensable to her; and it\nis only by the fear of losing me, that I can account for the black\ningratitude with which she repaid my love. Without more ado she\ndelivered me up to my tormentor, who flung me into heavier chains than\never, but to his own destruction. In spite of all the vigilance of\nLeuwenhock and Gamaheh, I at last succeeded, in an unguarded hour, in\nescaping from my prison. Although the heavy boots, which I had no time\nto pull off, hindered me considerably in my flight, yet I got safely to\nthe shop of the toyman, of whom you bought your ware; but it was not\nlong, before, to my infinite terror, Gamaheh entered the shop. I held\nmyself lost; you alone could save me: I gently whispered to you my\ndistress, and you were good enough to open a little box for me, into\nwhich I quickly sprang, and in which you as quickly carried me off with\nyou. Gamaheh sought in vain for me, and it was not till much later that\nshe learnt how and whither I had fled.\n\n\"As soon as I was free, Leuwenhock lost all power over my people, who\nimmediately slipt away, and in mockery left the tyrant peppercorns,\nfruitstones, and such like, in their clothes. Again, then, my hearty\nthanks, kind, noble Mr. Peregrine, for the great benefit you have done\nme, and which I know as well as any one how to estimate. Permit me, as\na free man, to remain a little time with you; I can be useful to you in\nmany important affairs of your life beyond what you may expect. To be\nsure there might be danger if you should become enamoured of the fair\none,----\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" interrupted Peregrine; \"what do you say, Master? I,\nI enamoured!\"\n\n\"Even so;\" continued Master Flea: \"think of my terror, of my anxiety,\nwhen you entered yesterday with the princess in your arms, glowing\nwith passion, and she employing every seductive art--as she well knows\nhow--to persuade you to surrender me. Ah, then I perceived your\nnobleness in its full extent, when you remained immoveable, dexterously\nfeigning as if you knew nothing of my being with you, as if you did not\neven understand what the princess wanted.\"\n\n\"And that was precisely the truth of the matter,\" said Peregrine,\ninterrupting Master Flea anew. \"You are attributing things as a merit\nto me, of which I had not the slightest suspicion. In the shop where I\nbought the toys, I neither saw you nor the fair damsel, who sought me\nat the bookbinder's, and whom you are strangely pleased to call the\nPrincess Gamaheh. It was quite unknown to me, that amongst the boxes,\nwhere I expected to find leaden soldiers, there was an empty one in\nwhich you were lurking; and how could I possibly guess that you\nwere the prisoner whom the pretty child was requiring with such\nimpetuosity?--Don't be whimsical, Master Flea, and dream of things, of\nwhich I had not the slightest conception.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" replied Master Flea, \"you would dexterously avoid my thanks, kind\nMr. Peregrine; and this gives me, to my great consolation, a farther\nlively proof of your noble way of thinking. Learn, generous man, that\nall the efforts of Leuwenhock and Gamaheh to regain me are fruitless,\nso long as you afford me your protection: you must voluntarily give me\nup to my tormentors; all other means are to no purpose--Mr. Peregine\nTyss, you are in love!\"\n\n\"Do not talk so!\" exclaimed Peregrine. \"Do not call by the name of love\na foolish momentary ebullition, which is already past.\"\n\nPeregrine felt the colour rushing up into his cheeks and forehead, and\ngiving him the lie. He crept under the bed-clothes. Master Flea\ncontinued:\n\n\"It is not to be wondered at if you were unable to resist the\nsurprising charms of the princess, especially as she employed many\ndangerous arts to captivate you. Nor is the storm yet over. The\nmalicious little thing will put in practice many a trick to catch you\nin her love-toils, as, indeed, every woman can, without exactly being a\nPrincess Gamaheh. She will try to get you so completely in her power,\nthat you shall only live for her and her wishes, and then--woe to me!\nIt will come to this question:--is your nobleness strong enough to\nconquer your passion, or will you prefer yielding to Gamaheh's wishes,\nand thus replunging into misery not only your little protegé, but the\nwhole people whom you have released from a wretched slavery?--or,\nagain, will you resist the allurements of a treacherous creature, and\nthus confirm my happiness and that of my subjects? Oh that you would\npromise me the last!--that you _could_!----\"\n\n\"Master,\" replied Peregrine, drawing the bed-clothes away from his\nface,--\"dear Master, you are right: nothing is more dangerous than the\ntemptations of women; they are all false, all malicious; they play with\nus as cats with mice, and for our tenderest exertions we reap nothing\nbut contempt and mockery. Hence it is that formerly a cold deathlike\nperspiration used to stand upon my brow as soon as any woman-creature\napproached me, and I myself believe that there must be something\npeculiar about the fair Alina, or Princess Gamaheh, as you will have\nit, although, with my plain human reason, I do not comprehend all that\nyou are saying, but rather feel as if I were in some wild dream, or\nreading the Thousand and One Nights. Be all this, however, as it may,\nyou have put yourself under my protection, dear Master, and nothing\nshall persuade me to deliver you up to your enemies; as to the\nseductive maiden, I will not see her again. This I promise solemnly,\nand would give my hand upon it, had you one to receive it and return\nthe honourable pledge.\"\n\nWith this Peregrine stretched out his arm far upon the bed-clothes.\n\n\"Now,\" exclaimed the little Invisible,--\"now I am quite consoled, quite\nat ease. If I have no hand to offer you, at least permit me to prick\nyou in the right thumb, partly to testify my extreme satisfaction, and\npartly to seal our bond of friendship more assuredly.\"\n\nAt the same moment Peregrine felt in the thumb of his right hand a\nbite, which smarted so sensibly, as to prove it could have come only\nfrom the first Master of all the fleas.\n\n\"You bite like a little devil!\" cried Peregrine.\n\n\"Take it,\" replied Master Flea, \"as a lively token of my honourable\nintentions. But it is fit that I should offer to you, as a pledge of my\ngratitude, a gift which belongs to the most extraordinary productions\nof art. It is nothing else than a microscope, made by a very dexterous\noptician of my people, while he was in Leuwenhock's service. The\ninstrument will appear somewhat small to you, for, in reality, it is\nabout a hundred and twenty times smaller than a grain of sand; but its\nuse will not allow of any peculiar greatness. It is this: I place the\nglass in the pupil of your left eye, and this eye immediately becomes\nmicroscopic. As I wish to surprise you with the effect of it, I will\nsay no more about it for the present, and will only entreat that I may\nbe permitted to perform the microscopic operation whenever I see that\nit will do you any important service.--And now sleep well, Mr.\nPeregrine; you have need of rest.\"\n\nPeregrine, in reality, fell asleep, and did not awake till full\nmorning, when he heard the well-known scratching of old Alina's broom;\nshe was sweeping out the next room. A little child, who was conscious\nof some mischief, could not tremble more at his mother's rod than Mr.\nPeregrine trembled in the fear of the old woman's reproaches. At length\nshe came in with the coffee. Peregrine glanced at her through the\nbed-curtains, which he had drawn close, and was not a little surprised\nat the clear sunshine which overspread the old woman's face.\n\n\"Are you still asleep, my dear Mr. Tyss?\" she asked in one of the\nsoftest tones of which her voice was capable; and Peregrine, taking\ncourage, answered just as softly,\n\n\"No, my dear Alina: lay the breakfast upon the table; I will get up\ndirectly.\"\n\nBut, when he did really rise, it seemed to him as if the sweet breath\nof the creature, who had lain in his arms, was waving through the\nchamber--he felt so strangely and so anxiously. He would have given all\nthe world to know what had become of the mystery of his passion; for,\nlike this mystery itself, the fair one had appeared and vanished.\n\nWhile he was in vain endeavouring to drink his coffee and eat his\ntoast,--every morsel of which was bitter in his mouth,--Alina entered,\nand busied herself about this and that, murmuring all the time to\nherself--\"Strange! incredible! What things one sees! Who would have\nthought it?\"\n\nPeregrine, whose heart beat so strongly that he could bear it no\nlonger, asked, \"What is so strange, dear Alina?\"\n\n\"All manner of things! all manner of things!\" replied the old woman,\nlaughing cunningly, while she went on with her occupation of setting\nthe rooms to rights. Peregrine's breast was ready to burst, and he\ninvoluntarily exclaimed, in a tone of languishing pain,--\"Ah! Alina!\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Tyss, here I am; what are your commands?\" replied Alina,\nspreading herself out before Peregrine, as if in expectation of his\norders.\n\nPeregrine stared at the copper face of the old woman, and all his fears\nwere lost in the disgust which filled him on the sudden. He asked in a\ntolerably harsh tone,--\n\n\"What has become of the strange lady who was here yesterday evening?\nDid you open the door for her? Did you look to a coach for her, as I\nordered? Was she taken home?\"\n\n\"Open doors!\" said the old woman with an abominable grin, which she\nintended for a sly laugh--\"Look to a coach! taken home!--There was no\nneed of all this:--the fair damsel is in the house, and won't leave the\nhouse for the present.\"\n\nPeregrine started up in joyful alarm; and she now proceeded to tell him\nhow, when the lady was leaping down the stairs in a way that almost\nstunned her, Mr. Swammer stood below, at the door of his room, with an\nimmense branch-candlestick in his hand. The old gentleman, with a\nprofusion of bows, contrary to his usual custom, invited the lady into\nhis apartment, and she slipt in without any hesitation, and her host\nlocked and bolted the door.\n\nThe conduct of the misanthropic Swammer was too strange for Alina not\nto listen at the door, and peep a little through the keyhole. She then\nsaw him standing in the middle of the room, and talking so wisely and\npathetically to the lady, that she herself had wept, though she had not\nunderstood a single word, he having spoken in a foreign language. She\ncould not think otherwise than that the old gentleman had laboured to\nbring her back to the paths of virtue, for his vehemence had gradually\nincreased, till the damsel at last sank upon her knees and kissed his\nhand with great humility: she had even wept a little. Upon this he\nlifted her up very kindly, kissed her forehead,--in doing which he was\nforced to stoop terribly,--and then led her to an arm-chair. He next\nbusied himself in making a fire, brought some spices, and, as far as\nshe could perceive, began to mull some wine. Unluckily the old woman\nhad just then taken snuff, and sneezed aloud; upon which Swammer,\nstretching out his arm to the door, exclaimed with a terrible voice,\nthat went through the marrow of her bones, \"Away with thee, listening\nSatan!\"--She knew not how she had got off and into her bed; but in the\nmorning, upon opening her eyes, she fancied she saw a spectre; for\nbefore her stood Mr. Swammer in a handsome sable-fur, with gold\nbuckles, his hat on his head, his stick in his hand.\n\n\"My good Mistress Alina,\" he said, \"I must go out on important\nbusiness, and perhaps may not return for many hours. Take care,\ntherefore, that there is no noise on my floor, and that no one ventures\nto enter my room. A lady of rank, and--I may tell you,--a very handsome\nprincess, has taken refuge with me. Long ago, at the court of her\nfather, I was her governor; therefore she has confidence in me, and I\nmust and will protect her against all evil machinations. I tell you\nthis, Mistress Alina, that you may show the lady the respect which\nbelongs to her rank. With Mr. Tyss's permission she will be waited on\nby you, for which attendance you will be royally rewarded, provided you\nare silent, and do not betray the princess' abode to any one.\" So\nsaying, Mr. Swammer had immediately gone off.\n\nPeregrine now asked the old woman, if it did not seem strange that the\nlady, whom he could swear he met at the bookbinder's, should be a\nprincess, seeking refuge with old Swammer? But she protested that she\nbelieved his words rather than her own eyes, and was therefore of\nopinion that all, which had happened at the bookbinder's or in the\nchamber, was either a magical illusion, or that the terror and anxiety\nof the flight had led the princess into so strange an adventure. For\nthe rest, she would soon learn all from the lady herself.\n\n\"But,\" objected Peregrine, in reality only to continue the conversation\nabout the lady, \"but where is the suspicion, the evil opinion, you had\nof her yesterday?\"\n\n\"Ah,\" replied the old woman simpering, \"that is all over. One need only\nlook at the dear creature to be convinced she is a princess, and as\nbeautiful withal as ever was princess. When Swammer had gone, I could\nnot help looking to see what she was about, and peeping a little\nthrough the key-hole. There she lay stretched out upon the sofa, her\nangel head leaning upon her hand, so that the raven locks poured\nthrough the little white fingers, a beautiful sight! Her dress was of\nsilver tissue, through which the bosom and the arms were visible, and\non her feet she had golden slippers. One had fallen off, and showed\nthat she wore no stockings, so that the naked foot peeped forth from\nunder the garments. But, my good Mr. Tyss, she is no doubt still lying\non the sofa; and if you will take the trouble of peeping through the\nkey-hole----\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" interrupted Peregrine with vehemence; \"what do you\nsay? Shall I expose myself to her seductive sight, which might urge me\ninto all manner of follies?\"\n\n\"Courage, Peregrine! resist the temptation!\" lisped a voice close\nbeside him, which he instantly recognised for that of Master Flea.\n\nThe old woman laughed mysteriously, and after a few minutes' silence\nsaid,--\"I will tell you the whole matter, as it seems to me. Whether\nthe strange lady be a princess or not, thus much is certain, that she\nis of rank and rich, and that Mr. Swammer has taken up her cause\nwarmly, and must have been long acquainted with her. And why did she\nrun after you, dear Mr. Tyss? I say, because she is desperately in love\nwith you, and love makes people blind and mad, and leads even\nprincesses into the strangest and most inconsiderate follies. A gipsy\nprophesied to your late mother that you would one day be happy in a\nmarriage when you least expected it. Now it is coming true.\"\n\nAnd with this the old woman began again describing how beautiful the\nlady looked. It may be easily supposed that Peregrine felt overwhelmed.\nAt last he broke out with, \"Silence, I pray you, of such things. The\nlady in love with me! How silly! how absurd!\"\n\n\"Umph!\" said the old woman; \"if that were not the case she would not\nhave sighed so piteously, she would not have exclaimed so lamentably,\n'no, my dear Peregrine, my sweet friend, you will not, you cannot be\ncruel to me. I shall see you again, and enjoy all the happiness of\nheaven.'--And our old Mr. Swammer! she has quite changed him. Did\nI ever use to get any thing of him but a paltry sixpence for a\nChristmas-box? And now he gave me this morning a crown, with such a\nkind look--no common thing with him--as a douceur beforehand for my\nservices to the lady. There's something in it all. I'll lay you any\nthing that in the end Mr. Swammer is her ambassador to you.\"\n\nAnd again the old woman began to speak of the grace and loveliness of\nthe lady with an animation that sounded strange enough in the mouth of\na withered creature like herself, till Peregrine jumped up all fire and\nfury, and cried out like a madman, \"Be it as it will--down, down to the\nkey-hole!\" In vain he was warned by Master Flea, who sate in the\nneckcloth of the enamoured Peregrine, and had hid himself in a fold.\nPeregrine did not hear his voice, and Master Flea learnt, what he ought\nto have known long before, namely, that something may be done with the\nmost obstinate man, but not with a lover.\n\nThe lady did, indeed, lie on the sofa, just as the old woman had\ndescribed, and Peregrine found that no mortal language was adequate to\nthe expression of the heavenly charms which overspread the lovely\nfigure. Her dress, of real silver tissue, with strange embroidery, was\nquite fantastic, and might do very well for the negligee of the\nprincess, Gamaheh, which she had perhaps worn in Famagusta, at the very\nmoment of her being kissed to death by the malicious Leech-Prince. At\nall events it was so beautiful, and so exceedingly strange, that the\nidea of it could never have come from the head of the most genial\ntheatrical tailor, nor have been conceived by the sublimest milliner.\n\n\"Yes, it is she! it is the Princess Gamaheh!\" murmured Peregrine,\ntrembling with anxiety and pleasure. But when the fair one sighed,\n\"Peregrine! my Peregrine!\" the full madness of the passion seized\nhim, and it was only an unnameable anxiety, robbing him of all\nself-possession, that prevented him from breaking in the door, and\nthrowing himself at the feet of the angel.\n\nThe friendly reader knows already how it was with the fascinations, the\ncelestial beauty, of the little Dörtje Elverdink. The editor, however,\nmay safely declare, that, after he too had peeped through the key-hole,\nand seen the fair one in her fantastic dress of tissue, he can say\nnothing more than that Dörtje Elverdink was a very pretty little\npuppet. But as no young man can possibly be in love, for the first\ntime, with any but an angel, without her equal on earth, it may be\nallowed also to Mr. Peregrine Tyss to look upon Dörtje Elverdink as\nsomething celestial.\n\n\"Recollect yourself, my dear Mr. Tyss; think of your promise. You would\nnever see the seductive Gamaheh again, and now I could put the\nmicroscopic glass into your eye, but without such help you must\nperceive that the malicious creature has long observed you, and that\nall she is doing is only deceit, to seduce you. Believe me, I mean it\nwell with you.\" So whispered Master Flea in the fold of his collar;\nbut, whatever doubts might arise in Mr. Peregrine's mind, he could not\ntear himself away from the fascinating sight of the little one, who\nknew well how to use the advantage of being supposed to fancy herself\nalone; flinging herself into all manner of voluptuous attitudes, she\nput the poor Peregrine quite beside himself.\n\nHe would most likely have been still fixed at the door, had it not been\nfor a loud ringing, and Alina's crying out that Swammer had returned.\nUpon this he hurried up the stairs into his chamber, where he gave\nhimself up to his love-thoughts, but with these thoughts returned the\ndoubts which had been raised in his breast by the admonitions of Master\nFlea. There was, indeed, a flea in his ear, and he fell into all manner\nof disquieting meditations. He thought to himself, \"Must I not believe\nthat this lovely creature is the Princess Gamaheh, the daughter of a\nmighty king? But if this be the case, it is folly, madness, to aspire\nto the possession of so exalted a personage. Then too she has begged\nthe surrender of a prisoner, on whom her life depends; and as this\nexactly agrees with what Master Flea has said, I can hardly doubt that\nall, which I would interpret into affection for me, is only a mean to\nsubject me to her will. And yet to leave her!--to lose her!--that is\nhell! that is death!\"\n\nIn these painful meditations he was disturbed by a modest knocking at\nhis door, and the person who entered was no other than his lodger. The\nancient Mr. Swammer, at other times a shrivelled, misanthropic,\ngrumbling man, seemed suddenly to have become twenty years younger. His\nforehead was smooth, his eye animated, his mouth friendly: instead of\nthe odious black periwig he wore his natural silver hair; and in the\nplace of the dark gray upper-coat, he had on a sable, such as Aline had\nbefore described him. With a cheerful and even friendly mien, by no\nmeans usual with him, he came up to Peregrine, protesting, that he did\nnot wish to disturb his dear host in any occupation, but his duty as a\nlodger required that he should the first thing in the morning inform\nhis landlord he had been under the necessity of giving refuge to a\nhelpless damsel, who sought to escape from the tyranny of a cruel\nuncle, and would, therefore, pass some time in the house. For this he\nneeded the permission of his kind host, which he now requested.\n\nInvoluntarily Peregrine inquired who the lady was, without reflecting\nthat this in fact was the best question he could ask to get a clue to\nthe strange mystery.\n\n\"It is just and proper,\" replied Swammer, \"that the landlord should\nknow whom he is lodging in his house. Learn then, my respected Mr.\nTyss, that the damsel, who has taken refuge with me, is no other than\nthe fair Hollandress, Dörtje Elverdink, niece of the celebrated\nLeuwenhock, who, as you know, gives here the wonderful microscopic\nexhibitions. Leuwenhock was once my friend, but I must acknowledge that\nhe is a hard man, and uses my god-daughter cruelly. A violent affair,\nwhich took place yesterday, compelled the maiden to flight, and it\nseems natural enough that she should seek help and refuge with me.\"\n\n\"Dörtje Elverdink!\" said Peregrine, half\ndreaming;--\"Leuwenhock!--perhaps a descendant of the naturalist, Antony\nLeuwenhock, who made the celebrated microscopes.\"\n\n\"That our Leuwenhock,\" replied Swammer, smiling, \"is a descendant of\nthat celebrated man, I cannot exactly say, seeing that he is the\ncelebrated man himself; and it is a mere fable that he was buried about\ntwo hundred years ago at Delft. Believe it, my dear Mr. Tyss, or else\nyou might doubt that I am the renowned Swammerdamm, although, for the\nsake of shortness and that I may not have to answer the questions of\nevery curious blockhead, I call myself Swammer. Every one maintains\nthat I died in the year 1680, but you see, Mr. Tyss, that I stand\nbefore you alive and hearty; and that _I_ am really _I_, I can prove\neven to the dullest, from my Biblia Naturæ. You believe me, my worthy\nMr. Tyss?\"\n\n\"Since a short time--\" said Mr. Tyss, in a tone that showed his mental\nperplexity, \"since a short time I have experienced so many wonders,\nthat I should be in perpetual doubt, if the whole had not been a\nmanifest subject of the senses. But now I believe every thing, however\nwild and fantastic. It may be that you are the dead John Swammerdamm,\nand, therefore, as a dead-alive, know more than other common men; but\nas to the flight of Dörtje Elverdink, or the Princess Gamaheh, or\nhowever else the lady may be called, you are in a monstrous error. Hear\nhow the matter really happened.\"\n\nPeregrine now related, quite calmly, the adventure he had with the\nlady, her entrance into Lemmerhirt's room, up to her reception with Mr.\nSwammer, who, when he had done, replied, \"It seems to me, as if all,\nthat you have been pleased to relate, were nothing more than a\nsingular, yet very pleasant, dream. I will, however, let that be, and\nrequest your friendship, which perhaps I may have much need of. Forget\nmy morose conduct, and let us be more intimate. Your father was a\nshrewd man and my good friend, but in regard to science, depth of\nunderstanding, mature judgment, and practiced insight into life, the\nson goes before the father. You know not how much I esteem you, my\nworthy Mr. Tyss.\"\n\n\"Now is the time!\" whispered Master Flea, and in the same moment\nPeregrine felt a slight passing pain in the pupil of his left eye. He\nknew that Master Flea had placed the microscopic glass in his eye, but\nhe had not before had the slightest idea of its effects. Behind the\ntunicle of Swammer's eyes he perceived strange nerves and branches, the\nperplexed course of which he traced deep into the forehead, and could\nperceive that they were Swammer's thoughts. They ran much in this\nway;--\"I did not expect to get off so easily here, without being better\nquestioned. If papa was an ignoramus, of whom I never thought any\nthing, the son is still worse, with a greater infusion of childishness.\nWith the simplicity of an idiot, he tells me the whole adventure with\nthe Princess, not seeing that she must have already told me all, as my\nbehaviour to her of necessity presupposes an earlier intimacy. But\nthere is no help for it; I must speak him fair, because I want his\nhelp. He is simple enough to believe all I say, and, in his stupid\ngood-nature, to make many a sacrifice to my interest, for which he will\nreap no other thanks than that, when all is over, and Gamaheh mine\nagain, I shall laugh soundly at him behind his back.\"\n\n\"It seemed to me,\" said Swammer, coming close to Peregrine, \"it seemed\nto me, my dear Mr. Tyss, as if a flea were on your collar.\"\n\nThe thoughts ran thus:--\"The deuce! that was, indeed, Master Flea! It\nwould be a queer piece of business if Gamaheh should be right after\nall.\"\n\nPeregrine stepped nimbly back, protesting that he had no dislike to\nfleas.\n\n\"Then,\" replied Swammer, with a profound bow, \"then for the present I\nmost respectfully take my leave, my dear Mr. Tyss.\"\n\nThe thoughts ran thus:--\"I wish the blackwinged devil had you, idiot!\"\n\nMaster Flea took the microscopic glass out of the eye of the astonished\nPeregrine, and then said, \"You have now, my dear sir, experienced the\nwonderful effects of the glass, which has not its equal in the world,\nand must perceive what a superiority it gives you over men, by laying\nopen before your eyes their inmost thoughts. But, if you were to use it\nconstantly, the perpetual knowledge of their real sentiments would\noverwhelm you, for the bitter vexation, which you have just now\nexperienced, would be too often repeated. I will always be with you\nwhen you leave your house, sitting either in your collar, or in some\nconvenient place, and if you wish to learn the thoughts of him who is\nconversing with you, you have only to snap your fingers, and the glass\nwill be in your eye immediately.\"\n\nPeregrine, seeing the manifest advantages of such a gift, was about to\npour out the warmest thanks, when two deputies from the council\nentered, and announced to him that he was accused of a deep offence,\nthe consequence of which must be preliminary imprisonment and the\nseizure of his papers.\n\nMr. Peregrine swore high and low that he was not conscious of the\nslightest offence; but one of the deputies replied with a smile, that\nperhaps in a few hours his innocence might be proved, till when,\nhowever, he must submit to the orders of the magistrate. After this,\nwhat was left to Mr. Tyss but to get into the coach, and suffer himself\nto be carried off to prison? It may be supposed with what feelings he\npassed Mr. Swammer's chamber.\n\nMaster Flea sate in the collar of the prisoner.\n\n\n\n\n                           Fourth Adventure.\n\nUnexpected meeting of two friends.--Love-despair of the Thistle,\nZeherit.--Optical duel of two magi.--Somnambulant condition of the\nPrincess Gamaheh.--The thoughts of the dream.--How Dörtje Elverdink\nalmost speaks the truth, and the Thistle, Zeherit, runs off with the\nPrincess Gamaheh.\n\n\nThe mistake of the watchman in arresting Mr. George Pepusch for a thief\nwas soon explained. In the mean time, however, some informalities had\nbeen discovered in his passport, and for this reason they required that\nhe should produce some resident citizen of Frankfort as his bail, till\nwhen he must be contented with his present place in prison.\n\nHere then sate Mr. George Pepusch in a very neat room, meditating on\nwhom he could find in Frankfort to be his bail. He had been away so\nlong that he feared he must be forgotten by those who had formerly\nknown him well; and, as to foreign recommendations, he possessed none\nwhatever. He began to look out of the window in a very melancholy mood,\nand cursed his fate aloud, when a window was opened close by him, and a\nvoice exclaimed,--\"What! do I see right? Is it you, George?\" Mr. Pepusch\nwas not a little astonished on perceiving the friend, with whom he had\nbeen most intimate during his residence at Madras. \"The deuce!\" he\nexclaimed, \"that I should be so forgetful, so utterly stupid! I knew\nthat you had got safely into harbour, and in Hamburg heard strange\nthings of your way of living, and, when I had got here, never thought\nof paying you a visit. But he who has such wonderful things in his head\nas I have--Well, it is lucky that accident brought you to me! You see I\nam under arrest, but you can immediately set me free, by answering for\nmy being really the George Pepusch, whom you knew years ago, and not a\nthief nor a robber.\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied Peregrine, \"I should be an excellent bail, being myself\nunder arrest!\"\n\nHe now related at large to his friend, how since his return to\nFrankfort he had found himself deprived of both his parents, and\nhad from that time led, amidst all the bustle of a city, a lonely\njoyless life, devoted to the memory of other days. To this George\nreplied morosely, \"Oh yes, I have heard of it, I have heard of the\nfools'-tricks you play, that you may waste life in a childish dream.\nYou would be a hero of innocence, of childishness; and for this despise\nthe just claims which society has upon you. You give imaginary family\nfeasts, and bestow upon the poor the costly viands, the dear wines,\nwhich you have before served up to the dead. You give yourself\nChristmas-boxes, and act as if you were a child, and then present to\npoor children these gifts, which are of the sort usually wasted in rich\nhouses upon spoiled young ones. But you do not reflect that you are\ndoing a scurvy benefit to the poor in tickling their gums with\ndelicacies, that they may doubly feel their wretchedness, when\nafterwards they are compelled, by pressing hunger, to eat the vile\nbits that would be rejected by many a petted lap-dog. Ha! how this\nalms-giving disgusts me, when I think that what you thus waste in a day\nwould be sufficient to support them for months in a moderate manner.\nThen too you overload them with glittering gew-gaws, when a common toy,\npresented by their fathers or mothers, gives them infinitely more\npleasure. They eat themselves sick with your infernal marchpane; and\nwith the knowledge of your splendid gifts, which in the end must be\ndenied to them, you sow in their young minds the seeds of discontent\nand uneasiness. You are rich, full of youth, and yet withdraw yourself\nfrom all society, and thus frustrate the approaches of well-meaning\nminds. I will believe that the death of your parents may have shaken\nyou, but if every one, who has suffered a real loss, were to creep into\nhis shell, by heavens! the whole world would be like a house of\nmourning, and I would not live in it. But, my friend! do you know that\nyou are under the influence of the most determined egotism that ever\nlurked beneath a silly misanthropy?--Go, go, Peregrine, I can no longer\nesteem you, no longer be your friend, if you do not change this way of\nlife, and give up your abominable system of house-keeping.\"\n\nPeregrine snapped his fingers, and Master Flea instantly placed the\nmicroscopic glass in his eye. The thoughts of the angry Pepusch ran\nthus,--\"Is it not a pity that such a kind, understanding man should\nfall into these dangerous fancies, which at last will completely\nunnerve him, and deprive him of his best powers? But it is evident that\nhis delicate mind, which is besides inclined to melancholy, could not\nendure the blow inflicted on him by the death of his parents, and he\nseeks for consolation in a mode of life which borders upon madness. He\nis lost if I do not save him. The more I esteem him, the harder I will\nattack him, and the stronger I will paint his folly.\"\n\nIn these thoughts Peregrine saw that he had found his old friend\nunaltered; and, after Master Flea had taken the microscopic glass out\nof his eye, he said, \"George, I will not contend with you as to what\nyou say of my mode of life, for I know you mean it well with me; but I\nmust tell you that it gives me real delight when I can make a day of\nfestival to the poor, although in this I do not think of myself, a\ndetestable egotism, of which at least I feel unconscious. They are the\nflowers in my life, which else seems to me like a wild melancholy field\nof thistles.\"\n\n\"What do you say of thistles?\" interrupted George Pepusch hastily; \"why\ndo you despise thistles, and place them in opposition to flowers? Are\nyou so little versed in natural history as not to know that the most\nwonderful blossom in the world is that of the thistle, I mean the\n_Cactus grandiflorus_. And again, is not the thistle, Zeherit, the most\nbeautiful Cactus under the sun? Peregrine, I have so long kept it from\nyou, or rather was forced to keep it from you, because I myself had not\nthe full conviction of it; but now learn, that I myself am the thistle,\nZeherit, and will never give up my claims to the hand of the daughter\nof the worthy king, Sekakis, the heavenly Princess Gamaheh. I had found\nher, but in the same moment the diabolical watchmen seized me, and\ndragged me to prison.\"\n\n\"How!\" cried Peregrine, half petrified with astonishment, \"are you too\ninvolved in the strangest of all histories?\"\n\n\"What history?\" asked Pepusch.\n\nPeregrine did not hesitate to tell his friend, as he had before told\nMr. Swammer, all that had happened at the bookbinder's, and afterwards\nat his own house. He did not even conceal the appearance of Master\nFlea, although, as may be easily supposed, he kept to himself the\nsecret of his possessing the microscopic glass.\n\nGeorge's eyes burnt, he bit his lips, struck his forehead, and, when\nPeregrine had ended, cried out like a maniac, \"The false one! the\ntraitress!\" Greedy, in the self-pangs of despairing love, to drain the\nlast drop from the poison-cup, which Peregrine had unconsciously\nproffered him, he made him repeat every little trait of Dörtje's\nbehaviour, interrupting him with murmurs of--\"In the arms! on the\nbreast! glowing kisses!\" Then again he started away from the window,\nand ran about the room with the gestures of a madman. In vain Peregrine\ncried out to him to hear the rest, exclaiming that he had much that was\nconsolatory to say--Pepusch did not the more leave off his raving.\n\nThe door was opened, and an officer of the council announced to\nPeregrine that no sufficient cause had been found for his longer\nimprisonment, and he might return home.\n\nThe first use Peregrine made of his regained freedom was to offer\nhimself as bail for George Pepusch, testifying that he was really\nGeorge Pepusch, with whom he had lived in intimacy at Madras, and who\nwas known to him for a man of fortune and respectability.\n\nMaster Flea exhausted himself in very philosophic and instructive\nreflections, which amounted to this, that the Thistle, Zeherit, in\nspite of his rough exterior, was very kind and reasonable, but a little\ntoo overbearing, and, fairly considered, was quite correct in his\ncensure of Mr. Peregrine's way of life, though somewhat too harsh\nperhaps in his expressions. He too,--that is, Master Flea,--would\nreally advise Mr. Peregrine henceforth to go abroad in the world.\n\n\"Believe me,\" he said, \"it will bring you many advantages to leave your\nsolitude. You need no longer fear seeming shy and confused, as, with\nthe mysterious glass in your eye, you command the thoughts of men, and\nit is, therefore, impossible that you should not always maintain the\nright tact. How firmly and calmly may you stand before the highest,\nwhile their inward souls lie open to your eyes. Therefore, move freely\nin the world; your blood will circulate more lightly, all melancholy\nbrooding will cease, and, which is the best of all, motley ideas and\nthoughts will arise in your brain, the image of the fair Gamaheh will\nlose its brightness, and you will soon be better able to keep your word\nwith me.\"\n\nPeregrine felt that both George Pepusch and Master Flea meant him well,\nand he resolved to follow their wise advice. But when he heard the\nsweet voice of his beautiful beloved, he could not think how it was\npossible for him to leave the house, which had become a paradise to\nhim.\n\nAt length he brought himself to visit a public promenade. Master Flea\nhad fixed the glass in his eye, and taken up a place in his collar,\nwhere he gently rocked himself to and fro at his ease.\n\n\"Have I at last the pleasure of seeing my good friend Mr. Tyss again?\nYou make yourself scarce, my dear sir, and we have all been longing for\nyou. Let us go into a coffeehouse, and take a glass of wine together. I\nam truly rejoiced to see you.\"\n\nIt was thus that he was addressed by a young man, whom he had seen\nscarcely two or three times. The thoughts ran thus;--\"Is the stupid\nmisanthrope visible again? But I must flatter him, that I may soon\nborrow money of him. He'll not surely be possessed by the devil, and\naccept my invitation; I have not a halfpenny in my pocket, and no\ninnkeeper will trust me any longer.\"\n\nTwo well-dressed girls now crossed him. They were sisters, distantly\nrelated to him.\n\n\"Ah, cousin!\" cried one of them, laughing, \"do we meet you at last? It\nis not well done to lock yourself up so that one can never get a sight\nof you. You do not know how fond mamma is of you, because you are such\na sensible man. Promise me to come soon. There, kiss my hand.\" The\nthoughts ran thus;--\"How! what is this? what has come to our cousin? I\nwanted to make him blush and stammer, and formerly he used to run away\nfrom every girl; but now he stands and eyes me so strangely, and kisses\nmy hand without the least shyness. If he should be in love with me?\nThat would be a fine thing! My mother says that he is somewhat stupid,\nbut what does that signify? I will have him: a stupid man, when he is\nrich, as my cousin is, is the very best.\" The sister had merely lisped,\nwith downcast eyes and blushing cheeks, \"Come to us shortly, dear\ncousin.\" The thoughts ran thus:--\"Our cousin is a very handsome man,\nand I do not understand why mamma calls him silly, and can't endure\nhim. If he should come to our house, he will fall in love with me, for\nI am the prettiest girl in all Frankfort. I will have him, because I\nwant a rich man, that I may sleep till twelve o'clock in the day, and\nwear dearer shawls than my sister.\"\n\nA physician, in passing, perceived Peregrine, stopped his carriage, and\ncalled out, \"Good morning, my dear sir; you look uncommonly well;\nheaven keep you so! But, if any thing should happen, think of me, the\nold friend of your late father: such sound constitutions as yours I can\nsoon set to rights. Adieu.\" The thoughts ran thus:--\"I believe the\nfellow is constantly well out of pure avarice; but he looks tolerably\npale now, and seems at last to have something the matter with him.\nWell; only let him once come under my hands, and he shall not soon get\nup from his bed again; he shall undergo a sound penance for his\nobstinate health.\"\n\nImmediately after this, an old merchant cried out to him, \"My best\ngreetings to you, worthy Mr. Tyss; see how I am forced to run and\nbustle, and plague myself with business. You have done wisely in\nwithdrawing from it, though with your quicksightedness you could not\nfail of doubling your father's fortune.\" The thoughts were thus:--\"If\nthe fool would only meddle with business, he would speculate away his\nwhole fortune in a short time, and that would be a real delight. His\nold papa, whose joy was in ruining other people that wished to help\nthemselves by a little bankruptcy, would turn himself about in his\ngrave.\"\n\nMany more such cutting contrasts between words and thoughts occurred to\nPeregrine. He always directed his answers rather by what people meant\nthan by what they said, and, as he penetrated into their inmost\nintents, they themselves were puzzled what to think of him. At last he\nfelt wearied, snapped his fingers, and immediately the glass vanished\nfrom the pupil of his left eye.\n\nOn returning to his house he was surprised by a strange spectacle. A\nman stood in the middle of the passage, looking steadfastly through a\nstrangely-formed glass at Mr. Swammer's door. Upon this door sun-bright\ncircles played in rainbow colours, and then met in one fiery point,\nthat seemed to pierce through the wood. As this took place a deep\nsighing was heard, broken by cries of pain, which came, as it appeared,\nfrom the room. To his horror, Peregrine fancied that he distinguished\nGamaheh's voice.\n\n\"What do you want? what are you doing here?\" he exclaimed to the man,\nwho really seemed to be practising diabolic arts, the rainbow circles\ngrowing with every moment quicker and brighter, the centre-point\npiercing more keenly, and the cries sounding more painfully from the\nchamber.\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed the stranger, closing his glass, and hastily putting it\ninto his pocket,--\"Oh! the landlord. Your pardon, my dear sir, that I\nam operating here without your permission; I did indeed pay you a visit\nto request it, but Alina told me you had gone out, and the business\nhere would admit of no delay.\"\n\n\"What business?\" said Peregrine, pretty harshly; \"what business is it\nthat will admit of no delay?\"\n\n\"Don't you know,\" replied the stranger with an odious grin, \"don't you\nknow that my ill-advised niece, Dörtje Elverdink, has run away? You\nwere arrested, though with great injustice, as her seducer, on which\nscore I will with great pleasure testify your perfect innocence, if it\nshould be requisite. It is not to you, but to Swammerdamm, once my\nfriend, and now my enemy, that the faithless Dörtje has fled. She is in\nthat chamber--I know it--and alone, since Swammerdamm has gone out. I\ncannot get in, as the door is barred and bolted, and I am too mild to\nemploy force; but I have taken the liberty to torment her a little with\nmy optical glass, that she may know I am her lord and master in spite\nof her imaginary princess-ship.\"\n\n\"You are the devil!\" exclaimed Peregrine, in the highest\nindignation,--\"you are the devil! but not lord and master of the\nbeautiful Gamaheh. Out of my house! Practise your devil's tricks where\nyou will, but here you will fail with them, I can promise you.\"\n\n\"Don't put yourself in a passion,\" replied Leuwenhock; \"don't put\nyourself in a passion, my dear Mr. Tyss; I am an innocent man, who mean\nnothing but good. It is a little monster, a little basilisk, that sits\nin yonder room, in the shape of a lovely woman. If the abode with my\ninsignificance displeased her, she might have fled; but the traitress\nshould not have robbed me of my most precious treasure, the best friend\nof my soul, without whom I am nothing. She should not have run away\nwith Master Flea. You will not understand what I mean, worthy sir,\nbut----\"\n\nHere Master Flea, who had planted himself in a secure place, could not\nrefrain from bursting out into a fine mocking laugh.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried Leuwenhock, struck with a sudden terror, \"ha! what was\nthat? Can it be possible? Here, on this spot? Permit me, my dear sir--\"\n\nThus saying, Leuwenhock stretched out his hand, and snatched at\nPeregrine's collar, who dexterously avoided his grasp, and, seizing him\nwith a strong arm, dragged him towards the door, to fling him out\nwithout farther ado. But just as he had reached the door, it was opened\nfrom without, and in rushed George Pepusch, followed by Swammerdamm.\n\nNo sooner did Leuwenhock perceive his enemy Swammerdamm, than he burst\nfrom Peregrine with the utmost exertion of his last strength, and\nplanted himself with his back against the door of the mysterious\nchamber, where the fair one was imprisoned. Swammerdamm, seeing this,\ntook a little telescope from his pocket, drew it out at full length,\nand fell upon his adversary, exclaiming, \"Draw, scoundrel, if you have\ncourage!\"\n\nLeuwenhock had quickly a similar instrument in his hand, drew it out as\nthe other had done, and cried, \"Come on; I am ready, and you shall soon\nfeel my prowess.\"\n\nEach now put his glass to his eye, and fell furiously upon the other\nwith sharp, murderous glances, now lengthening and now shortening his\nweapon by drawing the tubes in and out. There were feints, parries,\nthrusts, in short, all the tricks of the fencing-school, and with every\nmoment they seemed to grow more angry. Whenever one was hit he cried\nout aloud, sprang into the air, cut the most wonderful capers, made the\nmost beautiful entrechats, and turned pirouettes, as well as the best\npas-de-seul dancer on the Parisian stage, till his adversary fixed him\nfast with the shortened telescope. When the other was hit he did\nprecisely the same, and in this way they went on interchangeably with\nthe most violent springs, the maddest gestures, and the most furious\ncries. The perspiration dropped from their brows, the blood-red eyes\nseemed starting from their heads, and as there appeared no other cause\nfor their St. Vitus' dance than their looking at each other through\ntheir glasses, they might have been taken for maniacs, just escaped\nfrom the mad-house. For the rest, it was a very pretty sight.\n\nSwammerdamm at last succeeded in driving Leuwenhock from his post by\nthe door,--which he had maintained with obstinate bravery,--and thus\ncarrying on the war in the remoter parts of the ground. George Pepusch\nsaw the opportunity, pressed against the unoccupied door, that was\nneither barred nor bolted, and slipped into the chamber, but in the\nnext moment he rushed out, exclaiming, \"She has fled!--fled!\" and then\nhurried out of the house with the rapidity of lightning.\n\nBoth Leuwenhock and Swammerdamm were seriously wounded, for both hopped\nand danced about after a mad fashion, and with their howlings and\ncryings made a music to it that seemed like the shrieks of the damned\nin hell. Peregrine knew not how to set about separating them, and thus\nending a contest, which was as ludicrous as it was terrific. At last\nthe combatants perceived that the door stood wide open, forgot their\nduel and their pains, put their destructive weapons into their pockets,\nand rushed into the chamber.\n\nMr. Tyss took it grievously to heart that the fair one had fled from\nhis house, and wished the abominable Leuwenhock at the devil, when the\nvoice of Alina was heard upon the stairs. She was laughing aloud, and\nmuttered between, \"What strange things one does see! Wonderful!\nincredible!\"\n\n\"What?\" cried Peregrine dejectedly, \"what wonder has happened now?\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear Mr. Tyss!\" exclaimed the old woman, \"only come up stairs\ndirectly, and go into your chamber.\"\n\nAnd she opened the room-door with a cunning titter. On entering, O\nwonder! O joy! the little Dörtje Elverdink tripped up to him, in her\ndress of tissue, as he had before seen her at Mr. Swammer's.\n\n\"At length I see you again!\" lisped the little one, and contrived to\nnestle up so closely to Peregrine, that he could not help embracing her\nmost tenderly in spite of all his good resolutions. His senses seemed\necstacied by love and joy.\n\nIt has often happened to a man that in the height of his transports he\nhas hit his nose somewhat roughly, and, being suddenly awakened out of\nhis heaven by the earthly pain, has tumbled down again into the vulgar\nworld. Just so it chanced with our Mr. Tyss. In stooping down to kiss\nDörtje's sweet mouth, he gave his nose, of goodly dimensions, a hard\nblow against the diadem of shining brilliants, which the little one\nwore in her raven locks. The pain of the blow upon the sharp points of\nthe stone brought him sufficiently to himself to perceive the diadem.\nThe diadem reminded him of the Princess Gamaheh, and with this\nrecollection recurred all that Master Flea had told him of the little\nsyren. He bethought himself that a Princess, the daughter of a mighty\nking, could not possibly care about his love, and therefore all her\npretended affection must be a mere trick, by which the dissembler hoped\nto regain possession of Master Flea. With this consideration a cold\nice-stream seemed to rush through his veins, which, if it did not quite\nextinguish, at least damped, the love-flames.\n\nPeregrine gently freed himself from the arms of the little one, who had\nlovingly embraced him, and said with downcast eyes, \"Oh, heavens! you\nare the daughter of the mighty King Sekakis, the beautiful Gamaheh.\nYour pardon, princess, if a feeling, which I could not master, hurried\nme into folly, into madness. But yourself, lady,--\"\n\n\"What are you saying, my fair friend?\" interrupted Dörtje Elverdink; \"I\nthe daughter of a mighty king? I a princess? I am your Alina, who will\nlove you to distraction, if you,--but how is this?--Alina, the queen of\nGolconda? she is already with you; I have spoken with her--a good kind\nwoman, but she has grown old, and is no longer so handsome as in the\ntime of her marriage with the French general. Woe is me! I am not the\nright one; I never ruled in Golconda. Woe is me!\"\n\nThe little one had closed her eyes, and began to totter. Peregrine\nconveyed her to a sofa.\n\n\"Gamaheh!\" she went on, speaking in a state of somnambulism, \"Gamaheh,\ndo you say? Gamaheh, the daughter of King Sekakis? Yes, I recollect, in\nFamagusta!--I was indeed a beautiful tulip--Yet no, even then I felt\ndesire and love in my breast.--Still, still on that point!\"\n\nShe was silent, and seemed to be falling into a perfect slumber.\nPeregrine undertook the perilous enterprise of placing her in a more\nconvenient position, but, as he gently embraced her, a concealed pin\nprickled him sharply in the finger. According to his custom he snapt\nhis fingers, and Master Flea, taking it for the concerted signal,\nimmediately placed the microscopic glass in his eye.\n\nNow, as usual, Peregrine saw behind the tunicle of the eyes the strange\ninterweaving of nerves and veins, which pierced deep into the brain.\nBut with these were twined bright silver threads, a hundred times\nthinner than the thinnest spider's web, and it was these very threads\nthat confused him, for they seemed to be endless, branching out into a\nsomething, indistinguishable even by the microscopic eye; perhaps they\nwere thoughts of a sublimer kind, the others of a sort more easily\ncomprehended. Then he observed flowers, strangely blended, which took\nthe shape of men, then again men, who dissolved as it were into the\nearth, and peeped forth again as stones and metals. Amongst these all\nmanner of beasts were in motion, who underwent innumerable changes, and\nspoke strange languages. No one appearance answered to the other, and\nin the plaintive sounds of sorrow that filled the air, there was a\ndissonance, corresponding with that of the images. But it was this very\ndissonance that ennobled still more the deep fundamental harmony, which\nbroke out triumphantly, and united all that seemed irreconcileable.\n\n\"Do not puzzle yourself,\" whispered Master Flea, \"do not puzzle\nyourself, my good Peregrine; those which you see, are the images of a\ndream. Even if any thing more should lurk behind them, now is not the\ntime for farther inquiry. Only call the little deceiver by her real\nname, and then sift her as much as you please.\"\n\nAs the lady had many names, it must have been difficult, one would have\nthought, for Peregrine to hit upon the right, but, without the least\nreflection, he exclaimed, \"Dörtje Elverdink! dear, charming girl; was\nit no deceit? Is it possible that you can love me?\"\n\nImmediately the little one awoke from her dreamy state, opened her eye,\nand said with burning glance, \"What a doubt, my Peregrine! Could a\nmaiden do as I have done, unless her breast were filled with the most\nglowing passion? Peregrine, I love you more than any one, and, if you\nwill be mine, I am yours with my whole soul, and remain with you\nbecause I cannot leave you, and not merely to escape from the tyranny\nof my uncle.\"\n\nThe silver threads had disappeared, and the thoughts, properly\narranged, ran thus:--\"How is this? At first I feigned a passion for him\nonly to regain Master Flea for myself and Leuwenhock; and now I\nactually am fond of him. I have caught myself in my own snares. I think\nno more of Master Flea, and would like to be his, who seems lovelier to\nme than any man I have ever seen.\"\n\nIt may be easily supposed what effect these thoughts produced in\nPeregrine's breast. He fell on his knees before the fair one, covered\nher hand with a thousand burning kisses, called her his joy, his\nheaven, his whole happiness.\n\n\"Well!\" lisped the maiden, drawing him gently to her side, \"well, my\nlove, you certainly will not deny a request, on the fulfilment of which\ndepends the repose, nay, the very existence of your beloved.\"\n\n\"Demand,\" replied Peregrine, tenderly embracing her, \"demand any thing,\nmy life,--any thing you will; your slightest wish is my command.\nNothing in the world is so dear to me that I would not with pleasure\nsacrifice it to you and your affection.\"\n\n\"Woe is me!\" lisped Master Flea; \"who could have imagined that the\nlittle traitress would have conquered? I am lost!\"\n\n\"Hear then,\" replied Gamaheh, after having returned with equal fire the\nglowing kisses, which Peregrine imprinted on her lips, \"hear then; I\nknow how the--\"\n\nThe door burst open, and in rushed George Pepusch.\n\n\"Zeherit!\" cried the little one in despair, and fell back on the sofa,\nsenseless.\n\nThe Thistle, Zeherit, flew to the princess, took her in his arms, and\nran off with the speed of lightning.\n\nFor this time Master Flea was saved.\n\n\n\n\n                            Fifth Adventure.\n\nThoughts of poetical young enthusiasts and female\nblue-stockings.--Peregrine's reflections upon his life, and Master\nFlea's learning and understanding.--Singular virtue and firmness of Mr.\nTyss.--Unexpected conclusion of an event that threatened tragically.\n\n\nWith the speed of lightning,--as the reader has already learnt at the\nconclusion of the fourth adventure,--George Pepusch snatched the fair\none from the arms of the enamoured Peregrine, and left him behind\npetrified with astonishment and terror. When at length the latter came\nto his recollection, and would have followed his robber-friend, all was\nstill and desolate in the house. Upon his repeated calling, the old\nAlina came pattering up the stairs from one of the farthest rooms, and\ndeclared that she had not observed any, the slightest, part of the\nwhole business.\n\nPeregrine was nigh going mad at the loss of Dörtje, but Master Flea\nbegan to console him in a tone that must have inspired the most\ndesperate with confidence: \"You are not yet quite certain, my dear Mr.\nPeregrine, whether the fair Dörtje Elverdink has really left your\nhouse. As well as I can judge of such things, she is not far off; I\nseem to feel her nearness. But, if you will follow my friendly counsel,\nyou will leave her to her fate. Trust me, she is as capricious as the\nwind; it may be, as you have said, that she now is really fond of you,\nbut how long will it be before she plunges you into such misery, that\nyou will be in danger from it of losing your reason, like the Thistle,\nZeherit? I say again, give up your lonely way of life. You will be the\nbetter for it. How many women have you known, that you should take\nDörtje for the handsomest of her sex? What maiden have you approached\nwith love, that you should believe that Dörtje alone can love you? Go\nto, Peregrine; experience will show you better. You are a well-made,\nhandsome man, and I should not be so keen-sighted, as Master Flea\nreally is, if I could not see beforehand that love would smile upon you\nin a very different way from what you may expect.\"\n\nPeregrine had already broken the ice by going abroad in public places,\nand it was therefore the less difficult for him to visit societies,\nfrom which he had formerly withdrawn himself. In this Master Flea\nrendered him excellent service with his microscopic glass, and he is\nsaid during this time to have kept a day-book, and to have made notes\nof the most remarkable and pleasant contradictions between words and\nthoughts, as they daily occurred to him. Perhaps the editor of this\nstrange tale, called Master Flea, may find some future opportunity of\nbringing to light many worthy impartments from this same day-book; here\nit would only stop the current of the history, and, therefore, would\nnot be welcome to the reader. So much, however, may be said, that many\nof the phrases with the corresponding thoughts seemed to be stereotyped\nas it were; as for example,--\"Favour me with your advice;\"--the thought\nbeing, \"He is fool enough to think I ask his advice in a matter that I\nhave long since resolved upon, and that tickles him.\" \"I have the most\nperfect confidence in you;\"--the thought being, \"I knew long ago that\nyou were a scoundrel,\" &c. c. It should also be mentioned that many\nfolks mightily puzzled Peregrine with his microscopic observations.\nThese were the young men, who fell into raptures upon every thing, and\npoured themselves forth in a torrent of splendid phrases. Amongst these\nthe most remarkable were the young poets, who were boiling over with\nimagination and genius, and were particularly adored by the ladies. To\nthese were associated the blue-stockings, who were as familiar with\nmetaphysics as the less learned part of their sex with scandal, and\ncould talk like any parson in his pulpit. If it seemed strange to\nPeregrine that the silver threads should twine together out of\nGamaheh's brain into an undistinguishable something, he was not a\nlittle astonished at what he saw in the heads of those above mentioned.\nHe saw indeed the strange weaving of nerves and veins, but remarked at\nthe same time, that when the owners of them spoke most learnedly on art\nand science, they did not penetrate the brain, but were reflected\noutwards, so that all recognition of the thoughts was out of the\nquestion. He imparted his observation to Master Flea, who usually sate\nin a fold of his neckcloth, and Master Flea was of opinion, that what\nPeregrine took for thoughts were in reality none, but merely words,\nwhich in vain endeavoured to become thoughts.\n\nIf Mr. Tyss began now to amuse himself in society, his faithful\ncompanion also laid aside much of his gravity, and exhibited himself as\na knavish little voluptuary, an amiable _roué_. He could not see the\nfair neck or the white bosom of any beauty, without slipping out of his\nhiding-place with the first opportunity, and springing on the inviting\nspot, where he very dexterously contrived to elude the attacks of\npursuing fingers. This man[oe]uvre combined a double interest. In the\nfirst place, he found a pleasure in it for the thing itself; and then,\nhe hoped, by drawing Peregrine's attention to the fair ones, to cast\nDörtje's image into shadow. This, however, seemed to be a fruitless\nlabour, for none of all the ladies, whom he now approached without the\nleast timidity, seemed to him so fair and lovely as his little\nprincess. The great cause however of his continued constancy was, that\nin none he found the words and thoughts so united in his favour as with\nher. He was convinced that he could never leave her, and this he\nrepeated incessantly. Master Flea was in no little alarm.\n\nOne day Peregrine remarked that the old Alina laughed very cunningly,\ntook snuff more frequently than usual, muttered strangely, in short,\nacted altogether like one who is big with a secret and would fain be\ndisburthened of it. To every thing she replied, \"Yes, one can't tell\nthat!--one must wait!\" whether these words were suited to the occasion\nor not, till at last Peregrine, full of impatience, exclaimed, \"Speak\nit out at once; tell me what is the matter, without creeping around me\nwith those mysterious looks.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried the old woman, clasping her withered hands together, \"ah!\nthe dear little thing! the sweet little puppet!\"\n\n\"Whom do you mean?\" asked Peregrine angrily.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the old woman, smirking, \"ah! whom should I mean but our\nprincess, below here with Mr. Swammer,--your bride, Mr. Tyss?\"\n\n\"Woman!\" cried Mr. Tyss, \"unlucky woman, she is here!--in the\nhouse!--and you do not tell me till now?\"\n\n\"Where,\"--replied the old woman, without in the least losing her\ncomposure,--\"where should the princess be but here, where she has found\nher mother?\"\n\n\"How!\" cried Peregrine--\"what is it you say, Alina?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" rejoined the old woman, drawing herself up--\"yes, Alina is my\nright name, and who knows what else may come to light, in a short time,\nbefore your nuptials?\"\n\nPeregrine entreated her, by all the angels and devils, to go on; but,\nwithout paying the least attention to his hurry, she seated herself\nsnugly in the arm-chair, drew out her snuffbox, took a prodigious\npinch, and demonstrated to Peregrine very circumstantially, that there\nwas no worse failing than impatience.\n\n\"Calmness, my son, calmness, is above all things requisite, or\notherwise you run the risk of losing all in the moment that you think\nyou have gained it. Before you get a word out of me, you must first\npromise to seat yourself there, quite quietly like a pretty-behaved\nchild, and for the life of you not to interrupt me in my story.\"\n\nNothing was left to Peregrine but to obey the old woman, who, when he\nhad seated himself, related things that were strange enough to hear.\n\nAccording to the old woman's tale, the two gentlemen, namely,\nSwammerdamm and Leuwenhock, had another tough struggle in the chamber,\nand for a time kept up a terrible clatter. Then again all had become\nquite still, when a heavy moaning had made her fancy that one of the\ntwo was mortally wounded; but on peeping through the keyhole she\nperceived something quite different from what she had expected.\nSwammerdamm and Leuwenhock had seized George Pepusch, and stroaked and\nsqueezed him with their fists, so that he grew thinner and thinner;\nduring which operation he had uttered the moans heard by the old woman.\nAt last, when he had grown as thin as a thistle-stem, they had tried to\nsqueeze him through the keyhole, and the poor Pepusch was hanging with\nhalf his body out, when she ran away in terror. Soon afterwards she\nheard a loud laughing, and saw Pepusch in his natural form, quietly led\nout of the house by the two magicians, while at the room-door stood\nDörtje and beckoned her in. The little one wished to dress herself, and\nneeded her assistance.\n\nThe old woman could not talk enough of the great heap of clothes which\nthe princess brought out of a variety of chests and showed to her, each\nof which had appeared richer than the other. She declared that none but\nan Indian princess could possess such jewels as the little one; her\neyes still ached with the glitter. She then went on to say how, during\nthe dressing, she had talked of this and that, of the late Mr. Tyss, on\nthe delightful life they had formerly led in the house, and at last the\nconversation had fallen upon her deceased relations.\n\n\"You know, my dear Mr. Tyss, that nothing is more valued by me than my\nlate cousin, the calico-printer's wife. She was in Maintz, and, I\nbelieve, even in the Indies, and could speak French and sing. If I owe\nto my cousin the unchristian name of Alina, I will forgive her that in\nthe grave, since it is from her alone that I have learnt polite manners\nand the art of speaking elegantly. As I was talking much of my cousin,\nthe little princess asked after my father, my grandfather, and so on,\nhigher and higher up the family. I opened my heart to her, told her\nthat my mother had been almost as handsome as myself, except that I go\nbeyond her in regard to the nose, which I derive from my father, and\nwhich is after the shape that has been usual in the family since the\nmemory of man. Then I came to speak of the country-wake, when I waltzed\nwith Serjeant Drumstick, and wore the skyblue stockings with red\nclocks. Ah, dear God! we are all weak, sinful creatures! But oh! Mr.\nTyss, you should have seen how the little princess, who at first had\nlaughed and tittered, that it was a pleasure to hear her, now grew more\nand more quiet, and gazed on me with such odd looks, that I began to be\nterribly alarmed.--And then think, Mr. Tyss, on a sudden, before I\ncould prevent it, she lies on her knees before me, and will positively\nkiss my hand, exclaiming, 'Yes, it is you! Now I recognise you! It is\nyourself!'--and when, quite astonished, I asked what it all meant,----\"\n\nHere the old woman stopt, and, when Peregrine pressed her to go on, she\nwith great gravity and precision took a mighty pinch of snuff, and\nsaid,\n\n\"You'll know in good time, my son, what farther happened. Every thing\nhas its time and hour.\"\n\nHe was now more urgent than ever with the old woman to proceed, when\nshe burst out into a roaring fit of laughter; upon which he admonished\nher, with a very sour face, that his room was not exactly the place for\nher to play off such fooleries. But the old woman, planting her hands\nin her sides, seemed ready to burst. The burning red of her brow\nchanged to an agreeable mahogany, and Peregrine was upon the point of\nflinging a glass of water into the old woman's face, when she recovered\nher breath and speech at the same time.\n\n\"I can't help laughing,\" she said, \"I can't help laughing at the\nfoolish little thing. No; such love is no longer on earth. Only think,\nMr. Tyss,----\"\n\nHere she broke out into a fresh fit of laughter, and Peregrine's\npatience was well nigh exhausted. At last, with much difficulty, he got\nout of her that the little princess had taken up the whimsical notion\nof Mr. Tyss being positively determined to marry the old woman, and had\ncompelled her solemnly to promise to reject his hand.\n\nIt seemed to Peregrine as if he were mixed up in a scene of witchery,\nand he felt so strangely, that even the honest old Alina appeared to\nhim a supernatural kind of being, from whom he could not fly with\nsufficient speed. But she still detained him, having something to\ncommunicate in all haste, that concerned the little princess.\n\n\"It is now certain,\" she said confidentially,--\"it is now certain, my\ndear Mr. Tyss, that the bright star of fortune has arisen, but it is\nyour business to keep it favourable. When I protested to the little one\nthat you were desperately smitten with her, and far from any idea of\nmarrying me, she replied, that she could not be convinced of it and\ngive you her hand till you had complied with a wish that had long sate\nnear her heart. She says, that she had a pretty little negro boy in her\nservice who had fled from her; I have, indeed, denied it, but she\nmaintains that the boy is so little he might live in a nutshell.\n\n\"Nothing will ever come of this,\" exclaimed Peregrine violently, well\nknowing what the old woman was driving at, and rushed out of the room,\nand then out of the house, with great vehemence.\n\nIt is an established custom, that when the hero of a tale is under any\nviolent agitation, he should run out into a forest, or, at least, into\nsome lonely wood; and the custom is good, because it really prevails in\nlife. Hence it could not be otherwise with Mr. Tyss, than that he ran\nfrom his house without stopping, till he had left the city behind him\nand reached a remote wood. Moreover, as in a romantic history no wood\nmust be without rustling leaves, sighing breezes, murmuring brooks, &c.\n&c. it is to be supposed that Peregrine found all these things in his\nplace of refuge. Upon a mossy stone, the lower half of which lay in a\nbright brook, Peregrine sate down with a firm resolution to reflect on\nhis strange adventures, and, if possible, find the Ariadne clue which\nmight show the way out of this labyrinth of mysteries. The murmurs of\nthe leaves, returning at equal intervals, the monotonous babbling of\nthe waters, the constant clap, clap of a distant mill, soon formed a\nground which regulated the thoughts so that they no longer rushed\nwildly together without time or rhythmus, but became an intelligible\nmelody. Thus, after sitting some time on this pleasant spot, he got to\nreflect calmly.\n\n\"In reality,\" he said to himself, \"a fantastic tale-writer could not\nhave invented wilder events than I have actually gone through in the\nshort space of a few days. Beauty, love itself visits the lonely\nmysogunist, and a look, a word, is sufficient to fan, in his breast,\nthe flames which he had dreaded without knowing them. But the time, the\nplace, the whole appearance of the strange syren are so mysterious,\nthat it seems to be the result of magic;--And then it is not long\nbefore a despised little insect evinces knowledge, understanding, nay,\neven a sort of supernatural power. And this creature talks of things,\nwhich to common minds are incomprehensible, in a way as if it all were\nnothing more than the familiar to-day and yesterday of usual life, as\nit appears repeated for the thousandth time.\n\n\"Have I come too near the fly-wheel, that dark unknown powers are\ndriving, and has it caught me in its whirlings? Would not one believe,\nthat the reason must be lost with such things, when they cross the path\nof life? And yet I find myself quite well, withal: nay, it no longer\nseems strange to me that a Flea-king should have sought my protection,\nand, in requital have entrusted me with a mystery that opens to me the\nsecrets of thought, and thus sets me above the deceptions of life. But\nwhither will or can all this lead? How, if under this singular mask of\na flea, an evil demon lurked, who sought to lure me into destruction,\nwho aimed to rob me of all the happiness that might bloom to me in the\npossession of Dörtje? Were it not better to get rid at once of the\nlittle monster?\"\n\n\"That was a very pitiful idea, Mr. Tyss!\" exclaimed Master Flea,\ninterrupting Peregrine's soliloquy. \"Do you imagine that the mystery I\nhave entrusted to you is a trifle? Should not this gift pass for the\nmost decided proof of my sincere friendship? Shame on you for being\nsuspicious! You are surprised at the reason, the mind, of a little\ndespised insect; and that proves,--don't be offended,--the narrowness\nof your education in science. I wish, in regard to the thinking\ninstinctive soul of animals, you had read the Greek Philo, or, at\nleast, the treatise of Hieronymus Rorarius, '_quod animalia bruta\nratione utantur melius homine_; or his oration '_Pro muribus_;'--or\nthat you knew what Lipsius and the great Leibnitz thought of the mental\npower of beasts, or that you were aware what the profound Rabbi\nMaimonides has said about their souls; you would not then take me for a\ndemon on account of my understanding, or measure the spiritual\nfaculties by the proportions of the body. I suppose, at last, you will\ncome to the shrewd opinion of the Spanish physician, Gomez Pereira, who\ncould find nothing more in animals than mere artificial machines,\nwithout thought or freedom of will, moving arbitrarily and\nautomatically. Yet, no; I cannot deem you so absurd, and am convinced\nthat you have long ago learnt better through my humble person.\nMoreover, I do not well understand what you call wonders, or in what\nway you are able to divide, into the wonderful and natural, the\nappearances of our being, which, in reality, are ourselves, as we and\nthey mutually condition each other. Do not, therefore, wonder at any\nthing because it has not yet occurred to you, or because you fancy you\ndo not see the connexion of cause and effect; that only proves the\nnatural or diseased obtuseness of your sight, which injures your\nperception. But,--do not take it amiss, Mr. Peregrine,--the drollest\npart of the business is, that you want to split yourself into two\nparts, one of which recognises and willingly believes the so-called\nwonders; the other, on the contrary, is mightily astonished at this\nrecognition and belief. Has it ever occurred to you, that you believe\nin the images of dreams?\"\n\n\"I!\" exclaimed Peregrine--\"My dear fellow, how can you talk of dreams,\nwhich are only the result of some disorder in our corporeal or\nintellectual structure?\"\n\nAt these words Master Flea burst into a laugh, as fine as it was\nmocking, and then said to Mr. Tyss, who was not a little confounded,\n\n\"My poor friend, is your understanding so little enlightened, that you\ndo not see the folly of such opinions? Since the time that Chaos\nmelted together into plastic matter,--it may be a tolerably long time\nago,--the spirit of the universe has formed all shapes out of this\nexisting material, and from this come also dreams and their images.\nThese images are sketches of what has been, or probably of what is yet\nto be, which the soul rapidly puts together for its amusement, when the\ntyrant, called body, has released it from its slavish servitude. But\nhere is neither time nor place to refute you, and bring you to a better\nconviction; perhaps, too, it would be of no use whatever to you: one\nthing only I should like to explain.\"\n\n\"Dear master,\" cried Peregrine, \"speak, or be silent, as you think\nproper; do what to you seems best; for I plainly perceive that, however\nsmall you may be, you have deep knowledge and sound understanding. You\ncompel from me unconditional confidence, although I do not quite\ncomprehend your figurative modes of speech.\"\n\n\"Learn then,\" resumed Master Flea, \"that you are very strangely\nimplicated in the history of the Princess Gamaheh. Swammerdamm and\nLeuwenhock, the Thistle, Zeherit, and the Leech-Prince, as well as the\nGenius, Thetel, are all striving after the princess; and even I myself\nmust confess that, alas! my old passion is reviving, and I could be\nfool enough to share my sovereignty with the false fair-one. But\nyou,--you, Mr. Peregrine, are the principal person, and, without your\nconsent, Gamaheh can belong to no one. If you wish to understand the\nmore particular connexion of the whole, which I myself do not know, you\nmust speak to Leuwenhock about it; he has found it out, and will\ncertainly let out much, if you will take the pains, and know how to\nquestion him.\"\n\nMaster Flea was about to continue, when a man leapt from the bushes in\nboiling passion, and flew upon Peregrine.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried George Pepusch, with frantic gestures,--for it was\nhe,--\"Ha! faithless, treacherous friend! have I found you?--found you\nin the fateful hour? Up then! pierce this breast, or fall by my hand.\"\n\nWith this he drew a brace of pistols from his pocket, pressed one into\nPeregrine's hand, and took his ground with the other, crying, \"Shoot,\ncoward! shoot!\"\n\nPeregrine placed himself, but declared that nothing should induce him\nto the incurable madness of entering into a duel with his only friend,\nwithout even a suspicion of the cause. At all events he would in no\ncase be the first to begin a murderous attack.\n\nAt this Pepusch burst into a wild laugh, and in the same moment the\nball went through Peregrine's hat. The latter remained staring at his\nfriend, in profound silence, without picking up the hat, which had\nfallen to the ground, when Pepusch advanced a few steps towards him,\nand murmured in a hollow voice, \"shoot!\"--Peregrine fired his pistol in\nthe air.\n\nWith the voice and gestures of a madman, Pepusch now flung himself upon\nhis friend's breast, and cried out, in heart-rending tones,--\"She is\ndying! dying for you, unlucky one! Quick!--save her! You can do\nit--save her for yourself, and let me perish in my despair!\"\n\nPepusch ran off so fast that Peregrine had lost sight of him on the\ninstant; and now a fearful foreboding came over him, that his friend's\nmad behaviour must have been occasioned by something terrible which had\nhappened to the little-one: whereupon he hastened back to the city.\n\nOn entering his house, he was met by the old woman, loudly lamenting\nthat the poor princess was on the sudden taken violently ill, and was\ndying. Mr. Swammer himself had gone after the most celebrated physician\nin Frankfort.\n\nWith the feelings of death at his heart, he crept into Mr. Swammer's\nroom that was opened to him by the old woman. There lay the little-one\nupon a sofa, pale and stiff like a corse; and it was not till he knelt\ndown and bent over her that he perceived her gentle breathing. No\nsooner had he touched her icy hand, than a painful smile played about\nher lips, and she lisped,--\n\n\"Is it you, my sweet friend? Have you come to see her once again, who\nloves you so unspeakably,--who dies, alas! because she cannot breathe\nwithout you?\"\n\nDissolving in sorrow, Peregrine poured himself forth in protestations\nof the tenderest love, and repeated, that nothing in the world was so\ndear to him that he would not sacrifice it to her. Out of words grew\nkisses, but in these kisses again words, like the breathings of love,\nwere distinguishable.\n\n\"You know, my Peregrine, how much I love you. I can be yours; you,\nmine,--I can recover on the spot--you will see me bloom again in my\nyouthful splendour, like a flower refreshed by the morning dew, and\njoyfully lifting up his drooping head--but--give me up the prisoner, my\ndear, beloved Peregrine, or else you will see me perish, before your\neyes, in unutterable death-pangs.----Peregrine--I can no more--it is\nall over!\"\n\nWith this she sank back upon the cushions, from which she had half\nraised herself; her bosom heaved tumultuously up and down, as if, in\nthe death-pangs; her lips grew bluer, and her eyes seemed to break.\n\nIn wild anguish Peregrine caught at his neckcloth, from which Master\nFlea now leapt, of his own accord, upon the white neck of the\nlittle-one, exclaiming, in a tone of the deepest grief--\"I am lost I!\"\n\nPeregrine stretched out his hand to catch the Master, but suddenly it\nseemed as if some invisible power held back his arm; and far other\nthoughts ran through his head than those which till now had occupied\nit.\n\n\"How!\" thought he--\"because you are a frail man, and influenced by a\nmad passion, will you therefore betray him, to whom you have promised\nyour protection? Will you therefore plunge a free, harmless people into\neternal slavery, and utterly ruin the friend whose thoughts and words\nagree?--No--no--recollect yourself, Peregrine!--Rather die than be a\ntraitor!\"\n\n\"Give--up--the prisoner--I am dying!\" stammered the little one, with\nfailing voice.\n\n\"No!\" cried Peregrine, while in despair he caught her in his\narms--\"No! never! But let me die with you!\"\n\nAnd now a fine, penetrating harmony was heard, as if little silver\nbells were struck. Dörtje, with fresh roses on her lips and cheeks,\nstarted up suddenly from the sofa, and, breaking into a convulsive\nlaughter, skipt about the chamber. She seemed to have been bit by the\ntarantula.\n\nPeregrine gazed in terror on the strange spectacle, and the same did\nthe physician, who stood at the door quite petrified, keeping out Mr.\nSwammer, who had followed him.\n\n\n\n\n                            Sixth Adventure.\n\nStrange behaviour of strolling jugglers in a tavern, together\nwith a tolerable buffeting.--Tragical history of a tailor at\nSachsenhausen.--How George Pepusch astonished some honest folks.--The\nhoroscope.--Pleasant battle of some well-known people in Leuwenhock's\napartments.\n\n\nAll the passers-by stopt, stretched out their necks and peeped through\nthe window into the coffee-room. With every moment the crowd grew\ngreater, the pressure more violent, and the noise louder. All this was\noccasioned by two strangers, who, besides that their form, their dress,\ntheir whole manner had something extraordinary about it, that was\nrepulsive and ridiculous at the same time, played off many wonderful\ntricks, such as had never been seen before. The one, an old man, of a\ndirty, disagreeable appearance, was dressed in a surtout of shining\nstuff. Sometimes he made himself thin and long, sometimes he would\nshrink himself up to a short fat fellow, winding about all the\ntime like a worm. The other, with powdered hair, motly silk coat,\nunder-dress of the same, large silver buckles, and altogether\nresembling a petit-maitre of the last half of the foregoing century,\nrepeatedly flew up to the ceiling, and then gently let himself down\nagain, while, with a cheerful voice, he trilled discordant songs in a\nlanguage altogether unknown.\n\nAccording to the host's declaration, they had both come in--one a short\ntime after the other--like orderly people, and had called for wine.\nThen they had gazed more and more keenly on each other, and entered\ninto conversation; and although the language of it was unintelligible\nto all the guests, yet their tone and manner showed they were engaged\nin a dispute, which grew warmer and warmer. On a sudden they had taken\ntheir present form and began these mad tricks, which continually\nattracted more spectators.\n\n\"The man, who flies up and down so admirably,\" exclaimed one of the\nspectators, \"is the clock-maker, Degen, of Vienna--he who invented the\nflying machine, with which he is constantly contriving to tumble down\nupon his nose.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied another; \"that is not the clock-maker. I should rather\nfancy that it was the Little Tailor of Sachsenhausen, if I did not know\nthat the poor thing was burnt.\"\n\nI know not whether my readers are acquainted with the Little Tailor of\nSachsenhausen? Here it is.\n\n\n\n            _History of the Little Tailor of Sachsenhausen._\n\nIt happened that a pious little tailor, at Sachsenhausen, was coming\nout of church one Sunday with his wife, in all his best attire. The air\nwas raw, the little tailor had taken nothing over night but a soft\nboiled egg and a few pickled gerkins, and in the morning a cup of\ncoffee. Moreover he had been singing most vehemently in the church, and\nhence he began to feel in a piteous plight, and to long for a dram. As\nhe had worked hard through the week, and had been particularly kind to\nhis better-half, making her a very pretty gown out of the pieces\ncabbaged from his customers, she consented to his going into the\napothecary's and getting himself a dram, which he did accordingly. The\nawkward apprentice, who was alone in the shop, made a mistake, and took\ndown a bottle which, instead of a dram, contained inflammable gas,\nwherewith balloons are filled. Of this the apprentice poured out a full\nglass, and the tailor, putting it at once to his mouth, swallowed off\nthe gas as an agreeable reviver. It made him, however, feel very\nstrangely,--as if he had got a pair of wings on his shoulders, or as if\nsome one were playing at foot-ball with him; for he felt himself\ncompelled to jump up and down in the shop, and with every moment the\nimpetus increased.\n\n\"Eh! Gemini! Gemini!\" he cried,--\"what a nimble dancer I have grown!\"\n\nThe apothecary's apprentice stood with his mouth gaping wide from pure\nwonder, when it chanced that some one opened the door so hastily, that\nthe opposite window flew open also. A strong current of air poured in,\ncaught up the little tailor, and away he sailed through the window,\nsince when he has not been seen; but it happened some time after, that\nthe people of Sachsenhausen observed in the air a fire-ball, which\nlighted the whole country with its brightness, and then, being\nextinguished, fell to earth. All were eager to know what had dropt, and\nran to the place, but found nothing more than a little heap of ashes,\nbut with this the tongue of a shoe-buckle, a little piece of yellow\nsatin with flowers, and a something black, which, to look at, was like\nthe horn-top of a walking stick. All were in deep council how such\nthings could fall down from heaven in a fire-ball, when the wife of the\ndeparted tailor came up, and, on seeing these things, wrung her hands,\ntook on most piteously, and cried out, \"Ah, woe! that is my husband's\nbuckle!--Ah, woe! that is my husband's Sunday waistcoat!--Ah, woe! that\nis my husband's cane-top!\"--A very learned man, however, has declared\nthat the cane-top was no cane-top, but a meteoric ball, or an abortive\nglobe.\n\nThus was made known to the people of Sachsenhausen and to all the\nworld, that the poor little tailor, to whom the apothecary's apprentice\nhad given inflammable gas instead of a dram, was burnt in the air, and\nhad fallen to earth, as a meteoric ball, or an abortive globe.\n\n      _End of the History of the Little Tailor of Sadisenhausen._\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nThe taverner was at length impatient that the odd guest did not cease\nmaking himself now larger now smaller, without paying him any\nattention, and held the flask of Burgundy, which he had ordered, close\nto his nose. The stranger caught fast hold of it immediately, and did\nnot let go till he had drained the last drop: then he sank, as if\nfainting, into an armchair, and could scarcely move himself.\n\nThe guests observed with astonishment that he swelled more and more\nduring the drinking, and now appeared quite thick and shapeless. The\nfly-work of the other seemed also to be at a stand; he was about to sit\ndown, panting and breathless, but, perceiving how his adversary lay\nthere, half dead, he flew suddenly upon him, and began to belabour him\nsoundly with his fists. The host, however, pulled him off, and declared\nthat he would turn him out of the house, if he did not keep quiet. If\nthey both wished to show their juggler's tricks, they were welcome to\ndo so, but without quarrelling and fighting like blackguards.\n\nThe flying gentleman seemed to take it somewhat ill that the host\nshould suppose he was a juggler. He protested that he was nothing less\nthan a vagabond, who went about playing off legerdemain tricks; he had\nformerly been ballet-master to a celebrated king, but now practised in\nprivate as an amateur, and was called, as his functions required he\nshould be, Legénie. If, in his just indignation at the abominable\nfellow there, he had sprung somewhat higher than was fitting, that was\nhis own business, and concerned no one else.\n\nThe host on his part opined, that all this did not justify any\nfisty-cuffs; to which the amateur replied, that mine host did not know\nthe malicious fellow, or he would willingly allow his back to be\ndrubbed black and blue. He had formerly been a French custom-house\nofficer, and now gained a livelihood by blood-letting, cupping, and\nshaving, and was called Monsieur Leech, a nuisance to every body, by\nhis awkwardness, stupidity, and gluttony. It was not enough that the\nscoundrel, wherever he met him, whisked away the wine from his very\nlips, as he had done just now, but he was plotting to carry off his\nbride, whom he intended to carry home from Frankfort.\n\nThe Douanier had heard all that the Amateur advanced, and, glancing at\nhim with his little malicious eyes, said to the host, \"Don't believe a\nsyllable that the gallows-bird there is chattering. An admirable\nballet-master, truly! who with his elephant feet crushes the legs of\nthe fair dancers, and with his pirouette knocks a tooth out of the\nmanager's jaw at the wing. And his verses, too! they have as awkward\nfeet as himself, and tumble here and there, like drunkards, treading\nthe thoughts to pap. Because he flutters heavily in the air at times,\nlike a drowsy gander, the conceited peacock fancies he is to have the\nfair-one for his bride.\"\n\nAt this the indignant Amateur cried out, \"thou, Satan's worm, thou\nshalt feel the gander's beak,\" and would have fallen upon the Douanier\nagain, when the host seized him from behind, with strong arm, and,\namidst the rejoicing of the assembled crowd, flung him out of the\nwindow.\n\nNo sooner was the Amateur gone than Monsieur Leech resumed the plain\nsolid form, in which he had entered. The people, without, took him for\nquite another person than the juggler, who had played such strange\ntricks, and quietly dispersed. The Douanier thanked mine host in the\nmost obliging terms for his aid against the Amateur, and, to prove his\ngratitude, offered to shave him for nothing, and more pleasantly than\never he had been shaved in his life before. The host felt his beard,\nand, it seeming to him at the moment as if the hairs were terribly\nlong, he accepted Mr. Leech's offer, who accordingly set about it, at\nfirst, with a light, dexterous hand, but on a sudden he cut his nose so\nshrewdly, that the blood streamed down. The host, deeming this to be\nnothing else than malice, seized the Douanier, who flew as nimbly out\nof the door as the Amateur through the window. Immediately after there\narose a loud tumult without, and, scarcely allowing himself time to\nstop the bleeding of his nose with lint, he flew out to see what devil\nwas raising this new uproar. There, to his no little astonishment, he\nsaw a young man, who with one hand grasped the Amateur, and with the\nother the Douanier, and with rolling eyes exclaimed, \"Ha! Satan's\nbrood! you shall not cross my way, you shall not rob me of Gamaheh!\"\nwhile his prisoners intermixed their cries of, \"A madman! Save--save\nus, host--he mistakes us--he will murder us--\"\n\n\"Eh!\" cried the host, \"what are you about, my good Mr. Pepusch? Have\nyou been offended by these strange people? Perhaps you are mistaken in\nthem. This is the ballet-master, Monsieur Legénie, and this the\nDouanier, Monsieur Leech.\"\n\n\"Ballet-master Legénie! Douanier Leech!\" repeated Pepusch, in a hollow\nvoice.\n\nHe seemed as if waking out of a dream, and trying to recollect himself.\nIn the mean time two honest citizens, of his acquaintance, came out of\nthe inn, who joined in persuading him to be quiet, and let the fellows\ngo about their business.\n\nAgain Pepusch exclaimed, \"Ballet-master Legénie! Douanier Leech!\" and\nlet his arms drop powerless by his side. With the speed of wind, the\nreleased prisoners were off, and it seemed to many in the street as if\nthe Amateur fled over the roofs of the neighbouring houses, and the\nbarber was lost in the puddle that had collected itself between the\nstones before the door.\n\nThe two citizens invited the distracted Pepusch to come in and drink a\nglass of old hock with them, an offer which he readily accepted, and\nseemed to enjoy the generous wine, though he sate silent and\nabstracted, and answered not a word to all that could be said to him.\nAt last, however, his features brightened up, and he said, very kindly,\n\"You did well, my friends, in hindering me from killing, on the spot,\nthose wretches, who were in my power. But you know not what dangerous\ncreatures lurk beneath their masks.\"\n\nPepusch paused, and it may be easily supposed with what eagerness the\ncitizens waited for what he had to discover. The host also had\napproached them, and all three poked their heads together, with their\narms crossed upon the table, and held in their breath, that they might\nnot lose a syllable from Peregrine's mouth.\n\n\"See, my good people,\" he continued solemnly, \"see; he, whom you call\nthe Balletmaster, Legénie, is no other than the evil, awkward genius,\nThetel; the other, whom you take for the Douanier, Leech, is the\nhateful bloodsucker, the Leech-Prince. Both are in love with the\nPrincess, Gamaheh, who, as you know, is the daughter of the mighty\nking, Sekakis, and are here to make her false to the Thistle, Zeherit.\nThis is the greatest folly that ever entered into a foolish brain, for,\nbesides the Thistle, Zeherit, there is but one person in the world to\nwhom she can belong, and this person would perhaps vainly enter into\nthe contest with Zeherit. For soon the Thistle will bloom at midnight\nin full splendour and strength, and in the death of love dawns the\nmorning of a higher life. Now, I myself am the Thistle, Zeherit, and,\ntherefore, my good friends, you cannot blame me if I am indignant with\nthose traitors, and altogether take the whole affair much to heart.\"\n\nThe three listeners opened their eyes wide, and stared, speechlessly,\nat Pepusch, with open mouths. They had tumbled out of the clouds, as\npeople say, and their heads were humming with the fall. But Pepusch\nemptied a bumper, and, turning to the host, said, \"Yes, yes, mine host;\nyou will soon see that I shall bloom as the _Cactus grandiflorus_, and\nthe whole country round will be impregnated with its perfume. You may\nbelieve me, friends.\"\n\nThe host could utter nothing but an exclamation of stupid\nsurprise--\"Eh! that would be the deuce!\" The two citizens exchanged\nmysterious glances, and one, taking George's hand, said with a doubtful\nsmile, \"You seem to be somewhat disquieted, my good Mr. Pepusch; how,\nif you were to take a glass of water, and--\"\n\n\"Not a drop!\" exclaimed Peregrine, interrupting the well-meant counsel;\n\"not a drop! Has water ever been poured upon boiling oil without\nincreasing the fury of the flames?--I am disquieted, you say? In truth\nthat may well be the case; how the devil can I be otherwise, after\nhaving exchanged shots with my bosom friend, and then sending a bullet\nthrough my own brain?--Here, into your hands I deliver up the murderous\nweapons, now that all is over.\"\n\nPepusch drew a brace of pistols from his pocket, whereat the host\nstarted back; the citizens snatched at them, but, no sooner had they\nfairly hold of them, than they burst out into immoderate laughter. The\npistols were of wood, a plaything from the Christmas fair.\n\nPepusch seemed to pay no attention to what was going on about him; he\nsate in deep thought, and continually cried out, \"If I could but find\nhim! if I could but find him!\"\n\nThe host took courage, and modestly asked, \"Whom do you mean, my good\nMr. Pepusch? Whom can you not find?\"\n\n\"Know you,\" said Pepusch solemnly, and fixing the host with a keen\ngaze,--\"know you any one to be compared, in might and wondrous power,\nwith the king Sekakis; then name his name and I will kiss your feet.\nBut for the rest, I would ask you if you know any one who is acquainted\nwith Mr. Peregrine Tyss, and can tell me where I may meet him at this\npresent moment?\"\n\nTo this the host replied, smirking amiably, \"Here I can serve you,\nrespected Mr. Pepusch, and inform you, that he was with me an hour ago,\ntaking a glass of wine. He was very thoughtful, and when I asked 'What\nnews on 'Change?' he suddenly cried out, 'Yes, sweet Gamaheh! I have\nrenounced you! Be happy in my George's arms!' Upon this a thin curious\nvoice said, 'Let us now go to Leuwenhock's, and peep into the\nhoroscope.' Immediately Mr. Tyss emptied his glass, and they went away\ntogether--that is, Mr. Tyss and the voice without a body. Probably they\nhave gone to Leuwenhock's, who is lamenting that his well-disciplined\nfleas have, one and all, deserted him.\"\n\nThe words were scarcely out of the host's mouth than George started up\nin a fury, and, seizing him by the throat, cried out, \"Scoundrel, what\ndo you say? Renounced? renounced her?--Gamaheh!--Peregrine!--Sekakis!\"\n\nThe host's story, however, was perfectly correct. He had heard Master\nFlea, who was summoning Peregrine, in his fine silver tones, to go to\nthe microscopist, Leuwenhock, for what purpose the reader knows\nalready. Peregrine had really gone thither, and was received by\nLeuwenhock with that soft odious friendliness, and that humility of\ncompliment, which announce the burthensome and reluctant recognition of\nsuperiority. But, as Mr. Tyss had the microscopic glass in the pupil of\nhis eye, all this complimenting and subservience availed Antony von\nLeuwenhock nothing in the world; on the contrary, Peregrine only the\nmore discovered the hatred which filled the heart of the microscopist.\nWhile he protested how much he felt honoured and rejoiced by Mr. Tyss's\nvisit, the thoughts ran thus:--\"I wish that the devil had plunged you\nten thousand fathoms deep in the abyss! But I must feign friendship and\nsubmission towards you, as the cursed constellation has placed me under\nyour dominion, and my whole being in some sort depends upon you. But\nperhaps I may be able to outwit you, for, in spite of your high\ndescent, you are a simple fool. You fancy that Dörtje Elverdink loves\nyou, and will perhaps marry her. Only come to me about it, and you fall\ninto my hands, in spite of the power that dwells within you without\nyour knowing it, and I will employ every thing to ruin you, and gain\npossession of Dörtje and Master Flea.\"\n\nPeregrine naturally regulated his conduct by these thoughts, and took\ngood care not to say a syllable about Dörtje Elverdink, and pretended\nthat he came to see Leuwenhock's collection of natural rarities.\n\nWhile now Leuwenhock opened the great drawers, Master Flea whispered\nvery gently in Peregine's ear, that his (Peregrine's) horoscope was\nlying on the table by the window. Here he saw all manner of lines, that\nmysteriously crossed each other, and many other wonderful signs; but as\nhe was entirely deficient in astronomical knowledge, all remained\nconfused and dark to him, look as keenly as he would. Yet it seemed\nstrange to him, that, in the bright red point, in the middle of the\ntable on which the horoscope was drawn, he plainly recognised himself.\nThe longer he looked at this point, the more it gained the shape of a\nheart, and the more brightly it reddened. Still it only sparkled as\nthrough a web, with which it was overspread.\n\nPeregrine plainly saw that Leuwenhock wanted to draw off his attention\nfrom the horoscope, and as he ran no risk of being deceived, very\nrationally resolved to question his friendly enemy at once, and without\nany circumlocution, as to the meaning of the mysterious table.\nLeuwenhock assured him, with a malicious smile, that nothing would give\nhim greater pleasure than the explaining to his respected friend the\nsigns upon the table, which he himself had drawn, according to his\nslight knowledge in such matters.\n\nThe thoughts ran thus:--\"Hoho! are you after that, my wise sir? In\ntruth Master Flea has not advised you ill. I myself am to explain the\ntable, and help you to the understanding of the magic might that dwells\nin your worthy person! I might invent some lies for you, but of what\nuse would it be, for, if I were to tell you the truth, you would not\nunderstand a syllable, but would remain stupid as ever? From pure\nconvenience, therefore, and not to put myself to the trouble of\ninvention, I will tell you so much of the signs of the table as seems\ngood to me.\"\n\nPeregrine knew now that, if he was not to learn all, at least he would\nnot be deceived with falsehoods.\n\nLeuwenhock placed the tablet on something like an easel, which he\nbrought forward from a corner of the room, and both seating themselves\nbefore it, considered it for a time in silence. At length Leuwenhock\nbegan with much solemnity:\n\n\"You, perhaps, do not suspect that those lines, those characters on the\ntable, which you are so attentively considering, are your own\nhoroscope, drawn by myself, with mysterious astrologic art, under the\nfavourable influence of the stars.--How came you to such a presumptuous\nidea? what could make you wish to unravel the web of my fate, to read\nmy destiny?--so might you ask, my friend, and with perfect justice, if\nI were not able to show you my inward call thereto. I know not whether\nyou have heard of the celebrated rabbi, Isaac Ben Harravad. Among other\nprofound knowledge, he had the strange gift of reading by men's faces\nwhether the soul had previously inhabited another body, or whether it\nwas to be considered quite fresh and new. I was yet very young when the\nrabbi died of an indigestion, brought on by eating of a dish highly\nseasoned with garlic. The Jews ran away with the body so quickly, that\nthe deceased had not time to collect and carry off all his knowledge,\nwhich the illness had scattered. Laughing heirs divided the property,\nbut I had fished off that wonderful seer-gift, in the very moment that\nthe Angel of Death had set his sword upon the rabbi's breast. In this\nway the wonderful faculty has come to me, and I, like the rabbi, Isaac\nBen Harravad, can read in the faces of men, whether the soul has before\noccupied another body or not. Your brow, Mr. Tyss, when I saw it the\nfirst time, excited the strangest thoughts and doubts. I was certain of\nthe previous existence of your soul long ago, and yet the form, prior\nto your present life, remained a perfect mystery. I was forced to have\nrecourse to the stars, and draw your horoscope, to solve the\ndifficulty.\"\n\n\"Well!\" exclaimed Peregrine;--\"and have you discovered anything, Mr.\nLeuwenhock?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" replied Leuwenhock, assuming a still more solemn\ntone--\"certainly! I have discovered that the physical principle, which\nnow animates the agreeable body of my very worthy friend, Mr. Peregrine\nTyss, existed long ago, although only as a thought or consciousness of\na shape. Look here; consider attentively the red point in the centre of\nthe table. That is not only yourself, but the point is the form, of\nwhich your physical principle once could not be conscious. As a\nsparkling carbuncle, you then lay in a deep mine of the earth; but\nstretched over you, on the green surface of the ground, slept the\nbeautiful Gamaheh; and her form also passed away in unconsciousness.\nStrange lines and foreign constellations cross your life from the point\nof time when the thought first put on a form, and became Mr. Peregrine\nTyss. You are in possession of a talisman without knowing it, and this\ntalisman is that very red carbuncle; it may be that King Sekakis wore\nit as a precious jewel in his crown, or, perhaps, in some measure, was\nthe carbuncle itself; enough,--you possess it now; but a certain event\nmust take place if its slumbering power is to be awakened; and with\nthis waking of the power of your talisman will be decided the fate of\nan unhappy creature, who hitherto has led a shadowy life between fear\nand changing hope.--Alas! it was only a shadowy life that the sweet\nGamaheh could gain by the profoundest magic, as the operative talisman\nwas stolen from us. You alone have killed her, you alone can breathe\nfresh life into her, when the carbuncle glows again in your breast.\"\n\n\"And can you,\" interrupted Peregrine, \"can you explain what that event\nis which is to awake the power of the talisman?\"\n\nThe microscopist stared with open eyes at Peregrine, like a person who\nis suddenly surprised into confusion, and who does not know what to\nsay. The thoughts ran thus: \"If I had but held my tongue about the\ntalisman which the unlucky rascal carries within him, and which gives\nhim so much power over us that we must all dance to his pipe!--and now\nI am to tell him the event on which depends the awaking the strength of\nhis talisman! Shall I confess to him that I don't know myself, that all\nmy art fails to loosen the knot in which the lines meet?--nay, that\nwhen I consider the planetary centre of the horoscope, I feel most\npiteously, and my own learned head seems to me no better than a painted\nblock for periwigs? Far from me be any such confession that would lower\nme, and put arms into his hands against myself. I will fasten something\nupon the ideot who fancies himself so wise,--something that shall make\nhis blood run cold, and take from him all farther inclination of\nteazing me.\"\n\n\"My dearest sir,\" said the Flea-tamer, putting on a very important\nface,--\"my dearest Mr. Tyss, don't ask me to speak of this event. You\nknow that the horoscope does indeed plainly and perfectly instruct us\nas to the existence of certain circumstances; but,--such is the wisdom\nof Eternal Might,--the event of threatening dangers always remains dark\nand doubtful. I esteem you too highly as an excellent kind-hearted man\nto put you into disquiet and anxiety before the time; otherwise I\nshould at least tell you so much, that the event which is to give you\nthe consciousness of power, would in the same moment destroy your\npresent form of being with the most horrible agonies of hell. But no!\non that too I will be silent; and now not another word of the\nhoroscope. Do not, however, fret yourself, although the affair looks\nbad enough, and I, with all my knowledge, can hardly see any chance of\na favourable issue to the adventure. Perhaps you may be saved from this\nperil by some unexpected constellation, which is now beyond the reach\nof observation.\"\n\nPeregrine was astonished at this deceit, yet still the whole state of\nthe thing, the peculiar situation in which Leuwenhock stood without\nsuspecting it, appeared to him so exceedingly pleasant, that he could\nnot help breaking out into a loud fit of laughter. The microscopist,\nsomewhat surprised at this, asked, \"What are you laughing at so\nvehemently, my dear Mr. Tyss?\"\n\n\"You do wisely,\" replied Peregrine, still laughing,--\"you do very\nwisely in keeping secret, out of pure kindness, this threatening event;\nfor besides that you are too much my friend to put me into fear and\nterror, you have yet another excellent reason for your silence, which\nis nothing else than that you do not know a syllable about the matter.\nIn vain was all your labour to unriddle that knot; your whole astrology\ngoes but to little; and, if Master Flea had not fallen upon your nose,\nall your arts would have helped you little.\"\n\nLeuwenhock's brow was red with rage; he clenched his fist, gnashed his\nteeth, and trembled so violently with agitation, that he would have\ntumbled from his seat, if Peregrine had not held him as firmly by the\narm as George Pepusch grasped the unlucky taverner by the throat, who\nat length succeeded in saving himself by a dexterous side-spring.\nHereupon George rushed out and entered Leuwenhock's room just as\nPeregrine was holding him fast upon his seat, while he muttered\nfuriously between his teeth, \"Cursed Swammerdamm! is it _you_ that have\ndone this?\"\n\nNo sooner did Peregrine perceive his friend than he let go of the\nmicroscopist, and, going up to him, asked anxiously if that strange\nfrenzy were over which had so dangerously possessed him. Pepusch seemed\nsoftened almost to tears, and protested that he had not in all his life\ncommitted so many follies as in the course of that one day. Amongst\nthese not the least was, that after he had sent a ball through his head\nin the forest, he had gone into a tavern,--where he did not know,--had\ntalked to people of strange things, and murderously set upon the host,\nbecause, from his broken speech, he gathered that which was the very\nhappiest thing that could befall him. All his paroxysms would now soon\nhave reached the highest pitch, for the bystanders had taken his words\nfor insanity, and he had to fear, instead of reaping the fruit of the\nhappiest event, that he would be confined in a madhouse. With this he\nexplained what the host had let drop concerning Peregrine's conduct and\ndeclarations, and asked, with downcast eyes, whether such an act of\nself-denial, in favour of an unhappy friend, was probable, or even\npossible, in the present day, when heroism had vanished from the earth.\n\nAt these declarations from his companion, Peregrine revived in his\ninmost heart. He protested with warmth, that for his part he was far\nremoved from doing any thing that might in the least annoy his tried\nfriend; that he solemnly renounced all pretensions to the heart and\nhand of the fair Dörtje Elverdink, and willingly gave up a paradise,\nthough it had, indeed, opened upon him most seductively.\n\n\"And it was you,\" said Pepusch, rushing into his friend's arms,--\"it\nwas you that I would have murdered, and, because I did not believe you,\nI therefore shot myself. Oh, the madness of a mind ill at ease!\"\n\n\"I pray you,\" said Peregrine, \"I pray you come to your senses. You\nspeak of having shot yourself, and yet stand fresh and sound before me.\nHow do these things agree?\"\n\n\"You are right,\" replied Pepusch, \"it seems as if I could not speak to\nyou so rationally as I really do, if I had actually sent a ball through\nmy brain. The people, too, maintain that my pistols were not\nparticularly dangerous, nor, indeed, of iron, but of wood--in fact mere\ntoys--and so neither the duel nor the suicide could have been any thing\nmore than a pleasant mockery. We must have changed our parts; and I\nhave begun to mystify myself and play the child at the moment you have\nleft the world of dream to enter into real life. But be this as it may,\nit is requisite that I should be certain of your generosity and my\nfortune, and then the clouds will dissipate which trouble my sight, or\nperhaps deceive me with the illusions of the _Fata Morgana_. Come, my\nPeregrine, accompany me to the fair Dörtje Elverdink.\"\n\nPepusch took his friend's arm, and was hastening off with him; but\ntheir intended walk was spared, for the door opened, and in tripped\nDörtje Elverdink, lovely as an angel, and behind her the old Swammer.\nLeuwenhock, who had so long remained dumb, casting angry looks first at\nPepusch and then at Peregrine, seemed, upon seeing the old Swammerdamm,\nas if struck by an electric shock. He stretched his clenched hands\ntowards him, and cried out in a voice hoarse with rage--\"Ha! do you\ncome to mock me, you old deceitful monster? But you shall not succeed.\nDefend yourself: your last hour has struck.\"\n\nSwammerdamm started a few steps back, and as Leuwenhock was ready to\nfall upon him with his telescope, drew the like arms for his defence.\nThe duel, which had begun at Peregrine's, seemed about to be renewed.\nGeorge Pepusch threw himself between the combatants, and while with his\nleft hand he beat down a murderous glance of Leuwenhock's, which would\nhave stretched his adversary to the earth, with the left he turned\naside the weapon of Swammerdamm, so that he could not injure\nLeuwenhock. He then declared that he would not allow of any battle\nbetween them, till he thoroughly knew the cause of their dissension.\nPeregrine found this protest so reasonable, that he did not hesitate to\nthrow himself between the champions with a similar declaration. To this\nthe combatants were forced to yield. Swammerdamm, moreover, asserted,\nthat he had not at all come with hostile intentions, but merely to\nenter into some composition with Leuwenhock, and thus to end a feud\nwhich had so long divided two similarly-created principles, whose\nunited researches only could exhaust the deepest springs of knowledge.\nWith this he looked smilingly at Peregrine, into whose arms Dörtje had\nfled, and expressed a wish that he would mediate.\n\nLeuwenhock, on the other hand, admitted that Dörtje was, indeed, the\napple of contention, but that he had just now discovered a new trick of\nhis unworthy colleague. It was not only that, to revive his unjust\npretensions to Dörtje, he denied the possession of a certain microscope\nwhich he had received on a certain occasion as a quittance; but the\nmore to torment him,--Leuwenhock,--he had given it to another. In\nanswer to all this, Swammerdamm swore, high and low, that he had never\nreceived the microscope, and had great reason to believe that\nLeuwenhock had shamefully purloined it.\n\n\"The fools!\"--softly whispered Master Flea to Peregrine--\"the fools!\nthey are talking of the microscope which is in your eye. You know that\nI was present at the treaty of peace concluded between them about the\npossession of the princess, and, when Swammerdamm was flinging into the\npupil of his left eye the microscopic glass which he had, in fact,\nreceived from Leuwenhock, I snapped it up, because it was not\nLeuwenhock's, but my lawful property. Tell them plainly at once, that\nyou have the jewel.\"\n\nUpon this Peregrine made no hesitation in declaring that he was in\npossession of the microscopic glass which Swammerdamm should have\nreceived, but did not receive, from Leuwenhock; and moreover that the\nunion was not yet settled, and neither Leuwenhock nor Swammerdamm had\nat present the unconditional right to look on Dörtje Elverdink as his\nfoster-daughter.\n\nAfter much argument, it was agreed by the disputants that Mr. Tyss\nshould marry Dörtje Elverdink, who tenderly loved him; and then, after\nseven months, should decide which of the two microscopists was the most\ndesirable father-in-law.\n\nHowever beautiful Dörtje appeared in a dress so admirable that it might\nseem to have been fashioned by the Loves, and whatever burning looks of\npassion she might cast at Peregrine, yet he still thought of his protegé\nas well as of his friend, and remained true to his plighted word,\ndeclaring again that he renounced Dörtje's hand. The microscopists were\nnot a little astonished, when Peregrine announced George Pepusch for the\nman who had the justest claims to the princess, and that he, at all events,\nhad no right to interfere with her choice.\n\nWith tears in her eyes the maiden staggered towards Peregrine, who\ncaught her in his arms as she was sinking senseless to the earth.\n\"Ingrate!\"--she sighed--\"you break my heart in thrusting me from\nyou.--But you will have it.--Take, then, my parting kiss, and let me\ndie!\"\n\nPeregrine bent down to her, but when his mouth touched her mouth, she\nbit his lips so violently that the blood started, at the same time\nexclaiming merrily,--\"Monster! it is so one must punish you!--Be\nreasonable, be civil, and take me, let the other cry out as he will.\"\n\nDuring this the two microscopists had fallen together by the ears\nagain, heaven knows wherefore; while George Pepusch flung himself quite\ndisconsolately at Gamaheh's feet, and cried out in a voice that sounded\nwretched enough for any lover,--\n\n\"Oh, Gamaheh! is then your passion quite extinguished? Do you no more\nremember the glorious times in Famagusta?--no more the pleasant days in\nBerlin?--no more----\"\n\n\"You are a fool!\" interrupted the little-one, laughing; \"you are a\nfool, George, with your Gamahehs, your Thistle, Zeherit, and all the\nother nonsense that you must once have dreamed. I did like you, do like\nyou, and will have you,--although the tall one yonder pleases me\nbetter,--if you solemnly promise, nay swear, to bend all your mind\nto----\"\n\nHere she softly whispered something to Pepusch, and Peregrine thought\nhe collected that Master Flea was the subject of it. In the meantime\nthe dispute between the microscopists had grown hotter and hotter; they\nhad again recourse to their weapons, and Peregrine was busy in trying\nto sooth their wrath, when the company was again augmented. The door\nwas burst open amidst a strange screaming and croaking, and in rushed\nthe Amateur, Monsieur Legénie, and the barber, Leech. With wild,\nfurious gestures they flew upon the princess, and the barber had\nalready caught her by the shoulder, when Pepusch thrust away the odious\nassailant with irresistible might, wound about his whole flexible body,\nand squeezed it together in such a manner that he shot up into the air,\nquite thin and long, roaring aloud with pain all the time.\n\nWhile this was going on with the barber, the two microscopists had\nreconciled themselves in an instant on the appearance of the common\nenemy, and made a united attack on the Amateur with much success. It\navailed him nothing that, when he was sufficiently drubbed below, he\nrose up to the cieling; for Leuwenhock and Swammerdamm had both seized\nshort thick sticks, and whenever the Amateur descended, they drove him\nup again by blows, dexterously applied to that part of the body which\nbest can bear them. It was a pretty game of racket, at which the\nAmateur, by compulsion indeed, played the most fatiguing, and at the\nsame time the most ungracious part, namely, that of the ball.\n\nThis war seemed to inspire the little-one with the greatest terror; she\nclung to Peregrine, and entreated him to bear her away from such an\nabominable uproar. This he could the less refuse, as there seemed to be\nno need of him on the field of battle; and he therefore carried her\nhome, that is, into the apartments of his lodger. But no sooner had she\ngot there and found herself alone with Peregrine, than she employed all\nthe arts of the most refined coquetry to allure him into her snares.\nHowever firmly he bore in mind that all this was merely falsehood, and\naimed at bringing his protegé into captivity, yet such a dizziness of\nthe senses seized him, that he did not even think of the microscopic\nglass, which might have served him as an active antidote. Master Flea\nwas again in danger; he was, however, saved this time by Mr. Swammer,\nwho entered with George Pepusch. The former appeared to be exceedingly\ndelighted, but the latter had wrath and jealousy in his burning\nglances. Peregrine left the room, and with wounded heart he strolled\nthrough the streets of Frankfort. He went through the gate and onwards,\ntill he reached the very spot where the strange adventure had happened\nwith his friend, Pepusch. Here he again thought over his wonderful\ndestiny; the image of Gamaheh appeared to him lovelier than ever; the\nblood rolled more quickly in his veins, his pulse beat more violently,\nand his breast seemed ready to burst with feverish desire. He felt only\ntoo painfully the greatness of the sacrifice which he had just made,\nand with which he fancied that he had lost all the happiness of life.\n\nThe night had drawn in when he returned to the city. Without being\naware of it, perhaps from an unconscious dread of going back to his own\nhouse, he wandered through many by lanes, and at last into the\nKalbecher-street. A man, with a knapsack on his back, asked him if the\nbookbinder, Lemmerhirt, did not live there? and on looking up,\nPeregrine saw that he was actually standing before the narrow dwelling;\nthe windows of the industrious binder, who worked through the night,\nwere shining brightly and loftily, and the door was opened to the man\nwith a knapsack, who entered immediately.\n\nPeregrine now recollected, with vexation, that, in the tumult of the\nlast few weeks, he had forgotten to pay the bookbinder for several jobs\nthat he had executed for him; he resolved to go and settle all the very\nnext morning.\n\n\n\n\n                           Seventh Adventure.\n\nHostile snares of the allied Microscopists, and their continued\nstupidity.--New temptations of Mr. Peregrine Tyss, and new perils of\nMaster Flea.--Rose Lemmerhirt.--The decisive dream, and conclusion of\nthe tale.\n\n\nAlthough we are wholly deficient in any certain information respecting\nthe result of the battle in Leuwenhock's chamber, yet we cannot suppose\notherwise than that the microscopists, with the help of George Pepusch,\nhad obtained a complete victory over the hostile confederates: it had\nelse been impossible that the old Swammer had returned so friendly and\ncontented as he really did. With the same glad face, Swammer, or rather\nMr. John Swammerdamm, came the following morning to Peregrine, who was\nstill in bed and earnestly conversing with his protegé, Master Flea.\nUpon seeing this visitor, Peregrine did not fail putting the\nmicroscopic glass into the pupil of his eye.\n\nAfter many long and tedious excuses for his early visit, Swammerdamm at\nlast took his place on the bed, positively refusing to let Peregrine\nrise and put on his dressing-gown. In the strangest phrases he thanked\nhis landlord for the great civilities he had experienced, which, it\nseems, consisted in his having been received as a lodger, and also\nin that Mr. Tyss had allowed his household to be increased by the\naddition of a young female, who was sometimes too loud and vivacious.\nBut the greatest favour shown by Mr. Peregrine, and not without some\nself-sacrifice, was in his having effected a reconciliation between him\n(Swammerdamm) and his old friend, Antony von Leuwenhock.--In fact, as\nSwammerdamm went on to say, both hearts had inclined to each other at\nthe moment when they were attacked by the Amateur and the barber and\nhad to protect Dörtje Elverdink from those monsters. The serious\nreconciliation of the microscopists had soon after followed.\n\nLeuwenhock had perceived, as well as Swammerdamm, the paramount\ninfluence which Peregrine had over both of them; and the first use,\nwhich they made of their renewed friendship, was, to consider in unison\nthe strange horoscope of Mr. Tyss, and, as far as possible, to\ninterpret it.\n\n\"What my friend, Leuwenhock, could not do alone,\" continued the\nmicroscopist, \"was effected by our united powers, and thus this was the\nsecond experiment which, in spite of all the obstacles opposed to us,\nwe undertook with the most splendid results.\"\n\n\"The short-sighted fool!\" lisped Master Flea, who sate upon the pillow,\nclose to Peregrine's ear. \"He still fancies that the Princess, Gamaheh,\nwas restored to life by him. A pretty life, indeed, is that, to which\nthe awkwardness of the two microscopists has condemned the poor thing!\"\n\n\"My dear friend,\" continued Swammerdamm, who had the less heard Master\nFlea, as he had just then begun to sneeze loudly, \"my dear friend, you\nare particularly chosen by the spirit of the creation, a pet-child of\nnature, for you possess the most wonderful talisman, or, to speak more\ncorrectly and scientifically, the most splendid Tsilmenaja, or\nTilsemoht, that was ever fed by the dew of heaven, and has sprung from\nthe lap of earth. It is an honour to my art that I, and not Leuwenhock,\nhave discovered that this lucky talisman sleeps for a time till a\ncertain constellation enters, which finds its centre-point in your\nworthy person. With yourself, my dear friend, something must, and will,\nhappen, which in the moment the power of the talisman awakes, may make\nthat waking known to you. Let Leuwenhock have told you what he will, it\nmust all be false; for, in regard to that point, he knew nothing at\nall, until I opened his eyes. Perhaps he tried to frighten you, my dear\nfriend, with some terrible catastrophe, for I know he likes to terrify\npeople without reason.--But trust to me, Mr. Tyss, who have the highest\nrespect for you, and swear it to you most solemnly, you have nothing to\nfear. I should like, however, to learn, whether you do not as yet feel\nthe presence of the talisman, and what you think of the matter\naltogether.\"\n\nAt these last words Swammerdamm eyed his host as keenly as if he would\npierce his deepest thoughts; but of course he did not succeed so well\nin that as Peregrine with his microscopic glass, by means of which the\nlatter learnt that it was not so much the united war with the Amateur\nand the Barber, as the mysterious horoscope, that had brought about the\nreconciliation of the microscopists. It was the possession of the\nmighty talisman that both were striving after. In regard to the\nmysterious lines in the horoscope of Peregrine, Swammerdamm remained in\nas vexatious ignorance as Leuwenhock; but he fancied the clue must lie\nwithin Peregrine, which would lead to the discovery of the mystery.\nThis clue he now sought to fish out of the novice, and then rob him of\nthe inestimable treasure before he knew its value. He was convinced\nthis talisman was equal to that of the wise Solomon, since, like that,\nit gave him who possessed it the perfect dominion over the kingdom of\nspirits.\n\nPeregrine paid like with like, himself mystifying Swammerdamm, who\nthought to mystify him. He contrived to answer so dexterously, in such\nfigurative speeches, that the microscopist feared the initiation had\nalready begun, and that soon the mystery would be revealed which\nneither he nor Leuwenhock had been able to unravel.\n\nSwammerdamm cast down his eyes, hemmed, and stammered a few\nunintelligible words; he was really in a bad plight, and his thoughts\nwere all in confusion.\n\n\"The devil! What's this? Is this Peregrine, who speaks to me? Am I the\nlearned Swammerdamm or an ass?\"\n\nIn despair he at last collected himself, and began,\n\n\"But to come to something else, most respected Mr. Tyss, and, as it\nseems to me, something much more agreeable.\"--\n\nAccording to what Swammer now went on to say, both he and Leuwenhock\nhad perceived, with great pleasure, the strong inclination which Dörtje\nElverdink had conceived for him. If they had both formerly been of a\ndifferent opinion, each believing that Dörtje should stay with himself,\nand not think of love and marriage, yet they had now both come to a\nbetter conviction. They fancied that they read in Peregrine's\nhoroscope, he positively must take Dörtje Elverdink for his wife, as\nthe greatest advantage in all the conjunctures of his life, and, as\nneither doubted for a moment that he was equally enamoured of her, they\nhad looked upon the matter as fully settled. Swammerdamm, moreover, was\nof opinion that Peregrine was the only one who, without any trouble,\ncould beat his rivals out of the field; and that the most dangerous\nopponents, namely, the Amateur and the Barber, could avail nothing\nagainst him.\n\nPeregrine found, from Swammerdamm's thoughts, that both the\nmicroscopists actually imagined they had read in his horoscope the\ninevitable necessity of his marriage with Dörtje. It was to this\nsupposed necessity only they yielded, thinking to draw the greatest\ngain from the apparent loss of the little-one, namely, by getting\npossession of Mr. Tyss and his talisman. But it may be easily supposed\nhow little faith he must have in the science of the two microscopists,\nwhen neither of them was able to solve the centre-point of the\nhoroscope. He did not, therefore, at all yield to that pretended\nconjunction, which conditioned the necessity of his marriage with\nGamaheh, and found no difficulty whatever in declaring positively, that\nhe renounced her hand in favour of his best friend, George Pepusch, who\nhad older and better claims to the fair one, and that he would not\nbreak his word upon any condition.\n\nSwammerdamm raised his green eyes, which he had so long cast down,\nstared vehemently at Peregrine, and grinned with the cunning of a fox,\nas he said, if the friendship between him and Pepusch were the only\nscruple which kept him from giving free scope to his feelings, this\nobstacle existed no longer: Pepusch had perceived, although slightly\ntouched with madness, his marriage with Dörtje was against the stars,\nand nothing could come from it but misery and destruction. He had\ntherefore resigned all his pretensions, declaring only that, with his\nlife, he would protect Gamaheh,--who could belong to no one but his\nbosom-friend, Tyss,--against the awkward dolt of an Amateur and the\nbloodthirsty Barber.\n\nA cold shudder ran through Peregrine, when he perceived, from\nSwammerdamm's thoughts, that all was true which he had spoken.\nOverpowered by the strangest and the most opposite feelings, he sank\nback upon his pillow and closed his eyes. The microscopist pressed him\nto come down himself, and hear from Dörtje's mouth, from George's, the\npresent state of things, and then took his leave with as much ceremony\nas he had entered.\n\nMaster Flea, who sate the whole time quietly on the pillow, suddenly\nleaped up to the top of Peregrine's nightcap. There he raised himself\nup on his long hind-legs, wrung his hands, stretched them imploringly\nto Heaven, and cried out in a voice half stifled with tears,\n\n\"Woe to poor me! I already thought myself safe, and now comes the most\ndangerous trial. What avail me the courage, the constancy of my noble\npatron?--I surrender myself! All is over.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Mr. Tyss, in a faint voice--\"why do you lament so on my\nnightcap, my dear master? Do you fancy that you alone have to complain?\nthat I myself am not in the unhappiest situation in the world? for my\nwhole mind seems broken up, and I neither know what to do, nor which\nway to turn my thoughts. But do not fancy, my dear master, I am foolish\nenough to venture near the rock upon which all my resolutions might be\nshipwrecked. I shall take care not to follow Swammerdamm's invitation,\nand to avoid seeing the alluring Dörtje Elverdink.\"\n\n\"In reality,\" said Master Flea, after he had taken his old post, upon\nthe pillow, by Peregrine's ear,--\"in reality I am not sure that I ought\nnot to advise you to go at once to Swammerdamm's, however destructive\nit may appear to myself. It seems to me as if all the lines of your\nhoroscope were running quicker and quicker together, and you yourself\nwere upon the point of entering the red centre.--Well, let the dark\ndestiny have decreed what it will, I plainly perceive even a Master\nFlea cannot escape such a conclusion, and it is as simple as useless to\nexpect my safety from you. Go then, take her hand, deliver me to\nslavery, and, that all may happen as the stars will it, without any\ninterference, make no use of the microscopic glass.\"\n\n\"Formerly,\" said Peregrine,--\"formerly, Master Flea, your heart seemed\nstout, your mind firm, and now you have grown so fainthearted!--You may\nbe as wise as you will, but you have no good idea of human resolution,\nand, at all events, rate it too meanly.--Once more--I will not break my\nword to you, and that you may perceive how fixed my determination is,\nof not seeing the little-one again, I will now rise and betake myself,\nas I did yesterday, to the bookbinder's.\"\n\n\"Oh Peregrine!\" cried Master Flea, \"the will of man is a frail thing; a\npassing air will break it. How immense is the abyss lying between what\nman wills and what really happens! Many a life is only a constant\n_willing_, and many a one, from pure volition, at last does not know\nwhat he will. You _will_ not see Dörtje Elverdink, and yet who will\nanswer for it that you do not see her in the very moment of your\ndeclaring such a resolution?\"\n\nStrange enough, the very thing really happened which Master Flea had\nprophesied.\n\nPeregrine arose, dressed himself, and, faithful to his intention, would\nhave gone to the bookbinder. In passing Swammerdamm's chamber, the door\nwas wide open, and,--he knew not how it happened,--he stood, leaning on\nSwammerdamm's arm, close before Dörtje Elverdink, who sent him a\nhundred kisses, and with her silver voice cried out, joyfully, \"Good\nmorning, my dear Peregrine!\"--George Pepusch, too, was there, looking\nout of the window and whistling. He now flung the window to with\nviolence, and turned round.\n\n\"Ha!\" he exclaimed as if he had just then seen Peregrine--\"ha! look!\nYou come to see your bride. That's all in order, and any third person\nwould only be in the way. I too will take myself off; but let me first\ntell you, my good friend, Peregrine, that George Pepusch scorns every\ngift which a compassionate friend would fling to him as if he were a\nbeggar. Cursed be every sacrifice! I will have nothing to thank you\nfor. Take the beautiful Gamaheh, who so warmly loves you; but take care\nthe Thistle, Zeherit, do not take root, and burst the walls of your\nhouse.\"\n\nGeorge's voice and manner bordered upon brutality; and Peregrine was\nfilled with vexation, when he saw how much his whole conduct was\nmistaken. Without concealing his disgust, he said,\n\n\"It never has entered into my head to cross you in your path, but the\nmadness of jealousy speaks out of you, or you would see how innocent I\nam of all you have been brooding in your own soul. Do not ask of me to\nkill the snake, which you have been nourishing in your breast for your\nown torment; learn too, I gave _you_ no alms, I made _you_ no\nsacrifice, in giving up the fair-one, and with her, perhaps, the\ngreatest blessing of my life. Other and higher duties, an irrevocable\npromise, compelled me to it.\"\n\nPepusch, in the wildest wrath, raised his clenched hand against his\nfriend, when Gamaheh sprang between them, and, catching Peregrine's\narm, exclaimed,\n\n\"Let the foolish Thistle go; he has nothing but nonsense in his brain,\nand, as is the way with thistles, is surly and obstinate without well\nknowing what he means. You are mine, and remain mine,--mine own dearest\nPeregrine.\"\n\nThus saying, the little-one drew Peregrine upon the sofa, and, without\nfarther ceremony, seated herself upon his knees. Pepusch, after having\nsufficiently gnawed his nails, ran wildly out of the door.\n\nDressed again in the fairy dress of tissue, she appeared as lovely as\never. Peregrine felt himself streamed through by the electric warmth of\nher body, and yet, amidst it all, a cold mysterious shudder thrilled\nthrough him like the breathing of death. For the first time he thought\nthat he saw something singular and lifeless deeply seated in her eyes,\nwhile the tone of her voice, nay even the rustling of her dress,\nbetrayed a strange being, who was never to be trusted. It fell heavily\nupon his heart, that, when she had spoken her real thoughts, she had\nbeen in this same silver tissue; he knew not why he should fancy any\nthing menacing in it, and yet the idea of this dress was intimately\nblended with that of the supernatural, as a dream unites the most\nheterogeneous things, and all passes for absurd, the deeper connexion\nof which we are unable to comprehend.\n\nFar from wounding the fair-one with a suspicion which was perhaps\nfalse, Peregrine violently suppressed his feelings, and only waited for\na favourable opportunity of freeing himself and escaping from the snake\nof Paradise. At last Dörtje said,\n\n\"How is it, my sweet friend, you seem so cold and insensible to-day?\nWhat have you got in your head, my life?\"\n\n\"I have a headache,\" replied Peregrine, as indifferently as he was\nable.--\"Headache!--whims!--megrims!--nothing else, my sweet child. I\nmust go into the open air, and all will be over in a few minutes.\nBesides, I am called away by a particular business.\"\n\n\"It is all invention!\" exclaimed Gamaheh, starting up hastily.--\"But\nyou are a malicious monkey, that must be tamed.\"\n\nPeregrine was glad when he found himself in the open street; but as to\nMaster Flea, he was quite extravagant in his joy, tittering and\nlaughing incessantly in Peregrine's neckcloth, and clapping together\nhis fore-paws till they rang again. This merriment of his little\nprotegé was somewhat troublesome to Mr. Tyss, as it disturbed him in\nhis meditations, and he begged of him to be quiet, for many grave\npeople had already glanced at him with looks of reproach, fancying it\nwas he who tittered and laughed, and played such foolish pranks in the\nopen streets.\n\n\"Fool that I was!\" exclaimed Master Flea, persisting in the ebullitions\nof his extravagant joy--\"Fool that I was to doubt of the victory where\nno battle was needed. Why, you had conquered in the moment, when even\nthe death of your beloved could not shake your resolution. Let me\nshout, let me rejoice, for all must deceive me, if a bright morning-sun\ndo not soon arise, which will clear up every mystery.\"\n\nOn Peregrine's knocking at the bookbinder's, a soft female voice cried,\n\"Come in!\"--He opened the door, and a young girl, who was alone in the\nroom, came forward, and asked him in a friendly manner what he wanted.\nShe was about eighteen years old, rather tall than short, and slim,\nwith the finest proportions. Her hair was of a bright chestnut colour,\nher eyes were of a deep blue, and her skin seemed to be a blended web\nof lilies and roses. But more than all this were the purity and\ninnocence that sate upon her brow, and showed themselves in all her\nactions.\n\nWhen Peregrine gazed on the gentle beauty, it seemed to him as if he\nhad been hitherto lying in bonds, which a benevolent power had\nloosened, and the angel of light stood before him. But his enamoured\ngaze had confounded the maiden: she blushed deeply, and, casting down\nher eyes, repeated more gently than at first, \"What does the gentleman\nwant?\" With difficulty Peregrine stammered out, \"Pray, does the\nbookbinder Lemmerhirt live here?\" Upon her replying that he did, but\nthat he was now gone out upon business, Peregrine talked confusedly of\nbindings which he had ordered, of books which Lemmerhirt was to procure\nfor him, till at last he came somewhat more to himself, and spoke of a\nsplendid copy of Ariosto, which was to have been bound in red morocco\nwith golden filleting. At this, it was as if a sudden electric spark\nhad shot through the maiden; she clasped her hands, and, with tears in\nher eyes, exclaimed, \"Then you are Mr. Tyss?\" At the same time she made\na motion as if she would have seized his hand, but suddenly drew back,\nand a deep sigh seemed to relieve her full breast. A sweet smile beamed\non her face, like the lovely glow of morning, and she poured forth\nthanks and blessings to Peregrine for his having been the benefactor of\nher father and mother, and not only for this,--no--for his generosity,\nhis kindness, the manner of his making presents to the children, and\nspreading joy and happiness amongst them. She quickly cleared her\nfather's arm-chair of the books, bound and unbound, with which it was\nloaded, wheeled it forward, and pressed him to be seated, and then\npresented to him the splendid Ariosto with sparkling eyes, well knowing\nthat this masterpiece of bookbinding would meet with Peregrine's\napprobation.\n\nMr. Tyss took a few pieces of gold from his pocket, which, the maiden\nseeing, hastily assured him that she did not know the price of the\nwork, and, therefore, could not take any payment; perhaps he would be\npleased to wait a few minutes for her father's return. It seemed to\nPeregrine as if the unworthy metal melted into one lump in his hand,\nand he pocketed the gold again, much faster than he had brought it out.\nUpon his seating himself mechanically in the broad arm-chair, the\nmaiden reached after her own seat, and from instinctive politeness he\njumped up to fetch it, when, instead of the chair, he caught hold of\nher hand, and, on gently pressing the treasure, he thought he felt a\nscarcely perceptible return.\n\n\"Puss, puss, what are you doing?\" suddenly cried Rose, breaking from\nhim, and picking up a skein of thread, which the cat held between her\nfore-paws, beginning a most mystical web.\n\nPeregrine was in a perfect tumult, and the words \"Oh, princess!\"\nescaped him without his knowing how it happened. The maiden looked at\nhim in alarm, and he cried out in the softest and most melancholy tone,\n\"My dearest young lady!\" Rose blushed, and said with maiden\nbashfulness, \"My parents call me Rose; pray, do the same, my dear Mr.\nTyss, for I too am one of the children, to whom you have shown so much\nkindness, and by whom you are so highly honoured.\"\n\n\"Rose!\" cried Peregrine, in a transport. He could have thrown himself\nat her feet, and it was only with difficulty that he restrained\nhimself.\n\nRose now related--as she quietly went on with her work--how the war had\nreduced her parents to distress, and how since that time she had lived\nwith an aunt in a neighbouring village, till a few weeks ago, when upon\nthe death of the old lady, she had returned home.\n\nPeregrine heard only the sweet voice of Rose, without understanding the\nwords too well, and was not perfectly convinced of his being awake,\ntill Lemmerhirt entered the room, and gave him a hearty welcome. Soon\nafter the wife followed with the children, and as thoughts and feelings\nare strangely blended in the mind of man, it happened now that\nPeregrine, even in the midst of all his ecstasy, suddenly recollected\nhow the sullen Pepusch had blamed his presents to this very family. He\nwas particularly delighted to find that none of the children had made\nthemselves ill by his gifts, and the pride with which they pointed to a\nglass case, where the toys were shining, proved that they looked upon\nthem as something extraordinary, never perhaps to recur. The Thistle,\nin his ill-humour, was quite mistaken.\n\n\"Oh, Pepusch!\" said Peregrine to himself, \"no pure beam of love\npenetrates thy distempered mind.\"--In this Peregrine again meant\nsomething more than toys and sugar-plums.\n\nLemmerhirt approached Peregrine, and began to talk in an under-tone of\nhis Rose, elevating her, in the fulness of his heart, into a perfect\nmiracle. But what gave him the most delight was, that Rose had an\ninclination for the noble art of bookbinding, and in the few weeks that\nshe had been with him had made uncommon advances in the decorative\nparts, so that she was already much more dexterous than many an oaf of\nan apprentice, who wasted gold and morocco for years, and set the\nletters all awry, making them look like so many drunken peasants,\nstaggering out of an ale-house. In the exuberance of his delight, he\nwhispered to Peregrine quite confidentially, \"It must out, Mr. Tyss, I\ncan't help it.--Do you know, that it was my Rose who gilded the\nAriosto?\"\n\nUpon hearing this, Peregrine hastily snatched up the book, as if\nsecuring it before he was robbed of it by an enemy. Lemmerhirt took\nthis for a sign that Peregrine wished to go, and begged of him to stay\na few minutes longer, and this it was that reminded him at last of the\nnecessity of tearing himself away. He hastily paid his bill, and set\noff home, dragging along the heavy quartos, as if they had been some\ntreasure.\n\nOn entering his house he was met by the old Alina, who pointed to\nSwammerdamm's chamber with looks of fear and anxiety. The door was\nopen, and he saw Dörtje Elverdink, sitting in an arm-chair, quite\nstiff, with a face drawn up, as if it belonged to a corpse, already\nlaid in the grave. Just so stiff, so corpse-like sate before her\nPepusch, Swammerdamm, and Leuwenhock. The old woman exclaimed, \"Is not\nthat a strange, ghastly spectacle? In this manner the three unhappy\nbeings have sate the whole day long, and eat nothing, and drink\nnothing, and speak nothing, and scarcely fetch their breath.\"\n\nPeregrine at first felt a slight degree of terror at this strange\nspectacle, but, as he ascended the stairs, the spectral image was\ncompletely swallowed up by the sea of pleasure, in which the delighted\nPeregrine swam, since his seeing Rose. Wishes, dreams, hopes, were\nagitating his mind, which he longed to unburthen to some friend; but\nwhat friend had Peregrine besides the honest Master Flea? And to him he\nwished to open his whole heart, to tell him all about Rose,--all in\nfact that cannot very well be told. But he might call and coax as long\nas he pleased,--no Master Flea would show himself; he was up and away:\nat last, in the folds of his neckcloth, where Master Flea had been wont\nto lodge upon his going abroad, Peregrine found, after a more careful\nsearch, a tiny box, whereon was written:\n\n\n\"In this is the microscopic glass. If you look steadfastly into the box\nwith your left eye, the glass will immediately be in its pupil; when\nyou want to be freed from the instrument, you have only to gently\nsqueeze the pupil, holding your eye over the box, and the glass will\ndrop into it. I am busy in your service, and risk no little by it, but\nfor so kind a protector I would hazard any thing, as\n\n                        \"Your most devoted servant,\n\n                                          \"MASTER FLEA.\"\n\n\nNow here would be an excellent opportunity for a genuine romance-writer\nto expatiate on the difference between lust and love, and, having\nhandled it sufficiently in theory, to illustrate it practically in the\nperson of Mr. Tyss. Much might be said of sensual desires, of the curse\nof the primal sin, and of the heavenly Promethean spark, which in love\ninflames that true community of spirit of the two sexes, which forms\nthe actual necessary dualism of nature. Should now the aforesaid\nPromethean spark--but the reader will perhaps be glad to escape the\nrest of this dissertation, though he may rest assured there is much in\nit, whereby he might have been edified, had he been so inclined.\n\nIt must be evident to all, that Peregrine only felt desire for Dörtje\nElverdink, but that, when he saw Rose Lemmerhirt, the real heavenly\nlove blazed in his bosom. Little thanks, however, would be due to the\neditor of this most wonderful of all wonderful tales, if, adhering to\nthe stiff, formal pace of renowned romancers, he could not forbear in\nthis place exciting the weariness essentially requisite to a legitimate\nromance.--No; let us go to the point at once: sighs, lamentations,\njoys, pains, kisses, blisses, are all united in the focus of the\nmoment, when the lovely Rose, with the crimson of maiden modesty\nupon her cheeks, confesses to the enraptured Peregrine that she\nloves him--that she cannot express how much, how immeasurably she loves\nhim,--that she lives in him only,--that he is her only thought, her\nonly joy.\n\nBut the crafty demon is wont to thrust his dark claws into the sunniest\nmoments of life,--nay, to utterly obscure that sunshine by the shadow\nof his baleful presence. Thus it happened that evil doubts arose in\nPeregrine, and his breast was filled with suspicions. A voice seemed to\nwhisper to him, \"How! Dörtje Elverdink confessed her love, and yet it\nwas mere selfishness, animated by which, she sought to tempt you into\nbreaking your faith and becoming a traitor to your best friend, poor\nMaster Flea! You are rich; they say too that a certain frankness and\ngood-nature, by many called weakness, may procure you the doubtful love\nof men and even of women, and she, who now confesses a passion for\nyou,\"--He hastily snatched at the fate-fraught box, and was on the\npoint of opening it to place the microscopic glass in the pupil of his\neye, and thus reading the thoughts of Rose, but he looked up, and the\npure blue of her bright eyes seemed to be reflected on his inmost soul.\nRose saw and wondered at his emotion.\n\nHe felt as if a sudden flash of lightning had quivered through him, and\nthe feeling of his own unworthiness overwhelmed him.\n\n\"How!\" said he to himself,--\"would you with sinful presumption\npenetrate into the sanctuary of this angel? Would you read thoughts,\nwhich have nothing in common with the wretched actions of minds\nentangled in earthly considerations? Would you mock the spirit of love\nhimself, and try him with the accursed arts of dangerous and\nsupernatural powers?\"\n\nHe hastily put up the box, with a feeling as if he had committed some\nsin that could never be atoned, and, dissolved in sadness, flung\nhimself at the feet of the terrified Rose, exclaiming, that he was a\nwretched sinner, unworthy of the love of so innocent, so pure a being.\n\nRose, who could not conceive what dark spirit had come over Peregrine,\nsank down to him, embraced him, and murmured with tears, \"For God's\nsake, my dear Peregrine, what is the matter with you? What evil enemy\nhas placed himself between us? Oh, come--come, and sit down quietly by\nme.\"\n\nIncapable of any voluntary motion, Peregrine suffered himself to be\nraised by Rose in silence. It was well that the frail old sofa was\nloaded, as usual, with books and the tools for binding, so that Rose\nhad many things to clear away to make room for Mr. Tyss. By this he\ngained time to recover himself, and his first wild passion subsided\ninto a milder feeling. But if before he had looked like a most\ndisconsolate sinner, upon whom a sentence of condemnation had been\nirrevocably pronounced, he now wore a somewhat silly appearance. This,\nhowever, in such circumstances, is a favourable prognostic.\n\nWhen now both were seated on the aforesaid frail sofa, Rose began, with\ndowncast eyes, and a half bashful smile,--\"I can guess what has\naffected you so, dear Peregrine, and will own that they have told me\nmany strange things of the singular inhabitants of your house. The\nneighbours,--you know what neighbours are, how they talk and talk,\nwithout knowing why or wherefore,--these evil-minded neighbours have\ntold me of a strange lady in your house, whom many take for a princess,\nand whom you brought home yourself on Christmas eve. They say that the\nold Mr. Swammer has, indeed, received her as his niece, but that she\npursues you with strange arts and temptations. This, however, is by no\nmeans the worst; only think, my dear Peregrine, my old cousin just\nopposite with the sharp nose, who sends over such friendly greetings\nwhen she sees you here, she has tried to put all manner of bad things\ninto my head about you. Notwithstanding her friendly greetings, she has\nalways warned me against you, and maintained that nothing less than\nsorcery was carried on in your house, and that the little Dörtje is an\nimp in disguise, who, to seduce you, goes about in a human form, and,\nindeed, in a very beautiful one. But, Peregrine, my dear Peregrine,\nlook at me; is there any thing like doubt upon my face? I trust you, I\ntrust the hopes of happiness to come upon us, when a firm band has\nunited us for ever. Let the dark spirits have determined what they will\nin regard to you, their power is fruitless against pure love and\nunchanging constancy. What will, what can, disturb a love like ours? It\nis the talisman, before which the nightly images all fly.\"\n\nAt this moment Rose appeared to Peregrine like a higher being, and each\nof her words like the consolations of Heaven. An indescribable feeling\nof the purest delight streamed through him, like the sweet mild breath\nof spring. He was no longer the sinner, the impious presumer, which he\nhad before held himself; he began to think with joy that he was worthy\nof the love of the innocent Rose.\n\nThe bookbinder, Lemmerhirt, now returned with his family from a walk.\n\nThe hearts of Rose and Peregrine were overflowing, and it was not till\nlate that he quitted, as an accepted bridegroom, the narrow abode of\nthe bookbinder, whose joy exalted him to heaven, while the old woman,\nfrom pure delight, sobbed rather more than was necessary.\n\nAll the authentic records, from which this wonderful history has been\ntaken, agree in one point,--and the chronicle of centuries confirms\nit,--that in the night when Mr. Peregrine Tyss returned home as a happy\nlover, the full moon shone very brightly; it seems therefore natural\nenough, that, instead of going to rest, he seated himself at the open\nwindow, to stare at the moon, and think of his beloved, according to\nthe usual custom of gentlemen, more particularly if they happen to be\nsomewhat romantic--when under the influence of the tender passion.\n\nBut, however it may lower Mr. Peregrine Tyss with the ladies, it must\nnot be concealed that, in spite of all his enthusiasm, he gaped twice,\nand so loudly, that a drunkard in the streets below called out to him,\n\"Holla! you there with the white nightcap, don't swallow me.\" This of\ncourse was a sufficient cause for his dashing down the window so\nviolently, that the frame rattled again. It is even affirmed that, in\nso doing, he cried out loud enough, \"Impudent scoundrel!\" But this\ncannot be relied upon, as it by no means accords with his general\nsuavity of disposition. Enough; he shut the window, and went to bed.\nThe necessity for sleep, however, seemed to be superseded by that\nimmoderate gaping. Thoughts upon thoughts crossed his brain, and with\npeculiar vividness came before his eyes the surmounted danger, when a\ndarker power would have tempted him to the use of the microscopic\nglass; and now it became plain to him that Master Flea's mysterious\npresent, however well intended, was yet in all respects a gift from\nhell.\n\n\"How!\" said Peregrine to himself,--\"for a man to read the most hidden\nthoughts of his brothers! Does not this fateful gift bring upon him the\ndreadful destiny of the Wandering Jew, who wandered through the\nmotliest crowds of life, as through a desert, without joy, without\nhope, without pain, in dull indifference, which is the caput mortuum of\ndespair? Always trusting anew and always most bitterly deceived, how\ncan it be otherwise than that distrust, hatred, jealousy,\nvindictiveness, would nestle firmly in the soul, destroying every trace\nof that human principle, which shows itself in benevolence and gentle\nconfidence. No, your friendly face, your smooth words, shall not\ndeceive me;--you, who in your inmost heart are concealing perhaps\nunmerited hate against me: I will hold you for my friend, I will do you\nas much good as I can, I will open my soul to you, because it gratifies\nme, and the bitter feeling of the moment, if you should deceive me,\nis little in comparison with the joys of a past dream. Even too the\nreal friends, who truly mean you well--how changeable is the mind of\nman!--may not an evil coincidence of circumstances, a misinclination\ngrowing out of the whims of chance, create transitory hatred in the\nbosom of the dearest friends? The unlucky glass shows the thoughts,\ndistrust immediately occupies the mind, and in unjust wrath I push from\nme the real friend, and this poison goes on, eating deeper and deeper\ninto the roots of life, till I am at variance with every thing, even\nwith myself.--No; it is rank impiety to wish for an equality with the\nEternal Power, who sees through the heart of man, because he is its\nmaster. Away, away with the unlucky gift!\"\n\nHe caught up the little box, which held the magic glass, and was on the\npoint of dashing it against the floor with all his might, when suddenly\nMaster Flea stood before him on the counterpane: he was in his\nmicroscopic form, and looked extremely graceful and handsome, in a\nglittering scale-breastplate, and highly-polished golden boots.\n\n\"Hold!\" he cried; \"hold, most respected friend; do not commit an\nabsurdity. You would sooner annihilate a sun-moat than fling this\nlittle indestructible glass but a foot from you, while I am near. For\nthe rest, though you were not aware of it, I was sitting, as usual, in\nthe folds of your neckcloth, when you were at the honest bookbinder's,\nand therefore heard and saw all that passed. Just so I have been a\nparty to your present edifying soliloquy, and have learnt several\nthings from it. In the first place, you have shown the purity of your\nmind in all its glory, whence I infer that the decisive moment is fast\napproaching. Then too I have found that, in regard to the microscopic\nglass, I was in a great error. Believe me, my honoured friend, although\nI have not the pleasure to be a man, as you are, but only a flea--no\nsimple one, indeed, but a graduate,--still I thoroughly understand\nhuman beings, amongst whom I so constantly live. Most frequently their\nactions appear to me very ridiculous, and even childish.--Do not take\nit ill, my friend; I speak it only as Master Flea. You are right; it\nwould be a bad thing, and could not possibly lead to any good, if a man\nwere able to spy thus, without ceremony, into the brains of his\nneighbours; still to the careless, lively, flea this quality of the\nmicroscopic glass is not in the least dangerous.\n\n\"Most honoured friend, and, as fortune soon will have it, most happy\nfriend,--you know that my people are of a reckless, merry disposition,\nand one might say that they consisted of mere youthful springalds. With\nthis I can, for my part, boast of a peculiar sort of wisdom, which in\ngeneral is wanting to you children of men;--that is, I never do any\nthing out of season. To bite is the principal business of my life, but\nI always bite in the right time and right place; lay that to your\nheart, my worthy friend.\n\n\"I will now back from your hands, and faithfully preserve the gift,\nintended for you, and which neither that preparation of a man, called\nSwammerdamm, nor Leuwenhock, who wears himself out with petty envy,\ncould possess. And now, my honoured Mr. Tyss, resign yourself to\nslumber. You will soon fall into a dreamy delirium, in which the great\nmoment will reveal itself. At the right time I shall be with you\nagain.\"\n\nMaster Flea disappeared, and the brilliance, which he had spread, faded\naway in the darkness of the chamber, the curtains of which were closely\ndrawn.\n\nIt fell out as Master Flea had said.\n\nPeregrine fancied that he was lying on the banks of a murmuring\nwood-stream, and heard the sighing of the wind, the whispering of the\nleaves, and the humming of a thousand insects that buzzed about him.\nThen it seemed as if strange voices were audible, plainer and still\nplainer, so that, at last, Peregrine thought he could make out words.\nBut it was only a confused and stunning hubbub that reached his ear.\n\nAt length these words were pronounced by a solemn, hollow voice, that\nsounded clearer and clearer,--\n\n\"Unhappy king, Sekakis, thou who didst despise the intelligence of\nnature, who, blinded by the evil spells of a crafty demon, didst look\nupon the false Teraphim, instead of the real spirit!\n\n\"In that fate-fraught spot at Famagusta, buried in the deep mine of the\nearth, lay the talisman; but, when you destroyed yourself, there was no\nprinciple to rekindle its frozen powers. In vain you sacrificed your\ndaughter, the beautiful Gamaheh; in vain was the amorous despair of the\nThistle, Zeherit; but at the same time impotent and inoperative was the\nblood-thirst of the Leech-Prince. Even the awkward Genius, Thetel, was\nobliged to let go his sweet prey, for so mighty still, O king, Sekakis,\nwas thy half-extinct idea, that thou couldst return the lost one to the\nprimal element, from which she sprang.\n\n\"And ye, insane anatomists of nature, that ever the unhappy one should\nhave fallen into your hands, when you discovered her in the petal of a\ntulip! That you should have tormented her with your detestable\nexperiments, presuming, in your childish arrogance, that you could\neffect that by your wretched arts, which could only happen by the power\nof that sleeping talisman.\n\n\"And you, Master Flea, even to you it was not granted to pierce the\nmystery, for thy clear sight had not yet the power to penetrate the\ndepths of earth, and see the frozen carbuncle.\n\n\"The stars now crossed each other in strange motions, and fearful\nconstellations produced the wonderful, the inscrutable to the purblind\nsight of man. But still no starry conflict awoke the carbuncle; for the\nhuman mind was not born that could cherish it--but at last--\n\n\"_The wonder is fulfilled, the moment is come._\"\n\nA bright shine flickered by Peregrine; he awoke out of his\nstupefaction, and, to his no little surprise, perceived Master Flea,\nwho, in his microscopic form, but clad in a splendid drapery, and\nholding a blazing torch in his forepaws, busily skipped, up and down\nthe chamber, and trilled forth the finest tones imaginable.\n\nPeregrine strove to rouse himself from sleep, when suddenly a thousand\nfiery flashes quivered through the room, that in a short time seemed to\nbe filled by one single glowing ball of fire. Then a mild aromatic\nbreeze waved through the wild blaze, which soon died away into the\nsoftest moonlight.\n\nPeregrine now found himself on a splendid throne, in the rich garments\nof an Indian king, the sparkling diadem upon his head, the emblematic\nlotus-flower in his hand instead of a sceptre. The throne stood in the\nmidst of a hall, so large, the eye could not take in its extent; and\nits thousand columns were slim cedars, aspiring to the heavens. Between\nthem, roses and the most odorous flowers of every kind lifted up their\nheads from amidst a dark foliage, as if longing for the pure bright\nazure, that glittered through the twined branches of the cedars, and\nseemed to look down upon them with the eyes of love.\n\nPeregrine recognized himself; he felt that the carbuncle, rekindled\ninto life, was glowing in his own breast.\n\nIn the farthest background the Genius, Thetel, was labouring to rise\ninto the air, but never was able to reach half the height of the\ncedars, and fell back again to earth. Here the odious Leech-Prince was\ncrawling with abominable contortions, now blowing himself out, and then\nagain extending himself, and groaning out, all the time,--\"Gamaheh!\nStill mine!\"\n\nIn the middle of the hall, upon colossal microscopes, sate Leuwenhock\nand Swammerdamm, making most piteous faces, and reproachfully calling\nout to each other,--\"See now! that was the point in the horoscope, the\nmeaning of which you could not interpret. The talisman is lost to us\nfor ever!\"\n\nClose upon the steps of the throne Dörtje Elverdink and George Pepusch\nseemed not so much to sleep as to be in a deep swoon.\n\nPeregrine,--or, as we may now call him, King Sekakis,--flung back the\nregal mantle that covered his breast, and, from within, the carbuncle\nshot forth dazzling beams, like Heaven's fire, through the immense\nhall.\n\nThe Genius, Thetel, again tried to rise, but he fell away, with a\nhollow groan, into innumerable colourless flocks, which, driven by the\nwind, were lost in the bushes.\n\nWith the most horrible cries of agony, the Leech-Prince shrunk up, and\nvanished into the earth, while an indignant roar was heard, as if she\nreluctantly received into her bosom the odious fugitive. Leuwenhock and\nSwammerdamm had sunk down from the microscopes into themselves, and it\nwas plain, from their sighs and groans, that they were undergoing a\nsevere punishment.\n\nBut Dörtje Elverdink and George Pepusch,--or, as we should now call\nthem, Princess Gamaheh and the Thistle, Zeherit,--had awakened from\ntheir swoon, and knelt before the king. Their eyes were cast to earth,\nas if unable to bear the burning splendour of the carbuncle.\n\nPeregrine addressed them all with solemnity:\n\n\"Thou, who shouldst deceive men as the Genius, Thetel, thou wert\ncompounded, by the evil demon, of clay and feathers, and therefore the\nbeaming of love destroyed thee, empty phantom, and thou wert reduced to\nthy original nothing.\n\n\"And thou too, blood-thirsty monster of the night, thou wast forced to\nfly from the fire of the carbuncle into the bosom of the earth.\n\n\"But you, poor dupes, unhappy Swammerdamm, wretched Leuwenhock, your\nwhole life was one incessant error. You sought to inquire into Nature,\nwithout suspecting the import of her inward being. You were\npresumptuous enough to wish to penetrate into her workshop and watch\nher secret labours, imagining that you could, without punishment, look\ninto the fearful mysteries of those depths, which are inscrutable to\nthe human eye. Your hearts remained cold and insensible; the real love\nhas never warmed your bosom. You imagined that you read the holy\nwonders of nature, with pious admiration, but, in endeavouring to find\nout the condition of those wonders, even in their inmost core, yourself\ndestroyed that pious feeling, and the knowledge, after which you\nstrove, was a phantom merely, that has deceived you, like prying,\ninquisitive children.\n\n\"Fools! For you the beams of the carbuncle no longer have hope or\nconsolation.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha! There is hope, there is consolation; the old one betakes\nherself to the old ones; there's love! there's truth! there's\ntenderness! And the old one is now really a queen, and takes her little\nSwammerdamm and her little Leuwenhock into her kingdom, and there they\nare princes, and wind gold thread and silver thread, and do many other\nuseful things.\"\n\nSo spoke the old Alina, who suddenly stood between the two\nmicroscopists, clad in a strange dress, which nearly resembled the\ncostume of the Queen of Golconda in the opera. But Leuwenhock and\nSwammerdamm had so shrunk up, that they seemed to be scarcely a span\nhigh, and the Queen of Golconda, putting her puppets into two ivory\ncradles, rocked and nursed them, and sang to them,--Lullaby, lullaby,\nbaby mine, &c.\n\nDuring this the Princess Gamaheh and the Thistle, Zeherit, were still\nkneeling on the steps of the throne. Peregrine spoke:\n\n\"Yes, beloved pair, the error is past, which disturbed your lives.\nCome, dear ones, to my breast. The beam of the carbuncle will penetrate\nyour hearts, and you will enjoy the blessedness of Heaven.\"\n\nWith a cry of joy and hope, the lovers started up, and Peregrine\npressed them strongly to his glowing heart. When he released them, they\nfell, transported, into each others arms; the corpse-like paleness had\nvanished from their brows, and the freshness of youth bloomed on their\ncheeks and sparkled in their eyes.\n\nMaster Flea, who had hitherto stood by the throne with all the gravity\nof a guard of honour, suddenly resumed his natural shape, and with a\nvigorous spring he leaped upon Dörtje's neck, crying out, in a shrill\nvoice, \"Old love never changes.\"\n\nBut, oh wonder! in the same moment, Rose lay upon Peregrine's breast,\nin all her youthful beauty, beaming with the purest love, like a cherub\nfrom Heaven.\n\nAnd now the branches of the cedars rustled, the flowers lifted their\nheads more loftily, soft melodies poured from the bushes, and the\nthousand voices of delight rose from earth, and air, and water.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nMr. Peregrine Tyss had purchased a handsome villa, in the vicinity of\nthe city, and here, on the same day, was to be celebrated the double\nmarriage of himself with Rose, and his friend George Pepusch with the\nlittle Dörtje Elverdink.\n\nThe kind reader will excuse my entering into the details of the nuptial\nfeast and ceremonies. For my part I am willing to leave it to my fair\nreaders to settle the dress of the two brides according to their own\nfancy. It is only to be observed, that Peregrine and his beautiful Rose\nwere all simple delight, while George and Dörtje, on the contrary, were\nmeditative, and with mutual gaze seemed to have thought, eyes, and ears\nfor each other only.\n\n                           *   *   *   *   *\n\nIt was midnight, when suddenly the balsamic odours of the\nlarge-blossomed thistle spread through the whole garden.\n\nPeregrine awoke from sleep. He fancied that he heard the plaintive\nmelody of hopeless desire, and a strange foreboding got possession of\nhim. It seemed to him as if a friend were violently torn from him.\n\nThe next morning the second bridal pair was missing, namely, George\nPepusch and Dörtje Elverdink; what added not a little to the general\nastonishment was, that they had not at all entered the bridal chamber.\n\nIn this moment of doubt, the gardener came and exclaimed, \"He did not\nknow what to think of it, but a strange wonder had happened in the\ngarden. Throughout the whole night he had dreamt of the blooming\n_Cactus grandiflorus_, and not till now discovered the cause of\nit.--They should only come and see!\"--\n\nPeregrine and Rose went into the garden. In the middle of a clump of\nflowers a lofty thistle had shot up, which drooped its withering\nblossom beneath the morning sun; about this a variegated tulip wound\nitself, and that also had died a vegetable death.\n\n\"Oh, my foreboding!\" cried Peregrine, while his voice trembled with\nsadness. \"Oh, my foreboding! it has not deceived me. The beams of the\ncarbuncle, which have kindled me to the highest life, have given death\nto thee, thou sweet pair, united by the strange discords of opposing\npowers. The mystery is revealed; the highest moment of gratified desire\nwas also the moment of thy death.\"\n\nRose too seemed to have a foreboding of the wonder; she bent over the\npoor perished tulip, and shed a stream of tears.\n\n\"You are quite right,\" said Master Flea, who suddenly appeared in his\nmicroscopic form on the top of the thistle--\"you are quite right, my\ndear Mr. Peregrine. It is all as you have said, and I have lost my\nbeloved for ever.\"\n\nRose was at first somewhat frightened at the little creature, but\nseeing that he gazed on her with such friendly, intelligent eyes, and\nPeregrine spoke so familiarly with him, she took heart, looked boldly\non his graceful tiny form, and gained so much the more confidence in\nhim as Peregrine whispered to her, \"this is my kind Master Flea.\"\n\n\"My good Peregrine,\" said Master Flea very tenderly,--\"my dear lady, I\nmust now leave you, and return to my people; yet I shall always be your\ndevoted friend, and you shall constantly experience my presence in a\nway that will be agreeable to you. Farewell! heartily farewell to both\nof you. And all good fortune be with you.\"\n\nDuring this, he had resumed his natural form, and vanished without\nleaving a single trace behind.\n\nHere the records suddenly break off, and the wonderful history of\nMaster Flea comes to a joyous and wished-for--_end_.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n[Footnote 1: The Blocksberg, or Brocken, is the name of the highest\npart of the Hartz mountains, where the German witches celebrate their\nsaturnalia.--TR.]\n\n\n\n                            END OF VOL. II.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32223", "title": "Specimens of German Romance; Vol. II. Master Flea", "author": "", "publication_year": 1822, "metadata_title": "Specimens of German Romance; Vol. II. Master Flea", "metadata_author": "E. T. A. Hoffmann", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:27.873796", "source_chars": 265834, "chars": 265834, "talkie_tokens": 64492}}
{"text": "Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Emmy and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS.\n\n[Illustration: CHAIRING TOM IN THE QUADRANGLE. P. 358.]\n\n\n\n\n\nTOM BROWN'S\n\nSCHOOL DAYS\n\nBY AN OLD BOY\n\n\nWith Illustrations by Arthur Hughes and Sydney Prior Hall\n\n          New York\n          MACMILLAN AND CO.\n          1880\n\n\n\n\n          TO\n\n          MRS. ARNOLD,\n\n          OF FOX HOWE,\n\n          THIS BOOK IS (WITHOUT HER PERMISSION)\n\n          Dedicated\n\n          BY THE AUTHOR,\n\n          WHO OWES MORE THAN HE CAN EVER ACKNOWLEDGE OR FORGET\n\n          TO HER AND HERS.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nTO THE SIXTH EDITION.\n\n\nI RECEIVED the following letter from an old friend soon after the last\nedition of this book was published, and resolved, if ever another\nedition were called for, to print it. For it is clear from this and\nother like comments, that something more should have been said expressly\non the subject of bullying, and how it is to be met.\n\n          \"MY DEAR ----,\n\n          \"I blame myself for not having earlier suggested\n          whether you could not, in another edition of Tom\n          Brown, or another story, denounce more decidedly\n          the evils of _bullying_ at schools. You have\n          indeed done so, and in the best way, by making\n          Flashman the bully the most contemptible\n          character; but in that scene of the _tossing_, and\n          similar passages, you hardly suggest that such\n          things should be stopped--and do not suggest any\n          means of putting an end to them.\n\n          \"This subject has been on my mind for years. It\n          fills me with grief and misery to think what weak\n          and nervous children go through at school--how\n          their health and character for life are destroyed\n          by rough and brutal treatment.\n\n          \"It was some comfort to be under the old delusion\n          that fear and nervousness can be cured by\n          violence, and that knocking about will turn a\n          timid boy into a bold one. But now we know well\n          enough that is not true. Gradually training a\n          timid child to do bold acts would be most\n          desirable; but _frightening_ him and ill-treating\n          him will not make him courageous. Every medical\n          man knows the fatal effects of terror, or\n          agitation, or excitement, to nerves that are\n          over-sensitive. There are different kinds of\n          courage, as you have shown in your character of\n          Arthur.\n\n          \"A boy may have moral courage, and a\n          finely-organized brain and nervous system. Such a\n          boy is calculated, if judiciously educated, to be\n          a great, wise, and useful man; but he may not\n          possess _animal courage_; and one night's\n          _tossing_, or bullying, may produce such an injury\n          to his brain and nerves that his usefulness is\n          spoiled for life. I verily believe that hundreds\n          of noble organizations are thus destroyed every\n          year. Horse-jockeys have learnt to be wiser; they\n          know that a highly nervous horse is utterly\n          destroyed by harshness. A groom who tried to cure\n          a shying horse by roughness and violence, would be\n          discharged as a brute and a fool. A man who would\n          regulate his watch with a crowbar would be\n          considered an ass. But the person who thinks a\n          child of delicate and nervous organization can be\n          made bold by bullying is no better.\n\n          \"He can be made bold by _healthy exercise_ and\n          _games_ and _sports_; but that is quite a\n          different thing. And even these games and sports\n          should bear some proportion to his strength and\n          capacities.\n\n          \"I very much doubt whether small children should\n          play with big ones--the rush of a set of great\n          fellows at football, or the speed of a\n          cricket-ball sent by a strong hitter, must be very\n          alarming to a mere child, to a child who might\n          stand up boldly enough among children of his own\n          size and height.\n\n          \"Look at half-a-dozen small children playing\n          cricket by themselves; how feeble are their blows,\n          how slowly they bowl. You can measure in that way\n          their capacity.\n\n          \"Tom Brown and his eleven were bold enough playing\n          against an eleven of about their own calibre; but\n          I suspect they would have been in a precious funk\n          if they had played against eleven giants, whose\n          bowling bore the same proportion to theirs that\n          theirs does to the small children's above.\n\n          \"To return to the _tossing_. I must say I think\n          some means might be devised to enable school-boys\n          to go to bed in quietness and peace--and that some\n          means ought to be devised and enforced. No good,\n          moral or physical, to those who bully or those who\n          are bullied, can ensue from such scenes as take\n          place in the dormitories of schools. I suspect\n          that British wisdom and ingenuity are sufficient\n          to discover a remedy for this evil, if directed in\n          the right direction.\n\n          \"The fact is, that the condition of a small boy at\n          a large school is one of peculiar hardship and\n          suffering. He is entirely at the mercy of\n          proverbially the roughest things in the\n          universe--great school-boys; and he is deprived of\n          the protection which the weak have in civilized\n          society; for he may not complain; if he does, he\n          is an outlaw--he has no protector but public\n          opinion, and that a public opinion of the very\n          lowest grade, the opinion of rude and ignorant\n          boys.\n\n          \"What do school-boys know of those deep questions\n          of moral and physical philosophy, of the anatomy\n          of mind and body, by which the treatment of a\n          child should be regulated?\n\n          \"Why should the laws of civilization be suspended\n          for schools? Why should boys be left to herd\n          together with no law but that of force or cunning?\n          What would become of society if it were\n          constituted on the same principles? It would be\n          plunged into anarchy in a week.\n\n          \"One of our judges, not long ago, refused to\n          extend the protection of the law to a child who\n          had been ill-treated at school. If a party of\n          navvies had given _him_ a licking, and he had\n          brought the case before a magistrate, what would\n          he have thought if the magistrate had refused to\n          protect him, on the ground that if such cases were\n          brought before him he might have fifty a-day from\n          one town only?\n\n          \"Now I agree with you that a constant supervision\n          of the master is not desirable or possible--and\n          that telling tales, or constantly referring to the\n          master for protection, would only produce ill-will\n          and worse treatment.\n\n          \"If I rightly understand your book, it is an\n          effort to improve the condition of schools by\n          improving the tone of morality and public opinion\n          in them. But your book contains the most\n          indubitable proofs that the condition of the\n          younger boys at public schools, except under the\n          rare dictatorship of an Old Brooke, is one of\n          great hardship and suffering.\n\n          \"A timid and nervous boy is from morning till\n          night in a state of bodily fear. He is constantly\n          tormented when trying to learn his lessons. His\n          play-hours are occupied in fagging, in a horrid\n          funk of cricket-balls and footballs, and the\n          violent sport of creatures who, to him, are\n          giants. He goes to his bed in fear and\n          trembling,--worse than the reality of the rough\n          treatment to which he is perhaps subjected.\n\n          \"I believe there is only one complete remedy. It\n          is not in magisterial supervision; nor in telling\n          tales; nor in raising the tone of public opinion\n          among school-boys--but in the _separation of boys_\n          of _different ages into different schools_.\n\n          \"There should be at least _three_ different\n          classes of schools--the first for boys from nine\n          to twelve; the second for boys from twelve to\n          fifteen; the third for those above fifteen. And\n          these schools should be in different localities.\n\n          \"There ought to be a certain amount of supervision\n          by the master at those times when there are\n          special occasions for bullying, _e.g._ in the long\n          winter evenings, and when the boys are congregated\n          together in the bedrooms. Surely it cannot be an\n          impossibility to keep order, and protect the weak\n          at such times. Whatever evils might arise from\n          supervision, they could hardly be greater than\n          those produced by a system which divides boys into\n          despots and slaves.\n\n                            \"Ever yours, very truly,\n                                                  F.D.\"\n\nThe question of how to adapt English public school education to nervous\nand sensitive boys (often the highest and noblest subjects which that\neducation has to deal with) ought to be looked at from every point of\nview.[A] I therefore add a few extracts from the letter of an old friend\nand school-fellow, than whom no man in England is better able to speak\non the subject:--\n\n          \"What's the use of sorting the boys by ages,\n          unless you do so by strength: and who are often\n          the real bullies? The strong young dog of\n          fourteen, while the victim may be one year or two\n          years older.... I deny the fact about the\n          bedrooms: there is trouble at times, and always\n          will be; but so there is in nurseries;--my little\n          girl, who looks like an angel, was bullying the\n          smallest twice to-day.\n\n          \"Bullying must be fought with in other ways,--by\n          getting not only the Sixth to put it down, but the\n          lower fellows to scorn it, and by eradicating\n          mercilessly the incorrigible; and a master who\n          really cares for his fellows is pretty sure to\n          know instinctively who in his house are likely to\n          be bullied, and, knowing a fellow to be really\n          victimised and harassed, I am sure that he can\n          stop it if he is resolved. There are many kinds of\n          annoyance--sometimes of real cutting persecution\n          for righteousness' sake--that he can't stop; no\n          more could all the ushers in the world; but he can\n          do very much in many ways to make the shafts of\n          the wicked pointless.\n\n          \"But though, for quite other reasons, I don't like\n          to see very young boys launched at a public\n          school, and though I don't deny (I wish I could)\n          the existence from time to time of bullying, I\n          deny its being a constant condition of school\n          life, and still more, the possibility of meeting\n          it by the means proposed....\"\n\n          \"I don't wish to understate the amount of bullying\n          that goes on, but my conviction is that it must be\n          fought, like all school evils, but it more than\n          any, by _dynamics_ rather than _mechanics_, by\n          getting the fellows to respect themselves and one\n          another, rather than by sitting by them with a\n          thick stick.\"\n\nAnd now, having broken my resolution never to write a Preface, there are\njust two or three things which I should like to say a word about.\n\nSeveral persons, for whose judgment I have the highest respect, while\nsaying very kind things about this book, have added, that the great\nfault of it is, \"too much preaching;\" but they hope I shall amend in\nthis matter should I ever write again. Now this I most distinctly\ndecline to do. Why, my whole object in writing at all was to get the\nchance of preaching! When a man comes to my time of life and has his\nbread to make, and very little time to spare, is it likely that he will\nspend almost the whole of his yearly vacation in writing a story just to\namuse people? I think not. At any rate, I wouldn't do so myself.\n\nThe fact is, that I can scarcely ever call on one of my contemporaries\nnow-a-days without running across a boy already at school, or just ready\nto go there, whose bright looks and supple limbs remind me of his\nfather, and out first meeting in old times. I can scarcely keep the\nLatin Grammar out of my own house any longer; and the sight of sons,\nnephews, and godsons, playing trap-bat-and-ball, and reading \"Robinson\nCrusoe,\" makes one ask oneself, whether there isn't something one would\nlike to say to them before they take their first plunge into the stream\nof life, away from their own homes, or while they are yet shivering\nafter the first plunge. My sole object in writing was to preach to boys:\nif ever I write again, it will be to preach to some other age. I can't\nsee that a man has any business to write at all unless he has something\nwhich he thoroughly believes and wants to preach about. If he has this,\nand the chance of delivering himself of it, let him by all means put it\nin the shape in which it will be most likely to get a hearing; but let\nhim never be so carried away as to forget that preaching is his object.\n\nA black soldier, in a West Indian regiment, tied up to receive a couple\nof dozen, for drunkenness, cried out to his captain, who was exhorting\nhim to sobriety in future, \"Cap'n, if you preachee, preachee; and if\nfloggee, floggee; but no preachee and floggee too!\" to which his captain\nmight have replied, \"No, Pompey, I must preach whenever I see a chance\nof being listened to, which I never did before; so now you must have it\nall together; and I hope you may remember some of it.\"\n\nThere is one point which has been made by several of the Reviewers who\nhave noticed this book, and it is one which, as I am writing a Preface,\nI cannot pass over. They have stated that the Rugby undergraduates they\nremember at the Universities were \"a solemn array,\" \"boys turned into\nmen before their time,\" \"a semi-political, semi-sacerdotal fraternity,\"\n&c., giving the idea that Arnold turned out a set of young square-toes,\nwho wore long-fingered black gloves and talked with a snuffle. I can\nonly say that their acquaintance must have been limited and exceptional.\nFor I am sure that every one who has had anything like large or\ncontinuous knowledge of boys brought up at Rugby from the times of which\nthis book treats down to this day, will bear me out in saying, that the\nmark by which you may know them, is, their genial and hearty freshness\nand youthfulness of character. They lose nothing of the boy that is\nworth keeping, but build up the man upon it. This is their _differentia_\nas Rugby boys; and if they never had it, or have lost it, it must be,\nnot because they were at Rugby, but in spite of their having been there;\nthe stronger it is in them the more deeply you may be sure have they\ndrunk of the spirit of their school.\n\nBut this boyishness in the highest sense is not incompatible with\nseriousness,--or earnestness, if you like the word better.[B] Quite the\ncontrary. And I can well believe that casual observers, who have never\nbeen intimate with Rugby boys of the true stamp, but have met them only\nin the every-day society of the Universities, at wines,\nbreakfast-parties, and the like, may have seen a good deal more of the\nserious or earnest side of their characters than of any other. For the\nmore the boy was alive in them the less will they have been able to\nconceal their thoughts, or their opinion of what was taking place under\ntheir noses; and if the greater part of that didn't square with their\nnotions of what was right, very likely they showed pretty clearly that\nit did not, at whatever risk of being taken for young prigs. They may be\nopen to the charge of having old heads on young shoulders; I think they\nare, and always were, as long as I can remember; but so long as they\nhave young hearts to keep head and shoulders in order, I, for one, must\nthink this only a gain.\n\nAnd what gave Rugby boys this character, and has enabled the School, I\nbelieve, to keep it to this day? I say fearlessly,--Arnold's teaching\nand example--above all, that part of it which has been, I will not say\nsneered at, but certainly not approved--his unwearied zeal in creating\n\"moral thoughtfulness\" in every boy with whom he came into personal\ncontact.\n\nHe certainly _did_ teach us--thank God for it!--that we could not cut\nour life into slices and say, \"In this slice your actions are\nindifferent, and you needn't trouble your heads about them one way or\nanother; but in this slice mind what you are about, for they are\nimportant\"--a pretty muddle we should have been in had he done so. He\ntaught us that in this wonderful world, no boy or man can tell which of\nhis actions is indifferent and which not; that by a thoughtless word or\nlook we may lead astray a brother for whom Christ died. He taught us\nthat life is a whole, made up of actions and thoughts and longings,\ngreat and small, noble and ignoble; therefore the only true wisdom for\nboy or man is to bring the whole life into obedience to Him whose world\nwe live in, and who has purchased us with His blood; and that whether we\neat or drink, or whatsoever we do, we are to do all in His name and to\nHis glory; in such teaching, faithfully, as it seems to me, following\nthat of Paul of Tarsus, who was in the habit of meaning what he said,\nand who laid down this standard for every man and boy in his time. I\nthink it lies with those who say that such teaching will not do for us\nnow, to show why a teacher in the nineteenth century is to preach a\nlower standard than one in the first.\n\nHowever, I won't say that the Reviewers have not a certain plausible\nground for their dicta. For a short time after a boy has taken up such a\nlife as Arnold would have urged upon him, he has a hard time of it. He\nfinds his judgment often at fault, his body and intellect running away\nwith him into all sorts of pitfalls, and himself coming down with a\ncrash. The more seriously he buckles to his work the oftener these\nmischances seem to happen; and in the dust of his tumbles and struggles,\nunless he is a very extraordinary boy, he may often be too severe on his\ncomrades, may think he sees evil in things innocent, may give offence\nwhen he never meant it. At this stage of his career, I take it, our\nReviewer comes across him, and, not looking below the surface (as a\nReviewer ought to do), at once sets the poor boy down for a prig and a\nPharisee, when in all likelihood he is one of the humblest and truest\nand most childlike of the Reviewer's acquaintance.\n\nBut let our Reviewer come across him again in a year or two, when the\n\"thoughtful life\" has become habitual to him, and fits him as easily as\nhis skin; and, if he be honest, I think he will see cause to reconsider\nhis judgment. For he will find the boy, grown into a man, enjoying\nevery-day life as no man can who has not found out whence comes the\ncapacity for enjoyment, and who is the Giver of the least of the good\nthings of this world--humble, as no man can be who has not proved his\nown powerlessness to do right in the smallest act which he ever had to\ndo--tolerant, as no man can be who does not live daily and hourly in the\nknowledge of how Perfect Love is for ever about his path, and bearing\nwith and upholding him.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote A: For those who believe with me in public school education,\nthe fact stated in the following extract from a note of Mr. G. De\nBunsen, will be hailed with pleasure, especially now that our alliance\nwith Prussia (the most natural and healthy European alliance for\nProtestant England) is likely to be so much stronger and deeper than\nheretofore. Speaking of this hook, he says,--\"The author is mistaken in\nsaying the public schools, in the English sense, are peculiar to\nEngland. Schul Pforte (in the Prussian province of Saxony) is similar in\nantiquity and institutions. I like his book all the more for having been\nthere for five years.\"]\n\n[Footnote B: \"To him (Arnold) and his admirers we owe the substitution\nof the word 'earnest' for its predecessor 'serious'\"--_Edinburgh\nReview_, No. 217, p. 183.]\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  PART I.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n  THE BROWN FAMILY                              1\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n  THE VEAST                                    21\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n  SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES                    44\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n  THE STAGE COACH                              68\n\n  CHAPTER V.\n  RUGBY AND FOOTBALL                           87\n\n  CHAPTER VI.\n  AFTER THE MATCH                             112\n\n  CHAPTER VII.\n  SETTLING TO THE COLLAR                      134\n\n  CHAPTER VIII.\n  THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE                     158\n\n  CHAPTER IX.\n  A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS                      184\n\n\n  PART II.\n\n  CHAPTER I.\n  HOW THE TIDE TURNED                         213\n\n  CHAPTER II.\n  THE NEW BOY                                 228\n\n  CHAPTER III.\n  ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND                       245\n\n  CHAPTER IV.\n  THE BIRD-FANCIERS                           262\n\n  CHAPTER V.\n  THE FIGHT                                   279\n\n  CHAPTER VI.\n  THE FEVER                                   300\n\n  CHAPTER VII.\n  HARRY EAST'S DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES      321\n\n  CHAPTER VIII.\n  TOM BROWN'S LAST MATCH                      341\n\n  CHAPTER IX.\n  FINIS                                       367\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n                                                     PAGE\n\n  THE NIGHT FAG                                       144\n\n  OLD THOMAS IN HIS DEN                               155\n\n  TOM DISCOVERED BY VELVETEENS                        202\n\n  CLIMBING THE FIR-TREE AFTER THE KESTREL'S NEST      268\n\n  THE DOCTOR'S COUNSEL TO YOUNG BROOKE                296\n\n  THE CONVERSATION DURING THE MATCH                   351\n\n  CHAIRING TOM IN THE QUADRANGLE                      366\n\n\n\n\nTOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS.\n\nBY AN OLD BOY.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n          \"I'm the Poet of White Horse Vale, sir,\n           With liberal notions under my cap.\"\n                                        --_Ballad._\n\n\nTHE Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and the\npencil of Doyle within the memory of the young gentlemen who are now\nmatriculating at the Universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but\nlate fame which has now fallen upon them, any one at all acquainted with\nthe family must feel that much has yet to be written and said before the\nBritish nation will be properly sensible of how much of its greatness\nit owes to the Browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, homespun\nway, they have been subduing the earth in most English counties, and\nleaving their mark in American forests and Australian uplands. Wherever\nthe fleets and armies of England have won renown, there stalwart sons of\nthe Browns have done yeoman's work. With the yew bow and cloth-yard\nshaft at Cressy and Agincourt--with the brown bill and pike under the\nbrave Lord Willoughby--with culverin and demi-culverin against Spaniards\nand Dutchmen--with hand-grenade and sabre, and musket and bayonet, under\nRodney and St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, they\nhave carried their lives in their hands; getting hard knocks and hard\nwork in plenty, which was on the whole what they looked for, and the\nbest thing for them; and little praise or pudding, which indeed they and\nmost of us are better without. Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs, and\nsuch-like folk, have led armies, and made laws time out of mind; but\nthose noble families would be somewhat astounded--if the accounts ever\ncame to be fairly taken--to find how small their work for England has\nbeen by the side of that of the Browns.\n\nThese latter, indeed, have until the present generation rarely been sung\nby poet, or chronicled by sage. They have wanted their \"sacer vates,\"\nhaving been too solid to rise to the top by themselves, and not having\nbeen largely gifted with the talent of catching hold of, and holding on\ntight to, whatever good things happened to be going,--the foundation of\nthe fortunes of so many noble families. But the world goes on its way,\nand the wheel turns, and the wrongs of the Browns, like other wrongs,\nseem in a fair way to get righted. And this present writer having for\nmany years of his life been a devout Brown-worshipper, and moreover\nhaving the honour of being nearly connected with an eminently\nrespectable branch of the great Brown family, is anxious, so far as in\nhim lies, to help the wheel over, and throw his stone on to the pile.\n\nHowever, gentle reader, or simple reader, whichever you may be, lest you\nshould be led to waste your precious time upon these pages, I make so\nbold as at once to tell you the sort of folk you'll have to meet and put\nup with, if you and I are to jog on comfortably together. You shall hear\nat once what sort of folk the Browns are, at least my branch of them;\nand then if you don't like the sort, why, cut the concern at once, and\nlet you and I cry quits before either of us can grumble at the other.\n\nIn the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. One may question\ntheir wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but about their fight there can be no\nquestion. Wherever hard knocks of any kind, visible or invisible, are\ngoing, there the Brown who is nearest must shove in his carcase. And\nthese carcases for the most part answer very well to the characteristic\npropensity; they are a square-headed and snake-necked generation, broad\nin the shoulder, deep in the chest and thin in the flank, carrying no\nlumber. Then for clanship, they are as bad as Highlanders; it is amazing\nthe belief they have in one another. With them there is nothing like the\nBrowns, to the third and fourth generation. \"Blood is thicker than\nwater,\" is one of their pet sayings. They can't be happy unless they\nare always meeting one another. Never were such people for family\ngatherings, which, were you a stranger, or sensitive, you might think\nhad better not have been gathered together. For during the whole time of\ntheir being together they luxuriate in telling one another their minds\non whatever subject turns up; and their minds are wonderfully\nantagonist, and all their opinions are downright beliefs. Till you've\nbeen among them some time and understand them, you can't think but that\nthey are quarrelling. Not a bit of it; they love and respect one another\nten times the more after a good set family arguing bout, and go back,\none to his curacy, another to his chambers, and another to his regiment,\nfreshened for work, and more than ever convinced that the Browns are the\nheight of company.\n\nThis family training too, combined with their turn for combativeness,\nmakes them eminently quixotic. They can't let anything alone which they\nthink going wrong. They must speak their mind about it, annoying all\neasy-going folk; and spend their time and money in having a tinker at\nit, however hopeless the job. It is an impossibility to a Brown to leave\nthe most disreputable lame dog on the other side of a stile. Most other\nfolk get tired of such work. The old Browns, with red faces, white\nwhiskers, and bald heads, go on believing and fighting to a green old\nage. They have always a crotchet going, till the old man with the scythe\nreaps and garners them away for troublesome old boys as they are.\n\nAnd the most provoking thing is, that no failures knock them up or make\nthem hold their hands, or think you, or me, or other sane people in the\nright. Failures slide off them like July rain off a duck's back\nfeathers. Jem and his whole family turn out bad, and cheat them one\nweek, and the next they are doing the same thing for Jack; and when he\ngoes to the treadmill, and his wife and children to the workhouse, they\nwill be on the look-out for Bill to take his place.\n\nHowever, it is time for us to get from the general to the particular;\nso, leaving the great army of Browns, who are scattered over the whole\nempire on which the sun never sets, and whose general diffusion I take\nto be the chief cause of that empire's stability, let us at once fix our\nattention upon the small nest of Browns in which our hero was hatched,\nand which dwelt in that portion of the royal county of Berks which is\ncalled the Vale of White Horse.\n\nMost of you have probably travelled down the Great Western Railway as\nfar as Swindon. Those of you who did so with their eyes open, have been\naware, soon after leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalk\nhills running parallel with the railway on the left-hand side as you go\ndown, and distant some two or three miles, more or less, from the line.\nThe highest point in the range is the White Horse Hill, which you come\nin front of just before you stop at the Shrivenham station. If you love\nEnglish scenery, and have a few hours to spare, you can't do better, the\nnext time you pass, than stop at the Farringdon road or Shrivenham\nstation, and make your way to that highest point. And those who care for\nthe vague old stories that haunt country sides all about England, will\nnot, if they are wise, be content with only a few hours' stay; for,\nglorious as the view is the neighbourhood is yet more interesting for\nits relics of bygone times. I only know two English neighbourhoods\nthoroughly, and in each, within a circle of five miles, there is enough\nof interest and beauty to last any reasonable man his life. I believe\nthis to be the case almost throughout the country; but each has a\nspecial attraction, and none can be richer than the one I am speaking of\nand going to introduce you to very particularly; for on this subject I\nmust be prosy; so those that don't care for England in detail may skip\nthe chapter.\n\nO young England! young England! You who are born into these racing\nrailroad times, when there's a Great Exhibition, or some monster sight,\nevery year; and you can get over a couple of thousand miles of ground\nfor three pound ten, in a five weeks' holiday; why don't you know more\nof your own birthplaces? You're all in the ends of the earth, it seems\nto me, as soon as you get your necks out of the educational collar, for\nmidsummer holidays, long vacations, or what not. Going round Ireland,\nwith a return ticket, in a fortnight; dropping your copies of Tennyson\non the tops of Swiss mountains; or pulling down the Danube in Oxford\nracing-boats. And when you get home for a quiet fortnight, you turn the\nsteam off, and lie on your backs in the paternal garden, surrounded by\nthe last batch of books from Mudie's library, and half bored to death.\nWell, well! I know it has its good side. You all patter French more or\nless, and perhaps German; you have seen men and cities, no doubt, and\nhave your opinions, such as they are, about schools of painting, high\nart, and all that; have seen the pictures at Dresden and the Louvre, and\nknow the taste of sour krout. All I say is, you don't know your own\nlanes and woods and fields. Though you may be chock-full of science, not\none in twenty of you knows where to find the wood-sorrel, or bee-orchis\nwhich grows in the next wood or on the down three miles off, or what the\nbog-bean and wood-sage are good for. And as for the country legends, the\nstories of the old gable-ended farmhouses, the place where the last\nskirmish was fought in the civil wars, where the parish butts stood,\nwhere the last highwayman turned to bay, where the last ghost was laid\nby the parson, they're gone out of date altogether.\n\nNow, in my time, when we got home by the old coach which put us down at\nthe cross-roads with our boxes, the first day of the holidays, and had\nbeen driven off by the family coachman, singing \"Dulce Domum\" at the top\nof our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black Monday came round. We\nhad to cut out our own amusements within a walk or ride of home. And so\nwe got to know all the country folk, and their ways and songs and\nstories by heart; and went over the fields, and woods, and hills, again\nand again, till we made friends of them all. We were Berkshire, or\nGloucestershire, or Yorkshire boys, and you're young cosmopolites,\nbelonging to all counties and no countries. No doubt it's all right--I\ndare say it is. This is the day of large views and glorious humanity,\nand all that; but I wish back-sword play hadn't gone out in the Vale of\nWhite Horse, and that that confounded Great Western hadn't carried away\nAlfred's Hill to make an embankment.\n\nBut to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the country in which the\nfirst scenes of this true and interesting story are laid. As I said,\nthe Great Western now runs right through it, and it is a land of large\nrich pastures, bounded by fox-fences, and covered with fine hedgerow\ntimber, with here and there a nice little gorse or spinney, where\nabideth poor Charley, having no other cover to which to betake himself\nfor miles and miles, when pushed out some fine November morning by the\nOld Berkshire. Those who have been there, and well mounted, only know\nhow he and the stanch little pack who dash after him--heads high and\nsterns low with a breast-high scent--can consume the ground at such\ntimes. There being little plough-land and few woods, the vale is only an\naverage sporting country, except for hunting. The villages are\nstraggling, queer, old-fashioned places, the houses being dropped down\nwithout the least regularity, in nooks and out-of-the-way corners by the\nsides of shadowy lanes and footpaths, each with its patch of garden.\nThey are built chiefly of good grey stone, and thatched; though I see\nthat within the last year or two the red-brick cottages are multiplying,\nfor the vale is beginning to manufacture largely both brick and tiles.\nThere are lots of waste ground by the side of the roads in every\nvillage, amounting often to village greens, where feed the pigs and\nganders of the people; and these roads are old-fashioned homely roads,\nvery dirty and badly made, and hardly endurable in winter, but still\npleasant jog-trot roads running through the great pasture lands, dotted\nhere and there with little clumps of thorns, where the sleek kine are\nfeeding, with no fence on either side of them, and a gate at the end of\neach field, which makes you get out of your gig (if you keep one), and\ngives you a chance of looking about you every quarter of a mile.\n\nOne of the moralists whom we sat under in my youth,--was it the great\nRichard Swiveller, or Mr. Stiggins?--says, \"We are born in a vale, and\nmust take the consequences of being found in such a situation.\" These\nconsequences, I, for one, am ready to encounter. I pity people who\nweren't born in a vale. I don't mean a flat country, but a vale--that\nis, a flat country bounded by hills. The having your hill _always_ in\nview, if you choose to turn towards him, that's the essence of a vale.\nThere he is for ever in the distance, your friend and companion; you\nnever lose him as you do in hilly districts.\n\nAnd then what a hill is the White Horse Hill! There stands right up\nabove all the rest, nine hundred feet above the sea, and the boldest,\nbravest shape for a chalk hill that you ever saw. Let us go up to the\ntop of him, and see what is to be found there. Ay, you may well wonder\nand think it odd you never heard of this before; but, wonder or not, as\nyou please, there are hundreds of such things lying about England, which\nwiser folk than you know nothing of, and care nothing for. Yes, it's a\nmagnificent Roman camp, and no mistake, with gates, and ditch, and\nmounds, all as complete as it was twenty years after the strong old\nrogues left it. Here, right up on the highest point, from which they say\nyou can see eleven counties, they trenched round all the table-land,\nsome twelve or fourteen acres, as was their custom, for they couldn't\nbear anybody to overlook them, and made their eyry. The ground falls\naway rapidly on all sides. Was there ever such turf in the whole world?\nYou sink up to your ankles at every step, and yet the spring of it is\ndelicious. There is always a breeze in the \"camp,\" as it is called; and\nhere it lies just as the Romans left it, except that cairn on the east\nside left by her Majesty's corps of Sappers and Miners the other day,\nwhen they and the Engineer officer had finished their sojourn there, and\ntheir surveys for the Ordnance map of Berkshire. It is altogether a\nplace that you won't forget--a place to open a man's soul and make him\nprophesy, as he looks down on that great Vale spread out as the garden\nof the Lord before him, and wave on wave of the mysterious downs behind;\nand to the right and left the chalk hills running away into the distance\nalong which he can trace for miles the old Roman road, \"the Ridgeway\"\n(\"the Rudge,\" as the country folk call it), keeping straight along the\nhighest back of the hills;--such a place as Balak brought Balaam to, and\ntold him to prophesy against the people in the valley beneath. And he\ncould not, neither shall you, for they are a people of the Lord who\nabide there.\n\nAnd now we leave the camp, and descend towards the west, and are on the\nAshdown. We are treading on heroes. It is sacred ground for Englishmen,\nmore sacred than all but one or two fields where their bones lie\nwhitening. For this is the actual place where our Alfred won his great\nbattle, the battle of Ashdown (\"Æscendum\" in the chroniclers), which\nbroke the Danish power, and made England a Christian land. The Danes\nheld the camp and the slope where we are standing--the whole crown of\nthe hill, in fact. \"The heathen had beforehand seized the higher\nground,\" as old Asser says, having wasted everything behind them from\nLondon, and being just ready to burst down on the fair vale, Alfred's\nown birthplace and heritage. And up the heights came the Saxons, as they\ndid at the Alma. \"The Christians led up their line from the lower\nground. There stood also on that same spot a single thorn-tree,\nmarvellous stumpy (which we ourselves with our very own eyes have\nseen).\" Bless the old chronicler! does he think nobody ever saw the\n\"single thorn-tree\" but himself? Why, there it stands to this very day,\njust on the edge of the slope, and I saw it not three weeks since; an\nold single thorn-tree, \"marvellous stumpy.\" At least if it isn't the\nsame tree, it ought to have been, for it's just in the place where the\nbattle must have been won or lost--\"around which, as I was saying, the\ntwo lines of foemen came together in battle with a huge shout. And in\nthis place, one of the two kings of the heathen, and five of his earls\nfell down and died, and many thousands of the heathen side in the same\nplace.\"[C] After which crowning mercy, the pious king, that there might\nnever be wanting a sign and a memorial to the country side, carved out\non the northern side of the chalk hill, under the camp, where it is\nalmost precipitous, the great Saxon white horse, which he who will may\nsee from the railway, and which gives its name to the vale, over which\nit has looked these thousand years and more.\n\nRight down below the White Horse is a curious deep and broad gulley\ncalled \"the Manger,\" into one side of which the hills fall with a series\nof the most lovely sweeping curves, known as \"the Giant's Stairs;\" they\nare not a bit like stairs, but I never saw anything like them anywhere\nelse, with their short green turf, and tender blue-bells, and gossamer\nand thistle-down gleaming in the sun, and the sheep-paths running along\ntheir sides like ruled lines.\n\nThe other side of the Manger is formed by the Dragon's Hill, a curious\nlittle round self-confident fellow, thrown forward from the range, and\nutterly unlike everything round him. On this hill some deliverer of\nmankind, St. George, the country folks used to tell me, killed a dragon.\nWhether it were St. George, I cannot say; but surely a dragon was killed\nthere, for you may see the marks yet where his blood ran down, and more\nby token the place where it ran down is the easiest way up the hillside.\n\nPassing along the Ridgeway to the west for about a mile, we come to a\nlittle clump of young beech and firs, with a growth of thorn and privet\nunderwood. Here you may find nests of the strong down partridge and\npeewit, but take care that the keeper isn't down upon you; and in the\nmiddle of it is an old cromlech, a huge flat stone raised on seven or\neight others, and led up to by a path, with large single stones set up\non each side. This is Wayland Smith's cave, a place of classic fame now;\nbut as Sir Walter has touched it, I may as well let it alone, and refer\nyou to \"Kenilworth\" for the legend.\n\nThe thick deep wood which you see in the hollow about a mile off,\nsurrounds Ashdown Park, built by Inigo Jones. Four broad alleys are cut\nthrough the wood from circumference to centre, and each leads to one\nface of the house. The mystery of the downs hangs about house and wood,\nas they stand there alone, so unlike all around, with the green slopes\nstudded with great stones just about this part, stretching away on all\nsides. It was a wise Lord Craven, I think, who pitched his tent there.\n\nPassing along the Ridgeway to the east, we soon come to cultivated land.\nThe downs, strictly so called, are no more; Lincolnshire farmers have\nbeen imported, and the long fresh slopes are sheep-walks no more, but\ngrow famous turnips and barley. One of those improvers lives over there\nat the \"Seven Barrows\" farm, another mystery of the great downs. There\nare the barrows still, solemn and silent, like ships in the calm sea,\nthe sepulchres of some sons of men. But of whom? It is three miles from\nthe White Horse, too far for the slain of Ashdown to be buried\nthere--who shall say what heroes are waiting there? But we must get down\ninto the vale again, and so away by the Great Western Railway to town,\nfor time and the printer's devil press, and it is a terrible long and\nslippery descent, and a shocking bad road. At the bottom, however, there\nis a pleasant public, whereat we must really take a modest quencher, for\nthe down here is a provocative of thirst. So we pull up under an old oak\nwhich stands before the door.\n\n\"What is the name of your hill, landlord?\"\n\n\"Blawing STWUN Hill, sir, to be sure.\"\n\n[Reader. \"_Sturm?_\"\n\nAUTHOR. \"_Stone_, stupid--the Blowing _Stone_.\"]\n\n\"And of your house? I can't make out the sign.\"\n\n\"Blawing Stwun, sir,\" says the landlord, pouring out his old ale from a\nToby-Philpot jug, with a melodious crash, into the long-necked glass.\n\n\"What queer names!\" say we, sighing at the end of our draught, and\nholding out the glass to be replenished.\n\n\"Be'an't queer at all, as I can see, sir,\" says mine host, handing back\nour glass, \"seeing as this here is the Blawing Stwun his self,\" putting\nhis hand on a square lump of stone some three feet and a half high,\nperforated with two or three queer holes, like petrified antediluvian\nrat-holes, which lies there close under the oak, under our very nose. We\nare more than ever puzzled, and drink our second glass of ale wondering\nwhat will come next. \"Like to hear un, sir?\" says mine host, setting\ndown Toby Philpot on the tray, and resting both hands on the \"Stwun.\" We\nare ready for anything; and he, without waiting for a reply, applies his\nmouth to one of the rat-holes. Something must come of it, if he doesn't\nburst. Good heavens! I hope he has no apoplectic tendencies. Yes, here\nit comes, sure enough, a grewsome sound between a moan and a roar, and\nspreads itself away over the valley, and up the hillside, and into the\nwoods at the back of the house--a ghost-like, awful voice. \"Um do say,\nsir,\" says mine host rising purple-faced, while the moan is still coming\nout of the \"Stwun,\" \"as they used in old times to warn the country-side,\nby blawing the stwun when the enemy was acomin'--and as how folks could\nmake un heered them for seven mile round; leastways, so I've heered\nLawyer Smith say, and he knows a smart sight about them old times.\" We\ncan hardly swallow Lawyer Smith's seven miles; but could the blowing of\nthe stone have been a summons, a sort of sending the fiery cross round\nthe neighbourhood in the old times? What old times? Who knows? We pay\nfor our beer, and are thankful.\n\n\"And what's the name of the village just below, landlord?\"\n\n\"Kingstone Lisle, sir.\"\n\n\"Fine plantations you've got 'ere?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, the Squire's 'mazin' fond of trees and such like.\"\n\n\"No wonder. He's got some real beauties to be fond of. Good day,\nlandlord.\"\n\n\"Good day, sir, and a pleasant ride to 'e.\"\n\nAnd now, my boys, you whom I want to get for readers, have you had\nenough? Will you give in at once, and say you're convinced, and let me\nbegin my story, or will you have more of it? Remember, I've only been\nover a little bit of the hillside yet--what you could ride round easily\non your ponies in an hour. I'm only just come down into the vale, by\nBlowing Stone Hill, and if I once begin about the vale, what's to stop\nme? You'll have to hear all about Wantage, the birthplace of Alfred, and\nFarringdon, which held out so long for Charles the First (the vale was\nnear Oxford, and dreadfully malignant; full of Throgmortons, Puseys, and\nPyes, and such like, and their brawny retainers). Did you ever read\nThomas Ingoldsby's \"Legend of Hamilton Tighe?\" If you haven't you ought\nto have. Well, Farringdon is where he lived before he went to sea; his\nreal name was Hampden Pye, and the Pyes were the great folk at\nFarringdon. Then there's Pusey, you've heard of the Pusey horn, which\nKing Canute gave to the Puseys of that day, and which the gallant old\nsquire, lately gone to his rest (whom Berkshire freeholders turned out\nof last Parliament, to their eternal disgrace, for voting according to\nhis conscience), used to bring out on high days, holidays, and bonfire\nnights. And the splendid old cross church at Uffington, the Uffingas\ntown;--the whole country-side teems with Saxon names and memories! And\nthe old moated grange at Compton, nestled close under the hillside,\nwhere twenty Marianas may have lived, with its bright waterlilies in the\nmoat, and its yew walk, \"the cloister walk,\" and its peerless terraced\ngardens. There they all are, and twenty things besides; for those who\ncare about them, and have eyes. And these are the sort of things you may\nfind, I believe, every one of you, in any common English country\nneighbourhood.\n\nWill you look for them under your own noses, or will you not? Well,\nwell; I've done what I can to make you, and if you will go gadding over\nhalf Europe now every holidays, I can't help it. I was born and bred a\nwest-countryman, thank God! a Wessex man, a citizen of the noblest Saxon\nkingdom of Wessex, a regular, \"Angular Saxon,\" the very soul of me\n\"adscriptus glebe.\" There's nothing like the old country-side for me,\nand no music like the twang of the real old Saxon tongue, as one gets it\nfresh from the veritable chaw in the White Horse Vale: and I say with\n\"Gaarge Ridler,\" the old west-country yeoman,\n\n          \"Throo aall the waarld owld Gaarge would bwoast,\n           Commend me to merry owld England mwoast:\n           While vools gwoes prating vur and nigh,\n           We stwops at whum, my dog and I.\"\n\nHere at any rate lived and stopped at home, Squire Brown, J.P. for the\ncounty of Berks, in a village near the foot of the White Horse range.\nAnd here he dealt out justice and mercy in a rough way, and begat sons\nand daughters, and hunted the fox, and grumbled at the badness of the\nroads and the times. And his wife dealt out stockings, and calico\nshirts, and smock frocks, and comforting drinks to the old folks with\nthe \"rheumatiz.\" and good counsel to all; and kept the coal and clothes\nclubs going, for yule tide; when the bands of mummers came round,\ndressed out in ribbons and coloured paper caps, and stamped round the\nSquire's kitchen, repeating in true sing-song vernacular the legend of\nSt. George and his fight, and the ten-pound Doctor, who plays his part\nat healing the Saint--a relic, I believe, of the old middle-age\nmysteries. It was the first dramatic representation which greeted the\neyes of little Tom, who was brought down into the kitchen by his nurse\nto witness it, at the mature age of three years. Tom was the eldest\nchild of his parents, and from his earliest babyhood exhibited the\nfamily characteristics in great strength. He was a hearty strong boy\nfrom the first, given to fighting with and escaping from his nurse, and\nfraternizing with all the village boys, with whom he made expeditions\nall round the neighbourhood. And here in the quiet old-fashioned\ncountry village, under the shadow of the everlasting hills, Tom Brown\nwas reared, and never left it till he went first to school when nearly\neight years of age,--for in those days change of air twice a year was\nnot thought absolutely necessary for the health of all Her Majesty's\nlieges.\n\nI have been credibly informed, and am inclined to believe, that the\nvarious Boards of Directors of Railway Companies, those gigantic jobbers\nand bribers, while quarrelling about everything else, agreed together\nsome ten years back to buy up the learned profession of Medicine, body\nand soul. To this end they set apart several millions of money, which\nthey continually distribute judiciously amongst the Doctors, stipulating\nonly this one thing, that they shall prescribe change of air to every\npatient who can pay, or borrow money to pay, a railway fare, and see\ntheir prescription carried out. If it be not for this, why is it that\nnone of us can be well at home for a year together? It wasn't so twenty\nyears ago,--not a bit of it. The Browns didn't go out of the county once\nin five years. A visit to Reading or Abingdon twice a-year, at Assizes\nor Quarter Sessions, which the Squire made on his horse with a pair of\nsaddle-bags containing his wardrobe--a stay of a day or two at some\ncountry neighbour's--or an expedition to a county ball, or the yeomanry\nreview--made up the sum of the Brown locomotion in most years. A stray\nBrown from some distant county dropped in every now and then; or from\nOxford, on grave nag, an old don, contemporary of the Squire; and were\nlooked upon by the Brown household and the villagers with the same sort\nof feeling with which we now regard a man who has crossed the Rocky\nMountains, or launched a boat on the Great Lake in Central Africa. The\nWhite Horse Vale, remember, was traversed by no great road; nothing but\ncountry parish roads, and these very bad. Only one coach ran there, and\nthis one only from Wantage to London, so that the western part of the\nVale was without regular means of moving on, and certainly didn't seem\nto want them. There was the canal, by the way, which supplied the\ncountry side with coal, and up and down which continually went the long\nbarges, with the big black men lounging by the side of the horses along\nthe towing path, and the women in bright coloured handkerchiefs standing\nin the sterns steering. Standing I say, but you could never see whether\nthey were standing or sitting, all but their heads and shoulders being\nout of sight in the cozy little cabins which occupied some eight feet of\nthe stern, and which Tom Brown pictured to himself as the most desirable\nof residences. His nurse told him that those good-natured-looking women\nwere in the constant habit of enticing children into the barges and\ntaking them up to London and selling them, which Tom wouldn't believe,\nand which made him resolve as soon as possible to accept the\noft-proffered invitation of these sirens to \"young Master,\" to come in\nand have a ride. But as yet the nurse was too much for Tom.\n\nYet why should I after all abuse the gadabout propensities of my\ncountrymen? We are a vagabond nation now; that's certain, for better for\nworse. I am a vagabond; I have been away from home no less than five\ndistinct times in the last year. The Queen sets us the example--we are\nmoving on from top to bottom. Little dirty Jack, who abides in\nClement's Inn gateway, and blacks my boots for a penny, takes his\nmonth's hop-picking every year as a matter of course. Why shouldn't he?\nI'm delighted at it. I love vagabonds, only I prefer poor to rich\nones;--couriers and ladies' maids, imperials and travelling carriages,\nare an abomination unto me--I cannot away with them. But for dirty Jack,\nand every good fellow who, in the words of the capital French song,\nmoves about,\n\n          \"Comme le limaçon,\n           Portant tout son bagage,\n           Ses meubles, sa maison,\"\n\non his own back, why, good luck to them, and many a merry road-side\nadventure, and steaming supper in the chimney corners of road-side inns,\nSwiss châlets, Hottentot kraals, or wherever else they like to go. So\nhaving succeeded in contradicting myself in my first chapter, (which\ngives me great hopes that you will all go on, and think me a good fellow\nnotwithstanding my crotchet,) I shall here shut up for the present, and\nconsider my ways; having resolved to \"sar' it out,\" as we say in the\nVale, \"holus-bolus\" just as it comes, and then you'll probably get the\ntruth out of me.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote C: \"Pagani editiorem locum præoccupaverant. Christiani ab\ninferiori loco aciem dirigebant. Erat quoque in eodem loco unica spinosa\narbor, brevis admodum (quam nos ipsi nostris propriis oculis vidimus).\nCirca quam ergo hostiles inter se acies cum ingenti clamore hostiliter\nconveniunt. Quo in loco alter de duobus Paganorum regibus et quinque\ncomites occisi occubuerunt, et multa millia Paganæ partis in eodem loco.\nCecidit illic ergo Bœgsceg Rex, et Sidroc ille senex comes, et Sidroc\nJunior comes, et Obsbern comes,\" &c.--_Annales Rerum Gestarum Ælfredi\nMagni, Auctore Asserio. Recensuit Franciscus Wise. Oxford_, 1722, p.\n23.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE VEAST.\n\n\n          \"And the King commandeth and forbiddeth, that from\n          henceforth neither fairs nor markets be kept in\n          Church-yards, for the honour of the\n          Church.\"--STATUTES: 13 _Edw. I._ Stat. II. cap.\n          VI.\n\n\nAS that venerable and learned poet (whose voluminous works we all think\nit the correct thing to admire and talk about, but don't read often),\nmost truly says, \"the child is father to the man;\" _à fortiori_,\ntherefore, he must be father to the boy. So, as we are going at any rate\nto see Tom Brown through his boyhood, supposing we never get any\nfurther, (which, if you show a proper sense of the value of this\nhistory, there is no knowing but what we may,) let us have a look at the\nlife and environments of the child, in the quiet country village to\nwhich we were introduced in the last chapter.\n\nTom, as has been already said, was a robust and combative urchin, and at\nthe age of four began to struggle against the yoke and authority of his\nnurse. That functionary was a good-hearted, tearful, scatter-brained\ngirl, lately taken by Tom's mother, Madam Brown, as she was called, from\nthe village school to be trained as nurserymaid. Madam Brown was a rare\ntrainer of servants, and spent herself freely in the profession; for\nprofession it was, and gave her more trouble by half than many people\ntake to earn a good income. Her servants were known and sought after for\nmiles round. Almost all the girls who attained a certain place in the\nvillage school were taken by her, one or two at a time, as housemaids,\nlaundrymaids, nurserymaids, or kitchenmaids, and after a year or two's\ndrilling, were started in life amongst the neighbouring families, with\ngood principles and wardrobes. One of the results of this system was the\nperpetual despair of Mrs. Brown's cook and own maid, who no sooner had a\nnotable girl made to their hands, than Missus was sure to find a good\nplace for her and send her off, taking in fresh importations from the\nschool. Another was, that the house was always full of young girls, with\nclean shining faces; who broke plates and scorched linen, but made an\natmosphere of cheerful homely life about the place, good for every one\nwho came within its influence. Mrs. Brown loved young people, and in\nfact human creatures in general, above plates and linen. They were more\nlike a lot of elder children than servants, and felt to her more as a\nmother or aunt than as a mistress.\n\nTom's nurse was one who took in her instruction very slowly,--she\nseemed to have two left hands and no head; and so Mrs. Brown kept her on\nlonger than usual, that she might expend her awkwardness and\nforgetfulness upon those who would not judge and punish her too strictly\nfor them.\n\nCharity Lamb was her name. It had been the immemorial habit of the\nvillage, to christen children either by Bible names, or by those of the\ncardinal and other virtues; so that one was for ever hearing in the\nvillage street, or on the green, shrill sounds of, \"Prudence! Prudence!\nthee cum' out o' the gutter;\" or, \"Mercy! d'rat the girl, what bist thee\na doin' wi' little Faith?\" and there were Ruths, Rachels, Keziahs, in\nevery corner. The same with the boys; they were Benjamins, Jacobs,\nNoahs, Enochs. I suppose the custom has come down from Puritan\ntimes--there it is at any rate, very strong still in the Vale.\n\nWell, from early morn till dewy eve, when she had it out of him in the\ncold tub before putting him to bed, Charity and Tom were pitted against\none another. Physical power was as yet on the side of Charity, but she\nhadn't a chance with him wherever head-work was wanted. This war of\nindependence began every morning before breakfast, when Charity escorted\nher charge to a neighbouring farm-house which supplied the Browns, and\nwhere, by his mother's wish, Master Tom went to drink whey, before\nbreakfast. Tom had no sort of objection to whey, but he had a decided\nliking for curds, which were forbidden as unwholesome, and there was\nseldom a morning that he did not manage to secure a handful of hard\ncurds, in defiance of Charity and of the farmer's wife. The latter good\nsoul was a gaunt angular woman, who with an old black bonnet on the top\nof her head; the strings dangling about her shoulders, and her gown\ntucked through her pocket-holes, went clattering about the dairy,\ncheese-room, and yard, in high pattens. Charity was some sort of niece\nof the old lady's, and was consequently free of the farm-house and\ngarden, into which she could not resist going for the purposes of gossip\nand flirtation with the heir-apparent, who was a dawdling fellow, never\nout at work as he ought to have been. The moment Charity had found her\ncousin, or any other occupation, Tom would slip away; and in a minute\nshrill cries would be heard from the dairy, \"Charity, Charity, thee lazy\nhuzzy, where bist?\" and Tom would break cover, hands and mouth full of\ncurds, and take refuge on the shaky surface of the great muck reservoir\nin the middle of the yard, disturbing the repose of the great pigs. Here\nhe was in safety, as no grown person could follow without getting over\ntheir knees; and the luckless Charity, while her aunt scolded her from\nthe dairy-door, for being \"allus hankering about arter our Willum,\ninstead of minding Master Tom,\" would descend from threats to coaxing,\nto lure Tom out of the muck, which was rising over his shoes and would\nsoon tell a tale on his stockings, for which she would be sure to catch\nit from missus's maid.\n\nTom had two abettors in the shape of a couple of old boys, Noah and\nBenjamin by name, who defended him from Charity, and expended much time\nupon his education. They were both of them retired servants of former\ngenerations of the Browns. Noah Crooke was a keen dry old man of almost\nninety, but still able to totter about. He talked to Tom quite as if he\nwere one of his own family, and indeed had long completely identified\nthe Browns with himself. In some remote age he had been the attendant of\na Miss Brown, and had conveyed her about the country on a pillion. He\nhad a little round picture of the identical grey horse, caparisoned with\nthe identical pillion, before which he used to do a sort of fetish\nworship, and abuse turnpike-roads and carriages. He wore an old\nfull-bottomed wig, the gift of some dandy old Brown whom he had valeted\nin the middle of last century, which habiliment Master Tom looked upon\nwith considerable respect, not to say fear; and indeed his whole feeling\ntowards Noah was strongly tainted with awe; and when the old gentleman\nwas gathered to his fathers, Tom's lamentation over him was not\nunaccompanied by a certain joy at having seen the last of the wig: \"Poor\nold Noah, dead and gone,\" said he, \"Tom Brown so sorry! Put him in the\ncoffin, wig and all.\"\n\nBut old Benjy was young Master's real delight and refuge. He was a youth\nby the side of Noah, scarce seventy years old. A cheery, humorous,\nkind-hearted old man, full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and of all\nsorts of helpful ways for young and old, but above all for children. It\nwas he who bent the first pin, with which Tom extracted his first\nstickleback out of \"Pebbly Brook,\" the little stream which ran through\nthe village. The first stickleback was a splendid fellow, with fabulous\nred and blue gills. Tom kept him in a small basin till the day of his\ndeath, and became a fisherman from that day. Within a month from the\ntaking of the first stickleback, Benjy had carried off our hero to the\ncanal, in defiance of Charity, and between them, after a whole\nafternoon's popjoying, they had caught three or four small coarse fish\nand a perch, averaging perhaps two and a half ounces each, which Tom\nbore home in rapture to his mother as a precious gift, and she received\nlike a true mother with equal rapture, instructing the cook\nnevertheless, in a private interview, not to prepare the same for the\nSquire's dinner. Charity had appealed against old Benjy in the meantime,\nrepresenting the dangers of the canal banks; but Mrs. Brown seeing the\nboy's inaptitude for female guidance, had decided in Benjy's favour, and\nfrom thenceforth the old man was Tom's dry nurse. And as they sat by the\ncanal watching their little green and white float, Benjy would instruct\nhim in the doings of deceased Browns. How his grandfather, in the early\ndays of the great war, when there was much distress and crime in the\nVale, and the magistrates had been threatened by the mob, had ridden in\nwith a big stick in his hand, and held the Petty Sessions by himself.\nHow his great uncle, the Rector, had encountered and laid the last\nghost, who had frightened the old women, male and female, of the parish\nout of their senses, and who turned out to be the blacksmith's\napprentice, disguised in drink and a white sheet. It was Benjy too who\nsaddled Tom's first pony, and instructed him in the mysteries of\nhorsemanship, teaching him to throw his weight back and keep his hand\nlow; and who stood chuckling outside the door of the girls' school, when\nTom rode his little Shetland into the cottage and round the table, where\nthe old dame and her pupils were seated at their work.\n\nBenjy himself was come of a family distinguished in the Vale for their\nprowess in all athletic games. Some half-dozen of his brothers and\nkinsmen had gone to the wars, of whom only one had survived to come\nhome, with a small pension, and three bullets in different parts of his\nbody; he had shared Benjy's cottage till his death, and had left him his\nold dragoon's sword and pistol, which hung over the mantelpiece, flanked\nby a pair of heavy single-sticks with which Benjy himself had won renown\nlong ago as an old gamester, against the picked men of Wiltshire and\nSomersetshire, in many a good bout at the revels and pastime of the\ncountry-side. For he had been a famous back-sword man in his young days,\nand a good wrestler at elbow and collar.\n\nBack-swording and wrestling were the most serious holiday pursuits of\nthe Vale--those by which men attained fame--and each village had its\nchampion. I suppose that on the whole, people were less worked then than\nthey are now; at any rate, they seemed to have more time and energy for\nthe old pastimes. The great times for back-swording came round once\na-year in each village, at the feast. The Vale \"veasts\" were not the\ncommon statute feasts, but much more ancient business. They are\nliterally, so far as one can ascertain, feasts of the dedication, _i.e._\nthey were first established in the churchyard on the day on which the\nvillage church was opened for public worship, which was on the wake or\nfestival of the patron Saint, and have been held on the same day in\nevery year since that time.\n\nThere was no longer any remembrance of why the \"veast\" had been\ninstituted, but nevertheless it had a pleasant and almost sacred\ncharacter of its own. For it was then that all the children of the\nvillage, wherever they were scattered, tried to get home for a holiday\nto visit their fathers and mothers and friends, bringing with them their\nwages or some little gift from up the country for the old folk. Perhaps\nfor a day or two before, but at any rate on \"veast day\" and the day\nafter, in our village, you might see strapping healthy young men and\nwomen from all parts of the country going round from house to house in\ntheir best clothes, and finishing up with a call on Madam Brown, whom\nthey would consult as to putting out their earnings to the best\nadvantage, or how to expend the same best for the benefit of the old\nfolk. Every household, however poor, managed to raise a \"feast-cake\" and\nbottle of ginger or raisin wine, which stood on the cottage table ready\nfor all comers, and not unlikely to make them remember feast time--for\nfeast-cake is very solid, and full of huge raisins. Moreover, feast-time\nwas the day of reconciliation for the parish. If Job Higgins and Noah\nFreeman hadn't spoken for the last six months, their \"old women\" would\nbe sure to get it patched up by that day. And though there was a good\ndeal of drinking and low vice in the booths of an evening, it was pretty\nwell confined to those who would have been doing the like, \"veast or no\nveast,\" and on the whole, the effect was humanizing and Christian. In\nfact, the only reason why this is not the case still, is that gentlefolk\nand farmers have taken to other amusements, and have, as usual,\nforgotten the poor. They don't attend the feasts themselves, and call\nthem disreputable, whereupon the steadiest of the poor leave them also,\nand they become what they are called. Class amusements, be they for\ndukes or plough-boys, always become nuisances and curses to a country.\nThe true charm of cricket and hunting is, that they are still more or\nless sociable and universal; there's a place for every man who will come\nand take his part.\n\nNo one in the village enjoyed the approach of \"veast day\" more than Tom,\nin the year in which he was taken under old Benjy's tutelage. The feast\nwas held in a large green field at the lower end of the village. The\nroad to Farringdon ran along one side of it, and the brook by the side\nof the road; and above the brook was another large gentle sloping\npasture-land, with a footpath running down it from the churchyard; and\nthe old church, the originator of all the mirth, towered up with its\ngrey walls and lancet windows, overlooking and sanctioning the whole,\nthough its own share therein had been forgotten. At the point where the\nfootpath crossed the brook and road, and entered on the field where the\nfeast was held, was a long low road-side inn, and on the opposite side\nof the field was a large white thatched farm-house, where dwelt an old\nsporting farmer, a great promoter of the revels.\n\nPast the old church, and down the footpath, pottered the old man and the\nchild hand in hand early on the afternoon of the day before the feast,\nand wandered all round the ground, which was already being occupied by\nthe \"cheap Jacks,\" with their green covered carts and marvellous\nassortment of wares, and the booths of more legitimate small traders\nwith their tempting arrays of fairings and eatables! and penny\npeep-shows and other shows, containing pink-eyed ladies, and dwarfs,\nand boa-constrictors, and wild Indians. But the object of most interest\nto Benjy, and of course to his pupil also, was the stage of rough planks\nsome four feet high, which was being put up by the village carpenter for\nthe back-swording and wrestling; and after surveying the whole tenderly,\nold Benjy led his charge away to the road-side inn, where he ordered a\nglass of ale and a long pipe for himself, and discussed these unwonted\nluxuries on the bench outside in the soft autumn evening with mine host,\nanother old servant of the Browns, and speculated with him on the\nlikelihood of a good show of old gamesters to contend for the morrow's\nprizes, and told tales of the gallant bouts of forty years back, to\nwhich Tom listened with all his ears and eyes.\n\nBut who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when the church bells\nwere ringing a merry peal, and old Benjy appeared in the servants' hall,\nresplendent in a long blue coat and brass buttons, and a pair of old\nyellow buckskins and top-boots, which he had cleaned for and inherited\nfrom Tom's grandfather; a stout thorn-stick in his hand, and a nosegay\nof pinks and lavender in his button-hole, and led away Tom in his best\nclothes, and two new shillings in his breeches-pockets? Those two, at\nany rate, look like enjoying the day's revel.\n\nThey quicken their pace when they get into the churchyard, for already\nthey see the field thronged with country folk, the men in clean white\nsmocks or velveteen or fustian coats, with rough plush waistcoats of\nmany colours, and the women in the beautiful long scarlet cloak, the\nusual out-door dress of west-country women in those days, and which\noften descended in families from mother to daughter, or in new-fashioned\nstuff shawls, which, if they would but believe it, don't become them\nhalf so well. The air resounds with the pipe and tabor, and the drums\nand trumpets of the showmen shouting at the doors of their caravans,\nover which tremendous pictures of the wonders to be seen within hang\ntemptingly; while through all rises the shrill \"root-too-too-too\" of Mr.\nPunch, and the unceasing pan-pipe of his satellite.\n\n\"Lawk a' massey, Mr. Benjamin,\" cries a stout motherly woman in a red\ncloak, as they enter the field \"be that you? Well I never! you do look\npurely. And how's the Squire, and Madam, and the family?\"\n\nBenjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who has left our village\nfor some years, but has come over for Veast-day on a visit to an old\ngossip--and gently indicates the heir apparent of the Browns.\n\n\"Bless his little heart! I must gi' un a kiss. Here Susannah, Susannah!\"\ncries she, raising herself from the embrace, \"come and see Mr. Benjamin\nand young Master Tom. You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin, she be growed a\nrare slip of a wench since you seen her, tho' her'll be sixteen come\nMartinmas. I do aim to take her to see Madam to get her a place.\"\n\nAnd Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of old school-fellows, and\ndrops a curtsey to Mr. Benjamin. And elders come up from all parts to\nsalute Benjy, and girls who have been Madam's pupils to kiss Master Tom.\nAnd they carry him off to load him with fairings; and he returns to\nBenjy, his hat and coat covered with ribands, and his pockets crammed\nwith wonderful boxes which open upon ever new boxes and boxes, and\npopguns and trumpets, and apples, and gilt gingerbread from the stall of\nAngel Heavens, sole vendor thereof, whose booth groans with kings and\nqueens, and elephants, and prancing steeds, all gleaming with gold.\nThere was more gold on Angel's cakes than there is ginger in those of\nthis degenerate age. Skilled diggers might yet make a fortune in the\nchurchyards of the Vale, by carefully washing the dust of the consumers\nof Angel's gingerbread. Alas! he is with his namesakes, and his receipts\nhave, I fear, died with him.\n\nAnd then they inspect the penny peep-show, at least Tom does, while old\nBenjy stands outside and gossips, and walks up the steps, and enters the\nmysterious doors of the pink-eyed lady, and the Irish Giant, who do not\nby any means come up to their pictures; and the boa will not swallow his\nrabbit, but there the rabbit is waiting to be swallowed--and what can\nyou expect for tuppence? We are easily pleased in the Vale. Now there is\na rush of the crowd, and a tinkling bell is heard, and shouts of\nlaughter; and Master Tom mounts on Benjy's shoulders and beholds a\njingling match in all its glory. The games are begun, and this is the\nopening of them. It is a quaint game, immensely amusing to look at, and\nas I don't know whether it is used in your counties, I had better\ndescribe it. A large roped ring is made, into which are introduced a\ndozen or so of big boys and young men who mean to play; these are\ncarefully blinded and turned loose into the ring, and then a man is\nintroduced not blindfolded, with a bell hung round his neck, and his two\nhands tied behind him. Of course every time he moves, the bell must\nring, as he has no hand to hold it, and so the dozen blindfolded men\nhave to catch him. This they cannot always manage if he is a lively\nfellow, but half of them always rush into the arms of the other half, or\ndrive their heads together, or tumble over; and then the crowd laughs\nvehemently, and invents nicknames for them on the spur of the moment,\nand they, if they be choleric, tear off the handkerchiefs which blind\nthem, and not unfrequently pitch into one another, each thinking that\nthe other must have run against him on purpose. It is great fun to look\nat a jingling-match certainly, and Tom shouts, and jumps on old Benjy's\nshoulders at the sight, until the old man feels weary, and shifts him to\nthe strong young shoulders of the groom, who has just got down to the\nfun.\n\nAnd now, while they are climbing the pole in another part of the field,\nand muzzling in a flour-tub in another, the old farmer whose house, as\nhas been said, overlooks the field, and who is master of the revels,\ngets up the steps on to the stage, and announces to all whom it may\nconcern that a half-sovereign in money will be forthcoming for the old\ngamester who breaks most heads; to which the Squire and he have added a\nnew hat.\n\nThe amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate the men of the\nimmediate neighbourhood, but not enough to bring any very high talent\nfrom a distance; so after a glance or two round, a tall fellow, who is a\ndown shepherd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the steps\nlooking rather sheepish. The crowd of course first cheer, and then chaff\nas usual, as he picks up his hat and begins handling the sticks to see\nwhich will suit him.\n\n\"Wooy, Willum Smith, thee cans't plaay wi' he arra daay,\" says his\ncompanion to the blacksmith's apprentice, a stout young fellow of\nnineteen or twenty. Willum's sweetheart is in the \"veast\" somewhere, and\nhas strictly enjoined him not to get his head broke at back-swording, on\npain of her highest displeasure; but as she is not to be seen, (the\nwomen pretend not to like to see the back-sword play, and keep away from\nthe stage,) and as his hat is decidedly getting old, he chucks it on to\nthe stage, and follows himself, hoping that he will only have to break\nother people's heads, or that after all Rachel won't really mind.\n\nThen follows the greasy cap lined with fur of a half-gipsy, poaching,\nloafing fellow, who travels the Vale not for much good, I fancy:\n\n          \"Full twenty times was Peter feared\n           For once that Peter was respected\"\n\nin fact. And then three or four other hats, including the glossy castor\nof Joe Willis, the self-elected and would-be champion of the\nneighbourhood, a well-to-do young butcher of twenty-eight or\nthereabouts, and a great strapping fellow, with his full allowance of\nbluster. This is a capital show of gamesters, considering the amount of\nthe prize; so while they are picking their sticks and drawing their\nlots, I think I must tell you, as shortly as I can, how the noble old\ngame of back-sword is played; for it is sadly gone out of late, even in\nthe Vale, and maybe you have never seen it.\n\nThe weapon is a good stout ash-stick with a large basket handle, heavier\nand somewhat shorter than a common single-stick. The players are called\n\"old gamesters\"--why, I can't tell you,--and their object is simply to\nbreak one another's heads: for the moment that blood runs an inch\nanywhere above the eyebrow the old gamester to whom it belongs is\nbeaten, and has to stop. A very slight blow with the sticks will fetch\nblood, so that it is by no means a punishing pastime, if the men don't\nplay on purpose, and savagely, at the body and arms of their\nadversaries. The old gamester going into action only takes off his hat\nand coat, and arms himself with a stick: he then loops the fingers of\nhis left hand in a handkerchief or strap which he fastens round his left\nleg, measuring the length, so that when he draws it light with his left\nelbow in the air, that elbow shall just reach as high as his crown. Thus\nyou see, so long as he chooses to keep his left elbow up, regardless of\ncuts, he has a perfect guard for the left side of his head. Then he\nadvances his right hand above and in front of his head, holding his\nstick across so that its point projects an inch or two over his left\nelbow, and thus his whole head is completely guarded, and he faces his\nman armed in like manner, and they stand some three feet apart, often\nnearer, and feint, and strike, and return at one another's heads, until\none cries \"hold,\" or blood flows; in the first case they are allowed a\nminute's time, and go on again; in the latter, another pair of gamesters\nare called on. If good men are playing, the quickness of the returns is\nmarvellous; you hear the rattle like that a boy makes drawing his stick\nalong palings, only heavier, and the closeness of the men in action to\none another gives it a strange interest and makes a spell at\nback-swording a very noble sight.\n\nThey are all suited now with sticks, and Joe Willis and the gipsy man\nhave drawn the first lot. So the rest lean against the rails of the\nstage, and Joe and the dark man meet in the middle, the boards having\nbeen strewed with sawdust; Joe's white shirt and spotless drab breeches\nand boots contrasting with the gipsy's coarse blue shirt and dirty green\nvelveteen breeches and leather gaiters. Joe is evidently turning up his\nnose at the other, and half insulted at having to break his head.\n\nThe gipsy is a tough active fellow, but not very skilful with his\nweapon, so that Joe's weight and strength tell in a minute; he is too\nheavy metal for him: whack, whack, whack, come his blows, breaking down\nthe gipsy's guard, and threatening to reach his head every moment. There\nit is at last--\"Blood, blood!\" shout the spectators, as a thin stream\noozes out slowly from the roots of his hair, and the umpire calls to\nthem to stop. The gipsy scowls at Joe under his brows in no pleasant\nmanner, while Master Joe swaggers about, and makes attitudes, and thinks\nhimself, and shows that he thinks himself, the greatest man in the\nfield.\n\nThen follow several stout sets-to between the other candidates for the\nnew hat, and at last come the shepherd and Willum Smith. This is the\ncrack set-to of the day. They are both in famous wind, and there is no\ncrying \"hold;\" the shepherd is an old hand and up to all the dodges; he\ntries them one after another, and very nearly gets at Willum's head by\ncoming in near, and playing over his guard at the half-stick, but\nsomehow Willum blunders through, catching the stick on his shoulders,\nneck, sides, every now and then, anywhere but on his head, and his\nreturns are heavy and straight, and he is the youngest gamester and a\nfavourite in the parish, and his gallant stand brings down shouts and\ncheers, and the knowing ones think he'll win if he keeps steady, and Tom\non the groom's shoulder holds his hands together, and can hardly breathe\nfor excitement.\n\nAlas for Willum! his sweetheart getting tired of female companionship\nhas been hunting the booths to see where he can have got to, and now\ncatches sight of him on the stage in full combat. She flushes and turns\npale; her old aunt catches hold of her, saying, \"Bless'ee, child,\ndoan't'ee go a'nigst it;\" but she breaks away and runs towards the stage\ncalling his name. Willum keeps up his guard stoutly, but glances for a\nmoment towards the voice. No guard will do it, Willum, without the eye.\nThe shepherd steps round and strikes, and the point of his stick just\ngrazes Willum's forehead, fetching off the skin, and the blood flows,\nand the umpire cries \"Hold,\" and poor Willum's chance is up for the day.\nBut he takes it very well, and puts on his old hat and coat, and goes\ndown to be scolded by his sweetheart, and led away out of mischief. Tom\nhears him say coaxingly, as he walks off--\n\n\"Now doan't'ee, Rachel! I wouldn't ha' done it, only I wanted summut to\nbuy'ee a fairing wi', and I be as vlush o' money as a twod o' veathers.\"\n\n\"Thee mind what I tells'ee,\" rejoins Rachel saucily, \"and doan't'ee kep\nblethering about fairings.\" Tom resolves in his heart to give Willum the\nremainder of his two shillings after the back-swording.\n\nJoe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout ends in an easy\nvictory, while the shepherd has a tough job to break his second head;\nand when Joe and the shepherd meet, and the whole circle expect and hope\nto see him get a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the first round and\nfalls against the rails, hurting himself so that the old farmer will not\nlet him go on, much as he wishes to try; and that impostor Joe (for he\nis certainly not the best man) struts and swaggers about the stage the\nconquering gamester, though he hasn't had five minutes really trying\nplay.\n\nJoe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the money into it, and then\nas if a thought strikes him and he doesn't think his victory quite\nacknowledged down below, walks to each face of the stage, and looks\ndown, shaking the money, and chaffing, as how he'll stake hat and money\nand another half-sovereign \"agin any gamester as hasn't played already.\"\nCunning Joe! he thus gets rid of Willum and the shepherd, who is quite\nfresh again.\n\nNo one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is just coming down, when\na queer old hat, something like A Doctor of Divinity's shovel, is\nchucked on to the stage, and an elderly quiet man steps out, who has\nbeen watching the play, saying he should like to cross a stick wi' the\nprodigalish young chap.\n\nThe crowd cheer and begin to chaff Joe, who turns up his nose and\nswaggers across to the sticks. \"Imp'dent old wosbird!\" says he, \"I'll\nbreak the bald head on un to the truth.\"\n\nThe old boy is very bald certainly, and the blood will show fast enough\nif you can touch him, Joe.\n\nHe takes off his long flapped coat, and stands up in a long flapped\nwaistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley might have worn when it was new,\npicks out a stick, and is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, but\nbegins his old game, whack, whack, whack, trying to break down the old\nman's guard by sheer strength. But it won't do,--he catches every blow\nclose by the basket, and though he is rather stiff in his returns, after\na minute walks Joe about the stage, and is clearly a staunch old\ngamester. Joe now comes in, and making the most of his height, tries to\nget over the old man's guard at half-stick, by which he takes a smart\nblow in the ribs and another on the elbow and nothing more. And now he\nloses wind and begins to puff, and the crowd laugh: \"Cry 'hold,'\nJoe--thee'st met thy match!\" Instead of taking good advice and getting\nhis wind, Joe loses his temper, and strikes at the old man's body.\n\n\"Blood, blood!\" shout the crowd, \"Joe's head's broke!\"\n\nWho'd have thought it? How did it come? That body-blow left Joe's head\nunguarded for a moment, and with one turn of the wrist the old gentleman\nhas nicked a neat little bit of skin off the middle of his forehead, and\nthough he won't believe it, and hammers on for three more blows despite\nof the shouts, is then convinced by the blood trickling into his eye.\nPoor Joe is sadly crestfallen, and fumbles in his pocket for the other\nhalf-sovereign, but the old gamester won't have it. \"Keep thy money,\nman, and gi's thy hand,\" says he, and they shake hands; but the old\ngamester gives the new hat to the shepherd, and, soon after, the\nhalf-sovereign to Willum, who thereout decorates his sweetheart with\nribbons to his heart's content.\n\n\"Who can a be?\" \"Wur do a cum from?\" ask the crowd. And it soon flies\nabout that the old west-country champion, who played a tie with Shaw the\nLife-guardsman at \"Vizes\" twenty years before, has broken Joe Willis's\ncrown for him.\n\nHow my country fair is spinning out! I see I must skip the wrestling,\nand the boys jumping in sacks, and rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded: and\nthe donkey-race, and the fight which arose thereout, marring the\notherwise peaceful \"veast;\" and the frightened scurrying away of the\nfemale feast-goers, and descent of Squire Brown, summoned by the wife of\none of the combatants to stop it; which he wouldn't start to do till he\nhad got on his top-boots. Tom is carried away by old Benjy, dog-tired\nand surfeited with pleasure, as the evening comes on and the dancing\nbegins in the booths; and though Willum and Rachel in her new ribbons\nand many another good lad and lass don't come away just yet, but have a\ngood step out, and enjoy it, and get no harm thereby, yet we, being\nsober folk, will just stroll away up through the churchyard, and by the\nold yew-tree; and get a quiet dish of tea and a parle with our gossips,\nas the steady ones of our village do, and so to bed.\n\nThat's the fair true sketch, as far as it goes, of one of the larger\nvillage feasts in the Vale of Berks, when I was a little boy. They are\nmuch altered for the worse, I am told. I haven't been at one these\ntwenty years, but I have been at the statute fairs in some west-country\ntowns, where servants are hired, and greater abominations cannot be\nfound. What village feasts have come to, I fear, in many cases, may be\nread in the pages of Yeast, (though I never saw one so bad--thank God!)\n\nDo you want to know why? It is because, as I said before, gentlefolk and\nfarmers have left off joining or taking an interest in them. They don't\neither subscribe to the prizes, or go down and enjoy the fun.\n\nIs this a good or a bad sign? I hardly know. Bad, sure enough, if it\nonly arises from the further separation of classes consequent on twenty\nyears of buying cheap and selling dear, and its accompanying over-work;\nor because our sons and daughters have their hearts in London Club-life,\nor so-called Society, instead of in the old English home duties; because\nfarmers' sons are apeing fine gentlemen, and farmers' daughters caring\nmore to make bad foreign music than good English cheeses. Good, perhaps,\nif it be that the time for the old \"veast\" has gone by, that it is no\nlonger the healthy sound expression of English country holiday-making;\nthat, in fact, we as a nation have got beyond it, and are in a\ntransition state, feeling for and soon likely to find some better\nsubstitute.\n\nOnly I have just got this to say before I quit the text. Don't let\nreformers of any sort think that they are going really to lay hold of\nthe working boys and young men of England by any educational grapnel\nwhatever, which hasn't some _bonâ fide_ equivalent for the games of the\nold country \"veast\" in it; something to put in the place of the\nback-swording and wrestling and racing; something to try the muscles of\nmen's bodies, and the endurance of their hearts, and to make them\nrejoice in their strength. In all the new-fangled comprehensive plans\nwhich I see, this is all left out: and the consequence is, that your\ngreat Mechanics' Institutes end in intellectual priggism, and your\nChristian Young Men's Societies in religious Pharisaism.\n\nWell, well, we must bide our time. Life isn't all beer and\nskittles,--but beer and skittles, or something better of the same sort,\nmust form a good part of every Englishman's education. If I could only\ndrive this into the heads of you rising Parliamentary Lords, and young\nswells who \"have your ways made for you,\" as the saying is,--you, who\nfrequent palaver houses and West-end clubs, waiting always ready to\nstrap yourselves on to the back of poor dear old John, as soon as the\npresent used-up lot (your fathers and uncles), who sit there on the\ngreat Parliamentary-majorities' pack-saddle, and make belief they're\nguiding him with their red-tape bridle, tumble, or have to be lifted\noff!\n\nI don't think much of you yet--I wish I could; though you do go talking\nand lecturing up and down the country to crowded audiences, and are busy\nwith all sorts of philanthropic intellectualism, and circulating\nlibraries and museums, and Heaven only knows what besides; and try to\nmake us think, through newspaper reports, that you are, even as we, of\nthe working classes. But, bless your hearts, we \"ain't so green,\" though\nlots of us of all sorts toady you enough certainly, and try to make you\nthink so.\n\nI'll tell you what to do now: instead of all this trumpeting and fuss,\nwhich is only the old Parliamentary-majority dodge over again--just you\ngo each of you (you've plenty of time for it, if you'll only give up\nt'other line,) and quietly make three or four friends, real friends,\namong us. You'll find a little trouble in getting at the right sort,\nbecause such birds don't come lightly to your lure--but found they may\nbe. Take, say, two out of the professions, lawyer, parson, doctor--which\nyou will; one out of trade, and three or four out of the working\nclasses--tailors, engineers, carpenters, engravers,--there's plenty of\nchoice. Let them be men of your own ages, mind, and ask them to your\nhomes; introduce them to your wives and sisters, and get introduced to\ntheirs: give them good dinners, and talk to them about what is really at\nthe bottom of your heart, and box, and run, and row with them, when you\nhave a chance. Do all this honestly as man to man, and by the time you\ncome to ride old John, you'll be able to do something more than sit on\nhis back, and may feel his mouth with some stronger bridle than a red\ntape one.\n\nAh, if you only would! But you have got too far out of the right rut, I\nfear. Too much over-civilization, and the deceitfulness of riches. It is\neasier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. More's the pity. I\nnever came across but two of you, who could value a man wholly and\nsolely for what was in him; who thought themselves verily and indeed of\nthe same flesh and blood as John Jones the attorney's clerk, and Bill\nSmith the costermonger, and could act as if they thought so.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nSUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES.\n\n\nPOOR old Benjy! the \"rheumatiz\" has much to answer for all through\nEnglish country sides, but it never played a scurvier trick than in\nlaying thee by the heels, when thou wast yet in a green old age. The\nenemy, which had long been carrying on a sort of border warfare, and\ntrying his strength against Benjy's on the battle-field, of his hands\nand legs, now, mustering all his forces began laying siege to the\ncitadel, and overrunning the whole country. Benjy was seized in the back\nand loins; and though he made strong and brave fight, it was soon clear\nenough that all which could be beaten of poor old Benjy would have to\ngive in before long.\n\nIt was as much as he could do now, with the help of his big stick and\nfrequent stops, to hobble down to the canal with Master Tom, and bait\nhis hook for him, and sit and watch his angling, telling him quaint old\ncountry stories; and when Tom had no sport, and detecting a rat some\nhundred yards or so off along the bank, would rush off with Toby the\nturnspit terrier, his other faithful companion, in bootless pursuit, he\nmight have tumbled in and been drowned twenty times over before Benjy\ncould have got near him.\n\nCheery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, this loss of locomotive\npower bothered him greatly. He had got a new object in his old age, and\nwas just beginning to think himself useful again in the world. He feared\nmuch too lest Master Tom should fall back again into the hands of\nCharity and the women. So he tried everything he could think of to get\nset up. He even went an expedition to the dwelling of one of those queer\nmortals, who--say what we will, and reason how we will--do cure simple\npeople of diseases of one kind or another without the aid of physic; and\nso get to themselves the reputation of using charms, and inspire for\nthemselves and their dwellings great respect, not to say fear, amongst a\nsimple folk such as the dwellers in the Vale of White Horse. Where this\npower, or whatever else it may be, descends upon the shoulders of a man\nwhose ways are not straight, he becomes a nuisance to the neighbourhood;\na receiver of stolen goods, giver of love-potions, and deceiver of silly\nwomen; the avowed enemy of law and order, of justices of the peace,\nheadboroughs, and gamekeepers. Such a man in fact as was recently caught\ntripping, and deservedly dealt with by the Leeds justices, for seducing\na girl who had come to him to get back a faithless lover, and has been\nconvicted of bigamy since then. Sometimes, however, they are of quite a\ndifferent stamp, men who pretend to nothing, and are with difficulty\npersuaded to exercise their occult arts in the simplest cases.\n\nOf this latter sort was old farmer Ives, as he was called, the \"wise\nman\" to whom Benjy resorted (taking Tom with him as usual), in the early\nspring of the year next after the feast described in the last chapter.\nWhy he was called \"farmer\" I cannot say, unless it be that he was the\nowner of a cow, a pig or two, and some poultry, which he maintained on\nabout an acre of land enclosed from the middle of a wild common, on\nwhich probably his father had squatted before lords of manors looked as\nkeenly after their rights as they do now. Here he had lived no one knew\nhow long, a solitary man. It was often rumoured that he was to be turned\nout and his cottage pulled down, but somehow it never came to pass; and\nhis pigs and cow went grazing on the common, and his geese hissed at the\npassing children and at the heels of the horse of my lord's steward, who\noften rode by with a covetous eye on the enclosure, still unmolested.\nHis dwelling was some miles from our village; so Benjy, who was half\nashamed of his errand, and wholly unable to walk there, had to exercise\nmuch ingenuity to get the means of transporting himself and Tom thither\nwithout exciting suspicion. However, one fine May morning he managed to\nborrow the old blind pony of our friend the publican, and Tom persuaded\nMadam Brown to give him a holiday to spend with old Benjy, and to lend\nthem the Squire's light cart, stored with bread and cold meat and a\nbottle of ale. And so the two in high glee started behind old Dobbin,\nand jogged along the deep-rutted plashy roads, which had not been mended\nafter their winter's wear, towards the dwelling of the wizard. About\nnoon they passed the gate which opened on to the large common, and old\nDobbin toiled slowly up the hill, while Benjy pointed out a little deep\ndingle on the left, out of which welled a tiny stream. As they crept up\nthe hill the tops of a few birch-trees came in sight, and blue smoke\ncurling up through their delicate light boughs; and then the little\nwhite thatched home and patch of enclosed ground of farmer Ives, lying\ncradled in the dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and on\nboth sides; while in front, after traversing a gentle slope, the eye\nmight travel for miles and miles over the rich vale. They now left the\nmain road and struck into a green tract over the common marked lightly\nwith wheel and horse-shoe, which led down into the dingle and stopped at\nthe rough gate of farmer Ives. Here they found the farmer, an iron-grey\nold man, with a bushy eyebrow and strong aquiline nose, busied in one of\nhis vocations. He was a horse and cow doctor, and was tending a sick\nbeast which had been sent up to be cured. Benjy hailed him as an old\nfriend, and he returned the greeting cordially enough, looking however\nhard for a moment both at Benjy and Tom, to see whether there was more\nin their visit than appeared at first sight. It was a work of some\ndifficulty and danger for Benjy to reach the ground, which however he\nmanaged to do without mishap; and then he devoted himself to\nunharnessing Dobbin, and turning him out for a graze (\"a run\" one could\nnot say of that virtuous steed) on the common. This done, he extricated\nthe cold provisions from the cart, and they entered the farmer's wicket;\nand he, shutting up the knife with which he was taking maggots out of\nthe cow's back and sides, accompanied them towards the cottage. A big\nold lurcher got up slowly from the door-stone, stretching first one hind\nleg and then the other, and taking Tom's caresses and the presence of\nToby, who kept however at a respectful distance, with equal\nindifference.\n\n\"Us be cum to pay'e a visit. I've a been long minded to do't for old\nsake's sake, only I vinds I dwont get about now as I'd use to't. I be so\nplaguy bad wi' th' rumatiz in my back.\" Benjy paused, in hopes of\ndrawing the farmer at once on the subject of his ailment without further\ndirect application.\n\n\"Ah, I see as you bean't quite so lissom as you was,\" replied the farmer\nwith a grim smile, as he lifted the latch of his door; \"we bean't so\nyoung as we was, nother on us, wuss luck.\"\n\nThe farmer's cottage was very like those of the better class of\npeasantry in general. A snug chimney corner with two seats, and a small\ncarpet on the hearth, an old flint gun and a pair of spurs over the\nfireplace, a dresser with shelves on which some bright pewter plates and\ncrockeryware were arranged, an old walnut table, a few chairs and\nsettles, some framed samplers, and an old print or two, and a bookcase\nwith some dozen volumes on the walls, a rack with flitches of bacon, and\nother stores fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best part of the\nfurniture. No sign of occult art is to be seen, unless the bundles of\ndried herbs hanging to the rack and in the ingle, and the row of\nlabelled phials on one of the shelves, betoken it.\n\nTom played about with some kittens who occupied the hearth, and with a\ngoat who walked demurely in at the open door, while their host and Benjy\nspread the table for dinner--and was soon engaged in conflict with the\ncold meat, to which he did much honour. The two old men's talk was of\nold comrades and their deeds, mute inglorious Miltons of the Vale, and\nof the doings thirty years back--which didn't interest him much, except\nwhen they spoke of the making of the canal, and then indeed he began to\nlisten with all his ears, and learned to his no small wonder that his\ndear and wonderful canal had not been there always--was not in fact so\nold as Benjy or farmer Ives, which caused a strange commotion in his\nsmall brain.\n\nAfter dinner Benjy called attention to a wart which Tom had on the\nknuckles of his hand, and which the family doctor had been trying his\nskill on without success, and begged the farmer to charm it away. Farmer\nIves looked at it, muttered something or another over it, and cut some\nnotches in a short stick, which he handed to Benjy, giving him\ninstructions for cutting it down on certain days, and cautioning Tom not\nto meddle with the wart for a fortnight. And then they strolled out and\nsat on a bench in the sun with their pipes, and the pigs came up and\ngrunted sociably and let Tom scratch them; and the farmer, seeing how he\nliked animals, stood up and held his arms in the air and gave a call,\nwhich brought a flock of pigeons wheeling and dashing through the\nbirch-trees. They settled down in clusters on the farmer's arms and\nshoulders, making love to him and scrambling over one another's backs to\nget to his face; and then he threw them all off, and they fluttered\nabout close by, and lighted on him again and again when he held up his\narms. All the creatures about the place were clean and fearless, quite\nunlike their relations elsewhere; and Tom begged to be taught how to\nmake all the pigs and cows and poultry in our village tame, at which the\nfarmer only gave one of his grim chuckles.\n\nIt wasn't till they were just ready to go, and old Dobbin was harnessed,\nthat Benjy broached the subject of his rheumatism again, detailing his\nsymptoms one by one. Poor old boy! He hoped the farmer could charm it\naway as easily as he could Tom's wart, and was ready with equal faith to\nput another notched stick into his other pocket, for the cure of his own\nailments. The physician shook his head, but nevertheless produced a\nbottle and handed it to Benjy with instructions for use. \"Not as 't'll\ndo'e much good--leastways I be afeared not,\" shading his eyes with his\nhand and looking up at them in the cart; \"there's only one thing as I\nknows on, as'll cure old folks like you and I o' th' rhumatis.\"\n\n\"Wot be that then, farmer?\" inquired Benjy.\n\n\"Churchyard mould,\" said the old iron-grey man, with another chuckle.\nAnd so they said their good-byes and went their ways home. Tom's wart\nwas gone in a fortnight, but not so Benjy's rheumatism, which laid him\nby the heels more and more. And though Tom still spent many an hour with\nhim, as he sat on a bench in the sunshine, or by the chimney corner when\nit was cold, he soon had to seek elsewhere for his regular companions.\n\nTom had been accustomed often to accompany his mother in her visits to\nthe cottages, and had thereby made acquaintance with many of the village\nboys of his own age. There was Job Rudkin, son of widow Rudkin, the most\nbustling woman in the parish. How she could ever have had such a stolid\nboy as Job for a child must always remain a mystery. The first time Tom\nwent to their cottage with his mother Job was not in-doors, but he\nentered soon after, and stood with both hands in his pockets staring at\nTom. Widow Rudkin who would have had to cross Madam to get at young\nHopeful--a breach of good manners of which she was wholly\nincapable--began a series of pantomime signs, which only puzzled him,\nand at last, unable to contain herself longer, burst out with, \"Job!\nJob! where's thy cap?\"\n\n\"What! beant'e on ma' head, mother?\" replied Job, slowly extricating one\nhand from a pocket and feeling for the article in question; which he\nfound on his head sure enough, and left there, to his mother's horror\nand Tom's great delight.\n\nThen there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted boy, who ambled about\ncheerfully, undertaking messages and little helpful odds and ends for\nevery one, which, however, poor Jacob managed always hopelessly to\nembrangle. Everything came to pieces in his hands, and nothing would\nstop in his head. They nicknamed him Jacob Doodle-calf.\n\nBut, above all there was Harry Winburn, the quickest and best boy in the\nparish. He might be a year older than Tom, but was very little bigger,\nand he was the Crichton of our village boys. He could wrestle and climb\nand run better than all the rest, and learned all that the schoolmaster\ncould teach him faster than that worthy at all liked. He was a boy to be\nproud of, with his curly brown hair, keen grey eye, straight active\nfigure, and little ears and hands and feet, \"as fine as a lord's,\" as\nCharity remarked to Tom one day, talking as usual great nonsense. Lords'\nhands and ears and feet are just as ugly as other folks' when they are\nchildren, as any one may convince themselves if they like to look. Tight\nboots and gloves, and doing nothing with them, I allow make a difference\nby the time they are twenty.\n\nNow that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young brothers were still\nunder petticoat government, Tom, in search of companions, began to\ncultivate the village boys generally more and more. Squire Brown, be it\nsaid, was a true blue Tory to the backbone, and believed honestly that\nthe powers which be were ordained of God, and that loyalty and steadfast\nobedience were men's first duties. Whether it were in consequence or in\nspite of his political creed, I do not mean to give an opinion, though I\nhave one; but certain it is, that he held therewith divers social\nprinciples not generally supposed to be true blue in colour. Foremost of\nthese, and the one which the Squire loved to propound above all others,\nwas the belief that a man is to be valued wholly and solely for that\nwhich he is in himself, for that which stands up in the four fleshly\nwalls of him, apart from clothes, rank, fortune, and all externals\nwhatsoever. Which belief I take to be a wholesome corrective of all\npolitical opinions, and, if held sincerely, to make all opinions equally\nharmless, whether they be blue, red, or green. As a necessary corollary\nto this belief, Squire Brown held further that it didn't matter a straw\nwhether his son associated with lords' sons, or ploughmen's sons,\nprovided they were brave and honest. He himself had played football and\ngone birds'-nesting with the farmers whom he met at vestry and the\nlabourers who tilled their fields, and so had his father and grandfather\nwith their progenitors. So he encouraged Tom in his intimacy with the\nboys of the village, and forwarded it by all means in his power, and\ngave them the run of a close for a playground, and provided bats and\nballs and a football for their sports.\n\nOur village was blessed amongst other things with a well-endowed school.\nThe building stood by itself, apart from the master's house, on an angle\nof ground where three roads met; an old grey stone building with a steep\nroof and mullioned windows. On one of the opposite angles stood Squire\nBrown's stables and kennel, with their backs to the road, over which\ntowered a great elm-tree; on the third stood the village carpenter and\nwheelwright's large open shop, and his house and the schoolmaster's,\nwith long low eaves under which the swallows built by scores.\n\nThe moment Tom's lessons were over, he would now get him down to this\ncorner by the stables, and watch till the boys came out of school. He\nprevailed on the groom to cut notches for him in the bark of the elm, so\nthat he could climb into the lower branches, and there he would sit\nwatching the school door, and speculating on the possibility of turning\nthe elm into a dwelling-place for himself and friends after the manner\nof the Swiss Family Robinson. But the school hours were long and Tom's\npatience short, so that soon he began to descend into the street, and go\nand peep in at the school door and the wheelwright's shop, and look out\nfor something to while away the time. Now the wheelwright was a choleric\nman, and, one fine afternoon, returning from a short absence, found Tom\noccupied with one of his pet adzes, the edge of which was fast vanishing\nunder our hero's care. A speedy flight saved Tom from all but one sound\ncuff on the ears, but he resented this unjustifiable interruption of his\nfirst essays at carpentering, and still more the further proceedings of\nthe wheelwright, who cut a switch and hung it over the door of his\nworkshop, threatening to use it upon Tom if he came within twenty yards\nof his gate. So Tom, to retaliate, commenced a war upon the swallows who\ndwelt under the wheelwright's eaves, whom he harassed with sticks and\nstones, and being fleeter of foot than his enemy, escaped all punishment\nand kept him in perpetual anger. Moreover his presence about the school\ndoor began to incense the master, as the boys in that neighbourhood\nneglected their lessons in consequence: and more than once he issued\ninto the porch, rod in hand, just as Tom beat a hasty retreat. And he\nand the wheelwright, laying their heads together, resolved to acquaint\nthe Squire with Tom's afternoon occupations; but in order to do it with\neffect, determined to take him captive and lead him away to judgment\nfresh from his evil doings. This they would have found some difficulty\nin doing, had Tom continued the war single-handed, or rather\nsingle-footed, for he would have taken to the deepest part of Pebbly\nBrook to escape them; but, like other active powers, he was ruined by\nhis alliances. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to school with the\nother boys, and one fine afternoon, about three o'clock (the school\nbroke up at four), Tom found him ambling about the street, and pressed\nhim into a visit to the school porch. Jacob, always ready to do what he\nwas asked, consented, and the two stole down to the school together. Tom\nfirst reconnoitred the wheelwright's shop, and seeing no signs of\nactivity, thought all safe in that quarter, and ordered at once an\nadvance of all his troops upon the school porch. The door of the school\nwas ajar, and the boys seated on the nearest bench at once recognised\nand opened a correspondence with the invaders. Tom waxing bold, kept\nputting his head into the school and making faces at the master when his\nback was turned. Poor Jacob, not in the least comprehending the\nsituation, and in high glee at finding himself so near the school, which\nhe had never been allowed to enter, suddenly, in a fit of enthusiasm,\npushed by Tom, and ambling three steps into the school, stood there,\nlooking round him and nodding with a self-approving smile. The master,\nwho was stooping over a boy's slate, with his back to the door, became\naware of something unusual, and turned quickly round. Tom rushed at\nJacob, and began dragging him back by his smock-frock, and the master\nmade at them, scattering forms and boys in his career. Even now they\nmight have escaped, but that in the porch, barring retreat, appeared the\ncrafty wheelwright, who had been watching all their proceedings. So they\nwere seized, the school dismissed, and Tom and Jacob led away to Squire\nBrown as lawful prize, the boys following to the gate in groups, and\nspeculating on the result.\n\nThe Squire was very angry at first, but the interview, by Tom's\npleading, ended in a compromise. Tom was not to go near the school till\nthree o'clock, and only then if he had done his own lessons well, in\nwhich case he was to be the bearer of a note to the master from Squire\nBrown, and the master agreed in such case to release ten or twelve of\nthe best boys an hour before the time of breaking up, to go off and play\nin the close. The wheelwright's adzes and swallows were to be for ever\nrespected; and that hero and the master withdrew to the servants' hall,\nto drink the Squire's health, well satisfied with their day's work.\n\nThe second act of Tom's life may now be said to have begun. The war of\nindependence had been over for some time: none of the women now, not\neven his mother's maid, dared offer to help him in dressing or washing.\nBetween ourselves, he had often at first to run to Benjy in an\nunfinished state of toilet; Charity and the rest of them seemed to take\na delight in putting impossible buttons and ties in the middle of his\nback; but he would have gone without nether integuments altogether\nsooner than have had recourse to female valeting. He had a room to\nhimself, and his father gave him sixpence a week pocket-money. All this\nhe had achieved by Benjy's advice and assistance. But now he had\nconquered another step in life, the step which all real boys so long to\nmake; he had got amongst his equals in age and strength, and could\nmeasure himself with other boys; he lived with those whose pursuits and\nwishes and ways were the same in kind as his own.\n\nThe little governess who had lately been installed in the house found\nher work grow wondrously easy, for Tom slaved at his lessons in order to\nmake sure of his note to the schoolmaster. So there were very few days\nin the week in which Tom and the village boys were not playing in their\nclose by three o'clock. Prisoner's base, rounders, high-cock-a-lorum,\ncricket, football, he was soon initiated into the delights of them all;\nand though most of the boys were older than himself, he managed to hold\nhis own very well. He was naturally active and strong, and quick of eye\nand hand, and had the advantage of light shoes and well-fitting dress,\nso that in a short time he could run and jump and climb with any of\nthem.\n\nThey generally finished their regular games half an hour or so before\ntea-time, and then began trials of skill and strength in many ways. Some\nof them would catch the Shetland pony who was turned out in the field,\nand get two or three together on his back, and the little rogue,\nenjoying the fun, would gallop off for fifty yards, and then turn round,\nor stop short and shoot them on to the turf, and then graze quietly on\ntill he felt another load; others played peg-top or marbles, while a few\nof the bigger ones stood up for a bout at wrestling. Tom at first only\nlooked on at this pastime, but it had peculiar attractions for him, and\nhe could not long keep out of it. Elbow and collar wrestling as\npractised in the western counties was, next to back-swording, the way to\nfame for the youth of the Vale; and all the boys knew the rules of it,\nand were more or less expert. But Job Rudkin and Harry Winburn were the\nstars, the former stiff and sturdy, with legs like small towers, the\nlatter pliant as india-rubber, and quick as lightning. Day after day\nthey stood foot to foot, and offered first one hand and then the other,\nand grappled and closed and swayed and strained, till a well-aimed crook\nof the heel or thrust of the loin took effect, and a fair back-fall\nended the matter. And Tom watched with all his eyes, and first\nchallenged one of the less scientific, and threw him; and so one by one\nwrestled his way up to the leaders.\n\nThen indeed for months he had a poor time of it; it was not long indeed\nbefore he could manage to keep his legs against Job, for that hero was\nslow of offence, and gained his victories chiefly by allowing others to\nthrow themselves against his immoveable legs and loins. But Harry\nWinburn was undeniably his master; from the first clutch of hands when\nthey stood up, down to the last trip which sent him on his back on the\nturf, he felt that Harry knew more and could do more than he. Luckily,\nHarry's bright unconsciousness, and Tom's natural good temper, kept them\nfrom ever quarrelling; and so Tom worked on and on, and trod more and\nmore nearly on Harry's heels, and at last mastered all the dodges and\nfalls except one. This one was Harry's own particular invention and pet;\nhe scarcely ever used it except when hard pressed, but then out it came,\nand as sure as it did, over went poor Tom. He thought about that fall at\nhis meals, in his walks, when he lay awake in bed, in his dreams,--but\nall to no purpose; until Harry one day in his open way suggested to him\nhow he thought it should be met, and in a week from that time the boys\nwere equal, save only the slight difference of strength in Harry's\nfavour which some extra ten months of age gave. Tom had often afterwards\nreason to be thankful for that early drilling, and above all for having\nmastered Harry Winburn's fall.\n\nBesides their home games, on Saturdays the boys would wander all over\nthe neighbourhood; sometimes to the downs, or up to the camp, where they\ncut their initials out in the springy turf, and watched the hawks\nsoaring, and the \"peert\" bird, as Harry Winburn called the grey plover,\ngorgeous in his wedding feathers; and so home, racing down the Manger\nwith many a roll among the thistles, or through Uffington-wood to watch\nthe fox cubs playing in the green rides; sometimes to Rosy Brook, to cut\nlong whispering reeds which grew there, to make pan-pipes of; sometimes\nto Moor Mills, where was a piece of old forest land, with short browsed\nturf and tufted brambly thickets stretching under the oaks, amongst\nwhich rumour declared that a raven, last of his race, still lingered; or\nto the sand-hills, in vain quest of rabbits; and bird's-nesting, in the\nseason, anywhere and everywhere.\n\nThe few neighbours of the Squire's own rank every now and then would\nshrug their shoulders as they drove or rode by a party of boys with Tom\nin the middle, carrying along bulrushes or whispering reeds, or great\nbundles of cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young starlings or magpies, or\nother spoil of wood, brook, or meadow; and Lawyer Red-tape might mutter\nto Squire Straightback at the Board, that no good would come of the\nyoung Browns, if they were let run wild with all the dirty village boys,\nwhom the best farmers' sons even would not play with. And the Squire\nmight reply with a shake of his head, that _his_ sons only mixed with\ntheir equals, and never went into the village without the governess or a\nfootman. But, luckily, Squire Brown was full as stiff-backed as his\nneighbours, and so went on his own way; and Tom and his younger\nbrothers, as they grew up, went on playing with the village boys,\nwithout the idea of equality or inequality (except in wrestling,\nrunning, and climbing,) ever entering their heads, as it doesn't till\nit's put there by Jack Nastys or fine ladies' maids.\n\nI don't mean to say it would be the case in all villages, but it\ncertainly was so in this one; the village boys were full as manly and\nhonest, and certainly purer, than those in a higher rank; and Tom got\nmore harm from his equals in his first fortnight at a private school,\nwhere he went when he was nine years old, than he had from his village\nfriends from the day he left Charity's apron-strings.\n\nGreat was the grief amongst the village school-boys when Tom drove off\nwith the Squire, one August morning, to meet the coach on his way to\nschool. Each of them had given him some little present of the best that\nhe had, and his small private box was full of peg-tops, white marbles\n(called \"alley-taws\" in the Vale), screws, birds'-eggs, whip-cord,\njews-harps, and other miscellaneous boys' wealth. Poor Jacob\nDoodle-calf, in floods of tears, had pressed upon him with spluttering\nearnestness his lame pet hedgehog (he had always some poor broken-down\nbeast or bird by him); but this Tom had been obliged to refuse by the\nSquire's order. He had given them all a great tea under the big elm in\ntheir playground, for which Madam Brown had supplied the biggest cake\never seen in our village; and Tom was really as sorry to leave them as\nthey to lose him, but his sorrow was not unmixed with the pride and\nexcitement of making a new step in life.\n\nAnd this feeling carried him through his first parting with his mother\nbetter than could have been expected. Their love was as fair and whole\nas human love can be, perfect self-sacrifice on the one side, meeting a\nyoung and true heart on the other. It is not within the scope of my\nbook, however, to speak of family relations, or I should have much to\nsay on the subject of English mothers,--ay, and of English fathers, and\nsisters, and brothers too.\n\nNeither have I room to speak of our private schools: what I have to say\nis about public schools, those much-abused and much-belauded\ninstitutions peculiar to England. So we must hurry through Master Tom's\nyear at a private school as fast as we can.\n\nIt was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentleman, with another\ngentleman as second master; but it was little enough of the real work\nthey did--merely coming into school when lessons were prepared and all\nready to be heard. The whole discipline of the school out of lesson\nhours was in the hands of the two ushers, one of whom was always with\nthe boys in their playground in the school, at meals--in fact, at all\ntimes and everywhere, till they were fairly in bed at night.\n\nNow the theory of private schools is (or was) constant supervision out\nof school; therein differing fundamentally from that of public schools.\n\nIt may be right or wrong; but if right, this supervision surely ought to\nbe the especial work of the head-master, the responsible person. The\nobject of all schools is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to\nmake them good English boys, good future citizens; and by far the most\nimportant part of that work must be done, or not done, out of school\nhours. To leave it, therefore, in the hands of inferior men, is just\ngiving up the highest and hardest part of the work of education. Were I\na private schoolmaster, I should say, let who will hear the boys their\nlessons, but let me live with them when they are at play and rest.\n\nThe two ushers at Tom's first school were not gentleman, and very poorly\neducated, and were only driving their poor trade of usher to get such\nliving as they could out of it. They were not bad men, but had little\nheart for their work, and of course were bent on making it as easy as\npossible. One of the methods by which they endeavoured to accomplish\nthis, was by encouraging tale-bearing, which had become a frightfully\ncommon vice in the school in consequence, and had sapped all the\nfoundations of school morality. Another was, by favouring grossly the\nbiggest boys, who alone could have given them much trouble; whereby\nthose young gentlemen became most abominable tyrants, oppressing the\nlittle boys in all the small mean ways which prevail in private schools.\n\nPoor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in his first week, by a\ncatastrophe which happened to his first letter home. With huge labour he\nhad, on the very evening of his arrival, managed to fill two sides of a\nsheet of letter-paper with assurances of his love for dear mamma, his\nhappiness at school, and his resolves to do all she would wish. This\nmissive, with the help of the boy who sat at the desk next him, also a\nnew arrival, he managed to fold successfully; but this done, they were\nsadly, put to it for means of sealing. Envelopes were then unknown, they\nhad no wax, and dared not disturb the stillness of the evening\nschool-room by getting up and going to ask the usher for some. At length\nTom's friend, being of an ingenious turn of mind, suggested sealing with\nink, and the letter was accordingly stuck down with a blob of ink, and\nduly handed by Tom, on his way to bed, to the housekeeper to be posted.\nIt was not till four days afterwards, that that good dame sent for him,\nand produced the precious letter, and some wax, saying, \"Oh, Master\nBrown, I forgot to tell you before, but your letter isn't sealed.\" Poor\nTom took the wax in silence and sealed his letter, with a huge lump\nrising in his throat during the process, and then ran away to a quiet\ncorner of the playground and burst into an agony of tears. The idea of\nhis mother waiting day after day for the letter he had promised her at\nonce, and perhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when he had done all in\nhis power to make good his promise, was as bitter a grief as any which\nhe had to undergo for many a long year. His wrath then was\nproportionately violent when he was aware of two boys, who stopped close\nby him, and one of whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed at him and\ncalled him \"Young mammy-sick!\" Whereupon Tom arose, and giving vent thus\nto his grief and shame and rage, smote his derider on the nose, and made\nit bleed--which sent that young worthy howling to the usher, who\nreported Tom for violent and unprovoked assault and battery. Hitting in\nthe face was a felony punishable with flogging, other hitting only a\nmisdemeanour--a distinction not altogether clear in principle. Tom\nhowever escaped the penalty by pleading \"primum tempus;\" and having\nwritten a second letter to his mother, enclosing some forget-me-nots,\nwhich he picked on their first half-holiday walk, felt quite happy\nagain, and began to enjoy vastly a good deal of his new life.\n\nThese half-holiday walks were the great events of the week. The whole\nfifty boys started after dinner with one of the ushers for Hazeldown,\nwhich was distant some mile or so from the school. Hazeldown measured\nsome three miles round, and in the neighbourhood were several woods full\nof all manner of birds and butterflies. The usher walked slowly round\nthe down with such boys as liked to accompany him; the rest scattered in\nall directions, being only bound to appear again when the usher had\ncompleted his round, and accompany him home. They were forbidden,\nhowever, to go anywhere except on the down and into the woods, the\nvillage being especially prohibited, where huge bulls'-eyes and unctuous\ntoffy might be procured in exchange for coin of the realm.\n\nVarious were the amusements to which the boys then betook themselves. At\nthe entrance of the down there was a steep hillock, like the barrows of\nTom's own downs. This mound was the weekly scene of terrific combats, at\na game called by the queer name of \"mud-patties.\" The boys who played\ndivided into sides under different leaders, and one side occupied the\nmound. Then, all parties having provided themselves with many sods of\nturf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the side which remained at\nthe bottom proceeded to assault the mound, advancing upon all sides\nunder cover of a heavy fire of turfs, and then struggling for victory\nwith the occupants, which was theirs as soon as they could, even for a\nmoment, clear the summit, when they in turn became the besieged. It was\na good rough dirty game, and of great use in counteracting the sneaking\ntendencies of the school. Then others of the boys spread over the downs,\nlooking for the holes of humble-bees and mice, which they dug up without\nmercy, often (I regret to say) killing and skinning the unlucky mice,\nand (I do not regret to say) getting well stung by the humble-bees.\nOthers went after butterflies and birds'-eggs in their seasons; and Tom\nfound on Hazeldown, for the first time, the beautiful little blue\nbutterfly with golden spots on his wings, which he had never seen on his\nown downs, and dug out his first sand-martin's nest. This latter\nachievement resulted in a flogging, for the sand-martins built in a high\nbank close to the village, consequently out of bounds; but one of the\nbolder spirits of the school, who never could be happy unless he was\ndoing something to which risk attached, easily persuaded Tom to break\nbounds and visit the martin's bank. From whence it being only a step to\nthe toffy-shop, what could be more simple than to go on there and fill\ntheir pockets; or what more certain than that on their return, a\ndistribution of treasure having been made, the usher should shortly\ndetect the forbidden smell of bulls'-eyes, and, a search ensuing,\ndiscover the state of the breeches-pockets of Tom and his ally?\n\nThis ally of Tom's was indeed a desperate hero in the sight of the boys,\nand feared as one who dealt in magic, or something approaching thereto.\nWhich reputation came to him in this wise. The boys went to bed at\neight, and of course consequently lay awake in the dark for an hour or\ntwo, telling ghost-stories by turns. One night when it came to his turn,\nand he had dried up their souls by his story, he suddenly declared that\nhe would make a fiery hand appear on the door; and to the astonishment\nand terror of the boys in his room, a hand, or something like it, in\npale light, did then and there appear. The fame of this exploit having\nspread to the other rooms, and being discredited there, the young\nnecromancer declared that the same wonder would appear in all the rooms\nin turn, which it accordingly did; and the whole circumstances having\nbeen privately reported to one of the ushers as usual, that functionary,\nafter listening about at the doors of the rooms, by a sudden descent\ncaught the performer in his night-shirt, with a box of phosphorus in his\nguilty hand. Lucifer-matches and all the present facilities for getting\nacquainted with fire were then unknown; the very name of phosphorus had\nsomething diabolic in it to the boy-mind; so Tom's ally, at the cost of\na sound flogging, earned what many older folk covet much--the very\ndecided fear of most of his companions.\n\nHe was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad one. Tom stuck to him\ntill he left, and got into many scrapes by so doing. But he was the\ngreat opponent of the tale-bearing habits of the school, and the open\nenemy of the ushers; and so worthy of all support.\n\nTom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at the school, but somehow\non the whole it didn't suit him, or he it, and in the holidays he was\nconstantly working the Squire to send him at once to a public school.\nGreat was his joy then, when in the middle of his third half-year, in\nOctober, 183-, a fever broke out in the village, and the master having\nhimself slightly sickened of it, the whole of the boys were sent off at\na day's notice to their respective homes.\n\nThe Squire was not quite so pleased as Master Tom to see that young\ngentleman's brown merry face appear at home, some two months before the\nproper time, for Christmas holidays: and so after putting on his\nthinking cap, he retired to his study and wrote several letters; the\nresult of which was that one morning at the breakfast-table, about a\nfortnight after Tom's return, he addressed his wife with--\"My dear, I\nhave arranged that Tom shall go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeks\nof this half-year, instead of wasting them riding and loitering about\nhome. It is very kind of the Doctor to allow it. Will you see that his\nthings are all ready by Friday, when I shall take him up to town, and\nsend him down the next day by himself.\"\n\nMrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and merely suggested a\ndoubt whether Tom were yet old enough to travel by himself. However,\nfinding both father and son against her on this point, she gave in like\na wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom's kit for his launch into a\npublic school.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n          \"Let the steam-pot hiss till it's hot,\n           Give me the speed of the Tantivy trot.\"\n                      _Coaching Song by R. E. E. Warburton, Esq._\n\n\n\"NOW, sir, time to get up, if you please. Tally-ho coach for Leicester\n'll be round in half-an-hour, and don't wait for nobody.\" So spake the\nBoots of the Peacock Inn, Islington, at half-past two o'clock on the\nmorning of a day in the early part of November, 183-, giving Tom at the\nsame time a shake by the shoulder, and then putting down a candle and\ncarrying off his shoes to clean.\n\nTom and his father had arrived in town from Berkshire, the day before,\nand finding, on inquiry, that the Birmingham coaches which ran from the\ncity did not pass through Rugby, but deposited their passengers at\nDunchurch, a village three miles distant on the main road--where said\npassengers had to wait for the Oxford and Leicester coach in the\nevening, or to take a post-chaise--had resolved that Tom should travel\ndown by the Tally-ho, which diverged from the main road and passed\nthrough Rugby itself. And as the Tally-ho was an early coach, they had\ndriven out to the Peacock to be on the road.\n\nTom had never been in London, and would have liked to have stopped at\nthe Belle Sauvage, where they had been put down by the Star, just at\ndusk, that he might have gone roving about those endless, mysterious,\ngas-lit streets, which, with their glare and hum and moving crowds;\nexcited him so that he couldn't talk even. But as soon as he found that\nthe Peacock arrangement would get him to Rugby by twelve o'clock in the\nday, whereas otherwise he wouldn't be there till the evening, all other\nplans melted away; his one absorbing aim being to become a public\nschool-boy as fast as possible, and six hours sooner or later seeming to\nhim of the most alarming importance.\n\nTom and his father had alighted at the Peacock at about seven in the\nevening, and having heard with unfeigned joy the paternal order at the\nbar, of steaks and oyster sauce for supper in half an hour, and seen his\nfather seated cozily by the bright fire in the coffee-room with the\npaper in his hand--Tom had run out to see about him, had wondered at all\nthe vehicles passing and repassing, and had fraternised with the boots\nand ostler, from whom he ascertained that the Tally-ho was a tip-top\ngoer, ten miles an hour including stoppages and so punctual that all\nthe road set their clocks by her.\n\nThen being summoned to supper he had regaled himself in one of the\nbright little boxes of the Peacock coffee-room on the beef-steak and\nunlimited oyster-sauce and brown stout (tasted then for the first\ntime--a day to be marked for ever by Tom with a white stone); had at\nfirst attended to the excellent advice which his father was bestowing on\nhim from over his glass of steaming brandy and water, and then begun\nnodding from the united effects of the stout, the fire, and the lecture.\nTill the Squire observing Tom's state, and remembering that it was\nnearly nine o'clock, and that the Tally-ho left at three, sent the\nlittle fellow off to the chambermaid, with a shake of the hand (Tom\nhaving stipulated in the morning before starting, that kissing should\nnow cease between them,) and a few parting words.\n\n\"And now, Tom, my boy,\" said the Squire, \"remember you are going, at\nyour own earnest request, to be chucked into this great school, like a\nyoung bear with all your troubles before you--earlier than we should\nhave sent you perhaps. If schools are what they were in my time, you'll\nsee a great many cruel blackguard things done, and hear a deal of foul\nbad talk. But never fear. You tell the truth, keep a brave and kind\nheart, and never listen to or say anything you wouldn't have your mother\nand sister hear, and you'll never feel ashamed to come home, or we to\nsee you.\"\n\nThe allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather chokey, and he would\nhave liked to have hugged his father well, if it hadn't been for the\nrecent stipulation.\n\nAs it was, he only squeezed his father's hand, and looked bravely up and\nsaid, \"I'll try, father.\"\n\n\"I know you will, my boy. Is your money all safe?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tom, diving into one pocket to make sure.\n\n\"And your keys?\" said the Squire.\n\n\"All right,\" said Tom, diving into the other pocket.\n\n\"Well then, good night. God bless you! I'll tell Boots to call you, and\nbe up to see you off.\"\n\nTom was carried off by the chambermaid in a brown study, from which he\nwas roused in a clean little attic by that buxom person calling him a\nlittle darling, and kissing him as she left the room, which indignity he\nwas too much surprised to resent. And still thinking of his father's\nlast words, and the look with which they were spoken, he knelt down and\nprayed, that, come what might, he might never bring shame or sorrow on\nthe dear folk at home.\n\nIndeed, the Squire's last words deserved to have their effect, for they\nhad been the result of much anxious thought. All the way up to London he\nhad pondered what he should say to Tom by way of parting advice,\nsomething that the boy could keep in his head ready for use. By way of\nassisting meditation, he had even gone the length of taking out his\nflint and steel and tinder, and hammering away for a quarter of an hour\ntill he had manufactured a light for a long Trichinopoli cheroot, which\nhe silently puffed; to the no small wonder of Coachee, who was an old\nfriend, and an institution on the Bath road; and who always expected a\ntalk on the prospects and doings, agricultural and social, of the whole\ncounty when he carried the Squire.\n\nTo condense the Squire's meditation, it was somewhat as follows: \"I\nwon't tell him to read his Bible and love and serve God; if he don't do\nthat for his mother's sake and teaching, he won't for mine. Shall I go\ninto the sort of temptations he'll meet with? No, I can't do that. Never\ndo for an old fellow to go into such things with a boy. He won't\nunderstand me. Do him more harm than good, ten to one. Shall I tell him\nto mind his work, and say he's sent to school to make himself a good\nscholar? Well, but he isn't sent to school for that--at any rate, not\nfor that mainly. I don't care a straw for Greek particles, or the\ndigamma, no more does his mother. What is he sent to school for? Well,\npartly because he wanted so to go. If he'll only turn out a brave,\nhelpful, truth-telling Englishman, and a gentleman, and a Christian,\nthat's all I want,\" thought the Squire; and upon this view of the case\nframed his last words of advice to Tom, which were well enough suited to\nhis purpose.\n\nFor they were Tom's first thoughts as he tumbled out of bed at the\nsummons of Boots, and proceeded rapidly to wash and dress himself. At\nten minutes to three he was down in the coffee-room in his stockings,\ncarrying his hat-box, coat, and comforter in his hand; and there he\nfound his father nursing a bright fire and a cup of hot coffee and a\nhard biscuit on the table.\n\n\"Now then, Tom, give us your things here, and drink this; there's\nnothing like starting warm, old fellow.\"\n\nTom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled away while he worked\nhimself into his shoes and his great-coat, well warmed through; a\nPetersham coat with velvet collar, made tight, after the abominable\nfashion of those days. And just as he is swallowing his last mouthful,\nwinding his comforter round his throat, and tucking the ends into the\nbreast of his coat, the horn sounds, Boots looks in and says, \"Tally-ho,\nsir;\" and they hear the ring and the rattle of the four fast trotters\nand the town-made drag, as it dashes up to the Peacock.\n\n\"Anything for us, Bob?\" says the burly guard, dropping down from behind,\nand slapping himself across the chest.\n\n\"Young genl'm'n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester; hamper o' game,\nRugby,\" answers ostler.\n\n\"Tell young gent to look alive,\" says guard, opening the hind-boot and\nshooting in the parcels after examining them by the lamps. \"Here, shove\nthe portmanteau up a-top--I'll fasten him presently. Now then, sir, jump\nup behind.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, father,--my love at home.\" A last shake of the hand. Up goes\nTom, the guard catching his hat-box and holding on with one hand, while\nwith the other he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot! the\nostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the collar, and away\ngoes the Tally-ho into the darkness, forty-five seconds from the time\nthey pulled up; Ostler, Boots, and the Squire stand looking after them\nunder the Peacock lamp.\n\n\"Sharp work!\" says the Squire, and goes in again to his bed, the coach\nbeing well out of sight and hearing.\n\nTom stands up on the coach and looks back at his father's figure as long\nas he can see it, and then the guard having disposed of his luggage\ncomes to an anchor, and finishes his buttonings and other preparations\nfor facing the three hours before dawn; no joke for those who minded\ncold, on a fast coach in November, in the reign of his late majesty.\n\nI sometimes think that you boys of this generation are a deal tenderer\nfellows than we used to be. At any rate, you're much more comfortable\ntravellers, for I see every one of you with his rug or plaid, and other\ndodges for preserving the caloric, and most of you going in those fuzzy,\ndusty, padded first-class carriages. It was another affair altogether, a\ndark ride on the top of the Tally-ho, I can tell you, in a tight\nPetersham coat, and your feet dangling six inches from the floor. Then\nyou knew what cold was, and what it was to be without legs, for not a\nbit of feeling had you in them after the first half-hour. But it had its\npleasures, the old dark ride. First there was the consciousness of\nsilent endurance, so dear to every Englishman,--of standing out against\nsomething, and not giving in. Then there was the music of the rattling\nharness, and the ring of the horses' feet on the hard road, and the\nglare of the two bright lamps through the steaming hoar frost, over the\nleaders' ears, into the darkness; and the cheery toot of the guard's\nhorn, to warn some drowsy pikeman or the ostler at the next change; and\nthe looking forward to daylight--and last, but not least, the delight of\nreturning sensation in your toes.\n\nThen the break of dawn and the sunrise; where can they be ever seen in\nperfection but from a coach roof? You want motion and change and music\nto see them in their glory; not the music of singing-men and\nsinging-women, but good silent music, which sets itself in your own head\nthe accompaniment of work and getting over the ground.\n\nThe Tally-ho is past St. Alban's, and Tom is enjoying the ride, though\nhalf-frozen. The guard, who is alone with him on the back of the coach,\nis silent, but has muffled Tom's feet up in straw, and put the end of an\noat-sack over his knees. The darkness has driven him inwards, and he has\ngone over his little past life, and thought of all his doings and\npromises, and of his mother and sister, and his father's last words; and\nhas made fifty good resolutions, and means to bear himself like a brave\nBrown as he is, though a young one.\n\nThen he has been forward into the mysterious boy-future, speculating as\nto what sort of a place Rugby is, and what they do there, and calling up\nall the stories of public schools which he has heard from big boys in\nthe holidays. He is chock full of hope and life, notwithstanding the\ncold, and kicks his heels against the back board, and would like to\nsing, only he doesn't know how his friend the silent guard might take\nit.\n\nAnd now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth stage, and the coach\npulls up at a little road-side inn with huge stables behind. There is a\nbright fire gleaming through the red curtains of the bar-window, and the\ndoor is open. The coachman catches his whip into a double thong, and\nthrows it to the ostler; the steam of the horses rises straight up into\nthe air. He has put them along over the last two miles, and is two\nminutes before his time; he rolls down from the box and into the inn.\nThe guard rolls off behind. \"Now, sir,\" says he to Tom, \"you just jump\ndown, and I'll give you a drop of something to keep the cold out.\"\n\nTom finds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in finding the top of the\nwheel with his feet, which may be in the next world for all he feels;\nso the guard picks him off the coach-top, and sets him on his legs, and\nthey stump off into the bar, and join the coachman and the other outside\npassengers.\n\nHere a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with a glass of early purl\nas they stand before the fire, coachman and guard exchanging business\nremarks. The purl warms the cockles of Tom's heart, and makes him cough.\n\n\"Rare tackle, that, sir, of a cold morning,\" says the coachman, smiling.\n\"Time's up.\" They are out again and up; coachee the last, gathering the\nreins into his hands and talking to Jem the ostler about the mare's\nshoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the box--the horses dashing\noff in a canter before he falls into his seat. Toot-toot-tootle-too goes\nthe horn, and away they are again, five-and-thirty miles on their road\n(nearly half way to Rugby, thinks Tom), and the prospect of breakfast at\nthe end of the stage.\n\nAnd now they begin to see, and the early life of the country-side comes\nout; a market cart or two, men in smock-frocks going to their work pipe\nin mouth, a whiff of which is no bad smell this bright morning. The sun\ngets up, and the mist shines like silver gauze. They pass the hounds\njogging along to a distant meet, at the heels of the huntsman's hack,\nwhose face is about the colour of the tails of his old pink, as he\nexchanges greetings with coachman and guard. Now they pull up at a\nlodge, and take on board a well-muffled-up sportsman, with his gun-case\nand carpet-bag. An early up-coach meets them, and the coachmen gather up\ntheir horses, and pass one another with the accustomed lift of the\nelbow, each team doing eleven miles an hour, with a mile to spare behind\nif necessary. And here comes breakfast.\n\n\"Twenty minutes here, gentlemen,\" says the coachman as they pull up at\nhalf-past seven at the inn door.\n\nHave we not endured nobly this morning, and is not this a worthy reward\nfor much endurance? There is the low dark wainscoted room hung with\nsporting prints; the hat-stand (with a whip or two standing up in it\nbelonging to bagmen who are still snug in bed) by the door; the blazing\nfire, with the quaint old glass over the mantelpiece, in which is stuck\na large card with the list of the meets for the week of the county\nhounds. The table covered with the whitest of cloths and of china, and\nbearing a pigeon-pie, ham, round of cold boiled beef cut from a mammoth\nox, and the great loaf of household bread on a wooden trencher. And here\ncomes in the stout head waiter, puffing under a tray of hot viands;\nkidneys and a steak, transparent rashers and poached eggs, buttered\ntoast and muffins, coffee and tea, all smoking hot. The table can never\nhold it all; the cold meats are removed to the sideboard, they were only\nput on for show and to give us an appetite. And now fall on, gentlemen\nall. It is a well-known sporting-house, and the breakfasts are famous.\nTwo or three men in pink, on their way to the meet, drop in, and are\nvery jovial and sharp-set, as indeed we all are.\n\n\"Tea or coffee, sir?\" says head waiter, coming round to Tom.\n\n\"Coffee please,\" says Tom, with his mouth full of muffin and kidney;\ncoffee is a treat to him, tea is not.\n\nOur coachman, I perceive, who breakfasts with us, is a cold-beef man. He\nalso eschews hot potations, and addicts himself to a tankard of ale,\nwhich is brought him by the barmaid. Sportsman looks on approvingly, and\norders a ditto for himself.\n\nTom has eaten kidney and pigeon-pie, and imbibed coffee, till his little\nskin is as tight as a drum; and then has the further pleasure of paying\nhead waiter out of his own purse, in a dignified manner, and walks out\nbefore the inn door to see the horses put to. This is done leisurely and\nin a highly-finished manner by the ostlers, as if they enjoyed the not\nbeing hurried. Coachman comes out with his way-bill, and puffing a fat\ncigar which the sportsman has given him. Guard emerges from the tap,\nwhere he prefers breakfasting, licking round a tough-looking doubtful\ncheroot, which you might tie round your finger, and three whiffs of\nwhich would knock any one else out of time.\n\nThe pinks stand about the inn door lighting cigars and waiting to see us\nstart, while their hacks are led up and down the market-place on which\nthe inn looks. They all know our sportsman, and we feel a reflected\ncredit when we see him chatting and laughing with them.\n\n\"Now, sir, please,\" says the coachman; all the rest of the passengers\nare up; the guard is locking the hind boot.\n\n\"A good run to you!\" says the sportsman to the pinks, and is by the\ncoachman's side in no time.\n\n\"Let 'em go, Dick!\" The ostlers fly back, drawing off the cloths from\ntheir glossy loins, and away we go through the market-place and down the\nHigh Street, looking in at the first-floor windows, and seeing several\nworthy burgesses shaving thereat; while all the shop-boys who are\ncleaning the windows, and housemaids who are doing the steps, stop and\nlook pleased as we rattle past, as if we were a part of their legitimate\nmorning's amusement. We clear the town, and are well out between the\nhedgerows again as the town clock strikes eight.\n\nThe sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast has oiled all springs and\nloosened all tongues. Tom is encouraged by a remark or two of the\nguard's between the puffs of his oily cheroot, and besides is getting\ntired of not talking; he is too full of his destination to talk about\nanything else; and so asks the guard if he knows Rugby.\n\n\"Goes through it every day of my life. Twenty minutes afore twelve\ndown--ten o'clock up.\"\n\n\"What sort of a place is it, please?\" says Tom.\n\nGuard looks at him with a comical expression. \"Werry out-o'-the-way\nplace, sir; no paving to the streets nor no lighting. 'Mazin' big horse\nand cattle fair in autumn--lasts a week--just over now. Takes town a\nweek to get clean after it. Fairish hunting country. But slow place,\nsir, slow place: off the main road, you see--only three coaches a day, and\none on 'em a two-oss wan, more like a hearse nor a coach--Regulator--comes\nfrom Oxford. Young genl'm'n at school calls her Pig and Whistle, and\ngoes up to college by her (six miles an hour) when they goes to enter.\nBelong to school, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" says Tom, not unwilling for a moment that the guard should think\nhim an old boy. But then having some qualms as to the truth of the\nassertion, and seeing that if he were to assume the character of an old\nboy he couldn't go on asking the questions he wanted, added--\"that is to\nsay, I'm on my way there. I'm a new boy.\"\n\nThe guard looked as if he knew this quite as well as Tom.\n\n\"You're werry late, sir,\" says the guard; \"only six weeks to-day to the\nend of the half.\" Tom assented. \"We takes up fine loads this day six\nweeks, and Monday and Tuesday arter. Hopes we shall have the pleasure of\ncarrying you back.\"\n\nTom said he hoped they would; but he thought within himself that his\nfate would probably be the Pig and Whistle.\n\n\"It pays uncommon, cert'nly,\" continues the guard. \"Werry free with\ntheir cash is the young genl'm'n. But, Lor' bless you, we gets into such\nrows all 'long the road, what wi' their pea-shooters, and long whips,\nand hollering, and upsetting every one as comes by; I'd a sight sooner\ncarry one or two on 'em, sir, as I may be a carryin' of you now, than a\ncoach-load.\"\n\n\"What do they do with the pea-shooters?\" inquires Tom.\n\n\"Do wi' 'em! why, peppers every one's faces as we comes near, 'cept the\nyoung gals, and breaks windows wi' them too, some on 'em shoots so hard.\nNow 'twas just here last June, as we was a driving up the first-day\nboys, they was mendin' a quarter-mile of road, and there was a lot of\nIrish chaps, reg'lar roughs, a breaking stones. As we comes up, 'Now,\nboys' says young gent on the box (smart young fellow and desper't\nreckless), 'here's fun! Let the Pats have it about the ears.' 'God's\nsake, sir!' says Bob (that's my mate the coachman), 'don't go for to\nshoot at 'em, they'll knock us off the coach.' 'Damme, coachee,' says\nyoung my lord, 'you ain't afraid; hoora, boys! let 'em have it.'\n'Hoora!' sings out the others, and fill their mouths chock full of peas\nto last the whole line. Bob seeing as 'twas to come, knocks his hat over\nhis eyes, hollers to his 'osses, and shakes 'em up, and away we goes up\nto the line on 'em, twenty miles an hour. The Pats begin to hoora too,\nthinking it was a runaway, and first lot on 'em stands grinnin' and\nwavin' their old hats as we comes abreast on 'em; and then you'd ha'\nlaughed to see how took aback and choking savage they looked when they\ngets the peas a stinging all over 'em. But bless you, the laugh weren't\nall of our side, sir, by a long way. We was going so fast, and they was\nso took aback, that they didn't take what was up till we was half-way up\nthe line. Then 'twas 'look out all,' surely. They howls all down the\nline fit to frighten you, some on 'em runs arter us and tries to clamber\nup behind, only we hits 'em over the fingers and pulls their hands off;\none as had had it very sharp act'ly runs right at the leaders, as though\nhe'd ketch 'em by the heads, only luck'ly for him he misses his tip, and\ncomes over a heap o' stones, first. The rest picks up stones, and gives\nit us right away till we gets out o' shot, the young gents holding out\nwerry manful with the pea-shooters and such stones as lodged on us, and\na pretty many there was too. Then Bob picks hisself up again, and looks\nat young gent on box werry solemn. Bob'd had a rum un in the ribs,\nwhich'd like to ha' knocked him off the box, or made him drop the reins.\nYoung gent on box picks hisself up, and so does we all, and looks round\nto count damage. Box's head cut open and his hat gone; 'nother young\ngent's hat gone: mine knocked in at the side, and not one on us as\nwasn't black and blue somewheres or another; most on 'em all over.\nTwo-pound-ten to pay for damage to paint, which they subscribed for\nthere and then, and give Bob and me a extra half-sovereign each; but I\nwouldn't go down that line again not for twenty half-sovereigns.\" And\nthe guard shook his head slowly, and got up and blew a clear brisk\ntoot-toot.\n\n\"What fun!\" said Tom, who could scarcely contain his pride at this\nexploit of his future school-fellows. He longed already for the end of\nthe half, that he might join them.\n\n\"'Taint such good fun though, sir, for the folk as meets the coach, nor\nfor we who has to go back with it next day. Them Irishers last summer\nhad all got stones ready for us, and was all but letting drive, and we'd\ngot two reverend gents aboard too. We pulled up at the beginning of the\nline, and pacified them, and were never going to carry no more\npea-shooters, unless they promises not to fire where there's a line of\nIrish chaps a stone-breaking.\" The guard stopped and pulled away at his\ncheroot, regarding Tom benignantly the while.\n\n\"Oh, don't stop! tell us something more about the pea-shooting.\"\n\n\"Well, there'd like to have been a pretty piece of work over it at\nBicester, a while back. We was six mile from the town, when we meets an\nold square-headed grey-haired yeoman chap, a jogging along quite quiet.\nHe looks up at the coach, and just then a pea hits him on the nose, and\nsome ketches his cob behind and makes him dance up on his hind legs. I\nsee'd the old boy's face flush and look plaguy awkward, and I thought we\nwas in for somethin' nasty.\n\n\"He turns his cob's head, and rides quietly after us just out of shot.\nHow that ere cob did step! we never shook him off not a dozen yards in\nthe six mile. At first the young gents was werry lively on him; but\nafore we got in, seeing how steady the old chap come on, they was quite\nquiet, and laid their heads together what they should do. Some was for\nfighting, some for axing his pardon. He rides into the town close after\nus, comes up when we stops, and says the two as shot at him must come\nbefore a magistrate; and a great crowd comes round, and we couldn't get\nthe 'osses to. But the young uns, they all stand by one another, and\nsays all or none must go, and as how they'd fight it out, and have to be\ncarried. Just as 'twas gettin' serious, and the old boy and the mob was\ngoin' to pull 'em off the coach, one little fellow jumps up and says,\n'Here--I'll stay,--I'm only going three miles further. My father's\nname's Davis; he's known about here, and I'll go before the magistrate\nwith this gentleman.' 'What, be thee parson Davis's son?' says the old\nboy. 'Yes,' says the young un. 'Well, I be mortal sorry to meet thee in\nsuch company, but for thy father's sake and thine (for thee bi'st a\nbrave young chap) I'll say no more about it.' Didn't the boys cheer him,\nand the mob cheered the young chap--and then one of the biggest gets\ndown, and begs his pardon werry gentlemanly for all the rest, saying as\nthey all had been plaguy vexed from the first, but didn't like to ax his\npardon till then, 'cause they felt they hadn't ought to shirk the\nconsequences of their joke. And then they all got down and shook hands\nwith the old boy, and asked him to all parts of the country, to their\nhomes; and we drives off twenty minutes behind time, with cheering and\nhollering as if we was county members. But, Lor' bless you, sir,\" says\nthe guard, smacking his hand down on his knee and looking full into\nTom's face, \"ten minutes arter they was all as bad as ever.\"\n\nTom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed interest in his narrations,\nthat the old guard rubbed up his memory, and launched out into a graphic\nhistory of all the performances of the boys on the road for the last\ntwenty years. Off the road he couldn't go; the exploit must have been\nconnected with horses or vehicles to hang in the old fellow's head. Tom\ntried him off his own ground once or twice, but found he knew nothing\nbeyond, and so let him have his head, and the rest of the road bowled\neasily away; for old Blow-hard (as the boys called him) was a dry old\nfile, with much kindness and humour, and a capital spinner of a yarn\nwhen he had broken the neck of his day's work and got plenty of ale\nunder his belt.\n\nWhat struck Tom's youthful imagination most was the desperate and\nlawless character of most of the stories. Was the guard hoaxing him? He\ncouldn't help hoping that they were true. It's very odd how almost all\nEnglish boys love danger; you can get ten to join a game, or climb a\ntree, or swim a stream when there's a chance of breaking their limbs or\ngetting drowned, for one who'll stay on level ground, or in his depth,\nor play quoits or bowls.\n\nThe guard had just finished an account of a desperate fight which had\nhappened at one of the fairs between the drovers and the farmers with\ntheir whips, and the boys with cricket-bats and wickets, which arose out\nof a playful but objectionable practice of the boys going round to the\npublic-houses and taking the linch-pins out of the wheels of the gigs,\nand was moralising upon the way in which the Doctor, \"a terrible stern\nman he'd heard tell,\" had come down upon several of the performers,\n\"sending three on 'em off next morning, each in a po-chay with a parish\nconstable,\" when they turned a corner and neared the milestone, the\nthird from Rugby. By the stone two boys stood, their jackets buttoned\ntight, waiting for the coach.\n\n\"Look here, sir,\" says the guard, after giving a sharp toot-toot,\n\"there's two on 'em; out and out runners they be. They come out about\ntwice or three times a week, and spirts a mile alongside of us.\"\n\nAnd as they came up, sure enough, away went two boys along the footpath,\nkeeping up with the horses; the first a light clean-made fellow going on\nsprings, the other stout and round-shouldered, labouring in his pace,\nbut going as dogged as a bull-terrier.\n\nOld Blow-hard looked on admiringly. \"See how beautiful that there un\nholds hisself together, and goes from his hips, sir,\" said he; \"he's a\n'mazin' fine runner. Now, many coachmen as drives a first-rate team'd\nput it on and try and pass 'em. But Bob, sir, bless you, he's\ntender-hearted; he'd sooner pull in a bit if he see'd 'em a gettin'\nbeat. I do b'lieve too as that there un'd sooner break his heart than\nlet us go by him afore next milestone.\"\n\nAt the second milestone the boys pulled up short and waved their hats to\nthe guard, who had his watch out and shouted \"4.56,\" thereby indicating\nthat the mile had been done in four seconds under the five minutes. They\npassed several more parties of boys, all of them objects of the deepest\ninterest to Tom, and came in sight of the town at ten minutes before\ntwelve. Tom fetched a long breath, and thought he had never spent a\npleasanter day. Before he went to bed he had quite settled that it must\nbe the greatest day he should ever spend, and didn't alter his opinion\nfor many a long year--if he has yet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nRUGBY AND FOOTBALL.\n\n          \"----Foot and eye opposed\n           In dubious strife.\"\n                             SCOTT.\n\n\n\"AND so here's Rugby, sir, at last, and you'll be in plenty of time for\ndinner at the School-house, as I tell'd you,\" said the old guard,\npulling his horn out of its case, and tootle-tooing away; while the\ncoachman shook up his horses, and carried them along the side of the\nschool close, round Dead-man's Corner, past the school gates, and down\nthe High Street to the Spread Eagle; the wheelers in a spanking trot,\nand leaders cantering, in a style which would not have disgraced\n\"Cherry Bob,\" \"ramping, stamping, tearing swearing Billy Harwood,\" or\nany other of the old coaching heroes.\n\nTom's heart beat quick as he passed the great school field or close,\nwith its noble elms, in which several games at football were going on,\nand tried to take in at once the long line of grey buildings, beginning\nwith the chapel, and ending with the School-house, the residence of the\nhead-master, where the great flag was lazily waving from the highest\nround tower. And he began already to be proud of being a Rugby boy, as\nhe passed the school-gates, with the oriel-window above, and saw the\nboys standing there, looking as if the town belonged to them, and\nnodding in a familiar manner to the coachman, as if any one of them\nwould be quite equal to getting on the box and working the team down\nstreet as well as he.\n\nOne of the young heroes, however, ran out from the rest, and scrambled\nup behind; where, having righted himself and nodded to the guard with\n\"How do, Jem?\" he turned short round to Tom, and, after looking him over\nfor a minute, began--\n\n\"I say, you fellow, is your name Brown?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tom, in considerable astonishment; glad however to have\nlighted on some one already who seemed to know him.\n\n\"Ah, I thought so; you know my old aunt, Miss East; she lives somewhere\ndown your way in Berkshire. She wrote to me that you were coming to-day,\nand asked me to give you a lift.\"\n\nTom was somewhat inclined to resent the patronizing air of his new\nfriend--a boy of just about his own height and age, but gifted with the\nmost transcendent coolness and assurance, which Tom felt to be\naggravating and hard to bear, but couldn't for the life of him help\nadmiring and envying--especially when young my lord begins hectoring two\nor three long loafing fellows, half-porter, half stableman, with a\nstrong touch of the blackguard, and in the end arranges with one of\nthem, nicknamed Cooey, to carry Tom's luggage up to the School-house for\nsixpence.\n\n\"And heark'ee, Cooey, it must be up in ten minutes, or no more jobs from\nme. Come along, Brown.\" And away swaggers the young potentate, with his\nhands in his pockets, and Tom at his side.\n\n\"All right, sir,\" says Cooey, touching his hat, with a leer and a wink\nat his companions.\n\n\"Hullo though,\" says East, pulling up, and taking another look at Tom,\n\"this'll never do--haven't you got a hat?--we never wear caps here. Only\nthe louts wear caps. Bless you, if you were to go into the quadrangle\nwith that thing on, I----don't know what'd happen.\" The very idea was\nquite beyond young Master East, and he looked unutterable things.\n\nTom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but confessed that he had a\nhat in his hat-box; which was accordingly at once extracted from the\nhind boot, and Tom equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, as his new friend\ncalled it. But this didn't quite suit his fastidious taste in another\nminute, being too shiny; so, as they walk up the town, they dive into\nNixon's the hatter's, and Tom is arrayed, to his utter astonishment, and\nwithout paying for it, in a regulation cat-skin at seven-and-sixpence;\nNixon undertaking to send the best hat up to the matron's room,\nSchool-house, in half an hour.\n\n\"You can send in a note for a tile on Monday, and make it all right, you\nknow,\" said Mentor; \"we're allowed two seven-and-sixers a half, besides\nwhat we bring from home.\"\n\nTom by this time began to be conscious of his new social position and\ndignities, and to luxuriate in the realized ambition of being a\npublic-school boy at last, with a vested right of spoiling two\nseven-and-sixers in half a year.\n\n\"You see,\" said his friend, as they strolled up towards the school\ngates, in explanation of his conduct--\"a great deal depends on how a\nfellow cuts up at first. If he's got nothing odd about him, and answers\nstraightforward and holds his head up, he gets on. Now you'll do very\nwell as to rig, all but that cap. You see I'm doing the handsome thing\nby you, because my father knows yours; besides, I want to please the old\nlady. She gave me a half-a-sov. this half, and perhaps'll double it\nnext, if I keep in her good books.\"\n\nThere's nothing for candour like a lower-school boy; and East was a\ngenuine specimen--frank, hearty, and good-natured, well satisfied with\nhimself and his position, and chock full of life and spirits, and all\nthe Rugby prejudices and traditions which he had been able to get\ntogether, in the long course of one half year, during which he had been\nat the School-house.\n\nAnd Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt friends with him at\nonce, and began sucking in all his ways and prejudices, as fast as he\ncould understand them.\n\nEast was great in the character of cicerone; he carried Tom through the\ngreat gates, where were only two or three boys. These satisfied\nthemselves with the Stock questions,--\"You fellow, what's your name?\nWhere do you come from? How old are you? Where do you board? and, What\nform are you in?\"--and so they passed on through the quadrangle and a\nsmall courtyard, upon which looked down a lot of little windows\n(belonging, as his guide informed him, to some of the School-house\nstudies), into the matron's room, where East introduced Tom to that\ndignitary; made him give up the key of his trunk that the matron might\nunpack his linen, and told the story of the hat and of his own presence\nof mind: upon the relation whereof the matron laughingly scolded him,\nfor the coolest new boy in the house; and East, indignant at the\naccusation of newness, marched Tom off into the quadrangle, and began\nshowing him the schools, and examining him as to his literary\nattainments; the result of which was a prophecy that they would be in\nthe same form, and could do then lessons together.\n\n\"And now come in and see my study; we shall have just time before\ndinner; and afterwards, before calling over, we'll do the close.\"\n\nTom followed his guide through the School-house hall, which opens into\nthe quadrangle. It is a great room thirty feet long and eighteen high,\nor thereabouts, with two great tables running the whole length, and two\nlarge fireplaces at the side, with blazing fires in them, at one of\nwhich some dozen boys were standing and lounging, some of whom shouted\nto East to stop; but he shot through with his convoy, and landed him in\nthe long dark passages, with a large fire at the end of each upon which\nthe studies opened. Into one of these, in the bottom passage, East\nbolted with our hero, slamming and bolting the door behind them, in case\nof pursuit from the hall, and Tom was for the first time in a Rugby\nboy's citadel.\n\nHe hadn't been prepared for separate studies, and was not a little\nastonished and delighted with the palace in question.\n\nIt wasn't very large certainly, being about six feet long by four broad.\nIt couldn't be called light, as there were bars and a grating to the\nwindow; which little precautions were necessary in the studies on the\nground floor looking out into the close, to prevent the exit of small\nboys after locking-up, and the entrance of contraband articles. But it\nwas uncommonly comfortable to look at, Tom thought. The space under the\nwindow at the further end was occupied by a square table covered with a\nreasonably clean and whole red and blue check table-cloth; a hard-seated\nsofa covered with red stuff occupied one side, running up to the end,\nand making a seat for one, or, by sitting close, for two, at the table;\nand a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat to another boy, so that\nthree could sit and work together. The walls were wainscoted half-way\nup, the wainscot being covered with green baize, the remainder with a\nbright-patterned paper, on which hung three or four prints, of dogs'\nheads, Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury steeplechase, Amy Robsart, the\nreigning Waverley beauty of the day, and Tom Crib in a posture of\ndefence, which did no credit to the science of that hero, if truly\nrepresented. Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on each side\nbookcases with cupboards at the bottom; shelves and cupboards being\nfilled indiscriminately with school-books, a cup or two, a mousetrap,\nand brass candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag, and some\ncurious-looking articles, which puzzled Tom not a little, until his\nfriend explained that they were climbing irons, and showed their use. A\ncricket-bat and small fishing-rod stood up in one corner.\n\nThis was the residence of East and another boy in the same form, and had\nmore interest for Tom than Windsor Castle, or any other residence in the\nBritish Isles. For was he not about to become the joint owner of a\nsimilar home, the first place which he could call his own? One's own!\nWhat a charm there is in the words! How long it takes boy and man to\nfind out their worth! how fast most of us hold on to them! faster and\nmore jealously the nearer we are to that general home into which we can\ntake nothing, but must go naked as we came into the world. When shall we\nlearn that he who multiplieth possessions multiplieth troubles, and that\nthe one single use of things which we call our own is that they may be\nhis who hath need of them?\n\n\"And shall I have a study like this too?\" said Tom.\n\n\"Yes, of course, you'll be chummed with some fellow on Monday, and you\ncan sit here till then.\"\n\n\"What nice places!\"\n\n\"They're well enough,\" answered East patronizingly, \"only uncommon cold\nat nights sometimes. Gower--that's my chum--and I make a fire with paper\non the floor after supper generally, only that makes it so smoky.\"\n\n\"But there's a big fire out in the passage,\" said Tom.\n\n\"Precious little good we get out of that though,\" said East; \"Jones the\npræpostor has the study at the fire end, and he has rigged up an iron\nrod and green baize curtain across the passage, which he draws at night,\nand sits there with his door open, so he gets all the fire, and hears if\nwe come out of our studies after eight, or make a noise. However, he's\ntaken to sitting in the fifth-form room lately, so we do get a bit of\nfire now sometimes; only to keep a sharp look-out that he don't catch\nyou behind his curtain when he comes down--that's all.\"\n\nA quarter-past one now struck, and the bell began tolling for dinner, so\nthey went into the hall and took their places, Tom at the very bottom of\nthe second table, next to the præpostor (who sat at the end to keep\norder there), and East a few paces higher. And now Tom for the first\ntime saw his future school-fellows in a body. In they came, some hot and\nruddy from football or long walks, some pale and chilly from hard\nreading in their studies, some from loitering over the fire at the\npastrycook's, dainty mortals, bringing with them pickles and\nsauce-bottles to help them with their dinners. And a great big-bearded\nman, whom Tom took for a master, began calling over the names, while the\ngreat joints were being rapidly carved on a third table in the corner by\nthe old verger and the housekeeper. Tom's turn came last, and meanwhile\nhe was all eyes, looking first with awe at the great man who sat close\nto him, and was helped first, and who read a hard-looking book all the\ntime he was eating; and when he got up and walked off to the fire, at\nthe small boys round him, some of whom were reading, and the rest\ntalking in whispers to one another, or stealing one another's bread, or\nshooting pellets, or digging their forks through the table-cloth.\nHowever, notwithstanding his curiosity, he managed to make a capital\ndinner by the time the big man called \"Stand up!\" and said grace.\n\nAs soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been questioned by such of his\nneighbours as were curious as to his birth, parentage, education, and\nother like matters, East, who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of\npatron and Mentor, proposed having a look at the close, which Tom,\nathirst for knowledge, gladly assented to, and they went out through the\nquadrangle and past the big fives'-court, into the great playground.\n\n\"That's the chapel, you see,\" said East, \"and there just behind it is\nthe place for fights; you see it's most out of the way of the masters,\nwho all live on the other side and don't come by here after first lesson\nor callings-over. That's when the fights come off. And all this part\nwhere we are is the little side-ground, right up to the trees, and on\nthe other side of the trees is the big side-ground, where the great\nmatches are played. And there's the island in the furthest corner;\nyou'll know that well enough next half, when there's island fagging. I\nsay, it's horrid cold, let's have a run across,\" and away went East, Tom\nclose behind him. East was evidently putting his best foot foremost, and\nTom, who was mighty proud of his running, and not a little anxious to\nshow his friend that although a new boy he was no milksop, laid himself\ndown to the work in his very best style. Right across the close they\nwent, each doing all he knew, and there wasn't a yard between them when\nthey pulled up at the island moat.\n\n\"I say,\" said East, as soon as he got his wind, looking with much\nincreased respect at Tom, \"you ain't a bad scud, not by no means. Well,\nI'm as warm as a toast now.\"\n\n\"But why do you wear white trousers in November?\" said Tom. He had been\nstruck by this peculiarity in the costume of almost all the School-house\nboys.\n\n\"Why, bless us, don't you know?--No, I forgot. Why, to-day's the\nSchool-house match. Our house plays the whole of the School at football.\nAnd we all wear white trousers, to show 'em we don't care for hacks.\nYou're in luck to come to-day. You just will see a match; and Brooke's\ngoing to let me play in quarters. That's more than he'll do for any\nother lower-school boy, except James, and he's fourteen.\"\n\n\"Who's Brooke?\"\n\n\"Why that big fellow who called over at dinner, to be sure. He's cock of\nthe school, and head of the School-house side, and the best kick and\ncharger in Rugby.\"\n\n\"Oh, but do show me where they play? And tell me about it. I love\nfootball so, and have played all my life. Won't Brooke let me play?\"\n\n\"Not he,\" said East, with some indignation; \"why, you don't know the\nrules--you'll be a month learning them. And then it's no joke playing-up\nin a match, I can tell you. Quite another thing from your private school\ngames. Why, there's been two collar-bones broken this half, and a dozen\nfellows lamed. And last year a fellow had his leg broken.\"\n\nTom listened with the profoundest respect to this chapter of accidents,\nand followed East across the level ground till they came to a sort of\ngigantic gallows of two poles eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the\nground some fourteen feet apart, with a cross bar running from one to\nthe other at the height of ten feet or thereabouts.\n\n\"This is one of the goals,\" said East, \"and you see the other across\nthere, right opposite, under the Doctor's wall. Well, the match is for\nthe best of three goals; whichever side kicks two goals wins: and it\nwon't do, you see, just to kick the ball through these posts, it must go\nover the cross bar; any height'll do, so long as it's between the posts.\nYou'll have to stay in goal to touch the ball when it rolls behind the\nposts, because if the other side touch it they have a try at goal. Then\nwe fellows in quarters, we play just about in front of goal here, and\nhave to turn the ball and kick it back before the big fellows on the\nother side can follow it up. And in front of us all the big fellows\nplay, and that's where the scrummages are mostly.\"\n\nTom's respect increased as he struggled to make out his friend's\ntechnicalities, and the other set to work to explain the mysteries of\n\"off your side,\" \"drop-kicks,\" \"punts,\" \"places,\" and the other\nintricacies of the great science of football.\n\n\"But how do you keep the ball between the goals?\" said he. \"I can't see\nwhy it mightn't go right down to the chapel.\"\n\n\"Why, that's out of play,\" answered East. \"You see this gravel walk\nrunning down all along this side of the playing-ground, and the line of\nelms opposite on the other? Well, they're the bounds. As soon as the\nball gets past them, it's in touch, and out of play. And then whoever\nfirst touches it, has to knock it straight out amongst the players-up,\nwho make two lines with a space between them, every fellow going on his\nown side. Ain't there just fine scrummages then! and the three trees you\nsee there which come out into the play, that's a tremendous place when\nthe ball hangs there, for you get thrown against the trees, and that's\nworse than any hack.\"\n\nTom wondered within himself as they strolled back again towards the\nfives' court, whether the matches were really such break-neck affairs as\nEast represented, and whether, if they were, he should ever get to like\nthem and play-up well.\n\nHe hadn't long to wonder, however, for next minute East cried out,\n\"Hurra! here's the punt-about,--come along and try your hand at a kick.\"\nThe punt-about is the practice ball, which is just brought out and\nkicked about anyhow from one boy to another before callings over and\ndinner, and at other odd times. They joined the boys who had brought it\nout, all small School-house fellows, friends of East; and Tom had the\npleasure of trying his skill, and performed very creditably, after first\ndriving his foot three inches into the ground, and then nearly kicking\nhis leg into the air, in vigorous efforts to accomplish a drop-kick\nafter the manner of East.\n\nPresently more boys and bigger came out, and boys from other houses on\ntheir way to calling-over, and more balls were sent for. The crowd\nthickened as three o'clock approached; and when the hour struck, one\nhundred and fifty boys were hard at work. Then the balls were held, the\nmaster of the week came down in cap and gown to calling-over, and the\nwhole school of three hundred boys swept into the big school to answer\nto their names.\n\n\"I may come in, mayn't I?\" said Tom, catching East by the arm and\nlonging to feel one of them.\n\n\"Yes, come along, nobody'll say anything. You won't be so eager to get\ninto calling-over after a month,\" replied his friend; and they marched\ninto the big school together, and up to the further end, where that\nillustrious form, the lower fourth, which had the honour of East's\npatronage for the time being, stood.\n\nThe master mounted into the high desk by the door, and one of the\npræpostors of the week stood by him on the steps, the other three\nmarching up and down the middle of the school with their canes, calling\nout \"Silence, silence!\" The sixth form stood close by the door on the\nleft, some thirty in number, mostly great big grown men, as Tom thought,\nsurveying them from a distance with awe. The fifth form behind them,\ntwice their number and not quite so big. These on the left; and on the\nright the lower fifth, shell, and all the junior forms in order; while\nup the middle marched the three præpostors.\n\nThen the præpostor who stands by the master calls out the names,\nbeginning with the sixth form, and as he calls, each boy answers \"Here\"\nto his name, and walks out. Some of the sixth stop at the door to turn\nthe whole string of boys into the close; it is a great match day, and\nevery boy in the school, will-he, nill-he, must be there. The rest of\nthe sixth go forwards into the close, to see that no one escapes by any\nof the side gates.\n\nTo-day, however, being the School-house match, none of the School-house\npræpostors stay by the door to watch for truants of their side; there is\n_carte blanche_ to the School-house fags to go where they like: \"They\ntrust to our honour,\" as East proudly informs Tom; \"they know very well\nthat no School-house boy would cut the match. If he did, we'd very soon\ncut him, I can tell you.\"\n\nThe master of the week being short-sighted, and the præpostors of the\nweek small and not well up to their work, the lower school boys employ\nthe ten minutes which elapse before their names are called, in pelting\none another vigorously with acorns, which fly about in all directions.\nThe small præpostors dash in every now and then, and generally chastise\nsome quiet, timid boy who is equally afraid of acorns and canes, while\nthe principal performers get dexterously out of the way; and so\ncalling-over rolls on somehow, much like the big world, punishments\nlighting on wrong shoulders, and matters going generally in a queer,\ncross-grained way, but the end coming somehow, which is after all the\ngreat point. And now the master of the week has finished, and locked up\nthe big school; and the præpostors of the week come out, sweeping the\nlast remnant of the school fags--who had been loafing about the corners\nby the fives' court, in hopes of a chance of bolting--before them into\nthe close.\n\n\"Hold the punt-about!\" \"To the goals!\" are the cries, and all stray\nballs are impounded by the authorities; and the whole mass of boys moves\nup towards the two goals, dividing as they go into three bodies. That\nlittle band on the left, consisting of from fifteen to twenty boys, Tom\namongst them, who are making for the goal under the School-house wall,\nare the School-house boys who are not to play-up, and have to stay in\ngoal. The larger body moving to the island goal, are the school-boys in\na like predicament. The great mass in the middle are the players-up,\nboth sides mingled together; they are hanging their jackets, and, all\nwho mean real work, their hats, waistcoats, neck-handkerchiefs, and\nbraces, on the railings round the small trees; and there they go by twos\nand threes up to their respective grounds. There is none of the colour\nand tastiness of get-up, you will perceive, which lends such a life to\nthe present game at Rugby, making the dullest and worst-fought match a\npretty sight. Now each house has its own uniform of cap and jersey, of\nsome lively colour: but at the time we are speaking of, plush caps have\nnot yet come in or uniforms of any sort, except the School-house white\ntrousers, which are abominably cold to-day: let us get to work,\nbare-headed and girded with our plain leather straps--but we mean\nbusiness, gentlemen.\n\nAnd now that the two sides have fairly sundered, and each occupies its\nown ground, and we get a good look at them what absurdity is this? You\ndon't mean to say that those fifty or sixty boys in white trousers, many\nof them quite small, are going to play that huge mass opposite? Indeed I\ndo, gentlemen; they're going to try at any rate, and won't make such a\nbad fight of it either, mark my word; for hasn't old Brooke won the\ntoss, with his lucky halfpenny, and got choice of goals and kick-off?\nThe new ball you may see lie there quite by itself, in the middle,\npointing towards the school or island goal; in another minute it will be\nwell on its way there. Use that minute in remarking how the\nSchool-house side is drilled. You will see in the first place, that the\nsixth-form boy, who has the charge of goal, has spread his force (the\ngoal-keepers) so as to occupy the whole space behind the goal-posts, at\ndistances of about five yards apart; a safe and well-kept goal is the\nfoundation of all good play. Old Brooke is talking to the captain of\nquarters; and now he moves away; see how that youngster spreads his men\n(the light brigade) carefully over the ground, half-way between their\nown goal and the body of their own players-up (the heavy brigade). These\nagain play in several bodies; there is young Brooke and the\nbull-dogs--mark them well--they are the \"fighting brigade,\" the\n\"die-hards,\" larking about at leap-frog to keep themselves warm, and\nplaying tricks on one another. And on each side of old Brooke, who is\nnow standing in the middle of the ground and just going to kick off, you\nsee a separate wing of players-up, each with a boy of acknowledged\nprowess to look to--here Warner, and there Hedge; but over all is old\nBrooke, absolute as he of Russia, but wisely and bravely ruling over\nwilling and worshipping subjects, a true football king. His face is\nearnest and careful as he glances a last time over his array, but full\nof pluck and hope, the sort of look I hope to see in my general when I\ngo out to fight.\n\nThe School side is not organized in the same way. The goal-keepers are\nall in lumps, anyhow and nohow; you can't distinguish between the\nplayers-up and the boys in quarters, and there is divided leadership;\nbut with such odds in strength and weight it must take more than that to\nhinder them from winning; and so their leaders seem to think, for they\nlet the players-up manage themselves.\n\nBut now look, there is a slight move forward of the School-house wings;\na shout of \"Are you ready?\" and loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takes\nhalf-a-dozen quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning towards the\nSchool goal; seventy yards before it touches ground, and at no point\nabove twelve or fifteen feet high, a model kick-off; and the\nSchool-house cheer and rush on; the ball is returned, and they meet it\nand drive it back amongst the masses of the School already in motion.\nThen the two sides close, and you can see nothing for minutes but a\nswaying crowd of boys, at one point violently agitated. That is where\nthe ball is, and there are the keen players to be met, and the glory and\nthe hard knocks to be got: you hear the dull thud thud of the ball, and\nthe shouts of \"Off your side,\" \"Down with him,\" \"Put him over,\" \"Bravo!\"\nThis is what we call a scrummage, gentlemen, and the first scrummage in\na School-house match was no joke in the consulship of Plancus.\n\nBut see! it has broken; the ball is driven out on the School-house side,\nand a rush of the School carries it past the School-house players-up.\n\"Look out in quarters,\" Brooke's and twenty other voices ring out; no\nneed to call though, the School-house captain of quarters has caught it\non the bound, dodges the foremost school-boys, who are heading the rush,\nand sends it back with a good drop-kick well into the enemy's country.\nAnd then follows rush upon rush, and scrummage upon scrummage, the ball\nnow driven through into the School-house quarters, and now into the\nSchool goal; for the School-house have not lost the advantage which the\nkick-off and a slight wind gave them at the outset, and are slightly\n\"penning\" their adversaries. You say you don't see much in it all;\nnothing but a struggling mass of boys, and a leather ball, which seems\nto excite them all to great fury, as a red rag does a bull. My dear sir,\na battle would look much the same to you, except that the boys would be\nmen, and the balls iron; but a battle would be worth your looking at for\nall that, and so is a football match. You can't be expected to\nappreciate the delicate strokes of play, the turns by which a game is\nlost and won,--it takes an old player to do that, but the broad\nphilosophy of football you can understand if you will. Come along with\nme a little nearer, and let us consider it together.\n\nThe ball has just fallen again where the two sides are thickest, and\nthey close rapidly around it in a scrummage; it must be driven through\nnow by force or skill, till it flies out on one side or the other. Look\nhow differently the boys face it! Here come two of the bull-dogs,\nbursting through the outsiders; in they go, straight to the heart of the\nscrummage, bent on driving that ball out on the opposite side. That is\nwhat they mean to do. My sons, my sons! you are too hot; you have gone\npast the ball, and must struggle now right through the scrummage, and\nget round and back again to your own side, before you can be of any\nfurther use. Here comes young Brooke; he goes in as straight as you, but\nkeeps his head, and backs and bends, holding himself still behind the\nball, and driving it furiously when he gets the chance. Take a leaf out\nof his book, you young chargers. Here come Speedicut, and Flashman the\nSchool-house bully, with shouts and great action. Won't you two come up\nto young Brooke, after locking up, by the School-house fire, with \"Old\nfellow, wasn't that just a splendid scrummage by the three trees!\" But\nhe knows you, and so do we. You don't really want to drive that ball\nthrough that scrummage, chancing all hurt for the glory of the\nSchool-house--but to make us think that's what you want--a vastly\ndifferent thing; and fellows of your kidney will never go through more\nthan the skirts of a scrummage, where it's all push and no kicking. We\nrespect boys who keep out of it, and don't sham going in; but you--we\nhad rather not say what we think of you.\n\nThen the boys who are bending and watching on the outside, mark\nthem--they are most useful players, the dodgers; who seize on the ball\nthe moment it rolls out from amongst the chargers, and away with it\nacross to the opposite goal; they seldom go into the scrummage, but must\nhave more coolness than the chargers: as endless as are boys'\ncharacters, so are their ways of facing or not facing a scrummage at\nfootball.\n\nThree-quarters of an hour are gone; first winds are failing, and weight\nand numbers beginning to tell. Yard by yard the School-house have been\ndriven back, contesting every inch of ground. The bull-dogs are the\ncolour of mother earth from shoulder to ankle, except young Brooke, who\nhas a marvellous knack of keeping his legs. The School-house are being\npenned in their turn, and now the ball is behind their goal, under the\nDoctor's wall. The Doctor and some of his family are there looking on,\nand seem as anxious as any boy for the success of the School-house. We\nget a minute's breathing time before old Brooke kicks out, and he gives\nthe word to play strongly for touch, by the three trees. Away goes the\nball, and the bull-dogs after it, and in another minute there is a shout\nof \"In touch,\" \"Our ball.\" Now's your time, old Brooke, while your men\nare still fresh. He stands with the ball in his hand, while the two\nsides form in deep lines opposite one another: he must strike it\nstraight out between them. The lines are thickest close to him, but\nyoung Brooke and two or three of his men are shifting up further, where\nthe opposite line is weak. Old Brooke strikes it out straight and\nstrong, and it falls opposite his brother. Hurra! that rush has taken it\nright through the School line, and away past the three trees, far into\ntheir quarters, and young Brooke and the bull-dogs are close upon it.\nThe School leaders rush back shouting \"Look out in goal,\" and strain\nevery nerve to catch him, but they are after the fleetest foot in Rugby.\nThere they go straight for the School goal-posts, quarters scattering\nbefore them. One after another the bull-dogs go down, but young Brooke\nholds on. \"He is down.\" No! a long stagger, and the danger is past; that\nwas the shock of Crew, the most dangerous of dodgers. And now he is\nclose to the School goal, the ball not three yards before him. There is\na hurried rush of the School fags to the spot, but no one throws himself\non the ball, the only chance, and young Brooke has touched it right\nunder the School goal-posts.\n\nThe School leaders come up furious, and administer toco to the wretched\nfags nearest at hand: they may well be angry, for it is all\nLombard-street to a china orange that the School-house kick a goal with\nthe ball touched in such a good place. Old Brooke of course will kick\nit out, but who shall catch and place it? Call Crab Jones. Here he\ncomes, sauntering along with a straw in his mouth, the queerest, coolest\nfish in Rugby: if he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would\njust pick himself up without taking his hands out of his pockets or\nturning a hair. But it is a moment when the boldest charger's heart\nbeats quick. Old Brooke stands with the ball under his arm motioning the\nSchool back; he will not kick-out till they are all in goal, behind the\nposts; they are all edging forwards, inch by inch, to get nearer for the\nrush at Crab Jones, who stands there in front of old Brooke to catch the\nball. If they can reach and destroy him before he catches, the danger is\nover; and with one and the same rush they will carry it right away to\nthe School-house goal. Fond hope! it is kicked out and caught\nbeautifully. Crab strikes his heel into the ground, to mark the spot\nwhere the ball was caught, beyond which the School line may not advance;\nbut there they stand, five deep, ready to rush the moment the ball\ntouches the ground. Take plenty of room! don't give the rush a chance of\nreaching you! place it true and steady! Trust Crab Jones--he has made a\nsmall hole with his heel for the ball to lie on, by which he is resting\non one knee, with his eye on old Brooke. \"Now!\" Crab places the ball at\nthe word, old Brooke kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the School\nrush forward.\n\nThen a moment's pause, while both sides look up at the spinning ball.\nThere it flies, straight between the two posts, some five feet above the\ncross-bar, an unquestioned goal; and a shout of real genuine joy rings\nout from the School-house players-up, and a faint echo of it comes over\nthe close from the goal-keepers under the Doctor's wall. A goal in the\nfirst hour--such a thing hasn't been done in the School-house match this\nfive years.\n\n\"Over!\" is the cry: the two sides change goals, and the School-house\ngoal-keepers come threading their way across through the masses of the\nSchool; the most openly triumphant of them, amongst whom is Tom, a\nSchool-house boy of two hours' standing, getting their ears boxed in the\ntransit. Tom indeed is excited beyond measure, and it is all the\nsixth-form boy, kindest and safest of goal-keepers, has been able to do,\nto keep him from rushing out whenever the ball has been near their goal.\nSo he holds him by his side, and instructs him in the science of\ntouching.\n\nAt this moment Griffith, the itinerant vendor of oranges from Hill\nMorton, enters the close with his heavy baskets; there is a rush of\nsmall boys upon the little pale-faced man, the two sides mingling\ntogether, subdued by the great Goddess Thirst, like the English and\nFrench by the streams in the Pyrenees. The leaders are past oranges and\napples, but some of them visit their coats, and apply innocent looking\nginger-beer bottles to their mouths. It is no ginger-beer though, I\nfear, and will do you no good. One short mad rush, and then a stitch in\nthe side, and no more honest play; that's what comes of those bottles.\n\nBut now Griffith's baskets are empty, the ball is placed again midway,\nand the School are going to kick off. Their leaders have sent their\nlumber into goal, and rated the rest soundly, and one hundred and twenty\npicked players-up are there, bent on retrieving the game. They are to\nkeep the ball in front of the School-house goal, and then to drive it in\nby sheer strength and weight. They mean heavy play and no mistake, and\nso old Brooke sees; and places Crab Jones in quarters just before the\ngoal, with four or five picked players, who are to keep the ball away to\nthe sides, where a try at goal, if obtained, will be less dangerous than\nin front. He himself, and Warner and Hedge, who have saved themselves\ntill now, will lead the charges.\n\n\"Are you ready?\" \"Yes.\" And away comes the ball kicked high in the air,\nto give the School time to rush on and catch it as it falls. And here\nthey are amongst us. Meet them like Englishmen, you School-house boys,\nand charge them home. Now is the time to show what mettle is in you--and\nthere shall be a warm seat by the hall fire, and honour, and lots of\nbottled beer to-night, for him who does his duty in the next half-hour.\nAnd they are well met. Again and again the cloud of their players-up\ngathers before our goal, and comes threatening on, and Warner or Hedge,\nwith young Brooke and the relics of the bull-dogs, break through and\ncarry the ball back; and old Brooke ranges the field like Job's\nwar-horse, the thickest scrummage parts asunder before his rush, like\nthe waves before a clipper's bows; his cheery voice rings over the\nfield, and his eye is everywhere. And if these miss the ball, and it\nrolls dangerously in front of our goal, Crab Jones and his men have\nseized it and sent it away towards the sides with the unerring\ndrop-kick. This is worth living for; the whole sum of school-boy\nexistence gathered up into one straining, struggling half-hour, a\nhalf-hour worth a year of common life.\n\nThe quarter to five has struck, and the play slackens for a minute\nbefore goal; but there is Crew, the artful dodger, driving the ball in\nbehind our goal, on the island side, where our quarters are weakest. Is\nthere no one to meet him? Yes! look at little East! the ball is just at\nequal distances between the two, and they rush together, the young man\nof seventeen and the boy of twelve, and kick it at the same moment. Crew\npasses on without a stagger; East is hurled forward by the shock, and\nplunges on his shoulders, as if he would bury himself in the ground; but\nthe ball rises straight into the air, and falls behind Crew's back,\nwhile the \"bravos\" of the School-house attest the pluckiest charge of\nall that hard-fought day. Warner picks East up lame and half stunned,\nand he hobbles back into goal conscious of having played the man.\n\nAnd now the last minutes are come, and the School gather for their last\nrush every boy of the hundred and twenty who has a run left in him.\nReckless of the defence of their own goal, on they come across the level\nbig-side ground, the ball well down amongst them straight for our goal,\nlike the column of the Old Guard up the slope at Waterloo. All former\ncharges have been child's play to this. Warner and Hedge have met them,\nbut still on they come. The bull-dogs rush in for the last time; they\nare hurled over or carried back, striving hand, foot, and eyelids. Old\nBrooke comes sweeping round the skirts of the play, and, turning short\nround, picks out the very heart of the scrummage, and plunges in. It\nwavers for a moment--he has the ball! No, it has passed him, and his\nvoice rings out clear over the advancing tide \"Look out in goal.\" Crab\nJones catches it for a moment; but before he can kick, the rush is upon\nhim and passes over him; and he picks himself up behind them with his\nstraw in his mouth, a little dirtier, but as cool as ever.\n\nThe ball rolls slowly in behind the School-house goal not three yards in\nfront of a dozen of the biggest School players-up.\n\nThere stand the School-house præpostor, safest of goal-keepers, and Tom\nBrown by his side, who has learned his trade by this time. Now is your\ntime, Tom. The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rush in\ntogether, and throw themselves on the ball, under the very feet of the\nadvancing column; the præpostor on his hands and knees arching his back,\nand Tom all along on his face. Over them topple the leaders of the rush,\nshooting over the back of the præpostor, but falling flat on Tom, and\nknocking all the wind out of his small carcase. \"Our ball,\" says the\npræpostor, rising with his prize; \"but get up there, there's a little\nfellow under you.\" They are hauled and roll off him, and Tom is\ndiscovered a motionless body.\n\nOld Brooke picks him up. \"Stand back, give him air,\" he says; and then\nfeeling his limbs, adds, \"No bones broken. How do you feel, young un?\"\n\n\"Hah-hah,\" gasps Tom as his wind comes back, \"pretty well, thank\nyou--all right.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\" says Brooke. \"Oh, it's Brown; he's a new boy; I know him,\"\nsays East, coming up.\n\n\"Well, he is a plucky youngster, and will make a player,\" says Brooke.\n\nAnd five o'clock strikes. \"No side\" is called, and the first day of the\nSchool-house match is over.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nAFTER THE MATCH.\n\n          \"----Some food we had.\"--_Shakspere._\n\n          ἦς πότος ἁδύς.--THEOCR. _Id._\n\n\nAS the boys scattered away from the ground, and East leaning on Tom's\narm, and limping along, was beginning to consider what luxury they\nshould go and buy for tea to celebrate that glorious victory, the two\nBrookes came striding by. Old Brooke caught sight of East, and stopped;\nput his hand kindly on his shoulder and said, \"Bravo, youngster, you\nplayed famously; not much the matter, I hope?\"\n\n\"No, nothing at all,\" said East, \"only a little twist from that\ncharge.\"\n\n\"Well, mind and get all right for next Saturday;\" and the leader passed\non, leaving East better for those few words than all the opodeldoc in\nEngland would have made him, and Tom ready to give one of his ears for\nas much notice. Ah! light words of those whom we love and honour, what a\npower ye are, and how carelessly wielded by those who can use you!\nSurely for these things also God will ask an account.\n\n\"Tea's directly after locking-up, you see,\" said East, hobbling along as\nfast as he could, \"so you come along down to Sally Harrowell's; that's\nour school-house tuck-shop--she bakes such stunning murphies, we'll have\na penn'orth each for tea; come along, or they'll all be gone.\"\n\nTom's new purse and money burnt in his pocket; he wondered, as they\ntoddled through the quadrangle and along the street, whether East would\nbe insulted if he suggested further extravagance, as he had not\nsufficient faith in a pennyworth of potatoes. At last he blurted out,--\n\n\"I say, East, can't we get something else besides potatoes? I've got\nlots of money, you know.\"\n\n\"Bless us, yes, I forgot,\" said East, \"you've only just come. You see\nall my tin's been gone this twelve weeks, it hardly ever lasts beyond\nthe first fortnight; and our allowances were all stopped this morning\nfor broken windows, so I haven't got a penny. I've got a tick at\nSally's, of course; but then I hate running it high, you see, towards\nthe end of the half, 'cause one has to shell out for it all directly one\ncomes back, and that's a bore.\"\n\nTom didn't understand much of this talk, but seized on the fact that\nEast had no money, and was denying himself some little pet luxury in\nconsequence. \"Well, what shall I buy?\" said he; \"I'm uncommon hungry.\"\n\n\"I say,\" said East, stopping to look at him and rest his leg, \"you're a\ntrump, Brown. I'll do the same by you next half. Let's have a pound of\nsausages, then; that's the best grub for tea I know of.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Tom, as pleased as possible; \"where do they sell\nthem?\"\n\n\"Oh, over here, just opposite;\" and they crossed the street and walked\ninto the cleanest little front room of a small house, half parlour, half\nshop, and bought a pound of most particular sausages; East talking\npleasantly to Mrs. Porter while she put them in paper, and Tom doing the\npaying part.\n\nFrom Porter's they adjourned to Sally Harrowell's, where they found a\nlot of School-house boys waiting for the roast potatoes, and relating\ntheir own exploits in the day's match at the top of their voices. The\nstreet opened at once into Sally's kitchen, a low, brick-floored room,\nwith large recess for fire, and chimney-corner seats. Poor little Sally,\nthe most good-natured and much enduring of womankind, was bustling about\nwith a napkin in her hand, from her own oven to those of the neighbours'\ncottages, up the yard at the back of the house. Stumps, her husband, a\nshort, easy-going shoemaker, with a beery humorous eye and ponderous\ncalves, who lived mostly on his wife's earnings, stood in a corner of\nthe room, exchanging shots of the roughest description of repartee with\nevery boy in turn. \"Stumps, you lout, you've had too much beer again\nto-day.\" \"'Twasn't of your paying for, then.\"--\"Stumps's calves are\nrunning down into his ankles, they want to get to grass.\" \"Better be\ndoing that, than gone altogether like yours,\" &c. &c. Very poor stuff it\nwas, but it served to make time pass; and every now and then Sally\narrived in the middle with a smoking tin of potatoes, which were cleared\noff in a few seconds, each boy as he seized his lot running oft to the\nhouse with \"Put me down two-penn'orth, Sally;\" \"Put down three-penn'orth\nbetween me and Davis,\" &c. How she ever kept the accounts so straight as\nshe did, in her head and on her slate, was a perfect wonder.\n\nEast and Tom got served at last, and started back for the School-house\njust as the locking-up bell began to ring; East on the way recounting\nthe life and adventures of Stumps, who was a character. Amongst his\nother small avocations, he was the hind carrier of a sedan-chair, the\nlast of its race, in which the Rugby ladies still went out to tea, and\nin which, when he was fairly harnessed and carrying a load, it was the\ndelight of small and mischievous boys to follow him and whip his calves.\nThis was too much for the temper even of Stumps, and he would pursue his\ntormentors in a vindictive and apoplectic manner when released, but was\neasily pacified by twopence to buy beer with.\n\nThe lower school-boys of the School-house, some fifteen in number, had\ntea in the lower-fifth school, and were presided over by the old verger\nor head-porter. Each boy had a quarter of a loaf of bread and pat of\nbutter, and as much tea as he pleased; and there was scarcely one who\ndidn't add to this some further luxury, such as baked potatoes, a\nherring, sprats, or something of the sort; but few, at this period of\nthe half-year, could live up to a pound of Porter's sausages, and East\nwas in great magnificence upon the strength of theirs. He had produced a\ntoasting-fork from his study, and set Tom to toast the sausages, while\nhe mounted guard over their butter and potatoes; \"'cause,\" as he\nexplained, \"you're a new boy, and they'll play you some trick and get\nour butter, but you can toast just as well as I.\" So Tom, in the midst\nof three or four more urchins similarly employed, toasted his face and\nthe sausages at the same time before the huge fire, till the latter\ncracked; when East from his watch-tower shouted that they were done; and\nthen the feast proceeded, and the festive cups of tea were filled and\nemptied, and Tom imparted of the sausages in small bits to many\nneighbours, and thought he had never tasted such good potatoes or seen\nsuch jolly boys. They on their parts waived all ceremony, and pegged\naway at the sausages and potatoes, and, remembering Tom's performance in\ngoal, voted East's new crony a brick. After tea, and while the things\nwere being cleared away, they gathered round the fire, and the talk on\nthe match still went on; and those who had them to show, pulled up their\ntrousers and showed the hacks they had received in the good cause.\n\nThey were soon however all turned out of the school, and East conducted\nTom up to his bedroom, that he might get on clean things and wash\nhimself before singing.\n\n\"What's singing?\" said Tom, taking his head out of his basin, where he\nhad been plunging it in cold water.\n\n\"Well, you are jolly green,\" answered his friend from a neighbouring\nbasin. \"Why, the last six Saturdays of every half, we sing of course;\nand this is the first of them. No first lesson to do, you know, and lie\nin bed to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"But who sings?\"\n\n\"Why everybody, of course; you'll see soon enough. We begin directly\nafter supper, and sing till bed-time. It ain't such good fun now though\nas in the summer half, 'cause then we sing in the little fives' court,\nunder the library, you know. We take our tables, and the big boys sit\nround, and drink beer; double allowance on Saturday nights; and we cut\nabout the quadrangle between the songs, and it looks like a lot of\nrobbers in a cave. And the louts come and pound at the great gates, and\nwe pound back again, and shout at them. But this half we only sing in\nthe hall. Come along down to my study.\"\n\nTheir principal employment in the study was to clear out East's table,\nremoving the drawers and ornaments and table-cloth; for he lived in the\nbottom passage, and his table was in requisition for the singing.\n\nSupper came in due course at seven o'clock, consisting of bread and\ncheese and beer, which was all saved for the singing; and directly\nafterwards the fags went to work to prepare the hall. The School-house\nhall, as has been said, is a great long high room, with two large fires\non one side, and two large iron-bound tables, one running down the\nmiddle, and the other along the wall opposite the fireplaces. Around the\nupper fire the fags placed the tables in the form of a horse-shoe, and\nupon them the jugs with the Saturday night's allowance of beer. Then\nthe big boys used to drop in and take their seats, bringing with them\nbottled beer and song-books; for although they all knew the songs by\nheart, it was the thing to have an old manuscript book descended from\nsome departed hero, in which they were all carefully written out.\n\nThe sixth-form boys had not yet appeared; so, to fill up the gap, an\ninteresting and time-honoured ceremony was gone through. Each new boy\nwas placed on the table in turn, and made to sing a solo, under the\npenalty of drinking a large mug of salt and water if he resisted or\nbroke down. However, the new boys all sing like nightingales to-night,\nand the salt water is not in requisition; Tom, as his part, performing\nthe old west-country song of \"The Leather Bottèl\" with considerable\napplause. And at the half-hour down come the sixth and fifth form boys,\nand take their places at the tables, which are filled up by the next\nbiggest boys, the rest, for whom there is no room at the table, standing\nround outside.\n\nThe glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugleman strikes up the\nold sea song--\n\n          \"A wet sheet and a flowing sea,\n           And a wind that follows fast,\" &c.\n\nwhich is the invariable first song in the School-house, and all the\nseventy voices join in, not mindful of harmony, but bent on noise, which\nthey attain decidedly; but the general effect isn't bad. And then follow\nthe \"British Grenadiers,\" \"Billy Taylor,\" \"The Siege of Seringapatam,\"\n\"Three Jolly Postboys,\" and other vociferous songs in rapid succession,\nincluding the \"Chesapeake and Shannon,\" a song lately introduced in\nhonour of old Brooke; and when they come to the words--\n\n          \"Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now my lads, aboard,\n           And we'll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy oh!\"\n\nyou expect the roof to come down. The sixth and fifth know that \"brave\nBroke\" of the Shannon was no sort of relation to our old Brooke. The\nfourth-form are uncertain in their belief, but for the most part hold\nthat old Brooke _was_ a midshipman then on board his uncle's ship. And\nthe lower school never doubt for a moment that it was our old Brooke who\nled the boarders, in what capacity they care not a straw. During the\npauses the bottled-beer corks fly rapidly, and the talk is fast and\nmerry, and the big boys, at least all of them who have a fellow-feeling\nfor dry throats, hand their mugs over their shoulders to be emptied by\nthe small ones who stand round behind.\n\nThen Warner, the head of the house, gets up and wants to speak, but he\ncan't, for every boy knows what's coming; and the big boys who sit at\nthe tables pound them and cheer; and the small boys who stand behind\npound one another, and cheer, and rush about the hall cheering. Then\nsilence being made, Warner reminds them of the old School-house custom\nof drinking the healths, on the first night of singing, of those who are\ngoing to leave at the end of the half. \"He sees that they know what he\nis going to say already--(loud cheers)--and so won't keep them, but only\nask them to treat the toast as it deserves. It is the head of the\neleven, the head of big-side football, their leader on this glorious\nday--Pater Brooke!\"\n\nAnd away goes the pounding and cheering again, becoming deafening when\nold Brooke gets on his legs: till, a table having broken down, and a\ngallon or so of beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, silence\nensues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the table, and bending\na little forwards. No action, no tricks of oratory; plain, strong, and\nstraight, like his play.\n\n\"Gentlemen of the School-house! I am very proud of the way in which you\nhave received my name, and I wish I could say all I should like in\nreturn. But I know I shan't. However, I'll do the best I can to say what\nseems to me ought to be said by a fellow who's just going to leave, and\nwho has spent a good slice of his life here. Eight years it is, and\neight such years as I can never hope to have again. So now I hope you'll\nall listen to me--(loud cheers of 'that we will')--for I'm going to talk\nseriously. You're bound to listen to me; for what's the use of calling\nme 'pater,' and all that, if you don't mind what I say? And I'm going to\ntalk seriously, because I feel so. It's a jolly time, too, getting to\nthe end of the half, and a goal kicked by us first day--(tremendous\napplause)--after one of the hardest and fiercest day's play I can\nremember in eight years--(frantic shoutings). The school played\nsplendidly, too, I will say, and kept it up to the last. That last\ncharge of theirs would have carried away a house. I never thought to see\nanything again of old Crab there, except little pieces, when I saw him\ntumbled over by it--(laughter and shouting, and great slapping on the\nback of Jones by the boys nearest him). Well, but we beat 'em--(cheers).\nAye, but why did we beat 'em? answer me that--(shouts of 'your play.')\nNonsense! 'Twasn't the wind and kick-off either--that wouldn't do it.\n'Twasn't because we've half-a-dozen of the best players in the school,\nas we have. I wouldn't change Warner, and Hedge, and Crab, and the young\nun, for any six on their side--(violent cheers.) But half-a-dozen\nfellows can't keep it up for two hours against two hundred. Why is it,\nthen? I'll tell you what I think. It's because we've more reliance on\none another, more of a house feeling, more fellowship than the school\ncan have. Each of us knows and can depend on his next hand man\nbetter--that's why we beat 'em to-day. We've union, they've\ndivision--there's the secret--(cheers). But how's this to be kept up?\nHow's it to be improved? That's the question. For I take it, we're all\nin earnest about beating the school, whatever else we care about. I know\nI'd sooner win two School-house matches running than get the Balliol\nscholarship any day--(frantic cheers).\n\n\"Now, I'm as proud of the house as any one. I believe it's the best\nhouse in the school, out-and-out--(cheers). But it's a long way from\nwhat I want to see it. First there's a deal of bullying going on. I know\nit well. I don't pry about and interfere; that only makes it more\nunderhand, and encourages the small boys to come to us with their\nfingers in their eyes telling tales, and so we should be worse off than\never. It's very little kindness for the sixth to meddle generally--you\nyoungsters, mind that. You'll be all the better football players for\nlearning to stand it, and to take your own parts, and fight it through.\nBut depend on it, there's nothing breaks up a house like bullying.\nBullies are cowards, and one coward makes many; so good-bye to the\nSchool-house match if bullying gets ahead here. (Loud applause from the\nsmall boys, who look meaningly at Flashman and other boys at the\ntables.) Then there's fuddling about in the public-houses, and drinking\nbad spirits, and punch, and such rot-gut stuff. That won't make good\ndrop-kicks or chargers of you, take my word for it. You get plenty of\ngood beer here, and that's enough for you; and drinking isn't fine or\nmanly, whatever some of you may think of it.\n\n\"One other thing I must have a word about. A lot of you think and say,\nfor I've heard you, 'There's this new Doctor hasn't been here so long as\nsome of us, and he's changing all the old customs. Rugby, and the\nSchool-house especially, are going to the dogs. Stand up for the good\nold ways, and down with the Doctor!' Now I'm as fond of old Rugby\ncustoms and ways as any of you, and I've been here longer than any of\nyou, and I'll give you a word of advice in time, for I shouldn't like to\nsee any of you getting sacked. 'Down with the Doctor!' is easier said\nthan done. You'll find him pretty tight on his perch, I take it, and an\nawkwardish customer to handle in that line. Besides now, what customs\nhas he put down? There was the good old custom of taking the linch-pins\nout of the farmers' and bagmen's gigs at the fairs, and a cowardly\nblackguard custom it was. We all know what came of it; and no wonder the\nDoctor objected to it. But, come now, any of you, name a custom that he\nhas put down.\"\n\n\"The hounds,\" calls out a fifth-form boy, clad in a green cutaway with\nbrass buttons and cord trousers, the leader of the sporting interest,\nand reputed a great rider and keen hand generally.\n\n\"Well, we had six or seven mangey harriers and beagles belonging to the\nhouse, I'll allow, and had had them for years, and that the Doctor put\nthem down. But what good ever came of them? Only rows with all the\nkeepers for ten miles round; and big-side Hare and Hounds is better fun\nten times over. What else?\"\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"Well, I won't go on. Think it over for yourselves: you'll find, I\nbelieve, that he don't meddle with any one that's worth keeping. And\nmind now, I say again, look out for squalls, if you will go your own\nway, and that way ain't the Doctor's, for it'll lead to grief. You all\nknow that I'm not the fellow to back a master through thick and thin. If\nI saw him stopping football, or cricket, or bathing, or sparring, I'd be\nas ready as any fellow to stand up about it. But he don't--he encourages\nthem; didn't you see him out to-day for half-an-hour watching us? (loud\ncheers for the Doctor;) and he's a strong, true man, and a wise one too,\nand a public-school man too. (Cheers.) And so let's stick to him, and\ntalk no more rot, and drink his health as the head of the house. (Loud\ncheers.) And now I've done blowing up, and very glad I am to have done.\nBut it's a solemn thing to be thinking of leaving a place which one has\nlived in and loved for eight years; and if one can say a word for the\ngood of the old house at such a time, why, it should be said, whether\nbitter or sweet. If I hadn't been proud of the house and you--aye, no\none knows how proud--I shouldn't be blowing you up. And now let's get\nto singing. But before I sit down I must give you a toast to be drunk\nwith three-times-three and all the honours. It's a toast which I hope\nevery one of us, wherever he may go hereafter, will never fail to drink\nwhen he thinks of the brave bright days of his boyhood. It's a toast\nwhich should bind us all together, and to those who've gone before, and\nwho'll come after us here. It is the dear old school-house--the best\nhouse of the best school in England!\"\n\nMy dear boys, old and young, you who have belonged, or do belong, to\nother schools and other houses, don't begin throwing my poor little book\nabout the room, and abusing me and it, and vowing you'll read no more\nwhen you get to this point. I allow you've provocation for it. But, come\nnow--would you, any of you, give a fig for a fellow who didn't believe\nin, and stand up for his own house and his own school? You know you\nwouldn't. Then don't object to my cracking up the old School-house,\nRugby. Haven't I a right to do it, when I'm taking all the trouble of\nwriting this true history for all your benefits? If you ain't satisfied,\ngo and write the history of your own houses in your own times, and say\nall you know for your own schools and houses, provided it's true, and\nI'll read it without abusing you.\n\nThe last few words hit the audience in their weakest place; they had\nbeen not altogether enthusiastic at several parts of old Brooke's\nspeech; but \"the best house of the best school in England\" was too much\nfor them all, and carried even the sporting and drinking interests off\ntheir legs into rapturous applause, and (it is to be hoped) resolutions\nto lead a new life and remember old Brooke's words; which, however,\nthey didn't altogether do, as will appear hereafter.\n\nBut it required all old Brooke's popularity to carry down parts of his\nspeech; especially that relating to the Doctor. For there are no such\nbigoted holders by established forms and customs, be they never so\nfoolish or meaningless, as English school-boys--at least, as the\nschool-boy of our generation. We magnified into heroes every boy who had\nleft, and looked upon him with awe and reverence, when he revisited the\nplace a year or so afterwards, on his way to or from Oxford or\nCambridge; and happy was the boy who remembered him, and sure of an\naudience as he expounded what he used to do and say, though it were sad\nenough stuff to make angels, not to say head-masters, weep.\n\nWe looked upon every trumpery little custom and habit which had obtained\nin the school as though it had been a law of the Medes and Persians, and\nregarded the infringement or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege. And\nthe Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a stronger liking for old school\ncustoms which were good and sensible, had, as has already been hinted,\ncome into most decided collision with several which were neither the one\nnor the other. And as old Brooke had said, when he came into collision\nwith boys or customs, there was nothing for them but to give in or take\nthemselves off; because what he said had to be done, and no mistake\nabout it. And this was beginning to be pretty clearly understood; the\nboys felt that there was a strong man over them, who would have things\nhis own way; and hadn't yet learned that he was a wise and loving man\nalso. His personal character and influence had not had time to make\nitself felt, except by a very few of the bigger boys, with whom he came\nmore directly in contact; and he was looked upon with great fear and\ndislike by the great majority even of his own house. For he had found\nschool, and school-house, in a state of monstrous license and misrule,\nand was still employed in the necessary but unpopular work of setting up\norder with a strong hand.\n\nHowever, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, and the boys cheered\nhim and then the Doctor. And then more songs came, and the healths of\nthe other boys about to leave, who each made a speech, one flowery,\nanother maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, which are not necessary to be\nhere recorded.\n\nHalf-past nine struck in the middle of the performance of \"Auld Lang\nSyne,\" a most obstreperous proceeding; during which there was an immense\namount of standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs together\nand shaking hands, without which accompaniments it seems impossible for\nthe youth of Britain to take part in that famous old song. The\nunder-porter of the School-house entered during the performance, bearing\nfive or six long wooden candlesticks, with lighted dips in them, which\nhe proceeded to stick into their holes in such part of the great tables\nas he could get at; and then stood outside the ring till the end of the\nsong, when he was hailed with shouts.\n\n\"Bill, you old muff, the half-hour hasn't struck.\" \"Here, Bill, drink\nsome cocktail,\" \"Sing us a song old boy,\" \"Don't you wish you may get\nthe table?\" Bill drank the proffered cocktail not unwillingly, and\nputting down the empty glass, remonstrated, \"Now, gentlemen, there's\nonly ten minutes to prayers, and we must get the hall straight.\"\n\nShouts of \"No, no!\" and a violent effort to strike up \"Billy Taylor\" for\nthe third time. Bill looked appealingly to old Brooke, who got up and\nstopped the noise. \"Now then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and get the\ntables back; clear away the jugs and glasses. Bill's right. Open the\nwindows, Warner.\" The boy addressed, who sat by the long ropes,\nproceeded to pull up the great windows, and let in a clear fresh rush of\nnight air, which made the candles flicker and gutter, and the fires\nroar. The circle broke up, each collaring his own jug, glass, and\nsong-book; Bill pounced on the big table, and began to rattle it away to\nits place outside the buttery-door. The lower-passage boys carried off\ntheir small tables, aided by their friends, while above all, standing on\nthe great hall-table, a knot of untiring sons of harmony made night\ndoleful by a prolonged performance of \"God save the King.\" His Majesty\nKing William IV. then reigned over us, a monarch deservedly popular\namongst the boys addicted to melody, to whom he was chiefly known from\nthe beginning of that excellent, if slightly vulgar, song in which they\nmuch delighted--\n\n          \"Come, neighbours all, both great and small,\n             Perform your duties here,\n           And loudly sing 'live Billy our king,'\n             For bating the tax upon beer.\"\n\nOthers of the more learned in songs also celebrated his praises in a\nsort of ballad, which I take to have been written by some Irish\nloyalist. I have forgotten all but the chorus, which ran--\n\n          \"God save our good King William, be his name for ever blessed:\n           He's the father of all his people, and the guardian of all the rest.\"\n\nIn troth, we were loyal subjects in those days, in a rough way. I trust\nthat our successors make as much of her present Majesty, and, having\nregard to the greater refinement of the times, have adopted or written\nother songs equally hearty, but more civilized, in her honour.\n\nThen the quarter to ten struck, and the prayer-bell rang. The sixth and\nfifth form boys ranged themselves in their school order along the wall,\non either side of the great fives, the middle fifth and upper-school\nboys round the long table in the middle of the hall, and the\nlower-school boys round the upper part of the second long table, which\nran down the side of the hall furthest from the fires. Here Tom found\nhimself at the bottom of all, in a state of mind and body not at all fit\nfor prayers, as he thought; and so tried hard to make himself serious,\nbut couldn't, for the life of him, do anything but repeat in his head\nthe choruses of some of the songs, and stare at all the boys opposite,\nwondering at the brilliancy of their waistcoats, and speculating what\nsort of fellows they were. The steps of the head-porter are heard on the\nstairs, and a light gleams at the door. \"Hush!\" from the fifth-form boys\nwho stand there, and then in strides the Doctor, cap on head, book in\none hand, and gathering up his gown in the other. He walks up the\nmiddle, and takes his post by Warner, who begins calling over the names.\nThe Doctor takes no notice of anything, but quietly turns over his book\nand finds the place, and then stands, cap in hand and finger in book,\nlooking straight before his nose. He knows better than any one when to\nlook, and when to see nothing; to-night is singing night, and there's\nbeen lots of noise and no harm done; nothing but beer drunk, and nobody\nthe worse for it; though some of them do look hot and excited. So the\nDoctor sees nothing, but fascinates Tom in a horrible manner as he\nstands there, and reads out the Psalm in that deep, ringing, searching\nvoice of his. Prayers are over, and Tom still stares open-mouthed after\nthe Doctor's retiring figure, when he feels a pull at his sleeve, and\nturning round, sees East.\n\n\"I say, were you ever tossed in a blanket?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Tom; \"why?\"\n\n\"'Cause there'll be tossing to-night, most likely, before the sixth come\nup to bed. So if you funk, you just come along and hide, or else they'll\ncatch you and toss you.\"\n\n\"Were you ever tossed? Does it hurt?\" inquired Tom.\n\n\"Oh yes, bless you, a dozen times,\" said East, as he hobbled along by\nTom's side up-stairs. \"It don't hurt unless you fall on the floor. But\nmost fellows don't like it.\"\n\nThey stopped at the fireplace in the top passage, where were a crowd of\nsmall boys whispering together, and evidently unwilling to go up into\nthe bedrooms. In a minute, however, a study door opened, and a\nsixth-form boy came out, and off they all scuttled up the stairs, and\nthen noiselessly dispersed to their different rooms. Tom's heart beat\nrather quick as he and East reached their room, but he had made up his\nmind. \"I shan't hide, East,\" said he.\n\n\"Very well, old fellow,\" replied East, evidently pleased; \"no more shall\nI--they'll be here for us directly.\"\n\nThe room was a great big one, with a dozen beds in it, but not a boy\nthat Tom could see, except East and himself. East pulled off his coat\nand waistcoat, and then sat on the bottom of his bed, whistling, and\npulling off his boots; Tom followed his example.\n\nA noise and steps are heard in the passage, the door opens, and in rush\nfour or five great fifth-form boys, headed by Flashman in his glory.\n\nTom and East slept in the further corner of the room, and were not seen\nat first.\n\n\"Gone to ground, eh?\" roared Flashman; \"push 'em out then, boys! look\nunder the beds:\" and he pulled up the little white curtain of the one\nnearest him. \"Who-o-op,\" he roared, pulling away at the leg of a small\nboy, who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and sung out lustily for\nmercy.\n\n\"Here, lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull out this young howling\nbrute. Hold your tongue, sir, or I'll kill you.\"\n\n\"Oh, please, Flashman, please, Walker, don't toss me! I'll fag for you,\nI'll do anything, only don't toss me.\"\n\n\"You be hanged,\" said Flashman, lugging the wretched boy along, \"'twont\nhurt you,----you! Come along, boys, here he is.\"\n\n\"I say, Flashy,\" sung out another of the big boys, \"drop that; you heard\nwhat old Pater Brooke said to-night I'll he hanged if we'll toss any\none against their will--no more bullying. Let him go, I say.\"\n\nFlashman, with an oath and a kick, released his prey, who rushed\nheadlong under his bed again, for fear they should change their minds,\nand crept along underneath the other beds, till he got under that of the\nsixth-form boy, which he knew they daren't disturb.\n\n\"There's plenty of youngsters don't care about it,\" said Walker. \"Here,\nhere's Scud East--you'll be tossed, won't you, young un?\" Scud was\nEast's nickname, or Black, as we called it, gained by his fleetness of\nfoot.\n\n\"Yes,\" said East, \"if you like, only mind my foot.\"\n\n\"And here's another who didn't hide. Hullo! new boy; what's your name,\nsir?\"\n\n\"Brown.\"\n\n\"Well, Whitey Brown, you don't mind being tossed?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Tom, setting his teeth.\n\n\"Come along then, boys,\" sung out Walker; and away they all went,\ncarrying along Tom and East, to the intense relief of four or five other\nsmall boys, who crept out from under the beds and behind them.\n\n\"What a trump Scud is!\" said one. \"They won't come back here now.\"\n\n\"And that new boy, too; he must be a good plucked one.\"\n\n\"Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor; see how he'll like it\nthen!\"\n\nMeantime the procession went down the passage to Number 7, the largest\nroom, and the scene of tossing, in the middle of which was a great open\nspace. Here they joined other parties of the bigger boys, each with a\ncaptive or two, some willing to be tossed, some sullen, and some\nfrightened to death. At Walker's suggestion, all who were afraid were\nlet off, in honour of Pater Brooke's speech.\n\nThen a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket dragged from one of the\nbeds. \"In with Scud, quick! there's no time to lose.\" East was chucked\ninto the blanket. \"Once, twice, thrice, and away;\" up he went like a\nshuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling.\n\n\"Now, boys, with a will,\" cried Walker, \"once, twice, thrice, and away!\"\nThis time he went clean up, and kept himself from touching the ceiling\nwith his hand; and so again a third time, when he was turned out, and up\nwent another boy. And then came Tom's turn. He lay quite still, by\nEast's advice, and didn't dislike the \"once, twice, thrice;\" but the\n\"away\" wasn't so pleasant. They were in good wind now, and sent him slap\nup to the ceiling first time, against which his knees came rather\nsharply. But the moment's pause before descending was the rub, the\nfeeling of utter helplessness, and of leaving his whole inside behind\nhim sticking to the ceiling. Tom was very near shouting to be set down,\nwhen he found himself back in the blanket, but thought of East, and\ndidn't; and so took his three tosses without a kick or a cry, and was\ncalled a young trump for his pains.\n\nHe and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. No catastrophe\nhappened, as all the captives were cool hands, and didn't struggle. This\ndidn't suit Flashman. What your real bully likes in tossing, is when the\nboys kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, and so\nget pitched bodily on to the floor; it's no fun to him when no one is\nhurt or frightened.\n\n\"Let's toss two of them together, Walker,\" suggested he.\n\n\"What a cursed bully you are, Flashy!\" rejoined the other. \"Up with\nanother one.\"\n\nAnd so no two boys were tossed together, the peculiar hardship of which\nis, that it's too much for human nature to lie still then and share\ntroubles; and so the wretched pair of small boys struggle in the air\nwhich shall fall a-top in the descent, to the no small risk of both\nfalling out of the blanket, and the huge delight of brutes like\nFlashman.\n\nBut now there's a cry that the præpostor of the room is coming; so the\ntossing stops, and all scatter to their different rooms: and Tom is left\nto turn in, with the first day's experience of a public school to\nmeditate upon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nSETTLING TO THE COLLAR\n\n          Says Giles, \"Tis mortal hard to go;\n            But if so be's I must,\n          I means to follow arter he\n            As goes hisself the fust.\"--_Ballad._\n\n\nEVERYBODY, I suppose, knows the dreamy delicious state in which one\nlies, half asleep, half awake, while consciousness begins to return,\nafter a sound night's rest in a new place which we are glad to be in,\nfollowing upon a day of unwonted excitement and exertion. There are few\npleasanter pieces of life. The worst of it is that they last such a\nshort time; for, nurse them as you will, by lying perfectly passive in\nmind and body, you can't make more than five minutes or so of them.\nAfter which time, the stupid, obtrusive, wakeful entity which we call\n'I,' as impatient as he is stiff-necked, spite of our teeth will force\nhimself back again, and take possession of us down to our very toes.\n\nIt was in this state that Master Tom lay at half-past seven on the\nmorning following the day of his arrival, and from his clean little\nwhite bed watched the movements of Bogle (the generic name by which the\nsuccessive shoeblacks of the School-house were known), as he marched\nround from bed to bed, collecting the dirty shoes and boots, and\ndepositing clean ones in their places.\n\nThere he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in the universe he was,\nbut conscious that he had made a step in life which he had been anxious\nto make. It was only just light as he looked lazily out of the wide\nwindows, and saw the tops of the great elms, and the rooks circling\nabout, and cawing remonstrances to the lazy ones of their commonwealth,\nbefore starting in a body for the neighbouring ploughed fields. The\nnoise of the room-door closing behind Bogle, as he made his exit with\nthe shoe-basket under his arm, roused Tom thoroughly, and he sat up in\nbed and looked round the room. What in the world could be the matter\nwith his shoulders and loins? He felt as if he had been severely beaten\nall down his back, the natural result of his performance at his first\nmatch. He drew up his knees and rested his chin on them, and went over\nall the events of yesterday, rejoicing in his new life, what he had seen\nof it, and all that was to come.\n\nPresently one or two of the other boys roused themselves, and began to\nsit up and talk to one another in low tones. Then East, after a roll or\ntwo, came to an anchor also, and, nodding to Tom, began examining his\nankle.\n\n\"What a pull,\" said he, \"that it's lie-in-bed, for I shall be as lame as\na tree, I think.\"\n\nIt was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had not yet been established;\nso that nothing but breakfast intervened between bed and eleven o'clock\nchapel--a gap by no means easy to fill up: in fact, though received with\nthe correct amount of grumbling, the first lecture instituted by the\nDoctor shortly afterwards was a great boon to the School. It was lie in\nbed, and no one was in a hurry to get up, especially in rooms where the\nsixth-form boy was a good-tempered fellow, as was the case in Tom's\nroom, and allowed the small boys to talk and laugh, and do pretty much\nwhat they pleased, so long as they didn't disturb him. His bed was a\nbigger one than the rest, standing in the corner by the fireplace, with\na washing-stand and large basin by the side, where he lay in state, with\nhis white curtains tucked in so as to form a retiring place: an awful\nsubject of contemplation to Tom, who slept nearly opposite, and watched\nthe great man rouse himself and take a book from under his pillow, and\nbegin reading, leaning his head on his hand, and turning his back to the\nroom. Soon, however, a noise of striving urchins arose, and muttered\nencouragements from the neighbouring boys, of--\"Go it, Tadpole!\" \"Now,\nyoung Green!\" \"Haul away his blanket!\" \"Slipper him on the hands!\" Young\nGreen and little Hall, commonly called Tadpole, from his great black\nhead and thin legs, slept side by side far away by the door, and were\nfor ever playing one another tricks, which usually ended, as on this\nmorning, in open and violent collision: and now, unmindful of all order\nand authority, there they were, each hauling away at the other's\nbed-clothes with one hand, and with the other, armed with a slipper,\nbelabouring whatever portion of the body of his adversary came within\nreach.\n\n\"Hold that noise, up in the corner,\" called out the præpostor, sitting\nup and looking round his curtains; and the Tadpole and young Green sank\ndown into their disordered beds, and then, looking at his watch, added\n\"Hullo, past eight!--whose turn for hot water?\"\n\n(Where the præpostor was particular in his ablutions, the fags in his\nroom had to descend in turn to the kitchen, and beg or steal hot water\nfor him; and often the custom extended further, and two boys went down\nevery morning to get a supply for the whole room.)\n\n\"East's and Tadpole's,\" answered the senior fag, who kept the rota.\n\n\"I can't go,\" said East; \"I'm dead lame.\"\n\n\"Well, be quick, some of you, that's all,\" said the great man, as he\nturned out of bed, and putting on his slippers, went out into the great\npassage which runs the whole length of the bedrooms, to get his Sunday\nhabiliments out of his portmanteau.\n\n\"Let me go for you,\" said Tom to East, \"I should like it.\"\n\n\"Well, thank'ee, that's a good fellow. Just pull on your trousers, and\ntake your jug and mine. Tadpole will show you the way.\"\n\nAnd so Tom and the Tadpole, in night-shirts and trousers, started off\ndown-stairs, and through \"Thos's hole,\" as the little buttery, where\ncandles and beer and bread and cheese were served out at night, was\ncalled; across the School-house court, down a long passage, and into the\nkitchen; where, after some parley with the stalwart, handsome cook, who\ndeclared that she had filled a dozen jugs already, they got their hot\nwater, and returned with all speed and great caution. As it was, they\nnarrowly escaped capture by some privateers from the fifth-form rooms,\nwho were on the look-out for the hot-water convoys, and pursued them up\nto the very door of their room, making them spill half their load in the\npassage. \"Better than going down again though,\" Tadpole remarked, \"as we\nshould have had to do, if those beggars had caught us.\"\n\nBy the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom and his new comrades\nwere all down, dressed in their best clothes, and he had the\nsatisfaction of answering \"here\" to his name for the first time, the\npræpostor of the week having put it in at the bottom of his list. And\nthen came breakfast, and a saunter about the close and town with East,\nwhose lameness only became severe when any fagging had to be done. And\nso they whiled away the time until morning chapel.\n\nIt was a fine November morning, and the close soon became alive with\nboys of all ages, who sauntered about on the grass, or walked round the\ngravel walk, in parties of two or three. East, still doing the cicerone,\npointed out all the remarkable characters to Tom as they passed: Osbert,\nwho could throw a cricket-ball from the little-side ground over the rook\ntrees to the Doctor's wall; Gray, who had got the Balliol scholarship,\nand, what East evidently thought of much more importance, a half-holiday\nfor the School by his success; Thorne, who had run ten miles in two\nminutes over the hour; Black, who had held his own against the cock of\nthe town in the last row with the louts; and many more heroes, who then\nand there walked about and were worshipped, all trace of whom has long\nsince vanished from the scene of their fame; and the fourth-form boy who\nreads their names rudely cut out on the old hall tables, or painted upon\nthe big side-cupboard (if hall tables, and big side-cupboards still\nexist), wonders what manner of boys they were. It will be the same with\nyou who wonder, my sons, whatever your prowess may be, in cricket, or\nscholarship, or football. Two or three years, more or less, and then the\nsteadily advancing, blessed wave will pass over your names as it has\npassed over ours. Nevertheless, play your games and do your work\nmanfully--see only that that be done, and let the remembrance of it take\ncare of itself.\n\nThe chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to eleven, and Tom got in\nearly and took his place in the lowest row, and watched all the other\nboys come in and take their places, filling row after row; and tried to\nconstrue the Greek text which was inscribed over the door with the\nslightest possible success, and wondered which of the masters, who\nwalked down the chapel and took their seats in the exalted boxes at the\nend, would be his lord. And then came the closing of the doors, and the\nDoctor in his robes and the service, which, however, didn't impress him\nmuch, for his feeling of wonder and curiosity was too strong. And the\nboy on one side of him was scratching his name on the oak panelling in\nfront, and he couldn't help watching to see what the name was, and\nwhether it was well scratched; and the boy on the other side went to\nsleep and kept falling against him; and on the whole, though many boys\neven in that part of the School were serious and attentive, the general\natmosphere was by no means devotional; and when he got out into the\nclose again, he didn't feel at all comfortable, or as if he had been to\nchurch.\n\nBut at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing. He had spent the\ntime after dinner in writing home to his mother, and so was in a better\nframe of mind; and his first curiosity was over, and he could attend\nmore to the service. As the hymn after the prayers was being sung, and\nthe chapel was getting a little dark, he was beginning to feel that he\nhad been really worshipping. And then came that great event in his, as\nin every Rugby boy's life of that day--the first sermon from the Doctor.\n\nMore worthy pens than mine have described that scene. The oak pulpit\nstanding out by itself above the School seats. The tall gallant form,\nthe kindling eye, the voice, now soft as the low notes of a flute, now\nclear and stirring as the call of the light infantry bugle, of him who\nstood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing and pleading for his Lord,\nthe King of righteousness and love and glory, with whose spirit he was\nfilled, and in whose power he spoke. The long lines of young faces,\nrising tier above tier down the whole length of the chapel, from the\nlittle boy's who had just left his mother to the young man's who was\ngoing out next week into the great world rejoicing in his strength. It\nwas a great and solemn sight, and never more so than at this time of\nyear, when the only lights in the chapel were in the pulpit and at the\nseats of the præpostors of the week, and the soft twilight stole over\nthe rest of the chapel, deepening into darkness in the high gallery\nbehind the organ.\n\nBut what was it after all which seized and held these three hundred\nboys, dragging them out of themselves, willing or unwilling, for twenty\nminutes, on Sunday afternoon? True, there always were boys scattered up\nand down the School, who in heart and head were worthy to hear and able\nto carry away the deepest and wisest words there spoken. But these were\na minority always, generally a very small one, often so small a one as\nto be countable on the fingers of your hand. What was it that moved and\nheld us, the rest of the three hundred reckless, childish boys, who\nfeared the Doctor with all our hearts, and very little besides in heaven\nor earth: who thought more of our sets in the School than of the Church\nof Christ, and put the traditions of Rugby and the public opinion of\nboys in our daily life above the laws of God? We couldn't enter into\nhalf that we heard; we hadn't the knowledge of our own hearts or the\nknowledge of one another; and little enough of the faith, hope, and love\nneeded to that end. But we listened, as all boys in their better moods\nwill listen (aye, and men too, for the matter of that), to a man who we\nfelt to be, with all Ins heart and soul and strength, striving against\nwhatever was mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our little world. It\nwas not the cold clear voice of one giving advice and warning from\nserene heights to those who were struggling and sinning below, but the\nwarm living voice of one who was fighting for us and by our sides, and\ncalling on us to help him and ourselves and one another. And so, wearily\nand little by little, but surely and steadily on the whole, was brought\nhome to the young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life: that\nit was no fool's or sluggard's paradise into which he had wandered by\nchance, but a battle-field ordained from of old, where there are no\nspectators, but the youngest must take his side, and the stakes are life\nand death. And he who roused his consciousness in them showed them at\nthe same time, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole\ndaily life, how that battle was to be fought; and stood there before\nthem their fellow-soldier and the captain of their band. The true sort\nof captain, too, for a boy's army, one who had no misgivings and gave no\nuncertain word of command, and, let who would yield or make a truce,\nwould fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to the last gasp and the\nlast drop of blood. Other sides of his character might take hold of and\ninfluence boys here and there, but it was this thoroughness and\nundaunted courage which more than anything else won his way to the\nhearts of the great mass of those on whom he left his mark, and made\nthem believe first in him, and then in his Master.\n\nIt was this quality above all others which moved such boys as our hero,\nwho had nothing whatever remarkable about him except excess of\nboyishness; by which I mean animal life in its fullest measure, good\nnature and honest impulses, hatred of injustice and meanness, and\nthoughtlessness enough to sink a three-decker. And so, during the next\ntwo years, in which it was more than doubtful whether he would get good\nor evil from the School, and before any steady purpose or principle grew\nup in him, whatever his week's sins and shortcomings might have been, he\nhardly ever left the chapel on Sunday evenings without a serious resolve\nto stand by and follow the Doctor, and a feeling that it was only\ncowardice (the incarnation of all other sins in such a boy's mind) which\nhindered him from doing so with all his heart.\n\nThe next day Tom was duly placed in the third form, and began his\nlessons in a corner of the big School. He found the work very easy, as\nhe had been well grounded, and knew his grammar by heart; and, as he had\nno intimate companion to make him idle (East and his other School-house\nfriends being in the lower fourth, the form above him), soon gained\ngolden opinions from his master, who said he was placed too low, and\nshould be put out at the end of the half-year. So all went well with him\nin School, and he wrote the most flourishing letters home to his mother,\nfull of his success and the unspeakable delights of a public school.\n\nIn the house, too, all went well. The end of the half-year was drawing\nnear, which kept everybody in a good humour, and the house was ruled\nwell and strongly by Warner and Brooke. True, the general system was\nrough and hard, and there was bullying in nooks and corners, bad signs\nfor the future; but it never got further, or dared show itself openly,\nstalking about the passages and hall and bedrooms, and making the life\nof the small boys a continual fear.\n\n[Illustration: THE NIGHT FAG. P. 141.]\n\nTom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging for the first month, but\nin his enthusiasm for his new life this privilege hardly pleased him;\nand East and others of his young friends discovering this, kindly\nallowed him to indulge his fancy, and take their turns at night fagging\nand cleaning studies. These were the principal duties of the fags in the\nhouse. From supper until nine o'clock, three fags taken in order stood\nin the passages, and answered any præpostor who called Fag, racing to\nthe door, the last comer having to do the work. This consisted generally\nof going to the buttery for beer and bread and cheese (for the great men\ndid not sup with the rest, but had each his own allowance in his study\nor the fifth-form room), cleaning candlesticks and putting in new\ncandles, toasting cheese, bottling beer, and carrying messages about the\nhouse; and Tom, in the first blush of his hero-worship, felt it a high\nprivilege to receive orders from, and be the bearer of, the supper of\nold Brooke. And besides this night-work, each præpostor had three or\nfour fags specially allotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be the\nguide, philosopher, and friend, and who in return for these good offices\nhad to clean out his study every morning by turns, directly after first\nlesson and before he returned from breakfast. And the pleasure of seeing\nthe great men's studies, and looking at their pictures, and peeping into\ntheir books, made Tom a ready substitute for any boy who was too lazy to\ndo his own work. And so he soon gained the character of a good-natured\nwilling fellow, who was ready to do a turn for any one.\n\nIn all the games too he joined with all his heart and soon became\nwell versed in all the mysteries of football, by continued practice at\nthe School-house little-side, which played daily.\n\nThe only incident worth recording here, however, was his first run at\nHare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday but one of the half-year he was\npassing through the Hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts\nfrom Tadpole and several other fags seated at one of the long tables,\nthe chorus of which was \"Come and help us tear up scent.\"\n\nTom approached the table in obedience to the mysterious summons, always\nready to help, and found the party engaged in tearing up old newspapers,\ncopy-books, and magazines, into small pieces, with which they were\nfilling four large canvas bags.\n\n\"It's the turn of our house to find scent for big-side Hare-and-hounds,\"\nexclaimed Tadpole; \"tear away, there's no time to lose before\ncalling-over.\"\n\n\"I think it's a great shame,\" said another small boy, \"to have such a\nhard run for the last day.\"\n\n\"Which run is it?\" said Tadpole.\n\n\"Oh, the Barby run, I hear,\" answered the other; \"nine miles at least,\nand hard ground; no chance of getting in at the finish, unless you're a\nfirst-rate scud.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm going to have a try,\" said Tadpole; \"it's the last run of the\nhalf, and if a fellow gets in at the end, big-side stands ale and bread\nand cheese, and a bowl of punch; and the Cock's such a famous place for\nale.\"\n\n\"I should like to try too,\" said Tom.\n\n\"Well then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen at the door, after\ncalling-over, and you'll hear where the meet is.\"\n\nAfter calling-over, sure enough, there were two boys at the door,\ncalling out, \"Big-side Hare-and-hounds meet at White Hall;\" and Tom,\nhaving girded himself with leather strap, and left all superfluous\nclothing behind, set off for White Hall, an old gable-ended house some\nquarter of a mile from town, with East, whom he had persuaded to join,\nnotwithstanding his prophecy that they could never get in, as it was the\nhardest run of the year.\n\nAt the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, and Tom felt sure, from\nhaving seen many of them run at football, that he and East were more\nlikely to get in than they.\n\nAfter a few minutes' waiting, two well-known runners, chosen for the\nhares, buckled on the four bags filled with scent, compared their\nwatches with those of young Brooke and Thorne, and started off at a long\nslinging trot across the fields in the direction of Barby.\n\nThen the hounds clustered round Thorne, who explained shortly, \"They're\nto have six minutes' law. We run into the Cock, and every one who comes\nin within a quarter of an hour of the hares'll be counted, if he has\nbeen round Barby church.\" Then came a minute's pause or so, and then the\nwatches are pocketed, and the pack is led through the gateway into the\nfield which the hares had first crossed. Here they break into a trot,\nscattering over the field to find the first traces of the scent which\nthe hares throw out as they go along. The old hounds make straight for\nthe likely points, and in a minute a cry of \"forward\" comes from one of\nthem, and the whole pack quickening their pace make for the spot, while\nthe boy who hit the scent first and the two or three nearest to him are\nover the first fence, and making play along the hedgerow in the long\ngrass-field beyond. The rest of the pack rush at the gap already made,\nand scramble through, jostling one another. \"Forward\" again, before they\nare half through; the pace quickens into a sharp run, the tail hounds\nall straining to get up with the lucky leaders. They are gallant hares,\nand the scent lies thick right across another meadow and into a ploughed\nfield, where the pace begins to tell; and then over a good wattle with a\nditch on the other side, and down a large pasture studded with old\nthorns, which slopes down to the first brook; the great Leicestershire\nsheep charge away across the field as the pack comes racing down the\nslope. The brook is a small one, and the scent lies right ahead up the\nopposite slope, and as thick as ever; not a turn or a check to favour\nthe tail hounds, who strain on, now trailing in a long line, many a\nyoungster beginning to drag his legs heavily, and feel his heart beat\nlike a hammer, and the bad plucked ones thinking that after all it isn't\nworth while to keep it up.\n\nTom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and are well up for such\nyoung hands, and after rising the slope and crossing the next field,\nfind themselves up with the leading hounds, who have over-run the scent\nand are trying back; they have come a mile and a half in about eleven\nminutes, a pace which shows that it is the last day. About twenty-five\nof the original starters only show here, the rest having already given\nin; the leaders are busy making casts into the fields on the left and\nright, and the others get their second winds.\n\nThen comes the cry of \"forward\" again, from young Brooke, from the\nextreme left, and the pack settles down to work again steadily and\ndoggedly, the whole keeping pretty well together. The scent, though\nstill good, is not so thick; there is no need of that, for in this part\nof the run every one knows the line which must be taken, and so there\nare no casts to be made, but good downright running and fencing to be\ndone. All who are now up mean coming in, and they come to the foot of\nBarby Hill without losing more than two or three more of the pack. This\nlast straight two miles and a half is always a vantage ground for the\nhounds, and the hares know it well; they are generally viewed on the\nside of Barby Hill, and all eyes are on the look-out for them to-day.\nBut not a sign of them appears, so now will be the hard work for the\nhounds, and there is nothing for it but to cast about for the scent, for\nit is now the hares' turn, and they may baffle the pack dreadfully in\nthe next two miles.\n\nIll fares it now with our youngsters that they are School-house boys,\nand so follow young Brooke, for he takes the wide casts round to the\nleft, conscious of his own powers, and loving the hard work. For if you\nwould consider for a moment, you small boys, you would remember that the\nCock, where the run ends, and the good ale will be going, lies far out\nto the right on the Dunchurch road, so that every cast you take to the\nleft is so much extra work. And at this stage of the run, when the\nevening is closing in already, no one remarks whether you run a little\ncunning or not, so you should stick to those crafty hounds who keep\nedging away to the right, and not follow a prodigal like young Brooke,\nwhose legs are twice as long as yours and of cast-iron, wholly\nindifferent to two or three miles more or less. However, they struggle\nafter him, sobbing and plunging along, Tom and East pretty close, and\nTadpole, whose big head begins to pull him down, some thirty yards\nbehind.\n\nNow comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which they can hardly\ndrag their legs, and they hear faint cries for help from the wretched\nTadpole, who has fairly stuck fast. But they have too little run left in\nthemselves to pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, and\nanother check, and then \"forward\" called away to the extreme right.\n\nThe two boys' souls die within them; they can never do it. Young Brooke\nthinks so too, and says kindly, \"You'll cross a lane after next field,\nkeep down it, and you'll hit the Dunchurch road below the Cock,\" and\nthen steams away for the run in, in which he's sure to be first, as if\nhe were just starting. They struggle on across the next field, the\n\"forwards\" getting fainter and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole hunt\nis out of ear-shot, and all hope of coming in is over.\n\n\"Hang it all!\" broke out East, as soon as he had got wind enough,\npulling off his hat and mopping at his face, all spattered with dirt and\nlined with sweat, from which went up a thick steam into the still cold\nair. \"I told you how it would be. What a thick I was to come! Here we\nare dead beat, and yet I know we're close to the run in, if we knew the\ncountry.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Tom mopping away, and gulping down his disappointment, \"it\ncan't be helped. We did our best anyhow. Hadn't we better find this\nlane, and go down it, as young Brooke told us?\"\n\n\"I suppose so--nothing else for it,\" grunted East. \"If ever I go out\nlast day again,\" growl--growl--growl.\n\nSo they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found the lane, and went\nlimping down it, plashing in the cold puddly ruts, and beginning to feel\nhow the run had taken it out of them. The evening closed in fast, and\nclouded over, dark, cold, and dreary.\n\n\"I say, it must be locking-up, I should think,\" remarked East, breaking\nthe silence; \"it's so dark.\"\n\n\"What if we're late?\" said Tom.\n\n\"No tea, and sent up to the Doctor,\" answered East.\n\nThe thought didn't add to their cheerfulness. Presently a faint halloo\nwas heard from an adjoining field. They answered it and stopped, hoping\nfor some competent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some twenty\nyards ahead crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a state of collapse; he had\nlost a shoe in the brook, and been groping after it up to his elbows in\nthe stiff wet clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape of boy\nseldom has been seen.\n\nThe sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for he was some degrees\nmore wretched than they. They also cheered him, as he was now no longer\nunder the dread of passing his night alone in the fields. And so in\nbetter heart, the three plashed painfully down the never-ending lane. At\nlast it widened, just as utter darkness set in, and they come out on to\na turnpike-road, and there paused, bewildered, for they had lost all\nbearings, and knew not whether to turn to the right or left.\n\nLuckily for them they had not to decide, for lumbering along the road,\nwith one lamp lighted, and two spavined horses in the shafts, came a\nheavy coach, which after a moment's suspense they recognised as the\nOxford coach, the redoubtable Pig and Whistle.\n\nIt lumbered slowly up, and the boys mustering their last run, caught it\nas it passed, and began scrambling up behind, in which exploit East\nmissed his footing and fell flat on his nose along the road. Then the\nothers hailed the old scarecrow of a coachman, who pulled up and agreed\nto take them in for a shilling; so there they sat on the back seat,\ndrubbing with their heels, and their teeth chattering with cold, and\njogged into Rugby some forty minutes after locking-up.\n\nFive minutes afterwards, three small limping shivering figures steal\nalong through the Doctor's garden, and into the house by the servants'\nentrance (all the other gates have been closed long since), where the\nfirst thing they light upon in the passage is old Thomas, ambling along,\ncandle in one hand and keys in the other.\n\nHe stops and examines their condition with a grim smile. \"Ah! East,\nHall, and Brown, late for locking-up. Must go up to the Doctor's study\nat once.\"\n\n\"Well but, Thomas, mayn't we go and wash first? You can put down the\ntime, you know.\"\n\n\"Doctor's study d'recly you come in--that's the orders,\" replied old\nThomas, motioning towards the stairs at the end of the passage which led\nup into the Doctor's house; and the boys turned ruefully down it, not\ncheered by the old verger's muttered remark, \"What a pickle they boys be\nin!\" Thomas referred to their faces and habiliments, but they construed\nit as indicating the Doctor's state of mind. Upon the short flight of\nstairs they paused to hold counsel.\n\n\"Who'll go in first?\" inquires Tadpole.\n\n\"You--you're the senior,\" answered East.\n\n\"Catch me--look at the state I'm in,\" rejoined Hall, showing the arms of\nhis jacket. \"I must get behind you two.\"\n\n\"Well, but look at me,\" said East, indicating the mass of clay behind\nwhich he was standing; \"I'm worse than you, two to one; you might grow\ncabbages on my trousers.\"\n\n\"That's all down below, and you can keep your legs behind the sofa,\"\nsaid Hall.\n\n\"Here, Brown, you're the show-figure--you must lead.\"\n\n\"But my face is all muddy,\" argued Tom.\n\n\"Oh, we're all in one boat for that matter; but come on, we're only\nmaking it worse, dawdling here.\"\n\n\"Well, just give us a brush then,\" said Tom; and they began trying to\nrub off the superfluous dirt from each other's jackets, but it was not\ndry enough, and the rubbing made it worse; so in despair they pushed\nthrough the swing door at the head of the stairs, and found themselves\nin the Doctor's hall.\n\n\"That's the library door,\" said East in a whisper, pushing Tom forwards.\nThe sound of merry voices and laughing came from within, and his first\nhesitating knock was unanswered. But at the second, the Doctor's voice\nsaid \"Come in,\" and Tom turned the handle, and he, with the others\nbehind him, sidled into the room.\n\nThe Doctor looked up from his task; he was working away with a great\nchisel at the bottom of a boy's sailing boat, the lines of which he was\nno doubt fashioning on the model of one of Nicias' galleys. Round him\nstood three or four children; the candles burnt brightly on a large\ntable at the further end covered with books and papers, and a great fire\nthrew a ruddy glow over the rest of the room. All looked so kindly, and\nhomely, and comfortable, that the boys took heart in a moment, and Tom\nadvanced from behind the shelter of the great sofa. The Doctor nodded to\nthe children, who went out, casting curious and amused glances at the\nthree young scarecrows.\n\n\"Well, my little fellows,\" began the Doctor, drawing himself up with his\nback to the fire, the chisel in one hand and his coat-tails in the\nother, and his eyes twinkling as he looked them over; \"what makes you so\nlate?\"\n\n\"Please, sir, we've been out Big-side Hare-and-hounds, and lost our\nway.\"\n\n\"Hah! you couldn't keep up, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" said East, stepping out, and not liking that the Doctor\nshould think lightly of his running powers, \"we got round Barby all\nright, but then--\"\n\n\"Why, what a state you're in, my boy!\" interrupted the Doctor, as the\npitiful condition of East's garments was fully revealed-to him.\n\n\"That's the fall I got, sir, in the road,\" said East, looking down at\nhimself; \"the Old Pig came by--\"\n\n\"The what?\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"The Oxford coach, sir,\" explained Hall.\n\n\"Hah! yes, the Regulator,\" said the Doctor.\n\n[Illustration: OLD THOMAS IN HIS DEN. P. 153.]\n\n\"And I tumbled on my face trying to get up behind,\" went on East.\n\n\"You're not hurt, I hope?\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Oh no, sir.\"\n\n\"Well now, run up-stairs, all three of you, and get clean things on, and\nthen tell the housekeeper to give you some tea. You're too young to try\nsuch long runs. Let Warner know I've seen you. Good night.\"\n\n\"Good night, sir.\" And away scuttled the three boys in high glee.\n\n\"What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines to learn!\" said the\nTadpole, as they reached their bedroom; and in half-an-hour afterwards\nthey were sitting by the fire in the housekeeper's room at a sumptuous\ntea, with cold meat, \"twice as good a grub as we should have got in the\nhall,\" as the Tadpole remarked with a grin, his mouth full of buttered\ntoast. All their grievances were forgotten, and they were resolving to\ngo out the first big-side next half, and thinking Hare-and-hounds the\nmost delightful of games.\n\nA day or two afterwards the great passage outside the bedrooms was\ncleared of the boxes and portmanteaus, which went down to be packed by\nthe matron, and great games of chariot-racing, and cock-fighting, and\nbolstering, went on in the vacant space, the sure sign of a closing\nhalf-year.\n\nThen came the making-up of parties for the journey home, and Tom joined\na party who were to hire a coach, and post with four horses to Oxford.\n\nThen the last Saturday, on which the Doctor came round to each form to\ngive out the prizes, and hear the masters' last reports of how they and\ntheir charges had been conducting themselves; and Tom, to his huge\ndelight, was praised, and got his remove into the lower-fourth, in which\nall his School-house friends were.\n\nOn the next Tuesday morning, at four o'clock, hot coffee was going on in\nthe housekeeper's and matron's rooms; boys wrapped in great coats and\nmufflers were swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, tumbling over\nluggage, and asking questions all at once of the matron; outside the\nSchool-gates were drawn up several chaises and the four-horse coach\nwhich Tom's party had chartered, the post-boys in their best jackets and\nbreeches, and a cornopean player, hired for the occasion, blowing away\n\"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,\" waking all peaceful inhabitants\nhalf-way down the High Street.\n\nEvery minute the bustle and hubbub increased, porters staggered about\nwith boxes and bags, the cornopean played louder. Old Thomas sat in his\nden with a great yellow bag by his side, out of which he was paying\njourney money to each boy, comparing by the light of a solitary dip the\ndirty crabbed little list in his own handwriting with the Doctor's list,\nand the amount of his cash; his head was on one side, his mouth screwed\nup, and his spectacles dim from early toil. He had prudently locked the\ndoor, and carried on his operations solely through the window, or he\nwould have been driven wild, and lost all his money.\n\n\"Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the Highflyer at Dunchurch.\"\n\n\"That's your money, all right, Green.\"\n\n\"Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have two-pound-ten; you've only\ngiven me two pound.\"--I fear that Master Green is not confining himself\nstrictly to truth.--Thomas turns his head more on one side than ever,\nand spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced away from the window.\n\n\"Here, Thomas, never mind him, mine's thirty shillings.\" \"And mine too,\"\n\"and mine,\" shouted others.\n\nOne way or another, the party to which Tom belonged all got packed and\npaid, and sallied out to the gates, the cornopean playing frantically\n\"Drops of Brandy,\" in allusion, probably, to the slight potations in\nwhich the musician and post-boys had been already indulging. All luggage\nwas carefully stowed away inside the coach and in the front and hind\nboots, so that not a hat-box was visible outside. Five or six small\nboys, with pea-shooters, and the cornopean player, got up behind; in\nfront the big boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, but because they\nare now gentlemen at large--and this is the most correct public method\nof notifying the fact.\n\n\"Robinson's coach will be down the road in a minute, it has gone up to\nBird's to pick up,--we'll wait till they're close, and make a race of\nit,\" says the leader. \"Now, boys, half-a-sovereign apiece if you beat\n'em into Dunchurch by one hundred yards.\"\n\n\"All right, sir,\" shouted the grinning post-boys.\n\nDown comes Robinson's coach in a minute or two with a rival cornopean,\nand away go the two vehicles, horses galloping, boys cheering, horns\nplaying loud. There is a special Providence over school-boys as well as\nsailors, or they must have upset twenty times in the first five miles;\nsometimes actually abreast of one another, and the boys on the roofs\nexchanging volleys of peas, now nearly running over a post-chaise which\nhad started before them, now half-way up a bank, now with a\nwheel-and-a-half over a yawning ditch; and all this in a dark morning,\nwith nothing but their own lamps to guide them. However, it's all over\nat last, and they have run over nothing but an old pig in Southam\nStreet; the last peas are distributed in the Corn Market at Oxford,\nwhere they arrive between eleven and twelve, and sit down to a sumptuous\nbreakfast at the Angel, which they are made to pay for accordingly. Here\nthe party breaks up, all going now different ways; and Tom orders out a\nchaise and pair as grand as a lord, though he has scarcely five\nshillings left in his pocket and more than twenty miles to get home.\n\n\"Where to, sir?\"\n\n\"Red Lion, Farringdon,\" says Tom, giving ostler a shilling.\n\n\"All right, sir. Red Lion, Jem,\" to the post-boy, and Tom rattles away\ntowards home. At Farringdon, being known to the innkeeper, he gets that\nworthy to pay for the Oxford horses, and forward him in another chaise\nat once; and so the gorgeous young gentleman arrives at the paternal\nmansion, and Squire Brown looks rather blue at having to pay two-pound\nten-shillings for the posting expenses from Oxford. But the boy's\nintense joy at getting home, and the wonderful health he is in, and the\ngood character he brings, and the brave stories he tells of Rugby, its\ndoings and delights, soon mollify the Squire, and three happier people\ndidn't sit down to dinner that day in England (it is the boy's first\ndinner at six o'clock at home, great promotion already), than the Squire\nand his wife and Tom Brown at the end of his first half-year at Rugby.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE.\n\n          \"They are slaves who will not choose\n           Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,\n           Rather than in silence shrink\n           From the truth they needs must think:\n           They are slaves who dare not be\n           In the right with two or three.\"\n                             LOWELL, _Stanzas on Freedom._\n\n\nTHE lower-fourth form, in which Tom found himself at the beginning of\nthe next half-year, was the largest form in the lower school, and\nnumbered upwards of forty boys. Young gentlemen of all ages from nine to\nfifteen, were to be found there, who expended such part of their\nenergies as was devoted to Latin and Greek upon a book of Livy, the\nBucolics of Virgil, and the Hecuba of Euripides, which were ground out\nin small daily portions. The driving of this unlucky lower-fourth must\nhave been grievous work to the unfortunate master, for it was the most\nunhappily constituted of any in the school. Here stuck the great stupid\nboys, who for the life of them could never master the accidence; the\nobjects alternately of mirth and terror to the youngsters, who were\ndaily taking them up and laughing at them in lesson, and getting kicked\nby them for so doing in play-hours. There were no less than three\nunhappy fellows in tail coats, with incipient down on their chins, whom\nthe Doctor and the master of the form were always endeavouring to hoist\ninto the upper school, but whose parsing and construing resisted the\nmost well-meant shoves. Then came the mass of the form, boys of eleven\nand twelve, the most mischievous and reckless age of British youth, of\nwhom East and Tom Brown were fair specimens. As full of tricks as\nmonkeys, and of excuses as Irish women, making fun of their master, one\nanother, and their lessons, Argus himself would have been puzzled to\nkeep an eye on them; and as for making them steady or serious for\nhalf-an-hour together, it was simply hopeless. The remainder of the form\nconsisted of young prodigies of nine and ten, who were going up the\nschool at the rate of a form a half-year, all boys' hands and wits being\nagainst them in their progress. It would have been one man's work to see\nthat the precocious youngsters had fair play; and as the master had a\ngood deal besides to do, they hadn't, and were for ever being shoved\ndown three or four places, their verses stolen, their books inked, their\njackets whitened, and their lives otherwise made a burden to them.\n\nThe lower-fourth, and all the forms below it, were heard in the great\nschool, and were not trusted to prepare their lessons before coming in,\nbut were whipped into school three-quarters of an hour before the lesson\nbegan by their respective masters, and there scattered about on the\nbenches, with dictionary and grammar, hammered out their twenty lines of\nVirgil and Euripides in the midst of Babel. The masters of the lower\nschool walked up and down the great school together during this\nthree-quarters of an hour, or sat in their desks reading or looking over\ncopies, and keeping such order as was possible. But the lower-fourth was\njust now an overgrown form, too large for any one man to attend to\nproperly, and consequently the elysium or ideal form of the young\nscapegraces who formed the staple of it.\n\nTom, as has been said, had come up from the third with a good character,\nbut the temptations of the lower-fourth soon proved too strong for him,\nand he rapidly fell away; and became as unmanageable as the rest. For\nsome weeks, indeed, he succeeded in maintaining the appearance of\nsteadiness, and was looked upon favourably by his new master, whose eyes\nwere first opened by the following little incident.\n\nBesides the desk which the master himself occupied, there was another\nlarge unoccupied desk in the corner of the great school, which was\nuntenanted. To rush and seize upon this desk, which was ascended by\nthree steps, and held four boys, was the great object of ambition of the\nlower fourthers; and the contentions for the occupation of it bred such\ndisorder, that at last the master forbade its use altogether. This of\ncourse was a challenge to the more adventurous spirits to occupy it,\nand as it was capacious enough for two boys to lie hid there completely,\nit was seldom that it remained empty, notwithstanding the veto. Small\nholes were cut in the front, through which the occupants watched the\nmasters as they walked up and down, and as lesson time approached, one\nboy at a time stole out and down the steps, as the masters' backs were\nturned, and mingled with the general crowd on the forms below. Tom and\nEast had successfully occupied the desk some half-dozen times, and were\ngrown so reckless that they were in the habit of playing small games\nwith fives'-balls inside when the masters were at the other end of the\nbig school. One day, as ill-luck would have it, the game became more\nexciting than usual, and the ball slipped through East's fingers, and\nrolled slowly down the steps, and out into the middle of the school,\njust as the masters turned in their walk and faced round upon the desk.\nThe young delinquents watched their master through the look-out holes,\nmarch slowly down the school straight upon their retreat, while all the\nboys in the neighbourhood of course stopped their work to look on: and\nnot only were they ignominiously drawn out, and caned over the hand then\nand there, but their characters for steadiness were gone from that time.\nHowever, as they only shared the fate of some three-fourths of the rest\nof the form, this did not weigh heavily upon them.\n\nIn fact, the only occasions on which they cared about the matter were\nthe monthly examinations, when the Doctor came round to examine their\nform, for one long awful hour, in the work which they had done in the\npreceding month. The second monthly examination came round soon after\nTom's fall, and it was with anything but lively anticipations that he\nand the other lower-fourth boys came in to prayers on the morning of the\nexamination day.\n\nPrayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as usual, and before they\ncould get construes of a tithe of the hard passages marked in the margin\nof their books, they were all seated round, and the Doctor was standing\nin the middle, talking in whispers to the master. Tom couldn't hear a\nword which passed, and never lifted his eyes from his book; but he knew\nby a sort of magnetic instinct that the Doctor's under lip was coming\nout, and his eye beginning to burn, and his gown getting gathered up\nmore and more tightly in his left hand. The suspense was agonizing, and\nTom knew that he was sure on such occasions to make an example of the\nSchool-house boys. \"If he would only begin,\" thought Tom, \"I shouldn't\nmind.\"\n\nAt last the whispering ceased, and the name which was called out was not\nBrown. He looked up for a moment, but the Doctor's face was too awful;\nTom wouldn't have met his eye for all he was worth, and buried himself\nin his book again.\n\nThe boy who was called up first was a clever merry School-house boy, one\nof their set: he was some connection of the Doctor's, and a great\nfavourite, and ran in and out of his house as he liked, and so was\nselected for the first victim.\n\n\"Triste lupus, stabulis,\" began the luckless youngster, and stammered\nthrough some eight or ten lines.\n\n\"There, that will do,\" said the Doctor; \"now construe.\"\n\nOn common occasions, the boy could have construed the passage well\nenough probably, but now his head was gone.\n\n\"Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf,\" he began.\n\nA shudder ran through the whole form, and the Doctor's wrath fairly\nboiled over; he made three steps up to the construer, and gave him a\ngood box on the ear. The blow was not a hard one, but the boy was so\ntaken by surprise that he started back; the form caught the back of his\nknees, and over he went on to the floor behind. There was a dead silence\nover the whole school; never before, and never again while Tom was at\nschool did the Doctor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation must have\nbeen great. However, the victim had saved his form for that occasion,\nfor the Doctor turned to the top bench, and put on the best boys for the\nrest of the hour; and though, at the end of the lesson, he gave them all\nsuch a rating as they did not forget, this terrible field-day passed\nover without any severe visitations in the shape of punishments or\nfloggings. Forty young scapegraces expressed their thanks to the\n\"sorrowful wolf\" in their different ways before second lesson.\n\nBut a character for steadiness once gone is not easily recovered, as Tom\nfound, and for years afterwards he went up to the school without it, and\nthe masters' hands were against him, and his against them. And he\nregarded them, as a matter of course, as his natural enemies. Matters\nwere not so comfortable either in the house as they had been, for Old\nBrooke left at Christmas, and one or two others of the sixth-form boys\nat the following Easter. Their rule had been rough, but strong and just\nin the main, and a higher standard was beginning to be set up; in fact,\nthere had been a short foretaste of the good time which followed some\nyears later. Just now, however, all threatened to return into darkness\nand chaos again. For the new præpostors were either small young boys,\nwhose cleverness had carried them up to the top of the school, while in\nstrength of body and character they were not yet fit for a share in the\ngovernment; or else big fellows of the wrong sort, boys whose\nfriendships and tastes had a downward tendency, who had not caught the\nmeaning of their position and work, and felt none of its\nresponsibilities. So under this no-government the School-house began to\nsee bad times. The big fifth-form boys, who were a sporting and drinking\nset, soon began to usurp power, and to fag the little boys as if they\nwere præpostors, and to bully and oppress any who showed signs of\nresistance. The bigger sort of sixth-form boys just described soon made\ncommon cause with the fifth, while the smaller sort, hampered by their\ncolleagues' desertion to the enemy, could not make head against them. So\nthe fags were without their lawful masters and protectors, and ridden\nover rough-shod by a set of boys whom they were not bound to obey, and\nwhose only right over them stood in their bodily powers; and, as old\nBrooke had prophesied, the house by degrees broke up into small sets and\nparties, and lost the strong feeling of fellowship which he set so much\nstore by, and with it much of the prowess in games and the lead in all\nschool matters which he had done so much to keep up.\n\nIn no place in the world has individual character more weight than at a\npublic school. Remember this, I beseech you, all you boys who are\ngetting into the upper forms. Now is the time in all your lives probably\nwhen you may have more wide influence for good or evil on the society\nyou live in than you ever can have again. Quit yourselves like men,\nthen; speak up, and strike out if necessary for whatsoever is true, and\nmanly, and lovely, and of good report; never try to be popular, but only\nto do your duty and help others to do theirs, and you may leave the tone\nof feeling in the school higher than you found it, and so be doing good,\nwhich no living soul can measure, to generations of your countrymen yet\nunborn. For boys follow one another in herds like sheep, for good or\nevil; they hate thinking, and have rarely any settled principles. Every\nschool, indeed, has its own traditionary standard of right and wrong,\nwhich cannot be transgressed with impunity, marking certain things as\nlow and blackguard, and certain others as lawful and right. This\nstandard is ever varying, though it changes only slowly, and little by\nlittle; and, subject only to such standard, it is the leading boys for\nthe time being who give the tone to all the rest, and make the School\neither a noble institution for the training of Christian Englishmen, or\na place where a young boy will get more evil than he would if he were\nturned out to make his way in London streets, or anything between these\ntwo extremes.\n\nThe change for the worse in the School-house, however, didn't press very\nheavily on our youngsters for some time; they were in a good bedroom,\nwhere slept the only præpostor left who was able to keep thorough order,\nand their study was in his passage; so, though they were fagged more or\nless, and occasionally kicked or cuffed by the bullies, they were on the\nwhole well off; and the fresh brave school-life, so full of games,\nadventures, and good fellowship, so ready at forgetting, so capacious at\nenjoying, so bright at forecasting, outweighed a thousandfold their\ntroubles with the master of their form, and the occasional ill-usage of\nthe big boys in the house. It wasn't till some year or so after the\nevents recorded above, that the præpostor of their room and passage\nleft. None of the other sixth-form boys would move into their passage,\nand, to the disgust and indignation of Tom and East, one morning after\nbreakfast they were seized upon by Flashman, and made to carry down his\nbooks and furniture into the unoccupied study which he had taken. From\nthis time they began to feel the weight of the tyranny of Flashman and\nhis friends, and, now that trouble had come home to their own doors,\nbegan to look out for sympathizers and partners amongst the rest of the\nfags; and meetings of the oppressed began to be held, and murmurs to\narise, and plots to be laid as to how they should free themselves and be\navenged on their enemies.\n\nWhile matters were in this state, East and Tom were one evening sitting\nin their study. They had done their work for first lesson, and Tom was\nin a brown study, brooding, like a young William Tell, upon the wrongs\nof fags in general, and his own in particular.\n\n\"I say, Scud,\" said he at last, rousing himself to snuff the candle,\n\"what right have the fifth-form boys to fag us as they do?\"\n\n\"No more right than you have to fag them,\" answered East, without\nlooking up from an early number of \"Pickwick,\" which was just coming\nout, and which he was luxuriously devouring, stretched on his back on\nthe sofa.\n\nTom relapsed into his brown study, and East went on reading and\nchuckling. The contrast of the boys' faces would have given infinite\namusement to a looker-on, the one so solemn and big with mighty purpose,\nthe other radiant and bubbling over with fun.\n\n\"Do you know, old fellow, I've been thinking it over a good deal,\" began\nTom again.\n\n\"Oh yes, I know, fagging you are thinking of. Hang it all;--but listen\nhere, Tom--here's fun. Mr. Winkle's horse----\"\n\n\"And I've made up my mind,\" broke in Tom, \"that I won't fag except for\nthe sixth.\"\n\n\"Quite right too, my boy,\" cried East, putting his finger on the place\nand looking up; \"but a pretty peck of troubles you'll get into, if\nyou're going to play that game. However, I'm all for a strike myself, if\nwe can get others to join--it's getting too bad.\"\n\n\"Can't we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up?\" asked Tom.\n\n\"Well, perhaps we might; Morgan would interfere, I think. Only,\" added\nEast, after a moment's pause, \"you see we should have to tell him about\nit, and that's against School principles. Don't you remember what Old\nBrooke said about learning to take our own parts?\"\n\n\"Ah, I wish Old Brooke were back again--it was all right in his time.\"\n\n\"Why yes, you see then the strongest and best fellows were in the sixth,\nand the fifth-form fellows were afraid of them, and they kept good\norder; but now our sixth-form fellows are too small, and the fifth\ndon't care for them, and do what they like in the house.\"\n\n\"And so we get a double set of masters,\" cried Tom, indignantly; \"the\nlawful ones, who are responsible to the Doctor at any rate, and the\nunlawful--the tyrants, who are responsible to nobody.\"\n\n\"Down with the tyrants!\" cried East; \"I'm all for law and order, and\nhurra for a revolution.\"\n\n\"I shouldn't mind if it were only for young Brooke now,\" said Tom, \"he's\nsuch a good-hearted, gentlemanly fellow, and ought to be in the\nsixth--I'd do anything for him. But that blackguard Flashman, who never\nspeaks to one without a kick or an oath--\"\n\n\"The cowardly brute,\" broke in East, \"how I hate him! And he knows it\ntoo; he knows that you and I think him a coward. What a bore that he's\ngot a study in this passage! don't you hear them now at supper in his\nden? Brandy punch going, I'll bet. I wish the Doctor would come out and\ncatch him. We must change our study as soon as we can.\"\n\n\"Change or no change, I'll never fag for him again,\" said Tom, thumping\nthe table.\n\n\"Fa-a-a-ag!\" sounded along the passage from Flashman's study. The two\nboys looked at one another in silence. It had struck nine, so the\nregular night-fags had left duty, and they were the nearest to the\nsupper party. East sat up and began to look comical, as he always did\nunder difficulties.\n\n\"Fa-a-a-ag!\" again. No answer.\n\n\"Here, Brown! East! you cursed young skulks,\" roared out Flashman,\ncoming to his open door, \"I know you're in--no shirking.\"\n\nTom stole to their door, and drew the bolts as noiselessly as he could;\nEast blew out the candle. \"Barricade the first,\" whispered he. \"Now,\nTom, mind, no surrender.\"\n\n\"Trust me for that,\" said Tom between his teeth.\n\nIn another minute they heard the supper-party turn out and come down the\npassage to their door. They held their breaths, and heard whispering, of\nwhich they only made out Flashman's words, \"I know the young brutes are\nin.\"\n\nThen came summonses to open, which being unanswered, the assault\ncommenced: luckily the door was a good strong oak one, and resisted the\nunited weight of Flashman's party. A pause followed, and they heard a\nbesieger remark, \"They're in, safe enough--don't you see how the door\nholds at top and bottom? so the bolts must be drawn. We should have\nforced the lock long ago.\" East gave Tom a nudge, to call attention to\nthis scientific remark.\n\nThen came attacks on particular panels, one of which at last gave way to\nthe repeated kicks; but it broke inwards, and the broken piece got\njammed across, the door being lined with green-baize, and couldn't\neasily be removed from outside; and the besieged, scorning further\nconcealment, strengthened their defences by pressing the end of their\nsofa against the door. So after one or two more ineffectual efforts,\nFlashman and Co. retired, vowing vengeance in no mild terms.\n\nThe first danger over, it only remained for the besieged to effect a\nsafe retreat, as it was now near bed-time. They listened intently, and\nheard the supper-party resettle themselves, and then gently drew back\nfirst one bolt and then the other. Presently the convivial noises began\nagain steadily. \"Now then, stand by for a run,\" said East, throwing the\ndoor wide open and rushing into the passage, closely followed by Tom.\nThey were too quick to be caught; but Flashman was on the look-out, and\nsent an empty pickle-jar whizzing after them, which narrowly missed\nTom's head, and broke into twenty pieces at the end of the passage. \"He\nwouldn't mind killing one if he wasn't caught,\" said East, as they\nturned the corner.\n\nThere was no pursuit, so the two turned into the Hall, where they found\na knot of small boys round the fire. Their story was told--the war of\nindependence had broken out,--who would join the revolutionary forces?\nSeveral others present bound themselves not to fag for the fifth-form at\nonce. One or two only edged off, and left the rebels. What else could\nthey do? \"I've a good mind to go to the Doctor straight,\" said Tom.\n\n\"That'll never do--don't you remember the levy of the School last half?\"\nput in another.\n\nIn fact, that solemn assembly, a levy of the School, had been held, at\nwhich the captain of the School had got up, and, after premising that\nseveral instances had occurred of matters having been reported to the\nmasters, that this was against public morality and School tradition;\nthat a levy of the sixth had been held on the subject, and they had\nresolved that the practice must be stopped at once; had given out that\nany boy, in whatever form, who should thenceforth appeal to a master,\nwithout having first gone to some præpostor and laid the case before\nhim, should be thrashed publicly, and sent to Coventry.\n\n\"Well, then, let's try the sixth. Try Morgan,\" suggested another. \"No\nuse\"--\"Blabbing won't do,\" was the general feeling.\n\n\"I'll give you fellows a piece of advice,\" said a voice from the end of\nthe Hall. They all turned round with a start, and the speaker got up\nfrom a bench on which he had been lying unobserved, and gave himself a\nshake; he was a big loose-made fellow, with huge limbs which had grown\ntoo far through his jacket and trousers. \"Don't you go to anybody at\nall--you just stand out; say you won't fag--they'll soon get tired of\nlicking you. I've tried it on years ago with their forerunners.\"\n\n\"No! did you? tell us how it was,\" cried a chorus of voices, as they\nclustered round him.\n\n\"Well, just as it is with you. The fifth-form would fag us, and I and\nsome more struck, and we beat 'em. The good fellows left off directly,\nand the bullies who kept on soon got afraid.\"\n\n\"Was Flashman here then?\"\n\n\"Yes! and a dirty little snivelling, sneaking fellow he was too. He\nnever dared join us, and used to toady the bullies by offering to fag\nfor them, and peaching against the rest of us.\"\n\n\"Why wasn't he cut then?\" said East.\n\n\"Oh, toadies never get cut, they're too useful. Besides, he has no end\nof great hampers from home, with wine and game in them; so he toadied\nand fed himself into favour.\"\n\nThe quarter-to-ten bell now rang, and the small boys went off up-stairs,\nstill consulting together, and praising their new counsellor, who\nstretched himself out on the bench before the Hall fire again. There he\nlay, a very queer specimen of boyhood, by name Diggs, and familiarly\ncalled \"the Mucker.\" He was young for his size, and a very clever\nfellow, nearly at the top of the fifth. His friends at home, having\nregard, I suppose, to his age, and not to his size and place in the\nschool, hadn't put him into tails; and even his jackets were always too\nsmall; and he had a talent for destroying clothes, and making himself\nlook shabby. He wasn't on terms with Flashman's set, who sneered at his\ndress and ways behind his back, which he knew, and revenged himself by\nasking Flashman the most disagreeable questions, and treating him\nfamiliarly whenever a crowd of boys were round them. Neither was he\nintimate with any of the other bigger boys, who were warned off by his\noddnesses, for he was a very queer fellow; besides, amongst other\nfailings, he had that of impecuniosity in a remarkable degree. He\nbrought as much money as other boys to school, but got rid of it in no\ntime, no one knew how. And then, being also reckless, borrowed from\nanyone, and when his debts accumulated and creditors pressed, would have\nan auction in the Hall of everything he possessed in the world, selling\neven his school-books, candlestick, and study table. For weeks after one\nof these auctions, having rendered his study uninhabitable, he would\nlive about in the fifth-form room and Hall, doing his verses on old\nletter-backs and odd scraps of paper, and learning his lessons no one\nknew how. He never meddled with any little boy, and was popular with\nthem, though they all looked on him with a sort of compassion, and\ncalled him \"poor Diggs,\" not being able to resist appearances, or to\ndisregard wholly even the sneers of their enemy Flashman. However, he\nseemed equally indifferent to the sneers of big boys and the pity of\nsmall ones, and lived his own queer life with much apparent enjoyment to\nhimself. It is necessary to introduce Diggs thus particularly, as he not\nonly did Tom and East good service in their present warfare, as is about\nto be told, but soon afterwards, when he got into the sixth, chose them\nfor his fags, and excused them from study-fagging, thereby earning unto\nhimself eternal gratitude from them, and all who are interested in their\nhistory.\n\nAnd seldom had small boys more need of a friend, for the morning after\nthe siege the storm burst upon the rebels in all its violence. Flashman\nlaid wait, and caught Tom before second lesson, and receiving a point\nblank \"No,\" when told to fetch his hat, seized him and twisted his arm,\nand went through the other methods of torture in use:--\"He couldn't make\nme cry though,\" as Tom said triumphantly to the rest of the rebels, \"and\nI kicked his shins well, I know.\" And soon it crept out that a lot of\nthe fags were in league, and Flashman excited his associates to join him\nin bringing the young vagabonds to their senses; and the house was\nfilled with constant chasings, and sieges, and lickings of all sorts;\nand in return, the bullies' beds were pulled to pieces, and drenched\nwith water, and their names written up on the walls with every insulting\nepithet which the fag invention could furnish. The war in short raged\nfiercely; but soon, as Diggs had told them, all the better fellows in\nthe fifth gave up trying to fag them, and public feeling began to set\nagainst Flashman and his two or three intimates, and they were obliged\nto keep their doings more secret, but being thorough bad fellows,\nmissed no opportunity of torturing in private. Flashman was an adept in\nall ways, but above all in the power of saying cutting and cruel things,\nand could often bring tears to the eyes of boys in this way, which all\nthe thrashings in the world wouldn't have wrung from them.\n\nAnd as his operations were being cut short in other directions, he now\ndevoted himself chiefly to Tom and East, who lived at his own door, and\nwould force himself into their study whenever he found a chance, and sit\nthere, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion, interrupting all\ntheir work, and exulting in the evident pain which every now and then he\ncould see he was inflicting on one or the other.\n\nThe storm had cleared the air for the rest of the house, and a better\nstate of things now began than there had been since Old Brooke had left:\nbut an angry dark spot of thunder-cloud still hung over the end of the\npassage, where Flashman's study and that of East and Tom lay.\n\nHe felt that they had been the first rebels, and that the rebellion had\nbeen to a great extent successful; but what above all stirred the hatred\nand bitterness of his heart against them, was that in the frequent\ncollisions which there had been of late, they had openly called him\ncoward and sneak,--the taunts were too true to be forgiven. While he was\nin the act of thrashing them, they would roar out instances of his\nfunking at football, or shirking some encounter with a lout of half his\nown size. These things were all well enough known in the house, but to\nhave his disgrace shouted out by small boys, to feel that they despised\nhim, to be unable to silence them by any amount of torture, and to see\nthe open laugh and sneer of his own associates (who were looking on and\ntook no trouble to hide their scorn from him, though they neither\ninterfered with his bullying or lived a bit the less intimately with\nhim,) made him beside himself. Come what might he would make those boys'\nlives miserable. So the strife settled down into a personal affair\nbetween Flashman and our youngsters; a war to the knife, to be fought\nout in the little cockpit at the end of the bottom passage.\n\nFlashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, and big and strong\nof his age. He played well at all games where pluck wasn't much wanted,\nand managed generally to keep up appearances where it was; and having a\nbluff off-hand manner, which passed for heartiness, and considerable\npowers of being pleasant when he liked, went down with the School in\ngeneral for a good fellow enough. Even in the School-house, by dint of\nhis command of money, the constant supply of good things which he kept\nup, and his adroit toadyism, he had managed to make himself not only\ntolerated, but rather popular amongst his own contemporaries; although\nyoung Brooke scarcely spoke to him, and one or two others of the right\nsort showed their opinions of him whenever a chance offered. But the\nwrong sort happened to be in the ascendant just now, so Flashman was a\nformidable enemy for small boys. This soon became plain enough. Flashman\nleft no slander unspoken, and no deed undone, which could in any way\nhurt his victims, or isolate them from the rest of the house. One by one\nmost of the other rebels fell away from them, while Flashman's cause\nprospered, and several other fifth-form boys began to look black at\nthem and ill-treat them as they passed about the house. By keeping out\nof bounds, or at all events out of the house and quadrangle, all day,\nand carefully barring themselves in at night, East and Tom managed to\nhold on without feeling very miserable; but it was as much as they could\ndo. Greatly were they drawn then towards old Diggs, who, in an uncouth\nway, began to take a good deal of notice of them, and once or twice came\nto their study when Flashman was there, who immediately decamped in\nconsequence. The boys thought that Diggs must have been watching.\n\nWhen therefore, about this time, an auction was one night announced to\ntake place in the Hall, at which, amongst the superfluities of other\nboys, all Diggs' Penates for the time being were going to the hammer,\nEast and Tom laid their heads together, and resolved to devote their\nready cash (some four shillings sterling) to redeem such articles as\nthat sum would cover. Accordingly, they duly attended to bid, and Tom\nbecame the owner of two lots of Diggs' things;--lot 1, price\none-and-threepence, consisting (as the auctioneer remarked) of a\n\"valuable assortment of old metals,\" in the shape of a mouse-trap, a\ncheese-toaster without a handle, and a saucepan: lot 2, of a villanous\ndirty table-cloth and a green-baize curtain; while East for\none-and-sixpence purchased a leather paper-case, with a lock but no key,\nonce handsome, but now much the worse for wear. But they had still the\npoint to settle of how to get Diggs to take the things without hurting\nhis feelings. This they solved by leaving them in his study, which was\nnever locked when he was out. Diggs, who had attended the auction,\nremembered who had bought the lots, and came to their study soon after,\nand sat silent for some time, cracking his great red finger-joints. Then\nhe laid hold of their verses, and began looking over and altering them,\nand at last got up, and turning his back to them, said, \"You're uncommon\ngood-hearted little beggars, you two--I value that paper-case; my sister\ngave it me last holidays--I won't forget;\" and so tumbled out into the\npassage, leaving them somewhat embarrassed, but not sorry that he knew\nwhat they had done.\n\nThe next morning was Saturday, the day on which the allowances of one\nshilling a-week were paid, an important event to spendthrift youngsters;\nand great was the disgust amongst the small fry to hear that all the\nallowances had been impounded for the Derby lottery. That great event in\nthe English year, the Derby, was celebrated at Rugby in those days by\nmany lotteries. It was not an improving custom, I own, gentle reader,\nand led to making books and betting and other objectionable results; but\nwhen our great Houses of Palaver think it right to stop the nation's\nbusiness on that day, and many of the members bet heavily themselves,\ncan you blame us boys for following the example of our betters?--at any\nrate we did follow it. First there was the great School lottery, where\nthe first prize was six or seven pounds; then each House had one or more\nseparate lotteries. These were all nominally voluntary, no boy being\ncompelled to put in his shilling who didn't choose to do so: but besides\nFlashman, there were three or four other fast sporting young gentlemen\nin the School-house, who considered subscription a matter of duty and\nnecessity, and so, to make their duty come easy to the small boys,\nquietly secured the allowances in a lump when given out for\ndistribution, and kept them. It was no use grumbling,--so many fewer\ntartlets and apples were eaten and fives'-balls bought on that Saturday;\nand after locking-up, when the money would otherwise have been spent,\nconsolation was carried to many a small boy, by the sound of the\nnight-fags shouting along the passages, \"Gentlemen sportsmen of the\nSchool-house, the lottery's going to be drawn in the Hall.\" It was\npleasant to be called a gentleman sports man--also to have a chance of\ndrawing a favourite horse.\n\nThe Hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of the long tables\nstood the sporting interest, with a hat before them, in which were the\ntickets folded up. One of them then began calling out the list of the\nHouse; each boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the hat and\nopened it; and most of the bigger boys, after drawing, left the Hall\ndirectly to go back to their studies or the fifth-form room. The\nsporting interest had all drawn blanks, and they were sulky accordingly;\nneither of the favourites had yet been drawn, and it had come down to\nthe upper-fourth. So now, as each small boy came up and drew his ticket,\nit was seized and opened by Flashman, or some other of the standers-by.\nBut no great favourite is drawn until it comes to the Tadpole's turn,\nand he shuffles up and draws, and tries to make off, but is caught, and\nhis ticket is opened like the rest.\n\n\"Here you are! Wanderer! the third favourite,\" shouts the opener.\n\n\"I say, just give me my ticket, please,\" remonstrates Tadpole.\n\n\"Hullo, don't be in a hurry,\" breaks in Flashman; \"what'll you sell\nWanderer for, now?\"\n\n\"I don't want to sell,\" rejoins Tadpole.\n\n\"Oh, don't you! Now listen, you young fool--you don't know anything\nabout it; the horse is no use to you. He won't win, but I want him as a\nhedge. Now I'll give you half-a-crown for him.\" Tadpole holds out, but\nbetween threats and cajoleries at length sells half for\none-shilling-and-sixpence, about a fifth of its fair market value;\nhowever, he is glad to realize anything, and as he wisely remarks,\n\"Wanderer mayn't win, and the tizzy is safe anyhow.\"\n\nEast presently comes up and draws a blank. Soon after comes Tom's turn;\nhis ticket, like the others, is seized and opened. \"Here you are then,\"\nshouts the opener, holding it up, \"Harkaway! By Jove, Flashey, your\nyoung friend's in luck.\"\n\n\"Give me the ticket,\" says Flashman with an oath, leaning across the\ntable with open hand, and his face black with rage.\n\n\"Wouldn't you like it?\" replies the opener, not a bad fellow at the\nbottom, and no admirer of Flashman's. \"Here, Brown, catch hold,\" and he\nhands the ticket to Tom, who pockets it; whereupon Flashman makes for\nthe door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not escape, and there\nkeeps watch until the drawing is over and all the boys are gone, except\nthe sporting set of five or six, who stay to compare books, make bets\nand so on, Tom, who doesn't choose to move while Flashman is at the\ndoor, and East, who stays by his friend, anticipating trouble.\n\nThe sporting set now gathered round Tom. Public opinion wouldn't allow\nthem actually to rob him of his ticket, but any humbug or intimidation\nby which he could be driven to sell the whole or part at an under value\nwas lawful.\n\n\"Now, young Brown, come, what'll you sell me Harkaway for? I hear he\nisn't going to start. I'll give you five shillings for him,\" begins the\nboy who had opened the ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, and\nmoreover in his forlorn state wishing to make a friend, is about to\naccept the offer, when another cries out, \"I'll give you seven\nshillings.\" Tom hesitated, and looked from one to the other.\n\n\"No, no!\" said Flashman, pushing in, \"leave me to deal with him; we'll\ndraw lots for it afterwards. Now, sir, you know me--you'll sell Harkaway\nto us for five shillings, or you'll repent it.\"\n\n\"I won't sell a bit of him,\" answered Tom, shortly.\n\n\"You hear that now!\" said Flashman, turning to the others. \"He's the\ncoxiest young blackguard in the house--I always told you so. We're to\nhave all the trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries for the\nbenefit of such fellows as he.\"\n\nFlashman forgets to explain what risk they ran, but he speaks to willing\nears. Gambling makes boys selfish and cruel as well as men.\n\n\"That's true,--we always draw blanks,\" cried one. \"Now, sir, you shall\nsell half, at any rate.\"\n\n\"I won't,\" said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and lumping them all in\nhis mind with his sworn enemy.\n\n\"Very well then, let's roast him,\" cried Flashman, and catches hold of\nTom by the collar: one or two boys hesitate, but the rest join in. East\nseizes Tom's arm and tries to pull him away, but is knocked back by one\nof the boys, and Tom is dragged along, struggling. His shoulders are\npushed against the mantelpiece, and he is held by main force before the\nfire, Flashman drawing his trousers tight by way of extra torture. Poor\nEast, in more pain even than Tom, suddenly thinks of Diggs, and darts\noff to find him. \"Will you sell him for ten shillings?\" says one boy who\nis relenting.\n\nTom only answers by groans and struggles.\n\n\"I say, Flashey, he has had enough,\" says the same boy, dropping the arm\nhe holds.\n\n\"No, no; another turn'll do it,\" answers Flashman. But poor Tom is done\nalready, turns deadly pale, and his head falls forward on his breast,\njust as Diggs, in frantic excitement, rushes into the Hall with East at\nhis heels.\n\n\"You cowardly brutes!\" is all he can say, as he catches Tom from them\nand supports him to the Hall table. \"Good God! he's dying. Here, get\nsome cold water--run for the housekeeper.\"\n\nFlashman and one or two others slink away; the rest, ashamed and sorry,\nbend over Tom or run for water, while East darts off for the\nhousekeeper. Water comes, and they throw it on his hands and face, and\nhe begins to come to. \"Mother!\"--the words came feebly and slowly--\"it's\nvery cold to-night.\" Poor old Diggs is blubbering like a child. \"Where\nam I?\" goes on Tom, opening his eyes. \"Ah! I remember now,\" and he shut\nhis eyes again and groaned.\n\n\"I say,\" is whispered, \"we can't do any good, and the housekeeper will\nbe here in a minute,\" and all but one steal away; he stays with Diggs,\nsilent and sorrowful, and fans Tom's face.\n\nThe housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and Tom soon recovers enough\nto sit up. There is a smell of burning; she examines his clothes, and\nlooks up inquiringly. The boys are silent.\n\n\"How did he come so?\" No answer.\n\n\"There's been some bad work here,\" she adds, looking very serious, \"and\nI shall speak to the Doctor about it.\" Still no answer.\n\n\"Hadn't we better carry him to the sick-room?\" suggests Diggs.\n\n\"Oh, I can walk now,\" says Tom; and, supported by East and the\nhousekeeper, goes to the sick-room. The boy who held his ground is soon\namongst the rest, who are all in fear of their lives. \"Did he peach?\"\n\"Does she know about it?\"\n\n\"Not a word--he's a stanch little fellow.\" And pausing a moment he adds,\n\"I'm sick of this work: what brutes we've been!\"\n\nMeantime Tom is stretched on the sofa in the housekeeper's room, with\nEast by his side, while she gets wine and water and other restoratives.\n\n\"Are you much hurt, dear old boy?\" whispers East.\n\n\"Only the back of my legs,\" answers Tom. They are indeed badly scorched,\nand part of his trousers burnt through. But soon he is in bed with cold\nbandages. At first he feels broken, and thinks of writing home and\ngetting taken away; and the verse of a hymn he had learned years ago\nsings through his head, and he goes to sleep, murmuring--\n\n          \"Where the wicked cease from troubling,\n             And the weary are at rest.\"\n\nBut after a sound night's rest the old boy-spirit comes back again.\nEast comes in reporting that the whole House is with him, and he forgets\neverything except their old resolve, never to be beaten by that bully\nFlashman.\n\nNot a word could the housekeeper extract from either of them, and though\nthe Doctor knew all that she knew that morning, he never knew any more.\n\nI trust and believe that such scenes are not possible now at school, and\nthat lotteries and betting-books have gone out; but I am writing of\nschools as they were in our time, and must give the evil with the good.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.\n\n          \"Wherein I [speak] of most disastrous chances,\n           Of moving accidents by flood and field,\n           Of hairbreadth 'scapes.\"--_Shakspeare._\n\n\nWHEN Tom came back into school after a couple of days in the sick-room,\nhe found matters much changed for the better, as East had led him to\nexpect. Flashman's brutality had disgusted most even of his intimate\nfriends, and his cowardice had once more been made plain to the House;\nfor Diggs had encountered him on the morning after the lottery, and\nafter high words on both sides had struck him, and the blow was not\nreturned. However, Flashey was not unused to this sort of thing, and had\nlived through as awkward affairs before, and, as Diggs had said, fed and\ntoadied himself back into favour again. Two or three of the boys who had\nhelped to roast Tom came up and begged his pardon, and thanked him for\nnot telling anything. Morgan sent for him, and was inclined to take the\nmatter up warmly, but Tom begged him not to do it; to which he agreed,\non Tom's promising to come to him at once in future--a promise which I\nregret to say he didn't keep. Tom kept Harkaway all to himself, and won\nthe second prize in the lottery, some thirty shillings, which he and\nEast contrived to spend in about three days, in the purchase of pictures\nfor their study, two new bats and a cricket-ball, all the best that\ncould be got, and a supper of sausages, kidneys, and beef-steak pies to\nall the rebels. Light come, light go; they wouldn't have been\ncomfortable with money in their pockets in the middle of the half.\n\nThe embers of Flashman's wrath, however, were still smouldering, and\nburst out every now and then in sly blows and taunts, and they both felt\nthat they hadn't quite done with him yet. It wasn't long, however,\nbefore the last act of that drama came, and with it, the end of bullying\nfor Tom and East at Rugby. They now often stole out into the Hall at\nnights, incited thereto, partly by the hope of finding Diggs there and\nhaving a talk with him, partly by the excitement of doing something\nwhich was against rules; for, sad to say, both of our youngsters, since\ntheir loss of character for steadiness in their form, had got into the\nhabit of doing things which were forbidden, as a matter of adventure;\njust in the same way, I should fancy, as men fall into smuggling, and\nfor the same sort of reasons. Thoughtlessness in the first place. It\nnever occurred to them to consider why such and such rules were laid\ndown; the reason was nothing to them; and they only looked upon rules as\na sort of challenge from the rule-makers, which it would be rather bad\npluck in them not to accept; and then again, in the lower parts of the\nschool they hadn't enough to do. The work of the form they could manage\nto get through pretty easily, keeping a good enough place to get their\nregular yearly remove; and not having much ambition beyond this, their\nwhole superfluous steam was available for games and scrapes. Now, one\nrule of the House which it was a daily pleasure of all such boys to\nbreak, was that after supper all fags, except the three on duty in the\npassages, should remain in their own studies until nine o'clock; and if\ncaught about the passages or Hall, or in one another's studies, they\nwere liable to punishments or caning. The rule was stricter than its\nobservance; for most of the sixth spent their evenings in the fifth-form\nroom, where the library was, and the lessons were learnt in common.\nEvery now and then, however, a præpostor would be seized with a fit of\ndistrict visiting, and would make a tour of the passages and Hall and\nthe fags' studies. Then, if the owner were entertaining a friend or two,\nthe first kick at the door and ominous \"Open here,\" had the effect of\nthe shadow of a hawk over a chicken-yard; every one cut to cover--one\nsmall boy diving under the sofa, another under the table, while the\nowner would hastily pull down a book or two and open them, and cry out\nin a meek voice, \"Hullo, who's there?\" casting an anxious eye round to\nsee that no protruding leg or elbow could betray the hidden boys. \"Open,\nsir, directly; it's Snooks.\" \"Oh, I'm very sorry; I didn't know it was\nyou, Snooks;\" and then, with well-feigned zeal, the door would be\nopened, young hopeful praying that that beast Snooks mightn't have heard\nthe scuffle caused by his coming. If a study was empty, Snooks proceeded\nto draw the passages and Hall to find the truants.\n\nWell, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and East were in the Hall.\nThey occupied the seats before the fire nearest the door, while Diggs\nsprawled as usual before the further fire. He was busy with a copy of\nverses, and East and Tom were chatting together in whispers by the light\nof the fire, and splicing a favourite old fives'-bat which had sprung.\nPresently a step came down the bottom passage; they listened a moment,\nassured themselves that it wasn't a præpostor, and then went on with\ntheir work, and the door swung open, and in walked Flashman. He didn't\nsee Diggs, and thought it a good chance to keep his hand in; and as the\nboys didn't move for him, struck one of them, to make them get out of\nhis way.\n\n\"What's that for?\" growled the assaulted one.\n\n\"Because I choose. You've no business here; go to your study.\"\n\n\"You can't send us.\"\n\n\"Can't I? Then I'll thrash you if you stay,\" said Flashman, savagely.\n\n\"I say, you two,\" said Diggs, from the end of the Hall, rousing up and\nresting himself on his elbow, \"you'll never get rid of that fellow till\nyou lick him. Go in at him, both of you--I'll see fair play.\"\n\nFlashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. East looked at Tom.\n\"Shall we try?\" said he. \"Yes,\" said Tom, desperately. So the two\nadvanced on Flashman, with clenched fists and beating hearts. They were\nabout up to his shoulder, but tough boys of their age, and in perfect\ntraining: while he, though strong and big, was in poor condition, from\nhis monstrous habits of stuffing and want of exercise. Coward as he was,\nhowever, Flashman couldn't swallow such an insult as this; besides, he\nwas confident of having easy work, and so faced the boys, saying, \"You\nimpudent young blackguards!\"--Before he could finish his abuse, they\nrushed in on him, and began pummelling at all of him which they could\nreach. He hit out wildly and savagely, but the full force of his blows\ndidn't tell, they were too near him. It was long odds, though, in point\nof strength, and in another minute Tom went spinning backwards over a\nform, and Flashman turned to demolish East, with a savage grin. But now\nDiggs jumped down from the table on which he had seated himself. \"Stop\nthere,\" shouted he; \"the round's over--half-minute time allowed.\"\n\n\"What the ---- is it to you?\" faltered Flashman, who began to lose\nheart.\n\n\"I'm going to see fair, I tell you,\" said Diggs with a grin, and\nsnapping his great red fingers; \"'tain't fair for you to be fighting one\nof them at a time. Are you ready, Brown? Time's up.\"\n\nThe small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw was their best chance,\nand Flashman was wilder and more flurried than ever: he caught East by\nthe throat, and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table; Tom\ngrasped his waist, and, remembering the old throw he had learned in the\nVale from Harry Winburn, crooked his leg inside Flashman's, and threw\nhis whole weight forward. The three tottered for a moment, and then over\nthey went on to the floor, Flashman striking his head against a form in\nthe Hall.\n\nThe two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay there still. They\nbegan to be frightened. Tom stooped down, and then cried out, scared out\nof his wits. \"He's bleeding awfully; come here, East, Diggs,--he's\ndying!\"\n\n\"Not he,\" said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table; \"it's all\nsham--he's only afraid to fight it out.\"\n\nEast was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flashman's head, and he\ngroaned.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" shouted Diggs.\n\n\"My skull's fractured,\" sobbed Flashman.\n\n\"Oh, let me run for the housekeeper,\" cried Tom. \"What shall we do?\"\n\n\"Fiddlesticks! it's nothing but the skin broken,\" said the relentless\nDiggs, feeling his head. \"Cold water and a bit of rag's all he'll want.\"\n\n\"Let me go,\" said Flashman, surlily, sitting up; \"I don't want your\nhelp.\"\n\n\"We're really very sorry,\" began East.\n\n\"Hang your sorrow,\" answered Flashman, holding his handkerchief to the\nplace; \"you shall pay for this, I can tell you, both of you.\" And he\nwalked out of the Hall.\n\n\"He can't be very bad,\" said Tom with a deep sigh, much relieved to see\nhis enemy march so well.\n\n\"Not he,\" said Diggs, \"and you'll see you won't be troubled with him any\nmore. But, I say, your head's broken too--your collar is covered with\nblood.\"\n\n\"Is it, though?\" said Tom, putting up his hand; \"I didn't know it.\"\n\n\"Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spoilt. And you have got a\nnasty eye, Scud; you'd better go and bathe it well in cold water.\"\n\n\"Cheap enough too, if we've done with our old friend Flashey,\" said\nEast, as they made off up stairs to bathe their wounds.\n\nThey had done with Flashman in one sense, for he never laid finger on\neither of them again; but whatever harm a spiteful heart and venomous\ntongue could do them he took care should be done. Only throw dirt\nenough, and some of it is sure to stick; and so it was with the fifth\nform and the bigger boys in general, with whom he associated more or\nless, and they not at all. Flashman managed to get Tom and East into\ndisfavour, which did not wear off for some time after the author of it\nhad disappeared from the School world. This event, much prayed for by\nthe small fry in general, took place a few months after the above\nencounter. One fine summer evening Flashman had been regaling himself on\ngin-punch, at Brownsover; and having exceeded his usual limits, started\nhome uproarious. He fell in with a friend or two coming back from\nbathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they assented, the weather\nbeing hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity of drink\nwhich Flashman had already on board. The short result was, that Flashey\nbecame beastly drunk; they tried to get him along, but couldn't; so\nthey chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of the masters\ncame upon them, and they naturally enough fled. The flight of the rest\nraised the master's suspicions, and the good angel of the fags incited\nhim to examine the freight, and, after examination, to convoy the hurdle\nhimself up to the School-house; and the Doctor, who had long had his eye\non Flashman, arranged for his withdrawal next morning.\n\nThe evil that men, and boys too, do, lives after them: Flashman was\ngone, but our boys, as hinted above, still felt the effects of his hate.\nBesides, they had been the movers of the strike against unlawful\nfagging. The cause was righteous--the result had been triumphant to a\ngreat extent; but the best of the fifth, even those who had never fagged\nthe small boys, or had given up the practice cheerfully, couldn't help\nfeeling a small grudge against the first rebels. After all, their form\nhad been defied--on just grounds, no doubt; so just, indeed, that they\nhad at once acknowledged the wrong and remained passive in the strife:\nhad they sided with Flashman and his set, the rebels must have given way\nat once. They couldn't help, on the whole, being glad that they had so\nacted, and that the resistance had been successful against such of their\nown form as had shown fight; they felt that law and order had gained\nthereby, but the ringleaders they couldn't quite pardon at once.\n\"Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get, if we don't mind,\" was\nthe general feeling.\n\nSo it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the Angel Gabriel were to\ncome down from heaven, and head a successful rise against the most\nabominable and unrighteous vested interest, which this poor old world\ngroans under, he would most certainly lose his character for many years,\nprobably for centuries, not only with upholders of said vested interest,\nbut with the respectable mass of the people whom he had delivered. They\nwouldn't ask him to dinner, or let their names appear with his in the\npapers; they would be very careful how they spoke of him in the Palaver,\nor at their clubs. What can we expect, then, when we have only poor\ngallant blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous\ncauses which do not triumph in their hands; men who have holes enough in\ntheir armour, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in\ntheir lounging chairs, and having large balances at their bankers? But\nyou are brave, gallant boys, who hate easy-chairs, and have no balances\nor bankers. You only want to have your heads set straight to take the\nright side: so bear in mind that majorities, especially respectable\nones, are nine times out of ten in the wrong; and that if you see a man\nor boy striving earnestly on the weak side, however wrong-headed or\nblundering he may be, you are not to go and join the cry against him. If\nyou can't join him and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate\nremember that he has found something in the world which he will fight\nand suffer for, which is just what you have got to do for yourselves;\nand so think and speak of him tenderly.\n\nSo East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, became a sort of\nyoung Ishmaelites, their hands against every one, and every one's hand\nagainst them. It has been already told how they got to war with the\nmasters and the fifth form, and with the sixth it was much the same.\nThey saw the præpostors cowed by or joining with the fifth, and\nshirking their own duties; so they didn't respect them, and rendered no\nwilling obedience. It had been one thing to clean out studies for sons\nof heroes like old Brooke, but quite another to do the like for Snooks\nand Green, who had never faced a good scrummage at football, and\ncouldn't keep the passages in order at night. So they only slurred\nthrough their fagging just well enough to escape a licking, and not\nalways that, and got the character of sulky, unwilling fags. In the\nfifth-form room, after supper, when such matters were often discussed\nand arranged, their names were for ever coming up.\n\n\"I say, Green,\" Snooks began one night, \"isn't that new boy, Harrison,\nyour fag?\"\n\n\"Yes; why?\"\n\n\"Oh, I know something of him at home, and should like to excuse\nhim--will you swop?\"\n\n\"Who will you give me?\"\n\n\"Well, let's see; there's Willis, Johnson--No, that won't do. Yes, I\nhave it--there's young East, I'll give you him.\"\n\n\"Don't you wish you may get it?\" replied Green. \"I'll tell you what I'll\ndo--I'll give you two for Willis if you like.\"\n\n\"Who then?\" asks Snooks.\n\n\"Hall and Brown.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't have 'em at a gift.\"\n\n\"Better than East, though; for they ain't quite so sharp,\" said Green,\ngetting up and leaning his back against the mantelpiece--he wasn't a bad\nfellow, and couldn't help not being able to put down the unruly fifth\nform. His eye twinkled as he went on, \"Did I ever tell you how the\nyoung vagabond sold me last half?\"\n\n\"No; how?\"\n\n\"Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just stuck the\ncandlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the crumbs on to the floor. So\nat last I was mortal angry, and had him up, made him go through the\nwhole performance under my eyes: the dust the young scamp made nearly\nchoked me, and showed that he hadn't swept the carpet before. Well, when\nit was all finished, 'Now, young gentleman,' says I, 'mind, I expect\nthis to be done every morning, floor swept, table-cloth taken off and\nshaken, and everything dusted.' 'Very well,' grunts he. Not a bit of it\nthough--I was quite sure in a day or two that he never took the\ntable-cloth off even. So I laid a trap for him: I tore up some paper and\nput half-a-dozen bits on my table one night, and the cloth over them as\nusual. Next morning, after breakfast, up I came, pulled off the cloth,\nand sure enough there was the paper, which fluttered down on to the\nfloor. I was in a towering rage. 'I've got you now,' thought I, and sent\nfor him, while I got out my cane. Up he came as cool as you please, with\nhis hands in his pockets 'Didn't I tell you to shake my table-cloth\nevery morning?' roared I. 'Yes,' says he. 'Did you do it this morning?'\n'Yes.' 'You young liar! I put these pieces of paper on the table last\nnight, and if you'd taken the table-cloth off' you'd have seen them, so\nI'm going to give you a good licking.' Then my youngster takes one hand\nout of his pocket, and just stoops down and picks up two of the bits of\npaper, and holds them out to me. There was written on each, in great\nround text, 'Harry East, his mark.' The young rogue had found my trap\nout, taken away my paper, and put some of his there, every bit\near-marked. I'd a great mind to lick him for his impudence, but after\nall one has no right to be laying traps, so I didn't. Of course I was at\nhis mercy till the end of the half, and in his weeks my study was so\nfrowsy, I couldn't sit in it.\"\n\n\"They spoil one's things so, too,\" chimed in a third boy. \"Hall and\nBrown were night-fags last week: I called fag, and gave them my\ncandlesticks to clean; away they went, and didn't appear again. When\nthey'd had time enough to clean them three times over, I went out to\nlook after them. They weren't in the passages, so down I went into the\nHall, where I heard music, and there I found them sitting on the table,\nlistening to Johnson, who was playing the flute, and my candlesticks\nstuck between the bars well into the fire, red-hot, clean-spoiled;\nthey've never stood straight since, and I must get some more. However, I\ngave them both a good licking, that's one comfort.\"\n\nSuch were the sort of scrapes they were always getting into: and so,\npartly by their own faults, partly from circumstances, partly from the\nfaults of others, they found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, or\nwhat you will in that line: in short, dangerous parties, and lived the\nsort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which such parties generally\nhave to put up with. Nevertheless, they never quite lost favour with\nyoung Brooke, who was now the cock of the house, and just getting into\nthe sixth, and Diggs stuck to them like a man, and gave them store of\ngood advice, by which they never in the least profited.\n\nAnd even after the house mended, and law and order had been restored,\nwhich soon happened after young Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth,\nthey couldn't easily or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and\nmany of the old wild out-of-bounds habits stuck to them as firmly as\never. While they had been quite little boys, the scrapes they got into\nin the School hadn't much mattered to anyone; but now they were in the\nupper school, all wrong-doers from which were sent up straight to the\nDoctor at once: so they began to come under his notice; and as they were\na sort of leaders in a small way amongst their own contemporaries, his\neye, which was everywhere, was upon them.\n\nIt was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, and so they were\njust the boys who caused most anxiety to such a master. You have been\ntold of the first occasion on which they were sent up to the Doctor, and\nthe remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had much less fear of\nhim than most boys of their standing had. \"It's all his look,\" Tom used\nto say to East, \"that frightens fellows: don't you remember, he never\nsaid anything to us my first half-year, for being an hour late for\nlocking up?\"\n\nThe next time that Tom came before him, however, the interview was of a\nvery different kind. It happened just about the time at which we have\nnow arrived, and was the first of a series of scrapes into which our\nhero managed now to tumble.\n\nThe river Avon at Rugby is a slow and not very clear stream, in which\nchub, dace, roach, and other coarse fish are (or were) plentiful enough,\ntogether with a fair sprinkling of small jack, but no fish worth\nsixpence either for sport or food. It is, however, a capital river for\nbathing, as it has many nice small pools and several good reaches for\nswimming, all within about a mile of one another, and at an easy twenty\nminutes' walk from the school. This mile of water is rented, or used to\nbe rented, for bathing purposes, by the Trustees of the School, for the\nboys. The footpath to Brownsover crosses the river by \"the Planks,\" a\ncurious old single-plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty yards into\nthe flat meadows on each side of the river,--for in the winter there are\nfrequent floods. Above the Planks were the bathing places for the\nsmaller boys; Sleath's, the first bathing place where all new boys had\nto begin, until they had proved to the bathing men (three steady\nindividuals who were paid to attend daily through the summer to prevent\naccidents) that they could swim pretty decently, when they were allowed\nto go on to Anstey's, about one hundred and fifty yards below. Here\nthere was a hole about six feet deep and twelve feet across, over which\nthe puffing urchins struggled to the opposite side, and thought no small\nbeer of themselves for having been out of their depths. Below the Planks\ncame larger and deeper holes, the first of which was Wratislaw's, and\nthe last Swift's, a famous hole, ten or twelve feet deep in parts, and\nthirty yards across, from which there was a fine swimming reach right\ndown to the Mill. Swift's was reserved for the sixth and fifth forms,\nand had a spring board and two sets of steps: the others had one set of\nsteps each, and were used indifferently by all the lower boys, though\neach house addicted itself more to one hole than to another. The\nSchool-house at this time affected Wratislaw's hole, and Tom and East,\nwho had learnt to swim like fishes, were to be found there as regular as\nthe clock through the summer, always twice, and often three times a day.\n\nNow the boys either had, or fancied they had, a right also to fish at\ntheir pleasure over the whole of this part of the river, and would not\nunderstand that the right (if any) only extended to the Rugby side. As\nill luck would have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite bank, after\nallowing it for some time without interference, had ordered his keepers\nnot to let the boys fish on his side; the consequence of which had been,\nthat there had been first wranglings and then fights between the keepers\nand boys; and so keen had the quarrel become, that the landlord and his\nkeepers, after a ducking had been inflicted on one of the latter, and a\nfierce fight ensued thereon, had been up to the great School at\ncalling-over to identify the delinquents, and it was all the Doctor\nhimself and five or six masters could do to keep the peace. Not even his\nauthority could prevent the hissing; and so strong was the feeling, that\nthe four præpostors of the week walked up the school with their canes,\nshouting S-s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e at the top of their voices. However, the\nchief offenders for the time were flogged and kept in bounds, but the\nvictorious party had brought a nice hornets' nest about their ears. The\nlandlord was hissed at the School gates as he rode past, and when he\ncharged his horse at the mob of boys, and tried to thrash them with his\nwhip, was driven back by cricket-bats and wickets, and pursued with\npebbles and fives'-balls; while the wretched keepers' lives were a\nburthen to them, from having to watch the waters so closely.\n\nThe School-house boys of Tom's standing, one and all, as a protest\nagainst this tyranny and cutting short of their lawful amusements, took\nto fishing in all ways and especially by means of night-lines. The\nlittle tackle-maker at the bottom of the town would soon have made his\nfortune had the rage lasted, and several of the barbers began to lay in\nfishing-tackle. The boys had this great advantage over their enemies,\nthat they spent a large portion of the day in nature's garb by the river\nside, and so, when tired of swimming, would get out on the other side\nand fish, or set night-lines till the keeper hove in sight, and then\nplunge in and swim back and mix with the other bathers, and the keepers\nwere too wise to follow across the stream.\n\nWhile things were in this state, one day Tom and three or four others\nwere bathing at Wratislaw's, and had, as a matter of course, been taking\nup and resetting night-lines. They had all left the water, and were\nsitting or standing about at their toilets, in all costumes from a shirt\nupwards, when they were aware of a man in a velveteen shooting-coat\napproaching from the other side. He was a new keeper, so they didn't\nrecognise or notice him, till he pulled up right opposite, and began:--\n\n\"I see'd some of you young gentlemen over this side a fishing just now.\"\n\n\"Hullo, who are you? what business is that of yours, old Velveteens?\"\n\n\"I'm the new under-keeper, and master's told me to keep a sharp look-out\non all o' you young chaps. And I tells 'ee I means business, and you'd\nbetter keep on your own side, or we shall fall out.\"\n\n\"Well, that's right, Velveteens--speak out, and let's know your mind at\nonce.\"\n\n\"Look here, old boy,\" cried East, holding up a miserable coarse fish or\ntwo and a small jack, \"would you like to smell 'em and see which bank\nthey lived under?\"\n\n\"I'll give you a bit of advice, keeper,\" shouted Tom, who was sitting in\nhis shirt paddling with his feet in the river; \"you'd better go down\nthere to Swift's, where the big boys are, they're beggars at setting\nlines, and'll put you up to a wrinkle or two for catching the\nfive-pounders.\" Tom was nearest to the keeper, and that officer, who was\ngetting angry at the chaff, fixed his eyes on our hero, as if to take a\nnote of him for future use. Tom returned his gaze with a steady stare,\nand then broke into a laugh, and struck into the middle of a favourite\nSchool-house song--\n\n          As I and my companions\n            Were setting of a snare,\n          The gamekeeper was watching us,\n            For him we did not care:\n          For we can wrestle and fight, my boys,\n            And jump out anywhere.\n              For it's my delight of a likely night,\n                In the season of the year.\n\nThe chorus was taken up by the other boys with shouts of laughter, and\nthe keeper turned away with a grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The\nboys thought no more of the matter.\n\nBut now came on the may-fly season; the soft hazy summer weather lay\nsleepily along the rich meadows by Avon side, and the green and grey\nflies flickered with their graceful lazy up and down flight over the\nreeds and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon myriads. The\nmay-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters of the ephemeræ; the\nhappiest, laziest, carelessest fly that dances and dreams out his few\nhours of sunshiny life by English rivers.\n\nEvery little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on the alert for the\nflies, and gorging his wretched carcase with hundreds daily, the\ngluttonous rogues! and every lover of the gentle craft was out to avenge\nthe poor may-flies.\n\nSo one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having borrowed East's new rod,\nstarted by himself to the river. He fished for some time with small\nsuccess, not a fish would rise at him; but, as he prowled along the\nbank, he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the\nopposite side, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream was\ndeep here, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made\noff hot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of\nthe Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across,\nand in three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump\nof willows.\n\n[Illustration: TOM DISCOVERED BY VELVETEENS. P. 199.]\n\nIt isn't often that great chub, or any other coarse fish are in earnest\nabout anything, but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, and\nin half-an-hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the\nfoot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, and\njust going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up the\nbank not one hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was the\nunder-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carrying\nhis rod. Nothing for it but the tree: so Tom laid his bones to it,\nshinning up as fast as he could, and dragging up his rod after him. He\nhad just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feet\nup, which stretched out over the river, when the keeper arrived at the\nclump. Tom's heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two steps more\nand he would have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on\nthe scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point at\nthe foot of the tree. He picked up the fish one by one; his eye and\ntouch told him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour. Tom\ncrouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper beating the clump.\n\"If I could only get the rod hidden,\" thought he, and began gently\nshifting it to get it alongside him; \"willow-trees don't throw out\nstraight hickory shoots twelve feet along, with no leaves, worse luck.\"\nAlas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and\nthen of Tom's hand and arm.\n\n\"Oh, be up ther' be 'ee?\" says he, running under the tree. \"Now you come\ndown this minute.\"\n\n\"Tree'd at last,\" thinks Tom, making no answer, and keeping as close as\npossible, but working away at the rod, which he takes to pieces: \"I'm in\nfor it, unless I can starve him out.\" And then he begins to meditate\ngetting along the branch for a plunge and scramble to the other side;\nbut the small branches are so thick, and the opposite bank so difficult,\nthat the keeper will have lots of time to get round by the ford before\nhe can get out, so he gives that up. And now he hears the keeper\nbeginning to scramble up the trunk. That will never do; so he scrambles\nhimself back to where his branch joins the trunk, and stands with lifted\nrod.\n\n\"Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come any higher.\"\n\nThe keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin says, \"Oh! be you,\nbe it, young measter? Well, here's luck. Now I tells 'ee to come down at\nonce, and 't'll be best for 'ee.\"\n\n\"Thank 'ee, Velveteens, I'm very comfortable,\" said Tom, shortening the\nrod in his hand, and preparing for battle.\n\n\"Werry well, please yourself,\" says the keeper, descending however to\nthe ground again, and taking his seat on the bank; \"I bean't in no\nhurry, so you med take your time. I'll larn 'ee to gee honest folk names\nafore I've done with 'ee.\"\n\n\"My luck as usual,\" thinks Tom; \"what a fool I was to give him a black.\nIf I'd called him 'keeper' now I might get off. The return match is all\nhis way.\"\n\nThe keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, and light it,\nkeeping an eye on Tom, who now sat disconsolately across the branch,\nlooking at keeper--a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more he\nthought of it the less he liked it. \"It must be getting near second\ncalling-over,\" thinks he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. \"If he takes me up,\nI shall be flogged safe enough. I can't sit here all night. Wonder if\nhe'll rise at silver.\n\n\"I say, keeper,\" said he meekly, \"let me go for two bob?\"\n\n\"Not for twenty neither,\" grunts his persecutor.\n\nAnd so they sat on till long past second calling-over, and the sun came\nslanting in through the willow-branches, and telling of locking-up near\nat hand.\n\n\"I'm coming down, keeper,\" said Tom at last with a sigh, fairly tired\nout. \"Now what are you going to do?\"\n\n\"Walk 'ee up to School, and give 'ee over to the Doctor; them's my\norders,\" says Velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and\nstanding up and shaking himself.\n\n\"Very good,\" said Tom; \"but hands off, you know. I'll go with you\nquietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing.\"\n\nKeeper looked at him a minute--\"Werry good,\" said he at last; and so Tom\ndescended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper up to\nthe School-house, where they arrived just at locking-up. As they passed\nthe School-gates, the Tadpole and several others who were standing there\ncaught the state of things, and rushed out, crying \"Rescue!\" but Tom\nshook his head, so they only followed to the Doctor's gate, and went\nback sorely puzzled.\n\nHow changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the last time that Tom was\nup there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how Tom\nhad called him blackguard names. \"Indeed, sir,\" broke in the culprit,\n\"it was only Velveteens.\" The Doctor only asked one question.\n\n\"You know the rule about the banks, Brown?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson.\"\n\n\"I thought so,\" muttered Tom.\n\n\"And about the rod, sir?\" went on the keeper; \"Master's told we as we\nmight have all the rods--\"\n\n\"Oh, please, sir,\" broke in Tom, \"the rod isn't mine.\" The Doctor looked\npuzzled, but the keeper, who was a good-hearted fellow, and melted at\nTom's evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged next\nmorning, and a few days afterwards met Velveteens, and presented him\nwith half-a-crown for giving up the rod claim, and they became sworn\nfriends; and I regret to say that Tom had many more fish from under the\nwillow that may-fly season, and was never caught again by Velveteens.\n\nIt wasn't three weeks before Tom, and now East by his side, were again\nin the awful presence. This time, however, the Doctor was not so\nterrible. A few days before, they had been fagged at fives to fetch the\nballs that went off the court. While standing watching the game, they\nsaw five or six nearly new balls hit on the top of the School. \"I say,\nTom,\" said East, when they were dismissed, \"couldn't we get those balls\nsomehow?\"\n\n\"Let's try, anyhow.\"\n\nSo they reconnoitred the walls carefully, borrowed a coal-hammer from\nold Stumps, bought some big nails, and after one or two attempts, scaled\nthe Schools, and possessed themselves of huge quantities of\nfives'-balls. The place pleased them so much that they spent all their\nspare time there, scratching and cutting their names on the top of every\ntower; and at last, having exhausted all other places, finished up with\ninscribing H. EAST, T. BROWN, on the minute-hand of the great clock. In\nthe doing of which they held the minute-hand, and disturbed the clock's\neconomy. So next morning, when masters and boys came trooping down to\nprayers, and entered the quadrangle, the injured minute-hand was\nindicating three minutes to the hour. They all pulled up, and took their\ntime. When the hour struck, doors were closed, and half the school late.\nThomas being sent to make inquiry, discovers their names on the\nminute-hand, and reports accordingly; and they are sent for, a knot of\ntheir friends making derisive and pantomimic allusions to what their\nfate will be, as they walk off.\n\nBut the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn't make much of it, and\nonly gives them thirty lines of Homer to learn by heart, and a lecture\non the likelihood of such exploits ending in broken bones.\n\nAlas! almost the next day was one of the great fairs in the town; and as\nseveral rows and other disagreeable accidents had of late taken place on\nthese occasions, the Doctor gives out, after prayers in the morning,\nthat no boy is to go down into the town. Wherefore East and Tom, for no\nearthly pleasure except that of doing what they are told not to do,\nstart away, after second lesson, and making a short circuit through the\nfields, strike a back lane which leads into the town, go down it, and\nrun plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into the High Street.\nThe master in question, though a very clever, is not a righteous man: he\nhas already caught several of his own pupils, and gives them lines to\nlearn, while he sends East and Tom, who are not his pupils, up to the\nDoctor; who, on learning that they had been at prayers in the morning,\nflogs them soundly.\n\nThe flogging did them no good at the time, for the injustice of their\ncaptor was rankling in their minds; but it was just at the end of the\nhalf, and on the next evening but one Thomas knocks at their door, and\nsays the Doctor wants to see them. They look at one another in silent\ndismay. What can it be now? Which of their countless wrong-doings can he\nhave heard of officially? However, it is no use delaying, so up they go\nto the study. There they find the Doctor not angry, but very grave. \"He\nhas sent for them to speak very seriously before they go home. They have\neach been flogged several times in the half-year for direct and wilful\nbreaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are doing no good to\nthemselves or others, and now they are getting up in the School, and\nhave influence. They seem to think that rules are made capriciously, and\nfor the pleasure of the masters; but this is not so, they are made for\nthe good of the whole School, and must and shall be obeyed. Those who\nthoughtlessly or wilfully break them will not be allowed to stay at the\nSchool. He should be sorry if they had to leave, as the School might do\nthem both much good, and wishes them to think very seriously in the\nholidays over what he has said. Good night.\"\n\nAnd so the two hurry off horribly scared: the idea of having to leave\nhas never crossed their minds, and is quite unbearable.\n\nAs they go out, they meet at the door old Holmes, a sturdy cheery\npræpostor of another house, who goes in to the Doctor; and they hear his\ngenial hearty greeting of the new-comer, so different to their own\nreception, as the door closes, and return to their study with heavy\nhearts, and tremendous resolves to break no more rules.\n\nFive minutes afterwards the master of their form, a late arrival and a\nmodel young master, knocks at the Doctor's study-door. \"Come in!\" and as\nhe enters the Doctor goes on, to Holmes--\"you see I do not know anything\nof the case officially, and if I take any notice of it at all, I must\npublicly expel the boy. I don't wish to do that, for I think there is\nsome good in him. There's nothing for it but a good sound thrashing.\" He\npaused to shake hands with the master, which Holmes does also, and then\nprepares to leave.\n\n\"I understand. Good night, sir.\"\n\n\"Good night, Holmes. And remember,\" added the Doctor, emphasizing the\nwords, \"a good sound thrashing before the whole house.\"\n\nThe door closed on Holmes; and the Doctor, in answer to the puzzled look\nof his lieutenant, explained shortly. \"A gross case of bullying.\nWharton, the head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight and\nweak, and severe physical pain is the only way to deal with such a case;\nso I have asked Holmes to take it up. He is very careful and\ntrustworthy, and has plenty of strength. I wish all the sixth had as\nmuch. We must have it here, if we are to keep order at all.\"\n\nNow I don't want any wiseacres to read this book; but if they should, of\ncourse they will prick up their long ears, and howl, or rather bray, at\nthe above story. Very good, I don't object; but what I have to add for\nyou boys is this: that Holmes called a levy of his house after breakfast\nnext morning, made them a speech on the case of bullying in question,\nand then gave the bully a \"good sound thrashing;\" and that years\nafterwards, that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying it had\nbeen the kindest act which had ever been done upon him, and the\nturning-point in his character; and a very good fellow he became, and a\ncredit to his School.\n\nAfter some other talk between them, the Doctor said, \"I want to speak\nto you about two boys in your form, East and Brown: I have just been\nspeaking to them. What do you think of them?\"\n\n\"Well, they are not hard workers, and very thoughtless and full of\nspirits--but I can't help liking them. I think they are sound good\nfellows at the bottom.\"\n\n\"I'm glad of it. I think so too. But they make me very uneasy. They are\ntaking the lead a good deal amongst the fags in my house, for they are\nvery active, bold fellows. I should be sorry to lose them, but I shan't\nlet them stay if I don't see them gaining character and manliness. In\nanother year they may do great harm to all the younger boys.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hope you won't send them away,\" pleaded their master.\n\n\"Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, after any\nhalf-holiday, that I shan't have to flog one of them next morning, for\nsome foolish, thoughtless scrape. I quite dread seeing either of them.\"\n\nThey were both silent for a minute. Presently the Doctor began again:--\n\n\"They don't feel that they have any duty or work to do in the School,\nand how is one to make them feel it?\"\n\n\"I think if either of them had some little boy to take care of, it would\nsteady them. Brown is the most reckless of the two, I should say; East\nwouldn't get into so many scrapes without him.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, \"I'll think of it.\"\nAnd they went on to talk of other subjects.\n\n\n\n\nTOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS.\n\nPART II.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nHOW THE TIDE TURNED.\n\n  \"Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide,\n   In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side:\n\n\n   Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside,\n   Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified.\"\n                                                          LOWELL.\n\n\nTHE turning-point in our hero's school career had now come, and the\nmanner of it was as follows. On the evening of the first day of the next\nhalf-year, Tom, East, and another School-house boy, who had just been\ndropped at the Spread Eagle by the old Regulator, rushed into the\nmatron's room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in when they\nfirst get back, however fond they may be of home.\n\n\"Well, Mrs. Wixie,\" shouted one, seizing on the methodical, active\nlittle dark-eyed woman, who was busy stowing away the linen of the boys\nwho had already arrived into their several pigeon-holes, \"here we are\nagain, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things away.\"\n\n\"And, Mary,\" cried another (she was called indifferently by either\nname), \"who's come back? Has the Doctor made old Jones leave? How many\nnew boys are there?\"\n\n\"Am I and East to have Gray's study? You know you promised to get it for\nus if you could,\" shouted Tom.\n\n\"And am I to sleep in Number 4?\" roared East.\n\n\"How's old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?\"\n\n\"Bless the boys!\" cries Mary, at last getting in a word, \"why, you'll\nshake me to death. There now, do go away up to the housekeeper's room\nand get your suppers; you know I haven't time to talk--you'll find\nplenty more in the house. Now, Master East, do let those things\nalone--you're mixing up three new boys' things.\" And she rushed at East,\nwho escaped round the open trunks holding up a prize.\n\n\"Hullo, look here, Tommy,\" shouted he, \"here's fun!\" and he brandished\nabove his head some pretty little night-caps, beautifully made and\nmarked, the work of loving fingers in some distant country home. The\nkind mother and sisters, who sewed that delicate stitching with aching\nhearts, little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the\nyoung head for which they were meant. The little matron was wiser, and\nsnatched the caps from East before he could look at the name on them.\n\n\"Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don't go,\" said she;\n\"there's some capital cold beef and pickles up-stairs, and I won't have\nyou old boys in my room first night.\"\n\n\"Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy; come along, Smith. We shall\nfind out who the young Count is, I'll be bound: I hope he'll sleep in my\nroom. Mary's always vicious first week.\"\n\nAs the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, and\nsaid, \"Master Brown, please stop a minute, I want to speak to you.\"\n\n\"Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute: East, don't finish the\npickles--\"\n\n\"Oh, Master Brown,\" went on the little matron, when the rest had gone,\n\"you're to have Gray's study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to\ntake in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years old,\nthough he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been from\nhome before. And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and\nsee that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, and\nI've given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can't sleep\nthere this half.\"\n\nTom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double study\nwhich he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly\nmoderated his joy He looked across the room, and in the far corner of\nthe sofa was aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue eyes and light\nfair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a\nglance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-year\nat a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or\nconstant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles.\nTom was too honest to take in the youngster and then let him shift for\nhimself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all\nhis pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his window, and\nmaking night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to Brownsover\nMills and Caldecott's Spinney? East and he had made up their minds to\nget this study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they would\nbe together to talk about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat's\nnovels, and sort birds' eggs. And this new boy would most likely never\ngo out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting\nlaughed at and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine\nnickname.\n\nThe matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his\nmind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm\nheart. \"Poor little fellow,\" said she in almost a whisper, \"his father's\ndead, and he's got no brothers. And his mamma, such a kind sweet lady,\nalmost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; and she said one of\nhis sisters was like to die of decline, and so----\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" burst in Tom, with something like a sigh at the effort, \"I\nsuppose I must give up East. Come along, young un. What's your name?\nWe'll go and have some supper, and then I'll show you our study.\"\n\n\"His name's George Arthur,\" said the matron, walking up to him with Tom,\nwho grasped his little delicate hand as the proper preliminary to making\na chum of him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. \"I've had\nhis books and things put into the study, which his mamma has had new\npapered, and the sofa covered, and new green-baize curtains over the\ndoor\" (the diplomatic matron threw this in, to show that the new boy was\ncontributing largely to the partnership comforts). \"And Mrs. Arnold told\nme to say,\" she added, \"that she should like you both to come up to tea\nwith her. You know the way, Master Brown, and the things are just gone\nup, I know.\"\n\nHere was an announcement for Master Tom! He was to go up to tea the\nfirst night, just as if he were a sixth or fifth-form boy, and of\nimportance in the school world, instead of the most reckless young\nscapegrace amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a higher\nsocial and moral platform at once. Nevertheless, he couldn't give up\nwithout a sigh the idea of the jolly supper in the housekeeper's room\nwith East and the rest, and a rush round to all the studies of his\nfriends afterwards, to pour out the deeds and wonders of the holidays,\nto plot fifty plans for the coming half-year, and to gather news of who\nhad left, and what new boys had come, who had got who's study, and where\nthe new præpostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with thinking\nthat he couldn't have done all this with the new boy at his heels, and\nso marched off along the passages to the Doctor's private house with his\nyoung charge in tow, in monstrous good humour with himself and all the\nworld.\n\nIt is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how the two young boys\nwere received in that drawing-room. The lady who presided there is still\nliving, and has carried with her to her peaceful home in the North the\nrespect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that gentle and\nhigh-bred hospitality. Ay, many is the brave heart now doing its work\nand bearing its load in country curacies, London chambers, under the\nIndian sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks back with\nfond and grateful memory to that School-house drawing-room, and dates\nmuch of its highest and best training to the lessons learnt there.\n\nBesides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder children, there were one\nof the younger masters, young Brooke--who was now in the sixth, and had\nsucceeded to his brother's position and influence--and another\nsixth-form boy there, talking together before the fire. The master and\nyoung Brooke, now a great strapping fellow six feet high, eighteen years\nold, and powerful as a coal-heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense\nglory, and then went on talking; the other did not notice them. The\nhostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys at once and\ninsensibly to feel at their ease, and to begin talking to one another,\nleft them with her own children while she finished a letter. The young\nones got on fast and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony he\nhad been riding out hunting, and hearing stories of the winter glories\nof the lakes, when tea came in, and immediately after the Doctor\nhimself.\n\nHow frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting to the party by the\nfire! It did Tom's heart good to see him and young Brooke shake hands,\nand look one another in the face; and he didn't fail to remark, that\nBrooke was nearly as tall, and quite as broad as the Doctor. And his cup\nwas full, when in another moment his master turned to him with another\nwarm shake of the hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all the late\nscrapes which he had been getting into, said, \"Ah, Brown, you here! I\nhope you left your father and all well at home?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, quite well.\"\n\n\"And this is the little fellow who is to share your study. Well, he\ndoesn't look as we should like to see him. He wants some Rugby air, and\ncricket. And you must take him some good long walks, to Bilton Grange\nand Caldecott's Spinney, and show him what a little pretty country we\nhave about here.\"\n\nTom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to Bilton Grange were\nfor the purpose of taking rooks' nests (a proceeding strongly\ndiscountenanced by the owner thereof), and those to Caldecott's Spinney\nwere prompted chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. What\ndidn't the Doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of it! He\nalmost resolved to abjure rook-pies and night-lines for ever. The tea\nwent merrily off, the Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then of\nthe prospects of the half-year, what chance there was for the Balliol\nscholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Every body was at\nhis ease, and every body felt that he, young as he might be, was of some\nuse in the little school world, and had a work to do there.\n\nSoon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and the young boys a\nfew minutes afterwards took their leave, and went out of the private\ndoor which led from the Doctor's house into the middle passage.\n\nAt the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a crowd of boys in\nloud talk and laughter. There was a sudden pause when the door opened,\nand then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was recognised marching down\nthe passage.\n\n\"Hullo, Brown, where do you come from?\"\n\n\"Oh, I've been to tea with the Doctor,\" says Tom, with great dignity.\n\n\"My eye!\" cried East. \"Oh! so that's why Mary called you back, and you\ndidn't come to supper. You lost something--that beef and pickles was no\nend good.\"\n\n\"I say, young fellow,\" cried Hall, detecting Arthur, and catching him by\nthe collar, \"what's your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?\"\n\nTom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all the group turned to\nhim, but thought it best to let him answer, just standing by his side to\nsupport in case of need.\n\n\"Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire.\"\n\n\"Don't call me 'sir,' you young muff. How old are you?\"\n\n\"Thirteen.\"\n\n\"Can you sing?\"\n\nThe poor boy, was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck in--\"You be\nhanged, Tadpole. He'll have to sing, whether he can or not, Saturday\ntwelve weeks, and that's long enough off yet.\"\n\n\"Do you know him at home, Brown?\"\n\n\"No; but he's my chum in Gray's old study, and it's near prayer time,\nand I haven't had a look at it yet. Come along, Arthur.\"\n\nAway went the two, Tom longing to get his charge safe under cover, where\nhe might advise him on his deportment.\n\n\"What a queer chum for Tom Brown,\" was the comment at the fire; and it\nmust be confessed so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and\nsurveyed the new green-baize curtains and the carpet and sofa with much\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us so cosy. But look\nhere now, you must answer straight up when the fellows speak to you, and\ndon't be afraid. If you're afraid, you'll get bullied. And don't you say\nyou can sing; and don't you ever talk about home, or your mother and\nsisters.\"\n\nPoor little Arthur looked ready to cry.\n\n\"But please,\" said he, \"mayn't I talk about--about home to you?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, I like it. But don't talk to boys you don't know, or they'll\ncall you home-sick, or mamma's darling, or some such stuff. What a jolly\ndesk! Is that yours? And what stunning binding! why, your school-books\nlook like novels!\"\n\nAnd Tom was soon deep in Arthur's goods and chattels, all new and good\nenough for a fifth-form boy, and hardly thought of his friends outside,\ntill the prayer-bell rung.\n\nI have already described the School-house prayers; they were the same on\nthe first night as on the other nights, save for the gaps caused by the\nabsence of those boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood\nall together at the farther table--of all sorts and sizes, like young\nbears with all their troubles to come, as Tom's father had said to him\nwhen he was in the same position. He thought of it as he looked at the\nline, and poor little slight Arthur standing with them, and as he was\nleading him up-stairs to Number 4, directly after prayers, and showing\nhim his bed. It was a huge high airy room, with two large windows\nlooking on to the School close. There were twelve beds in the room. The\none in the furthest corner by the fireplace, occupied by the sixth-form\nboy who was responsible for the discipline of the room, and the rest by\nboys in the lower-fifth and other junior forms, all fags (for the\nfifth-form boys, as has been said, slept in rooms by themselves). Being\nfags, the eldest of them was not more than about sixteen years old, and\nwere all bound to be up and in bed by ten; the sixth-form boys came to\nbed from ten to a quarter-past (at which time the old verger came round\nto put the candles out), except when they sat up to read.\n\nWithin a few minutes therefore of their entry, all the other boys who\nslept in Number 4 had come up. The little fellows went quietly to their\nown beds, and began undressing and talking to each other in whispers;\nwhile the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one\nanother's beds, with their jackets and waistcoats off. Poor little\nArthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position. The idea of\nsleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his\nmind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him. He could\nhardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort,\noff it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at\nthe bottom of his bed talking and laughing.\n\n\"Please, Brown,\" he whispered, \"may I wash my face and hands?\"\n\n\"Of course, if you like,\" said Tom, staring; \"that's your\nwashhand-stand, under the window, second from your bed. You'll have to\ngo down for more water in the morning if you use it all.\" And on he went\nwith his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to\nhis washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a\nmoment on himself the attention of the room.\n\nOn went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his washing and\nundressing, and put on his night-gown. He then looked round more\nnervously than ever. Two or three of the little boys were already in\nbed, sitting up with their chins on their knees. The light burned clear,\nthe noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor little lonely\nboy; however, this time he didn't ask Tom what he might or might not do,\nbut dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from\nhis childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth\nthe sorrows of the tender child, and the strong man in agony.\n\nTom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his\nback was towards Arthur, and he didn't see what had happened, and looked\nup in wonder at the sudden silence. Then two or three boys laughed and\nsneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing in the middle of the\nroom, picked up a slipper, and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him\na snivelling young shaver. Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment\nthe boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully,\nwho had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow.\n\n\"Confound you, Brown, what's that for?\" roared he, stamping with pain.\n\n\"Never mind what I mean,\" said Tom, stepping on to the floor, every\ndrop of blood in his body tingling; \"if any fellow wants the other boot,\nhe knows how to get it.\"\n\nWhat would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the\nsixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said. Tom and the\nrest rushed into bed and finished their unrobing there, and the old\nverger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another\nminute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their door with his\nusual \"Good night, genl'm'n.\"\n\nThere were many boys in the room by whom that little scene was taken to\nheart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of\npoor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories which\nchased one another through his brain, kept him from thinking or\nresolving. His head throbbed, his heart leapt, and he could hardly keep\nhimself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then the\nthought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had made\nat her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and\ngive himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow,\nfrom which it might never rise; and he lay down gently and cried as if\nhis heart would break. He was only fourteen years old.\n\nIt was no light act of courage in those days, my dear boys, for a little\nfellow to say his prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later,\nwhen Arnold's manly piety had begun to leaven the School the tables\nturned; before he died, in the School-house at least, and I believe in\nthe other houses, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had come to\nschool in other times. The first few nights after he came he did not\nkneel down because of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was\nout, and then stole out and said his prayers in fear, lest some one\nshould find him out. So did many another poor little fellow. Then he\nbegan to think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, and\nthen that it didn't matter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying\ndown. And so it had come to pass with Tom as with all who will not\nconfess their Lord before men: and for the last year he had probably not\nsaid his prayers in earnest a dozen times.\n\nPoor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was like to break his\nheart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which\nhe loathed was brought in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to\nhis mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And\nthen the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned for\nhis weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do.\nThe first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that he\nwould stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and help\nhim, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that night. Then he\nresolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what a\ncoward her son had been. And then peace came to him as he resolved,\nlastly, to bear his testimony next morning. The morning would be harder\nthan the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to\nlet one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed\nhim, first, all his old friends calling him \"Saint\" and \"Square-toes,\"\nand a dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be\nmisunderstood, and he would only be left alone with the new boy; whereas\nit was his duty to keep all means of influence, that he might do good to\nthe largest number. And then came the more subtle temptation, \"Shall I\nnot be showing myself braver than others by doing this? Have I any right\nto begin it now? Ought I not rather to pray in my own study, letting\nother boys know that I do so, and trying to lead them to it, while in\npublic at least I should go on as I have done?\" However, his good angel\nwas too strong that night, and he turned on his side and slept, tired of\ntrying to reason, but resolved to follow the impulse which had been so\nstrong, and in which he had found peace.\n\nNext morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and\nwaistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then in the\nface of the whole room knelt down to pray. Not five words could he\nsay--the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in the\nroom--what were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on\nkneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it were from his\ninmost heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of\nthe publican, \"God be merciful to me a sinner!\" He repeated them over\nand over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees\ncomforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. It was not\nneeded: two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his example,\nand he went down to the great School with a glimmering of another lesson\nin his heart--the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward spirit\nhas conquered the whole outward world; and that other one which the old\nprophet learnt in the cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his face, and the\nstill small voice asked, \"What doest thou here, Elijah?\" that however we\nmay fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King and Lord of men\nis nowhere without His witnesses; for in every society, however\nseemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have not bowed the\nknee to Baal.\n\nHe found too how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be produced by\nhis act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt\ndown, but this passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but\nthree or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in some measure\nowing to the fact, that Tom could probably have thrashed any boy in the\nroom except the præpostor; at any rate, every boy knew that he would try\nupon very slight provocation, and didn't choose to run the risk of a\nhard fight because Tom Brown had taken a fancy to say his prayers. Some\nof the small boys of Number 4 communicated the new state of things to\ntheir chums, and in several other rooms the poor little fellows tried it\non; in one instance or so where the præpostor heard of it and interfered\nvery decidedly, with partial success; but in the rest, after a short\nstruggle, the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and the old state\nof things went on for some time longer. Before either Tom Brown or\nArthur left the School-house, there was no room in which it had not\nbecome the regular custom. I trust it is so still, and that the old\nheathen state of things has gone out for ever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE NEW BOY.\n\n          \"And Heaven's rich instincts in him grew,\n           As effortless as woodland nooks\n           Send violets up and paint them blue.\"--LOWELL.\n\n\nI DO not mean to recount all the little troubles and annoyances which\nthronged upon Tom at the beginning of this half-year, in his new\ncharacter of bear-leader to a gentle little boy straight from home. He\nseemed to himself to have become a new boy again, without any of the\nlong-suffering and meekness indispensable for supporting that character\nwith moderate success. From morning till night he had the feeling of\nresponsibility on his mind; and even if he left Arthur in their study\nor in the close for an hour, was never at ease till he had him in sight\nagain. He waited for him at the doors of the school after every lesson\nand every calling-over; watched that no tricks were played him, and none\nbut the regulation questions asked; kept his eye on his plate at dinner\nand breakfast, to see that no unfair depredations were made upon his\nviands; in short, as East remarked, cackled after him like a hen with\none chick.\n\nArthur took a long time thawing too, which made it all the harder work;\nwas sadly timid; scarcely ever spoke unless Tom spoke to him first; and,\nworst of all, would agree with him in everything, the hardest thing in\nthe world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry sometimes, as they sat\ntogether of a night in their study, at this provoking habit of\nagreement, and was on the point of breaking out a dozen times with a\nlecture upon the propriety of a fellow having a will of his own and\nspeaking out; but managed to restrain himself by the thought that it\nmight only frighten Arthur, and the remembrance of the lesson he had\nlearnt from him on his first night at Number 4. Then he would resolve to\nsit still, and not say a word till Arthur began; but he was always beat\nat that game, and had presently to begin talking in despair, fearing\nlest Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn't, and\ndog-tired of sitting tongue-tied.\n\nIt was hard work! But Tom had taken it up, and meant to stick to it, and\ngo through with it, so as to satisfy himself; in which resolution he was\nmuch assisted by the chaffing of East and his other old friends, who\nbegan to call him \"dry-nurse,\" and otherwise to break their small wit on\nhim. But when they took other ground, as they did every now and then,\nTom was sorely puzzled.\n\n\"Tell you what, Tommy,\" East would say, \"you'll spoil young Hopeful with\ntoo much coddling. Why can't you let him go about by himself and find\nhis own level? He'll never be worth a button, if you go on keeping him\nunder your skirts.\"\n\n\"Well, but he ain't fit to fight his own way yet; I'm trying to get him\nto it every day--but he's very odd. Poor little beggar! I can't make him\nout a bit. He ain't a bit like anything I've ever seen or heard of--he\nseems all over nerves; anything you say seems to hurt him like a cut or\na blow.\"\n\n\"That sort of boy's no use here,\" said East, \"he'll only spoil. Now,\nI'll tell you what to do, Tommy. Go and get a nice large band-box made,\nand put him in with plenty of cotton wool, and a pap-bottle, labelled\n'With care--this side up,' and send him back to mamma.\"\n\n\"I think I shall make a hand of him though,\" said Tom, smiling, \"say\nwhat you will. There's something about him, every now and then, which\nshows me he's got pluck somewhere in him. That's the only thing after\nall that'll wash, ain't it, old Scud? But how to get at it and bring it\nout?\"\n\nTom took one hand out of his breeches-pocket and stuck it in his back\nhair for a scratch, giving his hat a tilt over his nose, his one method\nof invoking wisdom. He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled\nlook, and presently looked up and met East's eyes. That young gentleman\nslapped him on the back, and then put his arm round his shoulder, as\nthey strolled through the quadrangle together. \"Tom,\" said he, \"blest if\nyou ain't the best old fellow ever was--I do like to see you go into a\nthing. Hang it, I wish I could take things as you do--but I never can\nget higher than a joke. Everything's a joke. If I was going to be\nflogged next minute, I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn't help\nlaughing at it for the life of me.\"\n\n\"Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the great fives'-court.\"\n\n\"Hullo, though, that's past a joke,\" broke out East, springing at the\nyoung gentleman who addressed them, and catching him by the collar.\n\"Here, Tommy, catch hold of him t'other side before he can holla.\"\n\nThe youth was seized, and dragged struggling out of the quadrangle into\nthe School-house hall. He was one of the miserable little pretty\nwhite-handed curly-headed boys, petted and pampered by some of the big\nfellows, who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink and use\nbad language, and did all they could to spoil them for everything[D] in\nthis world and the next. One of the avocations in which these young\ngentlemen took particular delight, was in going about and getting fags\nfor their protectors, when those heroes were playing any game. They\ncarried about pencil and paper with them, putting down the names of all\nthe boys they sent, always sending five times as many as were wanted,\nand getting all those thrashed who didn't go. The present youth belonged\nto a house which was very jealous of the School-house, and always picked\nout School-house fags when he could find them. However, this time he'd\ngot the wrong sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great door of the\nhall, and East put his back against it, while Tom gave the prisoner a\nshake-up, took away his list, and stood him up on the floor, while he\nproceeded leisurely to examine that document.\n\n\"Let me out, let me go!\" screamed the boy in a furious passion. \"I'll go\nand tell Jones this minute, and he'll give you both the ---- thrashing\nyou ever had.\"\n\n\"Pretty little dear,\" said East, patting the top of his hat; \"hark how\nhe swears, Tom. Nicely brought-up young man, ain't he, I don't think.\"\n\n\"Let me alone, ---- you,\" roared the boy, foaming with rage, and kicking\nat East, who quietly tripped him up, and deposited him on the floor in a\nplace of safety.\n\n\"Gently, young fellow,\" said he; \"'taint improving for little\nwhippersnappers like you to be indulging in blasphemy; so you stop that,\nor you'll get something you won't like.\"\n\n\"I'll have you both licked when I get out, that I will,\" rejoined the\nboy, beginning to snivel.\n\n\"Two can play at that game, mind you,\" said Tom, who had finished his\nexamination of the list. \"Now you just listen here. We've just come\nacross the fives'-court, and Jones has four fags there already, two more\nthan he wants. If he'd wanted us to change, he'd have stopped us\nhimself. And here, you little blackguard, you've got seven names down\non your list besides ours, and five of them School-house.\" Tom walked up\nto him and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time whining like a\nwhipped puppy.\n\n\"Now just listen to me. We ain't going to fag for Jones. If you tell him\nyou've sent us, we'll each of us give you such a thrashing as you'll\nremember.\" And Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire.\n\n\"And mind you too,\" said East, \"don't let me catch you again sneaking\nabout the School-house, and picking up our fags. You haven't got the\nsort of hide to take a sound licking kindly;\" and he opened the door and\nsent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle, with a parting\nkick.\n\n\"Nice boy, Tommy,\" said East, shoving his hands in his pockets and\nstrolling to the fire.\n\n\"Worst sort we breed,\" responded Tom, following his example. \"Thank\ngoodness, no big fellow ever took to petting me.\"\n\n\"You'd never have been like that,\" said East. \"I should like to have put\nhim in a museum:--Christian young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly\neducated. Stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear like a\ndrunken sailor!--He'd make a respectable public open its eyes, I think.\"\n\n\"Think he'll tell Jones?\" said Tom.\n\n\"No,\" said East. \"Don't care if he does.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" said Tom. And they went back to talk about Arthur.\n\nThe young gentleman had brains enough not to tell Jones, reasoning that\nEast and Brown, who were noted as some of the toughest fags in the\nschool, wouldn't care three straws for any licking Jones might give\nthem, and would be likely to keep their words as to passing it on with\ninterest.\n\nAfter the above conversation, East came a good deal to their study, and\ntook notice of Arthur; and soon allowed to Tom that he was a thorough\nlittle gentleman, and would get over his shyness all in good time; which\nmuch comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the value of having an\nobject in his life, something that drew him out of himself; and, it\nbeing the dull time of the year, and no games going about which he much\ncared, was happier than he had ever yet been at school, which was saying\na great deal.\n\nThe time which Tom allowed himself away from his charge, was from\nlocking-up till supper-time. During this hour or hour-and-half he used\nto take his fling, going round to the studies of all his acquaintance,\nsparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron-bound\ntables, or carving a bit of his name on them, then joining in some\nchorus of merry voices; in fact, blowing off his steam, as we should now\ncall it.\n\nThis process was so congenial to his temper, and Arthur showed himself\nso pleased at the arrangement, that it was several weeks before Tom was\never in their study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed in to\nlook for an old chisel, or some corks, or other articles essential to\nhis pursuit for the time being, and while rummaging about in the\ncupboards, looked up for a moment, and was caught at once by the figure\nof poor little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on the table,\nand his head leaning on his hands, and before him an open book, on\nwhich his tears were falling fast. Tom shut the door at once, and sat\ndown on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck.\n\n\"Why, young un! what's the matter?\" said he, kindly; \"you ain't unhappy,\nare you?\"\n\n\"Oh no, Brown,\" said the little boy, looking up with the great tears in\nhis eyes, \"you are so kind to me, I'm very happy.\"\n\n\"Why don't you call me Tom? lots of boys do that I don't like half so\nmuch as you. What are you reading, then? Hang it, you must come about\nwith me, and not mope yourself,\" and Tom cast down his eyes on the book,\nand saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a minute, and thought to\nhimself, \"Lesson Number 2, Tom Brown;\"--and then said gently--\n\n\"I'm very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don't read the\nBible more myself. Do you read it every night before supper while I'm\nout?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, I wish you'd wait till afterwards, and then we'd read together.\nBut, Arthur, why does it make you cry?\"\n\n\"Oh, it isn't that I'm unhappy. But at home, while my father was alive,\nwe always read the lessons after tea; and I love to read them over now,\nand try to remember what he said about them. I can't remember all, and I\nthink I scarcely understand a great deal of what I do remember. But it\nall comes back to me so fresh, that I can't help crying sometimes to\nthink I shall never read them again with him.\"\n\nArthur had never spoken of his home before, and Tom hadn't encouraged\nhim to do so, as his blundering school-boy reasoning made him think\nthat Arthur would be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But\nnow he was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels and bottled\nbeer; while with very little encouragement Arthur launched into his home\nhistory, and the prayer-bell put them both out sadly when it rang to\ncall them to the hall.\n\nFrom this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, and above all, of\nhis father, who had been dead about a year, and whose memory Tom soon\ngot to love and reverence almost as much as his own son did.\n\nArthur's father had been the clergyman of a parish in the Midland\nCounties, which had risen into a large town during the war, and upon\nwhich the hard years which followed had fallen with a fearful weight.\nThe trade had been half ruined: and then came the old sad story, of\nmasters reducing their establishments, men turned off and wandering\nabout, hungry and wan in body and fierce in soul, from the thought of\nwives and children starving at home, and the last sticks of furniture\ngoing to the pawn-shop. Children taken from school, and lounging about\nthe dirty streets and courts, too listless almost to play, and squalid\nin rags and misery. And then the fearful struggle between the employers\nand men; lowerings of wages, strikes, and the long course of\noft-repeated crime, ending every now and then with a riot, a fire, and\nthe county yeomanry. There is no need here to dwell upon such tales; the\nEnglishman into whose soul they have not sunk deep is not worthy the\nname; you English boys for whom this book is meant (God bless your\nbright faces and kind hearts!) will learn it all soon enough.\n\nInto such a parish and state of society, Arthur's father had been thrown\nat the age of twenty-five, a young married parson, full of faith, hope,\nand love. He had battled with it like a man, and had lots of fine\nUtopian ideas about the perfectibility of mankind, glorious humanity and\nsuch-like, knocked out of his head; and a real wholesome Christian love\nfor the poor struggling, sinning men, of whom he felt himself one, and\nwith and for whom he spent fortune, and strength, and life, driven into\nhis heart. He had battled like a man, and gotten a man's reward. No\nsilver teapots or salvers, with flowery inscriptions, setting forth his\nvirtues and the appreciation of a genteel parish; no fat living or\nstall, for which he never looked, and didn't care; no sighs and praises\nof comfortable dowagers and well got-up young women, who worked him\nslippers, sugared his tea, and adored him as 'a devoted man;' but a\nmanly respect, wrung from the unwilling souls of men who fancied his\norder their natural enemies; the fear and hatred of every one who was\nfalse or unjust in the district, were he master or man; and the blessed\nsight of women and children daily becoming more human and more homely, a\ncomfort to themselves and to their husbands and fathers.\n\nThese things of course took time, and had to be fought for with toil and\nsweat of brain and heart, and with the life-blood poured out. All that,\nArthur had laid his account to give, and took as a matter of course;\nneither pitying himself, or looking on himself as a martyr, when he felt\nthe wear and tear making him feel old before his time, and the stifling\nair of fever dens telling on his health. His wife seconded him in\neverything. She had been rather fond of society, and much admired and\nrun after before her marriage; and the London world, to which she had\nbelonged, pitied poor Fanny Evelyn when she married the young clergyman\nand went to settle in that smoky hole Turley, a very nest of Chartism\nand Atheism, in a part of the county which all the decent families had\nhad to leave for years. However, somehow or other she didn't seem to\ncare. If her husband's living had been amongst green fields and near\npleasant neighbours, she would have liked it better, that she never\npretended to deny. But there they were: the air wasn't bad after all;\nthe people were very good sort of people, civil to you if you were civil\nto them, after the first brush; and they didn't expect to work miracles,\nand convert them all off-hand into model Christians. So he and she went\nquietly among the folk, talking to and treating them just as they would\nhave done people of their own rank. They didn't feel that they were\ndoing anything out of the common way, and so were perfectly natural, and\nhad none of that condescension or consciousness of manner which so\noutrages the independent poor. And thus they gradually won respect and\nconfidence; and after sixteen years he was looked up to by the whole\nneighborhood as _the_ just man, _the_ man to whom masters and men could\ngo in their strikes, and all in their quarrels and difficulties, and by\nwhom the right and true word would be said without fear or favour. And\nthe women had come round to take her advice, and go to her as a friend\nin all their troubles; while the children all worshipped the very ground\nshe trod on.\n\nThey had three children, two daughters and a son, little Arthur, who\ncame between his sisters. He had been a very delicate boy from his\nchildhood; they thought he had a tendency to consumption, and so he had\nbeen kept at home and taught by his father, who had made a companion of\nhim, and from whom he had gained good scholarship, and a knowledge of\nand interest in many subjects which boys in general never come across\ntill they are many years older.\n\nJust as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father had settled that\nhe was strong enough to go to school, and, after much debating with\nhimself, had resolved to send him there, a desperate typhus-fever broke\nout in the town; most of the other clergy, and almost all the doctors,\nran away; the work fell with tenfold weight on those who stood to their\nwork. Arthur and his wife both caught the fever, of which he died in a\nfew days, and she recovered, having been able to nurse him to the end,\nand store up his last words. He was sensible to the last, and calm and\nhappy, leaving his wife and children with fearless trust for a few years\nin the hands of the Lord and Friend who had lived and died for him, and\nfor whom he, to the best of his power, had lived and died. His widow's\nmourning was deep and gentle; she was more affected by the request of\nthe Committee of a Freethinking Club, established in the town by some of\nthe factory hands, (which he had striven against with might and main,\nand nearly suppressed,) that some of their number might be allowed to\nhelp bear the coffin, than by anything else. Two of them were chosen,\nwho with six other labouring men, his own fellow-workmen and friends,\nbore him to his grave--a man who had fought the Lord's fight even unto\nthe death. The shops were closed and the factories shut that day in the\nparish, yet no master stopped the day's wages; but for many a year\nafterwards the townsfolk felt the want of that brave, hopeful, loving\nparson, and his wife, who had lived to teach them mutual forbearance and\nhelpfulness, and had _almost_ at last given them a glimpse of what this\nold world would be if people would live for God and each other, instead\nof for themselves.\n\nWhat has all this to do with our story? Well, my dear boys, let a fellow\ngo on his own way, or you won't get anything out of him worth having. I\nmust show you what sort of a man it was who had begotten and trained\nlittle Arthur, or else you won't believe in him, which I am resolved you\nshall do; and you won't see how he, the timid weak boy, had points in\nhim from which the bravest and strongest recoiled, and made his presence\nand example felt from the first on all sides, unconsciously to himself,\nand without the least attempt at proselytizing. The spirit of his father\nwas in him, and the Friend to whom his father had left him did not\nneglect the trust.\n\nAfter supper that night, and almost nightly for years afterwards, Tom\nand Arthur, and by degrees East occasionally, and sometimes one,\nsometimes another, of their friends, read a chapter of the Bible\ntogether, and talked it over afterwards. Tom was at first utterly\nastonished, and almost shocked, at the sort of way in which Arthur read\nthe book, and talked about the men and women whose lives were there\ntold. The first night they happened to fall on the chapters about the\nfamine in Egypt, and Arthur began talking about Joseph as if he were a\nliving statesman; just as he might have talked about Lord Grey and the\nReform Bill; only that they were much more living realities to him. The\nbook was to him, Tom saw, the most vivid and delightful history of real\npeople, who might do right or wrong, just like any one who was walking\nabout in Rugby--the Doctor, or the masters, or the sixth-form boys. But\nthe astonishment soon passed off, the scales seemed to drop from his\neyes, and the book became at once and for ever to him the great human\nand divine book, and the men and women, whom he had looked upon as\nsomething quite different from himself, became his friends and\ncounsellors.\n\nFor our purposes, however, the history of one night's reading will be\nsufficient, which must be told here, now we are on the subject, though\nit didn't happen till a year afterwards, and long after the events\nrecorded in the next chapter of our story.\n\nArthur, Tom, and East were together one night, and read the story of\nNaaman coming to Elisha to be cured of his leprosy. When the chapter was\nfinished, Tom shut his Bible with a slap.\n\n\"I can't stand that fellow Naaman,\" said he, \"after what he'd seen and\nfelt, going back and bowing himself down in the house of Rimmon, because\nhis effeminate scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took the\ntrouble to heal him. How he must have despised him.\"\n\n\"Yes, there you go off as usual, with a shell on your head,\" struck in\nEast, who always took the opposite side to Tom; half from love of\nargument, half from conviction. \"How do you know he didn't think better\nof it? how do you know his master was a scoundrel? His letter don't look\nlike it, and the book don't say so.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" rejoined Tom; \"why did Naaman talk about bowing down,\nthen, if he didn't mean to do it? He wasn't likely to get more in\nearnest when he got back to court, and away from the prophet.\"\n\n\"Well but, Tom,\" said Arthur, \"look what Elisha says to him, 'Go in\npeace.' He wouldn't have said that if Naaman had been in the wrong.\"\n\n\"I don't see that that means more than saying, 'You're not the man I\ntook you for.'\"\n\n\"No, no, that won't do at all,\" said East; \"read the words fairly, and\ntake men as you find them. I like Naaman, and think he was a very fine\nfellow.\"\n\n\"I don't,\" said Tom, positively.\n\n\"Well, I think East is right,\" said Arthur; \"I can't see but what it's\nright to do the best you can, though it mayn't be the best absolutely.\nEvery man isn't born to be a martyr.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course,\" said East; \"but he's on one of his pet hobbies.\nHow often have I told you, Tom, that you must drive a nail where it'll\ngo.\"\n\n\"And how often have I told you,\" rejoined Tom, \"that it'll always go\nwhere you want, if you only stick to it and hit hard enough. I hate half\nmeasures and compromises.\"\n\n\"Yes, he's a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have the whole animal, hair and\nteeth, claws and tail,\" laughed East. \"Sooner have no bread any day than\nhalf the loaf.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Arthur, \"it's rather puzzling; but ain't most right\nthings got by proper compromises, I mean where the principle isn't given\nup?\"\n\n\"That's just the point,\" said Tom; \"I don't object to a compromise where\nyou don't give up your principle.\"\n\n\"Not you,\" said East, laughingly. \"I know him of old, Arthur, and you'll\nfind him out some day. There isn't such a reasonable fellow in the\nworld, to hear him talk. He never wants anything but what's right and\nfair; only when you come to settle what's right and fair, it's\neverything that he wants, and nothing that you want. And that's his idea\nof a compromise. Give me the Brown compromise when I'm on his side.\"\n\n\"Now, Harry,\" said Tom, \"no more chaff--I'm serious. Look here--this is\nwhat makes my blood tingle;\" and he turned over the pages of his Bible\nand read, \"Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the\nking, 'O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this\nmatter. If it _be_ so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from\nthe burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O\nking. But _if not,_ be it known unto thee, O king, that we will _not_\nserve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.'\"\nHe read the last verse twice, emphasizing the nots, and dwelling on them\nas if they gave him actual pleasure, and were hard to part with.\n\nThey were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, \"Yes, that's a glorious\nstory, but it don't prove your point, Tom, I think. There are times when\nthere is only one way, and that the highest, and then the men are found\nto stand in the breach.\"\n\n\"There's always a highest way, and it's always the right one,\" said Tom.\n\"How many times has the Doctor told us that in his sermons in the last\nyear, I should like to know?\"\n\n\"Well, you ain't going to convince us, is he, Arthur? No Brown\ncompromise to-night,\" said East, looking at his watch. \"But it's past\neight, and we must go to first lesson. What a bore!\"\n\nSo they took down their books and fell to work; but Arthur didn't\nforget, and thought long and often over the conversation.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote D: A kind and wise critic, an old Rugbœan, notes here in the\nmargin: The \"small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847.\"\nBefore that, too, there were many noble friendships between big and\nlittle boys, but I can't strike out the passage: many boys will know why\nit is left in.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND.\n\n          \"Let Nature be your teacher:\n           Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;\n           Our meddling intellect\n           Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things.\n           We murder to dissect--\n           Enough of Science and of Art;\n           Close up those barren leaves:\n           Come forth, and bring with you a heart\n           That watches and receives.\"--WORDSWORTH.\n\n\nABOUT six weeks after the beginning of the half, as Tom and Arthur were\nsitting one night before supper beginning their verses, Arthur suddenly\nstopped, and looked up, and said, \"Tom, do you know anything of Martin?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tom, taking his hand out of his back hair, and delighted to\nthrow his Gradus ad Parnassum on to the sofa; \"I know him pretty well.\nHe's a very good fellow, but as mad as a hatter. He's called Madman, you\nknow. And never was such a fellow for getting all sorts of rum things\nabout him. He tamed two snakes last half, and used to carry them about\nin his pocket, and I'll be bound he's got some hedgehogs and rats in his\ncupboard now, and no one knows what besides.\"\n\n\"I should like very much to know him,\" said Arthur; \"he was next to me\nin the form to-day, and he'd lost his book and looked over mine, and he\nseemed so kind and gentle, that I liked him very much.\"\n\n\"Ah, poor old Madman, he's always losing his books,\" said Tom, \"and\ngetting called up and floored because he hasn't got them.\"\n\n\"I like him all the better,\" said Arthur.\n\n\"Well, he's great fun, I can tell you,\" said Tom, throwing himself back\non the sofa, and chuckling at the remembrance. \"We had such a game with\nhim one day last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for some\ntime in his study, till I suppose some fellow told Mary, and she told\nthe Doctor. Anyhow, one day a little before dinner, when he came down\nfrom the library, the Doctor, instead of going home, came striding into\nthe Hall. East and I and five or six other fellows were at the fire, and\npreciously we stared, for he don't come in like that once a-year, unless\nit is a wet day and there's a fight in the Hall. 'East,' says he, 'just\ncome and show me Martin's study.' 'Oh, here's a game,' whispered the\nrest of us, and we all cut up-stairs after the Doctor, East leading. As\nwe got into the New Row, which was hardly wide enough to hold the Doctor\nand his gown, click, click, click, we heard in the old Madman's den.\nThen that stopped all of a sudden, and the bolts went to like fun: the\nMadman knew East's step, and thought there was going to be a siege.\n\n\"'It's the Doctor, Martin. He's here and wants to see you,' sings out\nEast.\n\n\"Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door opened, and there was the\nold Madman standing, looking precious scared; his jacket off, his\nshirt-sleeves up to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all covered\nwith anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with gunpowder like a\nsailor-boy's, and a stink fit to knock you down coming out. 'Twas all\nthe Doctor could do to stand his ground, and East and I, who were\nlooking in under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie was\nstanding on the window-sill, all his feathers drooping, and looking\ndisgusted and half-poisoned.\n\n\"'What can you be about, Martin?' says the Doctor; 'you really mustn't\ngo on in this way--you're a nuisance to the whole passage.'\n\n\"'Please, Sir, I was only mixing up this powder, there isn't any harm in\nit;' and the Madman seized nervously on his pestle and mortar, to show\nthe Doctor the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went off pounding;\nclick, click, click; he hadn't given six clicks before, puff! up went\nthe whole into a great blaze, away went the pestle and mortar across the\nstudy, and back we tumbled into the passage. The magpie fluttered down\ninto the court, swearing, and the Madman danced out, howling, with his\nfingers in his mouth. The Doctor caught hold of him, and called to us to\nfetch some water. 'There, you silly fellow,' said he, quite pleased\nthough to find he wasn't much hurt, 'you see you don't know the least\nwhat you're doing with all these things; and now, mind, you must give up\npractising chemistry by yourself.' Then he took hold of his arm and\nlooked at it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes twinkled;\nbut he said, quite grave, 'Here, you see, you've been making all these\nfoolish marks on yourself, which you can never get out, and you'll be\nvery sorry for it in a year or two: now come down to the housekeeper's\nroom, and let us see if you are hurt.' And away went the two, and we all\nstayed and had a regular turn-out of the den, till Martin came back with\nhis hand bandaged and turned us out. However, I'll go and see what he's\nafter, and tell him to come in after prayers to supper.\" And away went\nTom to find the boy in question, who dwelt in a little study by himself,\nin New Row.\n\nThe aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such a fancy for, was one of\nthose unfortunates who were at that time of day (and are, I fear, still)\nquite out of their places at a public school. If we knew how to use our\nboys, Martin would have been seized upon and educated as a natural\nphilosopher. He had a passion for birds, beasts, and insects, and knew\nmore of them and their habits than any one in Rugby; except perhaps the\nDoctor, who knew everything. He was also an experimental chemist on a\nsmall scale, and had made unto himself an electric machine, from which\nit was his greatest pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to any\nsmall boys who were rash enough to venture into his study. And this was\nby no means an adventure free from excitement; for, besides the\nprobability of a snake dropping on to your head or twining lovingly up\nyour leg, or a rat getting into your breeches-pocket in search of food,\nthere was the animal and chemical odour to be faced, which always hung\nabout the den, and the chance of being blown up in some of the many\nexperiments which Martin was always trying, with the most wondrous\nresults in the shape of explosions and smells that mortal boy ever heard\nof. Of course, poor Martin, in consequence of his pursuits, had become\nan Ishmaelite in the house. In the first place, he half-poisoned all his\nneighbours, and they in turn were always on the look-out to pounce upon\nany of his numerous live-stock, and drive him frantic by enticing his\npet old magpie out of his window into a neighbouring study, and making\nthe disreputable old bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and sugar. Then\nMartin, for his sins, inhabited a study looking into a small court some\nten feet across, the window of which was completely commanded by those\nof the studies opposite in the Sick-room Row, these latter being at a\nslightly higher elevation. East, and another boy of an equally\ntormenting and ingenious turn of mind, now lived exactly opposite, and\nhad expended huge pains and time in the preparation of instruments of\nannoyance for the behoof of Martin and his live colony. One morning an\nold basket made its appearance, suspended by a short cord outside\nMartin's window, in which were deposited an amateur nest containing four\nyoung hungry jackdaws, the pride and glory of Martin's life for the time\nbeing, and which he was currently asserted to have hatched upon his own\nperson. Early in the morning, and late at night he was to be seen half\nout of window, administering to the varied wants of his callow brood.\nAfter deep cogitation, East and his chum had spliced a knife on to the\nend of a fishing-rod; and having watched Martin out, had, after\nhalf-an-hour's severe sawing, cut the string by which the basket was\nsuspended, and tumbled it on to the pavement below, with hideous\nremonstrance from the occupants. Poor Martin, returning from his short\nabsence, collected the fragments and replaced his brood (except one\nwhose neck had been broken in the descent) in their old location,\nsuspending them this time by string and wire twisted together, defiant\nof any sharp instrument which his persecutors could command. But, like\nthe Russian engineers at Sebastopol, East and his chum had an answer for\nevery move of the adversary; and the next day had mounted a gun in the\nshape of a pea-shooter upon the ledge of their window, trained so as to\nbear exactly upon the spot which Martin had to occupy while tending his\nnurselings. The moment he began to feed, they began to shoot; in vain\ndid the enemy himself invest in a pea-shooter, and endeavour to answer\nthe fire while he fed the young birds with his other hand; his attention\nwas divided, and his shots flew wild, while every one of theirs told on\nhis face and hands, and drove him into howlings and imprecations. He had\nbeen driven to ensconce the nest in a corner of his already too\nwell-filled den.\n\nHis door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts of his own\ninvention, for the sieges were frequent by the neighbours when any\nunusually ambrosial odour spread itself from the den to the neighbouring\nstudies. The door panels were in a normal state of smash, but the frame\nof the door resisted all besiegers, and behind it the owner carried on\nhis varied pursuits; much in the same state of mind, I should fancy, as\na Border-farmer lived in, in the days of the old mosstroopers, when his\nhold might be summoned or his cattle carried off at any minute of night\nor day.\n\n\"Open, Martin, old boy--it's only I, Tom Brown.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, stop a moment.\" One bolt went back. \"You're sure East\nisn't there?\"\n\n\"No, no, hang it, open.\" Tom gave a kick, the other bolt creaked, and he\nentered the den.\n\nDen indeed it was, about five feet six inches long by five wide, and\nseven feet high. About six tattered school-books, and a few chemical\nbooks, Taxidermy, Stanley on Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, the\nlatter in much better preservation, occupied the top shelves. The other\nshelves, where they had not been cut away and used by the owner for\nother purposes, were fitted up for the abiding places of birds, beasts\nand reptiles. There was no attempt at carpet or curtain. The table was\nentirely occupied by the great work of Martin, the electric machine,\nwhich was covered carefully with the remains of his table-cloth. The\njackdaw cage occupied one wall, and the other was adorned by a small\nhatchet, a pair of climbing irons, and his tin candle-box, in which he\nwas for the time being endeavouring to raise a hopeful young family of\nfield-mice. As nothing should be let to lie useless, it was well that\nthe candle-box was thus occupied, for candles Martin never had. A pound\nwas issued to him weekly as, to the other boys, but as candles were\navailable capital, and easily exchangeable for birds'-eggs or young\nbirds, Martin's pound invariably found its way in a few hours to\nHowlett's the bird-fancier's, in the Bilton Road, who would give a\nhawk's or nightingale's egg or young linnet in exchange. Martin's\ningenuity was therefore for ever on the rack to supply himself with a\nlight; just now he had hit upon a grand invention, and the den was\nlighted by a flaring cotton-wick issuing from a ginger-beer bottle full\nof some doleful composition. When light altogether failed him, Martin\nwould loaf about by the fires in the passages or Hall, after the manner\nof Diggs, and try to do his verses or learn his lines by the fire-light.\n\n\"Well, old boy, you haven't got any sweeter in the den this half. How\nthat stuff in the bottle stinks. Never mind, I ain't going to stop, but\nyou come up after prayers to our study; you know young Arthur; we've got\nGray's study. We'll have a good supper and talk about birds'-nesting.\"\n\nMartin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, and promised to\nbe up without fail.\n\nAs soon as prayers were over, and the sixth and fifth-form boys had\nwithdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion of their own room, and the rest,\nor democracy, had sat down to their supper in the Hall, Tom and Arthur,\nhaving secured their allowances of bread and cheese, started on their\nfeet to catch the eye of the præpostor of the week, who remained in\ncharge during supper, walking up and down the Hall. He happened to be an\neasy-going fellow, so they got a pleasant nod to their \"Please may I go\nout?\" and away they scrambled to prepare for Martin a sumptuous banquet.\nThis Tom had insisted on, for he was in great delight on the occasion;\nthe reason of which delight must be expounded. The fact was, this was\nthe first attempt at a friendship of his own which Arthur had made, and\nTom hailed it as a grand step. The ease with which he himself became\nhail-fellow-well-met with anybody, and blundered into and out of twenty\nfriendships a half-year, made him sometimes sorry and sometimes angry at\nArthur's reserve and loneliness. True, Arthur was always pleasant, and\neven jolly, with any boys who came with Tom to their study; but Tom felt\nthat it was only through him, as it were, that his chum associated with\nothers, and that but for him Arthur would have been dwelling in a\nwilderness. This increased his consciousness of responsibility; and\nthough he hadn't reasoned it out and made it clear to himself, yet\nsomehow he knew that this responsibility, this trust which he had taken\non him without thinking about it, head-over-heels in fact, was the\ncentre and turning-point of his school-life, that which was to make him\nor mar him; his appointed work and trial for the time being. And Tom was\nbecoming a new boy, though with frequent tumbles in the dirt and\nperpetual hard battle with himself, and was daily growing in manfulness\nand thoughtfulness, as every high-couraged and well-principled boy must,\nwhen he finds himself for the first time consciously at grips with self\nand the devil. Already he could turn almost without a sigh, from the\nschool-gates, from which had just scampered off East and three or four\nothers of his own particular set, bound for some jolly lark not quite\naccording to law, and involving probably a row with louts, keepers, or\nfarm-labourers, the skipping dinner or calling-over, some of Phœbe\nJennings' beer, and a very possible flogging at the end of all as a\nrelish. He had quite got over the stage in which he would grumble to\nhimself, \"Well, hang it, it's very hard of the Doctor to have saddled me\nwith Arthur. Why couldn't he have chummed him with Fogey, or Thomkin,\nor any of the fellows who never do anything but walk round the close,\nand finish their copies the first day they're set?\" But although all\nthis was past, he often longed, and felt that he was right in longing,\nfor more time for the legitimate pastimes of cricket, fives, bathing,\nand fishing within bounds, in which Arthur could not yet be his\ncompanion; and he felt that when the young 'un (as he now generally\ncalled him) had found a pursuit and some other friend for himself, he\nshould be able to give more time to the education of his own body with a\nclear conscience.\n\nAnd now what he so wished for had come to pass; he almost hailed it as a\nspecial providence (as indeed it was, but not for the reasons he gave\nfor it--what providences are?) that Arthur should have singled out\nMartin of all fellows for a friend. \"The old Madman is the very fellow,\"\nthought he; \"he will take him scrambling over half the country after\nbirds' eggs and flowers, make him run and swim and climb like an Indian,\nand not teach him a word of anything bad, or keep him from his lessons.\nWhat luck!\" And so, with more than his usual heartiness, he dived into\nhis cupboard, and hauled out an old knuckle-bone of ham, and two or\nthree bottles of beer, together with the solemn pewter only used on\nstate occasions; while Arthur, equally elated at the easy accomplishment\nof his first act of volition in the joint establishment, produced from\nhis side a bottle of pickles and a pot of jam, and cleared the table. In\na minute or two the noise of the boys coming up from supper was heard,\nand Martin knocked and was admitted, bearing his bread and cheese, and\nthe three fell to with hearty good-will upon the viands, talking faster\nthan they ate, for all shyness disappeared in a moment before Tom's\nbottled beer and hospitable ways. \"Here's Arthur, a regular young town\nmouse, with a natural taste for the woods, Martin, longing to break his\nneck climbing trees, and with a passion for young snakes.\"\n\n\"Well, I say,\" sputtered out Martin, eagerly, \"will you come to-morrow,\nboth of you, to Caldecott's Spinney, then, for I know of a kestrel's\nnest, up a fir-tree--I can't get at it without help; and, Brown, you can\nclimb against any one.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, do let us go,\" said Arthur; \"I never saw a hawk's nest, nor a\nhawk's egg.\"\n\n\"You just come down to my study then, and I'll show you five sorts,\"\nsaid Martin.\n\n\"Ay, the old Madman has got the best collection in the house,\nout-and-out,\" said Tom; and then Martin, warming with unaccustomed good\ncheer and the chance of a convert, launched out into a proposed\nbirds'-nesting campaign, betraying all manner of important secrets; a\ngolden-crested wren's nest near Butlin's Mound, a moor-hen that was\nsitting on nine eggs in a pond down the Barby Road, and a kingfisher's\nnest in a corner of the old canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard,\nhe said, that no one had ever got a kingfisher's nest out perfect, and\nthat the British Museum, or the Government, or somebody, had offered\n£100 to any one who could bring them a nest and eggs not damaged. In the\nmiddle of which astounding announcement, to which the others were\nlistening with open ears, already considering the application of the\n£100, a knock came at the door, and East's voice was heard craving\nadmittance.\n\n\"There's Harry,\" said Tom; \"we'll let him in--I'll keep him steady,\nMartin. I thought the old boy would smell out the supper.\"\n\nThe fact was that Tom's heart had already smitten him for not asking his\n\"fidus Achates\" to the feast, although only an extempore affair; and\nthough prudence and the desire to get Martin and Arthur together alone\nat first had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily glad to open the\ndoor, broach another bottle of beer, and hand over the old ham-knuckle\nto the searching of his old friend's pocket-knife.\n\n\"Ah, you greedy vagabonds,\" said East, with his mouth full; \"I knew\nthere was something going on when I saw you cut off out of Hall so quick\nwith your suppers. What a stunning tap, Tom! you are a wunner for\nbottling the swipes.\"\n\n\"I've had practice enough for the sixth in my time, and it's hard if I\nhaven't picked up a wrinkle or two for my own benefit.\"\n\n\"Well, old Madman, how goes the birds'-nesting campaign? How's Howlett?\nI expect the young rooks'll be out in another fortnight, and then my\nturn comes.\"\n\n\"There'll be no young rooks fit for pies for a month yet; shows how much\nyou know about it,\" rejoined Martin, who, though very good friends with\nEast, regarded him with considerable suspicion for his propensity to\npractical jokes.\n\n\"Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but grub and mischief,\" said\nTom; \"but young rook pie, specially when you've had to climb for them,\nis very pretty eating. However, I say, Scud, we're all going after a\nhawk's nest to-morrow, in Caldecott's Spinney; and if you'll come and\nbehave yourself, we'll have a stunning climb.\"\n\n\"And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray! I'm your man!\"\n\n\"No, no; no bathing in Aganippe; that's where our betters go.\"\n\n\"Well, well, never mind. I'm for the hawk's nest and anything that turns\nup.\"\n\nAnd the bottled-beer being finished, and his hunger appeased, East\ndeparted to his study, \"that sneak Jones,\" as he informed them, who had\njust got into the sixth and occupied the next study, having instituted a\nnightly visitation upon East and his chum, to their no small discomfort.\n\nWhen he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but Tom stopped him. \"No one\ngoes near New Row,\" said he, \"so you may just as well stop here and do\nyour verses, and then we'll have some more talk. We'll be no end quiet;\nbesides, no præpostor comes here now--we haven't been visited once this\nhalf.\"\n\nSo the table was cleared, the cloth restored, and the three fell to work\nwith Gradus and dictionary upon the morning's vulgus.\n\nThey were three very fair examples of the way in which such tasks were\ndone at Rugby, in the consulship of Plancus. And doubtless the method is\nlittle changed, for there is nothing new under the sun, especially at\nschools.\n\nNow be it known unto all you boys who are at schools which do not\nrejoice in the time-honoured institution of the Vulgus, (commonly\nsupposed to have been established by William of Wykeham at Winchester,\nand imported to Rugby by Arnold, more for the sake of the lines which\nwere learnt by heart with it, than for its own intrinsic value, as I've\nalways understood) that it is a short exercise, in Greek or Latin verse,\non a given subject, the minimum number of lines being fixed for each\nform. The master of the form gave out at fourth lesson on the previous\nday the subject for next morning's vulgus, and at first lesson each boy\nhad to bring his vulgus ready to be looked over; and with the vulgus, a\ncertain number of lines from one of the Latin or Greek poets then being\nconstrued in the form had to be got by heart. The master at first lesson\ncalled up each boy in the form in order, and put him on in the lines. If\nhe couldn't say them, or seem to say them, by reading them off the\nmaster's or some other boy's book who stood near, he was sent back, and\nwent below all the boys who did so say or seem to say them; but in\neither case his vulgus was looked over by the master, who gave and\nentered in his book, to the credit or discredit of the boy, so many\nmarks as the composition merited. At Rugby vulgus and lines were the\nfirst lesson every other day in the week, or Tuesdays, Thursdays, and\nSaturdays; and as there were thirty-eight weeks in the school year, it\nis obvious to the meanest capacity that the master of each form had to\nset one hundred and fourteen subjects every year, two hundred and\ntwenty-eight every two years, and so on. Now to persons of moderate\ninvention this was a considerable task, and human nature being prone to\nrepeat itself, it will not be wondered that the masters gave the same\nsubjects sometimes over again after a certain lapse of time. To meet and\nrebuke this bad habit of the masters, the school-boy-mind, with its\naccustomed ingenuity, had invented an elaborate system of tradition.\nAlmost every boy kept his own vulgus written out in a book, and these\nbooks were duly handed down from boy to boy, till (if the tradition has\ngone on till now) I suppose the popular boys, in whose hands bequeathed\nvulgus-books have accumulated, are prepared with three or four vulguses\non any subject in heaven or earth, or in \"more worlds than one,\" which\nan unfortunate master can pitch upon. At any rate, such lucky fellows\nhad generally one for themselves and one for a friend in my time. The\nonly objection to the traditionary method of doing your vulguses was,\nthe risk that the successions might have become confused, and so that\nyou and another follower of traditions should show up the same identical\nvulgus some fine morning; in which case, when it happened, considerable\ngrief was the result--but when did such risk hinder boys or men from\nshort cuts and pleasant paths?\n\nNow in the study that night, Tom was the upholder of the traditionary\nmethod of vulgus doing. He carefully produced two large vulgus-books,\nand began diving into them, and picking out a line here, and an ending\nthere (tags, as they were vulgarly called), till he had gotten all that\nhe thought he could make fit. He then proceeded to patch his tags\ntogether with the help of his Gradus, producing an incongruous and\nfeeble result of eight elegiac lines, the minimum quantity for his form,\nand finishing up with two highly moral lines extra, making ten in all,\nwhich he cribbed entire from one of his books, beginning \"O genus\nhumanum,\" and which he himself must have used a dozen times before,\nwhenever an unfortunate or wicked hero, of whatever nation or language\nunder the sun, was the subject. Indeed, he began to have great doubts\nwhether the master wouldn't remember them, and so only threw them in as\nextra lines, because in any case they would call off attention from the\nother tags, and if detected, being extra lines, he wouldn't be sent back\nto do two more in their place, while if they passed muster again he\nwould get marks for them.\n\nThe second method pursued by Martin may be called the dogged, or prosaic\nmethod. He, no more than Tom, took any pleasure in the task, but having\nno old vulgus-books of his own, or any one's else, could not follow the\ntraditionary method, for which too, as Tom remarked, he hadn't the\ngenius. Martin then proceeded to write down eight lines in English, of\nthe most matter-of fact kind, the first that came into his head; and to\nconvert these, line by line, by main force of Gradus and dictionary,\ninto Latin that would scan. This was all he cared for, to produce eight\nlines with no false quantities or concords: whether the words were apt,\nor what the sense was, mattered nothing; and, as the article was all\nnew, not a line beyond the minimum did the followers of the dogged\nmethod ever produce.\n\nThe third, or artistic method, was Arthur's. He considered first what\npoint in the character or event which was the subject could most neatly\nbe brought out within the limits of a vulgus, trying always to get his\nidea into the eight lines, but not binding himself to ten or even twelve\nlines if he couldn't do this. He then set to work, as much as possible\nwithout Gradus or other help, to clothe his idea in appropriate Latin or\nGreek, and would not be satisfied till he had polished it well up with\nthe aptest and most poetic words and phrases he could get at.\n\nA fourth method indeed was used in the school, but of too simple a kind\nto require a comment. It may be called the vicarious method, obtained\namongst big boys of lazy or bullying habits, and consisted simply in\nmaking clever boys whom they could thrash do their whole vulgus for\nthem, and construe it to them afterwards; which latter is a method not\nto be encouraged, and which I strongly advise you all not to practise.\nOf the others, you will find the traditionary most troublesome, unless\nyou can steal your vulguses whole (experto crede), and that the artistic\nmethod pays the best both in marks and other ways.\n\nThe vulguses being finished by nine o'clock, and Martin having rejoiced\nabove measure in the abundance of light, and of Gradus and dictionary,\nand other conveniences almost unknown to him for getting through the\nwork, and having been pressed by Arthur to come and do his verses there\nwhenever he liked, the three boys went down to Martin's den, and Arthur\nwas initiated into the lore of bird's-eggs, to his great delight. The\nexquisite colouring and forms astonished and charmed him who had\nscarcely ever seen any but a hen's egg or an ostrich's, and by the time\nhe was lugged away to bed he had learned the names of at least twenty\nsorts, and dreamt of the glorious perils of tree-climbing and that he\nhad found a roc's egg in the island as big as Sinbad's and clouded like\na tit-lark's, in blowing which Martin and he had nearly been drowned in\nthe yolk.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE BIRD-FANCIERS.\n\n          \"I have found out a gift for my fair,\n             I have found where the wood-pigeons breed:\n           But let me the plunder forbear,\n             She would say 'twas a barbarous deed.\"\n                                                ROWE.\n\n\n          \"And now, my lad, take them five shilling,\n             And on my advice in future think;\n           So Billy pouched them all so willing,\n             And got that night disguised in drink.\"\n                                             MS. BALLAD.\n\n\nTHE next morning at first lesson Tom was turned back in his lines, and\nso had to wait till the second round, while Martin and Arthur said\ntheirs all right and got out of school at once. When Tom got out and ran\ndown to breakfast at Harrowell's they were missing, and Stumps informed\nhim that they had swallowed down their breakfasts and gone off\ntogether, where, he couldn't say. Tom hurried over his own breakfast,\nand went first to Martin's study and then to his own, but no signs of\nthe missing boys were to be found. He felt half angry and jealous of\nMartin--where could they be gone?\n\nHe learnt second lesson with East and the rest in no very good temper,\nand then went out into the quadrangle. About ten minutes before school\nMartin and Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless; and, catching\nsight of him, Arthur rushed up all excitement and with a bright glow on\nhis face.\n\n\"Oh, Tom, look here,\" cried he, holding out three moor-hen's eggs;\n\"we've been down the Barby Road to the pool Martin told us of last\nnight, and just see what we've got.\"\n\nTom wouldn't be pleased, and only looked out for something to find fault\nwith.\n\n\"Why, young un,\" said he, \"what have you been after? You don't mean to\nsay you've been wading?\"\n\nThe tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink up in a moment and\nlook piteous, and Tom with a shrug of his shoulders turned his anger on\nMartin.\n\n\"Well, I didn't think, Madman, that you'd have been such a muff as to\nlet him be getting wet through at this time of day. You might have done\nthe wading yourself.\"\n\n\"So I did, of course, only he would come in too to see the nest. We left\nsix eggs in; they'll be hatched in a day or two.\"\n\n\"Hang the eggs!\" said Tom; \"a fellow can't turn his back for a moment\nbut all his work's undone. He'll be laid up for a week for this\nprecious lark, I'll be bound.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Tom, now,\" pleaded Arthur, \"my feet ain't wet, for Martin made\nme take off my shoes and stockings and trousers.\"\n\n\"But they are wet and dirty, too--can't I see?\" answered Tom; \"and\nyou'll be called up and floored when the master sees what a state you're\nin. You haven't looked at second lesson, you know.\" Oh Tom, you old\nhumbug! you to be upbraiding any one with not learning their lessons! If\nyou hadn't been floored yourself now at first lesson, do you mean to say\nyou wouldn't have been with them? and you've taken away all poor little\nArthur's joy and pride in his first birds' eggs; and he goes and puts\nthem down in the study, and takes down his books with a sigh, thinking\nhe has done something horribly wrong, whereas he has learnt on in\nadvance much more than will be done at second lesson.\n\nBut the old Madman hasn't, and gets called up and makes some frightful\nshots, losing about ten places, and all but getting floored. This\nsomewhat appeases Tom's wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has\nregained his temper. And afterwards in their study he begins to get\nright again, as he watches Arthur's intense joy at seeing Martin blowing\nthe eggs and glueing them carefully on to bits of cardboard, and notes\nthe anxious loving looks which the little fellow casts sidelong at him.\nAnd then he thinks, \"What an ill-tempered beast I am! Here's just what I\nwas wishing for last night come about, and I'm spoiling it all,\" and in\nanother five minutes has swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, and\nis repaid by seeing his little sensitive-plant expand again, and sun\nitself in his smiles.\n\nAfter dinner the Madman is busy with the preparations for their\nexpedition, fitting new straps on to his climbing irons, filling large\npill-boxes with cotton wool, and sharpening East's small axe. They carry\nall their munitions into calling-over, and directly afterwards, having\ndodged such præpostors as are on the look-out for fags at cricket, the\nfour set off at a smart trot down the Lawford footpath straight for\nCaldecott's Spinney and the hawk's nest.\n\nMartin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a new sensation to him\ngetting companions, and he finds it very pleasant, and means to show\nthem all manner of proofs of his science and skill. Brown and East may\nbe better at cricket and football and games, thinks he, but out in the\nfields and woods see if I can't teach them something. He has taken the\nleadership already, and strides away in front with his climbing-irons\nstrapped under one arm, his pecking-bag under the other, and his pockets\nand hat full of pill-boxes, cotton wool, and other etceteras. Each of\nthe others carries a pecking-bag, and East his hatchet.\n\nWhen they had crossed three or four fields without a check, Arthur began\nto lag, and Tom seeing this shouted to Martin to pull up a bit: \"We\nain't out Hare-and-hounds--what's the good of grinding on at this rate?\"\n\n\"There's the Spinney,\" said Martin, pulling up on the brow of a slope at\nthe bottom of which lay Lawford brook, and pointing to the top of the\nopposite slope; \"the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at this\nend. And down by the brook there, I know of a sedge-bird's nest; we'll\ngo and look at it coming back.\"\n\n\"Oh, come on, don't let us stop,\" said Arthur, who was getting excited\nat the sight of the wood; so they broke into a trot again, and were soon\nacross the brook, up the slope, and into the Spinney. Here they advanced\nas noiselessly as possible, lest keepers or other enemies should be\nabout, and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, at the top of which Martin\npointed out with pride the kestrel's nest, the object of their quest.\n\n\"Oh where! which is it?\" asks Arthur, gaping up in the air, and having\nthe most vague idea of what it would be like.\n\n\"There, don't you see?\" said East, pointing to a lump of mistletoe in\nthe next tree, which was a beech: he saw that Martin and Tom were busy\nwith the climbing-irons, and couldn't resist the temptation of hoaxing.\nArthur stared and wondered more than ever.\n\n\"Well, how curious! it doesn't look a bit like what I expected,\" said\nhe.\n\n\"Very odd birds, kestrels,\" said East, looking waggishly at his victim,\nwho was still star-gazing.\n\n\"But I thought it was in a fir-tree?\" objected Arthur.\n\n\"Ah, don't you know? that's a new sort of fir, which old Caldecott\nbrought from the Himalayas.\"\n\n\"Really!\" said Arthur; \"I'm glad I know that--how unlike our firs they\nare! They do very well too here, don't they? the Spinney's full of\nthem.\"\n\n\"What's that humbug he's telling you?\" cried Tom, looking up, having\ncaught the word Himalayas, and suspecting what East was after.\n\n\"Only about this fir,\" said Arthur, putting his hand on the stem of the\nbeech.\n\n\"Fir!\" shouted Tom, \"why, you don't mean to say, young 'un, you don't\nknow a beech when you see one?\"\n\nPoor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and East exploded in\nlaughter which made the wood ring.\n\n\"I've hardly ever seen any trees,\" faltered Arthur.\n\n\"What a shame to hoax him, Scud!\" cried Martin. \"Never mind, Arthur, you\nshall know more about trees than he does in a week or two.\"\n\n\"And isn't that the kestrel's nest, then?\" asked Arthur.\n\n\"That! why, that's a piece of mistletoe. There's the nest, that lump of\nsticks up this fir.\"\n\n\"Don't believe him, Arthur,\" struck in the incorrigible East; \"I just\nsaw an old magpie go out of it.\"\n\nMartin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by a grunt, as he\nbuckled the last buckle of his climbing-irons; and Arthur looked\nreproachfully at East without speaking.\n\nBut now came the tug of war. It was a very difficult tree to climb until\nthe branches were reached, the first of which was some fourteen feet up,\nfor the trunk was too large at the bottom to be swarmed; in fact,\nneither of the boys could reach more than half round it with their arms.\nMartin and Tom, both of whom had irons on, tried it without success at\nfirst; the fir bark broke away where they stuck the irons in as soon as\nthey leant any weight on their feet, and the grip of their arms wasn't\nenough to keep them up; so, after getting up three or four feet, down\nthey came slithering to the ground, barking their arms and faces. They\nwere furious, and East sat by laughing and shouting at each failure,\n\"Two to one on the old magpie!\"\n\n[Illustration: CLIMBING THE FIR-TREE AFTER THE KESTREL'S NEST. P. 263.]\n\n\"We must try a pyramid,\" said Tom at last. \"Now, Scud, you lazy rascal,\nstick yourself against the tree!\"\n\n\"I dare say! and have you standing on my shoulders with the irons on:\nwhat do you think my skin's made of?\" However, up he got, and leant\nagainst the tree, putting his head down and clasping it with his arms as\nfar as he could. \"Now then, Madman,\" said Tom, \"you next.\"\n\n\"No, I'm lighter than you; you go next.\" So Tom got on East's shoulders,\nand grasped the tree above, and then Martin scrambled up on Tom's\nshoulders, amidst the totterings and groanings of the pyramid, and, with\na spring which sent his supporters howling to the ground, clasped the\nstem some ten feet up, and remained clinging. For a moment or two they\nthought he couldn't get up, but then, holding on with arms and teeth, he\nworked first one iron, then the other, firmly into the bark, got another\ngrip with his arms, and in another minute had hold of the lowest branch.\n\n\"All up with the old magpie now,\" said East; and, after a minute's rest,\nup went Martin, hand over hand, watched by Arthur with fearful\neagerness.\n\n\"Isn't it very dangerous?\" said he.\n\n\"Not a bit,\" answered Tom; \"you can't hurt if you only get good\nhand-hold. Try every branch with a good pull before you trust it, and\nthen up you go.\"\n\nMartin was now amongst the small branches close to the nest, and away\ndashed the old bird, and soared up above the trees, watching the\nintruder.\n\n\"All right--four eggs!\" shouted he.\n\n\"Take 'em all!\" shouted East; \"that'll be one apiece.\"\n\n\"No, no! leave one, and then she won't care,\" said Tom.\n\nWe boys had an idea that birds couldn't count, and were quite content as\nlong as you left one egg. I hope it is so.\n\nMartin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes and the third into\nhis mouth, the only other place of safety, and came down like a\nlamplighter. All went well till he was within ten feet of the ground,\nwhen, as the trunk enlarged, his hold got less and less firm, and at\nlast down he came with a run, tumbling on to his back on the turf,\nspluttering and spitting out the remains of the great egg, which had\nbroken by the jar of his fall.\n\n\"Ugh, ugh--something to drink--ugh! it was addled,\" spluttered he, while\nthe wood rang again with the merry laughter of East and Tom.\n\nThen they examined the prizes, gathered up their things, and went off to\nthe brook, where Martin swallowed huge draughts of water to get rid of\nthe taste; and they visited the sedge-bird's nest, and from thence\nstruck across the country in high glee, beating the hedges and brakes as\nthey went along; and Arthur at last, to his intense delight, was allowed\nto climb a small hedgerow oak for a magpie's nest with Tom, who kept all\nround him like a mother, and showed him where to hold and how to throw\nhis weight; and though he was in a great fright, didn't show it; and\nwas applauded by all for his lissomness.\n\nThey crossed a road soon afterwards, and there close to them lay a heap\nof charming pebbles.\n\n\"Look here,\" shouted East, \"here's luck! I've been longing for some good\nhonest pecking this half hour. Let's fill the bags, and have no more of\nthis foozling bird's-nesting.\"\n\nNo one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag he carried full of\nstones: they crossed into the next field, Tom and East taking one side\nof the hedges, and the other two the other side. Noise enough they made\ncertainly, but it was too early in the season for the young birds, and\nthe old birds were too strong on the wing for our young marksmen, and\nflew out of shot after the first discharge. But it was great fun,\nrushing along the hedgerows, and discharging stone after stone at\nblackbirds and chaffinches, though no result in the shape of slaughtered\nbirds was obtained: and Arthur soon entered into it, and rushed to head\nback the birds, and shouted, and threw, and tumbled into ditches and\nover and through hedges, as wild as the Madman himself.\n\nPresently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird (who was\nevidently used to the thing and enjoyed the fun, for he would wait till\nthey came close to him and then fly on for forty yards or so, and, with\nan impudent flicker of his tail, dart into the depths of the quickset)\ncame beating down a high double hedge, two on each side.\n\n\"There he is again,\" \"Head him,\" \"Let drive,\" \"I had him there,\" \"Take\ncare where you're throwing, Madman,\" the shouts might have been heard a\nquarter of a mile off. They were heard some two hundred yards off by a\nfarmer and two of his shepherds, who were doctoring sheep in a fold in\nthe next field.\n\nNow, the farmer in question rented a house and yard situate at the end\nof the field in which the young bird-fanciers had arrived, which house\nand yard he didn't occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like a\nbrainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in maintaining on the\npremises a large stock of cocks, hens, and other poultry. Of course, all\nsorts of depredators visited the place from time to time: foxes and\ngipsies wrought havoc in the night; while in the day time, I regret to\nhave to confess that visits from the Rugby boys, and consequent\ndisappearances of ancient and respectable fowls, were not unfrequent.\nTom and East had during the period of their outlawry visited the barn in\nquestion for felonious purposes, and on one occasion had conquered and\nslain a duck there, and borne away the carcase triumphantly, hidden in\ntheir handkerchiefs. However, they were sickened of the practice by the\ntrouble and anxiety which the wretched duck's body caused them. They\ncarried it to Sally Harrowell's in hopes of a good supper; but she,\nafter examining it, made a long face, and refused to dress or have\nanything to do with it. Then they took it into their study, and began\nplucking it themselves; but what to do with the feathers,--where to hide\nthem?\n\n\"Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck has!\" groaned East,\nholding a bagful in his hand, and looking disconsolately at the carcase,\nnot yet half plucked.\n\n\"And I do think he's getting high too, already,\" said Tom, smelling at\nhim cautiously, \"so we must finish him up soon.\"\n\n\"Yes, all very well; but how are we to cook him? I'm sure I ain't going\nto try it on in the hall or passages; we can't afford to be roasting\nducks about, our character's too bad.\"\n\n\"I wish we were rid of the brute,\" said Tom, throwing him on the table\nin disgust. And after a day or two more it became clear that got rid of\nhe must be; so they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and put\nhim in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where he was found in the\nholidays by the matron, a grewsome body.\n\nThey had never been duck-hunting there since, but others had, and the\nbold yeoman was very sore on the subject, and bent on making an example\nof the first boys he could catch. So he and his shepherds crouched\nbehind the hurdles, and watched the party, who were approaching all\nunconscious.\n\nWhy should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the hedge just at this\nparticular moment of all the year? Who can say? Guinea-fowls always\nare--so are all other things, animals, and persons, requisite for\ngetting one into scrapes, always ready when any mischief can come of\nthem. At any rate, just under East's nose popped out the old guinea-hen,\nscuttling along and shrieking \"Come back, come back,\" at the top of her\nvoice. Either of the other three might perhaps have withstood the\ntemptation, but East first lets drive the stone he has in his hand at\nher, and then rushes to turn her into the hedge again. He succeeds, and\nthen they are all at it for dear life, up and down the hedge in full\ncry, the \"Come back, come back,\" getting shriller and fainter every\nminute.\n\nMeantime, the farmer and his men steal over the hurdles and creep down\nthe hedge towards the scene of action. They are almost within a stone's\nthrow of Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tom\ncatches sight of them, and sings out, \"Louts, 'ware louts, your side!\nMadman, look ahead!\" and then catching hold of Arthur, hurries him away\nacross the field towards Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had he been by\nhimself, he would have stayed to see it out with the others, but now his\nheart sinks and all his pluck goes. The idea of being led up to the\nDoctor with Arthur for bagging fowls, quite unmans and takes half the\nrun out of him.\n\nHowever, no boys are more able to take care of themselves than East and\nMartin; they dodge the pursuers, slip through a gap, and come pelting\nafter Tom and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time; the farmer and his\nmen are making good running about a field behind. Tom wishes to himself\nthat they had made off in any other direction, but now they are all in\nfor it together, and must see it out. \"You won't leave the young 'un,\nwill you?\" says he, as they haul poor little Arthur, already losing wind\nfrom the fright, through the next hedge. \"Not we,\" is the answer from\nboth. The next hedge is a stiff one; the pursuers gain horribly on them,\nand they only just pull Arthur through, with two great rents in his\ntrousers, as the foremost shepherd comes up on the other side. As they\nstart into the next field, they are aware of two figures walking down\nthe footpath in the middle of it, and recognise Holmes and Diggs taking\na constitutional. Those good-natured fellows immediately shout \"On.\"\n\"Let's go to them and surrender,\" pants Tom.--Agreed.--And in another\nminute the four boys, to the great astonishment of those worthies, rush\nbreathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see what is the\nmatter; and then the whole is explained by the appearance of the farmer\nand his men, who unite their forces and bear down on the knot of boys.\n\nThere is no time to explain, and Tom's heart beats frightfully quick, as\nhe ponders, \"Will they stand by us?\"\n\nThe farmer makes a rush at East and collars him; and that young\ngentleman, with unusual discretion, instead of kicking his shins, looks\nappealingly at Holmes, and stands still.\n\n\"Hullo there, not so fast,\" says Holmes, who is bound to stand up for\nthem till they are proved in the wrong. \"Now what's all this about?\"\n\n\"I've got the young varmint at last, have I,\" pants the farmer; \"why\nthey've been a skulking about my yard and stealing my fowls, that's\nwhere 'tis; and if I doan't have they flogged for it, every one on 'em,\nmy name ain't Thompson.\"\n\nHolmes looks grave, and Diggs's face falls. They are quite ready to\nfight, no boys in the school more so; but they are præpostors, and\nunderstand their office, and can't uphold unrighteous causes.\n\n\"I haven't been near his old barn this half,\" cries East. \"Nor I,\" \"Nor\nI,\" chime in Tom and Martin.\n\n\"Now, Willum, didn't you see 'm there last week?\"\n\n\"Ees, I seen 'em sure enough,\" says Willum, grasping a prong he carried,\nand preparing for action.\n\nThe boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to admit that, \"if it worn't\nthey, 'twas chaps as like 'em as two peas'n;\" and \"leastways he'll swear\nhe see'd them two in the yard last Martinmas,\" indicating East and Tom.\n\nHolmes had time to meditate. \"Now, sir,\" says he to Willum, \"you see you\ncan't remember what you have seen, and I believe the boys.\"\n\n\"I doan't care,\" blusters the farmer; \"they was arter my fowls to-day,\nthat's enough for I. Willum, you catch hold o' t'other chap. They've\nbeen a sneaking about this two hours, I tells 'ee,\" shouted he, as\nHolmes stands between Martin and Willum, \"and have druv a matter of a\ndozen young pullets pretty nigh to death.\"\n\n\"Oh, there's a whacker!\" cried East; \"we haven't been within a hundred\nyards of his barn; we haven't been up here above ten minutes, and we've\nseen nothing but a tough old guinea-hen, who ran like a greyhound.\"\n\n\"Indeed, that's all true, Holmes, upon my honour,\" added Tom; \"we\nweren't after his fowls; the guinea-hen ran out of the hedge under our\nfeet, and we've seen nothing else.\"\n\n\"Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o' t'other, Willum, and come along wi\n'un.\"\n\n\"Farmer Thompson,\" said Holmes, warning off Willum and the prong with\nhis stick, while Diggs faced the other shepherd, cracking his fingers\nlike pistol shots, \"now listen to reason--the boys haven't been after\nyour fowls, that's plain.\"\n\n\"Tells 'ee I see'd 'em. Who be you, I should like to know?\"\n\n\"Never you mind, Farmer,\" answered Holmes. \"And now I'll just tell you\nwhat it is--you ought to be ashamed of yourself for leaving all that\npoultry about, with no one to watch it, so near the School. You deserve\nto have it all stolen. So if you choose to come up to the Doctor with\nthem, I shall go with you, and tell him what I think of it.\"\n\nThe farmer began to take Holmes for a master; besides, he wanted to get\nback to his flock. Corporal punishment was out of the question, the odds\nwere too great; so he began to hint at paying for the damage. Arthur\njumped at this, offering to pay anything, and the farmer immediately\nvalued the guinea-hen at half-a-sovereign.\n\n\"Half-a-sovereign!\" cried East, now released from the farmer's grip;\n\"well, that is a good one! the hen ain't hurt a bit, and she's seven\nyears old, I know, and as tough as whipcord; she couldn't lay another\negg to save her life.\"\n\nIt was at last settled that they should pay the farmer two shillings,\nand his man one shilling, and so the matter ended, to the unspeakable\nrelief of Tom, who hadn't been able to say a word, being sick at heart\nat the idea of what the Doctor would think of him: and now the whole\nparty of boys marched off down the footpath towards Rugby. Holmes, who\nwas one of the best boys in the School, began to improve the occasion.\n\"Now, you youngsters,\" said he, as he marched along in the middle of\nthem, \"mind this; you're very well out of this scrape. Don't you go near\nThompson's barn again; do you hear?\"\n\nProfuse promises from all, especially East.\n\n\"Mind, I don't ask questions,\" went on Mentor, \"but I rather think some\nof you have been there before this after his chickens. Now, knocking\nover other people's chickens, and running off with them, is stealing.\nIt's a nasty word, but that's the plain English of it. If the chickens\nwere dead and lying in a shop, you wouldn't take them, I know that, any\nmore than you would apples out of Griffith's basket; but there's no real\ndifference between chickens running about and apples on a tree, and the\nsame articles in a shop. I wish our morals were sounder in such matters.\nThere's nothing so mischievous as these school distinctions, which\njumble up right and wrong, and justify things in us for which poor boys\nwould be sent to prison.\" And, good old Holmes delivered his soul on the\nwalk home of many wise sayings, and, as the song says--\n\n          \"Gee'd 'em a sight of good advice\"--\n\nwhich same sermon sank into them all, more or less, and very penitent\nthey were for several hours. But truth compels me to admit that East at\nany rate forgot it all in a week, but remembered the insult which had\nbeen put upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tadpole and other\nharebrained youngsters, committed a raid on the barn soon afterwards, in\nwhich they were caught by the shepherds and severely handled, besides\nhaving to pay eight shillings, all the money they had in the world, to\nescape being taken up to the Doctor.\n\nMartin became a constant inmate in the joint study from this time, and\nArthur took to him so kindly, that Tom couldn't resist slight fits of\njealousy, which, however, he managed to keep to himself. The kestrel's\neggs had not been broken, strange to say, and formed the nucleus of\nArthur's collection, at which Martin worked heart and soul; and\nintroduced Arthur to Howlett the bird-fancier, and instructed him in the\nrudiments of the art of stuffing. In token of his gratitude, Arthur\nallowed Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of his wrists, which\ndecoration, however, he carefully concealed from Tom. Before the end of\nthe half year he had trained into a bold climber and good runner, and,\nas Martin had foretold, knew twice as much about trees, birds, flowers,\nand many other things, as our good-hearted and facetious young friend\nHarry East.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE FIGHT.\n\n          \"Surgebat Macnevisius\n           Et mox jactabat ultro,\n           Pugnabo tuâ gratiâ\n           Feroci hoc Mactwoltro.\"--_Etonian._\n\n\nTHERE is a certain sort of fellow--we who are used to studying boys all\nknow him well enough--of whom you can predicate with almost positive\ncertainty, after he has been a month at school, that he is sure to have\na fight, and with almost equal certainty that he will have but one. Tom\nBrown was one of these; and as it is our well-weighed intention to give\na full, true, and correct account of Tom's only single combat with a\nschool-fellow in the manner of our old friend _Bell's Life,_ let those\nyoung persons whose stomachs are not strong, or who think a good set-to\nwith the weapons which God has given us all, an uncivilized,\nunchristian, or ungentlemanly affair, just skip this chapter at once,\nfor it won't be to their taste.\n\nIt was not at all usual in those days for two School-house boys to have\na fight. Of course there were exceptions, when some cross-grained\nhard-headed fellow came up who would never be happy unless he was\nquarrelling with his nearest neighbours, or when there was some\nclass-dispute, between the fifth-form and the fags for instance, which\nrequired blood-letting; and a champion was picked out on each side\ntacitly, who settled the matter by a good hearty mill. But for the most\npart the constant use of those surest keepers of the peace, the\nboxing-gloves, kept the School-house boys from fighting one another. Two\nor three nights in every week the gloves were brought out, either in the\nhall or fifth-form room; and every boy who was ever likely to fight at\nall knew all his neighbours' prowess perfectly well, and could tell to a\nnicety what chance he would have in a stand-up fight with any other boy\nin the house. But of course no such experience could be gotten as\nregarded boys in other houses; and as most of the other houses were more\nor less jealous of the School-house, collisions were frequent.\n\nAfter all, what would life be without fighting, I should like to know?\nFrom the cradle to the grave, fighting, rightly understood, is the\nbusiness, the real, highest, honestest business of every son of man.\nEvery one who is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten, be\nthey evil thoughts and habits in himself, or spiritual wickedness in\nhigh places, or Russians, or Border-ruffians, or Bill, Tom, or Harry,\nwho will not let him live his life in quiet till he has thrashed them.\n\nIt is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men, to uplift their\nvoices against fighting. Human nature is too strong for them, and they\ndon't follow their own precepts. Every soul of them is doing his own\npiece of fighting, somehow and somewhere. The world might be a better\nworld without fighting, for anything I know, but it wouldn't be our\nworld; and therefore I am dead against crying peace when there is no\npeace, and isn't meant to be. I am as sorry as any man to see folk\nfighting the wrong people and the wrong things, but I'd a deal sooner\nsee them doing that, than that they should have no fight in them. So\nhaving recorded, and being about to record, my hero's fights of all\nsorts, with all sorts of enemies, I shall now proceed to give an account\nof his passage-at-arms with the only one of his school-fellows whom he\never had to encounter in this manner.\n\nIt was drawing towards the close of Arthur's first half-year, and the\nMay evenings were lengthening out. Locking-up was not till eight\no'clock, and everybody was beginning to talk about what he would do in\nthe holidays. The shell, in which form all our dramatis personæ now are,\nwere reading amongst other things the last book of Homer's \"Iliad,\" and\nhad worked through it as far as the speeches of the women over Hector's\nbody. It is a whole school-day, and four or five of the School-house\nboys (amongst whom are Arthur, Tom, and East) are preparing third lesson\ntogether. They have finished the regulation forty lines, and are for\nthe most part getting very tired, notwithstanding the exquisite pathos\nof Helen's lamentation. And now several long four-syllabled words come\ntogether, and the boy with the dictionary strikes work.\n\n\"I am not going to look out any more words,\" says he; \"we've done the\nquantity. Ten to one we shan't get so far. Let's go out into the close.\"\n\n\"Come along, boys,\" cries East, always ready to leave the grind, as he\ncalled it; \"our old coach is laid up, you know, and we shall have one of\nthe new masters, who's sure to go slow and let us down easy.\"\n\nSo an adjournment to the close was carried _nem. con._, little Arthur\nnot daring to uplift his voice; but, being deeply interested in what\nthey were reading, stayed quietly behind, and learnt on for his own\npleasure.\n\nAs East had said, the regular master of the form was unwell, and they\nwere to be heard by one of the new masters, quite a young man, who had\nonly just left the university. Certainly it would be hard lines, if, by\ndawdling as much as possible in coming in and taking their places,\nentering into long-winded explanations of what was the usual course of\nthe regular master of the form, and others of the stock contrivances of\nboys for wasting time in school, they could not spin out the lesson so\nthat he should not work them through more than the forty lines; as to\nwhich quantity there was a perpetual fight going on between the master\nand his form, the latter insisting, and enforcing by passive resistance,\nthat it was the prescribed quantity of Homer for a shell lesson, the\nformer that there was no fixed quantity, but that they must always be\nready to go on to fifty or sixty lines if there were time within the\nhour. However, notwithstanding all their efforts, the new master got on\nhorribly quick; he seemed to have the bad taste to be really interested\nin the lesson, and to be trying to work them up into something like\nappreciation of it, giving them good spirited English words, instead of\nthe wretched bald stuff into which they rendered poor old Homer; and\nconstruing over each piece himself to them, after each boy, to show them\nhow it should be done.\n\nNow the clock strikes the three-quarters; there is only a quarter of an\nhour more; but the forty lines are all but done. So the boys, one after\nanother, who are called up, stick more and more, and make balder and\never more bald work of it. The poor young master is pretty near beat by\nthis time, and feels ready to knock his head against the wall, or his\nfingers against somebody else's head. So he gives up altogether the\nlower and middle parts of the form, and looks round in despair at the\nboys on the top bench, to see if there is one out of whom he can strike\na spark or two, and who will be too chivalrous to murder the most\nbeautiful utterances of the most beautiful woman of the old world. His\neye rests on Arthur, and he calls him up to finish construing Helen's\nspeech. Whereupon all the other boys draw long breaths, and begin to\nstare about and take it easy. They are all safe; Arthur is the head of\nthe form, and sure to be able to construe, and that will tide on safely\ntill the hour strikes.\n\nArthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek before construing it,\nas the custom is. Tom, who isn't paying much attention, is suddenly\ncaught by the falter in his voice as he reads the two lines--\n\n          ἀλλὰ σὺ τὸν ἐπέεσσι παραιφάμενος κατέρυκες,\n          Σῇ τ᾽ ἀγανοφροσύνῃ καὶ σοῖς ἀγανοῖς ἐπέεσσι.\n\nHe looks up at Arthur. \"Why, bless us,\" thinks he, \"what can be the\nmatter with the young 'un? He's never going to get floored. He's sure to\nhave learnt to the end.\" Next moment he is reassured by the spirited\ntone in which Arthur begins construing, and betakes himself to drawing\ndogs' heads in his note-book, while the master, evidently enjoying the\nchange, turns his back on the middle bench and stands before Arthur,\nbeating a sort of time with his hand and foot, and saying, \"Yes, yes,\"\n\"very well,\" as Arthur goes on.\n\nBut as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches that falter and again\nlooks up. He sees that there is something the matter--Arthur can hardly\nget on at all. What can it be?\n\nSuddenly at this point Arthur breaks down altogether, and fairly bursts\nout crying, and dashes the cuff of his jacket across his eyes, blushing\nup to the roots of his hair, and feeling as if he should like to go down\nsuddenly through the floor. The whole form are taken aback; most of them\nstare stupidly at him, while those who are gifted with presence of mind\nfind their places and look steadily at their books, in hopes of not\ncatching the master's eye and getting called up in Arthur's place.\n\nThe master looks puzzled for a moment, and then seeing, as the fact is,\nthat the boy is really affected to tears by the most touching thing in\nHomer, perhaps in all profane poetry put together, steps up to him and\nlays his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying, \"Never mind, my little\nman, you've construed very well. Stop a minute, there's no hurry.\"\n\nNow, as luck would have it, there sat next above Tom that day, in the\nmiddle bench of the form, a big boy, by name Williams, generally\nsupposed to be the cock of the shell, therefore of all the school below\nthe fifths. The small boys, who are great speculators on the prowess of\ntheir elders, used to hold forth to one another about Williams's great\nstrength, and to discuss whether East or Brown would take a licking from\nhim. He was called Slogger Williams, from the force with which it was\nsupposed he could hit. In the main, he was a rough good-natured fellow\nenough, but very much alive to his own dignity. He reckoned himself the\nking of the form, and kept up his position with a strong hand,\nespecially in the matter of forcing boys not to construe more than the\nlegitimate forty lines, he had already grunted and grumbled to himself,\nwhen Arthur went on reading beyond the forty lines. But now that he had\nbroken down just in the middle of all the long words, the Slogger's\nwrath was fairly roused.\n\n\"Sneaking little brute,\" muttered he, regardless of prudence, \"clapping\non the waterworks just in the hardest place; see if I don't punch his\nhead after fourth lesson.\"\n\n\"Whose?\" said Tom, to whom the remark seemed to be addressed.\n\n\"Why, that little sneak Arthur's,\" replied Williams.\n\n\"No, you shan't,\" said Tom.\n\n\"Hullo!\" exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with great surprise for a\nmoment, and then giving him a sudden dig in the ribs with his elbow,\nwhich sent Tom's books flying on the floor, and called the attention of\nthe master, who turned suddenly round, and seeing the state of things,\nsaid--\n\n\"Williams, go down three places, and then go on.\"\n\nThe Slogger found his legs very slowly, and proceeded to go below Tom\nand two other boys with great disgust, and then, turning round and\nfacing the master, said, \"I haven't learnt any more, sir; our lesson is\nonly forty lines.\"\n\n\"Is that so?\" said the master, appealing generally to the top bench. No\nanswer.\n\n\"Who is the head boy of the form?\" said he, waxing wroth.\n\n\"Arthur, sir,\" answered three or four boys, indicating our friend.\n\n\"Oh, your name's Arthur. Well now, what is the length of your regular\nlesson?\"\n\nArthur hesitated a moment, and then said, \"We call it only forty lines,\nsir.\"\n\n\"How do you mean, you call it?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain't to stop there, when there's time to\nconstrue more.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said the master. \"Williams, go down three more places,\nand write me out the lesson in Greek and English. And now, Arthur,\nfinish construing.\"\n\n\"Oh! would I be in Arthur's shoes after fourth lesson?\" said the little\nboys to one another; but Arthur finished Helen's speech without any\nfurther catastrophe, and the clock struck four, which ended third\nlesson.\n\nAnother hour was occupied in preparing and saying fourth lesson, during\nwhich Williams was bottling up his wrath; and when five struck, and the\nlessons for the day were over, he prepared to take summary vengeance on\nthe innocent cause of his misfortune.\n\nTom was detained in school a few minutes after the rest, and on coming\nout into the quadrangle, the first thing he saw was a small ring of\nboys, applauding Williams, who was holding Arthur by the collar.\n\n\"There, you young sneak,\" said he, giving Arthur a cuff on the head with\nhis other hand, \"what made you say that\"--\n\n\"Hullo!\" said Tom, shouldering into the crowd, \"you drop that, Williams;\nyou shan't touch him.\"\n\n\"Who'll stop me?\" said the Slogger, raising his hand again.\n\n\"I,\" said Tom; and suiting the action to the word, struck the arm which\nheld Arthur's arm so sharply, that the Slogger dropped it with a start,\nand turned the full current of his wrath on Tom.\n\n\"Will you fight?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course.\"\n\n\"Huzza, there's going to be a fight between Slogger Williams and Tom\nBrown!\"\n\nThe news ran like wild-fire about, and many boys who were on their way\nto tea at their several houses turned back, and sought the back of the\nchapel, where the fights come off.\n\n\"Just run and tell East to come and back me,\" said Tom to a small\nSchool-house boy, who was off like a rocket to Harrowell's, just\nstopping for a moment to poke his head into the School-house hall, where\nthe lower boys were already at tea, and sing out, \"Fight! Tom Brown and\nSlogger Williams.\"\n\nUp start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, butter, sprats, and\nall the rest to take care of themselves. The greater part of the\nremainder follow in a minute, after swallowing their tea, carrying their\nfood in their hands to consume as they go. Three or four only remain,\nwho steal the butter of the more impetuous, and make to themselves an\nunctuous feast.\n\nIn another minute East and Martin tear through the quadrangle carrying a\nsponge, and arrive at the scene of action just as the combatants are\nbeginning to strip.\n\nTom felt he had got his work cut out for him, as he stripped off his\njacket, waistcoat, and braces. East tied his handkerchief round his\nwaist, and rolled up his shirt-sleeves for him: \"Now, old boy, don't you\nopen your mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a bit, we'll do\nall that; you keep all your breath and strength for the Slogger.\" Martin\nmeanwhile folded the clothes, and put them under the chapel rails; and\nnow Tom, with East to handle him and Martin to give him a knee, steps\nout on the turf, and is ready for all that may come: and here is the\nSlogger too, all stripped, and thirsting for the fray.\n\nIt doesn't look a fair match at first glance: Williams is nearly two\ninches taller, and probably a long year older than his opponent, and he\nis very strongly made about the arms and shoulders; \"peels well,\" as the\nlittle knot of big fifth-form boys, the amateurs, say; who stand outside\nthe ring of little boys, looking complacently on, but taking no active\npart in the proceedings. But down below he is not so good by any means;\nno spring from the loins, and feebleish, not to say shipwrecky, about\nthe knees. Tom, on the contrary, though not half so strong in the arms,\nis good all over, straight, hard, and springy from neck to ankle, better\nperhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can see by the clear\nwhite of his eye and fresh bright look of his skin, that he is in\ntip-top training, able to do all he knows; while the Slogger looks\nrather sodden, as if he didn't take much exercise and ate too much tuck.\nThe time-keeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the two stand up\nopposite one another for a moment, giving us time just to make our\nlittle observations.\n\n\"If Tom'll only condescend to fight with his head and heels,\" as East\nmutters to Martin, \"we shall do.\"\n\nBut seemingly he won't, for there he goes in, making play with both\nhands. Hard all, is the word; the two stand to one another like men;\nrally follows rally in quick succession, each fighting as if he thought\nto finish the whole thing out of hand. \"Can't last at this rate,\" say\nthe knowing ones, while the partisans of each make the air ring with\ntheir shouts and counter-shouts, of encouragement, approval, and\ndefiance.\n\n\"Take it easy, take it easy--keep away, let him come after you,\"\nimplores East, as he wipes Tom's face after the first round with wet\nsponge, while he sits back on Martin's knee, supported by the Madman's\nlong arms, which tremble a little from excitement.\n\n\"Time's up,\" calls the time-keeper.\n\n\"There he goes again, hang it all!\" growls East as his man is at it\nagain as hard as ever. A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets\nout and out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and\ndeposited on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger.\n\nLoud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger's house, and the School-house\nare silent and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere.\n\n\"Two to one in half-crowns on the big 'un,\" says Rattle, one of the\namateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and-lightning waistcoat, and puffy,\ngood-natured face.\n\n\"Done!\" says Groove, another amateur of quieter look, taking out his\nnote-book to enter it--for our friend Rattle sometimes forgets these\nlittle things.\n\nMeantime East is freshening up Tom with the sponges for next round, and\nhas set two other boys to rub his hands.\n\n\"Tom, old boy,\" whispers he, \"this may be fun for you, but it's death to\nme. He'll hit all the fight out of you in another five minutes, and then\nI shall go and drown myself in the island ditch. Feint him--use your\nlegs!--draw him about! he'll lose his wind then in no time, and you can\ngo into him. Hit at his body too, we'll take care of his frontispiece by\nand by.\"\n\nTom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already that he couldn't go\nin and finish the Slogger off at mere hammer and tongs, so changed his\ntactics completely in the third round. He now fights cautious, getting\naway from and parrying the Slogger's lunging hits, instead of trying to\ncounter, and leading his enemy a dance all round the ring after him.\n\"He's funking; go in, Williams,\" \"Catch him up,\" \"Finish him off,\"\nscream the small boys of the Slogger party.\n\n\"Just what we want,\" thinks East, chuckling to himself, as he sees\nWilliams, excited by these shouts, and thinking the game in his own\nhands, blowing himself in his exertions to get to close quarters again,\nwhile Tom is keeping away with perfect ease.\n\nThey quarter over the ground again and again, Tom always on the\ndefensive.\n\nThe Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly blown.\n\n\"Now then, Tom,\" sings out East, dancing with delight. Tom goes in in a\ntwinkling, and hits two heavy body blows, and gets away again before the\nSlogger can catch his wind; which when he does he rushes with blind fury\nat Tom, and being skilfully parried and avoided, over-reaches himself\nand falls on his face, amidst terrific cheers from the School-house\nboys.\n\n\"Double your two to one?\" says Groove to Rattle, note-book in hand.\n\n\"Stop a bit,\" says that hero, looking uncomfortably at Williams, who is\npuffing away on his second's knee, winded enough, but little the worse\nin any other way.\n\nAfter another round the Slogger too seems to see that he can't go in and\nwin right off, and has met his match or thereabouts. So he too begins to\nuse his head, and tries to make Tom lose patience and come in before his\ntime. And so the fight sways on, now one, and now the other, getting a\ntrifling pull.\n\nTom's face begins to look very one-sided--there are little queer bumps\non his forehead, and his mouth is bleeding; but East keeps the wet\nsponge going so scientifically, that he comes up looking as fresh and\nbright as ever. Williams is only slightly marked in the face, but by the\nnervous movement of his elbows you can see that Tom's body blows are\ntelling. In fact, half the vice of the Slogger's hitting is neutralized,\nfor he daren't lunge out freely for fear of exposing his sides. It is\ntoo interesting by this time for much shouting, and the whole ring is\nvery quiet.\n\n\"All right, Tommy,\" whispers East; \"hold on's the horse that's to win.\nWe've got the last. Keep your head, old boy.\"\n\nBut where is Arthur all this time? Words cannot paint the poor little\nfellow's distress. He couldn't muster courage to come up to the ring,\nbut wandered up and down from the great fives'-court to the corner of\nthe chapel rails. Now trying to make up his mind to throw himself\nbetween them, and try to stop them; then thinking of running in and\ntelling his friend Mary, who he knew would instantly report to the\nDoctor. The stories he had heard of men being killed in prize-fights\nrose up horribly before him.\n\nOnce only, when the shouts of \"Well done, Brown!\" \"Huzza for the\nSchool-house!\" rose higher than ever, he ventured up to the ring,\nthinking the victory was won. Catching sight of Tom's face in the state\nI have described, all fear of consequences vanishing out of his mind, he\nrushed straight off to the matron's room, beseeching her to get the\nfight stopped, or he should die.\n\nBut it's time for us to get back to the close. What is this fierce\ntumult and confusion? The ring is broken, and high and angry words are\nbeing bandied about; \"It's all fair,\"--\"It isn't,\"--\"No hugging;\" the\nfight is stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, tended by\ntheir seconds, while their adherents wrangle in the middle. East can't\nhelp shouting challenges to two or three of the other side, though he\nnever leaves Tom for a moment, and plies the sponges as fast as ever.\n\nThe fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom seeing a good\nopening, had closed with his opponent, and after a moment's struggle had\nthrown him heavily, by the help of the fall he had learnt from his\nvillage rival in the vale of White Horse. Williams hadn't the ghost of a\nchance with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction broke at once on the\nSlogger faction, that if this were allowed their man must be licked.\nThere was a strong feeling in the school against catching hold and\nthrowing, though it was generally ruled all fair within certain limits;\nso the ring was broken and the fight stopped.\n\nThe School-house are over-ruled--the fight is on again, but there is to\nbe no throwing; and East in high wrath threatens to take his man away\nafter next round (which he don't mean to do, by the way), when suddenly\nyoung Brooke comes through the small gate at the end of the chapel. The\nSchool-house faction rush to him. \"Oh, hurra! now we shall get fair\nplay.\"\n\n\"Please, Brooke, come up, they won't let Tom Brown throw him.\"\n\n\"Throw whom?\" says Brooke, coming up to the ring. \"Oh! Williams, I see.\nNonsense! of course he may throw him if he catches him fairly above the\nwaist.\"\n\nNow, young Brooke, you're in the sixth, you know, and you ought to stop\nall fights. He looks hard at both boys. \"Anything wrong?\" says he to\nEast, nodding at Tom.\n\n\"Not a bit.\"\n\n\"Not beat at all?\"\n\n\"Bless you, no! heaps of fight in him. Ain't there, Tom?\"\n\nTom looks at Brooke and grins.\n\n\"How's he?\" nodding at Williams.\n\n\"So, so; rather done, I think, since his last fall. He won't stand above\ntwo more.\"\n\n\"Time's up!\" the boys rise again and face one another. Brooke can't find\nit in his heart to stop them just yet, so the round goes on, the Slogger\nwaiting for Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out should he\ncome in for the wrestling dodge again, for he feels that that must be\nstopped, or his sponge will soon go up in the air.\n\nAnd now another new-comer appears on the field, to wit, the\nunder-porter, with his long brush and great wooden receptacle for dust\nunder his arm. He has been sweeping out the schools.\n\n\"You'd better stop, gentlemen,\" he says; \"the Doctor knows that Brown's\nfighting--he'll be out in a minute.\"\n\n\"You go to Bath, Bill,\" is all that that excellent servitor gets by his\nadvice. And being a man of his hands, and a staunch upholder of the\nSchool-house, can't help stopping to look on for a bit, and see Tom\nBrown, their pet craftsman, fight a round.\n\nIt is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys feel this, and summon\nevery power of head, hand, and eye to their aid. A piece of luck on\neither side, a foot slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall,\nmay decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening; he has all the\nlegs, and can choose his own time: the Slogger waits for the attack, and\nhopes to finish it by some heavy right-handed blow. As they quarter\nslowly over the ground, the evening sun comes out from behind a cloud\nand falls full on Williams's face. Tom darts in; the heavy right-hand is\ndelivered, but only grazes his head. A short rally at close quarters,\nand they close; in another moment the Slogger is thrown again heavily\nfor the third time.\n\n\"I'll give you three to two on the little one in half-crowns,\" said\nGroove to Rattle.\n\n\"No, thank'ee,\" answers the other, diving his hands further into his\ncoat-tails.\n\nJust at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the turret which\nleads to the Doctor's library suddenly opens, and he steps into the\nclose, and makes straight for the ring, in which Brown and the Slogger\nare both seated on their seconds' knees for the last time.\n\n\"The Doctor! the Doctor!\" shouts some small boy who catches sight of\nhim, and the ring melts away in a few seconds, the small boys tearing\noff, Tom collaring his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through the\nlittle gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell's with his\nbackers, as lively as need be; Williams and his backers making off not\nquite so fast across the close; Groove, Rattle, and the other bigger\nfellows trying to combine dignity and prudence in a comical manner, and\nwalking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognised, and not fast\nenough to look like running away.\n\nYoung Brooke alone remains on the ground by the time the Doctor gets\nthere, and touches his hat, not without a slight inward qualm.\n\n[Illustration: THE DOCTOR'S COUNSEL TO YOUNG BROOKE. P. 290.]\n\n\"Hah! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. Don't you know that I\nexpect the sixth to stop fighting?\"\n\nBrooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had expected, but he was\nrather a favourite with the Doctor for his openness and plainness of\nspeech; so blurted out, as he walked by the Doctor's side, who had\nalready turned back--\n\n\"Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us to exercise a\ndiscretion in the matter too--not to interfere too soon.\"\n\n\"But they have been fighting this half-hour and more,\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Yes, sir; but neither was hurt. And they're the sort of boys who'll be\nall the better friends now, which they wouldn't have been if they had\nbeen stopped any earlier--before it was so equal.\"\n\n\"Who was fighting with Brown?\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Williams, sir, of Thompson's. He is bigger than Brown, and had the best\nof it at first, but not when you came up, sir. There's a good deal of\njealousy between our house and Thompson's, and there would have been\nmore fights if this hadn't been let go on, or if either of them had had\nmuch the worst of it.\"\n\n\"Well but, Brooke,\" said the Doctor, \"doesn't this look a little as if\nyou exercised your discretion by only stopping a fight when the\nSchool-house boy is getting the worst of it?\"\n\nBrooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled.\n\n\"Remember,\" added the Doctor, as he stopped at the turret-door, \"this\nfight is not to go on--you'll see to that. And I expect you to stop all\nfights in future at once.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir,\" said young Brooke, touching his hat, and not sorry\nto see the turret-door close behind the Doctor's back.\n\nMeantime Tom and the staunchest of his adherents had reached\nHarrowell's, and Sally was bustling about to get them a late tea, while\nStumps had been sent off to Tew the butcher, to get a piece of raw beef\nfor Tom's eye, which was to be healed off-hand, so that he might show\nwell in the morning. He was not a bit the worse except a slight\ndifficulty in his vision, a singing in his ears, and a sprained thumb,\nwhich he kept in a cold-water bandage, while he drank lots of tea, and\nlistened to the Babel of voices talking and speculating of nothing but\nthe fight, and how Williams would have given in after another fall\n(which he didn't in the least believe), and how on earth the Doctor\ncould have got to know of it,--such bad luck! He couldn't help thinking\nto himself that he was glad he hadn't won; he liked it better as it was,\nand felt very friendly to the Slogger. And then poor little Arthur crept\nin and sat down quietly near him, and kept looking at him and the raw\nbeef with such plaintive looks, that Tom at last burst out laughing.\n\n\"Don't make such eyes, young 'un,\" said he, \"there's nothing the\nmatter.\"\n\n\"Oh but, Tom, are you much hurt? I can't bear thinking it was all for\nme.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it, don't flatter yourself. We were sure to have had it\nout sooner or later.\"\n\n\"Well, but you won't go on, will you? You'll promise me you won't go\non?\"\n\n\"Can't tell about that--all depends on the houses. We're in the hands of\nour countrymen, you know. Must fight for the School-house flag, if so\nbe.\"\n\nHowever, the lovers of the science were doomed to disappointment this\ntime. Directly after locking-up, one of the night fags knocked at Tom's\ndoor.\n\n\"Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form room.\"\n\nUp went Tom to the summons, and found the magnates sitting at their\nsupper.\n\n\"Well, Brown,\" said young Brooke, nodding to him, \"how do you feel?\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, thank you, only I've sprained my thumb, I think.\"\n\n\"Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn't the worst of it, I could\nsee. Where did you learn that throw?\"\n\n\"Down in the country, when I was a boy.\"\n\n\"Hullo! why what are you now? Well, never mind, you're a plucky fellow.\nSit down and have some supper.\"\n\nTom obeyed, by no means loth. And the fifth-form boy next him filled him\na tumbler of bottled-beer, and he ate and drank, listening to the\npleasant talk, and wondering how soon he should be in the fifth, and one\nof that much-envied society.\n\nAs he got up to leave, Brooke said, \"You must shake hands to-morrow\nmorning; I shall come and see that done after first lesson.\"\n\nAnd so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook hands with great\nsatisfaction and mutual respect. And for the next year or two, whenever\nfights were being talked of, the small boys who had been present shook\ntheir heads wisely, saying, \"Ah! but you should just have seen the fight\nbetween Slogger Williams and Tom Brown!\"\n\nAnd now, boys all, three words before we quit the subject. I have put in\nthis chapter on fighting of malice prepense, partly because I want to\ngive you a true picture of what every-day school life was in my time,\nand not a kid-glove and go-to-meeting-coat picture; and partly because\nof the cant and twaddle that's talked of boxing and fighting with fists\nnow-a-days. Even Thackeray has given in to it; and only a few weeks ago\nthere was some rampant stuff in the _Times_ on the subject, in an\narticle on field sports.\n\nBoys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will sometimes fight. Fighting\nwith fists is the natural and English way for English boys to settle\ntheir quarrels. What substitute for it is there, or ever was there,\namongst any nation under the sun? What would you like to see take its\nplace?\n\nLearn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and football. Not one\nof you will be the worse, but very much the better for learning to box\nwell. Should you never have to use it in earnest, there's no exercise in\nthe world so good for the temper, and for the muscles of the back and\nlegs.\n\nAs to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by all means. When the time\ncomes, if it ever should, that you have to say \"Yes\" or \"No\" to a\nchallenge to fight, say \"No\" if you can,--only take care you make it\nclear to yourselves why you say \"No.\" It's a proof of the highest\ncourage, if done from true Christian motives. It's quite right and\njustifiable, if done from a simple aversion to physical pain and danger.\nBut don't say \"No\" because you fear a licking, and say or think it's\nbecause you fear God, for that's neither Christian nor honest. And if\nyou do fight, fight it out; and don't give in while you can stand and\nsee.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nFEVER IN THE SCHOOL.\n\n          \"This our hope for all that's mortal,\n             And we too shall burst the bond;\n           Death keeps watch beside the portal,\n             But 'tis life that dwells beyond.\"\n                                  JOHN STERLING.\n\n\nTWO years have passed since the events recorded in the last chapter, and\nthe end of the summer half-year is again drawing on. Martin has left and\ngone on a cruise in the South Pacific, in one of his uncle's ships; the\nold magpie, as disreputable as ever, his last bequest to Arthur, lives\nin the joint study. Arthur is nearly sixteen, and is at the head of the\ntwenty, having gone up the school at the rate of a form a half-year.\nEast and Tom have been much more deliberate in their progress, and are\nonly a little way up the fifth form. Great strapping boys they are, but\nstill thorough boys, filling about the same place in the House that\nyoung Brooke filled when they were new boys, and much the same sort of\nfellows. Constant intercourse with Arthur has done much for both of\nthem, especially for Tom; but much remains yet to be done, if they are\nto get all the good out of Rugby which is to be got there in these\ntimes. Arthur is still frail and delicate, with more spirit than body;\nbut, thanks to his intimacy with them and Martin, has learned to swim,\nand run, and play cricket, and has never hurt himself by too much\nreading.\n\nOne evening, as they were all sitting down to supper in the fifth-form\nroom, some one started a report that a fever had broken out at one of\nthe boarding-houses; \"they say,\" he added, \"that Thompson is very ill,\nand that Dr. Robertson has been sent for from Northampton.\"\n\n\"Then we shall all be sent home,\" cried another. \"Hurrah! five weeks'\nextra holidays, and no fifth-form examination!\"\n\n\"I hope not,\" said Tom; \"there'll be no Marylebone match then at the end\nof the half.\"\n\nSome thought one thing, some another, many didn't believe the report;\nbut the next day, Tuesday, Dr. Robertson arrived, and stayed all day,\nand had long conferences with the Doctor.\n\nOn Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor addressed the whole\nSchool. There were several cases of fever in different houses, he said;\nbut Dr. Robertson, after the most careful examination, had assured him\nthat it was not infectious, and that if proper care were taken, there\ncould be no reason for stopping the school work at present. The\nexaminations were just coming on, and it would be very unadvisable to\nbreak-up now. However, any boys who chose to do so were at liberty to\nwrite home, and, if their parents wished it, to leave at once. He should\nsend the whole School home if the fever spread.\n\nThe next day Arthur sickened, but there was no other case. Before the\nend of the week thirty or forty boys had gone, but the rest stayed on.\nThere was a general wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that it was\ncowardly to run away.\n\nOn the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright afternoon, while the\ncricket-match was going on as usual on the big-side ground: the Doctor\ncoming from his death-bed, passed along the gravel-walk at the side of\nthe close, but no one knew what had happened till the next day. At\nmorning lecture it began to be rumoured, and by afternoon chapel was\nknown generally; and a feeling of seriousness and awe at the actual\npresence of death among them came over the whole School. In all the long\nyears of his ministry the Doctor perhaps never spoke words which sank\ndeeper than some of those in that day's sermon. \"When I came yesterday\nfrom visiting all but the very death-bed of him who has been taken from\nus, and looked around upon all the familiar objects and scenes within\nour own ground, where your common amusements were going on, with your\ncommon cheerfulness and activity, I felt there was nothing painful in\nwitnessing that; it did not seem in any way shocking or out of tune\nwith those feelings which the sight of a dying Christian must be\nsupposed to awaken. The unsuitableness in point of natural feeling\nbetween scenes of mourning and scenes of liveliness did not at all\npresent itself. But I did feel that if at that moment any of those\nfaults had been brought before me which sometimes occur amongst us; had\nI heard that any of you had been guilty of falsehood, or of drunkenness,\nor of any other such sin; had I heard from any quarter the language of\nprofaneness, or of unkindness, or of indecency; had I heard or seen any\nsigns of that wretched folly which courts the laugh of fools by\naffecting not to dread evil and not to care for good, then the\nunsuitableness of any of these things with the scene I had just quitted\nwould indeed have been most intensely painful. And why? Not because such\nthings would really have been worse than at any other time, but because\nat such a moment the eyes are opened really to know good and evil,\nbecause we then feel what it is so to live as that death becomes an\ninfinite blessing, and what it is so to live also, that it were good for\nus if we had never been born.\"\n\nTom had gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about Arthur, but he came\nout cheered and strengthened by those grand words, and walked up alone\nto their study. And when he sat down and looked round, and saw Arthur's\nstraw-hat and cricket-jacket hanging on their pegs, and marked all his\nlittle neat arrangements, not one of which had been disturbed, the tears\nindeed rolled down his cheeks; but they were calm and blessed tears, and\nhe repeated to himself, \"Yes, Geordie's eyes are opened--he knows what\nit is so to live as that death becomes an infinite blessing. But do I?\nOh, God, can I bear to lose him?\"\n\nThe week passed mournfully away. No more boys sickened, but Arthur was\nreported worse each day, and his mother arrived early in the week. Tom\nmade many appeals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried to\nget up to the sick-room; but the housekeeper was always in the way, and\nat last spoke to the Doctor, who kindly, but peremptorily, forbade him.\n\nThompson was buried on the Tuesday; and the burial service, so soothing\nand grand always, but beyond all words solemn when read over a boy's\ngrave to his companions, brought him much comfort, and many strange new\nthoughts and longings. He went back to his regular life, and played\ncricket and bathed as usual: it seemed to him that this was the right\nthing to do, and the new thoughts and longings became more brave and\nhealthy for the effort. The crisis came on Saturday, the day week that\nThompson had died, and during that long afternoon Tom sat in his study\nreading his Bible and going every half-hour to the housekeeper's room,\nexpecting each time to hear that the gentle and brave little spirit had\ngone home. But God had work for Arthur to do: the crisis passed--on\nSunday evening he was declared out of danger; on Monday he sent a\nmessage to Tom that he was almost well, had changed his room, and was to\nbe allowed to see him the next day.\n\nIt was evening when the housekeeper summoned him to the sick-room.\nArthur was lying on the sofa by the open window, through which the rays\nof the western sun stole gently, lighting up his white face and golden\nhair. Tom remembered a German picture of an angel which he knew; often\nhad he thought how transparent and golden and spirit-like it was; and he\nshuddered to think how like it Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if his\nblood had all stopped short, as he realized how near the other world his\nfriend must have been to look like that. Never till that moment had he\nfelt how his little chum had twined himself round his heartstrings; and\nas he stole gently across the room and knelt down, and put his arm round\nArthur's head on the pillow, he felt ashamed and half angry at his own\nred and brown face, and the bounding sense of health and power which\nfilled every fibre of his body, and made every movement of mere living a\njoy to him. He needn't have troubled himself; it was this very strength\nand power so different from his own which drew Arthur so to him.\n\nArthur laid his thin white hand, on which the blue veins stood out so\nplainly, on Tom's great brown fist, and smiled at him; and then looked\nout of the window again, as if he couldn't bear to lose a moment of the\nsunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round which the rooks\nwere circling and clanging, returning in flocks from their evening's\nforaging parties. The elms rustled, the sparrows in the ivy just outside\nthe window chirped and fluttered about, quarrelling and making it up\nagain; the rooks young and old talked in chorus; and the merry shouts of\nthe boys, and the sweet click of the cricket-bats, came up cheerily from\nbelow.\n\n\"Dear George,\" said Tom, \"I am so glad to be let up to see you at last.\nI've tried hard to come so often, but they wouldn't let me before.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know, Tom; Mary has told me every day about you, and how she was\nobliged to make the Doctor speak to you to keep you away. I'm very glad\nyou didn't get up, for you might have caught it, and you couldn't stand\nbeing ill with all the matches going on. And you're in the eleven too, I\nhear--I'm so glad.\"\n\n\"Yes, ain't it jolly?\" said Tom proudly; \"I'm ninth too. I made forty at\nthe last pie-match and caught three fellows out. So I was put in above\nJones and Tucker. Tucker's so savage, for he was head of the\ntwenty-two.\"\n\n\"Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,\" said Arthur, who was as\njealous for the renown of Tom in games, as Tom was for his as a scholar.\n\n\"Never mind, I don't care about cricket or anything now you're getting\nwell, Geordie; and I shouldn't have hurt, I know, if they'd have let me\ncome up,--nothing hurts me. But you'll get about now directly, won't\nyou? You won't believe how clean I've kept the study. All your things\nare just as you left them; and I feed the old magpie just when you used,\nthough I have to come in from big-side for him, the old rip. He won't\nlook pleased all I can do, and sticks his head first on one side and\nthen on the other, and blinks at me before he'll begin to eat, till I'm\nhalf inclined to box his ears. And whenever East comes in, you should\nsee him hop off to the window, dot and go one, though Harry wouldn't\ntouch a feather of him now.\"\n\nArthur laughed. \"Old Gravey has a good memory; he can't forget the\nsieges of poor Martin's den in old times.\" He paused a moment, and then\nwent on. \"You can't think how often I've been thinking of old Martin\nsince I've been ill; I suppose one's mind gets restless, and likes to\nwander off to strange unknown places. I wonder what queer new pets the\nold boy has got; how he must be revelling in the thousand new birds,\nbeasts, and fishes.\"\n\nTom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in a moment. \"Fancy him\non a South-Sea island, with the Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such\nwild niggers;\" (Tom's ethnology and geography were faulty, but\nsufficient for his needs;) \"they'll make the old Madman cock\nmedicine-man and tattoo him all over. Perhaps he's cutting about now all\nblue, and has a squaw and a wigwam. He'll improve their boomerangs, and\nbe able to throw them too, without having old Thomas sent after him by\nthe Doctor to take them away.\"\n\nArthur laughed at the remembrance of the boomerang story, but then\nlooked grave again, and said \"He'll convert all the island, I know.\"\n\n\"Yes, if he don't blow it up first.\"\n\n\"Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used to laugh at him and chaff\nhim, because he said he was sure the rooks all had calling-over or\nprayers, or something of the sort, when the locking-up bell rang? Well,\nI declare,\" said Arthur, looking up seriously into Tom's laughing eyes,\n\"I do think he was right. Since I've been lying here, I've watched them\nevery night; and do you know, they really do come, and perch all of them\njust about locking-up time; and then first there's a regular chorus of\ncaws, and then they stop a bit, and one old fellow, or perhaps two or\nthree in different trees, caw solos, and then off they all go again,\nfluttering about and cawing anyhow till they roost.\"\n\n\"I wonder if the old blackies do talk,\" said Tom, looking up at them.\n\"How they must abuse me and East, and pray for the Doctor for stopping\nthe slinging.\"\n\n\"There! look, look!\" cried Arthur; \"don't you see the old fellow without\na tail coming up? Martin used to call him the 'clerk.' He can't steer\nhimself. You never saw such fun as he is in a high wind, when he can't\nsteer himself home, and gets carried right past the trees, and has to\nbear up again and again before he can perch.\"\n\nThe locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys were silent, and\nlistened to it. The sound soon carried Tom off to the river and the\nwoods, and he began to go over in his mind the many occasions on which\nhe had heard that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had to pack\nup his rod in a hurry, and make a run for it, to get in before the gates\nwere shut. He was roused with a start from his memories by Arthur's\nvoice, gentle and weak from his late illness.\n\n\"Tom, will you be angry if I talk to you very seriously?\"\n\n\"No, dear old boy, not I. But ain't you faint, Arthur, or ill? What can\nI get you? Don't say anything to hurt yourself now--you are very weak;\nlet me come up again.\"\n\n\"No, no, I shan't hurt myself: I'd sooner speak to you now, if you don't\nmind. I've asked Mary to tell the Doctor that you are with me, so you\nneedn't go down to calling-over; and I mayn't have another chance, for I\nshall most likely have to go home for change of air to get well, and\nmayn't come back this half.\"\n\n\"Oh, do you think you must go away before the end of the half? I'm so\nsorry. It's more than five weeks yet to the holidays, and all the\nfifth-form examination and half the cricket-matches to come yet. And\nwhat shall I do all that time alone in our study? Why, Arthur, it will\nbe more than twelve weeks before I see you again. Oh, hang it, I can't\nstand that! Besides, who's to keep me up to working at the examination\nbooks? I shall come out bottom of the form as sure as eggs is eggs.\"\n\nTom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for he wanted to get\nArthur out of his serious vein, thinking it would do him harm; but\nArthur broke in--\n\n\"Oh, please, Tom, stop, or you'll drive all I had to say out of my head.\nAnd I'm already horribly afraid I'm going to make you angry.\"\n\n\"Don't gammon, young 'un,\" rejoined Tom (the use of the old name, dear\nto him from old recollections, made Arthur start and smile, and feel\nquite happy); \"you know you ain't afraid, and you've never made me angry\nsince the first month we chummed together. Now I'm going to be quite\nsober for a quarter of an hour, which is more than I am once in a year;\nso make the most of it; heave ahead, and pitch into me right and left.\"\n\n\"Dear Tom, I ain't going to pitch into you,\" said Arthur piteously; \"and\nit seems so cocky in me to be advising you, who've been my backbone ever\nsince I've been at Rugby, and have made the school a paradise to me. Ah,\nI see I shall never do it, unless I go head-over-heels at once, as you\nsaid when you taught me to swim. Tom, I want you to give up using\nvulgus-books and cribs.\"\n\nArthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if the effort had been\ngreat; but the worst was now over, and he looked straight at Tom, who\nwas evidently taken aback. He leant his elbows on his knees, and stuck\nhis hands into his hair, whistled a verse of \"Billy Taylor,\" and then\nwas quite silent for another minute. Not a shade crossed his face, but\nhe was clearly puzzled. At last he looked up and caught Arthur's anxious\nlook, took his hand, and said simply--\n\n\"Why, young 'un?\"\n\n\"Because you're the honestest boy in Rugby, and that ain't honest.\"\n\n\"I don't see that.\"\n\n\"What were you sent to Rugby for?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know exactly--nobody ever told me. I suppose because all\nboys are sent to a public school in England.\"\n\n\"But what do you think yourself? What do you want to do here, and to\ncarry away?\"\n\nTom thought a minute. \"I want to be A 1 at cricket and football, and all\nthe other games, and to make my hands keep my head against any fellow,\nlout or gentleman. I want to get into the sixth before I leave, and to\nplease the Doctor; and I want to carry away just as much Latin and Greek\nas will take me through Oxford respectably. There now, young 'un, I\nnever thought of it before, but that's pretty much about my figure.\nAin't it all on the square? What have you got to say to that?\"\n\n\"Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you want, then.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope so. But you've forgot one thing, what I want to leave\nbehind me. I want to leave behind me,\" said Tom, speaking slow, and\nlooking much moved, \"the name of a fellow who never bullied a little\nboy, or turned his back on a big one.\"\n\nArthur pressed his hand, and after a moment's silence went on: \"You say,\nTom, you want to please the Doctor. Now, do you want to please him by\nwhat he thinks you do, or by what you really do?\"\n\n\"By what I really do, of course.\"\n\n\"Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books?\"\n", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32224", "title": "Tom Brown's School Days", "author": "", "publication_year": 1857, "metadata_title": "Tom Brown's School Days", "metadata_author": "Thomas Hughes", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:27.901924", "source_chars": 601494, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 120881}}
{"text": "Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMAURUS JOKAI\n\nTHE LION OF JANINA\nOR\nTHE LAST DAYS OF THE JANISSARIES\n\nA Turkish Novel\n\nTRANSLATED BY\nR. NISBET BAIN\n\n\nHARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS\nNEW YORK AND LONDON\n1898\n\n\n\n\n     BY THE SAME AUTHOR.\n\n     THE GREEN BOOK; or, Freedom Under the Snow. A Novel.\n     Translated by Mrs. Waugh. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental,\n     $1 50. (In \"The Odd Number Series.\")\n\n     BLACK DIAMONDS. A Novel. Translated by Frances A.\n     Gerard. With a Photogravure Portrait of the Author.\n     16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50. (In \"The Odd Number\n     Series.\")\n\n     HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,\n     NEW YORK AND LONDON.\n\n\n\n\nCopyright, 1897, by Harper & Brothers.\n\nAll rights reserved.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LION OF JANINA\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe first edition of _Janicsárok végnapjai_ appeared forty-five years\nago. It was immediately preceded by the great historical romance,\n_Erdely aranykora_ (_The Golden Age of Transylvania_), and the still\nmore famous novel of manners, _Egy Magyar Nábob_ (_A Hungarian\nNabob_), which Hungarians regard as, indisputably, Jókai's\nmasterpiece, while only a few months separate it from _Kárpáthy\nZoltán_ (_Sultan Karpathy_), the brilliant sequel to the _Nabob_. Thus\nit belongs to the author's best literary period.\n\nIt is also one of the most striking specimens of that peculiar group\nof Turkish stories, such as _Törökvilag Magyarorszagon_ (_Turkey in\nHungary_) and _Török mozgolmak_ (_Turkish Incursions_), _A kétszarvú\nember_ (_The Man with the Antlers_), and the extremely popular _Fehér\nrózsa_ (_White Rose_), which form a genre apart of Jókai's own\ncreation, in which his exuberant imagination revels in the rich colors\nof the gorgeous East, as in its proper element, while his ever alert\nhumor makes the most of the sharp and strange contrasts of Oriental\nlife and society. The hero of the strange and terrible drama, or,\nrather, series of dramas, unfolded with such spirit, skill, and\nvividness in _Janicsárok végnapjai_, is Ali Pasha of Janina,\ncertainly one of the most brilliant, picturesque, and, it must be\nadded, capable ruffians that even Turkish history can produce.\nManifold and monstrous as were Ali's crimes, his astonishing ability\nand splendid courage lend a sort of savage sublimity even to his\nblood-stained career, and, indeed, the dogged valor with which the\noctogenarian warrior defended himself at the last in his stronghold\nagainst the whole might of the Ottoman Empire is almost without a\nparallel in history.\n\nWith such a hero, it is evident that the book must abound in stirring\nand even tremendous scenes; but, though primarily a novel of incident,\nit contains not a few fine studies of Oriental character, both Turkish\nand Greek, by an absolutely impartial observer, who can detect the\nworth of the Osmanli in the midst of his apathy and brutality, and\nwho, although sympathetically inclined towards the Hellenes, is by no\nmeans blind to their craft and double-dealing, happily satirized in\nthe comic character of Leonidas Argyrocantharides.\n\nFinally, I have taken the liberty to alter the title of the story.\n_Janicsárok végnapjai_ (_The Last Days of the Janissaries_) is too\nglaringly inapt to pass muster, inasmuch as the rebellion and\nannihilation of that dangerous corps is a mere inessential episode at\nthe end of the story. I have, therefore, given the place of honor on\nthe title-page to Ali Pasha--the Lion of Janina.\n\nI have added a glossary of the Turkish words used by the author in\nthese pages.\n\nR. NISBET BAIN.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n  Chapter                                                 Page\n  I.      THE CAVERNS OF SELEUCIA                            1\n  II.     EMINAH                                            19\n  III.    A TURKISH PARADISE                                45\n  IV.     GASKHO BEY                                        62\n  V.      A MAN IN THE MIDST OF DANGERS                     72\n  VI.     THE LION IN THE FOX'S SKIN                        78\n  VII.    THE ALBANIAN FAMILY                              105\n  VIII.   THE PEN OF MAHMOUD                               110\n  IX.     THE CIRCASSIAN AND HIS FAMILY                    129\n  X.      THE AVENGER                                      160\n  XI.     THE FLOWERS OF THE GARDEN OF BEGTASH             187\n  XII.    THE SHIPWRECK OF LEONIDAS                        198\n  XIII.   A BALL IN THE SERAGLIO                           213\n  XIV.    KURSHID PASHA                                    238\n  XV.     CARETTO                                          244\n  XVI.    EMINAH                                           252\n  XVII.   THE SILVER PEDESTAL IN FRONT OF THE SERAGLIO     262\n  XVIII.  THE BROKEN SWORDS                                275\n          GLOSSARY OF TURKISH WORDS                        293\n\n\n\n\nThe Lion of Janina\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE CAVERNS OF SELEUCIA\n\n\nA savage, barren, inhospitable region lies before us, the cavernous\nvalley of Seleucia--a veritable home for an anchorite, for there is\nnothing therein to remind one of the living world; the whole district\nresembles a vast ruined tomb, with its base overgrown by green weeds.\nHere is everything which begets gloom--the blackest religious\nfanaticism, the darkest monstrosities of superstition--while an\neternal malediction seems to brood like a heavy mist over this region,\ncreated surely by God's left hand, scattering abroad gigantic rocky\nfragments, smiting the earth with unfruitfulness, and making it\nuninhabitable by the children of men.\n\nMan rarely visits these parts. And, indeed, why should he come, or\nwhat should he seek there? There is absolutely nothing in the whole\nregion that is dear to the heart of man. Even the wild beast makes no\nabiding lair for himself in that valley. Only now and then, in the\nburning days of summer, a lion of the wilderness, flying from before\nthe sultry heat, may, perchance, come there to devour his captured\nprey, and then, when he is well gorged, pursue his way, wrangling as\nhe goes with the echo of his own roar.\n\nSolitary travellers of an enterprising turn of mind do occasionally\nvisit this dreary wilderness; but so crushing an impression does it\nmake on all who have the courage to gaze upon it, that they scarce\nwait to explore the historic ground, but hasten from it as fast as\ntheir legs can carry them.\n\nWhat is there to see there, after all? A battered-down wall, as to\nwhich none can say who built it, or why it was built, or who destroyed\nit. A tall stone column, the column of the worthy Simon Stylites, who\npiled it up, stone upon stone, year after year, with his own hands,\nbeing wont to sit there for days together with arms extended in the\nshape of a cross, bowing himself thousands and thousands of times a\nday till his head touched his feet. The northern and southern sides of\nthe valley are cut off from the rest of the world by gigantic masses\nof rocks as steep and solid as the bastions of a fortress; only\ntowards their summit, at an elevation of some three to four hundred\nyards, is a little strip of green vegetation visible.\n\nDarkly visible at intervals in this long and steep rocky wall are the\nmouths of a series of caverns, of various sizes, all close together.\nIt looks as if some monstrous antediluvian race had cut two or three\nstories of doors and windows into the living rock, in order to make\nthemselves palaces to dwell in.\n\nThe walls of these caverns are so rugged, their bases are so\nirregular, that it is scarcely conceivable that they could be the\nwork of human hands, unless, indeed, the arched concavities of the\nchasms and the regular consecutiveness of the series may be assumed to\nbear witness to the wonder-working power of finite forces.\n\nThree of the entrances to these caverns have all the loftiness of\ntriumphal arches; nay, one of them, carved in the base of the rock, is\nso exceptionally vast that it rather resembles the nave of a huge\nchurch, and is said to penetrate the whole mountain to the sea beyond.\nIt is said that if any one has the courage to attempt the journey, he\nwill discover mysterious hieroglyphics carved on the walls. Who could\nhave been the authors of this unknown runic language? The Chaldeans\nperhaps, or the worshippers of Mithra. What hidden secrets, what human\nmemorials are enshrined in these symbols? That question must remain\nforever without an answer.\n\nMost probably this valley was used as a burial-place by some\nlong-vanished nation, whose tombs have survived them, making the whole\nregion still more dreadful; the gaping crevices of the rocks seem to\nproclaim, as from a hundred open throats, that here an extinct race\nhas found its last resting-place.\n\nMoreover, the largest cavern of all has the unusual property of\nsometimes emitting whistling sounds like interrupted human voices. The\nshepherds on the mountain summits listen terror-stricken to this\nbellowing of its rocky throat. At first it resembles the buzzing of\nimprisoned wasps, but the din gradually gathers force and volume till\nit seems as if the demons of the wind had lost their way within the\ncavern, and were roaring tumultuously in their endeavors to find an\nexit. This noise is generally followed by the blast of the simoon,\nwhich no doubt penetrates into the cavern through a gap on the other\nside, and thus gives rise to the mysterious voices of the valley.\n\nBut not on these occasions only; at other seasons also the cavern is\nwont to speak. It happens now and then that a shepherd, more foolhardy\nthan his fellows, ventures into the hollow of the cavern to light a\nfire, and, full of bravado, provokes the _dzhin_ of the cavern to\nappear, till the cavern suddenly re-echoes his voice; but it does not\nre-echo the words he utters, but replies in a soft, low accent to the\ninsolent youth, bidding him withdraw and cease to mock God's\ncreatures.\n\nOn another occasion an adulterous woman and her paramour strolled\ntowards the spot with the intent of using the deep darkness as the\ncloak for their sinful joys; but what terror filled the guilty lovers\nwhen their sweet whispering was interrupted by a voice which was\nneither near nor far, and belonged neither to man nor spirit, but\nwhose cold sigh turned their hot blood into ice as it whispered,\n\"Allah is everywhere present!\"\n\nOnce, too, some robbers were lying in wait for their comrades, whom\nthey intended to murder in that place, when a roaring began in the\ncave which seemed to make the very welkin ring, and the murderers\nclearly distinguished the terrible words: \"The eye of Allah is upon\nyou, and the flames of Morhut are burning for your souls!\" whereupon,\ninsane with fright, they rushed from the cave.\n\nEvery one who lived near the place knew of, and believed in, the\n_dzhin_ of the cavern, who, they said, harmed not the good, but\npersecuted evil-doers.\n\nBut it was not only terror-stricken hearts who knew of the voice of\nthe invisible _dzhin_--crushed and bleeding hearts likewise repaired\nthither. And the invisible _dzhin_ read their secrets; they had no\nneed to acquaint him with their griefs, and he gave them good counsel,\nand, for the most part, sent them away comforted. Doubtless anybody\nelse might have given them similar counsels; but if the advice had\ncome from ordinary men, the suppliants would not perhaps have welcomed\nit with such enthusiasm, or have turned it to such good account.\n\nAnd people often came thither to inquire into the future; and the\ninvisible being, it was found, could distinguish between those who\ncame to him in real anguish of mind and those whom only curiosity had\nattracted thither, or who merely wished to prove him. To the latter he\nmade no answer, but to the former he often spoke in prophetic\nparables, whose deeply figurative meaning was frequently fulfilled\nword for word.\n\nThe superstitious common folk made a merit of sacrificing to this\nunknown being. The dwellers round about made a point of living on good\nterms with him, took care not to provoke him with vain words, did not\nfly to him at every trifle; nay, on one occasion, the Kadi[1] of\nSeleucia even laid by the heels a couple of wanton rascals who were\ncaught throwing stones into the cavern.\n\n[Footnote 1: For this and all other Turkish words see the glossary at\nthe end of this book.]\n\nFrom the mouth of the cave inward extended a sort of staircase\nconsisting of about forty steps, terminating at a point whither the\nlight of day scarcely ever reached. Here stood a huge stone, not\nunlike a rude altar, in the midst of which was a slight hollow. This\nhollow the pious inhabitants of the district used to fill with rice or\nmillet, and on returning next day they would see that the _dzhin_ had\nremoved it from thence, and, by way of payment, had left a small\nsilver coin in this natural basin--a coin belonging to that old silver\nmoney which had been struck in the brilliant days of the Turkish\nEmpire, and was worth thrice as much as the present coinage. Thus the\n_dzhin_ would take nothing gratis, but paid for everything in ready\nmoney.\n\nThose who wished to speak with him had to penetrate into the depths of\nthe cave where no daylight was visible, for he was only to be found\nwhere the darkness was complete. If any one went with sword or dagger\nhe got no answer at all. And a visitor standing alone there in the\ndarkness was as plainly visible to the _dzhin_ as if the glare of\nnoonday were beating full upon him; not a change of countenance was\nhidden from this mysterious being. So they more readily believed that\nhe who could thus see through the darkness of earth could also see\nthrough the darkness of human hearts and the darkness of the\nunrevealed future.\n\nThis marvel had now been notorious for fifty years, the ordinary span\nof human life, and princes, pashas, generals, wise men, priests,\nulemas, were in the habit of visiting the abode of the _dzhin_, who\nseemed to know about everything that was going on in the world above.\nTo many he prophesied death, and to those who pleased him not he\nforetold the Nemesis that was to come upon them as a reward for their\niniquities.\n\n\nIn the year one thousand eight hundred and nineteen, at the season\nimmediately following the raging of the simoon, it chanced that a\npirate ship sailed into the haven of Suda, whence the magnificent\nruins of the ancient Seleucia are still to be seen. The corsair\ncarried the French flag, but her crew consisted entirely of Albanians.\nThe deck was encumbered with wreckage, cast down upon it by the\nhappily weathered tempest, and this the crew were energetically\nengaged in removing; but every one on shore was astounded to see her\nthere at all, much more in such trim condition, for she had lost\nneither mast nor sail. But then, after the manner of corsairs in\ngeneral, she was very much better equipped with both masts and sails\nthan ships of ordinary tonnage are wont to be. In the same hour that\nthe ship cast anchor the largest of her boats was lowered, and manned\nby four and twenty well-armed Trinariots. Every one of these stout\nfellows carried orders of merit on his cheek, the scars of many a\nbattle, which accentuated the savage sternness of their weather-beaten\nfaces.\n\nA little old man descended after them into the boat; presently his\nhorse was also let down by means of a crane. This was the officer in\ncommand. He was a middling-sized but very muscular old fellow, already\nbeyond his seventieth and not very far from his eightieth year; but he\nwas as vigorous now both in mind and body as he had been when his\nbeard, which now swept across his breast like the wing of a swan, was\nas dark as the raven's plume.\n\nHis broad shoulders spoke of extraordinary strength, while the firm\nexpression of his face, the flashing lustre of his eyes, and his calm\nand valiant look, testified to the fact that this strength was\nsquandered upon no coward soul.\n\nSome stout rowing brought the boat at last near to the shore, but not\nall the efforts of the men could bring her to land; the wash of the\nsea was so great that the foam-crested waves again and again drove the\nboat back from the shore.\n\nAt a sign from the old man three of the ship's crew leaped into the\nwaves in order to drag after them the boat's hawser, but the sea tore\nit out of the hands of all three as easily as a wild bull would toss a\npack of children.\n\nThen the old man vaulted upon his steed, kicking the stirrups aside,\nand leaped among the churning waves. Twice the horse was jostled back\nby the assault of the foaming billows, but at the third attempt the\nshore was reached. The people on the shore said it was a miracle; but\nhe, wasting no words upon any one, directed his way all alone along\nthe shore of the haven, and leaving behind him the lofty turreted row\nof bastions--which crowns the edge of the rocky promontory, encircles\nthe town, and hangs upon the shoulders of the hill like an ancient and\ngigantic necklace--picked his way among the lofty, scattered bowlders,\nand, unescorted as he was, quickly disappeared from view amid the\nwilderness.\n\nHe had scarcely proceeded more than half an hour among the fig and\nolive trees which covered the slopes of the hills, and whose scorched\nand withered leaves marked the passage of the burning wind, when he\narrived at the place he sought. It was a crazy, tumble-down hut, whose\nshapeless mass was so clumsily compounded of wood, stone, and mud,\nthat a swallow would have been ashamed to own it, let alone a beaver,\nwhose ordinary habitation is an architectural masterpiece compared\nwith it. Nature, however, had been gracious to this shanty, and\nclothed it with creeping plants, which nearly hid away all the\nsuperfluous cracks and crevices which the architect had left behind\nhim.\n\nIt was here that the new-comer dismounted from his horse, tied it to a\ntree, and, proceeding to the latchless door, amused himself by reading\nthe scrawl which had been written on the outside of it, and was, as\nusual, one of those sacred texts which the Turks love to see over\ntheir door-posts: \"Accursed be he who disturbs a singing-bird!\"\n\nThe stranger fell a listening. Surely there was no singing-bird here,\nhe thought. Then he went on reading what followed: \"He who knocks at\nthe gate of him who prays will knock in vain at the gate of Paradise.\"\n\nThe stranger did not take the trouble to knock; he simply kicked the\ndoor down.\n\nWithin was kneeling an anchorite of the order of Erdbuhár on a piece\nof matting. He was naked to the girdle, and before him stood a wooden\ntub full of fresh water. He was just finishing his ablutions.\n\nHe did not seem to observe the violent inroad of the stranger, but\nconcluded his religious exercises with great fervor. First of all he\nwashed his hands, reciting thirty times the sacred words, \"Blessed be\nGod, Who hath given to water its purifying power, and hath revealed\nthe true faith to us!\" Next he thrice conveyed water to his mouth in\nhis right palm, and prayed, \"O Lord! O Allah! refresh me with the\nwater Thou didst give to Thy Prophet Muhammad in Paradise, which is\nmore fragrant than balm, whiter than milk, and sweeter than honey, and\nsatisfies eternally those who pine with thirst!\" Then, with the palm\nof his hand, he cast water upon his nostrils, and exclaimed,\nfervently, \"O Lord! cause me to smell the perfume of Paradise, which\nis sweeter than musk and ambergris, and suffer me not to inhale the\naccursed fumes of hell!\" Then, filling both palms with water and well\nwashing his face, he said these words, \"Purify my face, O Lord, like\nas Thou wilt purify the faces of Thy prophets and servants on the\ngreat Day of Judgment!\" But even this did not suffice, for now he put\nwater in his right palm again, and, letting it run down his elbows, he\nsighed, \"Lord, suffer me at the last day to hold in my right hand,\nwhich is the hand of Thine elect, the book of my good deeds, and admit\nme to Thy Paradise!\" With that he dipped his head into the tub of\nwater, but so as to keep his mouth clear of it, and spake in this\nwise, \"O Lord, when I appear before Thee, encompass me with Thy\nmercies, and crush not my head beneath the fiery wreath of my sins,\nbut adorn it with the golden crown of my merits!\" Then came the turn\nof his ears, the worthy man crying the while, with unction, \"Grant, O\nLord, that mine ears may hear, for ever and ever, those joyous sounds\nwhich are written in the Kuran!\" This accomplished, he sprinkled his\nneck and throat, suitably exclaiming, \"O Lord, deliver me from those\nfetters which will be cast upon the necks of the accursed!\" After\nwhich pious ejaculation he sat down on the ground, and, reverently\nwashing his right foot, exclaimed, \"O Lord, suffer not my feet to slip\non the bridge of Alserat which leads across hell to heaven!\" Then he\ncleansed thoroughly his left foot also, and sighed, \"May the Lord\nforgive me my trespasses and listen to my supplications!\"\n\nAnd the honest dervish did not utter all these pious ejaculations in a\nlow mumble, but in an intelligible, exalted voice, as becomes an\northodox Mussulman, who does not consider it a shameful thing to pray\nto God in the presence of men.\n\nAfter that he took up the tub and, carrying it out, sprinkled the\nwater it contained over the wild flowers growing there, blessing them\nseverally and collectively; then he filled it full again with fresh\nwater from the spring, and bringing it back into the hut and turning\nthe mat over, placed the tub full of water on it, whereupon the\nstranger immediately divested himself of his slippers and upper\nkaftan, unwound his turban, removed his red fez from his head, and\nproceeded to perform his ablutions also in the self-same manner.\n\nWhen he had finished he kissed the hand of the dervish, and when the\nlatter drew from his girdle a long manuscript reaching to the very\nground, and began, from its eighty sections, to laud and magnify the\neighty properties of Allah, the stranger repeated them after him with\ngreat unction, and, at the end of each one of them, intoned with him\ntwice over the verse, \"La illah, il Allah, Muhammad roszul Allah!\"--in\nthe chanting of which he was as practised as any muezzin.\n\nAll these pious practices were accomplished with the utmost devotion;\nbut when the new-comer arose from his place, the expression of\nlowliness vanished from his features and he reassumed his former\ncommanding look, while the dervish now humbly bowed down before him to\nthe very earth and murmured:\n\n\"What are my lord's commands to his servant?\"\n\nThe stranger let him lie there and slowly raised his sword.\n\n\"Art thou,\" cried he, \"that dervish of Erdbuhár[2] to whom I\ndespatched a fakir of the Nimetullahitas, who dwelleth in Janina?\"\n\n[Footnote 2: The orders of Erdbuhár and Nimetullahita are the severest\nof all the Turkish religious fraternities: the former fast so\nrigorously twice a week that they do not even swallow their saliva;\nthe latter observe the fast only during their year of probation, after\nwhich they are free to return to the joys of this world.]\n\n\"Thy servant is that man.\"\n\nThe stranger thereupon, with his right hand, drew a dagger from his\ngirdle, and with his left hand a purse.\n\n\"Dost thou see this dagger and this purse?\" said he. \"In the purse are\na thousand sequins; on the blade of this sword is the blood of at\nleast as many murdered men. I ask thee not--Dost thou recognize me? or\ndost thou know my name? Maybe thou dost know--for thou knowest all\nthings--and, if so, thou dost also know that none hath ever betrayed\nme on whom I have not wreaked my vengeance. If, therefore, thou dost\nwant a reward, listen; but if chastisement, speak!\"\n\nThe dervish raised his hand to his ear to signify that he would prefer\nto listen.\n\n\"Arise, then! take my horse's bridle, and lead me to that cavern where\ndwelleth the _dzhin_ of prophecy. Dost thou know him?\"\n\n\"I know him, my master, but go to him I will not, for he is wroth with\nme. He loves not the dervishes, because they would always be teaching.\nIf I go to him he throws stones at me from out of the cavern, or leads\nme into deep pitfalls. Therefore, if thou so desire it, I will lead\nthee thither; but I would not go with thee if I had as many heads upon\nmy shoulders for thy sword to sever as there are sequins in that\npurse.\"\n\n\"There is no need of that. Thou canst remain outside and hold my\nhorse.\"\n\nAnd with that the herculean old man flung himself haughtily on his\nhorse, and the dervish, seizing the steed's bridle, began to lead him\nalong the mountain path among the rugged rocks and bowlders.\n\nThe moon was already high in the heavens when they reached the mouth\nof the cavern.\n\nLooking back upon the country whence they came, the region seemed more\ndesolate than ever. In front, the savage, natural ruins; behind, the\nblack cedar forests, where thick foliage cast night-black shadows even\nat noonday; on each side, the endlessly sublime masses of rocks, which\nstood out still vaster in the moonlight. The caverns looked still\nblacker at night, and the rock and ruins more sterile; but, night and\nday alike, the place was deserted.\n\nOn reaching the cavern of the _dzhin_, the old man dismounted from his\nhorse and, bidding the dervish stand and hold it till he returned,\ndisappeared in the cavern without the slightest hesitation.\n\nHe could only grope his way, step by step, through the blinding\ndarkness; cautiously he advanced, but without fear. He tested the\nground in front of him as he advanced, with one hand over his eyes and\nthe other on the hilt of his sword. It must, indeed, be a resolutely\nwicked spirit that would venture to attack him.\n\nEvery now and then a bat sped rapidly past him, close to his ears,\nwith a sound like a mocking titter; at other times he trod upon some\ncold, moving body. But what cared he for these? The deep silence which\nencircled him was far more terrible than all the voices of hell; and\nnot even the darkness terrified him, for his powerful voice now\npierced that subterranean stillness as with a sword.\n\n\"I summon thee, thou spirit, whether thou art good or evil, whom Allah\npermits to hold discourse with living men--I summon thee to speak with\nme!\"\n\n\"I am even now beside thee,\" a voice suddenly whispered. It was low\nand hollow, just as if the atmosphere of the cavern were speaking.\n\nThe stranger made a clutch after the voice, as if his audacious hand\nwould have seized the spirit; but he found nothing. It was a voice\nwithout a shape.\n\n\"Speak to me!\" cried the old man, in a voice that never quavered.\n\"Dost thou know my fate?\"\n\n\"I know it,\" answered the invisible voice; \"thou art a poor man who\nhast lost what thou hadst, and what thou now hast is not thine.\"\n\n\"Thou art a senseless spirit,\" growled the stranger. \"Go back to thy\ntomb and slumber; I will inquire nothing more of thee. Thou dost not\neven know my present fate; how canst thou know my future? Go back to\nthy hole, I say, and sleep in peace.\"\n\n\"I know thee,\" continued the voice, \"and I have spoken the truth. Do\nnot they call thee Ali Tepelenti?\"\n\nThe stranger was amazed. \"That is indeed my name,\" he answered.\n\n\"Wert thou not a fugitive yesterday, and wilt thou not be dust and\nashes to-morrow?\"\n\n\"True; but that yesterday was eighty years ago; and who shall say when\nto-morrow will be?\"\n\n\"Thou knowest that here there is neither morning nor evening,\"\nanswered the voice. \"To me yesterday was when I last saw the sun, and\nto-morrow will be when I see it again. Ali Tepelenti, Lord of Janina,\nthou art poorer than the lowliest Mussulman who girds himself with a\ngirdle of hair, for thou hast lost everything which thou didst account\nprecious. Thy kinsmen, who were for thy defence, thou hast slain; thy\nmother, who loved thee, thou hast strangled; thy right hand has pulled\ndown the house which thou didst build up; thy glory, in which thou\ndidst exalt thyself, has become a curse to thee; and thou hast made\nbitter haters of those who loved thee best.\"\n\n\"So it is. I know what I have done. I repent me of nothing. The hare\nnibbles the flower, the vulture seizes the hare, the hunter slays the\nvulture, the lion fells the hunter, the worm devours the lion. All of\nus turn to earth. Allah is mighty, and He orders it so. What am I?\nOnly a bigger worm than the rest. Who shall strive with God? What is\nmy fate in the future?\"\n\n\"But yesterday thou wert younger than thy newborn son, to-morrow thou\nshalt die older than thy oldest ancestors.\"\n\n\"Speak more plainly. I perceive the meaning of thy words as little as\nI perceive thyself.\"\n\n\"'He who sins with the sword shall perish with the sword,' saith\nAllah. He who sins with love, shall perish by love. Thou hast two\nhands, the right and the left; thou hast two swords, one covered with\ngold and one with silver; thou hast three hundred wives in thy harem,\nbut only one in thy heart; thou hast twelve sons, but only one whom\nthou lovest. Look, now! Take good heed of thy life, for thy death\nlieth in what is nearest to thee; thine own weapon, thine own child,\nthine own property, thine own two hands, shall one day slay thee.\"\n\n\"Mashallah! Death is inevitable. Tell me but one thing. Shall I one\nday pass in triumph through the gates of the seraglio at Stambul?\"\n\n\"Thou shalt. Thou shalt stand there on a silver pedestal in the face\nof the rejoicing multitude.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"That day will come when thou shalt be in two places at the same time,\nin Janina and in Stambul; the days to come will explain it.\"\n\n\"One word more. Wherefore didst thou mention that woman whom I love\nbest?\"\n\n\"She will be the first to betray thee.\"\n\n\"Accursed one!\" roared Ali, drawing his sword and madly striking in\nthe direction of the voice.\n\nThe sword hissed fiercely through the vacant air, and the next moment\nthe voice replied from a respectable distance:\n\n\"It has happened already.\"\n\n\"This is a dream, all a dream!\" moaned Ali.\n\n\"'Tis no dream; thou art wide awake,\" cried the mysterious voice.\n\n\"If it be no dream, give me a sign that I may know before I depart\nhence that I have not been dreaming.\"\n\n\"First put thy sword into its sheath.\"\n\n\"I have done so,\" said Ali; but he lied, for he had only slipped it\ninto his girdle.\n\n\"Into the sheath, I say,\" cried the voice.\n\nIt was with a tremor that Ali felt that this being could distinguish\nhis slightest movement in the dark.\n\n\"And now stretch forth thy hand!\" cried the voice. It was now quite\nclose to him.\n\nAli stretched forth his hand, and the same instant he felt a vigorous,\nmanly hand seize his own in a grasp of steel; so strong, so cruel was\nthe pressure that the blood started from the tips of his fingers.\n\nAt last the invisible being let go, and said in a whisper as it did\nso:\n\n\"Not a muscle of thy face moved under the pressure of my hand; only\nTepelenti could so have endured.\"\n\n\"And there is but one man living who could press my hand like that,\"\nreplied Ali. \"His name was Behram, the son of Halil Patrona,[3] who,\nforty years ago, was my companion in warfare, and has since\ndisappeared. Who art thou?\"\n\n[Footnote 3: The extraordinary adventures of this Mussulman reformer\nare recorded in another of Jókai's Turkish stories, _A feher rózsa_\n(_The White Rose_).]\n\n\"Aleikum unallah!\"[4] said the voice, instead of replying.\n\n[Footnote 4: \"God be with thee!\"]\n\n\"Who art thou?\" again cried Ali, advancing a step.\n\n\"Aleikum unallah!\" was the parting salutation of the already\nfar-distant voice.\n\nThe mighty pasha turned back in a reverie, and when he got back into\nthe moonlight, he still saw plainly on his hand the drops of blood\nwhich that powerful grasp had caused to leap forth from the tips of\nhis fingers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nEMINAH\n\n\nAnd now for a story, a marvellous story, that would not be out of\nplace in a fairy tale! Away to another clime where the very sunbeams\nand blossoms, where the very beating of loving hearts, differ from\nwhat we are accustomed to.\n\n\nIn whichever direction we look around us, we shall see the land of the\ngods rising up before us in classical sublimity, the mountains of\nHellas, the triumphal home of sun-bright heroes. There is the mountain\nwhence Zeus cast forth his thunderbolts, the grove where the thorns of\nroses scratched the tender feet of Aphrodite, and perchance a whole\nolive grove sprung from the tree into which the nymph, favored and\npursued by Apollo, was metamorphosed. The sunlit summits of snowy Œta\nand Ossa still sparkle there when the declining sun kindles his\nbeacons upon them, and Olympus still has its thunderbolts; yet it is\nno longer Zeus who casts them, but Ali Tepelenti, Pasha of Albania and\nmaster of half the Turkish Empire, and the rose which the blood of\nVenus dyed crimson blooms for him, and the laurel sprung from the love\nof Apollo puts forth her green garlands for him also.\n\nThe poetic figures of the bright gods are seen no more on the quiet\nmountain. With a long gun over his shoulder, a palikár walks hither\nand thither, who has built his hut in a lurking-place where Ali Pasha\nwill not find it. The high porticos lie level with the ground; the\npaths of Leonidas and Themistocles are covered with sentry-boxes, that\nnone may pass that way.\n\nFrom the summit of the mighty Lithanizza you can look down upon the\nfairy-like city which dominates Albania. It is Janina, the\nhistorically renowned Janina.\n\nBeside it stands the lake of Acheruz, in whose green mirror the city\ncan regard itself; there it is in duplicate. It is as deep as it is\nhigh. The golden half-moons of the minarets sparkle in the lake and in\nthe sky at the same time. The roofless white houses, rising one above\nanother, seem melted into a compact mass, and they are encircled by\nred bastions, with exits out of eight gates.\n\nBut what have we to do with the minarets, the bazaars, the kiosks of\nthe city? Beyond the city, where Cocytus, rippling down from the\nwooded mountain, forms, with the lake into which it flows, a\npeninsula, there, on an isthmus, stands the strong fortress of Ali\nPasha, with vast, massive bastions, a heavy, iron-plated drawbridge,\nand a ditch in front of the walls full of solid sharp-pointed stakes\nin two fathoms of water. From the summits of the ramparts the throats\nof a hundred cannons gape down upon the town--iron dogs, whose barking\ncan be heard four miles off. On the walls an innumerable multitude of\narmed men keep watch, and in front of the gate the guns look out upon\neach other from the port-holes of the steep bastions on both sides of\nit. Woe to those who should attempt to make their way into the citadel\nby force! The gate, fastened with a huge chain, is defended by three\nheavy iron gratings, and from close beneath the lofty projecting roof\ncircular pieces of artillery shine forth, in front of which are\npyramidal stacks of bombs.\n\nThe court-yard forms a huge crescent, in which nothing is visible but\ninstruments of warfare, engines of destruction. In the lower part of\nthe semicircular barracks stand the sentry-boxes, while in the\nopposite semicircle a long pavilion cuts the fortress in two,\nextending from the end of one semicircle to the end of the other, and\nhere are three gates, which lead into the heart of the fortress.\n\nIn all this long building there are no windows above the court-yard,\nonly two rows of narrow embrasures are visible therein. All the\nwindows are on the other side overlooking the garden, and there dwell\nthe odalisks of Ali Pasha's three sons. The three sons, Omar, Almuhán,\nand Zaid, inhabit the building with the three gates. The back of this\nbuilding looks out upon the garden, in which the harems of the pasha's\nsons are wont to disport themselves.\n\nHere again a long bastion barricades the garden, a bastion also\nprotected by trenches full of water, across whose iron bridge you gain\nadmission into the pasha's inmost fortress.\n\nAnd what is that like? Nobody can tell. The brass gates, covered with\nsilver arabesques, seem to be eternally closed, and none ever comes in\nor goes out save Ali and his dumb eunuchs, and those captives whose\nheads alone are sent back again. The bastion surrounding this central\nfortress is so high that you cannot look into it from the top of the\ncitadel outside; but if any one could peep down upon it from the\nsummit of the lofty Lithanizza he would perceive inside it a fairy\npalace, with walls of colored marble protected by silver trellis-work,\nwith blue-painted, brazen cupolas, with golden half-moons on their\npointed spires. One tower there, the largest of all, has a roof of red\ncast-iron, and this one roof stands out prominently from among all the\nother buildings of the inner fortress. The colored kiosks are\neverywhere wreathed with garlands of flowers, and the spectator\nperched aloft would plainly discern cradles for growing vines on the\ntop of the bastion. He might also, in the dusk of the summer evenings,\ndistinguish seductive shapes bathing in the basins of the fountains,\nand lose his reason while he gazed; or it might chance (which is much\nmore likely) that Ali Pasha's patrols might come upon him unawares and\ncast him down from the mountain-top.\n\nThis wondrous retreat was Ali's paradise. Here he grouped together the\nmost beautiful flowers of the round world--flowers sprung from the\nearth or from a human mother. For maidens also are flowers, and may be\nplucked and enjoyed like other flowers. But the most beautiful among\nso many beautiful flowers was Eminah, Tepelenti's favorite damsel, the\nsixteen-years-old daughter of the Pasha of Delvino, who gave her to\nAli just as so many eminent Turks are wont to give their daughters. On\nthe day of their birth they promise to give them to some powerful\nmagnate, and by the time the _fiancée_ is marriageable the _fiancé_\nhas already one foot in his grave.\n\nA pale, blue-eyed flower was she, looking as if she had grown up\nbeneath the light of the moon instead of the light of the sun; her\nshape, her figure, was so delicate that it reminded one of those\nsylphs of the fairy world that fly without wings. Her voice was\nsweeter, more tender, than the voices of the other damsels; and, wiser\nthan they, she could speak so that you felt rather than heard what she\nsaid. Ali loved to toy with her light hair, unwind the long folds of\nher tresses, cover his face with their silken richness, and fancy he\nwas reposing in the shades of paradise.\n\nAnd the child loved the man. Ali was a handsome old fellow. His beard\nwas as glossy and as purely white as the wing of a swan; the roses of\nhis cheeks had not yet faded; when he smiled he was no longer a tiger,\nbut revealed a row of teeth even handsomer than her own. And, in\naddition to that, he was valiant--a hero. Even in old men love is no\nmere impotent desire when accompanied with all the vigorous passion of\nyouth.\n\nAnd Eminah knew not that there were such beings as youths in the\nworld. Excepting her father and her husband, she had never seen a man,\nand therefore fancied that other men also had just such white beards\nand silvery eyelashes as they. Brought up from the days of her\nchildhood in the midst of a harem, among women and eunuchs, she had\nnot the remotest idea of the romantic visions which the hearts of\nlove-sick girls are wont to form from the contemplation of their\nideals; to her her husband was the most perfect man for whom a\nwoman's heart had ever beaten, and she clung to him as if he had been\na supernatural being.\n\nIn her heart Eminah pictured Ali as one of those beneficent genii who\nin the marvellous tales of the Arabs rise up from the bowels of the\nearth and the depths of the sea, a hundred times greater than ordinary\nmen, ten times younger, and a thousand times more powerful, who are\nwont to give talismanic rings to their earthly favorites, appearing\nbefore them when they turn this ring in order to instantly gratify\ntheir desires, their wishes; to transport them from place to place\nwith their huge muscular hands, to make them ride a cock-horse on\ntheir middle fingers, play hide-and-seek with them in the thousand\ncorners of their vast palaces, watch over them when they sleep,\noverwhelm them with heaps and heaps of gifts and treasures, and yet\nare gentle and complacent in spite of their immense power. They need\nbut take one step to crush the towers and bastions of the mightiest\nfortress in the dust, and yet they walk so warily as not even to graze\nthe tiny ant they meet upon their path. Why, once Ali had waded into\nthe lake up to his waist to rescue two amorously fluttering\nbutterflies that had fallen into it! Oh! Ali has such a sensitive soul\nthat he weeps over the bird that has accidentally beaten itself to\ndeath against the bars of its cage; whenever he plucks a flower from\nits stalk he always raises it to his lips to beg its pardon; and when\nthey told him how at the siege of Kilsura all the poor doves were\nburned, the tears sparkled in his eyes!\n\nEminah does not fully know the meaning of a siege; she only grieves\nfor the poor doves. How they would hover above the burning town in\nwhite clusters amid the black smoke, and fall down into the fire\nbelow!\n\nIn reality the matter stood thus: Ali was besieging Kilsura, but could\nnot take it; the besiegers fought valiantly, and the natural\nadvantages of the place prevented him from drawing near enough to it.\nSo he signified to the inhabitants that he would make peace with them\nand depart from their town, and desired them, in earnest of their\npacific intentions, to send him a number of white doves. The besieged\nfell in with his proposal, and collecting together all the white doves\nin the town they could lay they hands upon, sent them to Ali. He\nimmediately withdrew his siege artillery, with which he had already\nwrought no small mischief, but at night, when every one was asleep, he\nfastened fiery matches by long wires to the feet of the doves, and\nthen set them free. The natural instincts of the doves made them fly\nback to their old homes, the familiar roofs where their nests were,\nand in a moment the whole town was in flames, the doves themselves\ncarrying the combustible material from roof to roof and perishing\nthemselves among the falling houses.\n\nAli wept sore as he told to Eminah the story of the doves of Kilsura;\nyes, Ali was certainly a sensitive soul!\n\nThe beautiful woman had everything that eye could covet or heart\ndesire. In her apartments were mirrors as high as the ceiling,\nmasterpieces of Venetian crystal, and the floor was covered with\nPersian carpets embroidered with flowers. Blossoming flowers and\nsinging birds were in all her windows, and a hundred waiting-women\nwere at her beck and call. From morn to eve Joy and Pleasure were her\nattendants, and each day presented her with a fresh delight, a fresh\nsurprise.\n\nThirty rooms, opening one into another, each more magnificent than the\nlast, were hers, and hers alone. The eye that feasted on one splendid\nobject quickly forgot it in the contemplation of a still more splendid\nmarvel, and by the time it had taken them all in was eager to begin\nagain at the beginning.\n\nBut there was one thing which did not please Eminah. When one had got\nto the end of all the thirty rooms, it was plain that they did not end\nthere, for then came a round brass door; and this door was always\nclosed against her--never was she able to go through it. Now this door\nled into that huge tower with the red cast-iron roof, which could be\nseen such a distance off.\n\nThe inquisitive woman very much wanted to know what was inside this\ndoor through which she was never suffered to go, though Ali himself\nused it frequently, always closing it most carefully behind him, and\nwearing the key of it fastened to his bosom by a little cord.\n\nNow and then she had asked Ali what was in this tower that she was not\nallowed to see, and what he did when he remained there all night\nalone? At such times Ali would reply that he went there to consort\nwith spirits who were teaching him how to find the stone of the wise,\nhow to become perpetually young, how to foresee the future, and make\ngold and other marvels--all of which it was easy to make a woman\nbelieve who did not even know that all men do not wear white beards.\n\nAfter all such occasions Eminah, when she was alone again, would\nconjure up before her all sorts of marvellous blue and green denizens\nof fairyland appearing before Ali in the elements of air, fire, and\nwater, to teach him how to make gold. And Ali always proved to Eminah\nthat what he told her was no idle tale, for whenever he returned the\nnext day he was followed by a whole procession of dumb eunuchs\ncarrying baskets filled with gold and precious stones. Thus Ali not\nonly knew how to make gold, but also those things that are made of\ngold--that is to say, coined money and filigreed ornaments, which he\npiled up before her; and to Eminah it seemed a very nice thing, and\nquite natural that if these peculiar spirits could manufacture gold\nfrom nothing, they should also be able to make necklaces and bracelets\nout of smoke, as Ali told her they did without any difficulty at all.\n\nNow any one would have been curious to get to the bottom of such\nmysteries, especially if they were close at hand; how much more, then,\na spoiled and pampered young woman, who frequently was not able to\nsleep for the joy which the presents heaped upon her by Ali excited in\nher breast. How much she would have loved to see these benevolent\nspirits who had given her so much pleasure!\n\nFrequently she implored Ali to take her with him when he went into the\nred tower; but the pasha always tried to frighten her by saying that\nthese spirits were most cruel to strangers in general, and women in\nparticular, whom they would be ready to tear limb from limb, so that\nEminah always had to abandon her desire.\n\nBut when once a woman has made up her mind to do a thing, do it she\nwill, though a seven-headed dragon were to stand in the way; and if\nfear is a great power in this world, curiosity is a still greater.\n\nOne evening Eminah accompanied Ali right up to the brass door, and as\nhe went in she dexterously thrust a little pebble between the door and\nthe threshold. Thus the door not being completely closed, the catch of\nthe lock, despite a double turn of the key, shot back again; so\ninstead of closing the door behind him, as Ali fondly imagined, he\nleft it ajar.\n\nEminah waited till the sound of her husband's footsteps had quite\nceased. Then she softly opened the door, and at first contented\nherself with peeping in. Perceiving nothing to frighten her back, she\nventured right in, cautiously peering around at every step lest any\nangry spirit should suddenly rise up before her.\n\nBefore her lay a long corridor, and she went right to the very end of\nit. Then she came upon a spiral staircase, which was so dark that she\nhad to painfully grope her way along. A fatal curiosity goaded her on\nin spite of the darkness, and presently she found herself in a large,\nround room, dimly lit by a hanging lamp.\n\nAll round the walls of this room were arranged marble benches,\npitchers of water, funnels, and curious instruments of iron, leather,\nand wood, of all shapes and sizes, looking all the more\nincomprehensible in the semi-darkness. These were, no doubt, the\nimplements with which Ali was in the habit of making gold, thought\nEminah to herself, and, discovering a convenient niche at the head of\nthe staircase, she squeezed herself into it so that she could see\neverything from thence without being seen herself.\n\nA few moments afterwards the door at the opposite end of the room\nopened, and Ali and twelve dumb eunuchs entered with torches. The room\nwas illuminated at once, the eunuchs thrusting the torches into large\niron sconces; one of them then proceeded to light the fire and pile up\nvarious instruments around it; some sort of liquid also began bubbling\nin a caldron. Ali meanwhile was sitting down on a camp-stool and\ndistributing his commands in a low voice. \"Now we shall see how Ali\nmakes gold,\" thought Eminah.\n\nBut now at a sign from Ali two of the eunuchs entered a trap-door, and\na few moments afterwards the rattling of chains was audible; the\ntrap-door opened again, and in came two old men, peculiar-looking\ncreatures, with long gray hair, closely cropped beards, and strange\ngarments, the like of which Eminah had never seen before.\n\n\"Ah! no doubt these are the spirits which help Ali to make gold,\"\nthought Eminah to herself. \"Well, at any rate, they are in chains, so\nI need not be afraid of them.\" And, like the timid spectator of some\nstrange drama, she looked out from her hiding-place at the scene which\nfollowed.\n\nThe two old men were led up to Ali, who, smiling and rubbing his\nhands, stood up before them, and for a long time did not speak, but\nonly smiled. At last he gently stroked the face of the younger of the\ntwo.\n\n\"Merchant of Naples, thou still dost not know, then, where thy\ntreasures lie hidden?\" said he, gently.\n\n\"My lord,\" replied the other, with desperate obsequiousness, \"I have\ngiven up everything that was mine. I am indeed a beggar.\"\n\n\"Merchant of Naples! how canst thou say so? Let me refresh thy memory!\nThou didst go to Toulon with a full cargo of Indian goods, and there\nsold it all. When we met together on thy return journey thou didst\noffer me a thousand ducats, which I also took. But where is the\nremainder? A profit of twelve thousand ducats appears entered in thy\ntrading-books.\"\n\n\"Those books are false, my lord,\" said the merchant, in a tearful\nvoice. \"I made those totally fictitious entries simply to preserve my\ncredit.\"\n\n\"Merchant of Naples, thou dost calumniate thyself. Thou dost want to\nmake me believe that thou art not an honest man. Forgive me if I\nenliven thy memory a little.\"\n\nWith that he beckoned to the eunuchs, and they, undressing the\nmerchant, laid him on the torturing slab and tortured him for two\nmortal hours. It would be too horrible to say what they did to him.\nOh, that curious woman amply atoned for her curiosity! She was obliged\nto look upon tortures which made her limbs shake and shiver as if she\nwere in the grip of an ague. She covered her face, but the howls of\nthe tortured wretch penetrated to her very soul, and her sensitive\nnerves suffered almost as much as if she had felt these torments\nherself. Gradually, however, a curious sort of torpor seemed to stop\nthe beating of her heart; her limbs ceased to tremble, she opened her\neyes and, motionless as a statue, watched the hellish scene to the\nvery end.\n\nAli was evidently a past-master in this horrible science. He himself\nelaborately graduated the whole process, indicating briefly when and\nhow long the thumb-screws, the Spanish boot, the boiling oil, and the\nwater funnel were to be used. Last of all came the culminating\ntorment. They wrapped the merchant round in a raw buffalo-skin and\nlaid him down before the fiercely blazing fire. As the fire began to\ncompress the raw hide, and slowly press together the tortured limbs,\nthe limit of the poor wretch's endurance was reached, and he confessed\nthat his treasures were concealed in an iron chest, fastened by a\nchain to the bottom of the ship.\n\nThen they freed him from the torturing hide; in a state of collapse,\nwith foaming lips, a bleeding body and dislocated limbs, he flopped\ndown upon the cold marble.\n\n\"Thou seest now, my dear,\" observed Ali, gently, \"what trouble thou\nmightest have saved thyself and me also.\" Then he beckoned to the\neunuchs to remove the merchant.\n\nSo this was the way in which Ali made gold! A very simple sort of\nalchemy, certainly!\n\nAnd now it was the turn of the second man. And a haughty,\nbroad-shouldered fellow he was, who had regarded the torments of his\ncomrade without moving a muscle of his face.\n\n\"Then thou wilt not tell me thy name, valorous warrior?\" inquired Ali.\n\n\"I will tell thee thine--Devil, Belial, Satan!\"\n\n\"I thank thee! Thou dost me too much honor. But it is thy name I\nshould like to know. I suppose thou art some wealthy Venetian noble,\nwhose whereabouts his kinsmen are rather anxious to discover, and who\nwould not be ungrateful if any one sent thee back to them. For I\nvalue thee very highly.\"\n\n\"Know, then, that I _am_ a rich noble, and that at home I have a\npalace and treasures, but not a para of my property shalt thou ever\nsee, for I have taken poison. Dost thou not see the blue spots upon my\nhand? Presently thou wilt see them on my face. In five minutes' time I\nshall be dead.\"\n\nAnd so indeed it fell out. The haughty noble died, while Ali, furious\nwith passion, cursed the Prophet.\n\nAnd Eminah, from her hiding-place, looked intently upon Ali's face.\nWhat must have been her thoughts at that moment?\n\nThe eunuchs removed the dead body, and Ali beckoned once more to them,\nwhereupon they brought in through the opposite doors a wondrously\nbeautiful damsel and a handsome youth. When the youth and the damsel\nbeheld each other the tears gushed from their eyes. They were lovers,\nand lovers meet for each other.\n\nEminah now perceived with amazement that there were other kinds of men\nbesides those who wore gray beards. The captive youth, with his frank\nand comely countenance and long black locks, so rejoiced her eyes that\nshe could not take them off him. She had never seen anything of the\nsort before.\n\nAli approached the pair and smiled upon them both, and each of them\nsaid to him, \"I curse thee!\"\n\nHe said to the youth, \"Renounce thy bride and thou shalt live!\" and\nthe youth replied, \"I curse thee!\"\n\nHe said to the damsel, \"Love me, be mine, and thy betrothed shall\nlive!\" and the girl replied, \"I curse thee!\"\n\nAnd Eminah unconsciously murmured after them each time, \"I curse\nthee!\" without knowing what she was saying.\n\nThen Ali forced the youth down on his knees, and the eunuchs stripped\noff his robe. One of them then seized him by his beautiful long black\nhair, and raised him up into the air thereby, while the other stood\nbehind him with a large sharp sword.\n\n\"Thy beloved shall die this instant,\" roared the infuriated Ali, \"if\nthou dost not set him free! Embrace either me or his headless body.\"\n\nEminah turned her loathing eyes from the vile face of Ali, which, in\nthat moment, was deformed out of all recognition.\n\nAnd the young couple replied with one voice, \"We curse thee!\" It was\nas though they had taken an oath to say nothing else. The same instant\nthe sword flashed around the youth. His beautiful head bounded into\nthe air, then rolled along the floor to the foot of the spiral\nstaircase, and stood still before the very niche where Eminah was\nconcealed--at her very feet, in fact. The headless body, convulsed by\na final spasm, rent its fetters in twain, and then falling prone,\nstretched out its hands towards the terror-stricken girl, while the\nsevered head, which had rolled up to Eminah's feet, seemed to be\nmurmuring something--anyhow the lips moved. Eminah bending down\ntowards it, put her ears close to the quivering mouth and whispered,\n\"I hear! I hear what thou sayest!\" And she really believed she heard\nsomething. Perhaps it was only her heart that was speaking.\n\nAfter that she wrapped the head in her shawl, and hastened away from\nthe tower back into her own room, concealing the ghastly but still\nbeautiful trophy beneath the pillows of her sofa. Then she commanded\nher odalisks to appear before her, that they might dance and sing.\n\nDawn was now not far distant, and still the entertainment was going\non. Then Ali returned from the red tower--his face was gentle and\nsmiling--and after him came two eunuchs carrying gold and treasure in\nlarge baskets; and they emptied them all at Eminah's feet. The damsel\nrejoiced, laughed at the sight of the treasures, and, throwing herself\non Ali's neck, repaid him with kisses, and dragged him down to her on\nthe sofa.\n\n\"Behold, the _dzhins_ have sent thee treasures,\" said Ali. \"But a\nstrange thing hath befallen me; one of my treasures rolled away upon\nthe floor, and, search where I will, I cannot find it.\"\n\nEminah laughed, and fell a-teasing him. \"Perchance the _dzhins_ have\nstolen it from thee,\" cried she. Suppose she had said, \"Thou art\nsitting upon it, Ali Pasha?\"\n\nAli Pasha took the damsel upon his lap, and rejoiced in her innocent,\nartless eyes and her childlike smile. He fancied he could look through\nthose eyes down to the very depths of her heart. If only he _could_\nhave seen into it!\n\nAnd while he was thus toying with her, the kadun-keit-khuda entered\nthe room of the odalisks, bringing with him a veiled damsel.\n\n\"Gracious lady,\" said he to Eminah, \"I bring thee a Greek maiden, who\nhath heard the fame of thy benevolence, and hath come of her own\naccord to bask in the light of thy countenance, and gather fresh\nstrength from my smiles;\" and he drew the maiden forward towards\nEminah, who immediately recognized the girl whose lover Ali Pasha had\ndecapitated, and said, playfully, to the guardian of the harem:\n\n\"Lo, kadun-keit-khuda, the damsel is trembling! If thou dost not\nsupport her she will fall!\"\n\n\"It is by reason of her great shyness, gracious lady.\"\n\n\"But how pale she is!\"\n\n\"Thy beauty casteth a shadow upon her.\"\n\n\"But look!--she weeps!\"\n\n\"They are tears of joy, lady.\"\n\nEminah gave the guardian of the harem a handful of ducats for his good\nanswers, and allowed the bashful damsel to stand before her. Then she\nsent for sweetmeats, golden bread-fruits, wine with the lustre of\ngarnets, and her opium narghily; and, cradling Ali's gray head in her\nbosom, seized her mandolin and sang to him Arab love-songs--hot,\nburning, rose-scented, dew-besprinkled love-songs--and the pasha drew\nover his face the long silken tresses of the damsel, as if he would\nenvelop himself in the cool shade of Paradise, and sleep a sleep of\nsweet melody, intoxicating rapture, and soothing opium.\n\nWhen the ivory stem of the narghily dropped from the hands of the\npasha, Eminah sent from the room all the damsels; only the newly\narrived Greek maiden remained behind. She made her sit down before her\non a cushion, and, putting into her hands a large silk fan to fan the\npasha with, she asked the damsel her name.\n\nThe damsel shook her head--she would not say.\n\n\"Why wilt thou not tell me?\"\n\n\"Because I have still a sister at home.\"\n\nEminah understood the answer. \"Come nearer,\" said she. \"Last night I\nhad a dream. Methought I was in a large tower, the interior of which\nwas illuminated by twelve torches. Whichever way my eyes turned they\nlit upon horrors--strange, terrifying objects appeared before me; and,\nalthough, twelve torches were burning, darkness was still all around.\nAnd it seemed to me as if this darkness was not vapor or thick smoke,\nbut a black mass of human beings all wedged together, who raised their\neyelids every now and then. After that I saw Ali Pasha sitting in a\nred velvet chair with golden tiger feet, and as he sat cross-legged,\nafter the Turkish manner, it looked as if the tiger feet were his own\nfeet. Many terrifying shapes passed before me, and at last a young man\nand a young woman were all who remained in the room, and to every\nquestion put to them they replied, 'I curse thee!' Ali Pasha said to\nthe damsel, 'Love me!' and she replied, 'I curse thee!' And\nimmediately the head of the youth began rolling from one end of the\nmarble floor to the other, right up to my feet; and a drop of blood\ndripped from it on to my slipper, and, strange to say, the drop of\nblood was still there when I awoke. Look, is that really a drop of\nblood, or is it only my imagination?\"\n\nAnd therewith Eminah put out her pretty little foot, which hitherto\nshe had kept hidden beneath the folds of her garment, and showed it to\nthe Greek girl. Then the girl fell weeping at her feet and kissed the\nslipper. But it was not the foot of her mistress that she kissed--no,\nno; what she kissed was the drop of blood that had dropped upon the\nslipper.\n\n\"Look! that drop of blood has burned right through the morocco leather\nof my shoe! What will it do, then, to the soul on which it has\nfallen?\"\n\nAnd with that she withdrew her hair from the pasha's face and looked\nat him with loathing. Yet he slept as calmly as if he were sleeping\nthe sleep of the just.\n\nFor nine and seventy years he had lived happily, joyously,\ntriumphantly, beloved by angels; and all the curses, all the murders,\nthat were upon his aged head were unable to carve one wrinkle on his\nforehead, or distort a feature of his face, or cut off one day of his\nlife, or even to disturb one of his dreams; and there he lies on one\nand the same couch with the head of his victim, the only difference\nbeing that his head lies on the pillow, while the head of the murdered\nman lies beneath it.\n\nEminah bent over him and bared the breast of the sleeper, who slept\ncalmly and regularly all the time.\n\n\"On that table lies an enamelled dagger,\" said she to the girl; \"bring\nit hither.\"\n\nThe girl darted away for the dagger, and came back with it. There she\nstood, grasping it convulsively in her hand, as if she only awaited a\nsignal to drive it home.\n\n\"No, not so,\" said Eminah. \"Cut not off his life, but cut through this\ncord!\" and, taking the key which Ali wore round his neck, she cut it\nfrom its cord with the dagger. \"This key opens the red tower. When\nthey pitched the dead bodies through the trap-door I heard the roar\nof falling water. It is certain, therefore, that one can get through\nthe torture-chamber to the lake of Acheruz. We can get down to it by\nropes. I can swim, and thou canst also, I am sure; for art thou not a\nHydriot girl?[5] When we have reached the heights of Lithanizza we\nshall find a safe refuge in the midst of the forests. Wherever it is,\nit will be all one to me. Better to be among wolves and lynxes than\nnear Ali Pasha. Will you do what I say?\"\n\n[Footnote 5: An inhabitant of the isle of Hydra. The Hydriots were\nremarkable for their enterprise and daring.]\n\nThe damsel's bosom heaved violently; she hid her head on Eminah's\nshoulder and kissed her.\n\n\"Freedom!\" she whispered, full of rapture; \"freedom above all things!\nIt is now my only joy.\"\n\n\"Nobody will observe us,\" said Eminah, spurning aside the jewels,\nwhich she loathed now that she knew whence they came. \"It is the last\nnight of the Feast of Bairam. Every one is hastening to compensate\nhimself for the privations of the Fast of Ramadan, every one is\nsleeping or enjoying himself; the greater part of the garrison is\nmaking merry in the apartments of the beys; even the sons of Ali\nPasha, all three of them, are feasting with Mukhtar Bey. We shall be\nable to escape them, and then the whole world lies before us.\"\n\nThe Greek girl pressed the lady's hand. \"We will go together!\" she\ncried. \"My brother dwells among the mountains of Corinth; he is a\nvaliant warrior, and will give us an asylum.\"\n\n\"Then go thither! I shall seek refuge with my kinsmen at Stambul. Now\ngo into the apartments of the odalisks and ask for apparel. I have\nalready hatched a good plan. If they are all asleep come softly back\nwith thy clothes. The kadun-keit-khuda only sleeps with half an eye;\nbeware of him! If he ask thee whither thou art going, show him the\npasha's handkerchief, and he will fancy Ali awaits thee.\"\n\nThe face of the Greek girl blushed purple at these words; even to lie\non such a subject was a horrible thought to her. But Eminah beckoned\nto her to be gone, and when she found herself alone she drew forth the\nhead she had concealed beneath the pillow and placed it on a round\ntable in front of her. For a long time she gazed at the sunken eyes,\nthe gaping mouth, and the long black tresses which rolled over the\ntable on both sides. The lady smoothed the raven-black tresses with\nher soft hand, and passed her fingers right across the noble features\nwithout a shudder at their icy coldness.\n\nThere she sat an hour long opposite the dead head; and beside her Ali\nTepelenti, the terror of the whole region, lay prone in a deep,\nmotionless slumber. It was a strange sight, this young girl alone\nthere between these two horrors. She had resolved to quit Ali and set\nthe Greek damsel free; but what she meant to do after that she herself\ncould not have said.\n\nIn an hour's time the Greek damsel returned. She came so softly that\nnobody could have heard her; even Eminah did not perceive her till the\ndamsel stood before the severed head and uttered a cry of terror. Only\nfor an instant, only for the duration of a lightning-flash did this\ncry last; the damsel stifled it at once, and if it awoke any one in\nthe palace he must have fancied he was dreaming or had dreamed it, and\nwould go on sleeping again. Then the damsel, in an agony of speechless\ngrief, bent over the head of her betrothed, and her tears flowed in\nstreams, though not a word escaped her lips.\n\nAt last Eminah grasped the girl's hand and bade her make haste. So she\ndried her tears, and after placing the severed head in front of that\nof the sleeping pasha so that they confronted each other, and cutting\noff one of the locks from its temples, she covered the cold eyes with\nbitter, burning kisses, and then, taking up her things, rapidly\nfollowed Eminah through the long suite of rooms.\n\nA few minutes later they were in the torture-chamber. It was quite\nempty; the blood stains had been washed away, there was nothing to\nrecall the horrors of the night before.\n\nThey opened the trap-door through which the dead bodies were wont to\nbe cast. At the bottom of the deep black void there was a roaring\nsound as if the lake were in a commotion. No doubt a tempest was\nraging outside. How were these girls to escape by way of the\nsubterranean stream? Perhaps some of the headless corpses were also\nswimming down yonder amidst the foaming waves. Would those who\nventured down into those depths ever see the light of day again? But\nto them it was all one. Better to perish in the deep void than be\ncondemned to the embraces of Ali Pasha. How the two girls abominated\nhim!--the one because he had murdered her love, the other because he\nhad loved her.\n\n\"Don't be afraid,\" they said to each other; and fastening their\nbundles to a long rope which was used in torturing, they let it down\ninto the deep well, with a lamp at the end of it, and when the water\nput out the light they fastened the other end of the rope to the hinge\nof the door, and each in turn let herself down by it.\n\nAnd whether they lived or whether they died, Ali Pasha lost on that\nday two talismans which he should have guarded more jealously than the\nlight of his eyes: one was the spirit of blessing, the other the\nspirit of cursing, both of which he had held fast bound, and both of\nwhich had now been let loose.\n\n\nAt the moment when the two damsels plunged into the lake of Acheruz\nthe slumber of tranquillity disappeared from the eyes of Ali Pasha,\nand he began to see spectres.\n\nA peculiar feeling came over him. He whom phantoms avoided even when\nhe slept, he who had never even dreamed of fear, he whom the angel of\nsleep had never known to be a coward, now began to experience a\npeculiar sensation which was worse than any sickness and more painful\nthan any suffering. He was afraid!\n\nHe dreamed that the head of the young Suliot, which had been cut off\nby his order, and which had rolled away and disappeared so that nobody\ncould find it, was now standing face to face with him on a table,\nstaring at him fixedly with stony eyes, and repeatedly addressing the\nsleeper by name: \"Ali Pasha! Ali Pasha!\"\n\nThe limbs of the sleeper shook all over in a strange tremor.\n\n\"Ali Pasha!\" he heard the head call for the third time.\n\nGroaning, writhing, and turning himself about, he contrived to knock\nthe head off the cushion, smearing all the bed with blood. And now he\nsaw and heard more terrible things than ever.\n\n\"One, two,\" said the severed head. And Ali understood that this was\nthe number of the years he had still to live. \"Thy head hath no longer\neither hand or foot,\" continued the head; and Ali was obliged to\nlisten to what it said. \"Two severed heads now stand face to face,\nmine and thine. Why dost thou not reply to me? Why dost thou not look\ninto my eyes? Two headless trunks stand before the throne of God, mine\nand thine. How shall the Lord recognize thee? He inquires which is\nAli. For every soul there is a white garment laid up. And thou deniest\nthy name, with thy right hand on thy heart. Thou _art_ Ali, for on thy\nwhite garment are five bloody finger-prints.\"\n\nAli writhed in his sleep, and covered with his hand that part of his\ncaftan which lay over his heart. And all the time the head never\ndisappeared from before his eyes and its lips never closed. Presently\nit went on again.\n\n\"Listen, Ali! Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin! The hand which guided thee\nin the performance of thy mighty deeds is also bringing thine actions\nto an end, and thou shalt no longer be a hero whom the world admires,\nbut a robber whom it curses. Those whom thou lovedest will bless the\nday of thy death, but thine enemies will weep over thee. Moreover, God\nhath ordained that thou shalt be the ruin of thine own nation.\"\n\nAli tossed, sighing and groaning, upon his couch, and could not awake;\na world of crime lay upon his breast. He felt the earth shake beneath\nhim, and the sky above his head was dark with masses of black cloud,\nand the thought of death was a terror to him.\n\nThe head went on speaking. \"Two birds quitted thy rocky citadel at the\nsame hour, a white dove and a black crow. The white dove is Peace,\nwhich has departed from thy towers; the black crow is Vengeance, which\nwill return in search of carcasses at the scent of thy ruin. The white\ndove is thy damsel, the black crow is mine; and woe to thee from them\nboth!\"\n\nAli, in the desperation of his rage, roared aloud in his sleep, and\nhis violent cry tore asunder the light fetters of sleep. He sprang\nfrom his couch and opened wide his eyes--and lo! the severed head was\nstanding before him on the table.\n\nThe pasha looked about him in consternation; he was not sufficiently\nmaster of himself at first to tell how much of all this was a dream\nand how much reality. He still seemed to hear the terrible words which\nhad proceeded from those open lips, and his hand involuntarily\nclutched at his breast as if he would have covered there the five\nbloody finger-marks. Then the cut cord from which the key was missing\nfell across his hand, and immediately his presence of mind returned.\nDrawing his sword, he rushed towards the brazen door, and discovered\nthat the fugitives had had sufficient forethought to close the door\nand leave the key in the lock outside, so that it could only be opened\nby force. He turned back and rushed to the end of the dormitories.\nSome of the odalisks were awakened by the sound of his heavy\nfootsteps, and perceiving his troubled face, plunged underneath their\nbedclothes in terror; in front of the doors stood the dumb eunuch\nsentries, leaning on their spears like so many bronze statues.\n\nHe rushed down into the garden to the end of the familiar walks, and\nwhen he came to the gate was amazed to perceive that the drawbridge\nwhich separated his palace from the dwellings of his sons had been let\ndown and nobody was guarding it. The topidshis, the negroes, knowing\nthat Ali always turned into his harem on the Feast of Bairam, had gone\nacross to the palace of Mukhtar Bey, who was giving a great banquet in\nhonor of Vely Bey and Sulaiman Bey, his brothers. All three had\nbrought together their harems to celebrate the occasion, and while the\nmasters were diverting themselves upstairs, their servants were making\nmerry below. Music and the loud mirth of those who feast resounded\nfrom the house; every gate of the citadel was open; slaves and guards\nlying dead drunk in heaps, victims of the forbidden fluid, cumbered\nthe streets. A whole hostile army, with drums beating and colors\nflying, might easily have marched into the citadel over their\nprostrate bodies.\n\nWrath and the cold night air gradually gave back to Ali his soul of\nsteel. Wary and alert, he entered the palace of Mukhtar Bey.\n\n\n\n\n\nA TURKISH PARADISE\n\n\nAli Pasha himself had built the whole citadel of Janina, and had been\nwise enough, as soon as the fortress was finished, to at once and\nquietly remove out of the way all the builders and architects who had\nhad anything to do with it, so that he only knew all the secrets of\nthe place. There were secret exits and listening-galleries in every\npart of the building, and each single group of redoubts which, viewed\nfrom the outside, seemed quite isolated, was really so well connected\ntogether by means of subterranean passages, that one could go backward\nand forward from one to the other without being observed in the least.\nAt a later day Ali Pasha's enemies were to have very bitter experience\nof these architectural peculiarities.\n\nOne could go right round the palace of the three Beys, both above and\nbelow, by means of a secret corridor, and not one of the inhabitants\nof the building had the least idea of the existence of this corridor.\nIt was in the midst of the fathom-thick wall between two rows of\nwindows, and within this space invisible doors opened into every\napartment, either between windows, or behind mirrors, or beneath the\nceiling between two stories, and these doors could not be opened by\nkeys, but turned upon invisible hinges set in motion by hidden\nscrews, and they closed so hermetically as to leave not the slightest\norifice behind them.\n\nAli Pasha stood there in the banqueting-chamber unobserved by any one.\nHe stood beside a huge Corinthian column, and here hung a black board\nindicating the direction in which Mecca lay. He had no fear that any\none would look thither. That place, towards which every truly\nbelieving Mussulman must turn when he prays, was carefully avoided by\nevery eye, for fear it should encounter the golden letters which\nsparkle on the walls of the Kaaba.[6]\n\n[Footnote 6: The chief sanctuary of the Mussulmans standing in the\nmidst of the great mosque at Mecca.]\n\nFor now is the time for enjoyment. There is no need of a heavenly\nParadise, for Paradise is already here below. There is no need to\ninquire of either Muhammad or the angel Izrafil concerning the wine\nwhich flows from the roots of the Tuba-tree; far more fiery, far more\nstimulating, is the wine which flashes in glass and goblet. The houris\nmay hide their white bosoms and their rosy faces, for what are they\ncompared with the earthly angels whose mundane charms intoxicate the\nhearts of mortals? Truly Muhammad was but an indifferent prophet, he\ndid not understand how to arrange paradise; let him but regard the\narrangements of Mukhtar Bey--they will show him how that sort of thing\nought to be managed.\n\nMuhammad imagined that the embraces of seven and seventy houris would\nmake an enraptured Moslem eternally happy. Why, the bungler forgot the\nbest part of it. Would it not be more satisfactory if now and then,\nsay once in a thousand years or so, the Moslems were to exchange their\nown houris for those of their neighbors? In this way the aroma of\nbrand-new kisses would prevent their raptures from growing stale, and\nthe Paradise of Muhammad would be worth something after all. With all\neternity before him, a man would scarcely mind waiting for his own\nwives for a paltry millennium or two while he enjoyed the wives of his\nneighbors, and when he returned to his seven and seventy original\ndamsels again, what a pleasant reunion it would be!\n\nNow the Prophet had forgotten to introduce this novelty into his own\nParadise, and Mukhtar Bey was the happy man to whom the fairy Malach\nTaraif whispered the idea during the fast preceding the Feast of\nBairam while he slept, and he immediately proceeded to discuss the\nmatter with his kinsmen.\n\nAll three brothers lived under one roof, each of the three had his own\nspecial harem, and each of them possessed in their harems beauties far\nsurpassing what the angels Monkar and Nakir could promise them in the\nnext world. After the Feast of Bairam, when Mukhtar Bey had well plied\nhis brethren with good wine, he said to them, \"Let us exchange\nharems!\"\n\nSulaiman Bey immediately gave his hand upon it; Vely Bey laughed at it\nas a good idea at first, but afterwards drew back. The other two\nworthies laughed uproariously at his simplicity, made fun of him, and\nproceeded at once to transfer to each other their respective damsels,\nand on the morrow and the following days aggravated Vely by extolling\nbefore him the exchanged odalisks, each of them confiding to him what\nnovel attractions he had discovered in this or that bayadere. Thus\nSulaiman could not sufficiently extol the extraordinary brilliance of\nthe eyes of Mukhtar Bey's favorite damsel, while Mukhtar protested\nthat the languishing Jewish maiden he had got in exchange from\nSulaiman quivered in his arms like a dancing flame.\n\nVely laughed a good deal over the business, but still continued to\nshake his head, confessing at last that the reason why he did not\nexchange his harem was because it contained an Albanian damsel whom he\nhad neither purchased nor captured, but who had come to him of her own\naccord, and whom he had promised long ago never to abandon, and her he\nwould not give for both their harems put together; nay, he said he\nwould not give her up for a whole world full of damsels. The two\nbrethren thereupon assured Vely that if he loved this particular\ndamsel so very much, he might exclude her from the others and keep her\nfor himself, and it need make no difference. Then Vely Bey also\nacceded to this fraternal division of delights, and transferred his\nharem also, with the exception of Xelianthé.\n\nMukhtar Bey had fixed the last night of the great Bairam feast for the\nentertainment that was to rival Paradise, inviting his brethren and\nthe Prophet Muhammad himself, in order that he might learn from them\nhow to be happy, and might regulate heaven accordingly. To this end\nthey had a fourth divan added to their three, with its own\nwell-appointed table in front of it, and bade the attendant odalisks\nbe diligent in keeping the fourth goblet well filled, and do their\nbest to entertain the invited guest. Mockery of religious subjects was\nno unusual thing with Turkish magnates in those days. Blasphemy had\ngone so far as to become an open scandal; popular fanaticism and\nofficial orthodoxy made it all the more glaring.\n\nSo the sons of Ali Pasha invited the Prophet to be their guest, and\nhad made up their minds that if he did appear among them he would not\nbe bored.\n\nAll the odalisks danced and sung before them in turn, and the brethren\ndiverted themselves by judging which of the damsels was the sweetest\nand loveliest.\n\nIn every song, in every dance, Rebecca, Mukhtar Bey's beautiful Jewish\ndamsel, and the blue-eyed bayadere Lizza, who was Sulaiman Bey's\nfavorite, equally excelled. It was impossible to decide which of the\ntwain deserved the palm. At last they were made to dance together.\n\n\"Look!\" cried Mukhtar, his eyes sparkling with delight, \"look! didst\never behold a more beautiful figure? Like the flowering branch of the\nBan-tree she sways to and fro. How proudly she throws her head back,\nand looks at thee so languishingly that thou meltest away for very\nrapture! Would that her light feet might dance all over me; would that\nshe might encompass every part of me like the atmosphere!\"\n\n\"She really is charming,\" admitted Sulaiman, \"and if the other were\nnot dancing by her side, she would be the first star in the firmament\nof beauty. But ah! one movement of the other one is worth all the life\nin her body. She is but a woman, the other is a sylph. She kills you\nwith rapture, the other raises you from the dead.\"\n\n\"Thou are unjust, Sulaiman,\" said Mukhtar; \"thou dost judge only with\nthine eyes. If thou wouldst take counsel of thy lips, they would speak\nmore truly. Taste her kisses, and then say which of them is the\nsweeter.\"\n\nWith that he beckoned to the two odalisks. Rebecca, the lovely Jewish\ndamsel, sank full of amorous languor on Sulaiman's breast, while\nLizza, with sylph-like agility, sat her down upon his knee, and the\nintoxicated Bey, in an access of rapture, kissed first one and then\nthe other.\n\n\"Rebecca's lips are more ardent,\" he cried, \"but the kisses of Lizza\nare sweeter. The kiss of Rebecca is like the poppy which lulls you\ninto sweet unconsciousness, but Lizza's kiss is like sweet wine which\nmakes you merry.\"\n\n\"Lizza's kiss may perchance be like sweet wine,\" interrupted Mukhtar,\n\"but Rebecca's kiss is like heavenly musk which only the Blessed may\npartake of, and those who partake thereof _are_ blessed.\"\n\nAnd with that Mukhtar caught up both the odalisks in his arms, that he\nmight pronounce judgment as to the sweetness of their lips. It was an\nenviable process. The contending parties themselves were in doubt as\nto which of themselves should obtain a verdict. At length they called\nupon Vely Bey to decide--Vely, who was now lying blissfully asleep\nbeside them on the divan, overcome with wine, his head in Xelianthé's\nbosom. His two brethren awoke him that he might judge between them as\nto the sweetness of rival kisses.\n\nIt took a good deal of trouble to make the stupidly fuddled Bey\nunderstand what was required of him, and when he did understand, the\nonly answer he made was, \"Xelianthé's kisses are the sweetest;\" and\nwith that he embraced his favorite damsel once more and, reclining his\nhead on her bosom, went off to sleep again.\n\nThen cried Mukhtar, \"Wherefore dost thou ask for _his_ judgment, when\namongst us sits the Prophet himself? Let him judge between us.\"\n\nWith these words he pointed to the empty place which had been left for\na fourth person. Rich meats were piled up there on gold and silver\nplate, and wine sparkled in transparent crystal.\n\n\"Come, Muhammad!\" exclaimed Mukhtar, addressing the vacant place;\n\"thou in thy lifetime didst love many a beauteous woman, and in thy\nParadise there is enough and to spare of beauty. I summon thee to\nappear before us. Here is a dispute between us two as to whose damsel\nis the sweeter and the lovelier. Thou hast seen them dance, thou hast\nheard them sing; now taste of their kisses!\"\n\nWith that he beckoned to the two damsels, and they sat down, one on\neach side of the empty divan, and made as if they were embracing a\nshape sitting between them, and filled the air with their burning,\nfragrant kisses.\n\n\"Well, let us hear thy verdict, Muhammad!\" cried Mukhtar, with drunken\nbravado; and, taking the crystal goblet from the empty place and\nraising it in the air, looked around him with a flushed, defiant face,\nand exclaimed, \"Come! drink of the wine of this goblet her health to\nwhom thou awardest the prize!\"\n\nAli Pasha, shocked and filled with horror at the shamelessly impudent\nwords he heard from his hiding-place, drew a pistol from his girdle\nand softly raised the trigger.\n\n\"Drink, Muhammad!\" bellowed Mukhtar, raising the goblet on high,\n\"drink to the health of the triumphant damsel! Which shall it be,\nRebecca or Lizza?\"\n\nAt that same instant a loud report rang through the room, and the\nupraised crystal goblet was shivered into a thousand fragments in\nMukhtar's hand. Every one leaped from his place in terror. But\nwhichever way they looked there was nothing to be seen. The only\npersons in the room were the three brothers and the damsels. Only at\nthe spot from whence the shot had proceeded a little round cloud of\nbluish smoke was visible, which sluggishly dispersed. Nobody present\ncarried weapons, and there was no door or window there by which any\none could have got in.\n\nFrom the minarets outside the muezzins proclaimed the prayer of dawn:\n\"La illah il Allah! Muhammad razul Allah!\"--\"There is no God but God,\nand Muhammad is His Prophet!\"\n\n\nAli Pasha did not pursue the fugitives. That day he was praying all\nthe morning. He locked himself up in his inmost apartments, that\nnobody might see what he was doing. He now did what he had not done\nfor seventy years--he wept. For a whole hour his inflexible soul was\nbroken. So that woman whom he had loved better than life itself, she\nforsooth had given the first signal of approaching misfortune, the\nfirst sign of the coming struggle! Let it come! Let her veil be the\nfirst banner to lead an army against Janina! Tepelenti would not\nattempt to stay her in her flight. For one long hour he thought of\nher, and this hour was an hour of weeping; and then he bethought him\nof the approaching tempest which the prophetic voice had warned him\nof, and his heart turned to stone at the thought. Ali Pasha was not\nthe man to cringe before danger; no, he was wont to meet it face to\nface, and ask of it why it had tarried so long. He used even to send\noccasionally for the _nimetullahita_ dervish who had been living a\nlong time in the fortress, and question him concerning the future. It\nmust not be supposed, indeed, that Tepelenti ever took advice from\nanybody; but he would listen to the words of lunatics and soothsayers,\nand liked to learn from magicians and astrologers, and their sayings\nwere not without influence upon his actions.\n\nThe dervish was a decrepit old man. Nobody knew how old he really was;\nit was said that only by magic did he keep himself alive at all. Every\nevening they laid him down on plates of copper and rubbed invigorating\nbalsam into his withered skeleton, and so he lived on from day to day.\n\nTwo dumb eunuchs now brought him in to Tepelenti, and, bending his\nlegs beneath him, propped him up in front of the pasha.\n\n\"Sikham,\" said Ali to the dervish, \"I feel the approach of evil days.\nMy sword rusted in its sheath in a single night. My buckler, which I\ncovered with gold, has cracked from end to end. A severed head, which\nhid itself away from me so that I could not find it, came forth to me\nat night and spoke to me of my death; and in my dreams I see my sons\nmake free with the Prophet. I ask thee not what all these things\nsignify. That I know. Just as surely as in winter-time the hosts of\nrooks and crows resort to the roofs of the mosques, so surely shall\nmy sworn enemies fall upon me. I am old compared with them, and it is\na thing unheard of among the Osmanlis that a man should reach the age\nof nine and seventy and still be rich and mighty. Let them come! But\none thing I would know--who will be the first to attack me? Tell me\nhis name.\"\n\nThe dervish thereupon caused a wooden board to be placed before him on\nwhich meats were wont to be carried; then he put upon it an empty\nglass goblet, and across the glass he laid a thin bamboo cane. Next he\nwrote upon the wooden board the twenty-nine letters of the Turkish\nalphabet, and then, thrice prostrating himself to the ground with\nwide-extended arms, he fixed his eyes steadily upon the centre of the\ngoblet.\n\nIn about half an hour the goblet began to tinkle as if some one were\nrubbing his wet finger along its rim. This tinkling grew stronger and\nstronger, louder and louder, till at last the goblet moved up and down\non the wooden board, and began revolving along with the light cane\nplaced across it, revolving at last so rapidly that it was impossible\nto discern the cane upon it at all.\n\nThen, quite suddenly, the dervish raised his fingers from the table,\nand the goblet immediately stopped. The point of the cane stood\nopposite the letter _ghain_--G.[7]\n\n[Footnote 7: The marvels of our modern table-turning and table-tapping\nspirits, and all the wonders of this sort, were known to the Arab\ndervishes long ago.--JÓKAI.]\n\n\"That signifies the first letter of his name,\" said the dervish--\"G!\"\n\nAnd then the mysterious operation was repeated, and the magic stick\nspelled out the name letter by letter: \"G--a--s--k--h--o B--e--y.\" At\nthe last letter the goblet stopped short and would move no more.\n\n\"I know no man of that name,\" said Ali, amazed that he whose name was\nso world-renowned was to tremble before one whose name he had never\nheard before.\n\n\"Where does the fellow live?\" he inquired of the dervish.\n\nThe magic jugglery was set going again, and now the dancing goblet\nspelled out the name, \"Stambul.\"\n\nThat was enough. Ali beckoned to the eunuchs to take the dervish away\nagain.\n\nAli thereupon summoned forty Albanian soldiers from the garrison, and\ngave to each one of them twenty ducats.\n\n\"This,\" said he, \"is only earnest money. I want a man put to death\nwhose name and dwelling-place I know. His name is Gaskho Bey, and he\nlives in Stambul. This man's head is worth as many gold pieces as\nthere are miles between him and me. He who brings the head can measure\nthe distance and be paid for it. The first who brings but the report\nof his death shall receive two hundred ducats; he who slays him, a\nthousand.\"\n\nThe Albanians consulted together for a brief moment, and then\nintimated that if a bey of the name of Gaskho really existed, he was\nas good as dead already.\n\nTowards mid-day Ali sent for his sons. He said not a word to them of\nthe anxieties, the visions, and the apparitions of the night before,\nbut made them, after they had respectfully kissed his hands, sit down\nall around him. Mukhtar Bey he invited to sit down on his left hand,\nVely on his right, and Sulaiman directly opposite.\n\nHe addressed himself first of all to Sulaiman.\n\n\"Thou art the youngest and boldest,\" said he. \"To-morrow thou must go\nto sea and take three ships with thee. These ships thou must take to\nSicily, load them there with sulphur, and return without losing an\ninstant.\"\n\n\"Oh, my father!\" replied Sulaiman, \"the tempest is now abroad upon the\nsea. Who would venture now with a ship upon the billows? All the\nmonsters of the ocean are now running upon the surface seeking whom\nthey may devour, and the phantom ship, with her shadowy rigging and\nher shadowy crew, pursues her zigzag course across the waters.\"\n\nAli Pasha said no more, but turned towards Mukhtar Bey.\n\n\"Thou art the most crafty,\" said he; \"go then to the captains of the\nSuliotes and invite them to assemble with their forces at Janina with\nall despatch. Spare neither promises nor assurances nor fair winds.\"\n\nMukhtar Bey's face turned quite angry, and, wagging his head, still\nheavy from his overnight debauch, he answered, sullenly: \"In the\nmountains the snow is now thawing; every stream is swollen into a\nriver; naught but a bird can find a place for its foot on the dry\nground; how, then, can armies move hither and thither? Wait for a\nweek, till the inundations have subsided. Truly there is no enemy on\nthy borders. In thy whole realm there is not so much as a rat to\nnibble at thy walls. What dost thou want now with chariots and armed\nmen?\"\n\nAli now turned to Vely, who was sitting on his right hand. \"Go thou\nover to Misrim,\" said he, \"and purchase for me two thousand horses; a\nthousand of them shall be meet for war-chargers, and a thousand for\ndrawing guns.\"\n\n\"Oh, my father!\" answered Vely, who was the eldest and wisest of Ali's\nsons, \"I will not object to thy command that the simoon has now begun\nin Misrim, before whose burning, suffocating breath every living\ncreature is forced to fly. I reck little of that, but the horses, thy\nprecious horses, will perish. And, moreover, I would ask of thee one\nquestion. Wherefore dost thou get together a host, and horses and\nguns, without cause, and with no danger threatening thee? Will not all\nthese warlike preparations excite the rage of the Padishah against\nthee, and so thy preparing against an imagined peril will saddle thee\nwith a real war?\"\n\nAli Pasha laughed aloud--a very unusual habit with him.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"it is for me to prove to you, I suppose, that you\nare all wrong in your calculations. Dine with me and be merry. After\ndinner you shall see that the sea is not stormy, that the rivers are\nnot in flood, and that the simoon is not suffocating. I have a\ntalisman which will convince you thereof.\"\n\nSo he entertained his sons till late in the evening, and immediately\nafter dinner he whispered to one of the dumb eunuchs, and then he took\nhis sons with him into the red tower, the doors of which were left\nwide open. He stopped short with them in one of the rooms, the\nsolitary semicircular window of which looked out upon the lake of\nAcheruz. The window was guarded by an iron grating. Here he sat down\nwith them to smoke his narghily and sip his coffee. The sons would\nhave preferred to mount upon the roof of the tower, where the fresh\nair and the fine view would have made their siesta perfect; but Ali\nfacetiously observed that in the open air cold and hot winds were just\nthen blowing together at the same time, and he did not want the simoon\nto make them sweat or the trade-winds to make them shiver.\n\nAs they were sipping their coffee there the splashing of oars was\naudible beneath the tower, and the sons beheld three large,\nflat-bottomed boats propelled upon the surface of the water, in which\nsat the damsels of their harems; the boats were rowed by muscular\neunuchs.\n\nThe faces of the three beys lighted up when they saw the damsels being\nrowed on the water, and Mukhtar Bey whispered roguishly in Sulaiman's\near, \"Shall we make the old man also one of our party?\"\n\nAli overheard the whisper, and replied, with a smile, \"Truly your\ndamsels are most beauteous\"--here he stroked his white beard from end\nto end--\"I am not surprised, therefore, that you like to stay at home\nhere and call the wind hot and cold, though it is nothing but the\nbreath of Allah, and what comes from God cannot be bad. But your\ndamsels _are_ beautiful, of that there can be no doubt. Now, last\nnight I dreamt a dream. Before me stood the Prophet, and he told me\nhow you had challenged him to say which of your damsels was the\nsweeter and the more beautiful.\" (Here the sons regarded each other,\nfull of fear and amazement.) \"The Prophet replied,\" continued Ali,\n\"that it was not meet that he should come to your damsels; they should\nrather go to him. So I mean to send them to Paradise.\"\n\n\"What doest thou?\" cried all three sons, horror-stricken.\n\nThe only answer Ali gave was to give a long shrill whistle, at which\nsignal the eunuchs drew out the plugs from holes secretly bored at the\nbottom of the three boats, leaping at the same time into the water,\nand leaving the boats in the middle of the lake.\n\nThe damsels shrieked with terror as the water began to rush into the\nboats from all sides. The air was filled with cries of agony.\n\nMukhtar rushed madly to the door and found it locked. With impotent\nviolence he attempted to burst it open. Sulaiman meanwhile tore away\nat the iron window-grating with both hands, as if he fancied himself\ncapable of pulling down the whole of the vast building by the sheer\nstrength of his arms. The blue-eyed Albanian girl and the languishing\nJewish damsel, with the fear of death in their eyes, looked up at the\nclosed window; the waves had already begun to swallow their beautiful\nlimbs.\n\nOnly Vely Bey remained motionless. He, at any rate, had not sinned. He\nhad not angered the Prophet in that orgie of amorous rivalry. He had\nloved one only, by her only had he been loved, and she, yes, she was\nperishing there among the others!\n\nThe boats sank deeper and deeper; nothing could be heard but the\ncries of the drowning wretches in all the accents of despair. The two\nsons saw their damsels dying before their eyes, and were unable to\nrush out and save them; not even one could be rescued. One more shriek\nof woe, and then the boats sank. For a few moments the surface of the\nwater was covered with bright gauze veils and shiny turbans and white\nlimbs and dishevelled tresses, and then a few solitary turbans floated\non the water.\n\nSulaiman, sobbing in despair, fell down in a heap close by the window,\nwhile Mukhtar fell madly on the door and kicked it with all his might,\nas if he would drown in the din the cries for help of the perishing\ndamsels. Only Vely Bey looked in bitter silence upon the detestable\nwaves, which within a minute had swallowed three heavens.\n\nFar, far away on the crest of the rising waves a black object appeared\nto be swimming. What was it? Perhaps one of the damsels. One moment it\nvanished in the wave-valleys, the next it appeared again on the top of\na high ridge of water. What could it be? But farther and farther it\nreceded. Perchance some one had escaped, after all. Greek girls are\ngood swimmers.\n\nAnd now Ali Pasha arose from his place and said, with a smile, to his\nsons:\n\n\"Methinks that neither the storms of ocean, nor the swollen waters,\nnor the breath of the simoon will now appear so terrible to you as\nthey did a few hours ago. Depart now with all speed. When you return\nyou will find new harems here, which will make you forget the old\nones.\" And with that he quitted them.\n\nSulaiman and Mukhtar immediately went their way. Woe to whomsoever\nshall now give them a pretext for wreaking their vengeance upon him!\n\nBut Vely Bey remained there looking out upon the water, and as the\nevening grew darker he thought upon Ali Pasha. His brothers had loaded\ntheir father with curses; he had not said a word. They will soon make\ntheir peace with their father--he never will.[8]\n\n[Footnote 8: It is a fact that Ali drowned the harems of his\nsons in the lake of Acheruz because he feared their excessive\ninfluence.--JÓKAI.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nGASKHO BEY\n\n\nThe lightning strikes to the earth the man that flies from it. Ill\nluck is a venomous dog, which runs after him who would escape it.\n\nAli Pasha's band of Albanians, on arriving at Stambul, began to make\ninquiries about Gaskho Bey.\n\nHe turned out to be a good honest man, by profession an inspector of\nthe ichoglanler of the Seraglio, and a particularly mild and peaceful\nMussulman to boot. In temperament he was somewhat phlegmatic, with a\nleaning to melancholy. A palmist would have told you that the\nsympathetic line on the palm of his hand was so little prominent as to\nbe scarcely visible, whereas on Tepelenti's palm there was such an\nabundant concourse of sympathetic lines that they even ran over on to\nthe back of the hand. In those days the Mussulmans frequently diverted\nthemselves with such superstitious games as palmistry.\n\nAs to his figure--well, Gaskho Bey might have stood for a perfect\nmodel of the Farnese Hercules; his huge shoulders were almost out of\nproportion with the rest of his body. He could stop the wing of a\nwindmill with one hand; on the birthday of the Sultan's heir he\nhoisted a six-pound cannon on his shoulders and fired it off, and he\ncould break a hard piastre in two when he was in a good humor.\n\nIt could not be said that he had hitherto used this terrible strength\nto injure any one; on the contrary, he was universally known as the\nmost forbearing of men. The pages of the court, whom he taught to\nfence, would sometimes in the midst of a lesson, as if by accident,\nbut really from sheer petulance, batter him with their blunt swords\ntill they rang again, and Gaskho Bey would always reprimand them, not\nfor striking him but for striking so clumsily. He had never gone to\nwar, and those who did not send him thither flattered themselves not a\nlittle on their humanity, for if it came to a serious tussle there was\nreally no knowing what damage he might not do.\n\nAt home he was the gentlest paterfamilias conceivable. You would\nfrequently find him on all-fours, with his little four-year-old son,\nSidali, riding on his back, and persecuting his father with all sorts\nof barbarities. He did nothing all day but teach the pages of the\nSeraglio games and exercises, and at home he made paper birds for his\nown little boy, flew kites for and played blind man's buff with him.\nWhatever time he could spare from these occupations he would spend in\nleaning out of the window of the Summer Palace overlooking the\nGökk-sü, or Sweet Waters, and looking about him a bit with a pipe in\nhis mouth, the stem of which reached to the ground, and if any one had\nasked him while so engaged what he was looking at, he would assuredly\nhave answered, \"Nothing at all.\"\n\nNow there were always the liveliest goings-on in the Gökk-sü Park of\nan evening. The harems of the beys and pashas who dwelt on its banks\ntook the air there under the plantain-trees, and swung and danced and\nsang; the wandering Persian jugglers exhibited their hocus-pocus, and\nthe magnificent Janissaries resorted thither to fight with one\nanother. Every Friday afternoon whole bands of these rival warriors\nflocked thither as if to a common battle-field, and frequently left\ntwo or three corpses on the scene of their diversions.\n\nGaskho Bey appeared to take very little notice of all these things,\nhis chibook curled comfortably on the ground beneath him. At every\npull at it large light-blue clouds of smoke rolled upwards from its\ncrater, taking all manner of misty shapes and forms till they\ndisappeared through the window, and Gaskho Bey buried himself in the\ncontemplation of these smoky phantasms as deeply as if he were intent\non writing a dissertation on the philosophy of pipe-smoking, oblivious\nof the fact that below the very house in which he was sitting two\nAlbanian soldiers, in high-peaked, broad-brimmed caps and coarse black\nwoollen mantles, who seemed to be taking the greatest possible\ninterest in him and trying to get as near him as they could, had\nalready strolled past for the third time, always separating and going\nin different directions, somewhat nervously, if they perceived any one\ncoming towards them.\n\nOnly now and then a sly expression on Gaskho's face betrayed the fact\nthat he was conscious of something going on behind his back. There\nlittle Sidali was amusing himself, while Gaskho Bey was leaning out of\nthe window, by kneeling on the ottoman behind, and tickling the\nuplifted naked soles of his father's feet with a blunt arrow.\nSometimes the arrow would slip and come plumping down on Gaskho's\nhead, and then the bey would smile indulgently at the naughtiness of\nhis little son.\n\nAnd now the evening was falling, and the crowd beneath the\nplantain-trees grew thinner. The two Albanians, side by side, again\ncame towards Gaskho Bey, who now puffed forth such clouds of smoke\nfrom his chibook that one could see neither heaven nor earth because\nof them. But the two Albanian mercenaries could make him out very\nwell, and both of them standing a little way from the window drew\nforth their pistols, and one of them standing on the right hand and\nthe other on the left, they both aimed at Gaskho Bey's temples at a\ndistance of three paces.\n\nBut little Sidali was too quick for them, for he now gave his father\nsuch a poke with the arrow that the latter, provoked partly by the\npain and partly by the tickling, sharply turned his head, and the same\ninstant there was the report of two shots, and two bullets--one on the\nright hand and one on the left--buried themselves in the window-sill.\n\nGaskho's movement was so unexpected that the two Albanian braves, who\nhad imagined that their bullets must of necessity have met each other\nin the middle of the bey's brain, were so terrified when they saw him\nstill sitting there unwounded, that they stood as if nailed to the\nearth. Indeed, before they could make up their minds to fly, Gaskho\nwas already outside the window, upon them with a single bound, and\nimmediately seizing the pair of them with his terrible fists, flung\nthem to the ground as if he were playing with a couple of dummies,\nand without wasting so much as a word upon them, tied them together\nwith their own leather belts, so that on the arrival of the members of\nhis own family, who flew to the spot, alarmed by Sidali's shrieks, the\ntwo hired assassins lay half dead and all of a heap upon the ground,\nfor Gaskho Bey's grip had wellnigh broken all their bones.\n\nThey were conveyed at once to the Kapu-Kiaja, and Gaskho Bey went too.\nFor a long time he was unable to contain himself, and bellowed out all\nalong the road, \"I never heard of anything like it--never!\"\n\n\"It is an unheard-of case, sir,\" said he, on arriving at the\nKapu-Kiaja's. \"To furtively shoot at a peaceful Mussulman when he is\nsmoking his pipe and amusing himself with his children, I never heard\nthe like. If any one wants to kill me, he might at least, I think, let\nme know beforehand, so that I may perform my ablutions, say my\nprayers, and take leave of my children. But just when I am smoking my\nchibook!--I never heard of such a thing!\"\n\nIt was plain that what he took to heart the most was that they should\nhave tried to shoot him while he was smoking his chibook.\n\nThe Kapu-Kiaja, on the other hand, looked upon the case from another\npoint of view. To him it was a matter of comparative indifference\nwhether the deed was attempted before or after prayers. Why, he wanted\nto know, should these madmen run amuck of their fellow-men at all? He\ntherefore asked the assassins who had set them on to murder Gaskho\nBey. They, at the very first stroke of the bamboo, made a clean breast\nof it, and threw the blame on Tepelenti.\n\nAt first the Kapu-Kiaja regarded this confession as incredible. Why,\nindeed, should Tepelenti be wrath with Gaskho Bey, who knew nothing at\nall of Ali except by report? Nay, he greatly revered him as a valiant\nwarrior, and had never said a single word to his discredit.\n\nNevertheless, the two assassins not only stuck to their confession,\nbut maintained that besides themselves eight and thirty other soldiers\nhad been sent to Stambul by Ali on the self-same mission.\n\nCiauses were immediately sent to every quarter of the city to seize\nthe described Albanians. Five or six of them hid or escaped, but the\nrest were captured.\n\nThe confessions of these men were practically unanimous. Every\ncircumstance of the affair, the amount of the promised reward, the\nwords spoken on the occasion--everything, in fact, corresponded so\nexactly that no doubt could possibly remain that Tepelenti had\nactually sent them out to murder Gaskho Bey.\n\nThe affair made a great stir everywhere. Ali Pasha was as well known\nin Stambul as Gaskho Bey. The former was as famous for his power and\nriches, his envy and revengefulness, as was the latter for his\nstrength and gentleness, his sympathy and tenderness.\n\nThe great men of the palace, jealous for a long time of Ali's\ngreatness, brought the matter before the Divan, and great debates\nensued as to what course should be taken against this mighty protector\nof hired assassins. And for a long time the opinions of the\ncounsellors of the cupolaed chamber were divided. Some were for taking\nAli by the beard and despatching him there and then. Others were for\nadvising Gaskho Bey to be content with seeing the heads of the Arnaut\nassassins rolling in the dust before the Pavilion of Justice, and at\nthe same time privately informing Ali that if he were wise he would\nwaste neither his money nor his powder on such quiet, harmless men as\nGaskho Bey, who had never done, and never meant in future to do, him\nany harm.\n\nThe latter alternative was the opinion of the wiser heads, and among\nthese wiser ones was the Sultan himself.\n\n\"Ali is my sharp sword,\" said Mahmud. \"If my sword wounds any one\naccidentally, and without my consent, is that any reason for snapping\nit in twain?\"\n\nNevertheless, the enemies of the pasha kept goading Gaskho on to\ndemand satisfaction of Ali personally. The worthy giant, hearing his\nown name on everybody's lips for weeks together, grew as wild as a\nbaited heifer, and began to believe that he was a famous man, that he\nalone was ordained to clip the wings of the tyrant of Epirus, and at\nlast was so absorbed by his dreams of greatness that when he had to\ngive the usual lessons to the youths of the Seraglio he trounced them\nall, in his distraction, as severely as if they had been the soldiers\nof Ali Pasha.\n\nThe pacific Viziers promised him a house, a garden, beautiful horses,\nand still more beautiful slaves. But all would not do; what he did\nwant, he said, was the head of Tepelenti, and he cried to Heaven\nagainst them for their procrastination.\n\nBut Sultan Mahmud was a wise man. He had no need to consult\nstar-gazers or magicians, or even the caverns of Seleucia, as to the\nfuture, in order to discover and discern the storm whose signs were\nalready visible in the sky.\n\n\"Ye know not Ali, and ye know not me also,\" he said to those who urged\nhim to pronounce judgment against Ali. \"If I were to say, 'Ali must\nperish!' perish he would, even if my palaces came crashing down and\nhalf the realm were destroyed in consequence. If, on the other hand,\nAli said 'No!' he would assuredly never submit, and would rather turn\nthe whole realm upsidedown, till not one stone remained upon another,\nthan surrender himself. Therefore ye know not what ye want when ye\nwish to see Ali and me at war with one another.\"\n\nThe conspirators, however, were not content with this, but distributed\nsome silver money among the Janissaries, and egged them on to appear\nbefore the palace of the Kapu-Kiaja and demand Ali's head.\n\nThe Kiaja, warned in good time of the approaching storm, took refuge\nin the interior of the Seraglio, which was speedily barricaded against\nthe Janissaries, and the mouths of the cannons attached to the gates\nwere exhibited for their delectation. As it did not meet the views of\nthe Janissaries just then to approach any nearer to the cannons, they\ngratified their fury by setting fire to the city and burning down a\nwhole quarter of it, for they considered it no business of theirs to\nput out the blazing houses.\n\nThe next day, however, the tumult having subsided as usual, when the\nSultan and his suite were trotting out to inspect the scene of the\nconflagration, and had got as far as the fountain in front of the\nSeraglio, the figure of a veiled woman cast herself in front of the\nhorse's hoofs, and with audacious hands laid hold of the bridle of the\nsteed of the Kalif.\n\nThe Sultan backed his horse to prevent it from trampling upon the\nwoman, and, thinking she was one of those who had been burned out the\nday before, ordered his treasurer--who was with him--to put a silver\npiece in her hand and bid her depart in the name of the Prophet.\n\n\"Not money, my lord; but blood! blood!\" cried the woman; and, from the\nring of her voice, there was reason to suspect that she was a young\nwoman.\n\nThe Sultan in amazement asked the woman her name.\n\n\"I am Eminah, the daughter of the Pasha of Delvino, and the wife of\nAli Tepelenti.\"\n\n\"And whose blood dost thou require?\" asked the Sultan, scandalized to\nsee the favorite wife of so powerful a man prostrate in the dust\nbefore his horse's feet.\n\n\"I demand death upon his head!\" cried the woman, with a firm\nvoice--\"on the head of Ali Tepelenti, from whose gehenna of a fortress\nI have escaped on the waters of a subterranean stream in order that I\nmight accuse him to thee; and if thou dost not condemn him, I will go\nto the judgment-seat of God and accuse him there!\"\n\nThe Sultan was horrified.\n\nIt is a terrible thing when a woman accuses her own husband, who has\nloaded her with benefits. He must, indeed, be an evil-doer whom\nturtle-doves, the gentlest of all God's creatures, attack!\n\nThe Sultan listened, full of indignation, to the woman's accusations.\n\nAfter happily escaping from the fortress of Ali Pasha with the Greek\ngirl, she learned, during her short sojourn among the Suliotes, of all\nAli's cruelties, and learned also, at the same time, that in Delvino\nhad just died a rich Armenian lady, who had been the flame of Gaskho\nBey in his younger days, and had left him all the property she owned\nin Albania. Of this nobody as yet knew anything. What more natural\nthan that every one should immediately fancy he had found the key to\nthe riddle of the mysterious attempt at assassination? Why, of course,\nAli wanted to slay Gaskho Bey in order that he might take possession\nof his Albanian property.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nA MAN IN THE MIDST OF DANGERS\n\n\nThe Pasha of Janina, for thirty successive days, received nothing but\nill tidings; and twice within the period of two waxing moons did his\nown power as steadily wane.\n\nThe first Job's-messenger which reached him was the Arnaut horseman,\nwho had escaped from Stambul, and whom the Sultan's Tartars had\npursued as far as Adrianople. This man told him that the attempt on\nthe life of Gaskho Bey had failed, and that the captured assassins had\nrevealed the name of their employer.\n\n\"Behold, I have wounded myself with my own sword,\" exclaimed Ali. \"The\nprophetic voice of Seleucia spoke the truth; yea, verily, it spoke the\ntruth.\"\n\nAnd still more of the prophecy was to be accomplished.\n\nA few days later the report reached him that Eminah had cast herself\nat the feet of the Sultan and demanded judgment on the head of her\nhusband.\n\n\"I knew it beforehand,\" sighed Ali. \"The Prophet told it all to me.\nNevertheless, I shall stand at the gates of the Seraglio on a silver\npedestal.\"\n\nNext day he heard that Gaskho Bey had been appointed Pasha of Janina.\n\n\"They act as if I were dead already,\" murmured the veteran, with as\nbitter a feeling as if he already saw his youthful supplanter standing\non his threshold. \"They bury me before I am dead, they divide my\nproperty before I have made my will. Nevertheless, one day I shall\nstand in the gates of the Seraglio on a richer pedestal.\"\n\nAnd with that Tepelenti sent forth his ciauses to all the towns within\nhis domains, and to all the local governors, commanding all who had\nsons to send their sons and all who had brothers to send their\nbrothers to him without delay. Then he ordered that every beast of\nburden that could be spared should be driven into the mountains, and\nthat every barque they could lay their hands upon should be brought\nfrom the sea-coast into the Gulf of Durazzo. The arsenal of Janina\nbristled with terrific rows of cannons and bombs, and the commanders\nof the various army corps received instructions to concentrate their\nforces under the walls of Janina. At any rate, he was determined not\nto be taken unawares. At least, he would have time to unfurl the red\nflag before the dread message arrived from Stambul that the Padishah\ndemanded his head.\n\nAh, ha! Ali Tepelenti would not surrender his gray beard so easily.\nThe hunters shall find out what manner of lion they are pursuing. A\nfirman of the Grand Signior nominated the banished Pehliván Pasha,\nLord of Lepanto; Sulaiman Pasha was made Governor of Trikala, and the\ntwo mountain passes guarding it; Muhammad Bey, whose father Ali had\nslain, was proclaimed Lieutenant-General of Durazzo. Thus they had\ndivided his territories beforehand among his most bitter and most\ndangerous enemies. Ah! this will, indeed, be a magnificent chase.\n\nAli called together his sons, of whom Vely was Lord of Lepanto,\nSulaiman of Trikala, and Mukhtar Pasha of Durazzo. He showed them on\nthe map where their territories lay, and pointed out that if they lost\nthem they would have nothing left. Let all three of them, therefore,\ngird upon their thighs the swords he intrusted to them and fight like\nmen. The two younger sons swore fervently that they would conquer\nFortune with their weapons, but Vely Bey preserved a gloomy silence.\n\n\"Art thou not my son?\" asked the veteran.\n\n\"Allah hath so willed it,\" answered Vely, \"and I also will fight, not\nfor thee but for myself, not for life nor for what is on the other\nside of death, but because I have a little child in Lepanto, and the\nenemy is besieging that fortress. That little child is all the world\nto me. I will fight as only a father can fight for his son. I will\nrescue him if possible. Thy glory or thy ruin is alike indifferent to\nme. If the report reach thee that the enemy hath taken Lepanto and\nslain my son, then count no more upon the sword which thou hast\nintrusted to me.\"\n\nAnd with these words Vely turned his back on his father and softly\nwithdrew.\n\nAs Ali saw his son quietly pass before him, it occurred to him whether\nit would not be as well to draw his pistol from his belt and shoot\ndown the waverer before he quitted Janina. It is true that he had\nknown all this beforehand. His own wife, his own sons, his own\nweapons, were to turn against him; but then, on the other hand, was\nhe not to stand at the gate of the Seraglio on a silver pedestal?\n\nA host of more than twenty thousand men stood under arms at his\ndisposal, Albanians and Suliotes. A gallant host, if only it would\nfight. But for whom would it fight?--for him or for the Sultan? And\nthese soldiers, when they saw him besieged, would they forget their\nmurdered kinsfolk, their plundered fields, their burned villages? Did\nnot every man of them know that Ali Tepelenti had been amassing\ntreasures all his life, but had never troubled himself about good\ndeeds? And now these treasures would surely be his ruin.\n\nTime brought the answer. While his enemies were still afar off, the\nSuliotes arose, under the leadership of a girl among the mountains of\nBracori, where one of Ali's grandsons, Zaid, was recruiting soldiers,\nand massacred Ali's men to the very last one. The last one, however,\nthey suffered to escape and convey to Ali Zaid's severed head, at the\nsame time informing him that it was sent by that girl the head of\nwhose betrothed he had cut off before her very eyes, and she meant to\nsend him still more.\n\nThis was the Greek's declaration of war. There at Janina, under his\nvery nose, the Greek captain, Zunga, deserted the Albanian camp, and\nwhen the Grand Signior's army reached Trikala, and Gaskho Bey's herald\ngalloped between the two armies with the imperial firman hanging round\nhis neck, and summoned the vassals to take up arms against the Pasha,\nthe whole camp went over to Gaskho Bey. Alone, without the smallest\nescort, Sulaiman, Ali Pasha's youngest son, fled without having had\nthe opportunity of testing his father's sword, and they captured him\non the road.\n\nStill he had the other two. Mukhtar Bey, with a powerful fleet, lay in\nthe Gulf of Durazzo, and Vely Bey, wroth though he might be with his\nfather, was a valiant warrior, and his son was in Lepanto, and save\nhim he must and would.\n\nBut not only his son, some one else was there also. On that cruel,\nmurderous day when Ali Pasha drowned the harems of his sons in the\nlake, one person among so many escaped, and this was Xelianthé. The\ndamsel loved Vely as much as he loved her, and contrived to let him\nknow that she was alive. Vely Bey sent her to Lepanto, and kept her in\nhiding there with his little son in order that she might be far from\nhis father.\n\nAnd now the bey himself hastened to Lepanto, arrived at night in the\nneighborhood of the town, and perceived already from afar that the\ncitadel in which he had concealed his darlings was in flames.\n\nWhat if he had arrived too late!\n\nWith the fury of a savage wild tiger he flung himself upon the\nbesieging Pehliván, and in a midnight battle routed him beneath the\nwalls of Lepanto, the Albanians fighting desperately by the side of\ntheir leader. But what was the use of it? The fortress was saved,\nindeed, but it was already in flames. Vely, roaring with grief and\npain, flung himself on the gate, scarcely recognizing again the place\nhe had quitted so short a time ago.\n\nHe reached the pavilion where he had concealed his wife and child. It\nwas built entirely of wood, except the roof, which was of copper. A\ncurious mass of molten dark-red metal gleamed among the fire-brands.\nVely rushed bellowing to the spot, and his soldiers, tearing aside the\ncharred beams and rafters, came upon two skeletons burned to cinders.\nA coral necklace lying there, which the fire had been unable to\ncalcine, told him that these were the remains of his wife and son.\n\nNot a word did Vely say to a living soul; but he plunged his sword\ninto its sheath, and that same night he rode unarmed into the camp of\nthe discomfited Pehliván Pasha and surrendered himself to the enemy.\n\nHis army, utterly demoralized, immediately fled back to Janina,\nbringing the tidings to his father that Vely Bey, immediately after\nhis victory, had surrendered of his own accord to the Sultan.\n\nSo every one abandoned Ali. His cities opened their gates to his\nenemies, his best friends betrayed, his two sons forsook, him. Still\nthe third son remained. And Mukhtar Bay was the best man of the three.\nHe was the bravest, and he loved his father the best.\n\nTwo days later came the tidings that Mukhtar Bey with his whole fleet\nhad surrendered before Durazzo to the Kapudan Pasha.\n\n\"The soothsayer foretold it all to me,\" said Ali, calmly, when the\nnews was brought to him. \"So it was written beforehand in heaven.\nNevertheless, at the last, I shall stand at the gates of the Seraglio\non a silver pedestal!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE LION IN THE FOX'S SKIN\n\n\nBlow upon blow rain down upon thee, thou veteran warrior! Thine armies\ngo over to the enemy, thy friends leave thee desolate, thy sons betray\nthee, they capture thy cities without unsheathing their swords, thine\nallies turn their arms against thee, and with thine own artillery, of\nthe best French manufacture, the Suliotes from the walls of Janina\nshoot down thine Albanian guards!\n\nAh, those Suliotes! How they can fight! If only now they would raise\ntheir swords on thy behalf, how thine enemies would fall in rows! But\nnow it is thy soldiers that fall before _them_! A brother and a sister\nlead them on--a youth and a girl; the youth's name is Kleon, the\ngirl's name is Artemis. Every time thou dost hear their names, it is\nas if a sword were being plunged into thy heart, for the girl is she\nwhom thou wouldst have sacrificed to thy lust, and with whom thy wife\ndidst escape; and thou never dost hear that name without hearing at\nthe same time of the loss of thy bravest warriors!\n\nLike the destroying angel Azrael, she fares through the din of battle,\nwaving her white banner amidst the showers of bullets, and not one of\nthem touches her. Before thy very eyes she plants the triumphant\nbanner on thy bastions, and thou hast not strength of mind enough left\nto wish her to fall; nay, rather, when thou dost see her appear before\nthee, thou dost forbid thy gunners to fire upon her!\n\nDanger approaches Janina from all sides. Thou must drain the cup,\nTepelenti, to the very last drop, to the last bitter drop; and what\nthen? Why, then thou wilt stand before the Seraglio on a silver\npedestal!\n\n\nOne night there was a rolling of drums before the seven gates of\nJanina, and a bomb flying down from the heights of Lithanizza exploded\nin the market-place of the town. Up, up, ye Albanians! up, up, ye who\nhave any martial blood in your veins, the enemy has seized the guns on\nthe seven gates! Ali throws himself on his prancing steed, and in his\nhand is the good battle-sword which has befriended him in so many a\ndanger. How many times has it not been the lot of Ali to lose\neverything but this one sword, and then to win back everything by\nmeans of it?\n\nIn a moment the army of the besieged stood in battle-array. Ali\ncontemplated the ranks of the enemy, and a smile passed across his\nface. That worthy captain, Gaskho Bey, was leading his troops to the\nshambles. In an hour's time Ali will so completely have annihilated\nthem that not even the rumor of them will remain behind. It will be a\nbattle-field worthy of the veteran general. Every one who sees it will\nsay--there is no escaping from him! Only let them advance, that is\nall! And again he was disappointed. At the first shot, before a sword\nhad been drawn, his army surrendered to the enemy. If only they had\nfired once, the victory would have been his; but no, the army laid\ndown its arms and the cunningly concealed gunners turned his own\nartillery against him.\n\nIt was all over! Only seven hundred Albanian horsemen remained with\nAli, the rest either went over to the enemy or allowed themselves to\nbe taken.\n\nThe old lion waved his sword above his head, and turning to his\nhandful of heroes exclaimed, with a voice that rang out like a brazen\ntrumpet, \"Will ye behold Ali die?\"\n\nAnd with that he galloped towards the market-place of Janina, the\nfaithful seven hundred following closely upon his heels.\n\nThe enemy poured into the town through every gate, but the\nmarket-place cut off one part of the town from the others, and the\ntriumphant hordes came upon some very evil-looking trenches bristling\nwith _chevaux de frise_, and the long narrow streets were swept by\nAli's last twelve cannons, ably handled by the pasha's dumb eunuchs,\nwho stood at their posts like the symbols of constancy on a tomb.\n\nAli Pasha put down his foot in the middle of Janina. Of his ten\nthousand horsemen only seven hundred remained with him. The enemy had\ntwenty thousand men and two hundred guns, and yet all the skill of\nGaskho Bey was incapable of dislodging Ali from the market-place of\nJanina, and although the enemy held one portion of the city, it was\nunable to take the other portion. If only they could have come to\nclose quarters with him, they would have crushed him with one hand;\nbut get at him they could not--that required skill, not strength.\n\nAt last the besiegers set the town on fire all around him, but still\nAli did not budge from his place, and the wind blew the flames in the\nface of Gaskho Bey, who began to look about him uncomfortably when the\ntwo Suliote kinsfolk, Kleon and Artemis, at the head of their\nsquadrons, urged him to boldly assault the market-place.\n\nTepelenti saw the girl with her white banner, and as her troops filled\nthe broad space at the head of the square, he himself, at first, drew\nnear to her. Four cannons were pointed at the Suliotes, loaded with\nchain-shot and broken glass. Ali looked towards them with a gloomy\ncountenance, then stuck his sword in its sheath, bade his gunners turn\nthe guns round, harness the horses to them, and take refuge in the\ncitadel. He would not let a single shot be fired at the Suliotes.\n\nThe moment Ali turned his back, the besieging host captured the field\nof battle. They followed hard upon the heels of the retreating band\nall the way, and when Ali reached the bridge, the Spahis and\nTimariots, like two swarms of bees mingled together, gained the head\nof the bridge at the same time, and swarmed after him with a shout of\ntriumph. The real struggle began on the bridge itself. Man to man they\nfought at close quarters with their shorter weapons (they could use no\nother), and clubs and dirks did bloody work in the throng which poured\nfrom two different quarters, along and over the overcrowded bridge\nlike ants coming out of a slender reed. Six hundred of the Albanians\nsucceeded in escaping into the citadel, and then, at Ali's command,\nthe iron gates were clapped to, leaving the remaining hundred to\nperish on the bridge, where the overwhelming crowd swallowed them up.\nEach single Albanian fought against ten to twenty Timariots. The\nbridge rang with the din of combat, and trembled beneath the weight of\nthe heavy crowd. Then suddenly the guns on both sides of the bastions\nwhich were attached to the bridge began to roar, the supports of the\ncaptured bridge collapsed, and the bridge itself, with its load of\nfighting Turks and Albanians, plunged down into the deep trenches\nbelow.\n\nDown there were sharp-pointed stakes beneath the deep waters, and\nthose of the besiegers who remained on the bank were horrified to\nperceive that not one of the fallen crowd reappeared on the surface of\nthe water, while the water itself gradually grew redder and redder,\ntill at last it was a bright crimson, painted by the blood of the\ncorpses below.\n\nAnd opposite to them stood the fast-barred gate.\n\nAh--ha! 'Tis not so easy to capture Tepelenti as ye thought.\n\nEverywhere else ye have triumphed; ye have triumphed up to the very\nlast point. And now ye _have_ come to the last point, and your\nvictories are worth nothing, for the last point is still to be won.\n\nThe fortress is unapproachable. The bastions are built in the middle\nof the lake, and from their dark quadrangular cavities rows of guns\n(each one of them a sixty-pounder) sweep the surface of the water, so\nthat it is impossible to draw near in boats. On the land side one\nhundred cannons defend the bastions, and who can surmount the triple\nditch?\n\nYe will never capture Ali there. He has sufficient muniments of war\nto last him for an indefinite period, and to show them how determined\nhe was, he caused the solitary gate of the fortress to be filled with\nmasonry and walled up. So the fortress has no longer a gate. Even\ndesertion is now an impossibility.\n\nThere he will remain, then, walled up as in a tomb, buried alive! The\nonly roads from thence lead to heaven or hell; the exit from the land\nside is guarded by the Suliotes; even if he could fly he could not\nescape from them.\n\nThe campaign is ended. The victorious Gaskho Bey proclaims himself\nPasha of Janina. The whole of Epirus does homage to him, and deserts\nthe fallen Vizier. In Stambul thanksgivings are offered up in the Ejub\nmosque and the church of St. Sophia for the accomplished victory,\nwhich is proclaimed, amidst the roaring of the cannons, by heralds in\nthe great market-place; and all the newspapers of Europe amazedly\nreport that the mighty and terrible adventurer, the ever-victorious\nveteran of seventy-nine, the party-leader who grew to such a height\nthat it was doubtful whether he or the Sultan were the real ruler of\nTurkey, the man who had been the ally of the great Napoleon, who a few\nmonths before had sent as a present to England a precious\ndinner-service of pure gold worth 30,000 thaler, who had heaped up\nmore treasures than any Eastern nabob--is suddenly crushed,\nannihilated, shut up in a fortress! It now only remains for him to\ndie.\n\nAnd not very long afterwards he did die. One night a couple of bold\nAlbanian horsemen descended the bastions by means of a long rope, and,\ncrossing the lake of Acheruz on a pine log, sought out Gaskho Bey in\nhis camp that very night.\n\nAli Tepelenti was dead. They were the first to bear the joyful tidings\nto the bey. He died in his grief, in his wretchedness. Perhaps also he\nhad taken poison. On the morrow, at three o'clock, they had arranged\nto bury him in the fortress! Before his death he had called together\nhis lieutenants, and taken an oath of them that they would defend the\nfortress to the very last gasp of the very last man. His treasures\nwere piled up in the red tower--more than thirty millions of piastres.\nHe had left it all to them. But what was the use of all this treasure\nto them if they could not get out of this eyrie? They would not\nsurrender themselves, for Ali had made them swear by every Turkish\nsaint that they would defend the fortress to the death. But the rank\nand file were of a different opinion; they would joyfully retire from\nthe fortress if they were assured of a free forgiveness. Gaskho Bey\nhad only to stretch out his hand and the fortress of Janina, the\nimpregnable fortress with its two hundred cannons and its enormous\nmass of treasure, would be his.\n\nEarly in the morning the gray moonless flag, the sign of death, was\nwaving on the red tower of Janina, and the guns overlooking the water\nfired three and thirty volleys, whose echo proclaimed among the\nmountains that Ali Tepelenti was dead. Within the fortress sounded the\nroll of the muffled drums, and it was also possible to distinguish the\ndirges of the imams.\n\nGaskho Bey and his staff, from the top of the Lithanizza hills,\nwatched the burial of the pasha. There was an observatory here from\nwhose balcony they could look down into the court-yard, and the\nsplendid telescopes, which the sultan had got from Vienna, rendered\npowerful assistance to the onlookers, who through them could observe\nthe smallest details of what was going on in the court-yard of the\nfortress; one telescope in particular brought the objects so near that\none could read the initial letters of the verses of the Kuran which\nthe imams held in their hands.\n\nIn the midst of a simple coffin lay Ali Pasha. It was really he; of\nthat there could be no doubt. Let every one look for himself! There he\nlay--dead, cold, motionless. His lieutenants and his servants stood\naround him weeping. Those who walked along by his side stooped down to\nkiss his hands.\n\nIn the town outside the Suliotes knew of Ali's death, and by way of\ncompliment they fired a bomb into the citadel. But the match of the\nbomb was too short, and it exploded in the air.\n\nFrom the observatory they could see very well the fright of the crowd\nassembled in the court-yard at the whizzing of the bomb over their\nheads, and how every one looked anxiously at the little round white\ncloud there; only he who lay dead in the midst of them remained cold\nand tranquil. He will never again be disturbed by the roar of an\nexploding bomb.\n\nThe imams raised him on their shoulders, and, amidst the melancholy\ndirges of the mourners and the muffled roll of the drums, they carried\nhim away to his open tomb, for his grave was already dug.\n\nThe Moslems do not put their dead in a closed coffin; they only half\nboard the tomb up in order that the angels of death may have room to\nplace the corpse in a sitting posture when they come to take an\naccount of his actions.\n\nThey really did lower Ali Tepelenti into his tomb.\n\nThe garrison fired a triple salute, the imams thrice sang their sacred\nverses, and then came the gravediggers and cast the earth upon the\ncorpse. A large marble slab was standing there, and with it they\npressed down the earth on the tomb, at the same time placing two\nturbaned headstones, one at each end of the tomb.\n\nThey really did bury Ali.\n\nWhen the imams and the officers had departed from the covered tomb,\nGaskho Bey summoned the keepers of the observatory to the summit of\nLithanizza and laid this command upon them:\n\n\"Let a man stand in front of this telescope from morning to evening\n(and mind that he is relieved every four hours), and never withdraw\nhis eye from that tomb. At night, when the moon goes down, a rocket is\nto be fired every five minutes, that the watchers may see the tomb and\nnever leave it out of sight, and report upon it every hour.\"\n\nWhat? Is Gaskho Bey actually afraid that old Ali, a veteran of\nseventy-nine, will be able to arise from his tomb and hurl away that\nheavy marble slab with his dead hands? There are men of whom it is\nimpossible to believe that they are dead, and whom people are afraid\nof even when they are buried.\n\nEvery hour till late in the evening they reported to Gaskho Bey that\nthe tomb remained unchanged, and all the night through not a soul\napproached it.\n\nTepelenti, then, was really dead--totally dead.\n\nEarly next morning Gaskho Bey heard a very curious story.\n\nIn the artillery barracks, where the round guns stood, a drummer had\nlaid down his drum close beside him, with the drumsticks leaning over\nit, when he suddenly perceived the two drumsticks begin to move of\ntheir own accord over the tightly drawn skin of the drums as if some\ninvisible hand wished to beat a tattoo. The drummer cried out at this\nmarvel, and fancied that a _dzhin_ was in the drum.\n\nGaskho Bey would not believe it till he had himself gone to the\nbarracks and seen with his own eyes how the two drumsticks vibrated\nwith sufficient force to tap the drum pretty loudly, moving in a\nspiral line backward and forward across it, tap-tap-tapping as they\nwent.\n\n\"It is very marvellous!\" cried the bey; and he immediately summoned\nthe imams to drive the _dzhin_ out of the drum.\n\nThe imams set to work at once. They fetched their fumigators and their\nsacred books, and they fumigated the drum with nose-offending odors\nand recited over it drum-expelling exorcisms in a shrill voice. And\ncertainly if the devil was in that drum, and had anything of a nose or\nears, he would have been obliged to escape from that noise and stink.\nSo long as the drum was in any one's hand the drumsticks did not move,\nbut when it was put down on the ground the mysterious tap-tapping\nbegan again.\n\nThe imams went on howling, and horribly they howled.\n\nThe chief of the observatory was present during this scene. As a\nFrench renegade he was a man of some education, and therefore he did\nnot accept the theory of the _dzhins_. When he perceived that the\nimams were not successful in expelling the evil spirits, he called\nGaskho Bey aside and whispered in his ear:\n\n\"I know nothing about your _dzhins_, and don't understand what you are\ndriving at with all this noise and stench, but I can tell you that\nthis beating of the drum is a sign that invisible hands are at work\nhere.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"It means that we ought to get away from here, for they are digging\nmines beneath us, and that is why the ground trembles and the\ndrumsticks vibrate.\"\n\nGaskho Bey began smiling. He had as little idea of sapping and mining\nas the French renegade had of Turkish monsters.\n\n\"How superstitious thou art, my brave moosir!\" said he, shrugging his\nshoulders and looking down upon the Frenchman.\n\nThe latter, however, did not remain there much longer, but hastened as\nquickly as he could to the summit of the Lithanizza.\n\nAfter about an hour and a half's more hubbub the imams succeeded in\nexpelling the _dzhin_. The drum grew quiet, the excitement subsided,\nand the soldiers were instructed to lay two swords crosswise in front\nof the gate, so that the spirit might not be able to come back any\nmore; and with that termination of the affair every one was satisfied.\n\n\nOpposite the gate of the fortress of Janina, at the head of the\ncollapsed bridge, stood a stone building, fenced about with redoubts\nand palisades, which had now fallen into the hands of the Suliotes.\nThis building had been chosen by the two Greek kinsfolk for their\ndwelling-place. They wanted to get as close to Ali as possible; they\nwould not suffer him to escape even in the shape of a bird or a\nspirit; their large siege-guns were pointed at the walled-up gate. Let\nhim surrender or find his tomb in the fortress.\n\nAnd lo! he _had_ found his tomb without consulting them about it. In\nvain they had sharpened their weapons against him--the sword of Death\nis quicker and cuts down sooner. They had not been able to reach him\non the field of battle; they had not been able to plunge their\navenging swords into his heart; they had not been able to bring his\ngray head to the block; it had been reserved for him to pass quietly\naway--to die in his bed, untroubled, unmolested, to die the death of\nthe righteous.\n\nKleon and Artemis were sitting sullenly in a room of the fort by the\nlight of a flickering candle. The girl had absently divested herself\nof her cuirass and was walking up and down the room with folded arms.\nThere was not a single womanly trait in her face. It was as cold as\nthe face of a statue.\n\n\"So he is dead, then--dead!\"\n\nThis phrase she repeated to herself again and again. She seemed unable\nto get away from it.\n\n\"Ali has died, and not by my hand.\"\n\nKleon was strikingly like his sister; indeed, his young face scarcely\ndiffered at all from hers, but in his eyes quite another sort of flame\nsparkled. Her face, full of dark thoughts, was much more terrible;\nhis was free and open, and full of radiant hope.\n\n\"My triumph has lost its worth if Ali is dead,\" she said, with a sigh.\n\"The old fox has dodged my steel by taking refuge in hell. Oh, would\nthat I might follow him thither also, that I might tear his gray\nbeard, which he has bathed in my kinsman's blood!\"\n\n\"Behold! here is my gray beard!\" cried a voice at that instant from\nthe other end of the room, and the brother and sister beheld Ali\nTepelenti standing before them.\n\nThe terror-stricken young people involuntarily crossed themselves.\nHorror nailed them to the ground and petrified all their limbs, when\nthey saw what they imagined to be a spectre standing there before them\nin the self-same gray robe in which he had been buried two days\nbefore.\n\n\"Behold, here I am, Ali Tepelenti!\"\n\nWith that the spectre clapped his hands, and from every corner of the\nroom rushed forth Albanians armed to the teeth, and before the brother\nand sister could approach their weapons, they were overpowered and\ntied together.\n\nIt was really Ali Tepelenti who stood before them.\n\nThey had put him away underground, it is true, but underground there\nwere paths and passages only too well known to him. The whole\nspectacle of the interment had been arranged by himself, and there was\nan exit from the bottom of his tomb into subterranean corridors. When\nthe general joy and satisfaction at the victory was at its height, he\nwas abroad and at work.\n\nA strongly built subterranean trench had been constructed below the\nditches encircling the redoubts, and its ramifications extended to the\nfort at the head of the bridge. Ali had so completely surprised the\ngarrison that they had not been able to fire a shot; the Suliotes had\nbeen surprised and disarmed while in their dreams.\n\nUp, up, Gaskho Bey! Arise, Muhammad Aga! To horse, ye captains! Seize\nthy sword, Pehliván Pasha! Danger is at hand! This is a bad night for\nsleeping!\n\n\nSuddenly a frightful explosion shook the ground, just as if the earth\nwas being wrenched from its hinges, and amidst a flame brighter than\nthe light of day, which seemed to leap up to the very stars, huge\nround cannons were seen flying. The gunners in the barracks were also\npitched into the air. The minarets tottered and fell before the\nterrific shock, every building round about crumbled into ruins. In a\nmoment one-half of the town was reduced to a rubbish-heap, and the\nnext moment a hail of burning beams and lacerated human limbs fell\nback upon the ruins from the blood and fire besmudged heavens.\n\nIt was thus that Ali Pasha signified his resurrection to his enemies!\nHe had gone underground, and now from underground he began the war\nanew.\n\nGaskho Bey, his gigantic body half undressed (he had just leaped out\nof bed), rushed to the end of the street, and was so confused that he\nasked all whom he met where he was. The suddenly aroused soldiers,\nhalf mad with terror, rushed hither and thither in confusion, crying\nout, one for his horse, another for his weapons. And above their\nheads, more terrible than heaven's thunder-bolts, resounded the dread\ncry, \"Ali, Ali!\" There comes the entombed pasha on a white horse, with\nhis white beard; who will dare to look him in the face? The\npanic-stricken throng falls in thousands beneath the swords of the\nAlbanians, blood flows in streams in the streets of Janina, and Ali\nPasha, the dead man, the buried captain, fills the hearts of their\nwarriors with the fear of death. There is none who can stand against\nhim.\n\nOnly Pehliván, the stalwart hero, was able to prevent the vast\nbesieging army from being scattered altogether by a handful of\nArnauts. He rallied the fugitives outside the town, and, while Ali's\nmen-at-arms were murdering every one inside, he quickly seized all the\ngates, advanced in battle-array, and stayed the triumph of the veteran\ncaptain.\n\nAnd enough had surely been done.\n\nThree thousand of the besiegers lay dead, the guns were spiked or\noverthrown, and the leaders of the Suliote band were prisoners--and\nall this the result of Ali's nocturnal rally! It was time for him to\nreturn.\n\nPehliván thus recaptured the town and marshalled his men in the\nmarket-place, without pursuing Ali any further. But he had reckoned\nwithout Gaskho Bey, who now came rushing up and furiously accosted\nhim:\n\n\"Why hast thou not pursued him right into the citadel?\"\n\n\"It would not do to press Ali too closely,\" replied the practised\ngeneral; \"let him fly, if fly he will.\"\n\nAt this, Gaskho Bey, foaming with rage, tore the sword out of\nPehliván's hand (where he had left his own sword he could not have\nsaid for the life of him), and, placing himself at the head of a band\nof Spahis, began to pursue the retreating foe.\n\nAli was proceeding quite leisurely towards the fortress, as if he did\nnot trouble himself about his pursuers, although they were six times\nas numerous as his forces.\n\nWhen Gaskho Bey had got within ear-shot, Tepelenti shouted back to\nhim:\n\n\"Thou hast come to a bad place, brave Bey. This ground is mine, and\nwhat is beneath it is mine also, dost thou not know that yet?\"\n\nGaskho Bey naturally did not understand a word of this till, at a\ngesture from Ali, a rocket flew up into the air, at which signal those\ninside the fortress suddenly exploded all the mines which had been dug\nunder all the streets of the town. Tepelenti had prepared these during\nhis fortunate days by piercing water conduits and making subterranean\nvaults large enough to hold great stores of gunpowder.\n\nAli rallied his own bands at the head of the bridge, and when,\nsuddenly, the explosion burst forth along the whole length of the\nstreet, and the destroying flame tossed the pursuing squadrons into\nthe air one after the other, he amused himself by contemplating the\nruin from the top of the fort, and was the last who disappeared in the\nhidden tunnel. For a long time those in the fortress could hear the\nagonized cries of the vanquished. One-third of the besieging army had\nbeen destroyed in a single night. The rest quitted the accursed town,\nwhich seemed to have been built over hell itself, and took up a\nposition in the fields outside and on the heights of Lithanizza.\n\nThe rising sun revealed a horrible spectacle. The town of Janina no\nlonger existed, the beautiful tall houses, the cupolaed mosques, the\nslender white minarets, the imposing barracks--where were they?\nInstead of them, all that could be seen was a shapeless mass of\npiled-up ruins; here and there, on a dark background, scorched by\nflickering flames, a huddle-muddle of broken rafters, mangled corpses,\ncharred black or gaping hideously open, lay scattered about amongst\nthe rubbish, and from the mouth of a conduit at the side of the\nbastion there trickled sadly down into the lake a dark red stream,\nwhich wound its way in and out amongst the ruins.\n\n\n\"Poor children, how sweetly they are sleeping!\"\n\nThus spoke Ali.\n\nIn a corner of the red tower, sleeping side by side, were the two\nSuliote kinsfolk, Artemis and Kleon. They slept in each other's\nembrace, and not even the gaze of Ali awoke them.\n\n\"Don't arouse them,\" said Ali to his dumb eunuchs; \"let them sleep\non!\"\n\nAnd again he regarded them with a smile--they slept so soundly. And\nyet they knew not when they fell asleep whether they would ever awake\nagain.\n\nAli did not arouse the slumberers. Thrice he sent to see if they had\nawakened, but he would not have them disturbed. At last the hand of\nthe youth made his chain clank, and both of them opened their eyes at\nthe sound.\n\n\"I was on my way to Akro-Corinth,\" said he, rubbing his large dreamy\neyes with his hands, \"and I saw them rebuilding the Parthenon.\"\n\n\"I stood at Thermopylæ,\" said the girl, \"and the enemy fell before me\nby thousands.\"\n\n\"And now we shall go to the block,\" sighed Kleon, listening as the\niron doors of his dungeon slowly opened.\n\n\"Be strong!\" whispered the girl, pressing the hand of her brother\nwhich was enlaced in hers.\n\nThe dumb eunuchs surrounded them, and led them before Ali Pasha.\n\nThe pasha was sitting on a divan, and still wore his funeral robe; all\nthe furniture was shrouded with cinder-colored cloth; there was\nnothing golden, nothing that sparkled in the room.\n\nThe brother and sister stood before him, pressing each other's hands.\n\n\"My dear children,\" said the pasha, in a voice that trembled with\nemotion, \"don't look into each other's eyes, but look at me!\"\n\nAt this unusual tone, at these kindly words, the brother and sister\ndid look at him, and perceived that the old man was looking at them\nsadly, doubtfully, and that his eyes were full of tears.\n\nAli beckoned to the eunuchs, and they freed the brother and sister\nfrom their chains.\n\n\"Behold, ye are free, and may return to your homes,\" said Ali.\n\nThese words had the effect of an electric shock upon the youth, and\nhis face lit up with a flush of joy.\n\n\"Why dost thou rejoice?\" cried Artemis, casting a severe look upon\nhim; \"dost thou not perceive that the monster is mocking us? He only\nwants to excite joy within us that he may kindle our hopes, and then\nmake death all the more bitter to us. Why dost thou make sport of us,\nthou old devil? Slay us quickly, or slay us with lingering torments,\n'tis all one to us, but do not mock us!\"\n\nTepelenti devoutly raised his eyes to heaven.\n\n\"My soul is an open book before you. Ye are free. Ye free Suliotes, we\nunderstand one another. I have sinned grievously against you, but ye\nhave revenged yourself upon me. I burned your villages, ye, in return,\nhave destroyed my fortresses. I have pillaged your lands, and ye have\ntaken my possessions from me. I have slain your bridegroom and\nsnatched thee from thy parent's house; thou hast cut off the head of\nmy favorite grandson, and ravished from me my favorite wife. Now we\nare quits, and owe each other nothing. Go in peace!\"\n\nThere was so much sincerity, so much repentant, contrite grief in the\nwords of Ali, that the watchful maid began to regard him with curious\nsympathy.\n\n\"Thou art amazed at my change of countenance,\" said Ali, observing the\nimpression his words had produced on Artemis. \"Thou hast not seen me\nlike this before! That other Ali is no more. He died, and was buried.\nA penitent kneels before thee who has a horror of his past sins, and\nbegs thy forgiveness, kissing the hem of thy garment.\"\n\nAnd, indeed, Ali fell down on his knees before Artemis, in order that\nhe might kiss the border of her robe, and breaking forth into moans,\nshed tears at the girl's feet, so that she involuntarily bent down and\nraised him up.\n\nShe was a woman, after all, and could not bear to see any one weeping\nbefore her.\n\n\"Listen now to what I say,\" continued the pasha, \"and do not fancy\nthat Ali has gone mad. This night I saw a vision. A beauteous and\nradiantly majestic maiden descended at my threshold from the midst of\nthe bright, open heavens, surrounded by a company of winged children's\nheads. The maiden looked at me so gently, so kindly. A divine light\nshone from her countenance, and, on the earth beneath, all the flowers\nturned their faces towards her as if she were the sun. In the arms of\nthis heavenly maid sat a child, but what a child! At the sight of him,\neven I, old man as I am, trembled with joy. Round about the head of\nthis child was a wreath of stars, and the smile upon his face was\nsalvation itself. And when I raised my trembling hands towards her,\nthe heavenly lady and the child extended their arms towards me, and\nfrom the lips of the maiden, in a sweet, inexpressibly sweet voice,\ncame these words: 'Ali Tepelenti, I call thee!' And I, all trembling,\nfell down on my knees before her.\"\n\nThe brother and sister involuntarily knelt down beside Ali and\nstammered, full of devotion, \"Blessed be the most holy Virgin!\"\n\nAli Pasha continued the recital of his vision.\n\n\"With my face covered, I listened to the words of the bright\napparition, and now she addressed me once more in a dolorous voice,\nwhich pierced my very heart, 'Ali Tepelenti, behold me!' And when I\nraised my face, lo! I beheld seven swords pointing towards the heart\nof the heavenly maid, and I felt my hand grow numb with fright. 'Ali\nTepelenti,' said the lady for the third time, 'these swords _thou_\nhast thrust into my wounds, and my blood be upon thy head!' And I,\ngroaning, made answer, 'How could I have done so when I do not know\nthee?' And she replied, 'He who persecutes mine, persecutes me, and\nwho robs my temples, robs me; didst thou not pull down the churches of\nTepelen, Turezzo, and Tripolizza?' 'I swear that I will build them up\nagain,' I replied, raising my hand to give solemnity to my vow; and as\nI spoke one of the seven swords fell from the heart of the lady.\n'Didst thou not rob the Suliotes of their children,' inquired the\nheavenly vision anew, 'in order to bring them up as Moslems?' 'I swear\nthat I will make them Christians again!' and at these words the second\nsword fell out of her heart. 'Didst thou not carry off their maidens\nfor thine own harem?' 'I swear that I will give them back to the\nSuliotes!' and with that the third sword fell from her heart. 'Didst\nthou not gather together immense treasures from the heritage of widows\nand orphans?' And, smiting the ground with my head, I answered: 'All\nmy treasures shall be dedicated to thy service.' And thus she recorded\nmy mortal sins one by one, and thus I swore to make rigorous\nreparation for them with an irrefragable oath, and as many times as I\nso swore a sword fell at my feet. Finally but one sword remained in\nher bleeding heart, and then she asked me, 'Hast thou not sought the\ndeath of that Suliote brother and sister who were the most faithful\ndefenders of my altars? Hast thou not plunged them into thy dungeon,\nand is not their death already resolved upon in thy heart?' And,\nterrified, I laid my hand upon my heart, for verily that thought was\nin it, and not without a fierce struggle, I stammered, 'Oh, heavenly\nvision! these two young people are my mightiest enemies, and they\nhave sworn to kill me; yet if thou dost command it I will lay my gray\nhead in their hands, and I will be in their power, not they in mine.'\nAt these words the last sword also fell from her heart, and she\nanswered, 'Ali Tepelenti, take these swords in thy hand, and do as\nthou hast said.' And with that she reascended into heaven, the clouds\nclosed behind her, and I remained alone with the seven swords in my\nhand, on which seven vows were written. This vision I saw in the night\nthat has just past; and now reflect upon my words.\"\n\nThe minds of the brother and sister were deeply agitated. The old\nMoslem before them had spoken with such devotion, with such enthusiasm\nof his vision, that it was impossible to question its reality. The\nemotion visible in his countenance, the tears in his eyes, the tremor\nin his voice, proved that he really felt what he said. While they were\nstanding there pondering over the old man's vision, he took them by\nthe hand and led them into his treasure-chamber, and showed them the\nheaps and heaps of gold and silver, the coins piled up in vats, and\nthe steel which had been melted into bars and stacked up there.\n\n\"My treasures are at your disposal--use them as you will.\" Then,\nselecting from amongst his choicest diamonds two stones, worth a\nhundred thousand sequins, he placed them in the hands of Kleon and\nArtemis, and said, \"These I will send to the war-chest of the\nHetæria!\"\n\nWhy, what does Ali mean by mentioning this secret society, which had\nalready undermined the whole Turkish Empire--just as he had undermined\nJanina? Perhaps he would fire these mines also! Of a truth the arm of\nAli reached as far as Stambul! aye, and as far as Bucharest also.\n\nAnd now he led the brother and sister into his armory, and there they\nsaw whole chests full of firearms from the manufactories of the best\nEnglish and French makers.\n\n\"You see, I could arm a whole realm with the weapons I have in\nJanina.\"\n\nThe brother and sister sighed; one and the same thought suddenly\noccurred to them both.\n\n\"Tepelenti,\" said the girl.\n\n\"Command me!\"\n\n\"Thou hast done much harm to us, we also have done much harm to thee;\nlet us act as if we now saw each other for the first time.\"\n\n\"I forgive you.\"\n\n\"I will forget that thou didst put to death my betrothed in this room,\nand thou forget that we killed thy grandson. Call to mind, moreover,\nthat not only are we captives in this fortress, but thou art also\nsurrounded by the hosts of thine enemies.\"\n\n\"I alone am a captive,\" said Ali, humbly. \"I swear by Allah, as I have\npromised the holy Virgin, that I will let you and all your companions\nfree! What may happen to you after that I care not. Ali has not long\nto live now. But your days of combat are yet to be, and if ever the\ntime should come when your plans need the help of arms and treasures,\nremember that there is enough of both at Janina.\"\n\nArtemis was constrained to believe in the sincerity of Ali's words.\n\nAnd now the pasha, with his own hand, selected two beautiful Damascus\nblades from among his store of weapons, and bound them to the girdles\nof the brother and sister. What a warmth of self-confidence came over\nthem when they felt once more that they had swords by their sides!\n\nThen he led them down to their companions, who were assembled in the\ncourt-yard of the fortress, and informed them that they were free to\ngo whither they would. And then he put wine and pilaf before the\njubilant crowd of captives, and left them to eat and drink with his\nown Arnauts; and, beneath the peace-making influence of the good wine,\nit was not very long before they fell to kissing one another and\nswearing eternal fellowship like brothers.\n\nThen Ali produced his best long-range rifles, with bayonets attached,\nand distributed them amongst the captive Suliotes; he had not the\nleast fear now that they would turn these arms against him. Then he\nkissed the brother and sister on their foreheads, and, giving them his\nblessing, let them through that secret tunnel which led into the town.\n\n\nMeanwhile, in Gaskho Bey's camp outside curious reports began to\ncirculate. A pair of captured Albanians, who had been surprised\namongst the ruins of the town when Ali retreated, began to make the\nmost astounding revelations before their judges; amongst other things\nthey maintained that the Suliotes, in the camp of the bey, had a\nsecret understanding with the Pasha of Janina--their former master.\nAnd, as a matter of fact, every one had observed that Ali had quitted\nthe field of battle rather than fire upon the Suliotes.\n\nBut the captives confessed still more. They said that Artemis and\nKleon had had secret meetings with Ali in the subterranean tunnel,\nand had surrendered to him voluntarily. It must have been so, argued\nthose who had survived the last sally. Ali had made his assault from\nthe tower at the head of the bridge, and yet the Suliotes there had\nnot so much as fired a gun to signify his approach.\n\nThe captives also insisted that Ali was going to make another sally on\nthe following night against the besieging army, and then all the\nChristians in the camp of the bey would join him.\n\nThese reports, with still more terrible variations, began to extend\nthroughout the whole army, and here and there slight _mêlées_ even\ntook place between Christians and Moslems. The Osmanlis began to\nthreaten the foreign soldiers, and the latter began to everywhere form\nthemselves into independent little bands for mutual protection.\n\nGaskho Bey and Pehliván Pasha hastily summoned a council of war at\nthis disquieting symptom, and it was there resolved that the Greeks\nshould be disarmed. For this purpose they assembled them together in\nthe midst of the camp, surrounded them with Turkish veterans, and\nthen, pointing the guns at them, summoned them to instantly lay down\ntheir arms or they should all be shot down like dogs.\n\nThe Suliotes and Albanians listened to this summons with terror. They\nbeheld the bloodthirsty masses around them, and reflected how many\ntimes men had lost their lives by surrendering the very weapons\nwherewith they might have defended themselves, and, in their\nhesitation, they chose out twelve youths from amongst their ranks to\ngo to the general and ask the reason of this alarming demonstration.\n\nGaskho Bey was still in a towering passion, and the bold speech of the\nyoung men irritated him still further. He had them dragged into the\nmidst of the camp, in front of the assembled battalions, and commanded\nthat their heads should be cut off, proclaiming at the same time that\nany who dared to disobey this order should meet with the same fate.\n\nThe garments of the twelve young men were stripped from off them in\nthe presence of their comrades, and the usual head severing giant\nstood behind them, ready to force them down upon their knees and\ndecapitate them one by one. But he had not yet cut off a single head\nwhen a loud noise was heard coming from the direction of Janina; it\nwas the liberated sister and brother. Artemis and Kleon, at the head\nof their bands. They had beheld from the tower of Janina the danger\nwhich threatened their comrades, and arrived just as the executioners\nwere preparing to carry out Gaskho Bey's commands.\n\nThe Suliotes scattered here and there looked at each other. A\ntremendous roar filled the air--a roar of grief and rage and\nterror--breaking forth into despair. Those from before, those from\nbehind, fell upon the ranks of the Moslems. In a moment Gaskho Bey's\nwhole camp was converted into a chaotic mob, where Albanians and\nSpahis. Suliotes and Timariotes, fought together without any fixed\nplan, and, in utter defiance of all military science, recognizing\nneither friend nor foe. In vain the standard-bearers raised their\nbanners, in vain the officers of the Spahis roared themselves hoarse,\nand the Sorbadzhis and the gigantic Gaskho Bey himself did the same.\nThe army was so completely disorganized that not even the victorious\nenemy could make head or tail of it. Towards evening the Suliotes,\nunder Kleon and Artemis, captured Lithanizza; while Gaskho Bey, in his\ndespair, fled all the way to Durazzo. When he got there he discovered\nthat of all his army only twelve ciauses remained with him. The whole\nhost had fled higgledy-piggledy along the first road it came across,\nleaving behind it all its artillery, baggage, and ammunition wagons.\n\nBut Ali Pasha, sweetly smiling, calmly looked on from the red tower of\nJanina, while the enemy worried itself to death, and the besieging\nthousands scattered in every direction without his having to waste a\nsingle cannon-shot upon them.\n\nBut as I have already said. Ali was often so reduced as to possess\nnothing but his sword, and with this same sword he would win\neverything back again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE ALBANIAN FAMILY\n\n\nAnd now we will let the rumor of great deeds rest a while; we will\nclose our eyes to the wars that followed upon the siege of Janina; we\nwill shut our ears against the echoes of the names of a Ulysses,\nTepelenti, a Kolokotrini, those heroes who shook the throne of the\nSultan, and all of whom the Pasha of Janina called his very dear\nfriends. While these bloody wars are raging we will turn into the\ngrove of Dodona, where formerly the ambiguous utterances of sacred\nprophecies were always resounding in the ears of contemplative\ndreamers. Let us go back eighty years! Let us seek out that quiet\nlittle glen whither neither good report nor evil report ever comes\nflying, whose inhabitants know of nothing but what happens amongst\ntheir own fir-trees; why, even the tax-collecting Spahi only light\ndown amongst them to levy contributions once in a century!\n\nThe house of Halil Patrona's consort no longer stands beside the\nrippling stream. Nobody even knows the tomb in which the beautiful,\nthe elfin Gül-Bejáze now lies; Gül-Bejáze, the White Rose,[9] blooms\nno longer anywhere in that valley. Nobody knows the name even; only\nthe oldest old grandmother in the circle of the spinning maidens can\ntell them tales, which she also has heard from her mother or her\ngrandmother, of a mad lady who used to dwell in this valley and lay a\ntable every evening and prepare a couch every night for an invisible\nspirit, whom she called her husband, and whom nobody saw but herself.\n\n[Footnote 9: The heroine of another Turkish tale of Jókai's, _A feher\nrózsa_ (_The White Rose_).]\n\nThis old woman had a son called Behram, a brave, honest, worthy youth;\nmany a time with his comrades he would pursue the Epirot bandits, who\nswooped down upon their valley and carried off their cattle.\n\nNear to him dwelt the widow Khamko, whose husband had been shot at\nTepelen, and who, with her son, little Ali, in her bosom, had sought\nrefuge amongst these mountains.\n\nFormerly Khamko was a gentle creature, but when they began to talk to\nher about the mad lady she also grew as crazy as ever the other was.\nShe was ready to destroy the whole world, and over and over again she\nwould utter the wildest things; she would like, she said, to see the\nwhole four corners of the world set on fire so that the flames might\nshoot up on all four sides of it, and every living man within it, good\nas well as bad, might be burned. Listen not to such words. O Allah!\n\nBehram was a very quiet fellow, not more than six and twenty years\nold; little Ali was scarce sixteen. But this wild, restless lad was\nalready wont to wander for days together amongst the glens and\nmountains, and whenever he came home he invariably brought his mother\nmoney or jewels. And nobody knew whence he got them save Behram, to\nwhom the youth confessed everything, for he loved him dearly.\n\nAli joined the company of the Epirot adventurers and with them he\nwould go sacking villages, waylaying rich merchants, and shared with\nthem the easily gotten booty.\n\nAnd whenever he returned home without money, his mother. Khamko, would\nrail upon and chide him, and let him have no peace until he had\nengaged in fresh and more lucrative robberies.\n\nBehram looked askance at the perilous ways of his young comrade, and\nas often as he was alone with him did his best to fill his mind with\nhonest, noble ideas, which also seemed to make some impression on Ali,\nfor he gradually began to abandon his marauding ways, and in order\nthat he might still be able to get money for his mother, he fell to\nselling his sheep and his goats, and even parted with his long,\nsilver-mounted musket. At last he had nothing left but his sword. Dame\nKhamko, meanwhile, scolded Ali unmercifully. If he wanted to eat, let\nhim go seek his bread, she said. And the lad wandered through the\nwoods and thickets, and lived for a long time on the berries of the\nforest. At last, one day, when he was wellnigh famished and in the\ndepths of misery, he came upon an Armenian inn-keeper standing in the\ndoorway of his lonely little tavern. Ali rushed upon him, sword in\nhand, like a wolf perishing with hunger. The Armenian was a worthy old\nfellow, and when he saw Ali he said to him:\n\n\"What dost thou want, my son?\"\n\nThe honest, open look of the old man shamed Ali, and casting down his\neyes, he replied: \"I want to give thee this sword.\" Yet the moment\nbefore he had determined to slay him with it.\n\nThe Armenian took the sword from him, and gave him ten sequins in\nexchange for it, besides meat and drink. So Ali returned home without\nhis sword.\n\nWhen Dame Khamko saw her son return home disarmed she was greatly\nincensed and exclaimed:\n\n\"What hast thou done with thy sword?\"\n\n\"I have sold it,\" answered Ali, resolutely.\n\nAt this the mother flew into a violent rage, and catching up a\nbludgeon, belabored Ali with it until she was tired. The big, muscular\nlad allowed himself to be beaten, and neither wept nor said a word,\nnor even tried to defend himself.\n\n\"And now dost see that spindle?\" cried Dame Khamko. \"Learn to spin the\nthread and turn the bobbins quickly; thou shalt not eat idle bread at\nhome, I can tell thee. A man who can sell his sword is fit for nothing\nbut to sit beside a distaff.\"\n\nSo Ali sat down to spin.\n\nFor a couple of days he endured the insults which his mother heaped\nupon him, and on the third day he returned to the Armenian, to whom he\nhad sold his sword, robbed him of and slew of him with it, plundered\nand burned down his house, and from thenceforth became such a famous\nrobber that the whole countryside lived in mortal terror of him.\n\nDame Khamko lived a long time after this event, and ruined her son's\nsoul altogether by urging him to kill and slay without mercy, till one\nfine day her son murdered her likewise, and thus added her blood also\nto the blood of those whom, at his mother's instigation, he had\ncruelly murdered.\n\nAnd this lad became the Pasha of Janina. Ali Tepelenti!\n\nThrough what an ocean of treachery, perjury, robbery, and homicide he\nhad to wade before he attained to that eminence! How often was he not\nso reduced as to have nothing left but his sword and his crafty brain?\nBut many a time, in the midst of his most brilliant successes, in the\nvery plenitude of his power, he would bethink him of the two quiet\nlittle huts where he and Behram had been wont to dwell. He never heard\nof Behram now, but he used frequently to think in those days and\nwonder what would have become of himself if he had listened to\nBehram's words and lived a quiet, contented life. 'Tis true he would\nnot have been so mighty a man as he was now, but would he not have\nbeen a much happier one?\n\nOnce, when he was a very great potentate, he had visited the little\nvillage in the glen in which they had hidden away together. But nobody\nwould tell him anything of Behram. He had disappeared none knew\nwhither. Perhaps he had died since then!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE PEN OF MAHMOUD\n\n\nWhen, during the reign of Mahmoud II., the caravan of Meccan pilgrims\nwas plundered by the Vechabites, lying in ambush, the Sultan ordered\nthe rulers of Mecca and Medina to immediately send to the lair of the\nVechabites and buy back the dervishes with ready money.\n\nThe Vechabites gave up the captives in exchange for the ransom sent\nthem, but they adhered so rigidly to the terms of the bargain whereby\nthey were to surrender the captives only, that they even kept for\nthemselves the garments that happened to be on the captives, and let\nnothing go but their bare bodies, on which account Mahmoud was obliged\nto give his rescued subjects raiment as well as freedom.\n\nAmongst those who were so liberated was a dervish of the Nimetullahita\norder, who, after this incident was over, arose, sought out the Sultan\nand said to him, \"Thou art a poor potentate. Thou art the most sorry\nof all the caliphs. Thou art the greatest son of suffering[10] among\nall the sultans who have gone before thee, or shall come after thee. I\nthank thee for delivering me from the hands of the Vechabites,[11]\nand as a reward, therefore, I bring thee a gift which, even when they\nleft me without any raiment, I was still able to conceal from them.\"\n\n[Footnote 10: _I.e._, patient of insult.]\n\n[Footnote 11: The Vechabites are accounted heretics by the orthodox\nMussulmans.]\n\nAnd with that he produced a writing-reed and gave it to the Sultan,\nand when Mahmoud asked him in what way he had concealed it from the\neyes of the robbers, he explained how he had cunningly thrust it into\nhis thick black beard, where nobody had perceived it.\n\nMahmoud accepted the gift of the dervish, and put it where he put his\nother curiosities; but he did not think of it for very long, and\ngradually it escaped his memory altogether.\n\nOne day, however, when one of his favorite damsels, moved by\ncuriosity, had induced him to show her the treasures of his palace,\nand they came to the spot where lay the pen of the dervish, the damsel\nsuddenly cried out, and said that she had seen the pen move.\n\nThe Sultan looked in that direction, and, observing nothing, treated\nthe whole affair as a joke, and went on showing the damsel the\naccumulated relics and curiosities of centuries which thirteen\nsuccessive Sultans had stored up in the khazné or treasury, and then\ngave the damsel permission to choose for herself whichever of these\ntreasures might please her most.\n\nMany costly things were there covered with gems, and worth, each one\nof them, half a kingdom; there were also rare and precious relics, and\nantiquities rich in historical associations. But the Sultan's pet\ndamsel chose for herself none of these things; to the amazement of the\nPadishah, she only asked for this simple black pen.\n\nMahmoud was astonished, but he granted the damsel her wish, and making\nlight of it, he gave her the writing-reed which was fashioned out of a\nsimple bamboo cane, and was nothing very remarkable even at that.\n\nThe odalisk took the pen away with her to her room, and waited from\nmorning to night to see it move. But the pen calmly rested where she\nhad placed it all day long and all night too, and the odalisk began to\nbe sorry that she had not rather selected for herself some other more\nprecious thing instead of the object of her curiosity; but one\nevening, when the Sultan was visiting her in her flowery chamber, and\nthey were holding sweet converse together, they suddenly heard in the\nroom, where nobody was present but themselves, a faint sound as if\nsome one were writing in great haste, the scratching of a pen on the\nextended parchment was distinctly audible.\n\nThey both looked in the direction of the sound, and words failed them\nin their astonishment, for behold! the writing-reed was half raised in\nthe air, just as when one is holding it in his hand, and it seemed to\nbe writing of its own accord on the parchment extended beneath it.\n\nThe damsel trembled for terror, while the Sultan, who was a stranger\nalike to fear or superstition, imagining that perhaps a spider had got\ninto the upper part of the reed, and consequently made it move up and\ndown, and anxious to convince his favorite thereof, approached the\ntable, and took up the pen in order to shake the spider out of it.\nBut there was nothing at all there, and the pen went on writing of its\nown accord.\n\nThe Sultan himself began to be astonished at this phenomenon. What the\npen seemed to be so diligently writing remained a hidden script,\nhowever, for its point had not been dipped in ink. Wishing, therefore,\nto put it to the test, the Sultan dipped the point of the reed in a\nlittle box full of that red balsamic salve with which Turkish girls\nare wont to paint their lips, and then placed it on a smooth, clean\nsheet of parchment, whereupon it again arose, and wrote in bright,\nplainly intelligible letters these words, \"Mahmoud! Mahmoud!\"\n\nThe Sultan's own heart began to beat when he saw his own name written\nbefore his eyes, and he inquired with something like consternation,\n\"What dost thou want of me?\"\n\nThe pen immediately wrote down again these two words, \"Mahmoud!\nMahmoud!\" and then lay still.\n\n\"That is my name,\" said the Sultan; \"but who then art thou. O\ninvisible spirit?\"\n\nThe pen again arose and wrote beneath the name of Mahmoud this name\nalso, \"Halil Patrona!\"\n\nMahmoud trembled at this name. It was the name of a man who had been\nmurdered by one of his ancestors, and if the apparition of a spirit be\nterrible in itself, how much more the spirit of a murdered man!\n\n\"What dost thou want here?\" exclaimed the terrified Sultan.\n\nThe pen answered, \"To warn thee!\"\n\n\"Perchance a danger threatens me, eh?\" inquired the Sultan.\n\n\"'Tis near thee!\" wrote the pen.\n\n\"Whence comes this danger?\"\n\nAnd now the pen wrote a long row of letters, and this was the purport\nthereof, \"A great danger from the East, a greater from the West, a\ngreater still from the North, and here at home the greatest of all.\"\n\n\"Where will the Faithful fight?\" asked the Sultan.\n\n\"In the whole realm!\" was the reply.\n\n\"Near which towns?\"\n\n\"Near every town and within every town.\"\n\n\"How long will the war last?\"\n\n\"Nine years.\"\n\nIt was now the year eighteen hundred and twenty, and there was not a\nsign of danger at any point of the vast boundaries of the Turkish\nempire.\n\nThe Sultan permitted himself one more question: \"Tell me, shall I\ntriumph in these wars?\"\n\nThe pen replied, \"Thou wilt not.\"\n\n\"Who will be my enemies?\"\n\nThere the pen stopped short, as if it were reflecting on something; at\nlast it wrote down, \"Another time.\"\n\nThe Sultan did not understand this answer, so he repeated his\nquestion, and now the pen wrote, \"Ask in another place!\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Alone.\"\n\nEvidently it would not answer the question in the presence of the\nSultan's favorite. It did not trust her.\n\nThe Sultan almost believed that he was dreaming, but now his favorite\ndamsel also drew near and, leaning on Mahmoud's shoulder, stammered\nforth, \"Prithee, mighty spirit, wilt thou answer me?\"\n\nAnd the pen replied, \"I will.\"\n\nThe woman asked, \"Tell me, will Mahmoud love me to the death?\"\n\nThe Sultan was somewhat offended. \"By the prophet!\" cried he, \"that\nthou shouldst put such a question!\"\n\nBut what is not a living woman capable of asking?\n\nThe pen quivered gently as it wrote down the words, \"He will love thee\ntill thou diest.\"\n\n\"And when _shall_ I die?\"\n\nTo this the pen gave no answer.\n\nIn vain the favorite pressed her question. How many years, how many\nmonths, how many days had she to live? The spirit answered nothing.\n\n\"And how shall I die?\" asked the woman.\n\nThe Sultan shivered at this senseless question, and would have made\nthe girl withdraw; but, in an instant, the pen had written out the\nanswer, \"Thou shalt be killed.\"\n\nThe woman grew as pale as a wax figure, and stammered, \"Who will kill\nme?\"\n\nBoth of them awaited in terror and with baited breath what the pen\nwould answer, and the pen, taking good care not to form a single\nillegible letter, wrote on the parchment, \"Mahmoud!\"\n\nThe favorite fell unconscious into the arms of the Sultan, who,\ncarrying her away, laid her on the divan, watching over her till she\ncame to herself again, and then comforting her with wise saws.\n\nAn evil, mocking spirit dwelt in the reed, he said, consolingly, who\nonly uttered its forebodings to agitate their hearts. \"Did it not say\nalso that I should love thee to the death? How then could I slay thee?\nA lying spirit dwelleth in that reed!\"\n\nAnd yet the Sultan himself was trembling all the time.\n\nThat night no sleep visited his eyes, and early in the morning he took\nthe reed from his favorite by force, telling her that he was going to\nthrow it into the fire.\n\nBut he did _not_ throw it into the fire. On the contrary, the Sultan\nfrequently produced it, and, inasmuch as he sometimes convicted the\nspirit of a false prophecy, he began to regard the whole thing as a\nsort of magic hocus-pocus, invented by the kindly Fates to amuse\nmankind by its oddity, and he frequently made it serve as a plaything\nfor the whole harem, gathering the odalisks together and compelling\nthe enchanted pen to answer all sorts of petty questions, as, for\ninstance, \"How old is the old kadun-keit-khuda?\" \"How many sequins are\nin the purse of the Kizlar-Agasi?\" \"At what o'clock did the Sultan\nawake?\" \"When will the Sultan's tulips arrive?\" \"How many heads were\nthrown to-day into the sea?\" \"Is Sadi, the poet, still alive?\" etc.,\netc. Or they forced the pen to translate the verses of Victor Hugo\ninto Turkish, Arabic, and Persian. And the pen patiently accomplished\neverything. At last it became quite a pet plaything with the odalisks,\nand the favorite Sultana altogether forgot the evil prophecy which it\nhad written down for her.\n\nNow it chanced one day that the famous filibusterer Microconchalys,\nwho had for a long time disturbed the archipelago with his cruisers,\nand defied the whole fleet of the Sultan, encountered in the open sea,\noff Candia, a British man-of-war, which he was mad enough to attack\nwith three galleys. In less than an hour all three galleys were blown\nto the bottom of the sea, nothing of them remaining on the surface of\nthe water but their well-known flags, which Morrison, the victorious\nEnglish captain, conveyed to Stambul, and there presented them to the\nDivan.\n\nBoundless was the joy of the Sultan at the death of the vexatious\nfilibusterer, and there was joy in the harem also, for a feast of\nlamps was to be held there the same night, and Morrison was to be\npresented to the Divan on the following day to be loaded with gifts\nand favors.\n\nAt night, therefore, there was great mirth among the odalisks. The\nSultan himself was drunk with joy, wine, and love, and the hilarious\nSultana brought forth the magic pen to make them mirth, and compelled\nit to answer the drollest questions, as, for instance, \"How many hairs\nare there in Mahmoud's head?\" \"How many horses are there in the\nstable?\" and \"How many soldiers are there on the sea?\" And, finally,\nlaughing aloud, she commanded it to tell her how many hours she had to\nlive.\n\nAh, surely a life full of joy lay before her! But the Sultan shook his\nhead; one ought not to tempt God with such questions.\n\nThe pen would not write.\n\nThen the favorite cried angrily, \"Answer! or I will compel thee to\ncount all the drops of water in the Black Sea, from here to Jenikale\nin the Crimea!\"\n\nAt these words the pen, with a quivering movement, arose, and\nscratching the paper with a shrill sound, as if it would weep and\nmoan, wrote down some utterly unintelligible characters, with the\nnumber \"8\" beneath them, and surrounded the whole writing with a\ncircle to signify that there was nothing more to come.\n\nEverybody laughed. It was plain that the spirit also loved its little\njoke, and was angry with the Sultana for torturing it with so many\nsilly questions.\n\nIt was then the third hour after midnight, all the clocks in the room\nhad at that moment struck the hour. After that the odalisks fell\na-dancing again, and the eunuch-buffoons exhibited a puppet show on a\ncurtained stage, which greatly diverted the ladies of the harem. But\nthe number \"8\" would not go out of the head of the favorite, and as\nall the clocks in the room, one after the other, struck four, she took\nout the pen, and with an incredulous, mocking smile on her face, but\nwith horror in her heart, she asked, \"Come, tell me again, if thou\nhast not forgotten, how many hours have I got to live?\"\n\nThe pen wrote down the number \"7.\"\n\nThose who stood around now began to tremble. But Mahmoud treated the\nwhole affair as a joke, and assured them that the pen was only making\nthem sport. And again they went on diverting themselves.\n\nAn hour later the clocks, in the usual sequence, struck the hour of\nfive. And now the favorite stole aside, and placing the reed on a\ntable repeated her former question. And the pen wrote down the number\n\"6.\"\n\nThus, with each hour, the number indicated was lesser by one than the\nprevious number. The Sultan observed the gloom of his favorite, and to\ndrive away her sad thoughts, compelled her to retire to her\nbedchamber, where she enjoyed two hours of sweet repose, leaning on\nthe Sultan's breast; whereupon the Sultan arose and went into his\ndressing-room, for he had to hold a divan, or council.\n\nThe first thing the favorite did on awaking was to look at the time,\nand she perceived that it was now seven o'clock. She immediately\nhastened to interrogate the pen, and asked the question of it with\nfear and trembling; and now the pen wrote down the number \"4.\"\n\n\nThe Sultan himself sent for Morrison.\n\nThe English sailor was proudly conscious of owning no master but the\nsea. During his long roamings in the East and South he had always made\nit a point of visiting all the barbarous chiefs and princes who came\nin his way. He regarded them simply as freaks of nature, whose absurd\nrites and customs he meant to thoroughly investigate in order that he\nmight make a note of them in his diary, and he even went the length of\nadopting for a time their manners and customs, if he could not get\nwhat he wanted in any other way.\n\nA summons to appear before the divan was scarcely of more importance\nin his eyes than an invitation to a wild elephant hunt, or initiation\ninto the mysteries of Mumbo Jumbo, or an ascent in the perilous aerial\nship of Montgolfier. He donned a dark-blue-colored garment and a\nplumed three-cornered hat, and condescended to allow himself to be\nconducted by the ichoglanler specially told off to do him honor to the\nsplendid canopied, six-oared pinnace, which was to take him to the\npalace.\n\nThey escorted him first to the Gate of Fountains, and left him waiting\nfor a few moments in the Chamber of Lions, allowing him in the\nmeanwhile to draw a pocket-book from his breast-pocket and make a\nrapid sketch of all the objects around him. They then relieved him of\nhis short sword, as none may approach the Sultan with arms, and threw\nacross his shoulders an ample caftan trimmed with ermine. He did not\nreflect for the moment what a distinction this was. His only feeling\nwas a slight surprise that he should be dressed in green down to his\nvery heels, as, with the dragoman on his left hand, he was conducted\ninto the Hall of the Seven Viziers, where the Sultan sat in the midst\nof his grandees.\n\nMorrison greeted the Padishah very handsomely, just as he would have\ngreeted King George IV. or King Charles X., perhaps.\n\n\"Bow to the ground--right down to the ground, milord!\" whispered the\ndragoman in his ears.\n\n\"I'll be damned if I do!\" replied Morrison. \"It is not my habit to go\ndown on my knees in uniform!\"\n\n\"But that was why they put the caftan on you,\" whispered the dragoman,\nhalf in joke. \"'Tis the custom here.\"\n\n\"And a deuced bad custom, too,\" growled Morrison; and, after\nreflecting for a moment or two, he hit upon the idea of letting his\nhat fall to the ground, and then bent down as if to pick it up again.\nBut, by way of compensation, immediately after righting himself he\nstood as stiff and straight as if he were determined never to bend his\nhead again, though the roof were to fall upon him in consequence.\n\nThe Sultan addressed a couple of brief words to the sailor,\nmetamorphosed by the dragoman into a floridly adulatory rigmarole,\nwhich he represented to be a faithful version of the Sultan's\nineffable salutation. In effect he told the sailor that he was a\nterrible hippopotamus, an oceanic elephant, who had ground to death\ncountless crocodiles with his glorious grinders, trampled them to\npieces with his mighty hoofs, and torn them limb from limb with his\ntrunk, and had therefore merited that the sublime Sultan should cover\nhim with the wings of his mantle. Let him, therefore, ask as a reward\nwhatever he chose, even to the half of the Padishah's kingdom. I may\nadd that if any one had in those days actually asked for half of the\nSultan's kingdom, he would probably have got that part of it which\nlies underground.\n\nMorrison thanked the Sultan for his liberal offer, and asked that he\nmight see the favorite wife of the Grand Signior.\n\nAt these words the dragoman turned pale, but the Sultan turned still\npaler. The convulsive twitching of the muscles of his face betrayed\nhis strong revulsion of feeling, and, lowering his heavy, shaggy\neyebrows, he dashed at the sailor a look of deadly rage, while a heavy\nsigh escaped from his deep chest.\n\nThe Englishman only regretted that he could not acquit himself as\ncreditably in this play of eyebrows. His own were small, of a bright\nblonde color, and somewhat pointed.\n\nThe dragoman, however, could read an ominous meaning in this deep\nsilence.\n\n\"O glorious giaour, rosebud of thy nation!\" whispered he, \"fleet\nwater-spider of the ocean, ask not so senseless a thing from the Grand\nSignior! Behold his wrathful eyes, and ask for something else; ask for\nhis most precious treasure; ask for all his damsels, if thou wilt, but\nask not to see the face of his favorite. Thou knowest not the meaning\nthereof.\"\n\nMorrison shrugged his shoulders. \"I want neither his treasure nor his\ndamsels. I only want to see his favorite wife.\"\n\nMahmoud trembled, but not a word did he speak. Two tear-drops twinkled\nin his dark eyes and ran down his handsome, manly face.\n\nAt this the Viziers leaped to their feet, and it was evident from\ntheir agitated cries that they expected the Sultan to order the\npresumptuous infidel to be cut down there and then.\n\nThe dragoman, in despair, flung himself at the seaman's feet.\n\n\"O prince of all whales!\" he cried. \"O unbelieving dog! Thou seest me,\na true believer, lying at thy feet. O wine-drinking giaour! Why wilt\nthou entangle me with the words which the Sultan said to thee through\nme? Art thou not ashamed to place thy foot on the neck of the lord of\nprinces? Ask some other thing!\"\n\nIn vain. The sailor changed not a muscle of his face. He simply\nrepeated, with imperturbable _sang-froid_, the words:\n\n\"I want to see his favorite wife.\"\n\nThe Viziers rushed at him with a howl of fury, but Morrison merely\nthrew back the caftan which had been folded across his breast,\nrevealing his dreaded uniform and the decorations appended\nthereto--memorials of his services at Alexandria and Trafalgar. That,\nhe thought, would quite suffice to preserve him from any violence.\n\nBut the Sultan leaped down from his throne, beckoned with his hand to\nthe Viziers, and whispered some words in the ear of the Kislar-Agasi,\nwho thereupon withdrew. This whispered word went the round of the\nViziers, who straightway did obeisance and disappeared in three\ndifferent directions through the three doors of the room, their places\nbeing taken by two black slaves in red fezes and white robes, with\nbroad-bladed, crooked swords in their hands. Only the Sultan remained\nbehind there with the sailor.\n\n\nThe clocks in the rooms of the Seraglio struck a quarter to ten. The\npen of the dervish in reply to the question of the favorite as to how\nmany hours she had to live now wrote down \"¼.\"\n\nAt that moment the Kislar-Agasi entered. The favorite went to meet\nhim, trembling like a lost lamb coming face to face with a wolf.\n\nThe Kislar-Agasi bowed deeply, and beckoned to the serving-women of\nthe Seraglio standing behind him to come forward.\n\n\"Has the Sultana accomplished the prescribed ablutions?\" said he.\n\n\"Yes, my lord!\"\n\n\"Gird her round the body with a triple row of pearls; fasten on her\nturban the bird of paradise with the diamond clasp. Put on her gold\nembroidered caftan.\"\n\nThe favorite let them do what they would with her without saying a\nword.\n\nThe waiting-woman, covering the favorite's face with a light fan,\nthickly sewn with tiny gold stars, conducted her to the door which led\nto the Porcelain Chamber, and there the Kislar-Agasi left her, after\nindicating whither they had to go next.\n\nGuards stood in couples before each one of the doors; the last door\nthey came to was only protected by a curtain. This was the door of the\ncupola chamber where the Sultan had received the sailor.\n\nThe favorite could not see the sailor because of the lofty projecting\nwings of the throne; she only saw the Sultan sitting on a divan. She\nhastened up to him, and when she stood before him she suddenly caught\nsight of the stranger regarding her with coldly curious eyes.\nShrinking away with terror, she screamed out \"Giaour!\" and, wrapping\nher veil more closely around her, turned to the Sultan for protection.\nThen Mahmoud seized the damsel's trembling hand with one of his, and\nwith the other raised the veil from the face of his dearest wife in\nthe presence of the stranger.\n\nThe girl shrieked as if her face had been bitten by a serpent; then\nshe fell at the knees of the Sultan, and looked at the face of the\nGrand Signior with an appealing glance for mercy. In the eyes of the\ncaliph of caliphs the moisture of human compassion sparkled. Poor\nSultana! who would not have pitied her?\n\nMorrison made a courtly bow, and the dragoman not being present, he\nexpressed his thanks by using the well-known Turkish salutation,\n\"Salám aláküm!\" The extraordinary charms of the damsel made no more\nimpression upon him than the sight of any ordinarily pretty lady at a\ncourt presentation at home would have done.\n\nThe damsel meanwhile writhed in torments at the feet of the Sultan,\nwho, having had enough of it himself, covered her with her veil, and\nbeckoned to the Kislar-Agasi. He raised the damsel, and carried her\nbehind the curtains that surrounded the throne; the same instant the\ntwo eunuch guards standing beside the throne also disappeared.\n\nThe Sultan listened and covered his eyes.\n\nAfter a few moments of deep silence, it seemed to the sailor as if he\nheard a long sigh behind the curtains. The Sultan shivered in every\nlimb, and immediately afterwards the clocks in the Seraglio began to\nstrike; they struck eleven.\n\nThen the Sultan arose from his place and said, with a deep sigh:\n\n\"'Twas the will of Allah!\" Then he descended from the divan and said\nto Morrison in the purest Italian, \"Thou didst see her; was she not\nbeautiful?\"\n\nMorrison, astonished to hear Italian spoken by the Sultan, who, as a\nrule, never spoke a word save through an interpreter, in his amazement\ncould not find an answer to this question quick enough.\n\n\"Come now and see her once more,\" continued the Grand Signior, and\nwith these words he went towards the curtains.\n\nMorrison fell back confounded. The rosy-red damsel of a few moments\nbefore lay there pale, lifeless, at full length, her lips and eyes\nclosed, her bosom motionless. A thin red line was visible round her\nbeautiful white neck--the mark of the silken cord!\n\n\"But this is brutal!\" exclaimed the sailor, beside himself with\nindignation.\n\nThe Sultan coldly replied, \"Whenever a Christian man beholds the face\nof one of our women, that woman must die.\" He then signified to the\nsailor that he was dismissed.\n\nMorrison hastened from the room, immediately hoisted his anchor, and\nthe same night sailed out of the Golden Horn, everywhere pursued by\nthe memory of the beautiful Sultana, whom he had killed with a glance\nof his eyes.\n\n\n\"Behold, behold!\" cried the Sultan, pressing the cold, murdered limbs\nto his bosom; \"the _dzhin_ told the truth. Mahmoud loved thee to the\ndeath, and yet Mahmoud slew thee!\"\n\nThese words he repeated two or three times to the dead woman, and\nthen, descending the steps of the throne, rent his garments across his\nbreast, and looking up to heaven with tearful eyes, exclaimed:\n\n\"And now let the rest come too!\"\n\nAnd the rest did come. It came from the east and from the west, from\nthe north and from the south--four empire-subverting tempests, which\nshook the strong trunk of Osman to its very roots, and scattered its\nleaves afar.\n\nAli Pasha of Janina was the first to kindle the blood-red flames of\nwar in the west, and soon they spread from the Morea to Smyrna. In the\nnorth the crusading banners of Yprilanti raised up a fresh foe\nagainst Mahmoud, and the cries of \"the sacred army\" re-echoed from the\nwalls of Athens and the banks of the Danube and the summits of\nOlympus. In Stambul the unbridled hosts of the Janissaries shed\ntorrents of blood among the Greeks of the city on the tidings of every\ndefeat from outside. And when the peril from every quarter had reached\nits height, the Shah of Persia fell upon the crumbling realm from the\neast, and captured the rich city of Bagdad.\n\nAnd still Mahmoud had the desire to live--to live and rule. A pettier\nspirit would have fled from the Imperial palace and taken refuge among\nthe palm-trees of Arabia Felix when it recognized that an endless war\nencompassed it on every side, that to conquer was impossible, and that\nthe nearest enemy was the most dangerous. A mine of gunpowder had been\ndug beneath the throne, and around the throne a mob of madmen were\nhurrying aimlessly to and fro with lighted torches. And yet it was\nMahmoud's pleasure to remain sitting on that throne.\n\nFrequently he would steal furtively at night from his harem. Alone,\nunattended, he would contemplate the flight of the stars from the roof\nof the Seraglio, and would listen to the nocturnal massacres and the\nshrieks of the dying in the streets of Stambul. He would watch how the\nconflagrations burned forth in two or three places at once, both in\nPera and Galata their lordships the Janissaries were working their\nwill. And he felt that cruelly cold piercing wind which began to blow\nfrom the north, so that in the rooms of the Seraglio the shivering\nodalisks began to draw rugs and other warm coverings over their\ntender limbs. Never had any one in Stambul felt that cold wind before.\nWhence came it, and what did it signify?\n\nMahmoud knew whence it came and what it signified, and he had the\ncourage to look steadily in the face of the future, in which he\ndiscerned not a single ray of hope.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE CIRCASSIAN AND HIS FAMILY\n\n\nIn those days Kasi Mollah did not go by the name of Murstud--_i.e._, a\npillar of the faith. He was a simple sheik at Himri, in the northern\npart of the land of Circassia, a remote little place, where the\nMuscovite was no more than a rumor from afar.\n\nNature herself had fashioned a strong fortress around Himri. Immense\nmountain-chains enclosed it within massive walls on both sides, rising\nbleak, interminable, and ever upwards into the dim distance.\n\nIn the midst of this valley of eternal shadows arose a third rocky\nmass, forming--on both sides--a steep, ladder-like wall; and, after\nextending far among the other mountains, terminating in a\nragged-looking, concave hill, defended by the junction of the\nimpetuous mountain streams, which dug a deep hollow among the\nexcavated rocks. Along this channel, running like a spinal cord\nthroughout the backbone of the mountain, extended some few thousands\nof acres of luxuriant corn--a long but narrow strip.\n\nAt the head of an opening in the chain a rocky scaffolding was\nvisible, about one hundred feet in height, as regularly disposed as if\na number of gigantic dice had been designedly placed there one on the\ntop of another. By a marvellous freak of Nature, this rocky\nconglomeration was provided apparently with towers, bastions, and\nbuttresses; so that, viewed from afar, it looked like a gigantic\nfortress, and, on the very first glance at it, the thought\ninvoluntarily occurs to one that if but four guns were planted on\nthose summits a few hundred men might defend themselves against an\narmy-corps. At the rear of the hill, moreover, where the cataracts\nmake any approach impossible, the flocks and herds of the defending\narmy could go on contentedly browsing for years together.\n\nA foolish idea! To whom would it ever occur to attack Himri, that tiny\nCircassian village with scarcely five hundred inhabitants, who have\nnothing in the world but their kine, their goats, and their pretty\ngirls? Who would ever come against Himri with guns and an\narmy--against those most worthy men who all their life long have never\ndone anything but make cheese and tan hides, who only exercise their\nvalor against the devastating bands of bears, and only extirpate with\ntheir long, far-reaching muskets the wild goats of the rocks?\n\nThey do not even build their houses on the summit of this wondrous\nfortress of Nature, but among the rocks below, constructing them\nprettily of regularly disposed logs, with roofs like dove-cots,\nsurrounding them with linden-trees and flower-gardens. And so far from\nkeeping a visitor at bay with cannon-shots, they go forth to meet him,\nconduct him into their villages, hospitably entertain him, insist on\nhis tarrying long with them; and if the visitor be a handsome young\nfellow, the loveliest eyes that ever smiled and wept grow moist at\nhis departure. Who amongst those who have been lulled to sleep in\nHimri by the songs of the lovely and bewitching Circassian girls could\never have dreamed that the time would come when these mountain walls\nall round about would be dyed red with the blood of thousands and\nthousands of strangers, who came thither to seek death, and found what\nthey sought?\n\nThe house of the meritorious sheik differed in no respect from the\ndwellings of the other inhabitants. It also was entirely built of\ntimber, consisted of four rooms leading one out of another, and two\nvenerable nut-trees stood in front of it.\n\nKasi Mollah sits outside, leaning tranquilly against the door-post\nbeneath the projecting eaves, both sides of which are covered by large\nscarlet-runners, plaiting with great care and solemnity a whip out of\ntwelve fine thongs of kid-skin hanging on a crooked nail.\n\nSquatting on the ground beside him on a bear-skin sits a\npeculiar-looking stranger. Even if you had not seen it in his features\nand clothing, his mules standing before the door would have told you\nthat he did not belong to these parts. He was, indeed, a Greek\nmerchant from Smyrna, who visited Circassia every year to purchase\nkid-skins--or, so he said. He had three palaces in Smyrna; but it is\nscarcely credible that he could have acquired them by his kid-skins\nonly. At any rate, his mules were laden now with whole bundles of furs\nand pelts, and the merchant was toasting his host in a sour beverage,\nmade by the Circassian from horse's milk, the evil odor of which he\nwas striving to dispel with the smoke of good Latakia tobacco.\n\nIt was for him also that the Circassian was making that long\nmule-driving whip of thongs of twelve different colors, serpentine in\nshape, and plaited at the ends with beautiful white horse-hair; and\nwhen it was ready he smacked it so vigorously, by way of showing it\noff, that the merchant could scarce save his eyes from it.\n\n\"A pretty whip, and a good whip,\" he said, at last, in order that its\nowner might leave off cracking it.\n\n\"I'll very soon prove whether it is a good whip or not,\" said the\nCircassian, without moving a muscle of his brown, oval-shaped,\napathetic face; and with that he began to make the handle of the whip\nout of fine copper wire of a fantastically ornate pattern nicely\nstudded with leaden stars.\n\n\"How will you prove that it is a good whip?\" asked the merchant.\n\n\"Stop till my children come home.\"\n\n\"Your _children_?\"\n\n\"Yes, naturally. I should not think of proving it on other people's\nchildren.\"\n\n\"You are surely not going to prove the whip on your own?\"\n\n\"On whom else, then? Children should be whipped in order that they may\nbe good, that they may be kept in order, and that they may not get\nnonsense into their heads. 'Tis also a good thing to train them\nbetimes to endure greater sorrow by giving them a foretaste of lesser\nones, so that when they grow up to man's estate, and real misfortune\novertakes them, they may be able to bear it. My father used always to\nbeat me, and now I bless him for it, for it made a man of me. Children\nare always full of evil dispositions, and you do well to drive such\nthings out of them with the whip.\"\n\nA peculiar smile passed across the long, olive-colored face of the\nGreek at these words; he seemed to be only smiling to himself. Then he\nfixed his sly, coal-black eyes on the sheik, and inquired,\nsceptically:\n\n\"But surely you don't beat your children without cause?\"\n\n\"Oh, there's always cause. Children are always doing something wrong;\nyou have only to keep an eye on them to see that, and whoever neglects\nto punish them acts like him who should forbear to pull up the weeds\nin his garden.\"\n\n\"Kasi Mollah,\" said the Greek, puffing two long clouds of smoke\nthrough his nostrils, \"I tell you, children are not your speciality,\nfor you do not understand how to bring them up. In the whole land of\nCircassia there is none who knows how to bring up children.\"\n\n\"Then how comes it that our girls are the fairest and our youths the\nbravest on the face of the earth?\"\n\n\"Your girls would be still more beautiful and your lads still more\nvaliant if you brought them up in the land where dwell the descendants\nof white-bosomed Briseis and quick-footed Achilles. O Hellas!\"\n\nThe Greek began to grow rapturous at the pronunciation of these\nclassical names, and in his excitement blew sufficient smoke out of\nhis chibook to have clouded all Olympus.\n\n\"I tell you. Kasi Mollah,\" continued he, \"that children are the gifts\nof God, and he who beats a child lifts his whip, so to speak, against\nGod Himself, for His hands defend their little bodies. You do but sin\nagainst your children. Give them to me!\"\n\n\"You are a Christian; I am a Mussulman. How, then, shall you bring up\nmy children?\"\n\n\"Fear nothing. I do not want to keep them for myself; I mean rather to\nget them such positions as will enable them to rise to the utmost\ndistinction. I would place them with some leading pasha, perhaps with\nthe Padishah himself, or, at any rate, with one of his Viziers, all of\nwhom have a great respect for Circassians.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Midas, thank you; but I don't mean to give them up.\"\n\n\"Prithee, prithee, call me not Midas; that is an ominous name which I\ndo not understand. You might have learned any time these ten years,\nwhen I first came to buy pelts from you, that my name is Leonidas\nArgyrocantharides, and that I am a direct descendant of the hero\nLeonidas, who fell at Thermopylæ with his three hundred valiant\nSpartans. One of my great-great-grandfathers, moreover, fell at Issus,\nby the side of the great Alexander, from a mortal blow dealt to him by\na Persian satrap. If you do not believe me, look at this ancient coin,\nand at these others, and at this whole handful which are in my purse,\nall of which were struck under Philip of Macedon, or else under Michel\nKantakuzenos or Constantine Porphyrogenitus, all of whom were powerful\nGreek emperors in Constantinople, which now they call Stambul, and\nbuilt the church of St. Sophia, where now the dervishes say their\nprayers; and then look at the figures which are stamped on these\ncoins, and tell me if they do not resemble me to a hair. It is so.\nNo, you need not give me back the money; give me rather the two\nlittle children.\"\n\nThe Circassian, who had taken the purse with the simple intention of\ncomparing the figures on the coins with the face of the merchant, drew\nthe strings of the purse tight again at this offer, and thrust it back\ninto the merchant's bosom.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said he, dryly. \"I deal in the skins of goats, not in the\nskins of men.\"\n\nThe face of the merchant showed surprise in all its features. Not\nevery man possesses the art of controlling his countenance so quickly,\nespecially when his self-command is put to so sudden and severe a\ntest. The Georgians, more to the south, were a much more manageable\nrace of men. With them one could readily drive a bargain for their\ndaughters and give them a good big sum on account for their smallest\nchildren. One could purchase of them children from two to three years\nof age at from ten to twenty golden denarii a head, and sell them in\nten years' time for just as many thousands of piastres to some\nillustrious pasha. This was how Leonidas was able to build himself\npalaces at Smyrna.\n\n\"You talk nonsense, my worthy Chorbadzhi,\" said the merchant, when he\nhad somewhat recovered himself. \"Shall I prove it to you? Well, then,\nin the first place, you do not sell your children, and, in the second\nplace, why shouldn't you sell them? If a Circassian wrapped in a\nbear-skin comes to you and asks you for your daughter, would you not\ngive her to him? And at the very outside he would only give you a\ndozen cows for her, and as many asses. I, on the other hand, offer you\na thousand piastres for them from good, worthy, influential beys, or\nperhaps from the Sultan himself, and yet you haggle about it.\"\n\nThe sheik's face began to show wrath and irritation. He was well aware\nthat the merchant was now dealing in sophisms, though his simple\nintellect could not quite get at the root of their fallacy. It was\nplain that there was a great difference between a Circassian dressed\nin bear-skin, who carries off a girl in exchange for a dozen cows, and\nthe Captain-General of Rumelia, who is ready to give a thousand ducats\nfor her--and yet he preferred the gentleman in bear-skins.\n\nThe Greek, meanwhile, appeared to be studying the features of the\nCircassian with an attentive eye, watching what impression his words\nhad produced, like the experimenting doctor who tries the effects of\nhis medicaments _in anima vili_.\n\n\"But I know that you will give them. Kasi Mollah,\" he resumed, filling\nup his chibook. \"No doubt you have promised them to another trader.\nWell, well! you are a cunning rogue. Merchants of Dirbend or Bagdad\nhave no doubt offered you more for them. They can afford it, they do\nsuch a roaring business. Those perfidious Armenians! They buy the\nchildren for a mere song, and sell them when they are eight or nine\nyears old to the pashas, so that not one of them lives to see his\ntwentieth year, but all die miserably in the mean time. I don't do\nsuch things. I am an honest man, with whom business is but a labor of\nlove, and who is just to all men. It is sufficient for me to say that\nI was born where Aristides used to live. Numbers and numbers of my\nancestors were in the Areopagus, and one of my great-great-uncles was\nan archon. Do not imagine, therefore, that I would do for every\nfoolish fellow what I offer to do for you. I only do kindnesses to my\nchosen friends; the ties of friendship are sacred to me. Castor and\nPollux, Theseus and Pirithous are to me majestic examples of that\nexcellent brotherhood of kindred spirits which I constantly set before\nme. Wherever I have gone people have always blessed me; nay, did I but\nlet them, they would kiss my feet. The daughter of a Georgian peasant\nwhose father trusted me is now the first waiting-woman of the wife of\nthe Governor of Egypt. Is that glory enough for you! The daughter of a\npoor goatherd, whom I picked up from the mire, is now the premier\npipe-filler of the Pasha of Salonica. A high office that, if you like!\nWhat Ganymede was to Jove in those classical ages-- Ah! the tears gush\nfrom my eyes at the sound of that word. O Hellas!\"\n\nThe Circassian allowed his good friend to weep on, considering it a\nsufficient answer to let his dark bushy eyebrows frown still more\nfiercely, if possible, over his downcast eyes. Then he caught up a\nhammer and hammered away with great fury at the handle he had prepared\nfor the whip, riveting the wire with copper studs.\n\n\"Kasi Mollah, hitherto I have only been joking, but now I am going to\nspeak in earnest,\" resumed Leonidas Argyrocantharides, raising his\nvoice that he might be heard through the hammering. \"You should\nbethink you seriously of your children's destiny. I am your old\nfriend, your old acquaintance; my sole wish is for your welfare. I\nlove your children as much as if they were my own, and the tears gush\nfrom my eyes whenever I part from them. What will become of them when\nthey grow up? I know that while you are alive it will be well with\nthem, but how about afterwards? You may die to-morrow, or the next\nday; who can tell? We are all in the hands of God. Now I'll tell you\nsomething. Mind. I'm not joking or making it all up. I know for\ncertain that Topal Pasha has been informed that you have two lovely\nchildren. Some flighty traders of Erzeroum revealed the fact to him.\nThey are wont to trade with you here, and he has paid them half the\nstipulated sum down on condition that they bring the children to him.\nNow this pasha is a filthy, brutal, rake-hell sort of fellow, the\npressure of whose foot is no laughing matter, I can tell you; a\nhorrible, hideous, cruel man. I can give you proofs of it. And these\nmerchants have made a contract with him, and have engaged, under the\npenalty of losing their heads, to deliver your children to him within\na twelvemonth. What do you say? You'll throw them down into the abyss,\neh? Ah! they are not as foolish as I am. They will not openly profess\nthat they have come here for your children, as I do, but they will lie\nin wait for them when they go to the forest, and when nobody perceives\nit they will clap them on the back of a horse and off they'll go with\nthem, so that nobody will know under what sky to look for them. Or,\nperhaps, when you yourself are going along the road with them, they'll\nlay a trap for you, shoot you neatly through the head, and bolt with\nyour children. Well, that will be a pretty thing, won't it? You had\nbetter not throw me over.\"\n\nThe Circassian did not know what to answer--words were precious things\nto him--but he thought all the more. While the merchant was speaking\nto him, his reflections carried him far. He saw his children in the\ndetested marble halls, he saw them standing in shamefully gorgeous\ngarments, waiting upon the smiling despot, who stroked their tender\nfaces with his hands, and the blood rushed to his face as he saw his\nchildren blush and tremble beneath that smile. Ah, at that thought he\nbegan to lash about him so vigorously with the whip that was in his\nhand, that the Greek rolled about on the bear-skin in terror, holding\nhis hands to his ears.\n\n\"Do not crack that whip so loudly, my dear son,\" said he, \"or you'll\ndrive away all my mules. I really believe your whip is a very good\none, but you need not test it to the uttermost. I thank you for making\nit; but now, pray, put it down. I must go. It is a good thing you have\nnot knocked out one of my eyes. You certainly have a vigorous way of\nenjoying yourself. But let us speak sensibly. Do you believe that I am\nan honest man, or not?\"\n\nAt this the Circassian did _not_ nod his head.\n\n\"Very well, then. It is natural that you should believe, you ought to\nbelieve it. Since Pausanias there has not been a sharper among my\nnation. He was the last faithless Greek, and they walled him up in the\ntemple. I am a man without guile, as you are well aware. But I am more\nthan that, more than you suspect. Oho! in this shabby, worn-out caftan\nof mine dwells something which you do not dream of. Oho! I know what I\nreally am. I am on friendly terms with great men, with many great\nmen, standing high in the empire, whose fame has never reached your\nears. In the palm of this hand I hold Hellas, in the other the realm\nof Osman. I shake the whole world when I move. Why do I take all this\ntrouble? Oh, for the sake of your holy shades, Miltiades,\nThemistocles, Lysippus, and Demosthenes! for the sake of your shades,\nO Solon, O Lycurgus, O Pythagoras, and a time is coming in which I\nwill prove it! It is thy memory, Athene, which inspires me to heap up\ntreasures for the future! Thou, O holy Goddess of Liberty, hath\nwhispered in my ear that thou canst make use of the lowly as well as\nof the mighty to promote thy cause!\" Here the merchant leaped to his\nfeet in his enthusiasm, and, extending his hand towards the Circassian\nexclaimed, \"Kasi Mollah, you groan beneath the yoke just as much as we\ndo; let us join hands against our oppressors, and let us gradually\nmelt the hearts of their leaders by the strongest of fires, by the\nfire of the eyes of the Greek and Circassian maidens, and we shall\ncatch them in a flowery net!\"\n\nKasi Mollah did not clasp the hand of the enthusiastic Greek; and,\nwithout turning towards him, replied, coldly, \"I do not grudge you the\ndrink which I put before you, worthy merchant, but I perceive that it\nhas begun to mount into your head, or else you would not talk such\nrubbish as selling free people to your enemies from motives of\nfreedom. Nor do you say well in saying that we are under the yoke, for\nthat is not true. Nobody has ever made the Circassian do homage, nor\nwould any try to conquer us for the sake of the eyes of our poor\ndamsels. Say no more about my children. I will not give them up. If\nany one comes to visit me, I'll send him about his business; if any\none tries to deceive me, I'll cudgel him; and if any one tries to rob\nme, I'll slay him. And tell that to the merchants of Erzeroum also.\nAnd now say no more about it.\"\n\nAt these words the face of the merchant grew very long indeed. In his\nspite he began pulling at the stem of his chibook with such force that\nhis face was furrowed right down the middle, and his eyebrows ascended\nto the middle of his forehead. From time to time he kept on wagging\nhis head, and his scarlet, mortar-shaped fez along with it, and burned\nthe tips of his fingers by absently poking the red-hot bowl of his\npipe. But his indignation did not go beyond a shaking of the head, and\nthere he wisely let the matter rest.\n\n\"Very well, Kasi Mollah. You are an honest fellow. We shall see--we\nshall see.\"\n\nThe sun was now setting, and from among the hills the bells of the\nhome-returning cattle resounded across the level plain which extended\nin front of the rocky heights of Himri. Fifteen head of snow-white\nkine strolled leisurely towards the house of Kasi Mollah, passing one\nby one through the gate of their enclosure; behind the last of them\ncame the children of the sheik, who guarded the herd in the forest.\n\nThe boy appeared to be about twelve, and the girl a year younger, and\nso closely did they resemble each other that, viewed in profile, it\nwas impossible to distinguish one from the other. Both had the same\nlong, black hair, which flowed in wondrous ringlets down their\nshoulders, the same soft complexion of a naïve maturity, and as smooth\nas velvet, just as if they never walked in the sunlight, and yet they\nhad no head-coverings. The youth's face revealed so much girlish\ntenderness, and the girl's so much vigor and expression, that by\nchanging their clothes it would have been possible to substitute one\nfor the other; and, but for the well-known, tight-fitting corset,\npeculiar to the Circassian maidens, which caused her figure, slender\nas a delicate flower-stalk, to bend somewhat backwards, throwing into\nrelief the contours of her childlike breasts, it would have been\nscarcely possible to have distinguished her from her brother,\nespecially when, as now, they walked side by side, half embracing. The\nsnow-white arm of the girl was round her brother's neck, and her\nhumidly glittering black eyes seemed to be sucking the virile courage\nfrom his face; the boy held the slim figure of his sister encircled by\none of his arms, tapping her, from time to time, caressingly on the\nshoulder, while his eyes rested, full of tenderness, on her beloved\nface.\n\n\"What a majestic pair of children!\" exclaimed Leonidas\nArgyrocantharides, in his enthusiasm. \"What a shame it is to lock them\nup in this corner of the world! But what the deuce is the lad dragging\nalong with his left hand while he embraces his sister with his right?\nWhat _is_ it, my pretty children? Nay, don't bring it here. What sort\nof unclean animal is it?\"\n\nThe lad, with a triumphant smile, stood before the merchant while his\nsister ran to her father, climbed on to his knees, and throwing her\narms shamefacedly round his neck hid her face from the stranger.\n\n\"Do you not recognize the bear-skin?\" cried the youth, in a strong,\nclear voice; and as he spoke you became aware of the light black down\nwhich shaded his upper lip and revealed the man, and with one of his\nhands he raised up the beast he was dragging after him on to its hind\nlegs. It was a young bear, about a year and a half old, whose head was\nbattered and smashed in a good many places, thus showing what a severe\nstruggle it had cost to bring it down.\n\n\"Where did you find that monster? Who gave it to you?\" cried Leonidas,\nholding his hand before him as if he believed that the hideous\nmonster, even when dead, could clutch hold of his thin drumsticks of\nlegs.\n\n\"Where did I find it? Who gave it me?\" cried the youth, proudly, and\nwith that he pointed to his sister, and, as if ashamed to speak of his\nheroic deed himself, he said, \"Tell him, Milieva!\"\n\nThe old Circassian looked attentively at the two children. Neither of\nthem perceived that their father was angry.\n\n\"We were in the forest,\" began the girl--her voice was like a silvery\nbell. \"Thomar was carving a fife, and I was twining a garland for his\nhead, because he pipes so prettily, when all at once a little kid with\nits mother came running towards us, and the little kid hid itself\nclose to me--it trembled so, poor little thing! but its mother only\nbleated and kept running round and round, just as if it wanted to\nspeak. Thomar looked all about, and not far from us perceived two\nyoung bears running off, and one of them had another little white kid\non its back, which was certainly the young one of the little she-goat\nthat was trying to talk to us. 'Thomar,' said I, 'if I were a boy, I\nwould go after that young bear and take away the poor little kid from\nit.' 'And dost thou think I will not do it?' replied Thomar, and with\nthat he caught up his club and went after the two young bears. One of\nthem perceived him and quickly ran up a tree, but the other would not\ngive up his prey, but turned to face Thomar. Ah! you should have seen\nhow Thomar banged the wild beast on the head with his club till the\nblood ran down its shoulders, and suddenly it let go the white kid,\nwhich ran bleating after its mother.\"\n\nThe child clapped her little hands for joy, while her father softly\nstroked her long hair.\n\n\"But now the young bear, gnashing its teeth, rushed upon Thomar and\nseized the club in Thomar's hands with its teeth and claws. 'Thomar,\ndon't let him have it!' cried I. But, indeed, he had no fear of the\nwild beast, for he drew his knife from his girdle and thrust it with\nall his might into the head of the furiously charging wild beast.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" interrupted Thomar, \"don't forget that you also rushed upon it,\nand gave me time to draw out my knife by seizing the ears of the bear\nin both hands and dragging it off me.\"\n\nThe father looked at the two children with an ever-darkening face, but\nthe merchant solemnly shook his head and raised his hands aloft with\nan expression of horror. \"O foolish--O mad children!\" cried he.\n\n\"The bear had now had enough,\" continued Milieva, trying to give her\ntalkative little mouth an earnest expression befitting her serious\nnarration; \"it tore itself out of our hands, and with a great roar\ntook refuge from us in a subterranean cave, taking along with it\nThomar's knife, buried in its head. Now this knife we had got from\nHassan Beg, so we could not afford to lose it. So what do you think\nThomar did? He dived into the narrow hole after the bear, and, seizing\nit there by the throat, throttled it, and dragged it out.\"\n\nCold drops of perspiration trickled down the foreheads of the two men.\n\n\"Then he caught the young bear by the foot, and as it was heavy we\nboth dragged it along together. We had to make haste, for the old bear\nhad scented our trail and was after us, and pursued us as far as the\nherds, where the herd-keepers shot it down, but its young one we\nbrought along with us.\"\n\n\"O ye senseless children!\" cried the merchant in his terror. \"O\nblockheads! Suppose the bear had clawed your faces, you would have\nbeen disfigured forevermore. It would really serve you right if your\nfather gave you a good thrashing with this new whip.\"\n\nAnd that is what really did happen.\n\nIn his wrath Kasi Mollah seized the freshly made, mule-driving whip,\nand cannot one imagine the fury, begotten of fear, which would take\npossession of a father's heart on hearing such a hair-bristling\nnarrative from the lips of his children? To poke their noses into a\nbear's den, forsooth! The old bear would have torn the pair of them to\npieces had she been able to catch them! They had certainly well\ndeserved a thrashing, and a good thrashing too! Thomar would not have\nwept or groaned however many stripes he might have got; he only\nclinched his teeth, and, standing upright, bore with tearless eyes the\nlashing of the whip on his back and shoulders without a cry, without a\nsob.\n\nBut Milieva cast herself, shrieking, on her father's breast, and the\ntears began to pour abundantly from her radiantly bright eyes. She\ncaught hold of the Circassian's chastising right arm with both her\nhands, and begged so sweetly, \"Do not hurt Thomar; do not hurt him,\nfather! It was indeed not his fault. I assure you I set him on. I told\nhim to go after them. Thomar only went because I asked him.\"\n\nKasi Mollah tried to push the child aside, whereupon she flung her\narms round Thomar's neck and protected her brother's body, exclaiming,\nher face all aglow, \"'Tis my fault, beat me, but don't hurt Thomar!\"\n\nThe lad would have disengaged her arms, and, clinching his teeth for\npain, said:\n\n\"'Tis not true! Milieva did not urge me to do it. Milieva was looking\non from a distance. Milieva was not there. Don't hit Milieva.\"\n\nBut the girl threw her arms so tightly round her father that he was\nnot able to tear himself loose. At last, in sheer desperation, he was\nobliged to lift the paternal instrument of admonition against the girl\nalso. But now the youth snatched at the whip, and exclaimed, with\nsparkling eyes:\n\n\"Strike her not, for she has done no wrong! Beat me as much as you\nlike, but do not strike Milieva. If you do I will leave your house,\nand you shall never see me more!\"\n\n\"What, you ragged cub, you!\" cried the old Circassian, infuriated by\nthe opposition of his son, and forcibly tearing away the whip from his\nhand, he struck the girl a violent blow across the shoulders with it.\n\nMilieva ceased to weep, she only pressed her lips together, as her\nbrother had already taught her to do, and cast down her eyes; but\nThomar perceived a tremor run through her tender, maidenly bosom at\nthe torture.\n\nThe old Circassian himself felt sorry for the poor thing, though he\nwas too proud to show it; but it was plain he had put his wrath behind\nhim from the fact that he now began to wind the whip round its handle.\n\nThomar bent over the girl's shoulder, and wherever he saw one of the\npainful bruises which she had got on his account he kissed it softly,\nand after that he kissed the girl's face, and those kisses were\nparting kisses.\n\nHe said not a word to anybody in the house, but taking up his\nshepherd's staff and his rustic flute, he went forth from his father's\ndwelling without once looking behind him.\n\n\"Father,\" cried the girl, sobbing, \"Thomar is going away forever!\"\n\nThe old Circassian made no reply. His son did not look back at him,\nand he did not cast a glance after his son, and yet they were both\nheart-broken on each other's account.\n\n\"He'll soon be back,\" thought the father to himself. \"Hunger and want\nwill bring him back.\"\n\nIt was late evening, and still the youth had not returned. The sun had\nset long ago. A violent storm with thunder and lightning arose. The\nwind roared among the trees of the distant woods, and the wolves\nhowled in the mountains.\n\n\"Father, let me go and bring back Thomar,\" pleaded the girl, gazing\nsorrowfully into the dark night through the window.\n\n\"He will come back of his own accord,\" replied the Circassian, and he\nwould not let the girl go.\n\n\"Listen, how the rain pours, and how the wild beasts are howling!\nThomar is all alone there in the tempest, and it is so dark.\"\n\n\"'Tis a good night for a son who forsakes his father,\" replied the\nsheik. But within himself he thought, \"Some neighbor is sure to take\nthe lad in and give him shelter.\"\n\nAt midnight the tempest abated, and the moon shone forth brightly.\nFrom the distant woods came floating back to the village the notes of\na rustic flute. Neither father nor daughter had had any sleep.\n\n\"Listen, father!\" said Milieva. \"Thomar is piping in the wood; let me\ngo and bring him back!\"\n\n\"That is not a flute, but a nightingale,\" replied the stony-hearted\nCircassian. \"Lie down and sleep!\"\n\nYet he himself could not sleep.\n\nIn the morning both the tempest and the song had ceased. The old\nCircassian pretended to be asleep. Milieva softly raised her head and\nlooked at her father, and seeing that his eyes were closed, stealthily\nput on her clothes and went out of the house on tiptoe. Her father did\nnot tell her not to go. He had already forgiven his son, and resolved\nnever to be angry with him any more. After all, it had only been an\nebullition of fatherly affection that had made him punish his son for\njeopardizing his life so blindly.\n\nShortly afterwards the jingling of the asses' bells told him that the\nGreek, who slept on the floor outside, was getting ready to depart.\nThe merchant seemed to be in great haste. He piled his boxes on the\nbacks of his beasts higgledy-piggledy, even overlooking a parcel or\ntwo here and there, and all the time he kept talking to himself,\nstopping short suddenly when he caught sight of the Circassian.\n\n\"I was just going to take leave of you, Chorbadzhi. Why do you get up\nso early? Go to sleep! What a nice day it is after the storm! Salám\naláküm! Peace be with you! Greet my kinsmen, your sweet children. No,\nI will speak no more of your children. I will do as you desire, I\npromise you, and what I have once promised-- So our business is at an\nend? You are a worthy man, Kasi Mollah! . . . You are a good father--a\nvery good father. I only wish every man was like you. The only thing\nthat grieves me is that you cannot join our holy covenant. The Hellene\nand the Circassian groan together beneath the yoke of a common tyrant.\nAnd then you don't reflect who are on our side. Our northern neighbor\nis always ready to liberate us. I say no more. To a wise man a hint is\na revelation. But do you not long for glory? You have no glorious\nancestors. With you there are no memories of a Marathon, a Platäa.\n. . . God bless you, Kasi Mollah! Go on shooting lots of antelopes,\nand I'll come back and buy the hides from you; mind you let me have\nthem cheap! Take this kiss for yourself, this for your son, and this\nthird one for your daughter. Then you won't give them to me, eh? Well,\nGod bless you, Kasi Mollah!\"\n\nThe sheik felt as if a great stone had rolled off his breast when at\nlast he saw his guest depart, though even from afar the Greek turned\nback and shouted all manner of things about Leonidas and the other\nheroes. But the Circassian did not listen to him. He went back into\nhis house again, lest he should seem to be moping for his children.\n\nLeonidas Argyrocantharides, on the other hand, whistling merrily,\nproceeded with his asses on his way to the forest, and, when he found\nhimself quite alone there, began to sing in a loud voice the song of\nfreedom of the Hetairea, which put him into such a good humor that he\neven began to flourish his weapon in the most warlike manner, though,\nunfortunately, there was nobody at hand whom he could smite.\n\nIt would be doing a great injustice to the worthy merchant, however,\nto suppose that he was fatiguing his precious lungs without rhyme or\nreason, for during this melodious song he kept on looking continually\nabout him, now to the right and now to the left. He knew what he was\nabout.\n\nYes, he had calculated well. Any one who might happen to be hidden in\nthe forest was bound to hear the great blood-stirring song. He had not\nadvanced more than a hundred yards or so when a well-known suppliant\nvoice struck his ear. It came from among the thick trees.\n\n\"Oh, please! listen, please!\"\n\nAt first he pretended not to know who it was, and, shading his eyes\nwith his hand, made a great pretence of looking hard.\n\n\"Oho, my little girl! so 'tis you, eh? Little Milieva, by all that's\nholy! Come nearer, child.\"\n\nThe girl was not alone. She had found her brother, and was shoving and\npushing the lad on in front of her, who, sulkily and with downcast\neyes, was skulking about among the trees as if he were ashamed to\nappear before the Greek, who had been a witness of his flogging.\n\nMilieva had insisted on his returning home and begging his father's\npardon, and the lad had consented, not for his own sake, but for his\nsister's.\n\n\"What a good job I've met you! Come here, little girl. Don't be afraid\nof me. I want to whisper something in your ear that your brother must\nnot hear.\"\n\nAnd he bent down towards the girl from the back of the ass and\nwhispered in her ear, it is true, but quite loud enough for her\nbrother to hear also:\n\n\"My dear child, don't take your brother home now, for your father is\nfurious with the pair of you, and is coming after you straightway.\nThat is why I have been singing so loudly, for I thought you had come\nhither and might hear; and let me tell you that it will be just as\nwell for Thomar to hide himself for a time, for your father, when I\nleft him, had shouldered his musket, and he swore in his wrath that he\nwould hunt his runaway son with the dogs, and shoot him down wherever\nhe found him.\"\n\n\"Let him shoot me down!\" cried the lad, defiantly. He had heard the\nwhole of the whisper.\n\nThe good-hearted merchant shook his head reprovingly.\n\n\"Keep your temper, my son; anger is mischievous. It would be much\nbetter if you left these parts for a little while, and Milieva can go\nback in the mean time and pacify her father. I should mention,\nhowever, that Kasi Mollah is preparing a rope in salt-water, with\nwhich he intends to beat her.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Thomar, with flashing eyes. \"He would whip her again,\nand with a rope?\"\n\nHe could say no more. The two children fell upon each other's necks\nand wept bitterly.\n\n\"Poor children! orphans worthy of compassion!\" cried the sympathetic\nLeonidas, stroking their pretty heads. \"It is plain that they have no\nmother. Willingly would I shed my blood for you. But it is vain to\nspeak to that savage madman. The last thing he said was that your\nmother had been faithless to him, and that was why he was so furious\nagainst you.\"\n\n\"Then he shall never see us again,\" said the lad, tenderly embracing\nhis sister. \"I will go away, and I will take you with me.\"\n\n\"Where?\" said his sister, trembling.\n\n\"The world is wide,\" said the lad. \"I have often seen from the summits\nof the mountains how far it stretches away. I will go away as far as\never I can.\"\n\n\"But what provision have you got?\" inquired the worthy merchant.\n\nAt this idea the lad seemed to hesitate, and for a moment his face\nflushed red; but he soon recovered his _sang-froid_.\n\n\"You complained the other day that your ass-driver had run away, and\nthat you had all the trouble of looking after the beasts yourself.\nTake me for your ass-driver. I will do all your work for you, and I\nwill ask nothing except that Milieva may come with me without doing\nany hard work. I will work extra in her stead.\"\n\nThe merchant was quite overcome by these words.\n\n\"O children, what words must I hear! Thou art the pearl of youths, my\nson. What a pity thou wast not born in Samos, the isle of heroes! Thou\nshalt be no ass-driver of mine; no, thou shalt be my own son, and thy\nsister shall be my own daughter, and ye shall both sit on my asses,\nnot follow after them. In the neighboring village I shall get\nass-drivers and to spare. I will share my last crumb with you, and ye\nshall dwell at home within my palace as if ye were my own children.\"\nAnd with that he embraced them both.\n\nAs for the children, they were overpowered by so much unexpected\ngoodness, and did not hesitate to accept the offer, although Milieva\nsaid, somewhat tremulously:\n\n\"But you will take us back afterwards to our father, won't you?\"\n\n\"Certainly; is he not my good friend? When we get to my house I will\nlet him know that you are with me, and he will be very glad. But first\nwe will go from here to splendid cities by the sea, where edifices\nthree stories high float on the surface of the water. There my great\npalaces are--you could put the whole of your father's house inside the\nhall of any one of them--and my gardens are full of those beautiful\nfruits which I have so often brought for you in my sack. Thomar shall\nhave a beautiful steed. You would like to ride a horse, my son, eh?\nWell, don't be afraid, and it shall fly away with you like the wind.\nAnd it shall have a mane as white as a swan's--or perhaps you'd like a\nblack one? I have got both, and you shall sit on which you like, with\na sword dangling at your side. And when you draw that sword? Ah, ha!\nIt shall be a bright Damascus blade, and you will be able to make it\nspan your body right round without breaking. I will bet anything that\namong five hundred Turkish youths you will carry off the wreath of\npearls in the sports. How nicely that wreath of pearls will become\nMilieva's head! How beautifully the folds of the silken robe\nembroidered with flowers will sweep around her slim figure! And then\nthe palm-leaf shawl when she dances! Eh, children?\"\n\n\"When will you take us back to our father?\" inquired the girl,\nsorrowfully.\n\n\"Why, at once, of course. As soon as Thomar has become a famous man;\nas soon as half the world recognizes him as a valiant bey, and the\nfame of him spreads to the huts of Himri likewise. Then will Thomar go\nwith you to your father. He will sit on a proudly prancing horse,\ntossing its head impatiently beneath its gold trappings. A grand\nretinue will come riding behind him--valiant heroes, all of them, with\nglittering shields and lances. And after them will follow a litter on\ntwo white asses, with curtains of cloth of gold, and in this litter\nwill sit a wondrously bright and beautiful maiden, and men will stand\nat all the gates and cry, 'Make way for the valiant lord and the\nmajestic lady!'\n\n\"But, meanwhile, old Kasi Mollah will be sitting at his door, and,\nperceiving the splendid magnates, will do obeisance to them; then you\nwill leap from your horse, assist Milieva to descend from her litter,\nand will go to meet him. He, however, will not recognize you. Milieva\nwill be so much rosier, and her figure so much more lovely; and as for\nyou, you will be wearing a beard and mustache, and without doubt you\nwill be scarred with wounds received upon the field of glory. So Kasi\nMollah will conduct you into his house with the utmost respect and\nmake you sit down; but you will have victuals and sherbet brought from\nyour carriages, and will constrain him to eat and drink with you. Then\nyou will fall a-talking, and you will ask him whether he has any\nchildren, and thereupon the tears will start to his eyes.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" sighed the girl, melting at the thought.\n\n\"No, no; it would not do at all to make yourself known all at once.\nThe joy would be too much for him; he might even have a stroke. You,\nlittle Milieva, would be content to sit and listen, leaving Thomar to\nspeak. And Thomar will say that he has heard tidings of Kasi Mollah's\nlost children, gradually leading him on from hope to joy, and at last\nyou will throw yourselves on his neck, and say to him, 'I am thy son\nThomar! I am thy daughter Milieva!' How beautiful that will be!\"\n\nThe heads of the children were completely turned by this conversation,\nand they followed the merchant joyfully all the way to the next\nvillage. There Leonidas Argyrocantharides rested for a little while,\nand made the children dismount and have some lunch in a hut. Then he\nproduced a gourd full of strong, sweet wine, and the children drank of\nit. The wine removed whatever of sadness was still in their hearts,\nand they then resumed their journey. The asses he left behind, but two\nwell-saddled horses were awaiting them in front of the hut. On these\nthe children mounted, and leaving the asses to stroll leisurely on by\none road, under the charge of the hired ass-drivers, they themselves\ntook another. How delighted the children were with their fine steeds!\n\nThe sheik, meantime, was still awaiting the return of his children,\nand as they did not come back by the evening he began to make\ninquiries about them. Some of his neighbors, who had been in the\nforest, informed him that they had seen the children with the Greek\nmerchant; they were riding on his asses. At this Kasi Mollah began\nroaring like a wild beast.\n\n\"He has stolen my children!\" he groaned in his despair, and flew back\nhome for his horse and his weapons, not even waiting for his comrades\nto take horse also. One by one they galloped after him, but could not\neasily overtake him.\n\nRiding helter-skelter he soon reached the neighboring village, but\nhere the track of the asses led him off on a false scent, for only\nwhen he overtook them did he realize that the merchant with his\nchildren had gone far away in another direction.\n\nWith the rage of despair in his heart he galloped back again. Not till\nevening did he dismount from his horse; then he watered his horse in a\nbrook and rushed on again. Through the whole moonlit night he pursued\nthe Greek, and as towards dawn Argyrocantharides looked behind him he\nsaw a great cloud of dust on the road rapidly approaching him, and the\nbright points of lances were in the midst of it.\n\n\"Well, children,\" said he, \"here we must all die together, for your\nfather is coming and will slay the three of us. But whip up your\nhorses.\"\n\nThen, full of terror, they bent over their horses' necks, and the\ndesperate race began.\n\nThe Circassian perceived the merchant and the children, and rushed\nafter them with a savage howl. They had better horses, but the\nCircassian's horses were more accustomed to mountainous paths and had\nbetter riders.\n\nThe distance between the two companies was visibly diminishing. The\nmerchant flogged with his whip the horses on which the children were\nriding. They dared not look back.\n\nTheir father shouted to them to turn their horses' reins. He called\nThomar by name, and bade him tear the merchant from his saddle. The\nson heard his father's voice, he heard his own name mentioned; but he\nfancied his father was threatening him, and clung to his horse still\nmore tightly.\n\nA steep mountain torrent ran across the road in front of them. If only\nthe Greek could succeed in getting across it with but two minutes to\nspare, so that he might pitch the little wooden bridge over it down\ninto the abyss below, he would be saved, for the space between the two\nsteep mountain-sides was much too wide for a horse to leap, and a ford\nwas not to be found within an hour's ride.\n\nBy the time they came to the bridge the pursuing Circassians were\nscarcely distant more than three gunshots, and Kasi Mollah was riding\nwell in advance of the rest. He must needs overtake them before the\nGreek could push the bridge over.\n\nAt that instant the horse on which Milieva sat slightly stumbled, and\nplunging forward on to its knees, fractured its leg.\n\n\"Hah!\" cried the sheik, with wild delight, \"I have got back one of my\nchildren, at any rate.\"\n\nBut how amazed was he when he saw Milieva, instead of running to him\nor even remaining in the road, cry out in terror to her brother and\nraise her arms towards him, and Thomar, never expecting to save her,\nbent down from his horse, and grasping his sister round the waist with\na swift hand, placed her in the saddle in front of him, casting a wild\nlook behind him, and then galloping on farther.\n\nKasi Mollah suddenly reined in his flying horse and stopped short,\nallowing them to escape. Not a step farther did he pursue them. By the\ntime his comrades had joined him the Greek was well on the other side\nof the bridge, and they could all see Thomar helping the merchant to\ncast it down.\n\nTwo burning tear-drops stood in Kasi Mollah's eyes. They really\nburned, and he felt the pain. And yet--and yet, when the two children\nsat in the saddle again, Milieva extended her hands towards her father\nas if in most ardent supplication. What was the meaning of it?\n\nThe good Greek shortly afterwards arrived safely in Smyrna with the\nchildren, and had them taught singing, riding, and how to walk about\nin nice clothes, and some years after he sold them to the Seraglio of\nthe Grand Vizier for two thousand sequins.\n\nAnd all that he had said at random to the children during the journey,\nto cheer their spirits, actually came to pass, as we shall presently\nsee.\n\nWhen Sultan Mahmoud lost his favorite damsel so strangely, Milieva\nwas brought into the Seraglio instead. The girl was then about\nfourteen years old. The Circassian girls at that age are fully mature,\nand the bloom of their beauty is at its prime. Milieva, from the very\nfirst day when she entered the harem, became the Sultan's favorite\ndamsel.\n\nThomar joined the ranks of the ichoglanler, a band of youths who are\nbrought up in the outer court and form the Sultan's body-guard.\n\nIt was in this year that Mahmoud instituted the Akinji corps,\nselecting its members from amongst the Janissaries, and formed them\ninto a small regular army. Thomar very soon won for himself the\ncommand of a company, and continued to rise higher and higher till at\nlength he reached the eminence which the merchant had foretold to him;\nand when the course of time brought with it the day on which he was to\nsee Kasi Mollah again, he had become Derbend Aga, one of the Sultan's\nvery highest officials, and his name was mentioned respectfully by all\ntrue believers. And in the village of Himri his name was also\nmentioned. Kasi Mollah often heard it attached to the title of \"bey,\"\nand Thomar also heard a good deal of the village of Himri and of Kasi\nMollah, for they now called his father \"murshid,\" and the name\n\"murshid\" is full of mournful recollections for both Moscow and\nPetersburg.\n\nBut of all these things we shall know more at another time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE AVENGER\n\n\nAnd what now is old Ali Tepelenti about in his nest at Janina? Is he\ncontent with a state of things which results in this--that he must\neither perish or pass the brief remainder of his days in constant\nfighting? Is he satisfied with this sea of blood over which the\ntempest rages, and whose shores he cannot see?\n\nNot yet has he surrendered to fate. His country has declared war\nagainst him, the Sultan has pronounced his death-sentence, his family\nhave abandoned and turned against him; but Ali has not suffered his\nsword to be broken in twain. For eight and seventy years he has been\nthe scourge of his enemies, the defence of his country, the Sultan's\nright hand, the patriarch of his family, and in his nine and\nseventieth year the Sultan and his relations say to him, \"Die! thou\nhast lived long enough!\" And he, by way of reply, set his country in\nflames, shook the throne of the Sultan, and extirpated his own\nkinsfolk.\n\nThe Greeks, whose tyrant he once was, are now his allies. Tepelenti\nprovides them with arms and money, and with good and bad counsel,\nwhichever they want most.\n\nThree armies were sent out against him, and he has annihilated all\nthese.\n\nHis enemy, Gaskho Bey, has lost his army in a battle against the\nrebels without anything to show for it, and now only holds the\nfortresses round about Janina, to wit: Arta, Prevesa, Lepanto,\nTripolizza, and La Gulia. The Hellenes are besieging every one of them\nday by day. One day Ali proclaims that in Tripolizza there are five\nhundred eminent Greeks whom the Turks compel to fight along with them.\nAt this report the besiegers attack the fortress with redoubled fury.\nNow these five hundred Greeks Ali himself got together while\nTripolizza was still in his possession. When he was obliged to leave\nthe fortress, he cast these Greeks down into a well, placed three\nloads of stones upon them, and covered the spot with grass. This he\ndid himself.\n\nExhausted by furiously fighting against superior numbers, the Turks\nsurrendered in three days to Kleon, who conducted the siege, simply\nstipulating that they might be allowed to go free, and this was\npromised them. When, however, the fortress was surrendered to the\nGreeks, their first question was, \"Where are the hostages, our\nbrethren?\" The Turks were amazed. They knew not what to reply, for\nthey had no hostages in their hands.\n\nThen a Suliote warrior discovered the pit which had been sown over\nwith grass, and what a sight presented itself when they broke it open!\n\nThirsting for blood and vengeance, the Greeks flung themselves\nforthwith on the disarmed garrison, and despatched them to the very\nlast man, nay, they did not leave a living woman or child remaining\nin the fortress--they threw them all down headlong from the bastions.\n\nBut Ali Pasha smiled to himself in the fortress of Janina.\n\nHe himself had destroyed more Turks than the whole Greek host had\ndone.\n\nWhen Demetrius Yprilanti captured Lepanto, he allowed the garrison a\nfree exit from the citadel. Demetrius himself signed the terms of the\nsurrender. But when the Turks emerged from the fortress, Ali Pasha's\nSuliotes rushed upon them and cut them all to pieces. Yprilanti, full\nof indignation, threw himself in the midst of them, exhibiting the\ndocument in which he had promised the Turks their lives. But Kleon\nonly laughed--he had learned that brutal, scornful laugh from Ali.\n\n\"Don't trouble yourself about them,\" cried he. \"We are only killing\nthose whose names are not written in the agreement.\"\n\nYprilanti turned from the butchery in disgust, and immediately\nembarking his army, set sail for Chios again.\n\nAh, the Greeks had learned a great deal from Ali. Woe to those\nMussulmans who fall alive into their hands, or who are not so brave or\nso cunning as they themselves are! The Turkish general, Omar Vrione,\nalong his whole line of advance, marched between rows of high gibbets\non which bleached the bones of horribly tortured Turks. Here and\nthere, by way of variety, nailed by the hands to upright planks, were\nthe bodies of dead Jews, half flayed and singed--a ghastly spectacle.\n\nVerily the descendants of the heroes of Marathon have diverged very\nfar indeed from their forefathers, and the experienced Turkish\ncommander knew right well that he is a bad soldier who even descends\nto cutting off the head of his slain foe on the battle-field.\n\nAt Puló, Omar Vrione encountered the army of Odysseus. Now Omar was at\none time one of the best of Ali Pasha's lieutenants. Ali promoted him\nto the rank of general, and he had begun life as a shepherd-boy. Ali\nhad taught him how to use his weapons, and now he turned them against\nhis master.\n\nThe Sultan had intrusted to him a fine army with which he had assisted\nGaskho Bey to beleaguer Ali. It consisted of eight thousand gallant\nAsiatic infantry, two thousand Spahis, and eight guns. The leader of\nthe Spahis was Zaid, the Bey of Kastorid, Ali's favorite grandson,\nwhom, twenty years before, he had rocked upon his knee, and whom,\nwhile still a child, he had carried in front of him on his saddle, and\ntaught him to ride. Zaid himself had asked, as a favor, that he might\nlead a division of cavalry against his grandfather. He had promised\nhis mother to seize that sinful old head by its gray beard and bring\nit home to her.\n\nA precious grandson, truly!\n\nSo Omar Vrione reached Puló. Looking down from the hill-tops there, he\ndiscerned the army of Odysseus. He saw him planting his white banners\nin rows upon the heights, and without giving his forces a moment's\nrest, he set his own martial chimneys a-smoking and attacked the\nGreeks with all his might.\n\nAfter an hour's combat, in which they fought man to man, the Greeks\nwere driven from their intrenchments, and began slowly descending into\nthe valley.\n\nThe Timariotes remained behind, and Zaid began to send forward his\nSpahis to attack the retreating army in the rear. Odysseus slowly\nretraced his steps till he came to Puló. There his war-path stopped.\nHis banner was no longer white, but red; it was sprinkled with the\nblood of the many heroes who had died in its defence.\n\nSuddenly, from the heights of Pindus above them resounded the\ntempestuous melody of the \"Marseillaise,\" which the Greeks had adopted\nas their war-song, and rapid as a storm-swollen mountain torrent the\nSuliotes, with Kleon and Artemis in the van, hurled themselves upon\nthe Turks.\n\nOmar Vrione was caught between two fires. It was too late to turn\nback, too late to reform his order of battle. His guns were useless,\nhis cavalry could not move forward, and his infantry columns were so\ncompletely isolated that they could not render each other any\nassistance.\n\nThe general saw that he could not save his army, but he was at least\ndetermined not to save himself, so he hastened to where the fight was\nraging most furiously.\n\nA wild, merciless _mêlée_ was proceeding between the inextricably\nintermingled foes. Forcing his way along, Omar Vrione suddenly\nencountered, in the midst of reeking powder and streaming blood, a\ntall youth with a blackened face, whom he at once recognized as Kleon.\nThere, then, they stood, face to face. Three years before, when Ali\nhad sent Omar Vrione to threaten the Suliotes, Kleon fled before him,\nand then he had called after the fugitive, \"Stand, I would send thy\nhead to Ali Tepelenti!\"\n\nAnd there, indeed, Omar Vrione fell, combating, and Kleon cut off his\nhead.\n\nHow strange is fate!\n\nThe fall of Omar Vrione sealed the fate of his army. The Turks fled\nwherever they saw the chance, leaving all their guns, all their flags,\nand all their officers in the lurch. The cavalry had no chance of\nescaping. Half of it fell, the other half surrendered.\n\nZaid, in the moment of extremest danger, took his silver aigrette out\nof his turban and threw it away; then he changed caftans with his\nservant, and mingled with the rank-and-file, so that none might\nrecognize him. It would have been much better for a child like him to\nhave remained at home than to have gone hunting that old lion, his\naged grandfather.\n\nThe Suliotes surrounded Zaid's company. \"Dismount from your horses!\"\nexclaimed the clear voice of Kleon.\n\nThe Spahis, full of shame, dismounted.\n\n\"Which is your leader, Zaid?\" cried Kleon, advancing. The edge of his\nsword was dripping with blood.\n\n\"I am,\" said the servant who had changed clothes with Zaid, and he\napproached Kleon.\n\n\"Bow down before me, thou slave!\" cried Kleon, kicking him.\n\nThe servant bowed his head before the victor, and he never raised it\nagain, for Kleon chopped it off with his bloody sword, and sticking it\non the point thereof, raised it on high and cried to his bloodthirsty\ncomrades: \"Here is their second general, Zaid, who came to subdue us!\nHallelujah!\" and the victorious host repeated after him, \"Hallelujah!\nHallelujah!\"\n\nAnd then they stuck the heads of the two generals on the points of two\nlances, and carried them through the streets of Puló in the sight of\nthe crowds of women and children on the housetops, bellowing, \"We have\nconquered! We have conquered! These are the heads of the enemy's\nleaders: one of them is Omar Vrione, and the other is Zaid Bey! Kyrie\neleison?\"\n\nAnd what face was ever so pale as Zaid's when he heard his name called\nout and saw how they mocked and jeered at the head they took for his?\n\nThe Suliotes returned to Janina with the captives and the emblems of\nvictory. Tepelenti, hearing that they had decapitated Zaid, went down\ninto the camp and demanded his head.\n\nKleon was sitting in front of his tent _en déshabille_. He was not\ndisposed to part with the symbol of victory, but wanted it to dazzle\nthe eyes of the host for some little time longer.\n\nBut Ali was ready at once with a good idea: \"Cut off the head of\nanother prisoner,\" said he, \"in its stead; none will notice the\ndifference.\"\n\nKleon acted upon the advice, and immediately sent forth his\nmen-at-arms to take the exhibited head to Ali. But Ali shook his own\nhead when he saw it, and wagging his finger at Kleon, he said: \"Thou\nart over-young, my son, to try and impose upon Ali. Thou wouldst turn\nmy counsel to my own hurt, and give me the head of another instead of\nZaid's!\"\n\nKleon leaped to his feet. \"Do you mean to say that is not Zaid's\nhead?\"\n\n\"Of a truth it is not. Dost thou suppose I do not know the youth--I\nwho used to dandle him on my knee ever since he was a child, and was\nthe first to place a sword in his hand?\"\n\n\"But, indeed, he himself told me,\" cried Kleon, pointing at the head,\n\"that he was Zaid, and he was wearing a general's uniform.\"\n\n\"'Tis a slave,\" said Tepelenti, regarding the head more closely. \"Dost\nthou not see? His ears have been cropped, so that he may not wear\near-rings in them, which only great lords may do.\"\n\n\"Then Zaid has gone free!\"\n\n\"Zaid will be among the captives,\" said Tepelenti. \"I would recognize\nhim amongst a thousand. He was my favorite grandson. His image even\nnow is engraved in my heart.\"\n\nThen they went down amongst the captives. Ali had scarce cast a glance\nat them when he pointed with his finger.\n\n\"There he is! Dost thou not perceive how much paler his face is than\nthe faces of the others?\"\n\nKleon wrathfully drew his sword and would have rushed upon the person\nindicated, but Ali held his hand.\n\n\"What doest thou? Wouldst thou slay my grandson before my very eyes?\"\n\n\"Thou didst ask for his head, and it shall be thine.\"\n\n\"But now I ask for his life, Kleon. Zaid is my favorite grandson. I\nbrought him up. I loved him better than his dear mother--better than\nall my children. Look now, I share with thee all the booty, and all I\nask of thee is mine own--flesh of my flesh.\"\n\nThe unhappy youth, hearing these words, fell at Ali's feet and\nembraced his knees, wept, covered his hands with kisses, and implored\nhim to release him--he would be a good and dutiful son to him ever\nafterwards.\n\n\"Thou seest, too, how much he loves me,\" said Ali, looking with\ntearful eyes at Zaid and covering the cowering fugitive with his long\ngray beard. \"Well, Zaid,\" said he, \"so thou dost now fly for refuge\nbeneath the shadow of that same gray beard, by grasping which thou\nwert minded to take Ali's head to thy mother, eh?\"\n\nKleon looked at Ali Pasha with a contemptuous smile. Then Ali was\ntender, Ali had a heart, Ali's heart ached at the slaying of his\nkinsfolk! The Greek felt a cruel satisfaction in tormenting the pasha.\n\n\"If thou dost not wish to see Zaid die,\" said he, \"depart from hence.\nAlive thou shalt not have him!\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Ali, and, standing erect, he drew his sword. \"Because my\nbeard is long dost thou think thou canst trample upon me? I will\ndefend my blood with my blood, and will perish myself rather than let\nhim be slain. Let us see, mad youth, wouldst thou lop off thine own\nright hand?\"\n\nKleon was so surprised that he did not know what to do. It was in his\npower to slay Ali; but then that would be a greater triumph for\nStambul than all the victories of the campaign.\n\nAt that moment a herald arrived from Odysseus with a command for Kleon\nto send all the Turkish officers captured at the battle of Puló to\nPrevesa, that they might be exchanged against the youths of the\nsacred army who had been captured in Moldavia.\n\nKleon's pride was wounded by this direct command. He considered\nhimself just as good a general as Odysseus or Yprilanti, and did not\nrecognize orders sent from them.\n\nTurning from the herald to Tepelenti, he thus replied:\n\n\"Tell Odysseus that I and my soldiers are in the habit of killing the\nenemy's officers on the battle-field. Only one of them, and he in\ndisguise, remains. He, however, is Tepelenti's grandson, who has\nrecognized him and ransomed him from me for a hundred thousand\npiastres, which he has engaged to pay me within an hour. Is it not so,\nTepelenti?\"\n\n\"It is so,\" said Ali; \"within an hour the hundred thousand piastres\nshall be in thy hands.\"\n\nZaid, with a shriek of joy, kissed the hem of his grandfather's robe,\nand Kleon gave his hand upon the bargain. An hour later the money\narrived in little hogsheads, and he had it weighed in the presence of\nhis captains. Ali, however, binding his grandson by the left arm, and\ngiving him his own caftan, had him conducted into the fortress of\nJanina.\n\nKleon looked contemptuously after him. So the old man had become\nsoft-hearted! How he had wept and supplicated and paid for this youth,\nwho was his favorite grandson!\n\nAn hour later the roll of drums was heard on the bastions of Janina,\nand when the Greeks looked in that direction they saw the stake of\nexecution erected there. Four black executioners were carrying Zaid,\nwho had his hands tied behind his back, and was wearing the self-same\ncaftan which Ali had given him. Ali himself, mounted on a black horse,\nrode right up to the stake. At a signal from him the executioners\nhoisted Zaid into the air, and a moment later Tepelenti's favorite\ngrandson, whom he had dandled so often on his knee, was done to death\nby the most excruciating torments!\n\nAli watched his death-agony with the utmost _sang-froid_, and, when\nall was over, he shouted down from the bastions with a strong, firm\nvoice, \"So perish all those of Tepelenti's kinsfolk who draw the sword\nagainst him! For them there is no mercy!\"\n\nKleon felt his heart's blood grow cold. Ah! he had much, very much to\nlearn from the agonized cries of the dying before he could overtake\nAli, that old man who weeps, prays, and pays, in order to rescue his\nfavorite grandson for the sole purpose of killing him himself with\nrefined tortures!\n\nOf all Ali's large family only two sons now remained, Sulaiman and\nMukhtar. They were the first who had betrayed their father, and it was\ntheir treachery that had wounded him most. For a whole year Ali\ncarried that wound about in his heart. During that time nobody was\nallowed to mention the names of his sons in his presence. Everything,\nabsolutely everything, which reminded him of them was removed from the\nfortress. If any one was weary of life, he had only to mention the\nname of Mukhtar before Ali, and death was a certainty.\n\nMeanwhile the two apostate sons were living in great misery at\nAdrianople; for the Sultan, though he paid them for their treachery,\nwould have nothing more to do with them. The first instalment of the\nmoney which they were to receive as the price of their father's blood\nmelted away very rapidly in merry banquets, pretty female slaves, fine\nsteeds, and precious gems; and when it was all gone the second\ninstalment never made its appearance. Far different and far more\nimportant personages had still stronger claims upon the Sultan's\npurse. Tepelenti's vigorous resistance, the innumerable losses\nsuffered by the Sultan's armies, buried in forgetfulness the services\nof the good sons whose betrayal of their father had profited the\nSultan nothing. They were already beginning to bitterly repent their\noverhasty step when the rumor of Ali's victories reached them; and as\nthe days of necessity began to weigh heavily upon them, as money and\nwine began to fail them, as they found themselves obliged to sell, one\nby one, their horses, their jewels, and, at last, even their beautiful\nslave-girls, it became quite plain to them that no help could be\nlooked for from any quarter, unless perhaps it was from wonder-working\nfairies, or from the genii of the _Thousand and One Nights_.\n\nBut let none say that, in the regions of the merry Orient, fairies and\nwonders do not still make their home among men.\n\nJust when the beys had consumed the price of the last slave they had\nto sell, such wealth poured in upon them, in heaps, in floods, as we\nonly hear of in old fairy tales; and fairy tales, as we all know very\nwell, have no truth in them at all.\n\n\nOne day, as Ali Pasha was walking to and fro on the bastions of\nJanina, he perceived among the garden-beds in the court-yard below a\ngardener engaged in planting tulips.\n\nTepelenti knew all the servants in the fortress thoroughly, down to\nthe very lowest. He not only knew them by name, but he knew what they\nhad to do and how they did it.\n\nThe name of this gardening slave was Dirham, and he was so named\nbecause, many years before Mukhtar had purchased him when a child from\na slave-dealer for a dirham, and although his master often plagued\nhim, he nevertheless cared for him well, and brought him up and\nprovided him with all manner of good things. Thus Dirham, whenever his\nmaster's name was mentioned, bethought him how little he was worth\nwhen Mukhtar Bey bought him, and how many more dirhams he was worth\nnow, and for all this he could not thank Mukhtar enough.\n\nAli Pasha for a long time watched from the bastions this man planting\nhis tulips. Some of them he pressed down into the ground very\ncarefully, strewing them with loose powdery earth, preparing a proper\nplace for the bulbs beforehand, and moistening them gently with watery\nspray; others he plumped down into the earth anyhow, covering them up\nvery perfunctorily, and never looking to see whether he watered them\ntoo much or too little.\n\nAli carefully noted those bulbs which Dirham had bestowed the greatest\npains upon, and then went down and entered into conversation with him.\n\n\"What are the names of these tulips?\"\n\nDirham ticked them all off: King George, Trafalgar, Admiral\nGruithuysen, Belle Alliance, etc., etc. But at the same time he\nskipped over one or two here and there, and these were the very ones\nwhich he had covered up with the greatest care.\n\n\"Then thou dost not know the names of those others?\" inquired Ali.\n\n\"I have lost my memoranda, my lord, and I cannot remember all the\nnames among so many.\"\n\n\"Look, now, I know the names of these flowers. This is Sulaiman, that\nover there is Mukhtar Bey.\"\n\nDirham cast himself on his face before the pasha. Ali had guessed\nwell. Dirham remembered the two gentlemen just as a good dog remembers\nhis master--they were ever in his mind.\n\nThe wretched man fully expected that Ali would immediately tear these\nbulbs out of the ground and plant his own head there in their place.\n\nInstead of that Ali graciously raised him from the ground and said to\nhim in a tender, sympathetic voice, \"Fear not, Dirham! Thou hast no\nneed to be ashamed of such noble sentiments. Thou art thinking of my\nsons. And dost thou suppose that I never think of them? I have\nforbidden every one in the fortress to even mention their names; but\nwhat does that avail me if I cannot prevent myself from thinking of\nthem? What avails it to never hear their names if I see their faces\nconstantly before me? The world says they have betrayed me; but I do\nnot believe, I cannot believe it. What says Dirham? Is it possible\nthat children can betray their own father?\"\n\nDirham took his courage in both hands and ventured to reply:\n\n\"Strike off my head if you will, my lord, but this I say--they were\nnot traitors, but were themselves betrayed; for even if it were\npossible for sons to betray their father, Tepelenti's children would\nnot betray Tepelenti.\"\n\nAli Pasha gave Dirham a purse of gold for these words, commanding him,\nat the same time, to appear before him in the palace that evening, and\nto bring with him, carefully transplanted into pots, those tulips\nwhich bore the names of Sulaiman and Mukhtar.\n\nDirham could scarcely wait for the evening to come, and the moment he\nappeared in Ali's halls he was admitted into the pasha's presence.\nThen Ali bade every one withdraw from the room, that they twain might\nremain together, and began to talk with him confidentially.\n\n\"I hear that my sons are living in great poverty at Adrianople. As to\ntheir poverty, I say nothing; but, worse still, they are living in\ngreat humiliation also. Nobody will have anything to do with them. The\nwretched Spahis, who once on a time mentioned their names with\nchattering teeth, now mock at them when they meet them in the street,\nand when they go on foot to the bazaar to buy their bread, the women\ncry with a loud voice, 'Are these, then, the heroes at whom Stambul\nused to tremble?' Verily it is shameful, and Ali Pasha blushes\nthereat. I know that if once I ever place in their hands those good\nswords which I bound upon their thighs they would not surrender them\nso readily to the enemies of Ali Pasha. What says Dirham?\"\n\nDirham was only able to express his approval of Ali's words by a very\naudible sigh.\n\n\"Hearken, Dirham! I have known for a long time a secret, which I will\nventure to confide to thee.\"\n\n\"'Twill be as though you buried it under the earth, my master.\"\n\n\"In the Gulf of Durazzo there lies at anchor an English vessel, under\nthe command of Captain Morrison. On that ship I have deposited five\nmillions of piastres in gold--not less than five millions. A large\namount, eh! At any moment I like I can blow the fortress of Janina\ninto the air, embark on board that ship, and sail away to England or\nSpain, and there I can live in a lordly fashion without care, just as\nI please. But to what purpose? My remaining days are but few. Why\nshould I try to save them? Here I must perish. Here, where I have\ngrown great, it becomes me to die, and it is not for me to retreat\nbefore the advancing sword. This money must serve another design of\nmine, which has been in my mind long since, but I seek a man capable\nof executing it.\n\n\"Thou shalt be that man. Falter not. Fate does great things with\nlittle ones. Thou shalt go from Janina and pass through Gaskho Bey's\narmy. When thou dost arrive at Durazzo, show Morrison this ring. When\nhe sees it he will do everything thou sayest to him, for he will know\nthat these are my commands. Thou wilt have the anchor raised and sail\nwith the first favorable wind to Stambul. Sail not into the Golden\nHorn, for it will be more difficult to get out of it again, but cast\nthy anchor hard by Anadoli Hissar. There thou wilt land, and, taking\nwith thee a hundred thousand piastres, thou wilt put them in sacks of\nchaff, the chaff being on the top, and lading sundry asses with the\nsacks, thou wilt take them to Adrianople. There thou wilt seek out my\nsons, and, humbly kissing the hem of their garments, give them to\nunderstand that I have sent thee. Then thou wilt tell them of the\nwarfare waged around Janina, all that thou thyself hast seen and\nheard. If from their faces thou seest that they receive thy words\ncoldly, and show no ardor of soul, then measure out to them the\nhundred thousand piastres, and bid them buy and keep shop therewith,\nstart a large wholesale business if they feel any disposition that\nway, and apply themselves diligently to heap up riches upon riches, as\nit becomes honest men to do who have long years to live. But if thou\nseest their face aflame and the heroes' love of glory sparkle in their\neyes; if they listen to thy words with parted lips and throbbing\nhearts; if they press thy hand warmly and frequently clutch the hilts\nof their swords; if they ask thee to tell them again and again what\nthou hast told them already--then tell them that the path of glory and\nTepelenti's arms are always open before them, that those one hundred\nthousand piastres are only for buying horses and weapons. I have five\ntimes as much on board the English ship, and five hundred times as\nmuch in the red tower of Janina. With the five millions of piastres\nthey must get ships, and these ships they must fully equip in secret.\nAnd this will not be difficult, for all the Greek seamen have deserted\nthe Turkish fleet. These Greeks will offer their services gratis. When\nthe ships are ready, let them, through thee, inform thereof Bublinia,\nthe heroic Greek amazon, who is cruising off Crete with thirty vessels\nto divert the attention of the Turkish fleet, and then row out to\nBeikos. With favorable weather thou shouldst get to Durazzo in ten\ndays. Simultaneously, I from one quarter, Kleon from a second, and\nOdysseus from a third will attack the army of Gaskho Bey, and if my\nsons are victorious at sea, in the evening of the same day we shall be\nable to rest in one another's arms.\"\n\nDirham wept like a child.\n\nThe pasha continued his directions:\n\n\"At every step be cautious. Accomplish everything amidst the greatest\nsecrecy. Don't let my sons scatter their money right and left, lest\ntheir wealth be suspected and give rise to envy and jealousy. It would\nbe better if they left the bulk of it on board ship, and only drew\nfrom it whatever may be necessary for the time being. When thou dost\ncommunicate with Bublinia, write on the parchment all sorts of\ndifferent things higgledy-piggledy. Say, for instance, that thou art\ndisembarking wool in Crete, and will consign it to Argyrocantharides,\nwho is friendly with the Sultan and all the pashas, and, at the same\ntime, an intermediary between us and the Greeks. But in the empty\nspaces between the lines let Mukhtar write the message for Bublinia in\nspecial characters with oil of vitriol; then, when thou dost hand over\nthe documents, moisten these special rows of letters with a piece of\ncitron. But stay, I will give thee a still better counsel. Melt some\nlunar caustic in water, and write therewith thy message on the shell\nof hard-boiled eggs. Then boil the eggs again; and when thou dost\nbreak them open thou wilt find the writing visible on the white\nmembrane inside. Do that. Eggs are the least suspicious of cargoes.\"\n\nDirham made a careful mental note of all that was told him, secretly\namazed that Ali Pasha should have extended his attention to the\nsmallest details.\n\n\"One thing more,\" said Ali, and his voice trembled with emotion. \"I\nknow right well that I am giving my sons dangerous parts to play, and\nthe issue thereof is uncertain. Take, therefore, this ring; the stone\nset in it contains a talisman. Give it to Mukhtar. Let him wear it on\nhis finger, and if ever he finds himself environed by a great danger,\na very great danger--which Allah forfend!--then let him open the stone\nof the ring and read the talisman engraved therein. But this he is\nonly to do if a great danger be at hand, when he trembles for his\nlife, when the lowest slave would not change heads with him; for when\nonce it has been read the talisman loses all its virtue. And now\ndepart, and bethink thee of all I have told thee.\"\n\nDirham kissed the hem of the pasha's garment and promised that he\nwould carefully perform everything. Ali accompanied him down into the\ngarden. On their way back to the place they had to cross the spot\nwhere Zaid was buried. As the hollow earth resounded beneath Ali's\nfeet, he stopped for a moment and murmured to himself, \"H'm! thou\nshalt not be the only one!\"\n\n\nTwo weeks later Dirham met the sons of Ali in Adrianople. Morrison's\nship had taken him on the way thither, and during the voyage Dirham\nhad countless opportunities of convincing himself that the money\ndeposited by Ali was safely guarded in the hold of the vessel. There\nhe said everything which Ali had confided to him, and as it seemed to\nthe poor servant, through the medium of his tearful eyes, as if the\nbeys grew enthusiastic at the tidings of the war which their aged\nfather was waging, he told them, in this persuasion, that Ali had sent\nthem five million piastres, that they might buy ships and collect arms\nand unite their forces to his.\n\nThe beys rejoiced greatly at the tidings of the five millions, and\nembraced Dirham, who did his best to attribute all the merit of the\ndeed to Tepelenti for sending the money so magnanimously.\n\n\"The old man might have sent us still more,\" said Sulaiman. \"What does\nhe want with it in Janina? Sooner or later it will become the prey of\nhis enemies.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, my lord!\" objected Dirham. \"It will become nobody's prey\nif only you unite with him.\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" said Sulaiman; and at that moment the two brothers caught each\nother's eye, and it was as though the same thought suddenly occurred\nto them both.\n\nWhen Dirham delivered the ring to Mukhtar, the latter asked,\nsuspiciously:\n\n\"Is there any poison in this ring?\"\n\n\"What are you thinking of, my lord? I wore it on my finger the whole\nway hither. There is a talisman in it.\"\n\nAt this both the brothers burst out laughing. They had often ridiculed\nAli for his absurd superstition. Nevertheless, Mukhtar kept the ring,\nfor there was a splendid emerald in it.\n\nBut the secret of the eggs completely won the favor of the brothers.\nThat was really a capital idea of Ali's. In this way the pashas could\nsend secret messages even in their harems. Who would ever suspect an\negg? They would put it to the proof at once. They would send a\ndeclaration of love to the odalisks of the Seraskier, written in an\negg.\n\nDirham shook his head and spoke seriously, and entreated the beys to\nfirst of all enter into a league with Bublinia, the amazon of Chios,\nwho was even bold enough on occasions to make a dash at the\nDardanelles; for if they did not hasten, the money that had been sent\nto them would be of no use. It would be dangerous, he urged, to show\nthe people of Adrianople that they had received money. The English\ncaptain, moreover, was not disposed to render any other service than\nthat of keeping safe custody of the money confided to him; but if any\nharm happened to them because of it, he would neither defend them nor\neven convey them out of Turkish waters.\n\nThese wise remonstrances made some impression upon the beys. Just as\nif their thoughts were pursuing the same course, they both hastened to\nbeg Dirham to let them have at once the eggs, the lunar caustic,\nwriting materials, and all other indispensable things. Moreover, they\nforgot to give him money for these purchases, so the poor fellow had\nto buy them out of his own purse.\n\nDirham's foot was scarcely out of the house when the two brothers\nlooked at each other and smiled.\n\n\"I have a good idea,\" began Sulaiman.\n\n\"And I also,\" said the other.\n\n\"I don't mean to return to Ali.\"\n\n\"Nor I. I bear in mind what happened to Zaid.\"\n\n\"I propose we buy a ship, on which we may hide our money.\"\n\n\"And we'll man her with a Greek crew.\"\n\n\"Then we will send Dirham with the messages written in the eggs to\nBublinia, and we'll write great things therein. We'll tell her that we\nstand ready here with our fleets, and if she will attack the Kapudan\nPasha in front we will attack him in the rear. The woman is mad. She\nwill come forth from the Archipelago and fall upon the Turkish fleet.\nThen the Kapudan Pasha will assemble his forces against her, and she\nwill engage all his attention till we have nicely set sail, nor will\nwe stop till we reach Cadiz.\"\n\n\"Admirable! for that is the land of good wine and fair women.\"\n\n\"And then Ali Pasha may wait for us till the angel Izrafil blows his\ntrumpet on the last day!\"\n\n\"And Bublinia as well--not forgetting the Sultan! Let them worry each\nother.\"\n\n\"Mashallah! Life is sweet!\"\n\nAnd so it chanced that the sons of Ali, like the princes in a fairy\ntale, suddenly and marvellously came into the possession of great\nriches, and were wise enough to profit by these riches in the merriest\nmanner in the world. The money was given to them for blood and\nweapons. They were going to lavish it on love and wine. And is not\nlife lovelier so?\n\nWhen Dirham came back they immediately boiled the eggs hard, and wrote\nupon them every sort of magnificent message that occurred to their\nminds. They promised to hasten to the assistance of the Greeks, both\nby land and by sea; to cut their way through the fleets with their\nfire-ships and blow the Turkish flag-ship into the air; to incite the\nJanissaries to rise against the Sultan and the Greeks to rise against\nthe Janissaries; in all of which there was not a single word of truth.\nOnly worthy Dirham believed these things, and trembled in body and\nsoul at the bare thought of the sublime deeds that his masters had\ndetermined to perform.\n\nHe himself hired a barge, loaded it with wool, and, hiding the eggs\nfull of secrets in a basket, set out for the Archipelago.\n\nThe good youths meanwhile laughed to their hearts' content. They\nlaughed at worthy Dirham; they laughed at the worthy Bublinia, and at\nthe wise Kapudan Pasha; they laughed at this amusing piece of good\nfortune which brought them riches in heaps. But at nobody did they\nlaugh so much as at old Tepelenti, who was believing all along that\nhis sons were collecting war-ships for him.\n\nBut did he really believe it?\n\nOn the same day that Dirham quitted Adrianople, a fakir of the\nNimetullahita Order penetrated into the Seraglio and demanded an\naudience of the Sultan. It was the self-same old soothsayer who had\nexhibited his enchantments to Ali.\n\nOn being admitted to the presence of Mahmoud, he stood audaciously\nupright before him, bending his head no lower than it was already\ncrooked by the weight of years.\n\n\"Allah hath sent me to thee,\" said the dervish, in a deep, hollow\nvoice, which had lost all its sonorousness. \"A great danger is\napproaching thee. The storm hanging over thy head is at this moment\ncompressed within the skin of an egg, and thou couldst crush it in the\npalm of thy hand; but if thou dost suffer it to come forth from the\negg, thy whole realm will not be sufficient to contain it. This,\ntherefore, is the word of Allah unto thee: This day and this night,\nand to-morrow and to-morrow night, stop every vessel which sails up\nthe narrow waters of the Golden Horn and search them, and whenever thy\nguards come upon an egg, let them seize it and bring it to thee; for\namongst them are diverse cockatrice eggs which, if once they be\nhatched, will swallow up both thee and thy realm.\"\n\nHaving said these words, the dervish turned him about, and without so\nmuch as saluting the Padishah, without even taking off his slippers\nbefore him, he withdrew, not even asking for a reward.\n\nThe Sultan was profoundly impressed by this audacity. He immediately\nsent orders to the wardens of the two watch-towers at the entrance of\nthe Golden Horn to board and search thoroughly every vessel that\npassed between them, seize every egg they found on board and bring\nthem to him, at the same time detaining all the crews of such vessels.\n\nFate so willed it that Dirham's was the first vessel that fell into\nthe hands of the searchers.\n\nWhen the unfortunate servant perceived that the guards seized the\neggs, he leaped into the sea, and although he was a good swimmer, he\nallowed himself to be suffocated in the water lest he should be\ncompelled to betray his masters.\n\nThe eggs they carried to the Sultan, and when he had opened them and\nhad read the writing written on their inner skins, he was horrified.\nTreachery and rebellion! The conspiracy was spreading from one end of\nthe empire to the other. The complicated intrigue, one of whose\nthreads was in Janina and the other in the islands of the Archipelago,\nhad its third in the very capital. This called for terrible reprisals.\n\nThe beys were seized the same night in the midst of their joys, and\ndragged from the paradise of their hopes to be thrown into a dungeon.\n\nWho could have betrayed the secret of the eggs? they asked themselves.\nWhy, who else but Tepelenti?\n\nFools! to fancy that they could make a fool of Tepelenti!\n\nSulaiman fainted when they informed him that the secret of the eggs\nwas discovered. Mukhtar felt that the moment had come of which Ali had\nsaid that the lowest slave would not then exchange heads with his two\nsons, and in that hour of peril he bethought him of the talismanic\nring which had been sent to him. Hastily he removed the emerald,\nbelieving that at least a quickly operative poison was contained\ntherein, by which he might be saved from a shameful death. There was,\nhowever, no poison inside the ring, but these words were engraved\nthereon, \"Ye have fallen into the hands of Ali!\"\n\nMukhtar dropped the ring; he was annihilated.\n\nThe hand of Ali, that implacable hand which reached from one end of\nthe world to the other, which clutched at him even out of the tomb--he\nnow felt all its weight upon his head.\n\nDie he must, and his brother also.\n\nThe Reis-Effendi examined them, and both of them doggedly denied all\nknowledge of what was written on the eggs. But there was one thing\nthey could not deny--the five million piastres on the English ship;\nthis was the most damaging piece of evidence against them, and proved\nto be their ruin.\n\nThe Sultan demanded from Morrison the money of the beys, and Morrison\nhimself appeared before the Reis-Effendi to defend his consignment,\nwhich he maintained he was only bound to deliver to its lawful owner.\n\nThe Reis-Effendi replied that in the Ottoman Empire there was only one\nlawful owner of every sort of property, and that was the Sultan. The\nproperty of every deceased person fell to the Grand Signior, and\nnobody could make a will without his permission.\n\nMorrison objected, very pertinently, that as the beys were not\ndeceased the Sultan could scarcely be looked upon as their heir.\n\nInstead of making any answer, the Reis-Effendi sent out his officers\nwith a little piece of parchment which he had previously subscribed,\nand a few moments later the severed heads of the beys stood in front\nof Morrison on a silver trencher.\n\n\"If their not being dead was the sole impediment,\" remarked the\nMinister of Foreign Affairs, \"you perceive that it has now been\nremoved.\"\n\nMorrison thereupon handed over all the gold and silver in his\npossession as rapidly as possible, and quitted Constantinople that\nvery hour; he had no great love of a place where every word cost the\nlife of a man.\n\nBut the heads of the beys were stuck on the gates of the Seraglio for\nthree days and three nights in the sight of all the people, and\nmounted heralds proclaimed, at intervals of an hour, \"Behold the heads\nof the sons of the rebellious Ali Tepelenti, who would have devastated\nStambul!\"\n\nAnd the people loaded the heads with curses each time the proclamation\nwas made.\n\n\nA few days later the news reached Janina that Sulaiman Bey and Mukhtar\nBey had been beheaded at Stambul.\n\nAli Pasha thrice bowed his face to the ground and gave thanks to Allah\nfor His mercies. And he caused to be proclaimed on the ramparts,\namidst a flourish of trumpets, that his sons, the treacherous beys,\nhad been decapitated at Stambul. Such is the reward of traitors!\n\nAfter that, for three days and three nights--just as long a time as\nthe heads of the beys had been exposed on the gates of the Seraglio--a\nbanquet, with music and dancing, was given in the fortress of Janina,\nand every morning a hundred and one volleys were fired from the\nbastions--the usual ceremony after great triumphs.\n\nAnd when in the evening Ali took a promenade in his garden, and walked\nup and down among his flowers, he would now and then trample the earth\nbeneath his feet. It was the grave of Zaid that he was trampling upon.\nThere stood an old dahlia, the sole survivor of its extirpated family,\nand, levelling it to the ground with his foot, he trod it into the\ngrave, murmuring to himself, \"No longer art thou alone--no longer\nalone!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE FLOWERS OF THE GARDEN OF BEGTASH\n\n\nAt the end of the fifteenth century, when the Turkish crescent had won\nan abiding-place among the constellations of Europe, there dwelt in\nthe Turkish dominions a worthy dervish, Haji Begtash by name.\n\nAs the overflowing armies of the newly founded empire submerged the\nsurrounding Christian kingdoms, Haji Begtash went everywhere with the\nconquering hosts, but in the intervals of peace he begged his way\nabout the empire, and scraped together a little money from the Turkish\ngrandees or from the extravagant, booty-laden Turkish soldiers.\n\nNow wherefore did this worthy dervish make it a point to collect so\nmuch money and wear himself out by travelling from the Adriatic to the\nEuxine, when he might have sat all day long at the gate of the Kaaba,\nas they call the stone on the tomb of the Prophet, and recited from\nhis long bead-string the nine properties of Allah (no very exhausting\nlabor, by-the-way), and received therefor, from the pilgrims to the\nshrine, meat, drink, and abundance of alms?\n\nWell, Haji Begtash had taken up a great work. When he accompanied the\nTurkish armies, and they, on entering a Christian village, began to\ncut down the inhabitants and tie the captives together with ropes,\nthe dervish would force his way through the bloodthirsty soldiery, and\nif he beheld any wild Bashkir or Kurdish desperado about to dash out\nthe brains of a forsaken, weeping orphan child against a wall, he\nwould lay his hand upon them, take away the child, cover it with his\nmantle, caress it, and take it away with him. And thus he would keep\non doing till he had with him a whole group of children, all of whom\nwere concealed beneath the folds of his ample cloak, where nobody\ncould hurt them; nay, frequently he would carry babies in\nswaddling-clothes in his bosom, till people began to wonder what on\nearth he meant to do with them.\n\nSubsequently he announced that any captive who brought him his\nchildren should receive a silver denarius per head for each one of\nthem. This was not much, it is true; but then there was little demand\nfor children. In the slave-market only the adult human animal had its\nprice-current. And so it came about that innumerable children were\nbrought to the worthy dervish.\n\nHe took them away with him to a mosque at Adrianople. Folks laughed at\nhim, and asked him mockingly if he was going to plant a garden with\nthem.\n\nHaji Begtash accepted the jest in real earnest, and called his\nchildren the flowers of Begtash's garden; and this name they preserved\nin the coming centuries.\n\nThese saplings (amongst them were some of the loveliest little\ncreatures of six and seven years of age) were brought up by the\nindefatigable Haji year after year. He instructed them in the Kuran;\nhe told them everything concerning the innumerable and ineffable joys\nwhich the Prophet promises to those who fall in the defence of the\ntrue Faith; and at the same time accustomed them to endure all the\nhardships and privations of this earthly life.\n\nMost of these children had never known father or mother, and those who\nhad quickly forgot all about them as they grew up. No love of home or\nkindred bound them to this world, and therefore they were all the more\nattached to one another. Their comrades were the only beings they\nlearned to love, and every one of them treated old Begtash as a\nfather. His words were sacred to them.\n\nTheir days were passed in hard work, in perpetual martial exercises,\nfighting, and swimming. A youth of twelve among them was capable of\ncoping with full-grown men elsewhere, and each one of them at maturity\nwas a veritable Samson.\n\nIn those days the Ottoman armies suffered many defeats from the\nChristian arms. Their strength lay for the most part in their cavalry,\nbut their innumerable infantry was a mere mob, two of their\nfoot-soldiers not being equal to one of the well-disciplined European\nmen-at-arms who advanced irresistibly against them in huge compact\nmasses; and they were of no use at all in sieges, except to fill up\nthe ditches and trenches with their dead bodies, and thus make a road\nfor the more valiant warriors that came after them.\n\nAnd now, as if by magic, a little band of infantry suddenly appeared\non the theatre of the war. These new soldiers were dressed quite\ndifferently from the others. On their heads they wore a high hat\nbulging outward in front, with a black, floating cock's plume on the\ntop of it; their dolmans were of embroidered blue cloth; their hose\nonly reached down to their knees, below that the whole leg was bare;\ntheir only weapon was a short, broad, roundish sword, in marked\ncontrast to the other Turkish soldiers, who loaded themselves with as\nmany weapons as if they were going to fight with ten hands.\n\nNone recognized the youths--and youths they all were. They did not\nmingle with the other squadrons, nor place themselves under any\ncaptain, nor did they ask for pay from any one.\n\nBut in the very first engagement they showed what they were made of. A\nfortress had to be besieged which was defended in front by a broad\nstream of water. The strange youths clinched their broad swords\nbetween their teeth, swam across the water, scaled the bastions amidst\nfire and flames, and planted the first horse-tail crescent on the\ntower.\n\nThese were the flowers of Begtash's garden.\n\nThe first battle established the fame of the youthful band that had\nbeen brought up by the old dervish, and by the time the second\ncampaign began, Haji Begtash was already the chief of innumerable\nmonasteries whose inmates were called the Brethren of the Order of\nBegtash. Consisting, as they did, of captive Christian children, and\nstanding under the immediate command of the Sultan, they composed a\nnew army of infantry, the fame of whose valor filled the whole world.\n\nThese were the \"jeni-cheri\" (new soldiers), which name was\nsubsequently altered into Janichary or Janissary. But for long ages to\ncome, if any Janissary warrior had a mind to speak haughtily, he would\ncall himself \"a flower from Begtash's garden.\"\n\nMany a glorious name bloomed in this garden in the course of the ages.\nThe power of the Sultan rested on their shoulders, and if they shook\nthe Sultan from off their shoulders, down he had to go.\n\nIf they were powerful servants, they were also powerful tyrants. Their\nvalor often reaped a harvest of victories, but their obstinacy again\nand again imperilled their triumphs. With the increase of their power\ntheir self-assurance increased likewise. It was not so much the\nSultans and Viziers who commanded them as they who commanded the\nSultans and Viziers. And if the rebellious Janissaries hoisted on the\nAtmeidan a kettle, the signal of revolt, it was always with fear and\ntrembling that the Seraglio asked them what were their demands; and\nthe whole Divan breathed more freely when the answer came that it was\ngold they wanted, and not blood--the blood of their officers. And\nwhen, after the great Feast of Bairam, there was the usual\ndistribution of pilaf, and the dangerous kettles were filled full with\nthis savory mess of rice and sheep's flesh, the Sultan, all trembling,\nwould anxiously watch to see how the majestic Janissaries partook of\ntheir pottage. If they devoured it voraciously, that was a sign of\ntheir satisfaction; but if they only touched it in a finiking sort of\nway, then the Sultan would fly into the Seraglio, and lock himself up\namong the damsels of the harem, for it was now certain that their\nlordships the Janissaries were displeased, and it was well if their\ndispleasure only expressed itself by reducing a whole quarter or so of\nthe city to ashes.\n\nTwo Sultans had tried to break in two this dangerous double-edged\nweapon, which inflicted as many wounds in the heart of the realm as\never it dealt outside; but the Janissaries' magic influence was so\ninterwoven with, so ingrafted in, the mind of the nation that public\nfeeling was on their side, and both rulers perished in the bold\nattempt. They dragged Sultan Osman forth from the Seraglio, and set\nhim on the back of an ass with his face to its tail, carried him in\nderision from one end of the town to the other, and then flung him\ninto the fatal Seven Towers, where the Turkish rulers and their\nrelatives are wont to be buried alive and die forgotten. Mahmoud II.'s\nfather, Selim, on the other hand, expired beneath the sword-thrusts of\nthe rebels, and those swords were still sharp and those hands were\nstill strong when the son of the man whom they had slain sat on the\nthrone, and under no other Sultan did the throne tremble so much as\nunder him.\n\nIn these days the mighty corps of the Janissaries lived only to commit\ncrimes or gigantic mistakes; its ancient glory was not renewed. During\nthe last century their arms had constantly been shattered whenever\nthey came into collision with the progressive military science of\nEurope. In the course of the ages the flowers in Begtash's garden had\nsadly faded. The flowery petals of their glory had fallen from them,\nand only the thorns remained; and even these were no longer the thorns\nof the brave thick-set hedge which defends the borders of the garden\nagainst would-be invaders, but the stings of the nettle which hurts\nthe hand of the gardener as he hoes.\n\nNeither life nor property was any longer safe from them. The Sultan\nhimself, when he sat upon the throne, was in the most dangerous place\nof all, and the Viziers--the chief officials of the realm--trembled\nevery day for their lives. The turbulence of the Janissaries was a\nperpetually recurring disease running through all the arteries of the\nrealm, and covering the once mighty empire with poisonous ulcers.\n\nThese seditious outbreaks occurred even during the deliberations of\nthe Divan, and fear on such occasions was a more urgent counsellor\nthan conviction to the palace magnates who sat in the cupolaed\nchamber.\n\nThe threats of the Janissaries had compelled Mahmoud to take up arms\nagainst Ali Pasha; and now, when Ali had kindled the flames of war all\nover the empire, and the Sultan bade the Janissaries hasten against\nthe enemy and subdue him, they replied that they would not fight\nunless the Sultan led them in person.\n\nInstead of that, they waged war within the very walls of Stambul, for\nwhenever the news of a defeat reached the capital, the Janissaries\nwould fall upon the defenceless Greeks and massacre them by thousands.\n\nFrom distant Asia, from the most savage parts of the empire, Begtash's\npriests appeared and proclaimed in the mosques death and destruction\non the heads of all the Greeks. It was they who, with torches in their\nhands, headed the rush of the fanatical Janissaries against Buyukdere,\nPera, and Galata, the quarters of the city where the Greeks resided,\nand every day they thundered with their bludgeons at the gates of the\nSeraglio, demanding ever more and more sentences of death against the\nGreek captives who were shut up in the Seven Towers. The Sultan's\nofficials, trembling with fear, wrote out the sentences demanded of\nthem, and the victims fell in hundreds; and when the Russian\nambassador, Stroganov, protested against this butchery, the\nJanissaries attacked his palace and riddled all the doors and windows\nwith bullets, which was the subsequent pretext for the long war which\nshook the empire to its base, though the Janissaries never lived to\nfeel it.\n\nMahmoud watched from the summit of the imperial palace the devastation\nof Stambul and the devastation of his empire, and he saw no help\nanywhere. He saw nothing but the melancholy examples of his ancestors\nand the disappearance of his dominions; and as he stroked the head of\nhis first-born, Abdul Mejid, a child of nine, he thought to himself,\n\"This lad will not sit on the throne, he will not be a ruler as his\nforefathers were; he will not dictate laws to half the world like the\nother descendants of Omar; but he will be a fugitive on the face of\nthe earth, the slave of strange people, as was the fugitive Dzhem,\nwhom they cast forth ages ago.\"\n\nHow miserable was the life of the Sultan! What avails it though an\nearthly paradise be open to him if life itself be closed against him?\nWhat avails it to be a god if he cannot be a man? The Sultan never\nknows what it is to have relatives. Very early, while they are still\nchildren, the latest born are shut up in the Seven Towers. The\nfirst-born son can never meet them, unless it be on the steps of the\nthrone, when the rebellious Janissaries drag one of them from his\ndungeon to raise him to the throne, and lock up the first-born in his\nstead. The Sultan cannot be said to possess a wife; all that he has\nare favorite concubines, in hundreds, in thousands, as many as he\nchooses to have, and there is no difference between them except\ndifferences of feminine loveliness and the blind chance which blesses\nsome of them with children. And he makes no more account of one than\nhe does of another. Not one of them feels it her duty to love her\nhusband; it is enough if she be the slave of his desires. If the\nPadishah be troubled or sorrowful, there is none about him to whom he\ncan open his heart. He may go from one end of the harem to the other,\nlike one who wanders through a conservatory whose flowers are all so\nbeautiful, so radiantly smiling; but in vain will he tell them of his\ngrief and trouble, for they do not understand him, they do not trouble\ntheir heads about his thoughts; and if, perchance, he tells them that\nfrom all four corners of the world mighty foes are marching against\nStambul, here and there, perchance, he may hear a sigh of longing from\nsome captive maiden, who cannot conceal her secret joy at the thought\nof the happy hour when the hand of deliverance will thunder at the\nharem door and break its bolts and give freedom, beautiful sunbright\nfreedom, to the captives.\n\nIt is slavish obsequiousness and nothing else which bends its knee\nbefore the Padishah; it is fear, not love, which obeys him. And to\nwhom shall he turn when his heart is held fast in the iron grip of\nthat numbing sensation which makes the mightiest feel they are but\nmen--fear?\n\nMahmoud's sole joy was his nine-year-old son. The child was brought\nup by his grandmother, the Sultana Valideh, herself scarce forty years\nof age. This dowager Sultana had civilized, European tastes. She had\nbeen educated in France; the young prince was passionately attached to\nher and she inspired him with all those desires and noble instincts\nunder whose influence, thirty years later, new life was to be poured\ninto the decrepit Turkish Empire.\n\nThe Sultana Valideh wished to so educate her grandson that one day he\nmight occupy a worthy position among the other rulers of Europe. She\nsowed betimes in his heart the seeds of high principles and\nenlightened tastes, and the Sultan would frequently listen to the wise\nsentences of his little lad, and, while rocking him on his knee, with\na smile upon his face, his heart would beat in an agony of fear, \"What\nif anybody got word of this?\"\n\nFor the old Turkish party lay in wait for every word that fell from\nthe Sultan's mouth, and the pointing of the little finger of one of\nBegtash's fakirs was more to be feared than the armed hand of the most\nvaliant of the Greek heroes. If any one of the Ulemas should chance to\ndiscover that the young heir to the throne listened to any other\nbookish lore than what was contained within the covers of the Kuran,\nwhich comprised within itself (so they taught) all the wisdom of the\nworld, they were capable of hounding on the Janissaries against the\nSeraglio, and slaying both sovereign and child.\n\nThe recollection of Achmed Sidi was still fresh in the memory of men.\nSidi had been one of the Chief Ulemas, and the Imam of the Mosque of\nSophia; and when, a few years ago, the warriors and the diplomatists\nof the Tsaritsa Catherine had won victory after victory over the\nOttomans, not only on every battle-field, but also in every political\narena, the unfortunate imam advised the Divan that, in view of the\nindisputable superiority of the Christians, it was necessary to teach\nthe Turkish diplomatists the Bible, the inference being that just as\nthe Moslem sages derived all their military science and all their\nadministrative wisdom from the Kuran, so also the Christians must\nneeds learn all these things from their Bible, thereby tacitly\nacknowledging the capacity of the Christians for appropriating all\nknowledge. But the well-meaning Ulema paid dearly for this good\ncounsel. They banished him to the Isle of Chios, and there, for a very\ntrivial offence, he was first degraded from his office (for it is not\nlawful to kill a Ulema with weapons), and then handed over to the\npasha of the place, who pounded him to death in a stone mortar--a\ndeterrent example for future reformers. Let them beware, therefore, of\nmoving a single stone in the ancient fabric of the Ottoman\nconstitution!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE SHIPWRECK OF LEONIDAS\n\n\nNow, one fine day, when the worthy Leonidas Argyrocantharides set out\nfrom Smyrna on one of his prettiest ships, a vexatious little accident\nbefell him by the way. The ship, which had taken in a cargo of tanned\nhides at Stambul, was overtaken, _en route_, by a tempest which drove\nher upon the coast of Seleucia. There, in the darkness of the night,\nshe was thrown upon a sand-bank, from which she was unable to\nextricate herself till morning; and it was only when the land became\nvisible in the early light of dawn that the merchant began to realize\nthe awkward position into which his ship had got, despite Saint\nProcopius and Saint Demetrius, who were very beautifully painted on\nboth sides of her prow. The vessel had heeled over on one side, and\nthat side of her which lay above the waves was threatened every moment\nwith destruction by the onset of the foaming surf which broke from\ntime to time over the deck, making a pretty havoc of the masts and\nspars. The joints of the ship's timbers began to be loosened, creaking\nand shivering at each fresh shock of the waves. And if the fate of the\nship on the sand-bank was sad enough, still sadder would it have been\nif she had broken loose therefrom; for right in front of her lay the\nrocks of the Seleucian coast, whose steep crags were lashed so\nfuriously by the raging sea that the crashing waves leaped fully a\nhundred fathoms up their sides. A nice place this would have been for\nany ship to play pitch-and-toss in!\n\nThe worthy merchant sorely lamented his fate, sorely lamented, also,\nhis fine ship, which was painted in elaborate patterns with all the\ncolors of the rainbow. He lamented his many beautiful goat-skins, not\na single bundle of which he would allow to be cast into the sea for\nthe purpose of lightening the ship; rather let them all go to the\nbottom together! He mourned over himself, too, condemned at the\nbeginning of the best years of his life to be suffocated in the sea;\nbut what he lamented far more than ship, goat-skins, or even life\nitself, were the two Circassian children, the precious, beautiful boy\nand girl, Thomar and Milieva, who were worth, at the current market\nprices of the day, ten thousand ducats apiece; Leonidas would have\ngiven his own skin for them any day!\n\nFull of great hopes, he had embarked the two children at Stambul (the\ntanned hides were only a secondary consideration); and lo! now, just\nwhen he was reaching his goal, the curse of Kasi Mollah overtook him.\n\nTwo long-boats fully manned had made an attempt to reach the shore, in\norder that they might from thence haul the ship off the sand-bank, and\nboth boats had been seized before his very eyes by the breakers, and\ndashed to pieces against the steep rocks; so there was nothing for it\nbut to remain behind and perish on the sand-bank.\n\nOne wave after another drove the hulk deeper and deeper down; those\nwho still remained aboard wrung their hands and prayed or cursed,\naccording as temperament or habit urged them.\n\nAs for Leonidas, he did both--he prayed and cursed at the same time;\nfor it seemed quite clear to him that praying or cursing separately\nwas of not the slightest use. The two children, meanwhile, holding\neach other tightly embraced, sat beside the broken stump of the mast\nand seemed to mock at the terrible tempest.\n\nNot a sign of fear was visible on their faces. This roaring wind,\nthese foam-churning waves, seemed to afford them a pleasant pastime.\nThe black-and-white storm-birds sitting on the towering billows were\nswimming there all round the doomed ship, merrily flapping the water\nwith their wings. Oh, those sea-swallows were having a fine time of\nit!\n\nThe two children had agreed between themselves, some time before, that\nif the ship went down, they would fling themselves into the water and\nswim ashore. That would be a mere trifle to them, of course.\n\nFull of despair, the merchant rushed towards them, and embracing them\nwith both his arms, he exclaimed, looking bitterly at the sky,\n\"Merciful Heaven! ten thousand ducats!\"\n\nThe children fancied that terror had made the merchant mad, and they\ntried to comfort him with kind words:\n\n\"Don't distress yourself, dear foster-father; we will not perish here,\nand we will not leave you to perish either. As soon as the ship goes\ndown, we'll swim for the shore. We both of us know very well how to\ncleave the waves with our strong arms, and we will fasten you to our\ngirdles and save you along with ourselves.\"\n\nThe merchant kissed the two dear children, and embraced them tenderly.\nAn hour later the last planks of the fine ship broke away from each\nother, and the shipwrecked crew clung desperately to the floating\nspars that the waves tossed hither and thither. The greater part of\nthe ship's company was ingulfed forthwith by the waves or dashed to\npieces against the hard rocks; only three persons were saved--the\nmerchant and the two children.\n\nLeonidas, fast tied to their girdles, allowed himself to be cast among\nthe waters. The first who rose on the crest of the foaming waves was\nThomar. He perceived the rock on which a huge mountain of surf,\nrushing after him, threatened to dash him to pieces, and, watching his\nopportunity, grasped the long dangling roots of a tree which grew out\nof a cleft of the rocks and, with a tremendous effort, dragged all\nthree of them up to it. The wave rolled right over them, burying them\nfor an instant in deep water; but the next moment the surge rolled\nback again, and they were on the rocky coast.\n\nThe merchant was more dead than alive, so the children had to drag him\nwith them for a long way inland, lest the returning surge should carry\nthem back to sea again. They only ventured to rest when they had\nreached a rocky cavity where they could feel sure that they were safe.\nEven here the water, which shot up as high as a tower against the\nopposing rock, covered them every moment; but they did not feel its\nweight.\n\nThere they had to remain, crouching closely together, till the\nevening. Neither in front nor behind was there any place of refuge,\nand it was with a feeling of envy that they looked down upon the\nstormy petrels which towards evening began to sit down in long rows on\nthe edge of the rocks, whither it was impossible for them to follow.\n\nGradually, however, the storm died away, the sea subsided and grew\nsmooth, and the place where the shipwrecked group had taken refuge\nrose three ells above the surface of the water. Then they could\nventure to look around them. The whole shore was strewn with pieces of\ntimber and mangled corpses. Wreckage and dead bodies were all that the\nsea had vomited forth of the rich cargo of the fine ship.\n\nBut the merchant did not despair. Making the two children kneel down\nbeside him, he knelt down in their midst, and made them pray a prayer\nof gratitude to Heaven for their marvellous deliverance; and then,\npressing them to his bosom, he sobbed, with the tears in his eyes,\n\"What do I care, though my ship is lost and all my wares are\nsubmerged, so long as ye remain to me, my precious offspring? That is\nquite consolation enough for me.\"\n\nAnd the worthy merchant told the truth, for as soon as ever he could\nreach Stambul he was sure of getting for these two children enough to\nenable him to buy two ships and twice as many wares as he had lost at\nthe bottom of the sea.\n\nBut now the most difficult question arose--How were they to get away\nfrom that spot to any place inhabited by man? All ships gave this\ndangerous coast a wide berth; there was nothing to tempt them to the\nspot. Even fishermen did not venture as far in their barks, so that\nthe unfortunate refugees who had escaped the waters saw starvation\napproaching them.\n\nBut suddenly, while they were meditating over the misery of their\nposition, they fancied they heard human voices a little distance\noff--deep, manly voices, apparently engaged in a lively dispute.\n\nThe two children rejoiced, thinking that good men were hard by; but\nthe merchant trembled, for, thought he, \"What if they be robbers?\"\n\nThomar now bade his sister remain with Leonidas while he went in the\ndirection of the voices to discover who the speakers might be. The\nbrave boy clambered from one cliff to another, made the circuit of the\nrock-chamber behind which they were sitting, and when he came to the\nopposite side of it a spacious empty cavern yawned blackly in front of\nhim, half covered by whortleberry bushes. Probably the conversation\ncame from thence, but neither near nor far was a human creature to be\nseen, nor were there any footprints of men on the ground; the front of\nthe cavern was covered with thick green moss, on which footprints left\nno trace. Thomar shouted into the cave, and as not a word came back,\nhe boldly entered, and slowly advanced forward. He went on and on as\nfar as the light of the outside world extended, and then, as no one\nreplied to his loud challenges, turned back again by the way he had\ncome, and, making the circuit of the rock again, told the merchant\nthat he had not come upon any human beings, but had only found a\ncavern which, at any rate, would make them good night quarters.\n\nThe conversation they thought they had heard must have been a\ndelusion. Then they helped one another along the rocks and arrived at\nthe mouth of the cavern.\n\nMilieva had scarcely cast a glance into it when she exclaimed, full of\njoy: \"Look, Thomar, here are two chests among the bushes!\" And,\nindeed, there were two boxes made of boards, and Thomar wondered that\nhe had not noticed them before. No doubt the sea had cast them up\nthither out of some ship that had been wrecked there before.\n\nOne of the boxes resembled those chests in which sailors keep their\nbiscuits, but the shape of the other suggested that it was one of\nthose hermetically sealed vessels used for holding good wines. Why\nshould they not turn them to some account?\n\nThey were not long in forcing them open, and what was their\nastonishment when they perceived that the biscuits in the first box\nwere not even mouldy, but quite dry and sound, as if they had only\nbeen brought thither quite recently; while in the second box not one\nof the scores of flasks there displayed was broken or cracked, but lay\nneatly stored away in layers of straw?\n\nThe refugees did not greatly concern themselves with the question, Who\nput these boxes here? and why? Nobody who, after being tossed about on\nthe sea for three days with nothing to eat or drink all the time, and\nis then unexpectedly confronted with rich stores of bread and\nwine--nobody, I am sure, under such circumstances would think of\nconsulting the Kuran as to whether a conscientious Mussulman should\neat and drink such things, but would fall to at once, and thank Allah\nfor the chance.\n\nThe children forgot, in the twinkling of an eye, the dangers to which\nthey had been exposed, and, after the first glass or two of wine,\novercome by fatigue, lay down on the soft bed which Nature had made\nready for them with her most fragrant moss. Leonidas, however,\nremained sitting where he was, considering it his bounden duty to\ntaste all the wines which were here offered to him gratis, one after\nthe other; in consequence whereof, when he _did_ lie down at last, he\nchose a position in which his head was very low down while his feet\nwere high in the air, and so they all three slumbered peacefully\ntogether.\n\nThen the voices of men were heard once more far off in the cavern, and\nnot long afterwards there emerged from its black mouth six\ngray-haired, pale-faced human beings. He who came first was the\neldest. His white beard reached to his girdle, his mouth was hidden by\nhis mustache, and his eyes were covered by his white eyebrows.\n\nThese men were fakirs of the Omarite Order, whose rule obliges them to\nendure the most terrible of all renunciations--abstention from all\nenjoyment of the light of day. Plunging themselves into eternal\ndarkness for the glory of Allah, they make of life a long midnight,\nand the sun never beholds them on the face of the earth.\n\nThe night was well advanced when the six Omarites came forth to the\nsleepers, and while five of the fakirs stood round them in silence,\nthe sixth--the one with the long flowing beard--bent over the\nchildren and examined their features attentively in the darkness of\nthe night, which was only mitigated by the light of a few faint stars\nhalf hidden among errant clouds. At last he whispered to his comrades,\n\"It is they.\" Then, turning the tips of his thumbs downwards, he laid\nthem softly on Thomar's head. All five fakirs listened with rapt\nattention. The bosom of the sleeping lad began to heave tumultuously;\nhe clinched his fists; his face grew hot; his lips swelled. The old\nman then seemed to breathe upon his forehead, as if he would whisper\nsomething, whereupon the sleeping lad exclaimed, in a strong, audible\nvoice, \"With swords, with guns, with arms!\"\n\nThe old men shook their heads, showing thereby that they approved of\nhis words.\n\nThen the eldest old man bent over the other child and made passes over\nher face with his five fingers. The maiden's bosom expanded visibly,\nand when the old man stooped over and breathed upon her she cried out\nin an energetic, dictatorial manner, \"Down on your knees before me!\"\n\nAt this the Omarites all whispered together, and two of them lifting\nthe lad, two the girl, and two the merchant, they carried them on\ntheir shoulders into the depths of the cavern.\n\nThe mouth of this cavern was the already mentioned tunnel whose\nfarthest exit debouched upon the valley of Seleucia, half a league\nfrom the sea--that waste, barren, and savage valley.\n\nThe Omarites moved to and fro in the black cave without a torch, like\nthe blind, who do not go astray in the turnings and windings of the\nstreets, although they see them not. The sleepers had drunk a magic\npotion, which did not permit them to awake for some time, and the men\ncarried them on their shoulders to the opposite entrance of the cavern\nand there laid them down on the moss, in a place where the sunlight\nwas wont to penetrate.\n\nIt was already late in the day when the two children awoke. As soon as\nthey had opened their eyes, their first care was to kiss and embrace\neach other. Then they aroused the merchant also and, rubbing sleep out\nof their eyes, began to tell him, in childish fashion, what they had\nbeen dreaming about.\n\n\"Ah! what a lovely dream I had!\" cried Thomar, and even now his eyes\nsparkled. \"I was standing beside the Sultan, who was leaning on my\nshoulder. Before me and around me howled a rebellious multitude, and\nthe Sultan was pale and sad. Turning towards me he sighed, 'Wherewith\nshall I appease this raging sea?' For a long time I could find no\nanswer. It was as if something were weighing me down, something as\nheavy as a mountain, when suddenly the words escaped from my lips,\n'With swords, with guns, with weapons!' And then the Padishah girded\nhis own sword upon me, and I rushed among the howling mob, and I cut\nand hacked away at them till they were all consumed, and at last a\nfield that had been reaped lay before me, and it was covered with\nnothing but corpses.\"\n\n\"That is a foolish dream,\" said Leonidas. \"Why did you eat so much\nlast night?\"\n\nAnd now Milieva told her dream.\n\n\"I also must have been confused by the wine. Before me also a\nrebellious multitude appeared, and it then seemed to me as if I was\nnot a girl but a boy. Furiously they rushed upon me from every side,\nbut I feared them not, and when they were quite near to me I cried out\nto them, 'Down on your knees before me! I am the Sultan's daughter!'\nAnd everything was instantly quiet.\"\n\nThe merchant laughed till he choked at this dream. Who but children\ncould dream such rubbish?\n\n\"But at home they used to say,\" observed Thomar, with a grave face,\n\"that whatever any one dreams in a strange place where he has never\nslept before, he will see that dream accomplished.\"\n\n\"Well, I am much obliged to you,\" said the merchant, \"for in my dream\nI was hanging up in Salonika by my feet, with my head downwards.\"\n\nThen the merchant made the children leave the cavern.\n\n\"Come, my children,\" said he, \"let us see if the sea has calmed down,\nand whether a ship is approaching from anywhere.\"\n\nThomar obeyed, quitted the cavern, and exclaimed, in astonishment:\n\n\"Look, my dear foster-father! How could a ship come here when the very\nsea has vanished, and only the bottom of it remains.\"\n\nAnd indeed the district stretching out before them was quite bare and\nbarren enough to be taken for the bottom of the sea.\n\nLeonidas took the lad's words for a joke, and it was a joke he did not\nrelish.\n\n\"Keep your witticisms for another time, my son,\" said he, \"and rub\nyour eyes that they may see the better.\"\n\nBut Milieva leaped after Thomar, and when she had got up to him she\nclapped her hands together, and exclaimed, with naïve amazement:\n\n\"Why, the sea has run away from us!\"\n\nAnd now the merchant himself arose from his place, went out of the\ncavern, and could scarce believe his eyes when he saw before him the\nsavage, rocky region, where not a drop of moisture could be seen, to\nsay nothing of the sea!\n\n\"God has worked wonders for us,\" sighed the merchant. \"It is plain\nthat we are in quite a different place from that wherein we went to\nsleep.\"\n\n\"No doubt the peris of the mountains of Kâf have conveyed us hither,\"\nsaid Milieva.\n\n\"Peris, no doubt,\" observed Leonidas, absently, groping for his long\nreticule, and feeling whether his diamonds were still there. If it\nwere not peris, they would certainly have searched him for his\ndiamonds.\n\nAnd now they had to find out where they were, and what was the best\nway to get out of the wilderness. The greatest anxiety had\ndisappeared; they had no longer anything to fear from the sea. On dry\nland it would be much easier to find a place of refuge.\n\nAfter a little searching they came upon footprints in the sand, and\nthese footprints led them to the mouth of the valley. Whole forests of\nthe large cochineal cactus grew among the rocks, and here and there\nthey saw a light-footed kid grazing on the dry sward. Not very long\nafterwards they fell in with the goatherd. Leonidas was rather alarmed\nthan delighted at the sight of the grim muscular figure, who, on\nperceiving them, came straight towards them, and addressed them in a\ngruff voice.\n\n\"Are ye those shipwrecked fugitives who slept at night in the Cavern\nof the _dzhin_?\"\n\n\"_Dzhin!_\" said Leonidas to himself. \"Methinks it must have been a\nspirit of evil, then.\"\n\nThe children answered the goatherd boldly, and begged him to direct\nthem to some inhabited region.\n\n\"Go straight along this gorge,\" said he; \"you cannot mistake the path.\nOn your right hand you will find a hut where dwells a fakir of the\nErdbuhar Order, who will direct you farther. Salám alek!\" And with\nthat the goatherd quitted them, to the great amazement of Leonidas,\nwho had expected nothing less of him than highway robbery.\n\nTowards evening they had arrived at the hut of the Erdbuhar hermit.\n\n\"I have been expecting you,\" said the dervish, when they came up to\nhim. \"Have you not suffered shipwreck and slept all night with the\n_dzhin_?\"\n\nEvidently one marvel after another was in store for them.\n\nThe dervish gave them meat and drink, and washed their feet, and after\nthey had enjoyed his hospitality he offered to conduct them all the\nway to the gates of Seleucia. The merchant would very much have liked\nto know something of his wondrous deliverers, but as the dervish\nanswered all his questions with quotations from the Kuran, he learned\nvery little that was definite from that holy man.\n\nWhen Seleucia came in sight, the merchant began thanking the dervish\nfor his good offices. \"Do not weary thyself any further, worthy\nMussulman,\" cried he; \"I know not how to reward thy labors, but Allah\nwill requite thee. I am a beggar. Thou dost see that I am as bare as\none of my fingers. The ocean hath swallowed up my all.\"\n\nAnd all the while his reticule was full of precious stones; but he\nwould have considered it a very great act of folly not to have made\ncapital out of his wretchedness, and paid the dervish with fine words.\n\nBut the dervish would not even accept his thanks. \"It is but my duty,\"\nsaid he, \"and I did it not for thy sake, but for the sake of others.\"\nAnd with that he quitted them, after giving a string of praying-beads\nto each of the children.\n\nThe children went on in front till they reached the gate of the city,\ntalking in a low voice together; but when they found themselves in the\npopulous streets they took Leonidas by the hand, and Thomar said, \"All\nthat was thine has been lost in the sea, and who will help us in the\ngreat strange city, where nobody knows us? Let us therefore sing in\nthe market-place and before the houses of the great men, and they will\ngive us money, and so we shall be able to go on farther.\"\n\nThe merchant was greatly affected by this naïve offer, and allowed the\nchildren to sing in the market-place and in the porch of the pasha's\nhouse, and in this way they gained enough money to enable them to go\non to the next city.\n\nThus, at last, they got back to Smyrna. If they had been his own\nchildren Argyrocantharides could not have looked for greater and\nheartier affection from them. They fasted that he might feast, they\nshivered that he might be warmly clad, they denied themselves sleep\nthat he might slumber all the more tranquilly, and lowered themselves\nto singing in the market-place that he might not be compelled to beg\nat the corners of the streets.\n\nGood children! sweet children!\n\nAs soon as the merchant could get a new ship he took them with him to\nStambul, and this time no misfortune happened to them by the way.\n\nAt Stambul he exhibited them to the Kizlar-Agasi, who, after examining\ntheir limbs and satisfying himself as to their capabilities, bought\nthe pair of them from the merchant at his own price--the youth for the\nSultan's corps of pages, the girl for the harem.\n\nTo the honor of the worthy merchant, however, it must be said that\nwhen he did hand the children over he sobbed bitterly. Good, worthy\nman!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA BALL IN THE SERAGLIO\n\n\nIt was the birthday of the Sultana Valideh. The Sultana, Mahmoud's\nmother, was, we may remember, a Frenchwoman, whose parents, natives of\nthe Isle of Martinique, had sent her to Paris while still very young,\nand placed her, till she was sixteen, in a convent to be educated.\nThen the family sent word that she was to return to the beautiful\nisland on the farther side of Africa; but during the voyage a tempest\ndestroyed the ship, and the crew had to take to the boats. One of\nthese boats, in which was the pretty French girl, was captured by\nBarbary corsairs, who sold her to the Sultan. The rest we know, of\ncourse--\n\n    \"Elle eut beau dire: Je me meurs!\n    De nonne elle devient Sultane!\"\n\nThose poor flowers that are brought together from all the corners of\nthe earth to stock the Grand Signior's harem, and who know nothing\nexcept how to love, paled before the radiant loveliness and the\nsparkling wit of this damsel, who had been brought up in the midst of\nEuropean culture. She became the favorite wife of Selim, she bore him\nMahmoud, and her son loved his mother much better than all his damsels\nput together.\n\nA great surprise had been prepared for the Sultana Valideh. The Sultan\nhad arranged the whole thing himself in secret. He was going to give a\ndance, after the European fashion, in the Seraglio.\n\nTailors were brought from Vienna who set to work upon dresses in the\nlatest fashion for the odalisks; the eunuchs were taught the latest\nwaltz music, a minuet, and two French square dances; and the girls\nwere all taught how to dance these dances. The men who had admittance\ninto the harem, the Kizlar-Agasi, the Anaktar Bey, the heir to the\nthrone (Abdul Mejid), and the Sultan himself, wore brown European\ndress-suits, so that when the Sultana stepped into the magnificently\nilluminated porcelain chamber she stood rooted to the floor with\nastonishment. She imagined herself to be at a court ball at Paris,\njust as she had seen it at the Louvre when a child. A surging mob of\nhundreds and hundreds of young odalisks was proudly strutting to and\nfro in stylish dresses of the latest fashion, in long gloves and silk\nstockings. Instead of turbans, plumed hats and bouquets adorned the\nmagnificent masses of their curled and frizzled locks. They moved\nabout with bare shoulders and bosoms, in soft wavy dresses, with fans\npainted over with butterflies, freely laughing and jesting in this, to\nthem, newest of worlds, and the only thing that differentiated this\nball from our dancing entertainments was the absence of the darker\nportion of the show--the masculine element.\n\nThere were only four representatives of this _sombre nuance_--to wit,\nthe Sultan, the heir to the throne, the Kizlar-Agasi, and the Anaktar\nBey. Of these four, two were no longer and two were not yet men. All\nfour were dressed in stiff Hungarian dolmans, long black pantaloons,\nand red fezes. The Sultan, with his thick-set figure, would have\npassed very well for a substantial Hungarian deputy-lord-lieutenant,\nwith his tight-fitting, bulging dolman buttoned right up to his chin.\nThe young prince's elegant figure, on the other hand, was brought into\nstrong relief by his well-made suit; his hair was nicely curled on\nboth sides, and his genteel white shirt was visible beneath his open\ndolman. The Kizlar-Agasi, on the contrary, cut a very amusing figure\nin his unwonted garb. He was constantly endeavoring to thrust his hand\ninto his girdle, and only thus perceived that he had none, and he kept\non holding down the tails of his coat, as if he felt ashamed that they\nmight not reach low enough to cover him decently.\n\nThe Sultana Valideh was favorably surprised. The spectacle brought\nback to her her childish years, and she gratefully pressed her son to\nher bosom for this delicate attention, while he respectfully kissed\nhis mother's hands. The Sultan scattered his love among a great many\nwomen, but his mother alone could boast of possessing his respect.\n\nThe odalisks surrounded the good Sultan, rejoicing and caressing him.\nHe was never severe to any of them--nay, rather, he was the champion,\nthe defender of them all, and those whom he loved might be quite sure\nthat his affection would be constant.\n\nEvery one tried to please the Sultana Valideh by showing her their new\ngarments, but none of them found such favor in her eyes as the new\nflower, which had only recently been introduced into the Seraglio,\nand was now the foremost of them all, the beautiful Circassian damsel.\nHer light step, the dove-like droop of her neck, the charm of her\nfull, round shoulders, and her lovely young bosom, were such that one\nwas almost tempted to believe that she had been carried off bodily\nfrom some Parisian salon, where they know so well how to take the\nutmost advantage of all the resources of fashion. Her locks were\ndressed up _à la Vallière_, with negligently falling curls which gave\na slightly masculine expression to her face--an additional charm in\nthe eyes of a connoisseur. Yes, the Greek merchant was right; there\nwas no spot on the earth worth anything except the place where Milieva\nlived and moved.\n\nThe Valideh kissed the odalisk on the forehead, and led her by the\nhand to the Sultan, who would not permit her to kiss his hand (who\never heard of a lady kissing the hand of a gentleman in evening\ndress?), but permitted the young heir to the throne to take Milieva on\nhis arm and conduct her through the room. What a pretty pair of\nchildren they made! Abdul Mejid at this time was scarce twelve years\nof age, the girl perhaps was fourteen; but for the difference of their\nclothes, nobody could have said which was the boy and which the girl.\n\nAnd now the tones of the hidden orchestra began to be heard, and a\nfresh surprise awaited the Sultana. She heard once more the pianoforte\nmelodies which she had known long ago, and the height of her amazement\nwas reached when the Sultan invited her to dance--a minuet.\n\nWhat an absurd idea! The Sultana dowager to dance a minuet with her\nson, the Sultan, before all those laughing odalisks, who had never\nbeheld such a thing before? Where was the second couple? Why here--the\nprince and Milieva, of course. They take their places opposite the\nimperial couple, and to slow, dreamy music, with great dignity they\ndance together the courteous and melancholy dance, bowing and\ncourtesying to each other with as much majesty and _aplomb_ as was\never displayed by the powdered cavaliers and beauty-plastered\ngoddesses of the age of the _Œil de Bœuf_.\n\nNever had such a spectacle been seen in the Seraglio.\n\nThe Sultana herself was amazed at the triumphant dexterity which\nMilieva displayed in the dance; she was a consummate maid of honor,\nwith that princely smile for which Gabrielle D'Estrées was once so\nfamous. The good Mahmoud so lost himself in the contemplation of the\neyes of Milieva, his _vis-à-vis_, that towards the end of the dance he\nquite forgot his own part in it, folding Milieva to his breast in\ndefiance of all rule and ceremony, and even kissing her face twice or\nthrice, although he ought not to have gone beyond kissing her\nhand--nay, he ought not to have kissed her hand at all, but the hand\nof his partner, the Sultana Valideh.\n\nWhen the minuet was over the eunuch musicians played a waltz in which\nall the odalisks took part, clinging to one another in couples, and\nthus they danced the pretty _trois pas_ dance, for the _deux pas_\nrevolution was the invention of a later and more progressive age.\nLouder than the music was the joyous uproar of the dancers themselves.\nHere and there some of them tumbled on the slippery floor to which\nthey were not accustomed, and the nymphs coming after them fell\naround them in heaps. Some disliked the dance or were weary, but their\nfirier and more robust partners dragged them along, willy-nilly. The\nold Kizlar-Agasi and the bey stood in the midst of them to take care\nthat no scandal took place. Suddenly the madcap odalisk army\nsurrounded them, clung on to them in twos and threes, dragged them\ninto the mad waltz, and twisted them round and round at a galloping\npace, till the two good old gentlemen had no more breath left in them.\n\nThe Sultan and the Valideh, with the prince and Milieva, were sitting\non a raised daïs, laughing and looking on at the merry spectacle. The\npipers piped more briskly, the drummers drummed more furiously, the\ncymbals clashed more loudly than ever, while the odalisks dragged\ntheir prey about uproariously.\n\nAh! Listen! What didst thou hear, good Sultan? What noise is that\noutside which mingles with the hubbub within? Outside there also is to\nbe heard the roll of drums, the flourish of trumpets, and the shouts\nof men.\n\nNonsense! 'Tis but imagination. Bring hither the glasses--not those\ntiny cups of sherbet, for this is the birthday of the Valideh. We will\nbe Europeans to-night. Bring hither wine and glasses for a toast!\n\nThe Sultan had a particular fondness for Tokay and champagne, and the\nambassadors of both these great Powers had the greatest influence with\nhim.\n\nThe odalisks also had to be made to taste these wines; and after that\nthe dance proceeded more merrily, and the boisterous music and\nsinging grew madder and madder.\n\nWhat was that?\n\nThe Sultan grew attentive. What uproar is that outside the Seraglio?\nWhat light is that which shines at the top of the round windows?\n\nThat uproar is no beating of drums; those shouts are not the shouts of\nrevellers; that din is not the beating of cymbals; no, 'tis the\nclashing of swords, the thundering of cannons, the tumult of a siege,\nand that light is not the light of bonfires but of blazing rafters!\n\nUp, up, Mahmoud, from thy sofa! Away with thy glass and out with thy\nsword! This is no night for revelry; death is abroad; insurrection is\nat thy very gate! They are besieging the Seraglio!\n\nTwelve thousand Janissaries, joined with the rabble of Stambul, are\nattacking the gates at the very time when the orchestra is playing its\nliveliest airs in the illuminated hall.\n\n\"Do ye hear that?\" exclaimed Kara Makan, the most famous orator of the\nJanissaries, who with his own hand had hung up the Metropolitan of\nConstantinople on the very threshold of the palace. \"Do ye hear that\nmusic? Here they are rejoicing when the whole empire around them is in\nmourning. Do ye know what are the latest tidings this night? The\nSuliotes have captured Gaskho Bey, and annihilated our army before\nJanina. A woman has blown up the ship of the Kapudan Pasha, and the\nShah has fallen upon Kermandzhan with an army! Destruction is drawing\nnear to us, and treachery dwells in the Seraglio. Hearken! They dance,\nthey sing, they bathe their lips in wine, and their blasphemies bring\nupon us the scourge of Allah! We shed our tears and our blood, and\nthey make merry and mock at us! Shall not they also weep? Shall not\ntheir blood also be shed? So fare it with them as it has fared with\nour brethren whom they sent to the shambles!\"\n\nThe furious mob answered these seditious words with an indescribable\nbellowing.\n\n\"If we traversed the whole empire we should not find a worse spot than\nthis place.\"\n\n\"Set fire to the Seraglio!\" cried one voice suddenly, and the others\ntook up the cry.\n\n\"And if you escape from all other enemies, would you fall into the\nclaws of the worst enemies of all?\"\n\n\"Death to the Viziers! Death to the lords of the palace!\" thundered\nthe people; and one voice close to Kara Makan, rising above the\nothers, exclaimed, \"Death to the Sultan!\"\n\nKara Makan turned in that direction and defended his master. \"Hurt not\nthe Sultan! The life of the Sultan is sacred. He and his children are\nthe last survivors of the blood of Omar; and although he be not worthy\nto sit on the throne which the heroic Muhammad erected for his\ndescendants, yet he is the last of his race, and, therefore, the head\nof the Sultan is sacred. But death upon the head of the Reis-Effendi,\ndeath to the Kizlar-Agasi and the Kapudan Pasha! They are the cause of\nour desolation. The chiefs of the Giaours pay them to destroy their\ncountry. Tear all these up by the roots, and if there be any children\nof their family, destroy them also, even to the very babes and\nsucklings, that the memory of them may perish utterly!\"\n\nThe mob thundered angrily at the gates of the Seraglio, which were\nshut and fastened with chains. The Janissaries blew the horns of\nrevolt, the drums rolled, and within there the Sultan was reposing his\nhead on the bosom of a beautiful girl. Suddenly a loud report shook\nthe whole Seraglio. An audacious ichoglan had fired his gun upon the\nmob as it rushed to attack the water-gate.\n\nThe Sultan, in dismay, quitted the harem, and hastened to the middle\ngate in order to address the mob. On his way through the corridor, his\nservants and his ministers threw themselves at his feet and implored\nhim not to show himself to the people. Mahmoud did not listen to them.\nIn the confusion of the moment, moreover, it never occurred to him\nthat he was wearing a Frankish costume, which the people hated and\nexecrated.\n\nWhen he appeared on the balcony the light of the torches fell full\nupon him, and the Janissaries recognized him. Every one at once\npointed their fingers at him, and immediately an angry and scornful\nhowl arose.\n\n\"Look! that is the Sultan! Behold the Caliph--the Caliph, the Padishah\nof the Moslems--in the garb of the Giaours! That is Mahmoud, the ally\nof our enemies!\"\n\nThe Sultan shrank before this furious uproar of the mob, and,\ninvoluntarily falling back, stammered, pale as death:\n\n\"With what shall we allay this tempest?\"\n\nHis servants, with quivering lips, stood around him. At that moment\nthey neither feared nor respected their master.\n\nSuddenly a bold young ichoglan rushed towards the Sultan, and\nanswered his question in a courageous and confident voice:\n\n\"With swords, with guns, with weapons!\"\n\nIt was Thomar.\n\nThe Sultan scrutinized the youth from head to foot, amazed at his\naudacity; then hastening back to his dressing-chamber, exchanged his\nball dress for his royal robes, and, coming back from the inner\napartments, descended into the court-yard.\n\nThe guns were already pointed at the gates, the topijis stood beside\nthem, match in hand, impatiently awaiting the order to fire.\n\nWhen the Sultan appeared in the court-yard he was at once surrounded\nby some hundreds of the ichoglanler, determined to defend him to the\nlast drop of their blood. Mahmoud again recognized Thomar among them;\nhe appeared to be the leading spirit of the band.\n\nThe Sultan beckoned to them to put back their swords in their sheaths.\nHe commanded the topijis to extinguish their matches. Next he ordered\nthat the gate of the Seraglio should be thrown open to the people.\nThen, having bidden every one to stand aside, he went alone towards\nthe gate in his imperial robes, with a majestic bearing.\n\nNo sooner was the gate thrown open than the mob streamed into the\ncourt-yard with torches and flashing weapons in their hands, standing\nfor a moment dumb with astonishment at the appearance of the Sultan.\nHe was no longer ridiculous, as he had been in that foreign garb. The\nmajestic bearing of the prince stilled the tumult for an instant, but\nfor an instant only. The following moment a hand was extended from\namong the mob of rebels which tore the Sultan's caftan from his\nshoulder.\n\nMahmoud grew pale at this audacity, and this pallor was a fresh\noccasion of danger to him, for now he was suddenly seized from all\nsides. The Sultan turned, therefore, and perceiving Thomar, called to\nhim, \"Defend my harem!\" and, at the same time freeing his sword-arm,\nhe drew his sword, waved it above his hand, and, while his foes were\nwaiting to see on whom the blow would fall, he threw the sword to\nThomar, exclaiming, \"Defend my son!\"\n\nThe young ichoglan grasped Mahmoud's sword, and, while the captured\nSultan disappeared in the mazes of the mob, he and his comrades\nreturned to the inner court-yard, and, barricading the door, fiercely\ndefended the position against the insurgents. He had now to show\nhimself worthy of that sword, the sword of the Sultan.\n\nGradually two thousand ichoglanler and three thousand bostanjis\ngathered round the young hero. The Janissaries already lay in heaps\nbefore the door, which they riddled with bullets till it looked like a\ncorn-sifter. But the youths of the Seraglio repelled every onset.\n\nAnd why did not the Sultan remain with them? They would have defended\nhim against all the world: Who knew now what had become of him?\nPerhaps they had killed him outright.\n\nThe Janissaries speedily perceived that they could not have done\nanything worse for themselves than to have brought torches with them,\nfor thereby they were distinctly visible to the defenders of the\nSeraglio, and every shot that came from thence told.\n\n\"Put out the torches!\" shouted Kara Makan, who was holding a huge\nconcave buckler in front of him, and felt a third bullet pierce\nthrough the twofold layers of buffalo-hide and graze his body.\n\nThe torches went out one after another, whereupon the spacious\ncourt-yard was darkened; only the flash of firearms cast an occasional\ngleam of light upon the struggling mass.\n\nIt might have been two hours after midnight when suddenly there was a\ncessation of hostilities. Both sides were weary, and ceased firing;\nthe Janissaries whispered amongst themselves, and at last in the midst\nof a deep silence, Kara Makan's thunderous voice made itself heard:\n\n\"Listen, all of ye who are inside the Seraglio. Ye are good warriors,\nand we are good warriors also, and it is folly for the Faithful to\ndestroy one another. We did not take up arms to slay you and plunder\nthe Seraglio, neither do we wish to kill the Padishah nor the heir to\nthe throne; but we would rescue them from the hands of the traitors\nwho surround them, and we would also deliver the realm from faithless\nViziers and counsellors. Give us, therefore, the prince, the Sultan's\nson. Of a truth no harm shall befall him, and we will thereupon quit\nthe court-yard of the Seraglio and trouble nobody within these doors.\nIf, however, you will not grant our request, then Allah be merciful to\nall who are within these beleaguered walls.\"\n\nThe Kizlar-Agasi conveyed this message into the Seraglio, and\nbesiegers and besieged awaited with rapt attention the reply of the\nValideh; for the decision lay with her--she was superior in rank to\nall four of the Asseki sultanas.\n\nAfter the lapse of a quarter of an hour the Kizlar-Agasi returned, and\nsignified to the besiegers that the prince would be handed over to\nthem.\n\nThe Janissaries received this message with a howl of triumph, while\nthe ichoglanler shrugged their shoulders.\n\n\"They are not all women in there for nothing,\" said Thomar, savagely,\nto the Kizlar-Agasi, and he remained standing in the gate, that he\nmight, at any rate, kiss the young prince's hand and whisper to him\nnot to go.\n\nThe Janissaries relit their torches and crowded towards the gate.\nInside reigned a pitch-black darkness.\n\nNot long afterwards footsteps were audible in the dark corridor, and,\nescorted by two torch-bearers, the prince descended the steps. He had\non the same garment which he wore when he went on horseback to the\nMosque of Sophia during the Feast of Bairam. How the people had then\nhuzzahed before him! He wore pantaloons of rose-colored silk, yellow\nbuskins with slender heels, a green caftan embroidered with gold\nflowers, and a handsome yellow silk vest buttoned up to his chin. His\nribbons and buttons were made so as to represent brilliant fluttering\nbutterflies incrusted with precious stones.\n\nOn reaching the gate he beckoned to the torch-bearers to stand still,\nsent back the Kizlar-Agasi, and, proceeding all alone to the gate,\ncommanded that it should be flung open.\n\nWhile this was being done Thomar pressed close up to him, and seizing\nthe prince's hand, kissed it, at the same time whispering in his ear,\n\"Go not; we will defend you if you remain here.\"\n\nThe prince pressed Thomar's hand and whispered back, \"I must go; you\nkeep on defending the Seraglio!\" And with that he embraced the youth\nand kissed him twice with great fervor.\n\nThomar was somewhat startled by this burning, affectionate kiss, and\nwondered what it meant. The darkness did not allow him to distinguish\nthe prince's features; and when he tried to detain him once more the\nprince hastily disengaged himself and stepped forth from under the\ndark vault among the Janissaries.\n\nThomar covered his eyes with his hands; he did not want to see the\nfate of the prince at that moment. It was quite possible that the\nblood-thirsty might cut him down on the spot in a sudden access of\nfury.\n\nThe prince stepped forth among the rebels.\n\nAt that moment a cry of unbridled joy, triumph, and blood-thirstiness\nburst from the Janissaries. It needed but one of them to raise his\nhand, and the next would speedily have completed the bloodiest deed of\nall.\n\nBut the prince stood before them haughtily and valiantly, and, with\namazing audacity, cried to them, \"Down on your knees before me, ye\nrebels!\"\n\nAt these words Thomar, with a start of terror, looked at the prince.\nThe full light of the torches fell upon his charming face. It was not\nAbdul Mejid, but--Milieva! They had dressed her inside the harem in\ngarments suitable to the Feast of Bairam, and she had come out instead\nof the prince, courageously, as if she had been born to it. Who was\nlikely to notice the change? The heart of this odalisk loved to play a\nmanly part, and it was not merely the masculine garb she wore which\ntransformed her, but the masculine soul within her.\n\nThe Janissaries, moreover, were dumfounded by this bold attitude. This\ngraceful, noble figure stood face to face with them and domineered the\nmob with a commanding look, proudly, majestically, as became a born\nruler. And yet death hovered over the head of him who dared to say, \"I\nam the prince!\"\n\nThomar, forgetting himself, seized his sword, and would have rushed to\nthe defence of his sister but his comrades held him back. \"What would\nyou do, unhappy wretch? Trust to Fate!\"\n\nKara Makan, in savage defiance, approached the false prince with a\ndrawn sword in his hand.\n\n\"On your knees before me!\" cried the odalisk, and indicating where he\nshould kneel with an imperious gesture, she looked steadily into the\neyes of the savage warrior.\n\nThe ferocious figure stood hesitatingly before her. The magic of her\nlook held the wild beast in him spellbound for an instant. His\nbloodshot eyes slowly drooped, his hand, with its flashing sword, sank\ndown by his side, his knees gave way beneath him, and, falling down at\nthe feet of the young child, he submissively murmured a salaam,\nkissing her hand and laying his bloody sword at her feet.\n\nMilieva pressed her right hand on the head of the subdued rebel,\nlooked proudly and fearlessly upon the dumb-stricken rebels, and then,\nraising the sword and giving it back to Kara Makan, she cried, \"Go\nbefore and open a way for me!\"\n\nAs if in obedience to a magic word, the crowd parted on both sides\nbefore her, and Kara Makan, with his sword over his shoulder, led the\nway along. The crowd, with an involuntary homage, made way for her\neverywhere from the Seraglio to the Seven Towers, and two\ntorch-bearers walked by her side, between whom she marched as proudly\nas if she were making her triumphal progress. Nobody perceived the\ndeception. The resemblance of the young face to that of the prince,\nthe well-known festal raiment of the Feast of Bairam, her manly\nbearing, all combined to keep up the delusion, and amongst this\n_canaille_ which held her in its power there was not a single\ndignitary who knew the prince intimately and might have detected the\nfraud.\n\nThe Sultan had just been thrust into the dungeon of the Seven Towers,\nthat place of dismal memories for the Sultans and their families in\ngeneral. In that octagonal chamber, whose round windows overlooked the\nsea, more than one mortal sigh had escaped from the lips of the\ndescendants of Omar, whom a powerful faction or a triumphant rival\nhad, sooner or later, condemned to death.\n\nIt was now morning, the uproar of the rebellion had died away outside,\nthe Seraglio was no longer besieged. It was now that Kara Makan\nappeared before the Sultan.\n\nThe Padishah was sitting on the ground--on the bare ground. His royal\nrobes were still upon him, a diamond aigrette sparkled in the turban\nof the Caliph, and there he sat upon the ground, and never took his\neyes off it.\n\n\"Your majesty!\" cried Kara Makan, addressing him.\n\nThe Padishah, as if he had not heard, looked apathetically in front of\nhim, and not a muscle of his face changed.\n\n\"Sire, I stand before thee to speak to thee in the name of the Moslem\npeople.\"\n\nHe might just as well have been speaking to a marble statue.\n\n\"Every storm proceeds from Allah, sire, and nothing which Allah does\nis done without cause. When the lightnings are scattered abroad from\nthe hands of the angel Adramelech, is not the air beneath them heavy\nwith curses? and when the living earth quakes beneath the towns that\nare upon it, shall not innocently spilled blood shake it still more?\nSo also the Moslem people rising in rebellion is the instrument of\nAllah, and Allah knoweth the causes thereof. I will guard my tongue\nagainst telling these causes to thee; thou knowest them right well\nalready, nor is it for me to reprove the anointed successor of the\nProphet. But I beg thee, sire, to promise me and the people, in the\nname of Allah, that thou wilt do what it beseemeth the ruler of the\nOttoman nation to do--promise to remedy our wrongs, and we will set\nthee again upon thy throne.\"\n\nAt these words Mahmoud fixed his eyes upon the speaker, and gazed long\nupon those dark features, as sinister as an eclipse of the sun. Then\nhe arose, turned away, and replied in a low voice, hissing with\ncontempt:\n\n\"The Sultan owes no reply to his servants.\"\n\nKara Makan's face was convulsed at these words. Scarce was he able to\nstifle his wrath, and he replied, in broken sentences:\n\n\"Sire, the lion is the king of the desert--but if he is in a cage--he\nlistens to the voice of his keeper--thou knowest this hand, which hath\nfought for thee in many engagements--and thou knowest that whatever\nthis hand seizeth it seizeth with a grasp of iron.\"\n\nThe Sultan pondered long. Then all at once he seemed to bethink him of\nsomething, for his face seemed to lose its severity, and he turned\ntowards the Janissary leader with a mild, indulgent look.\n\n\"What, then, dost thou require?\" This softened look concealed the\ngenesis of the thought--the Janissaries must be wiped off the face of\nthe earth. \"What dost thou require?\" said the Padishah, softly.\n\nKara Makan put on an important look, as of one who knows that the fate\nof empires is in his hands.\n\n\"Hearken to our desires. We are honest Mussulmans. We do not ask\nimpossibilities. If thou canst convince us that our demands are\nunlawful, we renounce them; if thou canst not convince us, accomplish\nthem.\"\n\nMahmoud's lips wore a bitter smile at this wise speech.\n\n\"I do not strive with you,\" he replied. \"Ye command me. The Caliph of\ncaliphs listens to his servants. Bring hither parchment and an\nink-horn, and dictate to my pen what ye demand. The Sultan will be\nyour scribe, great rebel!\"\n\nKara Makan was not bright enough to penetrate the irony of these\nwords; nay, rather, he felt himself flattered by the humility of the\nSultan's speech. With haughty self-assurance he bared his bosom and\ndrew forth a large roll of manuscript.\n\n\"I will save your majesty the trouble,\" said he to Mahmoud, smoothing\nout the document before him. \"Behold, it is all ready. Thou hast only\nto write thy name beneath it.\"\n\n\"Will ye allow me to read it?\" inquired the Sultan, with the same\nbitter smile; \"or is it the wish of the people that I should sign it\nunread?\"\n\n\"As your majesty pleases.\"\n\nMahmoud took up the documents one after another, and piled them up\nbeside him as he read them.\n\n\"Ah! the appointment of a new seraskier! I will read no further. I\nagree, but I would know his name. Is he whom you desire fit for the\npost?\"\n\n\"We want Kurshid,\" explained Kara Makan, perceiving that the Sultan\nhad not read the document.\n\n\"And the Janissaries demand other rewards for themselves. 'Tis only\nnatural: I grant them. They cannot be expected to storm the Seraglio\nfor nothing. The chief treasurer will pay you whatever you require.\nThis third article, too, I see, demands the capture of Janina. Be it\nso. I grant it. Most probably the whole Janissary host will want to go\nagainst Ali Pasha.\"\n\n\"So long as thou art at their head,\" said Kara Makan, somewhat\ndisturbed. \"The Janissaries are only bound to fight under the direct\ncommand of the Sultan.\"\n\n\"And all these other demands are equally reasonable, eh?\" said the\nSultan, just glancing at one or two of them.\n\nHe took up the last one, but when he had unfolded it his face\ndarkened, and he suddenly leaped to his feet, his good-natured apathy\nchanged into wrath and fierceness, and, striking the open document\nwith his fist, he exclaimed, with an access of emotion:\n\n\"What's this? Are ye so bold as to expect me to sign this paper?\"\n\nKara Makan was so well prepared for this outburst of anger on the\nSultan's part that he was not in the least taken aback. With rustic\nstolidity he replied:\n\n\"We wish it, and we demand it.\"\n\n\"Do you know what is written in this document?\"\n\n\"Yes; that thou must free the realm from foreigners; that thou must\nput the Russian ambassador Stroganov on board ship and send him home;\nrefuse to admit French and English ships into the Bejkoz; send the\nSultana Valideh far away to Damascus; and slay the Grand Vizier, the\nKizlar-Aga, the Berber Pasha, and the Kapudan Pasha, and give their\nbodies to the people.\"\n\nThe Grand Signior contemptuously threw the document to the floor and\ntrampled it beneath his feet.\n\n\"Shameless filibusterers,\" he cried; \"not blood but money is what you\nwant. Ye want permission not to deliver the realm, but to plunder it.\nAnd you expect the Padishah to sanction it! Did not you yourselves\nraise the Viziers to power? Were not you the cause of their not being\nable to make any use of that power? Whenever the arms of the Giaours\nwere triumphant, were you not always the first to fly from the field\nof battle? And when the realm was sinking, were you not always the\nlast to hasten to its assistance? You are no descendants, but the mere\nshadows of those glorious Janissaries whose names are written with\nletters of blood in the annals of foreign nations; but ye make but a\npoor and wretched figure therein. Kill me, then! I shall not be the\nfirst Sultan whom the Janissaries have murdered, but, in Allah's name\nI say it, I shall be the last. After me, either nobody will sit on the\nthrone of Omar, or, if any one sits there, he will be your ruin.\"\n\nThe opposition of his august captive only restored the Janissary\nleader to his proper element. He felt much more at home with those\nwrathful eyes than with the previous contemptuous nonchalance. He\ncould now give back like for like.\n\nHe picked up the crumpled document, in which were written the\ndeath-sentences of the Viziers, and, brushing off the dust, again\npresented it to the Sultan.\n\n\"Either sign this document or descend from the throne of the family of\nOmar, and we will seek us out from among the descendants of the\nProphet another who shall reign in thy stead.\"\n\n\"Most abject of slaves! In thy pride thou knowest not what thou\nsayest! Death comes from Allah and none can avoid it; but who amongst\nthe descendants of Omar would be powerful enough to seize the royal\nsceptre, and who would be senseless enough to desire it?\"\n\n\"Look at me.\"\n\n\"I am looking. The sun does not soil itself by shining upon a swamp,\nand therefore I may look even at thee; but I see nothing in thee that\nwould justify the adorning of thy head with a diadem so long as one\nof the descendants of Sulaiman the Magnificent is alive.\"\n\n\"Another word and thou shalt cease to live!\" cried the desperado,\nhaughtily throwing back his head before the Sultan. \"Art thou aware\nthat thy son Abdul Mejid is in our hands?\"\n\nThe Sultan shuddered. His consternation at these words was written in\nevery feature.\n\n\"My son, Abdul Mejid? Impossible!\"\n\n\"So it is. The Sultana Valideh gave him up at our request.\"\n\n\"Oh, madness!\" exclaimed the Sultan; and he began pacing to and fro.\n\nAbdul Mejid was still a mere child. The shock of such a rebellion\nmight easily make an epileptic of him. To deliver him into the hands\nof these rebels was as good as to sign his death-warrant. Even if they\ndid not kill him outright, his nerves might suffer from their\nviolence, and he might perish, as the two and twenty other children of\nSultan Mahmoud had perished, every one of whom had died of epilepsy.\nTheir delicate nervous constitutions had been shattered in their youth\nunder the influence of that perpetual terror to which the children of\nthe Caliph of caliphs had been exposed from time immemorial. What,\nthen, might not happen to Abdul Mejid if he fell into the hands of\nthis savage mob?\n\n\"Oh, ye are hell's own children! Ye are worse than the Giaours, worse\nthan the Greeks, worse than the Muscovites! Ye do place your feet on\nthe heads of your rulers!\"\n\nThe despair of the Sultan emboldened the Janissary still further.\n\n\"Sign this document, or thy son shall die in our hands!\"\n\n\"Miserable cowards!\" moaned the Sultan. \"And cowards they also who\nshould have defended him! Did not even his mother defend him? Was it\nnecessary to give him up?\"\n\n\"He is in no danger,\" said Kara Makan; \"nay, he is in a safe place. It\nrests with thee to receive him back into thy arms;\" and he shoved\ntowards him again the soiled and crumpled manuscript.\n\nThe Padishah, overcome by the shock of his own feelings, humiliated by\nthe sense of his own soft-heartedness, tottered to the wall, and when\nhis groping hands came in contact with the cold marble he collapsed\naltogether, and leaning against it, he pressed his burning temples to\nthe cold stone. The Janissary might now say whatever he would, the\nSultan neither listened to nor answered him.\n\nAt last the rough warrior, who had jumped so suddenly into power,\nshouted angrily to his comrades, who were cooling their heels outside,\n\"Bring hither the prince!\"\n\nThe Sultan heard the pattering of many footsteps in the corridor\noutside, and the clashing of swords mingled with the murmuring of\nvoices, but he did not look in that direction.\n\n\"Behold!\" cried Kara Makan, advancing towards him, \"here is thy son! A\ndrawn sword hovers above his head! Choose either to see thine own name\nat the foot of that paper or his head at thy feet!\"\n\nMahmoud trembled, but he answered nothing, nor did he turn his head.\n\n\"Write, or thy son dies!\" cried a number of the Janissaries, suddenly.\n\nThen a musical, familiar voice responded amidst the wild uproar:\n\n\"My father! hearken not unto them! Let them slay me if they be valiant\nenough, but chaffer not with thy slaves!\"\n\nMahmoud looked up in astonishment at this well-known voice, and saw\nbefore him a handsome figure in the prince's garments and with a proud\nand majestic countenance; but that face, though familiar to him and\nvery dear, was not his son's face. Ah, it was Milieva!\n\nThe odalisk perceived that Mahmoud's features softened, that he looked\ntenderly upon her; and as if she feared that the Sultan might yield\nout of compassion towards her, she hastily turned her flaming face to\nthe Janissaries and exclaimed:\n\n\"Ye blood-thirsty dogs of Samound! who bay down the sun from the\nheavens, accomplish your bloody work! Forward, ye valiant heroes, with\nwhose backs alone the enemy is familiar, fall upon me in twos and\nthrees, if any one of you has not the courage to plunge his steel\nsingle-handed into the heart of the last scion of Omar's stock! My\ndeath will not constrain the Sultan to bargain with you. Kill me while\nyou have power over me, for if ever I have power over you I will not\nweep before you, as ye have seen Mahmoud and Selim weep; but I will so\nutterly destroy you that even he who wears a garment like unto yours,\neven he who shall mention your name, shall pronounce his own doom.\"\n\nThe infuriated rebels raised their flashing swords above the head of\nthe presumptuous child at these menacing words; another moment and she\nwould have lain in the dust. But Mahmoud arose, spurned them aside\nfrom the prince, as they supposed him to be, and taking from the hands\nof Kara Makan the document and writing materials, signed his name\nbeneath it. Milieva seized the Sultan's hand to prevent him from\nwriting, but he tenderly kissed her on the forehead and gently\nwhispered, \"Rather would I lose the whole world than thee,\" and with\nthat he placed in the hands of the Janissaries the subscribed\ndeath-warrants.\n\nAfter obtaining these concessions, the rebels grew calmer, the Sultan\nproclaimed amnesty for all offenders, appointed the chief brawlers to\nhigh offices, and distributed money amongst them from the treasury.\n\nPeace was thus restored. The Sultan and the sham prince returned to\nthe Seraglio, accompanied all the way by a vast throng, and the whole\nsquare by the fountains of Ibrahim was filled by the well-known\nturbans of the Janissaries, who, in the joy of their insulting\ntriumph, shouted long life to the humiliated Padishah.\n\nMahmoud surveyed the huzzaing throng, where, man to man, they stood so\ntightly squeezed together that nothing could be distinguished but a\nsea of heads. And the Sultan thought to himself, \"What a fine thing it\nwould be to sweep all those heads away at one stroke!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nKURSHID PASHA\n\n\nGaskho Bey, the incapable giant, was captured by the Suliotes in a\nnight attack, his army was scattered beneath the walls of Janina, and\nAli Pasha became once more the absolute master of Epirus.\n\nThen, like lightning fallen from heaven, unexpectedly, unforeseen, a\nman came from Thessalonica whose name was shortly to ring through half\nthe world. The name of this man was Kurshid Pasha.\n\nHe was a man of a puny, meagre frame, his features were widely\ndivergent from the characteristic Ottoman type, for he had a delicate\nprofile, a bright blond beard and mustache, and blue eyes with\nflexible eyebrows, all of which gave a peculiar character to his face,\nwhich showed unmistakable traces of a penetrating mind and cool\ncourage.\n\nTen thousand warriors accompanied the new commander to Janina, which\ngrew into thirty thousand at the very first battle. Kleon's and\nYpsilanti's armies were routed, and Gaskho Bey's scattered squadrons\nrallied around the banners of the victor.\n\nWhile Ali Pasha was defending Janina, the leaders of the Greek\ninsurgents besieged the fortress of Arta, which Salikh Bey defended\nwith a small garrison.\n\nKurshid's predecessor, Gaskho Bey, had committed the error of\nbesieging Janina and endeavoring to relieve Arta at the same time, and\nthus he came to grief at both places. The new commander acted on a\ndifferent plan. He knew well that not a head amongst all the Greek\nrebels was half so dangerous as Ali Tepelenti's; so, leaving Salikh\nPasha to his fate, he directed all his energies against Janina.\n\nA man indeed hath come against thee, O Ali Pasha! A man as valiant, as\ncrafty as thou; if thou be a fox, he is an eagle of the rocks, that\npounces down on the fox; and if thou be a tiger, he is the\nboa-constrictor which infolds and crushes the tiger.\n\nAli urged Kleon and Artemis to hasten to his assistance. His\nmessengers did not return to the fortress. The Greek leaders gave no\nreply to his summons. Anybody else would have found some consolatory\nexplanation of their remissness, but Ali divined things better. The\nGreeks said amongst themselves, \"Let the old monster tremble in his\nditch; let them close him in and hold him tight. He will be\nconstrained to make a life-and-death struggle to save his old beard.\nWhen we have captured Arta, and when our detested ally\" (for they did\ndetest him in spite of his being their good friend) \"is at the very\nlast gasp, then we will go to the rescue, relieve him, and let him\nlive a little longer.\"\n\nTepelenti was well aware that they spoke of him in this way. He knew\nwell that they hated him, and would gladly leave him to perish. The\nonly reason the Greeks had for allying themselves with Ali was that\nhis fortress was filled with an enormous store of treasure, arms, and\nmuniments of war; his gray head was the pivot of the whole rebellion.\n\nIf the fortress were taken, they would be deprived of this strong\npivot, those treasures, that gray head!\n\nOne day the Suliotes encamped before Arta heard the terrible tidings\nthat Kurshid Pasha had captured Lithanizza and La Gulia, the two\noutlying forts of the stronghold of Janina, and had driven Ali back\ninto the fortress. The tidings filled them with consternation. If\nJanina were lost, the whole Greek insurrection would lose the source\nof its supplies. The treasures which Ali had scattered amongst the\nGreeks with a prodigal hand would at once fall into the hands of the\nSultan, and then he would be able to secure Epirus at a single blow.\n\nA Greek army under Marco Bozzari immediately set out from Arta to\nrelieve Janina. Ali knew of it beforehand. Bozzari's spies had crept\nthrough Kurshid's camp into Janina, and signified to Ali that their\nleaders were on their way to \"The Five Wells,\" and that he should send\nforth an army to meet them.\n\n\"There is no necessity for it,\" replied Ali, with a cold smile. \"I am\nquite capable of defending myself in Janina for three months against\nany force that may be brought against me. It is much more necessary to\ncapture Arta. Go back, therefore, and say to Marco Bozzari, 'Come not\nto Janina, but go against Salikh Pasha. Tepelenti is sufficient for\nhimself in Janina.'\"\n\nBozzari understood the old lion's hint. He did not wish the Greek\nforces to get into Janina, he preferred to defend himself to the very\nlast bastion. All the forces he had consisted of four hundred and\nthirty Albanians, but this number was quite sufficient to serve the\nguns. Even if but a tenth of this force remained to him, that would be\namply sufficient to defend the red tower, and if the worst came to the\nworst, Ali alone would be sufficient to blow the place into the air.\n\nHere Ali had accumulated all his treasures, all his arms, his\ngarments, his correspondence with the princes of half the universe,\nhis young damsels. In the cellar below the tower were piled up a\nthousand barrels of gunpowder, a long match reached from one of these\nbarrels to Ali's chamber, and there a couple of torches were always\nburning by his side.\n\nWhoever wanted Ali's head had better come for it!\n\nSo Bozzari returned to Arta, and not very long afterward the Greek\narmy took the place by storm. In the whole fortress they did not find\npowder enough to fill a hole in the barrel; the Turkish army had, in\nfact, fired away its very last cartridge.\n\nAli had once more the satisfaction of seeing one of his enemies,\nSalikh Pasha, prostrate. Hitherto all who had fought against him had\nbeen his furious haters, personal enemies, enviers of his fortune;\nand, bitter hater as he was, it was with a strong feeling of\nsatisfaction that Tepelenti saw them all bite the dust; but this\nKurshid was quite indifferent to him, and knew nothing either of his\nfury or his intrigues. He had never been Ali's enemy, and had no\nreason for hating him. This thought made Ali uneasy.\n\nIt had often been Ali's experience that when any one who greatly hated\nhim came during a siege or a battle within shooting distance of him,\nand he then pointed a gun at him, the ball so fired seemed to fly on\nthe wings of his own savage fury, and would hit its man even at a\nthousand paces; but Kurshid often took a walk near the trenches, and\nthough they fired at him one gun after another, not a bullet went near\nhim.\n\n\"Let him alone,\" said Ali; \"we shall never be able to kill this man.\"\nAnd his old energy left him as if he had suddenly become crippled.\n\nHe invited Kurshid Pasha to intercede for him with the Sultan, that he\nmight be restored to favor, offering in such case to place his\ntreasures at the disposal of the Grand Signior, and turn his arms\nagainst the Greeks. Kurshid demanded an assurance to this effect in\nwriting, and when Ali complied, Kurshid sent the document, not to the\nSultan at Stambul but to the Suliotes at Arta, that they might see how\nready Ali was to betray them. The Greeks, in disgust, abandoned Ali.\nThis last treachery dismayed them at the very zenith of their triumph;\nthey perceived that a mighty antagonist had risen against them in\nKurshid Pasha, who was magnanimous enough not to make use of traitors,\nbut spurn them with contempt. This intellectual superiority guaranteed\nthe success of Kurshid's arms. The Turkish commander had been acute\nenough to extend the hand of reconciliation, not to Ali, but to the\nSuliotes.\n\nTepelenti waited in vain in the tower of Janina for the arrival of the\narmy of deliverance. The Suliotes returned to their villages, and\nArtemis reflected with secret joy that in the very red tower in which\nAli had decapitated her plighted lover, he himself now sat in his\ndespair, environed by foes, waiting with the foolish hope that the\nembittered Suliotes would hasten to deliver him.\n\nThe Epirote rebellion was already subdued by Kurshid Pasha, and only\none point in the whole empire now glowed with a dangerous fire--the\nhaughty Janina.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nCARETTO\n\n\nAli had now only about room enough to cover his head. His enemies had\ntwenty times as much, and they besieged him night and day. The\nfortress on the hill of Lithanizza and the Isle of La Gulia were in\nKurshid's power already.\n\nStill the old warrior did not surrender. The bombs thrown into the\nfortress levelled his palaces with the ground. His marble halls were\nreduced to rubbish heaps, his kiosks were smoking ruins, and his\nsplendid gardens lay buried, obliterated. Yet, for all that, Ali Pasha\nvomited back his wrath upon the besiegers out of eighty guns, and it\nhappened more than once that hidden mines exploded beneath the more\nforward advanced of the enemy's batteries, blowing guns and gunners\ninto the air.\n\nThe defence was conducted by an Italian engineer whom Ali had enticed\ninto his service in his luckier days with the promise of enormous\ntreasures and detained ever since. This Italian's name was Caretto. It\nwas his science that had made Janina so strong. The clumsy valor of\nthe Turkish gunners fell to dust before the strategy of the Italian\nengineer. Of late Caretto was much exercised by the thought that he\nmight be discharged without a farthing, but discharge was now out of\nthe question. If Caretto were outside the gates of Janina, then the\nfate of Janina would be in his hands, for every bastion, every\nsubterranean mine, every corner of the fortress was known to him.\n\nNow at home in Palermo was Caretto's betrothed, who, as the daughter\nof a wealthy family, could only be his if he also had the command of\nriches; and that was the chief reason why the youth had accepted the\noffer of the tyrant of Epirus. And now tidings reached him from Sicily\nthat the parents of his bride were dead, and that she was awaiting him\nwith open arms; let him only come to her, poor fellow, even if he\nbrought nothing with him but the beggar's staff. And go he could not,\nfor Ali Pasha held him fast. He had to point the guns, and send forth\nhissing bullets amongst the besiegers, and defend the fortress to the\nlast, while his beloved bride awaited him at home.\n\nOne day, as Caretto was directing the guns, a grenade fired from the\nheights of Lithanizza burst over his head and struck out his left eye.\nCaretto asked himself bitterly whether his bride would be able to love\nhim with a face so disfigured. Henceforth he went about constantly\nwith a black bandage about his wounded face, and the besiegers called\nhim \"the one-eyed Giaour.\"\n\nOne fine morning in February Kurshid Pasha again directed a fierce\nfire against the fortress. The siege guns had now arrived which the\narmy had used against Cassandra, and after a three hours' cannonade,\nthe destructive effect of the new battery was patent, for the tower of\nthe northern bastion lay in ruins. Ali Pasha galloped furiously up and\ndown the bastions, stimulating and threatening the gunners with a\ndrawn sword in his hand. Whoever quitted his place instantly fell a\nvictim beneath Ali's own hand. Caretto was standing nonchalantly\nbeside a gabion, whence he directed the fire of the most powerful of\nall the batteries, each gun of which was a thirty-six pounder. The\nguns of this battery discharged thirty balls each every hour.\n\nAll at once the battery stopped firing.\n\nTransported with rage, Ali Pasha at once came galloping up to Caretto.\n\n\"Why don't you go on firing?\" he cried.\n\n\"Because it is impossible,\" replied the engineer, coolly folding his\narms.\n\n\"Why is it impossible,\" thundered the pasha, his whole body convulsed\nwith rage, which the coolness of the Italian raised to fever heat.\n\n\"Because the guns are red-hot from incessant firing.\"\n\n\"Then throw water upon them!\" cried Ali, and with that he dismounted\nfrom his horse.\n\nCaretto, for the life of him, could not help laughing at this\nsenseless command. Whereupon Tepelenti suddenly leaped upon him and\nstruck him in the face, so that his cap flew far away, right off the\nbastion. He had struck Caretto on the very spot where Kurshid Pasha's\ngrenade had lacerated his face a few weeks before.\n\nThe Italian readjusted over his eye the bandage, which had been\nknocked all awry by the blow, and observed, with a cold affectation of\nmirth:\n\n\"You did well, sir, to strike my face on the spot where one eye had\nbeen knocked out already, for if you had struck me on the other side\nyou might have knocked out the other eye also, and then how could I\nhave pointed your guns?\"\n\nAli, however, pretended to take no notice, but directed that the guns\nshould be douched with cold water and then reloaded; he himself fired\nthe first. The cannon the same instant burst in two and smashed the\nleg of a cannonier standing close to it.\n\n\"It does not matter,\" cried Ali; \"load the others, too.\"\n\nWhen the second cannon also burst he dashed the match to the ground,\nthrew himself on his horse, and galloped off, quivering in every nerve\nas if shaken by an ague.\n\nThe Italian, however, with the utmost _sang-froid_, ordered that the\nexploded cannons should be removed and fresh ones fetched from the\narsenal and put in their places, and set them in position amidst a\nshower of bullets from the besiegers. When the battery was ready the\nenemy withdrew their siege guns, and till the next day not another\nshot was fired against Janina.\n\nTepelenti was well aware that he had mortally offended Caretto, and he\nhad learned to know men (especially Italians) only too well to imagine\nfor an instant that Caretto, for all his jocoseness on the occasion,\nwould ever forget that cowardly and ungrateful blow. For, indeed, it\nwas an act of the vilest ingratitude. What! to strike the wound which\nthe man had received on his account! To strike a European officer in\nthe face! Ali was well aware that such a thing could never be\npardoned.\n\nThe same night he sent for two gunners and ordered them not to lose\nsight of Caretto for an instant, and if he attempted to escape to\nshoot him down there and then.\n\nNext day Caretto was unusually good-humored. Early in the morning he\nwent out upon the ramparts, which were then covered with freshly\nfallen snow. The winter seemed to be pouring forth its last venom, and\nthe large flakes fell so thickly that one could not see twenty paces\nin advance.\n\n\"This is just the weather for an assault,\" said Caretto in a loud\nvoice to the Turks standing around him; \"in such wild weather one\ncannot see the enemy till he stands beneath the very ramparts. I will\nbe so bold as to maintain that Kurshid's bands are likely to steal\nupon us under cover of this thick snow-storm. I should like to fire a\nrandom shot from the ramparts to let them know we are awake.\"\n\nMany thought his anxiety just. Ali Pasha was also there, and he said\nnothing either for or against the proposal.\n\nCaretto hoisted a cannon to the level of the ramparts of Lithanizza\nand fastened a long chain to the gun whereby his group of Albanians\ncould raise and lower it.\n\n\"Leave the chain upon it,\" said Caretto, \"for we may have to turn it\nin another direction.\"\n\nNevertheless it was in a good position already. Caretto calculated his\ndistances with his astrolabe, then pointed the gun and ordered it to\nbe loaded.\n\nThe two gunners whom Ali had set to watch him never took their eyes\noff the Italian; both of them had loaded pistols in their hands.\nCaretto did not seem to observe that they were watching him; he might\nhave thought that they were there to help him.\n\nThe gun had to be turned now to the right and now to the left.\nCaretto himself took aim, but the clumsy Albanians kept on pushing the\nheavy laffette either a little too much on this side or a little too\nmuch on that, till at last he cried to the two watchers behind him:\n\n\"Just lend a hand and help these blockheads!\" They stooped\nmechanically to raise the laffette. \"Enough!\" cried the Italian, and\nwith that he put his hand on the touch-hole. \"Now fire!\" he cried to\nthe artilleryman, at the same time removing his hand.\n\nThe match descended, there was a thunderous report, and the same\ninstant Caretto seized the chain wound round the wheel of the cannon,\nand, lowering himself from the ramparts, glided down the chain.\n\nThe watchers, with the double velocity of rage and fear, rushed to the\nbreastwork of the ramparts. Caretto had got to the end of the chain\nand was grasping it with both hands; below him yawned a depth of\nthirty feet. The chain was not long enough, and there he was suspended\nbetween two deaths.\n\n\"Come back,\" cried the watchers, aiming their pistols at his head, \"or\nwe will shoot you through and through!\"\n\nCaretto cast a wild glance upward, the bandage fell from his bloody\neye, and he looked at them with the dying fury of a desperately\nwounded wild beast. Then suddenly he kicked himself clear of the wall\nby a sharp movement of his foot, and describing the arc of a circle,\nhe plunged into the depth beneath him like a rebounding bullet. The\nAlbanians fired after him, but neither of them hit him. Below, at the\nfoot of the bastion, the daring Italian lay motionless for a moment,\nbut then he quickly rose to his feet and began to clamber up the other\nside of the ditch. He could only make use of one arm, for the other\nhad been dislocated in his fall. Straining all his might, he struggled\nup; a whole shower of bullets pursued him and whistled about his head,\nbut not one of them hit him, for the heavy snowfall made it difficult\nto take aim. At last he reached the top of the opposite side of the\ntrench, and then he turned round and shook his fist at the devastating\nfortress, and disappeared in a heavy snow-drift. The gunners kept on\nfiring after him at random for some time.\n\nAli Pasha turned pale and almost fell from his horse when the tidings\nreached him that Caretto had escaped.\n\n\"It is all over now!\" cried he in despair, broke his sword in two, and\nshut himself up in the red tower. In the outer court-yard they saw him\nno more.\n\nAli knew for certain that with the departure of Caretto the last\nremains of his power had vanished; his stronghold and its resources\nwere hopelessly ruined if any one revealed their secrets to his\nenemies outside. Caretto knew everything, and \"the one-eyed Giaour\"\nwas received with great triumph in the camp of Kurshid Pasha. The next\nday Ali Pasha had bitter experience of the fact that the hand which\nhad hitherto defended him was now turned against him. Within nine\nhours a battery, constructed by Caretto, had made a breach thirty\nfathoms wide in the outworks of Janina; the other cannons of the\nbesiegers were set up in places whither Ali's mines did not extend,\nand when he made new ones they were immediately rendered inoperative\nby countermining, and at last Caretto discovered the net-work of\nhidden tunnels at the head of the bridge, although they had been\ncarefully buried, and after a savage struggle forced his way through\nthem into the fortress. The Albanians fought desperately, but Ali's\nenemies, who could afford to shed their blood freely, forced their way\nthrough and planted their scaling-ladders against the side of the\nfortress opposite the island, and where the _débris_ of the\nbattered-down wall filled up the ditch they crossed over and occupied\nthe breach. In the evening, after a fierce combat in the court-yard,\nTepelenti's forces were cut to pieces one by one, and he himself, with\nseventy survivors, took refuge in the red tower.\n\nSo only the red tower now remained to him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nEMINAH\n\n\nThe vanquished lion was shut up within a space six yards square; a\nnarrow tower into all four windows of which his enemies were peeping\nwas now his sole possession! There he sits in that octagonal chamber,\nin which he had passed so many memorable moments. Perhaps now, as he\nleaned his heavy head upon his hand, the remembrance of those moments\npassed before his mind's eye like a procession of melancholy shadows.\nAround him lay his treasures in shining piles; heaps of gold and\nsilver, massive gold plate, the spoils of sanctuaries, sparkling gems,\nlay scattered about the floor higgledy-piggledy, like so much sand or\ngravel.\n\nOf all his kinsfolk, of all his warriors, not one was present with\nhim; all had fallen on the battle-field, fighting either with him or\nagainst him. Of the seventy warriors who had taken refuge with him in\nthe tower, sixty-four had deserted him. Kurshid had promised a pardon\nto the renegades, and only six remained with Ali. Why did these six\nremain? Ali had not told them not to leave him.\n\nThese faithful ones were keeping guard in his antechamber, and for\nsome little time they had been whispering together.\n\nAt last they went in to Ali.\n\nTepelenti looked them every one through and through. He could read\nwhat they wanted in their confused looks and their unsteady eyes. He\ndid not wait for them to speak, but said, with a wave of his hand:\n\n\"Go! leave me; you are the last. Go where the others have gone; save\nyourselves. Life is sweet; live long and happily. I will remain here.\nTepelenti can die alone.\"\n\nSighing deeply, the soldiers turned away. They durst not raise their\neyes to the face of the gray-haired veteran. Noiselessly, without a\nword, on the tips of their toes, five of them withdrew. But the sixth\nremained there still, and, after casting about for a word for some\ntime, said, at last, to Ali:\n\n\"Oh, sir, cast the fulness of pride from thy heart, suffer not thy\nname to perish! The Sultan is merciful; bow thy head before him and he\nwill still be gracious to thee!\"\n\nThe soldier had scarce uttered the last word of this recommendation\nwhen Ali softly drew a pistol from his girdle and shot him through the\nhead, so that he spun round and fell backward across the threshold.\nThis was all the reward he got for advising Ali to ask for mercy.\n\nAnd now Ali is alone. His doors, his gates stand wide open; anybody\nwho so pleases can go in and out. Why, then, does nobody come to seize\nthe solitary veteran? why do they fear to cross the threshold of the\nvanquished foe?\n\nBut hearken! fresh footsteps are resounding on the staircase, and\nthrough the open door, guarded by the corpse of the last soldier whom\nAli slew, a strange man entered, dressed in an unusual, new-fangled\nuniform; he was Kurshid Pasha's silihdar.\n\nTepelenti allowed him to approach within five paces of where he sat,\nand then beckoned him to stop.\n\n\"Speak; what dost thou want?\"\n\n\"Ali Tepelenti,\" said the silihdar, \"surrender. Thou hast nothing left\nin the world and nobody to aid thee. My master, the seraskier, Kurshid\nPasha, hath sent me to thee that I might receive thy sword and escort\nthee to his camp.\"\n\nTepelenti, with the utmost _sang-froid_, drew forth from the folds of\nhis caftan a magnificent gold watch in an enamelled case set with\ndiamonds.\n\n\"Hearken!\" said he, in a low, soft voice. \"It is now twenty minutes\npast ten; take this watch and keep it as a souvenir of me. Greet\nKurshid Pasha from me, and point out to him that it was twenty minutes\npast ten when you spoke with me, and let him take notice that if after\ntwenty minutes past eleven I can see from the windows of this tower a\nsingle hostile soldier in the court-yard of the fortress, then--I\nswear it by the mercies of Allah!--I will blow the fortress into the\nair, with every living soul within it. Inform Kurshid Pasha of this\nwhen you give him my salutation.\"\n\nThe silihdar hastened off, and at a quarter to eleven not a soul was\nto be seen in the court-yard of the fortress of Janina. Alive in his\ncitadel sits Ali Tepelenti, the tyrant of Epirus, mighty even in his\nfall, who has nothing and nobody left, save only his indomitable\nheart.\n\nNight descended upon the fortress of Janina, but sleep did not descend\nupon the eyes of Ali.\n\nHe sat in that red tower where he had perpetrated his crimes, in that\nchamber where his victims had breathed forth the last sighs of their\ntortured lives, and all round about glittering treasures looked upon\nAli as if with eyes of fire--all of it the price of robbery, fraud,\ntreason. What if these things could speak?\n\nEverything was silent, night lay black before the eyes of men, only\nAli saw shadows moving about therein, phantoms with pale, phantoms\nwith bloody faces, who rose from the tomb to visit their persecutor\nand announce to him the hour of his death.\n\nAli trembled not before them; he had seen them at other times also. He\nhad slept face to face with the severed head that spoke to him, he had\nlistened to the enigmatical words of the _dzhin_ of Seleucia, and he\ncalled them to mind again now. Calmly he looked back upon the current\nof his past life, from which so many horrible shapes arose and glared\nat him with cold, stony eyes. He recked them not, Allah had so ordered\nit. The hare nibbles the root, the vulture devours the hare, the\nhunter shoots the vulture, the lion fells the hunter, and the worm\neats the lion. What, after all, is Ali? Naught but a greater worm than\nthe rest. He has devoured much, and now a stronger than he devours\nhim, and a still greater worm will devour this stronger one also.\n\nEverything was fulfilled which had been prophesied concerning him. His\nown sons, his own wife, his own arms had fought against him. If only\nhis wife had not done this he could have borne the rest.\n\n\"One, two,\" the decapitated head had said, and the last moments of\nthe two years were just passing away. \"The hand which wipes out the\ndeeds of the mighty shall at last blot out thy deeds also, and thou\nshalt be not a hero whom the world admires, but a slave whom it\ncurses. Those whom thou didst love will bless the hour of thy death,\nand thy enemies will weep, and God will order it so to avert the ruin\nof thy nation.\"\n\nSo it is, so it has chanced; the hazard of the die has gone against\nhim, and he has nothing left.\n\nIf only his wife had not betrayed him!\n\nAt other times also Ali had seen these phantoms of the night arise. He\nhad seen them rise from the tomb pale and bloody; but in his heart\nthere had always been a sweet refuge, the charming young damsel whose\nchildlike face and angelic eyes had robbed the evil sorcery of all its\npower. When Tepelenti covered his gray head with her long, thick,\nflowing locks, he reposed behind them as in the shade of Paradise,\nwhither those heart-tormenting memories could not pursue him. Why\nshould he have lost her? She was the first of all, and the dearest;\nbut Fate at the last would not even leave him her.\n\nEven now his thoughts went back to her. The pale light of that face,\nthat memory, lightened his solitary, darkened soul, which was as\ndesolate as the night outside.\n\nBut lo! it is as if the night grew brighter; a sort of errant light\nglides along the walls and a gleam of sunshine breaks unexpectedly\nthrough the open door of the room.\n\nThe pasha looked in that direction with amazement. Who could his\nvisitor be at that hour? Who is coming to drive the phantoms of\ndarkness from his room and from his heart?\n\nA pale female form, with a smile upon her face and tears in her eyes,\nappears before him. She comes right up to the spot where Tepelenti is\nsitting on the ground. She places her torch in an iron sconce in the\nwall and stands there before the pasha.\n\nAli looked at her sadly. He fancied that this also was only a dream\nshape, only one of those apparitions created by a fevered mind, like\nthose which walked beside him headless and bloody. It was Eminah, at\nwhose word the devastating tempest had been unchained against the\nmightiest of despots.\n\nTepelenti believed neither his eyes nor his heart when he saw her thus\nbefore him. The damsel took the old man by the hand and called him by\nhis name, and even now the pasha believed that the warmth of that hand\nand the sweetness of that voice were only part of a dream.\n\n\"Wherefore hast thou come?\" he inquired in a whisper, or perchance he\ndid not ask but only dreamed that he asked.\n\nYet the gracious, childlike damsel was sitting there at his feet as at\nother times, and she had pillowed his gray head upon her breast and\ncovered his face with the tent of her long tresses, as she had done\nlong, long ago in the happy times that were gone.\n\nOh, how sweet it would be to still live!\n\n\"Oh, Ali Tepelenti, let go the hand of Death from thy hand and grasp\nmy hand instead! See how warm it is! Oh, Ali Tepelenti, rise up from\namong these barrels of gunpowder, and rather lay thy head upon my\nbreast; hearken how it beats! Oh, Ali Tepelenti, ask mercy from the\nSultan! See, now how lovely life is!\"\n\nOnly at these words did Ali recover himself. His enemies had sought\nout this woman, the only being that he loved, and sent her to him to\nsoothe away the rage of his soul and soften his heart with her\ncaresses. Oh, how well they understood his heart!\n\n\"Kurshid Pasha swore to me that he would obtain the Sultan's favor for\nthee,\" said Eminah, in a tone of conviction. \"He wrote a letter under\nhis seal that thou shouldst never die beneath the hands of the\nexecutioner; that thy death should not be a violent one, unless it\nwere in an honorable duel or on the field of battle. Behold, here is\nthe letter!\"\n\nIf at that moment Ali had listened to his heart, he must have extended\nthe hand of submission without any letter of amnesty, but, like an\nescutcheon above a crown, pride was perched higher than his heart and\nspurned the offer.\n\n\"Allah may humble Ali, but Ali will never humble himself.\"\n\n\"Then thou wilt not live with me?\" asked Eminah, fixing her piteously\nentreating eyes upon her husband.\n\nAli shook his head in silence.\n\n\"Then I will die with thee!\" cried the damsel, with a determined\nvoice.\n\nThe pasha regarded her in amazement.\n\n\"I swear,\" cried Eminah, \"that I will either go back with thee or die\nwith thee here! Dost thou hear that noise? They are slamming to the\niron gates from the outside. At this moment every exit is closed, so\nthat even if I wished to escape from hence I could not. These doors\ncan only open at a word from Ali, and they will only open once more.\nEither thou wilt go with me from hence or I will remain here with\nthee.\"\n\nAli pressed the damsel to his bosom. She lay clinging there like a\ntender blossom. He pressed his lips to that pale brow, and covering\nher gently and gradually with his silken caftan, he whispered in a\nscarcely audible voice:\n\n\"Be it so! be it so! Here we will die together!\"\n\nEarly next morning a flourish of trumpets awoke the Lord of Janina,\nthe Lord of the last tower of Janina. The herald of Kurshid Pasha was\nstanding beneath the round windows, and delivered in a loud voice the\ngeneral's message to Ali Pasha, whereby he summoned Tepelenti to\nsurrender voluntarily on the strength of the solemn assurance\nconfirmed by oath to his wife.\n\nTepelenti appeared at the window with Eminah reclining on his bosom.\n\n\"Go back to your master,\" he cried to the messenger, \"and tell him\nthat Ali and his wife have resolved to die here together. The moment\nan armed host enters the court-yard of this fortress I will\nimmediately blow up the tower.\"\n\nIn half an hour the messenger returned and again summoned Ali to the\nwindow.\n\n\"Kurshid Pasha sends thee this message,\" cried he. \"If thou dost\nsurrender, it is well, and if thou dost not surrender, it is well\nalso. Thou hast still half an hour wherein thou mayest choose betwixt\nlife and death. After that thou mayest, if thou wilt, throw thy torch\ninto thy powder barrels and blow the fortress into the air. As to\nthyself, Kurshid Pasha troubles himself but little. As to thy\ntreasures they will not remain in the air, and when they come to the\nground it will be easy to pick them up. If, however, thou dost delay\nthy resolution beyond the half-hour, then Kurshid Pasha himself will\nhelp thee in the matter, and will blow up thy tower for thee, to save\nthee the trouble of blowing it up thyself. Do as thou wilt, then, and\nhoist either the white or the red flag as seemeth best to thee, for in\nhalf an hour the fortress of Janina shall see thee no more.\"\n\nAli listened solemnly to this ultimatum, and let the messenger depart\nwithout an answer.\n\nEminah lay down on a sofa in a corner, all trembling. Ali paced the\nvast chamber to and fro with long strides; but his strides became more\nand more uncertain. If only this woman were not here! If only he might\nbe spared seeing her before him; might be spared half an hour's\ndeliberation as to what he was to do! Nevertheless minute after minute\nsped away, and still Tepelenti could not make up his mind. Twice his\nhand seized the burning torch; he had but to bend over the nearest\nbarrel of powder and all would be over; but on each occasion his eye\nfell upon the trembling woman who lay there looking at him without a\nword, and the death-bearing match fell from his hand. No, no; he was\nincapable of doing the terrible deed. And now the hour struck; the\ntime had passed. Ali felt a pressure about his heart. Would Kurshid\naccomplish his dreadful threat?\n\nAt that instant a report sounded outside the fortress, and half a\nmoment later a red-hot steel bullet burst through the metal roof and\nthe massive vault of the tower with a violent crash. Falling heavily\non the marble floor, it rebounded thence, and, passing between the\npowder-barrels, describing a wide semicircle as it went, ricocheted\nonce more and struck the wall opposite, in which it bored a deep hole,\nwhence it flashed and gleamed with a strong red glare, forcing blue\nsparks from the nitrous humidity of the walls.\n\nAli was now convinced that the enemy was quite capable of keeping his\npromise.\n\nThe scared woman, mad with terror, flung herself at his feet, and\nsnatching the white veil from her head, forced it into the pasha's\nhand.\n\nTepelenti hastily seized the veil, and, hanging it on the point of a\nlance, hoisted it out of the round window.\n\nOutside the besiegers set up a shout of triumph. Eminah, kissing Ali's\nhands, sank down at his feet. Tepelenti had given her more than\nmanhood can bear to give: for her sake he had humbled his pride to the\ndust. If only he could have died as he had lived!\n\n\"Go, now,\" he said to the woman, with a sigh; \"go and tell my enemies\nthat they may come for me. I am theirs!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE SILVER PEDESTAL IN FRONT OF THE SERAGLIO\n\n\nThe emissaries of Kurshid Pasha received the veteran warrior with\ngreat respect in the gates of the fortress, whither he went to meet\nthem; they showed him all the honor due to his rank; they allowed him\nto retain his sword and all his other weapons. At the same time they\nconfirmed by word of mouth the promise which Kurshid Pasha had given\nto Eminah in writing--that the executioner should never lay his hand\non Ali's head, and that he should not die a violent death, except it\nwere in an honorable duel or on the battle-field, which is a delight\nto a true Mussulman.\n\nA former pleasure-house, a kiosk on the island of La Gulia, was\nassigned to him as a residence for the future. There they conveyed his\nfavorite horses, his favorite slaves and birds, and took abundant care\nof his personal comfort.\n\nAli allowed them to do with him as they would. Neither threatening nor\npleasant faces made any impression upon him; he merely looked from\ntime to time at his wife, who had seized his hand, and never left him\nfor an instant. At such times softer, gentler feelings were legible in\nhis face; but at other times he would gaze steadily before him into\nthe distance, into infinity. Perhaps he was now thinking within\nhimself, \"When shall I stand in front of the Seraglio on a silver\npedestal?\"\n\nThe _dzhin_ of Seleucia had prophesied this termination to his career.\nAll the other prophecies had been strictly fulfilled; this only\nremained to be accomplished.\n\nA Mussulman's promise is stronger than his oath. Who does not remember\nthe story of the Moorish chieftain in whose house a Christian soldier\nhad taken refuge, and who begged for his protection? The Moor promised\nthe man his protection. Subsequently the pursuers informed the Moor\nthat this Christian soldier had killed his son, and still the father\nwould not give up the fugitive, but assisted him to escape, because of\nhis promise.\n\n\"A great lord is the sea,\" says the Kuran; \"a great lord is the storm\nand the pestilence; but a greater lord still is a man's given word,\nfrom which there is no escape.\"\n\nThe Mussulman keeps his word, but beware of a play upon words, for\ntherein lies death. If he has sworn by the sun, avoid the moon, and if\nhe has promised to love thee as a brother, discover first whether he\nhath not slain his brother.\n\nWhen Sulaiman adopted Ibrahim as a son, he swore that so long as he\nlived no harm should befall Ibrahim. Later on, when Ibrahim fell into\ndisgrace, the wise Ulemas discovered a text in the Kuran according to\nwhich he who sleeps is not alive, and they slew Ibrahim while Sulaiman\nslept.\n\nKurshid had given his word and a written assurance that Ali should not\ndie at the hand of the executioner; the document he had given to\nAli's wife, his word he had given in the presence of his whole army;\nand he had escorted Ali Pasha with all due honor to the island kiosk,\npermitting him to retain his weapons and the jewelled sword with which\nhe had won so many victories, with which he had so many times turned\nthe tide of the battle; nay, more, they had selected fifty of Ali's\nown warriors, the bravest and the most faithful, to serve him as a\nguard of honor.\n\nNevertheless, a courier despatched in hot haste to Stambul announced\nthere, from Kurshid Pasha, that the treasures of Ali Tepelenti of\nJanina were in his hands, and that a Tartar horseman would follow in\nthree days with the head of the old pasha. And yet at this very moment\nTepelenti's head stood firmly on his shoulders, and who would dare to\nsay that that head was promised away while his good sword was by his\nside, and good comrades in arms were around him, and the sworn\nassurance of the seraskier rested upon him?\n\nEminah never quitted him for a moment. She was always with him. She\nsat beside him, with her head on his breast, or at his feet, and in\nher hand she carried the amnesty of the seraskier, so that if any one\nshould approach Ali with dangerous designs she might hold it before\nhis eyes like a magic buckler, and ward off the axe of the executioner\nfrom his head.\n\nBut there was nothing to guard against; the executioner did not\napproach Ali. He received, indeed, a great many visitors, but these\nwere all worthy, honorable men, musirs, effendis, officers of the\narmy, who treated him with all respect, and sipped their sherbet-cups\nmost politely, and smoked their fragrant chibooks, exchanging a word\nor two now and then, perhaps, and on taking their leave saluted him in\na manner befitting grave Mussulmans.\n\nHe was allowed free access to every part of the island, and never\nencountered anybody there but his own warriors.\n\nAt such times great ideas would occur to him. Perchance with these\nfifty men he might win back everything once more? And then he would\nhug himself with the thought of the silver pedestal in front of the\nSeraglio, where he was one day to stand, amidst the joyful plaudits of\nthe people; and then the night before him was not altogether dark, for\nhere and there he saw a gleam of hope.\n\nIt was only Eminah who trembled. God has created woman for this very\npurpose; she has the faculty of fearing instead of man, and can\nforesee the danger that threatens him.\n\nWhence will this danger come, and in what shape? Perchance in the\ndagger of the assassin? The woman's bosom stood between it and the\nheart of Ali; the assassin will not be able to pierce it. In a\npoisoned cup, perhaps? Eminah herself tastes of every dish, of every\nglass, before they reach the hands of Ali; the power of the poison\nwould reach her first.\n\nAnd yet danger is near.\n\nOne day they told Ali that an illustrious visitor was coming to see\nhim; Mehemet Pasha, the sub-seraskier and governor of the Morea,\nwished to pay his respects to him.\n\nThis was a great honor for the fallen general. Ali began to be\nsensible that even his enemies respected him. Who knows? he might find\ngood friends amongst his very enemies, who would not think him too\nold for use and employment even in his last remaining years.\n\nOn the day of the visit, the kiosk was swept and garnished. Tepelenti\nput on his most costly caftan, his warriors were marshalled in front\nof his dwelling, and he himself went out on horseback to meet the\nseraskier when he arrived, with an escort of one hundred mounted\nspahis.\n\nMehemet Pasha was a tall, powerful man, the hero of many a fight and\nmany a duel. He had often given proof of his dexterity, when the\nhostile armies stood face to face, by galloping betwixt them and\nchallenging the bravest warriors on the other side to single combat,\nand the fact that he was alive at the present moment was the best\npossible proof that he had been always victorious.\n\nThe two heroes exchanged greetings when they met, and returned\ntogether to the pleasure-house. Ali conducted the sub-seraskier into\nthe inner apartments; the attendants remained outside.\n\nA richly spread table awaited them, and they were waited upon by a\ngroup of young odalisks, the hand-maidens of Eminah, who sat at Ali's\nfeet on the left-hand side, and, as usual, tasted of every dish and\ncup before she gave it to Ali.\n\nPleasant conversation filled the intervals of the repast, and at the\nend of it a mess of preserved pistachios was brought in and presented\nto Mehemet Pasha.\n\n\"I thank thee,\" said he, \"and, indeed, I am very fond of them, but\npiquant, hot-spiced meats always awaken within me sinful desires and a\nlonging for wine which is forbidden by the Prophet, and, as a good\nMussulman, I would rather avoid the occasion of sinning than suffer\nthe affliction of a late repentance.\"\n\nAli laughed aloud.\n\n\"Eat and be of good cheer, valiant seraskier,\" said he, \"and set thy\nmind at rest. What I give thee shall be wine and yet not wine--the\njuice of the grape, yet still unfermented; 'tis an invention of the\nFranks. This the Prophet does not forbid.[12] I have still got a case\nof bottles thereof, which Bunaberdi[13] formerly sent me, and we will\nnow break it open in thy honor. Truly fizz is not wine, but only the\njuice of the grape which they bottle before it becomes wine. It is as\nharmless as milk.\"\n\n[Footnote 12: The Moslems do not include French \"fizz\" amongst the\ncanonically forbidden drinks.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Bonaparte.]\n\nMehemet shook his head and laughed, from which one could see that the\nproposition was not displeasing to him, whereupon Ali beckoned to the\nodalisks to fetch the bottles from the cellar.\n\nEminah, all trembling, bent over him and whispered, imploringly, \"Oh,\nput not wine on thy table; it will be dangerous to thee!\"\n\nAli smiled, and stroked his wife's head. He thought that only\nreligious scruples made her dissuade him from drinking the wine, so he\ndrew her upon his bosom and began to reassure her.\n\n\"Say now, my one and only flower, is not Moses a prophet, like unto\nMuhammad?\"\n\n\"Of a truth he is. His tent stands beside the tent of Muhammad in the\nParadise of the true Believers.\"\n\n\"And yet Moses said: Give wine to them that be sorrowful! Leave the\nmatter then to the two prophets up above there; surely, what passes\nthorough our lips does not make us sin?\"\n\nBut that was not the reason why Eminah feared the wine.\n\nThey brought the bottles, and the liberated corks popped merrily. At\nfirst Mehemet Pasha hesitated, but they filled his glass with fizz\nand, to prevent the sparkling foam from running over, he sipped a\nlittle of it, and quickly drained the glass, maintaining afterwards,\nwith a smile, that it was a similar drink to wine, but much more\npleasant.\n\nAli filled once more the glass of the seraskier, while Eminah\ntremulously watched his features, which gradually grew darker as he\ndrank. Drink has this effect on some men.\n\nSuddenly the sub-seraskier dashed his glass upon the table and\nexclaimed, with a furious expression of countenance:\n\n\"I'll drink no more! I'll drink no more! Thou art a villain, Ali! Thou\nhast made me drink wine and hast lied to me, saying it was not wine;\nbut it is wine, a frightful, burning drink, which has made my head\nwhirl.\"\n\n\"Come, come, Mehemet,\" said Ali, in the coaxing tone one uses to\ndrunken men, \"be not so wrathful.\"\n\n\"Speak not to me, thou dog!\" thundered the other, striking the table\nwith his fist. \"I might have known when I dismounted at thy door with\nwhom I had to do, thou sly, treacherous fox, thou godless renegade!\"\n\nAli leaped from his seat with flashing eyes, and clapped his hand on\nthe hilt of his sword at these words; but Eminah seized his hand, and\nsaid to him, in a terrified whisper:\n\n\"Draw not thy sword, Ali; show no weapons here! Dost thou not perceive\nthat he only came hither to fasten a quarrel upon thee?\"\n\nAli instantly recovered himself at these words. He saw now the snare\nthat had been laid for him, and calmly sat down in his place again,\ncrossing his legs beneath him, and, quietly taking up his chibook,\nbegan to smoke with an air of unconcern.\n\nMeanwhile, Mehemet played his drunken _rôle_ still further.\n\n\"I might have known beforehand, when I sat down at table with thee,\nthat I was sitting down with an accursed wretch, thou blood-thirsty\ndog, who hath lapped up the blood of thy kinsfolk; but I never\nventured to imagine that thou wouldst be audacious enough to make me\ndrink that abominable liquid--may its sinfulness fall back again on\nthine accursed head!\"\n\nWith these words Mehemet caught up the half full glass and pitched all\nthe wine that was in it straight between Ali's eyes, so that it\ntrickled down the full length of his long white beard.\n\nAli, with the utmost _sang-froid_, beckoned to the attendant odalisks\nto place before him a bowl of fresh water, in which he washed his face\nand beard. He did not answer the sub-seraskier a single word.\n\nMehemet planted himself in front of him with a contemptuous\nexpression.\n\n\"Wretched worm! that can wipe away such an insult so tamely! Thou wert\nnever valiant, thy heroic deeds were so many murders. Those whom thou\ndidst slay, thou didst butcher as doth a headsman. Thou couldst\nsurprise like a thief, but to fight like a man was never thy way, and\nthe blood that stains thee is the blood of fettered slaves. Thou\nabominable thing! The very victory is abominable which we have gained\nover such a writhing worm as thou art. I should pity my sword if it\never came into contact with thine. Let others say if they will that\nthey have conquered Ali, I will only say that I have struck Ali\nTepelenti in the face.\"\n\n\"By Allah, the one true God, that thou shall never say!\" thundered\nAli, leaping from his seat; and quickly drawing his sword, he whirled\nit like a glittering circle through the air.\n\nMehemet retreated a step backward, and drew his Damascus blade with a\nsatisfied air.\n\n\"Fight not, Ali; go inside!\" exclaimed Eminah, violently seizing Ali\nby the sword-arm.\n\nTepelenti shook her off and, with his sword flashing above his head,\nfell upon the sub-seraskier. Mehemet parried the stroke with his\nsword, and the next instant a huge jet of blood leaped into the air\nfrom Ali's shoulder.\n\nEminah, full of despair, flung herself between the combatants. She saw\nthat Ali was bleeding profusely, and throwing one arm around his knee,\nwith the other hand she held up before the seraskier the amnesty of\nKurshid Pasha.\n\n\"Look at that! The general swore that Tepelenti should not be slain.\"\n\n\"Not by the executioner,\" replied Mehemet; \"but he did not guarantee\nhim against the sword of a warrior. Come, thou coward! or wilt thou\nhide behind the petticoat of thy wife?\"\n\nEminah stretched out her arms towards Ali, but the old man thrust her\naside and rushed upon Mehemet Pasha once more; but before he could\nreach him another thrust pierced him through the heart. Without a sob\nhe collapsed at the feet of his foe.\n\nThe terrified odalisks rushed shrieking into the camp, whilst outside\na bloody combat began between the warriors of Mehemet and the warriors\nof Ali. The former were numerous, so it was not long before\nTepelenti's guards were cut down, and Mehemet, with a contented\ncountenance, returned to camp. A silken-net bag was hanging to his\nsaddle-bow, and in it was the head of Ali.\n\nKurshid Pasha washed his hand when the head was placed before him.\n\n\"I was not the cause of thy death!\" he cried. \"I guaranteed thee\nagainst the headsman, but not against the sword of warriors. Why didst\nthou provoke the lion?\"\n\nOn the day fixed, beforehand, the Tartar horseman arrived in Stambul\nwith the head of Ali. The hours of his life had been calculated\nexactly. An astronomer who determines the distances between\nconstellation and constellation is not more accurate in his\ncalculations than was Kurshid in determining the date of his enemy's\ndeath.\n\nOn that day the Sultan held high festival.\n\nThe Tsirogan palace, the Seraglio, all the fountains were illuminated,\nand Ali's head was carried through the principal streets of the town\nin triumphal procession, and finally exhibited on a silver salver in\nfront of the middle gate of the Seraglio in the sight of all the\npeople.\n\nSo there he stood at last, on a silver pedestal in front of the\nSeraglio. And the prophecy was fulfilled which had said, \"A time will\ncome when thou shalt be in two places at once, in Stambul and in\nJanina!\" So it was.\n\nAli's dead body was buried at Janina, and his head, at the same time,\nwas standing in front of the Seraglio. At Janina, a single mourning\nwoman was weeping over the headless corpse; at Stambul a hundred\nthousand inquisitive idlers were shouting around the bodyless head.\n\nAt that gate where the head of Ali was exhibited the throng was so\ngreat that many people were crushed to death by the gaping\nsight-seers, who had all come hither to stare at the gray-bearded\nface, before whose wrathful look a whole realm had trembled.\n\nAt last, on the evening of the third day, when the well-feasted mob\nhad stared their fill and begun to disperse, there drew nigh to the\ngate of the Seraglio an old yellow-faced fakir who, from the\nappearance of his eyes, was evidently blind. His clothing consisted of\na simple sackcloth mantle, girded lightly round the waist by a cotton\ngirdle, from which hung a long roll of manuscript; on his head he wore\na high mortar-shaped hat, the distinguishing mark of the Omarites.\n\nAll the people standing about respectfully made way for him as, with\ndowncast eyes and hands stretched forth, he groped his way along, and,\nwithout any one guiding him, made his way straight up to Tepelenti's\nhead.\n\nThere he stood and laid his right hand on the severed head, none\npreventing him.\n\nAnd lo! it seemed to those who stood round as if the severed head\nslowly opened its eyes and looked upon the new-comer with cold, stony,\nstiff, dim eyeballs. This only lasted for a moment, and then the\nOmarite took his hand off the head and the eyes closed again. Perhaps\nit was but an illusion, after all!\n\nThen the dervish spoke. His deep, grave voice sank into the hearts of\nall who heard him: \"Go to Mahmoud, and tell him that I have bought\nfrom him the head of Ali Pasha and the heads of his three sons,\nSulaiman, Vely, and Mukhtar, and a whole empire is the price I pay him\ntherefor.\"\n\n\"What empire art thou able to give?\" inquired the captain of the\nciauses who were guarding the head.\n\n\"That which is the fairest of all, that which is nearest to his heart,\nthat which he had the least hope of--his own empire.\"\n\nThese bold words were reported to the Sultan, and the Grand Signior\nsummoned the Omarite dervish to the palace, and shut himself up alone\nwith him till late at night. When the muezzin intoned the fifth\nnamazat, towards midnight, Mahmoud dismissed the dervish. What they\nsaid to each other remained a secret known only to themselves. The\nfakir, on emerging from the Sultan's dressing-room, plucked a piece of\ncoal from a censer, and wrote on the white alabaster wall this\nsentence, \"Rather be a head without a hand than a hand without a\nhead,\" and nobody but the Sultan understood that saying.\n\nMahmoud commanded that nine purses of gold should be given to the\ndervish; he gave him also the heads of Ali and of Ali's three sons.\n\nThe dervish left the Seraglio with the four heads and the nine\npurses. With the nine purses he bought an empty field in front of the\nSelembrian gate and planted it with cypress-trees, and at the foot of\nevery cypress he set up a white turbaned tombstone--there were\nhundreds and hundreds side-by-side without inscriptions. He said, too,\nthat it would not be long before the owners of these tombs arrived. In\nthe middle of this cemetery, moreover, he dug a wide grave, and in it\nhe buried the heads of Ali's three sons, with their father's head in\nthe middle. He erected four turbaned tombstones over them, two at the\nhead and two at the foot of the grave, and on the largest of these\ntombstones was written: \"Here lies the valiant Ali Tepelenti, Pasha of\nJanina, leaving behind him many other warriors who deserve death just\nas much as he.\"\n\nThe people murmured because of what was written on the tomb, but who\ndurst obliterate what is inscribed on the dwellings of the dead?\n\nThere the mysterious inscription remained on the tomb for four years,\nand in the fourth year its meaning was revealed.\n\nNow this dervish was the _dzhin_ of Seleucia.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE BROKEN SWORDS\n\n\n    \"Allah Kerim!\n    Allah akbar!\n    Great is God and mighty!\"\n\nWhat avails prayer if there be no longer any to hearken? What avails\nthe bright sword if there be none to wield it? What avails the open\nbook if there be none to understand what is written therein?\n\nYe nations of the half-moon! now is the time when the song of the\ndervishes, and the scimitar, and the dirk, and the Kuran, can help no\nmore! From the west and from the north strange people are coming,\narmed warriors in serried ranks, like a wall of steel, who are set in\nmotion, brought to a stand-still, expanded into an endless line,\ncontracted into a solid mass by a single brief word of command. Before\nthe charge of their bayonets the ranks of the Janissaries scatter and\ndisperse like chaff before the wind, and before their fire-vomiting\nbrazen tubes the flowers of Begtash's garden fall like grass before\nthe mower. Wise men are with them, who go about in simple black coats,\nwho know much that ye do not know; each one of whom is capable of\ndirecting a state, and who are equally triumphant on the battle-field\nand in the council-chamber.\n\nIn vain ye call upon the name of the Prophet, in vain do ye knock at\nthe gate of Paradise. It is closed. Muhammad slumbers, and the other\nprophets no longer trouble themselves about earthly affairs. Paradise\nis full already. There they look askance now at new-comers, who reach\nthe shadow of the tuba-tree without the rumor of victory. The\neternally young houris, from beyond the Bridge of Alsiroth, no longer\nsmile upon those who fall in battle, for battle has now lost its\nglory. Ye must be born again, or die forever.\n\nLook now! the more far-seeing ones among you know what to do. They\nsend their children far, far away, to the dominions of the Giaours,\nthere to learn worldly wisdom, and prepare to make great changes in\nthe empire.\n\nThe old dervishes, the friends of the Turks, are excluded from the\nSeraglio; they do but creep stealthily up and peep through the guarded\ngates, and compare notes with one another, \"Behold! within there, they\nare doing the work of the stranger, they are teaching the\ntrue-believing warriors to leap to and fro at a word of command, and\ntwirl their weapons. They have abandoned the jiridé, that\never-victorious weapon, and have stuck darts at the ends of their\nmuskets, as do the unbelievers, who dare not come within\nsword-distance of the enemy. It is all over, all over with the faith\nof Osman.\"\n\nMost jealous of all these innovations were the priests of Begtash. One\ncould every moment see them in their ragged, dirty mantles, lounging\nabout in front of the gates of the Seraglio, impudently looking in\nthe faces of all who go in and out; and if an imam passed them, or one\nof those wise men who favored the innovations, they would spit after\nhim, and exclaim in a loud voice, \"Death to every one who proclaims\nthe forbidden word!\"\n\nNow this forbidden word was the name \"Neshandchi.\" The mob of Stambul\nhad murdered Mahmoud's father because of this name, which designated a\nnew order of soldiers, and his successor had been compelled to order\nthat whoever pronounced this name should be put to death.\n\nThe mob would often follow the Grand Vizier all the way to the palace,\nreviling him all the way, and shouting up at the windows, \"Remember\nthe end of Bajraktar!\"\n\nBajraktar had been the Sultan's Grand Vizier fourteen years before,\nwho had wished to reform the Turkish army, on which account a riot\nbroke out at Stambul, which lasted till the partisans of Bajraktar\nwere removed from office. As for Bajraktar himself, he was burned to\ndeath in one of his palaces, together with his wife and children.\nEvery one who took part in these mysterious and accursed deliberations\nin the Seraglio, from the lowliest soldier to the sacred and sublime\nSultan himself, carried his life in his hands.\n\nIt had long been rumored that some great movement was on foot, and the\npriests of Begtash went from town to town through all the Turkish\ndomains fanning the fanaticism of their beloved children, the\nJanissaries, and gradually collecting them in Stambul. In those days\nthere were more than twenty thousand Janissaries within the walls of\nthe capital, not including the corporation of water-carriers who\ngenerally made common cause with them in times of uproar. When their\nlordships, the Janissaries, set the place on fire, it was the duty of\nthe water-carriers to put out the flames, whereupon they plundered\ncomfortably together; hence the ancient understanding between them.\n\nWith the exception of the Ulemas, only the blind fakirs of the Omarite\norder were admitted into the council of the Divan, and their chief,\nBehram, often took counsel with the Sultan for hours together when he\nwas alone.\n\nOn the 23d May, 1826, at the invitation of the chief mufti, all the\nUlemas assembled in the Seraglio and decided unanimously that, in\naccordance with the words of the Kuran, it was lawful to fight the\nenemy with his own weapons.\n\nSix days later they reassembled, and then the Sheik-ul-Islam laid\nbefore them a fetva, by which it was proclaimed that a standing army\nwas to be raised for the defence of the realm. In order, however, that\nnobody might pronounce the accursed name of Neshandchi, three names\nwere given to the corps of the army to be raised. The first was\nakinji, or \"rushers,\" these were the young conscripts; the second was\ntaalimlüaske, \"practised men,\" these were selected from the soldiers\nof the Seraglio; the third name was khankiar begerdi, and designated\nthe corps to be chosen from amongst the Janissaries. This name meant\n\"the will of the emperor,\" yet the word \"khankiar\" means, in Turkish,\nby itself, \"effusion of blood.\"\n\nWhen the fetva came to be signed, very few of the leaders of the\nJanissaries were present, but amongst those who were was the Janissary\nAga, or colonel, and his name stood there alongside the name of the\nSheik-ul-Islam, the Grand Vizier, and Najib Effendi.\n\nEarly next morning the people of Stambul read the fetva, which was\nposted up at every corner. The decisive word had been spoken which was\nto evoke the bloody spectre to whom so many crowned heads had been\nsacrificed.\n\nThe first day a fearful expectation prevailed. Every one awaited the\ntempest, and prepared for it. The Sultan was passing the time at his\nsummer palace, Bekshishtash, so, at least, it was said. An anxious,\ntormenting, and bloody pastime it proved to be.\n\nIn one wing of his palace were the damsels of the harem, in the others\nthe chief Ulemas and councillors. Mahmoud paced from one room to\nanother, and found peace nowhere.\n\nHundreds of times he sat in a row with his wise men, and caused the\nannals of the Ottoman Empire by his favorite historian, Ezaad Effendi,\nto be read aloud to him, and yet it was a terror to him to listen. The\nwhole history from beginning to end was written in blood! The same\nprinciples always produced the same fruits! How many Grand Viziers,\nhow many Padishahs, had not fallen? Their blood had flowed in streams\nfrom the throne, which had never tottered as it now tottered beneath\nhim. And when he returned to the harem, and the charming odalisks\nappeared before him with their music and dances, and Milieva amongst\nthem, the loveliest of them all, to whom in an hour of rapture he had\ngiven the rose-garden of his realm, Damascus, he bethought him that\nperchance to-morrow, or even that very night, those sweetly smiling\nheads might all be cut off, seized by their flowing locks and cast in\nheaps, while their dear and tender bodies might be sent swimming in\nthe cold waves of the Bosphorus, to serve as food for the monsters of\nthe deep. Who knows how many hours, who knows how many moments, they\nhave still to live?\n\nEvery hour, every moment, the tidings arrive from Stambul that the\nJanissaries are assembling in menacing crowds, and now the\nconflagrations begin; every day fires break out in three or four parts\nof the town, but the heavy rains prevented any great damage from being\ndone. This was always the way in which the riots began in Stambul.\n\nThe priests of Begtash stirred up the fanaticism of the masses in\nfront of the mosques and in the public squares, incited the mob which\nhad joined the ranks of the Janissaries to acts of outrage against the\nSultan's officials and those of the Ulemas, softas, and Omarite fakirs\nwho were in favor of the reforms.\n\nOn July 14th a rumor spread that a company of Janissaries, actuated by\nstrong suspicion, had surrounded the cemetery which had been laid out\nand enclosed by the Omarite fakir, and cut down all the dervishes they\nfound there, and amongst them their chief, Behram. They found upon him\na bundle of papers which plainly revealed that a secret understanding\nexisted between him and the great men of the Seraglio. They also found\nin his girdle a metal plate, on which was the following inscription:\n\n\"I am Behram, the son of Halil Patrona, the strong man, and of\nGül-Bejáze,[14] the prophetess. My father in his lifetime began a\ngreat work, which after his death I continued. This work will only be\naccomplished and confirmed when I am dead and there is no further need\nof me. Blessed be he who knoweth the hours of his life and of his\ndeath.\"\n\n[Footnote 14: The heroine of Jókai's _White Rose_.]\n\nThose who were acquainted with the life and the end of Halil Patrona\nknew right well what this great work was thus mentioned by Behram, who\nhad lived one hundred and eight years after his father's death, and\nhad striven all that time to develop and mature the ideas which the\nformer had vainly attempted to carry out at the point of the sword.\n\nThe mob tore the dervish to pieces and distributed his bleeding limbs\nas trophies, and then, like wild beasts who have scented blood, they\nattacked the castles of the great men. Whom should they fall upon\nfirst? That was the only question.\n\nSuddenly one of the priests of Begtash tore down from the corner of\nthe street a copy of the fetva which proclaimed the reform and showed\nit to the mob. \"Behold!\" cried he, \"here, foremost amongst the names\nof the destroyers of the Faith stands the name of the Janissary Aga!\nThe leader of the Janissaries has himself betrayed his own children.\nDeath to him!\"\n\n\"Death to him!\" howled the mob, and, seizing their torches, they\nrushed towards the palace of the Janissary Aga.\n\nThe Janissary Aga heard the tumult, and, quickly dressing a slave in\nhis robes, mingled with the crowd, and, without being noticed, reached\nthe palace of the Grand Vizier in safety.\n\nThe Grand Vizier was sitting down to supper when the Janissary Aga\nrushed in and informed him of his danger. He lost no time in\nbarricading the gates, and, slipping through his garden with his\nservants and his family, escaped across the Bosphorus to the Jali\nKiosk, on the other side of the water. The besieging mob, therefore,\nonly found empty walls upon which to wreak their fury, and these they\nlevelled with the ground.\n\nBut the Janissary Aga had left his wives and children in his palace,\nand these the rioters seized and murdered with the most excruciating\ntortures. In the evening twilight the Aga, from his place of safety on\nthe other side of the water, could see the flames of his palace\nshooting up towards the sky, and heard perchance the agonized\ndeath-cries of those he loved best.\n\nA few moments later they were joined by Nedjib Effendi, the\nrepresentative of the Viceroy of Egypt, who also took refuge with them\nand brought the tidings that the insurgents were in possession of the\nwhole of Stambul, and had wreaked their savage fury on the families of\nthe refugee magnates.\n\nThe Sultan was standing on the roof of his palace, whence he could\nview far away the spreading scarlet glow of the conflagration which\nlit up the night with a terrifying glare, whose fiery columns were\nreflected in the black Bosphorus.\n\nPanic-stricken fugitives spread the report that the Seraglio itself\nwas in flames, and indeed it looked in the distance as if the fiery\nwaves had reached its cupolaed towers.\n\nMahmoud spent the whole night in prayer. Two hours after midnight a\nhorseman arrived who had forced his way through Stambul, his good\nsteed collapsing as it reached the cypress grove of Bekshishtash. The\nhorseman himself demanded an audience of the Sultan, and was instantly\nadmitted.\n\nA bright momentary ray of hope was visible on the face of Mahmoud as\nhe recognized the horseman. It was Thomar, now the Akinji Feriki, the\nbravest warrior in the three continents of the Ottoman Empire.\n\nWhen Mahmoud had quitted the Seraglio he had picked out sixteen young\nhorsemen from amongst his retinue, and left them behind in the palace,\nwith the injunction that if a rebellion should break out in Stambul,\nwhich was pretty certainly to be anticipated, they were to cut their\nway through the enemy and bring him word thereof. Thomar alone had\narrived--the other fifteen had been killed by the rebels; he had cut\nout a road for himself and contrived to reach Bekshishtash.\n\n\"The dragon has raised all his twelve heads, my master,\" said he to\nthe Sultan; \"now is the time to cut them all off, or it will devour\nthy empire.\"\n\nThe Sultan, who greatly loved the youth, wiped the sweat from his face\nwith his own handkerchief, and bade him await him below in the\nbanqueting-chamber.\n\nAnd with that he resumed his devotions.\n\nTowards five o'clock, when the sun rose from behind the blue hills of\nAsia in all its glory, the Sultan descended from the roof of his\npalace and commanded his servants and men-at-arms to form in rank in\nfront of the palace. All the fighting-men he had with him were a\nthousand akinjis and about as many horsemen, silihdars, and bostanjis.\nHe himself first went to take leave of his womenkind.\n\nThose who had seen his face but an hour ago were amazed at the change\nthat had come over it. Its generally mild and peaceful expression had\ngiven place to a proud resentment and a death-defying audacity. He\nembraced his wife and the Sultana Asseki, and finally his son, the\nheir to the throne. Not a tear was visible on his face as he embraced\nhis beloved ones. They all noticed a new vigor flashing from his eyes;\nhe looked as if he were inspired. He had no need now for any to\nencourage him.\n\nAs he held one arm round his wife and the other round his child, he\nsaid to them, \"And now I go. My path leads me into Stambul; whether it\nwill lead me back again I know not. But I swear that if I do return it\nwill be as the veritable ruler of my realm. What will ye do if I\nperish?\"\n\nThe face of Milieva glowed at this question. She led Mahmoud aside\ninto the back part of the room. There the Sultan perceived a large\nheap of pillows and cushions.\n\n\"If Mahmoud perishes,\" said the Circassian girl, enthusiastically,\n\"those who loved him will discover a way of following him; yea, thine\nenemies, when they look for us, will only find our ashes here.\"\n\nMahmoud kissed the girl on the forehead; she was indeed worthy to sit\nat the foot of the throne.\n\nWith that he descended into the court-yard, and they led his good\nsteed in front of the arched door. The Sultan beckoned to Thomar to\nhold the reins while he mounted, then he detached an agate from the\nheron plume that waved above his turban, and fastened it on the fez of\nthe youth as he knelt before him.\n\n\"I name thee leader of the akinjis; and now whoever has a sword, let\nhim show that he is worthy of our ancestors!\"\n\nWith these words the Padishah drew his scimitar, and, galloping to the\nfront of his horsemen, took the place of command. A moment later the\nlittle host was already on its way to Stambul. In front marched the\nakinjis with glittering bayonets; in the centre was the Sultan with\nhis suite; the rear was brought up by the horsemen and the gardeners.\nEvery one of them was resolved to die honorably and gloriously.\n\nOn reaching the city the bold band met at first with but little\nopposition, for they came unawares. The rebels were weary from the\nexertions of the previous night. After putting out the conflagration\nthe mob had set to work plundering, and towards morning the greater\npart of it had dispersed amongst the coffee-houses and other places of\namusement.\n\nMahmoud and his aggressive band met with no opposition right up to the\nSeraglio. The streets indeed were thronged by a noisy mob, but it made\nway at once before the serried ranks of the akinjis. None insulted the\nSultan by so much as an offensive word; on the contrary, cries of\nadmiration were audible here and there. Men were astounded when they\nbeheld the Padishah appear with a handful of armed men amidst the\nraging tempest, and permitted him to enter the gates of the Seraglio\nin peace.\n\nThe shout bursting through all the doors, which resounded for some\nminutes from the inside of the place, announced to those outside what\ncourage the appearance of the Sultan had instilled into the hearts of\nthose of his warriors who were shut up in the Seraglio.\n\nKara Makan, full of amazement, withdrew the bulk of the rebels from\nthe Grand Signior's palace and massed the Janissaries near the\nEtmeidan, where banners were hoisted side by side with the subverted\nkettles. At the corners of the streets the wild priests of Begtash\ncontinued to incite the agitated mob with hoarse cries, and from the\nsummits of the minarets the horns of the rebels sounded continuously,\nonly ceasing at such times as the imams summoned the people of Osman\nto glorify Allah, about the fifth hour of the day. At the sound of the\nnamazat even the furious popular tempest abated, only beginning again\nwhen the last notes of the call to prayer ceased to resound.\n\nStambul was literally turned upsidedown, and the dregs were swimming\non the surface. The confraternity of porters, the water-carriers, the\nboatmen, all stood by the Janissaries and swelled enormously the bulk\nof the rebels. Every mosque, every barrack, was in their power; even\nthe towers of the Dardanelles had opened their gates to the Jamaki,\nwho were in alliance with the Janissaries. The Sultan was shut up in\nhis own palace.\n\nThe Janissaries intended to carry the edifice of the Sublime Porte by\nassault, and had, therefore, sent forth criers to the jebejis, or\ncamp-blacksmiths, who were encamped with the heavy cannons on the\ngrounds of the Mosque of Sophia, to invite them to begin the siege.\n\nThe emissaries of the Janissaries, in brief, savage harangues, called\nupon the jebejis to put their hands to the bloody work. The latter\nlistened to them, but for a long time hesitated. Suddenly a shot fired\nfrom amongst the crowd struck one of the speakers, who fell down dead,\nwhereupon the other jebejis rushed upon the envoys of the Janissaries,\ncut them down, and, flinging their severed heads into a heap, shouted,\n\"Long live the Sultan!\" and with that they proceeded in force to the\nSeraglio, took up their positions in front of it, and turned their\nguns against the rebels.\n\nTowards mid-day, amidst strains of martial music, the Kapudan Pasha\nIbrahim, whose nickname was \"The Infernal,\" arrived with four thousand\nmarines and fourteen guns. A quarter of an hour later were to be seen\nin the proximity of the Jali Kiosk the overwhelming forces of the\nGrand Vizier Muhammad, who, under the protection of the night, had got\ntogether the hosts of Asia, which had always been opposed to the\nJanissaries. The Janissary Aga was there, too, with the Komparajis\nfrom Tophana. The concentrating masses welcomed one another with\nblood-thirsty greeting. It was evident, from the faces of their\nleaders, that they were determined not to retreat a step on the path\nthey had taken. The last hour of the Janissaries, or of the Ottoman\nEmpire, had struck.\n\nAnd now the gates of the Seraglio were thrown open, and, escorted by\nthe high officers of state and the Ulemas, the Sultan came forth.\n\nThe Ulemas, the imams, and the officers of the army stood in a\nsemicircle round the gate. The Sultan remained standing on the highest\nstep. There he stood in the full regalia of the padishahs, holding in\none hand the banner of the Prophet and in the other a drawn sword.\n\n\"What do the rebels desire,\" exclaimed, with a loud, penetrating\nvoice, the Sheik-ul-Islam, \"who rise up against Allah and against the\nHead of the Faith, the Padishah?\"\n\nThe chief mufti replied with unction: \"It is written in the Kuran, 'If\nthe infidels rise against their brethren, let them die the death!'\"\n\n\"Then swear by the banner of the Prophet that ye will root out them\nwho have risen up against me!\"\n\nThe viziers kissed the holy flag and took the oath to defend it to the\nlast drop of their blood.\n\n\"And now close the gates!\" commanded the Sultan; and immediately he\nsent orders to the warders of all the gates of Stambul to let nobody\neither out or in. One of the opposing hosts was never to leave the\ncity alive.\n\n\"Long life to the Sultan! Death to the Janissaries!\" resounded from\nfifteen thousand lips in front of the Seraglio.\n\nThe Sultan would have led his army in person against the rebels, but\nhis generals fell down on their knees and implored him in the name of\nthe Prophet not to expose his life to danger. Let him at least give\nhis sword to the Grand Vizier, that he might not soil it in the blood\nof rebels.\n\nSo the gates were shut. This circumstance filled the hearts of the\nrebels with terror. They foresaw that this day would not be followed\nby another; the hand of indulgence, of reconciliation, now grasped the\nweapons of war, of massacre.\n\nThey all assembled round the Etmeidan, pulled down the buildings in\nthe street, and made barricades of them. 'Tis a bad sign for a\nrebellion when it has to look to its defence.\n\nThe forces of the Grand Vizier slowly approached amidst the roll of\nkettle-drums; the Derben Aga appeared in front of the barricades of\nthe Janissaries, with the sanjak-i-sherif in his hand, and summoned\nthe rebels to disperse and return to the allegiance of the sacred\nbanner. The rebels drowned his speech in curses, and above the curses\nrose the thundering voice of Kara Makan hounding on the fanatical mob\nagainst the destroyers of the faith of Osman.\n\n\"Wipe out these new ordinances, give up the heads of the godless ones\nwho signed their names below the khat-i-sherif--to wit the Janissary\nAga, the Grand Vizier, the chief mufti, and Nedjib Effendi! This is\nwhat the ortas of the Janissaries demand and their honest\nconfederates, the Jamaki, the Kayikjis, and the Hamaloks, who remain\nfaithful to the God of the Moslemin.\"\n\nThrice did the Derben Aga summon the rebels to surrender, and thrice\ndid he receive the same answer. They demanded the heads of the\nviziers.\n\nMahmoud's predecessor had, on a similar request, surrendered the heads\nof the viziers. Mahmoud broke his sword in two above their heads, and\nthrowing the broken pieces in the dust, exclaimed:\n\n\"Just as I now break in two this sword and nobody shall weld it\ntogether again, so also shall ye be overthrown and none shall raise\nyou up again.\"\n\nThe next moment the cannons of Ibraham the Infernal thundered forth\ntheir volleys from the Etmeidan. The bombs tore through the rickety\nwooden barriers, and through the breach thus made rushed Hussein Pasha\nat the head of the akinjis with Thomar Bey by his side.\n\nThe appearance of the detested new soldiers was greeted by the\nJanissaries with a furious howl, but the very first moment convinced\nthem that the bayonet was a very much more powerful weapon than the\ndirk. Thomar Bey headed the charge in person, making a way for himself\nwith his bayonet and clearing the ranks of the insurgents like a sharp\nwedge.\n\nOn this side there was no deliverance, so now, with the fury of\ndespair, the insurgents flung themselves on the guns of Ibraham Pasha,\nthree times charging his death-vomiting batteries, and, thrice\nrecoiling, leaving the ground covered with their corpses, the terrible\ngrape-shot mowing them down in heaps.\n\nIt was all, all over. The flowers of Begtash's garden, vanquished,\nhumbled by the new soldiers, fled for refuge to the huge quadrangular\nbarracks which occupied the ground at the rear of the Etmeidan.\n\nKara Makan did not live to experience that hour of humiliation; a\ncannon-ball took off his head so cleanly that his body could only be\nidentified by his girdle.\n\nWithin the walls of the barracks the Janissaries made ready for their\nlast desperate combat. It was now late. Ibrahim the Infernal began to\nbombard the barracks with red-hot bullets, and within an hour's time\nthe whole of the enormous building was in flames. Those who were\ninside the gates remained there, for there they were doomed to perish\ntogether. Amidst the roaring of the flames their death-cries were\naudible, but the flames grew stronger every moment and the cry of\ntheir mortal anguish waxed fainter. The generals stood around the\nbuilding, and tears glittered in more eyes than one; after all, it had\nbeen a valiant host!\n\nHad been! Those words explain their doom.\n\nOn that day twenty thousand Janissaries fell by the command of the\nPadishah. Those whom the bullet and the sword did not reach perished\nby the axe and the bowstring. Their bodies were given to the\nBosphorus, and for a long time afterwards the billows of distant seas\ncast their headless trunks on the shores of countries far away. These\nwere the flowers of Begtash.\n\nAnd so the name of the Janissaries was blotted out of the annals of\nOttoman history.\n\nThe wearing of their uniforms and their insignia was forbidden under\nsentence of death. Their barracks were levelled with the ground, their\nbanners were torn to bits, their kettles were smashed to pieces, their\nmemory was made accursed.\n\nThe order of the Priests of Begtash was abolished forever, their\nreligious homes were destroyed, their possessions confiscated.\n\nThus came to an end a soldiery which had existed for centuries, which\nthe wise Chendereli founded, and which had won so many glorious\ntriumphs for the Ottoman arms. It was now unlawful to mention its very\nname.\n\nBut when the bloody work was done, the Ottoman nation arose again full\nof fresh vigor, and it owed a new life, full of glorious days, to the\nhand which delivered the empire from its two greatest\nenemies--Tepelenti and the Janissaries.\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY OF THE TURKISH WORDS USED IN THIS STORY\n\n\nAGA--a military and aulic title.\n\nAKINJI--a sort of irregular cavalry.\n\nANADOLI HISSAR--eastern castle.\n\nAZAB--irregular infantry.\n\nBAIRAM--the great Muhammadan ecclesiastical feast.\n\nBAYADERE--a dancing-girl.\n\nBEY--a dignitary next below a pasha.\n\nBOSTANJI--originally the gardeners of the Seraglio, subsequently\nattendants, body-guards.\n\nCHORBAJI--a Janissary officer.\n\nCIAUS--palace officials employed as attendants, messengers, envoys.\n\nDERBEND AGA--the chief of the street watchmen.\n\nDIRHAM--a coin worth about 2-½_d._\n\nDIVAN--council of state.\n\nDZHIN--a huge supernatural being.\n\nEFFENDI--a title of honor.\n\nETMEIDAN--the headquarters of the Janissaries.\n\nFETVA--the opinion or judgment of a mufti.\n\nFIRAK--bodies of troops.\n\nFIRMAN--a decree issued by the Sultan.\n\nGIAOUR--an infidel.\n\nICHOGLANLER--pages of non-Muhammadan parentage brought up at the\nSultan's palace.\n\nIMAM--a priest who recites the canonical prayers.\n\nJAMAK--the servant of a Janissary.\n\nJANISSARIES--literally, \"new soldiers\" (jeni-cheri), originally\ncaptive children brought up to be soldiers. This corps was for\ncenturies the flower of the Ottoman army.\n\nJANISSARY AGA--the chief of the Janissaries.\n\nJERID--a stick used as a dart in military exercises.\n\nKADI--a judge.\n\nKADUN-KEIT-KHUDA--guardian of the harem.\n\nKAPU-AGASI--Lord Chamberlain.\n\nKAPUDAN PASHA--Lord High Admiral.\n\nKAPUJI--gate-keeper of the Seraglio.\n\nKAPUJI PASHA--the introducer of the ambassadors.\n\nKAPU-KIAJA--chief magistrate.\n\nKHAT-I-SHERIF--a command either signed by the Sultan or issued\ndirectly through him.\n\nKHUMBARAJI--a bombardier.\n\nKIZLAR-AGASI--chief inspector of the harem.\n\nMOLLAH--the title of the highest grade of Ulemas.\n\nMUEZZIN--the caller to prayer.\n\nMUFTIS--those of the Ulemas who publish or seal the fetvas or other\npublic documents.\n\nMURSHID--a spiritual guide.\n\nNAMAZAT--the canonical prayer.\n\nODALISK--a concubine; literally, chambermaid.\n\nORTA--a company of Janissaries.\n\nPALIKÁR--\"strong youth,\" a name given to themselves by the Klephts,\nfreebooters of Thessaly.\n\nPARA--a farthing.\n\nREIS-EFFENDI--Minister of Foreign Affairs.\n\nSANDJAK-I-SHERIF--the sacred banner of the Prophet.\n\nSERAGLIO }\nSERAI    }  The Sultan's court.\n\nSERAI-AGASI--chief inspector of the Seraglio.\n\nSERASKIER--a commander-in-chief.\n\nSHEIK-UL-ISLAM--the chief of all the muftis and Ulemas.\n\nSILIHDARS--one of the six divisions of the mercenary cavalry, also\nthe Sultan's armor-bearers.\n\nSIPAHIS }\nSPAHIS  } One of six divisions of the mercenary cavalry.\n\nSULIOTES--a warlike Hellenized race of Albanian origin in the Pachalik\nof Janina.\n\nSULTANA-ASSEKI--The Sultan's consort.\n\nSULTANA-VALIDEH--the Sultan's mother.\n\nTIMARIOTES--Turkish feudal militia.\n\nTOPORABAJI--gunners.\n\nTOPIJIS--gunners.\n\nULEMAS--the learned men, including the muftis, the mollahs, the\nkadis--in short, all the legal and ecclesiastical functionaries.\n\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the\noriginal text have been corrected for this electronic edition.\n\nIn Chapter I, \"superflous cracks and crevices\" was changed to\n\"superfluous cracks and crevices\".\n\nIn Chapter II, \"siezed him\" was changed to \"seized him\".\n\nIn Chapter III, \"ninrethullita\" was changed to \"nimetullahita\", and\n\"It must not he supposed\" was changed to \"It must not be supposed\".\n\nIn Chapter IV, \"the besieging Pehlivan\" was changed to \"the besieging\nPehliván\".\n\nIn Chapter VIII, \"Meccao and Medina\" was changed to \"Mecca and\nMedina\", and \"Procelain Chamber\" was changed to \"Porcelain Chamber\".\n\nIn Chapter IX, \"hill, morever\" was changed to \"hill, moreover\", \"wont\nyou\" was changed to \"won't you\", and a question mark was changed to an\nexclamation point after \"thy daughter Milieva\".\n\nIn Chapter X, \"La Gullia\" was changed to \"La Gulia\", \"to horribly\ntortured Turks\" was changed to \"of horribly tortured Turks\", and \"rank\nor general\" was changed to \"rank of general\".\n\nIn Chapter XVIII, \"silchidars\" was changed to \"silihdars\".\n\nIn the Glossary, \"Silchidars\" was changed to \"Silihdars\".\n\nSeveral names and words were spelled inconsistently in the original\ntext. Except as noted above, these variant spellings have been\nleft as they originally appeared.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32234", "title": "The Lion of Janina; Or, The Last Days of the Janissaries: A Turkish Novel", "author": "", "publication_year": 1898, "metadata_title": "The Lion of Janina; Or, The Last Days of the Janissaries: A Turkish Novel", "metadata_author": "Jókai", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:28.149844", "source_chars": 443590, "chars": 443590, "talkie_tokens": 106302}}
{"text": "Produced by Curtis Weyant and the Online Distributed\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note: Original spelling has been maintained and not\nstandardized. The numerous short bibliographical reference notes that\nwere originally printed as sidenotes have been set in brackets here and\nincluded directly into the text; the longer text footnotes have been\nrenumbered for consistency. To indicate text in italic font,\n_underscores_ have been used. Words without italics inside longer italic\nsentences are indicated by =equal signs=.\n\n\n\n\nA DISSERTATION ON _SLAVERY_: WITH A PROPOSAL FOR THE GRADUAL ABOLITION\nOF IT, IN THE _STATE OF VIRGINIA_.\n\nBY ST. GEORGE TUCKER, _PROFESSOR OF LAW IN THE UNIVERSITY OF WILLIAM AND\nMARY, AND ONE OF THE JUDGES OF THE GENERAL COURT, IN VIRGINIA_.\n\n_Slavery not only violates the Laws of Nature, and of civil Society, it\nalso wounds the best Forms of Government: in a Democracy, where all Men\nare equal, Slavery is contrary to the Spirit of the Constitution.\nMONTESQUIEU._\n\nPHILADELPHIA: PRINTED FOR MATHEW CAREY, No. 118, MARKET-STREET. 1796.\n\n\n\n\nTO THE\n\n_General Assembly of Virginia_,\n\nTo whom it belongs to decide upon the expediency and practicability of a\nplan for the _gradual abolition_ of _Slavery_ in this commonwealth,\n\nThe following pages are most respectfully submitted and inscribed,\n\nBY THE AUTHOR.\n\n_Williamsburg, in Virginia, May 20, 1796._\n\n\n\n\nTO THE READER.\n\n\n_The following pages form a part of a course of Lectures on Law and\nPolice, delivered in the University of William and Mary, in this\ncommonwealth. The Author considering the Abolition of Slavery in this\nState, as an object of the first importance, not only to our moral\ncharacter and domestic peace, but even to our political salvation; and\nbeing persuaded that the accomplishment of so momentous and desirable an\nundertaking will in great measure depend upon the early adoption of some\nplan for that purpose, with diffidence submits to the consideration of\nhis countrymen his ideas on a subject of such consequence. He flatters\nhimself that the plan he ventures to suggest, is liable to fewer\nobjections than most others that have been submitted to the\nconsideration of the public, as it will be attended with a gradual\nchange of condition in the blacks, and cannot possibly affect the\ninterest either of =creditors=, or any other description of persons of\nthe =present generation=: and posterity he makes no doubt will feel\nthemselves relieved from a perilous and grievous burden by the timely\nadoption of a plan, whose operation may be felt by them, before they are\nborne down by a weight which threatens destruction to our happiness both\npublic and private._\n\n\n\n\n====>The following ADDITIONAL NOTES have been received from the Author\nsince the body of this work was printed off.\n\n_In page 20, after the word =arms=, in line 5, read this note:_\n\nThis was the case under the laws of the state; but the Act of 2. Cong.\nc. 33. for establishing an uniform militia throughout the United States,\nseems to have excluded all but free white men from bearing arms in the\nmilitia.\n\n_To the word =slave=, page 47, line 14, add the following note:_\n\nIt may not be improper here to note, that the first congress of the\nUnited States, at their third session, Dec. 1793, passed an act to\nprohibit the carrying on the slave trade from the United States to any\nforeign place or country; the provisions of which seem well calculated\nto restrain the citizens of united America from embarking in so infamous\na traffick.\n\n\n\n\nON THE STATE OF SLAVERY IN VIRGINIA.\n\n\nIn the preceding Enquiry[1] into the absolute rights of the citizens of\nunited America, we must not be understood as if those rights were\nequally and universally the privilege of all the inhabitants of the\nUnited States, or even of all those, who may challenge this land of\nfreedom as their native country. Among the blessings which the Almighty\nhath showered down on these states, there is a large portion of the\nbitterest draught that ever flowed from the cup of affliction. Whilst\nAmerica hath been the land of promise to Europeans, and their\ndescendants, it hath been the vale of death to millions of the wretched\nsons of Africa. The genial light of liberty, which hath here shone with\nunrivalled lustre on the former, hath yielded no comfort to the latter,\nbut to them hath proved a pillar of darkness, whilst it hath conducted\nthe former to the most enviable state of human existence. Whilst we were\noffering up vows at the shrine of Liberty, and sacrificing hecatombs\nupon her altars; whilst we swore irreconcilable hostility to her\nenemies, and hurled defiance in their faces; whilst we adjured the God\nof Hosts to witness our resolution to live free, or die, and imprecated\ncurses on their heads who refused to unite with us in establishing the\nempire of freedom; we were imposing upon our fellow men, who differ in\ncomplexion from us, a _slavery_, ten thousand times more cruel than the\nutmost extremity of those grievances and oppressions, of which we\ncomplained. Such are the inconsistencies of human nature; such the\nblindness of those who pluck not the beam out of their own eyes, whilst\nthey can espy a moat, in the eyes of their brother; such that partial\nsystem of morality which confines rights and injuries, to particular\ncomplexions; such the effect of that self-love which justifies, or\ncondemns, not according to principle, but to the agent. Had we turned\nour eyes inwardly when we supplicated the Father of Mercies to aid the\ninjured and oppressed; when we invoked the Author of Righteousness to\nattest the purity of our motives, and the justice of our cause;[2] and\nimplored the God of Battles to aid our exertions in its defence, should\nwe not have stood more self convicted than the contrite publican! Should\nwe not have left our gift upon the altar, that we might be first\nreconciled to our brethren whom we held in bondage? Should we not have\nloosed their chains, and broken their fetters? Or if the difficulties\nand dangers of such an experiment prohibited the attempt during the\nconvulsions of a revolution, is it not our duty to embrace the first\nmoment of constitutional health and vigour, to effectuate so desirable\nan object, and to remove from us a stigma, with which our enemies will\nnever fail to upbraid us, nor our consciences to reproach us? To form a\njust estimate of this obligation, to demonstrate the incompatibility of\na state of slavery with the principles of our government, and of that\nrevolution upon which it is founded, and to elucidate the practicability\nof its total, though gradual, abolition, it will be proper to consider\nthe nature of slavery, its properties, attendants, and consequences in\ngeneral; its rise, progress, and present state not only in this\ncommonwealth, but in such of our sister states as have either perfected,\nor commenced the great work of its extirpation; with the means they have\nadopted to effect it, and those which the circumstances and situation of\nour country may render it most expedient for us to pursue, for the\nattainment of the same noble and important end.[3]\n\n[Footnote 1: The subject of a preceding Lecture, with which the present\nwas immediately connected, was, An Enquiry into the Rights of Persons,\nas Citizens of the United States of America.]\n\n[Footnote 2: The American standard, at the commencement of those\nhostilities which terminated in the revolution, had these words upon\nit----AN APPEAL TO HEAVEN!]\n\n[Footnote 3: The Author here takes the liberty of making his\nacknowledgments to the reverend Jeremiah Belknap, D. D. of Boston, and\nto Zephaniah Swift, Esq. representative in congress from Connecticut,\nfor their obliging communications; he hath occasionally made use of them\nin several parts of this Lecture, where he may have omitted referring to\nthem.]\n\nAccording to Justinian [Lib. 1. Tit. 2.], the first general division of\npersons, in respect to their rights, is into freemen and slaves. It is\nequally the glory and the happiness of that country from which the\ncitizens of the United States derive their origin, that the traces of\nslavery, such as at present exists in several of the United States, are\nthere utterly extinguished. It is not my design to enter into a minute\nenquiry whether it ever had existence there, nor to compare the\nsituation of villeins, during the existence of pure villenage, with that\nof modern domestic slaves. The records of those times, at least, such as\nhave reached this quarter of the globe, are too few to throw a\nsatisfactory light on the subject. Suffice it that our ancestors\nmigrating hither brought not with them any prototype of that slavery\nwhich hath been established among us. The first introduction of it into\nVirginia was by the arrival of a Dutch ship from the coast of Africa\nhaving _twenty_ Negroes on board, who were sold here in the year 1620\n[Stith 182.]. In the year 1638 we find them in Massachusetts.[4] They\nwere introduced into Connecticut soon after the settlement of that\ncolony; that is to say, about the same period.[5] Thus early had our\nforefathers sown the seeds of an evil, which, like a leprosy, hath\ndescended upon their posterity with accumulated rancour, visiting the\nsins of the fathers upon succeeding generations.--The climate of the\nnorthern states less favourable to the constitution of the natives of\nAfrica [Dr. Belknap. Zephan. Swift.], than the southern, proved alike\nunfavourable to their propagation, and to the increase of their numbers\nby importations. As the southern colonies advanced in population, not\nonly importations increased there, but Nature herself, under a climate\nmore congenial to the African constitution, assisted in multiplying the\nblacks in those parts, no less than in diminishing their numbers in the\nmore rigorous climates of the north; this influence of climate moreover\ncontributed extremely to increase or diminish the value of the slave to\nthe purchasers, in the different colonies. White labourers, whose\nconstitutions were better adapted to the severe winters of the New\nEngland colonies, were there found to be preferable to the Negroes [Dr.\nBelknap. Zephan. Swift.], who, accustomed to the influence of an ardent\nsun, became almost torpid in those countries, not less adapted to give\nvigour to their laborious exercises, than unfavourable to the\nmultiplication of their species; in those colonies, where the winters\nwere not only milder, and of shorter duration, but succeeded by an\nintense summer heat, as invigorating to the African, as debilitating to\nthe European constitution, the Negroes were not barely more capable of\nperforming labour than the Europeans, or their descendants, but the\nmultiplication of the species was at least equal; and, where they met\nwith humane treatment, perhaps greater than among the whites. The\npurchaser therefore calculated not upon the value of the labour of his\nslave only, but, if a female, he regarded her as \"the fruitful mother of\nan hundred more:\" and many of these unfortunate people have there been\nin this state, whose descendants even in the compass of two or three\ngenerations have gone near to realize the calculation.--The great\nincrease of slavery in the southern, in proportion to the northern\nstates in the union, is therefore not attributable, _solely_, to the\neffect of sentiment, but to natural causes; as well as those\nconsiderations of profit, which have, perhaps, an equal influence over\nthe conduct of mankind in general, in whatever country, or under\nwhatever climate their destiny hath placed them. What else but\nconsiderations of this nature could have influenced the merchants of the\nfreest nation, at that time in the world, to embark in so nefarious a\ntraffic, as that of the human race, attended, as the African slave trade\nhas been, with the most atrocious aggravations of cruelty, perfidy, and\nintrigues, the objects of which have been the perpetual fomentation of\npredatory and intestine wars? What, but similar considerations, could\nprevail on the government of the same country, even in these days, to\npatronize a commerce so diametrically opposite to the generally received\nmaxims of that government. It is to the operation of these\nconsiderations in the parent country, not less than to their influence\nin the colonies, that the rise, increase, and continuance of slavery in\nthose British colonies which now constitute united America, are to be\nattributed, as I shall endeavour to shew in the course of the present\nenquiry. It is now time to enquire into the nature of slavery, in\ngeneral, and take a view of its consequences, and attendants in this\ncommonwealth, in particular.\n\n[Footnote 4: Dr. Belknap's answers to St. G. T.'s queries.]\n\n[Footnote 5: Letter from Zephaniah Swift to St. G. T.]\n\nSlavery, says a well informed writer [Hargrave's case of Negroe\nSomerset.] on the subject, has been attended with circumstances so\nvarious in different countries, as to render it difficult to give a\ngeneral definition of it. Justinian calls it a constitution of the law\nof nations, by which one man is made subject to another, contrary to\nnature [Lib. 1. Tit. 3. Sect. 2.]. Grotius describes it to be an\nobligation to serve another for life, in consideration of diet, and\nother common necessaries [Lib. 2. c. 5. Sect. 27]. Dr. Rutherforth,\nrejecting this definition, informs us, that perfect slavery is an\nobligation to be directed by another in all one's actions [Lib. 1. c.\n20. pa. 474.]. Baron Montesquieu defines it to be the establishment of a\nright, which gives one man such a power over another, as renders him\nabsolute master over his life and fortune [Lib. 15. c. 1.]. These\ndefinitions appear not to embrace the subject fully, since they respect\nthe condition of the slave, in regard to his _master_, only, and not in\nregard to the _state_, as well as the _master_. The author last\nmentioned observes, that the constitution of a state may be free, and\nthe subject not so. The subject free, and not the constitution of the\nstate [Lib. 12. c. 1.]. Pursuing this idea, instead of attempting a\ngeneral definition of slavery; I shall, by considering it under a\nthreefold aspect, endeavour to give a just idea of its nature.\n\nI. When a nation is, from any external cause, deprived of the right of\nbeing governed by its own laws, only, such a nation may be considered as\nin a state of _political slavery_. Such is the state of conquered\ncountries, and generally, of colonies, and other dependant governments.\nSuch was the state of united America before the revolution. In this case\nthe personal rights of the subject may be so far secured by wholesome\nlaws, as that the individual may be esteemed free, whilst the state is\nsubject to a higher power: this subjection of one nation, or people, to\nthe will of another, constitutes the first species of slavery, which, in\norder to distinguish it from the other two, I have called political;\ninasmuch as it exists only in respect to the governments, and not to the\nindividuals of the two countries. Of this it is not our business to\nspeak, at present.\n\nII. Civil liberty being, no other than natural liberty so far restrained\nby human laws, and no farther, as is necessary and expedient for the\ngeneral advantage of the public [Blackstone's Com. c. 125], whenever\nthat liberty is, by the laws of the state, further restrained than is\nnecessary and expedient for the general advantage, a state of _civil\nslavery_ commences immediately: this may affect the whole society, and\nevery description of persons in it, and yet the constitution of the\nstate be perfectly free. And this happens whenever the laws of a state\nrespect the form, or energy of the government, more than the happiness\nof the citizen; as in Venice, where the most oppressive species of civil\nslavery exists, extending to every individual in the state, from the\npoorest gondolier to the members of the senate, and the doge himself.\n\nThis species of slavery also exists whenever there is an inequality of\nrights, or privileges, between the subjects or citizens of the same\nstate, except such as necessarily result from the exercise of a public\noffice; for the pre-eminence of one class of men must be founded and\nerected upon the depression of another; and the measure of exaltation in\nthe former, is that of the slavery of the latter. In all governments,\nhowever constituted, or by what description soever denominated, wherever\nthe distinction of rank prevails, or is admitted by the constitution,\nthis species of slavery exists. It existed in every nation, and in every\ngovernment in Europe before the French revolution. It existed in the\nAmerican colonies before they became independent states; and\nnotwithstanding the maxims of equality which have been adopted in their\nseveral constitutions, it exists in most, if not all, of them, at this\nday, in the persons of our free Negroes and mulattoes; whose civil\nincapacities are almost as numerous as the civil rights of our free\ncitizens. A brief enumeration of them, may not be improper before we\nproceed to the third head.\n\nFree Negroes and mulattoes are by our constitution excluded from the\nright of suffrage,[6] and by consequence, I apprehend, from office too:\nthey were formerly incapable of serving in the militia, except as\ndrummers or pioneers, but now I presume they are enrolled in the lists\nof those that bear arms, though formerly punishable for presuming to\nappear at a muster-field [1723. c. 2.]. During the revolution war many\nof them were enlisted as soldiers in the regular army. Even slaves were\nnot rejected from military service at that period, and such as served\nfaithfully during the period of their enlistment, were emancipated by an\nact passed after the conclusion of the war [Oct. 1783. c. 3.]. An act of\njustice to which they were entitled upon every principle. All but\nhousekeepers, and persons residing upon the frontiers are prohibited\nfrom keeping, or carrying any gun, powder, shot, club, or other weapon\noffensive or defensive [1748. c. 31. Edit. 1794.]: Resistance to a white\nperson, in any case, was, formerly, and now, in any case, except a\nwanton assault on the Negroe or mulattoe, is punishable by whipping [Ib.\nc. 103.]. No Negroe or mulattoe can be a witness in any prosecution, or\ncivil suit in which a white person is a party [1794. c. 141.]. Free\nNegroes together with slaves were formerly denied the benefit of clergy\nin cases where it was allowed to white persons; but they are now upon an\nequal footing as to the allowance of clergy, though not as to the\nconsequence of that allowance, inasmuch as the court may superadd other\ncorporal punishments to the burning in the hand usually inflicted upon\nwhite persons, in the like cases [1794. c. 103.]. Emancipated Negroes\nmay be sold to pay the debts of their former master contracted before\ntheir emancipation; and they may be hired out to satisfy their taxes\nwhere no sufficient distress can be had. Their children are to be bound\nout apprentices by the overseers of the poor. Free Negroes have all the\nadvantages in capital cases, which white men are entitled to, except a\ntrial by a jury of their own complexion: and a slave suing for his\nfreedom shall have the same privilege. Free Negroes residing, or\nemployed to labour in any town must be registered; the same thing is\nrequired of such as go at large in any county. The penalty in both cases\nis a fine upon the person employing, or harbouring them, and\nimprisonment of the Negroe [1794. c. 163.]. The migration of free\nNegroes or mulattoes to this state is also prohibited; and those who do\nmigrate hither may be sent back to the place from whence they came\n[1794. c. 164.]. Any person, not being a Negroe, having one-fourth or\nmore Negroe blood in him is deemed a mulattoe. The law makes no other\ndistinction between Negroes and mulattoes, whether slaves or freemen.\nThese incapacities and disabilities are evidently the fruit of the third\nspecies of slavery, of which it remains to speak; or, rather, they are\nscions from the same common stock: which is,\n\nIII. That condition in which one man is subject to be directed by\nanother in all his actions; and this constitutes a state of _domestic\nslavery_; to which state all the incapacities and disabilities of civil\nslavery are incident, with the weight of other numerous calamities\nsuperadded thereto. And here it may be proper to make a short enquiry\ninto the origin and foundation of domestic slavery in other countries,\nprevious to its fatal introduction into this.\n\n[Footnote 6: The Constitution of Virginia, art. 7. declares, that the\nright of suffrage shall remain as then exercised: the act of 1723, c. 4\n(edit. 1733,), sect. 23, declared, that no Negroe, mulattoe, or Indian,\nshall have any vote at the election of burgesses, or any other election\nwhatsoever.--This act, it is presumed, was in force at the adoption of\nthe constitution.--The act of 1785, c. 55 (edit. of 1794, c. 17,), also\nexpressly excludes them from the right of suffrage.]\n\nSlaves, says Justinian, are either born such or become so [Inst. lib. 1.\ntit. 1.]. They are born slaves when they are children of bond women; and\nthey become slaves, either by the law of nations, that is, by captivity;\nfor it is the practice of our generals to sell their captives, being\naccustomed to preserve, and not to destroy them: or by the civil law,\nwhich happens when a free person, above the age of twenty, suffers\nhimself to be sold for the sake of sharing the price given for him. The\nauthor of the Commentaries on the Laws of England thus combats the\nreasonableness of all these grounds [1. b. c. 423.]: \"The conqueror,\"\nsays he, \"according to the civilians, had a right to the life of his\ncaptives; and having spared that, has a right to deal with him as he\npleases. But it is an untrue position, when taken generally, that by the\nlaw of nature or nations, a man may kill his enemy: he has a right to\nkill him only in particular cases; in cases of absolute necessity for\nself-defence; and it is plain that this absolute necessity did not\nsubsist, since the victor did not actually kill him, but made him\nprisoner. War itself is justifiable only on principles of\nself-preservation; and therefore it gives no other right over prisoners\nbut merely to disable them from doing harm to us, by confining their\npersons: much less can it give a right to kill, torture, abuse, plunder,\nor even to enslave, an enemy, when the war is over. Since therefore the\nright of _making_ slaves by captivity, depends on a supposed right of\nslaughter, that foundation failing, the consequence drawn from it must\nfail likewise. But, secondly, it is said slavery may begin _jure\ncivili_; when one man sells himself to another. This, if only meant of\ncontracts to serve, or work for, another, is very just: but when applied\nto strict slavery, in the sense of the laws of old Rome or modern\nBarbary, is also impossible. Every sale implies a price, a _quid pro\nquo_, an equivalent given to the seller, in lieu of what he transfers to\nthe buyer; but what equivalent can be given for life and liberty, both\nof which, in absolute slavery, are held to be in the master's disposal?\nHis property, also, the very price he seems to receive, devolves, _ipso\nfacto_, to his master, the instant he becomes a slave. In this case,\ntherefore, the buyer gives nothing, and the seller receives nothing: of\nwhat validity then can a sale be, which destroys the very principles\nupon which all sales are founded? Lastly we are told, that besides these\ntwo ways by which slaves are acquired, they may also be hereditary;\n\"_servi nascuntur_\"; the children of acquired slaves are, \"jure\nnaturæ\", by a negative kind of birthright, slaves also.--But _this,\nbeing built on the two former rights, =must= fall_ together with them.\nIf neither captivity, nor the sale of one's self, can by the law of\nnature and reason reduce the parent to slavery, _much less_ can they\nreduce the offspring.\" Thus by the most clear, manly, and convincing\nreasoning does this excellent author refute every claim upon which the\npractice of slavery is founded, or by which it has been supposed to be\njustified, at least, in modern times.[7] But were we even to admit, that\na captive taken in a _just war_, might by his conqueror be reduced to a\nstate of slavery, this could not justify the claim of Europeans to\nreduce the natives of Africa to that state: it is a melancholy, though\nwell-known fact, that in order to furnish supplies of these unhappy\npeople for the purposes of the slave trade, the Europeans have\nconstantly, by the most insidious (I had almost said infernal) arts,\nfomented a kind of perpetual warfare among the ignorant and miserable\npeople of Africa; and instances have not been wanting, where, by the\nmost shameful breach of faith, they have trepanned end made slaves of\nthe _sellers_ as well as the _sold_.[8] That such horrid practices have\nbeen sanctioned by a civilized nation; that a nation ardent in the cause\nof liberty, and enjoying its blessings in the fullest extent, can\ncontinue to vindicate a right established upon such a foundation; that a\npeople who have declared, \"That _all men =are by nature= equally[Bill of\nRights, art. 1.]-free =and= independent_\", and have made this\ndeclaration the first article in the foundation of their government,\nshould in defiance of so sacred a truth, recognized by themselves in so\nsolemn a manner, and on so important an occasion, tolerate a practice\nincompatible therewith, is such an evidence of the weakness and\ninconsistency of human nature, as every man who hath a spark of\npatriotic fire in his bosom must wish to see removed from his own\ncountry. If ever there was a cause, if ever an occasion, in which all\nhearts should be united, every nerve strained, and every power exerted,\nsurely the restoration of human nature to its inalienable right is such:\nWhatever obstacles, therefore, may hitherto have retarded the attempt,\nhe that can appreciate the honour and happiness of his country, will\nthink it time that we should attempt to surmount them.\n\n[Footnote 7: These arguments are, in fact, borrowed from the Spirit of\nLaws.]\n\n[Footnote 8: \"About the same time (the reign of queen Elizabeth) a\ntraffic in the human species, called Negroes, was introduced into\nEngland, which is one of the most odious and unnatural branches of trade\nthe sordid and avaricious mind of mortals ever invented.--It had been\ncarried on before this period by Genoese traders, who bought a patent\nfrom Charles the fifth, containing an exclusive right of carrying\nNegroes from the Portuguese settlements in Africa, to America and the\nWest Indies; but the English nation had not yet engaged in the\niniquitous traffic.--One William Hawkins, an expert English seaman,\nhaving made several voyages to the coast of Guinea, and from thence to\nBrazil and the West Indies, had acquired considerable knowledge of the\ncountries. At his death he left his journals with his son, John Hawkins,\nin which he described the lands of America and the West Indies as\nexceedingly rich and fertile, but utterly neglected for want of hands to\nimprove them. He represented the natives of Europe as unequal to the\ntask in such a scorching climate; but those of Africa as well adapted to\nundergo the labours requisite. Upon which John Hawkins immediately\nformed a design of transporting Africans into the western world; and\nhaving drawn a plan for the execution of it, he laid it before some of\nhis opulent neighbours for encouragement and approbation. To them it\nappeared promising and advantageous. A subscription was opened and\nspeedily filled up, by Sir Lionel Ducket, Sir Thomas Lodge, Sir William\nWinter, and others, who plainly perceived the vast profits that would\nresult from such a trade. Accordingly three ships were fitted out, and\nmanned by an hundred select sailors, whom Hawkins encouraged to go with\nhim by promises of good treatment and great pay. In the year 1562 he set\nsail for Africa, and in a few weeks arrived at the country called Sierra\nLeona, where he began his commerce with the Negroes. While he trafficked\nwith them, he found the means of giving them a charming description of\nthe country to which he was bound; the unsuspicious Africans listened to\nhim with apparent joy and satisfaction, and seemed remarkably fond of\nhis European trinkets, food, and clothes. He pointed out to them the\nbarrenness of the country, and their naked and wretched condition, and\npromised if any of them were weary of their miserable circumstances, and\nwould go along with him, he would carry them to a plentiful land, where\nthey should _live happy_, and _receive_ an abundant _recompence_ for\ntheir labours. He told them the country was inhabited by such men as\nhimself and his jovial companions, and _assured_ them of _kind usage_\nand _great friendship_. In short, the Negroes were overcome by his\nflattering promises, and _three hundred_ stout fellows accepted his\noffer, and consented to embark along with him. Every thing being settled\non the most amicable terms between them, Hawkins made preparations for\nhis voyage. But in the night before his departure his Negroes were\nattacked by a large body from a different quarter; Hawkins, being\nalarmed with the shrieks and cries of dying persons, ordered his men to\nthe assistance of his slaves, and having surrounded the assailants,\ncarried a number of them on board as prisoners of war. The next day he\nset sail for Hispaniola with his cargo of human creatures; but during\nthe passage, he treated the prisoners of war in a different manner from\nhis volunteers. Upon his arrival he disposed of his cargo to great\nadvantage; and endeavoured to inculcate on the Spaniards who bought the\nnegroes the same distinction to be observed: but they having _purchased\nall at the same rate_, considered them as slaves of the same condition,\nand consequently treated all alike.\"\n\nHawkins having returned to England, soon after made preparations for a\nsecond voyage. \"In his passage he fell in with the Minion man of war,\nwhich accompanied him to the Coast of Africa. After his arrival he began\nas formerly to traffic with the Negroes, endeavouring by persuasions and\n_prospects_ of _reward_, to induce them to go along with him--but now\nthey were more reserved and jealous of his designs, and as none of their\nneighbours had returned, they were apprehensive he had killed and eat\nthem. The crew of the man of war observing the Africans backward and\nsuspicious, began to laugh at his gentle and dilatory methods of\nproceeding, and proposed having immediate recourse to force and\ncompulsion--but Hawkins considered it as cruel and unjust, and tried by\npersuasions, promises and threats, to prevail on them to desist from a\npurpose so unwarrantable and barbarous. In vain did he urge his\nauthority and instructions from the Queen: the bold and headstrong\nsailors would hear of no restraints. Drunkenness and avarice are deaf to\nthe voice of humanity. They pursue their violent design, and, after\nseveral unsuccessful attacks, in which _many_ of them lost their\n_lives_, the cargo was at length compleated by barbarity and force.\n\n\"Hence arose that horrid and inhuman practice of dragging Africans into\nslavery, which has since been _so_ pursued, in defiance of every\nprinciple of justice and religion. Had Negroes been brought from the\nflames, to which in some countries they were devoted on their falling\nprisoners of war, and in others, sacrificed at the funeral obsequies of\nthe great and powerful among themselves; in short had they by this\ntraffic been delivered from _torture_ or _death_, European merchants\n_might have some excuse_ to plead in its vindication. _But according to\nthe common mode in which it has been conducted_, we must confess it a\ndifficult matter to conceive a _single_ argument in its defence. And\nthough policy has given countenance and sanction to the trade, yet every\ncandid and impartial man must confess, that it is atrocious and\nunjustifiable in every light in which it can be viewed, and turns\nmerchants into a band of robbers, and trade into atrocious acts of fraud\nand violence.\" Historical Account of South-Carolina and Georgia.\nAnonymous. London printed in 1779--page 20, &c.\n\n\"The number of Negroe slaves bartered for in one year (viz. 1768), on\nthe Coast of Africa from Cape Blanco, to Rio Congo, amounted to 104,000\nsouls, whereof more than half (viz. 53,000) were shipped on account of\nBritish merchants, and 6,300 on the account of British Americans.\" The\nLaw of Retribution by Granville Sharpe, Esq. page 147. note.]\n\nBut how loudly soever reason, justice, and (may I not add) religion,[9]\ncondemn the practice of slavery, it is acknowledged to have been very\nancient, and almost universal. The Greeks, the Romans, and the ancient\nGermans also practiced it, as well as the more ancient Jews and\nEgyptians. By the Germans it was transmitted to the various kingdoms\nwhich arose in Europe out of the ruins of the Roman empire. In England\nit subsisted for some ages under the name of _villeinage_.[10] In Asia\nit seems to have been general, and in Africa universal, and so remains\nto this day: In Europe it hath long since declined; its first declension\nthere, is said to have been in Spain, as early as the eighth century;\nand it is alleged to have been general about the middle of the\nfourteenth, and was near expiring in the sixteenth, when the discovery\nof the American continent, and the eastern and western coasts of Africa\ngave rise to the introduction of a new species of slavery. It took its\norigin from the Portuguese, who, in order to supply the Spaniards with\npersons able to sustain the fatigue of cultivating their new possessions\nin America, particularly the islands, opened a trade between Africa and\nAmerica for the sale of Negroes, about the year 1508. The expedient of\nhaving slaves for labour was not long peculiar to the Spaniards, being\nafterwards adopted by other European colonies [Hargrave, ib.]: and\nthough some attempts have been made to stop its progress in most of the\nUnited States, and several of them have the fairest prospects of success\nin attempting the extirpation of it, yet is others, it hath taken such\ndeep root, as to require the most strenuous exertions to eradicate it.\n\n[Footnote 9: See the various tracts on this subject, by Granville\nSharpe, Esq. of London.]\n\n[Footnote 10: The condition of a _villein_ had most of the incidents I\nhave before described in giving the idea of _slavery_, in general. His\nservices were uncertain and indeterminate, such as his lord thought fit\nto require; or as some of our ancient writers express it, he knew not in\nthe evening what he was to do in the morning, he was bound to do\nwhatever he was commanded. He was liable to beating, imprisonment, and\nevery other chastisement his lord could devise, except killing and\nmaiming. He was incapable of acquiring property for his own benefit; he\nwas himself the subject of property; as such saleable and transmissible.\nIf he was a villein regardant he passed with the land to which he was\nannexed, but might be severed at the will of his lord; if he was a\nvillein in gross, he was an hereditament, or a chattel real, according\nto his lord's interest; being descendible to the heir, where the lord\nwas absolute _owner_, and transmissible to the executor where the lord\nhad only a term of years in him. Lastly, the slavery extended to the\nissue, if the father was a villein, our law deriving the condition of\nthe child from that of the father, contrary to the Roman law, in which\nthe rule was, _partus sequitur ventum_. Hargrave's Case of Negroe\nSomerset, page 26 and 27.\n\nThe same writer refers the origin of vassalage in England, principally\nto the wars between the British, Saxon, Danish, and Norman nations,\ncontending for the sovereignty of that country, in opposition to the\nopinion of judge Fitzherbert, who supposes villeinage to have commenced\nat the conquest. Ib. 27, 28. And this he proves from Spelman and other\nantiquaries. Ib. The writ _de nativo habendo_, by which the lord was\nenabled to recover his villein that had absconded from him, creates a\npresumption that all the natives of England were at some period reduced\nto a state of villeinage, the word _nativus_, which signified a villein,\nmost clearly designating the person meant thereby to be a _native_: this\netymon is obvious, as well from the import of the word _nativus_, as\nfrom the history of the more remote ages of Britain. Sir Edward Coke's\nEtymology, \"_quia plerumque nascuntur servi_,\" is one of those puerile\nconceits, which so frequently occur in his works, and are unworthy of so\ngreat a man.\n\nBarrington in his observations upon _magna carta_ c. 4. observes, that\nthe villeins who held by servile tenures were considered as so many\nnegroes on a sugar plantation; the words \"_liber homo_,\" in magna carta,\nc. 14. with all deference to sir Edward Coke, who says they mean a\n_free-holder_, I understand as meaning _a free man_,[Liber homo, &c. the\ntitle of _freeman_ was formerly _confined_ to the _nobility_ and\n_gentry_ who were _descended_ of free ancestors.--Burgh's Political\nDisquisitions, vol. iii. p. 400, who cites Spelman's Glossary, voc.\nLiber homo.] as contradistinguished from a _villein_: for in the very\nnext sentence the words \"et _villanus_ alterius quam noster,\" occur.\nVilleins must certainly have been numerous at that day, to have obtained\na place in the Great Charter. It is no less an evidence that their\ncondition was in a state of melioration.\n\nIn Poland, at this day, the peasants seem to be in an absolute state of\nslavery, or at least of villeinage, to the nobility, who are the\nland-holders.]\n\nThe first introduction of Negroes into Virginia happened, as we have\nalready mentioned, in the year 1620; from that period to the year 1662\nthere is no compilation of our laws, in print, now to be met with. In\nthe revision made in that year, we find an act declaring that no\nEnglishman, trader, or other, who shall bring in any Indians as servants\nand assign them over to any other, shall sell them for _slaves_, nor for\nany other time than English of like age should serve by act of assembly\n[1662. c. 136.]. The succeeding session all children born in this\ncountry were declared to be bond, or free, according to the condition of\nthe mother [1662. Sess. d. c. 12.]. In 1667 it was declared, \"That the\nconferring of baptism doth not alter the condition of the person\nbaptized, as to his bondage or freedom [1667. c. 2.].\" This was done,\n\"that divers masters freed from this doubt may more carefully endeavour\nthe propagating of Christianity, by permitting their slaves to be\nbaptized.\" It would have been happy for this unfortunate race of men if\nthe same tender regard for their bodies, had always manifested itself in\nour laws, as is shewn for their souls in this act. But this was not the\ncase; for two years after, we meet with an act, declaring, \"That if any\nslave resist his master, or others, by his master's orders correcting\nhim, and by the extremity of the correction should chance to die, such\ndeath should not be accounted felony: but the master or other person\nappointed by his master to punish him, be acquit from molestation:\n_since it could not be presumed that prepensive malice_, which alone\nmakes _murder felony_, should induce any man to destroy his own\nestate.\"[11] This cruel and tyrannical act was, at three different\nperiods [1705. c. 49. 1723. c. 4. 1748. c. 31.] re-enacted, with very\nlittle alteration; and was not finally repealed till the year 1788\n[1788. c. 23.]--above a century after it had first disgraced our code.\nIn 1668 we meet with the first traces of emancipation, in an act which\nsubjects Negroe women set free to the tax on titheables [1668. c. 7.].\nTwo years after [1670. c. 5.], an act passed prohibiting _Indians_ or\nNegroes, manumitted, or otherwise set free, though baptized, from\npurchasing Christian servants [1670. c. 12.]. From this act it is\nevident that _Indians_ had _before_ that time been made slaves, as well\nas Negroes, though we have no traces of the original act by which they\nwere reduced to that condition. An act of the same session recites that\ndisputes had arisen whether Indians taken in war by any other nation,\nand by that nation sold to the English, are servants for _life_, or for\na term of years; and declaring that all _servants_, not being\nChristians, imported into this country by _shipping_, shall be _slaves_\nfor their life-time; but that what shall come by land, shall serve, if\nboys and girls, until thirty years of age; if men and women twelve\nyears, and no longer. On a rupture with the Indians in the year 1679 it\nwas, for the _better encouragement of soldiers_, declared that what\n_Indian_ prisoners should be _taken in war_ should be free purchase to\nthe soldier _taking_ them [1679. c. 1.]. Three years after it was\ndeclared that all _servants_ brought into this country by sea or land,\nnot being Christians, whether Negroes, Moors, mulattoes or Indians,\nexcept Turks and Moors in amity with Great Britain, and all Indians\nwhich should thereafter be sold by neighbouring Indians, or any others\ntrafficking with us, as slaves, should be slaves to all intents and\npurposes [1682. c. 1.]. This act was re-enacted in the year 1705, and\nafterwards in 1753 [1705 c. 49. 1753. c. 2.], nearly in the same terms.\nIn 1705 an act was made, authorising a free and open trade for all\npersons, at all times, and at all places, with all Indians whatsoever\n[1705 c. 52.]. On the authority of this act, the general court in April\nterm 1787 decided that no Indians brought into Virginia since the\npassing thereof, nor their descendants, can be slaves in this\ncommonwealth.[12] In October 1778 the general assembly passed the first\nact which occurs in our code for prohibiting the importation of slaves\n[1778. c. 1.]; thereby declaring that no slave should thereafter be\nbrought into this commonwealth by land, or by water; and that every\nslave imported contrary thereto, should upon such importation be free:\nwith an exception as to such as might belong to persons migrating from\nthe other states, or be claimed by descent, devise, or marriage, or be\nat that time the actual property of any citizen of this commonwealth,\nresiding in any other of the United States, or belonging to travellers\nmaking a transient stay, and carrying their slaves away with them.--In\n1705 this act unfortunately underwent some alteration, by declaring that\nslaves thereafter brought into this commonwealth, and kept therein one\nwhole _year together_, or so long at different times as shall _amount to\na year_, shall be free. By this means the difficulty of proving the\nright to freedom will be not a little augmented: for the fact of the\nfirst importation, where the right to freedom immediately ensued, might\nhave been always proved without difficulty; but where a slave is subject\nto removal from place to place, and his right to freedom is postponed\nfor so long a time as a whole year, or perhaps several years, the\nprovisions in favour of liberty may be too easily evaded. The same act\ndeclares that no persons shall thenceforth be slaves in this\ncommonwealth, except such as were so on the first day of that session\n(Oct. 17th, 1785), and the descendants of the females of them. This act\nwas re-enacted in the revisal made in 1792 [See acts of 1794, c. 103.].\nIn 1793 an additional act passed, authorising and requiring any justice\nof the peace having notice of the importation of any slaves, directly or\nindirectly, from any part of Africa or the West Indies, to cause such\nslave to be immediately apprehended and transported out of the\ncommonwealth [Edit. of 1794. c. 164.]. Such is the rise, progress, and\npresent foundation of slavery in Virginia, so far as I have been able to\ntrace it. The present number of slaves in Virginia, is immense, as\nappears by the census taken in 1791, amounting to no less than 292,427\nsouls: nearly two-fifths of the whole population of the\ncommonwealth.[13] We may console ourselves with the hope that this\nproportion will not increase, the further importation of slaves being\nprohibited, whilst the free migrations of white people hither is\nencouraged. But this hope affords no other relief from the evil of\nslavery, than a diminution of those apprehensions which are naturally\nexcited by the detention of so large a number of oppressed individuals\namong us, and the possibility that they may one day be roused to an\nattempt to shake off their chains.\n\n[Footnote 11: Among the Israelites, according to the Mosaical law, \"If a\nman smote his servant, or his maid, with a rod, and he died under his\nhand, he should surely be punished--notwithstanding if he continue a day\nor two, he should not be punished [Exod. c. 21]:\" for, saith the text,\nhe is _his money_. Our legislators appear to have adopted the reason of\nthe latter clause, without the humanity of the former part of the law.]\n\n[Footnote 12: Hannah and other Indians, against Davis.--Since this\nadjudication, I have met with a manuscript act of assembly made in 1691\nc. 9 entitled, \"An Act for a free Trade with Indians,\" the enacting\nclause of which is in the very words of the act of 1705. c. 52. A\nsimilar title to an act of that session occurs in the edition of 1733.\np. 94. and the chapter is numbered as in the manuscript. If this\nmanuscript be authentic (which there is some reason to presume, it being\ncopied in some blank leaves at the end of Purvis's edition, and\napparently written about the time of the passage of the act), it would\nseem that no Indians brought into Virginia for more than a century, nor\nany of their descendents, can be retained in slavery in this\ncommonwealth.]\n\n[Footnote 13: Although it be true that the number of slaves in the\n_whole_ state bears the proportion of 292,427, to 747,610, the whole\nnumber of souls in the state, that is, nearly as _two_ to _five_; yet\nthis proportion is by no means _uniform_ throughout the state. In the\nforty-four counties lying upon the Bay, and the great rivers of the\nstate, and comprehended by a line including Brunswick, Cumberland,\nGoochland, Hanover, Spottsylvania, Stafford, Prince William and Fairfax,\nand the counties eastward thereof, the number of slaves is 196,542, and\nthe number of free persons, including free Negroes and mulattoes,\n198,371 only. So that the blacks in that populous and extensive district\nof country are _more numerous_ than the whites. In the second class,\ncomprehending nineteen counties, and extending from the last mentioned\nline to the Blue Ridge, and including the populous counties of Frederick\nand Berkeley, beyond the Blue Ridge, there are 82,286 slaves, and\n136,251 free persons; the number of free persons in that class not being\ntwo to one, to the slaves. In the third class the proportion is\nconsiderably increased; the eleven counties of which it consists contain\nonly 11,218 slaves, and 76,281 free persons. This class reaches to the\nAllegany ridge of mountains: the fourth and last class, comprehending\nfourteen counties westward of the third class, contains only 2,381\nslaves, and 42,288 free persons. It is obvious from this statement that\nalmost all the dangers and inconveniences which may be apprehended from\na state of slavery on the one hand, or an attempt to abolish it, on the\nother, will be confined to the people eastward of the blue ridge of\nmountains.]\n\nWhatever inclination the first inhabitants of Virginia might have to\nencourage slavery, a disposition to check its progress, and increase,\nmanifested itself in the legislature even before the close of the last\ncentury. So long ago as the year 1669 we find the title of an act [Edit.\nof 1733. c. 12.], laying an imposition upon _servants_, and _slaves_,\nimported into this country; which was either continued, revised, or\nincreased, by a variety of temporary acts, passed between that period\nand the revolution in 1776.[14]--One of these acts passed in 1723, by a\nmarginal note appears to have been repealed by proclamation, Oct. 24,\n1724. In 1732 a duty of five per cent. was laid on slaves imported, to\nbe paid by the buyers; a measure calculated to render it as little\nobnoxious as possible to the _English_ merchants trading to Africa, and\nnot improbably suggested by them, to the privy council in England. The\npreamble to this act is in these remarkable words, \"We your majesty's\nmost dutiful and loyal subjects, &c. taking into our serious\nconsideration the exigencies of your government here, and that the duty\nlaid upon liquors will not be sufficient to defray the necessary\nexpences thereof, do humbly represent to your majesty, that _no other_\nduty can be laid upon our import or export, without oppressing your\nsubjects, than a duty upon _slaves imported_, to be paid by the buyers,\n_agreeable to your majesty's instructions_ to your lieutenant governor.\"\nThis act was only for the short period of four years, but seems to have\nbeen continued from time to time till the year 1751, when the duty\nexpired, but was revived the next year. In the year 1740 an additional\nduty of five per cent. was imposed for four years, for the purpose of an\nexpedition against the Spaniards, &c. to be likewise paid by the buyers:\nand in 1742 the whole duty was continued till July 1, 1747.--The act of\n1752, by which these duties were revived and continued (as well as\nseveral former acts), takes notice that the duty had been found _no ways\nburdensome to the traders_ in slaves. In 1754 an additional duty of five\nper cent. was imposed for the term of three years, by an act for\nencouraging and protecting the settlers on the Missisippi: this duty,\nlike all the former, was to be paid by the buyers. In 1759 a duty of 20\nper cent. was imposed upon all slaves imported into Virginia from\nMaryland, North Carolina, or other places in America, to continue for\nseven years. In 1769 the same duty was further continued. In the same\nsession the duty of five per cent. was continued for three years, and an\nadditional duty of ten per cent. to be likewise paid by the buyers, was\nimposed for seven years; and a further duty of five per cent. was, by a\nseparate act of the same session, imposed for the better support of the\ncontingent charges of government, to be paid by the buyers. In 1772 all\nthese duties were further continued for the term of five years from the\nexpiration of the acts then in force: the assembly at the same time\npetitioned the throne,[15] _to remove all those restraints which\ninhibited_ his majesty's governors assenting to such _laws_ as _might\ncheck so very pernicious a commerce_, as that of slavery.\n\n[Footnote 14: The following is a list of the acts, or titles of acts,\nimposing duties on slaves imported, which occur in the various\ncompilations of our laws, or in the Sessions Acts, or Journals.\n\n1699, c. 12. title only retained. Edit. of 1733, p. 113\n1701, c. 5. the same, 116\n1704, c. 4. the same, 122\n1705, c. 1. the same, 126\n1710, c. 1. the same, 239\n1712, c. 3. the same, 282\n1723, c. 1. repealed by proclamation, 333\n1727, c. 1. enacted with a suspending clause, and the royal assent\nrefused, 376\n\n1732, c. 3. printed at large, 469\n1734, c. 3. printed at large in Sessions Acts.\n1736, c. 1. the same.\n1738, c. 6. the same.\n1740, c. 2. the same.\n1742, c. 2. the same.\n\nFrom this period I have not been able to refer to the Sessions Acts.\n\n1752, c. 1. printed at large in the edit. of 1769, 281\n1754, c. 1. the same, 319\n1755, c. 2. Sessions Acts. Ten per cent. in addition to all former\nduties.\n\n1759, c. 1. printed at large, edition of 1769, 369\n1763, c. 1. Journals of that session.\n1766, c. 3, 4. printed at large, edit. of 1769, 461, 462 c. 15.\nadditional duty, the title only is printed, being repealed by the crown,\nIb. 473\n\n1769, c. 7, 8, and 12. title only printed, edition of 1785, 6, 7\n1772, c. 15. title only printed, Ibidem, 24]\n\n[Footnote 15:====>The following extract from a petition to the throne,\npresented from the house of burgesses of Virginia, April 1, 1772, will\nshew the sense of the people of Virginia on the subject of slavery at\nthat period.\n\n\"The many instances of your majesty's benevolent intentions and more\ngracious disposition to promote the prosperity and happiness of your\nsubjects in the colonies, encourages us to look up to the throne, and\nimplore your majesty's paternal assistance in averting a calamity of a\nmost alarming nature.\"\n\n\"The importation of slaves into the colonies from the coast of Africa\nhath long been considered as a trade of great inhumanity, and under its\n_present encouragement_, we have too much reason to fear _will endanger\nthe very existence_ of your majesty's American dominions.\"\n\n\"We are sensible that some of your majesty's subjects of _Great Britain_\nmay reap emoluments from this sort of traffic, but when we consider that\nit greatly retards the settlement of the colonies, with _more useful_\ninhabitants, and may, in time, have the most destructive influence, we\npresume to hope that the _interest of a few_ be disregarded when placed\nin competition with the security and happiness of such numbers of your\nmajesty's dutiful and loyal subjects.\"\n\n\"Deeply impressed with these sentiments, we most humbly beseech your\nmajesty to _remove all those restraints_ on your majesty's governors of\nthis colony, _which inhibit their assenting to such laws as might check\nso very pernicious a commerce_.\" Journals of the House of Burgesses,\npage 131.\n\nThis petition produced no effect, as appears from the first clause of\nour CONSTITUTION, where among other acts of misrule, \"the inhuman use of\nthe royal negative\" in refusing us permission to exclude slaves from\namong us by law, is enumerated, among the reasons for _separating from\nGreat Britain_.]\n\nIn the course of this enquiry it is easy to trace the desire of the\nlegislature to put a stop to the further importation of slaves; and had\nnot this desire been uniformly opposed on the part of the crown, it is\nhighly probable that event would have taken effect at a much earlier\nperiod than it did. A duty of five per cent. to be paid by the buyers,\nat first, with difficulty obtained the royal assent. Requisitions from\nthe crown for aids, on particular occasions, afforded a pretext from\ntime to time for increasing the duty from five, to ten, and finally to\ntwenty per cent. with which the _buyer_ was uniformly made chargeable.\nThe wishes of the people of this colony, were not sufficient to\ncounterbalance the interest of the English merchants, trading to Africa,\nand it is probable, that however disposed to put a stop to so infamous a\ntraffic by law, we should never have been able to effect it, so long as\nwe might have continued dependant on the British government: an object\nsufficient of itself to justify a revolution. That the legislature of\nVirginia were _sincerely_ disposed to put a stop to it, cannot be\ndoubted; for even during the tumult and confusion of the revolution, we\nhave seen that they availed themselves of the earliest opportunity, to\ncrush for ever so pernicious and infamous a commerce, by an act passed\nin October 1778, the penalties of which, though apparently lessened by\nthe act of 1792, are still equal to the value of the slave; being two\nhundred dollars upon the importer, and one hundred dollars upon every\nperson buying or selling an imported slave.\n\nA system uniformly persisted in for nearly a whole century, and finally\ncarried into effect, so soon as the legislature was unrestrained by \"the\ninhuman exercise of the royal negative,\" evinces the sincerity of that\ndisposition which the legislature had shewn during so long a period, to\nput a check to the growing evil. From the time that the duty was raised\nabove five per cent. it is probable that the importation of slaves into\nthis colony decreased. The demand for them in the more southern colonies\nprobably contributed also to lessen the numbers imported into this: for\nsome years immediately preceding the revolution, the importation of\nslaves into Virginia might almost be considered as at an end; and\nprobably would have been entirely so, if the ingenuity of the merchant\nhad not found out the means of evading the heavy duty, by pretended\nsales, at which the slaves were bought in by some friend, at a quarter\nof their real value.\n\nTedious and unentertaining as this detail may appear to all others, a\ncitizen of Virginia will feel some satisfaction at reading so clear a\nvindication of his country, from the opprobrium, but too lavishly\nbestowed upon her of fostering slavery in her bosom, whilst she boasts a\nsacred regard to the liberty of her citizens, and of mankind in general.\nThe acrimony of such censures must abate, at least in the breasts of the\ncandid, upon an impartial review of the subject here brought before\nthem; and if in addition to what we have already advanced, they consider\nthe difficulties attendant on any plan for the abolition of slavery, in\na country where so large a proportion of the inhabitants are slaves; and\nwhere a still larger proportion of the cultivators of the earth are of\nthat description of men, they will probably feel emotions of sympathy\nand compassion, both for the slave and for his master, succeed to those\nhasty prejudices, which even the best dispositions are not exempt from\ncontracting, upon subjects where there is a deficiency of information.\n\nWe are next to consider the condition of slaves in Virginia, or the\nlegal consequences attendant on a state of slavery in this commonwealth;\nand here it is not my intention to notice those laws, which consider\nslaves, merely as _property_, and have from time to time been enacted to\nregulate the disposition of them, _as such_; for these will be more\nproperly considered elsewhere: my intention at present is therefore to\ntake a view of such laws, only, as regard slaves, as a distinct class of\n_persons_, whose rights, if indeed they possess any, are reduced to a\nmuch narrower compass, than those, of which we have been speaking\nbefore.\n\nCivil rights, we may remember, are reducible to three primary heads; the\nright of personal security; the right of personal liberty; and the right\nof private property. In a state of slavery the two last are wholly\nabolished, the person of the slave being at the absolute disposal of his\nmaster; and property, what he is incapable, in that state, either of\nacquiring, or holding, to his own use. Hence it will appear how\nperfectly irreconcilable a state of slavery is to the principles of a\ndemocracy, which form the _basis_ and _foundation_ of our government.\nFor our bill of rights declares, \"that all men are by nature _equally\nfree_ and independent, and have certain rights of which they cannot\ndeprive or divest their posterity--namely, the enjoyment of life and\n_liberty_, with the means of _acquiring_ and _possessing property_.\"\nThis is indeed no more than a recognition of the first principles of the\nlaw of nature, which teaches us this equality, and enjoins every man,\nwhatever advantages he may possess over another, as to the various\nqualities or endowments of body or mind, to practice the precepts of the\nlaw of nature to those who are in these respects his _inferiors_, no\nless than it enjoins his _inferiors_ to practise them towards _him_.\nSince he has no more right to insult _them_, than they have to injure\nhim. Nor does the _bare unkindness of nature_ or of fortune condemn a\nman to a _worse_ condition than others, as to the enjoyment of common\nprivileges [Spavan's Puff. vol. 1. c. 17.]. It would be hard to\nreconcile reducing the Negroes to a state of slavery to these\nprinciples, unless we first degrade them below the rank of human beings,\nnot only politically, but also physically and morally.--The Roman\nlawyers look upon those only properly as _persons_, who are _free_,\nputting _slaves_ into the rank of _goods_ and _chattels_; and the policy\nof our legislature, as well as the practice of slave-holders in America\nin general, seems conformable to that idea: but surely it is time we\nshould admit the evidence of moral truth, and learn to regard them as\nour fellow men, and equals, except in those particulars where accident,\nor perhaps nature, may have give us some advantage; a recompence for\nwhich they perhaps enjoy in other respects.\n\nSlavery, says Hargrave, always imports an obligation of perpetual\nservice, which only the consent of the master can dissolve: it also\ngenerally gives to the master an arbitrary power of administring every\nsort of correction, however inhuman, not immediately affecting life or\nlimb, and even these in some countries, as formerly in Rome, and at this\nday among the Asiatics and Africans, are left exposed to the arbitrary\nwill of a master, or protected only by fines or other slight\npunishments. The property of the slave also is absolutely the property\nof his master, the slave himself being the subject of property, and as\nsuch saleable, or transmissible at the will of his master.--A slavery,\nso malignant as that described, does not leave to its wretched victims\nthe least vestige of any civil right, and even divests them of all their\nnatural rights. It does not, however, appear, that the rigours of\nslavery in this country were ever as great, as those above described:\nyet it must be confessed, that, at times, they have fallen very little\nshort of them.\n\nThe first severe law respecting slaves, now to be met with in our code,\nis that of 1669, already mentioned, which declared that the death of a\nslave _resisting_ his master, or other person correcting him by his\norder, _happening by extremity of the correction_, should not be\naccounted felony. The alterations which this law underwent in three\nsuccessive acts [1705. c. 49. 1723, c. 4. 1748. c. 31.], were by no\nmeans calculated effectually to mitigate its severity; it seems rather\nto have been augmented by the act of 1723, which declared that a person\nindicted for the murder of a slave, and found guilty of _manslaughter_,\nshould not incur any punishment for the same.[16]\n\n[Footnote 16: In December term 1788, one John Huston was tried in the\ngeneral court for the murder of a slave; the jury found him guilty of\nmanslaughter, and the court, upon a motion in arrest of judgment,\ndischarged him without any punishment. The general assembly being then\nsitting, some of the members of the court mentioned the case to some\nleading characters in the legislature, and the act was at the same\nsession repealed.]\n\nAll these acts were at length repealed in 1788 [1788. 2. 23.]. So that\nhomicide of a slave stands now upon the same footing, as in the case of\nany other person. In 1672 it was declared lawful for any person pursuing\nany runaway Negroe, mulattoe, Indian slave, or _servant for life_, by\nvirtue of an _hue and cry_, to kill them in case of resistance, without\nbeing questioned for the same [1672. c. 8.]. A few years afterwards this\nact was extended to persons _employed to apprehend_ runaways [1680. c.\n10.]. In 1705, these acts underwent some small alteration; two justices\nbeing authorised by proclamation to _outlaw_ runaways, who might\nthereafter be _killed_ and destroyed by any person whatsoever, by _such\nways and means_ as he may think fit, without accusation or impeachment\nof any crime for so doing [1705. c. 49.]: And if any such slave were\napprehended, he might be punished at the discretion of the county court,\neither by _dismembering_, or in any other manner not _touching life_.\nThe inhuman rigour of this act was afterwards [1723. c. 4. 1748. c. 31.]\nextended to the venial offence of going abroad by night, if the slave\nwas _notoriously_ guilty of it.--Such are the cruelties to which a state\nof slavery gives birth; such the horrors to which the human mind is\ncapable of being reconciled, by its adoption. The dawn of humanity at\nlength appeared in the year 1769, when the power of dismembering, even\nunder the authority of a county court, was restricted to the single\noffence of _attempting_ to ravish a white woman [1769. c. 19.], in which\ncase perhaps the punishment is perhaps not more than commensurate to the\ncrime. In 1772 some restraints were laid upon the practice of outlawing\nslaves, requiring that it should appear to the _satisfaction_ of the\njustices that the slaves were outlying, and _doing mischief_ [1772. c.\n9.]. These loose expressions of the act, left too much in the discretion\nof men, not much addicted to weighing their import.--In 1792, every\nthing relative to the outlawry of slaves was _expunged_ from our code\n[Edit. 1794. c. 103.], and I trust will never again find a place in it.\nBy the act of 1680, a Negroe, mulattoe, or Indian, bond or _free_,\npresuming to lift his hand in opposition to any Christian, should\nreceive thirty lashes on his bare back for every offence [1680. c. 10.\n1705. c.]. The same act prohibited slaves from carrying any club, staff,\ngun, sword, or other weapon, offensive or defensive. This was afterwards\nextended to all Negroes, mulattoes and Indians whatsoever, with a few\nexceptions in favour of housekeepers, residents on a frontier\nplantation, and such as were enlisted in the militia [1723. c. 4.].\nSlaves, by these and other acts [1705. c. 49. 1723. c. 4. 1748. c. 31.\n1753. c. 2. 1785. c. 77.], are prohibited from going abroad without\nleave in writing from their masters, and if they do, may be whipped: any\nperson suffering a slave to remain on his plantation for four hours\ntogether, or dealing with him without leave in writing from his master,\nis subject to a fine. A runaway slave may be apprehended and committed\nto jail, and if not claimed within three months (being first advertised)\nhe shall be hired out, having an iron collar first put about his neck:\nand if not claimed within a year shall be sold [1753. c. 2.]. These\nprovisions were in general re-enacted in 1792 [Edit. of 1794. c. 103.\n131.], but the punishment to be inflicted on a Negroe or mulattoe, for\nlifting his hand against a white person, is restricted to those cases,\nwhere the former is not wantonly assaulted. In this act the word Indian\nappears to have been designedly omitted: the small number of these\npeople, or their descendants remaining among us, concurring with a more\nliberal way of thinking, probably gave occasion to this circumstance.\nThe act of 1748, c. 31, made it felony without benefit of clergy for a\nslave to prepare, exhibit, or administer any medicine whatever, without\nthe order or consent of the master; but _allowed clergy_ if it appeared\nthat the medicine was not administered with an _ill intent_; the act of\n1792, with more justice, directs that in such case he shall be acquitted\n[Edit. 1794. c. 103.]. To consult, advise, or conspire, to rebel, or to\nplot, or conspire the death of any person whatsoever, is still felony\nwithout benefit of clergy in a slave [1748. c. 31. 1794. c.\n103.].--Riots, routs, unlawful assemblies, trespasses and seditious\nspeeches by slaves, are punishable with stripes, at the discretion of a\njustice of the peace [1785. c. 77. 1794. c. 103.].--The master of a\nslave permitting him to go at large and trade as a freeman, is subject\nto a fine [1769. c. 19. May 1782. c. 32. 1794. Ib.]; and if she suffers\nthe slave to hire himself out, the latter may be sold, and twenty-five\nper cent. of the price be applied to the use of the county.--Negroes and\nmulattoes, whether slaves or not, are incapable of being witnesses, but\nagainst, or between Negroes and mulattoes; they are not permitted to\nintermarry with any white person; yet no punishment is annexed to the\noffence in the slave; nor is the marriage void; but the white person\ncontracting the marriage, and the clergyman by whom it is celebrated are\nliable to fine and imprisonment; and this is probably the only instance\nin which our laws will be found more favourable to a Negroe than a white\nperson. These provisions though introduced into our code at different\nperiods, were all re-enacted in 1792 [Edit. of 1794. c. 103.].\n\nFrom this melancholy review it will appear that not only the right of\nproperty, and the right of personal liberty, but even the right of\npersonal security, has been, at times, either wholly annihilated, or\nreduced to a shadow: and even in these days, the protection of the\nlatter seems to be confined to very few cases. Many actions, indifferent\nin themselves, being permitted by the law of nature to all mankind, and\nby the laws of society to all free persons, are either rendered highly\ncriminal in a slave, or subject him to some kind of punishment or\nrestraint. Nor is it in this respect only, that his condition is\nrendered thus deplorable by law. The measure of punishment for the same\noffence, is often, and the manner of trial and conviction is always,\ndifferent in the case of a slave, and a free-man. If the latter be\naccused of any crime, he is entitled to an examination before the court\nof the county where the offence is alleged to have been committed; whose\ndecision, if in his favour, is held to be a legal and final acquittal,\nbut it is not final if against him; for after this, both a grand jury,\nand a petit jury of the county, must successively pronounce him guilty;\nthe former by the concurrent voices of twelve at least, of their body,\nand the latter, by their unanimous verdict upon oath. He may take\nexception to the proceedings against him, by a motion in arrest of\njudgment; and in this case, or if there be a special verdict, the same\nunanimity between his judges, as between his jurors, is necessary to his\ncondemnation. Lastly, through the punishment which the law pronounces\nfor his offence amount to death itself, he shall in many cases have the\nbenefit of clergy, unless he has before received it. But in the case of\na slave, the mode was formerly, and still remains essentially different.\nHow early this distinction was adopted I have not been able to discover.\nThe title of an act occurs, which passed in the year 1705 [1705. c. 11.]\nfor the _speedy_ and _easy_ prosecution of slaves committing capital\ncrimes. In 1723 [1723. c. 4.] the governor was authorized, whenever any\nslave was committed for any capital offence, to issue a special\ncommission of oyer and terminer, to _such persons as he should think\nfit_, the number being left to his discretion, who should thereupon\nproceed to the trial of such slave, taking for evidence the confession\nof the defendant, the oath of one or more credible witnesses, or such\ntestimony of Negroes, mulattoes, or Indians, bond or free, with pregnant\ncircumstances, as to them should seem convincing, without the solemnity\nof a jury. No exception, formerly, could be taken to the proceedings, on\nthe trial of a slave [1748. c. 31.], but that proviso is omitted in the\nact of 1792, and the justices moreover seem bound to allow him counsel\nfor his defence, whose fee shall be paid by his master [Edit. 1794. c.\n103.] In case of conviction, execution of the sentence was probably very\nspeedily performed, since the act of 1748, provides that, thereafter, it\nshould not be performed in less than ten days, except in case of\ninsurrection or rebellion; and further, that if the court be divided in\nopinion the accused should be acquitted. In 1764, an act passed,\nauthorizing general, instead of special, commissioners of oyer and\nterminer [1764. c. 9.], constituting all the justices of any county,\njudges for the trial of slaves, committing capital offences, within\ntheir respective counties; any four of whom, one being of the quorum,\nshould constitute a court for that purpose. In 1772 one step further was\nmade in favour of humanity, by an act declaring that no slave should\nthereafter be condemned to die unless four of the court should concur in\nopinion of his guilt [1772. c. 9.]. The act of 1786, c. 58, confirmed by\nthat of 1792, constitutes the justices of every county and corporation\njustices of oyer and terminer for the trial of slaves [Edit. 1794. c.\n103.]; requires _five_ justices, at least, to constitute a court, and\n_unanimity_ in the court for his condemnation; allows him counsel for\nhis defence, to be paid by his owner, and, I apprehend, admits him to\nobject to the proceedings against him; and finally enlarges the time of\nexecution to _thirty_ days, instead of ten (except in cases of\nconspiracy, insurrection, or rebellion), and extends the benefit of\nclergy to him in all cases, where any other person should have the\nbenefit thereof, except in the cases before mentioned.\n\nTo an attentive observer these gradual, and almost imperceptible\namendments in our jurisprudence respecting slaves, will be found, upon\nthe whole, of infinite importance to that unhappy race. The mode of\ntrial in criminal cases, especially, is rendered infinitely more\nbeneficial to them, than formerly, though perhaps still liable to\nexception for want of the aid of a jury: the solemnity of an oath\nadministered the moment the trial commences, may be considered as\noperating more forcibly on the mind, than a general oath of office,\ntaken, perhaps, twenty years before. Unanimity may also be more readily\nexpected to take place among _five_ men, than among _twelve_. These\nobjections to the want of a jury are not without weight: on the other\nhand it may be observed, that if the number of triers be not equal to a\nfull jury, they may yet be considered as more select; a circumstance of\ninfinitely greater importance to the slave. The unanimity requisite in\nthe court in order to conviction, is a more happy acquisition to the\naccused, than may at first appear; the opinions of the court must be\ndelivered openly, immediately, and seriatim, beginning with the youngest\njudge. A single voice in favour of the accused, is an acquittal; for\nunanimity is not necessary, as with a jury, to acquit, as well as to\ncondemn: there is less danger in this mode of trial, where the suffrages\nare to be openly delivered, that a few will be brought over to the\nopinion of the majority, as may too often happen among jurors, whose\ndeliberations are in _private_, and whose impatience of confinement may\ngo further than real conviction, to produce the requisite unanimity.\nThat this happens not unfrequently in civil cases, there is too much\nreason to believe; that it may also happen in criminal cases, especially\nwhere the party accused is not one of their equals, might, not\nunreasonably, be apprehended. In New-York, before the revolution, a\nslave accused of a capital crime, should have been tried by a jury if\nhis master required it. This is, perhaps, still the law of that state.\nSuch a provision might not be amiss in this; but considering the\nordinary run of juries in the county-courts, I should presume the\nprivilege would be rarely insisted upon.\n\nSlaves, we have seen, are now entitled to the benefit of clergy in all\ncases where it is allowed to any other offenders, except in cases of\nconsulting, advising, or conspiring to rebel, or make insurrection; or\nplotting or conspiring to murder any person; or preparing, exhibiting,\nor administring medicine with an _ill_ intent. The same lenity was not\nextended to them formerly. The act of 1748, c. 31, denied it to a slave\nin case of manslaughter; or the felonious breaking and entering _any_\nhouse, in the night time: or breaking and entering _any_ house in the\nday time, and taking therefrom goods to the value of twenty shillings.\nThe act of 1764, c. 9, extended the benefit of clergy, to a slave\nconvicted of the manslaughter of a slave; and the act of 1772, c. 9,\nextended it further, to a slave convicted of housebreaking in the night\ntime, unless such breaking be burglary; in the latter case, other\noffenders would be equally deprived of it. But wherever the benefit of\nclergy is allowed to a slave, the court, besides burning him in the hand\n(the usual punishment inflicted on free persons) may inflict such\nfurther corporal punishment as they may think fit [1794. c. 103.]; this\nalso seems to be the law in the case of free Negroes and mulattoes. By\nthe act of 1723, c. 4, it was enacted, that when _any Negroe_ or\n_mulattoe_ shall be found, upon due proof made, or _pregnant\ncircumstances_, to have given false testimony, every such offender\nshall, _without further trial_, have his ears successively nailed to the\npillory for the space of an hour, and then cut off, and moreover receive\nthirty-nine lashes on his bare back, or such other punishment as the\ncourt shall think proper, not extending to life or limb. This act, with\nthe exception of the words _pregnant circumstances_, was re-enacted in\n1792. The punishment of perjury, in a _white_ person, is only a fine and\nimprisonment. A slave convicted of hog-stealing, shall, for the first\noffence, receive thirty-nine lashes: any other person twenty-five: but\nthe latter is also subject to a fine of thirty dollars, besides paying\neight dollars to the owner of the hog. The punishment for the second and\nthird offence, of this kind, is the same in the case of a free person,\nas of a slave; namely, by the pillory and loss of ears, for the second\noffence; the third is declared felony, to which clergy is, however,\nallowed. The preceding are the only positive distinctions which now\nremain between the punishment of a slave, and a white person, in those\ncases, where the latter is liable to a determinate corporal punishment.\nBut we must not forget, that many actions, which are either not\npunishable at all, when perpetrated by a white person, or at most, by\nfine and imprisonment, only, are liable to severe corporal punishment,\nwhen done by a slave; nay, even to death itself, in some cases. To go\nabroad without a written permission; to keep or carry a gun, or other\nweapon; to utter any seditious speech; to be present at any unlawful\nassembly of slaves; to lift the hand in opposition to a white person,\nunless wantonly assaulted, are all offences punishable by whipping\n[1794. c. 103.]. To attempt the chastity of a white woman, forcibly, is\npunishable by dismemberment: such an attempt would be a high misdemeanor\nin a white free man, but the punishment would be far short of that of a\nslave [Ibidem.]. To administer medicine without the order or consent of\nthe master, unless it _appear not to have been done with an ill intent_;\nto _consult_, advise, or conspire, to rebel or make insurrection; or to\n_conspire_, or _plot_ to _murder_ any person, we have seen, are all\ncapital offences, from which the benefit of clergy is utterly excluded.\nBut a _bare intention_ to commit a felony, is not punishable in the case\nof a free white man; and even the attempt, if not attended with an\nactual breach of the peace, or prevented by such circumstance; only, as\ndo not tend to lessen the guilt of the offender, is at most a\nmisdemeanor by the common law: and in statutable offences in general, to\nconsult, advise, and even to procure any person to commit a felony, does\nnot constitute the crime of felony in the adviser or procurer, unless\nthe felony be actually perpetrated.\n\nFrom this view of our jurisprudence respecting slaves, we are\nunavoidably led to remark, how frequently the laws of nature have been\nset aside in favour of institutions, the pure result of prejudice,\nusurpation, and tyranny. We have found actions, innocent, or\nindifferent, punishable with a rigour scarcely due to any, but the most\natrocious, offences against civil society; justice distributed by an\nunequal measure to the master and the slave; and even the hand of mercy\narrested, where mercy might have been extended to the wretched culprit,\nhad his complexion been the same with that of his judges: for, the short\nperiod of ten days, between his condemnation and execution, was often\ninsufficient to obtain a pardon for a slave, convicted in a remote part\nof the country, whilst a free man, condemned at the seat of government,\nand tried before the governor himself, in whom the power of pardoning\nwas vested, had a respite of thirty days to implore the clemency of the\nexecutive authority.--It may be urged, and I believe with truth, that\nthese rigours do not proceed from a sanguinary temper in the people of\nVirginia, but from those political considerations indispensibly\nnecessary, where slavery prevails to any great extent: I am moreover\nhappy to observe that our police respecting this unhappy class of\npeople, is not only less rigorous than formerly, but perhaps milder than\nin any other country[17] where there are so many slaves, or so large a\nproportion of them, in respect to the free inhabitants: it is also, I\ntrust, unjust to censure the present generation for the existence of\nslavery in Virginia: for I think it unquestionably true, that a very\nlarge proportion of our fellow-citizens lament that as a misfortune,\nwhich is imputed to them as a reproach; it being evident from what has\nbeen already shewn upon the subject, that, _antecedent to the\nrevolution_, no exertion to abolish, or even to check the progress of,\nslavery, in Virginia, could have received the smallest countenance from\nthe crown, without whose assent the united wishes and exertions of every\nindividual here, would have been wholly fruitless and ineffectual: it\nis, perhaps, also demonstrable, that at no period since the revolution,\ncould the abolition of slavery in this state have been safely undertaken\nuntil the foundations of our newly established governments had been\nfound capable of supporting the fabric itself, under any shock, which so\narduous an attempt might have produced. But these obstacles being now\nhappily removed, considerations of policy, as well as justice and\nhumanity, must evince the necessity of eradicating the evil, before it\nbecomes impossible to do it, without tearing up the roots of civil\nsociety with it.\n\n[Footnote 17: See Jefferson's Notes, 259.--The Marquis de Chatelleux's\nTravels, I have not noted the page; the Law of Retribution, by Granville\nSharpe, pa. 151, 238, notes. The Just Limitation of Slavery, by the same\nauthor; pa. 15, note. Ibidem, pa. 33, 50, Ib. Append. No. 2.\nEncyclopédie. Tit. Esclave. Laws of Barbadoes, &c.]\n\nHaving in the preceding part of this enquiry shewn the origin and\nfoundation of slavery, or the manner in which men have become slaves, as\nalso who are liable to be retained in slavery, in Virginia, at present,\nwith the legal consequences attendant upon their condition; it only\nremains to consider the mode by which slaves have been or may be\nemancipated; and the legal consequences thereof, in this\nstate.--Manumission, among the Israelites, if the bondman were an\nHebrew, was enjoined after six years' service, by the Mosaical law,\nunless the servant chose to continue with his master, in which case the\nmaster carried him before the judges, and took an awl, and thrust it\nthrough his ear into the door [Exod. c. 21. Deut. c. 15.], and from\nthenceforth he became a servant for ever: but if he sent him away free,\nhe was bound to furnish him liberally out of his flock, and out of his\nfloor, and out of his wine-press [Ibid.]. Among the Romans, in the time\nof the commonwealth, liberty could be conferred only three ways. By\ntestament, by the _census_, and by the _vindicta_, or lictor's rod. A\nman was said to be free by the census, \"_liber censu_,\" when his name\nwas inserted in the censor's roll, with the approbation of his master.\nWhen he was freed by the vindicta, the master placing his hand upon the\nhead of the slave, said in the presence of the prætor, it is my desire\nthat this man may be free, \"_hunc hominem liberem esse volo_;\" to which\nthe prætor replied, I pronounce him free after the manner of the\nRomans, \"_dico cum liberum esse more quiritum_.\"--then the lictor,\nreceiving the _vindicta_, struck the new freed man several blows with\nit, upon the head, face, and back, after which his name was registered\nin the roll of freed-men, and his head being close shaved, a cap was\ngiven him as a token of liberty [Harris's Just. in notes.]. Under the\nimperial constitutions liberty might have been conferred by several\nother methods, as in the face of the church, in the presence of friends,\nor by letter, or by testament [Just. Inst. lib. 1. tit. 5. Ib. lib. 1.\ntit. 6.].--But it was not in the power of every master to manumit at\nwill; for if it were done with an intent to defraud creditors, the act\nwas void; that is, if the master were insolvent at the time of\nmanumission, or became insolvent by manumission, and intentionally\nmanumitted his slave for the purpose of defrauding his creditors. A\nminor, under the age of twenty years, could not manumit his slave but\nfor a just cause assigned, which must have been approved by a council,\nconsisting of the prætor, five senators, and five knights [Ib. Harris's\nJust. in notes.].--In England, the mode of enfranchising villeins is\nsaid to have been thus prescribed by a law of William the Conqueror. \"If\nany person is willing to enfranchise his _slave_, let him, with his\nright hand, deliver the slave to the sheriff in a full county, proclaim\nhim exempt from the bond of servitude by manumission, shew him open\ngates and ways, and deliver him _free arms_, to wit, a lance and a\nsword; thereupon he is a free man [Harris's Inst. in notes.].\"--But\nafter that period freedom was more generally conferred by deed, of which\nMr. Harris, in his notes upon Justinian, has furnished a precedent.\n\nIn what manner manumission was performed in this country during the\nfirst century after the introduction of slavery does not appear: the act\nof 1668, before mentioned [Ante, p. 36.], shews it to have been\npractised before that period. In 1723 an act was passed, prohibiting the\nmanumission of slaves, upon any pretence whatsoever, except for\nmeritorious services, to be adjudged, and allowed by the governor and\ncouncil [1723. c. 4.]. This clause was re-enacted in 1748, and continued\nto be the law, until after the revolution was accomplished. The number\nof manumissions under such restrictions must necessarily have been very\nfew. In May 1782 an act passed authorizing, generally, the manumission\nof slaves, but requiring such as might be set free, not being of sound\nmind or body, or being above the age of forty-five years, or males under\ntwenty-one, or females under eighteen, to be supported by the person\nliberating them, or out of his estate [May 1782. c. 21.]. The act of\nmanumission may be performed either by will, or by deed, under the hand\nand seal of the party, acknowledged by him, or proved by two witnesses\nin the court of the county where he resides. There is reason to believe\nthat great numbers have been emancipated since the passing of this act.\nBy the census of 1791 it appears that the number of free Negroes,\nmulattoes and Indians in Virginia, was then 12,866. It would be a large\nallowance, to suppose that there were 1800 free Negroes and mulattoes in\nVirginia when the act took effect; so that upwards of ten thousand must\nhave been indebted to it for their freedom.[18] The number of Indians\nand their descendants in Virginia at present, is too small to require\nparticular notice. The progress of emancipation in Virginia, is at this\ntime continual, but not rapid; a second census will enable us to form a\nbetter judgment of it than at present. The act passed in 1792 accords in\nsome degree with the Justinian code [1794. c. 103.], by providing that\nslaves emancipated may be taken in execution to satisfy any debt\ncontracted by the person emancipating them, before such emancipation is\nmade.[19]\n\n[Footnote 18: There are _more_ free Negroes and mulattoes in Virginia\nalone, than are to be found in the four New-England states, and Vermont\nin addition to them. The progress of emancipation in this state is\ntherefore much greater than our _Eastern_ brethren may at first suppose.\nThere are only 1087 free Negroes and mulattoes in the States of\nNew-York, New-Jersey and Pennsylvania, _more_, than in Virginia. Those\nwho take a subject in the gross, have little idea of the result of an\nexact scrutiny. Out of 20,348 inhabitants on the Eastern Shore of\nVirginia 1185 were free Negroes and mulattoes when the census was taken.\nThe number is since much augmented.]\n\n[Footnote 19: The act of 1795. c. 11. enacts, that any person held in\nslavery may make complaint to a magistrate, or to the court of the\ndistrict county or corporation wherein he resides, and not elsewhere.\nThe magistrate, if the complaint be made to him, shall issue his warrant\nto summon the owner before him, and compel him to give bond and security\nto suffer the complainant to appear at the next court to petition the\ncourt to be admitted to sue _in formâ pauperis_. If the owner refuse,\nthe magistrate shall order the complainant into the custody of the\nofficer serving the warrant, at the expence of the master, who shall\nkeep him until the sitting of the court, and then produce him before it.\nUpon petition to the court, if the court be satisfied as to the material\nfacts, they shall assign the complainant council, who shall state the\nfacts with his opinion thereon to the court; and unless from the\ncircumstances so stated, and the opinion thereon given, the court shall\n_see manifest reason to deny their interference_, they shall order the\nclerk to issue process against the owner, and the complainant shall\nremain in the custody of the sheriff until the owner shall give bond and\nsecurity to have him forthcoming to answer the judgment of the court.\nAnd by the general law in case of pauper's suits; the complainants shall\nhave writs of subpoena gratis; and by the practice of the courts, he is\npermitted to attend the taking the depositions of witnesses, and go and\ncome freely to and from court, for the prosecution of his suit.]\n\nAmong the Romans, the _libertini_, or freedmen, were formerly\ndistinguished by a threefold division [Just. Inst. lib. 1. tit. 5.].\nThey sometimes obtained what was called the greater liberty, thereby\nbecoming _Roman citizens_. To this privilege, those who were\nenfranchised by testament, by the census, or by the vindicta, appear to\nhave been alone admitted: sometimes they obtained the lesser liberty\nonly, and became _Latins_; whose condition is thus described by\nJustinian. \"They never enjoyed the right of succession [to\nestates].--For although they led the lives of free men, yet with their\nlast breath they lost both their lives and liberties; for their\npossessions, like the goods of slaves, were detained by the manumittor\n[Harris's Inst. lib. 3. tit. 8.].\" Sometimes they obtained only the\ninferior liberty, being called _dedititii_: such were slaves who had\nbeen condemned as criminals, and afterwards obtained manumission through\nthe indulgence of their masters: their conditions was equalled with that\nof conquered revolters, whom the Romans called, in reproach, _dedititii,\nquia se suaque omnia dediderunt_: but all these distinctions were\nabolished by Justinian [Inst. lib. 1. tit. 5. s. 3.], by whom all freed\nmen in general were made citizens of Rome, without regard to the form of\nmanumission.--In England, the presenting the villein with _free arms_,\nseems to have been the symbol of his restoration to all the rights which\na feudatory was entitled to. With us, we have seen that emancipation\ndoes not confer the rights of citizenship on the person emancipated; on\nthe contrary, both he and his posterity, of the same complexion with\nhimself, must always labour under many civil incapacities. If he is\nabsolved from personal restraint, or corporal punishment, by a master,\nyet the laws restrain his actions in many instances, where there is none\nupon a free white man. If he can maintain a suit, he cannot be a\nwitness, a juror, or a judge in any controversy between one of his own\ncomplexion and a white person. If he can acquire property in lands, he\ncannot exercise the right of suffrage, which such a property would\nconfer on his former master; much less can he assist in making those\nlaws by which he is bound. Yet, even under these disabilities, his\npresent condition bears an enviable pre-eminence over his former state.\nPossessing the liberty of loco-motion, which was formerly denied him, it\nis in his choice to submit to that civil inferiority, inseparably\nattached to his condition in this country, or seek some more favourable\nclimate, where all distinctions between men are either totally\nabolished, or less regarded than in this.\n\nThe extirpation of slavery from the United States, is a task equally\narduous and momentous. To restore the blessings of liberty to near a\nmillion[20] of oppressed individuals, who have groaned under the yoke of\nbondage, and to their descendants, is an object, which those who trust\nin Providence, will be convinced would not be unaided by the divine\nAuthor of our being, should we invoke his blessing upon our endeavours.\nYet human prudence forbids that we should precipitately engage in a work\nof such hazard as a general and simultaneous emancipation. The mind of\nman must in some measure be formed for his future condition. The early\nimpressions of obedience and submission, which slaves have received\namong us, and the no less habitual arrogance and assumption of\nsuperiority, among the whites, contribute, equally, to unfit the former\nfor _freedom_, and the latter for _equality_.[21] To expel them all at\nonce, from the United States, would in fact be to devote them only to a\nlingering death by famine, by disease, and other accumulated miseries:\n\"We have in history but one picture of a similar enterprize, and there\nwe see it was necessary not only to open the sea by a miracle, for them\nto pass, but more necessary to close it again to prevent their return\n[Letter from Jas. Sullivan, Esq. to Dr. Belknap.].\" To retain them among\nus, would be nothing more than to throw so many of the human race upon\nthe earth without the means of subsistence: they would soon become idle,\nprofligate, and miserable. Unfit for their new condition, and unwilling\nto return to their former laborious course, they would become the\ncaterpillars of the earth, and the tigers of the human race. The recent\nhistory of the French West Indies exhibits a melancholy picture of the\nprobable consequences of a general, and momentary emancipation in any of\nthe states, where slavery has made considerable progress. In\nMassachusetts the abolition of it was effected by a single stroke; a\nclause in their constitution [Dr. Belknap.]: but the whites at that\ntime, were as sixty-five to one, in proportion to the blacks. The whole\nnumber of free persons in the United States, south of Delaware state,\nare 1,233,829, end there are 648,439 slaves; the proportion being less\nthan two to one. Of the cultivators of the earth in the same district,\nit is probable that there are four slaves for one free white man.--To\ndischarge the former from their present condition, would be attended\nwith an immediate general famine, in those parts of the United States,\nfrom which not all the productions of the other states, could deliver\nthem; similar evils might reasonably be apprehended from the adoption of\nthe measure by any one of the southern states; for in all of them the\nproportion of slaves is too great, not to be attended with calamitous\neffects, if they were immediately set free.[22] These are serious, I had\nalmost said unsurmountable obstacles, to general, simultaneous\nemancipation.--There are other considerations not to be disregarded. A\ngreat part of the _property_ of individuals consists in _slaves_. The\nlaws have sanctioned this species of property. Can the laws take away\nthe property of an individual without his own consent, or without a\n_just compensation_? Will those who do not hold slaves agree to be taxed\nto make this compensation? Creditors also, who have trusted their\ndebtors upon the faith of this visible property will be defrauded. If\njustice demands the emancipation of the slave, she also, _under these\ncircumstances_, seems to plead for the owner, and for his creditor. The\nclaims of nature, it will be said are stronger than those which arise\nfrom social institutions, only. I admit it, but nature also dictates to\nus to provide for our _own_ safety, and authorizes all _necessary_\nmeasures for that purpose. And we have shewn that our own security, nay,\nour very existence, might be endangered by the hasty adoption of any\nmeasure for the _immediate_ relief of the _whole_ of this unhappy race.\nMust we then quit the subject, in despair of the success of any project\nfor the amendment of their, as well as our own, condition? I think\nnot.--Strenuously as I feel my mind opposed to a simultaneous\nemancipation, for the reasons already mentioned, the abolition of\nslavery in the United States, and especially in that state, to which I\nam attached by every tie that nature and society form, is _now_ my\n_first_, and will probably be my last, expiring wish. But here let me\navoid the imputation of inconsistency, by observing, that the abolition\nof slavery may be effected without the _emancipation_ of a single slave;\nwithout depriving any man of the _property_ which he _possesses_, and\nwithout defrauding a creditor who has trusted him on the faith of that\nproperty. The experiment in that mode has already been begun in some of\nour sister states. Pennsylvania, under the auspices of the immortal\nFranklin,[23] begun the work of gradual abolition of slavery in the year\n1780, by enlisting nature herself, on the side of humanity. Connecticut\nfollowed the example four years after.[24] New-York very lately made an\nessay which miscarried by a very inconsiderable majority. Mr. Jefferson\ninforms us, that the committee of revisors, of which he was a member,\nhad prepared a bill for the emancipation of all slaves born after\npassing that act. This is conformable to the Pennsylvania and\nConnecticut laws.--Why the measure was not brought forward in the\ngeneral assembly I have never heard. Possibly because objections were\nforeseen to that part of the bill which relates to the disposal of the\nblacks, after they had attained a certain age.[25] It certainly seems\nliable to many, both as to the policy and the practicability of it. To\nestablish such a colony in the territory of the United States, would\nprobably lay the foundation of intestine wars, which would terminate\nonly in their extirpation, or final expulsion. To attempt it in any\nother quarter of the globe would be attended with the utmost cruelty to\nthe colonists, themselves, and the destruction of their whole race. If\nthe plan were at this moment in operation, it would require the annual\nexportation of 12,000 persons. This requisite number must, for a series\nof years be considerably increased, in order to keep pace with the\nincreasing population of those people. In twenty years it would amount\nto upwards of twenty thousand persons; which is half the number which\nare now supposed to be annually exported from Africa.--Where would a\nfund to support this expence be found? Five times the present revenue of\nthe state would barely defray the charge of their passage. Where\nprovisions for their support after their arrival? Where those\nnecessaries which must preserve them from perishing?--Where a territory\nsufficient to support them?--Or where could they be received as friends,\nand not as invaders? To colonize them in the United States might seem\nless difficult. If the territory to be assigned them were beyond the\nsettlements of the whites, would they not be put upon a forlorn hope\nagainst the Indians? Would not the expence of transporting them thither,\nand supporting them, at least for the first and second year, be also far\nbeyond the revenues and abilities of the state? The expence attending a\nsmall army in that country hath been found enormous. To transport as\nmany colonists, annually, as we have shewn were necessary to eradicate\nthe evil, would probably require five times as much money as the support\nof such an army. But the expence would not stop there: they must be\nassisted and supported at least for another year after their arrival in\ntheir new settlements. Suppose them arrived. Illiterate and ignorant as\nthey are, is it probable that they would be capable of instituting such\na government, in their new colony, as would be necessary for their own\ninternal happiness, or to secure them from destruction from without?\nEuropean emigrants, from whatever country they arrive, have been\naccustomed to the restraint of laws, and to respect for government.\nThese people, accustomed to be ruled with a rod of iron, will not easily\nsubmit to milder restraints. They would become hordes of vagabonds,\nrobbers and murderers. Without the aids of an enlightened policy,\nmorality, or religion, what else could be expected from their still\nsavage state, and debased condition?--\"But why not retain and\n_incorporate_ the _blacks into the state_?\" This question has been well\nanswered by Mr. Jefferson,[26] and who is there so free from prejudices\namong us, as candidly to declare that he has none against such a\nmeasure? The recent scenes transacted in the French colonies in the West\nIndies are enough to make one shudder with the apprehension of realizing\nsimilar calamities in this country. Such probably would be the event of\nan attempt to smother those prejudices which have been cherished for a\nperiod of almost two centuries. Those who secretly favour, whilst they\naffect to regret, domestic slavery, contend that in abolishing it, we\nmust also abolish that scion from it which I have denominated _civil_\nslavery. That there must be no distinction of rights; that the\ndescendants of Africans, as men, have an equal claim to all civil\nrights, as the descendants of Europeans; and upon being delivered from\nthe yoke of bondage have a right to be admitted to all the privileges of\na citizen.--But have not men when they enter into a state of society, a\nright to admit, or exclude any description of persons, as they think\nproper? If it be true, as Mr. Jefferson seems to suppose, that the\nAfricans are really an inferior race of mankind,[27] will not sound\npolicy advise their exclusion from a society in which they have not yet\nbeen admitted to participate in civil rights; and even to guard against\nsuch admission, at any future period, since it may eventually depreciate\nthe whole national character? And if prejudices have taken such deep\nroot in our minds, as to render it impossible to eradicate this opinion,\nought not so general an error, if it be one, to be respected? Shall we\nnot relieve the necessities of the naked diseased beggar, unless we will\ninvite him to a seat at our table; nor afford him shelter from the\ninclemencies of the night air, unless we admit him also to share our\nbed? To deny that we ought to abolish slavery, without incorporating the\nNegroes into the state, and admitting them to a full participation of\nall our civil and social rights, appears to me to rest upon a similar\nfoundation. The experiment so far as it has been already made among us,\nproves that the emancipated blacks are not ambitious of civil rights. To\nprevent the generation of such an ambition, appears to comport with\nsound policy; for if it should ever rear its head, its partizans, as\nwell as its opponents, will be enlisted by nature herself, and always\nranged in formidable array against each other. We must therefore\nendeavour to find some middle course, between the tyrannical and\niniquitous policy which holds so many human creatures in a state of\ngrievous bondage, and that which would turn loose a numerous, starving,\nand enraged banditti, upon the innocent descendants of their former\noppressors. _Nature_, _time_, and _sound policy_ must co-operate with\neach other to produce such a change: if either be neglected, the work\nwill be incomplete, dangerous, and not improbably destructive.\n\n[Footnote 20: The number of slaves in the United States at the time of\nthe late census, was something under 700,000.]\n\n[Footnote 21: Mr. Jefferson most forcibly paints the unhappy influence\non the manners of the people produced by the existence of slavery among\nus. The whole commerce between master and slave, says he, is a perpetual\nexercise of the most boisterous passions, the most unremitting despotism\non the one part, and degrading submissions on the other. Our children\nsee this, and learn to imitate it; for man is an imitative animal. This\nquality is the germ of education in him. From his cradle to his grave he\nis learning what he sees others do. If a parent had no other motive\neither in his own philanthropy or his self love, for restraining the\nintemperance of passion towards his slave, it should always be a\nsufficient one that his child is present. But generally it is not\nsufficient. The parent storms, the child looks on, catches the\nlineaments of wrath, puts on the same airs in the circle of smaller\nslaves, gives a loose to his worst of passions; and thus nursed,\neducated, and daily exercised in tyranny, cannot but be stamped by it\nwith odious peculiarities. The man must be a prodigy who can retain his\nmanners and morals undepraved by such circumstances. And with what\nexecrations would the statesman be loaded, who permitting one half the\ncitizens thus to trample on the rights of the other, transforms them\ninto despots, and these into enemies, destroys the morals of the one\npart, and the amor patriæ of the other. For if a slave can have a\ncountry in this world, it must be any other in preference to that in\nwhich he is born to live and labour for another; in which he must lock\nup the faculties of his nature, contribute as far as depends on his\nindividual endeavours to the evanishment of the human race, or entail\nhis own miserable condition on the endless generations proceeding from\nhim. With the morals of the people, their industry also, is destroyed.\nFor in a warm climate, no man will labour for himself who can make\nanother labour for him. This is so true, that of the proprietors of\nslaves a very small proportion indeed are ever seen to labour. And can\nthe liberties of a nation be ever thought secure when we have removed\ntheir only firm basis, a conviction in the minds of the people, that\nthese liberties are of the gift of God? That they are not to be violated\nbut with his wrath? Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that\nGod is just: that his justice cannot sleep for ever: that considering\nnumbers, nature, and natural means only, a revolution of the wheel of\nfortune, an exchange of situation is among possible events: that it may\nbecome probable by supernatural interference! The Almighty has no\nattribute which can take side with us in such a contest.--But it is\nimpossible to be temperate and to pursue this subject through the\nvarious considerations of policy, of morals, of history, natural and\ncivil. We must be contented to hope they will force their way into every\none's mind. I think a change already perceptible, since the origin of\nthe present revolution. The spirit of the master is abating, that of the\nslave rising from the dust; his condition mollifying; the way I hope\npreparing, under the auspices of Heaven, for a total emancipation, and\nthat this is disposed in the order of events, to be with the consent of\ntheir masters, rather than by their extirpation. Notes on Virginia,\n298.]\n\n[Footnote 22: What is here advanced is not to be understood as implying\nan opinion that the labour of slaves is more productive than that of\nfreemen.--The author of the Treatise on the Wealth of Nations, informs\nus, \"That it appears from the experience of all ages and nations, that\nthe work done by freemen comes cheaper in the end than that done by\nslaves. That it is found to do so, even in Boston, New-York and\nPhiladelphia, where the wages of common labour are very high.\" Vol. 1.\npa. 123. Lond. edit. oct. Admitting this conclusion, it would not remove\nthe objection that emancipated slaves would not willingly labour.]\n\n[Footnote 23: Doctor Franklin, it is said, drew the bill for the gradual\nabolition of slavery in Pennsylvania.]\n\n[Footnote 24: It is probable that similar laws have been passed in some\nother states; but I have not been able to procure a note of them.]\n\n[Footnote 25: The object of the amendment proposed to be offered to the\nlegislature, was to emancipate all slaves born after a certain period;\nand further directing that they should continue with their parents to a\ncertain age, then be brought up, at the public expence, to tillage,\narts, or sciences, according to their geniuses, till the females should\nbe eighteen, and the males twenty-one years of age, when they should be\ncolonized to such a place as the circumstances of the time should render\nmost proper; sending them out with arms, implements of household and of\nthe handicraft arts, seeds, pairs of the useful domestic animals, &c. to\ndeclare them a free and independent people, and extend to them our\nalliance and protection, till they shall have acquired strength; and to\nsend vessels at the same time to other parts of the world for an equal\nnumber of white inhabitants; to induce whom to migrate hither, proper\nencouragements should be proposed. Notes on Virginia, 251.]\n\n[Footnote 26: It will probably be asked, why not retain the blacks among\nus and _incorporate them into the state_? Deep-rooted prejudices\nentertained by the whites; ten thousand recollections by the blacks, of\nthe injuries they have sustained; new provocations; the _real\ndistinctions_ which _nature_ has made; and many other circumstances will\ndivide us into parties and produce convulsions, which will probably\nnever end but in the extermination of one or the other race. To these\nobjections which are political may be added others which are physical\nand moral. The first difference which strikes us is that of colour.--&c.\nThe circumstance of superior beauty is thought worthy attention in the\npropagation of our horses, dogs, and other domestic animals; Why not in\nthat of man? &c. In general their existence appears to participate more\nof sensation than reflection. Comparing them by their faculties of\nmemory, reason and imagination, it appears to me that in memory they are\nequal to the whites; in reason much inferior; that in imagination they\nare dull, tasteless and anamolous. &c. The improvement of the blacks in\nbody and mind, in the first instance of their mixture with the whites,\nhas been observed by every one, and proves that their inferiority is not\nthe effect merely of their condition of life. We know that among the\nRomans, about the Augustan age, especially, the condition of their\nslaves was much more deplorable, than that of the blacks on the\ncontinent of America. Yet among the Romans their slaves were often their\nrarest artists. They excelled too in science, insomuch as to be usually\nemployed as tutors to their masters' children. Epictetus, Terence, and\nPhoedrus were slaves. But they were of the race of whites. It is not\ntheir condition then, but nature, which has produced the distinction.\nThe opinion that they are inferior in the faculties of reason and\nimagination, must be hazarded with great diffidence. To justify a\ngeneral conclusion requires many observations. &c.--I advance it\ntherefore as a suspicion only, that the blacks, whether originally a\ndistinct race, or made distinct by time and circumstances, are inferior\nto the whites both in the endowments of body and mind. &c. This\nunfortunate difference of colour, and perhaps of faculty, is a powerful\nobstacle to the emancipation of these people. Among the Romans\nemancipation required but one effort. The slave, when made free, might\nmix with, without staining, the blood of his master. But with us a\nsecond is necessary, unknown to history.--See the passage at length,\nNotes on Virginia, page 252 to 265.\n\n\"In the present case, it is not only the slave who is beneath his\nmaster, it is the Negroe who is beneath the white man. No act of\nenfranchisement can efface this unfortunate distinction.\" Chatelleux's\nTravels in America.]\n\n[Footnote 27: The celebrated David Hume, in his Essay on National\nCharacter, advances the same opinion; Doctor Beattie, in his Essay on\nTruth, controverts it with many powerful arguments. Early prejudices,\nhad we more satisfactory information than we can possibly possess on the\nsubject at present, would render an inhabitant of a country where Negroe\nslavery prevails, an improper umpire between them.]\n\nThe plan therefore which I would presume to propose for the\nconsideration of my countrymen is such, as the number of slaves, the\ndifference of their nature, and habits, and the state of agriculture,\namong us, might render it _expedient_, rather than _desirable_ to adopt:\nand would partake partly of that proposed by Mr. Jefferson, and adopted\nin other states; and partly of such cautionary restrictions, as a due\nregard to situation and circumstances, and even to _general_ prejudices,\nmight recommend to those, who engage in so arduous, and perhaps\nunprecedented an undertaking.\n\n1. Let every female born after the adoption of the plan be free, and\ntransmit freedom to all her descendants, both male and female.\n\n2. As a compensation to those persons, in whose families such females,\nor their descendants may be born, for the expence and trouble of their\nmaintenance during infancy, let them serve such persons until the age of\ntwenty-eight years: let them then receive twenty dollars in money, two\nsuits of clothes, suited to the season, a hat, a pair of shoes, and two\nblankets. If these things be not voluntarily done, let the county courts\nenforce the performance, upon complaint.\n\n3. Let all Negroe children be registered with the clerk of the county or\ncorporation court, where born, within one month after their birth: let\nthe person in whose family they are born take a copy of the register,\nand deliver it to the mother, or if she die to the child, before it is\nof the age of twenty-one years. Let any Negroe claiming to be free, and\nabove the age of puberty, be considered as of the age of twenty-eight\nyears, if he or she be not registered, as required.\n\n4. Let all such Negroe servants be put on the same footing as white\nservants and apprentices now are, in respect to food, raiment,\ncorrection, and the assignment of their service from one to another.\n\n5. Let the children of Negroes and mulattoes, born in the families of\ntheir parents, be bound to service by the overseers of the poor, until\nthey shall attain the age of twenty-one years.--Let all above that age,\nwho are not housekeepers, nor have voluntarily bound themselves to\nservice for a year before the first day of February annually, be then\nbound for the remainder of the year by the overseers of the poor. Let\nthe overseers of the poor receive fifteen per cent. of their wages, from\nthe person hiring them, as a compensation for their trouble, and ten per\ncent. per annum out of the wages of such as they may bind apprentices.\n\n6. If at the age of twenty-seven years, the master of a Negroe or\nmulattoe servant be unwilling to pay his freedom dues, above mentioned,\nat the expiration of the succeeding year, let him bring him into the\ncounty court, clad and furnished with necessaries as before directed,\nand pay into court five dollars, for the use of the servant, and\nthereupon let the court direct him to be hired by the overseers of the\npoor for the succeeding year, in the manner before directed.\n\n7. Let no Negroe or mulattoe be capable of taking, holding, or\nexercising, any public office, freehold, franchise or privilege, or any\nestate in lands or tenements, other than a lease not exceeding\ntwenty-one years.--Nor of keeping, or bearing arms,[28] unless\nauthorised so to do by some act of the general assembly, whose duration\nshall be limitted to three years. Nor of contracting matrimony with any\nother than a Negroe or mulattoe; nor be an attorney; nor be a juror; nor\na witness in any court of judicature, except against; or between Negroes\nand mulattoes. Nor be an executor or administrator; nor capable of\nmaking any will or testament; nor maintain any real action; nor be a\ntrustee of lands or tenements himself, nor any other person to be a\ntrustee to him or to his use.\n\n8. Let all persons born after the passing of the act, be considered as\nentitled to the same mode of trial in criminal cases, as free Negroes\nand mulattoes are now entitled to.\n\n[Footnote 28: See Spirit of Laws, 12-15.----1. Black Com. 417.]\n\nThe restrictions in this place may appear to favour strongly of\nprejudice: whoever proposes any plan for the abolition of slavery, will\nfind that he must either encounter, or accommodate himself to\nprejudice.--I have preferred the latter; not that I pretend to be wholly\nexempt from it, but that I might avoid as many obstacles as possible to\nthe completion of so desirable a work, as the abolition of slavery.\nThough I am opposed to the banishment of the Negroes, I wish not to\nencourage their future residence among us. By denying them the most\nvaluable privileges which civil government affords, I wished to render\nit their inclination and their interest to seek those privileges in some\nother climate. There is an immense unsettled territory on this\ncontinent[29] more congenial to their natural constitutions than ours,\nwhere they may perhaps be received upon more favourable terms than we\ncan permit them to remain with us. Emigrating in small numbers, they\nwill be able to effect settlements more easily than in large numbers;\nand without the expence or danger of numerous colonies. By releasing\nthem from the yoke of bondage, and enabling them to seek happiness\nwherever they can hope to find it, we surely confer a benefit, which no\none can sufficiently appreciate, who has not tasted of the bitter curse\nof compulsory servitude. By excluding them from offices, the seeds of\nambition would be buried too deep, ever to germinate: by disarming them,\nwe may calm our apprehensions of their resentments arising from past\nsufferings; by incapacitating them from holding lands, we should add one\ninducement more to emigration, and effectually remove the foundation of\nambition, and party-struggles. Their personal rights, and their\nproperty, though limited, would whilst they remain among us be under the\nprotection of the laws; and their condition not at all inferior to that\nof the _labouring_ poor in most other countries. Under such an\narrangement we might reasonably hope, that time would either remove from\nus a race of men, whom we wish not to incorporate with us, or obliterate\nthose prejudices, which now form an obstacle to such incorporation.\n\n[Footnote 29: The immense territory of Louisiana, which extends as far\nsouth as the lat. 25° and the two Floridas, would probably afford a\nready asylum for such as might choose to become Spanish subjects. How\nfar their political rights might be enlarged in these countries, is,\nhowever questionable: but the climate is undoubtedly more favourable to\nthe African constitution than ours, and from this cause, it is not\nimprobable that emigrations from these states would in time be very\nconsiderable.]\n\nBut it is not from the want of liberality to the emancipated race of\nblacks that I apprehend the most serious objections to the plan I have\nventured to suggest.--Those slave holders (whose numbers I trust are\nfew) who have been in the habit of considering their fellow creatures as\nno more than cattle, and the rest of the brute creation, will exclaim\nthat they are to be deprived of their _property_, without compensation.\nMen who will shut their ears against this moral truth, that all men are\nby nature _free_, and _equal_, will not even be convinced that they do\nnot possess a _property_ in an _unborn_ child: they will not distinguish\nbetween allowing to _unborn_ generations the absolute and unalienable\nrights of human nature, and taking away that which they _now possess_;\nthey will shut their ears against truth, should you tell them, the loss\nof the mother's labour for nine months, and the maintenance of a child\nfor a dozen or fourteen years, is amply compensated by the services of\nthat child for as many years more, as he has been an expence to them.\nBut if the voice of reason, justice and humanity be not stifled by\nsordid avarice, or unfeeling tyranny, it would be easy to convince even\nthose who have entertained such erroneous notions, that the right of one\nman over another is neither founded in nature, nor in sound policy. That\nit cannot extend to those _not in being_; that no man can in reality be\n_deprived_ of what he doth not possess: that fourteen years labour by a\nyoung person in the prime of life, is an ample compensation for a few\nmonths of labour lost by the mother, and for the maintenance of a child,\nin that coarse homely manner that Negroes are brought up: And lastly,\nthat a state of slavery is not only perfectly incompatible with the\nprinciples of government, but with the safety and security of their\nmasters. History evinces this. At this moment we have the most awful\ndemonstrations of it. Shall we then neglect a duty, which every\nconsideration, moral, religious, political, or _selfish_, recommends.\nThose who wish to postpone the measure, do not reflect that every day\nrenders the task more arduous to be performed. We have now 300,000\nslaves among us. Thirty years hence we shall have double the number. In\nsixty years we shall have 1,200,000. And in less than another century\nfrom this day, even that enormous number will be doubled. Milo acquired\nstrength enough to carry an ox, by beginning with the ox while he was\nyet a calf. If we complain that the calf is too heavy for our shoulders,\nwhat will not the ox be?\n\nTo such as apprehend danger to our agricultural interest, and the\ndepriving the families of those whose principal reliance is upon their\nslaves, of support, it will be proper to submit a view of the gradual\noperation, and effects of this plan. They will no doubt be surprized to\nhear, that whenever it is adopted, the number of slaves will not be\ndiminished for forty years after it takes place; that it will even\nencrease for thirty years; that at the distance of sixty years, there\nwill be one-third of the number at its first commencement: that it will\nrequire _above a century_ to complete it; and that the number of blacks\n_under twenty-eight_, and consequently bound to service, in the families\nthey are born in, will always be at least as great, as the present\nnumber of slaves. These circumstances I trust will remove many\nobjections, and that they are truly stated will appear upon enquiry.[30]\nIt will further appear, that females only will arrive at the age of\nemancipation within the first forty-five years; all the males during\nthat period, continuing either in slavery, or bound to service till the\nage of twenty-eight years. The earth cannot want cultivators, whilst our\npopulation increases as at present, and three-fourths of those employed\ntherein are held to service, and the remainder compellable to labour.\nFor we must not lose sight of this important consideration, that these\npeople must be _bound_ to labour, if they do not _voluntarily_ engage\ntherein. Their faculties are at present only calculated for that object;\nif they be not employed therein they will become drones of the worst\ndescription. In absolving them from the yoke of slavery, we must not\nforget the interests of the society. Those interests require the\nexertions of every individual in some mode or other; and those who have\nnot wherewith to support themselves honestly without corporal labour,\nwhatever be their complexion, ought to be compelled to labour. This is\nthe case in England, where domestic slavery has long been unknown. It\nmust also be the case in every well ordered society; and where the\nnumbers of persons without property increase, there the coertion of the\nlaws becomes more immediately requisite. The proposed plan would\nnecessarily have this effect, and therefore ought to be accompanied with\nsuch a regulation. Though the rigours of our police in respect to this\nunhappy race ought to be softened, yet, its regularity, and punctual\nadministration should be increased, rather than relaxed. If we doubt the\npropriety of such measures, what must we think of the situation of our\ncountry, when instead of 300,000, we shall have more than _two millions_\nof SLAVES among us? This _must happen within a_ CENTURY, if we do not\nset about the abolition of slavery. Will not our posterity curse the\ndays of their nativity with all the anguish of Job? Will they not\nexecrate the memory of those ancestors, who, having it in their power to\navert evil, have, like their first parents, entailed a curse upon all\nfuture generations? We know that the rigour of the laws respecting\nslaves unavoidably must increase with their numbers: What a\nblood-stained code must that be which is calculated for the restraint of\n_millions_ held in bondage! Such must our unhappy country exhibit within\na century, unless we are both wise and just enough to avert from\nposterity the calamity and reproach, which are otherwise unavoidable.\n\n[Footnote 30: As it may not be unacceptable to some readers to observe\nthe operation of this plan, I shall subjoin the following statement:\n\n\nPRELIMINARY REMARKS.\n\n1. The number of slaves in Virginia by the late census being found to be\n292,427, they may now, in round numbers be estimated at 300,000.\n\n2. Let it be supposed that the males and females are nearly or\naltogether equal in number.\n\n3. According to Dr. Franklin, the people of America double their numbers\nin about twenty-eight years; and according to Mr. Jefferson, the negroes\nincrease as fast as the whites, they will therefore double, at least\nevery thirty years.\n\n4. Let it be supposed that in thirty years one half of the present race\nof negroes will be extinct.\n\n5. Let it be supposed that in forty-five years there will not remain\nmore than one-fifth of the present race alive.\n\n6. Let it be likewise supposed, that in sixty years the whole of the\npresent race will be extinct.\n\n7. For conciseness sake, let the present race be called _ante-nati_,\nthose born after the adoption of the plan, _post-nati_.\n\n\nFROM HENCE IT WILL FOLLOW,\n\n1. That the present number of slaves being 300,000.\n\n2. In thirty years their numbers will amount to 600,000.\n\n3. But at that period as one half of them will be extinct, (rem. 4.)\ntheir numbers will stand thus:\n\nAnte-nati, 150,000\n\nPost-nati, 450,000\n                                             ---- 600,000.\n\n4. The mean increase of the post-nati for\nthe next thirty years will therefore be 450000/30, annually,\nor 15,000.\n\n5. If one half of these be males, who are still\nto remain slaves, there will in the first sixteen years,\nbe born 120,000.\n\n6. After the first sixteen years, the post-nati females will\nbegin to breed; the proportion of males born to slavery in the next\ntwelve years may be estimated at one-fourth of the whole number\nborn after the commencement of that period. Their number\nwill be 52,000.\n\n7. The number of _slaves_ living in Virginia at the end of _thirty_\nyears from the adoption of the plan, will be, ante-nati\n(prop. 3.) 150,000\n\nPost-nati males born in the first\n16 years, 120,000\n\nPost-nati males born in the last\n12 years, 52,500\n\n                                             ---- 322,500.\n\n8. The number of _negroes_ at the same time will stand thus:\n\nSlaves, 322,500\n\nPost-nati\nfree born, 277,500\n\n                                             ---- 600,000.\n\n9. After twenty-eight years from the first adoption, this plan of\ngradual emancipation will first begin to manifest its effects, by the\ncomplete emancipation of one twenty-eighth part of the post-nati free\nborn during that period each succeeding year, for twenty-eight years\nmore; their numbers will be, 277500/28, or 9,910.\n\nThese will be all females.\n\n10. It being admitted that the negroes double every thirty years, the\nsupposition that in forty-five years, their numbers will be half as many\nmore as in thirty, will not be very erroneous, if so, the whole race of\nthem at that period will be 900,000.\n\n11. Their numbers will stand thus:\n\nAnte-nati, 60,000\n\nPost-nati, 840,000\n\n                                             ---- 900,000.\n\n12. After twenty-eight years are past, the number of slaves born must\ncontinually diminish. Suppose their number born in the last 17 years, to\nbe one-fourth as many as those born in the preceding twelve years, they\nwill be 52500/4, or 13,125.\n\n13. The slaves in Virginia in forty-five years will then be,\nante-nati, 60,000\n\nPost-nati males born in the first\nsixteen years, 120,000\n\nDitto, born in the next\ntwelve years 52,500\n\nDitto, born in the last\nseventeen years, 13,125\n\n                                             ---- 245,625.\n\nAt this period the emancipation of males will begin.\n\n14. But after twenty eight years it has been shewn that 9,910 negroes\nwill annually arrive at the age of emancipation, their whole number in\nforty-five years will be 168,470.\n\n15. The state of the negroes at the end of 45 years, will then be,\nslaves, 245,625\n\nPost-nati fully emancipated\n(females), 168,470\n\nPost-nati not\nemancipated, 485,905\n\n                                             ---- 900,000.\n\n16. In sixty years the whole number of negroes will be\n\n                                                1,200,000.\n\n17. At that period the whole of the present race will be extinct; and we\nmay also infer that one half of those born in the first thirty years\nwill be also extinct; the number of slaves born in that period has been\nshewn, (prop. 7.) to be 172,500, the number of these then living will be\n172,500/2, or 86,250.\n\n18. One half of the post-nati free born, during that period, being now\nfully emancipated, may be likewise presumed to be extinct; their numbers\n(prop. 8.) will be, 277,500/2, or 138,750.\n\n19. The state of the negroes at the end of sixty years, will therefore\nbe:\n\nSlaves born during the first\nthirty years, 86,250\n\nDitto born after\nthat period, 13,125\n\nPost-nati fully\nemancipated, 138,750\n\nPost-nati\nunder 28 years\nof age, 961,875\n\n                                           ---- 1,200,000.\n\n20. At the end of ninety years the number of negroes will be\n\n                                                2,400,000\n\n21. Of this number, those only born after the first thirty years, being\nsupposed to be living, the number of slaves (prop. 12) will then be\nreduced to 13,125.\n\n22. And as the last mentioned number of slaves are supposed to be born\nwithin forty-five years, their whole number will be extinct in fifteen\nyears more, that is, in _one hundred =and= five_ years from the first\nadoption of the plan.\n\n23. By prop. 19. it appears, that out of 1,200,000 negroes, there will\nthen be 961,875 under the age of twenty-eight years, the period of\nemancipation.\n\n24. We may therefore conclude, that from _two-thirds_ to _three-fourths_\nof the whole number of blacks will _always_ be liable to service.]\n\nI am not vain enough to presume the plan I have suggested entirely free\nfrom objection; nor that in offering my own ideas on the subject, I have\nbeen more fortunate than others: but from the communication of sentiment\nbetween those who lament the evil, it is possible that an effectual\nremedy may at length be discovered. Whenever that happens the golden age\nof our country will begin. Till then,\n\n----_Non hospes ab hospite tutus,\n\nNon Herus à Famulie: fratrum quoque gratia rara._\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Dissertation on Slavery, by St. George Tucker", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32239", "title": "Dissertation on Slavery\r\nWith a Proposal for the Gradual Abolition of it, in the State of Virginia", "author": "", "publication_year": 1796, "metadata_title": "Dissertation on Slavery", "metadata_author": "St. George Tucker", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:28.293843", "source_chars": 131174, "chars": 131174, "talkie_tokens": 30894}}
{"text": "AMERICAN RED CROSS TEXT-BOOK\n\nON\n\nHOME CARE OF THE SICK\n\n***\n\nDELANO\n\n\n\n\n  AMERICAN RED CROSS\n\n  TEXT-BOOK\n\n  ON\n\n  HOME HYGIENE\n\n  AND\n\n  CARE OF THE SICK\n\n  BY\n\n  JANE A. DELANO, R. N.\n\n  Chairman of the National Committee, Red Cross Nursing Service; Director,\n  Department of Nursing, American Red Cross; Late Superintendent\n  of the Nurse Corps, U. S. A.; of the Training Schools\n  for Nurses, Bellevue Hospital, New York City; and of the\n  Training School for Nurses, Hospital of the University\n  of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia\n\n  REVISED AND REWRITTEN\n\n  BY\n\n  ANNE HERVEY STRONG, R. N.\n\n  Professor of Public Health Nursing, Simmons College, Boston\n\n  _This is the Second Edition of the American Red Cross\n  Text-book in Elementary Hygiene and Home Care of\n  the Sick by Jane A. Delano and Isabel McIsaac._\n\n  PREPARED FOR AND ENDORSED BY\n\n  THE AMERICAN RED CROSS\n\n  PHILADELPHIA\n  P. BLAKISTON'S SON & CO.\n\n  1012 WALNUT STREET\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1918, BY AMERICAN RED CROSS\n\nTHE MAPLE PRESS YORK PA\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nTo the woman who wishes to protect her family from preventable diseases\nand is anxious to fit herself in the absence of a trained nurse to give\nintelligent care to those who are sick, this revision of the Red Cross\ntext-book on Elementary Hygiene and Home Care of the Sick is\nparticularly directed. It should appeal to men and to women who are\ninterested in maintaining the health of their neighborhoods and\ncommunities and in affording effective coöperation to the public health\nauthorities. To teachers wishing to impart protective health information\nto high school pupils, the book also should be useful as a class text as\nwell as a guide.\n\nThe war, which has caused the withdrawal from private practice of\nthousands of physicians and graduate nurses, makes it peculiarly\nimportant to the nation for every adult to have sound knowledge as to\nhow to prevent contagion and epidemics, especially by precautionary\nattention to home and local sanitation. With nurses becoming more\ndifficult to secure, the safety of the family demands that some member\nin each household know enough about elementary nursing to make a patient\ncomfortable and to carry out accurately the instructions of the\nphysician.\n\nThe work of revision, based upon the latest knowledge of hygiene,\nsanitation and methods of home-nursing has been done by Miss Anne Hervey\nStrong, Professor of Public Health Nursing, Simmons College, under the\npersonal direction of the author and the National Committee on Red Cross\nNursing Service. The material has been painstakingly read by Dr. H. W.\nRucker and Dr. Taliaferro Clarke of the United States Public Health\nService, and Lieutenant Colonel Clarence H. Connor, Medical Corps,\nUnited States Army. Indebtedness to Dr. H. M. McCracken, President of\nVassar College and Director of the Red Cross Junior Membership, for his\nvaluable suggestion as to adapting the book for high school use as well\nas for the assistance rendered by his Department, also is gladly\nacknowledged.\n\nJ. A. D.\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENT\n\nI wish to express my gratitude to those who have so kindly helped in the\nwork of preparing the present edition. Thanks are especially due to\nProfessor Isabel Stewart, Miss Anna C. Jamme, Professor Curtis M.\nHilliard, Professor Maurice Bigelow, Miss Katharine Lord, Miss Josephine\nGoldmark, and Miss Evelyn Walker.\n\nA. H. S.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  PREFACE                                                            v\n\n  INTRODUCTION                                                      xi\n\n  CHAPTER I\n\n                                                                  PAGE\n\n  CAUSES AND PREVENTION OF SICKNESS                                  1\n\n     Communicable diseases, 1. Micro-organisms and bacteria,\n     1. Parasites, 3. Structure and development of parasites,\n     4. Bacteria, 4. Shape, 4. Size, 5. Motion, 5.\n     Multiplication, 5. Spores, 7. Distribution, 8. Protozoa,\n     8. Visible parasites, 8. Transmission of pathogenic\n     organisms, 9. Defenses of the body, 12. Immunity, 13.\n     Vaccination and inoculation, 15. Carriers, 17.\n     Non-communicable diseases, 20. Physical examinations, 22.\n\n  CHAPTER II\n\n  HEALTH AND THE HOME                                               27\n\n     Heredity, 27. Hygiene of environment and person, 28.\n     Ventilation, 29. Lighting, 32. Cleanliness of houses, 33.\n     Garbage, 37. Insects, 38. Sewage, 39. Personal\n     cleanliness, 41. Oral hygiene, 44. Treatment of teeth,\n     46. Clothing, 47. Food, 48. Elimination, 52. Rest and\n     fatigue, 53. Sleep, 55. Recreation, 55.\n\n\n  BABIES AND THEIR CARE                                             60\n\n     Growth and development, 64. Average size, 64. Muscular\n     development, 65. Development of special senses, of\n     speech, of teeth, 66. Normal excretions, 67. Clothing,\n     68. Sleep, 70. Fresh air, 72. Diet, 72. Intervals of\n     feeding, 73. Water, 75. Weaning, 75. Nursing bottles and\n     nipples, 75. Tables of diet, 78. Bathing, 78. Eyes, 80.\n     Mouth, 81. Nostrils, 81. Genital organs, 81. Development\n     of habits, 82. Exercise, 83. Play and toys, 85.\n\n  CHAPTER IV\n\n  INDICATIONS OF SICKNESS                                           88\n\n     Objective symptoms, 92. Temperature, 92. Pulse, 96.\n     Respiration, 99. General appearance, 100. Special senses,\n     101. Voice, tongue, throat, gums, 102. Cough, 103.\n     Appetite, 103. Excretions, 103. Loss of weight, 104.\n     Sleep, 104. Mental conditions, 104. Subjective symptoms,\n     105. Pain, 105. Records, 107. Tuberculosis, cancer and\n     mental illness, 107. Tuberculosis, 109. Cancer, 111.\n     Mental illness, 112.\n\n  CHAPTER V\n\n  EQUIPMENT AND CARE OF THE SICK ROOM                              117\n\n     Choice of a sick room, 118. Furnishing, 120. Ventilation,\n     123. Heating, 124. Lighting, 124. Cleaning, 126. The\n     attendant, 127.\n\n  CHAPTER VI\n\n  BEDS AND BEDMAKING                                               132\n\n     Bedsteads, 133. Mattresses, 135. Care of the mattress,\n     136. Pillows, 136. Protection of the mattress and\n     pillows, 137. Rubber sheets and pillow-cases, 138.\n     Sheets, 139. Draw sheets, 139. Pillow covers, 140.\n     Blankets, 140. Comforters and quilts, 141. Counterpanes,\n     141. Bedmaking, 141. To make an unoccupied bed, 143. To\n     change a patient's pillows, 146. Lifting a patient in\n     bed, 146. To turn a patient in bed, 147. To change sheets\n     while patient is in bed, 147. To move patient from one\n     bed to another, 150.\n\n  CHAPTER VII\n\n  BATHS AND BATHING                                                154\n\n     Cleansing baths, 154. Bed bath, 156. Care of the mouth\n     and teeth, 160. Care of the hair, 163. To wash the hair\n     of a bed patient, 164. Hot foot-baths, 165. Cool sponge\n     bath, 166.\n\n  CHAPTER VIII\n\n  APPLIANCES AND METHODS FOR THE SICK-ROOM                         169\n\n     Devices to give support, 172. Bedpans, 176. Daily routine\n     in the sick-room, 179. Time for visitors, 182.\n\n  CHAPTER IX\n\n  FEEDING THE SICK                                                 187\n\n     The digestive process, 188. Feeding the sick, 191. Liquid\n     diet, 192. Semi-solid diet, 192. Light or convalescent\n     diet, 193. Full diet, 193. Serving food for the sick,\n     195. To feed a helpless patient, 197.\n\n  CHAPTER X\n\n  MEDICINES AND OTHER REMEDIES                                     200\n\n     Action of drugs, 200. Amateur dosing, 202. Patent\n     remedies, 205. Administration of medicine, 206.\n     Suppositories, 209. Enemata, 210. Sprays and gargles,\n     213. Inhalation, 213. Inunction, 214. Household medicine\n     cupboard, 215.\n\n  CHAPTER XI\n\n  APPLICATION OF HEAT, COLD AND COUNTER-IRRITANTS                  220\n\n     Inflammation, 220. Hot applications, 225. Dry heat, 225.\n     Moist heat, 227. Stupes or hot fomentations, 229. Cold\n     applications, 231. Dry cold, 231. Moist cold, 232. Cold\n     compresses for the eyes, 232. Counter-irritants, 233.\n     Mustard paste, 233. Mustard leaves, 234.\n\n  CHAPTER XII\n\n  CARE OF PATIENTS WITH COMMUNICABLE DISEASES                      236\n\n     Incubation period, 238. Care of patients with colds or\n     other slight infections, 238. Care during more serious\n     infections, 242. Children's diseases, 246. Rules for\n     isolation and exclusion from school, 247. Disinfection,\n     248. Care of nose and throat discharges, 249. Care of\n     discharges from the bowels and bladder, 249. Bath water,\n     250. Care of the hands, 250. Care of utensils, 251. Care\n     of linen, 251. Disinfection of the person, 252.\n     Termination of quarantine, 252. Terminal disinfection,\n     253. Fumigation, 254.\n\n  CHAPTER XIII\n\n  COMMON AILMENTS AND EMERGENCIES                                  257\n\n     Conditions in which the nervous system is involved, 257.\n     Headache, 257. Sleeplessness, 258. Fainting, 259.\n     Convulsions, 260. Shock, 261. Stimulants, 263. Sunstroke\n     and heat exhaustion, 264. Conditions in which the\n     digestive tract is affected, 265. Nausea and vomiting,\n     265. Hiccough, 265. Diarrhœa, 266. Constipation, 266.\n     Colic, 266. Conditions in which the eyes or ears are\n     affected, 267. Styes, 267. Foreign bodies in the eye,\n     267. Disorders affecting the ears, 268. Conditions in\n     which the skin is affected, 269. Prickly heat, 269.\n     Insect bites and stings, 270. Ivy poisoning, 270. Other\n     emergencies, 270. Chills, 270. Croup, 271. Bleeding, 272.\n     Treatment of slight wounds, 272. Nose bleed, 274. Profuse\n     menstruation, 275. Other injuries, 275. Sprains, 275.\n     Bruises, 276. Burns and scalds, 277. Brush burn, 278.\n\n  CHAPTER XIV\n\n  SPECIAL POINTS IN THE CARE OF CHILDREN, CONVALESCENTS,\n  CHRONICS, AND THE AGED                                           280\n\n     Children, 281. Physical defects, 283. Eye-strain, 284.\n     Enlarged tonsils and adenoids, 284. Defective hearing,\n     285. Defective teeth, 286. Posture, 286. Predisposition\n     to nervousness, 292. Convalescent patients, 294. Chronic\n     patients, 299. Care of the aged, 303.\n\n  CHAPTER XV\n\n  QUESTIONS FOR REVIEW                                             312\n\n  APPENDIX                                                         319\n\n     Circulars of information issued by Division of Child\n     Hygiene, New York Department of Health.\n\n  GLOSSARY                                                         326\n\n  INDEX                                                            331\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nHealth and sickness, at all times momentous factors in the welfare of\nour nation, now as never before are matters of vital importance. To win\nits victories both in peace and in war, the nation needs all its\ncitizens with all their powers, and it is a matter of more than passing\ninterest that, as conservative estimates show, at least three persons\nout of every hundred living in the United States are constantly\nincapacitated by serious sickness. In 1910 these seriously sick persons\nnumbered more than 3,000,000. Even more significant, perhaps, is the\nfact that at least half of our national sickness could be prevented if\nknowledge and resources that we now possess were fully utilized.\n\nThe problem of sickness is by no means peculiar to our own day and\ngeneration. It has been a medical, a religious, and a social problem in\nevery age. From the time of Job its meaning has baffled philosophers;\nfrom his day to ours thoughtful men have devoted their lives to\nsearching for causes and cures. Yet before the middle of the last\ncentury little progress was made, either in scientific treatment or in\nprevention of disease.\n\nThe invention of the microscope first made possible a real\nunderstanding of sickness. Through the microscope a new world was\nrevealed,--a world of the infinitely small, swarming with tiny forms of\nanimal and vegetable life. No one, however, appreciated the significance\nof these hitherto invisible plants and animals until the latter part of\nthe 19th century, when the great French savant, Pasteur, proved that\nlittle vegetable forms, now called bacteria, cause putrefaction and\nfermentation, and also certain diseases of animals and man. Pasteur's\ndiscoveries were carried still further by other scientists, with the\nresult that bacteriology has revolutionized medicine, agriculture, and\nmany industries, and has made possible the brilliant achievements of\nmodern sanitary science. For the first time in history the prevention of\nepidemics has become possible, and sickness is no longer regarded as a\npunishment for sin.\n\nActual care of the sick, both in homes and in hospitals, has always been\none of the responsibilities of women. The first general public hospital\nwas built in Rome in the 4th century after Christ by Fabiola, a\npatrician lady. There she nursed the sick with her own hands, and from\nher day to ours extends an unbroken line of devoted women, handing down\nthrough the centuries their tradition of compassionate nursing service.\nIt remained for Florence Nightingale, however, to give to the training\nits technical and scientific foundation, and thus to found the\nprofession of nursing. As a result of her work, effectiveness was added\nto the spirit of service, that spirit which inspires the modern nurse no\nless than in an earlier day it inspired the Sisters of Charity who died\nnursing the wounded on the battlefields of Poland.\n\nBut different generations have different needs, and to meet them the\nspirit of service must manifest itself in widely varying ways. The sick\nneed care today no less than they did when St. Elizabeth bathed the feet\nof the lepers; but such limited service, however beautiful, is no longer\nenough. Today we serve best by preventing sickness. Cure of sickness and\nalleviation of suffering must never be neglected; not in cure, however,\nbut in prevention lies the hope of modern sanitary science, of modern\nmedicine, and of modern nursing.\n\nNearly every woman at some time in her life is called upon to assist in\ncaring for the sick. Indeed, approximately 90% of all sick persons in\nthe United States are cared for at home, even in cities where hospital\nfacilities are good. Moreover, every woman is largely responsible for\nmaintaining her own health, and few escape responsibility at some time\nfor maintaining the health of others. For such responsibility most women\nare poorly prepared. Every year in our own country thousands of persons,\nmany of them babies and children, die merely because someone, in many\ncases a woman, is fatally ignorant of the laws governing sickness and\nhealth.\n\nOnly prolonged and careful training, such as good hospital\ntraining-schools afford, can furnish the skill and judgment required in\nnursing persons who are seriously ill. Upon the trained nurse the modern\npractice of medicine makes great and ever-increasing demands: a nurse\nmust perform complicated duties, meet critical situations, and carry out\na wide variety of measures based on scientific principles which she must\nunderstand. Good will and sympathy are no longer enough; amateur\nnursing, even when performed with the best intentions, may involve grave\ndangers for those who are seriously ill.\n\nOn the other hand, although it is true that a little knowledge is a\ndangerous thing, it is no less true that total ignorance may be more\ndangerous still. For instance, in cases of incipient, slight, or chronic\nillness, and in certain emergencies a little knowledge may be safer far\nthan no knowledge at all; and no one, surely, should be ignorant of the\nprinciples of hygiene.\n\nThe American Red Cross, recognizing the part that women can and should\nplay in preventing sickness and in building up the health and vigor of\nthe nation, has added to its larger patriotic services this elementary\ncourse of instruction in hygiene and home care of the sick. The lessons\nare not intended to take the place of a nurse's training, and procedures\nrequiring technical skill are necessarily omitted. The object of the\nbook is to supply a little knowledge of sickness, which though limited\nmay yet be safe. The book is also designed to set forth some general\nlaws of health; to make possible earlier recognition of symptoms; to\nteach greater care in guarding against communicable disease; and to\ndescribe some elementary methods of caring for the sick, which, however\nsimple, are essential to comfort, and sometimes indeed to ultimate\nrecovery.\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nA History of Nursing--Dock and Nutting, Volume I.\n\nThe Life of Florence Nightingale--Cook.\n\nThe Life of Pasteur--Vallery-Radot.\n\nThe House on Henry Street--Wald.\n\nPublic Health Nursing--Gardner, Part I, Chapters I-III.\n\nOrigin and Growth of the Healing Art--Berdoe.\n\nMedical History from the Earliest Times--Withington.\n\nUnder the Red Cross Flag--Boardman.\n\nReport on National Vitality--Fisher, (Bulletin 30 of the Committee of\nOne Hundred on National Health. Government Printing Office, Washington).\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCAUSES AND PREVENTION OF SICKNESS\n\n\nDiseases of two kinds have long been recognized: first, those\ntransmitted directly or indirectly from person to person, like smallpox,\nmeasles, and typhoid fever; and second, diseases like heart disease and\napoplexy, which are not so transmitted. These two classes are popularly\ncalled \"catching\" and \"not catching;\" the former are the infectious or\ncommunicable diseases, and the latter the non-infectious or\nnon-communicable. The term contagious, formerly applied to diseases\nsupposed to be spread only by direct contact, is no longer an accurate\nor useful term.\n\n\nTHE COMMUNICABLE DISEASES\n\nThe invention of the microscope, as we have seen, revealed the existence\nof innumerable little plants and animals, so small that even many\nmillions crowded together are invisible to the naked eye. These tiny\nliving creatures are called micro-organisms or germs. The plant forms\nare called bacteria (singular, bacterium), and the animal forms\nprotozoa (singular, protozoön). The common belief that all or even most\nbacteria are harmful is quite unfounded. As a matter of fact, while not\nless than 1500 different kinds of micro-organisms or germs are known,\nonly about 75 varieties are known to produce disease.\n\nMost bacteria belong to the class of micro-organisms called saprophytes,\nwhich find their food in dead organic matter, both animal and vegetable,\nand cannot flourish in living tissues. These saprophytes act upon the\ntissues of dead animals and vegetables, and resolve them into simpler\nsubstances, which are then ready to serve as nourishment for plants\nhigher in the vegetable kingdom. Thus the processes which we know as\nfermentation and putrefaction are due to the action of saprophytes.\nHigher plants in turn furnish food for men and animals, and so the food\nsupply is used over and over in different forms, making what is known as\nthe _food cycle_. If it were not for bacterial activities vegetation\nwould be robbed of its supply of nourishment, and plant life would\nspeedily end; destruction of plant life would deprive the animal kingdom\nof food and thus all life would become extinct. The saprophytes are\nconsequently essential to the existence of both animals and vegetables.\n\nThere are, however, other organisms called _parasites_, which can exist\nin living tissues of animals or vegetables. The organisms at whose\nexpense the parasites live are called their _hosts_. Parasites not only\ncontribute nothing to their hosts, but generally harm them by producing\npoisonous substances or depriving them of food. Some parasites are able\nto lead a saprophytic existence also, but as a rule they live at the\nexpense of animal or plant life. Pathogenic, or disease-producing, germs\nbelong to the group of parasites. The pathogenic germs which find\nfavorable soil in the body produce poisons called toxins. These poisons\nor toxins interfere with the bodily functions, and thus cause what we\nknow as communicable disease. Communicable diseases are caused by\nspecific germs only: that is, a certain disease cannot develop unless\nits particular germs are present; the germs of typhoid for instance, can\ncause typhoid fever only, and not tuberculosis or other disease.\n\nA number of diseases are caused by micro-organisms that are now well\nknown. Chief among these diseases are colds, septicæmia (blood\npoisoning), influenza, pneumonia, diphtheria, typhoid fever,\ntuberculosis, whooping cough, Asiatic cholera, bubonic plague,\nmeningitis, tetanus (\"lock jaw\"), leprosy, gonorrhœa, syphilis,\nrelapsing fever, typhus fever, glanders, and anthrax. Micro-organisms\nnot yet identified probably cause the communicable diseases whose origin\nis not known with certainty. These include infantile paralysis,\nsmallpox, scarlet fever, measles, mumps, chicken-pox, Rocky Mountain\nspotted fever, yellow fever, hydrophobia (rabies), foot-and-mouth\ndisease. We can hardly doubt that the intensive laboratory research now\nin progress will reveal in the near future the specific germs of these\ndiseases also.\n\n\nSTRUCTURE AND DEVELOPMENT OF PARASITES\n\nThe group of parasites consists of two general classes, the vegetable,\nand the animal. In the former class belong the bacteria, and in the\nlatter the protozoa. The two classes are not sharply differentiated, but\nin general the vegetable parasites are less highly organized than the\nanimal.\n\n\nBACTERIA\n\nSHAPE.--Bacteria are composed of single cells and are consequently\ncalled unicellular organisms. Under the microscope individual cells are\nseen to differ in size, shape, and structure. In shape bacteria show\nthree different types; the rod-shaped (bacillus), the spherical\n(coccus), and the spiral (spirillum). The organisms causing typhoid\nfever for example are a variety of bacilli, those causing pneumonia are\ncocci, while those causing Asiatic cholera are spirilla.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 1.--BACILLI OF VARIOUS FORMS. (_Williams._)]\n\nSIZE.--Bacteria vary greatly in size. Average rod-shaped bacteria are\nabout 1/25000 of an inch long, but there are undoubtedly organisms so\nsmall that they cannot be seen, even by means of the strongest\nmicroscopes we now possess.\n\n[Illustration: STAPHYLOCOCCI. STREPTOCOCCI. DIPLOCOCCI. TETRADS.\nSARCINÆ. FIG. 2.--(_Williams._)]\n\nMOTION.--The power of motion in certain species of bacteria is due to\nhair-like appendages called flagella. These flagella by a lashing\nmovement somewhat resembling the action of oars enable the organisms to\nmove through fluids.\n\nMULTIPLICATION.--After bacteria have fully developed, each cell divides\ninto two equal parts; the process of division is called fission. Each\nof these two parts rapidly grows into a full-sized organism. Then\nfission again takes place, so that four bacteria replace the original\none. In each of the four, fission occurs again, and so the process of\nmultiplication continues. As bacteria develop they group themselves in\ncharacteristic ways. Some, like the streptococci, arrange themselves in\nchains; the diplococci, in pairs; the tetrads, in groups of four; others\nin packets called sarcinæ, and still others, the staphylococci, form\nmasses supposed to resemble bunches of grapes.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 3.--SPIRILLA OF VARIOUS FORMS. (_Williams._)]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 4.--BACTERIA SHOWING FLAGELLA. (_Williams._)]\n\nUnder favorable conditions fission occurs rapidly; in some types a new\ngeneration may appear as often as every 15 minutes. Enormous\nmultiplication would result if nothing occurred to check the process.\nBut in nature such increase never continues unhindered, and bacteria,\nacting upon their food substances, produce acids and other materials\ninjurious to themselves. Furthermore, lack of proper food, moisture, or\nfavorable temperature, and competition with other organisms tend to\nprevent their unrestricted growth and multiplication.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 5.--BACTERIA WITH SPORES. (_Williams._)]\n\nSPORES.--Most bacteria die if conditions become unfavorable to their\ngrowth, but some enter into a resting stage. This stage is characterized\nby the development of round or oval glistening bodies called spores,\nwhich are of dense structure and possess an extraordinary power to\nwithstand heat, chemicals, and unfavorable surroundings. Except in rare\ninstances a single cell produces but one spore. As soon as favorable\nconditions of temperature, moisture, and food supply are restored, the\nspore develops into the active form of the germ; it may, however, remain\ndormant for months or years. Spore formation, however, occurs in only a\nvery few varieties of pathogenic bacteria.\n\nDISTRIBUTION.--Bacteria are very widely distributed in nature; they are\nin fact found practically everywhere on the surface of the earth. They\nare present in plants and water and food; on fabrics and furniture,\nwalls and floors; and they are found in great numbers on the skin, hair,\nmany mucous surfaces, and other tissues of the body.\n\n\nPROTOZOA\n\nThe protozoa are the lowest group of the animal kingdom. Like bacteria\nthey are composed of single cells so small as to be visible only under\nthe microscope. They play an important part in causing certain diseases\nof man, especially in the tropics. Among the well-known human diseases\nof protozoan origin are malaria, amoebic dysentery, and\nsleeping-sickness. Protozoa also cause several wide-spread and serious\nplagues of domestic animals.\n\n\nVISIBLE PARASITES\n\nA few diseases are caused by parasites large enough to be seen with the\nnaked eye. One of the most important is hookworm disease. This disease\nis caused by a tiny worm which penetrates the victim's skin and\nultimately finds its way into the intestine. Other diseases also are\ncaused by parasitic worms, such as tapeworms, pinworms, and trichinæ.\nThe latter are acquired as a result of eating infected meat,\nparticularly infected pork that has not been thoroughly cooked.\n\n\nTRANSMISSION OF PATHOGENIC ORGANISMS\n\nPathogenic or disease producing organisms need for their development\nfood, moisture, darkness, and warmth, conditions that exist within the\nhuman body. When one or more of these factors is unfavorable,\ndevelopment of germs is checked; if unfavorable conditions are extreme\nor long continued, the organisms begin to die. It is difficult to say at\nexactly what moment they will die if deprived of moisture or exposed to\nextremes of temperature or other unfavorable conditions, just as it\nwould be impossible to state at exactly what moment a collection of\nhouse plants would all be dead if water were withheld, or if the room\ntemperature were greatly reduced.\n\nMost pathogenic organisms, however, do not flourish long outside the\nbody, and owe their continued existence to a fairly direct transfer\nfrom person to person. They gain access to the body through mucous\nsurfaces such as the respiratory and digestive tracts, and through\nbreaks in the skin, such as cuts, abrasions, and the bites of certain\ninsects. They leave the body chiefly in the nasal and mouth discharges,\nas in coughing, sneezing, and spitting, in the urine and bowel\ndischarges, and in pus or \"matter.\"\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 6. (_L. H. Wilder._)]\n\nThe problem of controlling communicable diseases, consequently, lies in\npreventing the bodily discharges of one person from travelling directly\ninto the body of another. If a person is not expelling pathogenic germs,\nit is clear that he cannot pass diseases on to others. But both\npathogenic and harmless germs follow the same routes from person to\nperson, so that safety as well as decency lies in preventing so far as\npossible all exchanges of bodily discharges.\n\nThere are five routes by which the bodily discharges most frequently\ntravel from one person to another. Four of these routes of infection are\ncalled public, because in most cases efforts of individuals alone are\nnot sufficient to control them. The public routes are water, milk, food,\nand insects. The fifth, or private route, includes all means by which\nfresh discharges of one person are passed to another, as when nose and\nmouth discharges are carried in coughing, sneezing, and kissing, or when\nbowel and bladder discharges are carried by the hands. These five routes\nin a given case differ greatly in relative importance, but the fifth, or\ndirect route plays an immense part, although its importance in causing\nsickness has only lately been recognized. It cannot be too strongly\nemphasized that the chief agent in the spread of human diseases is man\nhimself, and the human hand is the great carrier of disease germs both\nto and from the body. If unclean hands could be kept away from the\norifices of the body, particularly the mouth, many diseases would soon\ncease to exist.\n\n\nDefenses of the Body\n\nIn view of all the dangers from disease-producing germs it may seem\nsurprising that the human race has not long ago succumbed to its\ninvisible enemies. But the body has various defenses by means of which\nit may prevent invasion, or successfully combat its enemies in case they\ndo gain access.\n\nThe unbroken skin is usually impassable to bacteria. Virulent organisms\nare often found upon the skin of perfectly healthy persons, where they\nappear to be harmless unless an abrasion occurs which affords entrance\ninto the deeper tissues. Most bacteria breathed in with the air cling to\nthe moist surfaces of the air-passages and never reach the lungs.\n\nMucous membranes lining the mouth and other cavities of the body would\nprove favorable sites for the growth of bacteria if the mucus secreted\nby them were not frequently removed. The mouth of a healthy person may\ncontain bacteria of many kinds, but the saliva has a slight disinfectant\npower and serves as a constant wash to the membranes. The normal gastric\n(stomach) juice is decidedly unfavorable to the growth of bacteria,\nalthough it does not always kill them; they often pass through the\nstomach and are found in large numbers in the intestines. Other bodily\nsecretions, such as the tears and perspiration, tend to discourage\nbacterial growth.\n\nTissues of the body vary greatly in their power to resist invading\ngerms, so that the route by which germs enter influences the severity of\ntheir effects. Typhoid bacilli and the spirilla of Asiatic cholera when\ntaken with food or water produce far more serious disturbances than when\ninjected under the skin; infections from pus germs through an abrasion\nof the skin may result in a slight local disturbance, while the same\namount introduced into a deeper wound might cause a fatal infection.\nCertain germs nourish in certain tissues only; even tuberculosis, which\nattacks practically all tissues, has its favorite locations.\n\nIMMUNITY.--In addition to its mechanical defenses against disease, the\nbody shows a varying degree of _immunity_, or the power possessed by\nliving organisms to resist infections. Immunity or resistance is the\nopposite of susceptibility. It is exceedingly variable, being greater or\nless in different people and under different conditions, but the exact\nways in which it is brought about are still in many cases far from\nclear.\n\nImmunity may be _natural_ or _acquired_. By natural immunity is meant\nan inherited characteristic by which all individuals of a species are\nimmune to a certain disease. The natural immunity of certain species of\nanimals to the diseases of other animals is well known. Man is immune to\nmany diseases of lower animals, and they in turn are immune to many\ndiseases of man. Cattle, for instance, are immune to typhoid and yellow\nfever, while man shows high resistance to rinderpest and Texas fever;\nboth, however, are susceptible to tuberculosis, to which goats are\nimmune. There are all gradations of immunity within the same species.\nMoreover, certain individuals have a personal immunity against diseases\nto which others of the same race or species are susceptible.\n\nImmunity may be _acquired_ in several ways. It is commonly known that\none attack of certain communicable diseases renders the individual\nimmune for a varying length of time, and sometimes for life. Among these\ndiseases are smallpox, measles, whooping-cough, scarlet fever, infantile\nparalysis, typhoid fever, chicken-pox, and mumps; erysipelas and\npneumonia on the other hand appear to diminish resistance and to leave a\nperson more susceptible to later attacks.\n\nAgain, in some cases immunity may be artificially acquired by\nintroducing certain substances into the body to increase its\nresistance. Examples of this method include the use of antitoxin as a\nprotection against diphtheria, of sera in pneumonia and other\ninfections, and vaccination against smallpox and typhoid fever whereby a\nslight form of the disease is artificially induced. Laboratory research\ngoes on constantly, and doubtless many more substances will eventually\nbe discovered that will reduce human misery as vaccines and antitoxin\nhave already reduced it.\n\nVaccination and inoculation have saved thousands of lives. Smallpox,\nonce more prevalent than measles, was the scourge of Europe until\nvaccination was introduced. During the 18th century it was estimated\nthat 60,000,000 people died of it, and at the beginning of the 19th\ncentury one-fifth of all children born died of smallpox before they were\n10 years old. In countries where vaccination is not practised the\ndisease is as serious as ever; in Russia during the five years from\n1893-97, 275,502 persons died of smallpox, while in Germany where\nvaccination is compulsory, only 8 people died of it during the year\n1897. Death rates from diphtheria and typhoid fever have been greatly\nreduced by the use of antitoxin and antityphoid vaccine. Thus in New\nYork State in 1894, before antitoxin was generally used, 99 out of every\n100,000 of the population died of diphtheria, while only 20 out of\n100,000 died of it in 1914. In 1911 a United States Army Division of\nmore than 12,000 men camped at San Antonio, Texas, for four months. All\nof these men were vaccinated against typhoid fever and only a single\ncase occurred during the summer, although conditions of camp life always\ntend to spread the disease.\n\nWhile many and various factors tend to lower resistance rather than to\nincrease it, the idea that these factors act equally in all kinds of\ninfection is erroneous.\n\n      \"The principal causes which diminish resistance to\n      infection are: wet and cold, fatigue, insufficient or\n      unsuitable food, vitiated atmosphere, insufficient sleep\n      and rest, worry, and excesses of all kinds. The mechanism\n      by which these varying conditions lower our immunity must\n      receive our attention, for they are of the greatest\n      importance in preventive medicine. It is a matter of common\n      observation that exposure to wet and cold or sudden changes\n      of temperature, overwork, worry, stale air, poor food,\n      etc., make us more liable to contract certain diseases. The\n      tuberculosis propaganda that has been spread broadcast with\n      such energy and good effect has taught the value of fresh\n      air and sunshine, good food, and rest in increasing our\n      resistance to this infection.\n\n      \"There is, however, a wrong impression abroad that because\n      a lowering of the general vitality favors certain diseases,\n      such as tuberculosis, common colds, pneumonia, septic and\n      other infections, it plays a similar rôle in all\n      communicable diseases. Many infections, such as smallpox,\n      measles, yellow fever, tetanus, whooping-cough, typhoid\n      fever, cholera, plague, scarlet fever, and other diseases,\n      have no particular relation whatever to bodily vigor. These\n      diseases often strike down the young and vigorous in the\n      prime of life. The most robust will succumb quickly to\n      tuberculosis if he receives a sufficient dose of the\n      virulent micro-organisms. A good physical condition does\n      not always temper the virulence of the disease; on the\n      contrary, many infections run a particularly severe course\n      in strong and healthy subjects, and, contrariwise, may be\n      mild and benign in the feeble. Physical weakness,\n      therefore, is not necessarily synonymous with increased\n      susceptibility to all infections, although true for some of\n      them. In other words, 'general debility' lowers resistance\n      in a specific, rather than in a general, sense.\"--(Rosenau:\n      Preventive Medicine and Hygiene, pp. 403 and 404.)\n\n\nCARRIERS\n\nWell persons who carry in their bodies pathogenic germs but who\nthemselves have no symptoms of disease are called carriers. Thus typhoid\ncarriers have typhoid bacilli in the intestinal tract, while they\nthemselves show no symptoms of typhoid fever; diphtheria carriers have\nbacilli of diphtheria in the throat or nose, but have themselves no\nsymptoms of diphtheria, and so on. It has now been proved that many\npatients harbor bacteria for weeks, months, or even years following an\ninfection, and are dangerous distributors of disease; also, some\nhealthy individuals without a history of illness harbor living bacteria\nwhich may infect susceptible persons in the usual ways. Transmission by\nhealthy carriers goes far to explain the occurrence of diseases among\npersons who have apparently not been exposed. This explanation has\ngreatly clarified the whole problem of the spread of communicable\ndiseases. Carriers, unfortunately, exist in large numbers, and render\nthe ultimate control of disease exceedingly difficult. They can usually\nbe identified by bacteriological tests. To some extent they can be\nsupervised; food handlers at least should be legally obliged to submit\nto physical examinations, and should be licensed only when proved free\nfrom communicable disease.\n\nDiseases are also spread by persons suffering from them in a form so\nmild or so unusual that they pass unrecognized. These persons are known\nas \"missed\" cases. Carriers of disease and \"missed\" cases go freely\nabout the community, handling food, using common drinking cups,\ntravelling in crowded street cars, standing in crowded shops; in various\nways coming into close contact with other people, coughing and sneezing\nand kissing their friends no less often than normal individuals. It is\nconsequently clear that the bodily discharges of supposedly normal\npersons may be hardly less a menace than those of persons known to be\ninfected.\n\nDiseases that depend for transmission upon milk, water, food, and\ninsects may be controlled by public action, that is, by specific\nmeasures taken by a large group of people in order to protect the\nindividual. Such action constitutes _public sanitation_. There is,\nhowever, a large group of diseases, chiefly sputum-borne, that cannot be\ncontrolled except by individual action. Such individual action\nconstitutes a large part of _personal hygiene_.\n\nThe whole problem of controlling infections sounds simple, depending as\nit does for the most part upon unpolluted water, milk, and food,\nextermination of certain insects, and cleanliness in personal behaviour.\nIn practice the problem is not so easy. Public sanitation has performed\nmiracles in the past, and will do much in the future; behaviour,\nhowever, will continue to be influenced by many factors, social and\neconomic as well as personal. Ignorance of the laws of health is an\nobstacle to progress, but in modern conditions even the instructed may\nbe unable to control their ways of living and working. Indeed, such\ncontrol is at present limited to the privileged few. On the ignorant and\nthe poor, those least able to bear it, society loads the heaviest burden\nof sickness. Only when ignorance and poverty are abolished, as one day\nthey will be, can the final stage be reached in the fight for public\nhealth.\n\n\nTHE NON-COMMUNICABLE DISEASES\n\nIn this group is included a great variety of maladies. Of some the\ncauses are known, while in the case of others, origin, prevention, and\nremedy are still obscure. Here belong defects in structure of the body,\nboth hereditary and acquired; insanity and other nervous diseases; new\ngrowths, like tumors and cancer; disturbances of bodily processes, as\nmalnutrition and gout; and the important class of degenerative diseases,\nlike arteriosclerosis, in which tissues become hardened and fibrous and\nhence less able to perform their normal functions.\n\nThe degenerative diseases are playing a menacing part in national\nhealth. The average length of life in the United States has shown a\nmarked increase it is true, during the last 40 years. But this gain\nrepresents chiefly the saving of life through prevention of communicable\ndiseases, especially among babies and children; among people who have\npassed the 30th year on the other hand, death rates are actually\nincreasing. This increase is most marked after the age of 45, and is\ncaused chiefly by the increase of cancer, and of degenerative diseases\nof the heart, blood vessels, and kidneys. Degeneration of tissues is\nnormally a condition typical of old age, and in aged persons it may\noccur in any tissue. There is no elixir of youth, and for old age there\nis no cure. But the important facts in this connection are that\ndegenerative changes now occur prematurely, and that among a vast number\nof people, in various classes of society and various occupations, the\nvital organs show a marked tendency to break down after the age of 45.\n\nThis condition is not inevitable. Before the beginning of the present\nwar, death rates at all ages were decreasing in England, Sweden, and\nother European countries. In America also degenerative diseases can be\nchecked or prevented to a large extent, and it is highly important that\ntheir causes should be generally understood.\n\nThe two groups following include some of the probable causes:\n\n1. Conditions of life which result in continued overwork, and mental\noverwork in particular; worry, excitement, insufficient recreation and\nexercise, and other kinds of nervous strain typical of modern life,\nespecially in cities.\n\n2. Irritating substances in the body, including poisonous substances\nresulting from infectious diseases, and from syphilis in particular;\npoisons from chronic infections, alcohol, and industrial poisons such\nas lead and other metals; overeating and improper eating, especially of\nmeat and other proteins, and rich or highly seasoned food; faulty\ndigestion, constipation, and imperfect elimination through the\nkidneys.--(See Dr. A. E. Shipley, in bulletin of the N. Y. City Dept. of\nHealth, Feb., 1915.)\n\nThe importance of early recognition cannot be overemphasized. In many of\nthese troubles the symptoms are not pronounced, and the victims have no\nknowledge of their condition until they happen to be examined for life\ninsurance, or until the disease is far advanced. And even when they\nrealize that trouble exists, as for example constipation or overwork,\nmost people absolutely fail to realize how serious the consequences may\nbe. The first step toward remedy is periodic complete physical\nexamination by a competent physician, in order to learn in time how to\nprevent these degenerative diseases, if present, from growing worse. The\ncustom of undergoing an annual physical examination is becoming more\ncommon, and \"such a course, conservatively estimated, would add 5 years\nto the average life of persons between 45 and 50.\"--(Winslow.)\n\n      \"Recently, we have been making examinations of the\n      employees of whole institutions, large banks and other\n      industrial concerns in New York City, and we find almost\n      the same conditions there. Out of 2000 such examinations\n      among young men and women of an average age of 33, just in\n      the early prime of life, men and women supposedly picked\n      because of their especial fitness for work, only 3.14% were\n      found free of impairment or of habits of living which are\n      obviously leading to impairment. Of the remaining persons,\n      96.69% were unaware of impairment; 5.38% of the total\n      number examined were affected with chronic heart trouble;\n      13.10% with arteriosclerosis; 25.81% with high or low blood\n      pressure; 35.65% with sugar, casts or albumen in the urine;\n      12.77% with combination of both heart and kidney disease;\n      22.22% with decayed teeth or infected gums; 16.03% with\n      faulty vision uncorrected.... The fact of greatest import,\n      however, was that impairment, sufficiently serious to\n      justify the examiner in referring the examinee to his\n      family physician for medical treatment, was found in 59% of\n      the total number of cases, while 37.86% were on the road to\n      impairment because of the use of \"too much alcohol,\" or\n      \"too much tobacco,\" constipation, eye-strain, overweight,\n      diseased mouths, errors of diet, and so forth....\n\n      \"And what is the cause of this appalling increase, in the\n      United States, of these and other degenerative diseases? I\n      believe it can be shown to the satisfaction of any\n      reasonable person that the increase is largely due to the\n      neglect of individual hygiene in United States....\n\n      \"If a man were suddenly afflicted with smallpox or typhoid\n      fever or any other acute malady, he would lose no time in\n      getting expert advice and applying every known means to\n      save his life. But his life may be threatened just as\n      seriously, though possibly not so imminently, by\n      arteriosclerosis, heart disease, or Bright's disease, and\n      he will do nothing to prevent the encroachment of these\n      diseases until it is too late, but will continue to eat as\n      he pleases, drink as he pleases, smoke as he pleases, or\n      overwork, and worry himself into a premature\n      grave.\"--(\"Conservation of Life at Middle Age,\" Prof.\n      Irving Fisher, Am. Journal of Public Health, July, 1915.)\n\nPeriodic physical examinations are as necessary for children as for\nadults, in order to detect physical defects. These defects are known to\nhave such an immense bearing upon health that routine examinations of\nall children have become an integral part of the work of enlightened\npublic schools.\n\nPrevention of degenerative disease, then, as well as of the enormous\nnumbers of preventable accidents and injuries, depends in large measure\nupon proper living conditions and proper personal habits. The infectious\ndiseases, according to Dr. Hill, cost us annually at least 10 billion\ndollars in addition to the loss of life, and he adds: \"The infectious\ndiseases in general radiate from and are kept going by women.\"--(Hill--\nNew Public Health, p. 30.) Women, it is true, can prevent many of the\ninfections, but they can do still more, for hygienic habits to be\neffective must be acquired early, and mothers and teachers, because they\nhave practically the entire control of children, have the power to\nprevent many cases of degenerative as well as of communicable disease.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Distinguish between communicable and non-communicable disease.\n\n2. Describe the part played by micro-organisms in causing disease.\n\n3. Describe the structure of bacteria and their method of\nmultiplication.\n\n4. In what ways are pathogenic germs transmitted from person to person?\n\n5. Upon what preventive measures does the control of communicable\ndiseases depend?\n\n6. What is meant by immunity?\n\n7. Against what diseases may immunity be acquired artificially? How has\nthe practice of immunizing affected death rates from communicable\ndiseases?\n\n8. What factors tend to lower resistance? Do they act equally in the\ncase of all diseases?\n\n9. Define a carrier, and explain the importance of carriers in the\nspread of disease.\n\n10. Name some of the characteristics and causes of degenerative\ndiseases.\n\n11. Whom do the degenerative diseases most commonly affect?\n\n12. Describe methods that should be employed to prevent degenerative\ndiseases.\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nThe New Public Health--Hill, Chapters I-IX.\n\nHealth and Disease--Roger I. Lee, Chapters XV-XXIV.\n\nPrinciples of Sanitary Science and the Public Health--Sedgwick, Chapters\nI, II, III.\n\nScientific Features of Modern Medicine--Frederic S. Lee, Chapters II,\nIV-VI.\n\nDisease and Its Causes--Councilman, Chapter I.\n\nPreventive Medicine and Hygiene--Rosenau.\n\nPublications of the Life Extension Institute--25 West 45th Street, New\nYork City.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nHEALTH AND THE HOME\n\n\nOf all the considerations that determine health, heredity is the one\nunalterable factor. Although certain characteristics are obviously\nhereditary,--complexion, height, and mental and physical traits in great\nvariety,--yet in the past heredity has been little understood. In\nconsequence it has served too often as a scape goat for faults and\nfailings not beyond an individual's control. Our first clear\nunderstanding of the principles underlying heredity resulted from\nexperiments made by Mendel, an Austrian monk, during the last century,\nand it is now possible to predict with a high degree of accuracy the\ninheritance of certain characteristics.\n\nMany diseases, formerly considered hereditary because their actual\ncauses were unknown, are now known to be communicable. Thus, it is now\nunderstood that tuberculosis is not hereditary, although little children\nmay be infected by tuberculous parents. No germ diseases are inherited\nin the strict sense of the word; but a baby may be infected with\nsyphilis before birth if his father or his mother has the disease.\n\nIt is true, however, that certain tissue weaknesses of the body seem to\nbe hereditary, and in consequence one family is more susceptible to\ndigestive disorders, another to diseases of the lungs, a third to\ndeafness, and so on. Moreover, general low vitality may be inherited. It\nshould be emphasized, however, that hereditary weakness does not\ninevitably lead to disease. Many persons have succeeded in preventing\nthe development of active disease by guarding against strain in\ndirections where they are weak by inheritance.\n\nOf all tissue weaknesses that may be inherited, defects of the nervous\nsystem are the most serious. Nervous disorders of every degree of\nseverity, from slight nervous instability even to insanity, may result\nwhen these tissues are defective; but it is now a recognized fact that\nnervous disorders in many cases can be prevented from developing.\nFeeblemindedness, another condition due to defective tissue, is known to\nbe inherited in the majority of cases, and in all cases it is incurable.\n\n\nHYGIENE OF ENVIRONMENT AND PERSON\n\nBy environment is meant everything outside the body that affects it;\ntaken in its complete meaning the word might include everything that is\nor ever was in the whole universe. It is possible to consider here a few\nonly of the many environmental and personal factors affecting the health\nof individuals.\n\nThe home constitutes the important part of environment for most persons,\nand for children in particular, since they spend the greater part of\ntheir time in or about it, and get there the foundation on which their\nhealth in later years depends. For persons employed away from home,\nindustrial and occupational hygiene is hardly less important; but those\nsubjects are too extensive to be considered here.\n\nMost people live where they must, and few have any part in planning the\nconstruction of their own houses. In choosing a house, however, one\nshould remember that rooms where sunshine never enters are unfit for\ncontinued occupation. For children in particular fresh air and sunshine\nare essential, and it may be economy in the end to pay a comparatively\nhigh rent for an apartment having sunshine during at least a part of the\nday. Ignorance and carelessness, unfortunately, can spoil the best\nliving conditions, and sometimes even in the country fresh air and\nsunshine are excluded from sleeping and living rooms.\n\nVENTILATION.--Ventilation has a direct bearing on health, although,\ncontrary to former belief, the actual amount of oxygen in the air is not\nordinarily the most important factor; even badly ventilated rooms\ncontain more than enough oxygen to support life. The factors of prime\nimportance in ventilation are temperature, humidity, air movement, and\nthe number of persons in a given space since the greater the distance\nfrom one another the less is the probability that diseases will be\nspread.\n\nRoom temperature should not be above 70° F. and, except for the aged or\nsick, it is better to be between 60° and 65°. Some moisture in the air\nis desirable; the amount needed is from 50% to 55% of the total moisture\nthat the air can hold at a given temperature. We have no apparatus to\ndecrease humidity in the air of houses, and in summer we are obliged to\nendure humidity, if excessive, no matter how uncomfortable we may be.\nBut in winter the air in most houses is too dry, so that the mucous\nmembranes of the nose and throat often become irritated and susceptible\nto infection. Most heating systems, particularly in small buildings,\nmake no provision for supplying moisture. Keeping water in open dishes\non or near radiators is often recommended, and would greatly improve the\ncondition of the air, if people remembered to keep the dishes filled.\n\nThe following is a simple but effective device to increase humidity:\nRoll an ordinary desk blotter into a cone about 8 inches in diameter at\nthe base, and keep it constantly submerged for about one inch in a dish\nof water. The water rises to the top of the blotter and a large surface\nfor evaporation is thus afforded.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 7.]\n\nStagnant air is harmful. Air should be in constant though not\nnecessarily perceptible motion. Air about the body, if motionless, acts\nlike a warm moist blanket, preventing the passage of heat from the body.\n\nThe three factors, heating, humidity, and air motion, must be considered\ntogether. Every person requires each hour about 3000 cubic feet of air,\nand the problem of heating and ventilating is that of providing this\namount in gentle motion, at a temperature of about 65° F., and of\nhumidity from 50-55%. Higher temperatures and stagnant air cause\ndisinclination to work, headache, nausea, restlessness, or sleepiness,\nand if continued are likely to result in loss of appetite, and anemia.\nThe tuberculosis movement has clearly shown the benefits both for the\nsick and the well of living in the open air, and has caused great and\nbeneficial changes within a generation. The more time spent in the open\nair the better; since however most persons who work must spend the\ngreater part of the day indoors, ventilation is a matter of great\nimportance.\n\nAlthough fresh air enthusiasts are still too few, yet some go to the\nextreme and think that because cool air in motion is good, the colder\nthe air and more violent the motion the better. On the contrary,\nchilling the whole body or a part of the body lowers resistance.\nDraughts of air have no bad effects upon persons in good health,\nparticularly those accustomed to changes in temperature. But draughts\nare likely to be injurious to aged or sick persons and babies, by\ndiminishing their resistance to such infections as common colds and\npneumonia. It should be remembered that draughts or cold alone cannot\ncause colds; the specific germs must be present.\n\nLIGHTING.--Amount and direction of light are physiologically important.\nDefects of the eyes, too prolonged use, and insufficient light are the\ncommonest causes of eye strain. Most eye defects can be relieved by\nglasses. Children's eyes should be examined upon entering school, and as\noften afterward as the oculist advises. Prolonged use causes fatigue of\nthe eyes, especially when the illumination is poor; within limits, the\namount of light needed depends on the nature of the work. Light should\ncome from the left side of right handed people; never from the front.\nLight reflected from snow, sand, glazed white paper of books, or other\nbright surfaces is fatiguing from its intensity, and from the unusual\nangle at which it enters the eyes. Too much light is harmful, and\nprobably causes some of the effects, such as nausea and headache,\ncommonly attributed to poor ventilation.\n\nAlmost all blindness is preventable, and blindness due to industrial\naccidents and processes is no exception to this rule. Surely no\nindividual precautions or legal measures are too great in order to guard\nagainst this saddest of all physical defects.\n\nCLEANLINESS OF HOUSES.--A clean, well-cared for house is desirable from\nevery point of view, but certain kinds of cleanliness affect health more\nthan others.\n\nThe most scrupulous care should be exercised wherever food is stored or\nprepared. The kitchen is in reality a laboratory; in it either\nintelligently or ignorantly are formed chemical compounds which have a\nfar-reaching effect upon family health. From the standpoint of health no\nother room in the house is so important. It should be bright, airy, and\neasy to clean. In cleaning kitchen tables and woodwork water should not\nbe allowed to soak into cracks and dark corners, carrying with it\nparticles of food for the nourishment of bacteria and insects. Linoleum,\nif used to cover the floor, should be well fitted at the edges to\nprevent water from running underneath. There should be neither cracks\nnor crevices in wall or floor, and no dark corners or out-of-the-way\ncupboards in which dust, food particles, and moisture can accumulate.\nSuch conditions not only attract mice and roaches, but furnish favorable\nsoil for the development of moulds and fungi which by their growth\naffect food deleteriously. Waging a constant warfare against the\ndevelopment of bacteria constitutes a large part of good housekeeping.\n\nAll cooking utensils should be thoroughly washed, scalded, and dried\nbefore they are put away; the use of carelessly washed dishes is bad.\nEnameled or agate ware which has begun to chip should be discarded.\nDish-cloths and towels should be washed and boiled after using, and if\npossible dried in the sun.\n\nEvery place in which food is kept should have constant care. The\nrefrigerator is particularly important. Its linings should be\nwater-tight, and the drain freely open at all times; otherwise the\nsurrounding wood will become foul and saturated with drainings. At least\nonce a week it should be entirely emptied and cleaned in the following\nway: The racks should be thoroughly washed in hot soapsuds to which a\nsmall amount of washing soda has been added, rinsed in boiling water,\ndried and placed in the sun and air. All parts of the refrigerator\nshould be washed in the same manner, especially grooves and projections\nwhere food or dirt may lodge. The drainpipe should be flushed, the whole\ninterior rinsed again with plain hot water, thoroughly dried with a\nclean cloth, and left to air for at least an hour. The drainage pan\nshould be washed and scalded frequently. Food showing the slightest\nevidence of spoiling should be removed from the refrigerator at once.\n\nEven more attention should be paid to the hands of the cook. They should\nbe washed always before handling food, and always after visiting the\ntoilet, using the handkerchief, or otherwise coming in contact with\nnose, mouth, or other bodily secretions. Theoretically coughing and\nsneezing ought not to occur in the neighborhood of food, especially of\nfood to be eaten raw; and persons with coughs, colds, or other\ncommunicable disease, however slight, ought not to handle food. If this\nrule were observed in practice, more persons would go hungry, but fewer\nwould be sick.\n\nThorough cleaning of rooms involves soap, water, sunshine, air, and\nelbow grease, just as it did before germs were discovered. Cleaning\nmeans actually removing dirt and dust, not merely stirring it up to\nsettle again; consequently dry sweeping and dusting are ineffectual.\nVacuum cleaning, and sweeping and dusting with damp or \"dustless\" mops\nand dusters are good. Deodorants and disinfectants do not take the place\nof ordinary cleanliness.\n\nDust does not carry living disease germs to an appreciable extent; the\nfact is now well established that diseases formerly thought to be\ntransmitted by dust or even supposed to travel directly through the air,\nare carried on tiny particles of moisture and mucus expelled in coughing\nand sneezing. This mode of transmission is called droplet or spray\ninfection; it is one of the most active agents in spreading certain\nkinds of communicable diseases.\n\nNevertheless dust in motion is harmful; it irritates the lining\nmembranes of the nose, throat, bronchial tubes, and lungs, even causing\ntiny wounds through which disease germs enter. Thus tuberculosis is\nespecially prevalent among stone cutters, felt workers, and others\nengaged in dusty trades. Metallic dust is especially harmful, because it\nis harder and sharper than dust from organic substances like wool and\ncotton. Furthermore, presence of dust indicates a low standard of\ncleanliness. People who tolerate it generally tolerate uncleanliness in\nother forms, more serious though less apparent.\n\nCleaning would not be so great a problem if most houses were not\nlittered with such dust catchers as carpets, so-called ornaments, carved\nand upholstered furniture, banners, draperies, and a vast collection of\narticles that can only be classified as Christmas presents. In actual\npractice things that are difficult or expensive to clean seldom are\ncleaned; carpets for example are considered unhygienic, not because they\ncannot be cleaned, but because they are not. William Morris' advice to\nexclude from houses all articles not known to be useful or believed to\nbe beautiful would, if followed, add years to the lives of housekeepers.\n\nGARBAGE, has little bearing on health, except in so far as it affords a\nbreeding place for flies. If it contains disease germs it may be\ndangerous, but statistics show that garbage handlers, although they can\nhardly be called especially careful, are not more subject to sickness\nthan other men of their class. Garbage disposal is chiefly a question of\npreventing a public nuisance; it is a matter of cleanliness and public\ndecency.\n\nINSECTS.--Flies, cockroaches, and other scavenging insects may carry\ndisease germs on their feet and thus infect food on which they walk.\nTyphoid, cholera, dysentery, and other diseases have been carried by\nflies. Flies are always a menace, and should not be tolerated; moreover,\nthe thought of their coming to food directly from manure piles and privy\nvaults is disgusting. Houses should be thoroughly screened in the fly\nseason, but it is better to destroy the nuisance at its source. The\nchief breeding places of flies are garbage cans and manure piles. If\nthe garbage can is water tight, closely covered, frequently emptied, and\nthoroughly cleaned, flies will not develop in it; about ten days must\nelapse from the time when the egg is laid until the insect is ready to\nfly. Fly traps to fit on the garbage can are useful. Manure should be\nscreened and removed frequently, or it can be treated chemically.\nMethods for treating it are given in \"Preventive Medicine and\nHygiene.\"--Rosenau, p. 255, and in Bulletin No. 118, of the U. S. Dept.\nof Agriculture, July 14, 1914.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 8.--A FLY WITH GERMS (GREATLY MAGNIFIED) ON ITS\nLEGS. (_U. S. Dept. Agri._)]\n\nOther diseases carried by insects are malaria and yellow fever, each by\na special species of mosquito; typhus fever, by lice; and bubonic\nplague, by rat fleas. Various diseases less common in this country are\ncarried by other insects. Even when mosquitoes are not carrying disease\ngerms their bites may be harmful since they are often rubbed, especially\nby children, until the skin is broken, and various infections may enter\nthrough the wounds. Insects of every kind, rats, mice, and vermin should\nbe excluded from houses.\n\nSEWAGE.--Discharges from the bowels and bladder contain various germs,\nand constitute one of the most important routes by which germs of\ntyphoid fever, cholera and certain other diseases travel from person to\nperson. Keeping sewage out of the water supply is consequently of great\nimportance. Where a system of sewage disposal exists, the responsibility\nof making the system adequate and thus safeguarding public health rests\nupon the community as a whole. Communities ordinarily get just as much,\nor just as little typhoid fever as they are willing to endure.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 9.--HOW A WELL MAY BE POLLUTED. (_From \"The Human\nMechanism.\"_ Copyright by Theodore Hough and William T. Sedgwick. Ginn\nand Company, publishers. Used by permission.)]\n\nIn places having no system of drainage privies must be used. They can be\nmade harmless, as army camps prove, but they require scrupulous care.\nFecal matter must be prevented from draining into wells and other water\nsupplies, and must be screened from flies. The privy should be located\nat a distance from the well. The minimum distance that is safe depends\nin each case upon the nature of the soil and the direction of the\nnatural drainage. Even when the privy is situated below the well on\nsloping ground, drainage may still occur from the privy to the well;\nhowever, a well-made, properly located pit privy is safe unless it is\nnear a limestone formation. The dry earth system is satisfactory in\nplaces having an efficient public scavenger system; in this system pails\nor cans are used to receive the discharges, which are then covered with\nsand, ashes, earth or, preferably, chloride of lime. The buckets are\nfrequently emptied and the contents buried at least one foot below the\nsurface of the ground. The objection to this method for more extended\nuse is that proper care of the cans is a disagreeable duty of which most\nhouseholds soon tire.\n\nPERSONAL CLEANLINESS.--The main functions of the skin are three: to\nprotect underlying tissues, to excrete waste matter, and to regulate\nbodily heat by checking or allowing the evaporation of perspiration.\nAfter perspiration has evaporated solid matter is left upon the skin,\nand oily matter also is deposited on it by the glands that keep the\nskin lubricated. Removing these and other materials at least once a day\nis desirable to improve the bodily tone and sense of well-being. Real\ncleanliness is impossible without frequent use of warm water and soap.\n\nCold baths are stimulating, though not very efficacious for cleansing\npurposes. They are valuable tonics if properly used, but delicate or\nelderly persons should use them only by a physician's advice. Chilly\nfeelings or depression following should be the signal for any person to\ndiscontinue cold bathing or swimming in cold water.\n\nWarm baths are soothing in their effects, and are appropriate at bed\ntime, particularly for persons inclined to sleeplessness. Very hot\nbaths, especially if prolonged, may be harmful, and should not be taken\noften.\n\nThere is no clear connection between general cleanliness and disease.\nFrequent bathing does not protect a person from any particular disease,\nexcept in so far as bathing necessarily includes washing the hands. If\ntyphoid germs for example have actually been swallowed, a clean bodily\nexterior is of no avail in preventing typhoid fever or in diminishing\nits severity. The same is true of other diseases.\n\nBut it is impossible to emphasize unduly the importance of clean hands.\nHands are prime offenders in distributing fresh bodily secretions, and\ngerms both innocent and harmful. All health authorities agree on this\npoint.\n\n      \"Perhaps 90% of all infections are taken into the body\n      through the mouth. They reach the mouth in water, food,\n      fingers, dust, and upon the innumerable objects that are\n      sometimes placed in the mouth. The fact that the great\n      majority of infections are taken by way of the mouth gives\n      scientific direction to personal hygiene. Sanitary habits\n      demand that the hands should be washed after defecation and\n      again before eating, and fingers should be kept away from\n      the mouth and nose, and that no unnecessary objects should\n      be mouthed. All food and drink should be clean or\n      thoroughly cooked. These simple precautions alone would\n      prevent many a case of infection.\"--(Rosenau: Preventive\n      Medicine and Hygiene, p. 366.)\n\nAs Dr. Chapin says:\n\n      \"Probably the chief vehicle for the conveyance of nasal and\n      oral secretion from one to another is the fingers. If one\n      takes the trouble to watch for a short time his neighbors,\n      or even himself, unless he has been particularly trained in\n      such matters, he will be surprised to note the number of\n      times that the fingers go to the mouth and the nose. Not\n      only is the saliva made use of for a great variety of\n      purposes, and numberless articles are for one reason or\n      another placed in the mouth, but for no reason whatever,\n      and all unconsciously, the fingers are with great frequency\n      raised to the lips or the nose. Who can doubt that if the\n      salivary glands secreted indigo the fingers would\n      continually be stained a deep blue, and who can doubt that\n      if the nasal and oral secretions contain the germs of\n      disease these germs will be almost as constantly found upon\n      the fingers? All successful commerce is reciprocal, and in\n      this universal trade in human saliva the fingers not only\n      bring foreign secretions to the mouth of their owner, but\n      there exchanging them for his own, distribute the latter to\n      everything that the hand touches. This happens not once,\n      but scores and hundreds of times during the day's round of\n      the individual. The cook spreads his saliva on the muffins\n      and rolls, the waitress infects the glasses and spoons, the\n      moistened fingers of the peddler arrange his fruit, the\n      thumb of the milkman is in his measure, the reader moistens\n      the pages of his book, the conductor his transfer tickets,\n      the \"lady\" the fingers of her glove. Every one is busily\n      engaged in this distribution of saliva, so that the end of\n      each day finds this secretion freely distributed on the\n      doors, window sills, furniture and playthings in the home,\n      the straps of trolley cars, the rails and counter and desks\n      of shops and public buildings, and indeed upon everything\n      that the hands of man touch. What avails it if the\n      pathogens do die quickly? A fresh supply is furnished each\n      day.\"--(Chapin: The Sources and Modes of Infection, p.\n      188.)\n\nORAL HYGIENE.--Cleanliness and proper care of the mouth and teeth can\nhardly be over emphasized. Their bearing upon health is direct. Long ago\nit was recognized that persons with decayed or missing teeth frequently\nsuffered from dyspepsia, a natural result of inability to masticate\nproperly, but only within recent years has it been realized that decayed\nteeth give rise to many other diseased conditions. Bacteria are\nconstantly present in the mouth. If the mucus of the mouth is not\nremoved, it forms a sticky coat upon the surfaces of the teeth and gums.\nIn this bacteria collect, and pus or matter may also be formed, which,\nif carried by the blood to other parts of the body, may cause digestive\ntroubles, rheumatism, and diseases of heart and kidneys. (See Dr. T. B.\nHartzell, Health News, Oct., 1915, \"The Importance of Mouth Hygiene and\nHow to Practise it.\")\n\nTo keep the mouth and teeth healthy they must have:\n\n1. Proper use.\n\n2. Proper care.\n\n3. Proper treatment.\n\n1. Teeth, like other parts of the body, need exercise. Foods that\nrequire a considerable amount of chewing should be included in the diet.\nSuch food is needed by children as soon as their first teeth have come,\nbut care must be exercised to see that the food is actually chewed\nbefore it is swallowed.\n\n2. A good brush should be provided. The stiffness of the bristles should\nbe regulated according to the individual. The brush should be\nthoroughly rinsed after using, and discarded as soon as it is worn.\nDental floss is generally needed to remove particles that have lodged\nbetween the teeth.\n\nBrushing the teeth by passing the bristles across them is not\nefficacious. They should be brushed not across but with the cracks, as a\ngood housewife sweeps a floor.\n\n      \"In the light of recent investigation conducted by some of\n      the leading students of mouth hygiene, the most effective\n      way to use the toothbrush is to place the bristles of the\n      brush firmly against the teeth, applying firm pressure, as\n      though trying to force the bristles between the teeth,\n      using a slight rotary or scrubbing motion.... After a\n      little practice the user of this method will be surprised\n      at the results obtained. Care should be used to go over all\n      the surfaces of the teeth in this manner.\"--(See Dr. W. G.\n      Ebersole. \"The Importance of Mouth Hygiene and How to\n      Practice it,\" Health News, Oct., 1915.)\n\nAfter brushing the teeth, the mouth should be rinsed by forcing lukewarm\nwater about the teeth, using all the force that can be brought to bear\nby the cheeks, lips, and tongue.\n\n3. TREATMENT.--The teeth, including the first teeth of children, should\nbe inspected by a competent dentist at least twice a year. Periodic\ncleansing by a dentist, and early attention to small cavities, may\nprevent serious ill health and impairment of the body, as well as the\nacute suffering generally accompanying treatment of advanced dental\ndefects.\n\nCLOTHING.--Clothing was originally used for purposes of ornament. Desire\nfor protection from cold and dampness came later. The amount of clothing\nrequired varies greatly according to individual needs and habits, but it\nis increasingly recognized that light clothing is best, provided that\nthe wearer is really protected from cold. Clothing should be porous in\norder to allow ventilation of the body, supported so far as possible\nfrom the shoulders, and clean and well aired. Dampness favors the growth\nof germs which may cause irritation of the skin.\n\nClothing should not constrict the body or hamper its movements. Perhaps\nthe worst health menace for which clothing is to blame comes from the\nhigh heeled shoes on which many women prefer to limp through life. From\nthe health standpoint shoes are of great importance. Bad shoes are\nresponsible for many cases of flat feet, whose muscles have degenerated\nthrough non-use, and for much so-called \"rheumatism,\" which is merely\nthe protest of abused muscles. Bad shoes also, by distorting the feet,\nprevent comfortable walking, which is the only out-of-door exercise\nreadily available for the vast majority of people; and still worse, the\nresulting unnatural position of the body sometimes has serious\nconsequences by bringing injurious strains on other muscles and organs.\n\nFOOD.--Two distinct problems are encountered here: the problem of\nnutrition, and the problem of preventing sickness. Nutrition, or proper\nfeeding, is a subject beyond the scope of this book; it is nevertheless\none of the most important, if not the most important, factor in\nmaintaining health. Food preparation and care of children, the two most\nimportant functions of the home, are unfortunately relegated to the\nleast intelligent and least interested members of most households in\nwhich servants are employed.\n\nMost American families eat too much protein food, such as meat and eggs.\nExcess of protein probably leads to degeneration of tissues, and plays a\npart in causing the degenerative diseases already mentioned. Habit is\nimportant here as in other ways of living, but cereals and vegetables\nshould in large measure make up the diet of sedentary persons and indeed\nof everyone in warm weather.\n\nThe amount of food required in 24 hours depends on many factors: age,\nheight, weight, occupation, season, and habit. Underweight and\noverweight are both abnormal conditions; probably the latter is the more\neasily remedied. Both require the advice of a physician. Rapid reduction\nof weight involves certain dangers, especially for persons with weak\nhearts.\n\nFood may cause sickness either because it is in itself harmful, or\nbecause it carries disease germs. Meat from diseased animals should be\ndestroyed before it reaches the market, but bacterial activities in food\noriginally wholesome may form in it poisonous substances.\n\nThe chief diseases known to be carried by food, water, or milk are\ntyphoid fever, paratyphoid, dysentery and other diarrhœal diseases,\nscarlet fever, diphtheria, septic sore throat, and tuberculosis. The\nsole problem here is to keep human and animal excretions out of food,\nwater, and milk. Since thorough cooking kills disease germs, danger\narises chiefly from raw foods. All fruits and vegetables eaten raw\nshould first be thoroughly washed.\n\nWater is essential to health. At least three pints should be taken\ndaily, the amount varying somewhat according to diet, exercise,\ntemperature, and so forth. Most persons drink too little water.\n\nCities and towns should of course have public supplies of pure water.\nContamination of water, when it occurs, is caused chiefly by sewage\nfrom cesspools, privies, and drains. All well or spring water must be\nconstantly watched and Boards of Health are always ready to examine\nsamples of water and to report whether it is safe to drink. At the\npresent time a porcelain filter is the only satisfactory kind for a\nhousehold, but many domestic filters are so badly cared for that in\nactual practice they are worse than none. Danger from a filter\ncontaining an accumulation of impurities is greater than the danger from\nmost ordinary water supplies. Boiling water for ten minutes kills all\npathogenic germs, but this method is inconvenient on a large scale and\nis not practical for continued family use.\n\nEvery effort should be made to insure a regular supply of pure water in\nevery house. It is not satisfactory to have two kinds, one for drinking\nand one for other purposes, since mistakes are sure to be made,\nespecially by children. Some families who use only bottled or filtered\nwater for drinking purposes habitually run the risk involved in using\nimpure water from the tap for cleaning the teeth.\n\nFreezing destroys most germs, but ice is not necessarily free from\nbacterial life, and should be used in drinking water only when known to\nbe free from impurities. Neither does freezing milk or cream\nnecessarily kill germs that may be contained in it.\n\nRaw milk plays so important a part in the spread of disease that its\nfitness for human consumption is open to serious question. Certified\nmilk, where obtainable, is safe but expensive. Boiled milk is safe, but\nchanged in taste and to some extent in quality. If milk is heated to\n142°-145° F. and kept at that temperature for 30 minutes all disease\ngerms in it are killed. This process, called pasteurization, renders\nmilk safe. The objection is sometimes made that continued use of\npasteurized milk for infants causes scurvy, but in New York City where\nover 90 per cent. of the milk is pasteurized no increase in scurvy has\nbeen noticed, while a large diminution in deaths of infants from\ndiarrhœal diseases has resulted, as in all cities where pasteurization\nis required.\n\nThe following is a simple method for pasteurizing a quart bottle of\nmilk. If the directions are exactly followed the milk will be\npasteurized at the end of the process; no thermometer need be used. To\nprevent the bottle from breaking, it is first warmed by placing it for a\nfew minutes in a pail of warm water.\n\n      \"From the results of the experiments it was concluded that\n      any housewife can pasteurize a one quart bottle of milk by:\n\n      1. Boiling 2½ quarts of water in a large agate saucepan; or\n      better\n\n      2. Boiling 2 quarts of water in a 10 pound tin lard pail,\n      placing the slightly warmed bottle from the ice chest in\n      it, covering with a cloth and setting in a warm place. At\n      the end of one hour the bottle of milk should be removed\n      and chilled promptly. The water must be boiled in the\n      container in which the pasteurization is to be\n      done.\"--(Ruth Vories, in \"Health News,\" Sept., 1916.)\n\nELIMINATION.--Careful attention should be paid to elimination through\nthe bowels and kidneys. Constipation is responsible for many common\nailments; among them are headache, disinclination to work, irritable\ntemper, and lowered resistance. If long continued, constipation becomes\nserious both from congestion and displacement of pelvic organs, and from\nabsorption over a considerable time of even small amounts of the\npoisonous substances resulting from decomposition of food in the large\nintestine. The bowels can best be regulated by diet, water, exercise,\nand habit. The habitual use of cathartic and laxative drugs is most\nunwise, because they tend to aggravate the trouble. Moreover the\nhabitual and continued use of injections and \"internal baths\" is\nharmful, and would not be considered necessary if bran and coarse flour\nand vegetables were substituted for concentrated foods. Greed, laziness,\nand lack of intelligence lead most persons suffering with constipation\nto prefer pills to the restraints demanded by hygienic living. The habit\nof evacuating the bowels at a regular time, if established in early\nchildhood and rigidly adhered to, will prevent constipation among most\nhealthy people. Any person who thinks drugs necessary should consult a\nphysician, and be prepared to follow the régime he advises over a\nconsiderable period of time and at the cost of some self-denial.\n\nFor healthy people, voiding urine presents no difficulty if a sufficient\namount of water is taken; but some persons reduce the amount of liquid\ntaken in order to escape the inconvenience of urination. This practice\nis harmful, and may involve insufficient cleansing of the entire system.\nIf frequent urination disturbs sleep, liquids may be withheld during the\nevening; but the total amount of water taken in 24 hours should not be\ndiminished.\n\nREST AND FATIGUE.--A fatigued person is a poisoned person. Muscular\nexertion burns the fuel constituents of the body, as we recognize by the\ngreater heat generated within us during muscular exertion. Waste\nproducts, resulting from this burning process, accumulate if not\nremoved, and clog the body in somewhat the same way that ashes and\ncinders clog a furnace. The fatigued person remains fatigued,\nconsequently, until the accumulations of waste matter are removed by the\nnormal action of the lungs, skin, and kidneys.\n\nFatigue is caused by both mental and physical work, and when excessive,\naffects the nervous system most disastrously. The body can and should\nrespond to occasional extra drafts on strength and endurance; its\nflexibility and power of adjusting to varying conditions may even be\nstimulated thereby. But even slight fatigue, if continued and especially\nif associated with anxiety or worry, has caused many nervous and mental\nbreakdowns.\n\nWork carried beyond the point of normal fatigue requires a\nproportionately longer time for recovery. For example, if the point of\nfatigue has been reached by a certain finger muscle after 15\ncontractions, and if half an hour is required to rest it completely, one\nmight suppose that one hour would rest it after 30 contractions. This is\nnot so, however; after 30 contractions 2 hours are required, or 4 times\nas much rest for twice the amount of work, if continued beyond the point\nof fatigue. Laboratory experiments and experience alike show that this\nprinciple holds true in other forms of fatigue. Thus the output of\nfactories has been shown in many instances to be greater, other things\nbeing equal, when operatives work 8 hours a day than when they work\nlonger. Excessive hours in any kind of work are the poorest economy.\n\nFatigue is increased in direct proportion not only to muscular exertion\nbut also to the amount of speed, complexity, responsibility, monotony,\nnoise, and confusion involved in an occupation. Ability to bear fatigue\ndiffers greatly with different people, as ability varies to bear other\nkinds of strain. Rest at night and on Sunday, and the annual vacation\nshould be enough to keep a person in good condition. If not, there is\nprobably something wrong with the worker's health, the nature of his\nwork, or his adaptation to his particular kind of work. This statement\nis not only true of persons regularly employed, but of those living at\nhome, including children in school, women in \"society,\" and especially\nmothers of families.\n\nSLEEP.--A sufficient amount of sleep is essential to health, but\nindividual requirements vary widely. Each person should know and regard\nhis own need, and children and young people should be obliged to go to\nbed early. Ability to sleep is largely habit; good habits should be\nformed and continued. Sleep-producing drugs should never be taken,\nexcept by a doctor's prescription.\n\nRECREATION.--Owing to the speed, complexity, and worry of modern life\namong all classes, and to the monotony of work in industry, recreation\nhas become a matter of vital importance for everyone. Some muscular\nactivity, preferably in the open air, is needed by every healthy person.\nRecreation should be as unlike the regular occupation as possible: going\nto the theatre, for example, is not the best exercise for sedentary\nworkers employed all day in artificially lighted offices. The element of\npleasure is essential. Hoisting dumb-bells purely from conscientious\nmotives is seldom beneficial, and is generally soon abandoned.\n\nThe part played by habit in matters of health is often overlooked.\nAlthough the body adjusts itself to widely varying conditions and even\nto unfavorable ones, the importance of forming desirable habits cannot\nbe overemphasized. Sudden or radical changes in living, however,\nparticularly among people no longer young, may play havoc. New and\nviolent systems of exercise, weight reduction, and food fads forced on\nfamilies by enthusiastic discoverers involve considerable risk.\n\nMany elements enter into health; in no single one is found hygienic\nsalvation. Temptation always exists to emphasize one element at the\nexpense of others. For instance, people who insist upon overventilating\nrooms regardless of others' comfort may themselves be utterly careless\nin regard to necessary sleep, and more than one fastidiously clean\nperson has disregarded the highly unclean condition of constipation. To\nmaintain sound health only a rational program will suffice: properly\nbalanced work and play, sleep and food and all other elements must be\nincluded in due proportion. And over-anxious health seekers might well\nremember that health is not so much an end in itself, as a means to a\nhappy and productive life; even in concern over health, it is possible\nfor him that saveth his life to lose it.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Explain the difference between an hereditary disease and hereditary\nsusceptibility to a disease. How may hereditary susceptibility to a\ndisease be combatted?\n\n2. What are the essentials of good ventilation?\n\n3. What is the proper temperature for a living room? What are the\neffects of higher temperatures? Of lower temperatures?\n\n4. Describe methods for maintaining household cleanliness.\n\n5. Discuss the importance from the point of view of health, of dust; of\ninsects; of garbage; of sewage.\n\n6. What principles should guide one in deciding whether a certain water\nsupply is safe to use for drinking purposes? What are the dangers of\nimpure water? How can impure water be rendered safe?\n\n7. What diseases may be carried by milk? How can milk be rendered safe?\n\n8. Explain the health aspects of personal cleanliness.\n\n9. What care should be given the teeth and mouth? Why?\n\n10. What bad results frequently follow constipation? How should\nconstipation be remedied?\n\n11. Name seven factors that are important in causing fatigue. Why is it\nuneconomical to continue work, either physical or mental, beyond the\npoint of fatigue?\n\n12. What facilities for recreation, especially in the open air, does\nyour community provide for little children? For school children? For\nworking boys and girls? For grown people?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nHealth and Disease--Roger I. Lee, Introduction and Chapters I, III-V,\nVII-IX.\n\nHow to Live--Fisher and Fisk, Chapters I, III-V.\n\nThe Human Mechanism--Hough and Sedgwick, Chapters V, XXII-XXIX.\n\nDisease and Its Causes--Councilman, Chapters X, XII.\n\nFatigue and Efficiency--Goldmark, Chapters II, III.\n\nPreventive Medicine and Hygiene--Rosenau.\n\nA Manual of Personal Hygiene--6th Edition, Edited by Walter L. Pyle.\n\nFour Epochs of a Woman's Life--Galbraith.\n\nHygiene and Physical Culture for Women--Galbraith.\n\nThe Home and Its Management--Kittredge.\n\nExercise and Health--F. C. Smith, Supplement 24 to the Public Health\nReports, Government Printing Office, Washington.\n\nThe Sanitary Privy--Farmers' Bulletin 463, United States Department of\nAgriculture, Government Printing Office, Washington.\n\nSafe Disposal of Human Excreta at Unsewered Homes--Lumsden, Stiles and\nFreeman, Bulletin 68, Public Health Reports, Government Printing Office,\nWashington.\n\nThe Disposal of Human Excreta and Sewage of the Country Home--New York\nState Department of Health, Albany.\n\nMilk and Its Relation to Public Health--Bulletin 56, Hygienic\nLaboratory, Government Printing Office, Washington.\n\nMilk and Its Relation to Health--New York State Department of Health,\nAlbany.\n\nOther Publications of the United States Public Health Service and of the\nDepartments of Health of the different states and cities.\n\n\n\n\n\nBABIES AND THEIR CARE\n\n\nThe principles of hygiene are fundamentally the same for young and old.\nThe applications, however, differ at different ages. From the time when\nphysical growth and development are complete until changes due to old\nage appear, an individual commonly has greater resistance than at other\nages, and is able in consequence to endure unfavorable conditions of\nlife with more success.\n\nBabies, on the other hand, are exceedingly sensitive to their\nenvironment. Surroundings that are even slightly unfavorable are likely\nto make babies sick. In order to remain healthy, they must have exactly\nthe right kind of food, in the right quantities and at the right times;\ntheir sleep, exercise, and clothing must be carefully regulated; they\nmust be protected from careless handling, from nervous strain, and above\nall, from the many kinds of infection to which they are peculiarly\nsusceptible. The life of a baby fortunately can be controlled almost\ncompletely; when properly regulated it offers, therefore, an unequalled\nopportunity to see how hygienic principles work out in actual practice.\n\nThe primitive mother's instinct to nourish and protect and succor her\nhelpless child was the original form of nursing. Instinct alone,\nunfortunately, has never accomplished much in preserving health. The\nhuman race has now had an experience in the care of infants that extends\nover thousands of years. Yet today we are still, on the whole, less\nsuccessful in keeping babies alive than we are in raising domestic\nanimals; we still allow society to continue, like a modern Herod, in its\nruthless career of slaughtering the innocents.\n\nAbout 14 babies out of every 100 born in the registration area[1] of the\nUnited States die before reaching the age of one year, while in some of\nour industrial cities as many as 25 out of every 100 born die before\nthey are a year old. Most of these deaths are preventable. Thus, in a\nfew American cities, the death rates have been so reduced that fewer\nthan 10 babies out of every 100 die before completing the first year;\nwhile in Dunedin, New Zealand, as a result of the work of the Society\nfor the Health of Women and Children, the infant death rate has been so\nreduced that in 1912 only about 4 out of every 100 babies died before\nthey were a year old.\n\nWhile ignorant mothers, who may or may not be uneducated women, and\ncontaminated milk, are as a matter of fact, chiefly responsible for our\nhigh infant death rates, yet as we have already seen, every factor in\nthe environment has its effect upon a baby. This fact has led Sir Arthur\nNewsholme, an eminent English authority, to say:\n\n      \"Infant Mortality is the most sensitive index we possess of\n      social welfare. If babies were well born and well cared\n      for, their mortality would be negligible. The infant death\n      rate measures the intelligence, health, and right living of\n      fathers and mothers, the standards of morals and sanitation\n      of communities and governments, the efficiency of\n      physicians, nurses, health officers, and educators.\"\n\nCare of the child should begin at the earliest possible moment: that is,\nnearly nine months before he is born. Care before birth, for want of a\nbetter name, is called prenatal care of the mother. Every woman who\nthinks that she is pregnant should put herself at once under the care of\na competent physician, so that he can make the necessary examinations as\nearly as possible. If she follows his advice in regard to hygiene and\nproper regulation of her life, she may be free from anxiety, and may\njustly expect that her delivery will be a safe and normal process.\n\nA demonstration of the value of prenatal care was recently made by the\nBoston District Nursing Association. During the year 1915 prenatal care\nwas given to 751 expectant mothers in 5 wards of the city; each woman\nattended a pregnancy clinic, where she was under the care of an\nexperienced obstetrician, and was visited at intervals by a nurse who\nkept careful watch of her general condition and gave necessary advice\nand encouragement. In consequence the death rate among the babies whose\nmothers had prenatal care was only half as great, through the whole\nfirst year of life, as the death rate of babies in the same wards whose\nmothers had not had prenatal care. Moreover, the rate of still-births\nwas only half as great as the rate among the general population of\nBoston. If prenatal care can save so many lives, surely it ought to be\navailable for every pregnant woman in the land, including even that\ngenerally neglected class of people who are neither very rich nor very\npoor.\n\nEach baby's birth should be recorded by the registrar of births, and\nparents should make sure that registration has been attended to in the\ncity or town where they live. In some states birth registration is\nalready obligatory, but in any case it is required by the child's own\ninterest. For instance, in later life it may be necessary for him to\nprove the date and place of birth in order to establish, among other\nthings, his right to vote and to inherit property, and to settle the\nquestion of his liability to military service. Moreover, complete and\naccurate birth registration is needed by every community because it is\nessential to such reforms as reducing infant mortality and abolishing\nchild labor.\n\n\nGROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT\n\nStatements in regard to growth and development are based on observations\nof many children. It should be remembered that the following figures\nrepresent averages only, and that healthy children may vary from them\nconsiderably without giving cause for alarm.\n\nAVERAGE SIZE.--The average weight of a baby at birth is from 7 to 7½\nlbs. and the average length is about 20 inches, but it is not unusual\nfor a child to weigh anywhere from 5 to 10 pounds at birth and to\nmeasure from 16 to 22 inches in length. During the first week of life a\nbaby loses slightly in weight. After the first week a healthy baby\nshould gain from 4 to 8 ounces a week until he is six months old; after\nthat time the weekly gain is less. The weight at birth will usually\ndouble during the first five months, and treble during the first year.\nConsequently, a baby weighing 7 pounds at birth may be expected to weigh\n14 pounds when five months old, and 21 pounds when a year old. Weight is\none of the most important indications of a baby's condition. He should\nbe weighed every week during the first 6 months, once in two weeks\nduring the second 6 months, and once a month throughout the 2nd year.\n\nMUSCULAR DEVELOPMENT.--A baby at birth is helpless, and during the first\nfew months he has little muscular control. During the third month he\nordinarily begins to lift his head, and he can usually hold it up\nwithout support by the time he is 3 months old; when 7 to 8 months old\nhe sits erect and begins to play with toys. From this time a baby makes\nrapid progress; he attempts to stand on his feet, begins to creep, and\nby the time he is 14 months old he is usually able to stand alone, or\neven to walk a few steps. He is usually running about without difficulty\nwhen fifteen or sixteen months old.\n\nBabies should never be urged to walk or to bear their weight on their\nfeet. If healthy they are generally eager to go about unaided, and like\nto investigate their surroundings without assistance. If walking is\nunusually delayed, a physician should be consulted.\n\nDEVELOPMENT OF SPECIAL SENSES.--A new-born baby is unable to\ndistinguish objects, but the eyes are sensitive to light and need\ncareful protection. Hearing, although undeveloped at birth, soon becomes\nacute; consequently the child should stay in a quiet room. When six or\neight weeks old he notices objects, and at three months old he welcomes\nhis mother when he is hungry. A month or two later he begins to\ndistinguish between familiar and unfamiliar faces, and to show approval\nor disapproval.\n\nDEVELOPMENT OF SPEECH.--A baby six or seven months old begins\nconsciously to utter sounds, and usually can say a few unconnected words\nby the time he is a year old. The average child, however, does not begin\nto form sentences of more than two or three words until he is about two\nyears old.\n\nDEVELOPMENT OF TEETH.--The so-called milk teeth are twenty in number;\nthey are followed by thirty-two permanent teeth. The two lower front\nteeth (central incisors) generally appear when a child is from five to\nnine months old, and in from one to three months later the four upper\nfront teeth (upper incisors) appear. All the first or milk teeth should\nhave come through by the time a child is two and a half years old, but\nwide variations occur both in the time and order of appearance and\nshould occasion no uneasiness if the child seems well. Unusual\nconditions of any sort should be referred to the physician; it is a\ngreat mistake to attribute all illness at this time to teething.\n\nThe first of the permanent teeth appear when a child is about six years\nold. Mothers sometimes mistake the first permanent molars for temporary\nteeth, a mistake that frequently leads to neglect and even extraction of\nhighly important teeth. All but the last four molars, sometimes called\nwisdom teeth, should be through by the time a child is fifteen. The\nwisdom teeth may not appear before the 20th or even the 25th year.\n\nNORMAL EXCRETIONS.--A new-born baby should have one or two bowel\nmovements during the first twenty-four hours; the first bowel movements\nare sticky and almost black in color. After the baby begins to nurse,\nthree to four movements a day are not unusual, and throughout infancy\nand childhood as well as adult life there should be one or two\nevacuations of the bowels daily. The character of the stools is more\nimportant than the number. While the baby is taking milk only, the\nmovements should be soft, yellow in color, and nearly odorless. Change\nin frequency of the movements, or appearance of undigested food or curds\nof milk in the stool, should be carefully noted and if continued,\nreported to a physician; they may be the first signs of serious\ndigestive trouble.\n\nThe urine of an infant should be odorless and colorless. It should be\nvoided at least once during the first twenty-four hours, and much more\nfrequently after the baby begins to nurse. Marked diminution in the\namount of urine should be reported to a doctor.\n\nEfforts should be made early to develop habits of regularity in the\nevacuation of the bladder and bowels. If taken up regularly most\nchildren learn to use a chamber for bowel movements by the time they are\nthree months old. Normal children, if properly trained, usually have no\nbladder discharge during the night after they are 18 months old, and\nthey learn even earlier to indicate a desire to urinate during the day\ntime.\n\nCLOTHING.--The amount and weight of a baby's clothing should depend upon\nthe season; but garments worn next to the skin, except the diaper,\nshould be wholly or partly of wool, the lightest weight in summer and\nheavier weight in winter. During the first few weeks a baby's abdomen\nshould be supported by a flannel binder about six inches wide, applied\nsnugly but not tightly enough to restrict either the abdomen or chest\nwalls. It may be replaced later by a loosely fitting knitted band worn\nfor warmth only. Such a band is especially necessary if there is\ntendency to diarrhœa, but in no case should it be discarded before\nthe 18th month. All garments except the diaper and first flannel binder\nshould hang from the shoulders, and should fit loosely but well.\n\nClothing for babies should be of soft materials and should be simply\nmade. Even the first clothes should not be very long. The weight of very\nlong clothing is an unnecessary burden, and prevents free movements of\nthe legs. At night an entire change of clothing should be made, and a\nnightgown of warmer material substituted for the petticoat and slip.\nMost children are dressed too warmly indoors, but in low temperatures\nthey need to be well protected.\n\nDiapers should be soft and absorbent. It may be necessary to wash new\ndiapers several times before using in order to make them soft enough.\nCare should be taken not to apply them too tightly, or in such a way as\nto cause pressure on the genitals. They should be changed during the day\nwhenever wet or soiled, and at night when the baby is taken up to be\nfed. Proper care of diapers is highly important, however laborious. They\nshould be well washed, boiled, and thoroughly dried before they are used\na second time. Diapers that have been wet but not soiled should not be\ndried and used again before being washed. Much work can be saved if\npads of loosely woven absorbent material are used inside the diaper to\nreceive discharges. The pads can be burned, but even if washed the labor\nis less than washing full sized diapers. Like all other infant's\ngarments, diapers should be washed with pure white soap and without\nstarch. Waterproof material used to cover the diaper is almost sure to\nirritate the baby's skin, and is consequently harmful.\n\nSLEEP.--During his first few weeks a normal baby sleeps about\nnine-tenths of the time, and should be left undisturbed except for\nnecessary care. He should sleep in a crib, bassinet or basket protected\nfrom light and drafts; in no circumstances should a baby sleep in the\nbed with his mother or any other person. Pillows are unnecessary for\nbabies, and indeed for older children, but if used they should be thin\nand firm.\n\nThe amount of sleep necessary gradually diminishes, but during all the\nyears of growth a child needs more sleep than an adult. The amount of\nsleep required daily is approximately as follows:\n\n  First month                  18 to 20 hours\n  Second to sixth month        16 to 18 hours\n  Sixth month to one year      14 to 15 hours\n  One to two years             13 to 14 hours\n  Two to four years            11 to 12 hours\n\nAfter this time a child should sleep at least ten hours out of the\ntwenty-four. During the first year a nap in the middle of the forenoon\nand another in the afternoon are desirable. A child who is inclined to\nsleep so long that his nap interferes with his night's sleep, should be\nwaked from his nap, but at the same hour every day. When a child is a\nyear old, one nap during the day is often sufficient, if he is doing\nwell, but the habit of taking a nap at some time during the day should\nbe continued through the fifth year if possible, or even later.\n\nBabies should not be rocked or otherwise coaxed to go to sleep; they\nshould be made comfortable and then left alone. They learn to go to\nsleep by themselves as soon as they are convinced that sleep is expected\nof them, and that no unfounded objections on their part will be\nregarded. Continued inability to sleep normally usually indicates\ndiscomfort or poor general condition, and should be taken up with the\ndoctor. Pacifiers and thumb-sucking should not be allowed, since they\nlead to changes in the shape of the jaw with resulting imperfect\nadjustment of the teeth. Soothing syrup and like medicines should never\nbe given to a baby; death or permanent injury has resulted from their\nuse. It is impossible to emphasize too strongly the danger of giving\nthem even a single time.\n\nFRESH AIR.--All that has been said about the importance of fresh air\nfor adults applies with even greater force to infants and children.\nDuring his first month especially a baby is susceptible to draughts;\nnevertheless, the room should be well ventilated and its temperature\nkept between 68° and 70° F. during the day, and at about 65° F. at\nnight. Even in cold weather the room should be well aired two or three\ntimes a day; the baby should be removed to another room while the\nwindows are open. After the baby is three or four months old the windows\nmay be left open at night provided the outside temperature does not fall\nbelow freezing. A healthy baby two or three weeks old may be taken\nout-of-doors for a short time in mild weather; when he is three months\nold he may be taken out-of-doors even in winter on bright sunny days.\nThe time spent out-of-doors should be gradually increased until the baby\nstays out the greater part of the day; but he should not be exposed to\nstorms, wind, flying dust, dampness, extremes of temperature, or\ninsects. The eyes should not be covered by veils, but they should be\nshielded from the direct rays of the sun at all times.\n\nDIET.--A baby, in order to thrive, must have suitable food, given at\nregular intervals. During the first few months of life no other food\ncan take the place of mother's milk. Breast-fed babies are more robust\nthan bottle-fed babies; more than this, they are less likely to contract\ninfectious diseases or to suffer from digestive disorders. The number of\nbottle-fed babies who die every year is three times as great as the\nnumber of breast-fed babies who die. Many mothers do not understand the\nrisk involved in weaning small babies; and so every year many little\nlives are lost, and lost needlessly. When poverty forces nursing mothers\nto wean their babies and seek work outside their homes, one can only say\nthat a society which tolerates such a waste of infant life is indeed\nregardless of its own welfare.\n\nSpecial conditions, of course, may make it undesirable for a mother to\nnurse her baby. No one but the physician is competent to decide this;\nnot even neighbors, grandmothers, other members of the family, or the\nmother herself. Where artificial feeding must be used, it should be\ncarefully adapted to the individual child, and in consequence it must be\nprescribed by the doctor. Patent foods, notwithstanding the claims on\ntheir printed labels, should be used only under his advice.\n\nINTERVALS OF FEEDING.--Little milk is secreted during the first two days\nafter the birth of a child. The baby should, nevertheless, be put to\nthe breast as soon as he has had his first bath, if the mother is\nsufficiently rested. Always before and after nursing the mother's\nnipples should be washed in water that has been boiled. Nursing should\nbe repeated at intervals of six hours during the first two days.\n\nThe following schedule for the feeding of healthy babies is given by\nHolt in \"Care and Feeding of Infants.\" (1917.)\n\n\nSCHEDULE FOR HEALTHY INFANTS FOR THE FIRST YEAR\n\n  ------------------+--------+----------+----------+-----------+--------\n                    |        |          |          |           |\n                    |Interval|   Night  | No. of   | Quantity  |Quantity\n       Age          |between | feedings,| feedings,|  for one  | for 24\n                    |meals by|  6 p.m.  | in 24    |  feeding  | hours\n                    |  day   |    to    | hours    |           |\n                    |        |  6 a.m.  |          |           |\n  ------------------+--------+----------+----------+-----------+--------\n                    |  Hours |          |          |   Ounces  | Ounces\n  2d to 7th day     |    3   |     2    |     7    |    1-2    |  1-14\n  2d and 3d weeks   |    3   |     2    |     7    |    2-3½   | 14-24\n  4th to 6th week   |    3   |     2    |     7    |    3-4    | 21-28\n  7th week to 3 mos.|    3   |     2    |     7    |   3½-5    | 25-35\n  3 to 5 months     |    3   |     1    |     6    |   4½-6    | 27-36\n  5 to 7 months     |    3   |     1    |     6    |   5½-6½   | 33-39\n  7 to 12 months    |    4   |     1    |     5    |    7-8½   | 35-43\n  ------------------+--------+----------+----------+-----------+--------\n\nDuring the period when seven feedings are given in 24 hours the\nfollowing hours will be found convenient: 6 a.m., 9 a.m., 12 m., 3 p.m.,\n6 p.m., 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. The 2 a.m. feeding is the one omitted when\nthe number of feedings is reduced from seven to six. Food should be\ngiven on exact schedule time; the baby if asleep should be waked for\nany meal except the one due at 2 a.m.\n\nWATER.--Pure boiled water should be given regularly even to a young\nbaby. He is often satisfied with a little warm water if he is fretful\nbetween the hours of nursing. Water may be given from a cup, a spoon, or\na bottle; it is desirable, however, for the baby to learn to drink from\na cup before the period of weaning begins.\n\nWEANING.--Ordinarily, a baby should be fed from the breast until he is\nseven months old, either exclusively or with the exception after the\nsecond month of one bottle-feeding in twenty-four hours. This exception\nwill do the baby no harm and may be a great relief to his mother.\nPartial breast-feeding should continue if possible through the ninth\nmonth, but every baby should be entirely weaned by the time he is one\nyear old. It may be necessary, if either the baby or the mother is not\nthriving, to change the food before the ninth month; but it is desirable\nnot to make the change in hot weather. Healthy babies, it should be\nremembered, increase in weight constantly, and steady gain in weight is\nthe best indication that a baby's food is suitable.\n\nNURSING BOTTLES AND NIPPLES.--Nursing bottles should be of heavy glass,\ncylindrical in shape, without angles or corners to make cleaning\ndifficult. The number of bottles provided should be two or three more\nthan the number of feedings given in 24 hours.\n\nShort black rubber nipples which slip over the neck of the bottles\nshould be selected. They should be of such a shape that they can easily\nbe turned inside out; a nipple turner costs little, and is well worth\nthe price. Nipples should be discarded when they become soft or when the\nopening grows so large that the milk runs in a stream rather than drop\nby drop.\n\nAs soon as the baby has finished his meal, the bottle should be removed\nfrom his mouth, rinsed in clear hot water, and left standing filled with\ncold water until a convenient time for boiling all the bottles to be\nused during the next 24 hours. Sufficient time must be allowed for the\nbottles to cool thoroughly between the time when they are boiled and the\ntime when they are refilled. When it is time to boil the bottles they\nshould be placed in an agate or other suitable kettle, covered with\nwater, and boiled vigorously for three minutes. A cloth placed in the\nbottom of the kettle will help to prevent the bottles from breaking.\nAfter the bottles have been removed from the boiling water, they should\nbe stoppered at once, either with rubber stoppers or plugs of sterile\ncotton. The stoppers, if used, should be boiled with the bottles;\nsterile cotton may be purchased by the package.\n\nAn easy and satisfactory method to care for rubber nipples is the\nfollowing: Provide as many nipples as the number of feedings given in 24\nhours, and another, if desired, to be used in case of accident; provide\nalso two cups of ordinary white enamel, each one large enough to hold\nall the nipples at once. One cup should have a cover; the other should\nnot. To avoid mistakes it is well to have the cups different in shape.\nAs soon as each feeding is finished the nipple should be thoroughly\ncleansed under running water by scrubbing it inside and out with a\nnipple brush. The nipple thus cleansed is placed in the cup without a\ncover. When all the nipples have been used, cleansed, and collected in\nthe uncovered cup, they are transferred into the other cup; water is\nadded, the cup is covered and its contents are boiled for three minutes.\nThe nipples remain covered in the boiled water until needed; they are\nremoved one by one for the successive feedings. Care must be used in\nremoving a nipple to take it by the rim, not to touch other nipples\nduring the process and not to dip the fingers into the water. The best\nway is to remove them by means of a glass rod, which is boiled with the\nnipples and kept with them in the cup when not in use. There are\nseveral advantages of this method of caring for nipples: it is easy; it\nreduces to a minimum the necessary handling of the nipples after\nboiling; and it reduces the probability of using the wrong nipple, since\nboiled nipples are always in one kind of receptacle and used nipples in\nanother. It also prevents the too common practice of continuing to keep\nnipples in a supposedly antiseptic solution long after the solution has\nbecome badly soiled.\n\nTABLES of diet for children over one year of age may be found in the\nAppendix, page 322.\n\nBATHING.--Usually the cord has separated and the navel has entirely\nhealed by the time a baby is 10 days old. After this time a daily tub\nbath should be given; it should be given not less than one hour after\nfeeding. The temperature of the room should be from 70-72°, measured by\na thermometer placed in the part of the room where the bath is to take\nplace. In order to avoid chilling or tiring the baby the bath should be\ngiven quickly, without confusion or interruption; success can be\nachieved by using even a moderate amount of foresight. Before undressing\nthe baby everything to be used should be collected and placed within\neasy reach,--clean clothing, soft towels, 2 wash cloths, pure white\nsoap, powder, absorbent cotton, etc. The bath tub should last of all be\nfilled with water, and its temperature tested by means of a bath\nthermometer. The temperature of the water should be from 98° to 100°.\nAfter the baby is three months old slightly cooler water should be\nsplashed over his chest, back, neck, and arms just after he is removed\nfrom the tub, and as he grows older the temperature of his cool splash\ncan be reduced. Children who become accustomed to cool water in this way\ntake kindly to their cold showers later.\n\nThe baby's face should be washed first and dried carefully, while his\nbody is still covered. Next the head should be washed; a little soap\nshould be used, but it must on no account enter the eyes. Next the\nentire body should be soaped with the hand; and then the baby should be\nplaced gently in the bath, his head and shoulders supported by the\nattendant's left hand and forearm. Care should be taken to rinse off all\nthe soap. The baby should not stay in the tub more than 2 or 3 minutes;\nafter he has been removed from the tub he should be wrapped at once in a\nsoft bath towel. He should be dried gently but thoroughly by patting\nwith soft, warm towels rather than by rubbing. Folds of the skin should\nbe dried with special care. A little powder may be applied, but a baby\nwho is kept both clean and dry will not need much powder, if any. The\nbaby should next be quickly dressed, with as little turning and moving\nas possible. Clothing should be drawn on over the feet instead of over\nthe head, and the petticoat should be placed inside the slip so that the\ntwo garments may go on simultaneously.\n\nEYES.--Secretion accumulating in the corners of a baby's eyes should be\nremoved by means of a bit of absorbent cotton moistened in boiled water.\nThe secretion should be wiped away gently; a different piece of cotton\nshould be used for each eye, and a piece that has been used should not\nbe put back into the water. Further than this, eyes in a normal\ncondition do not need cleansing.\n\nEvery person who handles a baby should be very sure that her hands are\nclean; she should be doubly sure before she touches his eyes, since a\nbaby's eyes are peculiarly susceptible to infection from any source.\nMore than a quarter of all totally blind persons in the United States\nbecame blind by infection of the eyes at birth. Blindness of the new\nborn can be prevented in practically all cases if the doctor uses a\npreparation of silver in the baby's eyes immediately after birth. This\ntreatment is effective and entirely safe.\n\nIf at any time the eyelids look red or swollen, or if a drop of matter\nappears between the lids, the physician should be summoned at once.\nTotal blindness may result if treatment is delayed even a few hours.\n\nMOUTH.--The mouth should be rinsed after feeding by giving the baby a\nteaspoonful of boiled water. Until the teeth come it does not require\nother cleansing, and attempts to clean it may injure the delicate\nmembranes that line it. Indeed, except in an emergency, fingers should\nnot be inserted into a baby's mouth. The teeth when they appear should\nbe cleaned by means of a soft tooth-brush.\n\nNOSTRILS.--The nostrils need no cleaning other than removal of mucus\nthat can easily be reached by means of a piece of cotton. If a little\nvaseline is placed in the nostrils on a small piece of absorbent cotton\nin the early morning, collections of mucus will usually be softened so\nthat they can be removed easily at bath time.\n\nGENITAL ORGANS.--The genital organs of girl babies should be gently\nwashed twice a day, using absorbent cotton, and tepid water. Treatment\nother than cleanliness is ordinarily unnecessary. Vaseline may be\napplied if the genitals are slightly reddened; any discharge or abnormal\nappearance should be reported to the doctor. In the case of boy babies\nthe foreskin should be gently drawn back twice a week after immersion in\nthe tub; after the parts have been gently washed with absorbent cotton,\nit should be drawn forward again. No force should be employed in\nretracting the foreskin; the physician should be consulted if it cannot\nbe retracted easily.\n\nTHE DEVELOPMENT OF HABITS.--During his first few months crying is a\nchild's only means of expression, and he quickly learns to make\neffective use of his limited opportunities. It is important for the\nmother to distinguish between crying caused by pain, illness, or hunger,\nand crying caused by temper. These cries are more or less distinctive,\nbut no one can be sure in every case just what a crying baby is\nattempting to express.\n\nA cry caused by hunger is fretful and often interrupted by sucking the\nthumb; it ceases when the child is fed. A cry caused by indigestion is\nsimilar; the child is relieved for a short time by feeding, but soon\nbegins to cry again. If he has acute pain, such as earache, the cry is\nsharp, repeated at frequent intervals and accompanied by other symptoms\nof distress, such as restlessness, contraction of the features, and\ndrawing up the legs. In serious illness the cry is usually feeble,\nfairly constant except when the child is asleep, and exaggerated by\nslight causes.\n\nA limited amount of crying is useful exercise for a baby, and should not\ndistress his mother unduly. Moreover, crying may be merely the\nexpression of a wish to be taken up, to be played with, carried about or\notherwise amused, to be given a pacifier, or to be indulged in other bad\nhabits. If not indulged in these ways he may cry from temper. The cry of\ntemper is loud and violent, accompanied by vigorous kicking or by\nholding the body rigid. Proper treatment of the baby may prevent many\nmonths of discomfort, and spare him the formation of his first bad\nhabit. All other possible causes for crying should be eliminated. If the\nchild continues to cry when he is warm and dry and comfortable, \"It\nshould simply be allowed to cry it out. This often requires an hour and\nin extreme cases two or three hours. A second struggle will seldom last\nmore than ten or fifteen minutes and a third will rarely be necessary\"\n(Holt). Gas may form in the child's stomach during prolonged crying. It\nis consequently permissible to take him up after 15 minutes, and hold\nhim erect; he generally expels gas at once, and immediately experiences\nrelief. As soon as he is relieved, he should go back to his crib.\n\nEXERCISE.--Exercise is essential to the development of the body, but\nduring the first few weeks warmth and quiet are so important that a baby\nshould not be disturbed except for necessary care. His position,\nhowever, should be changed occasionally; if he lies on the same side\nconstantly the soft bones of the head may become misshapen from\npressure. As the baby grows older he needs more exercise, and he may be\ngiven an opportunity for it by removing his outer clothing and placing\nhim on a bed in a warm room for a short time each day. Unnecessary\nhandling is not good for a baby at any age.\n\nAfter he becomes more active, he may play on a mattress or thick blanket\nplaced on the floor. The blanket should be covered with a washable pad\nor rubber cloth and clean sheet, and the whole should be surrounded by a\nfence at least two feet high. In such an enclosure a baby may safely be\nleft to play if protected from draughts and cold. Elevated pens that can\nbe folded when not in use are more convenient but more expensive than\nthe home-made arrangement. As soon as a child begins to run about he\ntakes ample exercise, and he may even need to be guarded from too great\nfatigue, especially toward bedtime. Games and play should be adapted to\nthe age of the child and sufficiently varied to exercise all portions of\nthe body; but they should not be too violent nor too prolonged. Some\nsupervision of children's play is necessary, but they should be given as\nmuch freedom as possible and allowed to develop their own initiative.\n\nPLAY AND TOYS.--The desire for play does not develop until a child is\nabout six months old. At this age toys that can be washed, such as those\nof hard or soft rubber, should be selected. A baby instinctively carries\neverything to his mouth,--first his thumb, then playthings, and later\nwhatever he may find, no matter how unsuitable. For his safety and\nprotection this habit should be overcome as soon as possible, and he\nmust learn to put nothing in his mouth except food and drink. Relatives\nare nearly always tempted to give too many and too fragile toys; they\nmerely teach a child to be destructive and constantly to expect\nsomething new. Toys are the first possessions of which a child is\nconscious, and through them many desirable qualities may be developed:\nneatness and order, gentleness and a feeling of protection toward the\nhelpless doll or Teddy bear, and unselfishness in sharing special\ntreasures with playmates. Later the child may be given pets and made\nresponsible for their care; but animals should not be subjected to\nunintentional cruelties from small children.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. What two factors are chiefly responsible for the deaths of babies\nunder a year old? What other factors contribute? In your city or town\nwhat is the number of deaths per 1000 births of babies under one year\nold?\n\n2. Why is birth registration important to an individual? to a\ncommunity? Is it required by law in your city?\n\n3. What is the average weight of babies at birth? Describe the rate at\nwhich they should gain.\n\n4. At what age may a normal child be expected to sit erect? to stand? to\nwalk? to speak? When should his first teeth appear? his permanent teeth?\n\n5. Describe normal bowel movements of a baby.\n\n6. How should a young baby be dressed?\n\n7. Describe a baby's bath and toilet.\n\n8. Describe the surroundings that are suitable for a baby.\n\n9. What is the best food for a healthy baby? Why?\n\n10. Describe in detail a good daily program for a healthy baby four\nmonths old.\n\n11. What habits are desirable for a baby to form, and how may he be\ntrained so that he will form them?\n\n12. Name all the indications that would tell you when a baby was not\nthriving, and in each case tell what you would do about it.\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nThe Care and Feeding of Children--Holt.\n\nThe Care and Feeding of the Baby--Truby King.\n\nThe Baby's First Two Years--R. M. Smith.\n\nThe Care and Feeding of Children--J. L. Morse.\n\nPreventive Medicine and Hygiene--Rosenau, Section III, Chapter II.\n\nPamphlets:\n\n  Prenatal Care, Mrs. Max West.\n\n  Infant Care, Mrs. Max West.\n\n  Child Care, Mrs. Max West. Published by the Children's Bureau,\n  United States Department of Labor, Washington, D. C. (Free on\n  request.)\n\nThe Care of the Baby--Supplement No. 10 to the Public Health Reports,\n1913, Government Printing Office, Washington, D. C.\n\nYour Baby: How to Keep It Well--New York State Department of Health,\nAlbany.\n\nPublications of the American Association for the Study and Prevention of\nInfant Mortality--1211 Cathedral Street, Baltimore, Md. (Free on\nrequest.)\n\nPublications of the National Committee for the Prevention of\nBlindness--130 East 22d Street, New York City. (Free on request.)\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] An area including about two-thirds of the population of the United\n  States.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nINDICATIONS OF SICKNESS\n\n\nBy indications of sickness we mean all evidences of deviation from a\nnormal physical condition. They may be apparent only to the person in\nwhom they occur, or to a second person only, or to both. These\ndeviations, commonly called the symptoms of sickness, are always\nimportant to notice, whether the conditions they indicate are serious or\nnot.\n\nEarly symptoms of sickness are often slight; hence they easily pass\nunnoticed. Yet a slight trouble, easily checked in its early stages,\nmay, if neglected, grow into a serious or even fatal disorder: just as a\nburning match, which anyone could extinguish instantly, may kindle a\nfire beyond the power of an entire city to control.\n\nIt is important, then, to notice even slight symptoms of sickness,\nfirst, in order to determine the nature of the trouble, and second, in\norder to institute treatment as early as possible. It is, however,\nhardly less important to observe symptoms accurately during the entire\ncourse of an illness. A patient's progress can be determined only by\ncareful comparison between present and past conditions.\n\nMany symptoms can be detected only by methods requiring scientific\napparatus as well as the knowledge and skill of a physician, but very\npronounced symptoms are generally evident to anyone. The neighbors do\nnot need to be told when a person has advanced tuberculosis; neither is\nan expert required to see that something ails a man with a broken leg.\nFurthermore less pronounced symptoms may often be clearly seen by any\nobservant person, even by those not specially trained. Accordingly it is\nimportant for every woman who has charge of others, sick or well, to\nform the habit of noticing unusual appearances of any kind. This habit\nis one that most people must take pains to acquire, because people\ngenerally see only the things that their own experience in life has\ntaught them to see. An added difficulty is the fact that when illness\nbegins it is not a trained observer, but the untrained sufferer or\nuntrained member of his family who decides whether to send for the\ndoctor and thus to set in motion the machinery for treatment and cure.\n\nAll the training and experience of a physician are required in order to\ndecide what symptoms indicate, and to prescribe proper remedies.\nDiagnosis, or the process of determining the nature of illness from the\nsymptoms observed, is often exceedingly difficult; it must take into\nconsideration not one symptom only but the presence or absence of a\nnumber of symptoms. Untrained persons who attempt to make diagnoses are\nfrequently led astray by the fact that actual causes of trouble may be\nsituated far from the places where symptoms are felt or observed. For\ninstance, the real cause of headache may lie in a region far removed\nfrom the head; and so-called heart-burn, which is caused by disordered\ndigestion, has nothing to do with the heart. Again, an early symptom of\ntuberculosis of the hip joint is pain under the knee; a mother is\nclearly not doing the best thing when she assumes that any pain in a\njoint means rheumatism, and therefore doses her suffering child with the\nmedicine that \"helped\" his rheumatic grandfather. No untrained person is\nequipped to make a diagnosis, and still less to prescribe medicine or\ntreatment.\n\nSymptoms, like all other forms of discomfort, tend to trouble a patient\nin proportion to the amount of attention that he gives them. Hence, in\norder to avoid calling his attention to them unnecessarily they should\nbe observed so far as possible without his knowledge; when it is\nunavoidable for him to realize what is going on, observation should be\nmade a matter of routine, so that his interest may not be especially\nexcited. For instance, everyone who has seen the routine medical\ninspection of school children realizes how little attention the children\nthemselves give to the process, apparently regarding it merely as one of\nthe many inexplicable proceedings of grown people. On the other hand,\nchildren who know their symptoms are over-anxiously watched soon learn\nto watch themselves and to exaggerate every little ache and pain.\n\nSymptoms may be divided into two classes: first, objective symptoms, or\nthose that can be noted by an observer, like cough, pulse rate, or color\nof the skin; and second, the subjective symptoms, which are apparent\nonly to the person affected, like pain and fatigue. The success of any\nwoman who cares for the sick depends to a large extent upon her\nquickness and accuracy in noticing and reporting these symptoms and\ntheir variations. It should be remembered that pronounced symptoms are\nnot the only ones of importance: even slight symptoms that continue over\nan appreciable length of time may be of very great importance. A brief\ndescription of some important symptoms follows, in order to help persons\nwithout technical training to describe the symptoms as well as to\nobserve them.\n\n\nOBJECTIVE SYMPTOMS\n\nTEMPERATURE.--Bodily heat is produced by slow burning of food materials,\nwhich goes on for the most part in actively working muscles and glands.\nHeat thus generated is distributed by the blood to all parts of the\nbody, but the surface of the body is generally cooler than the interior.\nIn health the body temperature varies only a few degrees, no matter how\nmuch the temperature of its surroundings varies; consequently a\ntemperature is abnormal if it is higher or lower than the usual\ntemperature of a healthy person.\n\nThe temperature is taken by means of a clinical thermometer placed\neither in the mouth, the rectum, or the armpit (axilla).\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 10.--CLINICAL THERMOMETER.]\n\nTo take the mouth temperature, first wash the thermometer, using cold\nwater and absorbent cotton or clean soft cloth. Next shake it until the\nmercury thread registers 96° or below. It is well before purchasing a\nthermometer to see whether it can be shaken down easily. Next place the\nthermometer in the patient's mouth, with its bulb under his tongue; he\nmust then keep his lips closed until it is removed. Leave the\nthermometer in his mouth for two minutes. Then remove the thermometer,\nread the temperature and record the result. Clean the thermometer at\nonce, using first cold water and soap, and then alcohol, 70%.\n\nThe mouth temperature of a healthy person is about 98.6° F. This\nstatement holds true if the person has been sitting with his mouth shut\nfor a little while before his temperature is taken; but a hot bath,\nbreathing through the mouth, eating or drinking, and so forth may cause\nmarked temporary changes.\n\nThe temperature in the rectum generally varies less than the temperature\nin the mouth unless it is taken when the rectum contains fecal matter.\nThe temperature should be taken by rectum in babies and young children,\nrestless, drowsy, or delirious patients, patients who cannot be trusted\nto keep the thermometer under the tongue, mouth breathers, and in any\npatients who have difficulty in keeping the mouth shut. The temperature\nis normally about half a degree higher in the rectum than in the mouth.\n\nIn order to take a temperature by rectum, adults generally find it more\nconvenient to lie on the side and prefer, if they are able, to insert\nand hold the thermometer themselves; but the attendant should be\ncertain that they can do so without breaking the thermometer. Rectal\nthermometers should be lubricated with oil or vaseline before using;\nthey should be inserted about two inches, left in three minutes, and\ncleansed in the same way as the mouth thermometer. A thermometer used to\ntake rectal temperatures should never be used in the mouth.\n\nIn taking the temperature of a baby place him on his back, hold him\nfirmly with his legs elevated, and carefully insert the bulb of the\nthermometer, well oiled, for about one inch. Keep the child quiet, and\nhold the thermometer in place three minutes. Great importance should not\nbe attached to a slight fever of short duration. The temperature of a\nchild is much more easily affected by slight causes than that of an\nadult, and rectal temperatures between 97.5° and 100.5° should not cause\nanxiety unless continued.\n\nTemperatures taken in the axilla are less accurate than those taken by\nmouth or rectum. Consequently the method is less often used. The axilla\nshould first be wiped; then the thermometer should be inserted and held\nfor 5 minutes by pressing the arm tightly against the chest wall. The\ntemperature in the axilla is normally about half a degree lower than in\nthe mouth.\n\nThe temperature varies somewhat according to the time of day. It is not\nunusual for the mouth temperature of persons who are entirely healthy to\nbe as low as 97° in the early morning, or as high as 99° in the late\nafternoon, and probably most people's temperatures vary as much as a\ndegree during the twenty-four hours. Even greater variations that are\nnot long continued have little if any significance in people who feel\nwell.\n\nDecided variations either above or below normal are highly important\nsymptoms. A temperature below 98° is called subnormal, and one above\n99.5° is called fever. The number of degrees of fever does not\nnecessarily bear a direct relation to the severity of an illness. Thus,\nit does not follow that one person is twice as sick as another, because\nhis temperature is twice as many degrees above normal. All symptoms,\nincluding variations in temperature, must be considered in connection\nwith one another, and it is generally impossible to state the\nsignificance of any one symptom taken by itself.\n\nThe temperature should be taken once or twice a day as a matter of\nroutine in almost every form of illness, and oftener when the patient's\ncondition requires it. Also it should be taken as a matter of routine\nwhenever there is indication of beginning sickness; especially when\nthere is headache, pain, sore throat, coated tongue, cough or cold,\nchill, vomiting, diarrhœa, or rash. It is not a good plan to take\none's own temperature oftener than necessary, or indeed anyone's;\ncertainly not a baby's, since frequent use of the thermometer may\nirritate the rectum.\n\nPULSE.--Each time the heart beats, blood is forced out from the heart\ninto the arteries, thus causing an expansion of the arterial walls. This\nexpansion, called the pulse, can be felt in some places where arteries\nlie close to the surface of the body. The character of the pulse beat\nand its rate, or the number of times the beat occurs each minute, give\ninformation about the heart and blood vessels; taken together they are\nperhaps more important than any other one symptom.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 11.--TAKING THE PULSE AT THE WRIST. NOTE THE\nPOSITION OF ARM. (_From \"Elementary Nursing Procedures,\" California\nState Board of Health._)]\n\nThe pulse rate varies much more than the temperature. It differs in\ndifferent individuals and at different ages, and it often shows great\ntemporary changes, especially during exercise or eating, or as a result\nof excitement, fear, or other emotion. Definite statements in regard to\nnormal pulse rates are hard to make, because different individuals\nthough in perfect health show marked variations; we generally say,\nhowever, that the pulse rate of a normal man at rest is about 72 a\nminute, and that of a normal woman is about 80 a minute. At birth the\npulse is quickest; it may then be from 124 to 144. From the 6th to the\n12th month it may be from 105 to 115 a minute, and from 90 to 105\nbetween the 2d and 6th years. About the time of puberty it reaches the\nadult rate, and during old age it may be decidedly slower than the adult\nrate.\n\nWhat we chiefly want to know about the pulse is\n\n1. Its rate, or number of beats per minute,\n\n2. Its force,--whether weak or strong,\n\n3. Its rhythm,--whether regular or irregular.\n\nMuch practice is necessary before the pulse rate can be counted with any\ndegree of accuracy, and wide experience with both normal and abnormal\npulses is required in order to judge its strength, rhythm, or other\ncharacteristics.\n\nThe pulse may be felt most conveniently on the thumb side of the front\nof the wrist. The pulse should be counted while the patient is lying\ndown, and the watch used must have a second hand. To count the pulse,\none should place two or three fingers (not the thumb) on the patient's\nwrist, and after the pulse has been felt distinctly for a few beats, the\nexact time by the second hand of the watch should be noticed and the\ncounting begun immediately. It is generally best to count for half a\nminute, multiply the result by two to get the rate for a whole minute,\nand then to repeat for another half minute. The two results should agree\nwithin two beats, if the patient is quiet. A greater variation than two\nbeats may mean that the pulse rate is varying, but when it is counted\nby inexperienced persons the apparent difference is generally the result\nof inaccurate counting, and it may be necessary to count two or three\ntimes more. The force of the pulse varies also in different individuals;\nit is, however, important to notice when it grows stronger or weaker in\nthe same person. Normally the pulse-beat is regular like the ticking of\na clock; it is called irregular if a few rapid or slow beats are\nfollowed by others of a different rate. During sickness the pulse should\nbe counted whenever the temperature is taken, or oftener; and the result\nshould be written down at once. The pulse of a sick person often shows\nchanges both in rate and character; these changes are generally\nimportant and should be noticed.\n\nRESPIRATION.--Variations in the rate and character of respiration or\nbreathing should be noticed. The normal rate of respiration for an adult\nat rest is 16 to 20 each minute, but it may be much faster, especially\nduring muscular exercise. In babies the rate is about 30 to 35 a minute,\nand 20 to 25 in little children. The respirations, especially of babies,\ncan best be counted during sleep by placing the hand lightly on the\nchest or abdomen. Since the respiration rate is partly under a person's\ncontrol, it is almost sure to alter if the patient knows it is being\ncounted; hence when the patient is awake it is better to keep one's\nfingers on his wrist, to place his hand upon his chest, and then to\ncount the rise and fall of the chest while apparently counting the\npulse. Sometimes it is possible to count the respirations merely by\nwatching the rise and fall of the nightgown or bed clothes. The\nrespiration is usually counted for a full minute. A watch with a second\nhand must be used, and the result should be recorded immediately.\n\nIn certain forms of sickness breathing may become rapid, especially if\nthe lungs or air passages are affected. In addition to the rate anything\nunusual about the breathing should be noticed whether it seems difficult\nor painful; if noisy, whether the sound is like snoring, or wheezing, or\nsighing, and so on.\n\nGENERAL APPEARANCE.--Any unusual expression of the face should be noted;\nwhether it is drawn, pinched, anxious, excited, or dull and stupid; and\nalso, whether the face is thin, swollen, or puffy under the eyes. The\ncondition and appearance of the skin are significant: the skin may be\ndry, moist and clammy, hot or cold; its color, and the color of the face\nespecially, may be flushed or pale or slightly yellow or blue. A bluish\ntinge about the nose, tips of the fingers, or the feet should be\nspecially noticed. Reddened or discolored areas on any part of the body\nmay be important, and also eruptions, rashes, swellings, or sores. It\nshould be noticed whether the abdomen is normal or whether it is\ndistended and hard.\n\nStrength or weakness is indicated to some extent by the way the patient\nmoves, and by his ability to walk, stand, sit, hold up his head, feed\nhimself, or turn in bed without assistance. The position he habitually\ntakes is sometimes significant; in heart affections, for instance, he\nmay be unable to lie down, in pleurisy he ordinarily lies on the\naffected side, and during abdominal pain he generally draws the knees\nup.\n\nSPECIAL SENSES.--The special senses are frequently disturbed in\nsickness. The eyes may be blood-shot; the patient may be over-sensitive\nto light, or see spots floating before the eyes, or he may be unable to\nsee at all. The pupils of the eyes may be unusually large or small, or\none may be large while the other is small. Swelling, redness, or\ndischarge from the eyes should be noticed. Hearing and touch and smell\nmay be impaired; or they may be abnormally acute, and cause real\nsuffering. Taste may be impaired, especially when the nose is affected\nor when the mouth is not clean. Discharge from the nose or ears should\nbe reported. Not only discharge, but also trouble of any kind, such as\npain, tenderness, or swelling, is important if situated in or near the\nears.\n\nTHE VOICE is often much altered in sickness. It may be weak, hoarse, or\nwhispered. Speech may be clear or thick, or the ability to speak may be\nentirely lost; in extreme weakness speaking is generally difficult, and\nmay be impossible. Moaning, groaning, and other unusual sounds should be\nnoted. A loud, sharp cry at night with or without waking, if a repeated\noccurrence, may be an early symptom of some diseases of children.\n\nTHE TONGUE in health is red and moist; when extended it is somewhat\npointed and can be held steadily. In sickness it may be cracked, dry and\nparched, or if the patient is not properly cared for, it may be covered\nwith white, yellow, or brown coating; in many exhausting illnesses it is\nflabby and trembling. In scarlet fever the tongue is often a vivid red\ncolor, and is then called strawberry tongue. The odor of the breath may\nbe foul from decay or neglect of the teeth, from indigestion,\nconstipation, nasal catarrh, or special diseases.\n\nTHE THROAT and tonsils are sometimes red and swollen as in simple sore\nthroat; or they may be covered by white patches.\n\nTHE GUMS may be swollen, tender, or bleeding. A collection of sticky\nbrownish material may appear on the teeth and gums of neglected\npatients.\n\nCOUGH when present may be: dry, or accompanied by expectoration;\npainful, frequent, loud, or whooping; and worse by day or by night. The\nsputum may be yellow, white, gray, rusty, blood-streaked, dark, or\nfrothy. The amount of sputum should be noticed as well as its\nappearance.\n\nAPPETITE or absence of appetite should be noted, and also the amount of\nfood actually eaten by a patient; the amount eaten is frequently not the\nsame as the amount carried to him on a tray.\n\nIf VOMITING occurs, the color, consistency, amount, and general\nappearance of the vomitus should be noted; if its appearance is unusual\nthe vomitus should be saved for the doctor's inspection.\n\nEXCRETIONS.--The number of bowel movements is important, and also their\ncharacter. The consistency of the feces may be hard, soft or fluid;\ntheir color may be any shade of brown, yellow or green, from black to\nclay color. They should be saved for the doctor to see if appearance or\nodor is unusual.\n\nTHE URINE in health is clear, amber colored, and slightly acid. From 30\nto 50 ounces should be excreted in 24 hours; the amount varies, however,\nespecially according to the amount of fluid taken. It is important to\nnotice whether the urine is scanty or greatly increased in amount, dark\nor pale, clear or cloudy, and whether sediment is deposited after\nstanding. It is essential that urine should be voided in sufficient\namount; the necessity for watching its quantity is frequently overlooked\nin the home care of the sick. Frequency of urination should also be\nnoted. Inability to urinate, particularly where the urine has previously\nbeen scanty, is serious if continued; it should be reported to the\ndoctor without delay. Inability to control the bladder and bowels are\nalso symptoms to be reported.\n\nLOSS OF WEIGHT is significant in both adults and children, and failure\nof babies and children to gain in weight is a danger signal.\n\nSLEEP.--The number of hours a patient sleeps should be noticed and\nrecorded as accurately as possible. The word of the patient on this\nsubject is not sufficient evidence. Character of sleep should also be\nnoted, whether it is quiet or restless, and whether the patient sleeps\nlightly or is difficult to arouse.\n\nMENTAL CONDITIONS.--It is important to watch carefully the mental\ncondition of a patient; whether, for example, he is normal, or\ndepressed, irritable, restless, apathetic, dull, excited, wandering,\ndelirious, or unconscious. Hasty judgment of mental conditions should\nbe avoided, but close attention to them is necessary.\n\n\nSUBJECTIVE SYMPTOMS\n\nPAIN is the most important subjective symptom and should never be\ndisregarded. Bodily pain does not occur in persons who are in all\nregards physically and mentally well; hence pain is a sign that\nsomething, small or great, is out of order.\n\n      \"Of all symptoms pain is the one which interests patients\n      the most. We here emphasize the truth, too little\n      understood, that pain is an unpleasant sensation, nothing\n      more, and is _never_ imagined. Imagination may be its\n      cause, but the pain thus produced hurts just as truly as\n      pain produced by a real disease. Pain is only a phenomenon\n      of consciousness; it is always real, even that felt in a\n      dream. If the patient is too unconscious to feel it, there\n      simply is no pain, no matter how badly the person's body is\n      injured.\" (Emerson: Essentials of Medicine, p. 356.)\n\nOne should remember that no possible method exists to measure the\nintensity of pain exactly, or to describe its quality accurately.\nTherefore in describing pain, it is best to use the patient's own\nlanguage. Four points should especially be observed, (1) its location;\n(2) its character, which may be dull or sharp, stabbing, throbbing or\ncontinuous, slight or severe; (3) the time at which it is worst; certain\ndiseases, for instance, are characterized by more severe pain at night;\n(4) it should be noticed whether the pain is relieved or increased by\nchange of position, eating or drinking, heat or cold, or the like. Pain\nmay be felt in a part far from the place where the trouble really lies;\nthus a dislocated shoulder causes pain in the elbow.\n\nPain is always a danger signal, although the significance is not always\nso great as the sufferer thinks. The more attention a patient gives to\nhis pain, the more severe it always becomes, therefore his attention\nshould not be called to it unnecessarily. A good observer, however, can\nget much information by noticing the patient's expression, position,\nmotions, etc., without constantly asking him how he feels. Although many\npersons overestimate pain, others persistently disregard it, either\nbecause they are unwilling to take the necessary measures to remedy it,\nor because they wish to appear heroic. Both courses of action are\nmistaken; everyone should realize the folly and danger of bearing pain\nif it is possible to remove the cause.\n\nNausea, fatigue and malaise are other subjective symptoms; malaise is\nthe name given to a general feeling of physical discomfort not\nrestricted to any one part of the body. All three are abnormal when\nthere is not apparent or sufficient cause.\n\nRECORDS.--An accurate record should be kept of the patient's symptoms,\nmedicine, diet, treatment, etc., so that the doctor may have a\ncontinuous record, and so that another person taking charge temporarily\nmay know just what has been done for the patient. The record must be\nwritten; otherwise details cannot be remembered exactly. It should be as\nsimple and concise as possible; it is the place for facts, not for\nopinions, and if inaccurate it is worse than none. It is better not to\nkeep the record in the patient's room, for the patient should not see\nhis own record, nor hear its contents discussed. The doctor usually\nwrites his orders on the record sheet itself, or on a separate sheet to\nbe attached to the record for reference. Blank record forms can be\npurchased, but a form that is made at home is entirely satisfactory. An\nexample of a daily record sheet follows.\n\n\n                                  RECORD\n\n  ------+----------+----+-----+-----+----------------+----+-----+-------\n   Date |  Hour    |Tem.|Pulse|Resp.|   Diet and     |B.M.|Urine|Remarks\n        |          |    |     |     |   medicine     |    |     |\n  ------+----------+----+-----+-----+----------------+----+-----+-------\n  1916  |          |    |     |     |                |    |     |\n  Jan. 1|4 p.m.    |100°| 76  | 24  |Medicine        |    |     |\n        |5 p.m.    |    |     |     |                | 1  |℥ vii|\n        |6 p.m.    |    |     |     |Supper:         |    |     |\n        |          |    |     |     | Baked potato,  |    |     |\n        |          |    |     |     | toast, fruit,  |    |     |\n        |          |    |     |     | tea.           |    |     |\n        |8 p.m.    |    |     |     |Medicine        |    |     |Sponge\n        |          |    |     |     |                |    |     |bath.\n        |9:30 p.m. |    |     |     |                |    |     |Asleep.\n  Jan. 2|3 a.m.    |    |     |     |                |    |℥ ix |\n        |8 a.m.    |99° | 74  | 22  |Medicine        |    |     |Patient\n        |          |    |     |     |                |    |     |slept\n        |          |    |     |     |                |    |     |most\n        |          |    |     |     |                |    |     |of the\n        |          |    |     |     |                |    |     |night.\n        |8:30 a.m. |    |     |     |Breakfast:      |    |     |\n        |          |    |     |     | Cereal, orange,|    |     |\n        |          |    |     |     | toast, coffee. |    |     |\n        |9:30 a.m. |    |     |     |Bath.           |    |     |\n        |11:30 a.m.|    |     |     |                |    |     |Sat up\n        |          |    |     |     |                |    |     |1 hour.\n  ------+----------+----+-----+-----+----------------+----+-----+-------\n\nTUBERCULOSIS, CANCER, AND MENTAL ILLNESS.--As we have seen, early\nsymptoms of sickness are always important; yet it seems worth while to\nmention particularly the early symptoms of tuberculosis, cancer, and\nmental disorders, because each of these diseases, though curable in\nmany cases when taken in the early stages, is serious and often fatal\nif neglected. Certain facts relating to their cause and prevention\nshould be known to everyone. Tuberculosis, long our greatest cause of\ndeath, is gradually growing less; but cancer and mental disease are now\non the increase.\n\nTUBERCULOSIS.--Every year tuberculosis causes the death of about 150,000\npeople in the United States. It is caused by the bacillus tuberculosis,\na germ which may attack any tissue of the body, although it most\nfrequently affects the lungs of grown people, and the bones and glands\nof children. The disease is not inherited, but susceptibility to it\nappears to be; it is readily communicated from person to person. The\ngerm of tuberculosis is so widely distributed that probably few persons\nover 30 years of age have not been infected with it at some time,\nalthough the infection may have been too slight to be noticed. Indeed,\nmost people have probably been infected many times, though without\nserious results.\n\nTuberculosis is spread chiefly in two ways: (1) through any bodily\ndischarges from infected persons, especially through the nose and mouth\ndischarges; (2) through milk from infected cows. The ways by which the\ndisease is spread indicate methods of prevention. Milk, especially for\nchildren, should either be pasteurized or should come from cows that\nhave been tested and proved to be free from the disease. Other methods\nof prevention include avoiding any and all bodily discharges of infected\npersons, and increasing bodily resistance as far as possible. Good food,\nsufficient rest and fresh air are not only important preventives, but\nalso the most efficacious means of cure. Persons who suffer from\ninsufficient food, exposure, bad housing, long hours, and bad conditions\nof work are especially susceptible to tuberculosis, and thus it is\nrightly called a disease of poverty.\n\nEarly symptoms of tuberculosis include cough, hoarseness, loss of\nappetite, pain in the side, loss of weight, getting tired easily,\nfeeling run down, rise in temperature in the afternoon, night sweats,\nexpectoration, and spitting blood. No one, nor even several, of these\nsymptoms necessarily indicates the presence of tuberculosis; on the\nother hand, even the cough is not necessarily present when tuberculosis\nactually exists. When one or more of these symptoms appears and\ncontinues, a thorough examination should be made by a doctor;\nexamination can do no harm, certainly, if tuberculosis is not found, and\nif it is, immediate treatment is of the greatest importance. No known\ndrug or medicine is a cure for tuberculosis. Successful treatment\ndepends on taking the disease in time and in following the doctor's\nadvice unremittingly.\n\nCANCER.--The cause of cancer is not known. All the evidence, however,\ngoes to show that it is neither communicable nor hereditary. Cancer may\noccur on the skin, stomach, or other organs; in women it most commonly\noccurs in the breast or uterus (womb). In both sexes it occurs most\nfrequently after 40 years of age. No known medicine will cure cancer;\nsalves and ointments have no effect. Radium and _x_-ray should not be\nrelied upon if the cancer can be removed by operation. Safety consists\nin removing the growth entirely, and complete removal is possible only\nin the early stages.\n\nEarly diagnosis is consequently of the greatest possible importance, and\nan examination can do no harm in any case. Warts and moles on the skin\nmay develop into cancer, and should be removed if they show signs of\nirritation. Loss of appetite and weight, any disturbance of the stomach\nor intestines, and sores that refuse to heal should lead a person to\nconsult a physician; the same is true of any lump in the breast, and of\nirregular or persistent bleeding from the uterus in women over forty.\nThe fact that pain is not present in cancer until the late stages leads\nmany persons to neglect the trouble until it is too far advanced for\noperation. Time is all-important; hope depends on operation in the early\nstages when there is a very great probability of permanent cure.\n\nMENTAL ILLNESS.--Insanity, like cancer, is increasing. Like both cancer\nand tuberculosis, hope lies in prevention and early treatment; and like\nthem both, in its early symptoms it is too often unrecognized or\nneglected.\n\nMany people are surprised to learn that known, avoidable causes are\nresponsible for the condition of about 50% of the insane patients now\nunder treatment. Chief among these known causes is a communicable germ\ndisease called syphilis, to which is due the disease called paresis, or\n\"softening of the brain.\" About 25% of patients admitted to hospitals\nfor the insane are there from the effects of habitual use of alcohol,\neven in \"moderate\" quantities. Other cases of insanity result from\ndiseases of the heart, arteries, and kidneys, and still others have been\ntraced to the poisons of tuberculosis, typhoid, diphtheria, and other\ncommunicable diseases. Prevention of insanity caused by these diseases\ndepends upon prevention or complete cure of the diseases themselves.\n\nStill other causes of insanity are known. Hereditary nervous weakness\nmay predispose to insanity, and for such persons, those whose nervous\nresistance is naturally not very great, the stress of living may prove\ntoo much. Mental breakdowns are rarely caused by overwork unless\naccompanied by worry or bad hygienic conditions, but they result not\ninfrequently from bad mental habits.\n\n      \"The average person, little realizes the danger of brooding\n      over slights, injuries, disappointments, or misfortunes, or\n      of an unnatural attitude towards his fellowmen, shown by\n      unusual sensitiveness or marked suspicion. Yet all these\n      unwholesome and painful trains of thought, may if persisted\n      in and unrelieved by healthy interests and activities, tend\n      towards insanity. Wholesome work relieved by periods of\n      rest and simple pleasures and an interest in the affairs of\n      others, are important preventives of unwholesome ways of\n      thinking. We should train ourselves not to brood, but to\n      honestly face personal difficulties.\"--(Why Should Anyone\n      Go Insane?, by Folks and Ellwood.)\n\nPrevention of insanity consequently depends chiefly upon avoiding\nalcohol and communicable diseases, especially syphilis; upon good\nhygiene, self-control, and avoidance of bad mental habits; and upon\nadopting a program of living and working that will not overtax one's\nnervous strength. Sleeplessness, unusual nervous fatigue following\nslight exertion, and diminished power to control the emotions, are among\nthe danger signals. And when a person becomes unusually depressed or\nmorose, excited or irritable, suspicious, unreasonable, or \"queer,\" it\nis probable that expert medical advice should be obtained as quickly as\npossible.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. What is a symptom? Why are early symptoms especially important?\n\n2. Distinguish between objective and subjective symptoms.\n\n3. Tell all you can about normal and abnormal variations in the body\ntemperature. What symptoms would lead you to take a person's\ntemperature?\n\n4. Describe the method of taking temperatures.\n\n5. How should you cleanse a clinical thermometer? What are the dangers\nof neglecting to cleanse it properly?\n\n6. Describe both normal and abnormal pulse and respiration.\n\n7. Discuss the significance and importance of pain.\n\n8. Describe early symptoms of tuberculosis, cancer, and mental illness.\nWhat is the first step to be taken when any one of these symptoms\nappears?\n\n9. What symptoms of all those mentioned in this chapter did you notice\nin the last sick person with whom you had anything to do?\n\n10. What are the essentials of a good daily record? The following is an\naccount that a mother gave of the first twenty-four hours of a child's\nillness. Make a chart for the patient, and include in it all the\ninformation the mother gave. Which do you consider more useful, your\nchart or the narrative?\n\n\"Yesterday, October 10th, Johnny came home from school about half past\nthree, and said he was too cold to play outdoors. He lay down and slept\ntill about five, when he vomited a large amount of undigested food. I\ntook his temperature and found that it was 103.8°, pulse 126, and\nrespiration 28. At 10 that night his temperature was 102.5°, pulse 116,\nand respiration the same as before. The next morning at 8 he had a\ntemperature of 100.6°, pulse 114, respiration 24. At noon his\ntemperature was 101°, pulse 118, respiration 24; and at 4 o'clock his\ntemperature was 100.6°, pulse 122, respiration 22. The doctor came at 6\no'clock yesterday afternoon; according to his orders I put Johnny to\nbed, gave him half a tablespoonful of castor oil at 6.30, and a special\ngargle. His throat was red and sore and he seemed to feel very\nmiserable. The doctor took a culture from the child's throat. At 8.15\nand again at 8.50 he had fluid bowel movements. At 9.30 he had a glass\nof milk, after which he slept until 6 a.m. when his bowels moved again\nand urine was passed. He passed eight ounces of urine at noon and four\nounces at 3.30. He drank a glass of water at 6 this morning, and at 6.30\nI gave him a cup of hot broth. At 8 he had a glass of milk, but at 10 he\nrefused everything but a glass of water. At 1.30 he had a large dish of\nice cream. He had a cool sponge bath last night at 9, and a cleansing\nbath this morning at 8.45. This morning his throat was still sore but\nnot so red, and I saw that he gargled every half hour when he was awake.\nThis afternoon he seems brighter and asked for his harmonica, so his\nthroat is probably more comfortable.\"\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nEssentials of Medicine--Emerson, Chapters XVI, XVII.\n\nThe Human Mechanism--Hough and Sedgwick, Chapter XII.\n\nNotes on Nursing--Florence Nightingale, Pages 105-136.\n\nWhy Worry?--Walton.\n\nThose Nerves--Walton.\n\nTuberculosis: Its Cause, Cure, and Prevention--Otis.\n\nPublications of the National Association for the Study and Prevention of\nTuberculosis--105 East 22d Street, New York City. (Pamphlets free on\nrequest.)\n\nPublications of the National Committee for Mental Hygiene--50 Union\nSquare, New York City. (Pamphlets free on request.)\n\nPublications of the Mental Hygiene Committee of the State Charities Aid\nAssociation--105 East 22d Street, New York City. (Pamphlets free on\nrequest.)\n\nPublications of The American Society for the Control of Cancer--25 West\n45th Street, New York City. (Pamphlets free on request.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nEQUIPMENT AND CARE OF THE SICK ROOM\n\n\nAdequate care of the sick consists to a large extent in rendering their\nphysical and mental surroundings as favorable as possible. Obviously, a\nsick person, since his strength is already depleted, needs not only to\nhave his resistance increased in all possible ways, but also to have all\nhis remaining strength conserved by eliminating every unnecessary tax\nupon it. In sickness even slight fatigue, chill, or nervous strain,\ninsufficient ventilation, or improper feeding, may become factors of\nimmense importance. Nothing is trivial if it affects the welfare and\ncomfort of a patient.\n\nEven when perfect provision for the care of the sick is out of the\nquestion, every effort should be made to insure as satisfactory\narrangements as possible. Ideal conditions are seldom found except in\nbuildings originally planned for the sick; yet in many houses a few\nsimple changes will produce excellent results. Of course, it is not\nnecessary in every case to adopt all the following suggestions. Common\nsense must be the guide. For instance, in illness that is slight and\nlikely to be of short duration, a patient may be more distressed than\nbenefited by radical changes in his surroundings. Except when certain\nessentials are concerned, great consideration should be given to a\npatient's preferences; yet on the other hand it is not reasonable to\nmake an entire family miserable in order to gratify some slight whim.\n\nCHOICE OF A SICK ROOM.--A south or east exposure is generally best for a\nsick room. A south room may be undesirable in very hot weather, but\nsunshine during a part of the day is essential. The room should be\nquiet, near the bath room, and well removed from odors from the kitchen.\nIt should be situated so that good ventilation is possible. It is\ndesirable though not necessary for it to have more than one window; in\nsummer the windows must be thoroughly screened. It should be possible to\nopen the window without exposing the patient to a direct current of air,\nand to open the door without placing him in full view of all who pass\nthrough the hall.\n\nIt is essential for the patient to have a room to himself. Unless he\nneeds care or help or watching at night, not even the person caring for\nhim should sleep in the room. Neither should the rest of the family\nkeep their possessions in the sick room. Closets opening into the room,\nbureaus, and chiffoniers should be emptied of the belongings of other\nmembers of the family, to prevent people from tiptoeing into the sick\nroom at all hours to remove garments. The sick room should for the time\nbelong exclusively to the patient, and resulting inconvenience should be\nborne by well members of the family.\n\nEvery possible precaution should be taken to exclude from a sick room\nunnecessary noises of all kinds; flapping curtains, squeaky doors and\nrocking chairs, heels without rubber, creaking corsets, noisy\npetticoats, ticking clocks, refractory bureau drawers, and rustling\nnewspapers are among the everyday sounds that irritate the nerves of\nsick and well alike. Ordinary out-of-door noises do not usually disturb\nthe sick, except when the country patient is brought to the city, or the\nreverse; but nearby and generally avoidable noise is the kind that\ndistracts and harasses nervous patients.\n\nWhispering is an annoying sound and should not be allowed, either in the\npatient's room or just outside the door. Whatever the subject of\nconversation may be, the patient thinks that he is under discussion.\nAnything undesirable for him to hear should be settled well out of his\nhearing, and in speaking to him there is no possible objection to an\nordinary well modulated voice.\n\nUsually a person's own room is more restful and less disturbing than a\nstrange place, but if it serves as a work room as well as a bed room, it\nmay easily be the worst place during sickness. The sight of a desk piled\nhigh with papers or a basket overflowing with accumulations of family\nmending may actually delay recovery; even the room itself may constantly\nsuggest work, and work necessarily left undone. The essential thing to\nremember is that mental rest is no less important than physical, and\nevery effort should be made to secure them both.\n\nFURNISHING.--Superfluous articles add to the care of a sick room, and in\nconsequence they should be removed at the outset. All the furnishings\nthat remain should be easy to clean, but it is not necessary for a sick\nroom to look bare and desolate.\n\nThe woodwork as in any other room should have a hard finish, and angles\nand corners that harbor dust should be as few as possible. Hard wood\nfloors without cracks are best from the point of view of cleanliness and\nconvenience. A few light, washable rugs make the best floor covering,\nbut very small rugs on highly polished floors slide easily and are\ndecidedly dangerous. Carpets diminish noise, but are objectionable from\nevery other point of view.\n\nIn furnishing houses people ought to realize more frequently than they\ndo how greatly nervous fatigue may be increased by ill chosen wall\ncoverings. Plain papers or tinted walls are best for bed rooms and the\ncolor should not be harsh or striking; soft gray, green, or buff is\ngood. The design is no less important than the color; a design that on\ncasual inspection appears quite harmless may become an instrument of\ntorture to a person unable to escape from it for a single hour. Weak or\nnervous patients sometimes become quite exhausted from attempting to\nfollow an intricate pattern, or from counting over and over a design\nthat is frequently repeated on the wall. If the patient sees grotesque\nfaces and figures in the design the paper is more objectionable still.\n\nNecessary furniture includes the bed, which will be discussed in detail\nlater, a small table to stand by the head of the bed, a dresser, two\nchairs, and a wall thermometer. If the patient is able to sit up three\nchairs are needed, of which one should be an armchair with a high back.\nNo rocking chair should be allowed in the room unless the patient\nhimself prefers to sit in one; no one else should be allowed to rock in\nthe room, since the motion is almost always annoying to patients.\nElaborate, carved, or upholstered furniture is unsuitable in a sick\nroom, but if it must be used it should have washable covers.\n\nOther desirable articles of furniture are a couch, screen, foot-stool\nand a second, larger table. In few cases, if any, is anything further\nreally necessary, although patients frequently desire special articles\nto which there can be no objection.\n\nMost ornaments add much work and little beauty, and have no place in a\nsick-room. No heavy unwashable curtains or hangings should be allowed,\nbut simple washable curtains and clean white covers for the tables and\ndresser are desirable. Pictures, if suitable, give much pleasure, but\nmust be used with discretion. It goes without saying that the subjects\nshould be pleasant, but not everyone realizes that complicated subjects\nare undesirable and that pictures of people or things in motion should\nbe avoided; patients are sometimes worried to see motion that is forever\nincomplete.\n\nFlowers give great pleasure to the sick by adding color and variety and\ninterest to their surroundings. They should be carefully tended and\ngiven fresh water daily. Fading flowers and forlorn plants should be\nremoved from the sick room, and those having strong, heavy odors should\nnot even be admitted. They do not need to be very many or very\nexpensive; indeed, a potted plant or a few cut flowers are often more\nacceptable than the great masses of costly flowers that are daily\nbrought to the private wards of hospitals.\n\nVENTILATION.--A patient needs fresh air certainly as much as a well\nperson, and probably even more. His room should be thoroughly ventilated\nnight and day. A fireplace makes the problem easier, but in most cases\nan open window is the main dependence. It should be possible to open\nwindows at the top as well as at the bottom, and the patient may be\nprotected from a direct draught by a screen, or by a sheet stretched\nalong the side of the bed and fastened at the head and foot by tying it\naround the posts.\n\nVentilating a room without subjecting the patient to draughts is not\nalways easy. One method is to insert a board three or four inches high\nunder the lower sash so that air is admitted between the two sashes.\nAnother way to ventilate without causing a draught is to remove one or\ntwo panes of glass and tack cheese cloth over the opening; or to tack\ncheese cloth to the lower edge of the upper window casing and to the\nupper edge of the upper sash, after the sash has been lowered about a\nfoot. Once or twice a day the room should be thoroughly aired by opening\nwindows and doors until the air has been completely changed. The\npatient, including his head, must be well-covered during the process.\nAn electric fan is useful in summer, but it should not be close enough\nto the bed for the patient to feel air blowing upon him.\n\nHEATING.--Great care should be taken to maintain a suitable temperature\nin the sick-room, and for this purpose a thermometer in the room is a\nnecessity. Between 65° and 68° is generally the best temperature, and\nhot water bags and extra covers may be given if the patient is chilly.\nDuring a bath or other treatment in which the patient is more or less\nexposed the temperature should be 70°. The temperature at night may be\nlower; how low will depend largely on the patient's condition and on\nwhat must be done for him during the night. Hot water, steam heat, or\nelectricity is best for the sick room. Gas or oil stoves should never be\nused except in emergencies, and then for a short time only.\n\nLIGHTING.--Sunlight is one of the most powerful disinfectants, and for\nthis reason if for no other it is needed in every sick room. Sunless\nrooms, moreover, even if they were wholesome, are too depressing to a\npatient's spirits for use except perhaps in hot summer days. Ordinary\nwell-regulated light is best in a sick room, and except in a few\ndiseases, especially those in which the eyes are affected, it is\nundesirable to darken the room or to encourage in any way an appearance\nof gloom. The patient's eyes, however, should be protected from bright\nlights shining directly upon them; in this connection it is well to\nremember that lights and their reflections strike differently upon the\neyes of a person lying down from the way in which they strike the eyes\nof persons sitting or standing, and a light that seems agreeable to the\nattendant may therefore be painful to the patient.\n\nAlmost all persons sleep best in dark rooms, and in most cases it is\nundesirable for a sick room to be lighted at night. The attendant,\nhowever, must be able to see what she is doing and generally needs a\nshaded candle, small night light, or electric flash. It should be\npossible to see the patient clearly in case of need, otherwise serious\nchanges in his condition occurring in the night may pass unnoticed.\n\nA reading lamp on the bedside table is desirable for patients allowed to\nread, but reading in bed even with a well-regulated light is fatiguing,\nand should not be continued for long uninterrupted periods. A pocket\nflash light is safer than matches and a candle for patients who wish to\nconsult their watches in the night; indeed, matches in the hands of\npatients always involve risk. Some patients find twilight a time of\ngreat depression. In such a case it had best be shortened by drawing\nthe shades early, turning on the lights, and remembering not to leave\nhim alone.\n\nCLEANING.--The sick-room should be kept thoroughly clean at all times,\nand the less dust stirred up in doing so the better. Dry sweeping or\ndusting should not be allowed. Ordinary brooms should be dampened or\ncovered with damp cloths, and dust cloths should be dampened also; but\ndustless mops and dusters are still better. Vacuum cleaning is very\ndesirable; the noise, which is its only disadvantage, is not a serious\nobjection in most cases. The cleaning of rooms after a communicable\ndisease will be considered later.\n\nA sick room must be kept tidy as well as clean. The effect of order is\nquieting, but it should be maintained whether the effect upon the\npatient is apparent or not. Food and medicine should not be kept in the\nsick-room, and all used dishes, tumblers, soiled linen, etc., should be\nremoved at once. Unnecessary articles should not be found in the room at\nany time; every necessary article should be kept in its place, and its\nplace should be a good one.\n\nMaintaining order in the room does not mean that patients should be made\nuncomfortable. All patients, especially old people, want certain\npossessions within reach, and their wishes should be considered in spite\nof the fact that the æsthetic effect is generally far from good. For\ninstance, a perfectly smooth bed is undesirable if in order to make it\nsmooth the patient must be tucked in so tightly that he is\nuncomfortable. And it would be a mistake to remove an old man's\nnewspapers before he has read them, even if he persists in strewing them\nall over the floor.\n\nTHE ATTENDANT.--One person and one person only should carry the entire\nresponsibility for the patient. She should plan for him as well as care\nfor him, should see the doctor and take the doctor's orders. Confusion\nand innumerable mistakes result when several members of the family\nattempt to do the talking and directing.\n\nThe attendant should wear washable dresses with sleeves that can be\nrolled up, washable aprons, and shoes with rubber heels. All her\nclothing should be comfortable. She should be neat in appearance,\nscrupulously clean in person, and should keep her finger nails short and\nsmooth. Jewelry, especially rings and chains that rattle, and finery of\nany sort are all out of place in a sick-room.\n\nThe attendant must learn that her own sleep, her diet, and her\nout-of-door exercise are essential to the patient's well-being hardly\nless than to her own. An amateur nurse often considers that going\nwithout food and sleep is a proof of her devotion. In a passion of\nself-sacrifice she neglects herself utterly for the first few days, and\nas a consequence is quite useless at a later period when her services\nmay be most needed. An exhausted, sleepy nurse, trained or untrained, is\nwholly unfit to be trusted with medicines and doctor's orders, to note\nchanges in the patient's condition, or to give him kindly attention.\nEfficiency and fatigue have never pulled together since the world began,\nand no one can do good work when suffering from lack of sleep and rest.\n\nThe person, then, who genuinely wishes to give her patient the best\npossible care should not make a martyr of herself. She should go out of\ndoors daily; both fresh air and occasional absence from the patient are\nessential to her physical and mental well-being. Moreover, she will be\nshowing her patient the greatest kindness in the long run if during her\nrecreation time she thinks of him as little as possible. Indeed, she\nneed not consider herself inhuman if she has a thoroughly good time.\n\nOn the other hand, a person who is responsible for the care of a patient\nmust be made to realize that she and she only is ultimately responsible\nduring the entire 24 hours of every day. Being responsible for a patient\ndoes not mean that she should be with him every minute, or do everything\nherself: it does mean that she should plan so effectively that\neverything necessary is done, either by herself or by another competent\nperson. When she goes away for even half an hour, she should appoint\nsomeone else to be responsible in her place and to her when she comes\nback. She must consequently make very clear just what she wants done. If\nthere is medicine, nourishment, or treatment to be given, she can easily\nmake a list, with the time for each, and ask that each item be crossed\noff the list as soon as the work has been done. She should not forget to\nask for the list when she returns.\n\nWhat is really needed is a little executive ability. As Florence\nNightingale said:\n\n      \"It is impossible in a book to teach a person in charge of\n      the sick how to _manage_, as it is to teach her how to\n      nurse. Circumstances must vary with each different case.\n      But it is possible to press upon her to think for herself.\n      Now what does happen during my absence? I am obliged to be\n      away on Tuesday. But fresh air, or punctuality is not less\n      important to my patient on Tuesday than it was on Monday.\n      Or: At 10 p.m. I am never with my patient; but quiet is of\n      no less consequence to him at 10 than it was at 5 minutes\n      to 10. Curious as it may seem, this very obvious\n      consideration occurs comparatively to few, or, if it does\n      occur, it is only to cause the devoted friend or nurse to\n      be absent fewer hours, or even fewer minutes from her\n      patient--not to arrange so as that no minute and no hour\n      shall be for her patient without the essentials of her\n      nursing.\"--(Notes on Nursing.)\n\nIt is exceedingly difficult to care for members of one's own family or\nto be cared for by them. Too much or too little is almost invariably\nexpected by one person or the other, and where great affection is\ninvolved not only is the strain increased on both sides, but often harm\nresults from too great unselfishness on either side or both. But\nsometimes the reverse is true, and then one should remember that normal\nbehavior may be impossible for the sick. During weakness and pain,\nirritability and unreasonableness are as characteristic as other\nsymptoms, and it is as foolish to demand a normal mental state from a\nsick person as it would be to demand a normal temperature. For a\ncheerful, reasonable, and unselfish patient--and there are surprisingly\nmany--one should be devoutly thankful, but patience and pity should be\ngiven no less to those whose tortured nerves cause suffering to others\nas well as to themselves.\n\nEvery woman who cares for the sick should remember that she is the\npatient's chief if not his only link with the normal world, and that his\nplight is pitiful indeed if she is complaining or irritable or\nunwilling. Anyone who cares for the sick should remember also that she\nis necessarily in a most intimate relation with the patient, and that\nsuch enforced intimacy calls for extra consideration on her part, and\nfor the most scrupulous respect for confidential matters. It is\ninexcusable even for members of the patient's family to discuss with one\nanother the patient's private concerns, or his queer or unreasonable or\nannoying ways. During sickness the skeletons in most people's mental\nclosets walk forth, and anyone who misuses special opportunities to know\nintimate affairs can only be classed with eavesdroppers and village\ngossips.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. What are the essentials of a good sick room as to:\n\n  (_a_) Situation and exposure.\n  (_b_) Lighting and heating.\n  (_c_) Furnishing.\n  (_d_) Ventilation.\n\n2. How may a sick room be ventilated without exposing the patient to\ndraughts?\n\n3. How should the bed be placed in relation to doors, windows, and\nwalls?\n\n4. How should a sick room be cleaned?\n\n5. What in general are the duties of the attendant?\n\n6. Make a plan of your own bedroom, and show what changes, if any, would\nbe desirable if it were to be used as a sick room.\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nNotes on Nursing--Florence Nightingale, Pages 1-63, 84-105.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nBEDS AND BEDMAKING\n\n\nThe common saying that the best bed for an invalid is his own bed\ncontains an element of truth. Taking from a patient his own accustomed\nbed, even when a better is substituted, sometimes disturbs him greatly\nand makes him feel that he is indeed very ill. Nevertheless, a suitable\nbed is essential to the proper care of a helpless person, and no patient\nshould continue to use an unsuitable one, unless his illness is slight\nand also likely to be of very short duration.\n\nBesides being comfortable, a bed suitable for the sick must be clean and\neasy to keep in a sanitary condition. The springs should be firm, and\nthe mattress should be elastic and should give an even support without\nlumps and hollows. The bed covers should be clean, light, and warm; the\npillows should be sufficient in number not only to make the head and\nshoulders comfortable, but also any other part of the body in need of\nsupport. Moreover, the bed should be so placed and of such a kind that\nthe work of caring for the patient may be rendered as easy for the\nattendant as possible. In every household at least one bed suitable for\na sick person should be available in case of need.\n\nBEDSTEADS.--Beds of white enameled iron, brass, or brass and iron\ncombined are most easily kept clean, and are the best in every way. The\nframe should be strong enough to stand firmly, yet not so heavy that it\nis hard to move. It should have as few angles as possible, and all its\njoints should be smooth and well finished. The springs should be made of\nwire stretched tightly on a metal frame that fits smoothly into the head\nand foot pieces. Large castors should be used; they may be removed from\nthe foot if the bed moves too easily.\n\nA bed to be used in sickness should have the following\ndimensions--length, 6 ft. 6 in., height 24 to 26 inches, width, 36\ninches. If a bed is either too high or too low the labor of lifting and\nmoving the patient is greatly increased. If the bed is too narrow the\npatient is insecure. If the bed is too wide, its center is difficult or\nimpossible to reach without leaning or kneeling upon it; and if too\nshort, it will prove uncomfortable for a tall person. A bed that is too\nlow may be raised on four heavy boxes of the same height; or still\nbetter, upon heavy wooden blocks which any carpenter can easily make,\nand which are well worth a little trouble to obtain. In the top of each\nblock a hollow should be made into which the leg of the bed will fit\nafter the castor has been removed. A broad firm stool or a low chair may\nbe provided for a patient who has difficulty in getting in and out of a\nhigh bed.\n\nBeds with complicated attachments for moving patients are not\nrecommended for family use. They are expensive, likely to get out of\norder, seldom needed, and generally unsatisfactory. In some surgical\ncases a bed with a firm, flat surface is necessary. Such a surface may\nbe secured by placing between the mattress and springs two boards\nslightly separated, or one wide board with holes bored in it to afford\nventilation.\n\nWooden beds are undesirable: they are difficult to keep clean, they\nreadily absorb moisture and odors, they cannot well be disinfected, and\ntheir solid frames prevent a free circulation of air. Moreover, it is\nalmost impossible to render fit for use again a wooden bed into which\nvermin have once made their way. Folding beds and lounges even of the\nbest type are unhygienic, usually too low for the patient's comfort, and\noften insecure.\n\nA bedstead should be wiped frequently with a damp cloth; if it is of\nenameled iron it may be washed with soap and water. The springs may be\ncleansed with a stiff brush dipped in kerosene oil. Excessive use of\nwater upon the springs is likely to make them rust.\n\nMATTRESSES.--Various substances are used in the manufacture of\nmattresses, but nothing has yet been found that is as satisfactory as\ncurled hair. It is light and clean and elastic, it does not readily\nabsorb odors, and it is easily renovated. Although hair is more costly\nthan other materials, a hair mattress may be used almost indefinitely if\nit is occasionally made over.\n\nFelt or cotton mattresses are firm, but heavy, difficult to keep clean,\nand likely to absorb odors. A useful mattress made from straw is\nsometimes found in country districts. Such a bed is thoroughly hygienic,\nfor the worn straw may be burned and the tick washed and refilled with\nclean straw; but straw beds are generally hard and lumpy. The least\ndesirable of all mattresses is the old fashioned feather bed, and it\nshould never be used if a better can by any possibility be obtained; but\na feather bed should not be arbitrarily taken away from an old person\naccustomed to its use, unless his welfare is really at stake.\n\nA mattress made in two sections is unnecessary for a single bed; indeed,\na mattress made in one piece is more easily kept in place if the\npatient is restless. A good quality of blue and white ticking makes a\nserviceable cover for both mattress and pillows since its color is not\nlikely to run.\n\nCARE OF THE MATTRESS.--A mattress should be brushed frequently with a\nwhisk broom, especially around the tufts and edges. If a patient is long\nconfined to bed, a fresh one should occasionally be substituted so that\nthe regular mattress may be removed, well brushed, beaten with a carpet\nbeater, and left exposed to the sun and air for a day or two. A mattress\nthat is badly soiled should be sent to a cleaner and made over; it\ncannot be cleaned properly at home. It is generally possible to remove\nblood stains, if they have not soaked through the ticking, by applying a\nthick cream made from raw starch and cold water. When the starch becomes\ndry it should be brushed away, and the application should be repeated\nuntil the stain has disappeared. For the best results the starch should\nbe applied before the stain is dry.\n\nPILLOWS.--One patient can use an almost unlimited number of feather\npillows. Some should be soft and others firm, some large and some small;\nbut pillows that are very large and thick are less useful than a greater\nnumber of smaller ones. It is well to have several small pillows of\nvarying size and thickness to support different parts of the body.\n\nHair pillows are often acceptable in warm weather, and they are also\ndesirable for patients with high fever or excessive perspiration. Rubber\nair pillows are a convenience in traveling and add much to the comfort\nof a patient when he first goes out in a carriage or motor car, but air\npillows are not sufficiently durable for general use.\n\nIf a pillow tick becomes soiled, the feathers may be transferred to a\nclean tick by making an opening about six inches long in the end of each\npillow, sewing the ticks together, and then shaking the feathers from\none tick to the other. The soiled tick can then be washed. If the\nfeathers themselves have become soiled they should be renovated by a\ncleaner. Pillows, like mattresses, should be frequently brushed, sunned,\nand aired. They should not be held in the mouth while a clean\npillow-case is adjusted.\n\nPROTECTION OF THE MATTRESS AND PILLOWS.--In all cases of sickness the\nmattress must be adequately protected. Neglect is inexcusable and may\ncause expense and trouble as well as discomfort to the patient.\n\nThe following may be used to protect the mattress or pillows: large\nquilted pads, small pads of cotton batting covered with old muslin or\ncheese cloth, slip covers for the mattress, rubber sheets and\npillow-cases, old blankets and quilts that may be washed easily. Heavy\nwrapping paper, builders' paper, and newspapers serve well in\nemergencies, or for a short time.\n\nRUBBER SHEETS AND PILLOW-CASES.--Soft rubber cloth, single or double\nfaced, is most frequently used when it is necessary to protect the bed\nfrom discharges. It may be purchased by the yard. Rubber sheets should\nnot be used unless they are really necessary. They are hot and\nuncomfortable, and increase the tendency to perspire. When used, a\nrubber sheet should be 1 yard wide or wide enough to reach from the\nlower edge of the pillows down to the patient's knees, and long enough\nso that it can be tucked in securely on both sides of the bed. Rubber\nsheets may be cleaned by laying them on a flat surface and washing on\nboth sides with soap and water, using a small brush if necessary. After\nrinsing they should be wiped, and when thoroughly dry they should be\nrolled rather than folded, to prevent the rubber from breaking.\n\nRubber pillow-cases are used for a patient who perspires profusely, or\nwho has a discharge of any kind from the head or neck, and also when\nsubstances which may wet or stain the pillow are applied to the head.\nThey should be put on next to the pillow, securely fastened with tapes,\nsnap hooks, or buttons, and covered with the regular pillow slip.\n\nRubber sheets and pillow-cases are not durable. They should be used\ncarefully, and frequently examined for holes or worn places by holding\nthem up to the light. Even a pin hole near the center may render a\nrubber sheet or pillow-case as useless as a sieve.\n\nSHEETS.--Sheets of ample proportions are necessary for comfort, and\nimportant for sanitary reasons as well. For a bed of the dimensions\nmentioned in this lesson sheets should be three yards long, and two\nyards wide. A safe rule for any bed is to have the sheets one yard\nlonger and one yard wider than the mattress. A sheet of these dimensions\nis large enough to be tucked under the sides and foot of the mattress,\nwhile at least twelve inches are left to fold over the blankets at the\ntop. Cotton sheets are as good as linen for general use, or even better,\nand are far less expensive.\n\nDRAW SHEETS are used to cover rubber sheets, and to protect beds when\nthe rubbers are not used. In hospitals special draw sheets are usually\nprovided, but an ordinary sheet folded answers every purpose. New and\nexpensive sheets should not be used for draw sheets, since they are\nmore likely than other sheets to become stained. Draw sheets should be\nwide enough to extend about four inches beyond the rubber sheet at the\ntop and bottom.\n\nPILLOW COVERS.--Pillow covers are generally made of cotton, but persons\nwho can afford the cost frequently prefer linen, especially in hot\nweather. Unless fastened with buttons or tapes, a pillow case should be\nseveral inches longer than its pillow. It should be wide enough to slip\non easily, but not so wide that it wrinkles or allows the pillow to\nturn. If it is too small the pillow will become hard and uncomfortable.\nThese small things, unimportant as they are to the well, may cause much\ndiscomfort to a restless or nervous patient.\n\nBLANKETS.--All wool blankets are both light and warm, and are\nconsequently the most comfortable bed covering. But unless they can be\ndry cleaned frequently, it is better to select blankets made from one\npart wool and two parts cotton. Blankets containing equal parts of wool\nand cotton are warmer, but are more injured by washing. Very light\nblankets of wool or outing flannel are useful in summer. Double blankets\nshould always be cut in two and bound at the ends, since single blankets\nare easier than double blankets to handle and wash. Patients are\nfrequently too warmly covered by day. Too much warmth is enervating, it\ncauses the patient to perspire, and makes him restless and more\nsusceptible to draughts and to changes of temperature. Two light\nblankets are warmer and more comfortable than one heavy blanket.\n\nCOMFORTERS AND QUILTS.--Heavy cotton comforters are burdensome without\nbeing correspondingly warm. Eiderdown quilts or those padded with wool\nare good for a patient who sleeps out of doors, or whose room is kept at\na low temperature. Bed covers that cannot be laundered readily should be\nprotected by basting on both sides of the top a wide piece of muslin or\nlinen, which can be removed and washed.\n\nCOUNTERPANES.--White dimity counterpanes are desirable, since they are\nlight in weight, easily laundered, and inexpensive. A heavy counterpane\nis uncomfortable at any time, and still more uncomfortable in sickness.\nIf a light spread is not available, a sheet makes a good substitute. A\ncounterpane should be wide enough to cover the sheets and blankets at\nthe sides when the bed is open, and long enough to protect the bedding\nat the top and bottom.\n\n\nBED MAKING\n\nAll methods of making beds for the sick are based upon a few underlying\nprinciples. The aim in every case is to obtain the following results\nwith the least expenditure of time and labor: first, to secure comfort\nfor the patient, and to eliminate all causes of friction, irritation, or\npressure upon his skin; next to keep the covers firmly in place, so\nthat the bed will not easily become disarranged; then to protect the\nmattress, and last, to secure as good an appearance as possible.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 12.--THE DRAW SHEET IN PLACE. (_From \"Elementary\nNursing Procedures,\" California State Board of Health._)]\n\nTO MAKE AN UNOCCUPIED BED, proceed as follows: remove the pillows and\ncovers one at a time, and place them on chairs, near an open window if\npossible. Brush the mattress and then set it up on its ends to air, or\nturn it back over the foot board. Wipe the bedstead with a damp cloth.\nReplace the mattress after it has aired, turning it from side to side\nand from end to end on alternate days. Cover the mattress, unless it is\nenclosed in a slip cover, with a white quilted pad or an old blanket,\nand then spread the lower sheet over the mattress, so that the middle\nfold of the sheet lies upon the center of the mattress in a straight\nline from the head of the bed to the foot. Tuck the sheet under, first\nat the top and then at the bottom, drawing it so that it is firm and\ntight. If the sheet is of proper length tuck fourteen or sixteen inches\nunder at the top, but take care to cover the mattress at the foot also.\nNext tuck the sheet under at the side, folding its corners to make a\nneat finish like an envelope. Place the rubber sheet, if it must be\nused, across the bed, with its upper edge where the lower edge of the\npillows will come. A draw sheet somewhat wider than the rubber sheet is\nneeded next; an ordinary sheet, folded once the long way of the sheet,\nmay be used, with the fold toward the head of the bed. Tuck both rubber\nand draw sheet securely under the mattress at the side. In some cases\nthe rubber sheet may be placed next to the mattress, and covered by the\nmattress pad and lower sheet. Place the draw sheet as directed, whether\nthe rubber is used or not. After the lower, rubber, and draw sheets have\nbeen adjusted on one side of the bed, go to the opposite side, draw them\nover smoothly, and tuck them under the mattress as tightly as possible.\n\nNext spread the upper sheet over the bed so that its upper edge reaches\nto the upper edge of the mattress, and its middle crease lies over the\nmiddle line of the mattress, and place it right side down, so that the\nsmooth side of the hem will be uppermost when the sheet is turned over\nthe blankets. Place the blankets so that their upper edges lie a little\nhigher than the place where the lower edge of the pillow will come, and\ntuck them in firmly at the bottom and sides. If the blankets are not\nlong enough to tuck in at the foot, place the lower blanket as directed\nand the upper blanket five or six inches lower than the first. When\ntucked in, the upper blanket holds the lower one in place fairly well.\nPlace the counterpane evenly and smoothly, tuck it under at the foot,\nturn its corners neatly, turn its upper edge under the upper edge of the\nblankets and fold the upper sheet down over the whole. Last of all,\nshake the pillows and place them neatly on the bed.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 13.--THE CLOSED BED. (_From \"Elementary Nursing\nProcedures,\" California State Board of Health._)]\n\nPractice is necessary before it is possible to make a bed quickly and\nwell, and a certain amount of proficiency in making an unoccupied bed\nshould be acquired before undertaking to make a bed with a patient in\nit. One should learn to work in an orderly way, without confusion,\nunnecessary motion, or jarring of the bed.\n\nTO CHANGE A PATIENT'S PILLOWS.--Stand preferably on the right side of\nthe bed and slip the left arm under the patient's shoulders, supporting\nhis head in the hollow of the arm. Raise him slightly and remove the\npillows one at a time with the right hand, drawing them outward on the\nleft side of the bed. Place a small pillow under his head. Shake the\npillows, change the cases if necessary, and replace them on the left\nside of the bed, ready to be drawn back into position. Raise the patient\nas before, remove the small pillow and draw the others into place. It is\nsometimes better to hold the patient on the upper pillow while removing\nand replacing the under one.\n\nLIFTING A PATIENT IN BED.--Patients tend to slip down toward the foot of\nthe bed, and they should be raised if unable to help themselves. To\nraise the patient, instruct him to flex his knees and to press his feet\nfirmly upon the bed; place one arm under his shoulders, as when\nchanging pillows, the other arm under the thighs, and lift him upward\nwithout jerking. The lifting can be done more easily by two people, and\nwith less discomfort to the patient: if he is entirely helpless two\npeople are necessary. Two people should proceed as follows: Let _A_\nplace her left arm under the patient's head and shoulders as before, her\nright arm under the small of his back; let _B_ place her right arm also\nunder the small of his back and her left arm under his thighs, and at a\nsignal let them lift together. In this way the weight is so evenly\ndistributed that a heavy person can be lifted without great difficulty.\n\nTO TURN A PATIENT IN BED.--A patient may be turned toward or away from\nyou. In turning a patient toward you, place one hand over his farther\nshoulder and the other over his hip, and turn him toward you. Then flex\nhis knees slightly. To turn a patient from you, pass one hand as far as\npossible under the shoulders, and the other as far as possible under the\nthighs. Then raising the patient slightly, draw him back toward you,\nturning him at the same time, and then flex the knees. Lastly place a\npillow firmly against his back to support it.\n\nTO CHANGE THE SHEETS WHILE THE PATIENT IS IN BED proceed as follows:\nFirst collect the fresh linen and place it conveniently near the bed.\nThen draw the bedclothes from beneath the mattress, raising the mattress\nmeanwhile with one hand to prevent jarring the bed. Remove first the\nspread and then the upper blanket if there are two, fold each once and\nplace it on a chair. Hold the remaining blanket in place with one hand,\nwhile with the other you draw the upper sheet out from under it; then\nfold the edges of the blanket up over the patient to keep them out of\nthe way. The upper sheet, unless soiled, may be folded once and used\nagain as a draw sheet. Next remove all the pillows, unless the patient\nprefers to keep one. Then move the patient toward one side of the bed\nand turn him on his side so that he faces the edge nearest him. Roll the\ndraw sheet and rubber sheet together if both are to be removed, or\nseparately if the rubber sheet is to remain on the bed; then roll the\nbottom sheet throughout its entire length, and bring the three sheets,\nall rolled as flat and as tightly as possible, close to the patient's\nback. Pleat about half of the fresh lower sheet lengthwise and place the\npleated portion as close as possible to the rolled soiled sheets. Tuck\nin the other half of the fresh sheet at the top, bottom and side, draw\nthe rubber sheet if it is to be replaced back over the fresh lower\nsheet, arrange the fresh draw sheet in place, tuck it in at the side,\nand roll its free portion close to the patient's back. The fresh side of\nthe bed is then ready for the patient. Lift his feet back over the\nrolled sheets keeping his knees flexed, then turn him back over the\nrolled sheets on to the fresh smooth part, remove the soiled sheets and\narrange the fresh ones in place on the side where the patient has just\nbeen lying. Be careful to keep him well covered with the blanket. After\nthe lower sheets are in place and firmly tucked in, spread above the\nblanket the fresh upper sheet, and over the sheet spread the second\nblanket. Hold the sheet and blanket in place with one hand while using\nthe other hand to draw out the first blanket from beneath the sheet. In\nthis way the patient is constantly covered by a blanket. Place the\nblanket just removed above the other and finish the bed according to the\ndirections given for an unoccupied bed, using special care, however not\nto draw the covers too tightly over the patient's feet.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 14.--CHANGING THE DRAW SHEET. (_From Pope \"Home Care\nof the Sick,\" American School of Home Economics, Chicago._)]\n\nTO MOVE A PATIENT FROM ONE BED TO ANOTHER.--On the fresh bed have the\nlower sheets in place but not the upper covers. Place the two beds close\ntogether side by side, and draw one mattress a little over the place\nwhere the two sides meet. Loosen the draw sheet under the patient, roll\nit on both sides close to the body and draw him gently over by means of\nthis sheet, moving his shoulders at the same time. If the beds are\nunequal in height, use firm pillows or folded blankets to make an\ninclined plane.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 15.--CHANGING A PATIENT FROM ONE BED TO ANOTHER.\n(_From Pope \"Home Care of the Sick,\" American School of Home Economics,\nChicago._)]\n\nIf the beds differ greatly in height and indeed in most cases, it is\nbetter to carry the patient from one bed to the other. At least two\npeople are needed; one alone should never attempt to carry anyone\nheavier than a small child. One method for lifting is as follows: Let\ntwo bearers, _A_ and _B_ stand on the same side of the bed. If the\npatient is to be moved into the right side of the fresh bed let both\nbearers stand on the right side of the occupied bed; if he is to go into\nthe left side of the fresh bed, let them both stand on the left side of\nthe occupied bed. Let _A_ place one arm under the patient's shoulders\nand her other under the small of his back, while _B_ places one arm\nunder his hips and the other just below his knees. Draw the patient to\nthe edge of the bed, instruct him to place his arms about the shoulders\nof _A_ and to hold the body rigid, and then lift together at a given\nsignal, keeping his weight well up on the chests of the bearers.\n\nWhenever a patient must be turned, lifted, carried, or moved in any way,\nlet him know beforehand just what you intend to do so that he may not be\nstartled, and also that he may coöperate if possible. Grasp him firmly\nbut gently, avoid pinching the skin, and move him steadily and\nsmoothly, avoiding jerks and false starts. Do not attempt alone more\nthan your strength is amply sufficient to accomplish, and endeavor at\nall times to handle the sick with the utmost gentleness and\nconsideration.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Describe a bedstead and mattress suitable for a sick person's use,\nand tell why they are to be preferred.\n\n2. How should the bedstead be cared for? the mattress? the pillows?\n\n3. How should a mattress and pillows be protected?\n\n4. Describe in detail the bed covers that are desirable for use in\nsickness.\n\n5. Name the results that a good method of bedmaking aims to secure.\n\n6. Describe the method of making an unoccupied bed.\n\n7. How should one change the pillows of a helpless patient?\n\n8. Describe the way in which you would lift and turn a patient in bed.\n\n9. Describe the method of changing sheets and remaking a bed while the\npatient is in it.\n\n10. Why are beds and bedmaking considered so important in the care of\nthe sick?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nNotes on Nursing--Florence Nightingale, Pages 79-84.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nBATHS AND BATHING\n\n\nBathing is necessary in sickness no less than in health. It stimulates\nand equalizes the circulation, is soothing in feverish conditions, is\nrefreshing to most people, and by affording a certain amount of exercise\nit lessens the fatigue of lying in bed. Moreover, without frequent\nbathing it is impossible to keep the skin in good condition, since\nscales of dead skin, oily matter, and solid substances left by\nperspiration collect on the surface of the body when a person is lying\nstill in bed as well as when he is leading an active life. The common\nbelief that sick people are likely to catch cold from bathing is quite\nunfounded; every patient, unless his condition is such that the doctor\norders otherwise, should have one complete cleansing bath each day. In\naddition to the regular cleansing bath other kinds are often prescribed\nas medical treatment.\n\n\nCLEANSING BATHS\n\nA _tub bath_ if allowed by a patient's condition, is the most\nsatisfactory kind, but special precautions must be taken to guard her\nfrom fatigue and chill. The bath room and everything to be used should\nbe made ready before she leaves her bed. Necessary clothing and toilet\narticles should be collected and arranged conveniently, a chair covered\nwith a blanket and also a bath mat should be placed beside the tub, and\nthe temperature of the bath room should be regulated so that it is about\n70° F., or a little lower if the room is likely to become overheated as\nthe bath proceeds. The bath water should be drawn last. Its temperature,\ntested by a thermometer, should be between 96° and 100° at the\nbeginning, and may be increased if desirable.\n\nIf the patient is weak, wash and dry her face, neck, and ears, and if\nnecessary cut the finger and toe nails before she leaves the bed, in any\ncase before she enters the tub. As soon as the patient has left the bed,\nstrip it and leave it to air; then assist her into the bath room and\nhelp her carefully into the tub. Do not allow her to stay in the water\nmore than ten minutes at most, and stop the bath at once if she shows\nthe slightest sign of faintness, dizziness, exhaustion, difficult\nbreathing, marked change of color, or other unusual symptom. Indeed, if\nthe patient is weak or her reaction to the bath uncertain, as when she\ntakes her first tub bath after an illness, someone should always be\nwithin call to help the attendant in case of need. A faint, heavy\npatient in a bath tub is an impossible load for one person to handle.\n\nWhile the patient is in the tub, soap her well, brush her finger and toe\nnails, rinse, and rub her to stimulate the circulation. Then help her\nfrom the tub, seat her in the chair, draw the blanket closely about her\nfrom neck to feet, dry her with warm towels, exposing the body as little\nas possible, and, if she is to return to bed, put on a fresh night gown,\nand wrapper and slippers. Next place the lower sheet, the draw sheet,\nand one pillow on the bed as quickly as possible, help the patient into\nbed, keeping her well covered with a blanket, and finish making the bed.\nIf she seems chilly, give a hot water bag and hot drink and leave the\nblanket next her in place. After the patient has been made comfortable,\nclean the tub and put the bath room in order.\n\nEven patients supposedly able to take tub baths without assistance\nshould not lock the bath room door nor be left alone a long time.\n\nBED BATH.--Practice is essential in order to give a bed bath skillfully.\nThe aim is to make the patient thoroughly clean and thoroughly dry,\nwithout chilling, fatiguing, or exposing her, without making the bed\ndamp, and without unnecessary haste or delay. One method of giving a\nbed bath follows, but any method that accomplishes these aims is likely\nto be satisfactory.\n\nFirst see that the room is about 70° F. and likely to remain so, and\nexclude draughts. Collect everything to be used, including a blanket to\ncover the patient, an old blanket or large bath towel to protect the\nbed, at least two other towels, one a bath towel and the other a face\ntowel, two wash cloths, soap, nail brush, powder, alcohol, comb and\nbrush, nail file, scissors, etc.; fresh bed and personal linen; a large\nbasin containing water at 105°, a jug of hotter water, and a slop jar.\nRemove the upper bed clothes except one blanket, which should cover the\npatient constantly during the bath, and spread them where they will air;\nremove all the pillows but one, and place the bath blanket under the\npatient as the under sheet is placed in bed making. If a bath blanket is\nnot used, keep the bath towel under the part that is being bathed by\nmoving the towel from place to place.\n\nNext remove the night gown in the following way: Let the patient lie on\nher back, with her knees flexed; draw the gown up as far as possible,\nthen raise or get her to raise her hips so that the gown may be drawn up\nabove the waist. Next raise her head and shoulders with one arm and draw\nthe night gown up to the neck with the other; remove one sleeve, draw\nthe gown over the head and then off the other arm.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 16.--WASHING A PATIENT WITHOUT EXPOSURE. (_Sanders\n\"Modern Methods in Nursing.\"_)]\n\nThe patient is now ready for the bath. Wet the wash cloth thoroughly,\nbut hold it gathered in the hand so that it will not drip. Wash the\nface, neck, and ears first, dry them thoroughly, and next, using the\nsecond wash cloth, wash the arms and hands, chest and abdomen, giving\nparticular attention to the armpits and navel. Raise the blanket\nslightly with one hand to keep it from becoming damp, but expose the\npatient as little as possible; the arms and legs need not remain covered\nwhile being washed. Dry each part thoroughly before washing the next.\nNext turn the patient on her side and wash the back, the buttocks, and\nupper part of the thighs; give special attention to the fold between the\nbuttocks. Then turn the patient on her back, and wash the thighs, legs,\nand feet. If it is important to move the patient as little as possible,\nleave the back until last so that the under sheet may be changed without\nturning her again. Cut the toe nails if necessary before washing, and\nclean them carefully afterward. Unless there is a reason to the\ncontrary, wash the hands and the feet in the basin, first protecting the\nbed with a towel, newspaper, or clean wrapping paper. Be sure to clean\nwell between the toes, and to dry the feet thoroughly; they may need\nsome friction. Throughout the bath empty and refill the basin as\nnecessary.\n\nWash the genital region last. Let the patient lie upon her back with\nknees flexed and separated, or upon one side with the knees flexed and\none slightly raised. Patients who are able may take this part of the\nbath themselves with whatever assistance may be necessary. The\nattendant, however, must either do it herself or make sure that the\npatient does it thoroughly. To neglect a helpless patient is always\nunkind, and no less unkind when the motive is a mistaken sense of\nmodesty. If discharge from the genitals is present use absorbent cotton,\nor clean, soft old cloth to wash the parts, and burn it afterward. It is\nsometimes desirable to place the patient on a bedpan and rinse the parts\nby a gentle stream of warm water poured from a jug. After the attendant\nhas completed this part of the bath she should wash her own hands\nthoroughly.\n\nAfter the bath rub the patient with alcohol. If a complete alcohol rub\nis impossible, at least rub the points where pressure comes, especially\nthe back. After the rub apply a little toilet powder if the patient\ndesires it. When the toilet is complete remove the bath blanket, remake\nthe bed and put the room in order.\n\nCARE OF THE MOUTH AND TEETH.--In sickness the mouth and teeth require\nmore than ordinary attention; indeed, the condition of a patient's mouth\nis a fair index to the quality of the care she is receiving. If the\npatient can brush her own teeth she should do so in the morning, at\nnight, and after meals. At those times the attendant, without waiting to\nbe asked, should bring her a towel, tooth-brush, cup of tepid water,\ntooth paste or powder, and a small basin or dish to receive the used\nwater. The process is generally more thorough when the patient does it\nherself, and even a patient unable to sit up can brush her teeth\nsuccessfully if the nurse holds the powder and cup of water, and\nprovides a basin shallow enough for the patient to use by turning her\nhead to one side.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 17.--THE NURSE ASSISTING THE PATIENT IN BRUSHING THE\nTEETH. (_From \"Elementary Nursing Procedures,\" California State Board of\nHealth._)]\n\nThe attendant must cleanse the mouth of a patient who is unable to do it\nherself. If this cleansing is neglected, a dark tenacious substance\ncollects upon the teeth and gums, composed chiefly of food particles,\nbacteria, mouth secretions, and worn out cells of the mucous membrane.\nOnce formed it is difficult to remove, hence the mouths of all patients\nand especially those who have fever, must receive proper care from the\nvery beginning of illness. Cotton swabs are convenient for cleansing the\nmouth; they are made by winding a small piece of absorbent cotton upon a\nmatch or wooden tooth-pick.\n\nTo cleanse the mouth of a helpless patient, take to the bedside the\nmouth wash prescribed by the doctor, a towel to protect the bedclothes,\nseveral swabs, and a receptacle for used swabs; the latter should be a\nstrong paper bag or several thicknesses of newspaper. Clean the tongue,\ngums, teeth, and spaces between the teeth gently but thoroughly, using\nespecial care if the gums are tender. Dip only clean swabs in the\nsolution, discard each one after using it once, and burn it afterward.\nLet the patient rinse her mouth after cleansing it if she is strong\nenough. If the mouth is very dry, encourage her to drink more water.\nNotify the doctor if the gums and tongue crack or bleed since he may\nwish to order a special mouth wash. Cold cream or boracic ointment may\nbe used if the lips are dry and cracked.\n\nFalse teeth should be thoroughly brushed and cleansed, and kept in cold\nwater if taken out during the night.\n\nCARE OF THE HAIR.--Long hair, if neglected, becomes tangled and matted\nin a surprisingly short time. Unless the patient is actually in a dying\ncondition she is not too sick to have it properly attended to at least\nonce a day. Before combing the hair protect the pillow with a towel;\nthen part the hair in the middle from the forehead to the nape of the\nneck, and draw it to either side. Begin to comb at the ends, holding the\nstrand of hair firmly in one hand placed between the head and the comb;\nin this way tangles can be removed without hurting. After combing and\nbrushing the hair, braid it in two braids, beginning near the ears; draw\nit as tightly or loosely near the head as the patient prefers, but\nremember that tight braids mean fewer tangles. If the hair is heavy or\nbadly tangled the patient may be too much fatigued to have it all combed\nat one time; in this case braid the part that has been finished and\ncomplete the work later.\n\nTO WASH THE HAIR OF A BED PATIENT.--The hair of a patient can be\nsuccessfully washed in bed if sufficient care is taken not to chill or\ntire the patient, or to wet the bed. The following articles are needed:\none small jug of strong soap suds made by dissolving a pure soap in hot\nwater, one large jug of hot water at about 112° F., one jug of cold\nwater, a slop jar or foot tub, one long rubber sheet or piece of enamel\ncloth, and several towels including at least one bath towel. Let the\npatient lie as near the edge of the bed as possible. Roll one small\ntowel lengthwise, place it below the hair at the back of the neck, bring\nit up above the ears to the forehead and pin tightly, in order to catch\nwater that might wet the face and neck. Next make a kind of trough of\nthe large rubber by rolling its long edges inward for a few inches.\nPlace this across the bed under the patient's head so that her neck\nrests on the lower roll. Raise by means of pillows the end of the rubber\ntrough that lies toward the middle of the bed, in order to prevent water\nfrom running into the bed or collecting under the patient's head. Let\nthe other end of the rubber extend over the edge of the bed down into\nthe slop jar or foot tub, which may be placed on a chair or stool. Then\nwash the hair and scalp with the soap solution, and rinse them\nthoroughly with water from the large jug. Squeeze as much water as\npossible from the hair, remove the rubber and substitute a heavy bath\ntowel, and rub and fan the hair until dry. A shampoo in bed is tiring.\nDo not attempt it unless the patient is strong enough to stand not only\nthe shampoo itself, but also a complete change of bed clothing, which\nwill almost certainly be necessary if the attendant has been careless or\nclumsy in the slightest degree.\n\nHOT FOOT BATHS properly speaking are medical treatment, but they are\ntaken by many persons to relieve colds, headache, or insomnia. Let the\npatient sit, well wrapped, with her feet in water at about 105°, and\nthen increase the temperature gradually by adding hotter water. Take\ncare to add hot water slowly and not to pour it directly upon the\npatient's feet or ankles; otherwise she may be scalded. Mustard may be\nadded to the bath water in the proportion of one tablespoonful of\nmustard to each gallon of water. If mustard is to be used make it into a\nsmooth paste with cold water, thin the paste with warm water, and when\nthin enough to pour easily add it to the bath water and stir well. The\nbath may continue for 10 to 20 minutes, and the feet should be dried\nafterward without friction. The patient should go to bed at once; she\nshould not wander about, clearing away her foot bath, doing forgotten\nthings, getting herself chilled, and losing all the good effects.\n\nA foot bath may be given easily to a patient in bed. Bring to the\nbedside a blanket, a towel, the tub filled with water, and something\nwith which to protect the bed; this may be a rubber sheet, bath towel,\nold blanket folded, or several thick clean newspapers. Loosen the upper\ncovers at the foot of the bed, fold them back above the patient's knees,\nand cover her legs and feet with the extra blanket making it overlap the\nbed clothing so that it will not slip. Flex the patient's knees, put the\nbed protector under her feet, place the tub on the side of the bed,\nraise the legs and feet with one hand and arm, and slide the tub into\nplace with the other, raising the elbow in such a way that it keeps the\nblanket out of the water. Lower the feet slowly into the water, fold the\ntowel, and place it over the edge of the tub in order to protect the\npatient's knees from the cold rim; then tuck the blanket closely about\nthe tub and legs and proceed as before. After the bath use the towel,\nunless it is wet, to receive the feet when they are withdrawn from the\ntub. Remove the tub, dry the feet thoroughly, cover them warmly, and\nremake the bed.\n\nCOOL SPONGE BATH.--For feverish patients doctors often order cool sponge\nbaths. In order to give a cool sponge bath, first protect the bed\nthoroughly, but leave the patient uncovered except for a towel laid over\nthe hips. Use cool water, or cool water and alcohol, and have the wash\ncloth as wet as it can be without dripping. Bathe the body without\nfriction, using long, light strokes, and leave each part wet until the\nbath has been completed. Do not use soap. Sponge in this way the arms,\nlegs, chest, and back, but not the abdomen, for ten to twenty minutes,\ngiving special attention to the neck and inner side of the arms and\nlegs, because in those places large blood vessels lie nearer the surface\nof the body. After finishing the bath dry the body by patting it gently\nwith towels.\n\nTake the patient's pulse occasionally during the bath, and stop the bath\nat once if the patient's pulse grows weaker, if she shivers violently,\nor if her face, fingers, or toes turn a bluish color. Babies react\nrapidly to cool sponging; for a baby use tepid water, sponge for five\nminutes only, and watch the child closely during the bath.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. What may a bath be expected to accomplish in addition to cleansing?\n\n2. In giving a tub bath, what precautions should be taken to avoid\nchilling the patient? to avoid tiring the patient?\n\n3. What symptoms would lead you to think that a tub bath was not\nagreeing with a patient? What should you do in such a case?\n\n4. Name six essentials of a skillfully given bed bath.\n\n5. What preparations should be made and what articles assembled before\nbeginning a bed bath?\n\n6. Describe the method of bathing a patient in bed.\n\n7. What care should the mouth and teeth of every sick person receive?\nHow should such care be given to a patient who is helpless?\n\n8. Describe the daily care of a patient's hair, and tell how a shampoo\nmay be given to a patient in bed.\n\n9. How should you give a mustard foot bath to a patient in bed?\n\n10. When and how should you give a cool sponge bath?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nThe Human Mechanism--Hough and Sedgwick, Chapter XI.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nAPPLIANCES AND METHODS FOR THE SICK-ROOM\n\n\nPatients who are confined to bed even for a few days often suffer\nacutely from muscular tension, from pressure, and from fatigue due to\nlack of exercise. Indeed, many a sick person is surprised to find that\nthe bed which had seemed so infinitely desirable can change into a place\nof torment after a few short days of illness. \"Bed-weariness\" is hard to\nbear in any case of illness, but it is doubly hard for persons who are\nreally helpless.\n\nUnless the patient is an experienced sufferer he often has no idea what\nshould be done to make him comfortable; while an equally inexperienced\nhelper, though full of good will, is often discouraged to find that the\narrangement she had thought perfect soon fails to satisfy her restless\npatient. But if she is willing to devote thought and ingenuity to\nremoving small annoyances, she can do many things to alleviate his\nmisery.\n\nBED SORES, or pressure sores, are caused by continued pressure upon the\nskin. The weight of the body, or of a part of the body, if it comes for\na long time upon one place finally interferes with the circulation in\nthe tissues on which the part rests, and consequently interferes with\nthe nutrition of the affected part. Any tissue to which the blood is not\nbringing all its necessary food supply tends to lose its tone, to become\nweak, and if the condition persists, to break down altogether.\n\nThe direct cause of bed sores then is pressure, and pressure is\naggravated by moisture, wrinkles in the bed clothes, crumbs or other\nhard particles, lack of cleanliness, friction of any kind, or by rough,\ncareless handling. Bed sores occur most often over bony prominences,\nsuch as the end of the spine, elbows, heels, shoulders, hips, ankles,\nand knees, but they may form anywhere, even on the ears or back of the\nhead. They are more likely to appear on thin, aged, or depleted\npatients. These painful and serious sores can be prevented almost always\nby faithful care. When they occur, they result in the great majority of\ncases purely from negligence, and a person who knows the danger and yet\nthrough carelessness allows one to develop upon a patient may justly\nfeel herself disgraced.\n\nPrevention of bed sores depends upon keeping the skin dry and clean and\nupon relieving pressure by special devices and by turning the patient\nfrequently. The parts where pressure comes should be washed at least\ntwice daily with warm water and soap, rubbed frequently with alcohol to\nimprove the circulation and to keep up the tone of the skin, and\npowdered with a little good toilet powder. Much powder is likely to do\nharm by collecting in hard, irritating particles. The bed should be kept\nconstantly dry and smooth, and free from crumbs, lumps, wrinkles, or\nother inequalities. Prolonged pressure should be relieved by turning the\npatient often,--once every waking hour is not too often if the body is\nemaciated,--and by pillows, pads, and rings.\n\nSmall pillows or thick pads of cotton should be placed under the\npatient's back and shoulders, between the knees and ankles when he lies\non his side, and in other places where sores are likely to develop.\nRubber rings are useful, but few patients like them for a long time.\nThey should not be inflated more than necessary to raise the affected\npart from the bed; if much inflated, they are uncomfortable and may do\nharm. The ring may be covered with a muslin pillow case, or it may be\nwound smoothly with long strips of bandage or old muslin. Ordinary\ncotton batting wound with strips of muslin may be made into rings and\nused to remove pressure from heels, elbows, or other parts. These cotton\nrings are less heating than pads, and give better support.\n\nThe first sign of a bed sore is either redness of the skin or a dark\ndiscoloration like a bruise. Every point where a bed sore may form\nshould be inspected daily. If the slightest symptom of a sore appears,\nthe patient must not lie on the affected part, and every effort should\nbe made to keep the skin from breaking; vigorous rubbing at this stage\nis dangerous, and will by no means make up for previous neglect. The\ncondition should be reported to the doctor at once. If in spite of all\nefforts the skin does break, a peculiarly difficult kind of open wound\nresults which must be treated and dressed according to the doctor's\ndirections.\n\nDEVICES TO GIVE SUPPORT.--The variety and number of pillows one patient\ncan use is almost unlimited. A weak patient when lying on his side\nshould have his back supported by a pillow. When he lies on his back a\npillow should be placed under his knees to lessen muscular tension, and\nif he may be raised in bed, several pillows are needed to support him\ncomfortably. A back rest is useful for a patient who can sit up in bed.\nSatisfactory back rests of several types can be purchased, or one may be\nimprovised from a straight chair placed on the bed bottom side up, so\nthat its legs lie against the head of the bed and its back forms an\ninclined plane. Back rest and chair alike should be covered by several\npillows to make them comfortable, and other pillows should be used to\nsupport the patient's arms.\n\nA person who is sitting up in bed always tends to slip down toward the\nfoot. This tendency may be corrected by using a foot rest, knee pad, or\npillow. A hard pillow may be placed in the bed at the foot for the\npatient to brace his feet against; or a short board, well padded, may be\narranged as follows for the feet to rest against: Fasten ropes to the\nboard, as the ropes of a swing are fastened to the seat; set the padded\nboard on edge at a convenient point below the patient's feet, and hold\nit in place by tying the ropes of the \"swing\" to the head of the bed. A\npillow may be used in the same way, either at the feet or under the\nknees, by folding it over a long strip of muslin, the ends of which are\nthen tied to the sides of the bed, brought up to the head, and there\ntied to prevent slipping. A cylindrical cushion six or eight inches in\ndiameter and as long as an ordinary pillow, stuffed with firm material,\nmay also be used for this purpose. It should be held in place by strips\nof strong muslin or ticking sewed to the ends of the cushion and tied to\nthe head of the bed. The cushion should have a washable cover.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 18.--SHOWING FOOT-SLING FOR SUPPORTING PATIENT IN\nTHE UPRIGHT POSITION. (_Sanders \"Modern Methods in Nursing.\"_)]\n\nSupports called _bed cradles_ are used to keep the weight of the bed\ncovers from sensitive parts of the body, generally the feet or abdomen.\nThey are semi-circular pieces of wood or iron fastened together so that\nthey will stand up. A satisfactory cradle may be improvised as follows:\nCut a barrel hoop in two, cross the halves at right angles and tie them\ntogether firmly; place the cradle over the affected part under the bed\nclothes. A smaller cradle may be made by taking sections that are less\nthan half of the barrel hoop. If used for one foot only, the cradle\nshould be small enough not to interfere with the motion of the other\nfoot; if used for both feet, it should be large enough to allow some\nfreedom of motion. Since the cradle leaves an air space, the feet should\nbe wrapped in a piece of soft flannel. A cradle used for the protection\nof the abdomen should extend a little beyond the body on each side.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 19.--ADJUSTABLE BED REST.]\n\nAdjustable tables are convenient for patients who are able to sit up in\nbed. These tables are supported on one side only so that they may extend\nover the bed. Another kind of bedside table has short legs and stands\ndirectly on the bed. Such a table can easily be made at home from a wide\nboard with supports six or eight inches high nailed to each end. A lap\nboard supported by heavy books may serve for temporary use. Indeed,\nhome-made substitutes are often as good as expensive apparatus or even\nbetter. If sick-room appliances must be bought, it is well to remember\nthat simple standard designs are best. Complicated apparatus is soon out\nof order, and is generally a trial both to the patient and to those who\nmust adjust it. Persons taking care of chronic patients may often obtain\nvaluable suggestions in regard to appliances by consulting a visiting\nnurse or the superintendent of the local hospital.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 20.--ADJUSTABLE TABLE.]\n\nBEDPANS are utensils to receive bowel and bladder discharges of patients\nlying in bed. Enamel bedpans are better than porcelain, although more\nexpensive. The shape known as the \"Perfection\" is best for general use.\nA \"slipper\" bedpan, although harder to clean and ordinarily less\ncomfortable, may be preferable if it is especially difficult or\nundesirable to raise the patient. The square or douche pan is preferred\nby some people, and is especially useful when the quantity of discharge\nis large, as after an injection.\n\nWhen a patient asks for the bedpan it should be brought if possible\nwithout a moment's delay, not only because no other form of neglect\nmakes a patient realize her helplessness more acutely, but also because\nthe desire to use it often passes quickly and delay may encourage the\nhabit of constipation. If the patient does not ask for the bedpan, the\nattendant should offer it at suitable times. Bedpans should be warmed\nbefore use. An easy way to warm one is to let hot water run over it; the\noutside should afterward be dried.\n\nTo place the bedpan, first flex the patient's knees and push the night\ngown up; place one hand under the patient's hips, raise them slightly,\nand with the other hand slip the pan into place. If the patient is\nentirely helpless two persons are needed to lift her. Place a pad or\nfolded cloth between the patient's back and the pan; then lower the\npatient gently. Before removing the pan, bring toilet paper, water and\ntwo pieces of soft old muslin or gauze. A patient, if able, prefers to\nuse the toilet paper without assistance; her hands should afterward be\nthoroughly washed. If she is unable, the attendant must do everything\nneeded. After the patient has been cleaned as thoroughly as possible\nwith paper raise her hips with one hand and then remove the pan; it is\nimportant to raise her first because the skin often adheres and may be\ninjured if the pan is suddenly pulled away; carelessness in managing the\nbedpan has caused more than one bed sore. Then remove the pan with one\nhand and cover at once. Turn the patient, if helpless, on her side, wash\nthe parts with one piece of old muslin, thoroughly dry them with the\nother, and either burn or thoroughly wash both pieces afterward.\n\nEmpty the bedpan and clean it at once; ordinarily one can clean it\nwithout wetting or soiling the hands. Use cold water first, removing all\nadhering solid particles with a tightly rolled piece of toilet paper. Do\nnot use a brush for this purpose. After using cold water, rinse the pan\nthoroughly in hot water, and at least once a day wash it well in hot\nsoapsuds. Directions for disinfecting the pan will be given later, but\nremember that a properly kept pan needs no deodorant solution. Glass\nurinals should be provided for men, and kept clean in the same way.\nContents of both bedpan and urinal should always be carefully inspected;\nneither should be emptied in the dark.\n\n\nDAILY ROUTINE IN THE SICK-ROOM\n\nObviously the routine of a patient's day must vary according to her\ncondition, her preferences, and the amount of time the attendant has to\ngive her. The temperature, pulse, and respiration must be taken and all\nmedicine, nourishment, and treatment given at the exact times ordered,\nbut the attendant should learn whether or not the doctor wishes her to\nwake the patient for food or treatment. Good management in the sick-room\ndepends upon foresight and planning, and therefore it is well to keep in\nmind the following suggestions:\n\nVitality is lowest in the early morning, hence baths and treatments,\nespecially if they are fatiguing or painful, should if possible be left\nuntil after breakfast. Patients often wake early and wait, weak and\nmiserable, for the day to begin. A hot drink at this time may give\nrelief and enable the patient to sleep again. Even though breakfast time\nis near, nourishment should be given as soon as the patient wakes. She\nmay not admit that she is hungry, but her nourishment should not be\ndelayed until the family breakfast is ready, or still worse, finished.\n\nBefore breakfast the bedpan should be offered, the patient's face and\nhands should be washed, her teeth brushed, her hair tidied, the bed\nstraightened, and the room put in order. These services should require a\nfew minutes only. The room if properly arranged at bed time needs only a\nlittle attention now unless untidy work has gone on during the night;\ndisorder in a sick-room is as unnecessary in the early morning as at any\nother time.\n\nAfter the patient has finished her breakfast she may rest, or if\nallowed, read her mail or the newspaper while the attendant prepares for\nher day's work; about an hour after breakfast the patient should be\nbathed, unless she prefers her bath in the evening. After the bath some\nform of light nourishment should be given, even to a patient who has\nregular meals. If a patient is able to sit up in a chair, the best time\nfor her to do so is generally just after the bath and toilet have been\ncompleted; but if she feels tired she had better wait until afternoon.\nThe bed room can be better aired and cleaned if it is possible to take\nher into another room; and she herself generally profits by a change of\nscene.\n\nThe doctor should definitely state when and for how long a patient may\nsit up for the first time after an illness, and an amateur who may be\nignorant of the dangers involved should not assume the responsibility of\ndeciding. When a patient is to sit up for the first time, put on her\nstockings, slippers, and wrapper before she leaves the bed. Arrange an\narm chair with pillows in the seat and at the back, bring it close to\nthe bedside and cover it with a large blanket unfolded. The chair may\nface either the head or the foot of the bed. Help the patient to a\nsitting position on the extreme edge of the bed, with her feet hanging\ndown. Next, standing in front of her and supporting her well, let her\nslip down until she stands upon her feet, then let her turn, and gently\nlower her into the chair. See that the patient while sitting up is\nwarmly covered, and that her foot-stool, pillows, etc., are adjusted\ncomfortably. Move her chair so that the outlook may be as interesting as\npossible, and at least a little different from the view from the bed.\nMost patients like to look out of the window; children and old people\nenjoy it particularly.\n\nIf the patient shows signs of fatigue, she should go back to bed even\nbefore the appointed time. To help her back to bed, reverse the process\nof helping her out. A footstool may be needed if the bed is high, or\ntwo people to lift her if she is weak or heavy. When a patient is in bed\nno one should ever sit on the bed, lean against it, use it as a table\nfor folding linen, making pads, etc., take hold of the bed posts in\npassing, or touch the bed unnecessarily in any way.\n\nThe best time for visitors is the last of the morning or the early\nafternoon. A judicious visitor may do an immense amount of good,\nespecially to a chronic patient; indeed, she may be the only ray of\nlight in a dark day. Subjects of conversation should be pleasant, but\nnot too stimulating or exciting. The visitor should be prepared to carry\nthe burden of the conversation, to drop topics skillfully that seem to\ninvolve fatigue or excitement, and either to go or to stop talking if\nthe patient seems tired. Visitors should remember to talk naturally and\ncheerfully on ordinary topics, and to avoid excessive sympathy and\nlabored attempts to cheer the patient. They should also remember that\nfew patients bear well even the mildest forms of teasing. The patient's\nroom is not the place to discuss personal or family troubles; yet it is\nonly too often chosen for such purposes, probably because the complainer\nknows that in it an audience is always to be found.\n\nVisitors not belonging to the family should not be present in the\nsick-room during treatment of any kind, unless their help is required;\nneither, as a rule, should they stay during the patient's meals. A\nmember of the family may stay with advantage if the patient tires of\neating alone, but casual visitors almost invariably offend by undue\nurging if the patient's appetite is poor, or by facetious remarks if it\nis good.\n\nOrdinarily only one visitor should be admitted at a time, since a weak\npatient may be tired merely by looking from one to another. If it is\ndesirable to limit the call, the attendant should tell the visitor\nbeforehand how long to stay, or arrange a signal for the visit to end.\nTo announce baldly in the sick-room that the patient is tired and the\nvisitor must go, will only elicit aggrieved protests from both. In\nillness lasting only a day or two all visitors should be discouraged;\nduring colds, because they are communicable; during general fatigue,\nheadaches, digestive upsets, and painful menstruation, because rest and\nquiet are highly desirable. Visitors at such times too frequently give\ninjudicious sympathy, and may actually delay the recovery of patients\nwho enjoy playing the rôle of interesting invalid.\n\nThe time when a trustworthy visitor is present may be the best time for\nthe attendant to rest. The patient should be told when the attendant is\ngoing, and approximately when she will return. It is a mistake to slip\naway while the patient sleeps; she seldom fails to wake before the time\nscheduled and to resent the desertion. Surprises of any kind, pleasant\nor unpleasant, are seldom good for patients.\n\nToward the end of the afternoon the patient is probably tired,\nespecially if she has not slept during the day. When fever is present\nher headache and restlessness increase as the day goes on, but it should\nbe remembered that uncomfortable beds and too heavy covers cause much of\nthe restlessness attributed to fever. Rubbing the back and legs with\nalcohol, giving a tepid sponge bath, remaking the bed or changing her\nposition may help to soothe her.\n\nThe evening should be kept free from excitement, and every possible\neffort should be made to encourage sleep. It is a mistake to think that\na better night results from keeping a sleepy patient awake all the\nevening; sick people should sleep when they can. Just before bedtime the\nattendant should prepare her own cot, and then make the following\npreparations for the patient to sleep: wash the patient's face and hands\nor give a sponge bath if it is desired, brush the hair, change the night\ngown, brush crumbs from the bed, tighten the sheets or remake the bed if\nnecessary, rub the back and other pressure points with alcohol, shake\nthe pillows, give liquid nourishment, preferably hot, cleanse the mouth,\nand give the bedpan. See that the patient's feet are warm, the bed\ncovers right, the room ventilated properly and in good order, and the\nlight extinguished or arranged for the night. If the patient is inclined\nto be wakeful a hot foot bath may help her, or sponging the entire\nlength of the spine for fifteen minutes, using very hot water and long\ndownward quiet strokes. No conversation should be encouraged during\npreparations for the night. Patients in bed all day often lose the habit\nof sleeping at the regular time, and lie awake far into the night from a\nvague feeling that someone else is coming or something further is to be\ndone for them. Consequently last of all ask the patient if she wants\nanything more; if not, say good-night, go out and stay out, at least\nuntil she has had a chance to go to sleep. She is thus helped to realize\nthat nothing further is likely to happen, and that it is time to go to\nsleep.\n\nToward morning the patient grows weaker. More bed covers will probably\nbe needed, and they may often be added without waking her. Night at the\nbest is a dreary time for the sick. Pain and weariness and\ndiscouragement are less bearable in the darkness; nervous fears and\nmorbid fancies defy control. Never is kindness more needed or more\nappreciated than it is by those who lie awake and watch for the morning.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Name all the causes, direct and indirect, of pressure sores.\n\n2. Why are pressure sores generally more serious than injuries of equal\nextent to the skin of a well person?\n\n3. Where are pressure sores most likely to occur and what are their\nsymptoms?\n\n4. What measures should be employed to prevent pressure sores?\n\n5. Describe ways to support a person lying down in bed.\n\n6. Describe ways to support a person sitting up in bed.\n\n7. How may the weight of the bedclothes be removed from any particular\npart of the body?\n\n8. How should a bedpan be cared for?\n\n9. Describe in detail a day's routine either of yourself the last time\nyou were ill in bed, or of another patient personally known to you.\nCould the plan of the day have been improved, and if so, in what ways?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nFEEDING THE SICK\n\n\nSubstances used for food are generally grouped into three classes,\ncalled the three nutrients. The nutrients are: first, the proteids or\nnitrogenous substances, which are found in meat, fish, eggs, milk,\ncheese, peas, beans, etc.; second, the carbohydrates, which include\nsugars and starch; and third, the fats, which are found in butter, oil,\nthe fat of meat, etc. In addition to the nutrients, water and certain\nmineral salts are essential to life, while some indigestible material\nlike the fibre of vegetables is needed to give bulk and to stimulate the\naction of the intestines.\n\nThe nutrients furnish the body with materials for growth, and for repair\nof tissues worn out by use; they also furnish fuel substances from which\nthe body obtains its heat and its energy. All three nutrients can serve\nas fuel, but the proteids alone can furnish materials for growth and\nrepair of tissues. In order to be used by the body for any purpose,\nnutrients must first go through a series of complicated changes known as\ndigestion, which renders them soluble so that they can soak through the\nwalls of the intestine.\n\n\nTHE DIGESTIVE PROCESS\n\nDigestion begins in the mouth. There the food is crushed and its fibres\nseparated by the teeth, it is moistened by the saliva, and substances in\nthe saliva begin a chemical action upon the starch. Chewing should be\nsufficient to reduce the food to a soft mass well moistened with saliva.\nSlow eating is desirable, but the emphasis should be placed on thorough\nchewing. For instance, long intervals between bites are of no special\nbenefit if mouthfuls of food are washed down by swallows of water.\n\nAfter it has been swallowed, the food passes into the stomach and\nremains there for a variable length of time, while it undergoes further\npreparation for absorption. It is moved about by the contraction of the\nmuscular walls of the stomach, so that it becomes mixed with the stomach\njuices and more thoroughly softened. Some digestion of proteids goes on\nin the stomach, and a little absorption through the walls.\n\nLittle by little the food is discharged from the stomach into the small\nintestine, and the most important part of digestion then begins. It is\nacted upon chemically by a fluid flowing into the intestine from an\norgan called the pancreas; this pancreatic juice acts upon all three\nnutrients and is of great importance in the digestive process. The bile\nand other juices that flow into the intestine perform important\nfunctions also.\n\nThe food masses are moved along by rhythmic contractions of the\nintestine, and absorption goes on when the food has been so changed that\nit can soak through the intestinal walls into the blood and lymph\nvessels. The small intestine is about 20 feet long, and consequently\naffords a large surface for absorption, as does also the large\nintestine, into which the small intestine opens. The blood and lymph\ncarry the digested food substances to all parts of the body, and thus\nthe different tissues are provided with the materials they need for\ngrowth, repair, and energy. Excess of food substances may be stored as\nfat or expelled from the body.\n\nAs the blood and lymph go through the tissues they take from the tissues\nthe refuse, or the part that remains after the fuel substances have been\nconsumed. This refuse from the tissues may be likened to the ashes from\na furnace; it is finally eliminated from the body through the kidneys\nand lungs, and to some extent through the skin and bowels. The part of\nthe food that is not digested of course never soaks through the\nintestinal walls; it merely passes through the small and large\nintestines and is finally expelled as feces or bowel movements. The\ncharacteristic odor of fecal matter results from the action of bacteria\nupon it while in the large intestine.\n\nIt must be remembered that the body is not nourished merely by\nswallowing food: in order to nourish the body food must also be\ndigested, absorbed, and made use of by the tissues. Many factors may\noperate both in health and in sickness to render food indigestible. It\nmay be originally unsuited to the human digestive apparatus, or spoiled,\nor poor in quality, or badly cooked. But even when wholesome in itself\nit may be ill-adapted to a particular person at a particular time; thus\nit may be too great in amount, or eaten at improper hours. Moreover a\nperson's own idiosyncrasy or manner of living or fatigue or illness may\nrender it especially indigestible for him.\n\nExperiments have shown that pain, fear, worry, and other unpleasant\nemotions actually stop the action of the digestive juices and check\nmuscular contractions of the small intestine. Furthermore, even the\nabsence of pleasant anticipation of food has been shown to delay\ndigestion for hours. Thus scientific knowledge confirms our common\nexperience that such mental states seriously interfere with digestion.\nThe converse is also true. Agreeable taste and odor of food, or even\npleasurable thought of it, start the secretion of digestive fluids. It\nis a common saying that the mouth waters at the prospect of inviting\nfood, but it is less well known that appetizing food does actually start\nthe stomach juices also. A person who understands the physiological\neffect that the emotions have upon digestion is in a far better frame of\nmind to cope successfully with the difficulties of feeding the sick than\none who considers sick persons' likes and dislikes entirely irrational.\n\n\nFEEDING THE SICK\n\nNourishing the sick is not always an easy problem, but its importance\ncan hardly be overestimated. Indeed, proper feeding in many illnesses\nmakes the difference between life and death. The actual amount of\nnourishment needed in sickness is often less than in health, but it may\nbe just as great, or even greater if the illness causes increased tissue\nwaste. Yet the digestive process of a sick person must be rendered as\nlittle laborious as possible, all foods ordinarily difficult to digest\nmust be eliminated, certain others must be withheld or restricted\naccording to the nature of the sickness, and in addition one may have to\ndeal with an appetite that is capricious, diminished, or totally absent.\n\nDiet for the sick is often a part of medical treatment; in such cases\nthe doctor will prescribe special diets and his orders must be carefully\ncarried out. Except for special diets, food for the sick is generally\ndivided into four classes: first, liquid or fluid diet; second,\nsemi-solid diet; third, light or convalescent diet; and lastly, full\ndiet. These diets are not very sharply distinguished.\n\nLIQUID DIET generally includes milk, eggnog, albumen water, broths,\nsoup, beef juice, thin gruel, and beverages. Liquid diet makes least\ndemand upon the digestive powers, because it consists of food already\ndissolved and therefore nearer the condition in which it can be\nabsorbed. Moreover, it is less likely than other foods to contain excess\nof fat, improperly cooked starches, and other indigestible material.\nLiquids must be given at regular intervals and at shorter intervals than\nsolid foods; 6 to 8 ounces every two or three hours is not too much if\nthe patient can take it. The doctor usually specifies the amount and the\ninterval. Some patients will take more nourishment at one time if the\ninterval is slightly increased.\n\nSEMI-SOLID DIET includes all fluids and in addition soft milk toast,\nsoft cooked eggs, well cooked cereal, custards, ice cream and ices,\njunket, and gelatine jellies. Liquid or semi-solid diet is commonly\ngiven in acute fevers because digestive juices and other fluids of the\nbody are then diminished, and also because their digestion places a\nminimum of work upon a system already burdened with bacterial poisons.\n\nLIGHT OR CONVALESCENT DIET generally means a simple mixed diet. In\naddition to the articles in the two preceding diets it includes oysters,\nchicken, baked potatoes, most fruits except bananas, simple desserts,\nwhite fish, and other meats and vegetables added judiciously until full\ndiet is reached. Fried foods should not be included.\n\nFULL DIET means an unrestricted menu, but even from full diets\nespecially indigestible foods should be excluded. The principles of\nfeeding sedentary persons as described in manuals of dietetics apply to\npatients who are obliged to be inactive although not really ill, as for\nexample, a patient suffering from a broken leg. Ordinarily in such\ncases, as in other kinds of illness, the appetite is greatly diminished,\nbut a word of warning should be given against overfeeding patients whose\nmeals are their chief interest. Such patients are only too likely to\ninterpret full diet as anything they desire in any quantity at any time\nof day or night, and then to attribute their discomfort and irritability\nto their illness rather than to overeating.\n\nConstipation is especially stubborn in sickness, since the patient is\ndeprived of his usual exercise and variety of food. So far as possible\nthe bowels should be regulated by diet. Laxative foods include most\nvegetables with a large amount of fibre, coarse cereals and flour, oils\nand fats, and most fruits and fruit juices. Unfortunately many laxative\nfoods are difficult for sick persons to digest and must therefore be\nused with caution. A glass of hot or cold water or orange juice an hour\nbefore breakfast may be helpful, and at bed time hot lemonade, oranges,\nprunes, figs, or other fruit if allowed.\n\nIt is essential for patients to drink water freely, and it should be\ngiven between meals and also between liquid nourishments. Persons\ninexperienced in the care of the sick frequently make the mistake of\nbringing water only when a patient asks for it.\n\nMany acute illnesses begin with fever, headache, sore throat, and\nespecially among children with vomiting, diarrhœa, and other digestive\ndisturbances. In such cases all food should be withheld until the doctor\ncomes, but boiled water, hot or cold, should be given freely. Efforts to\ntempt the appetite are then mistaken; few people are injured and many\nare benefited by omitting food even for 24 hours at the beginning of an\nacute illness, and with few exceptions a doctor can be found in a\nshorter time.\n\nSERVING FOOD FOR THE SICK.--Food for the sick should always be most\ncarefully prepared and of the best quality, and in addition it should be\nas inviting, as varied, and as well served as possible. Neglect in these\nrespects is inexcusable. Even slight carelessness in preparing or\nserving food may arouse disgust and thus banish permanently some\nvaluable article from the dietary.\n\nTrays, dishes, tray cloths, and napkins for the patient must be\nabsolutely clean and as attractive as possible. Cracked or chipped\ndishes should not be used. Individual sets of dishes for the sick may be\npurchased, and their convenience makes them well worth their price.\nPaper napkins may be used in many cases to save laundry work; clean\nwhite paper is always superior to soiled linen.\n\nBefore the tray is brought to the bedside, everything should be arranged\nso that the patient can eat in comfort. It is bad management to let the\nsoup cool while the patient's pillows and table are being adjusted. In\nsetting the tray great care should be devoted to placing the articles\nconveniently, and to the appearance and garnishing of the food. Careful\nserving requires more thought, but little if any more actual time than\nslovenly serving. Dishes should not be so full that food is spilled in\ntransit; hot dishes should be covered; hot dishes should reach the\npatient hot, and cold dishes cold. Liquid nourishment in a glass or cup\nshould be served on a small tray or plate covered with a doily. Neither\nglass nor cup should be held by the rim.\n\nIt is not uncommon to overload trays and to serve everything at once in\norder to save steps, but a patient is ordinarily more interested in a\nmeal that is served in courses unless very long intervals elapse\nbetween. Moreover, if the meal is served in courses he is not tempted to\neat dessert first and then to refuse the rest of the meal. If food is\ngiven sufficiently often it is safer to err on the side of serving too\nlittle at a time rather than too much, since the sight of large amounts\nof food is often disgusting.\n\nThe patient's likes and dislikes should be considered as far as\npossible, but most patients should not be consulted about their menus\nbeforehand. Great variety in one meal is not necessary; it should be\nintroduced by varying successive meals. An article that has been\nespecially disliked should not be served a second time, unless it can be\ndisguised beyond a possibility of detection. An article of food to which\na patient objects should be removed at once; one may appear disappointed\nif it seems wise, but should never argue. When patients persistently\nrefuse necessary nourishment a difficult situation is presented;\npersuasion and every form of ingenuity must be used, and the doctor's\ncoöperation enlisted. When, for example, a strict milk diet is ordered\nfor a patient who announces that he never takes milk in any\ncircumstances the situation may seem hopeless but it is not necessarily\nso.\n\nTO FEED A HELPLESS PATIENT.--Helpless and weak patients must be assisted\nto eat or drink. A napkin should first be placed under the patient's\nchin. The attendant should place her hand under the pillow, raise the\nhead slightly, and hold the glass to his lips with her other hand. An\nordinary tumbler can be used by a patient lying down if it is not more\nthan a quarter full, or a special feeding cup may be purchased. Bent\nglass tubes may be used for cool liquids; they should be washed\nimmediately after use. A child who can sit up sometimes takes more\nnourishment if it is given through a soda water straw.\n\nIf the patient must be fed with a spoon care should be taken that the\nliquid is not too hot, but the attendant should not blow upon it to cool\nit. It should be given from the point of a spoon placed at right angles\nto the lips, and plenty of time between mouthfuls should be allowed. A\nswallow should not be given at the moment when the patient is drawing\nthe breath in. Great patience is required if a helpless person is to be\nfed acceptably. The attendant should sit by the bedside rather than\nstand, should present at least the appearance of having unlimited time,\nand should endeavor not to deprive the patient in any way of the\nsatisfaction he may derive from his nourishment.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. What needs of the body do food substances supply?\n\n2. Give an outline of the digestive process.\n\n3. Describe the effect of different mental states upon digestion, and\ngive examples of the ways by which a knowledge of these effects may be\nutilized in feeding patients.\n\n4. Why is the problem of nourishing the body of especial importance in\nsickness?\n\n5. Name the four ordinary classes of diet for the sick, and mention all\nthe articles you can belonging to each class.\n\n6. Why is constipation a common ailment among patients confined to bed,\nand what attempts should be made to overcome it by the diet?\n\n7. Why is it necessary for sick persons to drink water freely, and what\nefforts should the attendant make to encourage them to do so?\n\n8. Describe the proper serving of a patient's tray.\n\n9. How should helpless patients be assisted to eat?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nHealth and Disease--Roger I. Lee, Chapter II.\n\nThe Human Mechanism--Hough and Sedgwick, Chapters VIII, XIII, XIX.\n\nNotes on Nursing--Florence Nightingale, Pages 63-79.\n\nHow to Live--Fisher and Fisk, Chapter II.\n\nBodily Changes in Pain, Hunger, Fear and Rage--Cannon, Chapter I.\n\nFood for the Invalid and the Convalescent--Winifred S. Gibbs.\n\nPractical Dietetics--Pattee, Chapters IV, V.\n\nFeeding the Family--Rose.\n\nDiet in Health and Disease--Friedenwald and Ruhrah.\n\nFeeding Children from Two to Seven Years Old--New York City Department\nof Health.\n\nAmerican Red Cross Text Book on Home Dietetics--Ada Z. Fish.\n\nEmergency Cooking--Pamphlet 708, American Red Cross.\n\nWar Diet in the Home--Pamphlet 706, American Red Cross.\n\nRed Cross Conservation Food Course for Children and Special\nClasses--Pamphlet 705, American Red Cross.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nMEDICINES AND OTHER REMEDIES\n\n\nACTION OF DRUGS.--Modern medical practice increasingly emphasizes diet,\nbaths, exercises, and other hygienic measures in the treatment of\nsickness. Drugs are given far less than they were a generation ago; yet\nmedicines are still the most familiar of all remedies, and the most\nabused by those who persist in treating themselves. Misuse of medicine\neven by intelligent people is astonishingly common.\n\nProblems of sickness and health would be enormously clarified if the\nuses and limitations of drugs were more generally understood. Many\npeople still believe that every disease can be cured by a drug if only\nthe doctor is clever or lucky enough to think of the right one to give.\nSuch beliefs result naturally enough from centuries of faith in charms\nand magic, and occasionally are confirmed by remarkable cures apparently\nbrought about by drugs, but really pure coincidence or the result of\nsuggestion.\n\nIt is a fact that a few medicines are known which if rightly used\nactually do cure certain diseases. An example of their action is the\ncurative effect of quinine in malaria. Such medicines, unfortunately,\nare few. In the great majority of cases medicines do not cure disease;\ntheir beneficial action is ordinarily indirect and is due to their power\neither to increase or to check certain processes within the body.\n\nIt is here that the abuse of drugs comes in. Disordered bodily processes\ngive rise to symptoms of disease; and it is the symptoms of disease, not\nthe disease itself, that trouble the patient. A patient with typhoid,\nfor example, is not conscious of the toxins in his blood, but of\nheadache, weakness, and fever; the man with eyestrain is not aware of an\nimperfectly shaped lens, but of headache and indigestion. What the\npatient wants is to have his symptoms relieved; in some cases they can\nbe controlled by drugs, and the sufferer then considers himself cured.\nBut the original condition persists: it may in the meantime be\nimproving, but it may on the other hand be growing worse.\n\nNot infrequently it is best to check symptoms, and to check them by\nmeans of drugs. When they should be checked, only a thoroughly trained\nphysician is qualified to decide. The question is not one for amateurs,\nsince the whole practice of medicine, including the prescription of\ndrugs, constantly becomes more nearly an exact science. People should\nobtain and follow expert advice in regard to health as they would in\nregard to other affairs of life. The constant self-dosing practised by\nthousands of people is harmful and unintelligent; it is, however, no\nless irrational to go to the other extreme and refuse to take medicine\nprescribed by a competent doctor.\n\nAMATEUR DOSING.--Amateur dosing either of oneself or of others is\ndangerous in more ways than one. In the first place, time is lost.\nMoreover, symptoms are characteristic; checking or altering them\nincreases the difficulty of finding the real trouble. The man with\neyestrain who takes one drug to stop his headache and another to \"cure\"\nhis stomach, is simply delaying the time when properly adjusted glasses\nwill relieve both. In this case the result may not be serious; but such\na loss of time in finding the trouble and beginning proper treatment\nmight prove fatal in the case of tuberculosis.\n\nAnother objection to amateur prescription of medicine is the fact that\nmost drugs have more than one effect. In addition to their main action\nthey have others, subordinate or ordinarily less marked. These minor\neffects may be serious in some cases. Many headache remedies, for\nexample, affect the heart; a dose that is harmless for a normal person\nmay be strong enough to injure seriously a person with a weak heart. A\ndoctor, and a doctor only, is competent to decide when and in what\nquantity medicines will be beneficial, because he alone understands both\nthe condition of the patient and all the possible effects of the drug.\n\nIn no circumstances should medicine prescribed for one person be taken\nby another. This rule seems obvious enough; yet every day people pass on\ntheir pet remedies to friends. Some medicines deteriorate after\nstanding, and others grow stronger; nevertheless, medicine supposed to\nhave cured a cough or a tonic supposed to have strengthened some member\nof the family after an attack of grippe is cheerfully administered\nmonths later to another member of the family, who, to make matters\nworse, may differ in age, strength, and probably in the nature of his\nsickness. Drugs are expensive, and it is considered economical to use\nthem up; measured by lost time and impaired health such practices may be\nanything but thrifty.\n\nCathartics, tonics, and various drugs to relieve pain and sleeplessness\nare among the remedies most commonly taken without medical advice.\nEnough has already been said about constipation to indicate proper\nhygienic treatment, but another warning should be given against\nhabitual use of cathartics. Many of these drugs are irritating; even\nwhen not irritating, they are harmful, since the body depends more and\nmore upon the drug to do for it what it should be enabled to do for\nitself, by remedying the original cause of the trouble. Licorice powder,\ncascara, saline cathartics such as Seidlitz powders and Rochelle Salts\nand some others are harmless for occasional use, if occasional is not\ntoo liberally interpreted.\n\nTonics are poor substitutes for proper diet, rest, and fresh air. Using\nthem may be likened to beating a tired horse; the horse goes faster, but\nhe is not really stronger. In some emergencies the horse must go faster\nand there is nothing to do but beat him, and in some cases the tonic\nshould be given; these, however, are cases for a doctor to decide.\nPeople persist in taking tonics because they are unwilling or unable to\nrest, or otherwise to change their ways of living.\n\nMedicines to stop pain or to induce sleep are probably the most\npernicious of all self-prescribed remedies, for they add to other\ndangers the possibility of forming drug habits. These habits are so\ninsidious and so powerful that it is not safe to take habit-forming\ndrugs even once except by a doctor's direction. In short periods of time\nstrong people, apparently firm in will and character, have acquired\nhabits from supposedly moderate use of drugs like morphine, cocaine, and\nalcohol. No one, no matter how sure of his own self-control, can afford\nto run so grave a risk.\n\nPATENT REMEDIES.--Objections to self dosing in general apply even more\nstrongly to using patent medicines. The ingredients of patent medicines\nare ordinarily unknown, so that using them is unintelligent at best.\nSometimes they contain habit-forming or other harmful drugs. In other\ncases the ingredients are innocent enough, but totally unable to bring\nabout the results claimed for them. The old story about a powerful\nremedy discovered by accident and thus unknown to the medical profession\ndeceives only the ignorant or credulous; with our present knowledge of\nchemistry and physiology powerful remedies are not discovered in that\nway.\n\nEven to these comparatively harmless patent preparations there are two\nserious objections. One is the loss of time, during which the patient\nmay grow worse. The other is that money is obtained under false\npretenses; fraud is a common element in the success of patent remedies.\nOne of the least harmful, a substance called \"Murine\" may be taken as an\nexample[2]. This substance was widely advertised at one time as a\n\"positive cure for sore eyes.\" Analysis showed it to be a solution of\nborax, which cost about five cents a gallon to prepare. It sold for one\ndollar an ounce, or at the rate of $128.00 a gallon. Although it could\nnot bring about the wonderful cures advertised, it was practically\nharmless, and buyers of \"Murine\" must have been injured chiefly in\npocket. But with \"cancer cures\" and \"consumption cures\" it is a\ndifferent story. Early treatment of these diseases is essential to\nrecovery; delay in many cases means robbing the sufferer of his only\nchance of life. No drugs are now known that will cure these diseases,\nand it seems incredible that anyone should be willing to practise such\ncruel deception upon ignorant people merely for the sake of making\nmoney.\n\nADMINISTRATION OF MEDICINE.--Medicines may be introduced into the body\nin a number of ways. In the majority of cases they are swallowed and\nfinally carried to the tissues by the blood just as digested food is\ncarried.\n\nExcept in rare emergencies no medicine should be given to a sick person\nwithout the doctor's order. The prescribed dose should be accurately\nmeasured in a medicine glass having a scale to show the number of\nteaspoonfuls. When measuring medicine, think only of what you are doing;\nneither talk nor listen to conversation. First read the label on the\nbottle. Next, shake the bottle, if the medicine is liquid, in order to\nmix the contents thoroughly. Then remove the cork with the second and\nthird fingers, and hold it between them while pouring, thus keeping the\ncork clean and protecting the contents of the bottle. Hold the medicine\nglass on a level with the eyes, and in the other hand hold the bottle,\nwith the side bearing the label uppermost to avoid soiling it; pour out\nthe dose, measuring exactly, wipe the bottle, replace the cork, and\nagain read the label on the bottle.\n\nMost medicines should be diluted with a little water. Pills and capsules\nshould not be presented to patients in the attendant's fingers, but on a\nsaucer or teaspoon. Acids and medicines containing iron should be taken\nthrough a glass tube kept for medicine exclusively. Tubes and glasses\nshould be washed at once after use, and neither they nor the bottles\nshould stay in the patient's room. If a dose is omitted for any reason,\ndo not increase the next dose; give the regular dose at the next regular\ntime.\n\nSerious mistakes in giving or taking drugs are far too common, and no\nprecautions are too great to guard against them. Never use medicine from\na box or bottle that has no label. Never take or give another person a\nmedicine selected in the dark, even though you have positive knowledge\nthat there is no other bottle or box of medicine in the whole house; in\njust such circumstances the fatal mistakes occur.\n\nA few things can be done to make medicines more palatable. The water\nused to dilute the dose and to be taken after it should be very cold.\nHolding the nose is helpful. A piece of cracker, a peppermint, or a\nslice of lemon or orange, if allowed, may be taken afterward. Giving\ndisagreeable medicine in ordinary food, as lemon juice, orange juice, or\nmilk, and giving bitter powders in jam or jelly, is unwise because it\nsometimes results in life long dislike for a useful article of diet.\nWhere food is given directly after the dose to take away its taste, the\nassociation of dislike seems to be formed less frequently.\n\nThe taste of castor oil is so disgusting that it often causes vomiting,\nbut if skillfully given the oil need not be tasted by a patient who is\nwilling to coöperate. Its way of sticking to the tongue and teeth\nconstitutes the chief difficulty; the object therefore is to prevent it\nfrom sticking by swallowing the dose all at once. To administer the oil,\nwet the inside of a medicine glass or large spoon with very cold water,\nand leave a little water in the bottom. Pour the required dose in slowly\nand cover it with more cold water. Let the patient hold in his hand\nsomething to take away the taste,--cracker, bread, peppermint, or\nwhatever is allowed; for castor oil water is not very effectual. Then\ndirect him to hold his nose, open his mouth, and hold his breath;\ncaution him to let the oil run down without swallowing until all has\nbeen taken, and afterward to chew the cracker, continuing to hold his\nnose until he has swallowed the cracker. When the patient understands\nand is ready, pour the dose in quickly as far back as possible, taking\ncare not to spill the last drop on the lips. This process may seem\nunduly troublesome, but when castor oil is needed it is badly needed and\nefforts to make it stay down are worth while. The following method also\neffectually disguises the taste of castor oil: place in a glass a\nteaspoonful of baking soda, add the prescribed dose of oil and then the\njuice of half a lemon. Mix all together thoroughly and let the patient\ntake the mixture while it is effervescing. This method may be used\nunless the patient is not allowed soda and lemon juice. Castor oil may\nbe bought in capsules, but on account of their size many people find the\ncapsules impossible to swallow.\n\nSUPPOSITORIES.--Sometimes medicines are given through the rectum. For\nthis purpose they are combined with cocoa butter or other material, and\nmade into small cones called suppositories. They melt at a low\ntemperature and should be kept on ice until needed. A suppository\nshould be lubricated with vaseline, and inserted very gently as far as\nthe finger can be introduced, while the patient is lying on the back or\nleft side.\n\nENEMATA.--An injection of a fluid into the rectum is called an enema.\n(Plural, enemas, or enemata.) Enemas are generally used to cause\nevacuation of the bowels.\n\nFor a simple purgative enema one of the following is generally used:\nplain water; or a solution of common salt in the proportion of one\nteaspoonful of salt to one pint of water; or soap suds made with a white\nsoap such as castile or ivory. Unless otherwise ordered the temperature\nof the enema should be between 105° and 110° F.\n\nTo give an enema, one should proceed as follows: First protect the bed\nby placing under the patient's hips a rubber sheet, covered by a draw\nsheet or large towel. Let the patient lie on the back, with the knees\nflexed and head low. Bring to the bedside a commode or bedpan, and\nlastly the solution contained in a fountain syringe having a long rubber\ntube, stopcock and short hard rubber nozzle. The bag of the syringe may\nbe hung on the bed post or elsewhere, but it should not be more than\nthree feet at most above the patient's head. Lubricate the nozzle with\nvaseline either from a tube, or removed from a jar by means of a piece\nof toilet paper; never dip the nozzle itself into a vaseline jar. Let\nthe solution flow into the bedpan until it runs warm and smoothly; a\njerky flow means presence of air bubbles which cause pain if injected\ninto the bowels. Unless the patient is able to do it herself, gently\ninsert the nozzle, and at the same time start the flow. Force must not\nbe used in inserting the nozzle, and the flow should be gentle; if the\nsolution goes in rapidly the patient may be unable to retain it. If\nthere is a desire to expel the enema as soon as the injection has begun,\nshut off the current and wait a minute, meanwhile making gentle pressure\nupon the patient's abdomen with one hand; then lower the bag a little\nand begin again. A grown person should take from two to four pints, and\na child from one to two pints. After the enema is finished give the\nbedpan immediately; the enema will, however, be more effective if\nretained a few minutes. The bedpan should be given and removed according\nto the directions on page 176. Sometimes an enema is expelled with such\nviolence that it soils the upper sheet; to protect the covers a rubber\nsheet may be spread over the patient's knees and legs. Since an enema\nsometimes causes nausea or faintness, a patient should be watched\nconstantly during the process.\n\nTo give an enema to a baby one may use a small syringe having a soft\nrubber bulb with a nozzle directly attached, or the ordinary fountain\nsyringe with the small, hard rubber tip designed for infants. The enema\nshould be given in a warm room free from draughts, and the baby must be\nwarmly covered throughout the process. First cover the lap with a pad or\nfolded blanket. Upon the blanket place a warmed rubber sheet, and over\nthe rubber a warm diaper. Hold the baby on your lap, so that he lies on\nhis back with his knees drawn up. Hold his feet or legs firmly in your\nleft hand. Lubricate the nozzle thoroughly with vaseline. Be sure that\nall the air is expelled from the syringe, and then proceed as already\ndirected. A baby will take from two or three ounces up to half a pint or\neven more, according to the size of the child. After the injection is\nfinished place a small vessel under the baby's hips, and hold it until\nthe fluid has been expelled, keeping the child well covered all the\ntime.\n\nAfter being used, the nozzle of a fountain syringe should be washed with\nsoap and water, boiled, dried and put away in a clean place. Inserting\nthe nozzle into the bag of the syringe immediately after withdrawing it\nfrom the rectum is a filthy but not uncommon practice. The syringe\nshould be kept clean inside and out; it should be washed in hot\nsoapsuds, rinsed in clean hot water, drained, and when thoroughly dry\nwrapped in a clean towel or tissue paper. The ordinary fountain syringe\nhanging for months by a dirty string on a hook in the bath room is an\nunpleasant and generally an unclean object.\n\nSPRAYS AND GARGLES.--Several other methods of administering medicines\nare occasionally employed. Some remedies may be applied directly to the\nthroat by gargles, and to the nose and throat by sprays. The throat may\nbe cleansed by gargling with a solution of a teaspoonful of baking soda\nor common salt in a glass of warm water. Nose sprays should not be used\nexcept under medical advice, and it is well to remember that if the\nmouth washes, gargles, and sprays advertised to be disinfectants were\nreally strong enough to kill germs, they would be too harsh for common\nor continued use. The nozzles of nose and throat sprays should be boiled\nimmediately after use. A surprising number of families who have\nprogressed far beyond common drinking cups and towels, continue to use a\ncommon nose spray without even washing the nozzle. Children while they\nare well should be taught to gargle the throat; a child with a sore\nthroat and an aching head is in a poor condition to learn anything.\n\nINHALATION or breathing in, is another method used to introduce drugs\ninto the membranes of the nose, throat, and lungs. Smelling salts are an\nexample of substances used for inhalation; they are used to stimulate\npersons who are faint. They should not be placed close to the nostrils,\nnor used at all when the patient is totally unconscious.\n\nInhalations of steam are often used in asthma, croup, and bronchitis.\nSpecial croup kettles are made for the purpose, but an ordinary pitcher\nhalf full of boiling water may be used instead. The patient's head\nshould be held closely over the pitcher, and a towel should be adjusted\naround the top covering the patient's nose and mouth, but admitting just\nenough air to make it possible for him to breathe. If a drug is ordered\nit should be added to the water.\n\nINUNCTION, or rubbing a substance into the skin, is sometimes ordered\nfor delicate babies and children. After the skin of the abdomen has been\nwashed with warm soapy water and thoroughly dried, the substance\nordered, generally olive oil or cod liver oil, should be applied by\nmeans of a circular movement of the palm of the hand. The oil should be\nwarm and the rubbing continued until it is absorbed.\n\nOintments are also applied by inunction. A small quantity at a time\nshould be rubbed in, using a circular motion. If an ointment is ordered\nto be applied where the skin is broken, the ointment should be spread\nupon gauze and applied without friction. Liniments are rubbed in in the\nsame way as ointments. In many cases rubbing accomplishes more than the\nointment or liniment itself, so that this part of the treatment must not\nbe slighted.\n\nHOUSEHOLD MEDICINE CUPBOARD.--In every household a small cupboard is\nneeded for medical and surgical supplies. Glass shelves are desirable,\nbecause they show when dirty and are easily cleaned, but a wooden\ncupboard can easily be lined with clean paper or white enamel cloth held\nin place with thumb tacks. Dirty, stained shelves should not be\ntolerated. The cupboard should be kept locked and the key put well out\nof the reach of children. In the cupboard should be kept medicines in\ndaily use; they should not be paraded on family dinner tables.\n\nPoisonous drugs should have rough glass bottles and conspicuous labels.\nAll medicine bottles should be kept well corked, since evaporation may\ntake place and the remaining solution, by becoming stronger, may be\ndangerous to use in the ordinary amount. Pills and tablets sometimes\ndeteriorate by standing, and may become so hard that they pass through\nthe stomach and intestines without dissolving. It is best to buy drugs\nand surgical supplies in small quantities; when it is cheaper to buy\nmore at a time the druggist should be asked whether they will\ndeteriorate or not.\n\nAlmost every family needs to keep on hand some cathartics, some\ndisinfectants, some material for first aid, and a few simple appliances.\nMost families have certain other needs peculiar to themselves, and for\nthose who live at a distance from drug stores a greater quantity and\nvariety may be required. Elaborate equipment and extensive supplies of\nmedicines are neither economical nor necessary for household use.\n\nCastor oil, Rochelle or other laxative salts, and two grain cascara\ntablets ordinarily constitute a sufficient supply of cathartics. The\ndose of castor oil is one or two teaspoonfuls for a baby up to a\ntablespoonful for an adult. Rochelle salts and seltzer aperient are\ngiven dissolved in water; the ordinary dose is from one to four\nteaspoonfuls. Seidlitz powders come in two packets, one white and one\nblue. The contents of the packets should first be dissolved in separate\nglasses each filled about a quarter full of water. One solution should\nthen be poured into the other and the mixture taken while it is\neffervescing. Cascara tablets are generally given in one to ten grain\ndoses.\n\nA small bottle of tincture of iodine and one of 70% alcohol should be\nkept for disinfecting. Neither one is for internal use. The iodine is\nused to disinfect small wounds and abrasions of the skin. It is applied\nwith cotton swabs and several swabs should be made and kept on hand in a\nbox or envelope. Alcohol is used to disinfect thermometers and other\ninstruments that cannot be boiled, for rubbing, and may also be used for\ndisinfecting the skin. A 90% solution is sometimes used for rubbing; it\nneed not be bought until needed. Denatured and wood alcohol are poisons\nand should be used in households only in spirit lamps; they are not safe\nfor other purposes.\n\nFirst aid materials may include two gauze bandages two and one-half\ninches wide and two bandages one inch wide, one American Red Cross First\nAid Outfit, a small package of absorbent cotton, a roll of old muslin, a\npackage of adhesive plaster one inch wide, boracic ointment, picric acid\ngauze or other application for burns, safety pins, and a pair of\nscissors.\n\nFor use in cases of fainting or exhaustion it is well to keep aromatic\nspirits of ammonia on hand. Its bottle should have a rubber stopper. The\ndose is one-half to one teaspoonful, in a quarter to half a glass of\nwater. Hot coffee and tea are also good stimulants, but the time\nnecessary to prepare them makes it desirable to have aromatic ammonia\non hand. Household or ordinary ammonia must not be used as a substitute.\n\nOlive oil, mustard, and baking soda may be brought from the kitchen when\nneeded. It is assumed that vaseline, cold cream, hand lotion, talcum\npowder, and other toilet preparations will also be available.\n\nOnly a few appliances are necessary. Among them are a medicine glass, a\nteaspoon, clinical thermometer, hot water bag, fountain syringe, and an\nalcohol lamp in houses without gas or electric stoves. It is better not\nto buy other appliances until they are needed, particularly rubber goods\nsince they deteriorate rapidly.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Why is it dangerous for persons without medical training to prescribe\nmedicines? What is the especial danger of dosing oneself?\n\n2. What is meant by a habit-forming drug? Name all you can, and tell why\nthey are peculiarly dangerous.\n\n3. What are the special objections to patent medicines?\n\n4. What precautions should be taken in order to administer medicine\naccurately? What precautions to avoid giving wrong medicines?\n\n5. How may some disagreeable medicines be made more palatable?\n\n6. Tell how to prepare and give a soapsuds enema.\n\n7. How should a fountain syringe be cared for? a throat spray?\n\n8. Describe methods for giving steam inhalations.\n\n9. Describe the equipment and care of a household medicine cupboard.\n\n10. What drugs is it well for a family to keep on hand? What appliances?\nWhat materials for first aid?\n\n11. How many drugs in addition to those prescribed by a physician have\nyou or your family on hand at the present time? How many do you consider\nreally necessary? Are any of these medicines used to remedy troubles\nthat might be cured by sufficient attention to rest, exercise, diet, and\nfresh air?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nHealth and Disease--Roger I. Lee, Chapter VI.\n\nHow to Live--Fisher and Fisk, Supplementary Notes, Sections IV, V.\n\nScientific Features of Modern Medicine--Frederic S. Lee, Chapters III,\nVIII.\n\nThe Human Mechanism--Hough and Sedgwick, Chapter XX.\n\nThe Conquest of Nerves--Courtney.\n\nPrimitive Psychotherapy and Quackery--Lawrence, Chapters I-V.\n\nNostrums and Quackery--American Medical Association. (See especially\n\"Cancer Cures\" and \"Consumption Cures.\")\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [2] See \"Nostrums and Quackery,\" p. 445.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nAPPLICATION OF HEAT, COLD, AND COUNTER-IRRITANTS\n\n\nINFLAMMATION.--A process called inflammation sometimes occurs in tissues\nthat have been injured or invaded by bacteria. Although painful, it is\nnevertheless one of the reparative processes of the body, and therefore\nbeneficial. Common examples of inflammation are boils, sore throat, and\nthe swollen, painful condition resulting from sprains and fractures.\nCharacteristic symptoms of inflammation are heat, redness, swelling, and\npain.\n\nWhen a tissue has been invaded by bacteria, nearby blood vessels dilate,\nthus bringing an increased supply of blood to the affected part. This\nextra supply serves to wash away the offending substance, and at the\nsame time it brings more white blood corpuscles, one function of which\nis to destroy bacteria. From the increased supply of blood the affected\npart becomes red and hot, and so much blood may come that the vessels\nfurther on are unable to carry it away fast enough. Some of the fluid\npart of the blood is then forced out into the tissues, and the part\nbecomes swollen. Distension of the tissues and pressure on the nerve\nendings cause pain, and the injured part now exhibits the characteristic\nsymptoms of inflammation.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 21.--\"THE HISTORY OF A BOIL.\" This figure represents\na cross-section of normal skin. Note the surface layer, or cuticle, and\nthe \"true skin,\" or cutis. In the cutis one sees that the blood\ncapillaries are just wide enough for the blood-cells to pass through \"in\nsingle file.\" The skin has just been pricked by a dirty pin. On the\npoint of this pin were several poisonous germs which were deposited at\n_a_. (_From Emerson's \"Essentials of Medicine.\"_)]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 22.--\"THE HISTORY OF A BOIL\" (continued). The poison\nfrom these germs diffuses through the cutis. The capillaries dilate. The\nleucocytes force their way through the walls of the capillaries and\ntravel towards these germs. Note the dumb-bell shape of the leucocytes\nas they pass through the minute holes in the capillary walls, and their\npseudopods as they travel towards their common destination, attracted by\nthe poison from the germs. The skin in this region is now swollen, red,\nhot, and painful. (_From Emerson's \"Essentials of Medicine.\"_)]\n\nAt this point, if the injury begins to heal or the bacterial infection\nto yield, the extra blood supply is gradually carried off, the blood\nvessels resume their normal size, and the tissues return to their usual\ncondition. If, however, the infection does not yield so quickly, more\nand more white blood corpuscles assemble and pass through the walls of\nthe tiny blood vessels into the tissues. Here the struggle continues.\nSome bacteria and some white blood corpuscles are killed, and substances\nare formed which liquify these dead cells and also some cells of the\nsurrounding tissues. The resulting fluid is called pus or matter, and in\nthe case of a boil we then say it has come to a head. If the infection\noccurs near a cavity or near the surface of the body, the pus may escape\nby breaking through at the point of least resistance, and may carry most\nof the poisons along with it. If the pus finds no outlet it may be\ngradually absorbed by the blood stream, and healing may result without\ndischarging. On the other hand, the germs may make their way into the\ncirculation, thus causing the serious condition known as blood\npoisoning.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 23.--\"THE HISTORY OF A BOIL\" (continued). The\nmigration of leucocytes has continued until now they form a dense mass\nsurrounding the germs. The poison of the germs has killed all the\nleucocytes and also all the cutis immediately around them, and now\ndigestive fluids from the dead leucocytes is turning the whole dead mass\ninto liquid pus. The boil has \"come to a head.\" There is a little lump\non the skin and through its thin covering of cuticle can be seen the\nyellow pus. (_From Emerson's \"Essentials of Medicine.\"_)]\n\nInflammation may be treated by means of hot applications, cold\napplications, or counter-irritants. The effect of heat is to dilate the\nvessels and hence to increase the flow of blood to the injured part.\nThis increased blood supply makes the reparative process go on more\nvigorously, and also makes it possible for the accumulated fluid to be\nmore rapidly carried away. Moist heat softens the tissues so that pus,\nif formed, can escape more easily.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 24.--\"THE HISTORY OF A BOIL\" (concluded). The boil\nhas finally ruptured. The liquid pus has escaped carrying with it the\ngerms and most of their poisons; the migration of leucocytes has\nstopped; the capillaries are returning to normal size and now new tissue\nwill grow and fill up this hole. (_From Emerson's \"Essentials of\nMedicine.\"_)]\n\nCold acts in just the opposite way. It decreases the size of the blood\nvessels so that less blood comes to cause pain and swelling; at the same\ntime it diminishes the number of white blood corpuscles and the\nnutritive substance brought by the blood. The nature and location of the\ninfection determine whether heat or cold is to be preferred.\n\nCounter-irritants, of which mustard is an example, have a complicated\naction. A counter-irritant affects the blood circulation of the place to\nwhich it is applied, and at the same time it irritates the superficial\nnerves, which in turn stimulate other more distant nerves. The latter\nnerves control the circulation in tissues not adjoining those to which\nthe counter-irritant is applied, and thus it is possible for a mustard\npaste, for example, if applied at one point to bring about changes in\nthe blood supply of another part of the body. The mechanism by which\ncounter-irritation is brought about is an intricate nervous process\ncalled reflex action.\n\n\nHOT APPLICATIONS\n\nIn applying either moist or dry heat the danger of burning or scalding a\npatient must be constantly kept in mind. This danger is always great,\nbut it is especially great when the skin is tender like that of babies,\nchildren, and old people, or when the vitality is low as in cases of\nchronic or exhausting illness. Unfortunately accidents in applying heat\nare not uncommon; a moment's carelessness may cause serious injury and\nprolonged suffering.\n\nDRY HEAT.--Hot water bags are used to apply dry heat. They should be\nfilled not more than two-thirds full of hot water, but the water must\nnot be so hot that there is the slightest possibility of scalding the\npatient if the bag should leak. Boiling water should never be used.\nBefore the stopper is screwed on, expel the air by squeezing the bag or\nby resting it upon a flat surface until the water reaches the top. After\nclosing the bag make sure that both bag and stopper are in order, by\nnoting whether leakage occurs when the bag is inverted and pressed\nmoderately. Before it is placed near the patient the bag should be dried\nand entirely covered with a towel or canton flannel bag.\n\nStrong bottles, jugs, and jars, if they can be securely stoppered, may\nbe used sometimes instead of hot water bags. The same precautions are\nnecessary. Bricks, flat irons, or thick flannel bags containing salt or\nsand may be heated in the oven and used in the same way. Salt and sand\nretain heat for a long time, but are correspondingly slow to heat;\ntherefore one bag should be heating in the oven while the other is in\nuse. Their effect on the skin must be no less carefully watched than the\neffects of other hot applications.\n\nHot dry flannel may be used without fear of burning a patient, and it\nsometimes yields sufficient warmth to relieve pain, particularly\nabdominal pain of babies. After it has been heated on a radiator or in\nan oven, it should be applied quickly and covered closely with another\nflannel to prevent escape of heat.\n\nDry heat can be applied conveniently by an electric pad. The part to be\nheated may be wrapped in flannel or placed directly above or below the\npad. The pad should be carefully watched to see that the switch is not\naccidentally turned, as it is possible for the pad to become hot enough\nto burn the patient or to set fire to the bed covers.\n\nMOIST HEAT.--To apply moist heat poultices or fomentations (stupes) are\nused.\n\n_Poultices_ may be made of various heat-retaining substances, but\nflaxseed meal is generally used. The poultices when ready should be\napplied without delay, therefore all preparations should be made in\nadvance. To prepare a poultice, first provide a piece of gauze or thin\nold muslin about two inches wider than you wish the poultice to be when\nfinished, and about two inches more than twice as long. In a shallow\nsaucepan boil water, varying in amount according to the size of the\npoultice desired; about equal parts of water and meal will be needed.\nWhen the water is boiling briskly add the meal gradually, beating\nconstantly with a spatula or knife. The poultice is done when the\nmixture coheres and is thick enough to drop from the spatula leaving it\nclean. Quickly spread a layer of the hot flaxseed from a quarter to half\nan inch thick on one-half of the muslin, leaving a margin on three sides\nof about an inch (Fig. 25). Fold in the margins of the cloth (Fig. 26)\nand then bring the other half of the cloth over the flaxseed so that the\ntop of the poultice is covered. Tuck the free end of the upper half of\nthe cloth under the turned in edges of the long sides.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 25.--Turn the edges of the muslin over the flaxseed\nby folding first on the line _AA'_, and then on the lines _BB'_ and\n_CC'_.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 26.--Fold on the line _EE'_, bringing _FF'_ up over\nthe flaxseed and tucking it under at _D_ and _D'_.]\n\nCarry the poultice on a hot plate, or rolled in a newspaper or hot\ntowel. Test it carefully with the back of the hand, apply it to the skin\ngradually, cover it with cotton batting, oiled muslin, or several\nthicknesses of flannel, and keep it in place with a bandage or towel.\nRemove it as soon as it has become cold, and unless the skin is much\nreddened apply a fresh poultice. If the skin is much reddened, anoint it\nwith vaseline or sweet oil, wrap it warmly, and apply the next poultice\nas soon as the appearance of the skin is normal.\n\n_Stupes_ or _hot fomentations_ are cloths, preferably of flannel or\nflannelette, wrung out of boiling water and applied to the skin. Each\nstupe should be three or four times as large as the area to be covered.\nTwo are needed, so that one may be prepared before removing the other.\nTo prevent escape of heat and moisture the stupe should be covered after\nit has been applied, first with a piece of rubber cloth or oiled silk or\nmuslin, and next with several thicknesses of flannel, or cotton batting\nmade into a pad. The whole should be kept in place with a bandage or\ntowel used as a binder. The doctor will tell how often the stupes are to\nbe applied, but if the skin becomes irritated they must be stopped until\nits appearance is again normal.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 27.--WRINGING STUPE. (_From \"Elementary Nursing\nProcedures,\" California State Board of Health._)]\n\nGreat care must be taken in applying fomentations. They do little good\nunless very hot, but if applied too hot the patient is likely to be\nscalded. They must be wrung as dry as possible; but it is difficult to\nwring them without scalding the hands unless stupe wringers are used.\nStupe wringers are heavy pieces of cloth, like roller towels or pieces\nof ticking, long enough to extend over opposite sides of the basin in\nwhich the stupe is to be boiled, and wide enough to hold the stupe\neasily. The wringer should be placed in the basin with the stupe\narranged upon it. Boiling water should then be added, or the water,\nstupe, and wringer may be boiled together in the basin. After the stupe\nis ready, the wringer with the stupe upon it should be removed from the\nwater by grasping the dry ends of the wringer. Then the ends should be\ntwisted in opposite directions until the stupe inside is as dry as\npossible. Wringing is made easier if the wringer has wide hems into\nwhich sticks such as pieces of broom handles are inserted. By twisting\nthe sticks in opposite directions the stupe may be wrung out easily.\n\n\nCOLD APPLICATIONS\n\nDRY COLD.--Cold, like heat, may be used either dry or moist. Bags of\nrubber or of Japanese paper filled with small pieces of ice are used to\napply dry cold. When weight is to be avoided, the bag should not be\ncompletely filled. After the bag has been filled and the air has been\nexpelled, it should be stoppered securely and wrapped in a towel or\npiece of flannel, since it is possible for an uncovered ice bag to\nfreeze the skin. Ice bags are easily punctured, and care should be taken\nnot to bring pressure upon them especially when filled with sharp pieces\nof ice. An ice bag not in use should be thoroughly dry inside and out;\nit should be put away with enough absorbent cotton inside to keep the\nsurfaces from adhering. Bags of Japanese paper are less costly than\nrubber, but less durable. To close them one should roll the top over and\nthen tie it tightly with string.\n\nMOIST COLD.--Cold compresses for the head are often used for patients\nwith fever or headache; they sometimes quiet a patient who is restless.\nAn old handkerchief or piece of soft linen folded with the raw edges\ninside may be used as a compress. It should be large enough to cover the\nforehead. Two compresses at least should be provided, and a large piece\nof ice in a basin. One compress should be wrung so that it will not\ndrip, and then applied to the head. The other meanwhile should be placed\non the ice to cool. As soon as the first compress becomes warm, the\nsecond should be applied in its place.\n\n_Cold Compresses for the Eyes._--Soft material should be selected for\neye compresses. Each one should be cut only a little larger than the eye\nand should fit neatly over it. Several compresses should be placed on a\nblock of ice while one is applied to the eye, and every few minutes the\ncompress should be changed. If there is discharge from the eye, each\ncompress should be used but once; when used, they should be collected in\na paper and afterward burned. Separate compresses should be used if both\neyes are being treated. Definite directions in regard to changing\ncompresses and the length of time the applications should be continued\nare generally given by the physician.\n\n\nCOUNTER-IRRITANTS\n\nTo some extent all hot applications are counter-irritants, but mustard\npastes, mustard leaves, and the mustard foot-bath already described are\nthe counter-irritants most commonly used.\n\n_Mustard Paste._--To make a mustard paste, mix dry mustard with flour,\nusing for adults one part of mustard and six of flour to make a weak\npaste; increase the proportion of mustard up to equal parts of mustard\nand flour, according to the strength required. Use a smaller proportion\nof mustard for children; one part of mustard with from 6 to 10 parts of\nflour is generally enough. Add to the mustard and flour enough tepid\nwater to make a paste, which must be absolutely free from lumps. Do not\nuse hot water for this purpose, because it destroys some of the active\nproperties of the mustard. Spread the paste on thin muslin, apply it to\nthe skin, and remove it as soon as the skin is reddened so that its\ncolor resembles that of a strong sun-burn. If the skin is especially\nsensitive, mix a little sweet oil or vaseline with the paste.\n\n_Mustard leaves_ should be dipped in tepid water and may then be applied\nto the skin directly, but if specially sensitive, the skin should be\nprotected by thin muslin or gauze. The leaf should remain until the skin\nis well reddened; a few minutes are generally sufficient.\n\nCare must be taken not to leave either a mustard leaf or a paste in\nplace long enough to blister the skin. After the application has been\nremoved; the part should be protected by a soft cloth until redness\ndisappears. Vaseline or sweet oil should be applied to the skin if it is\ngreatly irritated.\n\nOther counter-irritants in common use are iodine, turpentine, ammonia,\nkerosene, camphorated oil, capsicum vaseline, and various liniments.\nTincture of iodine may be diluted with alcohol for especially sensitive\nskins; it sometimes causes blisters, and should not be applied more than\nonce a day at most. Ammonia and turpentine cause blisters; they should\nnot be used as counter-irritants except by a doctor's order, and then\nonly after exact directions have been obtained. Turpentine and kerosene\nare inflammable and hence dangerous to use. It should be remembered that\nthe action of all counter-irritants is physiologically the same, so that\nno advantage is obtained from the use of dangerous substances like\nkerosene and turpentine.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. What are the causes and symptoms of inflammation?\n\n2. Describe the process of inflammation.\n\n3. What is the effect of heat on an inflamed area? of cold?\n\n4. What are the dangers from hot applications, and how may they be\nguarded against?\n\n5. How should you fill a hot water bag? How should you cover it?\n\n6. Describe the method of preparing and applying a flaxseed poultice.\n\n7. Tell how to prepare and apply fomentations.\n\n8. How should you apply cold compresses to the head? to the eyes?\n\n9. How should you make a mustard paste for a baby six months old? for a\ngrown person only slightly ill? for a feeble old person with a sensitive\nskin?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nEssentials of Medicine--Emerson, Chapter I.\n\nThe Human Mechanism--Hough and Sedgwick, Chapter IX.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nCARE OF PATIENTS WITH COMMUNICABLE DISEASES\n\n\nThe first chapter of this book described the ways in which communicable\ndiseases are carried from person to person, and also some principles\nunderlying methods of prevention. This chapter aims to show how these\nprinciples apply in the actual care of patients whose diseases are\ntransmissible. In order to apply them intelligently, it is necessary to\nkeep in mind certain facts in regard to the transmission of infections.\nA brief summary of these facts follows.\n\nDisease germs are present in the bodies of persons suffering from\ncommunicable disease, but they may also exist in the bodies of persons\nin good health; if present in the body, they may leave it in any bodily\ndischarge. While every kind of germ does not leave the body by all the\ndifferent routes, it is nevertheless true that most germs expelled from\nthe body are carried in discharges from the nose, throat, bladder or\nbowels. Germ-laden discharges of an infected person may be distributed\nto other persons by water, milk and other foods, by certain insects, by\nunclean hands, by common drinking cups, towels, handkerchiefs, and\nsimilar articles, and directly by nose and throat spray. After they have\nbeen thus conveyed to other persons, the germs make their entrance into\nthe body of their new victims through the digestive tract, through the\nnose, throat, and other mucous membranes, or through breaks in the skin.\nPrevention of communicable diseases, therefore, depends upon the measure\nof success attained in blocking the transit of germs from person to\nperson; but methods of prevention, though easy to understand, are\nunfortunately sometimes difficult to carry out. In order to carry them\nout effectively one must devote to the problem great accuracy,\nunremitting care, considerable intelligence, and a highly developed\nconscience.\n\nCare of a patient suffering from transmissible disease is adequate only\nwhen it accomplishes two definite results. One result, which concerns\nthe patient primarily, is to bring about his recovery as rapidly and as\nsurely as possible; the other result, which concerns the community\nrather than the individual, is to make it impossible for the patient to\ninfect others with his disease. In every case of communicable disease,\nfrom a slight cold in the head up to serious cases of pneumonia or\ntyphoid fever, both the patient and the community must be constantly\nsafe-guarded.\n\nINCUBATION PERIOD.--The interval between the moment when pathogenic\ngerms enter the body, and the time when symptoms first appear and the\npatient begins to feel ill, is called the incubation period. Incubation\nperiods vary according to the disease from a few hours to two or three\nweeks. The length of the period also varies somewhat in different cases\nof the same disease.\n\nCARE OF PATIENTS WITH COLDS OR OTHER SLIGHT INFECTIONS.--The usual\nsymptoms of infectious diseases include fever, chill, sore throat, nasal\ndischarge, cough, headache, vomiting and other digestive disturbances,\nand a general feeling of being sick all over. When one or more of these\nsymptoms appear, unless they are very slight, a doctor should be sent\nfor. The patient, whether child or grown person, should go to bed in a\nroom alone and should stay in bed at least as long as the fever and\nsymptoms of cold in the head continue, in order to protect others as\nwell as himself. Persons in active life, it is true, are not always able\nto go to bed during colds; but there is no doubt that ultimately they\nwould save time by doing so. It is especially necessary for children to\nremain in bed when suffering from colds, not only to insure their own\nwell-being but also to protect others, since children are notably\ncareless in regard to coughing, sneezing, and borrowing handkerchiefs.\nThe patient needs mental rest as well as physical, and should not be\nallowed to work in bed.\n\nThe patient's nose and throat discharges should be received only in\nmaterial that can be burned, like old linen or muslin, gauze, or paper\nnapkins. As soon as they are soiled these handkerchief substitutes\nshould be placed in strong paper bags and afterward burned. Soiled\nhandkerchiefs lurking under pillows or in other parts of the bed may\ninfect other people or re-infect the patient. Handkerchiefs that may not\nbe burned should be placed as soon as soiled in a covered receptacle\nfilled with cold water containing a little washing soda; when several\nhave been collected they should be boiled in the same covered receptacle\nfor 20 minutes. After boiling they may go to the regular laundry.\n\nThe patient's diet at first should be liquid or semi-solid. Large\namounts of nourishment are not necessary during the first day or two,\nespecially if the illness is likely to be short, but water should be\ntaken as freely as possible. Cold drinks are generally acceptable during\nthe feverish stage, but lemonade and other acids should be used with\ncaution, since they sometimes irritate a sore throat. When the active\nsymptoms have subsided the patient will need more food than usual, and a\nliberal, nourishing diet for a few days will do much to prevent the\nweakness and depressed vitality that often follow colds, tonsilitis, and\nother comparatively slight infections.\n\nThe bowels should be carefully regulated, and a mild cathartic is often\nbeneficial at the outset.\n\nEven during slight illness a patient should receive the daily care\nalready described, and should be made as comfortable as possible. As in\nany illness, sponging and alcohol rubs are refreshing. An ice bag or\ncold compress may relieve headache, and hot applications or a cold\ncompress on the throat are often soothing. The throat may be gargled\nwith a solution of one teaspoonful of common salt dissolved in a pint of\nboiled water. If the patient perspires profusely he should be rubbed\nwith a towel until dry, and provided with fresh warm, night clothes. An\nalcohol rub may well follow. It is most unwise for a patient who is\nperspiring freely to get up in a cold room and attend to himself.\n\nCommon colds are far more serious than they are usually supposed to be.\n\n      \"More people suffer from common colds than from any other\n      single ailment.... Could the sum total of suffering,\n      inconvenience, sequelæ, and economic loss resulting from\n      common colds be obtained, it would at once promote these\n      infections from the trivial into the rank of the serious\n      diseases.... Colds are contracted from other persons having\n      colds, just as diphtheria is contracted from diphtheria.\n      Arctic explorers exposed to all the conditions ordinarily\n      supposed to produce colds do not suffer from these ailments\n      until they return to civilization and become infected by\n      contact with their fellowmen.... While common colds are\n      never fatal, the complications and sequelæ are serious.\n      These are rheumatic fever, pneumonia, sinusitis, nephritis,\n      and a depressed vitality which favors other infections and\n      hastens the progress of organic diseases.\n\n      \"Common colds are perhaps most contagious during the early\n      stages. If persons isolate themselves by remaining in bed\n      during the first three days of a cold, they would not only\n      benefit themselves, but would largely prevent the spread of\n      the infection. The contagiousness and severity of colds\n      differ in different epidemics and in different seasons of\n      the year, depending upon the particular micro-organism\n      involved and other factors not well understood.\n\n      \"PREVENTION.--The prevention of colds consists, first in\n      avoiding the infection, and, secondly, in guarding against\n      the predisposing causes. Contact should be avoided with\n      persons who have colds, especially in street cars, offices,\n      and other poorly ventilated spaces where the risk of\n      persons coughing or sneezing directly in one's face is\n      imminent. Contact with the infection may further be guarded\n      against by a careful self-education in sanitary habits and\n      cleanliness, based upon the modern conception of contact\n      infection.\n\n      \"Colds, like other diseases conveyed in the secretions from\n      the nose and mouth, are often conveyed by direct and\n      indirect contact through lack of hygienic cleanliness and a\n      disregard of sanitary habits. Kissing, the common drinking\n      cup, the roller towel, pipes, toys, pencils, fingers, food,\n      and other objects contaminated with the fresh secretions\n      will transmit the disease.\"--(\"Preventive Medicine and\n      Hygiene,\" Rosenau.)\n\nCARE DURING MORE SERIOUS INFECTIONS.--When a patient is suffering from\nserious transmissible disease, he needs the most skillful care\navailable, and for the sake of others he must be strictly isolated or\nquarantined. By isolating or quarantining a patient is meant making such\narrangements that germs expelled by the patient are necessarily\ndestroyed before they can enter the body of another person. Isolation,\ntherefore, includes disinfection, and while methods vary according to\nthe nature of the particular disease, yet the principles given below are\napplicable in most cases.\n\nThe first essential is that the patient should have a room to himself.\nNo one except those caring for him should enter the sick-room for any\npurpose whatever; visitors should be rigidly excluded. At the outset all\nunnecessary articles should be removed from the sick-room, and it\nshould be possible to boil, burn, scrub, or otherwise thoroughly clean\neverything allowed to remain. The windows should be screened in summer,\nand flies must be excluded. Fresh air is especially needed by patients\nwith communicable diseases, and ventilation of the room must be adequate\nboth day and night. Foul odors plainly indicate that the patient or\nsomething in the room is not clean. The remedy is obvious and deodorants\nare quite unnecessary if the patient and the room are properly cared\nfor. It is highly desirable to reserve a bath room for the exclusive use\nof the patient and his attendant and also to reserve a room adjoining\nthe patient's room for the exclusive use of the attendant. When it is\nimpossible, as it often is, to give up so much space, each family must\nmake the best arrangement it can to separate the patient and his\nattendant from the rest of the family.\n\nThe attendant must remember that her ten fingers are the ten most active\nagents in distributing the communicable diseases. After handling the\npatient or anything that the patient has touched, and whenever she\nleaves the patient's room, she must scrub her hands thoroughly with warm\nwater, soap, and a nail brush. She should not soil her hands\nunnecessarily, even though she intends to scrub them later. She must\nremember for her own protection to keep her hands away from her mouth\nand face, and to cleanse them with special care just before eating. If\ndisinfection is needed in addition to the scrubbing, she must use\nconscientiously whatever solution the doctor orders.\n\nAt the same time that she is caring for a patient with a communicable\ndisease, the attendant ought not to care for children or other members\nof the family, she ought not to prepare food, and she ought not to\nhandle dishes or utensils used by other persons. Every day, however,\nmany women are doing just these things, and it is true that in many\ninstances no bad results are observed. Yet if any arrangement to insure\nsafety can possibly be made, it is inexcusable to run the risk of\nspreading diseases which kill thousands of persons every year and injure\nmany more for life.\n\nWhen home conditions render adequate care and strict isolation of the\npatient impossible, hospital care should be seriously considered. No\npersonal or sentimental objections should be allowed to influence the\ndecision, if removing the patient to a hospital is necessary to\nsafeguard his welfare or the welfare of the family. Hospital care should\nbe considered especially for patients with typhoid fever, because\nuntrained persons cannot safely care for patients so seriously ill.\nSince a patient with typhoid needs skilled care, and since he greatly\nendangers other persons, most authorities consider hospital care\nessential unless the patient can have the continuous services of a\ntrained nurse and almost ideal home conditions. Many cases of typhoid,\nit is true, are successfully nursed at home in extremely adverse\nconditions by visiting nurses; yet in few kinds of sickness is\ncontinuous care by a graduate nurse more necessary to protect the\ncommunity as well as to safeguard the patient himself.\n\nMembers of a family in which there is typhoid should be immunized if the\ndoctor advises it. This process, which is performed by the doctor, in\nthe majority of cases renders a person immune to typhoid fever for three\nor four years.\n\nThe question of home or institutional care for persons with tuberculosis\nmust also be carefully considered. In some cases tuberculosis may be\ncared for at home with comparative safety, and in some other cases the\nrisk is not very great if the patient is intelligent, careful, and well\nsupervised. But everyone should face the fact that all cases of\ntuberculosis of the lungs involve some risk to others in the family, and\nmost cases involve great risk. The danger to children is greater than to\nadults. Most tuberculosis infections, it is now believed, are acquired\nin childhood. The bad results of an infection acquired in childhood may\nnot show themselves for years, since the germs may remain inactive until\nthe person's resistance is lowered by some unfavorable condition.\n\nTHE CHILDREN'S DISEASES.--The so-called children's diseases are probably\nthe most familiar and the least regarded of all those belonging to the\ncommunicable group. Most persons, it is true, realize that scarlet fever\nis serious; everyone should also realize that measles and whooping-cough\nare serious. For example, in the State of New York during the year 1916,\nmore children died from each of these diseases than from scarlet fever:\nin that year 745, or four times the number that died of scarlet fever,\nlost their lives from whooping-cough, while 913 died of measles. If\ndiseases that kill hundreds of children every year are not serious, one\nis at a loss to know what a serious disease is.\n\nSome parents even expose children unnecessarily to these infections on\nthe fatalistic theory that they must have the diseases sometime, and\ntherefore the sooner the better. Nothing could be more mistaken; the\ndiseases are not inevitable, and there is no advantage whatever in\nhaving them if escape is possible. Moreover, serious as the children's\ndiseases are in themselves, their after-effects may be even more\nserious. At this very moment hundreds of people are going through\nlife handicapped by weakened hearts or kidneys, by defective sight or\nhearing, merely because their parents considered the children's diseases\nnecessary. The common belief that children should have these diseases as\nearly as possible is also erroneous, since statistics show that the\nyounger the child the more likely is the disease to prove fatal.\n\nEvery mother should realize that the children's diseases are most\ninfectious in the early stages. Early symptoms include fever, sore\nthroat, and nasal discharge, and the trouble at first often resembles a\nsevere cold. During this stage the diseases are most easily\ncommunicated. Measles in particular is generally not recognized until\nits most infectious stage has passed. The moral to be drawn is that sore\nthroats, coughs, and colds should never be regarded lightly, and that\ntheir spread should be prevented by all possible means.\n\nThe accompanying table taken from the regulations of the New York State\nDepartment of Health, gives symptoms of communicable diseases among\nchildren, and rules for isolation and exclusion from school.\n\n  NEW YORK STATE DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH\n  COMMUNICABLE DISEASES AMONG CHILDREN\n  RULES FOR ISOLATION AND EXCLUSION FROM SCHOOL\n\n  HERMAN M. BIGGS, M.D.\n  Commissioner\n\n  Issued by the\n  Division of Public Health Education\n\n  =======================================================================\n     DISEASE   |      PRINCIPAL SIGNS         |         METHOD OF       |\n               |       AND SYMPTOMS           |         INFECTION       |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  CHICKENPOX   | Rarely begins with fever.    | Contact with discharges |\n               | Rash appears on second day   | from nose and throat of |\n               | as small pimples, which in   | a patient.              |\n               | about a day become filled    |                         |\n               | with clear fluid. This fluid |                         |\n               | becomes yellow colored, a    |                         |\n               | crust forms and the scab     |                         |\n               | falls off in about 14 days.  |                         |\n               | Successive crops of papules  |                         |\n               | appear until tenth day.      |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  DIPHTHERIA   | Onset may be rapid or        | Contact with discharges |\n               | gradual. The back of the     | from nose and throat,   |\n               | throat, tonsils, or palate   | occasionally by         |\n               | may show patches. The most   | drinking infected milk. |\n               | pronounced symptom is sore   |                         |\n               | throat. There may be hardly  |                         |\n               | any symptoms at all.         |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  MEASLES      | Begins like cold in the      | Contact with discharges |\n               | head, with running nose,     | from nose and throat    |\n               | sneezing, inflamed and       | of a patient.           |\n               | watery eyes and fever.       |                         |\n               | Mulberry-tinted spots appear |                         |\n               | about the third day; rash    |                         |\n               | first seen behind the ears,  |                         |\n               | on forehead and face. The    |                         |\n               | rash varies with heat; may   |                         |\n               | almost disappear if the air  |                         |\n               | is cold, and come out again, |                         |\n               | with warmth.                 |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  MEASLES      | Illness usually slight.      | Same as above.          |\n  (LIBERTY)    | Onset sudden. Lymph nodes in |                         |\n               | back of neck enlarged. Rash  |                         |\n               | often first thing noticed;   |                         |\n               | no cold in head. Usually     |                         |\n               | have fever, sore throat, and |                         |\n               | the eyes may be inflamed.    |                         |\n               | Rash sometimes resembles     |                         |\n               | measles and scarlet fever,   |                         |\n               | variable.                    |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  MUMPS        | Onset may be sudden,         | Same as above.          |\n               | beginning with sickness and  |                         |\n               | fever, and pain about the    |                         |\n               | angle of the jaw. The        |                         |\n               | parotid glands become        |                         |\n               | swollen and tender. Opening  |                         |\n               | the mouth is accompanied by  |                         |\n               | pain.                        |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  POLIOMYELITIS| Onset sudden, fever,         | Contact with discharge  |\n               | excitable, pain on bending   | from nose, throat or    |\n               | neck forward, pain on being  | bowels of a patient     |\n               | handled, headache, vomiting. | or carrier.             |\n               | Sometimes sudden development |                         |\n               | of weakness of one or more   |                         |\n               | muscle groups.               |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  SCARLET      | The onset is usually sudden, | Discharges from nose    |\n  FEVER        | with headache, fever, sore   | and mouth, suppurating  |\n               | throat, and often vomiting.  | glands or ears of a     |\n               | Usually within twenty-four   | patient.                |\n               | hours the rash appears as    | Milk may convey         |\n               | fine, evenly diffused, and   | infection.              |\n               | bright red dots under skin.  |                         |\n               | The rash is seen first on    |                         |\n               | the neck and upper part of   |                         |\n               | chest, and lasts three to    |                         |\n               | ten days, when it fades and  |                         |\n               | the skin peels in scales,    |                         |\n               | flakes, or even large        |                         |\n               | pieces.                      |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  SMALLPOX     | Onset sudden usually with    | All discharges of a     |\n               | fever and severe backache.   | patient and particles   |\n               | About third day upon         | of skin or scabs.       |\n               | subsidence of constitutional |                         |\n               | symptoms red shot-like       |                         |\n               | pimples, felt below the      |                         |\n               | skin, and seen first about   |                         |\n               | the face and wrists most on  |                         |\n               | exposed surfaces, develop.   |                         |\n               | They form little blisters    |                         |\n               | and after two days more      |                         |\n               | become filled with yellowish |                         |\n               | matter. Scabs form which     |                         |\n               | begin to fall off about the  |                         |\n               | fourteenth day.              |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  SORE THROAT, | Begins with sore throat and  | Discharges from nose    |\n  ACUTE,       | weakness. Throat diffusely   | and mouth of a          |\n  SEPTIC       | reddened and may show        | patient.                |\n               | patches like diphtheria.     |                         |\n  -------------+------------------------------+-------------------------+\n  WHOOPING     | Begins with cough which is   | Discharges from nose    |\n  COUGH        | worse at night. Symptoms may | and mouth of a          |\n               | at first be very mild.       | patient.                |\n               | Characteristic \"whooping\"    |                         |\n               | cough develops in about 2    |                         |\n               | weeks, and the spasm of      |                         |\n               | coughing sometimes ends with |                         |\n               | vomiting.                    |                         |\n  =======================================================================\n  ===============================================================\n               |             EXCLUSION FROM SCHOOL              |\n               |-------+-------------------+--------------------+\n               |       | OTHER CHILDREN    |    OTHER SCHOOL    |\n               |       |    OF SAME        |     CHILDREN       |\n    DISEASE    |       |   HOUSEHOLD       | ESPECIALLY EXPOSED |\n               |       +--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n               |Patient|        |          |        |           |\n               |       | Non-   |          | Non-   |           |\n               |       | immunes|Immunes[3]| immunes| Immunes[3]|\n               |       |        |          |        |           |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  CHICKENPOX   |  Yes  |   Yes  |    No    |   Yes  |    No     |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  DIPHTHERIA   |  Yes  |   Yes  |    Yes   |   Yes  |    Yes    |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  MEASLES      |  Yes  |   Yes  |    No    |   Yes  |    No     |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  MEASLES      |  Yes  |   Yes  |    No    |   Yes  |    No     |\n  (LIBERTY)    |       |        |          |        |           |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  MUMPS        |  Yes  |   Yes  |    No    |   Yes  |    No     |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  POLIOMYELITIS|  Yes  |   Yes  |    Yes   |   Yes  |    Yes    |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  SCARLET      |  Yes  |   Yes  |    Yes   |   Yes  |    Yes    |\n  FEVER        |       |        |          |        |           |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  SMALLPOX     |  Yes  |   Yes  |    Yes   |   Yes  |    No     |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  SORE THROAT, |  Yes  |   No   |    No    |   No   |    No     |\n  ACUTE,       |       |        |          |        |           |\n  SEPTIC       |       |        |          |        |           |\n  -------------+-------+--------+----------+--------+-----------+\n  WHOOPING     |  Yes  |   Yes  |    No    |   Yes  |    No     |\n  COUGH        |       |        |          |        |           |\n  ===============================================================\n  ================================================================================\n              |               DURATION OF EXCLUSION FROM DATE OF ONSET           |\n              +--------------+------------+-------------------------+------------+\n              |              |  PATIENT   |      PATIENT REMAINS    |            |\n              |              |  GOES TO   |        ISOLATED AT      |            |\n              |              |  HOSPITAL  |           HOME          |            |\n    DISEASE   |              +------------+------------+------------+            |\n              |  PATIENT     | Other      | Other      | Children   |  Children  |\n              |              | children   | children   | who leave  |  exposed   |\n              |              | of         | who        | household  |  at        |\n              |              | the same   | remain at  | as soon as |  school    |\n              |              | household  | home       | disease is |            |\n              |              |            |            | discovered |            |\n  ------------+--------------+------------+------------+------------+------------+\n  CHICKENPOX  | Until all    | Exclude if non-immune until          |Exclude     |\n              | scabs are    | 21st day after child last            |from        |\n              | shed and     | saw patient.                         |school if   |\n              | disinfection |                                      |non-immune  |\n              | of person;   |                                      |during      |\n              | at least     |                                      |11th to 22d |\n              | 12 days.     |                                      |days after  |\n              |              |                                      |child last  |\n              |              |                                      |saw patient.|\n  ------------+--------------+--------------------------------------+------------+\n  DIPHTHERIA  |Until         | Until two cultures at least 24       |            |\n              |patient is    | hours apart are reported             |            |\n              |recovered     | negative. Those showing              |            |\n              |and has two   | diphtheria bacilli should not        |            |\n              |cultures      | necessarily be immunized             |            |\n              |from throat   | unless symptoms appear.              |            |\n              |and nose which|                                      |            |\n              |contain no    |                                      |            |\n              |diphtheria    |                                      |            |\n              |bacilli;      |                                      |            |\n              |cultures not  |                                      |            |\n              |to be taken   |                                      |            |\n              |until 9 days  |                                      |            |\n              |from date of  |                                      |            |\n              |onset.        |                                      |            |\n              |Disinfection  |                                      |            |\n              |of person.    |                                      |            |\n  ------------+--------------+--------------------------------------+------------+\n  MEASLES     | Until        | Exclude non-immunes until            |If          |\n              | recovery and | 15th day after child last            |non-immune  |\n              | disinfection | saw patient.                         |exclude     |\n              | of person;   |                                      |from school |\n              | at least 7   |                                      |during 8th  |\n              | days from    |                                      |to 15th     |\n              | onset.       |                                      |day after   |\n              |              |                                      |child last  |\n              |              |                                      |saw patient.|\n  ------------+--------------+--------------------------------------+------------+\n  MEASLES     | Until        | Exclude if non-immune until          |Exclude from|\n  (LIBERTY)   | recovery and | 22d day after child last             |school if   |\n              | disinfection | saw patient.                         |non-immune  |\n              | of person;   |                                      |during 11th |\n              | at least 8   |                                      |to 22d days |\n              | days.        |                                      |after       |\n              |              |                                      |child last  |\n              |              |                                      |saw patient.|\n  ------------+--------------+--------------------------------------+------------+\n  MUMPS       |Two weeks     | Exclude 15th to 22d day after        |Exclude     |\n              |after onset   | child last saw patient.              |from 15th   |\n              |and one week  |                                      |to 22d day  |\n              |after         |                                      |after child |\n              |disappearance |                                      |last saw    |\n              |of swelling   |                                      |patient.    |\n              |and after     |                                      |            |\n              |disinfection  |                                      |            |\n              |of person.    |                                      |            |\n  ------------+--------------+------------+------------+------------+------------+\n  POLIO-      | Until        | 14 days    | Until 14   | 14 days    |            |\n  MYELITIS    | patient is   | from time  | days       | from time  |            |\n              | recovered.   | child      | after      | child      |            |\n              | Disinfection | last saw   | quarantine | last       |            |\n              | of person at | patient.   | raised.    | saw        |            |\n              | least 21     |            |            | patient.   |            |\n              | days.        |            |            |            |            |\n  ------------+--------------+------------+------------+------------+------------+\n  SCARLET     |At least 30   | Seven days | Until      | Seven      |            |\n  FEVER       |days and until| from time  | seven days | days from  |            |\n              |discharges    | child      | after      | time       |            |\n              |have ceased   | last saw   | quarantine | child      |            |\n              |and           | patient.   | raised.    | last saw   |            |\n              |disinfection  |            |            | patient.   |            |\n              |of person.    |            |            |            |            |\n  ------------+--------------+------------+------------+------------+------------+\n  SMALLPOX    |Recovery and  |Exclude if  |Exclude if  |Exclude if  |Exclude 20  |\n              |disinfection  |non-immune  |non-immune  |non-immune  |days unless |\n              |of person     |until 21st  |until 20    |until 21st  |they have   |\n              |at least 14   |day after   |days after  |day after   |been        |\n              |days.         |child last  |quarantine  |child last  |successfully|\n              |              |saw patient,|has been    |saw patient,|vaccinated  |\n              |              |or 7 days   |raised or   |or 7 days   |within 1    |\n              |              |after       |7 days after|after       |year in     |\n              |              |successful  |successful  |successful  |which       |\n              |              |vaccination |vaccination |vaccination |case they   |\n              |              |and         |and         |and         |may return  |\n              |              |disinfection|disinfection|disinfection|at once.    |\n              |              |of person.  |of person.  |of person.  |            |\n  ------------+--------------+------------+------------+------------+------------+\n  SORE THROAT,|Until         |                                      |            |\n  ACUTE,      |recovery.     |                                      |            |\n  SEPTIC      |              |                                      |            |\n  ------------+--------------+--------------------------------------+------------+\n  WHOOPING    |Eight weeks   | Fourteen days provided no cough      |            |\n  COUGH       |or until 1    | develops.                            |            |\n              |week after    |                                      |            |\n              |last          |                                      |            |\n              |characteristic|                                      |            |\n              |cough and     |                                      |            |\n              |disinfection  |                                      |            |\n              |of person.    |                                      |            |\n  ================================================================================\n  =================================================================\n     DISEASE   |                  Remarks                         |\n               |                                                  |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  CHICKENPOX   | A mild disease and seldom any after effects.     |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  DIPHTHERIA   | Very dangerous, both during attack and from      |\n               | after effects. When diphtheria occurs in a       |\n               | school all children suffering from sore throat   |\n               | should be excluded and the health officer        |\n               | notified. The medical school inspector or        |\n               | health officer should take cultures from all     |\n               | inflamed throats and noses. There is great       |\n               | variation of type, and mild cases are often      |\n               | not recognized, but are as infectious as         |\n               | severe cases. There is frequently no immunity    |\n               | from further attacks.                            |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  MEASLES      | After effects often severe. Period of greatest   |\n               | risk of infection three days, before and after   |\n               | the rash appears. Great variation in type        |\n               | of disease. Dangerous in children under 2        |\n               | years of age. During an outbreak all children    |\n               | having a temperature over 99°F. should           |\n               | be sent home and the health officer notified.    |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  MEASLES      | After effects slight. Regulations strict,        |\n  (LIBERTY)    | because frequently confused with scarlet fever.  |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  MUMPS        | Seldom leaves after effects. Very infectious.    |\n               | Inflammation of genital organs of male or        |\n               | female may occur.                                |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  POLIOMYELITIS| Disease is most communicable in the early        |\n               | stages. After effect is paralysis of certain     |\n               | muscle groups, transitory or permanent.          |\n               | Death is due usually to paralysis of             |\n               | respiratory muscles.                             |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  SCARLET      | Dangerous both during attack and from after      |\n  FEVER        | effects. Great variation in type of disease.     |\n               | Slight attacks are as infectious as severe       |\n               | ones. Many mild cases not diagnosed and          |\n               | many concealed. A second attack is rare.         |\n               | When scarlet fever occurs in a school, all       |\n               | cases of sore throat should be sent home and     |\n               | health officer notified. Most fatal in           |\n               | children under ten years.                        |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  SMALLPOX     | Peculiarly infectious. When smallpox occurs      |\n               | in connection with a school or with any of       |\n               | the children's homes all persons exposed         |\n               | must be vaccinated or quarantined for a          |\n               | period of 20 days. Cases of modified smallpox    |\n               | in vaccinated persons, may be, and often         |\n               | are, so slight as to escape detection. Fact      |\n               | of existence of disease may be concealed.        |\n               | Mild or modified smallpox is as infectious as    |\n               | severe type.                                     |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  SORE THROAT, | Often leads to serious results, affections of    |\n  ACUTE,       | heart, kidneys, etc. Very apt to occur in        |\n  SEPTIC       | epidemics due to milk contaminated by a          |\n               | patient suffering from the disease.              |\n  -------------+--------------------------------------------------+\n  WHOOPING     | After effects often very severe and disease      |\n  COUGH        | causes great debility. Relapses are apt to       |\n               | occur. Second attack rare. Specially             |\n               | infectious for first week or two. If a child     |\n               | vomits after a paroxysm of coughing, it is       |\n               | probably suffering from whooping cough.          |\n               | Great variation in type of disease. Often        |\n               | fatal in young children.                         |\n  =================================================================\n\n  [3] Immunes are those who have had the diseases or in smallpox, who\n  have been successfully vaccinated within a year.\n\n  DISINFECTION: The cleansing and disinfection of the person includes\n  washing the entire body and the hair with soap and water; thorough\n  brushing of the teeth; rinsing the mouth; gargling the throat, and\n  douching and spraying the nose with an antiseptic solution; and\n  finally, a complete change of clothing (or a change of underwear and\n  a thorough shaking and brushing of the outer garments out of doors\n  before these are put on again). (_Facing p. 247_)\n\nIt may be added that the ways by which poliomyelitis, or infantile\nparalysis, is spread are not definitely known at the time of writing.\nWe are justified, however, in believing that investigation now in\nprogress will make exact information available in the near future.\n\n      \"The weight of present opinion inclines to the view that\n      poliomyelitis is exclusively a human disease, and is spread\n      by personal contact, whatever other causes may be found to\n      contribute to its spread. In personal contact we mean to\n      include all the usual opportunities, direct or indirect,\n      immediate or intermediate, for the transference of body\n      discharges from person to person, having in mind as a\n      possibility that the infection may occur through\n      contaminated food.\n\n      \"The incubation period has not been definitely established\n      in human beings. The information at hand indicates that it\n      is less than two weeks, and probably in the great majority\n      of cases between 3 and 8 days.\"--(Report of Special\n      Committee on Infantile Paralysis, American Journal of\n      Public Health, November 1916.)\n\n\nDISINFECTION\n\nSpecific directions for disinfecting in every kind of communicable\ndisease would be too extended to be given here. In each case the\nattendant should learn from the doctor just how that particular disease\nis communicated, just what discharges, utensils, linen, etc., need to be\ndisinfected, and just what disinfectants he prefers to have used. The\nfollowing general methods are now in use, but it must be remembered that\nfrom time to time new methods are devised and new disinfectants are\ndiscovered.\n\nCARE OF NOSE AND THROAT DISCHARGES.--The care of handkerchiefs has\nalready been described on page 239. Cloths or cotton used to wipe the\neyes or to receive any other bodily discharge including vomitus, should\nbe collected in the same way and burned. Everyone should be taught in\nearly childhood to cover the nose and mouth with a handkerchief during\ncoughing and sneezing; if the patient has not already learned to do so\nhe must be taught now. If the amount of expectoration is great,\nwaterproof receptacles should be provided, which should be burned with\ntheir contents.\n\nCARE OF DISCHARGES FROM THE BOWELS AND BLADDER.--At the present time the\nfollowing preparations are commonly used to disinfect stools and urine:\n5% solution of carbolic acid; chloride of lime solution, made freshly\nwhenever needed by mixing thoroughly ½ pound of chloride of lime with\none gallon of water; and unslaked lime to which is added _hot_ water.\nThe amount of carbolic solution used should be about equal in bulk to\nthe amount of material to be disinfected; the chloride of lime solution\nshould be at least twice, and the unslaked lime at least one-eighth the\nbulk. Fecal masses should be broken up so that the disinfectant may\nreach every part; they may be stirred with tightly twisted toilet paper,\nwhich should be left in the bedpan and disinfected with the stools. If\nthese substances are used, disinfection is considered complete at the\nend of an hour, and the contents of the bedpan may then be emptied into\nthe toilet with safety. It may be necessary to provide two bedpans so\nthat one may be available for use while the contents of the other is\nbeing disinfected. Bedpans and urinals should be boiled daily and kept\nthoroughly clean at all times.\n\nIn places having no sewerage system, disinfected discharges may be\nemptied into a trench situated at a distance from the well, and then\ncovered with earth. As an extra precaution, the disinfected discharges\nmay be mixed with sawdust or kerosene and burned in the trench.\nDirections for installing a sanitary privy may be found in Bulletin 68\nof the United States Public Health Service.\n\nBATH WATER and water that has been used for cleansing the teeth and\nmouth may be disinfected in the same way as urine, or it may be emptied\ninto a suitable receptacle and boiled ten minutes.\n\nCARE OF THE HANDS.--Disinfectants for the hands should be used in\naddition to scrubbing with soap and water, not as a substitute. The\nhands may be disinfected after scrubbing by soaking them for three\nminutes in one of the following solutions: alcohol 70%, carbolic acid\nsolution 2½%, or a solution made by adding one teaspoonful of lysol or\nof creolin to a pint of water. These disinfectants are poisons if taken\ninternally; the bottles must be carefully labeled and kept in a safe\nplace. It is a good plan to wear rubber gloves when handling infective\nmaterial; the gloves should afterward be boiled for ten minutes.\n\nCARE OF UTENSILS.--A sufficient number of dishes, spoons, tumblers,\nbasins, etc. must be reserved for the patient's exclusive use; these\nutensils must be washed separately and dried with towels not used for\nother dishes. Mistakes frequently occur by which other persons use the\npatient's dishes, and in consequence his dishes should not be kept in\nthe cupboard with other dishes; if no other safe place can be found,\nthey had better stay in the patient's room covered with a clean cloth or\nnapkin. The dishes should be scalded daily and at the termination of the\nillness they must be boiled briskly for ten minutes before they are\nreturned to general use. Food left on the patient's tray should be\nburned; it should not be eaten by any one else, nor placed in the pantry\nor refrigerator with other food.\n\nCARE OF LINEN.--A satisfactory way to disinfect towels, night gowns, bed\nlinen, etc. is to place the articles immediately in a wash boiler filled\nwith cold water to which a little washing soda has been added, and then\nto boil them in the same water for twenty minutes; they can afterward\ngo safely into the regular laundry. The boiling may be done once a day;\narticles soiled in the meantime may be left to soak in the cold water\nand soda.\n\nDISINFECTION OF THE PERSON.--\"The cleansing and disinfection of the\nperson includes washing the entire body and the hair with soap and\nwater; thorough brushing of the teeth; rinsing the mouth; gargling the\nthroat, and douching and spraying the nose with an antiseptic solution;\nand finally, a complete change of clothing (or a change of underwear)\nand a thorough shaking and brushing of the outer garments out-of-doors\nbefore these are put on again.\"--(New York State Department of Health.)\n\nTERMINATION OF QUARANTINE.--After the patient has recovered, he and the\nattendant should, if the doctor thinks it necessary, disinfect\nthemselves as directed above before they mingle again with other people.\nThe exact time when it is safe for a person to come out of quarantine\nand resume ordinary life varies in different diseases. Moreover, opinion\ndiffers in regard to quarantine periods for the same diseases, so that\nthe regulations of Boards of Health in different cities show wide\nvariations. It is of course impossible to say at just what moment every\npatient, or even the majority of patients, will stop expelling germs.\nQuarantine periods are intended to protect the community as completely\nas possible without causing unnecessary hardship to individuals. In any\ngiven case, the local regulations should be strictly observed but\nrelease from quarantine is not a guarantee that the patient is not still\ndischarging germs, and extreme care should still be taken to prevent the\nspread of saliva and other discharges.\n\nTERMINAL DISINFECTION.--A room that has been occupied by a patient with\na communicable disease should be thoroughly cleaned at the termination\nof the illness. Dishes, utensils, bed linen, etc. should be cared for in\nthe ways already described. The floor, bedstead, and other furniture\nshould be washed with hot water, soap, and washing soda. The walls,\nwindows, etc., should be wiped with a cloth wrung out of hot water, soap\nsuds, and soda. The mattress, unless badly soiled with discharges,\nshould be scrubbed with the same solution and a stiff brush, and left\nout-of-doors in the sunshine for a day or two, or until dry. If badly\nsoiled, it is best to destroy the mattress unless the Board of Health\nhas facilities for steam sterilization. Ordinary washing is all that is\ngenerally required for blankets, but if badly soiled they should be\nsterilized by steam or burned. The room should then be thoroughly\nsunned and aired for a day or two, with the windows wide open both day\nand night. Sunning and airing are among the most important measures in\ndisinfecting a room, and should not be slighted. If there has been gross\npollution, as when a careless consumptive persists in spitting on the\nfloor and walls, it may be necessary to remove the old paint and paper\nand have the room done over. The room may safely be occupied after all\nthese measures have been taken.\n\nFUMIGATION.--Many Boards of Health have abandoned fumigation after\ncommunicable diseases, except after those which like typhus and yellow\nfever, are carried by vermin or insects. Dry formaldehyde gas, which was\nformerly used for fumigation, has a violent effect on mucous membranes,\nbut its power to kill bacteria, even on surfaces, appears to be weak,\nwhile its penetrating power is not sufficient to disinfect bedding,\ncarpets, upholstered furniture, and other fabrics. Since fumigation is\ncostly, troublesome, and ineffectual there seems to be no good reason\nfor using it. Moreover, its use gives a false sense of security, so that\nreally effective measures like sunning, airing, and scrubbing are likely\nto be neglected.\n\nTheory and practice of disinfection, it is clear, have radically\nchanged in recent years. Modern knowledge requires concurrent\ndisinfection, or the destruction of germs from the moment when symptoms\nare first noticed; all the time, day and night, this disinfection must\ngo on with unremitting care. Today wet sheets are not hung in doorways\nnor are chemicals left about in open dishes to disinfect quite harmless\nair, but scrupulous cleanliness at all stages of disease is recognized\nas one of the most important measures, if not the most important\nmeasure, in disinfection.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Summarize the ways in which infectious diseases are spread.\n\n2. What is meant by the incubation period? State the length of the\nincubation period in measles; Liberty measles; whooping-cough; scarlet\nfever; chicken-pox; diphtheria; mumps; typhoid fever.\n\n3. Name some of the early symptoms common to most infectious diseases.\nIf such symptoms appear, what should be done while waiting for the\ndoctor to come?\n\n4. Discuss the importance, prevention, and treatment of common colds.\n\n5. What measures should be taken to isolate a patient who is suffering\nfrom a communicable disease?\n\n6. What special care should the attendant of a patient with a\ncommunicable disease give to her own clothing and person?\n\n7. Why are the children's diseases more serious in reality than they are\ncommonly supposed to be?\n\n8. Describe the symptoms of each of the following: Measles, scarlet\nfever, chicken-pox, mumps, whooping-cough, and diphtheria.\n\n9. How should bowel and bladder discharges be disinfected?\n\n10. How should dishes and other utensils be disinfected?\n\n11. How should linen be disinfected?\n\n12. Describe measures necessary for concurrent disinfection.\n\n13. Describe measures necessary for terminal disinfection.\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nPreventive Medicine and Hygiene--Rosenau.\n\nThe New Public Health--Hill, Chapters VII-XVII.\n\nEssentials of Medicine--Emerson, Chapters XII-XV.\n\nHealth and Disease--Roger I. Lee, Chapter X-XIV.\n\nDisease and Its Causes--Councilman, Chapters V-IX.\n\nPublications of the New York State Department of Health, Albany,\nentitled: The Teacher and Communicable Disease; A Method for the Control\nof Communicable Diseases in Schools; Regulations and Instructions for\nCleansing and Disinfection; The Conduct of an Isolation Period for\nCommunicable Disease in a Home; Tuberculosis; Typhoid Fever; Scarlet\nFever; Measles; Whooping-cough; Diphtheria; Poliomyelitis, Acute\nAnterior (Infantile Paralysis); Smallpox; Septic Sore Throat; Venereal\nDiseases. (Any of the above pamphlets will be sent upon receipt of a\nthree cent stamp.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nCOMMON AILMENTS AND EMERGENCIES\n\n\nThis chapter describes a few home treatments for the relief of slight\nailments and injuries, together with some measures that may be employed\nin emergencies. For more extended instructions in these subjects the\nstudent should consult the Red Cross Text-book on First Aid.\n\n\nCONDITIONS IN WHICH THE NERVOUS SYSTEM IS INVOLVED\n\nHEADACHE.--Headache is not a disease in itself, but a symptom common to\nmany different disorders. Among the abnormal conditions often causing\nheadaches are fatigue, eyestrain, indigestion, constipation, neuralgia,\nrheumatism, anæmia, acute infections, and other disorders. Treatment\nshould consist in finding the cause and removing it if possible; clearly\nno one remedy can cure so many different causes. A physician should be\nconsulted if headaches are of frequent occurrence, but in many cases\nrest and attention to other hygienic requirements are all that is\nneeded. During an attack of headache a hot foot bath may give relief, or\na mustard paste or cold applications on the back of the neck, or an ice\nbag or cold compress on the forehead.\n\nSLEEPLESSNESS, like headache, has many possible causes, and effective\ntreatment consists in finding and removing them. Pain or discomfort of\nany kind, fatigue, overwork, and worry are common causes. Sleeplessness\neasily becomes a habit that may persist after its cause has been\nremoved; hence a person who has formed the habit of sleeplessness should\npatiently strive to break the old habit and to substitute a better. A\ncareful hygienic régime is essential for the patient, exercise in the\nopen air, and cultivation of a hopeful and tranquil spirit. The diet\nshould be liberal, but light and unstimulating; tea and coffee should be\nomitted, certainly during the latter part of the day. The patient should\nspend rather a dull evening, avoiding excitement and mental exertion\nthat is difficult, even though pleasurable. He should retire early. A\nhot tub or foot bath, and a hot drink at bed time may help to produce\nsleep. The bedroom should be dark, cool, and well ventilated, the bed\ncomfortable and the covers light but warm. The patient should be told\nthat rest is the most important thing for him, and that he should not\ntry too hard to sleep nor worry if unsuccessful. The patient should try\nto banish from his mind, at bed time, thoughts that are distressing, and\neven those that are especially interesting. By using patience and\npersistence most persons can regain the power of sleeping even when\nhabits of sleeplessness have been long established.\n\nFAINTING is a partial or total loss of consciousness due to a diminished\nsupply of blood in the brain. It may follow bleeding, exhaustion from\nheat, fatigue from prolonged standing and the like, or strong emotional\ndisturbance, like fear or surprise. Fainting is less common than it\nformerly was; it now occurs most frequently among persons suffering from\nanæmia, heart weakness, or special susceptibility.\n\nSymptoms of fainting are pale face, cold perspiration, rapid, feeble\npulse, and shallow, sighing respiration. Treatment consists in removing\nthe patient into cool, fresh air, applying cold water to the face and\nkeeping the head low. For a person who feels faint but has not lost\nconsciousness, this treatment will probably prove sufficient; if,\nhowever, he becomes unconscious, place him so that the head is lower\nthan the body, loosen the clothing, especially the clothing about the\nneck, apply cold water to the face and chest, and see that fresh air is\nplentiful. When the patient is sufficiently conscious to swallow, give a\nteaspoonful of aromatic spirits of ammonia in half a glass of water and\nkeep him quiet until he has entirely recovered.\n\nA person who is unconscious from any cause always requires immediate\nattention. In emergency work elevate the patient's head if his face is\nflushed, and keep it low if his face is pale. Do not try to arouse an\nunconscious patient by shaking him and calling to him, in the first\nplace because it is useless to do so, and in the second, because\nconsciousness will return spontaneously if his condition improves.\n\nCONVULSIONS.--In every case of convulsions a doctor is needed at the\nearliest possible moment. Convulsions in adults are very serious; in\nbabies and small children although serious they are less alarming, since\nthey may follow comparatively slight disturbances, particularly\ndisturbances of digestion.\n\nTreatment for babies and children with convulsions consists first in\nkeeping the child as quiet as possible, and next in measures to draw\nblood from the brain toward the surface of the body. The child should\nfirst be undressed, moving him as little as possible, and put to bed\nbetween warm blankets. Cold should be applied to his head by a compress\nor ice bag, and hot water bag should be placed near his feet. An enema\nshould then be given. A warm tub bath is sometimes used to apply heat,\nif the convulsion has not subsided by the time the child is undressed.\nIf the bath is given the temperature of the water should not be above\n106°, and should be tested by a thermometer. If no thermometer is\navailable, the water should be tested with the elbow rather than the\nhand, and cold water should be added if it feels uncomfortably warm.\nThere is great danger of scalding a child during the excitement\ninevitably caused by a convulsion.\n\nAlthough haste is needed when a child has convulsions, yet quiet is\nessential, since the slightest movement tends to increase the\nconvulsions or to start them again. As soon as the convulsions are over\nthe child should be removed from the bath and put to bed between warm\nblankets. Even after the symptoms have completely subsided, the greatest\ncare should be taken to keep the child quiet. He should be handled and\ndisturbed as little as possible. The bath should be repeated if\nconvulsions begin again. The doctor, when he comes, will probably order\na dose of castor oil; and therefore, if it is impossible to obtain a\ndoctor at once, the dose should be given.\n\nSHOCK (in the medical sense of the word) or _collapse_, is a serious\ncondition in which a patient's vitality and all his bodily processes are\nprofoundly depressed. Generally shock occurs only after a severe injury\nor a long exhausting illness. Since, however, some persons are\npeculiarly susceptible to it, the possibility of shock must be kept in\nmind in treating even slight injuries. The probability of shock is\nsomewhat increased if patients are allowed to see their own wounds.\nInjured persons should always sit or lie down while wounds, however\nslight, are dressed.\n\nSymptoms of shock are pallor, pinched, anxious expression, dilated\npupils, cold clammy skin, feeble breathing, and rapid, weak pulse. The\npatient may be mentally normal, or irrational, or unconscious, but more\nfrequently he appears stupid, and though conscious, he pays no attention\nto what is going on. Unfortunately this condition is sometimes mistaken\nfor sleepiness, and he is left alone to sleep just when active measures\nare most needed.\n\nIf a patient shows any symptom of shock the doctor should be summoned\nimmediately, but no time should be lost in beginning treatment, since\nthe condition may be critical. It should be remembered, however, that\npanic and confusion may alarm a patient who is conscious, and thus\nincrease the shock. The patient should be covered warmly, and undressed\nunder blankets, without exposure or avoidable moving. His head should be\nlow, and as quickly as possible hot water bags should be placed near but\nnot upon him. If the patient is conscious and able to swallow he should\nbe given hot coffee or aromatic spirits of ammonia, one teaspoonful in\nhalf a glass of water. The legs and arms should be rubbed from the\nextremities toward the heart, but care should be taken to avoid touching\nor moving injured parts. The patient should stay in bed, warmly covered\nand closely watched for some time after he has apparently recovered.\n\nHelping a patient into bed is not necessarily the first thing to be done\nin every case of sudden illness. Great harm may be done by the\ninjudicious moving of injured persons, and often it is safer to make a\nperson comfortable with pillows and blankets where he happens to be,\ncertainly until a sufficient number of people can be found to lift him\nproperly. Clothing should be removed carefully, and one should not\nhesitate to cut it away if undressing is painful or necessitates much\nmoving.\n\nSTIMULANTS, in emergency work, are frequently misused. They should not\nbe given when the head has been injured, when bleeding is profuse, or\nwhen the face is red and the pulse strong. Neither should attempts be\nmade to give fluids of any kind to patients not sufficiently conscious\nto swallow. Safe stimulants to use are black coffee, tea, or aromatic\nspirits of ammonia. Alcoholic liquors should not be given unless\nprescribed by a physician.\n\nSUNSTROKE AND HEAT EXHAUSTION are both caused by excessive heat either\nindoors or out, but they differ both in symptoms and in treatment.\n\nSunstroke or heat stroke, usually begins with acute pain in the head,\nfollowed almost immediately by loss of consciousness. The skin is dry\nand very hot, the face is red or purple, the pupils are dilated, the\nbreathing is difficult, the pulse is slow, and the temperature high.\n\nTreatment consists in sending for the doctor, removing the patient to a\ncool place, undressing him and applying cold, especially to the head and\nspine, or still better, placing him in a very cold bath. The body should\nbe rubbed constantly in the direction of the heart. Stimulants should\nnot be given.\n\nSymptoms of heat exhaustion, on the other hand, resemble those of shock.\nThe doctor should be summoned, and the patient should be removed to a\ncool and quiet place, where he should stay warmly covered in a reclining\nposition. Stimulants should be given, hot water bags applied, and the\nother measures for treating shock should be employed.\n\n\nCONDITIONS IN WHICH THE DIGESTIVE TRACT IS AFFECTED\n\nNAUSEA AND VOMITING are frequently caused by injudicious eating,\nespecially when a person is worried or fatigued. A doctor should be\nconsulted if either one occurs often, or if vomiting is accompanied by\npain, prostration, diarrhœa, fever, or other acute symptoms. A person\nwho is nauseated should lie down in a cool, quiet place. Hot\nfomentations may be applied to the abdomen, or a mustard paste over the\nstomach. Soda mints or a teaspoonful of baking soda may be given\ndissolved in hot water, and unless diarrhœa is present a Seidlitz\npowder or other saline cathartic may be given. A large quantity of warm\nwater may be given to wash out the stomach; it is more effectual if salt\nor mustard is added, in the proportion of one teaspoonful to a glass of\nwater.\n\nHICCOUGH, which is usually caused by digestive disturbances, is not\nserious in healthy people, and can generally be stopped by holding the\nbreath, or by drinking water. If these measures are not effectual, salt\nor mustard in water as already described or a teaspoonful of the syrup\nof ipecac, may be given to produce vomiting. If the hiccough still\ncontinues, medical advice should be obtained.\n\nDIARRHŒA is ordinarily caused by an infection, or by an offending\nsubstance in the intestines. The offending substance should be removed\nbefore attempts are made to check the diarrhœa. When a baby has diarrhœa\nfour things should be done--all food should be withheld; boiled water\nshould be given freely; bowel movements should be saved for the doctor\nto see; and unless a doctor can be found immediately, castor oil should\nbe given, from one-half to one teaspoonful according to the age of the\nchild. Similar treatment should be given to older children. Adults\nshould take one tablespoonful of castor oil and drink boiled water\nfreely, but they should take no food until the doctor comes.\n\nCONSTIPATION has been discussed on pages 193 and 52.\n\nCOLIC is a sharp, intermittent pain in the abdominal region; it is\ncaused in many instances by indigestion or chilling. The following\nremedies may relieve it: a hot water bag, an emetic, as salt or mustard\nin luke-warm water, a Seidlitz powder or other saline cathartic, soda\nmints, or a teaspoonful of syrup of ginger in hot water. Unless it feels\nsore or tender, the abdomen may be rubbed up, on the right side, across,\njust below the waist, and down, on the left side. Babies may be given a\nfew teaspoonfuls of warm water, or an enema of salt and water.\n\nColic may be serious. The doctor should be summoned at once if the\npatient seems exhausted, if the pain is severe, if pain is increased\nrather than relieved by pressure, if the abdomen feels sore, especially\non the right side, or if sharp abdominal pain is accompanied by fever,\nvomiting, and stubborn constipation. If the above-mentioned symptoms are\npresent, no food, drink, or medicine should be given until the doctor\ncomes.\n\n\nCONDITIONS IN WHICH THE EYES OR EARS ARE AFFECTED\n\nSTYES generally accompany eyestrain or poor general health. The cause\nshould be found and treated; and especial attention should be given to\ncorrecting eyestrain, indigestion, and constipation. Hot applications\nmay be used, but if pus gathers, the stye should be treated by a\nphysician.\n\nFOREIGN BODIES IN THE EYE may sometimes be removed by blowing the nose\nviolently, by yawning several times, or by drawing the upper lid down\nover the lower. The eye should not be rubbed. If it proves impossible to\ndislodge the object by these methods or by others similar, the patient's\neyelid should be turned back in the following way: Let the patient sit\nwith his head back in a low chair placed in a good light, and stand\nbehind him holding his head between your side and upper arm. In this\nposition the patient's head is held firmly while both of the operator's\nhands are free. Next draw down the lower lid, and remove the object, if\nvisible, on the corner of a clean handkerchief. To turn back the upper\nlid, grasp the eyelashes firmly, draw the lid down, out, and then up\nover a match or pencil placed across the middle line of the lid and held\nin your other hand. Then wipe the object carefully away if it is\nvisible.\n\nIrritation that persists after the foreign body has been removed may be\nrelieved by a cold compress continued for an hour or more, or by a drop\nor two of castor oil placed under the lid. If attempts to remove the\nforeign body prove unsuccessful, if the injury is severe, or if\nirritation continues after several hours, apply a cold compress, bandage\nit firmly so that the eyeball is kept at rest, and seek the aid of a\nphysician.\n\nDISORDERS AFFECTING THE EARS.--Permanent deafness may result from\nneglecting disorders of the ears. Ear-ache, discharge from the ear,\nswelling in or about it, pain or tenderness behind it, all require\nmedical attention and no time should be lost in securing it. To relieve\npain the patient may lie with the ear on an ice bag, but nothing\nwhatever should be put into the ear before the doctor comes, except when\nan insect has entered the ear, and causes acute distress by the noise of\nits beating wings. If such an accident has occurred, the patient should\nlie on the unaffected side, and warm sweet oil should be dropped very\ngently into the affected ear by means of a medicine dropper. The insect\ngenerally drowns in the oil and floats to the opening of the ear canal.\nAfter it has been removed, the patient should lie on the affected side\nso that the oil may drain out of the ear.\n\nNo attempts should be made to remove foreign bodies from the ear or\nnose, unless they can be reached easily with the fingers. Hair pins,\ncrochet hooks and similar instruments should never be used for this\npurpose. It is best for a doctor to remove foreign objects because\nunskillful attempts are likely to move them further in.\n\n\nCONDITIONS IN WHICH THE SKIN IS AFFECTED\n\nPRICKLY-HEAT, which affects babies and children more often than adults,\nis an eruption caused by heat and moisture, and aggravated by flannel\nunderwear. It may be prevented by keeping the skin dry and cool, and it\nmay be relieved by bathing the skin with alcohol and water, about one\npart of alcohol to three of water, and by using after the bath a powder\nmade of two parts of starch to one of boracic acid, or any good talcum\npowder.\n\nINSECT BITES AND STINGS.--The sting, if still in the wound, should first\nbe removed, and then ammonia should be applied, since the poison is\ngenerally acid. Applications of cold water, alcohol and water, or wet\nsalt may relieve the subsequent burning and itching, but ammonia is\ngenerally most effective.\n\nIVY POISONING may be treated by applying cloths wet in a strong solution\nof baking soda or of boracic acid, or by applications of carbolized\nvaseline or ichthyol. Severe cases should have medical attention.\nScratching and rubbing seem to spread the inflammation, and special care\nshould be taken not to rub the face or eyes with infected hands.\nSusceptible people should avoid the plant if possible.\n\n\nOTHER EMERGENCIES\n\nCHILLS may be the result of infection or of exposure to cold. An early\ndiagnosis of the trouble is so desirable that it is well to send for a\ndoctor even when symptoms are not severe. If a person has a chill his\ntemperature should be taken at once; fever and chill together probably\nindicate invasion by bacteria. When chills follow exposure to cold the\npatient should go to bed between warm blankets, his body should be\nbriskly rubbed, and hot water bags and a hot drink should be given. If\nhe prefers, he may take a hot bath before going to bed.\n\nCROUP is caused by a spasmodic closure of the larynx so that breathing\nis impeded. The child who develops croup may have a slight cold, but\nfrequently shows no symptoms until he wakes in the night with a hoarse\nringing cough and difficult breathing. True croup, though often\ndistressing, is seldom serious, even when the symptoms are so severe\nthat the child appears to be partly suffocated. An emetic should be\ngiven at once, preferably syrup of ipecac, one teaspoonful followed by\nwarm water, or ten drops every 15 minutes until the child vomits freely.\nHot fomentations may be applied to the throat and chest in order to\nhasten relaxation of the muscular spasm, and water should be kept\nboiling near the bed in a teakettle or uncovered saucepan. The child\nshould stay in a warm room during the following day.\n\nWhenever a child develops a croupy cough his throat should be examined.\nA physician should be summoned if the throat is red and especially if\nthe redness is associated with rise in temperature. Cases of diphtheria\nhave been overlooked by neglecting such symptoms.\n\n\nBLEEDING\n\nIn the vast majority of cases, bleeding can be stopped by elevating the\ninjured part and applying pressure over the wound. One should, however,\nremember that loss of blood is not the only danger presented by an open\nwound, for pus-producing germs, if they make their entrance, may cause\nan infection which may be as serious as the bleeding itself. Hence in\ndealing with open wounds of any sort one should always keep in mind the\ndanger of infection as well as the danger from loss of blood.\n\nTREATMENT OF SLIGHT WOUNDS.--Loss of blood from slight wounds is seldom\nso serious as the danger of infection; therefore small cuts, pin pricks,\nscratches, etc. should be encouraged to bleed by pressure near the wound\nin order to expel the germs that may have entered. After the wound has\nbled a little, tincture of iodine should be applied by means of a cotton\nswab both to the wound itself and also to the surrounding skin.\n\nAfter the wound has thus been disinfected it should be covered with a\nsterile dressing; a sterile or aseptic dressing is material in which all\nbacterial life has been destroyed. Gauze from a First Aid dressing or\nfrom a packet of sterile gauze should be used for this compress, or\ngauze may be cut from a sterile bandage. The compress serves two\npurposes: it protects the wound from infection, and if applied with\npressure it checks further bleeding.\n\nThe compress should be securely bandaged in place, or its edges may be\nfastened with adhesive plaster or collodion. Neither of the two latter\nshould cover the wound itself. The outside bandage may be changed when\nsoiled, but the compress itself should not be disturbed until the wound\nhas healed. It is a mistake to dress wounds oftener than necessary,\nsince handling them always increases the chance of introducing germs.\nMost children, like Tom Sawyer, delight in wounds, but they should be\nprevented if possible both from inspecting and from exhibiting them.\n\nIf heat, swelling, redness, or pain develop in a wound after a day or\ntwo, a doctor should be consulted; and not a minute should be lost if\nthe patient has a chill or if red streaks appear extending from the\nwound in the general direction of the heart. Until the doctor comes the\nwounded part should be elevated and covered with cold applications wet\nin alcohol 25%, or in a solution of common salt, a teaspoonful to a pint\nof water.\n\nSeveral points should be remembered in dressing wounds. In the first\nplace the mouth, which is full of germs, is not a good place for cut\nfingers. Moreover, wounds should not be touched by anything, especially\nthe fingers, either washed or unwashed, nor should the scissors, fingers\nor other object be allowed to touch the surface of the dressing that is\nto be placed directly upon a wound. Unless they contain gross dirt\nwounds should not be washed with water, since washing introduces another\nchance of infection and accomplishes nothing except a tidy appearance,\nwhich is not essential. Furthermore, it should be remembered that\nexposure to the air will not infect a wound, and therefore time should\nbe taken to find a suitable dressing. When a sterile dressing is quite\nimpossible to obtain, the cleanest material available should be used;\none of the best substitutes for a sterile dressing is the inner surface\nof a handkerchief or napkin that has not previously been unfolded since\nit was ironed. It is a common mistake to tie up a wound in the first\narticle presented, which is usually a generous by-stander's soiled\nhandkerchief. The same precautions in regard to cleanliness should be\ntaken in dressing wounds that are known to be contaminated, since even\ninto an infected wound it is possible to introduce more germs and more\nvirulent ones.\n\nNOSEBLEED usually stops of itself, but if it is obstinate the patient\nshould sit erect with the head back, and cold compresses should be\nplaced on the nose and at the back of the neck. Pressure should be made\non the upper lip by means of the fingers, or by a firm roll of paper or\ncotton placed under the upper lip. Salt or vinegar in water, a\nteaspoonful of either one to a cup of water, may be snuffed up the nose.\nThe treatment should be continued for ten or fifteen minutes, or until\nbleeding stops; if the bleeding persists a doctor is needed.\n\nPROFUSE MENSTRUATION should be treated by keeping the patient quiet in\nbed with the head low and the feet slightly elevated. \"Any marked\nincrease, whether by amount, duration, or shortening of the interval\nbetween the periods ought to receive attention and be brought to the\nphysician's notice\" (Latimer). Painful menstruation may be relieved by\nrest in bed, mental as well as physical, by hot drinks and by the\napplication of heat. Rest, and hygienic living persistently practised,\nwill relieve most menstrual abnormalities. The common practice of using\npatent remedies and alcoholic liquors for disordered menstruation cannot\nbe too strongly condemned.\n\n\nOTHER INJURIES\n\nSPRAINS.--A sprain is caused by twisting, stretching, or tearing the\ntissues about a joint. The first sharp pain comes from the injury to\nthe tissues; subsequent pain is caused by the pressure of accumulated\nfluid. The other symptoms are those characteristic of inflammation.\n\nWhen a sprain is slight, the affected part should be elevated and kept\nat rest for the first twenty-four hours. Either heat or cold should be\napplied, or heat and cold alternately; a good treatment is to soak the\npart in hot water and afterward to allow cold water to run upon it from\nthe tap. Gentle rubbing with a circular motion helps to reduce the\nswelling. If the joint must be used it should be bandaged tightly.\n\nInjuries to joints should never be neglected; and severe sprains always\nrequire medical attention, since in addition to the sprain a bone may be\nbroken. A severely sprained joint should be elevated, treated with hot\nor cold applications, and kept at rest until it has been examined by a\nphysician.\n\nBRUISES.--Bruises need no attention unless they are extensive or\npainful. The skin should be kept clean and if possible unbroken, since\ninjured tissues are less resistant to infection than tissues in their\nnormal state. Applications of cold water or of equal parts of cold water\nand alcohol may relieve the pain, but cold should not be used upon\nbruises that are extensive. A compress bandaged tightly in place may\nhelp to prevent swelling and discoloration.\n\nBURNS AND SCALDS.--Injuries from dry heat are called burns, and those\nfrom moist heat are called scalds. Both are painful, and both are\ndangerous if extensive or deep. Burns and scalds require medical\nattention if the injured area is extensive, if a large blister is\nformed, if the skin is destroyed or charred, and if symptoms of shock\nappear. Shock often follows burns or scalds even when the injury is\ncomparatively slight.\n\nTreatment of slight burns, where the skin is reddened but not destroyed,\nhas for its main object the exclusion of air. One of the following may\nbe applied: dry baking soda, or baking soda made into a paste with\nwater, picric acid gauze moistened in water, boracic acid ointment,\nvaseline, sweet oil, or castor oil; if none of these is obtainable,\nlard, cream, the white of an egg or unsalted butter may be used. Old\nmuslin or linen bandaged lightly in place, should be used to cover the\nburn.\n\nThe same treatment is used for sunburn, and also for small burns where\nblisters form. A blister, if it forms, should not be punctured; but if\nit is accidentally broken the skin of the blister should not be removed.\nIt should be remembered that a broken blister is an open wound, and\ntherefore liable to infection.\n\nBRUSH BURN is a name given to injuries where the surface of the skin\nhas been removed. They include the scraped arms and legs which are\ncommon accidents in childhood. In order to dress a brush burn, particles\nof dirt should first be removed preferably by means of forceps that have\nbeen boiled, and the surrounding skin should then be cleansed with soap\nand water. The injured part should next be flushed with sterile salt\nsolution, made by boiling water five minutes and adding to it salt in\nthe proportion of one teaspoonful to a pint of water. If the dirt is\ndifficult to remove a soap compress should be applied. To prepare the\ncompress several thicknesses of gauze or muslin should be boiled in a\nstrong solution of castile or green soap for ten minutes. The compress\nshould remain in place several hours, and may be repeated if necessary.\nAfter the wound has been thoroughly cleansed, it should be dressed with\nold muslin that has been saturated in castor oil or spread with boracic\nointment.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. Name some common causes of headache and of sleeplessness, and outline\nrational treatment for each of these disorders.\n\n2. Describe symptoms and treatment of shock; of fainting; of convulsions\nin children.\n\n3. Describe the treatment of all disturbances of the digestive tract\nmentioned in this book.\n\n4. What should be done if a foreign body has entered the eye? if one has\nentered the ear? What should be done for a person who has a stye? for a\nperson with pain in or near the ear?\n\n5. How would you treat a sprain?\n\n6. Describe treatment for burns and scalds.\n\n7. Distinguish between heat stroke and heat prostration, and tell what\ntreatment should be given in each case.\n\n8. What are the two principal dangers from slight wounds, and how should\none guard against them? Show how you would dress a small cut.\n\n9. What should you do for a person with nose bleed?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nAmerican National Red Cross Text Book on First Aid--Lynch.\n\nImmediate Care of the Injured--Morrow.\n\nPrompt Aid to the Injured--Doty.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nSPECIAL POINTS IN THE CARE OF CHILDREN, CONVALESCENTS, CHRONICS, AND THE\nAGED\n\n\nIn many cases of sickness institutional care has marked advantages. It\nmay be the only solution when adequate provision for the sick is\nimpossible at home; and it is often a necessity when a patient requires\nspecial equipment or apparatus, expert nursing, and medical attention\nwithin reach both day and night.\n\nOn the other hand, it would not be desirable even if it were possible\nfor all sick persons to be cared for in institutions. Care at home when\nit is adequate may be more successful than equally skillful care given\nelsewhere, since the sick quite as much as the well are injured by long\nseparation from normal family life. Most children, because they need the\nattention of their own mothers, most convalescent and chronic patients,\nand most aged persons are cared for at home; and in the great majority\nof cases no better place for them could be found. Since patients of\nthese four groups have needs peculiar to themselves, some special\npoints in caring for them are considered in this chapter.\n\n\nCHILDREN\n\nAbility to observe quickly and accurately is seldom more needed than it\nis by a woman who cares for children. No one expects babies to explain\ntheir troubles, but people forget that small children are unable to\ndescribe their physical sensations with any degree of accuracy, although\ndiscomfort or sickness may show itself in all degrees of ill temper and\nbad conduct. For these exhibitions many a suffering child has been\npunished, where an older and more articulate person would have received\nconsiderate attention.\n\nChildren, like babies, have a low resistance to disease. Moreover, they\nreact quickly both to favorable and to unfavorable surroundings. Hence\nslight causes sometimes produce pronounced or even violent symptoms in\nchildren without giving cause for great anxiety, although the same\nsymptoms if exhibited by adults, might indicate critical illness. On the\nother hand the recuperative power of children is high, and their\nrecoveries are sometimes surprisingly rapid. It is a mistake, when a\nchild has completely recovered from an acute but brief illness, to\ncoddle him for weeks afterward merely because a grown person in similar\ncircumstances would have failed to regain his strength.\n\nWhen a child is sick in bed, especial efforts should be made to insure\nadequate ventilation without chilling him. Children always lose heat\nrapidly because the body surface is proportionately large; when they are\nill, therefore, it is especially necessary to keep them well covered, to\nsee that their hands and feet are warm, and to avoid chilling them\nduring their baths. But overheating must also be avoided, since all\nchildren, sick or well, who are too warmly dressed or who stay in rooms\nthat are too warm, become weak and irritable and more susceptible than\nothers to colds and other respiratory disorders. The child's skin should\nbe kept clean and dry, but he should not be disturbed nor handled\nunnecessarily.\n\nSick children require very simple food at short intervals. Variety is\nnot so necessary for a child as for an adult, unless the child has been\nallowed to form bad habits of eating. Sick children should not be\nindulged unnecessarily, either in regard to their food or in other ways.\nHowever, attempts made during an illness to change the habits of a badly\ntrained child are unwise because usually unsuccessful; parents who sow\nthe wind by neglecting to train their children when they are in good\nhealth may as well make up their minds to reap a veritable whirlwind\nwhen the children are ill. Even when children are well trained it is\ndifficult and sometimes impossible to prevent them from forming bad\nhabits during sickness. Yet the labor of training a child reaps perhaps\nat no other time a richer reward than it does when the child is ill, and\nhis recovery might be seriously impeded by unwillingness to accept\nnecessary food, medicine, or treatment.\n\nPHYSICAL DEFECTS are faults in the structure of the body; adenoid\ngrowths, imperfect eyes, abnormally curved spines, and defective teeth\nare examples. Most physical defects can be cured in childhood by\ntreatment or by slight operations. If untreated they frequently lead to\nsickness or to serious impairment of the body, and if neglected until\nadult life their injurious consequences are generally beyond remedy,\neven when the defects themselves can be repaired.\n\nSome indications of common physical defects are given below; they ought\nto be more generally known than they are. If a child exhibits one or\nmore of the symptoms mentioned, he ought to be given a complete physical\nexamination by a competent physician, and treatment, if needed, should\nbegin without delay. The idea that children will outgrow these defects\nwithout treatment is erroneous. Better, however, than waiting until\nsymptoms appear is the modern way of giving every child a physical\nexamination at stated intervals, a practice already common in public\nschools where effective health work is carried on.\n\nEYESTRAIN frequently comes from imperfections in the shape of the eye;\nthese imperfections can almost always be corrected by glasses. When a\nchild is suffering from eyestrain, the eyes themselves may show\nindications of trouble; they may be blood-shot, the lids may itch or be\ncrusted or inflamed, or styes may appear. In other cases the symptoms of\neyestrain have no apparent connection with the eyes; such symptoms are\nheadache, nausea, vomiting, indigestion, fatigue, irritability, poor\nscholarship, and nervous exhaustion. If a child shows any of these\nsymptoms, or if he rubs his eyes, frowns, squints, wrinkles his\nforehead, sits bent over his book, or develops round shoulders, there is\nsufficient reason for having his eyes examined by an oculist.\nExamination by an optician should not be considered sufficient.\n\nENLARGED TONSILS AND ADENOIDS.--The tonsils are masses of spongy tissue\nsituated at the back of the mouth, on either side of the opening into\nthe throat. If enlarged they may seriously interfere with breathing, and\nif diseased they frequently harbor the germs causing many acute\ninfections, as well as germs of rheumatism and most of the heart\ndisease originating in early life. Therefore the tonsils ought to be\nremoved if they are diseased or greatly enlarged, but there is\nordinarily no good reason for removing normal tonsils.\n\nAdenoids are situated at the back of the nose, and like the tonsils are\ncomposed of spongy tissue. Adenoids sometimes become so enlarged that\nthey interfere with the passage of air through the nose, thus\npredisposing to catarrh, colds, and other respiratory diseases, to high\npalate with irregular teeth, to inflammation of the middle ear leading\nto deafness, to diminished mental activity, and to general poor health.\n\nIf a child breathes through his mouth, if he snores at night, keeps his\nmouth open and has a dull, apathetic expression, his nose and throat\nshould be examined, and if advisable his tonsils and adenoids should be\nremoved.\n\nDEFECTIVE HEARING.--Permanent deafness among children in the great\nmajority of cases comes from trouble in the throat or nose; hence the\nmost effective measure to prevent deafness is to make sure that every\nchild's nose, throat, and mouth are in a normal condition. Sensitive or\ntimid children try to hide infirmities of any kind, but deaf children\nseem peculiarly unable to explain their difficulties. \"No one,\" says\nCornell, \"has ever recorded that a small child complained of inability\nto hear.\" A child's ears should be examined if he breathes through his\nmouth, if he stoops habitually, if he is persistently inattentive, or if\nhe is vague or stupid in carrying out directions. A child who appears\nnormal at times and inattentive or stupid at other times should also be\nexamined, since he may be deaf in one ear.\n\nTemporary deafness may come from accumulated wax in the ear. The wax\nshould be removed by a doctor; inexpert attempts are likely to cause\nserious injury to the ear drum. Intermittent deafness may be caused by\nenlarged tonsils and adenoids. Children thus affected are not\ninfrequently punished for seeming disobedience. Such children are\nespecially liable to street accidents.\n\nDEFECTIVE TEETH have been considered on page 44.\n\nPOSTURE.--In childhood the bones are soft and yield with comparative\nease to continued strains; hence they often become deformed by bad\npositions assumed in sitting, standing, or in using the body in other\nways. The postures habitually assumed by a child should be noticed and\ngood postures should be insisted upon. But it is not enough to admonish\nhim. The various causes tending to encourage bad positions should be\ncorrected; among them are insufficient illumination of books and work,\ndefective eyesight or hearing, obstructions in breathing, muscular\nweakness, and low general vitality. Children should have their chairs\nand tables suited to their size for their work both at home and in\nschool.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 28.--INCORRECT SITTING POSTURES. (_From Cornell,\n\"Health and Medical Inspection of School Children.\" F. A. Davis Co.,\nPhiladelphia._)]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 29.--INCORRECT SITTING POSTURES. (_From Cornell,\n\"Health and Medical Inspection of School Children.\" F. A. Davis Co.,\nPhiladelphia._)]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 30.--INCORRECT SITTING POSTURES. (_From Cornell,\n\"Health and Medical Inspection of School Children.\" F. A. Davis Co.,\nPhiladelphia._)]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 31.--INCORRECT AND CORRECT STANDING POSTURES. (_From\nCornell, \"Health and Medical Inspection of School Children,\" F. A. Davis\nCo., Philadelphia._)]\n\nThe adjustable chairs and desks now used in schools are a marked\nimprovement upon the school furniture which has caused so many\ndeformities in the past.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 32.--ROUND SHOULDERS. (_Goldthwait, from Pyle's\n\"Personal Hygiene.\"_)]\n\nOne of the serious deformities caused by habitual faulty posture is\ncurvature of the spine. A curvature not only injures a child's\nappearance and thus handicaps him in later life, but it brings strains\nand pressure upon the organs of the chest and abdomen which may\nseriously impair his health. As curvatures often pass unnoticed in their\nearly stages, every child should be inspected occasionally when all his\nclothing has been removed, to see whether the weight is borne evenly on\nboth feet, whether the development of the two sides is uniform, and\nwhether the head and shoulders are properly carried. It should be\nnoticed when the child stands, whether one shoulder is higher than the\nother, whether one shoulder blade projects more than the other, whether\none hip is higher than the other, and whether one hand is lower than the\nother when the arms are hanging at the sides. The child should walk\nboth toward and away from the observer, who should notice whether the\nchild uses the two sides of his body in the same way, and whether he\ndrags or shuffles his feet or has other abnormalities of gait.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 33.--LATERAL CURVATURE. (_From Bancroft's \"Posture\nof School Children.\" The Macmillan Co., New York._)]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 34.--\"WING SHOULDER BLADES IN FORWARD SHOULDERS.\n(_From Bancroft's \"Posture of School Children.\" The Macmillan Co., New\nYork._)]\n\nIf abnormalities are found, a physician should be consulted. Often\ncorrective exercises are all that is needed, and no one should put\nbraces of any kind upon a child unless they have been prescribed by a\nphysician. No attempt should be made to correct the common tendency of\nchildren to toe in or \"walk pigeon-toed.\" Toeing-in is a natural manner\nof walking during the formative period and tends to strengthen the arch\nof the foot, while toeing-out tends to weaken the arch and to cause flat\nfoot or broken arches.\n\nPREDISPOSITION TO NERVOUSNESS.--Heredity plays an important rôle in the\npredisposition to nervousness, so that children of nervous parents are\nparticularly likely to show nervous instability. It is, however,\ndifficult to say in a given case how much of his nervousness a child\ninherits and how much he acquires by imitating the irritability, the\nout-breaks of temper, and the other evidences of imperfect emotional\ncontrol displayed by his nervously disposed parents. On the other hand,\neven children of nervous predisposition sometimes overcome their defects\nto some extent by imitating parents who have acquired self-control.\n\nChildren predisposed to nervousness should be watched with special care,\nbut they should not be allowed to realize that they are the objects of\nunusual solicitude. They need the most favorable surroundings that can\nbe obtained, and their general health should be maintained at the\nhighest possible level. Any condition that lowers vitality tends to\nincrease their troubles; nervousness may be caused among children of\ngood inheritance, and increased among others, by poor nutrition, lack of\nexercise and play out-of-doors, fatigue, loss of sleep, eyestrain,\nadenoid growths, and the poisons of infectious diseases.\n\nIt is characteristic of many nervous children that they are too easily\nstimulated; they may be excitable, restless, unnaturally quick in\nmoving, over-sensitive to pain and discomfort, easily fatigued,\nirritable in temper, and unable to control the emotions. They frequently\nmake involuntary motions like grimacing and winking the eyes. Children\nof low nervous tone, however, are not necessarily excitable. A nervous\nchild may be muscularly weak, awkward in gait, listless, dull, clumsy,\nforgetful, and inattentive. Such children often suffer from cold hands\nand feet and from profuse perspiration.\n\nMuch can be done for these unfortunate children by removing the cause of\ntheir troubles if possible, by giving them simple and wholesome\nsurroundings, by suiting their occupations to their strength, by\neliminating mental strain, particularly during the adolescent period,\nand by training them to control their minds as well as their bodies.\n\n      \"In addition to the hardening of the body, the education of\n      the child should include measures which increase the\n      resistance of the child against pain and discomforts of\n      various sorts. Every child, therefore, should undergo a\n      gradual process of 'psychic hardening' and be taught to\n      bear with equanimity the pain and discomfort to which\n      everyone sooner or later cannot help but be exposed. What I\n      have said about clothing, cold baths, walking in all\n      weather and at all temperatures, play and exercise in the\n      open air, has a bearing on this point, for a child who has\n      formed good habits in these various directions will have\n      learned many lessons in the steeling of his mind to bear\n      pain and to ignore small discomforts.\"--(Barker:\n      \"Principles of Mental Hygiene Applied to the Management of\n      Children Predisposed to Nervousness.\")\n\n\nCONVALESCENT PATIENTS\n\nAfter serious or prolonged illness the vitality is generally low and all\nbodily processes are likely to be depressed. During convalescence,\ntherefore, the digestion is feeble, the muscles are weak so that fatigue\nfollows slight exertion, and the sluggish condition of the circulation\nrenders the patient especially sensitive to cold. Since the nervous\nsystem also becomes depressed and irritable, a convalescent patient is\neasily excited, easily discouraged, and quickly fatigued by mental\neffort. He finds the simplest decisions hard to make, and his emotions\ndifficult to control; indeed, many a patient who has borne acute pain\nwith unflinching courage becomes peevish at this stage, weeps easily,\nand expects more expression of sympathy than is good for him. Some\npersons naturally make quick recoveries, while others recuperate\nslowly. A long and tedious convalescence, it should be remembered, is\nthe patient's misfortune rather than his fault.\n\nIn restoring a convalescent patient to normal living it is imperative to\nproceed slowly. Food should be increased gradually both in variety and\nin amount; but the patient's appetite is not always a safe guide, and it\nmay need to be encouraged or to be restrained. Both mental and physical\nexertion should begin only under careful supervision, and should\nincrease by slow degrees. The patient should sleep as much as possible,\nshould take long intervals of rest, and should continue no occupation to\nthe point of fatigue. A patient who has been ill in a hospital or who\nhas had at home the exclusive services of a nurse or an attendant, often\nfinds the period following his return or following the nurse's departure\nan exceedingly difficult transition. The family should not expect or\nallow him to resume too many duties at a time when the mere acts of\nbathing and dressing may demand all the strength he has. Many\nconvalescents are obliged, or think they are obliged, to take up regular\nwork again before their strength is fully restored. There is generally\nno economy in so doing; indeed, time is saved in the end by waiting\nuntil recovery is complete before undertaking full work.\n\nImportant as it is to build up the patient's physical strength, it is\nhardly less important to direct his thoughts away from himself and his\nsickness, and to help him renew his interest in normal living. During\nhis illness he has of necessity relied upon the judgment and support of\nother persons, and his pain and discomfort have forced him to think\nconstantly of himself and his many needs. The habit of sickness is\nreadily broken by some persons, particularly by those whose nervous\nexhaustion has not been great and whose interests outside themselves are\nnaturally keen. But the sick point of view has remarkable tenacity, and\nother patients, unless circumstances or deliberate efforts redirect\ntheir thoughts, will look upon themselves as invalids to the end of\ntime.\n\nHopefulness promotes health, while discouragement, apprehension, and\nunhappiness lower the tone of the whole system. Hence set backs,\nfailures, delays, and relapses should not be dwelt upon, but signs of\nprogress should be mentioned; judiciously however, since overdone\nattempts to cheer a patient seldom fail to have the opposite effect. If\nobjects or situations that suggest undesirable thoughts are eliminated,\nthe less often those thoughts tend to recur. Therefore, in order to\nbreak the habit of sickness, old thoughts must be gradually banished\nand new ones must be substituted. Sick-room appliances should be put out\nof sight as soon as they are no longer needed, and the patient may\nprofit by moving into a different bed room. A few days spent away from\nhome as soon as his strength permits often prove effective in breaking\nup sickness associations; the patient is generally encouraged when he\nfinds that he can sleep in a different bed, endure some fatigue, and\nexist without daily visits from the doctor. Even a day spent at a\ndifferent house in the same town sometimes directs the patient's\nthoughts into fresh channels. Gradually, but as quickly as safety\nallows, he should take his place in the normal family life and cease to\nbe treated as an exception.\n\nMerely eliminating associations with sickness, however, is not enough;\nand exhorting a patient to forget himself and to become interested in\nsomething seldom accomplishes anything, especially if he is so depleted\nby illness that the thought of everyday activities suggests only\nweariness and pain. A person so weak that he is thoroughly fatigued by\ndressing himself should not be expected to view with enthusiasm the\nprospect of a full day's work. Much, however, may be accomplished by\nproviding something that the patient really likes to do, and deliberate\nefforts must be made to stimulate his interest in some occupation,\nhowever simple it may be.\n\nOccupations for invalids are more than a means to pass away the time;\nthey are also of distinct curative value. The patient's interest is not\nalways easy to arouse, and some ingenuity may be needed in the\nbeginning; sometimes interest is best aroused by working at some\nhandicraft in his presence, and finally offering, as a favor, to teach\nhim to do it also. His interest in any occupation is invariably\nincreased if a well person not only directs but shares in the work.\n\nCare should be taken to select occupations suited to the patient's\nphysical condition, to his age, tastes, and mental development. Two or\nthree occupations are better than one, so that he may change from one to\nanother before any one becomes tedious. Work requiring fine motions,\nclose attention, or concentrated thought should be used for short\nperiods, only, and no work should be continued to the point of fatigue.\nThe patient should not be allowed to feel that he must finish a certain\namount in a certain time. Even poor work is better than none, and a\npatient should always be encouraged by judicious praise.\n\nGames and puzzles are useful to some extent, but an aimless occupation\nis not so beneficial as one which has a tangible product, particularly\na product that is useful as well as beautiful. Occupations frequently\npossible for invalids and convalescents include knitting, crocheting,\nmany kinds of needle work, clay modeling, basketry, stenciling, weaving,\nbook-binding, metal work, and photography. Manuals are now available\ngiving directions for these and many other handicrafts. Sick children\noften enjoy collecting stamps, post marks, and other objects, making\nscrap books, sewing, weaving, knitting, paper folding, and various other\nkindergarten occupations.\n\n\nCHRONIC PATIENTS\n\nThe whole field of caring for the sick offers nowhere greater\nopportunity for fine and finished work than it offers in the case of\nchronic invalids. It is an achievement of which an artist might be proud\nto make a chronic patient comfortable in body, happy in mind, and\nagreeable to others. Moreover, since success can never be attained by\none who wearies in well doing, the care given to a chronic invalid tests\nnot only the attendant's skill but also her moral and spiritual quality.\n\nCare of a chronic patient has for its aims maintaining the patient's\nhealth, rendering him as happy and comfortable in mind and body as it is\npossible for him to be, and providing whatever special treatment and\nattention his case requires. In order to maintain his health constant\nattention must be given to diet, to hygiene of the sick room, and indeed\nto all his surroundings. In many chronic illnesses, such as rheumatism\nand kidney disease, the diet is prescribed by the doctor; in every case\ncare should be taken that the patient is not overfed or underfed, that\nthe food is suited to his digestive powers, that foods causing\nflatulence are eliminated, particularly if the patient's trouble is\nheart disease, and not the least important requirement, that he derive\nas much pleasure from his food as possible.\n\nThe regular daily care of the patient and of his room, already described\nin this book, should be scrupulously carried out, and no less\nscrupulously during the tenth year than it was during the tenth day.\nCleanliness in every detail is absolutely essential to the patient's\nwelfare; no one is more unpleasant either to himself or to others than a\nchronic patient who is neglected. Patients who are constantly in bed, it\nshould be remembered, and paralyzed patients in particular, are\npeculiarly susceptible to pressure sores. If a patient is able, it is\nextremely important for him to sit up in a chair part of the day.\nSitting up should never be omitted because it involves the expenditure\nof time and trouble for the attendant.\n\nIt is often said that for most people some personal experience of\nsickness is beneficial; it can safely be said, however, that no one\nbenefits from spending any considerable portion of his life in a state\nof helplessness and suffering. Behavior and character itself are\ndetermined by influences constantly coming into the mind from daily\nsurroundings and associations with other people: one who recalls this\nfact needs only a moment's reflection to realize how ill adapted to\nhealthy development of mind and character are the limited lives of the\nsick. Especially unfortunate is the situation of chronic invalids, shut\noff as they are from the objective interests and activities of normal\nlife, deprived of all practice in making the salutary small adjustments\nand sacrifices required in every day living with other people, and\nself-centered as they necessarily tend to become from the inevitable\nfocusing of attention upon their own discomforts and pain.\n\nOn the whole, a surprisingly large number of invalids successfully\nresist the disintegrating effects of sickness upon character. But it is\nnevertheless true, as Dr. Weir Mitchell says, that \"Sickness ennobles a\nfew but debases many.\" A selfish invalid has more than once destroyed\nthe happiness of an entire family, or spoiled the life of one member of\nit by monopolizing her whole time and attention. Families should\nremember that their injudicious sacrifices seldom bring enduring\nhappiness or contentment to the patient himself; indeed, in the long run\nsuch sacrifices generally injure him even more than they injure his\nvictims. Clearly much must and should be sacrificed by members of a\nfamily to the needs of an invalid; but in general it may be said that a\nsacrifice is injudicious if it relieves the patient of activity or\nresponsibility that he can support without injury, if it makes him more\ndependent in mind or body, if it results in restricting his attention to\nhimself and his affairs, or if it increases his tendency to make demands\non others.\n\nPurposeful activity of some sort and the necessity for contributing to\nthe welfare of others are essential parts of a wholesome life. If these\nessentials are entirely eliminated from the life of an invalid, the\npatient's greatest needs are probably left unsatisfied, even though the\nphysical care he receives may be perfect in every detail. All that was\nsaid in regard to occupations for invalids applies with particular force\nto occupations for chronic patients, since however valuable manual\noccupations may be as a means to bring about recovery, they are still\nmore valuable in furnishing interest and purpose in a life whose only\nprospect is a succession of weary, useless years. Handicapped patients\nsometimes learn occupations that yield a financial return, and ability\nto earn even a little stimulates self respect and mental health, whether\nthe money is needed or not. The important point, however, is that the\nfinished product should have a recognized use.\n\nIn addition to enabling the patient to make things with his hands, a way\nshould be found if possible by which he may contribute to the group of\npeople with whom he lives. If a way can be discovered for him to do so,\nthe opportunity should not be denied him nor should his service fail to\nbe noted and appreciated, even if it is nothing more than telling a\nstory to a restless child.\n\n\nCARE OF THE AGED\n\nAt the end of life, as at its beginning, every individual especially\nneeds the interest and protection of his own family. In ordinary\ncircumstances neither a baby nor an aged person can be cared for so\nfittingly or so successfully in any other place as he can be in his own\nhome.\n\nWith advancing years is to be expected a general slowing down of all the\npowers. In old age both body and mind show characteristic changes, and\nparticularly changes causing lowered resistance and diminished vigor. If\nthe manner of living is adapted to these changes, both happiness and\nusefulness may be prolonged. But so gradually do the changes often come\nthat they may escape notice for a long time, and the younger generation\nin looking back sometimes realizes with regret how much earlier measures\nmight have been taken to prolong the usefulness and to mitigate the\ndiscomforts of aged parents and friends.\n\nOld people are keenly sensitive to cold, since the circulation gradually\nbecomes less vigorous and they take little exercise. Keeping them warm\nboth in bed and out adds more perhaps to their comfort than any other\none measure. They should have warm underclothing and soft shawls and\nother extra wraps. A real service will be rendered by the person who\ninvents a suitable and dignified wrap for old or feeble men, who dislike\nthe informality of sweaters and feel disgraced by shawls. Old persons\nshould and can be kept warm in bed, by providing them with hot water\nbags, with warm night clothes including stockings, by using woollen or\nouting flannel sheets if necessary, and by providing a sufficient number\nof light but warm bed covers. It is not always understood that many\ncovers do not remedy the deficiencies of a thin mattress. If a thick\nmattress or two thin mattresses cannot be provided, a thick comforter or\neven many layers of newspaper should be placed between the mattress and\nthe springs, and another thick comforter should be placed between the\nmattress and the lower sheet. Rubbing the body with warm olive oil often\naffords great comfort, by improving the circulation and thus increasing\nthe sensation of warmth, and also by relieving the tendency of the skin\nto become dry and cracked. Poor circulation at night may cause cramps in\nthe muscles of the legs; the cramps can usually be relieved by warmth\nand gentle rubbing.\n\nOld people frequently wish their rooms to be very hot, both by day and\nby night, even as hot as 80° or 85°, but if it is possible to keep them\nwarm in any other way the temperature of the room should be kept at 70°.\nWell ventilated rooms are highly important for old people as for all\nothers of low resistance, and it is entirely possible for their rooms to\nbe warm and yet well ventilated. Aged persons should be carefully\nguarded from chill, exposure, crowds, and infected persons. Like little\nchildren they are peculiarly susceptible to the respiratory diseases,\nwhich cause many of the deaths commonly attributed to old age.\n\nDigestion usually becomes weaker than in earlier years, and less food is\nneeded. It should be simple, hot, and divided into four or five meals\nrather than three. Old people often wake at an early hour, and hot\nnourishment will prevent them from growing weak and faint while waiting\nfor the family breakfast. Both constipation and looseness of the bowels\nare common ailments in old age. So far as possible the bowels should be\nregulated by means of diet; but muscular weakness resulting in inability\nto control the bowels should not be mistaken for and treated as\ndiarrhœa.\n\nIt is unwise for old people to undertake unaccustomed or sudden muscular\nexertion, since the muscular system including the heart muscle grows\nweak and is generally unable to endure great strain. The bones,\nmoreover, grow brittle and heal with difficulty if broken, so that\npersons of advanced years no matter how active should avoid walking on\nicy pavements, climbing on chairs to reach high shelves, and placing\nthemselves in other insecure positions. Assistance must be tactfully\ngiven, however, as active old people are inclined to resent it. On the\nother hand, old people should be encouraged to continue moderate and\nsafe activities, and to take regular exercises suited to their strength.\nAlthough increasing muscular weakness tends to make most old people\nindolent, it is far better for them both in mind and in body to remain\nas active as they can without danger of too great fatigue. At all\nevents, they should be prevented if possible from becoming bedridden.\n\nSince in old age sight, hearing, and other special senses become less\nacute, one should remember that an old person may not notice the odor of\nescaping gas, the light of a smouldering match, or the sound of an\napproaching motor car, and that he must be specially guarded from such\ndangers of every day life. On account of their dulled perceptions old\npeople are sometimes unjustly considered to be less intelligent than\nthey really are. Young people moreover should be told, if an aged person\nis untidy and careless in personal habits, that the apparent negligence\nis caused by dulled perceptions and diminished muscular control for\nwhich old people are no more responsible than they are for failing\neyesight or for inability to hear.\n\nFamilies should also realize that changes in mind and character are\nbeyond an aged person's control and that they should not be made the\ncause for remonstrance or arguing. Just as the arteries harden with\nadvancing years, as the bones become brittle and as other tissues become\nless flexible, so changes are likely to occur in the nervous system. It\nis not surprising when the brain substance like other tissues is\nbecoming less flexible, that the powers of attention should weaken,\nthat memory for recent events should diminish, or that other mental\npowers should fail. Changes in disposition are not uncommon: previously\ncontrolled persons sometimes become querulous and exacting, while\nexcitable and irritable persons become more placid. With most old people\nemotions become less intense; feeble old people hardly realize great joy\nor great sorrow, and seldom look forward to death with apprehension.\n\nAmong the most important changes that occur in the nervous system is its\ngradual loss in power to respond to new demands. New habits are\ndifficult or impossible to form, and old habits are hard to break.\nAttempts to break the habits of a life time are therefore dangerous, and\nradical changes in old people's ways of living are attended by risk as\nwell as by unhappiness. Such loss of adaptability in the nervous system\nmakes it increasingly difficult for old people to assimilate new ideas\nand to understand new points of view. The feeling that the world is\nstrange and that the next generation has gone on without them accounts\nfor the tragic loneliness of many old people. Clearly it is for those\nwho are younger and more flexible to bridge the gulf between the\ngenerations by their understanding and their sympathy.\n\nPhysical care to whatever extent it is needed should be given to all old\npeople as soon as they are unable to care for themselves, and thought\nshould be given to adapting their surroundings and ways of living to\ntheir strength and needs, just as they should be adapted to the strength\nand needs of chronic patients. But a warning should be given against\nmanaging old people too much. It is hard for people who have managed\ntheir own lives successfully for many years to be managed, even for\ntheir own good. Indeed, it is questionable kindness to deprive old\npeople of all freedom of action, even if following their own\ninclinations occasionally has disastrous results. Few persons would wish\nto prolong their lives if long life involved being thwarted in every\ndesire, and sometimes real kindness consists in allowing old people to\ndo certain things that are not good for them. Keeping them warm and\nletting them do as they please will go far to make old people happy.\n\nMany of the changes in old age reverse the developing process of\nchildhood. In youth and age extremes meet, and the care of the aged\npresents certain marked similarities to the care of little children.\nBoth require simple food, occupations suited to their strength, and\nprotection from infections, from fatigue, and from nervous strain; both\nare dependent, more or less helpless, and for their happiness both need\nthe affectionate care of their own families. But in one respect their\nneeds are fundamentally different. In childhood formation of proper\nhabits is all important, and in caring for children the future effect of\nevery word and act must be taken into consideration. Old people, on the\nother hand, since they live largely in the past and their habits are\nirrevocably formed, may be indulged without harm in ways that would\ndemoralize a child; with a clear conscience one may make them happy in\nways both great and small. This difference makes possible one of the\ngreatest pleasures that come to one who cares for the helpless and the\nsick, for of all enduring satisfactions few are greater than the power\nto fill with comfort and happiness the closing days of life.\n\n\nEXERCISES\n\n1. What is meant by a physical defect? Name some of the most common\ndefects.\n\n2. Name some permanent injuries to the body caused by defective teeth;\nby diseased or enlarged tonsils and adenoids; by faulty posture.\n\n3. Describe some common symptoms of eye strain in children; of enlarged\ntonsils and adenoids; of deafness.\n\n4. Name several possible causes of round shoulders, and explain why\nurging a round-shouldered child to hold himself erect is seldom enough\nto make him correct his posture.\n\n5. What measures should be taken to overcome nervousness in children?\n\n6. Describe in detail the health work carried on in the public schools\nof your city or town. Considering the important part played by\nuncorrected physical defects in causing permanent physical disability\namong adults, do you think in the long run it is cheaper or more\nexpensive for a community to spend money in protecting the health of\nschool children?\n\n7. Discuss the particular needs of convalescent and of chronic patients.\n\n8. Explain the effect of activity upon recovery, and explain why it is\ndesirable for invalids to have occupation.\n\n9. What special needs should be provided for in caring for old people?\n\n\nFOR FURTHER READING\n\nInvalid Occupations--Tracy.\n\nOccupation Therapy--Dunton.\n\nHandicrafts for the Handicapped--Hall and Buck.\n\nWhen Mother Lets Us Make Toys--Rich.\n\nAmusements for Convalescent Children--New York State Department of\nHealth, Albany.\n\nEssentials of Medicine--Emerson, Chapter IX.\n\nCivics and Health--Allen.\n\nHow to Live--Fisher and Fisk, Chapter III, Section II; and Supplementary\nNotes, Section III.\n\nHealth Work in the Schools--Hoag and Terman.\n\nMedical Inspection of Schools--Gulick and Ayres.\n\nThe Hygiene of the Child--Terman.\n\nPosture of School Children--Bancroft.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nQUESTIONS FOR REVIEW\n\n\nI. Show how you would:\n\n    1. Make an unoccupied bed. (Notice the number of minutes it takes\n       you to do it well.)\n\n    2. Remove all the covers from an unoccupied bed and leave the bed to\n       air.\n\n    3. Open a bed to receive a patient.\n\nII. Show how you would:\n\n    1. Change all the linen and remake an occupied bed. (How long did\n       it take you?)\n\n    2. Turn a patient from his back to his side, and the reverse.\n\n    3. Remove, shake, and readjust a patient's pillows.\n\n    4. Move a patient from one bed to another.\n\n    5. Prepare a weak patient to sit up in a chair, and assist him from\n       the bed to the chair.\n\n    6. Assist a weak patient from the chair to the bed.\n\n    7. Arrange pillows and back rest for a patient to sit up in bed; and\n       also how you would remove the pillows and back rest.\n\nIII. Show how you would:\n\n    1. Lift a patient who has slipped down toward the foot of the bed,\n       and show what you would do to prevent him from slipping down.\n\n    2. Prevent bed covers from resting upon a sensitive foot, leg,\n       abdomen, or arm.\n\n    3. Describe and demonstrate every device you would use and every\n       thing you would do to prevent pressure sores.\n\n    4. Arrange pillows to support the arms of a person sitting up in\n       bed.\n\n    5. Arrange a table or a substitute for a table to support the book\n       or work of a patient sitting up in bed.\n\n    6. Arrange the light for a patient who is allowed to read in bed.\n\nIV.\n\n    1. Assemble all the articles you would use in giving a bed bath.\n       (How long did it take you?)\n\n    2. Show how to give a complete bed bath. (How long did it take you?\n       Did you have to stop the bath to fetch anything you had\n       forgotten?)\n\n    3. What special care would you give to the mouth and teeth? to the\n       finger and toe nails? to the hair? to badly tangled hair? How\n       would you cleanse the mouth of a helpless patient?\n\n    4. Show how to shampoo the hair of a bed patient.\n\n    5. Show how you would give a bath to a baby.\n\n    6. Show everything that you would do to prepare a patient for the\n       night.\n\nV.\n\n    1. Show how to take the temperature, pulse, and respiration.\n\n    2. Show how to cleanse a clinical thermometer.\n\n    3. Show how to give a foot bath (_a_) to a patient out of bed, (_b_)\n       to a patient in bed.\n\n    4. Show how you would give a cool sponge bath to a feverish patient.\n\n    5. Show how to give, remove, and cleanse a bed-pan.\n\n    6. Show how to fill and apply a hot water bag; an ice bag.\n\n    7. Show how to prepare and apply a mustard paste; a mustard leaf; a\n       flaxseed poultice; hot fomentations; cold compresses.\n\n    8. Show how to measure and administer a fluid medicine; pills or\n       tablets.\n\n    9. Show how to prepare and administer a salt and water enema to a\n       grown person; to a baby.\n\n   10. Show how to prepare steam inhalations.\n\n   11. Show how to apply an ointment; a liniment.\n\nVI.\n\n    1. Show how you would feed a helpless patient who is lying down.\n\n    2. Show how you would feed a patient who is able to sit up but\n       unable to use his hands.\n\n    3. Prepare a liquid nourishment tray.\n\n    4. Set a tray for light diet; for full diet.\n\n    5. Show how to place a tray for a patient unable to sit up but able\n       to feed himself; for a patient sitting up in bed.\n\n    6. What personal care should be given a patient just before meals?\n       just after meals?\n\n    7. How would you modify the diet of a patient inclined to\n       constipation? to diarrhœa?\n\nVII.\n\n    1. Describe effective household methods for removing dust.\n\n    2. Demonstrate the cleaning of a refrigerator.\n\n    3. Show how to ventilate a sick room while protecting the patient\n       from direct draughts.\n\n    4. Show how to clean a sick room with a minimum of disturbance to\n       the patient.\n\n    5. Explain how a patient with communicable disease should be\n       isolated.\n\n    6. Demonstrate the daily care of a room occupied by a patient with\n       communicable disease.\n\n    7. Explain methods of concurrent disinfection.\n\n    8. Explain methods of terminal disinfection.\n\n    9. Tell how the following should be disinfected: discharges from the\n       nose, throat, eyes, ears, bowels, bladder, wounds, and sores; bed\n       and personal linen; blankets; mattresses; dishes; utensils,\n       especially bedpans and urinals; clothing and person of the\n       attendant, especially the hands; furniture, rugs, and woodwork.\n\nVIII.\n\n    1. Name some of the most obvious symptoms of sickness.\n\n    2. Name some symptoms that would lead you to take a patient to a\n       doctor; to send for a doctor; to send for a doctor in haste.\n\n    3. Name some symptoms that are dangerous to neglect even though the\n       patient feels fairly well.\n\n    4. What are some of the symptoms of physical defects in children?\n       Name some conditions that are frequently caused by unremedied\n       defects.\n\n    5. Name some diseases commonly ushered in by symptoms resembling\n       those of a cold in the head.\n\n    6. What symptoms would lead you to isolate a patient?\n\n    7. Give as many illustrations as you can of the part played by good\n       and bad habits in determining health and sickness.\n\nIX.\n\n    1. How would you dress a cut? a burn? a sprain?\n\n    2. What would you do for a person suffering from colic? nausea?\n       diarrhœa? chill?\n\n    3. What are the symptoms of shock? heat stroke? heat prostration?\n       What treatment would you give in each case?\n\n    4. What would you do for a fainting person? for a person suffering\n       from nose bleed? from earache? from a cinder in the eye?\n\n    5. What course of action would you advise for a person troubled with\n       sleeplessness? frequent headaches? excessive irritability?\n       unusual depression of spirits? unfounded suspicions of other\n       persons' motives? a tendency to have the feelings hurt easily?\n       inability to control the emotions?\n\nX.\n\n    1. Why is it better to prevent sickness than to cure it?\n\n    2. Name the essentials of good hygienic conditions for babies, for\n       children, for grown people, for the aged.\n\n    3. How much of the sickness in the United States is preventable?\n\n    4. If part of the sickness is preventable, why is it not prevented?\n\n    5. What constitutes adequate care of the sick?\n\n    6. What proportion of the young men in your community who were\n       drafted have been rejected for physical disability? How many were\n       rejected for disabilities that might have been prevented?\n\nXI. (Answers to the following questions can generally be obtained from\nlocal health officers.)\n\n    1. What are the duties and powers of your local board of health?\n\n    2. How much did your city or town spend per person last year on\n       health protection? How does this amount compare with the amount\n       spent per person for police protection? for fire protection?\n\n    3. Who inspects the water supply in your town? the milk supply? the\n       food supply?\n\n    4. In your city, what was the number of deaths per 100,000 of the\n       population from tuberculosis each year for the last five years?\n       from typhoid fever?\n\n    5. Is there a tuberculosis sanitarium in your city or county? Are\n       nurses employed to supervise tuberculosis patients who remain at\n       home?\n\n    6. What provision does your community make for patients suffering\n       from other communicable diseases?\n\n    7. What measures are taken in your community to instruct school\n       children in matters of health? to instruct grown persons?\n\n    8. How does your community provide medical and nursing care for\n       persons unable to pay part or all of the cost of such service?\n\nXII. Explain why the following common beliefs are erroneous or\nunfounded:\n\n    1. That a damp cellar causes diphtheria.\n\n    2. That night air is harmful.\n\n    3. That one should \"stuff a cold\" and \"starve a fever.\"\n\n    4. That almost everyone needs a tonic in the spring.\n\n    5. That the health of one's family would be endangered if a\n       tuberculosis hospital were placed on the next block.\n\n    6. That clearing up the back yard will protect the children of a\n       family from infantile paralysis.\n\n    7. That odorless and tasteless water is necessarily free from\n       harmful germs.\n\n    8. That all children should have the children's diseases, and have\n       them as early as possible.\n\n    9. That boils are a benefit to the system by removing impurities\n       from the blood.\n\n   10. That tomatoes cause cancer.\n\n   11. That consumption is inherited.\n\n   12. That dirt breeds disease.\n\n   13. That diseases come up drains.\n\n   14. That if a teaspoonful of medicine does you good, a tablespoonful\n       will do you more good.\n\n   15. That instinct teaches a mother how to care for her baby.\n\n   16. That low heeled shoes, though suitable for boys and men, cause\n       broken arches in women and girls.\n\n   17. That in one's own case, the rule that everyone needs regular\n       meals, regular hours of sleep, and daily exercise out of doors,\n       may be safely violated.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\nThe New York City Department of Health has kindly permitted us to\ninclude the following circulars of information issued by the Division of\nChild Hygiene.\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF HEALTH THE CITY OF NEW YORK\n\nINSTRUCTIONS TO PARENTS REGARDING THE CARE OF THE MOUTH AND TEETH.\n\nThe physical examination of school children shows that in many instances\nthe teeth are in a decayed and unhealthy condition.\n\nDecayed teeth cause an unclean mouth. Toothache and disease of the gums\nmay result.\n\nNeglect of the first teeth is a frequent cause of decay of the second\nteeth.\n\nIf a child has decayed teeth, it cannot properly chew its food.\nImproperly chewed food and an unclean mouth cause bad digestion, and\nconsequently poor general health.\n\nIf a child is not in good health, it cannot keep up with its studies in\nschool. It is more likely to contract any contagious disease, and it has\nnot the proper chance to grow into a robust, healthy adult.\n\nIf the child's teeth are decayed, it should be taken to a dentist at\nonce.\n\nThe teeth should be brushed after each meal, using a tooth brush and\ntooth powder.\n\nThe following tooth powder is recommended:\n\n  2 oz. powdered precipitated chalk.\n  ½ oz. powdered Castile soap,\n  1 dram powdered orris root.\n  Thoroughly mix.\n\nThis prescription can be filled by any druggist at a cost not to exceed\nfifteen cents.\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF HEALTH CITY OF NEW YORK\n\nInstructions to Parents Regarding the Care of the Nose\n\nThe physical examination of school children shows that in many instances\nthey breathe through the mouth because they cannot breathe properly or\nsufficiently through the nose.\n\nThis may be due to bad habits in regard to keeping the nose clean, or,\nin a majority of instances, to a growth which is known as \"adenoids\" and\nwhich stops up the back of the nose. In either case, the air is not\nbreathed through the nose, and the child becomes what is known as a\n\"mouth breather.\"\n\nConstant breathing through the mouth causes the child to become pale,\nrestless in its sleep and dull in its actions. The child often speaks as\nthough it had a cold in the head. Frequently there is an almost constant\ndischarge from the nose.\n\nMouth breathing renders a child especially liable to contract\ntuberculosis and other infectious diseases; in fact, the child has very\nlittle resistance to disease of any kind.\n\nEvery child should be given a handkerchief, and be taught to thoroughly\nblow the nose several times each day. If, after doing this regularly,\nthe child is still unable to breathe properly through the nose, it is\nprobable that an adenoid growth is present. Such children should be\ntaken to the family physician or to a dispensary for further advice and\ntreatment.\n\nDo not wait too long in the hope that the child will outgrow the\ncondition, for the effect of adenoid growths persisting throughout\nchildhood may injure the person for life.\n\nHave your child's throat and nose examined one month after measles,\nscarlet fever, or diphtheria.\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF HEALTH CITY OF NEW YORK\n\nInstructions to Parents on the Care of Children's Hair and Scalp\n\nChildren affected with vermin of the head are excluded from school. The\nfollowing directions will cure the condition:\n\nMix one-half pint of sweet oil and one-half pint of kerosene oil. Shake\nthe mixture well and saturate the hair with the mixture. Then wrap the\nhead in a large bath towel or rubber cap so that the head is entirely\ncovered; the head must remain covered from six to eight hours.\n\n(Tincture of larkspur may be used instead of oil mixture. The directions\nfor use are the same.)\n\nAfter removing the towel, the head should be shampooed as follows:\n\nTo two quarts of warm water add one teaspoonful of sodium carbonate\n(washing soda). Wet the hair with this solution and then apply Castile\nsoap and rub the head thoroughly about ten minutes. Wash the soap out of\nthe hair with repeated washings of clear warm water. Dry the hair\nthoroughly.\n\nNits: If the head is shampooed regularly each week as above described,\nit will cure and prevent the condition of \"nits.\"\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF HEALTH CITY OF NEW YORK\n\nDIET FOR CHILD FROM 12TH TO 18TH MONTH\n\nFIRST MEAL--ON RISING.\n\n(1) 1 to 2 ounces juice of a sweet orange\n\nor\n\nPulp of 6 stewed prunes\n\nor\n\n1 ounce pineapple juice.\n\n(2) 8 ounces milk with either zwieback, or toasted biscuits or stale\ntoasted bread.\n\nNote: Fruit must be given either ½ hour before or ½ hour after milk.\n\nSECOND MEAL--DURING FORENOON.\n\nMilk alone or with zwieback.\n\nNOON MEAL.\n\n(1) 6 ounces soup\n\nor\n\n3 ounces beef juice.\n\nNote: Soup may be made of chicken, beef or mutton.\n\n(2) Stale bread may be added to the above.\n\nFOURTH MEAL--AFTERNOON.\n\nMilk or toasted bread and milk.\n\nEVENING MEAL.\n\n(1) 4 ounces thick gruel mixed with 4 ounces top half milk.\n\nTaken with zwieback.\n\nNote: Gruel may be made of oatmeal, farina, barley, hominy, wheatena, or\nrice.\n\n(2) Apple sauce\n\nor\n\nPrune jelly.\n\nTotal milk in 24 hours, 1 to 1¼ quarts.\n\nNote: 8 ounces is equal to a half pint.\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF HEALTH CITY OF NEW YORK\n\nDIET FOR CHILD FROM 18TH TO 24TH MONTH\n\nBREAKFAST.\n\n(1) Juice of one sweet orange\n\nor\n\nPulp of six stewed prunes\n\nor\n\nPineapple juice (fresh or bottled) 1 ounce.\n\n(2) A cereal such as cream of wheat, oatmeal, farina, or hominy\npreparations with top milk (top 16 ounces) sweetened or salted. A glass\nof milk, bread and butter.\n\nNote: If constipated give the fruit ½ hour before breakfast with water;\nif not, they may be given during the forenoon.\n\nRaw fruit juice must be given either ½ hour before or ½ hour after milk.\n\nFORENOON.\n\nA glass of milk with two toasted biscuits or zwieback or graham\ncrackers.\n\nDINNER.\n\n(1) Broth or soup made of beef, mutton, or chicken, and thickened with\npeas, farina, sago or rice\n\nor\n\nBeef juice with stale bread crumbs; or clear vegetable soup with yolk of\negg\n\nor\n\nEgg soft boiled, with bread crumbs, or the egg poached, with a glass of\nmilk.\n\n(2) Dessert: apple sauce, prune pulp, with stale lady-fingers or graham\nwafers\n\nor\n\nPlain puddings: rice, bread, tapioca, blanc-mange, junket or baked\ncustard.\n\nSUPPER.\n\nGlass of milk, warm or cold; zwieback and custard or stewed fruit.\n\nTotal milk in 24 hours, 1½ quarts.\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF HEALTH\n\nCITY OF NEW YORK\n\nDIET FOR CHILD FROM TWO TO THREE YEARS\n\nBREAKFAST.\n\n(1) Juice of 1 sweet orange\n\nor\n\nPulp of 6 stewed prunes\n\nor\n\n1 ounce pineapple juice (fresh or bottled)\n\nor\n\nApple sauce.\n\n(2) A cereal such as oatmeal, farina, cream of wheat, hominy or rice,\nslightly sweetened or salted as preferred, with the addition of top milk\n(top 16 ounces)\n\nor\n\nA soft boiled or poached egg with stale bread or toast.\n\n(3) A glass of milk.\n\nNote: If constipated give the fruit ½ hour before breakfast with water;\nif not, they may be given during the forenoon.\n\nMilk and raw fruit juice must not be given at same meal.\n\nDINNER.\n\n(1) Broth or soup made of chicken, mutton or beef, thickened with\narrowroot, split peas, rice, or with addition of the yolk of an egg or\ntoast squares.\n\n(2) Scraped beef or white meat of chicken, or broiled fish (small\namount)\n\nor\n\nMashed or baked potatoes with fresh peas or spinach or carrots.\n\n(3) Dessert: apple sauce, baked apple, rice pudding, junket or custard.\n\nSUPPER.\n\n(1) A cereal or egg (if egg is not taken with breakfast) with stale\nbread or toast\n\nor\n\nBread and milk or bread and cocoa or bread and custard.\n\n(2) Stewed fruit.\n\n\nDEPARTMENT OF HEALTH\n\nCITY OF NEW YORK\n\nDIET FOR CHILD FROM THREE TO SIX YEARS\n\nBREAKFAST.\n\n(1) Fruits: an orange, apple, pear or stewed prunes.\n\n(2) Cereal: oatmeal, hominy, rice or wheat preparations, well cooked and\nsalted, with thin cream and sugar\n\nor\n\nEgg: soft boiled, poached, omelet or scrambled.\n\n(3) Milk or cocoa.\n\nDINNER.\n\n(1) Soup: beef, chicken or mutton.\n\n(2) Meat: chicken or beefsteak or roast beef or lamb chops or fish.\n\n(3) Vegetables: spinach or carrots or string beans, peas, cauliflower\ntops, mashed or baked potatoes, beets or lettuce (without vinegar)\n\nMacaroni, spaghetti.\n\nBread and butter--not fresh bread or rolls.\n\n(4) Dessert: custard, rice or bread or tapioca pudding, ice cream (once\na week) cornstarch pudding (chocolate or other flavor) stewed prunes or\nbaked apple.\n\nSUPPER.\n\n(1) Milk toast or graham crackers and milk\n\nor\n\nA thick soup, as pea, or cream of celery with bread and butter\n\nor\n\nA cereal and thin cream with bread and butter.\n\n(2) Stewed fruit; custard or plain pudding; jam or jelly.\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY\n\n(For complete definitions of the following words the student is referred\nto general and scientific dictionaries)\n\n\nA\n\nANTISEPTIC.--A substance which prevents or hinders the growth of\nmicro-organisms.\n\nANTITOXIN.--A substance that neutralizes the action of a toxin.\n\nASEPTIC.--Free from living germs.\n\nAXILLA.--The armpit.\n\n\nB\n\nBACILLUS (pl. bacilli).--A rod-shaped or elongated bacterium.\n\nBACTERIAL.--Relating to bacteria.\n\nBACTERICIDE.--An agent having the power to destroy bacteria.\n\nBACTERIOLOGICAL.--Relating to bacteriology.\n\nBACTERIOLOGY.--The science dealing with microorganisms.\n\nBACTERIUM (pl. bacteria).--A unicellular vegetable micro-organism.\n\n\nC\n\nCARRIER.--An apparently healthy person who harbors pathogenic germs in\nhis body.\n\nCOCCUS (pl. cocci).--A bacterium of spherical or nearly spherical shape.\n\nCOUNTER-IRRITANT.--A substance or agent which if applied to the skin\ncauses irritation and thereby relieves an abnormal condition in another\npart of the body.\n\n\nD\n\nDEGENERATION.--A deterioration in cells or tissues of the body so that\nthey become less able to perform their proper functions.\n\nDEGENERATIVE.--Pertaining to degeneration.\n\nDEODORANT.--An agent that destroys odors.\n\nDIGESTIVE TRACT.--The entire alimentary canal, including the mouth,\nœsophagus, stomach, and the small and large intestines.\n\nDIPLOCOCCUS.--A form of coccus in which two individuals remain attached\nafter cell division has taken place.\n\nDISINFECT.--To destroy the germs of disease.\n\nDISINFECTANT.--An agent that destroys the germs of disease.\n\nDISINFECTION.--The process of destroying the germs of disease.\n\n\nE\n\nEMETIC.--A substance used to induce vomiting.\n\nENEMA.--An injection of fluid into the rectum.\n\n\nF\n\nFECAL.--Pertaining to feces.\n\nFECES.--Matter discharged from the bowels; bowel movement.\n\nFERMENTATION.--Decomposition produced in an organic substance by the\naction of certain living agents.\n\nFISSION.--The process by which a cell divides into two parts.\n\nFLAGELLUM (pl. flagella).--A long hair-like appendage, by the action of\nwhich certain micro-organisms are enabled to move.\n\nFLEX.--To bend at a joint.\n\nFOMENTATION.--See _Stupe_.\n\n\nG\n\nGASTRIC JUICE.--The fluid secreted by the glands of the stomach.\n\nGERM.--A minute unicellular organism, either animal or vegetable; a\nmicro-organism; a microbe.\n\nGERMICIDE.--An agent having the power to kill germs.\n\n\nH\n\nHOST.--An animal or plant in or upon which another organism lives.\n\n\n\nIMMUNE.--Not susceptible to a particular disease; also, a person who is\nnot susceptible to a particular disease.\n\nIMMUNITY.--The state in which an individual is not susceptible to a\nparticular disease.\n\nIMMUNIZE.--To render immune.\n\nINCUBATION.--The interval between exposure to an infectious disease and\nthe first appearance of symptoms.\n\nINFECT.--To communicate disease germs.\n\nINFECTION.--An agent by which disease may be communicated from one\nindividual to another; also, an infectious disease.\n\nINOCULATE.--To introduce any biological product directly into the\ntissues of the body.\n\nINOCULATION.--The process of inoculating.\n\nINTESTINAL TRACT.--The small and large intestines.\n\n\nM\n\nMICROBE.--See _Germ_.\n\nMICRO-ORGANISM.--See _Germ_.\n\nMUCUS.--The substance secreted by mucous membranes.\n\nMUCOUS MEMBRANES.--The membranes lining certain cavities of the body,\nespecially the digestive and respiratory tracts.\n\n\nN\n\nNUTRIENT.--One of several chemical groups to which the essential\nconstituents of food belong.\n\n\nO\n\nORGANIC.--Derived from or relating to an organism.\n\nORGANISM.--An individual that is or has been alive.\n\n\nP\n\nPARASITE.--An individual that lives in or upon another individual.\n\nPASTEURIZATION.--The process of pasteurizing.\n\nPASTEURIZE.--To subject milk to a temperature of 142°-145° Fahrenheit\nfor thirty minutes.\n\nPATHOGENIC.--Disease-producing.\n\nPERTUSSIS.--Whooping-cough.\n\nPROTEID.--One of the complex nitrogenous substances constituting the\nessential parts of animal and vegetable tissues.\n\nPROTOZOÖN (pl. protozoa).--An animal organism composed of a single cell.\n\nPUS.--The fluid product of inflammation; matter.\n\nPUTREFACTION.--Decomposition of nitrogenous organic matter brought about\nby micro-organisms and accompanied by a foul odor.\n\n\nR\n\nRESISTANCE.--See _Immunity_.\n\nRESPIRATORY TRACT.--The air passages, including the nose, mouth, larynx,\ntrachea, bronchial tubes, and lungs.\n\n\nS\n\nSAPROPHYTE.--A vegetable organism that lives on decaying organic matter.\n\nSARCINA.--Literally, a bundle. Applied to bacteria grouped in bundles or\npackets.\n\nSEPTIC.--Putrefying or decomposing; infected by pus-producing bacteria.\n\nSEQUELA.--A disease or unhealthy condition following another disease or\nunhealthy condition.\n\nSERUM.--The fluid which separates from the clot after blood has\ncoagulated; especially, that containing an antitoxin.\n\nSEWAGE.--Any substance containing urine or fecal matter; also, the\nsubstance which passes through sewers.\n\nSPIRILLUM (pl. spirilla).--A variety of bacteria having spirally twisted\ncells.\n\nSPORE.--A resting stage, characterized by great resistance, into which\ncertain germs enter when conditions become unfavorable for their growth.\n\nSPUTUM.--Spit; expectoration.\n\nSTAPHYLOCOCCUS.--A variety of bacteria that group themselves in masses\nresembling bunches of grapes.\n\nSTERILE.--Free from living germs; aseptic.\n\nSTERILIZATION.--The process of rendering sterile.\n\nSTERILIZE.--To render sterile.\n\nSTREPTOCOCCUS.--A variety of bacteria that arrange themselves in chains.\n\nSTUPE.--A cloth wrung out of hot water and applied to the surface of the\nbody.\n\nSUSCEPTIBLE.--Lacking resistance to a disease.\n\nSUSCEPTIBILITY.--The condition in which resistance to a disease is low.\n\n\nT\n\nTETRAD.--A variety of bacteria that arrange themselves in groups of\nfour.\n\nTISSUE.--A collection of cells having the same function.\n\nTOXIN.--A poison produced by the action of micro-organisms.\n\n\nU\n\nUNICELLULAR.--Composed of a single cell.\n\nUTERUS.--The womb.\n\n\nV\n\nVACCINATE.--To inoculate with a poison in order to bring about immunity\nto a disease.\n\nVACCINE.--Any substance which if introduced into the body causes the\nformation of protective substances.\n\nVOMITUS.--Vomited substances.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nA\n\n  Abdomen, 68\n\n  Abdominal binder, 68\n\n  Action of drugs, 200\n\n  Adenoids, 284\n\n  Aged, care of, 303\n\n  Ailments and emergencies, 257\n\n  Air, 72\n\n  Alcohol, 160\n\n  Appliances,\n    bed cradles, 173\n    bedpans, 176\n    rubber utensils, 138\n\n  Applications, local, 220\n    cold, dry, 231\n    cold, moist, 235\n    hot, dry, 225\n      bricks, 226\n      flannel, 226\n      salt or sand, 226\n      water bags, 225\n    hot, moist, 227\n      fomentations, 229\n      poultices, 227\n      stupes, 229\n\n  Attendant, 127\n\n\nB\n\n  Bacteria, 1, 4, 5\n    bacilli, 5\n    coccus, 4\n    effects produced by, 3\n    entrance into the body, 9\n    food of, 2\n    immunity, 13\n    in food, 19\n    in water, 19\n    methods of study, 1\n    motion, 5\n    origin of communicable diseases, 3\n    parasites, 3, 8\n    saprophytes, 2\n    shape, 4\n    spirillum, 4\n    spores, 7\n    structure and development, 4\n    where found, 8\n\n  Bacteriology, 1\n\n  Baths, 42, 154\n    bed, 156\n    cleansing, 171\n    cold tub, 97, 171\n    daily, 24\n    foot, 165\n      mustard, 165\n    hot, 97\n    infant's, 78\n    sitz, 176\n    tub, 154\n\n  Bed cradles, 173\n\n  Bedmaking, 132\n\n  Bedpan, 176\n\n  Bed-rooms, care of, 84\n\n  Beds, 132\n    care of, 134\n    dimensions, 133\n    rubber pillow cases, 138\n    rubber sheets, 138\n    selection of, 132\n    wooden, 132\n\n  Bed sores, 169\n\n  Birth registration, 63\n\n  Blankets, 140\n\n  Bleeding, 272\n\n  Blindness, 33\n\n  Breast feeding, 73\n\n  Bruises, 276\n\n  Brush burn, 278\n\n  Burns, 277, 278\n\n\nC\n\n  Cancer, 111\n\n  Carriers, 17\n\n  Charts, 10, 246\n\n  Chickenpox, 236\n\n  Childhood, see Infancy, 60\n\n  Children, care of, 280\n    with adenoids, 284\n    with defective hearing, 285\n    with defective teeth, 286\n    with enlarged tonsils, 284\n    with eyestrain, 284\n    with incorrect posture, 286\n    with physical defects, 283\n    with predisposition to nervousness, 292\n\n  Chills, 270\n\n  Chronic patients, care of, 299\n\n  Circulars of information, 318\n    Department of Health, City of New York, 318\n      care of hair and scalp, 321\n      care of mouth and teeth, 318\n      care of nose, 320\n      diet of child twelfth to eighteenth month, 322\n      diet of child eighteenth to twenty-fourth month, 323\n      diet of child two to three years, 324\n      diet of child three to six years, 325\n\n  Cleaning room, 126\n\n  Cleanliness, personal, 41\n\n  Clothing, 47\n    disinfection of, 95\n    of infants, 68\n\n  Coccus, 4\n\n  Cold applications, 220\n\n  Cold, prevention of common, 241\n\n  Colic, 266\n\n  Compresses, cold, 232\n\n  Constipation, 52, 193, 266\n\n  Convalescents, care of, 294\n\n  Convulsions, 260\n\n  Counter irritants, 233\n\n  Croup, 271\n\n\nD\n\n  Degenerative diseases, 20, 24\n\n  Development of child, 64\n\n  Diaper, 69\n\n  Diarrhœa, 266\n\n  Diphtheria, 245\n\n  Disinfectants, 251\n\n  Disinfection, 248\n\n  Drainage, 40\n\n  Draughts, 32\n\n  Dust, effect upon health, 36\n\n\nE\n\n  Ear, disorders affecting, 268\n\n  Emergencies, 257\n\n  Enemata, 210\n    directions for giving, 210\n    for baby, 212\n\n  Environment, 29\n\n  Eruptive diseases, 236\n\n  Excreta, disinfection of, 249\n\n  Excretions, 52\n\n  Expectoration, 249\n\n  Eye, ailments, 267\n    compresses for, 232\n    foreign bodies in, 267\n\n  Eyestrain, 284\n\n\nF\n\n  Fainting, 259\n\n  Fatigue, 53, 106, 181\n\n  Feeding of infants, 73\n\n  Filtration of water, 50\n\n  Flies, as carriers of disease germs, 38\n\n  Floors, 120\n\n  Fomentations, 229\n\n  Food, 35, 48, 188\n    classification of, 48\n    for children, 78\n    for infants, 72\n\n  Foot bath, 165\n\n  Fumigation, 254\n\n  Furniture, 120\n\n\nG\n\n  Garbage, 37\n\n  Glossary, 326-330\n\n  Growth of child, 64\n\n\nH\n\n  Habits, 82\n\n  Hair, care of, 163\n\n  Handkerchiefs, 239\n\n  Hands, 11, 12, 43, 250\n\n  Headache, 257\n\n  Heat, application of, 220\n    exhaustion, 264\n\n  Heating, 54\n\n  Heredity, 27\n\n  Hiccough, 265\n\n  House, cleanliness of, 33\n\n  Humidity, 31\n\n  Hygiene, oral, 44\n    personal, 19, 28\n\n\n\n  Immunity, 13\n\n  Infancy (and childhood), hygiene of, 60\n    air, fresh, 72\n    baths, 78\n    care of eyes, 80\n      of mouth, 81\n      of nostrils, 81\n      of genital organs, 81\n    clothing, 68\n    cry, significance of, 82\n    diet, 74\n    mother's milk, danger of substitutes, 72\n      water, 75\n      weaning, 75\n    excretions, 67\n    exercise, 83\n    growth and development, 64, 65\n      length at birth, 64\n        increase, 65\n      muscular development, 64\n      special senses, 66\n      speech, 66\n      teeth, 66\n      weight at birth, 64\n        increase, 65\n    habits, 82\n    mortality, 61\n    nursing bottles, 75\n      nipples, 75\n    play, 84\n    pulse, 96\n    respiration, 99\n    sleep, 70\n    toys, 85\n\n  Infection, 1, 43\n\n  Inflammation, 220\n\n  Inhalation, 213\n\n  Insects, 38, 270\n\n  Insect bites and stings, 270\n\n  Inunction, 214\n\n  Isolation, duration of, 247\n\n  Ivy poisoning, 270\n\n\nK\n\n  Kitchens, 34\n\n\nL\n\n  Light, 33, 124\n\n  Linen, 251\n\n  Lysol, 251\n\n\nM\n\n  Malaise, 106\n\n  Mattress, 135\n    care of, 136\n\n  Measles, 246\n\n  Medicines and remedies, 200\n    action of drugs, 200\n    amateur dosing, 202\n    enemata, 210\n    inhalation, 213\n    inunction, 214\n    patent remedies, 205\n    sprays and gargles, 213\n    suppositories, 209\n\n  Medicines, administration of, 206\n\n  Menstruation, profuse, 275\n\n  Mental condition, 104-112\n\n  Microorganisms, 9\n\n  Milk, 51\n    pasteurization, 51\n\n  Mouth, care of, 160\n    wash, 182\n\n  Mustard paste, 233\n    leaves, 233\n\n\nN\n\n  Nausea, 265\n\n  Nipple, bottle, 77\n    care of, 77\n\n  Non-communicable diseases, 20\n\n  Nosebleed, 274\n\n\nP\n\n  Pain, 105\n\n  Parasites, 3, 4, 8\n\n  Patent remedies, 205\n\n  Patient, care of,\n      with communicable disease, 236\n      with colds and slight infections, 238\n      with more serious infections, 242\n    changing sheet, 147\n    changing, 146\n    lifting, 146\n    mouth, 160\n    moving, 152\n\n  Personal hygiene, 19\n\n  Pillows, 137\n    covers, 138, 140\n\n  Poisonous drugs, 215\n\n  Posture, 286\n\n  Poultices, 227, 228\n\n  Prenatal care, 62\n\n  Prickly heat, 269\n\n  Protozoa, 8\n\n  Public agencies, 107\n\n  Public sanitation, 19\n\n  Pulse, 96\n\n  Purification of water, 50\n\n\nQ\n\n  Quarantine, termination of, 252\n\n\nR\n\n  Records, 107\n\n  Recreation, 55\n\n  Rectum, 93\n\n  Respiration, 99\n\n  Rest, 53\n\n  Rooms, 27\n\n\nS\n\n  Saprophytes, 2\n\n  Scalds, 277\n\n  Scarlet fever, 246\n\n  Sewage, 39\n\n  Sheets, 137, 138, 142\n\n  Shock, 261\n\n  Sick-room, model, 118\n\n  Sleep, 55, 70\n\n  Sleeplessness, 258\n\n  Small-pox, 246\n\n  Special senses in sickness, 101\n\n  Spores, 7\n\n  Sprains, 275\n\n  Sprays and gargles, 213\n\n  Stimulants, in emergency work, 263\n\n  Stupes, 229\n\n  Styes, 267\n\n  Sunstroke, 264\n\n  Suppositories, 209\n\n  Symptoms, 88\n\n\nT\n\n  Teeth, 45, 160\n    defective, 286\n    treatment, 46\n\n  Temperature, 92\n    method of taking, 92\n    normal, 95\n\n  Temperature of baths, 79, 155\n    of house, 30, 124\n    sponging for, 177\n    variations, 114, 206\n\n  Thermometer, clinical, care of, 92\n\n  Tonsils, enlarged, 284\n\n  Tuberculosis, 27-107\n\n\nU\n\n  Urine, 103\n\n\nV\n\n  Vaccination, 13, 25\n\n  Ventilation, 29, 123\n\n  Vomiting, 265\n\n\nW\n\n  Water, 49\n    filtration, 50\n\n  Weaning, 75\n\n  Weight, 65\n    loss of, 64\n\n  Whooping cough, 246\n\n  Wounds, 272\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note:\n\n\nPunctuation errors (e.g. missing period at end of sentence, missing\nquotation marks, etc.) and letters printed upside down have been\ncorrected without note. Except where noted, inconsistencies in\nhyphenation, capitalization, and spelling (e.g. travelling and\ntraveling) have not been changed. The original index had numerous\nerrors, such as references to terms that do not appear in the text.\nExcept where noted below, it has been left as printed.\n\nThe following corrections were made:\n\np. viii: Records, 105. to Records, 107. (under Chapter IV)\n\np. ix: Care of the Patients with Communicable Diseases to Care of\nPatients with Communicable Diseases (under Chapter XII)\n\np. ix: Care of liver, 251. to Care of linen, 251. (under Chapter XII)\n\np. 15: innoculation to inoculation (Vaccination and inoculation have\nsaved thousands of lives.)\n\np. 16: principle to principal (principal causes which diminish\nresistance), to match cited text\n\np. 37: gerns to germs (through which disease germs)\n\np. 40: From \"_The Human Mechanism_.\" to _From \"The Human Mechanism.\"_\n(to match format of other captions)\n\np. 41: perferably to preferably (preferably, chloride of lime.)\n\np. 77: runnnig to running (thoroughly cleansed under running water)\n\np. 82: symptons to symptoms (other symptoms of distress)\n\np. 96: thay to they (taken together they are)\n\np. 108: 8:30 to 8:30 a.m.\n\np. 111: develope to develop (may develop into cancer)\n\np. 115: missing degree symbol added (At noon his temperature was 101°)\n\np. 132: illnes to illness (unless his illness is slight)\n\np. 136: servicable to serviceable (makes a serviceable cover)\n\np. 150: paitent to patient (ready for the patient.)\n\np. 150-151: removed duplication of text in captions for Fig. 14 and Fig.\n15 (CHANGING THE DRAW SHEET, and CHANGING A PATIENT FROM ONE BED TO\nANOTHER)\n\np. 161: erroneous italics removed from \"patient\" and \"her\" (even a\npatient unable to sit up can brush her teeth)\n\np. 167: added missing \"bath\" (to give a cool sponge bath)\n\np. 175: ahould to should (the protection of the abdomen should)\n\np. 177: expecially to especially (if it is especially difficult or\nundesirable)\n\np. 177: patients' to patient's (between the patient's back and the pan;)\n\np. 178: deoderant to deodorant (a properly kept pan needs no deodorant)\n\np. 183: invarably to invariably (casual visitors almost invariably\noffend)\n\np. 189: nurtients to nutrients (pancreatic juice acts upon all three\nnutrients)\n\np. 195: solied to soiled (is always superior to soiled linen.)\n\np. 205: appy to apply (apply even more strongly to using patent\nmedicines.)\n\np. 211: 166 to 176 (the directions on page 176.)\n\np. 216: selzer to seltzer (seltzer aperient)\n\np. 226: slighest to slightest (there is the slightest possibility of\nscalding)\n\np. 227: accidently to accidentally (see that the switch is not\naccidentally)\n\np. 228: cohers to coheres (when the mixture coheres)\n\np. 229: annoint to anoint (anoint it with vaseline)\n\np. 233: dicharge to discharge (If there is discharge from the eye,)\n\np. 242: chould to should (visitors should be rigidly)\n\np. 245: himelf to himself (safeguard the patient himself.)\n\nTable between pp. 246-247: diappearance to disappearance (Two weeks\nafter onset and one week after disappearance)\n\nTable between pp. 246-247: pa-patient to patient (after child last saw\npatient.)\n\np. 250: If to It (It may be necessary to provide two bedpans)\n\np. 266: 216 to 193 (discussed on pages 193 and 52.)\n\np. 280: etter to better (no better place)\n\np. 300: attenom, to attention (constant attention must be given)\n\np. 300: rotion to room, (hygiene of the sick room,)\n\np. 301: salutory to salutary (making the salutary small adjustments)\n\np. 308: querelous to querulous (sometimes become querulous)\n\np. 329: Putrifying to Putrefying (Putrefying or decomposing)\n\np. 331: bed-cradles to bed cradles (Index sub-entry, under \"Appliances\")\n\np. 331: Bed-cradles to Bed cradles (Index entry)\n\np. 331: Bed-sores to Bed sores (Index entry)\n\np. 331: Brushburn to Brush burn (Index entry)\n\np. 332: Foot-bath to Foot bath (Index entry)\n\np. 333: Microörganisms to Microorganisms (Index entry)\n\np. 333: Pre-natal to Prenatal (Index entry)\n\np. 334: oss to loss (Index entry for \"Weight, loss of\")\n\nA fold-out table was facing p. 247 in the original book. For the plain\ntext versions, it has been split into several smaller tables, with the\n\"DISEASE\" column repeated in each section. In the third section,\n\"POLIOMYELITIS\" has been hyphenated (POLIO-MYELITIS) to save space.\n\nThe footnote pertaining to the table is immediately after it, not at the\nend of the chapter as usual.]", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32250", "title": "American Red Cross Text-Book on Home Hygiene and Care of the Sick", "author": "", "publication_year": 1918, "metadata_title": "American Red Cross Text-Book on Home Hygiene and Care of the Sick", "metadata_author": "", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:28.573244", "source_chars": 457970, "chars": 457970, "talkie_tokens": 103903}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison and the Project Gutenberg Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\n      See 32251-h.htm or 32251-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32251/32251-h/32251-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32251/32251-h.zip)\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      Text enclosed between equal signs was in bold face\n      in the original (=bold=).\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPLIED PHYSIOLOGY\n\nIncluding the Effects of Alcohol and Narcotics\n\nby\n\nFRANK OVERTON, A.M., M.D.\n\nLate House Surgeon to the City Hospital, New York\n\nPrimary Grade\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNew York  Cincinnati  Chicago\nAmerican Book Company\n\nCopyright, 1898, 1910, by\nFrank Overton\n\nOV. PHYSIOL. (PRIM.)\nE-P 42\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis primary text-book of applied physiology follows a natural order\nof treatment. In each subject elementary anatomical facts are\npresented in a manner which impresses function rather than form, and\nfrom the form described derives the function. The facts and principles\nare then applied to everyday life. Anatomy and pure physiology make\nclear and fix hygienic points, while applied physiology lends interest\nto the otherwise dry facts of physiology and anatomy. From the great\nrange of the science there are included only those subjects which are\ndirectly concerned in the growth and development of children.\n\nThe value of a primary book depends largely upon the language used. In\nbringing the truths within the comprehension of children, the author\nhas made sparing use of the complex sentence. He has made the\nsentences short and simple in form, and logical in arrangement.\n\nA child grasps new ideas mainly as they appeal directly to the senses.\nFor this reason, physiological demonstrations are indispensable.\nSubjects for demonstrations are not given, because they cannot be\nperformed by the children; but the teacher should make free use of the\nseries given in the author's advanced physiology.\n\nCuts and diagrams are inserted where they are needed to explain the\ntext. They are taken from the author's _Applied Physiology,\nIntermediate Grade_. Each was chosen, not for artistic effect, but\nbecause of its fitness to illustrate a point. Most of the cuts are\nadapted for reproduction on the blackboard.\n\nThe effects of alcohol and other narcotics are treated with special\nfulness. The subject is given a fair and judicial discussion, and\nthose conclusions are presented which are universally accepted by the\nmedical profession. But while this most important form of intemperance\nis singled out, it should be remembered that the breaking of any of\nnature's laws is also a form of intemperance, and that the whole study\nof applied physiology is to encourage a more healthy and a more noble\nand self-denying mode of life.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER                                        PAGE\n\n       I. CELLS                                     7\n\n      II. OF WHAT CELLS ARE MADE                   10\n\n     III. DIGESTION OF FOOD IN THE MOUTH           13\n\n      IV. DIGESTION OF FOOD IN THE STOMACH         17\n\n       V. FOODS                                    23\n\n      VI. TOBACCO                                  31\n\n     VII. FERMENTATION                             37\n\n    VIII. KINDS OF STRONG DRINK                    42\n\n      IX. THE BLOOD                                49\n\n       X. BREATHING, HEAT, AND CLOTHING            59\n\n      XI. THE SKIN AND KIDNEYS                     75\n\n     XII. THE NERVES, SPINAL CORD, AND BRAIN       84\n\n    XIII. THE SENSES                              100\n\n     XIV. BONES AND JOINTS                        109\n\n      XV. MUSCLES                                 115\n\n     XVI. DISEASE GERMS                           123\n\n    XVII. PREVENTING SICKNESS                     132\n\n    INDEX                                         139\n\n\n\n\nAPPLIED PHYSIOLOGY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCELLS\n\n\nOur body is made of many parts. Its head thinks. Its legs carry it,\nand its arms and hands take hold of things. The leg cannot do the work\nof the arm, nor the head do the work of the hand; but each part does\nonly its own work.\n\n=1. The simplest animal.=--Some animals have parts like a man's; but\nthese parts are fewer. No animal has arms or hands like a man. A fish\nhas little fins in place of legs and arms, while a worm has not even a\nhead, but only a body, and yet it moves. An oyster has only a body and\ncannot move. The simplest of all animals is very small. A thousand of\nthem would not reach an inch. Yet each is a complete animal. It is\ncalled the _ameba_. It is only a lump of jelly. It can put out any part\nof its body like an arm and take a lump of food. This same arm can eat\nthe food, too. It can also put out any part of its body like a leg and\nmove by rolling the rest of its body into the leg. It can do some things\nbetter than a man can do them, for any part of its body can do all kinds\nof work. So the ameba grows and moves and does as it likes.\n\n[Illustration: =Different forms of an ameba (×400).=]\n\n[Illustration: =Cells from the human body (×200).=\n\n  _a_ A colored cell from the eye.\n  _b_ A white blood cell.\n  _c_ A connective tissue cell.\n  _d_ A cell from the lining of the mouth.\n  _e_ Liver cells.\n  _f_ A muscle cell from the intestine.]\n\n=2. Cells.=--A man's finger moves and grows something like a separate\nanimal, but it must keep with the rest of the body. A little piece of\na finger moves and grows, too. If you should look at a finger, or any\nother part of your body, through a microscope, you would see that it\nis composed of little lumps of jelly. Each little lump looks like an\nameba. We call each lump a cell. The cells make up the finger.\n\n=3. What cells do.=--Each cell acts much as an ameba does. From the\nblood it gets food and air and takes them in through any part of its\nbody. It also grows and moves. But the cells are not free to do as\nthey wish, for they are all tied together in armies by very fine\nstrings. We call these strings _connective tissue_. One army of cells\nmakes the skin, and other armies make the bones and flesh. Some armies\nmake the fingers, and some the legs. Every part of our body is made up\nof armies of separate cells.\n\n=4. The mind.=--The body is a home for the mind. The cells obey the\nmind. The mind pays the cells by feeding them and taking good care\nof them. When an army of cells is hurt, the body feels sick, and\nthen the mind tells the whole body to rest until the cells are well\nagain. When we study about a man's body, we learn about the separate\ncells in his body.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Our body is made up of many small parts.\n\n     2. The smallest parts are each like a little animal, and are\n          called _cells_.\n\n     3. Each cell eats and grows.\n\n     4. One army of cells makes a finger and another a leg, and so on\n          through the body.\n\n     5. The mind lives in the body.\n\n     6. The mind takes care of the cells.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nOF WHAT CELLS ARE MADE\n\n\nThe cells of our body are made of five common things. You would know\nall these things if you should see them.\n\n=5. Water.=--The first thing in the cells is _water_. Water is\neverywhere in the body. Even the teeth have water. Most of our flesh\nis water. Without water we should soon shrink up. Our flesh would be\nstiff like bone and no one could live.\n\n[Illustration: =The body is made of these five things.=]\n\n[Illustration: =Fat tissue (×100).= The liquid fat is stored in living\npockets.]\n\n=6. Albumin.=--_Second_, next to water, something like the white of an\negg makes the most of the body. The white of an egg is _albumin_.\nWhen dried it is like gelatine or glue. Albumin makes the most of the\nsolid part of each cell. Lean meat and cheese are nearly all albumin.\nWhen it is heated it becomes harder and turns white. The word albumin\nmeans white. Dry albumin is hard and tough, but in the living cells it\nis dissolved in water and is soft like meat. It is the only living\nsubstance in the body, and it alone gives it strength.\n\n=7. Fat.=--_Third_, next to albumin, the most of the body is fat. Fat\ndoes not grow inside the cells of the body, but it fills little\npockets between the cells. Fat does not give strength. It makes the\nbody round and handsome. It also makes the cells warm and keeps them\nfrom getting hurt.\n\n=8. Sugar.=--_Fourth_, sugar also is found in the body. Sugar is made\nout of starch. When we eat starch it changes to sugar. Starch and sugar\nare much alike. We eat a great deal of starch and sugar, but they are\nsoon used in warming the body. Only a little is in the body at once.\n\n=9. Minerals.=--_Fifth_, there are also some minerals in the body.\nWhen flesh is burned they are left as _ashes_. Salt, lime, iron, soda,\nand potash are all found in the body.\n\n[Illustration: =Starch grains (×400).=\n\n  _a_, of potato.\n  _b_, of corn.]\n\nEverything in the body is either water, albumin, fat, sugar, or\nminerals. These things are also our food. We eat them mixed together\nin bread, meat, eggs, milk, and other foods.\n\n=10. Life.=--Our food is not alive, but after we eat it the body makes\nit alive. We do not know how it does it. When the body dies we cannot\nput life into it again. There is life in each cell.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The body is made of five things: water, albumin, fat, sugar,\n          and minerals.\n\n     2. Water is mixed with all parts of the body.\n\n     3. Albumin makes the living part of each cell.\n\n     4. Fat is in pockets between the cells. It warms the cells and\n          keeps them from being hurt.\n\n     5. Sugar is made from starch. It warms the body.\n\n     6. The minerals in the body are salt, lime, iron, soda, and potash.\n\n\n\n\n\nDIGESTION OF FOOD IN THE MOUTH\n\n\n=11. Food of the cells.=--All the cells of the body work and wear out.\nThey must eat and keep growing. The food of the cells is the blood.\nWater, albumin, fat, sugar, and minerals are in the blood. The cells\neat these things and grow. All food must be one or more of these five\nthings. Before they reach the blood, they must all be changed to a\nliquid. A few cells of the body are set aside to do this work of\nchanging them. Changing food into blood is digestion.\n\n=12. Cooking.=--Cooking begins digestion. It softens and dissolves\nfood. It makes food taste better. Most food is unfit for use until it\nis cooked. Poor cooking often makes food still worse for use. Food\nshould always be soft and taste good after cooking. Softening food by\ncooking saves the mouth and stomach a great deal of work. The good\ntaste of the food makes it pleasant for them to digest it. We must cut\nour food into small pieces before we eat it. If we eat only a small\npiece at a time we shall not eat too fast. If we cut our food fine we\ncan find any bones and other hard things, and can keep them from\ngetting inside the body.\n\n=13. Chewing.=--Digestion goes on in the mouth. The mouth does three\nthings to food. _First_, it mixes and grinds it between the teeth.\n\n_Second_, it pours water over the food through fine tubes. The water of\nthe mouth is called the saliva. The saliva makes the food a thin paste.\n\n_Third_, the saliva changes some of the starch to sugar. Starch must\nbe all changed to sugar before it can feed the cells.\n\n=14. Too fast eating.=--Some boys fill their mouths with food. Then\nthey cannot chew their food and cannot mix saliva with it. They\nswallow their food whole, and then their stomachs have to grind it.\nThe saliva cannot mix with the food and so it is too dry in the\nstomach. Then their stomachs ache, and they are sick. Eating too fast\nand too much makes children sick oftener than anything else.\n\nBirds swallow their food whole, for they have no teeth. Instead, a\nstrong gizzard inside grinds the food. We have no gizzards, and so we\nmust grind our food with our teeth.\n\n=15. Teeth.=--We have two kinds of teeth. The front teeth are sharp\nand cut the food; the back teeth are flat and rough and grind it. If\nyou bite nuts or other hard things you may break off a little piece of\na tooth. Then the tooth may decay and ache.\n\nAfter you eat, some food will sometimes stick to the teeth. Then it\nmay decay and make your breath smell bad. After each meal always pick\nthe teeth with a wooden toothpick. Your teeth will also get dirty and\nbecome stained unless you clean them. Always brush your teeth with\nwater every morning. This will also keep them from decaying.\n\n[Illustration: =Digestive organs of a bird.=\n\n  _a_ esophagus or swallowing tube.\n  _b_ crop or bag for carrying food.\n  _c_ stomach.\n  _d_ intestine.\n  _e_ gizzard or food grinder.]\n\n=16. Swallowing.=--When food has been chewed and mixed with saliva\nuntil it is a paste, it is ready to be swallowed. The tongue pushes\nthe food into a bag just back of the mouth. We call the bag the\n_pharynx_. Then the pharynx squeezes it down a long tube and into the\nstomach. The nose and windpipe also open into this bag, but both are\nclosed by little doors while we swallow. We cannot breathe while we\nswallow. If the doors are not shut tightly, some food gets into the\nwindpipe and chokes us.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. We eat to feed the cells of the body.\n\n     2. All food must be made into blood.\n\n     3. Changing food to blood is digestion.\n\n     4. Cooking softens food and makes it taste good.\n\n     5. Food is ground fine in the mouth, and mixed with saliva to\n          form a paste. Some of its starch is changed to sugar.\n\n     6. If food is only half chewed the stomach has to grind it.\n\n     7. When we swallow, the tongue pushes the food into a bag back of\n          the mouth and the bag squeezes it down a long tube to the\n          stomach.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nDIGESTION IN THE STOMACH\n\n\n=17. The stomach.=--When food is swallowed it goes to the stomach. The\nstomach is a thin bag. In a man it holds about three pints. Like the\nmouth, it does three things to the food.\n\n[Illustration: =Gastric glands in the stomach (×200).=\n\nThe cells _a_ and _b_, form the juice. The fibers _c_, bind the tubes\nin place.]\n\n_First_, the stomach gently stirs and mixes the food.\n\n_Second_, it pours a fluid over the food. This fluid is called the\n_gastric juice_. The gastric juice is sour and bitter.\n\n_Third_, the gastric juice changes some of the albumin of food to a\nliquid form.\n\nIf the mouth has done its work well, the stomach does its work easily\nand we do not know it. But if the mouth has eaten food too fast and\nhas not chewed it well, then the stomach must do the work of the mouth\ntoo. In that case it gets tired and aches.\n\n=18. The intestine.=--The food stays in the stomach only a little\nwhile. All the time a little keeps trickling into a long coil of tube.\nThis tube is called the _intestine_ or the _bowels_. Three or four\nhours after a hearty meal the stomach is empty. Some of the food has\nbeen changed to a liquid, but most of it has only been ground to\nsmaller pieces, and mixed with a great deal of water. Now it all must\nbe changed to a liquid.\n\n=19. What the intestine does.=--Like the mouth and stomach, the\nintestine does three things.\n\n_First_, it mixes the food and makes it pass down the tube.\n\n_Second_, two sets of cells behind the stomach make two liquids and\npour them into the intestine. One set of cells is the _sweetbread_, or\n_pancreas_, and its liquid is the _pancreatic juice_. The other is the\n_liver_ and its fluid is the _bile_.\n\n_Third_, the pancreatic juice makes three changes in food. _First_,\nlike the mouth, it changes starch to sugar. _Second_, like the\nstomach, it makes albumin a liquid. _Third_, it divides fat into fine\ndrops. These drops then mix with water and do not float on its top.\n\n=20. Bile.=--The bile is yellow and bitter. It helps the pancreatic\njuice do its work. It also helps to keep the inside of the intestine\nclean.\n\n=21. Digestion of water and minerals.=--Water and the mineral parts of\nfood do not need to be changed at all, but can become part of the\nblood just as they are. Seeds and husks and tough strings of flesh all\npass the length of the intestine and are not changed.\n\n=22. How food gets into the blood.=--By the time food is half way down\nthe intestine it is mostly liquid and ready to become part of the\nblood. This liquid soaks through the sides of the intestine and into\nthe blood tubes. At last the food reaches the end of the intestine.\nMost of its liquid has then soaked into the blood tubes and only some\nsolid waste is left.\n\n=23. Work of the liver.=--The food is now in the blood, but has not\nbecome a part of it. It is carried to the liver. There the liver changes\nthe food to good blood, and then the blood hurries on and feeds the\ncells of the body. Spoiled food may be swallowed and taken into the\nblood with the good food. The liver takes out the poisons and sends them\nback again with the bile. The liver keeps us from getting poisoned.\n\n=24. Bad food.=--Sometimes the stomach and intestine cannot digest the\nfood. They cannot digest green apples, but they try hard to do so.\nThey stir the apples faster and faster until there is a great pain.\nSometimes the stomach throws up the food and then the pain and\nsickness stop. Spoiled food makes us sick in the same way.\n\n=25. Too fast eating.=--When the food stays too long in the stomach or\nintestine it sours, or decays, just as it does outside of the body.\nThis makes us very sick. When we eat too much, or when we do not chew\nthe food to small pieces, the stomach may be a long time in digesting\nthe food. Then it may become sour and make us sick.\n\n=26. Biliousness.=--When the food is poor or becomes sour, it is\npoorly digested. Then the liver has more work to do, and does not\nchange the food to blood as it should. It also lets some of the sour\npoisons pass by it. These poison the whole body and make the head\nache. We call this _biliousness_. The tongue is then covered with a\nwhite or yellow coat and the mouth tastes bad. These are signs of\nsickness. The stomach and liver are out of order.\n\n=27. Rules for eating.=--If we eat as we should, our stomach will\ndigest its food. We must follow three rules.\n\n_First_, we must chew the food in the mouth until all the lumps are\nfine. Then the food will be ready for the stomach.\n\n_Second_, we must eat slowly. If we eat fast we cannot chew the food\nwell. The stomach cannot take care of food if it comes too fast. We\nmust swallow all of one mouthful before we put another into the mouth.\n\n_Third_, we must eat only at meal times. The stomach needs a rest.\nEven a little candy, or apples, or nuts will keep the stomach at work,\nand tire it out. A child needs to eat more often than his father. So,\nbesides his meals, he should have something to eat in the middle of\nthe morning and some more in the afternoon. But he should not be\neating at all hours. He ought not to eat little bits just before\ndinner, for that spoils his meal.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The stomach and intestine stir and rub the food, and mix it\n          with juices.\n\n     2. The juices change albumin to a liquid, and starch to sugar.\n          They also change fat to the form of tiny drops.\n\n     3. The digested food soaks through the sides of the intestine\n          into the blood tubes.\n\n     4. The blood carries the food to the liver.\n\n     5. The liver changes food to blood.\n\n     6. Blood goes to all parts of the body and feeds the cells.\n\n     7. The liver keeps poisons from getting into the blood.\n\n     8. Water and minerals become a part of the blood without being\n          digested.\n\n     9. When food is not well digested, the liver cannot make it into\n          good blood. This makes us bilious.\n\n     10. If food is not soon digested it sours and decays. This makes\n          us sick.\n\n     11. We can make food digest quickly by chewing it well and eating\n          slowly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nFOODS\n\n\n=28. Kinds of food.=--The cells of the body need water, albumin, fat,\nsugar, and minerals for food. We sometimes eat sugar alone, and we\ndrink pure water. But most of our food is a mixture of all five kinds\nof food. Food comes from animals and plants.\n\n=29. Milk=.--Milk is the best food known. It contains just enough\nwater, albumin, fat, sugar, and minerals. Babies and young mammals\nlive on milk alone. A man can live upon four quarts of milk a day. In\nsickness, milk is the very best food for men, as well as for babies.\n\nThe albumin of milk becomes hard when the milk sours. This makes\n_cheese_. The fat of milk rises to the top. We call it _cream_. When\ncream is churned, the pure fat comes together in a lump. Pure fat of\nmilk is called _butter_. Cheese and butter are both good foods.\n\n=30. Eggs.=--Eggs are also good food. The white of an egg is almost pure\nalbumin. The yolk is albumin and fat. Eggs have no starch or sugar.\nThey are not a perfect food, for some sugar must be eaten. But they can\nbe quickly digested and they produce a great deal of strength.\n\n=31. Meat.=--Meat contains albumin and fat, but no sugar. Fish,\noysters, and clams are like meat. They all make good food. Boys and\ngirls should eat milk, eggs, and meat. These foods are the best to\ngive strength to the body. Nearly all food from animals is more\nquickly digested and gives more strength than food from plants.\n\n=32. Bread.=--White bread is a food made from wheat. The wheat is\nground to flour. Flour is mixed with water, and yeast is added. The\nyeast makes a gas, and the gas puffs up the wet flour and makes it\nfull of holes. The holes make the bread _light_. Then bread is baked.\nRye or corn meal makes good bread. Cake, biscuit, and pancakes are\nmuch like bread. Sometimes in place of yeast, baking powder is used to\nmake the bread or cake light.\n\n=33. Meal.=--Oatmeal, corn meal, and cracked wheat and rice are\nsometimes boiled, and eaten with milk. Bread, biscuit, oatmeal, and\ncorn meal are made from grain. All are very much alike. The cooking\nmakes them look and taste different, but yet they are nearly the same.\n\n=34. Why we need grain food.=--All kinds of grain have much albumin,\nbut only a little fat. But all have a great deal of starch. By\ndigestion the starch becomes sugar. Grain is a good food because it\nhas starch or sugar. Animal foods have no sugar, so we eat grain food\nwith them. The two together make the most nourishing food. Potatoes\nhave a great deal of starch and only a little albumin. They also are\ngood food with meat.\n\n[Illustration: =A healthy man needs as much food as this every day.=]\n\nA person cannot live well upon plant food alone, for it has too much\nstarch and sugar, and too little albumin and fat. We need nearly equal\nparts of albumin, fat, and sugar. A mixture of bread, meat, eggs,\nvegetables, and milk makes the best food.\n\n=35. Fruit.=--Fruit, like apples, peaches, and plums all have sugar.\nThey taste good, and give us an appetite for other kinds of food.\nThey have little albumin or fat.\n\n=36. Salt.=--There is enough mineral matter in all food, and we do not\nhave to eat iron or lime or soda. But we do need some more salt. Even\nanimals need salt. Salt makes food taste good, and helps its digestion.\n\n[Illustration: =People are made sick by drinking water from such a\nwell.=]\n\n=37. Water.=--Water is also a food, for it forms the most of our\nbodies. All food has water. Even dry crackers contain it.\n\n=38. Pure water.=--Water in a well runs through the dirty earth, and\nyet is clear and pure. This is because sand holds back the dirt. But\nsometimes slops from the house, and water from the barn yard, soak\nthrough the soil until the sand is full. Then the well water will be\ndirty and poisonous. People are often made sick by drinking such\nwater. In cities the dirt fills all the soil and spoils the water. So\nthe water must be brought from the country in large pipes.\n\nWater in lead pipes takes up some of the lead. Lead is a poison. You\nshould let the water run off from a pipe a little while before you use\nit. Good water is clear and has no smell or taste. Dirty or yellow\nwater, or water with a taste or smell, is not fit for use.\n\n=39. Tea and coffee.=--Tea and coffee are steeped in water and used as a\ndrink. The drink is the water. The tea and coffee are neither food nor\ndrink. They cause the cells of the body to do more work, and at the same\ntime they take away the feeling of being tired. They do not give\nstrength to the body, but are like a whip and make the body work harder.\n\n=40. The appetite.=--When we have so many kinds of food, what kind is\nbest for us? The taste of food tells us the kind of food to eat. Bread\nand meat, and such plain foods, always taste good, and we never get\ntired of them. Sugar tastes good until we get enough. Any more makes us\nsick. More than enough sugar or starch is found in bread and potatoes.\n\n[Illustration: =One kind of intemperance.=]\n\nIf we can eat food day after day, without getting tired of it, the\nfood is good for us. If we get tired of its taste, either the food is\nnot good for us or we are eating too much. Bad tasting or bad smelling\nfood is always dangerous.\n\nWe can tell how much food to eat by our _hunger_ or _appetite_. We can\nalways feel when we have enough. Then is the time to stop.\n\nSometimes we eat plain bread and meat until we have enough, and then\nsweet cake or pie is brought in. Then we have a false appetite for\nsweet things. If the sweet things had not made a false hunger, we\nshould have had enough to eat. But the false appetite makes us want\nmore, and so we eat too much, and sometimes get sick from it.\n\n=41. Intemperance.=--Eating for the sake of a false appetite is\n_intemperance_. Drinking strong drink for the sake of its taste is a\ncommon form of intemperance. But eating too much preserves, pie, and\ncandy is intemperance too, and can do a great deal of harm. A little\npie, or pudding, or candy, is good, because we can eat our sugar as\nwell that way as in bread. But we should eat only a little.\n\n=42. Food and Diseases.=--If our food is dirty or is handled with\ndirty hands, or is put into dirty dishes, there may be disease germs\nin it. Our food should always be clean, and we should have our hands\nclean when we handle it or eat it.\n\nStorekeepers sometimes keep fruit and vegetables out of doors where\nstreet dust may blow upon it. This dust is often full of disease\ngerms. Flies may also bring disease germs to the food. If food is\nkept where dust and flies can get at it, we ought not to buy it.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Food is a mixture of water, albumin, fat, starch or sugar, and\n          minerals.\n\n     2. Animal foods, like milk, eggs, and meat, have albumin and fat\n          in the best form.\n\n     3. Plant food has albumin and fat, but it has very much starch or\n          sugar. So, taken together with animal food, it makes a\n          complete food.\n\n     4. Lime, iron, soda, and salt are found in all foods, but we must\n          add a little more salt to food.\n\n     5. Water is found in all food, but we must drink some besides.\n\n     6. Dirty water, or water with a taste or smell, is not fit for use.\n\n     7. Taste tells us what kind of food to use.\n\n     8. Hunger, or the appetite, tells us how much food to use.\n\n     9. There can be a false hunger for sweet things. This may lead us\n          to eat too much.\n\n     10. Eating too much of sweet things is one form of intemperance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTOBACCO\n\n\n=43. Harmful eating.=--Men often eat for the fun of eating, and\nsometimes they eat harmful things. They chew tobacco and drink strong\ndrinks, because they like their taste, just as a child eats candy.\n\n=44. Tobacco.=--Men have always drunk strong drink. Within the last\nfour hundred years, men have learned another way to please a wrong\ntaste. When Columbus discovered America, the Indians were using\ntobacco. They taught the Spaniards how to smoke it, and since then\nalmost the whole world has used it.\n\nTobacco is the leaf of a tall plant. It needs a better soil than any\nother crop. It takes the richness from the ground, and spoils it for\nother crops.\n\n=45. Nicotine.=--About 1/30 of each tobacco leaf is a strong poison.\nThis poison is called _nicotine_. A drop or two of it, or as much of\nit as is in a strong cigar, will kill a man. It gives the tobacco its\nsmell and taste. Men use tobacco for the sake of a poison.\n\n=46. Why men use tobacco.=--Men give queer reasons for using tobacco.\nOne smokes for its company, another because he is with company. One\nsmokes to make his brain think better, and another to keep himself\nfrom thinking. Some use tobacco to help digest their food, and others\nuse it to keep themselves from eating so much. Boys smoke to make\nthemselves look like men. The real reason for using tobacco is that\nmen learn to like its taste, and do not care if it harms them.\n\n=47. Spitting.=--Tobacco in any form makes the saliva flow. Men do not\ndare swallow it, for it makes them sick. So they spit it out. No one\nlikes to see this. It is a dirty and filthy habit. Besides, the saliva\nis lost, and cannot help digest food.\n\nTobacco stains the teeth brown. You can always tell a tobacco chewer\nby his teeth. His breath will smell of tobacco, and even his clothes\nare offensive to the nose.\n\n=48. Tobacco lessens strength.=--Tobacco always makes a person sick at\nthe stomach, at first. After a while, he becomes used to it, and an\nordinary chew or smoke does not make him sick. But a large chew or\nsmoke will always make him sick again. When a person is sick from\ntobacco he is very weak. Even if he is not sick, the tobacco poisons\nhis muscles and makes his strength less. When a man trains for a hard\nrace he never uses tobacco.\n\n=49. Tobacco hinders digestion.=--Tobacco and its smoke both have a\nburning taste. This makes the throat sore, and causes a cough. Tobacco\ndoes not help the stomach to digest food. Smokers and chewers often\nhave headaches and coated tongues. These are signs of a poor digestion.\n\n=50. Effect upon the young.=--Tobacco is more harmful to boys than to\nmen. If boys smoke they cannot run fast or long. They cannot work hard\nwith their brains or hands. They do not grow fast, and are liable to\nhave weak hearts.\n\n=51. Tobacco harms others.=--Many persons do not like the smell of\ntobacco, and no one likes the spit. No one should use it in the\npresence of others. The tobacco user's pleasure should not spoil the\ncomfort and happiness of others.\n\n=52. Snuff.=--Powdered tobacco is called snuff. Snuff causes sneezing.\nNo one should harm the nose and the whole body for the pleasure of a\nsneeze. Years ago snuff was used much more than it is now.\n\n=53. Chewing.=--Chewing tobacco is the most poisonous way of using it,\nfor it keeps most of the nicotine in the mouth. Chewing will make any\none very sick, unless he spits out all the saliva.\n\n=54. Smoking.=--Men smoke pipes, cigars, and cigarettes. The smoke has\nnicotine, and is poisonous. Pipe stems get dirty and full of nicotine.\nAfter a while they smell bad and are very poisonous. An old smoker's\npipe will make a young smoker sick.\n\n=55. Cigarettes.=--Cigars are not so poisonous as a pipe, for more of\nthe nicotine is burned up. Cigarettes are often made of weak tobacco.\nA cigarette does not contain so much tobacco as a cigar. Hence a\ncigarette does not cost much. It can be smoked in a hurry. It does not\nmake a boy so sick as cigars do. Boys and men use a great many\ncigarettes where they would not touch a cigar. This makes the use of\ncigarettes the most dangerous form of smoking. Selling cigarettes to\nyoung boys is forbidden by law.\n\n=56. Habit.=--When men have used tobacco for some time, they like it\nand feel bad without it. So they get into the habit of using it, and\nfind it hard to stop. The tobacco seems to help them, but it does not\ndo so. It cheats men, and they do not know it.\n\n=57. Chewing gum.=--Chewing gum is made from pitch or paraffin, for\nthese substances will not dissolve in the mouth. The gum is flavored\nwith sugar and spices. The gum and its flavors are not harmful in\nthemselves, and yet chewing them is harmful. Chewing makes a great\ndeal of saliva flow. All this saliva is wasted, and when we eat our\nmeals we may have too little. Then our food will not digest well, but\nwe shall have dyspepsia and headaches.\n\nBy pulling and handling the gum while chewing it, you may get some\npoisonous dirt into your mouth, and make yourself very sick.\n\nEven if your gum should not harm you, there is a good reason for\nletting it alone. When you are chewing gum, you look as if you were\nchewing tobacco. No one likes to see a boy or girl even appearing to\nchew tobacco. If you form a habit of chewing gum you will be more\nlikely to chew tobacco when you are grown.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Men use tobacco for the sake of its nicotine. Nicotine is a\n          very strong poison.\n\n     2. Tobacco causes a man to waste his saliva.\n\n     3. Tobacco makes the mouth dry.\n\n     4. Tobacco hinders digestion.\n\n     5. Tobacco stains the teeth, and makes the breath smell bad.\n\n     6. Tobacco makes a person sick at the stomach.\n\n     7. Tobacco weakens the muscles.\n\n     8. Tobacco is more harmful to the young than to grown persons.\n\n     9. Chewing is the worst form of using tobacco.\n\n     10. Smoking cigarettes is the worst form of smoking.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nFERMENTATION\n\n\n=58. Souring of fruit.=--When a little fruit is set away in a warm\nplace for a day or two it sours or ferments. Anything sweet will do\nthe same thing. Little bubbles rise up through the juice and a foam\ncomes on top. Then the juice has a sharp taste or is sour. Canned and\npreserved fruit becomes sour soon after the jar is opened, and cider\nsoon turns to vinegar. All fruit juice does this even in cold weather.\nBut in cold weather it keeps for a longer time.\n\n[Illustration: =Fermentation in a jar of cherries.=]\n\n=59. Preserving fruit.=--If your mother wishes to keep fruit all winter\nshe boils it and at once puts it into tight jars. This shuts out the air\nand then the fruit keeps good all winter. Boiling kills all living\nthings, and no more can get in through the tight jars. Does a living\nthing have anything to do with making the fruit juice turn sour?\n\n=60. Yeast.=--Yeast will make all sweet things ferment. Bakers make\nyeast grow in bread sponge. Yeast is alive. It is made of millions of\ntiny round cells. New cells sprout out from the side of the old cells\nlike young lilies on an old lily bulb. Soon each new cell breaks off\nand lives all by itself. In a single night enough new cells will form\nto fill the whole loaf of bread.\n\n[Illustration: =Yeast plant cells (×500).=]\n\n=61. How yeast makes alcohol.=--Yeast will grow only where sugar is.\nWhen it has grown for some time there is no more sugar, and instead of\na sweet taste there is a sharp or sour taste. The yeast has changed\nthe sugar to alcohol. All alcohol is made from sugar by yeast.\n\nThe seeds of the yeast plant are everywhere in the air. Some are on\nthe skins of fruit and so are found in the juice when it is squeezed\nout. There they begin to grow at once and soon change the sugar to\nalcohol. They do this by taking a gas away from the sugar. The gas\nrises in little bubbles, and makes a froth upon the top of the juice.\nBoiling kills the yeast plant. If the juice is at once put into tight\njars no new yeast plants can get in, and so the juice keeps.\n\n=62. Vinegar.=--Sometimes fruit juice turns sour. The sourness is due\nto vinegar. Besides yeast, other little living plants fall into the\njuice and turn the sugar to vinegar. But if there is much alcohol in\nthe juice, the vinegar plants will not grow.\n\n=63. Yeast in bread.=--Growing yeast plants always make alcohol. They\nchange some of the sugar of bread dough to alcohol and a gas. The gas\nbubbles through the bread and makes it light. When bread is baked, the\nheat of the oven drives off the alcohol, and so we do not eat any in\nbread.\n\n=64. Alcohol.=--Alcohol is a clear liquid and looks like water. It has\na sharp taste and smell. It burns very easily and makes a very hot\nflame. Its smoke cannot be seen, and its flame will not make anything\nblack, as a match flame will do.\n\n=65. Use of alcohol.=--Alcohol will dissolve more things than water\nwill dissolve. It is used to dissolve drugs, varnishes, perfumery, and\nmany other things. It will dissolve even oil and fat. Tailors clean\ngrease spots from clothes with it. It takes water away from flesh and\nmakes it dry, hard, and tough. It will keep anything from rotting. In\nmuseums we pour alcohol over pieces of flesh or plants in glass jars.\nThen they will keep and we can look at them at any time. Thus alcohol\nis a very useful thing, and we could hardly do without it.\n\n=66. Strong drink.=--Some men use alcohol in a wrong way. They swallow\nit as a drink. But men cannot drink pure alcohol, for it would burn\ntheir mouths. They always drink it mixed with some water. Alcohol in\nwater is called _strong drink_.\n\n=67. Why men use strong drink.=--Some men take strong drink to make\nthemselves warm, and some to make themselves cool. Some drink to keep\nthemselves awake, and some to make themselves sleep. Some drink to\nkeep themselves still, and some to make themselves stir around faster.\nMen use strong drink really because it seems to make them feel strong\nfor a while. It does not make them stronger, but it harms the body and\nthe mind. Its alcohol does the harm.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Sugar in fruit or in water turns to alcohol or vinegar, and a\n          gas.\n\n     2. The change to alcohol is caused by the cells of the yeast plant.\n\n     3. The change to vinegar is caused by another small plant.\n\n     4. Boiling fruit juice kills the yeast plants and then the juice\n          will keep without change.\n\n     5. Alcohol looks like water. It has a sharp and burning taste.\n\n     6. Alcohol takes water from flesh and hardens it.\n\n     7. Alcohol burns with a great heat and no smoke.\n\n     8. Alcohol is used to dissolve things, and to keep things from\n          spoiling.\n\n     9. Alcohol in water forms _strong drink_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nKINDS OF STRONG DRINK\n\n\n=68. Wine.=--All strong drink is alcohol and water. There may be other\nthings to give it taste, but alcohol and water are always in it. No\nstrong drink is over one half alcohol.\n\n[Illustration: =A glass of wine contains so much alcohol.=]\n\nIn olden times wine was the only strong drink. Men used to crush out\nthe juice of grapes and let it ferment. This made wine. But very often\nthey used the juice before it fermented. Then it had no alcohol and\ncould do no harm, but was a good food. We read of wine in the Bible.\nSome of it was fresh fruit juice.\n\nIn wine, the sugar is changed to alcohol. The rest of the juice stays\nthe same. All wine is made by the yeast plant growing in fruit juice.\nNo yeast is put in, for there is always enough on the outside of the\nfruit. Wine is about one tenth alcohol.\n\n=69. Homemade wine.=--Cider is a kind of wine. It is made from apple\njuice. It has alcohol a day or two after it is made. All homemade\nwines have alcohol. Any of them can make a person drunk. Using weak\nhomemade wine and cider often makes an appetite for stronger drinks.\nThe alcohol in any of them is enough to harm the body.\n\n[Illustration: =A glass of beer contains so much alcohol.=]\n\n=70. Beer.=--After man had made wine for a long time, some one found\nout how to cultivate yeast. Then men could make sugar and water\nferment whenever they wanted to. So men boiled grain to take out its\nsugar. Then they poured off the liquor and added yeast and let it\nferment. This made beer and ale. Now millions of bushels of grain are\nused every year in making beer. Men call beer a _light_ drink. But it\nhas alcohol and is a strong drink, and can make men drunk.\n\n=71. Root beer.=--Some persons boil roots and herbs, and add molasses\nand yeast. Then the liquid ferments and becomes _root beer_. They say\n\"it has no alcohol, for we made it.\" But it does have alcohol, for\nyeast always makes alcohol. Some ginger ale is made by putting yeast\nin sweetened ginger water. It has alcohol, too.\n\n=72. Distillation.=--Boiling water turns to vapor or steam and goes\noff in the air. When the vapor is cooled, you can see the water again.\nIt often cools on the window and makes little streams of water. You\ncan catch the steam in a tube. If you keep the tube cool, the steam\nwill turn to water in the tube. This process is called _distillation_.\n\n[Illustration: =A glass of whisky contains so much alcohol.=]\n\nBoiling alcohol also passes off into the air as vapor. When the vapor\nis cooled, it becomes liquid again. Alcohol boils with less heat than\nwater. When alcohol in water is heated, the alcohol boils first. So\nthe vapor has more alcohol than the water. When the vapor is cooled,\nthe liquid has more alcohol than it had at first. When the liquid is\ndistilled again it has more alcohol yet. Pure alcohol can be made in\nthis way.\n\n=73. Whisky.=--Distilling wine or strong beer makes _whisky_ and\n_brandy_. Whisky is one half alcohol. It is more harmful than wine or\nbeer.\n\n=74. Habit.=--Some strong drinks have only a little alcohol and some\nhave a great deal. No one begins to drink the strong liquors. He\nbegins with wine or beer. When he has once learned, he has a hard time\nto stop drinking. It is dangerous to drink even weak drinks.\n\n=75. Strong drink and thirst.=--When a man is thirsty, water will\nsatisfy him but strong drink will not. Sometimes the mouth is dry and\ndirty and then a man feels thirsty. Rinsing the mouth with water, and\nrubbing the tongue and teeth clean will help the dryness and stop the\nthirst. At any rate, strong drink will only make the mouth dryer.\n\nSome men drink only when they are tired. Then a cup of strong and hot\ntea or coffee will make them feel much better than a glass of strong\ndrink, and will not harm them so much.\n\nWhen strong drink is swallowed, its alcohol takes water from the\nmouth. When your mouth is dry, you feel thirsty. Strong drink makes\nthe mouth dry, and so a drink makes a man more thirsty. The alcohol\nalso makes the mouth smart. Men need another drink to cool the mouth\nafter the first one. So one drink leads to another. All the while a\nperson drinks water with the alcohol until he has too much water. But\nhis mouth is dry and he feels as thirsty as ever.\n\n=76. Effect of alcohol upon the stomach.=--When strong drink is\nswallowed it makes the stomach smart just as it does the mouth. So the\nstomach feels warm, but it is really no warmer. This harms the stomach\nand keeps it from working well.\n\nAlcohol also keeps the gastric juice from changing albumin to a\nliquid. Alcohol keeps flesh from decaying in a museum. In the same way\nit may hinder the digestion of food in the stomach.\n\nWhen alcohol is used for only a short time, the stomach can get well;\nbut if it is used for months and years, the stomach will stay weak.\nThen the drinker can hardly eat at all.\n\n=77. What becomes of alcohol.=--In the stomach a great deal of gastric\njuice is mixed with the alcohol. So it is very weak when it reaches\nthe intestine. Alcohol needs only a little digesting. It soon soaks\ninto the blood from the intestine along with the other food. The blood\nflows fast and washes the alcohol away as soon as it leaves the\nintestine. Too little gets into the blood at once to harm it much.\n\nAlcohol goes to the liver, and is there destroyed; but it still does\ngreat harm. The liver has to attend to the alcohol, and so it does not\nchange the food to good blood, and it does not take all the poisons\nout of the blood. Then the whole body becomes weak and sick. Alcohol\nhurts the liver first, and more than other parts of the body. On this\naccount, drinkers often have bilious attacks and stomach troubles.\n\n=78. Bitters.=--Many medicines are made by dissolving drugs in\nalcohol. In taking a strong medicine, we use only a few drops, and so\ndo not get much alcohol. Some kinds of medicines must be taken in\nlarge doses. Bitters are weak medicines, and must be taken by the\ntablespoonful. A tablespoonful of the medicine has more alcohol than a\nlarge drink of whisky. The bitters seem to make a person feel well,\nbut it is because he is taking a large amount of strong drink.\n\nJamaica Ginger is only common ginger dissolved in alcohol. It, too, is\na form of strong drink.\n\n=79. Strong drink as medicine.=--People sometimes keep whisky or\nbrandy in the house to give for colds or other slight forms of\nsickness. A drink of hot coffee does more good than the strong drink,\nand has none of its dangers.\n\nBy using whisky or brandy for medicine, children learn to believe in\nstrong drink, and so they will be likely to use it when they grow up.\nThis reason alone ought to keep any one from giving it to a child.\n\n=80. Alcohol in cooking.=--In making bread, alcohol is formed in the\ndough by the yeast. When the bread is baked, all the alcohol is driven\noff by the heat, and so we do not eat any.\n\nSometimes brandy or wine is put into desserts. If it is put in after\nthe dessert is cooked, we shall get as much alcohol as if we had drunk\nit. If the liquor is put in before cooking, the heat will drive off\nthe alcohol but the flavor of the liquor will remain. The flavor will\ndo no harm in itself, but people will learn its taste, and from it\nmay learn to like the strong drink itself. The alcohol in bread has no\nspecial flavor and does not leave any taste behind. So we cannot learn\nto like strong drink by eating bread.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Fruit juice makes wine or cider.\n\n     2. All kinds of wine contain alcohol.\n\n     3. When the liquid from boiled grain has fermented, it becomes\n          beer, or ale.\n\n     4. By boiling wine or beer, and cooling the vapor, distilled\n          drinks like whisky are made. They are one half alcohol.\n\n     5. Water will satisfy a real thirst. Strong drink will not.\n\n     6. Alcohol keeps the stomach from digesting food.\n\n     7. Alcohol soaks into the blood tubes and goes to the liver.\n\n     8. The liver destroys the alcohol, but is hurt in doing it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE BLOOD\n\n\n=81. Blood.=--After food becomes blood, it goes to every part of the\nbody to feed the cells. Even a pin prick anywhere in the body draws\nblood. The blood makes the skin pink. There are five or six quarts of\nblood in a man's body. This is about 1/13 of his body.\n\n[Illustration: =Blood corpuscles (×400).=\n\n  _a_ a pile of red blood cells.\n  _b_ red blood cells seen flatwise.\n  _c_ red blood cells seen edgewise.\n  _d_ white blood cells.]\n\nBlood looks like a red liquid. But if you look at it through a strong\nmicroscope, it looks like water, and millions of little red cells.\nThese cells carry air through the body. They make the blood look red.\nThere are also a smaller number of white cells. Blood is made of red\ncells, white cells, and a liquid.\n\n=82. The liquid in blood.=--The liquid part of the blood is albumin,\nand water, with a little fat, sugar, and minerals. It is food and\ndrink for the cells of the body. When blood is drawn from the body it\nsoon becomes like jelly. We call the jelly a _clot_. When you cut your\nfinger, a clot forms in the cut and plugs up the bleeding place. If\nit did not, the blood would all run out of the body and we should die.\n\n[Illustration: =Diagram of the heart while it is beating.=\n\n  _a_ vein entering the auricle.\n  _b_ auricle.\n  _c_ closed valve to keep blood from flowing back into the auricle.\n  _d_ ventricle.\n  _e_ artery.\n  _f_ valve to keep blood from returning to the ventricle.]\n\n=83. The heart.=--The blood is held in tubes. A pump inside the body\nkeeps it always moving. This pump is called the _heart_. The heart is\na bag of muscle with thick sides. It is about as large as your fist.\nWhen it is full, it has the power to make itself smaller, and so it\nsqueezes the blood out through a tube. We can feel each squeeze as a\nheart-beat. You can find the heart-beat just to the left of the middle\nof the body about two hand-breadths below the neck.\n\n=84. The heart-beat.=--A man's heart beats about seventy times each\nminute. Boys' and girls' hearts beat much faster. Running or hard work\nof any kind makes the heart beat faster yet. Your heart will keep on\nbeating until you die. It does not seem to rest at all, yet it works\nonly while you feel it beat. Between each beat it rests while the\nblood is filling it again. So it really rests one half of the time.\n\n=85. Arteries.=--The heart pumps the blood through a single tube. This\ntube opens into smaller tubes. These open into still smaller ones. You\nmust use a strong microscope to see the finest blood tubes. The tubes\nreach every part of the body, and carry blood to its cells. They are\ncalled _arteries_. At each heart-beat a wave of blood can be felt in\nan artery. This wave is the _pulse_. It can be felt in the wrist,\ntemples, and other places. By the pulse we can tell how often and how\nstrongly the heart is beating.\n\n[Illustration: =Arrangement of capillaries.=\n\n  _a_ smallest artery.\n  _b_ smallest vein.\n  _c_ network of capillaries.]\n\n=86. Capillaries.=--The smallest arteries divide into a fine network\nof small tubes. These tubes are the _capillaries_. They lie around\nevery cell of the body. Their sides are very thin. As the blood flows\nthrough them, some of it soaks through the sides of the tubes. Blood\ncontains all kinds of food for the cells. Each cell is always wet with\nfood and can eat it at any time. The cells are like the tiny animal,\nthe ameba, and can take in the food by any part of their bodies. The\ncells are better off than the ameba, for their food is brought to\nthem. They pay the body for their food by working for it.\n\n=87. Veins.=--The capillaries come together again to form large tubes.\nThese tubes are called _veins_. Only a little of the blood goes through\nthe sides of a capillary. The rest flows on into the veins. The veins\nunite to form two large tubes. These two tubes open into the heart.\n\n=88. How the blood flows.=--The blood is pumped out of the heart,\nthrough the arteries to the capillaries. There some goes out to the\ncells. The rest flows into the veins and goes back to the heart. All\nthe blood in the body passes through the heart every two minutes. It\ntakes only twenty seconds for a drop of blood to go from the heart to\nthe toes and back again. The arteries are deep in the flesh, but some\nof the large veins can be seen upon the back of the hands.\n\n=89. Bleeding.=--If a large artery or vein is cut there is a great\ndeal of bleeding. You can always stop a cut from bleeding by holding\nit fast between the hands. Do not be afraid of the blood when you see\nany one bleeding, but hold the sides of the cut tightly with both of\nyour hands. This will stop any bleeding until help comes. You may keep\na person from bleeding to death by doing this when other persons are\nafraid of the blood.\n\n=90. Healing cuts.=--When your flesh is cut it soon grows together\nagain. The work of the little white cells in the blood is to help heal\ncuts and wounds and bruises. These cells are like little amebas in the\nblood. They keep moving around with the blood, and now and then burrow\noutside the capillaries to see if all is well. If they find a cut,\nhundreds and thousands rush to the spot at once. Some eat up any\nspecks of dirt on the cut. Others fit themselves into the sides of the\ncut and grow long and slender, like strings, and so bind the two edges\nof the cut together. In this way all cuts are healed.\n\n[Illustration: =Bacteria growing in a kidney and producing an abscess\n(×300).=\n\n  _a_ kidney tube.\n  _b_ white blood cell attacking bacteria.\n  _c_ bacteria.\n  _d_ blood vessel of the kidney.]\n\n=91. The white blood cells kill disease germs.=--There are tiny living\nbeings everywhere in the air, and soil, and water. Some of them can grow\ninside a man and make him sick. These tiny things are called _disease\ngerms_. One kind gives a man typhoid fever, and another diphtheria.\nAnother kind grows on cuts, and sometimes makes them very sore. The\nwhite cells of the blood are always watching for these enemies, like a\ncat hunting mice, and when they find them they at once try to kill them.\nBut sometimes the white blood cells get killed. Then they look like\ncream in the cut. We call this creamy liquid _matter_ or _pus_, and say\n\"We have caught cold in the cut.\" In most pricks and cuts the white\ncells of the blood can kill all these enemies and also heal the cut.\n\n=92. Catching cold.=--Sometimes the cold air blows on our head and\nhurts the cells of the nose. If there are disease germs in the air,\nthey may grow in the injured part of the nose and make us have a \"cold\nin the head.\" Then the white blood cells gather at the spot so as to\nkill the disease germs. Also the arteries bring a great deal of blood\nto the nose so as to heal the injured parts. Some of the white blood\ncells and the liquid from the blood run out, and we have to blow the\nnose. The white blood cells help to make us well whenever we catch a\ncold or other kind of sickness.\n\n=93. Red blood cells.=--The red blood cells are like tiny flat plates.\nThey float in the liquid part of the blood and make the blood look\nred. They carry air from the lungs to the cells of every part of the\nbody, and thus help all the cells to breathe.\n\n=94. Why the heart beats hard when we run.=--When we work hard, the\ncells of our bodies need a great deal of food. So the heart beats much\nharder, and sends them much more blood. We can feel our heart beat\nwhen we run hard.\n\nWhen the cells work they get more blood in another way. The arteries\nbecome larger and hold more blood. Then the part looks red and feels\nwarm. Thus your face gets red when you run hard. This is because your\nheart and arteries bring more blood to feed the working cells.\n\n=95. Need of a strong heart.=--The heart must keep sending blood to\nfeed the cells. If it should stop for only a little while, the cells\nwould starve to death and we should die. We need strong hearts. When\nwe work very hard for a long time, the heart gets tired. Then the\ncells do not get enough food and we feel weak all over. Boys ought not\nto run and lift till they are tired out, for this hurts their hearts.\n\n=96. What alcohol does to the blood.=--Alcohol hinders the digestion\nof food. Then too little food will reach the blood, and so the cells\nof the body will get too little. Alcohol does not add strength to the\nbody, but it takes it away. It seems to make men stronger, for it\ntakes away their tired feelings. But it makes them really weaker, for\nit harms the blood.\n\n=97. How alcohol affects the heart.=--Alcohol at first makes the heart\nbeat more strongly and quickly, but it tires it out and makes it\nweaker. Then the heart pumps too little blood to the rest of the body,\nand a man is weaker all over.\n\nIf a drinker tries to run or work hard, his heart may not pump enough\nfood to the working cells of his arms and legs. Strong drink takes\naway a man's strength and makes him less able to endure a long strain.\n\n=98. How alcohol harms the arteries.=--Alcohol causes the arteries to\nbecome larger and to carry more blood. Then the face will be red and\nthe skin will become warm. This makes a person feel well, and he seems\nto be helped. His blood seems to be flowing faster because his face is\nred. But really it is flowing slower.\n\nWhen the arteries have been made large very often, they stay large all\nthe time. A drinker's nose is often red from this cause.\n\nAlcohol sometimes causes the arteries to become hard, and even to\nchange to a kind of bone. Then they cannot change their size to carry\njust so much blood as each part needs.\n\n=99. How tobacco affects the heart.=--Tobacco weakens all the body,\nbut it harms the heart more than the rest. It often makes the heart\nbeat slowly at one time and fast at another. It weakens the heart and\nkeeps it from working harder when the working cells need more food. A\nsmoker gets out of breath quickly. He cannot run far or work very\nhard. Chewing is a still more harmful form of using tobacco. When men\ntrain for a game or a race they never use tobacco.\n\nBoys are not so strong as men, and so tobacco is more hurtful to them.\nBoys are harmed by tobacco far more than men. Cigarette smoke harms\ntheir stomachs and keeps food from their blood. If boys smoke, they\nbecome pale and weak. The poisonous smoke weakens the heart, and they\ncannot run or work so hard as they should. Even if a father uses\ntobacco, he should not allow his boys to use it.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Blood is a liquid. It contains many round red cells and a few\n          white cells.\n\n     2. Blood contains all kinds of food for the cells of the body.\n\n     3. The blood is kept moving by the heart.\n\n     4. The heart pumps or beats about seventy times a minute.\n\n     5. The blood flows through arteries to all parts of the body.\n\n     6. The arteries open into the capillaries. Capillaries make a\n          network around each cell of the body.\n\n     7. Some of the liquid parts of the blood go out through the sides\n          of the capillaries and become food for the cells of the\n          body.\n\n     8. From the capillaries the blood flows into the veins and back\n          to the heart.\n\n     9. Bleeding can be stopped by holding the cut tightly between the\n          hands.\n\n     10. The white blood cells grow into the sides of cuts, and so\n          heal them. They also guard the body against the seeds of\n          many diseases.\n\n     11. The red blood cells carry air to the cells of the body.\n\n     12. Alcohol weakens the heart and arteries.\n\n     13. Tobacco harms the heart.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nBREATHING, HEAT, AND CLOTHING\n\n\n=100. The lungs.=--Our food becomes blood and feeds the cells of our\nbody, but we grow only a little heavier. What becomes of the food?\n\n[Illustration: =The air tubes and lung.=\n\n  _a_ larynx or voice box.\n  _b_ trachea or windpipe.\n  _d_ air sacs, each like a tiny frog's lung.]\n\nBesides food, air is always getting into our bodies. In breathing, air\npasses through the nose into a tube in the neck. This tube is called\nthe _windpipe_. You can feel it as a pile of hard rings in the front\npart of the neck. The windpipe divides into many branches. At the end\nof its smallest branches are little bags or sacs. The branches and\nthe sacs make the two lungs. So a lung is a soft and spongy piece of\nflesh, and can be blown up like a rubber bag. A frog's lung is a\nsingle, thin bag, about half an inch across it. Each little sac of a\nman's lung is like a tiny frog's lung.\n\n[Illustration: =A frog's lung (×4).=]\n\n=101. The diaphragm.=--The lungs fill the upper part of the body just\nbelow the neck. They are covered by the bony ribs, and rest upon a\nbroad muscle. This muscle is called the _diaphragm_. It divides the\ninside of the body into two parts. The upper part is the _chest_, and\nholds the heart and lungs. The lower part is the _abdomen_, and holds\nthe stomach, intestine, and liver, and a few other parts.\n\n[Illustration: =The parts inside the body.=\n\n  _a_ lungs.\n  _b_ heart.\n  _c_ diaphragm.\n  _d_ stomach.\n  _e_ liver.\n  _f_ intestine.]\n\n=102. Breathing.=--When the diaphragm lowers itself, or the ribs are\nraised, the chest is made larger. Then the air rushes through the\nnose and swells out the lungs to the size of the chest. This is taking\na breath. Then the chest becomes smaller again, and blows the air out.\nA man breathes about eighteen times a minute. He does not seem to rest\nin breathing, but as he works only when he takes in breath, he rests\none half of the time.\n\n=103. How air gets into the blood.=--After the blood has been around the\nbody through the arteries and capillaries and veins, the heart sends\nevery drop to the lungs before it sends it out to feed the cells again.\nThe blood flows through little capillaries upon the sides of the air\nsacs. There the red blood cells take up some of the air, and carry it\nwith them. When they have a load of air, they become of a brighter red\ncolor. The blood in the arteries on its way to the cells is bright red.\n\n=104. How the cells get air.=--When the blood reaches the capillaries\naround the cells of the body, the red blood cells give up some of the\nair to the cells. Thus each cell of the body gets some air, and so it\nbreathes. The cells cannot reach the air themselves, and so the red\nblood cells bring it to them. We breathe so as to supply the cells\nwith air.\n\n=105. What burning is.=--When meat is put into a hot stove it quickly\nburns, and passes off in smoke, and leaves only a little ashes. The\nashes are the mineral parts of the meat. If the fire is very hot, you\ncannot see the smoke. The burning of the meat makes heat. Heat in a\nsteam engine makes the machine do work.\n\nEvery fire must have plenty of air. If air is shut off, the fire goes\nout. When meat burns, the air unites with the meat and makes smoke, and\nashes, and gives out heat. Air unites with something in every fire.\n\n=106. Burning inside the body.=--In every part of a man's body a very\nslow fire is always burning. The blood brings to the cells food from\nthe intestine, and air from the lungs. The food and air join in a\nburning. The smoke goes back to the blood and is carried to the lungs,\nand breathed out with the breath. The ashes, also, go back to the\nblood, and are carried away by the skin and kidneys. The burning makes\nno flame or light for it goes on very slowly. You cannot see the\nsmoke, but you can feel the warmth of the burning. Some of the heat is\nturned to power, and gives the body strength to do work. The body is\nlike a steam engine. It burns up all its food.\n\n=107. How the body is warmed.=--The body is warmed by the slow burning\nin the cells. This burning keeps the body always at the same warmth.\nOn a hot summer's day you feel warmer than on a cold snowy morning.\nBut your body is no warmer. Only your skin is warmer.\n\nIf the skin is warm, the whole body feels warm, but if the skin is\ncold, the whole body feels cold. On a hot summer's day the heat is\nkept in the skin, and we feel warm. On a cold winter's day a great\ndeal of heat passes off from the skin, and we feel cold. Yet our\nbodies have the same warmth in winter as in summer.\n\n=108. How the sweat keeps us cool.=--When your hands or feet are wet,\nthey are cold. On a hot summer's day, your body becomes wet with\nsweat. This cools the body as if water were poured over it. So\nsweating keeps you from getting too warm, and from being sunstruck.\n\nWe are sweating all the time, but the sweat usually dries as fast as\nit forms. When we are too warm it comes out faster than it dries. On a\nwinter's day we sweat only a little, and so we save the heat. But more\nheat passes off from the skin into the cold air, and we do not grow\nwarmer.\n\n=109. Clothes.=--We wear clothes to keep the heat in the body. They do\nnot make heat, but they keep it from going off. Wool and flannel\nclothes keep the heat in better than cotton. We wear woolen in the\nwinter, and cotton in the summer.\n\nFur keeps in heat the best of all. In very cold lands only fur is worn.\n\nLinen lets heat out easily. It makes good summer clothes.\n\n=110. Where to wear the most clothes.=--The face and hands are kept\nwarm by the blood and we do not cover them except in the coldest\nweather. Our feet are more tender and need to be covered enough to\nkeep them warm. We ought to wear thick-soled shoes or rubbers in damp\nweather so as to keep the feet dry and warm. We ought to dry the\nstockings every night, for they will get wet with sweat.\n\nThe trunk of the body needs the most clothes. The legs ought to be\nkept warm, too. If the dress reaches only to the knee, thick\nunderclothing is needed for the lower part of the leg.\n\nDo not keep one part of the body warm while another part remains cold.\nIt is wrong to bundle the neck or wear too much clothing over any part\nof the body. It is also wrong to wear too little and be cold.\n\nWhen you are moving about, you need less clothing than when you are\nsitting still. When you have worked until you are very warm, it is\nwrong to stop to cool off. When you stop, you ought to put on a thick\ncoat or else go into the house. If you do not, you may be chilled and\nmade weak so that you can easily catch cold or some other disease.\n\n=111. Heating houses.=--In winter our bodies cannot make heat fast\nenough to keep us warm unless we put on a great deal of clothing. So\nwe warm our houses. Our grandfathers used fireplaces, but these did\nnot give out much heat. People now use stoves, but some use a furnace\nin the cellar, or heat the rooms by steam. Some use kerosene stoves,\nbut they are not so good, for they make the air bad. A room should\nfeel neither too warm nor too cold. It is of the right warmth when we\ndo not notice either heat or cold.\n\n=112. Change of air.=--After air has been breathed it is no longer fit\nfor use. In an hour or two you would breathe all the air of a small room\nonce if it were not changed. When the air is partly used, you feel dull\nand short of breath, and your head aches. As soon as you get out of\ndoors, you feel better. Foul air of houses and meeting places often\ncontains disease germs. It is necessary to change the air of all rooms\noften. You can do this by opening a door or window. It is a good plan to\nsleep with your bedroom window open, so as to get good air all night.\n\nAir passes in and out of every crack in the windows and doors. If\nonly one person is in a room, this may make enough change of air. If\nmany persons are in a room, you will need to change the air in other\nways. You can do this by opening a door or window. Do not let the cold\nair blow upon any one, for it may help to make him catch cold, if the\nair of the room is impure. If we lower a window from the top, warm\nimpure air may pass out above it without making a draft.\n\n[Illustration: =Diagram of the natural ventilation of a room.=\n\nThe arrows show the direction of the air currents.]\n\nYou need fresh air at night as much as in the daytime. You need not be\nafraid of the night air, for it is good and pure like the day air. You\nought to sleep with your window open a little. You ought to open the\nwindows wide every morning and air your bed well. At night you ought\nto take off all your clothes and put on a night-dress. Then hang your\nclothes up to air and dry.\n\n=113. When to air a room.=--When you first enter a room full of bad\nair it smells musty and unpleasant. But after you have been in the\nroom a while, you get used to it. If, however, you go out of doors a\nminute and then come back, you will smell the bad air again. If the\nair smells bad, open a door or window until it is sweet again.\n\n=114. How to breathe.=--When you run hard, the cells of your body use\nup all the air, and then you feel short of breath. While you run,\nburning goes on faster, and you feel warmer. You can work harder and\nlonger if you can breathe in a great deal of air. You will also feel\nbetter and stronger for it. Then if you are sick, you will be able to\nget well more quickly. You ought to know how to breathe right.\n\n_First_, you ought to breathe through your nose. Even when you run,\nyou ought to keep your mouth closed.\n\n_Second_, you should try to breathe deeply. You should take a very\ndeep breath often, and hold it as long as you can. By practice you can\nlearn to hold it a full minute.\n\n_Third_, you ought to run, or do some hard work, every day. When you\nget short of breath, you will have to breathe more deeply. After a\nwhile you may be able to run a half mile, or even a mile, without\ngetting out of breath. But do not get tired out in your run, for this\nwill harm you.\n\n_Fourth_, you must sit and stand with your shoulders back, and your\nchest thrown forward. A round-shouldered boy cannot have large lungs\nor be long winded.\n\nBy breathing right, you can make your lungs very much larger and\nstronger.\n\n=115. The voice.=--We talk by means of the breath. At the upper part\nof the windpipe is a small box. Its front corner can be felt in the\nneck, just under the chin, and is called the _Adam's apple_. Two thin,\nstrong covers slide across the top of the box, and can be made to meet\nin the middle. The covers have sharp edges. When they are near\ntogether, and air is breathed out between them, a sound is made. This\nsound is the _voice_. The tongue and lips change it to form _words_.\n\n=116. Care of the voice.=--The voice shows our feelings, even if we\ndo not tell them in words. We can form a habit of speaking in a loud\nand harsh tone, as if we were always angry, or we can speak gently and\nkindly. We shall be more pleasant company to others if we are careful\nalways to speak in gentle but distinct tones.\n\n[Illustration: =Top view of the larynx, with the vocal cords closed,\nas in speaking.=\n\n  _a_ epiglottis.\n  _b_ vocal cords.]\n\n[Illustration: =Top view of the larynx, with the vocal cords open, as\nin breathing.=\n\n  _a_ epiglottis.\n  _b_ vocal cords.]\n\nShouting strains the voice and spoils its tone for singing. Reading\nuntil the throat is tired makes the voice weak. Singing or shouting in\na cold or damp air is also bad for the voice. Breathing through the\nmouth is the worst of all for the voice.\n\n=117. What becomes of alcohol in the body.=--When alcohol is taken up\nby the blood, it is carried to the liver. The liver tries to get rid\nof it by taking some air from the blood and burning it up, just as it\nburns the real food of the body. But this takes some air from the\ncells of the body. Then they do not burn as they should.\n\nWhen a stove gets too little air through its draft, it makes an\nunpleasant smoke, and cools off. Just so, when the cells of the body\ndo not burn as they should, they produce the wrong kind of smoke and\nashes. This poisons the body and makes men sick. The most of the\npoisoning of alcohol is due to these new poisons.\n\nWhen alcohol takes air from the cells of the body, they do not get\nenough air. Then they are like a short-winded boy, and do not do their\nwork well. In this way alcohol makes the body weak.\n\nAlcohol does not cease to be harmful because it is burned up in the\nbody. It is harmful just because it burns so quickly. Using alcohol in\nthe body is like trying to burn kerosene in a coal stove. The body is\nnot made to burn alcohol any more than a coal stove is made to burn\nkerosene. You can burn a little kerosene in a coal stove if you are\nvery careful. Just so, men can burn alcohol in their bodies. But\nkerosene will always smoke and clog up the stove, and may explode and\nkill some one. So alcohol in the body burns quickly and forms poisons.\nIt always harms the body and may destroy life at once.\n\n=118. Alcohol and the lungs.=--If you run a long race, your lungs will\nneed a great deal of air. If you take strong drink, the alcohol will\nuse up much of the air, and you will not have enough to use on your\nrun. So you will feel short of breath, and will surely lose the race.\nYou cannot drink and be long-winded.\n\nTwo drinks of whisky will use up as much air as the body uses in an\nhour. It would be easy to smother a person with strong drink. Drunken\npersons are really smothered; they often die because of the failure of\ntheir breathing, even while their heart is able to beat well.\n\nAlcohol often causes the lungs to become thickened. Then air cannot\neasily pass through their sides, and a person suffers from shortness\nof breath. Sometimes these persons cannot lie down at all, but must\nsit up to catch their breath.\n\n=119. Drinking and taking cold.=--A strong, healthy man can stand a\ngreat deal of cold and wet. If he breathes deeply in his work, all the\ncells of his body get plenty of air, and if he eats good food, the\ncells get plenty to eat. Then it will take a great deal to harm them.\nBut alcohol hinders the digestion of their food, and also takes away\ntheir air. So the cells are both starved and smothered, and are easily\nhurt. Then a little cold and wet may do great harm to his body, for a\ndrinker cannot stand bad weather or hard work so well as he could if\nhe should leave drink alone.\n\nMen often drink to keep themselves from taking cold. The alcohol\nreally makes them more liable to take cold. It causes the blood to\nflow near the surface of the skin; there it is easily cooled, and the\ndrinker soon becomes chilled; then he feels colder than ever. The cold\nharms the cells of his body, and then the white blood cells cannot\neasily fight disease germs. For this reason a drinker easily takes\ncold and other diseases.\n\n=120. Alcohol lessens the warmth of the body.=--Alcohol causes the\nblood tubes in the skin to become larger. Then more blood will touch\nthe cool air, and the body will become cooler. But because more warm\nblood flows through the skin, a man feels warmer. But he is really\ncolder. Alcohol makes men less able to stand the cold. Travelers in\ncold lands know this and do not use it.\n\n=121. How tobacco affects breathing.=--We would not live in a room\nwith a smoking stove. But tobacco smoke is more harmful than smoke\nfrom a stove, for it has nicotine in it. Tobacco smoke in a room may\nmake a child sick.\n\nCigarette smoking is very harmful to the lungs, for the smoke is drawn\ndeeply into them, and more of the poison is likely to stay in the\nbody. The smoke of tobacco burns the throat and causes a cough. This\nharms the voice.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Air is always being breathed into little sacs inside the body.\n          The sacs form the lungs.\n\n     2. The red blood cells pass through the lungs, and take little\n          loads of air. They then carry the air through the arteries\n          to the capillaries.\n\n     3. In the capillaries the air leaves the red blood cells, and\n          goes to the cells of the body.\n\n     4. The air unites with the cells, and slowly burns them to smoke\n          and ashes.\n\n     5. The smoke goes back to the blood, and is carried to the lungs\n          and given off by the breath. The ashes go back to the blood\n          and pass off through the skin and the kidneys.\n\n     6. The burning in the cells makes heat.\n\n     7. Some of the heat is changed to power, as it is in a steam\n          engine.\n\n     8. The heat also warms the body. It keeps it at the same warmth\n          on a cold day as on a hot day.\n\n     9. We wear clothes to keep the heat in, and so to keep us warm.\n\n     10. The air of a room needs to be changed often. It is made\n          stuffy by our breath.\n\n     11. The voice is made by the breath in a box in the neck.\n\n     12. Alcohol uses air belonging to the cells of the body.\n\n     13. Tobacco smoke has the same poisons as tobacco. It can poison\n          the whole body through the lungs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE SKIN AND KIDNEYS\n\n\n=122. Waste matters.=--The food is burned in the cells. As this\nburning goes on, the _smoke_ goes off by the lungs and the unburned\nsubstances, the _ashes_, go off by the skin and kidneys. The ashes are\nmostly the minerals of the cells, but there are also some from the\nburned albumin. All these go back to the blood and are carried to the\nskin and kidneys.\n\n[Illustration: =The skin (×100).=\n\n  _a_, _b_ and _c_ epidermis.\n  _d_ and _g_ tough and thick part of skin.\n  _e_ sweat gland.\n  _f_ blood tubes.\n  _h_ fat pockets.]\n\n=123. The skin.=--The skin covers the whole body. It is strong and\nkeeps the body from being hurt.\n\n=124. The epithelium.=--The skin is covered with a thin layer of cells\nlike fine scales. These scales are called _epithelium_, or _epidermis_.\nThey have no blood tubes or nerves and so have no feeling. You can run a\npin under them without feeling pain. They are always growing on their\nunder side and wearing off on their upper side. They keep the nerves and\nblood tubes of the skin from being hurt.\n\n=125. The nails.=--The top scales of epithelium at the ends of the\nfingers become matted together to make the nails. The nails keep the\nends of the fingers from being hurt. They can also be used to hold or\ncut small things. The new parts of the nails form under the skin and\npush down the older parts. So the nail grows farther than the end of the\nfinger and needs to be cut off. Biting the nails leaves their ends\nrough. Then they may catch in the clothes and tear into the tender\nflesh. We ought to keep the nails cut even with the ends of the fingers.\n\nThe nails are not poisonous, but the dirt under them may be. We ought\nto keep them clean. Clean nails are one mark of a careful boy or girl.\n\n=126. Hair.=--Some of the scales of epithelium over some parts of the\nbody dip into tiny holes in the skin. In each hole they become matted\ntogether to form a _hair_. Fine short hair grows on almost every part\nof the body. On the top of the head it grows long and thick. When\nboys become men, it also grows long upon their faces. The skin pours\nout a kind of oil to keep the hair soft and glossy.\n\n[Illustration: =A hair (×200).=\n\n  _a_ the surface of the skin.\n  _b_ a hair.\n  _c_ an oil gland.\n  _d_ a muscle to make the hair stand on end.\n  _e_ and _g_, the growing cells of the hair.\n  _f_ fat in the skin.]\n\n=127. Care of the hair.=--The hair may become dirty like any other\npart of the body. Brushing it takes out a great deal of dirt, but you\nshould also wash it once a week.\n\nThe oil in the skin ought to be enough for the hair. Hair oils do not\ndo the hair any good. If you wet the hair too often, you may make it\nstiff and take away its gloss. It is best to comb the hair dry. Brush\nit so as to spread the oil of the skin. Hair dyes are poisonous, and\nought not to be used.\n\n=128. The sweat or perspiration.=--The scales of epithelium dip into\nthe skin and there line tiny tubes. The tubes form the _sweat_, or\n_perspiration_, out of the blood. The tubes are too fine to be seen,\nbut they are upon almost every part of the body. They take the ashes\nor other waste matter or poisons from the blood and wash them out of\nthe tubes with the perspiration. So the perspiration has two uses.\nFirst, it takes heat away from the body (see § 108). Second, it gets\nrid of the waste matters or ashes of the body. It has very little of\nthese at any one time, but in a day it gets rid of a great deal.\n\n=129. The kidneys.=--The kidneys are close to the backbone, below the\nheart. They are made of tiny tubes much like the sweat tubes in the\nskin. The tubes take ashes and other waste matters from the blood, also\na great deal of water. They also take away poisons and disease germs\nwhen we are sick. The kidneys take away about as much water as the skin,\nbut they get rid of very much more poisons and waste matters than the\nskin does. If our kidneys should stop their work, we should soon die.\n\n=130. Need of bathing.=--When the perspiration dries from the skin, it\nleaves the waste and poisons behind. We cannot always see the dried\nmatters, but they always have an unpleasant odor. We should bathe\noften enough to keep our body from having an unpleasant smell. We\nshould wash the whole body with soap and hot water at least once a\nweek in winter and more often than that in summer.\n\nAnother reason for bathing is to wash disease germs from the body.\nMost dirt has disease germs in it. Disease germs also float in the\ndust of the air and stick to our skin when we go into a dusty room. If\nour skin is dirty, some of the germs may be carried into our flesh\nwhen our skin is pricked, or scratched, or cut. We sometimes catch\nboils, or erysipelas, or lockjaw, from very little wounds in a dirty\nskin. Cleanliness of our skin helps to keep us from catching diseases.\n\n=131. Cold baths.=--Sometimes we bathe when we are clean so as to get\nrefreshed. If we bathe in cold water, we feel cold at first. In a\nlittle while we feel warm again. Then we feel stronger, and refreshed\nfor work. If we stay in the bath too long, we become cold again and\nfeel weak. When boys go in swimming, they ought to come out before\nthey begin to feel cold.\n\nIt is a good plan to take a cold bath every morning when you get up,\neven if you use only a wash-bowl with a little water. It will take\nonly a few minutes, but will keep you clean and make you feel more\nlike doing your day's work.\n\n=132. A fair skin.=--We must wash often, to make the skin fair and\nsmooth. Use enough good soap to keep the skin clean.\n\nIf you eat as you should, and digest the food well, your skin will\nhave the least amount of waste to give off. Then it will look well. A\nbad looking skin is due to bad food and to bad digestion. If you do\nnot digest your food well, you cannot have a fair skin.\n\nFace paint and powder make the skin look worse, for they hinder\nperspiration. Nothing of that sort will do the skin any good. You must\neat as you should, and you must keep clean. Then your skin will be\nclear.\n\n=133. Washing clothes.=--Our clothes rub off a great deal of the\nperspiration and waste. They become soiled. A great deal of dirt also\ngets upon the sheets of our beds. Our clothes need to be washed as\nwell as our bodies when they are soiled. Air and the sun as well as\nwater destroy the waste of the body. Our clothes need to be aired at\nnight, and the bed and bedroom should be aired through the day.\n\n=134. Slops.=--After water has been used to wash our body or our\nclothes it is dirty and is not fit to be used again. It must not be\nthrown where it can run into a well. If a person has typhoid fever or\ncholera or other catching disease, the water may carry germs of the\ndisease to the well, and so other persons may get it. Slops from the\nhouse should not be poured out at the back door, but they should be\ncarried away from the house. In cities the slops are poured into large\npipes and tunnels underground. These pipes are called _sewers_. They\nempty outside the city.\n\n=135. Alcohol and the skin.=--Alcohol interferes with digestion and\ncauses biliousness. This makes the skin rough and pimply. A drinker\nseldom has a clear skin.\n\nAlcohol causes the arteries of the face to become enlarged. Then the\nface is red. A red nose is one of the signs of drinking. When a person\nuses strong drink he is often uncleanly. He does not care for the bad\nlooks of his clothes and skin, and so he lets them stay dirty. This\nharms the skin and makes it look bad. The dirt also poisons the skin\nand may itself be a cause of sickness.\n\nBecause alcohol poisons the whole body and often produces kidney\ndiseases, the drinker is apt to catch other diseases. Drinkers are the\nfirst to catch such diseases as smallpox and yellow fever. Where there\nare great numbers of cases, the drinkers are the first and often the\nonly persons to die. This is because their skin and kidneys have been\nharmed by the alcohol and cannot throw off the poisons of the disease.\nAny kind of sickness will be worse in a drinker. Surgeons do not like\nto operate on drinkers, for their wounds do not heal so quickly as in\nother people.\n\nWhen there is too little air, a fire burns slower, and makes a blacker\nsmoke and more ashes. Alcohol takes some air from the cells of the\nbody. So they burn with smoke and ashes of the wrong kind. The skin\nhas to work harder to get rid of these, and sometimes it cannot do it\nwell. Then the body is poisoned. The alcohol is burned and cannot\npoison the body any more. But it causes the body to make poisons, and\nso it is to blame. The poisons do great harm to the skin and kidneys.\nAlcohol causes more kidney disease than all other things put together.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Little tubes in the skin are always giving off ashes and waste\n          matters in the perspiration.\n\n     2. Perspiration dries on the skin. So the skin must be washed\n          often.\n\n     3. The kidneys get rid of more water and waste matter than the\n          skin does.\n\n     4. Perspiration also gets upon the clothes and bed sheets. These\n          must be washed too.\n\n     5. Dirty water from washing should be thrown out where it cannot\n          run into a well.\n\n     6. The skin is thick and strong and keeps the body from being hurt.\n\n     7. The skin is covered with a layer of scales. The scales have no\n          feeling.\n\n     8. The scales form the nails on the ends of the fingers.\n\n     9. The scales also form the hair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE NERVES, SPINAL CORD, AND BRAIN\n\n\n=136. Need of nerves.=--The cells of the mouth, stomach, and intestine\ndigest food; the cells of the liver change the food to blood; the\ncells of the heart pump the blood to feed all the cells of the body;\nthe red blood cells carry air for the cells to breathe; and the cells\nof the skin and kidneys carry away the waste of the rest of the cells.\nEach set of cells works for all the rest. If the cells of the body\nwere only tied together, each one would do as it pleased, and no two\nwould work together. But something tells each cell of the body to work\nwith the others. The cells all obey the mind. A tiny thread goes to\neach cell of the body. Each thread is a _nerve_. The mind and the\ncells signal to each other over the nerves. By means of the nerves the\nmind makes the cells work together.\n\n[Illustration: =A nerve thread (×400).=\n\n  _a_ central conducting fiber.\n  _b_ covering of fat.]\n\n[Illustration: =A thin slice for the end of a cut nerve (×200).=\n\n  _a_ nerve thread.\n  _b_ connective tissue binding the threads into a cord.]\n\n=137. Nerve messages.=--The nerve threads run in bundles and form\nnerves large enough to be seen. The mind uses the nerves to tell the\ncells to do work. It tells the muscles to move the arms and legs. It\ntells the heart to beat and stomach to pour out gastric juice; and it\ntells each of the cells to eat.\n\nThe cells also send word over the nerves to the mind. They tell the\nmind when they are touching anything, and whether it is hard, or\nsmooth, or hot, and many other things about it. The cells also tell\nthe mind if they need more food, or are tired.\n\nThe nerves are always carrying messages to and from the cells. The\ncells depend upon these messages to tell them when and how to work. If\nthe nerve of any part of the body is hurt or cut, we cannot feel with\nthe part or move it, and its cells do not act in the right way. We do\nnot feel the nerves while they are carrying the messages. We wish the\ncells of the arm to work, and they work, but we do not feel the\nmessage as it goes from the mind to the cells of the arm.\n\n[Illustration: =A thin slice from the spinal cord with the cells and\nnerves magnified 200 diameters.=\n\n  _a_ cells in the gray matter.\n  _b_ fibers in the gray matter.\n  _c_ nerve threads in the white matter.]\n\n=138. The spinal cord.=--The nerves start inside the backbone. The\nbackbone is hollow. It has a soft, white cord inside, as thick as the\nlittle finger. Part of the mind lives in this cord. The cord is called\nthe _spinal cord_. Some of the nerves start from cells of the spinal\ncord. These cells send word to the muscles to move and to all the\ncells of the body to eat and grow. They also send word to the arteries\nto carry the right amount of blood to the cells.\n\nFrom the nerves the spinal cord gets word when something hurts any\npart of the body. You may put your finger on a sharp pin. The spinal\ncord feels the prick, and quickly sends word to snatch the finger\naway. So the finger is taken away before you really feel the prick.\nWhen some one sticks a pin into you, you cannot help jumping. This is\nbecause the spinal cord sends word for you to jump away from the pin\nbefore it can harm you much. Thus the spinal cord keeps the body from\nbeing hurt. It acts while we are asleep as well as when we are awake.\n\n=139. Need of a spinal cord.=--We do not feel the spinal cord acting,\nand we cannot keep it from acting. It tells the cells when to eat and\ngrow, and it tells the heart and arteries how much blood to send to\neach cell. If we had to think about feeding an arm or a leg, we should\nsometimes forget it, but the spinal cord keeps doing it without our\nthinking of it. We put food into the body, and the spinal cord tells\nthe cells to use it. If it stops acting for an instant, the cells stop\nwork and we die. We cannot change its action by any amount of thinking.\n\n[Illustration: =Regions of the head and action of the different parts\nof the brain.=]\n\n=140. The brain.=--The nerves of the body go to the brain as well as\nto the spinal cord. The brain lies in the top of the head. A hard\ncover of bone keeps it from getting hurt. It is a soft white mass, and\nweighs about three pounds. Its outside is made of cells, while its\ninside is the very beginning of the nerves of the body.\n\n=141. The mind.=--The mind is the real man. It is the thinking part of\nhimself. It lives in the body and works by means of the cells of the\nbrain. If these cells are hurt or killed, the body seems to have no\nmind, but yet it may keep on living. If all the mind leaves the body,\nthe body is dead.\n\nBy means of the mind we feel, and know, and think. The mind uses each\npart of the brain for only one kind of work.\n\n=142. The senses.=--The cells of the body send word to the brain over\nthe nerves. The eye tells of sight, the ear of sounds, the nose of\nodors, the mouth of tastes, and the skin of feelings. All these\nmessages go to the back part of the brain. They tell the mind of the\nnews outside of the body. We get all our knowledge in this way. The\ncells also tell of their need of food and drink by means of the\nfeelings of hunger and thirst.\n\n=143. Motion.=--The mind in the cells of the top part of the head\nsends the orders for moving the different parts of the body. When we\nwish to run, the mind in the top of our head sends an order over our\nnerves to our legs, and they carry the body where we wish. If the top\npart of your brain is hurt, as by a blow, it cannot send orders to\nmove, but you will lie stunned.\n\n=144. Memory.=--The mind lays away all its messages, and often looks\nthem over again. These old messages are called _memories_. They always\nstay with the brain, and the mind can call them up at any time. Our\nmemories make our knowledge.\n\nEvery act of the mind leaves some mark on the memory. We may not be\nable to bring it back when we want to, but it will come back some\ntime. Every bad word and evil deed will tend to come back and make us\nbad again. Every good work and word will leave its memory and make us\nbetter. We ought to fill our minds with good memories.\n\n=145. Thinking.=--The brain also thinks. Thinking is different from\nfeeling and from moving, but we can think about our feelings and about\nour movements. The brain just back of the forehead does all our\nthinking. A dog has only a little forehead, and cannot think much. But\nthe rest of its brain is large, for it can see and hear and run as\nwell as a man. A baby can see and hear and move, but it cannot think\nuntil it is taught how. Boys and girls go to school to learn to think.\nThinking is work, just as truly as running is work. At school, no one\ncan learn to think without working. Looking at things and hearing some\none talk about them will not make you a strong-minded man, but\nthinking about these things will. Boys and girls should study and\nthink, as well as look around and listen.\n\n=146. How thought rules the body.=--We are always feeling and moving.\nWe often do these things without trying, but we must make ourselves\nthink. We can make our bodies move, or keep still, and we can keep\nfrom too much feeling. Our thoughts direct our natural desires to move\nand feel. In an animal, the feelings and movements direct the\nthoughts. When men let their feelings rule their thoughts, they are\nlike animals. When the thoughts control the feelings and acts, we are\nmen. If you get angry and cry, when you hurt your finger, then you are\nlike an animal; but if you think about it and control your feelings,\nyou are behaving like a strong and noble man. The thought part of the\nbrain ought to rule all the rest.\n\n=147. Sleep.=--Most of the brain does its work without our knowing it,\nbut we know when we think. The thinking part of the brain gets tired,\nlike any other part of the body. When it stops work, we are asleep.\n\nWe must give the brain a rest in sleep, just as we must rest an arm or\na leg. We ought to give it regular rest. Every night we ought to go to\nbed early. Then we shall be ready to get up early and shall feel like\nworking. Boys and girls need nine or ten hours' sleep each day. When\nthey are grown, they need seven or eight hours' sleep each day.\n\nThe spinal cord and some parts of the brain must always stay awake to\nmake the cells of the body eat and grow. When we are asleep, they must\nbe wide awake, and must repair the worn-out parts. They do not seem to\nrest at all. If they rested for any length of time, then the lungs,\nheart, stomach and all other parts of the body would stop work, and we\nshould die. But they really rest a part of the time. Like the heart,\nthey act for a second, and then stop for a second. They seem to act\nall the time, but in all they rest half the time.\n\n=148. Worry.=--The mind can do a great deal of work, if it gets good\nsleep. If a person gets enough sleep and rest, he cannot harm his mind\nby hard work. Sometimes the mind is troubled and worried over a danger\nor a loss. Then it cannot rest, but soon wears itself out. Worry is\nfar more tiresome than hard work. By an effort, we can keep from\nworrying. It never does us good to worry, and we ought to keep from it.\n\n=149. Nervousness.=--The thoughts are able to rule all the rest of the\nmind. They can keep us from feeling ill-tempered when we cannot have\nour own way. Sometimes a little unpleasant feeling makes us very\nunhappy, and keeps us from thinking about our work. A little noise or\npain keeps some children from study, while others can bear a great\ndeal without being disturbed by it. Some persons jump at a little\nnoise, and are afraid of a tiny bug or mouse. This is because their\nfeelings rule their thoughts. Such persons are called _nervous_.\n\nA nervous person is very uncomfortable and makes others so too. Yet\nany one can get over the habit of being nervous, if he will try. You\nought not to laugh at a nervous person if he is afraid of some little\nthing while you are not. You should help him to get over his\nnervousness and to become brave.\n\n=150. Fear.=--Some persons are always brave. In danger they calmly\nstop to think, and then know how to save themselves. A timid person\ndoes not think, but rushes where his feelings lead. When a crowd is\nin danger, all will rush to do one thing. All will run for a door, and\nperhaps tread on one another. Then some one will surely be hurt. At a\nfire, or in any other danger, you should always stop to think how to\nact. If you rush with the crowd, you may be hurt. You will be more\nlikely to be safe, if you stay away from them. Then, if help comes,\nyou will be able to receive it. Besides, if you are cool and brave,\nyou will help others around you to be brave too.\n\n=151. Fire drill.=--In schools the children are taught how to go out\nof the building when there is a fire. A bell is struck when the\nchildren do not expect it. Then every child must leave his seat at\nonce and march out of the building. The bell is struck every few days.\nThen, when the bell really sounds for a fire, the children know how to\nmarch out quickly, and so they learn to be brave.\n\nBy training we can learn to be brave at all times. We fear many\nharmless things, and in many cases do not fear real dangers. We are\nliable to be hurt at any time. We are more liable to be hurt by a\nhorse when we are out driving than we are by the dark. Yet we do not\nfear the horse, while some do fear the dark. We ought to learn to\nthink, so as to control our fear.\n\nSome are afraid of the dark, some are frightened by ghost stories,\nand others expect to see a wild animal jump from behind every bush. No\none fears these things unless he has been told about them. We ought to\nbe careful not to tell children of these things. We ought to teach\nthem to control their fear.\n\n=152. Habit.=--After we have thought about a thing a few times, its\nhold on our memory becomes strong, and leads us to think about it\noften. When we have done a thing a few times, we are likely to do it\nagain without knowing it. We call this doing things over again\n_habit_. When we once form a habit, we find it very hard to break. We\ncan form habits of doing right or of doing wrong. We can get into the\nhabit of swearing or of drinking by doing these things a few times.\nThen we shall do these things when we do not want to. When a drinker\nbegins, he does not expect to keep on drinking. But his habit makes\nhim drink, and he cannot help it. We should be careful not to do bad\nthings, for we easily form the habit of doing them.\n\n=153. Good habits.=--We can form habits of doing right. We can speak\nkindly and be generous. Then we shall do these things as easily as\nothers get cross. After a person has tried to do good a few times, he\nwill find it much easier to do good. Then he will speak kindly and\ngive generously just as easily as others get angry and keep their good\nthings to themselves.\n\n=154. Alcohol takes away thought.=--Alcohol affects and weakens the\ncells of the brain sooner than it does those of any other part of the\nbody. It first makes the thought cells weak. Then a person does not\nthink how he acts. He lights his pipe in the barn and throws the match\nin the hay. He drives his horse on a run through a crowded street. He\nswears and uses bad language. He gets angry at little things and wants\nto fight. He seems to think of himself, and of no one else. He is\nhappy, for he does not think of the bad effects of the drink. He has a\ngood time, and does not care for its cost. He likes to drink, because\nit makes him feel happy.\n\n=155. Alcohol spoils motion.=--Some cells of the brain cause the arms\nand legs, and all other parts of the body, to move. Alcohol next makes\nthese weak. Then a person cannot move his legs right, but he staggers\nwhen he walks. He cannot carry a full cup to his lips. His hands\ntremble, and he cannot take care of himself. He is now really drunk.\n\n=156. Alcohol takes away feeling.=--After a man is drunk, he loses the\nsense of feeling. He does not feel cuts and blows. Because he does\nnot feel tired, he feels very strong. He often sees two things for\none, and hears strange noises. The whole brain at last gets weak, and\ncannot act. Then the drinker lies down in a drunken sleep, and cannot\nbe waked up. Some die in this state.\n\n=157. Insanity.=--When the brain is misused by alcohol for some time,\nit cannot get over it. Then the person becomes insane. Drink sends\nmore persons to the insane asylum than all other causes put together.\n\n=158. Delirium tremens.=--If a drinker gets hurt, or becomes sick, he\nsometimes has terrible dreams. In them he sees dirty and savage\nanimals coming to harm him. These dreams seem very real to him, and he\ncries out in his fright. This is called _delirium tremens_. A person\nis liable to die from it.\n\n=159. Alcohol harms a drinker's children.=--The children of drinkers\nare apt to be weak in body and mind. A drinker hurts his children even\nmore than he hurts himself. They are liable to catch diseases, and are\noften cross and nervous, or weak-minded. It is a terrible thing for a\nman to make his children weak and nervous.\n\n=160. Other bad things about drink.=--There are many other terrible\nthings about drink, besides the harm it does a man's body. Many a man\nhas made himself drunk so as to steal or kill. No man can drink long\nwithout becoming a worse man for it. Men will not trust him, and he\nloses the respect of his friends.\n\nMaking strong drink takes thousands of men away from good work. They\nmight work at building houses, or raising grain, or teaching school.\nAs it is, their work is wasted.\n\nA great deal of money is wasted on strong drink. All the mines of the\nworld cannot produce enough gold and silver to pay the drink bill. The\npeople of the United States pay more for strong drink than for bread.\n\nThe price of two or three drinks a day would amount to enough, in ten\nyears, to buy a small home.\n\nThe cost of strong drink is made much greater if we count the cost of\njails and insane asylums. Over one half of all crimes and cases of\ninsanity are caused by strong drink.\n\nWe must also add the misery and suffering of most children of drunken\nfathers. This loss cannot be counted in money. Numbers of children\nbecome truants from school and learn theft and falsehoods from lack of\na father's care. When all the cost is counted, nothing will be found\nso expensive as strong drink.\n\nOn the other hand, what do people get for their money and suffering?\nThey get only a little pleasure, and then they are ashamed of it. Men\nuse strong drink only because they like it more than they dislike its\nbad effects.\n\nSince drink does a great deal of harm, with no good to any one, it is\nright to make laws to control its sale.\n\n=161. How tobacco affects the brain.=--Some men smoke to make\nthemselves think, and some to keep themselves from thinking. Now,\nsmoking cannot do both things. It really makes the brain less able to\nthink, for it weakens the whole body. A school-boy's brain will surely\nbe harmed if he uses tobacco at all.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The mind makes all the cells of the body work together.\n\n     2. Tiny nerve threads carry messages from the mind to the cells.\n\n     3. Most of the nerves begin at the spinal cord in the backbone.\n\n     4. The mind in the spinal cord tells the cells to eat and grow.\n          It tells the arteries how much blood to carry to the cells.\n\n     5. The cells tell the spinal cord if they need food, or if\n          something suddenly hurts them. The spinal cord sends word to\n          snatch the part from danger.\n\n     6. Nerves carry to the brain news of sight, sound, odor, taste,\n          and touch.\n\n     7. The brain sends word to the muscles to move the arms, the\n          legs, and the rest of the body.\n\n     8. The brain thinks.\n\n     9. The brain stores up all its messages; these make memory and\n          knowledge.\n\n     10. The thought part of the brain can control the feelings and\n          the movements of the body.\n\n     11. Alcohol is more harmful to the brain than to any other part\n          of the body.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE SENSES\n\n\n=162.= A man has five ways of knowing about things outside of the\nbody. He can feel, see, hear, smell, and taste.\n\n=163. Feeling.=--Nerves go to nearly every cell in the body. They\ncarry news to the brain when anything touches them. The news produces\na feeling. Feelings are of three kinds:--\n\n_First_, when anything touches the cells without harming them, we feel\na _touch_. We feel a touch by nerves in the skin. Those in the ends of\nthe fingers and tongue can feel the best. Those upon the back give but\nlittle feeling.\n\nTouch tells whether anything is hard, or rough, or round, or square,\nor has other qualities and shapes.\n\n_Second_, when anything touches the bare nerves or hurts the cells, we\nfeel a _pain_. We can feel a pain anywhere in the body. Pain tells us if\nwe are being harmed. If we had no feeling of pain, we might be killed\nbefore we could know of our danger. Pain warns us away from danger.\n\n_Third_, we can feel _heat_ and _cold_. Anything very hot or very\ncold, however, makes only a pain and gives no feeling either of cold\nor of heat.\n\n=164. Sight.=--We see with our eyes. An eye is a hollow ball. In its\nfront is a clear window. Behind the window is a round curtain with a\nround hole in its middle. When we speak of the color of the eye, we\nmean the color of this curtain. Light passes through the hole in the\ncurtain and falls upon some nerves in the back of the eyeballs. There\nit forms a picture like a photograph. The nerves carry this picture to\nthe brain, and we see it.\n\n[Illustration: =The human eye.=\n\n  _a_ bony case of the eye.\n  _b_ muscle to move the eye.\n  _c_ and _d_ coverings of the eye.\n  _e_ lining or seeing part of the eye.\n  _f_ eyelid.\n  _g_ colored curtain or iris.\n  _h_ and _i_ clear windows of the eye.]\n\n=165. Movements of the eyes.=--We can turn our eyes so as to look in any\ndirection. Sometimes a person has one eye turned sidewise. Such a person\nis cross-eyed, and sees well out of only one eye at a time. Glasses may\nhelp the eyes, but sometimes a surgeon has to cut a tiny muscle.\n\n=166. Coverings of the eyes.=--The eyeballs lie in a bony case, upon a\nsoft bed of fat. In front each is covered with two lids. We can shut\nthe lids to keep out dust and insects. When we are sleepy, they come\ntogether and cover the eyes. Little hairs at their edges help to keep\nout the dust.\n\nSometimes a little dirt gets under the lids. Then the eye smarts or\nitches, and we want to rub it; but this may grind the dirt in deeper.\nThen you should get some one else to lift your eyelid and pick out the\ndust with a soft handkerchief. If you cannot get help, lift the lid by\nthe eyelashes; blow your nose hard, and the tears may wash the dirt\naway.\n\nDust and disease germs may get into our eyes and make them sore and\nred. You should bathe your eyes well every time you wash your face.\nYou should use a clean towel, for a dirty one may carry disease germs\nto your eyes. Some forms of sore eyes are catching. If any one has\nsore eyes, no one else should use his towels or handkerchiefs.\n\n=167. Tears.=--Clear salt water is always running over the eyes and\ndown a tube into the nose. The use of this water is to bathe the eyes\nand keep them clean. It sometimes runs over the lids in drops called\n_tears_.\n\n=168. How to use the eyes.=--If using your eyes makes them painful or\ngives you a headache, you are straining your eyes. Facing a bright\nlight strains the eyes. Shade your eyes while you study. A cap may be\nused as a shade if you cannot get anything else. Never try to look at\nthe sun or a very bright light. You should have the light at one side\nor behind you. The light should be steady. Reading in a dim light will\nharm the eyes.\n\n=169. Near sight.=--If you cannot read without holding your book less\nthan a foot from your eyes, you are nearsighted, and should wear\nglasses all the time. If you do this, your eyes may be strong, and you\nmay be able to see well.\n\n=170. Far sight.=--If you cannot read without holding your book at\narm's length, you are farsighted and need glasses. Most old persons\nare farsighted.\n\n=171. Alcohol and the eyes.=--Alcohol makes the eyes red. It weakens the\neyes and may produce blindness. A drunken person often sees double.\n\n=172. Tobacco= causes dimness of sight and sometimes produces blindness.\n\n=173. Hearing.=--We hear with the ears. Sound is made by waves in the\nair. The part of the ear on the outside of the head catches the air\nwaves and throws them inside the ear. These air waves strike against a\nlittle drum. Three little bones then carry the waves on to nerves\nfarther inside the head. Animals can turn their ears and catch sound\nfrom any direction.\n\n[Illustration: =Diagram of the ear.=\n\n  _a_ outer ear.\n  _b_ drum head.\n  _c_ _d_ and _e_ bones to carry sound to inner ear.\n  _f_ _g_ and _h_ inner ear.\n  _i_ tube to the mouth.\n  _j_ middle ear.]\n\n=174. Ear wax.=--Wax is formed just inside the ear. It keeps flies and\ninsects from crawling into the ear. Boys in swimming sometimes get\ncold water into their ears. This may make them have an earache.\n\n=175. How the throat affects the ear.=--An air tube runs from the\ninside of the ear to the mouth. Sometimes when you blow your nose, you\nblow air into the ear. This makes you partly deaf and you hear a\nroaring in your ears.\n\nSometimes when you have a cold in your throat, this little tube is\nstopped. Then your ear may ache and may even discharge matter. This\nmay make you somewhat deaf. Earache and deafness are most often due to\na cold in the throat and a stoppage of this tube.\n\nMany little boys and girls are deaf and do not know it. They cannot\nhear the teacher well, and sometimes the teacher thinks they are bad\nor careless because they do not answer.\n\n=176. Care of the ears.=--Very loud noises may harm the ear and make\nyou deaf. When you expect a very loud noise, put your fingers in your\nears to shut out the sound.\n\nBoxing the ears may break their tiny drums and make you deaf.\n\nDo not get cold water in your ear. This may cause an earache and make\nyou deaf. If you get water in your ear while you are in swimming, turn\nyour head to one side and shake it. This will get the water out.\n\nDo not put cotton or anything else into your ears.\n\n=177. Smell.=--We smell with the nose. Some things give out a vapor to\nthe air. When we draw the air into the nose, this vapor touches the\nnerves, and we perceive a smell. The nerves are high up in the nose.\nIn order to perceive smell clearly, we sniff the air far up the nose.\n\n=178. Use of smell.=--Bad air and spoiled food smell bad. A bad smell\nis the sign of something spoiled. The sense of smell tells us when\nfood or air is unfit for use. Some people try to hide a bad smell with\nperfumery. To do this only makes the danger greater, for then the\nsmell does not tell us of the danger of food or air.\n\nSome animals can smell much better than a man. A dog will smell the\ntrack of a wild animal hours after it is made. Savages can smell much\nbetter than civilized men.\n\n=179. Taste.=--We taste with the tongue. Dry food has no taste, but it\nmust first dissolve in the mouth. Spoiled food tastes bad. Bad-tasting\nfood is not fit to eat. Taste tells us whether food is good or bad.\n\nWe can learn to like the taste of harmful things. At first no one\nlikes tobacco or strong drink, but the liking is formed the more one\nuses these. We ought to be careful not to begin to use such things.\n\n_Alcohol_ and _tobacco_ burn the mouth and harm the taste. Food does\nnot taste so good and we may eat spoiled food and not know it.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. We can feel in every part of the body, but mostly in the ends\n          of the fingers.\n\n     2. Light makes a picture upon the nerves inside of the eye.\n\n     3. If the eyes ache, the light should be softened or the position\n          of the book or work changed, or else the eyes should be\n          rested.\n\n     4. Sound in the air goes into the ear and strikes against a drum.\n          Bones then carry the sound to the ear nerves.\n\n     5. Air snuffed up the nose gives the sense of smell. Smell tells\n          us if the air or food is fit for use.\n\n     6. Taste tells us whether food is fit for use. Men can learn to\n          like the taste of wrong things like tobacco or alcohol.\n\n[Illustration: =The Human Skeleton, showing position of bones.=]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nBONES AND JOINTS\n\n\n=180.= Bones make the body stiff and strong, and give it shape. Long\nbones reach through the arms and legs, and little bones reach down the\nfingers and toes. Rounded plates of bone form the head, and a pile of\nbony rings makes up the backbone. Each bone is built to fit exactly\ninto its own place and to do its own work. In all there are over two\nhundred bones in the body. They form one seventh of its weight.\n\n=181. Form of bones.=--A bone is not like a solid piece of timber, but\nis hollow like the frame of a bicycle. This makes it strong and light.\nAt its ends a bone is like a hard sponge covered with a firm shell.\nThis makes it too strong to be easily crushed, and keeps it light.\n\nA bone grows like any other part of the body. It is made of living cells\nlike woven threads. Lime is mixed among the cells, and makes them stiff\nlike starch among the threads of a linen collar. Blood tubes go through\nevery part of the bone so as to feed the cells. The living cells form\none third of the bone, while the lime forms two thirds.\n\n=182. Broken bones.=--Bones are very hard, and yet they can bend a\nlittle without breaking. Most of them are curved a little, and so they\nwill spring instead of breaking when they are pressed hard. But\nsometimes they break. Then a person must wear a splint and bandage to\nkeep the bones in place until they grow together again. The living\ncells will mend a bone in about a month.\n\nAn old person's bones are more tender than a child's, and will not\nspring much without breaking. An old man is afraid of falling and\nbreaking his bones, while a child falls a dozen times a day without\ndanger.\n\nThe bones of some children bend too easily. When they stand, the bones\nof their legs bend a little. After a while they grow in the crooked\nshape, and the child is bow-legged.\n\n=183. Joints.=--Some bones are hinged upon each other. A bone hinge is a\n_joint_. The rings of the backbone are held together by very tough pads\nof flesh. Each pad lets the backbone bend only a little, but altogether\nthey let us bend our backs in any direction. These pads are like rubber\nsprings in a wagon, and keep our bodies from being jarred too much.\n\nThe finger and toe joints, the wrists and ankles, the elbows and the\nknees, bend back and forth like a hinge. Tough bands of flesh bind the\nbones together. The ends of the bones are rounded and smooth. They fit\ntogether and make perfect hinges. The joints are oiled by a fluid like\nthe white of an egg. In old people this fluid sometimes dries up. Then\nthe joints become stiff, and creak like a squeaking hinge.\n\n[Illustration: =Hinge joint of the elbow.=\n\n  1 humerus\n  2 ulna]\n\nThe shoulders and hips can be moved in every direction. The upper ends\nof the arm and leg bones are round like half a ball. They fit into cups\non the shoulder and hip bones. They are very smooth, and are oiled like\nthe hinge joints. The joints are made to work very smoothly and easily.\n\n=184. Bones out of joint.=--When the ends of bones are torn away from\neach other, the bone is out of joint. Then the bone cannot be moved\nwithout great pain. It should be put back in place at once and kept\nthere by splints and bandages. A person is less liable to have his\njoints out of place than he is to have his bones broken.\n\n=185. Sprains.=--Sometimes a joint is turned too much. This stretches\nthe flesh around the joint, and makes it very tender and painful. This\nis a _sprain_. When you sprain a joint, you should put it in hot water\nfor an hour or two. Then keep it still for a few days.\n\n=186. Why bones and joints grow wrong.=--While bones and joints are\ngrowing they can be made to take any shape we please. They cannot be\nbent all at once, but if we hold them in one way much of the time,\nthey will keep that shape. Some boys and girls sit with their backs\nbent forward and lean against the desk as if they were too lazy to sit\nup. When they grow up, they will be bent and round-shouldered. You\nshould sit and stand straight. Then you will grow tall and straight\nand strong. A soldier has square shoulders and walks erect because he\nis drilled until his bones and joints grow in the proper shape. As you\nstand straight with your feet together, your two big toes, your two\nankles, and your two knees should touch each other.\n\nIf you wear tight shoes and press the toes out of shape, they will\nsoon grow so. Nearly every one's feet are out of shape from wearing\nshort, pointed shoes. Your toes should be straight and not cramped by\nthe shoe. If you wear narrow shoes, you may harm your feet. It is\nbetter to have one's feet useful, even if they are large, than to make\nthem small and useless.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Bones make the body stiff, and give it form.\n\n     2. Some bones are long, some round, and some flat. All are hard\n          and springy.\n\n     3. Some bones are hinged together. The hinge is a joint.\n\n     4. The ends of bones in joints are rounded and smooth, and are\n          oiled with a liquid like the white of an egg.\n\n     5. Some bones are bound together by springy pads, as in the\n          backbone.\n\n     6. Bones can be broken. They will grow together again themselves.\n\n     7. Joints can be put out of place; then we must put them back.\n\n     8. If joints or bones are kept in wrong positions they will grow\n          into bad shapes. Tight shoes deform the feet.\n\n[Illustration: =The muscular system.=]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nMUSCLES\n\n\n=187. Shape of muscles.=--Bones are covered with muscles. Muscles give\nshape to the body, and move it about. One half of the body consists of\nmuscles. These are arranged in bundles, and each causes a bone to make\none motion. There are over four hundred separate bundles of muscle in\nthe body.\n\nOne end of a muscle is large and round and is fast to a bone. The\nother end tapers to a strong string or tendon. The tendon passes over\na joint, and becomes fast to another bone. You can easily feel the\ntendons in the wrist and behind the knee.\n\n[Illustration: =Muscle cells, cut across (×200).=\n\n  _a_ muscle cell.\n  _b_ connective tissue binding the cells together.]\n\nA muscle is made of tiny strings. You can pick them apart until they\nare too fine to be seen with the eye. Each string is a living muscle\ncell. It is the largest kind of cell in the body. You can see the fine\nstrings in cooked meat.\n\n[Illustration: =A thin slice of a voluntary muscle, cut lengthwise\n(×100).=\n\n  _a_ muscle cell.\n  _b_ capillaries surrounding the cells.\n  _c_ connective tissue binding the cells together.]\n\n=188. How muscles act.=--A nerve runs from the brain, and touches\nevery cell of the muscle. When we wish to move, the brain sends an\norder down the nerve. Then each muscle cell makes itself thicker and\nshorter. This pulls its ends together, and bends the joint. We can\nmake muscle cells move when we wish to, but we cannot make any other\nkind of cell move. We make all our movements by means of our muscles.\n\n=189. Where you can see muscles.=--In a butcher's shop you can see lean\nmeat. This is the animal's muscle. White and tough flesh divides the\ntender red meat into bundles. Each red bundle is a muscle. You will see\nhow the muscle tapers to a string or tendon. The butcher often hangs up\nthe meat by the tendons. You can see the muscles and tendons in a\nchicken's leg or wing when it is being dressed for dinner.\n\nRoll up your sleeve to see your own muscles. Shut your hand tight. You\nwill see little rolls under your skin, just below the elbow. Each roll\nis a muscle. You can feel them get hard when you shut your hand. You\ncan feel their tendons as they cross the wrist.\n\nOpen your hand wide. You can see and feel the tendons of the fingers\nupon the back of the hand. These tendons come from muscles on the back\nof the arm. You can feel the bundles of these muscles when they open\nthe fingers. There are no muscles in the fingers, but all are in the\nhand or arm. You cannot open your hand so strongly as you can close it.\n\n=190. Strength of muscle.=--By using a muscle you can make it grow\nlarger and stronger. If you do not use your muscles they will be small\nand weak. Children ought to use their muscles in some way, but if they\nuse them too much, they will be tired out. Then they will grow weaker\ninstead of stronger. Lifting heavy weights, or running long distances,\ntires out the muscles, and makes them weaker. Small boys sometimes try\nto lift as much as the big boys. This may do their muscles great harm.\n\n=191. Round shoulders.=--The muscles hold up the back and head, and\nkeep us straight when we sit or stand. A lazy boy will not use his\nmuscles to hold himself up, but will lean against something. He will\nlet his shoulders fall, and will sit down in a heap. Sometimes he is\nmade to wear shoulder braces to keep his shoulders back. This gives\nthe muscles nothing to do, and so they grow weaker than ever. The best\nthing to do for round shoulders is to make the boy sit and stand\nstraight, like a soldier. Then he will use his muscles until they are\nstrong enough to hold his shoulders back.\n\n=192. How exercise makes the body healthy.=--When you use your\nmuscles, you become warmer. Your face will be red, for the heart sends\nmore blood to the working muscle cells. You will be short of breath,\nfor the cells need more air. You will eat more, for your food is used\nup. Your muscles are like an engine. They get their power from burning\nfood in their own cells. When they work they need to use more food and\nair. So working a muscle makes us eat more and breathe deeper. The\nblood flows faster, and we feel better all over. The muscle itself\ngrows much larger and stronger.\n\nIf we sit still all day, the fires in our bodies burn low and get\nclogged with ashes. We feel dull and sleepy. If we run about for a few\nminutes, we shall breathe deeply. The fires will burn brighter. Our\nbrains will be clearer, and we shall feel like work again. Boys and\ngirls need to use their muscles when they go to school. Games and play\nwill make you get your lessons sooner.\n\n=193. How to use the muscles.=--You should use your muscles to make\nyourself healthy, and not for the sake of growing strong. Some very\nstrong men are not well, and some men with small muscles are very\nhealthy. Some boys have strong muscles because their fathers had\nstrong muscles before them. Strength of muscle does not make a man.\n\nYou ought to have healthy muscles. Then your whole bodies will be\nhealthy, and you can do a great deal of work. You ought to learn how\nto use your muscles rather than how to make them strong. An awkward\nand bashful boy may be very strong, but he cannot use his muscles. A\nboy is graceful because he can use them.\n\nThe best way to use your muscles is in doing something useful. You can\nhelp your mother in the house and your father at the barn. You can run\nerrands. You can learn to use carpenter's tools or to plant a garden.\nThen you will get exercise and not know it. You will also be learning\nsomething useful.\n\nPlay is also needed. Work gets tiresome, and you will not want to use\nyour muscles. Play is bad when it takes you from your work or when you\nhurt yourself trying to beat somebody.\n\n=194. Alcohol and the muscles.=--Men use alcohol to make themselves\nstrong. It dulls their weak feelings, and then they think themselves\nstrong. They are really weaker. The alcohol hinders digestion and\nkeeps food from the cells. Then the fires in the body burn low, and\nthere is little strength.\n\nAlcohol sometimes causes muscle cells to change to fat. This weakens\nthe muscles.\n\nMen sometimes have to do hard work in cold countries; and at other\ntimes they must make long marches across hot deserts. Neither the\nEskimos in the cold north, nor the Arabs in the hot desert, use strong\ndrink. Alcohol does not help a man in either place. It really weakens\nthe body. The government used to give out liquor to its soldiers; but\nsoldiers can do more work and have better health without liquor and it\nis no longer given out.\n\nA few years ago men were ashamed to refuse to drink. Even when a new\nchurch building was raised, rum was bought by the church and given to\nthe workmen. Farmers used to give their men a jug of rum when they\nwent to work. Farm hands would not work without it.\n\nNow all this has changed. Men do not want drinkers to work for them. A\nrailroad company will discharge a man at once if he is known to drink\nat all. A man can now refuse to drink anywhere and men will not think\nany less of him.\n\n=195. Tobacco= poisons the muscle cells and makes them weak. At first\nit makes boys too sick to move. It always poisons the cells even if\nthey do not feel sick.\n\n=196. A long life.=--A man's body is built to last eighty years, but\nonly a few live so long. If you are careful in your eating and\ndrinking, if you breathe pure air, and if you use your muscles, your\nbody will be healthy and will last the eighty years and more. All\nthrough your life you will be strong and able to do good work.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. Muscles cover the bones and move the body.\n\n     2. Muscle is lean meat. It is made of bundles of cells like\n          strings. Nerves from the brain touch each cell.\n\n     3. Each muscle is fast to a bone. It becomes a small string or\n          tendon at the other end. The tendon crosses a joint and is\n          fast to another bone.\n\n     4. When we wish to move, the brain sends an order to the muscle\n          cells to make themselves thicker and shorter and so bend the\n          joint.\n\n     5. You can feel the muscles and tendons in the arm and wrist.\n\n     6. Muscle work makes us breathe deeper, and eat more food. It\n          makes the blood flow faster. So it makes our whole bodies\n          more healthy.\n\n     7. Every one ought to use his muscles some part of the day.\n\n     8. Alcohol and tobacco lessen the strength of the muscles.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nDISEASE GERMS\n\n\n=197. Catching diseases.=--Our body may get out of order like a\nmachine. Some parts of it may be cut, or broken, or worn out, or hurt\nin other ways. Then we are sick until it is made whole again. Sickness\nalways means that a part of the body is out of order.\n\nSome kinds of sickness are like a fire. A small bit of something from\na sick person may start a sickness in us, just as a spark may set a\nhouse on fire. Then we may give the sickness to others, just as a fire\nmay spread to other houses. If a person has measles, we may catch the\nmeasles if we go near him; but if a person has a toothache, we cannot\ncatch the toothache from him. So we may catch some kinds of diseases,\nbut we cannot catch other kinds.\n\n=198. Bacteria and germs.=--Every kind of catching sickness is caused\nby tiny living things growing in our flesh and blood. Some of them are\ntiny animals. Most of them are plants, and are called _bacteria_ or\n_microbes_. A common name for all of them is _germs_.\n\nThe word germ means nearly the same as the word seed. Bacteria are so\nsmall that we cannot see them unless we look at them through a strong\nmicroscope. Then they look like little dots and lines (p. 54). A\nmillion of them could lie on a pin point; but if they have a chance,\nthey may grow in numbers, so that in two days they would fill a pint\nmeasure.\n\nVery many kinds of bacteria and other germs are found nearly\neverywhere. They are in the soil and in water, and some float in the\nair as dust. When they fall on dead things, they cause _decay_ or\n_rotting_. When we can fruit, we kill the germs by boiling the fruit\nand the cans. Then we close the cans tightly so that no new germs can\nget into them. The fruit will then keep fresh for years.\n\nDecay is nearly always a good thing, for by it dead bodies and waste\nsubstances are destroyed and given back to the ground, where plants\nfeed upon them. Many plants would not grow if they could not feed upon\ndecaying things. So most bacteria and other germs are useful to us.\nBut some kinds of germs will grow only in our bodies, and these kinds\nare the cause of most of our sickness.\n\n=199. Germs of sickness.=--We catch a sickness by taking a few of the\ngerms of the sickness into our flesh. There they grow quickly, like\nweed seeds in the ground, and form crops of new germs within a few\nhours. After a few days the germs become millions in number, and crowd\nthe cells of our flesh, just as weeds may crowd a potato plant (p. 54).\n\nDisease germs in the body also form poisons, just as some weeds in a\nfield form poisons. The poisons make us sick, just as if we had\nswallowed the leaves of a poisonous weed.\n\n=200. Fever.=--If a sickness is caused by disease germs, the body is\nnearly always too warm. Then we say that the sick person has a\n_fever_. Almost the only cause for a fever is disease germs growing in\nthe body. We can make a person have any kind of fever by planting a\nfew of the germs of the fever in the right part of his body.\n\nWe are made sick by the germs of fevers more often than by all other\ncauses put together. Here is a list of common diseases caused by fever\ngerms:--colds and sore throats, most stomach aches, blood poisoning in\nwounds, boils and pimples, tuberculosis, whooping cough, measles,\nchicken pox, diphtheria, scarlet fever, typhoid fever, smallpox, and\nmalaria.\n\nWhich of these kinds of sickness have you had? What sickness have you\nhad besides these?\n\n=201. Sickness and Dirt.=--Disease germs leave the body of a sick person\nin three ways: first, through the skin, second, through the kidneys and\nintestines, and third, through the nose and throat. In these same ways\nour body gives off its waste matters. If we did not take anything from\nanother person's body into our own body we should not catch fevers.\n\nWhatever a feverish person soils may contain disease germs. When a\nperson has only a slight fever he often keeps at work, and then he may\nscatter disease germs wherever he goes. So disease germs are likely to\nbe found wherever there is dirt or filth. Cleanliness means good\nhealth as well as good looks.\n\n=202. Disease germs in the skin.=--Disease germs may often be found in\nsores and pimples on the skin, but they will not leave anybody's flesh\nand blood through sound and healthy skin. If our skin is smooth and\nfair, there will be few disease germs on it unless we rub against\nsomething dirty. A dirty skin nearly always contains disease germs.\nWashing and bathing our body will take disease germs from our skin and\nhelp us to keep well.\n\n=203. Disease germs in slops.=--A great many disease germs leave the\nbody through the intestine and kidneys, and may be found in the slops\nand waste water of our houses. Slops are dangerous to health, for they\nmay run into a well, or spring, or river, and so carry disease germs\ninto our drinking water (p. 27). Also, house flies may light on the\npails or puddles and carry the germs to our food. In these ways we\ncatch typhoid fever, stomach aches, and other diseases of the\nintestines. All slops and waste matters from the body should be put\nwhere they cannot reach our drinking water, and where flies cannot\ncrawl over them (p. 80).\n\n=204. Disease germs from the nose and throat.=--If a person is sick with\na fever, many of the germs are likely to be found in his nose and\nthroat. Thousands of them are driven out with every drop of saliva and\nphlegm when he blows his nose, or spits, coughs, or sneezes, or talks.\nIf he puts anything into his mouth, it will be covered with germs. More\ndiseases are spread from the nose and mouth than in any other way, for\nwe are always doing something to spread bits of saliva and phlegm.\n\n=205. Spitting.=--Colds and consumption and other forms of sickness\nare often spread by sick persons spitting on the floor or pavement.\nThe germs become dried and are blown away as dust. For this reason\ndust from the streets of cities and in crowded halls is often the\ncause of sickness. In many places spitting on a floor or pavement is\nstrictly forbidden by law.\n\n=206. Putting things in the mouth.=--Many persons have the habit of\nsucking their fingers, or of touching a pencil to the tongue when they\nwrite or think, or of wetting their fingers with their lips when they\nturn the leaves of a book. In all these ways we may give a disease to\nothers or may take a disease from some one else.\n\n=207. Public drinking cup.=--When you touch your lips to a cup, you\nleave some saliva and cells from your mouth on the cup. If a cup is\nused by a number of persons, some one is almost sure to leave germs of\nsickness on it, and others are likely to take them into their own\nmouths when they drink. So a public drinking cup is a dangerous thing.\nEach school child should have his own cup. Public drinking fountains\nshould be so made that we may drink by putting our lips to a stream of\nrunning water.\n\n[Illustration: =A safe drinking fountain.=\n\nA stream of water gushes up from the middle of the cup.]\n\n[Illustration: =An unsafe drinking place.=\n\nPhotograph taken in the basement of a schoolhouse.]\n\n=208. Sweeping.=--Dusty air in a room is dangerous to health, for\ndisease germs are likely to be found in it. We can get rid of dust by\nkeeping our floors swept clean. After sweeping we should wipe the dust\nfrom the tables and furniture. A feather duster or dry cloth will only\nstir up the dust and make it float in the air again. We should use\neither a damp cloth, or a dry duster made of tufts of wool, so that\nthe dust will stick to the duster.\n\n[Illustration: =House fly, magnified.=\n\nThe hairs on its body and legs catch dirt and disease germs.]\n\n=209. Foul air.=--If we live in a closed room, the air soon becomes\nfoul and dusty, and is likely to have disease germs in it. Foul air is\none of the greatest of the causes of sickness. We should change the\nair of a room often so as to keep it fresh and free from dust and\ndisease germs (pp. 65-67).\n\n=210. House flies.=--House flies come from garbage heaps and filth of\nall sorts. So they carry disease germs on their bodies. They light on\nour food and on our faces, and so they often make us sick. They are\noften the cause of typhoid fever, stomach aches, and stomach sickness\nin babies.\n\n[Illustration: =Life history of house flies.=]\n\nFlies are hatched in manure piles and garbage heaps. At first they\nlook like white worms, and are called _maggots_. Every maggot is a\nyoung fly. We can get rid of flies by cleaning up every garbage heap\nand manure pile.\n\n[Illustration: =Young mosquitoes hanging head downward in water.=]\n\n=211. Mosquitoes.=--Mosquitoes carry malaria and yellow fever from\nsick persons to the well. If there were no mosquitoes, there would be\nno malaria or yellow fever.\n\nMosquitoes are hatched in water, and the young are called _wigglers_.\nWe may often see them in rain barrels. We may get rid of mosquitoes by\nemptying all rain barrels and pails and cans of dirty water, at least\nonce a week, and by drying up swamps and marshes.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. We catch a fever by taking disease germs into the body.\n\n     2. Disease germs cannot be seen without a strong microscope.\n\n     3. The germs may be found in dust and dirt.\n\n     4. Slops from our houses are often full of the germs.\n\n     5. You may take germs into your body by putting pencils and other\n          things into your mouth, and by drinking from a public\n          drinking cup.\n\n     6. Spitting on the floor or pavement may scatter disease germs.\n\n     7. House flies and mosquitoes often spread diseases.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nPREVENTING SICKNESS\n\n\n=212. How our body kills disease germs.=--We take disease germs into\nthe body in three ways: first, through the mouth, second, through the\nnose, and third, through the skin. So we should watch the purity of\nour food, drink, and air, and should be careful about putting things\ninto the mouth, and about the cleanliness of the skin. We often take a\nfew disease germs into the body without catching a disease. This is\nbecause the white cells of our blood fight the germs and kill them (p.\n53). If the body is hurt or weakened, the white blood cells may also\nbe weakened so that they cannot kill the germs. We should take good\ncare of the body so that every part of it may do its work well. We\nneed not be able to run fast, or to lift heavy weights, but the best\nsign that every part of the body is in good order is to feel bright\nand wide-awake. Then our white blood cells will also be in good order\nand able to fight disease germs.\n\n=213. Catching cold.=--When we catch a disease, we often say that we\nhave caught cold. We used to think that cold air and dampness were\nalmost the only causes of taking cold, and this is the reason why we\ncalled many kinds of sickness by the name of colds. Now we know that\nwe catch cold by taking disease germs into the body. The germs will\nnot be able to grow unless the body is weakened in some way, as by\ncold and dampness. Yet if we are wet and cold, we shall not catch cold\nunless we take disease germs into the body. We do not get the germs\nfrom the outdoor air, for very few germs are there. We get them from\nthe foul air of our houses when we come in to warm and dry ourselves.\nIf the air of our houses were always as clean and pure as the outdoor\nair, we should hardly ever have colds.\n\nWe can safely let the cold air blow on us if we are out of doors, but\nif we sit in a house, a small draft sometimes seems to make us take\ncold. This is because there are likely to be many disease germs in the\nhouse and few out of doors.\n\nOther things besides cold air and dampness may weaken the body, and so\nhelp us to take cold. If germs of colds are in a warm room, we may sit\nthere and take cold even if we are not wet or chilled at all. The body\nmay be weakened by poor food, wrong eating, or overwork, so that\ndisease germs will easily grow in it. We take as many colds from these\ncauses as from cold air and dampness.\n\n=214. Kinds of colds.=--A person takes most of the germs of colds\nthrough his nose and mouth. If they grow only in his nose, we say that\nhe has a cold in his head. If they grow in his throat, he has a sore\nthroat, or tonsillitis. If they reach as far as the upper part of his\nwindpipe, he is hoarse, or has a cough, or the croup. If the germs are\nplanted in his lungs, he may have bronchitis or pneumonia. All these\nkinds of sickness often spread from one person to another. If one person\nin a family has a cold, others in the family often catch cold from him.\n\n=215. Diseases like colds.=--Diphtheria, tuberculosis, whooping cough,\nand measles all begin like a common cold and often look like a cold\nduring the whole sickness. Colds do not turn into any of these\ndiseases, for each of them comes from its own germ, just as corn comes\nonly from seed corn.\n\n=216. Curing a cold.=--If you have a cold, you ought to stay at home\nand rest, or lie in bed. Then your white blood cells can gain strength\nto fight the disease germs. You ought to have plenty of fresh air in\nyour room. You ought not to eat much food for a few days, so that your\nstomach and intestine and liver can use all their strength in throwing\noff the poisons of the germs. But you ought to drink plenty of water,\nso as to help wash away the poisons from your body.\n\n=217. Keeping colds from spreading.=--You should keep away from other\npersons while you have a cold, or other catching disease, so as to\nkeep from spreading the sickness. You ought not to go visiting, or go\nto school, or to church, or to other meeting places. When you cough or\nsneeze, you should hold a handkerchief to your mouth, so as to keep\nfrom blowing disease germs from your throat and nose. You ought to\nsleep in a bed by yourself, so that no one may take the disease germs\nfrom your bedclothes. No one else should use your towel, or\nhandkerchief, or knife, or fork, or spoon, or dish, until they have\nbeen washed in hot water, so as to kill the disease germs on them.\n\n=218. Keeping from catching cold.=--You can keep yourself from\ncatching cold by keeping your body strong and in good order. You\nshould keep your clothes dry, eat good food, breathe pure air, get\ngood rest and sleep, and keep your body, your clothes, and your house\nclean. You should also keep disease germs out of your body. You should\nnot form a habit of putting your fingers or a pencil to your mouth (p.\n127). You should keep your nose, your throat, and your mouth clean.\n\n=219. Cleanliness of the nose.=--The inside of the nose is wet with a\nslippery liquid. If you have a cold, the liquid is thick and stops\nyour nose, and is called _phlegm_. The liquid catches and holds dust\nand disease germs, and keeps them from going into the windpipe. It\nalso kills many of the disease germs.\n\nYou should always carry a handkerchief and use it so as to blow the\ngerms out of your nose. You should have a clean handkerchief every day.\n\n[Illustration: =Photograph of model of the nose and throat.=\n\n_A._ tonsil; _B._ adenoids; _C._ opening of Eustachian tube.]\n\n=220. Adenoids and large tonsils.=--Sometimes children have large\ntonsils growing in the back of the throat, or soft bunches of flesh\ncalled _adenoids_ back of the nose. These children cannot breathe well\nthrough the nose, but must breathe through the mouth. Then they take\ndust and disease germs deep into the body, and so take colds and other\nsickness easily. If a child has adenoids or large tonsils, an\noperation should be done to take them out.\n\n=221. Cleanliness of the mouth.=--We often breathe dust and disease\ngerms into the mouth or snuff them into the throat from the nose. Then\nthey are caught between the teeth and in the folds of the cheeks and\nthroat. There they may grow, and finally go deeper into the body and\nmake us sick. A dirty mouth is very often the cause of colds and other\nsickness.\n\nWe should keep our mouths clean by brushing our teeth with a\ntoothbrush two or three times a day. We should also rub the toothbrush\nover the tongue and around the back part of the throat so as to clean\nthe germs from every part of the mouth. Each child should have a\ntoothbrush of his own, and should use it every day.\n\n=222. Contagious diseases.=--Diphtheria, whooping cough, measles,\nscarlet fever, and smallpox are all dangerous kinds of sickness, and\nspread with great ease. The germs may float in the air, and we may\ntake them into our bodies if we go into a room where any one has the\nsickness. So we call these diseases _contagious_. If a person has one\nof these diseases, he should be made to stay in a house or room by\nhimself until he is well. Keeping the sick away from well persons is\ncalled _quarantine_. When the sickness is cured, the sick room and\neverything in it should be cleaned and washed so as to kill the germs.\n\n=223. Board of health.=--There is a board of health in every city and\ntown. The men on the board show persons how to keep diseases from\nspreading, and make them obey the rules of health. Everybody in a town\nshould help the board of health in every possible way.\n\n\nWHAT WE HAVE LEARNED\n\n     1. The white blood cells of our body kill disease germs.\n\n     2. We catch cold by taking disease germs into our body.\n\n     3. The germs of colds are not often found in the air out of\n          doors. They are often found in the foul air of houses.\n\n     4. If a person has a cold, he should keep away from other\n          persons, so as to keep from spreading the sickness.\n\n     5. Cleansing the nose helps us to keep from catching cold.\n\n     6. Cleansing the teeth and the inside of the mouth removes many\n          disease germs.\n\n     7. Adenoids and large tonsils should be taken from the throat by\n          an operation.\n\n     8. If a person has a dangerous contagious disease, he should be\n          quarantined.\n\n     9. Boards of health have charge of the prevention of contagious\n          diseases.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\n  Abdomen, 60.\n\n  Adam's apple, 68.\n\n  Adenoids, 136.\n\n  Air, 59, 65, 129.\n\n  Albumin, 10, 17, 18, 49.\n\n  Alcohol, 38.\n\n  Alcohol and arteries, 56.\n              biliousness, 46.\n              bitters, 46.\n              blood, 55.\n              brain, 95.\n              breathing, 70.\n              burning, 69.\n              catching cold, 71.\n              character, 97.\n              cooking, 47.\n              delirium tremens, 96.\n              digestion, 46.\n              eyes, 103.\n              feeling, 95.\n              habit, 44.\n              heart, 56.\n              heat, 72.\n              heredity, 96.\n              insanity, 96.\n              Jamaica ginger, 47.\n              kidneys, 81.\n              liver, 46.\n              lungs, 70.\n              medicine, 47.\n              money waste, 97.\n              motion, 95.\n              muscles, 119.\n              sickness, 82.\n              skin, 81.\n              stomach, 45.\n              strength, 56, 120.\n              strong drink, 40.\n              suffering, 97.\n              taste, 107.\n              thirst, 44.\n              thought, 95.\n\n  Alcohol, use of, 39.\n\n  Ameba, 7, 52.\n\n  Appetite, 27.\n\n  Arteries, 51, 55.\n\n  Ashes, 12, 62, 78.\n\n\n  B\n\n  Bacteria, 123.\n\n  Bathing, 78, 126.\n\n  Beer, 43.\n\n  Bile, 18.\n\n  Biliousness, 20.\n\n  Bitters, 46.\n\n  Bleeding, 49, 52.\n\n  Blood, 13, 19, 49, 61.\n\n  Board of Health, 137.\n\n  Bones, 109.\n\n  Bowels, 18.\n\n  Bowlegs, 110.\n\n  Brain, 88.\n\n  Brandy, 44.\n\n  Bread, 24, 38.\n\n  Breathing, 59, 60, 67.\n\n  Broken bones, 110.\n\n  Burning, 61, 118.\n\n  Butter, 23.\n\n\n  C\n\n  Cake, 24, 29.\n\n  Candy, 29.\n\n  Canning fruit, 37, 124.\n\n  Capillaries, 51, 61.\n\n  Catching cold, 54, 65, 72, 125, 132.\n\n  Cells, 8.\n\n  Cells, blood tubes of, 51.\n         breathing of, 61.\n         burning of, 62.\n         composition of, 11.\n         food of, 13, 55.\n         messages of, 85, 100.\n\n  Cells of blood, 49, 132.\n           bone, 109.\n           brain, 88.\n           epithelium, 76.\n           muscle, 115.\n           skin, 75.\n           spinal cord, 86.\n           yeast plant, 38.\n\n  Cheese, 23.\n\n  Chest, 60.\n\n  Chewing, 14.\n\n  Chewing gum, 34.\n\n  Chewing tobacco, 33.\n\n  Cider, 42.\n\n  Cigarettes, 34.\n\n  Cigars, 34.\n\n  Clams, 24.\n\n  Clot, 49.\n\n  Clothes, 63.\n\n  Coated tongue, 20.\n\n  Coffee, 27.\n\n  Cold, feelings of, 101.\n\n  Colds, 54, 65, 72, 125, 132.\n\n  Connective tissue, 9.\n\n  Contagious diseases, 137.\n\n  Cooking, 13.\n\n  Cotton, 63.\n\n  Cream, 23.\n\n  Cross-eyes, 102.\n\n  Cuts, 53.\n\n\n  D\n\n  Deafness, 105.\n\n  Decay, 124.\n\n  Delirium tremens, 96.\n\n  Diaphragm, 60.\n\n  Digestion, 13.\n\n  Diphtheria, 53, 134, 137.\n\n  Dirt, 126.\n\n  Dirt in eye, 102.\n\n  Disease germs, 29, 53, 65, 72, 81, 123.\n\n  Distillation, 43.\n\n  Drinking cup, 128.\n\n\n  E\n\n  Ear, 104.\n\n  Ear wax, 104.\n\n  Eating, 20.\n\n  Egg, 23.\n\n  Epidermis, 76.\n\n  Epithelium, 75.\n\n  Eustachian tube, 105, 136.\n\n  Exercise, 118.\n\n  Eye, 101.\n\n  Eyeball, 101.\n\n  Eyelids, 102.\n\n\n  F\n\n  Far sight, 103.\n\n  Fat, 11, 18, 25, 49, 92.\n\n  Fear, 92.\n\n  Feeling, 100.\n\n  Fermentation, 37.\n\n  Fever, 125.\n\n  Fire drill, 93.\n\n  Fish, 24.\n\n  Flannel, 63.\n\n  Flies, 130.\n\n  Food, 12, 13, 19, 23.\n\n  Fresh air, 67, 129.\n\n  Fruit, 25.\n\n  Fur, 64.\n\n\n  G\n\n  Gastric juice, 17.\n\n  Gelatine, 11.\n\n  Germs, 29, 53, 65, 72, 81, 123.\n\n  Gizzard, 14.\n\n  Good habits, 94.\n\n  Grain, 24.\n\n\n  H\n\n  Habit, 94, 127.\n\n  Hair, 76.\n\n  Hair dyes, 77.\n\n  Hair oil, 77.\n\n  Handkerchief, 135, 136.\n\n  Healing, 53.\n\n  Hearing, 104.\n\n  Heart, 50.\n\n  Heart beat, 50, 55.\n\n  Heat, 62, 101.\n\n  Heating houses, 65.\n\n  House flies, 129.\n\n  Hunger, 29.\n\n\n\n  Intemperance, 29.\n\n  Intestine, 18.\n\n  Iron, 12.\n\n\n  J\n\n  Jamaica ginger, 47.\n\n  Joints, 110.\n\n\n  K\n\n  Kidneys, 62, 78.\n\n  Knowledge, 89.\n\n\n  L\n\n  Lead, 27.\n\n  Life, 12.\n\n  Lime, 12.\n\n  Linen, 64.\n\n  Liver, 18, 19.\n\n  Lungs, 60.\n\n\n  M\n\n  Maggots, 130.\n\n  Malaria, 130.\n\n  Matter, 54.\n\n  Meal, 24.\n\n  Measles, 134, 137.\n\n  Meat, 24, 116.\n\n  Memory, 89.\n\n  Microbes, 123.\n\n  Microscope, 8.\n\n  Milk, 23.\n\n  Mind, 9, 84, 88.\n\n  Minerals, 11, 19, 49.\n\n  Mosquitoes, 130.\n\n  Motion, 88.\n\n  Motor nerves, 85.\n\n  Mouth, 14, 127, 137.\n\n  Muscles, 115.\n\n\n  N\n\n  Nails, 76.\n\n  Near sight, 103.\n\n  Nerve messages, 85.\n\n  Nerves, 84, 116.\n\n  Nervousness, 92.\n\n  Nicotine, 31.\n\n  Night air, 67.\n\n  Nose, 127, 135.\n\n\n  O\n\n  Oatmeal, 24.\n\n  Oysters, 24.\n\n\n  P\n\n  Pain, 100.\n\n  Pancakes, 24.\n\n  Pancreatic juice, 18.\n\n  Pencils, 127, 135.\n\n  Perspiration, 78.\n\n  Pie, 29.\n\n  Pneumonia, 134.\n\n  Poisons, 19.\n\n  Potash, 12.\n\n  Potatoes, 25.\n\n  Public drinking cup, 128.\n\n  Pulse, 51.\n\n  Pus, 54.\n\n\n  Q\n\n  Quarantine, 137.\n\n\n  R\n\n  Red blood cells, 49, 54, 61.\n\n  Reflex action, 86.\n\n  Root beer, 43.\n\n  Round shoulders, 112, 117.\n\n  Rubbers, 64.\n\n\n  S\n\n  Saliva, 14.\n\n  Salt, 12, 26.\n\n  Scarlet fever, 137.\n\n  Senses, 88, 100.\n\n  Sensory nerves, 85.\n\n  Sewers, 81.\n\n  Sick room, 66.\n\n  Sight, 101.\n\n  Skin, 63, 75, 126.\n\n  Sleep, 90.\n\n  Slops, 80, 126.\n\n  Smallpox, 137.\n\n  Smell, 106.\n\n  Smoke, 62.\n\n  Smoking, 34.\n\n  Snuff, 33.\n\n  Soda, 12.\n\n  Spinal cord, 86.\n\n  Spitting, 32, 127.\n\n  Sprains, 112.\n\n  Starch, 11, 14, 18, 25.\n\n  Steam engine, 62.\n\n  Stockings, 64.\n\n  Stomach, 17.\n\n  Strength, 117.\n\n  Strong drink, 40.\n\n  Sugar, 11, 14, 18, 25, 28, 38, 42, 49.\n\n  Swallowing, 15.\n\n  Sweat, 63, 78.\n\n  Sweeping, 129.\n\n  Sweetbread, 18.\n\n\n  T\n\n  Taste, 28, 106.\n\n  Tea, 27.\n\n  Tears, 102.\n\n  Teeth, 14, 137.\n\n  Tendon, 115.\n\n  Thinking, 89.\n\n  Tight shoes, 112.\n\n  Tobacco, 31.\n\n  Tobacco and brain, 98.\n              breathing, 72.\n              chewing, 33.\n              children, 33.\n              digestion, 33.\n              eyes, 104.\n              habit, 34.\n              heart, 57.\n              muscle, 121.\n              strength, 32.\n              taste, 107.\n              teeth, 32.\n\n  Tongue, 15.\n\n  Tonsils, 134, 136.\n\n  Toothpick, 15.\n\n  Touch, 100.\n\n  Tuberculosis, 134.\n\n  Typhoid fever, 53, 127.\n\n\n  V\n\n  Vegetables, 25.\n\n  Veins, 52.\n\n  Ventilation, 65, 129.\n\n  Vinegar, 39.\n\n  Voice, 68.\n\n\n  W\n\n  Warmth, feeling of, 63.\n\n  Washing clothes, 80.\n\n  Waste of body, 75, 78.\n\n  Water, 10, 19, 26, 49, 127.\n\n  Wells, 26, 81.\n\n  Whisky, 44, 71.\n\n  White blood cells, 49, 53, 132.\n\n  Whooping cough, 134, 137.\n\n  Wigglers, 131.\n\n  Windpipe, 15, 59.\n\n  Wine, 42.\n\n  Wool, 63.\n\n  Words, 68.\n\n  Working of fruit, 37.\n\n  Worry, 91.\n\n\n  Y\n\n  Yeast, 24, 38, 42.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n   Pg 137 Added period after \"223\" in \"223 Board of health\".\n\n   Pg 141 Replaced a comma with a period after \"101\" in \"Eye, 101\".", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32251", "title": "Applied Physiology, Including the Effects of Alcohol and Narcotics", "author": "", "publication_year": 1910, "metadata_title": "Applied Physiology, Including the Effects of Alcohol and Narcotics", "metadata_author": "Frank Overton", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:28.613768", "source_chars": 148286, "chars": 148286, "talkie_tokens": 37479}}
{"text": "Produced by Marius Masi, Chris Curnow and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nA FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA.\n\n\n[Illustration: Max O'Rell]\n\n\n\n\n_A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA_\n\nRecollections of Men and Things\n\n\n  BY MAX O'RELL\n\n  AUTHOR OF \"JONATHAN AND HIS CONTINENT,\" \"JOHN BULL, JUNIOR,\"\n  \"JACQUES BONHOMME,\" \"JOHN BULL AND HIS ISLAND,\" ETC.\n\n\n  WITH OVER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS\n  BY E. W. KEMBLE\n\n\n           NEW YORK\n  CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY\n   104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE\n\n\n\n\n     COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY\n  CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY.\n\n    _All rights reserved._\n\n  THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,\n        RAHWAY, N. J.\n\n\n\n\n  CONTENTS.\n\n\n  CHAPTER.                                                         PAGE.\n\n  I.--Departure--The Atlantic--Demoralization of the \"Boarders\"--\n        Betting--The Auctioneer--An Inquisitive Yankee,                1\n\n  II.--Arrival of the Pilot--First Look at American Newspapers,       11\n\n  III.--Arrival--The Custom House--Things Look Bad--The\n        Interviewers--First Visits--Things Look Brighter--\"O Vanity\n        of Vanities,\"                                                 14\n\n  IV.--Impressions of American Hotels,                                25\n\n  V.--My Opening Lecture--Reflections on Audiences I Have Had--The\n        Man who Won't Smile--The One who Laughs too Soon, and Many\n        Others,                                                       37\n\n  VI.--A Connecticut Audience--Merry Meriden--A Hard Pull,            48\n\n  VII--A Tempting Offer--The Thursday Club--Bill Nye--Visit to Young\n        Ladies' Schools--The Players' Club,                           52\n\n  VIII.--The Flourishing of Coats-of-Arms in America--Reflections\n        Thereon--Forefathers Made to Order--The Phonograph at\n        Home--The Wealth of New York--Departure for Buffalo,          60\n\n  IX.--Different Ways of Advertising a Lecture--American\n        Impressarios and Their Methods,                               66\n\n  X.--Buffalo--The Niagara Falls--A Frost--Rochester to the Rescue\n        of Buffalo--Cleveland--I Meet Jonathan--Phantasmagoria,       74\n\n  XI.--A Great Admirer--Notes on Railway Traveling--Is America a\n        Free Nation?--A Pleasant Evening in New York,                 81\n\n  XII.--Notes on American Women--Comparisons--How Men Treat Women\n        and Vice Versa--Scenes and Illustrations,                     90\n\n  XIII.--More about Journalism in America--A Dinner at Delmonico's--\n        My First Appearance in an American Church,                   110\n\n  XIV.--Marcus Aurelius in America--Chairmen I Have Had--American,\n        English, and Scotch Chairmen--One who had Been to\n        Boulogne--Talkative and Silent Chairmen--A Trying Occasion--\n        The Lord is Asked to Allow the Audience to See my Points,    124\n\n  XV.--Reflections on the Typical American,                          137\n\n  XVI.--I am Asked to Express Myself Freely on America--I Meet Mrs.\n        Blank and for the First Time Hear of Mr. Blank--Beacon\n        Street Society--The Boston Clubs,                            149\n\n  XVII.--A Lively Sunday in Boston--Lecture in the Boston Theater--\n        Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes--The Booth-Modjeska Combination,   156\n\n  XVIII--St. Johnsbury--The State of Maine--New England\n        Self-control--Cold Climates and Frigid Audiences--Where is\n        the Audience?--All Drunk!--A Reminiscence of a Scotch\n        Audience on a Saturday Night,                                163\n\n  XIX.--A Lovely Ride to Canada--Quebec, a Corner of Old France\n        Strayed up and Lost in the Snow--The French Canadians--The\n        Parties in Canada--Will the Canadians become Yankees?        172\n\n  XX.--Montreal--The City--Mount Royal--Canadian Sports--Ottawa--\n        The Government--Rideau Hall,                                 182\n\n  XXI.--Toronto--The City--The Ladies--The Sports--Strange\n        Contrasts--The Canadian Schools,                             191\n\n  XXII.--West Canada--Relations between British and Indians--Return\n        to the United States--Difficulties in the Way--Encounter\n        American Custom-House Officer,                               196\n\n  XXIII.--Chicago (First Visit)--The \"Neighborhood\" of Chicago--The\n        with an History of Chicago--Public Servants--A Very Deaf\n        Man,                                                         203\n\n  XXIV.--St. Paul and Minneapolis, the Sister Cities--Rivalries and\n        Jealousies between Large American Cities--Minnehaha\n        Falls--Wonderful Interviewers--My Hat gets into Trouble\n        Again--Electricity in the Air--Forest Advertisements--\n        Railway Speed in America,                                    214\n\n  XXV.--Detroit--The Town--The Detroit \"Free Press\"--A Lady\n        Interviewer--The \"Unco Guid\" in Detroit--Reflections on the\n        Anglo-Saxon \"Unco Guid,\"                                     222\n\n  XXVI.--Milwaukee--A Well-filled Day--Reflections on the Scotch in\n        America--Chicago Criticisms,                                 236\n\n  XXVII.--The Monotony of Traveling in the States--\"Manon Lescaut\"\n        in America,                                                  244\n\n  XXVIII.--For the First Time I See an American Paper Abuse Me--\n        Albany to New York--A Lecture at Daly's Theater--Afternoon\n        Audiences,                                                   248\n\n  XXIX.--Wanderings Through New York--Lecture at the Harmonie Club--\n        Visit to the Century Club,                                   255\n\n  XXX.--Visit to the Brooklyn Academy of Music--Rev. Dr. Talmage,    257\n\n  XXXI.--Virginia--The Hotels--The South--I will Kill a Railway\n        Conductor before I Leave America--Philadelphia--Impressions\n        of the Old City,                                             263\n\n  XXXII.--My Ideas of the State of Texas--Why I will not Go\n        There--The Story of a Frontier Man,                          274\n\n  XXXIII.--Cincinnati--The Town--The Suburbs--A German City--\"Over\n        the Rhine\"--What is a Good Patriot?--An Impressive\n        Funeral--A Great Fire--How It Appeared to Me, and How It\n        Appeared to the Newspaper Reporters,                         279\n\n  XXXIV.--A Journey if you Like--Terrible Encounter with an\n        American Interviewer,                                        296\n\n  XXXV.--The University of Indiana--Indianapolis--The Veterans of\n        the Grand Army of the Republic on the Spree--A Marvelous\n        Equilibrist,                                                 306\n\n  XXXVI.--Chicago (Second Visit)--Vassili Verestchagin's\n        Exhibition--The \"Angelus\"--Wagner and Wagnerites--\n        Wanderings About the Big City--I Sit on the Tribunal,        311\n\n  XXXVII.--Ann Arbor--The University of Michigan--Detroit\n        Again--The French Out of France--Oberlin College, Ohio--\n        Black and White--Are All American Citizens Equal?            322\n\n  XXXVIII.--Mr. and Mrs. Kendal in New York--Joseph Jefferson--\n        Julian Hawthorne--Miss Ada Rehan--\"As You Like It\" at\n        Daly's Theater,                                              330\n\n  XXXIX.--Washington--The City--Willard's Hotel--The Politicians--\n        General Benjamin Harrison, U. S. President--Washington\n        Society--Baltimore--Philadelphia,                            332\n\n  XL.--Easter Sunday in New York,                                    342\n\n  XLI.--I Mount the Pulpit and Preach on the Sabbath, in the State\n        of Wisconsin--The Audience is Large and Appreciative; but I\n        Probably Fail to Please One of the Congregation,             347\n\n  XLII.--The Origin of American Humor and Its Characteristics--The\n        Sacred and the Profane--The Germans and American Humor--\n        My Corpse Would \"Draw,\" in my Impressario's Opinion,         353\n\n  XLIII.--Good-by to America--Not \"Adieu,\" but \"Au Revoir\"--On\n        Board the _Teutonic_--Home Again,                            361\n\n\n\n\nA FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n  DEPARTURE--THE ATLANTIC--DEMORALIZATION OF THE \"BOARDERS\"--BETTING--THE\n  AUCTIONEER--AN INQUISITIVE YANKEE.\n\n\n     _On board the \"Celtic,\" Christmas Week, 1889._\n\nIn the order of things the _Teutonic_ was to have sailed to-day, but the\ndate is the 25th of December, and few people elect to eat their\nChristmas dinner on the ocean if they can avoid it; so there are only\ntwenty-five saloon passengers, and they have been committed to the brave\nlittle _Celtic_, while that huge floating palace, the _Teutonic_,\nremains in harbor.\n\nLittle _Celtic_! Has it come to this with her and her companions, the\n_Germanic_, the _Britannic_, and the rest that were the wonders and the\nglory of the ship-building craft a few years ago? There is something\nalmost sad in seeing these queens of the Atlantic dethroned, and obliged\nto rank below newer and grander ships. It was even pathetic to hear the\nremarks of the sailors, as we passed the _Germanic_ who, in her day, had\ncreated even more wondering admiration than the two famous armed\ncruisers lately added to the \"White Star\" fleet.\n\n\nI know nothing more monotonous than a voyage from Liverpool to New York.\n\nNine times out of ten--not to say ninety-nine times out of a\nhundred--the passage is bad. The Atlantic Ocean has an ugly temper; it\nhas forever got its back up. Sulky, angry, and terrible by turns, it\nonly takes a few days' rest out of every year, and this always occurs\nwhen you are not crossing.\n\nAnd then, the wind is invariably against you. When you go to America, it\nblows from the west; when you come back to Europe, it blows from the\neast. If the captain steers south to avoid icebergs, it is sure to begin\nto blow southerly.\n\nDoctors say that sea-sickness emanates from the brain. I can quite\nbelieve them. The blood rushes to your head, leaving your extremities\ncold and helpless. All the vital force flies to the brain, and your legs\nrefuse to carry you. It is with sea-sickness as it is with wine. When\npeople say that a certain wine goes up in the head, it means that it is\nmore likely to go down to the feet.\n\nThere you are, on board a huge construction that rears and kicks like a\nbuck-jumper. She lifts you up bodily, and, after well shaking all your\nmembers in the air several seconds, lets them down higgledy-piggledy,\nleaving to Providence the business of picking them up and putting them\ntogether again. That is the kind of thing one has to go through about\nsixty times an hour. And there is no hope for you; nobody dies of it.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOUR LEGS REFUSE TO CARRY YOU.\"]\n\nUnder such conditions, the mental state of the boarders may easily be\nimagined. They smoke, they play cards, they pace the deck like bruin\npacing a cage; or else they read, and forget at the second chapter all\nthey have read in the first. A few presumptuous ones try to think, but\nwithout success. The ladies, the American ones more especially, lie on\ntheir deck chairs swathed in rugs and shawls like Egyptian mummies in\ntheir sarcophagi, and there they pass from ten to twelve hours a day\nmotionless, hopeless, helpless, speechless. Some few incurables keep to\ntheir cabins altogether, and only show their wasted faces when it is\ntime to debark. Up they come, with cross, stupefied, pallid,\nyellow-green-looking physiognomies, and seeming to say: \"Speak to me, if\nyou like, but don't expect me to open my eyes or answer you, and above\nall, don't shake me.\"\n\nImpossible to fraternize.\n\nThe crossing now takes about six days and a half. By the time you have\nspent two in getting your sea legs on, and three more in reviewing, and\nbeing reviewed by your fellow-passengers, you will find yourself at the\nend of your troubles--and your voyage.\n\nNo, people do not fraternize on board ship, during such a short passage,\nunless a rumor runs from cabin to cabin that there has been some\naccident to the machinery, or that the boat is in imminent danger. At\nthe least scare of this kind, every one looks at his neighbor with eyes\nthat are alarmed, but amiable, nay, even amicable. But as soon as one\ncan say: \"We have come off with a mere scare this time,\" all the facial\ntraits stiffen once more, and nobody knows anybody.\n\n[Illustration: \"LIKE EGYPTIAN MUMMIES.\"]\n\nUniversal grief only will bring about universal brotherhood. We must\nwait till the Day of Judgment. When the world is passing away, oh! how\nmen will forgive and love one another! What outpourings of good-will and\naffection there will be! How touching, how edifying will be the sight!\nThe universal republic will be founded in the twinkling of an eye,\ndistinctions of creed and class forgotten. The author will embrace the\ncritic and even the publisher, the socialist open his arms to the\ncapitalist. The married men will be seen \"making it up\" with their\nmothers-in-law, begging them to forgive and forget, and admitting that\nthey had not been always quite so-so, in fact, as they might have been.\nIf the Creator of all is a philosopher, or enjoys humor, how he will be\namused to see all the various sects of Christians, who have passed their\nlives in running one another down, throw themselves into one another's\narms. It will be a scene never to be forgotten.\n\nYes, I repeat it, the voyage from Liverpool to New York is monotonous\nand wearisome in the extreme. It is an interval in one's existence, a\nweek more or less lost, decidedly more than less.\n\nOne grows gelatinous from head to foot, especially in the upper part of\none's anatomy.\n\nIn order to see to what an extent the brain softens, you only need look\nat the pastimes the poor passengers go in for.\n\nA state of demoralization prevails throughout.\n\nThey bet. That is the form the disease takes.\n\n[Illustration: THE AUCTIONEER.]\n\nThey bet on anything and everything. They bet that the sun will or will\nnot appear next day at eleven precisely, or that rain will fall at noon.\nThey bet that the number of miles made by the boat at twelve o'clock\nnext day will terminate with 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, or 9. Each draws\none of these numbers and pays his shilling, half-crown, or even\nsovereign. Then these numbers are put up at auction. An improvised\nauctioneer, with the gift of the gab, puts his talent at the service of\nhis fellow-passengers. It is really very funny to see him swaying about\nthe smoking-room table, and using all his eloquence over each number in\nturn for sale. A good auctioneer will run the bidding so smartly that\nthe winner of the pool next day often pockets as much as thirty and\nforty pounds. On the eve of arrival in New York harbor, everybody knows\nthat twenty-four pilots are waiting about for the advent of the liner,\nand that each boat carries her number on her sail. Accordingly,\ntwenty-four numbers are rolled up and thrown into a cap, and betting\nbegins again. He who has drawn the number which happens to be that of\nthe pilot who takes the steamer into harbor pockets the pool.\n\nI, who have never bet on anything in my life, even bet with my traveling\ncompanion, when the rolling of the ship sends our portmanteaus from one\nside of the cabin to the other, that mine will arrive first.\nIntellectual faculties on board are reduced to this ebb.\n\n\nThe nearest approach to a gay note, in this concert of groans and\ngrumblings, is struck by some humorous and good-tempered American. He\nwill come and ask you the most impossible questions with an ease and\nimpudence perfectly inimitable. These catechisings are all the more\ndroll because they are done with a _naïveté_ which completely disarms\nyou. The phrase is short, without verb, reduced to its most concise\nexpression. The intonation alone marks the interrogation. Here is a\nspecimen.\n\nWe have on board the _Celtic_ an American who is not a very shrewd\nperson, for it has actually taken him five days to discover that English\nis not my native tongue. This morning (December 30) he found it out,\nand, being seated near me in the smoke-room, has just had the following\nbit of conversation with me:\n\n\"Foreigner?\" said he.\n\n\"Foreigner,\" said I, replying in American.\n\n\"German, I guess.\"\n\n\"Guess again.\"\n\n\"French?\"\n\n\"Pure blood.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"GOING TO AMERICA?\"]\n\n\"Married?\"\n\n\"Married.\"\n\n\"Going to America?\"\n\n\"Yes--evidently.\"\n\n\"Pleasure trip?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"On business?\"\n\n\"On business, yes.\"\n\n\"What's your line?\"\n\n\"H'm--French goods.\"\n\n\"Ah! what class of goods?\"\n\n\"_L'article de Paris._\"\n\n\"The what?\"\n\n\"The _ar-ti-cle de Pa-ris_.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, the _arnticle of Pahrriss_.\"\n\n\"Exactly so. Excuse _my_ pronunciation.\"\n\nThis floored him.\n\n\"Rather impertinent, your smoke-room neighbor!\" you will say.\n\nUndeceive yourself at once upon that point. It is not impertinence,\nstill less an intention to offend you, that urges him to put these\nincongruous questions to you. It is the interest he takes in you. The\nAmerican is a good fellow; good fellowship is one of his chief\ncharacteristic traits. Of that I became perfectly convinced during my\nlast visit to the United States.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n  ARRIVAL OF THE PILOT--FIRST LOOK AT AMERICAN NEWSPAPERS.\n\n\n     _Saturday, January 4, 1890._\n\nWe shall arrive in New York Harbor to-night, but too late to go on\nshore. After sunset, the Custom House officers are not to be disturbed.\nWe are about to land in a country where, as I remember, everything is in\nsubjection to the paid servant. In the United States, he who is paid\nwages commands.\n\nWe make the best of it. After having mercilessly tumbled us about for\nnine days, the wind has graciously calmed down, and our last day is\ngoing to be a good one, thanks be. There is a pure atmosphere. A clear\nline at the horizon divides space into two immensities, two sheets of\nblue sharply defined.\n\nFaces are smoothing out a bit. People talk, are becoming, in fact, quite\ncommunicative. One seems to say to another: \"Why, after all, you don't\nlook half as disagreeable as I thought. If I had only known that, we\nmight have seen more of each other, and killed time more quickly.\"\n\nThe pilot boat is in sight. It comes toward us, and sends off in a\nrowing-boat the pilot who will take us into port. The arrival of the\npilot on board is not an incident. It is an event. Does he not bring the\nNew York newspapers? And when you have been ten days at sea, cut off\nfrom the world, to read the papers of the day before is to come back to\nlife again, and once more take up your place in this little planet that\nhas been going on its jog-trot way during your temporary suppression.\n\n[Illustration: PILOT WITH PAPERS.]\n\nThe first article which meets my eyes, as I open the New York _World_,\nis headed \"High time for Mr. Nash to put a stop to it!\" This is the\nparagraph:\n\n  Ten days ago, Mrs. Nash brought a boy into existence. Three days\n  afterward she presented her husband with a little girl. Yesterday the\n  lady was safely delivered of a third baby.\n\n\"Mrs. Nash takes her time over it\" would have been another good heading.\n\nHere we are in America. Old World ways don't obtain here. In Europe,\nMrs. Nash would have ushered the little trio into this life in one day;\nbut in Europe we are out of date, _rococo_, and if one came over to find\nthe Americans doing things just as they are done on the other side, one\nmight as well stay at home.\n\nI run through the papers.\n\nAmerica, I see, is split into two camps. Two young ladies, Miss Nelly\nBly and Miss Elizabeth Bisland, have left New York by opposite routes to\ngo around the world, the former sent by the New York _World_, the latter\nby the _Cosmopolitan_. Which will be back first? is what all America is\nconjecturing upon. Bets have been made, and the betting is even. I do\nnot know Miss Bly, but last time I came over I had the pleasure of\nmaking Miss Bisland's acquaintance. Naturally, as soon as I get on\nshore, I shall bet on Miss Bisland. You would do the same yourself,\nwould you not?\n\nI pass the day reading the papers. All the bits of news, insignificant\nor not, given in the shape of crisp, lively stories, help pass the time.\nThey contain little information, but much amusement. The American\nnewspaper always reminds me of a shop window with all the goods ticketed\nin a marvelous style, so as to attract and tickle the eye. You cannot\npass over anything. The leading article is scarcely known across the\n\"wet spot\"; the paper is a collection of bits of gossip, hearsay, news,\nscandal, the whole served _à la sauce piquante_.\n\n     _Nine o'clock._\n\nWe are passing the bar, and going to anchor. New York is sparkling with\nlights, and the Brooklyn Bridge is a thing of beauty. I will enjoy the\nscene for an hour, and then turn in.\n\nWe land to-morrow morning at seven.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n  ARRIVAL--THE CUSTOM HOUSE--THINGS LOOK BAD--THE INTERVIEWERS--FIRST\n  VISITS--THINGS LOOK BRIGHTER--\"O VANITY OF VANITIES.\"\n\n\n     _New York Harbor; January 5._\n\nAt seven o'clock in the morning the Custom House officers came on board.\nOne of them at once recognizing me, said, calling me by name, that he\nwas glad to see me back, and inquired if I had not brought Madame with\nme this time. It is extraordinary the memory of many of these Americans!\nThis one had seen me for a few minutes two years before, and probably\nhad had to deal with two or three hundred thousand people since.\n\nAll the passengers came to the saloon and made their declarations one\nafter another, after which they swore in the usual form that they had\ntold the truth, and signed a paper to that effect. This done, many a\npoor pilgrim innocently imagines that he has finished with the Custom\nHouse, and he renders thanks to Heaven that he is going to set foot on a\nsoil where a man's word is not doubted. He reckons without his host. In\nspite of his declaration, sworn and signed, his trunks are opened and\nsearched with all the dogged zeal of a policeman who believes he is on\nthe track of a criminal, and who will only give up after perfectly\nconvincing himself that the trunks do not contain the slightest dutiable\narticle. Everything is taken out and examined. If there are any objects\nof apparel that appear like new ones to that scrutinizing eye, look out\nfor squalls.\n\n[Illustration: CUSTOM HOUSE OFFICERS.]\n\nI must say that the officer was very kind to me. For that matter, the\nluggage of a man who travels alone, without Madame and her\n_impedimenta_, is soon examined.\n\nBefore leaving the ship, I went to shake hands with Captain Parsell,\nthat experienced sailor whose bright, interesting conversation, added to\nthe tempting delicacies provided by the cook, made many an hour pass\nright cheerily for those who, like myself, had the good fortune to sit\nat his table. I thanked him for all the kind attentions I had received\nat his hands. I should have liked to thank all the employees of the\n\"White Star\" line company. Their politeness is above all praise; their\npatience perfectly angelical. Ask them twenty times a day the most\nabsurd questions, such as, \"Will the sea soon calm down?\" \"Shall we get\ninto harbor on Wednesday?\" \"Do you think we shall be in early enough to\nland in the evening?\" and so on. You find them always ready with a kind\nand encouraging answer. \"The barometer is going up and the sea is going\ndown,\" or, \"We are now doing our nineteen knots an hour.\" Is it true, or\nnot? It satisfies you, at all events. In certain cases it is so sweet to\nbe deceived! Better to be left to nurse a beloved illusion than have to\ngive it up for a harsh reality that you are powerless against. Every one\nis grateful to those kind sailors and stewards for the little innocent\nfibs that they are willing to load their consciences with, in order that\nthey may brighten your path across the ocean a little.\n\n\n     _Everett House. Noon._\n\n[Illustration: CAPTAIN PARSELL, R. M. S. \"MAJESTIC.\"]\n\nMy baggage examined, I took a cab to go to the hotel. Three dollars for\na mile and a half. A mere trifle.\n\n[Illustration: EVERY ONE HAS THE GRIPPE.]\n\nIt was pouring with rain. New York on a Sunday is never very gay. To-day\nthe city seemed to me horrible: dull, dirty, and dreary. It is not the\nfault of New York altogether. I have the spleen. A horribly stormy\npassage, the stomach upside down, the heart up in the throat, the\nthought that my dear ones are three thousand miles away, all these\nthings help to make everything look black. It would have needed a\nradiant sun in one of those pure blue skies that North America is so\nrich in to make life look agreeable and New York passable to-day.\n\nIn ten minutes cabby set me down at the Everett House. After having\nsigned the register, I went and looked up my manager, whose bureau is on\nthe ground floor of the hotel.\n\nThe spectacle which awaited me was appalling.\n\nThere sat the unhappy Major Pond in his office, his head bowed upon his\nchest, his arms hanging limp, the very picture of despair.\n\nThe country is seized with a panic. Everybody has the influenza. Every\none does not die of it, but every one is having it. The malady is not\ncalled influenza over here, as it is in Europe. It is called \"Grippe.\"\nNo American escapes it. Some have _la grippe_, others have _the grippe_,\na few, even, have _the la grippe_. Others, again, the lucky ones, think\nthey have it. Those who have not had it, or do not think they have it\nyet, are expecting it. The nation is in a complete state of\ndemoralization. Theaters are empty, business almost suspended, doctors\non their backs or run off their legs.\n\nAt twelve a telegram is handed to me. It is from my friend, Wilson\nBarrett, who is playing in Philadelphia. \"Hearty greetings, dear friend.\nFive grains of quinine and two tablets of antipyrine a day, or you get\n_grippe_.\" Then came many letters by every post. \"Impossible to go and\nwelcome you in person. I have _la grippe_. Take every precaution.\" Such\nis the tenor of them all.\n\nThe outlook is not bright. What to do? For a moment I have half a mind\nto call a cab and get on board the first boat bound for Europe.\n\nI go to my room, the windows of which overlook Union Square. The sky is\nsomber, the street is black and deserted, the air is suffocatingly\nwarm, and a very heavy rain is beating against the windows.\n\nShade of Columbus, how I wish I were home again!\n\n\nCheer up, boy, the hand-grasps of your dear New York friends will be\nsweet after the frantic grasping of stair-rails and other ship furniture\nfor so many days.\n\nI will have lunch and go and pay calls.\n\n\nExcuse me if I leave you for a few minutes. The interviewers are waiting\nfor me downstairs in Major Pond's office. The interviewers! a gay note\nat last. The hall porter hands me their cards. They are all there:\nrepresentatives of the _Tribune_, the _Times_, the _Sun_, the _Herald_,\nthe _World_, the _Star_.\n\nWhat nonsense Europeans have written on the subject of interviewing in\nAmerica, to be sure! To hear them speak, you would believe that it is\nthe greatest nuisance in the world.\n\nA Frenchman writes in the _Figaro_: \"I will go to America if my life can\nbe insured against that terrific nuisance, interviewing.\"\n\nAn Englishman writes to an English paper, on returning from America:\n\"When the reporters called on me, I invariably refused to see them.\"\n\nTrash! Cant! Hypocrisy! With the exception of a king, or the prime\nminister of one of the great powers, a man is only too glad to be\ninterviewed. Don't talk to me about the nuisance, tell the truth, it is\nalways such a treat to hear it. I consider that interviewing is a\ncompliment, a great compliment paid to the interviewed. In asking a man\nto give you his views, so as to enlighten the public on such and such a\nsubject, you acknowledge that he is an important man, which is\nflattering to him; or you take him for one, which is more flattering\nstill.\n\nI maintain that American interviewers are extremely courteous and\nobliging, and, as a rule, very faithful reporters of what you say to\nthem.\n\nLet me say that I have a lurking doubt in my mind whether those who have\nso much to say against interviewing in America have ever been asked to\nbe interviewed at all, or have even ever run such a danger.\n\nI object to interviewing as a sign of decadence in modern journalism;\nbut I do not object to being interviewed, I like it; and, to prove it, I\nwill go down at once, and be interviewed.\n\n\n     _Midnight._\n\nThe interview with the New York reporters passed off very well. I went\nthrough the operation like a man.\n\nAfter lunch, I went to see Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman, who had shown me\na great deal of kindness during my first visit to America. I found in\nhim a friend ready to welcome me.\n\nThe poet and literary critic is a man of about fifty, rather below\nmiddle height, with a beautifully chiseled head. In every one of the\nfeatures you can detect the artist, the man of delicate, tender, and\nrefined feelings. It was a great pleasure for me to see him again. He\nhas finished his \"Library of American Literature,\" a gigantic work of\nerudite criticism and judicious compilation, which he undertook a few\nyears ago in collaboration with Miss Ellen Mackay Hutchinson. These\neleven volumes form a perfect national monument, a complete cyclopædia\nof American literature, giving extracts from the writings of every\nAmerican who has published anything for the last three hundred years\n(1607-1890).\n\n[Illustration: THE INTERVIEWERS.]\n\nOn leaving him, I went to call on Mrs. Anna Bowman Dodd, the author of\n\"Cathedral Days,\" \"Glorinda,\" \"The Republic of the Future,\" and other\ncharming books, and one of the brightest conversationalists it has ever\nbeen my good fortune to meet. After an hour's chat with her, I had\nforgotten all about the _grippe_, and all other more or less imaginary\nmiseries.\n\nI returned to the Everett House to dress, and went to the Union League\nClub to dine with General Horace Porter.\n\nThe general possesses a rare and most happy combination of brilliant\nflashing Parisian wit and dry, quiet, American humor. This charming\n_causeur_ and _conteur_ tells an anecdote as nobody I know can do; he\nnever misses fire. He assured me at table that the copyright bill will\nsoon be passed, for, he added, \"we have now a pure and pious\nAdministration. At the White House they open their oysters with prayer.\"\nThe conversation fell on American society, or, rather, on American\nSocieties. The highest and lowest of these can be distinguished by the\nuse of _van_. \"The blue blood of America put it before their names, as\n_Van Nicken_; political society puts it after, as _Sullivan_.\"\n\nO VAN-ITAS VAN-ITATUM!\n\nTime passed rapidly in such delightful company.\n\nI finished the evening at the house of Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll. If\nthere had been any cloud of gloom still left hanging about me, it would\nhave vanished at the sight of his sunny face. There was a small\ngathering of some thirty people, among them Mr. Edgar Fawcett, whose\nacquaintance I was delighted to make. Conversation went on briskly with\none and the other, and at half-past eleven I returned to the hotel\ncompletely cured.\n\nTo-morrow morning I leave for Boston at ten o'clock to begin the lecture\ntour in that city, or, to use an Americanism, to \"open the show.\"\n\n\nThere is a knock at the door.\n\n[Illustration: HALL PORTER.]\n\nIt is the hall porter with a letter: an invitation to dine with the\nmembers of the Clover Club at Philadelphia on Thursday next, the 16th.\n\nI look at my list of engagements and find I am in Pittsburg on that day.\n\n\nI take a telegraph form and pen the following, which I will send to my\nfriend, Major M. P. Handy, the president of this lively association:\n\n  Many thanks. Am engaged in Pittsburg on the 16th. Thank God, cannot\n  attend your dinner.\n\nI remember how those \"boys\" cheeked me two years ago, laughed at me, sat\non me. That's my telegram to you, dear Cloverites, with my love.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n  IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICAN HOTELS.\n\n\n     _Boston, January 6._\n\nArrived here this afternoon, and resumed acquaintance with American\nhotels.\n\nAmerican hotels are all alike.\n\nSome are worse.\n\nDescribe one and you have described them all.\n\nOn the ground floor, a large entrance hall strewed with cuspidores for\nthe men, and a side entrance provided with a triumphal arch for the\nladies. On this floor the sexes are separated as at the public baths.\n\n[Illustration: THE SAD-EYED CLERK.]\n\nIn the large hall, a counter behind which solemn clerks, whose business\nfaces relax not a muscle, are ready with their book to enter your name\nand assign you a number. A small army of colored porters ready to take\nyou in charge. Not a salute, not a word, not a smile of welcome. The\nnegro takes your bag and makes a sign that your case is settled. You\nfollow him. For the time being you lose your personality and become No.\n375, as you would in jail. Don't ask questions; theirs not to answer;\ndon't ring the bell to ask for a favor, if you set any value on your\ntime. All the rules of the establishment are printed and posted in your\nbedroom; you have to submit to them. No question to ask--you know\neverything. Henceforth you will have to be hungry from 7 to 9 A.M.;\nfrom 1 to 3 P.M.; from 6 to 8 P.M. The slightest infringement of the\nroutine would stop the wheel, so don't ask if you could have a meal at\nfour o'clock; you would be taken for a lunatic, or a crank (as they call\nit in America).\n\nBetween meals you will be supplied with ice-water _ad libitum_.\n\nNo privacy. No coffee-room, no smoking-room. No place where you can go\nand quietly sip a cup of coffee or drink a glass of beer with a cigar.\nYou can have a drink at the bar, and then go and sit down in the hall\namong the crowd.\n\nLife in an American hotel is an alternation of the cellular system\nduring the night and of the gregarious system during the day, an\nalternation of the penitentiary systems carried out at Philadelphia and\nat Auburn.\n\nIt is not in the bedroom, either, that you must seek anything to cheer\nyou. The bed is good, but only for the night. The room is perfectly\nnude. Not even \"Napoleon's Farewell to his Soldiers at Fontainebleau\" as\nin France, or \"Strafford walking to the Scaffold\" as in England. Not\nthat these pictures are particularly cheerful, still they break the\nmonotony of the wall paper. Here the only oases in the brown or gray\ndesert are cautions.\n\nFirst of all, a notice that, in a cupboard near the window, you will\nfind some twenty yards of coiled rope which, in case of fire, you are to\nfix to a hook outside the window. The rest is guessed. You fix the rope,\nand--you let yourself go. From a sixth, seventh, or eighth story, the\nprospect is lively. Another caution informs you of all that you must not\ndo, such as your own washing in the bedroom. Another warns you that if,\non retiring, you put your boots outside the door, you do so at your own\nrisk and peril. Another is posted near the door, close to an electric\nbell. With a little care and practice, you will be able to carry out the\ninstructions printed thereon. The only thing wonderful about the\ncontrivance is that the servants never make mistakes.\n\n[Illustration: THE HOTEL FIRE ESCAPE.]\n\n\n  Press once         for ice-water.\n    \"   twice         \"  hall boy.\n    \"   three times   \" fireman.\n    \"   four    \"     \" chambermaid.\n    \"   five    \"     \" hot water.\n    \"   six     \"     \" ink and writing materials.\n    \"   seven   \"     \" baggage.\n    \"   eight   \"     \" messenger.\n\nIn some hotels I have seen the list carried to number twelve.\n\nAnother notice tells you what the proprietor's responsibilities are, and\nat what time the meals take place. Now this last notice is the most\nimportant of all. Woe to you if you forget it! For if you should present\nyourself one minute after the dining-room door is closed, no human\nconsideration would get it open for you. Supplications, arguments would\nbe of no avail. Not even money.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" some old-fashioned European will exclaim. \"When the\n_table d'hôte_ is over, of course you cannot expect the _menu_ to be\nserved to you; but surely you can order a steak or a chop.\"\n\nNo, you cannot, not even an omelette or a piece of cold meat. If you\narrive at one minute past three (in small towns, at one minute past two)\nyou find the dining-room closed, and you must wait till six o'clock to\nsee its hospitable doors open again.\n\n\nWhen you enter the dining-room, you must not believe that you can go\nand sit where you like. The chief waiter assigns you a seat, and you\nmust take it. With a superb wave of the hand, he signs to you to follow\nhim. He does not even turn round to see if you are behind him, following\nhim in all the meanders he describes, amid the sixty, eighty, sometimes\nhundred tables that are in the room. He takes it for granted you are an\nobedient, submissive traveler who knows his duty. Altogether I traveled\nin the United States for about ten months, and I never came across an\nAmerican so daring, so independent, as to actually take any other seat\nthan the one assigned to him by that tremendous potentate, the head\nwaiter. Occasionally, just to try him, I would sit down in a chair I\ntook a fancy to. But he would come and fetch me, and tell me that I\ncould not stay there. In Europe, the waiter asks you where you would\nlike to sit. In America, you ask him where you may sit. He is a paid\nservant, therefore a master in America. He is in command, not of the\nother waiters, but of the guests. Several times, recognizing friends in\nthe dining-room, I asked the man to take me to their tables (I should\nnot have dared go by myself), and the permission was granted with a\npatronizing sign of the head. I have constantly seen Americans stop on\nthe threshold of the dining-room door, and wait until the chief waiter\nhad returned from placing a guest to come and fetch them in their turn.\nI never saw them venture alone, and take an empty seat, without the\nsanction of the waiter.\n\n[Illustration: THE HEAD MAN.]\n\nThe guests feel struck with awe in that dining-room, and solemnly bolt\ntheir food as quickly as they can. You hear less noise in an American\nhotel dining-room containing five hundred people, than you do at a\nFrench _table d'hôte_ accommodating fifty people, at a German one\ncontaining a dozen guests, or at a table where two Italians are dining\n_tête-à-tête_.\n\n[Illustration: \"LOOK LIKE DUSKY PRINCES.\"]\n\nThe head waiter, at large Northern and Western hotels, is a white man.\nIn the Southern ones, he is a mulatto or a black; but white or black, he\nis always a magnificent specimen of his race. There is not a ghost of a\nsavor of the serving man about him; no whiskers and shaven upper lips\nreminding you of the waiters of the Old World; but always a fine\nmustache, the twirling of which helps to give an air of _nonchalant_\nsuperiority to its wearer. The mulatto head-waiters in the South really\nlook like dusky princes. Many of them are so handsome and carry\nthemselves so superbly that you find them very impressive at first and\nwould fain apologize to them. You feel as if you wanted to thank them\nfor kindly condescending to concern themselves about anything so\ncommonplace as your seat at table.\n\n[Illustration: \"SHE IS CROWNED WITH A GIGANTIC MASS OF FRIZZLED HAIR.\"]\n\nIn smaller hotels, the waiters are all waitresses. The \"waiting\" is done\nby damsels entirely--or rather by the guests of the hotel.\n\nIf the Southern head waiter looks like a prince, what shall we say of\nthe head-waitress in the East, the North, and the West? No term short of\nqueenly will describe her stately bearing as she moves about among her\nbevy of reduced duchesses. She is evidently chosen for her appearance.\nShe is \"divinely tall,\" as well as \"most divinely fair,\" and, as if to\nadd to her importance, she is crowned with a gigantic mass of frizzled\nhair. All the waitresses have this coiffure. It is a livery, as caps are\nin the Old World; but instead of being a badge of servitude it looks,\nand is, alarmingly emancipated--so much so that, before making close\nacquaintance with my dishes, I always examine them with great care. A\nbeautiful mass of hair looks lovely on the head of a woman, but _one_ in\nyour soup, even if it had strayed from the tresses of your beloved one,\nwould make the corners of your mouth go down, and the tip of your nose\ngo up.\n\nA regally handsome woman always \"goes well in the landscape,\" as the\nFrench say, and I have seen specimens of these waitresses so handsome\nand so commanding-looking that, if they cared to come over to Europe and\nplay the queens in London pantomimes, I feel sure they would command\nquite exceptional prices, and draw big salaries and crowded houses.\n\n\nThe thing which strikes me most disagreeably, in the American hotel\ndining-room, is the sight of the tremendous waste of food that goes on\nat every meal. No European, I suppose, can fail to be struck with this;\nbut to a Frenchman it would naturally be most remarkable. In France,\nwhere, I venture to say, people live as well as anywhere else, if not\nbetter, there is a horror of anything like waste of good food. It is to\nme, therefore, a repulsive thing to see the wanton manner in which some\nAmericans will waste at one meal enough to feed several hungry\nfellow-creatures.\n\nIn the large hotels, conducted on the American plan, there are rarely\nfewer than fifty different dishes on the _menu_ at dinner-time. Every\nday, and at every meal, you may see people order three times as much of\nthis food as they could under any circumstances eat, and, after picking\nit and spoiling one dish after another, send the bulk away uneaten. I am\nbound to say that this practice is not only to be observed in hotels\nwhere the charge is so much per day, but in those conducted on the\nEuropean plan, that is, where you pay for every item you order. There I\nnotice that people proceed in much the same wasteful fashion. It is\nevidently not a desire to have more than is paid for, but simply a bad\nand ugly habit. I hold that about five hundred hungry people could be\nfed out of the waste that is going on at such large hotels as the Palmer\nHouse or the Grand Pacific Hotel of Chicago--and I have no doubt that\nsuch five hundred hungry people could easily be found in Chicago every\nday.\n\n\nI think that many Europeans are prevented from going to America by an\nidea that the expense of traveling and living there is very great. This\nis quite a delusion. For my part I find that hotels are as cheap in\nAmerica as in England at any rate, and railway traveling in Pullman cars\nis certainly cheaper than in European first-class carriages, and\nincomparably more comfortable. Put aside in America such hotels as\nDelmonico's, the Brunswick in New York; the Richelieu in Chicago; and in\nEngland such hotels as the Metropôle, the Victoria, the Savoy; and take\nthe good hotels of the country, such as the Grand Pacific at Chicago;\nthe West House at Minneapolis, the Windsor at Montreal, the Cadillac at\nDetroit. I only mention those I remember as the very best. In these\nhotels, you are comfortably lodged and magnificently fed for from three\nto five dollars a day. In no good hotel of England, France, Germany,\nItaly, Switzerland, would you get the same amount of comfort, or even\nluxury, at the same price, and those who require a sitting-room get it\nfor a little less than they would have to pay in a European hotel.\n\nThe only very dear hotels I have come across in the United States are\nthose of Virginia. There I have been charged as much as two dollars a\nday, but never in my life did I pay so dear for what I had, never in my\nlife did I see so many dirty rooms or so many messes that were unfit for\nhuman food.\n\nBut I will just say this much for the American refinement of feeling to\nbe met with, even in the hotels of Virginia, even in the \"lunch\" rooms\nin small stations, you are supplied, at the end of each meal, with a\nbowl of water--to rinse your mouth.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n  MY OPENING LECTURE--REFLECTIONS ON AUDIENCES I HAVE HAD--THE MAN WHO\n  WON'T SMILE--THE ONE WHO LAUGHS TOO SOON, AND MANY OTHERS.\n\n\n     _Boston, January 7._\n\nBegan my second American tour under most favorable auspices last night,\nin the Tremont Temple. The huge hall was crowded with an audience of\nabout 2500 people--a most kind, warm, keen, and appreciative audience. I\nwas a little afraid of the Bostonians; I had heard so much about their\npower of criticism that I had almost come to the conclusion that it was\nnext to impossible to please them. The Boston newspapers this morning\ngive full reports of my lecture. All of them are kind and most\nfavorable. This is a good start, and I feel hopeful.\n\nThe subject of my lecture was \"A National Portrait Gallery of the\nAnglo-Saxon Races,\" in which I delineated the English, the Scotch, and\nthe American characters. Strange to say, my Scotch sketches seemed to\ntickle them most. This, however, I can explain to myself. Scotch \"wut\"\nis more like American humor than any kind of wit I know. There is about\nit the same dryness, the same quaintness, the same preposterousness, the\nsame subtlety.\n\n[Illustration: BOSTON.]\n\nMy Boston audience also seemed to enjoy my criticisms of America and the\nAmericans, which disposes of the absurd belief that the Americans will\nnot listen to the criticism of their country. There are Americans and\nAmericans, as there is criticism and criticism. If you can speak of\npeople's virtues without flattery; if you can speak of their weaknesses\nand failings with kindness and good humor, I believe you can criticise\nto your heart's content without ever fearing to give offense to\nintelligent and fair-minded people. I admire and love the Americans. How\ncould they help seeing it through all the little criticisms that I\nindulged in on the platform? On the whole, I was delighted with my\nBoston audience, and, to judge from the reception they gave me, I\nbelieve I succeeded in pleasing them. I have three more engagements in\nBoston, so I shall have the pleasure of meeting the Bostonians again.\n\n\nI have never been able to lecture, whether in England, in Scotland, in\nIreland or in America, without discovering, somewhere in the hall, after\nspeaking for five minutes or so, an old gentleman who will not smile. He\nwas there last night, and it is evident that he is going to favor me\nwith his presence every night during this second American tour. He\ngenerally sits near the platform, and not unfrequently on the first row.\nThere is a horrible fascination about that man. You cannot get your eyes\noff him. You do your utmost to \"fetch him\"--you feel it to be your duty\nnot to send him home empty-headed; your conscience tells you that he has\nnot to please you, but that _you_ are paid to please him, and you\nstruggle on. You would like to slip into his pocket the price of his\nseat and have him removed, or throw the water bottle at his face and\nmake him show signs of life. As it is, you try to look the other way,\nbut you know he is there, and that does not improve matters.\n\nNow this man, who will not smile, very often is not so bad as he looks.\nYou imagine that you bore him to death, but you don't. You wonder how it\nis he does not go, but the fact is he actually enjoys himself--inside.\nOr, maybe, he is a professional man himself, and no conjuror has ever\nbeen known to laugh at another conjuror's tricks. A great American\nhumorist relates that, after speaking for an hour and a half without\nsucceeding in getting a smile from a certain man in the audience, he\nsent some one to inquire into the state of his mind.\n\n\"Excuse me, sir, did you not enjoy the lecture that has been delivered\nto-night?\"\n\n\"Very much indeed,\" said the man, \"it was a most clever and entertaining\nlecture.\"\n\n\"But you never smiled----\"\n\n\"Oh, no--I'm a liar myself.\"\n\n\nSometimes there are other reasons to explain the unsmiling man's\nattitude.\n\nOne evening I had lectured in Birmingham. On the first row there sat the\nwhole time an old gentleman, with his umbrella standing between his\nlegs, his hands crossed on the handle, and his chin resting on his\nhands. Frowning, his mouth gaping, and his eyes perfectly vacant, he\nremained motionless, looking at me, and for an hour and twenty minutes\nseemed to say to me: \"My poor fellow, you may do what you like, but you\nwon't 'fetch' me to-night, I can tell you.\" I looked at him, I spoke to\nhim, I winked at him, I aimed at him; several times even I paused so as\nto give him ample time to see a point. All was in vain. I had just\nreturned, after the lecture, to the secretary's room behind the\nplatform, when he entered.\n\n\"Oh, that man again!\" I cried, pointing to him.\n\nHe advanced toward me, took my hand, and said:\n\n\"Thank you very much for your excellent lecture, I have enjoyed it very\nmuch.\"\n\n\"Have you?\" said I.\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD GENTLEMAN WHO WILL NOT SMILE.]\n\n\"Would you be kind enough to give me your autograph?\" And he pulled out\nof his pocket a beautiful autograph book.\n\n\"Well,\" I said to the secretary in a whisper, \"this old gentleman is\nextremely kind to ask for my autograph, for I am certain he has not\nenjoyed my lecture.\"\n\n\"What makes you think so?\"\n\n\"Why, he never smiled once.\"\n\n\"Oh, poor old gentleman,\" said the secretary; \"he is stone deaf.\"\n\nMany a lecturer must have met this man.\n\nIt would be unwise, when you discover that certain members of the\naudience will not laugh, to give them up at once. As long as you are on\nthe platform there is hope.\n\nI was once lecturing in the chief town of a great hunting center in\nEngland. On the first row sat half a dozen hair-parted-in-the-middle,\nsingle-eye-glass young swells. They stared at me unmoved, and never\nrelaxed a muscle except for yawning. It was most distressing to see how\nthe poor fellows looked bored. How I did wish I could do something for\nthem! I had spoken for nearly an hour when, by accident, I upset the\ntumbler on my table. The water trickled down the cloth. The young men\nlaughed, roared. They were happy and enjoying themselves, and I had\n\"fetched\" them at last. I have never forgotten this trick, and when I\nsee in the audience an apparently hopeless case, I often resort to it,\ngenerally with success.\n\n\nThere are other people who do not much enjoy your lecture: your own.\n\n[Illustration: THE CHAPPIES WHO WOULD NOT LAUGH.]\n\nOf course you must forgive your wife. The dear creature knows all your\nlectures by heart; she has heard your jokes hundreds of times. She comes\nto your lectures rather to see how you are going to be received than to\nlisten to you. Besides, she feels that for an hour and a half you do not\nbelong to her. When she comes with you to the lecture hall, you are both\nushered into the secretary's room. Two or three minutes before it is\ntime to go on the platform, it is suggested to her that it is time she\nshould take her seat among the audience. She looks at the secretary and\nrecognizes that for an hour and a half her husband is the property of\nthis official, who is about to hand him over to the tender mercies of\nthe public. As she says, \"Oh, yes, I suppose I must go,\" she almost\nfeels like shaking hands with her husband, as Mrs. Baldwin takes leave\nof the Professor before he starts on his aerial trip. But, though she\nmay not laugh, her heart is with you, and she is busy watching the\naudience, ever ready to tell them, \"Now, don't you think this is a very\ngood point? Well, then, if you do, why don't you laugh and cheer?\" She\nis part and parcel of yourself. She is not jealous of your success, for\nshe is your helpmate, your kind and sound counselor, and I can assure\nyou that if an audience should fail to be responsive, it would never\nenter her head to lay the blame on her husband; she would feel the most\nsupreme contempt for \"that stupid audience that was unable to appreciate\nyou.\" That's all.\n\nBut your other own folk! You are no hero to them. To judge the effect of\nanything, you must be placed at a certain distance, and your own folks\nare too near you.\n\nOne afternoon I had given a lecture to a large and fashionable audience\nin the South of England. A near relative of mine, who lived in the\nneighborhood, was in the hall. He never smiled. I watched him from the\nbeginning to the end. When the lecture was over he came to the little\nroom behind the platform to take me to his house. As he entered the room\nI was settling the money matters with my _impresario_. I will let you\ninto the secret. There was fifty-two pounds in the house, and my share\nwas two-thirds of the gross receipts, that is about thirty-four pounds.\nMy relative heard the sum. As we drove along in his dog-cart he nudged\nme and said:\n\n\"Did you make thirty-four pounds this afternoon?\"\n\n\"Oh, did you hear?\" I said. \"Yes, that was my part of the takings. For a\nsmall town I am quite satisfied.\"\n\n\"I should think you were!\" he replied. \"If you had made thirty-four\nshillings you would have been well paid for your work!\"\n\nNothing is more true to life than the want of appreciation the\nsuccessful man encounters from relatives and also from former friends.\nNothing is more certain than when a man has lived on terms of perfect\nequality and familiarity with a certain set of men, he can never hope to\nbe anything but \"plain John\" to them, though by his personal efforts he\nmay have obtained the applause of the public. Did he not rub shoulders\nwith them for years in the same walk of life? Why these bravos? What was\nthere in him more than in them? Even though they may have gone so far as\nto single him out as a \"rather clever fellow,\" while he was one of\ntheirs, still the surprise at the public appreciation is none the less\nkeen, his advance toward the front an unforgivable offense, and they are\nimmediately seized with a desire to rush out in the highways and\nproclaim that he is only \"Jack,\" and not the \"John\" that his admirers\nthink him. I remember that, in the early years of my life in England,\nwhen I had not the faintest idea of ever writing a book on John Bull, a\nyoung English friend of mine did me the honor of appreciating highly all\nmy observations on British life and manners, and for years urged me hard\nand often to jot them down to make a book of. One day the book was\nfinished and appeared in print. It attracted a good deal of public\nattention, but no one was more surprised than this man, who, from a kind\nfriend, was promptly transformed into the most severe and unfriendly of\nmy critics, and went about saying that the book and the amount of public\nattention bestowed upon it were both equally ridiculous. He has never\nspoken to me since.\n\n[Illustration: THE MAN WHO LAUGHS.]\n\nA successful man is very often charged with wishing to turn his back on\nhis former friends. No accusation is more false. Nothing would please\nhim more than to retain the friends of more modest times, but it is they\nwho have changed their feelings. They snub him, and this man, who is in\nconstant need of moral support and _pick-me-up_, cannot stand it.\n\n\nBut let us return to the audience.\n\nThe man who won't smile is not the only person who causes you some\nannoyance.\n\nThere is the one who laughs too soon; who laughs before you have made\nyour points, and who thinks, because you have opened your lecture with a\njoke, that everything you say afterward is a joke. There is another\nrather objectionable person; it is the one who explains your points to\nhis neighbor, and makes them laugh aloud just at the moment when you\nrequire complete silence to fire off one of your best remarks.\n\nThere is the old lady who listens to you frowning, and who does not mind\nwhat you are saying, but is all the time shaking for fear of what you\nare going to say next. She never laughs before she has seen other people\nlaugh. Then she thinks she is safe.\n\nAll these I am going to have in America again; that is clear. But I am\nnow a man of experience. I have lectured in concert rooms, in lecture\nhalls, in theaters, in churches, in schools. I have addressed embalmed\nBritons in English health resorts, petrified English mummies at\nhydropathic establishments, and lunatics in private asylums.\n\nI am ready for the fray.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nA CONNECTICUT AUDIENCE--MERRY MERIDEN--A HARD PULL.\n\n\n     _From Meriden, January 8._\n\nA Connecticut audience was a new experience to me. Yesterday I had a\ncrowded room at the Opera House in Meriden; but if you had been behind\nthe scenery, when I made my appearance on the stage, you would not have\nsuspected it, for not one of the audience treated me to a little\napplause. I was frozen, and so were they. For a quarter of an hour I\nproceeded very cautiously, feeling the ground, as it were, as I went on.\nBy that time, the thaw set in, and they began to smile. I must say that\nthey had been very attentive from the beginning, and seemed very\ninterested in the lecture. Encouraged by this, I warmed too. It was\ncurious to watch that audience. By twos and threes the faces lit up with\namusement till, by and by, the house wore quite an animated aspect.\nPresently there was a laugh, then two, then laughter more general. All\nthe ice was gone. Next, a bold spirit in the stalls ventured some\napplause. At his second outburst he had company. The uphill work was\nnearly over now, and I began to feel better. The infection spread up to\nthe circles and the gallery, and at last there came a real good hearty\nround of applause. I had \"fetched\" them after all. But it was tough\nwork. When once I had them in hand, I took good care not to let them go.\n\n\nI visited several interesting establishments this morning. Merry Meriden\nis famous for its manufactories of electro-plated silverware.\nUnfortunately I am not yet accustomed to the heated rooms of America,\nand I could not stay in the show-rooms more than a few minutes. I should\nhave thought the heat was strong enough to melt all the goods on view.\nThis town looks like a bee-hive of activity, with its animated streets,\nits electric cars. Dear old Europe! With the exception of a few large\ncities, the cars are still drawn by horses, like in the time of\nSesostris and Nebuchadnezzar.\n\n\nOn arriving at the station a man took hold of my bag and asked to take\ncare of it until the arrival of the train. I do not know whether he\nbelonged to the hotel where I spent the night, or to the railroad\ncompany. Whatever he was, I felt grateful for this wonderful show of\ncourtesy.\n\n\"I heard you last night at the Opera House,\" he said to me.\n\n\"Why, were you at the lecture?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and I greatly enjoyed it.\"\n\n\"Well, why didn't you laugh sooner?\" I said.\n\n\"I wanted to very much!\"\n\n\"Why didn't you?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"I WAS AT YOUR LECTURE LAST NIGHT.\"]\n\n\"Well, sir, I couldn't very well laugh before the rest.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you give the signal?\"\n\n\"You see, sir,\" he said, \"we are in Connecticut.\"\n\n\"Is laughter prohibited by the Statute Book in Connecticut?\" I remarked.\n\n\"No, sir, but if you all laugh at the same time, then----\"\n\n\"I see, nobody can tell who is the real criminal.\"\n\nThe train arrived. I shook hands with my friend, after offering him half\na dollar for holding my bag--which he refused--and went on board.\n\nIn the parlor car, I met my kind friend Colonel Charles H. Taylor,\neditor of that very successful paper, the Boston _Globe_. We had\nluncheon together in the dining car, and time passed delightfully in his\ncompany till we reached the Grand Central station, New York, when we\nparted. He was kind enough to make me promise to look him up in Boston\nin a fortnight's time, when I make my second appearance in the City of\nCulture.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n  A TEMPTING OFFER--THE THURSDAY CLUB--BILL NYE--VISIT TO YOUNG LADIES'\n  SCHOOLS--THE PLAYERS' CLUB.\n\n\n     _New York, January 9._\n\nOn returning here, I found a most curious letter awaiting me. I must\ntell you that in Boston, last Monday, I made the following remarks in my\nlecture:\n\n\"The American is, I believe, on the road to the possession of all that\ncan contribute to the well-being and success of a nation, but he seems\nto me to have missed the path that leads to real happiness. To live in a\nwhirl is not to live well. The little French shopkeeper who locks his\nshop-door from half-past one, so as not to be disturbed while he is\nhaving his dinner with his wife and family, has come nearer to solving\nthe great problem of life, 'How to be happy,' than the American who\nsticks on his door: 'Gone to dinner, shall be back in five minutes.' You\neat too fast, and I understand why your antidyspeptic pill-makers cover\nyour walls, your forests even, with their advertisements.\"\n\nAnd I named the firm of pill-makers.\n\nThe letter is from them. They offer me $1000 if I will repeat the\nphrase at every lecture I give during my tour in the United States.\n\n[Illustration: WHERE INDIGESTION IS MANUFACTURED.]\n\nYou may imagine if I will be careful to abstain in the future.\n\n\nI lectured to-night before the members of the Thursday Club--a small,\nbut very select audience, gathered in the drawing-room of one of the\nmembers. The lecture was followed by a _conversazione_. A very pleasant\nevening.\n\nI left the house at half-past eleven. The night was beautiful. I walked\nto the hotel, along Fifth Avenue to Madison Square, and along Broadway\nto Union Square.\n\nWhat a contrast to the great thoroughfares of London! Thousands of\npeople here returning from the theaters and enjoying their walks,\ninstead of being obliged to rush into vehicles to escape the sights\npresented at night by the West End streets of London. Here you can walk\nat night with your wife and daughter, without the least fear of their\ncoming into contact with flaunting vice.\n\n\nExcuse a reflection on a subject of a very domestic character. My\nclothes have come from the laundress with the bill.\n\nNow let me give you a sound piece of advice.\n\nWhen you go to America, bring with you a dozen shirts. No more. When\nthese are soiled, buy a new dozen, and so on. You will thus get a supply\nof linen for many years to come, and save your washing bills in America,\nwhere the price of a shirt is much the same as the cost of washing it.\n\n\n     _January 10._\n\nI was glad to see Bill Nye again. He turned up at the Everett House this\nmorning. I like to gaze at his clean-shaven face, that is seldom broken\nby a smile, and to hear his long, melancholy drawl. His lank form, and\nhis polished dome of thought, as he delights in calling his joke box,\nhelp to make him so droll on the platform. When his audience begins to\nscream with laughter, he stops, looks at them in astonishment; the\ncorners of his mouth drop and an expression of sadness comes over his\nface. The effect is irresistible. They shriek for mercy. But they don't\nget it. He is accompanied by his own manager, who starts with him for\nthe north to-night. This manager has no sinecure. I don't think Bill Nye\nhas ever been found in a depot ready to catch a train. So the manager\ntakes him to the station, puts him in the right car, gets him out of his\nsleeping berth, takes him to the hotel, sees that he is behind the\nplatform a few minutes before the time announced for the beginning of\nthe lecture, and generally looks after his comfort. Bill is due in Ohio\nto-morrow night, and leaves New York to-night by the Grand Central\nDepot.\n\n\"Are you sure it's by the Grand Central?\" he said to me.\n\n\"Why, of course, corner of Forty-second Street, a five or ten minutes'\nride from here.\"\n\nYou should have seen the expression on his face, as he drawled away:\n\n\"How--shall--I--get--there, I--wonder?\"\n\n\nThis afternoon I paid a most interesting visit to several girls'\nschools. The pupils were ordered by the head-mistress, in each case, to\ngather in the large room. There they arrived, two by two, to the sound\nof a march played on the piano by one of the under-mistresses. When\nthey had all reached their respective places, two chords were struck on\nthe instrument, and they all sat down with the precision of the best\ndrilled Prussian regiment. Then some sang, others recited little poems,\nor epigrams--mostly at the expense of men. When, two years ago, I\nvisited the Normal School for girls in the company of the President of\nthe Education Board and Colonel Elliott F. Shepard, it was the\nanniversary of George Eliot's birth. The pupils, one by one, recited a\nfew quotations from her works, choosing all she had written against man.\n\nWhen the singing and the recitations were over, the mistress requested\nme to address a few words to the young ladies. An American is used from\ninfancy to deliver a speech on the least provocation. I am not. However,\nI managed to congratulate these young American girls on their charming\nappearance, and to thank them for the pleasure they had afforded me.\nThen two chords were struck on the piano and all stood up; two more\nchords, and all marched off in double file to the sound of another\nmarch. Not a smile, not a giggle. All these young girls, from sixteen to\ntwenty, looked at me with modesty, but complete self-assurance,\ncertainly with far more assurance than I dared look at them.\n\nThen the mistress asked me to go to the gymnasium. There the girls\narrived and, as solemnly as before, went through all kinds of muscular\nexercises. They are never allowed to sit down in the class rooms more\nthan two hours at a time. They have to go down to the gymnasium every\ntwo hours.\n\nI was perfectly amazed to see such discipline. These young girls are the\ntrue daughters of a great Republic: self-possessed, self-confident,\ndignified, respectful, law-abiding.\n\nI also visited the junior departments of those schools. In one of them,\neight hundred little girls from five to ten years of age were gathered\ntogether, and, as in the other departments, sang and recited to me.\nThese young children are taught by the girls of the Normal School, under\nthe supervision of mistresses. Here teaching is learned by teaching. A\ngood method. Doctors are not allowed to practice before they have\nattended patients in hospitals. Why should people be allowed to teach\nbefore they have attended schools as apprentice teachers?\n\nI had to give a speech to these dear little ones. I wish I had been able\nto give them a kiss instead.\n\nIn my little speech I had occasion to remark that I had arrived in\nAmerica only a week before. After I left, it appears that a little girl,\naged about six, went to her mistress and said to her:\n\n\"He's only been here a week! And how beautifully he speaks English\nalready!\"\n\n\nI have been \"put up\" at the Players' Club by Mr. Edmund Clarence\nStedman, and dined with him there to-night.\n\n[Illustration: \"HOW BEAUTIFULLY HE SPEAKS ENGLISH.\"]\n\nThis club is the snuggest house I know in New York. Only a few months\nold, it possesses treasures such as few clubs a hundred years old\npossess. It was a present from Mr. Edwin Booth, the greatest actor\nAmerica has produced. He bought the house in Twentieth Street, facing\nGramercy Park, furnished it handsomely and with the greatest taste, and\nfilled it with all the artistic treasures that he has collected during\nhis life: portraits of celebrated actors, most valuable old engravings,\nphotographs with the originals' autographs, china, curios of all sorts,\nstage properties, such as the sword used by Macready in _Macbeth_, and\nhundreds of such beautiful and interesting souvenirs. On the second\nfloor is the library, mostly composed of works connected with the drama.\n\nThis club is a perfect gem.\n\nWhen in New York, Mr. Booth occupies a suite of rooms on the second\nfloor, which he has reserved for himself; but he has handed over the\nproperty to the trustees of the club, who, after his death, will become\nthe sole proprietors of the house and of all its priceless contents. It\nwas a princely gift, worthy of the prince of actors. The members are all\nconnected with literature, art, and the drama, and number about one\nhundred.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n  THE FLOURISHING OF COATS-OF-ARMS IN AMERICA--REFLECTIONS THEREON--\n  FOREFATHERS MADE TO ORDER--THE PHONOGRAPH AT HOME--THE WEALTH OF NEW\n  YORK--DEPARTURE FOR BUFFALO.\n\n\n     _New York, January 11._\n\nThere are in America, as in many other countries of the world, people\nwho have coats-of-arms, and whose ancestors had no arms to their coats.\n\nThis remark was suggested by the reading of the following paragraph in\nthe New York _World_ this morning:\n\n  There is growing in this country the rotten influence of rank, pride\n  of station, contempt for labor, scorn of poverty, worship of caste,\n  such as we verily believe is growing in no country in the world. What\n  are the ideals that fill so large a part of the day and generation?\n  For the boy it is riches; for the girl the marrying of a title. The\n  ideal of this time in America is vast riches and the trappings of\n  rank. It is good that proper scorn should be expressed of such ideals.\n\nAmerican novelists, journalists, and preachers are constantly upbraiding\nand ridiculing their countrywomen for their love of titled foreigners;\nbut the society women of the great Republic only love the foreign lords\nall the more; and I have heard some of them openly express their\ncontempt of a form of government whose motto is one of the clauses of\nthe great Declaration of Independence: \"All men are created equal.\" I\nreally believe that if the society women of America had their own way,\nthey would set up a monarchy to-morrow, in the hope of seeing an\naristocracy established as the sequel of it.\n\n[Illustration: A TITLE.]\n\nPresident Garfield once said that the only real coats-of-arms in America\nwere shirt-sleeves. The epigram is good, but not based on truth, as\nevery epigram should be. Labor in the States is not honorable for its\nown sake, but only if it brings wealth. President Garfield's epigram\n\"fetched\" the crowd, no doubt, as any smart democratic or humanitarian\nutterance will anywhere, whether it be emitted from the platform, the\nstage, the pulpit, or the hustings; but if any American philosopher\nheard it, he must have smiled.\n\nA New York friend who called on me this morning, and with whom I had a\nchat on this subject, assured me that there is now such a demand in the\nStates for pedigrees, heraldic insignia, mottoes, and coronets, that it\nhas created a new industry. He also informed me that almost every\nAmerican city has a college of heraldry, which will provide unbroken\nlines of ancestors, and make to order a new line of forefathers \"of the\nmost approved pattern, with suitable arms, etc.\"\n\nAddison's prosperous foundling, who ordered at the second-hand\npicture-dealer's \"a complete set of ancestors,\" is, according to my\nfriend, a typical personage to be met with in the States nowadays.\n\n\nBah! after all, every country has her snobs. Why should America be an\nexception to the rule? When I think of the numberless charming people I\nhave met in this country, I may as well leave it to the Europeans who\nhave come in contact with American snobs to speak about them, inasmuch\nas the subject is not particularly entertaining.\n\nWhat amuses me much more here is the effect of democracy on what we\nEuropeans would call the lower classes.\n\nA few days ago, in a hotel, I asked a porter if my trunk had arrived\nfrom the station and had been taken to my room.\n\n\"I don't know,\" he said majestically; \"you ask that gentleman.\"\n\nThe gentleman pointed out to me was the negro who looks after the\nluggage in the establishment.\n\nIn the papers you may read in the advertisement columns: \"Washing wanted\nby a lady at such and such address.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE NEW YORK CABMAN.]\n\nThe cabman will ask, \"If you are the _man_ as wants a _gentleman_ to\ndrive him to the _deepo_.\"\n\nDuring an inquiry concerning the work-house at Cambridge, Mass., a\nwitness spoke of the \"ladies' cells,\" as being all that should be\ndesired.\n\nDemocracy, such is thy handiwork!\n\n\nI went to the Stock Exchange in Wall Street at one o'clock. I thought\nthat Whitechapel, on Saturday night, was beyond competition as a scene\nof rowdyism. I have now altered this opinion. I am still wondering\nwhether I was not guyed by my pilot, and whether I was not shown the\nplayground of a madhouse, at the time when all the most desperate\nlunatics are let loose.\n\nAfter lunch I went to Falk's photograph studio to be taken, and read the\nfirst page of \"Jonathan and His Continent,\" into his phonograph.\nMarvelous, this phonograph! I imagine Mr. Falk has the best collection\nof cylinders in the world. I heard a song by Patti, the piano played by\nVon Bülow, speeches, orchestras, and what not! The music is reproduced\nmost faithfully. With the voice the instrument is not quite so\nsuccessful. Instead of your own voice, you fancy you hear an imitation\nof it by Punch. All the same, it seems to me to be the wonder of the\nage.\n\nAfter paying a few calls, and dining quietly at the Everett House, I\nwent to the Metropolitan Opera House, and saw \"The Barber of Bagdad.\"\nCornelius's music is Wagnerian in aim, but I did not carry away with me\na single bar of all I heard. After all, this is perhaps the aim of\nWagnerian music.\n\nWhat a sight is the Metropolitan Opera House, with its boxes full of\nlovely women, arrayed in gorgeous garments, and blazing with diamonds!\nWhat luxury! What wealth is gathered there!\n\nHow interesting it would be to know the exact amount of wealth of which\nNew York can boast! In this morning's papers I read that land on Fifth\nAvenue has lately sold for $115 a square foot. In an acre of land there\nare 43,560 square feet, which at $115 a foot would be $5,009,400 an\nacre. Just oblige me by thinking of it!\n\n\n     _January 12._\n\nWent to the Catholic Cathedral at eleven. A mass by Haydn was splendidly\nrendered by full orchestra and admirable chorus. The altar was a blaze\nof candles. The yellow of the lights and the plain mauve of two\nwindows, one on each side of the candles, gave a most beautiful\ncrocus-bed effect. I enjoyed the service.\n\nIn the evening I dined with Mr. Lloyd Bryce, editor of the _North\nAmerican Review_, at the splendid residence of his father-in-law, Mr.\nCooper, late Mayor of New York. Mrs. Lloyd Bryce is one of the\nhandsomest American women I have met, and a most charming and graceful\nhostess. I reluctantly left early so as to prepare for my night journey\nto Buffalo.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n  DIFFERENT WAYS OF ADVERTISING A LECTURE--AMERICAN IMPRESARIOS AND\n  THEIR METHODS.\n\n\n     _Buffalo, January 13._\n\nWhen you intend to give a lecture anywhere, and you wish it to be a\nsuccess, it is a mistake to make a mystery of it.\n\nOn arriving here this morning, I found that my coming had been kept\nperfectly secret.\n\nPerhaps my impresario wishes my audience to be very select, and has sent\nonly private circulars to the intelligent, well-to-do inhabitants of the\nplace--or, I said to myself, perhaps the house is all sold, and he has\nno need of any further advertisements.\n\nI should very much like to know.\n\n\nSometimes, however, it is a mistake to advertise a lecture too widely.\nYou run the risk of getting the wrong people.\n\nA few years ago, in Dundee, a little corner gallery, placed at the end\nof the hall where I was to speak, was thrown open to the public at\nsixpence. I warned the manager that I was no attraction for the sixpenny\npublic; but he insisted on having his own way.\n\nThe hall was well filled, but not the little gallery, where I counted\nabout a dozen people. Two of these, however, did not remain long, and,\nafter the lecture, I was told that they had gone to the box-office and\nasked to have their money returned to them. \"Why,\" they said, \"it's a\nd---- swindle; it's only a man talking.\"\n\nThe man at the box-office was a Scotchman, and it will easily be\nunderstood that the two sixpences remained in the hands of the\nmanagement.\n\n\nI can well remember how startled I was, two years ago, on arriving in an\nAmerican town where I was to lecture, to see the walls covered with\nplacards announcing my lecture thus: \"He is coming, ah, ha!\" And after I\nhad arrived, new placards were stuck over the old ones: \"He has arrived,\nah, ha!\"\n\nIn another American town I was advertised as \"the best paying platform\ncelebrity in the world.\" In another, in the following way: \"If you would\ngrow fat and happy, go and hear Max O'Rell to-night.\"\n\nOne of my Chicago lectures was advertised thus: \"Laughter is restful. If\nyou desire to feel as though you had a vacation for a week, do not fail\nto attend this lecture.\"\n\nI was once fortunate enough to deal with a local manager who, before\nsending it to the newspapers, submitted to my approbation the following\nadvertisement, of which he was very proud. I don't know whether it was\nhis own literary production, or whether he had borrowed it of a showman\nfriend. Here it is:\n\n  TWO HOURS OF UNALLOYED FUN AND HAPPINESS\n\n  Will put two inches of solid fat even upon the ribs of the most\n  cadaverous old miser. Everybody shouts peals of laughter as the rays\n  of fun are emitted from this famous son of merry-makers.\n\n\n[Illustration: AS JOHN BULL.]\n\nI threatened to refuse to appear if the advertisement was inserted in\nthe papers. This manager later gave his opinion that, as a lecturer, I\nwas good, but that as a man, I was a little bit \"stuck-up.\"\n\nWhen you arrive in an American town to lecture, you find the place\nflooded with your pictures, huge lithographs stuck on the walls, on the\nshop windows, in your very hotel entrance hall. Your own face stares at\nyou everywhere, you are recognized by everybody. You have to put up with\nit. If you love privacy, peace, and quiet, don't go to America on a\nlecturing tour. That is what your impresario will tell you.\n\n\nIn each town where you go, you have a local manager to \"boss the show\";\nas he has to pay you a certain fee, which he guarantees, you cannot find\nfault with him for doing his best to have a large audience. He runs\nrisks; you do not. Suppose, for instance, you are engaged, not by a\nsociety for a fee, but by a manager on sharing terms, say sixty per\ncent. of the gross receipts for you and forty for himself. Suppose his\nlocal expenses amount to $200; he has to bring $500 into the house\nbefore there is a cent for himself. You must forgive him if he goes\nabout the place beating the big drum. If you do not like it, there is a\nplace where you can stay--home.\n\n\nAn impresario once asked me if I required a piano, and if I would bring\nmy own accompanist. Another wrote to ask the subject of my\n\"entertainment.\"\n\n[Illustration: AS SANDY.]\n\nI wrote back to say that my lecture was generally found entertaining,\nbut that I objected to its being called an entertainment. I added that\nthe lecture was composed of four character sketches, viz., John Bull,\nSandy, Pat, and Jonathan.\n\n[Illustration: AS PAT.]\n\nIn his answer to this, he inquired whether I should change my dress four\ntimes during the performance, and whether it would not be a good thing\nto have a little music during the intervals.\n\nJust fancy my appearing on the platform successively dressed as John,\nSandy, Pat, and Jonathan!\n\n\nA good impresario is constantly on the look out for anything that may\ndraw the attention of the public to his entertainment. Nothing is sacred\nfor him. His eyes and ears are always open, all his senses on the alert.\n\nOne afternoon I was walking with my impresario over the beautiful\nClifton Suspension Bridge. I was to lecture at the Victoria Hall,\nBristol, in the evening. We leaned on the railings, and grew pensive as\nwe looked at the scenery and the abyss under us.\n\nMy impresario sighed.\n\n\"What are you thinking about?\" I said to him.\n\n[Illustration: AS JONATHAN.]\n\n\"Last year,\" he replied, \"a girl tried to commit suicide and jumped over\nthis bridge; but the wind got under her skirt, made a parachute of it,\nand she descended to the bottom of the valley perfectly unhurt.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE WOULD-BE SUICIDE.]\n\nAnd he sighed again.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"why do you sigh?\"\n\n\"Ah! my dear fellow, if you could do the same this afternoon, there\nwould be 'standing room only' in the Victoria Hall to-night.\"\n\nI left that bridge in no time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n  BUFFALO--THE NIAGARA FALLS--A FROST--ROCHESTER TO THE RESCUE OF\n  BUFFALO--CLEVELAND--I MEET JONATHAN--PHANTASMAGORIA.\n\n\n     _Buffalo, January 14._\n\nThis town is situated twenty-seven miles from Niagara Falls. The\nAmericans say that the Buffalo people can hear the noise of the\nwater-fall quite distinctly. I am quite prepared to believe it. However,\nan hour's journey by rail and then a quarter of an hour's sleigh ride\nwill take you from Buffalo within sight of this, perhaps the grandest\npiece of scenery in the world. Words cannot describe it. You spend a\ncouple of hours visiting every point of view. You are nailed, as it\nwere, to the ground, feeling like a pigmy, awestruck in the presence of\nnature at her grandest. The snow was falling thickly, and though it made\nthe view less clear, it added to the grandeur of the scene.\n\nI went down by the cable car to a level with the rapids and the place\nwhere poor Captain Webb was last seen alive; a presumptuous pigmy, he,\nto dare such waters as these. His widow keeps a little bazaar near the\nfalls and sells souvenirs to the visitors.\n\nIt was most thrilling to stand within touching distance of that great\ntorrent of water, called the Niagara Falls, in distinction to the\nHorseshoe Falls, to hear the roar of it as it fell. The idea of force it\ngives one is tremendous. You stand and wonder how many ages it has been\nroaring on, what eyes besides your own have gazed awestruck at its\nmighty rushing, and wonder if the pigmies will ever do what they say\nthey will; one day make those columns of water their servants to turn\nwheels at their bidding.\n\n[Illustration: SHOOTING THE RAPIDS.]\n\nWe crossed the bridge over to the Canadian side, and there we had the\nwhole grand panorama before our eyes.\n\nIt appears that it is quite a feasible thing to run the rapids in a\nbarrel. Girls have done it, and it may become the fashionable sport for\nAmerican girls in the near future. It has been safely accomplished\nplenty of times by young fellows up for an exciting day's sport.\n\nOn the Canadian shore was a pretty villa where Princess Louise stayed\nwhile she painted the scene. Some of the pretty houses were fringed all\nround the roofs and balconies in the loveliest way, with icicles a yard\nlong, and loaded with snow. They looked most beautiful.\n\nOn the way back we called at Prospect House, a charming hotel which I\nhope, if ever I go near Buffalo again, I shall put up at for a day or\ntwo, to see the neighborhood well.\n\nTwo years ago I was lucky enough to witness a most curious sight. The\nwater was frozen under the falls, and a natural bridge, formed by the\nice, was being used by venturesome people to cross the Niagara River on.\nThis occurs very seldom.\n\n\nI have had a fizzle to-night. I almost expected it. In a hall that could\neasily have accommodated fifteen hundred people, I lectured to an\naudience of about three hundred. Fortunately they proved so intelligent,\nwarm, and appreciative that I did not feel at all depressed; but my\nimpresario did. However, he congratulated me on having been able to do\njustice to the _causerie_, as if I had had a bumper house.\n\nI must own that it is much easier to be a tragedian than a light\ncomedian before a $200 house.\n\n\n     _Cleveland, O., January 15._\n\nThe weather is so bad that I shall be unable to see anything of this\ncity, which, people tell me, is very beautiful.\n\nOn arriving at the Weddell House, I met a New York friend.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"how are you getting on? Where do you come from?\"\n\n\"From Buffalo,\" said I, pulling a long face.\n\n\"What is the matter? Don't you like the Buffalo people?\"\n\n\"Yes; I liked those I saw. I should have liked to extend my love to a\nlarger number. I had a fizzle; about three hundred people. Perhaps I\ndrew all the brain of Buffalo.\"\n\n\"How many people do you say you had in the hall?\" said my friend.\n\n\"About three hundred.\"\n\n\"Then you must have drawn a good many people from Rochester, I should\nthink,\" said he quite solemnly.\n\nIn reading the Buffalo newspapers this morning, I noticed favorable\ncriticisms of my lecture; but while my English was praised, so far as\nthe language went, severe comments were passed on my pronunciation. In\nEngland, where the English language is spoken with a decent\npronunciation, I never once read a condemnation of my pronunciation of\nthe English language.\n\nI will not appear again in Buffalo until I feel much improved.\n\n\n[Illustration: \"GOING TO PITTSBURG, I GUESS.\"]\n\n     _En route to Pittsburg, January 16._\n\nThe American railway stations have special waiting rooms for\nladies--not, as in England, places furnished with looking-glasses, where\nthey can go and arrange their bonnets, etc. No, no. Places where they\ncan wait for the trains, protected against the contamination of man, and\nwhere they are spared the sight of that eternal little round piece of\nfurniture with which the floors of the whole of the United States are\ndotted.\n\nAt Cleveland Station, this morning, I met Jonathan, such as he is\nrepresented in the comic papers of the world. A man of sixty, with long\nstraight white hair falling over his shoulders; no mustache, long\nimperial beard, a razor-blade-shaped nose, small keen eyes, and high\nprominent cheek-bones, the whole smoking the traditional cigar; the\nAnglo-Saxon indianized--Jonathan. If he had had a long swallow-tail coat\non, a waistcoat ornamented with stars, and trowsers with stripes, he\nmight have sat for the cartoons of _Puck_ or _Judge_.\n\nIn the car, Jonathan came and sat opposite me. A few minutes after the\ntrain had started, he said:\n\n\"Going to Pittsburg, I guess.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied.\n\n\"To lecture?\"\n\n\"Oh, you know I lecture?\"\n\n\"Why, certainly; I heard you in Boston ten days ago.\"\n\nHe offered me a cigar, told me his name--I mean his three names--what he\ndid, how much he earned, where he lived, how many children he had; he\nread me a poem of his own composition, invited me to go and see him, and\nentertained me for three hours and a half, telling me the history of his\nlife, etc. Indeed, it was Jonathan.\n\n\nAll the Americans I have met have written a poem (pronounced _pome_).\nNow I am not generalizing. I do not say that all the Americans have\nwritten a poem, I say _all the Americans I have met_.\n\n\n     _Pittsburg (same day later)._\n\nI lecture here to-night under the auspices of the Press Club of the\ntown. The president of the club came to meet me at the station, in order\nto show me something of the town.\n\nI like Pittsburg very much. From the top of the hill, which you reach in\na couple of minutes by the cable car, there is a most beautiful sight to\ncontemplate: one never to be forgotten.\n\nOn our way to the hotel, my kind friend took me to a fire station, and\nasked the man in command of the place to go through the performance of a\nfire-call for my own edification.\n\nNow, in two words, here is the thing.\n\nYou touch the fire bell in your own house. That causes the name of your\nstreet and the number of your house to appear in the fire station; it\ncauses all the doors of the station to open outward. Wait a minute--it\ncauses whips which are hanging behind the horses, to lash them and send\nthem under harnesses that fall upon them and are self-adjusting; it\ncauses the men, who are lying down on the first floor, to slide down an\nincline and fall on the box and steps of the cart. And off they gallop.\nIt takes about two minutes to describe it as quickly as possible. It\nonly takes fourteen seconds to do it. It is the nearest approach to\nphantasmagoria that I have yet seen in real life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n  A GREAT ADMIRER--NOTES ON RAILWAY TRAVELING--IS AMERICA A FREE\n  NATION?--A PLEASANT EVENING IN NEW YORK.\n\n\n     _In the vestibule train from Pittsburg to New York, January 17._\n\nThis morning, before leaving the hotel in Pittsburg, I was approached by\na young man who, after giving me his card, thanked me most earnestly for\nmy lecture of last night. In fact, he nearly embraced me.\n\n\"I never enjoyed myself so much in my life,\" he said.\n\nI grasped his hand.\n\n\"I am glad,\" I replied, \"that my humble effort pleased you so much.\nNothing is more gratifying to a lecturer than to know he has afforded\npleasure to his audience.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"it gave me immense pleasure. You see, I am engaged to\nbe married to a girl in town. All her family went to your show, and I\nhad the girl at home all to myself. Oh! I had such a good time! Thank\nyou so much! Do lecture here again soon.\"\n\nAnd, after wishing me a pleasant journey, he left me. I was glad to\nknow I left at least one friend and admirer behind me in Pittsburg.\n\n\nI had a charming audience last night, a large and most appreciative one.\nI was introduced by Mr. George H. Welshons, of the Pittsburg _Times_, in\na neat little speech, humorous and very gracefully worded. After the\nlecture, I was entertained at supper in the rooms of the Press Club, and\nthoroughly enjoyed myself with the members. As I entered the Club, I was\namused to see two journalists, who had heard me at the lecture discourse\non chewing, go to a corner of the room, and there get rid of their\n_wads_, before coming to shake hands with me.\n\n\nIf you have not journeyed in a vestibule train of the Pennsylvania\nRailroad Company, you do not know what it is to travel in luxurious\ncomfort. Dining saloon, drawing room, smoking room, reading room with\nwriting tables, supplied with the papers and a library of books, all\nfurnished with exquisite taste and luxury. The cookery is good and well\nserved.\n\nThe day has passed without adventures, but in comfort. We left Pittsburg\nat seven in the morning. At nine we passed Johnstown. The terrible\ncalamity that befell that city two years ago was before my mind's eye;\nthe town suddenly inundated, the people rushing on the bridge, and there\ncaught and burnt alive. America is the country for great disasters.\nEverything here is on a huge scale. Toward noon, the country grew hilly,\nand, for an hour before we reached Harrisburg, it gave me great\nenjoyment, for in America, where there is so much sameness in the\nlandscapes, it is a treat to see the mountains of Central Pennsylvania\nbreaking the monotony of the huge flat stretch of land.\n\nThe employees (I must be careful not to say \"servants\") of the\nPennsylvania Railroad are polite and form an agreeable contrast to those\nof the other railway companies. Unhappily, the employees whom you find\non board the Pullman cars are not in the control of the company.\n\n\nThe train will reach Jersey City for New York at seven to-night. I shall\ndine at my hotel.\n\nAbout 5.30 it occurred to me to go to the dining-room car and ask for a\ncup of tea. Before entering the car I stopped at the lavatory to wash my\nhands. Some one was using the basin. It was the conductor, the autocrat\nin charge of the dining car, a fat, sleek, chewing, surly, frowning,\nsnarling cur.\n\nHe turned round.\n\n\"What do you want?\" said he.\n\n\"I should very much like to wash my hands,\" I timidly ventured.\n\n\"You see very well I am using the basin. You go to the next car.\"\n\nI came to America this time with a large provision of philosophy, and\nquite determined to even enjoy such little scenes as this. So I quietly\nwent to the next lavatory, returned to the dining-car, and sat down at\none of the tables.\n\n\"Will you, please, give me a cup of tea?\" I said to one of the colored\nwaiters.\n\n\"I can't do dat, sah,\" said the negro. \"You can have dinnah.\"\n\n\"But I don't want _dinnah_,\" I replied; \"I want a cup of tea.\"\n\n\"Den you must ask dat gem'man if you can have it,\" said he, pointing to\nthe above mentioned \"gentleman.\"\n\nI went to him.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said I, \"are you the nobleman who runs this show?\"\n\nHe frowned.\n\n\"I don't want to dine; I should like to have a cup of tea.\"\n\nHe frowned a little more, and deigned to hear my request to the end.\n\n\"Can I?\" I repeated.\n\nHe spoke not; he brought his eyebrows still lower down, and solemnly\nshook his head.\n\n\"Can't I really?\" I continued.\n\nAt last he spoke.\n\n\"You can,\" quoth he, \"for a dollar.\"\n\nAnd, taking the bill of fare in his hands, without wasting any more of\nhis precious utterances, he pointed out to me:\n\n\"Each meal one dollar.\"\n\nThe argument was unanswerable.\n\nI went back to my own car, resumed my seat, and betook myself to\nreflection.\n\nWhat I cannot, for the life of me, understand is why, in a train which\nhas a dining car and a kitchen, a man cannot be served with a cup of\ntea, unless he pays the price of a dinner for it, and this\nnotwithstanding the fact of his having paid five dollars extra to enjoy\nthe extra luxury of this famous vestibule train.\n\n[Illustration: \"WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT?\"]\n\nAfter all, this is one out of the many illustrations one could give to\nshow that whatever Jonathan is, he is not the master in his own house.\n\nThe Americans are the most docile people in the world. They are the\nslaves of their servants, whether these are high officials, or the\n\"reduced duchesses\" of domestic service. They are so submitted to their\nlot that they seem to find it quite natural.\n\nThe Americans are lions governed by bull-dogs and asses.\n\nThey have given themselves a hundred thousand masters, these folks who\nlaugh at monarchies, for example, and scorn the rule of a king, as if it\nwere better to be bullied by a crowd than by an individual.\n\nIn America, the man who pays does not command the paid. I have already\nsaid it; I will maintain the truth of the statement that, in America,\nthe paid servant rules. Tyranny from above is bad; tyranny from below is\nworse.\n\nOf my many first impressions that have deepened into convictions, this\nis one of the firmest.\n\nWhen you arrive at an English railway station, all the porters seem to\nsay: \"Here is a customer, let us treat him well.\" And it is who shall\nrelieve you of your luggage, or answer any questions you may be pleased\nto ask. They are glad to see you.\n\nIn America, you may have a dozen parcels, not a hand will move to help\nyou with them. So Jonathan is obliged to forego the luxury of hand\nbaggage, so convenient for long journeys.\n\nWhen you arrive at an American station, the officials are all frowning\nand seem to say: \"Why the deuce don't you go to Chicago by some other\nline instead of coming here to bother us?\"\n\n[Illustration: ENGLISH RAILWAY STATION.]\n\nThis subject reminds me of an interesting fact, told me by Mr. Chauncey\nM. Depew on board the _Teutonic_. When tram-cars were first used in the\nStates, it was a long time before the drivers and conductors would\nconsent to wear any kind of uniform, so great is the horror of anything\nlike a badge of paid servitude. Now that they do wear some kind of\nuniform, they spend their time in standing sentry at the door of their\ndignity, and in thinking that, if they were polite, you would take their\naffable manners for servility.\n\n[Illustration: THE RAILWAY PORTER.]\n\n\n     _Everett House, New York. (Midnight.)_\n\nSo many charming houses have opened their hospitable doors to me in New\nYork that, when I am in this city, I have soon forgotten the little\nannoyances of a railway journey or the hardships of a lecture tour.\n\nAfter dining here, I went to spend the evening at the house of Mr.\nRichard Watson Gilder, the poet, and editor of the _Century Magazine_,\nthat most successful of all magazines in the world. A circulation of\nnearly 300,000 copies--just think of it! But it need not excite wonder\nin any one who knows this beautiful and artistic periodical, to which\nall the leading _littérateurs_ of America lend their pens, and the best\nartists their pencils.\n\nMrs. Richard Watson Gilder is one of the best and most genial hostesses\nin New York. At her Fridays, one meets the cream of intellectual\nsociety, the best known names of the American aristocracy of talent.\n\nTo-night I met Mr. Frank R. Stockton, the novelist, Mr. Charles Webb,\nthe humorist, Mr. Frank Millet, the painter, and his wife, and a galaxy\nof celebrities and beautiful women, all most interesting and delightful\npeople to meet. Conversation went on briskly all over the rooms till\nlate.\n\nThe more I see of the American women, the more confirmed I become in my\nimpression that they are typical; more so than the men. They are like no\nother women I know. The brilliancy of their conversation, the animation\nof their features, the absence of affectation in their manners, make\nthem unique. There are no women to compare to them in a drawing-room.\nThere are none with whom I feel so much at ease. Their beauty,\nphysically speaking, is great; but you are still more struck by their\nintellectual beauty, the frankness of their eyes, and the naturalness of\ntheir bearing.\n\nI returned to the Everett House, musing all the way on the difference\nbetween the American women and the women of France and England. The\ntheme was attractive, and, remembering that to-morrow would be an\noff-day for me, I resolved to spend it in going more fully into this\nfascinating subject with pen and ink.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n  NOTES ON AMERICAN WOMEN--COMPARISONS--HOW MEN TREAT WOMEN AND VICE\n  VERSA--SCENES AND ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n     _New York, January 18._\n\nA man was one day complaining to a friend that he had been married\ntwenty years without being able to understand his wife. \"You should not\ncomplain of that,\" remarked the friend. \"I have been married to my wife\ntwo years only, and I understand her perfectly.\"\n\nThe leaders of thought in France have long ago proclaimed that woman was\nthe only problem it was not given to man to solve. They have all tried,\nand they have all failed. They all acknowledge it--but they are trying\nstill.\n\nIndeed, the interest that woman inspires in every Frenchman is never\nexhausted. Parodying Terence, he says to himself, \"I am a man, and all\nthat concerns woman interests me.\" All the French modern novels are\nstudies, analytical, dissecting studies, of woman's heart.\n\nTo the Anglo-Saxon mind, this may sometimes appear a trifle puerile, if\nnot also ridiculous. But to understand this feeling, one must remember\nhow a Frenchman is brought up.\n\nIn England, boys and girls meet and play together; in America and\nCanada, they sit side by side on the same benches at school, not only as\nchildren of tender age, but at College and in the Universities. They get\naccustomed to each other's company; they see nothing strange in being in\ncontact with one another, and this naturally tends to reduce the\ninterest or curiosity one sex takes in the other. But in France they are\napart, and the ball-room is the only place where they can meet when they\nhave attained the age of twenty!\n\nStrange to reflect that young people of both sexes can meet in\nball-rooms without exciting their parents' suspicions, and that they\ncannot do so in class-rooms!\n\nWhen I was a boy at school in France, I can well remember how we boys\nfelt on the subject. If we heard that a young girl, say the sister of\nsome school-fellow, was with her mother in the common parlor to see her\nbrother, why, it created a commotion, a perfect revolution in the whole\nestablishment. It was no use trying to keep us in order. We would climb\non the top of the seats or of the tables to endeavor to see something of\nher, even if it were but the top of her hat, or a bit of her gown across\nthe recreation yard at the very end of the building. It was an event.\nMany of us would even immediately get inspired and compose verses\naddressed to the unknown fair visitor. In these poetical effusions we\nwould imagine the young girl carried off by some miscreant, and we would\nfly to her rescue, save her, and throw ourselves at her feet to receive\nher hand as our reward. Yes, we would get quite romantic or, in plain\nEnglish, quite silly. We could not imagine that a woman was a reasoning\nbeing with whom you can talk on the topics of the day, or have an\nordinary conversation on any ordinary subject. To us a woman was a being\nwith whom you can only talk of love, or fall in love, or, maybe, for\nwhom you may die of love.\n\nThis manner of training young men goes a long way toward explaining the\nposition of woman in France as well as her ways. It explains why a\nFrenchman and a Frenchwoman, when they converse together, seldom can\nforget that one is a man and the other a woman. It does not prove that a\nFrenchwoman must necessarily be, and is, affected in her relations with\nmen; but it explains why she does not feel, as the American woman does,\nthat a man and woman can enjoy a _tête-à-tête_ free from all those\ncommonplace flatteries, compliments, and platitudes that\nbadly-understood gallantry suggests. Many American ladies have made me\nforget, by the easiness of their manner and the charm and naturalness of\ntheir conversation, that I was speaking with women, and with lovely\nones, too. This I could never have forgotten in the company of French\nladies.\n\nOn account of this feeling, and perhaps also of the difference which\nexists between the education received by a man and that received by a\nwoman in France, the conversation will always be on some light topics,\nliterary, artistic, dramatic, social, or other. Indeed, it would be most\nunbecoming for a man to start a very serious subject of conversation\nwith a French lady to whom he had just been introduced. He would be\ntaken for a pedant or a man of bad breeding.\n\nIn America, men and women receive practically the same education, and\nthis of course enlarges the circle of conversation between the sexes. I\nshall always remember a beautiful American girl, not more than twenty\nyears of age, to whom I was once introduced in New York, as she was\ngiving to a lady sitting next to her a most detailed description of the\nlatest bonnet invented in Paris, and who, turning toward me, asked me\npoint-blank if I had read M. Ernest Renan's \"History of the People of\nIsrael.\" I had to confess that I had not yet had time to read it. But\nshe had, and she gave me, without the remotest touch of affectation or\npedantry, a most interesting and learned analysis of that remarkable\nwork. I related this incident in \"Jonathan and his Continent.\" On\nreading it, some of my countrymen, critics and others, exclaimed: \"We\nimagine the fair American girl had a pair of gold spectacles on.\"\n\n\"No, my dear compatriots, nothing of the sort. No gold spectacles, no\nguy. It was a beautiful girl, dressed with most exquisite taste and\ncare, and most charming and womanly.\"\n\nAn American woman, however learned she may be, is a sound politician,\nand she knows that the best thing she can make of herself is a woman,\nand she remains a woman. She will always make herself as attractive as\nshe possibly can. Not to please men--I believe she has a great contempt\nfor them--but to please herself. If, in a French drawing-room, I were to\nremark to a lady how clever some woman in the room looked, she would\nprobably closely examine that woman's dress to find out what I thought\nwas wrong about it. It would probably be the same in England, but not\nin America.\n\nA Frenchwoman will seldom be jealous of another woman's cleverness. She\nwill far more readily forgive her this qualification than beauty. And in\nthis particular point, it is probable that the Frenchwoman resembles all\nthe women in the Old World.\n\n\nOf all the ladies I have met, I have no hesitation in declaring that the\nAmerican ones are the least affected. With them, I repeat it, I feel at\nease as I do with no other women in the world.\n\nWith whom but an _Américaine_ would the following little scene have been\npossible?\n\nI was in Boston. It was Friday, and knowing it to be the reception day\nof Mrs. X., an old friend of mine and my wife's, I thought I would call\nupon her early, before the crowd of visitors had begun to arrive. So I\nwent to the house about half-past three in the afternoon. Mrs. X.\nreceived me in the drawing-room, and we were soon talking on the hundred\nand one topics that old friends have on their tongue tips. Presently the\nconversation fell on love and lovers. Mrs. X. drew her chair up a little\nnearer to the fire, put the toes of her little slippers on the fender\nstool, and with a charmingly confidential, but perfectly natural,\nmanner, said:\n\n\"You are married and love your wife; I am married and love my husband;\nwe are both artists, let's have our say out.\"\n\nAnd we proceeded to have our say out.\n\nBut all at once I noticed that about half an inch of the seam of her\nblack silk bodice was unsewn. We men, when we see a lady with something\nawry in her toilette, how often do we long to say to her: \"Excuse me,\nmadam, but perhaps you don't know that you have a hairpin sticking out\ntwo inches just behind your ear,\" or \"Pardon me, Miss, I'm a married\nman, there is something wrong there behind, just under your waist belt.\"\n\nNow I felt for Mrs. X., who was just going to receive a crowd of callers\nwith a little rent in one of her bodice seams, and tried to persuade\nmyself to be brave and tell her of it. Yet I hesitated. People take\nthings so differently. The conversation went on unflagging. At last I\ncould not stand it any longer.\n\n\"Mrs. X.,\" said I, all in a breath, \"you are married and love your\nhusband; I am married and love my wife; we are both artists; there is a\nlittle bit of seam come unsewn, just there by your arm, run and get it\nsewn up!\"\n\nThe peals of laughter that I heard going on upstairs, while the damage\nwas being repaired, proved to me that there was no resentment to be\nfeared, but, on the contrary, that I had earned the gratitude of Mrs. X.\n\n\nIn many respects I have often been struck with the resemblance which\nexists between French and American women. When I took my first walk on\nBroadway, New York, on a fine afternoon some two years and a half ago, I\ncan well remember how I exclaimed: \"Why, this is Paris, and all these\nladies are _Parisiennes_!\" It struck me as being the same type of face,\nthe same animation of features, the same brightness of the eyes, the\nsame self-assurance, the same attractive plumpness in women over thirty.\nTo my mind, I was having a walk on my own Boulevards (every Parisian\n_owns_ that place). The more I became acquainted with American ladies,\nthe more forcibly this resemblance struck me. This was not a mere first\nimpression. It has been, and is still, a deep conviction; so much so\nthat whenever I returned to New York from a journey of some weeks in the\nheart of the country, I felt as if I was returning home.\n\nAfter a short time, a still closer resemblance between the women of the\ntwo countries will strike a Frenchman most forcibly. It is the same\n_finesse_, the same suppleness of mind, the same wonderful adaptability.\nPlace a little French milliner in a good drawing-room for an hour, and\nat the end of that time she will behave, talk, and walk like any lady in\nthe room. Suppose an American, married below his _status_ in society, is\nelected President of the United States, I believe, at the end of a week,\nthis wife of his would do the honors of the White House with the ease\nand grace of a highborn lady.\n\nIn England it is just the contrary.\n\nOf course good society is good society everywhere. The ladies of the\nEnglish aristocracy are perfect queens; but the Englishwoman, who was\nnot born a lady, will seldom become a lady, and I believe this is why\n_mésalliances_ are more scarce in England than in America, and\nespecially in France. I could name many Englishmen at the head of their\nprofessions, who cannot produce their wives in society because these\nwomen have not been able to raise themselves to the level of their\nhusbands' station in life. The Englishwoman, as a rule, has no faculty\nfor fitting herself for a higher position than the one she was born in;\nlike a rabbit, she will often taste of the cabbage she fed on. And I am\nbound to add that this is perhaps a quality, and proves the truthfulness\nof her character. She is no actress.\n\nIn France, the _mésalliance_, though not relished by parents, is not\nfeared so much, because they know the young woman will observe and\nstudy, and very soon fit herself for her new position.\n\nAnd while on this subject of _mésalliance_, why not try to destroy an\nabsurd prejudice that exists in almost every country on the subject of\nFrance?\n\nIt is, I believe, the firm conviction of foreigners that Frenchmen marry\nfor money, that is to say, that all Frenchmen marry for money. As a\nrule, when people discuss foreign social topics, they have a wonderful\nfaculty for generalization.\n\nThe fact that many Frenchmen do marry for money is not to be denied, and\nthe explanation of it is this: We have in France a number of men\nbelonging to a class almost unknown in other countries, small\n_bourgeois_ of good breeding and genteel habits, but relatively poor,\nwho occupy posts in the different Government offices. Their name is\nlegion and their salary something like two thousand francs ($400). These\nmen have an appearance to keep up, and, unless a wife brings them enough\nto at least double their income, they cannot marry. These young men are\noften sought after by well-to-do parents for their daughters, because\nthey are steady, cultured, gentlemanly, and occupy an honorable\nposition, which brings them a pension for their old age. With the wife's\ndowry, the couple can easily get along, and lead a peaceful, uneventful,\nand happy jog-trot life, which is the great aim of the majority of the\nFrench people.\n\nBut, on the other hand, there is no country where you will see so many\ncases of _mésalliance_ as France, and this alone should dispose of the\nbelief that Frenchmen marry for money. Indeed, it is a most common thing\nfor a young Frenchman of good family to fall in love with a girl of a\nmuch lower station of life than his own, to court her, at first with\nperhaps only the idea of killing time or of starting a _liaison_, to\nsoon discover that the girl is highly respectable, and to finally marry\nher. This is a most common occurrence. French parents frown on this sort\nof thing, and do their best to discourage it, of course; but rather than\ncross their son's love, they give their consent, and trust to that\nadaptability of Frenchwomen, of which I was speaking just now, to raise\nherself to her husband's level and make a wife he will never be ashamed\nof.\n\n\nThe Frenchman is the slave of his womankind, but not in the same way as\nthe American is. The Frenchman is brought up by his mother, and remains\nunder her sway till she dies. When he marries, his wife leads him by the\nnose (an operation which he seems to enjoy), and when, besides, he has a\ndaughter, on whom he generally dotes, this lady soon joins the other two\nin ruling this easy-going, good-humored man. As a rule, when you see a\nFrenchman, you behold a man who is kept in order by three generations\nof women: mother, wife, and daughter.\n\nThe American will lavish attention and luxury on his wife and daughters,\nbut he will save them the trouble of being mixed in his affairs. His\nbusiness is his, his office is private. His womankind is the sun and\nglory of his life, whose company he will hasten to enjoy as soon as he\ncan throw away the cares of his business. In France, a wife is a\npartner, a cashier who takes care of the money, even an adviser on stock\nand speculations. In the mercantile class, she is both cashier and\nbookkeeper. Enter a shop in France, Paris included, and behind \"Pay\nHere,\" you will see Madame, smiling all over as she pockets the money\nfor the purchase you have made. When I said she is a partner, I might\nsafely have said that she is the active partner, and, as a rule, by far\nthe shrewder of the two. She brings to bear her native suppleness, her\nfascinating little ways, her persuasive manners, and many a customer\nwhom her husband was allowing to go away without a purchase, has been\nbrought back by the wife, and induced to part with his cash in the shop.\nLast year I went to Paris, on my way home from Germany, to spend a few\ndays visiting the Exposition. One day I entered a shop on the Boulevards\nto buy a white hat. The new-fashioned hats, the only hats which the man\nshowed me, were narrow-brimmed, and I declined to buy one. I was just\ngoing to leave, when the wife, who, from the back parlor, had listened\nto my conversation with her husband, stepped in and said: \"But, Adolphe,\nwhy do you let Monsieur go? Perhaps he does not care to follow the\nfashion. We have a few white broad-brimmed hats left from last year\nthat we can let Monsieur have _à bon compte_. They are upstairs, go and\nfetch them.\" And, sure enough, there was one which fitted and pleased\nme, and I left in that shop a little sum of twenty-five francs, which\nthe husband was going to let me take elsewhere, but which the wife\nmanaged to secure for the firm.\n\n[Illustration: MADAM IS THE CASHIER.]\n\nNo one who has lived in France has failed to be struck with the\nintelligence of the women, and there exist few Frenchmen who do not\nreadily admit how intellectually inferior they are to their\ncountrywomen, chiefly among the middle and lower classes. And this is\nnot due to any special training, for the education received by the women\nof that class is of the most limited kind; they are taught to read,\nwrite, and reckon, and their education is finished. Shrewdness is inborn\nin them, as well as a peculiar talent for getting a hundred cents' worth\nfor every dollar they spend. How to make a house look pretty and\nattractive with small outlay; how to make a dress or turn out a bonnet\nwith a few knick-knacks; how to make a savory dish out of a small\nremnant of beef, mutton, and veal; all that is a science not to be\ndespised when a husband, in receipt of a four or five hundred dollar\nsalary, wants to make a good dinner, and see his wife look pretty. No\ndoubt the aristocratic inhabitants of Mayfair and Belgravia in London,\nand the plutocracy of New York, may think all this very small, and these\nFrench people very uninteresting. They can, perhaps, hardly imagine that\nsuch people may live on such incomes and look decent. But they do live,\nand live very happy lives, too. And I will go so far as to say that\nhappiness, real happiness, is chiefly found among people of limited\nincome. The husband, who perhaps for a whole year has put quietly by a\ndollar every week, so as to be able to give his dear wife a nice present\nat Christmas, gives her a far more valuable, a far better appreciated\npresent, than the millionaire who orders Tiffany to send a diamond\n_rivière_ to his wife. That quiet young French couple, whom you see at\nthe upper circle of a theater, and who have saved the money to enable\nthem to come and hear such and such a play, are happier than the\noccupants of the boxes on the first tier. If you doubt it, take your\nopera glasses, and \"look on this picture, and on this.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE UPPER CIRCLE.]\n\nIn observing nations, I have always taken more interest in the\n\"million,\" who differ in every country, than in the \"upper ten,\" who are\nalike all over the world. People who have plenty of money at their\ndisposal generally discover the same way of spending it, and adopt the\nsame mode of living. People who have only a small income show their\nnative instincts in the intelligent use of it. All these differ, and\nthese only are worth studying, unless you belong to the staff of a\n\"society\" paper. (As a Frenchman, I am glad to say we have no \"society\"\npapers. England and America are the only two countries in the world\nwhere these official organs of Anglo-Saxon snobbery can be found, and I\nshould not be surprised to hear that Australia possessed some of these\nalready.)\n\n\n[Illustration: THE SAD-EYED OCCUPANTS OF THE BOX.]\n\nThe source of French happiness is to be found in the thrift of the\nwomen, from the best middle class to the peasantry. This thrift is also\nthe source of French wealth. A nation is really wealthy when the\nfortunes are stable, however small. We have no railway kings, no oil\nkings, no silver kings, but we have no tenement houses, no Unions, no\nWork-houses. Our lower classes do not yet ape the upper class people,\neither in their habits or dress. The wife of a peasant or of a mechanic\nwears a simple snowy cap, and a serge or cotton dress. The wife of a\nshopkeeper does not wear any jewelry because she cannot afford to buy\nreal stones, and her taste is too good to allow of her wearing false\nones. She is not ashamed of her husband's occupation; she does not play\nthe fine lady while he is at work. She saves him the expense of a\ncashier or of an extra clerk by helping him in his business. When the\nshutters are up, she enjoys life with him, and is the companion of his\npleasures as well as of his hardships. Club life is unknown in France,\nexcept among the upper classes. Man and wife are constantly together,\nand France is a nation of Darbys and Joans. There is, I believe, no\ncountry where men and women go through life on such equal terms as in\nFrance.\n\n\nIn England (and here again I speak of the masses only), the man thinks\nhimself a much superior being to the woman. It is the same in Germany.\nIn America, I should feel inclined to believe that a woman looks down\nupon a man with a certain amount of contempt. She receives at his hands\nattentions of all sorts, but I cannot say, as I have remarked before,\nthat I have ever discovered in her the slightest trace of gratitude to\nman.\n\nI have often tried to explain to myself this gentle contempt of American\nladies for the male sex; for, contrasting it with the lovely devotion of\nJonathan to his womankind, it is a curious enigma. Have I found the\nsolution at last? Does it begin at school? In American schools, boys and\ngirls, from the age of five, follow the same path to learning, and sit\nside by side on the same benches. Moreover, the girls prove themselves\ncapable of keeping pace with the boys. Is it not possible that those\ngirls, as they watched the performances of the boys in the study,\nlearned to say, \"Is that all?\" While the young lords of creation, as\nthey have looked on at what \"those girls\" can do, have been fain to\nexclaim: \"Who would have thought it!\" And does not this explain the two\nattitudes: the great respect of men for women, and the mild contempt of\nwomen for men?\n\nVery often, in New York, when I had time to saunter about, I would go up\nBroadway and wait until a car, well crammed with people, came along.\nThen I would jump on board and stand near the door. Whenever a man\nwanted to get out, he would say to me \"Please,\" or \"Excuse me,\" or just\ntouch me lightly to warn me that I stood in his way. But the women! Oh,\nthe women! why, it was simply lovely. They would just push me away with\nthe tips of their fingers, and turn up such disgusted and haughty noses!\nYou would have imagined it was a heap of dirty rubbish in their way.\n\n\nWould you have a fair illustration of the respective positions of woman\nin France, in England, and in America?\n\nGo to a hotel, and watch the arrival of couples in the dining-room.\n\nNow don't go to the Louvre, the Grand Hotel, or the Bristol, in Paris.\nDon't go to the Savoy, the Victoria, or the Metropole, in London. Don't\ngo to the Brunswick, in New York, because in all these hotels you will\nsee that all behave alike. Go elsewhere and, I say, watch.\n\nIn France, you will see the couples arrive together, walk abreast toward\nthe table assigned to them, very often arm in arm, and smiling at each\nother--though married.\n\n[Illustration: IN FRANCE.]\n\nIn England, you will see John Bull leading the way. He does not like to\nbe seen eating in public, and thinks it very hard that he should not\nhave the dining-room all to himself. So he enters, with his hands in\nhis pockets, looking askance at everybody right and left. Then, meek and\ndemure, with her eyes cast down, follows Mrs. John Bull.\n\n[Illustration: IN ENGLAND.]\n\nIn America, behold the dignified, nay, the majestic entry of Mrs.\nJonathan, a perfect queen going toward her throne, bestowing a glance on\nher subjects right and left--and Jonathan behind!\n\n[Illustration: IN AMERICA.]\n\nThey say in France that Paris is the paradise of women. If so, there is\na more blissful place than paradise; there is another word to invent to\ngive an idea of the social position enjoyed by American ladies.\n\nIf I had to be born again, and might choose my sex and my birthplace, I\nwould shout at the top of my voice:\n\n\"Oh, make me an American woman!\"\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n  MORE ABOUT JOURNALISM IN AMERICA--A DINNER AT DELMONICO'S--MY FIRST\n  APPEARANCE IN AN AMERICAN CHURCH.\n\n\n     _New York, Sunday Night, January 19._\n\nHave been spending the whole day in reading the Sunday papers.\n\nI am never tired of reading and studying the American newspapers. The\nwhole character of the nation is there: Spirit of enterprise,\nliveliness, childishness, inquisitiveness, deep interest in everything\nthat is human, fun and humor, indiscretion, love of gossip, brightness.\n\nSpeak of electric light, of phonographs and graphophones, if you like;\nspeak of those thousand and one inventions which have come out of the\nAmerican brain; but if you wish to mention the greatest and most\nwonderful achievement of American activity, do not hesitate for a moment\nto give the palm to American journalism; it is simply the _ne plus\nultra_.\n\nYou will find some people, even in America, who condemn its loud tone;\nothers who object to its meddling with private life; others, again, who\nhave something to say of its contempt for statements which are not in\nperfect accordance with strict truth. I even believe that a French\nwriter, whom I do not wish to name, once said that very few statements\nto be found in an American paper were to be relied upon--beyond the\ndate. People may say this and may say that about American journalism; I\nconfess that I like it, simply because it will supply you with\ntwelve--on Sundays with thirty--pages that are readable from the first\nline to the last. Yes, from the first line to the last, including the\nadvertisements.\n\nThe American journalist may be a man of letters, but, above all, he must\npossess a bright and graphic pen, and his services are not wanted if he\ncannot write a racy article or paragraph out of the most trifling\nincident. He must relate facts, if he can, but if he cannot, so much the\nworse for the facts; he must be entertaining and turn out something that\nis readable.\n\nSuppose, for example, a reporter has to send to his paper the account of\na police-court proceeding. There is nothing more important to bring to\nthe office than the case of a servant girl who has robbed her mistress\nof a pair of diamond earrings. The English reporter will bring to his\neditor something in the following style:\n\n  Mary Jane So-and-So was yesterday charged before the magistrate with\n  stealing a pair of diamond earrings from her mistress. It appears\n  [always _it appears_, that is the formula] that, last Monday, as Mrs.\n  X. went to her room to dress for dinner, she missed a pair of diamond\n  earrings, which she usually kept in a little drawer in her bedroom. On\n  questioning her maid on the subject, she received incoherent answers.\n  Suspicion that the maid was the thief arose in her mind,  and----\n\nA long paragraph in this dry style will be published in the _Times_, or\nany other London morning paper.\n\nNow, the American reporter will be required to bring something a little\nmore entertaining if he hopes to be worth his salt on the staff of his\npaper, and he will probably get up an account of the case somewhat in\nthe following fashion:\n\n  Mary Jane So-and-so is a pretty little brunette of some twenty\n  summers. On looking in the glass at her dainty little ears, she\n  fancied how lovely a pair of diamond earrings would look in them. So\n  one day she thought she would try on those of her mistress. How lovely\n  she looked! said the looking-glass, and the Mephistopheles that is\n  hidden in the corner of every man or woman's breast suggested that she\n  should keep them. This is how Mary Jane found herself in trouble,\n  etc., etc.\n\nThe whole will read like a little story, probably entitled something\nlike \"Another Gretchen gone wrong through the love of jewels.\"\n\nThe heading has to be thought of no less than the paragraph. Not a line\nis to be dull in a paper sparkling all over with eye-ticklers of all\nsorts. Oh! those delicious headings that would resuscitate the dead, and\nmake them sit up in their graves!\n\nA Tennessee paper which I have now under my eyes announces the death of\na townsman with the following heading:\n\n\"At ten o'clock last night Joseph W. Nelson put on his angel plumage.\"\n\n\n\"Racy, catching advertisements supplied to the trade,\" such is the\nannouncement that I see in the same paper. I understand the origin of\nsuch literary productions as the following, which I cull from a Colorado\nsheet:\n\n  This morning our Saviour summoned away the jeweler William T. Sumner,\n  of our city, from his shop to another and a better world. The\n  undersigned, his widow, will weep upon his tomb, as will also his two\n  daughters, Maud and Emma, the former of whom is married, and the other\n  is open to an offer. The funeral will take place to-morrow. Signed.\n  His disconsolate widow, Mathilda Sumner.\n\n  _P. S._--This bereavement will not interrupt our business, which will\n  be carried on as usual, only our place of business will be removed\n  from Washington Street to No. 17 St. Paul Street, as our grasping\n  landlord has raised our rent.--M. S.\n\nThe following advertisement probably emanates from the same firm:\n\n  PERSONAL--HIS LOVE SUDDENLY RETURNED.--Recently they had not been on\n  the best of terms, owing to a little family jar occasioned by the wife\n  insisting on being allowed to renovate his wearing apparel, and which,\n  of course, was done in a bungling manner; in order to prevent the\n  trouble, they agreed to send all their work hereafter to D., the\n  tailor, and now everything is lovely, and peace and happiness again\n  reign in their household.\n\nAll this is lively. Never fail to read the advertisements of an American\npaper, or you will not have got out of it all the fun it supplies.\n\nHere are a few from the Cincinnati _Enquirer_, which tell different\nstories:\n\n  1. The young MADAME J. C. ANTONIA, just arrived from Europe, will\n  remain a short time; tells past, present, and future; tells by the\n  letters in hand who the future husband or wife will be; brings back\n  the husband or lover in so many days, and guarantees to settle family\n  troubles; can give good luck and success; ladies call at once; also\n  cures corns and bunions. Hours 10 A. M. and 9 P. M.\n\n\"Also cures corns and bunions\" is a poem!\n\n  2. The acquaintance desired of lady passing along Twelfth Street at\n  three o'clock Sunday afternoon, by blond gent standing at corner.\n  Address LOU K., 48, _Enquirer_ Office.\n\n  3. Will the three ladies that got on the electric car at the Zoo\n  Sunday afternoon favor three gents that got off at Court and Walnut\n  Streets with their address? Address ELECTRIC CAR, _Enquirer_ Office.\n\n  4. Will two ladies on Clark Street car, that noticed two gents in\n  front of Grand Opera House about seven last evening, please address\n  JANDS, _Enquirer_ Office.\n\n\nA short time ago a man named Smith was bitten by a rattlesnake and\ntreated with whisky at a New York hospital. An English paper would have\njust mentioned the fact, and have the paragraph headed: \"A Remarkable\nCure\"; or, \"A Man Cured of a Rattlesnake Bite by Whisky\"; but a kind\ncorrespondent sends me the headings of this bit of intelligence in five\nNew York papers. They are as follows:\n\n1. \"Smith Is All Right!\"\n\n2. \"Whisky Does It!\"\n\n3. \"The Snake Routed at all Points!\"\n\n4. \"The Reptile is Nowhere!\"\n\n5. \"Drunk for Three Days and Cured.\"\n\nLet a batch of officials be dismissed. Do not suppose that an American\neditor will accept the news with such a heading as \"Dismissal of\nOfficials.\" The reporter will have to bring some label that will fetch\nthe attention. \"Massacre at the Custom House,\" or, \"So Many Heads in the\nBasket,\" will do. Now, I maintain that it requires a wonderful\nimagination--something little short of genius, to be able, day after\nday, to hit on a hundred of such headings. But the American journalist\ndoes it.\n\n[Illustration: SMITH CURED OF RATTLESNAKE BITE.]\n\nAn American paper is a collection of short stories. The Sunday edition\nof the New York _World_, the New York _Herald_, the Boston _Herald_, the\nBoston _Globe_, the Chicago _Tribune_, the Chicago _Herald_, and many\nothers, is something like ten volumes of miscellaneous literature, and I\ndo not know of any achievement to be compared to it.\n\nI cannot do better than compare an American paper to a large store,\nwhere the goods, the articles, are labeled so as to immediately strike\nthe customer.\n\nA few days ago, I heard my friend, Colonel Charles H. Taylor, editor of\nthe Boston _Globe_, give an interesting summary of an address on\njournalism which he is to deliver next Saturday before the members of\nthe New England Club of Boston. He maintained that the proprietor of a\nnewspaper has as much right to make his shop-window attractive to the\npublic as any tradesman. If the colonel is of opinion that journalism is\na trade, and the journalist a mere tradesman, I agree with him. If\njournalism is not to rank among the highest and noblest of professions,\nand is to be nothing more than a commercial enterprise, I agree with\nhim.\n\nNow, if we study the evolution of journalism for the last forty or fifty\nyears, we shall see that daily journalism, especially in a democracy,\nhas become a commercial enterprise, and that journalism, as it was\nunderstood forty years ago, has become to-day monthly journalism. The\ndailies have now no other object than to give the news--the latest--just\nas a tradesman that would succeed must give you the latest fashion in\nany kind of business. The people of a democracy like America are\neducated in politics. They think for themselves, and care but little for\nthe opinions of such and such a journalist on any question of public\ninterest. They want news, not literary essays on news. When I hear some\nAmericans say that they object to their daily journalism, I answer that\njournalists are like other people who supply the public--they keep the\narticle that is wanted.\n\nA free country possesses the government it deserves, and the journalism\nit wants. A people active and busy as the Americans are, want a\njournalism that will keep their interest awake and amuse them; and they\nnaturally get it. The average American, for example, cares not a pin for\nwhat his representatives say or do in Washington; but he likes to be\nacquainted with what is going on in Europe, and that is why the American\njournalist will give him a far more detailed account of what is going on\nin the Palace at Westminster than of what is being said in the Capitol.\n\nIn France, journalism is personal. On any great question of the day,\ndomestic or foreign, the Frenchman will want to read the opinion of John\nLemoinne in the _Journal des Débats_, or the opinion of Edouard Lockroy\nin the _Rappel_, or maybe that of Paul de Cassagnac or Henri Rochefort.\nEvery Frenchman is more or less led by the editor of the newspaper which\nhe patronizes. But the Frenchman is only a democrat in name and\naspirations, not in fact. France made the mistake of establishing a\nrepublic before she made republicans of her sons. A French journalist\nsigns his articles, and is a leader of public opinion, so much so that\nevery successful journalist in France has been, is now, and ever will\nbe, elected a representative of the people.\n\nIn America, as in England, the journalist has no personality outside the\nliterary classes. Who, among the masses, knows the names of Bennett,\nDana, Whitelaw Reid, Medill, Childs, in the United States? Who, in\nEngland, knows the names of Lawson, Mudford, Robinson, and other editors\nof the great dailies? If it had not been for his trial and imprisonment,\nMr. W. T. Stead himself, though a most brilliant journalist, would\nnever have seen his name on anybody's lips.\n\nA leading article in an American or an English newspaper will attract no\nnotice at home. It will only be quoted on the European Continent.\n\nIt is the monthly and the weekly papers and magazines that now play the\npart of the dailies of bygone days. An article in the _Spectator_ or\n_Saturday Review_, or especially in one of the great monthly magazines,\nwill be quoted all over the land, and I believe that this relatively new\njournalism, which is read only by the cultured, has now for ever taken\nthe place of the old one.\n\nIn a country where everybody reads, men as well as women; in a country\nwhere nobody takes much interest in politics outside of the State and\nthe city in which he lives, the journalist has to turn out every day all\nthe news he can gather, and present them to the reader in the most\nreadable form. Formerly daily journalism was a branch of literature; now\nit is a news store, and is so not only in America. The English press\nshows signs of the same tendency, and so does the Parisian press. Take\nthe London _Pall Mall Gazette_ and _Star_, and the Paris _Figaro_, as\nillustrations of what I advance.\n\nAs democracy makes progress in England, journalism will become more and\nmore American, although the English reporter will have some trouble in\nsucceeding to compete with his American _confrère_ in humor and\nliveliness.\n\nUnder the guidance of political leaders, the newspapers of Continental\nEurope direct public opinion. In a democracy, the newspapers follow\npublic opinion and cater to the public taste; they are the servants of\nthe people. The American says to his journalists: \"I don't care a pin\nfor your opinions on such a question. Give me the news and I will\ncomment on it myself. Only don't forget that I am an overworked man, and\nthat before, or after, my fourteen hours' work, I want to be\nentertained.\"\n\nSo, as I have said elsewhere, the American journalist must be spicy,\nlively, and bright. He must know how, not merely to report, but to\nrelate in a racy, catching style, an accident, a trial, a conflagration,\nand be able to make up an article of one or two columns upon the most\ninsignificant incident. He must be interesting, readable. His eyes and\nears must be always open, every one of his five senses on the alert, for\nhe must keep ahead in this wild race for news. He must be a good\nconversationalist on most subjects, so as to bring back from his\ninterviews with different people a good store of materials. He must be a\nman of courage, to brave rebuffs. He must be a philosopher, to pocket\nabuse cheerfully.\n\nHe must be a man of honor, to inspire confidence in the people he has to\ndeal with. Personally I can say this of him, that wherever I have begged\nhim, for instance, to kindly abstain from mentioning this or that which\nmight have been said in conversation with him, I have invariably found\nthat he kept his word.\n\nBut if the matter is of public interest, he is, before and above all,\nthe servant of the public; so, never challenge his spirit of enterprise,\nor he will leave no stone unturned until he has found out your secret\nand exhibited it in public.\n\nI do not think that American journalism needs an apology.\n\nIt is the natural outcome of circumstances and the democratic times we\nlive in. The Théâtre-Français is not now, under a Republic, and probably\nnever again will be, what it was when it was placed under the patronage\nand supervision of the French Court. Democracy is the form of government\nleast of all calculated to foster literature and the fine arts. To that\npurpose, Monarchy, with its Court and its fashionable society, is the\nbest. This is no reason to prefer a monarchy to a republic. Liberty,\nlike any other luxury, has to be paid for.\n\nJournalism cannot be now what it was when papers were read by people of\nculture. In a democracy, the stage and journalism have to please the\nmasses of the people. As the people become better and better educated,\nthe stage and journalism will rise with them. What the people want, I\nrepeat it, is news, and journals are properly called _news_ papers.\n\nSpeaking of American journalism, no man need use apologetic language.\n\nNot when the proprietor of an American paper will not hesitate to spend\nthousands of dollars to provide his readers with the minutest details\nabout some great European event.\n\nNot when an American paper will, at its own expense, send Henry M.\nStanley to Africa in search of Livingstone.\n\nNot so long as the American press is vigilant, and keeps its thousand\neyes open on the interests of the American people.\n\n\n     _Midnight._\n\nDined this evening with Richard Mansfield at Delmonico's. I sat between\nMr. Charles A. Dana, the first of American journalists, and General\nHorace Porter, and had what my American friends would call \"a mighty\nelegant time.\" The host was delightful, the dinner excellent, the wine\n\"extra dry,\" the speeches quite the reverse. \"Speeches\" is rather a big\nword for what took place at dessert. Every one supplied an anecdote, a\nstory, a reminiscence, and contributed to the general entertainment of\nthe guests.\n\nThe Americans have too much humor to spoil their dinners with toasts to\nthe President, the Senate, the House of Representatives, the army, the\nnavy, the militia, the volunteers, and the reserved forces.\n\nI once heard Mr. Chauncey M. Depew referring to the volunteers, at some\nEnglish public dinner, as \"men invincible--in peace, and invisible--in\nwar.\" After dinner I remarked to an English peer:\n\n\"You have heard to-night the great New York after-dinner speaker; what\ndo you think of his speech?\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"it was witty; but I think his remark about our\nvolunteers was not in very good taste.\"\n\nI remained composed, and did not burst.\n\n\n     _Newburgh, N. Y., January 21._\n\nI lectured in Melrose, near Boston, last night, and had the\nsatisfaction of pleasing a Massachusetts audience for the second time.\nAfter the lecture, I had supper with Mr. Nat Goodwin, a very good actor,\nwho is now playing in Boston in a new play by Mr. Steele Mackaye. Mr.\nNat Goodwin told many good stories at supper. He can entertain his\nfriends in private as well as he can the public.\n\n\nTo-night I have appeared in a church, in Newburgh. The minister, who\ntook the chair, had the good sense to refrain from opening the lecture\nwith prayer. There are many who have not the tact necessary to see that\npraying before a humorous lecture is almost as irreverent as praying\nbefore a glass of grog. It is as an artist, however, that I resent that\nprayer. After the audience have said _Amen_, it takes them a full\nquarter of an hour to realize that the lecture is not a sermon; that\nthey are in a church, but not at church; and the whole time their minds\nare in that undecided state, all your points fall flat and miss fire.\nEven without the preliminary prayer, I dislike lecturing in a church.\nThe very atmosphere of a church is against the success of a light,\nhumorous lecture, and many a point, which would bring down the house in\na theater, will be received only with smiles in a lecture hall, and in\nrespectful silence in a church. An audience is greatly influenced by\nsurroundings.\n\nNow, I must say that the interior of an American church, with its lines\nof benches, its galleries, and its platform, does not inspire in one\nsuch religious feelings as the interior of a European Catholic church.\nIn many American towns, the church is let for meetings, concerts,\nexhibitions, bazaars, etc., and so far as you can see, there is nothing\nto distinguish it from an ordinary lecture hall.\n\nYet it is a church, and both lecturer and audience feel it.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n  MARCUS AURELIUS IN AMERICA--CHAIRMEN I HAVE HAD--AMERICAN, ENGLISH,\n  AND SCOTCH CHAIRMEN--ONE WHO HAD BEEN TO BOULOGNE--TALKATIVE AND\n  SILENT CHAIRMEN--A TRYING OCCASION--THE LORD IS ASKED TO ALLOW THE\n  AUDIENCE TO SEE MY POINTS.\n\n\n     _New York, January 22._\n\nThere are indeed very few Americans who have not either tact or a sense\nof humor. They make the best of chairmen. They know that the audience\nhave not come to hear them, and that all that is required of them is to\nintroduce the lecturer in very few words, and to give him a good start.\nWho is the lecturer that would not appreciate, nay, love, such a\nchairman as Dr. R. S. MacArthur, who introduced me yesterday to a New\nYork audience in the following manner?\n\n\"Ladies and Gentlemen,\" said he, \"the story goes that, last summer, a\nparty of Americans staying in Rome paid a visit to the famous\nSpithöver's bookshop in the Piazza di Spagna. Now Spithöver is the most\nlearned of bibliophiles. You must go thither if you need artistic and\narchæological works of the profoundest research and erudition. But one\nof the ladies in this tourists' party only wanted the lively travels in\nAmerica of Max O'Rell, and she asked for the book at Spithöver's. There\ncame in a deep guttural voice--an Anglo-German voice--from a spectacled\nclerk behind a desk, to this purport: 'Marcus Aurelius vos neffer in te\nUnided Shtaates!' But, ladies and gentlemen, he is now, and here he is.\"\n\nWith such an introduction, I was immediately in touch with my audience.\n\nWhat a change after English chairmen!\n\nA few days before lecturing in any English town, under the auspices of a\nLiterary Society or Mechanics' Institute, the lecturer generally\nreceives from the secretary a letter running somewhat as follow:\n\n\n  DEAR SIR:\n\n  I have much pleasure in informing you that our Mr. Blank, one of our\n  vice-presidents and a well-known resident here, will take the chair at\n  your lecture.\n\nTranslated into plain English, this reads:\n\n  My poor fellow, I am much grieved to have to inform you that a\n  chairman will be inflicted upon you on the occasion of your lecture\n  before the members of our Society.\n\nIn my few years' lecturing experience, I have come across all sorts and\nconditions of chairmen, but I can recollect very few that \"have helped\nme.\" Now, what is the office, the duty, of a chairman on such occasions?\nHe is supposed to introduce the lecturer to the audience. For this he\nneeds to be able to make a neat speech. He has to tell the audience who\nthe lecturer is, in case they should not know it, which is seldom the\ncase. I was once introduced to an audience who knew me, by a chairman\nwho, I don't think, had ever heard of me in his life. Before going on\nthe platform he asked me whether I had written anything, next whether I\nwas an Irishman or a Frenchman, etc.\n\n[Illustration: \"MARCUS AURELIUS VOS NEFFER IN TE UNIDED SHTAATES!\"]\n\nSometimes the chairman is nervous; he hems and haws, cannot find the\nwords he wants, and only succeeds in fidgeting the audience. Sometimes,\non the other hand, he is a wit. There is danger again. I was once\nintroduced to a New York audience by General Horace Porter. Those of my\nreaders who know the delightful general and have heard him deliver one\nof those little gems of speeches in his own inimitable manner, will\nagree with me that certainly there was danger in that; and they will not\nbe surprised when I tell them that after his delightfully witty and\ngraceful little introduction, I felt as if the best part of the show was\nover.\n\nSometimes the chair has to be offered to a magnate of the neighborhood,\nthough he may be noted for his long, prosy orations--which annoy the\npublic; or to a very popular man in the locality who gets all the\napplause--which annoys the lecturer.\n\n\"Brevity is the soul of wit,\" should be the motto of chairmen, and I\nsympathize with a friend of mine who says that chairmen, like little\nboys and girls, should be seen and not heard.\n\nOf those chairmen who can and do speak, the Scotch ones are generally\ngood. They have a knack of starting the evening with some droll Scotch\nanecdote, told with that piquant and picturesque accent of theirs, and\nof putting the audience in a good humor. Occasionally they will also\nmake _apropos_ and equally droll little speeches at the close. One\nevening, in talking of America, I had mentioned the fact that American\nbanquets were very lively, and that I thought the fact of Americans\nbeing able to keep up such a flow of wit for so many hours, was perhaps\ndue to their drinking Apollinaris water instead of stronger things after\ndessert. At the end of the lecture, the chairman rose and said he had\ngreatly enjoyed it, but that he must take exception to one statement the\nlecturer had made, for he thought it \"fery deeficult to be wutty on\nApollinaris watter.\"\n\nAnother kind of chairman is the one who kills your finish, and stops all\nthe possibility of your being called back for applause, by coming\nforward, the very instant the last words are out of your mouth, to\ninform the audience that the next lecture will be given by Mr.\nSo-and-So, or to make a statement of the Society's financial position,\nconcluding by appealing to the members to induce their friends to join.\n\nThen there is the chairman who does not know what you are going to talk\nabout, but thinks it his duty to give the audience a kind of summary of\nwhat he imagines the lecture is going to be. He is terrible. But he is\nnothing to the one who, when the lecture is over, will persist in\nsumming it up, and explaining your own jokes, especially the ones he has\nnot quite seen through. This is the dullest, the saddest chairman yet\ninvented.\n\nSome modest chairmen apologize for standing between the lecturer and the\naudience, and declare they cannot speak, but do. Others promise to speak\na minute only, but don't.\n\n[Illustration: THE CHAIRMAN.]\n\n\"What shall I speak about?\" said a chairman to me one day, after I had\nbeen introduced to him in the little back room behind the platform.\n\n\"If you will oblige me, sir,\" I replied, \"kindly speak about--one\nminute.\"\n\nOnce I was introduced to the audience as the promoter of good feelings\nbetween France and England.\n\n\"Sometimes,\" said the chairman, \"we see clouds of misunderstanding arise\nbetween the French--between the English--between the two. The lecturer\nof this evening makes it his business to disperse these clouds--these\nclouds--to--to---- But I will not detain you any longer. His name is\nfamiliar to all of us. I'm sure he needs no introduction to this\naudience. We all know him. I have much pleasure in introducing to you\nMr.--Mosshiay--Mr. ----\" Then he looked at me in despair.\n\nIt was evident he had forgotten my name.\n\n\"Max O'Rell is, I believe, what you are driving at,\" I whispered to him.\n\n\nThe most objectionable chairmen in England are, perhaps, local men\nholding civic honors. Accustomed to deliver themselves of a speech\nwhenever and wherever they get a chance, aldermen, town councilors,\nmembers of local boards, and school boards, never miss an opportunity of\ngetting upon a platform to address a good crowd. Not long ago, I was\nintroduced to an audience in a large English city by a candidate for\ncivic honors. The election of the town council was to take place a\nfortnight afterward, and this gentleman profited by the occasion to air\nall his grievances against the sitting council, and to assure the\ncitizens that if they would only elect him, there were bright days in\nstore for them and their city. This was the gist of the matter. The\nspeech lasted twenty minutes.\n\n[Illustration: \"HOW DO YOU PRONOUNCE YOUR NAME?\"]\n\nOnce the chair was taken by an alderman in a Lancashire city, and the\nhall was crowded. \"What a fine house!\" I remarked to the chairman as we\nsat down on the platform.\n\n\"Very fine indeed,\" he said; \"everybody in the town knew I was going to\ntake the chair.\"\n\nI was sorry I had spoken.\n\nMore than once, when announced to deliver a lecture on France and the\nFrench, I have been introduced by a chairman who, having spent his\nholidays in that country once or twice, opened the evening's proceedings\nby himself delivering a lecture on France. I have felt very tempted to\nimitate a _confrère_, and say to the audience: \"Ladies and Gentlemen, as\none lecture on France is enough for an evening, perhaps you would rather\nI spoke about something else now.\" The _confrère_ I have just mentioned\nwas to deliver a lecture on Charles Dickens one evening. The chairman\nknew something of Charles Dickens and, for quite a quarter of an hour,\nspoke on the great English novelist, giving anecdotes, extracts of his\nwritings, etc. When the lecturer rose, he said: \"Ladies and Gentlemen,\ntwo lectures on Charles Dickens are perhaps more than you expected to\nhear to-night. You have just heard a lecture on Charles Dickens. I am\nnow going to give you one on Charles Kingsley.\"\n\nSometimes I get a little amusement, however (as in the country town of\nX.), out of the usual proceedings of the society before whose members I\nam engaged to appear. At X., the audience being assembled and the time\nup, I was told to go on the platform alone and, being there, to\nimmediately sit down. So I went on, and sat down. Some one in the room\nthen rose and proposed that Mr. N. should take the chair. Mr. N., it\nappeared, had been to Boulogne (_to B'long_), and was particularly\nfitted to introduce a Frenchman. In a speech of about five minutes\nduration, all Mr. N.'s qualifications for the post of chairman that\nevening were duly set forth. Then some one else rose and seconded the\nproposition, re-enumerating most of these qualifications. Mr. N. then\nmarched up the hall, ascended the platform, and proceeded to return\nthanks for the kind manner in which he had been proposed for the chair\nand for the enthusiasm (a few friends had applauded) with which the\naudience had sanctioned the choice. He said it was true that he had been\nin France, and that he greatly admired the country and the people, and\nhe was glad to have this opportunity to say so before a Frenchman. Then\nhe related some of his traveling impressions in France. A few people\ncoughed, two or three more bold stamped their feet, but he took no heed\nand, for ten minutes, he gave the audience the benefit of the\ninformation he had gathered in Boulogne. These preliminaries over, I\ngave my lecture, after which Mr. N. called upon a member of the audience\nto propose a vote of thanks to the lecturer \"for the most amusing and\ninteresting discourse, etc.\"\n\nNow a paid lecturer wants his check when his work is over, and although\na vote of thanks, when it is spontaneous, is a compliment which he\ngreatly appreciates, he is more likely to feel awkwardness than pleasure\nwhen it is a mere red-tape formality. The vote of thanks, on this\nparticular occasion, was proposed in due form. Then it was seconded by\nsome one who repeated two or three of my points and spoiled them. By\nthis time I began to enter into the fun of the thing, and, after having\nreturned thanks for the vote of thanks and sat down, I stepped forward\nagain, filled with a mild resolve to have the last word:\n\n\"Ladies and Gentlemen,\" I said, \"I have now much pleasure in proposing\nthat a hearty vote of thanks be given Mr. N. for the able manner in\nwhich he has filled the chair. I am proud to have been introduced to you\nby an Englishman who knows my country so well.\" I went again through the\nlist of Mr. N.'s qualifications, not forgetting the trip to Boulogne and\nthe impressions it had left on him. Somebody rose and seconded this. Mr.\nN. delivered a speech to thank the audience once more, and then those\nwho had survived went home.\n\nSome Nonconformist societies will engage a light or humorous lecturer,\nput him in their chapel, and open his mouth with prayer. Prayer is good,\nbut I would as soon think of saying grace before dancing as of beginning\nmy lecture with a prayer. This kind of experience has been mine several\ntimes. A truly trying experience it was, on the first occasion, to be\naccompanied to the platform by the minister, who, motioning me to sit\ndown, advanced to the front, lowered his head, and said in solemn\naccents: \"Let us pray.\" After I got started, it took me fully ten\nminutes to make the people realize that they were not at church. This\nexperience I have had in America as well as in England. Another\nexperience in this line was still worse, for the prayer was supplemented\nby the singing of a hymn of ten or twelve verses. You may easily imagine\nthat my first remark fell dead flat.\n\nI have been introduced to audiences as Mossoo, Meshoe, and Mounzeer\nO'Reel, and other British adaptations of our word _Monsieur_, and found\nit very difficult to bear with equanimity a chairman who maltreated a\nname which I had taken some care to keep correctly spelt before the\npublic. Yet this man is charming when compared with the one who, in the\nmidst of his introductory remarks, turns to you, and in a stage whisper\nperfectly audible all over the hall, asks: \"How do you pronounce your\nname?\"\n\nPassing over chairman chatty and chairman terse, chairman eloquent and\nchairman the reverse, I feel decidedly most kindly toward the silent\nchairman. He is very rare, but he does exist and, when met with, is\nexceedingly precious. Why he exists, in some English Institutes, I have\nalways been at a loss to imagine. Whether he comes on to see that the\nlecturer does not run off before his time is up, or with the water\nbottle, which is the only portable thing on the platform generally;\nwhether he is a successor to some venerable deaf and dumb founder of his\nSociety; or whether he goes on with the lecturer to give a lesson in\nmodesty to the public, as who should say: \"I could speak an if I would,\nbut I forbear.\" Be his _raison d'être_ what it may, we all love him. To\nthe nervous novice he is a kind of quiet support, to the old stager he\nis as a picture unto the eye and as music unto the ear.\n\n\nHere I pause. I want to collect my thoughts. Does my memory serve me? Am\nI dreaming, or worse still, am I on the point of inventing? No, I could\nnot invent such a story, it is beyond my power.\n\nI was once lecturing to the students of a religious college in America.\nBefore I began, a professor stepped forward, and offered a prayer, in\nwhich he asked the Lord to allow the audience to see my points.\n\nNow, I duly feel the weight of responsibility attaching to such a\nstatement, and in justice to myself I can do no less than give the\nreader the petition just as it fell on my astonished ears:\n\n\"Lord, Thou knowest that we work hard for Thee, and that recreation is\nnecessary in order that we may work with renewed vigor. We have to-night\nwith us a gentleman from France [excuse my recording a compliment too\nflattering], whose criticisms are witty and refined, _but subtle_, and\nwe pray Thee to so prepare our minds that we may thoroughly understand\nand enjoy them.\"\n\n\"_But subtle!_\"\n\nI am still wondering whether my lectures are so subtle as to need\npraying over, or whether that audience was so dull that they needed\npraying for.\n\nWhichever it was, the prayer was heard, for the audience proved warm,\nkeen, and thoroughly appreciative.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nREFLECTIONS ON THE TYPICAL AMERICAN.\n\n\n     _New York, January 23._\n\nI was asked to-day by the editor of the _North American Review_ to write\nan article on the typical American.\n\nThe typical American!\n\nIn the eyes of my beloved compatriots, the typical American is a man\nwith hair falling over his shoulders, wearing a sombrero, a red shirt,\nleather leggings, a pair of revolvers in his belt, spending his life on\nhorseback, and able to shoot a fly off the tip of your nose without for\na moment endangering your olfactory organ; and, since Buffalo Bill has\nbeen exhibiting his Indians and cowboys to the Parisians, this\nimpression has become a deep conviction.\n\nI shall never forget the astonishment I caused to my mother when I first\nbroke the news to her that I wanted to go to America. My mother had\npractically never left a lovely little provincial town of France. Her\nface expressed perfect bewilderment.\n\n\"You don't mean to say you want to go to America?\" she said. \"What for?\"\n\n\"I am invited to give lectures there.\"\n\n\"Lectures? in what language?\"\n\n\"Well, mother, I will try my best in English.\"\n\n\"Do they speak English out there?\"\n\n\"H'm--pretty well, I think.\"\n\nWe did not go any further on the subject that time. Probably the good\nmother thought of the time when the Californian gold-fields attracted\nall the scum of Europe, and, no doubt, she thought that it was strange\nfor a man who had a decent position in Europe, to go and \"seek fortune\"\nin America.\n\nLater on, however, after returning to England, I wrote to her that I had\nmade up my mind to go.\n\nHer answer was full of gentle reproaches, and of sorrow at seeing that\nshe had lost all her influence over her son. She signed herself \"always\nyour loving mother,\" and indulged in a postscript. Madame de Sévigné\nsaid that the gist of a woman's letter was to be found in the\npostscript.\n\nMy mother's was this:\n\n\"P.S.--I shall not tell any one in the town that you have gone to\nAmerica.\"\n\nThis explains why I still dare show my face in my little native town.\n\n\nThe typical American!\n\nFirst of all, does he exist? I do not think so. As I have said\nelsewhere, there are Americans in plenty, but _the_ American has not\nmade his appearance yet. The type existed a hundred years ago in New\nEngland. He is there still; but he is not now a national type, he is\nonly a local one.\n\n[Illustration: THE TYPICAL AMERICAN.]\n\nI was talking one day with two eminent Americans on the subject of the\ntypical American, real or imaginary. One of them was of opinion that he\nwas a taciturn being; the other, on the contrary, maintained that he was\ntalkative. How is a foreigner to dare decide, where two eminent natives\nfind it impossible to agree?\n\nIn speaking of the typical American, let us understand each other. All\nthe civilized nations of the earth are alike in one respect; they are\nall composed of two kinds of men, those that are gentlemen, and those\nthat are not. America is no exception to this rule. Fifth Avenue does\nnot differ from Belgravia and Mayfair. A gentleman is everywhere a\ngentleman. As a type, he belongs to no particular country, he is\nuniversal.\n\nWhen the writer of some \"society\" paper, English or American, reproaches\na sociologist for writing about the masses instead of the classes,\nsuggesting that \"he probably never frequented the best society of the\nnation he describes,\" that writer writes himself down an ass.\n\nIn the matters of feeling, conduct, taste, culture, I have never\ndiscovered the least difference between a gentleman from America and a\ngentleman from France, England, Russia, or any other country of\nEurope--including Germany. So, if we want to find a typical American, it\nis not in good society that we must search for him, but among the mass\nof the population.\n\nWell, it is just here that our search will break down. We shall come\nacross all sorts and conditions of Americans, but not one that is really\ntypical.\n\n[Illustration: THE AMERICAN OF A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.]\n\nA little while ago, the _Century Magazine_ published specimens of\ncomposite photography. First, there was the portrait of one person, then\nthat of this same face with another superposed, then another containing\nthree faces blended, and so on up to eight or nine. On the last page the\nresult was shown. I can only compare the typical American to the last of\nthose. This appears to me the process of evolution through which the\nAmerican type is now going. What it will be when this process of\nevolution is over, no one, I imagine, can tell. The evolution will be\ncomplete when immigration shall have ceased, and all the different types\nhave been well mixed and assimilated. While the process of assimilation\nis still going on, the result is suspended, and the type is incomplete.\n\nBut, meanwhile, are there not certain characteristic traits to be found\nthroughout almost all America? That is a question much easier to answer.\n\nIs it necessary to repeat that I put aside good society and confine\nmyself merely to the people?\n\nNations are like individuals: when they are young, they have the\nqualities and the defects of children. The characteristic trait of\nchildhood is curiosity. It is also that of the American. I have never\nbeen in Australia, but I should expect to find this trait in the\nAustralian.\n\nLook at American journalism. What does it live on? Scandal and gossip.\nLet a writer, an artist, or any one else become popular in the States,\nand the papers will immediately tell the public at what time he rises\nand what he takes for breakfast. When any one of the least importance\narrives in America, he is quickly beset by a band of reporters who ask\nhim a host of preposterous questions and examine him minutely from head\nto foot, in order to tell the public next day whether he wears laced,\nbuttoned, or elastic boots, enlighten them as to the cut of his coat and\nthe color of his trowsers, and let them know if he parts his hair in the\nmiddle or not.\n\n[Illustration: CURIOSITY IN AUSTRALIA.]\n\nEvery time I went into a new town to lecture I was interviewed, and the\nnext day, besides an account of the lecture, there was invariably a\nparagraph somewhat in this style:\n\n  The lecturer is a man of about forty, whose cranium is getting visible\n  through his hair. He wears a double eye-glass, with which he plays\n  while talking to his audience. His handkerchief was black-bordered. He\n  wore the regulation patent leather shoes, and his shirt front was\n  fastened with a single stud. He spoke without effort or pretension,\n  and often with his hands in his pockets, etc.\n\nA few days ago, on reading the morning papers in a town where I had\nlectured the night before, I found, in one of them, about twenty lines\nconsecrated to my lecture, and half a column to my hat.\n\nI must tell you that this hat was brown, and all the hats in America are\nblack. If you wear anything that is not exactly like what Americans\nwear, you are gazed at as if you were a curious animal. The Americans\nare as great _badauds_ as the Parisians. In London, you may go down\nRegent Street or Piccadilly got up as a Swiss admiral, a Polish general,\nor even a Highlander, and nobody will take the trouble to look at you.\nBut, in America, you have only to put on a brown hat or a pair of light\ntrowsers, and you will become the object of a curiosity which will not\nfail very promptly to bore you, if you are fond of tranquility, and like\nto go about unremarked.\n\nI was so fond of that poor brown hat, too! It was an incomparably\nobliging hat. It took any shape, and adapted itself to any\ncircumstances. It even went into my pocket on occasions. I had bought it\nat Lincoln & Bennett's, if you please. But I had to give it up. To my\ngreat regret, I saw that it was imperative: its popularity bid fair to\nmake me jealous. Twenty lines about me, and half a column about that\nhat! It was time to come to some determination. It was not to be put up\nwith any longer. So I took it up tenderly, smoothed it with care, and\nlaid it in a neat box which was then posted to the chief editor of the\npaper with the following note:\n\n\n  DEAR SIR:\n\n  I see by your estimable paper that my hat has attracted a good deal of\n  public attention during its short sojourn in your city. I am even\n  tempted to think that it has attracted more of it than my lecture. I\n  send you the interesting headgear, and beg you will accept it as a\n  souvenir of my visit, and with my respectful compliments.\n\nA citizen of the Great Republic knows how to take a joke. The worthy\neditor inserted my letter in the next number of his paper, and informed\nhis readers that my hat fitted him to a nicety, and that he was going to\nhave it dyed and wear it. He further said, \"Max O'Rell evidently thinks\nthe song, 'Where did you get that hat?' was specially written to annoy\nhim,\" and went on to the effect that \"Max O'Rell is not the only man who\ndoes not care to tell where he got his hat.\"\n\nDo not run away with the idea that such nonsense as this has no interest\nfor the American public. It has.\n\nAmerican reporters have asked me, with the most serious face in the\nworld, whether I worked in the morning, afternoon, or evening, and what\ncolor paper I used (_sic_). One actually asked me whether it was true\nthat M. Jules Claretie used white paper to write his novels on, and blue\npaper for his newspaper articles. Not having the honor of a personal\nacquaintance with the director of the Comédie-Française, I had to\nconfess my inability to gratify my amiable interlocutor.\n\nLook at the advertisements in the newspapers. There you have the\nbootmaker, the hatter, the traveling quack, publishing their portraits\nat the head of their advertisements. Why are those portraits there, if\nit be not to satisfy the curiosity of customers?\n\nThe mass of personalities, each more trumpery than the other, those\ndetails of people's private life, and all the gossip daily served up in\nthe newspapers, are they not proof enough that curiosity is a\ncharacteristic trait of the American?\n\nThis curiosity, which often shows itself in the most impossible\nquestions, gives immense amusement to Europeans. Unhappily, it amuses\nthem at the expense of well-bred Americans--people who are as innocent\nof it as the members of the stiffest aristocracy in the world could be.\nThe English, especially, persist in not distinguishing Americans who are\ngentlemen from Americans who are not.\n\n\nAnd even that easy-going American _bourgeois_, with his childish but\ngood-humored nature, they often fail to do justice to. They too often\nlook at his curiosity as impertinence and ill-breeding, and will not\nadmit that, in nine cases out of ten, the freedom he uses with you is\nbut a show of good feeling, an act of good-fellowship.\n\nTake, for instance, the following little story:\n\nAn American is seated in a railway carriage, and opposite him is a lady\nin deep mourning, and looking a picture of sadness; a veritable _mater\ndolorosa_.\n\n\"Lost a father?\" begins the worthy fellow.\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"A mother, maybe?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Ah! a child then?\"\n\n\"No, sir; I have lost my husband.\"\n\n\"Your husband! Ah! Left you comfortable?\"\n\nThe lady, rather offended, retires to the other end of the car, and cuts\nshort the conversation.\n\n\"Rather stuck up, this woman,\" remarks the good Yankee to his neighbor.\n\nThe intention was good, if the way of showing it was not. He had but\nwanted to show the poor lady the interest he took in her.\n\nAfter having seen you two or three times, the American will suppress\n\"Mr.\" and address you by your name without any handle to it. Do not say\nthat this is ill placed familiarity; it is meant as an act of\ngood-fellowship, and should be received by you as such.\n\nIf you are stiff, proud, and stuck-up, for goodness' sake, never go to\nAmerica; you will never get on there. On the contrary, take over a stock\nof simple, affable manners and a good temper, and you will be treated as\na friend everywhere, fêted, and well looked after.\n\nIn fact, try to deserve a certificate of good-fellowship, such as the\nClover Club, of Philadelphia, awards to those who can sit at its\nhospitable table without taking affront at the little railleries leveled\nat them by the members of that lively association. With people of\nrefinement who have humor, you can indulge in a joke at their expense.\nSo says La Bruyère. Every visitor to America, who wants to bring back a\npleasant recollection of his stay there, should lay this to heart.\n\nSuch are the impressions that I formed of the American during my first\ntrip to his country, and the more I think over the matter, the more sure\nI am that they were correct. Curiosity is his chief little failing, and\ngood-fellowship his most prominent quality. This is the theme I will\ndevelop and send to the Editor of the _North American Review_. I will\nprofit by having a couple of days to spend in New York to install myself\nin a cosy corner of that cosiest of clubs, the \"Players,\" and there\nwrite it.\n\nIt seems that, in the same number of this magazine, the same subject is\nto be treated by Mr. Andrew Lang. He has never seen Jonathan at home,\nand it will be interesting to see what impressions he has formed of him\nabroad. In the hands of such a graceful writer, the \"typical American\"\nis sure to be treated in a pleasant and interesting manner.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n  I AM ASKED TO EXPRESS MYSELF FREELY ON AMERICA--I MEET MRS. BLANK AND\n  FOR THE FIRST TIME HEAR OF MR. BLANK--BEACON STREET SOCIETY--THE\n  BOSTON CLUBS.\n\n\n     _Boston, January 25._\n\nIt amuses me to notice how the Americans to whom I have the pleasure of\nbeing introduced, refrain from asking me what I think of America. But\nthey invariably inquire if the impressions of my first visit are\nconfirmed.\n\nThis afternoon, at an \"At Home,\" I met a lady from New York, who asked\nme a most extraordinary question.\n\n\"I have read 'Jonathan and His Continent,'\" she said to me. \"I suppose\nthat is a book of impressions written for publication. But now, tell me\n_en confidence_, what do you think of us?\"\n\n\"Is there anything in that book,\" I replied, \"which can make you suppose\nthat it is not the faithful expression of what the author thinks of\nAmerica and the Americans?\"\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"it is so complimentary, taken altogether, that I must\nconfess I had a lurking suspicion of your having purposely flattered us\nand indulged our national weakness for hearing ourselves praised, so as\nto make sure of a warm reception for your book.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" I replied, \"by writing a flattering book on any country, you\nwould greatly increase your chance of a large sale in that country; but,\non the other hand, you may write an abusive book on any country and\nscore a great success among that nation's neighbors. For my part, I have\nalways gone my own quiet way, philosophizing rather than opinionating,\nand when I write, it is not with the aim of pleasing any particular\npublic. I note down what I see, say what I think, and people may read me\nor not, just as they please. But I think I may boast, however, that my\npen is never bitter, and I do not care to criticise unless I feel a\ncertain amount of sympathy with the subject of my criticism. If I felt\nthat I could only honestly say hard things of people, I would always\nabstain altogether.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said my fair questioner, \"how is it that you have so little to\nsay about our Fifth Avenue folks? Is it because you have seen very\nlittle of them, or is it because you could only have said hard things of\nthem?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" I replied; \"I saw a good deal of them, but what I saw\nshowed me that to describe them would be only to describe polite\nsociety, as it exists in London and elsewhere. Society gossip is not in\nmy line; boudoir and club smoking-room scandal has no charm for me.\nFifth Avenue resembles too much Mayfair and Belgravia to make criticism\nof it worth attempting.\"\n\nI knew this answer would have the effect of putting me into the lady's\ngood graces at once, and I was not disappointed. She accorded to me her\nsweetest smile, as I bowed to her to go and be introduced to another\nlady by the mistress of the house.\n\n[Illustration: FIFTH AVENUE FOLK.]\n\nThe next lady was a Bostonian. I had to explain to her why I had not\nspoken of Beacon Street people, using the same argument as in the case\nof Fifth Avenue society, and with the same success.\n\n\nAt the same \"At Home,\" I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Blank, whom I\nhad met many times in London and Paris.\n\nShe is one of the crowd of pretty and clever women whom America sends to\nbrighten up European society, and who reappear in London and Paris with\nthe regularity of the swallows. You meet them everywhere, and conclude\nthat they must be married, since they are styled Mrs. and not Miss. But\nwhether they are wives, widows, or _divorcées_, you rarely think of\ninquiring, and you may enjoy their friendship for years without knowing\nwhether they have a living lord or not.\n\n[Illustration: A TELEPHONE AND TICKER.]\n\nMrs. Blank, as I say, is a most fascinating specimen of America's\ndaughters, and to-day I find that Mr. Blank is also very much alive, but\nthat the companions of his joys and sorrows are the telephone and the\nticker; in fact it is thanks to his devotion to these that the wife of\nhis bosom is able to adorn European society during every recurring\nseason.\n\nAmerican women have such love for freedom and are so cool-headed that\ntheir visits to Europe could not arouse suspicion even in the most\nmalicious. But, nevertheless, I am glad to have heard of Mr. Blank,\nbecause it is comfortable to have one's mind at rest on these subjects.\nUp to now, whenever I had been asked, as sometimes happened, though\nseldom: \"Who is Mr. Blank, and where is he?\" I had always answered:\n\"Last puzzle out!\"\n\n\nLunched to-day in the beautiful Algonquin Club, as the guest of Colonel\nCharles H. Taylor, and met the editors of the other Boston papers, among\nwhom was John Boyle O'Reilly,[1] the lovely poet, and the delightful\nman. The general conversation turned on two subjects most interesting to\nme, viz., American journalism, and American politics. All these\ngentlemen seemed to agree that the American people take an interest in\nlocal politics only, but not in imperial politics, and this explains why\nthe papers of the smaller towns give detailed accounts of what is going\non in the houses of legislature of both city and State, but do not\nconcern themselves about what is going on in Washington. I had come to\nthat conclusion myself, seeing that the great papers of New York,\nBoston, Philadelphia, Chicago devoted columns to the sayings and doings\nof the political world in London and Paris, and seldom a paragraph to\nthe sittings of Congress in Washington.\n\nIn the morning, before lunch, I had called on Mr. John Holmes, the\neditor of the Boston _Herald_, and there met a talented lady who writes\nunder the _nom de plume_ of \"Max Eliot,\" and with whom I had a\ndelightful half-hour's chat.\n\nI have had to-day the pleasure of meeting the editors of all the Boston\nnewspapers.\n\n\nIn the evening, I dined with the members of the New England Club, who\nmeet every month to listen, at dessert, to some interesting debate or\nlecture. The wine is supplied by bets. You bet, for instance, that the\nsun will shine on the following Friday at half-past two. If you lose,\nyou are one of those who will have to supply one, two, or three bottles\nof champagne at the next dinner, and so on. This evening the lecture, or\nrather the short address, was given by Colonel Charles H. Taylor on the\nhistory of American journalism. I was particularly interested to hear\nthe history of the foundation of the New York _Herald_, by James Gordon\nBennett, and that of the New York _World_, by Mr. Pulitzer, a Hungarian\nemigrant, who, some years ago, arrived in the States, unable to speak\nEnglish, became jack-of-all-trades, then a reporter on a German paper,\nproprietor of a Western paper, and then bought the _World_, which is now\none of the best paying concerns in the whole of the United States. This\nman, who, to maintain himself, not in health, but just alive, is obliged\nto be constantly traveling, directs the paper by telegraph from\nAustralia, from Japan, from London, or wherever he happens to be. It is\nnothing short of marvelous.\n\n\nI finished the evening in the St. Botolph Club, and I may say that I\nhave to-day spent one of the most delightful days of my life, with those\ncharming and highly cultured Bostonians, who, a New York witty friend of\nmine declares, \"are educated beyond their intellects.\"\n\n\n\nFOOTNORE:\n\n  [1] J. B. O'Reilly died in 1890.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n  A LIVELY SUNDAY IN BOSTON--LECTURE IN THE BOSTON THEATER--DR. OLIVER\n  WENDELL HOLMES--THE BOOTH-MODJESKA COMBINATION.\n\n\n     _Boston, January 26._\n\n\"Max Eliot\" devotes a charming and most flattering article to me in this\nmorning's _Herald_, embodying the conversation we had together yesterday\nin the Boston _Herald's_ office. Many thanks, Max.\n\nA reception was given to me this afternoon by Citizen George Francis\nTrain, and I met many artists, journalists, and a galaxy of charming\nwomen.\n\nThe Citizen is pronounced to be the greatest crank on earth. I found him\ndecidedly eccentric, but entertaining, witty, and a first-rate\n_raconteur_. He shakes hands with you in the Chinese fashion--he shakes\nhis own. He has taken a solemn oath that his body shall never come in\ncontact with the body of any one.\n\nA charming programme of music and recitations was gone through.\n\nThe invitation cards issued for the occasion speak for themselves.\n\n[Illustration: THE CITIZEN SHAKES HANDS.]\n\n\n  CITIZEN\n       GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN'S\n             RECEPTION\n                        To\n                          CITOYEN MAX O'RELL.\n\n  P.S.--\"Demons\" have checkmated \"Psychos\"! Invitations canceled! \"Hub\"\n  Boycotts Sunday Receptions! Boston half century behind New York and\n  Europe's Elite Society. (Ancient Athens still Ancient!) Regrets and\n  Regards! Good-by, Tremont! (The Proprietors not to blame.)\n\n  _Vide_ some of his \"Apothegmic Works\"! (Reviewed in Pulitzer's New\n  York _World_ and Cosmos Press!)\n\n\n  John Bull et Son Ile! Les Filles de John Bull! Les Chers Voisins!\n  L'Ami Macdonald! John Bull, Junior! Jonathan et Son Continent!\n  L'Eloquence Française! etc.\n\n     YOU ARE INVITED TO MEET\n\n  this distinguished French Traveler, Author, and Lecturer (From the\n  land of Lafayette, Rochambeau, and De Grasse),\n\n     AT MY SIXTH \"POP-CORN RECEPTION\"!\n\n  SUNDAY, JANUARY TWENTY-SIXTH, From 2 to 7 P. M.\n               (Tremont House!)\n\n  _Private Banquet Hall!_      _Fifty \"Notables\"!_\n\n  Talent from Dozen Operas and Theaters! All Stars! No Airs! No \"Wall\n  Flowers\"! No Amens! No Selahs! But \"MUTUAL ADMIRATION CLUB OF GOOD\n  FELLOWSHIP\"! No Boredom! No Formality! (Dress as you like!) No\n  Programme! (Pianos! Cellos! Guitars! Mandolins! Banjos! Violins!\n  Harmonicas! Zithers!) Opera, Theater and Press Represented!\n\n  Succeeding Receptions: To Steele Mackaye! Nat Goodwin! Count Zubof\n  (St. Petersburg)! Prima Donna Clementina De Vere (Italy)! Albany Press\n  Club! (Duly announced printed invitations!)\n\n     GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN,\n           Tremont House for Winter!\n\n  Psychic Press thanks for friendly notices of Sunday Musicales!\n\nIt will be seen from the \"P. S.\" that the reception could not be held at\nthe Tremont House; but the plucky Citizen did not allow himself to be\nbeaten, and the reception took place at the house of a friend.\n\n\nIn the evening I lectured in the Boston Theater to a beautiful audience.\n\nIf there is a horrible fascination about \"the man who won't smile,\" as I\nmentioned in a foregoing chapter, there is a lovely fascination about\nthe lady who seems to enjoy your lecture thoroughly. You watch the\neffects of your remarks on her face, and her bright, intellectual eyes\nkeep you in good form the whole evening; in fact, you give the lecture\nto her. I perhaps never felt the influence of that face more powerfully\nthan to-night. I had spoken for a few minutes, when Madame Modjeska,\naccompanied by her husband, arrived and took a seat on the first row of\nthe orchestra stalls. To be able to entertain the great _tragédienne_\nbecame my sole aim, and as soon as I perceived that I was successful, I\nfelt perfectly proud and happy. I lectured to her the whole evening. Her\nlaughter and applause encouraged me, her beautiful, intellectual face\ncheered me up, and I was able to introduce a little more acting and\nby-play than usual.\n\nI had had the pleasure of making Madame Modjeska's acquaintance two\nyears ago, during my first visit to the United States, and it was a\ngreat pleasure to be able to renew it after the lecture.\n\nI will go and see her _Ophelia_ to-morrow night.\n\n\n     _January 27._\n\nSpent the whole morning wandering about Boston, and visiting a few\ninteresting places. Beacon Street, the public gardens, and Commonwealth\nAvenue are among the finest thoroughfares I know. What enormous wealth\nis contained in those miles of huge mansions!\n\nThe more I see Boston, the more it strikes me as a great English city.\nIt has a character of its own, as no other American city has, excepting\nperhaps Washington and Philadelphia. The solidity of the buildings, the\nparks, the quietness of the women's dresses, the absence of the twang in\nmost of the voices, all remind you of England.\n\nAfter lunch I called on Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes. The \"Autocrat of the\nBreakfast Table\" is now over eighty, but he is as young as ever, and\nwill die with a kind smile on his face and a merry twinkle in his eyes.\nI know no more delightful talker than this delightful man. You may say\nof him that every time he talks he says something. When he asked me what\nit was I had found most interesting in America, I wished I could have\nanswered: \"Why, my dear doctor, to see and to hear such a man as you, to\nbe sure!\" But the doctor is so simple, so unaffected, that I felt an\nanswer of that kind, though perfectly sincere, would not have been one\ncalculated to please him. The articles \"Over the Tea Cups,\" which he\nwrites every month for the _Atlantic Monthly_, and which will soon\nappear in book form, are as bright, witty, humorous, and philosophic as\nanything he ever wrote. Long may he live to delight his native land!\n\n\nIn the evening I went to see Mr. Edwin Booth and Madame Modjeska in\n\"Hamlet.\" By far the two greatest tragedians of America in Shakespeare's\ngreatest tragedy. I expected great things. I had seen Mounet-Sully in\nthe part, Henry Irving, Wilson Barrett; and I remembered the witty\nFrench _quatrain_, published on the occasion of Mounet-Sully attempting\nthe part:\n\n  Sans Fechter ni Rivière\n  Le cas était hasardeux;\n  Jamais, non jamais sur terre,\n  On n'a fait d'Hamlet sans eux.\n\nI had seen Mr. Booth three times before. As _Brutus_, I thought he was\nexcellent. As _Richelieu_ he was certainly magnificent; as _Iago_\nideally superb.\n\nHis _Hamlet_ was a revelation to me. After seeing the raving _Hamlet_ of\nMounet-Sully, the somber _Hamlet_ of Irving, and the dreamy _Hamlet_ of\nWilson Barrett, I saw this evening _Hamlet_ the philosopher, the\nrhetorician.\n\nMr. Booth is too old to play _Hamlet_ as he does, that is to say,\nwithout any attempt at making-up. He puts on a black wig, and that is\nall, absolutely all. It is, however, a most remarkable, subtle piece of\nacting in his hands.\n\nMadame Modjeska was beautiful as _Ophelia_. No _tragédienne_ that I have\never seen weeps more naturally. In all sad situations she makes the\nchords of one's heart vibrate, and that without any trick or artifice,\nbut simply by the modulations of her singularly sympathetic voice and\nsuch like natural means.\n\nIt is very seldom that you can see in America, outside of New York, more\nthan one very good actor or actress playing together. So you may imagine\nthe success of such a combination as Booth-Modjeska.\n\nEvery night the theater is packed from floor to ceiling, although the\nprices of admission are doubled.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n  ST. JOHNSBURY--THE STATE OF MAINE--NEW ENGLAND SELF-CONTROL--COLD\n  CLIMATES AND FRIGID AUDIENCES--WHERE IS THE AUDIENCE?--ALL DRUNK!--A\n  REMINISCENCE OF A SCOTCH AUDIENCE ON A SATURDAY NIGHT.\n\n\n     _St. Johnsbury (Vt.), January 28._\n\nST. Johnsbury is a charming little town perched on the top of a\nmountain, from which a lovely scene of hills and woods can be enjoyed.\nThe whole country is covered with snow, and as I looked at it in the\nevening by the electric light, the effect was very beautiful. The town\nhas only six thousand inhabitants, eleven hundred of whom came to hear\nmy lecture to-night. Which is the European town of six thousand\ninhabitants that would supply an audience of eleven hundred people to a\nliterary _causerie_?\n\nSt. Johnsbury has a dozen churches, a public library of 15,000 volumes,\nwith a reading-room beautifully fitted with desks and perfectly adapted\nfor study. A museum, a Young Men's Christian Association, with\ngymnasium, school-rooms, reading-rooms, play-rooms, and a lecture hall\ncapable of accommodating over 1000 people. Who, after that, would\nconsider himself an exile if he had to live in St. Johnsbury? There is\nmore intellectual life in it than in any French town outside of Paris\nand about a dozen more large cities.\n\n\n     _Portsea, January 30._\n\nI have been in the State of Maine for two days; a strange State to be\nin, let me tell you.\n\nAfter addressing the Connecticut audience in Meriden a few days ago, I\nthought I had had the experience of the most frigid audience that could\npossibly be gathered together. Last Tuesday night, at Portsea, I was\nundeceived.\n\nHalf-way between St. Johnsbury and Portsea, the day before yesterday, I\nwas told that the train would be very late, and would not arrive at\nPortsea before half-past eight. My lecture in that city was to begin at\neight. The only thing to do was to send a telegram to the manager of the\nlecture. At the next station I sent the following:\n\n\"Train late. If possible, keep audience waiting half an hour. Will dress\non board.\"\n\nI dressed in the state-room of the parlor-car. At forty minutes past\neight the train arrived at Portsea. I immediately jumped into a cab and\ndrove to the City Hall, where the lecture was to take place. The\nbuilding was lighted, but, as I ascended the stairs, there was not a\nperson to be seen or a sound to be heard. \"The place is deserted,\" I\nthought; \"and if anybody came to hear me, they have all gone.\"\n\nI opened the door of the private room behind the platform and there\nfound the manager, who expressed his delight to see me. I excused\nmyself, and was going to enter into a detailed explanation when he\ninterrupted:\n\n[Illustration: I TIP-TOED OUT.]\n\n\"Oh, that's all right.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said I. \"Have you got an audience there, on the\nother side of that door?\"\n\n\"Why, we have got fifteen hundred people.\"\n\n\"There?\" said I, pointing to the door.\n\n\"Yes, on the other side of that door.\"\n\n\"But I can't hear a sound.\"\n\n\"I guess you can't. But that's all right; they are there.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" I said, \"I had better apologize to them for keeping them\nwaiting three-quarters of an hour.\"\n\n\"Well, just as you please,\" said the manager. \"I wouldn't.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't you?\"\n\n\"No; I guess they would have waited another half-hour without showing\nany sign of impatience.\"\n\nI opened the door trembling. My desk was far, far away. My manager was\nright; the audience was there. I stepped on the platform, shut the door\nafter me, making as little noise as I could, and, walking on tiptoe so\nas to wake up as few people as possible, proceeded toward the table. Not\none person applauded. A few people looked up unconcernedly, as if to\nsay, \"I guess that's the show.\" The rest seemed asleep, although their\neyes were open.\n\nArrived at the desk, I faced the audience, and ventured a little joke,\nwhich fell dead flat.\n\nI began to realize the treat that was in store for me that night.\n\nI tried another little joke, and--missed fire.\n\n\"Never mind, old fellow,\" I said to myself; \"it's two hundred and fifty\ndollars; go ahead.\"\n\nAnd I went on.\n\nI saw a few people smile, but not one laughed, although I noticed that a\ngood many were holding their handkerchiefs over their mouths, probably\nto stifle any attempt at such a frivolous thing as laughter. The eyes of\nthe audience, which I always watch, showed signs of interest, and nobody\nleft the hall until the conclusion of the lecture. When I had finished,\nI made a small bow, when certainly fifty people applauded. I imagined\nthey were glad it was all over.\n\n\"Well,\" I said to the manager, when I had returned to the little back\nroom, \"I suppose we must call this a failure.\"\n\n\"A failure!\" said he; \"it's nothing of the sort. Why, I have never seen\nthem so enthusiastic in my life!\"\n\nI went to the hotel, and tried to forget the audience I had just had by\nrecalling to my mind a joyous evening in Scotland. This happened about a\nyear ago, in a mining town in the neighborhood of Glasgow, where I had\nbeen invited to lecture, on a Saturday night, to the members of a\npopular--very popular--Institute.\n\n[Illustration: I AM ESCORTED TO THE HALL.]\n\nI arrived at the station from Glasgow at half-past seven, and there\nfound the secretary and the treasurer of the Institute, who had been\nkind enough to come and meet me. We shook hands. They gave me a few\nwords of welcome. I thought my friends looked a little bit queer. They\nproposed that we should walk to the lecture hall. The secretary took my\nright arm, the treasurer took my left, and, abreast, the three of us\nproceeded toward the hall. They did not take me to that place; _I_ took\nthem, holding them fast all the way--the treasurer especially.\n\nWe arrived in good time, although we stopped once for light refreshment.\nAt eight punctually, I entered the hall, preceded by the president, and\nfollowed by the members of the committee. The president introduced me in\na most queer, incoherent speech. I rose, and was vociferously cheered.\nWhen silence was restored, I said in a calm, almost solemn manner:\n\"Ladies and Gentlemen.\" This was the signal for more cheering and\nwhistling. In France whistling means hissing, and I began to feel\nuneasy, but soon I bore in mind that whistling, in the North of Great\nBritain, was used to express the highest pitch of enthusiasm.\n\nSo I went on.\n\nThe audience laughed at everything I said, and even before I said it. I\nhad never addressed such keen people. They seemed so anxious to laugh\nand cheer in the right place that they laughed and cheered all the\ntime--so much so that in an hour and twenty minutes, I had only got\nthrough half my lecture, which I had to bring to a speedy conclusion.\n\nThe president rose and proposed a vote of thanks in another most queer\nspeech, which was a new occasion for cheering.\n\nWhen we had retired in the committee room, I said to the secretary:\n\"What's the matter with the president? Is he quite right?\" I added,\ntouching my forehead.\n\n\"Oh!\" said the secretary, striking his chest as proudly as possible, \"he\nis drunk--and so am I.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"HE'S DRUNK, AND SO AM I.\"]\n\nThe explanation of the whole strange evening dawned upon me. Of course\nthey were drunk, and so was the audience.\n\nThat night, I believe I was the only sober person on the premises.\n\n\nYesterday, I had an interesting chat with a native of the State of Maine\non the subject of my lecture at Portsea.\n\n\"You are perfectly wrong,\" he said to me, \"in supposing that your\nlecture was not appreciated. I was present, and I can assure you that\nthe attentive silence in which they listened to you from beginning to\nend is the proof that they appreciated you. You would also be wrong in\nsupposing that they do not appreciate humor. On the contrary, they are\nvery keen of it, and I believe that the old New Englander was the father\nof American humor, through the solemn manner in which he told comic\nthings, and the comic manner in which he told the most serious ones.\nYes, they are keen of humor, and their apparent want of appreciation is\nonly due to reserve, to self-control.\"\n\nAnd, as an illustration of it, my friend told me the following anecdote\nwhich, I have no doubt, a good many Americans have heard before:\n\nMark Twain had lectured to a Maine audience without raising a single\nlaugh in his listeners, when, at the close, he was thanked by a\ngentleman who came to him in the green-room, to tell him how hugely\nevery one had enjoyed his amusing stories. When the lecturer expressed\nhis surprise at this announcement, as the audience had not laughed, the\ngentleman added:\n\n\"Yes, we never were so amused in our lives, and if you had gone on five\nminutes more, upon my word I don't think we could have held out any\nlonger.\"\n\nSuch is New England self-control.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n  A LOVELY RIDE TO CANADA--QUEBEC, A CORNER OF OLD FRANCE STRAYED UP AND\n  LOST IN THE SNOW--THE FRENCH CANADIANS--THE PARTIES IN CANADA--WILL\n  THE CANADIANS BECOME YANKEES?\n\n\n     _Montreal, February 1._\n\nThe ride from the State of Maine to Montreal is very picturesque, even\nin the winter. It offers you four or five hours of Alpine scenery\nthrough the American Switzerland. The White Mountains, commanded by\nMount Washington, are, for a distance of about forty miles, as wild and\nimposing as anything the real Switzerland can supply the tourist.\nGorges, precipices, torrents, nothing is wanting.\n\nNearly the whole time we journeyed across pine forests, coming, now and\nthen, across saw mills, and little towns looking like bee-hives of\nactivity. Now there was an opening, and frozen rivers, covered with\nsnow, formed, with the fields, a huge uniform mass of dazzling\nwhiteness. The effect, under a pure blue sky and in a perfectly clear\natmosphere, was very beautiful. Now the country became hilly again. On\nthe slopes, right down to the bottom of the valley, we saw Berlin Falls,\nbathing its feet in the river. The yellow houses with their red roofs\nand gables, rest the eyes from that long stretch of blue and white. How\nbeautiful this town and its surroundings must be in the fall, when Dame\nNature in America puts on her cloak of gold and scarlet! All the country\non the line we traveled is engaged in the lumber trade.\n\nFor once I had an amiable conductor in the parlor car; even more than\namiable--quite friendly and familiar. He put his arms on my shoulders\nand got quite patronizing. I did not mind that a bit. I hate anonymous\nlandscapes, and he explained and named everything to me. My innocence of\nAmerican things in general touched him. He was a great treat after those\n\"ill-licked bears\" that you so often come across in the American cars.\nHe went further than that: he kindly recommended me to the Canadian\ncustom-house officers, when we arrived at the frontier, and the\nexamination of my trunk and valise did not last half a minute.\n\n[Illustration: THE AMIABLE CONDUCTOR.]\n\nAltogether, the long journey passed rapidly and agreeably. We were only\ntwo people in the parlor car, and my traveling companion proved a very\npleasant man. First, I did not care for the look of him. He had a new\nsilk hat on, a multicolored satin cravat with a huge diamond pin fixed\nin it; a waistcoat covered with silk embroidery work, green, blue, and\npink; a coat with silk facings, patent-leather boots. Altogether, he was\nrather dressed for a garden party (in more than doubtful taste) than for\na fifteen hours' railway journey. But in America the cars are so\nluxurious and kept so warm that traveling dresses are not known in the\ncountry. Ulsters, cloaks, rugs, garments made of tweed and rough\nmaterials, all these things are unnecessary and therefore unknown. I\nsoon found out, however, that this quaintly got-up man was interesting\nto speak to. He knew every bit of the country we passed, and, being\neasily drawn out, he poured into my ears information that was as rapid\nas it was valuable. He was well read and had been to Europe several\ntimes. He spoke of France with great enthusiasm, which enrolled my\nsympathy, and he had enjoyed my lecture, which, you may imagine, secured\nfor his intelligence and his good taste my boundless admiration. When we\narrived at Montreal, we were a pair of friends.\n\n\nI begin my Canadian tour here on Monday and then shall go West. I was in\nQuebec two years ago; but the dear old place is not on my list this\ntime. No words could express my regret. I shall never forget my feelings\non landing under the great cliff on which stands the citadel, and on\ndriving, bumped along in a sleigh over the half-thawed snow, in the\nstreet that lies under the fortress, and on through the other quaint\nwinding steep streets, and again under the majestic archways to the\nupper town, where I was set down at the door of the Florence, a quiet,\ndelightful little hotel that the visitor to Quebec should not fail to\nstop at, if he like home comforts and care to enjoy magnificent scenery\nfrom his window. It seemed as though I was in France, in my dear old\nBrittany. It looked like St. Malo strayed up here and lost in the snow.\nThe illusion became complete when I saw the gray houses, heard the\npeople talk with the Breton intonation, and saw over the shops Langlois,\nMaillard, Clouet, and all the names familiar to my childhood. But why\nsay \"illusion\"? It was a fact: I was in France. These folks have given\ntheir faith to England, but, as the Canadian poet says, they have kept\ntheir hearts for France. Not only their hearts, but their manners and\ntheir language. Oh, there was such pleasure in it all! The lovely\nweather, the beautiful scenery, the kind welcome given to me, the\ndelight of seeing these children of Old France, more than three thousand\nmiles from home, happy and thriving--a feast for the eyes, a feast for\nthe heart. And the drive to Montmorency Falls in the sleigh, gliding\nsmoothly along on the hard snow! And the sleighs laden with wood for the\nQuebec folks, the carmen stimulating their horses with a _hue là_ or\n_hue donc_! And the return to the Florence, where a good dinner served\nin a private room awaited us! And that polite, quiet, attentive French\ngirl who waited on us, the antipodes of the young Yankee lady who makes\nyou sorry that breakfasting and dining are necessary, in some American\nhotels, and whose waiting is like taking sand and vinegar with your\nfood!\n\nThe mere spanking along through the cold, brisk air, when you are well\nmuffled in furs is exhilarating, especially when the sun is shining in\na cloudless blue sky. The beautiful scenery at Quebec was, besides, a\nfeast for eyes tired with the monotonous flatness of America. The old\ncity is on a perfect mountain, and as we came bumping down its side in\nour sleigh over the roads which were there in a perfect state of\nsherbet, there was a lovely picture spread out in front of us. In the\ndistance the bluest mountains I ever saw (to paint them one must use\npure cobalt); away to the right the frozen St. Lawrence and the Isle of\nOrléans, all snow-covered, of course, but yet distinguishable from the\nfarm lands of Jacques Bonhomme, whose cosy, clean cottages we soon began\nto pass. The long, ribbon-like strips of farm were indicated by the tops\nof the fences peeping through the snow, and told us of French thrift and\nprosperity.\n\n[Illustration: \"THAT QUIET, ATTENTIVE FRENCH GIRL.\"]\n\nYes, it was all delightful. When I left Quebec I felt as much regret as\nI do every time that I leave my little native town.\n\n\nI have been told that the works of Voltaire are prohibited in Quebec,\nnot so much because they are irreligious as because they were written by\na man who, after the loss of Quebec to the French Crown, exclaimed: \"Let\nus not be concerned about the loss of a few acres of snow.\" The memory\nof Voltaire is execrated, and for having made a flattering reference to\nhim on the platform in Montreal two years ago, I was near being\n\"boycotted\" by the French population.\n\nThe French Canadians take very little interest in politics--I mean in\noutside politics. They are steady, industrious, saving, peaceful, and so\nlong as the English leave them alone, in the safe enjoyment of their\nbelongings, they will not give them cause for any anxiety. Among the\nFrench Canadians there is no desire for annexation to the United States.\nIndeed, during the War of Independence, Canada was saved to the English\nCrown by the French Canadians, not because the latter loved the English,\nbut because they hated the Yankees. When Lafayette took it for granted\nthat the French Canadians would rally round his flag, he made a great\nmistake; they would have, if compelled to fight, used their bullets\nagainst the Americans. If they had their own way, the French in Canada\nwould set up a little country of their own under the rule of the\nCatholic Church, a little corner of France two hundred years old.\n\nThe education of the lower classes is at a very low stage; thirty per\ncent. of the children of school age in Quebec do not attend school. The\nEnglish dare not introduce gratuitous and compulsory education. They\nhave an understanding with the Catholic Church, which insists upon\nexercising entire control over public education. The Quebec schools are\nlittle more than branches of the confessional box. The English shut\ntheir eyes, for part of the understanding with the Church is that the\nlatter will keep loyalty to the English Crown alive among her submissive\nflock.\n\nThe tyranny exercised by the Catholic Church may easily be imagined from\nthe following newspaper extract:\n\n  A well-to-do butcher of Montreal attended the Catholic Church at Ile\n  Perrault last Sunday. He was suffering at the time with acute cramps,\n  and when that part of the service arrived during which the\n  congregation kneel, he found himself unable to do more than assume a\n  reclining devotional position, with one knee on the floor. His action\n  was noticed, and the church-warden, in concert with others, had him\n  brought before the court charged with an act of irreverence, and he\n  was fined $8 and costs.\n\nSuch a judgment does not only expose the tyranny of the Catholic Church,\nbut the complicity of the English, who uphold Romanism in the Province\nof Quebec as they uphold Buddhism in India, so as not to endanger the\nsecurity of their possessions.\n\nThe French Canadians are multiplying so rapidly that in a very few years\nthe Province of Quebec will be as French as the town of Quebec itself.\nEvery day they push their advance from east to west. They generally\nmarry very young. When a lad is seen in the company of a girl, he is\nasked by the priest if he is courting that girl. In which case he is\nbidden to go straightway to the altar, and these young couples rear\nfamilies of twelve and fifteen children, none of whom leave the country.\nThe English have to make room for them.\n\n[Illustration: AN INTERVIEW WITH THE PRIEST.]\n\nThe average attendance in Catholic churches on Sundays in Montreal is\n111,483; in the sixty churches that belong to the different Protestant\ndenominations, the average attendance is 34,428. The former number has\nbeen steadily increasing, the latter steadily decreasing.\n\n\nWhat is the future reserved to French Canada, and indeed to the whole\nDominion?\n\nThere are only two political parties, Liberals and Conservatives, but I\nfind the population divided into four camps: Those in favor of Canada,\nan independent nation; those in favor of the political union of Canada\nand the United States; those in favor of Canada going into Imperial\nFederation, and those in favor of Canada remaining an English colony, or\nin other words, in favor of the actual state of things.\n\nOf course the French Canadians are dead against going into Imperial\nFederation, which would simply crush them, and Canadian \"society\" is in\nfavor of remaining English. The other Canadians seem pretty equally\ndivided.\n\nIt must be said that the annexation idea has been making rapid progress\nof late years, among prominent men as well as among the people. The\nAmericans will never fire one shot to have the idea realized. If ever\nthe union becomes an accomplished fact, it will become so with the\nassent of all parties. The task will be made easy through Canada and the\nUnited States having the same legislature. The local and provincial\ngovernments are the same in the Canadian towns and provinces as they are\nin the American towns and States--a House of Representatives, a Senate,\nand a Governor, with this difference, this great difference, to the\npresent advantage of Canada: whereas every four years the Americans\nelect a new master, who appoints a ministry responsible to himself\nalone, the Canadians have a ministry responsible to their parliament,\nthat is, to themselves. The representation of the American people at\nWashington is democratic, but the government is autocratic. In Canada,\nboth legislature and executive are democratic, as in England, that\ngreatest and truest of all democracies.\n\nThe change in Canada would have to be made on the American plan.\n\nWith the exception of Quebec and parts of Montreal, Canada is built like\nAmerica; the country has the same aspect, the currency is the same.\nSuppress the Governor-General in Ottawa, who is there to remind Canada\nthat she is a dependency of the English Crown, strew the country with\nmore cuspidores, and you have part of Jonathan's big farm.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n  MONTREAL--THE CITY--MOUNT ROYAL--CANADIAN SPORTS--OTTAWA--THE\n  GOVERNMENT--RIDEAU HALL.\n\n\n     _Montreal, February 2._\n\nMontreal is a large and well-built city, containing many buildings of\nimportance, mostly churches, of which about thirty are Roman Catholic,\nand over sixty are devoted to Protestant worship, in all its branches\nand variations, from the Anglican church to the Salvation Army.\n\nI arrived at a station situated on a level with the St. Lawrence River.\nFrom it, we mounted in an omnibus up, up, up, through narrow streets\nfull of shops with Breton or Norman names over them, as in Quebec; on\nthrough broader ones, where the shops grew larger and the names became\nmore frequently English; on, on, till I thought Montreal had no end,\nand, at last alighted on a great square, and found myself at the door of\nthe Windsor Hotel, an enormous and fine construction, which has proved\nthe most comfortable, and, in every respect the best hotel I have yet\nstopped at on the great American continent. It is about a quarter of a\nmile from my bedroom to the dining-hall, which could, I believe,\naccommodate nearly a thousand guests.\n\nMy first visit was to an afternoon \"At Home,\" given by the St. George's\nClub, who have a club-house high up on Mount Royal. It was a ladies'\nday, and there was music, dancing, etc. We went in a sleigh up the very\nsteep hill, much to my astonishment. I should have thought the thing\npractically impossible. On our way we passed a toboggan slide down the\nside of Mount Royal. It took my breath away to think of coming down it\nat the rate of over a mile a minute. The view from the club-house was\nsplendid, taking in a great sweep of snow-covered country, the city and\nthe frozen St. Lawrence. There are daily races on the river, and last\nyear they ran tram-cars on it.\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD GENTLEMAN AND THE TOBOGGAN SLIDE.]\n\nIt was odd to hear the phrase, \"after the flood.\" When I came to inquire\ninto it, I learned that when the St. Lawrence ice breaks up, the lower\ncity is flooded, and this is yearly spoken of as \"the flood.\"\n\nI drove back from the club with my manager and two English gentlemen,\nwho are here on a visit. As we passed the toboggan slide, my manager\ntold me of an old gentleman over sixty, who delights in those breathless\npassages down the side of Mount Royal. One may see him out there \"at\nit,\" as early as ten in the morning. Plenty of people, however, try one\nride and never ask for another. One gentleman my manager told me of,\nafter having tried it, expressed pretty well the feelings of many\nothers. He said, \"I wouldn't do it again for two thousand dollars, but I\nwouldn't have missed it for three.\" I asked one of the two Englishmen\nwho accompanied us, whether he had had a try. He was a quiet, solemn,\nmiddle-aged Englishman. \"Well,\" he said, \"yes, I have. It had to be\ndone, and I did it.\"\n\n[Illustration: A SNOWSHOER.]\n\nLast night I was most interested in watching the members of the Snowshoe\nClub start from the Windsor, on a kind of a picnic over the country.\nTheir costumes were very picturesque; a short tunic of woolen material\nfastened round the waist by a belt, a sort of woolen nightcap, with\ntassel falling on the shoulder, thick woolen stockings, and\nknickerbockers.\n\nIn Russia and the northern parts of the United States, the people say:\n\"It's too cold to go out.\" In Canada, they say: \"It's very cold, let's\nall go out.\" Only rain keeps them indoors. In the coldest weather, with\na temperature of many degrees below zero, you have great difficulty in\nfinding a closed carriage. All, or nearly all, are open sleighs. The\ndriver wraps you up in furs, and as you go, gliding on the snow, your\nface is whipped by the cold air, you feel glowing all over with warmth,\nand altogether the sensation is delightful.\n\nThis morning, Joseph Howarth, the talented American actor, breakfasted\nwith me and a few friends. Last night, I went to see him play in Steele\nMackaye's \"Paul Kauvar.\" Canada has no actors worth mentioning, and the\npeople here depend on American artists for all their entertainments. It\nis wonderful how the feeling of independence engenders and develops the\nactivity of the mind in a country. Art and literature want a home of\ntheir own, and do not flourish in other people's houses. Canada has\nproduced nothing in literature: the only two poets she can boast are\nFrench, Louis Fréchette and Octave Crémazie. It is not because Canada\nhas no time for brain productions. America is just as busy as she is,\nfelling forests and reclaiming the land; but free America, only a\nhundred years old as a nation, possesses already a list of historians,\nnovelists, poets, and essayists, that would do honor to any nation in\nthe world.\n\n\n     _February 4._\n\nI had capital houses in the Queen's Hall last night and to-night.\n\nThe Canadian audiences are more demonstrative than the American ones,\nand certainly quite as keen and appreciative. When you arrive on the\nplatform they are glad to see you, and they let you know it; a fact\nwhich in America, in New England especially, you have to find out for\nyourself.\n\nMontreal possesses a very wealthy and fashionable community, and what\nstrikes me most, coming as I do from the United States, is the stylish\nsimplicity of the women. I am told that Canadian women in their tastes\nand ways have always been far more English than American, and that the\nfashions have grown more and more simple since Princess Louise gave the\nexample of always dressing quietly when occupying Rideau Hall in Ottawa.\n\n\n     _Ottawa, February 5._\n\nOne of the finest sights I have yet seen in this country was from the\nbridge on my way from the station to the Russell this morning. On the\nright the waterfalls, on the left, on the top of a high and almost\nperpendicular rock, the Houses of Parliament, a grand pile of buildings\nin gray stone, standing out clear against a cloudless, intense blue sky.\nThe Russell is one of those huge babylonian hotels so common on the\nAmerican continent, where unfortunately the cookery is not on a level\nwith the architectural pretensions; but most of the leading Canadian\npoliticians are boarding here while Parliament is sitting, and I am\ninterested to see them.\n\nAfter visiting the beautiful library and other parts of the government\nbuildings, I had the good luck to hear, in the House of Representatives,\na debate between Mr. Chapleau, a minister and one of the leaders of the\nConservatives now in office, and Mr. Laurier, one of the chiefs of the\nOpposition. Both gentlemen are French. It was a fight between a tribune\nand a scholar; between a short, thickset, long-maned lion, and a tall,\nslender, delicate fox.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE RADIANT, LOVELY CANADIENNE.\"]\n\nAfter lunch, I went to Rideau Hall, the residence of the\nGovernor-General, Lord Stanley of Preston. The executive mansion stands\nin a pretty park well wooded with firs, a mile out of the town. His\nExcellency was out, but his aid-de-camp, to whom I had a letter of\nintroduction, most kindly showed me over the place. Nothing can be more\nsimple and unpretentious than the interior of Rideau Hall. It is\nfurnished like any comfortable little provincial hotel patronized by the\ngentry of the neighborhood. The panels of the drawing-room were painted\nby Princess Louise, when she occupied the house with the Marquis of\nLorne some eight or ten years ago. This is the only touch of luxury\nabout the place. In the time of Lord Dufferin, a ball-room and a tennis\ncourt were added to the building, and these are among the many souvenirs\nof his popular rule. As a diplomatist, as a viceroy, and as an\nambassador, history will one day record that this noble son of Erin\nnever made a mistake.\n\nIn the evening, I lectured in the Opera House to a large audience.\n\n\n     _Kingston, February 6._\n\nThis morning, at the Russell, I was called at the telephone. It was His\nExcellency, who was asking me to lunch at Rideau Hall. I felt sorry to\nbe obliged to leave Ottawa, and thus forego so tempting an invitation.\n\nKingston is a pretty little town on the border of Lake Ontario,\npossessing a university, a penitentiary, and a lunatic asylum, in\nneither of which I made my appearance to-night. But as soon as I had\nstarted speaking on the platform of the Town Hall, I began to think the\ndoors of the lunatic asylum had been carelessly left open that night,\nfor close under the window behind the platform, there began a noise\nwhich was like Bedlam let loose. Bedlam with trumpets and other\ninstruments of torture. It was impossible to go on with the lecture, so\nI stopped. On inquiry, the unearthly din was found to proceed from a\ndetachment of the Salvation Army outside the building. After some\nparleying, they consented to move on and storm some other citadel.\n\nBut it was a stormy evening, and peace was not yet.\n\n[Illustration: A SALVATIONIST.]\n\nAs soon as I had fairly restarted, a person in the audience began to\nshow signs of disapproval, and twice or thrice he gave vent to his\ndisapproval rather loudly.\n\nI was not surprised to learn, at the close of the evening, that this\nindividual had come in with a free pass. He had been admitted on the\nstrength of his being announced to give a \"show\" of some sort himself a\nweek later in the hall.\n\nIf a man is inattentive or creates a disturbance at any performance, you\nmay take it for granted that his ticket was given to him. He never paid\nfor it.\n\nTo-morrow I go to Toronto, where I am to give two lectures. I had not\ntime to see that city properly on my last visit to Canada, and all my\nfriends prophesy that I shall have a good time.\n\nSo does the advance booking, I understand.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n  TORONTO--THE CITY--THE LADIES--THE SPORTS--STRANGE CONTRASTS--THE\n  CANADIAN SCHOOLS.\n\n\n     _Toronto, February 9._\n\nHave passed three very pleasant days in this city, and had two beautiful\naudiences in the Pavilion.\n\nToronto is a thoroughly American city in appearance, but only in\nappearance, for I find the inhabitants British in heart, in tastes, and\nhabits. When I say that it is an American city, I mean to say that\nToronto is a large area, covered with blocks of parallelograms and dirty\nstreets, overspread with tangles of telegraph and telephone wires. The\nhotels are perfectly American in every respect.\n\nThe suburbs are exceedingly pretty. Here once more are fine villas\nstanding in large gardens, a sight rarely seen near an American city. It\nreminds me of England. I admire many buildings, the University[2]\nespecially.\n\nEnglish-looking, too, are the rosy faces of the Toronto ladies whom I\npassed in my drive. How charming they are with the peach-like bloom that\ntheir outdoor exercise gives them!\n\nI should like to be able to describe, as it deserves, the sight of\nthese Canadian women in their sleighs, as the horses fly along with\nbells merrily jingling, the coachman in his curly black dogskin and huge\nbusby on his head. Furs float over the back of the sleigh, and, in it,\nmuffled up to the chin in sumptuous skins and also capped in furs, sits\nthe radiant, lovely Canadienne, the milk and roses of her complexion\nenhanced by the proximity of the dark furs. As they skim past over the\nwhite snow, under a glorious sunlit blue sky, I can call to mind no\nprettier sight, no more beautiful picture, to be seen on this huge\ncontinent, so far as I have got yet.\n\nOne cannot help being struck, on coming here from the United States, at\nthe number of lady pedestrians in the streets. They are not merely\nshopping, I am assured, nor going straight from one point to another of\nthe town, but taking their constitutional walks in true English fashion.\nMy impresario took me in the afternoon to a club for ladies and\ngentlemen, and there I had the, to me, novel sight of a game of hockey.\nOn a large frozen pond there was a party of young people engaged in this\ngraceful and invigorating game, and not far off was a group of little\ngirls and boys imitating their elders very sensibly and, as it seemed to\nme, successfully. The clear, healthy complexion of the Canadian women is\neasy to account for, when one sees how deep-rooted, even after\ntransplantation, is the good British love of exercise in the open air.\n\nLast evening I was taken to a ball, and was able to see more of the\nCanadian ladies than is possible in furs, and on further acquaintance I\nfound them as delightful in manners as in appearance; English in their\ncoloring and in their simplicity of dress, American in their natural\nbearing and in their frankness of speech.\n\n\n[Illustration: A HOCKEY PLAYER.]\n\nChurches, churches, everywhere. In my drive this afternoon, I counted\ntwenty-eight in a quarter of an hour. They are of all denominations,\nCatholic, Anglican, Presbyterian, Baptist, Methodist, etc., etc. The\nCanadians must be still more religious--I mean still more\nchurch-going--than the English.\n\nFrom seven in the evening on Saturday, all the taverns are closed, and\nremain closed throughout Sunday. In England the Bible has to compete\nwith the gin bottle, but here the Bible has all its own way on Sundays.\nNeither tram-car, omnibus, cab, nor hired carriage of any description is\nto be seen abroad. Scotland itself is outdone completely; the land of\nJohn Knox has to take a back seat.\n\nThe walls of this city of churches and chapels are at the present moment\ncovered with huge coarse posters announcing in loud colors the arrival\nof a company of performing women. Of these posters, one represents\nCleopatra in a bark drawn through the water by nude female slaves.\nAnother shows a cavalcade of women dressed in little more than a\nfig-leaf. Yet another represents the booking-office of the theater\nstormed by a crowd of _blasé_-looking, single eye-glassed old _beaux_,\ngrinning with pleasure in anticipation of the show within. Another\nposter displays the charms of the proprietress of the undertaking. You\nmust not, however, imagine any harm of the performers whose attractions\nare so liberally placarded. They are taken to their cars in the depot\nimmediately after the performance and locked up; there is an\nannouncement to that effect. These placards are merely eye-ticklers. But\nthis mixture of churches, strict sabbatarianism, and posters of this\nkind, is part of the eternal history of the Anglo-Saxon race--violent\ncontrast.\n\n\nAschool inspector has kindly shown me several schools in the town.\n\nThe children of rich and poor alike are educated together in the public\nschools, from which they get promoted to the high schools. All these\nschools are free. Boys and girls sit on the same benches and receive the\nsame education, as in the United States. This enables the women in the\nNew World to compete with men for all the posts that we Europeans\nconsider the monopoly of man; it also enables them to enjoy all the\nintellectual pleasures of life. If it does not prevent them, as it has\nyet to be proved that it does, from being good wives and mothers, the\neducational system of the New World is much superior to the European\none. It is essentially democratic. Europe will have to adopt it.\n\nSociety in the Old World will not stand long on its present basis. There\nwill always be rich and poor, but every child that is born will require\nto be given a chance, and, according as he avails himself of it or not,\nwill be successful or a failure. But give him a chance, and the greatest\nand most real grievance of mankind in the present day will be removed.\n\nEvery child that is born in America, whether in the United States or in\nCanada, has that chance.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [2] Destroyed by fire three days after I left Toronto.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n  WEST CANADA--RELATIONS BETWEEN BRITISH AND INDIANS--RETURN TO THE\n  UNITED STATES--DIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY--ENCOUNTER WITH AN AMERICAN\n  CUSTOM-HOUSE OFFICER.\n\n\n     _In the train from Canada to Chicago, February 15._\n\nLectured in Bowmanville, Ont., on the 12th, in Brantford on the 13th,\nand in Sarnia on the 14th, and am now on my way to Chicago, to go from\nthere to Wisconsin and Minnesota.\n\nFrom Brantford I drove to the Indian Reservation, a few miles from the\ntown. This visit explained to me why the English are so successful with\ntheir colonies: they have inborn in them the instinct of diplomacy and\ngovernment.\n\nWhereas the Americans often swindle, starve, and shoot the Indians, the\nEnglish keep them in comfort. England makes paupers and lazy drunkards\nof them, and they quietly and gradually disappear. She supplies them\nwith bread, food, Bibles, and fire-water, and they become so lazy that\nthey will not even take the trouble to sow the land of their\nreservations. Having a dinner supplied to them, they give up hunting,\nriding, and all their native sports, and become enervated. They go to\nschool and die of attacks of civilization. England gives them money to\ncelebrate their national fêtes and rejoicings, and the good Indians\nshout at the top of their voices, _God save the Queen!_ that is--_God\nsave our pensions!_\n\n[Illustration: THE BRITISH INDIAN.]\n\nEngland, or Great Britain, or again, if you prefer, Greater Britain,\ngoes further than that. In Brantford, in the middle of a large square,\nyou can see the statue of the Indian chief Brant, erected to his memory\nby public subscriptions collected among the British Canadians.\n\nHere lies the secret of John Bull's success as a colonizer. To erect a\nstatue to an Indian chief is a stroke of genius.\n\n\nWhat has struck me as most American in Canada is, perhaps, journalism.\n\nMontreal, Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec possess excellent newspapers, and\nevery little town can boast one or two journals.\n\nThe tone of these papers is thoroughly American in its liveliness--I had\nalmost said, in its loudness. All are readable and most cleverly edited.\nEach paragraph is preceded by a neat and attractive heading. As in the\nAmerican papers, the editorials, or leading articles, are of secondary\nimportance. The main portion of the publication is devoted to news,\ninterviews, stories, gossip, jokes, anecdotes, etc.\n\nThe Montreal papers are read by everybody in the Province of Quebec, and\nthe Toronto papers in the Province of Ontario, so that the newspapers\npublished in small towns are content with giving all the news of the\nlocality. Each of these has a \"society\" column. Nothing is more amusing\nthan to read of the society doings in these little towns. \"Miss Brown is\nvisiting Miss Smith.\" \"Miss Smith had tea with Miss Robinson yesterday.\"\nWhen Miss Brown, or Miss Smith, or Miss Robinson has given a party, the\nnames of all the guests are inserted as well as what they had for\ndinner, or for supper, as the case may be. So I take it for granted that\nwhen anybody gives a party, a ball, a dinner, a reporter receives an\ninvitation to describe the party in the next issue of the paper.\n\n\nAt nine o'clock this evening, I left Sarnia, on the frontier of Canada,\nto cross the river and pass into the United States. The train left the\ntown, and, on arriving on the bank of the River St. Clair, was divided\ninto two sections which were run on board the ferry-boat and made the\ncrossing side by side. The passage across the river occupied about\ntwenty minutes. On arriving at the other bank, at Port Huron, in the\nState of Michigan, the train left the boat in the same fashion as it had\ngone on board, the two parts were coupled together, and the journey on\n_terra firma_ was smoothly resumed.\n\nThere is something fascinating about crossing a river at night, and I\nhad promised myself some agreeable moments on board the ferry-boat, from\nwhich I should be able to see Port Huron lit up with twinkling lights. I\nwas also curious to watch the train boarding the boat. But, alas, I had\nreckoned without my host. Instead of star-gazing and _rêverie_, there\nwas in store for me a \"bad quarter of an hour.\"\n\nNo sooner had the train boarded the ferry-boat than there came to the\ndoor of the parlor car a surly-looking, ill-mannered creature, who\nroughly bade me come to the baggage van, in the other section of the\ntrain, and open my trunks for him to inspect.\n\nAs soon as I had complied, he went down on his knees among my baggage,\nand it was plain to see that he meant business.\n\nThe first thing he took out was a suit of clothes, which he threw on the\ndirty floor of the van.\n\n\"Have these been worn?\" he said.\n\n\"They have,\" I replied.\n\nThen he took out a blue jacket which I used to cross the Atlantic.\n\n[Illustration: \"HAVE YOU WORN THIS?\"]\n\n\"Have you worn this?\"\n\n\"Yes, for the last two years.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" he said, with a low sardonic grin.\n\nMy trunk was the only one he had to examine, as I was the only passenger\nin the parlor car; and I saw that he meant to annoy me, which, I\nimagined, he could do with perfect impunity.\n\nThe best thing, in fact, the only thing to do was to take the\nmisadventure good-humoredly.\n\nHe took out my linen and examined it in detail.\n\n\"Have these shirts all been worn?\"\n\n\"Well, I guess they have. But how is it that you, an official of the\ngovernment, seem to ignore the law of your own country? Don't you know\nthat if all these articles are for my own private use, they are not\ndutiable, whether new or not?\"\n\nThe man did not answer.\n\nHe took out more linen, which he put on the floor, and spreading open a\npair of unmentionables, he asked again:\n\n\"Have you worn this? It looks quite new.\"\n\nI nodded affirmatively.\n\nHe then took out a pair of socks.\n\n\"Have you worn these?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I said. \"Have a sniff at them.\"\n\nHe continued his examination, and was about to throw my evening suit on\nthe floor. I had up to now been _almost_ amused at the proceedings, but\nI felt my good-humor was going, and the lion began to wag its tail. I\ntook the man by the arm, and looking at him sternly, I said:\n\n\"Now, you put this carefully on the top of some other clothes.\"\n\nHe looked at me and complied.\n\nBy this time all the contents of my large trunk were spread on the\nfloor.\n\nHe got up on his feet and said:\n\n\"Have I looked everywhere?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"you haven't. Do you know how the famous Regent diamond,\nworn by the last kings of France on their crowns, was smuggled into\nFrench territory?\"\n\n[Illustration: THE CONTENTS.]\n\nThe creature looked at me with an air of impudence.\n\n\"No, I don't,\" he replied.\n\nI explained to him, and added:\n\n\"You have not looked _there_.\"\n\nThe lion, that lies dormant at the bottom of the quietest man, was\nfairly roused in me, and on the least provocation, I would have given\nthis man a first-class hiding.\n\nHe went away, wondering whether I had insulted him or not, and left me\nin the van to repack my trunk as best I could, an operation which, I\nunderstand, it was his duty to perform himself.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n  CHICAGO (FIRST VISIT)--THE \"NEIGHBORHOOD\" OF CHICAGO--THE HISTORY OF\n  CHICAGO--PUBLIC SERVANTS--A VERY DEAF MAN.\n\n\n     _Chicago, February 17._\n\nOh! a lecturing tour in America!\n\nI am here on my way to St. Paul and Minneapolis.\n\nJust before leaving New York, I saw in a comic paper that Bismarck must\nreally now be considered as a great man, because, since his departure\nfrom office, there had been no rumor of his having applied to Major Pond\nto get up a lecturing tour for him in the United States.\n\nIt was not news to me that there are plenty of people in America who\nlaugh at the European author's trick of going to the American platform\nas soon as he has made a little name for himself in his own country. The\nlaugh finds an echo in England, especially from some journalists who\nhave never been asked to go, and from a few men who, having done one\ntour, think it wise not to repeat the experience. For my part, when I\nconsider that Emerson, Holmes, Mark Twain, have been lecturers, that\nDickens, Thackeray, Matthew Arnold, Sala, Stanley, Archdeacon Farrar,\nand many more, all have made their bow to American audiences, I fail to\ndiscover anything very derogatory in the proceeding.\n\n[Illustration: A PIG SQUEALING.]\n\nBesides, I feel bound to say that there is nothing in a lecturing tour\nin America, even in a highly successful one, that can excite the envy of\nthe most jealous \"failure\" in the world. Such work is about the hardest\nthat a man, used to the comforts of this life, can undertake. Actors, at\nall events, stop a week, sometimes a fortnight, in the cities they\nvisit; but a lecturer is on the road every day, happy when he has not to\nstart at night.\n\nNo words can picture the monotony of journeys through an immense\ncontinent, the sameness of which strikes you as almost unbearable.\nEverything is made on one pattern. All the towns are alike. To be in a\nrailroad car for ten or twelve hours day after day can hardly be called\nluxury, or even comfort. To have one's poor brain matter thus shaken in\nthe cranium is terrible, especially when the cranium is not quite full.\nConstant traveling softens the brain, liquefies it, churns it,\nevaporates it, and it runs out of you through all the cracks of your\nhead. I own that traveling is comfortable in America, even luxurious;\nbut the best fare becomes monotonous and unpalatable when the dose is\nrepeated every day.\n\nTo-morrow night I lecture in Minneapolis. The next night I am in\nDetroit. Distance about seven hundred miles.\n\n\"Can I manage it?\" said I to my impresario, when he showed me my route.\n\n\"Why, certn'ly,\" he replied; \"if you catch a train after your lecture, I\nguess you will arrive in time for your lecture in Detroit the next day.\"\n\nThese remarks, in America, are made without a smile.\n\nOn arriving at Chicago this morning, I found awaiting me at the Grand\nPacific Hotel, a letter from my impresario. Here is the purport of it:\n\n  I know you have with you a trunk and a small portmanteau. I would\n  advise you to leave your trunk at the Grand Pacific, and to take with\n  you only the portmanteau, while you are in the neighborhood of\n  Chicago. You will thus save trouble, expense, etc.\n\nOn looking at my route, I found that the \"neighborhood of Chicago\"\nincluded St. Paul, Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Detroit, Cleveland,\nCincinnati, Indianapolis: something like a little two-thousand-mile tour\n\"in the neighborhood of Chicago,\" to be done in about one week.\n\nWhen I confided my troubles to my American friends, I got little\nsympathy from them.\n\n\"That's quite right,\" they would say; \"we call the neighborhood of a\ncity any place which, by starting after dinner, you can reach at about\nbreakfast time the next day. You dine, you go on board the car, you\nhave a smoke, you go to bed, you sleep, you wake up, you dress--and\nthere you are. Do you see?\"\n\nAfter all you may be of this opinion, if you do not reckon sleeping\ntime. But I do reckon it, when I have to spend the night in a closed\nbox, six feet long, and three feet wide, and about two feet high, and\nespecially when the operation has to be repeated three or four times a\nweek.\n\n\nAnd the long weary days that are not spent in traveling, how can they be\npassed, even tolerably, in an American city, where the lonely lecturer\nknows nobody, and where there is absolutely nothing to be seen beyond\nthe hotels and the dry-goods stores? Worse still: he sometimes has the\ngood luck to make the acquaintance of some charming people: but he has\nhardly had time to fix their features in his memory, when he has to go,\nprobably never to see them again.\n\nThe lecturer speaks for an hour and a half on the platform every\nevening, the rest of his time is exclusively devoted to keeping silence.\nPoor fellow! how grateful he is to the hotel clerk who sometimes--alas,\nvery seldom--will chat with him for a few minutes. As a rule the hotel\nclerk is a mute, who assigns a room to you, or hands you the letters\nwaiting for you in the box corresponding to your number. His mouth is\nclosed. He may have seen you for half a minute only; he will remember\nyou. Even in a hotel accommodating over a thousand guests, he will know\nyou, he will know the number of your room, but he won't speak. He is not\nthe only American that won't speak. Every man in America who is\nattending to some duty of other, has his mouth closed. I have tried the\nrailroad conductor, and found him mute. I have had a shot at the porter\nin the Pullman car, and found him mute. I have endeavored to draw out\nthe janitors of the halls where I was to speak in the evening, and I\nhave failed. Even the negroes won't speak. You would imagine that\nspeaking was prohibited by the statute-book. When my lecture was over, I\nreturned to the hotel, and like a culprit crept to bed.\n\n[Illustration: THE SLEEPING CAR.]\n\n[Illustration: THE JANITOR.]\n\nHow I do love New York! It is not that it possesses a single building\nthat I really care for; it is because it contains scores and scores of\ndelightful people, brilliant, affable, hospitable, warm-hearted friends,\nwho were kind enough to welcome me when I returned from a tour, and in\nwhose company I could break up the cobwebs that had had time to form in\nthe corners of my mouth.\n\n\nThe history of Chicago can be written in a few lines. So can the history\nof the whole of America.\n\nIn about 1830 a man called Benjamin Harris, with his family, moved to\nChicago, or Fort Dearborn, as it was then called. Not more than half a\ndozen whites, all of whom were Indian traders, had preceded them. In\n1832 they had a child, the first white female born in Chicago--now\nmarried, called Mrs. S. A. Holmes, and the mother of fourteen children.\nIn 1871 Chicago had over 100,000 inhabitants, and was burned to the\nground. To-day Chicago has over 1,200,000 inhabitants, and in ten years'\ntime will have two millions.\n\nThe activity in Chicago is perfectly amazing. And I don't mean\ncommercial activity only. Compare the following statistics: In the great\nreading rooms of the British Museum, there was an average of 620 readers\ndaily during the year 1888. In the reading-room of the Chicago Public\nLibrary, there was an average of 1569 each day in the same year.\nConsidering that the population of London is nearly five times that of\nChicago, it shows that the reading public is ten times more numerous in\nChicago than in London.\n\n\nIt is a never failing source of amusement to watch the ways of public\nservants in this country.\n\nI went to pay a visit to a public museum this afternoon.\n\nIn Europe, the keepers, that is to say, the servants of the public, have\ncautions posted in the museums, in which \"the public are requested not\nto touch.\" In France, they are \"begged,\" which is perhaps a more\nsuitable expression, as the museums, after all, belong to the public.\n\nIn America, the notice is \"Hands off!\" This is short and to the point.\nThe servants of the public allow you to enter the museums, charge you\ntwenty-five cents, and warn you to behave well. \"Hands off\" struck me as\nrather off-handed.\n\n[Illustration: THE \"BRUSH-UP.\"]\n\nI really admire the independence of all the servants in this country.\nYou may give them a tip, you will not run the risk of making them\nservile or even polite.\n\nThe railway conductor says \"ticket!\" The word _please_ does not belong\nto his vocabulary any more than the words \"thank you.\" He says \"ticket\"\nand frowns. You show it to him. He looks at it suspiciously, and gives\nit back to you with a haughty air that seems to say: \"I hope you will\nbehave properly while you are in my car.\"\n\nThe tip in America is not _de rigueur_ as in Europe. The cabman charges\nyou so much, and expects nothing more. He would lose his dignity by\naccepting a tip (many run the risk). He will often ask you for more than\nyou owe him; but this is the act of a sharp man of business, not the act\nof a servant. In doing so, he does not derogate from his character.\n\nThe negro is the only servant who smiles in America, the only one who is\nsometimes polite and attentive, and the only one who speaks English with\na pleasant accent.\n\nThe negro porter in the sleeping cars has seldom failed to thank me for\nthe twenty-five or fifty cent piece I always give him after he has\nbrushed--or rather, swept--my clothes with his little broom.\n\n\nA few minutes ago, as I was packing my valise for a journey to St. Paul\nand Minneapolis to-night, the porter brought in a card. The name was\nunknown to me; but the porter having said that it was the card of a\ngentleman who was most anxious to speak to me, I said, \"Very well, bring\nhim here.\"\n\nThe gentleman entered the room, saluted me, shook hands, and said:\n\n\"I hope I am not intruding.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"I must ask you not to detain me long, because I am off\nin a few minutes.\"\n\n\"I understand, sir, that some time ago you were engaged in teaching the\nFrench language in one of the great public schools of England.\"\n\n\"I was, sir,\" I replied.\n\n\"Well, I have a son whom I wish to speak French properly, and I have\ncome to ask for your views on the subject. In other words, will you be\ngood enough to tell me what are the best methods for teaching this\nlanguage? Only excuse me, I am very deaf.\"\n\n[Illustration: LEFT.]\n\nHe pulled out of his back pocket two yards of gutta-percha tube, and,\napplying one end to his ear and placing the other against my mouth, he\nsaid, \"Go ahead.\"\n\n\"Really?\" I shouted through the tube. \"Now please shut your eyes;\nnothing is better for increasing the power of hearing.\"\n\nThe man shut his eyes and turned his head sideways, so as to have the\nlistening ear in front of me. I took my valise and ran to the elevator\nas fast as I could.\n\nThat man may still be waiting for aught I know and care.\n\n\nBefore leaving the hotel, I made the acquaintance of Mr. George Kennan,\nthe Russian traveler. His articles on Russia and Siberia, published in\nthe _Century Magazine_, attracted a great deal of public attention, and\npeople everywhere throng to hear him relate his terrible experiences on\nthe platform. He has two hundred lectures to give this season. He struck\nme as a most remarkable man--simple, unaffected in his manner, with\nunflinching resolution written on his face; a man in earnest, you can\nsee. I am delighted to find that I shall have the pleasure of meeting\nhim again in New York in the middle of April. He looks tired. He, too,\nis lecturing in the \"neighborhood of Chicago,\" and is off now to the\nnight train for Cincinnati.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n  ST. PAUL AND MINNEAPOLIS, THE SISTER CITIES--RIVALRIES AND JEALOUSIES\n  BETWEEN LARGE AMERICAN CITIES--MINNEHAHA FALLS--WONDERFUL\n  INTERVIEWERS--MY HAT GETS INTO TROUBLE AGAIN--ELECTRICITY IN THE\n  AIR--FOREST ADVERTISEMENTS--RAILWAY SPEED IN AMERICA.\n\n\n     _St. Paul, Minn., February 20._\n\nArrived at St. Paul the day before yesterday to pay a professional visit\nto the two great sister cities of the north of America.\n\nSister cities! Yes, they are near enough to shake hands and kiss each\nother, but I am afraid they avail themselves of their proximity to\nscratch each other's faces.\n\nIf you open Bouillet's famous Dictionary of History and Geography\n(edition 1880), you will find in it neither St. Paul nor Minneapolis. I\nwas told yesterday that in 1834 there was one white inhabitant in\nMinneapolis. To-day the two cities have about 200,000 inhabitants each.\nWhere is the dictionary of geography that can keep pace with such\nwonderful phantasmagoric growth? The two cities are separated by a\ndistance of about nine miles, but they are every day growing up toward\neach other, and to-morrow they will practically have become one.\n\nNothing is more amusing than the jealousies which exist between the\ndifferent large cities of the United States, and when these rival places\nare close to each other, the feeling of jealousy is so intensified as to\nbecome highly entertaining.\n\nSt. Paul charges Minneapolis with copying into the census names from\ntombstones, and it is affirmed that young men living in either one of\nthe cities will marry girls belonging to the other so as to decrease its\npopulation by one. The story goes that once a preacher having announced,\nin a Minneapolis church, that he had taken the text of his sermon from\nSt. Paul, the congregation walked out _en masse_.\n\nNew York despises Philadelphia, and pokes fun at Boston. On the other\nhand, Boston hates Chicago, and _vice versa_. St. Louis has only\ncontempt for Chicago, and both cities laugh heartily at Detroit and\nMilwaukee. San Francisco and Denver are left alone in their prosperity.\nThey are so far away from the east and north of America, that the\nfeeling they inspire is only one of indifference.\n\n\"Philadelphia is a city of homes, not of lodging-houses,\" once said a\nPhiladelphian to a New Yorker; \"and it spreads over a far greater area\nthan New York, with less than half the inhabitants.\" \"Ah,\" replied the\nNew Yorker, \"that's because it has been so much sat upon.\"\n\n\"You are a city of commerce,\" said a Bostonian to a New York wit;\n\"Boston is a city of culture.\" \"Yes,\" replied the New Yorker. \"You\nspell culture with a big C, and God with a small g.\"\n\nOf course St. Paul and Minneapolis accuse each other of counting their\nrespective citizens twice over. All that is diverting in the highest\ndegree. This feeling does not exist only between the rival cities of the\nNew World, it exists in the Old. Ask a Glasgow man what he thinks of\nEdinburgh, and an Edinburgh man what he thinks of Glasgow!\n\n\nOn account of the intense cold (nearly thirty degrees below zero), I\nhave not been able to see much either of St. Paul or of Minneapolis, and\nI am unable to please or vex either of these cities by pointing out\ntheir beauties and defects. Both are large and substantially built, with\nlarge churches, schools, banks, stores, and all the temples that modern\nChristians erect to Jehovah and Mammon. I may say that the Ryan Hotel at\nSt. Paul and the West House at Minneapolis are among the very best\nhotels I have come across in America, the latter especially. When I have\nadded that, the day before yesterday, I had an immense audience in the\nPeople's Church at St. Paul, and that to-night I have had a crowded\nhouse at the Grand Opera House in Minneapolis, it is hardly necessary\nfor me to say that I shall have enjoyed myself in the two great towns,\nand that I shall carry away with me a delightful recollection of them.\n\n\nSoon after arriving in Minneapolis yesterday, I went to see the\nMinnehaha Falls, immortalized by Longfellow. The motor line gave me an\nidea of rapid transit. I returned to the West House for lunch and spent\nthe afternoon writing. Many interviewers called.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHAT YEARLY INCOME DOES YOUR BOOKS AND LECTURES BRING\nIN?\"]\n\nThe first who came sat down in my room and point-blank asked me my views\non contagious diseases. Seeing that I was not disposed to talk on the\nsubject, he asked me to discourse on republics and the prospects of\nGeneral Boulanger. In fact, anything for copy.\n\nThe second one, after asking me where I came from and where I was going,\ninquired whether I had exhausted the Anglo-Saxons and whether I should\nwrite on other nations. After I had satisfied him, he asked me what\nyearly income my books and lectures brought in.\n\nAnother wanted to know why I had not brought my wife with me, how many\nchildren I had, how old they were, and other details as wonderfully\ninteresting to the public. By and by I saw he was jotting down a\ndescription of my appearance, and the different clothes I had on! \"I\nwill unpack this trunk,\" I said, \"and spread all its contents on the\nfloor. Perhaps you would be glad to have a look at my things.\" He\nsmiled: \"Don't trouble any more,\" he said; \"I am very much obliged to\nyou for your courtesy.\"\n\nThis morning, on opening the papers, I see that my hat is getting into\ntrouble again. I thought that, after getting rid of my brown hat and\nsending it to the editor in the town where it had created such a\nsensation, peace was secured. Not a bit. In the Minneapolis _Journal_ I\nread the following:\n\n  The attractive personality of the man [allow me to record this for the\n  sake of what follows], heightened by his négligé sack coat and vest,\n  with a background of yellowish plaid trowsers, occasional glimpses of\n  which were revealed from beneath the folds of a heavy ulster, which\n  swept the floor [I was sitting of course] and was trimmed with fur\n  collar and cuffs. And then that hat! On the table, carelessly thrown\n  amid a pile of correspondence, was his nondescript headgear. One of\n  those half-sombreros affected by the wild Western cowboy when on dress\n  parade, an impossible combination of dark-blue and bottle-green.\n\nFancy treating in this off-handed way a $7.50 soft black felt hat bought\nof the best hatter in New York! No, nothing is sacred for those\ninterviewers. Dark-blue and bottle-green! Why, did that man imagine that\nI wore my hat inside out so as to show the silk lining?\n\n\nThe air here is perfectly wonderful, dry and full of electricity. If\nyour fingers come into contact with anything metallic, like the\nhot-water pipes, the chandeliers, the stopper of your washing basin,\nthey draw a spark, sharp and vivid. One of the reporters who called\nhere, and to whom I mentioned the fact, was able to light my gas with\nhis finger, by merely obtaining an electric spark on the top of the\nburner. When he said he could thus light the gas, I thought he was\njoking.\n\nI had observed this phenomenon before. In Ottawa, for instance.\n\nWhether this air makes you live too quickly, I do not know; but it is\nmost bracing and healthy. I have never felt so well and hearty in my\nlife as in these cold, dry climates.\n\n\nI was all the more flattered to have such a large and fashionable\naudience at the Grand Opera House to-night, that my _causerie_ was not\ngiven under the auspices of any society, or as one of any course of\nlectures.\n\nI lecture in Detroit the day after to-morrow. I shall have to leave\nMinneapolis to-morrow morning at six o'clock for Chicago, which I shall\nreach at ten in the evening. Then I shall have to run to the Michigan\nCentral Station to catch the night train to Detroit at eleven.\nAltogether, twenty-three hours of railway traveling--745 miles.\n\nAnd still in \"the neighborhood of Chicago!\"\n\n\n[Illustration: AN ADVERTISEMENT.]\n\n     _In the train to Chicago, February 21._\n\nHave just passed a wonderful advertisement. Here, in the midst of a\nforest, I have seen a huge wide board nailed on two trees, parallel to\nthe railway line. On it was written, round a daub supposed to represent\none of the loveliest English ladies: \"If you would be as lovely as the\nbeautiful Lady de Gray, use Gray perfumes.\"\n\n_Soyez donc belle_, to be used as an advertisement in the forests of\nMinnesota!\n\n\n[Illustration: \"I RETURNED THANKS.\"]\n\nMy lectures have never been criticised in more kind, flattering, and\neulogistic terms than in the St. Paul and the Minneapolis papers, which\nI am reading on my way to Chicago. I find newspaper reading a great\nsource of amusement in the trains. First of all because these papers\nalways are light reading, and also because reading is a possibility in a\nwell lighted carriage going only at a moderate speed. Eating is\ncomfortable, and even writing is possible _en route_. With the exception\nof a few trains, such as are run from New York to Boston, Chicago, and\nhalf a dozen other important cities, railway traveling is slower in\nAmerica than in England and France; but I have never found fault with\nthe speed of an American train. On the contrary, I have always felt\ngrateful to the driver for running slowly. And every time that the car\nreached the other side of some of the many rotten wooden bridges on\nwhich the train had to pass, I returned thanks.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n  DETROIT--THE TOWN--THE DETROIT \"FREE PRESS\"--A LADY INTERVIEWER--THE\n  \"UNCO GUID\" IN DETROIT--REFLECTIONS ON THE ANGLO-SAXON \"UNCO GUID.\"\n\n\n     _Detroit, February 22._\n\nAm delighted with Detroit. It possesses beautiful streets, avenues, and\nwalks, and a fine square in the middle of which stands a remarkably fine\nmonument. I am also grateful to this city for breaking the monotony of\nthe eternal parallelograms with which the whole of the United States are\nbuilt. My national vanity almost suggests to me that this town owes its\ngracefulness to its French origin. There are still, I am told, about\n25,000 French people settled in Detroit.\n\nI have had to-night, in the Church of Our Father, a crowded and most\nbrilliant audience, whose keenness, intelligence, and kindness were very\nflattering.\n\nI was interviewed, both by a lady and a gentleman, for the Detroit _Free\nPress_, that most witty of American newspapers. The charming young lady\ninterviewer came to talk on social topics, I remarked that she was armed\nwith a copy of \"Jonathan and his Continent,\" and I came to the\nconclusion that she would probably ask for a few explanations about that\nbook. I was not mistaken. She took exception, she informed me, to many\nstatements concerning the American girl in the book. I made a point to\nprove to her that all was right, and all was truth, and I think I\npersuaded her to abandon the prosecution.\n\n[Illustration: THE LADY INTERVIEWER.]\n\nTo tell the truth, now the real truth, mind you, I am rather tired of\nhearing about the American girl. The more I see of her the more I am\ngetting convinced that she is--like the other girls in the world.\n\n\nA friend, who came to have a chat with me after this lecture, has told\nme that the influential people of the city are signing a petition to the\ncustodians of the museum calling upon them to drape all the nude\nstatues, and intimating their intention of boycotting the institution,\nif the Venuses and Apollos are not forthwith provided with tuckers and\ntogas.\n\nIt is a well-known fact in the history of the world, that young\ncommunities have no taste for fine art--they have no time to cultivate\nit. If I had gone to Oklahoma, I should not have expected to find any\nart feeling at all; but that in a city like Detroit, where there is such\nevidence of intellectual life and high culture among the inhabitants, a\nparty should be found numerous and strong enough to issue such a heathen\ndictate as this seems scarcely credible. I am inclined to think it must\nbe a joke. That the \"unco guid\" should flourish under the gloomy sky of\nGreat Britain I understand, but under the bright blue sky of America, in\nthat bracing atmosphere, I cannot.\n\nIt is most curious that there should be people who, when confronted\nwith some glorious masterpiece of sculpture, should not see the poetry,\nthe beauty of the human form divine. This is beyond me, and beyond any\neducated Frenchman.\n\n[Illustration: THE DRAPED STATUES.]\n\nDoes the \"unco guid\" exist in America, then? I should have thought that\nthese people, of the earth earthy, were not found out of England and\nScotland.\n\nWhen I was in America two years ago, I heard that an English author of\nsome repute, talking one day with Mr. Richard Watson Gilder about the\nVenus of Milo, had remarked that, as he looked at her beautiful form, he\nlonged to put his arms around her and kiss her. Mr. Gilder, who, as a\npoet, as an artist, has felt only respect mingled with his admiration of\nthe matchless divinity, replied: \"I hope she would have grown a pair of\narms for the occasion, so as to have slapped your face.\"\n\nIt is not so much the thing that offends the \"unco guid\"; it is the\nname, the reflection, the idea. Unhealthy-minded himself, he dreads a\ntaint where there is none, and imagines in others a corruption which\nexists only in himself.\n\nYet the One, whom he would fain call Master, but whose teachings he is\nslow in following, said: \"Woe be to them by whom offense cometh.\" But\nthe \"unco guid\" is a Christian failure, a _parvenu_.\n\n\nThe _parvenu_ is a person who makes strenuous efforts to persuade other\npeople that he is entitled to the position he occupies.\n\nThere are _parvenus_ in religion, as there are _parvenus_ in the\naristocracy, in society, in literature, in the fine arts, etc.\n\nThe worst type of the French _parvenu_ is the one whose father was a\nworthy, hard-working man called _Dubois_ or _Dumont_, and who, at his\nfather's death, dubs himself _du Bois_ or _du Mont_, becomes a\nclericalist and the stanchest monarchist, and runs down the great\nRevolution which made one of his grand-parents a man. M. _du Bois_ or\n_du Mont_ outdoes the genuine nobleman, who needs make no noise to\nattract attention to a name which everybody knows, and which, in spite\nof what may be said on the subject, often recalls the memory of some\nglorious event in the past.\n\n[Illustration: THE PARVENU.]\n\nThe worst type of Anglo-Saxon _parvenu_ is probably the \"unco guid,\" or\nreligious _parvenu_.\n\nThe Anglo-Saxon \"unco guid\" is seldom to be found among Roman Catholics;\nthat is, among the followers of the most ancient Christian religion. He\nis to be found among the followers of the newest forms of\n\"Christianity.\" This is quite natural. He has to try to eclipse his\nfellow-Christians by his piety, in order to show that the new religion\nto which he belongs was a necessary invention.\n\nThe Anglo-Saxon \"unco guid\" is easily recognized. He is dark (all bigots\nand fanatics are). He is dressed in black, shiny broadcloth raiment. A\nwide-brimmed felt hat covers his head. He walks with light, short,\njaunty steps, his head a little inclined on one side. He never carries a\nstick, which might give a rather fast appearance to his turn-out. He\ninvariably carries an umbrella, even in the brightest weather, as being\nmore respectable--and this umbrella he never rolls, for he would avoid\nlooking in the distance as if he had a stick. He casts right and left\nlittle grimaces that are so many forced smiles of self-satisfaction.\n\"Try to be as good as I am,\" he seems to say to all who happen to look\nat him, \"and you will be as happy.\" And he \"smiles, and smiles, and\nsmiles.\"\n\nHe has a small soul, a small heart, and a small brain.\n\nAs a rule, he is a well-to-do person. It pays better to have a narrow\nmind than to have broad sympathies.\n\nHe drinks tea, but prefers cocoa, as being a more virtuous beverage.\n\nHe is perfectly destitute of humor, and is the most inartistic creature\nin the world. Everything suggests to him either profanity or indecency.\nThe \"Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character,\" by Dean Ramsay,\nwould strike him as profane, and if placed in the Musée du Louvre,\nbefore the Venus of Milo, he would see nothing but a woman who has next\nto no clothes on.\n\nHis distorted mind makes him take everything in ill part. His hands get\npricked on every thorn that he comes across on the road, and he misses\nall the roses.\n\nIf I were not a Christian, the following story, which is not as often\ntold as it should be, would have converted me long ago:\n\n  Jesus arrived one evening at the gates of a certain city, and he sent\n  his disciples forward to prepare supper, while he himself, intent on\n  doing good, walked through the streets into the marketplace. And he\n  saw at the corner of the market some people gathered together, looking\n  at an object on the ground; and he drew near to see what it might be.\n  It was a dead dog, with a halter round his neck, by which he appeared\n  to have been dragged through the dirt; and a viler, a more abject, a\n  more unclean thing, never met the eyes of man. And those who stood by\n  looked on with abhorrence. \"Faugh!\" said one, stopping his nose, \"it\n  pollutes the air.\" \"How long,\" said another, \"shall this foul beast\n  offend our sight?\" \"Look at his torn hide,\" said a third; \"one could\n  not even cut a shoe out of it!\" \"And his ears,\" said a fourth, \"all\n  draggled and bleeding!\" \"No doubt,\" said a fifth, \"he has been hanged\n  for thieving!\" And Jesus heard them, and looking down compassionately\n  on the dead creature, he said: \"Pearls are not equal to the whiteness\n  of his teeth!\"\n\nIf I understand the Gospel, the gist of its teachings is contained in\nthe foregoing little story. Love and forgiveness: finding something to\npity and admire even in a dead dog. Such is the religion of Christ.\n\nThe \"Christianity\" of the \"unco guid\" is as like this religion as are\nthe teachings of the Old Testament.\n\nSomething to condemn, the discovery of wickedness in the most innocent,\nand often elevating, recreations, such is the favorite occupation of the\nAnglo-Saxon \"unco guid.\" Music is licentious, laughter wicked, dancing\nimmoral, statuary almost criminal, and, by and by, the \"Society for the\nSuggestion of Indecency,\" which is placed under his immediate patronage\nand supervision, will find fault with our going out in the streets, on\nthe plea that under our garments we carry our nudity.\n\nThe Anglo-Saxon \"unco guid\" is the successor of the Pharisee. In reading\nChrist's description of the latter, you are immediately struck with the\nlikeness. The modern \"unco guid\" \"loves to pray standing in the churches\nand chapels and in the corners of the streets, that he may be seen of\nmen.\" \"He uses vain repetitions, for he thinks that he shall be heard\nfor his much speaking.\" \"When he fasts, he is of sad countenance; for he\ndisfigures his face, that he may appear unto men to fast.\" There is not\none feature of the portrait that does not fit in exactly.\n\nThe Jewish \"unco guid\" crucified Christ. The Anglo-Saxon one would\ncrucify Him again if He should return to earth and interfere with the\nprosperous business firms that make use of His name.\n\nThe \"unco guid's\" Christianity consists in extolling his virtues and\nignoring other people's. He spends his time in \"pulling motes out of\npeople's eyes,\" but cannot see clearly to do it, \"owing to the beams\nthat are in his own.\" He overwhelms you, he crushes you, with his\nvirtue, and one of the greatest treats is to catch him tripping, a\nchance which you may occasionally have, especially when you meet him on\nthe Continent of Europe.\n\nThe Anglo-Saxon \"unco guid\" calls himself a Christian, but the precepts\nof the Gospel are the very opposite of those he practices. The gentle,\nmerciful, forgiving, Man-God of the Gospel has not for him the charms\nand attractions of the Jehovah who commanded the cowardly, ungrateful,\nand bloodthirsty people of his choice to treat their women as slaves,\nand to exterminate their enemies, sparing neither old men, women, nor\nchildren. This cruel, revengeful, implacable deity is far more to the\nAnglo-Saxon \"unco guid's\" liking than the Saviour who bade His disciples\nlove their enemies and put up their swords in the presence of his\npersecutors. The \"unco guid\" is not a Christian, he is a Jew in all but\nname. And I will say this much for him, that the Commandments given on\nMount Sinai are much easier to follow than the Sermon on the Mount. It\nis easier not to commit murder than to hold out your right cheek after\nyour left one has been slapped. It is easier not to steal than to run\nafter the man who has robbed us, in order to offer him what he has not\ntaken. It is easier to honor our parents than to love our enemies.\n\nThe teachings of the Gospel are trying to human nature. There is no\nreligion more difficult to follow; and this is why, in spite of its\nbeautiful, but too lofty, precepts, there is no religion in the world\nthat can boast so many hypocrites--so many followers who pretend that\nthey follow their religion, but who do not, and very probably cannot.\n\nBeing unable to love man, as he is bidden in the Gospel, the \"unco guid\"\nloves God, as he is bidden in the Old Testament. He loves God in the\nabstract. He tells Him so in endless prayers and litanies.\n\nFor him Christianity consists in discussing theological questions,\nwhether a minister shall preach with or without a white surplice on, and\nin singing hymns more or less out of tune.\n\nAs if God could be loved to the exclusion of man! You love God, after\nall, as you love anybody else, not by professions of love, but by deeds.\n\nWhen he prays, the \"unco guid\" buries his face in his hands or in his\nhat. He screws up his face, and the more fervent the prayer is (or the\nmore people are looking at him), the more grimaces he makes. Heinrich\nHeine, on coming out of an English church, said that \"a blaspheming\nFrenchman must be a more pleasing object in the sight of God than many a\npraying Englishman.\" He had, no doubt, been looking at the \"unco guid.\"\n\nIf you do not hold the same religious views as he does, you are a wicked\nman, an atheist. He alone has the truth. Being engaged in a discussion\nwith an \"unco guid\" one day, I told him that if God had given me hands\nto handle, surely He had given me a little brain to think. \"You are\nright,\" he quickly interrupted; \"but, with the hands that God gave you\nyou can commit a good action, and you can also commit murder.\"\nTherefore, because I did not think as he did, I was the criminal, for,\nof course, he was the righteous man. For all those who, like myself,\nbelieve in a future life, there is, I believe, a great treat in store:\nthe sight of the face he will make, when his place is assigned to him in\nthe next world. _Qui mourra, verra._\n\nAnglo-Saxon land is governed by the \"unco guid.\" Good society cordially\ndespises him; the aristocracy of Anglo-Saxon intelligence--philosophers,\nscientists, men of letters, artists--simply loathe him; but all have to\nbow to his rule, and submit their works to his most incompetent\ncriticism, and all are afraid of him.\n\n[Illustration: THE POOR MAN'S SABBATH.]\n\nIn a moment of wounded national pride, Sydney Smith once exclaimed:\n\"What a pity it is we have no amusements in England except vice and\nreligion!\" The same exclamation might be uttered to-day, and the cause\nlaid at the Anglo-Saxon \"unco guid's\" door. It is he who is responsible\nfor the degradation of the British lower classes, by refusing to enable\nthem to elevate their minds on Sundays at the sight of the masterpieces\nof art which are contained in the museums, or at the sound of the\nsymphonies of Beethoven and Mozart, which might be given to the people\nat reduced prices on that day. The poor people must choose between vice\nand religion, and as the wretches know they are not wanted in the\nchurches, they go to the taverns.\n\nIt is this same \"unco guid\" who is responsible for the state of the\nstreets in the large cities of Great Britain by refusing to allow vice\nto be regulated. If you were to add the amount of immorality to be found\nin the streets of Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and the other capitals of\nEurope, no fair-minded Englishman \"who knows\" would contradict me, if I\nsaid that the total thus obtained would be much below the amount\nsupplied by London alone; but the \"unco guid\" stays at home of an\nevening, advises you to do the same, and ignoring, or pretending to\nignore, what is going on round his own house, he prays for the\nconversion--of the French.\n\nThe \"unco guid\" thinks that his own future safety is assured, so he\nprays for his neighbors'. He reminds one of certain Scots, who inhabit\ntwo small islands on the west coast of Scotland. Their piety is really\nmost touching. Every Sunday in their churches, they commend to God's\ncare \"the puir inhabitants of the two adjacent islands of Britain and\nIreland.\"\n\nA few weeks ago, there appeared in a Liverpool paper a letter, signed \"A\nLover of Reverence,\" in which this anonymous person complained of a\ncertain lecturer, who had indulged in profane remarks. \"I was not\npresent myself,\" he or she said, \"but have heard of what took place,\"\netc. You see, this person was not present, but as a good \"Christian,\" he\nhastened to judge. However, this is nothing. In the letter, I read:\n\"Fortunately, there are in Liverpool, a few Christians, like myself,\nalways on the watch, and ever looking after our Maker's honor.\"\n\nFortunate Liverpool! What a proud position for the Almighty, to be\nplaced in Liverpool under the protection of the \"Lover of Reverence!\"\n\nProbably this \"unco guid\" and myself would not agree on the definition\nof the word _profanity_, for, if I had written and published such a\nletter, I would consider myself guilty, not only of profanity, but of\nblasphemy.\n\nIf the \"unco guid\" is the best product of Christianity, Christianity\nmust be pronounced a ghastly failure, and I should feel inclined to\nexclaim, with the late Dean Milman, \"If all this is Christianity, it is\nhigh time we should try something else--say the religion of Christ, for\ninstance.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n  MILWAUKEE--A WELL-FILLED DAY--REFLECTIONS ON THE SCOTCH IN\n  AMERICA--CHICAGO CRITICISMS.\n\n\n     _Milwaukee, February 25._\n\nArrived here from Detroit yesterday. Milwaukee is a city of over two\nhundred thousand inhabitants, a very large proportion of whom are\nGermans, who have come here to settle down, and wish good luck to the\n_Vaterland_, at the respectful distance of five thousand miles.\n\nAt the station I was met by Mr. John L. Mitchell, the railway king, and\nby a compatriot of mine, M. A. de Guerville, a young enthusiast who has\nmade up his mind to check the German invasion of Milwaukee, and has\nsucceeded in starting a French society, composed of the leading\ninhabitants of the city. On arriving, I found a heavy but delightful\nprogramme to go through during the day: a lunch to be given me by the\nladies at Milwaukee College at one o'clock; a reception by the French\nClub at Mrs. John L. Mitchell's house at four; a dinner at six; my\nlecture at eight, and a reception and a supper by the Press Club at\nhalf-past ten; the rest of the evening to be spent as circumstances\nwould allow or suggest. I was to be the guest of Mr. Mitchell at his\nmagnificent house in town.\n\n[Illustration: A CITIZEN OF MILWAUKEE.]\n\n\"Good,\" I said, \"let us begin.\"\n\n\nWent through the whole programme. The reception by the French Club, in\nthe beautiful Moorish-looking rooms of Mrs. John L. Mitchell's superb\nmansion, was a great success. I was amazed to meet so many\nFrench-speaking people, and much amused to see my young compatriot go\nfrom one group to another, to satisfy himself that all the members of\nthe club were speaking French; for I must tell you that, among the\nstatutes of the club, there is one that imposes a fine of ten cents on\nany member caught in the act of speaking English at the gatherings of\nthe association.\n\nThe lecture was a great success. The New Plymouth Church[3] was packed,\nand the audience extremely warm and appreciative. The supper offered to\nme by the Press Club proved most enjoyable. And yet, that was not all.\nAt one o'clock the Press Club repaired to a perfect German _Brauerei_,\nwhere we spent an hour in Bavaria, drinking excellent Bavarian beer\nwhile chatting, telling stories, etc.\n\nI will omit to mention at what time we returned home, so as not to tell\ntales about my kind host.\n\nIn spite of the late hours we kept last night, breakfast was punctually\nserved at eight this morning. First course, porridge. Thanks to the\nkind, thoroughly Scotch hospitality of Mr. John L. Mitchell and his\ncharming family, thanks to the many friends and sympathizers I met\nhere, I shall carry away a most pleasant recollection of this large and\nbeautiful city. I shall leave Milwaukee with much regret. Indeed, the\nworst feature of a thick lecturing tour is to feel, almost every day,\nthat you leave behind friends whom you may never see again.\n\nI lecture at the Central Music Hall, Chicago, this evening; but Chicago\nis reached from here in two hours and a half, and I will go as late in\nthe day as I can.\n\nNo more beds for me now, until I reach Albany, in three days.\n\n\nThe railway king in Wisconsin is a Scotchman. I was not surprised to\nhear it. The iron king in Pennsylvania is a Scotchman, Mr. Andrew\nCarnegie. The oil king of Ohio is a Scotchman, Mr. Alexander Macdonald.\nThe silver king of California is a Scotchman, Mr. Mackay. The\ndry-goods-store king of New York--he is dead now--was a Scotchman, Mr.\nStewart. It is just the same in Canada, just the same in Australia, and\nall over the English-speaking world. The Scotch are successful\neverywhere, and the new countries offer them fields for their industry,\ntheir perseverance, and their shrewdness. There you see them landowners,\ndirectors of companies, at the head of all the great enterprises. In the\nlower stations of life, thanks to their frugality and saving habits, you\nfind them thriving everywhere. You go to the manufactory, you are told\nthat the foremen are Scotch.\n\nI have, perhaps, a better illustration still.\n\n[Illustration: TALES OF OLD SCOTLAND.]\n\nIf you travel in Canada, either by the Grand Trunk or the Canadian\nPacific, you will meet in the last parlor car, near the stove, a man\nwhose duty consists in seeing that, all along the line, the workmen are\nat their posts, digging, repairing, etc. These workmen are all day\nexposed to the Canadian temperature, and often have to work knee-deep in\nthe snow. Well, you will find that the man with small, keen eyes, who\nis able to do his work in the railroad car, warming himself comfortably\nby the stove, is invariably a Scotchman. There is only one berth with a\nstove in the whole business; it is he who has got it. Many times I have\nhad a chat with that Scotchman on the subject of old Scotland. Many\ntimes I have sat with him in the little smoking-room of the parlor car,\nlistening to the history of his life, or, maybe, a few good Scotch\nanecdotes.\n\n\n     _In the train from Chicago to Cleveland_, _February 26_.\n\nI arrived in Chicago at five o'clock in the afternoon yesterday, dined,\ndressed, and lectured at the Music Hall under the auspices of the Drexel\nfree Kindergarten. There was a large audience, and all passed off very\nwell. After the lecture, I went to the Grand Pacific Hotel, changed\nclothes, and went on board the sleeping car bound for Cleveland, O.\n\n\nThe criticisms of my lecture in this morning's Chicago papers are\nlively.\n\nThe _Herald_ calls me:\n\n  A dapper little Frenchman. Five feet eleven in height, and two hundred\n  pounds in weight!\n\nThe _Times_ says:\n\n  That splendid trinity of the American peerage, the colonel, the judge,\n  and the professor, turned out in full force at Central Music Hall last\n  night. The lecturer is a magician who serves up your many little\n  defects, peculiar to the auditors' own country, on a silver salver, so\n  artistically garnished that one forgets the sarcasm in admiration of\n  the sauce.\n\n[Illustration: A CELEBRATED EXECUTIONER.]\n\nThe _Tribune_ is quite as complimentary and quite as lively:\n\n  His satire is as keen as the blade of the celebrated executioner who\n  could cut a man's head off, and the unlucky person not know it until a\n  pinch of snuff would cause a sneeze, and the decapitated head would,\n  much to its surprise, find itself rolling over in the dust.\n\nAnd after a good breakfast at Toledo station, I enjoyed an hour poring\nover the Chicago papers.\n\nI lecture in Cleveland to-night, and am still in \"the neighborhood of\nChicago.\"\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [3] Very strange, that church with its stalls, galleries, and\n    boxes--a perfect theater. From the platform it was interesting to\n    watch the immense throng, packing the place from floor to ceiling, in\n    front, on the sides, behind, everywhere.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nTHE MONOTONY OF TRAVELING IN THE STATES--\"MANON LESCAUT\" IN AMERICA.\n\n\n     _In the train from Cleveland to Albany, February 27._\n\nAm getting tired and ill. I am not bed-ridden, but am fairly well rid of\na bed. I have lately spent as many nights in railway cars as in hotel\nbeds.\n\nAm on my way to Albany, just outside \"the neighborhood of Chicago.\" I\nlecture in that place to-night, and shall get to New York to-morrow.\n\nI am suffering from the monotony of life. My greatest objection to\nAmerica (indeed I do not believe I have any other) is the sameness of\neverything. I understand the Americans who run away to Europe every year\nto see an old church, a wall covered with moss and ivy, some good\nold-fashioned peasantry not dressed like the rest of the world.\n\nWhat strikes a European most, in his rambles through America, is the\nabsence of the picturesque. The country is monotonous, and eternally the\nsame. Burned-up fields, stumps of trees, forests, wooden houses all\nbuilt on the same pattern. All the stations you pass are alike. All the\ntowns are alike. To say that an American town is ten times larger than\nanother simply means that it has ten times more blocks of houses. All\nthe streets are alike, with the same telegraph poles, the same \"Indian\"\nas a sign for tobacconists, the same red, white, and blue pole as a sign\nfor barbers. All the hotels are the same, all the _menus_ are the same,\nall the plates and dishes the same--why, all the ink-stands are the\nsame. All the people are dressed in the same way. When you meet an\nAmerican with all his beard, you want to shake his hands and thank him\nfor not shaving it, as ninety-nine out of every hundred Americans do. Of\ncourse I have not seen California, the Rocky Mountains, and many other\nparts of America where the scenery is very beautiful; but I think my\nremarks can apply to those States most likely to be visited by a\nlecturer, that is, Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin,\nMinnesota, and others, during the winter months, after the Indian\nsummer, and before the renewal of verdure in May.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE SAME 'INDIAN.'\"]\n\n\nAfter breakfast, that indefatigable man of business, that intolerable\nbore, who incessantly bangs the doors and brings his stock-in-trade to\nthe cars, came and whispered in my ears:\n\n\"New book--just out--a forbidden book!\"\n\n\"A forbidden book! What is that?\" I inquired.\n\nHe showed it to me. It was \"Manon Lescaut.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"NEW BOOK JUST OUT--A FORBIDDEN BOOK!\"]\n\nIs it possible? That literary and artistic _chef-d'oeuvre_, which has\nbeen the original type of \"Paul et Virginie\" and \"Atala\"; that touching\ndrama, which the prince of critics, Jules Janin, declared would be\nsufficient to save contemporary literature from complete oblivion,\ndragged in the mire, clothed in a dirty coarse English garb! and\nadvertised as a forbidden book! Three generations of French people have\nwept over the pathetic story. Here it is now, stripped of its unique\nstyle and literary beauty, sold to the American public as an improper\nbook--a libel by translation on a genius. British authors have\ncomplained for years that their books were stolen in America. They have\nsuffered in pockets, it is true, but their reputation has spread through\nan immense continent. What is their complaint compared to that of the\nFrench authors who have the misfortune to see their works translated\ninto American? It is not only their pockets that suffer, but their\nreputation. The poor French author is at the mercy of incapable and\nmalicious translators hired at starvation wages by the American pirate\npublisher. He is liable to a species of defamation ten times worse than\nrobbery.\n\nAnd as I looked at that copy of \"Manon Lescaut,\" I almost felt grateful\nthat Prevost was dead.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n  FOR THE FIRST TIME I SEE AN AMERICAN PAPER ABUSE ME--ALBANY TO NEW\n  YORK--A LECTURE AT DALY'S THEATER--AFTERNOON AUDIENCES.\n\n\n     _New York, February 23._\n\nThe American press has always been very good to me. Fairness one has a\nright to expect, but kindness is an extra that is not always thrown in,\nand therefore the uniform amiability of the American press toward me\ncould not fail to strike me most agreeably.\n\nUp to yesterday I had not seen a single unkind notice or article, but in\nthe Albany _Express_ of yesterday morning I read:\n\n  This evening the people of Albany are asked to listen to a lecture by\n  Max O'Rell, who was in this country two years ago, and was treated\n  with distinguished courtesy. When he went home he published a book\n  filled with deliberate misstatements and willful exaggerations of the\n  traits of the American people.\n\nThis paper \"has reason,\" as the French say. My book contained one\nmisstatement, at all events, and that was that \"all Americans have a\ngreat sense of humor.\" You may say that the French are a witty people,\nbut that does not mean that France contains no fools. It is rather\npainful to have to explain such things, but I do so for the benefit of\nthat editor and with apologies to the general reader.\n\nIn spite of this diverting little \"par,\" I had an immense audience last\nnight in Harmanus Bleecker Hall, a new and magnificent construction in\nAlbany, excellent, no doubt, for music, but hardly adapted for lecturing\nin, on account of its long and narrow shape.\n\n[Illustration: RIP VAN WINKLE.]\n\nI should have liked to stay longer in Albany, which struck me as being a\nremarkably beautiful place, but having to lecture in New York this\nafternoon, I took the vestibule train early this morning for New York.\nThis journey is exceedingly picturesque along the Hudson River,\ntraveling as you do between two ranges of wooded hills, dotted over with\nbeautiful habitations, and now and then passing a little town bathing\nits feet in the water. In the distance one gets good views of the\nCatskill Mountains, immortalized by Washington Irving in \"Rip Van\nWinkle.\"\n\nOn boarding the train, the first thing I did was to read the news of\nyesterday. Imagine my amusement, on opening the Albany _Express_ to read\nthe following extract from the report of my lecture:\n\n  He has an agreeable but not a strong voice. This was the only point\n  that could be criticised in his lecture, which consisted of many\n  clever sketches of the humorous side of the character of different\n  Anglo-Saxon nations. His humor is keen. He evidently is a great\n  admirer of America and Americans, only bringing into ridicule some of\n  their most conspicuously objectionable traits.... His lecture was\n  entertaining, clever, witty and thoroughly enjoyable.\n\nThe most amusing part of all this is that the American sketches which I\nintroduced into my lecture last night, and which seemed to have struck\nthe Albany _Express_ so agreeably, were all extracts from the book\n\"filled with deliberate misstatements and willful exaggerations of the\ntraits of the American people.\" Well, after all, there is humor,\nunconscious humor, in the Albany _Express_.\n\n\nArrived at the Grand Central Station in New York at noon, I gave up my\ncheck to a transfer man, but learned to my chagrin that the vestibule\ntrain from Albany had carried no baggage, and that my things would only\narrive by the next train at about three o'clock. Pleasant news for a\nman who was due to address an audience at three!\n\n[Illustration: \"A LITTLE BIT STIFF.\"]\n\nThere was only one way out of the difficulty. Off I went post-haste to a\nready-made tailor's, who sold me a complete fit-out from head to foot. I\ndid not examine the cut and fit of each garment very minutely, but went\noff satisfied that I was presenting a neat and respectable appearance.\nBefore going on the stage, however, I discovered that the sleeves of the\nnew coat, though perfectly smooth and well-behaved so long as the arms\ninside them were bent at the elbow, developed a remarkable cross-twist\nas soon as I let my arms hang straight down.\n\nBy means of holding it firm with the middle finger, I managed to keep\nthe recalcitrant sleeve in position, and the affair passed off very\nwell. Only my friends remarked, after the lecture, that they thought I\nlooked a little bit stiff, especially when making my bow to the\naudience.\n\n\nMy lecture at Daly's Theater this afternoon was given under the auspices\nof the Bethlehem Day Nursery, and I am thankful to think that this most\ninteresting association is a little richer to-day than it was yesterday.\nFor an afternoon audience it was remarkably warm and responsive.\n\nI have many times lectured to afternoon audiences, but have not, as a\nrule, enjoyed it. Afternoon \"shows\" are a mistake. Do not ask me why;\nbut think of those you have ever been to, and see if you have a lively\nrecollection of them. There is a time for everything. Fancy playing the\nguitar under your lady love's window by daylight, for instance!\n\nAfternoon audiences are kid-gloved ones. There is but a sprinkling of\nmen, and so the applause, when it comes, is a feeble affair, more\nchilling almost than silence. In some fashionable towns it is bad form\nto applaud at all in the afternoon. I have a vivid recollection of the\neffect produced one afternoon in Cheltenham by the vigorous applause of\na sympathizing friend of mine, sitting in the reserved seats. How all\nthe other reserved seats craned their necks in credulous astonishment to\nget a view of this innovator, this outer barbarian! He was new to the\nwondrous ways of the _Chillitonians_. In the same audience was a lady,\nIrish and very charming, as I found out on later acquaintance, who\nshowed her appreciation from time to time by clapping the tips of her\nfingers together noiselessly, while her glance said: \"I should very much\nlike to applaud, but you know I can't do it; we are in Cheltenham, and\nsuch a thing is bad form, especially in the afternoon.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE GOUTY MAN.]\n\nAfternoon audiences in the southern health resorts of England are\nprobably the least inspiriting and inspiring of all. There are the sick,\nthe lame, the halt. Some of them are very interesting people, but a\nlarge proportion appear to be suffering more from the boredom of life\nthan any other complaint, and look as if it would do them good to\nfollow out the well-known advice, \"Live on sixpence a day, and earn it.\"\nIt is hard work entertaining people who have done everything, seen\neverything, tasted everything, been everywhere--people whose sole aim is\nto kill time. A fair sprinkling are gouty. They spend most of their\nwaking hours in a bath-chair. As a listener, the gouty man is sometimes\ndecidedly funny. He gives signs of life from time to time by a vigorous\nslap on his thigh and a vicious looking kick. Before I began to know\nhim, I used to wonder whether it was my discourse producing some effect\nupon him.\n\nI am not afraid of meeting these people in America. Few people are bored\nhere, all are happy to live, and all work and are busy. American men die\nof brain fever, but seldom of the gout. If an American saw that he must\nspend his life wheeled in a bath-chair, he would reflect that rivers are\nnumerous in America, and he would go and take a plunge into one of them.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\n  WANDERINGS THROUGH NEW YORK--LECTURE AT THE HARMONIE CLUB--VISIT TO\n  THE CENTURY CLUB.\n\n\n     _New York, March 1._\n\nThe more I see New York, the more I like it.\n\nAfter lunch I had a drive through Central Park and Riverside Park, along\nthe Hudson, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I returned to the Everett House\nthrough Fifth Avenue. I have never seen Central Park in summer, but I\ncan realize how beautiful it must be when the trees are clothed. To have\nsuch a park in the heart of the city is perfectly marvelous. It is true\nthat, with the exception of the superb Catholic Cathedral, Fifth Avenue\nhas no monument worth mentioning, but the succession of stately mansions\nis a pleasant picture to the eye. What a pity this cathedral cannot\nstand in a square in front of some long thoroughfare, it would have a\nsplendid effect. I know this was out of the question. Built as New York\nis, the cathedral could only take the place of a block. It simply\nrepresents so many numbers between Fiftieth and Fifty-first streets on\nFifth Avenue.\n\nIn the Park I saw statues of Shakespeare, Walter Scott, and Robert\nBurns. I should have liked to see those of Longfellow, Nathaniel\nHawthorne, and many other celebrities of the land. Washington, Franklin,\nand Lincoln are practically the only Americans whose statues you see all\nover the country. They play here the part that Wellington and Nelson\nplay in England. After all, the \"bosses\" and the local politicians who\nrun the towns probably never heard of Longfellow, Bryant, Poe, etc.\n\n\nAt four o'clock, Mr. Thomas Nast, the celebrated caricaturist, called. I\nwas delighted to make his acquaintance, and found him a most charming\nman.\n\nI dined with General Horace Porter and a few other friends at the Union\nLeague Club. The witty general was in his best vein.\n\nAt eight o'clock I lectured at the Harmonie Club, and had a large and\nmost appreciative audience, composed of the pick of the Israelite\ncommunity in New York.\n\nAfter the lecture I attended one of the \"Saturdays\" at the Century Club,\nand met Mr. Kendal, who, with his talented wife, is having a triumphant\nprogress through the United States.\n\nThere is no gathering in the world where you can see so many beautiful,\nintelligent faces as at the Century Club. There you see gathered\ntogether the cleverest men of a nation whose chief characteristic is\ncleverness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nVISIT TO THE BROOKLYN ACADEMY OF MUSIC--REV. DR. TALMAGE.\n\n\n     _New York, March 2._\n\nWent to hear Dr. T. de Witt Talmage this morning at the Academy of\nMusic, Brooklyn.\n\nWhat an actor America has lost by Dr. Talmage choosing the pulpit in\npreference to the stage!\n\nThe Academy of Music was crowded. Standing-room only. For an\nold-fashioned European, to see a theater, with its boxes, stalls,\ngalleries, open for divine service was a strange sight; but we had not\ngone very far into the service before it became plain to me that there\nwas nothing divine about it. The crowd had come there, not to worship\nGod, but to hear Mr. Talmage.\n\nAt the door the programme was distributed. It consisted of six hymns to\nbe interluded with prayers by the doctor. Between the fifth and sixth,\nhe delivered the lecture, or the sermon, if you insist on the name, and\nduring the sixth there was the collection, that hinge on which the whole\nservice turns in Protestant places of worship.\n\nI took a seat and awaited with the rest the entrance of Dr. Talmage.\nThere was subdued conversation going on all around, just as there would\nbe at a theater or concert: in fact, throughout the whole of the\nproceedings, there was no sign of a silent lifting up of the spirit in\nworship. Not a person in that strange congregation, went on his or her\nknees to pray. Most of them put one hand in front of the face, and this\nwas as near as they got that morning to an attitude of devotion. Except\nfor this, and the fact that they did not applaud, there was absolutely\nno difference between them and any other theater audience I ever saw.\n\n[Illustration: THE LEADER OF THE CHOIR.]\n\nThe monotonous hymns were accompanied by a _cornet-à-piston_, which lent\na certain amount of life to them, but very little religious harmony.\nThat cornet was the key-note of the whole performance. The hymns,\ncomposed, I believe, for Dr. Talmage's flock, are not of high literary\nvalue. \"General\" Booth would probably hesitate to include such in the\n_répertoire_ of the Salvation Army. Judge of them for yourself. Here\nare three illustrations culled from the programme:\n\n      Sing, O sing, ye heirs of glory!\n      Shout your triumphs as you go:\n      Zion's gates will open for you,\n      You shall find an entrance through.\n\n    'Tis the promise of God, full salvation to give\n    Unto him who on Jesus, his Son, will believe.\n\n  Though the pathway be lonely, and dangerous too, (_sic_)\n  Surely Jesus is able to carry me thro'.\n\nThis is poetry such as you find inside Christmas crackers.\n\nAnother hymn began:\n\n  One more day's work for Jesus,\n  One less of life for me!\n\nI could not help thinking that there would be good employment for a\nprophet of God, with a stout whip, in the congregations of the so-called\nfaithful of to-day. I have heard them by hundreds shouting at the top of\ntheir voices:\n\n  O Paradise, O Paradise!\n    'Tis weary waiting here;\n  I long to be where Jesus is,\n    To feel, to see him near.\n  O Paradise, O Paradise!\n    I greatly long to see\n  The special place my dearest Lord,\n    In love, prepares for me!\n\nKnowing something of those people outside the church doors, I have often\nthought what an edifying sight it would be if the Lord deigned to listen\nand take a few of them at their word. If the fearless Christ were here\non earth again, what crowds of cheats and humbugs he would drive out of\nthe Temple! And foremost, I fancy, would go the people who, instead of\nthanking their Maker who allows the blessed sun to shine, the birds to\nsing, and the flowers to grow for them here, howl and whine lies about\nlonging for the joy of moving on to the better world, to the \"special\nplace\" that is prepared for them. If there be a better world, it will be\ntoo good for hypocrites.\n\nAfter hymn the fifth, Dr. Talmage takes the floor. The audience settled\nin their seats in evident anticipation of a good time, and it was soon\nclear to me that the discourse was not to be dull at any rate. But I\nwaited in vain for a great thought, a lofty idea, or refined language.\nThere came none. Nothing but commonplaces given out with tricks of voice\nand the gestures of a consummate actor. The modulations of the voice\nhave been studied with care, no single platform trick was missing.\n\nThe doctor comes on the stage, which is about forty feet wide. He begins\nslowly. The flow of language is great, and he is never at a loss for a\nword. Motionless, in his lowest tones, he puts a question to us. Nobody\nreplies, of course. Thereupon he paces wildly up and down the whole\nlength of the stage. Then, bringing up in full view of his auditors, he\nstares at them, crosses his arms, gives a double and tremendous stamp on\nthe boards, and in a terrific voice he repeats the question, and answers\nit. The desired effect is produced: he never misses fire.\n\nBeing an old stager of several years' standing myself, I admire him\nprofessionally. Nobody is edified, nobody is regenerated, nobody is\nimproved, but all are entertained. It is not a divine service, but it is\na clever performance, and the Americans never fail to patronize a clever\nperformance. All styles go down with them. They will give a hearing to\neverybody but the bore, especially on Sundays, when other forms of\nentertainment are out of the running.\n\n[Illustration: THE DESIRED EFFECT.]\n\nIt is not only the Brooklyn public that are treated to the discourses of\nDr. Talmage, but the whole of America. He syndicates his sermons, and\nthey are published in Monday's newspapers in all quarters of America. I\nhave also seen them reproduced in the Australian papers.\n\nThe delivery of these orations by Dr. Talmage is so superior to the\nmatter they are made of, that to read them is slow indeed compared to\nhearing them.\n\nAt the back of the programme was a flaring advertisement of Dr.\nTalmage's paper, called:\n\n  CHRISTIAN HERALD AND SIGNS OF OUR TIMES.\n\n  A live, undenominational, illustrated Christian paper, with a weekly\n  circulation of fifty thousand copies, and rapidly increasing. Every\n  State of the Union, every Province of Canada, and every country in the\n  world is represented on its enormous subscription list. Address your\n  subscription to Mr. N., treasurer, etc.\n\n\"Signs of our times,\" indeed!\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\n  VIRGINIA--THE HOTELS--THE SOUTH--I WILL KILL A RAILWAY CONDUCTOR\n  BEFORE I LEAVE AMERICA--PHILADELPHIA--IMPRESSIONS OF THE OLD CITY.\n\n\n     _Petersburg, Va., March 3._\n\nLeft New York last night and arrived here at noon. No change in the\nscenery. The same burnt-up fields, the same placards all over the land.\nThe roofs of houses, the trees in the forests, the fences in the fields,\nall announce to the world the magic properties of castor oil, aperients,\nand liver pills.\n\n[Illustration: MY SUPPER.]\n\nA little village inn in the bottom of old Brittany is a palace of\ncomfort compared to the best hotel of a Virginia town. I feel wretched.\nMy bedroom is so dirty that I shall not dare to undress to-night. I have\njust had lunch: a piece of tough dried-up beef, custard pie, and a glass\nof filthy water, the whole served by an old negro on an old, ragged,\ndirty table-cloth.\n\nPetersburg, which awakes so many souvenirs of the War of Secession, is a\npretty town scattered with beautiful villas. It strikes one as a\nprovincial town. To me, coming from the busy North, it looks asleep. The\nSouth has not yet recovered from its disasters of thirty years ago. That\nis what struck me most, when, two years ago, I went through Virginia,\nCarolina, and Georgia.\n\nNow and then American eccentricity reveals itself. I have just seen a\nchurch built on the model of a Greek temple, and surmounted with a\npointed spire lately added. Just imagine to yourself Julius Cæsar with\nhis toga and buskin on, and having a chimney-top hat on his head.\n\nThe streets seemed deserted, dead.\n\nTo my surprise, the Opera House was crowded to-night. The audience was\nfashionable and appreciative, but very cool, almost as cool as in\nConnecticut and Maine.\n\nHeaven be praised! a gentleman invited me to have supper at a club after\nthe lecture.\n\n\n     _March 4._\n\nI am sore all over. I spent the night on the bed, outside, in my day\nclothes, and am bruised all over. I have pains in my gums too. Oh, that\npiece of beef yesterday! I am off to Philadelphia. My bill at the hotel\namounts to $1.50. Never did I pay so much through the nose for what I\nhad through the mouth.\n\n\n\n     _Philadelphia, March 4._\n\nBefore I return to Europe I will kill a railway conductor.\n\n[Illustration: \"IMAGINE JULIUS CÆSAR WITH A BIG HAT.\"]\n\nFrom Petersburg to Richmond I was the only occupant of the parlor car.\nIt was bitterly cold. The conductor of the train came in the smoke-room,\nand took a seat. I suppose it was his right, although I doubt it, for he\nwas not the conductor attached to the parlor car. He opened the window.\nThe cold, icy air fell on my legs, or (to use a more proper expression,\nas I am writing in Philadelphia) on my lower limbs. I said nothing, but\nrose and closed the window. The fellow frowned, rose, and opened the\nwindow again.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" I said; \"I thought that perhaps you had come here to look\nafter my comfort. If you have not I will look after it myself.\" And I\nrose and closed the window.\n\n\"I want the window open,\" said the conductor, and he prepared to re-open\nit, giving me a mute, impudent scowl.\n\nI was fairly roused. Nature has gifted me with a biceps and a grip of\nremarkable power. I seized the man by the collar of his coat.\n\n\"As true as I am alive,\" I exclaimed, \"if you open this window, I will\npitch you out of it.\" And I prepared for war. The cur sneaked away and\nmade an exit compared to which a whipped hound's would be majestic.\n\n\nI am at the Bellevue, a delightful hotel. My friend Wilson Barrett is\nhere, and I have come to spend the day with him. He is playing every\nnight to crowded houses, and after each performance he has to make a\nspeech. This is his third visit to Philadelphia. During the first visit,\nhe tells me that the audience wanted a speech after each act.\n\nIt is always interesting to compare notes with a friend who has been\nover the same ground as yourself. So I was eager to hear Mr. Wilson\nBarrett's impressions of his long tour in the States.\n\nSeveral points we both agreed perfectly upon at once; the charming\ngeniality and good-fellowship of the best Americans, the brilliancy and\nnaturalness of the ladies, the wonderful intelligence and activity of\nthe people, and the wearing monotony of life on the road.\n\n[Illustration: THE WHIPPED CONDUCTOR.]\n\nAfter the scene in the train, I was interested, too, to find that the\ntrain conductors--those mute, magnificent monarchs of the railroad--had\nawakened in Mr. Barrett much the same feeling as in myself. We Europeans\nare used to a form of obedience or, at least, deference from our paid\nservants, and the arrogant attitude of the American wage-earner first\namazes, and then enrages us--when we have not enough humor, or\ngood-humor, to get some amusement out it. It is so novel to be\ntyrannized over by people whom you pay to attend to your comfort! The\nAmerican keeps his temper under the process, for he is the best-humored\nfellow in the world. Besides, a small squabble is no more in his line\nthan a small anything else. It is not worth his while. The Westerner may\npull out a pistol and shoot you if you annoy him, but neither he nor the\nEastern man will wrangle for mastery.\n\n[Illustration: A BOSS.]\n\nIf such was not the case, do you believe for a moment that the Americans\nwould submit to the rule of the \"Rings,\" the \"Leaders,\" and the\n\"Bosses\"?\n\n\nI like Philadelphia, with its magnificent park, its beautiful houses\nthat look like homes. It is not brand new, like the rest of America.\n\nMy friend, Mr. J. M. Stoddart, editor of _Lippincott's Magazine_, has\nkindly chaperoned me all the day.\n\nI visited in detail the State House, Independence Square. These words\nevoke sentiments of patriotism in the hearts of the Americans. Here was\nthe bell that \"proclaimed liberty throughout the Colonies\" so loudly\nthat it split. It was on the 8th of July, 1776, that the bell was rung,\nas the public reading of the Declaration of Independence took place in\nthe State House on that day, and there were great rejoicings. John\nAdams, writing to Samuel Chase on the 9th of July, said: \"The bell rang\nall day, and almost all night.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD LIBERTY BELL.]\n\nIt is recorded by one writer that, on the 4th of July, when the motion\nto adopt the declaration passed the majority of the Assembly, although\nnot signed by all the delegates, the old bell-ringer awaited anxiously,\nwith trembling hope, the signing. He kept saying: \"They'll never do it,\nthey'll never do it!\" but his eyes expanded, and his grasp grew firm\nwhen the voice of a blue-eyed youth reached his ears in shouts of\ntriumph as he flew up the stairs of the tower, shouting: \"Ring, grandpa,\nring; they've signed!\"\n\nWhat a day this old \"Liberty Bell\" reminds you of!\n\nThere, in the Independence Hall, the delegates were gathered. Benjamin\nHarrison, the ancestor of the present occupier of the White House,\nseized John Hancock, upon whose head a price was set, in his arms, and\nplacing him in the presidential chair, said: \"We will show Mother\nBritain how little we care for her, by making our president a\nMassachusetts man, whom she has excluded from pardon by public\nproclamation,\" and, says Mr. Chauncey M. Depew in one of his beautiful\norations, when they were signing the Declaration, and the slender\nElbridge Gerry uttered the grim pleasantry, \"We must hang together, or\nsurely we will hang separately,\" the portly Harrison responded with more\ndaring humor, \"It will be all over with me in a moment, but you will be\nkicking in the air half an hour after I am gone.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE INKSTAND.]\n\nThe National Museum is the auxiliary chamber to Independence Hall, and\nthere you find many most interesting relics of Colonial and\nRevolutionary days: the silver inkstand used in signing the famous\nDeclaration; Hancock's chair; the little table upon which the document\nwas signed, and hundreds of souvenirs piously preserved by generations\nof grateful Americans.\n\n\nIt is said that Philadelphia has produced only two successful men, Mr.\nWanamaker, the great dry-goods-store man, now a member of President\nBenjamin Harrison's Cabinet, and Mr. George W. Childs, proprietor of the\nPhiladelphia _Public Ledger_, one of the most important and successful\nnewspapers in the United States.\n\nI went to Mr. Wanamaker's dry-goods-store, an establishment strongly\nreminding you of the Paris _Bon Marché_, or Mr. Whiteley's warehouses in\nLondon.\n\nBy far the most interesting visit was that which I paid to Mr. George W.\nChilds in his study at the _Public Ledger's_ offices. It would require a\nwhole volume to describe in detail all the treasures that Mr. Childs has\naccumulated: curios of all kinds, rare books, manuscripts and\nautographs, portraits, china, relics from the celebrities of the world,\netc. Mr. Childs, like the Prussians during their unwelcome visit to\nFrance in 1870, has a strong _penchant_ for clocks. Indeed his\ncollection is the most remarkable in existence. His study is a beautiful\n_sanctum sanctorum_; it is also a museum that not only the richest lover\nof art would be proud to possess, but that any nation would be too glad\nto acquire, if it could be acquired; but Mr. Childs is a very wealthy\nman, and he means to keep it, and, I understand, to hand it over to his\nsuccessor in the ownership of the _Public Ledger_.\n\nMr. George W. Childs is a man of about fifty years of age, short and\nplump, with a most kind and amiable face. His munificence and\nphilanthropy are well known and, as I understand his character, I\nbelieve he would not think much of my gratitude to him for the kindness\nhe showed me if I dwelt on them in these pages.\n\n\nThanks to my kind friends, every minute has been occupied visiting some\ninteresting place, or meeting some interesting people. I shall lecture\nhere next month, and shall look forward to the pleasure of being in\nPhiladelphia again.\n\n[Illustration: WHEN IRELAND IS FREE.]\n\nAt the Union League Club I met Mr. Rufus E. Shapley, who kindly gave me\na copy of his clever and witty political satire, \"Solid for Mulhooly,\"\nillustrated by Mr. Thomas Nast. I should advise any one who would\nunderstand how Jonathan is ruled municipally, to peruse this little\nbook. It gives the history of Pat's rise from the Irish cabin in\nConnaught to the City Hall of the large American cities.\n\n\"When one man,\" says Mr. Shapley, \"owns and dominates four wards or\ncounties, he becomes a leader. Half a dozen such leaders combined\nconstitute what is called a Ring. When one leader is powerful enough to\nbring three or four such leaders under his yoke, he becomes a Boss; and\na Boss wields a power almost as absolute, while it lasts, as that of the\nCzar of Russia or the King of Zululand.\"\n\nExtracts from this book would not do it justice. It should be read in\nits entirety. I read it with all the more pleasure that, in \"Jonathan\nand His Continent,\" I ventured to say: \"The English are always wondering\nwhy Americans all seem to be in favor of Home Rule, and ready to back up\nthe cause with their dollars. Why? I will tell you. Because they are in\nhopes that, when the Irish recover the possession of Ireland, they will\nall go home.\"\n\nA foreigner who criticises a nation is happy to see his opinions shared\nby the natives.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\n  MY IDEAS OF THE STATE OF TEXAS--WHY I WILL NOT GO THERE--THE STORY OF\n  A FRONTIER MAN.\n\n\n     _New York, March 5._\n\nHave had cold audiences in Maine and Connecticut; and indifferent ones\nin several cities, while I have been warmly received in many others. It\nseems that, if I went to Texas, I might get it hot.\n\nI have received to-day a Texas paper containing a short editorial marked\nat the four corners in blue pencil. Impossible not to see it. The\neditorial abuses me from the first line to the last. When there appears\nin a paper an article, or even only a short paragraph, abusing you, you\nnever run the risk of not seeing it. There always is, somewhere, a kind\nfriend who will post it to you. He thinks you may be getting a little\nconceited, and he forwards the article to you, that you may use it as\nwholesome physic. It does him good, and does you no harm.\n\nThe article in question begins by charging me with having turned America\nand the Americans into ridicule, goes on wondering that the Americans\ncan receive me so well everywhere, and, after pitching into me right and\nleft, winds up by warning me that, if I should go to Texas, I might for\na change meet with a hot reception.\n\nA shot, perhaps.\n\nA shot in Texas! No, no, no.\n\nI won't go to Texas. I should strongly object to being shot anywhere,\nbut especially in Texas, where the event would attract so little public\nattention.\n\n[Illustration: \"A SHOT IN TEXAS.\"]\n\n\nYet, I should have liked to go to Texas, for was it not from that State\nthat, after the publication of \"Jonathan and His Continent,\" I received\nthe two following letters, which I have kept among my treasures?\n\n\n  DEAR SIR:\n\n  I have read your book on America and greatly enjoyed it. Please to\n  send me your autograph. I enclose a ten-cent piece. The postage will\n  cost you five cents. Don't trouble about the change.\n\n\n  MY DEAR SIR:\n\n  I have an album containing the photographs of many well-known people\n  from Europe as well as from America. I should much like to add yours\n  to the number. If you will send it to me, I will send you mine and\n  that of my wife in return.\n\n\nAnd I also imagine that there must be in Texas a delightful\nprimitiveness of manners and good-fellowship.\n\nA friend once related to me the following reminiscence:\n\n  I arrived one evening in a little Texas town, and asked for a bedroom\n  at the hotel.\n\n  There was no bedroom to be had, but only a bed in a double-bedded\n  room.\n\n  \"Will that suit you?\" said the clerk.\n\n  \"Well, I don't know,\" I said hesitatingly. \"Who is the other?\"\n\n  \"Oh, that's all right,\" said the clerk, \"you may set your mind at rest\n  on that subject.\"\n\n  \"Very well,\" I replied, \"I will take that bed.\"\n\n  At about ten o'clock, as I was preparing to go to bed, my bedroom\n  companion entered. It was a frontier man in full uniform: Buffalo Bill\n  hat, leather leggings, a belt accommodating a couple of revolvers--no\n  baggage of any kind.\n\n  I did not like it.\n\n  \"Hallo, stranger,\" said the man, \"how are you?\"\n\n  \"I'm pretty well,\" I replied, without meaning a word of it.\n\n  The frontier man undressed, that is to say, took off his boots, placed\n  the two revolvers under his pillows and lay down.\n\n  I liked it less and less.\n\n  By and by, we both went to sleep. In the morning we woke up at the\n  same time. He rose, dressed--that is to say, put on his boots, and\n  wished me good-morning.\n\n[Illustration: MY ROOM-MATE.]\n\n  The hall porter came with letters for my companion, but none for me. I\n  thought I should like to let that man know I had no money with me. So\n  I said to him:\n\n  \"I am very much disappointed. I expected some money from New York, and\n  it has not come.\"\n\n  \"I hope it will come,\" he replied.\n\n  I did not like that hope.\n\n  In the evening, we met again. He undressed--you know, went to sleep,\n  rose early in the morning, dressed--you know.\n\n  The porter came again with letters for him and none for me.\n\n  \"Well, your money has not come,\" he said.\n\n  \"I see it has not. I'm afraid I'm going to be in a fix what to do.\"\n\n  \"I'm going away this morning.\"\n\n  \"Are you?\" I said. \"I'm sorry to part with you.\"\n\n  The frontier man took a little piece of paper and wrote something on\n  it.\n\n  \"Take this, my friend,\" he said; \"it may be useful to you.\"\n\n  It was a check for a hundred dollars.\n\n  I could have gone down on my knees, as I refused the check and asked\n  that man's pardon.\n\n\nI lectured in Brooklyn to-night, and am off to the West to-morrow\nmorning.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\n  CINCINNATI--THE TOWN--THE SUBURBS--A GERMAN CITY--\"OVER THE\n  RHINE\"--WHAT IS A GOOD PATRIOT?--AN IMPRESSIVE FUNERAL--A GREAT\n  FIRE--HOW IT APPEARED TO ME, AND HOW IT APPEARED TO THE NEWSPAPER\n  REPORTERS.\n\n\n     _Cincinnati, March 7._\n\nMy arrival in Cincinnati this morning was anything but triumphal.\n\nOn leaving the car, I gave my check to a cab-driver, who soon came to\ninform me that my valise was broken. It was a leather one, and on being\nthrown from the baggage-van on the platform, it burst open, and all my\nthings were scattered about. In England or in France, half a dozen\nporters would have immediately come to the rescue, but here the porter\nis practically unknown. Three or four men belonging to the company\ngathered round, but, neither out of complaisance nor in the hope of\ngain, did any of them offer his services. They looked on, laughed, and\nenjoyed the scene. I daresay the betting was brisk as to whether I\nshould succeed in putting my things together or not. Thanks to a leather\nstrap I had in my bag, I managed to bind the portmanteau and have it\nplaced on the cab that drove to the Burnet House.\n\nImmediately after registering my name, I went to buy an American trunk,\nthat is to say, an iron-bound trunk, to place my things in safety. I\nhave been told that trunk makers give a commission to the railway and\ntransfer baggagemen who, having broken trunks, recommend their owners to\ngo to such and such a place to buy new ones. This goes a long way toward\nexplaining the way in which baggage is treated in America.\n\n[Illustration: MY BROKEN VALISE.]\n\nOn arriving in the dining-room, I was surprised to see the glasses of\nall the guests filled with lemonade. \"Why,\" thought I, \"here is actually\nan hotel which is not like all the other hotels.\" The lemonade turned\nout to be water from the Ohio River. I could not help feeling grateful\nfor a change; any change, even that of the color of water. Anybody who\nhas traveled a great deal in America will appreciate the remark.\n\nCincinnati is built at the bottom of a funnel from which rise hundreds\nof chimneys vomiting fire and smoke. From the neighboring heights, the\ncity looks like a huge furnace, and so it is, a furnace of industry and\nactivity. It reminded me of Glasgow.\n\nIf the city itself is anything but attractive, the residential parts are\nperfectly lovely. I have seen nothing in America that surpasses Burnet\nWood, situated on the bordering heights of the town, scattered with\nbeautiful villas, and itself a mixture of a wilderness and a lovely\npark. A kind friend drove me for three hours through the entire\nneighborhood, giving me, in American fashion, the history of the owner\nof each residence we passed. Here was the house of Mr. A., or rather Mr.\nA. B. C, every American having three names. He came to the city twenty\nyears ago without a dollar. Five years later he had five millions. He\nspeculated and lost all, went to Chicago and made millions, which he\nafterward lost. Now again he has several millions, and so on. This is\ncommon enough in America. By and by, we passed the most beautiful of all\nthe villas of Burnet Wood--the house of the Oil King, Mr. Alexander\nMacdonald, one of those wonderfully successful men, such as Scotland\nalone can boast all the world over. America has been a great field for\nthe display of Scotch intelligence and industry.\n\nAfter visiting the pretty museum at Eden Park, a museum organized in\n1880 in consequence of Mr. Charles W. West's offer to give $150,000 for\nthat purpose, and already in possession of very good works of art and\nmany valuable treasures, we returned to the city and stopped at the\nPublic Library. Over 200,000 volumes, representing all the branches of\nscience and literature, are there, as well as a collection of all the\nnewspapers of the world, placed in chronological order on the shelves\nand neatly bound. I believe that this collection of newspapers and that\nof Washington are the two best known. In the public reading-room,\nhundreds of people are running over the newspapers from Europe and all\nthe principal cities of the United States. My best thanks are due to Mr.\nWhelpley, the librarian, for his kindness in conducting me all over this\ninteresting place. Upstairs I was shown the room where the members of\nthe Council of Education hold their sittings. The room was all\ntopsy-turvey. Twenty-six desks and twenty-six chairs was about all the\nfurniture of the room. In a corner, piled up together, were the\ncuspidores. I counted. Twenty-six. Right.\n\nAfter thanking my kind pilot, I returned to the Burnet House to read the\nevening papers. I read that the next day I was to breakfast with Mr. A.,\nlunch with Mr. B., and dine with Mr. C. The _menu_ was not published. I\ntake it for granted that this piece of intelligence is quite interesting\nto the readers of Cincinnati.\n\nMy evening being free, I looked at the column of amusements. The first\ndid not tempt me, it was this:\n\n      THE KING OF THE SWAMPS.\n\n   _The Only and the Original._\n\n           ENGLISH JACK.\n  THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE FROG MAN.\n\n  He makes a frog pond of his stomach by eating living frogs. An\n  appetite created by life in the swamps. He is so fond of this sort of\n  food that he takes the pretty creatures by the hind legs, and before\n  they can say their prayers they are inside out of the cold.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE KING OF THE SWAMPS.\"]\n\nThe next advertisement was that of a variety show, that most stupid form\nof entertainment so popular in America; the next was the announcement of\npugilists, and another one that of a \"most sensational drama, in which\n'one of the most emotional actresses' in America\" was to appear,\nsupported by \"one of the most powerful casts ever gathered together in\nthe world.\"\n\nThe superlatives, in American advertisements, have long ceased to have\nthe slightest effect upon me.\n\nThe advertisement of another \"show\" ran thus: I beg to reproduce it in\nits entirety; indeed it would be a sacrilege to meddle with it.\n\n  TO THE PUBLIC.\n\n  _My Friends and Former Patrons_: I have now been before the public for\n  the past seventeen years, and am perhaps too well known to require\n  further evidence of my character and integrity than my past life and\n  record will show. Fifteen years ago I inaugurated the system of\n  dispensing presents to the public, believing that a fair share of my\n  profits could thus honestly be returned to my patrons. At the outset,\n  and ever since, it has been my aim to deal honestly toward the\n  multitude who have given me patronage. Since that time many imitators\n  have undertaken to beguile the public, with but varying success. Many\n  unprincipled rascals have also appeared upon the scene, men without\n  talent, but far-reaching talons, who by specious promises have sought\n  to swindle all whom they could inveigle. This class of scoundrels do\n  not hesitate to make promises that they cannot and never intend to\n  fulfill, and should be frowned down by all honest men. They deceive\n  the public, leave a bad impression, and thus injure legitimate\n  exhibitions. Every promise I make will be faithfully fulfilled, as\n  experience has clearly proven that dealing uprightly with the public\n  brings its sure reward. All who visit my beautiful entertainment may\n  rely upon the same fair dealing which has been my life-long policy,\n  and which has always honored me with crowded houses.\n\n    NEW UNIQUE PASTIMES.      NEW HARMLESS MIRTH.\n    NEW COSTLY WONDERS.       NEW FAMOUS ARTISTS.\n    NEW PLEASANT STUDIES.     NEW INNOCENT FUN.\n    NEW POPULAR MUSIC.        NEW KNOWLEDGE.\n\n     _Special Notice._\n\n  Ladies and Children are especially Invited to Attend this\n  Entertainment. We Guarantee it to be Chaste, Pure, and as Wholesome\n  and Innocent as it is Amusing and Laughable.\n\nFinally I decided on going to see a German tragedy. I did not understand\nit, but the acting seemed to me good.\n\n\n[Illustration: A GERMAN TRAGEDY.]\n\nLike Milwaukee, Cincinnati possesses a very strong German element.\nIndeed a whole part of the city is entirely inhabited by a German\npopulation, and situated on one side of the water. When you cross the\nbridge in its direction, you are going \"over the Rhine,\" to use the\nlocal expression. \"To go over the Rhine\" of an evening means to go to\none of the many German _Brauerei_, and have sausages and Bavarian beer\nfor supper.\n\nThe town is a very prosperous one. The Germans in America are liked for\ntheir steadiness and industry. An American friend even told me that the\nGermans were perhaps the best patriots the United States could boast of.\n\nPatriots! The word sounded strangely to my ears. I may be prejudiced,\nbut I call a good patriot a man who loves his own mother country. You\nmay like the land of your adoption, but you love the land of your birth.\nGood patriots! I call a good brother a man who loves his sister, not\nother people's sisters.\n\nThe Germans apply for their naturalization papers the day after they\nhave landed. I should admire their patriotism much more if they waited a\nlittle longer before they changed their own mother for a step-mother.\n\n\n     _March 8._\n\nI witnessed a most impressive ceremony this morning, the funeral of the\nAmerican Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of Berlin, whose body was\nbrought from Germany to his native place a few days ago. No soldiers\nordered to accompany the _cortège,_ no uniforms, but thousands of people\nvoluntarily doing honor to the remains of a talented and respected\nfellow-citizen and townsman: a truly republican ceremony in its\nsimplicity and earnestness.\n\nThe coffin was taken to the Music Hall, a new and beautiful building\ncapable of accommodating thousands of people, and placed on the platform\namid evergreens and the Stars and Stripes. In a few minutes, the hall,\ndecorated with taste but with appropriate simplicity, was packed from\nfloor to ceiling. Some notables and friends of the late Minister sat on\nthe platform around the coffin, and the mayor, in the name of the\ninhabitants of the city, delivered a speech, a eulogistic funeral\noration, on the deceased diplomatist. All parties were represented in\nthe hall, Republicans and Democrats alike had come. America admits no\nparty feeling, no recollection of political differences, to intrude upon\nthe homage she gratefully renders to the memory of her illustrious dead.\n\nThe mayor's speech, listened to by the crowd in respectful silence, was\nmuch like all the speeches delivered on such occasions, including the\nindispensable sentence that \"he knew he could safely affirm that the\ndeceased had never made any enemies.\" When I hear a man spoken of, after\nhis death, as never having made any enemies, as a Christian I admire\nhim, but I also come to the conclusion that he must have been a very\ninsignificant member of the community. But the phrase, I should\nremember, is a mere piece of flattery to the dead, in a country where\ndeath puts a stop to all enmity, political enmity especially. The same\nwould be done in England, and almost everywhere. Not in France, however,\nwhere the dead continue to have implacable enemies for many years after\nthey have left the lists.\n\n\nThe afternoon was pleasantly spent visiting the town hall and the\nremarkable china manufactories, which turn out very pretty, quaint, and\nartistic pottery. The evening brought to the Odéon a fashionable and\nmost cultivated audience. I am invited to pay a return visit to this\ncity. I shall look forward to the pleasure of lecturing here again in\nApril.\n\n\n     _March 9._\n\nSpent a most agreeable Sunday in the hospitable house of M. Fredin, the\nFrench consular agent, and his amiable and talented wife. M. Fredin was\nkind enough to call yesterday at the Burnet House.\n\nAs a rule, I never call on the representatives of France in my travels\nabroad. If I traveled as a tourist, I would; but traveling as a\nlecturer, I should be afraid lest the object of my visits might be\nmisconstrued, and taken as a gentle hint to patronize me.\n\nOne day I had a good laugh with a French consul, in an English town\nwhere I came to lecture. On arriving at the hall I found a letter from\nthis diplomatic compatriot, in which he expressed his surprise that I\nhad not apprised him of my arrival. The next morning, before leaving the\ntown, I called on him. He welcomed me most gracefully.\n\n\"Why did you not let me, your consul, know that you were coming?\" he\nsaid to me.\n\n\"Well, Monsieur le Consul,\" I replied, \"suppose I wrote to you:\n'Monsieur le Consul, I shall arrive at N. on Friday,' and suppose, now,\njust suppose, that you answered me, 'Sir, I am glad to hear you will\narrive here on Friday, but what on earth is that to me?'\"\n\nHe saw the point at once. A Frenchman always does.\n\n\n     _March 10._\n\nI like this land of conjuring. This morning I took the street car to go\non the Burnet Hills. At the foot of the hill the car--horses, and\nall--enters a little house. The house climbs the hill vertically by\nmeans of cables. Arrived at the top of the mountain, the car comes out\nof the little house and goes on its way, just as if absolutely nothing\nhad happened. To return to town, I went down the hill in the same\nfashion. But if the cable should break, you will exclaim, where would\nyou be? Ah, there you are! It does not break. It did once, so now they\nsee that it does not again.\n\n[Illustration: A VARIETY ACTOR.]\n\nIn the evening there was nothing to see except variety shows and\nwrestlers. There was a variety show which tempted me, the Hermann's\nVaudevilles. I saw on the list of attractions the name of my friend and\ncompatriot, F. Trewey, the famous shadowgraphist, and I concluded that\nif the other artistes were as good in their lines as he is in his, it\nwould be well worth seeing. The show was very good of its kind, and\nTrewey was admirable; but the audience were not refined, and it was not\nhis most subtle and artistic tricks that they applauded most, but the\nbroader and more striking ones. After the show he and I went \"over the\nRhine.\" You know what it means.\n\n\n     _March 11, 9 a. m._\n\nFor a long time I had wished to see the wonderful American fire brigades\nat work. The wish has now been satisfied.\n\nAt half-past one this morning I was roused in my bed by the galloping of\nhorses and the shouts of people in the street. Huge tongues of fire were\nlicking my window, and the heat in the room was intense. Indeed, all\naround me seemed to be in a blaze, and I took it for granted that the\nBurnet House was on fire. I rose and dressed quickly, put together the\nfew valuables that were in my possession, and prepared to make for the\nstreet. I soon saw, however, that it was a block of houses opposite that\nwas on fire, or rather the corner house of that block.\n\nThe guests of the hotel were in the corridors ready for any emergency.\nHad there been any wind in our direction, the hotel was doomed. The\nnight was calm and wet. As soon as we became aware that no lives were\nlost or in danger in the burning building, and that it would only be a\nquestion of insurance money to be paid by some companies, we betook\nourselves to admire the magnificent sight. For it was a magnificent\nsight, this whole large building, the prey of flames coming in torrents\nout of every window, the dogged perseverance of the firemen streaming\nfloods of water over the roof and through the windows, the salvage\ncorps men penetrating through the flames into the building in the hope\nof receiving the next day a commission on all the goods and valuables\nsaved. A fierce battle it was between a brute element and man. By three\no'clock the element was conquered, but only the four walls of the\nbuilding remained, which proved to me that, with all their wonderful\npromptitude and gallantry, all firemen can do when flames have got firm\nhold on a building is to save the adjoining property.\n\n[Illustration: A FIRE YARN.]\n\nI listened to the different groups of people in the hotel. Some gave\nadvice as to how the firemen should set about their work, or criticised.\nOthers related the big fires they had witnessed, a few indulging in the\nrecital of the exploits they performed thereat. There are a good many\nGascons among the Americans. At four o'clock all danger was over, and we\nall retired.\n\n[Illustration: AS WE SAW IT.]\n\n\n[Illustration: AS THE REPORTERS SAW IT.]\n\nI was longing to read the descriptions of the fire in this morning's\npapers. I have now read them and am not at all disappointed. On the\ncontrary, they are beyond my most sanguine expectations. Wonderful;\nsimply perfectly wonderful! I am now trying to persuade myself that I\nreally saw all that the reporters saw, and that I really ran great\ndanger last night. For, \"at every turn,\" it appears, \"the noble hotel\nseemed as if it must become the prey of the fierce element, and could\nonly be saved by a miracle.\" Columns and columns of details most\ngraphically given, sensational, blood-curdling. But all that is nothing.\nYou should read about the panic, and the scenes of wild confusion in the\nBurnet House, when all the good folks, who had all dressed and were\nlooking quietly at the fire from the windows, are described as a crowd\nof people in despair: women disheveled, in their night-dresses, running\nwild, and throwing themselves in the arms of men to seek protection, and\nall shrieking and panic-stricken. Such a scene of confusion and terror\nyou can hardly imagine. Wonderful!\n\n[Illustration: THE FIREMAN.]\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nA JOURNEY IF YOU LIKE--TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER WITH AN AMERICAN INTERVIEWER.\n\n\n     _In the train to Brushville, March 11._\n\nLeft Cincinnati this morning at ten o'clock and shall not arrive at\nBrushville before seven o'clock to-night. I am beginning to learn how to\nspeak American. As I asked for my ticket this morning at the railroad\noffice, the clerk said to me:\n\n\"C. H. D. or C. C. C. St. L. and St. P.?\"\n\n\"C. H. D.,\" I replied, with perfect assurance.\n\nI happened to hit on the right line for Brushville.\n\nBy this time I know pretty well all those combinations of the alphabet\nby which the different railroad lines of America are designated.\n\nNo hope of comfort or of a dinner to-day. I shall have to change trains\nthree times, but none of them, I am grieved to hear, have parlor cars or\ndining cars. There is something democratic about uniform cars for all\nalike. I am a democrat myself, yet I have a weakness for the parlor\ncars--and the dining cars.\n\nAt noon we stopped five minutes at a place which, two years ago, counted\nsix wooden huts. To-day it has more than 5000 inhabitants, the electric\nlight in the streets, a public library, two hotels, four churches, two\nbanks, a public school, a high school, cuspidores, toothpicks, and all\nthe signs of American civilization.\n\nI changed trains at one o'clock at Castle Green Junction. No hotel in\nthe place. I inquired where food could be obtained. A little wooden hut,\non the other side of the depot, bearing the inscription \"Lunch Room,\"\nwas pointed out to me. _Lunch_ in America has not the meaning that it\nhas in England, as I often experienced to my despair. The English are\nsolid people. In England _lunch_ means something. In America, it does\nnot. However, as there was no _Beware_ written outside, I entered the\nplace. Several people were eating pies, fruit pies, pies with crust\nunder, and crust over: sealed mysteries.\n\n[Illustration: \"PEACH POY AND APPLE POY.\"]\n\n\"I want something to eat,\" I said to a man behind the counter, who was\nin possession of only one eye, and hailed from Old Oireland.\n\n\"What 'd ye loike?\" replied he, winking with the eye that was not there.\n\n\"Well, what have you got?\"\n\n\"Peach poy, apricot poy, apple poy, and mince poy.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"And, shure, what more do you want?\"\n\nI have always suspected something mysterious about mince pies. At home,\nI eat mince pies. I also trust my friends' cooks. Outside, I pass. I\nthink that mince pies and sausages should be made at home.\n\n\"I like a little variety,\" I said to the Irishman, \"give me a small\nslice of apple pie, one of apricot pie, and another of peach pie.\"\n\nThe Irishman stared at me.\n\n\"What's the matter with the mince poy?\" he seemed to say.\n\nI could see from his eye that he resented the insult offered to his\nmince pies.\n\nI ate my pies and returned on the platform. I was told that the train\nwas two hours behind time, and I should be too late to catch the last\nBrushville train at the next change.\n\nI walked and smoked.\n\nThe three pies began to get acquainted with each other.\n\n\n     _Brushville, March 12._\n\nOh, those pies!\n\nAt the last change yesterday, I arrived too late. The last Brushville\ntrain was gone.\n\nThe pies were there.\n\nA fortune I would have given for a dinner and a bed, which now seemed\nmore problematic than ever.\n\nI went to the station-master.\n\n\"Can I have a special train to take me to Brushville to-night?\"\n\n\"A hundred dollars.\"\n\n\"How much for a locomotive alone?\"\n\n\"Sixty dollars.\"\n\n\"Have you a freight train going to Brushville?\"\n\n\"What will you do with it?\"\n\n\"Board it.\"\n\n\"Board it! I can't stop the train.\"\n\n\"I'll take my chance.\"\n\n\"Your life is insured?\"\n\n\"Yes; for a great deal more than it is worth.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said, \"I'll let you do it for five dollars.\"\n\n[Illustration: ON THE ROAD TO BRUSHVILLE.]\n\nAnd he looked as if he was going to enjoy the fun. The freight train\narrived, slackened speed, and I boarded, with my portmanteau and my\numbrella, a car loaded with timber. I placed my handbag on the\ntimber--you know, the one I had when traveling in \"the neighborhood of\nChicago\"--sat on it, opened my umbrella, and waved a \"tata\" to the\nstation-master.\n\nIt was raining fast, and I had a journey of some thirty miles to make at\nthe rate of about twelve miles an hour.\n\nOh, those pies! They now seemed to have resolved to fight it out.\n_Sacrebleu! De bleu! de bleu!_\n\nA few miles from Brushville I had to get out, or rather, get down, and\ntake a ticket for Brushville on board a local train.\n\nBenumbed with cold, wet through, and famished, I arrived here at ten\no'clock last night. The peach pie, the apple pie, and the apricot pie\nhad settled their differences and become on friendly and accommodating\nterms.\n\nI was able, on arriving at the hotel, to enjoy some light refreshments,\nwhich I only obtained, at that time of night, thanks to the manager,\nwhom I had the pleasure of knowing personally.\n\nAt eleven o'clock I went to bed, or, to use a more proper expression for\nmy Philadelphia readers, I retired.\n\nI had been \"retiring\" for about half an hour, when I heard a knock at\nthe door.\n\n\"Who's there?\" I grumbled from under the bedclothes.\n\n\"A representative of the Brushville _Express_.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said I, \"I am very sorry--but I'm asleep.\"\n\n\"Please let me in; I won't detain you very long.\"\n\n\"I guess you won't. Now, please do not insist. I am tired, upset, ill,\nand I want rest. Come to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"No, I can't do that,\" answered the voice behind the door; \"my paper\nappears in the morning, and I want to put in something about you.\"\n\n\"Now, do go away,\" I pleaded, \"there's a good fellow.\"\n\n\"I must see you,\" insisted the voice.\n\n\"You go!\" I cried, \"you go----\" without mentioning any place.\n\nFor a couple of minutes there was silence, and I thought the interviewer\nwas gone. The illusion was sweet, but short. There was another knock,\nfollowed by a \"I really must see you to-night.\" Seeing that there would\nbe no peace until I had let the reporter in, I unbolted the door, and\njumped back into my--you know.\n\n[Illustration: THE INTERVIEWER.]\n\nIt was pitch dark.\n\nThe door opened; and I heard the interviewer's steps in the room. By and\nby, the sound of a pocket being searched was distinct. It was his own. A\nmatch was pulled out and struck; the premises examined and\nreconnoitered.\n\nA chandelier with three lights hung in the middle of the room. The\nreporter, speechless and solemn, lighted one burner, then two, then\nthree, chose the most comfortable seat, and installed himself in it,\nlooking at me with an air of triumph.\n\nI was sitting up, wild and desheveled, in my \"retiring\" clothes.\n\n\"_Que voulez-vous?_\" I wanted to yell, my state of drowsiness allowing\nme to think only in French.\n\nInstead of translating this query by \"What do you want?\" as I should\nhave done, if I had been in the complete enjoyment of my intellectual\nfaculties, I shouted to him:\n\n\"What will you have?\"\n\n\"Oh, thanks, I'm not particular,\" he calmly replied. \"I'll have a little\nwhisky and soda--rye whisky, please.\"\n\nMy face must have been a study as I rang for whisky and soda.\n\nThe mixture was brought--for two.\n\n\"I suppose you have no objection to my smoking?\" coolly said the man in\nthe room.\n\n\"Not at all,\" I remarked; \"this is perfectly lovely; I enjoy it all.\"\n\nHe pulled out his pocket-book and his pencil, crossed his legs, and\nhaving drawn a long whiff from his cigar, he said:\n\n\"I see that you have no lecture to deliver in Brushville; may I ask you\nwhat you have come here for?\"\n\n\"Now,\" said I, \"what the deuce is that to you? If this is the kind of\nquestions you have to ask me, you go----\"\n\nHe pocketed the rebuff, and went on undisturbed:\n\n\"How are you struck with Brushville?\"\n\n\"I am struck,\" said I, \"with the cheek of some of the inhabitants. I\nhave driven to this hotel from the depot in a closed carriage, and I\nhave seen nothing of your city.\"\n\nThe man wrote down something.\n\n\"I lecture to-morrow night,\" I continued, \"before the students of the\nState University, and I have come here for rest.\"\n\nHe took this down.\n\n\"All this, you see, is very uninteresting; so, good-night.\"\n\nAnd I disappeared.\n\nThe interviewer rose and came to my side.\n\n\"Really, now that I am here, you may as well let me have a chat with\nyou.\"\n\n\"You wretch!\" I exclaimed. \"Don't you see that I am dying for sleep? Is\nthere nothing sacred for you? Have you lost all sense of charity? Have\nyou no mother? Don't you believe in future punishment? Are you a man or\na demon?\"\n\n\"Tell me some anecdotes, some of your reminiscences of the road,\" said\nthe man, with a sardonic grin.\n\nI made no reply. The imperturbable reporter resumed his seat and smoked.\n\n\"Are you gone?\" I sighed, from under the blankets.\n\nThe answer came in the following words:\n\n\"I understand, sir, that when you were a young man----\"\n\n\"When I was WHAT?\" I shouted, sitting up once more.\n\n\"I understand, sir, that when you were _quite_ a young man,\" repeated\nthe interviewer, with the sentence improved, \"you were an officer in\nthe French army.\"\n\n\"I was,\" I murmured, in the same position.\n\n\"I also understand you fought during the Franco-Prussian war.\"\n\n\"I did,\" I said, resuming a horizontal position.\n\n\"May I ask you to give me some reminiscences of the Franco-Prussian\nwar--just enough to fill about a column?\"\n\nI rose and again sat up.\n\n\"Free citizen of the great American Republic,\" said I, \"beware, beware!\nThere will be blood shed in this room to-night.\"\n\nAnd I seized my pillow.\n\n\"You are not meaty,\" exclaimed the reporter.\n\n\"May I inquire what the meaning of this strange expression is?\" I said,\nfrowning; \"I don't speak American fluently.\"\n\n\"It means,\" he replied, \"that there is very little to be got out of\nyou.\"\n\n\"Are you going?\" I said, smiling.\n\n\"Well, I guess I am.\"\n\n\"Good-night.\"\n\n\"Good-night.\"\n\nI bolted the door, turned out the gas, and \"re-retired.\"\n\n\"Poor fellow,\" I thought; \"perhaps he relied on me to supply him with\nmaterial for a column. I might have chatted with him. After all, these\nreporters have invariably been kind to me. I might as well have obliged\nhim. What is he going to do?\"\n\nAnd I dreamed that he was dismissed.\n\nI ought to have known better.\n\nThis morning I opened the Brushville _Express_, and, to my stupefaction,\nsaw a column about me. My impressions of Brushville, that I had no\nopportunity of looking at, were there. Nay, more. I would blush to\nrecord here the exploits I performed during the Franco-Prussian war, as\nrelated by my interviewer, especially those which took place at the\nbattle of Gravelotte, where, unfortunately, I was not present. The whole\nthing was well written. The reference to my military services began\nthus: \"Last night a hero of the great Franco-Prussian war slept under\nthe hospitable roof of Morrison Hotel, in this city.\"\n\n\"Slept!\" This was adding insult to injury.\n\n\nThis morning I had the visit of two more reporters.\n\n\"What do you think of Brushville?\" they said; and, seeing that I would\nnot answer the question, they volunteered information on Brushville, and\ntalked loud on the subject. I have no doubt that the afternoon papers\nwill publish my impressions of Brushville.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\n  THE UNIVERSITY OF INDIANA--INDIANAPOLIS--THE VETERANS OF THE GRAND\n  ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC ON THE SPREE--A MARVELOUS EQUILIBRIST.\n\n\n     _Bloomington, Ind., March 13._\n\nLectured yesterday before the students of the University of Indiana, and\nvisited the different buildings this morning. The university is situated\non a hill in the midst of a wood, about half a mile from the little town\nof Bloomington.\n\nIn a few days I shall be at Ann Arbor, the University of Michigan, the\nlargest in America, I am told. I will wait till then to jot down my\nimpressions of university life in this country.\n\n\nI read in the papers: \"Prince Saunders, colored, was hanged here\n(Plaquemine, Fla.) yesterday. He declared he had made his peace with\nGod, and his sins had been forgiven. Saunders murdered Rhody Walker, his\nsweetheart, last December, a few hours after he had witnessed the\nexecution of Carter Wilkinson.\"\n\nIf Saunders has made his peace with God, I hope his executioners have\nmade theirs with God and man. What an indictment against man! What an\nargument against capital punishment! Here is a man committing a murder\non returning from witnessing an execution. And there are men still to be\nfound who declare that capital punishment deters men from committing\nmurder!\n\n\n[Illustration: VETERANS.]\n\n     _Indianapolis, March 14._\n\nArrived here yesterday afternoon. Met James Whitcomb Riley, the Hoosier\npoet. Mr. Riley is a man of about thirty, a genuine poet, full of pathos\nand humor, and a great reciter. No one, I imagine, could give his poetry\nas he does himself. He is a born actor, who holds you in suspense, and\nmakes you cry or laugh just as he pleases. I remember, when two years\nago Mr. Augustin Daly gave a farewell supper to Mr. Henry Irving and\nMiss Ellen Terry at Delmonico's, Mr. Riley recited one of his poems at\ntable. He gave most of us a big lump in our throats, and Miss Terry had\ntears rolling down her cheeks.\n\n\n[Illustration: A GREAT BALANCING FEAT.]\n\nThe veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic are having a great field\nday in Indianapolis. They have come here to attend meetings and ask for\npensions, so as to reduce that unmanageable surplus. Indianapolis is\nfull, and the management of Denison House does not know which way to\nturn. All these veterans have large, broad-brimmed soft hats and are\ncovered all over with badges and ribbons. Their wives and daughters,\nmembers of some patriotic association, have come with them. It is a huge\npicnic. The entrance hall is crowded all day. The spittoons have been\nreplaced by tubs for the occasion. Chewing is in favor all over America,\nbut the State of Indiana beats, in that way, everything I have seen\nbefore.\n\n\n[Illustration: \"IN EUROPE SWAGGERING LITTLE BOYS SMOKE.\"]\n\nWent to see Clara Morris in Adolphe Belot's \"Article 47,\" at the Opera\nHouse, last night. Clara Morris is a powerful actress, but, like most\nactors and actresses who go \"starring\" through America, badly supported.\nI watched the audience with great interest. Nineteen mouths out of\ntwenty were chewing--the men tobacco, the women gum impregnated with\npeppermint. All the jaws were going like those of so many ruminants\ngrazing in a field. From the box I occupied the sight was most amusing.\n\nOn returning to Denison House from the theater, I went to have a smoke\nin a quiet corner of the hall, far from the crowd. By and by two men,\nmost smartly dressed, with diamond pins in their cravats, and flowers\nembroidered on their waistcoats, came and sat opposite me. I thought\nthey had chosen the place to have a quiet chat together. Not so. One\npushed a cuspidore with his foot and brought it between the two chairs.\nThere, for half an hour, without saying one word to each other, they\nchewed, hawked, and spat--and had a good time before going to bed.\n\n\nTrewey is nowhere as an equilibrist, compared to a gallant veteran who\nbreakfasted at my table, this morning. Among the different courses\nbrought to him were two boiled eggs, almost raw, poured into a tumbler\naccording to the American fashion. Without spilling a drop, he managed\nto eat those eggs with the end of his knife. It was marvelous. I have\nnever seen the like of it, even in Germany, where the knife trick is\npracticed from the tenderest age.\n\nIn Europe, swaggering little boys smoke; here they chew and spit, and\nlook at you, as if to say: \"See what a big man I am!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\n  CHICAGO (SECOND VISIT)--VASSILI VERESCHAGIN'S EXHIBITION--THE\n  \"ANGELUS\"--WAGNER AND WAGNERITES--WANDERINGS ABOUT THE BIG CITY--I SIT\n  ON THE TRIBUNAL.\n\n\n     _Chicago, March 15._\n\nArrived here this morning and put up at the Grand Pacific Hotel. My\nlecture to-night at the Central Music Hall is advertised as a\n_causerie_. My local manager informs me that many people have inquired\nat the box-office what the meaning of that French word is. As he does\nnot know himself, he could not enlighten them, but he thinks that\ncuriosity will draw a good crowd to-night.\n\nThis puts me in mind of a little incident which took place about a year\nago. I was to make my appearance before an afternoon audience in the\nfashionable town of Eastbourne. Not wishing to convey the idea of a\nserious and prosy discourse, I advised my manager to call the\nentertainment \"_A causerie_.\" The room was full and the affair passed\noff very well. But an old lady, who was a well-known patroness of such\nentertainments, did not put in an appearance. On being asked the next\nday why she was not present, she replied: \"Well, to tell you the truth,\nwhen I saw that they had given the entertainment a French name, I was\nafraid it might be something not quite fit for me to hear.\" Dear soul!\n\n\n     _March 16._\n\nMy manager's predictions were realized last night. I had a large\naudience, one of the keenest and the most responsive and appreciative I\nhave ever had. I was introduced by Judge Elliott Anthony, of the\nSuperior Court, in a short, witty, and graceful little speech. He spoke\nof Lafayette and of the debt of gratitude America owes to France for the\nhelp she received at her hands during the War of Independence. Before\ntaking leave of me, Judge Anthony kindly invited me to pay a visit to\nthe Superior Court next Wednesday.\n\n\n     _March 17._\n\nDined yesterday with Mr. James W. Scott, proprietor of the Chicago\n_Herald_, one of the most flourishing newspapers in the United States,\nand in the evening went to see Richard Mansfield in \"Dr. Jekyll and Mr.\nHyde.\" The play is a repulsive one, but the double impersonation gives\nthe great actor a magnificent opportunity for the display of his\nhistrionic powers. The house was crowded, though it was Sunday. The pick\nof Chicago society was not there, of course. Some years ago, I was told,\na Sunday audience was mainly composed of men. To-day the women go as\nfreely as the men. The \"horrible\" always has a great fascination for the\nmasses, and Mansfield held his popular audience in a state of breathless\nsuspense. There was a great deal of disappointment written on the faces\nwhen the light was turned down on the appearance of \"Mr. Hyde,\" with his\nhorribly distorted features. A woman, sitting in a box next to the one I\noccupied, exclaimed, as \"Hyde\" came to explain his terrible secret to\nthe doctor, in the fourth act, \"What a shame, they are turning down the\nlight again!\"\n\n\n[Illustration: \"DEAR SOUL!\"]\n\n     _March 18._\n\nSpent yesterday in recreation intellectual--and otherwise. I like to see\neverything, and I have no objection to entering a dime museum. I went to\none yesterday morning, and saw a bearded lady, a calf with two heads, a\ngorilla (stuffed), a girl with no arms, and other freaks of nature. The\nbearded lady had very, very masculine features, but _honi soit qui mal y\npense_. I could not help thinking of one of General Horace Porter's good\nstories. A school-master asks a little boy what his father is.\n\n\"Please, sir, papa told me not to tell.\"\n\n\"Oh, never mind, it's all right with me.\"\n\n\"Please, sir, he is the bearded lady at the dime museum.\"\n\nFrom the museum I went to the free library in the City Hall. Dime\nmuseums and free libraries--such is America. The attendance at the free\nlibraries increases rapidly every day, and the till at the dime museums\ndiminishes with proportionate rapidity.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE BEARDED LADY.\"]\n\nAfter lunch I paid a visit to the exhibition of Vassili Vereschagin's\npictures. What on earth could possess the talented Russian artist, whose\ncoloring is so lovely, to expend his labor on such subjects! Pictures\nlike those, which show the horrors of a campaign in all their\nhideousness, may serve a good purpose in creating  a detestation of war\nin all who see them. Nothing short of such a motive in the artist could\nexcuse the portrayal of such infamies. These pictures are so many\nnightmares which will certainly haunt my eyes and brain for days and\nnights to come. Battle scenes portrayed with a realism that is\nrevolting, because, alas, only too true. The execution of nihilists in a\ndim, dreary, snow-covered waste. An execution of sepoys, the doomed\nrebels tied to the mouths of cannon about to be fired off. Scenes of\ntorture, illustrative of the extent to which human suffering can be\ncarried, give you cold shudders in every fiber of your body. One horrid\ncanvas shows a deserted battlefield, the snow-covered ground littered\nwith corpses that ravens are tearing and fighting for. But, perhaps\nworst of all, is a picture of a field, where, in the snow, lie the human\nremains of a company of Russian soldiers who have been surprised and\nslain by Turks. Among the bodies, outraged by horrible and nameless\nmutilations, walks a priest, swinging a censer. One seems to be pursued\nby, and impregnated with, a smell of cadaverous putrefaction. This\ncollection of pictures is installed in a place which has been used for\nstabling horses in, and is reeking with stable odors and the carbolic\nacid that has been employed to neutralize them. Your sense of smell is\nin full sympathy with your horrified sense of sight: both are revolted.\n\n\nNow, behind the three large rooms devoted to the Russian artist's works\nwas a small one, in which hung a single picture. You little guess that\nthat picture was no other than Jean Francois Millet's \"Angelus.\"\nMillet's dear little \"Angelus,\" that hymn of resignation and peace,\nalongside of all this roar and carnage of battle! The exhibitor thought,\nperhaps, that a sedative might be needed after the strong dose of\nVassili Vereschagin, but I imagine that no one who went into that little\nroom after the others was in a mood to listen to Millet's message.\n\n\n     _March 19._\n\nYesterday morning I went to see the Richmond Libby Prison, a four-story,\nhuge brick building which has been removed here from Richmond, over a\ndistance of more than a thousand miles, across the mountains of\nPennsylvania. This is, perhaps, as the circular says, an unparalleled\nfeat in the history of the world. The prison has been converted into a\nmuseum, illustrating the Civil War and African Slavery in America. The\nvisit proved very interesting. In the afternoon I had a drive through\nthe beautiful parks of the city.\n\nIn the evening I went to see \"Tannhäuser\" at the Auditorium. Outside,\nthe building looks more like a penitentiary than a place of amusement--a\nhuge pile of masonry, built of great, rough, black-looking blocks of\nstone. Inside, it is magnificent. I do not know anything to compare with\nit for comfort, grandeur, and beauty. It can hold seven thousand people.\nThe decorations are white and gold. The lighting is done by means of arc\nelectric lights in the enormously lofty roof--lights which can be\nlowered at will. Mr. Peck kindly took me to see the inner workings of\nthe stage. I should say \"stages,\" for there are three. The hydraulic\nmachinery for raising and lowering them cost $200,000.\n\nMadame Lehmann sang grandly. I imagine that she is the finest lady\nexponent of Wagner's music alive. She not only sings the parts, but\nlooks them. Built on grand lines and crowned with masses of blond hair,\nshe seems, when she gives forth those volumes of clear tones, a Norse\ngoddess strayed into the nineteenth century.\n\nM. Gounod describes Wagner as an astounding prodigy, an aberration of\ngenius, a dreamer haunted by the colossal. For years I had listened to\nWagner's music, and, like most of my compatriots, brought up on the\ntuneful airs of Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini, Verdi, Auber, etc., I\nentirely failed to appreciate the music of the future. All I could say\nin its favor was some variation of the sentiment once expressed by Mr.\nEdgar W. Nye (\"Bill Nye\") who, after giving the subject his mature\nconsideration, said he came to the conclusion that Wagner's music was\nnot so bad as it sounded. But I own that since I went to Bayreuth and\nheard and saw the operas as there given, I began not only to see that\nthey are beautiful, but why they are beautiful.\n\nWagnerian opera is a poetical and musical idealization of speech.\n\nThe fault that I, like many others, have fallen into, was that of\nlistening to the voices instead of listening to the orchestra. The fact\nis, the voices could almost be dispensed with altogether. The orchestra\ngives you the beautiful poem in music, and the personages on the stage\nare really little more than illustrative puppets. They play about the\nsame part in the work that pictures play in a book. Wagner's method was\nsomething so new, so different to all we had been accustomed to, that it\nnaturally provoked much indignation and enmity--not because it was bad,\nbut because it was new. It was the old story of the Classicists and\nRomanticists over again.\n\nIf you wanted to write a symphony, illustrative of the pangs and\nmiseries of a sufferer from toothache, you would, if you were a disciple\nof Wagner, write your orchestral score so that the instruments should\nconvey to the listener the whole gamut of groans--the temporary relief,\nthe return of the pain, the sudden disappearance of it on ringing the\nbell at the dentist's door, the final wrench of extraction gone through\nby the poor patient. On the boards you would put a personage who, with\nvoice and contortions, should help you, as pictorial illustrations help\nan author. Such is the Wagnerian method.\n\n[Illustration: \"A TERRIBLE WAGNERITE.\"]\n\nAfter the play I met a terrible Wagnerite. Most Wagnerites are terrible.\nThey will not admit that anything can be discussed, much less\ncriticised, in the works of the master. They are not admirers,\ndisciples; they are worshipers. To them Wagner's music is as perfect as\nAmerica is to many a good-humored American. They will tell you that\nnever have horses neighed so realistically as they do in the \"Walküre.\"\nAnswer that this is almost lowering music to the level of ventriloquism,\nand they will declare you a profane, unworthy to live. My Wagnerite\nfriend told me last night that Wagner's work constantly improved till it\nreached perfection in \"Parsifal.\" \"There,\" he said, quite seriously,\n\"the music has reached such a state of perfection that, in the garden\nscene, you can smell the violets and the roses.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I interrupted, \"I heard 'Parsifal' in Bayreuth, and I must\nconfess that it is, perhaps, the only work of Wagner's that I cannot\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"I have heard it thirty-four times,\" he said, \"and enjoyed it more the\nthirty-fourth time than I did the thirty-third.\"\n\n\"Then,\" I remarked, \"perhaps it has to be heard fifty times before it\ncan be thoroughly appreciated. In which case, you must own that life is\ntoo short to enable one to see an opera fifty times in order to enjoy it\nas it should really be enjoyed. I don't care what science there is about\nmusic, or what labors a musician should have to go through. As one of\nthe public, I say that music is a recreation, and should be understood\nat once. Auber, for example, with his delightful airs, that three\ngenerations of men have sung on their way home from the opera house, has\nbeen a greater benefactor of the human race than Wagner. I prefer music\nwritten for the heart to music written for the mind.\"\n\nOn hearing me mention Auber's name in one breath with Wagner's, the\nWagnerite threw a glance of contempt at me that I shall never forget.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, to regain his good graces, \"I may improve yet--I will\ntry again.\"\n\nAs a rule, the Wagnerite is a man utterly destitute of humor.\n\n\n     _March 20._\n\nYesterday morning I called on Judge Elliott Anthony, at the Superior\nCourt. The Judge invited me to sit by his side on the tribunal, and\nkindly explained to me the procedure, as the cases went on. Certainly\nkindness is not rare in Europe, but such simplicity in a high official\nis only to be met with in America.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII.\n\n  ANN ARBOR--THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN--DETROIT AGAIN--THE FRENCH OUT\n  OF FRANCE--OBERLIN COLLEGE, OHIO--BLACK AND WHITE--ARE ALL AMERICAN\n  CITIZENS EQUAL?\n\n\n     _Detroit, March 22._\n\nONE of the most interesting and brilliant audiences that I have yet\naddressed was the large one which gathered in the lecture hall of the\nUniversity of Michigan, at Ann Arbor, last night. Two thousand young,\nbright faces to gaze at from the platform is a sight not to be easily\nforgotten. I succeeded in pleasing them, and they simply delighted me.\n\nThe University of Michigan is, I think, the largest in the United\nStates.\n\nPicture to yourself one thousand young men and one thousand young women,\nin their early twenties, staying together in the same boarding-houses,\nstudying literature, science, and the fine arts in the same class-rooms,\nliving happily and in perfect harmony.\n\nThey are not married.\n\nNo restraint of any sort. Even in the boarding-houses they are allowed\nto meet in the sitting-rooms; I believe that the only restriction is\nthat, at eight o'clock in the evening, or at nine (I forget which), the\nyoung ladies have to retire to their private apartments.\n\n\"But,\" some European will exclaim, \"do the young ladies' parents trust\nall these young men?\" They do much better than that, my dear\nfriend--they trust their daughters.\n\nDuring eighteen years, I was told, three accidents happened, but three\nmarriages happily resulted.\n\nThe educational system of America engenders the high morality which\nundoubtedly exists throughout the whole of the United States, by\naccustoming women to the companionship of men from their infancy, first\nin the public schools, then in the high schools, and finally in the\nuniversities. It explains the social life of the country. It accounts\nfor the delightful manner in which men treat women. It explains the\ninfluence of women. Receiving exactly the same education as the men, the\nwomen are enabled to enjoy all the intellectual pleasures of life. They\nare not inferior beings intended for mere housekeepers, but women\ndestined to play an important part in all the stations of life.\n\nNo praise can be too high for a system of education that places\nknowledge of the highest order at the disposal of every child born in\nAmerica. The public schools are free, the high schools are free, and the\nuniversities,[4] through the aid that they receive from the United\nStates and from the State in which they are, can offer their privileges,\nwithout charge for tuition, to all persons of either sex who are\nqualified by knowledge for admission.\n\nThe University of Michigan comprises the Department of Literature,\nScience, and the Arts, the Department of Medicine and Surgery, the\nDepartment of Law, the School of Pharmacy, the Homoeopathic Medical\nCollege, and the College of Dental Surgery. Each department has its\nspecial Faculty of Instruction.\n\nI count 118 professors on the staff of the different faculties.\n\nThe library contains 70,041 volumes, 14,626 unbound brochures, and 514\nmaps and charts.\n\nThe University also possesses beautiful laboratories, museums, an\nastronomical observatory, collections, workshops of all sorts, a lecture\nhall capable of accommodating over two thousand people, art studios,\netc., etc. Almost every school has a building of its own, so that the\nUniversity is like a little busy town.\n\nNo visit that I have ever paid to a public institution interested me so\nmuch as the short one paid to the University of Michigan yesterday.\n\n\nDined this evening with Mr. W. H. Brearley, editor of the Detroit\n_Journal_. Mr. Brearley thinks that the Americans, who received from\nFrance such a beautiful present as the statue of \"Liberty Enlightening\nthe World,\" ought to present the mother country of General Lafayette\nwith a token of her gratitude and affection, and he has started a\nnational subscription to carry out his idea. He has already received\nsupport, moral and substantial. I can assure him that nothing would\ntouch the hearts of the French people more than such a tribute of\ngratitude and friendship from the other great republic.\n\n\nIn the evening I had a crowded house in the large lecture hall of the\nYoung Men's Christian Association.\n\nAfter the lecture, I met an interesting Frenchman residing in Detroit.\n\n\"I was told a month ago, when I paid my first visit to Detroit, that\nthere were twenty-five thousand French people living here,\" I said to\nhim.\n\n\"The number is exaggerated, I believe,\" he replied, \"but certainly we\nare about twenty thousand.\"\n\n\"I suppose you have French societies, a French Club?\" I ventured.\n\nHe smiled.\n\n\"The Germans have,\" he said, \"but we have not. We have tried many times\nto found French clubs in this city, so as to establish friendly\nintercourse among our compatriots, but we have always failed.\"\n\n\"How is that?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, I don't know. They all wanted to be presidents, or\nvice-presidents. They quarreled among themselves.\"\n\n\"When six Frenchmen meet to start a society,\" I said, \"one will be\npresident, two vice-presidents, one secretary, and the other\nassistant-secretary. If the sixth cannot obtain an official position, he\nwill resign and go about abusing the other five.\"\n\n\"That's just what happened.\"\n\nIt was my turn to smile. Why should the French in Detroit be different\nfrom the French all over the world, except perhaps in their own country?\nA Frenchman out of France is like a fish out of water. He loses his\nnative amiability and becomes a sort of suspicious person, who spends\nhis life in thinking that everybody wants to tread on his corns.\n\n\"When two Frenchmen meet in a foreign land,\" goes an old saying, \"there\nis one too many.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE TWO FRENCHMEN.]\n\nIn Chicago there are two Frenchmen engaged in teaching the natives of\nthe city \"how to speak and write the French language correctly.\" The\npeople of Chicago maintain that the streets are too narrow to let these\ntwo Frenchmen pass, when they walk in opposite directions. And it\nappears that one of them has lately started a little French paper--to\nabuse the other in.\n\nI think that all the faults and weaknesses of the French can be\naccounted for by the presence of a defect, jealousy; and the absence of\na quality, humor.\n\n\n     _Oberlin, O., March 24._\n\nHave to-night given a lecture to the students of Oberlin College, a\nreligious institution founded by the late Rev. Charles Finney, the\nfriend of the slaves, and whose voice, they say, when he preached, shook\nthe earth.\n\nThe college is open to colored students; but in an audience of about a\nthousand young men and women, I could only discover the presence of two\ndescendants of Ham.\n\nOriginally many colored students attended at Oberlin College, but the\nnumber steadily decreased every year, and to-day there are only very\nfew. The colored student is not officially \"boycotted,\" but he has\nprobably discovered by this time that he is not wanted in Oberlin\nCollege any more than in the orchestra stalls of an American theater.\n\nThe Declaration of Independence proclaims that \"all men are created\nequal,\" but I never met a man in America (much less still a woman) who\nbelieved this or who acted upon it.\n\nThe railroad companies have special cars for colored people, and the\nsaloons special bars. At Detroit, I was told yesterday that a\nrespectable and wealthy mulatto resident, who had been refused service\nin one of the leading restaurants of the town, brought an action against\nthe proprietor, but that, although there was no dispute of the facts,\nthe jury unanimously decided against the plaintiff, who was moreover\nmulcted in costs to a heavy amount. But all this is nothing: the Young\nMen's Christian Association, one of the most representative and\ninfluential corporations in the United States, refuses to admit colored\nyouths to membership.\n\n[Illustration: THE NEGRO.]\n\nIt is just possible that in a few years colored students will have\nceased to study at Oberlin College.\n\nI can perfectly well understand that Jonathan should not care to\nassociate too closely with the colored people, for, although they do not\ninspire me with repulsion, still I cannot imagine--well, I cannot\nunderstand for one thing how the mulatto can exist.\n\nBut since the American has to live alongside the negro, would it not be\nworth his while to treat him politely and honestly, give him his due as\nan equal, if not in his eyes, at any rate in the eyes of the law? Would\nit not be worth his while to remember that the \"darky\" cannot be\ngradually disposed of like the Indian, for Sambo adapts himself to his\nsurroundings, multiplies apace, goes to school, and knows how to read,\nwrite, and reckon. Reckon especially.\n\nIt might be well to remember, too, that all the greatest, bloodiest\nrevolutions the world has ever seen were set on foot, not to pay off\nhardships, but as revenge for injustice. \"Uncle Tom's Cabin\" was called\na romance, nothing but a romance, by the aristocratic Southerners; but,\nto use the Carlylian phrase, their skins went to bind the hundreds of\neditions of that book. Another \"Uncle Tom's Cabin\" may yet appear.\n\nAmerica will have \"to work her thinking machine\" seriously on this\nsubject, and that before many years are over. If the next Presidential\nelection is not run on the negro question, the succeeding one surely\nwill be.\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n  [4] A fee of ten dollars entitles a student to the privileges of\n    permanent membership in the University.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII.\n\n  MR. AND MRS. KENDAL IN NEW YORK--JOSEPH JEFFERSON--JULIAN\n  HAWTHORNE--MISS ADA REHAN--\"AS YOU LIKE IT\" AT DALY'S THEATER.\n\n\n     _New York, March 28._\n\nThe New York papers this morning announce that the \"Society of Young\nGirls of Pure Character on the Stage\" give a lunch to Mrs. Kendal\nto-morrow.\n\nMr. and Mrs. Kendal have conquered America. Their tour is a triumphal\nmarch through the United States, a huge success artistically,\nfinancially, and socially.\n\nI am not surprised at it. I went to see them a few days ago in \"The\nIronmaster,\" and they delighted me. As _Claire_ Mrs. Kendal was\nadmirable. She almost succeeded in making me forget Madame Jane Hading,\nwho created the part at the Gymnase, in Paris, six years ago.\n\n\nThis morning Mr. Joseph Jefferson called on me at the Everett House. The\nveteran actor, who looks more like a man of fifty than like one of over\nsixty, is now playing with Mr. William J. Florence in \"The Rivals.\" I\nhad never seen him off the stage. I immediately saw that the\ncharacteristics of the actor were the characteristics of the\nman--kindness, naturalness, simplicity, _bonhomie_, and _finesse_. An\nadmirable actor, a great artist, and a lovable man.\n\nAt the Down-Town Club, I lunched with the son of Nathaniel\nHawthorne--the greatest novelist that America has yet produced--Mr.\nJulian Hawthorne, himself a novelist of repute. Lately he has written a\nseries of sensational novels in collaboration with the famous New York\ndetective, Inspector Byrnes. Mr. Julian Hawthorne is a man of about\nforty-five, tall, well-proportioned, with an artistic-looking head\ncrowned with grayish hair, that reminds a Frenchman of Alexandre Dumas,\n_fils_, and an American of Nathaniel Hawthorne. A charming, unaffected\nman, and a delightful _causeur_.\n\n\nIn the evening I went to Daly's Theater and saw \"As You Like It.\" That\nbewitching queen of actresses, Miss Ada Rehan, played _Rosalind_. Miss\nRehan is so original that it would be perfectly impossible to compare\nher to any of the other great actresses of France and England. She is\nlike nobody else. She is herself. The coaxing drawl of her musical\nvoice, the vivacity of her movements, the whimsical spontaneity that\nseems to direct her acting, her tall, handsome figure, her beautiful,\nintellectual face, all tend to make her a unique actress. She fascinates\nyou, and so gets hold of you, that when she is on the stage she entirely\nfills it. Mr. John Drew as _Orlando_ and Mr. James Drew as _Touchstone_\nwere admirable.\n\nIt matters little what the play-bill announces at Daly's Theater. If I\nhave not seen the play, I am sure to enjoy it; if I have seen it\nalready, I am sure to enjoy it again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX.\n\n  WASHINGTON--THE CITY--WILLARD'S HOTEL--THE POLITICIANS--GENERAL\n  BENJAMIN HARRISON, U. S. PRESIDENT--WASHINGTON\n  SOCIETY--BALTIMORE--PHILADELPHIA.\n\n\n     _Washington, April 3._\n\nArrived here the day before yesterday, and put up at Willard's. I prefer\nthis huge hotel to the other more modern houses of the capital, because\nit is thoroughly American; because it is in its rotunda that every\nevening the leading men of all parties and the notables of the nation\nmay be found; because to meet at Willard's at night is as much the\nregular thing as to perform any of the official functions of office\nduring the day; because, to use the words of a guide, which speaks the\ntruth, it is pleasant to live in this historical place, in apartments\nwhere battles have been planned and political parties have been born or\ndoomed to death, to become familiar with surroundings amid which\nPresidents have drawn their most important papers and have chosen their\nCabinet Ministers, and where the proud beauties of a century have held\ntheir Court.\n\n\nOn the subject of Washington hotels, I was told a good story the other\nday.\n\n[Illustration: EVENING AT WILLARD'S.]\n\nThe most fashionable hotel of this city having outgrown its space, the\nproprietors sent a note to a lady, whose back yard adjoined, to say,\nthat, contemplating still enlarging their hotel, they would be glad to\nknow at what price she would sell her yard, and they would hand her the\namount without any more discussion. The lady, in equally Yankee style,\nreplied that she had been contemplating enlarging her back yard, and\nwas going to inquire what they would take for part of their hotel!\n\n\nHow beautiful this city of Washington is, with its wide avenues, its\nparks, and its buildings! That Capitol, in white marble, standing on\nelevated ground, against a bright blue sky, is a poem--an epic poem.\n\nI am never tired of looking at the expanse of cloudless blue that is\nalmost constantly stretched overhead. The sunsets are glorious. The\npoorest existence would seem bearable under such skies. I am told they\nare better still further West. I fancy I should enjoy to spend some time\non a farm, deep in the country, far from the noisy, crowded streets, but\nI fear I am condemned to see none but the busy haunts of Jonathan.\n\n\nIn the evening I went to what is called a colored church. The place was\npacked with negroes of all shades and ages; the women, some of them very\nsmartly dressed, and waving scarlet fans. In a pew sat a trio truly\ngorgeous. Mother, in black shiny satin, light-brown velvet mantle\ncovered with iridescent beads, bonnet to match. Daughter of fifteen;\ncostume of sky-blue satin, plush mantle, scarlet red, chinchilla fur\ntrimmings, white hat with feathers. Second girl, or daughter, light-blue\nvelvet, from top to toe, with large hat, apple-green and gold.\n\n[Illustration: A GORGEOUS TRIO.]\n\nEvery one was intently listening to the preacher, a colored man, who\ngave them, in graphic language and stentorian voice, the story of the\ncapture of the Jews by Cyrus, their slavery and their delivery. A low\naccompaniment of \"Yes!\" \"Hear, hear!\" \"Allelujah!\" \"Glory!\" from the\nhearers, showed their approbation of the discourse. From time to time,\nthere would be a general chuckle or laughter, and exclamations of\ndelight from the happy grin-lit mouths, as, for instance, when the\npreacher described the supper of Belshazzar, and the appearance of the\nwriting on the wall, in his own droll fashion. \"'Let's have a fine\nsupper,' said Belshazzar. 'Dere's ole Cyrus out dere, but we'll have a\ngood time and enjoy ourselves, and never mind him.' So he went for de\ncups dat had come from de Temple of Jerusalem, and began carousin'! Dere\nis Cyrus, all de while, marchin' his men up de bed ob de river. I see\nhim comin'! I see him!\" Then he pictured the state all that wicked party\ngot in at the sight of the writing nobody could read, and by this time\nthe excitement of the congregation was tremendous. The preacher thought\nthis a good opportunity to point a moral. So he proceeded: \"Now, drink\nis a poor thing; dere's too much of it in dis here city.\" Here followed\na picture of certain darkies, who cut a dash with shiny hats and canes,\nand frequented bars and saloons. \"When folks take to drinkin', somefin's\nsure to go wrong.\" Grins and grunts of approbation culminated in perfect\nshouts of glee, as the preacher said: \"Ole Belshazzar and de rest of 'em\nforgot to shut de city gate, and in came Cyrus and his men.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE PREACHER.]\n\nThey went nearly wild with pleasure over the story of the liberation of\nthe Jews, and incidental remarks on their own freeing. \"Oh, let dem go,\"\nsaid their masters, when they found the game was up, \"dey'll soon perish\nand die out!\" Here the preacher laughed loudly, and then shouted: \"But\nwe don't die out so easy!\" [Grins and chuckling.]\n\nOne old negro was very funny to watch. When something met with his\napproval, he gave off a little \"tchsu, tchsu!\" and writhed forward and\nback on his seat for a moment, apparently in intense enjoyment; then\njumped off his seat, turning round once or twice; then he would listen\nintently again, as if afraid to lose a word.\n\n[Illustration: THE OLD NEGRO.]\n\n\"I see dis, I see dat,\" said the preacher continually. His listeners\nseemed to see it too.\n\n\nAt ten minutes to twelve yesterday morning, I called at the White House.\nThe President had left the library, but he was kind enough to return,\nand at twelve I had the honor to spend a few minutes in the company of\nGeneral Benjamin Harrison. Two years ago I was received by Mr. Grover\nCleveland with the same courtesy and the same total absence of red tape.\n\nThe President of the United States is a man about fifty-five years old;\nshort, exceedingly neat, and even _recherché_ in his appearance. The\nhair and beard are white, the eyes small and very keen. The face is\nsevere, but lights up with a most gentle and kind smile.\n\nGeneral Harrison is a popular president; but the souvenir of Mrs.\nCleveland is still haunting the minds of the Washingtonians. They will\nnever forget the most beautiful lady who ever did the honors of the\nWhite House, and most of them look forward to the possibility of her\nreturning to Washington in March, 1893.\n\n\nWashington society moves in circles and sets. The wife of the President\nand the wives and daughters of the Cabinet Ministers form the first\nset--Olympus, as it were. The second set is composed of the ladies\nbelonging to the families of the Judges of the Supreme Court! The\nSenators come next. The Army circle comes fourth. The House of\nRepresentatives supplies the last set. Each circle, a Washington friend\ntells me, is controlled by rigid laws of etiquette. Senators' wives\nconsider themselves much superior to the wives of Congressmen, and the\nJudges' wives consider themselves much above those of the Senators. But,\nas a rule, the great lion of Washington society is the British Minister,\nespecially when he happens to be a real live English lord. All look up\nto him; and if a young titled English _attaché_ wishes to marry the\nrichest heiress of the capital, all he has to do is to throw the\nhandkerchief, the young and the richest natives do not stand the ghost\nof a chance.\n\n\nLectured last night, in the Congregational Church, to a large and most\nfashionable audience. Senator Hoar took the chair, and introduced me in\na short, neat, gracefully worded little speech. In to-day's Washington\n_Star_, I find the following remark:\n\n  The lecturer was handsomely introduced by Senator Hoar, who combines\n  the dignity of an Englishman, the sturdiness of a Scotchman, the\n  _savoir faire_ of a Frenchman, and the culture of a Bostonian.\n\n\nWhat a strange mixture! I am trying to find where the compliment comes\nin, surely not in \"the _savoir faire_ of a Frenchman!\"\n\n\nArmed with a kind letter of introduction to Miss Kate Field, I called\nthis morning at the office of this lady, who is characterized by a\nprominent journalist as \"the very brainiest woman in the United States.\"\nUnfortunately she was out of town.\n\nI should have liked to make the personal acquaintance of this brilliant,\nwitty woman, who speaks, I am told, as she writes, in clear, caustic,\nfearless style. My intention was to interview her a bit. A telegram was\nsent to her in New York from her secretary, and her answer was wired\nimmediately: \"Interview _him_.\" So, instead of interviewing Miss Kate\nField, I was interviewed, for her paper, by a young and very pretty lady\njournalist.\n\n\n     _Baltimore, April 4._\n\nI have spent the day here with some friends.\n\nBaltimore strikes one as a quiet, solid, somewhat provincial town. It is\nan eminently middle-class looking city. There is no great wealth in it,\nno great activity; but, on the other hand, there is little poverty; it\nis a well-to-do city _par excellence_. The famous Johns Hopkins\nUniversity is here, and I am not surprised to learn that Baltimore is a\ncity of culture and refinement.\n\nA beautiful forest, a mixture of cultivated park and wilderness, about a\nmile from the town, must be a source of delight to the inhabitants in\nsummer and during the beautiful months of September and October.\n\nI was told several times that Baltimore was famous all over the States\nfor its pretty women.\n\nThey were not out to-day. And as I have not been invited to lecture in\nBaltimore, I must be content with hoping to be more lucky next time.\n\n\n     _Philadelphia, April 5._\n\nAfter my lecture in Association Hall to-night, I will return to New York\nto spend Easter Sunday with my friends. Next Monday off again to the\nWest, to Cincinnati again, to Chicago again, and as far as Madison, the\nState city of Wisconsin.\n\n[Illustration: A BALTIMORE WOMAN.]\n\nBy the time this tour is finished--in about three weeks--I shall have\ntraveled something like thirty thousand miles.\n\nThe more I think of it, the more I feel the truth of this statement,\nwhich I made in \"Jonathan and His Continent\": To form an exact idea of\nwhat a lecture tour is in America, just imagine that you lecture\nto-night in London, to-morrow in Paris, then in Berlin, then in Vienna,\nthen in Constantinople, then in Teheran, then in Bombay, and so forth.\nWith this difference, that if you had to undertake the work in Europe,\nat the end of a week you would be more dead than alive.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE GOOD, ATTENTIVE, POLITE CONDUCTOR OF ENGLAND.\"]\n\nBut here you are not caged on the railroad lines, you can circulate.\nThere is no fear of cold, no fear of hunger, and if the good, attentive,\npolite railway conductors of England could be induced to do duty on\nboard the American cars, I would anytime go to America for the mere\npleasure of traveling.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL.\n\nEASTER SUNDAY IN NEW YORK.\n\n\n     _New York, April 6 (Easter Sunday.)_\n\n[Illustration: A BELLOWING SOPRANO.]\n\nThis morning I went to Dr. Newton's church in Forty-eighth Street. He\nhas the reputation of being one of the best preachers in New York, and\nthe choir enjoys an equally great reputation. The church was literally\npacked until the sermon began, and then some of the strollers who had\ncome to hear the anthems moved on. Dr. Newton's voice and delivery were\nnot at all to my taste, so I did not sit out his sermon either. He has a\nbig, unctuous voice, with the intonations and inflections of a showman\nat the fair. He has not the flow of ideas that struck me so forcibly\nwhen I heard the late Henry Ward Beecher in London; he has not the\nhistrionic powers of Dr. Talmage, either. There was more show than\nbeauty about the music, too. A bellowing, shrieking soprano overpowered\nall the other voices in the choir, including that of a really beautiful\ntenor that deserved to be heard.\n\n\nNew York blossoms like the rose on Easter Day. Every woman has a new\nbonnet and walks abroad to show it.\n\n[Illustration: SOME EASTER BONNETS.]\n\nThere are grades in millinery as there are in society. The imported\nbonnet takes the proudest rank; it is the aristocrat in the world of\nheadgear. It does not always come with the conqueror (in one of her\nnumerous trunks), but it always comes to conquer, and a proud, though\nephemeral triumph it enjoys, perched on the dainty head of a New York\nbelle, and supplemented by a frock from Felix's or Redfern's.\n\nIt is a unique sight, Fifth Avenue on Easter Sunday, when all the\nup-town churches have emptied themselves of their gayly garbed\nworshipers.\n\n[Illustration: KEEPING LENT.]\n\nThe \"four hundred\" have been keeping Lent in polite, if not rigorous,\nfashion. Who shall say what it has cost them in self-sacrifice to limit\nthemselves to the sober, modest violet for table and bonnet decoration\nduring six whole weeks? These things cannot be lightly judged by the\nprofane. I have even heard of sweet, devout New York girls who limited\nthemselves to one pound of _marrons glacés_ a week during Lent. Such\nfeminine heroism deserves mention.\n\n[Illustration: A CLUB WINDOW.]\n\nAnd have they not been sewing flannel for the poor, once a week, instead\nof directing the manipulation of silk and gauze for their own fair\nforms, all the week long? Who shall gauge the self-control necessary for\nfasting such as this? But now Dorcas meetings are over, and dances begin\nagain to-morrow. The Easter anthem has been sung, and the imported\nbonnet takes a turn on Fifth Avenue to salute and to hob-nob with\nBroadway imitations during the hour between church and lunch. To New\nYorkers this Easter Church parade is as much of an institution in its\nway as those of Hyde Park during the season are to the Londoners. It\nwas plain that the people sauntering leisurely on the broad sidewalks,\nthe feminine portion at least, had not come out solely for religious\nexercise in church, but had every intention to see and to be seen,\nespecially the latter. On my way down, I saw some folks who had not been\nto church, and only wanted to see, so stood with faces glued to the\nwindows of the big clubs, looking out at the kaleidoscopic procession:\nold bachelors, I daresay, who hold the opinion that spring bonnets,\nwhether imported or home-grown, ought to be labeled \"dangerous.\" At all\nevents they were gazing as one might gaze at some coveted but\nout-of-reach fruit, and looking as if they dared not face their\nfascinating young townswomen in all the splendor of their new war paint.\nA few, perhaps, were married men, and this was their quiet protest\nagainst fifty-dollar hats and five-hundred-dollar gowns.\n\nThe sight was beautiful and one not to be forgotten.\n\n\nIn the evening I dined with Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll and the members\nof his family. I noticed something which struck me as novel, but as\nperfectly charming. Each man was placed at table by the side of his\nwife, including the host and hostess. This custom in the colonel's\nfamily circle (I was the only guest not belonging to it) is another\nproof that his theories are put into practice in his house. Dinner and\ntime vanished with rapidity in that house, where everything breathes\nlove and happiness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI.\n\n  I MOUNT THE PULPIT, AND PREACH ON THE SABBATH, IN THE STATE OF\n  WISCONSIN--THE AUDIENCE IS LARGE AND APPRECIATIVE; BUT I PROBABLY FAIL\n  TO PLEASE ONE OF THE CONGREGATION.\n\n\n     _Milwaukee, April 21._\n\nTo a certain extent I am a believer in climatic influence, and am\ninclined to think that Sabbath reformers reckon without the British\nclimate when they hope to ever see a Britain full of cheerful\nChristians. M. Taine, in his \"History of English Literature,\" ascribes\nthe unlovable morality of Puritanism to the influence of the British\nclimate. \"Pleasure being out of question,\" he says, \"under such a sky,\nthe Briton gave himself up to this forbidding virtuousness.\" In other\nwords, being unable to be cheerful, he became moral. This is not\naltogether true. Many Britons are cheerful who don't look it, many\nBritons are not moral who look it.\n\nBut how would M. Taine explain the existence of this same puritanic\n\"morality\" which can be found under the lovely, clear, bright sky of\nAmerica? All over New England, and indeed in most parts of America, the\nsame Kill-joy, the same gloomy, frowning Sabbath-keeper is flourishing,\ndoing his utmost to blot the sunshine out of every recurring seventh\nday.\n\nYet Sabbath-keeping is a Jewish institution that has nothing to do with\nProtestantism; but there have always been Protestants more Protestant\nthan Martin Luther, and Christians more Christian than Christ.\n\n[Illustration: PURITAN LACK OF CHEERFULNESS.]\n\nLuther taught that the Sabbath was to be kept, not because Moses\ncommanded it, but because Nature teaches us the necessity of the seventh\nday's rest. He says \"If anywhere the day is made holy for the mere day's\nsake, then I command you to work on it, ride on it, dance on it, do\nanything that will reprove this encroachment on Christian spirit and\nliberty.\"\n\nThe old Scotch woman, who \"did nae think the betterer on\" the Lord for\nthat Sabbath-day walk through the cornfield, is not a solitary type of\nAnglo-Saxon Christian. But it is when these Puritans judge other nations\nthat they are truly great.\n\nPuritan lack of charity and dread of cheerfulness often lead Anglo-Saxon\nvisitors to France to misjudge the French mode of spending Sunday.\nAmericans, as well as English, err in this matter, as I had occasion to\nfind out during my second visit to America.\n\nI had been lecturing last Saturday evening in the pretty little town of\nWhitewater, in Wisconsin, and received an invitation from a minister to\naddress a meeting that was to be held yesterday, Sunday, in the largest\nchurch of the place to discuss the question, \"How Sunday should be\nspent.\" I at first declined, on the ground that it might not be exactly\nin good taste for a foreigner to advise his hosts how to spend Sunday.\nHowever, when it was suggested that I might simply go and tell them how\nSunday was spent in France, I accepted the task.\n\nThe proceedings opened with prayer and an anthem; and a hymn in praise\nof the Jewish Sabbath having been chosen by the moderator, I thought the\ncase looked bad for us French people, and that I was going to cut a poor\nfigure.\n\nThe first speaker unwittingly came to my rescue by making an onslaught\nupon the French mode of spending the seventh day. \"With all due respect\nto the native country of our visitor,\" said he, \"I am bound to say that\non the one Sunday which I spent in Paris, I saw a great deal of low\nimmorality, and I could not help coming to the conclusion that this was\ndue to the fact of the French not being a Sabbath-keeping people.\" He\nwound up with a strong appeal to his townsmen to beware of any\ntemptation to relax in their observance of the fourth commandment as\ngiven by Moses.\n\nI was called upon to speak next. I rose in my pew, but was requested to\ngo into the rostrum.\n\nWith alacrity I stepped forward, a little staggered, perhaps, at finding\nmyself for the first time in a pulpit, but quite ready for the fray.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" said I, \"to hear the remarks made by the speaker who has\njust sat down. I cannot, however, help thinking that if our friend had\nspent that Sunday in Paris in respectable places, he would have been\nspared the sight of any low immorality. No doubt Paris, like every large\ncity in the world, has its black spots, and you can easily discover\nthem, if you make proper inquiries as to where they are, and if you are\nproperly directed. Now, let me ask, where did he go? I should very much\nlike to know. Being an old Parisian, I have still in my mind's eye the\nnumerous museums that are open free to the people on Sundays. One of the\nmost edifying sights in the city is that of our peasants and workmen in\ntheir clean Sunday blouses enjoying themselves with their families, and\nelevating their tastes among our art treasures. Did our friend go there?\nI know there are places where for little money the symphonies of\nBeethoven and other great masters may be and are enjoyed by thousands\nevery Sunday. Did our friend go there? Within easy reach of the people\nare such places as the Bois de Boulogne, the Garden of Acclimation,\nwhere for fifty centimes a delightful day may be spent among the lawns\nand flower-beds of that Parisian \"Zoo.\" Its goat cars, ostrich cars, its\ncamel and elephant drives make it a paradise for children, and one might\nsee whole families there on Sunday afternoons in the summer, the parents\nrefreshing their bodies with this contact with nature and their hearts\nwith the sight of the children's glee. Did our friend go there? We even\nhave churches in Paris, churches that are crammed from six o'clock in\nthe morning till one in the afternoon with worshipers who go on their\nknees to God. Now, did our friend go to church on that Sunday? Well,\nwhere did he go? I am quitting Whitewater to-morrow, and I leave it to\nhis townspeople to investigate the matter. When I first visited New\nYork, stories were told me of strange things to be seen there even on a\nSunday. Who doubts, I repeat, that every great city has its black spots?\nI had no desire to see those of New York, there was so much that was\nbetter worth my time and attention. If our friend, our observing friend,\nwould only have done in Paris as I did in New York, he would have seen\nvery little low immorality.\"\n\nThe little encounter at Whitewater was only one more illustration of the\nstrange fact that the Anglo-Saxon, who is so good in his own country, so\nconstant in his attendance at church, is seldom to be seen in a sacred\nedifice abroad, unless, indeed, he has been led there by Baedeker.\n\nAnd last night, at Whitewater, I went to bed pleased with myself, like a\nman who has fought for his country.\n\n\nWhen I am in France, I often bore my friends with advice, and find, as\nusual, that advice is a luxurious gift thoroughly enjoyed by the one who\ngives it.\n\n\"You don't know how to do these things,\" I say to them; \"in England or\nin America, they are much more intelligent; they do like this and like\nthat.\" And my friends generally advise me to return to England or\nAmerica, where things are so beautifully managed.\n\nBut, when I am out of France, the old Frenchman is all there, and if you\npitch into my mother country, I stand up ready to fight at a minute's\nnotice.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII.\n\n  THE ORIGIN OF AMERICAN HUMOR AND ITS CHARACTERISTICS--THE SACRED AND\n  THE PROFANE--THE GERMANS AND AMERICAN HUMOR--MY CORPSE WOULD \"DRAW,\"\n  IN MY IMPRESARIO'S OPINION.\n\n\n     _Madison, Wis., April 22._\n\nHave been lecturing during the past fortnight in about twelve places,\nfew of which possessed any interest whatever. One of them,\nhowever--Cincinnati--I was glad to see again.\n\nThis town of Madison is the only one that has really struck me as being\nbeautiful. From the hills the scenery is perfectly lovely, with its\nwooded slopes and lakes. Through the kindness of Governor Hoard, I have\nhad a comprehensive survey of the neighborhood; for he has driven me in\nhis carriage to all the prettiest spots, delighting me all the while\nwith his conversation. He is one of those Americans whom you may often\nmeet if you have a little luck: witty, humorous, hospitable,\nkind-hearted, the very personification of unaffected good-fellowship.\n\nThe conversation turned on humor.\n\nI have always wondered what the origin of American humor can be; where\nis or was the fountain-head. You certainly find humor in England among\nthe cultured classes, but the class of English people who emigrate\ncannot have imported much humor into America. Surely Germany and\nScandinavia cannot have contributed to the fund, either. The Scotch have\ndry, quiet, pawky, unconscious humor; but their influence can hardly\nhave been great enough to implant their quaint native \"wut\" in American\nsoil. Again, the Irish bull is droll, but scarcely humorous. The\nItalians, the Hungarians, have never yet, that I am aware of, been\nsuspected of even latent humor.\n\nWhat then, can be the origin of American humor, as we know it, with its\nnaïve philosophy, its mixture of the sacred and the profane, its\nexaggeration and that preposterousness which so completely staggers the\nforeigner, the French and the German especially?\n\nThe mixing of sacred with profane matter, no doubt, originated with the\nPuritans themselves, and is only an outcome of the cheek-by-jowl,\nnext-door-neighbor fashion of addressing the Higher Powers, which is so\ncommon in the Scotch. Many of us have heard of the Scotch minister, whom\nhis zeal for the welfare of missionaries moved to address Heaven in the\nfollowing manner: \"We commend to thy care those missionaries whose lives\nare in danger in the Fiji Islands ... which, Thou knowest, are situated\nin the Pacific Ocean.\" And he is not far removed in our minds from the\nNew England pastor, who preached on the well-known text of St. Paul, and\nhaving read: \"All things are possible to me,\" took a five-dollar bill\nout of his pocket, and placing it on the edge of the pulpit, said: \"No,\nPaul, that is going too far. I bet you five dollars that you can't----\"\nBut continuing the reading of the text: \"Through Christ who\nstrengtheneth me,\" exclaimed, \"Ah, that's a very different matter!\" and\nput back the five-dollar bill in his pocket.\n\n[Illustration: THE MISSIONARY AND THE FIJIS.]\n\nThis kind of amalgamation of the sacred and profane is constantly\nconfronting one in American soil, and has a firm foothold in American\nhumor.\n\nColonel Elliott F. Shepard, proprietor of the New York _Mail and\nExpress_, every morning sends to the editor a fresh text from the Bible\nfor publication at the top of the editorials. One day that text was\nreceived, but somehow got lost, and by noon was still unfound. I was\ntold that \"you should have heard the compositors' room ring with: 'Where\ncan that d----d text be?'\" Finally the text was wired and duly inserted.\nThese men, however, did not intend any religious disrespect. Such a\nthing was probably as far from their minds as it was from the minds of\nthe Puritan preachers of old. There are men who swear, as others pray,\nwithout meaning anything. One is a bad habit, the other a good one.\n\n\nAll that naïve philosophy, with which America abounds, must, I fancy, be\nthe outcome of hardship endured by the pioneers of former days, and by\nthe Westerner of our own times.\n\nThe element of exaggeration, which is so characteristic of American\nhumor, may be explained by the rapid success of the Americans and the\nimmensity of the continent which they inhabit. Everything is on a grand\nscale, or suggests hugeness. Then negro humor is mainly exaggeration,\nand has no doubt added its quota to the compound which, as I said just\nnow, completely staggers certain foreigners.\n\nGovernor Hoard was telling me to-day that a German was inclined to be\noffended with him for saying that the Germans, as a rule, were unable to\nsee through an American joke, and he invited Governor Hoard to try the\neffect of one upon him. The governor, thereupon told him the story of\nthe tree, \"out West,\" which was so high that it took two men to see to\nthe top. One of them saw as far as he could, then the second started\nfrom the place where the first stopped seeing, and went on. The recital\ndid not raise the ghost of a smile, and Governor Hoard then said to the\nGerman: \"Well, you see, the joke is lost upon you; you can't see\nAmerican humor.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THAT'S A TAMNT LIE!\"]\n\n\"Oh, but,\" said the German, \"that is not humor, that's a _tamnt_ lie!\"\n\nAnd he is still convinced that he can see through an American joke.\n\n\n     _Grand Rapids, April 24._\n\nHave had to-day a lovely, sublime example of that preposterousness which\nso often characterizes American humor.\n\nArrived here this morning from Chicago. At noon, the Grand Rapidite who\nwas \"bossing the show\" called upon me at the Morton House, and kindly\ninquired whether there was anything he could do for me. Before leaving,\nhe said: \"While I am here, I may as well give you the check for\nto-night's lecture.\"\n\n\"Just as you please,\" I said; \"but don't you call that risky?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, I may die before the evening.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all right,\" he interrupted. \"I'll exhibit your corpse; I\nguess there will be just as much money in it!\"\n\n\nGrand Rapids is noted for its furniture manufactories. A draughtsman,\nwho is employed to design artistic things for the largest of these\nmanufactories, kindly showed me over the premises of his employers. I\nwas not very surprised to hear that when the various retail houses come\nto make their yearly selections, they will not look at any models of the\nprevious season, so great is the rage for novelties in every branch of\nindustry in this novelty-loving America.\n\n[Illustration: MY EXHIBITOR.]\n\nNo sinecure, that draughtsman's position, I can tell you.\n\nOver in Europe, furniture is reckoned by periods. Here it is an affair\nof seasons.\n\nVery funny to have to order a new sideboard or wardrobe, \"to be sent\nhome without delay\" for fear of its being out of date.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII.\n\n  GOOD-BY TO AMERICA--NOT \"ADIEU,\" BUT \"AU REVOIR\"--ON BOARD THE\n  \"TEUTONIC\"--HOME AGAIN.\n\n\n     _New York, April 26._\n\nTHE last two days have vanished rapidly in paying calls.\n\nThis morning my impresario gave me a farewell breakfast at the Everett\nHouse. Edmund Clarence Stedman was there; Mark Twain, George Kennan,\nGeneral Horace Porter, General Lloyd Bryce, Richard Watson Gilder, and\nmany others sat at table, and joined in wishing me _bon voyage_.\n\nGood-by, my dear American friends, I shall carry away sweet\nrecollections of you, and whether I am re-invited in your country or\nnot, I will come again.\n\n\n     _April 27._\n\nThe saloon on board the _Teutonic_ is a mass of floral offerings sent by\nfriends to the passengers. Two huge beautiful baskets of lilies and\nroses are mine.\n\nThe whistle is heard for the third time. The hands are pressed and the\nfaces kissed, and all those who are not passengers leave the boat and go\nand take up position on the wharf to wave their handkerchiefs until the\nsteamer is out of sight. A great many among the dense crowd are friendly\nfaces familiar to me.\n\n[Illustration: TWO BASKETS FOR ME.]\n\nThe huge construction is set in motion, and gently and smoothly glides\nfrom the docks to the Hudson River. The sun is shining, the weather\nglorious.\n\nThe faces on land get less and less distinct. For the last time I wave\nmy hat.\n\nHallo, what is the matter with me? Upon my word, I believe I am sad. I\ngo to the library, and, like a child, seize a dozen sheets of note paper\non which I write: \"Good-by.\" I will send them to New York from Sandy\nHook.\n\n[Illustration: THE \"TEUTONIC.\"]\n\nThe _Teutonic_ is behaving beautifully. We pass Sandy Hook. The sea is\nperfectly calm. Then I think of my dear ones at home, and the happiest\nthoughts take the place of my feelings of regret at leaving my friends.\n\nMy impresario, Major J. B. Pond, shares a beautiful, well-lighted, airy\ncabin with me. He is coming to England to engage Mr. Henry M. Stanley\nfor a lecture tour in America next season.\n\nThe company on board is large and choice. In the steerage a few\ndisappointed American statesmen return to Europe.\n\n[Illustration: \"A FEW DISAPPOINTED STATESMEN.\"]\n\nOh! that _Teutonic!_ can any one imagine anything more grand, more\nluxurious? She is going at the rate of 450 miles a day. In about five\ndays we shall be at Queenstown.\n\n\n     _Liverpool, May 4._\n\nMy most humble apologies are due to the Atlantic for libeling that ocean\nat the beginning of this book. For the last six days the sea has been\nperfectly calm, and the trip has been one of pleasure the whole time.\nHere is another crowd on the landing-stage at Liverpool.\n\nAnd now, dear reader, excuse me if I leave you. You were present at the\nfriendly farewell handshakings on the New York side; but, on this\nLiverpool quay, I see a face that I have not looked upon for five\nmonths, and having a great deal to say to the owner of it, I will\npolitely bow you out first.\n\n\n\n\n\n  Max O'Rell's Impressions of America and the Americans.\n\n\n  JONATHAN AND HIS CONTINENT\n\n             BY\n\n         MAX O'RELL\n       AND JACK ALLYN\n\n  _TRANSLATED BY MADAME PAUL BLOUËT._\n\n  IN ONE ELEGANT 12MO VOLUME.\n\n  Extra Cloth, Gilt Top,      Price, $1.50.\n  Paper Binding,                \"   50 cts.\n\n\n  WHAT THE PRESS SAYS:\n\n\"We have laughed with him at our neighbors, and now if we are clever we\nwill laugh with him at ourselves.\"--_Daily Graphic, N. Y._\n\n\"One reads the book with a perpetual smile on one's face, punctuated\nevery now and then by a loud laugh, as one follows the brilliant\nFrenchman through his six months' tour of America. * * * He has glanced\nat things with the eye of a trained observer, and commented upon them\nwith originality and humor. * * * One lays down the book with a wish\nthat one might know its author.\"--_Chicago News._\n\n\"The sensation of the spring. * * * It will tickle the American in spots\nand make him mad in spots, but it will be read, talked of, and\nenjoyed.\"--_Home Journal, Boston._\n\n\"Undoubtedly the most interesting and sprightly book of the season. * *\n* It is rich in information.\"--_Inter-Ocean, Chicago._\n\n\n    CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY,\n  104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE, N. Y.\n\n\n\n\n\"Rarely has one sprung into so immediate a fame in two\ncontinents.\"--_Boston Home Journal._\n\n\n   A NEW VOLUME BY MAX O'RELL,\n            AUTHOR OF\n  _JONATHAN AND HIS CONTINENT._\n\n        JACQUES BONHOMME,\n  _JOHN BULL ON THE CONTINENT,\n    and FROM MY LETTER BOX._\n\n        By MAX O'RELL,\n  _Author of \"Jonathan and His Continent,\" \"John Bull, Jr.,\" etc., etc._\n\n  1 vol., 12mo, Paper, 50 cents. Extra Cloth, 75 cents.\n\n\n\"If any one was absurd enough to feel aggrieved at Max O'Rell's\namusement over us in 'Jonathan and His Continent,' he may take his\nrevenge in 'Jacques Bonhomme,' wherein the light-headed Blouet laughs at\nhis compatriots as well.\"--_The Springfield Republican._\n\n\"The book is full of sprightly, keen observations ... there is not a\ndull line in it from first to last, and its information is as genuine\nand accurate in the way of glimpses into the more intimate life of the\npeople as it is charming in its sparkle and glow of style.--_Boston\nEvening Traveller._\n\n\"He is a keen observer and has a happy faculty of presenting the comical\nside of things, and that with unvarying good humor, apparently\nindifferent whether the joke hits himself or somebody else.\"--_The Troy\nBudget._\n\n\"In it is pictured the French at school, at war, in leading strings, in\nlove, at work, at play, and at table, in trouble, in England, etc.,\netc.,\"--_The Boston Times._\n\n\"Take it all in all, we think the most delightful book that Max O'Rell\nhas written is his last published, entitled 'Jacques Bonhomme.'\"--_Home\nJournal, Boston._\n\n\n           NEW YORK\n  CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY\n    104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE\n\n\n\n\n        JOHN BULL, JR.,\n\n              OR\n\n  French as She is Traduced.\n\n        By MAX O'RELL,\n\n         _AUTHOR OF\n  JONATHAN AND HIS CONTINENT_.\n\n  With a Preface by GEORGE C. EGGLESTON.\n\n  Boards, flexible; price, 50 cents. Cloth, gilt top, unique, $1.00.\n\n\n\"There is not a page in this delightful little volume that does not\nsparkle.\"--_Phila. Press._\n\n\"One expects Max O'Rell to be distinctively funny. He is regarded as a\nFrench Mark Twain.\"--_The Beacon._\n\n\"The whole theory of education is to be extracted from these humorous\nsketches.\"--_Baltimore American._\n\n\"A volume which is bubbling over with brightness, and is pervaded with\nwholesome common sense.\"--_N. Y. Com. Advertiser._\n\n\"May be placed among those favored volumes whose interest is not\nexhausted by one perusal, but which may be taken up again with a renewal\nof the entertainment afforded by the first reading.\"--_Boston Gazette._\n\n\n     CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY\n  104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32261", "title": "A Frenchman in America: Recollections of Men and Things", "author": "", "publication_year": 1891, "metadata_title": "A Frenchman in America: Recollections of Men and Things", "metadata_author": "Max O'Rell", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:28.742266", "source_chars": 398276, "chars": 398276, "talkie_tokens": 94194}}
{"text": "E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading\nTeam (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by\nInternet Archive/American Libraries\n(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)\n\n\n\n      file which includes the map of Chambersburg.\n      See 32268-h.htm or 32268-h.zip:\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32268/32268-h/32268-h.htm)\n      or\n      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32268/32268-h.zip)\n\n\n      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See\n      http://www.archive.org/details/burningofchamberpp00schn\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURNING OF CHAMBERSBURG.\n\nby\n\nREV. B. S. SCHNECK, D. D.\n\n\nNOTICE.\n\n\nSince the appearance of the first edition of this work, kind friends and\nstrangers from abroad have been prompted to send contributions for the\nsufferers of our town, sometimes specifying who shall be the recipients,\nsometimes leaving it discretionary with myself, and sometimes designating\nthe particular denomination of Christians to whose most needy members the\ngifts should be applied. In order to afford an opportunity to _all_, to\navail themselves of such methods as may be most acceptable, I will here\nsay, that contributions to the General Relief Committee may be sent to the\nTreasurer, _G. R. Messersmith_, Esq., Cashier of the Bank of Chambersburg.\n\nThose wishing to make the pastors of the different churches (all of which\nhave suffered very greatly) to be the almoners of their bounty, can send\nas follows:\n\n     First Reformed Church, Rev. P. S. Davis.\n\n     Second   \"       \" (German), Rev. B. S. Schneck.\n\n     Presbyterian, Rev. S. J. Niccolls.\n\n     Lutheran, German (without a pastor). Money can be sent to Rev. F. W.\n     Conrad.\n\n     Methodist, Rev. Mr. Barnhart.\n\n     United Brethren in Christ, Rev. J. Dickson.\n\n     Roman Catholic, Rev. John Gerdeman.\n\n     Bethel (Church of God), Mr. W. G. Mitchell.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURNING OF CHAMBERSBURG.\n\nBY REV. B. S. SCHNECK, D. D.\n\n  Single copies sent by mail, free of postage, at the usual\n    retail price,                                             40 & 60 cts.\n  By the dozen, in cloth,                                            $5 40\n  (If sent by express, the receiver pays charges--if by mail,\n    72 cents per dozen copies added to the above price,) or           6 12\n  By the dozen, in paper,                                             3 60\n  Postage per dozen copies, 40c.,                                     4 00\n  By the hundred, in cloth,                                          40 00\n  \"   \"     \"     in paper covers,                                   26 67\n\n_No books given on commission._\n\nAgents wishing to canvass particular sections or counties, can apply to\nthe author at Chambersburg.\n\n_Agents wanted_ for a number of counties in the eastern and western\nportion of Pennsylvania, and also for Ohio, Indiana, etc.\n\nA _German_ edition, in a condensed form, will shortly leave the press,\nwhich will retail at 30 cents in paper, and 50 cents in cloth.\n\n  By the dozen, in paper,                                            $2 70\n  Postage per dozen copies,                                             30\n  By the dozen, in cloth,                                             4 50\n  Postage,                                                              60\n  By the hundred, in paper,                                          20 00\n  \"   \"     \"     in cloth,                                          33 33\n\n\nOPINIONS OF THE PRESS.\n\nThe following are a few of the notices given by the public press to this\nwork in its first edition:\n\n\"It is invaluable as the only account of the most fiendish act of the war\nthat is in a form to be preserved.\"--Colonel A. K. MCCLURE, in the\nChambersburg \"_Franklin Repository_,\" Sept. 28, 1864.\n\n\"To readers of every class we take great pleasure in commending this\ntruthful narrative as a valuable contribution to the history of the\nwar.... The incidents of the burning are detailed by Dr. Schneck with a\nvividness which makes his account of that barbarous transaction as graphic\nas it is authentic.\"--Editor of Washington \"_National Intelligencer_,\"\nOct. 6.\n\n\"The source from which it proceeds carries with it sufficient authority as\nto the correctness of its statements. It will be read generally with\ninterest and will doubtless receive a large circulation.\"--\"_German\nReformed Messenger_,\" Oct. 5.\n\n\"This little book should be read by every Pennsylvanian. The scenes\ntherein so simply and yet so touchingly depicted, have no parallel for\nhorror in any war among civilized nations except our own.\"--Pittsburg\n\"_Evening Chronicle_,\" Oct. 14.\n\n\"I rejoice that this little book has met so rapid a sale, though I\nanticipated nothing less, as it is certainly one of the most thrilling\nnarratives I have ever read. I shall send for a number of copies to be\ndistributed here.\"--Rev. Dr. W. B. SPRAGUE, Albany, N. Y., in a letter to\nthe author, Nov. 1, 1864.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: MAP OF THE PORTION OF CHAMBERSBURG\n\nBurnt by order of General Early, July 30, 1864.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURNING OF CHAMBERSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA.\n\nby\n\nREV. B. SCHNECK., D. D.,\n\nAn Eye-Witness and a Sufferer.\n\nWith Corroborative Statements from the\nRev. J. Clark, Hon. A. K. Mcclure, J. Hoke, Esq., Rev. T. G. Apple,\nRev. B. Bausman, Rev. S. J. Niccolls, and J. K. Shryock, Esq.\n\nIn Letters to a Friend.\n\nSecond Edition, Revised and Improved,\nWith a Plan of the Burnt Portion of the Town.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPhiladelphia:\nLindsay & Blakiston.\n1864.\n\nEntered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by\nLindsay & Blakiston,\nin the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States\nfor the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.\n\nStereotyped by J. Fagan & Son.\n\nPrinted by Sherman & Co.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.\n\nThe first edition of this work having been exhausted in a single month, my\nworthy and enterprising publishers have encouraged the preparation of a\nsecond without delay.\n\nIt is hardly necessary to say, that the first edition was prepared under\nexceedingly unfavorable circumstances. Mind and body were in a state of\nexhaustion. For a month, and longer, the hours of each day were so much\ntaken up with new and exciting cares and duties, as to unfit one in great\nmeasure for either mental or physical effort. Hence the unpretending\nlittle book was ushered into existence with a felt sense of its\ndeficiencies.\n\nAn honest effort at improvement has been made in the present edition. No\nsmall portion of redundant matter has been left out, thus affording room\nfor various statements which were not at hand before. I may here direct\nspecial attention to the masterly \"Vindication of the Border\" by Mr.\nApple, the spirited contribution from the facile pen of Mr. Bausman, and\nthe excellent article by Mr. Shryock. I have with forethought chosen to\nintroduce other witnesses, besides myself, to testify in regard to the\nmatter in hand, rather than to have the public rely upon my testimony\nonly.\n\nThe list of names, with the amount of losses by those who owned houses,\nwere to have been omitted in this edition; but so numerous were the\nprotests from valued friends against such a course, that it has been\nallowed to remain. The space occupied by these details has, however, been\nreduced nearly one half, partly by employing smaller type, and partly by\ncondensing the matter.\n\nThe engraving prefixed to the present edition, representing the burnt\nportion of the town, will, it is hoped, be acceptable to the reader. A\nsteel plate engraving of the ruins of the town would have been given, if\nany satisfactory representation in so small a compass could have been\nfurnished. But the judgment of the artist decided against its feasibility,\nand in favor of that herewith presented.[1]\n\nB. S. S.\n\nCHAMBERSBURG, Oct. 31st, 1864.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BURNING OF CHAMBERSBURG.\n\nLETTER I.\n\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND:\n\nYour request to give you a succinct and, as far as may be, detailed\naccount of the terrible calamity with which our town was visited on the\n30th day of July, is received. You are pleased to say, that not only my\nlong residence in the place, but the fact that I had, as on former\noccasions, so also during the present one, remained at home, gives me a\nright to speak on the subject, without fear of cavil or sneer from those\nwho are ready, either from ignorance or something worse, to misrepresent\nthe facts in the case, or apply the ill-timed weapons of ridicule and\nsarcasm against statements which have appeared in print.[2] Passing by\nyour other remarks, which I may be permitted to set down as emanating from\npersonal partiality, I shall proceed to give you, as perfectly as I can,\nand as briefly as the subject will allow, a somewhat detailed account of\nthe terrible disaster, with an honest endeavor to avoid all special\npleading and overdrawn statements, dealing only in simple matters of fact,\nas far as I have been able to gather them, either from personal knowledge\nor unquestionable authority.\n\n\nThe Military Situation on the Border.\n\nBefore proceeding directly to the narration of the terrible catastrophe,\nit may be well to glance at the military situation on our border. This\nseems the more necessary from the fact, that a very large portion of the\npublic prints have been misled into the belief, and consequently have\nunwittingly led their readers to believe that, \"if the citizens of\nChambersburg had turned out to resist the enemy, the burning and pillage\nof the town could have been averted,\" inasmuch as the rebel force,\naccording to some statements, was very trifling, \"scarcely numbering two\nhundred men.\" You, my dear friend, are laboring under this erroneous\nbelief yourself. Allow me, therefore, to turn your attention to the\nfollowing facts, which are well established, and which can be corroborated\nby any amount of evidence.\n\nGeneral Couch, the commander of this military division, had under his\ncontrol a company of about one hundred men at Mercersburg, sixteen miles\nsouthwest from here, and a section of a battery of artillery in this\nplace. This was the entire military force in the Cumberland Valley, under\nthe control of our military commander, at the time. Several Pennsylvania\nregiments which had previously been organized for the defence of the\nborder, through the efforts of our vigilant Governor, had been summoned\nby the General Government to Washington and the Potomac Army. One hundred\nmen and two small cannon--that was all.\n\nBut you ask: \"Was not General Averill near enough to have prevented the\nrebels from executing their nefarious design upon your town? and, if so,\nwhy did not General Couch inform him of the situation of affairs, and urge\nhim forward?\" The answer is at hand. General Couch _did_ attempt to inform\nGeneral Averill in time of the fact that the enemy, with a force about\nthree thousand strong, had crossed the Potomac west of Williamsport, and\nwas moving by way of Mercersburg and St. Thomas directly on Chambersburg.\nAverill was encamped one mile from Greencastle (ten from Chambersburg) on\nFriday night, July 29. The first two messengers with despatches from\nGeneral Couch, could not find him. The third messenger succeeded\naccidentally in finding him after midnight in a field. Averill only now\ndiscovered that he had been flanked by the enemy, and expressed himself\ngreatly surprised and chagrined to the messenger at this state of things.\nWhether he was to blame, it is not for me to say. It is sufficient for my\npurpose just now to know that, beyond two small cannon and one hundred\nmen, we were _without any military protection_. And could the few hundred\ncitizens of the place, most of them without firearms, be expected to make\na resistance against such a force, and with six cannon planted on the\nhills overlooking the town? To ask the question is to answer it.\n\nIn reading over the two preceding paragraphs it occurred to me that the\nimpression might have been made on your mind, that I wished to find fault\nwith the General Government for removing from us all military protection\non our border. I have no wish to do so in this letter. I am no military\nman, and hence am not so positive in my opinions as many other men, who\nare doubtless far more capable of forming a judgment in such matters. I\nmerely mention the simple facts as they are patent to all who had the best\nopportunities of knowing the true state of things. So, too, in regard to\nboth the Generals named. There is, since the burning of our town, a very\nstrong feeling of disapprobation in our community and elsewhere against\nboth, especially against General Couch. I cannot as yet share this\nfeeling. I know how apt we are, especially when smarting under severe\npersonal losses or grievances, to look around for some object upon which,\nor some person on whom, to lay the blame. For my part, I would rather err\non the side of charity than on the side of unjust fault-finding and\ndenunciation. I prefer, until better advised, to endorse the views of my\nfriend Colonel A. K. McClure, himself one of the sufferers, and well\nposted in such matters. He says:\n\n\"General Averill possibly might have saved Chambersburg, and I know that\nGeneral Couch exhausted himself to get Averill to fall back from\nGreencastle to this point. I do not say that General Averill is to blame,\nfor he was under orders from General Hunter, and not subject to General\nCouch. He had a large force of the enemy in his front, and until it is\nclearly proved to the contrary, I must believe that he did his whole\nduty.\"\n\nThese two sentences are guardedly worded. \"General Averill _possibly_\nmight have saved Chambersburg.\" The enemy, under McCausland, Bradley\nJohnson, and Gilmore, let it be recollected, had at least three thousand\ncavalry, with artillery at command, eight hundred of the latter being in\ntown, the rest within supporting distance. Johnson's command occupied the\nhigh eminence one mile west of the town with a battery. No better position\ncould have been desired. They were flushed at the prospect of plunder and\npillage; their horses were fresh and sleek; their men resolute and\ndefiant. On the other hand, Averill and his men had been worn out and\njaded by long and heavy marches in Western Virginia for a number of\nconsecutive weeks. Their horses were run down, and many of them ready to\ndie, so that two hundred and fifty of these last could not be taken any\nfarther, but were left here to recruit. It is therefore only _possible_,\nscarcely probable, that, even if Averill's force of less than two thousand\nfive hundred men had been here, a successful resistance could have been\nmade under these circumstances. But Averill and his men were not here\nuntil several hours after the work of destruction was accomplished, and\nthe enemy, gloating over his vengeful deeds, was miles away on the Western\nTurnpike, towards McConnellsburg.\n\nJudge then, dear sir, how keenly we must feel the unjust reproaches heaped\nupon us by professed friends, after our houses are in ruins, our goods\ndespoiled, and our hearts saddened at every step we take in beholding\ncontinuous squares of desolation in our once beautiful town. And\nreproaches _for what_? Because a picket guard of one hundred soldiers and\na small number of citizens did not successfully resist more than three\nthousand[3] veteran cavalrymen, with cannon eligibly planted to lay waste\nthe town without even coming into it. That commanding position once\ngained by the enemy, and the town was at his mercy, no matter what force\nof cavalry or infantry might have been in Chambersburg.\n\nReproaches--and from _whom_ and _whence_? From certain newspaper editors\nof New York; that same New York, which, with its population of half a\nmillion, could not quell its rabble mob last year, without having a part\nof the Potomac Army brought thither to guard some of the very newspaper\noffices from which those reproaches upon a helpless town in a neighboring\nState are now so unjustly heaped; those identical newspapers which have\never and anon sent forth paragraphs of bitter invective against\nPennsylvania in general, and Chambersburg in particular, for the \"ill\ntreatment of the New York militia\" at the hands of our citizens.[4] New\nYork is a great State, and counts its noble and good men by hundreds of\nthousands; but like every large State with large towns and cities, she\nalso counts her thousands of depraved creatures in human shape. And I\nspeak from personal knowledge, for they were quartered for weeks near my\nlate residence, when I say that of all the soldiers who were in this\ncommunity since the commencement of this war, none have left behind them\nsuch a bad moral odor as have many of these men. Drunkenness, wanton\ndestruction of property, thieving, fighting and stabbing each other, (in\nsome cases to death outright,) were frequent occurrences. And yet such men\nare not only allowed to vilify and abuse the people whom their misconduct\nhas outraged, but certain New York sheets take up their cause and pour\nforth wormwood and gall upon the town, the community, and the State. Let a\nvirtuous public pronounce its verdict.\n\nLet me illustrate what kind of \"defenders\" these two regiments of New York\nmilitia were. On their arrival in the town, and whilst marching through it\non their way to camp, about one mile south from here, some of the men\nreceived the hearty cheers of our citizens with sneering remarks about the\nnecessity of coming \"all the way from New York to protect Pennsylvania!\"\nJust as if the protection of the border was not at the same time a\nprotection of other States--perhaps, in certain contingencies, even of New\nYork. But mark the sequel. They went to camp the same day of their\narrival, with liberal supplies of everything. The border was known to be\nimperiled a second time, and a large portion of our citizens were armed\nand marched out with these regiments. During the night our scouts brought\ninformation to camp that the rebels were moving from the Potomac this way.\nAnd now a scene of confusion ensued which beggars description. In the\ngreatest conceivable consternation, these \"defenders\" made for\nChambersburg in \"double-quick,\" and took seats in the cars, \"homeward\nbound.\" Two interesting little circumstances, in connection with this\n_allegro_ movement, must be added, of which hundreds of our citizens were\neye-witnesses. The first is, that these \"defenders,\" in their hasty\nretreat, did not forget to provide for themselves as _safe_ a retreat as\npossible. To this end they ordered our citizen soldiers to keep in the\nrear--in military phrase, \"to cover their retreat\" until the militia-men\nhad reached the cars in safety! The other little circumstance is, that in\ntheir hasty retreat, they left the whole of their camp equipage behind. At\ndaylight the following morning you might have seen a score of wagons from\nthe town returning with loads of tents, boxes, trunks, packages, and all\nsorts of military fixtures, and conveying them to the cars, in which they\nwere sent as far as Shippensburg, by military orders. As the militia\nthought proper to hasten on farther to the north instead of protecting\ntheir own property, the wary rebels took unmolested possession of the\nwhole of it on the same day!\n\nI think you will agree with me in the remark that these men had not much\ncapital to boast of in the way of bravery, although Pennsylvanians should\nnot perhaps complain, when these \"defenders\" did no worse for _us_ than\nthey did for _themselves_, namely, beat a hasty retreat, and leave all\ntheir valuables to the enemy, even before they had a sight of him.\n\nI would not have troubled you with this unpleasant chapter, if it were not\nnecessary, in order to understand the animus of the splenetic course of\nthe papers referred to. These editors, under the pretext of \"defending the\ncitizens of New York,\" have most unaccountably, unjustly, and without the\nshadow of provocation, except it be the desolation and ruin of hundreds of\nhomes and hearths, assailed and sneered at a deeply afflicted community,\nwhich has poured out of its former means to the soldiers of our armies at\nhome and abroad without stint and with cheerful alacrity, and by night\nand by day watched and ministered at the sick and dying beds of our\nsoldiers without distinction of nation or State.\n\nYours, &c.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER II.\n\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND:\n\nYou are aware that the late incursion of the enemy was not the first visit\nwe had from our Southern \"friends.\" In the fall of 1862 we had Stuart's\ncavalry raid, and in 1863 the invasion by Lee's army. Since the first of\nJuly of the present year, up to the time of McCausland's advent, the\nentire community, especially the farmers, were kept in constant\nuneasiness. Twice before had they been robbed of horses, wagons, and\ngrain. The wheat harvest had just commenced, and now the enemy was again\non the border. During the first three weeks of July, the farmers felt it\nnecessary to remove their most valuable personal property. Merchants\npacked up and sent away, at least a portion of their goods, eastward. But\nin each case the rebels did _not_ come, and some degree of apathy in the\ncommunity was the result. But this did not last long. On the morning of\nJuly 29th, unmistakable evidence of the crossing of squads of rebel\ncavalry over the Potomac, reached us. The citizens of Chambersburg, with\nvery few exceptions, remained. Indeed, early in the evening we were\nassured that a considerable force of our troops were on their way from\nHarrisburg, which, however, like many previous assurances, telegrams, and\nrumors, was not realized. Our scouts soon reported the near approach of\nthe rebels, and by three o'clock on the morning of Saturday, the 30th, the\ncitizens who had gone out with their arms and a section of the battery,\nhaving satisfied themselves of the overpowering strength of the enemy,\nfell back to town. Three shells were now thrown over the town by the\nrebels from the hills beyond, and as these did not elicit any reply, eight\nhundred and thirty-one of their number came to town, their skirmishers\nsimultaneously investing every street and alley, gradually moving forward,\nand then halting until the signal or forward command was again given. We\nwere once more in subjection to rebel rule. The centre of the town was\nfilled with them. They called together several of the citizens who were on\nthe street, requesting them to collect some of the prominent inhabitants,\nwith a view to entering into negotiations. To this end the Court-House\nbell was rung. The summons to the citizens was very partially obeyed. It\nwas felt that nothing could be done by negotiation, and that they must\nsubmit to pillage--the most they anticipated. The few who did come\ntogether were approached by Captain Fitzhugh, one of McCausland's staff,\nwho produced and read a written order, signed by General Jubal Early,\ndirecting the command to proceed to Chambersburg, demand a tribute of\n$100,000 in gold, or $500,000 in Northern currency, and, on the failure to\nsecure this sum, to proceed to burn the town, in retaliation for the\nburning of six or eight houses specified as having been burned in certain\ncounties in Virginia by General Hunter. The citizens stated that it was\nutterly impossible to pay the sum named either in gold or currency, and\nthat the demand could not be made in good faith. They further remonstrated\nagainst the monstrosity of burning a whole town of six thousand\ninhabitants, in retaliation for the six or eight houses named. So utterly\nincredulous were they as to the threat being actually carried out, that\nthey expressed their incredulity without reserve. Captain Fitzhugh replied\nwith a clinching oath, that these orders would be carried out very\nquickly. He immediately issued his orders to his men, a barrel of kerosene\nand matches were secured, and in less than twenty minutes the town was\nfired in a dozen places, and they continued the incendiary work for about\none hour. I may here say, that most of the store-goods had been removed,\nand a few prominent citizens had left, but that no families, women, or\nchildren had departed. The burning was executed in a most ruthless and\nunrelenting manner.[5]\n\n\"A squad of men would approach a house, break open the door, and kindle a\nfire, with no other notice to the inmates, except to get out of it as soon\nas they could. In many cases, five, ten, fifteen minutes were asked to\nsecure some clothing, which _were refused_. Many families escaped with\nonly the clothing they had on, and such as they could gather up in their\nhaste. In many cases they were _not allowed to take these_, but were\nthreatened with instant death if they did not cast them away and flee.\nSick and aged people had to be carried to the fields. The corpse of at\nleast one person who had recently died, was hastily interred in the\ngarden, and children, separated from their parents, ran wildly screaming\nthrough the streets. Those whose stupor or eagerness to save something,\ndetained them, emerged with difficulty from the streets filled with the\nsheeted flames of their burning homes. I should say here, that no\nprovocation had been given; not a shot was fired on them in entering the\ntown, and not until the full crisis was reached, did desperation, in a few\ninstances, lead to desperate acts.\n\n\"As to the result, I may say that the entire heart or body of the town is\nburned. Not a house or building of any kind is left on a space of about an\naverage of two squares of streets, extending each way from the centre,\nwith some four or five exceptions, where the buildings were isolated. Only\nthe outskirts are left. The Court-house, Bank, Town Hall, German Reformed\nPrinting Establishment, every store and hotel in the town, and every mill\nand factory in the space indicated, and two churches, were burnt. Between\nthree and four hundred dwellings were burned, leaving at least twenty-five\nhundred persons without a home or a hearth. In value, three-fourths of the\ntown was destroyed. The scene of desolation must be seen to be\nappreciated. Crumbling walls, stacks of chimneys, and smoking embers, are\nall that remain of once elegant and happy homes.\n\n\"As to the scene itself, it beggars description. My own residence being in\nthe outskirts, and feeling it the call of duty to be with my family, I\ncould only look on from without. The day was sultry and calm, not a breath\nstirring, and each column of smoke rose black, straight, and single; first\none, and then another, and another, and another, until the columns blended\nand commingled; and then one vast and lurid column of smoke and flame\nrose perpendicularly to the sky, and spread out into a vast crown, like a\ncloud of sackcloth hanging over the doomed city; whilst the roar and the\nsurging, the crackling and crash of falling timbers and walls, broke upon\nthe still air with a fearful dissonance, and the screams and sounds of\nagony of burning animals, hogs, and cows, and horses, made the welkin\nhorrid with sounds of woe. It was a scene to be witnessed and heard once\nin a lifetime.\"\n\nTo you and other friends, more or less familiar with Chambersburg, it will\nbe interesting to specify a little more particularly the localities which\nhave been laid waste. Beginning on East Market street, the one leading\nfrom Gettysburg to Pittsburg, directly through the centre of the town from\neast to west, the burning commenced simultaneously with the Court-house\nand Mansion-house (Printing Establishment of the German Reformed Church).\nFacing the west from the Franklin railroad, the first building to the\nright is the residence of the Misses Denny, in a somewhat isolated\nposition. This stands in its freshness and beauty, solitary and alone.\nPassing down two squares to the centre of the town, not one building and\nonly two or three stables or barns remain on either side of this street of\nprivate residences, my own with all of my library and manuscripts, among\nthe number. Passing further on westward for more than three squares in\nlength, to the top of \"New England Hill,\" five or six more or less\nisolated houses remain. The large Franklin Hotel, the Arcade Buildings,\nJohn B. Cook's houses and tannery, Riley's Hotel, the late Matthew\nGillan's large dwelling, J. M. Wolfkill's store and dwelling, G. W.\nBrewer's and Mrs. Joseph Chambers's beautiful residences, are among the\nmany valuable properties on this street, in ruins.\n\nThen from North Main street (the street from Carlisle to Greencastle),\nbeginning with Mr. Benjamin Chambers's new residence, at the Falling\nSpring, and Mr. W. G. Reed's, on the corner, and from here on every house\non both sides up the square, on to the centre, across it to Queen street,\nand up to Washington street, with the exception of Rev. Dr. Fisher's, Mr.\nReineman's, Lehner's, and Feltman's dwellings, every house, shop, stable,\n&c., is gone. This street, as you know, contained more than three-fourths\nof all our stores, ware-rooms, and shops of business. Then comes Queen\nstreet, at the intersection of Second street, beginning at Brandt's (now\nBrown's) hotel, which was only partially destroyed, sweeping every\nbuilding (except Mrs. Brandt's dwelling), on both sides down to the creek,\nover two squares, including Dr. Culbertson's, N. Snider's, Barnard\nWolff's, Mr. Wallace's, and other valuable dwellings and stores. Between\neleven and twelve squares of the best part of the town are, therefore, in\nruins, among them houses of many, inhabitants, whom you knew in former\nyears as among your dearest friends, and in comfortable or affluent\ncircumstances, many of them now reduced to penury and want.\n\nAfter I had written the preceding pages, I found a minute and well-written\nstatement of the subject now in hand in the \"Franklin Repository,\" of this\nplace, of August 24. I take pleasure in giving the following extracts from\nthe same, instead of my own, as the matter was evidently prepared with\njudgment and care, under the supervision of its editor, Colonel McClure.\nHe says:\n\n\"It seems inexplicable to persons and journals at a distance that General\nCouch, a Major-General commanding a department, with his border repeatedly\ninvaded, should have no troops. The natural inclination is to blame the\ncommander, for it is reasonable to suppose that he would endeavor to have\nan adequate command, and also that ample authority would be given him to\nhave sufficient force. Just where the blame belongs, we do not choose now\nto discuss; but we do know that it was no fault of General Couch that he\nwas unable to defend Chambersburg. He organized a Provost Guard regiment,\nsome twelve hundred strong, expressly for duty in his department; the men\nwere enlisted under a positive assurance, based on the order authorizing\nthe organization, that they were to be kept on duty in the department.\nThey were ordered to General Grant after the battles of the Wilderness. He\norganized six regiments of one hundred days' men before the advent of\nMcCausland, and they were ordered to Washington as soon as they were ready\nto move. We are assured that Governor Curtin, fully two weeks before the\nburning of Chambersburg, formally pledged the State to make provision for\narming, organizing, and paying the entire militia force of the border for\nhome defence, if the General Government would simply give the uniforms;\nand we believe that General Couch pressed it upon the Washington\nauthorities to uniform the entire force of the southern counties, assuring\nthem that the people were willing to defend themselves if encouraged by\ngranting them uniforms, so as to save them from inhuman butchery, but it\nwas denied. We do not speak advisedly as to General Couch's correspondence\nwith the Washington authorities; we give no statements at his instance, or\nbased upon information received from him or his officers; but we do write\nwhereof we know, when we say that every effort was made to carry these\nmeasures into effect, and that they were not sanctioned at Washington.\nWhile we do not assume to fix the responsibility of this terrible\ndisaster, we do mean that it shall not fall upon a commander who was shorn\nof his strength and left helpless with his people.\n\n\nThe Rebels Enter Chambersburg\n\n\"The rebels having been interrupted in their entrance into the town until\ndaylight, they employed their time in planting two batteries in commanding\npositions, and getting up their whole column, fully three thousand strong.\nAbout 4 o'clock on Saturday morning they opened with their batteries and\nfired some half a dozen shots into the town, but they did no damage.\nImmediately thereafter their skirmishers entered by almost every street\nand alley running out west and southwest; and finding their way clear,\ntheir cavalry, to the number of eight hundred and thirty-one, came in\nunder the immediate command of General McCausland. General Bradley Johnson\nwas with him, and also the notorious Major Harry Gilmore.\n\n\nPlundering Promptly Commenced.\n\n\"While McCausland and Gilmore were reconnoitring around to get a deal with\nthe citizens for tribute, his soldiers exhibited the proficiency of their\ntraining by immediate and almost indiscriminate robbery. Hats, caps,\nboots, watches, silverware, and everything of value, were appropriated\nfrom individuals on the streets without ceremony; and when a man was met\nwhose appearance indicated a plethoric purse, a pistol would be presented\nto his head with the order to \"deliver,\" with a dexterity that would have\ndone credit to the freebooting accomplishments of an Italian brigand.\n\n\nTribute Demanded.\n\n\"General McCausland rode up to a number of citizens and gave notice that\nunless five hundred thousand dollars in greenbacks, or one hundred\nthousand dollars in gold were paid in half an hour, the town would be\nburned; but no one responded to his call. He was promptly answered that\nChambersburg could not and would not pay any ransom. He had the Court\nHouse bell rung to convene the citizens, hoping to frighten them into the\npayment of a large sum of money, but no one attended. Infuriated at the\ndetermination of our people, Major Gilmore rode up to a group of citizens,\nconsisting of Thomas B. Kennedy, William McLellan, J. McDowell Sharpe, Dr.\nJ. C. Richards, William H. McDowell, W. S. Everett, Edward G. Etter, and\nM. A. Foltz, and ordered them under arrest. He said that they would be\nheld for the payment of the money, and if not paid he would take them to\nRichmond as hostages, and also burn every house in town. While he was\nendeavoring to force them into an effort to raise him money, his men\ncommenced the work of firing, and they were discharged when it was found\nthat intimidation would effect nothing.\n\n\nBurning of Chambersburg.\n\n\"The main part of the town was enveloped in flames in ten minutes. No time\nwas given to remove women or children, the sick, or even the dead. No\nnotice of the kind was communicated to any one; but the work of\ndestruction was at once commenced. They divided into squads and fired\nevery other house, and often every house, if there was any prospect of\nplunder. They would beat in the door with iron bars or heavy plank, smash\nup furniture with an axe, throw fluid or oil upon it, and ply the match.\nThey almost invariably entered every room of each house, rifled the\ndrawers of every bureau, appropriated money, jewelry, watches and any\nother valuables, and often would present pistols to the heads of inmates,\nmen and women, and demand money or their lives. In nearly half the\ninstances they demanded owners to ransom their property, and in a few\ncases it was done and the property burned. Although we have heard of a\nnumber of persons, mostly widows, who paid them sums from twenty-five to\ntwo hundred dollars, we know of but few cases where the property was saved\nthereby. Few houses escaped rifling--nearly all were plundered of\neverything that could be carried away. In most cases houses were entered\nin the rudest manner, and no time whatever was allowed for the families to\nescape, much less to save anything. Many families had the utmost\ndifficulty to get themselves and children out in time, and not one-half\nhad so much as a change of clothing with them. They would rush from story\nto story to rob, and always fire the building at once in order to keep the\nfamily from detecting their robberies. Feeble and helpless women and\nchildren were treated like brutes--told insolently to get out or burn; and\neven the sick were not spared. Several invalids had to be carried out as\nthe red flames licked their couches. Thus the work of desolation continued\nfor two hours; more than half of the town on fire at once, and the wild\nglare of the flames, the shrieks of women and children, and often louder\nthan all, the terrible blasphemy of the rebels, conspired to present such\na scene of horror as has never been witnessed by the present generation.\nNo one was spared save by accident. The widow and the fatherless cried and\nplead in vain that they would be homeless and helpless. A rude oath would\nclose all hope of mercy, and they would fly to save their lives. The old\nand infirm who tottered before them were thrust aside, and the torch\napplied in their presence to hasten their departure. In a few hours, the\nmajor portion of Chambersburg, its chief wealth and business, its capital\nand elegance, were devoured by a barbarous foe; three millions of property\nsacrificed; three thousand human beings homeless and many penniless; and\nall without so much as a pretence that the citizens of the doomed town, or\nany of them, had violated any accepted rule of civilized warfare. Such is\nthe deliberate, voluntary record made by General Early, a corps commander\nin the insurgent army.\n\n\nIncidents of the Burning.\n\nWe find it impossible to make room for all the many touching incidents\nwhich occurred in the burning of the town. The house of Mr. James Watson,\nan old and feeble man of over eighty, was entered, and because his wife\nearnestly remonstrated against the burning, they fired the room, hurled\nher into it and locked the door on the outside. Her daughters rescued her\nby bursting in the door before her clothing took fire. Mr. Jacob Wolfkill,\na very old citizen, and prostrated by sickness so that he was utterly\nunable to be out of bed, plead in vain to be spared a horrible death in\nthe flames of his own house; but they fired the building. Through the\nsuperhuman efforts of some friends he was carried away safely. Mrs.\nLindsay, a very feeble lady of nearly eighty, fainted when they fired her\nhouse, and was left to be devoured in the flames: but fortunately a\nrelative reached the house in time, and lifting her in a buggy, pulled her\naway while the flames were kissing each other over their heads on the\nstreet. Mrs. Kuss, wife of the jeweller on Main Street, lay dead; and\nalthough they were shown the dead body, they plied the torch and burned\nthe house. Mrs. J. K. Shryock had Mrs. Kuss's sick babe in her arms, and\nplead for the sake of the dead mother and sick child to spare that house,\nbut it was unavailing. The body of Mrs. Kuss was hurriedly buried in the\ngarden, and the work of destruction went on. When the flames drove Mrs.\nShryock away with the child, she went to one of the men and presenting the\nbabe, said, \"_Is this revenge sweet?_\" A tender chord was touched, and\nwithout speaking he burst into tears. He afterwards followed Mrs. Shryock,\nand asked whether he could do anything for her; but it was too late. The\nhouses of Messrs. McLellan, Sharpe and Nixon, being located east of the\nFranklin Railroad, and out of the business part of the town, were not\nreached until the rest of the town was in flames, and the roads were\nstreaming with homeless women and children. Mr. McLellan's residence was\nthe first one entered, and he was notified that the house must be burned.\nMrs. McLellan immediately stepped to the door, and laying one hand on the\nrebel officer, and pointing with the other to the frantic fugitive women\nand children passing by, said to him: \"_Sir, is not your vengeance\nglutted? We have a home and can get another; but can you spare no homes\nfor those poor, helpless people and their children? When you and I and all\nof us shall meet before the Great Judge, can you justify this act?_\" He\nmade no reply, but ordered his command away, and that part of the town\nwas saved. Mr. Holmes Crawford, an aged and most worthy citizen, was taken\ninto an alley while his house was burning, and his pockets rifled. He was\nthus detained until it was impossible for him to get out by the street,\nand he had to take his feeble wife and sit in the rear of his lot until\nthe buildings around him were burnt down. Father McCullom, Catholic priest\nof this place, was robbed of his watch. Colonel Stumbaugh was arrested\nnear his home early in the morning, and, with a pistol presented to his\nhead, ordered to procure some whiskey. He refused, for the very good\nreason that he had none and could get none. He was released, but\nafterwards re-arrested by another squad, the officer naming him, and was\ninsulted in every possible way. He informed the officer that he had been\nin the service, and that if General Battles was present, they would not\ndare to insult him. When asked why, he answered, \"I captured him at\nShiloh, and treated him like a soldier.\" A rebel Major present, who had\nbeen under Battles, upon inquiry, was satisfied that Colonel Stumbaugh's\nstatement was correct, ordered his prompt release, and withdrew the entire\nrebel force from that part of Second Street, and no buildings were burned.\nMr. John Treher, of Loudon, was robbed by the rebels of $200 in gold and\nsilver, and $100 in currency. Mr. D. R. Knight, an artist, started out to\nthe residence of Mr. McClure when he saw Norland on fire, and on his way\nhe was robbed of all his money by a squad of rebels. He reached the house\nin time to aid in getting the women away. Rebel officers had begged of\nhim, before he started, to get the women out of town as fast as possible,\nas many rebel soldiers were intoxicated and they feared the worst\nconsequences.\n\nColonel McClure's beautiful residence, one mile from the centre of the\ntown, was evidently marked out for destruction, for no other house between\nit and the burnt portion of the town was fired. The Colonel was known as a\nprominent man in National and State affairs, and, after the raid of\nGeneral Jenkins and the succeeding invasion by General Lee's army, he had\nspoken of Jenkins and his men in no complimentary terms in the paper of\nwhich Colonel McClure is chief editor. And although no house in the\ncommunity was more coveted by rebel officers to be quartered in than his,\nand for the reason, doubtless, that every comfort and luxury could be had\nin it, and although Mrs. McClure had, with her well known generosity and\nkindness of heart, ministered to the necessities and comforts of the sick\nand wounded insurgents, which were left during General Lee's invasion, for\nwhich she has since received the most touching acknowledgments from some\nof them--yet, his property was doomed, irrevocably doomed to be burnt.\nCaptain Smith, son of Governor Smith of Virginia, with a squad of men,\npassing by all the intervening houses, entered the devoted mansion with\nthe information to Mrs. McClure, then and for some time before an invalid,\nthat the house must be burned by way of retaliation. Ten minutes were\ngiven her in which to leave the house, and in less than ten minutes the\nflames were doing their work of destruction, and Mrs. McClure and the\nother members of the family at home, started on foot, in the heat of one\nof the hottest days I have ever known, in order to escape the vengeance of\nthe chivalry. Whilst the flames were progressing in the house as well as\nthe large and well-filled barn, the Captain helped himself to Mrs.\nMcClure's gold watch, silver pitcher and other valuables. The gold watch\nand other articles were easily concealed, but the silver pitcher was\nrather unwieldy, and could not be secreted from profane eyes as he rode\nback through town from the scene of his triumph. He resolved, therefore,\nto give a public display of his generosity. He stopped at the house of the\nRev. James Kennedy, and handed the pitcher to his wife, with the request,\n\"Please deliver this to Mrs. Colonel McClure, with the compliments of\nCaptain Smith.\"\n\n\nHumane Rebel Officers.\n\nFiendish and relentless as were McCausland and most of his command, there\nwere notable exceptions, who bravely maintained the humanities of war in\nthe midst of the infuriated freebooters who were plying the torch and\nsecuring plunder. Surgeon Abraham Budd was conversing with several\ncitizens when the demand for tribute was made, and he assured all present\nthat the rebel commander would not burn Chambersburg. In the midst of his\nassurances, the flames burst forth almost simultaneously in every part of\nthe town. When he saw the fire break out, he wept like a child, and\npublicly denounced the atrocities of his commander. He took no part in it\nwhatever, save to aid some unfortunate ones in escaping from the flames.\nCaptain Baxter, formerly of Baltimore, peremptorily refused to participate\nin the burning, but aided many people to get some clothing and other\narticles out of the houses. He asked a citizen, as a special favor, to\nwrite to his friends in Baltimore and acquit him of the hellish work.\nSurgeon Richardson, another Baltimorean, gave his horse to a lady to get\nsome articles out of the burning town, and publicly deplored the sad work\nof McCausland. When asked who his commanding officer was, he answered,\n\"Madam, I am ashamed to say that General McCausland is my commander!\"\nCaptain Watts manfully saved all of Second street south of Queen, and with\nhis command aided to arrest the flames. He said that he would lose his\ncommission rather than burn out defenceless people; and other officers and\na number of privates displayed every possible evidence of their humanity.\nAfter the rebels had left, the following note was received by Rev. S. J.\nNiccolls, Presbyterian pastor, written on an envelope with a pencil:\n\n     REV. MR. NICCOLLS:\n\n     Please write my father and give him my love. Tell him, too, as Mrs.\n     Shoemaker will tell you, that I was most strenuously opposed to the\n     burning of the town.\n\n     B. B. BLAIR,\n     Chaplain, and son of Thomas P. Blair, Shippensburg, Pa.\n\nThat there was a most formidable opposition to burning the town in\nMcCausland's command was manifested in various ways. In the morning before\ndaylight, when McCausland was at Greenawalt's, on the turnpike west of\nChambersburg, a most boisterous council was held there, at which there\nwere earnest protests made to McCausland against burning anything but\npublic property. McCausland was greatly incensed at some of his officers,\nand threatened them with most summary vengeance if they refused to obey\norders.[6] Many, however, did openly disobey, and went even so far as to\ngive the utmost publicity to their disobedience.\n\n\nThe Order to Burn Chambersburg.\n\nCaptain Fitzhugh exhibited to J. W. Douglas, Esq., an attorney of this\nplace, a written order, with the name of Jubal A. Early to it, directing\nthat Chambersburg should be burned, in retaliation for the burning of six\nhouses in Virginia by Hunter. The burning of Chambersburg was therefore by\nan order from one of the corps commanders of General Lee's army, instead\nof the work of a guerrilla chief, thus placing the responsibility squarely\nupon the shoulders of General Lee. We have in support of this the\nstatement of Rev. Mr. Edwards, Episcopal clergyman of Hagerstown, who was\ntaken as a hostage after Chambersburg had been destroyed. He was brought\nto General Early's headquarters at Williamsport, and there paroled to\neffect his exchange. General Early there informed him that he had directed\nChambersburg to be burned, in retaliation for the destruction of property\nin Virginia by Grant, Meade, and Hunter, and that the account was now\nsquared.\n\n\nRetribution.\n\nSeveral of the thieves who participated in burning Chambersburg were sent\nsuddenly to their last account. An officer, whose papers identify him as\nMajor Bowen, 8th Virginia cavalry, was conspicuous for his brutality and\nrobberies. He got too far south of the firing parties to be covered by\nthem, and in his desire to glut his thievish propensities, he was\nisolated. He was captured by several citizens, in the midst of his brutal\nwork, and was dispatched promptly. When he was fired at and slightly\nwounded, he took refuge in the burning cellar of one of the houses, and\nthere, with the intense heat blistering him, he begged them to spare his\nlife; but it was in vain. Half the town was still burning, and it was\ntaxing humanity rather too much to save a man who had added the boldest\nrobbery to atrocious arson. He was shot dead, and now sleeps near the\nFalling Spring, nearly opposite the depot.\n\nMr. Thomas H. Doyle, of Loudon, who had served in Easton's battery,\nfollowed the retreating rebels towards Loudon, to capture stragglers. When\nbeyond St. Thomas he caught Captain Cochran, quartermaster of 11th\nVirginia cavalry, and as he recognized him as one who had participated in\nthe destruction of Chambersburg, he gave him just fifteen minutes to live.\nCochran was armed with sword and pistols, but he was taken so suddenly by\nMr. Doyle that he had no chance to use them. He begged piteously for his\nlife, but Mr. Doyle was inexorable; the foe who burns and robs must die,\nand he so informed him peremptorily. At the very second he shot the thief\ndead, and found on his person $815 of greenbacks, all stolen from our\ncitizens, and $1750 of rebel currency. His sword, belt, and pistols were\nbrought to this place by Mr. Doyle.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER III.\n\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND:\n\nAllow me in this letter to send you part of an article which appeared in\nthe German Reformed Messenger of September 7, in vindication of the\nborder. It is from the pen of the Rev. T. G. Apple, of Greencastle, in\nthis county. Mr. Apple is a corresponding editor of that paper, and one of\nthe most cool, honest, and sagacious writers within the range of my\nacquaintance. The article referred to is as follows:\n\n\nA Vindication of the Border.\n\n\"We have lived in the most exposed portion of the Pennsylvania border ever\nsince the commencement of the war, and therefore feel that we have some\nright to speak in its vindication. It is very easy and somewhat natural\nfor persons living away from the scene of danger to say what they would do\nunder certain circumstances, if their homes were invaded. But for those\nwho are willing to give the subject a little calm thought, the following\nconsiderations ought to be sufficient to show the error into which many\nseem to have fallen:\n\n\"1. The border counties are required, whenever a call is made, to make up\ntheir quotas for the national army. Their men are sent away to fight for\nthe maintenance of the Government. Can it be expected, then, that these\ncounties, after filling their quotas and paying their taxes, will be able\nstill to turn out and maintain in the field an additional force,\nsufficient to protect them from invasion? Is not the Government pledged,\nafter it has taken their men and their money, to afford them protection,\nso far as it has ability? And have not these border counties a right to\nexpect such protection? Is not the State under obligation to use all its\npower to afford protection to the remotest portion of its territory, so\nlong as it demands the support of all its citizens?\n\n\"2. It has generally been conceded in the North, during this war, that\nwhat is called _bushwhacking_ is contrary to the rules of war. A private\ncitizen has no right to enjoy that protection and immunity which is\naccorded him by the armies, and then take his gun and shoot down a\nsoldier. This, we think, is conceded, and it has been urged all along that\nprivate citizens who do so deserve summary execution. Suppose now that\nprivate citizens should employ violence against rebel soldiers, is it not\nplain that they would expose themselves to the vengeance of the rebel\narmy, and that the end of it would be a war of savage butchery on both\nsides, a war of destruction and desolation? Would it not invite to pillage\nand arson and murder?\n\n\"3. But even if this had been attempted in the cases of invasion that have\noccurred, it would have been of no avail. Take the recent case of the\ncapture and burning of Chambersburg. General Averill was not far from the\nplace, with twenty-five hundred cavalry, when a detachment of Early's\ncorps, under McCausland, entered and burned it. If, then, General Averill\nfelt himself too weak to interfere to prevent the rebels from entering the\ntown, what could the unarmed citizens of such a place, without any one to\nlead them, have been able to do? It has been said by papers that ought to\nknow better, that two or three hundred rebels captured and burned the\ntown. Is it not to be supposed that General Couch would know what could be\ndone, and when he despaired of being able to hold the town and left it,\nwould it not have been sheer madness for the citizens to have provoked the\nrebel soldiery to shoot them down in the streets, without being able to\neffect anything?\n\n\"Besides it must be remembered that the citizens of Chambersburg did not\nknow, and had no right to expect, that the rebel force intended burning\ntheir town before they entered it. As unarmed private citizens they\nsubmitted to what could not be averted, and expected to be treated\naccording to the rules of war, under which private citizens are protected\nfrom personal injury by soldiers.\n\n\"That farmers should send away their horses, and merchants their goods, at\nthe approach of the enemy, is not only natural, but eminently wise and\nproper. Allowing them to remain at home, without the ability to defend\nthem from capture, would be giving aid and comfort to the enemy.\n\n\"As against New York, the city whose leading papers have been vilely\nslandering the border counties of Pennsylvania, the case would seem to\nneed no explanation or vindication. It is still remembered how that city\nfound it necessary to have regiments from our armies to come to their\nrescue in putting down a riot caused by opposition to the draft. It is\nknown, too, how anxiously they clamor for the Government to provide ample\ndefences for their harbor against some rebel iron-clad that might slip in\nunawares and destroy their city. If New York needs monster guns to protect\nit from the enemy, is it wrong for Pennsylvania to expect arms and men to\nbe furnished by the Government, to protect her borders from invasion?\n\n\"As to the kind of philanthropy that would thus vilify and slander a town\nlying in ashes, and its inhabitants houseless and homeless, what terms can\ncharacterize it? It is not only unchristian but inhuman. These things are\npast, but they are not forgotten.\n\n\"Chambersburg had a right to claim help in its calamity, not as a charity,\nbut as a right. But in these times rights are not always accorded. Some\nsections have to suffer more than others, who do fully as much in men and\nmoney to support the government. This is to be expected. Let us try at\nleast to be just in our judgment.\"\n\nThe following is from the graphic pen of the Rev. B. Bausman, late pastor\nof the German Reformed congregation here, now of the city of Reading,\nlikewise a corresponding editor of the paper referred to, and author of\n\"Sinai and Zion,\" an interesting volume of Travels in the Holy Land. Mr.\nB. hastened to the scene of ruin as soon as the telegraph informed him of\nthe fearful calamity. After a suitable introduction, he furnishes the\nfollowing incidents and reflections:\n\n\"Persons were fired upon, who attempted to extinguish the flames. A rebel\nsoldier threatened a young man to 'blow his brains out' if he would not\nlet the fire burn. With a revolver in hand, his sister rushed out of an\nadjoining room, her eyes flashing with a more terrible fire than that of\nrebel kindling: 'Begone, thou brutal wretch!' said the heroine, as she\naimed with precision at the rebel's head, who scampered away in a terrible\nfright.\n\n\"Three sides around a lady's home (Mrs. Denig's) are on fire. The fourth\nis enclosed with an iron fence. An attempt to cross the fence burns her\npalm into crisp. She sits down in the middle of her narrow lot. Around her\nshe folds a few rugs, dipped in water, to shelter her person against the\nheat. An old negro crouches down by her side, and helps to moisten the\nrugs. Her face, though covered, is blistered by the intense heat. Now and\nthen God sends a breath of wind to waft the hot air away, and allows her\nto take breath. Virtually, it was a martyrdom at the stake, those two\nhours amid the flames. Only after she was rescued did the sight of her\nruined home open the fountain of tears. 'Don't cry, missus,' said Peter,\nthe old negro; 'de Lord saved our lives from de fire.' In a few hours two\nthousand people are scattered through the suburbs of the town, in the\nfields, on the cemetery, amid the abode of the dead. A squad of rebels\nseized a flag, which a lady happened to have in her house. With some\ndifficulty, she wrested it from their grasp, folded it around her person,\nand walked away from her burning house, past the furious soldiery,\ndetermined that the flag should become her shroud ere it should fall into\nthe hands of the foe.\n\n\"Never was there so little saved at an extensive fire. Sixty-nine pianos\nwere consumed. The most sacred family relics, keepsakes and portraits of\ndeceased friends, old family Bibles, handed down from past generations,\nand the many objects imparting a priceless value to a Christian home, and\nwhich can never be replaced, were all destroyed.\n\n\"In the dim moonlight we meditated among the ruins. Chimney-stacks and\nfragments of walls formed the dreary outline of ruined houses. Not a light\nwas left but the fitful glowing of embers, amid the rubbish that fills\nthe cellars. The silence of the grave reigns where oft we have heard the\nvoice of mirth and music, of prayer and praise. Now and then some one\ntreads heavily along in the middle of the street; for the pavements are\nblocked up with fallen walls.\n\n\"Here we must pause a moment. More than fifty years ago, a happy young man\nbrought his bride into yonder house, now in ruins. One room sufficed, on\nthe second floor. A happier pair could not be found in the halls of\naffluence. The first day they said: 'We will build an altar here.' Around\nit they daily knelt. In 1812, the husband tore himself away from his\nweeping bride, to drive the British foe from our soil. From that day to\nthis, his heart was aglow with the fire of Christian patriotism. Children\nwere born to them, and children's children. By industry, thrift and piety,\nthey acquired a competent fortune, meanwhile giving much to Christ and His\nkingdom. Their children, too, they gave to Him. The first room continued a\nsacred 'upper room.' There were portraits, books and family keepsakes of\nfifty years' gathering. Mementos of sorrow and joy were treasured up\ntherein. Some years ago, the once happy bride, then an aged matron, died.\nHer death was like the falling of a great shadow on a sun-lit home. By\nthis time the silvery locks of age adorned the brow of the bridegroom.\nSorrow had made his home doubly sacred; trials riveted his heart to it.\nStill he prayed and read his old family Bible in the room where first he\nbuilt the altar. With what a cheerful, buoyant spirit he bore the burdens\nof age! Under this room was a store, with a considerable quantity of\npowder. The fire is already hissing around the kegs. Still he lingers in\nhis dear chamber, as if preferring death there to safety elsewhere. The\nviolence of friendship forces him away just before the fatal explosion.\nEvery domestic memorial, which piety and affection have gathered for more\nthan half a century, are in the ashes. Two cases these, out of three\nhundred. Thousands of domestic and social ties bind the members of\ncommunities and of families together. To tear up and sunder all in a few\nhours, and cut hundreds of hearts loose from the moorings of past\ngenerations--who can fathom such a sorrow!\n\n\"The Rev. P. S. Davis, who lately entered upon the pastorate of the First\nReformed Church, sustained a serious loss. A great portion of the clothing\nof his family and his manuscripts, the literary fruits of an earnest,\nlaborious ministry, were consumed. Dr. Schneck vainly contended with the\nflames. His cozy, substantial house, with all that it contained--the\ncostly relics borne home from two European tours, his valuable library,\nall his manuscripts, precious domestic keepsakes and furniture--all are a\nheap of undistinguishable ruins. To begin the world anew at his time of\nlife, presents a cheerless prospect. Dr. Fisher's is one of the four\nfortunate homes that were saved in the burned district.\"\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IV.\n\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND:\n\nIn your last letter, you ask me what are the feelings of our people,\nespecially the immediate sufferers, under the severe stroke which has\nbefallen them; whether desponding or otherwise, and whether the spirit of\n\"retaliation for the bitterly severe losses and deprivations does not\nlargely manifest itself among them.\"\n\nIn regard to the first, I am enabled to say, that during the whole course\nof my life, I have not witnessed such an absence of despondent feeling\nunder great trials and sudden reverses of earthly fortune, never such\nbuoyancy and vigor of soul, and even cheerfulness amid accumulated woes\nand sorrows, as I have during these four weeks of our devastated town. And\nI leave you to imagine the many cases of extreme revulsion from\nindependence and affluence to utter helplessness and want. The widow and\nfatherless, the aged and infirm, suddenly bereft of their earthly all, in\nvery many instances, even of a change of clothing. Large and valuable\nlibraries and manuscripts, the accumulations of many years; statuary,\npaintings, precious and never-to-be-replaced mementoes--more valuable than\ngold and silver--gone forever. And yet amid all these losses and the\nconsequent self-denial and the necessity of adapting themselves to another\nand almost entirely different state of things, to which the great majority\nof the people were subjected, you seldom see a sad or sombre countenance\non the street or elsewhere. Exceptions there are doubtless, traceable in\npart to feeble physical constitution, in part also to an inordinate love\nof and dependence upon transitory objects. But in a general way the\nsufferers by this wholesale devastation are among the most patient,\nunmurmuring, cheerful, hopeful people I have ever known. God really seems\nto have given special grace in a special time of need. When, on the\nmorning after the burning and pillage (God's sweet day of rest) I\nattempted to preach to an humble flock of Germans, whom I serve once a\nSabbath, a godly woman belonging to the little congregation wept nearly\nduring the whole service. On the way to my lodging-place, I overtook her\nand found her still in tears. Fearing I had been misinformed as to her\nsafety from the recent calamity, I asked for the cause of her grief. \"I\nweep for _others_, my dear pastor,\" she replied, \"and not altogether and\nentirely for others either, for I fear me that if _my_ little all had been\nburnt before my eyes, I should not have had grace to bear up as you and\nthe rest are enabled to do.\" And then with an outburst of irrepressible\nemotion, she added: \"And you can yet exhort us to forgive these our\nenemies, and not murmur and repine under all this, as not only you\nyourself but others have said, we should do. It's _this_ that makes me\nweep.\"\n\nI freely confess that I have never experienced in my own case, nor in the\ncase of others, even under comparatively light and trifling losses and\ndeprivations, such resignation, such quiet, gentle submission, and such\ncalm endurance, amid the loss of all things, as in this instance. To such\nan extent have been these manifestations, that persons from neighboring\ntowns, and strangers from a distance who in great numbers have visited the\nplace, almost universally remark upon it. A highly intelligent and pious\nwoman in a remote part of the county, a few days after the burning, called\nat the house in which a number of the homeless ones were kindly cared for.\nThe large dining-table was surrounded by those who, a few days before,\nwere in possession of all the comforts and many of the luxuries of life.\nPleasant and cheerful conversation passed around the board. The visitor\nalone seemed sad and out of tune. Tears stood in her eyes as she looked\naround upon us. \"I am amazed beyond measure at you all,\" she said. \"I\nexpected to see nought but tears, hear only lamentations and sighs, and\nhere you are as I have seen and known you in your bright and happy days,\ncalm, serene, and even cheerful!\" When one of our number replied, that no\ntear over the losses sustained had yet been shed by herself, but many\ntears at the numerous tokens of Christian sympathy and generous aid from\nfar and near to relieve the immediate necessities of the sufferers, she\nadded, \"God be thanked for your words; they flow like precious ointment,\ndeep down into my heart. Oh, what a commentary on the promised grace of\nGod!\" And we all felt, I am sure, that among the many gifts of our\nheavenly Father, not the least was\n\n           \"A cheerful heart,\n     That tastes those gifts with joy.\"\n\nAnd in regard to the feeling of revenge, so natural to the human heart, I\nhave been gratifyingly disappointed. Among the heaviest sufferers, by far\nthe largest proportion have not only expressed themselves decidedly\nopposed to the spirit of retaliation, but have used their best efforts to\ndissuade our soldiers from carrying their threats into execution when an\nopportunity should offer. They have gone farther, and have drawn up a\npetition in which they earnestly implore the Government in Washington to\nprevent to the utmost anything of the kind on the part of our army. They\nbelieve it to be morally wrong, no matter what may be the provocation from\nthe other side, and have always condemned the destruction of private\nproperty by our troops in the South, whenever isolated instances of the\nkind were reported. They believe, moreover, with our wise and judicious\nGovernor, that retaliation \"can do no good to our own people, but a great\ndeal of harm, because we have more towns, villages, flouring and other\nmills to be destroyed in three counties than our enemies in the Southern\nStates have in fifteen or twenty counties.\"\n\nSuch a wholesale, premeditated, and cruel work of destruction as the\nburning of Chambersburg, was never perpetrated by Union troops, and when\nRichmond papers have said so, they have said what the facts in the case\ndid not warrant. It must be admitted, however, that in too many instances,\nUnion troops did destroy private property unnecessarily and wantonly. We\nhope in God it will never be done again. We trust our commanding officers\nin the army will not allow passion to set aside moral principle, military\nrule, and military honor. Within sight of our charred and desolated homes,\nwe implore and beseech them not to bring reproach upon our Government,\ntrample upon all law and order, inaugurate cruel barbarity instead of\ncivilized warfare, and be guilty of such accumulated horrors as have been\nenacted here. And yet all this, and much more, will follow with unerring\ncertainty, if the immoral, dishonorable, and unmilitary spirit of\nretaliation is carried into effect. God in mercy forbid it!\n\nIn this connection, and for the purpose of showing that I am not alone in\nthe views expressed as regards the destruction of private property by\nUnion troops on the one hand, and the exaggerated or untrue statements of\nthe Southern press on the other, I will quote the following paragraphs\nfrom the pen of Colonel McClure, in his paper already referred to. I\nsuppose his statements come as near the truth as can well be ascertained.\nHe says:\n\n\"Jacksonville (Florida) was fired at a single point when our troops were\nretreating from it, because citizens fired on our men from the houses, and\nunfortunately most of the town--composed of wooden structures--was\ndestroyed. The firing was in accordance with a well-recognized rule, that\ncivilians who shelter themselves in their houses to fire upon troops,\nshall not only lose their property but suffer death. In Alexandria an\naccidental fire, resulting from a party of intoxicated soldiers,\nthreatened the destruction of the entire town, owing to its inflammable\nbuildings and unfavorable winds; but it was arrested before one-third of\nthe village--the poorest portion of it--was burned. At the head of the\nforce detailed to put out the fire was Major-General Banks in person, and\nby his orders and efforts the town was saved. Jackson (Mississippi) was\npartially destroyed by our guns when it was defended by the rebels, but it\nwas not fired and burned by our troops after possession was gained.\nWrongs, even atrocities, may have been committed by individual soldiers or\nisolated commands; but no such thing as deliberate and wanton burning and\nrobbing of houses was practised by the Union army. Colonel Montgomery\ncommitted gross outrages on private citizens in two raids in South\nCarolina, which we have never seen reason to justify; but he was deprived\nof his command, or at least subordinated, and it may be dismissed, as he\nshould have been. Kilpatrick burned mills unwarrantably, as we have ever\nbelieved, and other Union commanders may have done the same; but it was\nsome excuse that they were filled with rebel supplies. While McCausland\nwas on his way to Chambersburg to lay it waste, General Rousseau was\npenetrating the richest part of Georgia, and not a single private house\nor building of any kind was destroyed, nor were his soldiers permitted to\nenter a residence on the route. When private property was near to\nGovernment stores, which he had to fire, he detailed men to save all but\nthe buildings belonging to or used by the rebel government. General\nStoneman enforced the same rules rigidly in all his raids, and so did\nGrierson. The Union troops have captured and occupied hundreds of rebel\ntowns since the war has commenced, and they have yet for the first time to\ndemand the freebooter's tribute, or destroy a town by order of a\ncommanding officer. Repeatedly have our troops been fired upon and\nmurdered by skulking rebels who protected themselves in their dwellings;\nbut in no case has a town been destroyed therefor.\"\n\n\n\n\nLETTER V.\n\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND:\n\nAfter my last letter was beyond my control, I became acquainted with some\nadditional incidents which may interest you.\n\nA lady, well known to me, the mother of a large family of children, was\nordered to leave the house in five minutes, as the house must be burned.\nShe collected them all around her to obey the cruel summons. Preparations\nwere at once made to fire the building in the rooms above and below, and\nas the family group walked out of the large and beautiful mansion, the\nchildren burst into loud weeping. \"I am ashamed of you,\" said the\ntenderly loving, yet heroic woman, \"to let these men see you cry,\" and\nevery child straightened up, brushed away the falling tears, and bravely\nmarched out of the doomed home.\n\nAn elderly woman, of true Spartan grit, gave one of the house-burners such\na sound drubbing with a heavy broom, that the invader retreated, to leave\nthe work of destruction to be performed by another party, after the woman\nhad left to escape the approaching flames of the adjoining buildings.\n\nThe wife of a clergyman succeeded in preventing one of the enemy from\nfiring her house, by reminding him that she had fed him during Stuart's\nraid in 1862, and that she also ministered to him when he was in the\nhospital in this place in the summer of 1863. The man recognized her, and\nfrankly declared that he could not be so base as to destroy her house, now\nthat he remembered her kind offices. He had been wounded and made a\nprisoner at the battle of Gettysburg, was brought to the hospital here,\nand afterwards exchanged.\n\nMr. Jacob Hoke, one of our most worthy and enterprising merchants, has\nfurnished the following statement of facts and incidents for publication\nin the Religious Telescope, of Dayton, Ohio. As his residence and store\nwere located in the centre of the town, he had an opportunity of\nwitnessing the scenes of the day to greater advantage than most others. I\nmay as well inclose the principal part of his article, as it explains more\nfully several general statements before given, whilst, at the same time,\nit brings out some points not alluded to before:\n\nMR. EDITOR: Not having seen in any published report, a satisfactory\naccount of the late rebel raid on Chambersburg, and being a resident here,\nand an eye-witness, I will hastily sketch what came under my own\nobservation, and what I have from reliable persons. In Thursday's\nPhiladelphia Inquirer, the correspondent at Frederick stated \"that our\ntroops were in such numbers, and so situated, that for the first time in\nthe history of the war, glorious news might be expected from the\nShenandoah Valley.\" Very high military authority, but a few days prior to\nthe raid, assured us \"that every ford of the Potomac was strictly watched;\nthat it was impossible for the enemy to cross; that if they only would\ncross it would be the best thing that could happen, as they could never\nget back again.\" In this way our community was lulled into comparative\nsecurity, until on Friday noon, July 29th, it was announced that the\nrebels had crossed in considerable force at Williamsport, and also at\nCherry Run. No one could depict the scene of excitement which then\noccurred. Merchants and others commenced packing, shipping, and otherwise\ndisposing of their valuables.\n\nAt eight o'clock in the evening General Hunter's large wagon train\ncommenced passing through our town toward Harrisburg, and continued\npassing during the greater part of the night. At least fifteen hundred\ncavalry and two hundred infantry passed through with that train as guards\nand as stragglers. That these men were not stopped here by General Couch,\nwho did not leave town until three o'clock in the morning, is explained by\nthe assertion that they were under orders from General Hunter to guard his\ntrain. That train was entirely safe after it had passed through\nChambersburg, and that body of men, judiciously posted, could, with the\nartillery in town, and the citizens, have held the enemy in check until\nAverill could arrive, who was then ten miles distant, and threatened in\nhis front by a force of rebels who, it is now evident, were only making a\ndemonstration to hold him until the other and heavier column under\nMcCausland and Gilmore, could effect their object in Chambersburg.\n\nI sat at my window on the corner of the Diamond and saw them enter.\nSkirmishers, dismounted, led the advance, followed by cavalry. They came\nin simultaneously in all the streets and alleys, and called to each other\nas a signal, when they reached the centre of the Diamond. In five minutes\nafter, a force of about five hundred cavalry filed around the Public\nSquare, and immediately commenced the work of plunder. The first building\nbroken open was Mr. Paxton's shoe and hat store; then the liquor stores\nadjoining my residence. I met them at my store door and unlocked it, when\nabout twenty entered and commenced a thorough search. Finding it empty,\nthey inquired where I had my goods, to which I replied, I had shipped them\nto Philadelphia. Returning from the room, I locked the door, and sat down\nby it, and entered into conversation with a gentlemanly-looking man, who\ninformed me he was the Chaplain to McCausland's command. He gave his name\nas Johnson, born in Fayette County, Pennsylvania, and said he was a\nMethodist preacher. During our conversation an officer dismounted at my\ndoor, tied his horse, and listened to our conversation, where he remained\nuntil the circumstance occurred to which I shall presently refer. The\nChaplain said to me, \"Do you reside in this house?\" I replied\naffirmatively. He then said they were rolling several barrels of\ncombustible matter into the Court House, near my residence; that they were\ngoing to burn it, and I had better try to save something from our house.\nLeaving these two men at the door, I ran up stairs and carried a load of\nprecious articles from the parlor table, consisting of a valuable family\nBible, books, photograph album, &c., to a neighbor's house, where I\npresumed they would be safe. They were all burned there, however. Next, I\ncarried some bed-clothing to a different part of the town, and they were\nsaved. Returning to the house, I encountered a rebel officer in one of the\nrooms. Said he: \"Do you belong to this house?\" On my replying in the\naffirmative, he said: \"My friend, for God's sake, tell me what you value\nmost, and I will take it to a place of safety. They are going to burn\nevery house in the town.\" I told him if that was the case, it was no use\nto remove anything, as they might as well burn here as elsewhere.\n\nBy this time my wife and two other occupants of the house came down stairs\neach with a carpet-bag packed with clothing. The officer followed us to\nthe door and entreated one of the women to mount his horse and ride him\noff, as he declared he did not want him any more in the rebel service.\nAnother man unbuckled his sword and put it in our house, in disgust at the\nscene before him. It was afterwards found among the ruins. At the door I\nfound the officer previously referred to, weeping bitterly. The flames\nwere bursting from buildings all around us. \"See,\" said he, \"this is awful\nwork. O God! O, my God, has it come to this, that we have to be made a\nband of thieves and robbers by a man like McCausland!\" I have seen many\nmen weep, but never did I see a strong, robust man hide from his sight,\nwith his handkerchief, the appalling scene, and cry at the top of his\nvoice, \"O God! O mighty God!--See, see!\"\n\nImagine the feelings of my family, when an hour before this, without\nintending to select any particular passage of God's Word, I read the 138th\nPsalm, in which the following words occur: \"Though I walk in the midst of\ntrouble, Thou wilt revive me: Thou shalt stretch forth Thy hand against\nthe wrath of mine enemies, and Thy right hand shall save me.\" We knelt in\nprayer and surrounded the breakfast-table under the conviction that it was\nfor the last time in that dear home. Then came the hasty snatching of\nprecious relics of dear departed ones, passing hurriedly from room to\nroom, leaving clothing, beds, furniture, library, pictures--all to the\ndevouring flames. In our parlor hung the photographs of several of our\nbishops, with many others. These were either carried away by the rebels or\nburned. At the door we encountered the incident previously narrated.\nLeaving the weeping officer, we pressed through flame and smoke, amidst\nburning buildings, to the suburbs of the town, where we sat down and\nwatched four hundred buildings in flames, two hundred and seventy-four of\nwhich were dwelling-houses, the affrighted occupants running wildly\nthrough the streets, carrying clothing and other articles, while screams\nof anguish from lost children in pursuit of parents, the feeble efforts of\nthe old and infirm to carry with them some endeared article from their\nblazing homes, the roaring and crackling flames, falling walls and\nblinding smoke, all united to form a picture of horror, which no pen could\ndescribe, no painter portray. For three hours the fire raged. At about 11\no'clock, the rebels left town, as Averill's scouts captured five rebels\nwithin one mile of the town. In three hours after their exit, Averill\nfiled through the streets.\n\n\nIncidents.\n\nIn our flight through the streets, the rebel officer alluded to followed\nus half a square, entreating one of the women to mount and ride off his\nhorse, declaring that he was done with the rebel service. No sooner did he\nturn away, than another rode up and demanded our carpet-bags; we ran on,\nand he turned back without them. Brother Winton, while fleeing with his\nwife and little children, was stopped by a cavalryman and compelled to\ndeliver his shoes and hat. Hundreds of robberies occurred of hats, shoes,\nwatches, money, &c. An old and very estimable lady, who had not walked for\nthree years, was told to run, as her house was on fire. She replied that\nshe had not walked for three years. With horrid curses, the wretch poured\npowder under her chair, declaring that he would teach her to walk; and\nwhile in the act of applying fire to his train, some neighbors ran in and\ncarried her away.\n\nThe burning mass appeared to converge toward the Diamond, forming fearful\nwhirlwinds, which at times moved eastwardly along the line of Market\nstreet. At one time an immense whirlwind passed over where a large lot of\nbedding and wearing apparel had been collected. Large feather beds were\nlifted from the ground. Shirts and lighter articles were conveyed with\nfearful velocity high in the air, alighting at a great distance from where\nthey lay. It was grand and fearful, adding to the horror of the scene. In\nmany cases soldiers set fire to houses, and to the tears and entreaties of\nwomen and children they said their \"orders were to burn. We will fire;\nyou can do as you please after we go away.\" An officer rode up to our\nparsonage, and thus addressed Mrs. Dickson: \"Madam, save what you can; in\nfifteen minutes we will return and fire your house.\" They did not return.\nOur church and parsonage were saved. The printing establishment of the\nGerman Reformed Church was completely destroyed, with all the valuable\npresses, books, the bindery, &c. Dr. Fisher estimates the loss to the\nChurch at over forty thousand dollars. Those of our readers who know the\ntown will understand the extent of this destruction from the following:\n\nBeginning at the Presbyterian lecture-room on the north, the fire swept\nevery building on the west side of Main street, except four, up to\nWashington street, four squares; from King street on the north, every\nbuilding on the east side of Main street up to Washington, three squares;\nfrom the Franklin Railroad to nearly the top of New England Hill, five\nsquares, on both sides of the street; also eight or ten dwellings over the\ntop of New England Hill; from the Market-house down Queen street, both\nsides, to the edge-tool factory, and several buildings on the street\nrunning parallel with the creek, up to Market street, with many buildings\non Second street from Market, up near the Methodist Church. The Methodist,\nGerman Reformed, and Lutheran churches saved the parts of the town in\nwhich they were situated from being involved in the general conflagration.\nThe Associate Reformed and Bethel churches, the latter belonging to \"The\nChurch of God,\" were burned. The Associate Reformed was used as\nheadquarters for drafted men; hence its destruction. The \"Bethel\"--so\nmarked on a stone in the front--was supposed by the fiends to be a negro\nchurch. In most cases fire was kindled in beds or bureaus by matches, and\nin balls of cotton saturated in alcohol or kerosene.\n\nI saw men and officers drinking liquor as it was carried from the hotels,\nthe doors of which they broke open. Many were drunk. Women were insulted;\ncruel taunts and threats were repeatedly made.\n\n\nI have thus hastily sketched the foregoing _facts, for such they are_. The\nreader will remember they are written by one who lost heavily by the fire;\nis now surrounded by the extended ruins; is aware of the sufferings and\nheart-breakings of over two thousand men, women, and children, many of\nwhom have been reduced from affluence to poverty, are now dependent for\nthe bread they eat, the clothes they wear, and the houses that shelter\nthem, upon others more favored.\n\nJ. HOKE.\n\nCHAMBERSBURG, August 10, 1864.\n\n\nI also append to the foregoing the following graphic letter in the\nPittsburgh Evening Chronicle, afterwards copied in the Chambersburg\nFranklin Repository. It is from the pen of the Rev. S. J. Niccolls, the\nesteemed pastor of the Presbyterian congregation in this place.\n\n\"So much misapprehension exists in many quarters concerning the facts\nconnected with the burning of Chambersburg, that it has become a matter of\njustice to a wronged and suffering community to state them fully to the\npublic. Many things have been written concerning this calamity, true in\nthemselves, but disconnected from their attending circumstances, and so\nthe most injurious impressions have been made on the minds of those who\nlive remote from the border. A connected and truthful narrative of this\nsad event, it is hoped, will correct these.\n\n\"The history of the past month commences with the advance of Early up the\nShenandoah, and the invasion of Maryland. The enemy, about fifteen hundred\nstrong, soon occupied Hagerstown, and it was believed that they intended a\nraid on Chambersburg. At this time there were three hundred soldiers in\nthe place, under command of General Couch, the whole number available in\nhis department. The citizens rallied around these, and determined to\ndefend the town. Barricades were thrown across the streets, cannon\nplanted, houses occupied by sharpshooters, and every preparation made for\ndefence. Soon, however, the enemy fell back across the Potomac, and the\ninvasion was declared to be ended. The small body of troops under General\nCouch were withdrawn to protect the national Capital, and we were left\ndefenceless. We were assured, however, that the fords of the Potomac were\nwell guarded, and a large army lay between us and the rebels. The very\npapers in New York which now condemn us for our apathy were daily assuring\nus that it was \"all quiet on the Potomac,\" and that the enemy had fallen\nback. We were soon startled from our dream of security by the announcement\nthat General Crooks had been defeated, and the rebels were again advancing\nto invade Pennsylvania.\n\n\"We did not then take arms, because it was plain to every one that if the\nforces of Crooks and Averill could not resist their advance, it would be\nfolly in a few citizens to attempt it. We had seen an invasion once\nbefore, and knew what it meant. Anticipating a repetition of the scenes\nof last year, the people of the county began to remove their stock and\nvaluables. In the midst of conflicting rumors nothing could be learned of\nthe movements of the enemy until Friday, July 29th. In the afternoon of\nthat day it was known that they had crossed the Potomac, and were\nadvancing rapidly on Chambersburg. We also learned from Mercersburg that\nthe invading force was three thousand strong, or as it afterwards\nappeared, by actual count, thirty-one hundred, with six pieces of\nartillery. To meet this force there were in the town one hundred soldiers,\nwith two pieces of artillery, and the citizens capable of bearing arms.\nThe number of the latter would not reach three hundred, a large portion of\nthe population being already in the army, and quite a number absent,\nattending to the removal of their horses and valuables. The citizens who\nremained were willing to defend the place, had it been deemed practicable\nby General Couch; but with this small and inadequate force at his\ndisposal, it seemed like courting destruction for the town to attempt its\ndefence. A show of resistance, which none could hope would be successful,\nwould only give them a pretext for burning. No word could be obtained from\nGeneral Averill, who was then near Greencastle, though the most earnest\nefforts were made by General Couch to obtain his assistance.\n\n\"At four o'clock A. M. on Saturday the military authorities left, and soon\nafter the combined forces of McCausland and Bradley Johnson were placed in\nline of battle upon the range of hills commanding the town. The Eighth\nVirginia regiment, numbering about five hundred men, was thrown forward\ninto the streets. These were detailed to burn the place....\n\n\"The scene that speedily followed is indescribable in its horrors. The\nsoldiers went from house to house, bursting open the doors with planks and\naxes, and entering, split up the furniture to kindle the fire, or else\nscattered combustible materials in the closets and along the stairways,\nand then applied the torch. In a little over half an hour the whole town\nwas fired, so complete were their arrangements to accomplish their hellish\ndesigns. No time was given the inhabitants to save anything. The first\nwarning of danger most of them had was the kindling of the fire in their\nhouses, and even the few articles that some caught up in their flight were\nseized by the soldiers and flung back into the flames. Many such instances\nhave come to the writer's knowledge, that in their dark malignity almost\nsurpass belief. The aged, the sick, the dying, and the dead were carried\nout from their burning homes; mothers with babes in their arms, and\nsurrounded by their frightened little ones, fled through the streets,\njeered and taunted by the brutal soldiery. Indeed their escape seemed\nalmost a miracle, as the streets were in a blaze from one end to the\nother, and they were compelled to flee through a long road of fire. Had\nnot the day been perfectly calm, many must have perished in the flames.\n\n\"The conflagration in its height was a scene of surpassing grandeur and\nterror. A tall black column of smoke rose up to the very skies; around it\nwere wrapped long streamers of flames, writhing and twisting themselves\ninto a thousand fantastic shapes, while through it, as though they were\nprayers carried heavenward by the incense of some great altar sacrifice,\nthere went up on the smoky, flame-riven clouds the cries and shrieks of\nthe women and children. But the moment of greatest alarm was not reached\nuntil some of the more humane of the rebel officers warned the women to\nflee, if they wished to escape violence to their persons. We cannot, in\nthis letter, describe the scenes of the sad flight which followed.\n\n\"The ferocity of the rebel soldiers during this affair seems almost\nincredible. With all their fierce passions unrestrained, they seemed to\nrevel in the work of destruction. An aged elder of the Presbyterian church\nwas taken from his house and robbed; the building was fired while his\nwife, aged and infirm, was still in it. Upon his return, it was with the\nutmost difficulty she was saved. Escape by the street was impossible, and\nthey were compelled to flee to a little garden in the rear of the house,\nwhere they sat for hours, surrounded by fire. The rebel Gilmore forbade a\nlady to remove her trunks from her house, and upon her telling him to his\nface what she thought of his conduct, he drew his pistol and declared \"he\nwould blow out her brains if she did not take that back.\" Many such\ninstances, and worse, might be recorded. There were, indeed, some among\nthem who acted humanely, refusing to do the work assigned them, but they\nwere exceptions.\n\n\"As soon as the town was thoroughly fired at all points, the rebels fell\nback. On their way out they burned the residence of the County\nSuperintendent of Public Schools, because, as they told his family, 'he\nhad taught negroes.' Two hours after their departure, General Averill\nentered the town, and we were once more inside the Union lines.\n\n\"Such is the story of the burning of Chambersburg. These outlines,\nhowever, form a poor picture of the reality. The blackened ruins of this\nonce beautiful town must first be seen before the calamity can be\nunderstood, and not then, for it is only by looking at it in detail, by\nunderstanding the peculiar sadness there is in each separate loss, and\nseeing the strange diversity of sorrow there is in this common woe, that\none can realize the full extent of the ruin. Eleven squares of blackened\nruins and over three millions of dollars in property consumed is the\noutward estimate of the loss. But who can write the history of two\nthousand people suddenly made homeless, dashed from affluence to poverty,\ntorn violently from the sacred associations of the past, and driven forth\nhouseless wanderers among strangers?\n\n\"The question is often asked, 'Who is responsible for this calamity?' Many\ncoldly and unhesitatingly lay it upon the citizens themselves; but surely\nit is not necessary to argue that a few hundred citizens could not have\nresisted successfully three thousand veteran soldiers with six pieces of\nartillery. Many, too, have blamed General Couch, and false representations\nhave gone forth that the citizens were greatly incensed against him. The\nwriter of this letter has had peculiar opportunities of knowing the true\nstate of the case, and would ask attention to the following facts. When\nGeneral Couch took command of this department one year ago, he urged upon\nthe citizens the necessity of forming organizations for home defence. His\nappeal was readily responded to, and all the citizens in the borough\ncapable of bearing arms enrolled themselves in some organization. General\nCouch then made application to the War Department, asking that we might be\nuniformed and enrolled in the general service, so that, if we were ever\noverpowered, we would be treated as prisoners of war and not as\nguerrillas. This request was denied. He then proceeded to organize a\ncavalry force, from what was known as the 'six months' men,' for the\ndefence of the border. Many of our citizens enlisted in this force. It was\nkept on the border until their term of service expired, when they\nre-enlisted for three years. But their new organization was scarcely\ncompleted, before they were taken from this department and sent to the\nArmy of the Potomac. General Couch then proceeded to organize the 'Provost\nregiment, for special service in his department.' This was filled up to\n1200 men, and then, as with the rest, taken from him by order of the\nSecretary of War. These gone, scarce a corporal's guard was left under his\ncommand.\n\n\"Two weeks before the advance of Early up the valley, General Couch\nrenewed the request of last year, asking that the citizens might be armed\nand enrolled; stating, also, that they were ready to attempt their own\ndefence. This was again denied. Then followed the request made by Governor\nCurtin, and endorsed by General Couch, which is already published in the\nGovernor's Message. At the time of the invasion of Maryland the whole of\nthe available force in the Department of the Susquehanna did not exceed\nthree hundred men; and during the raid on Chambersburg, General Couch had\nbut one hundred and thirty-five men under his command. Nor is he to blame\nfor the smallness of this number. He had during this month of alarm\norganized six regiments of one hundred days' men; but these, as soon as\nequipped, were ordered to Washington by the Secretary of War. Such are the\nfacts in the case. We make no comments on the propriety of leaving the\nborder thus defenceless. Its security is perhaps a small matter compared\nwith the strengthening of our armies elsewhere. We only say, General Couch\nis not to blame. He did everything a brave, earnest and faithful officer\ncould do to avert this calamity.\n\n\"Many also are under the impression that this place was disloyal, and\nconsequently they have no sympathy with us in our affliction. Nothing does\ngreater injustice to our suffering community than this. No town of its\nsize in Pennsylvania has fewer \"sympathizers\" with the rebellion than\nChambersburg. Its quotas have always been filled by volunteers, and many\nof its best citizens have fallen on the field of battle. Such was and such\nis the spirit of the inhabitants. The affliction into which they have\nfallen is so great that, were it the result of their own neglect, common\ncharity should teach others to speak of them kindly. But they do not wish\nto be excused; they only ask to be judged by the facts in the case. The\nwriter has stated such facts as he knows to be true, and subscribes his\nname to them.\n\nS. J. NICCOLLS.\"\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VI.\n\n\nMY DEAR FRIEND:\n\nA gentleman has just handed me the \"Lutheran and Missionary\" of\nPhiladelphia, of August 11, in which I find the following excellent\narticle, which, with a few omissions, is here subjoined. It is from the\npen of our worthy townsman, Mr. John K. Shryock, who, as well as his\nbrother, Samuel S. Shryock, have for years carried on a large business in\nthe \"Mansion House\" as booksellers, and were among the many heavy\nsufferers by the fire. After alluding to the circumstances attending the\nadvent of the insurgents, he says:\n\n\"I was in my house with my wife and two little children, and also a lady\nwhose husband was taken to Richmond last summer, her little boy, and\nsister. The earliest warning we received was from the stifling smoke that\npoured through the house, and from some one knocking at the door and\ncrying: 'If there is any one in this house, for God's sake leave, for it\nis all on fire.' I gathered my family together, and left with nothing but\nthe clothes I had upon my person, two of the ladies not having time even\nto get their bonnets. Having gotten them out of the house, I ascended the\nstairs to see if any had been left behind in the haste. After having\nexamined all the rooms, I met two of the infuriated wretches rushing up\nthe stairs as I hurried down. At this time the house was filled with\nblinding smoke. I locked the front door, hoping that the unwelcome\nvisitors would not be able to find their way out.\n\n\"I immediately hurried after my charge, and found them struggling their\nway through the streets, thronged with homeless women and children, the\npavements blocked up by the rebels, who had ridden their horses in every\nimaginable way to hinder the course of the fugitives. The streets were\nfilled with smoke and flame, and almost impassable. After we had reached a\ntemporary shelter, my wife returned to the scene of destruction, as a bird\nto its nest, and on her way was stopped before a burning house, in which a\ncorpse was lying, and a little child at the point of death. The dead\nwoman was gotten out with difficulty, and buried in the garden without\nshroud or coffin, and the child was barely rescued and placed in her arms,\nwhen an officer in front of the house called out to his men: 'Boys,\nremember Hunter!' She ran up to him, uncovered the child, and said: 'Here\nis a dying baby we have saved from the house you have fired. Is your\nrevenge sweet?' Shocked, the fellow burst into tears, and answered, 'No,\nmadam.' He followed her some distance, and leaning down, asked her\nearnestly, 'Madam, can't I save something for you?' Her answer was, 'No,\nit is too late: I have lost all!' Warned to leave the house in which we\nhad taken refuge, a party of us left, but soon became separated, and I\nlost my little boy, aged about ten, and did not find him till the next\nday, at Shippensburg, whither he had walked, a distance of eleven miles.\nThe rest of us kept upon the edge of the burning town, and for three or\nfour hours watched the progress of the flames.\n\n\"One of the saddest sights I witnessed was the burning of the old Academy.\nI watched it burn, timber by timber. Fifteen years of associations as\nscholar and teacher were annihilated in the course of one short hour. My\nattention was then drawn to the flag-staff in the centre of the public\nsquare, and we all, of our party as well as others, expressed an ardent\nhope that it might stand, from which the American flag might wave, even\nover the ruins of the town. At noon we returned to the uninjured house of\na friend, and spent the night in gazing upon the ruins of our once happy\nand beautiful town.\n\n\"The conduct of the rebel soldiery was barbarous in the extreme, though\nthere were many honorable exceptions. Bundles were tired upon women's\nbacks; ladies were forced to carry back into the houses articles of\nclothing they had saved from the flames; drunken wretches danced upon the\nfurniture and articles of value and ornament; women's persons were\nsearched in the most indecent manner; oaths and foul language abounded;\naged women were locked in their rooms while their houses were on fire;\ntrunks were rifled after being dragged by the owners from the ruins;\npromises of protection were made to be instantly broken. Everything was\ndone to add to the terror and confusion of the panic-stricken women and\nchildren. Soon the hunger of the little ones added new horror to the\nscene. Families were separated, and distracted fathers and mothers could\nbe seen everywhere, seeking amid the confusion for those that were\nmissing. And yet no selfishness was apparent; every one was willing to aid\nand sympathize with his neighbor. No one complained, no one lost hope. A\nrebel officer stopped me, saying: 'Sir, cannot a little money be raised to\nsatisfy that brute, McCausland; a very little money would save this end of\nthe town.' My answer was: 'If ten cents would do it, it would not be\nforthcoming.' One rebel came running towards me, wringing his hands,\nsaying, 'Horrible, horrible! I did not think it could be so bad as this!'\nAnother told me that they had received orders, before they entered the\ntown, _to burn every house in it_; and yet another informed me that their\nobject was to effect an entrance during the night, and then burn it. In\nsome cases the women attempted to extinguish the fire, and were prevented\nby threats and personal violence. Some were thrust from their houses,\nothers were struck, and in some instances pistols were drawn upon them.\nOne lady had a bucket of water, which she had brought to extinguish the\nfire, thrown in her face. In almost every case the sick and the infirm\nwere _hindered_ from leaving their homes. There appeared to be a desire to\nhave some burned, if possible, _by accident_! One rebel, who helped a lady\nto save some of her clothing, was seen led out of the town handcuffed. An\nofficer who suffered himself to be persuaded to save some property, said,\nas he left the house he refused to fire, 'Madam, you have saved your\nhouse, but have cost me my commission, and perhaps my life.' A negro saved\nhis life by dressing himself in woman's clothes, and carrying on his head\na feather bed, thereby hiding his face and hands. Little children cried to\n'go home'--the home that was destroyed; old men wept over the town in\nwhich they had lived for three-quarters of a century; citizens looked on\nwith dismay upon the destruction of their life-long labor and industry.\nMany fled to the cemetery for refuge, and there, in the midst of death,\nwas one little life added to the wretched throng. The words of our\nSaviour, with regard to the destruction of Jerusalem, were forced upon us:\n'Let him which is on the house-top not come down to take anything out of\nhis house; neither let him which is in the field return back to take his\nclothes. And woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck\nin those days!'\n\n\"The town soon became one mass of smoke and flame, which ascended straight\nup to heaven, as if to call down the vengeance of God upon the\nincendiaries. Here and there whirlwinds went up like gigantic corkscrews,\ncarrying paper and clothing high into the air, and miles into the\nsurrounding country, as if to bear witness of the foul outrage. I saw\nmore than one rebel soldier weeping like a child over the desolation he\nhad made. Hardened as they were to the horrors of war, this was too\nterrible even for them to bear. One cried out to me in an agony of\nremorse: 'Oh, I never enlisted for this!'\n\n\"For miles around, the frightened inhabitants fled, they knew not whither;\nsome continuing their flight until they dropped to the ground with\nexhaustion. Pocket-books and watches were taken by wholesale; bundles,\nshawls and valises were snatched out of women's and children's hands to be\nthrown away. Cows and dogs and cats were burned to death, and the\ndeath-cries of the poor dumb brutes sounded like the groans of human\nbeings. It is a picture that may be misrepresented, but cannot be\nheightened. One young girl was crying; but, meeting a squad of the\nmarauders she controlled her tears, saying: '_They_ shan't see me cry!'\nFull grown men, forgetful of themselves, sobbed over the destitution of\nthose they loved, and self-sacrificing women strove to comfort those of\nweaker hearts, who had lost no more than themselves. We know of instances\nwhere persons had saved money and valuables of others, with which they\nhad, in the excitement, been entrusted, to the exclusion of their own. In\nthe midst of this awful scene, the _sympathy_ and _encouragement_ we had\nall along received from our loyal friends of a sister State, through the\ncolumns of the Tribune, Times and Independent, arose before us like a\ndense cloud, and, for the time, we hesitated which was most our\nenemy,--New York or Virginia. Five hundred of the enemy in our streets,\ntwo hundred as guard outside, three thousand within supporting distance;\nthis, too, with more than two thousand effective _United States_ cavalry\nonly _nine_ miles off, for hours. Oh, for one-half of the brave Franklin\nCounty boys, that were then far away from their homes, fighting the\nbattles of the Union! We blame no one. Our loyalty, as strong as ever,\nforbids us; but there is an awful responsibility SOMEWHERE.\n\n\"One scoundrel accepted five dollars from a frightened female, to carry\nher trunk to a place of safety, _where he coolly broke it open, and helped\nhimself to the most valuable part of the contents_. A little dead child\nwas enclosed in a chest, and buried by the terrified parents in their\ngarden, for fear it would be burned in their house.\n\n\"A lady in delicate health was watched by one of the robbers, and allowed\nto drag her trunk outside of the town; after which he searched it, and\nappropriated the valuables it contained. She asked, whether that was\nSouthern chivalry, and received for reply: \"Take that back, or I'll blow\nyour brains out.\" She did _not_ retract, and did _not_ have her brains\nblown out. It was sad to see ladies escaping from their houses with\nnothing but a few photographs or an album.\n\n\"In the evening of that dreadful day, it was overpowering to witness the\nchange in circumstances. One of our prominent citizens went with his\nfamily to the house of his hostler; another to the residence of his negro\nservant. On the next day it was a still more sorrowful sight to see\nrefined ladies flock to the church to draw Government rations, and receive\narticles of second-hand clothing, sent up by the spontaneous charity of\npersons residing along the line of the Cumberland Valley Railroad. It was\nhard to eat the bitter bread of charity, but this mortification was borne\nwith the same heroism with which they looked upon the sacking and burning\nof the dear old town. To see the grey-haired men and women, the\nmiddle-aged, the youthful, and childhood, all represented in the destitute\nbut uncomplaining throng, was one of the most solemn sights the world ever\nsaw. Wyoming and Chambersburg will live in the history of Pennsylvania,\nand the infamous names of Butler and McCausland, will be handed down to\nposterity, as the types of savage barbarity.\n\n\"At 2 P. M., the Union forces advanced through the town. The citizens\ncheered the dusty and jaded warriors, but no soldierly huzzas came from\n_their_ parched and suffocated throats, as they rode through smoke and\nflame and the intense heat of the smouldering ruins. One repeated\nexclamation of, 'My God!' was all that was heard, and then, as they passed\nthe flag-staff, each one shouted, 'Remember Chambersburg!' And so they\nexclaimed, and so they shouted, as they dashed at a trot through the town.\nI may live to be an old man, but never, never shall I see such sights\nagain, as I saw that day in the stricken town of Chambersburg.\n\nJ. K. SHRYOCK.\"\n\nAug. 6, 1864.\n\n\n\n\nBUILDINGS BURNED.\n\n\nThe following is a correct list of the buildings burned by the rebels in\nChambersburg, with their estimated value by a committee of disinterested\ngentlemen appointed for that purpose:\n\n\nSouth side of Market Street.\n\n  Jacob Wolfkill--Two-story frame and brick building,                 $700\n  Patrick Campbell's heirs--Two-story brick building,                  700\n  Peter McGaffigan--Two-story building,                                600\n  James C. Austin--Two-story brick building, new,                    5,000\n  R. Austin--Two-story brick building,                               3,000\n  William H. McDowell--Two-story stone front and brick back\n    building, brick stable,                                          3,000\n  James M. Brown--Two-story stone front and brick back building,\n    stable,                                                          3,300\n  Jacob Sellers--Two-story brick front and back building, stables,\n    and ice-house, (hotel,)                                          4,000\n  J. W. Douglas--One-story frame building,                             600\n  Martin Brown--Frame front and log building,                        1,000\n  J. A. and J. C. Eyster--Log front and back building,               1,000\n  Mrs. Jordan--Two-story brick front and back building,              5,000\n  L. S. Clark--Two-story frame building and stable,                  1,200\n  C. M. Duncan--Two-story building, law-office, stable,              2,000\n  E. Culbertson--Two-story brick building, office, stone barn,       6,000\n  Mrs. Bard--Two-story brick building, and row of law offices,       6,500\n  Gehr & Denny--Two three-story brick buildings, and one two-story,\n    (dwellings and \"Franklin Repository\" office,)                    5,500\n  C. M. Duncan--Three-story building, (Franklin Hotel,) three-story\n    brick arcade, brick stables, &c.,                               15,000\n  Aug. Duncan--Three-story brick building,                           1,500\n  Henry Monks--Three-story brick building,                           1,500\n  Edward Aughinbaugh--Three-story brick building,                    1,500\n  Dr. William H. Boyle--Three-story brick building,                  2,000\n  Mary Gillan--Three-story brick building,                           1,500\n  T. J. Wright--Three-story brick building,                          1,800\n  S. F. Greenawalt--Two-story brick building, stable,                3,000\n  A. H. McCulloh--Two-story brick building, stone stable,            2,000\n  Rev. Mr. Nelson--Two-story building, stable,                       2,000\n  J. P. Culbertson--Three brick buildings,                           5,000\n  Mrs. Riddle--Two-story brick building, stable,                     3,500\n  E. Finfrock--Two-story building, stable,                           2,000\n  W. F. Eyster & Bro.--Two buildings, (foundry,) stable,             4,000\n  R. E. Tolbert--Two-story brick building, stable,                   2,000\n  M. Gillan's heirs--Two three-story brick buildings, log house,\n    brick stable,                                                    6,000\n  Alex. Fritz--Two-story brick building,                             1,000\n  Mrs. Frederick Smith--Two-story brick building,                    1,200\n  J. Burkholder's heirs--Two-story brick building, barn,             2,000\n  Hunter Robison--Two-story brick building, stable,                  1,200\n  Jacob B. Miller--Two-story brick building,                           400\n  John Bigley--Three small dwellings,                                  500\n  Thomas Cook--Three wooden buildings,                                 600\n  N. Pierce--Two-story building,                                     1,000\n  Barnet Wolff--Two-story frame building,                              600\n  J. M. Wolfkill--Two-story brick front and two back buildings,      2,500\n  Jacob Shafer--Two-story brick building,                            1,000\n  Richard Woods--Two-story brick building,                             800\n  John King--Two-story buildings,                                      400\n  Christ. Pisle--Two-story brick building,                             500\n  Mrs. Elizabeth Stouffer--Two-story brick building,                 1,800\n  A. Banker--Brick shop, house and barn,                             2,000\n  Mrs. Butler--Two-story building and stable,                          400\n  Mary Rapp--Two-story log building,                                   400\n  James Nill's heirs--Two-story brick front,                           500\n  Josiah Allen--Two-story brick building,                            1,000\n\n\nNorth side of Market Street.\n\n  C. Stauth--Two two-story log buildings,                             $800\n  Samuel Brant--Two-story brick building,                              800\n  John M. McDowell--Two two-story brick buildings, (hotel,)\n    barn, shop, etc.,                                                3,500\n  D. Trostle--Two-story brick building, and brick barn,              1,500\n  Mrs. Radebaugh--Stone and frame barn,                                800\n  Mrs. Jos. Chambers--Two-story brick building, stable,              5,500\n  G. W. Brewer--Two-story brick building, barn,                      5,500\n  Mrs. Jacob Smith--Log stable,                                        100\n  John Miller--Two-story brick building, hotel, stables, shops,      8,000\n  J. B. Cook--Two-story stone and four two-story buildings,\n    bark-house, stable, etc.,                                        5,000\n  C. W. Eyster--Two three-story brick flouring mills and two-story\n    brick dwelling,                                                 15,000\n  Lambert & Huber--Four-story stone and frame paper-mill and\n    steam-house,                                                    15,000\n  C. W. Eyster--Two-story brick building, stable,                    3,000\n  S. M. Shillito--Two-story brick building,                          1,500\n  James King--Two-story brick building, frame shop,                  1,200\n  P. Brough--Three-story brick building,                             3,000\n  John Noel--Three-story stone building, stable,                     8,000\n  Court House--Three-story brick,                                   45,000\n  Engine-house--Two-story brick,                                     1,000\n  D. O. Gehr--Two-story brick building, and brick stable,            5,500\n  B. F. Nead--Two-story brick building, brick stable,                5,000\n  A. D. Caufman--Three-story brick building and stable,              4,000\n  Mrs. Goettman--Two-story brick building, brick stable, etc.,       5,500\n  Peiffer's heirs--Two-story stone house, (old jail,) smith-shop,\n    frame shop, stable,                                              2,600\n  T. B. Kennedy--Large two-story brick building, etc.,               8,000\n  Rev. B. S. Schneck--Two-story stone and brick building,            3,000\n  L. Humelshine--Two-story building,                                   600\n  S. Etter--Two-story brick building,                                3,000\n  Dr. N. Schlosser--Two-story building,                              1,000\n  S. Eckert--Two-story stone and brick building,                     1,000\n\n\nWest side Main Street to Square.\n\n  Benj. Chambers--Two-story brick building,                         $5,000\n  W. G. Reed--Two-story brick building, stable,                      5,000\n  Mrs. C. Snyder--Two-story brick building,                          3,000\n  Allen Smith--Two-story brick building, stable,                     1,600\n  C. Flack--Two-story building, stable,                              1,000\n  J. Schofield--Two-story building, brick shop, stable,              1,600\n  M. P. Welsh--Two-story brick building,                             2,500\n  C. Stouffer (machinist)--Two-story brick building, stable,         3,000\n  Geo. Chambers (residence)--Two-story brick building, stable,       7,000\n  G. Chambers (Female Seminary)--Three-story stone building,         5,000\n  G. Chambers--Two-story brick building, law office, &c.,            2,000\n  A. J. Miller--Two-story stone building, &c.,                       4,500\n  James Watson--Two-story brick building,                            4,500\n  R. Austin--Two-story brick building,                               2,500\n\n\nEast side Main, from Square to King Street.\n\n  Franklin Hall--Three-story brick building,                       $20,000\n  Jacob Hoke & Co.--Two-story brick building, stable,                5,500\n  Dr. Langenheim--Two-story brick building, stable,                  3,000\n  Widow Montgomery (hotel)--Three story brick building, stable,      9,000\n  Daniel Trostle (hotel)--Two-story brick and stone buildings,\n    sheds and stable,                                                7,000\n  Miss Susan B. Chambers--Brick shop, house and stable,              2,500\n  A. P. Frey--Two-story building, coachmaker-shed, shop, stable,     3,000\n  A. S. Hull--Two-story brick building,                              2,000\n  Mrs. Geo. Goettman--Two-story building, shop,                      1,200\n\n\nWest side Main, from Square to Washington Street.\n\n  Chambersburg Bank--Two-story brick building, stable,              $8,000\n  Mrs. Gilmore--Two-story brick building and shops,                  5,500\n  Jacob B. Miller--Two-story brick building, etc.,                   3,000\n  Dr. Richards--Two-story brick building, stable,                    5,500\n  C. Burkhart--Three-story brick building, ice-house, stable,        4,500\n  J. M. Cooper--Three-story brick buildings, (\"Valley Spirit\"\n    office,) stone stable, etc.,                                    15,000\n  James L. Black--Two-story brick building, stable,                  5,000\n  Dr. J. Hamilton--Three-story brick building and stable,            7,000\n  John A. Grove--Frame shop,                                           250\n  Jacob Hutton--Three-story brick and two brick back buildings,      4,500\n  John McClintock--Two-story brick building, shop, etc.,             3,500\n  Lewis Shoemaker--Two-story brick building, etc.,                   4,200\n  Samuel Greenawalt--Two-story brick buildings,                      5,500\n  J. Allison Eyster--Two-story brick building,                       5,000\n  J. Allison Eyster--Two-story brick building,                       1,500\n  J. Allison Eyster--Three-story brick buildings, brick stable,      5,000\n  Wm. Heyser's heirs--Two story brick buildings, brick stable,       5,500\n  Rev. S. R. Fisher--Brick stable,                                     500\n  Geo. Lehner--Log stable,                                             400\n  George Ludwig--Two-story brick front and five back buildings,      7,000\n  C. F. Miller--Two-story brick building, &c.,                       4,500\n  Adam Wolff--Two-story frame and brick building,                    1,200\n  John Forbes--Two-story building, &c.,                              2,000\n  John Dittman--Two-story brick building,                            2,000\n  J. Deckelmayer--Two-story brick building and bakery,               3,000\n  Samuel Ott--Two two-story brick buildings,                         4,000\n  B. Radebaugh--One-story frame shop,                                  150\n  Samuel Ott--One-story frame shop,                                    200\n  B. Radebaugh--Two-story brick front building,                        600\n\n\nEast side Main, from Washington to Square.\n\n  F. Spahr--Two-story brick building,                               $2,500\n  Miss Hetrick--Two-story brick building,                            1,500\n  John A. Lemaster--Two-story brick building,                        2,500\n  Aug. Reineman--Two-story brick building,                           1,500\n  Samuel M. Perry--Two-story brick front and back building,          2,000\n  David L. Taylor--Two-story log (weather-boarded) front and\n    frame back buildings,                                            1,500\n  J. W. Taylor--Two-story brick building, stable, hay scales,\n    (hotel),                                                         7,000\n  George Ludwig--Two-story brick building, tin-shop, stable,         4,000\n  H. H. Hutz--Two-story brick building, stable,                      6,500\n  D. Reisher--Two-and-a-half story brick building, bake-house,\n    stable,                                                          4,500\n  M. Kuss--Two-story brick building, stone stable,                   2,500\n  I. Hutton--Two-story brick building, brick shop, stable,           4,000\n  John P. Culbertson--One-story frame shops,                           800\n  Dr. J. Lambert--Two-story brick building, stable,                  5,500\n  Mrs. R. Fisher--Two-story brick front building,                    5,000\n  William Wallace (hotel)--Three-story brick building,               9,000\n  D. Reisher--Two-story brick buildings, stable,                     6,000\n  J. A. Eyster (Nixon's drugstore)--Two-story brick building,\n    &c.,                                                             4,500\n  James Eyster--Two-story brick building, brick stable,              4,500\n  Eyster & Bro.--Two-story stone and brick building,                 5,500\n  Eyster & Bro.--Three-story brick warehouse, stable,               10,000\n  Brand & Flack--Two-story stone and brick building, warehouse,      6,500\n  A. J. White--Two-story stone and brick building,                   4,500\n  Hiram White--Three-story brick front, and back building,\n    (new),                                                           7,500\n  John Jeffries--Two-story stone and brick building, &c., stable,    3,000\n  A. B. Hamilton--Two-story stone and brick buildings, stable,       6,000\n  Mansion House (German Reformed Publication House)--Three-story\n    brick front and back building, livery stable, &c.,              10,000\n  Academy--Large three-story brick,                                  4,000\n\n\nQueen--South Side.\n\n  J. W. Reges--Two-story brick building,                            $3,000\n  W. Cunningham--Two-story brick building and granary,               3,000\n  John Mull--Two-story brick front and back building,                2,000\n  J. T. Hoskinson--Two-story brick building,                         2,200\n  Jacob Flinder--Two-story frame building,                             800\n  Jacob Flinder--Two-story frame building, stable,                     700\n  W. Wallace--Two-story brick building, spring-house, &c.,           4,000\n  Mrs. John Lindsay--Two-story brick building,                       2,500\n  Barnard Wolff--Two two-story brick buildings, warehouse,\n    shop, brick stable, &c.,                                         7,500\n  J. Allison Eyster--Two-story brick building,                       2,200\n  Mrs. Blood--Two-story brick and two back buildings,                1,800\n  Mrs. Clark--Two-story brick front and back building,               1,800\n  Mrs. R. Fisher--Two-story brick building,                          2,000\n  Mrs. Sarah Stevenson--Two two-story brick buildings,               2,000\n  J. D. Grier--Two-story brick building,                             4,500\n  Mrs. Susan Nixon--Two-story brick building,                        1,800\n  Robert Davis--Two-story brick building,                            2,000\n  John Cree--Two-story brick building,                               2,500\n  Samuel Myers--Two-story brick front, two back buildings,           3,200\n  Mrs. Porter Thompson--Two-story log building,                        600\n  Mrs. George S. Eyster--Two-story brick building,                   2,500\n  Andrew Banker--Two-story log building and smoke-house,             1,500\n\n\nQueen--North Side.\n\n  Huber & Co. (edge-tool factory)--Five brick and frame buildings,  $3,500\n  Brick blacksmith shop,                                               600\n  \"Bethel\" (church)--brick,                                          3,000\n  G. Ludwig (brewery)--Two-story stone and brick building, &c.,      8,000\n  Widow Grove (of William)--Two-story building, smoke-house,         1,500\n  Thos. Carlisle--Two-story brick, and one frame building,           3,000\n  Kindline's heirs--Two-story brick, two-story log and brick back\n    buildings,                                                       4,000\n  Widow Grove (of Alex.)--Two-story building, stable,                1,200\n  John Huber--Two-story brick building, stable,                      3,000\n  Abraham Huber--Two-story brick, and frame stable,                  2,000\n  H. Sierer--Two-story building, wareroom, stable, &c.,              3,000\n  Thos. Carlisle--Two-story brick front, and back buildings,         2,500\n  W. Wallace--Three three-story brick buildings, brick stable,       8,000\n  N. Snyder--Two-story brick building, wash-houses, stable,          2,500\n  Dr. S. D. Culbertson--Two-and-a-half-story brick building,\n    stable,                                                          4,000\n  Mrs. Samuel Brand--roof slightly damaged.\n  J. P. Culbertson--Two-story brick building, stable,                4,500\n\n\nSecond Street.\n\n  P. Henry Peiffer--New two-story frame stable,                     $1,900\n  Associate Reformed Church--One-story brick building,               3,000\n  Benjamin Rhodes--Two-story log front and one-story brick back\n    building,                                                        1,200\n  J. Allison Eyster--One-story log shop,                               100\n  Charles Croft--Log building and frame kitchen,                       800\n  J. P. Keefer--Two-story brick building and kitchen,                1,500\n  John Reasner--One-story log bakery,                                  150\n  J. S. Brown--Roof and upper floor (hotel)                            500\n  John Doebler--Two-story brick building,                          2,000\n  Holmes Crawford--Two-story brick building,                         3,000\n  S. F. Armstrong--Two-story brick building, stable,                 4,000\n  Aug. Reineman--Three one-story frame shops, &c.,                   1,000\n\n\nFranklin.\n\n  Martin Cole--Two-story brick and log buildings,                   $1,500\n  Philip Evans--Two-story brick building,                            1,200\n\n\nWolfstown.\n\n  Dr. A. H. Senseny--Two one-story log buildings,                     $200\n  N. Uglow--Three one-story log buildings,                             250\n\n\nWater.\n\n  George Kindline--Brick wagonmaker and blacksmith shop, brick\n    stable,                                                           $800\n\n\nAlley.\n\n  Widow Palmer--Frame stable,                                         $150\n  Nicholas Gerwig--Frame stable,                                       100\n  Henry Greenawalt--Brick stable,                                      300\n\n\nKing.\n\n  George Chambers--Three two-story brick buildings,                 $2,500\n  Upton Washabaugh--Two-story building, stone brewery, granary,\n    brick stables, and shed,                                         8,000\n  C. Herman--Stone shop, dwelling, and stable,                         800\n  A. K. McClure--House and barn (\"Norland\"),                         9,500\n  Jacob Eby--Large brick barn,                                       2,500\n  Andrew McElwaine--House,                                             400\n\n\nRecapitulation.\n\nThe following is the aggregate of buildings burned:\n\n  Residences and places of business,                                  $278\n  Barns and stables,                                                    98\n  Out-buildings of various kinds,                                      173\n                                                                      ----\n  Total buildings burned,                                              559\n\n\nThe aggregate valuation of the real estate, as made by a committee of\nupright and disinterested citizens, consisting of Messrs. Wm. McLellan,\nC. M. Burnet, Rev. Joseph Clark, D. K. Wunderlich, and John Armstrong, is\n$783,950. The loss in personal property greatly exceeds that of the real\nestate, but it is difficult, if not impossible, even to approach to\nanything like a satisfactory estimate.\n\nIn regard to the foregoing estimates of real property, I will merely add\nthat they are low, generally speaking, very low. I say this, not because I\nfind any fault with the judicious committee of gentlemen who made those\nestimates. I rather commend them for it; but for the purpose simply of\nmentioning the fact that the actual loss was much greater than the figures\nindicate. Thus, for instance, the Court-House is put down at $45,000,\nwhereas an experienced builder has stated to me it could not be rebuilt\nfor less than $80,000. The Mansion House (the printing establishment of\nthe German Reformed Church), with a stone livery stable in the rear, is\nput down at $10,000, whereas $15,000 would not replace them as they were.\nColonel McClure's large and beautiful residence, with his spacious model\nbarn, are put down at $9,500, but they could not be restored for less than\n$20,000. The banking house is put down at $8,000, but not less than\n$20,000 would be required to replace it. And so with most of the\nbuildings. A million dollars will not suffice to restore them, and twice\nas much more will not cover the losses of such personal property as money\ncan replace.\n\nMany heavy sufferers are among those who had no real property, and hence\ntheir names do not appear in the above list. Some of the large business\nshops were in the front rooms of houses belonging to other persons. Thus\nthe Mansion House, besides containing the printing and binding\nestablishments of the Reformed Church, was occupied by Shryock's large\nbookstore, Mr. Metcalf's dry goods store, dentists' rooms, saddler's shop,\n&c. In many instances there were two, three, and even four private\nfamilies living in one house. Many families also, whose dwellings were not\nburned, were nevertheless very heavy sufferers, having been plundered and\nrobbed of their most valuable articles of plate, jewelry, clothing, &c.\nHence it is perhaps not too much to say that the number of families who\nare sufferers is more than double the number of houses, as well as that\nthe loss is double the amount in value, as compared with the loss of the\nhouses enumerated in the list.\n\nIn conclusion permit me to add, that if our border is protected hereafter,\nand some reasonable assurance is given to our people that incursions by\nthe enemy will be rendered impossible, our town will be\nrebuilt--gradually, but surely. If, however, no such assurance is given,\nand no effective aid for border defence is afforded; if our people are\ncoolly told that the Cumberland Valley is to be \"a trap in which to catch\nthe rebels, and which must therefore be left open,\" then, alas! there will\nbe no heart to remain and rebuild the town; but, imitating many of our\ndisheartened farmers, our citizens will sell out their realty and leave,\nregretfully indeed; but rather than be in constant dread and apprehension,\nleave they will, and allow the ruins of their houses and hearths to remain\nbehind them, seeking some more sheltered or sequestered spot, where they\nmay live and die in \"quietness and peace,\" though it be away from the\ngraves of their fathers and their childhood's \"sweet home.\"\n\nVery sincerely yours,\n\nB. S. S.\n\n\n\n\nMISS M'KEEVER'S NEW STORY,\n\nNOW READY.\n\nWOODCLIFF.\n\nBY MISS HARRIET B. McKEEVER,\n\nAUTHOR OF \"EDITH'S MINISTRY,\" \"SUNSHINE,\" \"THE FLOUNCED ROBE,\" ETC., ETC.\n\nIN ONE VOLUME, 12mo., PRICE $2.00.\n\nThe scene of Miss McKeever's new story is laid principally in New England.\nThe hero, a Scotch boy, taken from the humbler walks of life, is a type of\nthat struggling class that thrive best in our country. By his moral and\nintellectual worth, sustained by an unfaltering trust in God, he rises\nstep by step, triumphing over every difficulty, until he attains a\ncommanding position among his fellow men. The power of personal influence\nis illustrated by the acts of his daily life, moulding a peculiarly\nuntutored child of noble impulses, and guiding her aspirations after the\ngood and true. Roland Bruce and Madeline, or Madcap Hamilton, as she is\nsometimes familiarly called, the hero and heroine of the story, give a\nfreshness and vigor to it, which, with the high moral inculcated, commend\nit to the favorable attention of all classes of readers.\n\n\nALSO, JUST READY,\n\nNew Editions of\n\nEDITH'S MINISTRY. 12mo., cloth, price $1.50.\n\n     \"We have already noticed, and always favorably, some of the earlier\n     productions of this authoress, and take pleasure in commending the\n     present volume to the public. It shows how blessed and happy may be\n     the ministry of a single life, and how such a life, well employed,\n     brings with it its own reward.\"--_Episcopal Recorder, Phila._\n\nSUNSHINE, OR KATE VINTON. 16mo., cloth, price $1.\n\nTHE FLOUNCED ROBE, AND WHAT IT COST. 16mo., cloth, price 75 cents.\n\n     \"The authoress is favorably known to the reading community by her\n     works. They all sustain a high moral and religious tone, and are not\n     only safe but salutary in their influence in every\n     family.--_Christian Chronicle._\n\nSINGLE COPIES sent by mail free of postage, upon receipt of the retail\nprice.\n\nLIBERAL DISCOUNTS given to Agents, or others buying to sell again.\nAddress,\n\nLINDSAY & BLAKISTON, Publishers,\n\nPHILADELPHIA.\n\n\n\nTHE REV. SAMUEL A. PHILIPS' NEW BOOK,\n\nTHE VOICE OF BLOOD, IN THE SPHERE OF NATURE AND OF THE SPIRIT WORLD.\n\nBY THE\n\nREV. SAMUEL A. PHILIPS, A. M.,\n\nPASTOR OF THE REFORMED CHURCH, CARLISLE, AND AUTHOR OF \"GETHSEMANE AND THE\nCROSS,\" \"THE CHRISTIAN HOME,\" ETC.\n\nIN ONE VOLUME, DEMY 8vo., PRICE $2.00.\n\n     \"No reader of the Bible can have failed to discover the prominent\n     place occupied by blood-shedding in the Levitical services, and in\n     the grand fundamentals of Christianity. The blood typical was the\n     precursor of the blood shed on the cross. While some of the 'voices\n     of blood' considered by the author, may be considered as only\n     remotely bearing on the great subject of atonement, yet they are all\n     designed to illustrate it. The atonement by blood is the marked\n     feature of the gospel, without the shedding of which there could be\n     no remission of sin, and the vitality of the gospel is lost where it\n     does not stand forth prominently. It is the author's design to\n     illustrate this blessed truth, and he does it Scripturally and\n     practically, that all may see the harmony between the voice of blood\n     from the altar, and the voice of blood from the cross. The volume\n     comprises much precious truth in various respects, and may be\n     profitably read.\"--_Presbyterian._\n\n     \"In this work, the author first analyzes the voice, its structure,\n     functions, capabilities, as a material organ of the spirit; then the\n     blood in which is the life; then blood as the voice which utters\n     mighty truths and testimonies; then 'the voice of accusing blood from\n     the ground,' beginning with the blood of Abel; the 'voice of typical\n     blood from the altar' comprehending the Jewish sacrifices; 'the voice\n     of atoning blood from the cross;' 'the voice of martyr-blood from the\n     church;' of 'sacramental blood from the Christian altar;' of\n     'pleading blood from the mercy-seat;' of 'witnessing blood from the\n     judgment throne;' of 'avenging blood from hell;' and, finally, of\n     'glorifying blood in heaven.' These topics are treated in a fervid\n     and impassioned style which seldom flags. The reader is never wearied\n     by dulness. Without endorsing every sentiment, we find the work\n     evangelical, earnest, and quickening.\"--_Biblical Repertory and\n     Princeton Review._\n\nSINGLE COPIES sent by mail free of postage, upon receipt of the retail\nprice.\n\nAGENTS WANTED to sell the work, to whom a liberal discount will be given.\nAddress,\n\nLINDSAY & BLAKISTON, Publishers,\n\nPHILADELPHIA.\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] I take great pleasure in this connection to direct attention to a\nlarge photographic view of the Ruins of Chambersburg, by Mr. C. L.\nLochman, of Carlisle, as the most satisfactory picture I have yet seen.\nThe same artist has also prepared a number of smaller pictures and a\nseries of _stereoscopic views_, embracing general views and the most\nprominent local objects of the town.\n\n[2] Reference is here made chiefly to the New York Herald and the Tribune,\nboth of which sheets have manifested a spirit towards our deeply afflicted\nsufferers akin to that of our worst enemies. The Tribune, instead of\nallowing itself to be corrected by the Hon. A. K. McClure, in the\nPhiladelphia Press, turns aside from the subject with miserable jokes, as\ntrivial as they are heartless. And these are our _friends_!\n\n[3] Since the foregoing was written it has been ascertained to a\ncertainty, that there were three thousand men, exclusive of the eight\nhundred and thirty-one who were in the town; almost as large a force as\nthat which, one year ago, routed Milroy's whole military force, cannon and\nall, at Winchester.\n\n[4] Among the many thousands who have been quartered and encamped here, I\nhave never heard of a single soldier who did not speak in the most\ngrateful terms of the universally kind treatment towards them from our\ncitizens. For proof I appeal to these thousands among the living, wherever\nthey may now be found.\n\n[5] This and several following paragraphs are quoted, with a few slight\nmodifications, from a brief and well-written article by the Rev. Joseph\nClark, in the Philadelphia \"Presbyterian\" of August 6.\n\n[6] McCausland had also insisted upon burning the town in the _night_, to\nwhich Johnson persistently objected. Mrs. Greenawalt, a most worthy and\nintelligent woman, overheard this consultation of the officers in an\nadjoining room. The increased horrors which must have resulted if\nMcCausland had not been overruled in his determination, may be imagined.\n\nB. S. S.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nText in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_.\n\nThe following misprints have been corrected:\n  \"geting\" corrected to \"getting\" (page 20)\n  \"sacrified\" corrected to \"sacrificed\" (page 23)\n  \"guerillas\" corrected to \"guerrillas\" (page 57)\n\nUnmatched quotation marks were left as they were in the original.", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32268", "title": "The Burning of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania", "author": "", "publication_year": 1864, "metadata_title": "The Burning of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania", "metadata_author": "B. S. Schneck", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:28.982993", "source_chars": 137708, "chars": 137708, "talkie_tokens": 31987}}
{"text": "Produced by Charles Bowen, page scans provided by the Web Archive\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n1. Page scan source:\n      http://www.archive.org/details/astruggleforrom00dahngoog\n2. The diphthong OE and oe are represented by [OE] and [oe].\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                          A STRUGGLE FOR ROME.\n\n                                   BY\n                              FELIX DAHN.\n\n\n           _T R A N S L A T E D  F R O M  T H E  G E R M A N_\n                                   BY\n                            LILY WOLFFSOHN.\n\n\n           \"If there be anything more powerful than Fate,\n            It is the courage which bears it undismayed.\"\n                                                GEIBEL.\n\n\n                           IN THREE VOLUMES.\n                                VOL. I.\n\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n                        RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.\n                                  1878.\n                        [_All Rights Reserved._]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                PREFACE.\n\n\nThese pictures of the sixth century originated in my studies for the\nfollowing works:\n\n\"The Kings of the Goths,\" vol. ii., iii., iv. Munich and Würzburg,\n1862-66.\n\n\"Procopius of Cæsarea:\" a contribution to the historiography of the\nmigration of nations and the decay of the Roman Empire. Berlin, 1865.\n\nBy referring to these works, the reader may distinguish the details and\nchanges which the romance has added to the reality.\n\nIn history the events here described filled a period of almost thirty\nyears' duration. From reasons easily understood, it was necessary to\nshorten, or at least to disguise, this long interval.\n\nThe character of the Roman hero of the story, Cethegus Cæsarius, is a\npure invention. That such a person existed is, however, known.\n\nThe work was begun at Munich in 1859, continued at Ravenna, Italy, and\nconcluded at Königsberg in 1876.\n\n                                                  FELIX DAHN.\n\nKönigsberg: _January_, 1876.\n\n\n\n\n                          A STRUGGLE FOR ROME.\n\n                                 BOOK I.\n                               THEODORIC.\n       \"Dietericus de Berne, de quo cantant rustici usque hodie.\"\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I.\n\n\nIt was a sultry summer night of the year five hundred and twenty-six,\nA.D.\n\nThick clouds lay low over the dark surface of the Adrea, whose shores\nand waters were melted together in undistinguishable gloom; only now\nand then a flash of distant lightning lit up the silent city of\nRavenna. At unequal intervals the wind swept through the ilexes and\npines on the range of hills which rise at some distance to the west of\nthe town, and which were once crowned by a temple of Neptune. At that\ntime already half ruined, it has now almost completely disappeared,\nleaving only the most scanty traces.\n\nIt was quiet on the bosky heights; only sometimes a piece of rock,\nloosened by storms, clattered down the stony declivity, and at last\nsplashed into the marshy waters of the canals and ditches which belted\nthe entire circle of the sea-fortress; or a weather-beaten slab slipped\nfrom the tabled roof of the old temple and fell breaking on to the\nmarble steps--forebodings of the threatened fall of the whole building.\n\nBut these dismal sounds seemed to be unnoticed by a man who sat\nimmovable on the second step of the flight which led into the temple,\nleaning his back against the topmost step and looking silently and\nfixedly across the declivity in the direction of the city below.\n\nHe sat thus motionless, but waiting eagerly, for a long time. He heeded\nnot that the wind drove the heavy drops which began to fell into his\nface, and rudely worried the full long beard that flowed down to his\niron belt, almost entirely covering his broad breast with shining white\nhair.\n\nAt last he rose and descended several of the marble steps: \"They come,\"\nsaid he.\n\nThe light of a torch which rapidly advanced from the city towards the\ntemple became visible; then quick and heavy footsteps were heard, and\nshortly after three men ascended the flight of steps.\n\n\"Hail, Master Hildebrand, son of Hilding!\" cried the advancing\ntorch-bearer, as soon as he reached the row of columns of the Pronaos\nor antehall, in which time had made some gaps. He spoke in the Gothic\ntongue, and had a peculiarly melodious voice. He carried his torch in a\nsort of lantern--beautiful Corinthian bronze-work on the handle,\ntransparent ivory forming the four-sided screen and the arched and\nornamentally-perforated lid--and lifting it high, put it into the iron\nring that held together the shattered centre column.\n\nThe white light fell upon a face beautiful as that of Apollo, with\nlaughing light-blue eyes; his fair hair was parted in the middle of his\nforehead into two long and flowing tresses, which fell right and left\nupon his shoulders. His mouth and nose, finely, almost softly\nchiselled, were of perfect form; the first down of a bright golden\nbeard covered his pleasant lip and gently-dimpled chin. He wore only\nwhite garments--a war-mantle of fine wool, held up on the right\nshoulder by a clasp in the form of a griffin, and a Roman tunic of soft\nsilk, both embroidered with a stripe of gold. White leather straps\nfastened the sandals to his feet, and reached, laced cross-wise, to his\nknees. Two broad gold rings encircled his naked and shining white arms.\nAnd as he stood reposing after his exertion, his right hand clasping a\ntall lance which served him both for staff and weapon, his left resting\non his hip, looking down upon his slower companions, it seemed as if\nthere had again entered the grey old temple some youthful godlike form\nof its happiest days.\n\nThe second of the new-comers had, in spite of a general family\nlikeness, an expression totally different from that of the\ntorch-bearer.\n\nHe was some years older, his form was stouter and broader. Low down\nupon his bull-neck grew his short, thick, and curly brown hair. He was\nof almost gigantic height and strength. There were wanting in his face\nthe sunny shimmer, the trusting joy and hope which illumined the\nfeatures of his younger brother. Instead of these, there was in his\nwhole appearance an expression of bear-like strength and bear-like\ncourage; he wore a shaggy wolf-skin, the jaws of which shaded his head\nlike a cowl, a simple woollen doublet beneath, and on his right\nshoulder he carried a short and heavy club made of the hard root of an\noak.\n\nThe third comer followed the others with a cautious step; a middle-aged\nman with a dignified and prudent expression of countenance. He wore the\nsteel helmet, the sword, and the brown war-mantle of the Gothic\nfootmen. His straight light-brown hair was cut square across the\nforehead--an ancient Germanic mode of wearing the hair, which one often\nsees represented on Roman triumphal columns, and which has been\npreserved by the German peasant to this day. The regular features of\nhis open face, his grey and steady eyes, were full of reflective\nmanliness and sober repose.\n\nWhen he, too, had reached the cella of the temple, and had greeted the\nold man, the torch-bearer cried in an eager voice:\n\n\"Well, old Master Hildebrand, a fine adventure must it be to which thou\nhast bidden us on such an inhospitable night, and in this wilderness of\nart and nature! Speak--what is it?\"\n\nInstead of replying, the old man turned to the last comer and asked:\n\"Where is the fourth whom I invited?\"\n\n\"He wished to go alone. He shunned us all. Thou knowest his manner\nwell.\"\n\n\"There he comes!\" cried the beautiful youth, pointing to another side\nof the hill. And, in fact, a man of very peculiar appearance now drew\nnear.\n\nThe full glare of the torch illumined a ghastly-pale face that seemed\nalmost bloodless. Long and shining black locks, like dark snakes, hung\ndishevelled from his uncovered head. Arched black brows and long lashes\nshaded large and melancholy dark eyes, full of repressed fire. A\nsharply-cut eagle nose bent towards the fine and smoothly-shaven mouth,\naround which resigned grief had traced deep lines.\n\nHis form and bearing were still young; but pain seemed to have\nprematurely ripened his soul.\n\nHe wore a coat of mail and greaves of black steel, and in his right\nhand gleamed a battle-axe with a long lance-like shaft. He merely\ngreeted the others with a nod of the head, and placing himself behind\nthe old man, who now bade them all four step close to the pillar on\nwhich the torch was fixed, began in a suppressed voice:\n\n\"I appointed you to meet me here to listen to earnest words, which must\nbe spoken, unheard, to faithful men. I have sought for months in all\nthe nation, and have chosen you. You are the right men. When you have\nheard me, you will yourselves feel that you must be silent about this\nnight's meeting.\"\n\nThe third comer, he with the steel helmet, looked at the old man with\nearnest eyes.\n\n\"Speak,\" said he quietly, \"we hear and are silent. Of what wilt thou\nspeak to us?\"\n\n\"Of our people; of this kingdom of the Goths, which stands close to an\nabyss!\"\n\n\"An abyss!\" eagerly cried the fair youth. His gigantic brother smiled\nand lifted his head attentively.\n\n\"Yes, an abyss,\" repeated the old man; \"and you alone can hold and save\nit.\"\n\n\"May Heaven pardon thee thy words!\" interrupted the fair youth with\nvivacity. \"Have we not our King Theodoric, whom even his enemies call\nthe Great; the most magnificent hero, the wisest prince in the world?\nHave we not this smiling land Italia, with all its treasures? What upon\nearth can compare with the kingdom of the Goths?\"\n\nThe old man, without heeding his questions, continued:\n\n\"Listen to me. The greatness and worth of King Theodoric, my beloved\nmaster and my dear son, are best known by Hildebrand, son of Hilding.\nMore than fifty years ago I carried him in these arms, a struggling\nboy, to his father, and said: 'There is an offspring of a strong\nrace--he will be a joy to thee.' And when he grew up I cut for him his\nfirst arrow, and washed his first wound. I accompanied him to the\ngolden city of Byzantium, and guarded him body and soul. When he fought\nfor this lovely land, I went before him, foot by foot, and held the\nshield over him in thirty battles. He may possibly, since then, have\nfound more learned advisers and friends than his old master-at-arms,\nbut hardly wiser, and surely not more faithful. Long ere the sun shone\nupon thee, my young falcon, I had experienced a thousand times how\nstrong was his arm, how sharp his eye, how clear his head, how terrible\nhe could be in battle, how friendly over the cup, and how superior he\nwas even to the Greekling in shrewdness. But the old Eagle's wings have\nbecome heavy. His battle-years weigh upon him; for he and you, and all\nyour race, cannot bear years like I and my play-fellows; he lies sick\nin soul and body, mysteriously sick, in his golden hall down there in\nthe Raven-town. The physicians say that though his arm be yet strong,\nany beat of his heart may kill him with lightning-like rapidity, and\nwith any setting sun he may journey down to the dead. And who is his\nheir? who will then uphold this kingdom? Amalaswintha, his daughter;\nand Athalaric, his grandson; a woman and a child!\"\n\n\"The Princess is wise,\" said he with the helmet and the sword.\n\n\"Yes, she writes Greek to the Emperor, and speaks Latin with the pious\nCassiodorus. I doubt that she even thinks in Gothic. Woe to us, if she\nshould hold the rudder in a storm!\"\n\n\"But I see no signs of storm, old man,\" laughed the torch-bearer, and\nshook his locks. \"From whence will it blow? The Emperor is again\nreconciled, the Bishop of Rome is installed by the King himself, the\nFrank princes are his nephews, the Italians are better off under our\nshield than ever before. I see no danger anywhere.\"\n\n\"The Emperor Justinus is only a weak old man,\" said he of the sword,\nassentingly. \"I know him.\"\n\n\"But his nephew, who will soon be his successor, and is already his\nright arm--knowest thou him? Unfathomable as the night and false as the\nsea is Justinian! I know him well, and fear that which he meditates. I\naccompanied the last embassy to Byzantium. He came to our camp; he\nthought me drunk--the fool! he little knows what Hilding's child can\ndrink!--and he questioned me about everything which must be known in\norder to undo us. Well, he got the right answer from me! But I know as\nwell as I know my name, that this man will again get possession of\nItaly; and he will not leave in it even the footprint of a Goth!\"\n\n\"If he can,\" grumblingly put in the brother of the fair youth.\n\n\"Right, friend Hildebad, if he can. And he can do much. Byzantium can\ndo much.\"\n\nThe other shrugged his shoulder\n\n\"Knowest thou _how_ much?\" asked the old man angrily. \"For twelve long\nyears our great King struggled with Byzantium and did not prevail. But\nat that time thou wast not yet born,\" he added more quietly.\n\n\"Well,\" interposed the fair youth, coming to his brother's help, \"but\nat that time the Goths stood alone in the strange land. Now we have won\na second half. We have a home--Italy. We have brothers-at-arms--the\nItalians!\"\n\n\"Italy our home!\" cried the old man bitterly; \"yes, that is the\nmistake. And the Italians our allies against Byzantium? Thou young\nfool!\"\n\n\"They were our King's own words,\" answered the rebuffed youth.\n\n\"Yes, yes; I know these mad speeches well, that will destroy us all. We\nare as strange here to-day as forty years ago, when we descended from\nthe mountains; and we shall still be strangers in the land after\nanother thousand years. Here we shall be for ever 'the barbarians.'\"\n\n\"That is true; but why do we remain barbarians? Whose fault is it but\nours? Why do we not learn from the Italians?\"\n\n\"Be silent,\" cried the old man, trembling with wrath, \"be silent,\nTotila, with such thoughts; they have become the curse of my house!\"\nPainfully recovering himself, he continued: \"The Italians are our\ndeadly enemies, not our brothers. Woe to us if we trust them! Oh that\nthe King had followed my counsel after his victory, and slain all who\ncould carry sword and shield, from the stammering boy to the stammering\nold man! They will hate us eternally. And they are right. But we, we\nare the fools to trust them.\"\n\nThere ensued a pause; the youth had become very grave, and asked:\n\n\"So thou holdest friendship to be impossible 'twixt them and us?\"\n\n\"No peace between the sons of Gaul and the Southern folk! A man enters\nthe gold cave of a dragon--he holds the head of the dragon down with an\niron fist; the monster begs for life. The man feels compassion because\nof his glittering scales, and feasts his eyes on the treasures of the\ncavern. What will the poisonous reptile do? As soon as he can he will\nsting him stealthily, so that he who spared him dies.\"\n\n\"Well then, let them come, the despicable Greeks!\" shouted the gigantic\nHildebad; \"let the race of vipers dart their forked tongues at us. We\nwill beat them down--so!\" And he lifted his club and let it fall\nheavily, so that the marble slab split into pieces, and the old temple\nresounded with the blow.\n\n\"Yes, they shall try!\" cried Totila, and from his eyes shone a martial\nfire that made him look still more beautiful; \"if these unthankful\nRomans betray us, if the false Byzantines come,\" he looked with loving\npride at his strong brother, \"see, old man, we have men like oaks!\"\n\nThe old master-at-arms nodded, well pleased:\n\n\"Yes, Hildebad is very strong, though not quite as strong as Winither,\nWalamer and others, who were young with me. Against North-men strength\nis a good thing. But this Southern folk,\" he continued angrily, \"fight\nfrom towers and battlements. They carry on war as they might make a\nreckoning, and at last they reckon a host of heroes into a corner,\nwhere they can neither budge nor stir. I know one such arithmetician in\nByzantium, who is himself no man, but conquers men. Thou, too, knowest\nhim, Witichis?\" So asking, he turned to the man with the sword.\n\n\"I know Narses,\" answered Witichis reflectively. He had become very\ngrave. \"What thou hast said, son of Hilding, is, alas! too true. Such\nthoughts have often crossed my mind, but confusedly, darkly, more a\nhorror than a thought. Thy words are undeniable; the King is at the\npoint of death--the Princess has Grecian sympathies--Justinian is on\nthe watch--the Italians are false as serpents--the generals of\nByzantium are magicians in art, but\"--here he took a deep breath--\"we\nGoths do not stand alone. Our wise King has made friends and allies in\nabundance. The King of the Vandals is his brother-in-law, the King of\nthe West Goths his grandson, the Kings of the Burgundians, the\nHerulians, the Thuringians, the Franks, are related to him; all people\nhonour him as their father; the Sarmatians, even the distant Esthonians\non the Baltic, send him skins and yellow amber in homage. Is all\nthat----\"\n\n\"All that is nothing! It is flattering words and coloured rags! Will\nthe Esthonians help us against Belisarius and Narses with their amber?\nWoe to us, if we cannot win alone! These grandsons and sons-in-law\nflatter as long as they tremble, and when they no more tremble, they\nwill threaten. I know the faith of kings! We have enemies around us,\nopen and secret, and no friends beyond ourselves.\"\n\nA silence ensued, during which all gravely considered the old man's\nwords; the storm rushed howling round the weather-beaten columns and\nshook the crumbling temple.\n\nThen, looking up from the ground, Witichis was the first to speak:\n\n\"The danger is great,\" said he, firmly and collectedly, \"we will hope\nnot unavoidable. Certainly thou hast not bidden us hither to look\ndeedless at despair. There must be a remedy, so speak; how, thinkest\nthou, can we help?\"\n\nThe old man advanced a step towards him and took his hand:\n\n\"That's brave, Witichis, son of Waltari. I knew thee well, and will not\nforget that thou wert the first to speak a word of bold assurance. Yes,\nI too think we are not yet past help, and I have asked you all to come\nhere, where no Italian hears us, in order to decide upon what is best\nto be done. First tell me your opinion, then I will speak.\"\n\nAs all remained silent, he turned to the man with the black locks:\n\n\"If thy thoughts are ours, speak, Teja! Why art thou ever silent?\"\n\n\"I am silent because I differ from you.\"\n\nThe others were amazed. Hildebrand spoke:\n\n\"What dost thou mean, my son?\"\n\n\"Hildebad and Totila do not see any danger; thou and Witichis see it\nand hope; but I saw it long ago, and have no hope.\"\n\n\"Thou seest too darkly; who dare despair before the battle?\" said\nWitichis.\n\n\"Shall we perish with our swords in the sheath, without a struggle and\nwithout fame?\" cried Totila.\n\n\"Not without a struggle, my Totila, and not without fame, I am sure,\"\nanswered Teja, slightly swinging his battle-axe. \"We will fight so that\nit shall never be forgotten in all future ages; fight with highest\nfame, but without victory. The star of the Goths is setting.\"\n\n\"Meseems, on the contrary, that it will rise very high,\" cried Totila\nimpatiently. \"Let us go to the King; speak to him, Hildebrand, as thou\nhast spoken to us. He is wise; he will devise means.\"\n\nThe old man shook his head:\n\n\"I have spoken to him twenty times. He listens no more. He is tired and\nwill die, and his soul is darkened, I know not by what shadows. What is\nthy advice, Hildebad?\"\n\n\"I think,\" answered Hildebad, proudly raising his head, \"that as soon\nas the old lion has closed his tired eyes, we arm two hosts. Witichis\nand Teja lead the one before Byzantium and burn it down; with the other\nI and my brother climb the Alps and destroy Paris, that dragon's nest\nof the Merovingians, and make it a heap of stones for ever. Then there\nwill be peace in East and West.\"\n\n\"We have no ships against Byzantium,\" said Witichis.\n\n\"And the Franks are seven to one against us,\" said Hildebrand. \"But thy\nintentions are valiant, Hildebad. Say, what advisest thou, Witichis?\"\n\n\"I advise a league--weighted with oaths, secured with hostages--of all\nthe Northern races against the Greeks.\"\n\n\"Thou believest in fidelity, because thou thyself art true. My friend,\nonly the Goths can help the Goths. But they must be reminded that they\n_are_ Goths. Listen to me. You are all young, love all manner of\nthings, and have many pleasures. One loves a woman, another weapons, a\nthird has some hope or some grief which is to him as a beloved one. But\nbelieve me, a time will come--it may be during your young days--when\nall these joys and even pains will become worthless as faded wreaths\nfrom yesterday's banquet.\n\n\"Then many will become soft and pious, forget that which is on earth,\nand strive for that which is beyond the grave. But that neither you nor\nI can do. I love the earth, with mountain and wood and meadow and\nrushing stream; and I love life, with all its hate and long love, its\ntenacious anger and dumb pride. Of the ethereal life in the wind-clouds\nwhich is taught by the Christian priests, I know, and will know,\nnothing. But there is one possession--when all else is gone--which a\ntrue man never loses. Look at me. I am a leafless trunk. I have lost\nall that rejoiced my life; my wife is dead long since; my sons, my\ngrandchildren are dead: except one, who is worse than dead--who has\nbecome an Italian.\n\n\"All, all are gone, and now my first love and last pride, my great\nKing, descends tired into his grave. What keeps me still alive? What\ngives me still courage and will? What drives _me_, an old man, up to\nthis mountain in this night of storm like a youth? What glows beneath\nmy icy beard with pure love, with stubborn pride, and with defiant\nsorrow? What but the impulse that lies indestructible in our blood,\nthe deep impulsion and attraction to my people, the glowing and\nall-powerful love of the race that is called Goth; that speaks the\nnoble, sweet, and homely tongue of my parents! This love of race\nremains like a sacrificial fire in the heart, when all other flames are\nextinguished; this is the highest sentiment of the human heart; the\nstrongest power in the human soul, true to the death and invincible!\"\n\nThe old man had spoken with enthusiasm--his hair floated on the\nwind--he stood like an old priest of the Huns amongst the young men,\nwho clenched their hands upon their weapons.\n\nAt last Teja spoke: \"Thou art in the right; these flames still glow\nwhen all else is spent. They burn in thee--in us--perhaps in a hundred\nother hearts amongst our brothers; but can this save a whole people?\nNo! And can these fires seize the mass, the thousands, the hundred\nthousands?\"\n\n\"They can, my son, they can! Thanks to the gods, that they can!--Hear\nme. It is now five-and-forty years ago that we Goths, many hundred\nthousands, were shut up with our wives and children in the ravines of\nthe Hæmus. We were in the greatest need.\n\n\"The King's brother had been beaten and killed in a treacherous attack\nby the Greeks, and all the provisions that he was to bring to us were\nlost. We lay in the rocky ravines and suffered such hunger, that we\ncooked grass and leather. Behind us rose the inaccessible precipices;\nbefore, and to the left of us, the sea; to the right, in a narrow pass,\nlay the enemy, threefold our number. Many thousands of us were\ndestroyed by famine or the hardships of the winter; twenty times had we\nvainly tried to break through the pass.\n\n\"We almost despaired. Then there came a messenger from the Emperor to\nthe King, and offered us life, freedom, wine, bread, meat--under one\ncondition: that, separated from each other, four by four, we should be\nscattered over the whole Roman Empire; none of us should ever again woo\na Gothic woman; none should ever again teach his child our tongue or\ncustoms; the name and being of Goth should cease to exist, we should\nbecome Romans.\n\n\"The King sprang up, called us together, and reported this condition\nto us in a flaming speech, and asked at the end, whether we would\nrather give up the language, customs and life of our people, or die\nwith him? His words spread like wildfire, the people shouted like a\nhundred-voiced tumultuous sea; they brandished their weapons, rushed\ninto the pass; the Greeks were swept away as if they had never stood\nthere, and we were victors and free!\"\n\nHis eyes glittered with pride; after a pause he continued:\n\n\"It is this alone which can save us now as then; if once the Goths feel\nthat they fight for their nationality, and to protect the secret jewel\nthat lies in the customs and speech of a people, like a miraculous\nwell-spring, then they may laugh at the hate of the Greeks and the\nwiles of the Italians. And, first of all, I ask you solemnly: Do you\nfeel as strongly convinced as I do, that this love of our people is our\nhighest aim, our dearest treasure, our strongest shield? Can you say\nwith me: My people is to me the highest, all else is nothing; to my\npeople I will sacrifice all that I have and am. Will you say this, and\ncan you do it?\"\n\n\"We will; we can!\" cried the four men.\n\n\"'Tis well,\" continued the old man. \"But Teja is right, all Goths do\nnot feel this as we do, and yet, if it is to be of any use, all _must_\nfeel it. Therefore swear to me, to fill with the spirit of this hour\nall those with whom you live and act, from now henceforward. Too many\nof our folk have been dazzled by the foreign splendour; many have\ndonned Grecian clothing and Roman thoughts; they are ashamed to be\ncalled barbarians; they wish to forget, and to make it forgotten, that\nthey are Goths--woe to the fools! They have torn their hearts out of\ntheir bosoms, and yet wish to live; they are like leaves that have\nproudly loosened themselves from the parent stem. The wind will come\nand blow them into the mire and dirt to decay; but the stem will still\nstand in the midst of the storm, and will keep alive whatever clings to\nit faithfully. Therefore awaken and warn the people. Tell the boys the\nlegends of their forefathers, relate the battles of the Huns, the\nvictories over the Romans; show the men the threatening danger, and\nthat nationality alone is our shield; warn your sisters that they may\nembrace no Roman and no would-be Roman; teach your wives and your\nbrides that they must sacrifice everything, even themselves and you, to\nthe fortune of the good Goths, so that when the enemy come, they may\nfind a strong, proud, united people, against which they shall break\nthemselves like waves upon a rock. Will you aid me in this?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" they cried, \"we will!\"\n\n\"I believe you,\" continued the old man; \"I believe you on your mere\nword. Not to bind you faster--for what can bind the false?--but because\nI cling to old custom, and because _that_ succeeds best which is done\nafter the manner of our forefathers--follow me.\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n\nHildebrand took the torch from the column, and went across the inner\nspace, past the cella of the temple, past the ruined high altar, past\nthe bases of the statues of the gods--long since fallen--to the\nporticum or back of the edifice. Silently his companions followed the\nold man, who led them down the steps into the open field.\n\nAfter a short walk they stopped under an ancient holm, whose mighty\nboughs held off storm and rain like a roof.\n\nA strange sight presented itself under this oak, which, however, at\nonce reminded the old man's Gothic companions of a custom of ancient\nheathen times in their distant Northern home.\n\nUnder the oak a strip of thick turf, only a foot broad, but several\nyards long, had been cut loose from the ground; the two ends of the\nstrip still lay in the shallow ditch thus formed, but in the middle it\nwas raised over and supported by three long spears of unequal length,\nwhich were fixed into the ground, the tallest spear being in the\nmiddle, so that the whole arrangement formed a triangle, under which\nseveral men could stand commodiously between the shafts of the spears.\n\nIn the ditch stood a brazen cauldron filled with water, near it lay a\npointed and sharp butcher's knife, of extremely ancient form; the haft\nwas made of the horn of the ure-ox, the blade of flint.\n\nThe old man came forward, stuck the torch into the earth close to the\ncauldron, and then stepped, right foot foremost, into the ditch; he\nturned to the east and bent his head, then he beckoned to his friends\nto join him, putting his finger to his lip in sign of silence. Without\na sound the four men stepped into the ditch beside him, Witichis and\nTeja to his right, the two brothers to his left, and all five joined\nhands in a solemn chain.\n\nThen the old man loosened his hands from those of Witichis and\nHildebad, who stood next to him, and knelt down. First he took up a\nhandful of the black mould and threw it over his left shoulder; then he\ndipped his other hand into the cauldron and sprinkled the water to the\nright behind him. After this he blew into the windy night-air that\nrustled in his long beard; and, lastly, he swung the torch from right\nto left over his head. Then he again stuck it into the earth and spoke\nin murmuring tones:\n\n\"Hear me, ancient earth, welling water, ethereal air, flickering flame!\nListen to me well and preserve my words. Here stand five men of the\nrace of Graut, Teja and Totila, Hildebad and Hildebrand, and Witichis,\nWaltari's son.\n\n     \"We stand here in a quiet hour\n      To bind a bond between blood-brethren,\n      For ever and ever and every day.\n      In closest communion as kindred companions.\n      In friendship and feud, in revenge and right.\n      One hope, one hate, one love, one lament,\n      As we drop to one drop\n      Our blood as blood-brethren.\"\n\nAt these words he bared his left arm, the others did the same; close\ntogether they stretched their five arms over the cauldron, the old man\nlifted the sharp flint-knife, and with one stroke scratched the skin of\nhis own and the others' forearms, so that the blood of all flowed in\nred drops into the brazen cauldron. Then they retook their former\npositions, and the old man continued murmuring:\n\n     \"And we swear the solemn oath,\n      To sacrifice all that is ours,\n      House, horse, and armour,\n      Court, kindred, and cattle,\n      Wife, weapons, and wares,\n      Son, and servants, and body, and life,\n      To the glance and glory of the race of Gaut,\n      To the good Goths.\n      And who of us would withdraw\n      From honouring the oath with all sacrifices--\"\n\nhere he, and at a sign, the others also, stepped out of the ditch from\nunder the strip of turf--\n\n     \"His red blood shall run unrevenged\n      Like this water under the wood-sod--\"\n\nhe lifted the cauldron, poured its bloody contents into the ditch, and\nthen took it out, together with the other implements--\n\n     \"Upon his head shall the halls of Heaven\n      Crash cumbrous down and crush him,\n      Solid as this sod.\"\n\nAt one stroke he struck down the three supporting lance-shafts, and\ndully fell the heavy turf-roof back into the ditch. The five men now\nplaced themselves again on the spot thus covered by the turf, with\ntheir hands entwined, and the old man said in more rapid tones:\n\n\"Whosoever does not keep this oath; whosoever does not protect his\nblood-brother like his own brother during his life, and revenge his\ndeath; whosoever refuses to sacrifice everything that he possesses to\nthe people of the Goths, when called upon to do so by a brother in case\nof necessity, shall be for ever subject to the eternal and infernal\npowers which reign under the green grass of the earth; good men shall\ntread with their feet over the perjurer's head, and his name shall be\nwithout honour wherever Christian folk ring bells and heathen folk\noffer sacrifices, wherever mothers caress their children and the wind\nblows over the wide world. Say, companions, shall it be thus with the\nvile perjurer?\"\n\n\"Thus shall it be with him,\" repeated the four men.\n\nAfter a grave pause, Hildebrand loosened the chain of their hands, and\nsaid:\n\n\"That you may know why I bade you come hither, and how sacred this\nplace is to me, come and see.\"\n\nWith this he lifted the torch and went before them behind the mighty\ntrunk of the oak, in front of which they had taken the oath. Silently\nhis friends followed, and saw with astonishment, that, exactly in a\nline with the turfy ditch in which they had stood, there yawned a wide\nand open grave, from which the slab of stone had been rolled away. At\nthe bottom, shining ghastly in the light of the torch, lay three long\nwhite skeletons; a few rusty pieces of armour, lance-points, and\nshield-bosses lay beside them.\n\nThe men looked with surprise; now into the grave, now at Hildebrand. He\nsilently held the torch over the chasm for some minutes. At last he\nsaid quietly:\n\n\"My three sons. They have lain here for more than thirty years. They\nfell on this mountain in the last battle for the city of Ravenna. They\nfell in the same hour; to-day is the day. They rushed with joyous\nshouts against the enemies' spears--for their people.\"\n\nHe ceased. The men looked down with emotion. At last the old man drew\nhimself up and glanced at the sky.\n\n\"It is enough,\" said he, \"the stars are paling. Midnight is long since\npast. You three return into the city. Thou, Teja, wilt surely remain\nwith me; to thee, more than to any other, is given the gift of sorrow,\nas of song; and keep with me the guard of honour beside the dead.\"\n\nTeja nodded, and sat down without a word at the foot of the grave, just\nwhere he was standing. The old man gave Totila the torch, and leaned\nopposite Teja against the stone slab. The other three signed to him\nwith a parting gesture. Gravely, and buried in deep thought, they\ndescended to the city.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III.\n\nA few weeks after this midnight meeting near Ravenna an assembly took\nplace in Rome; just as secret, also under protection of night, but held\nby very different persons for very different aims.\n\nIt took place on the Appian Way, near the C[oe]meterium of St.\nCalixtus, in a half-ruined passage of the Catacombs; those mysterious\nunderground ways, which almost make a second city under the streets and\nsquares of Rome.\n\nThese secret vaults--originally old burial-places, often the refuge of\nyoung Christian communities--are so intricate, and their crossings,\nterminations, exits, and entrances so difficult to thread, that they\ncan only be entered under the guidance of some one intimately\nacquainted with their inner recesses.\n\nBut the men, whose secret intercourse we are about to watch, feared no\ndanger. They were well led. For it was Silverius, the Catholic\narchdeacon of the old church of St. Sebastian, who had led his friends\ndirect from the crypt of his basilica down a steep staircase into this\nbranch of the vaults; and the Roman priests had the reputation of\nhaving studied the windings of these labyrinths since the days of the\nfirst confessor.\n\nThe persons assembled also seemed not to have met there for the first\ntime; the gloom of the place made little impression upon them.\nIndifferently they leaned against the walls of the dismal semi-circular\nroom, which, scantily lighted by a hanging lamp of bronze, formed the\ntermination of the low passage. Indifferently they heard the drops of\ndamp fall from the roof to the floor, or, when their feet now and then\nstruck against white and mouldering bones, they calmly pushed them to\none side.\n\nBesides Silverius, there were present a few other orthodox priests, and\na number of aristocratic Romans, nobles of the Western Empire, who had\nremained for centuries in almost hereditary possession of the higher\ndignities of the state and city.\n\nSilently and attentively they observed the movements of the archdeacon;\nwho, after having mustered those present, and thrown several searching\nglances into the neighbouring passages--where might be seen, keeping\nwatch in the gloom, some youths in clerical costume--now evidently\nprepared to open the assembly in form.\n\nYet once again he went up to a tall man who leaned motionless against\nthe wall opposite to him, and with whom he had repeatedly exchanged\nglances; and when this man had replied to a questioning gesture by a\nsilent nod, he turned to the others and spoke.\n\n\"Beloved in the name of the triune God! Once again are we assembled\nhere to do a holy work. The sword of Edom is brandished over our heads,\nand King Pharaoh pants for the blood of the children of Israel. We,\nhowever, do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the\nsoul, we fear much more those who may destroy both body and soul in\nhell-fire. We trust, during the terrors of night, to His help who led\nHis people through the wilderness, in the day by a cloud of smoke, at\nnight by a pillar of fire. And to this we will hold fast: that what we\nsuffer, we suffer for God's sake; what we do, we do to the honour of\nHis name. Thanks to Him, for He has blest our zeal. Small as those of\nthe Gospel were our beginnings, but we are already grown like a tree by\nthe fresh water-springs. With fear and trembling we first assembled\nhere; great was our danger, weak our hope; noble blood of the best has\nbeen shed; to-day, if we remain firm in faith, we may boldly say that\nthe throne of King Pharaoh is supported on reeds, and that the days of\nthe heathen are counted in the land.\"\n\n\"To business!\" interrupted a young man with short curly black hair and\nbrilliant black eyes. Impatiently he threw his _sagum_ (or short cloak)\nback over his right shoulder, so that his broad sword became visible.\n\"To business, priest! What shall be done to-night?\"\n\nSilverius cast a look at the youth, which, with all its unctuous\nrepose, could not quite conceal his lively dissatisfaction at such bold\nindependence. In a sharp tone of voice he continued:\n\n\"Those who do not believe in the holiness of our aim, should not, were\nit only for the sake of their own worldly aims, try to disturb the\nbelief of others in its sanctity. But to-night, my Licinius, my hasty\nyoung friend, a new and highly welcome member is to be added to our\nleague; his accession is a visible sign of the grace of God.\"\n\n\"Who will you introduce? Are the conditions fulfilled? Do you answer\nfor him unconditionally, or have you other surety?\" So asked another of\nthose present, a man of ripe years with regular features, who, a staff\nbetween his feet, sat quietly on a projection of the wall.\n\n\"I answer for him, my Scævola; besides, his person? is sufficient----\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort. The statutes of our league demand surety, and I\ninsist upon it,\" said Scævola quietly.\n\n\"Good, good; I will be surety, toughest of all jurists!\" repeated the\npriest with a smile.\n\nHe made a sign towards one of the passages to the left.\n\nFrom thence appeared two young _ostiarii_ (doorkeepers), leading a man\ninto the middle of the vault, upon whose covered head all eyes were\nfixed. After a pause, Silverius lifted the cover from the head and\nshoulders of the new comer.\n\n\"Albinus!\" cried the others, in surprise, indignation, and anger.\n\nYoung Licinius grasped his sword; Scævola slowly rose; confused\nexclamations sounded from all sides.\n\n\"What! Albinus, the traitor?\"\n\nThe reviled man looked shyly about him; his relaxed features announced\ninborn cowardice; as if beseeching help he turned his eyes towards the\npriest.\n\n\"Yes, Albinus!\" said the latter quietly, thus appealed to. \"Will any\none of the colleagues speak against him? Let him speak.\"\n\n\"By my Genius!\" cried Licinius, before any one could reply, \"needs it\nto be told? We all know who and what Albinus is. A cowardly shameful\ntraitor\"--anger suffocated his voice.\n\n\"Invectives are no proof,\" interposed Scævola. \"But I ask himself; he\nshall confess here before us all. Albinus, was it you, or was it not,\nwho, when the existence of our league was betrayed to the tyrant and\nyou alone were accused, looked quietly on and saw the noble Boëthius\nand Symmachus, our confederates, because they defended you against the\ntyrant, despoiled of their fortune, persecuted, taken prisoners and\nexecuted; while you, the really accused, saved yourself by taking a\nshameful oath that you would never more trouble yourself about the\nstate, and by suddenly disappearing? Speak, was it you for whose sake\nthe pride of our fatherland fell?\"\n\nA murmur of indignation went through the assembly. The accused remained\ndumb and trembled; even Silverius lost countenance for a moment.\n\nThen the man who was leaning against the wall opposite, raised himself\nand took a step forward; his mere vicinity seemed to embolden the\npriest, who again began:\n\n\"Friends, what you say has happened, but not as you say it. Before all\nthings, know this: Albinus is the _least_ to blame. What he did, he did\nby my advice.\"\n\n\"By your advice!\"\n\n\"You dare to confess it?\"\n\n\"Albinus was accused through the treachery of a slave, who had\ndeciphered the secret writing in the letters to Byzantium. All the\ntyrant's suspicion was aroused; every appearance of resistance or of\nconnection would increase the danger. The impetuosity of Boëthius and\nSymmachus, who courageously defended Albinus, was noble but foolish,\nfor it revealed to the barbarians the sentiments of the whole of the\nRoman aristocracy; and showed that Albinus did not stand alone. They\nacted against my advice, and alas! have suffered death for so doing.\nBut their zeal was superfluous; for the hand of the Lord suddenly\nbereft the slave of life before further revelations, and the secret\nwritings of Albinus had been successfully destroyed before his arrest.\n\n\"But do you believe that Albinus would have been silent under torture,\nunder the threat of death, if naming his co-conspirators could have\nsaved him? You do not believe it, Albinus himself did not believe it.\nTherefore it was necessary, before all else, to gain time and to\nprevent the use of torture. This was accomplished by his oath.\nMeanwhile, it is true, Boëthius and Symmachus suffered; they could not\nbe saved; but of their silence, even under torture, we were sure.\n\n\"Albinus was freed from his prison by a miracle, like St. Paul at\nPhilippi. It was said that he had escaped to Athens, and the tyrant was\ncontented with prohibiting his return. But the triune God has prepared\na refuge for him here in His temple until the hour of freedom\napproaches. In the solitude of His sacred asylum the Lord has touched\nhis heart in a wonderful manner, and, undismayed by the danger of\ndeath, which once before had so nearly overtaken him, he again enters\ninto our circle, and offers to the service of God and the fatherland\nhis whole immense fortune. Listen: he has made over all his property to\nthe church of St. Maria Majoris for the uses of our league. Would you\ndespise him and his millions?\"\n\nA pause of astonishment ensued; at last Licinius cried:\n\n\"Priest, you are as wise as----as a priest. But such wisdom pleases me\nnot.\"\n\n\"Silverius,\" said the jurist, \"you may take the millions. It is fitting\nthat you should do so. But I was the friend of Boëthius; it is not\nfitting that I should have anything in common with that coward. I\ncannot forgive him. Away with him!\"\n\n\"Away with him!\" sounded from all sides. Scævola had given utterance to\nthe sentiment of all present. Albinus grew pale; even Silverius quailed\nunder this general indignation. \"Cethegus!\" whispered he, claiming\nassistance.\n\nThis man, who, until now, had remained silent and had only regarded the\nspeakers with cool superiority, now stepped into the middle of the\nassembly.\n\nHe was tall and lean, but powerful, with a broad breast and muscles of\npure steel.\n\nA purple hem on his toga and delicate sandals betrayed riches, rank and\ntaste, but a long brown soldier's mantle hid the remainder of his\nunderclothing. His head was one of those which, once seen, are never\nagain forgotten. His thick and still glossy black hair was cut short,\nafter Roman fashion, round his lofty, almost too prominent forehead and\nnobly-formed temples. Deep under his finely-arched brows were hidden\nhis narrow eyes, in whose undecided dark-grey colour lay a whole ocean\nof sunken passions and a still more pronounced expression of the\ncoolest self-control. Round his sharply cut and beardless lips lurked a\ntrait of proud contempt of God and His whole creation.\n\nAs he stepped forward, and, with quiet distinction, allowed his eyes to\nwander over the excited assembly; as he commenced his insinuating yet\ncommanding speech, every one felt his superiority, and few could remain\nin his presence without a consciousness of subordination.\n\n\"Why do you wrangle,\" he said coldly, \"about things that must be done?\nWho wills the end, must will the means. You will not forgive? As you\nplease! That is of little consequence. But you must and you can forget.\nI also was a friend of the dead, perhaps their dearest. And yet--I\nwill forget. I do so just because I was their friend. _He_ loves\nthem, Scævola, and he alone, who avenges them. For the sake of\nrevenge---- Albinus, your hand!\"\n\nAll were silent, awed more by the personality than convinced by the\nreasons of the speaker.\n\nBut the jurist still objected:\n\n\"Rusticiana, the influential woman, the widow of Boëthius, the daughter\nof Symmachus, is favourable to our league. Will she remain so if this\nman enters it? Can she ever forget and forgive? Never!\"\n\n\"She can. Do not believe me, believe your eyes.\"\n\nWith these words Cethegus quickly turned and entered one of the\nside-passages, whose opening had been hidden until now by his own\nperson.\n\nClose to the entrance a veiled figure stood listening; he caught her\nhand:\n\n\"Come,\" whispered he, \"come now.\"\n\n\"I cannot! I will not!\" was the almost inaudible answer of the\nresisting woman. \"I curse him! I cannot look at him, the wretch!\"\n\n\"It must be. Come; you can and you shall--for I will have it so.\" He\nthrew back her veil; one look, and she followed as if deprived of the\npower of will.\n\nThey turned the corner of the entrance:\n\n\"Rusticiana!\" cried the whole assembly.\n\n\"A woman in our meeting!\" exclaimed the jurist. \"It is against the\nstatutes, the laws.\"\n\n\"Yes, Scævola; but the laws are made for the league, not the league for\nthe laws. And you would never have believed from _me_, that which you\nnow see with your own eyes.\"\n\nHe laid the widow's hand within the trembling right hand of Albinus.\n\n\"Look! Rusticiana forgives! Who will now resist?\"\n\nVanquished and overruled, all remained silent. For Cethegus all further\nproceedings seemed to have lost interest. He retired into the\nbackground with Rusticiana. But the priest now said:\n\n\"Albinus is a member of the league.\"\n\n\"And the oath that he swore to the tyrant?\" hesitatingly asked Scævola.\n\n\"Was forced, and he is absolved from it by Holy Church. But now it is\ntime to depart. Let us only conclude the most pressing business. Here,\nLicinius, is the plan of the fortress of Neapolis: you must have it\ncopied by to-morrow; it goes to Belisarius. Here, Scævola, letters from\nByzantium, from Theodora, the pious wife of Justinian: you must answer\nthem. Here, Calpurnius, is an assignment of half a million _solidi_\nfrom Albinus: you will send them to the Frankish major domus; he has\ngreat influence with his king. Here, Pomponius, is a list of the\npatriots in Dalmatia; you know men and things there, take notice if\nimportant names are omitted. And be it known to all of you, that,\naccording to news received to-day from Ravenna, the hand of the Lord\nlies heavy on the tyrant. Deep melancholy, too tardy remorse for all\nhis sins, oppresses him, and the consolations of the true faith have\nnot yet penetrated into his soul. Have patience but a little while; the\nangry voice of the Judge will soon summon him; then comes the day of\nfreedom. At the next Ides, at the same hour, we shall meet here again.\nThe blessing of the Lord be with you!\"\n\nA motion of his hand dismissed the assembly; the young priests came out\nof the side-passage with torches, and led the members, each one singly,\nin different directions, to the secret exits of the Catacombs.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IV.\n\nSilverius, Cethegus, and Rusticiana went together up the steps which\nled to the crypt of the basilica of St. Sebastian. From thence they\npassed through the church into the adjoining house of the archdeacon.\nOn arriving there, Silverius convinced himself that all the inhabitants\nof the house were asleep, with the exception of an old slave, who was\nwatching in the atrium near a half-extinguished lamp. At a sign from\nhis master he lighted a silver lamp which stood near him, and pressed a\nsecret spring in the marble wainscot of the room.\n\nA slab of marble turned on its hinges and allowed the priest who had\ntaken up the lamp to pass, with his two companions, into a small, low\nchamber, and then quickly and noiselessly closed behind them, leaving\nno trace of an opening.\n\nThe small chamber, now simply adorned by a tall wooden crucifix, a\nfall-stool, and a few plain Christian symbols on a golden background,\nhad evidently, as the cushioned shelf which ran round the walls showed,\nserved for those small banquets of one or two guests, whose\nunrestrained comfort Horace has so often celebrated in song. At the\ntime of which I speak it was the private chamber in which the\narchdeacon brooded over his most secret priestly or worldly plans.\n\nCethegus silently seated himself on the _lectus_ (a small couch),\nthrowing the superficial glance of a critic at a Mosaic picture\ninserted into the opposite wall. While the priest was occupied in\npouring wine from an amphora with large curving handles into some cups\nwhich stood ready, and placing a metal dish of fruit on the bronze\ntripod table, Rusticiana stood opposite Cethegus, measuring him with an\nexpression of astonishment and indignation.\n\nScarcely forty years of age, this woman showed traces of a rare--and\nrather manly--beauty, which had suffered less from time than from\nviolent passions. Here and there her raven-black braids were streaked\nwith white, not grey, and strong lines lay round the mobile corners of\nher mouth.\n\nShe leaned her left hand on the table, and meditatively stroked her\nbrow with her right, while she gazed at Cethegus. At last she spoke.\n\n\"Tell me, tell me, Cethegus, what power is this that you have over me?\nI no more love you. I ought to hate you. I do hate you. And yet I must\ninvoluntarily obey you, like a bird under the fascinating eye of a\nsnake. And you place my hand, _this_ hand, in that of that miserable\nman! Say, you evil-doer, what is this power?\"\n\nCethegus was inattentively silent. At last, leaning back, he said:\n\"Habit, Rusticiana, habit.\"\n\n\"Truly, 'tis habit! The habit of a slavery that has existed ever since\nI can remember. It was natural that as a girl I should admire the\nhandsome son of our neighbours; that I believed in your love was\nexcusable, did you not kiss me? And who could--at that time--know that\nyou were incapable of loving anything--even yourself? That the wife of\nBoëthius did not smother the mad passion which, as if in sport, you\nagain fanned into a flame, was a sin; but God and the Church have\nforgiven it. But that I should still, after knowing for years your\nutter heartlessness, when the glow of passion is extinguished in my\nveins, that I should still most blindly follow your demoniac will--that\nis folly enough to make me laugh aloud.\"\n\nAnd she laughed wildly, and pressed her right hand to her brow.\n\nThe priest stopped in his domestic occupations and looked stealthily at\nCethegus. He was intensely interested.\n\nCethegus leaned his head back against the marble moulding, and with his\nright hand grasped the drinking-cup which stood before him.\n\n\"You are unjust, Rusticiana,\" he said quietly, \"and confused. You mix\nthe sports of Eros with the works of Eris and the Fates. You know that\nI was the friend of Boëthius, although I kissed his wife. Perhaps just\nfor that reason. I see nothing particular in that. And you--well,\nSilverius and the saints have forgiven you. You know further, that I\nhate these Goths, mortally hate them; that I have the will and--more\nthan all others--the power to carry through that which is now your\ngreatest wish, to revenge your father, whom you loved, and your\nhusband, whom you honoured, on these barbarians.\n\n\"Therefore you obey my instigations, and you are wise in so doing; for\nyou have a decided talent for intrigue, but your impetuosity often\nclouds your judgment. It spoils your finest plans. Therefore it is well\nthat you follow cooler guidance. That is all. But now go. Your slave is\ncrouching, drunk with sleep, in the vestibule. She believes that you\nare in the confessional with friend Silverius. The confession must not\nlast too long. And we also have business to transact. Greet Camilla,\nyour lovely child, for me, and farewell.\"\n\nHe rose, took her hand, and led her gently to the door. She followed\nreluctantly, nodded to the priest at parting, looked once more at\nCethegus, who appeared not to observe her inward emotion, and went out,\nslightly shaking her head.\n\nCethegus sat down again and emptied his cup of wine.\n\n\"A strange struggle in this woman's nature,\" remarked Silverius, and\nsat down by Cethegus with stylus, wax-tablets, letters and documents.\n\n\"It is not strange. She wishes to atone for having wronged her husband\nby avenging him,\" said Cethegus. \"And that she can accomplish this by\nmeans of her former lover, makes the sacred duty doubly sweet. To be\nsure, she is not conscious of it.--But what have we to do?\"\n\nThe two men now began their business: to consider such points of the\nconspiracy as they did not judge advisable to communicate to all the\nmembers of the league.\n\n\"At present,\" began the archdeacon, \"it is above all things necessary\nto ascertain the amount of this fortune of Albinus, and decide upon its\nappropriation. We assuredly require money, much money.\"\n\n\"Money affairs are your province,\"--said Cethegus, drinking. \"I\nunderstand them, of course, but they annoy me.\"\n\n\"Further,\" continued Silverius, \"the most influential men in Sicilia,\nNeapolis, and Apulia must be won over to our cause. Here is the list of\ntheir names, with notes annexed. There are men amongst them who are not\nto be allured by the usual means.\"\n\n\"Give it to me,\" said Cethegus, \"I will manage that,\" And he cut up a\nPersian apple.\n\nAfter an hour's hard work, the most pressing business was settled, and\nthe host replaced the documents, in a secret drawer in the wall behind\nthe crucifix.\n\nThe priest was tired, and looked with envy at his companion, whose\npowerful frame and indefatigable spirit no late hours or exertion\nseemed able to exhaust.\n\nHe expressed something of the sort, as Cethegus again filled the silver\ncup.\n\n\"Practice, friend, strong nerves, and,\" added Cethegus, smiling, \"a\ngood conscience; that is the whole secret.\"\n\n\"Yes, but in earnest, Cethegus, you are a riddle to me in other\nrespects.\"\n\n\"I should hope so.\"\n\n\"Oh ho! do you consider yourself such a superior being that I cannot\nfathom you?\"\n\n\"Not at all. But still sufficiently deep to be to others no less a\nriddle than--to myself. Your pride in your knowledge of mankind may be\nat ease. I am no wiser about myself than you are. Only fools are\ntransparent.\"\n\n\"In fact,\" said the priest, expatiating on the subject, \"the key to\nyour nature must be difficult to find. For example, look at the members\nof our league. It is easy to say what motives have led them to join us.\nThe hot young courage of a Licinius; the pig-headed but honest sense of\njustice of a Scævola; as for myself and the other priests--our zeal for\nthe honour of God.\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" said Cethegus, drinking.\n\n\"Others are induced by ambition, or are in hopes that they may cut off\nthe heads of their creditors in a civil war; or they are tired of the\norderly condition of this country under the Goths, or have been\noffended by one of these foreigners. Most of them have a natural\nrepugnance to the barbarians, and are in the habit of seeing in the\nEmperor alone the master of Italy. But none of these reasons apply to\nyou, and----\"\n\n\"And,\" interrupted Cethegus, \"that is very uncomfortable, is it not?\nFor by knowledge of their motives one can govern men. Well, I am sorry,\nreverend friend, but I cannot help you. I really do not know myself\nwhat my motive is. I am so curious about it, that I would gladly tell\nit to you--and allow myself to be governed--if I could only find it\nout. Only one thing I feel--that these Goths are my antipathy. I hate\nthese full-blooded fellows, with their broad flaxen beards. I cannot\nbear their brutal good humour, their ingenuous youthfulness, their\nstupid heroism, their unbroken natures. It is the impudence of chance,\nwhich governs the world, that this country, after such a history,\npossessing men like--like you and me--should be ruled by these Northern\nbears!\"\n\nHe tossed his head indignantly, closed his eyes, and sipped a small\nquantity of wine.\n\n\"That the barbarians must go, we are agreed,\" said Silverius, \"and with\nthis, all is gained as far as I am concerned. For I only await the\ndeliverance of the Church from these heretical barbarians, who deny the\ndivinity of Christ, and make Him a demi-god. I hope that the primacy of\nall Christendom will, as is fitting, incontestably fall to the share of\nthe Roman Church. But as long as Rome is in the power of the heretics,\nwhile the Bishop of Byzantium is supported by the only orthodox and\nlegitimate Emperor----\"\n\n\"The Bishop of Rome cannot be the first Bishop of Christendom, nor the\nmaster of Italy; and therefore the Roman Apostolic See, even when\noccupied by a Silverius, cannot be what it ought to be--the highest.\nAnd yet that is what Silverius wishes.\"\n\nThe priest looked up in surprise.\n\n\"Do not be uneasy, reverend friend. I knew this long ago, and have kept\nyour secret, although you did not confide it to me. But further----\" He\nagain filled his cup. \"Your Falernian has been well stored, but it is\ntoo sweet.--Properly speaking, you can but wish that these Goths may\nevacuate the throne of the Cæsars, and not that the Byzantines should\ntake their place; for in that case the Bishop of Rome would have again\na superior bishop and an emperor in Byzantium. You must therefore,\ninstead of the Goths, wish--not for an Emperor--Justinian--but--what\nelse?\"\n\n\"Either,\" eagerly interrupted Silverius, \"a special Emperor of the\nWestern Empire----\"\n\n\"Who, however,\" said Cethegus, completing the sentence, \"would be only\na puppet in the hands of the holy Petrus----\"\n\n\"Or a Roman republic, a State of the Church----\"\n\n\"In which the Bishop of Rome is master, Italy the principal country,\nand the barbarian kings in Gaul, Germany, and Spain the obedient sons\nof the Church. All very fine, my friend. But first the enemy must be\nannihilated, whose spoils you already divide. Therefore let us drink an\nold Roman toast: 'Woe to the barbarians!'\"\n\nHe rose and drank to the priest.\n\n\"But,\" he added, \"the last night-watch creeps on, and my slaves must\nfind me in the morning in my bedchamber. Farewell!\"\n\nWith this he drew the _cucullus_ (hood) of his mantle over his head and\ndeparted.\n\nHis host looked after him. \"A very important tool!\" he said to himself.\n\"It is a good thing that he is only a tool. May he always remain so!\"\n\nCethegus walked away from the Via Appia in a north-westerly direction,\ntowards the Capitol, beneath which, at the northern end of the Via\nSacra, his house was situated, to the north-east of the Forum Romanum.\n\nThe cool morning air played refreshingly over his brow. He threw open\nhis mantle and deeply inflated his strong broad chest.\n\n\"Yes, I am a riddle,\" he said to himself. \"I join in a conspiracy and\ngo about by night, like a republican or a lover at twenty. And\nwherefore? Who knows why he breathes? Because he must. And so I do what\nI must. But one thing is certain, this priest may--perhaps must--become\nPope; but he must not remain so long, else farewell my scarcely-avowed\nthoughts, which are yet but dreams and cloud-mists. Perhaps it may be\nthat from them will arise a storm that will decide my fate. See, it\nlightens in the east! 'Tis well; I accept the omen!\"\n\nWith these words he entered his house.\n\nIn his bed-chamber he found a letter on the cedar table before his bed,\ntied with a silken string, and sealed with the royal seal. He cut the\nstring with his dagger, opened the double waxen tablets, and read:\n\n\"To Cethegus Cæsarius, the Princeps Senatus, Marcus Aurelius\nCassiodorus, Senator.\n\n\"Our lord and king lies on his death-bed. His daughter and heiress,\nAmalaswintha, wishes to speak with you before his end.\n\n\"You are to undertake the most important office in the kingdom.\n\n\"Hasten at once to Ravenna.\"\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V.\n\nOver the King's palace at Ravenna, with all its gloomy splendour and\ninhospitable spaciousness, lay an air of breathless anxiety.\n\nThe old castle of the Cæsars had suffered many disfiguring changes in\nthe course of centuries, and since the Gothic kings, with all their\nGermanic courtiers, had taken the place of the emperors, it had\nassumed a very inharmonious aspect, for many chambers, intended\nfor the peculiar customs of Roman life, stood, still retaining\nthe old magnificence of their arrangements, unused and neglected.\nCobwebs covered the mosaic of the rich baths of Honorius, and in the\ntoilet-chamber of Placidia the lizards climbed over the marble frames\nof the silver mirrors on the walls. On the one side, the necessities of\na more warlike court had obliged the removal of many walls, in order to\nchange the small rooms of the ancient building into wider halls for\narsenals, banqueting and guard-rooms, and, on the other, neighbouring\nhouses had been joined to the palace by new walls, so as to create a\nstronghold in the middle of the city.\n\nIn the dried-up _piscina maxima_ (large fish-pond) fair-haired boys now\nromped, and in the marble halls of the _palæstra_[1] neighed the horses\nof the Gothic guards. So the extensive edifice had the dismal\nappearance partly of a scarcely-preserved ruin, and partly of a\nhalf-finished new erection; and thus the palace of the present ruler\nseemed a symbol of his Roman-Gothic kingdom, and of his whole\nhalf-finished, half-decayed political creation.\n\nOn the day, however, on which Cethegus, after years of absence, once\nagain entered the house, there lay heavy upon it a cloud of anxiety,\nsorrow and gloom, for its royal soul was departing from it.\n\nThe great man, who here had guided, for the space of a man's life, the\nfate of Europe; who was wondered at, with love or with hate, by West\nand by East; the hero of his age; the powerful Theodoric of Verona, of\nwhose name--even during his lifetime--Legend had possessed herself; the\ngreat Amelung, King Theodoric, was about to die.\n\nSo said the physicians--if not to himself, yet to his nearest\nrelations--and the report soon spread in the great and populous city.\n\nAlthough such an end to the secret sufferings of the aged King had been\nlong held possible, the news that the blow was at hand now filled all\nhearts with the greatest excitement.\n\nThe faithful Goths were anxious and grieved, and a dull fear was the\npredominating feeling even of the Roman population, for here in\nRavenna, in the immediate vicinity of the King, the Italians had had\nfrequent opportunities of admiring his mildness and generosity, and of\nexperiencing his beneficence.\n\nAnd besides, it was feared that after the death of this King, who,\nduring his lifetime--with the single exception of the last contest with\nthe Emperor and the Senate, when Boëthius and Symmachus bled--had\nprotected the Italians from the harshness and violence of his people--a\nnew rule of severity and oppression would commence on the part of the\nGoths.\n\nAnd, finally, another and more noble influence was at work; the\npersonality of this hero-King had been so grand, so majestic, that even\nthose who had often wished for the destruction of himself and his\nkingdom, could not--at the moment when this luminary was about to be\nextinguished--revel in a feeling of malicious joy, and were unable to\novercome a deep depression.\n\nSo, since early morning--when servants from the palace had been seen\nrushing in all directions, and special messengers hurrying to the\nhouses of the most distinguished Goths and Romans--the town had been in\na state of great excitement.\n\nMen stood together by pairs or in groups in the streets, squares and\nbaths, questioning or imparting to each other what they knew; trying to\ndetain some person of importance who came from the palace, and talking\nof the grave consequences of the approaching catastrophe. Women and\nchildren, urged by curiosity, crouched on the thresholds of the houses.\n\nAs the day advanced, even the populations of the nearest towns and\nvillages--principally consisting of sorrowing Goths--streamed into the\ngates of the city to hear the news.\n\nThe counsellors of the King, pre-eminently the pretorian prefect,\nCassiodorus, who earned great praise for preserving order in those\ndays, had foreseen this excitement, and perhaps expected something\nworse.\n\nAt midnight all the entrances to the palace had been closed, and\nguarded by Goths. In the Forum Honorum, before the palace, a troop of\ncavalry had been placed. On the broad marble steps that led up to the\ngrand colonnade of the principal entrance, lay, in picturesque groups,\nstrong companies of Gothic foot-soldiers, armed with shield and spear.\n\nOnly there, according to the order of Cassiodorus, could admittance\nbe gained to the palace, and only the two leaders of the\ninfantry--Cyprian, the Roman, and Witichis, the Goth, were allowed to\ngrant permission to enter.\n\nIt was to the first of these persons that Cethegus applied.\n\nAs he took the well-known way to the King's apartments, he found all\nthe Goths and Romans whose rank or importance had procured them\nadmittance, scattered in groups about the halls and corridors.\n\nIn the once noisy banqueting-hall the young leaders of the Gothic\nhundreds and thousands stood together, silent and sorrowing, or\nwhispering their anxious inquiries, while here and there an elderly\nman--a companion-at-arms of the dying hero--leaned in the niche of a\nbow-window, seeking to hide his ungovernable sorrow. In the middle of\nthe hall stood--pressing his head against a pillar and weeping\nloudly--a rich merchant of Ravenna. The King, now on the point of\ndeath, had once pardoned him for joining in a conspiracy, and had\nprevented his goods from being plundered by the enraged Goths.\n\nCethegus passed by them all with a cold glance of contempt.\n\nIn the next room--a saloon intended for the reception of foreign\nembassies--he found a number of distinguished Goths--dukes, earls, and\nother nobles--who evidently were assembled together to consult upon the\nsuccession, and the threatened overthrow of all existing conditions.\n\nThere was the brave Duke Thulun, who had heroically defended the town\nof Arles against the Franks; Ibba, the conqueror of Spain; and Pitza,\nwho had been victorious over the Bulgarians and Gepidians--all mighty\nwarriors, proud of their nobility, which was little less than that of\nthe royal house of Amelung; for they were of the house of Balthe,\nwhich, through Alaric, had won the crown of the Visigoths; and no less\nproud of their services in war, which had protected and extended the\nkingdom.\n\nHildebad and Teja were with them. They were the leaders of the party\nwhich had long since desired a more severe treatment of the Italians,\nwhom they at once hated and shunned; but had been forced, against their\nwill, to give way to the milder opinions of the King.\n\nWhat looks of hatred shot from their eyes upon the aristocratic Roman\nwho now came to witness the death of the great Gothic hero!\n\nCethegus walked quietly past them, and lifted the heavy woollen curtain\nthat divided this from the next apartment--the ante-chamber of the\nsick-room.\n\nOn entering, he greeted with a profound inclination a tall and queenly\nwoman, enveloped in a black mourning veil, who, grave and silent, but\ncomposed and without tears, stood before a marble table covered with\nrecords. It was Amalaswintha, the widowed daughter of Theodoric.\n\nA woman above thirty years of age, she was still extremely, though\ncoldly, beautiful. She wore her rich dark hair parted and waved in the\nfashion of the Greeks. Her high forehead, her large, open eyes, her\nstraight nose, the pride expressed in her almost manly features, and\nthe majesty of her full form, gave her an imposing dignity, and, clad\nin a garment folded in true Grecian style, she resembled a Juno of\nPolycletus which had descended from its pedestal. Her arm, more\nsupporting than supported, was laid within that of a youth of about\nseventeen years of age--Athalaric, her son, the heir of the kingdom of\nthe Goths.\n\nHe did not resemble his mother, but had the nature of his unhappy\nfather, Eutharic, whom a wasting heart disease had hurried to the grave\nin the bloom of life. For this reason, Amalaswintha saw with sorrow\nthat her son grew daily more like his father; and it was no longer a\nsecret at the court of Ravenna that all the signs of the disease were\nalready visible in the young man.\n\nAthalaric was as beautiful as all the other members of this royal\nhouse, descended from the gods. Heavy black eyebrows and long eyelashes\nshaded his beautiful dark eyes, that now melted with an expression of\ndreamy reverie, and now flashed with intellectual brilliancy. Dark\nbrown tangled locks hung over his pale temples, on which, when he was\nexcited, the blue veins swelled convulsively. On his noble brow\nphysical pain or sad resignation had traced deep lines, strange to see\non his youthful countenance. Marble paleness and vivid red quickly\nalternated in his transparent cheeks. His tall but bent-frame generally\nseemed to hang, so to speak, on its hinges, as if tired, and only at\ntimes he drew himself up with startling suddenness.\n\nHe did not notice Cethegus, for, leaning on his mother's breast, he had\nin his sadness flung his Grecian mantle over that young head, which was\nsoon destined to wear a crown.\n\nAt some distance from these two figures, near an open window that\nafforded a view of the marble steps upon which lay the Gothic warriors,\nstood, lost in thought, a woman--or was it a girl?--of surprising and\ndazzling beauty; it was Mataswintha, the sister of Athalaric.\n\nShe resembled her mother in height and nobleness of form, but her more\nsharply-cut features were filled with fiery and passionate life, which\nwas only slightly concealed under an aspect of artificial coldness.\n\nHer figure, in which blooming fulness and delicate slenderness were\nharmoniously blended, reminded one of that Artemis in the arms of\nEndymion, in the group sculptured by Agesander, which, as legend\nreports, was banished from the town by the Council of Rhodes because\nthe marble representation of the most perfect maidenly beauty and\nhighest sensuousness had driven the youths of the island to madness and\nsuicide. The magic of ripe virgin beauty trembled over the whole form\nof Mataswintha. Her rich waving hair was of a dark-red colour, with a\nglimmering metallic light upon it, and had such an extraordinary effect\nthat it had procured for the Princess, even amongst her own nation,\nwhose women were celebrated for their splendid golden locks, the\nappellation of \"Beautiful-hair.\" Her nose was finely-shaped, with\ndelicately-chiselled nostrils, which quivered at the slightest emotion;\nand freshly bloomed the full and rosy lips of her lovely mouth. But the\nmost striking feature of this extraordinary beauty was the grey eye,\nnot so much on account of its changing colour as from the wonderful\nexpression with which, though generally lost in reverie, it could\nsometimes flash with burning passion.\n\nIndeed, as she stood there leaning against the window, in the\nhalf-Hellenic, half-Gothic costume, which her fancy had combined, her\nfull white arm wound round the dark column of porphyry, and gazing\nthoughtfully out into the evening air, her seductive beauty resembled\nthat of those irresistible wood or water-nymphs, whose enchanting power\nof love has always been celebrated in Northern legend.\n\nAnd so great was the power of this beauty, that even the burnt-out\nbosom of Cethegus, who had long known the Princess, was moved to new\nadmiration as he entered.\n\nBut his attention was immediately claimed by Cassiodorus--the learned\nand faithful minister of the King, the first representative of that\nbenevolent but hopeless policy of reconciliation, which had been\npractised in the Gothic Kingdom for many years--who was standing near\nAmalaswintha.\n\nThis old man, whose venerable and mild features were no less filled\nwith an expression of sorrow at the loss of his royal friend than by\nanxiety for the future of the kingdom, rose, and went with tottering\nsteps towards Cethegus, who reverently bent his head.\n\nThe aged man's eyes rested upon him for some moments, swimming in\ntears; at last he sank sighing upon the cold breast of Cethegus, who\ndespised him for this weakness.\n\n\"What a day!\" complained Cassiodorus.\n\n\"A fateful day,\" said Cethegus gravely. \"Strength and presence of mind\nare necessary.\"\n\n\"You say truly, patrician, and speak like a Roman,\" said the Princess,\nleaving Athalaric--\"welcome!\"\n\nShe gave him her hand, which did not tremble. Her eye was clear and\ntearless.\n\n\"The disciple of the Stoics preserves, even on this day, the wisdom of\nZeno and her own composure,\" said Cethegus.\n\n\"Say, rather, that the grace of God wonderfully upholds her soul,\" said\nCassiodorus reprovingly.\n\n\"Patrician,\" began Amalaswintha, \"the prætorian prefect has proposed you\nto me for the performance of an important business. His word would be\nsufficient, even had I not known you so long. You are the self-same\nCethegus who transposed the first two songs of the? 'Æneid' into\nGrecian hexameters?\"\n\n\"Infandum renovare jubes, regina, dolorem. A youthful sin, Queen,\" said\nCethegus, smiling. \"I bought up all the copies and burnt them on the\nday on which Tullia's translation appeared.\"\n\nTullia was the pseudonym of Amalaswintha. Cethegus knew it, but the\nPrincess had no suspicion of his knowledge. She was flattered in her\nweakest point, and continued:\n\n\"You know how it stands with us. My father's moments are counted;\naccording to the report of the physicians, he may, although yet strong\nand active, die at any moment. Athalaric here is the heir to his crown.\nBut until he has reached the proper age, I shall conduct the regency,\nand act as his guardian.\"\n\n\"Such is the will of the King, and Goths and Romans have long since\nagreed to this wise arrangement,\" said Cethegus.\n\n\"They did so, but the mob is fickle. The rough men despise the\ngovernment of a woman\"--and at this thought Amalaswintha knit her brow\nin anger.\n\n\"It is certainly contrary to the political principles both of Goths and\nRomans,\" said Cassiodorus apologetically. \"It is quite a new thing that\na woman----\"\n\n\"Whatever may be thought about it, it is a fact,\" interposed the\nPrincess. \"Nevertheless, I count on the fidelity of the Goths in\ngeneral, though single aristocratic individuals may aim at the crown. I\nalso fear nothing from the Italians here in Ravenna, nor in most towns.\nBut I fear--Rome and the Romans!\"\n\nThe attention of Cethegus was arrested. His whole being was suddenly\nexcited, but his countenance remained impassive.\n\n\"Rome will never accustom herself to the rule of the Goths; she will\nalways resist us--how can it be otherwise?\" added Amalaswintha.\n\nIt seemed as if the daughter of Theodoric had a Roman soul.\n\n\"Therefore we fear,\" concluded Cassiodorus, \"that, at the news of the\nvacancy of the throne, a movement may break out in Rome against the\nregency, be it for annexation to Byzantium, be it for the election of\nan Emperor of the Western Empire.\"\n\nCethegus, as if in reflection, cast down his eyes.\n\n\"For this reason,\" quickly interposed the Princess, \"everything must be\ndone before the news reaches Rome. A faithful, energetic man must\nreceive the oaths of the garrison for me--I mean for my son; must take\npossession of the most important gates and squares, intimidate the\nSenate and the nobles, win the people to my cause, and irrevocably\nconfirm my dominion before it is menaced. And to effect this,\nCassiodorus has proposed--you. Speak; will you undertake it?\"\n\nAt this moment the golden stylus which she held happened to fell to the\nground.\n\nCethegus stooped to pick it up.\n\nHe had only this one moment for the crowding thoughts that passed\nthrough his mind on hearing this proposal.\n\nWas the conspiracy in the Catacombs betrayed? Was he himself betrayed?\nWas this a snare laid by the crafty and ambitious woman? Or were the\nfools really so blind as to press this offer upon him? And if it were\nso, what should he do? Should he seize the occasion? Should he strike\nat once, in order to win Rome? And for whom? For Byzantium or for an\nEmperor of the West? And who should it be? Or were things not yet ripe?\nShould he, for this once, seemingly practise fidelity?\n\nTo resolve these and many other questions, he had only the one moment\nin which he stooped.\n\nBut his quick mind needed no more. He had seen, while in the act of\nstooping, the unsuspicious, trusting look of Cassiodorus, and, giving\nthe stylus to the Princess, he spoke with decision:\n\n\"Queen, I undertake the business.\"\n\n\"That is well,\" said the Princess.\n\nCassiodorus pressed his hand.\n\n\"When Cassiodorus proposed me for this office,\" continued Cethegus, \"he\ngave another proof of his deep knowledge of mankind. He has seen the\nkernel through the shell.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Amalaswintha.\n\n\"Queen, appearances might have deceived him. I confess that I do not\nlike to see the barbarians--pardon, the Goths--reigning in Italy.\"\n\n\"This frankness honours you, and I pardon the feeling in a Roman.\"\n\n\"Besides that, I have taken no interest in public affairs for some\nyears. After having experienced varied passions, I now live in the calm\nand retirement of my country villas, cultivating the sportive muse,\nenjoying my books, and untroubled by the cares of kings.\"\n\n\"Beatus ille qui procul negotiis,\" quoted the learned lady, sighing.\n\n\"But, because I honour science, because I, a scholar of Plato, desire\nthat the wise should govern, I wish that a Queen should reign over my\nfatherland who is only a Goth by birth, but in her soul a Greek, and by\nher virtues a Roman. For her sake I will sacrifice my leisure to hated\nbusiness. But only on condition that this shall be my last office of\nstate. I will undertake your commission, and answer for Rome with my\nhead.\"\n\n\"Good; here you will find the legal documents which you will need.\"\n\nCethegus looked rapidly through the records.\n\n\"This is the manifesto of the young King to the Romans, with your\nsignature. _His_ is still wanting.\"\n\nAmalaswintha dipped the Cnidian reed-pen into the vessel filled with\ncrimson ink, which was used by the Amelungs as well as by the Roman\nEmperors.\n\n\"Come, write thy name, my son,\" she said.\n\nAthalaric, standing and leaning with both arms on the table, had keenly\nobserved Cethegus during the above conversation. Now he stood erect. He\nwas accustomed to act with the usual arrogance of a Crown Prince and\nthe petulancy of an invalid.\n\n\"No,\" he said impatiently; \"I will not write. Not only because I do\nnot trust this cold Roman--I do not trust you in the least, you proud\nman--but it is revolting that, while my noble father still breathes,\nyou already quarrel about his crown. You dwarfs! About the crown of a\ngiant! Shame on your insensibility! Behind those curtains the greatest\nhero of the century is dying, and you think already of the partition of\nhis garment!\"\n\nHe turned his back upon them and went slowly to the window, where he\npassed his arm round his lovely sister, and stroked her shining hair.\nHe stood there for some time; she did not notice him.\n\nSuddenly she started from her reverie.\n\n\"Athalaric,\" she whispered, hastily grasping his arm, and pointing at\nthe marble staircase, \"who is that man in the blue steel helmet, who is\njust coming round that pillar? Say, who is it?\"\n\n\"Let me see,\" said the youth, bending forward. \"That? Oh! that is Earl\nWitichis, the conqueror of the Gepidae, a famous hero.\"\n\nAnd he told her of the deeds and triumphs of the Earl in the last war.\n\nMeanwhile Cethegus had looked inquiringly at the Princess and the\nminister.\n\n\"Let him alone,\" sighed Amalaswintha. \"If he will not, no power on\nearth can make him.\"\n\nFurther questions on the part of Cethegus were cut short, for the\nthree-fold curtain, that shut out all the noise of the ante-chamber\nfrom the King's bedroom, was parted.\n\nIt was Elpidios, the Greek physician, who, lifting the heavy folds, now\nentered, and announced that the sick man, just awakened from a long\nsleep, had sent him away, in order to be alone with old Hildebrand, who\nnever stirred from his side.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VI.\n\nTheodoric's bed-chamber, which had served the same purpose under the\nEmperors, was decorated with the heavy splendour of late Roman style.\n\nThe superabundant reliefs of the walls and the gilded ornamentation of\nthe ceiling still pictured the victories and triumphal processions of\nRoman consuls and emperors. Heathen gods and goddesses floated proudly\nabove. Everywhere reigned the same oppressive magnificence.\n\nThe extreme simplicity of the Gothic King's couch formed a remarkable\ncontrast to all this pomp.\n\nThe oval frame of unpolished oak was raised scarcely a foot from the\nground, and contained few cushions. Only the costly crimson cover\nwhich hid the King's feet, and the lion's skin with golden claws\nthat lay before the bed--a present from the King of the Vandals, in\nAfrica--betrayed the royalty of the sick man. All the other furniture\nof the room was simple, plain, and almost barbarously clumsy.\n\nOn a pillar in the background hung the iron shield and broad-sword of\nthe King, which had not been used for many years. At the head of the\nbed stood the old master-at-arms, with his eyes bent down, anxiously\nexamining the features of the patient, who, leaning on his left arm,\nturned his majestic countenance towards him.\n\nThe King's sparse hair, rubbed off on the temples by years of friction\ncaused by his heavy helmet, was still of a bright brown colour, and\nwithout a trace of grey. His heavy brow, sparkling eyes, large nose,\nand the deep lines in his cheeks, spoke of great tasks and great\nstrength to accomplish them.\n\nThe expression of his face was commanding and even sublime; but\nthe benevolent softness of his mouth, in spite of the grim and\nslightly-grey beard, gave evidence of the mildness and peaceful wisdom\nby means of which he had raised his kingdom to such a flourishing\ncondition that it had already become a proverb and celebrated in story.\n\nHis golden-brown and piercing eyes rested for some time upon his\ngigantic sick-nurse, with an expression of love and favour.\n\nAt last he stretched out his thin, but nervous, right hand.\n\n\"Old friend,\" said he, \"we must now take leave of each other.\"\n\nThe old man sank upon his knees and pressed the King's hand to his\nbroad breast.\n\n\"Come, my friend, rise! Must I comfort _thee_?\"\n\nBut Hildebrand remained upon his knees, and only lifted his head so\nthat he could look the King in the face.\n\n\"See,\" said the King, \"I know that thou, son of Hilding, hast received\nfrom thy ancestors and thy father a deeper knowledge of the ailings of\nmankind and their healing than all these Grecian physicians and Lydian\nquack-salvers. And, more than that, thou art sincere. Therefore, I beg\nthee honestly to confirm me in what I feel to be true. Tell me, must I\nnot die to-day--even before the night?\" And he looked at him in a\nmanner that would brook no deception.\n\nBut Hildebrand did not wish to deceive him; he had regained his natural\ncomposure.\n\n\"Yes, King of the Goths, heir of the Amelungs, thou must die; the hand\nof Death has passed across thy brow. Never again wilt thou see the\nsun's setting.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said Theodoric, without blenching. \"Seest thou, the Greek\nwhom I dismissed has lied to me all the day long. And yet time is\nprecious to me.\"\n\n\"Wilt thou again send for the priests?\" asked Hildebrand reluctantly.\n\n\"No; they can do me no good. I need them no more.\"\n\n\"Sleep has strengthened thee, and lifted the veil from thy soul. Hail!\nTheodoric, son of Walamer! thou wilt die like a hero!\"\n\n\"I know,\" said the King, smiling, \"that it was repugnant to thy\nfeelings to see the priests near my couch. Thou art in the right. They\ncannot help me.\"\n\n\"And now--who or what has helped thee now?\"\n\n\"God and myself. Hear! And what I am about to say are my parting words.\nIn gratitude for thy fifty years' faithful service, I confide to thine\near alone--not to my daughter, and not to Cassiodorus--that which has\nso long troubled me. Tell me, what is reported among the people? What\nis believed was the cause of the melancholy which suddenly overcame me,\nand originated this disease?\"\n\n\"The Italians say that it was remorse for the death of Boëthius and\nSymmachus.\"\n\n\"Didst thou believe this?\"\n\n\"No; I could not believe that the death of traitors could so affect\nthee.\"\n\n\"Thou art in the right. Perhaps, according to law, they were not\ndeserving of death; and I loved Boëthius much. But they were traitors a\nthousand times! Traitors in their thoughts, traitors to my trust, to my\nheart. I prized these Romans more than the best of my people. And they\nshowed their gratitude by wishing that my crown were the Emperor's;\nthey wrote flattering letters to the Byzantines; they preferred a\nJustinus and a Justinian to the friendship of a Theodoric! I am not\nsorry for them; I despise them. Guess again. What didst thou believe?\"\n\n\"King, thy heir is a youth, and enemies encompass thy throne.\"\n\nThe sick man frowned.\n\n\"This time thou art nearer the mark. I always knew the weakness of my\nkingdom. When at the evening banquet I have shown the proud face of\nconfidence to the foreign ambassadors, at night I have anxiously sighed\nat its inward disease. Old man, I know that thou hast often considered\nme all too confident. But none might see me tremble, neither friend nor\nfoe. Else my throne had trembled. I sighed only when alone, and have\nborne my care in solitude.\"\n\n\"Thou art wisdom itself, my King, and I was a fool!\" cried the old man.\n\n\"Thou seest,\" continued the King, stroking the old man's hand, \"that I\nknew in what I displeased thee. I knew also thy blind hatred of these\nItalians. Believe me, it _is_ blind, as was, perhaps, my love of them.\"\nHere he stopped and sighed.\n\n\"Why wilt thou distress thyself?\"\n\n\"No, let me continue! I know that my kingdom--the work of my glorious\nand toilsome life--may easily fall. Perhaps owing to my generosity to\nthese Romans. Be it so! No work of man is eternal, and the error of\nover-kindness is easily borne!\"\n\n\"My great King!\"\n\n\"But, Hildebrand, one night, as I was lying awake, anxious about the\ndanger of my kingdom, there rose before my soul the ghost of another\nsin! Not of too much kindness, but of bloody force! And woe, woe to me,\nif my nation is to be destroyed in expiation of the crime of Theodoric!\nHis, _his_ image rises before me!\"\n\nThe sick man spoke with difficulty, and lay for a moment overwhelmed\nwith emotion.\n\n\"Whose image? of whom dost thou speak?\" asked the old man softly,\nbending over him.\n\n\"Odoacer!\" whispered the King, and Hildebrand bowed his head.\n\nAt last Theodoric broke the painful silence.\n\n\"Yes, old friend, this right hand, as thou knowest, struck down the\nmighty hero--my guest--at the banquet-table. His hot blood splashed\ninto my face, and an ardent hate flashed upon me from his filming eyes.\nA few months past, during the night I speak of, his bloody, pale and\nangry form rose before me like an avenging god. My heart was\ncontracted, my pulses beat with fever. The fearful conviction came over\nme that my kingdom would fall and my nation decay, because of this my\nbloody deed.\"\n\nThis time, after a short pause, Hildebrand, looking up defiantly, said:\n\n\"King, why dost thou fret like a woman? Hast thou not struck down\nhundreds with thine own arm, and thy people thousands at thy behest?\nHave we not descended from the mountains into this land in more than\nthirty battles, wading ankle-deep in blood? What is the blood of _one_\nman to all this? And remember the circumstances. For four years he had\ndefied thee as the ure-ox defies the bear. Twice he had driven thee and\nthy folk to the brink of destruction. Hunger, sword, and pestilence\ncarried off thy Goths. At last, at last, stubborn Ravenna fell, forced\nby famine. The deadly enemy lay at thy feet. Then a warning came that\nhe contemplated treason; that he would renew the fearful strife; that\nhe would attack thee and thine that night. What couldest thou do? Call\nhim openly to account? If he were guilty, that could do no good,\ntherefore thou wert beforehand with him, and did that to him in the\nevening which he intended doing to thee at night. That _one_ deed saved\nthy people, and prevented the renewal of a fearful strife. Thou\nforgavest all his followers, and for thirty years caused Goths and\nItalians to live as if in Paradise. And now thou wilt torment thyself\nwith vain remorse? Two nations will ever thank thee for this deed! I--I\nwould have killed him seven times over!\"\n\nThe old man ceased; his eyes flashed; he looked like an angry giant.\nBut the King shook his head.\n\n\"That is nothing, old warrior! I have repeated the same thing to myself\na hundred times, and put it into more flattering forms than is possible\nto thy rude tongue. All in vain! He was a hero--the only one of my\nkind--and I murdered him without proof of his guilt, for I was jealous,\nsuspicious, aye, it must be said, I was _afraid_--afraid that I should\nbe compelled again to strive with him. It was, and is, and ever will\nbe a sin! I have found no peace in self-excuses. Since that night\nhis image has followed me unceasingly. At the banquet and in the\ncouncil-chamber; at the hunt, in the church, waking and sleeping. Then\nCassiodorus sent the priests and bishops to me. They could not help me.\nThey heard my confession, saw my grief and my faith, and absolved me\nfrom all my sins. But peace came not, and though they forgave me, I\ncould not forgive myself. I know not whether it be the old manner of\nthought inherited from my heathen ancestors, but I cannot hide myself\nbehind the Cross from the ghost of the murdered man! I cannot believe I\nam freed from my bloody deed by the blood of an innocent God who died\nupon the Cross!\"\n\nHildebrand's face was suddenly lit up with joy.\n\n\"Thou knowest,\" he whispered in the King's ear, \"that I could never\nbelieve the priests of the Cross. Speak, oh, speak! dost thou still\nbelieve in Thor and Odin? Have _they_ helped thee?\"\n\nThe King smiled and shook his head.\n\n\"No, thou incorrigible old heathen! Thy Walhalla is nothing for me.\nHear how I was helped. Yesterday I sent the bishops away, and retired\ninto the recesses of my own heart. I thought and wrestled and entreated\nGod, and I became calmer, and, behold! in the night a deep slumber came\nupon me, such as I had not known for long months. When I awoke, no\nfever of torture shook my limbs; I felt composed, and my mind clearer;\nI felt that no grace or miracle of God could undo the deed that I had\ncommitted. I knew that if God be indeed a God of vengeance, He could\npunish me and my house unto the seventh generation, and I dedicated\nmyself and my kingdom to His eternal vengeance. But, if God be just, He\ncannot visit the sins committed by their King upon the people of the\nGoths. No, He will not do that. And if ever this people decay, I feel\nthat it will not be owing to my deed; and thus peace hath entered into\nmy soul, and I can die with courage.\"\n\nHe was silent, but Hildebrand bowed his head and kissed the hand which\nhad killed Odoacer.\n\n\"These are my parting words to thee, my legacy and thanks for a whole\nlife of fidelity. Now let us dedicate the remaining time to the Goths.\nCome, assist me to rise, I cannot die amid these cushions. There hang\nmy weapons! Give them to me! No objections! I will, and I can!\"\n\nHildebrand was obliged to obey. With his help the sick man rose, and\nthrew a purple mantle over his shoulders, girded on his sword, set the\nlow helmet-crown on his head, and supporting himself on the shaft of\nhis heavy lance, leaned his back against the thick Doric column in the\nmiddle of the room.\n\n\"Now call my daughter, and Cassiodorus, and whoever else may be\noutside.\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII.\n\nThe King remained quietly standing, while Hildebrand threw back the\ncurtains of the door on both sides, so that bed-chamber and ante-room\nnow formed one undivided apartment. All those assembled outside--for\nmany Goths and Romans had entered meanwhile--drew near to the King in\nastonished and reverent silence.\n\n\"My daughter,\" said the King, \"are the letters written which are to\nannounce my death and the succession of my grandchild to Byzantium?\"\n\n\"Here they are,\" answered Amalaswintha.\n\nThe King rapidly ran through the rolls of papyrus.\n\n\"To Emperor Justinus.--A second: to his nephew, Justinianus. 'Tis true,\nhe will soon wear the crown, and is already the master of his masters.\nI see by the fine similes that Cassiodorus has written these letters.\nBut hold!\" A cloud passed across his face. \"'Recommending my youth to\nyour imperial protection!' Protection! That is too much. Alas! if ever\nyou should be obliged to depend on the protection of Byzantium!\n'Recommending myself to your _friendship_, is enough from the grandson\nof Theodoric.\" And he gave the letters back. \"Still a third letter to\nByzantium? To whom? 'To Theodora, the noble spouse of Justinianus?'\nWhat! to the dancer of the circus? To the shameless daughter of the\nlionkeeper?\"\n\nHis eye flashed.\n\n\"She has great influence upon her husband,\" interposed Cassiodorus.\n\n\"No, no. My daughter shall write to no female who has dishonoured the\nname of her sex.\"\n\nAnd he tore the roll of papyrus into pieces and threw them on the\nfloor. Then, walking over the fragments, he advanced towards the Goths\nwho stood in the middle of the hall.\n\n\"My brave Witichis, what will be thy office after my death?\"\n\n\"I shall review our foot at Tridentum.\"\n\n\"None could do it better! Never yet hast thou claimed the favour which\nwas granted to thee beforehand, when thou wert victorious over the\nGepidæ. Hast thou no wish even now?\"\n\n\"I _have_ a wish, my King.\"\n\n\"At last!--that pleases me. Speak.\"\n\n\"A poor jailer, for refusing to apply the torture and for striking at a\nlictor, is himself condemned to be put to the torture to-day. Sire, set\nthe man free! To torture is shameful, and----\n\n\"The jailer is free; and from this moment torture is abolished in the\nkingdom of the Goths. Look to it, Cassiodorus! Brave Witichis, give me\nthy hand. To show to all how much I honour thee, I bequeath thee\nWallada, my chestnut charger, in remembrance of this parting hour. And\nif ever thou art in danger, or--\" here he lowered his voice, \"would\navoid it, whisper my name into the horse's ear. Who will watch over\nNeapolis? Duke Thulun was too rough. Those gay people must be won by\ngentle looks.\"\n\n\"Yes. Young Totila will be Count of the Harbour there,\" answered\nCassiodorus.\n\n\"Totila! a sunny youth! a Siegfrid; a favourite of the gods! No heart\ncan withstand him. But truly, the hearts of these Italians--\" He\nsighed, and then continued, \"Who will assure us of Rome and the\nSenate?\"\n\n\"Cethegus Cæsarius,\" said Cassiodorus, with a motion of his hand, \"this\nnoble Roman.\"\n\n\"Cethegus? I know him well. Look at me, Cethegus.\"\n\nCethegus, thus addressed, reluctantly raised his eyes, which he had\nquickly cast down before the steady look of the King. But now,\ncollecting himself, he quietly bore the eagle glance which seemed to\npenetrate his soul.\n\n\"It was a sickly whim, Cethegus, which made a man of your kind withhold\nhimself so long from affairs of state; and from us. Or it was\ndangerous. Perhaps it is still more dangerous that you--_now_--again\ntake an interest in politics.\"\n\n\"It was not my wish, O King.\"\n\n\"I will answer for him!\" cried Cassiodorus.\n\n\"Peace, friend! On earth no one can answer for another!--scarcely for\nhimself! But,\" he continued with a searching look, \"this proud\nintellect--this Cæsar-like intellect--will not betray Italia to the\nGreeks.\"\n\nCethegus had to endure one more sharp look from the golden eagle-eyes.\nThen the King suddenly grasped his arm, and whispered in his ear:\n\"Listen to my warning. No Roman will ever again flourish on the throne\nof the Western Empire. Peace! no contradiction. I have warned you. What\nnoise is that outside?\" he asked, quickly turning to his daughter; who,\nin a low voice, was speaking with a Roman messenger.\n\n\"Nothing, my King; nothing of importance, my father.\"\n\n\"What! secrets from me? By my crown! Wilt thou govern while I still\nbreathe? I hear the sound of strange tongues outside. Open the doors!\"\n\nThe doors which divided the outer hall from the ante-room were thrown\nopen. There, in the midst of a number of Goths and Romans, were to be\nseen several strange and dwarfish forms, clothed in a curious costume,\nwith doublets of wolfskin, pointed caps, and shaggy sheep-skins hanging\ndown their backs. Surprised and impressed by the sudden apparition of\nthe King, they sank upon their knees.\n\n\"Ah, messengers from the Avarians! Those robber border-ruffians on our\neastern boundaries! Have you brought the owing yearly tribute?\"\n\n\"Sire, once again we bring it: skins, woollen carpets, swords, shields.\nThere they hang--there they lie. But we hope that next year--we will\nsee----\"\n\n\n\n\"You will see whether the aged Theodoric has become a dotard? You hoped\nthat I was dead? You think that you can refuse the tribute to my\nsuccessor? You err, spies!\"\n\nAnd he took up, as if proving its worth, one of the swords which the\nmessengers had laid at his feet, together with its sheath, held it\nfirmly by hilt and point, and with a slight effort snapped the steel in\ntwo, and threw the pieces on the ground.\n\n\"The Avari carry worthless swords,\" he said quietly. \"Come, Athalaric,\nheir to my kingdom. They do not believe that thou canst bear the weight\nof my crown. Show them how thou canst throw my spear.\"\n\nThe youth bounded to him. The scarlet hue of ambition flushed his pale\nface. He swung the heavy spear of his grandfather, and hurled it with\nsuch force at a shield which the messengers had leaned against one of\nthe wooden pillars, that it completely pierced it and penetrated deeply\ninto the wood.\n\nThe King laid his left hand on the head of his grandchild, and said\nproudly to the messengers:\n\n\"Now go, and tell at home what you have seen.\"\n\nHe turned away; the outer doors were closed, and shut out the amazed\nAvarians.\n\n\"Give me a cup of wine. It may possibly be the last! No, unmixed! In\nGermanic fashion--\" he repulsed the Grecian physician. \"Thanks, old\nHildebrand, for this draught, so faithfully given. I drink prosperity\nto the Goths!\"\n\nHe slowly emptied the goblet; and with a hand yet firm and strong he\nreplaced it on the marble table.\n\nBut suddenly, like a flash of lightning, that which the physicians had\nlong expected took place. He staggered, pressed his hand to his heart,\nand fell backwards into Hildebrand's arms; who, slowly kneeling down,\nlet him gently slide on to the marble pavement, supporting his\nhelm-crowned head.\n\nFor one moment all present held their breath; but the King did not\nmove, and, with a loud cry, Athalaric threw himself upon the corpse.\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER VIII.\n\nThere was another man, besides Cassiodorus, who played a most\nimportant, and, as it seemed to the Regency, a very deserving part, in\nthose days of transition. This was no other than Cethegus. He had\nundertaken the momentous office of Prefect of Rome. As soon as the King\nhad closed his eyes for ever, Cethegus had instantly hurried to his\nplace of trust, and had arrived there before the news of the event had\nreached that city.\n\nBefore daybreak, he had collected the senators together in the\n_Senatus_, that is, in the closed hall of Domitian, near the temple of\nJanus Geminus, on the right of the arch of Septimus Severus, and had\nsurrounded the building with Gothic troops. He informed the surprised\nsenators (many of whom he had only recently met in the Catacombs, and\nhad incited to the expulsion of the barbarians) of the already\naccomplished succession to the throne. He had also, not without many\nmild hints as to the spears of the Gothic hundreds, which might easily\nbe seen from the hall, taken their oaths of allegiance to Athalaric\nwith a rapidity that brooked no contradiction.\n\nThen he left the \"Senatus,\" where he kept the conscript fathers locked\nup, until, with the support of the strong Gothic garrison, he had held\na meeting of the assembled Romans which he had called in the Flavian\namphitheatre, and had won the hearts of the easily-moved \"Quirites\" for\nthe young King.\n\nHe enumerated the generous deeds of Theodoric, promised the same\nbeneficence from his grandson, who was, besides, already acknowledged\nby all Italy and the provinces, and also by the fathers of the city;\nannounced a general feast for the Roman population, with the gift of\nbread and wine, as the first act of the new government; and concluded\nwith the proclamation of seven days of games in the Circus (races\nbetween twenty-four Spanish four-horsed chariots), with which he\nhimself would celebrate the accession of Athalaric, and his own\nentrance into office.\n\nAt once a thousand voices shouted, with loud huzzas, the names of the\nQueen-Regent and her son; and still more loudly the name of Cethegus.\nThen the people joyously dispersed, the imprisoned senators were\nreleased, and the Eternal City was won for the Goths.\n\nThe Prefect hurried to his house at the foot of the Capitol, locked\nhimself up, and eagerly wrote his report to the Queen-Regent.\n\nBut he was soon disturbed by a violent knocking upon the iron door of\nthe house. It was Lucius Licinius, the young Roman whom we have already\nmet in the Catacombs. He struck with the hilt of his sword against the\ndoor till the house echoed.\n\nHe was followed by Scævola, the jurist, with portentously frowning\nbrow, who had been amongst the imprisoned senators; and by Silverius,\nthe priest, with doubtful mien.\n\nThe ostiarius looked prudently through a secret aperture in the wall,\nand, on recognising Licinius, admitted them.\n\nLicinius rushed impetuously before the others through the well-known\nvestibule and the colonnade of the atrium to the study of Cethegus.\n\nWhen Cethegus heard the hastily-approaching footsteps, he rose from the\nlectus upon which he was lying writing, and put his letters into a\ncasket with a silver lid.\n\n\"Ah, the saviours of the fatherland!\" he said, smiling, and advanced\ntowards the door.\n\n\"Vile traitor!\" shouted Licinius, his hand on his sword--anger impeded\nfurther speech; he half drew his sword from the sheath.\n\n\"Stop! first let him defend himself, if he can,\" panted Scævola,\nholding the young man's arm, as he hastened into the room.\n\n\"It is impossible that he can have deserted the cause of the Holy\nChurch,\" said Silverius, as he also entered.\n\n\"Impossible!\" laughed Licinius. \"What! are you mad, or am I? Has he not\ncaused us to be confined in our houses? Has he not shut the gates, and\ntaken the oaths of the mob for the barbarians?\"\n\n\"Has he not,\" continued Cethegus, \"caught the noble fathers of the\ncity, three hundred in number, and kept them in the Curia, like so many\nmice in a trap; three hundred aristocratic mice?\"\n\n\"He dares to mock us? Will you suffer that?\" cried Licinius. And\nScævola turned pale with anger.\n\n\"Well, and what would you have done had you been allowed to act?\" asked\nthe Prefect quietly, crossing his arms on his broad breast.\n\n\"What should we have done?\" cried Licinius. \"What we, and you with us,\nhave a hundred times decided upon. As soon as the news of the tyrant's\ndeath had arrived, we should have killed all the Goths in the city,\nproclaimed a Republic, and chosen two consuls----\"\n\n\"Of the names of Licinius and Scævola; that is the first thing. Well,\nand then? What then?\"\n\n\"What then? Freedom would have conquered!\"\n\n\"Folly would have conquered!\" broke out Cethegus in a thundering voice,\nwhich startled his accusers. \"Well for us that your hands were bound;\nyou would have strangled Hope for ever. Look here, and thank me upon\nyour knees!\"\n\nHe took some records from another casket, and gave them to his\nastonished companions.\n\n\"There; read! The enemy had been warned, and had thrown the noose round\nthe neck of Rome in a masterly manner. If I had not acted as I did,\nEarl Witichis would be standing at this moment before the Salarian Gate\nin the north with ten thousand Goths; to-morrow young Totila would have\nblockaded the mouth of the Tiber on the south with the fleet from\nNeapolis; and Duke Thulun would have been approaching the Tomb of\nHadrian and the Aurelian Gate from the west, with twenty thousand men.\nIf, this morning early, you had touched a hair of a Goth's head, what\nwould have happened?\"\n\nSilverius breathed again. The others were ashamed and silent. But\nLicinius took heart.\n\n\"We should have defied the Goths behind our walls,\" he said, with a\ntoss of his handsome head.\n\n\"Yes, when these walls are restored as I will restore them--for\neternity, my Licinius: as they are now--not for a day.\"\n\n\"Then we had died as free citizens,\" said Scævola.\n\n\"You might have done that in the Curie three hours ago,\" laughed\nCethegus, shrugging his shoulders.\n\nSilverius stepped forward with open arms, as if to embrace\nhim--Cethegus drew back.\n\n\"You have saved us all, you have saved Church and fatherland! I never\ndoubted you!\" exclaimed the priest.\n\nBut Licinius grasped the hand of the Prefect, who willingly abandoned\nit to him.\n\n\"I _did_ doubt you,\" he said with charming frankness. \"Forgive me, you\ngreat Roman! This sword, with which I would have penetrated into your\nvery heart, is henceforward at your service. And when the day of\nfreedom dawns, then no consul, then _salve_, Dictator Cethegus!\"\n\nHe hurried out with flashing eyes. The Prefect cast a satisfied glance\nafter him.\n\n\"Dictator, yes; but only until the Republic is in full security,\" said\nthe jurist, and followed Licinius.\n\n\"To be sure,\" said Cethegus, with a smile; \"then we will wake up\nCamillus and Brutus, and take up the Republic from the point at which\nthey left it a thousand years ago. Is it not so, Silverius?\"\n\n\"Prefect of Rome,\" said the priest, \"you know that I was ambitious to\nconduct the affairs of the fatherland as well as of the Church. After\nthis, I am so no more. You shall lead, I will follow. Swear to me only\none thing: the freedom of the Roman Church--free choice of a Pope.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Cethegus; \"but first Silverius must have become Pope.\nSo be it.\"\n\nThe priest departed with a smile upon his lips, but with a weight upon\nhis mind.\n\n\"Go,\" said Cethegus, after a pause, looking in the direction taken by\nhis three visitors. \"You will never overthrow a tyrant--you need one!\"\n\nThis day and hour were decisive for Cethegus. Almost against his will,\nhe was driven by circumstances to entertain new views, feelings, and\nplans, which he had never, until now, put to himself so clearly,\nor confessed to be more than mere dreams. He acknowledged that\nat this moment he was sole master of the situation. He had the\ntwo great parties of the period--the Gothic Government and its\nenemies--completely in his power. And the principal motive-power in the\nheart of this powerful man, which he had for years thought paralysed,\nwas suddenly aroused to the greatest activity. The unlimited\ndesire--yes, the necessity--to _govern_, made itself all at once\nserviceable to all the powers of his rich nature, and excited them to\nviolent emotion.\n\nCornelius Cethegus Cæsarius was the descendant of an old and immensely\nrich family, whose ancestor had founded the splendour of his house as a\ngeneral and statesman under Cæsar during the civil wars; it was even\nrumoured that he was the son of the great Dictator.\n\nOur hero had received from nature various talents and violent passions,\nand his immense riches gave him the means to develop the first and\nsatisfy the last to the fullest extent. He had received the most\ncareful education that was then possible for a young Roman noble. He\npractised the fine arts under the best teachers; he studied law,\nhistory, and philosophy in the famous schools of Berytus, Alexandria,\nand Athens with brilliant success. But all this did not satisfy him. He\nfelt the breath of decay in all the art and science of his time. In\nparticular, his study of philosophy had only the effect of destroying\nthe last traces of belief in his soul, without affording him any\nresults. When he returned home from his studies, his father, according\nto the custom of the time, introduced him to political life, and his\nbrilliant talents raised him quickly from office to office.\n\nBut all at once he abandoned his career. As soon as he had made himself\nmaster of the affairs of state, he would no longer be a wheel in the\ngreat machine of a kingdom from which freedom was excluded, and which,\nbesides, was subject to a barbarian King.\n\nHis father died, and Cethegus, being now his own master and possessor\nof an immense fortune, rushed into the vortex of life, enjoyment, and\nluxury with all the passion of his nature.\n\nHe soon exhausted Rome, and travelled to Byzantium, into Egypt, and\neven as far as India.\n\nThere was no luxury, no innocent or criminal pleasure, in which he did\nnot revel; only a well-steeled frame could have borne the adventures,\nprivations, and dissipations of these journeys.\n\nAfter twelve years of absence, he returned to Rome.\n\nIt was said that he would build magnificent edifices. People expected\nthat he would lead a luxurious life in his houses and villas. They were\nsadly deceived.\n\nCethegus only built for himself the convenient little house at the foot\nof the Capitol, which he decorated in the most tasteful manner; and\nthere he lived in populous Rome like a hermit.\n\nHe unexpectedly published a description of his travels, characterising\nthe people and countries which he had visited. The book had an\nunheard-of success. Cassiodorus and Boëthius sought his friendship, and\nthe great King invited him to his court.\n\nBut on a sudden he disappeared from Rome.\n\nWhat had happened remained a mystery, in spite of all malicious,\ncurious, or sympathetic inquiries.\n\nPeople told each other that one morning a poor fisherman had found\nCethegus unconscious, almost dead, on the shores of the Tiber, outside\nthe gates of the city.\n\nA few weeks later he again was heard of on the north-east frontier of\nthe kingdom, in the inhospitable regions of the Danube, where a bloody\nwar with the Gepidae, Avari, and Sclavonians was raging. There he\nfought the savage barbarians with death-despising courage, and followed\nthem with a few chosen troops, paid from his private means, into their\nrocky fortresses, sleeping every night upon the frozen ground. And\nonce, when the Gothic general entrusted to him a larger detachment of\ntroops in order to make an inroad, instead of doing this, he attacked\nand took Sirmium, the enemy's fortified capital, displaying no less\ngood generalship than courage.\n\nAfter the conclusion of peace, he travelled into Gaul, Spain, and again\nto Byzantium; returned thence to Rome, and lived for years in an\nembittered idleness and retirement, refusing all the military, civil,\nor scientific offices and honours which Cassiodorus pressed, upon him.\nHe appeared to take no interest in anything but his studies.\n\nA few years before the period at which our story commences, he had\nbrought with him from Gaul a handsome youth, to whom he showed Rome and\nItaly, and whom he treated with fatherly love and care. It was said\nthat he would adopt him. As long as his young guest was with him he\nceased his lonely life, invited the aristocratic youth of Rome to\nbrilliant feasts in his villas, and, accepting all invitations in\nreturn, proved himself the most amiable of guests.\n\nBut as soon as he had sent young Julius Montanus, with a stately suite\nof pedagogues, freedmen, and slaves, to the learned schools of\nAlexandria, he suddenly broke off all social ties, and retired into\nimpenetrable solitude, seemingly at war with God and the whole world.\n\nSilverius and Rusticiana had, with the greatest difficulty, persuaded\nhim to sacrifice his repose, and join in the conspiracy of the\nCatacombs. He told them that he only became a patriot from tedium. And,\nin fact, until the death of the King, he had taken part in the\nconspiracy--the conduct of which, however, was wholly in his and the\narchdeacon's hands--almost with dislike.\n\nIt was now otherwise.\n\nUntil now, the inmost sentiment of his being--the desire to test\nhimself in all possible fields of intellectual effort; to overcome all\ndifficulties; to outdo all rivals; to govern, alone and without\nresistance, every circle that he entered; and, when he had won the\ncrown of victory, carelessly to cast it aside and seek for new\ntasks--all this had never permitted him to find full satisfaction in\nany of his aims.\n\nArt, science, luxury, office, fame. Each of these had charmed him. He\nhad excelled in all to an unusual degree, and yet all had left a void\nin his soul.\n\nTo govern, to be the first, to conquer opposing circumstances with all\nhis means of superior power and wisdom, and then to rule crouching men\nwith a rod of iron; this, consciously and unconsciously, had always\nbeen his aim. In this alone could he find contentment.\n\nTherefore he now breathed proudly and freely. His icy heart glowed at\nthe thought that he ruled over the two great inimical powers of the\ntime, over both Goths and Romans, with a mere glance of his eye; and\nfrom this exquisite feeling of mastery, the conviction arose with\ndemonic force, that there remained but one goal for him and his\nambition that was worth living for; but one goal, distant as the sun,\nand out of the reach of every other man. He believed in his descent\nfrom Julius Cæsar, and felt the blood rush through his veins at the\nthought--Cæsar, Emperor of the West, ruler of the Roman Empire!\n\nA few months ago, when this thought first flashed across his mind--not\neven a thought, not a wish, only a shadow, a dream--he was startled,\nand could not help smiling at his own boundless assurance.\n\n_He_, Emperor and regenerator of the Empire! And Italy trembled under\nthe footsteps of three hundred thousand Goths! And the greatest of all\nbarbarian kings, whose fame filled the earth, sat on his powerful\nthrone in Ravenna!\n\nEven if the power of the Goths were broken, the Franks and Byzantines\nwould stretch their greedy hands over the Alps and across the sea to\nseize the Italian booty. Two great kingdoms against a single man! For,\ntruly, he stood alone amid his people. How well he knew, how utterly he\ndespised his countrymen, the unworthy descendants of great ancestors!\nHow he laughed at the enthusiasm of a Licinius or a Scævola, who\nthought to renew the days of the Republic with these degenerate Romans!\n\nHe stood alone.\n\nBut the feeling only excited his ambition, and, at that moment, when\nthe conspirators had left him, when his superiority had been more\nplainly proved than ever before, the thoughts which had been a\nflattering amusement of his moody hours, suddenly ripened and formed\nthemselves into a clear resolve.\n\nFolding his arms across his mighty chest, and measuring the apartment\nwith heavy steps, like a lion in his cage, he spoke to himself in\nabrupt sentences:\n\n\"To drive out the Goths and prevent Franks and Greeks from entering,\nwould not be difficult, with a brave host at one's back; any other man\ncould do it. But alone, quite alone, more hindered than helped by these\nknaves without marrow in their bones; to accomplish the impossible; to\nmake these cowards heroes; these slaves, Romans; these servants of the\npriests and barbarians, masters of the world; that, _that_ is worth the\ntrouble. To create a new people, a new time, a new world, with the\npower of his single will and the might of his intellect, is what no\nmortal has yet accomplished--that would be greater than Cæsar!--_he_\nled legions of heroes! and yet, it can be done, for it can be imagined.\nAnd I, who can imagine it, can do it. Yes, Cethegus, that is an aim for\nwhich it is easy to think, to live, to die! Up, and to work! and\nhenceforward, no thought, no feeling, except for this one thing!\"\n\nHe stood still at last before a colossal statue of Cæsar, sculptured in\nParian marble, which--a masterpiece of Arkesilaus, and, according to\nfamily tradition, given by Julius Cæsar himself to his son--stood\nbefore the writing-divan, the most sacred treasure of the house.\n\n\"Hear me, divine Cæsar! great ancestor!\" exclaimed Cethegus, \"thy\ndescendant dares to rival thee! There is still something higher than\nanything which thou hast reached; even to soar at a higher quarry than\nthou, is immortal; and to fall--to fall from such a height--is the most\nglorious death. Hail! Once again I know why I live!\"\n\nHe passed the statue, and threw a glance at some military maps of the\nRoman Empire, which lay unrolled upon the table.\n\n\"First trample upon these barbarians: Rome! Then once more subdue the\nNorth: Paris! Then reduce the rebellious East to its old subjection to\nthe Cæsar-city: Byzantium! and farther, even farther, to the Tigris, to\nthe Indus; farther than Alexander; and back to the West, through\nScythia and Germania, to the Tiber; the path, Cæsar, which Brutus'\ndagger cut off for thee. And so to be greater than thou, greater than\nAlexander----hold, my thought! Enough!\"\n\nAnd the heart of the icy Cethegus flamed and glowed; the veins of his\ntemples throbbed violently; he pressed his burning forehead against the\ncold marble breast of Julius Cæsar, who majestically looked down upon\nhim.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IX.\n\nThe day of the King's death was not only decisive for Cethegus, but\nalso for the conspiracy in the Catacombs, for Italy, and for the Gothic\nkingdom.\n\nAlthough the intrigues of the patriots--led by different men, who were\nnot agreed upon the means, nor even upon the aims of their plots--had,\ntill now, made slow and doubtful progress, this state of things was\ncompletely altered from the moment when Cethegus took the conduct of\naffairs into his own strong hands. Only then did the conspiracy become\nreally dangerous to the Goths.\n\nCethegus untiringly sought to undermine the security of their kingdom.\nWith his great capacity for winning and governing men, and penetrating\ntheir motives, he was able daily to increase the number of important\nmembers and the means of success. He understood how to avoid the\nsuspicion of the Goths on the one hand, and to prevent any untimely\nrebellion on the other. For it would have been easy to attack the\nbarbarians in all the towns of the Peninsula on some special day, and\nto call upon the Byzantines--who had long since been on the watch for\nsuch a crisis--to complete the conquest. But in this way the Prefect\nwould not have been able to carry out his secret plans. He would merely\nhave put Byzantine tyranny in the place of Gothic rule. And we know\nthat he had very different intentions. In order to fulfil them, he\nwished first to create for himself a power in Italy, greater than any\nother man possessed. Before the foot of a Byzantine was set upon\nItalian soil, he must become--although in secret--the mightiest man in\nthe country. All must be so prepared that the barbarians should be\ndriven away by Italy itself, that is, by Cethegus, with the least\npossible help from Byzantium; so that, after the victory, the Emperor\ncould not avoid giving the dominion over the country to its saviour,\neven if only as a governor. Then he would soon gain time and\nopportunity to excite the national pride of the Romans against the rule\nof the \"Greek-lings,\" as they contemptuously called the Byzantines.\nFor, although for two hundred years--since the days of the great\nConstantine--the glory of the Empire of the world had been removed from\nwidowed Rome to the golden town on the Hellespont, and the sceptre of\nthe sons of Romulus seemed to have passed over to the Greeks; though\nEast and West formed _one_ state of antique culture opposed to the\nbarbarian world; yet even now the Romans hated and despised the Greeks\nas much as in the days when Flaminius declared humbled Hellas to be a\nfreedman of Rome. The old hate was now increased by envy.\n\nTherefore Cethegus was sure of the enthusiasm and support of all Italy,\nwhich, after the removal of the barbarians, would also banish the\nByzantines from the country; and the crown of Rome, the crown of the\nWestern Empire, would be his certain reward.\n\nAnd if he succeeded in exciting the newly-awakened national feeling to\nan offensive war on the other side of the Alps, when he had again\nerected the throne of the Roman Empire on the ruins of the Frankish\nKingdom at Orleans and Paris, then the attempt would not be too rash\nonce again to subdue the Eastern Empire and continue the Empire of the\nWorld in the Eternal City from the point at which Trajan and Hadrian\nhad left it.\n\nIn order to reach this distant and shining goal, every step on the\ndizzy path must be taken with the greatest prudence; any stumble might\nprecipitate him into an abyss. In order to gain his end, Cethegus must\nfirst of all make sure of Rome; on Rome alone could his plans be based.\n\nTherefore the new Prefect bestowed the greatest care upon the city that\nhad been entrusted to him. He wished to make Rome, morally and\nphysically, his surety of dominion, belonging alone to him, and not to\nbe wrested from him.\n\nHis office gave him the best pretext for carrying out his plans. Was it\nnot the duty of the _Præfectus Urbi_ to care for the well-being of the\npopulace, and for the preservation and security of the city? He\nunderstood perfectly well how to use the rights of his office for the\nfurtherance of his own aims. He easily won the sympathies of all ranks;\nthe nobles honoured in him the head of the conspiracy; he governed the\nclergy through Silverius, who was the right hand of the pope, and, by\npublic opinion, appointed his successor, and who showed to the Prefect\na devotion that was even surprising to its object. He gained the common\npeople, not only by occasional gifts of bread, and games in the Circus,\nbut also by promoting great undertakings, which, at the cost of the\nGothic Government, provided work and sustenance for thousands.\n\nHe persuaded Amalaswintha to give orders that the fortifications of\nRome, which had suffered much more since the reign of Honorius from the\ninroads of time and the selfishness of Roman architects, than from the\nVisigoths and Vandals, should be quickly and completely restored \"to\nthe honour of the Eternal City, and,\" as she imagined, \"for protection\nagainst the Byzantines.\"\n\nCethegus himself, and, as was afterwards proved by the unsuccessful\nsieges of the Goths and Byzantines, with great strategic genius, made\nthe plan of the magnificent works. With the greatest zeal he set about\nthe gigantic task of transforming the immense city, with its\ncircumference of many miles, into a stronghold of the first rank. The\nthousands of workmen, who well knew to whom they owed their well-paid\nemployment, applauded the Prefect whenever he showed himself upon the\nramparts, to examine what progress had been made, or excite to new\nindustry, and, sometimes, to put his own hand to the work. And the\ndeceived Princess assigned one million _solidi_ after another for the\nexpenses of fortifications, against which the whole power of her people\nwas shortly to be wrecked and annihilated.\n\nThe most important point of these fortifications was the Tomb of\nHadrian, known now under the name of Castle St. Angelo. This\nmagnificent edifice, built of blocks of Parian marble, which were laid\none upon the other without any uniting cement, lay, at that time, about\na stone's-throw from the Aurelian Grate, the flanking walls of which it\nby far overtopped.\n\nCethegus had seen at a glance that this incomparably strong building,\nwhich until now had been designed for offence _against_ the city,\nmight, by very simple means, be converted into a powerful bulwark of\ndefence _for_ the city; he caused two walls to be built from the\nAurelian Grate towards and around the Mausoleum.\n\nAnd soon the towering marble castle formed an assault-proof rampart for\nthe Aurelian Grate, so much the more because the Tiber formed a natural\nfosse close before it. On the top of the wall of the Mausoleum stood\nabout three hundred of the most beautiful statues of bronze, marble,\nand iron, mostly placed there by Hadrian and his successors. Amongst\nthem were that of the Divus Hadrianus; his beautiful favourite\nAntinous; a Jupiter of Soter; a Pallas \"town-protectress;\" and many\nothers. Cethegus rejoiced at the fulfilment of his ideas, and became\nexceedingly fond of this place, where he used to wander every evening\nwith his beloved Rome spread out at his feet, examining the progress of\nthe works. He had even caused a number of beautiful statues from his\nown villas to be added to those already existing, in order to increase\nthe splendour of his creation.\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER X.\n\n\nCethegus was obliged to be more prudent in the execution of a second\nplan, not less necessary for the success of his projects. In order to\nbe able to defy the Goths, and, if needful, the Greeks, from within\n_his_ Rome, as he loved to call it, he was in want--not only of walls,\nbut of soldiers to defend them.\n\nAt first he thought of mercenaries, of a body-guard such as had been\noften kept by high officials, statesmen and generals in those times,\nsuch as Belisarius and Narses possessed in Byzantium.\n\nIt would have been very easy for him, by means of his riches and the\nconnections he had formed during his travels in Asia, to hire brave\ntroops of the savage Isaurian mountain people, who then played the part\nof the Swiss of the sixteenth century; but this procedure had two very\nstraitened limits. On the one side he could not, without exhausting the\nmeans that were indispensable for other purposes, keep more than a\ncomparatively small band, the kernel of an army, not an army itself. On\nthe other side it was impossible to bring these mercenaries in larger\nnumbers to Italy or Rome, without arousing suspicion. He was obliged to\nsmuggle them over with much cunning--by pairs, singly, or in small\ngroups, to his scattered villas and estates, as his slaves, freedmen,\nclients, or guests; and to employ them as sailors and ship-officials in\nthe harbour of Ostia, or as workmen in Rome.\n\nLastly, the Romans themselves would, after all, have to save and defend\nRome, and all his plans urged him to re-accustom his fellow-citizens to\nthe use of arms. But Theodoric had wisely excluded the Italians from\nthe army--exceptions were only made in favour of persons who were\nconsidered as particularly reliable and in the late unquiet times of\nhis reign, during the process against Boëthius, he had issued orders\nfor the general disarming of all Romans. This measure had certainly\nnever been strictly carried out, but still Cethegus dared not hope that\nthe Queen-Regent would allow him, against the expressed will of her\naugust father and the evident interests of the Goths, to form any\nconsiderable forces of Italians.\n\nHe contented himself with representing to her, that, by means of a very\ninnocent concession, she could procure for herself the merit of having\ncancelled Theodoric's hateful measure by a noble trust; proposing to\nher that she should allow him to drill and keep under arms only two\nthousand Roman citizens as a guard for the city; the Romans would be\nfor ever grateful to her that the city did not appear to be solely\nprotected by barbarians.\n\nAmalaswintha, who was enthusiastic about Rome, and whose dearest wish\nwas to gain the love of the Romans, gave her consent, and Cethegus\nbegan to form his militia, as we should call it. In a proclamation,\nwhich sounded like a trumpet-call, he \"bid the sons of Scipio take up\ntheir old weapons.\" He promised to double the pay fixed upon by the\nPrincess from his own pocket, to any Roman who voluntarily presented\nhimself. From the thousands who pressed forward he chose the most able.\nHe armed the poor; gave to those who distinguished themselves in the\nservice, Gallic helmets and Spanish swords from his own collections;\nand, as the most important step, he regularly discharged those who were\nsufficiently drilled as soon as possible, leaving them their weapons,\nand enlisted new recruits, so that although at no time more were on the\nservice than the number allowed by Amalaswintha, yet, in an incredibly\nshort space of time, many thousands of armed and practised Romans were\nat the disposal of their adored leader.\n\nWhile Cethegus added in this manner to the strength of his future\ncapital and formed his future pretorians, he put off his\nco-conspirators, who constantly urged him to strike, and comforted them\nwith the hope that the proper moment would soon arrive, which, however,\nhe alone could determine. At the same time he kept up constant\ncommunication with Byzantium. He wanted to make sure of assistance\nthence, which could appear upon the scene of action at any hour in\nwhich he might desire it, but which would not come without a call, or\nin such force that it could not easily be again removed. He wished for\na good general from Byzantium, who, however, must not be a great\nstatesman; bringing an army sufficiently powerful to support the\nItalians, but not strong enough to gain the victory without them, or to\nremain in the country against their will.\n\nWe shall see later how, with regard to this, much occurred in\naccordance with the Prefect's wishes, but just as much against them.\n\nAs to the Goths--who at this time were in undisturbed possession of the\nbooty for which Cethegus already mentally quarrelled with the Emperor--\nall his endeavour was to rock them into unsuspicious security, to\nsplit them into parties, and to uphold a weak government at their head.\n\nThe first task was not difficult; for that strong Teutonic race\ndespised, with barbarian pride, all open and secret foes--we have\nalready seen how difficult it was to convince such a youth as Totila,\nwho was otherwise sharp-sighted and clear-headed, of the approach of\ndanger--and the stubborn trust of Hildebrand fully expressed the\ngeneral disposition of the Goths.\n\nParty spirit was also not wanting in this people.\n\nThere were the proud race of the Balthe, with their widely-spread\nkindred; at their head the three Dukes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza. The\nrich Wölfungs, under the two brothers, Duke Guntharis and Earl Arahad;\nand many others, who were not much inferior to the Amelungs in the\nsplendour of their ancestry, and jealously guarded their position near\nthe throne. There were also many who endured the guardianship of a\nwoman and the rule of a boy with strong dislike, and who would gladly,\naccording to the ancient rights of the nation, have passed over the\nroyal line, and chosen one of the tried heroes of the nation for their\nKing, But the Amelungs counted many blindly-devoted adherents, who\nabhorred such sentiments as treasonable.\n\nAnd, lastly, the whole nation was divided into two parties, one of\nwhich, long discontented with the clemency shown to the Italians by\nTheodoric and his daughter, would gladly have retrieved the mistake\nwhich, as they thought, had been made when the country was conquered,\nand punished the Italians for their secret hate with open violence. The\nnumber of those who held milder and nobler opinions--who, like\nTheodoric himself, were more susceptible to the higher culture of the\nsubjected Italians, and desirous to raise themselves and their people\nto the same level--was naturally much smaller. At the head of this\nparty stood the Queen.\n\nThis woman Cethegus now sought to uphold in the possession of power;\nfor her feminine, weak, and divided government was calculated to\nundermine the strength of the nation, to excite party spirit and\ndiscontent, and to exclude all augmentation of national feeling.\n\nCethegus trembled at the thought that he might see an energetic man\nunite the strength of the whole nation. And often the traits of\nsublimity which occasionally were to be seen in Amalaswintha, and,\nstill more, the fiery sparks of repressed feeling which sometimes\nblazed out in Athalaric's soul, caused him serious uneasiness. Should\nmother and son betray such feelings more frequently, then, certainly,\nhe would be compelled to overthrow their government as zealously as he\nhad hitherto upheld it.\n\nMeanwhile he rejoiced in the unlimited command which he possessed over\nthe mind of Amalaswintha. It had been easy for him to gain it; not only\nbecause he, with great subtlety, took advantage of her predilection for\nlearned discussions--in which he was so often vanquished by the\nseemingly superior knowledge of the Princess that Cassiodorus, who was\na witness of their arguments, could not refrain from regretting that\nthe genius of Cethegus, once so brilliant, had rusted for want of\npractice--but he had touched the proud woman on a much more sensitive\nsubject.\n\nHer great father had been blessed with no son; only this one daughter\nhad been born unto him. The wish for a male heir had been often heard\nin the mouths of the King and of his people, and had penetrated to the\ndaughter's ears in her childish years. It outraged the feelings of the\nhighly-gifted girl that, merely on account of her sex, she should be\nput lower than a possible brother, who, as a matter of course, would be\nmore capable and more worthy of governing. So, when a child, she often\nwept bitter tears because she was not a boy. Of course, as she grew up,\nshe only heard the offensive wish from the lips of her father; every\nother mouth praised the wonderful talent, the manly spirit and courage\nof the brilliant Princess. And these praises were not flattery;\nAmalaswintha was, indeed, a wonderful creature. The strength of her\nwill, the power of her intellect, her love of authority, and cold\nabruptness of manner, far exceeded the limits which generally bound the\nsphere of feminine grace. The consciousness that when her hand was\nbestowed, the highest position in the kingdom, and perhaps the crown\nitself, would be given with it, did not contribute to render her more\nmodest; and her deepest, strongest sentiment was no longer the wish to\nbe a man, but the conviction that, even as a woman, she was as capable\nof performing all the duties of life and of government as the most\ngifted man--much more capable than most men--and that she was fated to\nrefute the general prejudice, and to prove the equality of her sex.\n\nThe married life of this cold woman with Eutharic, a member of another\nbranch of the family, a man of a genial temperament and high intellect,\nwas of short duration--in a few years Eutharic fell a victim to\ndisease--and not at all happy. She had unwillingly obeyed her husband,\nand, as a widow, gloried in her freedom. She burnt with the desire to\nverify her favourite theory in her position as Queen-regent and\nguardian of her son. She would govern in such a manner, that the\nproudest man must acknowledge her superiority. We have seen how the\nanticipation of ruling had enabled her to bear the death of her great\nfather with considerable equanimity. She assumed her high office with\nthe greatest zeal and the most untiring activity. She wished to do\neverything alone. She thrust aside the aged Cassiodorus, for he was\nunable to keep pace with the eagerness of her spirit. She would endure\nno man's advice, and jealously watched over her absolute monarchy.\n\nTo none but one of her servants did she willingly and frequently lend\nher ear: to him who often and loudly praised the manly independence of\nher mind, and still more often seemed to admire it in secret, and who\nappeared incapable of conceiving the desire to govern any of her\nactions: she trusted Cethegus alone.\n\nFor he constantly evinced only _one_ ambition--that of carrying out all\nthe ideas and plans of the Queen with the most zealous care. He never\nopposed her favourite endeavours, like Cassiodorus and the heads of the\nGothic parties, but supported her therein. He helped her to surround\nherself with Greeks and Romans; to exclude the young king, as far as\npossible, from all share in the government; gradually to remove from\nthe court the old Gothic friends of her father, who, in the\nconsciousness of their services and according to old custom, often took\nupon themselves to speak a word of open blame; to use the money which\nwas intended for men-of-war, horses, and the armament of the Gothic\nforces, for art and science, or for the embellishment, preservation,\nand security of Rome; in short, he aided her in every act that would\nestrange her from her people, or render her government an object of\nhatred, and her kingdom defenceless.\n\nAnd if he himself had a plan he always knew how to give his\ntransactions with the Queen such a turn, that she considered herself\nthe promoter of every scheme, and ordered him to execute his most\nsecret wishes as _her_ commands.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XI.\n\nIn order to gain and support this influence, it can easily be\nunderstood that Cethegus was forced to be more at court, and oftener\nabsent from Rome, than was advantageous for his interests in that city.\n\nHe therefore endeavoured to bring persons into close connection with\nthe Queen, who would, in part, take his place, warmly defend his\ninterests, and keep him _au fait_ of all that passed in the court of\nRavenna.\n\nMany Gothic nobles had left the court in anger, and it was necessary to\nreplace their wives in their office near the Queen; and Cethegus\ndetermined to use this opportunity to bring Rusticiana, the daughter of\nSymmachus and wife of Boëthius, once more to court. It was no easy\ntask. For the family of Boëthius, who had been executed as a traitor,\nhad been banished the capital. Before anything could be done, the\nfeeling which the Queen entertained towards this family must be\ncompletely altered. Cethegus, however, soon succeeded in appealing to\nthe compassion and magnanimity of Amalaswintha, who possessed a noble\nheart. At the same time she had never really believed in the unproved\nguilt of the two noble Romans, one of whom, the husband of Rusticiana,\nshe had honoured as an extremely learned man, and, in some points, as\nher teacher. Cethegus proved to her that by showing favour to this\nfamily, either as an act of grace or of justice, she would touch the\nhearts of all her Roman subjects, and he thus easily persuaded her to\npardon the deeply degraded family.\n\nIt was much more difficult to persuade the proud and passionate widow\nof the murdered man to accept this favour, for her whole soul was\nfilled with bitterness against the royal house, and thirst for revenge.\nCethegus even feared that when she was in the presence of the\n\"tyrants,\" her ungovernable hatred might betray itself. In spite of the\ngreat influence he had over her, she had repeatedly rejected this plan.\n\nMatters had come to this pass, when, one day, Rusticiana made a\ndiscovery which shortly led to the fulfilment of the Prefect's wish.\n\nRusticiana had a daughter of scarcely sixteen years of age, named\nCamilla. She was a lovely girl, with a face of the true Roman type,\nwith nobly-formed features and chiselled lips. Intense feeling beamed\nfrom her dark eyes; her figure, slender almost to delicacy, was elegant\nand light as that of a gazelle, and all her movements were agile and\ngraceful. She had loved her unhappy father with all the energy of\nfilial devotion. The stroke that had laid his beloved head low had\nentered deeply into her own young life; and inconsolable and sacred\ngrief, mixed with passionate admiration for his heroism, filled all her\nyouthful thoughts. A welcome guest at court before her father's death,\nshe had fled with her mother after the catastrophe over the Alps to\nGaul, where they had found an asylum with an old friend, while Anicius\nand Severinus, Camilla's brothers, who had been also condemned, but who\nwere afterwards reprieved and sent into banishment, hastened at once to\nthe court at Byzantium, where they tried to move heaven and earth\nagainst the barbarians.\n\nWhen the first heat of persecution had abated, the two women had\nreturned to Italy, and led a retired life in the house of one of their\nfaithful freedmen at Perusia, whence, as we have seen, Rusticiana had\neasily found means to join the conspiracy in Rome.\n\nIt was in June, that season of the year when the Roman\naristocracy--then as at this day--fled the sultry air of the towns, and\nsought a refuge in their cool villas on the Sabine mountains, or at the\nsea-coast. The two noble women, used to every luxury, felt extremely\nill at ease in the hot and narrow streets of Perusia, and thought with\nregret of their beautiful villas in Florence and Neapolis, which,\ntogether with all the rest of their fortune, had been confiscated by\nthe Gothic Government.\n\nOne day, their faithful servant, Corbulo, came to Rusticiana with a\nstrangely embarrassed expression of countenance, and explained to her\n\"how, having long since noticed how much the 'Patrona' suffered\nunder his unworthy roof, and had to endure much annoyance from his\nhandiwork--he being a mason--he had bought a small, a very small,\nestate, with a still smaller house, in the mountains near Tifernum.\nHowever, she must not compare it with the villa near Florentia; but\nstill there ran a little brook near it, which never dried up, even\nunder the dog-star; oaks and cornel-trees gave broad and pleasant\nshade; ivy grew luxuriantly over a ruined Temple of Faunus; and in the\ngarden he had planted roses, lilies, and violets, such as Donna Camilla\nloved; and so he hoped that they would mount their mules or litter, and\ngo to their villa like other noble dames.\"\n\nThe ladies, much touched by their old servant's fidelity, gratefully\naccepted his kindness, and Camilla, who rejoiced like a child in the\nanticipation of a little change, was more cheerful and animated than\nshe had ever been since her father's death.\n\nImpatiently she urged their departure, and hurried off beforehand the\nvery same day, with Corbulo and his daughter, Daphnidion, leaving her\nmother to follow as soon as possible with the slaves and baggage.\n\nThe sun was already sinking behind the hills of Tifernum when Corbulo,\nleading Camilla's mule by the bridle, reached an open place in the\nwood, from whence they first caught sight of the little estate. He had\nlong pleased himself with the thought of the young girl's surprise when\nhe should show her the prettily situated villa.\n\nBut he suddenly stood still, struck with surprise; he held his hand\nbefore his eyes, fancying that the evening sun dazzled him; he looked\naround to see if he were really in the right place; but there was no\ndoubt about it! There stood, on the ridge where wood and meadow met,\nthe grey border-stone, in the form of the old frontier-god Terminus,\nwith his pointed head. It was the right place, but the little house was\nnowhere to be seen; where it should have been, was a thick group of\npines and plantains; and besides this, the whole place was changed;\ngreen hedges and flowerbeds stood where once cabbages and turnips grew;\nand where sandpits and the high-road had, till now, marked the limits\nof his modest property, rose an elegant pavilion.\n\n\"The Mother of God and all the superior gods save me!\" Cried the mason;\n\"some magic must be at work!\"\n\nHis daughter hastily handed him the amulet that she carried at her\ngirdle; but she was no wiser than he, for it was the first time that\nshe had visited the new property; and so there was nothing left but to\ndrive the mules forward as fast as possible. Father and daughter,\nleaping from stone to stone, accompanied the trotting mules to the\nbottom of the declivity with cries of encouragement.\n\nAs they approached, Corbulo certainly discovered the house that he had\nbought behind the group of trees, but so changed, renewed, and\nbeautified, that he scarcely recognised it.\n\nHis astonishment at the transformation of the whole place tended to\nincrease his superstitious fears. His mouth opened wide, he let the\nreins fall, stood stock-still, and he was beginning another wonderful\nspeech, intermixed with heathen and Christian interjections, when\nCamilla, equally astounded, called out:\n\n\"But that is the garden where we once lived, the Viridarium of Honorius\nat Ravenna! The same trees, the same flower-beds, and, by the lake, the\nlittle Temple of Venus, just as it once stood on the sea-shore at\nRavenna! Oh, how beautiful! What a faithful memory! Corbulo, how did\nyou manage it?\" and tears of grateful emotion filled her eyes.\n\n\"The devil and all the Lemures take me, if I had anything to do with\nit! But there comes Cappadox with his club foot; he at least is not\nbewitched. Speak, then, Cyclops, what has happened here?\"\n\nCappadox, a gigantic, broad-shouldered slave, came limping along with\nan uncouth smile, and after many questions, told a puzzling tale.\n\nAbout three weeks ago, a few days after he had been sent to the estate\nto manage it for his master, who had gone to the marble quarries of\nLuna, there came from Tifernum a noble Roman with a troop of slaves and\nworkmen and heavily-packed wagons. He inquired if this was the estate\nbought by the sculptor Corbulo of Perusia for the widow of Boëthius.\nUpon being answered in the affirmative, he had introduced himself as\nthe Hortulanus Princeps, that is, the superior intendant of the gardens\nat Ravenna. An old friend of Boëthius--who wished not to tell his name,\nfor fear of the Gothic tyrants--desired to care for his family in\nsecret, and had given orders that their summer residence should be\nimproved and embellished with all possible art. He (Cappadox) was by no\nmeans to spoil the intended surprise, and, half-kindly, half by force,\nthey had kept him fast in the villa. Then the intendant had immediately\nmade his plan, and set his men to work. Many neighbouring fields were\nbought at a high price; and there began such a pulling-down and\nbuilding-up, such a planting and digging, hammering and knocking, such\na cleaning and painting, that it had made him both blind and deaf. When\nhe ventured to meddle or ask questions the workmen laughed in his face.\n\n\"And,\" concluded Cappadox, \"it went on in this way till the day before\nyesterday. Then they had finished, and went away. At first I was\nafraid, and trembled when I saw all these splendid things growing out\nof the earth. I thought, if Master Corbulo has to pay for all this,\nthen mercy on my poor back! and I wanted to come and tell you. But they\nwould not let me go; and besides, I knew you were not at home. And when\nI saw what a ridiculous amount of money the intendant had with him, and\nhow he threw the gold pieces about, as children throw pebbles, I got\neasier by degrees, and let things go on as they would. Now, master, I\nknow well that you can set me in the stocks, and have me whipped with\nthe vine-branch or even with the scorpion; for you are the master, and\nCappadox the servant. But, master, it would scarcely be just! By all\nthe saints and all the gods! For you set me over a few cabbage-fields,\nand see! they have become an Emperor's garden under my care!\"\n\nCamilla had long since dismounted and disappeared, when the servant\nended his account.\n\nHer heart beating with joy, she hurried through the garden, the bowers,\nthe house; she flew as if on wings; the active Daphnidion could\nscarcely follow her. Repeated cries of astonishment and pleasure\nescaped her lips. Whenever she turned the corner of a path, or round a\ngroup of trees, a new picture of the garden at Ravenna met her\ndelighted eyes.\n\nBut when she entered the house, and in it found a small room painted,\nfurnished, and decorated exactly like the room in the Imperial Palace,\nin which she had played away the last days of her childhood, and\ndreamed the first dreams of her maidenhood; the same pictures upon the\nhempen tapestry; the same vases and delicate citrean-wood[2] boxes;\nand, upon the same small tortoise-shell table, her pretty little harp\nwith its swan's wings; overpowered by so many remembrances, and still\nmore by the feeling of gratitude for such tender friendship, she sank\nsobbing on the soft cushions of the lectus.\n\nScarcely could Daphnidion calm her.\n\n\"There are still noble hearts in the world; there are still friends of\nthe house of Boëthius!\" and she breathed a prayer of deep thankfulness\nto Heaven.\n\nWhen her mother arrived the next day, she was scarcely less moved by\nthe strange surprise. She wrote at once to Cethegus in Rome, and asked:\n\"In which of her husband's friends she should seek this secret\nbenefactor?\" Within her heart she hoped that it might turn out to be\nhimself.\n\nBut the Prefect shook his head over her letter and wrote back: \"He knew\nno one of whom this delicate mode of proceeding reminded him. She\nshould carefully watch for every trace that might lead to the solving\nof the riddle.\"\n\nIt was not long ere it was solved. Camilla was never tired of\ntraversing the garden, and continually discovering resemblances to its\nwell-known original.\n\nShe often extended her rambles beyond the park into the neighbouring\nwood. She was generally accompanied by the merry Daphnidion, whose\nsimilar youth and faithful affection soon won her confidence.\nDaphnidion had repeatedly remarked to her that they must be followed by\na wood-sprite, for it often snapped in the branches and rustled in the\ngrass near them, and yet there nowhere was a man or an animal to be\nseen.\n\nBut Camilla laughed at her superstition, and often persuaded her to\nventure out again, far away under the green shadows of the elms and\nplantains.\n\nOne hot day, as the two girls penetrated deeper and deeper into the\ngreenwood they discovered a clear-running spring, that issued copiously\nfrom a dark porphyry rock. But it had no decided channel, and the\nthirsty maidens with difficulty collected the single silvery drops.\n\n\"What a pity!\" cried Camilla, \"the delicious water! You should have\nseen the fountain of the Tritons in the Pinetum[3] at Ravenna. How\nprettily the water rushed from the inflated cheeks of the bronze\nsea-god, into the wide shell of brown marble! What a pity!\" And they\npassed on.\n\nSome days after they both came again to the same place. Daphnidion, who\nwas walking in front, suddenly stood still with a loud scream, and\nsilently pointed at the spring.\n\nThe woodland streamlet had been enclosed. From a bronze Triton's head\nthe water fell, in a bright stream, into a delicate shell of brown\nmarble. Daphnidion, now firmly believing in some magic, turned to fly\nwithout further ado; her hands pressed over her eyes, so as not to see\nthe wood-sprite, which was considered to be extremely dangerous, she\nfled towards the house, calling loudly to her mistress to follow her.\n\nBut a thought flashed through Camilla's mind. The spy who had lately\nfollowed them was certainly in the vicinity, revelling in their\nastonishment.\n\nShe looked carefully about her. The blossoms of a 'wild rose-bush fell\nfrom its shaking boughs to the earth. She quickly stepped towards the\nthicket, and lo! a young hunter, with spear and game-bag, advanced\ntowards her from out the bushes.\n\n\"I am discovered,\" he said, in a low, shy voice. He looked very\nhandsome in his embarrassment.\n\nBut, with a cry of fear, Camilla started back.\n\n\"Athalaric!\" she stammered, \"the King!\"\n\nA whole sea of thoughts and feelings rushed through her brain and\nheart, and, half fainting, she sank upon, the grassy bank beside the\nspring.\n\nThe young King, alarmed and delighted, stood for a few moments\nspeechless before the tender figure lying at his feet. Thirstily his\nburning eye dwelt upon the beautiful features and noble form. A vivid\nflush shot like lightning over his pale face.\n\n\"Oh, she--she is my death!\" he breathed, pressing both hands to his\nbeating heart. \"To die now--to die with her!\"\n\nCamilla moved her arm, which movement brought him to his senses; he\nkneeled down beside her, and wetted her temples with the cool water of\nthe spring. She opened her eyes.\n\n\"Barbarian! murderer!\" she cried shrilly, thrust his hand away, sprang\nup, and fled like a frightened doe.\n\nAthalaric made no attempt to follow her.\n\n\"Barbarian! murderer!\" he murmured to himself, in great grief, and\nburied his glowing forehead in his hands.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XII.\n\nCamilla came home in such extreme excitement, that Daphnidion would not\nbe convinced that she had not seen the nymphs, or even the venerable\nsylvan god, Picus, himself.\n\nBut the maiden threw herself with wild emotion into the arms of her\nalarmed mother. The strife of confused feelings within her resolved\nitself into a flood of hot tears, and only later was she able to answer\nRusticiana's anxious questions.\n\nA terrible struggle was taking place in the soul of this child. At the\ncourt of Ravenna it had not escaped the growing girl that the dark eyes\nof the beautiful Athalaric often rested upon her with a strange and\ndreamy expression, and that he eagerly listened to every tone of her\nvoice. But a suspicion of deeper affection had never entered into her\nmind. The Prince, reserved and shy, cast down his eyes whenever she met\nhis look with an unembarrassed and inquisitive glance. Were they not\nboth at that time almost children?\n\nShe did not know how to interpret Athalaric's manner--he scarcely could\ndo so himself--and it had never occurred to her to reflect why she so\ngladly lived near him; why she liked to follow the bold flights of his\nthoughts and imaginations, differing so much from those of all other\nplayfellows; why she loved to wander silently through the quiet gardens\nin the evening-light by the side of the silent boy, who often, in the\nmidst of his reverie, addressed her with abrupt, but always\nsignificant, words; whose poetical feelings--the feelings of\nenthusiastic youth--she so completely understood and appreciated.\n\nThe tender tissue of this budding inclination was violently torn by the\ncatastrophe of her father's death, and not only gentle sorrow for the\nmurdered man, but glowing hatred of his murderers, took possession of\nthe passionate Roman girl's soul.\n\nAt all times Boëthius, even when in the height of his favour at court,\nhad displayed a haughty condescension to the barbarism of the Goths,\nand, since the catastrophe, all Camilla's companions--her mother, her\ntwo brothers (who thirsted for vengeance), and the friends of the\nhouse--breathed hatred and contempt, not only for the bloody murderer\nand tyrant, Theodoric, but for all Goths, and particularly for the\ndaughter and grandson of the King, who, in their eyes, shared his guilt\nbecause they had not hindered it.\n\nSo the maiden had almost ceased to think of Athalaric, and if he were\nnamed, or if, as often happened, his picture entered into her dreams,\nher hatred of the barbarians was concentrated in a feeling of the\ngreatest abhorrence towards him, perhaps just because, in the depths of\nher heart, there lurked an involuntary suspicion of the secret\ninclination which she nourished for the handsome and noble youth.\n\nAnd now--now he had dared to lay a snare for her unsuspicious heart!\n\nNo sooner had she seen him step from the bushes--no sooner did she\nrecognise him, than she at once understood that it was he who had not\nonly enclosed the spring, but caused the alteration of the whole\nestate. He, the hated enemy; he, the offspring of the cursed race which\nhad shed the blood of her father: the King of the Goths!\n\nThe joy with which, during the last few days, she had examined house\nand garden, was now changed into bitterness. The deadly enemy of her\npeople, of her race, had dared to enrich her; to give her pleasure; to\nmake her happy; for him she had breathed thankful prayers to Heaven! He\nhad been bold enough to follow her steps, to listen to her words, to\nfulfil her lightest wish; and at the bottom of her soul lay the\ndreadful certainty that he loved her! The barbarian was insolent enough\nto show it. The tyrant of Italy dared to hope that the daughter of\nBoëthius---- Oh, it was too much! and, sobbing violently, she buried\nher head in the cushions of her couch, to which she had retired, until\ndeep sleep of exhaustion overcame her.\n\nNot long after, Cethegus, who had been hastily sent for, came to visit\nthe troubled woman.\n\nRusticiana would fain have followed her own and Camilla's first\nimpulse, to fly from the villa and the hated vicinity of the King, and\nhide her child on the other side of the Alps. But Camilla's condition\nhad, till then, prevented their departure, and as soon as the Prefect\nentered the house, the flame of their excitement seemed to sink before\nhis cold glances.\n\nHe took Rusticiana alone with him into the garden. Leaning his back\nagainst a laurel-tree, and supporting his chin on his hand, he listened\nquietly and attentively to her passionate recital.\n\n\"And now, speak,\" she concluded; \"what shall I do? How shall I save my\npoor child? Whither shall I take her?\"\n\n\"Whither shall you take Camilla?\" he repeated. \"To the court, to\nRavenna.\"\n\nRusticiana started. \"Why this ill-timed joke?\"\n\nBut Cethegus quickly stood erect. \"I am in earnest. Be quiet and\nlisten. Fate, that wills the destruction of the barbarians, could have\nlaid no more gracious gifts upon our path. You know how completely I\nrule the Queen-regent, but you do not know how powerless I am over that\nobstinate enthusiast, Athalaric. It is enigmatical. The sick youth is,\namongst all the nation, the only one who suspects, if he does not see\nthrough, me; and I do not know whether he most fears or hates me. That\nwould be a matter of indifference to me if the audacious fellow did not\nvery decidedly and very successfully act against me. Naturally, his\nopinion weighs heavily with his mother; often more than mine; and he\nwill always grow older, riper, and more dangerous. His spirit exceeds\nhis years; he takes a grave part in the councils of the Regency, and\nalways speaks against me; he often prevails. 'Twas but lately that,\nagainst my will, he succeeded in giving the command of the Gothic\ntroops in Rome, in _my_ Rome, to that bilious Teja. In short, the young\nKing becomes highly dangerous. Until now I have not the shadow of\nauthority over him. He loves Camilla to his peril; through her we will\nrule the unruly one.\"\n\n\"Never!\" cried Rusticiana; \"never as long as I breathe! _I_ at the\ncourt of the tyrants! My child, Boëthius's daughter, the beloved of\nAthalaric! Her father's bloody ghost would----\"\n\n\n\n\"Would you avenge that ghost? Yes. Would you ruin the Goths? Yes.\nTherefore you must consent to everything which will lead to this end.\"\n\n\"Never, by my oath!\"\n\n\"Woman, do not irritate me, do not oppose me! You know me. By your\noath? Have you not sworn blind and unconditional obedience to me,\ncalling down curses on yourself and your children should you break that\noath? Caution is necessary when dealing with women! Obey, or tremble\nfor your soul!\"\n\n\"Fearful man! Shall I sacrifice all my hatred to you and your\nprojects?\"\n\n\"To me? who speaks of me? I plead _your_ cause, I complete _your_\nrevenge. The Goths have done nothing to _me_. _You_ disturbed me from\nmy books, _you_ called upon me to aid you in destroying these Amelungs;\ndo you repent? Very well. I will return to Horatius and the Stoics.\nFarewell!\"\n\n\"Remain, remain! But must Camilla be sacrificed?\"\n\n\"Folly! Athalaric will be the victim. She shall not love him, she shall\nonly influence him--or,\" he added, looking sharply at her, \"do you fear\nfor her heart?\"\n\n\"May your tongue be paralysed! _My_ daughter love _him_! Rather would I\nstrangle her with these hands!\"\n\nBut Cethegus had become thoughtful. \"It is not for the girl's sake,\" he\nthought, \"that would not matter--but should she really love him?--the\nGoth is handsome, intellectual, enthusiastic--Where is your daughter?\"\nhe asked aloud.\n\n\"In the women's apartment. Even should I wish it, she will never\nconsent--never!\"\n\n\"We will attempt it. I will go to her.\"\n\nAnd they went into the house.\n\nRusticiana would have entered the room with Cethegus, but he repulsed\nher.\n\n\"I must have her alone,\" he said, and passed through the curtain.\n\nOn seeing him, the beautiful girl rose from the cushions on which she\nhad been resting, lost in helpless reverie. Accustomed to find in this\nwise and commanding man, her father's old friend, a constant adviser,\nshe greeted him trustfully, as a patient greets his physician.\n\n\"You know, Cethegus?\"\n\n\"Everything!\"\n\n\"And you bring me help and comfort?\"\n\n\"I bring you revenge, Camilla!\"\n\nThat was a new and startling idea! Hitherto to fly, to save herself\nfrom this torturing position, had been her only thought. At the most,\nan angry rejection of the royal gift. But now, revenge! Compensation\nfor all the pain she had suffered! Revenge upon the murderers of her\nfather! Her heart was deeply wounded, and in her veins boiled the hot\nblood of the south. She rejoiced at the words of her tempter.\n\n\"Revenge? Who will revenge me? You?\"\n\n\"You will revenge yourself; that will be sweeter.\"\n\nHer eyes flashed.\n\n\"On whom?\"\n\n\"On him. On his house. On all your enemies.\"\n\n\"How can I, a weak and timid girl?\"\n\n\"Listen to me, Camilla. To you only, to the noble daughter of the noble\nBoëthius, will I unfold what I would trust to no other woman on earth.\nThere exists a powerful league of patriots, who have sworn to extirpate\nthe barbarians from the face of this country. The sword of revenge\nhangs trembling over the heads of the tyrants. The fatherland and the\nshade of your father call upon you to cause it to fall.\"\n\n\"Upon me? _I_--revenge my father? Speak!\" cried the maiden, her face\nglowing as she stroked back the dark locks from her temples.\n\n\"There must be a sacrifice. Rome demands it.\"\n\n\"My blood, my life! Like Virginia will I die!\"\n\n\"No; you shall live to triumph in your revenge. The King loves you. You\nmust go to Ravenna, to court. You shall destroy him by means of his\nlove. We have no power over him, but you will gain the mastery over his\nsoul.\"\n\n\"Destroy him!\"\n\nShe seemed strangely moved as she spoke thus in a low voice. Her bosom\nheaved; her voice trembled with the force of her opposing feelings.\nTears burst from her eyes, she buried her face in her hands.\n\nCethegus rose from his seat.\n\n\"Pardon me,\" he said, \"I will go. I knew not--that you _loved_ the\nKing.\"\n\nA scream of anger, like that of physical pain, escaped the maiden's\nlips; she sprang up and grasped his arm.\n\n\"Man! who said so? I hate him! Hate him more than I ever knew I could\nhate!\"\n\n\"Then prove it, for I do not believe it.\"\n\n\"I will prove it!\" she cried; \"he shall die!\"\n\nShe threw back her head; her eyes sparkled fiercely; her dark tresses\nfell over her shoulders.\n\n\"She loves him,\" thought Cethegus; \"but it matters not, for she does\nnot know it. She is only conscious of hating him. All is well.\"\n\n\"He shall not live,\" repeated Camilla. \"You shall see,\" she added with\na wild laugh--\"you shall see how I love him! What must I do?\"\n\n\"Obey me in everything.\"\n\n\"And what do you promise in return? What shall he suffer?\"\n\n\"Unrequited love.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, that he shall!\"\n\n\"His kingdom and his race shall be ruined,\" continued Cethegus.\n\n\"And he will know that it is through _me_!\"\n\n\"I will take care that he shall know that. When shall we start for\nRavenna?\"\n\n\"To-morrow! No; to-day, this instant.\" She stopped and grasped his\nhand. \"Cethegus, tell me, am I beautiful?\"\n\n\"Yes, most beautiful!\"\n\n\"Ah!\" she cried, tossing back her flowing hair, \"Athalaric shall love\nme and perish! Away to Ravenna! I will and must see him!\"\n\nAnd she rushed out of the room.\n\nHer whole soul was thirsting to be with the object of her love and\nhate.\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XIII.\n\nThat same day the inhabitants of the villa entered upon their journey\nto Ravenna.\n\nCethegus sent a courier forward with a letter from Rusticiana to the\nQueen-regent. Therein the widow of Boëthius declared, \"that by the\nmediation of the Prefect of Rome, she was now ready to accept the\nrepeated invitation to return to court. She did not accept it as an act\nof pardon, but of conciliation; as a sign that the heirs of Theodoric\nwished to make amends for the injustice done to the deceased.\"\n\nThis proud letter was written from Rusticiana's very heart, and\nCethegus knew that such a step would do no harm, and would only exclude\nany suspicious construction that might be laid upon the sudden change\nin her sentiments.\n\nHalf-way the travellers were met by a messenger bearing the Queen's\nanswer, which bade them welcome to her court.\n\nArrived in Ravenna, they were received by the Queen with all honours,\nprovided with a retinue, and led into the rooms which they had formerly\noccupied. They were warmly welcomed by all the Romans at court.\n\nBut the anger of the Goths--who abhorred Symmachus and Boëthius as\nungrateful traitors--was greatly excited by this measure, which seemed\nto imply an indirect condemnation of Theodoric. The last remaining\nfriends of that great King indignantly left the Italianised court.\n\nMeanwhile, time, the diversions of the journey, and the arrival at\nRavenna, had softened Camilla's excitement. Her anger had the more time\nto abate, as many weeks elapsed before she met Athalaric; for the young\nKing was dangerously ill.\n\nIt was said at court, that while on a visit to Aretium, whither he had\ngone to enjoy the mountain air, the baths, and the chase, he had drank\nfrom a rocky spring in the woods of Tifernum while heated with hunting,\nand had thereby brought on a violent attack of his former malady. The\nfact was, that his followers had found him lying senseless by the side\nof the spring where he had met Camilla.\n\nThe effect of this story upon Camilla was strange. To the hate she bore\nto Athalaric was now added a slight feeling of compassion, and even a\nsort of self-reproach. But on the other side, she thanked Heaven that,\nby this illness, the meeting was postponed, which, now that she was in\nRavenna, she feared no less than she had longed for it while far away\nin Tifernum.\n\nAnd as she wandered in the wide-spread grounds of the magnificent\npalace-gardens, she was repeatedly reminded of the anxious care with\nwhich Corbulo's little estate had been fashioned after this model.\n\nDays and weeks passed. Nothing was heard of the patient except that he\nwas convalescent, but forbidden to leave his rooms. The physicians and\ncourtiers who surrounded him often expressed to Camilla their\nadmiration of his patience and strength of mind while suffering the\nmost acute pains, his gratitude for the slightest service, and the\nnoble mildness of his disposition.\n\nBut when she caught herself listening with pleasure to these words of\npraise, she frowned angrily, and the thought arose within her: \"And he\ndid not oppose the murder of my father!\"\n\nOne hot July night, after long and restless wakefulness, Camilla\ntowards daybreak had sunk into an uneasy slumber.\n\nAnxious dreams disturbed her.\n\nIt seemed to her as if the ceiling of the room, with all its\nbas-reliefs, were sinking down upon her. Directly over her head was a\nbeautiful young Hypnos, the gentle God of Sleep, modelled by the hand\nof a Greek.\n\nShe dreamed that the drowsy god assumed the earnest, sorrowful features\nof his pale brother Thanatos.\n\nSoftly and slowly the God of Death bent his countenance above her. He\napproached nearer and nearer. His features became more and more\ndistinct. She already felt his breath upon her forehead. His beautiful\nlips almost touched her mouth. Then she recognised with affright the\npale features--the dark eyes. It was Athalaric! With a scream she\nstarted up.\n\nThe silver lamp had long since burnt out. The room was dim.\n\nA red light gleamed faintly through the window of spar-gypsum. She rose\nand opened it. The cocks were crowing, the first rays of the sun gently\nstole over the sea, of which, beyond the garden, she had a full view.\nShe could no longer bear to remain in the close chamber.\n\nShe threw a mantle over her shoulders and hurried softly out of the\nstill silent palace, down the marble steps, and into the garden; across\nwhich the fresh morning wind from the neighbouring sea blew towards\nher.\n\nShe hastened towards the sun and the sea, for, to the east, the high\nwalls of the palace gardens rose directly out of the blue waves of the\nAdriatic.\n\nA gilded lattice-gate, and, beyond it, ten broad steps of white\nHymettus marble, led to the little garden-harbour, in which rocked the\nlight-oared gondolas with their lateen sails of purple linen-cloth,\nfastened with silver chains to the ornamental rams'-heads fixed right\nand left upon the marble quay.\n\nAt the side of the lattice-gate towards the garden, the grounds ended\nin a spacious rotunda, which was surrounded with broad and shady pines.\nThe ground was laid out with carefully-tended grassplots, intersected\nby neat paths, and diversified by gay beds of sweet-scented flowers. A\nspring, ornamentally enclosed, ran down the declivity into the sea. In\nthe centre of this place was a small and antique Temple of Venus,\novertopped by a single palm-tree, while burning-red saxifrage grew\nin the now empty niches of its outer walls. At the right of its\nlong-closed door stood a bronze statue of Æneas. The Julius Cæsar to\nthe left had fallen centuries ago. Theodoric had placed upon its\npedestal a bronze statue of Amala, the mythic forefather of his house.\n\nBetween these statues, from the steps of the little fane, was a\nsplendid view through the lattice-gate over the sea, with its woody\nlagoon-islands, and a group of jagged rocks, called \"the Needles of the\nAmphitrites.\"\n\nThis had been a favourite resort of Camilla's childhood. And it was\nhither that she now bent her steps, lightly brushing the plentiful dew\nfrom the high grass as, with slightly-lifted garments, she hastened\nalong the narrow pathway. She wished to behold the sun rise glowing\nfrom the sea.\n\nShe advanced from behind the temple, passed to the estrade on the left,\nand had just set her foot upon the first step which led from the front\nof the temple to the lattice-gate, when she caught sight of a white\nfigure reclining on the second step, with the head leaning against the\nbalustrade and the face turned towards the sea.\n\nShe recognised the black and silky hair; it was the young King.\n\nThe meeting was so unexpected that there was no possibility of avoiding\nit. As if rooted to the ground, she stood still upon the first step.\n\nAthalaric sprang up and quickly turned. His pallid face was illumined\nby a vivid flush. But he was the first to recover himself, and said:\n\n\"Forgive, Camilla. I could not expect you to come here at this hour. I\nwill go; and leave you alone with the rising sun.\"\n\nAnd he flung his white mantle over his shoulder.\n\n\"Remain, King of the Goths. I have no right to scare you away--and no\nintention,\" she added.\n\nAthalaric came a step nearer.\n\n\"I thank you. And I beg one favour,\" he added, smiling. \"Do not betray\nme to my physicians nor to my mother. All day long they shut me up so\ncarefully, that I am obliged to escape before sunrise. For the fresh\nair, the sea-breeze, does me good; I feel that it cools me. You will\nnot betray me?\"\n\nHe spoke so quietly. He looked so unembarrassed. This freedom from\nembarrassment confused Camilla. She would have felt more courageous if\nhe had been more moved. She observed his coolness with pain, but not\nbecause she really cared for the Prefect's plans. So, in answer, she\nonly shook her head in silence, and cast down her eyes.\n\nAt that moment the rays of the sun reached the spot on which the pair\nwere standing.\n\nThe old temple and the bronze of the statues shone in the rosy light;\nand from the east a broad path of trembling gold was laid upon the\nsmooth flood.\n\n\"See, how beautiful!\" cried Athalaric, carried away by his admiration.\n\"Look at that bridge of light and glory!\"\n\nShe joined in his admiration, and looked out over the sea.\n\n\"Do you remember, Camilla,\" he continued slowly, as if lost in\nrecollection, and not looking at her, \"do you remember how we played\nhere when we were children? How we dreamed? We said that the golden\npath painted on the waters by the sun, led to the Islands of the\nBlessed.\"\n\n\"To the Islands of the Blessed!\" repeated Camilla. In secret she was\nwondering at the delicacy and ease with which, avoiding every allusion\nto their last meeting, he conversed with her in a manner, which\ncompletely disarmed her.\n\n\"And look, how the statues glitter, that wonderful pair, Æneas\nand--Amala! Listen, Camilla, I have something to beg pardon for.\"\n\nHer heart beat rapidly. He was going to speak of the rebuilding of the\nVilla and the fountain. The blood rose to her cheeks. She remained\nsilent in painful expectation.\n\nBut the youth continued quietly:\n\n\"You know how often--you the Roman, and I the Goth--vied with each\nother here in praises of the glory and fame and manners of our people.\nThen you stood under the statue of Æneas, and told me of Brutus and\nCamillus, of Marcellus and the Scipios. And I, leaning against the\nshield of my ancestor Amala, praised Ermanaric and Alaric and\nTheodoric. But you spoke more eloquently than I. And often, when the\nglory of your heroes threatened to outshine mine, I laughed at your\ndead greatness, and cried, 'The living present and the glowing future\nbelong to my people!'\"\n\n\"Well, and now?\"\n\n\"I speak so no more. You have won, Camilla!\"\n\nBut even while he spoke thus, he looked prouder than ever.\n\nAnd this expression of superiority revolted the Roman girl. Besides\nthat, she was irritated by the unapproachable coolness with which the\nKing, upon whose passion for her such plans were being founded, stood\nbefore her. She did not understand this tranquillity. She had hated him\nbecause he had dared to show her his love, and now her hate revived\nbecause he was able to conceal it. With the intention to hurt his\nfeelings she slowly said:\n\n\"So you acknowledge, King of the Goths, that your barbarians are\ninferior to the civilised nations?\"\n\n\"Yes, Camilla,\" he answered quietly; \"but only in one thing: in good\nluck. In the favours of Fate as well as of Nature. Look at that group\nof fishermen, who are hanging up their nets on the olive-trees upon the\nstrand. How beautiful are their forms! In motion and repose, in spite\nof their rags, they are complete statues! Look at that girl with the\namphora on her head. And there, at that old woman, who, leaning her\nhead on her arm, lies upon the sand and gazes out dreamily over the\nsea. Each beggar amongst them looks like a dethroned king. How\nbeautiful they are! At one with themselves and happy! The glory of\nuninterrupted happiness lies upon them, as it does upon children, or\nupon noble animals! This is wanting to us barbarians!\"\n\n\"Is that alone wanting to you?\"\n\n\"No, Fate is not gracious to us--my poor, glorious people! We have been\ncarried away into a strange world, in which we do not flourish. We\nresemble the flower of the high Alps, the Edelweiss, which has been\ncarried by the stormy wind to the hot sands of the low-levels. We\ncannot take root here. We fade and die.\" And overcome with noble\nsadness, he turned away and looked over the blue waves.\n\nBut Camilla was not in the humour to reflect upon these prophetic words\nspoken by a king of his people.\n\n\"Why did you overstep the mountains which God set as an eternal\nboundary between your people and ours?\" she asked. \"Say, why?\"\n\n\"Do you know,\" answered Athalaric, without looking at her, almost as if\nthinking aloud, \"do you know why the dark moth flies to the bright\nflame? Again and again! Warned by no pain, until it is devoured by the\nbeautiful but dangerous element? From what motive? From a sweet\nmadness! And it is just such a sweet madness that has enticed my\nfellow-Goths away from the fir and the oak to the laurel and the olive.\nThey will burn their wings, the foolish heroes, and will not cease to\ndo so. Who can blame them for it? Look around you! How deeply blue the\nsky! How deeply blue the sea! And in it are reflected the summits of\nthe pines and the white glitter of the marble temples! And away in the\ndistance arise blue mountains; and out in the waters swim green\nislands, where the vine clings to the elm. And, above all, the soft,\nwarm and caressing air that illumines the whole with a magic light.\nWhat wonders of form and colour does the eye drink, and what sweetness\ndo the delighted senses breathe! This is the magic charm which will for\never entice and undo us!\"\n\nThe deep emotion of the young King did not fail to make an impression\nupon Camilla. The tragic force of his words affected her; but she\n_would_ not be moved. She defended herself against the increasing\nsoftness of her feelings. She said coldly:\n\n\"A whole nation enchanted by this magic, in spite of reason and\njudgment?\" and she looked at him incredulously.\n\nBut she was startled; for like lightning flashed the eyes of the youth,\nand his long-withheld passion broke out suddenly without restraint.\n\n\"Yes, I tell thee, maiden! a whole people can nourish a foolish\npassion, a sweet destructive madness, a deadly longing, as well as--as\nwell as a single man! Yes, Camilla, there is a power in the heart,\nwhich, stronger than reason and will, forcibly draws us with open eyes\nto destruction. But thou knowest it not, and mayst thou never\nexperience it. Never! Farewell!\"\n\nHe quickly turned away and entered a bowery walk of climbing vines to\nthe right of the temple, which immediately hid him from Camilla, as\nwell as from the windows of the palace. The girl remained standing in\ndeep reflection. His last words echoed strangely in her ears. For a\nlong time she looked out dreamily over the open sea, and at last\nreturned to the palace, filled with strangely conflicting feelings, and\nin an altered mood.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIV.\n\nOn the same day Cethegus paid a visit to the two ladies. He had\ncome over from Rome on important business, and had just left the\nprivy-council which had been held in the invalid King's room. His\nenergetic features were full of repressed anger.\n\n\"To work, Camilla!\" he cried. \"You are too long about it. This\nimpertinent boy becomes more and more unmanageable. He defies me and\nCassiodorus, and even his mother. He is intimate with dangerous people.\nWith old Hildebrand and Witichis and their friends. He sends and\nreceives letters behind our backs. He has managed that the Queen may\nnever hold a council of the regency except in his presence. And in the\ncouncil he crosses all our plans. This must cease. In one way or\nanother.\"\n\n\"I have no more hope of influencing the King,\" said Camilla gravely.\n\n\"Why? Have you already seen him?\"\n\nThe girl reflected. She had promised Athalaric not to allow his\ndisobedience to come to the ears of his physicians; and besides, it\nwent against her feelings to desecrate and betray their meeting. So she\navoided the question and said:\n\n\"If the King refuses to obey his mother, the Queen-regent, he is not\nlikely to suffer himself to be controlled by a young girl.\"\n\n\"What sweet simplicity!\" laughed Cethegus. And he dropped the\nconversation as long as the girl remained in the room. But afterwards,\nin private, he forced from Rusticiana a promise to manage matters so\nthat her daughter in future might frequently see and speak to the King.\nIt was possible to do this, for Athalaric's health rapidly improved. He\nbecame daily more manly and more decided. It seemed as if his\nopposition to Cethegus strengthened him both bodily and mentally.\n\nIn a very short time he again spent many hours of the day in the\nextensive pleasure-grounds. It was here that his mother and the family\nof Boëthius frequently met him in the evening.\n\nAnd while Rusticiana appeared to receive the gracious courtesies of the\nQueen with answering friendship, listening attentively to her\nconfidential remarks, in order afterwards to report them, word for\nword, to the Prefect, the two young people walked before them through\nthe shady paths of the garden. Often this select company entered one of\nthe light gondolas in the little harbour, and Athalaric rowed them\nhimself over the blue sea to one of the small wooded isles which lay\nnot far away. On the return home, the purple sails were spread, and the\nfresh breeze, which always arose at sunset, carried them gently and\nidly back. Camilla and the King, accompanied by Daphnidion, frequently\nenjoyed this trip over the waves alone.\n\nAmalaswintha naturally saw the danger of increasing by such freedom the\ninclination of her son for Camilla, which had not escaped her notice;\nbut, above all other considerations, she was thankful for the\nfavourable influence which this companionship evidently exercised upon\nher son. In Camilla's presence he was quieter and more cheerful; and at\nthe same time more gentle in his manner to herself, which had often\nbeen abrupt and violent. He also controlled his feelings with a mastery\nwhich was doubly surprising in such an irritable invalid. And, lastly,\nthe Queen-regent, supposing that his inclination should indeed ripen to\nearnest love, would not be averse to an alliance which promised\ncompletely to win the Roman aristocracy, and erase all memory of a\ncruel deed.\n\nIn Camilla a wonderful change was going forward. Day by day, as she\nmore and more clearly saw the noble tenderness, the gifted soul, and\nthe deep and poetical feelings of the young King develop, she felt her\nhate melt away. With difficulty she recalled to her memory the fate of\nher father, as an antidote to this sweet poison; she learnt better to\ndistinguish justly which of the Goths and Amelungs had contributed to\nthat fate, and, with growing certainty, she felt that it was unjust to\nhate Athalaric for a misfortune which he had merely not opposed, and\nindeed would hardly have been able to prevent. She would have liked,\nlong ago, to speak to him openly, but she mistrusted her own weakness;\nshe shunned it as a sin against father, fatherland, and her own\nfreedom; she trembled as she felt how indispensable this noble youth\nhad become to her, how much she thirsted to hear his melodious voice,\nand look into his dark and thoughtful eyes. She feared this sinful\nlove--which she could now scarcely conceal from herself--and she would\nnot part with the only weapon that remained to her: the reproach of his\npassive acquiescence in her father's death.\n\nSo she fluctuated from feeling to feeling; all the more hesitatingly,\nthe more mysterious Athalaric's strange reserve became. After all that\nhad happened, she could not doubt that he loved her; and yet--\n\nNot a syllable, not a look betrayed this love. The exclamation with\nwhich he had left her at the Temple of Venus was the most important,\nthe only important speech that had escaped him. She could not suspect\nwhat the youth had suffered before his love had become not\nextinguished, but self-denying. And still less in what new feeling he\nhad found manly strength enough for such renunciation.\n\nHer mother, who watched Athalaric with all the keenness of hate, and,\nin doing so, forgot to observe her own child, appeared even more\nastonished at his coldness.\n\n\"But patience,\" she said to Cethegus, with whom she often consulted\nbehind Camilla's back. \"Patience! soon, in three days' time, you will\nsee him alter.\"\n\n\"It is high time,\" answered Cethegus. \"But upon what grounds do you\nbuild?\"\n\n\"Upon a means which has never yet failed me.\"\n\n\"You will not, surely, mix a love-philtre for him?\" asked the Prefect,\nsmiling.\n\n\"Certainly I shall. I have done so already.\"\n\nHe looked at her mockingly.\n\n\"And are you, then, so superstitious, you, the widow of the great\nphilosopher, Boëthius? Upon my word, in love affairs all women are mad\nalike!\"\n\n\"It is neither madness nor superstition,\" replied Rusticiana quietly.\n\"Our family has possessed this secret charm for more than a hundred\nyears. An Egyptian woman once gave it to one of my female ancestors on\nthe Nile, and it has always proved its power. No woman of my family has\never loved without requital.\"\n\n\"That required no magic,\" observed the Prefect. \"You are a handsome\nrace.\"\n\n\"Spare your sarcasm. The love-philtre is unfailing, and if it has not\nyet taken effect----\"\n\n\"So you have really---- What imprudence! How could you, unobserved----\"\n\n\"Every evening, when he returns from a walk or a row with us, Athalaric\ntakes a cup of spiced Falernian. The physicians ordered it. There are\nsome drops of Arabian balsam in it. The cup always stands ready upon\nthe marble table in front of the temple. Three times I have succeeded\nin pouring in my potion.\"\n\n\"Well,\" observed Cethegus, \"until now it has done no particular good.\"\n\n\"That is only owing to my impatience. The herbs must be gathered during\nthe new moon. I knew it well enough; but, hurried by your insistence, I\ntried it during the full moon, and, you see, it was not effectual.\"\n\nCethegus shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"But yesterday,\" she went on, \"it was new moon. I was not idle with my\ngolden scissors, and when he drinks now----\"\n\n\"A second Locusta! Well, _my_ comfort is Camilla's beautiful eyes! Does\nshe know of your arts?\"\n\n\"Not a word to her! She would never suffer it. Silence! She comes!\"\n\nThe girl entered in great excitement; her oval cheeks were red; a plait\nof her hair had got loose, and floated over her lovely neck.\n\n\"Tell me,\" she cried, \"you who are wise and experienced, tell me what\nto think! I come from the boat. Oh, he has never loved me, the haughty\nman! He pities, he is sorry for me! No, that is not the right word. I\ncannot explain it.\" And bursting into tears, she hid her face upon her\nmother's neck.\n\n\"What has happened, Camilla?\" asked Cethegus.\n\n\"Very often before,\" she began, with a heavy sigh, \"an expression played\nabout his mouth, and filled his eyes, as if _he_ had been deeply\noffended by _me_, as if _he_ had to forgive, as if _he_ had made a\ngreat sacrifice for me----\"\n\n\"Raw boys always imagine it to be a sacrifice, when they are in love.\"\n\nAt this Camilla's eyes flashed; she tossed her head, and turned quickly\nupon Cethegus.\n\n\"Athalaric is no boy, and no one shall laugh at him!\"\n\nCethegus was silent, and quietly dropped his eyelids; but Rusticiana\nasked in surprise:\n\n\"Do you hate the King no more?\"\n\n\"To the death! He shall be undone, but not mocked!\"\n\n\"What has happened?\" repeated Cethegus.\n\n\"To-day I again noticed that puzzling, proud, and cold expression upon\nhis face more distinctly than ever. A little incident occurred which\ncaused the King to speak more plainly. An insect--a beetle--had fallen\ninto the water. The King stooped and took it out, but the little\ncreature turned against the beneficent hand, and bit the fingers that\nheld it. 'The ungrateful thing!' I exclaimed. 'Oh,' said Athalaric,\nwith a bitter smile, 'we wound most those to whom we are most\nindebted!' and he glanced at me with a sad and proud expression. But,\nas if he had said too much, he briefly bid me farewell, and went\naway; but I----\" and her bosom heaved, her finely-cut lips were\ncompressed--\"I can bear it no longer! The haughty one! He _shall_ love\nme--or die!\"\n\n\"That shall he,\" said Cethegus inaudibly; \"one or the other.\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XV.\n\nA few days later the court was surprised by a new step towards\nindependence on the part of the young King. He himself summoned a\ncouncil, a prerogative which, until now, had only been assumed by\nAmalaswintha.\n\nThe Queen-regent was not a little astonished when a messenger from her\nson bade her repair to his apartments, where the King had already\nassembled several of the highest officials of the realm, both Goths and\nRomans. Amongst these last were Cassiodorus and Cethegus.\n\nAt first the latter had intended to absent himself, in order not by his\npresence to acknowledge the right which the youth had assumed; he\nsuspected nothing good. But just for this reason he altered his mind.\n\n\"I must not turn my back upon danger, I must face it,\" he said as he\nprepared for the distasteful assembly.\n\nHe found all those who had been invited already collected in the King's\nchamber. The Queen alone was still absent. When she at last entered,\nAthalaric, who wore a long and wide purple robe, with the crown of\nTheodoric shining upon his brow, and his sword at his side, rose from\nhis throne (behind which was a niche covered by a curtain), advanced to\nthe Queen and led her to a second and higher throne, which, however,\nwas placed on the left. So soon as she was seated he began:\n\n\"My royal mother, brave Goths, noble Romans! We have assembled you here\nto make known to you our will. Dangers threatened this kingdom which\nonly we, its King, could avert.\"\n\nSuch a speech had never yet been heard from his lips. All were silent\nand confounded; Cethegus from prudence; he waited for the proper\nmoment. At last Cassiodorus began:\n\n\"Your wise mother and your faithful servant Cassiodorus----\"\n\n\"My faithful servant Cassiodorus will be silent until his lord and King\nasks his advice. We are discontented, highly discontented, with that\nwhich the advisers of our mother have, until now, done and left undone.\nIt is high time that we ourselves should look to the right. Until now\nwe were too young and too ailing. We feel so no more. We announce to\nyou that we accordingly annul the regency, and take the reins of\ngovernment into our own hands.\"\n\nHe ceased. Every one remained silent. None wished, like Cassiodorus, to\nspeak and be rebuked.\n\nAt length Amalaswintha, who was quite stunned by the sudden energy\ndisplayed by her son, again found her tongue:\n\n\"My son, the age of minority is, according to the laws of the\nEmperor----\"\n\n\"The Romans, mother, may abide by the Emperor's laws. We are Goths and\nlive under Gothic law. German youths are of age when the assembled army\nhas declared them capable of bearing arms. We have therefore determined\nto invite all the generals, counts, and freemen of our realm, as many\nas will obey our call, from all the provinces of the kingdom, to a\nreview of the army at Ravenna. They will arrive at the next solstitial\nfeast.\"\n\nAll were mute with surprise.\n\n\"That will be in fourteen days,\" said Cassiodorus at last. \"Will it be\npossible to issue summonses in so short a time?\"\n\n\"They are issued. Hildebrand, my old master-at-arms, and Earl Witichis\nhave thought of everything.\"\n\n\"Who has signed the summonses!\" asked Amalaswintha, taking courage.\n\n\"I alone, dear mother. It was necessary to show those invited that I\nwas old enough to act alone.\"\n\n\"And without my knowledge!\" cried the Queen-regent.\n\n\"It was done without your knowledge, because otherwise it must have\nbeen done against your will.\"\n\nHe ceased. All the Romans were confounded by the suddenly developed\nenergy of the young King. Only Cethegus was at once resolved to prevent\nthe review at any price. He saw the foundations of all his plans\ntottering. Gladly would he have come to the help of the regency, which\nwas thus sinking before his very eyes, with all the weight of his\noratory; he would have long since gladly crushed the bold efforts of\nthe youth with his calm superiority, but a strange circumstance held\nhis thoughts and tongue enchained as if in magic bonds.\n\nHe fancied he heard a noise behind the curtain, and fixed a keen look\nupon it. He soon remarked beneath it, for the fringes did not quite\nreach the ground, the feet of a man. But only as far up as the ankles.\n\nUpon these ankles, however, were steel greaves of peculiar\nconstruction. He knew these greaves; he knew that they belonged to a\nfull suit of armour of the same make; he knew also, by an instinctive\nconnection of ideas, that the wearer of this armour was hateful and\ndangerous to him. But still it was impossible for him to say who this\nenemy was. If he could only have seen the greaves as far up as the\nknee!\n\nHis eyes wandered again and again to the same spot. Against his will\nhis mind was occupied in guessing. And this circumstance kept his\nattention fixed, at a moment when everything was at stake. He was angry\nwith himself, but he could not tear his thoughts and looks away from\nthe niche.\n\nMeanwhile the King continued without contradiction: \"Further, we have\nrecalled the noble Dukes Thulun, Ibba and Pitza, who have left our\ncourt in ill-will, from Gaul and Spain. We find that too many Romans\nand too few Goths surround us. These three brave warriors, together\nwith Earl Witichis, will examine the defences of our kingdom, the\nfortresses and ships, and will discover and remedy all deficiencies. We\nexpect them to arrive shortly.\"\n\n\"They must at once leave the place again,\" said Cethegus to himself;\nbut his thoughts repeated, \"not without reason is that man concealed\nbehind the curtain.\"\n\n\"Further,\" resumed Athalaric, \"we have ordered Mataswintha, our\nbeautiful sister, to return to court. She was banished to Tarento\nbecause she refused to become the wife of an aged Roman. She shall\nreturn, the loveliest flower of our realm and an ornament to our\ncourt.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried Amalaswintha; \"you attack the rights, not only of\nthe Queen, but of the mother.\"\n\n\"I am the head of the family as soon as I am of age.\"\n\n\"My son, you know how feeble you were only a few weeks ago. Do you\nreally believe that the Gothic warriors will declare you capable of\nbearing arms?\"\n\nThe King became as scarlet as his royal purple, partly from shame,\npartly from anger. Before he could find an answer, a rough voice at his\nside exclaimed:\n\n\"Be not troubled about that, your Majesty! I have been his master,\"\ncontinued the speaker, turning to the assembly: \"I tell you that he can\nmeasure his strength against any foe; and whom old Hildebrand declares\ncapable of bearing arms is considered so by all the Goths.\"\n\nLoud applause from all the Goths present confirmed this assertion.\nAgain Cethegus would have put in his word, but a movement behind the\ncurtain drew his attention away. \"It is one of my greatest enemies, but\nwho?\" he thought.\n\n\"There is yet an important matter to make known to you,\" again began\nthe King with a hasty glance at the niche, which did not escape\nCethegus.\n\n\"Perhaps an accusation against me,\" thought the latter; \"they want to\ntake me by surprise? They shall not succeed!\"\n\nBut it surprised him, after all, when the King suddenly called in a\nloud voice:\n\n\"Prefect of Rome! Cethegus Cæsarius!\"\n\nCethegus started; but, quickly recovering himself, bent his head and\nanswered: \"My Lord and King!\"\n\n\"Have you nothing to announce from Rome? What is the feeling of the\nQuirites? What do people think of the Goths?\"\n\n\"They are honoured as the people of Theodoric.\"\n\n\"Are they feared?\"\n\n\"There is no cause to fear them.\"\n\n\"Are they loved?\"\n\nGladly would the Prefect have replied, \"There is no cause to love\nthem;\" but the King himself continued:\n\n\"So there is no trace of discontent? No cause for uneasiness? Nothing\nparticular in preparation?\"\n\n\"I have nothing to communicate.\"\n\n\"Then you are badly informed, Prefect of Rome, or badly disposed! What?\nmust I--who have scarcely risen from my sick-bed here at Ravenna--tell\nyou what happens in Rome under your very eyes? The workmen on your\nbulwarks sing satirical songs against the Goths, against the Queen,\nagainst me. Your legions use threatening words while practising the use\nof their arms. Most probably there exists already a widespread\nconspiracy, with senators and priests at its head. They assemble by\nnight in secret places. An accomplice of Boëthius, a banished man,\nAlbinus, has been seen in Rome, and do you know where? In the garden of\nyour house.\"\n\nAll eyes--either in astonishment, rage, or fear--were fixed upon\nCethegus. Amalaswintha trembled for the object of her trust. But he was\nnow quite himself again. Quiet, cool, and silent, he looked full at the\nKing.\n\n\"Justify yourself!\" exclaimed the King.\n\n\"Justify myself? Against a shadow, a report? Against an accusation\nwithout accusers? Never!\"\n\n\"We shall know how to force you.\"\n\nThe Prefect's thin lips curled with contempt.\n\n\"I may be murdered upon mere suspicion, without doubt--we Italians have\nexperienced such a thing--but not condemned. There can be no\njustification opposed to force.\"\n\n\"Justice shall be done, doubt it not. We charge all Romans present with\nthe examination, and leave the sentence to the Roman Senate. Choose a\ndefender.\"\n\n\"I defend myself,\" said Cethegus coolly. \"What is the accusation? Who\nis my accuser? Where is he?\"\n\n\"Here!\" cried the King, and threw back the curtain.\n\nA Gothic warrior, in a full suit of black armour, stepped forth. We\nalready know him. It was Teja.\n\nThe Prefect turned away his eyes in deadly hatred.\n\nTeja spoke.\n\n\"I, Teja, son of Tagila, accuse thee, Cethegus Cæsarius, of treason\nagainst the Goths. I accuse thee of having hidden the banished traitor,\nAlbinus, in thy house in Rome. Death is the penalty. And, besides this,\nthou art plotting to subject this country to the Emperor of Byzantium.\"\n\n\"That least of all,\" said Cethegus coolly, \"Prove your accusation.\"\n\n\"I saw Albinus, with my own eyes, entering thy garden fourteen days\nago,\" continued Teja, turning to the assembly. \"He came from the Via\nSacra, enveloped in a mantle, a wide-brimmed hat upon his head. I had\nseen him on two former occasions; this time I recognised him. As I went\ntowards him, he disappeared through a door, which closed behind him.\"\n\n\"Since when does my colleague, the brave Commandant of Rome, play the\nnightly spy?\"\n\n\"Since he had a Cethegus at his side,\" retorted Teja. \"But as the\nfugitive escaped, this roll fell from his mantle. It contains the names\nof distinguished Romans, and opposite to each name notices in an\nunknown cipher. Here is the roll.\"\n\nHe gave it to the King, who read:\n\n\"The names are Silverius, Cethegus, Licinius, Scævola, Calpurnius,\nPomponius. Canst thou swear, Teja, that the disguised man was Albinus?\"\n\n\"I will swear it.\"\n\n\"Prefect of Rome, Earl Teja is a free, unblemished, honourable man. Can\nyou deny it?\"\n\n\"I deny it. He is not unblemished. His parents lived in an illegal,\nincestuous marriage; they were sister's children. The Church has cursed\ntheir connection and its fruit. He is a bastard, and can not bear\nwitness against a noble Roman of senatorial rank.\"\n\nA murmur of anger burst from all the Goths present. Teja's pale face\nbecame still paler. He grasped his sword.\n\n\"Then I will defend my word with my sword,\" he said, in a voice stifled\nby rage. \"I challenge thee to mortal combat! God shall judge between\nus!\"\n\n\"I am a Roman, and do not act according to your barbaric customs. But\neven if I were a Goth, I would refuse to fight a bastard!\"\n\n\"Patience,\" said Teja, and quietly returned his sword to its sheath.\n\"Patience, my sword; thy day will come!\"\n\nThe Romans in the room breathed again.\n\nThe King resumed:\n\n\"However that may be, the accusation is sufficiently well founded to\njustify the arrest of the said Roman. You, Cassiodorus, will decipher\nthe secret writing. You, Earl Witichis, will hasten to Rome and make\nsure of the five suspected men; search their houses, and that of the\nPrefect. Hildebrand, arrest the accused, and take his sword.\"\n\n\"Hold!\" said Cethegus. \"I will guarantee not to leave Ravenna until\nthis question be settled, with the forfeiture of all my property. I\ndemand an examination upon a free footing; such is the right of a\nsenator.\"\n\n\"Trouble not thyself about that, my son,\" cried old Hildebrand to the\nKing. \"Let me arrest him!\"\n\n\"Let him alone,\" answered the King. \"He shall have strict justice.\nLeave him. The accusation has taken him by surprise. He shall have time\nto prepare his defence. To-morrow at this hour we will meet here again.\nI dissolve the assembly.\"\n\nHe made a sign with his sceptre. Amalaswintha hurried away in the\ngreatest excitement.\n\nThe Goths surrounded Teja, greatly pleased; but the Romans passed\nquickly by Cethegus, avoiding any speech with him.\n\nCassiodorus alone stepped firmly up to him, laid his hand upon his\nshoulder, looking searchingly into his eyes, and then asked:\n\n\"Cethegus, can I help you?\"\n\n\"No; I will help myself,\" answered Cethegus, shaking him off, and went\nout alone with a proud step.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XVI.\n\nThe heavy blow which the young King had so unexpectedly aimed at the\nwhole system of the Regency soon filled the palace and the city with\nastonishment, fright, or joy. Cassiodorus took the first decided news\nto the family of Boëthius, at the same time sending Rusticiana to\ncomfort the agitated Queen.\n\nOverwhelmed with questions, he circumstantially related the whole\nproceeding; and disturbed and indignant though he was, his admiration\nof the decision and courage of the young King shone unmistakably\nthrough his unfriendly report.\n\nCamilla listened with eagerness to every word; pride in the\nbeloved--love's happiest feeling--filled her whole soul.\n\n\"There is no doubt,\" concluded Cassiodorus, sighing, \"that Athalaric is\nour most decided adversary. He sticks to the Gothic party--to\nHildebrand and his friends. He will undo the Prefect. Who would have\nbelieved it? I cannot help remembering, Rusticiana, how differently he\nconducted himself with regard to the process against your husband.\"\n\nCamilla listened attentively.\n\n\"At that time we were convinced that he would be the most ardent\nfriend, the most zealous advocate of the Romans.\"\n\n\"I know nothing of it,\" said Rusticiana.\n\n\"It was hushed up. The sentence of death had been pronounced upon\nBoëthius and his sons. In vain had we all, Amalaswintha foremost,\nappealed to the clemency of the King: his ire was unappeasable. As I\nagain and again besieged him with petitions, he started up in anger and\nswore by his crown, that he who again dared to petition for the\ntraitors, should repent it in the deepest dungeon of the palace. At\nthat we were all dumb, except one. Athalaric, the boy, would not be\nrepulsed; he wept and prayed, and clung to his grandfather's knees.\"\n\nCamilla trembled and held her breath.\n\n\"And he did not desist,\" Cassiodorus went on, \"until Theodoric, starting\nup in a rage, pushed him violently away, and delivered him to the\nguards. The King kept his oath. Athalaric was led into the castle\ndungeon, and Boëthius was at once executed.\"\n\nCamilla tottered, felt herself sinking, and caught at a slender pillar\nnear which she was standing.\n\n\"But Athalaric had not spoken and suffered in vain,\" continued\nCassiodorus. \"The next evening, while at table, the King sorely missed\nhis darling. He remembered with what noble courage the youth had begged\nfor his friend's life, when all men were dumb with fear. At last he\nrose from his repast, at which he had sat reflecting for some time, and\ndescended in person to the prison, opened the doors, embraced his\ngrandson, and granted his petition to spare the lives of your sons,\nRusticiana.\"\n\n\"Away! away to him!\" exclaimed Camilla, and hurried, unnoticed, out of\nthe hall.\n\n\"At that time,\" concluded Cassiodorus, \"Romans and their friends\nbelieved that in the young King they had found their best support; and\nnow--my unfortunate mistress, unhappy mother!\" and with this lament\nupon his lips, he departed.\n\nRusticiana sat for some time as if stunned. She saw the foundations,\nupon which she had built her plans of revenge, totter; she sank into a\nmoody reverie.\n\nLonger and longer stretched the shadows of the towers across the court\nof the palace, into which she was gazing. All at once she was roused by\nthe firm footsteps of a man; Cethegus stood before her. His countenance\nwas cold and dark, but icily calm.\n\n\"Cethegus!\" cried the distressed woman, hurrying towards him; and would\nhave taken his hand, but his coldness repulsed her.\n\n\"All is lost!\" she sighed, stopping short.\n\n\"Nothing is lost. Calmness is all that is wanting--and promptness,\" he\nadded, looking round the room.\n\nWhen he saw that he was alone with her, he put his hand into the folds\nof his toga.\n\n\"Your love-philtre has done no good, Rusticiana. Here is another; more\npotent. Take it,\" and he thrust into her hand a small phial made of\ndark-coloured lava-stone.\n\nShe looked into his face with anxious suspicion.\n\n\"Do you all at once believe in magic and charms? Who has mixed it?\"\n\n\"I,\" he answered, \"and _my_ potions work.\"\n\n\"You!\" a cold shudder ran through her frame.\n\n\"Ask no questions, do not delay,\" he commanded. \"It must be done this\nday! Do you hear? This very day!\"\n\nBut Rusticiana still hesitated, and looked doubtfully at the bottle in\nher hand.\n\nThen Cethegus went close to her and lightly touched her shoulder.\n\n\"You hesitate?\" he said slowly. \"Do you know what is at stake? Not only\nour whole plan! No, blind mother. Still more. Camilla _loves_, loves\nthe King; with all the power of her young soul. Shall the daughter of\nBoëthius become the paramour of the tyrant?\"\n\nWith a loud cry Rusticiana started back. That which, during the last\nfew days, had crossed her mind with a terrible suspicion, now became a\ncertainty; she cast one glance at the man who had spoken the cruel\nword, and hurried away, angrily grasping the phial.\n\nCethegus looked quietly after her.\n\n\"Now, young Prince, we shall see! You were quick, I am quicker. It is\nstrange,\" he added, \"I have long thought that I was incapable of such\nviolent emotion. Life has again a charm. I can again strive, hope, and\nfear. Even hate. Yes, I hate this boy, who dares to meddle in\nmy affairs with his childish hand. He would defy me--hinder my\nprogress--he boldly crosses my path--he! Well, let him bear the\nconsequences!\" And he slowly left the chamber, and turned towards the\naudience-room of the Queen, where he intentionally showed himself to\nthe assembled crowd, and, by his calmness, gave some degree of\nconfidence to the troubled hearts of the Roman courtiers.\n\nAt sunset he went with Cassiodorus and a few other Romans--consulting\nabout his defence for the next day--into the gardens, where he looked\nabout in vain for Camilla.\n\nShe, as soon as she had heard the end of Cassiodorus' report, had\nhurried to the court of the palace, where she hoped to find the King at\nthe exercise of arms with the other young Goths. She only wished to see\nhim, not yet to speak to him and beg pardon at his feet for the great\nwrong she had done him.\n\nShe had abhorred him, repulsed him, hated him as spotted with the blood\nof her father--him, who had suffered for her father's sake, who had\nsaved her brothers' lives!\n\nBut she did not find the King in the court. The important events of the\nday kept him confined to his study. His comrades also did not fence\nto-day. Standing in thick groups, they loudly praised the courage of\ntheir young King. Camilla heard this praise with delight. Blushing with\npride, she wandered in happy dreams about the garden, seeking the\ntraces of her lover in all her favourite haunts.\n\nYes, she loved him! Joyfully and proudly she confessed it to herself;\nhe had a thousand times deserved it. What matter that he was a Goth, a\nbarbarian! He was a noble, generous youth, the King of her soul!\n\nShe repeatedly told the slave who accompanied her to keep at a\ndistance, so that she might not hear how she again and again murmured\nthe beloved name.\n\nAt last she arrived at the Temple of Venus, and sank into sweet dreams\nof the future, which lay indistinct, but golden-hued, before her. She\nfirst of all resolved to declare to her mother and the Prefect that\nthey must no more reckon upon her assistance in any plot against the\nKing. Then she would ask pardon for her fault with moving words, and\nthen--then?\n\nShe did not know what would happen then; but she blushed in the midst\nof her sweet reverie.\n\nRed and perfumed almond-blossoms fell from the bending trees; in the\nthick oleander near her sang a nightingale; the clear stream glided\npurling past her to the blue sea, and the waves of this sea rolled\nsoftly to her feet, as if doing homage to her love.\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVII.\n\nThe sound of approaching footsteps upon the sandy path startled her\nfrom her reverie. The step was so rapid and firm, that she did not\nexpect Athalaric. But he it was, changed in appearance and carriage;\nmore manly, stronger, more decided.\n\n\"Welcome, welcome, Camilla!\" he cried, in a loud and lively voice. \"To\nsee you here is the best reward for this troublous day.\"\n\nHe had never spoken to her so before.\n\n\"My King!\" she whispered, blushing. She cast a beaming look upon him\nfrom her dark eyes, then the long and silky lashes fell.\n\n\"My King!\" She had never before called him so, never given him such a\nlook.\n\n\"Your King!\" he said, seating himself beside her. \"I fear you will call\nme so no longer, when you learn what has happened to-day.\"\n\n\"I know all.\"\n\n\"You know! Well then, Camilla, be just. Do not scold, I am no\ntyrant----\"\n\n\"The noble youth!\" she thought. \"He excuses himself for his most manly\nact.\"\n\n\"Heaven knows that I do not hate the Romans. Are they not your people?\nI honour them and their ancient greatness; I respect their rights; but\nI must firmly protect my kingdom, Theodoric's creation, and woe to the\nhand that threatens it! Perhaps,\" he continued, more slowly and\nsolemnly, \"perhaps its doom is already written in the stars. 'Tis all\nthe same. I, its King, must with it stand or fall.\"\n\n\"You say truly, Athalaric, and speak like a King!\"\n\n\"Thanks, Camilla; how just and good you are today! To such goodness I\nmay well confide what blessing, what healing has come to me. I was a\nsick and erring dreamer, without support, without joy, gladly sinking\nto the grave. Then there suddenly came over me a feeling of the danger\nwhich threatened this nation, an active anxiety for the welfare of my\npeople, and out of this anxiety grew a warm and mighty love for my\nGoths; and this ardent and watchful love has strengthened and comforted\nmy heart for .... a bitterly painful renunciation. What matters _my_\nhappiness, if only my people flourish! See, this thought has made me\nwhole and strong, and truly, I could now venture upon the most daring\ndeed!\"\n\nHe sprang up and extended both his arms, exclaiming: \"Oh, Camilla! this\ninaction destroys me! Oh that I were mounted and meeting a full-armed\nfoe! Look,\" he added, more calmly, \"the sun is setting. The mirror-like\nflood invites us. Come, Camilla, come with me in the boat.\"\n\nCamilla hesitated. She looked around.\n\n\"The slave?\" asked Athalaric. \"Ah, let her alone. There she reposes\nunder the palm by the spring. She sleeps. Come, come quickly, ere the\nsun sets. Look at the golden ripple on the water--it beckons us!\"\n\n\"To the Isles of the Blessed?\" asked the lovely girl, with a shy look\nand a slight blush.\n\n\"Yes, come to the Blessed Isles!\" he answered, delighted, lifted her\nquickly into the boat, loosed the silver chain from the ram's head upon\nthe quay, sprang in, took the ornamental oar, and pushed off.\n\nThen he laid the oar into the notch at his left hand, and, standing in\nthe stern of the boat, steered and rowed at the same time--a graceful\nand picturesque movement, and a right Germanic ferryman's custom.\n\nCamilla sat upon a _diphros_, or Grecian folding-stool, in the bow of\nthe boat, and looked into Athalaric's noble face. His dark hair was\nruffled by the breeze, and it was pleasant to watch the lithe and\ngraceful motions of his agile form.\n\nBoth were silent. Like an arrow the light bark shot through the smooth\nwater. Flecked and rosy cloudlets passed slowly across the sky, the\nfaint breeze was laden with clouds of perfume from the blossoming\nalmond-trees upon the shore, and all around was peace and harmony.\n\nAt last the King broke the silence, while giving the boat a strong\nimpulse, so that it obediently shot forwards.\n\n\"Do you know of what I am thinking? How splendid it would be to steer a\nnation--thousands of well-loved lives--securely forward through waves\nand wind, to happiness and glory! But what were you thinking about,\nCamilla? You looked so kind, you must have had pleasant thoughts.\"\n\nShe blushed and looked aside into the water.\n\n\"Oh, speak! Be frank in this happy hour.\"\n\n\"I was thinking,\" she said, her pretty head still averted, \"how\ndelightful it must be to be steered through the heaving flood of life\nby a faithful and beloved hand, to whose guidance one could implicitly\ntrust.\"\n\n\"Oh, Camilla, even a barbarian may be trusted--\"\n\n\"You are no barbarian! Whoever feels so tenderly, thinks so nobly, so\ngenerously controls himself, and rewards great ingratitude with\nkindness, is no barbarian! He is as noble a man as ever Scipio was.\"\n\nThe King ceased to row in his delight; the boat remained motionless.\n\n\"Camilla, am I dreaming? Did _you_ say that? and to me V 9\n\n\"More still, Athalaric! I beseech you to forgive that I have repulsed\nyou so cruelly. Ah! it was from shame and fear.\"\n\n\"Camilla, pearl of my soul----\"\n\nCamilla, who had her face turned towards the shore, suddenly cried out:\n\n\"What is that? They follow us. The court! the women! my mother!\"\n\nIt was so. Rusticiana, aroused by the Prefect's terrible warning, had\nsought for her daughter in the garden. She could not find her. She\nhurried to the Temple of Venus. In vain. Looking around, she suddenly\ncaught sight of the two--her child, alone with Athalaric--in the boat,\nfar out upon the sea.\n\nGreatly angered, she rushed to the marble table, where the slaves\nwere just preparing the King's evening draught, sent them down the\nsteps to unloose the gondola, won in this way an unobserved moment\nnear the table, and directly afterwards descended the steps with\nDaphnidion--whom her angry cry had awakened--to the boat.\n\nAt this moment the Prefect and his friends, whose walk had also led\nthem to this place, approached from a thick taxus-path. Cethegus\nfollowed Rusticiana down the steps and gave her his hand to help her\ninto the gondola.\n\n\"It is done!\" she whispered to him, and the boat pushed off.\n\nIt was just then that the young pair became aware of the movement upon\nthe beach. Camilla stood up; perhaps she suspected that the King would\nturn the boat, but he cried:\n\n\"No; they shall not rob me of this hour, the happiest of my life! I\nmust sip still more of these sweet words. Oh, Camilla, you must tell me\nmore; you must tell me all! Come, we will land upon that island, they\nmay reach us there.\"\n\nAnd rowing rapidly, he pressed with all his might upon the oar, so that\nthe boat flew forward as if winged.\n\n\"Will you not speak again?\"\n\n\"Oh! my friend, my King--do not press me.\"\n\nHe only looked into her lovely face, into her beaming eyes; he paid no\nmore attention to his goal.\n\n\"Well, wait--there upon the island; there you shall----\"\n\nA renewed and passionate effort, when all at once a dull crash was\nheard; the boat had struck, and drove, shaking violently, backwards.\n\n\"Oh, Heaven!\" cried Camilla, springing up and looking towards the bow\nof the boat. A whole volume of water came foaming towards her. \"The\nboat has burst! we sink!\" she cried, turning pale.\n\n\"Come here to me; let me see!\" cried Athalaric, starting up. \"Ah! it is\nthe 'Needles of the Amphitrites!' We are lost!\"\n\nThe \"Needles of the Amphitrites\"--we know that they could scarcely be\nseen from the terrace of the temple--were two narrow, sharp-pointed\nrocks, lying between the shore and the nearest lagoon island. They\nscarcely rose above the level of the water; with the slightest wind,\nthe waves washed quite over them.\n\nAthalaric knew the danger of the place, and had always easily avoided\nit; but this time he had only looked into Camilla's eyes.\n\nAt one glance he saw their fearful position.\n\nThey could not be saved.\n\nA plank in the bottom of the slightly-made boat had sprung; the water\nrushed rapidly through the leak. The boat sank deeper and deeper every\nmoment.\n\nHe could not hope, with Camilla, to gain the nearest island or the\nshore by swimming. On the narrow point of the rock scarcely the feet of\na sea-eagle could have found a moment's resting-place, and Rusticiana's\ngondola had only just pushed off from the land.\n\nAll this he had seen with lightning-like rapidity, and he cast a\nhorrified look at Camilla.\n\n\"Beloved, thou must die!\" he cried despairingly. \"And through me!\" He\nembraced her passionately.\n\n\"Die?\" she cried. \"Oh no! not so young--not now! Let me live--live with\nthee!\" And she clung closely to his arm.\n\nThe tone, the words, cut him to the heart. He tore himself loose; he\nlooked about for rescue. In vain; in vain. The water rose higher and\nhigher; the boat sank more and more rapidly. He threw the oar away.\n\n\"It is over--all is over, beloved! Let us take leave!\"\n\n\"No; we part no more! If we must die--oh! then, away with all the\nrestraints which bind the living!\" And, glowing all over, she nestled\nto his breast. \"Oh! let me tell thee, let me confess to thee how much I\nlove thee; how long ago--since--since first I knew thee! All my hate\nwas only bashful love. Oh, God! I loved thee already when I thought I\nought to abhor thee! Yes, thou shalt know how I love thee!\" And she\ncovered his eyes and mouth with hasty kisses. \"Oh! now I will gladly\ndie. Rather die with thee than live without thee! But no\"--and she\nsuddenly pushed him away--\"thou shalt not die! Leave me here; go!\nswim--you can easily reach the island alone. Try; and leave me.\"\n\n\"No,\" he cried, in an ecstasy of joy; \"rather die with thee than live\nwithout thee! After such painful doubt, at length joyous certainty!\nFrom this hour we belong to each other for ever. Come, Camilla,\nbeloved, let us die together!\"\n\nA shudder of horror and delight, of love and death, shook their frames.\nHe drew her to him, embraced her with his left arm, and lifted her upon\nthe steer-board of the boat, which scarcely rose a hand's-breadth above\nthe water. Already he prepared for the fatal leap--when suddenly they\nboth uttered a joyful cry.\n\nRound a precipitous promontory which stretched far out into the sea, at\na short distance, they saw a ship coming at full speed.\n\nThe crew had heard their cry, and, at all events, saw their danger;\nperhaps had even recognised the person of the King. Forty oars, plunged\ninto the water at the same moment by the rowers on the double deck,\ngave impetus to the course of the swift vessel, which rustled before\nthe wind with swelling sails.\n\nThose who crowded the deck shouted to them to stand firm; and\npresently--it was high time--the prow of the bireme lay close over the\nlittle boat, which sank immediately after the endangered pair had been\ntaken on board the ship through the opening of the lower deck.\n\nIt was a small Gothic guardship. The golden rampant lion, the arms of\nthe Amelungs, shone upon the blue flag. Aligern, a cousin of Teja,\ncommanded it.\n\n\"Thanks, brave friends!\" said Athalaric, as soon as he could find\nwords. \"Thanks! you have not only saved your King, but also your\nQueen!\"\n\nMuch astonished, soldiers and sailors surrounded the happy man, who\nheld the weeping Camilla in his arms.\n\n\"Hail to our young and beautiful Queen!\" cried the red-haired Aligern;\nand the crew shouted enthusiastically, \"Hail! hail to our Queen!\"\n\nAt this moment the sailing-vessel rustled past Rusticiana's gondola.\nThe sound of this joyous shout aroused the unhappy woman from the\nstupor of horror into which she had fallen when her two startled\noarsmen had discovered the danger of the young couple in the sinking\nboat, and had at once declared that it was impossible to save them.\n\nOn hearing this, she had sunk senseless into Daphnidion's arms. Now she\ncame to herself, and cast a confused glance around her. She was amazed.\nWas it a dream that she saw, or was it really her daughter who stood on\nthe deck of the Gothic ship, which proudly rustled past, lying on the\nyoung King's breast? And did really joyous voices cry, \"Hail, Camilla,\nour Queen?\" She stared at the passing vision, speechless and\nconfounded.\n\nBut the swiftly-flying ship had already passed her boat and drew near\nthe land. It anchored outside the shallow garden-bay; a boat was\nlowered, the rescued couple, Aligern, and three sailors sprang into it,\nand soon they climbed the steps of the quay, where, besides Cethegus\nand his companions, a crowd of people had collected, who, from the\npalace or the gardens, had with horror become aware of the danger of\nthe little boat, and now hurried to greet the rescued King.\n\nAccompanied by felicitations and blessings, Athalaric mounted the\nsteps.\n\n\"Behold!\" he said, on arriving at the temple, \"behold, Goths and\nRomans! behold your Queen, my bride! The God of Death has united us. Is\nit not so, Camilla?\"\n\nShe looked up at him, but was terribly startled. The excitement\nand the sudden change from horror to joy had fearfully shaken the\nscarcely-recovered King. His countenance was pale as marble; he\ntottered and convulsively pressed his hand to his breast, as though\nsuffocating.\n\n\"For God's sake!\" cried Camilla, fearing an attack of his old malady.\n\"The King is unwell! Quick with the wine, the medicine!\"\n\nShe flew to the table, caught up the silver cup which stood ready, and\npressed it into the King's hand.\n\nCethegus stood close by, and followed Athalaric's every movement with\neagerness. The latter had already lifted the cup to his lips, but\nsuddenly removed it, and said, smiling, to Camilla:\n\n\"Thou must drink to me, as becomes a Gothic Queen at her court.\"\n\nAnd he gave her the goblet. She took it out of his hand.\n\nFor a moment the Prefect felt as if on fire.\n\nHe was upon the point of darting forward to dash the cup from her hand.\nBut he controlled himself. If he did so, he was irrevocably lost. Not\nonly tomorrow, as guilty of high treason, but at once arrested and\naccused of poisoning. And with him would be lost the future of Rome and\nall his ideal world. And for whom? For a love-sick girl, who had\nfaithlessly revolted to his deadly enemy.\n\n\"No,\" he said coldly to himself, clenching his fist; \"she or\nRome--therefore she!\"\n\nAnd he quietly looked on while the girl, sweetly blushing, sipped\nsomewhat of the wine, which the King then drank to the last dregs.\n\nAthalaric shuddered as he replaced the cup upon the marble table.\n\n\"Come up to the palace,\" he said, shivering, and threw his mantle\nacross his shoulders; \"I feel cold.\"\n\nAnd he turned away. In doing so he caught sight of Cethegus, stood\nstill for a moment, and looked penetratingly into the Prefect's eyes.\n\n\"You here?\" he said gloomily, and advanced a step towards him. All at\nonce he shuddered again, and, with a sudden cry, fell prone near the\nspring.\n\n\"Athalaric!\" cried Camilla, and threw herself upon him. The old servant\nCorbulo sprang to her from the group of domestics.\n\n\"Help!\" he cried; \"she is dying--the King!\"\n\n\"Water, quick! water!\" called Cethegus, and he resolutely went to the\ntable, took the silver cup, stooped, rinsed it quickly but thoroughly\nin the spring, and then bent over the King, who lay in Cassiodorus'\narms, while Corbulo laid Camilla's head upon his knee.\n\nHelpless and horrified, the courtiers surrounded the two apparently\nlifeless forms.\n\n\"What has happened? My child!\" With this cry Rusticiana, who had just\nlanded, rushed to her daughter's side. \"Camilla!\" she screamed\ndesperately, \"what ails you?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Cethegus quietly, examining the two bodies. \"It is only\na fainting-fit. But his heart-disease has carried off the young King!\nHe is dead!\"\n\n\n\n\n                                BOOK II.\n                             AMALASWINTHA.\n\n\"Amalaswintha did not despair like a woman, but vigorously defended her\nroyalty.\"--_Procopius: Wars of the Goths_, i. 2.\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I.\n\nAthalaric's sudden death fell like lightning from a clear sky upon the\nGothic party, whose hopes, just at this very time, had been raised to\nsuch a high pitch. All the measures which the King had taken at their\nsuggestion were paralysed, and the national party was left without a\nrepresentative in the State; at the head of which the Queen-regent was\nnow placed alone.\n\nEarly in the morning of the next day Cassiodorus went to the Prefect of\nRome. He found him in a sound and tranquil sleep.\n\n\"And you can sleep as quietly as a child after such a blow?\"\n\n\"I sleep,\" answered Cethegus, raising himself on his elbow, \"in the\nfeeling of renewed security.\"\n\n\"Security! yes, for you; but the kingdom!\"\n\n\"The kingdom was in more danger through this boy than I. Where is the\nQueen?\"\n\n\"She sits speechless beside the open coffin of her son! She has sat\nthere the whole night.\"\n\nCethegus sprang up.\n\n\"That must not be! It does no good. She belongs to the State, not to\nthis corpse. So much the less because I have heard whispers concerning\npoison. The young tyrant had many enemies. How about that matter?\"\n\n\"Very uncertain. The Grecian physician, Elpidios, who examined the\ncorpse, certainly speaks of some striking appearances. But he thinks\nthat if poison has been used it must be a very secret one, quite\nunknown to him. In the cup from which the unfortunate boy drank there\ncould not be discovered the least trace of suspicious contents. So it\nis generally believed that excitement had again brought on his former\nmalady, and that this was the cause of his death. But still it is well\nthat, since the moment of your leaving the assembly, _you_ were always\nin the presence of witnesses; grief breeds suspicion.\"\n\n\"How is it with Camilla?\" the Prefect inquired further.\n\n\"She has never yet awakened from her stupor; the physicians fear the\nworst. But I came to ask you what shall now be done? The Queen speaks\nof suppressing the examination concerning you.\"\n\n\"That must not be,\" cried Cethegus. \"I demand an investigation. We will\ngo to her immediately.\"\n\n\"Will you intrude upon her at the coffin of her son?\"\n\n\"Yes, I will. Do you shrink from it in your tender consideration? Well\nthen, come afterwards, when I have broken the ice.\"\n\nHe dismissed his visitor and called his slaves to dress him. Shortly\nafterwards, enveloped in a dark mourning garment, he descended to the\nvault where the corpse lay exposed. With an imperious gesture he\nmotioned aside the guard and the women of Amalaswintha, who kept watch\nat the door, and entered noiselessly.\n\nIt was the low vaulted hall, where, in former times, the corpses of the\nemperors had been prepared with salves and combustibles for the funeral\npyre.\n\nThis quiet hall, flagged with dark-green serpentine, the roof of which\nwas supported by short Doric columns of black marble, was never\nillumined by a ray of sunshine, and at the present moment no other\nlight fell upon the gloomy Byzantine mosaics on the gold ground of the\nwalls than that from four torches, which flickered with an uncertain\nlight near the stone sarcophagus of the young King.\n\nThere he lay upon a dark purple mantle; helm, sword, and shield at his\nhead.\n\nOld Hildebrand had wound a wreath of oak-leaves amidst the dark locks.\nThe noble features reposed in pallid and earnest beauty.\n\nAt his feet, clad in a long mourning veil, sat the tall form of the\nQueen, supporting her head upon her left arm, which was laid upon the\nsarcophagus. Her right hand hung languidly down. She could weep no\nmore.\n\nThe crackling of the burning torches was the only sound in this\nstillness of the grave.\n\nCethegus entered noiselessly, not unmoved by the poetry of the scene.\n\nBut, contracting his brows, he smothered the passing feeling of\ncompassion. He knew that it was necessary to be clear and composed.\n\nHe gently drew near and took Amalaswintha's relaxed hand.\n\n\"Rise, noble lady, you belong to the living, not to the dead.\"\n\nShe looked up, startled.\n\n\"You here, Cethegus? What seek you here?\"\n\n\"A Queen!\"\n\n\"Oh, you only find a weeping mother!\" she cried, sobbing.\n\n\"That I cannot believe. The kingdom is in danger, and Amalaswintha will\nshow that even a woman can sacrifice her sorrow to the fatherland.\"\n\n\"She can!\" replied the Queen, rising. \"But look at him. How young! how\nbeautiful! How could Heaven be so cruel!\"\n\n\"Now, or never!\" thought Cethegus, and said aloud: \"Heaven is just,\nsevere; not cruel.\"\n\n\"Of what do you speak? What wrong has my noble son committed? Do you\ndare to accuse him?\"\n\n\"Not I! But a portion of Holy Writ has been fulfilled upon him: 'Honour\nthy father and mother, that thy days may be long in the land!' The\ncommandment is also a threat. Yesterday he sinned against his mother\nand dishonoured her by bold rebellion--to-day he lies here. Therein I\nsee the finger of God.\"\n\nAmalaswintha covered her face. She had heartily forgiven her son while\nwatching beside his coffin. But still this view, these words,\npowerfully affected her, and drew her attention away from her grief to\nthe well-loved habit of government.\n\n\"You wish, O Queen, to suppress my examination, and recall Witichis.\nWitichis may be recalled. But I demand, as my right, that the\nprosecution be continued, and I fully expect a solemn acquittal.\"\n\n\"I have never doubted your fidelity. Woe to me, should I be obliged to\ndo so! Tell me that you know of no conspiracy, and all is ended.\"\n\nShe seemed to expect his asseveration,\n\nCethegus was silent for a short time. Then he quietly said:\n\n\"Queen, I know of a conspiracy.\"\n\n\"What say you?\" cried the Queen, looking at him threateningly.\n\n\"I have chosen this hour and place,\" continued Cethegus, with a glance\nat the corpse, \"to put a seal to my devotion, so that it may be\nindelibly impressed upon your heart. Hear and judge me.\"\n\n\"What shall I hear?\" said the Queen, now upon her guard, and firmly\nresolved to allow herself to be neither deceived nor softened.\n\n\"I should be a bad Roman, Queen, and you would despise me, if I did not\nlove my nation above all things. That proud nation, which even you, a\nstranger, love! I know--as you know--that hatred against you as\nheretics and barbarians still smoulders in the hearts of most Italians.\nThe last harsh deeds of your father have fanned this feeling into a\nflame. I suspected a conspiracy. I sought and discovered it.\"\n\n\"And concealed it?\" said the Queen, rising in anger.\n\n\"And concealed it. Until to-day. The blind fools would have sought\nassistance from the Greeks, and, after destroying the Goths, subjected\nthemselves to the Emperor.\"\n\n\"The vile traitors!\" cried Amalaswintha.\n\n\"The fools! They had already gone so far, that only _one_ means was\nleft by which to keep them back: I placed myself at their head.\"\n\n\"Cethegus!\"\n\n\"In this manner I gained time, and was able to prevent noble, though\nblind men, from rushing to destruction. I opened their eyes by degrees,\nand showed them that their plan, if it succeeded, would have only\nexchanged a mild government for a despotic one. They acknowledged it;\nthey obeyed me; and no Byzantine will ever touch Italian soil, until I\ncall him, I--or you.\"\n\n\"I! Do you rave?\"\n\n\"Sophocles, your favourite, says, 'Forswear nothing.' Be warned, Queen,\nfor you do not see the pressing danger. Another conspiracy, much more\ndangerous than that of these Roman enthusiasts, and close to you,\nthreatens you, your kingdom, and the Amelungs' right of sovereignty--a\nconspiracy of the Goths!\"\n\nAmalaswintha turned pale.\n\n\"You have seen yesterday, to your sorrow, that your hand can no more\nguide the rudder of this realm. Just as little as could that of your\nnoble son, who was but the tool of your enemies. You know, Queen, that\nmany of your nation are bloodthirsty, barbarous, rapacious, and brutal;\nthey would like to levy contributions upon this land, where Virgil and\nTullius wandered. Yon know that your insolent nobles hate the\nsuperiority of your royal house, and would make themselves its equal.\nYou know that the rude Goths think unworthily of woman's vocation for\ngovernment.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" she said, proudly and angrily.\n\n\"But you do not know that both these parties are united. They are\nunited against you and your Roman predilections. They will overthrow\nyou, or force you to do their will. Cassiodorus and I are to be\ndismissed from your side, our Senate and our rights to be dissolved,\nand the kingship to become a shadow. War is to be proclaimed against\nthe Emperor; and force, extortion, and rapine, let loose upon us\nRomans.\"\n\n\"You paint mere idle phantoms!\"\n\n\"Was that which happened yesterday an idle phantom? If Heaven had not\nintervened, would not you--like me--be robbed of all your power? Would\nyou still be mistress in your kingdom, in your house? Are they not\nalready so strong, that the heathen Hildebrand, the countrified\nWitichis, the gloomy Teja, openly defy your will in the name of your\nbefooled son? Have they not recalled the three rebel dukes? And your\nperverse daughter, and----\"\n\n\"True, too true,\" sighed the Queen.\n\n\"If these men should rule--then farewell science, art, and all noble\nculture! Farewell, Italia, mother of humanity! Then, burst into flame,\nyou white parchments! crumble into fragments, you beautiful statues!\nBrutality and murder will run rife in these plains, and posterity will\nbear witness: 'Such things happened in the reign of Amalaswintha, the\ndaughter of Theodoric.'\"\n\n\"Never, never shall that happen! But----\"\n\n\"You want proofs? I fear you will have them only too soon. However, you\nsee, even now, that you cannot rely upon the Goths, if you wish to\nprevent such horrors. We alone can protect you against them; we, to\nwhom you already belong by intellect and culture; we Romans. Then, when\nthe barbarians surround your throne with uproar, let me rally the men\naround you who once conspired against you: the patriots of Rome! They\nwill protect you and themselves at the same time.\"\n\n\"Cethegus,\" said the distressed woman, \"you influence men easily! Who,\ntell me, who will answer for the patriots? Who will answer for _your_\ntruth?\"\n\n\"This paper, Queen, and this! The first contains a correct list of the\nRoman conspirators. You see, there are many hundred names. This is a\nlist of the members of the Gothic league, whom I certainly could only\nguess at. But I guess well. With these two papers I give both these\nparties--I give myself--completely into your hands. You can at any\nmoment reveal me to my own party as a traitor, who, before all things,\nsought _your_ favour. You can expose me to the hatred of the Goths--as\nsoon as you will. I shall be left without adherents. I stand alone;\nyour favour is my only support.\"\n\nThe Queen had glanced over the papers with sparkling eyes. \"Cethegus,\"\nshe exclaimed, \"I will always remember your fidelity and this hour!\"\n\nAnd she gave him her hand with emotion.\n\nCethegus slightly bent his head. \"Still one thing more, O Queen. The\npatriots, henceforward your friends as they are mine, know that the\nhate of the barbarians, the sword of destruction, hangs over their\nheads. Their anxious hearts require encouragement. Let me assure them\nof your high protection. Place your name at the head of this list, and\nlet me thereby give them a visible sign of your favour.\"\n\nShe took the golden stylus and the waxen tablets which he handed to\nher. For one moment she hesitated; then she quickly signed her name,\nand gave tablets and stylus back again. \"Here! They must be faithful to\nme; as faithful as yourself!\"\n\nAt this moment Cassiodorus entered. \"O Queen, the Gothic nobles await\nyou. They wish to speak with you.\"\n\n\"I come! They shall learn my will!\" she said vehemently; \"but you,\nCassiodorus, shall be the first to know the decision to which I have\ncome during this trying hour, and which will soon be known to my whole\nkingdom. Henceforward the Prefect of Rome is the first of my servants,\nas he is the most faithful. He has the place of honour in my trust and\nnear my throne.\"\n\nMuch astonished, Cassiodorus led the Queen up the dark steps.\n\nCethegus followed slowly. He held up the tablets in his hand, and said\nto himself: \"Now you are mine, daughter of Theodoric! Your name upon\nthis list severs you for ever from your people!\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n\nAs Cethegus emerged from the subterranean chamber into the ground-floor\nof the palace, and prepared to follow the Queen, his ear was caught and\nhis progress arrested by the solemn and sorrowful tones of flutes. He\nguessed what it meant.\n\nHis first impulse was to turn aside. But he presently decided to\nremain.\n\nIt would happen some time, therefore it was best at once. He must find\nout how far she was informed.\n\nThe tones of the flutes came nearer, alternating with a monotonous\ndirge. Cethegus stepped into a wide niche of the dark corridor, into\nwhich the head of a little procession already turned.\n\nForemost came, two by two, six noble Roman maidens, covered with grey\nmourning veils, carrying reversed torches. Then followed a priest,\nbefore whom was borne the tall banner of the Cross, with long\nstreamers. Next came a troop of the freedmen of the family of Boëthius,\nled by Corbulo and the flute-players. Then followed, borne by four\nRoman girls, an open coffin, covered with flowers. Upon it lay, on a\nwhite linen cloth, the dead Camilla, in bridal ornaments, a wreath in\nher dark hair, an expression of smiling peace upon her slightly-opened\nlips.\n\nBehind the coffin, with loosened hair, staring fixedly before her, came\nthe unhappy mother, surrounded by matrons, who supported her sinking\nform.\n\nA company of female slaves closed the procession, which slowly\ndisappeared into the vault.\n\nCethegus recognised the sobbing Daphnidion, and stopped her.\n\n\"When did she die?\" he asked calmly.\n\n\"Oh, sir, a few hours ago! Oh, the good, kind, beautiful Domna!\"\n\n\"Did she ever awaken to full consciousness?\"\n\n\"No, sir, never. Only quite at the last she once more opened her large\neyes, and appeared to seek for something. 'Where has he gone?' she\nasked her mother. 'Ah, I see him!' she then cried, and rose from her\ncushions. 'Child, my child, where will you go?' cried my mistress,\nweeping. 'Oh, there!' she replied with a rapturous smile; 'to the Isles\nof the Blessed!' and she closed her eyes and fell back upon her couch;\nthat lovely smile remained upon her lips--and she was gone, gone for\never!\"\n\n\"Who has caused her to be brought down here?\"\n\n\"The Queen. She learned everything, and gave orders that the deceased,\nas the bride of her son, should be laid beside him and buried in the\nsame tomb.\"\n\n\"But what says the physician? How could she die so suddenly?\"\n\n\"Alas! the physician saw her only for a moment; he was too much\noccupied with the royal corpse; and then my mistress would not suffer\nthe strange man to touch her daughter. It is just her heart that has\nbeen broken; one can easily die of that! But peace--they come!\"\n\nThe procession returned in the same order as before, but without the\ncoffin. Daphnidion joined it. Only Rusticiana was missing.\n\nCethegus quietly walked up and down the corridor, to wait for her.\n\nAt last her bowed-down form came slowly up the steps. She staggered and\nseemed about to fall.\n\nCethegus quickly caught her arm. \"Rusticiana, take courage!\"\n\n\"You here? God! you also loved her! And we--we two have murdered her!\"\nand she sank upon his shoulder.\n\n\"Silence, unhappy woman!\" he whispered, looking around.\n\n\"Alas! I, her own mother, have killed her! I mixed the fatal draught\nthat caused his death.\"\n\n\"All is well,\" thought Cethegus. \"She has no suspicion that Camilla\ndrank, and still less that I saw her do so.--It is a terrible stroke of\nFate!\" he said aloud. \"But reflect, what would have followed had she\nlived? She loved him!\"\n\n\"What would have followed?\" cried Rusticiana, receding. \"Oh, if she but\nlived! Who can prevent love? Oh that she had become his--his wife--his\nmistress, provided only that she lived!\"\n\n\"But you forget that he _must_ have died?\"\n\n\"Must? Why must he have died? So that you might carry out your\nambitious plans? Oh, selfishness without example!\"\n\n\"They are your plans that I carry out, not mine; how often must I\nrepeat it? _You_ have conjured up the God of Revenge, not I. Why do you\naccuse me if he demand a sacrifice? Think better of it. Farewell.\"\n\nBut Rusticiana violently seized his arm. \"And that is all? And you have\nnothing more--not a word, not a tear for my child? And you would make\nme believe that you have acted thus to avenge her, to avenge me? You\nhave never had a heart! You did not even love her--coldly you see her\ndie! Ha, curses, curses upon thee!\"\n\n\"Be silent, frantic woman!\"\n\n\"Silent! no, I will speak and curse you! Oh that I knew of something\nthat was as dear to you as Camilla was to me! Oh that you, like me,\ncould see your whole life's last and only joy torn away--that you could\nsee it vanish, and despair! If there be a God in heaven you will live\nto do so!\"\n\nCethegus smiled.\n\n\"You do not believe in heavenly vengeance? Well, then, believe in the\nvengeance of a miserable mother! You shall tremble! I will hasten to\nthe Queen and tell her all! You shall die!\"\n\n\"And you will die with me.\"\n\n\"With a smile--if only I can see you perish!\" and she would have\nhurried away, but Cethegus held her back with an iron grasp.\n\n\"Stop, woman! Do you think that I am not on my guard with such as you?\nYour sons, Anicius and Severinus, are here in Italy, secretly--in\nRome--in my house. You know that death is the penalty of their return.\nA word--and they die with us. Then you may take to your husband your\nsons, as well as your daughter, who has died by your means. Her blood\nupon your head!\" and quickly turning the angle of the corridor, he\ndisappeared.\n\n\"My sons!\" cried Rusticiana, and sank down upon the marble pavement.\n\nA few days after, the widow of Boëthius, with Corbulo and Daphnidion,\nleft the court for ever. In vain the Queen sought to detain her.\n\nThe faithful freedman took her back to the sheltered Villa of Tifernum,\nwhich she now deeply regretted ever having left. There, in the place of\nthe little Temple of Venus, she erected a basilica, in the crypt of\nwhich an urn was placed, containing the hearts of the two lovers.\n\nIn her passionate soul her prayers for the salvation of her child were\ninseparably bound up with a petition for revenge upon Cethegus, whose\nreal share in Camilla's death she did not even suspect; she only felt\nthat he had used mother and daughter as tools for his plans, and had\nsacrificed the girl's happiness and life with heartless coldness.\n\nAnd scarcely less continuously than the flame of the eternal lamp\nbefore the urn, the prayer and the curse of the lonely mother rose up\nto heaven.\n\nThe hour came which disclosed to her all the Prefect's guilt, and the\nvengeance which she called down from heaven did not tarry.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III.\n\nAt the court of Ravenna there ensued a bitter and obstinate strife.\n\nThe Gothic patriots, although deeply grieved at the sudden death of\ntheir youthful King, and, for the moment, overpowered, were very soon\nre-encouraged by their indefatigable leaders.\n\nThe high consideration in which Hildebrand was held, the quiet strength\nof Witichis, who had returned, and Teja's watchful zeal, operated\ncontinuously.\n\nWe have seen that these men had succeeded in inducing Athalaric to\nshake off the authority of his mother. It was now easy for them to find\never new adherents amongst the Goths against a government in which the\nhated Cethegus would come more than ever to the front.\n\nThe feeling in the army and the Germanic population of Ravenna was\nsufficiently prepared for a decisive stroke. The old master-at-arms\nwith difficulty restrained the discontented, until, strengthened by\nimportant confederates, they could be more certain of success.\n\nThese confederates were the three dukes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza, whom\nAmalaswintha had driven away from court, and whom her son had so lately\nrecalled.\n\nThulun and Ibba were brothers; Pitza was their cousin.\n\nAnother brother of the former, Duke Alaric, had been condemned to death\nsome years ago on account of a pretended conspiracy, and since his\nflight (for he had succeeded in escaping) nothing had been heard of\nhim. They were the offspring of the celebrated race of the Balthe, who\nhad worn the crown of the Visigoths, and were scarcely inferior in\nancient descent and rank to the Amelungs. Their pedigree, like that of\nthe Royal House, descended from the gods. The wealth of their\npossessions in land and dependent colonies, and the fame of their\nwarlike deeds, enhanced the power and glory of their house.\n\nIt was said amongst the people that Theodoric had, for a while, thought\nof passing over his daughter and her son, and, in the interest of the\nkingdom, of appointing the powerful Duke Thulun as his successor. And,\nafter the death of Athalaric, the patriots were decided, in case of the\nworst--that is, if the Queen could not be persuaded to renounce her\nsystem--once more to entertain this idea.\n\nCethegus saw the threatening tempest. He saw how Gothic national\nfeeling, awakened by Hildebrand and his friends, grew more opposed to\nthe Romanising Regency. He indignantly confessed to himself that he had\nno real power with which to keep down discontent. Ravenna was not his\nRome, where he controlled all proceedings, where he had again\naccustomed the citizens to the use of arms, and attached them to his\nperson; here all the troops were Goths, and he could only fear that\nthey would reply to an order for the arrest of Hildebrand or Witichis\nby open rebellion. So he took a bold resolution to free himself at one\nstroke from the net which encompassed him in Ravenna. He decided to\ntake the Queen, if necessary by force, to Rome. There he was mighty,\nhad weapons and adherents; there Amalaswintha would be exclusively in\nhis power, and the Goths would be frustrated.\n\nTo his delight, the Queen entered into his plan with eagerness. She\nlonged to be out of these walls, where she appeared to be more a\nprisoner than a ruler. She longed for Rome, freedom, and power.\n\nCethegus took his measures with his usual rapidity. He was obliged to\nrenounce the shorter way by land, for upon the broad Via Flaminia, as\nwell as on the other roads from Ravenna to Rome, escorts of Gothic\ntroops were stationed, and it was therefore to be feared that their\nflight by any of these ways would be easily discovered, and perhaps\nimpeded.\n\nFortunately the Prefect remembered that the Navarchus, or captain of\nthe galleys, Pomponius, one of the conspirators, was cruising about in\nchase of African pirates on the east coast of the Adriatic, with three\ntriremes, manned by Romans. To him he sent an order to appear in the\nharbour of Ravenna on the night of the Feast of Epiphany. He hoped,\nwhile the town was occupied with religious festivities, to reach the\nships with Amalaswintha easily and safely from the gardens of the\npalace, when they would be taken by sea past the Gothic positions to\nTeate. Thence the way to Rome was short and safe.\n\nWith this plan in his mind--his messenger had safely gone and returned\nwith the promise of Pomponius to appear punctually--the Prefect smiled\nat the daily increasing hate and insolence of the Goths, who observed\nhis position of favourite with bitter displeasure.\n\nHe warned Amalaswintha to be patient and not, by an outbreak of her\nroyal wrath against the \"rebels,\" to occasion a collision before the\nday of deliverance, which might easily render vain all plans of rescue.\n\nThe Feast of Epiphany arrived. The people crowded the basilicas and\nsquares of the city. The jewels of the treasury were ready ordered and\npacked, as well as the most important documents of the archives. It was\nmid-day.\n\nAmalaswintha and the Prefect had just told their friend Cassiodorus of\ntheir plan, the boldness of which at first startled him, but he very\nsoon perceived its prudence.\n\nThey were just about to leave the room where they had told him of their\nintentions, when suddenly the uproar made by the populace--who were\ncrowding before the palace--became louder and more violent; threats,\ncries of exultation, and the clatter of arms arose promiscuously.\n\nCethegus threw back the curtain of the large bay-window, but he only\nsaw the last of the crowd pressing through the open gates of the\npalace.\n\nIt was not possible to discover the cause of this excitement. Already\nthe uproar was ascending the staircase of the palace. The noise of\naltercations with the attendants was audible; the clash of weapons; and\nsoon approaching and heavy footsteps.\n\nAmalaswintha did not tremble; she tightly grasped the dragon's head\nwhich decorated the throne-seat, to which Cassiodorus had again led\nher.\n\nMeanwhile Cethegus hurried to meet the intruders.\n\n\"Halt!\" he called from the threshold of the chamber. \"The Queen is\nvisible for no one.\"\n\nFor one moment there was complete silence.\n\nThen a powerful voice called out: \"If for thee, Roman, also for us, for\nher Gothic brethren. Forwards!\"\n\nAnd again the roar of voices arose, and in a moment Cethegus, without\nthe application of any particular violence, was pushed by the press, as\nif by an irresistible tide, into the farthest corner of the hall, and\nthe foremost intruders stood close before the throne.\n\nThey were Hildebrand, Witichis, Teja, a gigantic Goth, unknown to\nCethegus, and near this last--there was no doubt about it--the three\ndukes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza, in full armour--three splendid\nwarriors.\n\nThe intruders bowed before the throne. Then Duke Thulun called to those\nbehind him, with the gesture of a born ruler:\n\n\"Goths, wait yet a short time without! We will try; in your name, to\nadjust things with the Queen. If we do not succeed, we will call upon\nyou to act--you know in what manner.\"\n\nWith a shout of applause, the crowd behind him willingly withdrew, and\nwere soon lost in the outer passages and halls of the palace.\n\n\"Daughter of Theodoric,\" began Duke Thulun, \"we are come because thy\nson, the King, recalled us. Unfortunately we find he is no more alive.\nWe know that thou hast no delight in seeing us here.\"\n\n\"If you know it,\" said Amalaswintha with dignity, \"how dare you,\nnotwithstanding, appear before our eyes? Who allows you to intrude upon\nus against our will?\"\n\n\"Necessity enjoins it, Highness--necessity, which has often forced\nstronger bolts than the whims of a woman. We have to announce to thee\nthe demands of thy people, which thou wilt fulfil.\"\n\n\"What language! Knowest thou before whom thou standest, Duke Thulun?\"\n\n\"Before the daughter of the Amelungs; whose child I honour, even when\nshe errs and transgresses!\"\n\n\"Rebel!\" cried Amalaswintha, and rose indignantly from her throne. \"Thy\n_King_ stands before thee!\"\n\nBut Thulun smiled.\n\n\"It would be wiser, Amalaswintha, to be silent upon this point. King\nTheodoric charged thee with the guardianship of thy son--thee, a woman!\nIt was against the law; but we Goths did not interfere between him and\nhis kindred. He wished this boy to be his successor. That was not\nprudent; but the nobles and people have honoured the race of the\nAmelungs and the wish of a King, who else was ever wise. But he never\nwished, and we should never have allowed, that after the death of that\nboy a woman should reign over us--the spindle over the spear.\"\n\n\"So you refuse to acknowledge me as your Queen?\" she cried\nindignantly. \"And thou, too, Hildebrand, old friend of Theodoric, thou\ndisownest his daughter?\"\n\n\"Queen,\" said the old man, \"would that thou wouldst prevent it!\"\n\nThulun continued:\n\n\"We do not disown thee--not yet. I only answer thee thus because thou\nboastest of thy right, and thou must know that thou hast no right. But\nas we gladly honour noble birth--in which we honour ourselves--and\nbecause at this moment it might lead to evil dissensions in the kingdom\nif we deprived thee of the crown, I will repeat the conditions under\nwhich thou mayst continue to wear it.\"\n\nAmalaswintha suffered terribly. How gladly would she have delivered the\nbold man who spoke such words into the hands of the executioner! And\nshe was obliged to listen helplessly! Tears rose to her eyes; she\nrepressed them, but at the same time sank back exhausted upon the\nthrone, supported by Cassiodorus.\n\nMeanwhile Cethegus had made his way to her side.\n\n\"Concede everything,\" he whispered; \"it is forced and null. And\nto-night Pomponius will arrive.\n\n\"Speak!\" said Cassiodorus; \"but spare the woman, barbarians!\"\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" laughed Duke Pitza. \"She will not be treated like a woman.\nShe is our _King_!\"\n\n\"Peace, cousin!\" said Duke Thulun reprovingly; \"she is of noble blood.\nFirst,\" he continued, \"thou must dismiss the Prefect of Rome. He is\nsaid to be an enemy of the Goths; he may not advise the Gothic Queen.\nEarl Witichis will take his place near thy throne.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" said Cethegus himself, instead of Amalaswintha.\n\n\"Secondly, thou wilt declare, in a proclamation, that for the future no\norder of thine can be executed which is not signed by Hildebrand or\nWitichis; and that no law is valid without the ratification of the\nNational Assembly.\"\n\nThe Queen started up angrily; but Cethegus held her arm.\n\n\"Pomponius comes to-night,\" he whispered. Then he said aloud, \"This\nalso is agreed to.\"\n\n\"The third condition,\" resumed Thulun, \"is one which thou wilt as\nwillingly grant as we ask it. We three Balthes have not learned to bow\nour heads in a prince's court. The roof here is too low for us. It is\nbetter that Amelungs and Balthes live as far apart as the eagle and the\nfalcon. And the realm needs our weapons upon its boundaries. Our\nneighbours think that the land is orphaned since thy great father died,\nAvari, Gepidæ, and Sclavonians fearlessly overstep the frontiers. In\norder to punish these three nations, thou wilt equip three armies, each\nof thirty thousand; and we three Balthes will lead them, as thy\ngenerals, to the east and to the north.\"\n\n\"The whole military force also in their hands--not bad!\" thought\nCethegus. \"Accepted!\" he cried aloud, smiling.\n\n\"And what remains to me,\" asked Amalaswintha, \"when I have granted all\nthis?\"\n\n\"A golden crown upon a white forehead,\" said Duke Ibba.\n\n\"Thou canst write like a Greek,\" re-commenced Thulun. \"Such arts are\nnot learned in vain. This parchment should contain all that we demand;\nmy slave has written it down.\" He gave it to Witichis to examine. \"Is\nit so? 'Tis well. That thou wilt sign, Princess. Good. We have\nfinished. Now, Hildebrand, speak with yonder Roman.\"\n\nBut Teja was beforehand. He advanced to the Prefect, trembling with\nhate, his sword in his hand.\n\n\"Prefect of Rome,\" said he, \"blood has been shed--precious, noble,\nGothic blood! It consecrates the furious strife which will soon be\nkindled. Blood, which thou shalt atone----\"\n\nHis voice was suffocated with rage.\n\n\"Bah!\" cried Hildebad--for he was the tall Goth--pushing him aside.\n\"Make not such a to-do about it! My dear brother can easily part with a\nlittle superfluous blood; and the others lost more than he could spare.\nThere, thou black devil!\" he cried, turning to Cethegus, and holding a\nbroad-sword close before his eyes, \"knowest thou that?\"\n\n\"Pomponius's sword!\" cried Cethegus, turning pale and staggering back a\nstep.\n\nAmalaswintha and Cassiodorus asked in alarm,\n\n\"Pomponius?\"\n\n\"Aha!\" laughed Hildebad. \"That is shocking, is it not? Nothing will\ncome of the water-party!\"\n\n\"Where is Pomponius--my Navarchus?\" asked Amalaswintha vehemently.\n\n\"With the sharks, Queen, in deep water.\"\n\n\"Ha! death and destruction!\" exclaimed Cethegus, now carried away by\nhis anger. \"How happened that?\"\n\n\"Merrily enough! My brother Totila--thou surely knowest him?--lay in\nthe harbour of Ancona with two little ships. Thy friend Pomponius had\nhad for some days such an insolent expression of countenance, and had\nlet fall such bragging words, that it struck even my unsuspicious\nbrother. One morning Pomponius suddenly disappeared from the harbour\nwith his three triremes. Totila smelt a rat, spread all sail, pursued\nhim, overtook him off Pisaurum, stopped him, went on board with me and\na few others, and asked him whither he would be going.\"\n\n\"He had no right to do so. Pomponius will have given him no answer.\"\n\n\"He did so, for all that, most excellent Cethegus! When he saw that we\nwere only ten upon his ship, he laughed, and cried, 'Whither sail I? To\nRavenna, thou downy-beard, to save the Queen from your claws, and take\nher to. Rome!' And he therewith made a sign to his crew. But we, too,\nthrew our shields before us, and--hurrah! how the swords flew from the\nsheaths! It was hard work--ten to forty! But happily it did not last\nlong. Our comrades in the nearest ship heard the iron rattle, and were\nquickly alongside with their boats, and climbed the bulwarks like cats.\nNow we had the upper hand; but the Navarchus--to give the devil his\ndue!--would not yield; fought like to madman, and pierced my brother's\narm through his shield, so that the blood spouted. But then my brother\ngot into a rage too, and ran his spear through the other's body, so\nthat he fell like an ox. 'Greet the Prefect,' he said, as he lay dying,\n'give him my sword, his gift, back again, and tell him that no one can\ncheat Death, else I had kept my word!' I swore to him that I would\nconfirm his words. He was a brave man. Here is the sword.\"\n\nCethegus took it in silence.\n\n\"The ships yielded, and my brother took them back to Ancona. But I\nsailed here with the swiftest, and met the three Balthes in the\nharbour, just at the right moment.\"\n\nA pause ensued, during which Cethegus and Amalaswintha bitterly\ncontemplated their desperate position. Cethegus had consented to\neverything in the sure hope of flight, which was now frustrated. His\nwell-considered plan was balked; balked by Totila; and hatred of this\nname entered deeply into the Prefect's soul. His grim reflections were\ninterrupted by the voice of Thulun, asking:\n\n\"Well, Amalaswintha, wilt thou sign? or shall we call upon the Goths to\nchoose a King?\"\n\nAt these words Cethegus quickly recovered himself. He took the tablets\nfrom the hand of the Duke and handed them to the Queen.\n\n\"It is necessary, O Queen,\" he said in a low voice; \"you have no\nchoice.\"\n\nCassiodorus gave her the stylus, she wrote her name and Thulun received\nthe tablets.\n\n\"'Tis well,\" said he; \"we go to announce to the Goths that their\nkingdom is saved. Thou, Cassiodorus, accompany us to bear witness that\nall has been done without violence.\"\n\nAt a sign from Amalaswintha the senator obeyed, and followed the Gothic\nleaders to the Forum before the palace.\n\nWhen the Queen found herself alone with Cethegus, she started from her\nseat. She could no longer restrain her tears. She passionately struck\nher forehead. Her pride was terribly humbled. She felt the shame of\nthis hour more deeply than the loss of husband, father, or even of her\nson.\n\n\"Then this,\" she cried, weeping loudly, \"this is man's superiority!\nBrutal, clumsy force! O, Cethegus, all is lost!\"\n\n\"Not all, Queen, only a plan. I beg you to keep me in kindly\nremembrance,\" he added coldly. \"I go to Rome.\"\n\n\"What? you will leave me at this moment? You, you have made me give all\nthese promises, which rob me of my throne, and now you forsake me! Oh!\nit were better that I had resisted, I should then have remained indeed\na Queen, even if they had set the crown upon the head of that rebel\nDuke!\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" thought Cethegus, \"better for you, worse for me. No, no\nhero shall ever again wear this Gothic crown.\" He had quickly seen that\nAmalaswintha could no longer serve him, and just as quickly he gave her\nup. He was already thinking of a new tool for his plans. Yet he decided\nto disclose to her a portion of his thoughts, in order that she might\nnot act upon her own account, contradict her promises, and thereby\ncause the crown to obvert to Thulun. \"I go, O Queen,\" he said; \"but I\ndo not therefore forsake you. Here I can no longer serve you. They have\nbanished me from your side, and will guard you as jealously as a lover\nhis mistress.\"\n\n\"But what shall I do with these promises? what with the three dukes?\"\n\n\"Wait, and, at present, submit. And as to the three dukes,\" he added\nhesitatingly, \"they go to the wars--perhaps they will never return.\"\n\n\"Perhaps!\" sighed the Queen. \"Of what use is a 'perhaps?'\"\n\nCethegus came close to her.\n\n\"As soon as you wish it--they _shall_ never return.\"\n\nThe woman trembled:\n\n\"Murder? Terrible man, of what are you thinking?\"\n\n\"Of what is necessary. Murder is a wrong expression. It is\nself-defence. Or a punishment. If you had now the power, you would have\na perfect right to kill them. They are rebels. They force your royal\nwill. They kill your Navarchus; they deserve death.\"\n\n\"And they _shall_ die,\" whispered Amalaswintha to herself, clenching\nher fist; \"they shall not live, these brutal men, who force a Queen to\ndo their behest. You are right--they shall die!\"\n\n\"They must die--they and,\" he added in a tone of intense hatred,\n\"and--the young hero!\"\n\n\"Wherefore Totila? He is the handsomest and most valiant youth in the\nnation!\"\n\n\"He dies!\" growled Cethegus. \"Oh that he would die ten times over!\" And\nsuch bitter hatred flamed from his eyes, that, suddenly seen in a man\nof such a cold nature, it both startled and terrified Amalaswintha.\n\n\"I shall send you from Rome,\" he continued rapidly in a low tone,\n\"three trusty men, Isaurian mercenaries. These you will send after the\nthree Balthes, as soon as they have reached their several camps. You\nunderstand that _you_, the Queen, send them; for they are executioners,\nno murderers. The three dukes must fall on the same day--I myself will\ncare for handsome Totila--the bold stroke will alarm the whole nation.\nDuring the first consternation of the Goths I will hurry here from\nRome, with troops, to your aid. Farewell.\"\n\nHe departed, and left alone the helpless woman, upon whose ear now\nbroke the shouts of the assembled multitude from the Forum in front of\nthe palace, extolling the success of their leaders and the submission\nof Amalaswintha.\n\nShe felt quite forsaken. She suspected that the last promise of the\nPrefect was little more than an empty word of comfort to palliate his\ndeparture. Overcome by sorrow, she rested her cheek upon her beautiful\nhand, and was lost for some time in futile meditations.\n\nSuddenly the curtain at the entrance rustled. An officer of the palace\nstood before her.\n\n\"Ambassadors from Byzantium desire an audience. Justinus is dead. His\nnephew Justinianus is Emperor. He tenders a brotherly greeting and his\nfriendship.\"\n\n\"Justinianus!\" This name penetrated the very soul of the unhappy\nwoman. She saw herself robbed of her son, thwarted by her people,\nforsaken by Cethegus. In her sad musings she had been seeking in vain\nfor help and support, and, with a sigh of relief, she again repeated,\n\"Justinianus--Byzantium!\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IV.\n\nIn the woods of Fiesole, a modern wanderer coming from Florence will\nfind to the right of the high-road the ruins of an extensive villa-like\nedifice. Ivy, saxifrage and wild roses vie with each other in\nconcealing the ruins. For centuries the peasants in the neighbouring\nvillages have carried away stones from this place in order to dam up\nthe earth of their vineyards on the slopes of the hills. But even yet\nthe remains clearly show where once stood the colonnade before the\nhouse, where the central hall, and where the wall of the court.\n\nWeeds grow luxuriantly in the meadows where once lay in shining order\nthe beautiful gardens; nothing has been left of them except the wide\nmarble basin of a long dried-up fountain, in whose pebble-filled\nrunnels the lizards now sun themselves.\n\nBut in the days of our story the place looked very different. \"The\nVilla of Mæcenas at Fæsulæ,\" as the building, probably with little or\nno reason, was called at that time, was inhabited by happy people; the\nhouse ordered by a woman's careful hand; the garden enlivened by\nchildhood's bright laughter.\n\nThe climbing clematis was gracefully trained up the slender shafts of\nthe Corinthian columns in front of the house, and the cheerful vine\nshaded the flat roof. The winding walks in the garden were strewed with\nwhite sand, and in the outhouses dedicated to domestic uses reigned an\norder and cleanliness which was never to be found in a household served\nby Roman slaves alone.\n\nIt was sunset.\n\nThe men and maid servants were returning from the fields. The\nheavily-laden hay-carts swung along, drawn by horses which were\nevidently not of Italian breed. The shepherds were driving goats and\nsheep home from the hills, accompanied by large dogs, which scampered\non in front, barking joyously.\n\nClose before the yard gate, a couple of Roman slaves, with shrill\nvoices and mad gestures, were urging on the panting horses of a cruelly\nover-laden wagon, not with whips, but with sticks, the iron points of\nwhich they stuck again and again into the same sore place upon the poor\nanimals' hides. In spite of this, no advance was made, for a large\nstone lay just in front of the left fore-wheel of the wagon, which the\nangry and impatient drivers did not notice.\n\n\"Forwards, beast! and son of a beast!\" screamed one of them to the\nstruggling horse; \"forwards, thou Gothic sluggard!\" Another stab with\nthe iron point, a renewed and desperate pull; but the wheel did not go\nover the stone, and the tortured animal fell on its knees, threatening\nto upset the wagon by its struggles.\n\nAt this the rage of the driver was redoubled. \"Wait, thou rascal!\" he\nshouted, and struck at the eye of the panting animal.\n\nBut he only struck once; the next moment he himself fell under a heavy\nblow.\n\n\"Davus, thou wicked dog!\" growled a powerful voice, and, twice as tall,\nand certainly twice as broad as the frightened tormentor, there stood\nover the fallen man a gigantic Goth, who rained down blows upon him\nwith a thick cudgel. \"Thou miserable coward,\" said he, giving him a\nfinal kick, \"I will teach thee how to treat a creature which is ten\ntimes better than thyself. I verily believe, thou rascal, that thou\ntreatest the beast ill, because he comes from the other side of the\nmountains! If I catch thee at it again, I will break every bone in thy\nbody. Now get up, and unload--thou shalt carry every swath that is too\nmuch into the barn upon thine own back. Forwards!\"\n\nWith a malicious glance at his punisher the beaten man rose, and,\nlimping, prepared to obey.\n\nThe Goth had immediately helped the struggling horse to its feet, and\nnow carefully washed its broken knees with his own evening drink of\nwine and water.\n\nHe had scarcely finished his task, when the clear voice of a boy called\nurgently from a neighbouring stable:\n\n\"Wachis, come here; Wachis!\"\n\n\"I'm coming, Athalwin, my boy! What's the matter?\" And he already stood\nin the open door of the stable near a handsome boy of about seven years\nof age, who angrily stroked his long yellow hair from his glowing face,\nand with great trouble repressed two large tears of rage that _would_\nspring into his blue eyes. He held a pretty wooden sword in his right\nhand, and shook it threateningly at a black-browed slave who stood\nopposite to him, with his head insolently thrust forward and his fists\nclenched. \"What is the matter here?\" repeated Wachis, crossing the\nthreshold.\n\n\"The chesnut has again nothing to drink; and only look! Two gadflies\nhave sucked themselves fast upon his shoulder, where he cannot get at\nthem with his tail, and I cannot reach with my hand; and that bad Cacus\nthere won't do what I tell him; and I am sure he has been scolding at\nme in Latin, which I don't understand.\"\n\nWachis drew nearer with a threatening look.\n\n\"I only said,\" said Cacus, slowly receding, \"that I must first eat my\nmillet. The beast may wait. In our country men come before beasts.\"\n\n\"Indeed, thou dunce!\" said Wachis, as he killed the gadflies; \"in our\ncountry the horse eats before the rider! Make haste!\"\n\nBut Cacus was strong and obstinate; he tossed his head and said:\n\n\"Here, we are in _our_ country, and _our_ customs must be followed.\"\n\n\"Oho, thou cursed blockhead! wilt thou obey?\" asked Wachis, raising his\nhand.\n\n\"Obey? Not thee! Thou art only a slave like me. And my parents lived in\nthis house when such as thou were stealing cows and sheep on the other\nside of the mountains.\"\n\nWachis let his cudgel fall and swung his arms to and fro.\n\n\"Listen, Cacus, I have another crow to pluck with thee besides; thou\nknowest wherefore. Now it can all be done with at the same time.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" cried Cacus with a mocking laugh, \"about Liuta, the\nflaxen-haired wench? Bah! I like her no longer, the barbarian. She\ndances like a heifer!\"\n\n\"Now it's all up with thee,\" said Wachis quietly, and caught hold of\nhis adversary.\n\nBut Cacus twisted himself like an eel out of the grasp of the Goth,\npulled a sharp knife from the folds of his woollen frock and threw it\nat him. As Wachis stooped the knife whistled only a hair's-breadth past\nhis head, and penetrated deeply into the door-post behind him.\n\n\"Well, wait, thou murderous worm!\" cried the German, and would have\nthrown himself upon Cacus, but he felt himself clasped from behind.\n\nIt was Davus, who had watched for this moment of revenge.\n\nBut now Wachis became exceedingly wroth.\n\nHe shook the man off, held him by the nape of the neck with his left\nhand, got hold of Cacus with his right, and, with the strength of a\nbear, knocked the heads of his adversaries together, accompanying every\nknock with an interjection, \"There, my boys--that for the knife--and\nthat for the back-spring--and that for the heifer!\" And who knows how\nlong this strange litany would have continued, if he had not been\ninterrupted by a loud call.\n\n\"Wachis! Cacus! let loose, I tell you,\" cried the strong fall voice of\na woman; and a stately matron, clad in a blue Gothic garment, appeared\nat the door.\n\nShe was not tall, and yet imposing. Her fine figure was more sturdy\nthan slender. Her gold-brown hair was bound in simple but rich braids\nround her head; her features were regular; more firm than delicate.\n\nAn expression of sincerity, worth, and trustfulness lay in her large\nblue eyes. Her round bare arms showed that she was no stranger to work.\nAt her broad girdle, over which puffed out her brown under-garment of\nhome-spun cloth, rattled a bunch of keys; she rested her left hand\nquietly upon her hip, and stretched her right commandingly before her.\n\n\"Aye, aye, Rauthgundis, mistress mine,\" said Wachis, letting loose,\n\"must you have your eyes everywhere?\"\n\n\"Everywhere, when my servants are at mischief. When will you learn to\nagree? You Italians need a master in the house. But thou, Wachis,\nshouldst not vex the housewife too. Come, Athalwin, come with me.\"\n\nAnd she led the boy away.\n\nShe went into a side-yard, filled her raised skirt with grain out of a\ntrough, and fed the fowls and pigeons, which immediately flocked around\nher.\n\nFor a little while Athalwin watched her silently. At last he said:\n\n\"Mother, is it true? Is father a robber?\"\n\nRauthgundis suspended her occupation, and looked at the child in\nsurprise.\n\n\"Who said so?\"\n\n\"Who? Eh, the nephew of Calpurnius! We were playing on the great heap\nof hay in his meadow, and I showed him how far the land belongs to us\non the right of the hedge--far and wide--as far as our servants were\nmowing, and the brook shone in the distance. Then he got angry and\nsaid, 'Yes, and all that land once belonged to us, and thy father or\nthy grandfather stole it, the robbers!'\"\n\n\"Indeed! And what didst thou reply?\"\n\n\"Eh, nothing at all, mother. I only threw him over the hay-cock, with\nhis heels in the air. But now I should like to know if it is true.\"\n\n\"No, child, it is not true. Your father did not steal it, but took it\nopenly, because he was stronger and better than these Italians. And\nheroes have done the same in all ages. And when the Italians were\nstrong and their neighbours weak, they did so most of all. But now\ncome; we must look after the linen that is bleaching on the green.\"\n\nAs they turned their backs upon the stables, and were going towards the\ngrassy hill on the left of the house, they heard the rapid hoof-beats\nof a horse, which was approaching on the old Roman high-road.\n\nAthalwin climbed quickly to the top of the hill and looked towards the\nroad.\n\nA rider, mounted on an immense brown charger, galloped down the woody\nheights towards the villa. Brightly sparkled his helmet and the point\nof the lance, which he carried across his shoulder.\n\n\"It is father, mother; it is father!\" cried the boy, and ran swift as\nan arrow down the hill to meet the rider.\n\nRauthgundis had just now reached the top of the hill. Her heart beat.\nShe shaded her eyes with her hand, to look into the evening-red; then\nshe said in a low happy voice:\n\n\"Yes, it is he! my husband.\"\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER V.\n\nMeanwhile Athalwin had already reached his father and climbed up his\nknee, clinging to his foot.\n\nThe rider lifted him up with a loving hand, set him before him in the\nsaddle, and spurred his horse into a gallop. The noble animal, once the\ncharger of Theodoric, neighed lustily as he recognised his home and his\nmistress, and shook his flowing mane.\n\nThe rider now reached the hill, and dismounted with the boy.\n\n\"My dear wife!\" he exclaimed, embracing her tenderly.\n\n\"My Witichis!\" she answered, blushing with pleasure, and clinging to\nhim; \"welcome home!\"\n\n\"I promised that I would come before the new moon--it was\ndifficult----\"\n\n\"But thou hast kept thy word, as always.\"\n\n\"My heart drew me here,\" he said, putting his arm around her.\n\nThey went on slowly to the house.\n\n\"It seems, Athalwin, that Wallada is of more consequence to thee than\nthy father,\" said Witichis, smiling, to the boy, who was leading the\nhorse carefully after them.\n\n\"No, father; but give me the lance too--I have not often such a\npleasure in this country life;\" and dragging the long, heavy shaft of\nthe spear after him with difficulty, he cried out: \"Eh! Wachis,\nAnsbrand! father has come! Fetch the skin of Falernian from the cellar.\nFather is thirsty after his rapid ride!\"\n\nWith a smile Witichis stroked the golden curls of the boy, who now\nhurried past them to the house.\n\n\"Well, and how does all go on here?\" asked Witichis, looking at\nRauthgundis.\n\n\"Very well, Witichis. The harvest is all brought in, the grapes\ncrushed, the sheaves housed.\"\n\n\"I do not ask about that,\" said he, pressing her tenderly to him--\"how\nart thou?\"\n\n\"As well as a poor woman can be,\" she answered, looking up at him, \"who\nmisses her well-loved husband. Work is the only thing that comforts me,\nmy friend; plenty of occupation, which benumbs a sensitive heart. I\noften think how thou, far away amongst strange people, must trouble\nthyself in court and camp, where there is none to cherish thee. At\nleast, I say to myself, he shall find his home well-kept and cheerful\nwhen he returns. And it is that, seest thou, which sanctifies and\nennobles all the dull routine of work, and makes it dear to me.\"\n\n\"That's my brave wife! But dost thou not too much fatigue thyself?\"\n\n\"Work is healthy. But vexation, and the men's wickedness, _that_ hurts\nme!\"\n\nWitichis stood still.\n\n\"Who dares to grieve thee?\"\n\n\"Ah! the Italian servants, and our Italian neighbours! They all hate\nus. Woe to us, if they did not fear us. Calpurnius, our neighbour, is\nso insolent when he knows thou art absent, and the Roman slaves are\ndisobedient and false; our Gothic servants alone are good.\"\n\nWitichis sighed. They had now arrived at the house, and sat down at a\nmarble table under the colonnade.\n\n\"Thou must remember,\" said Witichis, \"that our neighbour was forced to\ngive up to us the third part of his estate and slaves.\"\n\n\"And has kept two-thirds, and his life into the bargain--he ought to\nthank God!\" answered Rauthgundis contemptuously.\n\nJust then Athalwin came running with a basketful of apples, which he\nhad plucked from the tree. Presently Wachis and the other German\nservants came with wine, meat, and cheese, and greeted their master\nwith a frank clasp of the hand.\n\n\"Well done, my children. The mistress praises you. But where are Davus,\nCacus, and the others?\"\n\n\"Pardon, sir,\" answered Wachis, grinning, \"they have a bad conscience.\"\n\n\"Why? What about?\"\n\n\"Eh!--I think--because I have beaten them little; they are ashamed.\"\n\nThe other men laughed.\n\n\"Well, it will do them no harm,\" said Witichis; \"go now to your meal.\nTo-morrow I will examine your work.\"\n\nThe men went.\n\n\"What is that about Calpurnius?\" asked Witichis, pouring wine into his\ncup.\n\nRauthgundis blushed and hesitated.\n\n\"He has carried away the hay from the mountain meadow,\" she then\nreplied, \"which our men had mowed; and has put it into his barn by\nnight, and will not return it.\"\n\n\"He will return it quickly enough, I think,\" said her husband quietly,\nas he took up his cup and drank.\n\n\"Yes,\" cried Athalwin eagerly, \"I think so too! And if he will not, all\nthe better for me! Then we will declare war, and I will go over with\nWachis and all the great fellows, with weapons and pikes! He always\nlooks at me so wickedly, the black spy!\"\n\nRauthgundis told him to be silent, and sent him to bed.\n\n\"Very well, I will go,\" he said; \"but, father, when thou comest again,\nthou wilt bring me a real weapon, instead of this stick, wilt thou\nnot?\" and he ran into the house.\n\n\"Contentions with these Italians never cease,\" said Witichis; \"the very\nchildren inherit the feeling. But it causes thee far too much vexation\nhere. So much the more willingly wilt thou do what I now propose: come\nwith me to Ravenna, Rauthgundis, to court.\"\n\nHis wife looked at him with astonishment.\n\n\"Thou art joking!\" she said incredulously. \"Thou hast never before\nwished it! During the nine years of our married life, it has never\nentered thy head to take me to court! I believe no one in all the\nnation knows that a Rauthgundis exists. For a surety, thou hast kept\nour marriage secret,\" she added, smiling, \"like a crime!\"\n\n\"Like a treasure!\" said Witichis, embracing her.\n\n\"I have never asked thee wherefore. I was and am happy; and I thought\nand think now: he has his reason.\"\n\n\"I had a good reason: it exists no longer. Now thou mayest know all. A\nfew months after I had found thee amid the solitudes of thy mountains,\nand had conceived an affection for thee, King Theodoric hit upon the\nstrange idea, to unite me in marriage with his sister Amalaberga, the\nwidow of the King of the Thuringians, who needed the protection of a\nman against her wicked neighbours, the Franks.\"\n\n\"Thou wert to wear a crown?\" asked Rauthgundis, with sparkling eyes.\n\n\"But Rauthgundis was dearer to me,\" continued Witichis, \"than Queen or\ncrown, and I said, No. It vexed the King exceedingly, and he only\nforgave me when I told him that probably I should never marry. At that\ntime I could not hope ever to call thee mine; thou knowest how long thy\nfather suspiciously and sternly refused to trust thee to me; but when,\nnotwithstanding, thou wert become my wife, I considered that it would\nnot be wise to show the King the woman for whose sake I had refused his\nsister.\"\n\n\"But why hast thou concealed all this from me for nine long years?\"\n\n\"Because,\" he said, looking lovingly into her eyes, \"because I know my\nRauthgundis. Thou wouldst ever have imagined I had lost I know not what\nwith that crown! But now the King is dead, and I am permanently bound\nto the court. Who knows when I shall again rest in the shadow of these\ncolumns, in the peace of this roof?\"\n\nAnd he related briefly the fall of the Prefect, and what position he\nnow held near Amalaswintha.\n\nRauthgundis listened attentively; then she took his hand and pressed\nit.\n\n\"It is good, Witichis, that the Goths gradually find out thy worth, and\nthou art more cheerful, I think, than usual.\"\n\n\"Yes; I feel more contented since I can bear part of the burden of the\ntime. It was much more difficult to stand idly by and see it pressing\nheavily upon my nation. I am only sorry for the Queen, she is like a\nprisoner.\"\n\n\"Bah! Why did the woman grasp at the office of a man? Such a thing\nwould never enter my head.\"\n\n\"Thou art no Queen, Rauthgundis, and Amalaswintha is proud.\"\n\n\"I am ten times prouder than she! but not so vain. She can never have\nloved a man, nor understood his nature and worth, otherwise she could\nnot wish to fill a man's place.\"\n\n\"At court that is looked upon in a different manner. But do come with\nme to Ravenna.\"\n\n\"No, Witichis,\" she quietly said, rising from her seat, \"the court is\nnot fit for me, nor I for the court. I am the child of a mountain\nfarmer, and far too uncultured. Look at this brown neck,\" she laughed,\n\"and these rough hands! I cannot tinkle on the lyre, or read verses. I\nshould be ill suited for the fine Roman ladies, and thou wouldst have\nlittle honour with me.\"\n\n\"Surely thou dost not consider thyself too bad for the court?\"\n\n\"No, Witichis, too good.\"\n\n\"Well, people must learn to bear with and appreciate each other.\"\n\n\"I could not do that. They could perhaps learn to bear with me, out of\nfear of thee. But I should daily tell them to their faces that they are\nhollow, false, and bad!\"\n\n\"So, then, thou wilt rather do without thy husband for months?\"\n\n\"Yes, rather do without him, than be near him in a false and unfitting\nposition. Oh, my Witichis!\" she added, encircling his neck with her\narm, \"consider who I am and how thou foundest me! where the last\nsettlements of our people dot the edge of the Alps, high up upon the\nsteep precipices of the Scaranzia; where the youthful Isara breaks\nfoaming out of the ravines into the open plains, there stands my\nfather's lonely farm; there I knew of nought but the hard work of\nsummer upon the quiet alms, of winter in the smoke-blackened hall,\nspinning with the maids. My mother died early, and my brothers were\nkilled by the Italians. So I grew up lonely, no one near me but my old\nfather, who was as true, but also as hard and close, as his native\nrocks. There I saw nothing of the world which lay outside our\nmountains. Only sometimes, from a height, I watched with curiosity a\npack-horse going along the road deep below in the valley, laden with\nsalt or wine. I sat through many a shining summer evening upon the\njagged peaks of the high Arn, and looked at the sun sinking splendidly\nover the far-away river Licus; and I wondered what it had seen the\nwhole long summer day, since it had risen over the broad [OE]nus; and I\nthought how I should like to know what things looked like at the other\nside of the Karwändel, or away behind the Brennus, over which my\nbrothers had gone and had never returned. And yet I felt how beautiful\nit was up there in the green solitude, where I heard the golden eagle\nscreaming in its near eyrie, and where I plucked more lovely flowers\nthan ever grow in the plains, and even, sometimes, heard by night the\nmountain-wolf howling outside the stable-door, and frightened it away\nwith a torch. In early autumn, too, and in the long winter, I had time\nto sit and muse; when the white mist-veils spun themselves over the\nlofty pines; when the mountain wind tore the blocks of stone from our\nstraw-roof, and the avalanches thundered from the precipices. So I grew\nup, strange to the world beyond the next forest, only at home in the\nquiet world of my thoughts, and in the narrow life of the peasant. Then\nthou earnest--I remember it as if it had happened yesterday----\"\n\nShe ceased, lost in recollection.\n\n\"I remember it too, exactly,\" said Witichis. \"I was leading a\ncentumvirate from Juvavia to the Augusta-town on the Licus. I had lost\nmy way and my people. For a long time I had wandered about in the\nsultry summer day, without finding a path, when I saw smoke rising\nabove a fir-tree grove, and soon I found a hidden farm, and entered\nthe yard-gate. There stood a splendid girl at the pump, lifting a\nbucket----\"\n\n\"Look, even here in the valley, in this southern valley of the Alps, it\nis often too close for me; and I long for a breath of air from the\npine-woods of my mountains. But at court, in the narrow gilded\nchambers! there I should languish and pine away. Leave me here; I shall\nmanage Calpurnius well enough. And thou, I know well, wilt still think\nof home, wife, and child, when absent in the royal halls.\"\n\n\"Yes, God knows, with longing thoughts! Well then, remain here, and God\nkeep thee, my good wife!\"\n\nThe second day after this conversation Witichis again rode away up the\nwooded heights.\n\nThe parting hour had made him almost tender; but he had firmly checked\nthe outbreak of feeling which it was so repugnant to his simple and\nmanly nature to indulge in. How the brave man's heart clung to his\ntrusty wife and darling boy!\n\nBehind him trotted Wachis, who would not be prevented from accompanying\nhis master for a short distance.\n\nSuddenly he rode up to him.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"I know something.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Why didst not tell it?\"\n\n\"Because no one asked me about it.\"\n\n\"Well, I ask thee about it.\"\n\n\"Yes; if one is asked, then of course he must answer! The mistress has\ntold you that Calpurnius is such a bad neighbour?\"\n\n\"Yes; what about that?\"\n\n\"But she did not tell you since when?\"\n\n\"No; dost thou know?\"\n\n\"Well, it was about half a year ago. About that time Calpurnius once\nmet the mistress in the wood, alone as they both thought; but they were\nnot alone. Some one lay in a ditch, and was taking his mid-day nap.\"\n\n\"Thou wert that sluggard!\"\n\n\"Rightly guessed. And Calpurnius said something to the mistress.\"\n\n\"What did he say?\"\n\n\"That I did not understand. But the mistress was not idle; she lifted\nher hand and struck him in the face with such a smack, that it\nresounded. And since then our neighbour is a bad neighbour, and I\nwanted to tell you, because I thought the mistress would not wish to\nvex you about the rascal; but still it is better that you know it. And\nsee! there stands Calpurnius at his house door; do you see? and now\nfarewell, dear master.\"\n\nAnd with this he turned his horse and galloped home. But the blood\nrushed to Witichis' face.\n\nHe rode up to his neighbour's door. Calpurnius was about to retreat\ninto the house, but Witichis called to him in such a voice, that he was\nobliged to remain.\n\n\"What do you want with me, neighbour Witichis?\" he asked, looking up at\nhim askance.\n\nWitichis drew rein, and stopped his horse close to him. Then he held\nhis clenched iron-gloved fist close before his neighbour's eyes.\n\n\"Neighbour Calpurnius,\" he said quietly, \"if _I_ ever strike thee in\nthe face, thou wilt never rise again.\"\n\nCalpurnius started back in a fright.\n\nBut Witichis gave his horse the spur, and rode proudly and slowly upon\nhis way.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VI.\n\nIn his study at Rome, comfortably stretched upon the soft cushions of a\nlectus, lay Cethegus the Prefect.\n\nHe was of good cheer.\n\nHis examination had ended with full acquittal. Only in case of an\nimmediate search in his house--such as the young King had ordered, but\nwhich his death had frustrated--could discovery have been apprehended.\n\nHe had succeeded in gaining permission to complete the fortifications\nof Rome, supplying the funds out of his own exchequer, which\ncircumstance still more increased his influence in that city.\n\nThe evening before he had held a meeting in the Catacombs. All the\nreports were favourable; the patriots were increasing in number and\nmeans.\n\nThe greater oppression which since the late occurrences at Ravenna\nweighed upon the Italians, could but serve to add to the ranks of the\nmalcontents; and, which was the main thing, Cethegus now held all the\nthreads of the conspiracy in his own hands. Even the most jealous\nRepublicans implicitly acknowledged the necessity of committing the\nconduct of affairs, until the day of deliverance, to the most gifted of\nmen.\n\nThe feeling against the barbarians had made such progress amongst all\nItalians, that Cethegus could entertain the project of striking a blow\nwithout the help of the Byzantines, as soon as ever Rome was\nsufficiently fortified.\n\n\"For,\" he repeatedly told himself, \"all foreign liberators are easily\nsummoned, but with difficulty discarded.\"\n\nMusing thus, Cethegus reposed upon his lectus. He laid aside Cæsar's\n\"Civil Wars,\" the leaves of which he had been turning over, and said to\nhimself:\n\n\"The gods must have great things in store for me; whenever I fall, it\nis like a cat--upon my feet and unhurt. Ah! when things go well with\nus, we like to share our content with others. But it is too dangerous a\npleasure to put trust in another, and Silence is the only faithful\ngoddess. And yet one is human, and would like----\"\n\nHere a slave entered--the old Ostiarius Fidus--and silently handed to\nCethegus a letter upon a flat golden salver.\n\n\"The bearer waits,\" he said, and left the room.\n\nCethegus took up the letter. But as soon as he recognised the design\nupon the wax seal which secured the string twisted round the\ntablets--the Dioscuri--he cried eagerly, \"From Julius--at a happy\nhour!\" hastily untied the string, opened the tablets, and read, his\ncold and pale countenance flushed with a warmth of pleasure usually\nwholly strange to him:\n\n\n\"'To Cethegus the Prefect, from Julius Montanus.\n\n\"'How long it is, my fatherly preceptor'--(by Jupiter! that sounds\nfrosty)--'that I have delayed sending you the greeting which I owe you.\nThe last time I wrote from the green banks of the Ilissos, where I\nsought for traces of Plato in the desolated groves of the Akademia, but\nfound none. I know well that my letter was not cheerful. The sad\nphilosophers, wandering in the lonely schools, surrounded by the\noppressions of the Emperor, the suspicion of the priests, and the\ncoldness of the multitude, could only arouse my compassion. My soul was\ngloomy; I knew not wherefore. I blamed my ingratitude to you, the most\ngenerous of all benefactors.'\n\n\"He has never given me such intolerable names before,\" observed\nCethegus.\n\n\"'For two years I have travelled, accompanied by your slaves and\nfreedmen, endowed like a King of the Syrians with your riches, through\nall Asia and Hellas; I have enjoyed all the beauty and wisdom of the\nancients, and my heart is still unsatisfied, my life empty. Not the\nenthusiastic wisdom of Plato; not the gilded ivory of Phidias; not\nHomer and not Thucydides gave me what I wanted! At last, at last, here\nin Neapolis, in this blooming, God-endowed city; here I found what I\nhad unconsciously missed and sought for everywhere. Not dead wisdom,\nbut warm, living happiness.'--(He is in love! At last, thou coy\nHippolyte! Thanks, Eros and Anteros!)--'Oh! my guardian, my father! do\nyou know what happiness it is for the first time to call a heart that\ncompletely understands you, your own?'--(Ah, Julius!\" sighed the\nPrefect, with a singular expression of softened sentiment, \"as if I\nknew it not?)--'a heart to which one can freely open his whole soul?\nOh! if you have ever proved it, rejoice with me! sacrifice to Jupiter,\nthe fulfiller! For the first time I have found a friend!'\n\n\"What does he say?\" cried Cethegus indignantly; and starting up with a\nlook of jealous pain, \"The ungrateful boy!\"\n\n\"'For thou wilt understand it well, until now I had no bosom friend.\nYou, my fatherly preceptor----'\"\n\nCethegus threw the tablets upon the tortoise-shell table, and walked\nhastily up and down the room.\n\n\"Folly!\" he then said quietly, took up the letter again, and read on:\n\n\"'You, so much older, wiser, better, greater than I--you had laid such\na weight of gratitude and reverence upon my young soul, that it could\nnever unfold itself to you without reserve. I have also often heard\nwith discouragement the biting wit with which you mocked at all warmth\nand softness of feeling; and a sharp expression about your proud and\nclosely-compressed mouth has always killed such feelings in me, as the\nnight-frost kills the first violets.'--(Well, at all events, he is\nsincere!)--'But now I have found a friend--frank, warm, young, and\nenthusiastic--and I feel a delight hitherto unknown to me. We are one\nin heart and soul; we wander together on sunny days and moonlight\nnights through the Elysian fields, and are never at a loss for winged\nwords. But I must soon close this letter. He is a Goth'--(that too!\"\ncried Cethegus, angrily)--\"'and is named Totila.'\"\n\nCethegus let drop the hand which held the letter. He said nothing. He\nonly shut his eyes for an instant, and then he quietly read on again:\n\n\"'And is named Totila. The day after my arrival in Neapolis, as I was\nlounging through the Forum of Neptune, and admiring some statues under\nthe arches of a neighbouring house which had been exposed for sale by a\nsculptor, there suddenly rushed at me, out of the door of this house, a\ngrey-haired man with a woollen apron, all over white with plaster, and\nholding in his hand a pointed tool. He grasped my shoulder and shouted,\n\"Pollux, my Pollux! have I found thee at last!\" I thought the old\nfellow was mad, and said, \"You mistake, old man, I am called Julius,\nand come from Athens.\" \"No,\" cried he; \"thou art named Pollux, and come\nfrom Olympus!\" And before I knew what had happened, he had pushed me\ninto the house. There I gradually found out what was the matter. It was\nthe sculptor who had exposed the statues. In the ante-chamber stood\nmany half-finished works, and the sculptor explained to me that for\nyears he had been thinking of a group of the Dioscuri. For the Castor\nhe had found a charming model in a young Goth. \"But in vain,\" he\ncontinued, \"have I prayed to Heaven for an inspiration for my Pollux.\nHe must resemble the Castor; like him, a brother of Helena and a son of\nJupiter. Complete similarity of feature and form must be there, and yet\nthe difference must be as apparent as the resemblance; they must each\nbe completely individual. In vain I sought in all the baths and\ngymnasiums of Neapolis. I could not find the Leda-twin. And now a\ngod--Jupiter himself--has led thee to my door! It struck me like\nlightning when I saw thee, 'There stands my Pollux, just as he ought to\nlook!' And I will never let thee depart living from my house until thou\nhast promised me thy head and thy body.\" I willingly promised the\nstrange old man to come again the next day; and I did so the more\ngladly when I afterwards learnt that my violent friend was Xenarchus,\nthe greatest sculptor in marble and bronze that Italia has known for a\nlong time. The next day I went again, and found my Castor. It was\nTotila; and I cannot deny that the great resemblance surprised me,\nalthough Totila is older, taller, stronger, and incomparably more\nhandsome than I. Xenarchus says that we are like a pale and a\ngold-coloured citron--for Totila has fairer hair and beard--and just in\nthis manner, the master swears, were the two Dioscuri alike and unlike.\nSo we learnt to know and love each other amongst the statues of the\ngods and goddesses in the studio of Xenarchus; became, in truth, Castor\nand Pollux, inseparable and intimate as they; and already the merry\npopulace of Neapolis calls us by these names when we wander arm in arm\nthrough the streets. But our new-made friendship was still more quickly\nripened by a threatened danger, which might easily have nipped it in\nthe bud. One evening, as usual, we had wandered out of the Porta Nolana\nto seek refreshment after the heat of the day in the Baths of Tiberius.\nAfter the bath--in a mood of sportive tenderness--you will blame it--I\nhad thrown my friend's mantle over me, and set his helmet, decorated\nwith the swan's wings, upon my head. He entered into the joke, and,\nwith a smile, threw my chlamys[4] around him; and, chatting peacefully,\nwe went back through the pine grove in the gloom of approaching night\nto the city. All at once a man sprang upon me from a taxus-bush behind\nme, and I felt cold steel at my throat. But the next moment the\nmurderer lay at my feet, Totila's sword in his breast. Only slightly\nwounded, I bent over the dying man, and asked him what reason he had to\nhate and murder me. But he stared in my face, and breathed out, \"Not\nthee--Totila, the Goth!\" and he gave a convulsive shiver and was dead.\nBy his costume and weapons, we saw that he was an Isaurian mercenary.'\"\n\nAgain the hand which held the letter dropped, and Cethegus pressed the\nother to his forehead.\n\n\"Madness of chance!\" he said; \"to what mightest thou not have led!\" And\nhe read to the end. '\"Totila said he had many enemies at Ravenna. We\nreported the incident to Uliaris, the Gothic Earl at Neapolis. He\ncaused the corpse to be examined, and instituted an inquiry--without\nresult. But this grave event has cemented our youthful friendship and\nconsecrated it with blood for ever. It has united us in an earnest and\nholy bond. The seal-ring of the Dioscuri, which you gave me at parting,\nwas a friendly omen, and it has been pleasantly fulfilled; and when I\nask myself to whom is owing all my happiness, it is to you, to you\nalone, who sent me to this city, where I have found all that I wanted!\nSo may the gods requite you for it! Ah, I see that my letter speaks\nonly of myself and this friendship--write to me speedily, I beg, and\nlet me know how things go with you.--_Vale_.\"\n\nA bitter smile passed across the Prefect's expressive mouth, and he\nagain measured the room with rapid strides. At last he stopped,\nsupporting his chin in his hand:\n\n\"How can I be so--childish--as to vex myself? It is all very natural,\nif very foolish. You are sick, Julius. Wait; I will write you a\nprescription.\"\n\nAnd with an expression of pleased malice on his face, he seated himself\nupon the writing-divan, took a Cnidian reed-pen, and wrote with the red\nink from a cup of agate, in the shape of a lion's head, which was\nscrewed into the lectus:\n\n\n\"To Julius Montanus: Cethegus, Prefect of Rome.\n\n\"Your touching epistle from Neapolis amused me much. It shows that you\nhave not yet outlived the last childish ailments. When you have laid\nthem aside you will be a man. In order to precipitate this crisis, I\nwill prescribe the best means. You will at once seek for the trader in\npurple, Valerius Procillus, the oldest friend that I have in Neapolis.\nHe is the richest merchant of the East, an inveterate enemy of the\nEmperor of Byzantium, and as good a republican as Cato; merely on that\naccount he is my trusted friend. But his daughter, Valeria Procilla, is\nthe most beautiful Roman girl of our time, and a true daughter of the\nancient, the heathen world. She is only three years younger than you,\nand therefore ten times as wise. At the same time her father will not\nrefuse you if you explain to him that Cethegus sues for you. But thou\nwilt fall deeply in love at first sight! Of this I am sure; although I\ntell it you beforehand, although you know that I wish it. In her arms\nyou will forget all the friends in the world; when the sun rises, the\nmoon pales. Besides, do you know that your Castor is one of the most\ndangerous enemies of the Romans? And I once knew a certain Julius who\nswore: 'Rome before all things!'--_Vale_.\"\n\nCethegus rolled the papyrus together, tied it with a string of red\nbast, fastened the knot with wax, and pressed his amethyst ring,\nengraved with a splendid head of Jupiter, upon it. Then he touched a\nsilver eagle which protruded from the marble wainscoting of the room;\noutside, upon the wall of the vestibule, a bronze thunderbolt struck\nupon the silver shield of a fallen Titan with a clear bell-like tone.\nThe slave re-entered the room.\n\n\"Let the messenger have a bath; give him food and wine, a gold solidus,\nand this letter. To-morrow at sunrise he will return to Neapolis.\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER VII.\n\nSeveral weeks later we find the grave Prefect in a circle which seemed\nvery ill-suited to his lofty character, or even to his age.\n\nIn the singular juxtaposition of heathenism and Christianity which,\nduring the first century succeeding Constantine's conversion, filled\nthe life and manners of the Roman world with such harsh contrasts, the\npeaceful mingling of the old and the new religious festivals played a\nstriking part. Generally the merry feasts of the ancient gods still\nexisted, together with the great holidays of the Christian Church,\nthough usually robbed of their original significance, of their\nreligious kernel. The people allowed themselves to be deprived of the\nbelief in Jupiter and Juno, of sacrifices and ceremonies, but not of\nthe games, the festivities, the dances and banquets, by which those\nceremonies had been accompanied; and the Church was at all times wise\nand tolerant enough to suffer what she could not prevent. Thus, even\nthe truly heathen Lupercalia, which were distinguished by gross\nsuperstition and all kinds of rude excess, were only, and with great\ndifficulty, abolished in the year 496.\n\nThe days of the Floralia were come, which formerly were celebrated over\nthe whole continent with noisy games and dances, as being specially a\nfeast of happy youth; and which, in the days we speak of, were at least\npassed in banqueting and drinking.\n\nAnd so the two Licinii, with their circle of young gallants and\npatricians, had made an appointment to meet together for a symposium\nupon the principal holiday of the Floralia, to which, as at our\npicnics, every one contributed his share of food and wine.\n\nThe guests assembled at the house of young Kallistratos, an amiable and\nrich Greek from Corinth, who had settled in Rome to enjoy an artistic\nleisure, and had built, near the gardens of Sallust, a tasteful house,\nwhich became the focus of luxury and polite society.\n\nBesides the rich Roman aristocracy, this house was particularly\nfrequented by artists and scholars; and also by that stratum of the\nRoman youth, which could spare little time and thought from its horses,\nchariots and dogs for the State, and which until now had therefore been\ninaccessible to the influence of the Prefect.\n\nFor this reason Cethegus was well-pleased when young Lucius Licinius,\nnow his most devoted adherent, brought him an invitation from the\nCorinthian.\n\n\"I know,\" said Licinius modestly, \"that we can offer you no appropriate\nentertainment; and if the Falernian and Cyprian, with which\nKallistratos regales his guests, do not entice you, you can decline to\ncome.\"\n\n\"No, my son; I will come,\" said Cethegus; \"and it is not the old\nCyprian which tempts me, but the young Romans.\"\n\nKallistratos, who loved to display his Grecian origin, had built his\nhouse in the midst of Rome in Grecian style; not in the style then\nprevalent, but in that of the free Greece of Pericles, which, by\ncontrast with the tasteless overcharging usual in Rome in those days,\nmade an impression of noble simplicity.\n\nThrough a narrow passage one entered the peristyle, or open court,\nsurrounded by a colonnade, in the centre of which a splashing fountain\nfell into a coloured marble basin. The colonnade, open to the north,\ncontained, besides other rooms, the banqueting hall, in which the\ncompany was now assembled.\n\nCethegus had stipulated that he should not be present at the c[oe]na,\nor actual banquet, but only at the compotatio, the drinking-bout which\nfollowed.\n\nSo he found the friends in the elegant drinking-room, where the bronze\nlamps upon the tortoise-shell slabs on the walls were already lighted,\nand the guests, crowned with roses and ivy, lay upon the cushions of\nthe horse-shoe-shaped triclinium.\n\nA stupefying mixture of wine-odours and flower-scents, a glare of\ntorches and glow of colour, met him upon the threshold.\n\n\"_Salve_, Cethegus!\" cried the host, as he entered. \"You find but a\nsmall party.\"\n\nCethegus ordered the slave who followed him, a beautiful and slender\nyoung Moor, whose finely-shaped limbs were rather revealed than hidden\nby the scarlet gauze of his light tunic, to unloose his sandals.\nMeanwhile he counted the guests.\n\n\"Not less than the Graces, nor more than the Muses,\" he said with a\nsmile.\n\n\"Quick, choose a wreath,\" said Kallistratos, \"and take your place up\nthere, upon the seat of honour on the couch. We have chosen you\nbeforehand for the king of the feast.\"\n\nThe Prefect was determined to charm these young people. He knew how\nwell he could do so, and that day he wished to make a particular\nimpression. He chose a crown of roses, and took the ivory sceptre,\nwhich a Syrian slave handed to him upon his knees.\n\nPlacing the rose-wreath on his head, he raised the sceptre with\ndignity.\n\n\"Thus I put an end to your freedom!\"\n\n\"A born ruler!\" cried Kallistratos, half in joke, half in earnest.\n\n\"But I will be a gentle tyrant! My first law: one-third\nwater--two-thirds wine.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" cried Lucius Licinius, and drank to him, \"_bene te!_ you govern\nluxuriously. Equal parts is usually our strongest mixture.\"\n\n\"Yes, friend,\" said Cethegus, smiling, and seating himself upon the\ncorner seat of the central triclinium, the \"Consul's seat,\" \"but I took\nlessons in drinking amongst the Egyptians; they drink pure wine. Ho,\ncupbearer--what is he called?\"\n\n\"Ganymede--he is from Phrygia. Fine fellow--eh?\"\n\n\"So, Ganymede, obey thy Jupiter, and place near each guest; a patera of\nMamertine wine--but near Balbus two, because he is a countryman.\"\n\nThe young people laughed.\n\nBalbus was a rich Sicilian proprietor, still quite young, and already\nvery stout.\n\n\"Bah!\" said he, laughing, \"ivy round my head, and an amethyst on my\nfinger--I defy the power of Bacchus!\"\n\n\"Well, at which wine have you arrived?\" asked Cethegus, at the same\ntime signing to the Moor who now stood behind him, and who at once\nbrought a second wreath of roses, and, this time, wound it about his\nneck.\n\n\"Must of Setinum, with honey from Hymettus, was the last. There, try\nit!\" said Piso, the roguish poet, whose epigrams and anacreontics could\nnot be copied quickly enough by the booksellers; and whose finances,\nnotwithstanding, were always in poetical disorder. He handed to the\nPrefect what we should call a _vexing-cup_, a bronze serpent's-head,\nwhich, lifted carelessly to the lips, violently shot a stream of wine\ninto the drinker's throat.\n\nBut Cethegus knew the trick, drank carefully, and returned the cup.\n\n\"I like your _dry_ wit better, Piso,\" he said, laughing; and snatched a\nwax tablet from a fold in the other's garment.\n\n\"Oh, give it me back,\" said Piso; \"it is no verses--just the\ncontrary--a list of my debts for wine and horses.\"\n\n\"Well,\" observed Cethegus, \"I have taken it--so it and they are\nmine. To-morrow you may fetch the quittance at my house; but not for\nnothing--for one of your most spiteful epigrams upon my pious friend\nSilverius.\"\n\n\"Oh, Cethegus!\" cried the poet, delighted and flattered, \"how spiteful\none can be for 40,000 solidi! Woe to the holy man of God!\"\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER VIII.\n\n\"And the dessert--how far have you got there?\" asked Cethegus, \"already\nat the apples? are these they?\" and he looked, screwing up his eyes, at\ntwo heaped-up fruit-baskets, which stood upon a bronze table with ivory\nlegs.\n\n\"Ha, victory!\" laughed Marcus Licinius, Lucius's younger brother, who\namused himself with the then fashionable pastime of modelling in wax.\n\"There! you see my art, Kallistratos! The Prefect thinks that my waxen\napples, which I gave you yesterday, are real.\"\n\n\"Ah, indeed!\" cried Cethegus, as if astonished, although he had long\nsince noticed the smell of the wax with dislike. \"Yes, art deceives the\nmost acute. With whom did you learn? I should like to put similar\nornaments in my Kyzikenian hall.\"\n\n\"I am an autodidact,\" said Marcus proudly, \"and to-morrow I will send\nyou my new Persian apples--for you honour art.\"\n\n\"But is the sitting at an end?\" asked the Prefect, resting his left arm\non the cushions of the triclinium.\n\n\"No,\" cried the host, \"I will confess the truth. As I could not reckon\nupon the king of our feast until the dessert, I have prepared a little\nafter-feast to be taken with the wine.\"\n\n\"Oh, you sinner!\" cried Balbus, wiping his greasy lips upon the rough\npurple Turkish table-cover, \"and I have eaten such a terrible quantity\nof your _becca-ficchi_!\"\n\n\"It is against the agreement!\" cried Marcus Licinius.\n\n\"It will spoil my manners,\" said the merry Piso gravely.\n\n\"Say, is that Hellenic simplicity?\" asked Lucius Licinius.\n\n\"Peace, friends!\" and Cethegus comforted them with a quotation: \"'E'en\nunexpected hurt, a Roman bears unmoved.'\"\n\n\"The Hellenic host must adjust himself according to his guests,\" said\nKallistratos, excusing himself. \"I feared you would not come again if I\noffered you Marathonian fare.\"\n\n\"Well, at least confess with what you menace us,\" cried Cethegus.\n\"Thou, Nomenclator! read the bill of fare. I will then decide upon the\nsuitable wines.\"\n\nThe slave--a handsome Lydian boy, dressed in a garment of blue Pelusian\nlinen, slit up to the knee--came close to Cethegus at the cypress-wood\ntable, and read from a little tablet which he carried fastened to a\ngolden chain about his neck:\n\n\"Fresh oysters from Britannia, in tunny-sauce, with lettuce.\"\n\n\"With this dish, Falernian from Fundi,\" said Cethegus at once. \"But\nwhere is the sideboard with the cups? Good wine deserves handsome\ngoblets.\"\n\n\"There is the sideboard!\" And at a sign from the host, a curtain, which\nhad concealed a corner of the room opposite the guests, dropped.\n\nA cry of astonishment ran round the table.\n\nThe richness of the service displayed, and the taste with which it was\narranged, surprised even these fastidious feasters.\n\nUpon the marble slab of a side-table stood a roomy silver carriage,\nwith golden wheels and bronze horses. It was a model of a booty-wagon,\nsuch as were used in Roman triumphal processions, and, like a costly\nbooty, within it was piled, in seeming disorder, but with an artistic\nhand, a quantity of goblets, glasses, and salvers, of every shape and\nmaterial.\n\n\"By Mars the Victor!\" laughed the Prefect, \"the first Roman triumph for\ntwo hundred years! A rare sight! Dare I destroy it?\"\n\n\"You are the man to set it up again,\" said Lucius, with fire.\n\n\"Do you think so? Let us try! First, we will have that goblet of\npistachio-wood for the Falernian.\"\n\n\"Wind-thrushes from the Tagus, with asparagus from Tarento,\" continued\nthe Lydian, reading the bill of fare.\n\n\"With that, red Massikian from Sinuessa, to be drunk out of that\namethyst goblet.\"\n\n\"Young lobsters from Trapezunt, with flamingo-tongues.\"\n\n\"Stop! By holy Bacchus!\" cried Balbus, \"it is the torture of\nTantalus. It is all the same to me out of what I drink, whether from\npistachio-wood or amethyst; but to listen to this list of divine\ndainties with a dry throat, is more than I can stand. Down with\nCethegus, the tyrant! Let him die, if he lets us thirst!\"\n\n\"I feel as if I were Emperor, and heard the roar of the faithful Roman\npopulace! I will save my life and yield. Serve the dishes, slaves.\"\n\nAt this the sound of flutes was heard from an outer room, and six\nslaves entered, marching in time to the music, with ivy in their\nshining, anointed locks, and dressed in red mantles and white tunics.\nThey gave to each guest a snowy cloth of finest Sidonian linen, with\npurple fringes.\n\n\"Oh,\" cried Massurius, a young merchant who traded principally with\nbeautiful slaves of both sexes, and enjoyed the rather doubtful\nreputation of being a great critic in such wares, \"the best cloth is\nbeautiful hair,\" and he passed his hands through the locks of a\nGanymede who was kneeling near him.\n\n\"But, Kallistratos, I hope those flutes are of the female sex. Up with\nthe curtain; let the girls in.\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" ordered Cethegus. \"First drink, then kiss. Without Bacchus\nand Ceres, you know----\"\n\n\"Venus freezes, but not Massurius!\"\n\nAll at once lyres and citharas sounded from the side room, and there\nentered a procession of eight youths in shining silken garments of a\ngold-green colour. Foremost the \"dresser\" and the \"carver.\" The other\nsix bore dishes upon their heads. They passed the guests with measured\nsteps, and halted at the sideboard of citron-wood. While they were busy\nthere, castanets and cymbals were heard from another part of the house;\nthe large double doors turned upon their shining bronze hinges, and a\nswarm of slaves in the becoming costume of Corinthian youths streamed\ninto the room.\n\nSome handed bread in ornamentally-perforated baskets; others whisked\nthe flies away with fans of ostrich feathers and palm-leaves; some\ngracefully poured oil into the wall-lamps from double-handled vases;\nwhilst others swept the crumbs from the mosaic pavement with besoms of\nEgyptian reeds, or helped Ganymede to fill the cups, which now were\ncircling merrily.\n\nThe conversation grew more rapid and animated, and Cethegus, who,\nalthough he remained cool and collected, seemed to be quite lost in the\nenjoyment of the moment, charmed the young guests by his youthful\ngaiety.\n\n\"What do you say?\" asked the host, \"shall we play dice between the\ndishes? There stands the dice-box, near Piso.\"\n\n\"Well, Massurius,\" observed Cethegus, with a sarcastic look at the\nslave-dealer, \"will you try your luck with me once more? Will you bet\nagainst me? Give him the dice-box, Syphax,\" he said to the Moor.\n\n\"Mercury forbid!\" answered Massurius, with comical fright. \"Have\nnothing to do with the Prefect he has inherited the luck of his\nancestor, Julius Cæsar.\"\n\n\"Omen accipio!\" laughed Cethegus. \"I accept the omen, with the dagger\nof Brutus into the bargain.\"\n\n\"I tell you, he is a magician! Only lately he won an unwinnable bet\nagainst me about this black demon,\" and the speaker threw a cactus-fig\nat the slave's face, but Syphax caught it cleverly with his shining\nwhite teeth, and quietly ate it up.\n\n\"Well done, Syphax!\" said Cethegus. \"Roses from the thorns of the\nenemy! Thou canst become a conjurer as soon as I let thee free.\"\n\n\"Syphax does not wish to be free: he will always be your Syphax, and\nsave your life as you saved his.\"\n\n\"What is that--thy life?\" asked Lucius Licinius.\n\n\"Did you pardon him?\" asked Marcus.\n\n\"More than that, I bought him off.\"\n\n\"Yes, with my money!\" grumbled Massurius.\n\n\"You know that I immediately gave him the money I won from you as his\nprivate possession,\" answered Cethegus.\n\n\"What about this bet? Let us hear. Perhaps it will afford a subject for\nmy epigrams,\" said Piso.\n\n\"Retire, Syphax. There! the cook is bringing us his masterpiece, it\nseems.\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER IX.\n\nIt was a turbot weighing six pounds, which for years had been fed with\ngoose-liver in the sea-water fishponds of Kallistratos. The much-prized\n\"Rhombus\" was served upon a silver dish, with a little golden crown on\nits head.\n\n\"All ye gods, and thou, Prophet Jonah!\" stammered Balbus, sinking back\nupon the cushions, \"that fish is worth more than I!\"\n\n\"Peace, friend,\" said Piso, \"let not Cato hear thee, who said, 'Woe to\nthat city where a fish is worth more than an ox.'\"\n\nA burst of laughter, and the loud call of \"_Euge belle!_\" drowned the\nangry exclamation of the half-drunken Sicilian.\n\nThe fish was carved, and was found delicious.\n\n\"Now, slaves, away with the weak Massikian. A noble fish must swim in\nnoble liquid. Quick, Syphax, the wine which I have contributed to the\nbanquet will suit exactly. Go, and let the amphora, which the slaves\nhave set in snow outside, be brought in, and with it the cups of yellow\namber.\"\n\n\"What rare thing have you brought--from what country?\" asked\nKallistratos.\n\n\"Ask this far-travelled Odysseus, from what hemisphere,\" said Piso.\n\n\"You must guess. And whoever guesses right, or whoever has already\ntasted this wine, shall have an amphora from me as large as this.\"\n\nTwo slaves, crowned with ivy, dragged in the immense dark-coloured\nvase; it was of brown-black porphyry and of a singular shape, inscribed\nwith hieroglyphics and well closed at the neck with plaster.\n\n\"By the Styx! does it come from Tartarus? It is indeed a black fellow!\"\nsaid Marcus, laughing.\n\n\"But it has a white soul--show, Syphax.\"\n\nThe Nubian carefully knocked off the plaster with an ebony hammer which\nGanymede handed to him, took out the stopper of palm-rind with a bronze\nhook, poured away the oil which swam at the top of the wine, and filled\nthe cups. A strong and intoxicating odour arose from the white and\nsticky fluid.\n\nEvery one drank with an air of examination.\n\n\"A drink fit for the gods!\" cried Balbus, setting down his cup.\n\n\"But as strong as liquid fire,\" said Kallistratos.\n\n\"I do not know it,\" said Lucius Licinius.\n\n\"Nor I,\" affirmed Marcus Licinius.\n\n\"And I am happy to make its acquaintance,\" said Piso, and held his\nempty cup to Syphax.\n\n\"Well,\" said the host, turning to an, until now, almost silent guest at\nhis right hand, \"well, Furius, valiant sailor, discoverer and\nadventurer! you who have sailed round the world, is _your_ wisdom also\nat fault?\"\n\nThe guest slightly raised himself from the cushions. He was a\nhandsome athletic man of about thirty years of age, with a bronzed\nweather-beaten complexion, coal-black, deep-set eyes, dazzling white\nteeth, and a full beard, trimmed in Oriental fashion. But before he\ncould speak Kallistratos interposed:\n\n\"By Jupiter Xenios! I believe you do not know each other!\"\n\nCethegus measured his unknown and attractive companion with a keen\nlook.\n\n\"I know the Prefect of Rome,\" said the silent guest.\n\n\"Well, Cethegus,\" said Kallistratos, \"this is my Vulcanic friend,\nFurius Ahalla, from Corsica, the richest ship-owner of the West; deep\nas night and hot as fire. He possesses fifty houses, villas and palaces\non all the coasts of Europe, Asia, and Africa; twenty galleys; a few\nthousand slaves and sailors, and----\"\n\n\"And a very talkative friend,\" concluded the Corsican. \"Prefect, I am\nsorry for you, but the amphora is mine. I know the wine.\" And he took a\nKibitz-egg and broke the shell with a silver spoon.\n\n\"Hardly,\" said Cethegus with a sarcastic smile.\n\n\"Nevertheless I do know it. It is Isis-wine. From Memphis.\" And the\nCorsican quietly sipped the golden yolk of his egg.\n\nCethegus looked at him in surprise.\n\n\"Well guessed!\" he then said. \"Where have you tasted it?\"\n\n\"Necessarily in the same place as you. It flows only from one source,\"\nsaid the Corsican, smiling.\n\n\"Enough of your secrets! No riddles under the rose!\" cried Piso.\n\n\"Where have you two weasels found the same nest?\" asked Kallistratos.\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Cethegus, \"you may as well know it. In Old Egypt, and\nparticularly in holy Memphis, there remain near the Christian settlers\nand monks in the deserts, men, and especially women, who still cling to\ntheir old faith; who will not forsake Apis and Osiris, and cherish\nfaithfully the sweet worship of Isis. They fly from the surface, where\nthe Church has victoriously planted the cross of the ascetics, to the\nsecret bosom of Mother Earth with their holy and beloved religious\nceremonies. They still keep, hidden below the pyramids of Cheops, a few\nhundred amphoras of the strong wine which intoxicated the initiated at\nthe orgies of joy and love. The secret is kept from generation to\ngeneration, there is always only one priestess who knows the cellar and\nkeeps the key. I kissed the priestess and she let me in. She was like a\nwild cat, but her wine was good; and at parting she gave me five\namphoras to take on board my ship.\"\n\n\"I did not get as far as that with Smerda,\" said the Corsican. \"She let\nme drink in the cellar, but at parting she only gave me this.\" And he\nbared his brown throat.\n\n\"A dagger-stab of jealousy!\" laughed Cethegus. \"Well, I am glad that\nthe daughter has not degenerated. In my time, that is, when the mother\nlet me drink, the little Smerda still ran about in baby-frocks. Long\nlive the Nile and sweet Isis!\" And the two men drank to each other. But\nyet they were vexed that they shared a secret which each believed he\nhad possessed alone.\n\nThe others, however, were charmed by the amiable humour of the icy\nPrefect, who chatted with them as youthfully as the youngest amongst\nthem, and who now, when the favourite theme of young men at the\nwine-cup had been introduced--love adventures and stories of lovely\nwomen--bubbled over with anecdotes of jests and tricks, of most of\nwhich he had himself been witness. Every one stormed him with\nquestions. The Corsican alone remained dumb and cold.\n\n\"Say,\" cried the host, and signed to the cup-bearer just as a burst of\nmirth caused by one of these stories had ceased; \"tell us, you man of\nvaried experience--Egyptian Isis-girls, Gallic Druidesses, black-haired\ndaughters of Syria, and my plastic sisters of Hellas--all these you\nknow and understand how to value; but tell us, have you ever loved a\nGermanic woman?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Cethegus, \"they were always too insipid for me.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" said Kallistratos; \"that is saying too much. I tell you, I was\nmad all the last calendars for a German girl; she was not at all\ninsipid.\"\n\n\"What? you, Kallistratos of Corinth, the countryman of Aspasia and\nHelena, you could burn for a barbarian woman? Oh, wicked Eros,\nsense-confuser, man-shamer!\"\n\n\"Well, I acknowledge it was an error of the senses. I have never before\nexperienced such.\"\n\n\"Relate, relate!\" cried all the others.\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER X.\n\n\"With pleasure,\" said the host, smoothing his cushions; \"although I\nplay no brilliant part in the story. Well, some time ago I was\nreturning home from the baths of Abaskanthus at about the eighth hour.\nIn the street I found a woman's litter, accompanied by four slaves,\nwho, I believe, were captive Gepidians. And exactly opposite the door\nof my house stood two veiled women, their calanticas thrown over their\nheads. One wore the garment of a slave, but the other was very richly\nand tastefully dressed; and the little that could be seen of her figure\nwas divine. Such a graceful walk, such slender ankles, such an arched\ninstep! As I approached they entered the litter and were gone. But\nI--you know that a sculptor's blood flows in the veins of every\nGreek--I dreamt all night of the slender ankles and the light step. The\nnext day at noon, as I opened the door to go, as usual, to the\nbibliographers in the Forum, I saw the same litter hurrying away. I\nconfess--though I am not usually vain--I thought that this time I had\nmade a conquest; I wished it so much. And I could no longer doubt it,\nwhen, coming home again at the eighth hour, I saw my strange beauty,\nthis time unaccompanied, slip past me and hurry to her litter. I could\nnot follow the quick-footed slaves, so I entered my house, full of\nhappy thoughts. The ostiarius met me and said:\n\n\"'Sir, a veiled female slave waits in the library.'\n\n\"I hurried to the room with a beating heart. It was really the slave\nwhom I had seen yesterday. She threw back her mantle; a handsome\ncoquettish Moor or Carthaginian--I know the sort--looked at me with sly\neyes.\n\n\"'I claim the reward of a messenger, Kallistratos,' she said; 'I bring\nyou good news.'\n\n\"I took her hand and would have patted her cheek--for who desires to\nwin the mistress must kiss the slave--but she laughed and said:\n\n\"'No, not Eros; Hermes sends me. My mistress'--I listened eagerly. 'My\nmistress is--a passionate lover of art. She offers you three thousand\nsolidi for the bust of Ares which stands in the niche at the door of\nyour house.'\"\n\nThe young guests laughed loudly, Cethegus joining in their merriment.\n\n\"Well, laugh away!\" continued the host, smiling; \"but I assure you I\ndid not laugh. My dreams were dashed to pieces, and I said, greatly\nvexed, 'I do not sell my busts.' The slave offered five thousand, ten\nthousand solidi. I turned my back upon her and opened the door. Then\nthe sly puss said, 'I know that Kallistratos is indignant because he\nexpected an adventure, and only found a money-affair. He is a Greek,\nand loves beauty; he burns with curiosity to see my mistress.' This\nwas so true, that I could only smile. 'Well,' she said, 'you shall see\nher, and then I will renew my last offer. Should you still refuse, at\nleast you will have had the advantage of satisfying your curiosity.\nTo-morrow, at the eighth hour, the litter will come again. Then be\nready with your Ares.' And she slipped away. I cannot deny that my\ncuriosity was aroused. Quite decided not to give up my Ares, and yet to\nsee this beauteous art-enthusiast, I waited impatiently for the\nappointed hour. It came, and with it the litter. I stood watching at my\nopen door. The slave descended. 'Come,' she called to me, 'you shall\nsee her.' Trembling with excitement, I stepped forward, the curtain\nfell, and I saw----\"\n\n\"Well?\" cried Marcus, bending forward, his cup in his hand.\n\n\"What I shall never again forget! a face, friends, of unimagined\nbeauty. Cypris and Artemis in one! I was dazzled. But I hurried back,\nlifted the Ares from its niche, gave it to the Punic slave, refused her\nmoney, and staggered into my house as confused as if I had seen a\nwood-nymph.\"\n\n\"Well, that is wonderful,\" laughed Massurius; \"you are else no novice\nin the works of Eros.\"\n\n\"But,\" asked Cethegus, \"how do you know that your charmer was a Goth?\"\n\n\"She had dark-red hair, and a milk-white skin, and black eyebrows.\"\n\n\"Oh, ye gods!\" thought Cethegus. But he was silent and waited. No one\npresent uttered the name. \"They do not know her.--And when was this?\"\nhe asked his host.\n\n\"During the last calendars.\"\n\n\"Quite right,\" thought Cethegus. \"She came at that time from Tarentum\nthrough Rome to Ravenna. She rested here for three days.\"\n\n\"And so,\" said Piso, laughing, \"you gave your Ares for a look at a\nbeautiful woman! A bad bargain! This time, Mercury and Venus were\nallies. Poor Kallistratos!\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Kallistratos, \"the bust was not worth so very much. It was\nmodern work. Ion of Neapolis made it three years, ago. But I tell you,\nI would give a Phidias for such a look.\"\n\n\"An ideal head?\" asked Cethegus indifferently, and lifted admiringly\nthe bronze mixing-vase which stood before him.\n\n\"No; the model was a barbarian--some Gothic earl or other--Watichis or\nWitichas--who can remember these hyperborean names,\" said Kalistratos,\nas he peeled a peach.\n\nCethegus reflectively sipped his wine from the cup of amber.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XI.\n\n\"Well, one might put up with the barbarian women,\" cried Marcus\nLicinius, \"but may Orcus devour their brothers!\" and he tore the faded\nrose-wreath from his head--the flowers could ill bear the close air of\nthe room--and replaced it by a fresh one. \"Not only have they deprived\nus of liberty--they even beat us upon the field of love, with the\ndaughters of Hesperia. Only lately, the beautiful Lavinia shut the door\nupon my brother, and received the foxy-haired Aligern.\"\n\n\"Barbaric taste!\" observed Lucius, shrugging his shoulders, and taking\nto his Isis-wine, as if to comfort himself. \"You know the Goths too,\nFurius; is it not an error of taste?\"\n\n\"I do not know your rival,\" answered the Corsican; \"but there are\nyouths enough among the Goths who might well be dangerous to a woman.\nAnd an adventure occurs to me, which I lately discovered, but of which,\ncertainly, the point is still wanting.\"\n\n\"That does not matter; tell it to us,\" said Kallistratos, putting his\nhands into the luke-warm water, which was now handed round in\nCorinthian bronze vessels; \"perhaps we can find the point.\"\n\n\"The hero of my story,\" began Furius, \"is the handsomest of all the\nGoths.\"\n\n\"Ah, the young Totila,\" interrupted Piso, and gave his cameo-decorated\ncup to be filled with iced wine.\n\n\"The same. I have known him for years, and like him exceedingly, as all\nmust who have ever looked into his sunny face; not to speak of the\nfact\"--and here the shadow of some grave remembrance flitted across the\nCorsican's face, as he hesitated--\"that I am under an obligation to\nhim.\"\n\n\"It seems that you are in love with the fair-haired youth,\" said\nMassurius sarcastically, and throwing to the slave he had brought with\nhim a kerchief full of Picentinian biscuits, to take home with him.\n\n\"No; but he has been very friendly to me, as he is to every one with\nwhom he comes into contact; and very often he had the harbour-watch in\nthe Italian ports where I landed.\"\n\n\"Yes, he has rendered great services to the Gothic navy,\" said Lucius\nLicinius.\n\n\"As well as to their cavalry,\" concurred Marcus. \"The slender youth is\nthe best rider in his nation.\"\n\n\"Well, I met him last in Neapolis. We were well-pleased to meet, but it\nwas in vain that I pressed him to share our merry suppers on board my\nship.\"\n\n\"Oh, those suppers are both celebrated and ill-famed,\" observed Balbus;\n\"you have always the most fiery wines.\"\n\n\"And the most fiery girls,\" added Massurius.\n\n\"However that may be, Totila always pleaded business, and was not to be\npersuaded. Imagine that! business after the eighth hour in Neapolis,\nwhen the most industrious are lazy! Naturally, it was only an excuse. I\npromised myself to find out his pranks, and, at evening, loitered near\nhis house in the Via Lata. And truly, the very first evening he came\nout, looking carefully about him, and, to my surprise, in disguise. He\nwas dressed like a gardener, with a travelling-cap well drawn down over\nhis face, and a cloak folded closely about him. I dogged his footsteps.\nHe went straight through the town to the Porta Capuana. Close to the\ngate stands a large tower, inhabited by the gate-keeper, an old\npatriarchal Jew, whom King Theodoric, on account of his great fidelity,\nentrusted with the office of warder. My Goth stood still before the\nhouse, and gently clapped his hands. A little side-door, which I had\nnot remarked before, opened noiselessly, and Totila slipped in like an\neel.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" interrupted Piso eagerly, \"I know both the Jew and his child\nMiriam--a splendid large-eyed girl! The most beautiful daughter of\nIsrael, the pearl of the East! Her lips are red as pomegranates, her\neyes are deep sea-blue, her cheeks have the rosy bloom of the peach.\"\n\n\"Well done, Piso,\" said Cethegus, smiling; \"your poem is very\nbeautiful.\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered, \"Miriam herself is living poetry.\"\n\n\"The Jewess is proud,\" grumbled Massurius, \"she scorned my gold with a\nlook as if no one had ever bought a woman before.\"\n\n\"So the haughty Goth,\" said Lucius Licinius, \"who walks with an air as\nif he earned all heaven's stars upon his curly head, has condescended\nto a Jewess.\"\n\n\"So I thought, and I determined, at the next opportunity, to laugh at\nthe youth for his predilection for musk. But nothing of the sort! A few\ndays later, I was obliged to go to Capua. I started before daybreak to\navoid the heat. I drove out of the town through the Porta Capuana, just\nas it was dawning, and as I rattled over the hard stones before the\nJews' tower, I thought with envy of Totila, and said to myself that he\nwas then lying in the embrace of two white arms. But at the second\nmilestone from the gate, walking towards the town, with two empty\nflower-baskets hanging over his breast and back, dressed in a\ngardener's costume, just as before, whom should I meet but Totila!\nTherefore he was not lying in Miriam's arms; the Jewess was not his\nsweetheart, but perhaps his confidante; and who knows where the flower\nthat this gardener cherishes blooms? The lucky fellow! Only consider\nthat on the Via Capuana stand all the villas and pleasure-houses of the\nfirst families of Neapolis, and that in these gardens flourish and\nbloom the loveliest of women.\"\n\n\"By my genius!\" cried Lucius Licinius, lifting his wreathed goblet, \"in\nthat region live the most beautiful women of Italia--cursed be the\nGoths!\"\n\n\"No,\" shouted Massurius, glowing with wine, \"cursed be Kallistratos and\nthe Corsican! who offer us strange love-stories, as the stork offered\nthe fox food from narrow-necked flasks. Now, O mine host, let your\ngirls in, if you have ordered any. You need not excite our expectation\nany further.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes! the girls! the dancers! the players!\" cried the young guests\nall together.\n\n\"Hold!\" said the host. \"When Aphrodite comes, she must tread upon\nflowers. This glass I dedicate to thee, Flora!\"\n\nHe sprang up, and dashed a costly crystal cup against the tabled\nceiling, so that it broke with a loud ring. As soon as the glass struck\nthe ceiling, the whole of it opened like a trap-door, and a thick rain\nof flowers of all kinds fell upon the heads of the astonished guests;\nroses from Pæstum, violets from Thurii, myrtles from Tarentum; covering\nwith scented bunches the tesselated floor, the tables, the cushions,\nand the heads of the drinkers.\n\n\"Never,\" cried Cethegus, \"did Venus descend more beautifully upon\nPaphos!\"\n\nKallistratos clapped his hands.\n\nTo the sound of lyre and flute the centre wall of the room, directly\nopposite the triclinium, parted; four short-robed female dancers,\nchosen for their beauty, in Persian costume, that is, dressed in\ntransparent rose-coloured gauze, sprang, clashing their cymbals, from\nbehind a bush of blooming oleander.\n\nBehind them came a large carriage in the form of a fan-shaped shell,\nwith golden wheels, pushed by eight young female slaves. Four girls,\nplaying on the flute, and dressed in Lydian garments--purple and white\nwith gold-embroidered mantles--walked before, and upon the seat of the\ncarriage rested, in a half-lying position, and covered with roses,\nAphrodite herself; a blooming girl of enchanting, voluptuous beauty,\nwhose almost only garment was an imitation of Aphrodite's girdle of the\nGraces.\n\n\"Ha, by Eros and Anteros!\" cried Massurius, and sprang down from the\ntriclinium with an unsteady step amidst the group.\n\n\"Let us draw lots for the girls,\" said Piso; \"I have new dice made from\nthe bones of the gazelle. Let us inaugurate them.\"\n\n\"Let our festal King decide,\" proposed Marcus.\n\n\"No, freedom! freedom at least in love!\" cried Massurius, and roughly\ncaught the goddess by the arm; \"and music. Hey there! Music!\"\n\n\"Music!\" ordered Kallistratos.\n\nBut before the cymbal-players could begin, the entrance-doors were\nhastily thrown open, and pushing the slaves who tried to stop him\naside, Scævola rushed in. He was deadly pale.\n\n\"You here! I really find you here, Cethegus! at this moment!\" he cried.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked the Prefect, quietly taking the wreath of\nroses off his head.\n\n\"What's the matter!\" repeated Scævola. \"The fatherland trembles between\nScylla and Charybdis! The Gothic Dukes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza----\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked Lucius Licinius.\n\n\"Are murdered!\"\n\n\"Triumph!\" shouted the young Roman, and let loose the dancer whom he\nheld in his arms.\n\n\"A fine triumph!\" said the jurist angrily. \"When the news reached\nRavenna, the mob accused the Queen; they stormed the palace--but\nAmalaswintha had escaped.\"\n\n\"Whither?\" asked Cethegus, starting up.\n\n\"Whither! Upon a Grecian ship--to Byzantium.\"\n\nCethegus frowned and silently set down his cup.\n\n\"But the worst is that the Goths mean to dethrone her, and choose a\nKing.\"\n\n\"A King?\" said Cethegus. \"Well, I will call the Senate together. The\nRomans, too, shall choose.\"\n\n\"Whom? what shall we choose?\" asked Scævola.\n\nBut Cethegus was not obliged to answer.\n\nBefore he could speak Lucius shouted:\n\n\"A Dictator! Away, away to the Senate!\"\n\n\"To the Senate!\" repeated Cethegus majestically. \"Syphax, my mantle!\"\n\n\"Here, master, and the sword as well,\" whispered the Moor. \"I always\nbring it with me, in case of need.\"\n\nAnd host and guests, staggering, followed Cethegus, who, the only\ncompletely sober man amongst them, was the first out of the house and\ninto the street.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XII.\n\nIn one of the small rooms of the Emperor's palace in Byzantium, a short\ntime after the Feast of the Floralia, a little man of insignificant\nappearance was pacing to and fro, lost in anxious thought.\n\nThe room was quiet and lonely. Although outside it was broad daylight,\nthe bay-window, which looked into the court of the extensive edifice,\nwas thickly hung with heavy curtains of gold-brocade. Equally costly\nstuffs covered the mosaic floor, so that no noise accompanied the\nfootsteps of the solitary inmate.\n\nA softened light filled the room. Relieved against the golden\nbackground of the walls, stood a row of small white busts of the\nChristian Emperors since Constantine. Exactly over a writing divan,\nhung a large cross of massive gold. Whenever the little man passed\nthis, he bent before it; for in the middle of the gold, and covered\nwith glass, a splinter of wood was enclosed, said to be a piece of the\ntrue Cross. At last he stopped before a map, which, representing the\n_orbis Romanus_, and traced upon a parchment with a purple border,\ncovered one of the walls.\n\nAfter a long and searching look, he sighed and covered his eyes with\nhis hands. They were not beautiful, nor was his face noble; but his\nfeatures were exceedingly suggestive both of good and evil. Mistrust,\ncunning and vigilance lay in the restless glance of his deep-set eyes;\ndeep wrinkles, more the result of care than of age, furrowed his\nprojecting forehead and hollow cheeks.\n\n\"Who can foresee the result?\" he exclaimed, sighing again, and rubbing\nhis long and bony hands. \"I am unceasingly impelled to do it. A spirit\nhas entered my bosom, and it warns me repeatedly. But is it an angel of\nthe Lord or a demon? Who can interpret my dream? Forgive, Thou Triune\nGod, forgive Thy most zealous servant! Thou hast cursed him who\ninterprets dreams. And yet Joseph interpreted the dreams of King\nPharaoh, and Jacob saw the heavens open; and their dreams were from\nThee. Shall I, dare I venture?\"\n\nAgain he walked to and fro; and who knows how long he would have\ncontinued to do so, had not the purple curtains of the doorway been\ngently drawn aside. A slave, glittering with gold, threw himself on the\nground before the little man, with his arms crossed on his breast.\n\n\"Emperor, the patricians whom you summoned have arrived.\n\n\"Patience!\" said the Emperor to himself, and seated himself upon a\ncouch, of which the supports were made of gold and ivory. \"Quick with\nthe shoes and the chlamys!\"\n\nThe slave drew a pair of sandals with thick soles and high heels upon\nthe Emperor's feet, which added some inches to his height, and threw\nover his shoulders a rich mantle worked all over with stars of gold,\nkissing each article as he touched it. After a repetition of the humble\nprostration, which had lately been introduced at Byzantium in this\naggravated form of Oriental submission, the slave withdrew.\n\nEmperor Justinian placed himself opposite the entrance in the attitude\nin which he was accustomed to give audience, resting his left arm upon\na broken porphyry column from the Temple of Jerusalem.\n\nThe curtain at the entrance was again parted, and three men entered,\nwith the same salutation as the slave; and yet they were the first men\nof the empire, as was shown by their characteristic heads and\nintellectual features, still more than by their richly-decorated\ngarments.\n\n\"We have summoned you,\" began the Emperor, without noticing their\nhumble greeting, \"to hear your advice concerning Italy. You have had\nall necessary information--the letters of the Queen-regent, and the\ndocuments of the patriotic party. You have also had three days to\nreflect. Speak first, Magister Militum.\"\n\nAnd he turned to the tallest of the three, a man of stately and heroic\nfigure, clad in a full suit of richly-gilded armour. His well-opened,\nlight-brown eyes were frank and confident; his large, straight nose and\nfull cheeks gave his face an expression of health and strength. There\nwas something Herculean about his broad chest and powerful thighs\nand arms; but his mouth, in spite of the fierce beard, was mild and\ngood-humoured.\n\n\"Sire,\" he said, in a full, deep-chested voice, \"the advice of\nBelisarius is always, 'Attack the enemy!' At your command, I lately\ndestroyed the Kingdom of the Vandals, in Africa, with fifteen thousand\nmen. Give me thirty thousand, and I will lay the Gothic crown at your\nfeet.\"\n\n\"'Tis well,\" said the Emperor approvingly. \"Your words have done me\ngood. What say you, Tribonianus, pearl of jurists?\"\n\nThe jurist was little shorter than Belisarius, but not so\nbroad-shouldered and stout-limbed. His high, grave forehead, quiet\neyes, and expressive mouth, bore witness to a powerful mind.\n\n\"Emperor,\" said he firmly, \"I warn you against this war. It is unjust.\"\n\nJustinian started up indignantly.\n\n\"Unjust!--to recover that which belongs to the Roman Empire!\"\n\n\"Which _did_ belong. Your predecessor, Zeno, ceded the West to\nTheodoric and his Goths when they had overthrown the usurper Odoacer.\"\n\n\"Theodoric was to be the Viceregent of the Emperor, not the King of\nItaly.\"\n\n\"Admitted. But after he had become King--as he could not fail to do,\nfor a Theodoric could never be the servant of another--the Emperor\nAnastasius, your uncle Justinus, and, later, you yourself, acknowledged\nhim and his kingdom.\"\n\n\"That was under the pressure of necessity. Now that they are in need,\nand I the stronger, I revoke that acknowledgment.\"\n\n\"That is exactly what I call unjust.\"\n\n\"You are blunt and disagreeable, Tribonianus, and a tough disputant.\nYou are excellently fitted to compile my pandects. I will never again\nask your advice in politics. What has justice to do with politics?\"\n\n\"Justice, Justinianus, is the best policy.\"\n\n\"Bah! Alexander and Cæsar thought differently.\"\n\n\"But, first, they never completed their work; and, secondly----\"\n\nHe stopped.\n\n\"Well, secondly?\"\n\n\"Secondly, you are not Cæsar, nor are you Alexander.\"\n\nAll were silent. After a pause, the Emperor said quietly:\n\n\"You are very frank, Tribonianus.\"\n\n\"Always, Justinianus.\"\n\nThe Emperor quickly turned to the third of his advisers:\n\n\"Well, what is your opinion, Narses?\"\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XIII.\n\nNarses was a stunted little man, considerably shorter than Justinian,\nfor which reason the latter stooped, when speaking with him, much more\nthan was necessary. He was bald, his complexion a sickly yellow, his\nright shoulder higher than his left, and he limped a little on the left\nfoot, supporting himself upon a stick with a golden crutch. But his\neagle eye was so commanding, that it annulled any disagreeable\nimpression made by his insignificant figure, and lent to his plain\ncountenance the consecration of intellectual greatness, while the\nexpression of painful resignation and cool superiority about his mouth\nhad even a singular charm. When addressed by the Emperor, Narses\nquickly banished from his lips a cold smile, which had been excited by\nthe jurist's moral politics, and raised his head.\n\n\"Emperor,\" he said, in a sharp, decided voice, \"I would dissuade you\nfrom this war--for the present.\"\n\nThe Emperor bit his lips in vexation.\n\n\"Also from reasons of justice?\" he asked, almost sarcastically.\n\n\"I said: for the present.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because what is necessary precedes what is pleasant. He who has to\ndefend his own house should not break into strange dwellings.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\"\n\n\"It means, that no danger threatens your empire from the West, from the\nGoths. The enemy who can, and perhaps will, destroy it, comes from the\nEast.\"\n\n\"The Persians!\" cried Justinian contemptuously.\n\n\"Since when,\" interposed Belisarius, \"since when does Narses, my great\nrival, fear the Persians?\"\n\n\"Narses fears no one,\" answered the latter, without looking at his\ninterrogator, \"neither the Persians whom he has beaten, nor you whom\nthe Persians have beaten. But he knows the Orient. If not the Persians,\nthen it will be others who follow them. The tempest which threatens\nByzantium approaches from the Tigris, not from the Tiber.\"\n\n\"Well, and what does that mean?\"\n\n\"It means, that it is a shameful thing for you, O Emperor, and for the\nRoman name which we still bear, that you should, year by year, buy\npeace from Chosroes, the Persian Khan, at the cost of many\nhundredweights of gold.\"\n\nThe Emperor's face flushed scarlet.\n\n\"How can you put such a meaning upon gifts, subsidies?\"\n\n\"Gifts! If they are not forthcoming but a week after the day of\npayment, Chosroes, the son of Cabades, burns your villages! Subsidies!\nWith them he pays Huns and Saracens, the most dangerous enemies of your\nfrontiers!\"\n\nJustinian walked rapidly through the room.\n\n\"What do you then advise?\" he said at last, stopping short before\nNarses.\n\n\"Not to attack the Goths without necessity or reason, when we can\nscarcely defend ourselves from the Persians. To put forth the whole\npower of your empire in order to abolish this shameful tribute; to\nprevent the depredations on your frontiers; to rebuild the burnt towns\nof Antiochia, Dara, and Edessa; to win back the provinces which you\nlost, in spite of the valiant sword of Belisarius; and to protect your\nfrontiers by a seven-fold girdle of fortresses from the Euphrates to\nthe Araxes. And when you have completed this necessary work--and I fear\nmuch you cannot complete it--then you may follow where Fame leads.\"\n\nJustinianus slightly shook his head.\n\n\"You are displeasing to me, Narses,\" he said bitterly.\n\n\"I knew that long ago,\" Narses answered quietly.\n\n\"And not indispensable,\" cried Belisarius proudly. \"Do not listen, my\ngreat Emperor, to this small doubter. Give me the thirty thousand, and\nI wager my right hand that I will conquer Italy for you.\"\n\n\"And I wager my head, which is more,\" said Narses, \"that Belisarius\nwill conquer Italy neither with thirty, nor with sixty, nor with a\nhundred thousand men.\",\n\n\"Well,\" asked Justinianus, \"and who can do it, and with what forces?\"\n\n\"I,\" said Narses, \"with eighty thousand.\"\n\nBelisarius grew red with anger; he was silent for want of words.\n\n\"You have never yet, with all your self-esteem, Narses,\" said the\njurist, \"vaunted yourself thus highly above your rival.\"\n\n\"I do not now, Tribonianus. See, the difference is this: Belisarius is\na great hero, and I am not; but I am a great general, and Belisarius is\nnot, and none but a great general can conquer the Goths.\"\n\nBelisarius drew himself up to his full height, and angrily grasped his\nsword. He looked as if he would have gladly crushed the cripple near\nhim.\n\nThe Emperor defended him. \"Belisarius no great general! Envy blinds\nyou, Narses.\"\n\n\"I envy Belisarius nothing, not even,\" answered Narses, slightly\nsighing, \"his health. He would h& a great general if he were not so\ngreat a hero. Every battle which he has lost, he has lost through too\ngreat heroism.\"\n\n\"That can not be said of you, Narses,\" retorted Belisarius.\n\n\"No, Belisarius, for I have never yet lost a battle.\"\n\nAn angry retort from Belisarius was cut short by the entrance of a\nslave, who, lifting the curtain, announced:\n\n\"Alexandros, sire, who was sent to Ravenna, has landed an hour ago, and\nasks----\"\n\n\"Bring him in! Here!\" cried the Emperor, hastily starting from his\nseat. He impatiently signed to the ambassador, who entered at once, to\nrise from his obeisance.\n\n\"Well, Alexandros, you came back alone?\"\n\nThe ambassador--a handsome and still young man--repeated: \"Alone.\"\n\n\"But your last report said--In what condition have you left the Gothic\nkingdom?\"\n\n\"In great confusion. I wrote in my last report that the Queen had\ndecided to rid herself of her three most haughty enemies. Should the\nattempt fail, she would be no longer safe in Italy, and she begged to\nbe allowed, in that case, to go in my ship to Epidamnus, and from\nthence to escape to Byzantium.\"\n\n\"And I accepted the proposal readily. Well, and the attempt?\"\n\n\"Succeeded. The three dukes are no more. But the rumour had reached\nRavenna that the most dangerous of them, Duke Thulun, was only wounded.\nThis induced the Queen--as, besides, the Goths threateningly surrounded\nthe palace--to escape to my ship. We weighed anchor, but soon after we\nhad left the harbour, off Ariminum, Earl Witichis overtook us with\nsuperior numbers, boarded us, and demanded that Amalaswintha should\nreturn, guaranteeing her safety until a solemn examination had taken\nplace before the National Assembly. When she learnt from him that Duke\nThulun had succumbed to his wounds, and saw from the proposal of\nWitichis that he and his powerful friends did not yet believe in her\nguilt, and as, besides, she apprehended compulsion, she consented to\nreturn with him to Ravenna. But first, on board the _Sophia_, she wrote\nthis letter to you, and sends you this present from her treasury.\"\n\n\"Of that later. Tell me further, how do things, stand now in Italy?\"\n\n\"Well for you, O great Emperor! An exaggerated account of the rebellion\nof the Goths at Ravenna and of the flight of the Queen to Byzantium,\nhas flown through the whole country. Already many encounters have taken\nplace between Romans and barbarians. In Rome itself the patriots wished\nto strike a blow at once; to choose a Dictator in the Senate, and call\nfor your assistance. But this step would have been premature, for the\nQueen was in the hands of the Goths, and only the firmness of the\nclever man who heads the conspiracy of the Catacombs prevented it.\"\n\n\"The Prefect of Rome?\" asked Justinian.\n\n\"Cethegus. He mistrusted the reports. The conspirators wished to\nsurprise the Goths, proclaim you Emperor of the West, and choose him,\nmeanwhile, for Dictator. But he literally allowed them to put the\ndagger to his throat in the Curia, and said, No.\"\n\n\"A courageous man!\" said Belisarius.\n\n\"A dangerous man!\" said Narses.\n\n\"An hour after,\" continued the ambassador, \"news, arrived of\nAmalaswintha's return, and things remained as they were. That gloomy\nwarrior, Teja, had sworn to render Rome a pasture for cattle, if a drop\nof Gothic blood were shed. I learned all this on my intentionally slow\ncoast voyage to Brundusium. But I have something still better to\nannounce. I have found zealous friends of Byzantium, not only among the\nRomans, but also among the Goths, and even in the members of the Royal\nFamily.\"\n\n\"Whom mean you?\"\n\n\"In Tuscany there lives a rich proprietor, Prince Theodahad, the cousin\nof Amalaswintha.\"\n\n\"To be sure! he is the last male of the Amelung family, is he not?\"\n\n\"The last. He and, still more, Gothelindis, his clever but wicked\nwife, the proud daughter of the Balthe, mortally hate the Queen. He,\nbecause she opposed the measureless avarice with which he sought to\nappropriate the property of all his neighbours; she, from reasons which\nI could not discover, but which, I believe, originated during the\ngirlhood of the two Princesses; enough, her hate is deadly. Now, these\ntwo have promised me to help you in every possible way to win Italy\nback. She will be satisfied, it seems, with the destruction of the\nobject of her hatred; he, however, demands a rich reward.\"\n\n\"He shall have it.\"\n\n\"His support is important, for he already possesses half Tuscany--the\nnoble family of the Wölfungs owns the other half--and can easily bring\nit into our power; and also because he expects, if Amalaswintha falls,\nto seat himself upon her throne. Here are letters from him and\nGothelindis. But, first of all, read the writing from the Queen---- I\nbelieve it is very important.\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIV.\n\nThe Emperor opened the tablets, and read:\n\n\"To Justinian, Emperor of the Romans, Amalaswintha, Queen of the Goths\nand the Italians.\"\n\n\"Queen of the Italians!\" laughed Justinian; \"what an insane title!\"\n\n\n\"From Alexandros you will learn how Eris and Ate haunt this land. I am\nlike a lonely palm-tree which is tossed by opposing winds. Each day\nincreases the barbarians' enmity to me, and daily I become more\nestranged from them; and the Romans, however much I try to conciliate\nthem, can never forget that I am of Germanic origin. Till now I have\ndefied all danger with a firm spirit; but I can do so no longer, if my\npalace and my person are not in security. I cannot rely upon any party\nin this country. Therefore I appeal to you, as my royal brother.\nIt is the dignity of all rulers, and the peace of Italy, which\nyou will protect. Send me, I beseech you, a trustworthy troop, a\nlife-guard\"--the Emperor cast a significant look at Belisarius--\"a\ntroop of some thousand men, with a leader who will be unconditionally\ndevoted to me. They shall occupy the palace; it is a fortress in\nitself. As to Rome, these troops must, above all things, keep from me\nthe Prefect Cethegus, who is as full of duplicity as he is powerful,\nand who deserted me in the danger into which he himself had led me. If\nnecessary, they must ruin him. When I have overthrown my enemies, and\nsecured my kingdom, as I trust in Heaven and my own strength that I\nshall, I will send back troops and leader richly laden with gifts, and\nstill more with warm thanks.--_Vale_.\"\n\n\nJustinian clasped the wax-tablets tightly in his hand; his eyes shone;\nhis plain features were ennobled by an expression of high intellectual\npower; and the present moment showed, that together with many\nweaknesses and littlenesses, he possessed strength and greatness: the\ngreatness of diplomatic genius.\n\n\"In this letter,\" he cried at last, with sparkling eyes, \"I hold Italy\nand the Gothic kingdom!\"\n\nAnd, much agitated, he paced the room with long strides, even\nforgetting to bow before the Cross.\n\n\"A life-guard! that she shall have! But not a few thousand men; many\nthousands--more than she will like; and you, Belisarias, shall lead\nthem.\"\n\n\"Deign to look at the presents,\" said Alexandros, pointing to a costly\nshrine of cypress-wood, inlaid with gold, which a slave had set down\nbehind him. \"Here is the key.\"\n\nAnd he held out a little box of tortoise-shell, which was closed with\nthe Queen's seal.\n\n\"Her picture is there too,\" he said, raising his voice as if by\naccident.\n\nAt the moment in which Alexandros raised his voice, the head of a woman\nwas protruded gently and unnoticed through the curtain, and two\nsparkling black eyes looked keenly at the Emperor.\n\nJustinian opened the shrine, quickly pushed aside its costly contents,\nand hastily caught up a simple tablet of polished box-wood, with a\nsmall golden frame.\n\nA cry of astonishment involuntarily burst from his lips, his eyes\nsparkled, and he showed the picture to Belisarius.\n\n\"A splendid woman! What majesty on her brow! One sees that she is a\nborn ruler--a king's daughter!\" and he gazed admiringly at the noble\nfeatures.\n\nThe curtain rustled, and the listener entered.\n\nIt was Theodora, the Empress. A seductive apparition.\n\nAll the arts of woman's inventive genius in a time of refined luxury,\nand all the means of an empire, were daily called into requisition, in\norder to keep the beauty of this woman--who had impaired it only too\nmuch by a life of unbridled sensuality--fresh and dazzling. Gold-dust\ngave to her blue-black hair a metallic brilliancy; it was carefully\ncombed up from the nape of her neck, in order to show the beautiful\nshape of her head, and its fine set upon her shoulders. Her eyebrows\nand eye-lashes were dyed black with Arabian antimony; and so carefully\nwas the red of her lips put on, that even Justinian, who kissed those\nlips, never suspected an aid to Nature by means of Ph[oe]nician\nscarlet. Every tiny hair on her alabaster arm had been carefully\ndestroyed: and the delicate rose-colour of her finger-nails was the\ndaily care of a specially-appointed slave.\n\nAnd yet, without all these arts, Theodora, who was not yet forty years\nof age, would have passed for an extremely lovely woman. Her\ncountenance was certainly not noble; no noble, or even proud spirit,\nspoke from her fatigued and weirdly shining eyes; round her lips played\nan habitual smile, the dimples of which indicated the place of the\nfirst future wrinkle; and her cheeks, beneath the eyes, showed traces\nof exhaustion.\n\nBut as she now gracefully moved towards the Emperor, delicately holding\nup the heavy folds of her dark-yellow silk robes with her left hand,\nher whole appearance produced a bewitching charm, similar to the sweet\nand soothing scent of Indian balsam which she shed around her.\n\n\"What pleases my imperial lord so much? May I share his delight?\" she\nasked in a sweet and flattering voice.\n\nThose present prostrated themselves before the Empress, scarcely less\nhumbly than before the Emperor.\n\nJustinian started upon seeing her, as if he had been caught in some\nculpable act, and tried to conceal the portrait in the folds of his\nchlamys. But it was too late. The Empress had already fixed her quick\neyes upon it.\n\n\"We are admiring,\" said the Emperor, \"the--the fine chasing of the gold\nframe.\"\n\nAnd, blushing, he gave her the portrait.\n\n\"Well,\" said Theodora, smiling, \"there is not much to admire in the\nframe. But the picture is not bad. It is surely the Gothic Queen?\"\n\nThe ambassador bowed assent.\n\n\"Not bad, as I said before; but barbaric, severe, unwomanly. How old\nmay she be, Alexandros?\"\n\n\"About forty-five.\"\n\nJustinian looked at the picture and then at the ambassador.\n\n\"The picture was taken fifteen years ago,\" said Alexandros, as if in.\nexplanation.\n\n\"No,\" said the Emperor, \"you mistake; here stands the date, according\nto the indiction[5] and the consul, and the date of her accession; it\nis of this year.\"\n\nAn awkward pause ensued.\n\n\"Well,\" stammered Alexandros, \"then the artists flatter like----\"\n\n\"Like courtiers,\" concluded the Emperor.\n\nBut Theodora came to the ambassador's aid.\n\n\"Why do we chatter about portraits and the age of strange women, when\nwe should think only of the empire? What news brings Alexandras? Are\nyou decided, Justinianus?\"\n\n\"Almost. I only wished to hear your opinion, and, I know, you are in\nfavour of war.\"\n\nNarses quietly interposed. \"Wherefore, sire, did you not at once tell\nus that the Empress was in favour of war? We could have spared our\nwords.\"\n\n\"What! would you insinuate that I am the slave of my wife?\"\n\n\"Guard your tongue better,\" said Theodora angrily. \"Many who seemed\ninvulnerable, have been stung by their own sharp tongues.\"\n\n\"You are very imprudent, Narses,\" said Justinian.\n\n\"Emperor,\" he answered, \"I have long since ceased to be prudent. We\nlive in a time, in a realm, and at a court, where, for any word that we\nspeak or leave unspoken, we may fall into disgrace and be ruined. As\nany word of mine may cause my death, I will at least die for words that\nplease me.\"\n\nThe Emperor smiled.\n\n\"You must confess, patrician, that I can bear a great deal of\nplain-speaking.\"\n\n\"You are by nature great, O Justinianus, and a magnanimous ruler; else\nNarses would not serve you. But Omphale rendered even Hercules small.\"\n\nThe eyes of the Empress shone with hatred.\n\nJustinianus became uneasy.\n\n\"Go,\" he said, \"I will consult with the Empress alone. To-morrow you\nshall hear my decision.\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XV.\n\nNo sooner were they gone, than Justinian went up to his wife, and\npressed a kiss upon her white forehead.\n\n\"Forgive him,\" he said, \"he means well.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" she answered, returning the kiss. \"It is for this reason,\nand because he is indispensable as a foil to Belisarius, that he still\nlives.\"\n\n\"You are right, as always,\" cried Justinian, putting his arm round her,\nand thus walking with her up and down the room.\n\n\"What does he intend to do?\" thought Theodora; \"this tenderness\nindicates a bad conscience.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" he repeated, \"God has denied me the spirit which\ndecides the fate of battles, and, in compensation, has given me these\ntwo men of victory---_fortunately_ two of them. Their jealousy of each\nother secures my dominion better than their fidelity. Either of these\ngenerals alone would be a continual danger to the state, and on the day\nthat they become friends, my throne will shake. You continue to excite\ntheir mutual dislike?\"\n\n\"It is easy to excite. There is as natural an antipathy between them as\nbetween fire and water. And every spiteful remark of the eunuch I tell\nwith indignation to my friend Antonina, the wife and mistress of the\nhero Belisarius.\"\n\n\"And I repeat every rudeness of this hero to the irritable cripple. But\nto our consultation. Since receiving the report of Alexandros, I am\nalmost decided upon the expedition to Italy.\"\n\n\"Whom will you send?\"\n\n\"Belisarius, of course. He promises to accomplish with thirty thousand,\nthat which Narses will scarcely undertake with eighty thousand.\"\n\n\"Do you think that so small a force will be sufficient?\"\n\n\"No. But the honour of Belisarius is engaged. He will exert his utmost\nstrength, and yet will not quite succeed.\"\n\n\"That will be wholesome for him. For, since the war with the Vandals,\nhis pride has become insupportable.\"\n\n\"But,\" continued the Emperor, \"he will accomplish three-fourths of the\nwork. Then I will recall him, march myself with sixty thousand, taking\nNarses with me, and easily finish the remaining fourth of the task.\nThen I, too, shall be called a great general and a conqueror.\"\n\n\"Finely thought out!\" cried Theodora, with sincere admiration of his\nsubtlety: \"your plan is ripe.\"\n\n\"However,\" said Justinian, sighing and stopping in his walk, \"Narses is\nright; I must confess it. It would be better for my empire if I\ndefended it from the Persians, instead of attacking the Goths. It would\nbe wiser and safer policy. For, at some time or other, destruction will\ncome from the East.\"\n\n\"Let it come! It may not be for centuries, when the only thing\nremembered of Justinianus will be the fame of having reconquered Italy\nas well as Africa. Is it your office to take thought for the future?\nThose who come after you may care for their present; let yours be your\nonly care.\"\n\n\"But if it should then be said: had Justinian defended his kingdom\ninstead of making conquests, it would now be better? If they say:\nJustinian's victories have destroyed the empire?\"\n\n\"No one will speak thus. Mankind is dazzled by the glory of Fame. And\nyet another thing--\" and now the earnestness of deep conviction chased\nthe expression of cunning persuasiveness from the seductive features of\nthe Empress.\n\n\"I suspect what you are about to say; but continue.\"\n\n\"You are not only an Emperor, you are a man. Your salvation must be\ndearer to you than even your kingdom. Many a bloody step was taken upon\nthe path, upon _our_ path--which led to the height to which we have\nattained, to the glory of our empire. Many harsh deeds were necessary;\nlife and treasures, and many a dangerous foe were--enough! It is true\nthat, with part of these treasures, we are building a temple to the\nglory of Christ, which alone will make our name immortal upon earth.\nBut for Heaven--who knows if that be sufficient! Let us\"--and her eyes\nglowed with fanatic fire--\"let us destroy the unbelievers, and seek the\npath to grace and pardon over the bodies of the enemies of Christ!\"\n\nJustinian pressed her hand.\n\n\"The Persians, too, are the enemies of Christ; they are even heathens.\"\n\n\"Have you forgotten the teaching of the Prophet: 'heretics are seven\ntimes worse than heathens?' The true faith has been revealed to them\nand they have despised it. That is the sin against the Holy Ghost,\nwhich will never be forgiven on earth or in heaven. But you are the\nsword which shall destroy these God-forsaken Arians! They are the most\nhated enemies of Christ; they know Him, and still deny that He is God.\nAlready you have overthrown the heretic Vandals in Africa, and\nsmothered error in blood and fire. Now Italy calls upon you; Rome, the\nplace where the blood of the prince of Apostles was shed, the holy\ncity, must no longer be subject to the heretics. Justinian, recall her\nto the true faith!\"\n\nShe ceased.\n\nThe Emperor looked up at the golden cross and sighed deeply.\n\n\"You unveil the inmost depths of my heart. It is this feeling which,\nmightier still than love of fame and victory, urges me to this war. But\nam I capable, am I worthy of achieving such a holy work to the honour\nof God? Will He consummate such a great deed by my sinful hand? I\ndoubt; I waver. Was the dream which came to me last night sent from\nHeaven? What was its meaning? did it incite to the attempt or warn me\noff? Well, your mother, Komito, the prophetess of Cyprus, had great\nwisdom in interpreting dreams and warnings----\"\n\n\"And you know that the gift is inherited. Did I not foretell the result\nof the war with the Vandals from your dreams?\"\n\n\"Then you shall also explain this last dream to me. You know that I\nwaver in my best plans, if an omen speaks against them. Listen then.\nBut\"--and he cast an uneasy glance at his wife--\"but remember that it\nwas but a _dream_, and no man can answer for his dreams.\"\n\n\"Certainly; God sends them.--What shall I hear?\" she added to herself.\n\n\"Last night I fell asleep while meditating over the last reports about\nAmala--about Italy. I dreamed that I was wandering in a landscape with\nseven hills. Under a laurel-tree there reposed the most beautiful woman\nI had ever seen. I stood before her and looked at her with delight.\nSuddenly there rushed out of a thicket at my right hand a growling\nbear, and, from the rocks to the left, a hissing snake, and darted at\nthe sleeping woman. She woke and called my name. I quickly caught her\nup, and, pressing her to my bosom, fled. Looking back, I saw that the\nbear crushed the snake, while the snake stung the bear to death.\"\n\n\"Well, and the woman?\"\n\n\"The woman pressed a hasty kiss upon my forehead and suddenly vanished.\nI awoke and stretched out my arms for her in vain. The woman,\" he\ncontinued quickly, before Theodora had time to reflect, \"is, of course,\nItaly.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the Empress quietly, but her bosom heaved. \"Your\ndream is most happy. The bear and the snake are barbarians and\nItalians, who strive for the city upon the seven hills. You tear it\nfrom their grasp, and let them mutually destroy each other.\"\n\n\"But she vanishes--she does not remain.\"\n\n\"She remains. She kisses you and disappears in your arms. So will Italy\nbe swallowed up in your empire.\"\n\n\"You are right!\" said Justinian, springing up. \"Thanks, my wise wife.\nYou are the light of my soul! I will venture. Belisarius shall march.\"\nHe was about to call the attendant, but suddenly stopped short. \"One\nthing more,\" and casting down his eyes he took Theodora's hand.\n\n\"Ah!\" thought Theodora, \"now it is coming.\"\n\n\"When we have destroyed the kingdom of the Goths, and have with the\nQueen's help taken Ravenna--what--what shall be done with her, the\nPrincess?\"\n\n\"What shall be done with her?\" repeated Theodora with well-feigned\ncomposure. \"That which was done with the King of the Vandals. She shall\ncome here, to Byzantium.\"\n\nJustinian breathed again.\n\n\"It rejoices me that you have at once interpreted my thought,\" and he\nkissed her slender white hand with real pleasure.\n\n\"More than that,\" said Theodora. \"She will enter into our plans all the\nmore willingly if she can look forward to an honourable reception here.\nSo I will myself write her a sisterly epistle inviting her to come. In\ncase of need she shall ever find an asylum in my heart.\"\n\n\"You do not know,\" interrupted Justinian eagerly, \"how much you will\nassist our victory by so doing. The daughter of Theodoric must be\ncompletely weaned from her people. She shall herself lead us to\nRavenna.\"\n\n\"But if so, you cannot immediately send Belisarius with an army. It\nwould only awaken her suspicions and make her rebellious. She must\nfirst be completely in our power and the barbarians must have begun an\ninternecine war, before the sword of Belisarius flies from its sheath.\"\n\n\"But at least he must henceforth be in the vicinity.\"\n\n\"Certainly, perhaps in Sicily. The disturbances in Africa afford the\nbest excuse for sending a fleet into those waters. And as soon as the\nnet is sunk Belisarius must draw it together.\"\n\n\"But who shall sink it?\"\n\nTheodora reflected for a few moments; then she said:\n\n\"The most gifted man in the West; Cethegus Cæsarius, the Prefect of\nRome, the friend of my youth.\"\n\n\"Quite right. But not he alone. He is a Roman, no subject of mine; and\nI am not sure of him. Whom shall I send? Once again Alexandros?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Theodora, \"he is too young for such a task. No.\" And she\nbecame thoughtfully silent. \"Justinian,\" she said at last, \"you shall\nsee that I can sacrifice my personal dislikes for the sake of the\nempire, when it is necessary to choose the right man. I propose my\nenemy, Petros, the cousin of Narses, the fellow-student of the Prefect,\nthe sly rhetorician--send him!\"\n\n\"Theodora!\" cried the Emperor, embracing her; \"God himself has given\nyou to me! Cethegus--Petros--Belisarius. Barbarians! you are lost!\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XVI.\n\nThe morning following this conversation the beautiful Empress rose in\ngreat good-humour from her swelling cushions, which were filled with\nthe delicate neck-feathers of the Pontian crane, and covered with pale\nyellow silk.\n\nBefore the bed stood a tripod holding a silver basin, representing\nOceanus; in it lay a massive golden ball. The Empress lifted the ball\nand let it fall clanging into the basin. The clear tone roused the\nSyrian slave who slept in the ante-room. She entered, and, approaching\nthe bed of the Empress with her arms crossed upon her bosom, drew back\nthe heavy violet-coloured curtains of Chinese silk. Then she took a\nsoft Iberian sponge, which, soaked in asses' milk, lay in a crystal\ndish, and carefully wiped off the coating of oily paste with which the\nneck and face of her mistress were covered during the night.\n\nNext she kneeled down before the bed, her face bent almost to the\nearth, and stretched out her hand to the Empress, who, taking it,\nslowly set her foot upon the neck of the kneeling girl, and sprang\nelastically to the ground.\n\nThe slave rose and threw over her mistress, who, clad only in an\nunder-tunic of the finest lawn, sat upon the palm-wood frame of the\nbed--a fine dressing-mantle of rose-coloured stuff. Then she made a\nprofound obeisance, turned to the door, cried \"Agave!\" and disappeared.\n\nAgave, a young and beautiful Thessalian girl, entered the room. She\nrolled a washstand of citrean-wood, covered with countless boxes and\nbottles, close before her mistress, and began to rub her face, neck,\nand hands with soft cloths dipped in different wines and essences. This\ntask completed, the Empress rose from the bedside and stepped on to a\ncouch covered with panther's skins.\n\n\"The large bath towards mid-day,\" she said.\n\nAgave pushed an oval bath of terebinthus-wood, covered outside with\ntortoise-shell and filled with deliciously-scented water, in front of\nthe divan, and lifted the little white feet of the Empress into it.\nAfterwards she loosened the net of gold-thread which confined the\nluxurious hair of her mistress during the night, letting the rich dark\ncoils fall over neck and shoulders, and departed in her turn, calling\n\"Galatea!\"\n\nGalatea was an aged slave, the nurse, attendant, and, we regret to add,\nthe procuress of Theodora, when the latter was only the bespangled\ndaughter of Acacius the lion-keeper, and, while yet almost a child, the\nalready deeply-corrupted favourite of the great Circus.\n\nGalatea had faithfully shared all the humiliations and triumphs, the\nvices and cunning of the adventuress's life until the latter had\nattained to the imperial throne.\n\n\"How hast thou slept, my dove?\" asked Galatea, handing to Theodora in a\nvessel of amber the aromatic essence which the town of Adana, in\nSicily, was forced to send in large quantities for the Empress's use as\na yearly tribute.\n\n\"Well; I dreamt of him.\"\n\n\"Of Alexandros?\"\n\n\"No, thou fool! of the handsome Anicius.\"\n\n\"But Alexandros has been waiting for some time already; outside in the\nsecret niche.\"\n\n\"He is impatient,\" said the Empress, smiling; \"well then, let him in!\"\n\nAnd she leaned back upon the long divan, drawing a cover of purple silk\nover her; but the delicate ankles of her beautiful feet remained\nvisible.\n\nGalatea bolted the principal door, through which she had entered, and\ncrossed the room to the opposite corner, which was filled by a colossal\nbronze statue of Justinian. She touched a spring, and the seemingly\nimmovable mass turned on one side, exposing a small opening in the\nwall, which was completely hidden by the statue in its normal position.\nA dark curtain was drawn before this opening. Galatea lifted the\ncurtain and Alexandros hurried in. He threw himself on his knees before\nthe Empress, caught her small hand and covered it with kisses.\n\nTheodora gently drew it away.\n\n\"It is very imprudent, Alexandros,\" said she, leaning back her lovely\nhead, \"to admit a lover to the toilet of his mistress. What says the\npoet: 'All things serve beauty. Yet it is no pleasant sight to see that\nin preparation which only pleases when complete.' But I promised, when\nyou left for Ravenna, to admit you to my toilet, and you richly deserve\nyour reward. You have ventured much for me. Fasten the braids tighter,\"\nshe cried to Galatea, who had now commenced the task, entrusted to her\nalone, of dressing the splendid hair of her mistress. \"You have risked\nyour life for me, Alexandros!\" and she gave him two fingers of her\nright hand.\n\n\"Oh, Theodora!\" cried the youth, \"to gain but this one moment I would\ndie ten times over!\"\n\n\"But,\" she continued, \"why did you not send me a copy of the barbarian\nQueen's last letter to Justinian?\"\n\n\"It was not possible; there was no time. I could send no more\nmessengers from my ship. I barely succeeded, after landing, in sending\nyou word that her picture was among the presents. You came just at the\nright moment!\"\n\n\"Yes; what would become of me if I did not pay Justinian's door-keepers\ntwice as well as he? But, most imprudent of ambassadors! how stupid you\nwere about the date!\"\n\n\"Oh, loveliest daughter of Cyprus! I had not seen you for months! I\ncould think of nothing but you and your wonderful beauty!\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose I must forgive you.--Galatea, bring me the black\nfillet.--You are a better lover than a statesman, Alexandros. Therefore\nI have kept you here. Yes, you were to have gone once more to Ravenna!\nBut I think I will send an older ambassador, and keep the young one for\nmyself. Shall I?\"\n\nAlexandros, becoming bolder and more ardent, sprang up and pressed a\nkiss upon her rosy lips.\n\n\"Hold, traitor!\" she scolded, and struck his cheek lightly with a fan\nof flamingo-feathers. \"Enough for to-day. To-morrow you may come again,\nand tell me about the barbarian beauties. I must have the next hour for\nanother.\"\n\n\"For another!\" cried Alexandros, starting back. \"So what they\nwhisper in the gymnasiums and baths of Byzantium is true! You ever\nfaithless----\"\n\n\"Theodora's friends must never be jealous,\" laughed the Empress. It was\nno sweet laughter. \"But this time you may be quite easy; you shall meet\nhim yourself. Go.\"\n\nGalatea took the reluctant lover by the shoulders, without ceremony,\nand pushed him behind the statue and out of the secret door.\n\nTheodora now seated herself upright, and fastened the loose folds of\nher long under-garment with her girdle.\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVII.\n\nGalatea appeared again immediately, accompanied by a little\nround-backed man, who looked much older than his forty-years justified.\nHis wise, but pinched features, piercing eyes, and cunning mouth, made\na disagreeable impression on all who observed him.\n\nTheodora returned his creeping salutation by a slight nod. Galatea\nbegan to paint her eyebrows.\n\n\"Empress,\" the new-comer began, \"I wonder at your courage. If I were\nseen here! A moment's rashness would render vain the prudence of nine\nyears!\"\n\n\"But you will not be seen, Petros,\" said Theodora quietly. \"This is the\nonly hour in which I am secure from Justinian's importunate tenderness.\nIt is his hour of prayer. I must profit by it as much as I can. God\npreserve his piety! Galatea, my wine. What! Surely, thou dost not fear\nto leave me alone with this dangerous seducer?\"\n\nThe old woman left the room with a hateful grin upon her lips, and soon\nreturned with a jug of sweet heated Chian-wine in one hand, and a cup\nof honey and water in the other.\n\n\"I could not arrange our meeting in the church as usual, where, in the\ndark confessional, you look exactly like a priest. The Emperor will\ncall you before church-time, and you must be thoroughly instructed\nbeforehand.\"\n\n\"What is then to be done?\"\n\n\"Petros,\" answered Theodora, leaning comfortably back and sipping the\nsweet mixture which Galatea now handed to her, \"the day has come which\nwill reward all our years of patience, and make you a great man.\"\n\n\n\n\"It is time, indeed!\" observed Petros.\n\n\"Do not be impatient, friend.--Galatea, a little more honey.--In order\nto put you into the right humour for to-day's business, it will be well\nto remind you of the past, of the manner in which our--friendship\noriginated.\"\n\n\"What mean you? Wherefore----\"\n\n\"For many reasons. To begin. You were the cousin and adherent of my\ndeadly enemy, Narses. Consequently, you were my enemy too. For years\nyou acted against me in your cousin's service, hurting me but little,\nand still less benefiting yourself. For Narses, your virtuous friend,\nconsiders it a point of honour never to do anything for his relations;\nso that, unlike other courtiers of the realm, he may never be accused\nof nepotism. Out of pure friendship and virtue, he left you unpromoted.\nYou remained a simple writer and a poor man. But a clever man like you\nknows how to help himself. You forged--you doubled the amount of the\nEmperor's dues. Besides what was demanded by the Emperor, the provinces\npaid another tax, which Petros and the tax-gatherers shared amongst\nthemselves. For a time all went on smoothly. But once----\"\n\n\"Empress, I beseech you!\"\n\n\"I shall soon have finished, friend. But once you had the misfortune to\nhave a new tax-gatherer, who valued the favour of the Empress more than\nthe share of booty which you promised him. He entered into your plans,\nallowed you to forge the documents--and showed them to me!\"\n\n\"The wretch!\" murmured Petros.\n\n\"Yes, it was bad enough,\" said Theodora smiling, and setting down her\nglass. \"So I had the neck of my sly enemy, the confidant of the hated\neunuch, under my foot; and, I must confess, I had a great desire to\ntrample upon him. But I sacrificed a short revenge for a great and\nenduring advantage. I called you to me, and told you to choose whether\nyou would die or serve me for life. You were kind enough to choose the\nlast, and, still the greatest enemies in the eyes of the world, we have\nsecretly worked together for years. No sooner has Narses formed a plan,\nthan you reveal it to me. I have rewarded you well. You are now a rich\nman.\"\n\n\"Not worth mentioning.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed, ungrateful man! My treasurer knows better. You are _very_\nrich.\"\n\n\"Yes, but without dignity or rank. My fellow-students are patricians,\ngreat men in the East and West; like Cethegus in Rome, and Procopius\nhere.\"\n\n\"Patience! From this day you will quickly climb the ladder of ambition.\nIt was necessary to keep something in reserve. Listen; to-morrow you go\nas ambassador to Ravenna.\"\n\n\"As imperial ambassador!\" cried Petros, rejoiced.\n\n\"Through my influence. But that is not all. You will receive\ncircumstantial directions from Justinian to undermine the kingdom of\nthe Goths, and smooth the path of Belisarius in Italy.\"\n\n\"Shall I obey these directions, or not?\"\n\n\"Obey them. But you will receive another order, which Justinian will\nparticularly recommend to your notice; that is, to save the daughter of\nTheodoric from the hands of her enemies at any price, and bring her to\nByzantium. Here is a letter from me to her, which presses her to take\nrefuge in my arms.\"\n\n\"'Tis well,\" said Petros, taking the letter. \"I will bring her here\nimmediately.\"\n\nTheodora, like an angry snake, started up on her couch with such\nimpetuosity, that Petros and Galatea retreated in affright.\n\n\"No, no, Petros! no!\" she exclaimed. \"For this reason I send you. She\nmust _not_ come to Byzantium! She must not live!\"\n\nConfounded, Petros let the letter fall.\n\n\"Oh, Empress!\" he whispered; \"murder?\"\n\n\"Peace!\" cried Theodora, in a hoarse voice; and her eyes sparkled\ncruelly. \"She must die!\"\n\n\"Die? Oh, Empress! wherefore?\"\n\n\"There is no need for you to know that. But stay; I will tell you, for\nit will give the spur to your courage. Listen.\" She seized his arm\nwildly, and whispered in his ear, \"Justinian, the traitor, has\nconceived a passion for her!\"\n\n\"Theodora!\" cried Petros, startled.\n\nThe Empress fell back upon her couch.\n\n\"But he has never seen her,\" stammered Petros.\n\n\"He has seen her portrait. He already dreams of her. He has fallen in\nlove with her picture.\"\n\n\"You have never yet had a rival.\"\n\n\"No; nor ever will.\"\n\n\"You are so beautiful.\"\n\n\"Amalaswintha is younger.\"\n\n\"You are so wise; you are Justinian's counsellor the confidant of his\nmost secret thoughts.\"\n\n\"It is just this which annoys him. And\"--she again caught his\narm--\"remember, she is a King's daughter, a born ruler; and I--am the\nplebeian daughter of a lion-keeper! Ridiculous and insane though it be,\nJustinian, in his purple, forgets that he is the son of a shepherd from\nthe Dardanelles. He has imbibed the madness of Kings; he, himself an\nadventurer, chatters about innate majesty, about the mystery of royal\nblood! I have no protection against such whims. I fear nothing from all\nthe women in the world. But this King's daughter----\" She angrily\nstarted up, and clenched her small fist. \"Beware, Justinian!\" she\ncried, pacing the room. \"With this eye and hand I have subdued lions\nand tigers; let us see if I cannot keep this fox in royal purple at my\nfeet.\" She re-seated herself. \"In short, Amalaswintha dies,\" she said,\nsuddenly becoming quite cool again.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Petros, \"but not through me. You have bloodthirsty servants\nenough; send them. I am a man who will talk----\"\n\n\"You are a man who will die if you do not obey! You, my supposed enemy,\nmust do it. None of my friends can venture it without arousing\nsuspicion.\"\n\n\"Theodora,\" said Petros, forgetting himself, \"take care! To murder the\ndaughter of Theodoric, a born Queen----\"\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" said Theodora, in a rage, \"you, too, miserable man, are\ndazzled by the 'born Queen!' All men are fools, still more than\nrascals! Listen, Petros--the day when the news of her death arrives\nfrom Ravenna, you shall be a senator and a patrician.\"\n\nThe man's eyes sparkled, but cowardice or conscience were still\nstronger than ambition.\n\n\"No,\" he said decidedly, \"I would rather lose the court and all my\nplans.\"\n\n\"You will lose your life, wretch!\" cried Theodora. \"Oh, you think you\nare safe, because I burnt the forged documents before your eyes! You\nfool! they were false! Look here; here I hold your life in my hands!\"\n\nShe dragged a yellow parchment from a roll of documents, and showed it\nto Petros, who, completely subdued, fell upon his knees at her feet.\n\n\"Command me!\" he stammered, \"I obey.\" Just then a knocking was heard at\nthe principal door.\n\n\"Away!\" cried the Empress, \"take my letter to the Queen from the\nground, and think over what I have said: patrician if she dies, torture\nand death if she lives. Go!\"\n\nGalatea pushed the bewildered man through the secret entrance, turned\nthe statue into its place again, and went to open the great door.\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XVIII.\n\nThere entered a stately woman, taller and of coarser frame than the\nsmall and delicate Empress; not so seductively beautiful, but younger\nand more blooming, with a fresh complexion and natural manners.\n\n\"Welcome, Antonina, sister of my heart! Come to my arms!\" cried the\nEmpress to the new-comer, who humbly bent before her.\n\nAntonina obeyed in silence.\n\n\"How hollow her eyes have become,\" she thought, as she rose from the\nembrace.\n\n\"How bony is the soldier's wife!\" said the delicate Empress to herself,\nand looked at her friend.\n\n\"You are as blooming as Hebe!\" she said aloud, \"and how well the white\nsilk becomes your fresh complexion. Have you anything to tell me of--of\nhim?\" she asked indifferently, and took from the wash-stand a\nmuch-dreaded instrument, a sharp lancet with an ivory handle, with\nwhich clumsy, or even only unfortunate, slaves were often pricked by\ntheir angry mistress.\n\n\"Not to-day,\" whispered Antonina, blushing. \"I did not see him\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"I believe it!\" said Theodora to herself, with a hidden smile.\n\n\"Oh, how painfully I shall miss you soon!\" she added aloud, stroking\nAntonina's full round arm. \"Perhaps Belisarius will sail next week, and\nyou, most faithful of all wives, will go with him. Which of your\nfriends will accompany you?\"\n\n\"Procopius,\" answered Antonina, \"and--\" she added, casting down her\neyes--\"the two sons of Boëthius.\"\n\n\"Ah, indeed,\" remarked the Empress, smiling, \"I understand. In the\nfreedom of the camp you hope to please yourself with the handsome\nyouth, undisturbed; and while our hero, Belisarius, fights battles and\nconquers cities----\"\n\n\"You guess rightly. But I have a request to make. You are fortunate.\nAlexandros, your handsome friend, has returned; he remains near you,\nand is his own master; but Anicius, you know, is still under the strict\nguardianship of his elder brother, Severinus. Never would he--who\nthinks of nothing but fighting for freedom and revenge--suffer this\ntender friendship. He would repeatedly disturb our intimacy. Therefore\ndo me a favour: do not let Severinus follow us! When we are on board\nwith Anicius, keep the elder brother in Byzantium, either by cunning or\nby force. You can do it easily--you are the Empress!\"\n\n\"That is not bad,\" laughed Theodora. \"What stratagems! One can see that\nyou have learned from Belisarius.\"\n\nAntonina blushed violently.\n\n\"Oh, do not name him! Do not mock me! You know best from whom I learnt\nto do that for which I must blush.\"\n\nTheodora shot a fierce glance at her friend, who, without noticing it,\ncontinued: \"Heaven knows that Belisarius himself was not more faithful\nthan I, until I came to this court! It was you, Empress, who taught me\nthat these selfish men, occupied with affairs of state, war, and\nambition, neglect us when they have become our husbands, and no longer\nvalue us when they possess us. You taught me that it is no sin to\naccept the innocent homage, the flattering devotion which is denied to\nus by our husbands, from friends who court us because they still hope.\nGod is my witness, that it is nothing but this sweet incense which\nBelisarius denies me, and which my vain weak heart sorely needs, that I\nexpect from Anicius.\"\n\n\"Fortunately for me, it will soon tire him out,\" said Theodora to\nherself.\n\n\"And yet,\" continued Antonina, \"even this, I fear, is a sin against\nBelisarius. Oh, how great, how noble he is! If only he were not too\ngreat for this little heart.\" And she buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"The pitiful creature!\" thought the Empress, \"too weak for vice, as for\nvirtue.\"\n\nAt this moment Agave, the beautiful Thessalian slave, entered the room\nwith a large bunch of splendid roses.\n\n\"From him,\" she whispered to her mistress.\n\n\"From whom?\" asked Theodora.\n\nBut Antonina just then looked up, and Agave made a sign of warning. The\nEmpress, in order to occupy her, gave Antonina the roses.\n\n\"If you please, put them into that marble vase.\"\n\nAs Antonina turned her back upon them to obey, Agave whispered: \"From\nhim whom you kept hidden here all day yesterday; from the handsome\nAnicius,\" the pretty girl added, blushing.\n\nBut she had scarcely uttered the imprudent words, than she gave a loud\ncry, and held her left arm to her lips.\n\nThe Empress struck her in the face with the still bloody lancet.\n\n\"I will teach you to notice whether men are handsome or ugly,\" she\ncried furiously. \"You will keep to the spinning-room for four weeks. Go\nat once! and do not show yourself again in my ante-rooms.\"\n\nThe weeping girl left the room, hiding her face in her dress.\n\n\"What has she done?\" asked Antonina, coming forward.\n\n\"She let the scent-bottle fall,\" answered Galatea quickly, and picked\none up from the floor. \"Mistress, I have finished.\"\n\n\"Then let the dressers in, and whoever else waits in the ante-room.\nWill you, meanwhile, look at these verses, Antonina? They are the\nnewest poems of Arator, 'The Deeds of the Apostles,' and very edifying.\nThis particularly, 'The Stoning of St. Stephen.' But read, and judge\nfor yourself.\"\n\nGalatea opened wide the doors of the principal entrance. A whole troop\nof slaves and freed-women streamed in. Some occupied themselves with\nclearing away the articles of toilet hitherto used; others swung\ncensers with aromatic incense, or sprinkled balsam about the room from\nnarrow-necked flasks. But most of them were busy about the person of\nthe Empress, who now completed her toilet.\n\nGalatea took off the rose-coloured tunic.\n\n\"Berenice,\" she cried, \"bring the Milesian tunic, with the purple\nstripe and gold tassels. To-day is Sunday .\"\n\nWhile the experienced old woman was artfully fastening into the knot of\nthe Empress's hair a costly gold needle, its head formed of a gem,\nengraved with a head of Venus, the Empress asked: \"What news, from the\ncity, Delphine?\"\n\n\"You have won, mistress!\" answered Delphine, kneeling down with the\ngilded sandals; \"your colours, the blue, have beaten the green; both\nwith the horses and the chariots!\"\n\n\"What a triumph!\" cried Theodora joyfully. \"A bet of two centenaria of\ngold; it is mine! News? Whence? from Italy?\" she cried to a slave who\njust entered with letters.\n\n\"Yes, mistress, from Florence; from the Gothic Princess, Gothelindis. I\nknow the Gorgon-seal; and from Silverius, the archdeacon.\"\n\n\"Give me them,\" said Theodora, \"I will take them with me to church. The\nmirror, Elpis.\"\n\nA young slave came forward with an oval plate of brilliantly-polished\nsilver, in a gold frame, richly set with pearls, and standing on a\nstrong foot of ivory.\n\nPoor Elpis had a hard service.\n\nDuring the completion of the toilet she had to hold the heavy plate,\nand, following every movement of her restless mistress, turn it, so\nthat the latter could always look at her own reflection, and woe to\nElpis if she were too late in turning!\n\n\"What is there to buy, Zephyris?\" the Empress asked a dark-skinned\nLybian freed-woman, who just then brought her a tame snake to caress,\nwhich lay in a small basket upon soft moss.\n\n\"Oh, nothing particular,\" answered the Lybian. \"Come, Glauke,\" she\nadded, taking a snowy white chlamys, embroidered with gold, from a\nclothes-press, and carefully spreading it out upon her arms, waited\nuntil Glauke took it from her, and, at one throw, arranged it in\ngraceful folds upon the shoulders of the Empress, clasping it with the\nwhite girdle, and fastening one end upon her pearly shoulder with a\ngolden brooch, which, formed in the shape of the dove of Venus, now\nrepresented the sign of the Holy Ghost.\n\nGlauke, the daughter of an Athenian sculptor, had studied the folds of\nthe chlamys for years, and for this reason had been bought by the\nEmpress at a cost of many thousand solidi. The whole day long this was\nher sole occupation.\n\n\"Sweet-scented soap-balls,\" said Zephyris, \"have just arrived from\nSpain. A new Milesian fairy-tale has just come out. And the old\nEgyptian is there again, with his Nile-water,\" she added in a low tone;\n\"he says it is unfailing. The Persian Queen, who was childless for\neight years----\"\n\nTheodora turned away sighing; a shadow passed across her smooth face.\n\n\"Send him away,\" she said; \"this hope is past forever.\" And, for a\nmoment, it seemed as if she would have sunk into a melancholy reverie.\n\nBut she roused herself, and, beckoning to Galatea, she went back to her\nbed, took a crushed wreath of ivy which lay upon the pillow, and gave\nit to the old woman, whispering:\n\n\"For Anicius, send it to him. The jewels, Erigone!\"\n\nErigone, with the help of two other slaves, brought forward, with great\ntrouble, a heavy bronze casket, the lid of which, representing the\nworkshop of Vulcan in embossed figures, was closed with the seal of the\nEmpress.\n\nErigone showed that the seal was intact, and then opened the lid. Many\na girl stood upon her tiptoes to catch a glance at the shining\ntreasures.\n\n\"Will you wear the summer rings, mistress?\" asked Erigone.\n\n\"No,\" said Theodora, looking into the casket, \"the time for those is\nover. Give me the heavy ones, the emeralds.\"\n\nErigone handed to her rings, earrings, and bracelet.\n\n\"How beautifully,\" said Antonina, looking up from her pious verses,\n\"how beautifully the white of the pearls contrasts with the green of\nthe stones.\"\n\n\"It was one of Cleopatra's treasures,\" said the Empress indifferently;\n\"the Jew swore to its pedigree.\"\n\n\"But you linger long,\" said Antonina. \"Justinian's litter was already\nwaiting as I came up.\"\n\n\"Yes, mistress,\" said a young slave anxiously, \"the slave at the\nsundial has already announced the fourth hour. Hasten, mistress!\"\n\nA prick with the lancet was the only answer.\n\n\"Would you teach your Empress!\" but she whispered to Antonina: \"We must\nnot spoil the men; they must always wait for us, never we for them. My\nostrich fan, Thais. Go, Ione, tell the Cappadocian slaves to come to my\nlitter.\" And she turned to go.\n\n\"Oh, Theodora!\" cried Antonina quickly, \"do not forget my request.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Theodora, suddenly standing still, \"certainly not! And\nthat you may be quite sure, I will give the order into your own hands.\nMy wax-tablets and the stylus!\"\n\nGalatea brought them in haste.\n\nTheodora wrote, and whispered to her friend:\n\n\"The Prefect of the harbour is one of my old friends. He blindly obeys\nme. Read what I write.\"\n\n\n\"To Aristarchus the Prefect, Theodora the Empress.\n\n\"When Severinus, the son of Boëthius, is about to go on board the ship\nof Belisarius, keep him back, if necessary, by force; and send him to\nmy rooms. He is appointed my chamberlain.\"\n\n\n\"Is that right, dear sister?\" she whispered.\n\n\"A thousand thanks!\" said Antonina, with beaming eyes.\n\n\"But,\" said the Empress suddenly, putting her hand to her neck, \"have\nwe forgotten the principal thing? My amulet! the Mercury. Please,\nAntonina; there it hangs.\"\n\nAntonina turned hastily to fetch the little golden Mercury, which hung,\nby a silk cord, on the bed of the Empress.\n\nMeanwhile Theodora quickly crossed out the word \"Severinus,\" and wrote\ninstead \"Anicius.\" She closed the tablets, tied them, and fastened the\nstring with her seal.\n\n\"Here is the amulet,\" said Antonina, returning.\n\n\"And here is the order,\" said the Empress, smiling. \"You can give it to\nAristarchus yourself at the moment of departure. Now,\" she cried, \"let\nus go. To the church!\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XIX.\n\nIn Neapolis, that Italian city over which the tempest then gathering at\nByzantium was soon to burst in its first violence, no presentiment of\nthe coming danger was felt.\n\nOn the charming declivities of Posilippo, or on the shore to the\nsouth-east of the city, there wandered, day by day, two handsome\nyouths, exchanging confidences with all the enthusiasm of youthful\nfriendship. They were the \"Dioscuri,\" Julius and Totila.\n\nOh, happy time! when the uncorrupted soul, breathing the fresh morning\nair of life, as yet untired and undeceived, and drunk with the ecstasy\nof ambitious dreams, is urged to impart to an equally young, equally\nrich and equally enthusiastic nature its overflowing sentiments!\n\nThe noblest resolves are strengthened, and imagination wings its way to\nthe very gates of heaven, in the happy certainty that he who listens\nwill understand.\n\nWhen the wreath upon our brows is faded, and the harvest of our life is\nripe, we may smile at these dreams of youth and youthful friendship;\nbut it is no smile of mockery; it is tinged with the melancholy with\nwhich we think of the sweet, exhilarating airs of spring, while\ninhaling the breath of decay in autumn.\n\nThe young Goth and the young Roman had met at the age most favourable\nto the formation of the bond of friendship. Totila's sunny soul had\npreserved all the dewy bloom of youth; with smiling eyes he looked\nforth into the smiling future. He loved his fellow-creatures, and won\nall hearts by his amiability and the joyous frankness of his\ndisposition. He believed in the complete victory of good over evil.\nWhere meanness and wickedness met him in his path, he trod them into\nthe dust with the holy anger of an archangel; from the depths of his\ngentle nature the latent heroic strength broke forth, and he did not\nrest until the hated elements were destroyed. But the disturbance was\nforgotten as soon as overcome, and life and the world again appeared to\nhim as harmonious as his own soul. He walked through the crowded\nstreets of Neapolis with a song upon his lips, the idol of the girls,\nthe pride of his brothers in arms.\n\nWith such a nature Totila was the favourite of all who knew him,\nreceiving and imparting happiness. Even his quiet friend imbibed\nsomewhat of the charm of his temperament.\n\nJulius Montanus, of a sensitive and thoughtful disposition, of an\nalmost feminine nature, had been early left an orphan, and, awed by the\nimmense superiority of his guardian Cethegus, had grown up shy, lonely\nand studious. More oppressed than elevated by the cheerless science of\nhis time, he was apt; to look upon life as earnest and almost sad. He\nwas inclined to subject all things to the severe test of superhuman\nperfection, and his natural self-distrust might easily have darkened\ninto melancholy.\n\nAt a happy moment Totila's friendship shone into the inmost depths of\nhis heart, and penetrated it with such a sunny warmth that his noble\nnature was thereby enabled to rise with elasticity from a severe shock\nwhich it received by means of this very friendship.\n\nLet us hear what he himself wrote about this circumstance to the\nPrefect.\n\n\n\"To Cethegus the Prefect, Julius Montanus.\n\n\"The cold-hearted reply to my enthusiastic report of my newly-formed\nfriendship to Totila, at first--surely contrary to your wish--hurt me\nsorely, but later it was the means of enhancing the happiness of this\nfriendship in a manner, however, which you could neither foresee nor\nwish. Sorrow caused by you was soon changed into sorrow for _you_.\nThough at first I felt hurt because you treated my deepest feelings\nas the mere enthusiasm of a sickly boy, and tried to assail my\nprofoundest convictions with bitter mockery--only _tried_, for they are\nunassailable--this feeling was soon changed into one of compassion for\nyou. It is sad that a man like you, so rich in intellect, should be\nso poor in heart. It is sad that you do not know the happiness of\nself-denial, or of that unselfish love, which is called in the language\nof a belief--more laughed at than credited by you, but to which each\nday of pain draws me closer--_caritas_! Forgive the freedom of my\nwords. I know I have never yet addressed such to you, but I have only\nlately become _what_ I am. Perhaps it was not wholly with injustice\nthat, in your last letter, you blamed the traces of childishness which\nyou found in me. I believe that they have disappeared since then, and I\nspeak to you now as a _man_. Your 'medicine' has certainly accelerated\nmy development, but not in your sense of the word and not according to\nyour wish. It has brought me pain, holy and refining; it has put my\nfriendship to a severe test, and, God be thanked, the fire has not\ndestroyed it, but hardened it for ever. Read on and you will wonder at\nthe manner in which Heaven has carried out your plans! Though pained at\nyour letter, I very soon, with my habitual obedience, sought your\nfriend, Valerius Procillus, the trader in purple. He had already left\nthe town for his charming villa. There I followed him, and found a man\nof much experience, and a zealous friend of freedom and of his country.\nHis daughter Valeria is a jewel! You prophesied truly. My intention of\nbeing extremely reserved melted at her sight like mist before the sun.\nIt seemed to me as if Electra or Cassandra, Cl[oe]lia or Virginia,\nstood before me! But still more than by her great beauty, I was charmed\nby the grace of her mind as it unfolded itself before me. Her father at\nonce invited me to remain as his guest, and under his roof I have spent\nthe happiest days of my life. Valeria lives in the poetry of the\nancients. How her melodious voice lent splendour to the choruses of\nÆschylus, and melancholy to Antigone's lament! We read together for\nhours, and when she rose from her chair in her enthusiasm, when her\ndark hair waved freely over her shoulders and her eyes flashed with an\nalmost unearthly fire, she looked indeed wonderfully beautiful. Her\ncharacter gains an additional charm from a circumstance which may cause\nher much future grief, and which runs through her life like a cruel\nrent. You will guess what I mean, for you know the history of her\nfamily. You know better than I how it happened that her mother\ndedicated Valeria at her birth to a lonely virgin life, passed in works\nof piety, but that her rich father, more worldly than heavenly-minded,\nbought her release from this vow at the cost of a church and a\ncloister. But Valeria believes that Heaven will not accept dead gold\nfor a living soul; she does not feel released from this vow, of which\nshe thinks not with love but with fear. For you were right when you\nwrote that she is a true child of the ancient heathen world. Not only\nthat, but she is the true child of her father, yet still she cannot\naltogether renounce the pious Christianity of her mother; it lives\nwithin her, not as a blessing, but as an overpowering curse; as the\ninevitable fetter of that fatal vow. This strange conflict of feeling\ntortures her, but it ennobles her also. Who knows how the struggle will\nbe ended? Heaven alone which will decide her fate. This inward strife\nattracts me. You know that Christian faith and atheistic philosophy\nstruggle for the victory in my soul. To my astonishment, faith has\nincreased during these days of sorrow, and it almost seems to me that\nhappiness leads to heathen wisdom, and pain and misfortune to Christ.\nBut you have still to learn the cause of my suffering. When I became at\nfirst aware of my growing passion, I was full of joyful hope. Valerius,\nperhaps already influenced by you, observed my attention to Valeria\nwith no dislike; perhaps the only thing he disapproved in me was, that\nI did not sufficiently share in his dreams of a renewed Roman Republic,\nor his in hatred of the Byzantines; in whom he sees the deadly enemies,\nnot only of his family, but of Italy. Valeria, too, soon bestowed her\nfriendship upon me, and who knows if at that time this friendship and\nher reverence to her father's wishes would not have sufficed to induce\nher to accept my love. But I thank--shall I say God or Fate?--that this\ndid not happen. To sacrifice Valeria to a married life of indifference\nwould have been a sacrilege. I do not know what strange feeling\nprevented me from speaking the word, which, at that time, would have\nmade her mine. I loved her deeply; but each time that I was about to\ntake courage and sue to her father for her hand, a feeling crept over\nme as if I were trespassing on another's property; as if I were not\nworthy of her, or not intended for her; and I was silent and controlled\nmy beating heart. One day, at the sixth hour--it was sultry and the sun\nscorched both land and sea--I went to seek coolness and shade in the\ngrotto of the garden. I entered through the oleander-bushes. There\nValeria reposed upon a soft, mossy bank, one hand resting upon her\ngently-heaving bosom, the other placed beneath her head, which was\nstill crowned with a wreath of asphodels worn during the evening meal.\nI stood before her trembling; she had never looked so lovely. I bent\nover her, lost in admiration; my heart beat quickly. I bent still\nlower, and would have kissed her delicate rosy mouth, but all at once a\nthought oppressed me: what you are about to do is a robbery! Totila! my\nwhole soul cried within me, and as gently as I had come I left her.\nTotila! why had I never thought of him before? I reproached myself for\nhaving almost forgotten the brother of my heart in my new happiness.\nThe next day I returned to Neapolis to fetch him. I praised the beauty\nof the maiden, but I could not prevail on myself to tell him of my\nlove. I preferred that he should come and find it out for himself. On\nour arrival at the villa we did not find Valeria in the house. So I led\nTotila into the garden--Valeria is passionately fond of flowers--and as\nwe issued from an avenue, she appeared before us in all her dazzling\nbeauty. She was standing before a statue of her father and crowning it\nwith freshly-plucked roses, which she held heaped up in a fold of her\ntunic.\n\n\"It was a surprisingly beautiful picture--this lovely girl, framed in\nthe dark green of the taxus-bushes, her right hand uplifted to the\nwhite marble statue, the other pressing the corner of her robe to her\nbosom--and the effect upon Totila was overpowering. With a cry of\nastonishment, he remained rooted to the ground before her. She looked\nup and started. The roses fell from her dress to the ground; she did\nnot notice it. Their eyes had met, and her cheeks were covered with\nblushes. At a glance I saw that her and my fate was decided. They loved\neach other at first sight! This certainly pierced my soul like a\nburning arrow. But only for a moment did I feel this unmixed pain. The\nnext, as I looked at the two, I felt unselfishly glad that they had\nfound each other; for it seemed as if the Power which creates the souls\nand bodies of mortals, had formed them of one material for each other.\nThey belonged to each other, like morning sunshine and morning flowers.\nNow I knew what mysterious feeling had kept me apart from Valeria, and\ncaused me to pronounce his name. By the wisdom of God, or in the course\nof the stars, it had been decided that Valeria should be Totila's, and\nthat I should not step in between them.\n\n\"Permit me to leave the rest untold; for my nature is still so selfish,\nthe holy precept of self-denial has still so little power over me,\nthat--I am ashamed to confess it--my heart often fails me, instead of\nbeating with happiness at the good fortune of my friends. As two flames\nmingle inseparably together, so their hearts were united. They love\neach other, and are as happy as the immortal gods. To me remains the\njoy of witnessing their bliss, and helping them to conceal it from the\neyes of their father, who will scarcely give his child to the barbarian\nas long as he sees in Totila _only_ the barbarian. But I keep my love\nand its sacrificial death a secret from my friend; he does not guess,\nnor shall he ever learn, that which would only disturb his happiness.\nYou see now, Cethegus, how far from your aim a god has turned your\nplan. You would have given to me this jewel of Italy, and instead it is\nlaid at Totila's feet. You would have destroyed my friendship, and\nhave, instead, freed it, in the furnace of self-immolation, from all\nearthly dross, and made it immortal. You would have made me a man\nthrough the joy of love, and I have become a man through love's pain.\nFarewell, and revere the guidance of Heaven!\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XX.\n\nWe will not attempt to describe the effect of this letter upon the\nPrefect, but will rather accompany the two friends upon one of their\nevening walks on the charming shores of the Gulf of Neapolis.\n\nAfter an early c[oe]na, they wandered through the city, and out of the\nPorta Nolana, which was still decorated with some half-ruined reliefs,\nillustrating the victories of one of the Roman Emperors over the\nbarbarians.\n\nTotila stood still and admired the beautiful sculpture.\n\n\"Who can be that Emperor,\" he asked his friend, \"on the car of victory,\nwith the winged lightning in his hand, like a Jupiter Tonans?\"\n\n\"That is Marcus Aurelius,\" said Julius, and would have walked on.\n\n\"Oh, stay a while! And who are those four prisoners in chains, with the\nlong waving hair, who drag the car?\"\n\n\"They are Germanic Kings.\"\n\n\"But of what family?\" asked Totila. \"Look there, an\ninscription--'_Gothi extincti!_'--the Goths annihilated!\" and, laughing\nloudly, the young Goth struck the marble column with the palm of his\nhand, and walked quickly through the gate. \"A lie in marble!\" he cried,\nlooking back. \"That Emperor never thought that one day a Gothic Count\nin Neapolis would give his boast the lie!\"\n\n\"Yes, nations are like the changing leaves upon the tree,\" said Julius\nthoughtfully. \"Who will govern this land after you?\"\n\nTotila stood still.\n\n\"AFTER US?\" he asked in astonishment.\n\n\"What! You do not think that your Goths will endure for ever amongst\nthe nations?\"\n\n\"I don't know that,\" said Totila, walking on.\n\n\"My friend, Babylonians and Persians, Greeks and Macedonians, and, as\nit seems, we Romans also, had their appointed time. They flourished,\nripened, and decayed. Will it be otherwise with the Goths?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" answered Totila uneasily. \"I never thought about it.\nIt has never occurred to me that a time might come when my nation----\"\nHe hesitated, as if it were a sin even to express the thought. \"How\ncan one imagine such a thing? I think as little about it as I do\nabout--death!\"\n\n\"That is like you, my Totila.\"\n\n\"And it is like you, Julius, to tease yourself and others with such\ndreams.\"\n\n\"Dreams! You forget that for me and for my nation it has already become\na reality. You forget that I am a Roman. I cannot deceive myself like\nmost men; it is all over with us. The sceptre has gone from us to you.\nIt was not without much painful thought that I learned to forget that\nyou, my bosom friend, are a barbarian, the enemy of my country.\"\n\n\"But it is not so, by the light of the sun!\" interrupted Totila\neagerly. \"Do I find this harsh thought in you too? Look around you!\nWhen, tell me, when has Italy ever flourished more than under our\nprotection? Scarcely in the time of Augustus! You teach us science and\nart; we give you peace and protection. Can one imagine a finer\ncorrelation? Harmony amongst Romans and Goths may create an entirely\nnew era, more splendid than has ever existed.\"\n\n\"Harmony! But it does not exist. You are to us a strange people,\ndivided from us by speech and faith, by race and customs, and by\ncenturies of hatred. Once we robbed you of your freedom; now you have\nrobbed us of ours. Between us yawns a wide abyss.\"\n\n\"You reject my favourite idea.\"\n\n\"It is a dream!\"\n\n\"No, it is truth. I feel it, and perhaps the time will come when I can\nprove it. I would build all the fabric of my life upon it.\"\n\n\"Then were it built upon a noble delusion. No bridge between Romans and\nbarbarians!\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Totila, with some heat, \"I do not understand how you can\nlive--how you could take me----\"\n\n\"Do not complete your sentence,\" said Julius gravely. \"It was not easy;\nit was most painful self-denial. Only after a sharp struggle with\nselfish feelings did I succeed. But at last I have ceased to live only\nin my nation. The faith which already unites Romans and barbarians as\nnothing else could; which more and more powerfully conquered my\nrepugnant reason by grief and pain--pain which turned to joy--brought\npeace to me in the conflict of my soul. In this one thing I may already\nboast that I am a Christian; I live for mankind, not alone for my\nnation. I am a man, and no longer a mere Roman. Therefore I can love\nyou, the barbarian, like a brother. Are we not brothers of one\nfamily--that of humanity? Therefore I can bear to live, even after\nseeing my nation die. I live for humanity; that is my people.\"\n\n\"No!\" cried Totila vehemently; \"that I could never do. I can, and will,\nlive only for my nation. My nationality is the air in which alone my\nsoul can breathe. Why should we not endure eternally, or as long as\nthis earth endures? Persians and Greeks? We are of better stuff! Need\nwe fall because they have decayed? We are still in the strength of our\nyouth. Ah, no! If the day should ever come when the Goths fall, may I\nnot live to see it! Oh, ye gods! let us not linger like these sickly\nGreeks, who cannot live and cannot die. No; if it must be, send a\nfearful tempest, and let us perish suddenly and gloriously all, all!\nand I the foremost!\"\n\nHe had excited himself to the warmest enthusiasm. He sprang up from the\nmarble bench upon which they had been seated, and shook his lance in\nthe air.\n\n\"My friend,\" said Julius, looking at him kindly, \"how well this ardour\nbecomes you! But reflect; such a conflict could only be kindled against\n_us_, against my nation, and should I----\"\n\n\"If ever such a strife arose, you should cling to your nation, body and\nsoul, that is clear. You think that would interfere with our\nfriendship? Not in the least. Two heroes can cleave each other to the\nmarrow, and yet remain the best friends. Ha! I should rejoice to meet\nyou in battle, with spear and shield.\"\n\nJulius smiled: \"My friendship is not of so grim a nature, my savage\nGoth! These doubts have tormented me for some time, and all my\nphilosophers together could give me no peace. Only since I learned, in\nmy sorrow, that I owe service to God in heaven alone, and must, on\nearth, live for humanity, and not for a nation----\"\n\n\"Softly, friend,\" cried Totila, \"where is this humanity of which you\nrave? I do not see it. I see only Goths, Romans, and Byzantines! I know\nof no humanity somewhere up in the sky, above the existing peoples. I\nserve humanity by serving my nation! I cannot do otherwise. I can not\nstrip off the skin in which I was born. I speak like a Goth, in Gothic\nwords, not in a language of general humanity: there is no such thing.\nAnd as I speak like a Goth, so I feel like a Goth. I can appreciate\nstrange nations certainly; I can admire your art, your science, and, in\npart, your state, in which everything is so strictly ordered. We can\nlearn much from you; but I could not and would not exchange, even with\na people of angels. Ah! my brave Goths! At the bottom of my heart their\nfaults are dearer to me than your virtues!\"\n\n\"How differently I feel, and yet I am a Roman.\"\n\n\"You are no Roman! Forgive me, friend, it is long since a Roman\nexisted, else I could never be the Count of the Harbour of Neapolis. No\none can feel as you do, whose nation yet exists; and all must feel as I\ndo, who belong to a living people.\"\n\nJulius was silent for a short time. \"If it be indeed so, then happy I!\nIf I have lost the earth, I have gained heaven! What are nations, what\nare states, what is the earth? Not here below is the home of my\nimmortal soul, which longs for a kingdom where all is divine and\neternal!\"\n\n\"Stop, Julius,\" said Totila, standing still, and striking his lance\nupon the ground. \"Here upon earth have I a firm footing; here let me\nstand and live, doing good, and enjoying what is beautiful. I will not\nfollow you into your heaven. I cannot. I honour your dreams and your\nlonging for holiness; but I do not share your feelings. You know,\" he\nadded, smiling, \"that I am an inveterate heathen, like Valeria--my\nValeria! I remember her at the right moment. Your earth-forsaking\ndreams make us forget the dearest things upon that earth! Look, we have\nreached the city again; the sun sinks rapidly here in the south, and\nbefore nightfall I must take some seeds to the garden of Valerius. A\nfine gardener,\" he laughed, \"to forget his flowers. Farewell. I turn to\nthe right.\"\n\n\"Farewell. Greet Valeria for me. I shall go home and read.\"\n\n\"What are you reading now? still Plato?\"\n\n\"No, Augustinus. Farewell!\"\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER XXI.\n\nTotila, avoiding the more thickly populated parts of the inner town,\nhurried through the suburbs towards the Porta Capuana and the tower of\nIsaac, the Jewish gate-keeper.\n\nThis tower stood on the right of the gate, and had strong walls and a\nmassive arched roof. It was divided into different stories, each being\nsmaller than the one below it. In the top story, close to the\nbattlements, were two low but roomy chambers, intended for the dwelling\nof the gate-keeper.\n\nThere lived the old Jew, with Miriam, his beautiful daughter.\n\nIn the largest of these two rooms--where, against the walls, hung\na row of heavy keys belonging to the principal and side doors of\nthis important gate, a curved signal-horn, and the spear of the\ngate-keeper--sat Isaac, the aged warder, a tall, bony figure, with the\nhooked nose and arched and bushy eyebrows of his nation. He sat upon a\nreed mat, with his legs crossed, a long staff laid upon his knees,\nlistening attentively to the words of a young, ill-favoured-looking\nman, evidently an Israelite, whose hard, sober features were expressive\nof all the cunning of his race.\n\n\"Look here, father Isaac,\" he was saying, in a thin, unpleasant voice,\n\"my words are no vain words, and do not come only from the heart, which\nis blind, but from the mind, which is sharp to discern. I have brought\nletter and document for every word that I speak. Here is my appointment\nas architect of all the aqueducts in Italy; fifty gold solidi yearly,\nand ten more for every new undertaking. I have just reconstructed the\nhalf-ruined aqueduct for this city of Neapolis; in this purse are the\nten solidi, money down. Thou seest I can keep a wife, and besides, I am\nthy cousin Rachel's son, so do not let me speak in vain, but give me\nMiriam, thy child, to wife, so that she may set my house in order.\"\n\nBut the old man stroked his long grey beard, and shook his head slowly.\n\n\"Jochem, son of Rachel, I say to thee, leave it alone, leave it alone.\"\n\n\"Why, what hast thou against me? Who in Israel can speak against\nJochem?\"\n\n\"No one. Thou art just and peaceful and industrious, and increasest thy\nsubstance, and thy work flourisheth before the Lord. But hast thou ever\nseen the nightingale mated with the sparrow, or the slender gazelle\nwith the beast of burden? They do not suit each other; and now, look\nthere, and tell me thyself if thou art fitted for Miriam?\"\n\nHe softly pushed aside the curtain which shut off the outer chamber. At\na large bow-window which commanded a view of the splendid city, the\nblue sea, and the distant mountains, stood a young girl, holding a\nstrangely-shaped stringed instrument in her arms. The room was filled\nwith the glowing light of the setting sun, which bathed the white\ngarments and the noble features of the girl with a rosy lustre. It\nplayed upon her shining black hair, which, stroked back behind the\nsmall ears, exposed the delicate temples; and, like this sunshine, a\npoetical harmony seemed to envelop her whole figure, accompanying her\nevery movement, and every dreamy look of her dark blue eyes, which,\nfilled with gentle thoughts, gazed out over sea and city. Piso, the\npoet, had called these eyes \"dark sea-blue.\"\n\nAs if in a half dream, her fingers touched the strings of her\ninstrument softly, while from her half-open lips there breathed an old\nand melancholy song:\n\n           \"By the waters of Babylon\n            We sat down and wept.\n            When comes the day when Israel\n            Shall cease to weep?\"\n\n\"Shall cease to weep?\" she repeated dreamily, and leaned her head upon\nher arm, which, enclosing the harp, she rested upon the window-sill.\n\n\"Look there!\" said the old man in a low voice, \"is she not as lovely as\nthe rose of Sharon, or the hind upon the mountain, without spot or\nfleck?\"\n\nBefore Jochem could answer, there sounded from below three knocks upon\nthe small iron door. Miriam started from her reverie, and hurried down\nthe narrow winding staircase. Jochem went to the window, and his face\ngrew dark and frowning.\n\n\"Ha! the Christian! the cursed Christian!\" he growled, and clenched his\nfist. \"That fair Goth again, with his insufferable pride! Father Isaac,\nis that the stag that suits thee for thy hind?\"\n\n\"Son, speak no mocking word against Isaac! Thou knowest that the youth\nhas set his heart upon a Roman girl; he thinks not of the Pearl of\nJudah!\"\n\n\"But perhaps the Pearl of Judah thinks of him!\"\n\n\"With joy and gratitude, as the lamb thinks of the strong shepherd who\nhas saved it from the jaws of the wolf. Hast thou forgotten, that, when\nlast these cursed Romans hunted for the treasures and gold-heaps of\nIsrael, and burnt down the synagogue with unholy fire, a band of these\nwicked men chased my poor child through the streets, like a pack of\nwolves after a white lamb, and tore the veil from her face, and the\nkerchief from her shoulders? Where was Jochem then, my cousin's son,\nwho had accompanied her? He had fled from danger with swift feet, and\nhad left the dove in the claws of the vulture!\"\n\n\"I am a man of peace,\" said Jochem uneasily; \"my hand holds not the\nsword of force.\"\n\n\"But Totila held it, brave as the Lion of Judah; and the Lord was with\nhim. Alone he sprang amid the group of impudent robbers, struck the\nboldest with his sharp sword, and drove away the others as a falcon\nfrighten crows. He covered my trembling child carefully with her veil,\nand supporting her tottering footsteps, led her home, unhurt, to the\narms of her old father. May Jehovah the Lord bless him for this deed\nwith long life and happiness!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jochem, taking up his papers, \"then I will go: this time\nfor a long while. I must travel over the great waters to transact an\nimportant business.\"\n\n\"An important business? With whom?\"\n\n\"With Justinianus, the Emperor of the East. A portion of the great\nchurch, which he is building to the glory of God, in the golden town of\nConstantine, has fallen in. I have made a plan for the restoration of\nthe building.\"\n\nThe old man sprang up hastily, and struck his stick upon the ground.\n\n\"What, Jochem, son of Rachel! wilt thou serve the Romans? Wilt thou\nserve the Emperor, whose forefathers destroyed the holy city of Zion,\nand reduced the Temple of the Lord to ashes? Wilt thou build a house\nfor the erring faith, thou, the son of the pious Manasseh? Woe, woe to\nthee!\"\n\n\"Why callest thou 'woe,' and knowest not wherefore? Canst thou smell\nwhether a gold piece comes from the hand of a Jew or from that of a\nChristian? Does it not weigh as heavily and shine as brightly?\"\n\n\"Son of Manasseh, thou canst not serve God and Mammon.\"\n\n\"But thou thyself art a servant of the unbelievers! Do I not see the\nwarder's keys on the walls of thy chamber? Dost thou not keep them for\nthese Goths, and openest the doors for their outgoing and incoming, and\nguardest the castle of their strength?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do so,\" said the old man proudly; \"and I will watch for them\nfaithfully, day and night, like a dog for its master; and as long as\nIsaac lives, no enemy of their nation shall enter these gates. For the\nchildren of Israel owe fervent thanks to them and to their great King,\nwho was as wise as Solomon and as mighty as Gideon! We owe them such\nthanks as our forefathers owed to Cyrus, who freed them from the\nBabylonian captivity. The Romans destroyed the Temple of the Lord, and\nscattered His people over the face of the earth. They have mocked and\nbeaten us, and burnt our holy places, and plundered our towns, and\ndefiled our houses, and forced our wives, all over this land, and have\nmade many a cruel law against us. But there came this great King from\nthe North, whose seed may Jehovah bless! and he rebuilt our synagogues,\nand where the Romans had destroyed them, they were obliged to rebuild\nthem with their own hands and their own money. He protected our homes,\nand whoever injured an Israelite was punished as if he had offended a\nChristian. He left us our God and our belief, and protected our\ncommerce, and we celebrated the Paschal in such joy and peace as we had\nnever known since the time when the Temple still stood upon Zion. And\nwhen a Roman noble had taken my Sarah from me by force, King Theodoric\nordered that his proud head should be struck off that very day, and\ngave me back my wife unhurt. This I will remember as long as my days\nendure, and I will serve the nation faithfully till death, and once\nagain it shall be said far and wide: as faithful and true as a Jew!\"\n\n\"Mayst thou not reap ingratitude where thou sowest gratitude,\" said\nJochem, preparing to go; \"it seems to me that the time will come, when\nI shall again sue for Miriam--for the last time. Perhaps, father Isaac,\nthou wilt then be less proud.\" And he went through Miriam's chamber and\ndown the steps, where he met Totila.\n\nWith an ungracious bow and a piercing look, the little man pressed\npast the slender Goth, who was obliged to stoop, as he entered the\nwarder's dwelling.\n\nMiriam followed Totila immediately.\n\n\"There hangs your gardener's dress,\" said she in a melodious voice,\nwithout raising her long lashes, \"and here in the window I have placed\nthe flowers ready. You said lately that she loved the white narcissus.\nI have taken care to procure some. They smell so sweet!\"\n\n\"You are a good little maiden, Miriam,\" said Totila, taking off his\nhelmet with the silver-white swan's wings, and setting it upon the\ntable. \"Where is your father?\"\n\n\"The blessing of the Lord rest upon thy golden locks,\" said the old\nman, as he entered the room.\n\n\"Good even, faithful Isaac!\" cried Totila, taking off the long white\nmantle which hung from his shoulders, and enveloping himself in a brown\ncloak, which Miriam took down from the wall. \"You good people! without\nyou and your faithful silence, all Neapolis would know of my secret.\nHow can I thank you!\"\n\n\"Thank?\" said Miriam, fixing her beaming eyes upon him, \"you have\nthanked us beforehand to all eternity!\"\n\n\"No, Miriam,\" said Totila, pulling a broad-brimmed brown felt hat low\ndown upon his forehead, \"that was nothing. Tell me, father Isaac, who\nis that little man who just went away, and whom I have often met here?\nIt seems to me that he has cast his eyes upon Miriam. Speak frankly. If\na dowry is wanting--I would gladly be of use.\"\n\n\"Love is wanting--on her side,\" said Isaac quietly,\n\n\"Then I can certainly do no good! But if her heart has chosen\nelsewhere--I should like to do something for my Miriam!\" and he laid\nhis hand gently upon the maiden's shining hair.\n\nThe touch was but slight, but as if a flash of lightning had startled\nher, Miriam fell suddenly upon her knees. Her head sank upon her bosom,\nand, crossing her arms, she slipped down at Totila's feet like a flower\nheavy with dew.\n\nTotila drew back a step in surprise. But the next moment the girl had\nrisen.\n\n\"Forgive, it was only a rose--it fell at your feet,\" She placed the\nflower upon the table, and seemed so composed, that neither her father\nnor Totila thought further of the occurrence. \"It is growing dark\nalready; make haste, sir!\" she said quietly, and gave him a basket\ncontaining flowers and plants.\n\n\"I go. Valeria is very thankful for all your kindness. I have told her\na great deal about you, and she has long wished to see you. Well,\nperhaps we can soon manage it--to-day is, probably, the last time that\nI shall need this disguise.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to carry off the daughter of Edom?\" cried the old man.\n\"Bring her here! here she will be well hidden!\"\n\n\"No,\" interposed Miriam, \"not here! no, no!\"\n\n\"Why not, thou strange child?\" asked her father in a tone of annoyance.\n\n\"This is no place for a bride--this chamber--it would bring her no\nblessing.\"\n\n\"Be not uneasy,\" said Totila, as he went to the door, \"I shall soon\nput an end to secrecy by sueing for her hand openly. Farewell!\" He\nhastened out.\n\nIsaac took the spear, the horn, and several keys from the wall, and\nfollowed in order to open the gate for Totila, and make the round of\nall the doors of the great tower.\n\nMiriam remained alone.\n\nFor a long time she stood with closed eyes motionless on the same spot.\n\nAt last she passed both hands over her forehead and cheeks, and looked\nabout her.\n\nThe room was very quiet; through the open window stole the first beam\nof moonlight. It fell silvery upon Totila's white mantle, which hung in\nlong folds over a chair. Miriam ran and covered the hem of the mantle\nwith burning kisses. She took the glittering helmet, which stood near\nher upon the table, and pressed it tenderly to her heart with both\narms. Then holding it a little way from her, she gazed upon it dreamily\nfor a few moments, and, at last--she could not resist--she lifted it up\nand placed it upon her lovely head. She started as the heavy bronze\ntouched her forehead, and then, stroking back her dark braids, she\npressed the cold hard steel firmly upon her brow. She then took it off,\nand set it, looking shyly round, in its former place, and going to\nthe window she looked out into the magic moonlight and the scented\nnight-air. Her lips moved as if in prayer, but the words of the prayer\nwere the same old song:\n\n           \"By the waters of Babylon\n            We sat down and wept.\n            O daughter of Zion, when comes the day\n            Which stills thy heavy pain?\"\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXII.\n\nWhile Miriam was gazing silently at the first pale stars, Totila's\nimpatience soon brought him to the villa of the rich trader, which lay\nat about an hour's distance from the Porta Capuana.\n\nThe slave who kept the gate told him to go to the old Hortularius,\nValeria's freedman, who had the care of the garden. This freedman had\nbeen admitted to the lovers' confidence, and now took the plants from\nthe supposed gardener's boy, and led him into his sleeping-room, the\nlow windows of which opened into the garden. The next day before\nsunrise--so taught the mysteries of ancient horticulture--the flowers\nmust be planted, so that the first sunlight which shone upon them in\nthe new soil should be that of the fresh morning. The young Goth waited\nimpatiently in the narrow chamber for the hour at which Valeria would\nbe able to leave her father after their evening meal.\n\nHe drew aside the curtain which covered the window and again and again\nlooked up at the sky, measuring the flight of time by the rising of the\nstars and the progress of the moon. The large garden before him lay\nbathed in its peaceful light.\n\nIn the distance, the plashing of a fountain could be heard, and the\ncicadas chirped in the myrtles. The warm south wind blew sultry through\nthe night, at times bearing clouds of sweet odour upon its wings; and,\nfrom the blooming grove at the end of the garden, the clear song of the\nnightingale filled the air with melody.\n\nAt last Totila could wait no longer. He swung himself noiselessly over\nthe marble sill of the window; the white sand of the narrow path\nscarcely grated beneath his rapid footsteps, as, avoiding the stream of\nmoonlight, he hurried along under the shrubbery.\n\nOn past the dark taxus-trees and the thick olive-groves; past the tall\nstatue of Flora, whose white marble shone ghostly in the moonlight;\npast the large basin, where six marble dolphins spouted water high into\nthe air; into the thick shrubbery of laurels and tamarinds, and,\npressing through the oleanders, he stood before the stalactite grotto,\nin which a marble nymph of the spring leaned upon a large dark urn. As\nhe entered, a white figure glided from behind the statue.\n\n\"Valeria, my lovely rose!\" cried Totila, ardently embracing her.\n\n\"Leave me, leave me, my beloved!\" she said, withdrawing from his arms.\n\n\"No, sweet one! I will not leave you. How long, how painfully, I have\nmissed you! Do you hear how sweetly and invitingly the nightingale\ncalls? Inhale the warm air of the summer night and the intoxicating\nscent of the roses. All breathes joy and love! Oh, let us hold fast\nthese golden hours! My soul cannot contain all its bliss! All thy\nbeauty; all our youth; and this glowing, blooming summer night. Life\nrolls in mighty waves through my heart, and bursts it with delight!\"\n\n\"Oh, Totila, I would gladly lose myself, like you, in the happiness of\nthese hours! But I cannot. The intoxicating perfume, the luxurious\nwarmth of these summer nights are but transient; they breed misfortune.\nI cannot believe in the happiness of our love!\"\n\n\"Thou dear fool, why not?\"\n\n\"I know not. The unhappy doubt which troubles all my life spreads its\ncurse even over our love. How gladly would I love and trust like you!\nBut a warning voice in my heart ever repeats: 'It will not last--thou\nshalt not be happy!'\"\n\n\"Then, even in my arms, you are not happy?\"\n\n\"Yes, and no! The feeling of concealment from my noble father oppresses\nme. See, Totila, what makes me love you most is not your youthful\nbeauty and strength, nor even your great love for me. It is my pride in\nyour character, in your frank, unclouded and noble character. I have\naccustomed myself to see you walk through this dark world bright and\nstrong as the God of Light. The noble courage, sure of victory; the\nenthusiasm and truth of your being, are my pride. That when you\napproach, all that is mean, little, and unholy must vanish from before\nyou, is my delight. I love you as a mortal loves the Sun-god who\napproaches him in the fulness of his glory, and therefore I can endure\nnothing secret about you. Not even the delight of these hours--it is\nenjoyed by stealth, and that must no longer be----\"\n\n\"No, Valeria, and shall not! I feel exactly the same. I hate the lie\nof this disguise; I can bear it no longer! To-morrow I will throw it\noff and speak openly and freely to your father.\"\n\n\"This decision is the best, for----\"\n\n\"For it saves your life, young man!\" suddenly cried a deep voice, and\nfrom the dark background of the grotto a man came forth, in the act of\nsheathing his sword.\n\n\"My father!\" cried Valeria, startled, but with courageous composure.\nTotila put one arm round her.\n\n\"Away, Valeria! leave the barbarian!\" cried Valerius, stretching out\nhis hand commandingly.\n\n\"No, Valerius,\" cried Totila, pressing Valeria close to his breast;\n\"henceforward her place is on my bosom!\"\n\n\"Audacious Goth!\"\n\n\"Hear me, Valerius, and be not angry with us for this deceit. You\nyourself heard that it was to end tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Fortunately for you, I did. Warned by an old friend, I could still\nscarcely believe that my daughter--would deceive me. When I was\ncompelled to believe my eyes, I was resolved that your life should pay\nfor her fault. Your words saved you. But now go; you will never again\nsee her face.\"\n\nTotila would have retorted angrily, but Valeria was beforehand.\n\n\"Father,\" she said quietly, stepping between the two men, \"listen to\nyour child. I will not excuse my love, it needs no apology. It is as\ninnocent and heavenly as are the stars. My love is the life of my life.\nYou know me; truth is the air I breathe. By my soul! I will never leave\nthis man!\"\n\n\"Nor I her!\" cried Totila, and took her right-hand.\n\nThe young couple stood erect before the old man in the bright\nmoonlight, their noble features filled with sacred enthusiasm. They\nlooked so beautiful that a softened feeling took possession of the\nangry father.\n\n\"Valeria, my child!\"\n\n\"Oh, my father! you have led all my childish steps with such untiring\nlove that till now I have scarcely missed, though I have deeply\nregretted, my lost mother. At this moment I miss her for the first\ntime; for now I feel that I need her advocacy. At least let her memory\nplead for me. Let me bring her picture before you, and remind you of\nthe time when, dying, she called you for the last time to her bedside,\nand, as you have often told me, confided to you my happiness as a holy\nlegacy.\"\n\nValerius pressed his right hand to his forehead; his daughter ventured\nto take the other; he did not repulse her. Evidently a struggle was\ngoing on in his mind. At last he spoke.\n\n\"Valeria, without knowing it, you have pleaded strongly. It would be\nunjust to withhold from you a fact upon which you have mysteriously\ntouched. Your mother's vow, which, however, we had long since annulled,\nstill oppressed her soul. 'If our child,' she said, 'is not to be the\nbride of Heaven, at least swear to me to honour the freedom of her\nchoice. I know how Roman girls, particularly in our rank of life, are\ngiven in marriage unasked, without love. Such an union is misery on\nearth and a sin before God. My Valeria will choose nobly; swear to me\nto give her to the husband of her choice, and to no other!'--and I\nSwore it. But to give my child to a barbarian, to an enemy of Italy!\nno, no!\" And he broke from her grasp.\n\n\"Perhaps I am not so barbarous, Valerius, as you think,\" began Totila.\n\"At least I am the warmest friend of the Romans in all my nation.\nBelieve me, I do not hate you; those whom I abhor are your worst\nenemies as well as ours--the Byzantines!\"\n\nIt was a happy speech, for in the heart of the old republican the\nhatred of Byzantium was the reverse side to his love of freedom and\nItaly. He was silent, but his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the youth.\n\n\"My father,\" said Valeria, \"your child could love no barbarian. Learn\nto know Totila; and if you still call him a barbarian--I will never\nbecome his. I ask nothing of you but this: learn to know him. Decide\nfor yourself whether my choice be noble. He is beloved by all the\nGoths, and all men are friendly to him--surely you alone will not\nreject him?\"\n\nAgain she took her father's hand.\n\n\"Oh, learn to know me, Valerius!\" begged Totila earnestly, taking his\nother hand.\n\nThe old man sighed. At length he said: \"Come with me to your mother's\ngrave, Valeria; there it is amongst the cypresses; there stands the urn\ncontaining her heart. Let us think of her--the noblest woman who ever\nlived--and appeal to her shade. And if your love prove to be true and\nwell placed, then I will perform what I have promised.\"\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIII.\n\nA few weeks later, we find Cethegus in the well-known room containing\nthe statue of Cæsar, together with our new acquaintance, Petros, the\nambassador of the Emperor Justinian, or rather of the Empress.\n\nThe two men had shared a simple meal and had emptied a flask of old\nMassikian together, exchanging reminiscences of past times--they had\nbeen fellow-students, as we already know--and had just left the\ndinner-room for the study of Cethegus, in order, undisturbed by the\nattendants, to talk over more confidential affairs.\n\n\"As soon as I had convinced myself,\" said Cethegus, concluding his\naccount of late events, \"that the alarming reports from Ravenna were\nonly rumours--perhaps inventions, and, at all events, exaggerated--I\nopposed the utmost coolness to the excitement and zeal of my friends.\nLucius Lucinius, with his fiery temper and foolish enthusiasm, almost\nspoilt everything. He repeatedly demanded that I should accept the\noffice of Dictator, and literally put his sword to my breast, shouting\nthat I should be compelled to serve the fatherland. He let out so many\nsecrets, that it was fortunate the dark Corsican--who seems to stick to\nthe Goths, no one knows why--took him to be more drunk than he really\nwas. At last news came that Amalaswintha had returned, and so people\nand Senate gradually became more calm.\"\n\n\"And you,\" said Petros, \"have saved Rome for the second time from the\nrevenge of the barbarians--a service which can never be forgotten, and\nfor which all the world, but most of all the Queen, must thank you.\"\n\n\"The Queen--poor woman!\" answered Cethegus, shrugging his shoulders.\n\"Who knows how long the Goths, or your imperial master at Byzantium,\nwill leave her upon her throne?\"\n\n\"What! You mistake entirely!\" interrupted Petros eagerly. \"My embassy\nwas intended, above all other things, to support her government; and I\nwas just upon the point of asking your advice,\" he added cunningly, \"as\nto how this can best be done.\"\n\nBut the Prefect leaned back his head against the marble wall, and\nlooked with a smile at the ambassador.\n\n\"Oh, Petros! oh, Peter!\" he said. \"Why so secret? I thought we knew\neach other better.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the Byzantine, embarrassed.\n\n\"I mean that we have not studied law and history together at Berytus\nand Athens in vain. I mean that at that time we already, while working\ntogether and exchanging our wise thoughts, came to the conclusion that\nthe Emperor must drive out these barbarians, and rule again in Rome as\nhe does in Byzantium. And as I think now just as I did then, you also\nwill surely not have become a different man.\"\n\n\"I must subject my views to those of my master; and Justinian----\"\n\n\"Naturally burns to rule in Italy.\"\n\n\"But certainly,\" said Petros, much embarrassed, \"cases might occur----\"\n\n\"Peter,\" said Cethegus, now rising indignantly, \"use no phrases and no\nlies with me; they do no good. See, Petros, this is your old fault; you\nare ever too cunning to be wise. You think that you must always lie,\nand are never courageous enough to be truthful. How can you pretend to\nme that the Emperor does not mean to have Italy again? Whether he will\nuphold or overthrow the Queen depends upon whether he thinks he will\nreach his goal more easily with or without her. What his opinion is I\nam not to know. But, in spite of all your cunning, the next time we\nmeet I will tell you to your face what he intends to do.\"\n\nA wicked and bitter smile played upon the ambassador's thin lips.\n\n\"Still as proud as ever you were in the schools of logic at Athens,\" he\nsaid spitefully.\n\n\"Yes; and at Athens, you know, I was always the first, Procopius the\nsecond, and you came third.\"\n\nSyphax just then entered the room.\n\n\"A veiled woman, sir,\" he said, \"awaits you in the Hall of Jupiter.\"\n\nGlad that the conversation was thus interrupted, for he did not feel\ncapable of arguing with the Prefect, Petros said, with a grin:\n\n\"I wish you joy of such an interruption.\"\n\n\"Yes, for your own sake,\" answered Cethegus, smiling; and left the\nroom.\n\n\"You shall one day repent your sarcasm, haughty man!\" thought the\nByzantine.\n\nIn the hall--which received the name of Jupiter from a beautiful\nstatue, sculptured by Glycon of Athens--Cethegus found a woman, clad\nrichly in the Gothic costume. On his entrance, she threw back the cowl\nof her brown mantle.\n\n\"Princess Gothelindis!\" cried the Prefect in surprise. \"What leads you\nto me?\"\n\n\"Revenge!\" she answered, in a hoarse voice, and advanced towards him.\n\nHer features were sharp, but not plain; she would even have been called\nbeautiful, but that her left eye was utterly destroyed, and the whole\nof her left cheek disfigured by a long scar. The wound seemed to bleed\nafresh as her cheeks flushed while pronouncing the angry word. Such\ndeadly hatred shone from her grey eye, that Cethegus involuntarily\nretreated.\n\n\"Revenge?\" he asked. \"On whom?\"\n\n\"On--of that later. Forgive that I disturb you,\" she added, composing\nherself. \"Your friend Petros of Byzantium is with you, is he not?\"\n\n\"Yes; but how do you know?\"\n\n\"Oh! I saw him enter your door before supper,\" she answered, with\nassumed indifference.\n\n\"That is not true,\" said Cethegus to himself; \"for he was brought in by\nthe garden-gate. So they have made an appointment here, and I was not\nto know it. What can they want with me?\"\n\n\"I will not keep you long,\" continued Gothelindis. \"I have only one\nquestion to ask of you. Answer briefly, 'yes' or 'no.' I have the power\nto ruin that woman--the daughter of Theodoric--and I have the will. Are\nyou for me in this, or against me?\"\n\n\"Oh! friend Petros,\" thought the Prefect. \"Now I already know what you\nintend to do with Amalaswintha. But we will see how far you have\ngone.--Gothelindis,\" he said aloud, \"I readily believe that you wish to\nruin the Gothic Queen; but I doubt if you can do so.\"\n\n\"Listen to me, and then decide whether I can or no. The woman has\ncaused the three dukes to be murdered.\"\n\nCethegus shrugged his shoulders. \"Many people think that.\"\n\n\"But I can prove it.\"\n\n\"You don't say so?\" exclaimed Cethegus incredulously.\n\n\"Duke Thulun, as you know, did not die immediately. He was attacked on\nthe Æmilian Way, near my villa at Tannetum. My husbandmen found him and\nbrought him into my house. You know that he was my cousin--I belong to\nthe Balthe family. He died in my arms.\"\n\n\"Well, and what said the sick man in his fever?\"\n\n\"Fever! Nothing of the sort! As Duke Thulun fell, he wounded his\nmurderer, who was not able to fly far. My husbandmen sought for him,\nand found him dying in the nearest wood. He confessed everything to\nme.\"\n\nCethegus imperceptibly compressed his lips.\n\n\"Well? What was he? What did he say?\"\n\n\"He was an Isaurian mercenary,\" said Gothelindis sharply, \"an\noverlooker of the works on the ramparts at Rome, and he said,\n'Cethegus, the Prefect, sent me to the Queen, and the Queen sent me to\nDuke Thulun!'\"\n\n\"Who heard his confession besides you?\" asked Cethegus.\n\n\"No one. And no one shall know of this, if you stand by me. But if not,\nthen----\"\n\n\"Gothelindis,\" interrupted the Prefect, \"no threats! They are of no\nuse. You must comprehend that they can only aggravate, but not control\nme. In case of need, I would allow it to come to an open accusation.\nYou are known as the bitter enemy of Amalaswintha, and your evidence\nalone--you were imprudent enough to confess that no one else heard the\ndeclaration of the dying man--would ruin neither her nor me. You cannot\nforce me to act against the Queen; at the most, you could persuade me,\nif you can show that it would be to my advantage. And to do this, I\nmyself will propose an ally to you. You certainly know Petros, my\nfriend?\"\n\n\"Very well; long since.\"\n\n\"Permit me to fetch him to this conference.\"\n\nHe returned to his study.\n\n\"Petros, my visitor is the Princess Gothelindis, the wife of Theodahad.\nShe wishes to speak to both of us. Do you know her?\"\n\n\"I? oh no. I have never seen her,\" answered Petros quickly.\n\n\"'Tis well; follow me.\"\n\nAs soon as they entered the hall, Gothelindis cried out:\n\n\"Welcome, old friend! What a surprising meeting!\"\n\nPetros was dumb. Cethegus, his hands clasped behind his back, enjoyed\nthe confusion of the Byzantine.\n\n\"Do you see, Petros? always too cunning, always unnecessary subtleties!\nBut come, do not be so cast down by the discovery of a trick. So you\ntwo have combined together for the Queen's ruin. You wish to persuade\nme to help you. But before doing so, I must know your intentions\nexactly. Whom will you place upon Amalaswintha's throne? For the way is\nnot yet open for Justinian.\"\n\nBoth were silent for some moments. His clear perception of the\nsituation surprised them. At last Gothelindis spoke:\n\n\"Theodahad, my husband, the last of the Amelungs.\"\n\n\"Theodahad, the last of the Amelungs,\" Cethegus repeated slowly.\n\nMeanwhile, he considered all the advantages and disadvantages of this\nplan. He reflected that Theodahad, unloved by the Goths, and raised to\nthe throne by Petros, would soon be entirely in the power of the\nByzantines, and that the catastrophe would be brought about in a\ndifferent manner and earlier than he intended. He reflected that he\nmust at all events keep the armies of the East Romans at a distance for\nthe longest possible time, and he decided to keep up the present state\nof things and support Amalaswintha, because thus he would gain time for\nhis preparations. All this he had thought over, weighed, and decided\nupon, in a few moments.\n\n\"And how will you commence proceedings?\" he asked gravely.\n\n\"We shall desire the Queen to abdicate in favour of my husband,\nthreatening, in case of refusal, to accuse her of murder.\"\n\n\"And if she runs the risk?\"\n\n\"We will carry out our threat,\" said Petros, \"and raise a storm amongst\nthe Goths, which will----\"\n\n\"Cost her her life!\" cried Gothelindis.\n\n\"Perhaps cost her her throne,\" said Cethegus, \"but hardly give it to\nTheodahad. No, if the Goths are allowed to _choose_ a king, he will not\nbear the name of 'Theodahad.'\"\n\n\"That is too true,\" said Gothelindis angrily.\n\n\"Then there might easily come a king who would be much less welcome to\nus all than Amalaswintha. And therefore I tell you openly, I am not on\nyour side; I will uphold the Queen.\"\n\n\"Then there is war between us,\" cried Gothelindis grimly, and turned\ntowards the door. \"Come, Petros.\"\n\n\"Softly, friends,\" said the Byzantine. \"Perhaps Cethegus will change\nhis mind when he has read this paper,\" and he gave the Prefect the\nletter which Alexandros had brought from Amalaswintha to Justinian.\n\nCethegus read; his features darkened.\n\n\"Well,\" said Petros sarcastically, \"will you still support the Queen,\nwho has vowed your ruin? Where would you be if she carried out her\nplan, and your friends did not watch over you?\"\n\nCethegus scarcely listened to him.\n\n\"Pitiful fellow,\" he thought, \"as if it were that! as if the Queen were\nnot quite right! as if I could blame her for it! But the imprudent\nwoman has already done what I only feared from Theodahad. She has\nruined herself, and frustrated all my plans; she has already called the\nByzantines into the country, and now they will come, whether she will\nor no. As long as Amalaswintha reigns, Justinian will play the part of\nher protector.\" And now he turned, in seeming consternation, to the\nambassador, and, giving him the letter back, asked: \"And if she carries\nout her intention, when could your troops land?\"\n\n\"Belisarius is already on the way to Sicily,\" said Petros, proud of\nhaving abashed the Prefect; \"in a week he can anchor before Portus.\"\n\n\"Unheard of!\" cried Cethegus, this time in real dismay.\n\n\"You see,\" said Gothelindis, who had meanwhile read the letter, \"those\nwhom you would uphold wish to ruin you. Be beforehand with them.\"\n\n\"In the name of my Emperor,\" said Petros, \"I summon you to help me to\ndestroy this kingdom of the Goths, and to restore to Italy her freedom.\nYou and your talent are valued as they ought to be at the Emperor's\ncourt, and, after the victory, Justinian promises you--the dignity of a\nsenator at Byzantium.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" cried Cethegus. \"But not even this highest; of\nhonours drives me with such eagerness into your plans as my indignation\nagainst the ungrateful Queen, who in reward for all my services,\nthreatens my life.--But are you sure?\" he asked anxiously, \"that\nBelisarius will not land at once?\"\n\n\"Do not be uneasy,\" answered Petros; \"it is my hand that will beckon,\nwhen it is time. First, Amalaswintha must be replaced by Theodahad.\"\n\n\"That is well,\" thought Cethegus; \"with time all is won, and the\nByzantines shall not land until I can receive them at the head of Italy\nin arms.--I am yours,\" he added aloud, turning to Gothelindis, \"and I\nthink I can bring Amalaswintha to set the crown upon your husband's\nhead with her own hands. She shall resign the sceptre.\"\n\n\"The Queen will never do that!\" cried Gothelindis.\n\n\"Perhaps! Her generosity is still greater than her ambition. It is\npossible to ruin one's enemies through their virtues,\" said Cethegus\nthoughtfully. \"I am now sure of the thing, and I greet you, Queen of\nthe Goths!\" he concluded, with a slight bow.\n\n\n\n                             CHAPTER XXIV.\n\nAfter the removal of the three dukes, Amalaswintha had maintained an\nexpectant attitude. Although by the fall of the heads of the\naristocratic opposition she had obtained some freedom of action, yet\nthe National Assembly at Regeta, near Rome, was soon to be held, when\nshe must either completely exculpate herself from all suspicion of\nmurder, or lose her crown, and perhaps her life. Only until the\nassembly had taken place did Witichis and his adherents promise her\ntheir protection. She therefore made every effort to strengthen her\nposition before the decisive moment arrived. She hoped nothing more\nfrom Cethegus; she had seen through his selfish motives.\n\nBut she hoped that the Italians and the conspirators of the Catacombs,\nat the head of whose members her own name figured, would prefer her\nrule, so friendly to the Romans, to that of a king who belonged to the\nGothic national party. She ardently longed for the arrival of the\nbody-guard from the Emperor, which would protect her in the first\nmoment of danger; and she was zealously employed in increasing the\nnumber of her friends amongst the Goths themselves. She invited many of\nher father's old followers--zealous adherents of the Amelungs, grey old\nwarriors of great influence with the people, brothers-at-arms and\nalmost play-fellows of old Hildebrand--to return to Ravenna;\nparticularly the white-bearded Grippa, Theodoric's cupbearer, whose\nfame was scarcely less influential than that of the old master-at-arms.\nShe overwhelmed him and his comrades with honours, confided the castle\nof Ravenna to their care, and made them swear to keep faith with the\nAmelung family. As this connection with popular names was to form a\nsort of counterbalance to the influence of Witichis, Hildebrand and\ntheir friends--and Witichis could not justly prevent her from\ndistinguishing the old friends of Theodoric with honours--so the Queen\nalso looked about for aid against the family of the Balthes and their\nrevenge. With sharp discernment she perceived that this could best be\nprocured from the Wölfungs, whose family possessed great influence and\nriches in central Italy. At that time the heads of this family were two\nbrothers, Duke Guntharis and Earl Arahad.\n\nTo win their alliance she had thought of a peculiarly effective means.\nFor the friendship of the Wölfungs she would offer no less a price than\nthe hand of her beautiful daughter.\n\nIn a richly decorated room at Ravenna the mother and daughter were\nengaged in an earnest but not amicable conversation on this subject.\n\nThe Queen was measuring the narrow apartment with hasty steps; all her\nusual repose of manner gone. She frequently threw an angry look at the\nbeautiful girl, who, leaning against a marble table, stood quietly\nbefore her with downcast eyelids.\n\n\"Reflect well,\" cried Amalaswintha angrily, and suddenly standing\nstill, \"reflect once more! I give you three days' time.\"\n\n\"It is in vain. I shall always speak as I have done to-day,\" said\nMataswintha without raising her eyes.\n\n\"Then tell me, what have you to say against Earl Arahad?\"\n\n\"Nothing, except that I cannot love him.\"\n\nThe Queen did not seem to hear her.\n\n\"This is quite a different case from the other, when we would have had\nyou marry Cyprianus,\" she said. \"He was old and--which perhaps in your\neyes was a greater disadvantage,\" she added bitterly--\"a Roman.\"\n\n\"And yet I was banished to Tarentum because I refused him.\"\n\n\"I hoped that severity would have induced you to change your mind. For\nmonths I kept you away from my court, from my motherly heart.\" A bitter\nsmile curled Mataswintha's lovely mouth. \"In vain,\" continued the\nQueen. \"I now call you back----\"\n\n\"You err. My brother Athalaric called me back!\"\n\n\"I now offer you another husband. Young, handsome, a Goth of the purest\nnobility, his rank is at this moment the second in the kingdom. You\nknow, at least you suspect, how sorely my throne, surrounded by\nenemies, needs protection. He and his powerful brother promise us the\nhelp of their whole army. Earl Arahad loves you, and you, you refuse\nhim! Tell me why?\"\n\n\"Because I do not love him.\"\n\n\"A girl's stupid speech! You are a King's daughter; you ought to\nsacrifice yourself to your rank, to your kingdom.\"\n\n\"I am a woman,\" answered Mataswintha, raising her sparkling eyes, \"and\nwill sacrifice my heart to no power in heaven or on earth!\"\n\n\"And thus speaks my daughter? Look at me, foolish child. I have striven\nafter great things, and have attained much. As long as men admire what\nis great, they will name my name. I have won all that life can offer,\nand yet I never----\"\n\n\"Loved! I know it,\" sighed her daughter.\n\n\"You know it?\"\n\n\"Yes; it was the curse of my childhood! I was indeed still a child when\nmy father died. I knew not how to express it, but even then I could\nfeel that his heart missed something, when, sighing deeply, he embraced\nAthalaric and me, and sighed again. And I loved him all the more\ntenderly because I felt that he sought love most where it was wanting.\nNow indeed I know what then I could not explain to myself. You became\nour father's wife, because, after Theodoric, he stood next to the\nthrone. Ambition, and not love, led you to his arms, and you could only\ngive cold pride in return for his warm affection.\"\n\nAmalaswintha was startled, and stopped again in her restless walk.\n\n\"You are very bold!\" she said.\n\n\"I am your daughter----\"\n\n\"You speak of love so familiarly--you seem to know it at twenty better\nthan I at fifty. You love!\" she cried suddenly, \"and thence comes this\nobstinacy!\"\n\nMataswintha blushed and was silent.\n\n\"Speak,\" cried her angry mother; \"confess it or deny it.\"\n\nMataswintha cast down her eyes and still kept silence. She had never\nlooked more beautiful.\n\n\"Will you deny the truth? Are you afraid, you, a daughter of the\nAmelungs?\"\n\nThe girl proudly raised her eyes.\n\n\"I am not afraid and I do not deny the truth. Yes, I love.\"\n\n\"And whom, unhappy girl?\"\n\n\"Not even a god could force me to tell that!\"\n\nShe looked so decided that Amalaswintha did not attempt to learn more.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"my daughter has no common nature. So I demand of you\nwhat is uncommon: to sacrifice all to the highest.\"\n\n\"Mother, I cherish a noble dream in my heart. To me it is the highest.\nTo it I will sacrifice all.\"\n\n\"Mataswintha,\" said the Queen, \"how unqueenly! See, God has blessed you\nabove thousands with beauty of body and mind. You are born to be a\nqueen.\"\n\n\"I will be a queen of love. All praise my beauty. I have proposed to\nmyself, loving and beloved, happy and bestowing happiness, to be a true\nwoman!\"\n\n\"A woman? is that all your ambition?\"\n\n\"It is. Oh, would it had been yours!\"\n\n\"And the realm is nothing to you, the grandchild of Theodoric? Your\nnation, the Goths, are they of no account?\"\n\n\"No, mother,\" said Mataswintha quietly; \"it grieves me, it almost makes\nme ashamed, but I cannot pretend what I do not feel. The word 'Goth'\narouses no sentiment in me. Perhaps it is not my fault; you have always\ndespised these Goths and valued these 'barbarians' lightly; that was my\nfirst impression; it is enduring. And I hate this crown, this kingdom\nof the Goths; it has taken the place of my father, of my brother, and\nof myself in your heart! The Gothic crown has never been anything to me\nbut a hated and inimical power.\"\n\n\"Oh, my child, woe to me if I am guilty of this! If you will not do it\nfor the sake of our kingdom, oh, do it for my sake! I am lost without\nthese Wölfungs. Do it for the sake of my love!\" And she took her\ndaughter's hand.\n\nMataswintha drew back with a bitter smile:\n\n\"Mother, do not blaspheme that holy name! Your love? You have never\nloved me. Nor my brother, nor my father.\"\n\n\"My child! What should I have loved if not you?\"\n\n\"The crown, mother, and the hated monarchy! How often have you repulsed\nme before Athalaric's birth, because I was a girl, and you wished for a\ncrown-prince. Think of my father's grave and of----\"\n\n\"Cease!\" cried Amalaswintha.\n\n\"And Athalaric? Have you ever loved him? Have you not rather loved his\nright to the throne? Oh, how often have we poor children wept, when we\nsought the mother and found the Queen!\"\n\n\"You never complained to me! you do it only now, when I ask you for the\nsacrifice----\"\n\n\"Mother, even now it was not for yourself, only for your crown and\nthrone. Put off the crown and you are free from all care. It has\nbrought us no happiness, only pain. You are not threatened--I would\nsacrifice everything for you--but only your throne, only the golden\ndiadem, the idol of your heart, the curse of my life! Never will I\nsacrifice my love to this hated crown, never, never, never!\" And she\ncrossed her white arms over her bosom as if she would protect her love\nthus from all assailers.\n\n\"Ha!\" cried the Queen indignantly, \"selfish, heartless child! you\nconfess that you have no feeling for your people, no pride in the crown\nof your great ancestors! You will not voluntarily obey the voice of\nhonour; well then, obey force! You deny my love? then feel my severity!\nYou will leave Ravenna at once with your attendants. You will go to\nFlorentia, as the guest of Duke Guntharis; his wife has invited you.\nEarl Arahad will accompany you on your journey. Leave me. Time will\nbend your stubborn will!\"\n\n\"No power can do that,\" said Mataswintha, proudly raising her head, and\nshe left the room.\n\nThe Queen looked after her silently. Her daughter's reproofs had made a\ngreater impression upon her than she was willing to allow.\n\n\"Ambition?\" she said to herself. \"No, it is not that which fills my\nsoul. I feel that I could protect my realm and render it happy, and\ntruly I could sacrifice my life, as well as my crown, if the well-being\nof my nation demanded it. Could I not?\" she asked herself, doubtfully\nlaying her hand upon her heart.\n\nShe was roused from her reverie by Cassiodorus, who entered with bent\nhead and slow steps.\n\n\"Well,\" said Amalaswintha, struck by the sad expression of his face,\n\"do you come to tell me of a misfortune?\"\n\n\"No; only to ask a question.\"\n\n\"What question?\"\n\n\"Queen,\" the old man solemnly commenced, \"I have served you and your\nfather faithfully for thirty years. I, a Roman, have served the\nbarbarians, for I honoured your virtues, and believed that Italy, no\nlonger capable of self-government, would flourish best under your rule,\nfor your rule was just and mild. I continued to serve you, even when\nthe blood of my best friends--and, as I believe, the most innocent\nblood--was shed. But they died by law, and not by treachery. I was\nobliged to honour your father, even where I could not praise him. But\nnow----\"\n\n\"Now? but now?\" repeated the Queen proudly.\n\n\"I come now to beg from my friend, may I say my scholar----\"\n\n\"You may,\" answered the Queen, softened.\n\n\"To beg great Theodoric's noble daughter to speak one single word, a\n'yes.' If you can say this 'yes.'--and I pray to God that you can--then\nI will serve you as faithfully as ever, so long as my grey hairs are\nspared.\"\n\n\"And if not?\"\n\n\"And if not, O Queen,\" answered the old man sadly--\"oh, then farewell\nto you, and to my last joy in this world!\"\n\n\"What have you to ask?\"\n\n\"Amalaswintha, you know that I was far away on the northern frontiers\nof the realm, when the rebellion here broke out, when that terrible\nrumour arose, and that fearful accusation was made. I believed\nnothing--I hurried here from Tridentum--I arrived two days ago,\nand not an hour passes, not a Goth do I meet, but a terrible doubt\nfalls heavily upon my heart. And you, too, are changed; restless,\ninconstant--and yet I cannot believe it. One sincere word of yours will\ndispel all these mists.\"\n\n\"Why use so many words?\" she cried, supporting herself on the arm of\nher chair. \"Ask briefly what you have to ask.\"\n\n\"Say but one simple 'yes.' Are you guiltless of the death of the three\ndukes?\"\n\n\"And if I were not, have they not richly deserved their fate?\"\n\n\"Amalaswintha--I beseech you--say 'yes.'\"\n\n\"You take a very sudden interest in the Gothic rebels!\"\n\n\"I beseech you,\" cried the old man, falling on his knees, \"daughter of\nTheodoric, say 'yes,' if you can!\"\n\n\"Rise!\" she cried, turning away with a frown. \"You have no right to\nquestion me thus.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the old man quietly, and rising from his knees. \"No, not\nnow. From this moment I no longer belong to this world.\"\n\n\"Cassiodorus!\" cried the Queen, alarmed.\n\n\"Here are the keys of my rooms in the palace. There you will find all\nthe gifts that I have received from you and Theodoric; the documents\nwhich assert my dignities, and my seals of office. I go!\"\n\n\"Whither, my old friend, oh, whither?\"\n\n\"To the cloister which I founded at Squillacium, in Apulia.\nHenceforward, far from kings and their deeds, I shall only do God's\nwork upon earth. My soul has long since panted for peace, and now I\nhave nothing left on earth that is dear to me. Accept once more my\nadvice at parting: put away the sceptre from your blood-stained hands.\nYou can bless this realm no longer, you can only bring a curse upon the\nnation. Think of the salvation of your soul, and may God be gracious to\nyou!\" And before the Queen could recover from her consternation, he had\ndisappeared.\n\nShe would have hurried after him to call him back but she was met at\nthe door by Petros, the ambassador.\n\n\"Stay, Queen,\" he said in a low and rapid voice, \"stay and hear me. I\nhave no time to lose. I am followed.\"\n\n\"Who follows you?\"\n\n\"People who do not mean so well by you as I do. Deceive yourself no\nmore; the fate of the kingdom is decided; you can hinder it no longer,\nso save for yourself what you can. I repeat my proposal.\"\n\n\"What proposal?\"\n\n\"You heard it yesterday.\"\n\n\"That treacherous advice! Never! I shall report it to your master, the\nEmperor, and beg him to recall you. With you I will confer no more.\"\n\n\"Queen, this is not the moment to spare you. The next ambassador of\nJustinian is called Belisarius, and he will come with an army!\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the forsaken Queen. \"I recall my petition.\"\n\n\"Too late. The fleet of Belisarius already lies off Sicily. The\nproposal which you thought came from me you have rejected. Learn that\nthe Emperor, and not I, was the propounder, and meant it as a last\ntoken of his favour.\"\n\n\"Justinian, my friend, my protector, would thus ruin me and my\nkingdom!\" cried Amalaswintha, who began to see the terrible truth.\n\n\"Not ruin you, but save you! He will re-conquer this Italy, the cradle\nof the Roman Empire. This unnatural, impossible kingdom of the Goths is\ncondemned and lost. Leave the sinking ship. Justinian reaches out to\nyou a friendly hand, and the Empress offers you an asylum, if you will\ndeliver Neapolis, Rome, Ravenna, and all the fortresses into the hands\nof Belisarius, and consent that the Goths shall be led, disarmed, over\nthe Alps.\"\n\n\"Wretched man! Shall I betray my people as you have betrayed me? Too\nlate I see your schemes; I came to you for help, and you will destroy\nme!\"\n\n\"Not you, only the barbarians.\"\n\n\"These barbarians are my people; they are my only friends! I see it\nnow, and will stand by them to the death.\"\n\n\"But they will not stand by you.\"\n\n\"Insolent! Out of my sight! Leave my court!\"\n\n\"You will not listen? Reflect, O Queen! only on this condition can I\nanswer for your life.\"\n\n\"My people in arms shall answer for my life!\"\n\n\"Hardly. For the last time I ask you----\"\n\n\"Be silent! I will not give up my crown to Justinian without a\nstruggle.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Petros to himself, \"another must, do it. Enter!\" he\ncalled aloud at the entrance.\n\nBut Cethegus alone appeared from behind the curtain.\n\n\"Where is Gothelindis? Where is Theodahad?\" whispered Petros.\n\n\"I left them outside the palace. The two women hate each other too\nbitterly. Their passion would spoil all.\"\n\n\"You are not my good angel, Prefect of Rome,\" said Amalaswintha,\nturning away from him gloomily, as he approached.\n\n\"This time perhaps I am,\" whispered Cethegus, going close up to her.\n\"You have rejected the proposals from Byzantium, as I expected you\nwould. Dismiss that false Greek.\"\n\nAt a sign from the Queen, Petros retired into an ante-room.\n\n\"What would you with me, Cethegus? I trust you no longer.\"\n\n\"You have trusted the Emperor instead of me, and you see the\nconsequences.\"\n\n\"I do indeed,\" she answered in deep grief.\n\n\"Queen, I have never deceived you in this: that I love Italy and Rome\nmore than the Goths. You will remember that I never concealed it from\nyou.\"\n\n\"I know it, and do not blame you.\"\n\n\"My dearest wish is to see Italy free. In order to keep the Emperor\noff, I would uphold your government; but I tell you openly that there\nis now no hope of this. If you proclaim war against Byzantium, the\nGoths will no more obey or the Italians trust you.\"\n\n\"And why not? What separates me from the Italians and my people?\"\n\n\"Your own acts: two unfortunate documents, which, are in Justinian's\nhands. You yourself first called his arms into Italy--a body-guard from\nByzantium!\"\n\nAmalaswintha grew pale.\n\n\"You know----\"\n\n\"Unfortunately not I alone, but my friends, the conspirators of the\nCatacombs. Petros showed them, the letter, and they call down curses\nupon you.\"\n\n\"Then my Goths, at least, remain to me!\"\n\n\"No longer. Not alone do the adherents of the Balthes seek your life;\nbut the conspirators of Rome have sworn, as soon as war breaks out, to\nannounce to all the world that your name stands at the head of their\nconspiracy against the Goths--against your own nation! The document,\nwith your signature, is in my hands no longer; it lies in the archives\nof the conspirators.\"\n\n\"Faithless man!\"\n\n\"How could I know that you treated with Byzantium behind my back, and\nthus made enemies of my friends? You see that Byzantium, the Goths, and\nItaly are all against you. If the war break out under your direction,\ndivision will run rife in Italy. No one will obey you, and the kingdom\nwill fall helpless into the hands of Belisarius. Amalaswintha, there\nmust be a sacrifice! I demand it of you in the name of Italy, in the\nname of your people and of mine.\"\n\n\"What sacrifice? I consent to any.\"\n\n\"The greatest sacrifice--your crown. Give it to a man who is capable of\nuniting the Goths and Italians against Byzantium, and save both\nnations.\"\n\nAmalaswintha looked at him searchingly. A terrible struggle took place\nin her soul.\n\n\"My crown? It is very dear to me,\" she said.\n\n\"I always held Amalaswintha capable of any sacrifice.\"\n\n\"Dare I place confidence in your advice?\"\n\n\"If it were sweet, you might doubt it; if I flattered your pride you\nmight mistrust me. But I offer you the bitter cup of renunciation. I\nappeal to your generosity and courage. Make me not ashamed.\"\n\n\"Your last advice was a crime,\" cried Amalaswintha, shuddering.\n\n\"I preserved your throne by every possible means as long as it could be\nupheld, as long as it was necessary for Italy; and I now demand that\nyou should love your people more than your sceptre.\"\n\n\"By God! there you do not err. For my people I have not hesitated to\nsacrifice the lives of others\"--she gladly dwelt on this thought, which\nappeased her conscience--\"and I shall not refuse now to sacrifice my\npersonal ambition. But who will be my successor?\"\n\n\"Your heir, to whom the crown belongs--Theodahad, the last of the\nAmelungs.\"\n\n\"What! that feeble creature?\"\n\n\"He is no hero, it is true; but heroes will obey the nephew of\nTheodoric if you place him on the throne. And, consider, his Roman\neducation has won the Italians for him; they will stand by him. They\nwould both fear and hate a king after Hildebrand's heart.\"\n\n\"And rightly,\" answered the Queen reflectively. \"But Gothelindis,\nQueen!\"\n\nCethegus came nearer, and looked keenly into her eyes.\n\n\"Amalaswintha is not so mean as to nourish a pitiful feminine enmity\nwhen there is need of a noble resolve. You have ever appeared to me\nnobler than your sex. Now prove it, and decide.\"\n\n\"Not now,\" said Amalaswintha. \"My head burns and my brain is confused.\nLet me alone to-night. You believe me capable of self-sacrifice. I\nthank you for that at least. To-morrow I will decide.\"\n\n\n\n\n                               BOOK III.\n                               THEODAHAD.\n\n\n\"It seemed to Theodahad that to have neighbours was a kind of\nmisfortune.\"--_Procopius: Wars of the Goths_, i. 3.\n\n\n\n                               CHAPTER I.\n\nThe morning after the events before described, a manifesto announced to\nthe astonished inhabitants of Ravenna that the daughter of Theodoric\nhad resigned the crown in favour of her cousin Theodahad, the last male\nscion o£ the House of Amelung.\n\nItalians and Goths were summoned to swear the oath of allegiance to\ntheir new sovereign.\n\nCethegus had judged rightly. Amalaswintha had felt her conscience\noppressed by many a folly, and even by deadly sin. Noble natures seek\nconsolation and atonement in sacrifice and self-denial; and the unhappy\nwoman had been much affected by the reproaches of her daughter and\nCassiodorus; therefore the Prefect had found her in a mood favourable\nfor the reception of his advice. The very bitterness of this advice\ninduced her to follow it; indeed, to save her people and expiate her\nguilt, she would even have endured much greater humiliation.\n\nThe change of dynasty was accomplished without difficulty. The Italians\nat Ravenna were in nowise prepared for rebellion, and Cethegus fed them\nwith hopes of a more favourable opportunity. Besides this, the new King\nwas known and liked by them as a friend of Roman civilisation.\n\nThe Goths, however, did not seem inclined to submit to the change\nwithout more ado. Prince Theodahad was certainly a man--that was in his\nfavour and an Amelung, which last circumstance weighed heavily; but he\nwas by no means esteemed. Cowardly and unmartial, effeminate in body\nand mind, he had none of the qualities which the Germans require in\ntheir kings. One sole passion filled his soul--avarice, insatiable love\nof gold. Though very rich, he was constantly engaged in mean quarrels\nwith his neighbours in Tuscany. He well understood the art of\nincreasing his estates by force and cunning, and the weight of his\nroyal rank, and how to wrest their property from his neighbours; \"for,\"\nsays an author of that period, \"it seemed to Theodahad that to have\nneighbours was a kind of misfortune.\" At the same time, his weak nature\nwas entirely subject to that of his wicked but strong-minded wife.\n\nFor all these reasons, the worthiest members of the Gothic nation saw\nthe accession of such a man to the throne of Theodoric with great\ndislike; and the manifesto had scarcely been published, when Earl Teja,\nwho had shortly before returned to Ravenna with Hildebad, summoned the\nold master-at-arms and Witichis, and invited them to arouse and direct\nthe discontent of the people, and to set a more worthy man in\nTheodahad's place.\n\n\"You know,\" he concluded his exhortation, \"how favourable is the temper\nof the people. Since the night of our meeting in the Temple of Mercury,\nwe have incessantly stirred up the nation, and have succeeded in many\nof our efforts. The noble self-assertion of Athalaric, the victory of\nthe Feast of Epiphany, the prevention of Amalaswintha's escape was all\nour work. Now a favourable opportunity offers. Shall a man who is\nweaker than a woman step into a woman's place? Have we no more worthy\nman than Theodahad amongst us?\"\n\n\"He is right, by Thor and Woden!\" cried Hildebad. \"Away with these weak\nAmelungs! Raise a hero upon our shield, and hit about on all sides!\nAway with the Amelungs!\"\n\n\"No,\" said Witichis calmly; \"not yet. Perhaps it will come to that at\nlast; but it must not happen sooner than is necessary. The Amelungs\nhave a great party. Theodahad would never part with the riches, nor\nGothelindis with the power of the crown without a struggle; they are\nstrong enough, if not for victory, at least for battle. But strife\nbetween brothers is terrible. Necessity alone can justify it; and, at\npresent, that does not exist. Theodahad may try; he is weak, and may\neasily be led. There is time enough to act if he prove incapable.\"\n\n\"Who knows if then there will be time?\" said Teja warningly.\n\n\"What dost thou advise, old man?\" asked Hildebad, upon whose mind the\nremarks of Witichis had not been without effect.\n\n\"Brothers,\" answered Hildebrand, stroking his long beard, \"you have the\nchoice, and therefore are plagued with doubt. I am spared both, for I\nam bound. The King's old followers have sworn an oath that, as long as\na member of his House lives, they will allow no stranger to occupy the\nthrone.\"\n\n\"What a foolish oath!\" cried Hildebad.\n\n\"I am old, and yet I do not call it foolish. I know what a blessing\nrests upon the great and sacred law of inheritance; and the Amelungs\nare descended from the gods!\" he added mysteriously.\n\n\"Theodahad is a fine child of the gods!\" laughed Hildebad.\n\n\"Be silent!\" cried the old man angrily. \"You modern men understand this\nno longer. You think you can fathom everything with your miserable\nreason. The mystery, the secrecy, the magic that lies in blood--for\nthis you have lost all sense. Therefore I have held my peace about such\nthings. But you cannot change me, with my near a hundred years. Do what\nyou like; I shall do what I must.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Earl Teja, yielding, \"upon thy head be the responsibility.\nBut when this last Amelung is no more----\"\n\n\"Then the followers of Theodoric are free from their oath.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Witichis, \"it is fortunate that your oath spares us the\nchoice, for we certainly wish for no ruler whom thou canst not\nacknowledge. Let us then go and pacify the people; and let us bear with\nthis King as long as it is possible.\"\n\n\"But not an hour longer!\" cried Teja, and went away in anger.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER II.\n\nThe very same day Theodahad and Gothelindis were crowned with the\nancient crown of the Goths.\n\nA splendid banquet, at which all the Roman and Gothic dignitaries of\nthe court and city were present, enlivened the old palace and the\nusually quiet gardens, with which we have become acquainted as the\nscene of Athalaric's and Camilla's loves.\n\nThe revel lasted until deep into the night.\n\nThe new King, no friend of the cup, or of barbaric revelry, had retired\nearly.\n\nGothelindis, on the contrary, sunned herself in the glory of her new\nrank. Proudly she sat upon her high seat, the golden circlet on her\ndark hair. She seemed all ear for the loud hurrahs with which, again\nand again, her own and her husband's names were greeted. But most of\nall she enjoyed the thought that these shouts would penetrate into the\nroyal vault, where Amalaswintha, her hated and conquered rival, sat\nmourning by the sarcophagus of her son.\n\nAmong the crowd of such guests as need only a full cup to make them\nmerry, many a grave face was to be seen; many a Roman who would rather\nhave seen the Emperor Justinian upon the throne at the head of the\ntable; many a Goth who, in the present precarious condition of affairs,\ncould not do homage to such a King as Theodahad without anxiety.\n\nTo these last belonged Witichis, whose thoughts seemed far absent from\nthe splendid scene around him. The golden cup before him stood\nuntouched, and he scarcely noticed the loud exclamations of Hildebad,\nwho sat opposite him.\n\nAt last--the lamps were long since lit, and the stars stood in the\nsky--he rose and went into the greeny darkness of the garden. He slowly\nwandered through the taxus-walks, his eyes fixed upon the sparkling\nluminaries. His heart was with his wife, with his child, whom he had\nnot seen for months.\n\nHe wandered on unconsciously, until at last he came to the little\nTemple of Venus by the quay, with which we are already acquainted.\n\nHe looked out over the gleaming sea. All at once something shining at\nhis feet attracted his attention. It was the glittering of the\nmoonlight upon a small Gothic harp, and upon a suit of mail. A man lay\nbefore him upon the soft grass, and a pale face was uplifted towards\nhim.\n\n\"Thou here, Teja? Thou wert not at the banquet?\"\n\n\"No; I was with the dead.\"\n\n\"My thoughts, too, were absent; at home with wife and child,\" said\nWitichis.\n\n\"With wife and child,\" repeated Teja, sighing.\n\n\"Many asked after thee, Teja.\"\n\n\"After me? Should I sit by Cethegus, who has robbed me of my honour, or\nby Theodahad, who took inheritance?\"\n\n\"Thine inheritance?\"\n\n\"At least he possesses it. And over the place where once stood my\ncradle he now drives his ploughshare.\"\n\nHis head sank upon his breast, and both were silent.\n\n\"And thy harp,\" at last said Witichis, \"will it never be heard again?\nThey praise thee as our nation's best minstrel!\"\n\n\"Like Gelimer, the last King of the Vandals, who was also the best\nsinger of his nation.--But they shall never lead _me_ in triumph to\nByzantium!\"\n\n\"Thou singest but seldom now?\"\n\n\"Seldom or never. But it seems to me time is coming when I shall sing\nagain.\"\n\n\"A time of joy?\"\n\n\"A time of deep and final sorrow.\"\n\nAgain a long pause ensued.\n\n\"My Teja,\" resumed Witichis, \"I have ever found thee, in all trouble of\npeace or war, as true as steel. And although thou art so much younger\nthan I--and an elder man does not lightly bind himself to a youth--I\nmay call thee my best and bosom-friend. I know that thy heart cleaves\nto me more than to thy youthful companions.\"\n\nTeja took the speaker's hand and pressed it. \"Yes, even when my ways\nperplex thee, thou withholdest not thy respect and sympathy. The\nothers---- And yet, _one_ of them I love much!\"\n\n\"Whom?\"\n\n\"He whom all love.\"\n\n\"Totila?\"\n\n\"Yes. I love him as the night loves the morning star. But he is so\nfrank, that he cannot understand when others are, and must be,\nreserved.\"\n\n\"Must be! Why? Thou knowest that curiosity is not my failing. And if,\nat this earnest moment, I beg thee to lift the veil from thy grief, I\nask it only because I would gladly help and comfort thee, and because a\nfriend's eye often sees more clearly than one's own.\"\n\n\"Help? Help me? Canst thou awaken the dead? My pain is irrevocable as\nthe past! Whoever has, like me, seen the unmerciful wheel of Fate roll,\ncrushing everything before it, blind and dumb to all tenderness and\nnobleness; yea, even crushing what is noble more easily and readily,\nbecause it _is_ tender; whoever has acknowledged that a dull necessity,\nwhich fools call the wise providence of God, rules the universe and the\nlife of mankind, is past all help and comfort! If once he has caught\nthe sound, he hears for ever, with the sharp ear of despair, the\nmonotonous rumble of the cruel, insensible wheel in the centre of the\nuniverse, which, at every revolution, indifferently produces or\ndestroys life. Whoever has felt this, and lived through it, renounces\nall and for ever. For evermore, nothing can make him afraid. But\ncertainly--he has also for ever forgotten the sweetness of a smile.\"\n\n\"Thou makest me shudder! God forbid that I should ever entertain such a\ndelusion! How hast thou acquired, so young, such terrible wisdom?\"\n\n\"Friend, by thought alone the truth cannot be reached; only the\nexperience of life can teach it. And in order to understand what and\nhow a man thinks, it is necessary to know his life. Therefore, that I\nmay not appear to be an erring dreamer, or an effeminate weakling, who\ndelights in nursing his sorrow--and in honour of thy trust and\nfriendship--thou shalt hear a small portion of the cause of my grief.\nThe larger part, by far the larger, I will keep to myself,\" he added,\nin evident pain, and pressing his hand to his heart. \"The time for that\nwill come too. But now thou shalt only hear how the Star of Misfortune,\neven at my birth, shone over my head. And amidst all the million stars\nabove, this one alone remains faithful. Thou wert present--thou wilt\nremember--when the false Prefect taunted me before the whole assembly\nwith being a bastard, and refused to fight with me. I was obliged to\nendure the insult. I am even worse than a bastard. My father, Tagila,\nwas a famous hero, but no noble. Poor, and of low birth. He had loved,\never since his beard sprouted, the daughter of his father's brother,\nGisa. She lived far away on the outermost eastern frontier of the\nrealm; on the cold Ister, where continued battles raged with the Gepidæ\nand the wild Sarmatian hordes, and where a man has little time to think\nof the Church, or of the changing laws promulgated by her Conclaves.\nFor a long time my father was not able to lead Gisa to his home; ha had\nnought but his helm and spear, and could not pay the tax, nor prepare a\nhome for his wife. At last fortune smiled upon him. In the war against\nthe Sarmatians, he conquered the king's stronghold on the Alutha, and\nthe rich treasures which the Sarmatians had gained by years of plunder,\nand had there amassed, became his booty. In reward of his valour,\nTheodoric gave him the rank of earl, and called him to Italy. My father\ntook with him Gisa, now become his wife, and all his treasure, and\nbought a large and beautiful estate in Tuscany, between Florentia and\nLuca. But his good fortune did not last long. Shortly after my birth,\nsome miserable fellow, some cowardly rascal, accused my parents of\nincest before the Bishop of Florentia. They were Catholics, and not\nArians--and brothers' children; their marriage was null in the eyes of\nthe Church--and the Church ordered them to part. My father pressed his\nwife to his heart, and laughed at the order. But the secret accuser did\nnot rest----\"\n\n\"Who was he?\"\n\n\"Oh, would that I knew it! I would reach him, even if he lived amid all\nthe horrors of Vesuvius! The priests tormented my mother without\ncessation, and tried to alarm her conscience. In vain; she stood fast\nby her God and her husband, and defied the bishop and his messengers.\nAnd whenever my father met one of the priests upon his estate, he gave\nhim such a welcome that he took care never to come again. But who can\nstrive with those who speak in God's name! A last term was appointed;\nif, by that time, the disobedient couple had not separated, they were\nto be excommunicated, and their property forfeited to the Church. My\nfather now hurried in despair to the King, to beg for the abolition of\nthe terrible sentence. But the verdict of the Conclave was too clear,\nand Theodoric did not dare to offend the rights of the Orthodox Church.\nWhen my father returned from Ravenna, he stared in horror at the place\nwhere once his house had stood: the time had elapsed, and the threat\nhad been fulfilled. His home was destroyed, his wife and child had\ndisappeared. He madly sought for us all over Italy, and at last,\ndisguised as a peasant, he discovered Gisa in a convent at Ticinum.\nThey had torn her boy from her arms, and taken him to Rome. My father\narranged everything for her flight from the convent; at midnight they\nescaped over the wall of the cloister garden. But the next morning the\nsisters missed their prisoner at the _hora_--her cell was empty. The\nconvent servants followed the track of the horses--they were overtaken.\nFighting desperately, my father fell; my mother was taken back to the\nconvent. The pain of her loss and the severe discipline of the order\nhad such a terrible effect upon her brain, that she went mad and died.\nSuch was the fate of my parents.\"\n\n\"And thou?\"\n\n\"I was discovered in Rome by old Hildebrand, who had been a\nbrother-at-arms of my grandfather and father. With the King's\nassistance, he took me from the care of the priests, and brought me up\nwith his own grandchildren in Regium.\"\n\n\"And thy estate, thine inheritance?\"\n\n\"Was forfeited to the Church, which sold it, almost as a gift, to\nTheodahad. He was my father's neighbour; he is now my King!\"\n\n\"My poor friend! But what happened to you later? I have heard only\nrumours--thou hast been in Greece----\"\n\nTeja rose.\n\n\"Let me keep silence on that subject; perhaps another time. I was once\nfool enough to believe in happiness and the beneficence of a loving\nGod. I have repented it bitterly. I shall never believe again.\nFarewell, Witichis, and do not blame Teja, if he be different from\nother men.\" He pressed the hand of his friend warmly; and quickly\ndisappeared into the dark avenues of the garden.\n\nWitichis sat for a long time in silent thought. Then he looked up at\nthe sky, seeking in the bright stars a contradiction of the gloomy\nthoughts which his friend's words had aroused in his mind. He longed\nfor their peaceful and clear light. But during the conversation, clouds\nhad risen rapidly from the lagoons, and covered the sky. All around was\ndark and dismal. With a sigh, Witichis arose, and filled with sad\nthoughts, sought his lonely couch.\n\n\n\n                              CHAPTER III.\n\nWhile Italians and Goths feasted and drank together in the halls on the\nground-floor of the palace at Ravenna, they little suspected that above\ntheir heads, in the King's apartments, a negotiation was going on which\nwas to determine the fate of the kingdom.\n\nThe King had left the banquet early, and had retired to his rooms with\nthe Byzantine ambassador, and, for a long time, the two were occupied\nin writing and consulting together.\n\nAt last they seemed to have come to an agreement, and Petros was about\nonce more to read what he had written, when the King interrupted him:\n\n\"Stop,\" said the little man, who seemed almost lost in his royal robes,\n\"stop--there is yet another thing.\"\n\nAnd he rose from his seat, softly crossed the room, and looked behind\nthe curtain at the entrance to see if any were listening.\n\nHaving reassured himself, he returned, and gently pulled the sleeve of\nthe Byzantine. The light of the bronze lamp flickered in the draught,\nand fell upon the withered yellow cheeks of his ugly face, as he\ncunningly screwed up his already small eyes.\n\n\"Yet another thing. If these wholesome changes are to be made, it would\nbe well, indeed it is necessary, that some of the most daring of my\nbarbarian subjects should be rendered incapable of opposition.\"\n\n\"I have already thought of that,\" answered Petros. \"There is that old\nhalf heathen, Hildebrand, that coarse Hildebad, and wise Witichis.\"\n\n\"You seem to know men well,\" said Theodahad, \"you have looked sharply\nabout you. But,\" he added, \"there is one whom you have not mentioned,\none who must be got rid of more than any other.\"\n\n\"And he?\"\n\n\"Is Earl Teja, the son of Tagila.\"\n\n\"Is the melancholy dreamer so dangerous?\"\n\n\"More so than any of the others. Besides, he is my personal enemy, as\nwas his father before him.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"His father was my neighbour at Florentia, I wanted his acres. In vain\nI pressed him to give them up. Ha, ha!\" and Theodahad laughed, \"they\nbecame mine at last! The holy Church dissolved his criminal marriage,\nconfiscated his property, and let me have it cheap. I had deserved well\nof the Church during the process--your friend, the Bishop of Florentia;\ncan tell you the particulars.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said Petros. \"Why did not the barbarian give his acres\nup with a good will? Does Teja know?\"\n\n\"He knows nothing. But he hates me merely because I bought his\ninheritance. He looks black at me, and the gloomy dreamer is just the\nman to strangle an enemy at the very feet of God Himself.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" said Petros, suddenly becoming very thoughtful. \"Well, enough\nof him! He shall not hurt us. Let me read the treaty once more, point\nby point; afterwards you can sign it. 'First: King Theodahad resigns\nthe sovereignty of Italy, and the subject islands and provinces of the\nGothic kingdom, namely: Dalmatia, Liburnia, Istria, the second\nPannonia, Savia, Noricum, Rhætia, and the Gothic provinces in Gaul, in\nfavour of Emperor Justinian, and of his successors. He promises to\ndeliver Ravenna, Rome, Neapolis, and all the fortresses in the kingdom,\ninto the hands of the Emperor.'\"\n\nTheodahad nodded.\n\n\"'Secondly: King Theodahad will use all the means in his power to the\nend that the Gothic army shall be disarmed and led away, in small\nparties, over the Alps. The women and children will follow the army, or\nbe taken as slaves to Byzantium, according to the decision of the\nimperial generals. The King will take care that any resistance on the\npart of the Goths shall be without result. Thirdly: in return, the\nEmperor Justinian leaves the titles and honours of royalty to King\nTheodahad and his spouse for their lifetime. And fourthly----'\"\n\n\"I will read this paragraph myself,\" interrupted Theodahad, and held\nout his hand for the document.\n\n\"'Fourthly: the Emperor leaves to the King of the Goths not only all\nthe lands and treasures which the latter possesses as private property,\nbut the whole of the royal Gothic treasury, which alone is valued at\nforty thousand pounds of minted gold. Further, the Emperor assigns to\nTheodahad, as his property and inheritance, the whole of Tuscany, from\nPistoria to Cære, from Populonia to Clusium; and lastly, he makes over\nto him for life the half of all the public revenues of the kingdom thus\nrestored to its rightful sovereign.' Tell me, Petros, do not you think\nthat I might demand three-fourths?\"\n\n\"You might certainly ask it, but I doubt exceedingly that Justinian\nwould grant it. I have already overstepped the utmost limits of my\npower.\"\n\n\"We will demand it, at all events,\" said the King, altering the\nfigures, \"then Justinian must either bargain for less, or grant\nadditional privileges.\"\n\nA false smile played over the thin lips of the ambassador.\n\n\"You are a clever negotiator, O King,\" he said. \"But in this case you\nreckon wrongly,\" he added to himself.\n\nJust at this moment the rustle of trailing garments was heard in the\nmarble corridor, and Amalaswintha entered, dressed in a long black\nmantle and a black veil sowed with silver stars. She was deadly pale,\nbut composed and dignified; a Queen in spite of having lost her crown.\nIntense sorrow ennobled the expression of her countenance.\n\n\"King of the Goths,\" she began, \"forgive if a dark shadow suddenly\nrises from the realm of the dead to dim your joyous feast. It is for\nthe last time.\"\n\nBoth the men were struck by her appearance.\n\n\"Queen,\" stammered Theodahad.\n\n\"'Queen!' oh, would that I had never borne the name. I come, cousin,\nfrom the grave of my noble son, where I have acknowledged my\ninfatuation, and repented of all my sins. I come to you, King of the\nGoths, to warn you against similar infatuation and similar guilt.\"\n\nTheodahad's unsteady eyes avoided her grave and searching looks.\n\n\"It is an evil guest,\" she continued, \"that I find here as your\nconfidant at the hour of midnight. There is no safety for a prince\nexcept in his people. Too late I have found this out; too late for\nmyself; not too late, I hope, for my people. Do not trust Byzantium; it\nis a shield that crushes him whom it should protect.\"\n\n\"You are unjust,\" said Petros, \"and ungrateful.\"\n\n\"I beg you, my royal cousin,\" continued Amalaswintha, unheeding the\nremark, \"not to consent to what this man demands. Do not grant him that\nwhich I refused. We were to surrender Sicily, and furnish three\nthousand warriors to the Emperor for each of his wars. I rejected the\nshameful proposal. I see,\" she went on, pointing to the document on the\ntable, \"that you have already concluded your business. Retreat before\nit is too late; they will deceive you always.\"\n\nTheodahad uneasily drew the document towards him, and cast a suspicious\nlook at Petros. The latter went up to Amalaswintha.\n\n\"What do you want here, you queen of yesterday? Would you control the\nruler of this realm? Your time is past and your power at an end.\"\n\n\"Leave us,\" said Theodahad, taking courage. \"I will do what I think\ngood. You shall not succeed in parting me from my friends at Byzantium.\nLook here, before your very eyes our treaty shall be concluded,\" And he\nsigned his name.\n\n\"Well,\" said Petros with a smile, \"the Princess comes just at the right\nmoment to sign as a witness.\"\n\n\"No!\" cried Amalaswintha, \"I have come at the right moment to frustrate\nyour plan. I will go straightway to the army, to the National Assembly,\nwhich will soon take place at Regeta. There, before all the nation, I\nwill expose your proposals, the plans of the Emperor, and the treachery\nof this feeble man.\"\n\n\"That will do no good,\" said Petros quietly, \"unless you accuse\nyourself.\"\n\n\"I _will_ accuse myself. I will confess all my folly, all my guilt, and\ngladly suffer the death I have deserved. But my self-accusation shall\nwarn and alarm the whole nation from Etna to the Alps. A world in arms\nshall be opposed to you, and I will save my Goths by my death, from the\ndangers to which my life has exposed them!\" And, filled with noble\nenthusiasm, she hurried out of the room.\n\nTheodahad looked with dismay at the ambassador. For some time he could\nnot find a word to say.\n\n\"Advise me, help--\" he stammered out at last.\n\n\"Advise? At this moment there is but one advice to give. That insane\nwoman will ruin herself and us if we let her alone. She must not be\nallowed to fulfil her threat. _You_ must take care of that.\"\n\n\"I?\" cried Theodahad, alarmed. \"I know nothings about such things!\nWhere is Gothelindis? She, and she alone, can help us.\"\n\n\"And the Prefect,\" added Petros; \"send for both of them.\"\n\nGothelindis and Cethegus were summoned from the banquet. Petros told\nthem what the Princess had said, but without mentioning the treaty as\nthe cause of her outburst. He had scarcely finished speaking, when\nGothelindis cried, \"Enough! She must not go. Her every step must be\nwatched. She must speak neither to Goth nor Roman; she must not leave\nthe palace. That least of all!\" And she hurried away to place\nconfidential slaves at the doors of Amalaswintha's apartments.\nPresently she returned.\n\n\"She is praying aloud in her cabinet,\" she cried contemptuously. \"Rouse\nyourself, Cethegus, and let us thwart her prayers.\"\n\nCethegus, leaning against the wall, had observed all these proceedings,\nand listened to all that was said in thoughtful silence. He saw how\nnecessary it was that he should once more take the reins into his own\nhands, and hold them more firmly. He saw Byzantium pressing more and\nmore into the foreground--and that he could not suffer.\n\n\"Speak, Cethegus,\" Gothelindis repeated. \"What is most necessary?\"\n\n\"Clearness of purpose,\" he answered, standing erect. \"In every\ncontract, the particular aim of each of the contracting parties must be\nplain. If not, they will continually hinder each other by mistrust. You\nhave your aims, I have mine. Yours are evident--I have already told you\nwhat they are. You, Petros, wish that Emperor Justinian should rule in\nItaly in place of the Goths. You, Gothelindis and Theodahad, wish so\nalso, on condition that you receive a rich recompense in revenge, gold,\nand honours. But I--I too, have my private aim. What is the use of\ndenying it? My sly Petros, you would not long believe that I was only\nambitious of serving as your tool, and of being a senator in Byzantium.\nI, too, have my aim, and all your threefold cunning would never be able\nto discover it, because it lies too close to your eyes. I must betray\nit to you myself. My petrified heart still cherishes one ideal: Italy!\nand I, like you, wish the Goths well out of this country. But I do not,\nlike you, wish that the Emperor should step unconditionally into their\nshoes. I do not want the deluge instead of the shower. I, the\ninveterate Republican, would like best--you know, Petros, that we were\nboth Republicans at eighteen years of age, and I have remained so; but\nyou need not tell it to your master, the Emperor; I have told him\nmyself long since--to cast out the barbarians, bag and baggage, but\nwithout letting you in. Unfortunately, that is not now possible; we\ncannot do without your help. But I will limit it to the unavoidable.\nNo Byzantine army shall enter this country, except--at the last\nextremity--to receive it at the hands of the Italians. Italy must be\nmore a gift from the Italians than a conquest of the Emperor. The\nblessing of generals and tax-gatherers, which Byzantium would bring\nupon the land, must be spared us; we want your protection, but not your\ntyranny.\"\n\nOver the face of Petros crept a sly smile, which Cethegus seemed not to\nobserve. He continued:\n\n\"Hear my conditions. I know that Belisarius lies off Sicily with his\nfleet. He must not land. He must return home. I cannot do with him in\nItaly; at least, not until I call him myself. And if you, Petros, do\nnot at once send him the order to return to Byzantium, our ways\nseparate. I know Belisarius and Narses, and their military government,\nand I know what mild masters these Goths make. I am sorry for\nAmalaswintha; she was a mother to my people. Therefore choose--choose\nbetween Belisarius and Cethegus. If Belisarius lands, Cethegus and all\nItaly will stand by Amalaswintha and the Goths, and then we will see\nwhether you can wrest from us a single foot of this soil. If you choose\nCethegus, he will break the power of the barbarians, and Italy will\nsubject herself to the Emperor, not as his slave, but as his consort.\nChoose, Petros.\"\n\n\"You proud man!\" cried Gothelindis. \"You dare to make conditions to me,\nyour Queen?\" And she lifted her hand with a threatening gesture.\n\nBut Cethegus caught the hand in his iron grasp, and drew it quietly\ndown.\n\n\"Leave such antics, you Queen of a day! Here only Italy and Byzantium\nnegotiate. If you forget your want of power, you must be reminded of\nit. You reign only so long as we uphold you.\"\n\nHe stood before the angry woman in an attitude of such quiet majesty,\nthat she was silenced, but her eyes flashed with inextinguishable\nhatred.\n\n\"Cethegus,\" said Petros, who had meanwhile made up his mind, \"you are\nright. For the moment, Byzantium can gain nothing better than your\nhelp; for without it she can gain nothing. If Belisarius returns to\nByzantium, will you be for us unconditionally?\"\n\n\"Unconditionally.\"\n\n\"And Amalaswintha?\"\n\n\"I abandon her.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the Byzantine, \"we are agreed.\"\n\nHe wrote upon a waxen tablet a briefly-expressed order for the return\nof Belisarius to Byzantium, and gave it to the Prefect.\n\n\"You may send the message yourself.\"\n\nCethegus read it carefully.\n\n\"It is well,\" said he, putting the tablet into the bosom of his dress.\n\"We are Agreed.\"\n\n\"When will Italy proceed against the barbarians?\" asked Petros.\n\n\"In the first days of the next month. I shall now go to Rome.\nFarewell.\"\n\n\"You are going? Will you not help us to get rid of Amalaswintha? You\nwill take pity on her again?\" asked the Queen, in a reproachful voice.\n\n\"She is condemned,\" said Cethegus, turning as he reached the door. \"The\njudge goes; the executioner will perform his duty.\" And he left them\nwith a proud mien.\n\nTheodahad, who had listened to all that had passed in speechless\nastonishment, now caught the hand of Petros in great alarm.\n\n\"Petros,\" he cried, \"for God's sake, what have you done? Our contract,\nand everything else, depends upon Belisarius; and you send him away?\"\n\n\"And allow that insolent man to triumph?\" added Gothelindis\nindignantly.\n\nBut Petros laughed; his whole face beamed with the ecstasy of\nvictorious cunning.\n\n\"Be quiet,\" he said. \"This time the invincible Cethegus is conquered by\nPetros, at whom he has always scoffed.\"\n\nHe took Theodahad and Gothelindis each by the hand, drew them close to\nhim, looked round, and then whispered:\n\n\"At the commencement of the message to Belisarius I have placed a small\nspot, which means: 'All that I have written is not meant in earnest,\nand is null.' Yes, yes; one learns the art of writing at the court of\nByzan", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32271", "title": "A Struggle for Rome, v. 1", "author": "", "publication_year": 1876, "metadata_title": "A Struggle for Rome, v. 1", "metadata_author": "Felix Dahn", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:29.099088", "source_chars": 590387, "chars": 500000, "talkie_tokens": 120159}}
{"text": "Produced by Emmy, Tor Martin Kristiansen and the Online\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: BATTLE OF MOBILE BAY--FARRAGUT'S VICTORY.]\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES OF OUR NAVAL HEROES\n\nEVERY CHILD CAN READ\n\nEDITED BY REV. JESSE LYMAN HURLBUT, D.D.\n\nILLUSTRATED\n\n\n          THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.\n          PHILADELPHIA\n\n\n\n\n          COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY\n          THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nWE live in a land of heroes. If there is any one thing for which a true\nson of America is always ready, it is for a deed of heroism. We have\namong us heroes of the workshop, of the railroad, of field, forest, and\ncity, heroes of land and heroes of water, heroes in war and heroes in\npeace. When the time comes for any deed of valor to be done, the\nAmerican ready and able to do it will not be found wanting. It is not\nglory the gallant son of our land is seeking. It is to do his duty in\nwhatever situation he is placed, whether high or low, on quarter-deck or\nforecastle. He does not stop to think of fame. To act bravely for his\nfellows or his country is the thing for him to do, and he does it in\nface of every peril.\n\nThe history of the United States is full of the names of heroes. They\nstand out like the stars on our flag. It is not our purpose to boast.\nThe world has had its heroes in all times and countries. But our land\nholds a high rank among heroic nations, and deeds of gallant daring have\nbeen done by Americans which no men upon the earth have surpassed.\n\nThis book is the record of our heroes of the sea, of the men who have\nfought bravely upon the ocean for the honor of the Stars and Stripes,\nthe noble tars who have carried their country's fame over all waters and\nthrough all wars. Look at Paul Jones, the most gallant sailor who ever\ntrod deck! He was not born on our soil, but he was a true-blue American\nfor all that. Look at Perry, rowing from ship to ship amid the rain of\nBritish shot and shell! Look at Farragut in the Civil War, facing death\nin the rigging that he might see the enemy! Look at Dewey in the war\nwith Spain, on the bridge amid the hurtling Spanish shells! These are\nbut types of our gallant sailors. They have had their equals in every\nwar. We have hundreds to-day as brave. All they wait for is opportunity.\nWhen the time comes they will be ready.\n\nIf all our history is an inspiration, our naval history is specially so.\nIt is full of thrilling tales, stories of desperate deeds and noble\nvalor which no work of fiction can surpass. We are sure that all who\ntake up this book will find it vital with interest and brimming with\ninspiration. Its tales deal with men who fought for their land with only\na plank between them and death, and none among us can read the story of\ntheir deeds without a thrill in the nerves and a stir in the heart, and\nwithout a wish that sometime they may be able to do as much for the land\nthat gave them birth. This is a book for the American boy to read, and\nthe American girl as well; a book to fill them with the spirit of\nemulation and make them resolve that when the time comes they will act\ntheir part bravely in the perilous work of the world.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAPTER I\n                                                       PAGE\n  FIRST SEA FIGHT OF THE REVOLUTION.\n  The Burning of the \"Gaspee\" in Narragansett Bay         1\n\n\n  CHAPTER II\n  A BRITISH SCHOONER CAPTURED BY FARMERS.\n  Captain Jerry O'Brien Leads the Patriots of 1775       11\n\n\n  BENEDICT ARNOLD, THE SOLDIER-SAILOR.\n  A Novel Fight on Lake Champlain                        21\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV\n  CAPTAIN PAUL JONES.\n  The Greatest of America's Naval Heroes                 32\n\n\n  CHAPTER V\n  HOW PAUL JONES WON RENOWN.\n  The First Great Fight of the American Navy             44\n\n\n  CHAPTER VI\n  CAPTAIN BUSHNELL SCARES THE BRITISH.\n  The Pioneer Torpedo Boat and the Battle of the Kegs    60\n\n\n  CHAPTER VII\n  CAPTAIN BARRY AND HIS ROWBOATS WIN A VICTORY OVER\n      THE BRITISH.\n  A Gallant Naval Hero of Irish Blood                    70\n\n\n  CHAPTER VIII\n  CAPTAIN TUCKER HONORED BY GEORGE WASHINGTON.\n  The Daring Adventures of the Hero of Marblehead        81\n\n\n  CHAPTER IX\n  THE LAST NAVAL BATTLE OF THE REVOLUTION.\n  The Heroic Captain Barney in the \"Hyder Ali\"\n      Captures the \"General Monk\"                        90\n\n\n  CHAPTER X\n  THE MOORISH PIRATES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN.\n  OUR NAVY TEACHES THEM A LESSON IN HONOR                99\n\n\n  CHAPTER XI\n  THE YOUNG DECATUR AND HIS BRILLIANT DEEDS AT TRIPOLI.\n  How Our Navy Began and Ended a Foreign War            108\n\n\n  CHAPTER XII\n  THE GALLANT OLD \"IRONSIDES\" AND HOW SHE CAPTURED THE\n      \"GUERRIERE.\"\n  A Famous Incident of the War of 1812                  126\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIII\n  A FAMOUS VESSEL SAVED BY A POEM.\n  \"Old Ironsides\" Wins New Glory                        140\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIV\n  THE FIGHT OF CAPTAIN JACOB JONES.\n  The Lively Little \"Wasp\" and How She Stung the\n      \"Frolic\"                                          155\n\n\n  CHAPTER XV\n  CAPTAIN LAWRENCE DIES FOR THE FLAG.\n  His Words, \"Do not give up the ship,\" Become the\n      Famous Motto of the American Navy                 166\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVI\n  COMMODORE PERRY WHIPS THE BRITISH ON LAKE ERIE.\n  \"We have met the enemy and they are ours\"             176\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVII\n  COMMODORE PORTER GAINS GLORY IN THE PACIFIC.\n  The Gallant Fight of the \"Essex\" Against Great Odds   189\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVIII\n  COMMODORE MACDONOUGH'S VICTORY ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN.\n  How General Prevost and the British Ran Away          201\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIX\n  FOUR NAVAL HEROES IN ONE CHAPTER.\n  Fights with the Pirates of the Gulf and the Corsairs\n      of the Mediterranean                              210\n\n\n  CHAPTER XX\n  COMMODORE PERRY OPENS JAPAN TO THE WORLD.\n  A Heroic Deed Without Bloodshed                       220\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXI\n  CAPTAIN INGRAHAM TEACHES AUSTRIA A LESSON.\n  Our Navy Upholds the Rights of an American in a\n      Foreign Land                                      231\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXII\n  THE \"MONITOR\" AND THE \"MERRIMAC.\"\n  A Fight which Changed all Naval Warfare               239\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIII\n  COMMODORE FARRAGUT WINS RENOWN.\n  The Hero of Mobile Bay Lashes Himself to the Mast     252\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIV\n  A RIVER FLEET IN A HAIL OF FIRE.\n  Admiral Porter Runs by the Forts in a Novel Way       268\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXV\n  THE SINKING OF THE \"ALBEMARLE.\"\n  Lieutenant Cushing Performs the most Gallant Deed of\n      the Civil War                                     278\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXVI\n  HOW THE \"GLOUCESTER\" REVENGED THE SINKING OF THE\n      \"MAINE.\"\n  Deadly and Heroic Deeds in the War with Spain         288\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXVII\n  THE GREAT VICTORY OF MANILA BAY.\n  Dewey Destroys a Fleet Without Losing a Man           294\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXVIII\n  HOBSON AND THE SINKING OF THE \"MERRIMAC.\"\n  An Heroic Deed Worthy of the American Navy            304\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIX\n  SAMPSON AND SCHLEY WIN RENOWN.\n  The Greatest Sea Fight of the Century                 313\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE FIRST SEA FIGHT OF THE REVOLUTION\n\nTHE BURNING OF THE \"GASPEE\" IN NARRAGANSETT BAY\n\n\nDOES it not seem an odd fact that little Rhode Island, the smallest of\nall our states, should have two capital cities, while all the others,\nsome of which would make more than a thousand Rhode Islands, have only\none apiece? It is like the old story of the dwarf beating the giants.\n\nThe tale we have to tell has to do with these two cities, Providence and\nNewport, whose story goes back far into the days when Rhode Island and\nall the others were British colonies. They were capitals then and they\nare capitals still. That is, they were places where the legislature met\nand the laws were made.\n\nI need not tell you anything about the British Stamp Act, the Boston\nTea-party, the fight at Lexington, and the other things that led to the\nAmerican Revolution and brought freedom to the colonies. All this you\nhave learned at school. But I am sure you will be interested in what we\nmay call the \"salt-water Lexington,\" the first fight between the British\nand the bold sons of the colonies.\n\nThere was at that time a heavy tax on all goods brought into the\ncountry, and even on goods taken from one American town to another. It\nwas what we now call a revenue duty, or tariff. This tax the Americans\ndid not like to pay. They were so angry at the way they had been treated\nby England that they did not want that country to have a penny of their\nmoney. Nor did they intend to pay any tax.\n\nDo you ask how they could help paying the tax? They had one way of doing\nso. Vessels laden with goods were brought to the coast at night, or to\nplaces where there was no officer of the revenue. Then in all haste they\nunloaded their cargoes and were away again like flitting birds. The\nBritish did not see half the goods that came ashore, and lost much in\nthe way of taxes.\n\nWe call this kind of secret trade \"smuggling.\" Providence and Newport\nwere great smuggling places. Over the green waters of Narragansett Bay\nsmall craft sped to and fro, coming to shore by night or in secret\nplaces and landing their goods. It was against the law, but the bold\nmariners cared little for laws made in England. They said that they were\nquite able to govern themselves, and that no people across the seas\nshould make laws for them.\n\nThe British did their best to stop this kind of trade. They sent armed\nvessels to the Bay, whose business it was to chase and search every\ncraft that might have smuggled goods in its hold, and to punish in some\nway every smuggler they found.\n\nSome of these vessels made themselves very busy, and sailors and\nshoremen alike were bitter against them. They would bring in prizes to\nNewport, and their sailors would swagger about the streets, bragging of\nwhat they had done, and making sport of the Yankees. They would kidnap\nsailors and carry them off to serve in the King's ships. One vessel came\nashore at Newport, whose crew had been months at sea, trading on the\nAfrican coast. Before a man of them could set foot on land, or see any\nof the loved ones at home, from whom they had been parted so long, a\npress-gang from a British ship-of-war seized and carried off the whole\ncrew, leaving the captain alone on his deck.\n\nWe may be sure that all this made the people very indignant. While the\nrest of the country was quiet, the Newporters were at the point of war.\nMore than once they were ready to take arms against the British.\n\nIn July, 1769, a British armed sloop, the _Liberty_, brought in two\nprizes as smugglers. They had no smuggled goods on board, but the\nofficers of the _Liberty_ did not care for that. And their captains and\ncrews were treated as if they were prisoners of war.\n\nThat night something new took place. The lookout on the _Liberty_ saw\ntwo boats, crowded with men, gliding swiftly toward the sloop.\n\n\"Boat ahoy!\" he shouted.\n\nNot a word came in reply.\n\n\"Boat ahoy! Answer, or I'll fire!\"\n\nNo answer still. The lookout fired. The watch came rushing up on deck.\nBut at the same time the men in the boats climbed over the bulwarks and\nthe sailors of the _Liberty_ found themselves looking into the muzzles\nof guns. They were taken by surprise and had to yield. The Americans had\ncaptured their first prize.\n\nProud of their victory, the Newporters cut the cables of the sloop and\nlet her drift ashore. Her captives were set free, her mast was cut down,\nand her boats were dragged through the streets to the common, where they\nwere set on fire. A jolly bonfire they made, too, and as the flames went\nup the people cheered lustily.\n\nThat was not all. With the high tide the sloop floated off. But it went\nashore again on Goat Island, and the next night some of the people set\nit on fire and it was burned to the water's edge. That was the first\nAmerican reply to British tyranny. The story of it spread far and wide.\nThe King's officers did all they could to find and punish the men who\nhad captured the sloop, but not a man of them could be discovered.\nEverybody in the town knew, but no one would tell.\n\nThis was only the beginning. The great event was that of the _Gaspee_.\nThis was a British schooner carrying six cannon, which cruised about\nthe Bay between Providence and Newport, and made itself so active and so\noffensive that the people hated it more than all those that had gone\nbefore. Captain Duddingstone treated every vessel as if it had been a\npirate, and the people were eager to give it the same dose they had\ngiven the _Liberty_.\n\nTheir time came in June, 1772. The _Hannah_, a vessel trading between\nNew York and Providence, came in sight of the _Gaspee_ and was ordered\nto stop. But Captain Linzee had a fine breeze and did not care to lose\nit. He kept on at full speed, and the _Gaspee_ set out in chase.\n\nIt was a very pretty race that was seen that day over the ruffled waters\nof the Bay. For twenty-five miles it kept up and the _Hannah_ was still\nahead. Then the two vessels came near to Providence bar.\n\nThe Yankee captain now played the British sailors a cute trick. He\nslipped on over the bar as if there had been a mile of water under his\nkeel. The _Gaspee_, not knowing that the _Hannah_ had almost touched\nbottom, followed, and in a minute more came bump upon the ground. The\nproud war-vessel stuck fast in the mud, while the light-footed Yankee\nslid swiftly on to Providence, where the story of the chase and escape\nwas told to eager ears.\n\nHere was a splendid chance. The _Gaspee_ was aground. Now was the time\nto repay Captain Duddingstone for his pride and insolence. That night,\nwhile the people after their day's work were standing and talking about\nthe news, a man passed down the streets, beating a drum and calling out:\n\n\"The _Gaspee is aground_. Who will join in to put an end to her?\"\n\nThere was no lack of volunteers. Eight large boats had been collected\nfrom the ships in the harbor, and there were soon enough to crowd them\nall. Sixty-four men were selected, and Abraham Whipple, who was\nafterward one of the first captains in the American navy, took command.\nSome of the men had guns, but their principal weapons were paving stones\nand clubs.\n\nIt was about two o'clock in the morning when this small fleet came\nwithin hail of the _Gaspee_. She was fast enough yet, though she was\nbeginning to lift with the rising tide. An hour or two more might have\nset her afloat.\n\nA sentinel who was pacing the deck hailed the boats when they came near.\n\n\"Who comes there?\" he cried.\n\nA shower of paving stones that rattled on the deck of the _Gaspee_ was\nthe only answer. Up came the captain and crew, like bees from a hive\nthat has been disturbed.\n\n\"I want to come on board,\" said Captain Whipple.\n\n\"Stand off. You can't come aboard,\" answered Captain Duddingstone.\n\nHe fired a pistol. A shot from one of the guns on the boats replied. The\nBritish captain fell with a bullet in his side.\n\n\"I am sheriff of the County of Kent,\" cried one of the leaders in the\nboats. \"I am come for the captain of this vessel. Have him I will, dead\nor alive. Men, to your oars!\"\n\nOn came the boats, up the sides of the vessel clambered the men, over\nthe rails they passed. The sailors showed fight, but they were soon\nknocked down and secured. The proud _Gaspee_ was in the hands of the\ndespised Yankees.\n\nAs the captors were tying the crew, a surgeon who was in the boats was\ncalled on deck.\n\n\"What do you want, Mr. Brown?\" he asked.\n\n\"Don't call names, man,\" cried Brown. \"Go into the cabin. There is a\nwounded man there who may bleed to death.\"\n\nThe surgeon was needed, for Captain Duddingstone was bleeding freely.\nThe surgeon, finding no cloth for bandages, tore his own shirt into\nstrips for this purpose, and soon had the bleeding stopped. The captain\nwas gently lowered into one of the boats and rowed up to Providence.\n\nThe wounded man away, the captors began their work. Rushing through the\nvessel, they made havoc of furniture and trappings. There were some\nbottles of liquor in the captain's cabin, and some of the men made a\nrush for these; but the surgeon smashed them with the heels of his\nboots. That was not the time or place for drunken men.\n\nThis done, the _Gaspee_ was set on fire, and was soon wrapped in flames.\nThe men rowed their boats some distance out, and there rested on their\noars, watching the flames as they shot up masts and rigging. Not until\nthe loaded guns went off, one after another, and in the end the magazine\nwas reached and the ship blew up, did they turn their prows towards\nhome. Never again would the _Gaspee_ trouble American ships.\n\nWhen word of what had been done reached England, there was fury from the\nKing down. Great rewards were offered for any one who would betray any\nof the party, but not a name was told. For six long months a court of\ninquiry sat, but it could not get evidence enough to convict a single\nman. The Americans were staunch and firm and stood for each other like\nbrothers tried and true.\n\nNot until the colonies threw off the royal yoke and were battling for\nfreedom was the secret told. Then the men of the long-boats did not\nhesitate to boast of what they had done. It was the first stroke of\nAmerica in the cause of liberty, and the work of the men of Providence\ngave new heart to the patriots from Maine to Georgia.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nA BRITISH SCHOONER CAPTURED BY FARMERS IN 1775\n\nCAPTAIN JERRY O'BRIEN LEADS THE PATRIOTS OF 1775\n\n\nHOW would any of you like to go back to the days when people had only\ntallow candles to light their houses, and the moon to light their\nstreets, when they traveled on horseback or by stage, and got their news\nonly when it happened to come? In these days of the electric light, the\nrailroad train, and the telegraph that old way of living would not seem\nliving at all.\n\nYet that was the way people lived in 1775 when the Revolution began. It\ntook weeks for news to travel then, where it takes seconds now. Thus the\nfight at Lexington, which began the Revolution, took place on April\n19th, but it was May 9th, more than half a month later, before the news\nof it reached the little town of Machias, on the coast of Maine. We\nshould hardly call that fast time. It must have taken several naps on\nthe way.\n\nBut when the news came, it found the people ready for it. A coasting\nschooner put into the port and brought the story of how the patriots had\nfought and bled at Lexington and Concord, and of how the British were\nshut up in Boston town, and the country was at war. The news was\nreceived with ringing cheers.\n\nIf any of my readers had been at Machias that day I know they would have\nfelt like striking a blow for liberty. At any rate, that is how the\npeople of Machias felt, and it did not take them long to show it.\n\nThey had some reason not to like the King and his men. All the tall,\nstraight trees in their woods were kept to make masts for the King's\nships, and no woodman dared set axe to one of these pine trees except at\nrisk of going to prison. Just then there were two sloops in their harbor\nloading with ship-timber, and an armored schooner, the _Margaretta_, was\nthere as a good looker-on.\n\nWhen the men on the wharf heard the story of Lexington, their eyes fell\non the _Margaretta_. Here was a chance to let King George know what\nthey thought about his robbing their woods.\n\n\"Keep this a secret,\" they said to the sailors. \"Not a word of it to\nCaptain Moore or his men. Wait till to-morrow and you will see some\nsport.\"\n\nThat night sixty of the countrymen and townsmen met at a farmhouse\nnearby and laid their plans. It was Saturday. On Sunday Captain Moore\nand his officers would go to church. Then they could gather at the wharf\nand might take the schooner by surprise.\n\nBut it is often easier to make a plot than to keep it a secret, and that\nlesson they were to learn. The captain and his officers went to the\nlittle village church at sound of the morning bell; the _Margaretta_ lay\nlazily floating near the shore; and the plotters began to gather, two or\nthree at a time strolling down towards the shore, each of them carrying\nsome weapon.\n\nBut in some way Captain Moore discovered their purpose. What bird in the\nair whispered to him the secret we do not know, but he suddenly sprang\nto his feet, called to his officers to follow him, and leaped like a cat\nthrough the church window, without waiting to go round by the door. We\nmay be sure the old-fashioned preacher and the pious people in the pews\nlooked on with wide-open eyes.\n\nDown the street like a deer sped the captain. After him came his\nofficers. In their rear rushed the patriots, some carrying old muskets,\nsome with scythes and reaping-hooks.\n\nIt was a hot flight and a hot chase. Luckily for Captain Moore the guard\non the schooner was wide-awake. He saw the countrymen chasing his\ncaptain, and at once loaded and fired a gun, whose ball went whistling\nover the head of the men of Maine. This was more than they looked for;\nthey held back in doubt; some of them sought hiding places; before they\ncould gain fresh courage, a boat put off from the schooner and took the\ncaptain and his officers on board.\n\nCaptain Moore did not know what was wrong, but he thought he would\nfrighten the people, at any rate. So his cannon thundered and balls came\nhurtling over the town. Then he drew up his anchor and sailed several\nmiles down the bay, letting the anchor fall again near a high bank. Some\nof the townsmen followed, and a man named Foster called from the bank,\nbidding him surrender. But the captain laughed at him, raised his anchor\nonce more, and ran farther out into the bay.\n\nIt looked as if the whole affair was at an end and the _Margaretta_\nsafe. But the men of Machias were not yet at the end of their rope.\nThere lay the lumber sloops, and where a schooner could go a sloop could\nfollow.\n\nEarly Monday morning four young men climbed to the deck of one of the\nsloops and cheered in a way that soon brought a crowd to the wharf. One\nof these was a bold, gallant fellow named Jeremiah O'Brien.\n\n\"What is in the wind?\" he asked.\n\n\"We are going for the King's ship,\" said Wheaton, one of the men. \"We\ncan outsail her, and all we want is guns enough and men enough to take\nher.\"\n\n\"My boys, we can do it,\" cried O'Brien in lusty tones, after hearing the\nplan.\n\nEverybody ran off for arms, but all they could find in the town were\ntwenty guns, with enough powder and balls to make three shots for each.\nTheir other weapons were thirteen pitchforks and twelve axes. Jerry\nO'Brien was chosen captain, thirty-five of the most athletic men were\nselected, and the sloop put off before a fresh breeze for the first\nnaval battle of the Revolution.\n\nIt is likely that there were a few sailors among them, and no doubt\ntheir captain knew how to handle a sloop. But the most of them were\nlandsmen, chiefly haymakers, for Machias lay amid grassy meadows and the\nmaking of hay was its chief business. And there were some woodsmen, who\nknew well how to swing an axe. They were all bold men and true, who\ncared more for their country than for the King.\n\nWhen Captain Moore saw the sloop coming with its deck crowded with men\nhe must have wondered what all this meant. What ailed these countrymen?\nAnyhow, he would not fight without knowing what he was fighting for, so\nhe raised his anchor, set his sails, and made for the open sea. But he\nhad hardly started when, in going about in the strong wind, the main\nboom swung across so sharply that it struck the backstays and broke\nshort off.\n\nI fancy if any of us had been close by then we would have heard ringing\ncheers from the Yankee crew. They felt sure now of their prize, though\nwe cannot see why, for the _Margaretta_ had twenty-four cannon, four\nthrowing six-pound balls and the rest one-pound balls. Muskets and\npitchforks did not seem of much use against these. It had also more men\nthan the sloop.\n\nWe cannot see why Captain Moore showed his heels instead of his fists,\nfor he soon proved that he was no coward. But he still seemed to want to\nget away, so he drew up beside a schooner that lay at anchor, robbed it\nof its boom, lashed it to his own mast and once more took to flight. But\nthe sloop was now not far behind, and soon showed that it was the better\nsailer of the two. In the end it came so close that Captain Moore was\nforced to fight or yield.\n\nOne of the swivel guns was fired, and then came a whole broadside,\nsending its balls hurtling over the crowded deck of the sloop. One man\nfell dead, but no other harm was done.\n\nOnly a single shot was fired back, but this came from a heavy gun and\nwas aimed by an old hunter. It struck the man at the helm of the\nschooner. He fell dead, letting the rudder swing loose.\n\nThe _Margaretta_, with no hand at her helm, broached to, and in a minute\nmore the sloop came crashing against her. At once there began a fierce\nbattle between the British tars and the haymakers of Maine, who sprang\nwildly and with ringing cheers for the schooner's deck. Weapons of all\nsorts now came into play. Cutlasses, hand-grenades, pistols and boarding\npikes were used by the schooner's men; muskets, pitchforks, and axes\nwere skilfully handled by the crew of the sloop. Men fast fell dead and\nwounded; the decks grew red with blood; both sides fought fiercely, the\nmen of Machias striving like tigers to gain a footing on the schooner's\ndeck, the British tars meeting and driving them back.\n\nCaptain Moore showed that it was not fear that made him run away. He now\nfought bravely at the head of his men, cheering them on and hurling\nhand-grenades at the foe.\n\nBut in a few minutes the end came. A bullet struck the gallant captain\nand he fell dead on his deck. When they saw him fall the crew lost heart\nand drew back. The Yankees swarmed over the bulwarks. In a minute more\nthe _Margaretta_ was theirs.\n\nThe battle, though short, had been desperate, for twenty men lay killed\nand wounded, more than a fourth of the whole number engaged.\n\nAs Bunker Hill showed British soldiers that the Yankees could fight on\nland, so the capture of the _Margaretta_, the first naval victory of the\nAmericans, showed that they could fight at sea. The _Margaretta_ was\nvery much the stronger, in men, in guns, and in her trained officers and\nskilled crew. Yet she had been taken by a party of landsmen, with\nmuskets against cannon and pitchforks against pistols. It was a victory\nof which the colonists could well be proud.\n\nBut Captain O'Brien was not yet satisfied. He had now a good sloop under\nhis feet, a good crew at his back, and the arms and ammunition of his\nprize. He determined to go a-privateering on his own account.\n\nTaking the _Margaretta_ to the town, he handed over his prisoners and\nput the cannon and swivels of the schooner on his swifter sloop,\ntogether with the muskets, pistols, powder, and shot which he found on\nboard. Then away he went, with a bold and daring crew, in search for\nprizes and glory.\n\nHe soon found both. When the news of what he had done reached Halifax,\nthe British there sent out two schooners, with orders to capture the\ninsolent Yankee and bring him to port and to prison. But Captain O'Brien\nshowed that he knew how to handle a sloop as well as a pitchfork. He met\nthe schooners sent to capture him, and by skilful sailing managed to\nseparate them. Then he made a bold dash on each of them and in a little\ntime captured them both.\n\n\n\n\n\nBENEDICT ARNOLD, THE SOLDIER-SAILOR\n\nA NOVEL FIGHT ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN\n\n\nWAS it not a dreadful pity that Benedict Arnold should disgrace himself\nforever by becoming a traitor to his country? To think of his making\nhimself the most despised of all Americans, when, if he had been true to\nhis flag, he might have been ranked among our greatest heroes. For\nArnold was one of the best and bravest fighters in Washington's army.\nAnd he could fight as hard and well on water as on land, as you will\nlearn when you read of what he did on Lake Champlain.\n\nI am sure all my readers must know where this lake is, and how it\nstretches down in a long line from Canada far into New York State. Below\nLake Champlain extends Lake George, and not very far from that is the\nHudson River, which flows down to the City of New York.\n\nIf the British could only have held that line of water they would have\ncut the colonies in two, and in that way they might soon have brought\nthe war to an end. This was what they tried to do in the fall of 1776,\nbut they did not count on Arnold and his men.\n\nLet us tell what brought this about. General Arnold and General\nMontgomery had marched through the wilderness to Quebec in the winter\nbefore. But there they met with bitter weather and deadly disease and\ndeath from cold and cannon. The brave Montgomery was killed, the daring\nArnold fought in vain, and in the end the invading army was forced to\nmarch back--all that was left of it.\n\nAs the Americans went back, Sir Guy Carleton, the British commander,\nfollowed, and made his camp at St. John's, at the north end of Lake\nChamplain. The nearest American post was at Crown Point, far down\ntowards the foot of the lake. Not far south of this, near the head of\nLake George, was the famous old French fort Ticonderoga, which Arnold\nand Ethan Allen had captured from the British the year before. I tell\nyou all this that you may know how the land lay. A glance at a good map\nwill help.\n\nI think it very likely that some of you may have visited those beautiful\nlakes, and seen the towns and villages on their shores, the handsome\ndwelling on their islands, and the broad roads along their banks;\neverything gay and smiling.\n\nIf you had been there in 1776 you would have seen a very different\nsight. Look right or left, east or west, nothing but a wilderness of\ntrees would have met your eyes. As for roads, I fancy an Indian trail\nwould have been the best to be found. And no man that wished to keep his\nscalp on his head would have thought of living on island or shore.\n\nThe only good road southward was the liquid one made by nature, and this\nroad Carleton decided to take. He would build a strong fleet and carry\nhis army down the lake, while the Indians that came with him could\npaddle downward in their canoes.\n\nAt this time there was not a vessel on the lakes, but Carleton worked\nhard, and soon had such a fleet as these waters had never seen. Three\nof his ships were built in England in such a way that they could be\ntaken to pieces, carried through the wilderness to St. John's, and there\nput together again. The smaller vessels were built on the spot,\nsoldiers, sailors, and farmers all working on them.\n\nIt was well on in October before his task was finished. Then he had a\nfleet of twenty-five vessels in all, twenty of them being gunboats, but\nsome of them quite large. Their crews numbered a thousand men, and they\ncarried eighty-nine cannon.\n\nYou may well suppose that the Americans knew what was going on, and that\nthey did not fold their hands and wait. That is not, and never was, the\nAmerican way. If the British could build, so could the Yankees, and\nBenedict Arnold was ordered to build a fleet, and to have it ready for\nfighting the British when it would be needed.\n\nArnold had been at sea in his time and knew something of what he was\nabout. His men were farmers who had taken up arms for their country, but\nhe sent for a few shipbuilders from the coast and went to work with all\nhis might.\n\nWhen October came he had fifteen vessels afloat. There were two\nschooners and one sloop, the others being called galleys and\ngondolas--no better than large rowboats, with three to six guns each.\n\nArnold had about as many guns as Carleton, but they were smaller, and he\nhad not nearly so many men to handle them. And his men were farmers\ninstead of sailors, and knew no more about a cannon than about a king's\ncrown. But the British ships were manned by picked seamen from the\nwarships in the St. Lawrence River, and had trained naval officers.\n\nI fear if any of us had been in Arnold's place we would have wanted to\ngo home. It looked like folly for him and his men to fight the British\nfleet with its skilled officers and sailors and its heavy guns. It was\nlike meeting a raft of logs with one of chips.\n\nBut Arnold was not a man who stopped to count the cost when fighting was\nto be had. As soon as he was ready he set sail boldly up the lake, and\non the morning of October 11, 1776, he drew up his little fleet across a\nnarrow channel between Valcour Island and the west shore of the lake.\nHe knew the British would soon be down.\n\nIt was a fine, clear, cool morning, with a strong wind from the north,\njust the kind of day Carleton had been waiting for. So, soon after\nsunrise, his fleet came sweeping on past Valcour Island. But all the\nsailors saw was a thicket of green trees, and they had got well south of\nthe island before they looked back and saw the American fleet.\n\nHere was an ugly situation. It would never do to leave the Americans in\ntheir rear. Down went the helms, round swept the sails, out came the\noars, and soon the British fleet was making a struggle against the wind\nwhich had seemed so fair a few minutes before. So strong was the breeze\nthat ten o'clock had passed before they reached the channel in which the\nAmericans lay. Arnold came eagerly to meet them, with the _Royal\nSavage_, his largest vessel, and three of his gondolas. One of these,\nthe _Congress_, he had made his flagship. Soon the waters of that quiet\nbay rang with the roar of cannon and the shouts of fighting men, and\nArnold, having drawn the fire of the whole British fleet, was obliged to\nhurry back.\n\nIn doing so he met with a serious loss. The _Royal Savage_, pierced by a\ndozen balls, ran ashore on the island. As she could not be got off, the\ncrew set her on fire and escaped to the woods. They might better have\nleaped into the lake, for the woods were full of Indians whom Carleton\nhad sent ashore; and to be a prisoner to Indians in those days was a\nterrible fate.\n\nWhen he got back to his fleet, Arnold formed his line to meet the\nBritish, who came steadily on until within musket shot. Then a furious\nbattle began, broadside meeting broadside, grape-shot and round-shot\nhurtling through the air, the thick smoke of the conflict drifting into\nthe woodland, while from the forest came back flame and bullets as the\nIndians fought for their British friends.\n\nArnold, on the deck of the _Congress_, led in the thickest of the fight,\nhandling his fleet as if he had been an admiral born, cheering the men\nat the guns, aiming and firing a gun at intervals himself, and not\nyielding a foot to the foe. Now and then a gun was fired at the Indians,\nforcing them to skip nimbly behind the trees.\n\nFor six long hours the battle kept up at close quarters. This is what\nArnold says about it in few words: \"At half-past twelve the engagement\nbecame general and very warm. Some of the enemy's ships and all their\ngondolas beat and rowed up within musket shot of us. They continued a\nvery hot fire with round and grape-shot until five o'clock, when they\nthought proper to retire to about six or seven hundred yards distance,\nand continued the fire till dark.\"\n\nHot as their fire was, they must have found that of the Americans\nhotter, for they went back out of range of the Yankee guns, but kept\nwithin range of their own.\n\nArnold's vessels were in a bad plight. Several of them were as full of\nholes as a pepper bottle, and one sank soon after the fight ended. But\ntwo of the British gunboats had been sunk and one blown up. The worst\nfor the Americans was that nearly all their powder was gone. They could\nnot fight an hour more.\n\nPerilous as was the situation, Admiral Arnold was equal to it. The night\ncame on dark and stormy, with a hard gale from the north. This was just\nwhat he wanted. Up came the anchors and away went the boats, one after\nthe other in a long line, each showing a light to the vessel that\nfollowed, but hiding it from British eyes. In this way they slipped\nunseen through the British line, Arnold in the _Congress_ taking the\npost of danger in the rear.\n\nWhen morning dawned the British lookouts gazed for the American fleet,\nit was nowhere to be seen. It had vanished in the night and now was ten\nmiles down the lake, where it was drawn up near shore for repairs.\n\nTwo of the gondolas proved to be past mending, and were sunk. The others\nwere patched up until they could be kept afloat without too much\npumping, and the fleet started on, hoping to gain the shelter of Crown\nPoint or Ticonderoga. The wind had changed to the south, and they had to\ntake to their oars. This kept them back, but it gave the British quite\nas much trouble. That day passed away and the next day, Friday, dawned\nbefore the pursuers came in sight. And now a chase began with oar and\nsail, and continued till noon, when Crown Point was still some leagues\naway. By this time the British cannon balls began to reach the American\nboats, and the tired rowers were forced to turn to their guns and\nfight.\n\nNever did sea-hero fight more gallantly than did the soldier Arnold that\nday. The first British broadside ruined the gondola _Washington_ and\nforced it to surrender. But Arnold in the little _Congress_ drew up\nbeside the _Inflexible_, a 300-ton ship with eighteen 12-pounder cannon,\nand fought the ship with his little gunboat as if they had been of equal\nstrength. Inspired by his example, the other boats fought as bravely.\n\nNot until a third of his men were dead and his boat a mere wreck did he\ngive up the fight. But not to surrender--no such thought came into his\nmind. By his order the galleys were run ashore in a creek nearby and\nthere set on fire. With the three guns of the shattered _Congress_ he\ncovered their retreat until their crews were safe on shore.\n\nThen, reckless of the British shot, he ran the _Congress_ ashore also\nand stood guard at her stern while the crew set her on fire. The men by\nhis orders sought the shore, but Arnold stood by his flag to the last,\nnot leaving until the flames had such hold that he was sure no Briton's\nhand could strike his flag. It would float until it went up in flames.\n\nThen he sprang into the water, waded ashore, and joined his men, who\ngreeted him with cheers.\n\nThe savages were swarming in the woods, eager for scalps, but Arnold was\nnot troubled by fear of them. Forming his men into order, he marched\nthem through the woods, and before night reached safety at Crown Point.\n\nThus ended one of the noblest fights the inland waters of America ever\nsaw. The British were victors, though at a heavy cost. Arnold had fought\nuntil his fleet was annihilated; and not in vain. Carleton sailed back\nto St. John's and made his way to Canada. He had seen enough of Yankee\npluck. Thus Arnold, though defeated, gained by his valor the fruit of\nvictory, for the British gave up their plan of holding the lake.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nCAPTAIN PAUL JONES\n\nTHE GREATEST OF AMERICA'S NAVAL HEROES\n\n\nONCE upon a time there lived in Scotland a poor gardener named John\nPaul, who had a little son to whom he gave the same name. The rich man's\ngarden that the father took care of was close by the sea, and little\nJohn Paul came to love blue water so much that he spent most of his time\nnear it, and longed to be a sailor.\n\nHe lived in his father's cottage near the sea until he was twelve years\nold. Then he was put to work in a big town on the other side of the\nSolway Firth. This town was called Whitehaven. It was a very busy place,\nand ships and sailors were there in such numbers that the little fellow,\nwho had been put in a store, greatly liked to go down to the docks and\ntalk with the seamen who had been in so many different lands and seas\nand who could tell him all about the wonderful and curious places they\nhad seen, and about their adventures on the great oceans they had sailed\nover.\n\nIn the end the boy made up his mind to go to sea. He studied all about\nships and how to sail them. He read all the books he could get, and\noften, when other boys were asleep or in mischief, he was learning from\nthe books he read many things that helped him when he grew older. At\nlast he had his wish. When he was only thirteen years old, he was put as\na sailor boy on a ship called the _Friendship_.\n\nThe vessel was bound to Virginia, in America, for a cargo of tobacco,\nand the young sailor greatly enjoyed the voyage and was especially\ndelighted with the new country across the sea. He wished he could live\nin America, and hoped some day to go there again.\n\nWhen this first voyage was over, he returned to Whitehaven and went back\nto the store. But soon after, the merchant who owned the store failed in\nbusiness, and the boy was out of a place and had to look out for\nhimself. This time he became a real seaman. For many years he served as\na common sailor. He proved such a good one that before he was twenty\nyears old he was a captain. This was how he became one: While the ship\nin which he was sailing was in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a\nterrible fever broke out. The captain died. The mate, who comes next to\nthe captain, died; all of the sailors were sick, and some of them died.\nThere was no one who knew about sailing such a big vessel, except young\nJohn Paul. So he took command and sailed the ship into port without an\naccident, and the owners were so glad that they made the young sailor\ncaptain of the ship which he had saved for them.\n\nJohn Paul was not the only one of his family who loved America. He had a\nbrother who had crossed the ocean and was living in Virginia, on the\nbanks of the Rappahannock River. This was the same river beside which\nGeorge Washington lived when a boy. The young captain visited his\nbrother several times while he was sailing on his voyages, and he liked\nthe country so much that, when his brother died, he gave up being a\nsailor for a while, and went to live on his brother's farm.\n\nWhen he became a farmer, he changed his name to Jones. Why he did so\nnobody knows. But he ever after bore the name of John Paul Jones. He\nmade this one of the best known names in the history of the seas.\n\nI doubt if he was a very good farmer. He was too much of a sailor for\nthat. So, when the American Revolution began, he was eager to fight the\nBritish on the seas. There was no nation at that time so powerful on the\nsea as England. The King had a splendid fleet of ships of war--almost a\nthousand. The United States had none. But soon the Americans got\ntogether five little ships, and sent them out as the beginning of the\nAmerican navy, to fight the ships of England.\n\nJohn Paul Jones was made first lieutenant of a ship called the _Alfred_.\nHe had the good fortune to hoist for the first time on any ship, the\nearliest American flag. This was a great yellow silk flag which had on\nit the picture of a pine tree with a rattlesnake coiled around it, and\nunderneath were the words: \"Don't tread on me!\"\n\nThen the grand union flag of the colonies was set. This had thirteen red\nand white stripes, like our present flag, but, instead of the stars, in\nthe corner it had the British \"union jack.\" Thus there was a link on the\nflag between the colonies and England. They had not quite cut apart.\n\n[Illustration: JOHN PAUL JONES.]\n\nJones had first been offered the command of the _Providence_, a brig\nthat bore twelve guns and had a crew of one hundred men. But he showed\nthe kind of man he was by saying that he did not know enough to be a\ncaptain, and was hardly fit to be a first lieutenant. That was how he\ncame to be made first lieutenant of the _Alfred_. Congress took him at\nhis own price.\n\nBut Commodore Hopkins, who commanded the fleet, was wise enough to see\nthat Jones knew more about his work than most of the captains in the\nservice. So he ordered him to take command of the _Providence_, the snug\nlittle brig that had first been offered to him.\n\nThe new captain was set at work to carrying troops and guarding merchant\nvessels along the shore, and he did this with wonderful skill. There\nwere British men-of-war nearly everywhere, but Jones managed to keep\nclear of them. He darted up and down Long Island Sound, carrying\nsoldiers and guns and food to General Washington. So well did he do his\nwork that Congress made him a captain. This was on August 8, 1776, a\nmonth and more after the \"Declaration of Independence.\" He had a free\ncountry now to fight for, instead of rebel colonies.\n\nThe _Providence_ was a little vessel, but it was a fast sailer, and was\nwonderfully quick to answer the helm. That is, it turned very quickly\nwhen the rudder was moved. And it had a captain who knew how to sail a\nship. All this brought the little brig out of more than one tight place.\n\nI must tell you about one of these escapes, in which Captain Jones\nshowed himself a very sharp sea-fox. He came across a fleet of vessels\nwhich he thought were merchant ships, and had a fancy he might capture\nthe largest. But when he got close up he found that this was a big\nBritish frigate, the _Solebay_.\n\nAway went the _Providence_ at full speed, and hot-foot after her came\nthe _Solebay_. For four hours the chase was kept up, the frigate\nsteadily gaining. At last she was only a hundred yards away. Now was the\ntime to surrender. Nearly any one but Paul Jones would have done so. A\nbroadside from the great frigate would have torn his little brig to\npieces. But he was one of the \"never surrender\" kind.\n\nWhat else could he do? you ask. Well, I will tell you what he did. He\nquietly made ready to set all his extra sails, and put a man with a\nlighted match at each cannon, and had another ready to hoist the union\nflag.\n\nThen, with a quick turn of the helm, the little brig swung round like a\ntop across the frigate's bows. As she did so all the guns on that side\nsent their iron hail sweeping across the deck of the _Solebay_. In a\nminute more the studding sails were set on both sides, like broad white\nwings, and away went the _Providence_ as swift as a racer, straight\nbefore the wind and with the American flag proudly flying. The officers\nand men of the frigate were so upset by the sudden dash and attack that\nthey did not know what to do. Before they came to their senses the brig\nwas out of reach of their shot. Off like a bird she went, now quite\noutsailing her pursuer. The _Solebay_, fired more than a hundred iron\nballs after her, but they only scared the fishes.\n\nIt was not long before Captain Jones found another big British ship on\nhis track. He was now off the coast of Nova Scotia, and as there was\nnothing else to do, he let his men have a day's sport in fishing for\ncodfish. Fish are plenty in those waters, and they were pulling them up\nin a lively fashion when a strange sail rose in sight.\n\nWhen it came well up Captain Jones saw it was a British frigate, and\njudged it time to pull in his fishing lines and set sail on his little\ncraft. Away like a deer went the brig, and after her like a hound came\nthe ship. But it soon proved that the deer was faster than the hound,\nand so Captain Jones began to play with the big frigate. He took in some\nof his sails and kept just out of reach.\n\nThe _Milford_, which was the name of the British ship, kept firing at\nthe _Providence_, but all her shot plunged into the waves. It was like\nthe hound barking at the deer. And every time the _Milford_ sent a\nbroadside, Paul Jones replied with a musket. After he had all the fun he\nwanted out of the lumbering frigate, he spread all sail again and soon\nleft her out of sight.\n\nWe cannot tell the whole story of the cruise of the _Providence_. In\nless than two months it captured sixteen vessels and burned some others.\nSoon after that Jones was made captain of the _Alfred_, the ship on\nwhich he had raised the first flag. With this he took a splendid prize,\nthe brig _Mellish_, on which were ten thousand uniforms for the British\nsoldiers. Many a ragged soldier in Washington's army thanked him that\nwinter for a fine suit of warm clothing.\n\nLet us tell one more fine thing that Captain Jones did in American\nwaters before he crossed the ocean to the British seas. Sailing along\nthe coast of Canada he came upon a fleet of coal vessels, with a British\nfrigate to take care of them. But it was foggy and the coalers were\nscattered; so that Jones picked up three of them while the frigate went\non with her eyes shut, not knowing that anything was wrong.\n\nTwo days afterward he came upon a British privateer, which was on the\nhunt for American vessels. But when the _Alfred_ came up, before more\nthan a few shots had been fired, down came its flag.\n\nCaptain Jones now thought it time to get home. His ship was crowded\nwith prisoners, he was short of food and water, and he had four prizes\nto look after, which were manned with some of his crew.\n\nBut he was not to get home without another adventure; for, late one\nafternoon, there came in sight the frigate _Milford_, the one which he\nhad saluted with musket balls. He could not play with her now, for he\nhad his prizes to look after, and while he could outsail her, the prizes\ncould not.\n\nSo he told the captains of the prizes to keep on as they were, no matter\nwhat signals he made. Night soon came, and the _Alfred_ sailed on, with\ntwo lanterns swinging in her tops. Soon she changed her course and the\n_Milford_ followed. No doubt her captain thought that the Yankee had\nlost his wits, to sail on with lanterns blazing and make it easy to keep\nin his track.\n\nBut when morning dawned the British captain found he had been tricked.\nThe _Alfred_ was in sight, but all the prizes were gone except the\nprivateer, whose stupid captain had not obeyed orders. The result was\nthat the privateer was recaptured. But the _Alfred_ easily kept ahead.\nThat afternoon a squall of snow came upon the sea, and the Yankee craft,\n\"amid clouds and darkness and foaming surges, made her escape.\"\n\nIn a few days more the _Alfred_ sailed into Boston. There his ship was\ngiven another captain, and for six months he had nothing to do. Congress\nwas full of politicians who were looking out for their friends, and the\nbest seaman in the American navy was left sitting at home biting his\nthumb nails and whistling for a ship.\n\nI have not told you here the whole story of our greatest naval hero. I\nhave not told you even the best part of his story, that part which has\nmade him famous in all history, and put him on a level with the most\ncelebrated sea fighters of all time.\n\nThe exploits of Paul Jones cover two seas, those of America and those of\nEngland, and in both he proved himself a brilliant sailor and a daring\nfighter. I think you will say this from what you have already read. His\ndeeds of skill and bravery on our own coast were wonderful, and if they\nhad stood alone would have given him great fame. But it was in the\nwaters and on the shores of England that he showed the whole world what\na man he was; and now, when men talk of the great heroes of the sea, the\nname of John Paul Jones always stands first. This is the story we have\nnext to tell, how Captain Jones crossed the ocean and bearded the\nBritish lion in his den.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nHOW PAUL JONES WON RENOWN\n\nTHE FIRST GREAT FIGHT OF THE AMERICAN NAVY\n\n\nYOU have been told how Captain Paul Jones lost his ship. He was given\nanother in June, 1777. This was the _Ranger_, a frigate carrying\ntwenty-six guns, but it was such a slow old tub that our captain was not\nwell pleased with his new craft. He did not want to run away from the\nBritish; he wanted a ship that was fit to chase an enemy.\n\nWe have one thing very interesting to tell. On the very day that Jones\ngot his new ship Congress adopted a new flag, the American standard with\nits thirteen stars and thirteen stripes. As soon as he heard of the new\nflag, Captain Jones had one made in all haste, and with his own hands he\nran it up to the mast-head of the _Ranger_. So she was the first ship\nthat ever carried the \"Stars and Stripes.\" Is it not interesting that\nthe man who first raised the pine-tree flag of the colonies was the\nfirst to fling out to the breeze the star-spangled flag of the American\nUnion?\n\nCaptain Jones was ordered to sail for France, but it took so long to get\nthe _Ranger_ ready for sea that it was winter before he reached there.\nBenjamin Franklin and other Americans were there in France and were\nhaving a fine new frigate built for Paul Jones. But when England heard\nof it such a protest was made that the French government stopped the\nwork on the ship, and our brave captain had to go to sea again in the\nslow-footed _Ranger_.\n\nHe had one satisfaction. He sailed through the French fleet at Quiberon\nBay and saluted the French flag. The French admiral could not well help\nreturning his salute. That was the first time the Stars and Stripes were\nsaluted by a foreign power.\n\nWhat Captain Jones proposed to do was the boldest thing any American\ncaptain could do. England was invading America. He proposed to invade\nEngland. That is, he would cruise along the British coast, burning ships\nand towns, and thus do there what the British had done along the\nAmerican coast. He wanted to let them find how they liked it themselves.\n\nIt was a daring plan. The British channel was full of war-vessels. If\nthey got on the track of his slow ship he could not run away. He would\nnever think of running from one ship, but there might be a fleet.\nHowever, Paul Jones was the last man in the world to think of danger; so\nhe put boldly out to sea, and took his chances.\n\nIt was not long before he had all England in a state of alarm. News came\nthat this daring American warship was taking prize after prize, burning\nsome and sending their crews ashore. He would hide along the English\ncoast from the men-of-war that went out in search, and then suddenly\ndart out and seize some merchant ship.\n\nThe English called Captain Jones a pirate and all sorts of hard names.\nBut they were very much afraid of him and his stout ship. And this\nvoyage of his, along the shores of England, taught them to respect and\nfear the American sailors more than they had ever done before.\n\nAfter he had captured many British vessels, almost in sight of their\nhomes, he boldly sailed to the north and into the very port of\nWhitehaven, where he had \"tended store,\" as a boy, and from which he had\nfirst gone to sea. He knew all about the place. He knew how many vessels\nwere there, and what a splendid victory he could win for the American\nnavy, if he could sail into Whitehaven harbor and capture or destroy the\ntwo hundred vessels that were anchored within sight of the town he\nremembered so well.\n\nWith two rowboats and thirty men he landed at Whitehaven, locked up the\nsoldiers in the forts, fixed the cannon so that they could not be fired,\nset fire to one of the vessels that were in the harbor, and so\nfrightened all the people that, though the gardener's son stood alone on\nthe wharf, waiting for a boat to take him off, not a man dared to lay a\nhand on him. With a single pistol he kept back a thousand men.\n\nThen he sailed across the bay to the house of the great lord for whom\nhis father had worked as a gardener. He meant to run away with this\nnobleman, and keep him prisoner until the British promised to treat\nbetter the Americans whom they had taken prisoners. But the lord whom\nhe went for was \"not at home,\" so all that Captain Jones's men could do\nwas to carry off from the big house the silverware of the earl. Captain\nJones did not like this; so he took the things from his men and returned\nthem to Earl Selkirk, with a letter asking him to excuse his sailors.\n\nNot long afterward one of the British men-of-war which were in the hunt\nfor Captain Jones, found him. This was the _Drake_, a larger ship than\nthe _Ranger_ and carrying more men. But that did not trouble Paul Jones,\nand soon there was a terrible fight. The sails of the _Drake_ were cut\nto pieces, her decks were red with blood, and at last her captain fell\ndead. In an hour after the fight began, just as the sun was going down\nbehind the Irish hills, there came a cry for quarter from the _Drake_,\nand the battle was at an end. Off went Captain Jones, with his ship and\nhis prize, for the friendly shores of France, where he was received with\ngreat praise.\n\nSoon after this the French decided to help the Americans in their war\nfor independence. After some time Captain Jones was put in command of\nfive ships, and back he sailed to England to fight the British ships\nagain.\n\nThe vessel in which he sailed was the biggest of the five ships. It had\nforty guns and a crew of three hundred sailors. Captain Jones thought so\nmuch of the great Dr. Benjamin Franklin, who had written a book of good\nadvice, under the name of \"Poor Richard,\" that he named his big ship for\nDr. Franklin. He called it the _Bon Homme Richard_, which is French for\n\"good man Richard.\" But the _Bon Homme Richard_ was not a good boat, if\nit was a big one. It was old and rotten and leaky, and not fit for a\nwarship, but its new commander made the best he could of it.\n\nThe little fleet sailed up and down the English coasts, capturing a few\nprizes, and greatly frightening the people by saying that they had come\nto burn some of the big English sea towns. Then, just as they were about\nsailing back to France, they came--near an English cape, called\nFlamborough Head--upon an English fleet of forty merchant vessels and\ntwo war ships.\n\nOne of the war ships was a great English frigate, called the _Serapis_,\nfiner and stronger in every way than the _Bon Homme Richard_. But\nCaptain Jones would not run away.\n\n\"What ship is that?\" called out the Englishman. \"Come a little nearer,\nand we'll tell you,\" answered plucky Captain Jones.\n\nThe British ships did come a little nearer. The forty merchant vessels\nsailed as fast as they could to the nearest harbor, and then the\nwarships had a terrible battle.\n\nAt seven o'clock in the evening the British frigate and the _Bon Homme\nRichard_ began to fight. They banged and hammered away for hours, and\nthen, when the British captain thought he must have beaten the\nAmericans, and it was so dark and smoky that they could only see each\nother by the fire flashes, he called out to the American captain: \"Are\nyou beaten? Have you hauled down your flag?\"\n\nAnd back came the answer of Captain John Paul Jones: \"I haven't begun to\nfight yet!\"\n\nSo they went at it again. The two ships were now lashed together, and\nthey tore each other like savage dogs in a fight.\n\nThe rotten old _Richard_ suffered terribly. Two of her great guns had\nburst at the first fire, and she was shot through and through by the\n_Serapis_ until most of her timbers above the water-line were shot away.\nThe British rushed on board with pistols and cutlasses, and the\nAmericans drove them back. But the _Richard_ was on fire; water was\npouring in through a dozen shot holes; it looked as if she must\nsurrender, brave as were her captain and crew. There were on board the\nold ship nearly two hundred prisoners who had been taken from captured\nvessels, and so pitiful were their cries that one of the officers set\nthem free, thinking that the ship was going to sink and that they ought\nto have a chance for their lives. These men were running up on deck,\nadding greatly to the trouble of Captain Jones; for he had now a crowd\nof enemies on his own ship. But the prisoners were so scared that they\ndid not know what to do. They saw the ship burning around them and heard\nthe water pouring into the hold, and thought they would be carried to\nthe bottom. So to keep them from mischief they were set to work, some at\nthe pumps, others at putting out the fire. And to keep the ship from\nblowing up, if the fire should reach the magazine, Captain Jones set men\nat bringing up the kegs of powder and throwing them into the sea. Never\nwas there a ship in so desperate a strait, and there was hardly a man on\nboard, except Captain Jones, who did not want to surrender.\n\nBut the British were not having it all their own way. The American tars\nhad climbed the masts and were firing down with muskets and flinging\ndown hand grenades, until all the British had to run from the upper\ndeck. A hand grenade is a small, hollow iron ball filled with powder,\nwhich explodes when thrown down and sends the bits of iron flying all\naround, like so many bullets.\n\nOne sailor took a bucketful of these and crept far out on the yard-arm\nof the ship, and began to fling them down on the gun-deck of the\n_Serapis_, where they did much damage. At last one of them went through\nthe open hatchway to the main deck, where a crowd of men were busy\nworking the great guns, and cartridges were lying all about and loose\npowder was scattered on the floor.\n\nThe grenade set fire to this powder, and in a second there was a\nterrible explosion. A great sheet of flame burst up through the\nhatchway, and frightful cries came from below. In that dreadful moment\nmore than twenty men were killed and many more were wounded. All the\nguns on that deck had to be abandoned. There were no men left to work\nthem.\n\nWhere was Captain Jones all the time, and what was he doing? You may be\nsure he was busy. He had taken a gun and loaded it with double-headed\nshot, and kept firing at the mainmast of the _Serapis_. Every shot cut a\npiece out of the mast, and after a while it came tumbling upon the deck,\nwith all its spars and rigging. The tarred ropes quickly caught fire,\nand the ship was in flames.\n\nAt this moment up came the _Alliance_, one of Captain Jones's fleet. He\nnow thought that the battle was at an end, but to his horror the\n_Alliance_, instead of firing at the British ship, began to pour its\nbroadsides into his own. He called to them for God's sake to quit\nfiring, but they kept on, killing some of his best men and making\nseveral holes under water, through which new floods poured into the\nship. The _Alliance_ had a French captain who hated Paul Jones and\nwanted to sink his ship.\n\nBoth ships were now in flames, and water rushed into the _Richard_\nfaster than the pumps could keep it out. Some of the officers begged\nCaptain Jones to pull down his flag and surrender, but he would not give\nup. He thought there was always a chance while he had a deck under his\nfeet.\n\nSoon the cowardly French traitor quit firing and sailed off, and Paul\nJones began his old work again, firing at the _Serapis_ as if the battle\nhad just begun. This was more than the British captain could bear. His\nship was a mere wreck and was blazing around him, so he ran on deck and\npulled down his flag with his own hands. The terrible battle was at an\nend. The British ship had given up the fight.\n\nLieutenant Dale sprang on board the _Serapis_, went up to Captain\nPearson, the British commander, and asked him if he surrendered. The\nEnglishman replied that he had, and then he and his chief officer went\naboard the battered _Richard_, which was sinking even in its hour of\nvictory.\n\nBut Captain Jones stood on the deck of his sinking vessel, proud and\ntriumphant. He had shown what an American captain and American sailors\ncould do, even when everything was against them. The English captain\ngave up his sword to the American, which is the way all sailors and\nsoldiers do when they surrender their ships or their armies.\n\nThe fight had been a brave one, and the English King knew that his\ncaptain had made a bold and desperate resistance, even if he had been\nwhipped. So he rewarded Captain Pearson, when he at last returned to\nEngland, by making him a Knight, thus giving him the title of \"Sir.\"\nWhen Captain Jones heard of this he laughed, and said: \"Well, if I can\nmeet Captain Pearson again in a sea fight, I'll make him a lord.\"\n\nThe poor _Bon Homme Richard_ was such an utter wreck that she soon sank\nbeneath the waves. But, even as she went down, the stars and stripes\nfloated proudly from the mast-head, in token of victory.\n\nCaptain Jones, after the surrender, put all his men aboard the captured\n_Serapis_, and then off he sailed to the nearest friendly port, with his\ngreat prize and all his prisoners. This victory made him the greatest\nsailor in the whole American war, and the most famous of all American\nseamen.\n\nCaptain Jones took his prize into the Dutch port of Texel, closely\nfollowed by a British squadron. The country of Holland was not friendly\nto the Americans, and though they let him come in, he was told that he\ncould not stay there. So he sailed again, in a howling gale, straight\nthrough the British squadron, with the American flag flying at his peak.\nDown through the narrow Straits of Dover he passed, coming so near the\nEnglish shore that he could count the warships at anchor in the Downs.\nThat was his way of showing how little he feared them. The English were\nso angry at Holland because it would not give up the Americans and their\nprizes that they declared war against that country.\n\nWhen Captain Jones reached Paris he was received with the greatest\nhonor, and greeted as one of the ablest and bravest of sea-fighters.\n\nEverybody wished to see such a hero. He went to the King's court, and\nthe King and Queen and French lords and ladies made much of him and gave\nhim receptions, and said so many fine things about him that, if he had\nbeen at all vain, it might have \"turned his head,\" as people say. But\nJohn Paul Jones was not vain.\n\nHe was a brave sailor, and he was in France to get help and not\ncompliments. He wished a new ship to take the place of the old\n_Richard_, which had gone to the bottom after its great victory.\n\nSo, though the King of France honored him and received him splendidly\nand made him presents, he kept on working to get another ship. At last\nhe was made captain of a new ship, called the _Ariel_, and sailed from\nFrance. He had a fierce battle with an English ship called the\n_Triumph_, and defeated her. But she escaped before surrendering, and\nCaptain Jones sailed across the sea to America.\n\nHe was received at home with great honor and applause. Congress gave him\na vote of thanks, \"for the zeal, prudence and intrepidity with which he\nhad supported the honor of the American flag\"--that is what the vote\nsaid.\n\nPeople everywhere crowded to see him, and called him hero and conqueror.\nLafayette, the brave young Frenchman who came over to fight for America,\ncalled him \"my dear Paul Jones,\" and Washington and the other leaders\nin America said, \"Well done, Captain Jones!\"\n\nThe King of France sent him a splendid reward of merit called the \"Cross\nof Honor,\" and Congress set about building a fine ship for him to\ncommand. But before it was finished, the war was over; and he was sent\nback to France on some important business for the United States.\n\nHere he was received with new honor, for the French knew how to meet and\ntreat a brave man; and above all they loved a man who had humbled the\nEnglish, their ancient foes. Captain Jones had sailed from a French port\nand in a French ship, and they looked on him almost as one of their own.\nBut all this did not make him proud or boastful, for he was not that\nkind of man.\n\nIn later years Paul Jones served in Russia in the wars with the Turks.\nBut the British officers who were in the Russian service refused to\nfight under him, saying that he was a rebel, a pirate, and a traitor.\nThis was because he had fought for America after being born in Scotland.\nSo, after some hard fighting, he left Russia and went back to France,\nwhere he died in 1792.\n\nIn all the history of sea fighting we hear of no braver man, and the\nUnited States, so long as it is a nation, will be proud of and honor the\nmemory of the gallant sailor, John Paul Jones.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nCAPTAIN BUSHNELL SCARES THE BRITISH\n\nTHE PIONEER TORPEDO BOAT AND THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS\n\n\nMANY of us, all our lives, have seen vessels of every size and shape\ndarting to and fro over the water; some with sails spread to the wind,\nothers with puffing pipes and whirling wheels.\n\nAnd that is not all. Men have tried to go under water as well as on top.\nSome of you may have read Jules Verne's famous story, \"Twenty Thousand\nLeagues under the Sea.\" That, of course, is all fiction; but now-a-days\nthere are vessels which can go miles under the water without once coming\nto the top.\n\nWe call these submarine boats, and look upon them as something very new.\nYou may be surprised to learn that there was a submarine boat as long\nago as the War of the Revolution. It was not a very good one, and did\nnot do the work it was built for, but it was the first of its kind, and\nthat is something worth knowing.\n\nThose of you who have studied history will know that after the British\nwere driven out of Boston they came to New York with a large army, and\ntook possession of that city. Washington and his men could not keep them\nout, and had to leave. There the British lay, with their army in the\ncity and their fleet in the bay and river, and there they stayed for\nyears.\n\nThere was an American who did not like to see British vessels floating\nin American waters. He knew he could not drive them away, but he thought\nhe might give them some trouble. This was a Connecticut man named David\nBushnell, a chap as sharp as a steeltrap, and one of the first American\ninventors.\n\nWhat Bushnell did was to invent a boat that would move under water and\nmight be made to blow up an enemy's ship. As it was the first of this\nkind ever made, I am sure you will wish to know what it was like and how\nit was worked.\n\nHe called it _The American Turtle_, for it looked much like a great\nswimming turtle, big enough to hold a man and also to carry a torpedo\nloaded with 150 pounds of gunpowder. This was to be fastened to the\nwooden bottom of a ship and then fired off. It was expected to blow a\ngreat hole in the bottom and sink the vessel.\n\nOf course, the boat was air-tight and water-tight, but it had a supply\nof fresh air that would last half an hour for one man. There was an oar\nfor rowing and a rudder for steering. A valve in the bottom let in the\nwater when the one-man crew wanted to sink his turtle-like boat, and\nthere were two pumps to force the water out again when he wanted to\nrise.\n\nThere were windows in the top shell of the turtle, air pipes to let out\nthe foul air and take in fresh air, small doors that could be opened\nwhen at the surface, and heavy lead ballast to keep the turtle level. In\nfact, the affair was, for the time, very ingenious and complete.\n\nA very important part of it was the torpedo, with its 150 pounds of\npowder. This was carried outside, above the rudder. It was so made that\nwhen the boat came under a vessel the man inside could fasten it with a\nscrew to the vessel's bottom, and row away and leave it there. Inside it\nwas a clock, which could be set to run a certain time and then loosen a\nsort of gunlock. This struck a spark and set fire to the powder, and\nup--or down--went the vessel.\n\nYou can see that Dave Bushnell's invention was a very neat one; but, for\nall that, luck went against it. He first tried his machine with only two\npounds of powder on a hogshead loaded with stones. The powder was set on\nfire, and up went the stones and the boards of the hogshead and a body\nof water, many feet into the air. If two pounds of powder would do all\nthis, what would one hundred and fifty pounds do?\n\nIn 1776 the _Turtle_ was sent out against a big British ship named the\n_Eagle_, anchored in New York Bay. The man inside rowed his boat very\nwell under water, and after some time found himself beneath the King's\nship. He now tried to fasten the torpedo to the bottom, but the screw\nstruck an iron bar and would not go in. Then he moved to another place,\nbut now he lost the ship altogether. He could not find her again, and he\nhad to row away, for he could not stay much longer under water.\n\nThere is a funny story told about the man in the _Turtle_. He was a\nqueer fellow named Abijah Shipman, but called by his companions \"Long\nBige.\"\n\nAs he entered the craft and was about to screw down its cover, he opened\nit again and asked for a chew of tobacco. All those present felt in\ntheir pockets, but none of the weed was on hand.\n\n\"You will have to go without it, old chap,\" said General Putnam, who was\npresent. \"We Continental officers can't afford even a plug of tobacco.\nTo-morrow, after you have sent the _Eagle_ on her last flight, we will\ntry and raise you a whole keg of the weed.\"\n\n\"That's too bad,\" growled Bige. \"Tell you what, Gineral, if the old\n_Turtle_ don't do her duty, it's all along of me goin' out without\ntobacco.\"\n\nAfter he had gone Putnam and his officers watched anxiously for results.\nTime passed. Morning was at hand. The _Eagle_ rode unharmed. Evidently\nsomething had gone wrong. Had the torpedo failed, and was \"Long Bige\"\nresting in his wrecked machine on the bottom of the bay? Putnam swept\nthe waters near the _Eagle_ with his glass. Suddenly he exclaimed.\n\"There he is.\" The top of the _Turtle_ had just emerged, some distance\nfrom the ship.\n\nAbijah, fearing that he might be seen, had cast off the torpedo that he\nmight go the faster. The clock had been set to run an hour, and at the\nend of that time there was a thundering explosion near the fleet,\nhurling up great volumes of water into the air.\n\nSoon there were signs of fright in the ships. The anchors were raised,\nsails were set, and off they went to safer quarters down the bay. They\ndid not care to be too near such dangerous affairs as that.\n\nBoats were sent out to the aid of the _Turtle_ and it was brought ashore\nat a safe place. On landing Abijah gave, in his queer way, the reasons\nfor his failure.\n\n\"It's just as I said, Gineral; it went to pot for want o' that cud of\ntobacco. You see, I'm mighty narvous without my tobacco. When I got\nunder the ship's bottom, somehow the screw struck the iron bar that\npasses from the rudder pintle, and wouldn't hold on anyhow I could fix\nit. Just then I let go the oar to feel for a cud, to steady my narves,\nand I hadn't any. The tide swept me under her counter, and away I\nslipped top o' water. I couldn't manage to get back, so I pulled the\nlock and let the thunder-box slide. That's what comes of sailing short\nof supplies. Say, can you raise a cud among you _now_?\"\n\nLater on, after the British had taken the city of New York, two more\nattempts were made to blow up vessels in the river above the city. But\nthey both failed, and in the end the British fired upon and sunk the\n_Turtle_. Bushnell's work was lost. The best he had been able to do was\nto give them a good scare.\n\nBut he was not yet at the end of his schemes. He next tried to blow up\nthe _Cerberus_, a British frigate that lay at anchor in Long Island\nSound. This time a schooner saved the frigate. A powder magazine was set\nafloat, but it struck the schooner, which lay at anchor near the\nfrigate. The schooner went to pieces, but the _Cerberus_ was saved.\n\nThe most famous of Bushnell's exploits took place at Philadelphia, after\nthe British had taken possession and brought their ships up into the\nDelaware River.\n\nOne fine morning a number of kegs were seen floating down among the\nshipping. What they meant nobody knew. The sailors grew curious, and a\nboat set out from a vessel and picked one of them up. In a minute it\nwent off, with the noise of a cannon, sinking the boat and badly hurting\nthe man.\n\nThis filled the British with a panic. Those terrible kegs might do\nfrightful damage. They must be some dreadful invention of the rebels.\nThe sailors ran out their guns, great and small, and began to batter\nevery keg they saw with cannon balls, until there was a rattle and roar\nas if a mighty battle was going on. Such was the famous \"Battle of the\nKegs.\"\n\nThis was more of Dave Bushnell's work. He had made and set adrift those\npowder kegs, fixing them so that they would explode on touching\nanything. But he did not understand the river and its tides. He intended\nto have them get among the ships at night, but it was broad day when\nthey came down, and by that time the eddying waters had scattered them\nfar and wide. So the powder kegs were of no more account than the\ntorpedoes. All they did was to give the British a scare.\n\nPhiladelphia had a poet named Francis Hopkinson, who wrote a poem\nmaking fun of the British, called \"The Battle of the Kegs.\" We give a\nfew verses of this humorous poem:\n\n          'Twas early day, as poets say,\n            Just as the sun was rising;\n          A soldier stood on a log of wood\n            And saw the sun a-rising.\n\n          As in amaze he stood to gaze\n            (The truth can't be denied, sir),\n          He spied a score of kegs, or more,\n            Come floating down the tide, sir.\n\n          A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,\n            The strange appearance viewing,\n          First \"dashed\" his eyes in great surprise,\n            Then said: \"Some mischief's brewing.\n\n          \"These kegs, I'm told, the rebels hold,\n            Packed up like pickled herring;\n          And they've come down to attack the town\n            In this new way of ferrying.\"\n\n\n          The cannons roar from shore to shore,\n            The small arms make a rattle;\n          Since wars began, I'm sure no man\n            E'er saw so strange a battle.\n\n          The fish below swam to and fro,\n            Attacked from every quarter.\n          \"Why sure,\" thought they, \"the devil's to pay\n            'Mong folks above the water.\"\n\n          From morn to night these men of might\n            Displayed amazing courage;\n          And when the sun was fairly down,\n            Retired to sup their porridge.\n\n          Such feats did they perform that day,\n            Against those wicked kegs, sir,\n          That years to come, if they get home,\n            They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.\n\nAnd so it went on, verse after verse, with not much poetry in it, but a\ngood deal of fun. The British did not enjoy it, for people did not like\nto be laughed at then any more than now.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nCAPTAIN BARRY AND HIS ROWBOATS WIN A VICTORY OVER THE BRITISH\n\nA GALLANT NAVAL HERO OF IRISH BLOOD\n\n\nTHE heroes of our navy were not all Americans born. More than one of\nthem came from British soil, but a footprint on the green fields of\nAmerica soon turned them into true-blue Yankees. There was John Paul\nJones, the gallant Scotchman. And there was John Barry, a bold son of\ngreen Erin.\n\nI have told you the story of Jones, the Scotchman, and now I must tell\nyou that of Barry, the Irishman.\n\nJohn Barry was a merchant captain who was made commander of the\n_Lexington_ in 1776. The next year he was appointed to the _Effingham_,\na new frigate building at Philadelphia. The British captured that city\nbefore the ship was ready for sea, and the _Effingham_, the\n_Washington_, and some other vessels were caught in a trap. They were\ntaken up the river to Whitehill, above the city, and there they had to\nstay. Captain Barry, you may be sure, was not much pleased at this, for\nhe was one of the men who love to be where fighting is going on.\n\nSoon orders came from the Navy Board to sink the _Effingham_. This made\nBarry's Irish blood very hot. I fancy he said some hard things about the\nmembers of the board, and swore he would do nothing of the kind. If the\nBritish wanted the American ships let them come and take them. He had\nguns enough to give them some sport and was disposed to try it.\n\nWhen the members of the Navy Board heard of what he said, they were very\nangry, and in the end he had to sink the ship and had to apologize for\nhis strong language. But time proved that he was right and the Navy\nBoard was wrong.\n\nBy this time Captain Barry was tired enough of being penned up, and he\nmade up his mind by hook or crook to get out of his cage. He was\nburning for a fight, and thought that if he could get down the river he\nmight give the British a taste of his mettle.\n\nSo, one dark night he set out with four boats and twenty-seven men. He\nrowed down the river past the ships in the stream and the soldiers on\nshore. Some of the soldiers saw his boats, and a few shots were fired,\nbut they got safely past, and by daybreak were far down the broad\nDelaware.\n\nBarry kept on until he reached Port Penn, down near the bay, where the\nAmericans had a small fort. Here there was a chance for the work he\nwanted, for across the river he saw a large schooner flying the British\nflag. It was the _Alert_, carrying ten guns, and with it were four\ntransports laden with food for the army at Philadelphia.\n\nThis was a fine opportunity for the bold Irish captain. It took courage\nto attack a strong English vessel with a few rowboats, but of courage\nBarry had a full supply.\n\nThe sun was up, and it was broad day when the American tars set out on\ntheir daring enterprise. The _Alert_ had a wide-awake name, but it must\nhave had a sleepy crew; for before the British knew there was anything\nwrong, Barry and his men had rowed across the stream and were clambering\nover the rail, cutlass and pistol in hand.\n\nThe British sailors, when they saw this \"wild Irishman\" and his daring\ntars, cutting and slashing and yelling like madmen, dropped everything\nand ran below in fright. All that keep them there.\n\nIn this easy fashion, twenty-eight Americans captured a British ten-gun\nvessel with a hundred and sixteen men on board. There had been nothing\nlike that in all the war.\n\nThe transports had to surrender, for they were under the guns of the\n_Alert_, and Barry carried his five prizes triumphantly to Port Penn,\nwhere he handed his captives over to the garrison.\n\nAnd now the daring captain made things lively for the foe. He sailed up\nand down the river and bay, and cut off supplies until the British army\nat Philadelphia began to suffer for food.\n\nWhat was to be done? Should this Yankee wasp go on stinging the British\nlion? General Howe decided that this would never do, and sent a frigate\nand a sloop-of-war down the river to put an end to the trouble.\n\nCaptain Barry, finding these water-hounds sharp on his track, ran for\nChristiana Creek, hoping to get into shallow water where the heavy\nBritish ships could not follow. But the frigate was too fast, and chased\nhim so closely that the best he could do was to run the schooner ashore\nand escape in his boats.\n\nBut he was determined that they should not have the _Alert_ if he could\nhelp it. Turning two of the guns downward, he fired through the ship's\nbottom, and in a minute the water was pouring into her hold.\n\nThe frigate swung round and fired a broadside at the fleeing boats; but\nall it brought back was a cheer of defiance from the sailors, as they\nstruck the land and sprang ashore. Here they had the satisfaction of\nseeing the schooner sink before a British foot could be set on her deck.\n\nThe war vessels now went for the transports at Port Penn. Here a battery\nhad been built on shore, made of bales of hay. This was attacked by the\nsloop-of-war, but the American sharpshooters made things lively for her.\nThey might have beaten her off had not their captain fallen with a\nmortal wound. The men now lost heart and fled to the woods, first\nsetting fire to the vessels.\n\nThus ended Barry's brave exploit. He had lost his vessels, but the\nBritish had not got them. The Americans were proud of his daring deed,\nand the British tried to win so brave a man to their side. Sir William\nHowe offered him twenty thousand pounds in money and the command of a\nBritish frigate if he would desert his flag. But he was not dealing now\nwith a Benedict Arnold.\n\n\"Not if you pay me the price and give me the command of the whole\nBritish fleet can you draw me away from the cause of my country,\" wrote\nthe patriotic sailor.\n\nBarry was soon rewarded for his patriotism by being made captain of an\nAmerican frigate, the _Raleigh_. But ill-luck now followed him. He\nsailed from Boston on September 25, 1778, and three days afterward he\nhad lost his ship and was a wanderer with his crew in the vast forests\nof Maine.\n\nLet us see how this ill-fortune came about. The _Raleigh_ had not got\nfar from port before two sails came in sight. Barry ran down to look at\nthem, and found they were two English frigates. Two to one was too great\nodds, and the _Raleigh_ turned her head homewards again. But when night\nshut out the frigates she wore round and started once more on her former\ncourse.\n\nThe next day opened up foggy, and till noon nothing was to be seen. Then\nthe fog lifted, and to Barry's surprise there were the British ships,\njust south of his own. Now for three hours it was a hot chase, and then\ndown came another fog and the game was once more at an end.\n\nBut the _Raleigh_ could not shake off the British bull-dogs. At about\nnine o'clock the next morning they came in sight again and the chase was\nrenewed. It was kept up till late in the day. At first the _Raleigh_\nwent so fast that her pursuers dropped out of sight. Then the wind\nfailed her, and the British ships came up with a strong breeze.\n\nAt five o'clock the fastest British frigate was close at hand, and Barry\nthought he would try what she was good for before the other came up.\n\nIn a few minutes more the two ships were hurling iron balls into each\nother's sides, while the smoke of the conflict filled the skies. Then\nthe fore-topmast and mizzen-topgallantmast of the _Raleigh_ were shot\naway, leaving her in a crippled state.\n\nThe British ship had now much the best of it. Barry tried his best to\nreach and board her, but she sailed too fast. And up from the south came\nthe other ship, at swift speed. To fight them both with a crippled craft\nwould have been madness, and, as he could not get away, Barry decided to\nrun his ship ashore on the coast of Maine, which was close at hand.\n\nNight soon fell, and with it fell the wind. Till midnight the two ships\ndrifted along, with red fire spurting from their sides and the thunder\nof cannon echoing from the hills.\n\nIn the end the _Raleigh_ ran ashore on an island near the coast. Here\nBarry fought for some time longer, and then set his ship on fire and\nwent ashore with his men. But the British were quickly on board, put out\nthe fire, and carried off their prize. Barry and his men made their way\nthrough the Maine woods till the settlements were reached.\n\nIn 1781 Captain Barry was sent across the ocean in the _Alliance_, a\nvessel which had taken part in the famous battle of the _Bon Homme\nRichard_ and the _Serapis_. Here the gallant fellow fought one of his\nbest battles, this time also against two British ships.\n\nWhen he came upon them there was not a breath of wind. All sail was set,\nbut the canvas flapped against the yards, and the vessel lay\n\n          \"As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.\"\n\nThe British vessels were a brig and a sloop-of-war. They wanted to fight\nas badly as did Captain Barry, and, as they could not sail, they got out\nsweeps and rowed up to the American frigate. It was weary work, and it\ntook them six hours to do it.\n\nThen came the hails of the captains and the roar of cannon, and soon\nthere was a very pretty fight, with the _Alliance_ in a dangerous\nsituation. She was too heavy to be moved with sweeps, like the light\nBritish vessels, so they got on her quarters and poured in broadsides,\nwhile she could reply only with a few guns.\n\nBarry raged like a wild bull, bidding his men fight, and begging for a\nwind. As he did so, a grape-shot struck him in the shoulder and felled\nhim to the deck. As he was carried below, a shot carried away the\nAmerican flag. A lusty cheer came from the British ships; they thought\nthe flag down and the victory theirs. They soon saw it flying again.\n\nBut the _Alliance_ was in sore straits. She was getting far more than\nshe could give, and had done little harm to her foes. At length a\nlieutenant came down to the wounded captain.\n\n\"We cannot handle the ship and are being cut to pieces,\" he said. \"The\nrigging is in tatters and the fore-topmast in danger, and the carpenter\nreports two serious leaks. Eight or ten of our people are killed and\nmore wounded. The case seems hopeless, sir; shall we strike the colors?\"\n\n\"No!\" roared Barry, sitting bolt upright. \"Not on your life! If the ship\ncan't be fought without me, then carry me on deck.\"\n\nThe lieutenant went up and reported, and the story soon got to the men.\n\n\"Good for Captain Barry,\" they shouted. \"We'll stand by the old man.\"\n\nA minute later a change came. A ripple of water was seen. Soon a breeze\nrose, the sails filled out, and the _Alliance_ slipped forward and\nyielded to her helm.\n\nThis was what the brave Barry had been waiting for. It was not a case of\nwhistling for a wind, as sailors often do, but of hoping and praying for\na wind. It came just in time to save the _Alliance_ from lowering her\nproud flag, or from going to the bottom with it still flying, as would\nhave suited her bold captain the better.\n\nNow she was able to give her foes broadside for broadside, and you may\nbe sure that her gunners, who had been like dogs wild to get at the\ngame, now poured in shot so fast and furious that they soon drove the\nfoe in terror from his guns. In a short time, just as Captain Barry was\nbrought on deck with his wound dressed, their flags came down.\n\nThe prizes proved to be the _Atlanta_ and the _Trepassy_. That fight was\nnear the last in the war. At a later date Captain Barry had the honor of\ncarrying General Lafayette home to France in his ship.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nCAPTAIN TUCKER HONORED BY GEORGE WASHINGTON\n\nTHE DARING ADVENTURES OF THE HERO OF MARBLEHEAD\n\n\nCAPTAIN SAMUEL TUCKER was a Yankee boy who began his career by running\naway from home and shipping as a cabin-boy on the British sloop-of-war\n_Royal George_. It was a good school for a seaman, and when his time was\nup he knew his business well.\n\nThere was no war then, and he shipped as second-mate on a merchant\nvessel sailing from Salem. Here he soon had a taste of warlike life and\nshowed what kind of stuff was in him. The Mediterranean Sea in those\ndays was infested by pirates sailing from the Moorish ports. It was the\nwork of these to capture merchant ships, take them into port, and sell\ntheir crews as slaves.\n\nOn Tucker's first voyage from Salem two of these piratical craft, swift\ncorsairs from Algiers, came in sight and began a chase of the\nmerchantman.\n\nWhat could be done? There was no hope to run away from those\nfleet-footed sea-hounds. There was no hope to beat them off in a fight.\nThe men were in a panic and the captain sought courage in rum, and was\nsoon too drunk to handle his ship.\n\nTucker came to the rescue. Taking the helm, he put it hard down and\nheaded straight for the pirates. It looked as if he was sailing straight\nfor destruction, but he knew what he was about. The Yankee schooner, if\nit could not sail as fast, could be handled more easily than the\nAlgerines, with their lateen sails; and by skilful steering he got her\ninto such a position that the pirates could not fire into him without\nhurting one another.\n\nTry as they would, Mate Tucker kept his vessel in this position, and\nheld her there until the shades of night fell. Then he slipped away, and\nby daylight was safe in port. You may see from this that Samuel Tucker\nwas a bold and a smart man and an able seaman.\n\nAfter that he was at one time an officer in the British navy and at\nanother a merchant captain. He was in London when the Revolution began.\nHis courage and skill were so well known that he was offered a\ncommission in either the army or the navy, if he was willing to serve\n\"his gracious Majesty.\"\n\nTucker forgot where he was, and rudely replied, \"Hang his gracious\nMajesty! Do you think I am the sort of man to fight against my country?\"\n\nThose were rash words to be spoken in London. A charge of treason was\nbrought against him and he had to seek safety in flight. For a time he\nhid in the house of a country inn-keeper who was his friend. Then a\nchance came to get on shipboard and escape from the country. In this way\nhe got back to his native land.\n\nIt was not only the English who knew Captain Tucker's ability. He was\nknown in America as well. No doubt there were many who had heard how he\nhad served the pirate Moors. He had not long been home when General\nWashington sent him a commission as captain of the ship _Franklin_, and\nordered him to get to sea at once.\n\nThe messenger with the commission made his way to the straggling old\ntown of Marblehead, where Tucker lived. Inquiring for him in the town,\nhe was directed to a certain house.\n\nReaching this, the messenger saw a roughly-dressed and weather-beaten\nperson working in the yard, with an old tarpaulin hat on his head and a\nred bandanna handkerchief tied loosely round his neck.\n\nThe man, thinking him an ordinary laborer, called out from his horse:\n\n\"Say, good fellow, can you tell if the Honorable Samuel Tucker lives\nhere or hereabouts?\"\n\nThe workman looked up with a quizzical glance from under the brim of his\ntarpaulin and replied:\n\n\"Honorable, honorable! There's none of that name in Marblehead. He must\nbe one of the Salem Tuckers. I'm the only Samuel Tucker in this town.\"\n\n\"Anyhow, this is where I was told to stop. A house standing alone, with\nits gable-end to the sea. This is the only place I've seen that looks\nlike that.\"\n\n\"Then I must be the Tucker you want, honorable or not. What is it you\nhave got to say to him?\"\n\nHe soon learned, and was glad to receive the news. Early the next\nmorning he had left home for the port where the _Franklin_ lay, and not\nmany days passed before he was out at sea.\n\nThe _Franklin_, under his command proved one of the most active ships\nafloat. She sent in prizes in numbers. More than thirty were taken in\n1776--ships, brigs, and smaller vessels, including \"a brigantine from\nScotland worth fifteen thousand pounds.\"\n\nThese were not all captured without fighting. Two British brigs were\ntaken so near Marblehead that the captain's wife and sister, hearing the\nsound of cannon, went up on a high hill close by and saw the fight\nthrough a spy-glass.\n\nThe next year Captain Tucker was put in command of the frigate _Boston_,\nand in 1778 he took John Adams to France as envoy from the United\nStates.\n\nIt was a voyage full of incidents. They passed through days of storm,\nwhich nearly wrecked the ship. Many vessels were seen, and the _Boston_\nwas chased by three men-of-war.\n\nShe ran away from these, and soon after came across a large armed\nvessel, which Captain Tucker decided to fight. When the drum called the\nmen to quarters, Mr. Adams seized a musket and joined the marines.\n\nThe captain requested him to go below. Finding that he was not going to\nobey, Tucker laid a hand on his shoulder and said firmly:\n\n\"Mr. Adams, I am commanded by the Continental Congress to deliver you\nsafe in France. You must go below.\"\n\nMr. Adams smiled and complied. The next minute there came a broadside\nfrom the stranger. There was no response from the _Boston_. Other shots\ncame, and still no reply. At length the blue-jackets began to grumble.\nLooking them in the eyes, Tucker said, in quizzical tones:\n\n\"Hold on, lads. I want to get that egg without breaking the shell.\"\n\nIn a few minutes more, having got into the position he wished, he raked\nthe enemy from stem to stern with a broadside. That one sample was\nenough. She struck her flag without waiting for a second. Soon after the\nenvoy was safely landed in France.\n\nNumbers of anecdotes are told of Captain Tucker, who was a man much\ngiven to saying odd and amusing things.\n\nOnce he fell in with a British frigate which had been sent in search of\nhim. He had made himself a thorn in the British lion's side and was\nbadly wanted. Up came Tucker boldly, with the English flag at his peak.\n\nHe was hailed, and replied that he was Captain Gordon, of the English\nnavy, and that he was out in search of the _Boston_, commanded by the\nrebel Tucker.\n\n\"If I can sight the ship I'll carry him to New York, dead or alive,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"Have you ever seen him?\"\n\n\"Well, I've heard of him; they say he is a tough customer.\"\n\nWhile talking, he had been manoeuvering to gain a raking position. Just\nas he did so, a sailor in the British tops cried,--\n\n\"Look out below! That is Tucker himself.\"\n\nThe Englishman was in a trap. The _Boston_ had him at a great\ndisadvantage. There was nothing to do but to strike his flag, and this\nhe did without firing a gun.\n\nWhen Charleston was taken by the British, the _Boston_ was one of the\nvessels cooped up there and lost. Captain Tucker was taken prisoner.\nAfter his exchange, as he had no ship, he took the sloop-of-war\n_Thorn_, one of his former prizes, and went out cruising as a privateer.\n\nAfter a three weeks' cruise, the _Thorn_ met an English ship of\ntwenty-three guns.\n\n\"She means to fight us,\" said the captain to his men, after watching her\nmovements. \"If we go alongside her like men she will be ours in thirty\nminutes; if we can't go as men we have no business there at all. Every\nman who is willing to fight go down the starboard gangway; all others\ncan go down the larboard.\" Every soul of them took the starboard.\n\nHe manoeuvered so that in a few minutes the vessels lay side by side.\nThe Englishman opened with a broadside that did little damage. The\n_Thorn_ replied with a destructive fire, and kept it up so hotly that\nwithin thirty minutes a loud cry came from the English ship:\n\n\"Quarters, for God's sake! Our ship is sinking. Our men are dying of\ntheir wounds.\"\n\n\"How can you expect quarters while your flag is flying?\" demanded\nCaptain Tucker.\n\n\"Our halliards are shot away.\"\n\n\"Then cut away your ensign staff, or you'll all be dead men.\"\n\nIt was done and the firing ceased. A dreadful execution had taken place\non the Englishman's deck, more than a third of her crew being dead and\nwounded, while blood was everywhere.\n\nAnd so we take our leave of Captain Tucker. He was one of the kind of\nsailors that everyone likes to read about.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE LAST NAVAL BATTLE OF THE REVOLUTION\n\nTHE HEROIC CAPTAIN BARNEY IN THE \"HYDER ALI\" CAPTURES THE \"GENERAL MONK\"\n\n\nYOU must think by this time that we had many bold and brave sailors in\nthe Revolution. So we had. You have not been told all their exploits,\nbut only a few among the most gallant ones. There is one more story that\nis worth telling, before we leave the Revolutionary times.\n\nIf you are familiar with American history you will remember that Lord\nCornwallis surrendered to General Washington in October, 1781. That is\ngenerally looked on as the end of the war. There was no more fighting on\nland. But there was one bold affair on the water in April, 1782, six\nmonths after the work of the armies was done.\n\nThis was in Delaware Bay, where Captain Barry had taken a war vessel\nwith a few rowboats. The hero of this later exploit was Captain Joshua\nBarney, and he was as brave a man as John Barry.\n\nCaptain Barney had seen service through the whole war. Like John Paul\nJones, an accident had made him a captain of a ship when he was a mere\nboy. He was only seventeen, yet he handled his ship with the skill of an\nold mariner. War broke out soon afterward and he became an officer on\nthe _Hornet_, though still only a boy. Soon after he had some lively\nservice in the _Wasp_, and captured a British privateer with the little\nsloop _Sachem_.\n\nThen he had some bad fortune, for he was taken prisoner while bringing\nin a prize vessel, and was put on the terrible prison-ship _Jersey_. Few\nof the poor fellows on that vessel lived to tell the story of the\nfrightful way in which they were treated. But young Barney managed to\nescape, and went to sea again as captain of a merchant vessel. In this\nhe was chased by a British war-vessel, the _Rosebud_. Shall I tell you\nthe way that Captain Barney plucked the petals of the _Rosebud_? He\nfired a crowbar at her out of one of his cannon. This new kind of\ncannon-ball went whirling through the air and came ripping and tearing\nthrough the sails of the British ship. After making rags of her sails,\nit hit her foremast and cut out a big slice. The Americans now sailed\nquietly away. They could laugh at John Bull's _Rosebud_.\n\nOn the 8th of April, 1782, Captain Barney took command of the _Hyder\nAli_. This was a merchant ship which had been bought by the State of\nPennsylvania. It was not fit for a warship, but the State was in a\nhurry, so eight gun-ports were cut on each side, and the ship was\nmounted with sixteen six-pounder cannon. Then she set sail from\nPhiladelphia in charge of a fleet of merchant vessels.\n\nOn they went, down the Delaware river and bay, until Cape May was\nreached. Here Captain Barney saw that there was trouble ahead. Three\nBritish vessels came in sight. One of these was the frigate _Quebec_.\nThe others were a brig, the _Fair American_, and a sloop-of-war, the\n_General Monk_.\n\nBefore such a fleet the _Hyder Ali_ was like a sparrow before a hawk.\nCaptain Barney at once signaled his merchant ships to make all haste up\nthe bay. Away they flew like a flock of frightened birds, except one,\nwhose captain thought he would slip round the cape and get to sea. But\nthe British soon swallowed up him and his ship, so he paid well for his\nsmartness.\n\nOn up the bay went the other merchantmen, with the _Hyder Ali_ in the\nrear, and the British squadron hot on their track. The frigate sailed\ninto a side channel, thinking it would find a short-cut and so head them\noff. Captain Barney watched this movement with keen eyes. The big ship\nhad put herself out of reach for a time. He knew well that she could not\nget through that way, and laid his plans to have some sport with the\nsmall fish while the big fish was away.\n\nThe brig _Fair American_ was a privateer and a fast one. It came up with\na fair breeze, soon reaching the _Hyder Ali_, which expected a fight.\nBut the privateer wanted prizes more than cannon balls, and went\nstraight on, firing a broadside that did no harm. Captain Barney let her\ngo. The sloop-of-war was coming fast behind, and this was enough for him\nto attend to. It had more guns than his ship and they were double the\nweight--twelve-pounders to his six-pounders. As the war sloop came near,\nBarney turned to his helmsman, and said:\n\n\"I want you to go opposite to my orders. If I tell you to port your\nhelm, you are to put it hard-a-starboard. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Aye, aye!\" answered the tar.\n\nUp came the _General Monk_, its captain thinking to make an easy prize,\nas the _Fair American_ had been let go past without a shot. When about a\ndozen yards away the British captain hailed:\n\n\"Strike your colors, or I will fire!\"\n\n\"Hard-a-port your helm,\" roared Barney to the man at the wheel. \"Do you\nwant her to run aboard us?\"\n\nThe order was heard on board the enemy, and the captain gave orders to\nmeet the expected movement. But hard-a-starboard went the helm, and the\n_Hyder Ali_ swung round in front of the enemy, whose bowsprit caught and\nbecame entangled in her fore-rigging.\n\nThis gave the American ship a raking position, and in a moment the grim\ntars were hard at work with their guns. Broadsides were poured in as\nfast as they could load and fire, and every shot swept from bow to\nstern. The Englishman, though he had double the weight of metal, could\nnot get out of the awkward position in which Barney had caught him, and\nhis guns did little harm. In less than half an hour down went his flag.\n\nIt was none too soon. The frigate had seen the fight from a distance,\nand was making all haste to get out of its awkward position and take a\nhand in the game. Barney did not even wait to ask the name of his prize,\nbut put a crew on board and bade them make all haste to Philadelphia.\n\nHe followed, steering now for the _Fair American_. But the privateer\ncaptain had seen the fate of the _General Monk_ and concluded that he\nhad business elsewhere. So he ran away instead of fighting, and soon ran\nashore. The _Hyder Ali_ left him there and made all haste up stream. The\nfrigate had by this time got out of her side channel, and was coming up\nunder full sail. So Captain Barney crowded on all sail also and fled\naway after his prize.\n\nIf the frigate had got within gunshot it would soon have settled the\nquestion, for it could have sunk the _Hyder Ali_ with a broadside. But\nit was not fast enough, and after a speedy run the victor and her prize\ndrew up beside a Philadelphia wharf.\n\nNever had the good people of the Quaker City gazed on such a sight as\nnow met their eyes. Nothing had been done to remove the marks of battle.\nThe ships came in as they had left the fight. Shattered bulwarks, ragged\nrents in the hulls, sails in tatters and drooping cordage told the story\nof the desperate battle.\n\nAnd the decks presented a terrible picture. Blood was everywhere. On the\n_General Monk_ were stretched the dead bodies of twenty men, while\ntwenty-six wounded lay groaning below. The _Hyder Ali_ had suffered much\nless, having but four killed and eleven wounded.\n\nIn all the Revolutionary War there have been few more brilliant actions;\nand his victory gave Joshua Barney a high standing among the naval\ncommanders of the young Republic.\n\nShall we take up the story of the gallant Barney at a later date? Thirty\nyears after his victory over the _General Monk_, there was war again\nbetween Americans and Britons, and Commodore Barney, now an old man,\ntook an active part.\n\nHe started out in the early days of the war with no better vessel than\nthe schooner _Rossie_, of fourteen guns and 120 men. He soon had lively\ntimes. The _Rossie_ was a clipper, and he could run away from an enemy\ntoo strong to fight, though running away was not much to his taste.\n\nIn his first cruise he was out forty-five days, and in that time he\ncaptured fourteen vessels and 166 prisoners.\n\nIn a month's time he was at sea again. Now he got among British frigates\nand had to trust to the heels of his little craft. But in spite of the\ngreat ships that haunted the seas, new prizes fell into his hands, one\nbeing taken after an hour's fight. In all, the vessels and cargoes taken\nby him were worth nearly $3,000,000, though most of this wealth went to\nthe bottom of the sea.\n\nThe next year (1813) he was made commodore of a fleet of gunboats in\nChesapeake Bay. Here for a year he had very little to do. Then the\nBritish sailed up the Chesapeake, intending to capture Washington and\nBaltimore, Barney did not hesitate to attack them, and did considerable\ndamage, though they were much too strong for his small fleet.\n\nAt length there came from the frightened people at Washington the order\nto burn his fleet, and, much against his will, he was forced to consign\nhis gunboats to the flames. With his men, about four hundred in all, he\njoined the army assembled to defend the capital.\n\nThese sailor-soldiers made the best fight of any of the troops that\nsought to save Washington from capture; but during the fight Commodore\nBarney received a wound that brought his fighting days to an end.\nFortunately there was little more fighting to do, and peace reigned over\nhis few remaining years of life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE MOORISH PIRATES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN\n\nOUR NAVY TEACHES THEM A LESSON IN HONOR\n\n\nI SUPPOSE all the readers of this book know what a pirate is. For those\nwho may not know, I would say that a pirate is a sea-robber. They are\nterrible fellows, these pirates, who live by murder and plunder. In old\ntimes there were many ship-loads of them upon the seas, who captured\nevery merchant vessel they met with and often killed all on board.\n\nThere have been whole nations of pirates, and that as late as a hundred\nyears ago. By looking at an atlas you will see at the north of Africa\nthe nations of Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli. The people of these nations\nare called Moors, and they used to be great sea-robbers. They sent out\nfast vessels in the Mediterranean Sea, and no merchant ship there was\nsafe. Hundreds of such ships were taken and robbed. Their crews were not\nkilled, but they were sold as slaves, which was nearly as terrible.\n\nWould you not think that the powerful nations of Europe would have soon\nput a stop to this? They could have sent fleets and armies there and\nconquered the Moors. But instead of that, they paid them to let their\nships alone.\n\nNot long after the Revolution these sea-robbers began to make trouble\nfor the United States. The new nation, you should know, had no navy.\nAfter it was done fighting with the British, it was so poor that it sold\nall its ships. But it soon had many merchant ships, sailing to all seas,\nwhich were left to take care of themselves the best way they could.\n\nWhat did the pirates of Algiers care for this young nation across the\nAtlantic, that had rich merchant ships and not a war vessel to protect\nthem? Very little, I fancy. It is certain that they soon began to\ncapture American ships and sell their sailors for slaves. In a short\ntime nearly two hundred American sailors were working as slaves in the\nMoorish states.\n\nThe United States did not act very bravely. Instead of sending out a\nfleet of warships, it made a treaty with Algiers and agreed to pay a\ncertain sum of money every year to have its vessels let alone. While the\ntreaty lasted, more than a million dollars were paid to the Dey of\nAlgiers. If that much had been spent for strong frigates, the United\nStates would not have had the disgrace of paying tribute to the Moors.\nBut the natives of Europe were doing the same, so the disgrace belonged\nto them also.\n\nThe trouble with the Moors got worse and worse, and the Dey of Algiers\nbecame very insolent to Americans.\n\n\"You are my slaves, for you pay me tribute,\" he said to the captain of\nan American frigate. \"I have a right to order you as I please.\"\n\nWhen the other pirate nations, Tunis and Tripoli, found that Algiers was\nbeing paid, they asked for tribute, too. And they began to capture\nAmerican ships and sell their crews into slavery. And their monarchs\nwere as insolent as the Dey.\n\nThe United States at that time was young and poor. It had not been\ntwenty years free from British armies. But it was proud, if it was poor,\nand did not like to have its captains and consuls ordered about like\nservants. So the President and Congress thought it was time to teach the\nMoors a lesson.\n\nThis was in 1801. By that time a fleet of war vessels had been built,\nand a squadron of these was sent to the Mediterranean under Commodore\nRichard Dale. This was the man who had been in Paul Jones's great fight\nand had received the surrender of the captain of the _Serapis_. He was a\nbold, brave officer, but Congress had ordered him not to fight if he\ncould help it, and therefore very little was done.\n\nBut there was one battle, the story of which we must tell. Commodore\nDale had three frigates and one little schooner, the _Enterprise_. All\nthe honor of the cruise came to this little craft.\n\nShe was on her way to Malta when she came in sight of a low, long\nvessel, at whose mast-head floated the flag of Tripoli. When this came\nnear, it was seen to be a corsair which had long waged war on American\nmerchantmen.\n\nBefore Captain Sterrett, of the _Enterprise_, had time to hail, the\nMoors began to fire at his ship. He was told not to fight if he could\nhelp it, but Sterrett decided that he could not help it. He brought his\nschooner within pistol shot of the Moor, and poured broadsides into the\npirate ship as fast as the men could load and fire. The Moors replied.\nFor two hours the battle continued, with roar of cannon and rattle of\nmuskets and dense clouds of smoke.\n\nThe vessels were small and their guns were light, so that the battle was\nlong drawn out.\n\nAt last the fire of the corsair ceased, and a whiff of air carried away\nthe smoke. Looking across the waves, the sailors saw that the flag of\nTripoli no longer waved, and three hearty American cheers rang out. The\ntars left their guns and were getting ready to board their prize, when\nup again went the flag of Tripoli and another broadside was fired into\ntheir vessel.\n\nTheir cheers of triumph turned to cries of rage. Back to their guns they\nrushed, and fought more fiercely than before. They did not care now to\ntake the prize; they wished to send her, with her crew of villains, to\nthe bottom of the sea.\n\nThe Moors fought as fiercely as the Americans. Running their vessel\nagainst the _Enterprise_, they tried again and again to leap on board\nand finish the battle with pistol and cutlass; but each time they were\ndriven back.\n\nThe men at the guns meanwhile poured in two more broadsides, and once\nmore down came the flag of Tripoli.\n\nCaptain Sterrett did not trust the traitors this time. He bade his men\nkeep to their guns, and ordered the Tripolitans to bring their vessel\nunder the quarter of the _Enterprise_. They had no sooner done so than a\nthrong of the Moorish pirates tried to board the schooner.\n\n\"No quarter for the treacherous dogs!\" was the cry of the furious\nsailors. \"Pour it into them; send the thieves to the bottom!\"\n\nThe _Enterprise_ now drew off to a good position and raked the foe with\nrepeated broadsides. The Moors were bitterly punished for their\ntreachery. Their deck ran red with blood; men and officers lay bleeding\nin throngs; the cries of the wounded rose above the noise of the cannon.\nThe flag was down again, but no heed was paid to that. The infuriated\nsailors were bent on sending the pirate craft to the bottom.\n\nAt length the corsair captain, an old man with a flowing white beard,\nappeared at the side of his ship, sorely wounded, and, with a low bow,\ncast his flag into the sea. Then Captain Sterrett, though he still felt\nlike sinking the corsair, ordered the firing to stop.\n\nThe prize proved to be named the _Tripoli_. What was to be done with it?\nCaptain Sterrett had no authority to take prizes. At length he concluded\nthat he would teach the Bashaw of Tripoli a lesson.\n\nHe sent Lieutenant David Porter, a daring young officer who was yet to\nmake his mark, on the prize, telling him to make a wreck of her.\n\nPorter was glad to obey those orders. He made the captive Tripolitans\ncut down their masts, throw all their cannon and small arms into the\nsea, cut their sails to pieces, and fling all their powder overboard. He\nleft them only a jury-mast and a small sail.\n\n\"See here,\" said Porter to the Moorish captain, \"we have not lost a man,\nwhile fifty of your men are killed or wounded. You may go home now and\ntell this to your Bashaw, and say to him that in the time to come the\nonly tribute he will get from the United States will be a tribute of\npowder and balls.\"\n\nAway drifted the wrecked hulk, followed by the jeers of the American\nsailors, who were only sorry that the treacherous pirate had not been\nscuttled and sent to the bottom of the sea.\n\nWhen it reached Tripoli the Bashaw was mad with rage. Instead of the\nplunder and the white slaves he had looked for, he had only a dismantled\nhulk.\n\nThe old captain showed him his wounds and told him how hard he had\nfought. But his fury was not to be appeased. He had the white-bearded\ncommander led through the streets tied to a jackass--the greatest\ndisgrace he could have inflicted on any Moor. This was followed by five\nhundred blows with a stick.\n\nThe Moorish sailors declared that the Americans had fired enchanted\nshot. This, and the severe punishment of the captain of the _Tripoli_,\nso scared the sailors of the city that for a year after the fierce\nBashaw found it next to impossible to muster a ship's crew. They did not\ncare to be treated as the men on the _Tripoli_ had been.\n\nSuch was the first lesson which the sailors of the new nation gave to\nthe pirates of the Mediterranean. It was the beginning of a policy which\nwas to put an end to the piracy which had prevailed for centuries on\nthose waters.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE YOUNG DECATUR AND HIS BRILLIANT DEEDS AT TRIPOLI\n\nHOW OUR NAVY BEGAN AND ENDED A FOREIGN WAR\n\n\nIN the ship _Essex_, one of the fleet that was sent to the Mediterranean\nto deal with the Moorish pirates, there was a brave young officer named\nStephen Decatur. He was little more than a boy, for he was just past\ntwenty-one years of age; but he had been in the fight between the\n_Enterprise_ and the _Tripoli_, and was so bold and daring that he was\nsure to make his mark.\n\nI must tell you how he first showed himself a true American. It was when\nthe _Essex_ was lying in the harbor at Barcelona, a seaport of Spain.\nThe _Essex_ was a handsome little vessel, and there was much praise of\nher in the town, people of fashion came to see her and invited her\nofficers to their houses and treated them with great respect.\n\nNow there was a Spanish warship lying in the port, of the kind called a\nxebec, a sort of three-masted vessel common in the Mediterranean Sea.\n\nThe officers of this ship did not like to see so much respect given to\nthe Americans and so little to themselves. They grew jealous and angry,\nand did all they could to annoy and insult the officers of the _Essex_.\nEvery time one of her boats rowed past the xebec it would be challenged\nand ugly things said.\n\nThe Americans bore all this quietly for a while. One day Captain\nBainbridge, of the _Essex_, was talked to in an abusive way, and said\nlittle back. Another time a boat, under command of Lieutenant Decatur,\ncame under the guns of the xebec, and the Spaniards on the deck hailed\nhim with insulting words. This was more than young blood could stand,\nand he called to the officer of the deck and asked him what that meant,\nbut the haughty Spaniard would give him no satisfaction.\n\n\"Very well,\" said Decatur. \"I will call to see you in the morning. Pull\noff, lads.\"\n\nThe next morning Decatur had himself rowed over to the xebec, and went\non board. He asked for the officer who was in charge the night before.\n\n\"He has gone ashore,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Decatur, in tones that every one on board could hear,\n\"tell him that Lieutenant Decatur, of the frigate _Essex_, calls him a\ncowardly scoundrel, and when he meets him on shore he will cut his ears\noff.\"\n\nThere were no more insults after that. Decatur spoke as if he meant what\nhe said, and the officers of the xebec did not want to lose their ears.\nBut the United States Minister to Spain took up the matter and did not\nrest until he got a full apology for the insults to the Americans.\n\nI have told this little story to let you see what kind of a man Stephen\nDecatur was. But this was only a minor affair. He was soon to make\nhimself famous by one of the most brilliant deeds in the history of the\nAmerican navy.\n\nIn October, 1802, a serious disaster came to the American fleet. The\nfrigate _Philadelphia_ was chasing a runaway vessel into the harbor of\nTripoli, when she got in shoal water and suddenly ran fast aground on a\nshelf of rock.\n\nHere was an awkward position. Captain Bainbridge threw overboard most\nof his cannon and his anchors, and everything that would lighten the\nship, even cutting down his foremasts; but all to no purpose. She still\nclung fast to the rock.\n\nSoon a flock of gunboats came down the harbor and saw the bad fix the\nAmericans were in. Bainbridge was quite unable to fight them, for they\ncould have kept out of the way of his guns and made kindling wood of his\nvessel. There was nothing to do but to surrender. So he flooded the\npowder magazine, threw all the small arms overboard, and knocked holes\nin the bottom of the ship. Then he hauled down his flag.\n\nThe gunboats now came up like a flock of hawks, and soon the Moors were\nclambering over the rails. In a minute more they were in every part of\nthe ship, breaking open chests and storerooms and plundering officers\nand men. Two of them would hold an officer and a third rob him of his\nwatch and purse, his sword, and everything of value he possessed. The\nplundering did not stop till the captain knocked down one of the Moors\nfor trying to rob him of an ivory miniature of his wife.\n\nThen the Americans were made to get into the gunboats and were taken\nashore. They were marched in triumph through the streets, and the men\nwere thrown into prison. The officers were invited to supper by the\nBashaw, and treated as if they were guests. But as soon as the supper\nwas over, they, too, were taken to the prison rooms in which they were\nto stay till the end of the war.\n\nThe Tripolitans afterwards got the _Philadelphia_ off the rocks during a\nhigh tide, plugged up the holes in her bottom, fished up her guns and\nanchors, and fitted her up for war. The Bashaw was proud enough of his\nfine prize, which had not cost him a man or a shot, and was a better\nship than he had ever seen before.\n\nWhen the American commodore learned of the loss of the _Philadelphia_ he\nwas in a bad state of mind. To lose one of his best ships in this way\nwas not at all to his liking, for he was a man who did not enjoy losing\na ship; and to know that the Moors had it and were making a warship of\nit was a hard thing to bear.\n\nFrom his prison Captain Bainbridge wrote letters to Commodore Preble,\nwhich the Moors read and then sent out to the fleet. They did not know\nthat the letters had postscripts written in lemon-juice which only came\nout when the sheet of paper was held to the heat of a fire. In these the\ncaptain asked the commodore to try and destroy the captured ship.\n\nCommodore Preble was a daring officer, and was ready enough for this, if\nhe only knew how it could be done. Lieutenant Decatur was then in\ncommand of the _Enterprise_, the schooner which had fought with the\n_Tripoli_. He asked the commodore to let him take the _Enterprise_ into\nthe harbor and try to destroy the captured ship. He knew he could do it,\nhe said, if he only had a chance. At any rate, he wanted to try.\n\nCommodore Preble shook his head. It could not be done that way. He would\nonly lose his own vessel and his men. But there was a way it might be\ndone. The Moors might be taken by surprise and their prize burned in\ntheir sight. It was a desperate enterprise. Every man who took part in\nit would be in great danger of death. But that danger did not give much\ntrouble to bold young Decatur, who was as ready to fight as he was to\neat.\n\nWhat was the commodore's plan, do you ask? Well, it was this. Some time\nearlier the _Enterprise_ had captured the _Mastico_, a vessel from\nTripoli. Preble gave this craft the new name of the _Intrepid_ and\nproposed to send it into the harbor. The Moors did not know of its\ncapture and would not suspect it, and thus it might get up close to the\n_Philadelphia_.\n\nDecatur was made commander and called for volunteers. Every man and boy\non the _Enterprise_ wanted to go; and he picked out over seventy of\nthem. As he was about to leave the deck, a boy came up and asked if he\ncouldn't go, too.\n\n\"Why do you want to go, Jack?\"\n\n\"Well, Captain, you see, I'd kind o' like to see the country.\"\n\nThis was such a queer reason that Decatur laughed and told him he might\ngo.\n\nOne dark night, on February 3, 1804, the _Intrepid_ left the rest of the\nfleet and set sail for the harbor of Tripoli. The little _Siren_ went\nwith her for company. But the weather proved stormy, and it was not\nuntil the 15th that they were able to carry out their plan.\n\nAbout noon they came in sight of the spires of the city of Tripoli.\nDecatur did not wish to reach the _Philadelphia_ until nightfall, but he\nwas afraid to take in sail, for fear of being suspected; so he dragged a\ncable and a number of buckets behind to lessen his speed.\n\nAfter a time the _Philadelphia_ came in sight. She was anchored well in\nthe harbor, under the guns of two heavy batteries. Two cruisers and a\nnumber of gunboats lay near by. It was a desperate and dangerous\nbusiness which Decatur and his tars had taken in hand, but they did not\nlet that trouble them.\n\nAt about ten o'clock at night the _Intrepid_ came into the harbor's\nmouth. The wind had fallen and she crept slowly along over the smooth\nsea. The _Siren_ stayed behind. Her work was that of rescue in case of\ntrouble. Straight for the frigate went the devoted crew. A new moon sent\nits soft lustre over the waves. All was still in city and fleet.\n\nSoon the _Intrepid_ came near the frigate. Only twelve men were visible\non her deck. The others were lying flat in the shadow on the bulwarks,\neach with cutlass tightly clutched in hand.\n\n\"What vessel is that?\" was asked in Moorish words from the frigate.\n\n\"The _Mastico_, from Malta,\" answered the pilot in the same tongue. \"We\nlost our anchors in the gale and were nearly wrecked. Can we ride by\nyour ship for the night?\"\n\nThe permission asked was granted, and a boat from the _Intrepid_ made a\nline fast to the frigate, while the men on the latter threw a line\naboard. The ropes were passed to the hidden men on the deck, who pulled\non them lustily.\n\nAs the little craft came up, the men on the frigate saw her anchors\nhanging in place.\n\n\"You have lied to us!\" came a sharp hail. \"Keep off! Cut those lines!\"\n\nOthers had seen the concealed men, and the cry of \"Americanos!\" was\nraised.\n\nThe alarm came too late. The little craft was now close up and a hearty\npull brought her against the hull of the large ship.\n\n\"Boarders away!\" came the stirring order.\n\n\"Follow me, lads,\" cried Decatur, springing for the chain-plates of the\nfrigate. Men and officers were after him hot-foot. Midshipman Charles\nMorris was the first to reach the deck, with Decatur close behind.\n\n[Illustration: DECATUR AT TRIPOLI.]\n\nThe surprise was complete. There was no resistance. Few of the Moors\nhad weapons, and they fled from the Americans like frightened sheep. On\nall sides the splashing of water could be heard as they leaped\noverboard. In a few minutes they were all gone and Decatur and his men\nwere masters of the ship.\n\nThey would have given much to be able to take the noble frigate out of\nthe harbor. But that could not be done, and every minute made their\ndanger greater. All they could do was to set her on fire and retreat\nwith all speed.\n\nNot a moment was lost. Quick-burning material was brought from the\n_Intrepid_, put in good places, and set on fire. So rapidly did the\nflames spread that the men who were lighting fires on the lower decks\nhad scarcely time to escape from the fast-spreading conflagration.\n\nFlames poured from the port-holes, and sparks fell on the deck of the\nsmaller vessel. If it should touch the powder that was stored amidships,\ndeath would come to them all. With nervous haste they cut the ropes, and\nthe _Intrepid_ was pushed off. Then the sweeps were thrust out and the\nlittle craft rowed away.\n\n\"Now, lads, give them three good cheers,\" cried Decatur.\n\nUp sprang the jack-tars, and three ringing cheers were given, sounding\nabove the roar of the flames and of the cannon that were now playing on\nthe little vessel from the batteries and gunboats. Then to their sweeps\nwent the tars again, and drove their vessel every minute farther away.\n\nAs they went they saw the flames catch the rigging and run up the masts\nof the doomed frigate. Then great bursts of flame shot out from the open\nhatchways. The loaded guns went off one after another, some of them\nfiring into the town. It was a lurid and striking spectacle, such as is\nseldom seen.\n\nBainbridge and his fellow-officers saw the flames from their prison\nwindow and hailed them with lusty cheers. The officers of the _Siren_\nsaw them also, and sent their boats into the harbor to aid the\nfugitives, if necessary. But it was not necessary. Not a man had been\nhurt. In an hour after the flames were seen, Decatur and his daring crew\ncame in triumph out of the bay of Tripoli.\n\nNever had been known a more perfect and successful naval exploit. All\nEurope talked of it with admiration when the news was received. Lord\nNelson, the greatest of England's sailors, said, \"It was the boldest and\nmost daring act of the ages.\" When the tidings reached the United\nStates, Decatur, young as he was, was rewarded by Congress with the\ntitle of captain.\n\nWe are not yet done with the _Intrepid_, in which Decatur played so\nbrilliant a part. She was tried again in work of the same kind, but with\na more tragic end.\n\nA room was built in her and filled with powder, shot, and shells.\nCombustibles of various kinds were piled around it, so that it could not\nfail to go off, if set on fire. Then, one dark night, the fire-ship was\nsent into the harbor of Tripoli, with a picked crew under another\ngallant young officer, Lieutenant Richard Somers.\n\nThey were told to take it into the midst of the Moorish squadron, set it\non fire and escape in their boats. It was expected to blow up and rend\nto atoms the war vessels of Tripoli.\n\nBut the forts and ships began to fire on it, and before it reached its\ngoal a frightful disaster occurred. Suddenly a great jet of fire was\nseen to shoot up into the sky. Then came a roar like that of a volcano.\nThe distant spectators saw the mast of the _Intrepid_, with blazing\nsail, flung like a rocket into the air. Bombs flew in all directions.\nThen all grew dark and still.\n\nIn some way the magazine had been exploded, perhaps by a shot from the\nenemy. Nothing was ever seen again of Somers and his men. It was the\ngreat tragedy of the war. They had all perished in that fearful\nexplosion.\n\n\nNow let us turn back to the story of Decatur, of whom we have some more\nfamous work to tell.\n\nIn August, 1804, the American fleet entered the harbor of Tripoli and\nmade a daring attack on the fleet, the batteries, and the city of the\nBashaw. In addition to the war vessels of the fleet, there were six\ngunboats and two bomb vessels, all pouring shot and shell into the city\nwhich had so long defied them.\n\nThe batteries on shore returned the fire, and the gunboats of the Bashaw\nadvanced to the attack. On these the fleet now turned its fire, sweeping\ntheir decks with grape and canister shot. Decatur, with three gunboats,\nadvanced on the eastern division of the Moorish gunboats, nine in all.\n\nDecatur, you will see, was outnumbered three to one, but he did not stop\nfor odds like that. He dashed boldly in, laid his vessel alongside the\nnearest gunboat of the enemy, poured in a volley, and gave the order to\nboard. In an instant the Americans were over the bulwarks and on the\nfoe.\n\nThe contest was short and sharp. The captain of the Tripolitans fell\ndead. Most of his officers were wounded. The men, overcome by the fierce\nattack, soon threw down their arms and begged for quarter. Decatur\nsecured them below decks and started for the next gunboat.\n\nOn his way he was hailed from one of his own boats, which had been\ncommanded by his brother James. The men told him that his brother had\ncaptured one of the gunboats of the enemy, but, on going on board after\nher flag had fallen, he had been shot dead by the treacherous commander.\nThe murderer had then driven the Americans back and carried his boat out\nof the fight.\n\nOn hearing this sad news, Decatur was filled with grief and rage. Bent\non revenge, he turned his boat's prow and swiftly sped towards the\ncraft of the assassin. The instant the two boats came together the\nfurious Decatur sprang upon the deck of the enemy. At his back came\nLieutenant McDonough and nine sturdy sailors. Nearly forty of the Moors\nfaced them, at their head a man of gigantic size, his face half covered\nwith a thick black beard, a scarlet cap on his head, the true type of a\npirate captain.\n\nSure that this was his brother's murderer, Decatur rushed fiercely at\nthe giant Moor. The latter thrust at him with a heavy boarding pike.\nDecatur parried the blow, and made a fierce stroke at the weapon, hoping\nto cut off its point.\n\nHe failed in this and his cutlass broke off at the hilt, leaving him\nwith empty hands. With a lusty yell the Moor thrust again. Decatur bent\naside, so that he received only a slight wound. Then he seized the\nweapon, wrested it from the hands of the Moor, and thrust fiercely at\nhim.\n\nIn an instant more the two enemies had clinched in a wrestle for life\nand death, and fell struggling to the deck. While they lay there, one\nof the Tripolitan officers raised his scimitar and aimed a deadly blow\nat the head of Decatur.\n\nIt seemed now as if nothing could save the struggling American. Only one\nof his men was near by. This was a sailor named Reuben James, who had\nbeen wounded in both arms. But he was a man of noble heart. He could not\nlift a hand to save his captain, but his head was free, and with a\nsublime devotion he thrust it in the way of the descending weapon.\n\nDown it came with a terrible blow on his head, and he fell bleeding to\nthe deck, but before the Tripolitan could lift his weapon again to\nstrike Decatur, a pistol shot laid him low.\n\nDecatur was left to fight it out with the giant Moor. With one hand the\nhuge wrestler held him tightly and with the other he drew a dagger from\nhis belt. The fatal moment had arrived. Decatur caught the Moor's wrist\njust as the blow was about to fall, and at the same instant pressed\nagainst his side a small pistol he had drawn from his pocket.\n\nA touch of the trigger, a sharp report, and the body of the giant\nrelaxed. The bullet had pierced him through and he fell back dead.\nFlinging off the heavy weight, Decatur rose to his feet.\n\nMeanwhile his few men had been fiercely fighting the Tripolitan crew.\nGreatly as they outnumbered the Americans, the Moors had been driven\nback. They lost heart on seeing their leader fall and threw down their\narms.\n\nAnother gunboat was captured and then the battle ended. The attack on\nTripoli had proved a failure and the fleet drew off.\n\nI know you will ask what became of brave Reuben James, who offered his\nlife for his captain. Was he killed? No, I am glad to say he was not. He\nhad an ugly cut, but he was soon well again.\n\nOne day Decatur asked him what reward he should give him for saving his\nlife. The worthy sailor did not know what to say. He scratched his head\nand looked puzzled.\n\n\"Ask him for double pay, Rube,\" suggested one of his shipmates.\n\n\"A pocket full of dollars and shore leave,\" whispered another.\n\n\"No,\" said the modest tar. \"Just let somebody else hand out the hammocks\nto the men when they are piped down. That's something I don't like.\"\n\nDecatur consented; and afterwards, when the crew was piped down to stow\nhammocks, Reuben walked among them as free and independent as a\nmillionaire.\n\nThat is all we have here to say about the Tripolitan war. The next year\na treaty of peace was signed, and Captain Bainbridge and the men of the\n_Philadelphia_ were set free from their prison cells.\n\nIn 1812, when war broke out with England, the gallant Decatur was given\nthe command of the frigate _United States_, and with it he captured the\nBritish frigate _Macedonian_, after a hard fight.\n\nPoor Decatur was shot dead in a duel in 1820 by a hot-headed officer\nwhom he had offended. It was a sad end to a brilliant career, for the\nAmerican Navy never had a more gallant commander.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE GALLANT \"OLD IRONSIDES\" AND HOW SHE CAPTURED THE \"GUERRIERE\"\n\nA FAMOUS INCIDENT OF THE WAR OF 1812\n\n\nWHEN did our country win its greatest fame upon the sea? I think, when\nyou have read the story of the War of 1812, you will say it was in that\nwar. It is true, we did not do very well on land in that war, but the\nglory we lost on the shore we made up on the sea.\n\nYou should know that in 1812 England was the greatest sea-power in the\nworld. For years she had been fighting with Napoleon, and every fleet he\nset afloat was badly whipped by British ships. Is it any wonder that the\npeople of that little island were proud of their fleets? Is it any\nwonder they proudly sang--\n\n          \"Britannia needs no bulwarks,\n             No towers along the steep;\n           Her march is o'er the mountain waves,\n             Her home is on the deep.\"\n\nThey grew so vain of their lordship of the sea that they needed a\nlesson, and they were to get one from the Yankee tars. As soon as war\nbegan between England and the United States in 1812, a flock of British\nwar-hawks came flying bravely across the seas, thinking they would soon\ngobble up the Yankee sparrows. But long before the war was over, they\nquit singing their proud song of \"Britannia rules the waves,\" and found\nthat what they thought was a Yankee sparrow was the American eagle.\n\nThere were too many great things done on the ocean in this war for me to\nname them all, so I will have to tell only the most famous. And first of\nall I must give you the story of the noble old _Constitution_, or, as\nshe came to be called, _Old Ironsides_.\n\nThe _Constitution_ was a noble ship of the old kind. That royal old\ncraft is still afloat, after more than a hundred years of service, and\nafter all her companions have long since sunk in the waves or rotted\naway. She was built to fight the French in 1798. She was Commodore\nPreble's flagship in the war with the Moorish pirates. And she won\nundying fame in the War of 1812. So the story of the _Constitution_\ncomes first in our list of the naval conquerors of that war.\n\nI fancy, if any of you had been living at that time, you would have\nwanted to fight the British as badly as the Americans then did. For the\nBritish had for years been taking sailors from American ships and making\nthem serve in their own men-of-war. Then, too, they had often insulted\nour officers upon the seas, and acted in a very insolent and overbearing\nway whenever they had the opportunity. This made the Americans very\nangry and was the main cause of the war.\n\nI must tell you some things that took place before the war. In 1811 a\nBritish frigate named the _Guerriere_ was busy at this kind of work,\nsailing up and down our coast and carrying off American sailors on\npretence that they were British. Just remember the name of the\n\"_Guerriere_.\" You will soon learn how the _Constitution_ paid her for\nthis shabby work.\n\nI have also a story to tell about the _Constitution_ in 1811. She had to\ncross the Atlantic in that year, and stopped on some business in the\nharbor of Portsmouth, an English seaport.\n\nOne night a British officer came on board and said there was an American\ndeserter on his ship, the _Havana_, and that the Americans could have\nhim if they sent for him.\n\nCaptain Hull, of the _Constitution_, was then in London, so Lieutenant\nMorris, who had charge of the ship, sent for the man; but when his\nmessenger came, he was told that the man said he was a British subject,\nand therefore he should not be given up. They were very sorry, and all\nthat, but they had to take the man's word for it. Morris thought this\nvery shabby treatment but he soon had his revenge. For that very night a\nBritish sailor came on board the _Constitution_, who said he was a\ndeserter from the _Havana_.\n\n\"Of what nation are you?\" he was asked.\n\n\"I'm an American, sor,\" said the man, with a strong Irish accent.\n\nLieutenant Morris sent word to the _Havana_ that a deserter from his\nship was on the _Constitution_. But when an officer from the _Havana_\ncame to get the deserter, Morris politely told him that the man said he\nwas an American, and therefore he could not give him up. He was very\nsorry, he said, but really the man ought to know to what country he\nbelonged. You may be interested to learn that Lieutenant Morris was the\nman who had been first to board the _Philadelphia_ in the harbor of\nTripoli.\n\nThis was paying John Bull in his own coin. The officers in the harbor\nwere very angry when they received this answer. Next, they tried to play\na trick on the Americans. Two of their warships came up and anchored in\nthe way of the _Constitution_. But Lieutenant Morris got up anchor and\nslipped away to a new berth. Then the two frigates sailed up and\nanchored in his way again. That was the way matters stood when Captain\nHull came on board in the evening.\n\nWhen the captain was told what had taken place, he saw that the British\nwere trying to make trouble about the Irish deserter. But he was not the\nman to be caught by any trick. He loaded his guns and cleared the ship\nfor action. Then he pulled up his anchor, slipped round the British\nfrigates, and put to sea.\n\nHe had not gone far before the two frigates started after him. They came\non under full sail, but one of them was slow and fell far behind, so\nthat the other came up alone.\n\n\"If that fellow wants to fight he can have his chance,\" said Captain\nHull, and he bade his men to make ready.\n\nUp came the Englishman, but when he saw the ports open, the guns ready\nto bark at him across the waves, and everything in shape for a good\nfight, he had a sudden change of mind. Round he turned like a scared\ndog, and ran back as fast as he had come. That was a clear case of tit\nfor tat, and tat had it. No doubt, the Englishman knew that he was in\nthe wrong, for English seamen are not afraid to fight.\n\nHome from Plymouth came the _Constitution_ and got herself put in shape\nfor the war that was soon to come. It had not long begun before she was\noff to sea; and now she had a remarkable adventure with the _Guerriere_\nand some other British ships. In fact, she made a wonderful escape from\na whole squadron of war vessels. She left the Chesapeake on July 12,\n1812, and for five days sailed up the coast. The winds were light and\nprogress was very slow. Then, on the 17th, the lookout aloft saw four\nwarships sailing along close in to the Jersey coast.\n\nTwo hours afterward another was seen. This proved to be the frigate\n_Guerriere_, and it was soon found that the others were British ships\nalso. One of them was a great ship-of-the-line. It would have been\nmadness to think of fighting such a force as this, more than six times\nas strong as the _Constitution_, and there was nothing to do but to run\naway.\n\nThen began the most famous race in American naval history. There was\nhardly a breath of wind, the sails hung flapping to the masts; so\nCaptain Hull got out his boats and sent them ahead with a line to tow\nthe ship. When the British saw this they did the same, and by putting\nall their boats to two ships they got ahead faster.\n\nI cannot tell the whole story of this race, but it lasted for nearly\nthree days, from Friday afternoon till Monday morning. Now there was a\nlight breeze and now a dead calm. Now they pulled the ships by boats and\nnow by kedging. That is, an anchor was carried out a long way ahead and\nlet sink, and then the men pulled on the line until the ship was brought\nup over it. Then the anchor would be drawn up and carried and dropped\nahead again.\n\nFor two long days and nights the chase kept up, during which the\n_Constitution_ was kept, by weary labor, just out of gunshot ahead. At\nfour o'clock Sunday morning the British ships had got on both sides of\nthe _Constitution_, and it looked as if she was in a tight corner. But\nCaptain Hull now turned and steered out to sea, across the bows of the\n_Eolus_, and soon had them astern again.\n\nThe same old game went on until four o'clock in the afternoon, when they\nsaw signs of a coming squall. Captain Hull knew how to deal with an\nAmerican squall, but the Englishmen did not. He kept his men towing\nuntil he saw the sea ruffled by the wind about a mile away. Then he\ncalled the boats in and in a moment let fall all his sails.\n\nLooking at the British, he saw them hard at work furling their sails.\nThey had let all their boats go adrift. But Captain Hull had not furled\na sail, and the minute a vapor hid his ship from the enemy all his sails\nwere spread to the winds and away went the Yankee ship in rapid flight.\nHe had taught his foes a lesson in American seamanship.\n\nWhen the squall cleared away the British ships were far astern. But the\nwind fell again and all that night the chase kept up. Captain Hull threw\nwater on his sails and made every rag of canvas draw. When daylight came\nonly the top sails of the enemy could be seen. At eight o'clock they\ngave up the chase and turned on their heels. Thus ended that wonderful\nthree days chase, one of the most remarkable in naval history.\n\nAnd now we come to the greatest story in the history of the \"Old\nIronsides.\" In less than a month after the _Guerriere_ had helped to\nchase her off the Jersey coast, she gave that proud ship a lesson which\nthe British nation did not soon forget. Here is the story of that famous\nfight, by which Captain Hull won high fame:\n\nIn the early morning of August 19, while the old ship was bowling along\neasily off the New England coast, a cheery cry of \"Sail-ho!\" came from\nthe lookout at the mast-head.\n\nSoon a large vessel was seen from the deck. On went the Yankee ship with\nflying flag and bellying sails. The strange ship waited as if ready for\na fight. When the _Constitution_ drew near, the stranger hoisted the\nBritish flag and began to fire her great guns.\n\nIt was the _Guerriere_. When he saw the Stars and Stripes, Captain\nDacres said to his men:\n\n\"That is a Yankee frigate. She will be ours in forty-five minutes. If\nyou take her in fifteen, I promise you four months pay.\"\n\nIt is never best to be too sure, as Captain Dacres was to find.\n\nThe _Guerriere_ kept on firing at a distance, but Captain Hull continued\nto take in sail and get his ship in fighting trim, without firing a gun.\nAfter a time Lieutenant Morris came up and said to him:\n\n\"The British have killed two of our men. Shall we return their fire?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" said Captain Hull. \"Wait a while.\"\n\nHe waited until the ships were almost touching, and then he roared out:\n\n\"Now, boys; pour it into them!\"\n\nThen came a roaring broadside that went splintering through the British\nhull, doing more damage than all the _Guerriere's_ fire.\n\nNow the battle was on in earnest. The two ships lay side by side, and\nfor fifteen minutes the roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry\nfilled the air, while cannon balls tore their way through solid timber\nand human flesh.\n\nDown came the mizzen-mast of the _Guerriere_, cut through by a big iron\nshot.\n\n\"Hurrah, boys!\" cried Hull, swinging his hat like a schoolboy; \"we've\nmade a brig of her.\"\n\nThe mast dragged by its ropes and brought the ship round, so that the\nnext broadside from the _Constitution_ raked her from stem to stern.\n\nThe bowsprit of the _Guerriere_ caught fast in the rigging of the\n_Constitution_, and the sailors on both ships tried to board. But soon\nthe winds pulled the _Constitution_ clear, and as she forged ahead, down\nwith a crash came the other masts of the British ship. They had been cut\ninto splinters by the Yankee guns. A few minutes before she had been a\nstately three-masted frigate; now she was a helpless hulk. Not half an\nhour had passed since the _Constitution_ fired her first shot, and\nalready the _Guerriere_ was a wreck, while the Yankee ship rode the\nwaters as proudly as ever.\n\nOff in triumph went the \"Old Ironsides,\" and hasty repairs to her\nrigging were made. Then she came up with loaded guns. The _Guerriere_\nlay rolling like a log in the water, without a flag in sight. Not only\nher masts were gone, but her hull was like a sieve. It had more than\nthirty cannon-ball holes below the water-line.\n\nThere was no need to fire again. Lieutenant Read went off in a boat.\n\n\"Have you surrendered?\" he asked Captain Dacres, who was looking, with a\nvery long face, over the rail.\n\n\"It would not be prudent to continue the engagement any longer,\" said\nDacres, in gloomy tones.\n\n\"Do you mean that you have struck your flag?\"\n\n\"Not precisely. But I do not know that it will be worth while to fight\nany more.\"\n\n\"If you cannot make up your mind I will go back and we will do something\nto help you.\"\n\n\"I don't see that I can keep up the fight,\" said the dejected British\ncaptain. \"I have hardly any men left and my ship is ready to sink.\"\n\n\"What I want to know is,\" cried Lieutenant Read, \"whether you are a\nprisoner of war or an enemy. And I must know without further parley.\"\n\n\"If I could fight longer I would,\" said Captain Dacres. Then with\nfaltering words he continued, \"but-I-must-surrender.\"\n\n\"Then accept from me Captain Hull's compliments. He wishes to know if\nyou need the aid of a surgeon or surgeon's mate.\"\n\n\"Have you not business enough on your own ship for all your doctors?\"\nasked Dacres.\n\n\"Oh, no!\" said Read. \"We have only seven men wounded, and their wounds\nare all dressed.\"\n\nCaptain Dacres was obliged to enter Read's boat and be rowed to the\n_Constitution_. He had been wounded, and could not climb very well, so\nCaptain Hull helped him to the deck.\n\n\"Give me your hand, Dacres,\" he said, \"I know you are hurt.\"\n\nCaptain Dacres offered his sword, but the American captain would not\ntake it.\n\n\"No, no,\" he said, \"I will not take a sword from one who knows so well\nhow to use it. But I'll trouble you for that hat.\"\n\nWhat did he mean by that, you ask? Well, the two captains had met some\ntime before the war, and Dacres had offered to bet a hat that the\n_Guerriere_ would whip the _Constitution_. Hull accepted the bet, and he\nhad won.\n\nAll day and night the boats were kept busy in carrying the prisoners,\nwell and hurt, to the _Constitution_. When daylight came again it was\nreported that the _Guerriere_ was filling with water and ready to sink.\n\nShe could not be saved, so she was set on fire. Rapidly the flames\nspread until they reached her magazine. Then came a fearful explosion,\nand a black cloud of smoke hung over the place where the ship had\nfloated. When it moved away only some floating planks were to be seen.\nThe proud _Guerriere_ would never trouble Yankee sailors again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA FAMOUS VESSEL SAVED BY A POEM\n\n\"OLD IRONSIDES\" WINS NEW GLORY\n\n\n\"_OLD IRONSIDES_ was a noble old ship, and a noble old ship was she.\"\nCome, I know you have not heard enough about this grand old ship, so let\nus go on with her story. And the first thing to tell is how she served\nanother British ship as she had served the _Guerriere_.\n\nFour months after Captain Hull's great victory, the _Constitution_ was\nin another sea and had another captain. She had sailed south and was now\noff the coast of Brazil. And William Bainbridge had succeeded Isaac Hull\nin command.\n\nIt was almost the last day of the year. Chilly weather, no doubt, in\nBoston from which she had sailed; but mid-summer warmth in those\nsouthern waters. It certainly felt warm enough to the men on deck, who\nwere \"spoiling for a fight,\" when the lookout aloft announced two sails.\n\nThe sailors who had been lounging about the deck sprang up and looked\neagerly across the waves, as the cheerful \"Sail-ho!\" reached their ears.\nSoon they saw that one of the vessels was coming their way as fast as\nher sails could carry her. The other had sailed away on the other tack.\n\nThe vessel that was coming was the _Java_, a fine British frigate. As\nshe drew near she showed signals. That is, she spread out a number of\nsmall flags, each of which had some meaning, and by which British ships\ncould talk with each other. Captain Bainbridge could not answer these,\nfor he did not know what they meant. So he showed American signals,\nwhich the captain of the _Java_ could not understand any better.\n\nThen, as they came nearer, they hoisted their national flags, and both\nsides saw that they were enemies and that a fight was on hand.\n\nCaptain Bainbridge was not like Captain Hull. He did not wait till the\nships were side by side, but began firing when the _Java_ was half a\nmile away. That was only wasting powder and balls, but they kept on\nfiring until they were close at hand, and then the shots began to tell.\n\nA brave old fellow was the captain of the _Constitution_. A musket ball\nstruck him in the thigh as he was pacing the deck. He stopped his\npacing, but would not go below. Then a copper bolt went deep into his\nleg. But he had it cut out and the leg tied up, and he still kept on\ndeck. He wanted to see the fight.\n\nHot and fierce came the cannon balls, hurtling through sails and\nrigging, rending through thick timbers, and sending splinters flying\nright and left. Men fell dead and blood ran in streams, but still came\nthe heralds of death.\n\nWe must tell the same story of this fight as of the fight with the\n_Guerriere_. The British did not know how to aim their guns and the\nAmericans did. The British had no sights on their cannon and the\nAmericans had. That was why, all through the war, the British lost so\nheavily and the Americans so little. The British shot went wild and the\nAmerican balls flew straight to their mark.\n\nYou know what must come from that. After while, off went the _Java's_\nbowsprit, as if it had been chopped off with a great knife. Five minutes\nlater her foremast was cut in two and came tumbling down. Then the main\ntopmast crashed down from above. Last of all, her mizzen-mast was cut\nshort off by the plunging shot, and fell over the side. The well-aimed\nAmerican balls had cut through her great spars, as you might cut through\na willow stick, and she was dismantled as the _Guerriere_ had been.\n\nThe loud \"hurrahs\" of the Yankee sailors proved enough to call the dead\nto life. At any rate, a wounded man, whom everyone thought dead, opened\nhis eyes and asked what they were cheering about.\n\n\"The enemy has struck,\" he was told.\n\nThe dying tar lifted himself on one arm, and waved the other round his\nhead, and gave three feeble cheers. With the last one he fell back dead.\n\nBut the _Java's_ flag was not down for good. As the _Constitution_ came\nup with all masts standing and sails set, the British flag was raised to\nthe stump of the mizzen-mast. When he saw this, Bainbridge wore his\nship to give her another broadside, and then down came her flag for\ngood. She had received all the battering she could stand. In fact, the\n_Constitution_ had lost only 34 men, killed and wounded, while the Java\nhad lost 150 men. The _Constitution_ was sound and whole; the _Java_ had\nonly her mainmast left and was full of yawning rents. _Old Ironsides_\nhad a new feather in her cap.\n\nLike the _Guerriere_, the _Java_ was hurt past help. It was impossible\nto take her home; so on the last day of 1812, the torch was put to her\nragged timbers and the flames took hold. Quickly they made their way\nthrough the ruined ship. About three o'clock in the afternoon they\nreached her magazine, and with a mighty roar the wreck of the British\nship was torn into fragments. To the bottom went the hull. Only the\nbroken masts and a few shattered timbers remained afloat.\n\nSuch is war: a thing of ruin and desolation. Of that gallant ship, which\ntwo days before had been proudly afloat, only some smoke-stained\nfragments were left to tell that she had ever been on the seas, and\ndeath and wounds had come to many of her men.\n\nAfter her fight with the _Java_ the _Constitution_ had a long, weary\nrest. You will remember the _Bon Homme Richard_, a rotten old hulk not\nfit for fighting, though she made a very good show when the time for\nfighting came. The _Constitution_ was much like her; so rotten in her\ntimbers that she had to be brought home and rebuilt.\n\nThen she went a-sailing again, under Captain Charles Stewart, as good an\nofficer as Hull and Bainbridge; but it was more than two years after her\nlast battle before she had another chance to show what sort of a fighter\nshe was.\n\nIt is a curious fact that some of the hardest fights of this war with\nEngland took place after the war was at an end. The treaty of peace was\nsigned on Christmas eve, 1814, but the great battle at New Orleans was\nfought two weeks afterward. There were no ocean cable then to send word\nto the armies that all their killing was no longer needed, since there\nwas nothing to fight about.\n\nIt was worse still for the ships at sea. Nobody then had ever dreamed of\na telegraph without wires to send word out over the waste of waters, or\neven of a telegraph with wires. Thus it was that the last battle of the\nold _Constitution_ was fought nearly two months after the war was over.\n\nThe good old ship was then on the other side of the ocean, and was\nsailing along near the island of Madeira, which lies off the coast of\nAfrica. For a year she had done nothing except to take a few small\nprizes, and her stalwart crew were tired of that sort of work. They\nwanted a real, big fight, with plenty of glory.\n\nOne evening Captain Stewart heard some of the officers talking about\ntheir bad luck, and wishing they could only meet with a fellow of their\nown size. They were tired of fishing for minnows when there were whales\nto be caught.\n\n\"I can tell you this, gentlemen,\" said the captain, \"you will soon get\nwhat you want. Before the sun rises and sets again you will have a good\nold-fashioned fight, and it will not be with a single ship, either.\"\n\nI do not know what the officers said after the captain turned away. Very\nlikely some of them wondered how he came to be a prophet and could tell\nwhat was going to take place. I doubt very much whether they believed\nwhat he had said.\n\nAt any rate, about one o'clock the next day, February 20, 1815, when the\nship was gliding along before a light breeze, a sail was seen far away\nin front. An hour later a second sail was made out, close by the first.\nAnd when the _Constitution_ got nearer it was seen that they were both\nships-of-war. It began to look as if Captain Stewart was a good prophet,\nafter all.\n\nIt turned out that the first of these was the small British frigate\n_Cyane_. The second was the sloop-of-war _Levant_. Neither was a match\nby itself for the _Constitution_, but both together they thought\nthemselves a very good match.\n\nIt was five o'clock before the Yankee ship came up within gunshot. The\ntwo British ships had closed together so as to help one another, and now\nthey all stripped off their extra sails, as a man takes off his coat and\nvest for a fight.\n\nSix o'clock passed before the battle began. Then for fifteen minutes the\nthree ships hurled their iron balls as fast as the men could load and\nfire. By that time the smoke was so thick that they had to stop firing\nto find out where the two fighting ships were. The _Constitution_ now\nfound herself opposite the _Levant_ and poured a broadside into her\nhull. Then she sailed backward--a queer thing to do, but Captain Stewart\nknew how to move his ship stern foremost--and poured her iron hail into\nthe _Cyane_. Next she pushed ahead again and pounded the _Levant_ till\nthat lively little craft turned and ran. It had enough of the\n_Constitution's_ iron dumplings to last a while.\n\nThis was great sailing and great firing, but Captain Stewart was one of\nthose seamen who know how to handle a ship, and his men knew how to\nhandle their guns. There were never better seamen than those of the _Old\nIronsides_.\n\nThe _Levant_ was now out of the way, and there was only the _Cyane_ to\nattend to. Captain Stewart attended to her so well that, just forty\nminutes after the fight began, her flag came down.\n\nWhere, now, was the _Levant_? She had run out of the fight; but she had\na brave captain who did not like to desert his friend, so he turned back\nand came gallantly up again.\n\nIt was a noble act, but a foolish one. This the British captain found\nout when he came once more under the American guns. They were much too\nhot for him, and once more he tried to run away. He did not succeed this\ntime. Captain Stewart was too much in love with him to let him go, and\nsent such warm love-letters after him that his flag came gliding down,\nas his comrade's had done.\n\nCaptain Stewart had shown himself a true prophet. He had met, fought\nwith, and won two ships of the enemy. No doubt after that his officers\nwere sure they had a prophet for a captain.\n\nThat evening, when the two British captains were in the cabin of the\n_Constitution_, a midshipman came down and asked Captain Stewart if the\nmen could not have their grog.\n\n\"Why, didn't they have it?\" asked the captain. \"It was time for it\nbefore the battle began.\"\n\n\"It was mixed for them, sir,\" said the midshipman, \"but our old men said\nthey didn't want any 'Dutch courage,' so they emptied the grog-tub into\nthe lee scuppers.\"\n\nThe Englishmen stared when they heard this. It is very likely their men\nhad not fought without a double dose of grog.\n\nWe have not finished our story yet. Like a lady's letter, it has a\npostscript. On March 10, the three ships were in a harbor of the Cape de\nVerde Islands, and Captain Stewart was sending his prisoners ashore,\nwhen three large British men-of-war were seen sailing into the harbor.\n\nStewart was nearly caught in a trap. Any one of these large frigates was\nmore than a match for the _Constitution_, and here were three in a\nbunch. But, by good luck, there was a heavy fog that hid everything but\nthe highest sails; so there was a chance of escape.\n\nCaptain Stewart was not the man to be trapped while a chance was left.\nHe was what we call a \"wide-awake.\" There was a small chance left. He\ncut his cable, made a signal to the prize vessels to do the same, and in\nten minutes after the first British vessel had been seen, the American\nship and its prizes were gliding swiftly away.\n\nOn came the British ships against a stiff breeze, up the west side of\nthe bay. Out slipped the Yankee ships along the east side. Captain\nStewart set no sails higher than his top sails, and these were hidden\nby the fog, so the British lookouts saw nothing. They did not dream of\nthe fine birds that were flying away.\n\nOnly when Stewart got his ship past the outer point of the harbor did he\nspread his upper sails to the breeze, and the British lookouts saw with\nsurprise a cloud of canvas suddenly bursting out upon the air.\n\nNow began a close chase. The _Constitution_ and her prizes had only\nabout a mile the start. As quick as the British ships could turn they\nwere on their track. But those were not the days of the great guns that\ncan send huge balls six or seven miles through the air. A mile then was\na long shot for the largest guns, and the Yankee cruisers had made a\nfair start.\n\nBut before they had gone far Captain Stewart saw that the _Cyane_ was in\ndanger of being taken, and signaled for her to tack and take another\ncourse. She did so and sailed safely away. For three hours the three big\nfrigates hotly chased the _Constitution_ and _Levant_, but let the\n_Cyane_ go.\n\nCaptain Stewart now saw that the _Levant_ was in the same danger, and he\nsent her a signal to tack as the _Cyane_ had done. The _Levant_ tacked\nand sailed out of the line of the chase.\n\nWhat was the surprise of the Yankee captain and his men when they saw\nall three of the big British ships turn on their heels and set sail\nafter the little sloop-of-war, letting the _Constitution_ sail away. It\nwas like three great dogs turning to chase a rabbit and letting a deer\nrun free.\n\nThe three huge monsters chased the little _Levant_ back into the island\nport, and there for fifteen minutes they fired broadsides at her. The\nprisoners whom Captain Stewart had landed did the same from a battery on\nshore. And yet not a shot struck her hull; they were all wasted in the\nair.\n\nAt length Lieutenant Bullard, who was master of the prize, hauled down\nhis flag. He thought he had seen enough fun, and they might hurt\nsomebody afterwhile if they kept on firing. But what was the chagrin of\nthe British captains to find that all they had done was to take back one\nof their own vessels, while the American frigate had gone free.\n\nThe _Constitution_ and the _Cyane_ got safely to the American shores,\nwhere their officers learned that the war had ceased more than three\nmonths before. But the country was proud of their good service, and\nCongress gave medals of honor to Stewart and his officers.\n\nThat was the last warlike service of the gallant _Old Ironsides_, the\nmost famous ship of the American Navy. Years passed by and her timbers\nrotted away, as they had done once before. Some of the wise heads in the\nNavy Department, men without a grain of sentiment, decided that she was\nno longer of any use and should be broken up for old timber.\n\nBut if they had no love for the good old ship, there were those who had;\nand a poet, Oliver Wendell Holmes, came to the rescue. This is the poem\nby which he saved the ship:\n\n\n          THE OLD IRONSIDES.\n\n          Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!\n            Long has it waved on high,\n          And many an eye has danced to see\n            That banner in the sky;\n          Beneath it rung the battle shout,\n            And burst the cannon's roar;\n          The meteor of the ocean air\n            Shall sweep the clouds no more!\n\n          Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,\n            Where knelt the vanquished foe,\n          When winds were hurrying o'er the flood\n            And waves were white below,\n          No more shall feel the victor's tread\n            Or know the conquered knee;\n          The harpies of the shore shall pluck\n            The eagle of the sea!\n\n          O! better that her shattered hulk\n            Should sink beneath the wave;\n          Her thunders shook the mighty deep,\n            And there should be her grave;\n          Nail to the mast her holy flag,\n            Set every threadbare sail,\n          And give her to the god of storms,\n            The lightning and the gale.\n\nThere was no talk of destroying the _Old Ironsides_ after that. The man\nthat did it would have won eternal disgrace. She still floats, and no\ndoubt she will float, as long as two of her glorious old timbers hang\ntogether.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE FIGHT OF CAPTAIN JACOB JONES\n\nTHE LIVELY LITTLE \"WASP\" AND HOW SHE STUNG THE \"FROLIC\"\n\n\nNO doubt most of my readers know very well what a wasp is and how nicely\nit can take care of itself. When I was a boy I found out more than once\nhow long and sharp a sting it has, and I do not think many boys grow up\nwithout at some time waking up a wasp and wishing they had left it\nasleep.\n\nThe United States has had three _Wasps_ and one _Hornet_ in its navy,\nand the British boys who came fooling in their way found that all of\nthem could sting. I will tell you about the time one of our _Wasps_ met\nthe British _Frolic_ and fought it in a great gale, when the ships were\ntossing about like chips on the ocean billows.\n\nNot long after the _Constitution_ had her great fight with the\n_Guerriere_, a little sloop-of-war named the _Wasp_ set sail from\nPhiladelphia to see what she could find on the broad seas. This vessel,\nyou should know, had three masts and square sails like a ship. But she\nwas not much larger than one of the sloops we see on our rivers to-day,\nso it was right to call her a sloop. For captain she had a bold sailor\nnamed Jacob Jones.\n\nThe first thing the _Wasp_ found at sea was a mighty gale of wind, that\nblew \"great guns\" for two days. The waves were so big and fierce that\none of them carried away her bowsprit with two men on it. The next\nnight, after the wind had gone down a little, lights shone out across\nthe waves, and when daylight came Captain Jones saw over the heaving\nbillows six large merchant ships. With them was a watch-dog in the shape\nof a fighting brig.\n\nThis brig was named the _Frolic_. It had been sent in charge of a fleet\nof fourteen merchantmen, but these had been scattered by the gale until\nonly six were left. The _Frolic_ was a good match for the _Wasp_, and\nseemed to want a fight quite as badly, for it sailed for the American\nship as fast as the howling wind would let it. And you may be sure the\n_Wasp_ did not fly away.\n\nCaptain Jones hoisted his country's flag like a man. He was not afraid\nto show his true colors. But the _Frolic_ came up under the Spanish\nflag. When they got close together Captain Jones hailed,--\n\n\"What ship is that?\"\n\nThe only answer of the British captain was to pull down the Spanish flag\nand run up his own standard, stamped with the red cross of St. George.\nAnd as the one flag went down and the other went up, the _Frolic_ fired\na broadside at the _Wasp_. But just then the British ship rolled over on\nthe side of a wave, and its balls went whistling upward through the air.\nThe Yankee gunners were more wide-awake than that. They waited until\ntheir vessel rolled down on the side of a great billow, and then they\nfired, their solid shot going low, and tearing into the _Frolic's_\nsides.\n\nThe fighting went that way all through the battle. The British gunners\ndid not know their business and fired wild. The Yankees knew what they\nwere about, and made every shot tell. They had sights on their guns and\ntook aim; the British had no sights and took no aim. That is why the\nAmericans were victors in so many fights.\n\nBut I think there was not often a sea-fight like this. The battle took\nplace off Cape Hatteras, which is famous for its storms. The wind\nwhistled and howled; the waves rose into foaming crests and sank into\ndark hollows; the fighting craft rolled and pitched. As they rolled\nupward the guns pointed at the clouds. As they rolled downward the\nmuzzles of the guns often dipped into the foam. Great masses of spray\ncame flying over the bulwarks, sweeping the decks. The weather and the\nsailors both had their blood up, and both were fighting for all they\nwere worth. It was a question which would win, the wind or the men.\n\nAs fast as the smoke rose the wind swept it away, so that the gunners\nhad a clear view of the ships. The roar of the gale was half drowned by\nthe thunder of the guns, and the whistle of the wind mingled with the\nscream of the balls, while the sailors shouted as they ran out their\nguns and cheered as the iron hail swept across the waves.\n\nIn such frantic haste did the British handle their guns, that they fired\nthree shots to the Yankees' two. The latter did not fire till they saw\nsomething to fire at. As a result, most of British balls went whistling\noverhead, and pitching over the _Wasp_ into the sea, while most of the\nYankee balls swept the decks or bored into the timbers of the _Frolic_.\n\nBut you must not think that the shots of the _Frolic_ were all wasted,\nif they did go high. One of them hit the maintopmast of the _Wasp_ and\ncut it square off. Another hit the mizzen-topgallantmast and toppled it\ninto the waves. In twenty minutes from the start \"every brace and most\nof the rigging of the _Wasp_ were shot away.\" The _Wasp_ had done little\nharm above, but a great deal below.\n\nThe _Frolic_ could have run away now if she had wanted to. But her\ncaptain was not of the runaway kind. The fire of the _Wasp_ had covered\nhis deck with blood, but he fought boldly on.\n\nAs they fought the two ships drifted together and soon their sides met\nwith a crash. Then, as they were swept apart by the waves, two of the\n_Wasp's_ guns were fired into the bow-ports of the _Frolic_ and swept\nher gun-deck from end to end. Terrible was the slaughter done by that\nraking fire.\n\nThe next minute the bowsprit of the _Frolic_ caught in the rigging of\nthe _Wasp_, and another torrent of balls was poured into the British\nship. Then the Yankee sailors left their guns and sprang for the enemy's\ndeck. The captain wanted them to keep firing, but he could not hold them\nback.\n\nFirst of them all was a brawny Jerseyman named Jack Lang, who took his\ncutlass between his teeth and clambered like a cat along the bowsprit to\nthe deck. Others followed, and when they reached the deck of the\n_Frolic_ they found Jack Lang standing alone and looking along the\nblood-stained deck with staring eyes.\n\nOnly four living men were to be seen, and three of these were wounded.\nOne was the quartermaster at the wheel and the others were officers. Not\nanother man stood on his feet, but the deck was strewn with the dead,\nwhose bodies rolled about at every heave of the waves.\n\nWhen the men came running aft the three officers flung down their swords\nto show that they had surrendered, and one of them covered his face\nwith his hands. It hurt him to give up the good ship. Lieutenant Biddle,\nof the _Wasp_, had to haul down the British flag.\n\nNever had there been more terrible slaughter. Of the 110 men on the\n_Frolic_ there were not twenty alive and unhurt, while on the _Wasp_\nonly five were dead and five wounded. The hull of the _Frolic_ was full\nof holes and its masts were so cut away that in a few minutes they both\nfell.\n\nThus ended one of the most famous of American sea-fights. It was another\nlesson that helped to stop the English from singing\n\n          \"Britannia rules the waves.\"\n\nBut the little _Wasp_ and her gallant crew did not get the good of their\nfamous victory. While they were busy repairing damages a sail appeared\nabove the far horizon. It came on, growing larger and larger, and soon\nit was seen to be a big man-of-war.\n\nThe game was up with the _Wasp_ and her prize, for the new ship was the\n_Poictiers_, a great seventy-four ship-of-the-line. She snapped up the\n_Wasp_ and the _Frolic_ and carried them off to the British isle of\nBermuda, where the victors found themselves prisoners.\n\nA few words will finish the story of the _Wasp_. She was taken into the\nBritish navy; but she did not have to fight for her foes, for she went\ndown at sea without doing anything. So she was saved from the disgrace\nof fighting against her country.\n\nCaptain Jones and his men were soon exchanged, and Congress voted them a\nreward of $25,000 for their gallant fight, while the brave captain was\ngiven the command of the frigate _Macedonian_, which had been captured\nfrom the British. It was Captain Stephen Decatur, the hero of Tripoli,\nthat captured her, in the good ship _United States_.\n\nWould you like to hear about the other _Wasps_? There were two more of\nthem, you know. They were good ships, but ill luck came to them all. The\nfirst _Wasp_ did her work in the Revolution, and had to be burned at\nPhiladelphia to keep her from the British when they took that city. The\nsecond one, as I have just told you, was lost at sea, and so was the\nthird. You may see that bad luck came to them all.\n\nThe third _Wasp_ was, like the second, a sloop-of-war, but she was a\nlarge and heavy one. And though in the end she was lost at sea and\nfollowed the other _Wasp_ to the bottom, she did not do so without\nsending some British messengers there in advance.\n\nI will tell you the story of this _Wasp_, and how she used her sting,\nbut it must be done in few words.\n\nShe was built at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and sailed on May 1, 1814,\nher captain being Johnston Blakeley; her crew a set of young countrymen\nwho were so unused to the sea that most of them were seasick for a week.\nTheir average age was only twenty-three years, so they were little more\nthan boys. Yet the most of them could hit a deer with a rifle, and they\nsoon showed they could hit a _Reindeer_ with a cannon. For near the end\nof June they came across a British brig named the _Reindeer_, and in\nless than twenty minutes had battered her in so lively a fashion that\nher flag came down and she was a prize.\n\nThe crew of the _Reindeer_ were trained seamen, but they did not know\nhow to shoot. The Americans were Yankee farmer-lads, yet they shot like\nveteran gunners. I am sure you will think so when I tell you that the\nBritish could hardly hit the _Wasp_ at all, though she was less than\nsixty yards away. But the Yankees hit the _Reindeer_ so often that she\nwas cut to pieces and her masts ready to fall. In fact, after she was\ncaptured, she could not be taken into port, but had to be set on fire\nand blown to pieces.\n\nBut I must say a good word for the gallant captain of the _Reindeer_.\nFirst, a musket ball hit him and went through the calves of both legs,\nbut he kept on his feet. Then a grape-shot--an iron ball two inches\nthick--went through both his thighs. The brave seaman fell, but he rose\nto his feet again, drew his sword, and called his men to board the\n_Wasp_. He was trying to climb on board when a musket ball went through\nhis head. \"O God!\" he cried, and fell dead.\n\nThis fight was in the English Channel, where Blakeley was doing what\nJohn Paul Jones had done years before. Two months after the sinking of\nthe _Reindeer_ the _Wasp_ had another fight. This time there were three\nBritish vessels, the _Avon_, the _Castilian_, and the _Tartarus_, all of\nthem brig-sloops like the _Reindeer_. These vessels were scattered,\nchasing a privateer, and about nine o'clock at night the _Wasp_ came up\nwith the _Avon_ alone. They hailed each other as ships do when they meet\nat sea. Then, when sure they were enemies, they began firing, as ships\ndo also in time of war. For forty minutes the fight kept up, and then\nthe _Avon_ had enough. She was riddled as the _Reindeer_ had been. But\nthe _Wasp_ did not take possession; for before a boat could be sent on\nboard, the two comrades of the _Avon_ came in sight.\n\nThe _Wasp_, after her battle with the _Avon_, could not fight two more,\nso she sailed away and left them to attend to their consort. They could\nnot save her. The _Wasp_ had stung too deeply for that. The water poured\nin faster than the men of all three ships could pump it out, and at one\no'clock in the morning down plunged the _Avon's_ bow in the water, up\nwent her stern in the air, and with a mighty surge she sank to rise no\nmore. But the gallant _Wasp_ had ended her work. She took some more\nprizes, but the sea, to whose depths she had sent the _Reindeer_ and\n_Avon_, took her also. She was seen in October, and that was the last\nthat human eyes ever saw of her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nCAPTAIN LAWRENCE DIES FOR THE FLAG\n\nHIS WORDS, \"DO NOT GIVE UP THE SHIP,\" BECOME THE FAMOUS MOTTO OF THE\nAMERICAN NAVY\n\n\nTHE United States navy had its _Hornet_ as well as its _Wasps_. And they\nwere well named, for they were all able to sting. The captain of the\n_Hornet_ was a noble seaman named James Lawrence, who had been a\nmidshipman in the war with Tripoli. In the War of 1812 he was captain in\nsuccession of the _Vixen_, the _Wasp_, the _Argus_, and the _Hornet_.\n\nThe _Hornet_ was a sloop-of-war. I have told you what that means. She\nhad three masts, and carried square sails like a ship, but she was\ncalled a sloop on account of her size. She had eighteen short guns and\ntwo long ones. The short guns threw thirty-two pound and the long ones\ntwelve pound balls.\n\nOf course you have not forgotten the fight of the _Constitution_ with\nthe _Java_. When the _Constitution_ went south to Brazil at that time\nthe _Hornet_ went with her, but they soon parted.\n\nIn one of the harbors of Brazil Captain Lawrence saw a British ship as\nbig as the _Hornet_. He waited outside for her, but she would not come\nout. He had found a coward of a captain, and he locked him up in that\nharbor for two months.\n\nThen he got tired and left. Soon after he came across the _Peacock_, a\nBritish man-of-war brig. The _Peacock_ was as large as the _Hornet_ and\nits captain was as full of fight as Captain Lawrence. He was the kind of\nman that our bold Lawrence was hunting for. When two men feel that way,\na fight is usually not far off. That was the way now. Soon the guns were\nbooming and the balls were flying.\n\nBut the fight was over before the men had time to warm up. The first\nguns were fired at 5.25 in the afternoon, and at 5.39 the British flag\ncame down; so the battle lasted just fourteen minutes. Not many\nvictories have been won so quickly as that.\n\nBut the _Hornet_ acted in a very lively fashion while it lasted. Do you\nknow how a hornet behaves when a mischievous boy throws a stone at its\nnest? Well, that is the way our _Hornet_ did. Only one ball from the\n_Peacock_ struck her, and hardly any of her men were hurt. But the\n_Peacock_ was bored as full of holes as a pepper-box, and the water\npoured in faster than all hands could pump it out. In a very short time\nthe unlucky _Peacock_ filled and sank. So Captain Lawrence had only the\nhonor of his victory; old ocean had swallowed up his prize.\n\nBut if Captain Lawrence got no prize money, he won great fame. He was\nlooked on as another Hull or Decatur, and Congress made him captain of\nthe frigate _Chesapeake_. That was in one way a bad thing for the\ngallant Lawrence, for it cost him his life. In another way it was a good\nthing, for it made him one of the most famous of American seamen.\n\nI have told you the story of several victories of American ships. I must\nnow tell you the story of one defeat. But I think you will say it was a\ndefeat as glorious as a victory. For eight months the little navy of the\nyoung Republic had sailed on seas where British ships were nearly as\nthick as apples in an orchard. In that time it had not lost a ship, and\nhad won more victories than England had done in twenty years. Now it was\nto meet with its first defeat.\n\nWhen Captain Lawrence took command of the _Chesapeake_, that ship lay in\nthe harbor of Boston. Outside this harbor was the British frigate\n_Shannon_, blockading the port.\n\nNow you must know that the American people had grown very proud of their\nsuccess on the sea. They had got to think that any little vessel could\nwhip an English man-of-war. So the Bostonians grew eager for the\n_Chesapeake_ to meet the _Shannon_. They were sure it would be brought\nin as a prize, and they wanted to hurrah over it.\n\nPoor Lawrence was as eager as the people. He was just the man they\nwanted. The _Chesapeake_ had no crew, but he set himself to work, and in\ntwo weeks he filled her up with such men as he could find.\n\nIt was a mixed team he got together, the sweepings of the streets. There\nwere some good men among them, but more poor ones. And they were all new\nmen to the ship and to the captain. They had not been trained to work\ntogether, and it was madness to fight a first-class British ship with\nsuch a crew. Some, in fact, were mutineers and gave him trouble before\nhe got out of the harbor.\n\nBut the _Shannon_ was a crack ship with a crack crew. Captain Broke had\ncommanded her for seven years and had a splendidly trained set of men.\nHe had copied from the Americans and put sights on his guns, had taught\nhis men to fire at floating marks in the sea, and had trained his topmen\nto use their muskets in the same careful way. So when Captain Lawrence\nsailed on June 1, 1813, he sailed to defeat and death.\n\nCaptain Broke sent a challenge to the _Chesapeake_ to come out and fight\nhim ship to ship. But Lawrence did not wait for his challenge. He was\ntoo eager for that, and set sail with a crew who did not know their\nwork, and most of whom had never seen their officers before.\n\nWhat could be expected of such mad courage as that? It is one thing to\nbe a brave man; it is another to be a wise one. Of course you will say\nthat Captain Lawrence was brave; but no one can say he was wise. Poor\nfellow, he was simply throwing away his ship and his life.\n\nIt was in the morning of June 1 that the _Chesapeake_ left the wharves\nof Boston. It was 5.50 in the afternoon that she met the _Shannon_ and\nthe battle began.\n\nBoth ships fired as fast as they could load, but the men of the\n_Shannon_ were much better hands at their work, and their balls tore the\nAmerican ship in a terrible manner. A musket-ball struck Lawrence in the\nleg, but he would not go below. The rigging of the _Chesapeake_ was\nbadly cut, the men at the wheel were shot, and in ten minutes the two\nships drifted together.\n\nMen on each side now rushed to board the enemy's ship, and there was a\nhand-to-hand fight at the bulwarks of the two ships. At this moment\nCaptain Lawrence was shot through the body and fell with a mortal wound.\nHe was carried below.\n\nAs he lay in great pain he noticed that the firing had almost ceased.\nCalling a surgeon's mate to him, he said, \"Tell the men to fire faster,\nand not give up the ship; the colors shall wave while I live.\"\n\nUnfortunately, these words were spoken in the moment of defeat. Captain\nBroke, followed by a number of his men, had sprung to the deck of the\n_Chesapeake_, and a desperate struggle began. The Americans fought\nstubbornly, but the fire from the trained men in the _Shannon's_ tops\nand the rush of British on board soon gave Broke and his men the\nvictory. The daring Broke fell with a cut that laid open his skull, but\nin a few moments the Americans were driven below.\n\nThe _Chesapeake_ was taken in just fifteen minutes, one minute more than\nthe _Hornet_ had taken to capture the _Peacock_.\n\nThe British hauled down the American flag, and then hoisted it again\nwith a white flag to show their victory. But the sailor who did the\nwork, by mistake got the white flag under the Stars and Stripes.\n\nWhen the gunners in the _Shannon_ saw the Yankee flag flying they fired\nagain, and this time killed and wounded a number of their own men, one\nof them being an officer.\n\n[Illustration: \"DON'T GIVE UP THE SHIP!\"]\n\nThe gallant Lawrence never knew that his ship was lost. He lived until\nthe _Shannon_ reached Halifax with her prize, but he became\ndelirious, and kept repeating over and over again his last\norder--\"_Don't give up the ship!_\"\n\nWith these words he died. With these words his memory has become\nimmortal. \"Don't give up the ship!\" is the motto of the American navy,\nand will not be forgotten while our great Republic survives. So Captain\nLawrence gained greater renown in defeat than most men have won in\nvictory.\n\nThe capture of the _Chesapeake_ was a piece of wonderful good fortune\nfor the British, to judge by the way they boasted of it. As Captain\nPearson had been made a knight for losing the _Serapis_, so Captain\nBroke was made a baronet for taking the _Chesapeake_. A \"baronet,\" you\nmust know, is a higher title than a \"knight,\" though they both use the\nhandle of \"Sir\" to their names.\n\nThe work of the _Shannon_ proved--so the British historians said--that,\n\"if the odds were anything like equal, a British frigate could always\nwhip an American, and in a hand-to-hand conflict such would invariably\nbe the case.\"\n\nSuch things are easy to say, when one does not care about telling the\ntruth. Suppose we give now what a French historian, who believed in\ntelling the truth, said of this fight,--\n\n\"Captain Broke had commanded the _Shannon_ for nearly seven years;\nCaptain Lawrence had commanded the _Chesapeake_ for but a few days. The\n_Shannon_ had cruised for eighteen months on the coast of America; the\n_Chesapeake_ was newly out of harbor. The _Shannon_ had a crew long\naccustomed to habits of strict obedience; the _Chesapeake_ was manned by\nmen who had just been engaged in mutiny. The Americans were wrong to\naccuse fortune on this occasion. Fortune was not fickle, she was merely\nlogical.\"\n\nThat is about the same as to say that the _Chesapeake_ was given away to\nthe enemy. After that there were no more ships sent out of port unfit to\nfight, merely to please the people. It was a lesson the people needed.\n\nThe body of the brave Lawrence was laid on the quarter-deck of the\n_Chesapeake_ wrapped in an American flag. It was then placed in a coffin\nand taken ashore, where it was met by a regiment of British troops and a\nband that played the \"Death March in Saul.\" The sword of the dead hero\nlay on his coffin. In the end his body was buried in the cemetery of\nTrinity Church, New York. A monument stands to-day over his grave, and\non it are the words:\n\n\"Neither the fury of battle, the anguish of a mortal wound, nor the\nhorrors of approaching death could subdue his gallant spirit. His dying\nwords were\n\n          'Don't give up the ship!'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nCOMMODORE PERRY WHIPS THE BRITISH ON LAKE ERIE\n\n\"WE HAVE MET THE ENEMY AND THEY ARE OURS\"\n\n\nIN the year 1813, when war was going on between England and the United\nStates, the whole northern part of this country was a vast forest. An\nocean of trees stretched away from the seaside in Maine for a thousand\nmiles to the west, and ended in the broad prairies of the Mississippi\nregion.\n\nThe chief inhabitants of this grand forest were the moose and the deer,\nthe wolf and the panther, the wild turkey and the partridge, the red\nIndian and the white hunter and trapper. It was a very different country\nfrom what we see to-day, for now its trees are replaced by busy towns\nand fertile fields.\n\nBut in one way there has been no change. North of the forest lands\nspread the Great Lakes, the splendid inland seas of our northern\nborder; and these were then what they are now, vast plains of water\nwhere all the ships of all the nations might sail.\n\nAlong the shores of these mighty lakes fighting was going on; at Detroit\non the west; at Niagara on the east. Soon war-vessels began to be built\nand set afloat on the waters of the lakes. And these vessels after a\ntime came together in fierce conflict. I have now to tell the story of a\nfamous battle between these lake men-of-war. There was then in our navy\na young man named Oliver Hazard Perry. He was full of the spirit of\nfight, but, while others were winning victories on the high seas, he was\ngiven nothing better to do than to command a fleet of gunboats at\nNewport, Rhode Island.\n\nPerry became very tired of this. He wanted to be where fighting was\ngoing on, and he kept worrying the Navy Department for some active work.\nSo at last he was ordered to go to the lakes, with the best men he had,\nand get ready to fight the British there. Perry received the order on\nFebruary 17, 1813, and before night he and fifty of his men were on\ntheir way west in sleighs; for the ground was covered deep with snow.\n\nThe sleighing was good, but the roads were bad and long; and it took him\nand his men two weeks to reach Sackett's Harbor, at the north end of\nLake Ontario. From that place he went to Presque Isle, on Lake Erie,\nwhere the fine City of Erie now stands. Then only the seed of a city was\nplanted there, in a small village, and the forest came down to the lake.\n\nCaptain Perry did not go to sleep when he got to the water-side. He was\nnot one of the sleepy sort. He wanted vessels and he wanted them\nquickly. The British had warships on the lake, and Perry did not intend\nto let them have it all to themselves.\n\nWhen he got to Erie he found Captain Dobbins, an old shipbuilder, hard\nat work. In the woods around were splendid trees, white and black oak\nand chestnut, for planking, and pine for the decks. The axe was busy at\nthese giants of the forest; and so fast did the men work, that a tree\nwhich was waving in the forest when the sun rose might be cut down and\nhewn into ship-timber before the sun set. In that way Perry's fleet grew\nlike magic out of the forest. While the ships were building, cannon and\nstores were brought from Pittsburgh by way of the Allegheny River and\nits branches. And Perry went to Niagara River, where he helped capture a\nfine brig, called the _Caledonia_, from the British.\n\nCaptain Dobbins built two more brigs, one of which Perry named the\n_Niagara_. The other he called _Lawrence_, after Captain Lawrence, the\nstory of whose life and death you have just read.\n\nHave any of you ever heard the story of the man who built a wagon in his\nbarn and then found it too wide to go out through the door? Perry was in\nthe same trouble. His new ships were too big to get out into the lake.\nThere was a bar at the mouth of the river with only four feet of water\non it. That was not deep enough to float his new vessels. And he was in\na hurry to get these in deep water; for he knew the British fleet would\nsoon be down to try to destroy them.\n\nHow would you work to get a six-foot vessel over a four-foot sand bar?\nWell, that doesn't matter; all we care for is the way Captain Perry did\nit. He took two big scows and put one on each side of the _Lawrence_.\nThen he filled them with water till the waves washed over their decks.\nWhen they had sunk so far they were tied fast to the brig and the water\nwas pumped out of them. As the water went out they rose and lifted the\n_Lawrence_ between them until there were several feet of water below her\nkeel. Now the brig was hauled on the bar until she touched the bottom;\nthen she was lifted again in the same way. This second time took her out\nto deep water. Next, the _Niagara_ was lifted over the bar in the same\nmanner.\n\nThe next day the British, who had been taking things very easily, came\nsailing down to destroy Perry's ships. But they opened their eyes wide\nwhen they saw them afloat on the lake. They had lost their chance by\nwasting their time.\n\nPerry picked up men for his vessels wherever he could get them. The most\nof those to be had were landsmen. But he had his fifty good men from\nNewport and a hundred were sent him from the coast. Some of these had\nbeen on the _Constitution_ in her great fight with the _Guerriere_.\n\n[Illustration: OLIVER H. PERRY.]\n\nEarly in August all was ready, and he set sail. Early in September he\nwas in Put-in Bay, at the west end of Lake Erie, and here the British\ncame looking for him and his ships.\n\nPerry was now the commodore of a fleet of nine vessels,--the brigs\n_Lawrence_, _Niagara_ and _Caledonia_, five schooners, and one sloop.\nCaptain Barclay, the British commander, had only six vessels, but some\nof them were larger than Perry's. They were the ships _Detroit_ and\n_Queen Charlotte_, a large brig, two schooners, and a sloop. Such were\nthe fleets with which the great battle of Lake Erie was fought.\n\nI know you are getting tired of all this description, and want to get on\nto the fighting. You don't like to be kept sailing in quiet waters when\nthere is a fine storm ahead. Very well, we will go on. But one has to\nget his bricks ready before he can build his house.\n\nWell, then, on the 10th of September, 1813, it being a fine summer day,\nwith the sun shining brightly, Perry and his men sailed out from Put-in\nBay and came in sight of the British fleet over the waters of the lake.\n\nWhat Captain Perry now did was fine. He hoisted a great blue flag, and\nwhen it unrolled in the wind the men saw on it, in white letters, the\ndying words of Captain Lawrence, \"Don't give up the ship!\" Was not that\na grand signal to give? It must have put great spirit into the men, and\nmade them feel that they would die like the gallant Lawrence before they\nwould give up their ships. The men on both fleets were eager to fight,\nbut the wind kept very light, and they came together slowly. It was near\nnoon before they got near enough for their long guns to work. Then the\nBritish began to send balls skipping over the water, and soon after the\nAmericans answered back.\n\nNow came the roar of battle, the flash of guns, the cloud of smoke that\nsettled down and half hid everything. The Americans came on in a long\nline, head on for the British, who awaited their approach. Perry's\nflagship, the _Lawrence_, was near the head of the line. It soon plunged\ninto the very thick of the fight, with only two little schooners to help\nit. The wind may have been too light for the rest of the fleet to come\nup. We do not know just what kept them back, but at any rate, they\ndidn't come up, and the _Lawrence_ was left to fight alone.\n\nNever had a vessel been in a worse plight than was the _Lawrence_ for\nthe next two hours. She was half surrounded by the three large British\nvessels, the _Detroit_, the _Queen Charlotte_, and the brig _Hunter_,\nall pouring in their fire at once, while she had to fight them all. On\nthe _Lawrence_ and the two schooners there were only seven long guns\nagainst thirty-six which were pelting Perry's flagship from the British\nfleet.\n\nThis was great odds. But overhead there floated the words, \"Don't give\nup the ship\"; so the brave Perry pushed on till he was close to the\n_Detroit_, and worked away, for life or death, with all his guns, long\nand short.\n\nOh, what a dreadful time there was on Perry's flagship during those sad\ntwo hours. The great guns roared, the thick smoke rose, the balls tore\nthrough her sides, sending splinters flying like sharp arrows to right\nand left. Men fell like leaves blown down by a gale. Blood splashed on\nthe living and flowed over the dead. The surgeon's mates were kept busy\ncarrying the wounded below, where the surgeon dressed their wounds.\n\nCaptain Perry's little brother, a boy of only thirteen years, was on\nthe ship, and stood beside him as brave as himself. Two bullets went\nthrough the boy's hat; then a splinter cut through his clothes; still he\ndid not flinch. Soon after, he was knocked down and the captain grew\npale with fear. But up jumped the boy again. It was only a flying\nhammock that had struck him. That little fellow was a true sailor boy,\nand had in him plenty of Yankee grit.\n\nI would not, if I could, tell you all the horrors of those two hours. It\nis not pleasant reading. The cannon balls even came through the vessel's\nsides among the wounded, and killed some of them where they lay. At the\nend of the fight the _Lawrence_ was a mere wreck. Her bowsprit and masts\nwere nearly all cut away, and out of more than a hundred men only\nfourteen were unhurt. There was not a gun left that could be worked.\n\nMost men in such a case would have pulled down their flag. But Oliver\nPerry had the spirit of Paul Jones, and he did not forget the words on\nhis flag--\"Don't give up the ship.\"\n\nDuring those dread two hours the _Niagara_, under Lieutenant Elliott,\nhad kept out of the fight. Now it came sailing up before a freshening\nbreeze.\n\nAs soon as Perry saw this fresh ship he made up his mind what to do. He\nhad a boat lowered with four men in it. His little brother leaped in\nafter them. Then he stepped aboard with the flag bearing Lawrence's\nmotto on his shoulder, and was rowed away to the _Niagara_. As soon as\nthe British saw this little boat on the water, with Perry standing\nupright, wrapped in the flag he had fought for so bravely, they turned\nall their guns and fired at it. Cannon and musket balls tore the water\nround it. It looked as if nothing would save those devoted men from\ndeath.\n\n\"Sit down!\" cried Perry's men. \"We will stop rowing if you don't sit\ndown.\"\n\nSo Perry sat down, and when a ball came crashing through the side of the\nboat he took off his coat and plugged up the hole.\n\nProvidence favored him and his men. They reached the _Niagara_ without\nbeing hurt. The British had fired in vain. Perry sprang on board and\nordered the men to raise the flag.\n\n\"How goes the day?\" asked Lieutenant Elliott.\n\n\"Bad enough,\" said Perry. \"Why are the gunboats so far back?\"\n\n\"I will bring them up,\" said Elliott.\n\n\"Do so,\" said Perry.\n\nElliott jumped into the boat which Perry had just left, and rowed away.\nUp to the mast-head went the great blue banner with the motto, \"Don't\ngive up the ship.\" Signals were given for all the vessels to close in on\nthe enemy, and the _Niagara_ bore down under full sail.\n\nThe _Lawrence_ was out of the fight. Rent and torn, with only a handful\nof her crew on their feet, and not a gun that could be fired, her day\nwas done. Her flag was pulled down by the few men left to save\nthemselves. The British had no time to take possession, for the\n_Niagara_ was on them, fresh for the fray, like a new horse in the race.\n\nRight through the British fleet this new ship went. Three of their ships\nwere on one side of her and two on the other, and all only a few yards\naway. As she went her guns spoke out, sweeping their decks and tearing\nthrough their timbers.\n\nThe _Lawrence_ had already done her share of work on these vessels, and\nthis new pounding was more than they could stand. The other American\nvessels also were pouring their shot into the foe. Flesh and blood could\nnot bear this. Men were falling like grass before the scythe. A man\nsprang up on the rail of the _Detroit_ and waved a white flag to show\nthat they had surrendered. The great fight was over. The British had\ngiven up.\n\nPerry announced his victory in words that have become historic: \"We have\nmet the enemy and they are ours.\"\n\nThis famous despatch was written with a pencil on the back of an old\nletter, with his hat for a table. It was sent to General Harrison, who\ncommanded an army nearby. Harrison at once led his cheering soldiers\nagainst the enemy, and gave them one of the worst defeats of the war.\n\nWhen the news of the victory spread over the country the people were\nwild with joy. Congress thanked Perry and voted gold medals to him and\nElliott, and honors or rewards to all the officers and men. But over the\nwhole country it was thought that Elliott had earned disgrace instead of\na gold medal by keeping so long out of the fight. He said he had only\nobeyed orders, but people thought that was a time to break orders.\n\nPerry was made a full captain by Congress. This was then the highest\nrank in the navy. But he took no more part in the war. Six years later\nhe was sent with a squadron to South America, and there he took the\nyellow fever and died. Thus passed away one of the most brilliant and\nmost famous officers of the American navy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nCOMMODORE PORTER GAINS GLORY IN THE PACIFIC\n\nTHE GALLANT FIGHT OF THE \"ESSEX\" AGAINST GREAT ODDS\n\n\nANY of you who have read much of American history must have often met\nwith the names of Porter and Farragut. There are no greater names in our\nnaval history. There was Captain David Porter and his two gallant sons,\nall men of fame. And the still more famous Admiral Farragut began his\ncareer under the brave old captain of the War of 1812.\n\nI am going now to tell you about David Porter and the little _Essex_, a\nship whose name the British did not like to hear. And I have spoken of\nFarragut from the fact that he began his naval career under Captain\nPorter.\n\nCaptain Porter was born in 1780, before the Revolution had ended. His\nfather was a sea-captain; and when the boy was sixteen years old, he\nstood by his father's side on the schooner _Eliza_ and helped to fight\noff a British press-gang which wanted to rob it of some of its sailors.\nThe press-gang was a company of men who seized men wherever they found\nthem, and dragged them into the British navy, where they were compelled\nto serve as sailors or marines. It was a cruel and unjust way of getting\nmen, and the Americans resisted it wherever they could. In this\nparticular fight several men were killed and wounded, and the press-gang\nthought it best to let the _Eliza_ alone.\n\nWhen the lad was seventeen he was twice seized by press-men and taken to\nserve in the British navy, but both times he escaped. Then he joined the\nAmerican navy as a midshipman.\n\nYoung Porter soon showed what was in him. In the naval war with France\nhe was put on a French prize that was full of prisoners who wanted to\nseize the ship. For three days Porter helped to watch them, and in all\nthat time he did not take a minute's sleep.\n\nAfterward, in a pilot-boat, with fifteen men the boy hero attacked a\nFrench privateer with forty men and a barge with thirty men. Porter,\nwith his brave fifteen, boarded the privateer and fought like a hero.\nAfter more than half its crew were killed and wounded the privateer\nsurrendered. In this hard fight not one of Porter's men was hurt.\n\nThat was only one of the things which young Porter did. When the war\nwith the pirates of Tripoli began, he was there, and again did some\ndaring deeds. He was on the _Philadelphia_ when that good ship ran\naground and was taken by the Moors, and he was held a prisoner till the\nend of the war. Here you have an outline of the early history of David\nPorter.\n\nWhen the War of 1812 broke out, he was made captain of the _Essex_. The\n_Essex_ was a little frigate that had been built in the Revolution. It\nwas not fit to fight with the larger British frigates, but with David\nPorter on its quarter-deck it was sure to make its mark.\n\nOn the _Essex_ with him was a fine little midshipman, only eleven years\nold, who had been brought up in the Porter family. His name was David G.\nFarragut. I shall have a good story of him to tell you later on, for he\ngrew up to be one of the bravest and greatest men in the American navy.\n\nOn July 2, 1812, only two weeks after war was declared, Porter was off\nto sea in the _Essex_, on the hunt for prizes and glory. He got some\nprizes, but it was more than a month before he had a chance for glory.\nThen he came in sight of a British man-of-war, a sight that pleased him\nvery much.\n\nUp came the _Essex_, pretending to be a merchant ship and with the\nBritish flag flying. That is one of the tricks which naval officers\nplay. They think it right to cheat an enemy. The stranger came bowling\ndown under full sail and fired a gun as a hint for the supposed\nmerchantman to stop. So the _Essex_ backed her sails and hove to until\nthe stranger had passed her stern.\n\nPorter was now where he had wanted to get. He had the advantage of the\nwind--what sailors call the \"weather-gage.\" So down came the British\nflag and up went the Stars and Stripes: and the ports were thrown open,\nshowing the iron mouths of the guns, ready to bark.\n\nWhen the English sailors saw this they cheered loudly and ran to their\nguns. They fired in their usual hasty fashion, making much noise but\ndoing no harm. Porter waited till he was ready to do good work, and then\nfired a broadside that fairly staggered the British ship.\n\nThe Englishman had not bargained for such a salute as this, and now\ntried to run away. But the _Essex_ had the wind, and in eight minutes\nwas alongside. And in those eight minutes her guns were busy as guns\ncould be. Then down came the British flag. That was the shortest fight\nin the war.\n\nThe prize was found to be the corvette _Alert_. A corvette is a little\nship with not many guns. She was not nearly strong enough for the\n_Essex_, and gave up when only three of her men were wounded. But she\nhad been shot so full of holes that she already had seven feet of water\nin her hold and was in danger of sinking. It kept the men of the _Essex_\nbusy enough to pump her out and stop up the holes, so that she should\nnot go to the bottom. Captain Porter did not want to lose his prize. He\ncame near losing it, and his ship too, in another way, as I have soon to\ntell.\n\nYou must remember that he had taken other prizes and sent them home with\nsome of his men. So he had a large number of prisoners, some of them\nsoldiers taken from one of his prizes. There were many more British on\nboard than there were Americans, and some of them formed a plot to\ncapture the ship. They might have done it, too, but for the little\nmidshipman, David Farragut.\n\nThis little chap was lying in his hammock, when he saw an Englishman\ncome along with a pistol in his hand. This was the leader in the plot\nwho was looking around to see if all was ready for his men to break out\non the Americans.\n\nHe came up to the hammock where the boy lay and looked in at him. The\nbright young fellow then had his eyes tight shut and seemed to be fast\nasleep. After looking a minute the man went away. The instant he was out\nof sight up jumped the lad and ran to the captain's cabin. You may be\nsure he did not take many words to tell what he had seen.\n\nCaptain Porter knew there was no time to be lost. He sprang out of bed\nin haste and ran to the deck. Here he gave a loud yell of \"Fire! Fire!\"\n\nIn a minute the men came tumbling up from below like so many rats. They\nhad been trained what to do in case of a night-fire and every man ran to\nhis place. Captain Porter had even built fires that sent up volumes of\nsmoke, so as to make them quick to act and to steady their nerves.\n\nWhile the cry of fire roused the Americans, it scared the conspirators,\nand before they could get back their wits the sailors were on them. It\ndid not take long to lock them up again. In that way Porter and Farragut\nsaved their ship.\n\nThe time was coming in which he would lose his ship, but the way he lost\nit brought him new fame. I must tell you how this came about. When the\n_Constitution_ and the _Hornet_, as I have told you in another story,\nwere in the waters of Brazil, the _Essex_ was sent to join them. You\nknow what was done there, how the _Constitution_ whipped and sunk the\n_Java_, and the _Hornet_ did the same for the _Peacock_.\n\nThere was no such luck for the _Essex_, and after his fellow-ships had\ngone north Captain Porter went cruising on his own account. In the\nPacific Ocean were dozens of British whalers and other ships. Here was\na fine field for prizes. So he set sail, went round the stormy Cape Horn\nin a hurricane, and was soon in the great ocean of the west.\n\nI shall not tell you the whole story of this cruise. The _Essex_ here\nwas like a hawk among a flock of partridges. She took prize after prize,\nuntil she had about a dozen valuable ships.\n\nWhen the news of what Porter was doing reached England, there was a sort\nof panic. Something must be done with this fellow or he would clear the\nPacific of British trade. So a number of frigates were sent in the hunt\nfor him. They were to get him in any way they could.\n\nAfter a long cruise on the broad Pacific, the _Essex_ reached the port\nof Valparaiso, on the coast of Chile, in South America. She had with her\none of her prizes, the _Essex Junior_. Here Porter heard that a British\nfrigate, the _Phoebe_, was looking for him. That pleased him. He wanted\nto come across a British war-vessel, so he concluded to wait for her. He\nwas anxious for something more lively than chasing whaling ships.\n\nHe was not there long before the _Phoebe_ came, and with her a small\nwarship, the _Cherub_.\n\nWhen the _Phoebe_ came in sight of the _Essex_ it sailed close up. Its\ncaptain had been told that half the American crew were ashore, and very\nlikely full of Spanish wine. But when he got near he saw the Yankee\nsailors at their guns and ready to fight. When he saw this he changed\nhis mind. He jumped on a gun and said:--\n\n\"Captain Hillyar's compliments to Captain Porter, and hopes he is well.\"\n\n\"Very well, I thank you,\" said Porter. \"But I hope you will not come too\nnear for fear some accident might take place which would be disagreeable\nto you.\"\n\n\"I had no intention of coming on board,\" said Captain Hillyar, when he\nsaw the look of things on the deck of the _Essex_. \"I am sorry I came so\nnear you.\"\n\n\"Well, you have no business where you are,\" said Porter. \"If you touch a\nrope yarn of this ship, I shall board instantly.\"\n\nWith that the _Phoebe_ wore round and went off. It was a neutral port\nand there was a good excuse for not fighting, but it was well for\nPorter that he was ready.\n\nA few days later he heard that some other British ships were coming from\nValparaiso and he concluded to put to sea. He didn't want to fight a\nwhole fleet. But the wind treated him badly. As he sailed out a squall\nstruck the _Essex_ and knocked her maintopmast into the sea. Porter now\nran into a small bay near at hand and dropped anchor close to the shore.\n\nHere was the chance for the _Phoebe_ and the _Cherub_. They could stand\noff and hammer the _Essex_ where she could not fire back. They had over\nthirty long guns while the _Essex_ had only six, and only three of these\ncould be used. The rest of her guns were short ones that would not send\na ball far enough to reach the British ships.\n\nThe _Essex_ was in a trap. The British began to pour solid iron into her\nat the rate of nearly ten pounds to her one. For two hours this was kept\nup. There was frightful slaughter on the _Essex_. Her men were falling\nlike dead leaves, but Porter would not yield.\n\nAfter this went on for some time there came a change in the wind, and\nthe _Essex_ spread what sail she had and tried to get nearer. But the\n_Phoebe_ would not wait for her, but sailed away and kept pumping balls\ninto her.\n\nSoon the wind changed again. Now all hope was gone. The American crew\nwas being murdered and could not get near the British. Porter tried to\nrun his ship ashore, intending to fight to the last and then blow her\nup.\n\nBut the treacherous wind shifted again and he could not even reach the\nshore. Dead and wounded men lay everywhere. Flames were rising in the\nhold. Water was pouring into shot holes. The good ship had fought her\nlast and it was madness to go on. So at 6.20 o'clock, two and a half\nhours after the fight began, her flag came down and the battle was over.\n\nThe story of the cruise of the _Essex_ and her great struggle against\nodds was written for us by her young midshipman--David Farragut.\nPresident Roosevelt, in his Naval History of the War of 1812, says the\nfollowing true words about Captain Porter's brave fight:\n\n\"As an exhibition of dogged courage it has never been surpassed since\nthe time when the Dutch Captain Keasoon, after fighting two long days,\nblew up his disabled ship, devoting himself and all his crew to death,\nrather than surrender to the hereditary foes of his race.\" Porter was\nthe man to do the same thing, but he felt he had no right to send all\nhis men to death.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nCOMMODORE MACDONOUGH'S VICTORY ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN\n\nHOW GENERAL PREVOST AND THE BRITISH RAN AWAY\n\n\nTHE United States is a country rich in lakes. They might be named by the\nthousands. But out of this host of lakes very few are known in history,\nand of them all much the most famous is Lake Champlain.\n\nDo you wish to know why? Well, because this lake forms a natural\nwaterway from Canada down into the States. If you look on a map you will\nsee that Lake Champlain and Lake George stretch down nearly to the\nHudson River and that their waters flow north into the great St.\nLawrence River. So these lakes make the easiest way to send trade, and\ntroops as well, down from Canada into New York and New England.\n\nNow just let us take a look back in history. The very first battle in\nthe north of our country was fought on Lake Champlain. This was in 1609,\nwhen Samuel de Champlain and his Indian friends came down this lake in\ncanoes to fight with the Iroquois tribes of New York.\n\nThen in 1756 the French and Indians did the same thing. They came in a\nfleet of boats and canoes and fought the English on Lake George. Twenty\nyears afterward there was the fierce fight which General Arnold made on\nthis lake, of which I have told you. Later on General Burgoyne came down\nLakes Champlain and George with a great army. He never went back again,\nfor he and his army were taken prisoners by the brave Colonials. But the\nlast and greatest of all the battles on the lakes was that of 1814. It\nis of this I am now about to tell you.\n\nYou should know that the British again tried what they had done when\nthey sent Burgoyne down the lakes. This time it was Sir George Prevost\nwho was sent, with an army of more than 11,000 men, to conquer New York.\nHe didn't do it any more than Burgoyne did, for Lieutenant Thomas\nMacDonough was in the way. I am going to tell you how the gallant\nMacDonough stopped him.\n\nMacDonough was a young man, as Perry was. He had served, as a boy, in\nthe war with Tripoli. In 1806, when he was only twenty years old, he\ngave a Yankee lesson to a British captain who wanted to carry off an\nAmerican sailor.\n\nThis was at Gibraltar, where British guns were as thick as blackbirds;\nbut the young lieutenant took the man out of the English boat and then\ndared the captain to try to take him back again. The captain blustered;\nbut he did not try, in spite of all his guns.\n\nIn 1813 MacDonough was sent to take care of affairs on Lake Champlain.\nNo better man could have been sent. He did what Perry had done; he set\nhimself to build ships and get guns and powder and shot and prepare for\nwar. The British were building ships, too, for they wanted to be masters\nof the lake before they sent their army down. So the sounds of the axe\nand saw and hammer came before the sound of cannon on the lake.\n\nMacDonough did not let the grass grow under his feet. When he heard that\nthe British were building a big frigate, he set to work to build a\nbrig. The keel was laid on July 29, and she was launched on August\n16--only eighteen days! There must have been some lively jumping about\nin the wildwoods shipyard just then.\n\nThe young commander had no time to waste, for the British were coming.\nThe great war in Europe with Napoleon was over and England had plenty of\nships and men to spare. A flock of her white-winged frigates came\nsailing over the ocean and swarmed like bees along our coast. And an\narmy of the men who had fought against Napoleon was sent to Canada to\ninvade New York. It was thought the Yankees could not stand long before\nveterans like these.\n\nDown marched the British army and down sailed the British fleet. But\nMacDonough was not caught napping. He was ready for the British ships\nwhen they came.\n\n[Illustration: BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN--MACDONOUGH'S VICTORY.]\n\nAnd now, before the battle begins, let us give a few names and figures;\nfor these are things you must know. The Americans had four vessels and\nten gunboats. The vessels were the ship _Saratoga_, the brig _Eagle_,\nthe schooner _Ticonderoga_, and the sloop _Preble_. The British had\nthe frigate _Confiance_, larger than any of the American ships, the brig\n_Linnet_, the sloops _Chubb_ and _Finch_, and thirteen gunboats. And the\nBritish were better off for guns and men, though the difference was not\ngreat. Such were the two fleets that came together on a bright Sunday on\nSeptember 11, 1814, to see which should be master of Lake Champlain.\n\nThe American ships were drawn up across Plattsburg Bay, and up this bay\ncame the British fleet to attack them, just as Carleton's vessels had\ncome up to attack Arnold forty years before.\n\nAt Plattsburg was the British army, and opposite, across Saranac River,\nlay a much smaller force of American regulars and militia. They could\neasily see the ships, but they were too busy for that, for the soldiers\nwere fighting on land while the sailors were fighting on water. Bad work\nthat for a sunny September Sunday, wasn't it?\n\nMacDonough had stretched his ships in a line across the bay, and had\nanchors down at bow and stern, with ropes tied to the anchor chains so\nthat the ships could be swung round easily. Remember that, for that won\nhim the battle.\n\nIt was still early in the day when the British came sailing up, firing\nas soon as they came near enough. These first shots did no harm, but\nthey did a comical thing. One of them struck a hen-coop on the\n_Saratoga_, in which one of the sailors kept a fighting cock. The coop\nwas knocked to pieces, and into the rigging flew the brave cock,\nflapping his wings at the British vessels and crowing defiance to them,\nwhile the sailors laughed and cheered.\n\nBut the battle did not fairly begin until the great frigate _Confiance_\ncame up and dropped anchor a few hundred yards from the _Saratoga_. Then\nshe blazed away with all the guns on that side of her deck.\n\nThis was a terrible broadside, the worst any American ship had felt in\nthe whole war. Every shot hit the _Saratoga_ and tore through her\ntimbers, sending splinters flying like hail. So frightful was the shock\nthat nearly half the crew were thrown to the deck. About forty of them\ndid not get up again; they were either killed or wounded. A few\nbroadsides like that would have ended the fight, for it would have left\nthe _Saratoga_ without men.\n\nOn both sides now the cannon roared and the shots flew, but the British\nguns were the best and the Americans had the worst of it. The commodore\nwas knocked down twice. The last time he was hit with the head of a man\nthat had been shot off and came whirling through the air.\n\n\"The commodore is killed!\" cried the men; but in a trice he was up\nagain, and aiming and firing one of his own guns.\n\nThis dreadful work went on for two hours. All that time the two biggest\nBritish vessels were pelting the _Saratoga_, and the other American\nships were not helping her much. Red-hot shots were fired, which set her\non fire more than once.\n\nAt the end MacDonough had not a single gun left to fire back. It looked\nas if all was up with the Americans, all of whose ships were being\nbattered by the enemy. But Commodore MacDonough was not yet at the end\nof his plans. He now cut loose his stern anchor and bade his men pull on\nthe rope that led to the bow anchor. In a minute the ship began to\nswing round. Soon she had a new side turned to the foe. Not a gun had\nbeen fired on this side. When the British captain saw what the Americans\nwere doing he tried the same thing. But it did not work as well with\nhim. The _Confiance_ began to swing round, but when she got her stern\nturned to the Americans she stuck fast. Pull and haul as they might, the\nsailors could not move her another inch.\n\nHere was a splendid chance for the men on the _Saratoga_. They poured\ntheir broadsides into the stern of the _Confiance_ and raked her from\nend to end, while her position was a helpless one. The men fled from the\nguns. The ship was being torn into splinters. No hope for her was left.\nShe could not fire a gun. Her captain was dead, but her lieutenant saw\nthat all was over, and down came her flag.\n\nThen the _Saratoga_ turned on the brig _Linnet_ and served her in the\nsame fashion.\n\nThat ended the battle. The two sloops had surrendered before, the\ngunboats were driven away by the _Ticonderoga_, and the hard fight was\ndone. Once more the Americans were victors. Perry had won one lake.\nMacDonough had won another.\n\nAnd that was not the whole of it. For as soon as the American soldiers\nsaw the British flag down and the Stars and Stripes still afloat, they\nset up a shout that rang back from the Vermont hills.\n\nSir George Prevost, though he had an army of veterans twice as strong as\nthe American army of militia, broke camp and sneaked away under cover of\na storm.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nFOUR NAVAL HEROES IN ONE CHAPTER\n\nFIGHTS WITH THE PIRATES OF THE GULF AND THE CORSAIRS OF THE\nMEDITERRANEAN\n\n\nWE have so far been reading the story of legal warfare; now let us turn\nto that of the wild warfare of the pirate ships. Pirates swarmed during\nand after the War of 1812, and the United States had its hands full in\ndealing with them. They haunted the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean\nSea, and they went back to their old bad work in the Mediterranean. They\nkept our naval leaders busy enough for a number of years.\n\nThe first we shall speak of are the Lafittes, the famous sea-rovers of\nthe Gulf of Mexico. Those men had their hiding places in the lowlands of\nLouisiana, where there are reedy streams and grassy islands by the\nhundreds, winding in and out in a regular network. From these lurking\nplaces the pirate ships would dash out to capture vessels and then hurry\nback to their haunts.\n\nThe Lafittes (Jean and Pierre) had a whole fleet of pirate ships, and\nwere so daring that they walked the streets of New Orleans as if that\ncity belonged to them, and boldly sold their stolen goods in its marts,\nand nobody meddled with them.\n\nBut the time came when they were attacked in their haunts and the whole\ngang was broken up. This was near the end of the war, when the\ngovernment had some ships to spare. After that they helped General\nJackson in the celebrated battle of New Orleans, and fought so well that\nthey were forgiven and were thanked for their services.\n\nWhen the War of 1812 was over many of the privateers became pirates. A\nprivateer, you know, is something like a pirate. He robs one nation,\nwhile a pirate robs all. So hundreds of those men became sea-robbers.\n\nAfter 1814 the seas of the West Indies were full of pirates. There was\nno end of hiding places among the thousand islands of these seas, where\nthe pirates could bring their prizes and enjoy their wild revels. The\nwarm airs, the ripe fruits and wild game of those shores made life easy\nand pleasant, and prizes were plentiful on the seas.\n\nWhen the war ended the United States gained a fine trade with the West\nIndies. But many of the ships that sailed there did not come home again,\nthough there were no hurricanes to sink them. And some that did come\nhome had been chased by ships that spread the rovers' black flag. So it\nwas plain enough that pirates were at work.\n\nFor years they had it their own way, with no one to trouble them. The\ngovernment for years let them alone. But in time they grew so daring\nthat in 1819 a squadron of warships was sent after them, under Commodore\nPerry, the hero of Lake Erie. Poor Perry caught the yellow fever and\ndied, and his ships came home without doing anything.\n\nAfter that the pirates were let alone for two years. Now-a-days they\nwould not have been let alone for two weeks, but things went more slowly\nthen. No doubt the merchants who sent cargoes to sea complained of the\ndreadful doings of the pirates, but the government did not trouble\nitself much, and the sea-robbers had their own way until 1821.\n\nBy that time it was felt that something must be done, and a small fleet\nof pirate hunters was sent to the West Indies. It included the famous\nsloop-of-war _Hornet_, the one which had fought the _Peacock_, and the\nbrig _Enterprise_, which Decatur had been captain of in the Moorish war.\n\nThe pirates were brave enough when they had only merchant ships to deal\nwith, but they acted like cowards when they found warships on their\ntrack. They fled in all directions, and many of their ships and barges\nwere taken. After that they kept quiet for a time, but soon they were at\ntheir old work again.\n\nIn 1823 Captain David Porter, he who had fought so well in the _Essex_,\nwas sent against them. The brave young Farragut was with him. He brought\na number of barges and small vessels, so that he could follow the\nsea-robbers into their hiding places.\n\nOne of these places was found at Cape Cruz, on Porto Rico. Here the\npirate captain and his men fought like tigers, and the captain's wife\nstood by his side and fought as fiercely as he did. After the fight was\nover the sailors found a number of caves used by the pirates. In some of\nthem were great bales of goods, and in others heaps of human bones. All\nthis told a dreadful story of robbery and murder.\n\nAnother fight took place at a haunt of pirates on the coast of Cuba,\nwhere Lieutenant Allen, a navy officer, had been killed the year before\nin an attack on the sea-robbers.\n\nHere there were over seventy pirates and only thirty-one Americans. But\nthe sailors cried \"Remember Allen!\" and dashed so fiercely at the pirate\nvessels, that the cowardly crews jumped overboard and tried to swim\nashore. But the hot-blooded sailors rowed in among them and cut fiercely\nwith their cutlasses, so that hardly any of them escaped. Their leader,\nwho was named Diabolito, or \"Little Devil,\" was one of the killed.\n\nIn this way the pirate hordes were broken up, after they had robbed and\nmurdered among the beautiful West India islands for many years. After\nthat defeat they gave no more trouble. Among the pirates was Jean\nLafitte, one of the Lafitte brothers, of whose doings you have read\nabove. After the battle of New Orleans he went to Texas, and in time\nbecame a pirate captain again. As late as 1822 his name was the terror\nof the Gulf. Then he disappeared and no one knew what had become of him.\nHe may have died in battle or have gone down in storm.\n\nBut the pirates of the West Indies and the Gulf were not the only ones\nthe United States had to deal with. You have read the story of the\nMoorish corsairs and of the fighting at Tripoli. Now I have something\nmore to tell about them; for when they heard that the United States was\nat war with England, they tried their old tricks again, capturing\nAmerican sailors and selling them for slaves.\n\nThey had their own way until the war was over. Then two squadrons of war\nvessels were sent to the Mediterranean, one under Commodore Bainbridge,\nwho had commanded the _Constitution_ when she fought the _Java_, and the\nother under Commodore Decatur, the gallant sailor who had burned the\n_Philadelphia_ in the harbor of Tripoli.\n\nDecatur got there first, and it did not take him long to bring the Moors\nto their senses. The trouble this time was with Algiers, not with\nTripoli. Algiers was one of the strongest of the Moorish states.\n\nOn the 15th of June, 1815, Decatur came in sight of the most powerful of\nthe Algerine ships, a forty-six gun frigate, the _Mashouda_. Its\ncommander was Rais Hammida, a fierce and daring fellow, who was called\n\"the terror of the Mediterranean.\" He had risen from the lowest to the\nhighest place in the navy, and had often shown his valor in battle. But\nhis time for defeat had now come.\n\nWhen the Moorish admiral found himself amid a whole squadron of American\nwarships, he set sail with all speed and made a wild dash for Algiers.\nBut he had faster ships in his track and was soon headed off.\n\nThe bold fellow had no chance at all, with half-a-dozen great ships\naround him, but he made a fine fight for his life. He did not save\neither his ship or his life, for a cannon ball cut him squarely in two;\nand when his lieutenant tried to run away, he came across the brig\n_Epervier_, which soon settled him. But the _Mashouda_ had made a good\nfight against big odds, and deserved praise.\n\nAfter that another Algerian ship was taken, and then Decatur sailed for\nAlgiers. When he made signals the captain of the port came out. A\nblack-bearded, high and mighty fellow he was.\n\n\"Where is your navy?\" asked Decatur.\n\n\"It's all right,\" said the Algerian, \"safe in some friendly port.\"\n\n\"Not all of it, I fancy,\" said Decatur. \"I have your frigate _Mashouda_\nand your brig _Estido_, and your admiral Hammida is killed.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" said the Algerian.\n\n\"I can easily prove it,\" said Decatur, and he sent for the first\nlieutenant of the _Mashouda_.\n\nWhen the captain of the port saw him and heard his story, he changed his\ntone. His haughty manner passed away, and he begged that fighting should\ncease until a treaty could be made on shore.\n\n\"Fighting will not cease until I have the treaty,\" said Decatur,\nsternly; \"and a treaty will not be made anywhere but on board my ship.\"\n\nAnd so it was. The captain of the port came out next day with authority\nto make a treaty. But the captain did not want to return the property\ntaken from the American ships, saying that it had been scattered among\nmany hands.\n\n\"I can't help that. It must be returned or paid for,\" said Decatur.\n\nThen the captain did not want to pay $10,000 for a vessel that had been\ncaptured, and he wanted tribute from the United States. He told Decatur\nwhat a great man his master, \"Omar the Terrible,\" was, and asked for a\nthree hours truce.\n\n\"Not a minute,\" said Decatur. \"If your ships appear before the treaty is\nsigned by the Dey, and the American prisoners are on board my ship, I\nshall capture every one of them.\"\n\nThe only concession Decatur would make was to promise to return the\n_Mashouda_. But this was to be taken as a gift from the Americans to the\nDey, and as such it must not appear in the treaty. The Algerian, finding\nthat all his eloquence was wasted on the unyielding Yankee, hurried\nashore with the treaty, arranging to display a white flag in case of its\nbeing signed.\n\nAn hour after he left an Algerian man-of-war was seen out to sea, and\nthe American vessels got ready for action. But before anything was done\nthe captain of the port came out with a white flag. He brought the\ntreaty and the prisoners. That ended the trouble with Algiers. When the\nten freed captives reached the deck some knelt down and gave thanks to\nGod, while others hastened to kiss the American flag.\n\nThen Decatur sailed to Tunis and Tripoli and made their rulers come to\nterms. From that day to this no American ship has been troubled by the\ncorsairs of Barbary.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nCOMMODORE PERRY OPENS JAPAN TO THE WORLD\n\nAN HEROIC DEED WITHOUT BLOODSHED\n\n\nTHERE are victories of peace as well as of war. Of course, you do not\nneed to be told that. Everybody knows it. And it often takes as much\ncourage to win these victories as it does those of war. I am going now\nto tell you of one of the greatest victories ever won by an American\nnaval hero, and without firing a gun.\n\nNot far away from the great empire of China lies the island empire of\nJapan. Here the map shows us three or four large islands, but there are\nmany hundreds of small ones, and in and out among them flow the smiling\nblue waters of the great Pacific Ocean.\n\nThe people of Japan, like the people of China, for a long time did not\nlike foreigners and did not want anything to do with them. But that was\nthe fault of the foreigners themselves. For at first these people were\nglad to have strangers come among them, and treated them kindly, and let\nmissionaries land and try to make Christians of them. But the Christian\nteachers were not wise; for they interfered with the government as well\nas with the faith of the people.\n\nThe Japanese soon grew angry at this. In the end they drove all the\nstrangers away and killed all the Christian converts they could find.\nThen laws were made to keep all foreigners out of the country. They let\na Dutch ship come once a year to bring some foreign goods to the seaport\nof Nagasaki, but they treated these Dutch traders as if they were of no\naccount. And thus it continued in Japan for nearly three hundred years.\n\nThe Japanese did not care much for the Dutch goods, but they liked to\nhear, now and then, what was going on in the world. Once a year they let\nsome of the Dutch visit the capital, but these had to crawl up to the\nemperor on their hands and knees and crawl out backward like crabs. They\nmust have wanted the Japanese trade badly to do that.\n\nWhen a vessel happened to be wrecked on the coast of Japan, the sailors\nwere held as prisoners and there was much trouble to get them off; and\nwhen Japanese were wrecked and sent home, no thanks were given. They\nwere looked upon as no longer Japanese.\n\nThe Russians had seaports in Siberia, which made them near neighbors to\nJapan, so they tried to make friends with the Japanese. But the island\npeople would have nothing to do with them. Captain Golownin, of the\nRussian navy, landed on one of the islands; but he was taken prisoner\nand kept for a long time and treated cruelly. That was the way things\nwent in Japan till 1850 had come and passed.\n\nIt took the Yankees to do what the Dutch and the Russians had failed in\ndoing. After the war with Mexico, thousands of Americans went to\nCalifornia and other parts of the Pacific coast, and trading ships grew\nnumerous on that great ocean. It was felt to be time that Japan should\nbe made to open her ports to the commerce of the nations, and the United\nStates tried to do it.\n\nCaptain Matthew Calbraith Perry was selected for this great work.\nCaptain Perry was a brother of Oliver H. Perry, the hero of Lake Erie.\nHe was a lieutenant in that war, but he commanded a ship in the war with\nthe pirates and the Mexican war. In 1852 he was given the command of a\ncommodore and sent out with a fine squadron to Japan. He took with him a\nletter from the President to the Tycoon, or military ruler, of Japan.\n\nOn the 8th of July, 1853, the eyes of many of the Japanese opened wide\nwhen they saw four fine vessels sailing grandly up the broad Bay of\nYeddo, where such a sight had never been seen before. As late as 1850\nthe ruler of Japan had sent word to foreign nations that he would have\nnothing to do with them or their people, and now here came these daring\nships.\n\nThese ships were the steam frigates _Mississippi_ and _Susquehanna_, and\nthe sailing ships _Saratoga_ and _Plymouth_ of the United States Navy,\nunder command of Commodore Perry.\n\nHave you ever disturbed an ant-hill, and seen the ants come running out\nin great haste to learn what was wrong? It was much like that on the Bay\nof Yeddo. Thousands of Japanese gathered on the shores or rowed out on\nthe bay to gaze at this strange sight. The great steamships, gliding on\nwithout sails, were a wonderful spectacle to them.\n\nAs the ships came on, boats put out with flags and carrying men who wore\ntwo swords. This meant that they were of high station. They wanted to\nclimb into the ships and order the daring commodore to turn around and\ngo back, but none of them were allowed to set foot on board.\n\n\"Our commodore is a great dignitary,\" they were told. \"He cannot meet\nsmall folk like you. He will only speak with one of your great men, who\nis his equal.\"\n\nAnd so the ropes which were fastened to the ships were cut, and those\nwho tried to climb on board were driven back, and these two-sworded\npeople had to row away as they had come.\n\nThis made them think that the American commodore must be a very big man\nindeed. So a more important man came out; but he was stopped too, and\nasked his business. He showed an order for the ships to leave the harbor\nat once, but was told that they had come there on business and would not\nleave till their business was done.\n\nAfter some more talk they let this man come on board, but a lieutenant\nwas sent to talk with him as his equal in rank. He said he was the\nvice-governor of the district, and that the law of Japan forbade\nforeigners to come to any port but that of Nagasaki, where the Dutch\ntraders came.\n\nThe lieutenant replied that such talk was not respectful; that they had\ncome with a letter from the President of the United States to the\nEmperor of Japan; and that they would deliver it where they were and\nnowhere else. And it would be given only to a prince of the highest\nrank.\n\nThen he was told that the armed boats that were gathering about the ship\nmust go away. If they did not they would be driven away with cannon.\nWhen the vice-governor heard this he ordered the boats away, and soon\nfollowed them himself. He was told that if the governor did not receive\nthe letter the ships would go up the bay to Yeddo, the capital, and send\nit up to the Emperor in his palace.\n\nThe next day the governor of the district came. Two captains were sent\nto talk with him. He did not want to receive the letter either, and\ntried every way he could to avoid taking it. After some talk he asked\nif he might have four days to send and get permission of the Tycoon, who\nwas the acting but not the real emperor of Japan.\n\n\"No,\" he was told. \"Three days will be plenty of time, for Yeddo is not\nfar off. If the answer does not come then, we will steam up to the city,\nand our commodore will go to the Emperor's palace for the answer.\"\n\nThe governor was frightened at this, so he agreed upon the three days\nand went ashore.\n\nDuring those three days the ships were not idle. They sent parties in\nboats to survey the bay. All along the shores were villages full of\npeople, and fishing boats and trading vessels were on the waters by\nhundreds. There were forts on shore, but they were poor affairs, with a\nfew little cannon, and soldiers carrying spears. And canvas was\nstretched from tree to tree as if it would keep back cannon-balls. The\nsailors laughed when they saw this.\n\nThe governor said that they ought not to survey the waters; it was\nagainst the laws of Japan. But they kept at it all the same. The boats\nwent ten miles up the bay, and the _Mississippi_ steamed after them.\nGovernment boats came out, and signs were made for them to go back; but\nthey paid no attention to these signs.\n\nWhen the three days were ended the good news came that the Emperor would\nreceive the letter. He would send one of his high officers for it. An\nanswer would be returned through the Dutch or the Chinese. Commodore\nPerry said this was an insult, and he would not take an answer from\nthem, but would come back for it himself.\n\nSo, on the 14th of July the President's letter was received. It was\nwritten in the most beautiful manner, on the finest paper, and was in a\ngolden box of a thousand dollars in value. It asked for a treaty of\ncommerce between the two countries, and for kind treatment of American\nsailors.\n\nSo far none of the Japanese had seen the Commodore, and they thought he\nmust be a very great man. Now he went ashore with much dignity, with\nseveral hundred officers and men, and with bands playing and cannon\nroaring. There were two princes of the empire to receive him, splendidly\ndressed in embroidered robes of silk.\n\nThe Commodore was carried in a fine sedan-chair, beside which walked two\ngigantic negroes, dressed in gorgeous uniform and armed with swords and\npistols. Two other large, handsome negroes carried the golden letter\ncase.\n\nA beautiful scarlet box was brought by the Japanese to receive this. It\nwas put in the box with much ceremony, and a receipt was given. Then the\ninterpreter said:\n\n\"Nothing more can be done now. The letter has been received and you must\nleave.\"\n\n\"I shall come back for the answer,\" said Commodore Perry.\n\n\"With all the ships?\"\n\n\"Yes, and likely with more.\"\n\nNot another word was said, and the Commodore rose and returned to the\nship. The next day he sailed up the bay until only eight or ten miles\nfrom the capital. On the 16th, the Japanese officials were glad to see\nthe foreign ships, with their proud Commodore, sailing away. The visit\nhad caused them great anxiety and trouble of mind.\n\nCommodore Perry did not come back till February of the next year. Then\nhe had a larger fleet; nine ships in all. And he went farther up the\nbay than before and anchored opposite the village of Yokohama. This\nvillage has now grown into a large city.\n\nThe Emperor's answer was ready, but there was much ceremony before it\nwas delivered. There were several receptions, and at one of these the\npresents which Commodore Perry had brought were delivered. These were\nfine cloths, firearms, plows, and various other articles. The most\nvaluable were a small locomotive and a railroad car. These were run in a\ncircular track that was set up, and the Japanese looked on with wonder.\nAlso a telegraph wire was set up and operated. This interested the\nJapanese more than anything else, but they took care not to show any\nsurprise.\n\nIn the Emperor's reply, he agreed that the American ships should be\nsupplied with provisions and water, and that shipwrecked sailors should\nbe kindly treated. And he also agreed to open to American ships another\nport besides that of Nagasaki, where the Dutch were received. The\nCommodore was not satisfied with this, and finally two new ports were\nopened to American commerce. And the Americans were given much more\nfreedom to go about than was given to the Dutch or the Chinese. They\nrefused to be treated like slaves.\n\nWhen it was all settled and the treaties were exchanged, Commodore Perry\ngave an elegant dinner on his flagship to the Japanese princes and\nofficials. They enjoyed the American food greatly, but what they liked\nmost was champagne wine, which they had never tasted before. One little\nJapanese got so merry with drinking this, that he sprang up and embraced\nthe Commodore like a brother. Perry bore this with great good-humor.\n\nBut just think of the importance of all this! For three centuries the\nempire of Japan had been shut like a locked box against the nations. Now\nthe box was unlocked, and the people of the nations were free to come\nand go. For treaties were soon made with other countries, and the island\nempire was thrown open to the commerce of the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nCAPTAIN INGRAHAM TEACHES AUSTRIA A LESSON\n\nOUR NAVY UPHOLDS THE RIGHTS OF AN AMERICAN IN A FOREIGN LAND\n\n\nNOW I have a story to tell you about how this country looks after its\ncitizens abroad. It is not a long story, but it is a good one, and\nAmericans have been proud of Captain Ingraham ever since his gallant\nact.\n\nIn 1848 there was a great rebellion in Hungary against Austria. Some\nterrible fighting took place and then it was put down with much cruelty\nand slaughter. The Austrian government tried to seize all the leaders of\nthe Hungarian patriots and put them to death, but several of them\nescaped to Turkey and took refuge in the City of Smyrna. Among these was\nthe celebrated Louis Kossuth, and another man named Koszta.\n\nAustria asked Turkey to give these men up, but the Sultan of Turkey\nrefused to do so. Soon after that Koszta came to the United States, and\nthere in 1852 he took the first step towards becoming an American\ncitizen. He was sure that the United States would take care of its\ncitizens. And he found out that it would.\n\nThe next year he had to go back to Smyrna on some business. That was not\na safe place for him. The Austrians hated him as they did all the\nHungarian patriots. They did not ask Turkey again to give him up, but\nthere was an Austrian warship, the _Huszar_, in the harbor, and a plot\nwas made to seize Koszta and take him on board this ship. Then he could\neasily be carried to Austria and put to death as a rebel.\n\nOne day, while Koszta was sitting quietly in the Marina, a public place\nin Smyrna, he was seized by a number of Greeks, who had been hired to do\nso by the Austrian consul. They bound him with ropes and carried him on\nboard the _Huszar_.\n\nIt looked bad now for poor Koszta, for he was in the hands of his\nenemies. It is said that the Archduke John, brother of the Emperor of\nAustria, was captain of the ship. By his orders iron fetters were\nriveted on the ankles and wrists of Koszta, and he was locked up in the\nship as one who had committed a great crime.\n\nBut a piece of great good fortune for the prisoner happened, for the\nnext day the _St. Louis_, an American sloop-of-war, came sailing into\nthe harbor. Captain Duncan N. Ingraham, who had been a midshipman in the\nWar of 1812, was in command.\n\nHe was just the man to be there. He was soon told what had taken place,\nand that the prisoner claimed to be an American, and he at once sent an\nofficer to the _Huszar_ and asked if he could see Koszta. He was told\nthat he might do so.\n\nCaptain Ingraham went to the Austrian ship and had an interview with the\nprisoner, who told him his story, and said that he had taken the first\nstep to become a citizen of the United States. He begged the captain to\nprotect him.\n\nCaptain Ingraham was satisfied that Koszta had a just claim to the\nprotection of the American flag, and asked the Austrians to release him.\nThey refused to do so, and he then wrote to Mr. Brown, the American\nconsul at Constantinople and asked him what he should do.\n\nBefore he could get an answer a squadron of Austrian warships, six in\nnumber, came gliding into the harbor, and dropped anchor near the\n_Huszar_. It looked worse than ever now for poor Koszta, for what could\nthe little _St. Louis_ do against seven big ships? But Captain Ingraham\ndid not let that trouble him. In his mind right was stronger than might,\nand he was ready to fight ten to one for the honor of his flag.\n\nWhile he was waiting for an answer from Consul Brown he saw that the\n_Huszar_ was getting ready to leave the harbor. Her anchor was drawn up\nand her sails were set. Ingraham made up his mind that if the _Huszar_\nleft, it would have to be over the wreck of the _St. Louis_. He spread\nhis sails in a hurry and drove his sloop-of-war right in the track of\nthe Austrian ship. Then he gave orders to his men to make ready for a\nfight.\n\nWhen Archduke John saw the gun-ports of the _St. Louis_ open he brought\nhis ship to a standstill and Captain Ingraham went on board.\n\n\"What do you intend to do?\" he asked.\n\n\"To sail for home,\" said the Austrian. \"Our consul orders us to take our\nprisoner to Austria.\"\n\n\"You must pardon me,\" said Captain Ingraham, \"but if you try to leave\nthis port with that American I shall be compelled to resort to extreme\nmeasures.\"\n\nThat was a polite way of saying that Koszta should not be taken away if\nhe could prevent it.\n\nThe Austrian looked at the six ships of his nation that lay near him.\nThen he looked at the one American ship. Then a pleasant smile came on\nhis face.\n\n\"I fear I shall have to go on, whether it is to your liking or not,\" he\nsaid, in a very polite tone.\n\nCaptain Ingraham made no answer. He bowed to the Archduke and then\ndescended into his boat and returned to the _St. Louis_.\n\n\"Clear the ship for action!\" he ordered. The tars sprang to their\nstations, the ports were opened, and the guns thrust out. There was many\na grim face behind them.\n\nThe Archduke stared when he saw these black-mouthed guns. He was in the\nwrong and he knew it. And he saw that the American meant business. He\ncould soon settle the little _St. Louis_ with his seven ships. But the\ngreat United States was behind that one ship, and war might be behind\nall that.\n\nSo the Archduke took the wisest course, turned his ship about, and\nsailed back. Then he sent word to Ingraham that he would wait till\nConsul Brown's answer came.\n\nThe Consul's reply came on July 1. It said that Captain Ingraham had\ndone just right, and advised him to go on and stand for the honor of his\ncountry.\n\nThe daring American now took a bold step. He sent a note to the\nArchduke, demanding the release of Koszta. And he said that if the\nprisoner was not sent on board the _St. Louis_ by four o'clock the next\nafternoon, he would take him from the Austrians by force of arms.\n\nA refusal came back from the Austrian ship. They would not give up their\nprisoner, they said. Now it looked like war indeed. Captain Ingraham\nwaited till eight o'clock the next morning, and then he had his decks\ncleared for action and brought his guns to bear on the _Huszar_. The\nseven Austrian ships turned their guns on the _St. Louis_. The train was\nlaid; a spark might set it off.\n\nAt ten o'clock an Austrian officer came on board the _St. Louis_. He\nbegan to talk round the subject. Ingraham would not listen to him. It\nmust be one thing or nothing.\n\n\"All I will agree to is to have the man given into the care of the\nFrench consul at Smyrna till you can hear from your government,\" he\nsaid. \"But he must be delivered there or I will take him. I have stated\nthe time at four o'clock this afternoon.\"\n\nThe Austrian went back. When twelve o'clock came a boat left the\n_Huszar_ and was rowed in shore. An hour later the French consul sent\nword to Captain Ingraham that Koszta had been put under his charge.\nCaptain Ingraham had won. Soon after, several of the Austrian ships got\nunder way and left the harbor. They had tried to scare Captain Ingraham\nby a show of force, but they had tried in vain.\n\nWhen news of the event reached the United States everybody cheered the\nspirit of Captain Ingraham. He had given Europe a new idea of what the\nrights of an American citizen meant. The diplomats now took up the case\nand long letters passed between Vienna and Washington. But in the end\nAustria acknowledged that the United States was right, and sent an\napology.\n\nAs for Koszta, the American flag gave him life and liberty. Since then\nAmerican citizenship has been respected everywhere.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE \"MONITOR\" AND THE \"MERRIMAC\"\n\nA FIGHT WHICH CHANGED ALL NAVAL WARFARE.\n\n\nTHE story I am now going to tell you takes us forward to the beginning\nof the great Civil War, that terrible conflict which went on during four\nlong years between the people of the North and the South. Most of this\nwar was on land, but there were some mighty battles at sea, and my story\nis of one of the greatest of these.\n\nYou should know that up to 1860 all ocean battles were fought by ships\nwith wooden sides, through which a ball from a great gun would often cut\nas easily as a knife through a piece of cheese. Some vessels had been\nbuilt with iron overcoats, but none of these had met in war. It was not\ntill March, 1862, that the first battle between ships with iron sides\ntook place.\n\nThe _Constitution_, you may remember, was called the _Old Ironsides_,\nbut that was only a nickname, for she had wooden sides, and the first\nreal Ironsides were the _Monitor_ and the _Merrimac_.\n\nDown in Virginia there is a great body of salt water known as Hampton\nRoads. The James River runs into it, and so does the Elizabeth River, a\nsmall stream which flows past the old City of Norfolk.\n\nWhen the Civil War opened there was at Norfolk a fine United States navy\nyard, with ships and guns and docks that had cost a great deal of money.\nBut soon after the war began the United States officers in charge there\nran away in a fright, having first set on fire everything that would\nburn. Among the ships there was the old frigate _Merrimac_, which was\nbeing repaired. This was set on fire, and blazed away brightly until it\nsank to the bottom and the salt water put out the blaze. That was a very\nbad business, for there was enough left of the old _Merrimac_ to make a\ngreat deal of trouble for the United States.\n\nWhat did the Confederates do but lift the _Merrimac_ out of the mud, and\nput her in the dry dock, and cut away the burnt part, and build over\nher a sloping roof of timbers two feet thick, until she looked something\nlike Noah's ark. Then this was covered with iron plates four inches\nthick. In that way the first Confederate iron-clad ship was made.\n\nThe people at Washington knew all about this ship and were very much\nalarmed. No one could tell what dreadful damage it might do if it got\nout to sea, and came up Chesapeake Bay and the Potomac River to the\nnational capital. It might be much worse than when the British burnt\nWashington in 1814, for Washington was now a larger and finer city.\n\nSomething had to be done, and right away, too. It would not do to wait\nfor a monster like the _Merrimac_. So Captain John Ericsson, a famous\nengineer of New York, was ordered to build an iron ship-of-war as fast\nas he could. And he started to do so after a queer notion of his own.\n\nThat is the way it came about that the two iron ships were being built\nat once, one at Norfolk and one at New York. And there was a race\nbetween the builders, for the first one finished would have the best\nchance. There was a lively rattle of hammers and tongs at both places,\nand it turned out that they were finished and ready for service only a\nfew days apart.\n\nIt was necessary to tell you all this so that you might know how the\ngreat fight came to be fought, and how Washington was saved from the\niron dragon of the South. Now we are done with our story of\nship-building and must go on to the story of battle and ruin.\n\nOn the morning of March 8, 1862, the sun came up beautifully over the\nbroad waters of Hampton Roads. The bright sunbeams lit up the sails of a\nrow of stately vessels stretched out for miles over the smiling bay.\nThere were five of these: the steam frigates _St. Lawrence_, _Roanoke_,\nand _Minnesota_; the sailing frigate _Congress_; and the sloop-of-war\n_Cumberland_. They were all wooden ships, but were some of the best\nmen-of-war in the United States navy.\n\nAll was still and quiet that fine morning. There was nothing to show\nthat there was any trouble on board those noble ships. But there was\nalarm enough, for their captains knew that the _Merrimac_ was finished\nand might come at any hour. Very likely some of the officers thought\nthat they could soon decide matters for this clumsy iron monster. But I\nfancy some of them did not sleep well and had bad dreams when they\nthought of what might happen.\n\nJust at the hour of noon the lookout on the _Cumberland_ saw a long\nblack line of smoke coming from the way of Norfolk. Soon three steamers\nwere seen. One of these did not look like a ship at all, but like a low\nblack box, from which the smoke puffed up in a thick cloud.\n\nBut they knew very well what this odd-looking craft was. It was the\n_Merrimac_. It had come out for a trial trip. But it was a new kind of\ntrial its men were after: the trial by battle.\n\nDown came the iron-clad ship, with her sloping roof black in the\nsunlight. Past the _Congress_ she went, both ships firing. But the great\nguns of the _Congress_ did no more harm than so many pea-shooters; while\nthe shot of the _Merrimac_ went clear through the wooden ships, leaving\ndeath in their track.\n\nThen the iron monster headed for the _Cumberland_. That was a terrible\nhour for the men on the neat little sloop-of-war. They worked for their\nlives, loading and firing, and firing as fast as they could, but not a\nshot went through that grim iron wall.\n\nIn a few minutes the _Merrimac_ came gliding up and struck the\n_Cumberland_ a frightful blow with her iron nose, tearing through the\nthick oaken timbers and making a great hole in her side. Then she backed\noff and the water rushed in.\n\nIn a minute the good ship began to sink, while the _Merrimac_ poured\nshot and shell into her wounded ribs.\n\n\"Do you surrender?\" asked one of the officers of the _Merrimac_.\n\n\"Never!\" said Lieutenant Morris, who commanded the _Cumberland_. \"I'll\nsink alongside before I pull down that flag.\"\n\nHe was a true Yankee seaman; one of the \"no surrender\" kind.\n\nDown, inch by inch, settled the doomed ship. But her men stuck grimly to\ntheir guns, and fired their last shot just as she sank out of sight.\nThen all who had not saved themselves in the boats leaped overboard and\nswam ashore, but a great many of the dead and wounded went down with the\nship.\n\nShe sank like a true Yankee hero, with her flag flying, and when she\nstruck bottom, with only the tops of her masts above water, \"Old Glory\"\nstill fluttered proudly in the breeze.\n\nThat was the way it went when iron first met wood in naval warfare. The\nvictor now turned to the _Congress_ and another fierce battle began. But\nthe wooden ship had no chance. For an hour her men fought bravely, but\nher great guns were of no use, and a white flag was raised. She had\nsurrendered, but the Confederates could not take possession, for there\nwere batteries on shore that drove them off. So they fired hot shot into\nthe _Congress_ and soon she was in a blaze.\n\nIt was now five o'clock in the afternoon, and the _Merrimac_ steamed\naway with the Confederate flag flying in triumph. She had finished her\nwork for that day. It was a famous trial trip. She would come back the\nnext and sink the vessels still afloat--if nothing hindered.\n\nFor hours that night the _Congress_ blazed like a mighty torch, the\nflames lighting up the water and land for miles around. It was after\nmidnight when the fire reached her magazine and she blew up with a\nterrific noise, scattering her timbers far and near. The men on the\n_Merrimac_ looked proudly at the burning ship. It was a great triumph\nfor them. But they saw one thing by her light they did not like so well.\nOff towards Fortress Monroe there lay in the water a strange-looking\nthing, which had not been there an hour before. What queer low ship was\nthat? And where had it come from?\n\nThe sun rose on the morning of Sunday, March 9, and an hour later the\n_Merrimac_ was again under way to finish her work. Not far from where\nthe _Congress_ had burnt lay the _Minnesota_. She had run aground and\nlooked like an easy prey. But close beside her was the floating thing\nthey had observed the night before, the queerest-looking craft that had\never been seen.\n\nEverybody opened their eyes wide and stared as at a show when they saw\nthis strange object. They called it \"a cheese box on a raft,\" and that\nwas a good name for its queer appearance. For the deck was nearly on a\nlevel with the water, and over its centre rose something like a round\niron box. But it had two great guns sticking out of its tough sides.\n\nIt was the _Monitor_, the new vessel which Captain Ericsson had built\nand sent down to fight the _Merrimac_. But none who saw this little low\nthing thought it could stand long before the great Confederate\niron-clad. It looked a little like a slim tiger or leopard before a\ngreat rhinoceros or elephant. The men on the _Merrimac_ did not seem to\nthink it worth minding, for they came steaming up and began firing at\nthe _Minnesota_ when they were a mile away.\n\nThen away from the side of the great frigate glided the little\n_Monitor_, heading straight for her clumsy antagonist. She looked like\nno more than a mouthful for the big ship, and men gazed at her with\ndread. She seemed to be going straight to destruction.\n\nBut the brave fellows on the _Monitor_ had no such thoughts as that.\n\n\"Let her have it,\" said Captain Worden, when they came near; and one of\nthe great eleven-inch guns boomed like a volcano. The huge iron ball,\nweighing about 175 pounds, struck the plates of the _Merrimac_ with a\nthundering crash, splitting and splintering them before it bounded off.\nThe broadside of the _Merrimac_ boomed back, but the balls glanced away\nfrom the thick round sides of the turret and did not harm.\n\nThen the turret was whirled round like a top, and the gun on the other\nside came round and was fired. Again the _Merrimac_ fired back, and the\ngreat battle was on.\n\nFor two hours the iron ships fought like two mighty wrestlers of the\nseas. Smoke filled the turret so that the men of the _Monitor_ did not\nknow how to aim their guns. The _Merrimac_ could fire three times to her\none, but not a ball took effect. It was like a battle in a cloud.\n\n\"Why are you not firing?\" asked Lieutenant Jones of a gun captain.\n\n\"Why, powder is getting scarce,\" he replied, \"and I find I can do that\nwhiffet as much harm by snapping my finger and thumb every three\nminutes.\"\n\nThen Lieutenant Jones tried to sink the _Monitor_. Five times the great\niron monster came rushing up upon the little Yankee craft, but each time\nit glided easily away. But when the _Merrimac_ came up the sixth time\nCaptain Worden did not try to escape. The _Monitor_ waited for the blow.\nUp rushed the _Merrimac_ at full speed and struck her a fierce blow.\nBut the iron armor did not give way, and the great ship rode up on the\nlittle one's deck till she was lifted several feet.\n\nThe little _Monitor_ sank down under the _Merrimac_ till the water\nwashed across her deck; then she slid lightly out and rose up all right\nagain, while the _Merrimac_ started a leak in its own bow. At the same\nmoment one of the _Monitor's_ great guns was fired and the ball struck\nthe _Merrimac_, breaking the iron plates and bulging in the thick wood\nbacking.\n\nThus for hour after hour the fight went on. For six hours the iron ships\nstruggled and fought, but neither ship was much the worse, while nobody\nwas badly hurt.\n\nThe end of the fight came in this way: There was a little pilot-house on\nthe deck of the _Monitor_, with a slot in its side from which Captain\nWorden watched what was going on, so that he could give orders to his\nmen. Up against this there came a shell that filled the face and eyes of\nthe captain with grains of powder and splinters of iron, and flung him\ndown blind and helpless. Blood poured from every pore of his face.\n\nThe same shot knocked an iron plate from the top of the pilot-house and\nlet in the daylight in a flood. When the light came pouring in Captain\nWorden, with his blinded eyes, thought something very serious had\nhappened, and gave orders for the _Monitor_ to draw off to see what\ndamage was done.\n\nBefore she came back the _Merrimac_ was far away. She was leaking badly\nand her officers thought it about time to steam away for home.\n\nThat was the end of the great battle. Neither side had won the victory,\nbut it was a famous fight for all that. For it was the first battle of\niron-clad ships in the history of the world. Since then no great warship\nhas been built without iron sides. Only small vessels are now made all\nof wood.\n\nThat was the first and last battle of the _Monitor_ and the _Merrimac_.\nFor a long time they watched each other like two bull-dogs ready for a\nfight. But neither came to blows. Then, two months after the great\nbattle, the _Merrimac_ was set on fire and blown up. The Union forces\nwere getting near Norfolk and her officers were afraid she would be\ntaken, so they did what the Union officers had done before.\n\nThe _Monitor_ had done her work well, but her time also soon came. Ten\nmonths after the great battle she was sent out to sea, and there she\nwent to the bottom in a gale. Such was the fate of the pioneer\niron-clads. But they had fought a mighty fight, and had taught the\nnations of the world a lesson they would not soon forget.\n\nIn that grim deed between the first two iron-clad ships a revolution\ntook place in naval war. The great frigates, with their long rows of\nguns, were soon to be of little more use than floating logs. More than\nforty years have passed since then, and now all the great war-vessels\nare clad in armor of the hardest steel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nCOMMODORE FARRAGUT WINS RENOWN\n\nTHE HERO OF MOBILE BAY LASHES HIMSELF TO THE MAST\n\n\nAN old friend of ours is David G. Farragut. We met him, you may\nremember, years ago, on the old _Essex_, under Captain Porter, when he\nwas a boy of only about ten years of age. Young as he was, he did good\nwork on that fine ship during her cruise in the Pacific and her last\ngreat fight.\n\nWhen the Civil War began Farragut had got to be quite an old boy. He was\nsixty years of age and a captain in the navy. He had been born in the\nSouth and now lived in Virginia, and the Confederates very much wanted\nhim to fight on their side.\n\n\"Not after fighting fifty years for the old flag,\" he said. \"And mind\nwhat I tell you; you fellows will catch much more than you want before\nyou get through with this business.\"\n\nAnd so Farragut reported for duty under the old flag.\n\nVery soon the ships of the government were busy all along the coast,\nblockading ports and chasing blockade runners, and fighting wherever\nthey saw a chance.\n\nOne such chance, a big one, came away down South. For there was the\nlarge City of New Orleans, which the British had tried to take nearly\nfifty years before; and there was the Mississippi River that led\nstraight to it. But strong forts had been built along that river and\narmed boats were on its waters, and the Yankees of the North might find\nit as hard to get there as the British did.\n\nNow I have to speak of another brave man and good seaman, David D.\nPorter. He was a son of the captain of the old _Essex_, and a life-long\nfriend of David G. Farragut.\n\nPorter was sent down to help blockade the Mississippi in the summer of\n1861, and while there he found out all about the forts and the ships on\nthe river. Then he went to Washington and told the Secretary of the Navy\nall he had learned, and asked him to send down a fleet to try to\ncapture the city.\n\n\"Where can I find the right man for a big job like that?\" asked the\nSecretary.\n\n\"Captain Farragut is your man,\" said Porter. \"You have him now on\ncommittee work, where a man like him is just wasted, for you have not\nhalf as good a seaman on any of your ships.\"\n\nAnd in that way the gallant Farragut was chosen to command the fleet to\nbe sent to capture the great city of the South. Porter, you see, did not\nask for a command for himself, but for his friend.\n\nWhen the fleet was got ready it numbered nearly twenty vessels, but most\nof them were gunboats, and none of them were very large. The Mississippi\nwas not the place for very large ships. Farragut chose the sloop-of-war\n_Hartford_ for his flagship and sailed merrily away for the mighty\nriver. He did not forget his friend Porter. For twenty mortar boats were\nadded to the fleet, and Porter was given command of these.\n\nA mortar, you should know, is a kind of a short cannon made to throw\nlarge shells or balls. It is pointed upward so as to throw them high up\ninto the air and then let them fall straight down on a fort. Porter's\nmortar boats were schooners that carried cannons of this kind.\n\nWhen Farragut had sailed his fleet into the river, he made ready for the\ngreat fight before him. Of course, he had no iron-clads, for the\n_Monitor_ had just fought its great battle and no other iron-clads had\nbeen built. So he stretched iron chains up and down the sides of his\nships to stop cannon balls. Then bags of coal and sand were piled round\nthe boilers and engines to keep them safe, and nets were hung to catch\nflying splinters, which, in a fight at sea, are often worse than\nbullets.\n\nBut the most interesting thing done was to the mortar boats. These were\nto be anchored down the stream below the forts, and limbs of trees full\nof green leaves were tied on their masts, so they could not be told from\nthe trees on the river-bank. As they went up the river they looked like\na green grove afloat.\n\nNow let us take a look at what the Confederates were doing. They were\nnot asleep, you may be sure. They had built two strong forts, one on\neach side of the river, just where it made a sharp bend. One of these\nwas named Fort Jackson and the other Fort St. Philip. There were more\nthan a hundred cannon in these forts, but most of them were small ones.\n\nThey had also stretched iron cables across the river, with rafts and\nsmall vessels to hold them up. These were to stop the fleet from going\nup the river, and to hold it fast while the forts could pour shot and\nshell into it. They had also many steamboats with cannon on them. One of\nthese, the _Louisiana_, was covered with iron. Another was a ram, called\nthe _Manassas_. This had a sharp iron beak, to ram and sink other\nvessels. And there were great coal barges, filled with fat pine knots.\nThese were meant for fire-ships. You will learn farther on how these\nwere to be used.\n\nYou may see from this that Farragut had some hard work before him. Even\nif he got past the chains and the forts, all his ships might be set on\nfire by the fire-ships. But the bold captain was not one of the kind\nthat mind things like that. Now let us go on to the story of the\nterrible river fight, which has long been one of the most famous\nbattles of the war.\n\nPorter's mortar boats were anchored under the trees on the river-bank,\ntwo miles below the forts. With their green-clad masts they looked like\ntrees themselves. At ten o'clock in the morning of April 18, 1862, the\nfirst mortar sent its big shell whizzing through the air. And for six\ndays this was kept up, each of the mortars booming out once every ten\nminutes. That made one shot for every half-minute.\n\nTwo days after the mortars began, a bold thing was done. The gunboat\n_Itasca_ set out in the darkness of the night and managed to get between\nthe shore and the chain. Then it ran up stream above the chain till it\ngot a good headway. It now turned round and came down at full speed\nbefore the strong current.\n\nFort Jackson was firing, and balls were rattling all about the bold\n_Itasca_, but she rushed on through them all. Plump against the chain\nshe came, with a thud that lifted her three feet out of the water. Then\nthe chain snapped in two and away went the _Itasca_ down stream. The\nbarrier was broken and the way to New Orleans lay open before the\nfleet.\n\nOn the 23d of April Farragut gave his orders to the captains of the\nfleet. That night they were to try to pass the forts and fight their way\nto New Orleans. At two o'clock in the morning came the welcome order,\n\"All hands up anchor!\" and at three o'clock all was ready for the start.\n\nThe night was dark, but on the banks near Fort Jackson there was a\nblazing wood fire, that threw its light across the stream. And Porter's\nbombs were being fired as fast as the men could drop the balls into\nthem, so that there was a great arch of fiery shells between the mortar\nboats and the forts.\n\nThe gunboat _Cayuga_ led the way through the broken barrier. After her\ncame the _Pensacola_, one of the large vessels. All this time the forts\nhad kept still, but now they blazed out with all their guns, and the air\nwas full of the booming of cannon and the screeching of shells from\nforts and ships.\n\nGreat piles of wood were kindled on the banks, and the fire-ships up\nstream were sent blazing down the river as the steam vessels came\nrushing up into the fire of the forts. Never had the Mississippi seen so\nterrible a night. The blazing wood and flashing guns made it as light\nas day, and the roar was like ten thunderstorms.\n\nSoon the _Hartford_ came on, with Farragut on her deck. So thick was the\nsmoke that she ran aground, and before she could get off a fire-ship\ncame blazing down against her side, pushed by a tug-boat straight on to\nher. In a minute the paint on the ship's side was in a blaze and the\nflames shot up half as high as the masts. The men at the guns drew back\nfrom the scorching heat.\n\n\"Don't flinch from that blaze, boys,\" cried Farragut. \"Those who don't\ndo their duty here will find a hotter fire than that.\"\n\nFor a brief time the good ship was in great danger. But a shower of\nshells sent the daring tug-boat to the bottom, and the fire-ship floated\naway. Then a hose-pipe spurted water on the flames. The fire was put out\nand the _Hartford_ was saved.\n\nThat was only the beginning of the great battle. From that time on, fire\nand flame, boom and roar, death and destruction, were everywhere. The\ngreat shells from the mortars dropped bursting into the forts. The huge\nwood piles blazed high on the banks. Ships and forts hurled a frightful\nshower of shells at each other. Blazing fire-ships came drifting down.\nThe foremost boats were fiercely fighting with the Confederate craft.\nThe hindmost boats were fighting with the forts. The uproar seemed\nenough to drive the very moon from the sky.\n\nBut soon victory began to hold out her hand to the Union fleet. For all\nthe ships passed the forts, some of the Confederate vessels were driven\nashore and others fled up stream; and in a little while only three of\nthem were left, and these were kept safe under the guns of the fort. The\nbattle had been fought and won, and the triumphant fleet steamed up the\nriver to New Orleans. The forts were still there, but what could they\ndo, with Union forces above and below? Four days after the fight they\nwere surrendered to Porter and his mortar fleet.\n\nThere was one final act to the great Mississippi battle. For as\nCommander Porter, in his flagship, lay near Fort Jackson, down on him\ncame the iron-clad _Louisiana_, all in a blaze. But just before she\nreached his vessel she blew up; and that was the end of the _Louisiana_\nand the fight. The river was open and New Orleans was captured. Thus\nended the greatest naval battle of the Civil War.\n\nTwo years and more afterward Farragut fought another great battle. This\nwas in the Bay of Mobile, then a great place for blockade-runners. These\nwere swift vessels that brought goods from Europe to the South. The\nUnion fleet did all it could to stop them, but they could not be stopped\nat Mobile from outside, so Farragut was told to fight his way inside the\nbay. And that is what he did.\n\nMobile Bay is like a great bell, thirty miles long and fifteen miles\nwide. There are two islands at the mouth, so that the entrance is not\nmore than a mile wide. And on each of these islands was a strong fort,\nwhich had been built by the government before the war. The Confederates\nhad taken possession of these forts and had big guns in them.\n\nThe first thing to do was to pass the forts. No chain could be put\nacross the channel here, but there was something worse, for nearly two\nhundred torpedoes were planted in the water near the forts. Some of\nthese were made of beer-kegs and some of tin; and they were planted so\nthickly that it was not easy to get in without setting them off. Then,\nwhen the fort and the torpedoes were passed, there were the ships. Three\nof these were small gunboats, of not much account. But there was a great\niron-clad ship, the _Tennessee_, which was twice as strong as the\n_Merrimac_. It was covered with iron five or six inches thick, and\ncarried a half-dozen big guns.\n\nFranklin Buchanan, who had been captain of the _Merrimac_, was admiral\nof the _Tennessee_.\n\nBut Admiral Farragut--he was an admiral now--had his iron-clad vessels,\ntoo. Four monitors like the old _Monitor_ of Hampton Roads, had been\nbuilt and sent him, and these, with his wooden vessels, made nearly\ntwenty ships.\n\nSuch was the fleet with which Farragut set out for his second great\nvictory, early in the morning of August 5, 1864. It was six o'clock when\nthe ships crossed the bar and headed in for Fort Morgan.\n\nOn they went, bravely, firing at the fort. But not a shot came back till\nthe leading ships were in front of its strong stone walls. Then there\nbegan a terrible roar, and a storm of iron balls poured out at the\nships. If the guns had been well aimed, dreadful work might have been\ndone, but the balls went screaming through the air and hardly touched a\nship. And the fierce fire from the ships drove many of the men in the\nfort from their guns.\n\nBut now there is a terrible tale to tell, a tale of death and\ndestruction, of the sinking of a ship with her captain and nearly all\nher crew on board.\n\nThis was the monitor _Tecumseh_. It was steered straight out where the\ntorpedoes lay thick. Suddenly there came a dull roar. The bow of the\niron-clad was lifted like a feather out of the water. Then it sank till\nit pointed downward like a boy diving, and the stern was lifted up into\nthe air. In a second more the good ship went down with a mighty plunge.\n\nBut with this there is also one fine story, the story of a gallant man.\nThis was Captain Craven, of the _Tecumseh_. He and the pilot were in the\npilot-house and both sprang for the opening. But there was room only for\none. The brave captain drew back.\n\n\"After you, pilot,\" he said.\n\nThe pilot escaped, but the noble captain, with ninety-two of his men,\nsank to the depths.\n\nA boat was sent to pick up the swimmers, with a gallant young ensign, H.\nC. Neilds, in charge. Out they rowed where the waters were being torn\nand threshed with shot and shell. The ensign was only a boy, but he had\nthe spirit of a Perry. He saw that his flag was not flying, and he\ncoolly raised it in the face of the foe, and then sat down to steer.\n\nBrave men were there by the hundreds, but none were braver than their\nadmiral, their immortal Farragut. The smoke blinded his eyes on deck, so\nhe climbed to the top of the mainmast, and there, lashed to the rigging,\nhe went in through the thick of the fire. Shells screeched past him,\ngreat iron balls hustled by his ears, but not a quiver came over his\nnoble face. He had to be where he could see, he said. Danger did not\ncount where duty called.\n\nOn past the forts went ships and monitors, heedless of torpedoes or of\nthe fate of the _Tecumseh_. Only one captain showed the white feather.\nThe _Brooklyn_ held back.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" screamed Farragut.\n\n\"Torpedoes,\" was the only word that reached his ears.\n\nThe gallant admiral then used a strong word. It was not a word to be\nused in polite society. But we must remember that battle was raging\nabout him and he was in a fury.\n\n\"Damn the torpedoes!\" he cried. \"Follow me!\"\n\nStraight on the good ship sailed, right for the nest of torpedoes, with\nthe admiral in the shrouds.\n\nIn a minute more the _Hartford_ was among them. They could be heard\nstriking against her bottom. Their percussion caps snapped, but not one\nwent off. Their tin cases had rusted and they were spoiled. Only one of\nthem all went off that dreadful day of battle. That saved many of the\nships.\n\nThe fort and the torpedoes were passed, but the Confederate ships\nremained. It did not take long to settle for the gunboats, but the\niron-clad _Tennessee_ remained. Putting on all steam, this great ship\nran down on the Union fleet. Through the whole line it went and on to\nthe fort. But it was as slow as a tub and the ships were easily kept out\nof its way.\n\nThen, when the men were at breakfast, back again came the _Tennessee_.\nThey left their coffee and ran to their guns. It was like the old story\nof the _Merrimac_ and the wooden ships in Hampton Roads.\n\nBut Farragut did not wait to be rammed by the _Tennessee_. If ramming\nwas to be done he wanted to do it himself. So all the large vessels\nsteamed head on for the iron-clad, butting her right and left. They hit\none another, too, and the _Hartford_ came near being sunk. Then came the\nmonitors, as the first _Monitor_ had come against the _Merrimac_. There\nwere three of these left, but one did the work, the _Chickasaw_. She\nclung like a burr to the _Tennessee_, pouring in her great iron balls,\nand doing so much damage that soon the great ship was like a floating\nhulk. It could not be steered nor its guns fired.\n\nFor twenty minutes it stood this dreadful hammering, and then its flag\ncame down. The battle was won.\n\n\"It was the most desperate battle I ever fought since the days of the\nold _Essex_,\" said Farragut.\n\nThe figure of the brave admiral in the rigging, fighting his ship amid\na cyclone of shot and shell, made him the hero of the American people.\nIt was like Dewey on the bridge in Manila Bay in a later war. There was\nno rank high enough in the navy to fit the glory he had won, so one was\nmade for him, the rank of admiral. There was rear-admiral and\nvice-admiral, but admiral was new and higher still. Only two men have\nheld this rank since his day, his good friend and comrade, David D.\nPorter, and the brave George Dewey.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nA RIVER FLEET IN A HAIL OF FIRE\n\nADMIRAL PORTER RUNS BY THE FORTS IN A NOVEL WAY\n\n\nOF course you know what a tremendous task the North had before it in the\nCivil War. The war between the North and the South was like a battle of\ngiants. And in this vast contest the navy had to do its share, both out\nat sea and on the rivers of the country. One of its big bits of work was\nto cut off the left arm of the Confederacy, and leave it only its right\narm to fight with.\n\nBy the left arm I mean the three states west of the Mississippi River,\nand by the right arm, the eight states east of that great river. To cut\noff this left arm the government had to get control of the whole river,\nfrom St. Louis to the Gulf, so that no Confederate troops could cross\nthe great stream.\n\nYou have read how Farragut and Porter began this work, by capturing New\nOrleans and all the river below it. And they went far up the river, too.\nBut in the end such great forts were built at Vicksburg and Port Hudson\nand other points that the Confederate government held the river in a\ntight grasp.\n\nIn this way the Confederacy became master of the Mississippi for a\nthousand miles. We are to see now how it was taken from their grasp.\n\nJames B. Eads, the engineer who built the great railroad bridge over the\nMississippi at St. Louis, made the first iron-clads for the West. There\nwere seven of these. They were river steamers, and were covered with\niron, but it was not very thick. Two others were afterward built, making\nnine in all.\n\nEach of these boats had thirteen guns, and they did good work in helping\nthe army to capture two strong Confederate forts in Kentucky. Then they\nwent down the Mississippi to an island that was called Island No. 10. It\nwas covered with forts, stretching one after another all along its\nshore.\n\nA number of mortar boats were brought down and threw shells into the\nforts till they were half paved with iron. But all that did no good.\nThen Admiral Foote was asked to send one of the boats down past the\nforts.\n\nThat was dreadfully dangerous work, for there were guns enough in them\nto sink twenty such boats. But Captain Walke thought he could take his\nboat, the _Carondelet_, down, and the admiral told him he might try.\n\nWhat was the _Carondelet_ like, do you ask? Well, she was a long, wide\nboat, with sloping sides and a flat roof, and was covered with iron two\nand a half inches thick. Four of her guns peeped out from each side,\nwhile three looked out from the front door, and two from the back door\nof the boat.\n\nCaptain Walke did not half expect to get through the iron storm from the\nforts. To make his boat stronger, extra planks were laid on her deck and\nchain cables were drawn tightly across it. Then lumber was heaped\nthickly round the boiler and engines, and ropes were wrapped round and\nround the pilot-house till they were eighteen inches thick.\n\nAfter that a barge filled with bales of hay was tied fast to the side\nthat would catch the fire of the forts. Something was done also to stop\nthe noise of the steam pipes, for Captain Walke thought he might slip\ndown at night without being seen or heard.\n\nOn the night of April 10, 1862, the boat made its dash down stream. It\nstarted just as a heavy thunderstorm came on. The wind whistled, the\nrain poured down in sheets, and the men in the forts hid from the storm.\nThey were not thinking then of runaway gunboats.\n\nBut something nobody had thought of now took place. The blazing wood in\nthe furnaces set fire to the soot in the chimneys, and in a minute the\nboat was like a great flaming torch. As the men in the forts sprang up,\nthe lightning flashed out on the clouds, and lit up \"the gallant little\nship floating past like a phantom.\"\n\nThe gunners did not mind the rain any more. They ran in great haste to\ntheir guns, and soon the batteries were flaming and roaring louder than\nthe thunder itself.\n\nFort after fort took it up as the _Carondelet_ slid swiftly past. The\nlightning and the blazing smoke-stack showed her plainly to the gunners.\nBut the bright flashes blinded their eyes so that they could not half\naim their guns. And thus it was that the brave little _Carondelet_ went\nunder the fire of fifty guns without being harmed.\n\nSoon after that Island No. 10 was given up to the Union forces. Then the\ngunboats went farther down the river, and had two hard fights with\nConfederate boats, one at Fort Pillow and one at Memphis. Both these\nplaces were captured, and in that way the river was opened all the way\nfrom St. Louis to Vicksburg.\n\nThe City of Vicksburg is in the State of Mississippi, about two hundred\nmiles above New Orleans. Here are high river banks; and these were\ncovered thick with forts, so that Vicksburg was the strongest place\nalong the whole stream.\n\nThere were also strong forts at Port Hudson, about seventy-five miles\nbelow Vicksburg; and these seventy-five miles were all the Confederates\nnow held of the great stream. But they held these with a very strong\nhand and were not to let go easily.\n\nThere were some great events at Vicksburg; and I must tell about a few\nof these next.\n\nAfter New Orleans was taken Farragut took his ships up the river,\nrunning past the forts. He could easily have taken Vicksburg then, if\nhe had had any soldiers. But he had none, and it took a great army of\nsoldiers, under General Grant, to capture it a year afterward.\n\nDavid D. Porter, who had helped Farragut so well in his great fight, was\nput in command of the Mississippi fleet. He had a number of iron-clad\nboats under him, some of them having iron so thin that they were called\ntin-clads.\n\nCommodore Porter had plenty to do. Now he sent his boats up through the\nYazoo swamps, then they had a fight on the Arkansas River; and in this\nway he was kept busy.\n\nIn February, 1863, he sent two of his boats, the _Queen of the West_ and\nthe _Indianola_, down past the Vicksburg forts. That was an easy run.\nThere was plenty of firing, but nobody was hurt. But after they got\nbelow they found trouble enough.\n\nFirst, the _Queen of the West_ ran aground and could not be got off.\nThen the _Indianola_ had a hole rammed in her side by a Confederate boat\nand went to the bottom. So there wasn't much gained by sending these two\nboats down stream.\n\nBut a curious thing took place. The Confederates got the _Queen of the\nWest_ off the mud, and tried to raise the _Indianola_ and stop its\nleaks.\n\nWhile they were hard at work at this they heard a frightful roar from\nthe Vicksburg batteries. Looking up stream they saw a big boat coming\ndown upon them at full speed. When they saw this they put the two big\nguns of the _Indianola_ mouth to mouth, fired them into each other to\nruin them, and then ran away. But weren't they vexed afterward when they\nlearned that the boat that scared them was only a dummy which Porter's\nmen had sent down the river in a frolic.\n\nAfter that, the river batteries did not give the ships much trouble.\nWhen the right time came Porter's fleet ran down the river through the\nfire of all the forts. One boat caught fire and sank, but all the rest\npassed safely through. This was done to help General Grant, who was\nmarching his army down, to get below Vicksburg.\n\nI suppose all readers of American history know about the great event of\nthe 4th of July, 1863. On that day Vicksburg was given up to the Union\nforces, with all its forts and all its men. Five days afterward Port\nHudson surrendered. Porter and his boats now held the great river\nthrough all its length.\n\nBut there is something more to tell about Admiral Porter, who was a\nrear-admiral now.\n\nIn the spring of 1864 General Banks was sent with an army up the Red\nRiver. He was going to Shreveport, which is about four hundred miles\nabove where the Red River runs into the Mississippi. Porter went along\nwith his river fleet to help.\n\nNow, no more need be said about Banks and his army, except that the\nwhole expedition was only a waste of time, for it did no good; and there\nwould be nothing to say about Porter and his fleet, if they had not\ngotten into a bad scrape which gave them hard work to get out.\n\nThe boats went up the river easily enough, but when they tried to come\ndown they found themselves in a trap. For after they had gone up, the\nriver began to fall and the water came to be very low.\n\nThere are two rapids, or small falls, on this part of the Red River,\nwhich show only at low water. They showed plainly enough now; and there\nwere twelve of the boats above them, caught fast.\n\nWhat was to be done? If they tried to run down the falls they would be\nsmashed into kindling wood. It looked very much as if they would have to\nbe left for the Confederates, or set on fire and burned.\n\nBy good luck there was one man there who knew what to do. He was a\nlieutenant-colonel from Wisconsin, named Joseph Baily. He had been a\nlog-driver before the war and knew what was done when logs got jammed in\na stream.\n\nWhen he told his plan he was laughed at by some who thought it very\nfoolish, but Porter told him to go ahead. So, with 2,000 soldiers from\nMaine, who knew all about logging, he went into the woods, chopped down\ntrees, and built a dam below the falls.\n\nThe men worked so hard that it took them only eight days to build the\ndam; which was wonderfully quick work. A place was left open in the\ncenter, and there four barges loaded with brick were sunk.\n\nWhen the dam was finished it lifted the water six feet higher, and down\nin safety went three of the steamers, while the army shouted and\ncheered. But just then two of the sunken barges were carried away, and\nthe water poured through the break in a flood.\n\nThe gunboat _Lexington_ was just ready to start. Admiral Porter stood on\nthe bank watching.\n\n\"Go ahead!\" he shouted.\n\nAt once the engines were started and the _Lexington_ shot down the\nfoaming rapid. There were no cheers now; everybody was still.\n\nDown she went, rolling and leaping on the wild waters; but soon she shot\nsafe into the still pool below. All the other vessels were also safely\ntaken down.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHE SINKING OF THE \"ALBEMARLE\"\n\nLIEUTENANT CUSHING PERFORMS THE MOST GALLANT DEED OF THE CIVIL WAR\n\n\nNOW I am going to tell you about one of the most gallant deeds done in\nthe navy during the whole Civil War. The man who did it was brave enough\nto be made admiral of the fleet, yet he did not get even a gold medal\nfor his deed. But he is one of our heroes. It is all about an iron-clad\nsteamer, and how it was sent to rest in the mud of a river-bottom.\n\nThe Confederate government had very bad luck with its iron-clads. It was\nbusy enough building them, but they did not pay for their cost. The\n_Merrimac_ did the most harm, but it soon went up in fire and smoke.\n\nThen there were the _Louisiana_ at New Orleans, and the _Tennessee_ at\nMobile. Farragut made short work of them. Two were built at Charleston\nwhich were of little use. The last of them all was the _Albemarle_,\nwhose story I am about to tell.\n\nThe Roanoke River, in North Carolina, was a fine stream for\nblockade-runners. There was a long line of ships and gunboats outside,\nbut in spite of them these swift runaways kept dashing in, loaded with\ngoods for the people. Poor people! they needed them badly enough, for\nthey had little of anything except what they could raise in their\nfields.\n\nBut the gunboats kept pushing farther into the river, and gave the\nConfederates no end of trouble. So they began to build an iron-clad\nwhich they thought could drive these wooden wasps away.\n\nThis iron-clad was a queer ship. Its keel was laid in a cornfield; its\nbolts and bars were hammered out in a blacksmith shop. Iron for its\nengines was picked up from the scrap heaps of the iron works at\nRichmond. Some of the Confederates laughed at it themselves; but they\ndeserved great credit for building a ship under such difficulties as\nthese.\n\nIt was finished in April, 1864, and nobody laughed at it when they saw\nit afloat. It was like the _Merrimac_ in shape, and was covered with\niron four inches thick. They named it the _Albemarle_.\n\nVery soon the _Albemarle_ showed that it was no laughing matter. It sunk\none gunboat and made another run away in great haste. Then it had a\nfight with four of them at once and drove one of these lame and limping\naway. The others did not come too near. After that it went back to the\ntown of Plymouth and was tied up at the wharf.\n\nThere was another iron-clad being built, and the _Albemarle_ was kept\nwaiting, so that the two could work together. That was a bad thing for\nthe _Albemarle_, for she never went out again.\n\nThis brings us back to the gallant deed I spoke of, and the gallant\nfellow who did the deed. His name was William B. Cushing. He was little\nmore than a boy, just twenty-one years old, but he did not know what it\nmeant to be afraid, and he had done so many daring things already that\nhe had been made a lieutenant.\n\nHe wanted to try to destroy the _Albemarle_, and his captain, who knew\nhow bold a fellow he was, told him to go ahead and do his best.\n\nSo on a dark night in October, 1864, brave young Cushing started up the\nriver in a steam launch, with men and guns. At the bow of this launch\nwas a long spar, and at the end of this spar was a torpedo holding a\nhundred pounds of dynamite. There was a trigger and a cap to set this\noff, a string to lower the spar and another to pull the trigger. But it\nwas a poor affair to send on such an expedition as that.\n\nAnd this was not the worst. Some of the newspapers had found out what\nCushing was going to do, and printed the whole story. And some of these\nnewspapers got down South and let out the secret. That is what is called\n\"newspaper enterprise.\" It is very good in its right place, but it was a\nsort of enterprise that nearly spoiled Cushing's plans.\n\nFor the Confederates put lines of sentries along the river, and\nstationed a lookout down the stream, and placed a whole regiment of\nsoldiers near the wharf. And logs were chained fast around the vessel so\nthat no torpedo spar could reach her. And the men on board were sharply\non the watch. That is what the newspapers did for Lieutenant Cushing.\n\nOf course, the young lieutenant did not know all this, and he felt full\nof hope as his boat went up stream without being seen or heard. The\nnight was very dark and there were no lights on board, and the engines\nwere new and made no noise.\n\nSo he passed the lookout in the river and the sentries on the banks\nwithout an eye seeing him or his boat.\n\nBut when he came up to the iron-clad his hopes went down. For there was\nthe boom of logs so far out that his spar could not reach her.\n\nWhat was he to do? Should he land at the wharf and take his men on\nboard, and try to capture her where she lay?\n\nBefore he had time to think it was too late for that. A sentry on board\nsaw the launch and called out:\n\n\"Boat ahoy!\" There was no answer.\n\n\"What boat is that?\" Still no answer.\n\nThen came a musket shot, and then a rattle of musketry from the river\nbank. A minute after lights flashed out and men came running down the\nwharf. The ship's crew tumbled up from below. All was haste and\nconfusion.\n\nAlmost any man would have given it up for lost and run for safety. But\nCushing was not of that kind. It did not take him a second to decide. He\nran the launch out into the stream, turned her round, and dashed at full\nspeed straight for the boom.\n\nA storm of bullets came from the deck of the _Albemarle_, but he heeded\nthem no more than if they had been snowflakes. In a minute the bow of\nthe launch struck the logs.\n\nThey were slippery with river slime and the light boat climbed up on\nthem, driving them down under the water. Over she went, and slid into\nthe water inside the boom.\n\nCushing stood in the bow, with the trigger-string in his hand. He\nlowered the torpedo under the hull of the iron-clad, lifted it till he\nfelt it touch her bottom, and then pulled the string.\n\nThere came two loud reports. A hundred-pounder gun was being fired from\nthe ship's side right over his head. Along with it came a dull roar from\nunder the water. The dynamite torpedo had gone off, tearing a great\nhole in the wooden bottom. In a minute the ill-fated _Albemarle_ began\nto sink.\n\nThe launch was fast inside the boom, and the wave from her torpedo was\nrushing over her, carrying her down.\n\n\"Surrender,\" came a voice from above.\n\n\"Never! Swim for your lives, men,\" cried Cushing, and he sprang into the\nflowing stream.\n\nTwo or three bullets had gone through his clothing, but he was unhurt,\nand swam swiftly away, his men after him.\n\nOnly Cushing and one of the men got away. The others were captured,\nexcept one who was drowned. Boats were quickly out, a fire of logs was\nmade on the wharf, which threw its light far out over the stream, but he\nreached the shore unseen, chilled to the bone and completely worn out.\n\nA sentry was pacing on the wall of a fort over his head, men passed\nlooking for him, but he managed to creep to the swamp nearby and hide in\nthe mud and reeds.\n\nThere he lay till the break of day. Then he crawled on till he got into\na cornfield nearby. Now for the first time he could stand up and walk.\nBut just as he got to the other side of the field he came face to face\nwith a man.\n\nCushing was not afraid. It was a black face. In those days no Union\nsoldier was afraid of a black face. The slaves would do anything for\n\"Massa Linkums' sojers.\" The young lieutenant was almost as black as the\nslave after his long crawl through the mud.\n\nCushing told him who he was, and sent him into the town for news,\nwaiting in the cornfield for his return. After an hour the messenger\ncame back. His face was smiling with delight.\n\n\"Good news, Massa,\" he said. \"De big iron ship's gone to de bottom suah.\nFolks dar say she'll neber git up agin.\"\n\n\"Mighty good,\" said Cushing. \"Now, old man, tell me how I can get back\nto the ships.\"\n\nThe negro told him all he could, and with a warm \"Good-bye\" the fugitive\ntook to the swamp again. On he went, hour by hour, forcing his way\nthrough the thick bushes and wading in the deep mud. Thus he went on,\nmile after mile, until at length, at two o'clock in the afternoon, he\nfound himself on the banks of a narrow creek.\n\nHere he heard voices and drew back. Looking through the bushes he saw a\nparty of seven soldiers just landing from a boat. They tied the boat to\nthe root of a tree and went up a path that led back from the river. Soon\nthey stopped, sat down, and began to eat their dinner. They could see\ntheir boat from where they sat, but they were too busy eating to think\nof that.\n\nHere was Cushing's chance. It was a desperate one, but he was ready to\ntry anything. He lowered himself quietly into the stream, swam across,\nand untied the boat. Then he noiselessly pushed it out and swam with it\ndown stream. As soon as he was out of sight of the soldiers he climbed\nin and rowed away as fast as he could. What the soldiers thought and\nsaid when they missed their boat nobody knows. He did not see them\nagain.\n\nIt was a long journey. The creek was crooked and winding. Night came on\nbefore he reached the river. Then he paddled on till midnight. Ten hours\nof hard toil had passed when he saw the dark hull of a gunboat nearby.\n\n\"Ship ahoy!\" he cried.\n\n\"Who goes there?\" called the lookout.\n\n\"A friend. Take me up.\"\n\nA boat was lowered and rowed towards him. The officer in it looked with\nsurprise when he saw a mud-covered man, with scratched and bleeding\nface.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Lieutenant Cushing, or what is left of him.\"\n\n\"Cushing!--and how about the _Albemarle_?\"\n\n\"She will never trouble Uncle Sam's ships again. She lies in her muddy\ngrave on the bottom of the Roanoke.\"\n\nCheers followed this welcome news, and when the gallant lieutenant was\nsafe on board the _Valley City_ the cheers grew tenfold.\n\nFor Lieutenant Cushing had done a deed which was matched for daring only\nonce in the history of our navy, and that was when Decatur burned the\n_Philadelphia_ in the harbor of Tripoli.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nHOW THE \"GLOUCESTER\" REVENGED THE SINKING OF THE \"MAINE\"\n\nDEADLY AND HEROIC DEEDS IN THE WAR WITH SPAIN\n\n\nIF you look at a map of the country we dwell in, you will see that it\nhas a finger pointing south. That finger is called Florida, and it\npoints to the beautiful island of Cuba, which spreads out there to right\nand left across the sea of the South.\n\nThe Spaniards in Cuba were very angry when they found the United States\ntrying to stop the war which they had carried on so mercilessly. They\nthought this country had nothing to do with their affairs. And in\nHavana, the capital city of the island, riots broke out and Americans\nwere insulted.\n\nNever before in the history of the United States navy had there been so\nterrible a disaster as the sinking of the _Maine_ by a frightful and\ndeadly explosion in the harbor of Havana, Cuba, on February 15, 1898,\nand never was there greater grief and indignation in the United States\nthan when the story was told.\n\nDo you know what followed this dreadful disaster? But of course you do,\nfor it seems almost yesterday that the _Maine_ went down with her\nslaughtered crew. Everybody said that the Spaniards had done this\nterrible deed and Spain should pay for it. We all said so and thought\nso, you and I and all true Americans.\n\nBefore the loss of the _Maine_ many people thought we ought to go to war\nwith Spain, and put an end to the cruelty with which the Cubans were\ntreated. After her loss there were not many who thought we ought not to.\nOur people were in a fury. They wanted war, and were eager to have it.\n\nThe heads of the government at Washington felt the same way. Many\nmillions of dollars were voted by Congress, and much of this was spent\nin buying ships and hiring and repairing ships, and much more of it in\ngetting the army ready for war.\n\nFor Congress was as full of war-feeling as the people. President\nMcKinley would have liked to have peace, but he could no more hold back\nthe people and Congress than a man with an ox-chain could hold back a\nlocomotive. So it was that, two months after the _Maine_ sank in the mud\nof Havana harbor, like a great coffin filled with the dead, war was\ndeclared against Spain.\n\nNow, I wish to tell you how the loss of the _Maine_ was avenged. I am\nnot going to tell you here all about what our navy did in the war. There\nare some good stories to tell about that. But just here we have to think\nabout the _Maine_ and her murdered men, and have to tell about how one\nof her officers paid Spain back for the dreadful deed.\n\nAs soon as the telegraph brought word to the fleet at Key West that \"War\nis declared,\" the great ships lifted their anchors and sped away, bound\nfor Cuba, not many miles to the south. And about a month afterward this\ngreat fleet of battleships, and monitors, and cruisers, and gunboats\nwere in front of the harbor of Santiago, holding fast there Admiral\nCervera and his men, who were in Santiago harbor with the finest\nwarships owned by Spain.\n\nThere were in the American fleet big ships and little ships, strong\nships and weak ships; and one of the smallest of them all was the little\n_Gloucester_. This had once been a pleasure yacht, used only for sport.\nIt was now a gunboat ready for war. It had only a few small guns, but\nthese were of the \"rapid-fire\" kind, which could pour out iron balls\nalmost as fast as hailstones come from the sky in a storm.\n\nAnd in command of the _Gloucester_ was Lieutenant Wainwright, who had\nbeen night officer of the _Maine_ when that ill-fated ship was blown up\nby a Spanish mine. The gallant lieutenant was there to avenge his lost\nship.\n\nI shall tell you later about how the Spanish ships dashed out of the\nharbor of Santiago on the 3d of July and what happened to them. Just now\nyou wish to know what Lieutenant Wainwright and the little _Gloucester_\ndid on that great day, and how Spain was made to pay for the loss of the\n_Maine_.\n\nAs soon as the Spanish ships came out, the _Gloucester_ dashed at them,\nlike a wasp trying to sting an ox. She steamed right across the mouth of\nthe harbor until she almost touched one of the great Spanish ships, all\nthe time firing away like mad at its iron sides.\n\nThe brave Wainwright saw two little boats coming out behind these big\nones. These were what are called torpedo-boats.\n\nDo you know what this means? A torpedo-boat is little, but it can dart\nthrough the water with the speed of the wind. And it carries\ntorpedoes--iron cases filled with dynamite--which it can shoot out\nagainst the great warships. One of these could tear a gaping hole in the\nside of a battleship and send it, with all on board, to the bottom. A\ntorpedo-boat is the rattlesnake of the sea. It is little, but it is\ndeadly.\n\nBut Lieutenant Wainwright and the men of the _Gloucester_ were not\nafraid of the _Furor_ and the _Pluton_, the Spanish torpedo-boats. As\nsoon as they saw these boats they drove their little vessel toward them\nat full speed. The _Gloucester_ came under the fire of one of the\nSpanish forts, but she did not mind that any more than if boys were\nthrowing oyster-shells at her.\n\nOut from her guns came a torrent of balls like water from a pump. But\nthe water drops were made of iron, and hit hard. The _Furor_ and\n_Pluton_ tried to fire back, but their men could not stand that iron\nrain. For twenty minutes it kept on, and then all was over with the\ntorpedo-boats. They tried to run ashore, but down to the bottom they\nboth went. Of all their men only about two dozen were picked up alive.\nThe rest sank to the bottom of the bay.\n\nThus Wainwright and his little yacht avenged the _Maine_, and the\ndreadful tragedy in Havana harbor was paid for in Santiago Bay.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nTHE GREAT VICTORY OF MANILA BAY\n\nDEWEY DESTROYS A FLEET WITHOUT LOSING A MAN\n\n\nGEORGE DEWEY was a Green Mountain boy, a son of the Vermont hills. Many\ngood stories are told of his schoolboy days, and when he grew up to be a\nman everybody that knew him said that he was a fine fellow, who would\nmake his mark. And they were right about him, though he had to wait a\nlong time for the chance to show what he would do.\n\nDewey was sent to the Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland, and when the\nCivil War began he was a lieutenant in the navy. He was with Farragut on\nthe Mississippi, and did some gallant deeds on that great river.\n\nWhen the war with Spain began Dewey was on the Chinese coast with a\nsquadron of American ships. He had been raised in rank and was\nCommodore Dewey then. A commodore, you should know, was next above a\ncaptain and next below an admiral.\n\nCommodore Dewey had four fine ships, the cruisers OLYMPIA, BALTIMORE,\nRALEIGH, and BOSTON. He had also two gunboats and a despatch-boat,\nmaking seven in all.\n\nThese vessels were at Hong Kong, a British seaport in China. They could\nnot stay there after war with Spain was declared, for Hong Kong was a\nneutral port, and after war begins fighting ships must leave neutral\nports. But Dewey knew where to go, for under the ocean and over the land\nthere had come to him a telegram from Washington, more than ten thousand\nmiles away, which said, \"Seek the Spanish fleet and capture or destroy\nit.\" Dewey did not waste any time in obeying orders.\n\nHe knew where to seek the Spanish fleet. A few hundred miles away to the\neast of China lay the fine group of islands called the Philippines,\nwhich then belonged to Spain. In Luzon, the biggest of these islands,\nwas the fine large City of Manila, the centre of the Spanish power in\nthe East. So straight across the China Sea Dewey went at all speed\ntowards this seaport of Spain.\n\nOn the morning of Saturday, April 30, 1898, the men on the leading ship\nsaw land rising in the distance, green and beautiful, and farther away\nthey beheld the faint blue lines of the mountains of Luzon. Down this\ngreen tropical coast they sped, and when night was near at hand they\ncame close to the entrance of Manila Bay.\n\nHere there were forts to pass; and the ships were slowed up. Dewey was\nready to fight with ships, but he did not want to fight with forts, so\nhe waited for darkness to come before going in. He thought that he might\nthen pass these forts without being seen by the men in them.\n\nThey waited until near midnight, steaming slowly along until they came\nto the entrance to the bay. The moon was in the sky, but gray clouds hid\nits light. They could see the two dark headlands of the harbor's mouth\nrising and, between them, a small, low island. On this island were the\nforts which they had to pass.\n\nAs they came near, all the lights on the ships were put out or hidden,\nexcept a small electric light at the stern of each ship, for the next\none to see and follow.\n\nSteam was put on, and the ships glided swiftly and silently in, like\nshadows in the darkness. All was silent in the Spanish forts. The\nsentinels seemed fast asleep.\n\nSome of the ships had passed before the Spaniards waked up. Then a\nrocket shot up into the air, and there came a deep boom and a flash of\nflame. A shell went whizzing through the darkness over the ships and\nplunged into the water beyond.\n\nSome shots were fired back, but in a few minutes it was all over and\nDewey's squadron was safe in Manila Bay. The gallant American sailors\nhad made their way into the lion's den.\n\nThe Bay of Manila is a splendid body of water, running many miles into\nthe land. The City of Manila is about twenty miles from the harbor's\nmouth, and the ships had to go far in before its distant lights were\nseen, gleaming like faint stars near the earth.\n\nBut it was not the city Dewey was after. He was seeking the Spanish\nfleet. When the dawn came, and the sun rose behind the city, he saw\nsails gleaming in its light. But these were merchant vessels, not the\nwarships he had come so far to find.\n\nThe keen eyes of the commodore soon saw the ships he was after. There\nthey lay, across the mouth of the little bay of Cavite, south of the\ncity, a group of ships-of-war, nine or ten in number.\n\nThis brings us to the beginning of the great naval battle of the war.\nLet us stop now and take a look around. If you had been there I know\nwhat you would have said. You would have said that the Americans were\nsure to win, for they had the biggest ships and the best guns. Yes, but\nyou must remember that the Spaniards were at home, while the Americans\nwere not; and that makes a great difference. If they had met out on the\nopen sea Dewey would have had the best of the game. But here were the\nSpanish ships drawn up in a line across a narrow passage, with a fort on\nthe right and a fort on the left, and with dynamite mines under the\nwater. And they knew all about the distances and soundings and should\nhave known just how to aim their guns so as to hit a mark at any\ndistance. All this the Americans knew nothing about.\n\nWhen we think of this it looks as if Dewey had the worst of the game.\nBut some of you may say that the battle will tell best which side had\nthe best and which the worst. Yes, that's true; but we must always study\nour players before we begin our game.\n\nGeorge Dewey did not stop long to think and study. He was there to take\nhis chances. The minute he saw the Spanish ships he went for them as a\nfootball player goes for the line of his opponents.\n\nForward went the American squadron, with the Stars and Stripes floating\nproudly at every mast-head. First of all was the flagship _Olympia_,\nwith Dewey standing on its bridge. Behind came the other ships in a long\nline.\n\nAs they swept down in front of the city the great guns of the forts sent\nout their balls. Then the batteries on shore began to fire. Then the\nSpanish ships joined in. There was a terrible roar. Just in front of the\n_Olympia_ two mines exploded, sending tons of water into the air. But\nthey had been set off too soon, and no harm was done.\n\nAll this time the American ships swept grandly on, not firing a gun; and\nDewey stood still on the bridge while shot and shell from the Spanish\nguns went hurling past. He was there to see, and danger did not count\njust then.\n\nAs they drove on an old sea-dog raised the cry, \"Remember the _Maine_!\"\nand in a minute the shout ran through the ship. Still on went the\n_Olympia_, like a great mastiff at which curs are barking. At length\nDewey spoke,--\n\n\"You may fire when you are ready, Captain Gridley,\" he said. Captain\nGridley was ready and waiting. In an instant a great eight-inch shell\nfrom the _Olympia_ went screaming through the air.\n\nThis was the signal. The _Baltimore_ and the _Boston_ followed, and\nbefore five minutes had passed every ship was pouring shot and shell on\nthe Spanish squadron and forts. Great guns and small guns, slow-fire\nguns and rapid-fire guns, hand guns and machine guns, all boomed and\nbarked together, and their shot whistled and screamed, until it sounded\nlike a mighty carnival of death.\n\nDown the Spanish line swept the American ships. Then they turned and\nswept back, firing from the other side of the ships. Six times, this\nway, they passed the Spanish ships, while the air was full of great iron\nballs and dense clouds of smoke floated over all.\n\nYou will not ask which side had the best of the battle after I tell you\none thing. The Americans had been trained to aim and fire, and the\nSpaniards had not. Here overhead flew a Spanish shell. There another\nplunged into the water without reaching a ship. Hardly one of them\nreached its mark. Not an American was killed or wounded. A box of powder\nwent off and hurt a few men, and that was all.\n\nBut the Spanish ships were rent and torn like deer when lions get among\nthem, and their men fell by dozens at a time. It was one of the most\none-sided fights ever seen.\n\nAdmiral Montojo, of the Spanish fleet, could not stand this. He started\nout with his flagship, named the _Reina Cristina_, straight for the\n_Olympia_, which he hoped to cut in two. But as soon as his ship\nappeared all the American ships turned their guns on it, and riddled it\nwith a frightful storm of iron.\n\nThe brave Spaniard saw that his ship would be sunk if he went on. He\nturned to run back, but as he did so a great eight-inch shell struck his\nship in the stern and went clear through to the bow, scattering death\nand destruction on every side. It exploded one of the boilers. It blew\nopen the deck. It set the ship on fire. White smoke came curling up. The\nship fought on as the fire burned, but she was past hope.\n\nTwo torpedo-boats came out, but they could not stand the storm any\nbetter than the _Reina Cristina_. In a few minutes one of them was cut\nthrough and went like a stone to the bottom. The other ran in faster\nthan she had come out and went ashore.\n\nFor two hours this dreadful work went on. Then Dewey thought it was time\nto give his men a rest and let them have some breakfast, so he steamed\naway. Three of the Spanish ships were burning like so much tinder, and\nit was plain that the battle was as good as won.\n\nA little after eleven o'clock the American ships came back fresh as\never, all of them with the Stars and Stripes afloat. The Spanish flag\nwas flying too, but nearly every ship was in flames. But the Spaniards\nwere not whipped yet. They began to fire again, and so for another hour\nthe fight went on. At the end of that time the guns were silenced, the\nflags had gone down, and the battle was won.\n\nThat was the end of the most one-sided victory in the history of the\nAmerican navy. All the Spanish ships were on fire and had sunk in the\nshallow bay. Hundreds of their men were dead or wounded. The American\nships were nearly as good as ever, for hardly a shot had struck them,\nand only eight men were slightly hurt. The Spaniards had fired fast\nenough, but they had wasted nearly all their shot.\n\nWhen the people of the United States heard of this great victory they\nwere wild with delight. Before that very few had heard of George Dewey;\nnow he was looked on as one of our greatest naval heroes. \"Dewey on the\nbridge,\" with shot and shell screaming about him, was as fine a figure\nas \"Farragut in the shrouds\" had once been.\n\nCongress made him a rear-admiral at once, and soon after they made him\nan admiral. This is the highest rank in the American navy. Only Farragut\nand Porter had borne it before.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nHOBSON AND THE SINKING OF THE \"MERRIMAC\"\n\nAN HEROIC DEED WORTHY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY\n\n\nSOME of us know what a dark night is and some of us don't. Those who\nlive in cities, under the glare of the electric light, hardly ever see\nreal darkness. One must go far into the country, and be out on a cloudy\nnight, to know what it means to be really in the dark. Or to be out at\nsea, with not a light above or below.\n\nIt was on such a night that a great black hulk moved like a sable\nmonster through the waters off the coast of Cuba. This was the night of\nJune 3, 1898. There was a moon somewhere in the sky, but thick clouds\nlay over it and snuffed out its light. And on the vessel not a light was\nto be seen and not a sound could be heard. It was like a mighty beast\ngliding on its prey.\n\nThis vessel was the _Merrimac_, which had carried a load of coal to the\nAmerican fleet that lay outside of Santiago de Cuba. Inside the harbor\nthere were four fine Spanish ships-of-war. But these were like foxes run\ninto their hole, with the hunters waiting for them outside.\n\nThe harbor of Santiago is something like a great, mis-shipen\nwater-bottle, and the passage into the harbor is like the neck of the\nbottle. Now, if you want to keep anything from getting out of a bottle\nyou drive a cork into its neck. And that is just what the Americans were\ntrying to do. The _Merrimac_ was the cork with which they wanted to\nfasten up the Spanish ships in the water-bottle of Santiago.\n\nThe captain of the _Merrimac_ was a young officer named Richard P.\nHobson, who was ready to give his life, if he must, for his country.\nAdmiral Sampson did not like to send anyone into such terrible danger,\nbut the daring young man insisted on going, and he had no trouble in\ngetting seven men to go with him.\n\nMost of the coal had been taken out of the _Merrimac_, but there was\nenough left to sink her to the bottom like a stone. And along both\nsides there had been placed a row of torpedoes, filled with gunpowder\nand with electric wires to set them off when the right time came.\n\nHobson was to try to take the ship to the right spot, and then to blow\nholes in her sides with the torpedoes and sink her across the channel.\nWould not he and his men sink with her? Oh, well, they took the chances\non that.\n\nLieutenant Hobson had a fine plan laid out; but the trouble with fine\nplans is that they do not always work in a fine way. He was to go in to\nwhere the channel was very narrow. Then he was to let the anchor fall\nand swing the ship round crossways with the rudder. Then he would touch\nthe button to fire the torpedoes. When that was done they would all jump\noverboard and swim to the little boat that was towed astern. They\nexpected the _Merrimac_ would sink across the channel and thus cork it\nup.\n\nThat was the plan. Don't you think it was a very good one? I am sure\nLieutenant Hobson and Admiral Sampson thought so, and felt sure they\nwere going to give the Spaniards a great deal of trouble.\n\nIt was about three o'clock when the _Merrimac_ came into the mouth of\nthe channel. Here it was pitch dark and as still as death. But the\nSpaniards were not asleep. They had a small picket-boat in the harbor's\nmouth, on the lookout for trouble, and its men saw a deeper darkness\nmoving through the darkness.\n\nThey thought it must be one of the American warships and rowed out and\nfired several shots at it. One of these hit the chains of the rudder and\ncarried them off. That spoiled Hobson's plan of steering across the\nchannel. You see, as I have just told you, it does not take much to\nspoil a good plan.\n\nThe alarm was given and the Spaniards in the forts roused up. They\nlooked out and saw this dark shadow gliding swiftly on through the\ngloom. They, too, thought it must be an American battleship, and that\nthe whole fleet might be coming close behind to attack the ships in the\nharbor.\n\nThe guns of Morro Castle and of the shore batteries began to rain their\nballs on the _Merrimac_. Then the Spanish ships joined in and fired down\nthe channel until there was a terrible roar. And as the _Merrimac_ drove\non, a dynamite mine under the water went off behind her, flinging the\nwater into the air, but not doing her any harm.\n\nThe cannonade was fierce and fast, but the darkness and the smoke of the\nguns hid the _Merrimac_, and she went on unhurt. Soon the narrow part of\nthe channel was reached. Then the anchor was dropped to the bottom and\nthe engines were made to go backward. The helm was set, but the ship did\nnot turn. Hobson now first learned that the rudder chains were gone and\nthe ship could not be steered. The little picket-boat had spoiled his\nfine plan.\n\nThere was only one thing left to do. He touched the electric button. In\na second a dull roar came up from below and the ship pitched and rolled.\nA thousand pounds of powder had exploded and blown great jagged holes in\nthe ship's sides.\n\nHobson and his men leaped over the side into the water. Those who were\nslow about it were flung over by the shock. Down plunged the _Merrimac_\nbeneath the waves, while loud cheers came from the forts. The Spanish\ngunners were glad, for they thought they had sunk a great American\nbattleship.\n\n[Illustration: HOBSON BLOWING UP THE MERRIMAC.]\n\nBut it does not matter to us what the Spaniards thought. All we want to\nknow is what became of Lieutenant Hobson and his daring men. Their\nlittle boat had been carried away by a Spanish shot, and they were\nswimming in the deep waters without knowing what would be their fate. On\none side was the sea; on the other were the Spaniards: they did not know\nwhich would be the worst.\n\n\"I swam away from the ship as soon as I struck the water,\" said Hobson,\n\"but I could feel the eddies drawing me backward in spite of all I could\ndo. That did not last long, however, and as soon as I felt the tugging\ncease I turned and struck out for the float, which I could see dimly\nbobbing up and down over the sunken hull.\"\n\nThe float he spoke of was a sort of raft which lay on the ship's deck,\nwith a rope tied to it so as to let it float. The rope pulled one side\nof it a little under the water, so that the other side was a little\nabove the water.\n\nThis was a good thing for Hobson and his men, for Spanish boats were\nsoon rowing out to where the ship had gone down. The eight men got under\nthe high side of the raft, and held on to it by putting their fingers\nthrough the crevices.\n\n\"All night long we stayed there with our noses and mouths barely out of\nthe water,\" says Hobson.\n\nThey were afraid to speak or move, for fear they would be shot by the\nmen in the boats. It was that way all night long. Boats kept rowing\nabout, some of them very close, but nobody thought of looking under the\nraft. The water felt warm at first, but after a while it felt cold, and\ntheir fingers ached and their teeth chattered.\n\nOne of the men, who thought he could not stand this any longer, left the\nraft and started to swim ashore. Hobson had to call him back. He came at\nonce, but the call was heard on the boats and they rowed swiftly up. But\nthey did not find the hiding place of the men and rowed away again.\n\nAfter daylight came Hobson saw a steam-launch approaching from the\nships. There were officers in it, and when it came near he gave it a\nhail. His voice seemed to scare the men on board, for they backed off in\ngreat haste.\n\nThey were still more surprised when they saw a number of men clamber out\nfrom under the float. The marines in the launch were about to fire, but\nthe officers would not let them.\n\nThen Hobson swam towards the launch and called out in Spanish:\n\n\"Is there an officer on board?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" came the reply.\n\n\"I have seven men to surrender,\" said Hobson.\n\nHe now swam up and was seized and lifted out of the water. One of the\nmen who had hold of him was Admiral Cervera, the commander of the\nSpanish fleet.\n\nThe admiral gave an odd look at the queer kind of fish he had caught.\nHobson had been in the engine-room of the _Merrimac_ and was covered\nwith oil, coal-dust, and soot. But he wore his officer's belt, and when\nhe pointed to that the admiral smiled and bade him welcome.\n\nThen the men were taken on board the launch, where they were well\ntreated. They had come very near death and had escaped.\n\nOf course, you want to read the rest of this story. Well, they were\nlocked up in Morro Castle. This was a fine old fort on the cliff at the\nharbor's mouth, where they could see the great shells come in from the\nships and explode, and see the Spanish gunners fire back.\n\nAdmiral Cervera was very kind to them and sent word to Admiral Sampson\nthat they were safe, and that he would exchange them for Spanish\nprisoners.\n\nThey were not exchanged until July 7, and by that time Admiral Cervera's\nships had all been destroyed and he was a prisoner himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nSAMPSON AND SCHLEY WIN RENOWN\n\nTHE GREATEST SEA FIGHT OF THE CENTURY\n\n\nI HAVE told you what Hobson did and what Wainwright did at Santiago. Now\nit is time to tell all about what the ships did there; the story of the\ngreat Spanish dash for liberty and its woeful ending.\n\nSantiago is the second city of Cuba. It lies as far to the east as\nHavana does to the west, and is on the south of the island, while Havana\nis on the north. Like Havana, it has a fine harbor, which is visited by\nmany ships.\n\nWell, soon after the war with Spain began, our naval captains were in\ntrouble. They had a riddle given them for which they could not find the\nanswer. There was a squadron of Spanish warships at sea, and nobody knew\nwhere to look for them. They might fire into the cities along the coast\nand do no end of damage. Maybe there was not much danger of this; but\nthere is nothing sure in war, and it does not take much to scare some\npeople.\n\nThe navy wanted to be on the safe side, so one part of the fleet was put\non the lookout along our coast; and another part, under Commodore\nSchley, went around the west end of the island of Cuba; and a third\npart, under Admiral Sampson, went to the east. They were all on the hunt\nfor the Spanish ships, but for days and days nothing of them was to be\nseen.\n\nAfter they had looked into this hole and into that hole along the coast,\nlike sea-dogs hunting a sea-coon, word came that the Spanish ships had\nbeen seen going into Santiago harbor. Then straight for Santiago went\nall the fleet, with its captains very glad to have the answer to the\nriddle.\n\nNever before had the United States so splendid a fleet to fight with.\nThere were five fine battleships, the _Iowa_, the _Indiana_, the\n_Massachusetts_, the _Oregon_, and the _Texas_. Then there was the _New\nYork_, Admiral Sampson's flagship, and the _Brooklyn_, Commodore\nSchley's flagship. These were steel-clad cruisers, not so heavy, but\nmuch faster than the battleships. Besides these there were monitors,\nand cruisers, and gunboats, and vessels of other kinds, all spread like\na net around the mouth of the harbor, ready to catch any big fish that\nmight swim out. Do you not think that was a pretty big crowd of ships to\ndeal with the Spanish squadron, which had only four cruisers and two\ntorpedo-boats?\n\nBut then, you know, the insider sometimes has a better chance than the\noutsider. It is not easy to keep such a crowd of vessels together out at\nsea. They run out of coal, or get out of order, or something else\nhappens. If the insider keeps his eyes wide open and waits long enough\nhis chance will come.\n\nAdmiral Cervera, the Spanish commander, was in a very tight place.\nOutside lay the American ships, and inside was the American army, which\nkept pushing ahead and was likely to take Santiago in a few days. If he\nwaited he might be caught like a rat in a trap. And if he came outside\nhe might be caught like a fish in a net. He thought it all over and he\nmade up his mind that it was better to be a fish than a rat, so he\ndecided to come out of the harbor.\n\nHe waited till the 3d of July. On that day there were only five of the\nbig ships outside--four of the battleships and the cruiser _Brooklyn_.\nAnd two of the battleships were a little out of order and were being\nmade right. Admiral Sampson had gone up the coast with the _New York_\nfor a talk with the army general, so he was out of the way.\n\nNo doubt the Spanish lookouts saw all this and told their admiral what\nthey had seen. So, on that Sunday morning, with every vessel under full\nsteam, the Spaniards raised their anchors and started on their last\ncruise.\n\nNow let us take a look at the big ships outside. On these everybody was\nkeeping Sunday. The officers had put on their best Sunday clothes, and\nthe men were lying or lounging idly about the deck. Of course, there\nwere lookouts aloft. Great ships like these always have their lookouts.\nA war-vessel never quite goes to sleep. It always keeps one eye open.\nThis Sunday morning the lookouts saw smoke coming up the harbor, but\nlikely enough they thought that the Spaniards were frying fish for their\nSunday breakfast.\n\n[Illustration: THE FIGHTING TOP OF THE TEXAS.]\n\nAnd so the hours went on until it was about half-past nine. Then an\nofficer on the _Brooklyn_ called to the lookout aloft:\n\n\"Isn't that smoke moving?\"\n\nThe answer came back with a yell that made everybody jump:\n\n\"There's a big ship coming out of the harbor!\"\n\nIn a second the groups of officers and men were on their feet and\nwide-awake. The Spaniards were coming! Nobody now wanted to be at home\nor to go a-fishing. There were bigger fish coming into their net.\n\n\"Clear the ship for action!\" cried Commodore Schley.\n\nFrom every part of the ship the men rushed to their quarters. Far down\nbelow the stokers began to shovel coal like mad into the furnaces. In\nthe turrets the gun-crews hurried to get their guns ready. The news\nspread like lightning, and the men made ready like magic for the\nterrible work before them.\n\nIt was the same on all the ships as on the _Brooklyn_, for all of them\nsaw the Spaniards coming. Down past the wreck of the _Merrimac_ sped\nCervera's ships, and headed for the open sea. First came the _Maria\nTeresa_, the admiral's flagship. Then came the _Vizcaya_, the\n_Oquendo_, and the _Cristobal Colon_, and after them the two\ntorpedo-boats.\n\n\"Full speed ahead! Open fire!\" roared the commodore from the bridge of\nthe _Brooklyn_, and in a second there came a great roar and a huge iron\nglobe went screaming towards the Spanish ships.\n\nIt was the same on the other ships. Five minutes before they had been\nswinging lazily on the long rolling waves, everybody at rest. Now clouds\nof black smoke came pouring from their funnels, every man was at his\npost, every gun ready for action, and the great ships were beginning to\nmove through the water at the full power of the engines. And from every\none of them came flashes as of lightning, and roars as of thunder, and\nhuge shells went whirling through the air toward the Spanish ships.\n\nOut of the channel they dashed, four noble ships, and turned to the west\nalong the coast. Only the _Brooklyn_ was on that side of the harbor, and\nfor ten minutes three of the Spanish ships poured at her a terrible\nfire.\n\nBut soon the _Oregon_, the _Indiana_, the _Iowa_, and the _Texas_ came\nrapidly up, and the Spanish gunners had new game to fire at.\n\nYou might suppose that the huge iron shells, whirling through the air,\nand bursting with a frightful roar, would tear and rend the ships as\nthough they were made of paper.\n\nBut just think how it was at Manila, where the Spaniards fired at the\nsea and the sky, and the Americans fired at the Spanish ships. It was\nthe same here at Santiago. The Spaniards went wild with their guns and\nwasted their balls, while the Americans made nearly every shot tell.\n\nIt was a dreadful tragedy for Spain that day on the Cuban coast. The\nsplendid ships which came out of the harbor so stately and trim, soon\nlooked like ragged wrecks. In less than half an hour two of them were\nashore and in a fierce blaze, and the two others were flying for life.\nThe first to yield was the _Maria Teresa_, the flagship of the admiral.\nOne shell from the _Brooklyn_ burst in her cabin and in a second it was\nin flames. One from the _Texas_ burst in the engine-room and broke the\nsteam-pipe. Some burst on the deck; some riddled the hull; death and\nterror were everywhere.\n\nThe men were driven from the guns, the flames rose higher, the water\npoured in through the shot holes, and there was nobody to work the\npumps. All was lost, and the ship was run ashore and her flag pulled\ndown.\n\nIn very few minutes the _Oquendo_ followed the flagship ashore, both of\nthem looking like great blazing torches. The shells from the great guns\nhad torn her terribly, many of her crew had been killed, and those who\nwere left had to run her ashore to keep her from going to the bottom of\nthe sea.\n\nIn half an hour, as you may see, two of the Spanish ships had been half\ntorn to pieces and driven ashore, and only two were still afloat. These\nwere the _Vizcaya_ and the _Cristobal Colon_. When the _Maine_ was sent\nto Havana, before the beginning of the war, a Spanish warship was sent\nto New York. This was the _Vizcaya_. She was a trim and handsome ship\nand her officers had a hearty welcome.\n\nIt was a different sort of welcome she now got. The _Brooklyn_ and the\n_Oregon_ were after her and her last day had come. So hot was the fire\nthat her men were driven from their guns and flames began to appear.\n\nThen she, too, was run ashore and her flag was hauled down. It was just\nan hour after the chase began and she had gone twenty miles down the\ncoast. Now she lay blazing redly on the shallow shore and in the night\nshe blew up. It was a terrible business, the ruin of those three fine\nvessels.\n\nThere was one more Spanish ship, the _Cristobal Colon_. (This is the\nSpanish for Christopher Columbus.) She was the fastest of them all, and\nfor a time it looked as if Spain might save one of her ships.\n\nBut there were bloodhounds on her track, the _Brooklyn_, six miles\nbehind, and the _Oregon_, more than seven miles away.\n\nSwiftly onward fled the deer, and swiftly onward followed the\nwar-hounds. Mile by mile they gained on the chase. About one o'clock,\nwhen she was four miles away, the _Oregon_ sent a huge shell whizzing\nfrom one of her great 13-inch guns. It struck the water just behind the\n_Colon_; but another that followed struck the water ahead.\n\nThen the _Brooklyn_ tried her eight-inch guns, and sent a shell through\nthe _Colon's_ side, above her belt of steel. For twenty minutes this\nwas kept up. The _Colon_ was being served like her consorts. At the end\nof that time her flag was pulled down and the last of the Spanish ships\nran ashore. She had made a flight for life of nearly fifty miles.\n\nThis, you see, is not the story of a sea-fight; it is the story of a\nsea-chase. Much has been said about who won the honor at Santiago, but I\nthink any of you could tell that in a few words. It was the men who ran\nthe engines and who aimed the guns that won the game. The commanders did\nnothing but run after the runaway Spaniards, and there is no great honor\nin that. What else was there for them to do? They could not run the\nother way.\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nPage 45, \"Quileron\" changed to \"Quiberon\" (fleet at Quiberon Bay)\n\nPage 119, \"one\" changed to \"on\" (set it on fire)\n\nPage 123, \"scimetar\" changed to \"scimitar\" (scimitar and aimed a)\n\nPage 132, \"breadth\" changed to \"breath\" (hardly a breath)\n\nPage 148, \"a\" changed to \"to\" (how to handle)\n\nPage 172, \"know\" changed to \"knew\" (Lawrence never knew)\n\nPage 204, \"McDonough's\" changed to \"MacDonough's\" (MacDonough's Victory)\n\nPage 206, \"Afew\" changed to \"A few\" (A few broadsides like)\n\nPage 207, \"shot\" changed to \"shots\" (Red-hot shots were)\n\nPage 242, \"necesary\" changed to \"necessary\" (was necessary to tell)\n\nPage 261, \"torpedos\" changed to \"torpedoes\" (hundred torpedoes were)\n\nPage 296, \"and, and\" changed to \"and\" (and, between them, a small)\n\nPage 311, \"rom\" changed to \"room\" (the engine-room of the)", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32273", "title": "Stories of Our Naval Heroes Every Child Can Read", "author": "", "publication_year": 1908, "metadata_title": "Stories of Our Naval Heroes Every Child Can Read", "metadata_author": "Jesse Lyman Hurlbut", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:29.163779", "source_chars": 335128, "chars": 335128, "talkie_tokens": 80046}}
{"text": "Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Cortesi and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Wells Cathedral From St. Andrews Spring.]\n\n\n         THE CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF\n\n                  WELLS\n\n        A DESCRIPTION OF ITS FABRIC\n        AND A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE\n              EPISCOPAL SEE\n\n                  BY THE\n         REV. PERCY DEARMER, M.A.\n\n     [Illustration: Arms of the See]\n\n        WITH FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\n       LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS 1899\n\n       _First Published October 1898_\n     _Second Edition revised October 1899_\n\n          W.H. WHITE AND CO. LTD.\n\n         RIVERSIDE PRESS, EDINBURGH\n\n\n\n\nGENERAL PREFACE\n\n\nThis series of monographs has been planned to supply visitors to the\ngreat English Cathedrals with accurate and well illustrated\nguide-books at a popular price. The aim of each writer has been to\nproduce a work compiled with sufficient knowledge and scholarship to\nbe of value to the student of Archæology and History, and yet not too\ntechnical in language for the use of an ordinary visitor or tourist.\n\nTo specify all the authorities which have been made use of in each\ncase would be difficult and tedious in this place. But amongst the\ngeneral sources of information which have been almost invariably found\nuseful are:--(1) the great county histories, the value of which,\nespecially in questions of genealogy and local records, is generally\nrecognised; (2) the numerous papers by experts which appear from time\nto time in the Transactions of the Antiquarian and Archaeological\nSocieties; (3) the important documents made accessible in the series\nissued by the Master of the Rolls; (4) the well-known works of Britton\nand Willis on the English Cathedrals; and (5) the very excellent\nseries of Handbooks to the Cathedrals originated by the late Mr John\nMurray; to which the reader may in most cases be referred for fuller\ndetail, especially in reference to the histories of the respective\nsees.\n\n                               GLEESON WHITE,\n                               E.F. STRANGE,\n                                 _Editors of the Series_\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR'S PREFACE\n\n\nThe writer about cathedrals nowadays is one who, reaping where he has\nnot sown, and gathering where he has not strawed, is indebted for most\nthat he says to the patient labours of other and wiser men. Nowhere\ndoes one feel this more than at Wells. The admirable Somerset\nArchaeological Society has gone on accumulating information about the\ncathedral for more years than the present writer has lived. Professor\nFreeman produced twenty-eight years ago, in his \"History of the\nCathedral Church of Wells,\" a little book which has since been a model\nfor all works of the kind, and of which one can still say that no one\ncan understand all that is contained in the word \"cathedral\" unless he\nhas read it. Yet since that book was written much fresh material has\nbeen discovered, and the theories then held as to the building of the\ncathedral have been in great measure disproved. To Canon C.M. Church,\nin his \"Chapters in the Early History of Wells,\" and his papers read\nbefore the Somerset Society, we are indebted for most valuable\nstatements of the new historical discoveries, and to his untiring\nkindness I am myself beholden to a greater extent than I can express.\n\nWells so abounds in interesting detail, that the exigencies of space\nhave made it necessary to curtail the last chapter, which contains the\nhistory of the diocese; a good deal of interesting matter has thus\nbeen cut from my original MS. of this chapter, and many bishops have\nbeen dismissed more summarily than they deserve. The need of dealing\nproperly with the cathedral itself must be my apology for the baldness\nof this last chapter as it now stands. Those who desire a further\nacquaintance with the history of the diocese cannot do better than\nconsult Mr Hunt's \"Bath and Wells,\" in the excellent Diocesan\nHistories series of the Society for the Promotion of Christian\nKnowledge.\n\nTo many other writers on the Cathedral Church of Wells,\nacknowledgments and references will be found scattered throughout the\npresent volume. I must also express my thanks to Mr Philips, and\nMessrs Dawkes & Partridge of Wells, for permission to reproduce their\nphotographs, and to Mr W. Heywood and Mr H.P. Clifford for their\ndrawings.\n\n                                                       P.D.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                                     PAGE\nCHAPTER I.--History of the Church                       3\n\nCHAPTER II.--Exterior                                  20\n   West Front                                          21\n   Statuary, Central Doorway, the Tiers                30\n   Western Towers                                      44\n   Central Tower                                       47\n   North Porch                                         47\n   North Transept                                      51\n   Walls, Parapet                                      52\n   Chain Gate                                          52\n   Chapter-House                                       54\n   From the South-East                                 55\n   Cloister                                            58\n   Library                                             63\n   Museum                                              64\n   Vicar's Close                                       66\n   Bishop's Palace, Great Hall, Barn                   67\n   Deanery, Archdeaconry, etc., St. Cuthbert's         70\n\nCHAPTER III.--Interior                                 73\n   Nave, etc.                                          77\n       Capitals                                        79\n       Glass                                           84\n   Bubwith's Chapel                                    85\n   Sugar's Chapel                                      86\n   Pulpit, Lectern                                     87\n   Transepts                                           89\n      Capitals                                         89\n      Font, Monuments                                  95\n   Transepts Chapels--St. Martin, St. Calixtus,\n        St. David, Holy Cross                          98\n   Clock                                              105\n   Inverted Arches                                    107\n   Tower, Screen, Organ                               110\n   Choir                                              113\n      Misericords, Glass                              120\n   Choir Aisles, Monuments                            123\n   Eastern Transepts, Monuments                       124\n   Procession Path                                    128\n   Glass in Choir Aisles and Chapels                  130\n   Lady Chapel, Glass                                 133\n   Chapter-House Staircase                            134\n   Chapter-House                                      137\n   Undercroft                                         141\n\nCHAPTER IV.--History of the Diocese and Foundation    147\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nWells Cathedral from St. Andrew's Spring              _Frontispiece_\nArms of the See                                              _Title_\nThe Cathedral from the South-East                                2\nThe Cathedral in the Seventeenth Century                        15\nSouth Aisle of Nave                                             19\nWest Front--Bishop of Aethelhelm                                22\nThe West Front                                                  23\nOrnaments in the West Front                                 28, 29\nWest Front--Christina                                           31\nThe Central Tower from the South-East                           45\nThe North Porch                                                 49\nThe Bishop's Eye                                                53\nDoorway, South-East of Cloister                                 58\nEast Walk of Cloister                                           59\nThe Chain Gate, Entrance to Close, 1824                         65\nThe Bishop's Palace                                             68\nThe Nave                                                        75\nA Capital--The Fruit-stealer's Punishment                       79\nA Capital--Toothache                                            81\nSpecimens of Capitals                         82, 83, 84, 148, 149\nView across Nave, showing Sugar's and Bubwith's Chapels         85\nSugar's Chapel--The Lectern and Pulpit                          88\nSection of North Transept, and Elevation of South Transept      90\nCapitals in Transept                                            92\nThe South Transept, from North Side of Nave                     93\nThe Font                                                        95\nThe Annunciation--Husse's Tomb                                 101\nPriest in Surplice--Husse's Tomb                               102\nThe East End in 1823                                           103\nThe Inverted Arches                                            109\nChoir, looking West                                            111\nChoir, looking East                                            115\nProcession Path and Lady Chapel                                129\nSteps Of Chapter-house Vestibule And Passage Over Chain Gate   135\nChapter-House--Doorway                                         138\nChapter-House--Interior                                        139\nChapter-House--Vault                                           141\nChapter-House--Undercroft                                 142, 143\nSection of Chapter-House                                       145\nPLAN                                                           160\n\n\n[Illustration: Wells From The South-East.]\n\n\n\n\nWELLS CATHEDRAL\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nHISTORY OF THE CHURCH\n\n\n\"The Gothic Cathedral,\" wrote Froude, an author who held no brief for\nthe Gothic period, \"is perhaps, on the whole, the most magnificent\ncreation which the mind of man has as yet thrown out.\" The Cathedral\nChurch of Wells, wrote Froude's predecessor in the same historical\nchair, is \"the best example to be found in the whole world of a\nsecular church, with its subordinate buildings.\" \"There is no other\nplace,\" Professor Freeman went on to say, \"where you can see so many\nof the ancient buildings still standing, and still put to their own\nuse.\" And surely there is no place better fitted to be their home than\nthis beautiful old city of Wells, set in the midst of the fair western\ncountry, the land of Avalon and Camelot, of Athelney and Wedmore.\n\nThis unique group of buildings does not, however, take us back earlier\nthan the close of the Norman period. Of what existed before, we have\nbut scant evidence. Tradition says that King Ina had, about the year\n705, founded at Wells a college of secular priests, and therefore a\nchurch of some sort. And when King Eadward the Elder, taking advantage\nof the peace which his father Alfred had secured, fixed, in 909, the\nnew Somersetshire see by the fountain of St. Andrew at Wells, he seems\nto have chosen that little city because there already existed therein\na church, large enough to serve as a cathedral in those times, and\ntended already by a body of secular canons. Now that the ancient\nchurch of St. Andrew was raised to this new dignity, it was probably\nin the tenth century rebuilt in stone, with plain round-headed\nwindows, and perhaps a small unbuttressed tower to hold the bells;\nfor, when Giso became bishop in the next century (1061-1088), he\nerected a whole cluster of quasi-conventual buildings, but we are not\ntold that he found it necessary to rebuild the church, although he\ncomplained that he found it mean and its revenues small. Indeed, the\nfact that Giso was buried under an arch in the wall on the north side\nof the high altar, as his predecessor Duduc had been buried on the\nsouth side, shows that he had not rebuilt the church.\n\nOn Giso's death, John de Villula at once swept away his buildings, and\nset up a bishop's house on their site. John, however, made Bath his\ncathedral church, and suffered the church of Wells to fall into the\ndecay from which it was rescued by the first \"Maker of Wells,\" Bishop\nRobert of Lewes.\n\nThe active episcopate of Robert of Lewes (1136-66) was as important an\nera in the history of the church as in that of the chapter. In spite\nof the anarchy of Stephen's reign, Robert set steadily to work; and,\nwhile the neighbouring barons were battering each other's castles, the\nbishop reared the first great cathedral church of Wells. How much of\nthe old Saxon building he left we cannot tell; but it was in a ruinous\ncondition, and he may have pulled it completely down, or he may have\nleft one part for later builders to deal with. In 1148 his new Norman\nchurch was consecrated, a massive round-arched building, its nave\nperhaps as large as the present one, and its choir under the tower\nwith a small presbytery beyond. This date may be taken as the\nbeginning of the present cathedral; for all the succeeding\nreconstructions followed the lines of Bishop Robert's church. Yet the\nNorman work has disappeared almost as completely as the Saxon, and the\nfont is the only object which can be claimed as undoubtedly\nRomanesque. Of distinctly Norman mouldings there are none in the\nchurch, and only a few fragments in other places. Seldom has one of\nthose strong Norman buildings so utterly vanished from sight. But many\nstones dressed in the Norman fashion can still be traced by the expert\nin the eastern part of the church (p. 74), having been no doubt used\nup again by the later workmen; and there may be masses of undisturbed\nmasonry hidden in the walls.\n\nBishop Robert, as we know from one of his charters, did something also\nfor the order of his church. Mammon had gradually encroached upon the\nsacred precincts, and the markets had come to be held in the\n\"vestibule,\" and in the church itself; the busy hum of the buyers and\nsellers marred the quiet of God's house, and disturbed the people at\ntheir devotions. Strong measures were necessary, and the bishop\nordered the market to be held at some distance from the church, while\nat the same time, as an act of grace, he remitted the tolls that were\ndue to him as lord of the manor. Thus did he lay the foundation of the\nliberties of Wells city while securing the sanctity of Wells\nCathedral.\n\nAccording to Bishop Godwin (1616), and the anonymous fifteenth century\nMSS., called in Wharton's _Anglia Sacra_ the \"Canon of Wells,\" there\nwas a blank in the history of the church between Bishop Robert, who\nconsecrated the Norman building in 1148, and Bishop Jocelin, whose\nepiscopate lasted from 1206 to 1242. Godwin, who exaggerated a passage\nfrom the \"Canon of Wells\" (which that writer had produced by\nexaggerating a single sentence of a preamble of Jocelin, p. 7),\ndeclared that Jocelin found the church \"as ready to fall,\" and \"pulled\ndown the greatest part of it, to witte, the west ende, and built it\nanew from the very foundation.\" This became the accepted view. But the\ndocuments recently brought to light through the labours of those who\nunearthed and deciphered the MSS. in possession of the chapter, have\nproved that the energetic Bishop Reginald, so far from letting the\nchurch go into ruin during his episcopate (1174-1191), did in reality\nrebuild it himself. Much travelled, conversant with all kinds of\nchurches and cities in an age of great building operations, he was not\nthe sort of man to neglect his cathedral. And, as a matter of fact, he\nis proved to have begun the present church by a charter recently\nfound, which is of a date prior to 1180, and therefore belongs to the\nearly years of his episcopate. In this important document, recognising\nhis duty to provide \"that the honour due to God should not be\ntarnished by the squalor of His house,\" he arranges in full chapter\nfor a munificent grant in support of the fabric, until the work be\nfinished[1]. Another charter of Reginald's time, which conveys a\nprivate gift to the church, alludes to \"the admirable structure of the\nrising church,\" thus testifying to the successful progress of the\nbishop's plan during his own lifetime. The part which he built, there\ncan be little doubt, included the three western bays of the choir\n(which then formed the presbytery), the transepts, north porch, and\nthe eastern bays of the nave. That is to say, on entering the church\none is looking upon Reginald's work, and not Jocelin's; for, although\nthe rest of the nave was completed by Jocelin, it was done in\naccordance with Reginald's original plan.\n\nIt is of great importance to remember this fact, since until recently\nthe nave, with the other parts just mentioned, was attributed by\nProfessor Willis, Professor Freeman, and most authorities to Jocelin.\nWillis, indeed, bowed to what was then thought to be documentary\nevidence against his own judgment; for he declared the work to be of a\nstyle much earlier than that of Jocelin's time (p. 73). Now we know\nalmost to a certainty that the bulk of the cathedral belongs neither\nto the late Norman period of Robert, nor to the Early English of\nJocelin, but to the period just between the two, that of Reginald de\nBohun.\n\nDuring the episcopate of Reginald's immediate successor Savaric\n(1192-1205), something further may have been done to the nave. But\nthere was small opportunity for church building during this bishop's\nwandering and litigious life; and all we know for certain is that,\nowing no doubt to the civil war, the intolerable exactions of papal\nlegates, and the quarrel with Glastonbury, the cathedral church of\nWells had fallen into a state of dilapidation when Jocelin became\nbishop in 1206; and that it remained in this condition till King John\nwas dead: for Jocelin was an exile abroad, the property of the see was\nconfiscated, and its income paid yearly into the king's purse.\n\nFrom the year 1218, when the land was again at peace, and a profitable\narrangement had been come to with the monks of Glastonbury, Jocelin\ndevoted himself to the fabric and chapter of Wells, up to the year of\nhis death in 1242. Grants of money and of timber, which are extant,\nshow that by 1220 the work was recommenced, and that it was in\nprogress in 1225. By 1239 the church was sufficiently advanced to be\ndedicated.\n\nJocelin and his brother Hugh (afterwards Bishop of Lincoln) were\nnatives of the city they loved so well. They had both lived through\nReginald's episcopate--Jocelin as canon and Hugh as archdeacon of\nWells. After, when they rose to high positions as judges, and became\nhonourably rich, Hugh, who built much in Lincoln Cathedral, gave\nlargely of his great wealth to Jocelin for Wells, and Jocelin himself\nspent all that he had upon the place where he had been brought up from\ninfancy.\n\nThus Jocelin was in a real sense a \"maker of Wells.\" But he was not\nthe only maker, for he must share the honour with two other master\nbuilders--Robert, whose work is entirely gone, and Reginald, whose\nwork remains. He did not, as Godwin led us to suppose, pull down and\nrebuild the whole church. But he loyally carried on the work of his\npredecessor, and he executed the great work which has been always\nrightly attributed to him, the present west front; this he joined to\nReginald's unfinished nave by building the three western bays in\nstrict accordance with the earlier style. The front belongs to the\nfully-developed Early English style in which Salisbury is built,\nagreeing exactly with the date of the consecration of the church by\nJocelin in 1239,--as was pointed out by Professor Willis, who was\npuzzled by the great difference in its style from that of the nave,\nwhich was then thought to belong to the same period. We know that\nJocelin was a frequent visitor to Salisbury while Bishop Poore was\nbuilding it; and thus all the lines of evidence combine to support the\nunshaken tradition that Jocelin was the author of the west front.\n\nA month before his death in 1242, Jocelin de Wells put forth a charter\nfor the increased endowment of the cathedral staff; and it was because\nof a few chance words in the preamble that he came to be credited with\nthe construction of the whole. Having found the church in danger of\nruin, runs the passage, by reason of its age _aedificare coepimus et\nampliare--in qua adeo profecimus--quod ipsam consecravimus_. This,\nwhich need mean nothing more than extensive building operations, is\nthe sole foundation for the tradition that Jocelin pulled down the old\nchurch and built a new one.\n\nThe condition of the church at the end of the thirteenth century is\nthus described by Professor Freeman[2]:\n\n\"By the end of the thirteenth century we may look upon the church of\nWells as at last finished. It still lacked much of that perfection of\noutline which now belongs to it, and which the next age was finally to\ngive to it. Many among that matchless group of surrounding buildings\nwhich give Wells its chief charm, had not yet arisen. The church\nitself, with its unfinished towers, must have had a dwarfed and\nstunted look from every point. The Lady Chapel had not yet been\nreared, with its apse alike to contrast with the great window of the\nsquare presbytery above it, and to group in harmony with the more\nlofty chapter-house of its own form. The cloister was still of wood.\nThe palace was still undefended by wall or moat. The Vicars' Close and\nits chain-bridge had not yet been dreamt of. Still, the church, alike\nin its fabric and its constitution, may be looked on as having by this\ntime been brought to perfection ... The nave, recast in forms of art\nsuch as Ina and Eadward, such as Gisa and Robert, had never dreamed\nof, with the long range of its arcades and the soaring sweep of its\nnewly-vaulted roof, stood, perfect from western door to rood-loft,\never ready, ever open, to welcome worshippers from city and village,\nfrom hill and combe and moor, in every corner of the land which looked\nto Saint Andrew's as its mother church. The choir, the stalls of the\ncanons, the throne of the Bishop, were still confined within the\nnarrow space of the crossing; but that narrow space itself gave them a\ndignity which they lost in later arrangements. For the central\nlantern, not yet driven to lean on ungainly props, with the rich\narcades of its upper stages still open to view, still rose, in all the\nsimple majesty of its four mighty arches, as the noblest of canopies\nover the choir below.\"\n\n\"The eastern ending of the presbytery was,\" Mr Freeman proceeds, \"rich\nwith the best detail of the thirteenth century, as can be learnt from\nthe fragments built up in the chapel of the Vicars' Close, and lying\nabout in the undercroft of the chapter-house, which are in the full\nEarly English style of the west front. The existing choir aisle walls\nprove that a procession-path ran behind the high altar, with most\nlikely a chapel beyond it.\"\n\n\"The thirteenth century,\" he concludes, \"had done its great creative\nwork, and had left to future ages only to improve and develop\naccording to the principles which the thirteenth century had laid\ndown. That is to say, the thirteenth century had done for the local\nchurch of Wells what it did for England, what it did for Europe, and\nfor the world.\"\n\nThe choir, however, was not so cramped as Mr Freeman thought, for it\nincluded one bay of the nave, as we now know from a notice of the\nmaking of Haselshaw's tomb, which was dug at the entrance to the\nchoir; and, indeed, the marks where the screen was fixed are still\nvisible on the piers at this point. From the top of the screen the\ngreat rood looked down the nave, and on each side of the doorway stood\nan altar, that on the north dedicated to Our Lady, that on the south\nto St. Andrew. The aisles of the choir were also screened off from the\nnave, and outside their gates were two more altars--St. Saviour's on\nthe north, and St. Edmund's on the south. Thus the nave, where men\nwere ever coming and going, walking and talking, and in laxer times\nbuying and selling as well, was quite shut off from the more sacred\nplaces. Yet here, too, were altars and shrines, and here came the\nprocessions on Sundays and holidays.\n\nWithin the choir the chapter said their offices, the dean and\nprecentor facing east in their returned stalls, and the other\ndignitaries in their allotted places, with the junior canons, vicars,\nand those in minor orders below them, and the boys on the lowest forms\nof all. Just beyond these stalls was the bishop's throne; and east of\nthe tower the presbytery stood open, with the tombs of the early\nbishops, on either side, under the arches. The rest of the space\nenclosed within the screen belonged more especially to the clergy; the\nnorth transept was probably used as a chapter-house, when the\nundercroft was yet unfinished, and its western aisle was used as the\nchapter library. The chamber leading to the undercroft was the vestry,\nand the stout walls of the octagon, when it was finished, protected\nthe vestments and treasures of the cathedral.\n\nIt is worth while to call to mind the kind of service for which the\nchurch was built, with its aisles and chapels and screen. The usual\nSunday procession started from the north door of the presbytery,\npreceded by two thurifers with censers, went round behind the\npresbytery, the priest in his cope asperging the altars on his way,\nthen down the south choir aisle, and through the south transept into\nthe cloister. In the cloister-cemetery, the priest, with his\nministers, said the prayers for the dead, and then rejoined the\nprocession in the cloister Lady Chapel, where the first station was\nmade. Thence the procession returned to the great rood in the nave,\nand there made the second station, the bidding-prayer being given out\nto the people from the rood-screen, after which it re-entered the\nchoir. But on special occasions the ritual was increased; as, for\ninstance, at the procession of palms on Palm Sunday, or the Corpus\nChristi Day procession, which is thus described by Mr J.D.\nChambers[3]: \"The procession, some time before the mass, should\nassemble in order at the step of the Choir (_i.e._ in the Presbytery),\na priest in Albe and silk Cope carrying the Corpus Christi in a\ntabernacle or feretory under a canopy of silk raised over him and it\non four staves, borne by four clerks in Albes and Tunicles, with\nlighted tapers. It should go out of the Choir down the Nave, and out\nat the West Door of the Church, round the Church and Cloisters as on\nAscension Day\"--_i.e._ round the outside of the whole church,\nbeginning with the north side and returning round the east end, and\nthrough the cloister to the west door again, and thus back into the\nnave. The colours of the vestments at Wells followed in the main the\ncustom of the neighbouring diocese of Sarum, but with some local\nvariations, such as are set down in the _Consuetudinary_ which\nArchbishop Laud had copied from the late thirteenth-century MS. Indigo\nand white were used on St. John's Day and on the Dedication Festival;\nin Advent, indigo; at Passiontide, red, and on Palm Sunday, \"except\none cope of black for the part of Caiaphas\" at the singing of the\nPassion; red, too, on Maunday Thursday, but with a banner of white.\nRed was also used for Easter, Pentecost, and throughout the Sundays\nafter Trinity; while for Virgin Martyrs, red was mixed with white.\nThis mixture of colours was probably effected by the cantors wearing\ndifferent coloured copes; thus for confessors saffron _(croceus)_ was\nmixed with green, _sicut honestius et magis proprie possunt adaptari\nfesto_; but St. Julian and some others had all saffron, while a few,\nlike St. Benedict, had all indigo. White is comparatively little in\nevidence, but it was used at Christmas, and for commemorations of the\nBlessed Virgin. Black was used for the commemoration of the dead.\n\nTo this vision of stately pomp, and changing colour, we must add in\nour mind's eye the many chapels with their woven tapestries of flowers\nand beasts and birds, their rich ornaments and sacred associations;\nthe majestic rood upon the screen, and the rich altars that stood\nbefore it; the almost constant succession of services that went on\nbehind it, where the canons (each with his own book and candle) and\ntheir vicars sat, and the pyx hung over the high altar; the sound of a\nlittle bell from one of the chapels where mass was being said, the\nglimmer of a hanging lamp, the gleam of a silver image, the shrines\nhere and there, with their frequent visitors; and, as years went on,\nthe subdued light from the gorgeous painted windows (that over the\nhigh altar glowed then from east to west without obstructing organ),\nthe frescoes on some of the walls, the green and red and gold of the\nlater monuments; and over all the trail of incense and the sound of\nprayer.\n\nAfter Jocelin's death the works came to a standstill, for the\nsufficient reason that the chapter was \"overburdened with an\nintolerable debt,\" owing to the enormous expense of the litigation\nwith Bath Abbey over Bishop Roger's election (p. 153). This, however,\nwas the last attempt of the rival cathedral of St. Peter; and the\ndebt, which was at its worst in 1248 (the year after Roger's death),\nwas bravely met by a contribution of a fifth of the income of each\nprebend, as well as by gifts and obits; so that towards the end of\nWilliam Bytton's episcopate the debt was nearly cleared, and in 1263\nBytton made over the sequestrations of vacant benefices to the fabric\nfund.\n\nIn 1248 an earthquake had done much damage, shaking down the _tholus_\n(either the vault, or the stone capping) of the central tower, as we\nlearn from Matthew Paris _(Hist. Angl._ iii. 42). Accordingly, in\n1263, preparations were made for further building; and in 1286 we hear\nof a chapter meeting, summoned by Dean Thomas Bytton, whereat the\ncanons bind themselves to give one-tenth of their prebends for five\nyears, \"to the finishing of the works now a long time begun (_jam diu\nincepta_), and to repair what needed reparation in the old works.\"\n\nThe reparation here mentioned refers in all probability to the roof\nand piers of the transepts and eastern part of nave, damaged by the\nfall of the _tholus_. The famous western capitals of the transepts,\nwith their frequent representations of the miseries of toothache, must\nrefer to the second William Bytton, who had died in 1274, and whose\ntomb became famous for its dental cures (p. 125). No doubt, the\nofferings at the shrine of this local saint helped considerably to\nswell the funds for the building operations.\n\nThe works \"now a long time begun\" can hardly be anything else than the\nchapter-house undercroft, the outer walls of which may have been built\nsome forty years before. Professor Willis, who had access to the\ndocument, decided, on architectural evidence, that the undercroft must\nhave been already completed at this time, and his view may be safely\naccepted (_Arch. Inst._, \"Bristol\" vol., p. 28). The passage to the\nundercroft would seem to be the first result of the chapter's\nundertaking; its ornament is of a more advanced type than that of the\nundercroft itself, and one of its carved heads is swollen as by the\ntoothache, and tied in a handkerchief. There can be little or no doubt\nthat the \"finishing\" of the old works included also the building of\nthe chapter-house staircase, and, when that was finished, the raising\nof the chapter-house itself (the _nova structura_ of the old\ndocuments) upon the undercroft. The full Decorated style of the\nchapter-house is separated by a considerable interval from the late\nEarly English of the undercroft, while that of the staircase, which is\ngeometrical Decorated of a character not very far removed from Early\nEnglish, must have been built before the chapter-house itself was\nbegun.\n\nThe self-sacrificing spirit of the chapter was supplemented by the\nofferings which flowed in from the growing practice of endowing altars\nfor requiem services, as well as from the shrine of St. William\nBytton; and the building activity continued for the next fifty years\ntill the church had been brought, in all save its western towers, to\nits final state of perfection. After the staircase to the\nchapter-house had been completed, about the year 1292, the walls of\nthe chapter-house itself were built, probably by Bishop William de\nMarchia (1293-1302) who seems to have covered it in with a temporary\nroof.\n\nDean John de Godelee (1306-1333) was the last great builder of the\nchurch of Wells. The power of the bishop in his own church is already\ndeclining, as that of the chapter rises, and it is the dean now who\norganises the works. In 1315 the central tower was raised, and by 1321\nit was being roofed in. By 1319 the chapter-house was finished;\nGodelee, with William Joy, the master-mason, had probably worked out\nthe old drawings and built the windows and vaulted roof. Next the Lady\nChapel must have been begun, for by 1326 it was finished. Somewhere\nabout this time the parapet, which adds so much to the external beauty\nof the church, was also made.\n\nBut the raising of the central tower had, ere this, brought disaster.\nIn 1321 there was a grant from the clergy of the Deanery of Taunton in\naid of the roofing of the \"new _campanile_\"; in 1338 a convocation was\nsummoned because the church of Wells was so _totaliter confracte et\nenormiter deformate_ that the instant and united action of its members\nwas required to save it (_cf._ Willis in _Som. Proc._ 1863). The\nadding of the Decorated portion to the tower increased the weight so\nmuch that the four great piers sank into the ground, dragging the\nmasonry with them and causing rents to appear at the apex of the\narches. The situation was most dangerous: it was met by the careful\nrepairing of the torn masonry and the construction of those inverted\narches which are so familiar a feature of the church.\n\nYet the work proceeded very rapidly under a great bishop, who for the\ntime eclipsed the rising power of the deans. Ralph of Shrewsbury\n(1329-63) carried on the work of Dean Godelee, and in the early years\nof his episcopate entirely reconstructed the choir. The scheme seems\nto have been contemplated as early as 1325; for in that year each\ndignitary arranged to pay for his own stall in the refitting of the\nchoir, because the old stalls had become \"ruinous and misshapen.\" In\nany case, it was Ralph who added the three new bays of the presbytery\nwhich are so curiously joined to the old presbytery of Reginald, and\nwith it form the present eastern limb of the church. He then\nconstructed the beautiful retro-choir which connects the presbytery\nwith the Lady Chapel. The vaulting of the choir and the construction\nof the great east window would appear to have been undertaken at a\nlater period of his episcopate; for the ceiling is of a more advanced\nstyle than the lower work, and the tracery of the window is half\nPerpendicular. When Bishop Ralph died, in 1363, he was buried in the\nplace of honour in front of the high altar, as the founder of the\nchoir which he had finished.\n\nThe finishing touches were given to the cathedral when Bishop Harewell\n(_ob._ 1386) gave two-thirds of the cost of the south-western or\nHarewell Tower, and when the executors of Bishop Bubwith (_ob._ 1424)\nfinished the companion tower on the north-west.\n\nThe other efforts of the fourteenth and fifteenth century builders\nwere given to those subordinate buildings which are the peculiar glory\nof Wells. Even so magnificent a prelate as Beckington did nothing to\nthe actual fabric of the Cathedral (unless his tomb be so considered),\nfor the simple reason that there was really nothing for him to do.\nRalph of Shrewsbury had, besides his work in the church, finished the\npalace (which Jocelin had begun and Burnell had enriched with the hall\nand chapel) by the moat, walls, and gate-house. He had also begun the\nVicars' Close, of which the chapel was built by Bubwith, but the\nexecutors of Beckington recast it in its present form. After\nBeckington had employed his energies in erecting the beautiful\ngateways with which his name is always associated, Dean Gunthorpe\n(_ob._ 1498) built the deanery.\n\nThe following interesting eulogy of Bishop Beckington and his church\nwas written in the form of a Latin dialogue by Chaundler, who was\nChancellor of Wells in 1454:--\n\n\"You might more properly call it a city than a town, as you would\nyourself understand more clearly than day if you could behold all its\nintrinsic splendour and beauty. For that most lovely church which we\nsee at a distance, dedicated to the most blessed Apostle of the\nAlmighty God, St. Andrew, contains the episcopal chair of the worthy\nBishop. Adjoining it is the vast palace, adorned with wonderful\nsplendour, girt on all sides by flowing waters, crowned by a\ndelectable succession of walls and turrets, in which the most worthy\nand learned Bishop Thomas, the first of that name, bears rule. He has\nindeed at his own proper pains and charges conferred such a splendour\non this city, as well by strongly fortifying the church with gates and\ntowers and walls, as by constructing on the grandest scale the palace\nin which he resides and the other surrounding buildings, that he\ndeserves to be called, not the founder merely, but rather the\nsplendour and ornament of the church.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Cathedral. (From a Seventeenth Century Print.)]\n\nThe Reformation period left the cathedral cold and barren within, but\ninterfered little with its fabric; the only serious piece of\ndestruction (p. 57) being that of the magnificent Lady Chapel by the\nCloister, in 1552, by Sir John Gates, \"a greate puritan, Episcopacie's\ncommon Enemy.\" In other respects it was what Freeman calls a period of\nsystematic picking and stealing; as witness this passage from\nNathaniel Chyles:--\"The Great Duke of Somersett, Unkle to Edward the\nSixt (whose title proved very fatall to this place and Bishopwrick)\nwas not only contented to get most of the mannours Lands and\npossessions belonging to this Bishopwrick settled upon him and his\nposteritie, but at last even the palace itselfe also.\" But the palace\nand some of the property were recovered after Somerset's execution.\n\nThe bishop's palace suffered the ruin of Burnell's magnificent hall\nthrough the prevalent lust for gain. Sir John Harrington writes in\nterms of pardonable indignation:--\"I speak now only of the spoil made\nunder this Bishop [Barlow]; scarce were five years past after Bath's\nruins, but as fast went the axes and hammers to work at Wells. The\ngoodly hall covered with lead ... was uncovered, and now this roof\nreaches to the sky. The Chapel of Our Lady, late repaired by\nStillington, a place of reverence and antiquity, was likewise defaced,\nand such was their thirst after lead (I would they had drunk it\nscalding) that they took the dead bodies of bishops out of their\nleaden coffins, and cast abroad the carcases scarce thoroughly\nputrified.\"\n\nDuring the Commonwealth the choir was closed, and Dr Cornelius Burges,\nwho was appointed \"Preacher\" at the cathedral, bought the bishop's\npalace and deanery for his private property. He, of course, despoiled\nthe palace, \"pulling off not only the Lead thereoff,\" says Chyles,[4]\n\"but taking away also the Timber, and making what money he could of\nthem, and what remained unsold he removed to the Deanery improving\nthat out of the Ruins of the palace, leaving only bare Walls.\" At the\nRestoration Burges was ejected, after a good deal of litigation, and\nBishop Piers returned to the ruins of his palace. Burges' sermons had\nnever been popular with the people of Wells, who annoyed him by\nwalking up and down the cloisters \"all sermon time.\" When the trial\nfor his ejectment came on he published his \"Case,\" in which he\njustified his buying Church lands by alleging that he had lent the\nState £3490, and, having a wife and ten children to provide for, he\ntook such land, etc. as the only means of repayment. Five of the\ncanons' houses were also obtained from Cromwell's Commissioners by the\nCorporation of Wells, one or two of which were pulled down and sold\nfor old stone.\n\nAt the Restoration, the canons were at great expense to restore the\nchurch from the ruinous condition into which it had fallen in Puritan\ntimes, and they were liberally helped in their extremity by the clergy\nand laity of the diocese. Says Chyles (_c._ 1680): \"Since his\nMajestie's and Churche's happy and blessed Restoration, what betweene\nthe Bishopp, the Deane, and Deane and Chapter, our Church and Quire is\nonce more in a beautifull and comely habitt (which God continue) such\nas neither the Church of Rome has reason to upbraid us with a slovenly\nor clownish Service, nor the Puritan and Nonconformist with a gaudy or\nSuperstitious. The good old Bishopp [W. Piers], who weather'd out that\nStorme, and was restored to what was his Owne, gave those silk\nHangings which beautifie the Altar within the Railes.\" Dean Creyghton\ngave the glass in the west window, the organ and the brass lectern,\nand Dr Busby, who was treasurer of Wells as well as head-master of\nWestminster, gave the silver-gilt alms dish and restored the library,\nlengthening it by the addition of the southern part.\n\nChyles tells us, too, that there was morning and evening prayer in the\n\"Vicars' Chapell in Close Hall,\" at six, forenoon and afternoon, in\nwinter, and seven in summer, in addition to the cathedral services at\nthe \"canonical howers.\" Before his time there had been only a morning\nsermon on Sundays, and, in the afternoon, \"the whole Cathedrall\" had\nbeen in the habit of going to St. Cuthbert's, returning with the mayor\nand his brethren for the cathedral prayers at four; \"but since his\nMajesty's Restoracion one likewise in the Afternoones here is preached\nby the said prebends _in theire turns_. Soe that here the Sermonizing\npeople may have their Bellyfull of preaching and forbeare crying out,\n_They are starved for want of the Word_ and calling our clergy _Dumb\nDoggs_.\"\n\nThis time of peace did not last long, for in 1685 the whole of\nSomerset was up in Monmouth's rebellion. The duke's followers came to\nWells, turned the cathedral into a stable, tore the lead off the roof\nfor bullets, pulled down several of the statues, broached a barrel of\nbeer on the high altar, and would have destroyed the altar itself, had\nnot Lord Grey, one of their leaders, defended it with his sword. Dr\nConan Doyle's description of the scene in his novel, _Micah Clarke_\n(p. 292), is so vivid that it is well worth referring to.\n\nThe long and heavy peace which followed was marked by the gradual\npewing up of the choir and presbytery, and the intrusion of\npretentious monuments. Then, in our own times, came the revival,\nbringing evil as well as good in its train. In 1842 the restoration of\nthe nave, transepts, and Lady Chapel was commenced at the instance of\nDean Goodenough, by Mr Benjamin Ferrey. He removed the thick layers of\nwhitewash which had been ingeniously applied to conceal the sculpture;\nand the long rows of marble tablets which had disfigured the aisles\nwere shifted to the cloisters, whence, it may be hoped, they will one\nday make a further journey towards oblivion.\n\nThe restoration of the choir by Mr Salvin, which lasted from 1848 to\n1854, was unfortunately of a less blameless character. It was the\nperiod of the Great Exhibition, when art reached the lowest depths to\nwhich it has sunk in the history of the world.\n\nWe need not dwell upon the result; few restorations are more marked\nwith the complacent ignorance of that strange time. The old pews and\ngalleries in the choir, which had hidden the very capitals of the\npiers, were indeed removed, but with them the medieval stalls were\ndestroyed and replaced by work of indescribable imbecility. No real\nimprovement in the choir of Wells is now possible till every trace of\nDean Jenkyns' restoration is swept away; but, alas! what he destroyed\ncan never be recovered.\n\nIn 1868 the report of Mr Ferrey[5] upon the west front was presented,\nand shortly afterwards the work of repair was begun under his\ndirection. The report showed how extensive was the decay, and how\ngreat the danger of complete ruin unless steps were taken to protect\nthe old work; and the work of repair was carried out with care and\nreverence; though even here irreparable harm was done by the\nsubstitution of the modern \"slate pencils\" for the old blue lias\nshafts. Since then, many small matters have been attended to with\nvarying success. The Lady Chapel has been decently furnished and the\neast end slightly improved. Much still remains to be done; but the\nbest motto at the present day is _festina lente_, and the safest rule\nis to be progressive in all enrichment by removable furniture, and\nconservative, very conservative, in all structural alteration. If the\nhand of the restorer can now be stayed, the words will still be true\nof Wells, which M. Huysmans used of another church:--_Ces siècles\ns'ètaient reunis pour apporter aux pieds du Christ l'effort surhumain\nde leur art, et les dons de chacun étaient visibles encore._\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n   [1] _Somerset Proceedings_, 1888, ii. 5.\n\n   [2] _History of the Cathedral_, p. 98.\n\n   [3] _Divine Worship in England_, p. 195.\n\n   [4] Book ii. c. 2.\n\n   [5] _Inst. Arch._ 1870.\n\n\n[Illustration: South Aisle Of Nave. (See p. 83.)]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE EXTERIOR\n\n\n\"In England,\" wrote Mr J.H. Parker, in his _Glossary_, \"Wells affords\nthe most perfect example of a cathedral with all its parts and\nappurtenances. It was,\" he continues, after an enumeration of the\nparts of the church, \"a cathedral proper, and independent of any\nmonastic foundation, but with a separate house for each of its\nofficers, either in the Close or in the Liberty adjoining to it. The\nbishop's palace was enclosed by a separate moat and fortified, being\non the south side of the cloister, from which it is separated by the\nmoat; the houses for the dean and for the archdeacon are on the north\nside of the Close, with some of the canons' houses; the organist's\nhouse is at the west end, adjoining to the singing-school and the\ncloister; the precentor's house is at the east end, near the Lady\nChapel. The vicars-choral have a close of their own adjoining to the\nnorth-east corner of the canons' close, with a bridge across through\nthe gate-house into the north transept; they were a collegiate body,\nwith their own chapel, library, and hall.\" One need only add that all\nthese sentences can still, with one exception, be read in the present\ntense to show that Wells possesses a beauty and interest which gives\nit an unique place among cathedral foundations. There is no other\ncathedral city in which so many of the old ecclesiastical buildings\nremain, or on which the modern world has made so little impression.\nThe church itself, in Fergusson's opinion perhaps the most beautiful,\nthough one of the smallest in England, is but one part of a \"group of\nbuildings, which,\" wrote Professor Freeman, \"as far as I know, has no\nrival, either in our own island or beyond the sea.\" The little city to\nwhich these buildings belong is itself worthy of them, almost a part\nof them, so quiet and venerable is it, so picturesque in its lovely\nsetting of green hills.\n\nWere size the main distinction of a church, Wells would sink\ncomfortably into the second class; even in some of its best features\nit has many rivals, but the peculiar charm and glory of Wells lies (to\nquote again from Freeman's _History_) \"in the union and harmonious\ngrouping of all. The church does not stand alone; it is neither\ncrowded by incongruous buildings, nor yet isolated from those\nbuildings which are its natural and necessary complement. Palace,\ncloister, Lady Chapel, choir, chapter-house, all join to form one\nindivisible whole. The series goes on uninterruptedly along that\nunique bridge, which, by a marvel of ingenuity, connects the church\nitself with the most perfect of buildings of its own class, the\nmatchless vicars' close. Scattered around we see here and there an\nancient house, its gable, its windows, or its turret, falling in with\nthe style and group of greater buildings, and bearing its part in\nproducing the general harmony of all.\" Thus, in the first place, the\ngroup of buildings must be looked at as a whole from the north, from\nthe east, from the south-east; then the superb, unrivalled picture\nfrom the rising ground on the Shepton Mallet road,[1] outside the\ncity, must be seen, and, when this little journey has been made, the\nmost hurried visitor must find time at least to peep into the vicars'\nclose, and walk round the moat of the palace. After some such general\nimpression has been gained, the study of the exterior of the church\nwill naturally begin with that part which is a peculiar distinction of\nWells Cathedral--the west front.\n\nThe WEST FRONT of Wells has been universally admired. Long ago, old\nFuller wrote--\"The west front of Wells is a masterpiece of art indeed,\nmade of imagery in just proportion, so that we may call them _vera et\nspirantia signa_. England affordeth not the like.\" This verdict is but\nrepeated by modern writers; the front is \"quite unrivalled,\" says\nFergusson, and comparable only to Rheims and Chartres. Mr Hughes, in\nTraill's _Social England_, goes farther and says[2] that \"nothing fit\nto rank with it was then being done in Northern Europe--for the\nmonumental porches of France, formerly supposed to be contemporary,\nare now recognised as of a later date.\"\n\n[Illustration: West Front. Bishop Aethelhelm (103). Drawn by H.P.\nClifford.]\n\nBut there has been a discordant note in the general chorus of praise.\nProfessor Freeman, whose admiration for nearly everything in Wells was\nso intense, could find little to praise in the west front of the\ncathedral.[3] \"It is doubtless,\" he wrote, \"the finest display of\nsculpture in England; but it is thoroughly bad as a piece of\narchitecture. I am always glad when I get round the corner, and can\nrest my eye on the massive and simple majesty of the nave and\ntransepts. The west front is bad because it is a sham--because it is\nnot the real ending of the nave and aisles, but a mere mask, devised,\nin order to gain greater room for the display of statues ... The front\nis not the natural finish of the nave and aisles; it is a blank wall\nbuilt up in a shape which is not the shape which their endings would\nnaturally assume. It is therefore a sham; it is a sin against the\nfirst law of architectural design, the law that enrichment should be\nsought in ornamenting the construction ... not in building up anything\nsimply for the sake of effect.\" He then proceeds to criticise the way\nin which the windows and doorways \"are stowed away as they best may\nbe,\" as if they were felt to be mere interruptions to the lines of\nsculpture.\n\n[Illustration: The West Front.]\n\nThis latter objection to the doorways had often been made before, only\nthat the \"rabbit-holes on a mountain side\" of earlier critics became\n\"mouse-holes\" with Mr Freeman. Mr E.W. Godwin, in a lecture in 1862,\nhad also found fault with the crowding in of the niches over the\ncentral doorway, which he declared to be in the highest degree clumsy;\nwith the bald appearance given by the shallowness of the reveals in\nthe principal windows; and with the way in which \"the solid work of\nthe base suddenly crops up at the very summit of the two central\nbuttresses, not altogether unlike the dog-kennel of modern Gothic.\"\n\nOf these criticisms the most serious is Mr Freeman's general charge of\nunreality. But why should not a stone screen be erected for the\ndisplay of statuary before the west end of a church, just as lawfully\nas behind the high altar? And, if a screen may be allowed as an end in\nitself, standing simply as a thing of beauty to glorify a building of\nwhich it is not a structural part, then the front of Wells may stand,\nlike the reredos of Winchester, as the noblest example of its kind. It\nhas no need to simulate lofty aisles which do not exist, for it\ncovers, not the aisles, but the faces of the great towers themselves;\nand, as a consequence, the portion of really blank wall which\nstretches from them to the central gable is so small as to be more\nthan justified by the cohesion it gives to the whole. The whole effect\nis singularly broad, but so is the space it covers within; for this\nbreadth is legitimately attained by the happy device of planting the\nwestern towers beyond the aisles.\n\nThe massive front of Wells stands, therefore, on its own merits as a\nwest front, and not merely a west end--a great stone screen that, so\nfar from pretending to be a regular termination of the nave and\naisles, is actually carried, in all its sculptured magnificence, round\nthe sides of the two towers upon which it so frankly depends. It is a\nscreen built at a period different from, and, we may now safely\nassume, later than, that of the nave, and built for the exhibition of\na noble legend in stone, which has ever since been the glory of a\ncounty famed for its splendid churches.\n\nTaking it then for what it is, and remembering that the lower tiers\nwere once filled with statuary, can we regret that the doorways\nthemselves were subordinated to the one grand design of accommodating\nthis great multitude of silent teachers? The great doorways of French\nchurches are magnificent in themselves, but that is surely no reason\nwhy we should make it an axiom that a front cannot be fine unless it\nhave a great doorway. Striking as the effect of these foreign\nentrances may be, there is no structural reason why a door should be\nof an unwieldy size out of all proportion to the stature of the people\nwho use it, so that a smaller door has to be cut for ordinary use out\nof the real door. It certainly, as even at Amiens, limits the\nsculptor's opportunities; and in a country like England, where doors\ncan only be kept open for a few weeks in the year, great doorways\nwould be as inappropriate as closed doors are forbidding. As a matter\nof fact, the usual entrance to Wells Cathedral in Jocelin's time was\nnot from the west, but through the cloister and the south porch. And\nthe central entrance of the west was made impressive, not by its size,\nbut by the exquisite nature of its carving, and the blue and scarlet\nand gold with which it was coloured. It was not insignificant then. It\nhad the prominence of a jewel. Moreover, in French churches, where the\nexterior is sacrificed to the internal effect, there is some wisdom in\nconcentrating attention upon the doorway. But in English churches--and\nin Wells, perhaps, more than any other English church--the exteriors\nare perfect in themselves, and the visitor need not be tempted to\nhurry to their portals. After all, if the rabbit-holes on a\nmountain-side looked as large as quarries, the mountain would not look\nlike a mountain.\n\nThere are, moreover, three faults in the front as it now stands which\ncannot be attributed to its maker. In the first place, it is\nundoubtedly a little formal, a little square, and this defect is\nparticularly marked in the photographs which one sees everywhere.\nUnfortunately this picture, which is too small to show the detail,\ngives no idea whatever of the general external effect of the church.\nIt gives the impression that Wells Cathedral is a glorified wall,\nbecause the photograph cannot show the other parts upon which the\nfront depends. The architect, no doubt, intended the towers to be\ncarried higher or surmounted with spires, and though no trace of any\nstone erection has been found on the tops of the present towers, they\nmay once have been crowned with wooden spires covered with lead or\nshingle. One need hardly say how vast a difference such lofty towers\nas exist at Laon Cathedral, or spires like those of Lichfield, would\nmake in the effect of the front. They would also account for the great\nsize of the buttresses, which seem to have been built with a view to\nsustaining a great weight.\n\nA disagreeable impression is also caused by the row of hip-knobs along\nthe coping of the central gable, and the pinnacle in their midst. This\ncollection of curiosities was probably added in the seventeenth\ncentury, and the pinnacle may have been taken from one of the denuded\nbuttresses of the Lady Chapel to replace the gable cross which must\nhave originally stood here: at all events it is a later addition, as\nwas proved by an examination of the masonry. It would be an act of\njustice to the memory of Jocelin if these trivial excrescences were\nremoved.\n\nPerhaps one is even more distressed on first seeing the front by a\nthird fault--the weak and stringy effect of the long, thin, dark,\nmarble shafts. For this the restorer, Mr Benjamin Ferrey, must bear\nthe blame. He complained with justice that the original blue lias\nshafts, when they were decayed, had been replaced by the ordinary\nDoulting stone.[4] But, unhappily, he did not go back to the original\nmaterial, but fitted the whole front with a complete set of shafts of\nKilkenny marble, which is at once dark and cold. They absolutely\nrefuse to blend with the old, warm, grey stone, and stand out, stark\nand stiff, like an array of gigantic slate pencils. Mr Ferrey was\npossessed with the idea that the blue lias shafts (having only lasted\nfor a paltry half-dozen centuries) were not durable enough for the\nwork. He therefore used this marble, which, doubtless, will stand in\nincreased obtrusiveness when every stone of the cathedral has decayed.\nHe further was impressed with the strange notion that the hideous\nKilkenny marble is of the same colour as the exquisitely delicate grey\nof the blue lias. The result is a sad warning to all restorers not to\nbe more clever than the original architect.\n\nLet us, then, try to imagine the west front with its empty lowest tier\nfilled with graceful figures, its gable in its first simplicity and\nsurmounted by a cross, its towers of Early English form crowned with\nlofty spires, its delicate shafts of their original material, and its\nranges of figures \"all gorgeous in their freshly-painted hues of blue\nand scarlet and purple and gold.\" Then we shall have some idea of the\nfront of Wells as Jocelin meant it to be and to remain.\n\n[Illustration: Ornaments In The West Front.]\n\nAs for the colour, its effect can be gathered from the traces which\nsurvive. There is ultramarine, gold, and scarlet in the tympanum of\nthe central doorway, where there are also the marks of metal fittings.\nFerrey found a deep maroon colour on the figures of the Apostles, and\na dark colour painted with stars in the Resurrection tier. One of the\nchief glories of the front is the faithful care which is given\nthroughout to the smaller features. The mouldings (a succession of\nrounds and hollows) are most bold and effective; the carving of the\nfoliage in caps and canopies, tympana, pedestals, and terminals is\nsingularly beautiful and free. This impression is deepened by a minute\nexamination; indeed, it is almost a matter of regret that some of the\nfinest work is at such a height as to be almost impossible to see; for\nin all the earlier work at Wells the Lamp of Sacrifice burns brightly.\nMr Ferry pointed out an instance, which may be given here, of the care\nwith which minor matters were thought out:--In order that the lowest\ntier might not look weak and yet might provide a sufficient shadow for\nthe statues, the backs of the niches are set at a slightly recessed\nangle in the centre, and thus an effect of strength is given to the\nangular jambs. Indeed, there may be differences of opinion as to the\ngeneral design of the west front, but there can be none as to the\nsupreme excellence of its detail. It is beyond doubt the most rich\nexample of Early English work to be found anywhere. The crown of its\nglories, the justification of its form, did it need justification, are\nthe frail statues which line it, tier upon tier.\n\n[Illustration: Ornaments In The West Front.]\n\nVertically the west front is divided into three main parts--the\ncentre, containing the three lancet windows of the nave and the main\ndoorway, is surmounted by a gable receding in stages with a pinnacle\nat either angle; and the two lateral towers, the lower portion of\nwhich form one continuous screen with the centre, broken only by the\nboldly projecting buttresses, of which each division possesses two.\nHorizontally the front divides itself naturally into four parts--the\nplain base, which is high enough to contain the full height of the\nsmall north and south doorways. One of the stones in this division,\nabout the level of the eye, and near the middle, which has evidently\nbeen moved from some other place, bears the inscription, _Pur lalme\nJohan de Putenie priez et trieze jurs de_ ... Next is an arcade of\nniches interspersed with windows, the space above being pierced by\nquatrefoils. The third division contains the three lancet windows, the\nforms of which are repeated on the north and south, breaking the line\nof the two historical tiers of niches which, with the Resurrection\ntier, adorn this main division of the front. A bold string course\nmarks it off firmly and decisively from the fourth and upper division,\nin which the three parts of the front become separate, the towers at\neach side and the stepped gable, flanked by two graceful Early English\npinnacles, in the middle. The statuary is mainly confined to the\narcading of the second division, to the buttresses of the third, with\nits continuous cornice of the Resurrection tier, and to the gable\nfront of the fourth; but the amount of it is largely increased by the\nfact that the work is carried round three sides of the north-western\ntower, which only touches the church on one side. The niches on the\nsides of the south-western tower are almost empty.\n\nTHE STATUARY.--The statuary is not only the finest collection of\nmedieval sculpture to be found in England; but, separately, the\nfigures are with few exceptions finer than any others in this country,\nwhile some of them are almost as beautiful as the greatest\nmasterpieces in Italy or France. It is strange that here, at the\noutset of the Gothic period, the chief characteristics of the old\nGreek spirit should be so apparent, the same restraint, the same\nsimplicity, the same exquisite appreciation of light and flowing\ndrapery: in other things there is difference enough, the form is less\nperfect, the action is less free, though there is a deeper sentiment\nand a higher power of spiritual expression; but in the essentials of\nsublime statuary there is a singular agreement.\n\nAnd, strange though it seems, it may well be that in these statues one\nmust look for the first signs of the influence of the Renaissance in\nEngland. Romanesque work has but just died out, and already the old\nspirit, destined in time to supplant the architecture which sprung\nfrom it, is at work again. While the statues were being cut at Wells,\nNiccola Pisano was reviving sculpture in Italy under the inspiration\nof classical examples; and there can be little doubt but that it was\nItalian sculptors who produced the statuary at Wells. Some of the\nfigures on the northern part of the front have been found to be marked\nwith Arabic numerals (_Somerset Proceedings_ 1888, i. 57, 62), and\nthese numerals, which did not become common in England till the\nsixteenth century, were used in Italy long before, having been\nintroduced by Bonacci of Pisa (a fellow-citizen of Niccola) in 1202.\nThat they are found here before the middle of the century is a fairly\nconclusive proof that the workers were Italians, and very likely from\nPisa itself. Jocelin, indeed, was English, but he had been in exile\nfrom 1208 to 1213, when he had ample opportunity of studying the work\nof the Italian artists. Pleasant as it would be to our national pride,\nwe can hardly believe that Englishmen produced what seems to be the\nearliest example of such magnificent and varied sculpture in\nnorth-western Europe. At Jocelin's death, in 1242, when the work had\nbeen going on for some thirty years, Niccola Pisano was in his prime,\nCimabue was two years old, and forty years had yet to elapse before\nthe rival sculpture of Amiens Cathedral was executed.\n\n[Illustration: West Front: Christina (185). Drawn by H.P. Clifford.]\n\nMr Ruskin, whose admiration of the work at Amiens is so intense, has\ngiven almost as high praise to the sculpture at Wells, and has\npresented sets of photographs of the statuary to various art schools.\nThe verdict of enthusiastic approval is, in fact, unanimous. Flaxman,\nto his credit, in spite of his classicalism, was one of the first to\ndraw attention to the work. Whoever was the general designer of the\nwhole arrangement, he deserves as great praise as the sculptors\nthemselves. There must have been several sculptors, both because no\none man could have carved three hundred and fifty subjects (of which\none hundred and fifty-two are life-size or colossal), and because a\ncertain number of the figures in the fourth and fifth tiers are of\nobviously inferior design. But one master-mind must have conceived and\ndirected the work. The height and lightness which is given to the\ngable by the tall row of the Apostles, the solemn prominence of the\nfigure of our Lord above, the rich cornice-like effect of the small\nResurrection tier, the difference in height between the fourth and\nfifth tiers, the concentration of the three lower tiers, the breadth\nwhich the seated figures give to the face of the buttresses, the\narrangement of the statues and groups round the buttresses, which\nmakes it impossible for them all to be seen at once, all show that one\nmind was busy, carefully subordinating the parts to the whole.\n\nIt may well have been Jocelin himself who planned the subject-matter\nof the statuary with such admirable breadth and balance of mind. It is\neasy to produce sermons in stones, easy to sermonise in very many\nways; but Jocelin did not preach. He just tried to embody the\nChristian spirit at work in the world: God made manifest in man, the\ngreat truth of the Incarnation; and this he did in what we should call\nthe most modern manner, though in truth it is medieval as well as\nmodern. He did not conceive of Christianity as confined within the\ncovers of the Bible, but he took all history, as he knew it, the\npatient education of man in the Old Testament, the fulfilment of man's\naspirations and God's purpose in the New, from the birth of our Lord\nto the founding of the Church, and the continuation of this church up\nto his own time, with especial regard to the heroes, saints and rulers\nof the Church of England. He made a \"kalendar for unlearned men,\"\nwhich is both a _Biblia Pauperum_ and _Annales Angliae_, because the\nannals of England were to him a new Bible. \"Slowly the Bible of the\nrace is writ,\" a modern writer has said, \"each age, each kindred, adds\na word to it.\" That was the spirit of Jocelin's design; only that,\nthrough the pomp of mighty kings and fair women and honoured bishops,\nhe looked to the naked truth of the judgment time, when mitres and\ncrowns would remain but as signs of an awful responsibility, and the\ndivine justice, so tried, so obscured on earth, would be vindicated\nbefore the angels who are quick to do God's will, and the twelve plain\nmen who turned the mighty currents of the world. Such was the spirit\nof a man who lived in the days of St. Francis and St. Louis, Stephen\nLangton and Roger Bacon.\n\nBefore commencing a detailed description of the statuary, one must\nrefer to Professor Cockerell, R.A., whose enthusiastic love of the\nwork led him to construct a theory which he published in 1851, as an\n_Iconography of the West Front_. There can be little doubt that he was\nright in his general idea; there can be equally little doubt that he\nwas wrong in nearly every application of it. Everyone now, for\ninstance, takes it for granted that the south side of the front is\nmainly \"spiritual,\" devoted to ecclesiastics, while the north is\n\"temporal\"; and that the whole of the fourth and fifth tiers do\nrepresent certain leading historical figures. But when we read\nCockerell's reasons for identifying these figures we recoil in dismay.\nHis knowledge of history is superficial, of costume he knows practically\nnothing; his drawings are as inaccurate as his imagination is fertile,\nand he states as obvious facts the wildest conjectures. Further\nreference will be found to his book in our description of the fourth\nand fifth tiers. It was at least an honest labour of love, and\nCockerell deserves the honour, as he had to endure the disadvantages,\nof being the first in the field.\n\nThe CENTRAL DOORWAY may be taken before the lowest tier. Its soffit\ncontains an evident addition, as if the architect felt that it needed\nemphasising by some enrichment. In the first of its four\ndeeply-wrought mouldings a series of niches, five on each side, with\nsmall delicately-carved figures, has been inserted, evidently after\nthe arch was made; they are cut from a different stone (white lias),\nand are skilfully fitted and grooved into the back of the large sunk\nmoulding. They add considerably to the effect of the arch, although\nall the heads of the figures have been destroyed. It is characteristic\nof Cockerell's random method of conjecture, that he declared these\nfigures to be representations of the Ten Commandments.\n\n1. The tympanum under the arch and above the double opening of the\ndoorway contains a quatrefoil, in which is a noble sculpture of the\nMadonna and Child. The head of the Mother and the upper half of the\nChild are gone, but the drapery that remains is of quite perfect grace\nand dignity. A serpent is under the feet of the Madonna, who is\nsitting on a throne; angels censing are on either side without the\nquatrefoil. A good deal of the old colour which once gave this central\ngroup a peculiar brilliancy can still be traced on this protected\nsculpture; the background was ultramarine, the mouldings red and gold.\nThe figures were also gilded in part, and there are marks on the wall\nto show that a metal nimbus was once attached to it.\n\n2. In a canopy above the arch is another sculpture of equal beauty,\nthough, owing to its more exposed position, the treatment is a little\nbroader. It represents the coronation of Our Lady; both the heads and\nall the hands are gone. The two figures are both seated on one long\nbench, and our Lord leans forward to place the crown upon his Mother's\nhead.\n\n\nTHE TIERS.\n\nIn order to avoid any possible mistake I have taken each tier from\nright to left, specifying the gaps, windows, and buttresses, to\nfacilitate identification, and commencing with the lowest tier. I have\nalso numbered the figures afresh, because of the confusion which has\nhitherto caused great waste of time to every one who has attempted to\nidentify them. Cockerell's numbers are the only ones that are at all\naccurate (and he omits the two figures on the extreme south of the\nfourth and fifth tiers); but, as he recommenced his enumeration with\neach series, they are not much use for purposes of identification.\nThere are mistakes and omissions in the enumeration of the\nphotographs, there are mistakes in the album in the cathedral library,\nthe photographs in the South Kensington Museum are hopelessly muddled,\nand even the descriptions of the restorer, Mr Ferrey, are so arranged\nthat it takes days to identify them, while some of them elude one's\nefforts altogether. I have, therefore, numbered the statues and groups\nin a continuous order from bottom to top, so that comparison with\nphotographs will in the future be easy. In the case of work most of\nwhich can only be seen from a distance, the study of photographs is\nabsolutely necessary for a full appreciation of their beauty, more\nespecially as in very many cases the photographs reveal the form which\nthe accidents of discoloration have partly concealed. Mr Phillips of\n10 Market Place has an almost complete set of admirable photographs,\nwhich he was enabled to take when the scaffolding was up for the\nrestoration of 1870-73: it is these which Mr Ruskin has so much\nadmired.\n\nAs there are so many statues, some of inferior interest and beauty, I\nhave ventured to put an asterisk (*) to those which I think no one\nshould fail to see; and, in almost every case, I have but echoed the\ngeneral verdict.\n\nTHE LOWEST TIER.--This tier contains sixty-two niches, forty-three of\nwhich are empty, so fatally convenient has their position been for the\niconoclast. Of those which remain nearly all are on the north side of\nthe tower, so that at first sight the tier seems to be quite empty.\nThe loss here has been the greater because the figures were of the\nfinest kind, as well as the most easily seen: those remaining are\ncertainly of the most exquisite loveliness. Cockerell's theory that\nthis tier represents the heralds of the gospel, prophets and\nmissionaries, has nothing to support it.\n\nIt seems to me not unlikely that the tier was devoted to some of the\nmost popular saints in the calendar; the position, so near the\npasser-by, would have suited this arrangement, and the front must have\nbeen singularly deficient in saints if it were otherwise. The figures\nwhich remain, a group of deacons, a group of bearded figures holding\nbooks, and of women bearing religious attributes, might well stand for\nsaints.\n\n3. _South Tower._ Male figure, much decayed, held by metal clamps.\n\n4. Male figure, much decayed, held by metal clamps.\n\n_Rest of figures missing along west front up to_--\n\n5. _North Tower._ Male figure, much decayed, holds book.\n\n6. A similar figure.\n\n_Missing._\n\n7. _North Buttress._ Male figure, which held some drapery in front.\n\n8. _North Buttress._ Male figure, holding a vessel in right hand\ncovered with a cloth, the end of which was in left hand. [Cockerell\ncalls this St. Augustine, erroneously supposing this cloth to be the\npallium.]\n\n9. Beautiful female figure,* drapery resembling a chasuble; hands\ngone.\n\n10. Female figure with flowing hair; hands gone.\n\n11. Female figure, wimple round head, in left hand holds a vessel,\nright hand is on the edge of the vessel, the fingers dipping in.\n\n12. Female figure,* hood over head, holds in right hand the foot of a\nchalice, and with her left the fold of her dress in front.\n\n13. Tall male figure, bearded, holding closed book; in good\npreservation.\n\n14. Male figure, bearded; hands gone.\n\n15. _Buttress._ Male figure, bearded, with flowing hair; hands gone.\n\n16. _Buttress._ Male figure, bearded, holding open book in left hand;\nupper part moulding away.\n\n17. Deacon* in dalmatic, alb, amice, holding open book in left hand,\nright hand gone; drapery is wonderfully fine. (This and the remaining\nfigures are tonsured and shaven.)\n\n18. Deacon,* a beautiful figure, (apparently in dalmatic), amice; left\nhand gone.\n\n19. Deacon, in girded alb, ends of girdle hanging down, wears the\nfolded chasuble (very rare in art) over left shoulder, maniple; holds\nbook with both hands.\n\n_Missing._\n\n20. _Buttress._ Deacon, in girded alb, amice, stole over left\nshoulder, book in left hand. Besides ends of girdle, end of a stole is\nvisible on left side, as if a crossed stole had first been carved and\nthis end forgotten.\n\n21. _Buttress._ Deacon,* stole worn over left shoulder, maniple, but\nno amice and no girdle; wears instead of alb a surplice with full\nsleeves--an unusual combination.\n\nSECOND TIER.--The next tier (22-53) consists of thirty-two\nquatrefoils, some of which are now empty. The rest contain half-length\nfigures of angels, holding crowns, mitres, scrolls, or drapery in\ntheir hands.\n\nTHIRD TIER.--This, which we may call the Bible Tier, consists of\nforty-eight quatrefoils, ranged close above the quatrefoils of the\nsecond tier, and broken in the centre by the larger sculpture of the\nCoronation of the Virgin (2). The subjects are all from the Bible,\nthose on the south from the Old Testament, dealing with the first\nthings, while those on the north and on the north and east sides of\nthe northern tower are from the New Testament, and represent the life\nand mission of our Lord. The iconoclasts seem to have concentrated\ntheir attention on those earlier New Testament groups, which would\ncontain the figure of our Lady, and they have made the Crucifixion\nalmost unrecognisable. The figures are about two feet high.\n\n_Empty._\n\n54. The Death of Jacob.\n\n55. Isaac blessing Jacob, who leans over him.\n\n56. Meeting of Isaac and Rebecca, probably.\n\n57. Noah sacrificing on Ararat. Very fine.\n\n58. The Ark. A curious structure, raised pyramidally in four tiers,\nwith open arcades, in which birds and beasts are seen. Below is the\nFlood.\n\n59. Noah building the Ark.* He is in workman's dress, and wears a cap;\nhe is working at a bench, beneath which are his tools. Behind is the\nark, and an \"Early English\" tree.\n\n60. God decreeing the Deluge.* In great wrath Jehovah approaches a man\nwho sits pensively on a hill-side: from behind the man's head springs\na demon. The figure of Jehovah is admirably expressed.\n\n_Empty._\n\n61. Abraham about to sacrifice Isaac, who is bound on a bundle of\nwood. Cockerell called this the Sacrifice of Cain, which certainly\nsuits its position better.\n\n62. Adam delves and Eve spins. Fine.\n\n_Empty._\n\n63. Jehovah in the Garden. A draped figure, addressing two figures\nnaked and ashamed.\n\n64. The Temptation. The serpent's body is coiled round the tree near\nAdam, and his head hovers above with an apple in the mouth. Adam is\nalready eating the fruit.\n\n65. God placing Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.\n\n66. The Creation of Eve.\n\n67. The Creation of Adam. The figure of the Almighty in each of these\nthree is magnificent, especially in the last.\n\n_Empty._\n\nOVER CENTRAL DOORWAY. 2. Coronation of the Virgin (p. 34).\n\n_Here follow eighteen New Testament subjects._\n\n68. St. John the Evangelist*; he is winged. A book rests on the back\nof an eagle. The idea of inspiration could not be more finely\nexpressed.\n\n_Empty._ (Perhaps the Annunciation was here.)\n\n_Empty._ (Perhaps the Visitation.)\n\n69. The Nativity. Mutilated.\n\n_Empty._\n\n_Empty._\n\n_Empty._\n\n_Empty._\n\n_Empty._\n\n_Empty._\n\n70. Christ among the Doctors: the Holy Child is a very small figure on\na pedestal. A most expressive group.\n\n71. St. John Baptist, clothed in camels' hair, in the wilderness. (An\nangel appearing from the clouds, broken off since 1862. The fragment\nis now in No. 72).\n\n72. Figures in critical attitudes. Perhaps the Sermon on the Mount.\n\n_Empty._\n\n73. Christ in the Wilderness, probably.\n\n74. Figures in intent attitudes. Perhaps the Mission of the Apostles.\n\n75. Five figures seated at a table. Perhaps the Anointing of Christ's\nfeet.\n\n76. Figure on a Mount surrounded by many figures. Perhaps the Feeding\nof the Five Thousand. NORTH SIDE OF TOWER.\n\n77. Christ, sitting, with other figures. Perhaps the Feeding of the\nFour Thousand.\n\n78. The Transfiguration.* A fine composition, two of the Apostles\ncrouching in the foreground.\n\n79. The Entry into Jerusalem. Under the city gate two men strew\nclothes and branches: from the walls and tower many people are\nlooking.\n\n80. The Betrayal. Chief priest with mitred head-dress in centre:\nwinged devil holds up the train of right figure. On left a figure\nholds open a money-box.\n\n81. The Last Supper.* The Virgin kneels to receive the Communion from\nher Son: St. John's head rests on His bosom. The drapery is very fine.\nUnderneath are a bottle and a basket.\n\n_Empty._\n\n82. Christ before Pilate.\n\n83. Christ bearing the Cross. Mutilated.\n\n84. The Elevation of the Cross. Much mutilated.\n\n85. The Deposition. Much mutilated.\n\n_Empty._\n\n86. The Resurrection. An angel on either side, guards below.\n\n87. Pentecost: the Birthday of Holy Church. A dignified group of\nfigures.\n\nFOURTH AND FIFTH TIERS.--The fourth and fifth tiers contained at least\n120 figures (about a dozen of which are gone), varying in height from\n7 ft. 10 in. to 8 ft. 1 in., a few running as high as 8 ft. 10 in.\nThey no doubt represent the kings, bishops, and heroes of English\nhistory from Egbert to Henry II. Cockerell was probably right in his\ngeneral interpretation of the series, but it is easy to prove that he\nis wrong in many of the names he gives. It is not so easy to suggest\nany better, and therefore his names have stuck to the figures, since\npeople naturally like to know them by something more interesting than\na number. I shall therefore adopt his nomenclature, with the admission\nthat equally good grounds could be given in almost every case for some\nother theory. Besides Mr Ferrey's account (_Inst. Brit. Arch._, 1870),\nquoted in inverted commas, Cockerell's descriptions, inaccurate as\nthey are, have been consulted, and also Mr Planché's criticism of\nCockerell.\n\nThe word _Buttress_ means that the figure (generally a sitting one) is\non the west face of the buttress in question. Bishops (\"Bp.\"), unless\notherwise stated, wear the usual vestments--mitre, chasuble, dalmatic,\ntunicle, stole, maniple, alb, and apparelled amice. Kings (\"K.\") and\nQueens (\"Q.\") wear crowns. A favourite attitude is described as\n\"holding cord\"; this cord being the lace or cord of the mantle, which\ncrossed the chest and prevented that garment from falling off the\nshoulders. The mantle seems to have had an uncomfortable tendency to\nslip down, and thus it became a habit constantly to pull the cord\nforward, whence the frequency of this attitude. This cord was wrongly\ndescribed by Cockerell as a necklace, with which it has, of course, no\nconnection. The word \"trampling\" refers to another common feature in\nthese tiers; kings are generally represented as trampling on a small\nfigure under their feet, to signify their success over their enemies.\nThe figures of the fifth tier are rather taller than those of the\nfourth. The first twenty figures on our list, those of the fourth tier\nup to King Ina, may represent the twenty bishops of the diocese from\nAthelm to Jocelin, in direct order, since the corresponding series of\nthe fifth tier contains figures which cannot be those of bishops. I\nhave, however, kept to Cockerell's names to avoid confusion.\n\n\nFOURTH TIER.--88. _South Tower_--_Buttress_--Sitting Bp.; much\ndecayed, supported by metal clamps.\n\n89. Bp. Savaric. Much defaced, head grotesquely so.\n\n90. Bp. Robert. Much defaced, head grotesquely.\n\n_Missing._\n\n91. _Buttress._ Bp. Reginald de Bohun, sitting; somewhat decayed.\n\n92. Bp. Ethelweard, good drapery, well--preserved; no hair or beard.\n\n93. Sighelm, good drapery, well-preserved; ring of curly hair and\nbeard.\n\n94. Alfry, in hood; large curly beard.\n\n95. Etheleage, monastic dress, cowl and scapular; large curly beard.\n\n96. Bp. Asser. Short and stout figure, in attitude of benediction.\n\n97. Bp. Heahmund. Short and stout figure, in attitude of benediction.\n\n98. _Buttress._ Bp. Wolfhelm. Fine seated figure, in attitude of\nbenediction.\n\n99. Bp. Ealhstan. Stout common-place figure; rather mutilated.\n\n100. Bp. Wilbert. Stout common-place figure; rather mutilated.\n\n101. Bp. Denefrith. Stout common-place figure; better preserved.\n\n102. Bp. Ethelnod. Stout common-place figure; better preserved.\n\n103. _Buttress._ Bp. Aethelhelm, first Bishop of Wells* (reproduced on\np. 22). Noble figure, sitting in attitude of benediction.\n\n104. Bp. Herewald, in attitude of benediction.\n\n105. Bp. Forthere, head bent slightly forward.\n\n106. Bp. Ealdhelm. A fine figure. _Central Window (South)._\n\n107. K. Ina, looking over right shoulder, hand gone. (These central\nfigures, Ina and Ethelburga, are supposed to be of later date than the\nrest.) _Central Window._\n\n108. Q. Ethelburga. Wears the long kirtle with girdle, from which are\nhung an ink-bottle and aulmoniere. _Central Window (North)._\n\n109. K. Egbert, trampling, bearded; cloak falls in a graceful sweep\nfrom right to left.\n\n110. K. Ethelwulf, bearded. A very short figure, but raised on high\nstone (crouching figure?) higher than the others.\n\n111. K. Ethelbald; decayed.\n\n112. _Buttress._ K. Edgar, sitting, flat cap on head.\n\n113. K. Ethelbert, smooth face, trampling; apparently holds fragment\nof sceptre in right hand, cord of mantle with left.\n\n114. K. Ethelred I., smooth face, trampling, gracefully draped cloak,\nholds fragment of sceptre apparently in right, and something\nindistinct in left hand.\n\n115. K. Edwy, left arm raised, holding cloak, which is over right\nshoulder.\n\n116. K. Edward the Martyr, bearded, holding cup (his usual symbol) in\nleft hand, trampling. This is one of the most likely ascriptions.\n\n117. _Buttress._ K. Edmund, sitting, right arm uplifted, left resting\non knee. Fast decaying.\n\n118. K. Ethelred the Unready, bearded, short figure, trampling, but\nthe trampled figure leans easily on its elbow.\n\n119. K. Cnut, bearded, short figure, trampling, but the trampled\nfigure is apparently still struggling.\n\n120. Q. Osburga,* in long supertunic, with ample sleeves, falling in\nfolds over the feet. The tight sleeve of her kirtle appears on left\narm, which holds cord of mantle. Head and neck in the wimple which was\nnot in thirteenth century distinctive of nun's dress. Book in right\nhand.\n\n121. Q. Emma, in flowing supertunic with ample sleeves, and wimple;\nhands gone.\n\n122. Harold I., no head covering, trampling; hands touching girdle.\n\n123. Harthacnut, like II old, but hands and part of face gone.\n\n124. _Buttress._ K. Edred, sitting, right hand on knee, left raised to\ncord, drapery crossed.\n\n125. Q. Edgitha, mantle falls round over left foot.\n\n126. Edmund Ironside.* Knight in surcoat over chain armour, hauberk\nbut no helmet; right arm and left hand gone, but head turned to left\nand attitude is that of drawing or sheathing his sword.\n\n127. Harold. Knight, hauberk and surcoat of mail, cylindrical helmet,\nshield on left side; delapidated.\n\n128. _North Side of Tower. Buttress._ Edward the Confessor, in cap;\nsitting in attitude of judgment (Planché), left hand resting on right\nankle, this leg being crossed over left knee.\n\n129. Prince Richard.* Crowned figure of great beauty, bearded, head\nslightly bent to left with a melancholy expression; hands gone.\n\n130. Robert Curthouse,* bearded, the right hand draws aside part of\nthe surcoat, exposing right leg in curious hose; left leg covered by\nsurcoat.\n\n131. K. Rufus,* bearded, right hand holds cord of mantle, left holds\nborder of mantle across his body.\n\n132. Q. Matilda, flowing hair, holds mantle in left hand.\n\n133. Emperor Henry, crowned, holds cord of mantle, with right hand\nfingering end of his girdle.\n\n134. K. Stephen, right hand holds cord of mantle, left on girdle.\n\n135. K. Henry II., end of cloak thrown over shoulder, holds the fold\nwith both hands; in good preservation.\n\n136. _Buttress._ K. William the Conqueror, sitting in menacing\nattitude, elbows projecting, and hands upon knees.\n\n137. Prince Henry. A dignified figure; hands gone.\n\n138. Prince Geoffrey. Beautiful figure, head gone, holds cord of\nmantle, loose sleeves, and good drapery. (Ferrey is wrong in calling\nthis a female figure.)\n\n139. Q. Maude the Good, flowing hair, left hand on girdle of\nsupertunic, dress fastened at neck with \"a beautiful jewel\" (Ferrey).\n\n140. Adelais. Graceful figure, with flowing hair.\n\n141. _Buttress._ K. Henry I., sitting in defiant attitude, right arm\nakimbo, left knee raised, foot on pedestal.\n\n_Missing._\n\n_Missing._\n\n_Missing._\n\n142. K. John.* A beautiful figure.\n\n143. Henry III., no crown, standing, but right knee raised to suit the\nweathering of aisle roof.\n\n\nFIFTH TIER.--144. _South Tower. Buttress on the south side._ Sitting\nBp., supported by metal clamps.\n\n145. Bp. J. de Villula; hands gone, much decayed, clamped.\n\n146. Bp. Gisa; hands gone.\n\n147. Bp. Duduc*; right hand gone, book in left.\n\n148. _Buttress._ Bp. Lyfing; decayed.\n\n149. Bp. Merewit; hands gone.\n\n150. Bp. Brihtwine; hands gone.\n\n151. Aethelwine. Fine figure with long wavy beard spreading at end,\nhood and mantle, aulmoniere at girdle.\n\n152. Burwold, tall bearded figure in hood, satchel (?) hanging from\ngirdle.\n\n153. Bp. Aelfwine.* Beautiful figure in cowl, curly hair and beard,\nfinely draped habit with loose sleeves.\n\n154. Bp. Sigegar, book in left hand.\n\n155. _Buttress._ Bp. Brithelm, head turned to right; decayed.\n\n156. Bp. Cyneward.\n\n157. Bp. Wulfhelm. A fine figure.\n\n158. Bp. Elfege. A fine figure.\n\n159. Edfleda, flowing hair, in supertunic or surcoat with long and\nwide sleeves, head covered with veil, which hangs behind, no wimple.\nNothing conventual to suggest Edfleda.\n\n160. _Buttress._ K. Edward the Elder. Fine figure, right hand on\nknees, left on cord of mantle.\n\n_Missing._\n\n161. Edgitha. Very tall figure, right hand on cord, left holds end of\nveil.\n\n_Missing._\n\n_Central Window (South)._\n\n162. Q. Edgiva, kirtle only, with crown and veil, no wimple.\n\n_Central Window._\n\n163. Ethilda. Wears supertunic over her kirtle, veil and wimple.\n\n_Central Window (North)._\n\n164. Hugh. A sword hangs from his girdle on left side.\n\n165. Elgiva.\n\n166. Q. Edgiva; hands gone.\n\n167. _Buttress._ K. Ethelstan, defiant attitude, right foot on stool,\nwears brooch.\n\n168. K. Charles the Simple. A squat figure with very big head,\ntrampling.\n\n169. Otho, close-fitting tunic, over which is mantle with handsome\nfastening.\n\n_Missing._\n\n170. Guthrum. Knight in surcoat, mail hauberk and chausses, shield on\nleft side.\n\n171. _Buttress._ K. Alfred, seated; both hands gone, front decayed,\nand clamped.\n\n172. Earl of Mercia.* Knight in helmet with cross-slit, holding right\nhand up and shield upon left arm; the surcoat turned over below the\nwaist shows a suit of mail. Well preserved.\n\n173. St. Neot (more probably St. Decuman, as St. Neot was not\nbeheaded). Bp. holding with both hands the upper part of his head,\nwhich has been cut off across the brows.\n\n174. Ethelfleda,* the Lady of the Mercians. A striking and beautiful\nfigure with flowing hair, long veil hanging below the waist,\nsupertunic held by brooch, but without sleeves, the tight sleeves of\nher kirtle being visible to the shoulders.\n\n175. Ethelward. Woman with flowing hair, veil; hands gone.\n\n176. Grimbald. Priest; hands gone.\n\n177. St. Elfege, Archb.; hands gone; a noble figure.\n\n178. _Buttress._ St. Dunstan, upper part decayed.\n\n179. Turketul. Short figure, trampling, in very pointed cloak, big\nhead in cap.\n\n180. John Scotus.* A beautiful figure, with exquisitively fine drapery\nthat looks as thin as gauze.\n\n_Missing._\n\n181. _North Side of Tower.--Buttress._ Robert, Archbishop of\nCanterbury, standing, holding book in right hand, left hand gone; no\nmitre.\n\n182. Q. Elgiva, drapery falls from left shoulder, is folded over right\narm; book in left hand.\n\n183. Q. Edgitha. Tall, gaunt figure; veil falls in long folds to knee,\nright arm close to side, left hand holds cord.\n\n184. Q. Edburga, circlet round head, brooch on her breast, holds\ndrapery in right hand.\n\n_Missing._\n\n_Missing._\n\n185. Christina, Abbess of Romsey.* Beautiful female figure, holding\nbox in left hand: \"her dress is peculiar\": one end of veil is caught\nover right shoulder, the other falls down in front on right side (p.\n31).\n\n186. Wulston of Winchester, bearded, \"with distended ears\"; right hand\ngone.\n\n187. _Buttress._ Archb. Aldred of York, sitting; \"mitre modern,\" it is\nconical in shape.\n\n188. Edgar Atheling. Knight, spurred, in surcoat only, with sword\ngirded outside, no mail, but close-fitting cap and fillet on head: the\nfillet was used for the large cylindrical helmet to rest on. He\ncarries what may be a palmer's hat (Cockerell points out that Edgar\nwent on a pilgrimage); but Planché says it must be a small Saxon\nbuckler, as pilgrims did not carry swords. It certainly looks like a\nhat.\n\n189. Robert the Saxon. Knight in hauberk, without mail, but feet\nspurred, cap on head, shield and sword.\n\n190. Falk of Anjou. Knight in hauberk and chausses of mail, hood of\nhauberk enclosing whole head except a portion of the face: on head is\nthe thick fillet. He covers his body with a shield. His surcoat is\ndeeply jagged.\n\n191. Robert of Normandy. Knight, in hauberk and complete suit of mail,\nin good preservation, shield with boss on it held down: he wears\ncyclindrical helmet, his eyes and nose being visible through the slit.\n\n192. _Buttress._ B. Roger of Salisbury, sitting, without mitre.\n\n_Missing._\n\n_Missing._\n\n193. Female figure, holding drapery with right arm, left hand on side.\n\n194. St. Nicholas, the patron saint of baptism, stands in water up to\nknees, holding a child in each arm. This ascription is approved by\nPlanché. (He is commonly called by children \"the pancake man,\" the\nconventional water suggesting round cakes).\n\n195. Female figure, in good preservation, but clamped in a sloping\nposition, drapery good.\n\nTHE RESURRECTION TIER.--The sixth tier (195-283) consists of a series\nof small canopies which run continuously under the cornice that\nfinishes the main division of the front. Above and around, the\nspandrels are filled with beautiful foliage most boldly undercut. Each\nof the eighty-eight canopies (of which thirty are on the north side)\ncontains a figure, or group of figures, representing the Resurrection\nof the dead. In spite of a rather defective anatomy, these figures are\nsingularly impressive, \"startling in significance, pathos, and\nexpression,\" are Cockerell's words. They are naked--crowns, mitres,\nand tonsures alone remaining to distinguish their office. They awaken\nby degrees, heave up the lids of their tombs, and draw themselves up\nslowly, as if scarcely yet awake. Some sit in a strange dreamy posture\nwith folded arms, some seem expectant, others are in attitudes of\nfear, hope, defiance, and despair. There are none of the grotesque\naccessories which are too common in ancient representations of this\nsubject, but the awful feeling of a great awakening shivers along this\nrange of naked, grey, stone figures. It is probably the earliest\nrepresentation of the subject in art; it is certainly the most\nprofound and spiritual.\n\nTHE ANGELS' TIER.--This is immediately above the Resurrection Tier,\nand occupies the lower part of the gable only. The angelic figures\nstand in nine low niches with well-moulded trefoil heads that rested\non blue lias shafts; the two niches on the returns of the buttresses\nalso contain angels, which are represented as blowing trumpets. In all\nprobability the nine figures symbolise the nine orders of the heavenly\nhierarchy, and I have ventured to give the names which the attributes\nand position suggest to my mind as the most likely. Mr Ferrey's\naccount is quoted in inverted commas: it must be remembered that he\nhad the advantage of a close inspection from the scaffolding.\n\n284. Thrones. \"Angel holding an open book,\" two wings, long robe,\nfacing to his right.\n\n285. Cherubim. \"Seraph,\" with four wings, \"apparently holding a\nbanner,\" decayed.\n\n286. Seraphim. \"Seraph,\" with four wings, \"entirely feathered, with\nbare legs and feet,\" face gone.\n\n287. Dominations. \"Angel wearing a helmet,\" in vigorous attitude, two\nwings, \"too dilapidated to make out what its attributes are.\"\n\n288. (_Central Figure_). Powers. \"Beautifully robed, holding a\nsceptre,\" two wings: the dress is very ample and majestic.\n\n289. Virtues. \"Robed in a short tunic, with an ornamental border, the\nlegs are encased in armour,\" wears \"a jewelled cap,\" two wings.\n\n290. Principalities. \"A Seraph, entirely feathered, holding a vessel\nshaped like a bowl,\" with flames issuing out of it, the legs and feet\nbeing also enveloped in \"wavy lines of flames: probably the avenging\nangel\"; four wings.\n\n291. Archangels. \"Apparently holding a crown in the right and left\nhands, close to his breast,\" long robe covering the feet; two wings.\n\n292. Angels. \"Carrying a regal or small hand organ,\" in left hand,\nfour wings, decayed; apparently bearing a wand in right hand.\n\nTHE APOSTLES' TIER.--The next tier, that of the Apostles, who are thus\nraised above the angels, contains twelve figures of imposing design,\nlater in style than the rest of the statuary. The figures are hollowed\nout at the back so as to press less heavily on the tier beneath. The\narrangement of these niches is very happily managed, so as to avoid\nany monotony in the range of twelve similar niches; for, besides the\nnatural division formed by the small attached shafts between the\nfigures, an additional projecting shaft in every third division forms\nthe tier into four large bays with three figures in each. The capitals\nof these niches are remarkable, the graceful foliage being disposed in\na very free manner, in some cases growing upwards, in others bent\ndown, but always true to the outline of the capital. Of the figures\nthemselves the central one, in the place of honour, and taller than\nthe rest, is St. Andrew. The others are not all so easy to name, the\nattributes of some having disappeared; and, although Cockerell gave\nnames to them all (some of which were certainly wrong), we may content\nourselves with the following list, which at least is accurate so far\nas it goes:--\n\n293. No symbol in hand, which is covered with drapery. (Carter's\ndrawing represents a staff or spear, but he is quite unreliable,\nthough it is occasionally possible that the attributes he draws did\nexist when he saw the figures a century ago.)\n\n294. Book (?) in right hand, a vessel or bag of cylindrical form is\napparently suspended from the left arm. Perhaps St. Matthew with his\npurse.\n\n295. Holds something, which may be the fuller's club, in which case\nthe figure is that of St. James the Less; forked beard.\n\n296. Club (?) in hand, long curly hair and beard. There is something\nnear the knee, which may be a palmer's hat. (Carter drew this figure\nas St. Bartholomew with knife and skin.)\n\n297. Carter drew this figure as St. Peter with the keys.\n\n298. St. Andrew with his cross; he is so tall that his head fills the\nupper portion of the canopy.\n\n299. St. John holding the chalice, which has large bowl and short\nstem; wavy hair. This is the only figure not bearded.\n\n300. St. James the Greater. Staff in right hand, large satchel on left\nside hung from hand over right shoulder, book in left hand (the book\nof the Gospels with which St. James is always represented, in addition\nto the pilgrim's stiff and scrip). He wears a high cap.\n\n301. Perhaps St. Paul (who is often represented among the Twelve),\nwith sword and book.\n\n302. St. Philip holds drapery in right hand. Ferrey says the five\nloaves can be distinguished.\n\n303. Long hair and head-dress like a veil bound by a fillet round the\nbrows, forked beard, book in left hand, girdle.\n\n304. This figure occasioned much controversy, owing to Carter having\ndrawn it with a crown. Cockerell therefore attributed it to St. Peter,\nand said that the crown showed Bishop Jocelin's papistical tendencies!\nPlanché scoffed at this, remarking with truth that none of the\nApostles are ever represented with crowns, but he caused even greater\nconfusion by suggesting that the figure stood for a Saxon king, and\nthat the tier, in spite of the Apostolic number, did not represent the\ntwelve Apostles. If he had looked at the actual figures instead of\nCarter's drawings he would have seen that there is no crown at all. In\nthe photographs this is still clearer, the Apostle's head being\nevidently covered by nothing more imposing than his own long hair or a\nveil like that of the preceding figure.\n\nTHE UPPERMOST TIER.--The whole magnificent series was fitly crowned by\nthis group (305), of which only the lower part of the central figure\nremains. That, however, sufficiently attests the noble character of\nthe rest: it represents our Lord seated in glory within a\nvesica-shaped niche. The feet are pierced. It seems to have been\nmutilated by Monmouth's followers, for it still bears the marks of\ntheir bullets. The two figures in the niches on either side must also\nhave been destroyed at this time, for they are shown in a print in\nDugdale's _Monasticon_. Ferrey cannot have seen this print when he\nsuggested that the figures were of angels censing, for they are there\ngiven as representing Our Lady (new covenant) and John Baptist (old\ncovenant).\n\nTHE WESTERN TOWERS.--The projection of these towers beyond the aisles\nof the nave gives its great breadth to the west front, which is 147\nfeet across, as against the 116 feet of the almost contemporary\ncathedral of Amiens, which is twice its height. It is an unusual\narrangement, of which there is no exactly similar example except at\nRouen. Above the screen the towers are Perpendicular, the southern\ntower having been completed towards the end of the fourteenth, and the\nnorthern at the beginning of the fifteenth century. They are thus\nlater additions to the original design of the front, and make it more\ndifficult for us to realise the effect that was first intended.\n\nThese two towers are very nearly alike, but the southern, or Harewell,\ntower is some forty years the earlier of the two, and belongs to the\nearliest days of the Perpendicular style, Bishop Harewell having died\nin 1386. The northern tower was built with a sum of money left for the\npurpose by Bishop Bubwith, who died in 1424, and his arms are carved\nhigh up on a buttress upon the north side, those on the west being a\nmodern copy. In one of its two western niches is a figure of the\nbishop in prayer. Both the towers have two belfry windows on each\nside, tiny battlements, and a stair-turret on the outer western angle;\nin both the buttresses are carried up, with but slight reduction in\nbulk, two-thirds of their height and then finished with small\npinnacles. There are, however, certain slight differences between the\ntwo towers; their height is not exactly equal, and there are no niches\non the earlier one. The south tower contains a peal of eight bells;\nthat on the north is traditionally considered \"rotten,\" but to all\nappearance it is sound enough.\n\n[Illustration: The Central Tower From The South-east.]\n\nTHE CENTRAL TOWER is Early English to the level of the roof. The two\nupper stages are Decorated, but there is a curious inter-mixture of\nstyles in them, owing to the repairs that were made after the\nsettlements of 1321. The chapter seemed determined to allow no\npossibility of another accident, for besides the inverted arches and\nbuttresses of the interior, the original high narrow windows of the\nupper part of the tower have been fortified by later insertions, by\nway of bonding and stiffening the structure, which had been so\nendangered by the sinking of its piers below. There are, however, no\nsigns of any rents in the Decorated part. The tower has square angular\nturrets, and is divided vertically into three main compartments, each\ndivision being marked by a small pinnacle, and the turrets by large\ncompound pinnacles. It is an interesting tower to ascend, the rents in\nthe wall being plainly discernible; and from the summit there is a\nfine view of Wells and of the valley in which the city stands.\n\nThe NORTH PORCH is perhaps the finest piece of architecture at Wells,\nthough it generally receives far less attention than it deserves. It\nis certainly the oldest part of the church, and must have been the\nfirst work which Bishop Reginald undertook, about 1185; in style it\nretains much of the Norman influence. The mouldings of the noble\nentrance arch are numerous and bold, and twice the Norman zig-zag\noccurs, though enriched with leaves in a manner that suggests the\ncoming Gothic. A weather moulding, exquisitely carved with deeply\nundercut foliage, covers the arch. Its capitals on the east side\ncontain figures among their leaves representing the martyrdom of St.\nEdmund the King: the first three of the caps have the saint in the\nmidst, crowned, and transfixed with a number of conventionally-arranged\narrows, and his enemies, two on either side, drawing their bows; the\nfourth cap shows an executioner cutting off the saint's head; in the\nfifth the head is found by the wolf; the sixth has been partly cut\naway, but the body of the wolf and the heads of two figures remain.\n\nIn the spandrels above are two square panels containing a cockatrice,\nand another strange beast. The gable is filled with an arcade, the\ncentral member of which is corbelled off to make room underneath for\nthree little lancet windows which light the parvise chamber within.\nThe buttresses of the porch have slender shafts at the angles, which\nare finished off with foliage of a remarkably free and graceful kind;\nit should be noticed as an example of those subtle touches that are so\nabundant in this porch. On the buttresses are pinnacles with an\narcade, at the top of which little openings cast a shadow that gives a\nlightness to the whole effect. A smaller pinnacle is at the apex of\nthe gable, and underneath it an ornament of twisted foliage.\n\nNothing could well surpass the interior of this porch; the delicacy,\nand refinement which are shown in every detail are the more amazing\nwhen we consider that the architect and his masons had only just\nemerged from the large methods of Norman building. A range of three\narcades on either side is divided in the midst by three shafts boldly\ndetached from the pear-shaped moulding round which they are grouped.\nThese shafts carry the ribs of the groined vault, and divide the porch\ninto two square bays. Their capitals are very boldly undercut, and\nbear distinct traces of Romanesque influence; indeed, the volutes of\nthe cap on the west side give it almost the appearance of a very\nfreely-carved Corinthian capital. Those at the angles are of like\nfashion, except that on the north-east, which has fuller and freer\nfoliage, wherein stands a man shooting with his bow at a bird, the\nwhole most vigorously conceived.\n\n[Illustration: The North Porch.]\n\nIn the uppermost arcade the little touch of foliage that is worked on\nto the junction of the mullions (which are made up of four pear-shaped\nmouldings) illustrates the love of delicate things that is so\ncharacteristic of this architect. Below is a projecting double arcade,\nbehind which, against the wall, is a third row of arches: the outer\nmouldings intersect and the abaci of the outer caps are finished off\nin a carefully restrained curl of foliage; those on the soffit are\ndeeply undercut, by means of which a very black shadow is secured. All\nthe capitals are carved with the stiff-leafed foliage; and in the\nspandrels are grotesque beasts, full of character. The string-course\nbelow is finished with dragons who bend round and swallow the end of\nthe string, their tails (on the west side) twisting right along the\nmoulding. It is significant of the free way in which the masons were\nemployed, that the carving varies very much on the two sides. The\ngrotesques in the spandrels above mentioned are finest on the east\nside, but the dragons of the string course are best on the west side,\nwhere their expressions, as they bite the moulding, are full of life\nand humour. On this western side, too, the foliage which fills the\nspandrels of the lowest arcade is at its best; it is indeed the purest\nand truest piece of decorative work in the whole cathedral. Each\nmoulding in this beautiful porch, from the filleted ribs of the groins\nto the bands round the shafts, and the moulded edge of the stone\nbench, is most carefully thought out, and adapted to its position, in\na way that every architect will appreciate. The double doorway which\nleads into the church has an unusual and most effective moulding on\nits jambs, very large and simple, with slight projections worked upon\nit: the inner moulding of the enclosing arch, however, is a boldly\nprojecting zig-zag, the supporting capitals of which have two figures,\none in a cope, the other a bishop in a very pointed chasuble. The\ncentral pillar is of much later date. Above is a square recess filled\nwith later masonry, where perhaps a figure was once inserted.\n\nMost happily, the North Porch has been spared from the restorer's\nhand. It is a unique and most beautiful example of early work; any\nrestoration of it would practically destroy it, and would be an\nunpardonable crime. The hungry eye of the modern vandal is sure to\nseize on this piece of virgin work, sooner or later; for its very\npurity will tempt him. We only hope that when that day comes the\nChapter will be faithful to their trust.\n\nThe GABLE END of the north transept, which must be very near to the\nnorth porch in date, is a very similar example of the early work. It\nis flanked by turrets which are capped with pinnacles; both turrets,\npinnacles and wall are rich with arcading, the effect of which is\nespecially charming in the gable, where, by a happy device, the\nweather moulding is made to curve suddenly over the two topmost\narches, filling the angle at the apex of the coping, and leaving a\nlittle space between it and the two arches to be occupied by foliage.\n\nThe general character of the WALLS is distinctly Transitional; the\nbuttresses are almost as low, broad, shallow and massive as in Norman\nwork; and the windows, though now filled with Perpendicular tracery,\nare so broad that, were they but round-headed, they would look more\nNorman than much real Norman work.\n\nThe richness of exterior effect is much increased by a most graceful\nDecorated PARAPET, which is carried all round the church on the wall\nof both nave and aisles. As for the masonry as a whole, with the\nexception of the west front nothing could be sounder and more\nskilfully executed. Mr Britton's opinion was that \"perhaps there is\nnot a church in the kingdom of the same age where the stone has been\nso well chosen, better put together, and where it remains in so\nperfect a state: this deserves the particular notice and study of\narchitects.\"[5]\n\nThe CHAIN GATE, one of the peculiar glories of Wells, is really a\nbridge over the roadway, built by Bishop Beckington and his executors,\nto connect the chapter-house staircase with the vicars' close. Freeman\nspoke of it as a \"marvel of ingenuity,\" yet perhaps its excellence\nconsists rather in its simplicity. A covered way was needed to the\nclose, but the road lay between, and so a bridge was built; the bridge\nhad to rest on something: three arches were therefore made, one large\nfor carts, and two small for foot-passengers; a further space had to\nbe spanned between the road and the staircase: the bridge was\ntherefore continued on the same level, but, as the ground here was\nlower, the arch on this side was built on a lower level. Furthermore,\nthe two ends of the bridge not being exactly opposite to one another,\nthe bridge had to turn at a slight angle where it reaches the road. It\nis just such simple adaptation of means to an end that gave his chance\nto a medieval architect; it is this that gives what is called its\npicturesqueness to an ancient town, it is this that makes nature so\npicturesque. A modern architect would have built his bridge in a\nstraight line across the road, and have pulled down something to avoid\nthe irregularity; he would not have had the sense of proportion which\nalone was needed to make utility supremely beautiful. The builder of\nthe Chain Gate just used his opportunities to their very best. He saw\nthat but a small thing was wanted, that the close must not be dwarfed;\nso he kept the work little and delicate, rich and light: he made its\nchief beauty to lie in its _bijou_ character. Yet he preserved its\ndignity by the wide opening of the central arch, the height of which\nis emphasised by the smallness of the two arches on either side. But\nalthough the two small arches effect so much by their contrast with\nthe large one, the harmony of the gateway is preserved by the\npanelling above them which marks this part of the bridge off from the\nrest. On the south of the gate is a blank wall, supported by a\nbuttress which was wanted here, and so here was put. On the south of\nthe buttress is the lower arch which is so admirable a foil both to\nthe height of the main gateway and the delicacy of the windows. A\ncorrectly-minded architect would not have tolerated this blank wall\nand irregularly-placed arch; but substitute what you will for the\nwall, or alter the height of the arch, or replace both by an arcade,\nand the dignity of the little gateway is gone. It may further be\nnoticed that the builder kept the upper and lower stages very\ndistinct, and made the upper storey as clearly a bridge as the lower\nis a gateway: the charming little windows run in a continuous range\nover blank wall, gate, and all, but they are grouped closer together\nover the gate. A battlemented parapet finishes the top of the bridge.\nNiches are placed in the midst of the two windows over the gate; they\ncontain graceful statues of St. Andrew and other saints. In the wide\nmoulding of the string course there are angels, curiously placed in a\nhorizontal position, as well as the stags' heads of Beckington's arms.\n\n[Illustration: The Bishop's Eye.]\n\nPassing under the Chain Bridge a good view of the CHAPTER-HOUSE is\nobtained. It is a massive, buttressed octagon, the lower stage marked\nby the small broad barred windows of the undercroft, the next by the\nrather squat traceried windows of the house itself, while under the\ncornice is an open arcade. The gargoyles are interesting. A parapet,\ndifferent in design and inferior to that of the church itself,\nfinishes the building. From this part of the road, there is a good\nview of the cathedral in one of its most characteristic aspects;--the\nLady Chapel, the low buildings of the north-eastern transept and\nretro-choir, the chapter-house in the foreground, all lying on ground\nbelow the level of the road, and over the Chain Bridge a glimpse of\nthe north transept gable and the north-west tower.\n\nA queer corner, hidden by a thick tree, is formed between the\nchapter-house and the choir aisle; in spite of the obscure position, a\nfine gargoyle of the head and shoulders of a man, carved in unusually\ncolossal proportions, is placed here at a low altitude, to carry off\nthe water that must gather at the junction of aisle with undercroft\npassage. Through the walls that rise high on either side a capital\nglimpse of the tower can be had.\n\nFrom the same road, opposite the prebendal house (now allotted to the\nPrincipal of the Theological College), which has a picturesque\nPerpendicular doorway with a window above, the grouping of the Lady\nChapel with the rest of the church can be well seen.\n\nThe rich and light appearance of the EAST END is due not only to the\ncharm of its tracery, which contrasts so well with the network of the\nLady Chapel windows, and to the parapet which rises slightly in the\ncentre, but also to the three lights which pierce the gable; of these\nthe upper is diamond-shaped, and thus the masonry that is left has the\nappearance of a stout Y cross.\n\nFROM THE SOUTH-EAST.--One of the most interesting views of the\nexterior is from the lovely grass-plot on the east of the cloisters,\nwhere once stood the cloister Lady Chapel, and where the vicars were\nformerly buried. It is being again used as a cemetery, which is\nunfortunate, since there are few things more irreligiously dismal than\na modern burial-ground, and already a cluster of marble and granite\nmonuments has arisen to spoil one of the most peaceful and unspoilt\nplaces in Wells. If monuments there must be (and why need we so\nadvertise the dead?), let them at least be quiet and humble and\nbeautiful: those ostentatious erections of hard and polished stone\nruin the grey walls before which they stand; their frigid materials\nare too obtrusive for Christian modesty, too enduring for human\nmemory. May we not yet hope that this spot will be spared the fate of\nthe cloister garth?\n\nFrom here the Lady Chapel is well seen as quite a separate building,\njoined to the rest of the church only in its lower part, and with its\nown parapet round all its eight sides; its form harmonises most\ncharmingly with the square presbytery behind it, and with the lofty\nchapter-house, like itself octagonal. A further beauty is added by the\nsolitary flying buttress which stands out at the south-eastern corner;\nthough certain rents in the southern wall show that the buttress was\nbuilt for reasons of the gravest utility. On the south side of the\nchapel there is a little door, covered by what looks at first like a\nkind of porch, but it is really the passage of a small vestry (p. 132)\nwhich was built up against the wall; the roof of the vestry was a\nlittle higher than that of the passage, and must have leant against\nthe wall just under the window, as is proved by its gargoyle near the\npassage door. This vestry was fatuously destroyed in the early part of\nthis century by an official who did not even know that it was medieval\nwork till the soundness of the masonry proved almost too much for his\nworkmen.\n\nThe junction between the earlier and the later presbytery is well seen\nfrom here--too well seen, in fact, for it is awkwardly managed. The\nlater choir windows, with their crocketed ogee hood-moulds, are a good\nfeature, and so are the flying buttresses; but the high-pitched roof\nof the earlier aisle is discontinued at the break in order to give\nroom for these windows and buttresses; and the effect of this sudden\ntermination of an aisle roof half-way along a building is not\npleasant. In the earlier part, too, the later windows have been\nclumsily inserted some distance below the Early English dripstone, as\nif only the internal effect had been considered. The same may also be\nsaid of the window in the south transept gable: the gable, by the way,\nis a much plainer affair than that of the north transept.\n\nHere stood the two CLOISTER LADY CHAPELS, but unfortunately their\nsites were not marked on the grass after the excavations were finished\nthree years ago. Thus nothing can be seen from here of the earlier\nchapel, and, of the later, only the doorway and the Perpendicular\npanelling against the cloister which marks its western end, and the\ncommencement of the walls. A small quatrefoiled hagioscope may be\nnoticed in the library above the cloister; it, no doubt, commanded a\nview of the high altar of the chapel.\n\nThe earlier _Capella B.M.V. juxta claustrum_ is often referred to in\nthe chapter documents, and was a favourite centre of devotion. It\nbecame a kind of family chapel for the numerous clan of Byttons, after\nthe first bishop of that name was buried there; it was also sometimes\nused as a chapter-house. The Early English doorway which led to it can\nstill be seen in the cloister wall, on the right of the present\ndoorway; it is partly covered by an I.H.S. of later date, made with\nthe instruments of the Passion. The excavations of 1894, when the\nfoundations were laid bare under Mr Buckle's direction, showed that\nthis chapel consisted originally of a plain oblong building, earlier\neven than the north porch in date (_i.e._ before 1185), which was\nafterwards (c. 1275) enlarged by the addition of an aisle on either\nside. The excavations showed that arches were used at this time to\nreplace the western part of the older walls, and thus to throw the\nancient chapel open to its new aisles. The original chapel, then, if\nit was not actually part of Bishop Gisa's buildings, spared when John\nde Villula destroyed Gisa's cloister, seems to have been built not\nlong after Gisa's time, and at least on the site of Gisa's chapel.\nThis would account for its orientation, which was in a more northerly\ndirection than that of the cathedral, and probably was the same as\nthat of the pre-Norman church. Excellent plans of the foundations both\nof this and the later chapel are to be found in the _Somerset\nProceedings_ for 1894, where the whole matter is discussed in detail\nby Canon Church and Mr Edmund Buckle.\n\nThe later chapel on this site was built by _Bishop Stillington_\n(1466-91): it followed the orientation of the cathedral, and was of\nmuch larger size than the former building, being about 107 ft. in\nlength. It consisted of a nave, transepts and choir, with fan-tracery\nvault, of which some fragments have been lately fixed in the cloister\nwall. Most profusely ornamented and panelled within, as can be seen by\nthe west end against the cloister wall, it is considered to have been\nthe _chef d'oeuvre_ of the Somerset Perpendicular, surpassing even\nSherborne and St. Mary, Redcliffe.\n\nBut its glory was not to be for long. Stillington was buried in this\n\"goodly Lady Chapell in the Cloysters,\" says Godwin, \"but rested not\nlong there; for it is reported that divers olde men, who in their\nyouth had not onely scene the celebration of his funeral, but also the\nbuilding of his tombe, chapell, and all did also see tombe and chapell\ndestroyed, and the bones of the Bishop that built them turned out of\nthe lead in which they were interred.\" This was in 1552, when Bishop\nBarlow and the chapter made a grant to that barbarous scoundrel, Sir\nJohn Gates, of \"the chappie, sett, lyinge and beynge by the cloyster\non the south syde of the said Cathedral Church of Wells, commonly\ncalled the Ladye Chapple, with all the stones and stonework, ledde,\nglasse, tymbre, and iron ... the soyle that the sayd chappie standeth\nupon only excepted.\" The condition was that the rubble should be all\ncleared away, and the ground made \"fayre and playn,\" within four\nyears; but before this period had elapsed, Sir John's head had gone\nthe way of the Lady Chapel.\n\n[Illustration: Doorway, South-east Of Cloister.]\n\nThe CLOISTER in its more prominent features is Perpendicular, having\nbeen rebuilt in the fifteenth century. Nevertheless the outer walls\nare of Jocelin's date, together with the doorway leading into the\npalace (see illustration on this page); and the lower part of the east\ncloister wall, including the two small doorways therein, is said by Mr\nBuckle to be undoubtedly earlier than Jocelin's time, and contemporary\nwith the north porch, _c._ 1185. Thus we have still the original plan\nat least of the thirteenth-century cloisters. This plan is\ncharacteristic of a non-monastic church, where the cloister is not the\ncentre of a common life, but merely an ornamental convenience which\nmight or might not be added, and when added might be of any fashion\nthat was desired. There is no walk on the north side, no refectory or\ndormitory, and the plan is not square, as would be the case with a\nconventual building, but an irregular parallelogram, while the eastern\nwalk is built up against the south end of the transept instead of\nagainst its western wall.\n\n[Illustration: East Walk Of Cloister.]\n\nThe inner part of Jocelin's cloister was probably a wooden penthouse\nlike that of Glastonbury. At all events, it has entirely disappeared.\nThe eastern alley was built by the executors of Bishop Bubwith, who\ndied in 1424. That on the west, with its rooms, was built by\nBeckington (1443-65) and his executors. That on the south was\ncompleted soon after by Thomas Henry, the treasurer. Beckington, by\nthe way, showed a reckless disregard of the earlier work by carrying\nhis cloister right up against the south-west tower, and completely\nconcealing the beautiful arcading of that part. Beckington's\nexecutors, in the time of Bishop Stillington, also built the singing\nschool over the western cloister. Bubwith's executors built the\nnorthern part of the library over the eastern cloister; but the\nsouthern part was added at a later date. The square windows were\ninserted later still by the famous Dr Busby, about 1670. The fourteen\nbays of lierned vaulting over the east alley, and one on the south,\nwere executed in 1457-8 by John Turpyn Lathamo, at the cost, we find\nfrom the fabric roll, of ¾d. per foot, or £6, 11s. 3d. for the\nwhole, though an additional ten shillings was presented to him for his\ndiligence.\n\nEach alley consists of thirteen bays in the Perpendicular style; the\nwindows are now all unglazed, of six lights, with transoms and\ntracery; between the windows are buttresses to support the rooms\nabove, which extend, however, only over the east and west alleys.\nTurpyn's vaulting is of a curiously decadent character, which reminds\none of the Jacobean Gothic of Oxford and Cambridge. The ribs spread at\nthe start to enclose a trefoiled panel, and they curve into one\nanother when they meet at the bosses. In the rest of the south walk,\nhowever, the bosses are square, and receive the ribs in the usual\nmanner; in the west walk they are still square, and more varied in\ntheir ornament, bearing Beckington's initials, arms, and rebus,\narranged in several different ways. Beckington's arms, which occur\nalso on the gateways, are argent on a fess azure, between in chief\nthree bucks' heads caboshed gules, and in base as many pheons sable, a\nbishop's mitre or. His rebus is a fire _beacon_ lighted, a _tun_\nholding the fire.\n\nTwo small stone pent-houses, of which the purpose is uncertain, are\nbuilt up against the windows of the fourth and sixth bays of the\neastern alley. The vault of this alley was built without reference to\nthe fine Early English doorway into the transept, one side of which it\nhides, the weather moulding being cut away. This doorway is mentioned\nin an Act of the Chapter of 1297, but it was probably made by Jocelin\nbefore he built the cloister wall, which comes uncomfortably near to\nthe door, as if it were an afterthought. The companion doorway from\nthe western alley, which was the usual entrance to the cathedral in\nthe thirteenth century, has been similarly defaced by the vault. Three\nannual fairs used to be held in the cemetery, till Bishop Reginald set\napart for the purpose the new ground which is still the market-place.\nThe traditional entrance to the church by this south-western porch may\nhave been due to the fact that the citizens gathered for secular\nbusiness on the south-western side. At the south end of the eastern\nalley is the Early English bishop's doorway, which no doubt led\nstraight to the palace in the days when there was no moat to obstruct\nthis route. The door was originally hung to open inwards; a beautiful\nmoulding was destroyed to hang it in its present position. There is a\nbracket of later date over this doorway.\n\nThe cloister-garth, which is hideous with modern tombstones, is\ntraditionally called the _Palm Churchyard_, no doubt because of the\nyew which grows there. Yew trees, so common in churchyards, are still\ncommonly called palms, because their branches were used for the\nprocession on Palm Sunday. This churchyard was anciently the\nburial-place of the canons, the ground east of the cloister (now used\nagain as a cemetery) being reserved for the vicars, while the space\nbefore the west front was the lay burial-ground.\n\nAn admirably contrived _dipping-place_ was still standing in the Palm\nchurchyard, near the second bay of the east cloister, within the\nmemory of living persons, but now no trace of it remains above ground.\nA water-course, held within a channel of carefully-worked masonry,\nruns under the eastern cloister from St. Andrew's well, and passes on\nto fall ultimately into the old mill-stream. The oblong building over\nit that formed the dipping-place was entered at the south end, and a\nfew steps (with aumbries for the linen at either side) led to the\nwashing-place at the little stream. An arch covered this spot, where\nthe water ran through two low arches on either side and was bridged in\nthe midst by a pavement. The place was used for washing linen, and the\nwater required for the cathedral was drawn here before the modern\nsupply pipes were introduced.\n\nTHE LIBRARY is over the east walk of the cloister, and is entered from\nthe south transept. It is a charming old-world place, full of ancient\nvolumes, many of which are of great interest. A passage runs from end\nto end, along the east side of the long room, the other side being\nmainly occupied by the old desks, benches and bookcases, which project\nat right angles to the wall, many of the book-chains still hanging on\nthem. There are said to be over three thousand volumes, including the\nbulk of Bishop Ken's library, a collection of early editions of his\nworks, and his copy of Bishop Andrewe's \"Devotions.\" There are also\nseveral books (including one Aldine \"Aristotle\") with MS. notes and\nautograph of Erasmus. The collection of old charters, which have\nrecently been made to throw so much light on the history of the\ncathedral, is also preserved here. Some of the most interesting\ncharters are displayed in glass cases; one of them, Edgar's grant to\nEalhstane, is specially venerable for the signature of St.\nDunstan--_Ego Dunitan Ep._--which occurs third among the witnesses to\nthe document.\n\nTwo precious relics of medieval times are also kept here. One, which\nis generally called a lantern, was till lately hung in the undercroft.\nThere is no trace of its ever having been used as a lantern, and it is\nprobably the wooden _canopy of the pyx_ which hung before the high\naltar. The Blessed Sacrament was in medieval times reserved, not in a\ntabernacle, but in a hanging pyx of precious metal; and this graceful\nwooden canopy probably contained the pyx. There are only two other\npossible examples of the pyx-canopy (at Milton Abbas and Tewkesbury),\nand both are of later date than this, which is thirteenth century.\nWoodwork of this period is so rare that, even were it not a\npyx-canopy, it would be of extreme interest. It is cylindrical in\nform, divided into three storeys of open tracery, and crowned with a\ncresting of three-lobed leaves. Its height is 3 ft. 11¼ in., its\ninternal diameter 14½ inches. It is made of oak, certain parts of a\nlater restoration being of deal. Mr St. John Hope (_Proc. of Soc. of\nAntiquaries_, 1897), thus enumerates the traces of colour: \"The whole\nof the body and its upper and lower rings have been painted red, with\ngold flowers or other devices upon the transverse bands. The slender\ndividing shafts seem to have been coloured blue. The leaves of the\ncresting have apparently been painted white, but the circular boss in\nthe middle of each leaf was entirely red.\" Two pairs of iron rods,\nwith a ring and swivel hook, serve to suspend it in a steady position.\n\nThe other relic is the thirteenth-century _crozier_ which was recently\nfound in a tomb in the cathedral, and probably belongs to the time of\nSavaric, though there is no evidence, beyond its style, for describing\nit as his crozier. It was dug up in a stone coffin in the western\nburial-ground of the cathedral in the time of Dean Lukin (1799-1812).\nIt is thus described in the _Catalogue_ of the Burlington Fine Arts\nClub exhibition of enamels, June 1897: \"A complete crozier, [the\nstaff] wooden (modern), with enamelled head one foot in length.\nLimoges, thirteenth century. The volute is a serpent with blue scales\nand serrated crest, enclosing a winged figure of St. Michael and a\ndragon studded with turquoises. The knop is encased in pierced\nrepoussé open work formed of dragons, and the socket ornamented with\nthirteenth-century foliated scrolls in these slightly spiral bands,\nseparated by jewelled dragons whose tails form three rings under the\nknop.\" St. Michael is represented in the act of attacking the dragon\nwith his spear.\n\nA little MUSEUM has been formed in one of the rooms over the western\ncloister. It contains a collection of seals, Mr Buckle's plans of the\ncloisters and the Cloister Lady Chapel excavations, and many other\nobjects of interest.\n\nThe principal buildings in connection with the cathedral are the\nvicars' close, the bishop's palace, the deanery, the archdeaconry, and\nthe canon's houses. There are also Beckington's fine gates,--the Chain\nGate by the vicars' close, Brown's, or the Dean's Gate, near the\ndeanery, the Penniless Porch, leading from the Market Place to the\ncathedral; and the Bishop's Eye, leading from the Market Place to the\npalace.\n\n[Illustration: The Chain Gate, Entrance To Close, 1824]\n\nMost deservedly famous is the unrivalled VICARS' CLOSE, which contains\nthe houses built by Bishop Ralph and his successors for the\nvicars-choral. Passing through the gate, one sees the two long ranges\nof quiet and lovely houses, fronted by their little gardens, with a\nroadway betwixt them. Nothing can surpass this arrangement for its\npeaceful seclusion and constant charm, not even the square quadrangles\nand cloisters of Oxford, and yet, so convenient is it, that no better\nmodel could be chosen should there ever come any general return to the\nold collegiate life; for a settlement, for a model factory, one can\nimagine nothing better even now. There are forty-two houses,\ntwenty-one on either side: each consisted originally of two rooms, one\nabove the other, with a staircase; for the vicars were single men. Now\nthat the vicars-choral are married, many of them live in the town, but\nall the theological students are lodged here, and there are always a\nfew rooms to be let to those visitors who are wise enough to stay in\nthis charming place.\n\nThe tall chimneys rise up through the eaves of the little houses;\noctagonal at the top, they are perforated like a lantern, with two\nopenings on each side. On them are shields bearing the arms of the\nsee, of Bishop Beckington and his executors, Swan, Sugar, and Pope,\nsugar-loaves and swans abounding in the decoration.\n\nAt the farther end of the close is the tiny chapel (finished by\nBubwith, and finally consecrated in 1489, after Beckington had added\nthe wooden ceiling and the chamber above), where compline is still\nsaid by the theological students. It is one of the most beautiful\nthings in Wells--a jewel, like so much of its period--and it has been\nwell decorated in sgraffitto and colour by Mr Heywood Sumner. An\ninteresting feature of its exterior is that some of the old Early\nEnglish carving was worked in with the masonry of the wall, by way of\ndecoration, and very effective it is. A passage at the side leads to\nthe Liberty, where are some of the prebendal houses.\n\nOver the entrance, and leading into the bridge of the Chain Gate, are\nthe hall and its offices, which are approached by a fine staircase. In\nthe hall is a painting of much interest, which represents Bishop Ralph\nseated on his throne, the vicars kneeling before him; the petition\nwhich he holds runs--_Per vicos positi villae, Pater alme rogamus, Ut\nsimul uniti, te, Dante domos maneamus_; and the answer, which has the\nepiscopal seal, is--_Vestra petunt merita, Quod sint concessu petita:\nUt maneatis ita, Loca fecimus hic stabilita._ On the right are\nseventeen figures with ruffles, evidently added in Elizabethan times;\ncorresponding inscription has also been added--_Quas primus struxit_,\netc.\n\nThere is also a pulpit over the fireplace, which is large, with good\nmouldings and an inscription, _In vestris prec[=i] habeat^s\ncomedat[=u] do[=m] Ricard[=u] Pomroy quem salvet Ihs. Amen_. On the\nhearth are a pair of fine fire-dogs.\n\nJust outside the entrance to the vicars' close is a beautiful ORIEL\nWINDOW, which has been much copied in modern times. It springs from a\ncorbelled head, from which foliate four cinquefoiled panels. The\nwindow now has only three square-headed lights, the centre one being\nlarge. Under its sills are rich panels, and it is capped by a slight\ncrenelated cornice with a boldly-carved drip, from which springs a\nconical roof surmounted by a fleur-de-lys.\n\nThe beautiful BISHOP'S PALACE was mainly built by Jocelin, who died in\n1242. It consists of three sides of a quadrangle, the bishop's house\nbeing on the east, the chapel on the south, the kitchen and offices\nrunning alongside the moat on the north: on the west side there was\nformerly a gate-tower and a wall having a cloister within which led to\nchapel and hall. In addition to these buildings the great hall, now in\nruins--forming, with the walls and outhouses, an outer court--was\nbuilt to the south-west of the chapel. The whole group of buildings\nstands on a piece of ground, rich with trees, surrounded by a lovely\nold wall and moat, the single approach being by the bridge and the\ngate-house, which has Renaissance windows and retains the slit for the\nportcullis and the drawbridge-chains. Bishop Ralph of Shrewsbury\nconstructed the gate-house and fortifications, which form an irregular\npentagon, with a bastion at each angle, and an extra one in the\nsouth-east side. The bastion in the western angle (on the south of the\ngate-house) contains two storeys, of which the lower, called the\ncow-house or stock-house, was used as a prison for criminous clerks.\nThe moat is fed by a stream from St. Andrew's well hard by.\n\n[Illustration: The Bishop's Palace.]\n\nThe palace itself is a most interesting example of medieval\narchitecture, and remains very much in its original condition. It is\noblong in plan, and divided lengthwise by a solid wall, running\nthrough both storeys from end to end, at about one third of its width;\nthe long outer chamber formed by this wall on the ground floor is\ndivided into the entrance hall of three bays (containing a fireplace,\n_temp._ Henry VIII.), and the passages to staircase and to chapel at\neither end. The wider chamber within the wall is lighted by plain\nlancet windows, and has a row of slender Purbeck pillars down the\nmiddle, which, with the corbels on the wall, carry a groined vault:\nthis, the \"crypt,\" or undercroft, was probably used as a storage-room;\nit is now the dining-room. To the north of this hall is a square\nchamber with a pillar in the centre; and to the east of the chamber a\nsmall room projects beyond the ground plan of the building, with a\nspace at one end (probably a closet) now walled up.\n\nOn the first floor the great chamber (68 by 28 feet) stood over the\nundercroft, while on its north was the bishop's private room, both\nopen to the roof, and to the east of this, his private chapel. The\ngallery above the entrance hall was formerly divided into three\nchambers, the two larger of which Mr Buckle thinks were used as a\nlobby and a wardrobe. The windows in the gallery were restored by Mr\nFerrey in 1846, but nothing is new except the marble shafts and bases.\nThe two windows at the north end of the great chamber are evidently\nlater additions, as they have fully developed bar-tracery, while the\nother windows in the chamber consist of pairs of trefoil-headed\nwindows with a quatrefoil in plate tracery above them.\n\nThe GREAT HALL, which is now but a beautiful ruin, was built by Bishop\nBurnell, who died 1292. It was a magnificent chamber, 115 feet by 59½,\nwith high traceried windows. It was divided into nave and aisles\nby rows of pillars to carry the roof and the passage at the west end\nled between buttery and pantry to the kitchen; over these rooms was a\nlarge solar, and on the north side a porch with staircase at the side\nleading to the solar. Both hall and palace are well and fully\ndescribed by Mr Buckle in the _Somerset Proceedings_ for 1888. Bishop\nBarlow had the hall dismantled, employing Sir John Gates for the\npurpose; the walls, however, were left standing until Bishop Law's\ntime, when they were partly demolished in order to make the ruin more\n\"picturesque.\"\n\nThe chapel is very similar in style to the hall, and was built very\nshortly afterwards; it is at present defaced by bad decoration and\nfittings. The carving is very fine and varied; some of the capitals\nretain the old stiff-leaf foliage, while in some the leaves grow\nfreely round the bell in the Decorated manner. The vaulted ceiling is\nalso an excellent example of the transitional work of the period. The\nwest window is of later date, and has been twice restored--once by\nBishop Montague (1608-16), and again in the present century. On the\nnorth side, at some height from the ground, are the indications of\nwhat may have been a gallery used as a private pew.\n\nBishop Beckington (1443-66) added the northern block of buildings, now\nconsiderably altered, the kitchen and various offices, _le botrye,\ncellarium, le bakehous, ad lez stues ad nutriendos pisces_, in William\nof Worcester's words, as well as the gate now called the Bishop's Eye,\n_aliam portam ad introitum de le palays_, and the parlour (_parlurum_)\nand guest-chambers adjoining the kitchen. This block lies very\nprettily alongside the moat.\n\nUnfortunately the palace, which had so wonderfully escaped the brutal\nadaptations of the eighteenth-century architect, was restored in 1846\nby Mr Ferrey, and its west front completely altered. The upper storey,\nthe porch, the buttresses were all added by Mr Ferrey; not to mention\nthe tower at the north and the turret at the south, and the\nconservatory. Bishop Bagot, at whose order the work was done, also\nrebuilt the kitchen and offices; in fact, he did what he could to\ndestroy the unique character and beauty of a block of buildings\nwithout parallel anywhere.\n\nTHE BISHOP'S BARN, which stands in a field near the palace is\nremarkable for its length (110 ft. by 25½) and the number of its\nbuttresses. Simple in character, stately in proportions, it is a\nstriking instance of the perfect sense of fitness which marked the\nmedieval builders: in fact, it is the exact opposite to what a modern\nbuilder would erect if asked to provide a barn in the Gothic style.\n\nTHE DEANERY, rebuilt by Dean Gunthorpe (1472-98), is an almost perfect\nspecimen of a fifteenth-century house, in spite of the modern sash\nwindows and other alterations which deface it. As at the palace, the\nprincipal apartments were on the first floor; and of these the chief\nis the hall, an excellent example of the more comfortable late\nmedieval arrangement. Two handsome oriel windows with vaults of\nfan-tracery are at the upper end, not quite opposite to each other,\nwhere the sideboards used to stand; and at the lower end a stone arch\ncarries a small music-gallery, with three small windows opening to the\nhall. Under this arch is the lavatory, a stone niche, in which a small\ncistern was suspended, with a drain at the bottom; so that the diners\ncould put their hands under the tap of the little cistern as they\npassed into dinner.\n\nOver the hall are guest chambers with fine windows; and behind the\npartition at the back of the dais is another chamber with a large\nwindow, which Mr J.H. Parker thought to have been the chapel.\n\nFuller description of the various ecclesiastical buildings can be\nfound in Mr Parker's paper in the _Somerset Proceedings_ for 1863.\n\nTHE ARCHDEACONRY was built in the time of Edward I., but the front of\nthe house has been entirely modernised. The hall is larger than that\nof the deanery, and occupies the whole height of the building, having\na very fine early fifteenth-century open timber roof.\n\nTHE CHOIRMASTER'S HOUSE, at the east end of the cathedral, is a fairly\nperfect example of a fifteenth-century house, retaining its beautiful\nporch unspoiled. The roof and upper part of the windows of the hall\nremain, but are disguised and concealed by modern partitions. It is\nnow the residence of the Principal of the Theological College.\n\nAn organist's house once communicated with the singing-school, which\nis over the western cloister; it was much defaced in the eighteenth\ncentury, and entirely removed a few years ago.\n\nTHE CANONS' HOUSES, which lie in the Liberty to the north of the\ncathedral, have been either entirely rebuilt, or much spoilt by\nalterations.\n\nTHE SCHOOLHOUSE is partly of the fourteenth century, with wings added\nin the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; it retains some features of\ninterest.\n\nBISHOP BUBWITH'S ALMSHOUSE is near St. Cuthbert's Church. It was much\nspoilt in the fifties: the original plan was a great hall, with a\nchapel at the end of it, and cells along the side for the almsmen.\nThese cells were open at the top so that there was plenty of fresh\nair, and if an almsman became ill or infirm, he could hear the service\nchanted daily in the chapel without leaving his bed. At the west end\nof the hall is a building of two storeys built by the bishop's\nexecutors, given to the citizens of Wells as a Guildhall, and used for\nthat purpose till about 1779. Here is preserved a very fine money\nchest of the fifteenth century, painted with a scroll pattern, and\nresting on a stand inscribed with curious doggerel of the date 1615.\n\nST. CUTHBERT'S CHURCH, which is kept open during the daytime, is thus\ndescribed by Mr J.H. Parker in the _Builder_ for 1862 (p. 655):--\n\n\"It was originally a cruciform church of the thirteenth century with a\ncentral tower, and with aisles to the nave; but of the church all that\nremains in the original state is a part of the north aisle. The\ncentral tower has been removed, the church entirely rebuilt in the\nfifteenth century. The pillars and arches of the nave have been\nrebuilt in the fifteenth century also, and the pillars lengthened\nconsiderably. The arches, with their dripstones, preserved and used\nagain on the taller pillars, and most of the capitals have had the\nfoliage cut off. The aisle walls, the clerestory, and roof, are all\nLate Perpendicular, about the time of Henry VII.; but the beautiful\nwest tower is evidently earlier than the clerestory and roof, and has\nthe mark of the old roof on the east side of it, coming below the\npresent clerestory. This fine tower, which is certainly one of the\nfinest of its class, and which Mr Freeman considers, I believe, to\nrank only second to one other [Wrington], is said to have been built\nin the time of Bishop Bubwith, or about 1430; and this appears to me\nprobable. The character of the work is rather Early Perpendicular, and\nthe groined vault under the belfry appears to be an imitation of the\nDecorated vault of the cathedral.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n   [1] The road should be followed for about a quarter of a mile out\n       of the town; at this point a path leads over a stile and through\n       a coppice to the best point of view.\n\n   [2] Vol. i. 421.\n\n   [3] _History of the Cathedral_, 125.\n\n   [4] The Doulting stone, of which the cathedral is built, comes\n       from the St. Andrew's quarry at the little village of\n       Doulting, where Bishop Ealdhelm died. It is inferior oolite,\n       and very like Bath stone, which is the greater oolite. The\n       exterior shafts were blue lias, and those within either blue\n       lias or Purbeck marble, though there are one or two shafts of\n       red Draycot stone in the western responds of the nave.\n\n   [5] _Cathedrals_, iv. 98.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE INTERIOR\n\n\nThe earlier architecture of Wells Cathedral presents so many puzzles,\nthat the most skilled experts have differed widely both from each\nother, and, as we know now, from the truth. There are four distinct\nvarieties of Early English work, covering a period of about a century\nfrom the time of Bishop Reginald, whose episcopate began in 1174; and\nyet, until Mr Bennett deciphered the old charters, which have at\nlength settled the problem, all the work was attributed to Jocelin,\nfor nothing was known of Reginald's building, and some of the best\njudges were even convinced that the west front was built before the\nnave. The difficulty was mainly caused by the unusual character of the\narchitecture of the nave; \"unlike that of any ordinary English\nbuilding, and belonging to a style on the whole fifty years earlier\"\nthan the west front, as Professor Willis said, who gave it a name of\nits own, and called it the Somerset style. Thus the theory came to be\nthat two bodies of masons had been employed--an ordinary English\ncompany for the front, and a local Somerset company for the nave,\ntransepts and choir, who worked in a local variation of the prevalent\nEarly English style. In this way, an attempt was made to overcome the\ndifficulty of attributing to Jocelin work which Mr Willis had himself\npronounced to be \"only a little removed from the early Norman style.\"\nMr Freeman, too, had allowed that the north porch might be earlier\nthan Jocelin; and, long before, Britton had said that there would be\nlittle hesitation in ascribing the church to the transitional period\nof Henry II. (1154-89) on architectural evidence, were it not for\nGodwin's assertion, that Jocelin had entirely pulled down the old\nchurch and built a fresh one.\n\nBut now we have got behind Godwin, and have found from contemporary\nevidence that Bishop Reginald commenced the present church. Thus we\nare able to divide the Early English work into no less than four\nperiods, (1) The three western arches of the choir, with the four\nwestern bays of its aisles, the transepts, and the four eastern bays\nof the nave, which are Reginald's work (1174-1191), and so early as to\nbe still in a state of transition from the Norman. It is a unique\nexample of transitional building, and Willis calls it \"an improved\nNorman, worked with considerable lightness and richness, but\ndistinguished from the Early English by greater massiveness and\nseverity.\" The characteristics of this late twelfth-century work are\nbold round mouldings, square abaci, capitals, some with traces of the\nclassical volute, others interwoven with fanciful imagery that reminds\nus of the Norman work of Glastonbury; while in the north porch, which\nmust be the earliest of all, we even find the zig-zag Norman moulding.\n(2) The rest of the nave, which was finished in Jocelin's time--that\nis to say, in the first half of the thirteenth century--preserves the\nmain characteristics of the earlier work, though the flowing\nsculptured foliage becomes more naturalistic, and lacks the quaint\nintermingling of figure subjects. (3) The west front, which is\nJocelin's work, and alone can claim to be of pure Early English style.\n(4) The chapter-house crypt, which is so late as to be almost\nTransitional, though, curiously enough, it contains the characteristic\nEarly English dog-tooth moulding which is found nowhere else except in\nthe west window. From this, we reach the Early Decorated of the\nstaircase, the full Decorated of the chapter-house itself, the later\nDecorated of the Lady Chapel, the transitional Decorated of the\npresbytery, and the full Perpendicular of the western towers.\n\nMuch of the masonry in the transepts, choir, choir aisles, and even in\nthe eastern transepts, bears the peculiar diagonal lines which are the\nmarks of Norman tooling. This does not, of course, prove that any part\nof Bishop Robert's church is standing, for medieval builders were\nnotoriously economical in using up old masonry, but it does show that\nthere are more remains of his work in the building than was generally\nsupposed. A characteristic feature in this Norman tooling is that if a\nrule be laid along its lines, they will be found to be very slightly\ncurved, a feature which is due to the fact that Norman masons dressed\ntheir stones with the broad curved blade of an axe.\n\n[Illustration The Nave.]\n\nThe plan of the church is remarkably complete, symmetrical, and\nwell-proportioned. Nave, transepts, choir, each flanked with its\naisles, combine to form with the Lady Chapel and chapter-house a\ncathedral church which, though not of the first magnitude, is the most\ncomplete and typical in England. The ground plan itself, as set out in\nall technical severity on page 160, possesses an unusual attraction\nfor the eye. It is free both from mutilation and excrescences; and yet\nall the picturesque external grouping, and internal mystery, which the\nafterthoughts of Gothic architects so often lend to a building, are\nsecured, in the case of Wells, by the carefully-placed chapter-house\nand the beautiful arrangement of the Lady Chapel. The transepts of the\nchoir are very happily carried far enough east to be internally\nsubordinate to this chapel, which arrangement, with the apsidal form\nof the chapel itself, adds much to the beautiful proportions of the\nchurch. A third transept is given to the west end of the nave by the\ntwo towers.\n\nThe length of Wells Cathedral from east to west is 383 feet within the\nwalls, and 415 without. The length of the nave is 161 feet, its\nbreadth 82 feet, and its height 67 feet. The length of the choir is\n117 feet, and its height 73 feet. The transepts are 135 feet within\nand 150 feet without.\n\nTHE NAVE.--The general effect of the nave is that of length rather\nthan height, and this is mainly due to the continuous arcade of the\ntriforium which leads the eye from end to end of the building instead\nof from floor to roof. If this be compared with the older work in the\ntransepts, it will be seen at once by how simple a device this radical\nchange in the effect has been produced. Instead of being carried down\nright across the triforium, as in the transepts, the triple vaulting\nshafts are cut off above the arcade so as to be little more than\ncorbels, and the space thus gained is used to give one additional\nopening to each bay of the triforium. In the transepts the triforium\nis composed of pairs of lancet arches separated by vaulting shafts,\nthe triforium of each bay being a distinct composition over its pier\narch; but by the time the architect had come to the nave, a new idea\nhad occurred to him, and he made the triforium in one continuous\narcade, unbroken from east to west, evidently with the deliberate\nintention of producing a horizontal rather than a vertical effect. The\narrangement has undoubtedly a character of its own, and \"there is no\nnave in which the eye is so irresistibly carried eastward as in that\nof Wells.\"\n\nIn spite of this method of securing an effect of length, the builders\nmanaged to make the most of the small height of their church. The\nmanner in which this was done forms an interesting example of the\nsubtle feeling of proportion which early architects possessed. The\nclerestory was made unusually lofty, and the comparative lowness of\nthe triforium both adds to the soaring effect and prevents the\nhorizontal appearance being overmastering. This is increased by the\nbold vaulting of the ceiling, and the way in which the lantern arches\nfit into the vault.\n\nBut, homogeneous as the nave appears, a little examination will\nclearly reveal the break which marks the separation between the late\ntwelfth-century work of Reginald de Bohun and the thirteenth-century\ncontinuation of Jocelin. The earlier work, as we have seen, consisted\nof the four eastern bays, which, with the present ritual choir and\ntransepts, formed Reginald's church; and, as a matter of fact, at the\nfifth bay (the next bay westward of the north porch) the marks of\nchange are so evident that all writers upon the cathedral have based\ntheir theories upon it. The earlier masonry in the spandrels on the\neast of this point consists of small stones indifferently set: the\nlater masonry is made up of larger blocks more carefully laid\ntogether; in the earlier part there are small heads at the angles of\nthe pier arches, in the later there are none, while the small heads in\nthe angles of the earlier triforium arcade give place to larger heads\nin the later; the tympana, which fill the heads of the lancets in this\narcade, also are mainly ornamented in the earlier part with grotesque\nbeasts, while in the later they contain foliage, with two exceptions.\nAgain, the medallions which decorate the spaces above the triforium\nare sunk in the earlier masonry, but, in the later, they are flush\nwith the surface and not so deeply carved. Even more noticeable is the\ndifference in the capitals, those of the western bays being lighter,\nfreer, and more undercut, though less interesting and hardly as\nbeautiful as those of the earlier part. With the exception of these\ndifferences, however, which are doubtless due to the freedom enjoyed\nby medieval workmen, the original design of the nave was faithfully\nadhered to, the square abaci, even, being retained, though the\ncircular abacus had become a leading characteristic of the true Early\nEnglish of Jocelin's period. Certainly it is an unusual instance of an\narchitect deliberately setting himself to complete the works of an\nearlier period in faithful accordance with the original plan; and we\nmay well be grateful to him for his modesty.\n\n[Illustration: A Capital--the Fruit-stealer's Punishment.]\n\nAll the carving is most interesting and beautiful: the caps and\ncorbels of the vaulting-shafts; the little heads at the angles of the\narches, which are vivid sketches of every type of contemporary\ncharacter; and the carvings in the tympana, above referred to, which\nare best in the seventh, eighth, and ninth bays (counting from the\nwest end), those on the north excelling in design and execution, while\nthose on the south are more grotesque. But the CAPITALS of the piers\nare the best of all, and the most hurried visitor should spare some\ntime for the study of these remarkable specimens of sculpture,\nvigorous and life-like, yet always subordinated to their architectural\npurpose. Those in the transepts are perhaps the best (p. 89), but the\nfollowing in the nave should not be missed:--\n\n_North Side, sixth Pier._--(By north porch) Birds pluming their wings:\nBeast licking himself: Ram: Bird with human head, holding knife (?).\n\n_Eighth Pier._--Fox stealing goose, peasant following with stick:\nBirds pruning their feathers: (Within Bubwith's chapel) Human monster\nwith fish's tail, holding a fish: Bird holding frog in his beak, which\nis extremely long and delicate.\n\n_Ninth Pier._--Pedlar carrying his pack on his shoulders, a string of\nlarge beads in one hand.\n\nToothless monster, with hands on knees.\n\n_South side, seventh Pier._--Birds with human heads, one wearing a\nmitre.\n\n_Eighth Pier._--Peasant, with club, seized by a lion: Bird with\ncurious foliated tail: (Within St. Edmund's chapel) Owl: Peasant with\nmallet (?).\n\nThe lofty clerestory windows are divided into two lights by\nPerpendicular tracery of late fourteenth or early fifteenth century\ndate, which extends to the level of the passage, the lower part being\nfilled with masonry. The windows were not, however, altered in shape\nwhen the tracery was inserted. In the tracery are very slight traces\nof the old glass.\n\nThe triforium passage is capacious enough to form a large tunnel,\nwhich gives a good effect to its lancet openings. The small iron\nrings, which are prominent enough to be rather tiresome to the eye,\nwere recently inserted for the use of those engaged in cleaning the\nwalls. Within the passage additional arches may be seen, inserted to\nstrengthen the arcade at the commencement of the later work and in\nother places.\n\nThe groined ceiling has carved bosses at the intersection of its ribs.\nThe red pattern is a restoration of the old design which was found on\nthe removal of the whitewash, but the restorer seems to have missed\nthe right tints.\n\nThere is a music-gallery in the clerestory of the sixth bay on the\nsouth side; it is composed of three panels with quatrefoils containing\nplain shields, and is finished with an embattled cornice. Another\ngallery, perhaps for an organ, must have been supported by the two\nnoticeable brackets on the spandrels of the fourth bay of the same\nside. One may conjecture that it was of wood, and was reached from the\ntriforium. The brackets are carved in the shape of very large heads of\na bishop and a king, both supported by smaller heads, and of an\nextremely benevolent expression. The hair of the king has that curious\nformal twist with which we are familiar on playing-cards. As some of\nthe small heads in the chapter-house have the same style of hair,\nthese two brackets probably belong to the end of the thirteenth\ncentury.\n\n[Illustration: A Capital--toothache.]\n\nSir John Harrington in the _Nugae Antiquae_ (ii. 148) says of these\ntwo heads that \"the old men of Wells had a tradition, that, when there\nshould be such a king and such a bishop, then the church should be in\ndanger of ruin.\" At the time of the Reformation it was noticed that\nthe head of the king bore a certain resemblance to Henry VIII., and\nthat the king held in his hands a child falling, who, it was said,\ncould be none other than Edward VI. The peculiarity of the bishop's\nfigure is that he has women and children about him. \"This fruitful\nbishop, they affirmed, was Dr Barlow (p. 156), the first married\nbishop of Wells, and perhaps of England. This talk being rife in Wells\nin Queen Mary's time, made him rather affect Chichester at his return\nthan Wells, where not only the things that were ruined but those that\nremained, served for records and remembrances of his sacrilege.\"\n\nThe west end of the nave is covered in its lower portion by an arcade\nof five arches with Purbeck shafts, the middle one being wider than\nthe rest, to contain the two smaller arches of the doorway. The three\nlancet windows were re-modelled in Perpendicular times by the\ninsertion of the triple shafts, which have the casement mouldings and\nangular caps of the period; but the dog-tooth moulding of the arches,\nthe medallions in the spandrels, and the little corbel heads of the\nEarly English work remain. A Perpendicular parapet along the sill of\nthe window marks the gallery which, pierced through the splays,\ncarries the triforium passage round the end of the nave. A string\ncourse runs along the bottom of this gallery and forms the bases of\nthe triple shafts; the bases are supported on corbels which die off\nupon the sloping wall below. This wall conceals a curious gallery, the\npurpose of which is not known; it is entered by steps from the\ntriforium, and lighted by round openings which can be seen in the\ncentral quatrefoils of the west front; when these quatrefoils were\nfilled with sculpture it would have been difficult to detect the\nexistence of the dark gallery.\n\n[Illustration: Specimens Of Capitals.]\n\nTwo small transepts at the west end of the nave are formed by the\nwestern towers, which project in this church beyond the aisles. These\ntransepts are connected with the aisles by an arch, the lower part of\nwhich is closed by wooden doors. That on the north was used as a\nchapel of the Holy Cross, and of late years as the consistory court:\nit is now the choir-boys' vestry; that on the south served as a porch\nin the days when the usual entrance to the church was by the Early\nEnglish doorway which leads into it from the cloister; it is now\nappropriated to the bell-ringers. They are both of strikingly\ndifferent style to the rest of the interior, as they were built in\npure Early English style, at the same time as the west front, of which\nthe towers form, of course, an integral part. Their shafts are of blue\nlias, the capitals richly carved; their groined vaults have a circular\nopening to admit to the upper storey of the tower, which has its\ncorbels ornamented with foliage, although they cannot be seen. Over\nthe doorway in the south chapel an arcade is curiously fitted into the\navailable space beneath the vault.\n\n[Illustration: A Capital.]\n\nTHE AISLES OF THE NAVE (see p. 19) are of the same character as the\nnave itself, the later part having been resumed at about the same\ntime, and at the same place. Among the capitals the following in the\nnorth aisle may be specially mentioned:--\n\n_Fifth Shaft._--Peasants carrying sheep, etc., a dog in the midst.\n\n_Ninth Shaft._--Man in rough coat, which falls before and behind\nrather like a chasuble, carrying foliage on his back. A very good\nfigure.\n\n_Tenth Shaft._--(By arch of vestry) Man carrying what seems to be a\nhod of mortar and a mason's mallet.\n\n_Opposite side of arch_, at end of the string course: Peasant in hood\ncarrying a staff. On the caps opposite are two heads with tongues on\ntheir teeth (see p. 92).\n\nThe windows, both of these aisles and those of the transepts, were\nfilled with Perpendicular tracery at about the same time as the\nclerestory windows. The date of this addition must have been before\nBishop's Bubwith's time, for the library which that prelate built over\nthe cloister blocks the south window of the west aisle of the south\ntransept. A stone bench runs along all the aisles.\n\n[Illustration: Specimens Of Capitals.]\n\nGLASS OF THE NAVE, TRANSEPTS, AND AISLES.--Most of the glass of the\nwest window was collected abroad, during his exile, by Bishop\nCreyghton, while he was yet dean (1660-70). The main part of it is\ndevoted to the life and death of St. John Baptist, and is of excellent\nearly sixteenth-century work, for under the fantastic figure of the\nexecutioner is the inscription _Sancti Johannis Decollatio_ 1507. The\ntwo other lights containing the large figures of King Ina and Bishop\nRalph are, however, of later date, and to judge by their costume they\nshould belong to Creyghton's own time; moreover, on the southern one\nare Creyghton's arms. Apparently the compositions at the extreme top\nand bottom of the middle light are much later; a little handbook on\nthe cathedral by Mr John Davies, the verger in 1814, states that the\nthen dean and chapter re-arranged and restored the window in 1813;\nthese additions must belong to that time, and according to him they\nwere brought from Rouen. Their ugly reds and blues certainly do not\nblend with the earlier glass, as do the figures of Ina and Ralph, but\nconsiderably mar the mellow and delicate effect of the whole. There\nare only a few slight fragments of old glass in the other windows.\nThere are also two modern windows at the west end of the aisles.\n\n[Illustration: View Across Nave, Shewing Sugar's And Bubwith's\nChapels.]\n\nBISHOP BUBWITH'S CHANTRY CHAPEL.--Two chantry chapels stand opposite\neach other under the ninth pier-arches of the nave. They are alike in\ngeneral characteristics, though there is an interval of sixty years\nbetween them. The chantry of Bishop Bubwith (_ob._ 1424), who built\nthe north-west tower, is formed by a hexagonal screen between the\npiers, the three eastern sides being filled with a reredos that gives\nthe chapel a square appearance within. The screen is composed of the\nmost light and elaborate tracery, its corners surmounted by a crest;\nit is open above, but has a rather coarsely-carved canopy over where\nthe altar stood. Doorways, whose jambs are too delicately carved to\nhave ever carried doors, give free access and a clear view of the\ninterior from either side. Altogether it was an ideal place for votive\nCelebrations, when but few worshippers were present. The niches over\nthe altar have been hacked level with the wall, and the little pillar\npiscina is also defaced. The triple shafts of the pier at the western\nend are corbelled off, the corbel being carved with Bubwith's arms\n(argent, a fess engrailed sable between twelve holly leaves vert, 4,\n4, 4, and 4, arranged in quadrangles) impaled with those of the see.\nThe altar here was formerly dedicated to St. Saviour.\n\nSUGAR'S CHANTRY.--In the ninth bay of the nave, on the south side, is\nthe chantry of Treasurer Hugh Sugar. Before its erection, the altar of\nSt. Edmund of Canterbury, who was canonised in 1246, stood here; and\nperhaps, when it comes to be used again, it will be maintained in\nhonour of that most attractive scholar saint. Speaking of these\nchantries, which were endowed in such profusion in the later Middle\nAges, Canon Church (_Somerset Proceedings_, 1888, ii. 103) says: \"The\nbelief in the communion of saints, living and dead, and the desire for\ncontinued remembrance after death, and for the intercessions of the\nliving, led practically to the endowment of chantries and obits,\nwhereby not only was the church enriched, and the services of many\npriests provided for, but also attachment to the church of their\nfathers was greatly strengthened, as being the common home of the dead\nand the living.\" That attachment, one would think, is hardly likely to\nbe revived by this beautiful chapel and its fellow being put to base\nuses. At present it serves as a kind of booking-office, where visitors\ndeposit their sixpences and sign their names, while the other is\nstored with hassocks, and becomes the resting-place of any brooms,\npails, and dustpans that are in use.\n\nSt. Edmund's (or Sugar's) chapel is hexagonal, like that of Bishop\nBubwith, but its tracery, frieze, and reredos are more elaborate. The\ncanopy over the altar is vaulted with lace-like fan-tracery. Five\nniches, now empty of their figures, form the reredos; their sumptuous\npedestals and canopies are in excellent condition. Attached to the\nfrieze without, on either side, are six demi-angels, with delicate\nwings and extremely curly hair, bearing shields, with representations\nof the Five Wounds, the Lily of the Annunciation, between angels'\nwings; the arms of the see (a plain saltire surmounting a pastoral\nstaff in pale between two keys addorsed, the bows interlaced on the\ndexter, and a sword erect on the sinister); the arms of Glastonbury\nAbbey (a cross flory, in dexter chief a demi-virgin with child\nproper), the arms of the vicars (a saltire), the initials H.S., and\nSugar's arms, originally a \"canting coat,\" three sugar-loaves, and in\nchief a doctor's cap. Sugar's initials and arms also occur under the\ncanopy. It is the fashion to consider this chapel inferior to its\nfellow, merely because it is later in date, but a little impartial\nstudy will show that it is much the better of the two. The tracery,\nthough less uncommon, is more graceful, that over the doorway\nespecially being far better contrived; the cornice is better\nproportioned, and is not spoilt by the untidy trail of foliage which\nruns round that of Bubwith's chapel; the canopy, too, fits in with the\ncurve of the tracery, while that of the others projects clumsily\nacross it.\n\nTHE PULPIT.--From the west end of this chapel steps lead into the\nstone pulpit which adjoins it. This pulpit was built in Henry VIII.'s\nreign, by Bishop Knight, who died in 1547. It is a low, but\nwell-proportioned, structure, resting on a basement, and fronted with\npanelled pilasters; it is surmounted by an entablature. In front are\nthe bishop's curious arms, which occur more distinctly in the glass of\nthe north choir aisle--Per fess, in chief a demi-eagle with two heads\nand sans wings issuing from a demi-rose conjoined to a demi-sun in\nsplendour in base. On the frieze is the inscription--_preache. thov.\nthe. worde. be. fervent. in. season. and. ovt. of. season. reprove.\nrebvke. exhorte. w^t. all. longe. svfferyng. &. doctryne. 2. Tim[=o]._\nA board along the top, covered with red baize, impairs its beauty at\npresent.\n\n[Illustration: Sugar's Chapel--the Lectern And Pulpit.]\n\nTHE LECTERN, which stands near, is composed of a massive double desk,\nsurmounted by ornamental work, containing the arms of the see. It\nrests upon a ball and turned stem and base, and is entirely of brass.\nBishop Creyghton, who had it made when he was yet dean, inscribed it\non both desks with his arms and this legend:--_Dr. Rob^{t.} Creyghton\nupon his returne from fifteen years Exile, w^{th} o^r Soveraigne Lord\nKinge Charles y^e 2^{d.} made Deane of wells, in y^e yeare 1660, gave\nthis Brazen Deske, w^{th} God's holy worde thereon to the saide\nCathedrall Church._ The Bible referred to still rests upon it, bearing\nthe same date; it is bound up with the Prayer Book, and contains\ninitial letters and a frontispiece, but it stops at the book of Job.\n\nOpposite the lectern are two sixteenth-century panelled wooden stalls,\nwith round finials, all bearing the same device on both sides--a Tudor\nrose with _I.H.S._ in the centre, and the letters _m.d.l.i.i._ (1552)\non the five petals. These excellent examples of simple and effective\nwoodwork were found amongst some lumber in 1846, and now form part of\nthe temporary choir stalls that are used for the nave services.\n\nOn the south side of Bubwith's chapel, and partly covered by it, is a\nslab, 10 ft. long, covering the grave of Bishop Haselshaw, with the\ninscription, _Walterus de Haselshaw Ep. 1308_. On the west of Sugar's\nchapel, another slab bears the inscription, _Radulphus Erghum Ep.\n1401_. In a slab near the entrance to the choir there is the matrix for\na brass of a lady, with mitred head-dress of the period, _c._ 1460,\nbeneath a canopy. The style suggests that it may belong to Lady Lisle,\nwhose tomb possibly stood here.\n\nTHE TRANSEPTS are both of the same architectural character, and were\nevidently built before the nave. They have less ornament, the\nmedallions and the carved tympana of the nave being alike absent,\nalthough there are the same small heads at the angles of the pier\narches. The triforium, too, is different; each bay consists of two\nlarge openings, devoid of ornament, instead of three narrower ones,\nand is separated from the next bay by the vaulting-shaft which reaches\ndown to the string-course of the pier arch (see p. 77). Some of the\ncarved work, however, of the capitals and corbels is of a later date\nthan that of the nave, which may be due to the capitals having been\nleft uncut till after the nave was finished, or to damage done by the\nfall of the _tholus_ in 1248. Apparently the corbels of the vaulting\nshafts are later than those of the nave, they are certainly more\nelaborate. Of the capitals those on the west side of both transepts\nare of one style and abound in representations of the toothache. The\ncapitals on the east side are different from those on the west of the\nthird pier on this side of the south transept, and that is of a style\nthat suggests the Decorated period. Those on the west are certainly\nthe best, and some of the following are the finest in the church, and\nperhaps in England:--\n\nNORTH TRANSEPT, _first Pier._--(Inside the Priest Vicars' vestry) A\nprophet (?) with scroll on which there is no name: Man carrying goose.\n(Outside) Head with tongue on teeth.\n\n_Second Pier._--Aaron, writing his name on a scroll: Moses with the\ntables of stone.\n\n_Third Pier._--Woman with a bandage across her face.\n\nAbove this cap the corbel consists of a seated figure, naked, with\ndistorted mouth and an agonised expression.\n\n[Illustration: Section of North Transept, and Elevation of South\nTransept.]\n\nSOUTH TRANSEPT, _second Pier_ (from the south end).--Two men are\nstealing grapes, one holds the basket full, the other plucks grapes,\nholding a knife in his other hand: The farmers in pursuit, one carries\na spade and the other a pitchfork: The man with the fork, a vigorous\nfigure, catches one thief: The man with the spade hits the other\n(whose face is most woe-begone) on the head (illust. p. 79).\n\n_Third Pier._--Woman pulling thorn out of her foot: Man with one eye,\nfinger in his mouth: Baboon head: Cobbler; this figure shows very\nplainly the method of shoemaking at this time; the cobbler, in his\napron, sits with the shoe on one knee, his strap passes over the knee\nand round the other foot, his foot is turned over so as to present the\nside and not the sole to the strap: Woman's head with long hair.\n\n_Fourth Pier._--Head perfectly hairless: \"Elias P.\" (the prophet) with\nhand on cheek as if he too has the toothache: Head in hood, with\ntongue on the one remaining tooth.\n\nIt may be well here to say a word about the general classification of\nthese earlier capitals, since their date is a matter of great\narchitectural interest. I would venture to divide them into five\ngroups--\n\n1. Those of the three western bays of the choir: simple carved foliage\nof distinctly Norman character, as in the north porch: these belong to\nthe time of Reginald (1174-1191).\n\n2. The four eastern bays of the nave and its aisles. Some of these may\nbelong to the first period, though later than the choir: they are more\nadvanced in the foliage, and teem with grotesque birds and beasts.\nSome, however, of the caps in these bays are of quite different\ncharacter (p. 80); they contain _genre_ subjects of perfectly\nnaturalistic treatment, very different to the St. Edmund of the north\nporch capital, but exactly similar to the figure caps of the\ntransepts. They must therefore have been carved later than the death\nof Saint William Bytton.\n\n3. The western bays of the nave. These, which are of much less\ninterest, belong to the period of Jocelin's reconstruction\n(1220-1242). They are characteristic examples of rich stiff-leaf\nfoliage, freer than that of the earlier work, but much less varied and\nwithout either human figures or grotesques.\n\n4. On the eastern range of transept piers. These would seem also to\ncome within Jocelin's period, with the exception of the third pier of\nthe south transept.\n\n5. On the western range of transept piers (p. 89), with which must be\nclassed those later caps already referred to in the nave under group\n2. Their date is settled by the fact that they abound in unmistakable\nrepresentations of the toothache. Now Saint William Bytton died in\n1274, and his tomb became immediately famous for cures of this malady.\nIn 1286 the chapter decided to repair the old work, no doubt because\nthe offerings at his tomb had brought money to the church; this part\nof the church had been damaged ever since the fall of the _tholus_ in\n1248. The caps must therefore have been carved during the episcopate\nof Burnell (1275-1292). Mr Irvine, indeed, suggests that the figure of\nthe woman taking a thorn (\"bur\") from her foot may contain a reference\nto Bishop Burnell. The undercroft passage, with its curious corbels\nand bosses, was probably also a part of the old work then completed,\nas it contains one \"toothache\" head. Although the introduction of such\nfinished figure-subjects into the capitals suggests this lateness of\ndate, they are still completely Early English in style, and a great\ngulf is fixed between them and the Decorated caps of the chapter-house\nbegun by Burnell's successor, William de Marchia (1293-1302).\n\n[Illustration: The South Transept From North Side Of Nave.]\n\n[Illustration: Capitals In Transept]\n\nTHE FONT is of peculiar interest as the one surviving relic of Bishop\nRobert's Norman church. Whether it also stood in the still earlier\nSaxon church is still an open question: it is as likely to be of\npre-Norman as of Norman date, and the fact that whatever ornament\nthere may have been in the spandrels of its shallow arcades has been\nhacked off, makes conjecture unsafe. Its unusual position in the south\ntransept may be due to the Bishop Giso's quasi-conventual buildings on\nthe south of the church, which would have made this transept the most\ncommon entrance to the cathedral at the time of the Conquest. A\nJacobean cover rests upon the font, and with it forms a charming\ncombination of pre-Gothic and post-Gothic Romanesque design.\n\n[Illustration: The Font. (Drawn by W. Heywood.)]\n\nAt the south end of the south transept is the tomb of Bishop _de\nMarchia_ (_ob._ 1302). The effigy lies in a recess, and is covered\nwith a canopy of three bays, the ogival arches, finished in sumptuous\ncrockets and finials, painted red and gold, the spandrels being\nalternately green and red, powdered with a little pattern, the cusps\nand mouldings scarlet and crimson and green and gold, with a dark\ncolour in the shadows. The effigy of the bishop is one of the best in\nthe cathedral, but even more lovely are the three little figures so\ncharmingly supported on foliage at the back of the tomb--two angels\nand a bishop between them. The heads of these three figures have been\nwickedly destroyed, but parts of the chains of the angels' censers\nremain. Of the two beautiful angels which hold the cushion the heads\nfortunately remain. Along the plinth of the tomb are six heads which\nare quite unique in their treatment; three are bearded (one of these\nis bald); one is shaven, tonsured, and turned half round in a\nstrangely naturalistic manner; another is also shaven, and the\nremaining head is that of a woman in a veil. Two large faces are\ncarved on the east and west ends of the tomb, both with long wavy\nhair--one of a woman, the other with a wavy beard. The central boss of\nthe vaulting is carved with five roses, which are coloured green,\ntheir foliage, like all the foliage in this tomb, being gilt on a red\nground with the red edges showing. The little angels at the back had\ngilded robes with red lining, and blue wings; the little bishop wore a\nred chasuble with green (or blue) dalmatic, and red tunicle over his\nwhite alb; the lappets of his mitre, which have survived, were red,\nand traces of dark blue are on his shoes: there seem to have been\npatterns on the various vestments, and the colours can still be seen\nwhere their sleeves overlapped. Modern lettering has been cut across\nthe back of the tomb and coloured, by way of contrast to the ancient\nwork.\n\nUnder the battlemented cornice of the curtain-wall to the west a row\nof heads is painted in fresco on a red ground, which seems to be part\nof the same scheme with the curious heads on the plinth of de\nMarchia's tomb: one of these, a woman in a dark-coloured hood, is\nespecially distinct. No doubt, the whole wall was originally painted.\nThe sill of the window over the tomb seems to have been used for some\nspecial purpose: there is a passage cut through the splay of the\nwindow, through which the sill may be reached, which is not the case\nwith the corresponding window of the north transept. The passage is\nreached from a staircase concealed behind the curtain-wall, which is\nreached by an ogee-headed doorway (with cusps in the head, finial, and\ntwo small heads to its very beautiful mouldings). This staircase also\nleads to a chamber on the level of the passage, but on the west side:\nthe interior of the chamber can be seen from the ground, as its old\nwooden door is kept open. It is supposed by some to have been a\nwatching chamber in connection with the tomb. There can, indeed, be\nlittle doubt that these arrangements had something to do with de\nMarchia's tomb, or that the ornamented doorway in the curtain wall of\nthe same date as the tomb, together with the frescoes on the wall,\nwere connected with the strong efforts that were made at this time for\nhis canonisation. Perhaps the sill was used for the display of his\nrelics, and the chamber was the ordinary resting-place of the\nreliquary, for which purpose the door and the absence of windows would\nhave fitted it.\n\nNext to de Marchia's tomb on the other side, the monument of Joan\nViscountess _Lisle_ (_ob._ 1463) gives a good illustration of the\nchange of architecture in a hundred and fifty years. The crockets are\nless free, and straight lines and square members abound; the fine ogee\ncurve of its single arch is weakened by the rather weedy cusps, its\nshafts have become tiny mouldings, and their capitals mere knops. It\nis coloured, too, all over, in green and red and yellow, but heavily\nin comparison with its neighbour. The colour has been unusually well\npreserved, owing to the fact that the tomb was plastered over, and not\ndiscovered till 1809. There is no effigy, but a brass of apparently\nrecent date bears this inscription:--_Hic jacet Joanna Vicecomitilla\nde Lisle una filiarum et haeredum Thomae Chedder, armiger quae fuit\nuxor Joannis Vicecomitis de Lisle, filii et haeredis Joannis Comitis\nSalopiæ et Margaretæ u[=x] ejus unius filiarum et haeredum Ricardi\ncomitis Warwici et Elizabethae uxoris ejus filiæ et haeredis Thomæ de\nBerkley militis, domini de Berkeley, quæ obiit xv^{mo} die mensis Julii\nA[=n][=n] D^i MCCCCLXIII._ Lady Lisle's husband was killed at the\nbattle of Chastillon (1453), when he was serving under his father, the\nfamous Earl of Shrewsbury. The painted designs above the three niches\nshould be noticed, and also those of the moulding and fleurs-de-lys at\nthe side. The monument was evidently used as a chantry chapel; but it\ndid not originally stand here. The brass by the north side of the\nscreen (p. 89) may mark the site.\n\nThe eastern aisles of the transepts are divided off into chapels by\ntwo Perpendicular stone screens, that of the south transept having a\ndoorway in it for each chapel. These chapels are thus dedicated,\nbeginning from the south--St. Martin, St. Calixtus, St. David, Holy\nCross. From the last-named chapel the chapter-house is reached through\nan Early English doorway, and a similar doorway (now partly blocked by\nBiconyll's tomb) led from St. Martin's to a small building, supposed\nto have been a vestry, which once stood outside. In the south transept\nthere are also--a small door to the tower, a small door with ogee head\n(p. 96), a rather larger doorway with modern lintel leading to the\nlibrary (two shafts just above this door have been cut off, and faces\nvery roughly cut on their extremities by way of corbel), and the large\ndoorway leading to the cloister. The principal windows belong to the\noriginal work, having been merely filled with Perpendicular tracery.\nThe windows of the south-east aisle contain Decorated tracery, but the\ntracery of the north-east aisle is not good.\n\nThe western aisle of the south transept is open; that of the north\ntransept is cut off by a Perpendicular stone screen, which is solid in\nthe southern bay, and through carved in the northern. The latter is,\nhowever, boarded up, and used as the vestry of the priest-vicars, the\nother being the vestry of the vicars-choral. From the priest-vicars'\nvestry a door leads into a small chamber now used for the water\nsupply, and over the doorway there is a small and pretty figure of a\nwoman under a little niche.\n\nThere are a very few fragments of Early Perpendicular glass in some of\nthe upper lights of the nave and transept windows. There are also two\nmodern windows at the west end of the nave, and one in the south\ntransept, of which I have been unable to discover the actual\ndesigners' names.\n\nTRANSEPT CHAPELS.--ST. MARTIN'S, where the obits of Savaric and\nJocelin were celebrated, is separated by a solid Perpendicular screen\nfrom the adjoining chapel of St. Calixtus. It is now used as the\ncanons' vestry. Partly blocking the old Early English doorway is the\ntomb of _Biconyll_, who was chancellor in 1454. His will, with a good\ndeal of information about him, is given in the _Somerset Proceedings_\nfor 1894, by Mr A.S. Bicknell, a descendant. The name was originally\nBykenhulle (A.S. for Beacon Hill), and has been spelt in forty-seven\ndifferent ways. His effigy lies on the tomb, dressed in cassock, long\nsurplice, and _cappa nigra_ or choral cope. The ends of the almuce can\nbe seen in the opening of the cope, and its hood hangs over the\nshoulders.\n\nST. CALIXTUS' chapel is enclosed on the side of the choir aisle by\npart of the beautiful ironwork from Beckington's tomb. The doors of\nthis and St. Martin's chapel are also made from the same iron screen.\nWithin the chapel, and near the screen, in strange contrast to it,\nstands one of those indescribable stoves which disfigure the church,\nits chimney, as usual, driven through the vault. The east end of the\nchapel is occupied by the canopy which formed part of Bishop\n_Beckington's_ tomb till the restoration of 1850, when it was, by an\ninexcusable act of vandalism, taken down and fixed up in this place\n(p. 125). This canopy did not cover the tomb, but stood at its foot so\nas to form the eastern part of a chantry chapel, the tomb being on its\nsouth side and the iron screen enclosing it where it jutted into the\nchoir on the north side. It will be noticed that its northern angle\nwas sloped off so as not to present an awkward corner on the side of\nthe choir. The reredos, for such it really is, is a most elaborate and\ncharming piece of work; \"pretty\" is perhaps the word that describes it\nbest, if \"pretty\" be taken in its very best sense. Here there is\nnothing of the suave grace of de Marchia's tomb, nothing of the vigour\nand truth of the transept capitals, nothing of the noble delicacy of\nthe north porch, which was a delicacy of intellect, while this is a\ndelicacy of execution. It is certainly decadent; even by the side of\nSugar's chapel it is over-refined and a thought effeminate, but, with\nthe colour that still covers it fresh and bright, it must have had all\nthe fascination of a splendid piece of jewellery, where profusion of\nornament is more desired than structural grace. The cornice is\nparticularly rich with a finely-carved vine ornament, and with two\nangels, their long outstretched wings minutely feathered, who bear\nshields having representations of the sacred wounds. The tabernacle\nwork behind the altar is gone, like the altar itself, with the\nexception of the small niches which formed the sides of the central\ncomposition, but the little canopy of the central niche remains to\ngive us a slight idea of its workmanship. The short wings of the\nreredos have panels and traceried openings, and, on the south, a\npiscina which looks almost too tiny to be real. The top has a toy-like\nvault of fan-tracery with little pendants.\n\nOn the south side of St. Calixtus' chapel is _Dean Husse's_ alabaster\ntomb (_ob._ 1305), which bears some of the best carved work in the\ncathedral. The effigy itself is good: it represents the Dean clad in\nthe same choir vestments as the figures on the panels below. These\npanels should on no account be missed. The first on the left\nrepresents the Annunciation with a grace that is not less delightful\nfor the strain of exaggeration which pervades it. The Blessed Virgin\n(see illustration on p. 101), a lovely figure in long, close-fitting\nkirtle and mantle thrown gracefully over her shoulders, turns round\nfrom the desk at which she is kneeling, and throws out her arms with a\nquaint gesture of surprise; her crown and nimbus are both of enormous\nsize. A very small Gabriel dashes down from the top corner, bearing a\nscroll which takes up the whole of the panel; he is preceded by a Dove\nwith very long rays. The next three panels (passing over these with\nshields) contain three figures of clergy, two of which hold books, and\nall their short staves. They wear the cassock, long surplice, and a\nlong, graceful choral cope, somewhat like the modern academic gown in\nshape, the rounded ends of the hooded almuce reach to the knee and are\nheld at the chest by a cord with tassels. There is no better\nrepresentation of medieval choir vestments in existence than these\nthree figures. The last panel is a curious representation of the\nEternal Father holding the crucifix; this remarkable figure has a\n_very_ long face, great masses of curly hair, a huge crown, and _very_\nlong hands.\n\nThe two chapels of the north transept can only be reached through the\nchoir aisle, no doubt because the way to the chapter-house was through\nthem. The first was probably ST DAVID'S chapel. Here should be noticed\nthe capital of the easternmost shaft of the second transept pier--a\nhead with curly hair and handsome smiling face. This shaft is\ncorbelled off, and the corbel through carved in the shape of a lizard\neating the leaves of a plant with berries thereon; it is a charming\nstudy. The tomb of Bishop _Still_ (1543-1607) in this chapel is under\na handsome canopy of warm-coloured marbles, with black columns and\nred, blue, and gold decoration. The effigy is dressed in rochet and\nchimere, over which is a red robe lined with white fur; a ruff is\nround the neck, a close-fitting black cap covers the head and part of\nthe ears, and the rochet is finished at the wrists with a plain black\nband.\n\nIn the chapel of the HOLY CROSS the monument of the intruding Bishop\n_Kidder_, Ken's successor (p. 158, _ob._ 1703), stands on the site of\nthe altar, whither it has been removed from its original position on\nthe south side of the choir. Standing in all its chilly\npretentiousness so near to Still's tomb, it well illustrates the\nimmense decline in monumental art which took place during the\nseventeenth century. The bishop's daughter, who erected the monument,\nis represented reclining, as, with one arm outstretched, she looks at\ntwo urns which are supposed to contain the ashes of her father and\nmother; underneath is a very long Latin inscription.\n\n[Illustration: The Annunciation--Husse's Tomb.]\n\nAgainst the north wall and close to the entrance to the chapter-house\nstands the tomb of Bishop _Cornish_ (_ob._ 1513). He was chancellor\nand precentor of Wells, and suffragan bishop under Bishop Fox of Bath\nand Wells and Bishop Oldham of Exeter, his title being Bishop of\nTenos. Part of the inscription remains:--_Obiit supradictus d[)u]s\nThomas Tinensis Ep[)u]s tercio die mensis Julii anno ... MCCCCCXIII\nCujus Anime p_[_ropitietur Deus A_]_men_. The three panels on the\nfront bear shields--T with a sheaf of corn, Cornish's arms (on a\nchevron between three birds' heads erased a mitre) and C with a sheaf\nof corn; on the side panel are the arms of the chapter, the arms, that\nis, of the see without the pastoral staff. Against the wall within the\ncanopy are some matrices of small brasses, in which the kneeling\nfigure of a bishop, a scroll, and two plates for inscriptions can be\ntraced.\n\n[Illustration: Priest In Surplice--Husse's Tomb.]\n\nFrom several peculiarities in Cornish's tomb, I am convinced that it\nwas also used as the _Easter Sepulchre_, where the Host was laid\nduring the concluding days of Holy Week. These sepulchres were often\nmade in connection with a tomb, and the usual place for them was\nsomewhere on the north side of the choir. The position here in the\nchapel of the Holy Cross (which is an appropriate dedication) would be\nparticularly convenient for the purpose. The chapel was easily reached\nby the clergy without their having to go into the public part of the\nchurch; it was thus as safe a place as the choir itself, and at the\nsame time was much more open to the people, who could pay their\ndevotions from the transept, and through the open stone screen could\nsee the candles burning round the sepulchre.\n\n[Illustration: The East End In 1823.]\n\nJust where it could be best seen from the transept, on the eastern end\nof the upper storey of the tomb under the canopy, is a carving of the\nResurrection. A wide arch is cut in the stone; within this is carved a\nsquare opening, not through-cut, but farther recessed, to represent\nthe mouth of the sepulchre; in front of the square recess is the\nfigure of Christ, issuing from the tomb, clad only in a long mantle,\nwhich He holds across His body; the hair is long, the face mutilated,\nand the hands gone. At the left is the kneeling figure of a bishop,\nthe head gone, but part of the staff remaining in the hands. There is\na great crack (now filled with mortar) round these two figures, as if\nthe attack of the iconoclasts had been made with heavy tools. A\npedestal at the right-hand corner of the square recess seems a later\ninsertion, as it is loose and does not exactly fit; probably it was\nadded soon after the tomb was made, to hold a small silver figure of\nan angel, or of a soldier, as there is a little hole (now filled with\nmortar) at a height above it convenient for rivetting a metal figure.\n\nThe Sepulchre proper would have consisted of a small coped chest, in\nshape like a reliquary, round which would be painted the incidents of\nthe Passion. The slab of the tomb, being without the usual recumbent\neffigy, would have formed the place on which this \"coffer\" rested,\nthis being the usual method when a tomb was used for the purpose. On\nGood Friday, the Host, often in a specially-made pyx, was with much\nceremony laid in the coffer, together with the altar-cross, and there\nwas kept, surrounded by candles and guarded by watchers, till Easter\nDay. We know that there was a special provision at Wells for one\ncandle to burn continuously within the Sepulchre \"_I cereus in\nsepulchro cum corpori Dominico qui continue ardebit donec Matutinae\ncantentur in die Paschae_\" (_MS. Harl._ 1682, _fo._ 5). There is a\nsmall hole in the east wall of this chapel, close to the tomb and a\nlittle below the level of of the slab whereon the coffer would have\nrested; this may have held a sconce or some ornament. But the _cereus\nin sepulchro_ was probably a large candle within the chapel, and in\naccordance with general usage, there would have been other candles\nburning upon cressets. There are two other holes in the north wall, a\nfew inches to the east of the top of the tomb, which may have held\nrods for the curtains that were used in much profusion for the\nadornment of Easter sepulchres. While the coffer stood on the slab it\nwould have hidden the carving of the Resurrection; but on its removal\non Easter Day, the carving would have stood in full view of the\npeople, bright, no doubt, with colour and surrounded by lights. It\nwill further be noticed that the tomb stands eighteen inches away from\nthe east wall, the space being now filled with modern masonry; this\nwas probably in order to leave ample room for the sacred ministers in\ntheir vestments; had it stood close against the wall the ceremonial\ncould not have been conveniently carried out.\n\nNear the tomb is the doorway, with a fine old oak door, which leads\ninto the chapter-house; and above the tomb is a window which was\nblocked up when the vestibule was built, and a bracket set in the\nmasonry.\n\nTHE CLOCK is a great favourite with visitors, who generally congregate\nin the north transept at the striking of the hour and laugh gently to\none another when the quaint performance is over. \"Jack Blandiver\"\n(this is the name given him by the country people for some\nundiscovered reason) kicks his bell at each quarter in the most\nlife-like manner, his feet trembling afterwards with the exertion; but\nat the hour, after Jack has sounded his four quarters, as the big bell\nbegins to toll, the four \"knights\" above the clock rush round in\ncontrary directions, and charge each other with so much ferocity that\none unfortunate is felled at each encounter, and has barely time to\nrecover his upright position before he is again and again knocked down\nwith resounding clatter upon his horse's back. The other three fight\ntwenty-four times a day unscathed.\n\nThe clock was thus described by Mr Octavius Morgan, F.R.S., in the\n_Archaeological Journal_ for 1883:\n\n\"In the Cathedral of Wells is what remains of the ancient clock which\nonce belonged to Glastonbury Abbey. This very curious timepiece is\nsaid to have been originally executed by Peter Lightfoot, a monk of\nthe abbey, but at the cost of Adam de Sodbury, who was promoted to the\nabbacy in 1322. It appears to have been originally placed in the south\ntransept of Glastonbury Abbey Church, where it continued till the\nDissolution, when, tradition says, it was carried to Wells and placed\nin the north transept of the cathedral with all its belongings--viz.\nthe figure which strikes the quarters with his heels on two little\nbells within the church, and the two \"knights\" which perform the same\nservice with their battle axes on the outside. The inside figure\nstrikes the hour on a bell before him with a battle-axe in his hands.\nThe face of the dial is 6 feet in diameter, contained in a square\nframe, the spandrels of which are filled with angels holding in their\nhands the head of a man; the outer circle is painted blue, with gilt\nstars scattered over it, and is divided into twenty-four parts,\ncorresponding with the twenty-four hours; the horary numbers are in\nblack-letter characters on circular tablets, and mark the hours from\ntwelve at noon to midnight, and from thence to midnight again (noon\nand midnight being marked by a cross instead of a numeral). The hour\nindex, a large gilt star or sun, is attached to the machinery behind a\nsecond circle which conceals all except the index. On the second\ncircle are marked the minutes, indicated by a smaller star; a third\nand lesser circle contains the numbers of the days of the month, which\nis marked by a point attached to a small circular opening in the\nplate, through which the phases of the moon are shown. On the opposite\nside is a female figure, with the motto _Semper peragrat Phoebe_.\n\n\"An arched pediment surmounts the whole, with an octagonal projection\nfrom its base like a gallery, capped with a row of battlements,\nforming a cornice to the face of the clock. A panelled and\nbattlemented turret is fixed in the centre, round which four figures\nmounted on horses revolve in opposite directions, as if charging at a\ntournament, when set in motion by a communication with the clockwork,\nto be made at pleasure; these are commonly called _knights_, but their\ncostume is only that of ordinary persons. The movement is at a\ndistance from the dial, and connected with it by a long horizontal\nrod; the dial work was close at the back of the dial. The revolving\nfigures on horseback are moved by a separate weight, and are set in\nmotion by the freeing of a detent. The old boarding at the back [in\nthe vestry of the vicars-choral] is painted black, with a diaper\nscroll of foliage with red and white roses. The female figure on the\ndial, representing the moon, is always kept upright by a balance\nweight; the quarter-boys inside, who strike the quarters, are much\nlater, having _knee-breeches_.\n\n\"The outside dial has now two hands; it was once like a star with only\none hand. The bells outside are struck by two figures in armour,\n_temp._ Henry VIII., probably put up when it was removed from\nGlastonbury.\n\n\"The clock seems to have remained without alteration after it was then\nput up, till the present modern movement, made by Thwaites & Reed of\nClerkenwell, was, in the time of Dean Goodenough, substituted for it,\nand the old original movement was taken and deposited in the crypt\nunder the chapter-house, where it remained uncared for, for many\nyears, during which time, 1853, I visited and examined it, made notes\nof it, and took drawings of it. The great wheel has ninety teeth, and\nthe pinion, a lantern-pinion, had nine leaves, or rather bars; the\nsecond wheel had sixty teeth; the remainder of the works were all\ndisjointed and bent, and remained unheeded.\" The whole is now fitted\ntogether, and in a going condition, in the mechanical museum at South\nKensington.\n\nThe _Antiquary_ for August 1897 (\"Some Mediaeval Mechanicians\")\nreminds us that, as the clock was in constant use at Glastonbury for\nabout 250 years, and then at Wells for another 250 years, and as the\nold movement is now still working at the South Kensington, \"as though\nits life were interminable\"--it is probably the oldest piece of\nworking mechanism extant.\n\nThe same article says of these old works: \"It will give an idea of the\nlabour involved, when it is stated the mechanism of the clock occupies\na space of about 5 feet cube (125 cubic feet), that the structure is\nwholly of forged iron; that the numerous wrought-iron wheels, some of\nwhich are nearly 2 feet in diameter and about ½ inch thick, besides\nhaving to be made truly circular and concentric, had all their teeth\ncut out and trimmed to workable shape by hand; and that the heavy\nwrought-iron frames, etc., are fastened entirely by means of mortise,\ntenon, and colter, no screws being used in the whole structure. The\npinions are of the lantern form, with octagonal cheek-plates on square\nspindles, and the pendulum of modern form beats seconds.\"\n\nTHE INVERTED ARCHES.--Undoubtedly the first thing that the stranger\nnotices in Wells Cathedral, and the last that he is likely to forget,\nis the curious contrivance by which the central tower is supported. Of\nthe three pairs of arches (the upper arch resting inverted upon the\nlower) which stretch across the nave and each of the transepts, that\nin the nave is seen at once, and lends a unique character to the whole\nchurch. At first these arches give one something of a shock, so\nunnecessarily frank are they, so excessively sturdy, so very English,\nwe may think. They carry their burden as a great-limbed labourer will\ncarry a child in a crowd, to the great advantage of the burden, and\nthe natural dissatisfaction of the crowd. In fact, they seem to block\nup the view, and to deform what they do not hide.\n\nThat is the first impression, but it does not last for long.\nFamiliarity breeds respect for this simple, strong device, which\narrested the fall of the tower in the fourteenth century, and has kept\nits walls ever since in perfect security, so that the great structure\nhas stood like a rock upon the watery soil of Wells for nearly seven\ncenturies, with its rents and breaks just as they were when the damage\nwas first repaired. The ingenuity, too, of these strange flying\nbuttresses becomes more and more evident; the \"ungainly props\" are\nseen to be so worked into the tower they support, that they almost\nseem like part of the original design of the first builders. One\ndiscovers that it is the organ, and not the arches, that really blocks\nthe view, and one marvels that so huge a mass of masonry can look so\nlight as to present, with the great circles in the spandrels where the\narches meet, \"a kind of pattern of gigantic geometrical tracery.\"\nIndeed, I think no one who has been in Wells a week could wish to see\nthe inverted arches removed.\n\nProfessor Willis, who had made a most careful investigation of the\nmasonry, thus describes the cause and the construction of the inverted\narches (_Somerset Proceedings, 1863, i. 21_):\n\n\"It is evident that the weight of the upper storey of the tower\ncompleted in 1321 had produced fearful settlements, the effects of\nwhich may still be seen in the triforium arches of the nave, and\ntransepts next to the tower, which are dragged downwards and deformed,\npartly rebuilt, filled up, and otherwise exhibiting the signs so often\nseen under central towers, of a thorough repair. The great piers of\nthe tower are cased and connected by a stone framework, which is\nplaced under the north, south, and west tower-arches, but not under\nthe east. This framework consists of a low pointed arch, upon which\nrests an inverted arch of the same form, so as to produce a figure\nsomewhat resembling a St. Andrew's cross, to use the happy phrase\napplied by Leland to a similar contrivance introduced for a similar\nreason [but at a later date] into the central tower arches of\nGlastonbury.\" To this description there only needs to be added a\nmention of the circles which occupy the spandrels, and help to prevent\nthe whole structure from seeming a mere inert mass of masonry. To\nappreciate the work fully, it should be looked at from some spot, such\nas the north-east corner of the north transept, whence the three great\npairs of arches can be seen together. The effect from here is very\nfine, especially when the nave is lighted up, and strong shadows are\ncast. The extreme boldness of the mouldings, the absence of shafts and\ncapitals and of all ornament, give them a primitive vigour, and their\ngreat intermingling curves, which contrast so magnificently with the\nlittle shafts of the piers beyond, seem more like a part of some great\nmountain cavern than a mere device of architectural utility.\n\n[Illustration: The Inverted Arches, From The North Transept.]\n\nAt the same time as the arches were built, flying buttresses were\ninserted further to secure the tower, and they can be seen blocking up\nthe triforium and clerestory of those bays, in nave, choir, and\ntransepts, which adjoin it. Other repairs were necessary, for the\npier-arches of the same bays in nave and transepts were completely\nshattered, and had to be replaced by the present ones, the\nqueer-looking capitals of which contrast so oddly with the earlier\nwork. It is instructive, also, to compare the lightness of these\nfourteenth-century mouldings with the boldness of those, wrought at\nexactly the same time, of the great inverted arches.\n\nTHE TOWER.--Besides its inverted arches and other signs of repair, the\ntower is mainly noticeable for its Perpendicular fan-tracery vault of\nfifteenth-century date. This vault hides the lantern with its arcades,\nand thus destroys one of the elements of distance and mystery which,\nbefore the advent of the more prosaic Perpendicular period, had been a\ncharacteristic of Gothic architecture. Nothing else but the desire for\nuniformity can account for this unjustifiable addition; for there can\nhave been no intention of hanging bells in the lantern when there were\nalready two western bell-towers. The lantern, with its cracked\nmasonry, can be seen during the ascent of the tower (p. 47).\n\nThe shafts of the eastern tower arches were corbelled off at some\nheight from the ground, in order to allow the stalls of the first\nritual choir to be set flat against the wall. This shows that Bishop\nReginald, when he rebuilt the church, kept to the old Romanesque\narrangement and made his choir under the tower, reserving his three\nbays of what is now the choir for the presbytery--a very dignified\narrangement. The square holes for fixing the wooden screen of this\nearlier choir can still be traced on the aisle walls in a line with\nthe ninth piers of the nave.\n\nTHE SCREEN was built in the fourteenth century; but Salvin altered and\nspoilt it by bringing forward the middle portion to carry the\nunsightly organ. Mr Freeman objected very strongly to the choir being\nshut off from the nave by this screen, and urged the authorities to\npull it down and throw the whole church open from end to end. The\nremedy suggested by Mr St. John Hope, on the other hand, is that a\nsecond screen should be erected under the western arch of the tower,\nagainst which the nave or rood altar should stand, with seats for the\nchoir on either side. Such a screen as this was certainly used in\nconventual churches, and would be more in accord with the spirit of\nmedieval architecture, which was content to sacrifice the grandeur of\ngreat space in order to gain the qualities of seclusion and mystery,\nand inexhaustible variety.\n\nTwo things, at least, are certain. The long-established custom of\ncrowding the Sunday congregation into the choir should be abolished,\nand the organ should be modified or removed. Magnificent Sunday\nservices could be held in the nave, either with a second screen and\naltar or without a screen at all; but, as the former plan could be\ntried without any destruction of old work, it should be tried first.\n\n[Illustration: Choir, Looking West.]\n\nAs for the organ, the cathedral will always be defaced while it\nremains as a whole in the midst of the screen. Musical experts could\nno doubt distribute it so that it would no longer be an offence to the\neye, and yet would sound more effectively than at present. Perhaps\ngalleries for the swell, pedal, and great organs might be built above\nthe pier-arches in the western bay of the choir on either side, and\nthe consol, with the choir organ, might remain on the screen. Some\nfragments of tabernacle work on the triforium level would thus be\nhidden, but it is unremarkable work, exactly similar to that of the\nadjoining bays, and, moreover, it was so blocked and patched when the\ntower was strengthened that it would not be a disadvantage to hide it.\nAs it is, the organ, unsightly in shape, and garishly painted, blocks\nup the view of the splendid east window, and makes the nave a mere\nvestibule to the choir. The inverted arches are generally thought to\nblock up the church, but were the organ removed it would be found that\nthey do not.\n\nTHE ORGAN is a modern instrument by Willis. Dean Creyghton, a musician\nwhose services are still sung in the cathedral, built the old organ in\n1664, and S. Green of London repaired it in 1786, but only one\ndiapason remains of the old stops. The case also disappeared, the\npresent one being among the ugliest in England. There are three\nmanuals; thirteen speaking stops on the great organ, ten on the swell,\nnine on the choir, and eight on the pedal organ. The swell organ is\nrather small, but has been recently improved; the pedal organ is the\nbest feature of the instrument. The wind is supplied by hydraulic\nmachinery. There are four pneumatic pistons, six couplers, and seven\ncomposition pedals. The organist now sits on the south side, so that\nhe can see his choristers, whether they sing in the choir or the nave.\n\nTHE CHOIR.--The western part of the choir should be particularly\nnoticed. For, while the three eastern bays which form the presbytery\nare Late Decorated, the three western bays of the choir are\ntwelfth-century work of Bishop Reginald's time, being, in fact, the\noldest part of the interior. That they were finished before Reginald's\nother work in the transepts and nave is not only likely from the\ngeneral custom of medieval architects, but is made probable by the\ncarving of the capitals, which is less advanced than that in any other\npart of the church.\n\nIt will be noticed, however, that, though the three arches remain of\nthe earlier bays, the two easternmost _piers_ of the old part are\nDecorated, like those in the three later bays; and some of their arch\nmouldings have been cut away in order to fit the new capitals. The\nreason for this peculiar combination of a new pier with an old arch is\nan interesting one. The original pier marked the east end of\nReginald's church, and it was taken from under its arch because, being\nat the junction of the east wall with the side walls, it was a large\ncompound pier quite unfitted to stand as one of an arcade. The three\nbays then formed the presbytery of the church, and the choir was\nplaced, Norman fashion, under the tower. A further evidence of this\nbeing the original east end of the church is presented by the two\nearly buttresses outside at this point, which are much wider than any\nof the others. But there must have been an ambulatory beyond the east\nend of the old church, since Reginald's work is carried a bay farther\neast in the choir aisles. There may, too, have been a small chapel\nbeyond.\n\nSpeaking of the contrast between the three early bays and the later\nwork, Freeman says: \"The new work, though exceedingly graceful, is\nperhaps too graceful; it has a refinement and minuteness of detail\nwhich is thoroughly in place in a small building like the Lady Chapel,\nbut which gives a sort of feeling of weakness when it is transferred\nto a principal part of the church of the full height of the building.\nThe three elder arches are all masculine vigour; the three newer\narches are all feminine elegance; but it strikes me that feminine\nelegance, thoroughly in its place in the small chapels, is hardly in\nits place in the presbytery.\"\n\nCertainly, the mouldings of the later arches will not bear comparison\nwith those of the earlier. The suave strength of the transitional\nmouldings forms a most instructive contrast to the less effective\nminuteness of the decadent work. The same is true of the capitals:\nthose of the later period have little architectural significance, and\nmany of them are further weakened by the fact that not the capital\nonly, but the adjoining part of the shaft as well, is cut out of white\nstone.\n\nWith the exception, however, of the three pier-arches themselves,\nthere are few signs of the twelfth-century work. For, when the new\npresbytery was finished, the clerestory over the old arches was\naltered, and the triforium cased with tabernacle work (though not in\nquite so rich a style), so as to bring them into harmony with the\nfourteenth-century work, and to fit them to carry the new vault. The\ntabernacle work of the presbytery must have been completed first; for\nno attempt was made to keep it at the same level with the old part,\nwhich, when the builders determined to adapt it to the new, caused a\nvery marked break at the juncture.\n\n[Illustration: CHOIR, LOOKING EAST. PROCESSION PATH AND LADY PATH\nBEYOND.]\n\nThere is, strictly speaking, no triforium, the space being occupied by\nthe rather florid tabernacle work, the effect of which is, of course,\nconsiderably impaired by the absence of statuary. The niches in the\npresbytery are deeper than those in the choir; they spring direct from\nthe pier-arches, having no spandrel, and they contain richly-foliated\nbrackets, which rest on triple shafts. This part is also marked by\ntriple vaulting shafts of Purbeck, which are carried down to the\nfloor.\n\nThe clerestory windows contain flowing tracery of an advanced and not\nvery good type. In some the plain mullions are carried on through the\nhead of the window and intersect each other.\n\nAbove the tabernacle work of the east end is the east window of seven\nlights, the last bit of the fourteenth-century reconstruction, the\nlast flicker of Decorated freedom. Its curious tracery is still\nbeautiful, doubly so for the glass it enshrines, but the rule and\nsquare of Perpendicular domination have already set their mark upon\nit; the two principal mullions run straight up to the window-head, and\npart of the tracery between them is rectangular.\n\nThe inhabitants of Wells are, or were, exceedingly proud of the\n\"vista\" into the procession-path and Lady Chapel, which is afforded by\nthe three dainty pointed arches of the east end. So proud were they\nthat they would suffer nothing to stand behind the high altar but a\nlow stone wall, barely higher than the altar itself, an arrangement\nwhich, it is hardly necessary to point out, defeated its own end by\nreducing the whole effect to absolute baldness. Mr Freeman wisely\npointed out the need of a respectable reredos, remarking that the\noriginal founders never dreamed of the Lady Chapel acting as a\n\"peep-show to the choir.\" A Lady Chapel, he added, was built specially\nnot to be peeped into, but to be a thing apart from the great whole of\nthe church, from the high altar westward. After a while, a reredos was\noffered to the church, and approved by Mr J.D. Sedding, who was then\nthe cathedral architect; but there was much opposition, and the scheme\nwas dropped. Dean Plumptre, with characteristic temerity, went so far\nas to appeal to the witness of the _vox populi_ that the open view was\nthe best. Since then, wiser counsels have prevailed, and a curtain\n(small and dingy, it is true, but still a curtain) now hangs behind\nthe altar. While giving a measure of dignity to the east end, it, of\ncourse, emphasises, as every architect must have known that it would,\nthe charm of the \"peep\" into the chapels beyond.\n\nA larger reredos would further enhance the peculiar charm of the east\nend. There can, indeed, be little doubt that the ancient reredos was\nof tabernacle work, so as to carry on the effect of niches of the\ntriforium storey. Their present disconnectedness can be no part of the\noriginal plan, and a reredos full of statues, which was high enough to\ngroup adequately with the rich canopies above could have been the only\nway to secure dignity and unity of effect. Till an architect is found\ncapable of mastering so delicate a problem of proportion as such a\nreredos must present, we may well be content with a larger and\nbrighter curtain. The low east wall, with its ugly cresting, warns us\nnot to embark too rashly upon modern stonework.\n\nThe lierned stone vault, with its heavy, angular ribs, is of a very\nunusual kind. Mr Freeman described it as \"a coved roof, such as we are\nused to in woodwork in this part of England, only with cells cut in it\nfor the clerestory windows.\" The restorers have gilded the bosses, but\nthe space between the ribs is smoothed in a way that gives the\nappearance of there being no masonry in the construction. One can\nhardly judge the ceiling, therefore, by its present appearance, which\nis not further improved by the green wash with which some of the\nclerestory windows are covered.\n\nThe general appearance of the choir suffers pitiably from the\nill-advised restoration of 1848 and the following years. Before that\ntime its aspect must have been curious and encumbered; but the\njudicious removal of the pews and galleries, and the restoration of\nthe truncated oak canopies of the stalls, would have made matters\nright at a small cost, and without the destruction of any old\nwoodwork. As it was, everything was ruthlessly swept away. The\ntabernacled stalls, which eighteenth-century vandalism had respected,\nvanished utterly before the restoring mania of the Gothic revivalist,\neven their traditional position and order being changed.\n\nThe result is just what might have been expected. The place has been\ncompletely modernised. Chilly stone canopies cover the stalls; they\nare of the kind of workmanship which forty years ago was considered\nexcellent. That is to say, they are covered with frigid, ungainly, and\npompous ornament, cut with mechanical regularity, and without one\ntrace of feeling or one line of beauty from beginning to end. Below,\nand between them, the choir is encumbered, much as it was before 1848,\nwith rows of stalls, which are continued in the presbytery almost up\nto the tawdry brass altar-rails. Two more pale ghosts of medieval art\nfront each other in complacent parody of the work their makers could\nnot even copy--the pulpit and the bishop's throne. The former is Early\nVictorian; the latter is worse, it is a restoration of Perpendicular\nwork so relentless that not a sign of the original conception remains.\nPlate-glass fills the tracery at the sides, and the door is a piece of\nsolid swinging stone. On the completion of this terrible work, the\nrestorers seem to have felt dimly the want of colour, which previously\nhad been so abundant. They therefore proceeded to furnish with that\npeculiar musty red which used to cast a gloom over our childhood--red\ncushions on the seats, red cushions on the desks, red hassocks on the\nfloor, red edges to the books, hot red in the bishop's throne, dull\nred on the altar, before the altar, and behind the altar, it is all\nred but the chilly white stone, and the all-pervading woodwork of the\nseats, which adds the muddy gloom of oak that has been stained and\nvarnished to the miserable poverty of the whole.\n\nThe cause of all this desolation was just the ignorance of its\npromoters as to the functions of a cathedral. The choir was looked\nupon as a select church for the leading families of the town, and the\nseats in it were appropriated; the nave was a vast empty space that\nwas never used for worship at all. Hence the organ on the screen,\nhence the setting back of the stalls, so that the choir might be\nwidened, and more seats \"rammed, jammed, crammed,\" to use Freeman's\nindignant words, into the space. Instead of the long continuous range\nof stalls which formerly existed, there are now groups of five under\neach arch, with the result that ten of the prebendaries are without\naccommodation. Such is the heavy legacy of blunders with which the\ndean and chapter are burdened. It will take many a year before the\nchoir can be redeemed from its unfortunate state; but the present\narrangement of the altar is a great improvement on its position only a\nfew years ago, and no doubt similar measures will in time completely\nefface the traces of 1850.\n\nOf the old woodwork the MISERICORDS have alone escaped destruction.\nSixty-four of these remain, fifty of which belonged to the prebendal\nstalls of the upper row, though they were removed from their proper\nposition at the restoration. Sixty of the seats are now in the lower\nrows of the stalls, the other four are preserved in the library. It is\nenough to say of them that no finer examples of wood-carving can be\nseen in England. The following description of the wonderfully fresh\nand varied subjects was supplied by Mr St. John Hope for a paper read\nby Canon Church before the _Society of Antiquaries_ in March 1896:--\n\n   _South side, first row._--1, a goat (broken); 2, a griffin\n   fighting with a lion(?); 3, a man in hood and drawers riding with\n   his face to the tail of a barebacked horse; 4, a hawk preying on\n   a rabbit; 5, a mermaid (unfinished); 6, two popinjays in a fruit\n   tree; 7, an ape carrying a basket of fruit on his back (broken);\n   8, a double-bodied monster; 9, a dog-headed griffin; 10, two\n   goats butting (unfinished); 11, a monkey holding an owl\n   (unfinished); 12, two dragons interlocked and biting each other's\n   tails; 13, an ewe suckling a lamb (unfinished); 14, a wyvern and\n   a horse fighting. _South side, second row._--15, a mermaid\n   suckling a lion; 16, a man holding a cup? (broken), sitting on\n   the ground, and disputing with another man holding a pouch; 17, a\n   cat preying on a mouse (unfinished); 18, a monster with bat's\n   wings; 19, a griffin devouring a lamb; 20, a puppy biting a cat;\n   21, a man in a contorted position upholding the seat; 22, a\n   serious-looking dog; 23, a cat playing a fiddle; 24, a man seated\n   on the ground and thrusting a dagger through the head of a dragon\n   with feathered wings; 25, bust of a bishop, in amice, chasuble,\n   and mitre (unfinished); 26, a peacock in his pride; 27, a fox\n   preaching to four geese, one of which has fallen asleep (broken);\n   28, a cock crowing. _North side, first row._--29, a lion dormant;\n   30, a dragon with expanded wings, asleep; 31, a man with his left\n   eye closed, wearing a cloak and squatting on the ground with his\n   hands on his knees; 32, a fox running off with a goose in his\n   mouth; 33, head of a man with donkey's ears; 34, two monsters\n   with male and female human heads, caressing (unfinished); 35, a\n   man on his back upholding the seat with his right hand and right\n   foot; 36, a lion with the ears of an ass; 37, a hawk scratching\n   its head; 38, a sleeping cat (unfinished); 39, a woman with\n   dishevelled hair and agonised expression, crouching on the ground\n   with the right hand on her shoulder, the other extended; 40, a\n   dragon with hairy belly biting his back; 41, two ducks addorsed,\n   one with his beak open; 42, two dragons fighting (unfinished);\n   43, a bat's head (unfinished). _North side, second row._--44,\n   head of a man with bushy hair and beard, with a lion's leg\n   growing out of each side; 45, a man in tunic and hood, lying on\n   his side and clasping his hands; 46, a man in girded tunic, with\n   his head downwards, upholding the seat with his back and left\n   hand; 47, head of a lady with hair in a caul on each side,\n   covered with a veil confined by an ornate fillet; 48, a\n   gentle-looking lion; 49, a bat displayed; 50, head of an angel,\n   with amice round neck and expanded wings; 51, a lion; 52, two\n   doves about to drink from a ewer standing in a basin\n   (unfinished); 53, a squirrel with a collar round his neck, trying\n   to escape from a monkey who holds him by a cord; 54, a\n   wood-pigeon feeding; 55, a man riding on a lion, to whose\n   buttocks he is applying a whip; 56, a boar and a cat with cloven\n   feet, walking in opposite directions; 57, an eagle displayed\n   (unfinished); 58, head and shoulders of a man who upholds the\n   seat with his hands; 59, a rabbit regardant; 60, a two-legged\n   beast regarding its tail, which is formed of three oak-leaves on\n   one stem. _In the Library._--61, a man in hood and loose tunic,\n   kneeling on the ground and thrusting a spear down the throat of a\n   dragon; 62, a boy in gown, with long, wavy hair, lying on his\n   side and drawing a thorn out of his left foot (of coarse late\n   seventeenth-century work); 63, a dove or pigeon feeding her\n   young; 64, a sorrowful-looking king sitting cross-legged on a\n   cushion between two rampant griffins, who are secured by straps\n   buckled round their necks.\n\nGLASS IN THE CHOIR.--Over the high altar is a superb specimen of the\nJesse window. It is so intricate, that at first nothing can be\ndistinguished in the glow of jewelled colour but the twining branches\nof the vine, and a little time is needed to enter into the spirit of a\nwindow that is all the more enduring for not being very obvious. The\nfollowing excellent description by Canon Church (in a sermon preached\nin the cathedral on May Day 1890) will make the legend easy to\ndecipher:--\n\n\"In the central light are the foremost figures of the Bible story. At\nthe base is the recumbent figure of Jesse with name inscribed, with\nhead resting on hand as in meditation. From that figure, as from the\nvine stem, issues upward the leading shoot, bearing upon it the\nfigures of the Virgin Mother crowned with ruby nimbus, and the Holy\nChild with gold nimbus, both under a golden canopy. Above, in line, is\nthe Crucifixion. On either side, the waving tendrils of the vine\nshoots intertwine themselves in rings of light round figures of those\nwho prepared the way for the advent of the Word Incarnate. On the\nlower tier, in line with Jesse, are, we may believe, the ancestors of\nJesse. Amminadab and Obed are inscribed on two of the pedestals--others\nare nameless. Stately figures they are in face and form, in flowing\nmantles of green, and ruby and gold, like Arab chiefs, some with the\nArab head-covering such as is worn to-day--figures such as some artist\nin the last crusading host might have seen and designed, so different\nfrom the conventional portraiture of Bible characters.\n\n\"In the second tier are the Kings and Prophets chosen to represent the\nheralds of the Babe of Bethlehem, the Word Incarnate. Three\nkings--David with his 'immortal harp of golden wires'; Solomon, with\nTemple model in his hand, in robes of emerald, and ruby, and gold, are\non either side of the central Figures; and Jechonias, the link in the\npedigree between the royal David and the captive exile. Three\nProphets--Abraham, misplaced indeed in order of time, but most fitly\nin place as 'the father of the faithful, unto whom and through whom\nthe gospel was before preached to the Gentiles' (Gal. iii. 8); Hosea,\nand Daniel. All these are clad in the magnificence of Oriental\ndrapery, the colours of each pair on either side of the central light\nanswering like to like. Some are looking upward, some are pointing\nwith outstretched hand towards The Child, towards the Crucified One.\n\n\"There in central light in the mid-panel of the window is the Virgin\nMother and the Holy Child, The Child born in Bethlehem the home of\nJesse, not in David's royal Palace, the flowering shoot of the stem of\nJesse. Now from His throne on His Mother's knee He looks out over the\nworld and as with outstretched arms to embrace. A ray of white light\non the Mother's head gives a natural halo of purity to Her 'the highly\nfavoured' 'with grace replete,' whom all generations have called\n'blessed,' as she looks down wondering on the Holy Child.\n\n\"A subdued and sadder colour seems to veil the subject of the highest\npanel in the central light. There is the green Cross in the\nbackground, and upon it are affixed the attenuated arms and the bent\nform of the Crucified--the head drooping on the breast. On either side\nof the Cross stand, the sorrowing Mother on the right, in attitude of\ncalm resignation, very different from the conventional garb of\nmourning, and the exaggerated expression of grief in so many\npaintings; on the other hand St. John, in sadder colours and the gloom\nof grief. Again above, in two of the smaller six-cusped lights, are\nfigures rising from the tomb, and in the two at the side are angels\nblowing trumpets calling to judgment. At the head and apex of the\nwindow are outstretched wings as of the Holy Spirit like the Dove\nbrooding over the world re-created by the Word made Flesh, giving\nHimself for our redemption.\"\n\nThe clerestory windows contained a figure under a canopy in each of\nthe lower lights. Four of these old windows remain. One light in the\nnorth-east window contains a St. George, thus described by Mr C.\nWinston (_Arch. Soc., Bristol vol._): \"He is clad in a surcoat which\nreaches to the knee. He wears a helmet, avant and rerebras,\nshin-pieces and sollerets of plate, or rather cuir boulli; the rest of\nhis person is defended with mail, on his shoulders are aiglettes.\" In\nthe next window are St. Egidias with very distended ears, and St.\nGregory in a tiara. There are also two modern windows; a glaring one\nby Willement has St. Dunstan and St. Benignus, who were both abbots of\nGlastonbury and St. Honorius; another, by Bell, has Augustine,\nAmbrose, and Athanasius.\n\nTHE AISLES OF THE CHOIR are entered from the transepts by ogee arches,\nwhich have crockets and finials, and are flanked by a pair of\npinnacles on either side. The aisles are of the same character as the\nchoir itself, as they were vaulted when the choir vault was made, and\nnew windows of the Decorated style were inserted in the western bays\nas well as in the newer part. There is a stone bench along the aisles\non both sides, and on the north side some very fine specimens of Early\nEnglish carving lie on the bench. The vaulting is lierned with four\nbosses at each intersection. The foliage of the third group of\ncapitals on the north side consists of a single leaf which runs\nhorizontally round the caps.\n\nTwo old wooden doors, with fine hinges, close the entrance to the\npresbytery on the north and south sides.\n\nThe body of Bishop Jocelin lies buried in the midst of the choir,\nwhere he was laid in the place of honour as a founder. Bishop Godwin\nrelates that the tomb was \"monstrously defaced\" in his time, and all\ntraces of the burying-place were lost until, in 1874, an ancient\nfreestone coffin was found under the pavement in the midst of the\nchoir. Its covering stone had been broken, and the bones within\ndisturbed; but on its discovery the stone was renewed, and the\ninscription _Jocelinus de Welles, Ep._ 1242 cut on it.\n\nTHE SOUTH-EAST TRANSEPT is the chapel of St. John the Evangelist, but\nit is mainly occupied by a stove, one of those characterised by Mr\nFreeman as \"the most hideous stoves with which human perversity ever\ndisfigured an ancient building.\" Odds and ends are also kept here, in\naccordance with the extraordinary idea, not yet quite extinct, that a\nchapel is a place where rubbish may be shot. There is, nevertheless, a\ndecorated piscina in the east wall to remind one of its former\npurpose. Against the south wall is the tomb of the learned _Dean\nGunthorpe_ (1472-98), who built the present Deanery, and gave to the\ncathedral a silver image of our Lady, 158 oz. in weight. His initials\noccur on the panels, I.G. on a blue ground, and also his arms, which\ninclude guns, in allusion to his name. There are traces of colour,\nespecially a strong light blue on the panels. Unless one has good\nnerves, it is advisable not to look at the window, which was given by\nthe students of the Theological College under Canon Pindar, its first\nPrincipal. The middle of this unfortunate chapel is encumbered with a\nmonument to _Dean Jenkyns_ (_ob._ 1854), the ornamentation of which may\nbe taken as marking the lowest point to which the debasement of Gothic\ndesign has descended. A row of tiles round it serves to make it more\nconspicuous, and its unhappy prominence is further secured by a low\nbrass railing of unutterably bad workmanship. It was Dean Jenkyns who\nrestored the choir, and Professor Freeman remarks that on his tomb \"is\nwritten, with an unconscious sarcasm, _Multum ei debet ecclesia\nWellensis_,\" words which, he slily points out, seem to be borrowed\nfrom Lucan's address to Nero, the destroyer of Rome, _Multum Roma\ntamen debet_, etc.\n\nMONUMENTS IN THE SOUTH CHOIR AISLE.--Besides two of the\nthirteenth-century effigies of earlier bishops, there are in this\naisle two ancient monuments of great interest. In the second bay is\nthe tomb of _Saint William Bytton_ (1267-1274), a low slab of Purbeck\nmarble, with the figure of a bearded and fully-vested bishop, in the\nact of benediction, cut upon it. This is the oldest incised slab in\nEngland; and it was at this tomb that the offerings were made which\nhelped to finish the church. Godwin says that \"many superstitious\npeople (especially such as were troubled with the tooth-ake) were wont\n(even of late yeeres) to frequent much the place of his buriall, being\nwithout the North [a mistake for south] side of the Quier, where we\nsee a Marble stone, having a pontificall image graven upon it.\"\n\nIt may have once been more raised than now, and four small plugged\nholes in the masonry of the wall opposite suggest the existence of\nsome arrangement in connection with the devotions here. In the\nrestoration of 1848 the tomb was discovered between the second and\nthird piers of the south choir aisle. It is thus described by Mr J.R.\nClayton, an eye-witness on the occasion:\n\n\"On the coffin being opened in the presence of Dean Jenkyns, it\ncontained a skeleton laid out in perfect order, every bone in its\nright place; an iron ring, and a small wooden pastoral staff in two\nfragments; a leaden tablet, 10 in. by 3-1/3, with inscription most\nbeautifully rendered in Lombardic characters.\n\n    _Hie jacet Willelmus de Button secundus Bathoniensis\n    et Wellensis episcopus sepultus XII.\n    die Decembris anno domini MCCLXXIIII_.\"\n\nIt was noted at the same time that \"the teeth were absolutely perfect\nin number, shape, and order, and without a trace of decay, and hardly\nany discoloration.\" From this one would infer that the saint was\nfamous in his lifetime for his beautiful teeth, and that it was for\nthis reason that his aid came to be invoked after his death by those\nsuffering from toothache. It is certainly curious that men now living\nshould have discovered his teeth to be still in such perfect\npreservation. His contemporaries would, no doubt, have called it a\nmiracle.\n\nA little farther east is the remarkable tomb of _Bishop Beckington_,\nsurrounded by an exquisite iron screen of the same period. Its canopy\nformerly projected into the choir, being large enough to form a small\nchantry; but, when the choir was so stupidly restored, the canopy was\ndragged from its place, and set up in St. Calixtus' chapel, where it\nstill is (p. 99,) a hard-looking stone screen being built between the\ntomb and the choir in its stead. The tomb is divided into two parts,\nthe arcade which forms the canopy of the lower effigy supporting the\nslab on which rests the figure of the bishop. The carving is very\nbeautiful, and the delicately-wrought wings of the angels, which\nspread over the arches so as to fill the spandrels, are especially\nfine. Traces of colour are strong on the tomb, as they are on the\ncanopy from which it has been divorced, so that one can form some\nlittle idea of what the whole must have been like in its first\nmagnificence.\n\nThe effigy of the bishop rests upon it, the old and wrinkled face\n(best seen from within the choir) bearing deep traces of that active\npublic life which did so much for the city and the church. Below, in\nstrange contrast to the gorgeous vestments, which have still the\nremnants of the painted pattern on them, lies a corpse, almost a\nskeleton, in its open shroud. At first one's feeling is that of\nrepulsion, but it is lessened when we remember that Beckington himself\nhad the tomb made, and consecrated it before a vast concourse of\npeople, saying mass for his own soul, for those of his parents, and of\nall the faithful departed in the January of 1452. Thus for thirteen\nyears did this great and famous prelate live with his tomb standing as\na witness to all that, under those sumptuous robes of office which we\nare told he wore at its consecration, he knew himself to be but as\nother men, and could wait humbly for his end.\n\nA little farther east is a large and rather clumsy effigy of _Bishop\nHarewell_ (_ob._ 1386), whose name and arms are suggested, in the\nplayful fashion of the time, by two hares at his feet. Harewell is\nknown to have been a portly man.\n\nTo the west of Beckington's monument an altar tomb in reddish\nalabaster has been placed in memory of _Lord Arthur Hervey,_ the late\nbishop, with an effigy by Mr Brock. It may be hoped that it is the\nlast of its kind, since there is little room for more tombs, and great\nneed of other and more useful forms of memorial.\n\n_Bishop Drokensford's_ tomb, at the entrance to the south-east\ntransept, is of unusual design, the ogee heads of its panels being\nthrough-cut from side to side. Only the bases remain of its canopy,\nwhich was taken down in 1758, as it was thought to be in danger of\nfalling. There is a good deal of colour on the tomb; the chasuble is\nred with green lining, its orphreys are painted on the stone. The\napparel is also painted on the alb, the orphreys and ornaments on the\nmitre, and a lozenge-shaped pattern on the cushion. Two shields are\nemblazoned over and over again on the spandrels, the ground being\nalternately red and green with white sprays of foliage; the coat with\nfour swans' heads, couped and addorsed, is Drokensford's. He was\nbishop when Dean Godelee's great works were going on, and he gave\nmoney towards building the central tower.\n\nMONUMENTS OF THE NORTH CHOIR AISLE.--One of the Early English\neffigies, which were made probably by Bishop Jocelin, lies here, with\na modern inscription, to _Bishop Giso_. There are four others, to\n_Æthelwyn, Leofric, Duduc_, and _Burwold_, all having the same\ncharacteristics, in the ambulatory chapels and opposite aisle.\nGraceful and solemn as they are, they seem rough in outline, as if\nthey were carved by a hand used to calculating for the distant views\nof the west front, and almost weather-worn, by the side of the more\nhighly-finished effigies in marble and alabaster which are near them.\nIn the year 1848, when these monuments were set back and placed on\ntheir present ugly bases, they were found to contain boxes with bones\ntherein, and leaden tablets with the name of each bishop inscribed\nupon them.\n\nA different monument is that of _Ralph of Shrewsbury_ (_ob._ 1363),\nwhose marble effigy, scored by the names of long-departed vandals,\naffords a good example of the episcopal ornaments, the mitre, gloves,\nmaniple, the apparel round the neck, and the vexillum round the\ncrozier. The tomb formerly stood surrounded by a grating, in the midst\nof the presbytery, for Ralph was the \"finisher\" of the church. But it\nwas afterwards moved, and, says Godwin, it \"lost his grates by the\nway.\" At the entrance to the little transept is the tomb of _Dean\nForrest_ (_ob._ 1446), similar to that of Drokensford in the opposite\naisle, but more mutilated. The canopy is gone, but fragments of it are\nin the undercroft of the chapter-house.\n\nTHE NORTH-EAST TRANSEPT is the chapel of St. John Baptist, and\ncontains a Decorated piscina. On its east wall is a sculpture of the\nAscension, which formerly was fixed in the east cloister above the\nI.H.S. in the fourth bay. St. Andrew with his cross may be noticed\namong the Apostles. There are traces of blue in the background, and of\nred in one of the cloaks. Most noticeable among its monuments is the\nhandsome marble sarcophagus and effigy _of Bishop Creyghton_, who gave\nthe lectern. The figure is vested in cope, mitre, and alb, a fact\nwhich is worth noting, as the bishop lived in the reign of Charles II.\nThere is also an effigy of _John de Myddleton_ or Milton, who, after\nbeing chancellor for a very short time, became a friar and died in\n1337. The plain tomb of _Bishop Berkele_ (_ob._ 1581) bears a curious\ninscription, which assumes more than the character of its subject\nwould seem to warrant: _Spiritvs, ervpto, salvvs, gilberte novembre,\ncarcere principis en(c) aethere barkle, crepat. añ: dãt ista salutis._\nWhich may thus be translated, \"Thy soul is safe, Gilbert Barkley,\nhaving broken from its prison in the beginning of November, it speaks\nfrom the sky. These words give the year of its safety,\" The words\nreferred to are in the middle part of the tomb--\n\n        _Vixi, videtis præmium:\n    83 Lvxi, redux quieascibus.\n        Pro, captua gendo præsulis\n        Septem per annos triplices_\n\nThe figures 83 at the side of _Vixi_ and _Lvxi_ suggested to Mr J.\nParker that the letters stood also for figures thus--vi (6) xi (11) lv\n(55) xi (11), the total being 83, which was the age at which Berkeley\ndied. The quatrain may be translated--\n\n    \"I have lived, you see my reward:\n    I have shone, returning to my rest.\n    Having held the office of bishop\n    For seven times three years.\"\n\nThe east end of the north aisle forms a roomy chapel which is\ndedicated to St. Stephen, and contains a piscina of the same type as\nthose in the neighbouring chapels. Its east window has five lights,\nand that in the side wall has three, with good reticulated tracery;\nthe principal mouldings are already assuming the large flat hollow\nform which was to become characteristic of the Perpendicular style.\nThe chapel of St. Catherine on the south side corresponds to it\nexactly.\n\n[Illustration: Procession Path And Lady Chapel.]\n\nTHE PROCESSION PATH, or, to use the uglier and more accurate word, the\nRetro-choir, is a rectangular space between these chapels and the\ntransepts, on the north and south, and the Lady Chapel and presbytery\non the east and west. This space is vaulted; and the vault is carried\nby four slender piers of Purbeck marble, with attached shafts, in the\nmidst, by a group of Purbeck shafts on each of the two piers which\nlead into the Lady Chapel, and by the light blue Purbeck shafts of the\neastern arches of the presbytery. As two of the middle piers (which\nare set diagonally from north-east to south-west, and from south-east\nto north-west) are in a line with the pier-arches of the choir, while\nthe other two, though in a line with those of the Lady Chapel (which\nthemselves project into the Path), are without those of the choir, a\ncomplicated system of vaulting and a charming arrangement of piers is\nthe result. Indeed, this exquisite group of piers has never been\nsurpassed, and nothing can be found that better illustrates the\nsubtlety and extreme refinement of the last stages of Gothic\narchitecture at their best. At whichever point one stands fresh beauty\nis apparent. It is merely a device for connecting Lady Chapel with\nchoir, while leaving a wide path free for processions, yet what a gem\nof perfection has been drawn from the need! As one sits at the corner\nnear the south wall of the Lady Chapel, one can best appreciate the\nrange of vaulting, which, though it is doubled here, is of the same\nheight as that of the aisles, running faithfully round to cover the\nambulatory which encircles the choir, while on either side the pillars\nsoar upward to the higher vault of the Lady Chapel and the yet higher\nceiling of the choir. Opposite are the painted fragments of glass in\nthe north choir aisle, seen through the arches of the presbytery, and\nthe windows over the range of tabernacle work in the choir itself. On\nthe left the south aisle can be seen stretching onwards, across the\nbright break of the transept, to the west end, and on the right are\nthe gorgeous windows of the Lady Chapel. Everywhere the slender\npillars stand, and the mouldings branch away from their rich capitals,\neach doing its appointed work, calculated and exact, in what would\nseem at first but a lavish profusion of marble shaft and moulded\nstone. Yet we can hardly now imagine what it all was like before the\nrichly-decked altars were torn down, the painted windows knocked to\nfragments, the canopies, tombs, and images defaced or destroyed.\n\nThe vault is lierned with richly-carved bosses still warm with the\nmarks of gilding; both on the bosses and the capitals the foliage is\nof the crumpled character suggestive of the oak-leaf.\n\nUnlike the piers of the Lady Chapel, the bases here are of marble,\nthough the plinths are of stone. Two grotesque heads, lower than the\nbosses, at the north and south-western angles, hold three ribs in\ntheir mouths, the ribs, which end there in seeming futility, being\nused to cover an awkward corner of the vaulting.\n\nGLASS IN THE CHOIR AISLES AND CHAPELS.--A good deal of glass in a more\nor less fragmentary condition survives in the eastern portion of the\nchurch. It is fine work of the first half of the fourteenth century.\nIn the south aisles there is good glass in all the upper lights; the\nthird window has later glass in the lower lights, which bears the date\n1607, and consists of coats of arms and a series of small square\npictures of foreign type. The east window of St. Catherine's chapel is\ncomposed of fragments fitted together at random; in the upper lights\nof the south window are rather coarse heads of St. Aldhelm, St.\nErkenwald, and other saints: two of them should be noticed for the\nearly form of papal tiara. In the corresponding chapel of St. Stephen\nboth the east and north windows are the same, the north window even\ncontaining a second head of St. Erkenwald; the other saints are\ninscribed--\"St. Stephanas Papa\" (the Pope Stephen, who died 257), \"S.\nBlasii Epi\" (St. Blaise), and \"S. Marcellus Papa\"; in the topmost\nlight of both windows is a small figure of Our Lord.\n\nIn the north aisle, the first window (counting from the east) contains\na St. Michael; the next a crucifix and a figure of St. Mary Magdalen,\nwith some sixteenth-century coats (including the curious arms of\nBishop Knight, p. 87) in the lower lights. Similar coats are in the\nthird window, which has a figure of St. John Baptist. The fourth\nwindow contains modern glass erected in honour of Bishop Ken (p. 157),\nas a memorial to Dean Plumptre, who died in 1891. In the centre Ken is\nrepresented in full pontifical vestments, below him angels are\nsupporting his arms impaled with those of the see; over his head is\nthe favourite superscription of his letters, \"All glory be to God,\"\nand at his feet his rule of life \"_Et tu quæris tibi grandia? Noli\nquærere_\" (Jer. xlv. 5). The left-hand panels represent St. Paul\nteaching Timothy (because Ken wrote the \"Manual for Winchester\nScholars,\" and the \"Exposition of the Catechism\"), Christ's charge to\nSt. Peter; the right panels represent St. Paul before Agrippa and St.\nPeter in prison (because Ken was one of the seven bishops imprisoned\nby James II.). The two lower panels represent labourers going to their\nwork singing _Benedicite_, and a priest and choristers chanting _Nunc\nDimittis,_ in allusion to Ken's morning and evening hymns.\n\nTHE LADY CHAPEL was finished in 1326, before the presbytery was added\nto the present choir, and thus it belongs to the middle of the\nDecorated period. In plan it is octagonal, the three western sides\nconsisting of the three arches by which it is opened to the rest of\nthe church. It could, in fact, stand perfectly well as a detached\nbuilding like the Lady Chapel at Gloucester, and doubtless it did so\nstand while the presbytery was a-building; but its connection with the\nchurch itself allows its apsidal west end to be cunningly combined\nwith the beautiful pillars which support the vault of the ambulatory.\nThe arrangement by which these three western sides project into the\nambulatory is more easy to see than to describe; from the west side of\nthe piers which support them spring the vaulting ribs of the\nretro-choir, while on the east side of the piers the shafts rise much\nhigher up to carry the loftier vault of the Lady Chapel. As the chapel\nis not a perfect octagon like the chapter-house, but is elongated from\neast to west, this vault was difficult to manage, and its lines are\nsomewhat distorted in consequence. The vault springs from triple\nshafts between fine traceried windows of five lights, and its ribs\nmeet in a boss containing a beautiful figure of our Lord seated on a\nthrone with outstretched arms; the colour and gilding are well\nrestored.\n\nProfessor Willis said that \"the polygonal Lady Chapel and the vaulted\nwork which connects it with the presbytery is a most original and\nunique piece of architecture, of pure and beautiful design.\" As to the\nfirst part of this sentence there can be no difference of opinion, and\nall will agree as to the fineness of the general effect of the chapel;\nyet there may well be two opinions as to the purity of the work. I\nconfess that the following criticism (_Builder_, Aug. 1862) from a\nlecture of Mr E.W. Godwin seems to me to be not entirely without\njustification:--\"With the single exception of the way in which the\nvaulting is managed, I look upon this Lady Chapel as no better than\nthe other work of the same date. There is a weakness about the\nconstant recurrence of the same form in the tracery of the windows;\nthe lines of the vault are, in some cases, clumsy to a degree; and the\ncapitals have lost their constructional character altogether. The\ngrowth and vitality, the change and joyfulness, so visible in the\nearlier caps, especially those with figures, are no longer to be seen.\nLeaves are now stuck on; or, at the best, wreathed round the bell of\nthe capital; and so the _function_ of the capital--the upbearing\nprinciple--is lost.\" So much for its defects. The peculiar excellence\nof the chapel is that it gives that apsidal ending to the church which\nadds so much to its beauty both within and without, and yet does not\ninterfere with the square end of the presbytery.\n\nThe Lady Chapel has been fitted up for the use of the Theological\nCollege, and its furniture contrasts favourably with that of the\nchoir. A litany desk, stalls, and credence-table in oak have recently\nbeen given, and a retable carved by Miss Neville; the altar cross,\nhowever, is too stunted for its position. The eagle lectern, in spite\nof its dark appearance, is modern, of Dean Goodenough's time. The\ndoorway on the south side led to the old vestry, so wantonly destroyed\nin the present century: now that the chapel is in daily use the need\nof the vestry is much felt, and a cupboard in St. John's chapel has to\nserve for a makeshift. The gas-brackets are of later and more pleasant\nwork than those elsewhere.\n\nMr Ferrey discovered fragments of a reredos at the east end of the\nchapel, and set them up as best he could to form the present reredos:\nthe original arrangement seems to be lost, for some of the pedestals\nare on the level of the floor, while some of the niches at the top are\ncut in half. Mr Ferrey restored the whole chapel at the same time, and\npaved it with tiles.\n\nGLASS IN LADY CHAPEL.--The large windows of this chapel are all filled\nwith beautiful fourteenth-century glass, but alas! in a marred\ncondition. The side windows contain fragments packed together anyhow.\nThe eastern window was made up out of old pieces by Willement at Dean\nGoodenough's restoration, and its colour almost completely spoilt by\nmodern insertions. The harm, however, is not irreparable, for the\nfigures are almost entirely genuine, and the bad effect is mainly due\nto Willement's blue background. A careful examination would easily\nseparate the new from the old, and it would be quite easy at the\npresent day to remove the bad work and replace it by glass that would\ncarry out the old harmony of colour. The lower lights are filled with\ntwo tiers of figures in canopies, David and other patriarchs in the\nupper tier, and the following well-chosen series in the lower:--The\nMadonna in the midst, on her right the Serpent and Eve, on her left\nthe Brazen Serpent and Moses. The upper lights of this window contain\nangels bearing the instruments of the Passion, which are unspoilt, as\nare also the busts of patriarchs in the north-east window, and of\nbishops in that on the south-east. Three of the topmost lights contain\nemblems of the Evangelists, the fourth is lost. One inscription\nremains, _Ista capella constructa est_ ... but the date is gone.\n\nA tall and light monument stands between the Lady Chapel and St.\nCatherine's; its crocketed finials, filled with tracery, rise almost\nto the ceiling. The canopy is open at the sides and western end, but\nthe eastern end forms a niche; this part has been restored in colour\nand gilding, it is powdered with _fleurs-de-lys,_ and bears a shield\ncontaining the _Agnus Dei_. No other part shows any trace of colour.\nThe base is much higher than that of an ordinary tomb, and the canopy\nseems to have been somewhat altered at Ferrey's restoration.\n\nThe spot where the altar of St. Catherine and All Virgins stood is now\n\"Sacred to the memory of John Phelips Of Montacute in this county\nesquire. Descended from a line of ancestors, Whose names for two\ncenturies and a half abound in the annals of the county, He succeeded\nat an early age to the paternal estates, And sustained the wonted\nhospitality of his house. He soon became a most active and intelligent\nmagistrate,\" etc., etc.\n\nTHE CHAPTER-HOUSE STAIRCASE is entered by the doorway in the eastern\naisle of the north transept. There are few things in English\narchitecture that can be compared with it for strange impressive\nbeauty; the staircase goes upward for eighteen steps and then part of\nit sweeps off to the chapter-house on the right, while the other part\ngoes on and up till it reaches the chain-bridge; thus the steps lie,\nworn here and there by the tread of many feet, like fallen leaves, the\nlast of them lost in the brighter light of the bridge. Here one is\nstill almost within the cathedral, and yet the carts are passing\nunderneath, and their rattle mixes with the sound of the organ within.\n\nThe date of the staircase is clearly somewhere between that of the\nchapter-house and that of the church itself. It is later than the\nchurch, for it is built up against the transept buttresses, and it\ncontains some of the best examples of simple geometrical tracery,\nwhile there are nothing but lancet windows in the church of Reginald\nand Jocelin. But the simple geometrical tracery of its two four-light\nwindows prove that it was finished before the chapter-house was begun.\nThe arches of these windows are rampant, to follow the level of the\nstairs; their beautiful circular tracery is massive, deeply-moulded,\nand filled with remnants of rich glass; their shafts of blue lias have\nnaturalistic capitals which are in striking contrast both to the Early\nEnglish carving in the church and the full Decorated of the\nchapter-house itself. Below the windows is a stone bench rising in\nsteps with a foot-pace of similar construction; this arrangement adds\nmuch to the effect of the staircase, though it is marred by a modern\nhand-rail.\n\nBefore the Chain Gate was made, the vestibule ended with a graceful\nwindow of four lights similar to those at the side. The upper part of\nthe window remains, but the lower part is occupied by a Perpendicular\ndoorway, and the whole now forms a screen which, by breaking the\nlight, adds considerably to the charm of the staircase. Through this\ndoorway, where they are cut away to allow the door to open, the steps\ncontinue for two stages, but in a narrower flight. Here the windows\nare Perpendicular, and the vaulted ceiling has given place to a wooden\nroof, for this is the Chain Gate, as light and pretty within as\nwithout. It was only an after-thought, a matter of convenience, thus\nto connect the chapter-house with the Vicars' Close, and the screen\nthat now breaks the light had for a century and a half been the\noutside window, just as the blocked window of the transept had been\nthe outer light for the fifty years before the staircase itself was\nthought of. It was just a practical matter-of-fact device; but what\nmagnificent utilitarianism, what an inspired after-thought!\n\n[Illustration: Steps Of Chapter-house Vestibule And Passage Over Chain\nGate.]\n\nThe main gallery of the Chain Gate is shut off by a door which, if it\nwere kept open, would make the prospect even more beautiful than it\nis. Two corbels which support the vaulting-shafts of the lower\nstaircase should be noticed; they both represent figures thrusting\ntheir staves into the mouth of a dragon, but that on the east (wearing\na hood and a leathern girdle round his surcoat) is as vigorous in\naction as the figure on the west side is feeble. A small barred\nopening in the top of the east wall lights a curious little chamber,\nwhich is reached from the staircase that leads to the roof.\n\nTHE CHAPTER-HOUSE is entered by a double-arched doorway, the small\nvault between the arches having an odd boss composed of four bearded\nheads. There are marks in the wall which lead one to think that the\ndoors were hung in a wooden screen under this vault. The old doors are\nnow used in the house of the Principal of the College, where they were\nidentified by Canon Church. They have little slits in them, through\nwhich those in the chapter-house could speak with those without, who\nno doubt waited for admittance on the stepped stone bench of the\nstaircase. Grooves in the two inner shafts of the doorway seem to have\nbeen made for the insertion of some light screen, by which the\nentrance was divided into two passages for ingress and egress. The\nabsence of doors certainly adds to the rather cold unfurnished\nappearance of the chapter-house in its present condition.\n\n[Illustration: Chapter-House--Doorway.]\n\nThe room itself (\"a glorious development of window and vault\" it has\nbeen called) is one of the best examples of that type of chapter-house\nwhich belongs mainly to the thirteenth century, and is a peculiar\nglory of English architecture. Of octagonal plan, its vaulting ribs\nbranch out from sixteen Purbeck shafts which cluster round the central\npillar, typifying the diocesan church with all its members gathered\nround its common father, the bishop. Each of the eight sides of the\nroom is occupied by a window of four lights, with graceful tracery of\nan advanced geometrical type. These windows, which are among the\nfinest examples of the period, have no shafts, but their arch\nmouldings are enriched with a continuous series of the ball-flower\nornament. Most of the old glass, in which ruby and white are the\npredominant colours, remains in the upper lights.\n\n[Illustration: Chapter-House--Interior.]\n\nUnder the windows runs an arcade which forms fifty-one stalls,\nseparated into groups of seven by the blue lias vaulting-shafts at the\nangles, but in the side which is occupied by the doorway there are\nonly two stalls, one on either side of the entrance. Two rows of stone\nbenches are under the stalls, and there is a bench of Purbeck round\nthe base of the central pier. The arcade strikes one as too shallow:\nits canopies, which rest on blue lias shafts, are ornamented with\nfeathering, crockets, finials, and an interesting series of small\nheads. Some of the heads wear crowns, mitres, hoods, and square caps;\nothers are grotesque, though I cannot detect the \"jesters\" to which\nsome writers refer. Some of the heads have the same formal twist in\nthe hair as those of the large corbels in the nave (p. 81). The heads\non the side opposite the door are all (with the exception of one\nmodern head in plaster) covered with the early form of papal tiara, a\nconical hat with a crown round its rim. On this side, in the middle\nstall, is the bishop's seat, and here are traces of colour; the little\nheads are still pretty with pink cheeks and painted eyes and hair, and\nabove the canopy the saltire of St. Andrew is discernible.\n\nThus the bishop still retained, at least in theory, the head-ship of\nthe chapter. The dean sat on one side of him, the precentor on the\nother, and the rest in due order from the archdeacons and officers\ndown to those in minor orders. Even the boys of the school were\nadmitted to part of the meetings, and they stood on the floor round a\ndesk which was in front of the chief pastor. \"There every morning,\"\nsays Canon Church (_Chapters in Hist, of Wells_, p. 333), \"after the\nprayers of the third hour and the morning mass, the chapter of the\nwhole body was held for the daily lection and commemoration of\nbrethren departed, for maintaining discipline, hearing complaints,\npassing judgment, inflicting punishment; for ordering the services of\nthe day and of the week--for sitting in council and drawing up\nstatutes.\"\n\nBeautiful as is the general effect of the chapter-house, it must be\nadmitted that its detail is inferior to that of the staircase, which\nis just one stage earlier in the development of architecture. Nor can\nits capitals be compared for a moment with those in the nave; the\nlighter form of structure doubtless calls for a lighter cap, but these\nare distinctly untidy in their decoration. The crockets are very near\nhaving that wholesale look which has caused nineteenth-century\narchitects to make so much of this easily debased ornament. The\narrangement, too, by which the fine doorway rises into a window of\nunmodified pattern seems a rather awkward compromise, especially as\nthe line of the staircase roof cuts slantwise across the lights. One\ncannot help thinking that an earlier architect would have departed\nfrom his uniform pattern at this point, and have inserted a window or\narcade better adapted to the position, with the addition, perhaps, of\nsculpture in the vacant space.\n\nBetween the roof and the vault there is a curious chamber which\nreminds one of the crater of a volcano, and the impression is\nincreased by the sponge-like stone, which has some resemblance to\ntufa. The open arcade under the roof has served to keep the woodwork\nin remarkably sound condition.\n\n[Illustration: Chapter-House--Vault.]\n\nTHE UNDERCROFT.--Much of the external beauty of the chapter-house, as\nwell as the charm of its staircase, is due to its unusual height above\nthe ground. It rests upon a vaulted chamber or undercroft, which is\npopularly called the crypt, though that term is not very accurate, as\nthe chamber is not sunk underground, but stands almost on a level with\nthe floor of the church. The innumerable springs in the soil of Wells\ndo not, indeed, admit of a subterranean building. The undercroft was\nfinished before the chapter-house staircase was begun; perhaps its\nwalls were built at the end of Jocelin's episcopate; at any rate it\nwas finished by 1286, and represents the last development of the Early\nEnglish style. It was used as the treasury, where the vestments,\nornaments, registers, and other precious things, both of the bishop\nand chapter, were kept, and, to increase the security of its massive\nwalls, the sacristan had to sleep within them every night.\n\n[Illustration: Chapter-House--Undercroft.]\n\nIt is reached by a dimly-lit, impressive passage, which is entered\nfrom the north choir aisle through a doorway with deeply-sunk\nmouldings and carved capitals. Two heads, slanting inwards in a rather\nawkward manner, support the curious pediment-shaped canopy over the\ndoorway. At the commencement of this fine passage, just within the\ndoorway, is a small vault supported on extremely odd corbels, as if\nthe mason had taken advantage of the obscurity to wanton with his\ncraft. One is a large head with enormous cheeks, apparently suffering\nfrom acute neuralgia; a handkerchief, under which a few\ncomically-stiff curls escape, covers the head and is tied under the\nchin; another represents two dragons biting each other, with a head\nupside down beneath them; another, which reminds one of the worst\neccentricities of modern crockery, is formed by a hand holding a\nfoliated capital. I suppose that the head with swollen cheeks is\nreally another testimony to St. William Bytton's power over the\ntoothache. The undercroft itself was finished before 1286, perhaps\nsome time before; but the more advanced sculpture of the passage looks\nas if that part were built in the \"toothache\" period--that is to say,\nsome ten years or so after Bytton's death in 1274.\n\n[Illustration: Chapter-House--Undercroft.]\n\nCertainly the bosses of the vault in the passage beyond the doorway\nare of a character that suggests the transition to Decorated which was\nin progress at this time. They are elaborate, and, with one exception,\nthrough-carved. The first from the door represents a head, the next an\n_Agnus Dei_, the next two grotesque heads joined together, then\napparently the Serpent tempting Eve, then an ox, dragons, two small\ngrinning heads, with animals apparently biting them on one side. The\ncorbels are carved into heads, some crowned, others reversed with the\nshaft in their mouths. On the right-hand side, as one enters the\nundercroft, a pretty stone lantern projects from the wall; of the\nlittle mullions which form its face, one is set far enough from the\nwall to admit of the insertion of a lamp.\n\nTwo heavy wooden doors at the entrance leave no doubt as to the\npurpose for which the undercroft was built. The outer door is the most\nmassive; it is studded with nails, and has two great bolts and a huge\nlock: on the outer side a kind of escutcheon is formed round the\nkeyhole by a heart-shaped piece of iron, surmounted by a cross; on the\nsame side there is an iron bar, and the hook to hold it across the\ndoorway. A deep hole has been worn in the pavement by the feet of\nthose who pulled open the door. The inner door is lighter, and\nornamented with beautiful elaborate hinges: on this side are deep\nsockets in the wall, into which the inner bars were run.\n\nIn the undercroft itself the walls are impregnably thick, the windows\nnarrow, with wide splays. The vaulting, somewhat later in style than\nthe walls, is an admirable piece of construction, well-fitted to bear\nthe weight of the lofty chamber above. It is also remarkable,\nProfessor Willis points out, for the way in which the arches are\ndisposed without the introduction of ribs. From the round shafts which\nare grouped about the octagonal pier in the centre spring the vaulting\nribs, the extremities of which rest upon eight round pillars; and\nanother set of vaulting ribs spans the space between these pillars and\nthe eight walls, where they rest upon twelve shafts between the lancet\nwindows. Could anything be more simple and secure in construction, and\nmore varied in effect?\n\nHere, on one of the capitals and on a moulding near the door, we meet\nwith the dog-tooth moulding usually so characteristic of the Early\nEnglish style. The piscina in the doorway should be noticed for its\ncarving of a dog gnawing a bone.\n\n[Illustration: Section Of Chapter-house.]\n\nA large aumbry is formed by a recess in the thickness of the wall. The\nparapeted structure opposite is a modern coal-hole, for which some\nother place might surely be found. There are several stone coffins in\nthe undercroft, and a good many fragments of carved stone, some of\nwhich are very fine. Here also is a cope-chest of the usual shape,\nwhich allows the copes to be put away with only one fold. Near it\nthere is a large oblong chest covered with iron bands. An iron door\nwhich is also kept here is thus described by Mr H. Longden\n(_Archaeological Journal_, 1890, p. 132): \"It is made of slabs of iron\nnailed to an oak frame-work, and liberally braced across with hinges\nand diagonal cross-straps, stiffening the door in the best way known\nat the time. This is not an iron-plated door, but an iron door; it is,\nin fact, a 'safe' door of the time, and is an uncommon instance. It\nmust be remembered that the slabs of which this door is formed were\nall beaten out of lumps of iron, and that iron was not then made, as\nnow, in plates, bars, or rods, but ... The lump of iron had to be\nheated and drawn out on the anvil at a great expenditure of time and\nlabour. Much of the charm of old work arises from the irregularity of\nthe shapes, never quite round, or square, or flat, which the iron\ntook, and we miss this in the neat and mechanically-finished work of\nthe present time.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nHISTORY OF THE DIOCESE.\n\n\nLegend, which in every ancient city is raised to the dignity of an\narticle of faith, places the origin of Wells diocese in the remote\npast; and the visitor is required to believe that Ina, King of Wessex,\nthe first great West Saxon lawgiver, the ruler who finally established\nthe English supremacy in the south-west, was also the founder of the\nsee of Wells. He is said to have planted a bishopric at Congresbury,\nand in 721 to have removed the see to Wells with the help of Daniel,\nthe last British bishop. The story, however, rests upon no good\nfoundation.\n\nBefore the middle of the seventh century the heathen invaders were\nconverted by St Birinus, and by the time of Ina Wessex was divided\ninto the dioceses of Winchester and Sherborne, the latter including\nSomerset, Dorset, and part of Wiltshire. This was all that Ina did\ntowards establishing the diocese of Wells; and it did not go very far,\nfor the special boast of the diocese is that it consists of one\ncounty, Somerset, and of nothing else. And so it is that the honour of\npossessing Ealdhelm, the first bishop of Sherborne, who tramped about,\nan open-air preacher, in his diocese, belongs to Salisbury and not to\nWells; although Doulting, where Ealdhelm fell sick and died sitting in\nthe little wooden village church, is the very place whence afterwards\nthe stone was quarried for the building of Wells Cathedral.\n\nIt was under that great warrior, Edward the Elder, that the diocese of\nSherborne was divided, and the Sumorsaetas received a bishop of their\nown, whose stool was placed in the church of St. Andrew at Wells.\n\nIt is quite probable that the above tradition grew around Ina's name\nowing to his having really established a church with a body of priests\nattached to it; since we find in a charter of Cynewulf, dated 766, a\nmention of \"the minister near the great spring at Wells for the better\nservice of God in the church of St. Andrew.\" This charter is probably\nspurious, but it may for all that enshrine an historical fact,\nespecially as it does not pretend to the existence of a bishopric. If\nthis be the case, then Edward, who wanted a fairly central church for\na diocese which had no important town, must have found Wells very\nconvenient for his purpose. For while Glastonbury, besides being in\nthose days an island, had an abbot of its own, this little body of\nsecular priests would be ready to receive the bishop as their chief,\nand to become his chapter. At all events, the year 909 saw Wells with\na bishop of its own.\n\n[Illustration: Specimens Of Capitals.]\n\nAETHELHELM or ATHELM, _Bishop of Somerset, or Wells_ (909-914), a monk\nof Glastonbury according to tradition, was the first Somersetshire\nbishop; he is said to have been an uncle of St. Dunstan: he was made\nArchbishop of Canterbury in 914.\n\nIt will be convenient to weave the history of the foundation of Wells\nwith that of the bishops. So here, at the outset, the reader must bear\nin mind that from the beginning the cathedral church was served by\n\"secular\" clergy, by priests, that is, who were bound by no vows other\nthan those of their ordination, who did not live a community life, but\nhad each his own house, and generally at this time his own wife and\nfamily. Wells Cathedral was not \"built by the monks,\" and its chapter\nwas never composed of monks; though some of the bishops belonged to\nreligious orders, it kept up a pretty constant rivalry with the\n\"regular\" clergy of Glastonbury and Bath. It belongs in fact, to the\ncathedrals of the old foundation, whose constitutions were not changed\nat the Reformation; and its chapter has continued in unbroken\nsuccession, from the days when Aethelhelm first presided over his\nlittle body of clergy in the church of St. Andrew, down to our own\ntime. But at first that chapter was informal enough, nor was it\nfinally incorporated and officered till the time of Bishop Robert in\nthe twelfth century. The number of canons does not seem to have been\nfixed, though in the next century we hear of there being only four or\nfive.\n\n[Illustration: Specimens Of Capitals.]\n\nThe next five bishops are all little more than names to us. WULFHELM\nsucceeded Aethelhelm in 914: also translated to Canterbury; AELFHEAH\n(923), WULFHELM (938), BRITHHELM (956-973), and CYNEWARD (973-975).\n\nSIGEGAR (975-977), a pupil of St. Dunstan, and abbot of Glastonbury,\nwas succeeded, or perhaps supplanted, by AELFWINE, in 997-999.\n\nAETHELSTAN, or LYFING; translated to Canterbury 1013.\n\nAETHELWINE and BRIHTWINE shared the episcopate, either as rivals or\ncoadjutors. Brihtwine was last in possession. MEREWIT, also called\nBrihtwine, succeeded in 1026.\n\nDUDUC (1033-1060), a German Saxon. Cnut had given him the estates of\nCongresbury and Banwell, which he left to the church of Wells; but\nHarold took possession of them.\n\nGISA (1060-1088), a Belgian from Lorraine, found his see in a sad\ncondition: the church was mean, its revenues small, and its four or\nfive canons were forced, he says, to beg their bread. He at once set\nto work to increase the revenues; and from Edward the Confessor, from\nhis queen, Edith, then from Harold, and afterwards from William the\nConqueror, he obtained various estates for the support of his canons.\n\nHe also changed the way of living of the canons, and built a cloister,\ndormitory, and refectory, thereby forcing them to live a common life,\nmuch as if they were monks--an unpopular innovation which was\nsupported by the appointment in the foreign fashion of a provost to be\nchief officer, the canons choosing for this post one Isaac of Wells.\n\nJOHN DE VILLULA, _Bishop of Bath_ (1088-1122), a rich physician of\nTours. He put an end to the semi-monastic discipline of Gisa by\npulling down his community buildings and erecting a private house of\nhis own on the site. And he removed the see of Somersetshire from\nWells to the Abbey of Bath.\n\nGODFREY (1123-1135).\n\nROBERT OF LEWES (1136-1166), the second founder of the cathedral; he\nmade the constitution of the chapter, he rebuilt the old Saxon church,\nand he started Wells as a borough by the grant of its first charter of\nfreedom. Of a Fleming family, though born in England, he was a monk\nfrom the Cluniac house of St. Pancras at Lewes; and to another and\nmore famous Cluniac monk, Bishop Henry of Winchester, King Stephen's\nbrother, he owed his advancement. In the very year of his consecration\nhe began the recovery of Wells from the low estate in which John de\nVillula and his rapacious relatives had left it. He restored their\nproperty to the canons, and, in order to secure it, he divided it off\nfrom the property of the see by a charter of incorporation. He\nassisted at Henry II.'s coronation in 1154, and at the consecration of\nThomas à Becket in 1162.\n\nBishop Robert arranged the quarrel with Bath by settling that Bath\nshould take precedence of Wells, but that the bishop should have his\nthrone in both churches, and be elected by the two chapters\nconjointly.\n\nBy the charter which incorporated the chapter of Wells, Robert also\nsettled portions of the estate, or prebends, on the twenty-two canons,\nand founded the offices of dean, precentor, chancellor, treasurer,\nsub-dean, provost, and sub-chanter, all of which, except the two last,\nstill exist.\n\nAfter an interval of eight years, REGINALD DE BOHUN or FITZ-JOCELIN,\nthe Archdeacon of Sarum, was consecrated Bishop of Bath (1174-1191).\nImmediately afterwards he induced the monk who was soon to become\nfamous as St. Hugh of Lincoln, to leave the Grande Chartreuse, and to\ncome to England as prior of the first English charter-house. He built\nthe greater part of the present nave transepts and choir; for this end\nhe made large gifts to the fabric fund, and collected gifts from\nothers. He also extended the privileges of the town, and increased\nboth the endowment and the number of the prebends.\n\nSAVARIC, _Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury_ (1192-1205), a relation of\nthe Emperor Henry VI. In 1191 he started with Richard I. for the Holy\nLand. At Messina, though not yet in priest's orders, he obtained\nprivate letters from the king sanctioning his appointment to any\nbishopric to which he might be elected. Bishop Reginald was a kinsman\nof his, and, on his election to Canterbury, he obtained the vote of\nthe convent of Bath for Savaric. The Justiciar gave at once the royal\nsanction, in spite of the protests of the canons of Wells, who had not\nbeen consulted. Savaric had meanwhile wisely established himself at\nRome, and was able to obtain the Pope's consent. He was consecrated\npriest one day and bishop the next, but he still remained abroad.\n\nSavaric, supported by the authority of King John, broke into\nGlastonbury with soldiers, starved and beat the monks, and, with great\nviolence, established himself in possession.\n\nHis biography was compressed in a clever epigram:--\n\n    \"_Hospes erat mundo per mundum semper eundo,\n    Sic suprema dies fit sibi prima quies,_\"\n\nadmirably translated by Canon Bernard:\n\n    \"Through the world travelling, all the world's guest,\n    His last day of life was his first day of rest.\"\n\nYet he was the first to institute the daily mass of Our Lady, as well\nas that for the faithful departed, in Wells Cathedral.\n\nJOCELIN TROTEMAN DE WELLES, _Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury,_ and\nafter 1219 _Bishop of Bath_ (1206-1242), is, after Ken, the most\nfamous of Wells worthies. He came from a local stock, and spent all\nhis time and money on the cathedral church, first as canon, then as\nbishop for thirty-six years. In 1208, when Pope Innocent III. laid\nEngland under an interdict, the bishop published it in his own\ndiocese, and then fled the country, leaving his estates to be seized\nby John. On John's submission to the Pope in 1213, he returned, and\ntwo years later stood by Stephen Langton at Runnymede, putting his\nname as Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury to _Magna Charta_. When John\nwas dead it was Jocelin who administered the oath to Henry III. at his\ncoronation.\n\nIn 1219 Jocelin made terms with Glastonbury, which Savaric had seized,\ngiving up the abbacy and the title in return for four manors. He\nfounded a hospital, re-endowed the Lady mass which Savaric had\ninstituted, increased the number of prebends (the estates, that is,\nwhich each maintained a canon) from thirty-five to fifty, provided\nhouses for the canons, and a regular endowment for the vicars-choral,\nstarted a grammar school in addition to the choristers' school, and\nenclosed the bishop's park. But most of all is he famous for having\nrebuilt the church which Savaric's vagaries had let fall into\ndilapidation, and for having added to it the noble west front. So\nextensive were his repairs that in 1239 a reconsecration was\nnecessary; and three years later he died, \"God,\" says old Fuller, \"to\nsquare his great undertakings, giving him a long life to his large\nheart.\" He was buried in the midst of the choir as a founder of the\nchurch; and as this interment marked out Wells as the chief church in\nthe diocese, the monks of Bath were not told of his death till after\nhe had been buried.\n\nROGER, _first Bishop of Bath and Wells_ (1244-1247). On Jocelin's\ndeath in 1242, the monks of Bath made a last effort to recover the\nsupremacy which had drifted from them. Contrary to the agreement which\nhad been made, they pushed through their own candidate, Roger, without\nconsulting with the Wells chapter, and snatched the regal sanction and\npapal confirmation for their nominee before the chapter of Wells could\nmake a move. At last, the Pope, after much litigation, decreed that,\nin order to avoid any further vacancy, Roger's election should be\nconfirmed, but that henceforth the chapter of Wells should have an\nequal voice in the election of the bishop, who was to use the title of\nBath and Wells. Roger was buried in his old abbey of Bath; he was,\nhowever, the last bishop to be there interred. The words of Peter\nHeylin are henceforward true of the see:--\"The diocese of Bath and\nWells, though it hath a double name, is one single bishopric. The\nbishop's seat was originally at Wells, where it still continues. The\nstyle of Bath came in but upon the bye.\"\n\nWILLIAM BUTTON or BYTTON (1248-1264).\n\nWALTER GIFFARD (1265-1266), a statesman-bishop, took the king's side,\nand, after the victory of Evesham, was rewarded with the\nchancellorship and the archbishopric of York.\n\nWILLIAM BYTTON (THE SAINT) (1267-1274). When Robert of Kilwardy,\nprovincial of the Dominicans, was made archbishop, he chose Bytton, on\naccount of his saintliness, to consecrate him; and so great was the\nimpression made by his holy life that he became the object of popular\ncanonisation at his death. Miracles were worked at his tomb, and\ncrowds flocked to it with offerings, especially such as were afflicted\nwith toothache.\n\nROBERT BURNELL (1275-1292), the greatest lawyer of his day, chancellor\nof Edward I.; built the hall of the episcopal palace.\n\nWILLIAM OF MARCH OR DE MARCHIA (1293-1302), had been treasurer in\n1290. Two unsuccessful efforts were made to obtain his canonisation.\n\nWALTER DE HASELSHAW (1302-1308), successively canon, dean, and bishop.\n\nUnder JOHN OF DROKENSFORD (1309-1329) the chapter obtained a strong\nconfirmation of their rights as the result of a violent quarrel with\nthe bishop, who had claimed the power of visiting the churches under\ncapitular jurisdiction.\n\nRALPH OF SHREWSBURY (1329-1363), Chancellor of Oxford, put the\nfinishing stroke to the constitution of the cathedral by founding the\nCollege of Vicars. He was a great supporter of the friars, and left\nthem a third of his property. Among his good deeds he disafforested\nthe royal hunting ground of Mendip, and thus did great service to the\npeople, \"beef,\" as Fuller has it, \"being better pleasing to the\nhusbandman's palate than venison.\" At his death he was buried in the\nplace of honour before the high altar, for it was under him that the\nlast great building operations in the church of Wells were completed.\n\nJOHN BARNET (1363-66), translated from Worcester, was soon again moved\nto Ely. After JOHN HAREWELL (1367-86), who helped to build the\nsouth-west tower, and WALTER SKIRLAW (1386-88), RALPH ERGHUM\n(1388-1400) was translated from Salisbury, and founded at Wells the\nmuch-needed college for the fourteen chantry priests, which was\ndestroyed under Edward VI., and of which the memory is preserved in\n\"College Lane.\" There were now, therefore, three distinct corporations\nat Wells--the Chapter, the College of Vicars, and the College of\nChantry Priests. HENRY BOWETT (1401-1407) was promoted to York.\n\nNICHOLAS BUBWITH (1407-1424) is remembered by the almshouses at Wells\nwhich he endowed, by his provision for building the north-west tower,\nand by his chantry chapel. There was at this time another hospital\ncalled the Priory, which has now disappeared. He was one of the\nEnglish envoys at the Council of Constance. Mandates were sent him by\nthe archbishop for the prosecution of the Lollards, but there is no\nrecord of any proceedings having been taken, till JOHN STAFFORD\n(1425-43) had succeeded him, when one William Curayn was compelled to\nabjure and receive absolution for some very reasonable heresies.\nStafford was translated to Canterbury.\n\nTHOMAS BECKINGTON, or Bekynton (1443-65), was first tutor, then\nprivate secretary to Henry VI., and Keeper of the Privy Seal. His many\nworks at Wells are noticed in our other chapters; in his will he\nstates that he spent 6000 marks in repairing and adorning his palaces.\nAfter his death, the mayor and corporation showed their gratitude by\ngoing annually to his tomb (p. 125) to pray for his soul.\n\nROBERT STILLINGTON (1466-91) was a minister of Edward IV., and one of\nRichard III.'s supporters. Accused in 1487 of helping Lambert Simnel,\nhe was imprisoned at Windsor for the rest of his life. RICHARD FOX\n(1492-94), Keeper of the Privy Seal, translated to Durham. OLIVER KING\n(1495-1503), Chief Secretary of Henry VII. A dream moved Bishop Oliver\nin 1500, to rebuild Bath abbey in the debased Perpendicular style with\nwhich we are now familiar.\n\nThe celebrated ADRIAN DE CASTELLO (1504-1518) obtained first Hereford\nand then Wells, as a reward for political services. As he never\nvisited his diocese, his affairs were managed by another famous man,\nPolydore Vergil, who was archdeacon, and furnished the choir of Wells\nwith hangings, \"flourished,\" says Fuller, \"with the laurel tree,\" and\nbearing an inscription, _Sunt Polydori munera Vergilii_. Adrian, who\nwas born of humble parents at Cornuto in Tuscany, had been made a\ncardinal in 1503 by the infamous Pope Alexander VI., and both his\narchdeacon and himself are prominent figures in Italian history of the\nperiod.\n\nCARDINAL WOLSEY (1518-23) was appointed to the see, which he held\ntogether with the archbishopric of York; he was therefore Bishop of\nBath and Wells only in name, and was soon put in the enjoyment of the\nricher sees successively of Durham and Winchester. He was followed by\nJOHN CLERK (1523-41) and WILLIAM KNIGHT (1541-47). The abbey of Bath\nwas now suppressed, so that the bishop's seat was now at Wells alone,\nand (excepting that the style \"Bath and Wells\" remained) the see was\nrestored to its original condition before John de Villula migrated to\nBath.\n\nWILLIAM BARLOW (1549-54) was translated from St. David's without even\nthe form of a _conge d'elire_. In return for this and certain money\npayments he made over a large portion of the episcopal property to the\ngreedy Duke of Somerset; he also secured the episcopal manor of Wookey\nfor his own family. The other cathedral estates were similarly\ntreated. Barlow fled at the accession of Mary, but was caught and\nimprisoned in 1554. He had in Henry's time recanted some Lollard\ntracts which he had written, and now under Mary he recanted once more.\nOn the accession of Elizabeth, he (p. 81) accepted the poorer see of\nChichester.\n\nGILBERT BOURNE (1554-59) had been Bonner's chaplain. At Elizabeth's\naccession he was deprived and imprisoned in the Tower. After 1562 he\nwas kept in nominal custody, and died in 1569.\n\nGILBERT BERKELEY (1560-1581) succeeded him. THOMAS GODWIN (1584-90),\nthe historian of Wells, succeeded Berkeley.\n\nAnother three years' vacancy was followed by the appointment of JOHN\nSTILL (1593-1607). He and his successors, JAMES MONTAGUE (1608-16),\ntranslated to Winchester, ARTHUR LAKE (1616-26), a wise man and \"most\nblessed saint,\" were mostly occupied in the fight with Puritanism.\nWilliam Laud was bishop here for two years (1626-28), but his history\nbelongs to London and Canterbury, whither he was translated. LEONARD\nMAWE (1628-29), WALTER CURLL (1629-32), translated to Winchester, and\nWILLIAM PIERS (1632-70) followed. The latter, who put down the Puritan\n\"lectures,\" and ordered all the altars in his diocese to be set\nagainst the east wall and railed in, lived to see all his work undone\nand then restored again at the accession of Charles II. ROBERT\nCREYGHTON (1670-72), who had been dean, succeeded him. He was a great\nmusician (p. 113), and his gifts of ornaments to the cathedral have\nbeen already mentioned. PETER MEWS (1673-1684) was translated to\nWinchester.\n\nTHOMAS KEN (1685-90), the best and most famous of all the Somerset\nbishops, has left so great a name in the see, and figured in so many\nstirring events, that one can hardly believe that he was only given\nfive years in which to use his influence upon history. Before he was\nmade bishop, however, he had already given proof of that quiet courage\nwhich was more than once to thwart the will of princes. In 1679 he\nwent to the Hague as chaplain to Mary, the wife of William of Orange.\nHere he expressed himself \"horribly unsatisfied\" with William's\nunkindness to his wife, and he incurred the Prince's anger by\npersuading Count Zulestein to marry a lady whom he had seduced. Soon\nafter, when he was living at Winchester, he refused to allow the royal\nharbinger to use his prebendal house for the lodging of Nell Gwynn, on\nthe occasion of Charles II.'s visit there in 1683. Charles, with\ncharacteristic generosity, thought all the more highly of him, and\nwhen he was told of the vacant bishopric, said no one should have the\nsee but \"the little black fellow who refused his lodging to poor\nNelly.\" Before the year was over, Charles was on his death-bed, and\nsummoned Ken to his side. The bishop persuaded the king to send the\nDuchess of Portsmouth from the room and to call in the Queen. He then\nabsolved him, although Charles would not receive the communion.\n\nAfter the Monmouth rebellion (p. 17) he, with the Bishop of Ely, was\nsent to tell the Duke of his fate; he remained with the wretched man\nall through the night before his execution, and accompanied him on the\nscaffold. He then returned to his see, used all his influence on\nbehalf of the unhappy peasants, and by his personal intervention,\nsaved a hundred prisoners from death. He strongly opposed the\nRomanising policy of James II., and preached several sermons which had\na large share in the formation of public opinion. He was one of the\nseven bishops who were committed to the Tower for petitioning the king\nagainst the order to the clergy to read the second Declaration of\nIndulgence. The incidents of that wonderful trial are familiar to all\nEnglishmen, and it is notable that one of the richest dissenters in\nthe city begged to have the special honour of giving security for the\nhigh church bishop of Bath and Wells.\n\nBut when the revolution came, Ken was found among those who were\ncalled non-jurors, because they regarded their oath of allegiance to\nJames as still binding. He was consequently, in 1690, deprived of his\nsee. He made a public protest in the cathedral against his\ndeprivation, and continued to sign himself _T. Bath and Wells_, but he\nhad to live in retirement, and with an income of only £20 a year. He\ndied in 1710, and was buried in Frome Church at sunrise, in allusion\nto his morning hymn (\"Awake, my soul, and with the sun\"), and to his\nhabit of rising with the sun.\n\nKen was in every way a great saint, and, like all the saints, he was\ndistinguished by his love for the poor, and his care for their\neducation. Among his customs it is recorded that he used to have\ntwelve poor men to dine with him on Sundays, and that he was wont to\ngo afoot in London when the other bishops rode in their coaches. He\nwrote many books, among them his \"Manual of Prayers for the Use of\nWinchester Scholars.\" \"His elaborate works,\" says Macaulay, \"have long\nbeen forgotten; but his morning and evening hymns are still repeated\ndaily in thousands of dwellings.\"\n\nRICHARD KIDDER (1691-1703) became bishop on the deprivation of Ken, Dr\nBeveridge having declined the offer of a see, the rightful ruler of\nwhich had been unjustly removed. Kidder did not, however, long enjoy\nhis usurped position; for, on the night of November 26th, 1703, a\ngreat storm--the same that destroyed Winstanley in his lighthouse on\nthe Eddystone--blew down a stack of chimneys in the palace, and thus\nkilled both the bishop and his wife as they lay abed.\n\nGEORGE HOOPER (1704-27), an old friend of Ken, was next offered the\nsee, but he urged the reinstatement of the rightful pastor. Queen Anne\noffered to restore Ken to his bishopric, but he importuned Hooper to\naccept, and from that time ceased to sign himself by his diocesan\ntitle. Hooper had preceded Ken, in 1677, as Princess Mary's spiritual\nadviser at the Hague, where he had won her back to the services of the\nchurch, and he had also been with Ken at Monmouth's execution. Almost\nas lovable and holy, he was more learned than his friend.\n\nHooper was succeeded by JOHN WYNNE (1727-43), EDWARD WILLES (1743-73),\nand CHARLES MOSS (1774-1802); all three were typical eighteenth-century\nprelates, rich and mostly non-resident.\n\nRICHARD BEADON (1802-24), was translated from Gloucester.\n\nGEORGE HENRY LAW (1824-45), a son of the Bishop of Carlisle, and\nbrother of Lord Chief-Justice Ellenborough, was translated from\nChester, and is said to have been an active prelate till his latter\nyears. Hon. RICHARD BAGOT (1845-54) came to Wells as a place of\nretirement after the worries which he had gone through, as Bishop of\nOxford, during the Tractarian movement.\n\nROBERT JOHN, LORD AUCKLAND, was translated from Sodor and Man in 1854.\nAt his death in 1869, he was succeeded by LORD ARTHUR CHARLES HERVEY,\nwho died in 1894. The present bishop is DR G.W. KENNION, who was\ntranslated hither from the Australian diocese of Adelaide.\n\n[Illustration: PLAN OF WELLS CATHEDRAL.]\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTES\n\n\n1. Words and phrases which were italicized in the original have been\n   surrounded by underscores ('_') in this version. Words or phrases\n   which were bolded have been rendered in ALL CAPITALS.\n\n2. Obvious printer's errors have been corrected without note.\n\n3. Inconsistencies in hyphenation or the spelling of proper names, and\n   dialect or obsolete word spelling, have been maintained as in the\n   original.\n\n4. The original of this text contains characters not available in\n   the Latin-1 character set. These occur only in quotations from\n   monumental inscriptions. The characters have been coded as\n   follows. The notation [=x] means \"letter x with a macron above.\"\n   There are instances of macrons over i, u, m, n, o and x. The\n   notation [)u] means \"letter u with a breve\"; it occurs twice.\n\n5. The caret is used to show the superscript for abbreviations (i.e.\n   Rob^t is Rob with a superscript small t in the original text, an\n   abbreviation for Robert). If multiple letters are superscripted,\n   they are surrounded by curly braces (i.e. w^{th}).", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32280", "title": "Bell's Cathedrals: The Cathedral Church of Wells\nA Description of Its Fabric and a Brief History of the Episcopal See", "author": "", "publication_year": 1899, "metadata_title": "Bell's Cathedrals: The Cathedral Church of Wells", "metadata_author": "Percy Dearmer", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:29.302741", "source_chars": 295041, "chars": 295041, "talkie_tokens": 70477}}
{"text": "Produced by Emmy, Tor Martin Kristiansen and the Online\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \"At night we descended into the depths of the steamer to\nworship with the steerage passengers.\" Page 23]\n\n\n\n\nAN\n\nAMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.\n\nBY\n\nADELINE TRAFTON.\n\n_ILLUSTRATED_\n\n_BY MISS L. B. HUMPHREY._\n\n          BOSTON:\n          LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.\n          NEW YORK:\n          LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.\n\n\n\n\n          Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1872,\n          BY LEE AND SHEPARD,\n          In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\n\n\n          Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,\n          No. 19 Spring Lane.\n\n\n\n\n          I DEDICATE\n\n          This Record of Pleasant Days\n\n          TO MY FATHER,\n\n          REV. MARK TRAFTON.\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS FOR \"OUR GIRLS.\"\n\nTHE GIRLHOOD SERIES.\n\nBy Popular Authors.\n\n\nAN AMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.\n\nBy ADELINE F. TRAFTON. 16mo, cloth, illustrated. $1.50.\n\nOne of the most bright, chatty, wide-awake books of travel ever written.\nIt abounds in information, is as pleasant reading as a story book, and\nfull of the wit and sparkle of \"An American Girl\" let loose from school\nand ready for a frolic.\n\n\nONLY GIRLS.\n\nBy VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND, Author of \"That Queer Girl,\" &c., &c. 12mo,\ncloth, illustrated. $1.50.\n\n\"It is a thrilling story, written in a fascinating style, and the plot\nis adroitly handled.\"\n\nIt might be placed in any Sabbath School library, so pure is it in tone,\nand yet it is so free from the mawkishness and silliness that mar the\nclass of books usually found there, that the veteran novel reader is apt\nto finish it at a sitting.\n\n\nTHE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER.\n\nBy SOPHIE MAY, Author of \"Our Helen,\" \"The Asbury Twins,\" &c. 12mo,\ncloth, illustrated. $1.50.\n\n\"A delightful book, original and enjoyable,\" says the _Brownville Echo_.\n\n\"A fascinating story, unfolding, with artistic touch, the young life of\none of our impulsive, sharp-witted, transparent and pure-minded girls of\nthe nineteenth century,\" says _The Contributor_, Boston.\n\n\nSALLY WILLIAMS.\n\n=The Mountain Girl.= By Mrs. EDNA D. CHENEY, Author of \"Patience,\"\n\"Social Games,\" \"The Child of the Tide,\" &c. 12mo, cloth, illustrated.\n$1.50.\n\nPure, strong, healthy, just what might be expected from the pen of so\ngifted a writer as Mrs. Cheney. A very interesting picture of life among\nthe New Hampshire hills, enlivened by the tangle of a story of the ups\nand downs of every-day life in this out-of-the-way locality. The\ncharacters introduced are quaintly original, and the adventures are\nnarrated with remarkable skill.\n\n\nLOTTIE EAMES.\n\n=Or, do your best and leave the rest.= By a Popular Author. 16mo, illus.\n$1.50.\n\n\"A wholesome story of home life, full of lessons of self-sacrifice, but\nalways bright and attractive in its varied incidents.\"\n\n\nRHODA THORNTON'S GIRLHOOD.\n\nBy Mrs. MARY E. PRATT. 16mo, cloth, illustrated. $1.50.\n\nA hearty and healthy story, dealing with young folks and home scenes,\nwith sleighing, fishing and other frolics to make things lively.\n\n\n_The above six volumes are furnished in a handsome box, for $9.00, or\nsold separately by all booksellers, or sent by mail, postpaid, on\nreceipt of price by_\n\n          LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers,      Boston.\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\n                                                           PAGE\n\n  I.\n\n  \"At night we descended into the depths of the steamer\n     to worship with the steerage passengers.\"      FRONTISPIECE.\n\n\n  II.\n\n  \"A dozen umbrellas were tipped up; the rain fell\n     fast upon a dozen upturned, expectant faces.\"           57\n\n\n  III.\n\n  \"At the word of command they struck the most\n     extraordinary attitudes.\"                              157\n\n\n  IV.\n\n  \"Frowsy, sleepy, cross, and caring nothing\n     whatever for the sun, moon, or stars, we stood\n     like a company of Bedlamites, ankle deep in\n     the wet grass upon the summit.\"                        176\n\n\n  V.\n\n  \"Evidently the little old woman is going a\n     journey.\"                                              196\n\n\n  VI.\n\n  \"Together we stared at him with rigid and severe\n     countenances.\"                                         240\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n          CHAPTER I.\n\n          ABOARD THE STEAMER.\n\n          We two alone.--\"Good by.\"--\"Are you the captain of this\n             ship?\"--Wretchedness.--The jolly Englishman and the\n             Yankee.--A sail!--The Cattle-man.--The Jersey-man\n             whose bark was on the sea.--Church services under\n             difficulties.--The sweet young English face.--Down\n             into the depths to worship.--\"Beware! I stand by\n             the parson.\"--Singing to the fishes.--Green Erin.--One\n             long cheer.--Farewell, Ireland.                         13\n\n\n          CHAPTER II.\n\n          FIRST DAYS IN ENGLAND.\n\n          Up the harbor of Liverpool.--We all emerge as\n             butterflies.--The Mersey tender.--Lot's\n             wife.--\"Any tobacco?\"--\"Names, please.\"--St.\n             George's Hall.--The fashionable promenade.--The\n             coffee-room.--The military man who showed the\n             purple tide of war in his face.--The railway\n             carriage.--The young man with hair all\n             aflame.--English villages.--London.--No place\n             for us.--The H. house.--The Babes in the\n             Wood.--The party from the country.--We are taken\n             in charge by the Good Man.--The Golden\n             Cross.--Solitary confinement.--Mrs. B.'s at last.       27\n\n\n          CHAPTER III.\n\n          EXCURSIONS FROM LONDON.\n\n          Strange ways.--\"The bears that went over to\n             Charlestown.\"--The delights of a runaway without\n             its dangers.--Flower show at the Crystal\n             Palace.--Whit-Monday at Hampton Court.--A queen\n             baby.--\"But the carpets?\"--Poor Nell Gwynne.--Vandyck\n             faces.--Royal beds.--Lunch at the King's Arms.--O\n             Music, how many murders have been committed in thy\n             name!--Queen Victoria's home at Windsor.--A new\n             \"house that Jack built.\"--The Round Tower.--Stoke\n             Pogis.--Frogmore.--The Knights of the Garter.--The\n             queen's gallery.--The queen's plate.--The royal\n             mews.--The wicker baby-wagons.--The state equipages.    43\n\n\n          CHAPTER IV.\n\n          SIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON.\n\n          The Tower.--The tall Yankee of inquiring mind.--Our\n             guide in gorgeous array.--War trophies.--Knights\n             in armor.--A professional joke.--The crown\n             jewels.--The room where the little princes were\n             smothered.--The \"Traitor's Gate.\"--The Houses of\n             Parliament.--What a throne is like.--The\n             \"woolsack.\"--The Peeping Gallery for\n             ladies.--Westminster Hall and the law courts.--The\n             three drowsy old women.--The Great Panjandrum\n             himself.--Johnson and the pump.--St.\n             Paul's.--Wellington's funeral car.--The Whispering\n             Gallery.--The bell.                                     55\n\n\n          CHAPTER V.\n\n          AWAY TO PARIS.\n\n          The wedding party.--The canals.--New Haven.--Around\n             the tea-table.--Separating the sheep from the\n             goats.--\"Will it be a rough passage?\"--Gymnastic\n             feats of the little steamer.--O, what were officers\n             to us?--\"Who ever invented earrings?\"--Dieppe.--\n             Fish-wives.--Train for Paris.--Fellow-passengers.--\n             Rouen.--Babel.--Deliverance.                            68\n\n\n          CHAPTER VI.\n\n          THE PARIS OF 1869.\n\n          The devil.--Cathedrals and churches.--The Louvre.--Modern\n             French art.--The Beauvais clock, with its droll, little\n             puppets.--Virtue in a red gown.--The Luxembourg\n             Palace.--The yawning statue of Marshal Ney.--Gay life\n             by gas-light.--The Imperial Circus.--The Opera.--How\n             the emperor and empress rode through the streets after\n             the riots.--The beautiful Spanish woman whose face was\n             her fortune.--Napoleon's tomb.                          76\n\n\n          CHAPTER VII.\n\n          SIGHTS IN THE BEAUTIFUL CITY.\n\n          The Gobelin tapestry.--How and where it is made.--Père\n             La-Chaise.--Poor Rachel!--The baby establishment.--\"Now\n             I lay me.\"--The little mother.--The old woman who lived\n             in a shoe.--The American chapel.--Beautiful women and\n             children.--The last conference meeting.--\"I'm a\n             proof-reader, I am.\"                                    90\n\n\n          CHAPTER VIII.\n\n          SHOW PLACES IN THE SUBURBS OF PARIS.\n\n          The river omnibuses.--Sèvres and its porcelain.--St.\n             Cloud as it was.--The crooked little town.--\n             Versailles.--Eugenie's \"spare bedroom.\"--The queen\n             who played she was a farmer's wife.--Seven miles of\n             paintings.--The portraits of the presidents.           100\n\n\n          CHAPTER IX.\n\n          A VISIT TO BRUSSELS.\n\n          To Brussels.--The old and new city.--The paradise and\n             purgatory of dogs.--The Hôtel de Ville and Grand\n             Place.--St. Gudule.--The picture galleries.--Wiertz\n             and his odd paintings.--Brussels lace and an hour\n             with the lace-makers.--How the girls found Charlotte\n             Brontë's school.--The scene of \"Villette.\"             109\n\n\n          CHAPTER X.\n\n          WATERLOO AND THROUGH BELGIUM.\n\n          To Waterloo.--Beggars and guides.--The Mound.--Chateau\n             Hougomont.--Victor Hugo's \"sunken road.\"--Antwerp.--A\n             visit to the cathedral.--A drive about the city.--An\n             excursion to Ghent.--The funeral services in the\n             cathedral.--\"Poisoned? Ah, poor man!\"--The\n             watch-tower.--The Friday-market square.--The\n             nunnery.--Longfellow's pilgrims to \"the belfry of\n             Bruges.\"                                               122\n\n\n          CHAPTER XI.\n\n          A TRIP THROUGH HOLLAND.\n\n          Up the Meuse to Rotterdam.--Dutch sights and\n             ways.--The pretty milk-carriers.--The\n             tea-gardens.--Preparations for the Sabbath.--An\n             English chapel.--\"The Lord's barn.\"--From Rotterdam\n             to the Hague.--The queen's \"House in the\n             Wood.\"--Pictures in private drawing-rooms.--The\n             bazaar.--An evening in a Dutch tea-garden.--Amsterdam\n             to a stranger.--The \"sights.\"--The Jews' quarter.--The\n             family whose home was upon the canals.--Out of the\n             city.--The pilgrims.                                   134\n\n\n          CHAPTER XII.\n\n          THE RHINE AND RHENISH PRUSSIA.\n\n          First glimpse of the Rhine.--Cologne and the\n             Cathedral.--\"Shosef in ter red coat.\"--St. Ursula\n             and the eleven thousand virgins.--Up the Rhine to\n             Bonn.--The German students.--Rolandseck.--A search\n             for a resting-place.--Our Dutch friend and his\n             Malays.--The story of Hildegund.--A quiet Sabbath.--\n             Our Dutch friend's reply.--Coblentz.--The bridge of\n             boats.--Ehrenbreitstein, over the river.--A scorching\n             day upon the Rhine.--Romance under difficulties.--\n             Mayence.--Frankfort.--Heidelberg.--The ruined\n             castle.--Baden-Baden.--A glimpse at the gambling.--The\n             new and the old \"Schloss.\"--The Black Forest.--\n             Strasbourg.--The mountains.                            147\n\n\n          CHAPTER XIII.\n\n          DAYS IN SWITZERLAND.\n\n          The Lake of Lucerne.--Days of rest in the city.--An\n             excursion up the Righi.--The crowd at the summit.--\n             Dinner at midnight.--Rising before \"the early\n             worm.\"--The \"sun-rise\" according to Murray.--Animated\n             scarecrows.--Off for a tour through Switzerland.--The\n             lake for the last time.--Grütlii.--William Tell's\n             chapel.--Fluellen.--Altorf.--Swiss haymakers.--An hour\n             at Amsteg.--The rocks close in.--The Devil's Bridge.--\n             The dangerous road.--\"A carriage has gone over the\n             precipice!\"--Andermatt.--Desolate rocks.--Exquisite\n             wild flowers.--The summit of the Furka.--A descent to\n             the Rhone glacier.--Into the ice.--Swiss villages.--\n             Brieg.--The convent inn.--The bare little chapel on the\n             hill.--To Martigny.                                    168\n\n\n          CHAPTER XIV.\n\n          AMONG THE EVERLASTING HILLS.\n\n          The quaint inn.--The Falls of the Sallenches, and the\n             Gorge de Trient.--Shopping in a Swiss village.--A\n             mule ride to Chamouni.--Peculiarities of the\n             animals.--Entrance to the village.--Egyptian mummies\n             lifted from the mules.--Rainy days.--Chamois.--The\n             Mer de Glace.--\"Look out of your window.\"--Mont\n             Blanc.--Sallenches.--A diligence ride to Geneva.--Our\n             little old woman.--The clownish peasant.--The fork in\n             the road.--\"Adieu.\"                                    189\n\n\n          CHAPTER XV.\n\n          LAST DAYS IN SWITZERLAND.\n\n          Geneva.--Calvin and jewelry.--Up Lake Leman.--Ouchy and\n             Lausanne.--\"Sweet Clarens.\"--Chillon.--Freyburg.--\n             Sight-seers.--The Last Judgment.--Berne and its\n             bears.--The town like a story.--The Lake of Thun.--\n             Interlaken.--Over the Wengern Alp.--The Falls of\n             Giessbach.--The Brunig Pass.--Lucerne again.           201\n\n\n          CHAPTER XVI.\n\n          BACK TO PARIS ALONE.\n\n          Coming home.--The breaking up of the party.--We start\n             for Paris alone.--Basle, and a search for a hotel.--\n             The twilight ride.--The shopkeeper whose wits had\n             gone \"a wool-gathering.\"--\"Two tickets for Paris.\"--\n             What can be the matter now?--Michel Angelo's Moses.--\n             Paris at midnight.--The kind _commissionaire_.--The\n             good French gentleman and his fussy little wife.--A\n             search for Miss H.'s.--\"Come up, come up.\"--\"Can women\n             travel through Europe alone?\" A word about a woman's\n             outfit.                                                220\n\n\n\n\nAN\n\nAMERICAN GIRL ABROAD.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nABOARD THE STEAMER.\n\n          We two alone.--\"Good by.\"--\"Are you the captain of\n          this ship?\"--Wretchedness.--The jolly Englishman\n          and the Yankee.--A sail!--The cattle-man.--The\n          Jersey-man whose bark was on the sea.--Church\n          services under difficulties.--The sweet young\n          English face.--Down into the depths to\n          worship.--\"Beware! I stand by the\n          Parson.\"--Singing to the fishes.--Green Erin.--One\n          long cheer.--Farewell Ireland.\n\n\nWE were going to Europe, Mrs. K. and I--alone, with the exception of the\nship's company--unprotected, save by Him who watches over the least of\nhis creatures. We packed our one trunk, upon which both name and\nnationality were conspicuously blazoned, with the necessaries, not\nluxuries, of a woman's toilet, and made our simple preparations for\ndeparture without a shadow of anxiety. \"They who know nothing, fear\nnothing,\" said the paterfamilias, but added his consent and blessing.\nThe rain poured in torrents as we drove down to the wharf. But floods\ncould not have dampened our enthusiasm. A wild Irishman, with a\nsuggestion of spirituous things in his air and general appearance,\nreceived us at the foot of the plank, one end of which touched earth,\nthe other that unexplored region, the steamer. We followed the direction\nof his dirty finger, and there fell from our eyes, as it were, scales.\nIn our ignorance, we had expected to find vast space, elegant\nsurroundings, glass, glare, and glitter. We peered into the contracted\nquarters of the ladies' cabin. One side was filled with boxes and\nbundles; the other, with the prostrate form of an old lady, her head\nenveloped in a mammoth ruffle. We explored the saloon. The purser, with\na wen and a gilt-banded cap on his head, was flying about like one\ndistracted. An old gentleman similarly attired, with the exception of\nthe wen,--the surgeon as we afterwards learned,--read a large book\ncomplacently in one corner, murmuring gently to himself. His upper teeth\nlacked fixity, so to speak; and as they fell with every word, he had the\nappearance of gnashing them continually at the invisible author. There\nwas a hurrying to and fro of round, fresh-faced stewards in short\njackets, a pushing and pulling of trunks and boxes, the sudden\nappearance and disappearance of nondescript individuals in slouched hats\nand water-proofs, the stirring about of heavy feet upon the deck above,\nthe rattling of chains, the 'yo-ing' of hoarse voices, as the sailors\npulled at the ropes, and, with it all, that sickening odor of oil, of\ndead dinners--of everything, so indescribable, so never-to-be-forgotten.\nSomewhat saddened, and considerably enlightened upon the subject of\nocean steamers, we sought our state-room. It boasted two berths (the\nupper conveniently gained by mounting the stationary wash-stand), and a\nvelvet-covered sofa beneath the large, square window, which last we\nlearned, months later, when reduced to a port-hole for light and air, to\nappreciate. A rack and half a dozen hooks against the wall completed its\nfurniture.\n\nThe time of departure arrived. We said the two little words that bring\nso many tears and heartaches, and ran up on the deck with the rain in\nour faces, and something that was not all rain in our eyes, for one last\nlook at our friends; but they were hidden from sight. There comes to me\na dim recollection of attempting to mount to an inaccessible place: of\nclinging to wet ropes with the intention of seeing the last of the land;\nof thinking it, after a time, a senseless proceeding, and of resigning\nourselves finally to our berths and inevitable circumstances. Eight\nbells and the dinner bell; some one darkened our doorway.\n\n\"What's this? Don't give it up so. D'ye hear the dinner bell?\"\n\n\"Are--are you the captain of this ship?\" gasped Mrs. K., feebly, from\nthe sofa.\n\n\"To be sure, madam. Don't give it up so.\"\n\nMrs. K. groaned. There came to me one last gleam of hope. What if it\nwere possible to brave it out! In a moment my feet were on the floor,\nbut whether my name were McGregor, or not, I could not tell. I made an\nabortive attempt after the pretty hood, prepared with such pleasant\nanticipations, and had a dim consciousness that somebody's hands tied it\nabout my head. Then we started. We climbed heights, we descended depths\nindescribable, in that short walk to the saloon, and there was a queer\nfeeling of having a windmill, instead of a head, upon my shoulders. A\nnumber of sympathizing faces were nodding in the most remarkable manner,\nas we reached the door, and the tables performed antic evolutions.\n\n\"Take me back!\" and the berth and the little round stewardess received\nme. There followed a night of misery. One can form no idea, save from\nexperience, of the horrors of the first night upon an ocean steamer.\nThere are the whir, and buzz, and jar, and rattle, and bang of the screw\nand engine; the pitching and rolling of the ship, with the sensation of\nstanding upright for a moment, and then of being made to rest\ncomfortably upon the top of your head; the sense of undergoing internal\nsomersaults, to say nothing of describing every known curve externally.\nYou study physiology involuntarily, and doubt if your heart, your lungs,\nor indeed any of your internal organs, are firmly attached, after all;\nif you shall not lose them at the next lurch of the ship. Your head is\nburning with fever, your hands and feet like ice, and you feel dimly,\nbut wretchedly, that this is but the beginning of sorrows; that there\nare a dozen more days to come. You are conscious of a vague wonder (as\nthe night lengthens out interminably) what eternity _can_ be, since time\nis so long. The bells strike the half hours, tormenting you with\ncalculations which amount to nothing. Everything within the room, as\nwell as without, swings, and rolls, and rattles. You are confident your\nbottles in the rack will go next, and don't much care if they do, though\nyou lie and dread the crash. You are tormented with thirst, and the\nice-water is in that same rack, just beyond your reach. The candle in\nits silver case, hinged against the wall, swings back and forth with\ndizzy motion, throwing moving distorted shadows over everything, and\nmaking the night like a sickly day. You long for darkness, and, when at\nlast the light grows dim, until only a red spark remains and the smoke\nthat adds its mite to your misery, long for its return. At regular\nintervals you hear the tramp, tramp, overhead, of the relieving watch;\nand, in the midst of fitful slumbers, the hoarse voices of the sailors,\nas the wind freshens and they hoist the sails, wake you from frightful\ndreams. At the first gray dawn of light come the swash of water and the\ntrickling down of the stream against your window, with the sound of the\nholy-stones pushed back and forth upon the deck. And with the light--O,\nblessed light!--came to us a dawn of better things.\n\nThere followed days when we lay contented upon the narrow sofa, or\nwithin the contracted berths, but when to lift our heads was woe. A kind\nof negative blessedness--absence from misery. We felt as if we had lost\nour heart, our conscience, and almost our immortal soul, to quote Mark\nTwain. There remained to us only those principles and prejudices most\nfirmly rooted and grounded. Even our personal vanity left us at last,\nand nothing could be more forsaken and appropriate than the plain green\ngown with its one row of military buttons, attired in which, day after\nday, I idly watched the faces that passed our door. \"That's like you\nAmericans,\" said our handsome young Irish doctor, pointing to these same\nbuttons. \"You can't leave your country without taking the spread-eagle\nwith you!\"\n\nOur officers, with this one exception, were English. Our captain, a\nliving representative of the traditional English sailor. Not young, save\nin heart; simple, unaffected, and frank in manner, but with a natural\ndignity that prevented undue familiarity, he sang about the ship from\nmorning till night, with a voice that could carry no air correctly, but\nwith an enjoyment delightful to witness--always a song suggested by\nexisting circumstances, but with\n\n          \"Cheer, boys, cheer; my mother's sold her mangle,\"\n\nwhen everything else failed. He was forward among the men on the deck\nwith an eye to the wind, down below bringing fruit and comfort to the\nsick in the steerage, dealing out apples and oranges to the children,\nwith an encouraging word and the first line of a song for everybody.\n\nThe life of the ship was an Englishman, with the fresh complexion almost\ninvariably seen upon Englishmen, and forty years upon a head that looked\ntwenty-five. He was going home after a short tour through the United\nStates, with his mind as full of prejudices as his memorandum-book was\nof notes. He chanced, oddly enough, to room with the genuine Yankee of\nthe company--a long, lean, good-natured individual from one of the\neastern states, \"close on ter Varmont,\" who had a way of rolling his\neyes fearfully, especially when he glared at his food. He represented a\nmowing machine company, and we called him \"the Mowing Machine Man.\" He\naccosted us one day, sidling up to our door, with, \"How d'ye do to-day?\"\n\n\"Better, thank you,\" I replied from the sofa.\n\n\"That's real nice. Tell ye what, we'll be glad to see the ladies out.\nHow's yer mar?\" nodding towards the berth from which twinkled Mrs. K.'s\neyes. I laughed, and explained that our relations were of affection\nrather than consanguinity. His interest increased when he found we were\ntravelling alone. He gave us his London address, evidently considering\nus in the light of Daniels about to enter the lions' den. \"Ef ye have\nany trouble,\" said he, as he wrote down the street and number, \"there's\none Yankee'll stand up for ye.\" He amused the Englishman by calling out,\n\"Hullo. D'ye feel _good_ this morning?\" \"No,\" would be the reply, with a\nburst of laughter; \"I feel awful wicked; think I'll go right out and\nkill somebody.\"\n\nThere was a shout one morning, \"A sail! See the stars and stripes!\" I\nhad not raised my head for days, but staggered across the floor at that,\nand clinging to the frame, thrust my head out of the window. Yes, there\nwas a ship close by, with the stars and stripes floating from the\nmast-head, I found, when the roll of the steamer carried my window to\nits level. \"Seems good ter see the old rag!\" I looked up to find the\nMowing Machine Man gazing upon it with eyes all afloat. \"I'd been a\nthinking,\" said he, \"all them fellers have got somebody waiting for 'em\nover there,\"--our passengers were mostly English,--\"but there wasn't\nnobody a waiting for me. Tell ye what,\"--and he shook out the folds of a\nred and yellow handkerchief,--\"it does my heart good ter see the old\nflag.\" There was a bond of sympathy between us from that moment.\n\nWe had another and less agreeable specimen of this free people--a tall,\ntough western cattle dealer, who quarrelled if he could find an\nantagonist, swore occasionally, drank liquor, and chewed tobacco\nperpetually, wore his trousers tucked into his long boots, his hands\ntucked into his pockets, and, to crown these attributes, believed in\nAndrew Johnson!--a middle-aged man, with soft, curling brown hair above\na face that could be cruelly cold and hard. His hair should have been\nwire; his blue eyes were steel. But hard as was his face, it softened\nand smoothed itself a little at sight of the sick women. He paused\nbeside us one day with a rough attempt to interest and amuse by\ndisplaying a knife case containing a dozen different articles. \"This is\nter take a stun out of a hoss's huf, and this, d'ye see, is a\ntooth-pick;\" putting it to immediate use by way of explanation. At the\ntable he talked long and loud upon the rinderpest, and other kindred and\nappetizing topics. \"I've been a butcher myself,\" he would say. \"I've cut\nup hundreds o' critters. What part of an ox, now, d'ye think that was\ntaken from?\" pointing to the joint before him, and addressing a refined,\ndelicate-faced old gentleman across the table, who only stared in silent\nhorror.\n\nBut even the \"Cattle Man\" was less marked in his peculiarities than the\n\"Jersey Man,\" a melancholy-eyed, curly-wigged individual from the Jersey\nshore, who wore his slouched hat upon one side of his head, and looked\nas though he were doing the rakish lover in some fifth-rate theatre; who\nwas \"in the musical line myself; Smith and Jones's organs, you know;\nthat's me;\" and who, being neither Smith nor Jones, we naturally\nconcluded must be the organ. He recited poetry in a loud tone at\ndaybreak, and discussed politics for hours together, arguing in the most\nsatisfactory manner with the principles, and standing most willingly\nupon the platform, of everybody. He assumed a patronizing air towards\nthe Mowing Machine Man. \"Well, you _are_ a green Yankee,\" he would say;\n\"lucky for you that you fell in with me;\" to which the latter only\nchuckled, \"That's so.\" He had much to tell of himself, of his\ngrandmother, and of his friends generally, who came to see him off;\n\"felt awfully, too,\" which we could hardly credit; rolled out snatches\nof sentimental songs, iterating and reiterating that his bark was on the\nsea,--and a most disagreeable one we found it; wished we had a piano on\nboard, to which we murmured, \"The Lord forbid;\" and hoped we should soon\nbe well enough to join him in the \"White Squall.\" He was constantly\nreminding us that we were a very happy family party, so \"congenial,\" and\nevidently agreed with the Mowing Machine Man, who said, \"They're the\nbest set of fellows I ever see. They'll tell ye anything.\"\n\nWe numbered a clergyman among us, of course. \"Always a head wind when\nthere's a parson aboard,\" say the sailors. So this poor dyspeptic little\nman bore the blame of our constant adverse winds. Nothing more bigoted,\nmore fanatical than his religious belief could be imagined. You read the\nterrors of the Lord in his eye; and yet he won respect, and something\nmore, by his consistency and zeal. Earnestness will tell. \"The parson\nwill have great influence over the Cattle Man,\" the captain said,\nSabbath morning, as we were walking the deck. \"The Cattle Man?\" \"Yes,\nthe parson will get a good hold of him.\" Just then, as if to prove the\nold proverb true, that his satanic majesty is always in the immediate\nneighborhood when his character is under discussion, the Cattle Man and\nJersey came up the companion-way. \"If you please, captain,\" said the\nformer, \"we are a committee to ask if the parson may preach to the\nsteerage people to-night.\" \"Certainly,\" was the reply; \"I will attend\nmyself.\" They thanked him, and went below, leaving me utterly amazed.\nThey were the last men upon the ship whom one would have selected as a\ncommittee upon spiritual things!\n\nThe church service for the cabin passengers was held in the saloon. A\nvelvet cushion upon one end of the long table constituted the pulpit,\nbefore which the minister stood, holding fast to the rack on either\nside, and bracing himself against the captain's chair in the rear. Even\nthen he made, involuntarily, more bows than any ritualist, and the\nscripture, \"What went ye out for to see? A reed shaken by the wind?\"\nwould present itself. The sailors in their neat dress filed in and\nranged themselves in one corner. The stewards gathered about the door,\none, with face like an owl, most conspicuous. The passengers filled\ntheir usual seats, and a delegation from the steerage crept shyly into\nthe unoccupied space--women with shawls over their heads and babies in\ntheir arms, shock-headed men and toddling children, but all with an\nevident attempt at appropriate dress and manner. Among them was one\nsweet young English face beneath an old crape bonnet. A pair of shapely\nhands, which the shabby black gloves could not disguise, held fast a\nlittle child. Widowhood and want in the old world; what was waiting her\nin the new? The captain read the service, and all the people responded.\nThe women's eyes grew wet at the sound of the familiar words. The little\nEnglish widow bent her face over the head of the child in her lap, and\nsomething glistened in its hair. Our sympathies grew wide, and we joined\nin the prayer for the queen, that she might have victory over her\nenemies, and even murmured a response to the petition for Albert Edward\nand the nobility, dimly conscious that they needed prayers. The good\ncaptain added a petition for the president of the United States, to\nwhich the Mowing Machine Man and I said, \"Amen.\" Then the minister,\nhaving poised himself carefully, read a discourse, sulphurous but\nsincere; the Mowing Machine Man thrusting his elbow into my side in a\nmost startling manner at every particularly blue point. We were\nevidently in sympathy; but I could have dispensed with the expression of\nit. We closed with the doxology, standing upon our feet and swaying back\nand forth as though it had been a Shaker chant, led by an improvised\nchoir and the Jersey Man.\n\nAt night we descended into the depths of the steamer to worship with the\nsteerage passengers. It was like one of Rembrandt's pictures--the\ndarkness, the wild, strangely-attired people, the weird light from the\nlanterns piercing the gloom, and bringing out group after group with\nfearful distinctness; the pale, earnest face of the preacher, made\nalmost unearthly by the glare of the yellow light--a face with its\nthin-drawn lips, its eyes like coals of fire such as the flames of\nmartyrdom lit once, I imagine. Close beside him stood the Cattle Man,\ntowering like Saul above the people, and with an air that plainly said,\n\"Beware--I stand by the parson.\"\n\n          \"There is a land of pure delight,\"\n\nrepeated the minister; and in a moment the words rolled out of the\nCattle Man's mouth while he beckoned with his long arm for the people to\nrise. Throwing back his head, he sang with an unction indescribable,\nverse after verse, caught doubtless at some western camp-meeting, where\nhe had tormented the saints. One after another took up the strain. Clear\nand strong came the tones from every dark corner, until, like one mighty\nvoice, while the steamer rolled and the waves dashed against its sides,\nrose the words\n\n          \"Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,\n            Shall fright us from that shore.\"\n\nA great stillness fell upon the people as the minister gave out his\ntext, and began his discourse. He had lacked freedom in the saloon, but\nhere he forgot everything save the words given him; hard words they\nseemed to me, containing little of the love of God. I glanced at the\nMowing Machine Man, who had made a seat of half a barrel under the\nstairs. He winked in a fearful manner, as though he would say, \"Just see\nhow he's a goin' on!\" But the people received it gladly. One after\nanother of the sailors crept down the stairs and stood in the shadow. I\nwatched them curiously. It may be that this stern, hard doctrine suited\nthese stern, hard men. It made me shudder.\n\nBut the record of all these days would have no end. How can I tell of\nthe long, happy hours, when more than strength, when perfect\nexhilaration, came to us; when existence alone was a delight? To sit\nupon the low wheel-house, with wraps and ribbons and hair flying in the\nwind, while we sang,--\n\n          \"O, a life on the ocean wave!\"\n\nto admiring fishes; to watch the long, lazy swell of the sea, or the\nspray breaking from the tops of the white caps into tiny rainbows; to\nwalk the rolling deck for hours with never a shadow of weariness; to\ncling to the flag-staff when the stern of the ship rose in the air then\ndropped like a heavy stone into the sea, sending the spray far over and\nabove us; to count the stars at night, watching the other gleaming\nphosphorescent stars that seemed to have fallen from heaven upon the\nlong wake of the steamer,--all this was a delight unspeakable.\n\nOne morning, when the land seemed a forgotten dream, we awoke to find\ngreen Erin close beside us. All the day before the sea-gulls had been\nhovering over us--beautiful creatures, gray above and white beneath,\nclouds with a silver lining. Tiny land birds, too, flew about us,\nresting wearily upon the rigging. The sea all at once became like glass.\nIt seemed like the book of Revelation when the sun shone on it,--the sea\nof glass mingled with fire. For a time the land was but a line of rock,\nwith martello towers perched upon the points. On the right, Fastnet Rock\nrose out of the sea, crowned with a light-house; then the gray barren\nshore of Cape Clear Island, and soon the sharp-pointed Stag Rocks. It is\na treacherous coast. \"I've been here many a night,\" said the captain, as\nhe gave us his glass, \"when I never expected to see morning.\" And all\nthe while he was speaking, the sea smiled and smiled, as though it could\nnever be cruel.\n\nWe drew nearer and nearer, until we could see the green fields bounded\nby stone walls, the white, winding roads, and little villages nestling\namong the hills. Towards noon the lovely harbor of Queenstown opened\nbefore us, surrounded and almost shut in by rocky islands. Through the\nglass we could see the city, with its feet in the bay. We were no longer\nalone. The horizon was dotted with sails. Sometimes a steamer crossed\nour wake, or a ship bore down upon us. We hoisted our signals. We dipped\nour flag. The sailors were busy painting the boats, and polishing the\nbrass till it shone again. Now the tender steams out from Queenstown.\nThe steerage passengers in unwonted finery, tall hats and unearthly\nbonnets, and one in a black silk gown, are running about forward,\nshaking hands, gathering up boxes and bundles, and pressing towards the\nside which the tender has reached. There are the shouting of orders, the\nthrowing of a rope, and in a moment they are crowding the plank. One\nlong cheer, echoed from the stern of our steamer, and they are off.\n\nAll day we walked the deck; even the sick crawled up at last to see the\npanorama. We still lingered when night fell, and we had turned away from\nthe land to strike across the channel, and the picture rests with me\nnow; the purple sky with one long stretch of purple, hazy cloud, behind\nwhich the sun went down; the long, low line of purple rock, our last\nglimpse of Ireland, and the shining, purple sea, with not a ripple upon\nits surface.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFIRST DAYS IN ENGLAND.\n\n          Up the harbor of Liverpool.--We all emerge as\n          butterflies.--The Mersey tender.--Lot's\n          wife.--\"Any tobacco?\"--\"Names, please.\"--St.\n          George's Hall.--The fashionable promenade.--The\n          coffee-room.--The military man who showed the\n          purple tide of war in his face.--The railway\n          carriage.--The young man with hair all\n          aflame.--English villages.--London.--No place for\n          us.--The H. house.--The Babes in the Wood.--The\n          party from the country.--We are taken in charge by\n          the Good Man.--The Golden Cross.--Solitary\n          confinement.--Mrs. B.'s at last.\n\n\nWE steamed up the harbor of Liverpool the next morning. New Brighton,\nwith its green terraces, its Chinese-pagoda villas, spread out upon one\nside, upon the other that solid wall of docks, the barricade that breaks\nthe constant charges of the sea, with the masts of ships from every land\nfor an abattis. The wraps and shapeless garments worn so long were laid\naside; the pretty hood which had, like charity, covered so many sins of\nomission, hidden, itself, at last, the soft wool stiffened with the sea\nspray, the bright colors dimmed by smoke, and soot, and burning sun. We\ncrept shyly upon the deck in our unaccustomed finery, as though called\nat a moment's notice to play another woman's part, half-learned. Not in\nus alone was the transformation. The girl in blue had blossomed into a\nbell--a blue bell. The Cattle Man, his hands released at last from the\nthraldom of his pockets, stalked about, funereal, in wrinkled black. A\nsolferino neck-tie and tall hat of a pie-Adamite formation\ntransmogrified our Mowing Machine friend. Nondescripts, that had lain\nabout the deck wrapped in cocoons of rugs and shawls, emerged\nsuddenly--butterflies! A painful courtesy seized us all. We had doffed\nthe old familiar intercourse with our sea-garments. We gathered in\nknots, or stood apart singly, mindful at last of our dignity.\n\nThe Mersey tender (a tender mercy to some) puffed out to meet us, and we\ndescended the plank as those who turn away from home, leaving much of\nour thoughts, and something of our hearts, within the ship. It had been\nsuch a place of rest, of blessed idleness! Only when our feet touched\nthe wharf did we take up the burden of life again. There were the\nmeeting of friends, in which we had no part; the maelstrom of horses,\nand carts, and struggling humanity, in which we found a most unwilling\nplace; and then we followed fast in the footsteps of the Mowing Machine\nMan, who in his turn followed a hair-covered trunk upon the shoulders of\na stout porter, our destination the custom-house shed close by. For a\nmoment, as we were tossed hither and thither by the swaying mass, our\ndesires followed our thoughts to a certain sheltered nook, upon a still,\nwhite deck, with the sunbeams slanting down through the furled sails\nabove, with the lazy, lapping sea below, and only our own idle thoughts\nfor company. Then we remembered Lot's wife.\n\nThere was a little meek-faced custom-house officer in waiting, with a\nvoice so out of proportion to his size, that he seemed to have hired it\nfor the occasion, or come into it with his uniform by virtue of his\noffice. \"Any tobacco?\" he asked, severely, as we lifted the lid of our\none trunk. We gave a virtuous and indignant negative. That was all. We\nmight go our several ways now unmolested. One fervent expression of good\nwishes among our little company, while we make for a moment a network of\nclasped hands, and then we pass out of the great gates into our new\nworld, and into the clutches of the waiting cabmen. By what stroke of\ngood fortune we and our belongings were consigned to one and the same\ncab, in the confusion and terror of the moment, we did not know at the\ntime. It was clearly through the intervention of a kind\nfellow-passenger, who, seeing that amazement enveloped us like a\ngarment, kindly took us in charge. The dazed, as well as the lame and\nlazy, are cared for, it seems. By what stroke of good fortune we ever\nreached our destination, we knew still less. Our cab was a triumph of\nimpossibilities, uncertainties, and discomfort. Our attenuated beast,\nlike an animated hoop skirt, whose bones were only prevented, by the\nencasing skin, from flying off as we turned the corners, experienced\nhardly less difficulty in drawing his breath than in drawing his load.\nWe descended at the entrance to the hotel as those who have escaped from\nimminent peril. We mounted the steps--two lone, but by no means lorn,\ndamsels, two anxious, but by no means aimless females, knowing little of\nthe world, less of travelling, and nothing whatever of foreign ways.\nOur very air, as we entered the door, was an apology for the intrusion.\n\n\"Names, please,\" said the smiling man in waiting, opening what appeared\nto be the book of fate. We added ours to the long list of pilgrims and\nstrangers who had sojourned here, dotting our i's and crossing our t's\nin the most elegant manner imaginable. If any one has a doubt as to our\nearly advantages, let him examine the record of the Washington Hotel,\nLiverpool. The heading, \"Remarks,\" upon the page, puzzled us. Were they\nto be of a sacred or profane nature? Of an autobiographical character?\nWere they to refer to the dear land we had just left? Through some\npolitical throes she had just brought forth a ruler. Should we add to\nthe U. S. against our names, \"As well as could be expected\"? We\nhesitated,--and wrote nothing. Up the wide stairs, past the transparency\nof Washington--in the bluest of blue coats, the yellowest of top boots,\nand an air of making the best of an unsought and rather ridiculous\nposition--we followed the doily upon the head of the pretty chambermaid\nto our wide, comfortable room, with its formidable, high-curtained beds.\nThe satchels and parcels innumerable were propped carefully into\nrectitude upon the dressing table, under the impression that the ship\nwould give a lurch; and then, gazing out through the great plate glass\nwindows upon the busy square below, we endeavored to compose our\nperturbed minds and gather our scattered wits.\n\nIt is not beautiful, this great city of Liverpool, creeping up from the\nsea. It has little to interest a stranger aside from its magnificent\ndocks and warehouses. There are mammoth truck horses from Suffolk, with\nfeet like cart wheels; there is St. George's Hall, the pride of the\npeople, standing in the busy square of the same name, with a statue of\nthe saint himself--a terror to all dragons--just before it. It is gray,\nmany columned, wide stepped, vast in its proportions. Do you care for\nits measurement? Having seen that, you are ready to depart; and, indeed,\nthere is nothing to detain one here beyond a day of rest, a moment to\nregain composure after the tossing of the sea. There are some\nsubstantial dwellings,--for commerce has its kings,--and some fine\nshops,--for commerce also has its queens,--and one fine drive, of which\nwe learned too late. The air of endurance, which pervades the whole\ncity, as it does all cities in the old world, impresses one greatly, as\nthough they were built for eternity, not time; the founders having\nforgotten that here we are to have no continuing city. In the new world,\nman tears down and builds up. Every generation moulds and fashions its\ntowns and cities after its own desires, or to suit its own means. Man is\nmaster. In the old world, one generation after another surges in and out\nof these grim, gray walls, leaving not so much as the mark the waves\nleave upon the rocks. Unchanged, unchanging, they stand age after age,\ntime only softening the hard outlines, deepening the shadows it has cast\nupon them, and so bringing them into a likeness of each other that they\nseem to have been the design of one mind, the work of one pair of hands,\nand hardly of mortal mind or hands at that. They seem to say to man, \"We\nhave stood here ages before you were born. We shall stand here ages\nafter you are forgotten.\" They must be filled with echoes, with ghosts,\nand haunting memories.\n\nBold Street, a tolerably narrow and winding way, in which many are found\nto walk,--contrary to all precedent,--boasts the finest shops. Here the\nLancashire witches, as the beauties of the county are called, walk, and\ntalk, and buy gewgaws of an afternoon. It was something strange to us to\nsee long silken skirts entirely destitute of crinoline, ruffle, or\nflounce, trailed here through mud and mire, or raised displaying low\nCongress gaiters, destitute of heels. For ourselves, if we had been the\nking of the Cannibal Islands, we could hardly have attracted more\nattention than we did in our plain, short travelling suits and\nhigh-heeled boots. It grew embarrassing, especially when our expression\nof unqualified benevolence drew after us a train of beggars. They\ncrossed the street to meet us. They emerged from every side street and\nalley, thrusting dirty hands into our faces, and repeating twice-told\ntales in our ears, until we were thankful when oblivion and the shadow\nof the hotel fell upon us.\n\nWe dined in the coffee-room,--that comfortable and often delightfully\ncosy apartment fitted with little tables, and with its corner devoted to\nbooks, to papers and conversation,--that combination of dining, tea and\nreading-room unknown to an American hotel,--sacred to the sterner sex\nfrom all time, and only opened to us within a few years,--the gates\nbeing forced then, I imagine, by American women, who will not consent to\nhide their light under a bushel, or keep to some faraway corner,\nunseeing and unseen. English women, as a rule, take their meals in\ntheir own private parlors. Perhaps because English men generally desire\nthe flowers intrusted to their fostering care to blush unseen. It may be\nbetter for the gardeners; it may be better for the flowers--I cannot\ntell; but we dined in the coffee-room, as Americans usually do. One of\nthe _clergymen_, who attend at such places, received our order. It was\nnot so very formidable an affair, after all, this going down by\nourselves; or would not have been, if the big-eyed waiter, who watched\nour every movement, would have left us, and the military man at the next\ntable, who showed \"the purple tide of war,\" or something else, in his\nface, and blew his nose like a trombone, ceased to stare. As it was, we\naired our most elegant table manners. We turned in our elbows and turned\nout our toes,--so to speak,--and ate our mutton with a grace that\ndestroyed all appetite. We tried to appear as though we had frequently\ndined in the presence of a whole battalion of soldiery, under the\nscrutiny of innumerable waiters,--and failed, I am sure. \"With verdure\nclad\" was written upon every line of our faces. The occasion of this\ncross fire we do not know to this day. Was it unbounded admiration? Was\nit spoons?\n\nHaving brushed off the spray of the sea, having balanced ourselves upon\nthe solid earth, having seen St. George's Hall, there was nothing to\ndetain us longer, and the next morning we were on our way to London. We\nhad scrutinized our bill,--which might have been reckoned in pounds,\nounces, and penny-weights, for aught we knew to the contrary,--and\ninformed the big-eyed waiter that it was correct. We had also offered\nhim imploringly our largest piece of silver, which he condescended to\naccept; and having been presented with a ticket and a handful of silver\nand copper by the porter who accompanied us to the station across the\nway, in return for two or three gold pieces, we shook off the dust of\nLiverpool from our feet, turned our eyes from the splendors of St.\nGeorge's Hall, and set our faces steadfastly towards our destination.\nThere was a kind of luxury, notwithstanding our prejudices, in this\nEnglish railway carriage, with its cushions all about us, even beneath\nour elbows; a restfulness unknown in past experience of travel, in the\nability to turn our eyes away from the flying landscape without, to the\npeaceful quiet, never intruded upon, within. We did not miss the woman\nwho will insist upon closing the window behind you, or opening it, as\nthe case may be. Not one regret had we for the \"B-o-s-t-o-n papers!\" nor\nfor the last periodical or novel. The latest fashion gazette was not\nthrown into our lap only to be snatched away, as we became interested in\na plan for rejuvenating our wardrobe; nor were we assailed by venders of\npop corn, apples, or gift packages of candy. Even the blind man, with\nhis offering of execrable poetry, was unknown, and the conductor\nexamined our tickets from outside the window. Settling back among our\ncushions, while we mentally enumerated these blessings of omission,\nthere came a thought of the perils incurred by solitary females locked\ninto these same comfortable carriages with madmen. If the danger had\nbeen so great for one solitary female, what must it be for two, we\nthought with horror. We gave a quick glance at our fellow-passenger, a\nyoung man with hair all aflame. Certainly his eyes did roll at that\nmoment, but it was only in search of a newsboy; and when he exclaimed,\nlike any American gentleman, \"Hang the boy!\" we became perfectly\nreassured. He proved a most agreeable travelling companion. We exchanged\nquestions and opinions upon every subject of mutual interest, from the\ngeological formation of the earth to the Alabama claims. I can hardly\ntell which astonished us most, his profound erudition or our own. Now, I\nhave not the least idea as to whether Lord John Russell sailed the\nAlabama, or the Alabama sailed of itself, spontaneously; but, whichever\nway it was, I am convinced it was a most iniquitous proceeding, and so\nthought it safe to take high moral ground, and assure him that as a\nnation we could not allow it to go unpunished. You have no idea what an\nassistance it is, when one is somewhat ignorant and a good deal at a\nloss for arguments, to take high moral ground.\n\nWhen we were weary of discussion, when knowledge palled upon our taste,\nwe pulled aside the little blue curtain, and gave ourselves up to gazing\nupon the picture from the window. I doubt if any part of England is\nlooked upon with more curious eyes than that lying between Liverpool and\nLondon. It is to so many Americans the first glimpse of strange lands.\nSpread out in almost imperceptible furrows were the velvet turfed\nmeadows, the unclipped hedges a mass of tangled greenness between. For\nmiles and miles they stretched away, with seldom a road, never a\nsolitary house. The banks on either side were tufted with broom and\nyellow with gorse; the hill-sides in the distance, white with chalk, or\nblack with the heather that would blossom into purple beauty with the\nsummer. We rushed beneath arches festooned, as for a gala-day, with\nhanging vines. Tiny gardens bloomed beside the track at every station,\nand all along the walls, the arched bridges, and every bit of stone upon\nthe wayside, was a mass of clinging, glistening ivy. Not the half-dead,\nstraggling thing we tend and shield so carefully at home, with here and\nthere a leaf put forth for very shame. These, bright, clear-cut,\ndeep-tinted, crowded and overlapped each other, and ran riot over the\nland, transforming the dingy, mildewy cottages, bits of imperishable\nugliness, into things of beauty, if not eternal joys. Not in the least\npicturesque or pleasing to the eye were these English villages;\nstraggling rows of dull red brick houses set amidst the fields--dirty\ncity children upon a picnic--with a foot square garden before each door,\ncared for possibly, possibly neglected. A row of flower-pots upon the\nstone ledge of every little window, a row of chimney-pots upon the slate\nroof of every dwelling. Sometimes a narrow road twisted and writhed\nitself from one to another, edged by high brick walls, hidden beneath a\nweight of ivy; sometimes romantic lanes, shaded by old elms, and green\nbeyond all telling. The towns were much the same,--outgrown villages.\nAnd the glimpse we caught, as we flew by, so far above the roofs often\nthat we could almost peep down upon the hearths through the chimney\ntops, was by no means inviting.\n\nDusk fell upon us with the smoke, and mist, and drizzling rain of\nLondon, bringing no anxiety; for was there not, through the\nthoughtfulness of friends, a place prepared for us? Our pleasant\nacquaintance of the golden locks forsook his own boxes, and bundles, and\ninnumerable belongings to look for our baggage, and saw us safely\nconsigned to one of the dingy cabs in waiting. I trust the people of our\nown country repay to wanderers there something of the kindness which\nAmerican women, travelling alone, receive at the hands of strangers\nabroad. It was neither the first nor the last courtesy proffered most\nrespectfully, and received in the spirit in which it was offered. There\nis a deal of nonsense in the touch-me-not air with which many go out to\nsee the world, as there is a deal of folly in the opposite extreme. But\nthese acquaintances of a day, the opportunity of coming face to face\nwith the people in whose country you chance to be, of hearing and\nanswering their strange questions in regard to our government, our\nmanners and customs, as well as in displaying our own ignorance in\nregard to their institutions, in giving information and assistance when\nit is in our power, and in gratefully receiving the same from\nothers,--all this constitutes one of the greatest pleasures of\njourneying.\n\nOur peace of mind received a rude shock, when, after rattling over the\npavings around the little park in Queen's Square, and pulling the bell\nat Mr. B.'s boarding-house, we found that we were indeed expected, but\nindefinitely, and no place awaited us. We had forgotten to telegraph. It\nwas May, the London season, and the hotels full. \"X. told us you were\ncoming,\" said the most lady-like landlady, leading us into the\ndrawing-room from the dank darkness of the street. There was a glow of\nred-hot coals in the grate, a suggestion of warmth and comfort in the\nbright colors and cosy appointments of the room--but no place for us.\n\"I'm very sorry; if you had telegraphed--but we can take you by Monday\ncertainly,\" she said. I counted my fingers. Two days. Ah! but we might\nperish in the streets before that. Everything began to grow dark and\ndoleful in contemplation. Some one entered the room. The landlady turned\nto him: \"O, here is the good man to whose care you were consigned by X.\"\nWe gave a sigh of relief, as we greeted the Good Man, for all our\ncourage, like the immortal Bob Acres's, had been oozing from our finger\nends. And if we possess one gift above another, it is an ability to be\ntaken care of. \"Do you know X.?\" asked another gentleman, glancing up\nfrom his writing at the long, red-covered table. \"We travelled with\nhim,\" nodding towards his daughter, whose feet touched the fender,\n\"through Italy, last winter.\" \"Indeed--\"\n\n\"I'll just send out to a hotel near by,\" interrupted kind Mrs. B., \"and\nsee if you can be accommodated a day or two.\" How very bright the room\nbecame! The world was not hollow, after all, nor our dolls stuffed with\nsawdust. Even the cabman's rattle at the knocker, and demand of an extra\nsixpence for waiting, could not disturb our serenity. The messenger\nreturned. Yes; we could be taken in (?) at the H. house; and accepting\nMrs. B.'s invitation to return and spend the evening, we mounted to our\nplaces in the little cab, as though it had been a triumphal car, and\nwere whizzed around the corner at an alarming pace by the impatient\ncabman.\n\nI should be sorry to prejudice any one against the H. house--which I\nmight perhaps say is not the H. house at all; I hardly like to compare\nit to a whited sepulchre, though that simile did occur to my mind. Very\nfair in its exterior it was, with much plate glass, and ground glass,\nand gilding of letters, and shining of brass. It had been two\ndwelling-houses; it was now one select family hotel. But the two\ndwelling-houses had never been completely merged into one; never\nmarried, but joined, like the Siamese twins. There was a confusing\ndouble stairway; having ascended the right one, you were morally certain\nto descend the wrong. There was a confusing double hall, with doors in\nevery direction opening everywhere but upon the way you desired to go.\nWe mounted to the top of the house, followed by two porters with our\nluggage, one chambermaid with the key, another to ask if we would dine,\nand two more bearing large tin cans of hot water. We grew confused, and\ngasped, \"We--we believe we don't care for any more at present, thank\nyou,\" and so dismissed them all. The furniture was so out of proportion\nto the room that I think it must have been introduced in an infant\nstate, and grown to its present proportions there. The one window was so\nhigh that we were obliged to jump up to look out over the mirror upon\nthe bureau--a gymnastic feat we did not care to repeat. The bed curtains\nwere gray; indeed there was a gray chill through the whole place. We sat\ndown to hold a council of war. We resolved ourselves into a committee of\nways and means, our feet upon the cans of hot water. \"Pleasant,\" I said,\nas a leading remark, my heart beginning to warm under the influence of\nthe hot water. \"Pleasant?\" repeated Mrs. K.; \"it's enough to make one\nhomesick. We can't stay here.\" \"But,\" I interposed, \"suppose we leave\nhere, and can't get in anywhere else?\" A vision of the Babes in the Wood\nrose before me. There was a rap at the door; the fourth chambermaid, to\nannounce dinner. We finished our consultation hurriedly, and descended\nto the parlor, where we were to dine. It was a small room, already\noccupied by a large table and a party from the country; an old lady to\nplay propriety, a middle-aged person of severe countenance to act it,\nand a pair of incipient and insipid lovers. He was a spectacled prig in\na white necktie, a clergyman, I suppose, though he looked amazingly like\na waiter, and she a little round combination of dimples and giggle.\n\n_He._ \"Have you been out for a walk this morning?\"\n\n_She._ \"No; te-he-he-he.\"\n\n_He._ \"You ought to, you know.\"\n\n_She._ \"Te-he-he-he--yes.\"\n\n_He._ \"You should always exercise before dinner.\"\n\n_She._ \"Te-he-he-he.\"\n\nHere the words gave out entirely, and, it being remarkably droll, all\njoined in the chorus. \"We must go somewhere else, if possible,\" we\nexplained to Mrs. B., when, a little later, we found our way to her\ndoor. \"At least we shall be better contented if we make the attempt.\"\nThe Good Man offered his protection; we found a cab, and proceeded to\nexplore the city, asking admittance in vain at one hotel after another,\nuntil at last the Golden Cross upon the Strand, more charitable than\nits neighbor, or less full, opened its doors, and the good landlady, of\nunbounded proportions, made us both welcome and comfortable. Quite\npalatial did our neat bed-room, draped in white, appear. We were the\nproud possessors, also, of a parlor, with a round mirror over the\nmantel, a round table in the centre, a sofa, of which Pharaoh's heart is\nno comparison as regards hardness, a row of stiff, proper arm-chairs,\nand any amount of ornamentation in the way of works of art upon the\nwalls, and shining snuffers and candlesticks upon the mantel. Our\nbargain completed, there remained nothing to be done but to remove our\nbaggage from the other house, which I am sure we could never have\nattempted alone. Think of walking in and addressing the landlady, while\nthe chambermaids and waiters peeped from behind the doors, with, \"We\ndon't like your house, madam. Your rooms are tucked up, your beds\nuninviting, your chambermaids frowsy, your waiters stupid, and your\nlittle parlor an abomination.\" How could we have done it? The Good Man\nvolunteered. \"But do you not mind?\" \"Not in the least.\" Is it not\nwonderful? How can we believe in the equality of the sexes? In less than\nan hour we were temporarily settled in our new quarters, our rescued\ntrunks consigned to the little bed-room, our heart-felt gratitude in the\npossession of the Good Man.\n\nWe took our meals now in our own parlor, trying the solitary confinement\nsystem of the English during our two days' stay. It seemed a month. Not\na sign of life was there, save the landlady's pleasant face behind the\nbar and the waiter who answered our bell, with the exception of a pair\nof mammoth shoes before the next door, mornings, and the bearded face\nof a man that startled us, once, upon the stairs. And yet the house was\nfull. It was a relief when our two days of banishment Mere over, when in\nMrs. B.'s pretty drawing-room, and around her table, we could again meet\nfriends, and realize that we were still in the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nEXCURSIONS FROM LONDON.\n\n          Strange ways.--\"The bears that went over to\n          Charlestown.\"--The delights of a runaway without\n          its dangers.--Flower show at the Crystal\n          Palace.--Whit-Monday at Hampton Court.--A queen\n          baby.--\"But the carpets?\"--Poor Nell\n          Gwynne.--Vandyck faces.--Royal beds.--Lunch at the\n          King's Arms.--O Music, how many murders have been\n          committed in thy name!--Queen Victoria's home at\n          Windsor.--A new \"house that Jack built.\"--The\n          Round Tower.--Stoke Pogis.--Frogmore.--The Knights\n          of the Garter.--The queen's gallery.--The queen's\n          plate.--The royal mews.--The wicker\n          baby-wagons.--The state equipages.\n\n\nWE bought an umbrella,--every one buys an umbrella who goes to\nLondon,--and this, in its alpaca glory, became our constant companion.\nWe purchased a guide-book to complete our equipments; but so\ndisreputable, so yellow-covered, was its outward appearance, so\nsuggestive of everything but facts, that we consigned it to oblivion,\nand put ourselves under the guidance of our Boston friends, the Good Man\nand his family.\n\nFor two busy weeks we rattled over the flat pavings of the city in the\nlow, one-horse cabs. We climbed towers, we descended into crypts, we\nexamined tombstones, we gazed upon mummies. Everything was new,\nstrange, and wonderful, even to the little boys in the street, who, as\nwell as the omnibus drivers, were decked out in tall silk hats--a piece\nof absurdity in one case, and extravagance in the other, to our minds.\nThe one-horse carriages rolled about upon two wheels; the occupants,\nlike cross children, facing in every direction but the one they were\ngoing, and everybody, contrary to all our preconceived ideas of law and\norder, turned to the left, instead of to the right,--to say nothing of\nother strange and perplexing ways that came under our observation. We\nhad come abroad upon the same errand as the bears who \"went over to\nCharlestown to see what they could see,\" and so stared into every\nwindow, into every passing face, as though we were seeking the lost. We\nbecame known as the women who wanted a cab; our appearance within the\niron posts that guard the entrance to Queen's Square from Southampton\nRow being the signal for a perfect Babel of unintelligible shouts and\ngesticulations down the long line of waiting vehicles, with the charging\ndown upon us of the first half dozen in a highly dangerous manner.\nWisdom is sometimes the growth of days; and we soon learned to dart out\nin an unexpected moment, utterly deaf and blind to everything and\neverybody but the first man and the first horse, and thus to go off in\ntriumph.\n\nBut if our exit was triumphant, what was our entry to the square, when\nweary, faint with seeing, hearing, and trying in vain to fix everything\nseen and heard in our minds, we returned in a hansom! English ladies do\nnot much affect this mode of conveyance, but American women abroad\nhave, or take, a wide margin in matters of mere conventionality,--and so\nride in hansom cabs at will. They are grown-up baby perambulators upon\ntwo wheels; the driver sitting up behind, where the handle would be, and\ndrawing the reins of interminable length over the top of the vehicle.\nPicture it in your mind, and then wonder, as I did, what power of\nattraction keeps the horse upon the ground; what prevents his flying\ninto the air when the driver settles down into his seat. A pair of low,\nfolding doors take the place of a lap robe; you dash through the street\nat an alarming rate without any visible guide, experiencing all the\ndelights of a runaway without any of its dangers.\n\n\nFLOWER SHOW AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE.\n\nA ride by rail of half an hour takes one to Sydenham. It is a charming\nwalk from the station through the tastefully arranged grounds, with\ntheir shrubberies, roseries, and fountains, along the pebble-strewn\npaths, crowded this day with visitors. The palace itself is so like its\nfamiliar pictures as to need no description. Much of the grandeur of its\nvast proportions within is lost by its divisions and subdivisions. There\nare courts representing the various nations of the earth,--America, as\nusual, felicitously and truthfully shown up by a pair of scantily\nattired savages under a palm tree; there are the courts of the Alhambra,\nof Nineveh, and of Pompeii; there are fountains, and statues, and\nbazaars innumerable, where one may purchase almost anything as a\nsouvenir; there are cafés where one may refresh the body, and an immense\nconcert hall where one may delight the soul,--and how much more I\ncannot tell, for the crowd was almost beyond belief, and a much more\ninteresting study than Egyptian remains, or even the exquisite mass of\nperfumed bloom, that made the air like summer, and the whole place a\ngarden. They were of the English middle class, the upper middle class,\nbordering upon the nobility,--these rotund, fine-looking gentlemen in\nwhite vests and irreproachable broadcloth, these stout, red-faced,\nrichly-attired ladies, with their soft-eyed, angular daughters following\nin their train, or clinging to their arms. We listened for an hour to\nthe queen's own band in scarlet and gold, and then came back to town,\nmeeting train after train filled to overflowing with expensively arrayed\nhumanity in white kids, going out for the evening.\n\n\nA DAY AT HAMPTON COURT.\n\nIt was Whit-Monday,--the workingman's holiday,--a day of sun and shower;\nbut we took our turn upon the outside of the private omnibus chartered\nfor the occasion, unmindful of the drops; our propelling power, six gray\nhorses. By virtue of this private establishment we were free to pass\nthrough Hyde Park,--that breathing-place of aristocracy, where no public\nvehicle, no servant without livery, is tolerated. It was early, and only\nthe countless hoof-prints upon Rotten Row suggested the crowd of wealth\nand fashion that would throng here later in the day. One solitary\nequestrian there was; perched upon a guarded saddle, held in her place\nby some concealed band, serenely content, rode a queen baby in long,\nwhite robes. A groom led the little pony. She looked at us in grave\nwonder as we dashed by,--born to the purple! I cannot begin to describe\nto you the rising up of London for this day of pleasure; the decking of\nitself out in holiday attire; the garnishing of itself with paper\nflowers; the smooth, hard roads leading into the country, all alive; the\ndrinking, noisy crowd about the door of every pot-house along the way.\nIt was a delightful drive of a dozen or more miles, through the most\ncharming suburbs imaginable,--past lawns, and gardens, and green old\ntrees shading miniature parks; past \"detached\" villas that had blossomed\ninto windows; indeed, the plate glass upon houses of most modest\npretension was almost reckless extravagance in our eyes, forgetting, as\nwe did, the slight duty to be paid here upon what is, with us, an\nexpensive luxury. No wonder the English are a healthful people,--the sun\nshines upon them. I like their manner of house-building, of home-making.\nThey set up first a great bay-window, with a room behind it, which is of\nsecondary importance, with wide steps leading up to a door at the side.\nThey fill this window with the rarest, rosiest, most rollicksome\nflowers. Then, if there remain time, and space, and means, other rooms\nare added, the bay-windows increasing in direct proportion; while\nshades, drawn shades, are a thing unknown. \"But the carpets?\" They are\nso foolish as to value health above carpets.\n\nIt was high noon when we rolled up the wide avenue of Bushey Park, with\nits double border of gigantic chestnuts and limes, through Richmond\nPark, with its vast sweep of greensward flecked with the sunbeams,\ndripping like the rain through the royal oaks, past Richmond terrace,\nwith its fine residences looking out upon the Thames, the translucent\nstream, pure and beautiful here, before going down to the city to be\ndefiled--like many a life. We dismounted at the gates to the palace, in\nthe rambling old village that clings to its skirts, and joined the crowd\npassing through its wide portals.\n\nIt is an old palace thrown aside, given over to poor relatives, by\nroyalty,--as we throw aside an old gown; a vast pile of dingy, red brick\nthat has straggled over acres of Hampton parish, and is kept within\nbounds by a high wall of the same ugly material. It has pushed itself up\ninto towers and turrets, with pinnacles and spires rising from its\nbattlemented walls. It has thrust itself out into oriel and queer little\nlatticed windows that peep into the gardens and overhang the three\nquadrangles, and is with its vast gardens and park, with its wide canal\nand avenues of green old trees, the most delightfully ugly, old place\nimaginable. Here kings and queens have lived and loved, suffered and\ndied, from Cardinal Wolsey's time down to the days of Queen Anne. It is\nnow one of England's show places; one portion of its vast extent, with\nthe grounds, being thrown open to the public, the remainder given to\ndecayed nobility, or wandering, homeless representatives of royalty,--a\nkind of royal almshouse, in fact. A curtained window, the flutter of a\nwhite hand, were to us the only signs of inhabitation.\n\nThrough thirty or more narrow, dark, bare rooms,--bare but for the\npictures that crowded the walls,--we wandered. There were two or three\nhalls of stately proportions finely decorated with frescoes by Verrio,\nand one or two royal stairways, up and down which slippered feet have\npassed, silken skirts trailed, and heavy hearts been carried, in days\ngone by. The pictures are mostly portraits of brave men and lovely\nwomen, of kings and queens and royal favorites,--poor Nell Gwynne among\nthem, who began life by selling oranges in a theatre, and ended it by\nselling virtue in a palace. The Vandyck faces are wonderfully beautiful.\nThey gaze upon you through a mist, a golden haze,--like that which hangs\nover the hills in the Indian summer,--from out deep, spiritual eyes; a\ndream of fair women they are.\n\nThere were one or two royal beds, where uneasy have lain the heads that\nwore a crown, and half a dozen chairs worked in tapestry by royal\nfingers,--whether preserved for their questionable beauty, or because of\nthe rarity of royal industry, I do not know. We wandered through the\nshrubberies, paid a penny to see the largest grape vine in the\nworld,--and wished we had given it to the heathen, so like its less\ndistinguished sisters did the vine appear,--and at last lunched at the\nKing's Arms, a queer little inn just outside the gates, edging our way\nwith some difficulty through the noisy, guzzling crowd around the\ndoor--the crowd that, having reached the acme of the day's felicity, was\nfast degenerating into a quarrel. In the long, bare room at the head of\nthe narrow, winding stairs, we found comparative quiet. The tables were\ncovered with joints of beef, with loaves of bread, pitchers of ale, and\nthe ubiquitous cheese. A red-faced young man in tight new clothes--like\na strait-jacket--occupied one end of our table with his blushing\nsweetheart. A band of wandering harpers harped upon their harps to the\ncrowd of wrangling men and blowsy women in the open court below;\nstrangely out of tune were the harps, out of time the measure, according\nwell with the spirit of the hour. A loud-voiced girl decked out in\ntawdry finery, with face like solid brass, sang \"Annie Laurie\" in hard,\nmetallic tones,--O Music, how many murders have been committed in thy\nname!--then passed a cup for pennies, with many a jest and rude, bold\nlaugh. We were glad when the day was done,--glad when we had turned away\nfrom it all.\n\n\nQUEEN VICTORIA'S HOME AT WINDSOR.\n\nThe castle itself is a huge, battlemented structure of gray stone,--a\nfortress as well as a palace,--with a home park of five hundred acres,\nthe private grounds of Mrs. Guelph, and, beyond that, a grand park of\neighteen hundred acres. But do not imagine that she lives here with only\nher children and servants about her,--this kindly German widow, whose\nthrone was once in the hearts of her people. Royalty is a complicated\naffair,--a wheel within a wheel,--and reminds us of nothing so much as\n\"the house that Jack built.\"\n\nThis is the Castle of Windsor.\n\nThis is the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.\n\nThese are the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of\nWindsor.\n\nThese are the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that\nlives in the Castle of Windsor.\n\nThese are the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that\n'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.\n\nThese are the soldiers, tried and sworn, that guard the crown from the\nunicorn, that stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to\nthe ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.\n\nThese are the \"military knights\" forlorn, founded by Edward before you\nwere born, that outrank the soldiers, tried and sworn, that guard the\ncrown from the unicorn, that stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages\nthat bow to the ladies that 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle\nof Windsor.\n\nThese are the knights that the garter have worn, with armorial banners\ntattered and torn, that look down on the military knights forlorn,\nfounded by Edward before you were born, that outrank the soldiers, tried\nand sworn, that guard the crown from the unicorn, that stand by the\nlackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies that 'tend on the\nqueen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.\n\nThis is the dean, all shaven and shorn, with the canons and clerks that\ndoze in the morn, that install the knights that the garter have worn,\nwith armorial banners tattered and torn, that look down on the military\nknights forlorn, founded by Edward before you were born, that outrank\nthe soldiers, tried and sworn, that guard the crown from the unicorn,\nthat stand by the lackeys that wait on the pages that bow to the ladies\nthat 'tend on the queen that lives in the Castle of Windsor.\n\nAnd so on. The train within the castle walls that follows the queen is\nendless.\n\nWe passed through the great, grand, state apartments, refurnished at the\ntime of the marriage of the Prince of Wales, for the use of the Danish\nfamily. We mounted to the battlements of the Round Tower by the hundred\nsteps, the grim cannon gazing down upon us from the top. Half a dozen\nvisitors were already there, gathered as closely as possible about the\nangular guide, listening to his geography lesson, and looking off upon\nthe wonderful panorama of park, and wood, and winding river. Away to the\nright rose the spire of Stoke Pogis Church, where the curfew still\n\"tolls the knell of parting day.\" To the left, in the great park below,\nlay Frogmore, where sleeps Prince Albert the Good. Eton College, too,\npeeped out from among the trees, its gardens touching the Thames, and in\nthe distance,--beyond the sleeping villages tucked in among the\ntrees,--the shadowy blue hills held up the sky.\n\nSt. George's Chapel is in the quadrangle below. It is the chapel of the\nKnights of the Garter. And now, when you read of the chapels, or\nchurches, or cathedrals in the old world,--and they are all in a sense\nalike,--pray don't imagine a New England meeting-house with a double row\nof stiff pews and a choir in the gallery singing \"Antioch\"! The body of\nthe chapel was a great, bare space, with tablets and elaborate monuments\nagainst the walls. Opening from this were alcoves,--also called\nchapels,--each one containing the tombs and monuments of some family. As\nmany of the inscriptions are dated centuries back, you can imagine they\nare often quaintly expressed. One old knight, who died in Catholic\ntimes, desired an open Breviary to remain always in the niche before his\ntomb, that passers might read to their comfort, and say for him an\norison. Of course this would never do in the days when the chapel fell\ninto Protestant hands. A Bible was substituted, chained into its place;\nbut the old inscription, cut deep in the stone, still remains, beginning\n\"Who leyde thys book here?\" with a startling appropriateness of which\nthe author never dreamed. Over another of these chapels is rudely cut an\nox, an N, and a bow,--the owner having, in an antic manner, hardly\nbefitting the place, thus written his name--Oxenbow.\n\nYou enter the choir, where the installations take place, by steps,\npassing under the organ. In the chancel is a fine memorial window to\nPrince Albert. On either side are the stalls or seats for the knights,\nwith the armorial banner of each hanging over his place. Projecting over\nthe chancel, upon one side, is what appears to be a bay-window. This is\nthe queen's gallery, a little room with blue silk hangings,--for blue is\nthe color worn by Knights of the Garter,--where she sits during the\nservice. Through these curtains she looked down upon the marriage of the\nPrince of Wales. Think of being thus put away from everybody, as though\none were plague-stricken. A private station awaits her when she steps\nfrom the train at the castle gates. A private room is attached to the\ngreen-houses, to the riding-school in the park, and even to the private\nchapel. A private photograph-room, for the taking of the royal pictures,\nadjoins her apartments. It must be a fine thing to be a queen,--and so\ntiresome! Even the gold spoon in one's mouth could not offset the\nweariness of it all, and of gold spoons she has an unbounded supply;\nfrom ten to fifteen millions of dollars worth of gold plate for her\nmajesty's table being guarded within the castle! Think of it, little\nwomen who set up house-keeping with half a dozen silver teaspoons and a\nsalt-spoon!\n\nWe waited before a great gate until the striking of some forgotten hour,\nto visit the royal mews. You may walk through all these stables in\nslippers and in your daintiest gown, without fear. A stiff young man in\nblack--a cross between an undertaker and an incipient clergyman in\nmanner--acted as guide. Other parties, led by other stiff young men,\nfollowed or crossed our path. There were stalls and stalls, upon either\nside, in room after room,--for one could not think of calling them\nstables,--filled by sleek bays for carriage or saddle. And the\nponies!--the dear little shaggy browns, with sweeping tails, and\nwonderful eyes peeping out from beneath moppy manes, the milk-white,\ntiny steeds, with hair like softest silk,--they won our hearts. Curled\nup on the back of one, fast asleep, lay a Maltese kitten; the \"royal\nmew\" some one called it. The carriages were all plain and dark, for the\nordinary use of the court. In one corner a prim row of little yellow,\nwicker, baby-wagons attracted our attention, like those used by the\npoorest mother in the land. In these the royal babies have taken their\nfirst airings.\n\nThe state equipages we saw another day at Buckingham Palace,--the\ncream-colored horses, the carriages and harnesses all crimson and gold.\nThere they stand, weeks and months together, waiting for an occasion.\nThe effect upon a fine day, under favoring auspices,--the sun shining,\nthe bands playing, the crowd of gazers, the prancing horses, the gilded\nchariots,--must almost equal the triumphal entry of a first class circus\ninto a New England town!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nSIGHT-SEEING IN LONDON.\n\n          The Tower.--The tall Yankee of inquiring\n          mind.--Our guide in gorgeous array.--War\n          trophies.--Knights in armor.--A professional\n          joke.--The crown jewels.--The house where the\n          little princes were smothered.--The \"Traitor's\n          Gate.\"--The Houses of Parliament.--What a throne\n          is like.--The \"woolsack.\"--The Peeping Gallery for\n          ladies.--Westminster Hall and the law courts.--The\n          three drowsy old women.--The Great Panjandrum\n          himself.--Johnson and the pump.--St.\n          Paul's.--Wellington's funeral car.--The Whispering\n          Gallery.--The bell.\n\n\nTHE TOWER.\n\nIT is not a tower at all, as we reckon towers, you must know, but a\nwalled town upon the banks of the Thames, in the very heart of London.\nHundreds of years ago, when what is now this great city was only moor\nand marsh, the Romans built here--a castle, perhaps. Only a bit of\ncrumbling wall, of mouldering pavement, remain to tell the story. When\nthe Normans came in to possess the land, William the Conqueror erected\nupon this spot a square fortress, with towers rising from its four\ncorners. Every succeeding monarch added a castle, a tower, a moat, to\nstrengthen its strength and extend its limits, until, in time, it\ncovered twelve acres of land, as it does to this day. Here the kings\nand queens of England lived in comfortless state, until the time of\nQueen Elizabeth, having need to be hedged about with something more than\nroyalty to insure safety. Times have changed; swords have been beaten\ninto ploughshares; and where the moat once encircled the tower wall,\nflowers blossom now. The dungeons that for centuries held prisoners of\nstate do not confine any one to-day; and the strongholds that guarded\nthe person of England's sovereign keep in safety now the jewels and the\ncrown. There are round towers, and square towers, and, for anything I\nknow, three-cornered towers, each with its own history of horrors. There\nare windows from which people were thrown, bridges over which they were\ndragged, and dark holes in which they were incarcerated.\n\n[Illustration: \"A dozen umbrellas were tipped up; the rain fell fast\nupon a dozen upturned, expectant faces.\" Page 57.]\n\nTo appreciate all this, you should see it--as we did one chilly May\nmorning. We huddled about the stove in the waiting-room upon the site of\nthe old royal menagerie, our companions a round man, with a limp gingham\ncravat and shabby coat, a little old woman in a poke bonnet, and half a\ndozen or more schoolboys from the country. A tall Yankee of inquiring\nmind joined us as we sallied from the door, led by a guide gorgeous in\nruff and buckles, cotton velvet and gilt lace, and with all these\nglories surmounted by a black hat, that swelled out at the top in a\nwonderful manner. Down the narrow street within the gates, over the\nslippery cobble-stones, under considerable mental excitement, and our\nalpaca umbrella, we followed our guide to an archway, before which he\npaused, and struck an attitude. The long Yankee darted forward. \"Stand\nback, my friends, stand back,\" said the guide. \"You will please form\na circle.\" Immediately a dozen umbrellas surrounded him. He pointed to a\nnarrow window over our heads; a dozen umbrellas were tipped up; the rain\nfell fast upon a dozen upturned, expectant faces. \"In that room, Sir\n----\" (I could not catch the name) \"spent the night before his\nexecution, in solemn meditation and prayer.\" There was a circular groan\nof sympathy and approval from a dozen lips, the re-cant of a dozen\ndripping umbrellas, and we pattered on to the next point of interest,\nfollowing our leader through pools of blood, figuratively\nspeaking,--literally, through pools of water,--our eyes distended, our\ncheeks pale with horror. Ah, what treasures of credulity we must have\nbeen to the guides in those days! Time brought unbelief and hardness of\nheart.\n\nWe mounted stairs narrow and dark; we descended stairs dark and narrow;\nwe entered chambers gloomy and grim. The half I could not tell--of the\nrooms filled with war trophies--scalps in the belt of the nation--from\nthe Spanish Armada down to the Sepoy rebellion; the long hall, with its\ndouble row of lumbering old warriors encased in steel, as though they\nhad stepped into a steel tower and walked off, tower and all, some fine\nmorning; the armory, with its stacked arms for thirty thousand men. \"We\nmay have occasion to use them,\" said the guide, facetiously, making some\nreference to the speech of Mr. Sumner, just then acting the part of a\nstick to stir up the British lion. The Yankee chuckled complacently, and\nwe, too, refused to quake. There was a room filled with instruments of\ntorture, diabolical inventions, recalling the days of the Inquisition.\nThe Yankee expressed a desire to \"see how some o' them things worked.\"\nOpening from this was an unlighted apartment, with walls of stone, a\ndungeon indeed, in which we were made to believe that Sir Walter Raleigh\nspent twelve years of his life. No shadow of doubt would have fallen\nupon our unquestioning minds, had we been told that he amused himself\nduring this time by standing upon his head. \"Walk in, walk in,\" said the\nsmiling guide, as we peered into its darkness. We obeyed. \"Now,\" said\nhe, \"that you may appreciate his situation, I will step out and close\nthe door.\" The little old woman screamed; the Yankee made one stride to\nthe opening; the guide laughed. It was only a professional joke; there\nwas no door. We saw the bare prison-room, with its rough fireplace, the\nslits between the stones of the wall to admit light and air, and the\ninitials of Lady Jane Grey, with a host more of forgotten names, upon\nthe walls. Just outside, within the quadrangle, where the grass grew\ngreen beneath the summer rain, she was beheaded,--poor little\ninnocent,--who had no desire to be a queen! In another tower close by,\nguarded by iron bars, were the royal jewels and the crown, for which all\nthis blood was shed--pretty baubles of gold and precious stones, but\nhardly worth so many lives.\n\nYou remember the story of the princes smothered in the Tower by command\nof their cruel uncle? There was the narrow passage in the wall where the\nmurderers came at night; the worn step by which they entered the great,\nbare room where the little victims slept; the winding stairs down which\nthe bodies were thrown. Beneath the great stone at the foot they were\nsecretly buried. Then the stairway was walled up, lest the stones should\ncry out; and no one knew the story of the burial until long, long\nafterwards--only a few years since--when the walled-up stairway was\ndiscovered, the stones at the foot displaced, and a heap of dust, of\nlittle crumbling bones, revealed it. A rosy-faced, motherly woman, the\nwife of a soldier quartered in the barracks here, answered the rap of\nthe guide upon the nail-studded door opening from one of the courts, and\ntold us the old story. \"The bed of the princes stood just there,\" she\nsaid, pointing to one corner, where, by a curious coincidence, a little\nbed was standing now. She answered the question in our eyes with, \"My\nboys sleep there.\" \"But do you not fear that the murderers will come\nback some night by this same winding way, and smother them?\" How she\nlaughed! And, indeed, what had ghosts to do with such a cheery body!\n\nDown through the \"Traitors' Gate,\" with its spiked portcullis, we could\nsee the steps leading to the water. Through this gate prisoners were\nbrought from trial at Westminster. It is said that the Princess\nElizabeth was dragged up here when she refused to come of her own will,\nknowing too well that they who entered here left hope behind. A little\nlater, with music and the waving of banners, and amid the shouts of the\npeople, she rode out of the great gates into the city, the Queen of\nEngland.\n\n\nTHE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT.\n\nThough they have stood barely thirty years, already the soft gray\nlimestone begins to crumble away,--the elements, with a sense of the\nfitness of things, striving to act the part of time, and bring them into\na likeness of the adjoining abbey. There is an exquisite beauty in the\nthousand gilded points and pinnacles that pierce the fog, or shine\nsoftly through the mist that veils the city. Ethereal, shadowy, unreal\nthey are, like the spires of a celestial city, or the far away towers\nand turrets we see sometimes at sunset in the western sky.\n\nHere, you know, are the chambers of the Houses of Lords and Commons,\nwith the attendant lobbies, libraries, committee-rooms, &c., and a\nwithdrawing-room for the use of the queen when she is graciously pleased\nto open Parliament in person. The speaker of the House of Commons, as\nwell as some other officials, reside here--a novel idea to us, who could\nhardly imagine the speaker of our House of Representatives taking up his\nabode in the Capitol! Parliament was not in session, and we walked\nthrough the various rooms at will, even to the robing-room of the noble\nlords, where the peg upon which Lord Stanley hangs his hat was pointed\nout; and very like other pegs it was. At one end of the chamber of the\nHouse of Lords is the throne. It is a simple affair enough--a gilded\narm-chair on a little platform reached by two or three steps, and with\ncrimson hangings. Extending down on either side are the\ncrimson-cushioned seats without desks. In the centre is a large square\nottoman,--the woolsack,--which might, with equal appropriateness, be\ncalled almost anything else. Above, a narrow gallery offers a\nlounging-place to the sons and friends of the peers; and at one end,\nabove the throne, is a high loft, a kind of uplifted amen corner, for\nstrangers, with a space where women may sit and look down through a\nscreen of lattice-work upon the proceedings below. It seems a remnant of\nEastern customs, strangely out of place in this Western world, and akin\nto the shrouding of ourselves in veils, like our Oriental sisters. Or\ncan it be that the noble lords are more keenly sensitive to the\ndistracting influence of bright eyes than other men?\n\n\nWESTMINSTER HALL AND THE LAW COURTS.\n\nAdjoining the Houses of Parliament is this vast old hall. For almost\nfive hundred years has it stood, its curiously carved roof unsupported\nby column or pillar. Here royal banquets, as well as Parliaments, have\nbeen held, and more than one court of justice. Here was the great trial\nof Warren Hastings. It was empty now of everything but echoes and the\nlong line of statuary on either side, except the lawyers in their long,\nblack gowns, who hastened up and down its length, or darted in and out\nthe three baize doors upon one side, opening into the Courts of\nChancery, Common Pleas, and the Exchequer. Our national curiosity was\naroused, and we mounted the steps to the second, which had won our\nsympathies from its democratic name.\n\nThere were high, straight-backed pews of familiar appearance, rising one\nabove the other, into the last of which we climbed, a certain Sunday\nsolemnity stealing over us, a certain awkward consciousness that we were\nthe observed of all observers, since we were the only spectators--a\ndelusion of our vanity, however. In the high gallery before us, in\ncomplacent comfort, sat three fat, drowsy old women (?) in white,\ncurling wigs, and voluminous gowns, asking all manner of distracting\nquestions, and requiring to be told over and over again,--after the\nmanner of drowsy old women,--to the utter confusion of a poor witness in\nthe front pew, who clung to the rail and swayed about hopelessly, while\nhe tried to tell his story, as if by this rotary motion he could churn\nhis ideas into form. Not only did he lose the thread of his\ndiscourse,--he became hopelessly entangled in it. Scratch, scratch,\nscratch, went the pens all around him. Every word, as it fell from his\nlips, was pounced upon by the begowned, bewigged, bewildering judges,\nwas twisted and turned by the lawyers, was tossed back and forth\nthroughout the court-room, until there arose a question in our minds, as\nto who was telling the story. All the while the lawyers were glaring\nupon him as though he was perjuring himself with every word--as who\nwould not be, under the circumstances? And such lawyers! They dotted the\npews all around us. The long, black gowns were not so bad; they hid a\ndeal of awkwardness, I doubt not. But the wigs! the queer little curly\nthings, perched upon every head, and worn with such a perverse delight\nin misfits! the small men being invariably hidden beneath the big wigs,\nand the large men strutting about like the great Panjandrum himself with\nthe little round button at the top! The appearance of one, whose head,\nthrough some uncommon development, rose to a ridge-pole behind, was\nsurprising, to say the least. It was not alone that his wig was too\nsmall, that a fringe of straight, black hair fell below its entire white\ncircumference; it was not alone that it was parted upon the wrong side,\nor that, being mansard in form, and his head hip-roofed, it could\nnever, by any process, have been shaped thereto; but I doubt if the\nwearing of it upside down, added to all these little drawbacks, could\nconduce to the beauty or dignity of any man. Unmindful of this reversed\norder of nature, its happy possessor skipped about the court-room,\nnodding to his brethren with a blithesome air, to the imminent peril of\nhis top-knot, which sustained about the same relation to his head as the\nsword to that of Damocles. He speered down upon the poor witness. He\npretended to make notes of dreadful import with a screaming quill, and,\nin fact, comported himself with an airy unconsciousness delightful to\nsee.\n\nIn regard to the proceedings of the court, I only know that the point\nunder discussion concerned one Johnson, and a pump; and Mr. Pickwick's\njudge sat upon the bench. Whether he was originally round, red-faced,\nwith gooseberry eyes, I do not remember; but all these pleasing\ncharacteristics he possessed at this present time, as well as a pudgy\nforefinger, with which to point his remarks.\n\n\"You say,\" he repeated, with a solemnity of which my pen is incapable,\nand impressing every word upon the poor man in the front pew with this\nsame forefinger, \"that--Bunsen--went--to--the--pump?\"\n\n\"Johnson, my lord,\" the witness ventured to correct him, in a low tone.\n\n\"It makes no difference,\" responded the judge, irate, \"whether it is\nBunsen or Jillson. The question is, Did--Jillson--go--to--the--pump?\"\n\nWhom the gods destroy they first deprive of their five senses. Four, at\nleast, of the poor man's had departed some time since. The fifth\nfollowed. \"Johnson went, my lord,\" he replied, doggedly. Having found\none point upon which his mind was clear, he clung to it with the\ntenacity of despair.\n\n\"Johnson! who's _Johnson_?\" gasped the bewildered judge, over whose face\na net of perplexed lines spread itself upon the introduction of this new\ncharacter. In the confusion of denials and explanations that followed,\nwe descended from our perch, and stole away; nor are we at all sure, to\nthis day, as to whether Johnson did or did not really go to the pump.\n\n\nST. PAUL'S.\n\nImagine our surprise, one day, when admiring a pretty ribbon upon a\nfriend, to be told that it came from St. Paul's Churchyard. Hardly the\nplace for ribbons, one would think; but the narrow street which\nencircles the cathedral in the form of a bow and its string goes by this\nname, and contains, besides the bookstores and publishing houses, some\nfine \"silk mercers'\" establishments.\n\nThe gray surface of the grand edifice is streaked with black, as though\ntime had beaten it with stripes, and a pall of smoke and dust covers the\nstatues in the court before it. Consecrated ground this is, indeed. From\nthe earliest times of the Christian religion, through all the bigotry\nand fanaticism of the ages that followed, down to the present time, the\nword of God has been proclaimed here--in weakness often, in bitterness\nmany times that belied the spirit of its message; by a priesthood more\ncorrupt than the people; by noble men, beyond the age in which they\nlived, and whom the flames of martyrdom could not appall. Under\nDiocletian the first church was destroyed. It was rebuilt, and destroyed\nagain by the Saxons. Twice has it been levelled to the ground by fire.\nBut neither sword nor flame could subdue it, and firm as a rock it\nstands to-day, as it has stood for nearly two hundred years, and as it\nseems likely to stand for ages to come. The sacred stillness that\ninvests the place was rudely broken, the morning of our visit, by the\nblows from the hammers of the workmen, resounding through the dome like\na discharge of artillery. A great stage, and seats in the form of an\namphitheatre, were being erected in the nave for a children's festival,\nwhich prevented our doing more than glance down its length. We read some\nof the inscriptions upon the monuments, that one, so often quoted, of\nSir Christopher Wren, among them--\"Do you seek his monument? Look around\nyou;\" glanced into the choir, with its Gothic stalls, where the service\nis performed, and then descended into the crypt beneath all this, that\nlabyrinth of damp darkness where so many lie entombed. Here is the\nfuneral car of Wellington, with candles burning around it, cast from the\nconquering cannon which thundered victory to a nation, but sorrow and\ndeath to many a home. Shrouded with velvet it is, as are the horses, in\nimitation of those which bore him to his rest. All around were marble\neffigies, blackened, broken, as they survived the burning of the late\ncathedral, at the time of the great fire. Tombstones formed the\npavement. \"Whose can this be?\" I said, trying to follow with the point\nof my umbrella the half-worn inscription beneath my feet. It was that of\nSir Joshua Reynolds. Strange enough it seemed to us, coming from a\ncountry so new as to have been by no means prolific in great men, to\nfind them here lying about under our feet.\n\nHaving explored the crypt, we prepared to mount the endless winding\nstairs, whose final termination is the ball under the cross that\nsurmounts the whole. Our ambition aimed only at the bell beneath the\nball. We paid an occasional sixpence for the privilege of peeping into\nthe library,--a most tidy and put-to-rights room, with a floor of wood\npatchwork,--and for the right to look down upon the geometrical\nstaircase which winds around and clings to the wall upon one side, but\nis without any visible support upon the other. The \"whispering gallery\"\nwas reached after a time. It is the encircling cornice within the dome,\nsurrounded by a railing, and forming a narrow gallery. \"I will remain\nhere,\" said the guide, \"while you pass around until you are exactly\nopposite; wait there until I whisper.\" Had we possessed the spirit of\nCasabianca, we should at this moment be sitting upon that narrow bench\nagainst the wall, with our feet upon the gas-pipes. We waited and\nlistened, and listened and waited; but the sound of the blows from the\nhammers below reverberated like thunder around us. We could not have\nheard the crack of doom. Becoming conscious, after a time, that our\nguide had disappeared, we came out and continued our ascent. Mrs. K.'s\ncuriosity, if not satisfied, was at least quenched, and she refused to\ngo farther. My aspirations still pointed upward. There was another\nsixpence, another dizzy mount of dark, twisting stairs, with strength,\nambition, and even curiosity gradually left behind, and with only one\nblind instinct remaining--to go on. There was a long, dingy passage,\nthrough which ghostly forms were flitting; there were more stairs, with\ntwists and turns, forgotten now with other torments; there was the\nmounting of half a dozen rickety wooden steps at last, for no object but\nto descend shakily upon the other side, and then we found ourselves in a\nlittle dark corner, peering over a dingy rail, with a great, dusky\nobject filling all the space below. And that was the bell! \"Well, and\nwhat of it?\" I don't know; but we saw it!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nAWAY TO PARIS.\n\n          The wedding party.--The canals.--New\n          Haven.--Around the tea-table.--Separating the\n          sheep from the goats.--\"Will it be a rough\n          passage?\"--Gymnastic feats of the little\n          steamer.--O, what were officers to us?--\"Who ever\n          invented earrings!\"--Dieppe.--Fish-wives.--Train\n          for\n          Paris.--Fellow-passengers.--Rouen.--Babel.--Deliverance.\n\n\nIT was the last week in May, and by no means the \"merry, merry month of\nMay\" had we found it. Not only was the sky weighed down with clouds, but\nthey dripped upon the earth continually, the sun showing his ghastly,\nwhite, half-drowned face for a moment only to be swept from sight again\nby the cloud waves. A friend was going to Paris. Would we shake the\ndrops from our garments, close our umbrellas, and go with him? We not\nonly would, we did. We gathered a lunch, packed our trunk, said our\nadieus, and drove down to the station in the usual pouring rain, the\ntearful accompaniment to all our movements. But one party besides our\nown awaited the train upon the platform--a young man with the insignia\nof bliss in the gloves of startling whiteness upon his hands, and a\nmiddle-aged woman of seraphic expression of countenance, clad in robes\nof spotless white, her feet encased in capacious white slippers. In\nthis airy costume, one hand grasping a huge bouquet devoid of color, the\nother the arm of her companion, she paced back and forth, to the great\namusement of the laughing porters, casting upon us less fortunate ones,\nwho shivered meekly in our wraps, glances of triumphant pity\nindescribable.\n\n\"Weddin' party, zur,\" explained the guard, touching his cap to our\nfriend. \"Jus' come down in fly.\" They looked to us a good deal more as\nif they were just going up in a \"fly.\" The train shrieked into the\nstation, and we were soon rushing over the road to New Haven, from\nwhich, in an evil moment, we had planned to cross the Channel. There was\nlittle new or strange in the picture seen from our window. The cottages\nwere now of a dull, clay color, instead of the dingy red we had observed\nbefore, as though they had been erected in sudden need, without waiting\nfor the burning of the bricks. There were brick-yards all along the way,\nanswering a vexed question in my mind as to where all the bricks came\nfrom which were used so entirely in town and village here, in the\nabsence of the wood so plentiful with us. The canals added much to the\nbeauty of the landscape, winding through the meadows as if they were\ngoing to no particular place, and were in no haste to reach their\ndestination. They turned aside for a clump of willows or a mound of\ndaisy-crowned earth; they went quite out of their way to peep into the\nback doors of a village, and, in fact, strolled along in a lazy,\nserpentine manner that would have crazed the proprietor of a Yankee\ncanal boat.\n\nIt was five o'clock when we reached New Haven, having dropped our\nfellow-passengers along the way, the blissful couple among them.\nThrough some error in calculation we had taken an earlier train than we\nneed have, and found hours of doleful leisure awaiting us in this sleepy\nlittle town, lying upon an arm of the sea. Its outer appearance was not\ninviting. Here were the first and last houses of wood we saw in\nEngland,--high, ugly things, that might have been built of old boats or\ndrift wood, with an economy that precluded all thought of grace in\narchitecture. The train, in a gracious spirit of accommodation, instead\nof plunging into the sea, as it might have done, paused before the door\nof a hotel upon the wharf. There, in a little parlor, we improvised a\nhome for a time. Our friend went off to explore the town. We took\npossession of the faded red arm-chairs by the wide windows. Down below,\nbeyond the wet platform, rose the well-colored meerschaum of the little\nFrench steamer, whose long-boats hung just above the edge of the wharf.\nThrough the closed window stole the breath of the salt sea, that, only a\nhand-breadth here, widened out below into boundlessness, bringing\nvisions of the ocean and a thrill of remembered delight. The rain had\nceased. The breeze rolled the clouds into snow-balls, pure white against\nthe blue of the sky. Over the narrow stream came the twitter of birds,\nhidden in the hawthorn hedge all abloom. Everything smiled, and beamed,\nand glistened without, though far out to sea the white caps crowned the\ndancing waves. When night fell, and the lights glimmered all through the\ntown, we drew the heavy curtains, lighted the candles in the shining\ncandlesticks, whose light cast a delusive glow over the dingy dustiness\nof the room, bringing out cheerfully the little round tea-table in the\ncentre, with its bright silver and steaming urn, over which we lingered\na long hour, measuring and weighing our comfort, telling tales, seeing\nvisions, and dreaming dreams of home.\n\nThe clock struck nine as we crossed the plank to the Alexandra, trying\nin vain to find in its toy appointments some likeness to our ocean\nsteamer of delightful memory. The train whizzed in from London, bringing\nour fellow-voyagers. The sheep were separated from the goats by the\nofficer at the foot of the plank, who asked each one descending, \"First\nor second cabin?\"--sending one to the right, the other to the left. The\nwind swept in from the sea raw and cold. The foot-square deck was\ncheerless and wet. Even a diagonal promenade proved short and\nunsatisfactory, and in despair we descended the slippery, perpendicular\nstairs between boxes and bales, and down still another flight, to the\ncabin. A narrow, cushioned seat clung to its four sides, divided into\nlengths for berths. \"Will it be a rough night?\" we carelessly asked the\nyoung stewardess. \"O, no!\" was the stereotyped reply, though all the\nwhile the wicked waves were dancing beneath the white caps just outside.\nWe divested ourselves of hats, and wraps, and useless ornaments,\nreserving only that of a meek and quiet spirit, which, under a nameless\nfear, grew every moment meeker and more quiet. We undid the interminable\nbuttons of our American boots, and prepared for a comfortable rest, with\nan ignorance that at the time approximated bliss. There was leisure for\nthe working out of elaborate schemes. Something possessed the tide.\nWhether it was high or low, narrow or wide, I do not know; but there at\nthe wharf we were to await the working of its own will, regardless of\ntime. Accordingly we selected our places with a deliberation that bore\nno proportion to the time we were to fill them, advising with the\nstewardess, who had settled herself comfortably to sleep. We tried our\nheads to England and our feet to the foe, and then reversed the order,\nfinally compromising by taking a position across the Channel. But the\nloading of the steamer overhead, with the chattering of our\nfellow-passengers below,--two English girls, a pretty brunette and her\nsister,--banished sleep. At three o'clock our voyage began--the\nsuccession of quivering leaps, plunges, and somersaults which\nmiraculously landed us upon the French coast. I can think of no words to\ndescribe it. The first night upon the ocean was paradise and the\nperfection of peace in comparison. To this day the thought of the\nswashing water, beaten white against the port-hole before my eyes, is\nsickening. A calm--to me, of utter prostration--fell upon us long after\nthe day dawned, only to be broken by the stewardess, when sleep had\nbrought partial forgetfulness, with, \"It's nine o'clock; we're at\nDieppe, and the officers want to come in here.\" We tried to raise our\nheads. Officers! What officers? Had we crossed the Styx? Were they of\nlight or darkness? We sank back. O, what were officers to us!\n\n\"But you must get up!\"--and she began an awkward attempt at the buttons\nof those horrible boots. That recalled to life. American boots are of\nthis world, and we made a feeble attempt to don some of its vanities.\nO, how senseless did the cuffs appear that went on upside down!--the\ncollar which was fastened under one ear!--the ribbons that were\nconsigned to our pockets! Making blind stabs at our ears, \"Good\nheavens!\" we ejaculated, \"who ever invented earrings? Relics of\nbarbarism!\" We made hasty thrusts at the hair-pins, standing out from\nour heads in every direction like enraged porcupine quills; being\npulled, and twisted, and scolded by the stewardess all the while;\nhearing the thump, thump, upon our door as one pair of knuckles after\nanother awoke the echoes, as one strange voice after another shouted,\n\"Why don't those ladies come out?\" O the trembling fingers that refused\nto hold the pins!--the trembling feet that staggered up the ladder-like\nstairs as we were thrust out of the cabin--out of the cruel little\nsteamer to take refuge in one of the waiting cabs! O the blessedness of\nour thick veils and charitable wraps!\n\nI recall, as though it were a dream, the narrow, roughly-paved street of\nDieppe; a latticed window filled with flowers, and a dark-eyed maiden\npeeping through the leaves; the fish-wives in short petticoats and with\nhigh white caps, clattering over the stones in their wooden _sabots_,\nwheeling barrows of fish to the market near the station, where they\nbartered, and bargained, and gossiped. Evidently it is a woman's right\nin Normandy to work--to grow as withered, and hard, and old before the\ntime as she chooses, or as she has need; for to put away year after\nyear, as do these poor women, every grace and charm of womanhood, cannot\nbe of choice.\n\nAt the long table in the refreshment-room of the station we drank the\ntasteless tea, and ate a slice from the roll four feet in length. The\nEnglish-speaking girl who attended us found a place--rough enough, to be\nsure--where in the few moments of waiting we could complete our hasty\ntoilets. Beside us at the table, our fellow-voyagers, were two\nprofessors from a Connecticut college of familiar name, whom we had met\nin London. They joined us in the comfortable railway carriage, and added\nnot a little to the pleasant chat that shortened the long day and the\nweary journey to Paris. Our number--for the compartment held eight--was\ncompleted by a young American gentleman, and a Frenchman of evil\ncountenance, who drank wine and made love to his pretty Lizette in an\nunblushing manner, strange, and by no means pleasing, to us,\ndemonstrating the annoyance, if nothing worse, to which one is often\nsubjected in these compartment cars. It needed but one glance from the\nwindow to convince us that we were no longer in England. To be sure, the\nsky is blue, the grass green, in all lands; but in place of the level\nsweep of meadow through which we had passed across the Channel, the land\nswelled here into hills on every side. Long rows of stiff poplars\ndivided the fields, or stretched away in straight avenues as far as the\neye could reach. The English remember the beauty of a curved line; the\nFrench, with a painful rectitude, describe only right angles. Scarlet\npoppies blushed among the purple, yellow, and white wild flowers along\nthe way. The plastered cottages with their high, thatched roofs, the\ntortuous River Seine with its green islands, as we neared Paris, the\nneat little stations along the way--like gingerbread houses--made for us\na new and charming panorama. Hanging over a gate at one of these\nstations was an old man, white-haired, blind; his guide, an old woman,\nwho waited, with a kind of wondering awe stealing over her withered\nface, while he played some simple air upon a little pipe--thus asking\nalms. So simple was the air, the very shadow of a melody, that the scene\nmight have been amusing, had it not been so pitiful.\n\nAt noon we lunched in the comfortless waiting-room at Rouen, while the\nprofessors made a hasty visit to the cathedral during our stay of half\nan hour. We still suffered from the tossing of the sea, and cathedrals\npossessed no charms in our eyes. It was almost night when we reached\nParis, and joined the hurrying crowd descending from the train. It was a\ndescent into Pandemonium. There was a confusion of unintelligible sounds\nin our ears like the roll of a watchman's rattle, bringing no suggestion\nof meaning. The calmness of despair fell upon our crushed spirits, with\na sense of powerlessness such as we never experienced before or since. A\ndim recollection of school-days--of Ollendorff--rose above the chaos in\nour minds. \"Has the physician of the shoemaker the canary of the\ncarpenter?\" we repeated mechanically; and with that our minds became a\nblank.\n\nDeliverance awaited us; and when, just outside the closed gates, first\nin the expectant crowd, we espied the face of a friend, peace enveloped\nus like a garment. Our troubles were over.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE PARIS OF 1869.\n\n          The devil.--Cathedrals and churches.--The\n          Louvre.--Modern French art.--The Beauvais clock,\n          with its droll little puppets.--Virtue in a red\n          gown.--The Luxembourg Palace.--The yawning statue\n          of Marshal Ney.--Gay life by gas-light.--The\n          Imperial Circus.--The Opera.--How the emperor and\n          empress rode through the streets after the\n          riots.--The beautiful Spanish woman whose face was\n          her fortune.--Napoleon's tomb.\n\n\nIT may be the City of Destruction, the very gateway to depths unknown;\nbut with its fair, white dwellings, its fair, white streets, that\ngleamed almost like gold beneath a summer sun, it seemed much more a\nCity Celestial. It may be, as some affirm, that the devil here walks\nabroad at midday; but we saw neither the print of his hoofs upon the\nasphaltum, nor the shadow of his horns upon the cream-like Caen stone.\nWe walked, and rode, and dwelt a time within its limits; and but for a\ncertain reckless gayety that gave to the Sabbath an air of Vanity Fair,\nbut for the mallet of the workman that disturbed our Sunday worship, we\nshould never have known that we were not in the most Christian of all\nChristian cities. It is by no means imperative to do in Rome as the\nRomans do, and one need not in Paris drink absinthe or visit the Jardin\nMabille.\n\nOur first expedition was to the banker's and to the shops, and having\nreplenished our purse and wardrobe, we were prepared to besiege the\ncity. There was a day or two of rest in the gilded chairs, cushioned\nwith blue satin, of our pretty _salon_, whence we peeped down upon the\nstreet below between the yellow satin curtains that draped its wide\nFrench window; or rolled our eyes meditatively to the delicately tinted\nceiling, with its rose-colored clouds skimmed by tiny, impossible birds;\nor made abortive attempts to penetrate the secrets of the buhl cabinets,\nand to guess at the time from the pretty clocks of disordered organism;\nor admired ourselves in the mirrors which gazed at each other from\nmorning till night, for our apartments in the little Hotel Friedland we\nfound most charming.\n\nYou will hardly care for a description of the dozen, more or less,\nchurches, old, new, and restored, with which we began and ended our\nsight-seeing in Paris, where we looked upon sculptured saints without\nnumber, and studied ecclesiastical architecture to more than our hearts'\ncontent. There was St. Germain L'Auxerrois, the wicked old bell of which\ntolled the signal for the massacre of St. Bartholomew. We stood with the\n_bonnes_ and babies under the trees of the square before it, gazing up\nat the belfry with most severe countenances,--and learned, afterwards,\nthat the bell had been long since removed! There was the Madeleine of\nmore recent date, built in the form of a Greek temple, and interesting\njust now for having been the church of Father Hyacinthe, to which we\ncould for a time find no entrance. We shook the iron gate; we inquired\nin excellent English of a French shopkeeper, and found at last an open\ngateway, a little unlocked door, beyond which we spent a time of search\nand inquiry in darkness, and among wood, and shavings, and broken\nchairs, and holy dust-pans, before passing around and entering the great\nbronze doors. There were the Pantheon and St. Sulpice, grand and\nbeautiful, erected piously from the proceeds of lotteries. There was St.\nEtienne du Mont, and within one of its chapels the gilded tomb of the\npatron saint of Paris--St. Genevieve. Who she was, or what she did to\ngain this rather unenviable position, I failed to learn. Her name seems\nto have outlived her deeds. Whether she was beautiful and beloved, and\nput away earthly vanities for a holy life, or old and ugly, and bore her\nlot with a patience that won saintship, I do not know. I can only tell\nthat tapers burn always upon her tomb, and if you buy one it will burn a\nprayer for you. So we were told. There is one old church, St. Germain\ndes Prés, most beautifully colored within. Its pictures seem to have\nmelted upon the walls. But admired above all is the Sainte Chapelle, in\nthe Palais de Justice, a chapel fitted up by the fanatical St. Louis,\nwhen this palace of justice, which holds now the courts of law, was a\nroyal residence. Of course all its brightness was dimmed long ago. Its\nglories became dust, like its founder. But it has recently been\nrestored, and is a marvel of gilt, well-blended colors, and stained\nglass. A graceful spire surmounts it, but the old, cone-capped towers,\nrising from another part of the same building, possessed far greater\ninterest in our eyes; for here was the Conciergerie, where were confined\nMarie Antoinette and so many more victims of the reign of terror.\n\nOn the \"isle of the city,\" in the Seine, where, under the Roman rule, a\nfew mud huts constituted Paris, stands the church of Notre Dame, which\nwas three hundred years in building. With its spire and two square\ntowers, it may be seen from almost any part of the city. I wish you\nmight look upon the relics and the vestments which the priests wear upon\noccasions of ceremony, hidden within this church, and displayed upon the\npayment of an extra fee. I did not wonder that the Sisters of Charity,\nwho went into the little room with us, gazed aghast upon the gold and\nsilver, and precious stones.\n\nEvery one visits the galleries of the Louvre, of course. A little, worn\nshoe, belonging once to Marie Antoinette, and the old gray coat of the\nfirst emperor, were to us the most interesting objects among the relics.\nFrom out the sea of pictures rise Murillo's Madonna, the lovely face\nwith a soul behind it, shining through, and the burial of the heroine of\nChateaubriand. Do you know it? The fair form, the sweeping hair of\nAttila, and the dark lover with despair in his face? As for the Rubens\ngallery,--his fat, red, undraped women here among the clouds, surrounded\nby puffy little cherubs, had for us no charms. Rubens in Antwerp was a\nrevelation. We wandered through room after room, lighted from above,\ncrowded with paintings. To live for a time among them would be a\ndelight; to glance at them for a moment was tantalization. All around\nwere the easels of the artists who come here to sketch--sharp-featured,\nheavy-browed men, with unkempt hair and flowing beards, and in shabby\ncoats, stood before them, pallet and brushes in hand; and women by the\nscore,--some of them young and pleasing, with duennas patiently waiting\nnear by; but more often they were neither young nor beautiful, and with\nan evident renunciation of pomps and vanities. We glanced at their\ncopies curiously. Sometimes they seemed the original in miniature, and\nsometimes,--ah well, we all fail.\n\nWe looked in upon the annual exhibition of pictures at the Palais de\nl'Industrie one day, and were particularly impressed with the _nudité_\nof the modern school of French art. Pink-tinted flesh may be very\nbeautiful, but there must be something higher! We saw there, too,\nanother day, the clock on exhibition for a time before being consigned\nto its destined place at Beauvais. It was even more wonderful than the\none so famous at Strasbourg. This was of the size of an ordinary church\norgan, and of similar shape; a mass of gilt and chocolate-colored wood;\na mass of dials, great and small--of time tables, and, indeed, of tables\nfor computing everything earthly and heavenly, with dials to show the\ntime in fifty different places, and everything else that could, by any\npossible connection with time, be supposed to belong to a clock. Upon\nthe top, Christ, seated in an arm-chair, was represented as judging the\nworld, his feet upon the clouds; on either side kneeling female figures\nadored him. Just below, a pair of scales bided their time. On every peak\nstood little images, while fifty puppets peeped out of fifty windows.\nJust below the image of the Saviour, a figure emerged through an open\ndoor at the striking of every quarter of an hour,--coming out with a\nslide and occasional jerk by no means graceful. We had an opportunity of\nobserving all this in the three quarters of an hour of waiting. We\nviewed the clock upon every side, being especially interested in a\npicture at one point representing a rocky coast, a light-house, and a\nlong stretch of waves upon which labored two ships attached in some way\nto the works within. They pitched back and forth without making any\nprogress whatever, in a way very suggestive to us, who had lately\nsuffered from a similar motion. A dozen priests seated themselves with\nus upon the bench before the clock as the hand approached the hour. They\nwore the long black robes and odd little skull-caps, that fit so like a\nplaster, and which are, I am sure, kept in place by some law of\nattraction unknown to us. One, of a different order, or higher grade, in\na shorter robe and with very thin legs, encased in black stockings that\nadded to their shadowy appearance, shuffled up to his place just in time\nto throw back his head and open his mouth as the clock struck, and the\nlast judgment began. The cock upon the front gave a preliminary and weak\nflap of his wings, and emitted three feeble, squeaky crows, that must, I\nam sure, have convulsed the very puppets. Certainly they all disappeared\nfrom the windows, and something jumped into their places intended to\nrepresent flames, but which looked so much like reversed tin petticoats,\nthat we supposed for a moment they were all standing on their heads. All\nthe figures upon the peaks turned their backs upon us. The image of\nChrist began to wave its hands. The kneeling women swayed back and\nforth, clasping their own. Two angels raised to their lips long, gilt\ntrumpets, as if to blow a blast; then dropped them; then raised them a\nsecond time, and even made a third abortive attempt. From one of the\nopen doors Virtue was jerked out to be judged, Virtue in a red gown. The\nscales began to dance up and down. An angel appeared playing a guitar,\nand Virtue went triumphantly off to the right, to slow and appropriate\nmusic, an invisible organ playing meanwhile. Then Vice appeared. I\nconfess he excited my instant and profound pity. Such a poor, naked,\nwretched-looking object as he was! with his hands to his face, as though\nhe were heartily ashamed to come out in such a plight. I venture to say,\nif he had been decked out like Virtue, he might have stolen off to the\nright, and nobody been the wiser. Good clothes do a great deal in Paris.\nAs it was, the scales danced up and down a moment, and then the devil\nappeared with a sharp stick, and drove him around the corner to the\nleft, with very distant and feeble thunder for an accompaniment. That\nended the show. All the little puppets jumped back into all the little\nwindows, and we came away.\n\nSpeaking of picture galleries, we spent a pleasant hour in the gallery\nof the Luxembourg--a collection of paintings made up from the works of\nliving artists, and of those who have been less than a year deceased. It\nis sufficiently small to be enjoyable. There is something positively\noppressive in the vastness of many of these galleries. You feel utterly\nunequal to them; as though the finite were about to attempt the\ncomprehension of the infinite. One picture here, by Ary Scheffer, was\nexhibited in America, a few years since. It is the head and bust of a\ndead youth in armor--a youth with a girlish face. There are others by\nHenri Scheffer, Paulin Guerin, and a host more I will not name. One, a\nscene in the Conciergerie, \"Reading the List of the Condemned to the\nPrisoners,\" by Müller, haunted me long after the doors had swung\ntogether behind us. The palace of the Luxembourg, small, remarkable for\nthe beauty of its architecture and charming garden, built for that\ngraceless regent, Marie de Medici, is now the residence of the president\nof the Senate; and indeed the Senate itself meets here. We were shown\nthrough the rooms open to the public, the private apartments of Marie de\nMedici among them, in one of which was a bust of the regent. The garden,\nlike all gardens, is filled with trees and shrubs, flowers and\nfountains, but yet with a certain charm of its own. The festooning of\nvines from point to point was a novelty to us, as was the design of one\nof the fountains. Approaching it from the rear, we thought it a\ntomb,--perhaps the tomb of Marshal Ney, we said, whose statue we were\nseeking. It proved to be an artificial grotto, and within it, sprinkled\nwith the spray of the fountain, embowered in a mass of glistening, green\nivy, reclined a pair of pretty, marble lovers; peering in upon them from\nabove, scowled a dreadful ogre--a horrible giant. The whole effect,\ncoming upon it unexpectedly, was startling.\n\nWe had a tiresome search for this same statue of Marshal Ney. We chased\nevery marble nymph in the garden, and walked and walked, over burning\npebbles and under a scorching sun, until we almost wished he had never\nbeen shot. At last, away beyond the garden, out upon a long avenue,\nlonger and hotter if possible than the garden paths, we found\nit,--erected upon the very spot where he was executed. He stands with\narm outstretched, and mouth opened wide, as though he were yawning with\nthe wearisomeness of it all. It is a pity that he should give way to his\nfeelings so soon, since he must stand there for hundreds of years to\ncome. The guide-books say he is represented in the act of encouraging\nhis men. They must have been easily encouraged.\n\nOf the out-door gay life by gas-light, we saw less than we had hoped to\nsee in the French capital. The season was unusually cold and wet, and\nmost of the time it would have required the spirit of a martyr to sip\ncoffee upon the sidewalk. One garden concert we did attend, and found it\nvery bright and fairy-like, and all the other adjectives used in this\nconnection. We sat wrapped in shawls, our feet upon the rounds of the\nchair before us, and shivered a little, and enjoyed a great deal. We\nwent one night--in most orthodox company--to the Cirque de\nl'Impératrice, a royal amphitheatre with handsome horses, pretty\nequestriennes, and a child balanced and tossed about on horseback,\nshowing a frightened, painful smile, which made of the man who held her\na Herod in our eyes. A girl very rich in paint and powder, but somewhat\ndestitute in other particulars, skipped and danced upon a slack rope in\na most joyous and airy manner. When we came out, a haggard woman, with\nan old, worn face, was crouching in a little weary heap by the door that\nled into the stables, wrapped in an old cloak; and that was our dancing\ngirl!\n\nWe went to the opera, too; it was Les Huguenots. To this day I cannot\ntell who were the singers. I never knew, or thought, or cared. And the\nbare shoulders flashing with jewels in the boxes around us, the\n_claqueurs_ in the centre, hired to applaud, clapping their hands with\nthe regularity of clock-work, the empty imperial box, were nothing to\nthe sight of Paris portrayed within itself. You know the familiar opera;\ndo think how strange it was to see it in Paris; to look upon the stage\nand behold the Seine and the towers of Notre Dame; the excited populace\nrising up to slay and to be slain, with all the while this same fickle\nFrench people serenely smiling, and chatting, and looking upon it--the\npeople who were even then ready at a word to reënact the same scenes for\na different cause. Just outside, only a day or two before, something of\nthe same spirit, portrayed here for our amusement, had broken out again\nin the election riots. And we remembered that, as we drove around the\ncorner to the opera house, mounted soldiers stood upon either side,\nwhile every other man upon the street was the eye, and ear, and arm of\nthe emperor, who knew that the very ground beneath his fair, white city\ntottered and reeled.\n\nWe saw the emperor and empress one day, after having looked for them\nlong and in vain upon the Champs Elysées, and in the Bois de Boulogne\nwhere gay Paris disports itself. It was the morning after the riot, when\nthey drove unattended, you will remember, through the streets where the\nrioters had gathered. We were in one of the shops upon the Rue de\nRivoli. Just across the way rose the Tuileries from the sidewalk. A\ncrowd began to collect about the open archway through the palace, which\naffords entrance and egress to the great square around which the palace\nis built. \"What is it?\" we asked of the voluble Frenchman who was\ngradually persuading us that brass was gold. \"L'Empereur,\" he replied;\nwhich sent us to the sidewalk, and put from our minds all thoughts of\noxidized silver and copper-colored gold. Just within the arch paced a\nlackey in livery of scarlet and gold, wearing a powdered wig and general\nair of importance. On either side, the sentries froze into position. The\n_gendarmes_ shouted and gesticulated, clearing the streets. A mounted\nattendant emerged from the archway; there followed four bay horses\nattached to a plain, dark, open carriage; upon the front seat were two\ngentlemen, upon the back, a gentleman with a lady by his side. His hair\nwas iron gray, almost silvery. He turned his face from us as he raised\nhis hat gravely to the crowd, displaying a very perceptible bald spot\nupon the back of his head as he was whizzed around the corner and down\nthe street. And that was Napoleon III. We saw no American lady in Paris\ndressed so simply as the empress. Something of black lace draped her\nshoulders; a white straw bonnet, trimmed with black, with a few pink\nroses resting upon her hair, crowned her head. She bowed low to the\nright and left, with a peculiar, graceful motion, and a smile upon the\nface a little worn and pale, a little faded,--but yet the face we all\nknow so well. Beautiful Spanish woman, whose face was your fortune,\nthough you smiled that day upon the people, your cheeks were pale, your\neyes were full of tears.\n\nThere is nothing more wonderful in Paris than the tomb prepared to\nreceive the remains of the first Napoleon, in the chapel of the Hôtel\ndes Invalides; fitting, it would seem to be, that he should rest here\namong his old soldiers. We left the carriage at the gateway, and crossed\nthe open court, mounted the wide steps, followed the half dozen other\nparties through the open doors, and this was what we saw. At the farther\nend of the great chapel or church, an altar, approached by wide, marble\nsteps; gilt and candles embellished it, and a large, gilt cross upon it\nbore an image of the crucified Lord. All this was not unlike what we had\nseen many times. But four immense twisted columns rose from its four\ncorners--columns of Egyptian marble, writhing like spotted serpents.\nThey supported a canopy of gold, and the play of lights upon this,\nthrough the stained windows above and on either side, was indescribable.\nAs we entered the door, darkness enveloped it, save where an invisible\nsun seemed to touch the roof of gold and rest lightly upon the pillars;\nan invisible sun, indeed, for, without, the sky was heavy with clouds.\nAs we advanced, this unearthly light touched new points--the gilded\ncandlesticks, the dying Saviour, but above all the writhings of these\nmonster serpents, until the whole seemed a thing of life, a something\nwhich grew and expanded every moment, and was almost fearful to look\nupon. Filling the centre of the chapel was a circular marble wall\nbreast-high. Do you remember, in going to the old Senate chamber at\nWashington, after passing through the rotunda, the great marble\nwell-curb down which you could look into the room below? This was like\nthat, only more vast. Over it leaned a hundred people, at least, gazing\ndown upon what? A circular, roofless room, a crypt to hold a tomb; each\npillar around its circumference was the colossal figure of a woman;\nbetween these hung the tattered tri-colors borne in many a fierce\nconflict, beneath the burning suns of Egypt and over the dreary snows of\nRussia, with seventy colors captured from the enemies of France. A\nwreath of laurel in the mosaic floor surrounded the names Austerlitz,\nMarengo, Friedland, Jena, Wagram, Moscow, and Pyramids, and in the\ncentre rose the sarcophagus of Finland granite, prepared to hold the\nbody of him whose ambition knew no bounds. The letter N upon one\npolished side was the only inscription it bore. He who wrote his name in\nblood needed no epitaph. The entrance to this crypt is through bronze\ndoors, behind the altar, and gained by passing under it. On either side\nstood a colossal figure in bronze; kings they seemed to be, giant kings,\nin long black robes and with crowns of black upon their heads. One held,\nupon the black cushion in his hands, a crown of gold and a golden sword;\nthe other, a globe crowned with a cross and a golden sceptre. They were\nso grand, and dark, and still, they gazed upon us so fixedly from out\ntheir great, grave eyes, that I felt a chill in all my bones. They guard\nhis tomb. They hold his sword and sceptre while he sleeps. I almost\nexpected the great doors to swing open at the touch of his hand, and to\nsee him come forth. Over these doors were his own words: \"I desire that\nmy ashes may repose upon the banks of the Seine, in the midst of the\nFrench people I have loved so well.\" On either side, as we came out, we\nread upon the tombs the names of Bertrand and Duroc,--faithful in death!\nWe wondered idly whose remains were guarded in the simple tomb near the\ndoor. It was surrounded by an iron railing, and bore no inscription. Who\ncan it be, we said, that is nameless here among the brave? Little did we\nimagine at the time that here rested the body of the great Napoleon, as\nit was brought from St. Helena; but his spirit seemed to pervade the\nvery atmosphere, and we came out into the gloom of the day as though we\nhad, indeed, come from the presence of the dead.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nSIGHTS IN THE BEAUTIFUL CITY.\n\n          The Gobelin tapestry.--How and where it is\n          made.--Père la-Chaise.--Poor Rachel!--The baby\n          establishment.--\"Now I lay me.\"--The little\n          mother.--The old woman who lived in a shoe.--The\n          American chapel.--Beautiful women and\n          children.--The last conference-meeting.--\"I'm a\n          proof-reader, I am.\"\n\n\nBY no means least among the places of interest in Paris is the\nmanufactory of the Gobelin tapestry which serves to adorn the walls of\nthe palace _salons_. O, these long, tiresome _salons_, which must be\nvisited, though your head is ready to burst with seeing, your feet to\ndrop off with sliding and slipping over the polished floors. The wicked\n_stand_ upon slippery places, and nothing so convinced us of the\ndemoralizing effect of foreign travel as our growing ability to do the\nsame. When you have seen one or two, you have seen all. There may be\ndegrees in gorgeous splendor, but we were filled with all the\nappropriate and now-forgotten emotions at sight of the first, and one\ncannot be more than full. Many of the old palace apartments are dull and\ndingy beyond belief, by no means the marble halls of our dreams; but of\nthe others let me say something once for all. Under your feet is the\ntreacherous, bare floor of dark wood, laid in diamonds, squares, &c.;\nover your head, exquisite frescoes of gods and goddesses, and all manner\nof unearthly and impossible beings enveloped in clouds by the\nbale,--usually an apotheosis of some king or queen, or both, and, as a\nrule, of the most wicked known at that time. The Medici were especially\nglorified and raised above the flesh,--and they had need to be. On every\nside pictures in Gobelin tapestry, framed into the walls, often so large\nas to cover the entire space from corner to corner, from cornice to\nwithin a few feet of the floor, and in this latter space doors, formed\nof a panel sometimes, for the entrance and egress of servants. Imagine,\nwith all this, the gilt, and stucco, and wood-carving; the flowers, and\narabesques, and entwined initials; the massive chandeliers, with\nglittering pendants; the mantels of rare marbles, of porphyry, and\nmalachite; the cabinets, and tables, and escritoires of marqueterie and\nmosaic; the gilded chairs, stiff and stark, richly covered; the bronzes,\nvases, and curious clocks: and over all the air of having never been\nused from all time, and of continuing to be a bare show to all\neternity,--and you have a faint conception of the _salons_ of half the\npalaces.\n\nAs for the tapestry, pray don't confound it with the worsted dogs and\nRebekahs-at-the-Well with which we sometimes adorn (?) our homes, since\none would never in any way suggest the other. In these every delicate\nline is faithfully reproduced, and the effect exactly that of an oil\npainting. After long years the colors fade; and we were startled\nsometimes, in the old palaces, to come upon one of these gray shadows\nof pictures, out from which, perhaps, a pair of wonderful eyes alone\nwould seem to shine. In old times the rough walls of the grim prison\npalaces were hung with tapestry wrought by the fair fingers of court\nladies, the designs of tournament and battle being rudely sketched by\ngay gallants. Many a bright dream was worked into the canvas, I doubt\nnot, never found upon the pattern; many a sweet word said over the task\nthat beguiled the dull hours, and kept from mischief idle hands. But in\nthe reign of Louis XIV. the art of weaving tapestry was brought from\nFlanders, and a manufactory established on the outskirts of Paris which\nstill remains. To visit it a pass is required. Accordingly we addressed\na note of solicitation to some high official, and in due time came a\npermit for Madame K. and family; and an ill-assorted family we must have\nappeared to the official at the gate. There were the rooms, hung with\nspecimens of the tapestry, for which we did not care, and then the six\ndevoted to the weaving; long, low, and narrow they were, with hand-looms\nranged down one side. Through the threads of the warp we could see the\nweavers sitting behind their work, each with his box of worsteds and\npattern beside him. The colors were wound upon quills, numbers of which\nhung, each by its thread, from the half-completed work. Taking one of\nthese in one hand, the workman dexterously separated the threads of the\nwarp with the other, and passed the quill through, pressing down the one\nstitch thus formed with its pointed end. You can imagine how slow this\nwork must be. How tiresome a task it is to delight the eyes of princes!\nThe making of carpets, which has been recently added, is equally\ntiresome. This, too, is hand work, they being woven in some way over a\nround stick, and then cut and trimmed with a pair of shears. To make one\nrequires from five to ten years, and their cost is from six to twenty\nthousand dollars. About six hundred weavers are said to be here, though\nwe saw but a small proportion of that number. They receive only from\nthree to five hundred dollars a year, with a pension of about half as\nmuch if they are disabled.\n\nFrom the Gobelins we drove across the Seine again, and out to Père\nla-Chaise, where stood once the house of the confessor of Louis XIV.,\nfrom whom the cemetery takes its name, the Jesuit priest through whose\ninfluence the edict of Nantes was revoked. A kind of ghastly imitation\nof life it all seemed--the narrow houses on either side of the paved\nstreets, that were not houses at all, hung with dead flowers and\ncorpse-like wreaths, stained an unnatural hue. We peered through the\nbars of the locked gate opening into the Jews' quarter, trying to\ndistinguish the tomb where lie the ashes of a life that blazed, and\nburned itself out. Poor Rachel! Through the solemn streets, among the\nquiet dwellings of the noiseless city, whence comes no sound of joy or\ngrief, where they need no candle, neither light of the sun, we walked a\nwhile, then plucked a leaf or two, and came away.\n\nOne day, when the sun lay hot upon the white streets of the beautiful\ncity, we searched among the shops of the crooked Faubourg St. Honoré for\na number forgotten now, and the Créche, where the working mothers may\nleave their children during the day. In another and more quiet street\nwe found it. We pulled the bell before a massive gateway; the wide doors\nopened upon a smiling portress, who led the way across the paved court\nto the house, where she pointed up some stairs, and left us to mount and\nturn until it was no longer possible, until a confusion of doors barred\nour way, when we rapped upon one. Another was opened, and we found\nourselves among the babies. There were, perhaps, twenty in all, the\nlarger children being in the school-room below; but even twenty\ntoddling, rolling babies, looking so very like the same image done in\nputty over and over again, appears an alarming and unlimited number when\ntaken in a body. They rolled beneath our feet, they clung to our skirts,\nthey peeped out, finger in mouth, from behind the doors, they kicked\npink toes up from the swinging cradles, and in fact, like the clansmen\nof Rhoderic Dhu, appeared in a most startling manner from the most\nunexpected places. Plump little things they were, encased in shells of\nblue-checked aprons, from the outer one of which they were\nsurreptitiously slipped upon our entrance to disclose a fresher one\nbeneath. How long this process could have continued with a similar happy\nresult, we did not inquire. Every head was tied up in a tight little\nnight-cap, giving them the appearance of so many little bag puddings.\nEvery face was a marvel of health and contentment, with one kicking,\nscreaming exception upon the floor. \"Eengleesh,\" explained the Sister of\nCharity who seemed to have them in charge, giving a sweeping wipe to the\neyes, nose, and mouth, gradually liquidizing, of this one, and trying in\nvain to pacify a nature that seemed peaceless. Who was its mother, or\nhow the little stranger chanced to be here, we did not learn. On either\nside of the long, narrow room hung the white-curtained cradles, each\nwith its pretty, pink quilt. At one end was an altar, most modest in its\nappointments, consisting of hardly more than a crucifix and a vase of\nflowers upon the mantel. As we entered the room, the sister stood before\nit with a circle of white caps and blue checked aprons around her, a\ncircle of little clasped hands, of upturned eyes and lisping lips,\nrepeating what might have been, \"Now I lay me,\" for anything we knew.\nOur entrance brought wandering eyes and thoughts.\n\nAt the opposite end of the room, a wide, long window swung open,\nrevealing a pleasant garden down below, all green and blossoming, with\nan image of the Virgin half hid among the vines. Cool, and fresh, and\ngreen it seemed after the glare of the hot streets, a pleasant picture\nfor the baby eyes. Out from this window the little feet could trot upon\nthe guarded roof of a piazza. A little chair, a broken doll, and\nlimbless horse here were familiar objects to the eyes of the mothers in\nour party, and when two children seized upon one block with a\ndetermination which threatened a breach of the peace, we were convinced\nthat even baby nature was the same the world over. Supper time came, and\nthe children were gathered together in a small room, before the drollest\nlittle table imaginable--a kind of elongated doughnut, raised a foot\nfrom the floor, with a circular seat around it. All the little outer\nshells of blue check were slipped on, all the little fat bodies lifted\nover and set into their places, to roll off, or about, at will. A grace\nwas said, to us, I think, since all the little eyes turned towards us,\nand a plate of oatmeal porridge put before each one. Some ate with a\nrelish, and a painful search over the face with a spoon for the open,\nwaiting mouth; some leaned back to stare at the company; and others\npersisted in dipping into the dish of their next neighbor. One little\nthing, hardly more than a year old, drew down the corners of her mouth\nin a portentous manner, when the motherly one beside her, of the\nadvanced age of three years, perhaps, rapped on the table with her\nspoon, and patted the doleful little face, smiling all the while, until\nshe actually drew out smiles in return. The dear little mother! An\nattendant with a homely face, creased into all manner of good-natured\nlines, resolved herself into the old woman who lived in a shoe, holding\ntwo babies and the porridge dish in her lap, balancing one upon the end\nof the low bench beside her, while two or three more stood at her knee,\nclinging to her apron. It was like a nest of open-mouthed birdlings.\nBlessings on the babies, and those, whether of our faith or not, who\nteach and care for them, we thought, as we came away. \"Inasmuch as ye\nhave done it unto one of the least of these, ye did it unto me,\" said\nthe Master.\n\nAlthough I said nothing of our church-going in London, I cannot pass\nover our American chapel in Paris, with its carved, umbrella-like\ncanopy, shading the good Dr. R., who did so much socially, as well as\nspiritually, for Americans there. Here came many whose names are well\nknown; among them our minister to France, an elderly gentleman of\nunpretending dress and manner, with a kindly, care-worn face. And here\ngathered also a company of beautiful women and children, proving the\ntruth of all that has been said of our countrywomen. A blending of all\ntypes were they, as our people are a blending of all nationalities, each\nmore lovely than the other, and all making up a picture well worth\nseeing. I wish I might say as much for the opposite sex. One gentleman,\nwho wore a red rose always in his button-hole, and turned his back upon\nthe minister to stare at the women, had a handsome though _blasé_ face,\nand more than one head above the pews would have been marked anywhere;\nbut the women and children bore away the palm. The delicate, sensitive\nfaces which characterize American women, whether the effect of climate,\nmanner of life, or of the nerves for which we are so celebrated, are\nfound nowhere else, I am sure.\n\nBesides the Sabbath services a weekly prayer-meeting was held here. They\nwere singing some sweet familiar hymn as we entered one evening and took\nour place among the pilgrims and strangers like ourselves. It was the\nlast gathering for the winter. Some were off for home, some for a summer\nof travel; only a few, with the pastor, were to remain. One followed\nanother in words of retrospection, and regret at parting, until a pall\nsettled over the little company--until even we, who had never been there\nbefore, wiped our eyes because of the general dolefulness. A hush and\nuniversal mistiness pervaded the air of the dimly-lighted house; the\nassembly seemed about to pass out of existence, Niobe-like. Then up rose\nDr. R., the pastor. I wondered what he could say to add to the gloom;\nsomething like this, perhaps: \"Dear people, everybody is off; let us\nshut up the church, lock the door, and throw away the key. Receive the\nbenediction.\" But no; I wish you might feel the thrill that went through\nthe little company as his words fell from his lips. I wish I dared\nattempt to repeat them. \"And now to you who go,\" he said, at last, \"who\ntake with you something of our hearts, be sure our prayers will follow\nyou. Keep us in memory; but, above all, keep in memory your church vows.\nMake yourselves known as Christians among Christians. And when you have\nreached home--the home to which our thoughts have so often turned\ntogether--let this be a lesson. When summer comes and you leave the city\nfor the country, for the mountains, for the sea-side, take your religion\nwith you. Search out some struggling little church with a discouraged\npastor,--you'll not look far or long to find such a one,--and work for\nthat, as you have worked for us. And one thing more; send your friends\nwho are coming abroad to us. Send us the Christians, for we need them,\nand by all means send us those who are not Christians; they may need us;\nand the Lord bless you, and keep you in all your goings, and give you\npeace.\"\n\nThen the people gathered in knots for last words--for hand-clasps and\ngood-byes. Now a spirit of peace and good will having fallen upon us\nwith the pastor's benediction, we gazed wistfully upon the strangers in\nthe hope of finding one familiar face; but there was none; so we came\nsorrowfully down the aisle. The door was almost reached when a sharp,\ntwanging voice behind us began, \"I'm sent out by X. & Y., book\npublishers.\" \"O,\" said I to the friend at my side, \"I believe I will\nspeak to that man. I know Mr. X., and I do so want to speak to\nsomebody.\" How he accomplished the introduction I cannot tell, but in a\nmoment my hand was grasped by that of a stout little man, with bushy\nhair and twinkling eyes. \"Know Mr. X.? Mr. Q. X.?\" he began. To tell the\ntruth I had not that honor, my acquaintance having been with his\nbrother; but there was no time to explain, and retreat was equally\nimpossible; so I replied that my father knew him well; then thinking\nthat something more was necessary to explain the sudden and intense\ninterest manifested in his behalf, added, desperately, \"indeed,\nintimately.\" To this he paid no manner of attention,--I doubt if he\nheard it,--but rattled on: \"Fine man, Mr. X., Mr. Q. X. Know Mr. Y.?\nFine man, Mr. Y.; been abroad a year; I'm goin' out to meet him, I am.\nHe's in Switzerland, Mr. Y. is; been abroad a year. I'm a proof-reader,\nI am. I s'pose you know what a proof-reader is.\" \"Yes,\" I succeeded in\ninserting while he took breath, remembering some amateur attempts of my\nown in that direction. He began anew: \"I'm sent out by X. & Y.; expect\nto find Mr. Y. in Switzerland; fine man--\" Will he never stop, I\nthought, beginning a backward retreat from the pew down the aisle, with\nall the while ringing in my ears, \"I'm a proof-reader, I am,\" &c. \"Don't\nlaugh, pray don't,\" I said to the friends waiting at the door. \"It's\ndreadful--is it not?\" What became of him we never knew, but in all\nprobability the sexton removed him--still vocal--to the sidewalk that\nnight; where, since we do not know for how long a time he was wound up,\nhe may be iterating and reiterating to this day the interesting fact of\nhis occupation, with the eulogy upon Messrs. X. & Y.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nSHOW PLACES IN THE SUBURBS OF PARIS.\n\n          The river omnibuses.--Sèvres and its\n          porcelain.--St. Cloud as it was.--The crooked\n          little town.--Versailles.--Eugenie's \"spare\n          bedroom.\"--The queen who played she was a farmer's\n          wife.--Seven miles of paintings.--The portraits of\n          the presidents.\n\n\nTHERE are four ways of going to St. Cloud, from Paris, says the\nguide-book; we chose the fifth, and took one of the little\nsteamboats--the river omnibuses--that follow the course of the Seine,\nstopping at the piers along the city, which occur almost as often as the\nstreet crossings. Very insignificant little steamers they are, made up\nof puff, and snort, and smoke, a miniature deck, and a man with a big\nbell. Up the river we steamed through a mist that hid everything but the\ngreen banks, the pretty villas whose lawns drabbled their skirts in the\nriver, and after a time the islands that seemed to have dropped cool,\nwet, and green into the middle of the stream. We plunged beneath the\ndark arches of the stone bridges--the Pont d'Alma not to be forgotten,\nwith its colossal sentinels on either side of the middle arch, calm,\nwhite, and still, leaning upon their muskets, their feet almost dipping\ninto the water, their great, stony eyes gazing away down the river.\nWhat is it they seem to see beyond the bend? What is it they watch and\nwait for, gun in hand? We pulled our wraps about us, found a sheltered\nplace, and went on far beyond our destination, through the gray vapor\nthat gathered sometimes into great, plashing drops to fall upon the\ndeck, or, hovering in mid-air, wiped out the distance from the landscape\nas effectually as the sweep of a painter's brush, while it softened and\nspiritualized everything near, from the sharply outlined eaves, and\ngables, and narrow windows of the village struggling up from the water,\nto the shadowy span of the bridges that seemed to rest upon air. Then\ndown with the rain and the current we swept again, to land at the\nforsaken pier of Sèvres, from which we made our way over the pavings, so\ninviting in these French towns for missile or barricade, to the\nporcelain factory. No fear of missing it, since it is the one object of\ninterest to strangers in the town; and whatever question we asked, the\nreply would have been the pointing of the finger in that one direction.\nOnce there, we clattered and slipped over the tiled floor after a polite\nattendant, through its many show-rooms, and among its wilderness of\npottery, ancient and modern. The manufactory was established by--I'm\nsure I don't know whom--in seventeen hundred and--something, at\nVincennes, quite the other side of Paris; but a few years later, in the\nreign of Louis XV., was transferred to Sèvres, and put under the\ndirection of government. It is almost impossible to gain permission to\nvisit the workshops, but a permit to pass through the show-rooms can\neasily be obtained. There were queer old-fashioned attempts at glazed\nware here, some of them adorned with pictures like those we used to see\nin our grandmothers' china closets, of puffy little pink gentlemen and\nladies ambling over a pink foreground; a pink mountain, of pyramidal\nform, rising from the wide-rimmed hat of the roseate gentlemen; a pink\nlake standing on end at the feet of the lady, and a little pink house,\nupon which they might both have sat comfortably, with a few clouds of\njeweller's cotton completing the picture. A striking contrast were these\nto the marvels of frailty and grace of later times. The rooms were hung\nwith paintings upon porcelain, the burial of Attila, which we had seen\nat the Louvre, among them. Every conceivable model of vase, pitcher, and\njar was here--quaint, beautiful conceptions of form adorned by the hand\nof skilful artists, from mammoth vases, whirling upon stationary\npedestals, to the most delicate cup that ever touched red lips.\n\nAt noon we strolled over to St. Cloud, a pleasant walk of a mile,\nbeginning with a shaded avenue, rough as a country road; then on, down a\nstreet leading to the gates of the park of St. Cloud--a street so vain\nof its destination that it was actually lifted up above the gardens on\neither side. From the wide gates we passed into a labyrinth of shaded,\nclean-swept ways, and followed one to the avenue of the fountains, where\nwe sat upon the edge of a stone basin to await the opening of the\npalace. For do not imagine, dear reader, that you can run in and out of\npalaces without ceremony and at all hours of the day. There is an\nappointed time; there is the gathering outside of the curious; there is\nthe coming of a man with rattling, ringing keys; there is the throwing\nopen of wide gates and massive doors, and then--and not until then--the\nentering in. As for the fountains, next to those at Versailles they have\nbeen widely celebrated; but as they only played upon Sundays and fête\ndays, we did not see them. Their Sunday gowns of mist and flowing water\nwere laid aside, and naked and bare enough they were this day. The wide\nbasins, the lions and dolphins, were here, with the marble nymphs, and\nfauns and satyrs, that make a shower-bath spectacle of themselves upon\ngala days. When the hour refused to strike, and we grew hungry,--as one\nwill among the rarest and most wonderful things,--we left the park, to\nfind the crooked little town that sits in the dust always at the feet of\npalaces. Its narrow streets ran close up to the gates, and would have\nrun in had they not been shut. Here in the low, smoke-stained room of an\ninn that was only a wine-shop, we spent the time of waiting,--our elbows\nupon the round, dark table, which, with the dirt and wooden chairs, made\nup its only furnishing,--sipping the sour wine, cutting slices from the\nlong, melancholy stick of bread, all dust and ashes, and nibbling the\ncheese that might have vied with Samson for strength. The diamond-paned\nwindow was flung wide open, for the air seemed soiled and stained, like\nthe floor. Just across the narrow, empty street, an old house elbowed\nour inn. The eaves of its thatched roof were tufted with moss, out from\nwhich rose a mass of delicate pink blossoms--pretty innocents, fairly\nblushing for shame of their surroundings. Through the long passage-way\ncame the sound of high-pitched voices--of a strange jargon from the\nroom opening upon the street, where a heavy-eyed maid, behind a pewter\nbar, served the blue-bloused workmen gathered about the little tables.\n\nThe white palace of St. Cloud, with its Corinthian columns, stood\ndaintily back from its gates and the low-bred town; but its long wings\nhad run down, like curious children, to peep out through the bars; so,\nyou will see, it formed three sides of a square. It had lately been\nrefurnished for the prince imperial. The grand _salons_ need not be\ndescribed; one is especially noted as having been the place where a baby\nwas once baptized, who is now ex-emperor of France. In the same room the\ncivil contract of marriage between Napoleon I. and Marie Louise was\ncelebrated. A few elegant but less spacious rooms were interesting from\nhaving been the private apartments of the poor queens and empresses who\nhave shared the throne of France. Gorgeous they were in tapestry and\ngilding, filled with a gaping crowd of visitors, and echoing to the\nvoice of a voluble guide. Royal fingers may have touched the pretty\ntrinkets lying about; royal forms reclined upon the soft couches; royal\naching hearts beat to the tick of the curious gilt clock, that bore as\nmany faces as a woman, some one wickedly said; but it was impossible to\nrealize it, or to believe that high heels, and panniers, and jaunty hats\nupon sweet-faced, shrill-voiced American girls had not ruled and reigned\nhere always, as they did this day.\n\nVersailles lies out beyond St. Cloud, but we gave to it another day. We\nwere a merry party, led by Dr. R., who left the train at the station,\nand filled the omnibus for the palace. There was an air of having seen\nbetter days about the city, which was at one time the second of\nimportance in France; it fed and fattened upon the court, and when at\nlast the court went away not to return, it came to grief. The most vivid\nrecollection I have of the great court-yard, around which extend three\nsides of the palace, is of its round paving-stones--that seemed to have\nrisen up preparatory to crying out--and the grove of weather-stained\nstatues upon high pedestals,--generals, cardinals, and statesmen who\nhated and connived against each other in life, doomed now in stone to\nstare each other out of countenance. I am sure we detected a wry face\nhere and there, to say nothing of clinched fists. It is a gloomy old\ncourt-yard at best. The front of the main building is all that remains\nof the old hunting-seat of Louis XIII., which his son would not suffer\nto be destroyed. It is of dingy, mildewed brick, that can never in any\npossible light appear palatial; and so blackened and purple-stained are\nthe statues before it that they might have been just brought from the\nMorgue. The whole palace is only a show place now--a museum of painting\nand statuary. As for the celebrated gardens, we walked for hours, and\nstill they stretched away on every side. We explored paths wide and\nnarrow, crooked and straight, and saw clipped trees by the mile, with\ngrottoes and the skeletons of the fountains that, like naughty children,\nplay o' Sundays, and all the wonderful trees, shrubs, and flowers\nbrought from the ends of the earth, and ate honey gingerbread (flavored\nwith extract of turpentine) before an open booth, and were ready to\nfaint with weariness; and when at last a broad avenue opened before us\nwith the Trianons, which must be seen, at the farther end, we would not\nhave taken the whole place as a gift. It must have been at this point\nthat we fortified ourselves with the gingerbread.\n\nThe Grand Trianon alone were we permitted to enter. It is in the form of\nan Italian villa, with a ground floor only, and long windows opening\nupon delightful gardens. Like Versailles, it is now a mere show,\nalthough a suit of apartments was fitted up here some time since, in\nanticipation of a neighborly visit from Queen Victoria to Eugenie,\nmaking of the little palace a kind of guest chamber, a spare bedroom. As\nwe followed a winding path through the park, we came suddenly upon an\nopen glade, surrounded and shaded by forest trees. Over the tiny lake,\nin the centre, swans were sailing. Half hidden among the wide-spread,\nsweeping branches of the trees were the scattered farm-houses of a\ndeserted village--only half a dozen in all, of rude, half Swiss\narchitecture, made to imitate age and decay, quaintly picturesque. Here\nMarie Antoinette and her court played at poverty. Do you remember how,\nwhen she grew weary of solemn state, she came here with a few favored\nones to forget her crown, and dream she was a farmer's wife? The dairy\nwas empty, the marble slab bare upon which she made butter for her\nguests. Just beyond was the mill, but the wheel was still. It was a\npleasant dream--a dream of Arcadia. Ah, but there was a fearful\nawakening! \"The poorest peasant in the land,\" said the queen, \"has one\nlittle spot which she can call her own; the Queen of France asks no\nmore.\" So she shut the gates upon the people who had claimed and held\nthe right, from all time, to wander at will through the gardens of\ntheir kings. Then they hated her, whom they had greeted with shouts of\nwelcome when she came a bride from over the border. \"The Austrian! the\nAustrian!\" they hissed through the closed gates. And one day they\ndragged her out from a bare cell in the Conciergerie,--no make-believe\nof rough walls, of coarse fare there,--they bound the slender hands\nbehind her, they thrust into a prison cart the form that had been used\nto rest upon down and silken cushions, and bore her over the rough\nstones to the scaffold. Ah, it makes one shudder!\n\nTo see the two hundred rooms of the palace of Versailles requires a day,\nat least; but we, fearful that this might be our last opportunity,\ndetermined to spend the remaining hour or two and our last atom of\nstrength in the attempt. A wandering cabman pounced upon us as we came\ndown the avenue from the Trianons, and bore us back to the palace, where\nwe toiled up and down the grand stairway, and peeped into the chapel\nthat had echoed to the mockery of worship in the time of the king who\nbuilt all this--the king who loved everybody's wife but his own--so\nfaithlessly! There was a dizzy hurrying through corridors lined with\nstatuary, through one _salon_ after another hung with Horace Vernet's\npaintings describing the glories of France--the crowning of its kings,\nthe reception of its ambassadors, the signing of its treaties, the\nwinning of its battles; but was all this bloodshed, and all this agony\ndepicted upon canvas, for the glory of France? There were immense\ngalleries, where, on every side, from cornice to floor, one was\nconscious of nothing but smoke and cannon, wounds and gore, and rolling\neyes. We walked over the prescribed three miles and a half of floors\nslippery as ice, and gazed upon the seven miles of pictures, with a\nfeeling less of pleasure or gratified curiosity than of satisfaction at\nhaving _done_ Versailles. Room after room was devoted to portraits, full\nlengths and half lengths, side faces and full fronts; faces to be\nremembered, if one had not been in such mortal haste, and faces that\nwould never have been missed from the ermined robes. In a quiet corner\nwe were startled to find some of our good presidents staring down upon\nus from the wall. A mutual surprise it seemed to be. But if we Americans\nmust be awkward and clownish to the last degree, half civilized, and but\none remove from barbarism, don't let us put the acme of all this upon\ncanvas, and hang it in the palace of kings. Here was President Grant\nrepresented in the saloon of a steamboat,--America to the last,--one leg\ncrossed, one heel upon the opposite knee, and his head about to sink\ninto his coat collar in an agony of terror at finding himself among\nquality. His attitude might have been considered graceful and dignified\nin a bar-room, or even in the saloon of a Mississippi steamer; but it\nutterly failed in both particulars in the Palace of Versailles, among\ncourtly men and high-bred women.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA VISIT TO BRUSSELS.\n\n          To Brussels.--The old and new city.--The paradise\n          and purgatory of dogs.--The Hôtel de Ville and\n          Grand Place.--St. Gudule.--The picture\n          galleries.--Wiertz and his odd\n          paintings.--Brussels lace and an hour with the\n          lace-makers. How the girls found Charlotte\n          Brontë's school.--The scene of \"Villette.\"\n\n\nTHERE were one or two more excursions from Paris, and then, when we had\ngrasped the fat hand of Monsieur, our landlord, and kissed the dark\ncheeks of Madame, his wife, and submitted to the same from Mademoiselle,\ntheir daughter, with light hearts, serene consciences, and the ----\nfamily we started for Brussels. It is a six hours' ride by rail.\n\nAlmost as soon as the line between France and Belgium is passed, the low\nhills drop away, the thatch-roofed cottages give place to those of\nwhitewashed brick, with bright, red-tiled roofs. All along the way were\nthe straight poplars overrun with ivy, and the land was cared for,\ncoaxed, and fairly driven to the highest point of cultivation. Women\nwere at work in the fields, and more than one Maud Müller leaned upon\nher rake to gaze after us. Soon, when there were only level fields\nbeneath a level sky, the windmills began to appear in the distance,\nslowly swinging the ghostly arms that became long, narrow sails as we\nneared them. At two o'clock we reached Brussels, after being nearly\nresolved into our original element--dust. Nothing but a sand-hill ever\nequalled the appearance we presented when we stepped from the train; nor\ndid we need anything so much as to be thrown over a line and beaten like\na carpet when we finally gained our hotel.\n\nThe old city of Brussels is crooked, and dull, and picturesque; but\njoined to it--like an old man with a gay young wife--is the beautiful\nParis-like upper town, with its houses covered with white stucco, and a\nlittle mirror outside of every window, placed at an angle of forty-five\ndegrees, so that Madame, sitting within, can see all that passes upon\nthe street, herself unseen. Here in the new town are the palaces, the\nfinest churches, the hotels, and Marie Therese's park, where young and\nold walk, and chat, and make eyes at each other summer evenings. Scores\nof strings, with a poodle at one extremity and a woman at the other, may\nhere be seen, with little rugs laid upon the ground for the pink-eyed\npuff-balls to rest upon. Truly Brussels is the paradise and purgatory of\ndogs. Anywhere upon the streets you may see great, hungry-eyed animals\ndragging little carts pushed by women; and it is difficult to determine\nwhich is the most forlorn--the dog, the cart, or the woman. We never\nunderstood before what it was to \"work like a dog.\" At one extremity of\nthe park was the white, new Senate-house; opposite, the gray,\nbarrack-like palace of the king; upon the third side, among others, our\nhotel. Here we were happy in finding another family of friends. With\nthem we strolled down into the old town, after dinner, taking to the\nmiddle of the street, in continental fashion, as naturally as ducks to\nwater; crossing back and forth to stare up at a church or into a shop\nwindow,--straggling along one after another in a way that would have\nbeen marked at home, but was evidently neither new nor strange here,\nwhere the native population attended to their own affairs with a zeal\nworthy of reward, and other parties of sight-seers were plying their\nvocation with a perseverance that would have won eminence in any other\nprofession. Through crooked by-ways we wandered to the Grand Place of\nthe old city--a paved square shut in by high Spanish-gabled houses\nornamented with the designs of the various guilds. From the windows of\none hung the red, yellow, and black Belgian flag. There was no rattle of\ncarts, no clatter of hoofs. Down upon the dark paving-stones a crowd of\nwomen, old and young, with handkerchiefs crossed over their bosoms, were\nholding a flower-market. Just behind them rose the grim statues of the\ntwo counts, Egmont and Van Horn,--who lost their heads while striving to\ngain their cause against Spanish tyranny and the Spanish\nInquisition,--and the old royal palace, blackened and battered by time\nand the hand of forgotten sculptors, until it seemed like the mummy of a\npalace, half eaten away. Just before them was the Hôtel de Ville, with\nits beautiful tower of gray stone, its roof a mass of dormer windows. It\ncomes to me like a picture now--the gathering shadows of a summer night,\nthe time-worn houses, lovely in decay, the tawdry flag, and the heads of\nthe old women nodding over their flowers.\n\nBrussels has a grand church dedicated to Saints Michael and Gudule. If I\ncould only give to you, who have not seen them, some idea of the\nvastness and beauty of these cathedrals! But descriptions are tiresome,\nand dimensions nobody reads. If I could only tell you how far extending\nthey are, both upon earth and towards heaven--how they seem not so much\nto have been built stone upon stone, as to have stood from the\nfoundation of the world, solitary, alone, until, after long ages, some\nstrolling town came to wonder, and worship, and sit at their feet in\nawe! We crept in through the narrow door that shut behind us with a dull\necho. A chill like that of a tomb pervaded the air, though a summer sun\nbeat down upon the stones outside. A forest of clustered columns rose\nall around us. Far above our heads was a gray sky, the groined arches\nwhere little birds flew about. Stained windows gleamed down the vast\nlength, broken by the divisions and subdivisions,--one, far above the\ngrand entrance, like the wheel of a chariot of fire. All along the\nwalls, over the altar, and filling the chapel niches, were pictures of\nsaints, and martyrs, and blessed virgins, that seemed in the dim\ndistance like dots upon the wall. Muffled voices broke upon the\nstillness. Far up the nave a little company of worshippers knelt before\nthe altar--workingmen who had thrown down mallet and chisel for a\nmoment, to creep within the shadows of the sanctuary; market-women, a\nstray water-cress still clinging to the folds of their gowns; children\ndropping upon the rush kneeling-chairs, to mutter a prayer God grant\nthey feel, with ever and anon, above the murmur of the prayer, above the\ndrone of white-robed priests, the low, full chant from hidden singers,\nechoing through the arches and among the pillars, following us down the\naisles to where we read upon the monuments the deeds of some old knight\nof heathen times, whose image has survived his dust--whose works have\nfollowed him.\n\nAfter leaving the church we wandered among and through the picture\ngalleries in the old palaces of the city,--galleries of modern Belgian\nart, with one exception, where were numberless flat old Flemish\npictures, and dead Christs, livid, ghastly, horrible to look upon. The\nbest of Flemish art is not in Brussels. Among the galleries of modern\npaintings, that of the odd artist, recently deceased, Wiertz, certainly\ndeserves mention. It contains materials for a fortune to an enterprising\nYankee. The subjects of the pictures are allegorical, parabolical, and\ndiabolical, the scenes being laid in heaven, hell, and mid-air. In one,\nNapoleon I. is represented surrounded by the flames of hell, folding his\narms in the Napoleonic attitude, while his soldiers crowd around him to\nhold up maimed limbs and ghastly wounds with a denunciatory and angry\nair. Widows and orphans thrust themselves before his face with\nanathematizing countenances. In fact, the situation is decidedly\nunpleasant for the hero, and one longs for a bucket of cold water. Many\nof the pictures were behind screens, and to be seen through\npeep-holes--one of them a ghastly thing, of coffins broken open and\ntheir risen occupants emerging in shrouds. Upon the walls around the\nroom were painted half-open doors and windows with pretty girls peeping\nout; close down to the floor, a dog kennel, from which its savage\noccupant was ready to spring; just above him, from a latticed window,\nan old _concierge_ leaned out to ask our business. Even in the pictures\nhanging upon the walls was something of this trickery. In one the foot\nand hand of a giant were painted out upon the frame, so that he seemed\nto be just stepping out from his place; and I am half inclined to think\nthat many of the people walking about the room were originally framed\nupon the walls.\n\nBrussels is always associated in one's mind with its laces. We visited\none of the manufactories. A dozen or twenty women were busy in a sunny,\ncheerful room, working out the pretty leaves and flowers, with needle\nand thread, for the _point_ lace, or twisting the bobbins among the\ninnumerable pins in the cushion before them to follow the pattern for\nthe _point appliqué_. When completed, you know, the delicate designs are\nsewed upon gossamer lace. Upon a long, crimson-covered table in the room\nabove were spread out, in tempting array, the results of this tiresome\nlabor--coiffures that would almost resign one to a bald spot,\nhandkerchiefs insnaring as cobwebs, _barbes_ that fairly pierced our\nhearts, and shawls for which there are no words. I confess that these\nsoft, delicate things have for women a wonderful charm--that as we\nturned over and over in our hands the frail, yellow-white cobwebs, some\nof us more than half forgot the tenth commandment.\n\n_Table-d'hôte_ over, one evening, \"Where shall we go? What can we do?\"\nqueried one of the four girls in our party, two of whom had but just now\nescaped from the thraldom of a French _pensionnat_.\n\n\"It would be so delightful if we could walk out for once by ourselves.\nIf there were only something to see--somewhere to go.\"\n\n\"Girls!\" exclaimed Axelle, suddenly, \"was not the scene of _Villette_\nlaid in Brussels? Is not Charlotte Brontë's boarding-school here? I am\nsure it is. Suppose we seek it out--we four girls alone.\"\n\n\"But how, and where?\" and \"Wouldn't that be fine?\" chorused the others.\nThere was a hasty search through guide-books; but alas! not a clew could\nwe find, not a peg upon which to hang the suspicions that were almost\ncertainties.\n\n\"I am sure it was here,\" persisted Axelle. \"I wish we had a _Villette_.\"\n\n\"We could get one at an English library,\" suggested another.\n\n\"If there is any English library here,\" added a third, doubtfully.\n\nEvidently that must be our first point of departure. We could ask for\ninformation there. Accordingly we planned our crusade, as girls do,--the\nelders smiling unbelief, as elders will,--and sallied out at last into\nthe summer sunshine, very brave in our hopes, very glad in our unwonted\nliberty. A _commissionaire_ gave us the address of the bookstore we\nsought as we were leaving the hotel. \"There are no obstacles in the path\nof the determined,\" we said, stepping out upon the Rue Royale. Across\nthe way was the grand park, a maze of winding avenues, shaded by lofty\ntrees, with nymphs, and fauns, and satyrs hiding among the shrubbery,\nand with all the tortuous paths made into mosaic pavement by the\nshimmering sunlight. But to Axelle _Villette_ was more real than that\nJune day.\n\n\"Do you remember,\" she said, \"how Lucy Snow reached the city alone and\nat night?--how a young English stranger conducted her across the park,\nshe following in his footsteps through the darkness, and hearing only\nthe tramp, tramp, before her, and the drip of the rain as it fell from\nthe soaked leaves? This must be the park.\"\n\nWhen we had passed beyond its limits, we espied a little square, only a\nkind of alcove in the street, in the centre of which was the statue of\nsome military hero. Behind it a quadruple flight of broad stone steps\nled down into a lower and more quiet street. Facing us, as we looked\ndown, was a white stuccoed house, with a glimpse of a garden at one\nside.\n\n\"See!\" exclaimed Axelle, joyfully; \"I believe this is the very place.\nDon't you remember when they had come out from the park, and Lucy's\nguide left her to find an inn near by, she ran,--being frightened,--and\nlosing her way, came at last to a flight of steps like these, which she\ndescended, and found, instead of the inn, the _pensionnat_ of Madame\nBeck?\" Only the superior discretion and worldly wisdom of the others\nprevented Axelle from following in Lucy Snow's footsteps, and settling\nthe question of identity then and there. As it was, we went on to the\nlibrary, a stuffy little place, with a withered old man for sole\nattendant, who, seated before a table in the back shop, was poring over\nan old book. We darted in, making a bewildering flutter of wings, and\npecked him with a dozen questions at once, oddly inflected: \"_Was_ the\nscene of _Villette_ laid in Brussels?\" and \"_Is_ the school really\nhere?\" and \"You _don't_ say so!\" though we had insisted upon it from the\nfirst, and he had just replied in the affirmative; lastly, \"O, _do_ tell\nus how we may find it.\"\n\n\"You must go so-and-so,\" he said at length, when we paused.\n\n\"Yes,\" we replied in chorus; \"we have just come from there.\"\n\n\"And,\" he went on, \"you will see the statue of General Beliard.\"\n\nWe nudged each other significantly.\n\n\"Go down the steps in the rear, and the house facing you--\"\n\n\"We knew it. We felt it,\" we cried, triumphantly; and his directions\nended there. We neither heeded nor interpreted the expression of\nexpectation that stole over his face. We poured out only a stream of\nthanks which should have moistened the parched sands of his soul, and\nthen hastened to retrace our steps. We found the statue again. We\ndescended into the narrow, noiseless street, and stood,--an awe-struck\ngroup,--before the great square house, upon the door-plate of which we\nread,--\n\n          \"PENSIONNAT DE DEMOISELLES.\n                HÉGER--PARENT.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said Axelle, when we had drawn in with a deep breath, the\nsatisfaction and content which shone out again from our glad eyes, \"we\nwill ring the bell.\"\n\n\"You will not think of it,\" gasped the choir of startled girls.\n\n\"To be sure; what have we come for?\" was her reply. \"We will only ask\npermission to see the garden, and as the portress will doubtless speak\nnothing but French, some one of you, fresh from school, must act as\nmouthpiece.\" They stared at Axelle, at each other, and at the steps\nleading into the upper town, as though they meditated flight. \"I\ncannot,\" and \"_I_ cannot,\" said each one of the shrinking group.\n\nAxelle laid her hand upon the bell, and gave one long, strong pull.\n\"Now,\" she said, quietly, \"some one of you must speak. You are ladies:\nyou will not run away.\"\n\nAnd they accepted the situation.\n\nWe were shown into a small _salon_, where presently there entered to us\na brisk, sharp-featured little French woman,--a teacher in the\nestablishment,--who smiled a courteous welcome from out her black eyes\nas we apologized for the intrusion, and made known our wishes.\n\n\"We are a party of American girls,\" we said, \"who, having learned to\nknow and love Charlotte Brontë through her books, desire to see the\ngarden of which she wrote in _Villette_.\"\n\n\"O, certainly, certainly,\" was the gracious response. \"Americans often\ncome to visit the school and the garden.\"\n\n\"Then this _is_ the school where she was for so long a time?\" we burst\nout simultaneously, forgetting our little prepared speeches.\n\n\"Yes, _mesdemoiselles_; I also was a pupil at that time,\" was the\nreply. We viewed the dark little woman with sudden awe.\n\n\"But tell us,\" we said, crowding around her, \"was she like--like--\" We\ncould think of no comparison that would do justice to the subject.\n\nThe reply was a shrug of the shoulders, and, \"She was just a quiet\nlittle thing, in no way remarkable. I am sure,\" she added, \"we did not\nthink her a genius; and indeed, though I have read her books, I can see\nnothing in them to admire or praise so highly!\"\n\n\"But they are _so_ wonderful!\" ventured one of our number, gushingly.\n\n\"They are very untrue,\" she replied, while something like a spark shot\nfrom the dark eyes.\n\nO, shades of departed story-tellers, is it thus ye are to be judged?\n\n\"Madame Héger,\" she went on, \"who still has charge of the school, is a\nmost excellent lady, and not at all the person described as 'Madame\nBeck.'\"\n\n\"And M. Paul Emmanuel,--Lucy Snow's teacher-lover,\"--we ventured to\nsuggest with some timidity.\n\n\"Is Madame Héger's husband, and was at that time,\" she replied, with a\nlittle angry toss of the head. After this terrible revelation there was\nnothing more to be said.\n\nShe led the way through a narrow passage, and opening a door at the end,\nwe stepped into the garden. We had passed the class-rooms on our\nright--where, \"on the last row, in the quietest corner,\" Charlotte and\nEmily used to sit. We could almost see the pale faces, the shy figures\nbending over the desk in the gathering dusk.\n\nThe garden is less spacious than it was in Charlotte's time, new\nclass-rooms having been added, which cut off something from its length.\nBut the whole place was strangely familiar and pleasant to our eyes.\nShut in by surrounding houses, more than one window overlooks its narrow\nspace. Down its length upon one side extends the shaded walk, the\n\"_allée défendue_,\" which Charlotte paced alone so many weary hours,\nwhen Emily had returned to England. Parallel to this is the row of giant\npear trees,--huge, misshapen, gnarled,--that bore no fruit to us but\nassociations vivid as memories. From behind these, in the summer\ntwilight, the ghost of _Villette_ was wont to steal, and buried at the\nfoot of \"Methuselah,\" the oldest, we knew poor Lucy's love-letters were\nhidden to-day. A seat here and there, a few scattered shrubs, evergreen,\nlaurel, and yew, scant blossoms, paths damp, green-crusted--that was\nall. Not a cheerful place at its brightest; not a sunny spot associated\nin one's mind with summer and girlish voices. It was very still that\nday; the pupils were off for the long vacation, and yet how full the\nplace was to us! The very leaves overhead, the stones in the walls\naround us, whispered a story, as we walked to and fro where little feet,\nthat tired even then of life's rough way, had gone long years before.\n\n\"May we take one leaf--only one?\" we asked, as we turned away.\n\n\"As many as you please;\" and the little French woman grasped at the\nleaves growing thick and dark above her head. We plucked them with our\nown hands, tenderly, almost reverently; then, with many thanks, and our\nadieus, we came away.\n\n\"We have found it!\" we exclaimed, when we had returned to the hotel and\nour friends. They only smiled their unbelief.\n\n\"Do you not know--can you not see--O, do you not feel?\" we cried,\ndisplaying our glistening trophies, \"that these could have grown nowhere\nbut upon the pear trees in the old garden where Charlotte Brontë used to\nwalk and dream?\"\n\nAnd our words carried conviction to their hearts.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nWATERLOO AND THROUGH BELGIUM.\n\n          To Waterloo.--Beggars and guides.--The\n          Mound.--Chateau Hougomont.--Victor Hugo's \"sunken\n          road.\"--Antwerp.--A visit to the cathedral.--A\n          drive about the city.--An excursion to Ghent.--The\n          funeral services in the cathedral.--\"Poisoned? Ah,\n          poor man!\"--The watch-tower.--The Friday-market\n          square.--The nunnery.--Longfellow's pilgrims to\n          \"the belfry of Bruges.\"\n\n\nWE could not leave the city without driving out to the battle-field of\nWaterloo. It is about a dozen miles to The Mound, and you may take the\npublic coach if you choose--it runs daily. Our party being large, we\npreferred to engage a carriage.\n\nWe left the house after breakfast, and passed through the wide,\ndelightful avenues of the Forêt de Soignes,--the Bois de Boulogne of\nBrussels,--then across the peaceful country which seemed never to have\nknown anything so disturbing as war. Beyond the park lies the village\nwhich gave its name to the battle-field though the thickest of the fight\nwas not there. In an old brick church, surmounted by a dome, lie\nintombed many minor heroes of the conflict. But heroes soon pall upon\nthe taste, and nothing less than Wellington or Napoleon himself could\nhave awakened a spark of interest in us by this time. Then, too, the\nvivid present blinded us to the past. The air was sweet with summer\nscents. Mowers were busy in the hayfields. A swarm of little barefooted\nbeggars importuned us, turning dizzy somersaults until we could see only\na maze of flying, dusty feet on either side. One troop, satisfied or\ndespairing, gave way to another, and the guides were almost as annoying\nas the beggars. They walk for miles out of their villages to forestall\neach other, and meet the carriages that are sure to come from Brussels\non pleasant days. They drive sharp bargains. As you near the centre of\ninterest, competition is greater, and their demands proportionately\nless. We refused the extortionate overtures of two or three, and finally\npicked up a shrewd-faced young fellow in a blue blouse, who hung upon\nthe step of the carriage, or ran beside it for the last mile or two of\nthe distance. The village of Mont St. Jean follows that of Waterloo. It\nis only a scant collection of whitewashed farm buildings of brick. We\nrolled through it without stopping, and out again between the quiet,\nsmiling fields, our minds utterly refusing to grasp the idea that they\nhad swarmed once with an army; that in this little village we had just\nleft--dull, half asleep in the sunshine--dreadful slaughter had held\nhigh carnival one July day, not many years before. Even when the guide,\nclinging to the door of the carriage, rattled over the story of the\nstruggle in a _patois_ all his own, hardly a shadow of the scene was\npresented to us.\n\nAs our horses slackened their pace, he stepped down from his perch to\ngather a nosegay of the flowers by the road-side, making no pause in his\nmechanical narrative--of how the Anglo-Belgian army were gathered upon\nthis road and the fields back to the wood, on the last day of the fight;\nhow many of the officers had been called at a moment's notice from the\ngayeties at Brussels, and more than one was found dead upon the field\nthe next day, under the soaking rain, dressed as for a ball. He pushed\nback his visorless cap, uttering an exclamation over the heat, and\nadding, in the same breath, that just here, about Mont St. Jean, the\nbattle waged fiercely in the afternoon, when Ney, with his brave\ncuirassiers, tried in vain to carry the position; and all the time, the\nsummer sounds of twittering birds and hum of locusts were in our ears;\nthe barefooted children still turned upon their axles beside the\ncarriage wheels as we rolled along, and that other day seemed so far\naway, that we could neither bring it near nor realize it. One grim\nreminder of the past rose in the distance, and, as we drew near, swelled\nand grew before our eyes. It was the huge mound of earth raised two\nhundred feet, to commemorate the victory of the allies. Hills were cut\ndown, the very face of nature changed for miles around, to rear this\nmonument to pride and vain-glory. Upon its summit crouches the Belgian\nlion.\n\nWe turn from the paved road, when we have reached what seems to be a\nmass of unsightly ruins, with only a tumbling outbuilding left here and\nthere. The whole is enclosed by a wall, which skirts also an orchard,\nneglected, grown to weeds. The carriage stops before the great gates. It\nis very cool and quiet in the shaded angle of the battered wall as we\nstep down. It has been broken and chipped as if by pick-axes. Ah! the\nshot struck hardest here. The top of the low wall is irregular; the\nbricks have been knocked out; the dust has sifted down; the mosses have\ngathered, and a fringe of grass follows all its length. Even sweet wild\nflowers blossom where the muskets rested in those dreadful days. At\nintervals, half way up its height, a brick is missing. Accident? Ah, no;\nhastily constructed loopholes, through which the English fired at first,\nbefore the horrible time when they beat each other down with the butts\nof their guns while they fought hand to hand here, like wild beasts.\n\nWe enter the court-yard. Only a roughly plastered room or two remain,\nwhere the greed that gloats even over the field of blood offers\n_souvenirs_ of the place importunately. In the centre of this court-yard\nmay still be seen the well that was filled with corpses. It must have\ngiven out blood for many a day. Upon one side are the remains of the\nbuilding used for a hospital in the beginning of the fight, but where\nthe wounded and dying perished in torment, when the French succeeded in\nfiring the chateau; for this is _Hougomont_.\n\nWe came out at the gateway where we had entered; crossed the slope under\nthe shadow of the branches from the apple trees, and followed the road\nwinding through wheat-fields to The Mound. Breast-high on either side\nrose the nodding crests; and among them wild flowers, purple, scarlet,\nand blue, fairly dazzled our eyes, as they waved with the golden grain\nin the sunshine. \"O, smiling harvest-fields,\" we said, \"you have been\nsown with heroes; you have been enriched with blood!\"\n\nIt was a long, dizzy climb up the face of The Mound to the narrow\nfoothold beside the platform where rests that grim, gigantic lion. Once\nthere, we held to every possible support in the hurricane of wind that\nseized us, while the guide gave a name to each historic farm and village\nspread out before our eyes. Only a couple of miles cover all the\nbattle-field--the smallest where grand armies ever met; but the\nslaughter was the more terrible.\n\nConnected with an inn at the foot of The Mound is a museum of\ncuriosities. Here are queer old helmets worn by the cuirassiers, hacked\nand rust-stained; broken swords, and old-fashioned muskets; buttons, and\nbullets even--everything that could be garnered after such a sowing of\nthe earth.\n\nIn unquestioning faith we bought buttons stained with mildew, and\nbearing upon them, in raised letters, the number of a regiment. Alas!\nreason told us, later, that the buttons disposed of annually here would\nsupply an ordinary army. And rumor added, that they are buried now in\nquantities, to be exhumed as often as the supply fails.\n\nI remembered Victor Hugo to have said in _Les Misérables_ something in\nregard to a sunken road here, which proved a pitfall to the French, and\nhelped, in his judgment, to turn the fortunes of the day. But we had\nseen no sunken road. I mentioned it to the guide, who said that Victor\nHugo spent a fortnight examining the ground before writing that\ndescription of the battle. \"He lodged at our house,\" he added. \"My\nfather was his guide. What he wrote was all quite true. There is now no\nroad such as he described; that was all changed when the earth was\nscraped together to form The Mound.\"\n\nWe lunched at the inn, surrounded by mementos and trophies, and served\nby an elderly woman, whose father had been a sergeant in the Belgian\narmy, then late in the afternoon drove back to town.\n\nThe pleasant days at Brussels soon slipped by, and then we were off to\nAntwerp--only an hour's ride. I will tell you nothing about the former\nwealth and commercial activity of the city--that in the sixteenth\ncentury it was the wealthiest city in Europe, &c, &c. For all these\ninteresting particulars, see Murray's Handbook of Northern Germany. As\nsoon as we had secured rooms at the hotel, dropped our satchels and\numbrellas, we followed the chimes to the cathedral. The houses of the\npeople have crept close to it, until many of them, old and gray, have\nfairly grown to it, like barnacles to a ship; or it seemed as though\nthey had built their nests, like the rooks, under the moss-grown eaves.\nThe interior of the cathedral was singularly grand and open. As we threw\nour shawls about us--a precaution never omitted--an old man shuffled out\nfrom a dark corner to show the church, take our _francs_, and pull aside\nthe curtains from before the principal pictures, if so dignified a name\nas curtain can be applied to the dusty, brown cambric that obstructed\nour vision. Rubens's finest pictures are here, and indeed the city\nabounds in all that is best of Flemish art,--most justly, since it was\nthe birthplace of its master. Rubens in the flesh we had seen at the\nLouvre; the spiritual manifestation was reserved for Antwerp; and to\nrecall the city is to recall a series of visions of which one may not\nspeak lightly.\n\nAcross, from the cathedral, upon a wide wooden bench in the market-place\nwe sat a moment to consider our ways--the signal for the immediate\nswooping down upon us of guides and carriages, and the result of which\nwas, our departure in a couple of dingy open vehicles to finish the\ncity. We crawled about the town like a diminutive funeral procession,\ndismounting at the Church of St. Jacques to see the pictures, with which\nit is filled. In one of the chapels was a young American artist, copying\nRubens's picture of \"A Holy Family\"--the one in which his two wives and\nothers of his family enact the part of Mary, Martha, St. Jerome, &c.\nBehind the high altar is the tomb of Rubens, with an inscription of\nsufficient length to extinguish an ordinary man. There was a museum,\ntoo, in the city, rich in the works of Rubens and Vandyck, and the fine\npark in the new part of the town, as well as the massive docks built by\nthe first Napoleon, were yet to be seen. The older members of the party\nwere in the first carriage, and received any amount of valuable\ninformation, which was transmitted to us who followed in a succession of\nshouts sounding as much like \"fire!\" as anything else, with all manner\nof beckoning, and pointing, and wild throwing up of arms, that\nundoubtedly gave vent to their feelings, but brought only confusion and\ndistraction to our minds. Not to be outdone, our driver began a series\nof utterly unintelligible explanations, the only part of which we\nunderstood in the least was, when pointing to the docks, he ejaculated,\n\"Napoleon!\" At that we nodded our heads frantically, which only\nencouraged him to go on. Pausing before a low, black house, exactly like\nall the others, he pointed to it with his whip. It said \"Hydraulics\"\nupon a rickety sign over the door. There were old casks, and anchors,\nand ropes, and rotting wood all around, for it was down upon the\nwharves. We tried to look enlightened, gratified even, and succeeded so\nwell that he entered upon an elaborate dissertation in an unknown\ntongue. What do you suppose it was all about? Can it be that he was\nexplaining the principles of hydraulics?\n\nWe made, one clay, an excursion from Antwerp to Ghent and Bruges. We\nleft the train at Ghent to walk up through the narrow streets, that have\nno sidewalks, to the cathedral. There was a funeral within. The driver\nof the hearse profusely decorated with inverted feather dusters, was\ncomfortably smoking his pipe outside. A little hunchbacked guide, with\ngreat, glassy eyes, and teeth like yellow fangs, led us up the aisle to\nthe screen beside the high altar, where we looked between the tombs and\nthe monuments, upon the long procession of men circling around the\ncoffin in the choir, each with a lighted candle in hand. As there were\nonly about a dozen candles in all, and each must hold one while he\npassed the coffin, it was a piece of dexterity, at least, to manage\nthem, which so engrossed our attention, that we caught but an occasional\nsentence from our guide's whispered story of the seventh bishop of\nGhent, who donated the pulpit to the cathedral, and around whose marble\nfeet we were trying to peep; of the ninth, who was poisoned as he went\nupon some mission (\"Poisoned? Ah, poor man!\" we ejaculated, absently,\nour eyes anxiously fixed upon one man to whom had been given no candle\nas yet); of the tall brass candlesticks, supposed to have been brought\nfrom England in the time of Cromwell, and a host more of fragmentary\ninformation, forgotten now. The whole interior of the church is rich in\ndecoration, black and white marble predominating, with pictures of the\nearly Flemish school filling every available space. Once out of the\nchurch, we climbed into an ark of a carriage, and drove about the city,\nour little guide standing beside the driver, back to the horses most of\nthe time, to pour out a torrent of history and romance. A most edifying\nspectacle it would have been anywhere else. Do read Henry Taylor's\n\"Philip von Artevelde\" before going to Ghent: the mingled romance and\nhistory throw a charm about the place and people which bare history can\nnever give. Veritable Yankees these old Flemish weavers seem to have\nbeen, with a touch of the Irish in their composition--always up in arms\nfor their rights, and striking out wherever they saw a head. There is a\nnew part to the city, with a grand opera-house, shaded promenades and\npalatial dwellings, but one cares only for the narrow, dingy streets,\nand the old market squares, in which every stone could tell a story.\n\nWe saw the tall, brick watch-tower, where still hangs the bell that\ntolled,--\n\n          \"I am Roland, I am Roland! There is victory in the land,\"\n\nand the old Hôtel de Ville, of conglomerate architecture, one side of\nwhich, in the loveliest flamboyant Gothic imaginable, seems crumbling\naway from its very richness. In the Friday-market square--it chancing to\nbe Friday--was a score of bustling busybodies, swarming like bees.\nHere, in the old, quarrelsome times, battles were fought between the\ndifferent guilds. I say battles, because at one time fifteen hundred\nwere slain in this very square. Such a peaceful old square as it seemed\nto be the day of our visit! the old gray houses, that have echoed to the\nsound of strife, fairly smiling in the sunshine, and the market women\nkneeling upon the stones which have run with blood. At one corner rose a\ntower, and half way up its height may still be seen the iron rod, over\nwhich was hung imperfect linen, to shame the weaver who had dared to\noffer it in the market.\n\nThere is a great nunnery here in Ghent--a town of itself, surrounded by\na moat and a wall, where are six hundred or more sisters, from families\nhigh and low, who tend the sick, weave lace, and mortify the flesh in\nblack robes and white veils. When they become weary of it, they may\nreturn to the world, the flesh, and--their homes: no vows bind them. We\ndrove along the streets past the cell-like houses where they dwell. Over\nthe door of each was the name of her patron saint. It seemed a quiet\nretreat, a noiseless city, notwithstanding the six hundred women! But by\nfar the most interesting sight, because the most ancient in the quaint\nold city, was the archway and turret of the old royal castle, erected a\nthousand years ago; only this gateway remains. Here John o' Gaunt was\nborn. Built all round, and joined to it, are houses of more recent date,\nthemselves old and tottering, and the arch beneath which kings and\nqueens rode once, is now the entrance to a cotton factory.\n\nWe had only a few hours at Bruges--the city once more powerful than\nAntwerp even, but where not a house has been raised for a hundred years,\nand where nearly a third of its inhabitants are paupers. But decay and\ndilapidation are strong elements of the picturesque, and nothing seen\nthat day was more charming than a piece of wall, still standing,\nbelonging to the old Charles V.'s palace--honey-combed, black, of florid\nGothic architecture, rising from the quiet waters of the canal. At one\nend it threw an arch over the street, with a latticed window above it,\nbeneath which we passed, after crossing the bridge. More than one\npicture of Bruges rests within my memory--its canals spanned by the\npicturesque bridges, and overhung with willows that dipped their long\nbranches into the water, and the quaint old houses with many-stepped\ngables, rising sheer from the stream.\n\nBut with all its past grandeur, the old city is best known to us\nAmericans through the chimes from its belfry tower, and we were some of\nLongfellow's pilgrims. We drove into the great paved Place under the\nshadow of the belfry tower when its shadows were growing long, and\nwatched the stragglers across the square--women in queer black-hooded\ncloaks; chubby little blue-eyed maidens with school-books in hand; a\nparty of tourists; and last, but by no means least, the ubiquitous\nAmerican girl, with an immense bow on the back of her dress, and her eye\nfixed steadily upon the milliner's shop just visible around the corner.\nAlmost three hundred feet the dingy brick tower rose above us, with low\nwings on either side, where were once the halls of some guilds, in the\ndays when the tower was a lookout to warn of coming foes,--when the\nsquare was planned for defence. In a little court-yard, gained by\npassing under its arch, we watched and listened, until at last the sweet\ntinkle of the silver-toned bells broke the hush of waiting--so far away,\nso heavenly, we held our breath, lest we should lose the sound that fell\n\n  \"Like the psalms from some old cloister when the nuns sing in the choir,\n   And the great bell tolled among them like the chanting of a friar.\"\n\nWe came back to Antwerp that night, tired, but triumphant, feeling as\nthough we had read a page from an old book, or sung a strain from an old\nsong.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nA TRIP THROUGH HOLLAND.\n\n          Up the Meuse to Rotterdam.--Dutch sights and\n          ways.--The pretty milk-carriers.--The\n          tea-gardens.--Preparations for the Sabbath.--An\n          English chapel.--\"The Lord's barn.\"--From\n          Rotterdam to the Hague.--The queen's \"House in the\n          Wood.\"--Pictures in private drawing-rooms.--The\n          bazaar.--An evening in a Dutch\n          tea-garden.--Amsterdam to a stranger.--The\n          \"sights.\"--The Jews' quarter.--The family whose\n          home was upon the canals.--Out of the city.--The\n          pilgrims.\n\n\nAT nine o'clock, the next morning, we left Antwerp for Rotterdam. Two\nhours by rail brought us to a place with an unpronounceable name, ending\nin \"djk,\" where we were to take a steamer. How delightful, after the\ndust and heat of the railway carriage, were the two hours that followed!\nThe day was charming, the passengers numerous, but scattered about the\nclean, white deck, picturesquely, upon the little camp stools, drinking\nbrandy and water as a preventive to what seemed impossible, eating\nfruit, reading, chatting, or pleased, like ourselves, with the panorama\nbefore their eyes. In and out of the intricate passages to the sea we\nsteamed, the land and water all around us level as a floor; the only\nsign of life the slow-revolving arms of the windmills, near and far,\nwith here and there a solitary mansion shut in by tall trees; or, as we\nwound in and out among the islands fringed with green rushes, and waving\ngrasses that fairly came out into the water to meet us, and sailed up\nthe Meuse, the odd Dutch villages that had turned their backs to the\nriver, though their feet were still in the water over which hung rude\nwooden balconies, or still ruder bay-windows, filled with pots of\nflowers. This monotonous stretch of sea and land might grow tiresome\nafter a while, but there was something peculiarly restful in that sail\nup the wide mouth of the river, beckoned on by the solemn arms of the\nwindmills.\n\nWhen we reached Rotterdam, how strange it was to find, instead of a row\nof houses across from our hotel, a wharf and a row of ships! Such a\ngreat, comfortable room as awaited us! with deep, wide arm-chairs, a\nheavy round table suggesting endless teas, and toast unlimited, and\neverything else after the same hearty, substantial manner. There was no\npaper upon the walls, but, in its place, paintings upon canvas. Delilah\nsat over the mantel, with the head of the sleeping Samson in her lap,\nand Rebekah and the thirsty camels were behind our bed curtains. From\nthe wide windows we watched the loading and unloading of the ships,\nwhile the song of the sailors came in on the evening breeze, and with\nit, we half-fancied, the odor of sandal-wood and spices from the East\nIndiamen anchored across the way. Our hotel was upon the Boompjes, the\nquay that borders the river; but through nearly all the streets flow the\ncanals, deep enough to float large ships. You can appreciate the\nadvantage of sailing a ship to the very door of one's warehouse, as you\nmight drive a cart up to unload; and you can imagine, perhaps, the\npeculiar appearance of the city, with its mingled masts and chimneys,\nits irregular, but by no means picturesque, houses, and the inhabitants\nequally at home upon water or land. Among the women of the lower classes\nmay still be seen some national peculiarities in dress, shown\nprincipally in the startling ornaments--twisted gold wire horns, and\nballs, and rings of mammoth size thrust out from their caps just above\ntheir ears. Whether their bare red arms would come under the head of\ndress, might be questioned; but a national peculiarity they certainly\nwere, and unlike anything ever seen before in the way of human flesh.\nWas that painfully deep magenta hue nature or art? We could never tell.\nThere were some very pretty faces among the girls carrying milk about\nthe city in bright brass cans, or in pails suspended from a yoke over\ntheir shoulders--faces of one type, round, red-cheeked, blue-eyed, with\nthe mouth called rosebud by poets, and bewitching little brown noses of\nan upward tendency. As they all wore clean purple calico gowns, and had\neach a small white cap on their heads, the resemblance among them was\nrather striking. These caps left the whole top of the head exposed to\nthe sun. Only an iron-clad, fire-proof brain could endure it, I am sure.\n\nNot a beggar did we see anywhere in Holland. The people seemed\nthoroughly industrious and thrifty. A gentleman connected with the civil\nservice there--an agreeable, cultivated man, who had been half over the\nworld, written a book or two, and parted his hair in the middle--gave\nthe people credit for all these, with many more good qualities, and\nadded, \"They are the simplest minded people in the world. Why, would you\nbelieve it, one of the canal bridges was run into and broken down, the\nother day,--a fortnight ago,--and it has been town talk ever since. No\ntwo men meet upon the street without, 'Have you heard about the\nbridge?'\" And sure enough, when we reached the scene of the accident, in\nour after-dinner walk through the city, quite a crowd was collected to\nwatch the passage of a temporary ferry-boat, the simplest contrivance\nimaginable, only an old barge pulled back and forth by ropes. Still\nlater we found the entrance to a narrow street choked with people,\nthough nothing more unusual seemed to be taking place than the bringing\nout of a table and a few chairs.\n\nUpon the outskirts of the city are pleasant tea-gardens, often attached\nto club-rooms, where concerts are held Sunday evenings, attended by the\nupper classes. We walked through one, over the pebbled paths, and among\nthe deserted tables, and then returned to see more of the town. It was\nSaturday night. All the little girls upon the street had their locks\ntwisted up in papers so tight and fast that they could shut neither eyes\nnor mouth, but seemed to be in a continual state of wonderment. All\ntheir mothers were down upon their hands and knees, scrubbing the\ndoorsteps and sidewalk, in preparation for the Sabbath. The streets were\ndirty and uninviting with a few exceptions, yet hardly more so than\ncould be expected, when you remember that nearly the whole city is a\nline of wharves; but we felt no disposition to walk through it in our\nslippers, as the guide book in praising its cleanliness, says you may.\nWhat an advantage it would be to the world if the compilers of\nguide-books would only visit the places they describe so graphically! We\nspent a quiet Sabbath here--the fourth of July--with not so much as a\ntorpedo to disturb its serenity or mark the day, attending church at the\nEnglish chapel, and joining in the responses led by a clear soprano\nvoice behind us, which we had some desire to locate; but when we turned,\nat the conclusion of the service, there was only a row of horrible\nchignons to be seen, to none of which, I am sure, the voice belonged.\n\nThere is nothing to be seen in Rotterdam but its shipping. One great,\nbare church we did visit--\"the Lord's barn;\" for these cathedrals,\nstripped of altar, and image, and stained glass, and boarded into stiff\npews, without the least regard to the eternal fitness of things, are\nugly enough. There is somewhere here a collection of Ary Scheffer's\nworks,--in the city I mean,--but we did not see it. It is less than an\nhour's ride by rail from Rotterdam to the Hague, with the same\ndelightfully monotonous scenery all along the way--meadows smooth and\ngreen, and fields white for the harvest, separated by the almost\ninvisible canals. No wonder the Spaniards held the Low Countries with a\ngrasp of iron--the whole land is a garden. The Hague, being the\nresidence of the court, is much after the pattern of all continental\ncapitals, with wide, white streets, white stuccoed houses of regular and\nbeautiful appearance, and fine, large parks and pleasure-grounds filled\nwith deer, and shaded by grand old elms as large as those in our own\nland, but lacking the long, sweeping branches. A mile from the city is\n\"The House in the Wood,\" the private residence of the queen of the\nNetherlands. The wood is heavy and of funereal air, but the little\npalace is quite charming within, though upon the exterior only a plain\nbrick country-house. The rooms are small, and hung with rice-paper, or\nembroidered white satin, with which also much of the furniture is\ncovered. The bare floors are of polished wood, with a square of carpet\nin the centre, the border of which was worked by hand. \"Please step over\nit,\" said the neat little old woman who was showing us through, which we\naccordingly did. There was a home-like air, very unpalatial, about it\nall,--as though the lady of the house might have been entertaining\ncallers, or having a dress-maker in the next room. Delicate trinkets\nwere scattered about--pretty, rare things worth a fortune, with any\namount of old Dutch china in the cosy dining-room. In one of the rooms\nhung the portrait of a handsome young man,--just as there hang portraits\nof handsome young men in our houses. This was the eldest son of the\nqueen,--heir to the throne,--who, rumor says, is still engaged in that\nagricultural pursuit so fascinating to young men--the sowing of wild\noats. In the next room was a portrait of Queen Sophie herself--a\ndelicate, queenly face--a face of character. The walls of the ball-room\nare entirely covered with paintings upon wood by Rubens and his pupils.\n\"Speak low, if you please,\" said our little old woman; \"the queen is in\nthe next room, and she has a bad headache to-day.\" I am sure she had a\ndress-maker! As we stooped to examine a rug worked by the royal\nfingers, an attendant passed, bearing upon a silver salver the remains\nof her majesty's lunch.\n\nFrom the palace we drove back to town to visit two private collections\nof paintings. It seemed odd, if not impertinent, to walk through the\ndrawing-rooms of strangers, criticise their pictures, and fee their\nservants. Upon the table, in one, were thrown down carelessly the bonnet\nand gloves of the lady of the house. I was tempted to carry them off.\nOnly a vigorous early training, and the thought of a long line of pious\nancestors, prevented. Here were pictures from most of the earlier and\nsome of the later Dutch artists--Paul Potter's animals, Jan Steen's pots\nand pans, Vandervelde's quays and luggers, and green, foaming seas, and\neven a touch or two from the brush of the master of Dutch art. We\nstopped on our way back to the hotel, at a bazaar,--a place of\nbeguilement, with long rooms full of everything beautiful in art,\neverything tempting to the eye,--and after dinner went out to one of the\nadjacent tea-gardens. It was filled with family parties drinking tea\naround little tables. The music was fine, though unexpected at times,\nas, for instance, when a trumpet blew a startling blast, and a little\nman in its range sprang from his seat as though blown out of his place.\nIt was amusing and interesting to watch the stream of promenaders\ncircling around the musicians' stand--broad, heavily-built men, long of\nbody, short of limbs; women \"square-rigged,\" of easy, good-natured\ncountenance. I doubt if there was a nerve in the whole assembly.\n\nAt noon the next day, we took the train for Amsterdam--another two\nhours' ride. The land began to undulate as we went towards the sea,\nwith the shifting hillocks of sand raised by wind and wave. We passed\nLeyden, famous for its resistance to the Spaniards, as well as for\nhaving been the birthplace of Rembrandt and a score of lesser lights,\nand Haarlem, known for its great organ, and still the sand-hills rose\none above the other, until they shut out everything beyond. It was only\nwhen we made a sharp turn, and struck out in a straight line for the\ncity, that the Zuyder Zee opened before us, the curving line of land\nalong its edge alive with windmills. We counted a hundred and twenty in\nsight at one time, and still did not exhaust them; so many skipped and\nwhirled about, and refused to be counted. It hardly seems possible that\nthe city of Amsterdam is built upon piles driven into the sand and mud.\nCertainly, when you have been jolted and shaken until your teeth\nchatter, for a long mile, in one of the hotel omnibuses from the station\nthrough the narrow streets and over the rough pavements, you will think\nthere must be a tolerably firm foundation. Such a peaceful, sleepy,\nfree-from-danger air, these slimy canals give to the cities! You forget\nthat just beyond the dikes the mighty, restless sea lurks, and watches\nday and night for a chance to rush in and claim its own. The canals run\nin a succession of curves, one within the other, all through the city.\nUpon the quays are the dwellings and warehouses. In the narrow streets,\ncrossing them by means of endless bridges, are the shops and dwellings\nof the lower classes. Looking down a street, no two houses present an\nunbroken line. They have all settled in their places until they nod, and\nleer, and wink at each other, in a decidedly sociable, intoxicated\nmanner. The whole city, to a stranger, is a curious sight--the arched\nbridges over the interminable canals; the clumsy boats (for the canals\nare too shallow to admit anything but coasters and river boats); the\nantic and antiquated houses with high gables, rising in steps, to the\nstreet; the women of the lower classes, with yokes over their shoulders,\nand long-eared white caps on their heads, surmounted by naked straw\nbonnets of obsolete fashion and coal-scuttle shape, and out and from\nwhich, on either side, protruded all the wonderful tinkling ornaments of\nwhich the prophet speaks; the long quays and streets utterly bare of\ntrees; the iron rods thrust out from the houses half way up their\nheight, upon which all manner of garments, freshly washed, hang over the\nstreet to dry. Down in an open Place stands the dark, square palace,\ngrand and grim, where Hortense played queen a little time while Louis\nBonaparte was king of Holland. Near the palace is a national monument,\nfor the Dutch, too, remember their brave. There are old and new churches\nalso to be seen, but churches bare of everything which clothes\ncathedrals with beauty, having been stripped in the time of the\nreformation. I suppose one should rejoice; but we did miss the high\naltar, the old carved saints, and the pictures in the chapels.\n\nSome of the finest paintings of the Dutch school are in the national\nmuseum here; _genre_ pictures, many, if not most of them, but pleasant\nto look at, if not of the highest art; and we visited another collection\nof the same, left by a M. Van der Hoop. There are several other private\ncollections thrown open to the public. But after all, the most charming\npicture was the Jews' quarter of the city. I know it was horribly\nfilthy, and so crowded that we could hardly make our way; I know it was\nfilled with squalor and rags, and great dark eyes, and breathed an odor\nby no means of sanctity. The dusky, luminous-eyed people seemed to move,\nand breathe, and hold a constant bazaar in the lane-like streets filled\nwith everything known and unknown in merchandise, or leaning out from\nthe windows of the tottering houses, their arms crossed over the sill,\nto dream away a lifetime. Still there was a fascination about it all, a\nsuggestion of vagabondism, of Ishmaelitish wanderings, of having \"here\nno continuing city,\" that touched the heart of a certain Methodist\nminister's daughter in our party.\n\nSometimes the houses rise directly from the water, as did our hotel, the\nentrance being gained from another street in front. Our room was like a\ntown hall, with mediæval bed furniture and sofa, high chest of drawers,\nand great round table that might have come in with the Dutch when they\ntook Holland. The deep windows looked down upon a canal. Across from\nthem, anchored to the quay as if for a lifetime, was one of the river\nboats. Early in the morning the wife of the skipper--a square woman,\nbrown-faced, with faded, braided hair--ran out bareheaded into the town,\ncoming back with her arms mysteriously full. Down into the cabin she\ndisappeared, from whence directly came a sound of sputtering and frying,\nwith a most savory odor. Up she would come again--frying pan in hand to\ncorroborate her statement--to call her husband to breakfast. He was\nnever ready to respond, never, though he was doing nothing to support\nhis energetic family at the time, but coiling and uncoiling old ropes,\nor rubbing at invisible spots with a handful of rope-yarn. I know he\nonly delayed to add to his own dignity and the importance of his final\nadvent. Breakfast over, there followed such a commotion in the little\nworld as I cannot describe--a shaking out of garments, a scraping out of\nplates, and throwing into the canal the refuse of the feast, a flying up\nwith pots and pans for no object whatever but to clatter down again with\nthe same, and all in the face and eyes of the town, with nevertheless\nthe most absorbed and unconscious air imaginable. When it was over,\nsomewhat what red in the face, but serene, the wife would appear upon\nthe deck, to sit in the shadow of a sail and mend her husband's\nstockings, or put on a needed patch. We left the boat still fast to the\nquay; but I know that some day, when it was filled with scented oils,\nand rouge, and borax, and all the other things exported from the\nmanufactories here, our skipper and his wife went sailing out of the\ncanals and along the edge of the sea or up the Rhine, the stockings all\nmended, and the good woman not above giving a strong pull at the ropes.\n\nTo drive about the streets of Amsterdam is slow torture, so rough are\nthe pavings, so springless the carriages; but to roll along the smooth,\nwide roads in the suburbs is delightful. Upon one side is a canal,\nstagnant, lifeless, with a green weed growing upon its still surface,\nwhich often for a long distance entirely hides the water; beyond the\ncanal are pleasant little gardens and a row of low, comfortable-looking\nwooden houses with green doors. Before each door is a narrow bridge--a\nneatly-painted plank with hand-rails--thrown over the canal, to be swung\naround or raised like a drawbridge at night, making every man's house a\nmoated castle. We passed a fine zoölogical garden here upon the\noutskirts of the city, a garden of animals that ranks next to the famous\none in London; but had no time to visit it, nor did we see any of the\ncharitable institutions in which Amsterdam excels.\n\n\"You know the pilgrim fathers?\" said Emmie--whose family had preceded us\nby a day or two--the night after our arrival. \"O, yes; had not our whole\nlives been straightened out after their maxims?\" \"Well, we've found the\nhouse where it is said they held meetings before they embarked for\nAmerica. Wouldn't you like to see it?\" Of course we would; in fact, it\nwould be showing no more than proper respect to our forefathers. So six\nof us--women and girls--put ourselves under her guidance. We found a\nnarrow, dirty street, the dwellers in which stared after us curiously.\nBetween two old houses was an opening, hardly wide enough to be called\nan alley, hardly narrow enough to be looked upon as a gutter. Into this\nwe crowded. \"There; this is the house,\" said Emmie, laying her slight\nfingers upon the old stone wall before us. It was quite bare, and devoid\nof ornament or entrance, being evidently the back or side of a house.\nDown from the peak of the gable looked a solitary window. A rude\nbalcony, holding a few plants, was below it, with freshly-washed clothes\nhanging from its rail. We rolled our eyes, experienced a shiver that may\nhave been caused by awe or the damp chill of the spot, and came out to\nfind the narrow street half filled with staring men and women crowding\nabout the point of our disappearance, while from the upper end of the\nstreet, and even around the corner, others hastened to join the\nwhispering, wondering crowd. How could we explain? It was utterly\nimpossible; so we came quickly and quietly away; but whether this house\nhad ever been a church, whether the pilgrim fathers ever saw it, or\nindeed whether there ever were any pilgrim fathers, are questions I\ncannot undertake to answer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nTHE RHINE AND RHENISH PRUSSIA.\n\n          First glimpse of the Rhine.--Cologne and the\n          Cathedral.--\"Shosef in ter red coat.\"--St. Ursula\n          and the eleven thousand virgins.--Up the Rhine to\n          Bonn.--The German students.--Rolandseck.--A search\n          for a resting-place.--Our Dutch friend and his\n          Malays.--The story of Hildegund.--A quiet\n          Sabbath.--Our Dutch friend's\n          reply.--Coblentz.--The bridge of\n          boats.--Ehrenbreitstein, over the river.--A\n          scorching day upon the Rhine.--Romance under\n          difficulties.--Mayence.--Frankfort.--Heidelberg.--The\n          ruined castle.--Baden-Baden.--A glimpse at the\n          gambling.--The new, and the old \"Schloss.\"--The\n          Black Forest.--Strasbourg.--The mountains.\n\n\nWE had made a sweep through Belgium and Holland, intending to return by\nway of the Rhine and Switzerland. Accordingly, in leaving Amsterdam, we\nstruck across the country to Arnhem, where we found a pleasant hotel\nnear the station, outside of the town. Here we spent the night in order\nto break the monotony of the ride to Cologne. After climbing stairs to\ngain our room, wide, but so perpendicular that we were really afraid to\ndescend by them, we had, from a rickety, upper piazza, our first glimpse\nof the Rhine, winding through flat, green meadows, with hardly more than\na suggestion of hills in the distance. There is nothing of interest to\ndetain one at Arnhem. The guide-book informed us that it was the scene\nof Sir Philip Sidney's death; but no one in the hotel seemed ever to\nhave heard of that gentle knight--_sans peur et sans reproche_.\n\nWe reached Cologne at noon the next day. The road makes a _détour_\nthrough the plain, so that, for some time before gaining it, we could\nsee the city nestling under the wings of the great cathedral. How can I\ntell you anything about it? If I say that it is five times the length of\nany church you know, and that the towers, when completed, are to be the\nsame height as the length, will my words bring to you any conception of\nits size? If I say that it was partially built a couple of centuries\nbefore the discovery of America; that it was worked upon for three\nhundred years, and then suffered to remain untouched until recently;\nthat the architect who planned it has been forgotten for centuries, so\nthat the idea embodied in its form is like some beautiful old tradition,\nwhose origin is unknown,--will this give you any idea of its age? The\nnew part, seen from our hotel, was so white and beautiful, that, when we\nhad passed around to the farther side, it was like waking from a sleep\nof a thousand years. The blackened, broken Gothic front told its own\nstory of age and decay. Ah, the interminable dusky length of its\ninterior, when we had crept within the doors! It was a very world in\nitself, full of voices, and echoes, and shadows of its own. We followed\nthe guide over the rough stone floor, giving no heed to the tiresome\ndetails that fell in broken words and monotonous tones from his lips. I\nrecall nothing now but the fact (!) that behind the choir lie buried,\nin all their magnificence, the Three Wise Men of the East. As we came\ndown one of the shadowy aisles, we paused before a fine, old, stained\nwindow. Our guide immediately became prolix again. \"Dis,\" he said,\npointing to one of the figures upon the glass, \"is Shosef, in ter red\ncoat; and dis is Shon ter Baptised; and dis, ter Holy Ghos' in ter form\noff a duff.\"\n\nWhen the old woman at the door offered pictures of the cathedral, he\nassured us that they were quite correct, having been taken \"from\n_nature_, _outzide_ and _inzide_.\"\n\nYou must see the old Roman remains of towers and crumbling walls, sniff\nthe vile odors of the streets, which have become proverbial, and be\nsprinkled with cologne--then your duty to the city is done. But almost\neverybody visits the Church of St. Ursula, which is lined with the\nskulls of that unfortunate young woman and her eleven thousand virgin\nfollowers.\n\nThe story is, that she was an English princess, who lived--nobody knows\nat what remote period of antiquity. For some reason equally obscure, she\nstarted with her lover and eleven thousand maidens to make a pilgrimage\nto Rome. Fancy this lover undertaking a continental tour with eleven\nthousand and one young women under his care! Even modern travel presents\nno analogy to the case. \"And they staid over night at my aunt's,\" droned\nthe sleepy guide, who was telling the story. The girls looked at each\nother. \"Good gracious! what unbounded hospitality!\" whispered one. \"At\nhis _aunt's_!\" exclaimed a second, somewhat puzzled by the anachronism.\n\"Don't interrupt,\" said a third interested listener; \"he means\n_Mayence_;\" and he proceeded with the narrative. They accomplished their\npilgrimage in safety; but, upon their return, were \"fetched up py ter\nparparians,\" as the guide expressed it, which means, in English, that\nthey were murdered, here at Cologne. If you doubt the story, behold the\nskulls! We turned suddenly upon the guide.\n\n\"Do _you_ believe this?\"\n\n\"I mus; sinz I tells it to you,\" was his enigmatical reply, dropping his\neyes.\n\nThe scenery along the Rhine from Cologne, for twenty miles, is\nuninteresting; just now, too, the weather was uncomfortably hot, and we\nwere glad to leave the steamer for a few hours at Bonn. Upon the balcony\nof a hotel, looking out upon the river, we found a score of young men in\nbright-colored caps--students from the university here. When dinner was\nannounced, they crowded in and filled the table, at which the ladies of\nour party were the only ones present. Such a noisy, loud-talking set as\nthey were! When each one had dined, he coolly leaned back in his chair,\nand lighted his pipe! Before we had finished our almonds and raisins the\nroom was quite beclouded. Then they adjourned with pipe and wine-glass\nto the balcony again, where we left them when we went out to see the\ntown.\n\nThe university was formerly a palace, the guide-book had told us; but\nall our childish conceptions of palaces had been rudely destroyed before\nnow, so that we were not surprised to find it without any especial\nbeauty of architecture--only a pile of brown stone, three quarters of a\nmile long. I think we had left all the students drinking wine upon the\nbalcony, for we saw none here,--though we went through the library,\nmuseum, and various halls,--except one party outside, who stared\nunblushingly at the girls remaining in the carriage.\n\nSomewhere in the town we found a lovely old minster, through the aisles\nof which we wandered for a while, happy in having no guide and knowing\nnothing whatever about it. Outside, in a little park, was a statue of\nBeethoven, and in a quiet street near the water the musical girls of our\nparty found the house where he was born. In the cool of the day we took\nanother steamer, and went on towards the beckoning hills, at nightfall\nreaching Rolandseck. There was no town in sight, only a pier and three\nquiet hotels upon the bank, with a narrow road between their gardens and\nthe water. We chose the one farthest away, and were rowed down to it,\ndabbling our hands in the water, and saying over and over again, \"It is\nthe _Rhine_!\"\n\nBut the hotel was full; so we filled our arms with luggage, and walked\nback, up the dusty road to the second. A complacent waiter stood in the\ndoorway, with nothing of that hungry, eager air about him which betokens\nan empty house; cool, comfortable-looking tourists, in enviable, fresh\ntoilets, stared at us from the windows; a pretty German girl upon the\nbalcony overhead was sketching the river and the Seven Mountains just\nbelow, uttering little womanly exclamations at times, ending in \"_ach_\"\nand \"_ich_.\" After some delay, four single rooms were offered us; our\nparty numbered twelve; we left a portion of our company here; the others\nwent on--to the pier where we had landed, in fact, and with all meekness\nand humility sued for accommodations of the little hotel here, which we\nhad at first looked upon with disdain. Fortunately, we were not refused.\n\nWhen we came down the next morning, the sole occupant of the piazza\nopening upon the garden--where our breakfast was spread--was a stout,\nred-faced gentleman of general sleek appearance, who smiled a courteous\n\"good morning.\" He proved to be a Dutchman from Rotterdam, who had in\ncharge a couple of Malay youths sent to Holland to be\neducated--bright-faced boys, with straight, blue-black hair, olive\ncomplexions, and eyes like velvet. They were below us, walking in the\ngarden now.\n\n\"We have but just come from Holland,\" we said, after some conversation;\nand, with a desire to be sociable, added that it was a very charming,\ngarden-like _little_ (!) country. (O dreadful American spirit!)\n\nHe smiled, showing his gums above his short teeth, and with a kind of\nenraged humility replied,--\n\n\"It is nothing.\"\n\n\"It is indeed wonderful,\" we went on, trying to improve upon our former\nattempt, and quoting a sentiment from the guide-book, \"how your people\nhave rescued the land from the clutch of the sea!\"\n\nBut his only reply was the same smile, and the \"Yes?\" so fatal to\nsentiment.\n\n\"We visited your queen's 'House in the Wood,'\" we ventured, presently.\n\"Is it true that the domestic relations of the royal family are so\nunhappy?\"\n\n\"O, the king and the queen are most happy,\" he replied. \"You may always\nbe sure that when _he_ is in town _she_ will be in the country.\"\n\nThis was a phase of domestic bliss so new to us that we were fain to\nconsider it for a moment. Various other attempts we made at gaining\ninformation, with equally questionable success. Our Dutch acquaintance,\nthough disposed to conversation, avoided the topic of his own country.\nStill he sought our society persistently, asking at dinner that his\nplate might be laid at the same table. Our vanity was considerably\nflattered, until he chanced to remark that he embraced every opportunity\nof conversing with English and American travellers, _it did so improve\nhis English_. From that time we found him tiresome. Think of being used\nas an exercise-book!\n\nIt is here at Rolandseck that the romance of the Rhine, as well as its\nworld-renowned scenery, commences. Across the river is the\nDrachenfels--the crag upon which the remains of a castle may still be\nseen, where, \"in the most ancient time,\" dwelt Hildegund, a maiden\nbeautiful as those of all stories, and beloved by Roland, a nephew of\nCharlemagne. When he went away to the wars, she waited and watched at\nhome--as other maidens have done; but alas! instead of her lover, came\nafter a time only the news of his death. Then Hildegund laid aside her\ngay attire and happy heart, with her hopes, and leaving her father's\ncastle, came down to bury her young life in the nunnery upon the island\nat its foot. But the rumor was false; and in time Roland returned, only\nto find himself too late, for Hildegund was bound by vows which could\nnot be broken. Then, upon the rock called now Rolandseck, the unhappy\nlover built a castle opposite the Drachenfels and overlooking the\nIsland of Nonnenworth. Here he could watch the nuns as they walked in\nthe convent garden, and perhaps among them distinguish the form of\nHildegund.\n\nOn our way down from the arch, which, with a few crumbling stones is all\nthat remains now of Roland's castle, we passed through one of the\nvineyards for which the banks of this river are so noted. Do you imagine\nthem to be picturesque? They are almost ugly. The vines are planted in\nregular order and pruned closely. They are not suffered to grow above\nthree feet in height, and each one is fastened to a stout stake until\nthe wood itself becomes self-supporting.\n\nWe spent a quiet Sabbath at Rolandseck. There was no church, no church\nservice at either of the hotels. We rested and wrote letters, sitting in\nthe grape arbors of the garden; only a low hedge and narrow, grass-grown\nroad between us and the river. Down below, the rocks and the island shut\nout the world; across, the hills rose to the sky, their slopes covered\nwith yellow grain, or dotted with red-roofed farm-houses, while tiny\nvillages had curled up and gone to sleep at their feet. It was\nimpossible to write. The breeze that rippled the yellow water blew away\nour paper and our thoughts; and when the steamer, puffing, and evidently\nbreathless from stemming the current, touched at the little pier, we\nleft everything and ran out to see the passengers disembark. A band\nplayed at the railroad station just above our hotel, and the park\nattached to it swarmed with excursionists during the afternoon. At dusk,\nwhen they had all gone, we wandered up the magnificent road which\nfollows the course of the river; built originally by the Romans, and\nsaid to extend for a long distance--five hundred miles or more--into\nGermany, returning with our hands full of wild flowers. When we went on\nboard the steamer, Monday morning, we were closely followed by our Dutch\nfriend and his Malays. They strolled off by themselves, as they seemed\nalways to do; he joined our group under the awning spread over the deck.\nAn English tourist seized upon him immediately, and when he had\ndisclosed his nationality, proceeded with a glance towards us, to quiz\nhim upon Dutch ways.\n\n\"Now, really,\" said the tourist, tilting back against the rail in his\ncamp chair, \"how dreadful it must be to live in a country where there\nare no mountains! nothing but a stretch of flat land, you know. I fancy\nit would be unendurable.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" was the Dutchman's sole response.\n\n\"You still keep up your peculiar customs, I observe from Murray,\" the\nEnglishman went on, loftily. \"Your women carry the same old foot-stoves\nto church, I fancy. They hang up, you know, in every house.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" and the Dutchman only smiled that same incomprehensible smile that\nhad so puzzled us.\n\n\"And you smoke constantly,\" continued the inquisitor, growing dogmatic;\n\"a pipe is seldom out of your mouths. Really, you are a nation of\nperpetual smokers.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" assented the Dutchman; \"but then--\" and here his eyes, and indeed\nhis whole round, rosy face twinkled with irresistible humor, \"_you know\nwe have no mountains_.\"\n\nA shout went up from the listeners, and our English acquaintance became\nat once intensely interested in the scenery.\n\n[Illustration: \"At the word of command they struck the most\nextraordinary attitudes.\" Page 157.]\n\nThe sail of half an hour to Coblentz was a continual delight. The rocky\nmountains rose abruptly from the water, terraced to their peaks with\nvineyards, or stood back to give place to modest towns and villages that\ndipped their skirts in the stream. At their wharves we touched for a\nmoment, to make an exchange of passengers or baggage. Often from the\nlesser villages a boat shot out, the oars held by a brown-armed maiden,\nwho boarded us to take, perhaps, a single box or bale, or, it might be,\nsome bearded tourist with sketch-book under his arm. The passengers\nwalked the deck, or gathered in groups to eat ices and drink the wines\nmade from the grapes grown in these vineyards, with the pictured maps of\nthe river spread out upon their laps, and the ubiquitous Murray in their\nhands.\n\nAs we neared Coblentz the villages increased as the hills vanished. Each\nhad its point of interest, or monkish legend--the palace of a duke, a\nbit of crumbling Roman wall rising from the water--something to invest\nit with a charm. One--Neuwied--is noted for holding harmoniously within\nits limits, Jews, Moravians, Anabaptists, and Catholics. The Millennium\nwill doubtless begin at Neuwied.\n\nAt Coblentz we remained a day, in order to visit the fortress of\nEhrenbreitstein. From our windows at the hotel we could look directly\nacross to this grim giant of rock, as well as down upon the bridge of\nboats which crosses the Rhine here. It was endless amusement to watch\nthe approach of the steamers, when, as if impelled by invisible boatmen,\na part of the bridge would swing slowly round to make an opening,\nwhile the crowd of soldiers, market-women, and towns-people, waiting\nimpatiently, furnished a constant and interesting study.\n\nAn hour or two after noon we too crossed the bridge in an open carriage,\nnearly overcome by the stifling heat, and after passing through the\nvillage of Ehrenbreitstein, ascended the winding road--a steep ascent,\nleading under great arches of solid masonry, through massive gateways,\nand shut in by the rock which forms the fortress. At various points,\nguards of Prussian soldiers, as immovable as the stone under their feet,\nwere stationed. Suddenly in the gloomy silence, as we toiled slowly up,\nechoed a sharp tramp, tramp, and a line of soldiers filed by in grim\nsilence, each one with a couple of loaves of bread slung by a cord over\nhis shoulder. In a moment another line followed with a quantity of iron\nbedsteads, each borne solemnly upon the shoulders of four men. The\nguards accompanying them were armed, and wore queer, shining helmets.\nStill another company came swinging down to meet us, with fixed,\nimperturbable countenances, each bearing a towel in one hand, with\nmilitary precision. They were on their way to the bathing-house upon the\nbridge.\n\nScattered about upon the broad esplanade at the summit, or rather\narranged in lines upon the breezy, grass-grown space, were squads of\nrecruits being drilled. At the word of command they struck the most\nextraordinary attitudes. Taking a tremendous stride, they endeavored to\npoise themselves on one foot, while they threw the other leg straight\nout behind into the air. Being of all sizes, forms, and degrees of\ngrace in movement, the effect, to say the least, was surprising;\nespecially as the most intense silence and seriousness prevailed. A\nsecond stride and fling followed, then a third, when a pert young\nofficer, of the bantam species, seized a gun, and strutting to the\nfront, proceeded to illustrate the idea more perfectly. At this point\nour gravity gave way.\n\nA young sergeant, with a stupid but good-natured face, attached himself\nto us in the capacity of guide. He could speak nothing but German, of\nwhich not one of us understood a word. We followed him from point to\npoint, politely attending to all his elaborate explanations, and were\nsurprised to find how many ideas we had finally gained by means of the\npatient and painful pantomimic accompaniment to his words.\n\nThe view from the summit is wonderfully extensive. All the kingdoms of\nthe earth and the glory of them seemed spread out at our feet; and our\nfat little guide grew fairly red in the face in his efforts to make us\ncomprehend the names of the various points of interest.\n\nWhen we returned to the carriage the animated jumping-Jacks were still\nengaged in their remarkable evolutions; and as we came down we had a\nlast glimpse of our Dutch friend and his Malays, who were making the\nascent on foot.\n\nThe next day, though passed upon the beautiful river, was a day of\ntorment. The stream narrowed; the frowning rocks closed in upon us,\nshutting out every breath of air; the sun beat down upon the water and\nthe low awning over our heads with fiery fury; in a moment of idiocy we\nanswered the call to _table d'hôte_, which was served upon deck with a\nrefinement of imbecility just as the climax of the striking scenery\napproached. For one mortal hour we were wedged in at that table, peering\nbetween heads and under the awning which cut off every peak, making\nfrantic attempts to turn in our places, as parties across the table\nexclaimed over the scenery behind us, and consoling ourselves with\nreading up the legends in the guide-book held open by the rim of our\nsoup-plates,--of the Seven Sisters, for instance, who were turned into\nseven stones which stand in the stream to this day, because they refused\nto smile upon their lovers (fortunately for navigation, maidens in these\ndays are less obdurate); of the bishop who shut his starving peasants\ninto his barn and set fire to it, though his granaries were full, and\nwho, in poetic justice, was afterwards devoured by rats; of the Lurlei\nsiren, who lured men to destruction, and became historical from the\nindividuality of the case; of various maidens bereft of lovers by cruel\nfathers, and of various lovers bereft of maidens by cruel fate, &c.,\nwhile storied ruins crowned the crags on every hand, always half hidden\nunder a weight of ivy, and often indistinguishable from the rock on\nwhich they seemed to have grown.\n\nAt Bingen, which is not especially \"fair\" from the river, the precipices\ndrop away, the stream spreads out in nearly twice its former width, and\nis dotted with islands. At Mayence you may leave the steamer; the\nbeauties of the Rhine are passed.\n\nFrom Mayence we made an excursion to Wiesbaden; then on to\nFrankfort-on-the-Maine, to rest only a few hours, _doing_ the city\nhastily and imperfectly; and finally reached Heidelberg at night, in\ntime for _table d'hôte_. A talkative young Irishman sat beside us at the\ntable, who spoke five or six languages \"with different degrees of\nbadness,\" he informed us; had travelled half the world over, but held in\nreserve the pleasure of visiting America.\n\n\"I have a friend there,\" he added, \"though he is in _South_ America.\"\n\n\"Ah?\"\n\n\"Yes; at _Mobile_,\" he replied. \"He held some office under government\nfor a number of years, but during your recent war--for some reason which\nI do not understand--he seems to have lost it.\"\n\nIt did not seem so inexplicable to us.\n\nOur conception of Heidelberg had been most imperfect. We knew simply\nthat it held a university and a ruin. The former did not especially\nattract us, and we were sated with ruins. So, when we took possession of\nour lovely room,--a charming _salon_, converted temporarily into a\nbedroom,--it was with a kind of listless indifference that we stepped\nout upon the balcony before the window. And, behold! down below, an old,\npaved square, walled in by delightfully dingy old houses; a stone\nfountain; a string of waiting landaus (for Landau itself is near by),\nwith scarlet linings to their tops--giving a bit of color to the\npicture; a party of German students crossing the square, wearing the\ncaps of different colors to betoken different societies or clubs, and\nalmost every one with a scarred cheek or suggestive patch upon his nose;\nand, lastly, on the right hand, and so precipitous as almost to overhang\nthe square, a hill crowned with the castle, grand, though in ruins,\nwhich nature vainly tries to conceal. There are ruins, and ruins.\nExcept the Alhambra, in Spain, none in the world equal these.\n\nWhat this castle must have been in the days of its glory, when it was\nthe residence of a court, we could only faintly imagine. It is of red\nsandstone, and was a succession of palaces, built to enclose a square,\nor great court-yard, each of entirely different architecture and design,\nthe _façade_ of one being covered with statues, another having pointed\ngables, &c.; all having been erected at periods fifty or a hundred years\nremote from each other. At each corner were watch-towers to apprise of\ncoming foes. You may still ascend the winding stairs of one, though the\nsteps have been hollowed into bowls by dripping rain and mounting feet.\nBetween these towers, upon one side, and on the verge of the hill, still\nremains the grand stone terrace,--where a hundred couples might\npromenade in solitude on moonlight evenings,--with summer-houses at each\nend; and beautiful gardens are still connected with the ruins. For all\nthese palaces are in ruins. A few habitable rooms only remain among them\nall. Several sieges, and partial demolition at times, the castle\nsuffered, and at last, a hundred years ago, lightning completed the\nwork, since which time no efforts at restoration have been made.\n\nThe whole is overgrown with ivy, and embowered in shrubbery. Great trees\nspread their branches in the midst of the walls that still remain\nstanding, and crumbling earth and drifting dust have filled many parts,\neven up to the broken window ledges of the second story. Across the\nbroad stone steps leading to one of these palaces, tangled vines\ndisputed right of way, and a neglected cherry-tree had scattered with\nwanton hand its over-ripe fruitage. Thrust through a casement was an ivy\nthat might have vied with many of the trees around in the size of its\ntrunk, and no artistic hand could have trailed its creepers with the\ngrace Nature alone had displayed.\n\nThere was a grand banqueting-hall, with the blue heavens for a ceiling\noverhead. There was a drawing-room, the floor long since crumbled away,\nand only the broken walls remaining. Standing upon the loose earth, you\nmay see the blackened fireplace far above your head, before which fair\nfaces grew rosy centuries ago, and where white hands were outspread that\nhave been dust and mould for ages. There was-- But words cannot describe\nit, though I should speak of the winding ways like a labyrinth beneath\nit all; of the queer paved court-yard, from whence the knights sallied\nout in the olden time; of the great tower, split in twain by an\nexplosion during the last siege; of the wine-cellars and the \"Great\nTun,\" upon which the servants of the castle danced when the vintage was\ngathered. In all attempts at word-painting there remains something that\ndefies description, that will not be portrayed by language. And, alas!\nin that the charm lies.\n\nWe turned away from it with regret. One might linger here for days; but\nwe had little time for dreaming.\n\nThe road from Heidelberg to Baden-Baden led through a charming country:\nindeed, we ceased to exclaim after a time over the cultivation of the\nland. So far as we saw it, the whole of Europe was a market-garden,\nwith prize meadows interspersed. Not a foot of neglected or\ncarelessly-tilled ground did we see anywhere.\n\nWe chanced to spend the Sabbath in this most un-Sabbath-like city of\nBaden-Baden. But so far as we knew to the contrary, it might have been a\nPuritan village. There was a little English chapel out in the fields\nbeyond the city, where morning service was held, and our windows,\noverlooking a quiet square, told nothing of the gayeties of the town. It\nis an interesting old city in itself, built upon a side hill, full of\nunexpected stone steps leading from one street to another, and by and\ncrooked ways, that were my especial delight. It being just now \"the\nseason,\" the town was full of visitors. The hot springs are of course\nthe nominal attraction; the shops, parks, and new parts of the city,\nfine; but, after all, the interest centres at the Kursaal, or\nConversation-haus. It is a great white structure, with a colonnade where\nit fronts an open square, and contains reading-rooms, _cafés_, a grand\nball-room, and the gambling _salons_. Government has at length\ninterfered, and these last, hired by companies paying a certain sum for\nthe privilege of beguiling and beggaring visitors, were to be closed now\nin two years, I think, or less. In front of the Kursaal a band plays\nevery afternoon; the colonnade and square are thronged with people\npromenading or occupying the chairs placed there, eating ices, drinking\nwine, and enjoying the fine music, but all perfectly quiet in manner and\nplain of dress. No one was gaudily or even strikingly attired. The\nHanoverian women were the most marked for their queer head-dresses,\nconsisting of an enormous bow and ends of wide, black ribbon perched\nupon their crowns, and giving their heads a peculiar, bat-like\nappearance. And in this connection I might say that national\npeculiarities in dress are seldom met with in the ordinary course of\ncontinental travel. They still exist to some extent among the lower\nclasses, and are often assumed and perpetuated to attract the attention\nof travellers; but ordinarily you will find people whom you meet\nanywhere and everywhere to be costumed much alike. Paris fashions, with\nmodifications (and in America with _intensifications_), have prevailed\nuniversally, until there are few outward dissimilarities to be observed\namong the people of different nationalities. Nothing strikes the\nattention of the traveller more than this universal homogeneousness; and\nnot in dress alone. In Bruges, under the shadow of the belfry tower,\nlittle girls trot off to school in water-proofs, just as they do at home\nwith us; and at the entrance to Stirling Castle, we passed a sturdy\nlittle boy with his hands in his pockets, whistling, \"Not for Jo,\"\nexactly like other sturdy little boys we know at home.\n\nBut to return to Baden-Baden.\n\nWe almost fancied a sulphurous odor hung about the gambling _salons_.\nNot a footfall echoed upon the softly-carpeted floors as we entered. The\nmost breathless silence hung over everything. In the centre, a crowd,\nthree in depth at least, surrounded and hid the table covered with green\ncloth, before which sat the _croupier_, with a kind of little rake in\nhis hand. In our eyes he was the incarnation of evil, though to\nunprejudiced vision he would appear simply a well-dressed--not\nflashily-arrayed--gentleman, of a rather intellectual countenance, who\nmight have passed upon the street as a lawyer in good practice, or\npossibly a doctor somewhat overworked.\n\nOne after another of the bystanders covered the figures stamped upon the\ntable with gold or silver. The ball in the centre, spinning in its\ncircle, fell into a pocket with a \"click.\" The _croupier_ called the\nwinning number I think (though confessing that the game is a hidden\nmystery). That quick, sharp utterance was the only sound breaking the\nsilence. At the same time, with wonderful dexterity, he raked the money\ninto a pile, and pushed it towards the winner, or, more frequently,\nadded it to the pile before himself.\n\nI looked in vain for any exhibition of excitement or anxiety among the\nplayers sitting or standing around the table. All were serious, silent;\nsome few absorbed. Both sexes were equally represented, and old as well\nas young. Beside us was standing a woman with a worn, though still fine\nface, unobtrusive in dress and manner; a traveller and spectator, I\njudged, like ourselves. It was something of a surprise, not to say a\nshock, to see her suddenly stretch out her hand, and lay down a handful\nof gold pieces, selecting the numbers with an air that proved her to be\nno novice. \"Click,\" fell the ball. The _croupier_, with a sweep of the\nrake, gathered up her Napoleons. The bank had won. Again she laid down\nher gold, placing each piece with thoughtful deliberation. Again they\nwere swept away; and even the third time. She made no exclamation. She\ndid not so much as raise her eyes from the table as she prepared to make\na fourth attempt. There was no change in her face, except a certain\nfixedness which came over it, and a faint tinge of color rising in her\ncheeks.\n\nWe breathed more freely when we had gained the open air. I am sure there\nwas an odor of sulphur about the place.\n\nThe scenery around Baden-Baden is striking and wild. Gloomy valleys\nabound, and dark forests cover many of the hills. We took a kind of\nwagonet one morning, and climbed the mountain behind the city, passing\nwhat is known as the \"New Schloss,\" or castle, before leaving its\nlimits. It is anything but _new_, however, having been erected some four\nor five hundred years. Its horrible dungeons, where all manner of\ntorments were inflicted, and tortures suffered by the unfortunate\nwretches incarcerated here, attract scores of visitors. We went on, by\nthe zigzag road up the mountain, to the Old Schloss upon its summit.\nThis was the residence of the reigning family of Baden before the\nerection of the New Schloss. Hardly anything remains of it now but the\nwalls of a square tower, from the battlements of which, by mounting to\nan encircling gallery, you may obtain a view well worth the effort. As\nfar as the eye can see in one direction, extends the Black Forest--the\nvery name of which brings to mind elfish legends innumerable. But,\nthough our way led along its edge, so that we were shut in by the chill\nand gloom of the evergreens which give it its name, we saw neither elves\nnor gnomes, nor the traditional \"wood-cutter, named Hans, who lived upon\nthe borders of the Black Forest,\" about whom we used to read when we\nwere children.\n\nFrom Baden-Baden we took the railroad, following the course of the\nRhine to Strasbourg, spending only a night here, in order to visit the\nbeautiful cathedral; then on to Lucerne, waiting an hour or two to break\nthe long day's ride, at Basle. Here the mountains began to grow before\nour eyes. We shot through tunnel after tunnel, cut in the solid rock,\nand suddenly sweeping around a curve, the everlasting hills wrapped in\nperpetual snows, greeted our astonished sight. We had reached the Mecca\nof our hopes at last.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nDAYS IN SWITZERLAND.\n\n          The Lake of Lucerne.--Days of rest in the\n          city.--An excursion up the Righi.--The crowd at\n          the summit.--Dinner at midnight.--Rising before\n          \"the early worm.\"--The \"sun-rise\" according to\n          Murray.--Animated scarecrows.--Off for a tour\n          through Switzerland.--The lake for the last\n          time.--Grütlii.--William Tell's\n          chapel.--Fluellen.--Altorf.--Swiss haymakers.--An\n          hour at Amsteg.--The rocks close in.--The Devil's\n          Bridge.--The dangerous road.--\"A carriage has gone\n          over the precipice!\"--Andermatt.--Desolate\n          rocks.--Exquisite wild flowers.--The summit of the\n          Furka.--A descent to the Rhone glacier.--Into the\n          ice.--Swiss villages.--Brieg.--The convent\n          inn.--The bare little chapel on the hill.--To\n          Martigny.\n\n\nWHEN we forget the scene before our dazzled eyes as we stepped out upon\nthe balcony of the hotel Bellevue at Lucerne, earth will have passed\naway. There lay the fair lake, the emerald hills rising from its blue\ndepths on every side, save where the queer old town sweeps around its\ncurve, or beyond Pilatus, where the chain is broken, and a strip of\nlevel land lies along the water's edge, sprinkled with red-roofed\nfarm-houses set in the midst of grain-fields, and with rows of tall,\nstraight poplars extending to the water. This sight of peaceful homes\namong the heavenly hills is like a vision of earth in mid-heaven.\nBeyond, above, overlapping each other, rise these delectable hills. No\nearthly air envelops them. No earthly feet tread their fair summits.\nUpon the highest, among the eternal snows, rest the clouds. Truly, the\nheavens declare the glory of God; but Switzerland showeth his handiwork!\n\nBeautiful was the lake in the hazy morning light, when the hills cast\npurple and green shadows over its bosom, when the breeze rippled its\nsurface, and the path in the wake of the little steamer widened into an\nendless way; beautiful in the glare of the noonday sun, when a veil of\nmist half hid the far-off mountains, and the water gleamed like molten\ngold; but most beautiful of all when the mountains wrapped themselves in\nthe shadows of night, and stole away into the darkness, while upon their\nwhite, still faces shone the rays of the setting sun. Then grim Pilatus\nstepped forth; the moon, like a burnished globe, hung over the water,\nacross which the little steamer ploughed silver furrows, or tiny boats,\nimpelled by flashing oars, shot over the still surface, now near, now\nfar away; but dim, unreal, always.\n\nIt was a place of rest to us--this city of Lucerne; the \"House\nBeautiful,\" where we tarried for a time before setting out again upon\nour pilgrimage. We wandered about the narrow streets, visited the dingy\nshops full of wood carvings or ornaments cut in the many-hued crystals;\nstrayed over the low hills behind the town, through fields set with\npainted shrines; paused before Thorwaldsen's Dying Lion, cut in the\nliving rock--the grandest monument that heroes ever won; and once, in\nthe stillness of a summer morning, sat in the cathedral and heard the\nangels sing, when the old organist laid his hands upon the keys. Sabbath\nmornings we sang the old versified psalms, and listened to the\nexposition of a rigid faith from the lips of a Scotch Presbyterian\nminister, in an old Roman Catholic church--the walls hung with pictured\nsaints and martyrs, the high altar only partially concealed, and a\ncompany of women kneeling by the door to tell their beads. Not only\nrest, but Christian charity, had we found here.\n\nAlmost every one who spends any time at Lucerne ascends the Righi to see\nthe sun rise. Accordingly, five of our number prepared to follow the\nuniversal custom. In one of the little shops of the town we found some\nlight, straw hats, with wide rims, for which we gave the extravagant\nprice of three cents apiece, trimming them afterwards to suit individual\ntaste, with ribbons, soft white lawn, and even mountain ferns and\ngrasses. We slung our wraps over our shoulders by a strap,--a most\nuncomfortable arrangement by the way,--discarded crinoline, brought into\nuse the shabbiest gowns in our possession, packed hand-satchels with\nwhatever was necessary for a night upon the mountain, and then declared\nourselves ready for any disclosures of the future or the Righi.\n\nA little steamer bore us from Lucerne to Weggis--a half hour's sail. We\nfound Weggis to be only an insignificant village, almost pushed into the\nlake by the crowding mountain, and seeming to contain nothing but guides\nand shabby horses. As we left the steamer, the open space between the\npier and the hotel facing it was crowded with tourists, waiting for or\nbargaining with the guides for these sorry-looking beasts. No matter of\nwhat age, sex, or condition in life you may be, if you visit\nSwitzerland, you will make, at least one, equestrian attempt; but in\ntruth, there is nothing to fear for even the most inexperienced, as a\nguide usually leads each horse. The saddles for the use of ladies are\nprovided with a rail upon one side, and the nature of the paths are\nsuch, that it would be impossible to go beyond a walk. The only danger\nis from over-fatigue in descending the rocky, slippery way, often like\nflights of stairs; then, exhausted from trying to hold back in the\nsaddle, dizzy from gazing into frightful depths, one might easily become\nunseated.\n\nWhen our guides were secured, one dejected beast after another was led\nto the wooden steps, always provided for mounting and dismounting; we\nclimbed to our several elevations with some inward quaking, fell into\nline,--for single file is the invariable rule,--and passed out of the\nvillage by immediately beginning the ascent, describing, in our saddles\nevery known curve and angle, as the path became more and more rough and\nprecipitous. For guides we had a man with a rakish air, and--we judged\nfrom his gait--a wooden leg, who tragically wrung the perspiration from\nhis red flannel shirt at intervals; a boy, with one of those open\ncountenances only saved from complete lateral division by the merciful\ninterposition of the ears, and a wizen-faced old man of so feeble an\nappearance as to excite my constant sympathy, since his place chanced to\nbe by my side. He assured me continually that he was not tired, though\nbefore half of the three hours of the ascent had passed, his pale face\nbelied his words. He was quite ready to converse, but I could with\ndifficulty understand his English. We had paused at a wayside shed to\nrest the horses, and offer some refreshment to the guides, when I\naddressed him with,--\n\n\"What is that you are drinking? Is it goat's milk?\"\n\n\"Noo, leddy,\" was his reply. \"It is coo's;\" at the same time, and with\nthe utmost simplicity and good will, offering me the glass from which he\nhad been drinking, that I might taste and judge for myself.\n\nIt is nearly nine miles to the summit, or Righi-Kulm. The bridle-path is\nrocky, rough, and steep, with a grassy slope upon either side, sprinkled\nat this season with dandelions, blue-bells, and odd yellow butter-cups.\nOften this slope changed to a precipice, still smiling with flowers.\nUpon every level spot orchards of pear trees and apricots had been\nplanted, while evergreens and shrubs innumerable clung to the mountain\nsides, or sprang from among the rocks.\n\nTossed about wherever they could find a resting-place, were great\nboulders of pudding-stone, overhanging the path, rising in our way, or\nrolling in broken masses under the horses' feet. Sometimes, perched upon\na natural terrace, was a _châlet_, sheltered from sweep of wind or\navalanche by overhanging rocks half covered with ivy and dainty\nclematis. Occasionally a beggar barred the way with outstretched hand,\nor offered for sale some worthless trinket, as an excuse for asking\nalms. We hugged the rocks upon one side, as other lines of tourists\nwound down to meet us, upon horseback or afoot with alpenstocks to aid\ntheir steps. Peasants, laden like beasts of burden, passed as we paused\nto rest, with trunks, provisions, and even the red tiles for the new\nhotel above, strapped upon their backs, or resting there on wooden\nframes. They came and went; but ever present were the wonderful glimpses\nof earth, and sky, and shimmering lake far down below.\n\nAt the half-way house we turn to climb a gentle slope upon the mountain\nface. On either side the land spreads out smooth and green. It had been\nhot below. The air strikes us here with an icy chill. A party of young\nEnglishmen in knickerbockers, with blue veils tied about their hats,\nlean over the railing of the piazza, and scan us as we pass. A Spaniard,\nwith his dark-faced wife, step out of the path--all manner of oily words\ndropping from their lips. We reach the Righi-Staffel. Suddenly, upon one\nside, the land falls away. Among the reverberating hills echoes the\n_jödel_, and from a terrace far below, where a herd of dun cows are\nfeeding, rises the tinkle of sweet-toned bells. From every path--and\nthere are many now--winds a slow procession. The grassy slopes are all\nalive with people; the hotel piazza, as we pass, is crowded with\ntravellers. Still they pour in from every side. Still the mountain-peak\nrises above us as we go on joining other trains, and leading others in\nturn. We pass through a rough gateway, ascend the broken rocks that rise\nlike steps, follow again the narrow path, and reach at last the hotel,\njust before which rises the Kulm.\n\nTalk of the solitude of nature! It is not found among these mountain\npeaks, grand though they are. We dismounted in the midst of a noisy\ncrowd. Exclamations in seemingly every known tongue echoed about us, as\none party after another arrived to swell the confusion. The hill before\nus swarmed with tourists, who had come, like ourselves, to see the sun\nrise. The hotel, and even the adjoining house into which the former\noverflows, were more than full. Since we had taken the precaution to\ntelegraph,--for telegraphic communication is held with most of these\nmountain resorts,--some show of civility awaited us. A single room was\ngiven to the four ladies of our party, where, a few hours later, we\ndisposed ourselves as best we could. It was only a rough place, with\nbare plastered walls, and unpainted wooden floor; but we were not\ndisposed to be fastidious. Dropping our satchels, we hastened up the\nhill before the house. It fell in a precipice upon the other side--to\nwhat frightful depth I know not. Down below, the hills spread out like\nlevel land, with lakes where every valley should be, and villages, like\nwhite dots only, upon the universal green, among which the River Reuss\nwound like a silver thread. But above and over all, against the sky,\nrose the mountains--the Bernese Alps, like alabaster walls, the gates of\nwhich, flung back, would open heavenward.\n\nWe wandered over the hillocks, which make up the summit, until the sun\nwas gone. Gradually the darkness gathered--a thickening of the shadows\nuntil they seemed almost tangible. There was no flame of gold and\ncrimson where the sun had disappeared; there were no clouds to reflect\nthe warm yellow light that hung about the west. But when the night\nwrapped us in, the little lakes down below gleamed out like stars.\n\nThe crowd that pushed and fairly wedged itself into the _salle à\nmanger_, when dinner was announced at eight o'clock, was quite beyond\nbelief or computation. Everybody was tired, hungry, and impatient, after\nthe ride to the summit. For once, silver was at a discount. One of the\nwaiters was finally bribed to give us a private room, and slyly edged\nour party into a pantry, where he brought us, at immense intervals, a\nspoonful of soup and a hot plate apiece, after which, his resources\nutterly failing, he acknowledged that he could do no more. The second\n_table d'hôte_ was served between the hours of ten and eleven at night,\nand consisted of numerous courses, with a similarity of flavor,\nsuggesting one universal saucepan.\n\nIt was midnight when we finally gained our rooms, and threw ourselves\nupon the uncomfortable beds. The linen was wet, rather than damp. The\nonly covering consisted of a single blanket, and the _duvet_ or down\npillow, always found upon the foot of continental beds.\n\nWe imagined that the sun would appear with the very earliest known worm,\nand at least an hour before the most ambitious lark, and dared not close\nour eyes, lest they should not open in time to greet him. At last,\nhowever, sleep overpowered our fears. Katie's voice roused us.\n\n\"It is three o'clock,\" she said, \"and growing light, and I believe\npeople are hurrying up the hill.\"\n\nProfane persons should avoid the Righi; it is a place of terrible\ntemptation. \"Good heavens!\" we responded, \"what kind of a sun can it be\nto rise at such an hour?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"Frowsy, sleepy, cross, and caring nothing whatever for\nthe sun, moon, or stars, we stood like a company of Bedlamites, ankle\ndeep in the wet grass upon the summit.\" Page 176.]\n\nOur room was upon the ground floor. We pushed open the shutters and\npeered out, facing an untimely Gabriel, just raising to his lips an\nAlpine horn some six feet in length. Evidently the hour had arrived. We\nthrust our feet into our boots, tied our hats under our chins, and ran\nout to join a most ridiculous collection of animated scarecrows like\nourselves. Frowsy, sleepy, cross, and caring nothing whatever for the\nsun, moon, or stars, we stood like a company of Bedlamites, ankle deep\nin the wet grass upon the summit. No sun of irreproachable moral\ncharacter and well-regulated habits would appear at such an hour, we\nknew. The light strengthened with our impatience. Every half-closed eye\nwas fixed upon that corner of the heavens from which the sun would sally\nforth. The golden gates had opened. A red banner floated out. Tiny\nclouds on either side awaited his coming, dressed in crimson and yellow\nlivery. Every one of us stood upon tiptoe--the heels of our unbuttoned\nboots thereupon dropping down. One collarless tourist, in whose outward\nadorning suspenders played a conspicuous part, gravely opened his\nguide-book, found the place with some difficulty, and buried his head in\nthe pages, to assure himself that everything was proceeding according to\nMurray. Suddenly the white faces of the distant mountains grew purple\nwith a rage which we all shared; the flaming banner streamed out across\nthe east, and the king of day, with most majestic step, but frightfully\nswollen, tell-tale countenance, rose in the heavens. I am sure he had\nbeen out all night.\n\nThe light grew clearer now. The mountains rose reluctantly, and shook\noff their wrappings of mist. The little clouds doffed their crimson\nfinery. The man held together by the marvellous complication of\nshoulder-straps, closed his guide-book with an air of entire\nsatisfaction. Evidently the programme, as laid down by Murray, had been\naccurately carried out. Everybody exclaimed, \"Wonderful!\" in his or her\nnative tongue. All the knickerbockers, and woollen shirts, and lank\nwater-proofs, without any back hair to speak of, trotted off down the\nhill to be metamorphosed into human beings, and prepare for breakfast,\neven to the individual who had been stalking about in a white bed\nblanket, with a striped border--though printed notices in every room\nexpressly forbade the using of bed blankets as morning wraps.\n\nWhen breakfast was over, there was nothing to do but to make the descent\nto Weggis, and return to Lucerne.\n\nAfter a time, when weariness could no longer be made an excuse for\nlingering, we prepared for a tour through Switzerland. Engaging\ncarriages to meet us at Fluellen, we embarked for the last time upon the\nbeautiful lake, winding in and out its intricate ways, shut in by the\ntowering cliffs that closed before us, only to re-open, revealing new\ncharms as we rounded some promontory, and the lake widened again. Upon\nthe bays thus formed, villages lean against the mountain-side. Where the\nrocks fall abruptly to the water, an occasional _châlet_ is perched upon\nsome natural terrace, in the midst of an orchard or scanty garden. As we\ntouched at these lake villages, brown-faced girls, in scant blue\npetticoats and black bodices, and with faded hair braided in their\nnecks, offered us fruits--apricots and cherries--in pretty, rustic\nbaskets.\n\nOne of these green spots, high among the rocks, forms a sloping meadow,\ntouching the water at last. It is an oasis in the surrounding desert of\nbarren rock. Do you know why the grass is greener here than elsewhere?\nwhy the sun bestows its kisses more warmly? why the foliage upon the\nscattered walnut and chestnut trees is thicker, darker, than upon those\non other mountain-sides? It is because this is Grütlii--the birthplace\nof Swiss liberty. Here, more than five hundred years ago, the three\nconfederates met at night to plan the throwing off of the Austrian yoke.\n\nNot far from Grütlii, resting apparently upon the water, at the base of\none of these cliffs, is what appears at first sight to be a pretty green\nand white summer-house, open towards the lake. It is Tell's Chapel,\nbuilt upon a shelf of rock, and only approachable from the water.\nHere--so the story runs--William Tell sprang ashore, and escaped the\ntyrant Gessler. We sweep around this promontory and gain the last bay\nwhere lies Fluellen--a ragged village, swarming with tourists,\nvetturinos, and diligences. Among the carriages we find our own. It is a\nroomy landau, luxuriously lined with scarlet velvet, drawn by three\nhorses which wear tinkling bells, and is capable of carrying six\npassengers. The top is thrown back, but a kind of calash-shade screens\nfrom the sun the occupants of what we should call the driver's seat. Our\ndriver's place is a narrow board behind the horses. One crack of a long\nwhip, and we are off at a rattling pace over the hard road, smooth as a\nfloor.\n\nFor the first day we are to follow the pass of St. Gothard--that\nwell-travelled highway which leads through mountain defiles into Italy.\nWe dashed by Altorf, where the family of Queen Victoria's husband\noriginated, passing the open square in which William Tell shot the apple\nfrom the head of his son. An old man is watering a horse at the basin of\nthe stone fountain which marks the spot where the father stood. All this\nvalley is sacred to the memory of William Tell. In a village near by he\nwas born; in the mountain stream, just beyond, he is said to have lost\nhis life in the attempt to save a drowning child. After Altorf, the road\nwinds among the meadows, though the mountains rise on every side, with\n_châlets_ perched upon points which seem inaccessible, so steep are\ntheir sides. It is haying time, and men and women are at work in the\nfields and upon the mountain-sides, carefully securing every blade of\ngrass. Once, when we had begun to wind up the mountains, where a\ngrass-grown precipice fell almost sheer to the valley below, a girl\nclung to its side, and pulled with one hand the grass from between the\nrocks, thrusting it into a bag that hung about her neck. She paused to\ngaze after us as we dashed by, a kind of dull awe that never rose to\nenvy lighting her face for an instant. O, the hungry, pitiful faces of\nthese dwellers upon the heights! the pinched, starved faces of the\nlittle ones especially, who forgot to smile--how they haunted us! At\nnoon we sweep up to the post-house at Amsteg, with a jingle of bells, a\ncrack of the whip, and an annunciatory shout from the driver. There is\nno village that we can see. The piazza of the post-house is filled with\ntravellers, lunching before a long table; half a dozen waiting carriages\nstand in the open space before it; as many hostlers, with knit caps\nupon their heads, from which hang long, bright-colored tassels, are busy\namong the horses. At a short distance the Reuss River rushes past the\nhouse; upon its bank is a little shop, with its store of Swiss\ncuriosities and trinkets. A couple of girls fill a tray with the dainty\nwares, and cross the space to tempt us. One has a scarlet handkerchief\nknotted under her handsome, dark face. She turns her brown cheek to her\nshoulder, tossing a word back as the young hostlers contrive to stand in\nher way.\n\nOne by one the carriages take up their loads and go on. We soon follow\nand overtake them, winding slowly up among the rocks, which seem ready\nto fall upon us. We form a long train, a strange procession, bound by no\ntie but that of common humanity. The meadows and soft, green\nmountain-slopes are left behind as we ascend, crossing from one side to\nthe other by arched bridges thrown over the chasm, at the foot of which\nfoams the torrent. Higher and higher rise the rent rocks--bare, black\nwalls, seamed, and scarred, and riven, their summits reaching to the\nsky. They close about us, shutting out everything of earth and heaven,\nsave a narrow strip of blue far above all. Even the sweet light of day\ndeparts, and a gloom and darkness as of a brooding tempest falls upon us\nas the way narrows. Suddenly a mad, foaming torrent, with angry roar,\nleaps from the rocks above, to toss, and writhe, and moan upon the rocks\nbelow the arch upon which we stand. The water rushes over them, and\ndashes against them. It swirls, and pants, and foams, while high above\nit all we stand, our faces wet with the spray, our ears deafened by the\nterrible roar. Truly, this _is_ \"The Devil's Bridge.\"\n\nThink of armies meeting here, as they did in the old Napoleonic wars,\ncontending for the passage of the bridge below. Think of the shrieks of\nthe wounded and dying, mingling with the raging of the waters. Think of\nthe white foam surging red among the rocks; of the angry torrent beating\nout the ebbing life of those who checked its flow. Think of the meeting\nof hosts in mortal conflict where no eye but God's could witness it,\nupon which not even bird or startled beast looked down. It was like a\ndreadful dream from which we passed--as through deep sleep--by a way cut\nin the solid rock out into God's world again. Still, from one side of\nthe road rose the rocks that began to show signs of scanty vegetation\nnow; from the other fell the precipice to the torrent. We had left the\ncarriages at the bridge, and singly or in companies toiled up the road\nthat doubled back upon itself continually. Often we climbed from one of\nthese windings to the next above, by paths among the rocks, leaving the\ncarriages to make the turn and follow more slowly. Often our way was the\nbed of a last year's torrent, or our feet touched the borders of the\nstream, as we pulled ourselves up by the shrubs that grew among the\nrocks. The ice-chill in the air brought strength for the time, and\nperfect exhilaration. It seemed as if we could go on forever, scaling\nthese mountain heights.\n\nAt last the carriages overtake us, and we reluctantly resume our places.\nThe road is built out upon the mountain-side. It offers no protection\nagainst the fall of the precipice. It narrows here. We look down, and\nsay, \"How dreadful a careless driver might make this place!\" and,\nshuddering, draw back. Suddenly the train pauses, and down the long\nhill runs a shout, \"A carriage has gone over.\" We spring out, and run to\nthe front. \"Is any one killed?\" \"No; thank God, no one is harmed.\" We\ngather upon the edge of the precipice. Upon the rocks below lies the\nbody of a horse--dead, with his fore feet raised, as though pawing the\nair; and mingling with the white waters, and tossed about in the raging\nstream, are the shattered remains of a carriage and its contents.\n\nIt seems that two young men from Canton Zurich essayed to make a tour of\nthe mountains with their own horse and carriage--a foolhardy experiment,\nsince none but tried horses, used to these passes, are considered safe\nhere. All went well, however, until they reached this point, where a\ntorrent falls down the mountain-side to the road, under which it passes\nwith a fearful noise. It might, indeed, startle the strongest nerves.\nThe horse, young and high-spirited, shied to the edge of the precipice,\nthen reared high in the air. They saw that he must go over when his fore\nfeet came down, and springing out, barely escaped a similar fate. We all\npassed the spot with some trepidation, the most of us preferring to\nwalk; but our horses, accustomed to the road, were utterly unmoved by\nthe swooping torrent. At night we reached Andermatt--only an untidy\nlittle village, lying in one of these upper valleys, bustling and all\nalive around the door of its one inn; but how green and beautiful were\nthe mountains, shutting us in all around, after the desolation through\nwhich much of our way had led! Upon the side of the nearest was a\ntriangular patch of wood-land,--firs and spruces,--said to divide and\nbreak the force of the avalanches that sweep down here in the spring.\nIt can be nothing but a story of what had been true formerly, when the\nwood was more extensive. Down these mountains, as night closed in,\nstraggled a herd of goats to the milking, tinkling countless little\nbells, while the roar of the Reuss, which we had followed until it was\nnow hardly more than a mountain brook, mingled with our dreams as it ran\nnoisily through the village.\n\nOn we went the next morning, wrapping ourselves warmly, for the air was\nchill as November, though at Lucerne, only twenty-four hours before, we\nhad suffered a torrid heat. Just beyond Andermatt, at Hospenthal, we\nleft the St. Gothard, to follow the Furka pass. All around was barren\ndesolation, as we went on, still ascending, leaving every sign of human\nlife behind. Rocky and black the mountains rose, bearing only lichens\nand ferns. Occasional patches of snow appeared, lying in the beds of the\nlast year's torrents, or scattered along beside the road. But here,\nwhere Nature had bestowed little to soften and beautify, she had spread\nupon the barren land, and tucked in among the rocks, a covering of\nexquisitely delicate flowers. You cannot realize, until you have seen\nthem, the variety, beauty, and profusion of the Alpine flowers. Looking\nback in memory upon the bare rocks, doomed to stand here through all\ntime in solitude and in the midst of desolation, as though in expiation\nof some sin, it is pleasant to remember that at their feet and in their\nclefts these little flowers nestle and bloom.\n\nWe gathered nosegays and made snowballs, and at noon gained the summit\nof the Furka, and rested an hour or two at the inn--the only sign of\nhouse or hut we had seen since morning. The rough _salons_, the passage,\nthe doorway, even the space outside, were alive with tourists. It is a\ncontinual jar upon one's sense of the fitness of things, something to\nwhich you never become thoroughly accustomed, until all freshness of\nsight-seeing is passed--this coming suddenly upon the world in the midst\nof the unutterable solitude of nature; this plunging into a crowd\ndressed in the latest style, and discussing universal frivolities where\nthe very rocks and hills seem to stand in silent adoration. But after\nthe first moment you, too, form one of the frivolous throng, the sight\nand sound of which shock the sensibilities of the next comer.\n\nFrom the inn a tongue of land, green and dotted with flowers, falls into\nthe valley below. On either side rises a mountain, scarred by the\ntorrents dried away now, and stained this day with the last year's snow,\nwhile beyond--ever beyond, like some heavenly heights we vainly strove\nto gain--rose the Bernese Alps.\n\nFrom the summit of the Furka we descended to the Rhone glacier by one of\nthe zigzag mountain roads. Looking down over the edge, we could see\nbelow, the ways we were yet to follow on the mountain face before\naccomplishing the descent. The horses dashed down at a flying pace. The\ninclination of the road was not sufficient to alarm; but the turns are\nalways so frightfully abrupt as to make it seem as though the leader\nmust dash off. But no; he invariably swung around just upon the outer\nedge, held, it seemed sometimes, by the traces, and with a crack of the\ndriver's whip was off again before our fears, if we had any, could find\nwords.\n\nOne of these abrupt turns fairly hangs over the glacier, where the icy\nriver has fallen into broken masses from a higher point, before\nspreading out in the narrow valley just here where it ends. Only a short\ndistance from the foot of the glacier is the inn, with its scattered\nout-buildings, where we were to spend the night. The sheer descent from\nthe summit of the Furka is only about half a mile; but though our horses\nhad galloped the whole distance, and the inn was in sight all the time,\nwe were three hours reaching it; so many turns did the road make upon\nthe face of the mountain.\n\nIt was a gloomy valley, shut in by mountains, and surrounded by lesser\nhills all soaked and dripping with icy streams that chilled the air. We\ngained the foot of the glacier from the inn by a rough path over and\namong the rocks, and stones, and heaps of gravel it had brought down and\ndeposited here. From beneath the solid mass of ice flowed a hundred\nshallow streams, which, uniting, form the beginning of the River Rhone.\nWe penetrated for a short distance the gallery cut into the glacier,\nsurrounded and shut down upon by the walls and ceiling, of a deep blue\ncolor, and were preceded by an old man, who awoke the echoes by uttering\na series of broken cries. What with the echoes and horrible chill, the\nplace seemed most unearthly, and we were glad to retreat.\n\nThe roar of torrents, and hardly less thunderous noise of departing\ndiligences, awakened us the next morning. We were soon off upon the\nroad, skirting the mountains, rolling through the pleasant valleys, and\npassing village after village now. They seemed silent and deserted,\ntheir occupants perhaps busy in the fields, or serving at the inns, or\namong the mountains as guides. One was a mass of ruins, thrown down in\nthe bed of a torrent, among which a few dull-faced peasants were at\nwork, with a hopeless, aimless air, that promised little. A mountain\nstream, swollen to a flood by melting snows, had swept it away in a\nnight.\n\nAt noon we lunched at Viesch--a slipshod, unwashed village, by the side\nof the young Rhone, which so far, in its dirty, chalk-white color, was\nnot unlike the white-headed children that played upon its banks. Some of\nthe party left the horses to their noon rest, and strayed out upon the\nroad beyond the village. On its outskirts was a fine new church, of\nstone. If only something of its beauty could but come into the every-day\nlives of the poor people here! We sat down upon the steps to wait.\nAcross the road was an orchard, roughly fenced in; beside it one of the\npicturesque Swiss peasant houses--all steps, and queer old galleries,\nfrom which a little tow-headed girl stared out at us in open-eyed\nwonder, as we blew the down from the dried dandelions we had pulled\nalong the way, and questioned if, in our far-off homes, our mothers\nwanted us!\n\nIt seemed as though we could descend no farther; and yet, after sweeping\nthrough a valley, a sudden turn would disclose another, far below, to\nwhich this was as a mountain. So down we sped the whole day long; once\nby a frightfully-narrow zigzag road, the worst by far of any we had\nseen; passing still through the villages so charming in the distance,\nbut dirty, and full of odors by no means pleasing, as we drew near. At\nnight we rattled into the paved square before the inn at Brieg, just as\nthe first drops of a coming shower wet its stones.\n\nThis was evidently something more than a village. The houses were\nplastered, instead of being of wood with a rich, burnt-sienna color,\nlike those we had seen along the road through the day. They were thickly\nclustered together, and from their midst rose the four turrets of a\nchateau. Our inn was a delightfully-dingy old place. It had been an\nUrsuline convent, and abounded in queer, dark passages, rough stone\nstairways, and old wooden galleries overlooking the square. One of our\nrooms had been a part of the convent chapel, and was still lighted by a\nwindow just beneath the groined roof. Here we braided our hair, and\nknotted our ribbons, and dreamed, in the twilight that followed the\nrain, of the hopeless ones who had sought comfort in other days within\nthese walls, and fell asleep at last, knowing full well that the fringe\nof many an old prayer was still caught and held in the arches high over\nour heads. We walked up through the town the next morning, to the\nbeginning of the Simplon Pass. Somewhere in the narrow streets we passed\nthe old chateau, and pressed our faces against the bars of a gate, in\norder to gain some idea as to the domestic economy of the family which\nhad bestowed upon Brieg its air of importance. But the chateau had\ndegenerated into a brewery, and the court-yard was filled with old\ncarts, clumsy and broken.\n\nFarther up the hill the door of a little chapel stood invitingly open,\nwaiting for stray worshippers, or a chance-burdened heart (for even so\nfar away as Brieg, hearts do grow heavy, I doubt not). Something in its\nnarrow, whitewashed poverty touched our sympathies. It is rare indeed in\nthese countries to find a chapel without at least some votive offering\nto make it beautiful in the eyes of the simple people: here was only a\ncrucifix, and we pleased ourselves with the fancy that when the ships\ncome in that we sent out as children--laden with hopes that were to be\nbartered for treasures--we would return, and hang the walls with\npictures, and make the whole place wonderful in the eyes that had seen\nonly its bareness. The shower the night before had laid the dust, and\nthe drive that morning was most enjoyable. Following the course of the\nnoisy Rhone, we reached Sierre at noon, where we left the carriages with\nregret, and took the railway train to Martigny.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nAMONG THE EVERLASTING HILLS.\n\n          The quaint inn.--The Falls of the Sallenches, and\n          the Gorge de Trient.--Shopping in a Swiss\n          village.--A mule ride to Chamouni.--Peculiarities\n          of the animals.--Entrance to the\n          village.--Egyptian mummies lifted from the\n          mules.--Rainy days.--Chamois.--The Mer de\n          Glace.--\"Look out of your window.\"--Mont\n          Blanc.--Sallenches.--A diligence ride to\n          Geneva.--Our little old woman.--The clownish\n          peasant.--The fork in the road.--\"Adieu.\"\n\n\nOUR hotel here at Martigny, was even more suggestive of romance than the\none at Brieg. It had been a monastery, and was an old, yellow-washed\nstructure facing the street, with a rambling garden surrounded by high\nwalls, clinging to it in the rear. Low, dark rooms, with bare, unpainted\nfloors, like the waves of the sea in smoothness, were given to some of\nour party, while Mrs. K. and I were consigned again, with singular\nappropriateness, to what had been the chapel. Its windows overlooked the\nstraggling, half-dead trees, and bare, hard-baked earth of the open\nspace before the door, which was always being crossed by strings of\nmules ornamented with bright saddle-cloths, and still further with the\nubiquitous tourist arrayed in every known costume of the period.\nVillage girls, too, passed under the trees, knitting as they went, and\nhorrible creatures afflicted with the _goître_--that curse of this\nregion--which we met at every turn now.\n\nTo gain the long, low refectory where we dined, or to pass from one room\nto another, necessitated crossing the brick-paved cloisters, upon which\nall the doors of the second story opened. Here a row of columns\nencircled a narrow, inner court-yard--so narrow as to be nothing more\nthan a slit in the walls, yet wide enough to allow the shimmering\nsunlight to drop down upon the vines twined around the columns, and\nlight the whole dingy interior into a weird, strange beauty.\n\nWe rode out to the Falls of the Sallenches,--one of the mist veils left\nhanging from many of these Swiss mountains by the water-sprites,--and\npenetrated the Gorge de Trient upon the shaky gallery that follows its\nwindings; wandered about and beyond the town; stole into an old church,\nand brought away the memory of a lovely virgin face; and haunted the\ndingy shops in the vain hope of making a few necessary purchases. These\nshops were not unlike our New England country stores in their combined\nodors and confused incapabilities. Behind the counters, or more likely\nsitting in the doorway with the inevitable blue knitting in hand, were\nold women, of hard, baked-apple faces, whose ideas of the luxuries of a\nwoman's wardrobe were so far below what we considered its necessaries,\nthat we parted in mutual surprise, to say the least, and without gain on\neither side.\n\nSabbath morning, English church service was held in the parlor of one of\nthe hotels; after which a clergyman in gown and bands discoursed from\nthe text, \"And there shall be no more sea,\"--a peculiarly comforting\nhope to some of us.\n\nMonday morning, we mounted the horses and mules waiting in dejected\nimpatience before the door, and started upon the long ride of twenty-two\nmiles to Chamouni by the Tête Noir Pass. A wide, pleasant avenue, shaded\nby walnut trees, led out of the town; after which we began to ascend the\ngently-sloping mountain-sides, passing occasional villages, and besieged\nby beggars and venders of fruit, as usual. Indeed, these beggars are so\nconstant in their attendance and importunity that one forgets to mention\nthem, unless recalling flies and similar swarming annoyances.\n\nThe scenery, as we went on, was often grand, always interesting; the sky\novercast, but at times the clouds, drifting apart, disclosed peaks or\n\"needles\" so far above the mountains about us as to seem a revelation of\nheaven. The path was treacherous and rough--skirting precipices,\ndescending in rocky steps or slippery mire, and crossing mountain\nstreams by narrow, insecure bridges. Single file is the invariable rule\nin all these mountain excursions, and after a time the isolations of\nthis mode of travelling adds to its wearisomeness. Solitude is\ndelightful; but as some one has said, \"How pleasant it is to have a\nfriend near by to whom you may remark, 'How delightful is solitude!'\"\n\nAs you follow the windings of the narrow, steep path, you have a choice\nbetween addressing the back of the one who precedes you, and throwing a\nremark over your shoulder to those who come after. Involuntarily you\nfall to studying the curves of the former, and are utterly indifferent\nto the fact that the latter are probably meditating upon the intricacies\nof your back hair. Mule-riding is conducive to grace of neither soul nor\nbody; still you know you are not making such a spectacle of yourself as\ndid the woman just passed--who twisted about in the saddle as though\nworked along by rotary motion. Perhaps not.\n\nAs you leave the villages to plunge into the woods, the flies swarm like\nbeggars; and it is only when the guides have cut boughs from the trees,\nwhich you wave before you, wickedly suggesting palm branches, that you\ncan proceed with tolerable comfort, and without the fear of an\nunexpected toss in the air, as one kick after another runs down the\nline.\n\nEach horse or mule has his own slight peculiarities of habit and\ndisposition. I recall one whose inordinate curiosity led him to walk\nalways upon the verge of the precipices, so that the rider's feet\noverhung the frightful depths. Murray says it is best to allow these\nanimals to choose their own paths. But to hang suspended between heaven\nand earth at the mercy of a strap and a mule, will shake one's faith,\neven in Murray.\n\nMy horse this day was possessed of the dreamy, melancholy nature of a\npoet, with the attendant lack of ambition. Every time we wound\nfunereally through a village, he would walk deliberately to the\nmounting-steps, and wait most suggestively. Indeed, an air of\nabstraction characterized all his movements; even when, as we approached\nthese villages, raising his head, he would seem to sniff the odors of\nAraby the Blest; which was a mistake, a delusion of his fancy shared by\nnone of the others of the party. That he was without pride I must\nconfess. No stable did we pass so poor, none so mean, that he was\nashamed to pause and offer to enter with meek obdurateness.\n\nPoetic as was his temperament, his appetites were developed in a\nremarkable degree. Once upon a narrow bridge we met two walking\nhaystacks, out from which peered great, blue eyes. If the size of his\nmouth had corresponded at all to his desires, they would have vanished\nfrom sight in a twinkling; as it was, they barely escaped. Whether or\nnot insatiable thirst is an attribute of a poet, I do not know; but each\nstream which crossed the path,--and the whole country seemed\nliquidizing,--each drinking-trough beside the way,--and to my excited\nimagination they seemed to form an unbroken line,--was an irresistible\ntemptation. It was only by shouting, \"Yeep! Yeep!\" in staccato chorus,\nand vigorously applying the palm branches, thus engaging his attention\nand diverting his thoughts into less watery channels, that we succeeded\nin making any progress whatever. Under this disciplinary process his\nnature was at last so far subdued that he would have passed the ocean\nitself without a sigh, I am sure.\n\nThere was a rest of an hour at the Tête Noir inn at noon, shut in by the\nfirs, and rocks, and mountains, then we went on to Argentière, where we\ngladly exchanged the horses and mules for some low, open carts with a\ncouple of villagers in blue blouses for drivers. In these we\naccomplished the remaining three or four miles, and made a triumphal\nentry into Chamouni.\n\nIt was late in the afternoon when we crawled up the narrow, thronged\nstreet to the Hôtel Royal, from which the English, French, and American\nflags were flying. The clouds had dropped lower and lower, until a fine\nmist was beginning to deepen into rain, and the guides and tourists\ndetained in the village fairly jostled each other at the intersection of\nthe two principal streets, which seemed to form the village Exchange.\nThe mire of the streets was thickly stamped with hoof-prints and the\nmarks from the nails that stud the shoe-soles of the mountain climbers.\nLine after line of doleful looking objects, which might prove Egyptian\nmummies when unwrapped, were being lifted from still more sorry looking\nbeasts before the door of the hotel, and assaying to mount the steps,\nwith a stiffness and angularity of movement in which we all sympathized.\n\nIndeed, after dinner, when a bright fire was lighted in the long _salon_\nwhere the various parties gathered to read, write, look over\nstereoscopic views, or chat among themselves, it was amusing, as well as\npitiable to observe the abortive attempts at ease and flexibility as\nthese individuals crossed the polished floor, to hear the groans\nsmothered to sighs as they resumed their seats. \"Mules!\" whispered the\ngirls, nudging each other, and mindful of the delight which misery is\nsaid to find in company.\n\nAll the next day the rain dripped down upon the village from the heavy\nclouds that hid the mountains. Everybody improved the opportunity to\nwrite letters, or yawned over the books scattered about the _salon_.\nAmong them was a well-thumbed copy of \"Artemus Ward, His Book.\" At the\nfoot of each page the local allusions of the jokes were explained, I\nremember. Out in the street, umbrellas were dodging about from one shop\nto another. These rainy days, though a loss to the guides, are harvest\ntimes for the shopkeepers. Photographs and stereoscopic views of the\nmountains, the glaciers, and daring climbers hanging on by their\neyelids, abound here, with any amount of wood and chamois (?) horn\ncarving and crystal ornaments. Speaking of chamois-horn, if you expect\nto see in Switzerland--as you do in geographies--chamois perched upon\nevery crag, preparatory to bounding from peak to peak, you will be\ngrievously disappointed. Not a chamois will greet your eyes. We\npassed--I have forgotten where--a pen in which, by paying a certain sum,\nwe might look upon a veritable live chamois; but we had no desire to see\nthe incarnation of liberty thus degraded.\n\nWe waited two days for the uplifting of the clouds, making, in the mean\ntime, an excursion up the Montanvert to overlook the Mer de Glace--which\nis not a sea, but a river of ice, like all the glaciers that have worked\nthemselves down into these valleys. We retired one night with the cloud\ncurtains spread low over our heads; the next morning a voice from\noutside of our door called, \"Look out of your window.\" We sprang up,\nseized the cord of the shutters, and behold! a new heaven and new earth!\nEvery vestige of cloud was gone. The mountains were bathed in sunlight,\nvivid green were the peaks before us, which had never met our gaze until\nnow, while behind the nearest, against the deep blue of the summer sky,\nrose the three vast white steps which lead heavenward, the highest of\nwhich men call Mont Blanc. All that morning, as we descended from the\nvalley of Chamouni to Sallenches, we turned continually to look back;\nand still, white and beautiful, but growing less in the distance, rose\nthe triple domes.\n\nWe had taken a carriage to Sallenches: here we find places in the open\ndiligence for Geneva. We pause in the first village through which we\npass, where a knot of people gathers about a round little old woman. She\nwears a wide-rimmed hat over her neat frilled cap, and carries another\nupon her arm. Her waist is dimly defined by the strings of a voluminous\napron, and her mind entirely distracted by the cares attendant upon the\ndisposal of a cotton bag, a wicker basket, an old umbrella, and a box,\nwhich half a dozen men seize upon with clumsy hands, in good-natured\nofficiousness, and thrust into the baggage compartment, while the women\nand children press about her, kissing the rough, ruddy cheeks, and\nuttering what we are sure must be blessings--odds and ends of which\nfloat up to us. Evidently the little, old woman is going a journey.\nAided by a dozen rough, helpful hands, she climbs the ladder to her\nplace beside us, with a deprecatory though cheerful \"_Bon jour_\" to us\nall, subsiding into a corner, where she is immediately submerged as her\nbelongings are showered down upon her; last of all a crumpled letter is\ntossed into her lap.\n\nThe driver mounts to his place; she leans over; a perfect gust of\nblessings, and kisses, and adieus follow us, as with a crack of the whip\nthe horses spring away, and we leave the village far behind.\n\nSuddenly--for we have turned away our faces--the little old woman's hand\nis plunged into the cotton bag under our feet. We venture to look\naround. The tears have gone; her face beams like the sun, as she brings\nout of the depths a couple of eggs. Another dive, and she emerges with a\npiece of bread. A pinch of salt is added from the basket, and her\nbreakfast is complete. She hospitably offers a share to each of us. We\ndecline; and as a shadow dims the brightness of her face, Katie adds\nquickly,--\n\n\"We have had two breakfasts already.\"\n\nThe little old woman rolls her round, blue eyes to heaven, with a pious\nejaculation. Such lavish extravagance is beyond her comprehension.\n\n\"That is like you rich people,\" she says. \"We are only too happy if the\ngood God sends us _one_.\" And she relapses into a wondering silence.\n\n\"Does madame travel far?\" we venture presently.\n\n\"Ah, yes.\" And she shakes her head slowly. Words cannot express the\ndistance, it is so great.\n\n\"But she has been this way before?\" we go on.\n\n\"No, never before.\" And again the round, blue eyes seek heaven, and\nagain a deep sigh follows the words. She has finished her lunch, and,\ndiving under our feet, emerges after a time with a box, which, opened,\ndiscloses a small store of peppermints. This she offers with some\nhesitation, and we each hasten to accept one, her countenance beaming\nmore and more as they disappear. \"Given to hospitality,\" the little old\nwoman has been, we know.\n\nWhen the box is with difficulty replaced, the string of the bag drawn,\nthe basket arranged to her satisfaction, the umbrella placed at a\npleasing angle, she balances herself upon the edge of the seat, and\nglances fearfully from side to side as we swing along the smooth road.\nOnce, when the wheel passes over a stone, she seems to murmur a prayer.\n\n\"Madame is not afraid?\" we say.\n\n\"O, very much. These diligences are most dangerous.\" And now she is\nglancing over her shoulder at a rocky wall of mountains which follows\nthe road at a distance. \"They might fall.\" And she shudders with the\nthought. We assure her that it is impossible; but she has heard of a\nrock falling upon a diligence, and thinks it was upon this road. And all\nthe horror of the fearful catastrophe is depicted upon her face.\nGradually we learn that the little old woman has never travelled in a\ndiligence before; that she has never before made any journey, in fact.\nFor forty years she has kept the house of the _curé_ in her native\nvillage. Now, she tells us with a sigh, and uplifted eyes, he has\n\"become dead,\" and she is obliged to seek a home elsewhere among\nstrangers. Here she turns away her eyes, which grow dim as her smile,\nand for a moment forgets her fears.\n\nWe are approaching a village. She hastily searches her basket and brings\nout the crumpled letter which had been thrown into her lap. As we dart\nthrough the narrow street and across an open square, she leans out,\nutters a word in a sharp, excited tone, and, to our surprise, throws the\nletter far out into the dust of the street. An idle lounger in the\nsquare starts at her voice, runs heavily across the street, and picks it\nup. She sinks back, all cheerful smiles again. She has chanced upon the\nvery man to whom the letter was addressed.\n\nThe dust rolls up from the great wheels. She exchanges the hat upon her\nhead for the one over her arm, covering the former carefully with a\ncorner of her apron. This, she tells us, as she arranges the second\nupon her head, she was accustomed to wear when she picked vegetables of\na morning in the garden of the good _curé_. And the sighs return with\nthe recollection of her master.\n\nThe day wears on with heat and sifting dust. By and by, at another\nvillage, a filthy, dull-faced peasant clambers up the ladder and\nstumbles into a vacant place. We shrink away from him in disgust. Our\nlittle old woman only furtively draws aside her neat petticoats. Soon\nshe engages him in conversation. We see her lean far forward with\nintense, questioning gaze upon the distance where he points with\ndirt-begrimed finger. Then with a sigh which seems to come from the\nbaggage compartment beneath us, so very deep and long-drawn it is, she\nturns to us. She, too, points to a range of hills, very dark and gloomy\nnow, for they are covered with woods, and the shadow of a cloud lies\nupon them.\n\n\"It is there, beyond the mountains, I am going;\" and the shadow of the\ncloud has fallen upon her face. All the sunshine has faded out of it.\nThen, with something warmer, brighter than any sunshine gleaming in her\neyes, she adds, \"But the good God takes care of us wherever we go.\"\n\nWe have reached a fork in the road. There is no village, no house even,\nin sight. Why, then, do we pause? The ladder is raised.\n\n[Illustration: \"Evidently the little old woman is going a journey.\" Page\n195.]\n\n\"It must be for me!\" gasps the little old woman, casting one bewildered\nglance over to where the shadows are creeping, and then calmly gathering\ntogether her possessions. We grasp the hands she extends, we pour out\nconfused, unintelligible blessings. Is it the dust which blinds our\neyes? Even the clownish peasant stumbles down the ladder, and lifts out\nher box. The driver remounts. The whip cracks. We lean far out. We wave\nour hands. Again the dust fills our eyes so that our sight for a moment\nis dim, as we dash away, leaving her sitting there alone upon her box,\nwhere the two roads meet. But beyond the hills where the shadows rested,\nwe know that the sun still shines for our little old woman whose master\n\"became dead.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nLAST DAYS IN SWITZERLAND.\n\n          Geneva.--Calvin and jewelry.--Up Lake\n          Leman.--Ouchy and Lausanne.--\"Sweet\n          Clarens.\"--Chillon.--Freyburg.--Sight-seers.--The\n          Last Judgment.--Berne and its bears.--The town\n          like a story.--The Lake of\n          Thun.--Interlaken.--Over the Wengern Alp.--The\n          Falls of Giessbach.--The Brunig Pass.--Lucerne\n          again.\n\n\nWE dashed up to the hotel upon one of the fine quays at Geneva, and\ndescended from the open diligence with all the appearance of travellers\nwho had crossed a sandy desert. There is an air of experienced travel\nwhich only dust can impart.\n\nThe most charming sight in the city, to us, was our own names upon the\nwaiting letters here. In truth, there are no sights in Geneva. Tourists\nvisit the city because they have been or are going elsewhere, beyond. If\nthey pause, it is to rest or buy the jewelry so far-famed. To be sure\nthe view from almost any window opening upon the blue Rhone is pleasing,\ncrossed by various bridges as it is, one of which touches Rousseau's\nIsland. But our heads by this time were as full of views as that of a\nBoston woman.\n\nCalvinists and Arminians alike visit the Cathedral, and sit for a moment\nin the old reformer's chair, or at least look upon the canopy of carved\nwood from beneath which he used to preach. There are few monuments here.\nThe interior is bare, and boarded into the stiff pews, which belong by\nright and the fitness of things, not to these grand, Gothic cathedrals,\nbut to the Puritan meeting-houses, where we gather less to breathe a\nprayer than to sit solemnly apart and listen to a denunciation of each\nother's sins.\n\nIt is a little remarkable that the city where Calvin made and enforced\nsuch rigid laws against luxury and the vanities of the world should, in\nthese latter days, be noted for the manufacture of jewelry. But so it\nis; and to walk the streets and gaze in at the shop windows would turn\nthe head of any but the strongest-minded woman. Two or three addresses\nhad been given us of manufactories where we could be served at more\nreasonable rates than at the grand shops. We climbed flight after flight\nof dingy stone stairs, in dingier buildings, to reach them, and found\nourselves at last in little dark rooms, almost filled by a counter, a\ndesk, and a safe or two. Certainly no one would think of looking for\nbeautiful things here! But we had become tolerably accustomed to such\nplaces in Paris, and were not at all surprised when one shallow drawer\nafter another was produced from behind the counter, and a blaze of gems\nand bewildering show of delicately executed gold work met our eyes. If\nyou care for a _souvenir_ only, there are pretty little finger-rings\nencircled by blue forget-me-nots in enamel, which are a specialty of\nGeneva. But if you possess the means and disposition, you may gratify\nthe most extravagant desires, and rival Solomon in magnificence.\n\nTwice a day steamers leave Geneva to ascend the lake. It was a bright,\nsummer afternoon when we embarked from the pier beyond our hotel, and\nsteamed away past the villages that lie along its edge. Among them is\nCoppet, the home of Madame de Staël, the towers of which rise up behind\nthe town. The deck of the steamer was alive with tourists. One party,\nfrom meeting at every turn, rests even yet in memory; the ladies stout,\nred-faced, and showily dressed, with immense \"charms\" pendent from their\n_chatelaines_--shovels, tongs, and pokers, _life-size_--the result of a\nsojourn at Geneva, doubtless.\n\nFor some time after leaving the city, we could look back upon Mont\nBlanc, white and beautiful, rising above the dark mountains, and lying\nclose against the sky blue as the waters of the lake. The likeness of a\nrecumbent figure of Napoleon--the head and shoulders alone,--in the garb\nof a grenadier was startling, haunting us even after it had changed\nagain to a snow-white mountain. As though the hero slept, like those in\nGerman legends, until his country called him to awake and lead its hosts\nto battle.\n\nAt Ouchy we leave the steamer, where the gardens of the grand hotel\nBeaurivage come down to meet us. How delightful are these Swiss hotels!\nwith their pleasant gardens, many balconies, wide windows, and the\nflying flags outside; and within, scrupulous neatness, and even elegant\nappointments. The rooms vary in size rather than in degree of comfort,\nthere being none of the sudden leaps or plunges between luxury and utter\ndiscomfort, found in so many hotels--elsewhere. The floors are bare, the\nstrips of wood forming squares or diamonds, waxed, and highly polished.\nA rug here and there invites bare feet. A couple of neatly-spread beds\nstand foot to foot upon one side of the room, sometimes with silk or\nlace coverlets, but with always the _duvet_, or large down pillow, at\nthe foot. There is no stint of toilet arrangements. A lounge and\neasy-chairs tempt to idleness and repose; and a round table, of generous\nproportions, awaits the chocolate, rolls, fresh butter, and amber honey,\nwhen the last curl is in order, the last ribbon knotted, and you have\nrung for your breakfast. Of course the rooms vary in degree of\nornamentation. The walls are often beautifully tinted or frescoed, and\nthe furniture elegant; but the neatness and comfort among these summer\nhotels are almost universal. Sometimes, in one corner, or built into the\nwall, stands the high, white porcelain stove, so like a stray monument\nthat has forgotten its inscription, and is sacred to many memories; and\nthe long, plate-glass windows, swinging back, open often upon a balcony\nand a charming view. No wonder that half the hotels in Switzerland are\nnamed _Bellevue_.\n\nAn omnibus bears you from Ouchy, which is simply the port of Lausanne,\nback into the city, past pretty country residences, walled in, over the\ngates of which the owners have placed suggestive names: \"My Rest;\"\n\"Heart's Desire;\" \"Good Luck;\" \"Beautiful Situation;\" anything which\nfancy or individual taste may dictate. Of Lausanne I recall little but\nan endless mounting and descending of stairs. The city is built upon a\nhill, intersected by ravines, which accounts for this peculiar method of\ngaining many streets from others above and below. We made but a hurried\nvisit. It was market day, and ugly women, old and young, were sitting\nupon the sidewalks in the narrow streets, knitting, with the yarn held\nover the fore-finger of the left hand, and selling fruits and vegetables\nbetween times. In the honey market the air fairly buzzed and swarmed;\nyet still these women knit, and gossiped, and bargained complacently,\nunmindful of the bees in their bonnets. From Ouchy we made an excursion\nto the head of the lake. It is a short voyage of two hours to\nVilleneuve, the last town. Clouds hid the distant mountains; but those\nlesser and nearer, upon our right, as we went on, were bare, and broken,\nand rocky, contrasting strangely with the gently swelling slopes upon\nthe other side, covered with vineyards, and with quiet little villages\nat their feet. Each of these villages has its romantic association; or,\nfailing in that, a grand hotel to attract summer visitors. Vevay boasts\nthe largest hotel, but nothing more. Just beyond Vevay is \"Clarens,\nsweet Clarens,\" the willows of which dip into the lake. Here, if\nRousseau and Byron are to be believed, Love was born; possibly in some\none of the mean little houses which border the narrow streets.\n\nSoon after leaving Clarens, the gray, stained tower of Chillon rises\nfrom the water, near enough to the shore to be reached by a bridge. With\nthe \"little isle\" and its three tall trees marked by the prisoner as he\npaced his lonely cell, ends the romance of the lake. Poets have sung its\nbeauties, but Lucerne had stolen away our hearts, and we gazed upon the\nrocks, and vineyards, and villages, with cold, critical eyes. It was\nonly later, when the summer twilight fell as we lingered upon the\nbalcony before our windows at Ouchy that we acknowledged its charm. The\nwitching sound of music came up from the garden below. Upon the silver\nlake before us, the lateen sails, like the white wings of great\nsea-birds, gleamed out from the darkness; the tiny wavelets rippled and\nplashed softly against the breakwater; and where the clouds had parted\noverhead, a horned moon hung low in the sky, while the mountains\nresolved themselves into shadows or other waiting clouds.\n\nThere was a little church between Ouchy and Lausanne, gained by crossing\nthe fields, where we remembered the Sabbath day, and joined in the\nchurch service led by an English clergyman. These Sabbaths are like\ngreen spots now in memory,--restful, cool, refreshing, and pleasant to\nrecall,--when the world, and all haste and perplexity of strange sights,\nand sounds, and ways, were rolled off like a heavy burden, while we\ngathered, a little company of strangers in a strange land, yet of one\nfamily, to unite in the familiar prayers, and hymns, and grand old\nchants.\n\nMonday morning the \"American cars\" bore us away from Lausanne to\nFreyburg. But such a caricature are they upon our railway carriages,\nthat we were inclined to resent the appellation. Low, bare, box-like,\nwith only three or four seats upon each side, they hardly suggested the\noriginal.\n\nWe had chosen the route through Freyburg that we might visit the\nsuspension bridge, and hear the celebrated organ. The city clings to the\nsides of a ravine after the perverse manner of cities, instead of\nspreading itself out comfortably upon level land. So steep is the\ndeclivity that the roofs of some of the houses form the pavement for\nthe street above. At the foot of the ravine flows a river crossed by\nbridges, and the towns-people have for centuries descended from the\nsummit on one side to climb to that upon the other, until some humane\nindividual planned and perfected this suspension bridge,--the longest in\nthe world save one,--which is thrown across the chasm. In order to test\nits strength, when completed, the inhabitants of the city, or a portion\nof them, gathered in a mass, with artillery and horses, _and stood upon\nit_! Then they marched over it, preceded by a band of music, with all\nthe dignitaries of the town at the head of the column. Since it did not\nbend or break beneath their weight, it is deemed entirely safe.\n\nThrough the most closely-built portion of the city runs the old city\nwall, with its high, cone-capped watch-towers, and the narrow, crooked,\nand often steep streets are very quaint. The sense of satisfaction which\nreturns with the memory of these streets is perhaps partly due to the\nfact, that the girls of the party surveyed them from above great squares\nof gingerbread bought at a _pâtisserie_ near the station, and ate as\nthey strolled through the town over the pavings of these crooked ways.\nThe bread of dependence is said to be exceedingly bitter; but the\ngingerbread of Freyburg is uncommonly sweet, in memory.\n\nWhen the suspension bridge has been crossed and commented upon, every\none strikes a bee-line to the Cathedral, which rises conspicuously above\nits surroundings. It would be very amusing to watch the professional\nsight-seers at all these places, if one did not belong to the\nfraternity, which makes of it quite another affair. There is no air of\npleasuring about them; no placid expression of content and\nsweet-to-do-nothing. They seldom are found meandering along the tortuous\nstreets, the milk of human kindness moistening every feature, beams of\nsatisfaction irradiating every countenance. They never spend long hours\nwandering among the cloisters of old cathedrals, or dream away days by\nstoried shrines, as friends at home, who read of these places, fondly\nimagine. By no means. The sight-seer is a man of business. He has\nundertaken a certain amount of work, to be done in a given time. He will\ndo or die. And since it is a serious matter, involving doubt, he wears\nan appropriately solemn and preoccupied expression of countenance. He\ndarts from point to point. He climbs stairs as though impatient Fame\nwaited for him at the top. His emotions of wonder, admiration, or\ndelight, must bestir themselves. He drives to the first point of\ninterest, strikes a bee-line to the second, cuts every corner between\nthat and the third, and then, consulting his watch, desires to know if\nthere is anything more, and experiences his only moment of satisfaction\nwhen the reply is in the negative. And the most remarkable part of all\nis, that he goes abroad to enjoy himself.\n\nBut even if one is less ambitious, if you are so fortunate as to be\nnaturally indolent, and to delight to dwell in the shadow of dreams, you\nwill shake off dull sloth here. You live and move in a bustling crowd.\nEvery storied spot is thronged with visitors. Far from musing by\nyourself, you can at best but follow in the wake of the crowd, with the\ndrone of an endless story from the lips of a stupid guide in your ears,\nbringing only confusion and weariness.\n\nA notice upon the door of the Cathedral informed us that the organ would\nnot be played until evening. We held a council of war, and decided to go\non. Just over our heads, as we stood before the entrance, was a\nrepresentation of the Last Judgment, cut in the stone, in which the\ngood, very scantily attired, and of most self-satisfied countenances,\ntrotted off after St. Peter, who carried the father of all keys, to the\ndoor of a castle representing heaven, while the poor wicked were borne\naway in a Swiss basket, strapped upon the back of a pig-headed devil, to\na great pot over a blazing fire, which a little imp was vigorously\nblowing up with a pair of bellows. The wicked seeming to outnumber the\ngood (this was designed many centuries ago), and the pot not being large\nenough to hold them all, the surplus were thrust into the jaws of a\npatient crocodile near by. Seated in an arm-chair, above all this, the\ndevil looked down with an expression of entire satisfaction.\n\nThe interior of the Cathedral was in no way remarkable. In the choir\n(which you know, perhaps, is not a place where girls stand in their best\nbonnets to sing on Sundays, but the corner of these great cathedrals in\nwhich the church service is held) were some fine stained glass windows;\nbut even here, horrible monkeys and hideous animal figures, life-size,\nwere cut from the wood, and made to stand or crouch above the stalls\nwhere the priests sit. Those old ecclesiastic artists must have believed\nin a personal devil, who assumed many forms.\n\nA threatened shower hastened our steps to the station some time before\nthe arrival of the train, which seemed to come and go without regard to\nthe hour appointed. While waiting, we read the advertisements framed and\nhanging upon the walls, of hotels, shops, &c. One of the latter, in a\ntriumph of English, ran,--\n\n          WOOD CARWINGS;\n          CHOOSE AS NOWHERE ELSE.\n\nWe reached Berne before night, and drove to the Hotel ----. If it could\nby some happy chance have been turned inside out, how comfortable we\nmight have been! The exterior was most inviting. A German waiter of\nIrish face, who had a polyglot manner of speech, difficult to be\nunderstood, showed us to our rooms; and the _table d'hôte_, to which we\ndescended an hour later, was made up of an uncommon array of\nprim-visaged individuals. Dickens's Mr. Chadband, in a very stiff, white\nneckcloth, was my _vis-à-vis_. I looked every moment for his lips to\nopen, and--\"Wherefore air we gathered here, my friends?\" to issue forth.\n\nThe guide-book had informed us that the greatest attraction of Berne to\nstrangers was the fine view of the Bernese Alps to be gained from here;\nbut a curtain of cloud hung before them during all our stay. Still we\nwere interested in the queer old city, with the second story of the\nhouses, through many of the streets, projecting over the sidewalk,\nforming gloomy arcades, and bright red cushions in the window seats,\nwhere pretty girls sat and sewed, and watched the passers down below. I\nremember it rained, and there was a market held out in the square before\nthe hotel windows in the early morning, where the umbrellas made every\nold woman to dwell in her own tent for the time. When it was over, and\nthe rain had ceased to fall, we waited in front of the old clock-tower\nbefore driving out through the pleasant suburbs, with market women,\nbaskets on their arms, stray children, idle loungers, and alert\ntourists, for the feeble puppet-show heralded by the asthmatic crow of a\nrheumatic cock. Of course it was a procession of bears. Everything in\nBerne is, or has to do with, a bear, since the city was founded upon the\nspot where somebody killed a bear. Bears surmount most of the stone\nfountains in the streets; they ornament the monuments erected to heroes.\nCut from wood, they are offered for sale as _souvenirs_; stuffed, they\nare exhibited at the zoölogical gardens; and, to crown all, government\nsupports in luxury a whole family of bruins. We left the carriage upon\nthe Nydeck bridge, to look down into the immense circular basin where\nthey are kept. It must be a dull life, even for a bear. They are ugly\ncreatures, with reddish fur, and spend their time climbing a leafless\nsemblance of a tree, with no object but to descend again, or in sitting\nup to beg for biscuits of visitors. So universal has the custom of\nbegging become in Switzerland, that even the bears take to it quite\nnaturally.\n\nThe mountains obstinately refusing to appear, we left Berne for Thun,\npassing through a lovely country. Only occasionally did a road appear;\nthen it would seem to extend for long miles, bordered by immense,\nclose-planted trees. Neither fences nor hedges were there to divide the\nfields; but patches of grain were thrown down anywhere and at any angle.\nPotatoes were sown like grass instead of being planted in hills, and\nwere devoured this year by rot--the worst feature in the landscape. All\nthrough the early summer we had seen hemp growing everywhere. Now it was\ncut, and lying outspread upon the ground in odd regularity, an\noccasional head only being left to run to seed.\n\nThere was nothing to visit in Thun. But the whole town is like a story.\nNot an elegant, high-toned story, to be sure, though a picturesque old\ncastle and church lifted themselves aristocratically above the more\nhumble town. The streets are narrow, and as picturesque as they are\ndirty, with a sidewalk sometimes above the first, low, projecting story\nof the houses.\n\nIt is a mile from the town to the lake of the same name. Close by the\nsteamer landing, where we were to embark for Newhaus, is the hotel\nBellevue. Within the garden enclosure were several little _châlets_; one\nto serve as reading-room, another as _salle à manger_, while a third,\nbeyond the pond, where swan were sailing, displayed Swiss wares for\nsale. Here we lunched and rested for an hour, before going up the lake.\nIt is a voyage of an hour and a half to its head, past beautiful villas\nupon one side, and precipitous rocks upon the other. Once landed at\nNewhaus,--where there was not a _new house_ that we could see, but only\na scanty collection of little huts,--we searched about, with the mud\nankle deep, among the crowd of waiting vehicles, for the omnibus which\nwas to bear us the two miles and a half to Interlaken and the hotel Jung\nFrau. If you recall your geography lessons, you will perhaps know that\nthe two lakes, Thun and Brienz, are separated by a strip of land, upon\nwhich is this village of Interlaken. It is hardly more than one long\nstreet, with green fields and a row of trees upon one side, and a line\nof houses standing back upon the other. In full view from the windows of\nthese summer hotels, when the sky is clear, rises the Jung Frau, between\ntwo great mountain peaks. This is the only _sight_ in Interlaken, and\nyet the town throngs with visitors. It must be intolerably hot here at\ntimes, lying low among the mountains as does this valley. In the fields,\nbehind the grand hotels, is a long, low Kursaal, a rustic affair, with a\nwide piazza. You may lunch, and read the newspapers; but government has\nprohibited the gambling. There are delightful excursions to be made from\nhere, which accounts, perhaps, for the crowded hotels. And there are\nseveral fine shops, where you may buy all or any of the curiosities for\nwhich the country is well known.\n\nA rainy day crowded these shops and the hotel parlors, and made a busy\nscene the length of the street, which is very like a country road. But\nthe second morning after our arrival, we rose early, to prepare for an\nexcursion over the Wengern Alp. The Jung Frau, hidden the day before,\nappeared in full view with the rolling away of the clouds, and we\ndesired to approach nearer to the shy maiden. All the listlessness of\nthe day before was past. As we stepped out of the little _châlet_, in\nthe hotel garden, where--the hotel being full--we had slept in a room\nonly vacated for the night, with a pair of immense red slippers behind\nthe door, and Madame's gowns hanging from pegs on the wall, everybody\nwas astir. More than one party was sipping their scalding coffee as we\nentered the hotel breakfast-room, while, under the great trees outside,\nguides and saddled horses waited impatiently.\n\nWhen we had tied on our wide-rimmed hats, and gathered our shawls, we\nfound a roomy carriage, an open landau, waiting for us at the side-door\nof the hotel. We drove quickly out of the town, followed by and\nfollowing other carriages, until we formed a long procession by the time\nwe had reached the valley of Lauterbrunnen and began the ascent. It is a\ndeep, dark valley, shut in by innumerable overhanging rocks, from which\nthread-like waterfalls hang suspended in air, or are lost in spray.\nHardly does the sun seem to penetrate its depth, and an indescribable\ngloom, as well as chill, pervades the place. From a few scattered\ncottages women and children emerged to follow the carriages, begging\nmutely or offering fruits, while at one point a man awaited our approach\nto awake the echoes with an Alpine horn.\n\nAfter an hour we reach Lauterbrunnen, and leave the carriage at the door\nof an inn, where a crowd bargains and waits for guides and horses. We\nswell the number. When we are served, we mount to our places, and file\nout of the straggling village, turning before we reach the Staubach\nFalls--a stream of silvery spray that never touches earth, but swings\nand waves in mid-air. The ascent grows more and more steep. The recent\nrain has added to the icy streams, which filter constantly from snows\nabove, and the horses sink in the mire, or slide and slip in a way by no\nmeans reassuring. Often the path is mounted by steps of slippery logs;\nwhen added to this is a precipice upon one side, we hold our breath--and\npass in safety. We commend each other as we perform feats of valor and\nintrepidity which would make our fortune in the ring, we fancy. The\nguides, insolent and careless, stroll on in advance, leaving the most\ntimid to their own devices. Presently, as we enter a perfect slough of\ndespond, we see a man before us scraping the mire with a hoe vigorously,\nas we come in sight.\n\n\"You should give this poor man something,\" says one of the guides. \"He\nkeeps the road in order.\" I wish you might have seen the _orderly_ road!\n\nSuddenly we gain a point where the land spreads out into green knolls\nbefore us and on either side--a strip of almost level verdure, with, on\none hand, peak on peak, rising till they touch heaven; upon the other,\nthe Jung Frau, draped in snow. It seems so near, so very near,--though\nthe land drops between us and it into a deep ravine, and the snow-clad\npeaks and needles are a mile away,--I almost thought I might guide my\nhorse to the verge of the chasm, and reaching out, gather the snow in my\nhand. Across the summit, the clouds, white as itself, drifted\nconstantly, hiding it completely at times. It had been a tiresome climb\nof two hours and a half, and we were glad to rest an hour before\ndescending. As we turned the corner of the Jung Frau inn, having\ndismounted from our horses, we were met by our ubiquitous, stout friends\nof Lake Leman memory, to whom, I presume, we seemed equally omnipresent.\n_Table d'hôte_ was served here, one party following another, until the\nlong table was full. Occasionally the noise of an avalanche, like the\nsound of distant thunder, aroused and startled us, and caused us to\nvacate every seat. But though the mountain appeared to be so near, these\navalanches, which sweep with tremendous force, carrying tons of ice and\nsnow, seen from this distance, seemed like nothing more than tiny\nmountain streams let loose.\n\nFrom the inn, we mounted and went on half a mile, before reaching the\nsummit and beginning the uncomfortable descent. We thought every bad\nplace must be the worst, as the horses slid down the slippery stones, or\ndescended the log steps with a peculiar jerky motion, suggesting\nimminent and unpleasant possibilities. But, after fording torrents\nswollen by the rain, crossing narrow, treacherous bridges, sliding down\ninclined planes, and whole flights of stairs, the guides informed us\nthat we should reach a _dangerous place_ presently!\n\nWhen, finally, we came to it, we were quite willing to dismount, and\nmake our way down over the rocks for a mile, trusting to our own feet,\nand beset continually by women and children, who appeared most\nunexpectedly at every turn, to thrust little baskets of fruit or flowers\ninto our hands. The very youngest child toddled after us with a withered\nfield-flower, if nothing more. So early do they begin to learn the trade\nof a lifetime.\n\nWe entered Grindelwald late in the afternoon. The shadows of night,\nwhich fall earlier in these valleys than elsewhere, were already\ngathering. The few, scattered cottages, walled in by the everlasting\nhills, with the snow-covered Wetterhorn in full view, and the glacier\nbehind it, wore a cheerless and gloomy air in the quick-coming twilight.\nTrain after train of tourists, upon horses and mules, or dragging weary\nfeet, descended from among the mountains, to find carriages here and\nhasten away. Only these arrivals and departures gave a momentary life to\nthe spot. What must it be when the summer sun and the last visitor have\nleft it?\n\nWe, too, sought out our waiting carriage, and rolled away in the summer\ntwilight, down the beautiful road, wide and smooth enough to lead to\nmore dreadful places than the pleasant valley of Interlaken, where, for\na day at least, was our home.\n\nThe next afternoon, instead of spending the Sabbath here, we decided to\ngo on to Giessbach, on the Lake of Brienz, to visit the celebrated\nfalls. We had rested comfortably in the hope of a quiet day in the\nlittle _châlet_, where more permanent arrangements had been made for our\ndisposal. But the enterprising member of the party, to whom we owed not\na little, in a happy moment of leisure, gave herself to the study of the\nguide-book, the result of which was--Giessbach. We gathered our personal\neffects together, under the pressure of great excitement and limited\ntime, reached the little steamer, fairly breathless, and then sat and\nwaited half an hour for it to move. It was not, however, a tedious time;\nfor there occurred an incident which engaged our attention.\n\n\"What do you suppose they're going to do with that calf?\" asked the boy\nof the party, who, like all boys, was of an inquiring turn of mind.\n\"They've got him into the water, and are poking him with sticks.\"\n\nUpon this we all became immensely interested. A calf had fallen into the\nwater, between the pier and the steamer; but the fruitless efforts made\nby everybody, interested or disinterested, were to rescue, not drown,\nthe creature, as a bystander would have inferred. Suddenly, as his own\nstruggles carried him away from the wharf and he was about to sink, a\nwhite, delicate hand, bound with rings, and an arm daintily draped, were\nthrust out from one of the cabin windows, seized upon the head\ndisappearing in a final _bob_, and held on until assistance came, when\nthe poor animal, half dead with fright, was drawn from the water.\n\nAt last the steamer moved away from the wharf, and in an hour or less\nthe little pier at Giessbach received us. There is a tiny valley, one\nhotel, and a series of pretty cascades here. But all these are reached\nby a smooth road, winding back upon itself continually, and so steep\nthat carriages do not ascend it. You must walk, or rather climb it, for\ntwenty minutes, or accept the disagreeable alternative of being carried\nup by two men in a chair, resting on poles. The day was warm; our arms\nwere weighed down with satchels, &c.; but we pressed on, while,\ncommenting upon our personal peculiarities in dress, gait, and general\nair, as they looked down upon us from the height we almost despaired of\ngaining, were the complacent, comfortable souls, who always reach these\ndesirable places the day before any one else, and, in the freshest\npossible toilets, sit, like Mordecai, in the gates.\n\nIt may have been droll to them; it was a most serious matter to us. It\nwas Saturday afternoon, and each one felt and acted upon the realized\nnecessity of outstripping his neighbor, in order to secure rooms.\nFinally the gentlemen hastened on, our ambition failing with our\nstrength, and we were happy in finding comfortable quarters awaiting us\nwhen we had gained the hotel at last.\n\nIt was the most delightful little nook imaginable when we were rested\nand refreshed. Until then it possessed no charms in our eyes. It is a\nlittle valley, high above the lake, towards which it opens, but shut in\non three sides by precipitous hills. Down the face of one the cascades\nfall. Back against another the hotel is built, facing the lake; its\n_dépendance_, and the inevitable shops for the sale of Swiss\nwood-carving and crystals, being ranged along the third side. The whole\nplace is not larger than a flower-garden of moderate size.\n\nWe were served at our meals by pretty, red-cheeked girls, in charming\nSwiss costumes; and when we had been out after dark to see the falls\nilluminated in different colors, while the rustic bridges, which span\nthe cascades at various heights, were crossed by these picturesque\nfigures, I felt as if we were all part of a travelling show, for whom\nthis dear little level spot was the stage, and that a vast audience\nwaited outside, where the walls of hills opened upon the lake, for the\ncurtain to fall. It was like the Happy Valley of Rasselas, which we left\nwith regret when the peaceful Sabbath was over.\n\nAcross the lake, at Brienz, Monday morning, a carriage waited to bear us\non, over the Brunig Pass, into the clouds and out again; then down,\ndown, past village, and lake, and towering hills, resting again at\nSarnen, then on to Lucerne, into which we swept, with tinkling bells and\ncracking whip, to find the city gay with streaming flags and flowery\narches, erected for some singing _fête_, but which to us were all signs\nof a happy welcoming.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nBACK TO PARIS ALONE.\n\n          Coming home.--The breaking up of the party.--We\n          start for Paris alone.--Basle, and a search for a\n          hotel.--The twilight ride.--The shopkeeper whose\n          wits had gone \"a wool-gathering.\"--\"Two tickets\n          for Paris.\"--What can be the matter now?--'Michel\n          Angelo's Moses.--Paris at midnight.--The kind\n          _commissionaire_.--The good French gentleman, and\n          his fussy little wife.--A search for Miss\n          H.'s.--\"Come up, come up.\"--\"Can women travel\n          through Europe alone?\"--A word about a woman's\n          outfit.\n\n\nTO dash through the town, along the quay where we had walked so many\ntimes beneath the trees or leaning over the low parapet fed the fishes,\npast the two-spired cathedral, the cloisters of which had become so\nfamiliar, to mount the hill and draw up before the door of the Bellevue\nagain, welcomed by the innkeeper, and greeted with outstretched hands by\n\"Charles,\" who had served our chocolate, while familiar faces met us at\nevery window or upon the stairs, to pull up the shutters, throw wide\nopen the windows, and drink in the glorious beauty of the scene before\nour eyes--all this was delightful, but fleeting, like all earthly joys,\nand mixed with pain; for here we were to say \"good by.\"\n\nOur pleasant party was to break up. The friends in whose care we had\nbeen so long, were off for Germany, and Mrs. K. and I must turn our\nfaces towards home. We were to renew our early and brief experience in\ntravelling alone. It had been as limited as our French, which consisted\nprincipally of \"_Est-ce que vous avez?_\" followed by a pantomimic\ndisplay that would have done credit to a professional, and \"_Quel est le\nprix?_\" succeeded by the blankest amazement, since we could seldom, if\never, understand a reply.\n\n\"Are you afraid?\" queried our friends.\n\n\"No; O, no.\" The state of our minds transcended fear.\n\nIt was a hot day when we took our last view of the lake, as we rode down\nthe hill from the hotel, past the cathedral, past the shaded promenade\nupon the quay, to the station; but we heeded neither the heat nor the\nlandscape when we were once in the train and on the way. Our hearts were\nheavy with grief at parting from friends, our spirits weighed down by\nnameless fears. It was a wicked world, we suddenly remembered. Wolves in\nsheep's clothing doubtless awaited us at every turn. Roaring lions\nguarded every station. We clutched our travelling-bags, umbrellas, and\nwraps, with a grasp only attained by grim fate or lone women. Gradually,\nhowever, as the uneventful hours wore away, we forgot that in eternal\nvigilance lay our safety, and relaxed our hold.\n\nWe had left Lucerne at noon; at five o'clock we reached Basle. Here we\nwere to spend the night at the hotel _Les Trois Rois_. Every step of the\nway to Paris had been made plain to us by our kind friends.\n\n\"Let me see; the hotel is close by the station?\" queried Mrs. K., when\nwe had left our trunks, as our friends had advised, and followed the\ncrowd to the sidewalk.\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied with assurance, \"close by, they said; I am sure.\"\n\nAccordingly we turned away from the long line of hotel omnibuses backed\nup against the curb-stone, to the fine hotels on each side of the\nstraight avenue, extending as far as the eye could see. Alas! among\ntheir blazing names was no \"_Trois Rois_.\" We read them over and over\nagain. We even tried to pronounce them. Not a king was there, to say\nnothing of _three_.\n\nIn a kind of bewilderment we strayed down the avenue. Might not some one\nof the fair dwellings gleaming out from the shrubbery prove the house we\nsought? There was a rattle and clatter behind us; a passing omnibus.\nAnother, and still another followed. Serene faces beamed out upon our\nperplexity. A cloud of dust enveloped us as the last rolled cheerfully\nby, upon the end of which we read, with staring eyes, \"_Les Trois\nRois_.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" gasped Mrs. K.\n\n\"Sure enough,\" I replied.\n\n\"Why, suppose we take it?\" said she, slowly.\n\n\"Suppose we do,\" I assented, with equal deliberation. But by this time\nthe little red omnibus was a speck in the distance.\n\n\"At least we can follow it.\" And we quickened our steps, when, with\nalmost human perversity, it turned a distant corner, and vanished from\nsight.\n\nFixing our eyes steadily upon the point of disappearance, we hastened\non, and on, and on! I have a faint recollection of green trees, of\nstately houses, of an immense fountain swaying its white arms in the\ndistance--mirage-like, for we never approached it; of the sun pouring\nits fierce rays upon us as we toiled on, with our wraps and satchels\nturning to lead in our arms.\n\nWe reached the corner at last. There was no omnibus; no hotel in sight;\nonly the meeting of half a dozen narrow, crooked streets, crowded with\ncarriages, and alive with humanity. All settled purpose left us then;\nour wits, never very firmly attached, followed. We became completely\ndemoralized.\n\n\"Suppose you inquire,\" suggested Mrs. K., after a period of inaction,\nduring which we were pushed, and jostled, and trampled under foot by the\ncrowd.\n\nIf I possessed one capability above another, it was that of asking\nquestions, especially in a strange language. Upon this corner where we\nwere standing, rose an imposing building, in the open doorway of which\nstood a portly gentleman, with a countenance like the setting sun, in\nglow and warmth. A heavy mane flowed over his shoulders. Evidently this\nwas the first of the roaring lions! Taking our lives in our hands, we\napproached him.\n\n\"Do you speak English?\" I ventured.\n\n\"_Nein_,\" was his reply, with a shrug of the leonine shoulders.\n\nI drew a long breath and began again.\n\n\"_Parlez-vous Français?_\"\n\nHis reply to this was as singular as unprecedented. He turned his back\nand disappeared up the wide stairs in the rear.\n\n\"This _may_ be foreign politeness,\" I was beginning, doubtfully, when he\nreappeared, accompanied by an intensified counterpart of himself. The\nsetting sun in the face of this man gave promise of a scorching day.\n\n\"_Parlez-vous Français, monsieur?_\" I began again, when we had bowed and\n\"_bon-jour_\"-ed for some time.\n\n\"_Oui, oui, mademoiselle._\"\n\nHere was an unexpected dilemma. A terrible pause ensued. Then, with an\neffort which in some minds would have produced a poem at least, I\nattempted to make known the object of our quest. I cannot begin to tell\nof the facial contortions which accompanied this sentence, nor of the\nineffable peace which followed its conclusion. It made no manner of\ndifference that his reply was a jargon of unintelligible sounds. Virtue\nis its own reward. One sentence alone I caught, as the indistinguishable\ntones flew by. We were to take the first street, and then turn to the\nright.\n\n\"What did he say?\" asked Mrs. K., when we had _merci_-d ourselves out of\ntheir radiant presences.\n\nI explained the direction we were to follow.\n\n\"Horrible countenance he had,\" she remarked, as we pursued our way.\n\n\"O, dreadful,\" I assented.\n\n\"Nobody knows where he may send us,\" she continued.\n\nSure enough! In our alarm we stopped short in the street, and stared at\neach other with horrified countenances.\n\n\"I have heard--\" I began.\n\n\"Yes; and so have I,\" she went on, shaking her head, and expressing by\nthat gesture most fearful possibilities.\n\nA bright thought seized me. \"He told us to turn to the _right_; we will\nturn to the _left_!\" And with that happy, womanly instinct, said to\ntranscend all judgment, _we did_. Strange as it may appear, though we\nwent on for a long half hour, no \"_Trois Rois_\" gladdened our eyes.\n\nSuddenly Mrs. K. struck an attitude. \"A fine appearance we shall\npresent,\" said she; \"two lone women, dusty and heated, our arms full of\nbaggage, straggling up to a hotel two mortal hours after the arrival of\nthe train. We'll take a carriage.\"\n\nTo me this inglorious advent was so distant in prospect that it held no\nterrors, nothing of mortification even. \"_Les Trois Rois_\" had become a\nmyth, an idea towards which we vainly struggled.\n\n\"If it were only across the street,\" she went on, rising to the occasion\nand warming with the subject, \"we would go in a carriage.\"\n\nOne approached at that moment. We motioned to it _à la Mandarin_, with\nour heads, our hands and arms being full. The driver raised his whip and\npointed solemnly into the distance. We turned to gaze, seeing nothing\nbut the heavens in that direction. When we looked back, he was gone. We\nshould not like to affirm--we hardly dare suggest--we are sure of\nnothing but that he vanished from before our eyes.\n\nA second appeared in the distance. We began in time. We pawed the air\nwildly with our umbrellas. The very satchels and wraps upon our arms\nnodded and beckoned. In serene unconsciousness the driver held to his\ncourse.\n\n\"Well!\" I exclaimed, indignantly.\n\n\"I should think so,\" added Mrs. K., with emphasis.\n\n\"Is there anything peculiar, anything unusual in our personal\nappearance?\" I asked, glancing down upon our dusty appointments. As we\nconcentrated our energies and belongings for one final effort, a\nbenignant countenance smiled out upon us from above a _cipher_. We were\nstorming a private carriage!\n\nThe third attempt was more successful. The driver paused. We requested\nhim, in English, to take us to \"The Three Kings.\" He only stared and\nshook his head. We tried him with \"_Les Trois Rois_.\" He seemed still\nmore mystified.\n\n\"What can be done with people who do not understand their own language!\"\nI exclaimed in despair.\n\nWe tried it again with our purest Parisian accent. An inkling of our\nmeaning pierced his dull understanding. He rolled heavily down from his\nseat, and opened the door with the usual \"_Oui, oui_.\" We entered and\nwere driven away.\n\n\"Do you think he understood you?\" queried Mrs. K.\n\n\"No-o.\"\n\n\"Well, where do you suppose he will take us?\"\n\n\"I don't know, and I don't much care,\" I responded, in desperation.\n\nWe settled back upon the cushions. The peace that follows resignation\npossessed our souls. O, the luxury of that jolting, rattling ride, as we\nwound in and out among the tortuous streets! A full half hour passed\nbefore the dusky old hotel darkened above us, surmounted by \"The Three\nKings\" arrayed in Eastern magnificence, and wearing gilded crowns upon\ntheir heads.\n\nFate had been propitious. This was our destination, without doubt,\nthough we had made a grand mistake as to its location. We descended at\nthe entrance with the air, I trust, of being equal to the occasion. We\ncalmly surveyed the assembled porters, who hastened to seize our\nsatchels and wraps. We demanded a room, and inquired the hour of _table\nd'hôte_, as though we had done the same thing a thousand times before.\nMrs. K. was right; there was a moral support in that blessed carriage.\n\n_Table d'hôte_ over, we strayed into a pretty _salon_ opening from the\n_salle à manger_. Both were crowded--over doors and windows, and within\ncabinets filling every niche and corner--with quaint specimens of\npottery--pitchers, vases, and jars, ancient enough in appearance to have\ngraced the domestic establishment of the original \"Three Kings.\" The\nglass doors thrown back enticed us upon a long, low balcony, almost\nswept by the rushing river below--the beautiful Rhine hastening on to\nits hills and vineyards. We leaned over, smitten with sudden\nhomesickness, and sent a message back to Rolandseck of happy memory.\n\nWith the faint shadows of coming twilight we wandered out into the\nsquare before the hotel. A line of _voitures_ extended down one side,\nevery one of which was quickened into life at our approach. We paused,\nwith foot upon the step of the first, for the _carte_ always proffered,\nupon which is the number of the driver and the established rate of\nfares. He only touched his shiny hat and prepared to gather up his\nreins.\n\n\"O, dear!\" we said; \"this will never do; we must not go.\" And we\nstepped down. The porters upon the hotel steps began to cast inquiring\nglances. One or two stray passers added their mite of curiosity, when\nthe knight-errant, who always breaks a lance for distressed womanhood,\nappeared upon the scene. We recognized him at once, though his armor was\nonly a suit of gray tweed, and he wore a fashionable round-topped hat\nfor a casque.\n\nAlmost before we knew it, we were seated in the carriage, the _carte_ in\nour hands, and were slowly crawling out of the square--for a subdued\nsnail-pace is the highest point of speed attained by these public\nvehicles.\n\nThe memory of Basle is as shadowy, dim, delightful, as was that twilight\nride. Where we were going, we neither knew nor cared; nor, later, where\nwe had been. We wound in and out the close streets of the old part of\nthe city, full of a busy life so far removed from our own, that it\nseemed a show, a picture; below the surface we could not penetrate. We\nrolled along wide avenues where the houses on either side were white as\nthe dust under the wheels. Once in a quiet square, we paused before an\nold _Hôtel de Ville_, frescoed in warm, rich colors. Again upon the\noutskirts of the city, before a monument; but whether it had been\nerected to hero or saint I cannot now recall. And somewhere, when the\ndusk was deepening, we found an old church, gray as the shadows\nenveloping it, with a horseman, spear in hand, cut in _bas relief_ upon\none side. What dragon he made tilt against in the darkness we never\nknew.\n\nEven our driver seemed to warm beneath the influences which subdued and\ndissipated our cares. He nodded gently and complacently to\nacquaintances, eliciting greetings in return, in which we, in a measure,\nshared. He hummed a guttural, though cheerful song, which found an echo\nin our hearts. He stood up in his place to point the way to misguided\nstrangers, in whose perplexities we could so well sympathize. And once,\nhaving laid down the reins, and paused in our slow advance, he held a\nlong and seemingly enjoyable conversation with a passing friend. To all\nthis we made no manner of objection, rather we entered into the spirit\nof the hour, and were filled with a complacency which was hastily\nbanished upon our return to the hotel, where, as we put into the hand of\nour benevolent driver his due, and the generous _pour boire_ which gave\nalways such a twinge to our temperance principles, he demanded more.\n\n\"He claims,\" said the porter, who was assisting our descent, \"that he\nhas been driving with the carriage lamps lighted. There is an extra\ncharge for that.\"\n\n\"But he left his seat to light them this moment, just before we turned\ninto the square,\" we replied, indignantly.\n\nThe porter shrugged his shoulders. That is the end of an argument. There\nis never anything more to be said. We submitted at once, though our\nfaith in benevolent humanity went to the winds.\n\nSomewhat dispirited, we climbed the stairs to our room. \"One day more,\"\nwe said, \"and our troubles will be at an end.\" But, alas! one day was as\na thousand years!\n\nIt was to be an all-day's ride to Paris, from nine o'clock in the\nmorning until half past nine or ten at night. So, while waiting for\nbreakfast, we hastened out into the town, in search of a bookstore, and\nsomething to while away the dull hours before us.\n\nA young man, of preternaturally serious countenance, was removing the\nshutters as we entered a musty little shop. We turned over the\nTauchnitz's editions of English novels until we had made a choice, the\nvalue of our purchases amounting to four or five francs, and gave him a\nnapoleon. With profuse apologies he left us to get it changed. Returning\npresently, he threw the silver into a drawer, and handed the books to\nus, with a \"_Merci_.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" we said; \"but--\" Arithmetic had never been my strength; still\nsomething was clearly wrong here.\n\n\"The change,\" said Mrs. K. \"He has given us no change.\" Sure enough; but\nstill he continued to bow and thank us, evidently expecting us to go.\n\nWe tried to explain; eliciting only one of the blank stares that usually\nfollowed our attempts at explanation.\n\n\"The man must be an idiot,\" Mrs. K. said, gravely.\n\n\"He certainly has an imbecile expression of countenance,\" I assented. He\nstood still, bowing at intervals, while we calmly weighed and balanced\nhis wits before his eyes. We tried signs; having through much practice\ndeveloped a system to which the deaf and dumb alphabet is as nothing. We\nattempted to convince him that a part of the money was ours.\n\nHe smiled, and assured us, in a similar way, that the books belonged to\nus, the money to him.\n\nThere was so much justice in this, that we should doubtless have\nassented, had not his own wits finally asserted themselves. Blushing\nlike a bashful boy, he suddenly exclaimed, counted out the change, and\npoured it into our hands with so many apologies, that we were glad to\nretreat.\n\nIt was a discouraging beginning for the new day. Still we would not\ndespair. We had assured our anxious friends that we were quite able to\ntake care of ourselves. We would triumphantly prove our own words.\nBreakfast over, and our bill settled without mishap or misunderstanding,\nwe started for the station in the hotel omnibus, in company with a\nstout, genial Frenchman, who spoke a little English, and his fussy\nlittle wife. When we entered the station, the line formed before the\nticket-window was already formidable. It lacked fifteen minutes of the\nhour when the train would start, and our baggage was--where? We seized a\n_commissionaire_, slipped a piece of money into his hand in a very\nbungling, shamefaced way, and, presto! in a moment our trunks appeared\namong the other baggage, though we had looked in vain for them before.\nThen, with a sensation of self-consciousness approaching guilt, I\nstepped to the foot of the line before the ticket-window.\n\n\"Two tickets for Paris,\" I gasped, finding myself, after a time, brought\nface to face with the sharp-eyed official. \"What is the price?\" But\nbefore I could utter the words, the reply rattled through my head like a\ndischarge of grape-shot. Every finger resolved itself into ten, as I\nessayed to open my purse and count out the gold pieces. What should I\ndo! I had not enough into ten francs; it might as well have been ten\nthousand! Mrs. K. was waiting at a little distance; but the place once\nlost in the line could not be regained, and there was our baggage yet to\nbe weighed, and the hands of the clock frightfully near the hour of\ndeparture. There was an impatient stamping of feet behind me, as I stood\nfor a moment dizzy, bewildered, with an angry buzz of voices ringing\nwith the din and roar in my ears. Then I rushed down the room to Mrs.\nK., and explained as hastily as possible. She filled my purse, and I\nflew back to find the line pushed forward and my place gone. One glance\nat the hands of the clock, at the discouraging line of ticket-seekers\nyet to be served,--how could I go to the foot again! Then I walked\nstraight to the window with the courage of despair. A low growl ran down\nthe line, the _gendarme_ on guard stepped forward, expostulating\nexcitedly; but, blessings on the man at the head of the line, who pushed\nthe others back, and gave me a place, and even upon the grim official\nbehind the window, who smiled encouragement, and gave me the tickets,\nwhile the _gendarme_ stormed. I stepped out again, conscious only of the\nwish--strong as a prayer--that we were safe again in Lucerne, or--some\nother place of peaceful rest.\n\nWedged in among the crowd, we saw one trunk after another weighed and\nremoved, while ours remained untouched. I pulled the sleeve of a porter.\nMy hand held my purse. The suggestion was enough. In a moment our trunks\nwere weighed, and the little paper ticket corresponding to our \"check\"\nsafe in our possession. I turned, conscientiously, to reward the\nporter; but we were jostled by a score of elbows, each encased in the\nsleeve of a blue blouse. Which was the one I sought? I could not tell.\nEach answered my glance of puzzled inquiry with one of expectation.\nDiving to the depths of my purse, I found it to contain one solitary\ncentime--nothing more. I slipped it into the hand nearest, and from the\nstart of surprise and delight was immediately convinced that it was the\nwrong man. However, it did not matter. There was no time to explain. The\ndoors opening upon the platform, which remain locked until the last\nmoment, were thrown open, and we hurried away, found places upon the\ntrain, and sank back upon the cushions exhausted, but happy. For ten\nhours at least, nothing could happen to us. The guard passed the window,\nexamining the tickets, and slamming the doors, making our safety doubly\nsure. A moment more, and with a noiseless motion we were off. Hardly had\nthe train started before it stopped again. One after another our\ncompanions left us--for we were not alone in the compartment. \"Strange,\"\nwe said, yet too thoroughly exhausted to be curious. It was still more\nstrange when, after a short time, they each and all returned. They began\nto whisper among themselves, pointing to us. \"What _can_ be the matter\n_now_?\" we queried, suddenly mindful that life is a warfare, and roused\nto interest.\n\nOur fellow-travellers proceeded to enlighten us in chorus, and in the\nconfusion of the outburst, we caught--by inspiration--at their meaning.\nWe had crossed the frontier into France, and the baggage was examined\nhere. We hastened out and into the station. All the trunks but our own\nhad been checked. With his hand upon one of these, an official demanded\nthe key, upon our appearance. Remembering an episode in its packing, we\ndemurred, and proffered the key of another. Already vexed by the delay,\nhis suspicions were roused now. He demanded the key of the first, which\nwe gave up with wicked delight. The by-standers drew near. Indeed, a\ncrowd was the embarrassing accompaniment to all our unfortunate\nexperiences. The official turned the key with the air of doing his duty\nif he perished in the attempt, when the lid flew open, and a hoop-skirt,\ncompressed to the final degree, sprang up into his startled face, like a\nJack-in-the-box. The spectators laughed--French though they were--as,\nvery red in the face, he vainly tried to replace it, entirely forgetting\nto search for contraband articles.\n\nNo other incident disturbed the quiet of that long day's ride to Paris.\nAt some queer little station we descended to lunch, and returned to our\nplaces, laden, like the spies of Eschol, with luscious grapes. Our\nfellow-travellers dropped out along the way, only, however, to be\nreplaced by others. We had not succeeded in securing places in the\ncompartment reserved for ladies alone; but the French gentlemen who were\nour companions proved most courteous in their polite indifference to our\nmovements. An old gentleman among these, elicited our outspoken\nadmiration for his grand head. We were secure in our native language, we\nknew.\n\n\"Lovely face!\" we exclaimed, unblushingly. \"What a head for a sculptor!\nQuite like Michel Angelo's Moses, I declare.\"\n\nBefore the day was over, \"Michel Angelo's Moses\" addressed us in\nexcellent English.\n\nWhen the darkness gathered, when the night settled down, something of\nits gloom oppressed us. Once safely housed in Paris, we should be at\nrest; but there were still difficulties to be overcome. Our friends had\ntelegraphed to Miss H. that we should arrive by this train; but the\nnumber of her house we did not know, nor did they. We were only sure\nthat her apartments were over the _Magasin au Printemps_. Still that was\ntolerably exact; we would not be uneasy. At ten o'clock at night we\nstepped down from the train into a confusion of tongues and elbows which\nI cannot describe, and followed the crowd into the baggage-room. I say\n_followed_--we were literally lifted from our feet and borne along.\nThere was no baggage in sight. We waited until an hour seemed to have\npassed, and still no trunks appeared.\n\n\"Suppose we leave them, and send a porter from the house in the morning\nto find them;\" and acting upon this, we struggled out of the station\ninto the great paved square at one side. The night was dark; but the\ngas-lights dimly lighted up a line of carriages at the farther side,\ntowards which we hastened, and had seated ourselves in one, when a\n_commissionaire_ came running across the square, and putting his head in\nat the carriage window, asked if we had any baggage.\n\n\"Yes,\" we replied; but the rattling words that followed brought only\nconfusion to us. Our minds, already overtaxed, gave way at once. It is\npleasant to recall the patience and good-nature of that official. It is\npleasant, when old things have so entirely passed away, to remember the\nParis of 1869 as, at least, a city into which women might come at\nmidnight, alone, unprotected, and be not only free from insult and\nimposition, but actually cared for, and sent to their rightful\ndestination, in spite of their own ignorance and incompetence.\n\n\"Stay here,\" said our friend in uniform; and he disappeared, to return\nin a moment with the stout French gentleman who had been our companion\nin the hotel omnibus at Basle. We met with mutual surprise, and pleasure\non our side at least.\n\n\"_Do_ any one look for your baggage?\" he asked.\n\n\"No,\" we replied. \"We thought we might leave it.\"\n\n\"You must go,\" he said.\n\nThe _commissionaire_ took possession of our check and the driver's\n_carte_, and I followed the two back to the station, leaving Mrs. K. to\nguard our satchels, &c., in the carriage.\n\n\"Wait one leetle moment,\" said the kind French gentleman; \"I bring\nmadame.\" And in a moment he dragged the fussy little woman from the\ncrowd, handing her over with the triumphant air of having now settled\nall difficulties.\n\n\"Madame speak ze Eengleesh fine,\" he said.\n\nLooking down from an immeasurable height, the little madam condescended\nto remark that their servant was looking for their baggage.\n\n\"Ah!\" I responded. \"Then we are not permitted to leave our trunks.\"\n\n\"I am sure I don't know,\" she replied, looking so greatly bored, not to\nsay exhausted, that I did not think it best to press the matter. \"Our\nservant is attending to it,\" she repeated.\n\nHer husband's face fairly glowed with satisfaction while this side\nconversation was being carried on. Evidently he believed the whole\nFrench baggage system to have been elucidated for my benefit. I thanked\nhim heartily, as we exchanged cordial adieus. Even the fussy little\nwoman gathered, for the moment, sufficient life to attempt to bow;\nwhich, alas! never got beyond a stare. The _commissionaire_ seized upon\na blue-bloused porter, and gave me to him with the check, the _carte_,\nand a few sharply-spoken directions. Clinging to that blue sleeve, I was\nborne through the swaying, surging mass of humanity, into the\nbaggage-room--how, I never knew. Our trunks were identified, lifted, not\nthrown, by my porter upon a hand-truck, which dragged for itself and us\nan opening in the crowd. Once out upon the platform, the porter pushed\ndoggedly on into the darkness, though I had left Mrs. K. and the\ncarriage in the square at one side. I expostulated. He held persistently\nto his course. I gave one thought to poor Mrs. K., resigned to what fate\nI knew not, and then, woman-like, followed my trunks.\n\nIt was all explained, when, dimly outlined in the darkness before the\nstation, we espied a sea of shiny hats and shadowy cabs; and when, after\nlong shouting of the number of our own, by the porter and everybody\nelse, it finally crawled up to the steps where we were standing, Mrs.\nK.'s anxious face looking out of the window.\n\n\"I began to think you were lost,\" she said. \"You can fancy my feelings\nwhen the driver gathered up the reins and drove out of that square.\"\n\nWe made a thank-offering upon the palm of every grimy hand, suddenly\noutstretched; then the driver paused, whip in the air, for the address\nof our destination.\n\n\"_Magasin au Printemps_, Boulevard Haussman.\" He stared, as everybody\nhad, and did, along the way. If they only wouldn't! We repeated it. He\nconferred, in a low tone, with the man on the next box, who got down\nfrom his place, and came around to our window to look at us. One or two\nlounging porters joined him. The _Magasin au Printemps_ is a large dry\nand fancy goods establishment, which had been closed, of course, for\nhours, since it was now nearly midnight. It was as though we had reached\nNew York late at night, and insisted upon being driven to _Stewart's_.\nThe little crowd stared at us solemnly, in a kind of pitiful curiosity,\nI fancied. I think, by this time, our countenances may have expressed\nincipient idiocy. We attempted to explain that Miss H.'s apartments were\nover the _Magasin_, and the driver mounted to his seat, though, I am\nobliged to confess, with an ominous shake of his head.\n\nAs we rolled out into the wide boulevards our spirits rose. The\nsidewalks were crowded with promenaders, the streets with carriages. The\nlight of a glorious day seemed to have burst upon our dazzled eyes.\nParis, gay, beautiful Paris, which never sleeps, was out, disporting\nherself.\n\n\"We will not be anxious,\" we said; nor were we in the least. \"Even if we\ncannot find Miss H.'s, some hotel will take us in. Or, failing in that,\nwe can drive about until morning.\"\n\nA thought of our respective and respectable families did cross our minds\nwith this lawless suggestion. In happy unconsciousness, they believed us\nstill safe with our friends.\n\nWe crawled up the Boulevard Haussman. There were the closed doors and\nshutters of the _Magasin au Printemps_. Two or three other doors met our\ngaze. The driver paused before one. We descended, and pulled the bell.\nYou must know there are no doorsteps, in Paris, leading to front doors,\nas with us. The first floor is, almost without exception, given up to\nshops; and dwellings, unless pretentious enough to be houses enclosing a\ncourt-yard and entered from the street by passing through great gates,\nare simply apartments in the two, three, and four stories above these\nshops.\n\nSome invisible mechanism swung back the great double doors as we pulled\nthe bell, disclosing a pretty, paved court-yard, with a fountain in the\ncentre, surrounded by pots of flowers. A glass door at one side,\nrevealed wide marble stairs, down which a charming little portress was\ntripping.\n\n\"Is this Miss H.'s?\" we asked in English. She only shook her head. We\nparaded our French. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, then, with\na \"_Oui, oui_,\" ran past us to the carriage, and gave some directions to\nthe driver, emphasizing her words with a pair of plump little hands.\nThen, with a \"_bon nuit_,\" she disappeared, and the great doors closed\nagain. Evidently we were being taken care of, we thought, as we settled\nback again in the carriage. We stopped before another door, already\nopen, and disclosing a flight of wide, stone stairs, ascending almost\nfrom the sidewalk. Immediately upon pulling the bell--as though the wire\nhad been attached to it--a long, loose-jointed, grotesque, yet horrible\nfigure appeared at the head of the stairs, half-stooping to bring\nhimself within the range of my vision, swinging his arms like a Dutch\nwindmill, and grinning in a way which seemed to open his whole head.\n\n[Illustration: \"Together we stared at him with rigid and severe\ncountenances.\" Page 240.]\n\n\"Is--is this Miss H.'s?\" I ventured from the sidewalk.\n\nHe only beckoned still more wildly for me to ascend. I drew back. Good\nHeavens! What was the matter with him? And still, while I stared\nfascinated, yet horror-stricken, he continued, without intermission,\nthese speechless contortions and evolutions. Although he uttered not a\nsound, he seemed to say with every cracking joint, \"Come up, come up,\"\nwhile he scooped the air with his bony hands.\n\nI remembered that it was midnight; that we were alone, and in wicked\nParis; that we had been religiously brought up; that Mrs. K.'s husband\nwas the superintendent of a large and flourishing Sunday school; that my\nfather was a minister of the gospel. I planted my feet firmly upon the\nsidewalk. I folded my arms rigidly. I shook my head virtuously. Come up?\nChains should not drag me. Then I turned to the carriage.\n\n\"Mrs. K., do come and see this man.\"\n\nShe came. Together we stared at him with rigid and severe countenances.\n\n\"Dreadful!\" said I, remembering the Sunday school.\n\n\"Awful!\" said she, recalling the pious ancestors. And again we shook our\nheads at his blandishments to the point of dislocation. The driver, who\nhad been all this time tipped back against a tree, began to show\nsymptoms of impatience. Something must be done.\n\n\"Suppose you ask for some one who can speak English,\" suggested Mrs. K.\n\n\"Sure enough.\" And I did. With one last, terrible grimace the ogre's\nheels disappeared up the second flight of stairs.\n\nThere came down in a moment a thoroughly respectable appearing porter,\nwho informed us, in English, that we were expected, our telegram having\nbeen received; though, through the ambiguity of its address, it had been\nsent first to a house below. The people there had promised to forward\nus, however, in case we followed the telegram. This accounted for the\nmovements of the little portress.\n\nThe _ogre_ proved to be a most good-natured _concierge_, who had been\ninstructed to keep the door open in anticipation of our arrival.\n\nSo our fears had been but feathers, after all, blown away by a breath;\nour troubles only a dream, to be laughed over in the awakening.\n\n\nHere the story of our journeying may end. The remaining distance,\nthrough the kindness of friends, new and old, was accomplished without\ndifficulty or annoyance. We reached our own homes in due time, and like\nthe princess in the fairy tales, \"lived happily forever afterwards.\"\n\nA few practical words suggest themselves here which would pass unnoticed\nin a preface--where, perhaps, they belong. First, in regard to the\nquestion often asked, \"Can women travel alone through Europe?\" Recalling\nour own experience,--too brief to serve as a criterion,--I should still\nsay, \"_Yes_.\" We met, frequently, parties of ladies who had made the\nwhole grand tour alone. In Switzerland we found English women,\nconstantly, without escort. The care of choosing routes, of looking\nafter baggage and buying tickets, of managing the sometimes complicated\naffairs attendant upon sight-seeing, with the vexations and impositions\nmet with and suffered on every hand, no woman would voluntarily accept\nwithout great compensation, I am sure. But if she prefers even these\ncares to seeing nothing of the world, they can be borne, and the\nannoyances, to a great extent overcome, through patience and growing\nexperience.\n\nThen, if you start alone, or without being consigned to friends upon the\nother side,--which no _young_ woman would think of doing,--you are\nalmost sure to join, at different times, other parties, whose way is\nyour own; and far preferable this is to making up a large company before\nleaving home--the members of which usually disagree before reaching the\ncontinent, and often part in mutual disgust. \"There is nothing like\ntravelling to bring out a person's real nature,\" say some. But this is\nuntrue. Travelling develops, rather than reveals, I think, and under\nconditions favorable only to the worse side of one's nature. You are\nbewildered by the multitude of strange sights and ways; the very\nfoundation of usages is broken up; you are putting forth physical\nexertions that would seem superhuman at home, and are mentally racked\nuntil utterly exhausted,--for there is nothing so exhausting as\ncontinued sight-seeing,--and at this point people say they begin \"to\nfind each other out.\"\n\nAn occasional period of rest--not staying within doors to study up the\nguide-books, but entire cessation from seeing, hearing, or doing--and a\nscrap from the mantle of charity, will save many a threatened friendship\nat these times. We learned to know our strength--how weak it was; and to\nawait in some delightful spot, chosen for the purpose, returning energy,\ncourage, and _interest_; for even that would be banished at times by\nutter weariness and exhaustion.\n\nIn former times, Americans fitted themselves out for Europe as though\nbound to a desert island. Wider intelligence and experience have opened\ntheir eyes and reformed their judgment; still, a word upon this subject\nwill not be unwelcome, I am sure, to girls especially, who contemplate a\ntrip over the ocean.\n\nIn the first place, your steamer outfit is a distinct affair. You are\nallowed to take any baggage you wish for into your state-room; but, if\nwise, you will not fill the narrow space, nor encumber yourself with\nanything larger than a lady's _hat box_, which may offer a tolerable\nseat to the stewardess, or visitors of condolence, in case seasickness\nconfines you to berth or sofa. Even preferable to this is a flat,\nEnglish portmanteau, which can be slipped under the lower berth. If you\nsail for Liverpool, you can leave this at your hotel there in charge of\nthe head waiter until you return, and thus avoid the expense and care of\nuseless baggage.\n\nIts contents your own good sense will in a measure suggest. Let me\nadd--a double gown or woollen wrapper, in which you may sleep, flannels\n(even though you cross the ocean in summer), merino stockings, warm\ngloves or mittens, as pretty a hood as you please, only be sure that it\ncovers the back of your head, since you will ignore all cunning craft of\nhair dressing, for a few days at least, and even after you are well\nenough to appear at the table, perhaps. Bear in mind that the Northern\nAtlantic is a cold place, and horribly open to the wind _at all seasons\nof the year_; that you will live on the deck when not in your berth or\nat your meals, and that the deck of an ocean steamer partakes of the\nnature of a whirlwind. Fur is by no means out of place, and skirts\nshould be sufficiently heavy to defy the gales, which convert everything\ninto a sail. Take as many wraps as you choose--and then you will wish\nyou had one more. A large shawl, or, better, a carriage-robe, is\nindispensable, as you will very likely lie rolled up like a cocoon much\nof the time. A low sea-chair, or common camp-chair, is useful to older\npeople; but almost any girl will prefer a seat upon the deck itself;\nthere are comfortable crannies into which no chair can be wedged.\n\nBy all means avoid elaborate fastenings to garments. A multiplicity of\nunmanageable \"hooks and eyes\" is untold torment at sea; and let these\ngarments be few, but warm. You will appreciate the wisdom of this\nsuggestion, when you have accomplished the herculean task of making your\nfirst state-room toilet.\n\nIf you are really going abroad for a season of _travel_, take almost\nnothing. You can never know what you will need until the necessity\narises. If you anticipate, you misjudge. Your American outfit will\nrender you an oddity in England. But do not change there, or you will\nbe still more singular in Paris. It is as well to start with but one\ndress besides the one you wear on the steamer--anything you chance to\nhave; a black alpaca, or half-worn black silk, is very serviceable. When\nyou reach Paris, circumstances and the season will govern your\npurchases; and this same dress will be almost a necessity for constant\nrailway journeys, rainy-day sight-seeing, and mule-riding in\nSwitzerland. A little care and brushing, fresh linen, and a pretty\nFrench tie, will make it presentable--if not more--at any hotel dinner\ntable.\n\nA warm shawl or wrap of some kind you will need for evenings,--even\nthough you travel in summer,--for visiting the cathedrals, which are\nchill as a tomb; and for weeks together among the mountains you will\nnever throw it aside. But if you can take but one, _don't_ provide\nyourself with a _water-proof_. They are too undeniably ugly, and not\nsufficiently warm for constant wear. If it rains slightly, the umbrella,\nwhich you will buy from force of necessity and example in England, will\nprotect you; if in torrents, you will ride. Indeed, you will always\nride, time is so precious, cab-hire so cheap, and distances so great in\nmost foreign cities.\n\nLastly, let me beg of you to provide yourself with an abundant supply of\npatience and good-nature. Without these, no outfit is complete. Try to\nlaugh at annoyances. Smile, at least. And do not anticipate\ndifficulties. Above all, enjoy yourself, and then everybody you meet\nwill enjoy you. And so good by, and \"God bless us every one.\"\n\n\n\n\nLEE AND SHEPARD'S HANDBOOKS.\n\n\n\"JUST AS THE TWIG IS BENT, THE TREE'S INCLINED.\"\n\n          =LESSONS ON MANNERS.= For home and school use. A\n          Manual by EDITH E. WIGGIN. Cloth, 50 cents; school\n          edition, boards, 30 cents net.\n\nThis little book is being rapidly introduced into schools as a\ntext-book.\n\n\nSHOWS WHY THE WINDS BLOW.\n\n          =WHIRLWINDS, CYCLONES, AND TORNADOES.= By Prof. W.\n          M. DAVIS of Harvard University. Illustrated. 50\n          cents.\n\nThe cyclones of our great West, the whirlwinds of the desert, every\nthing in the shape of storms, scientifically and popularly treated.\n\n\n\"THIS VOLUME IS SUBLIME POETRY\"\n\n          =THE STARS AND THE EARTH;= or, Thoughts upon\n          Space, Time, and Eternity. With an Introduction by\n          THOMAS HILL, D.D., LL.D., late President of\n          Harvard University. Cloth. 50 cents.\n\n\"It cannot but be valuable to the student of science as well as to the\nprofessors of religion, and tends to bring them closer together, and\nreconcile them.\"--_Potter's Monthly._\n\n\nKNOW WHAT YOU ARE DRINKING.\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF WATER ANALYSIS.= By Dr. GEORGE L.\n          AUSTIN. Cloth. 50 cents.\n\n\"It condenses into fifty pages what one would have to wander through a\nsmall chemical library to find. We commend the book as worthy of a wide\ncirculation.\"--_Independent._\n\n\nEVERY LADY HER OWN FLORIST.\n\n          =THE PARLOR GARDENER.= A Treatise on the\n          House-Culture of Ornamental Plants. Translated\n          from the French, and adapted to American use. By\n          CORNELIA J. RANDOLPH. With eleven illustrative\n          cuts. 50 cents.\n\nIt contains minute directions for the \"mantel-piece garden,\" the\n\"_étagère_-garden,\" the \"flower-stand garden,\" the \"portable\ngreen-house,\" the \"house-aquarium,\" the garden upon the balcony, the\nterrace, and the double window, besides describing many curious and\ninteresting experiments in grafting.\n\n\n\"HELLO, CENTRAL!\"\n\n          =THE TELEPHONE.= An Account of the Phenomena of\n          Electricity, Magnetism, and Sound, as involved in\n          its action, with directions for making a\n          Speaking-Telephone. By Professor A. E. DOLBEAR of\n          Tufts College. 16mo. Illustrated. Price 50 cents.\n\n\"An interesting little book upon this most fascinating subject, which is\ntreated in a very clear and methodical way. First we have a thorough\nreview of the discoveries in electricity, then of magnetism, then of\nthose in the study of sound,--pitch, velocity, timbre, tone, resonance,\nsympathetic vibrations, etc. From these the telephone is reached, and by\nthem in a measure explained.\"--_Hartford Courant._\n\n\nA PRACTICAL PROOF-READER'S ADVICE.\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF PUNCTUATION=, and other Typographical\n          Matters. For the use of Printers, Authors,\n          Teachers, and Scholars. By MARSHALL T. BIGELOW,\n          Corrector at the University Press, Cambridge,\n          Mass. 18mo. Cloth. 50 cts.\n\n\"It is intended for the use of authors and teachers; while business men\nwho have occasion to print circulars, advertisements, etc., can hardly\nafford to be without a copy of it for reference.\"--_Schenectady Daily\nUnion._\n\n\n\"A USEFUL LITTLE MANUAL.\"\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF LIGHT GYMNASTICS.= By LUCY B. HUNT,\n          Instructor in Gymnastics at Smith (Female)\n          College, Northampton, Mass. 50 cents.\n\n\"It is designed as a guide to teachers of girls; but it will be found of\nuse, also, to such as wish to practise the exercises at\nhome.\"--_New-York World._\n\n\nLOOK OUT FOR SQUALLS.\n\n          =PRACTICAL BOAT-SAILING.= By DOUGLAS FRAZAR.\n          Classic size. $1.00. With numerous diagrams and\n          illustrations.\n\n\"Its directions are so plain, that, with the aid of the accompanying\npictorial illustrations and diagrams given in the book, it does seem as\nif 'anybody,' after reading it, could safely handle a sailboat in a\nsquall.\"--_Times, Hartford._\n\n\n\"A HELPFUL LITTLE BOOK.\"--_Springfield Republican._\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF WOOD-ENGRAVING.= With Practical\n          Instructions in the Art for Persons wishing to\n          learn without an Instructor. By WILLIAM A.\n          EMERSON, Wood-Engraver. New Edition. Illustrated.\n          $1.00.\n\n\"A valuable handbook, explanatory of an art which is gradually\nattracting the attention of amateurs more and more, and which affords,\nnot only a pleasing pastime, but an excellent means of procuring a\nlivelihood.\"--_Cleveland Sun._\n\n\n\"A LITERARY TIDBIT.\"\n\n          =SHORT STUDIES OF AMERICAN AUTHORS.= By THOMAS\n          WENTWORTH HIGGINSON. 50 cents.\n\n\"These 'Studies' are rather those of the characters themselves than of\ntheir works, and, written in Mr. Higginson's best analytical style, fill\nup a leisure hour charmingly.\"--_Toledo Journal._\n\n\n\"NO LITTLE BOOK IS CAPABLE OF DOING BETTER SERVICE.\"\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF ELOCUTION SIMPLIFIED.= By WALTER K.\n          FOBES, with an Introduction by GEORGE M. BAKER.\n          Cloth. 50 cents.\n\n\"This valuable little book occupies a place heretofore left vacant, as a\ndigest of elocution that is both practical and methodical, and low in\nprice.\"--_New-York Tribune._\n\n\nSHORT-HAND WITHOUT A MASTER.\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF UNIVERSAL PHONOGRAPHY;= or,\n          Short-hand by the \"Allen Method.\" A\n          self-instructor, whereby more speed than long-hand\n          writing is gained at the first lesson, and\n          additional speed at each subsequent lesson. By G.\n          G. ALLEN, Principal of the Allen Stenographic\n          Institute, Boston. 50 cents.\n\n\"By this method one can, in an hour a day for two or three months,\nbecome so expert as to report a lecture _verbatim_.\"\n\n\nTHE STUDY OF GEOGRAPHY MADE PRACTICAL.\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF THE EARTH.= Natural methods in\n          geography. By LOUISA PARSONS HOPKINS, Teacher of\n          Normal Methods in the Swain Free School, New\n          Bedford. 50 cents.\n\nThe work is designed for the use of teachers and normal-school classes\nas a review and generalization of geographical facts, and for general\nreaders as a guide to right methods of study and instruction.\n\n\nDAILY FOOD FOR THE MIND.\n\n          =PRONOUNCING HANDBOOK= of 3,000 words often\n          mispronounced, and of words as to which a choice\n          of pronunciation is allowed. By RICHARD SOULE and\n          LOOMIS J. CAMPBELL. 50 cts.\n\n\"This book can be carried in a gentleman's vest-pocket, or tucked in a\nlady's belt, and we wish several hundred thousand copies might thus be\ndisposed of, with a view to daily consultation.\"--_Congregationalist._\n\n\nABOUT 40,000 SYNONYMOUS WORDS.\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF ENGLISH SYNONYMS=, with an appendix\n          showing the correct use of prepositions, also a\n          collection of foreign phrases. By LOOMIS J.\n          CAMPBELL. Cloth. 50 cents.\n\n\"Clearly printed, well arranged, adapted to help any one who writes much\nto enrich his vocabulary, vary his expressions, and secure accuracy in\nconveying his thoughts.\"--_Boston Journal._\n\n\n\"A BOOK OF INCALCULABLE VALUE.\"\n\n          =HANDBOOK OF CONVERSATION.= Its Faults and its\n          Graces. Compiled by ANDREW P. PEABODY, D.D., LL.D.\n          Comprising: 1. Dr. Peabody's Lecture. 2. Mr.\n          Trench's Lecture. 3. Mr. Perry Gwynn's \"A Word to\n          the Wise; or, Hints on the Current Improprieties\n          of Expression in Writing and Speaking.\" 4.\n          Mistakes and Improprieties in Speaking and Writing\n          Corrected. Cloth. 50 cents.\n\n\"It is worth owning, and ought to be studied by many who heedlessly\nmisuse their mother tongue.\"--_Boston Beacon._\n\n\n\"WE COMMEND IT HIGHLY.\"--_Chicago Herald._\n\n          =HINTS AND HELPS= for those who Write, Print, or\n          Read. By BENJAMIN DREW, Proof-reader. 50 cents.\n\n\"The information is imparted in a very lively and remembering\nway.\"--_Boston Commonwealth._\n\n\nARE YOU INTERESTED IN BUGS?\n\n          =INSECTS;= How to Catch and how to Prepare them\n          for the Cabinet. Comprising a Manual of\n          Instruction for the Field Naturalist. By WALTER P.\n          MANTON. Illustrated. Cloth, 50 cents.\n\n\"Nothing essential is omitted: every boy who has any taste for natural\nhistory should have this neat little volume. The many 'Agassiz Clubs'\nwhich have sprung up amid the youth of the country, should add it to\ntheir libraries.\"--_Chicago Advance._\n\n\n\"OF INESTIMABLE VALUE TO YOUNG BOTANISTS.\"--_Rural New-Yorker._\n\n          =FIELD BOTANY.= A Handbook for the Collector.\n          Containing Instructions for Gathering and\n          Preserving Plants, and the Formation of a\n          Herbarium. Also Complete Instructions in Leaf\n          Photography, Plant Printing, and the Skeletonizing\n          of Leaves. By WALTER P. MANTON. Illustrated. 50\n          cents.\n\n\"A most valuable companion. The amount of information conveyed in the\nsmall compass is surprising.\"--_Demorest's Monthly._\n\n\n\"EVERY NATURALIST OUGHT TO HAVE A COPY FOR IMMEDIATE USE.\"\n\n          =TAXIDERMY WITHOUT A TEACHER.= Comprising a\n          Complete Manual of Instruction for Preparing and\n          Preserving Birds, Animals, and Fishes; with a\n          Chapter on Hunting and Hygiene; together with\n          Instructions for Preserving Eggs and Making\n          Skeletons, and a number of valuable Recipes. By\n          _Walter P. Manton_. Illustrated. 50 cents.\n\n\"We would be glad if all teachers would take this little book, study it\nfaithfully, become interested themselves, and interest their pupils in\nthis wonderful art.\"--_Practical Teacher._\n\n\nHOW TO ENLARGE THE ANT TO THE SIZE OF AN ELEPHANT.\n\n          =BEGINNINGS WITH THE MICROSCOPE.= A Working\n          Handbook, containing simple Instructions in the\n          Art and Method of using the Microscope and\n          preparing Objects for Examination. By WALTER P.\n          MANTON, M.D. Small 4to. Cloth, 50 cents.\n\nUniform with the author's \"Handbooks of Natural History,\" and equally\nvaluable.\n\n\nPARLEZ VOUS FRANCAIS?\n\n          =BROKEN ENGLISH.= A Frenchman's Struggles with the\n          English Language. By Professor E. C. DUBOIS,\n          author of \"The French Teacher.\" Cloth, 50 cents;\n          cheap edition, paper, 30 cents.\n\nThe Professor's famous lecture, delivered all over the country. Amusing\nas a narrative, instructive as a handbook of French conversation.\n\n\nAN EMERGENCY HANDBOOK.\n\n          =WHAT IS TO BE DONE.= A Handbook for the Nursery,\n          with useful Hints for Children and Adults. By\n          ROBERT B. DIXON, M.D. Small 4to. Cloth, 50 cents.\n\nDr. Dixon has produced a work that will be gladly welcomed by parents.\nHis \"remedies\" are indorsed by many prominent medical men.\n\n\n_Sold by all booksellers, or sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of\nprice._\n\n=LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.=\n\n\n\n\nTROPHIES OF TRAVEL.\n\n\n          =DRIFTING ROUND THE WORLD;= A Boy's Adventures by\n          Sea and Land. By CAPT. CHARLES W. HALL, author of\n          \"Adrift in the Ice-Fields,\" \"The Great Bonanza,\"\n          etc. With numerous full-page and letter-press\n          illustrations. Royal 8vo. Handsome cover. $1.75.\n          Cloth. Gilt. $2.50.\n\n\"Out of the beaten track\" in its course of travel, record of adventures,\nand descriptions of life in Greenland, Labrador, Ireland, Scotland,\nEngland, France, Holland, Russia, Asia, Siberia, and Alaska. Its hero is\nyoung, bold, and adventurous; and the book is in every way interesting\nand attractive.\n\n\nEDWARD GREÉY'S JAPANESE SERIES.\n\n          =YOUNG AMERICANS IN JAPAN;= or, The Adventures of\n          the Jewett Family and their Friend Oto Nambo. With\n          170 full-page and letter-press illustrations. Royal\n          8vo, 7 x 9½ inches. Handsomely illuminated cover.\n          $1.75. Cloth, black and gold, $2.50.\n\nThis story, though essentially a work of fiction, is filled with\ninteresting and truthful descriptions of the curious ways of living of\nthe good people of the land of the rising sun.\n\n          =THE WONDERFUL CITY OF TOKIO;= or, The Further\n          Adventures of the Jewett Family and their Friend\n          Oto Nambo. With 169 illustrations. Royal 8vo, 7 x\n          9½ inches. With cover in gold and colors, designed\n          by the author. $1.75. Cloth, black and gold, $2.50.\n\n\"A book full of delightful information. The author has the happy gift of\npermitting the reader to view things as he saw them. The illustrations\nare mostly drawn by a Japanese artist, and are very unique.\"--_Chicago\nHerald._\n\n          =THE BEAR WORSHIPPERS OF YEZO AND THE ISLAND OF\n          KARAFUTO;= being the further Adventures of the\n          Jewett Family and their Friend Oto Nambo. 180\n          illustrations. Boards. $1.75. Cloth, $2.50.\n\nGraphic pen and pencil pictures of the remarkable bearded people who\nlive in the north of Japan. The illustrations are by native Japanese\nartists, and give queer pictures of a queer people, who have been seldom\nvisited.\n\n\nHARRY W. FRENCH'S BOOKS.\n\n          =OUR BOYS IN INDIA.= The wanderings of two young\n          Americans in Hindustan, with their exciting\n          adventures on the sacred rivers and wild mountains.\n          With 145 illustrations. Royal 8vo, 7 x 9½ inches.\n          Bound in emblematic covers of Oriental design,\n          $1.75. Cloth, black and gold, $2.50.\n\nWhile it has all the exciting interest of a romance, it is remarkably\nvivid in its pictures of manners and customs in the land of the Hindu.\nThe illustrations are many and excellent.\n\n          =OUR BOYS IN CHINA.= The adventures of two young\n          Americans, wrecked in the China Sea on their\n          return from India, with their strange wanderings\n          through the Chinese Empire. 188 illustrations.\n          Boards, ornamental covers in colors and gold.\n          $1.75. Cloth, $2.50.\n\nThis gives the further adventures of \"Our Boys\" of India fame in the\nland of Teas and Queues.\n\n\n_Sold by all booksellers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of\nprice._\n\nLEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.\n\n\n\n\nHARRY W. FRENCH'S BOOKS.\n\n\n          =THE ONLY ONE.= A Novel. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00.\n\n\"The Only One\" is a powerful story, dealing with the lights and shadows\nof life in America, Naples, and Persia. Written in a dashing style,\nsometimes deeply tragic, at others humorous in the extreme, it presents\npictures of human life that attract and interest by their naturalness\nand vividness.\n\n\n          =CASTLE FOAM;= or, The Pauper Prince. A story of\n          real life, true love, and intrigue in the\n          brilliant capital of Prussia. 12mo. $1.50.\n\n\"A novel of remarkable power, and strangely unlike any yet written by an\nAmerican. There is something in the beauty and intensity of expression\nthat reminds one of Bulwer in his best days.\"--_Cincinnati Commercial._\n\n\n          =NUNA, THE BRAMIN GIRL.= 16mo. Cloth. $1.25.\n\n\"This book is beautifully written, and abounds in novel and dramatic\nincidents.\"--_St. Louis Globe Democrat._\n\n\n          =EGO=, The Life Struggles of Lawrence Edwards.\n          16mo. Cloth. $1.00.\n\n\"Both an interesting and an exciting work, written with freedom,\neffectiveness, and power.\"--_Philadelphia Item._\n\n          =GEMS OF GENIUS.= 4to. Illuminated covers. Gilt.\n          $2.00.\n\n\"Fifty full-page illustrations, selected from the art-works of as many\nforeign painters, with text descriptive of each, from the pen of one of\nour native Ruskins.\"--_New-York Mail._\n\n\n          ART AND ARTISTS. A history of the birth of art in\n          America, with biographical studies of many\n          prominent American artists, and nearly one hundred\n          illus. from their studios. Cloth. Gilt. $3.00.\n\n\"A work that will grow in value every year, showing the most patient\nresearch and elaboration, skilfully executed, and admirably worked up.\nAn honor to the author, an honor to the publishers, an honor to the\ncountry.\"--_New-York Evening Post._\n\n\n          =OUR BOYS IN INDIA.= The wanderings of two young\n          Americans in Hindustan, with their exciting\n          adventures on the sacred rivers and wild mountains.\n          With 145 illustrations. Royal octavo, 7 x 9½\n          inches. Bound in emblematical covers of Oriental\n          design, $1.75. Cloth, black and gold, $2.50.\n\nA new edition of the most popular of books of travel for young folks,\nissued last season. While it has all the exciting interest of a romance,\nit is remarkably vivid in its pictures of manners and customs in the\nland of the Hindu. The illustrations are many and excellent.\n\n\n          =OUR BOYS IN CHINA.= The adventures of two young\n          Americans, wrecked in the China Sea on their\n          return from India, with their strange wanderings\n          through the Chinese Empire. 188 Illustrations.\n          Boards, ornamental covers in colors and gold,\n          $1.75. Cloth, $2.50.\n\nAfter successfully starting the young heroes of his previous book, \"Our\nBoys in India,\" on their homeward trip, the popular lecturer, extensive\ntraveller, and remarkable story-teller, has them wrecked in the China\nSea, saved, and transported across China: giving him an opportunity to\nspread for young folks an appetizing feast of good things.\n\n\n_Sold by all booksellers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of\nprice._\n\n=LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.=\n\n\n\nMISS VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND'S BOOKS.\n\nUniform Edition. Cloth. $1.50 Each.\n\n\nBUT A PHILISTINE.\n\n\"Another novel by the author of 'A Woman's Word' and 'Lenox Dare,' will\nbe warmly welcomed by hosts of readers of Miss Townsend's stories. There\nis nothing of the 'sensational,' or so-called realistic, school in her\nwritings. On the contrary, they are noted for their healthy moral tone\nand pure sentiment, and yet are not wanting in STRIKING SITUATIONS AND\nDRAMATIC INCIDENTS.\"--_Chicago Journal._\n\n\nLENOX DARE.\n\n\"Her stories, always sunny and healthful, touch the springs of social\nlife, and make the reader better acquainted with this great human\norganization of which we all form a part, and tend to bring him into\nmore intimate sympathy with what is most pure and noble in our nature.\nAmong the best of her productions we place the volume here under notice.\nIn temper and tone the volume is calculated to exert a healthful and\nelevating influence.\"--_New-England Methodist._\n\n\nDARYLL GAP; or, Whether it Paid.\n\nA story of the petroleum days, and of a family who struck oil. \"Miss\nTownsend is a very entertaining writer, and, while she entertains, at\nthe same time instructs. Her plots are well arranged, and her characters\nare clearly and strongly drawn. The present volume will not detract from\nthe reputation she has heretofore enjoyed.\"--_Pittsburg Recorder._\n\n\nA WOMAN'S WORD, AND HOW SHE KEPT IT.\n\n\"The celebrity of Virginia F. Townsend as an authoress, her brilliant\ndescriptive powers, and pure, vigorous imagination, will insure a hearty\nwelcome for the above-entitled volume in the writer's happiest vein.\nEvery woman will understand the self-sacrifice of Genevieve Weir, and\nwill entertain only scorn for the miserable man who imbittered her life\nto hide his own wrong-doing.\"--_Fashion Quarterly._\n\n\nTHAT QUEER GIRL.\n\n\"A fresh, wholesome book about good men and good women, bright and\ncheery in style, and pure in morals. Just the book to take a young\ngirl's fancy, and help her to grow up, like Madeline and Argia, into the\nsweetness of real girlhood; there being more of that same sweetness\nunder the fuss and feathers of the present day than a casual observer\nmight suppose.\"--_People's Monthly._\n\n\nONLY GIRLS.\n\n\"This volume shows how two persons, 'only girls,' saved two men from\ncrime, even from ruin of body and soul; and all this came about in their\nlives without their purpose or knowledge at the time, and not at all as\nthey or anybody else would have planned it; but it comes about well and\nnaturally enough. The story is ingenious and graphic, and kept the\nwriter of this notice up far into the small hours of yesterday\nmorning.\"--_Washington Chronicle._\n\n\n_Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail, postpaid on\nreceipt of price._\n\n=LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.=\n\n\n\n\nLEE AND SHEPARD'S DOLLAR NOVELS.\n\n\n          =JOHN THORN'S FOLKS.= By ANGELINE TEAL. Cloth.\n          $1.00.\n\n\n          =BARBARA THAYER.= By MISS ANNIE JENNESS. Cloth.\n          $1.00. Popular Edition. Paper. 50 cents.\n\n\n          =THE ONLY ONE.= A Novel by HARRY W. FRENCH, author\n          of \"Castle Foam,\" \"Nuna, the Bramin Girl,\" \"Our\n          Boys in China,\" \"Our Boys in India,\" etc. 16mo.\n          Cloth. $1.00.\n\nThis work was published as a serial in \"The Boston Globe,\" and made a\nsensation. It will have a large sale in its new dress.\n\n\n          =LORD OF HIMSELF.= A Novel by FRANCIS H.\n          UNDERWOOD, author of \"Handbook of English\n          Literature,\" etc. A new edition. 16mo. Cloth.\n          $1.00.\n\n\"This novel is one that has come into American literature to\nstay.\"--_Boston Post._\n\n\"Spirited, fresh, clean-cut, and deeply thoughtful.\"--_Boston Gazette._\n\n\n          =DORA DARLING:= The Daughter of the Regiment. By\n          J. G. AUSTIN. 16mo. Cloth, $l.00. A thrilling\n          story of the great Rebellion.\n\n\n          =OUTPOST.= By J. G. AUSTIN. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00. A\n          Sequel to \"Dora Darling,\" but each story complete\n          in itself.\n\n\n          =NUMA ROUMESTAN.= By ALPHONSE DAUDET. Translated\n          from the French by Virginia Champlin. With ten\n          illustrations. Cloth. $1.00.\n\nThe latest work of fiction from the pen of Alphonse Daudet, and derives\nits main interest from the generally accepted belief that the hero of\nthe novel is really Gambetta, the French statesman.\n\n\n          =KINGS IN EXILE.= By ALPHONSE DAUDET. A new\n          edition. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00.\n\n\n          =LIKE A GENTLEMAN.= By Mrs. MARY A. DENISON. A\n          Temperance Novel, by a well-known author. Cloth.\n          $1.00.\n\nMrs. Denison is well known as the author of \"That Husband of Mine,\" a\nsummer book which exceeded in sale any thing published in America. This\nbook is in a more thoughtful vein, but is very entertaining. The style\nis bright and witty.\n\n          =HIS TRIUMPH.= By the author of \"That Husband of\n          Mine,\" \"Like a Gentleman,\" etc. Cloth. $1.00.\n\n\n          =A TIGHT SQUEEZE.= The adventures of a gentleman,\n          who, on a wager of ten thousand dollars, undertook\n          to go from New York to New Orleans in three weeks,\n          without money or the assistance of friends. Cloth,\n          $1.00. Paper, 50 cents.\n\n\n          =PUDDLEFORD PAPERS;= or, Humors of the West. By H.\n          R. RILEY. Illustrated. A new edition. $1.00.\n\n\"This is a rich book. Any one who wants a genuine, hearty laugh, should\npurchase this volume.\"--_Columbus Gazette._\n\n\n          =THE FORTUNATE ISLAND=, and other Stories. By MAX\n          ADELER. Illustrated. Cloth. $1.00.\n\n\"Max Adeler is a fellow of infinite humor.\"--_Albany Evening Journal._\n\n\"Extravagant, of course, are these stories, but entertaining and\namusing, and instructive too.\"--MARGERY DEANE, _Newport News._\n\n\n_Sold by all booksellers and newsdealers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on\nreceipt of price._\n\nLEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston.\n\n\n\n\nYOUNG FOLKS' HEROES OF HISTORY.\n\nBy GEORGE MAKEPEACE TOWLE.\n\nHandsomely Illustrated. Price per vol., $1.25. Sets in neat boxes.\n\n\nVASCO DA GAMA: HIS VOYAGES AND ADVENTURES.\n\n\"Da Gama's history is full of striking adventures, thrilling incidents,\nand perilous situations; and Mr. Towle, while not sacrificing historical\naccuracy, has so skilfully used his materials, that we have a charmingly\nromantic tale.\"--_Rural New-Yorker._\n\n\nPIZARRO: HIS ADVENTURES AND CONQUESTS.\n\n\"No hero of romance possesses greater power to charm the youthful reader\nthan the conqueror of Peru. Not even King Arthur, or Thaddeus of Warsaw,\nhas the power to captivate the imagination of the growing boy. Mr. Towle\nhas handled his subject in a glowing but truthful manner; and we venture\nthe assertion, that, were our children led to read such books as this,\nthe taste for unwholesome, exciting, wrong-teaching boys' books--dime\nnovels in books' clothing--would be greatly diminished, to the great\ngain of mental force and moral purpose in the rising generation.\"--_Chicago\nAlliance._\n\n\nMAGELLAN; OR, THE FIRST VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD.\n\n\"What more of romantic and spirited adventures any bright boy could want\nthan is to be found in this series of historical biography, it is\ndifficult to imagine. This volume is written in a most sprightly manner;\nand the life of its hero, Fernan Magellan, with its rapid stride from\nthe softness of a petted youth to the sturdy courage and persevering\nfortitude of manhood, makes a tale of marvellous fascination.\"--_Christian\nUnion._\n\n\nMARCO POLO: HIS TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES.\n\n\"The story of the adventurous Venetian, who six hundred years ago\npenetrated into India and Cathay and Thibet and Abyssinia, is pleasantly\nand clearly told; and nothing better can be put into the hands of the\nschool boy or girl than this series of the records of noted travellers.\nThe heroism displayed by these men was certainly as great as that ever\nshown by conquering warrior; and it was exercised in a far nobler\ncause,--the cause of knowledge and discovery, which has made the\nnineteenth century what it is.\"--_Graphic._\n\n\nRALEGH: HIS EXPLOITS AND VOYAGES.\n\n\"This belongs to the 'Young Folks' Heroes of History' series, and deals\nwith a greater and more interesting man than any of its predecessors.\nWith all the black spots on his fame, there are few more brilliant and\nstriking figures in English history than the soldier, sailor, courtier,\nauthor, and explorer, Sir Walter Ralegh. Even at this distance of time,\nmore than two hundred and fifty years after his head fell on the\nscaffold, we cannot read his story without emotion. It is graphically\nwritten, and is pleasant reading, not only for young folks, but for old\nfolks with young hearts.\"--_Woman's Journal._\n\n\nDRAKE: THE SEA-LION OF DEVON.\n\nDrake was the foremost sea-captain of his age, the first English admiral\nto send a ship completely round the world, the hero of the magnificent\nvictory which the English won over the Invincible Armada. His career was\nstirring, bold, and adventurous, from early youth to old age.\n\n\n_Sold by all Booksellers, and sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of\nprice._\n\n=LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers BOSTON.=\n\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nVaried hyphenation was retained. Boldface type is depicted by = and\nitalic by _.\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nPage 28, repeated word \"a\" removed from text (blossomed into a bell)\n\nPage 35, \"iniquitious\" changed to \"iniquitous\" (most iniquitous\nproceeding)\n\nPage 39, \"beginnnig\" changed to \"beginning\" (my heart beginning)\n\nPage 82, \"heartly\" changed to \"heartily\" (were heartily ashamed)\n\nPage 101, \"Sevres\" changed to \"Sèvres\" (pier of Sèvres)\n\nPage 101, \"Sevres\" changed to \"Sèvres\" (transferred to Sèvres)\n\nPage 130, \"Hotel\" changed to \"Hôtel\" (and the old Hôtel de Ville)\n\nPage 212, \"beautifull\" changed to \"beautiful\" (head, past beautiful)\n\nPage 216, \"momentry\" changed to \"momentary\" (a momentary life)\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's An American Girl Abroad, by Adeline Trafton", "meta": {"gutenberg_id": "32289", "title": "An American Girl Abroad", "author": "", "publication_year": 1872, "metadata_title": "An American Girl Abroad", "metadata_author": "Adeline Trafton", "language": "en", "rights": "Public Domain", "release_date": "2024-05-14T13:13:29.424517", "source_chars": 406389, "chars": 406389, "talkie_tokens": 96254}}